The quiet assurance reminds him of Grace, and though he'd never admit it, Horatio immensely appreciates the comfort. They get so little of it here, after all, and neither of them are exactly soft people. But they have their moments, and he makes a silent note to himself to afford Gabe one of his own soon.
He relaxes his jaw, even going so far as to give it a flex and stretch from side to side to undo the tension, watching Gabe work. He doesn't need to assess or check the man's work - he knows he's good - it's more the idle curiosity of someone who likes watching a craftsman.
"Yeah, sure I can, smartass, but even if it takes longer, I still run outta juice. Eventually I have to slug it out like the rest of the rabble. ... What about that shiner?" He tips his head a little to indicate one of Gabe's bruises. "Someone get a little too unruly when their chip came out?"
He knows Monty is back, of course. He just ... would never make that sort of connection.
He's leaning close as he stitches the wound, so there's not much room for Horatio to see the facial journey Gabriel goes on as he's carefully pulling the muscle back into place. But the flinch is obvious, and hard to avoid, Gabe looking down and away as he debates with himself on whether he should lie and cover what had actually happened. It was personal. It should be private.
But... He didn't know how to deal with it. He didn't know how to broach the topic with Montgomery over text and he was frankly... Scared to try it face to face. What if he snapped? What if Montgomery snapped? It was too much. There were too many variables he couldn't control.
"...He didn't think I was real."
It's so soft at first. Like he doesn't trust himself to say it louder.
"Said I didn't make any sense when I tried to tell him what had happened. That he'd been gone. I... Snapped. Lunged at him because I wasn't sure if it was him or some trick. We'd just arrived here and I was in my old tactical gear."
He sets down the forceps, giving the wound one last clean out with saline before he begins carefully pinching the skin back together, assessing if this is a stitches job or if he needed to get the medical staples.
"He's always been stronger than me. And I guess... He didn't think I was real."
He smiles, but it's thin, tight. Sad. He doesn't yet know that to Montgomery's eyes, with his ability to detect magic and strangeness and with the Veil absent, he'd lit up on his radar in a way he never would have before. Of course he hadn't thought this was Gabriel. He hadn't had the benefit of the Veil to help hide away just how fucked his bloodline really was, and just how much closer to monster than human they were.
"I... I regenerate, Horatio. I have to pay a blood price for it, but my wounds close themselves over time. Makes me a nightmare to kill, when I've got access to it. I stopped fighting."
He picks up a fresh needle, and starts attaching fresh sutures.
Horatio's initial thought is: Who didn't think he was real? For a brief moment he thinks Gabe is talking about one of Felfri's Fog followers - try saying that three times fast, he amends, wryly - and then he realizes exactly what's being explained to him.
"Fuck."
The curse comes out as a pained sigh. After having seen Gabe grieve Monty's disappearance the way he had, talking him out of putting himself through death after death until nothing hurt anymore ... Horatio can only imagine how much all of this must have stung.
"I don't blame you for not trusting seeing him, not after the shit that's been pulled on us in the past. And if you were in your gear... Christ, that must've been like taking the partition out of a betta fish tank." When Gabe pinches the wound closed and explains the regeneration, it's six of one and half a dozen of the other on which is making Horatio wince in pain.
"So you just let him beat you up?" Something about that really makes him upset, and not in the sad sort of way. He can feel his jaw clenching again already. He wants to ask if some twisted part of Gabe thought he deserved it because of all the shit his old man beat into his head ... but that wasn't the sort of thing you said when someone, dumb as they were in some ways, was in the act of poking a needle through your open wound.
It’s snapped out. Defensive. He tugs the next suture a little too hard, inadvertently, then curses.
“I stopped to… Try and de-escalate. To see if I could talk him down and explain what was going on, once I realised he was real.”
He’s quiet for a long, drawn out moment as he continues closing the wound, trying to figure out how to word it. It’s not a case of him blaming Monty. After the hydra, the doppelgangers - Montgomery being wary of things that resemble him in strange situations was fair after he’d taken a death as a result of the hydra, for one thing.
“Monty didn’t. He didn’t stop until I was-”
He doesn’t say nearly dead, instead choosing to cut himself off.
He hisses briefly at that tug on the suture, but bites off the sound so quickly that it might not even be heard. He lets Gabe work in silence, knowing that this must be difficult to talk about at all, let alone while doing delicate stitches.
When Gabe does speak again, he doesn't have to say that Monty almost killed him. Horatio knows them both well enough to figure it out: that neither of them would have pulled any punches in moments of fury and high emotion. And this was quite possibly the worst-case scenario for both.
"Nice work," he says first, in regard to the stitches. "I'm guessing he was too pissed off to even listen."
It's a simple enough statement. He doesn't simply mean angry - the sort of angry that he's sure both of them have experienced in their lives. He means berserk, the rage more typically associated with warriors from the viking time period. Gabriel doesn't remember it was what Montgomery had when they were hunters. The relentless fury that only really stopped when what he was attacking was dead.
"I don't think he was even capable of listening."
He swabs antiseptic across the wound, snapping off the gloves and grabs some gauze.
"Unfortunately my clan regenerate our injuries incredibly quickly. No matter how much damage he did - even what should have been fatal - I couldn't die."
"Jesus." It's a huff of breath, either from the description of the fight, the sting of the antiseptic, or both. Likely both. Horatio shakes his head, wincing a little. He knows how stubborn both men are, and how very little they do things like Talk About Their Feelings. Or even apologize. Add in the fact that they're in Felfri and the way they would have been Before, and well ... this is looking like a hellscape that he's going to stay on the very edge of if at all possible.
He winds gauze about Horatio's arm, pinning it in place with a safety pin.
"Stay in the cave an hour or two, take that off after that. The Fog should heal it enough to leave it to the air. Pull the stitches out in 24 hours."
The fight had... Not gone, at least.
"He... Stopped. Suddenly."
Gabe had been halfway through begging for his heart to give out before he'd stopped, like he'd realised what was going on. He had vague memories of being dragged to a cave, of trying to shove Montgomery away in blind panic as he'd started patching him up. It had ended with Monty disappearing and coming back with a not insubstantial amount of alcohol and some painkillers to help him pass out until everything stopped hurting.
"Patched me up. Like he'd snapped out of it, I guess. I... Didn't stay. I didn't feel safe."
"Got it." The medical instructions need no elaboration - he's no stranger to this sort of thing by any means, even with the Fog's healing to account for. Now that his wound's under control, his full attention is on the damage done to both of his "dads". Even if what happened didn't seem to sit well with Gabe, Horatio relaxes a little at the end of the story.
"Snapping out of it, though, that's a good sign." He flexed his arm gingerly, testing the range of motion in the bandage and stopping the instant he felt it begin to resist. "Knowing you two, it's probably just a matter of time before he says something or just plain acts like nothing even happened."
"I... Don't want him to just act like nothing happened."
It seems a simple enough statement, but there's a massive reluctance there. Discomfort. Like he's admitting weakness.
"It's... It wasn't okay. It isn't okay."
Then, far more quietly:
"I'm not okay with that. I love him, but... I can't keep apologising when I've done something wrong and having nothing in return. I deserve more than that. I think I deserve more than that."
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no subject
He relaxes his jaw, even going so far as to give it a flex and stretch from side to side to undo the tension, watching Gabe work. He doesn't need to assess or check the man's work - he knows he's good - it's more the idle curiosity of someone who likes watching a craftsman.
"Yeah, sure I can, smartass, but even if it takes longer, I still run outta juice. Eventually I have to slug it out like the rest of the rabble. ... What about that shiner?" He tips his head a little to indicate one of Gabe's bruises. "Someone get a little too unruly when their chip came out?"
He knows Monty is back, of course. He just ... would never make that sort of connection.
no subject
But... He didn't know how to deal with it. He didn't know how to broach the topic with Montgomery over text and he was frankly... Scared to try it face to face. What if he snapped? What if Montgomery snapped? It was too much. There were too many variables he couldn't control.
"...He didn't think I was real."
It's so soft at first. Like he doesn't trust himself to say it louder.
"Said I didn't make any sense when I tried to tell him what had happened. That he'd been gone. I... Snapped. Lunged at him because I wasn't sure if it was him or some trick. We'd just arrived here and I was in my old tactical gear."
He sets down the forceps, giving the wound one last clean out with saline before he begins carefully pinching the skin back together, assessing if this is a stitches job or if he needed to get the medical staples.
"He's always been stronger than me. And I guess... He didn't think I was real."
He smiles, but it's thin, tight. Sad. He doesn't yet know that to Montgomery's eyes, with his ability to detect magic and strangeness and with the Veil absent, he'd lit up on his radar in a way he never would have before. Of course he hadn't thought this was Gabriel. He hadn't had the benefit of the Veil to help hide away just how fucked his bloodline really was, and just how much closer to monster than human they were.
"I... I regenerate, Horatio. I have to pay a blood price for it, but my wounds close themselves over time. Makes me a nightmare to kill, when I've got access to it. I stopped fighting."
He picks up a fresh needle, and starts attaching fresh sutures.
"He didn't."
no subject
"Fuck."
The curse comes out as a pained sigh. After having seen Gabe grieve Monty's disappearance the way he had, talking him out of putting himself through death after death until nothing hurt anymore ... Horatio can only imagine how much all of this must have stung.
"I don't blame you for not trusting seeing him, not after the shit that's been pulled on us in the past. And if you were in your gear... Christ, that must've been like taking the partition out of a betta fish tank." When Gabe pinches the wound closed and explains the regeneration, it's six of one and half a dozen of the other on which is making Horatio wince in pain.
"So you just let him beat you up?" Something about that really makes him upset, and not in the sad sort of way. He can feel his jaw clenching again already. He wants to ask if some twisted part of Gabe thought he deserved it because of all the shit his old man beat into his head ... but that wasn't the sort of thing you said when someone, dumb as they were in some ways, was in the act of poking a needle through your open wound.
no subject
It’s snapped out. Defensive. He tugs the next suture a little too hard, inadvertently, then curses.
“I stopped to… Try and de-escalate. To see if I could talk him down and explain what was going on, once I realised he was real.”
He’s quiet for a long, drawn out moment as he continues closing the wound, trying to figure out how to word it. It’s not a case of him blaming Monty. After the hydra, the doppelgangers - Montgomery being wary of things that resemble him in strange situations was fair after he’d taken a death as a result of the hydra, for one thing.
“Monty didn’t. He didn’t stop until I was-”
He doesn’t say nearly dead, instead choosing to cut himself off.
“He stopped eventually.”
no subject
When Gabe does speak again, he doesn't have to say that Monty almost killed him. Horatio knows them both well enough to figure it out: that neither of them would have pulled any punches in moments of fury and high emotion. And this was quite possibly the worst-case scenario for both.
"Nice work," he says first, in regard to the stitches. "I'm guessing he was too pissed off to even listen."
no subject
It's a simple enough statement. He doesn't simply mean angry - the sort of angry that he's sure both of them have experienced in their lives. He means berserk, the rage more typically associated with warriors from the viking time period. Gabriel doesn't remember it was what Montgomery had when they were hunters. The relentless fury that only really stopped when what he was attacking was dead.
"I don't think he was even capable of listening."
He swabs antiseptic across the wound, snapping off the gloves and grabs some gauze.
"Unfortunately my clan regenerate our injuries incredibly quickly. No matter how much damage he did - even what should have been fatal - I couldn't die."
no subject
"So how'd it actually end?"
no subject
"Stay in the cave an hour or two, take that off after that. The Fog should heal it enough to leave it to the air. Pull the stitches out in 24 hours."
The fight had... Not gone, at least.
"He... Stopped. Suddenly."
Gabe had been halfway through begging for his heart to give out before he'd stopped, like he'd realised what was going on. He had vague memories of being dragged to a cave, of trying to shove Montgomery away in blind panic as he'd started patching him up. It had ended with Monty disappearing and coming back with a not insubstantial amount of alcohol and some painkillers to help him pass out until everything stopped hurting.
"Patched me up. Like he'd snapped out of it, I guess. I... Didn't stay. I didn't feel safe."
no subject
"Snapping out of it, though, that's a good sign." He flexed his arm gingerly, testing the range of motion in the bandage and stopping the instant he felt it begin to resist. "Knowing you two, it's probably just a matter of time before he says something or just plain acts like nothing even happened."
no subject
"I... Don't want him to just act like nothing happened."
It seems a simple enough statement, but there's a massive reluctance there. Discomfort. Like he's admitting weakness.
"It's... It wasn't okay. It isn't okay."
Then, far more quietly:
"I'm not okay with that. I love him, but... I can't keep apologising when I've done something wrong and having nothing in return. I deserve more than that. I think I deserve more than that."