Gabriel's POV

Gabriel had a long day, he flopped face down on his messy but comfortable bed and was just starting to drift off when his phone buzzed. The alpha groaned, he considered ignoring it -- anyone calling this late probably wanted something and he wasn't in the mood for more work. However, when he saw the name...

Beckett.

That got his attention. Beckett didn't call. Hell, Beckett barely acknowledged him outside of business. If he was reaching out, something was wrong. His fingers moved before he knew what they were doing as he answered, "This better be good, Beckett. It's late." 

"I need a favor." 

Gabriel's stomach tightened. Shit. 

He didn't waste time asking questions; already pulling on a pair of torn jeans and a leather jacket, Gabriel was out the door. Revving the engine of his bike and tearing down the street, he reached The Den in record time. He saw the damage when he pulled up. The front windows were shattered, glass glinting under the streetlights. Spray paint covered the walls -- insults, threats. But what made Gabriel's blood run hot wasn't the vandalism, it was Beckett. 

The omega stood in the middle of the wreckage, arms crossed, his face battered, lip split, and one eye already swelling. He was holding himself stiffly, his usual sharp expression just a little too tight. Even as he called in a few favors to aide in the clean up, Gabriel kept his eyes on Beckett. Watching his usually fluid movements stagger, every motion was calculated in favor of not causing twinges of pain. The way he favored one side, refusing to show just how much he was hurting. 

As much as Gabriel could respect the inner strength it took, he couldn't help but find it equal parts incredibly stupid. 

An hour passed, Gabriel stayed longer than he needed to. The cleanup was handled, his contacts worked fast and by the time the sun threatened to rise, The Den was looking like itself again. The windows were boarded up for now, the graffiti scrubbed clean, the entrance swept and put back in order. It wasn't perfect, but it was enough to send a message -- The Den wasn't going anywhere. And neither was Beckett. 

Beckett hadn't slowed down once, pacing back and forth, checking over every last detail like he could fix what had happened with sheer force of will. He was running on fumes, but he wouldn't stop, not until the job was done. 

Typical. 

"You're gonna work yourself into the ground." Gabriel finally broke the silence. 

Beckett didn't look at him, "I don't have time to slow down." 

The alpha huffed, "And what, you think running on stubbornness is gonna fix everything?" 

That got a reaction. Beckett shot him a glare, but Gabriel wasn't intimidated. If anything, he shot a challanging stare right back; almost daring him to deny it. 

"I'm fine." Beckett doubled down. 

Gabriel just tilted his head, looking unconvinced. Beckett ignored him, but Gabriel wasn't done. He stepped into Beckett's path just as he turned to pace again. An irate growl escaping the omega as he was forced to stop short. 

"What?!" 

Not saying anything right away, Gabriel couldn't stop looking at the state the other was in. Still bruised, still stiff. He was pretending like none of it mattered, but Gabriel had been in enough fights to know what came after the adrenaline faded -- pain, exhaustion, and the kind of frustration that gnawed at you until you did something reckless. 

"You need rest," he finally spoke, voice calmer this time, "and you need to let someone else handle shit for once." 

Beckett bristled, "I handle things, Gabriel." 

Gaze unwavering, "Yeah? And look where that got you tonight." 

For a second, something flickered in Beckett's expression; frustration, irritation, maybe something else. But just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by a steely mask. 

"I'm not your problem." Beckett muttered, his gaze anywhere else but on the alpha. 

Unbothered by the dismissal, Gabriel nodded towards the front door, "Didn't say you were," he casually walked over, "But if you're not gonna rest, at least sit your ass down and have a drink. Club's closed, no one's watching. You can let yourself breath for five goddamn minutes." 

There was hesitation in the way Beckett seemed to consider it for a moment. Wordlessly, Beckett allowed a tired sigh to pass from his lips. He joined Gabriel at the door, unlocking it and allowing the other to enter. One drink. 

====

Gabriel had worked with a lot of people over the years. Some were easy. Some were headaches. Some didn't last long enough to matter. Beckett was different. From the moment they met, it was obvious Beckett wasn't interested in playing nice. He kept people at arm's length -- sharp edges and cold stares, like he was daring the world to give him a reason to fight. It was almost admirable. Almost. 

But it was also exhausting. 

Gabriel had spent enough time around him now to recognize the patterns. Beckett didn't trust easily. Didn't rely on anyone. And he sure as hell didn't show weakness. Even after getting jumped, even with his club vandalized, he still acted like everything was under control. Like asking for help had been an inconvenience rather than a necessity. 

Gabriel took a slow sip of his drink, watching as Beckett nursed his own. They weren't friends. Not really. Business associates, maybe. Gabriel supplied what Beckett needed, Beckett paid on time, and that was supposed to be it. But after tonight, things felt different. Not in a way Beckett would ever acknowledge -- not out loud -- but Gabriel could feel it. The way Beckett had called him instead of anyone else. The way he let Gabriel handle the cleanup without to much arguing. The way he was still sitting here, at the bar, instead of marching off to fix everything himself. 

Letting out a slow breath, he wasn't stupid. Beckett wasn't about to start trusting him overnight. Maybe not ever; however, Gabriel knew when someone was pushing themselves too hard, too fast, as if sheer force of will could keep everything from slipping through their fingers. And he recognized something else, too. 

Beckett wasn't just running The Den. He was protecting it. 

This wasn't just some business venture, some job Beckett could walk away from if things got tough. The Den was his, in a way that went beyond money or reputation. It was a shield, a statement, a place Beckett had carved out for himself and he wasn't about to let anyone take it from him. That was something Gabriel could fully respect. Hell, he could even relate to it. 

But Beckett? He didn't let people in. 

Exhaling and shaking his head. Fine, if Beckett wanted to pretend like tonight hadn't changed anything, Gabriel would play along. He wouldn't push or dig. He wouldn't say what they both knew -- that Beckett was running on fumes, that he needed to let someone else carry some of the weight. Instead, Gabriel raised his glass in an easy, almost lazy gesture. 

"To business," he said, "and to not getting your ass kicked twice in one week." 

Beckett scoffed, rolling his eyes but clinking his glass against Gabriel's anyway. 

It wasn't trust, not yet. But it was something.