This was not how Paul wanted the day to go but it was hardly anyone's fault except for the bastard who had the bad sense to die with such horrible, inconsiderate timing. He sighed long and low after Gabriel left, a harsh breath of frustration through his teeth. He allowed himself one minute of extreme annoyance, and then let it go before calling his secretary once more.<br/><br/>The flight was short but comfortable, first class as always. Paul indulged in a glass of bourbon and idly sipped it as his other hand rested on Gabriel's thigh. A casual show of affection, possessive but intimate, a physical reminder that Paul was present and that Gabriel was his.<br/><br/>He didn't know what Gabriel was going through. When his own father died, all he felt was a deep sense of relief and satisfaction. The miserable son of a bitch was dead and Paul had to bite his tongue to keep from smiling at his funeral, had to keep himself from laughing every time someone gave him their condolences. He had spat on the grave when everyone else had departed. His was not the appropriate response, so he had no frame of reference for Gabriel's complicated grief.<br/><br/>They landed, and all throughout the airport Paul kept offering Gabriel small touches. A hand on his back, his waist, his shoulder, staying near and escorting Gabriel to wherever they needed to go like a gentleman.<br/><br/>Even in the rented car, with Paul in the driver seat, his hand was again on Gabriel's knee.