Chapter Text
“—and just when we were about to give up on getting the car to start, that’s when Princess Gal over here has the nerve to get off his ass and say, ‘wait a sec, guys, let me try!’”
The poker table erupted into laughter. Some of it was directed at the story, but most of it was aimed at Princess Gal. His poker face stayed intact while he took a drag from his cigarette, looking over his cards as he chimed in.
“In my defense, you guys seemed pretty confident you had everything handled,” Gallagher said, thumbing his pile of chips before taking a stack and tossing them at the center of the table.
“I’m doubling.”
Siobhan neatly swept the chips into the pot as she continued her story.
“So there we are, cranky and exhausted and ready to tear out each other’s throats. We’re all watching Gal like vultures as he walks around the car. He looks at the wheels, then looks at the engine—and then he goes, ‘Misha, don’t hate me for this one, okay?’ and before he can say anything—BAM!” Siobhan pounded her fist on the table as she roared, “The bastard kicked the radiator grill hard enough to leave this huge dent, and suddenly, the engine turned over! Just like that! Y’all should have seen the look on Misha’s face!”
“It was a brand new car!” Mikhail interjected unhappily, making a noise of frustration as he threw his hand down to forfeit. “And I’d already tried percussive maintenance before Gal dented the radiator!”
“Clearly not percussive enough,” Tiernan laughed, shaking his head before focusing on the table.
At this point of the round, only Tiernan and Gallagher were left playing. The men wordlessly faced off from opposite sides of the poker table; it was a true gambling game now—one where a good bluff could win the whole pot.
With this idea in mind, Tiernan raised twice, but Gallagher matched without blinking.
Starting to sweat silently, Tiernan glanced between his dwindling chips and his stone-faced opponent. Gallagher was impossible to read, almost looking bored as he took another drag, so Tiernan took his chances and bluffed.
“Y’know, you’re gonna wanna back out on this one.”
“Uhuh.”
“I’m serious, Gallagher.” Tiernan hoped using his full name would be enough to convince him, but the other man clearly wasn’t swayed. Tiernan huffed. All he had left was gambling on Gallagher playing cool about a hand even worse than what he was holding.
Steeling himself for the outcome, Tiernan declared, “Alright then, let’s see it!”
The cards went down, and again, the table erupted into a ruckus. All the levity from Siobhan’s story was replaced by groans of frustration. Gallagher swept the pot towards his corner of the table with a satisfied smirk, adding a moat to his castle of chips.
“Are you kidding me? That’s the third hand in a row!” Tiernan cried, jabbing a finger at Siobhan. “This has got to be rigged! Are you even shuffling these cards, Sisi?!”
“I guarantee you, the deck’s shuffled. Gal’s just got wicked luck,” Siobhan replied blandly. Gallagher was a regular guest at her table; she was already used to him sweeping the competition.
“Ugh… No more, please…” There was a despondent thump as Misha’s head dropped to his arm. “As soon as Gallagher starts playing, there’s no winning, I swear,” he sulked, picking up his drink to see that it was already finished.
“Now, now, don’t be a sore loser.” Razalina offered him a sympathetic back rub. “Cheer up. You’ve done well for a beginner!”
“Razz, that’s the last thing a man wants to hear,” Siobhan chuckled.
Tiernan was halfway through counting his chips to see how much he had left to wager before declaring, “Alright, princess, one more round!”
Gallagher had been silently nursing his own drink and finishing his cigarette, a far-off look in his eyes before Tiernan got his attention. He came back to the moment with a blink, putting on another smirk as he put out his cig in the ashtray.
“Fine, fine, one more round. All in?”
“All in,” Tiernan agreed, pushing his meager pile to the center of the table. Gallagher didn’t bother trying to move his colorful fortress, simply reaching over its walls to pick up the cards that Siobhan tossed down for them.
There was always a moment, here. A spark of hope. The desire for a challenge, for a struggle, for something other than the easy victory that had come to him so effortlessly thus far.
The moment he laid eyes on the cards properly, that small light in Gallagher’s eyes died out.
“Ohoho. Oho! Alright, alright. I’m all in for this one, and…” Tiernan lifted his wrist to unsnap the clasp on his wristwatch.
“Aww, T, c’mon,” Gallagher sighed, trying to stop Tiernan from embarrassing himself.
“I’m betting my watch, two-thousand cash, and my VIP tickets to the game tomorrow night.” The hefty golden jewelry hit the table with a thud as Tiernan proudly puffed up his chest. “How’s that sound, Gal? Think I’m bluffing on this one?”
Gallagher sighed again, then looked up at his opponent, evaluating him evenly.
Tiernan wasn’t normally the blustery type, but he always ended up running his mouth after three or four drinks. In Gallagher’s mind, it was safe to say that Tiernan was one hundred percent confident in his hand, whatever it was.
Gallagher’s eyes brushed over Razalina, who was looking at him without expectation. He glanced at Misha, who was trading back his few remaining chips. His gaze dropped to his cards, then, and Gallagher stared at them.
Something akin to scorn started bubbling up inside of him.
“...y’know what, T?” Gallagher chuckled mirthlessly, tossing his cards face-down. “You play a mean game of poker. You’re makin’ me shiver in my seat over here. I give up! No need to make a fool of myself when you’re putting your balls on the line.” To fulfill his end of the lost bet, Gallagher took out his wallet with the intention of meeting the dollar value of everything Tiernan had put up. It was probably around three-thousand dollars, total… or maybe four?
“What, you’re not gonna show?” Tiernan goaded, clearly excited at the prospect of finally winning. “C’mon, let’s do this right! Show us what you got, princess!”
“Nah. Siobhan.” Gallagher waved his hand in a dismissive fashion. Siobhan responded to the gesture with ease, grabbing his cards and shuffling them into the deck before Tiernan could try revealing them.
“Hey! C’mon, Sisi, that’s not fair! I wanted to see what he had!”
“You can still show your hand if you want to,” Siobhan appeased, waving Tiernan off. He continued to complain even as Gallagher stood up from the table and tossed a wad of cash in front of his castle of chips.
“Here, one thousand for the watch and tickets. That’s everything I’ve still got on me. I’ll have the other two thousands for you next time,” Gallagher said, keeping his tone light as he tried to wrap this up quickly.
“Next time? Buddy, I don’t think there’s gonna be a next time. Who wants to play a rigged game, especially when you act like an ass about it?” Tiernan growled.
Gallagher tried not to look caught off-guard by the harsh accusation, a smile plastering itself to his face as he braced himself. Tiernan could be hot-headed on a good day, but boozed up and robbed of a clear-cut victory, he was like a hound out for blood.
“I bet you tossed that hand deliberately, didn’t you?” He jabbed a finger at Gallagher’s chest. “Hah! I get it now! You got greedy and didn’t want to get caught cheating, so you thought losing would be your best move. Well, here!” Tiernan angrily threw down his hand: a straight flush. “I was gonna win, bastard. You should’ve just let me win!”
“Tiernan, that’s enough,” Razalina scolded him.
Siobhan followed up with a joke to try to clear the air. “Yeah, I’m not letting you have any Conspiracy Theory in your drinks anymore. It’s making you way too bitter. This is just a game, remember?”
She clapped Tiernan on the shoulder and shook him gently. “How about I mix something on the house for you, T? I’ll make a Soothing Soda on the rocks, that way you’re not totally loaded up driving home.”
“Hmph! Whatever,” Tiernan fumed, shaking off Siobhan’s hand. Thankfully, he had blown off enough steam that he obediently followed her to the bar when she patted his shoulder again.
As Siobhan took care of Tiernan and Razalina scraped Misha off the poker table in a half-asleep daze, Gallagher found himself alone and full of regret for playing that last round.
He should have cashed out and made an excuse to leave. Instead, Tiernan had built himself up for disappointment, and Gallagher had been the unwilling victim of his own good luck. Again.
It wasn’t like he even wanted to win all the time. Even when he knew there was no way he’d swayed the outcome, it still hurt to be accused of cheating. He was just trying to have a good time, too. Sure, he felt bad for Tiernan—the guy had put one hundred percent of his confidence into the belief that he was going to win—
Unfortunately, even in poker, straight confidence couldn’t beat a royal flush.
***
…and so, after leaving Siobhan’s bar, Gallagher went home and slept, Sunday wrote.
He picked up a wooden block from where it rested on a pad of golden ink and stamped the end of the page. The ink shimmered before fading to black, absorbing Sunday’s blessing and serving as an attestation that he had recorded the truth.
The day’s entry was thus sealed with a lie, and the guardian angel slowly closed the increasingly fraudulent diary of Gallagher’s life.
Sunday’s hand rested on the cover for a moment longer than necessary, fingers tracing the golden letters of Gallagher’s name as he committed himself to his next action. He had already lied—whether he took advantage of it or not was immaterial to the fact that he committed the sin of deception, so he might as well indulge to the fullest, right…?
He couldn't remember when such insidious thoughts had become so easy.
In the silence of his office, with the beautiful sound of Xipe’s choir leaking through the walls, Sunday sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. He didn’t have much time.
“Oh, Triple-Faced Soul,” he uttered softly, still touching Gallagher’s diary. “Please allow me YOUR grace and give me new eyes, that I could see my charge as a feather on his shoulder.”
Xipe answered his prayer, the sound of THEIR choir swelling in his ears. The room around him melted away, and his consciousness was transplanted into the mortal realm.
“Ah, shit. Forgot to pick up more beer,” a voice muttered nearby.
Sunday blinked the haze away from his eyes like waking from a dream, and smiled at what he saw.
Gallagher, very much still awake, was inspecting the empty contents of his fridge.
“Should put that on a list before I forget… Where’s a damn pen when you need it?”
Sunday de-coupled himself from Gallagher’s shoulder, floating in the center of the kitchenette where he had spawned. He watched as the man puttered around his apartment, fruitlessly searching for a writing utensil.
For benign things like this, guardian angels were allowed to nudge humans in the right direction, so Sunday drifted over to the couch and hovered next to it. Though humans couldn’t see or hear their angels, they could still faintly detect their presence through an underdeveloped sixth sense, and that was enough to guide Gallagher to look at the couch—then underneath it—and victoriously scribble beer on the pad of paper sitting next to his fridge.
It was such a small thing, but Sunday felt an inkling of joy being the reason behind Gallagher’s success, whether he realized the angel’s help or not.
The coffee machine beeped, attracting two sets of eyes. Sunday could smell the complex aroma filling the apartment. The angel trailed behind Gallagher as he walked to and fro, pouring himself a mug and taking it back to the couch. Gallagher flopped down and got comfortable as Sunday circled him slowly, lifting his heels to lay on an imaginary chaise while observing the man at rest.
Here, in the privacy of Gallagher’s apartment, seemingly alone—
Here, as Sunday’s wings gently unfurled to encircle them in their own little world—
Gallagher smiled, and Sunday smiled with him.
He should not be so attached to the mortal. He should not be so fascinated with this man. He should not have committed two separate sins against the Order of Ena just to get closer to him.
Yet when Gallagher stared into the middle distance where Sunday hovered, his searching gaze pierced the angel with guilty satisfaction.
Sunday knew that—according to the heavenly principles—what he was doing was wrong. Lying about the end of Gallagher’s day so he could steal these moments alone was selfish and wrong. Pretending that he could be perceived (or should he dare, appreciated) by his mortal charge was foolish and selfish and wrong.
“Hmm,” Gallager mused to himself, closing his eyes again. “Y’know… Whoever’s watchin’, do me a favor, would you?”
The angel’s wings fluttered with delight. “Of course. Anything,” Sunday answered, though the murmur of his voice was only a creak to the human’s ears.
“...Let Tiernan win next time, alright? I kinda like hanging out with those guys. I don’t wanna get thrown out for cheatin’ when I’m innocent. So, stack the deck in his favor next time, ‘kay?”
Sunday considered the request silently, his eyes lidding. Although he didn’t verbally reply—not that Gallagher could hear the reply—the deed was as good as done.
As if sensing this, or perhaps acting out of wishful thinking, Gallagher took a deep sip of his coffee and closed his eyes, smiling to the empty room around him.
“Thanks.”
Sunday’s chest swelled with warmth that crawled up his throat and strangled him with desire.
He wanted to hear more of Gallagher’s hearth-crackle voice, he wanted to feel those rough calluses on his perfect angel skin. What had been innocent had long become indecent and greedy, constantly craving more and more of what he was never supposed to have in the first place.
Even this—the quiet bliss of Gallagher enjoying a late cup of coffee—was not meant for him, and was abruptly interrupted as Sunday’s heavenly body heard a knock on his office door.