And Niall, whether out of conscious obedience or simply out of desire, leaned subtly closer. He took up his drink and tipped it in Gabriel's direction. "Sláinte," he toasted, with a wry twist of his lips. Not that Gabriel needed the well wishes. He seemed like a boy who'd survive anything even in these dangerous times, an immunity which made him valuable to the cause.

Niall swallowed a sip, then immediately drew the cigarette back to his mouth. The smoke and sweetness of the whiskey made for an exquisite combination, and he savored it, running his tongue over his lower lip as he exhaled.