( waverlycardoso )
The thing about Gabriel Simmons is that he’s a rare giver in a world full of takers. Waverly has always had her apprehensions regarding the former ( everyone wanted something, didn’t they? ), but when she’s caught red-handed shoving a science textbook into her rucksack and isn’t immediately tossed on her ass, she has to assume there’s some semblance of genuine decency there. And so, she keeps coming back, partly to take advantage of his goodwill and partly out of a cynical strain of curiosity — just how long can someone stay a giver nowadays?
“Hate to disappoint you, Gabe, but that feel-good special isn’t on today’s roster. Least not till we get the friendship bracelets out of the way.” She’s smiling, in spite of herself, something small and surprisingly genuine as she flips through the worn pages of a lab manual. It’s like she’s handling a relic of a past life just then; she remembers having once aspired to a career in anthropology, a field where she could dabble in both past and present, combing through centuries worth of history and unearthing with science what had been lost in the sands of time. Her mother had put it best when she’d said, ‘You ask too many questions, linda. You’re never satisfied with what’s right in front of you.’ Perhaps Doroteia had been right on that front: she’d spent so long picking and prodding at all the stitches holding her life together that one day she’d just pulled at one too many seams in the design and the whole damn thing had unraveled.
Waverly snaps the book shut, smile waning. Regret’s a pointless emotion.
She crosses her arms and cranes her head to catch a glimpse of what Gabriel’s working on at his station. “Don’t think I won’t hold you to that. What are you working on, anyway? Finding a way to turn the not-so-dead into wine or something?”
HE’S NOT DISAPPOINTED, and truthfully, he doesn’t think he could ever be truly disappointed with waverly. sarcasm and jokes aside, there’s a softness within the raider, something hidden behind thick walls built for self-defense. gabriel, of course, understand that. he’s been there, he’s lived the life of a hardened survivor. the only difference ? well, it took an outbreak for him to learn to break those walls down — to accept softness as a sign of strength. most, however, learned in more conventional ways that better fit the role of SURVIVOR. & gabriel ? well, perhaps he was meant to live life moving in opposite directions, only making connections to those he passed by on his way to the other side — those moving towards and through the darkness.
❝ oh, darn ! ❞ he says with faux-disdain. he does not mind, not in the slightest. just the time spent here with waverly is enough. moments of giving, moments of pure connection — he doesn’t mind. ❝ well, i guess i’ll have to get the supplies for the friendship bracelets before your next visit to my little library. ❞ it reminded him of his youth — being sent away to camp, mosquito bites, arts and crafts, s’mores. oh, how he missed the simplicities of life ! he remembered wearing friendship bracelets given to him by girls that would give him strawberry lip-gloss flavored kisses, boys that would make promises to write to him long after camp was done.
fingers continue to tinker absentmindedly with wires — he did wish that she held him to that promise. though, the more he thought about it, the more he came to the conclusion that there was no need to. gabriel was here to stay, for good this time. he was sick of running, sick of hiding. he had already promised himself that he would be here with his little tavern of wonders until the day he died. ❝ oh, this ol’ thing ? ❞ he questions, hands GENTLY picking up the electronic and moving it around for her to get a better look. ❝ it’s not much, really. it’s a thermal imaging camera. i found it at a fire station a couple miles out. looks pretty broken up and there’s no batteries, but i think i can get it back up and working if i try hard enough. ❞ he pauses, looking up to waverly. ❝ not as interesting as your thing, though. ❞
