"Then for what," he asked, his voice cold enough to frost the air between them, "if not for you?"
Damian's lips parted, but no easy answer came. He didn't look away, though, just let the silence stretch between them like a tether straining between two cliff edges, both too stubborn to fall.
Then, after a moment, softer, quieter, but not less firm:
"For our child," he said. "Let Gregoris and Alexander handle it."
Gabriel's eyes narrowed; he hated how capable Damian was. Hated how calm he remained, how easily he could thread words together like silk and steel and loop them around Gabriel's throat, soft enough to sound like care, firm enough to control him.
He hated that it worked.
Because Damian didn't raise his voice. Didn't beg or demand or plead. He just knew how to hold him, not physically, no, but where it mattered.
