#I've got several ideas for the last panel but decided to make it an open ending <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[zu-is-here]

A quiet time

Baby Anko and his parents :3 Axel being a good dad(mom)

I couldn't resist @zu-is-here and @groovygladiatorsheep >3<

Aim belongs to @zu-is-here

Anko by @groovygladiatorsheep

[retrogradedreaming]

18 from the "ways to say I love you" meme for 06 and 22 (Firebreak) 😶

Ahhh sorry it's taking me so long to get through these, I haven't really been able to write since last week but I am trying!!! (And Kase, I know you're probably more patient in general because we live together but still) I have NO idea how good this is because I've barely written them before but I tried!!

18.  “Here, drink this. You’ll feel better.”

---

Foster knows where the Director keeps the whiskey. She’s snuck into this office enough times and stolen enough things from the expensive mahogany desk that she knows her way around it—maybe even better than the Director herself.

But tonight isn’t about escaping. Tonight, 22 is back in his bed, coughing so much that no one is getting any sleep, no matter how hard he tries to muffle them into his flat pillow. Salazar already snapped at him twice, even though everyone knows that won’t make him stop. Maybe it’s that this illness is so unfamiliar to them all—sure, all of them have had middle of the night coughing fits, but it’s rare that they happen because of the flu rather than a collapsed lung. Foster is almost more scared for her friend now than she would be if his body were rejecting his lungs altogether. At least she knows what happens then.

Medical had sent him back to the huge room where all of the operatives sleep, claiming that after a week in quarantine, he’s no longer contagious. But he sounds contagious, and he looks like shit, and Foster isn’t convinced that the Medical staff really know how to handle ailments like this. At fifteen, she’s seen them fuck up too many times to trust them with something so simple.

Which is why she’s now in the Director’s office in the middle of the night, taking matters into her own hands. The Director’s office isn’t as big as the training rooms or the sleeping bay, but it’s still enormous for just one person. At the back, there’s a shelf with several packages of cookies, all but one open, and the crumbs littering the Director’s desk say that the operatives aren’t the only ones who eat them. A filing cabinet sits in the opposite corner behind the desk, and Foster knows that the bottom drawer holds things that have nothing to do with the Director’s paperwork.

But that isn’t where the whiskey lives.

Foster knows by now how to apply the right amount of pressure to the desk drawer to make it pop open without breaking it (she’s made that mistake before). Inside is a collection of snacks and knick knacks, but Foster digs for the panel beneath it all, lifting it to reveal the glass bottle half full of amber liquid laid on its side.

She pulls it out and sets it on the desk where she’s laid out the rest of the ingredients. She’s pretty sure she got them all, based on how she saw the Director make this last winter. And anything is better than letting 22 suffer.

She managed to steal a glass from the kitchen along with the lemon, honey, and cinnamon. She’ll get the water on the way back, from one of the water fountains. As she sets it and her ingredients on the Director’s desk, preparing to make her concoction, she realizes she’s run into a problem. While she knows what goes into the drink, she has no idea how much of anything to put in.

It doesn’t matter, she decides in the end. She’ll figure it out.

She uncaps the whiskey and pours it into the glass until it’s about half full. Then, she tears the lemon in half and squeezes it into the glass. The honey is a bit more difficult, owing to the fact that she forgot to steal a spoon, and she doesn’t have time to rummage through the Director’s desk to find another. So she tips the jar, partway full with partially crystallized honey, on its side, waiting for the sticky substance to creep close enough to the opening that she can scoop it out with her fingers. She licks them afterward, savoring the intense sweetness on her tongue as she stirs the mixture with a cinnamon stick.

Distant footsteps reach her ears from down the hall, which means her time is just about up. She knows the security route by now, and she’ll have about five minutes after the guard passes by the door to get herself from the Director’s office back to the sleeping quarters. The timing doesn’t worry her, but she still has to clean up, rubbing away all the lemon juice that missed the glass and mopping up a few drops of spilled whiskey with her sleeve.

She shoves the bottle back into the secret compartment and jams the panel down over it before cramming the remaining ingredients into her pockets, just in case she needs them again later. Before she leaves the office, she leans over the glass to smell it, making a face when the sour bitterness sits at the back of her sinuses.

But last year, the Director had said this helped, and Foster would give 22 her own lungs if they were any less shitty than his. If a gross drink would help him, then she would make sure he fucking drank it.

On her way back, she stops at one of the water fountains to fill the glass the rest of the way. It doesn’t help the smell, and Foster doesn’t dare sample the drink herself. She doesn’t want to have to lie to 22, to tell him it doesn’t taste that bad if she knows it does.

As she slips back into the big room with all their cots lined up, she hears him cough again, a horrible, barking sound that feels like it lasts forever as Foster makes her way across the tile. Soft snores drift from Ayres’s cot—he’s the only one who could possibly sleep through this—along with rustling from Salazar’s, no doubt to make a point rather than to get comfortable. And finally, Foster reaches 22, across from her own bed, huddled beneath the blanket like the room is any colder than it ever is. When she touches his skin, it feels hot, and he jumps as if he hadn’t heard her coming.

“Hey, it’s just me,” she whispers, crouching down beside the bed. “I brought you something.”

22 opens his eyes, and they’re glassy even in the dark. His breathing sounds ragged and shallow, and Foster once again curses the Medical staff for not fixing him. But at least she can keep an eye on him herself now.

He doesn’t say anything, so Foster raises the glass in front of his face. “Here,” she says, offering it to him. “Drink this. You’ll feel better.”

22 pushes himself up into a sitting position, muffling a few more coughs into his sleeve. Foster moves to sit on the mattress beside him and hands him the drink. She’s grateful he can’t smell right now because if he could, he wouldn’t take the first sip.

When he does, he looks like he might spit it right back into the glass. “This is gross,” he rasps with a grimace.

“Yeah, it’s like medicine,” Foster says. “I saw the Director drink it before when she was sick. Just try it.”

“I don’t want it,” 22 says, holding the glass out for Foster to take. She pushes it back toward him.

“No way,” she says. “You have to drink it if you wanna get better.”

22 gives her another skeptical look, but he’s too feverish and exhausted to argue. Instead, he tips the glass back, brow furrowing through another series of swallows until he has to stop to cough again. By the time it’s gone, he looks like he might be sick.

“What was that?” he asks, and Foster is pleased when his voice comes out a little stronger.

“A hot toddy,” she proclaims, taking the glass back to hide under her cot until she can return it to the kitchens. “Did it help?”

“It wasn’t even hot,” he grumbles, burrowing back beneath his blanket with a shiver that ripples through the mattress so that Foster feels it, too. But he doesn’t cough again, and in the time it takes Foster to walk to her own bed, retrieve her blanket, and drape it over him, he’s fallen asleep.

Before she retreats to her own blanketless mattress, Foster whispers, “Not you. Not me.”

[jiveammunition]

Title: I’ve Got You in My Slice - Chapter 5 - The Reaper Comes for Your Rolls!! Pairing: Reaper76 Rating: Teen Tags: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Police, Bad Puns, Fluff, Slow Build, Slow Burn Chapter: 5/? Summary:

“Reaper?” he asked.

“Yeah! Reaper!” Jack got up to fetch his phone from behind the counter, and fiddled with it briefly before sitting back down and showing it to Gabriel. There, on the small screen, was a picture — a bathroom selfie, no less — of Jack with a rather peculiar-looking cat, all black save for white markings on its face that made Gabriel think of a bird’s skull.

After 6 months of waiting, here’s an update for you all. Thank you guys for your patience! <3

Surprisingly, despite the impending barrage of holidays, not much had changed in Gabriel's day-to-day life. As usual, he made sure to go back visit his family the day after Halloween to celebrate Dia de los Muertos — bringing abuelo’s favorite brand of mezcal to drink and leave at the family altar, which he also helped with, and staying the night — as well as on Thanksgiving, when the only particular thing of interest that happened was the turkey exploding in the fryer because his brother-in-law — the husband of his oldest sister, Isabela — hadn't thawed it as completely as he originally thought. Thankfully no one had been injured, nothing had burned down, and his second-oldest sister, Carmen, had the forethought of making another turkey ‘just in case’. But nevertheless, the story was interesting and amusing enough to get a few laughs out of Jack when he told it, which made the Thanksgiving migraine worth it in the end, at least.

“What did you do for Thanksgiving? You spend it with your family too?” Gabriel asked when Jack returned to his table with a refill of coffee in his travel mug.

“Oh, no, it's too expensive and too much of a hassle for me to fly back to Indiana for Thanksgiving. Especially when I'm going to be flying back for Christmas anyway,” Jack replied, shaking his head. “I spent most of Thanksgiving at home with Reaper, before I came here to prep for the Black Friday rush.”

It made sense that Jack had the sense to prep and open the bakery to take advantage of Black Friday and all the people that were out getting their shopping on. If Gabriel remembered properly, Jack even had a sign outside the entire week before, announcing the bakery’s special hours on Thanksgiving and the day after. A part of him wondered how well it went, given the nightmare stories he'd heard from some of his fellow officers about needing to assist certain stores with crowd control — Gabriel himself was on patrol that night — and Jack had to change the store's hours to accommodate his morning rushes and allow for midday baking and restocking. How on earth did Jack manage to handle the floods of people no doubt prowling for early-morning munchies and coffee?

But as Jack hadn't looked all that much worse for the wear, and the store opened without incident the next day, Gabriel decided not to ask. He also wondered when Jack would finally get some help with the store, but also kept his mouth shut, knowing it was a rather touchy subject. As open-minded and keen experimenting with things — baking recipes and the like — Jack was surprisingly stubborn.

Instead, he raised an eyebrow and looked at Jack curiously. “Reaper?” he asked.

“Yeah! Reaper!” Jack got up to fetch his phone from behind the counter, and fiddled with it briefly before sitting back down and showing it to Gabriel. There, on the small screen, was a picture — a bathroom selfie, no less — of Jack with a rather peculiar-looking cat, all black save for white markings on its face that made Gabriel think of a bird’s skull. It was kind of spooky looking, to say the least, and though it certainly fit with Gabriel's aesthetics, for some reason the hairs on his neck stood on end and a shiver of something both strange and familiar ran up his spine.

He didn’t dwell on it for too long, and shook it off as much as he could before handing Jack back his phone. “It certainly looks the part, at least. And I should've known you'd name your cat something punny too, given how much you love your jokes. Don't tell me, it's spelled R-E-A-P-U-R-R?”

Jack merely laughed and shook his head. “As amazing as that spelling would be, no, it's not. I wasn't the one that named him.”

“Oh, you adopted him, then?”

“Something like that. You know how there are a lot of strays that like to hang out in the alley behind the store? Reaper showed up in the bunch one night — the day after Halloween, if I remember right — and just kinda… attached himself to me?” Jack shrugged. “I checked his collar to see if he had an owner, but he only had a nametag on him. I checked for a chip too, but he didn't have one of those, either.”

“Still... You sure it's such a good idea to just take in some random stray like that?” Gabriel asked, recalling some horror stories several years back about someone taking in a stray only to learn the hard way after it died suddenly that it also had rabies.

“Yeah! I took him to the vet to get a quick look at him and got him all up-to-date on shots,” Jack nodded, “Plus, Reaper is a really smart — if a little clingy — cat, he follows me to and from the store every day. Even knows how to use the toilet!”

Just as Gabriel was about to comment about how bizarre that last tidbit was, both his and Jack’s attention were drawn to the front door.

As if on cue, a loud but muffled meow was heard from outside, followed by a light scratching at one of the glass panels. Sure enough, there sat the spitting image of the cat from Jack’s picture, staring into the store as if demanding entrance. Its gaze settled onto Gabriel, and after several moments of staring without blinking — Gabriel could swear the cat was glaring at him or sizing him up — it meowed again and slapped a paw onto the glass. It turned its head towards Jack, and gave one last meow before dropping its paw and sat patiently waiting.

“Oh shit, Reaper!” Jack cursed slightly as he got up from his chair, “You’re not supposed to be out front like that!” He opened the door enough for himself to slip outside and not let the cat in, and picked it up when it appeared to meow at him again. It seemed to settle down in Jack’s arms, at least, and if the look on its face and swishing tail were any indication, it was likely purring like a motor as well.

As amusing as it was to watch from inside as Jack bounced slightly in place while petting the cat in his arms, and apparently scolding it, Gabriel couldn’t say no when Jack nodded at him from outside, beckoning him to go outside. Sighing, Gabriel stood up, taking his mug with him and hiding a few bills underneath the empty plate as payment for the food plus a small tip — something he resorted to doing after Jack kept refusing to accept more than half the normal price of his food due to his ‘guinea pig’ status — before going out to meet Jack’s new kinda-sorta-pet-slash-stalker.

“Reaper, say hi to my friend, Gabriel,” Jack said, turning slightly so the cat was facing him. Reaper gave Gabriel the same kind of soul-piercing stare as it did before, watching him silently until Jack gave it a nudging scratch behind the ear. It purred lowly until Jack’s coddling stopped. Almost reluctantly, it meowed in greeting at Gabriel. When Gabriel reached over to give it a pet, however, Reaper lept out of Jack’s arms and darted away, turning the corner to no doubt disappear into the alleyway.

“Guess he’s not a fan of me,” Gabriel shrugged.

“I wouldn't take it personally. He might just be a little catty around strangers,” Jack ribbed.

“You said he follows you around though, right?” Gabriel asked, pretending like Jack hadn't made any pun at all.

“Are you trying to say I'm strange?” Jack huffed, holding a hand to his chest as if Gabriel had hurt his feelings.

“I didn't say anything,” Gabriel snorted, smirking as he took a sip from his travel mug.

“You're hilarious,” Jack replied, crossing his arms. The look of amusement on his face did nothing to help sell how horribly Gabriel's barb had injured him.

“Anyway,” Gabriel began, looking at his watch, “My shift’s about to start. I'll see you tomorrow.”

He took a few steps forward before he felt a tugging on the back of his jacket.

“Sorry. Hold on a sec,” Jack said. He let go of Gabriel and began rummaging in his apron pocket before fishing out a worn, brown leather wallet and holding it out. “This belongs to Officer McCree. He left it here last night. I texted him to ask for his address so I could drop it off, but he told me to just hand it to you. He's on duty today too, right?”

“Yeah, he is,” Gabriel replied, taking the wallet, and opening it up. Sure enough, there was Jesse's ID, the grin on his portrait even goofier than how Gabriel remembered his last ID picture looked. He tucked the wallet in his breast pocket and began to walk off again before he stopped in his tracks. “Wait. Texted ? Why does McCree have your number?”

“He asked me for it?” Jack shrugged, “I told him I wasn't interested, and he's not my type, but he insisted. Said something about wanting it anyway in case I wanted another friend to hang out with that wasn't — and I quote — ‘a grump with a stick-up-his-ass.”

Gabriel tried to school his expression and keep it as neutral as possible, and surprised even himself when he somehow managed it. He let out a short, “Huh,” and took another sip of coffee to gather his thoughts. “I'll have a word with him later, then.”

Jack laughed, and waved his hand dismissively, “Don't tell him I told you he said that!”

“Oh, I'm not gonna talk to him about that,” Gabriel muttered under his breath. When Jack tilted his head in confusion, Gabriel simply shook his head. “Don't worry about it,” he said, giving Jack a quick wave before heading off to the station.

“Oh, okay…” Jack replied, still looking slightly confused as he waved back, “Have a nice day, then!”

Sure enough, when Gabriel got to the station, Jesse was at his desk, typing up something or another on his computer. Gabriel took the wallet from his pocket and tossed onto the desk in front of him, drawing Jesse's attention away from the screen when it thudded gently on the wooden surface between his forearms.

“Oh, hey! You got it! Thanks, boss!” Jesse laughed happily as he tucked the wallet back into his pocket. “Mornin’, by the way!”

“Morning,” Gabriel grunted. He folded his arms and frowned slightly. Unable to help himself, he went on to ask, “Mind telling me why you have Jack's number?”

The grin on Jesse's face grew even wider. “No reason! Just thought the guy could use another friend around these parts, what with him still being new-ish to the neighborhood and all!”

Gabriel tilted his head, expression still unimpressed and looking doubtful.

Jesse laughed, and held his hands up in surrender. “Honest ta god, boss. I was just bein’ friendly! You got nothin’ to worry ‘bout, anyhow. Said he wasn't interested when I first asked.”

Gabriel let out a quiet ‘harrumph’ before he went to his desk. Shrugging off his jacket, he draped it over the back of his chair before he sat down, still clearly displeased. He'd known Jack for several months now and he still didn't have his number. Granted, he stopped by the bakery at least three times a week — down from the four originally; didn't want to come off as a creep, after all — and there was no real need to have Jack's number when they met in person so often, but still...

He was briefly torn out of his foul mood when Lena walked over with a bridal magazine in hand, asking him what he thought about her fiancée’s, Emily’s, choice in wedding gown.

“Oxton, why the hell are you asking me?” Gabriel asked, after realizing he had spent the last several minutes looking over pictures of dresses.

“I figured you'd be able to help us narrow down what would look best with my dress, since you know fabrics and drapings and all,” Lena replied, looking at Gabriel with wide eyes as if the answer were obvious.

“Oxton, I make costumes as a hobby. I don't design dresses or work as a wedding planner! Didn't Emily hire someone to help you guys for this reason?” Gabriel frowned, gathering the various pictures strewn across his desk into a neat pile and handing it back to Lena.

“Yeah, but I also figured since you're the one that's gonna be actin’ as my dad durin’ the ceremony, it'd be nice to get your opinion, at least…” Lena answered in a quiet voice, looking slightly like a kicked puppy. Gabriel pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He never could stand up against that look.

Still frowning, he flipped through the stack of pictures in his hands again, reorganizing the pile after a bit of quiet deliberation, and holding it back out once again. “The top three would be the ones that flatter Emily's figure and complement your dress the best. Now get back to work before Amari catches me helping you pick out your wedding cake and yells at me for ‘slacking off’,” Gabriel turned to his computer and waved Lena off.

“Thank you!” she chirped happily. “And you don't need to worry about that! Emily and I already narrowed down what kind of cake we want.” She smiled, taking the stack of pictures, and turned to start heading back to her desk when she suddenly jolting in place.

“Oh! That reminds me! I need to text Jack and let him know what time Emily and I will be there for the taste-testing!” she exclaimed in realization, mostly to herself. With a renewed cheer, she quickly zipped off back to her desk, fishing out her phone and tapping away at it with a smile plastered to her face.

Gabriel's bad mood quickly sunk back in. Lena had Jack's number too? That was-!

He took a deep breath and shook his head. It would make sense that the Lena would have Jack’s number if he was to be the one making their wedding cake. Jack wasn't giving out his number to just anyone and everyone.

...everyone but Gabriel, that was.

Things came to a head near the end of his shift when Liao, of all people, offered to text Jack and see if he would be able to make a cake in time for the station's holiday party in two weeks. Why the heck did Liao have Jack's number?! If he recalled correctly, Liao had only ever been to Jack's bakery once, and that was with Gabriel after they had coincidentally run into each other on their day off and during their morning jog. Unless he went there again sometime after, and asked Jack for his number… which dredged up even more questions in Gabriel's already-preoccupied mind.

He left the station that night with the same contemplative frown he had that morning, internally grumbling at how it seemed everyone but him had Jack's number and struggling to figure out the best way to ask without seeming too desperate or forward. He enjoyed Jack's company, and didn't want to ruin their casual friendship just yet. Plus, if Jack were to reject him like he did with Jesse, Gabriel wasn't sure if he'd be able to set foot into For Goodness’ Cake ever again.

Surprisingly, his opportunity to get Jack's number came in a way he never would have expected. When he got home to his apartment, he was met with the sight of an all-too-familiar black-and-white cat lurking outside his window.

“Reaper?! What the heck?!” he scrambled to open the window, quickly and carefully as to not startle the cat to the point where it would fall of the rather small ledge and injure itself. With a tiny huff through its nose, the cat jumped from the opened window into his apartment and skittered off to curl up on his couch.

“Hey, Reaper, this isn't your home. Why are you even here? Why aren't you with Jack? He's gonna be worried sick about you,” Gabriel scolded, and tried to pick Reaper up. He got a hiss and furry slap across the face for his trouble — thankfully Reaper had the courtesy not to let out its claws — and quickly reeled back in shock.

“Shit!” he yelped, “What the hell, Reaper?! Did you come here just to make my day even worse?”

Reaper ignored him, and curled up the same way as it did before, closing its eyes and sleeping. Or pretending to sleep. Gabriel couldn't tell, and to be frank, he couldn't be bothered. He growled under his breath and let the cat be, huffing as he left the living room to shower, make a quick dinner, and head to bed.

To his knowledge, Reaper stayed curled up and asleep on the couch until the very next morning, when it jolted right up at the sound of the apartment door unlocking. Without any sort of prompting, it darted out of the apartment as Gabriel held the door open, and even waited at the bottom of the stairs for him to catch up.

Jack was right, Reaper was a very smart cat. It was almost unsettling how smart it was. As if keenly aware of Gabriel's usual route, it led the way to the bakery, with Gabriel trailing behind it the entire time.

When they finally reached the bakery, sure enough, Jack was outside, as usual, setting up the sign of the day's special bakes. The expression on his face was more contemplative than usual, his brows furrowed and forming a rather obvious line on his forehead. Reaper meowed loudly as it approached Jack, and almost immediately, Jack seemed to cheer up at the sight of Reaper. His expression brightened up even more when his gaze landed on Gabriel, causing Gabriel's heart to skip a beat as it usually did whenever Jack looked at him like that.

Crouching down, Jack held out his arms for Reaper to leap into, catching the clever cat, and spoiling it with affectionate pets and scratches.

“How did this happen?” Jack asked, utterly bewildered. “Reaper didn't follow me home last night or to the bakery this morning, so I was worried sick something might have happened to him!” The way Jack's hands unconsciously continued to spoil the cat with affection didn't escape Gabriel's notice, and he couldn't help the small smile that crept its way onto his face at the look of contentment on Reaper’s face.

“I don't know why or how he even got there, but I found him hanging outside my window last night. Reaper didn't want to seem to want to budge from my couch at all, and I figured since it was so late and you'd already closed and I didn't have your number, I may as well let him stay the night and bring him back here in the morning,” Gabriel shrugged. Reaper opened its eyes to stare at him, as if fully aware of his white lie, and judging him, but Gabriel ignored it in favor of maintaining eye contact with Jack.

“Thank you for doing that. I really appreciate it,” Jack said appreciatively, relief written across his face as clear as day. “Like I said, I was really worried about this little guy. My apartment felt kinda empty without him around.”

“No problem,” Gabriel replied, feeling nervous about what he wanted to say next.

After a few moments, he swallowed the lump in his throat and gathered enough nerves to finally ask, “Um, in case this happens again, do you have any way for me to contact you? Like a phone number or something?” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously, terrified that Jack might jump to the conclusion he catnapped Reaper just to get the chance to ask for Jack’s number.

“Oh, yeah, sure!” Jack beamed. “Let's head inside so I can get yours too!” He crouched back down to let Reaper down, and with a quiet meow, the cat dropped from his arms and scampered away, slapping Gabriel's leg with its tail as it passed. ‘ You owe me for this,’ it almost seemed to say, and Gabriel inwardly thanked the cat for the setup.

“Sure,” Gabriel replied, trying to control the grin beginning to form on his face, and fighting the urge to pump his fist in triumph. He was going to get Jack's number, and he managed to ask without making things awkward or a fool out of himself! The urge did overtake him before he was able to make it through the front door, and with a quiet, “Yes!”, Gabriel did a small fist pump when Jack disappeared into the bathroom to wash his hands and likely dust off whatever cat hair Reaper shed on his clothes. Gabriel would later attempt to do the same to his couch when he returned home that night, only to be utterly surprised to find not a single cat hair anywhere in his apartment.

“Did you say something?” Jack asked as he exited the bathroom, tossing away the paper towel in his hands before the door swung closed behind him.

“No, nothing,” Gabriel replied, shaking his head.

Jack shot him a quick look of confused amusement before fetching his phone. He unlocked it and set it on the counter.

“I can never remember what my number is, so could you punch in yours and call yourself while I get this bread out of the oven? They're the prosciutto, cheese, and balsamic onion ones you tasted the last week and said you really liked. I figured I'd roll them out this week and see how popular they are.”

“Sure,” Gabriel answered, ignoring the pun completely. He focused his attention onto Jack’s phone, doing exactly what was asked of him as Jack disappeared behind the swinging steel door. He could almost feel his heart racing slightly when entering in his number, and when his own phone rang, it figuratively soared into the stratosphere.

Finally getting Jack's number put his spirit in such a good mood that day that he couldn't even find it in himself to get angry when he got to his desk and he discovered Jack snuck two extra rolls into his bag. Nor did he even bat an eye when Jesse approached him at his desk, and handed Gabriel $5. “Jack said you dropped this in his store yesterday. It's not like you to be so clumsy, boss,” Jesse scolded playfully before walking off.

Gabriel would just get Jack again next time.