The Right Question 11: Presence

[madimpossibledreamer]

i hate driving to the airport. so much.

Main Points:
Crusade (The Right Question) Dialoguefic
Chapter Summary: Gideon and Galen share a quiet moment.
Word Count: 1184
Rating: Teen

        It’s rare that Galen’s here during a quiet moment.  Gideon has heard some of his crew members calling the technomage all sorts of names, worried that his mere presence brings disaster and death.  So far, the Captain’s glare and presence seem to be quieting them down, but only while he’s there.  It’s unfortunate, but he can’t do much to argue against it, given past history, although this time the quiet lull seems to be holding. 
        He’s grateful, though.  Galen always seems to sense when he’s needed, and Matthew does need him, at least emotionally.  He’s been staring into space too long, thinking about drifting out there, in the cold of space, half convinced he would die out there.  Galen’s presence is grounding, even as he stands there, motionless, silent, practically just standing vigil with him, and it’s that which prompts him to ask his next question.  “Would you leave, if I asked?”
        Of course, the technomage understands his specific question, the underlying currents.  He makes no move to come closer, but the weight of Galen’s gaze still feels physical.  Reassuring.  “Physically, I would, though not happily.  Metaphysically, my thoughts are often here.  But I promised to be there when you need me, and I would not break that promise, even for your request.”  That should anger Gideon.  He should see it as the man being a stalker.  But, more than anything, Galen understands that Matthew needs the assurance he won’t be abandoned, even if, in a fit of pique, he sends the technomage away.
        He nods.  “Thank you.”
        Galen chuckles.  “You need not thank me for doing something I’m already inclined to do, Matthew.  I may be in exile, but a technomage does what they wish, and you are no exception.”  Gideon’s tempted to laugh that off, but Galen, as if sensing this, continues.  “You seem to be under some sort of misapprehension that I was not being honest about your abilities.  Your style of leadership is a type of magic, just as my holograms and homunculi.  The team you have gathered follows you and believes in your goals because you do.  It’s no mere stage magic.”
        Matthew blinks, staring at his hands.  “I don’t have a clue how, though…” he whispers, the technomage’s enhanced hearing picking that up without too much effort.
        “Ah, but mystery is part of the blueprint of magic,” he states warmly, and he merely laughs as Gideon glares.  He’s teasing.  “Though I suppose I could spare you a hint.  It’s no single quality, no specific variable.” 
        He isn’t usually this introspective.  Isn’t usually this pessimistic.  It’s thinking back on how helpless he’d felt that has him so insecure.  “And what happens if I disappoint you?  If I let everyone down?”
        Galen breathes in deeply, finally coming to stand by Matthew’s side, close enough to touch.  He doesn’t come any closer, doesn’t actually clap Gideon on the back or put a reassuring hand on the Captain’s arm, but it still feels perfect, like something just slotted into place.  Like he’s right where he belongs.  “I suppose I’ll give you three, on this occasion.  Possible, I suppose, for others, by virtue of who they are.  Not, I think, for you, by virtue of who you are.  As for everyone else, I think we can pull off a miracle.  Don’t you?”  The tone is light, casual, but the compelling look and sheer faith the man has is pretty convincing.  “I am putting my not inconsiderable powers to the problem, and I am not the only one.  You have a number of highly intelligent, competent men and women at your disposal.”
        As he speaks, Gideon’s insecurities evaporate one by one, as if by magic, and at the very end Galen’s smile grows impish.  “I’ll be there to catch you when you drift.”  He’d wrapped that around back to the first question of today.  If he’d bother, Gideon suspects the results of most games of intelligence would be very similar to the card games.  Sure, his little plan of intriguing the technomage with asking questions like dangling bait was going well, but he’s under no illusions that Galen probably knows what he’s doing and even, to some extent, why, and is simply going along with it anyway.  Maybe because he, too, finds the game amusing, maybe for reasons of his own, maybe curiosity is too strong a pull to ignore obvious bait. 
        His thanks had already been ignored, and there’s no point in repeating himself when Galen stubbornly insists on refusing to accept it.  He wants to reach out, to pull the man into a hug, but he’s also noticed how little the man likes touch and doesn’t want to overstep his boundaries.  But he wants to repay Galen somehow—and he suddenly has a flash of insight on how.
        “I trust you,” he says suddenly, sure that Galen will understand that it’s a new answer to a question that’s gone unanswered for far too long.  Not fully; they both know that.  He’s more sure than ever Galen suspects something about the Box and disapproves just as strongly as the Box disapproves of Galen.  Galen, meanwhile, has proven that he’s not above using Gideon for his own purposes, as well.  But he does trust the technomage more than he trusts anyone else.
        The quiet inhale says that it was the perfect choice.  “That might be considered a mistake,” he warns quietly, no trace of his usual amusement in his tone.
        “I know.  You already proved that much, and I thought about it, a lot.  Whether I’d made a mistake.  Whether I should just tell you to leave and never come back.  Whether I was making another, putting our lives and our mission in jeopardy by letting you return.  I went with my gut, because after everything, I still trust you.  I still think we’ll need you before this is all over, and I’d miss you if I didn’t see you now and then.”  If he does end up dying through all of this, he knows Galen will never forgive either of them.  He knows he might just be signing them both up for heartbreak, rather than keeping Galen at a distance.  Sure, that might tip him off something’s wrong, but it might just hurt a little less.  He can’t bring himself to do that, though.  Maybe it’s selfish.  “I don’t regret it.”
        Galen holds his gaze, solemnly accepting Gideon’s words with the weight they deserve.  “As long as it’s a mistake you won’t regret.”  He can’t quite manage the casual tone this time, but it’s fine.  The Captain won’t call him on it.  “You should know I can never quite bring myself to regret you, either.”
        He doesn’t regret the choice he’d made, saving Gideon’s life or getting exiled, despite the slightly wistful tone he’d taken the once when talking about other technomages, missing the community, probably, more than their stubborn refusal to get involved.  “I think I can live with that.”
        Galen smiles, but makes no move to leave, for once.  “That is the point.”  He just stands there, a steady, comforting presence.