When: Two years and three months ago - about three months before Gael’s death.
Who: @gabrielismss
Quiet nights like these has Gael counting bullets, checking inventory, and cleaning guns. Adrian’s wrapped up in Sweetwater and the kids are out. Gael’s commandeered the dining room table, taken everything out of the cupboards and laid it all out like some jigsaw puzzle. He likes the steady rhythm of the wiping down the metal; only really trusts himself and Adrian to double check their equipment, make sure everything is accounted for and secure. This is, after all, how you keep a family safe.
A vinyl turns on the player, something other than Led Zeppelin - because IV and Physical Graffiti and II are reserved for when Adrian is happy and for when Adrian is sad and nothing else. Tonight the Castillo-Fiori home is filled with the raw and avant-garde notes of The Velvet Underground. Gael likes their grit. The smell of gun oil wipes permeates the air, make the whole place smell like metal and whatever citrus thing the makers add to try and mask the grease (it doesn’t work.) Gael’s given up on trying to get it out of any of their clothes years ago.
The courtesy ding of the alarm from the front gate is what gets Gael to stop cleaning a glock - gets him to pay attention. This is too early anyone to be home. Sweetwater doesn’t close for another hour and hell would freeze over before Adrian closed early. And in what world did his daughter abandon a party before the sun was up? By Gemma’s standards they were fairly squarely in “pregame hours.” He waits for the tell-tale click of the back the door to follow. When it comes, Gael pushes himself away from the table.
It’s Gabe. Gabe sans Gemma. A rare thing to see. “Hey, you okay?” Gael tries to keep his voice from sounding too stern, too demanding - he tries to keep the worry from doing all the talking. Parenting. He's trying. He's never quite gotten the hang of it with Gabe, despite all the years. “I thought you were with your sister. Where is she?”