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Early Omnic Crisis - 2047
“Gab, this is the third time you’ve dropped by.” But the tone of his voice is offset by his loud shifting to make room on his bed for Gabriel. Jack has the day off and elected to bundle himself in his room with a laptop and snacks. He’s unraveled his blanket enough for him to stick an arm out in an open invitation. “Either get in or stay out.”
Gabriel snorts and kicks off his shoes.
“Unlike some lazy asses, I actually had stuff to do.” He settles beside Jack, belly down. As commander, he’s been running around like a headless chicken. First, greeted Doctor Winston on his recent return from the moon , was debriefed on the newest of many Omnic threats, and finally taking a crash course on bomb defusing.
He enjoys the hustle, but back in the bunker with Jack watching his cheesy Tarantino classics, is a slow breath. His SIC would turn soft when they were alone, saturate the air in sweetness when he’s stripped of responsibility.
“Quítate,” he playfully huffs, bumping their shoulders as if there is anymore room on the twin sized bed. He angles the old laptop (“Did you steal this from your grandparents?” “Don’t be an ass, I inherited it.”) so he can enjoy Inglorious Bastards without the glare.
“At least take off the wick wear, it smells like Liao.” It’s a fair demand. Liao, who heads the bomb defusing workshop, vapes until the room in foggy. Jack’s fingers persistently dig under his shirt, but Gabriel shoves back at his wrists. He gives the blond a stern look.
“No can do, I need to leave in an hour.”
“You’re kidding.” Jack appears exasperated but Gabriel breaks with a breathy laugh.
“Yeah, I am.”
Post Omnic Crisis - 2067
Strike Commander Morrison sighs, “Reyes, this is the third time you’ve been in my office this month.” Gabriel rolls his eyes. He wouldn’t keep coming back if they stopped giving Blackwatch so much bullshit .
"I am not sending a team into the middle of Morocco to secure some mines for you. It’s bullshit ." He drags out the vowels.
There were rumblings that Morocco and its neighboring countries planned on bucking down against foreign powers, their cooperation peeling back into exploitation after the war. It is long overdue and, apparently, dangerous enough for UN to sic their dogs after them.
"This is not about resources." Morrison replies calmly.
"Either you're an idiot, or you think I'm an idiot."
Morrison gives a smirk and quirks his eyebrow, barely visible behind the always-present eye guard. “I think you’re paranoid.”
Gabriel hates that word.
It’s thrown in his face constantly since the end of the Crisis, even used as the disqualifier for the Strike Commander position. He works as secret ops for the past fourteen years, has witnessed the devil’s duties, and still Morrison won’t trust his judgement.
Lately even less so. When Morrison moved out, something in him seemed to pivot. So slight, no one else calls him out. When he tries gathering information, Overwatch compatriots tell him not to obsess so much. Some even offered advice to move on, as if his suspicions were completely based on breakup blues.
Their separation could be guessed the second Jack took the promotion. It was quick and painless.
Post Omnic Crisis - 2066
“Gabriel, I’m moving out.” He’s unsurprised. Their townhouse feels like enemy lines most days. The unspoken truce either standing as a stiff reminder that there’s a war, or it’s broken. “I’m not going to quit my job, and I don’t know how to make this right between us.”
“Grow a spine.”
Gabriel says it, just as he said it every other week when the topic arose. There’s more but he’s tired. It’s been twelve years, and in the recent months with Blackwatch being used to clean up skeletons of the United States, their relationship has gotten worse. He hates how he’d rather let his country burn for its bullshit. He hates that he can’t let it happen, because politics can be summarized as disarming airhorns by a sleeping bear.
And even without a heavy heart, he knows he hates Jack for not understanding. Gabriel needs his ten layers of privacy because he doesn’t trust everything with a title and badge. Jack doesn’t even realize there’s a bear. Doesn’t think for a goddamn second before looking past Gabriel for advice.
( “You don’t trust me.” “I trust you, but you don’t trust anyone else and that’s the problem.” “You think I’m crazy, right?” “I think you mean well but--” “I’m paranoid? That’s what all the psch evals came up with. That I’m too cautious, while the man leading the world’s most dangerous weapon is just the right amount! You’re holding the reigns yet still following orders.” )
Jack stands patiently by their living room couch. He has a plastic suitcase and an overstuffed backpack of all his belongings. The knick knacks and house decor is untouched. Except in the corner of his eye, he sees an empty picture frame on the kitchen counter.
It’s a bad picture. Half of the frame is Ana’s emaciated Christmas tree, and a corner dark from her finger covering the lens. But beside it, Gabriel and Jack are having an exaggerated kiss under a mistletoe. The fake leaves tickled Gabriel’s buzz cut and Jack is flushed pink from the eggnog. They’re eyes are squinted and twinkling with laughter. It’s their favorite picture.
“I put in a request last week, and it was accepted today. They’re moving me into a Sector H bunker suite with a new Overwatch recruit. You might know her, Doctor Corazon.”
Sector H is next to the labs. More importantly, it was two floors under the main facility and a ten minute drive away. This would be the farthest they’d ever lived from each other. And with Bea Corazon--she was almost as conventionally pretty as Jack. Not enough to steal Gabriel’s breath away, but enough for others.
Gabriel swallowed around the lump in his throat. It feels like a pathetic don’t leave me which contrasts harshly with their current habits. Instead he turns to his partner. “You leaving me?”
He expects Jack to reassure him. No, they were taking a break. No, they just needed space, as if spending a few days a month in the same base was suffocating. (It was.) Gabriel expects (wants?) Jack to beat around the bush, like he always tries while making a difficult choice.
“Yeah.”
Post Omnic Crisis - 2067
It’s ridiculous how easy it is lunge at Morrison and punch that smug look off his face. He has the gall to look surprised, as if Gabriel sucker punched him. Gabriel never held his punches, and with an entire desk for him to crossover, he should have easily dodged.
His recovery is too slow and too late, now that he’s straddled by Gabriel. He tries to twist to the side, but Gabriel lands another solid hit to Morrison’s face.
“I heard you haven’t been on a mission in a few months, and I can tell why. This is pathetic.” he taunts.
Morrison’s face morphs into a grimace before returning to an unreadable slab of stone. The expression is alien to Gabriel, who spent decades watching. Gone is the personality--the little tells of every emotion in Jack’s overstocked arsenal.
His pink lips are lax instead twitching in a poor attempt to keep a pokerface. His cheeks are still starchy white, the only color found are the impact areas instead of an overall rosy hue from excitement. His eyes don’t flicker down and then back up, smoldering because Jack loved to spar, even more than he loved being pinned down.
But all he can see are cold blue eyes staring blankly at him. So pale, paler than he could remember. Paler than when they had gone to the Arctic during the Crisis and Jack’s eyes caught all the light of solid ice and cloudless skies. Jack had snapped at him because, damn, Gabriel was distracted. Even with the distant rumble of an omnic units’ caterpillar tread, he couldn’t chance looking away.
Now all he wants is for Morrison to stop staring dumbly, partially focused on his visor. Even now, the screen flashes new data across the glass screen that Gabriel can’t read, but he can tell by the flicker of his left eye that Morrison is paying attention.
It turns red and before Gabriel can wonder why, Morrison’s smirk snaps back in place, “With this temperament, no wonder you were passed up.”
“Cállate!”
He sends a right fist across his face. It runs through a sharp cheek and nose, before it catches the headpiece and rips it off his head.
Gabriel should have felt victorious with Morrison finally disheveled under him, physically shaking from the hit, and without his glass guard calculating for him. Come see the Strike Commander, brought down a notch by a supposed underling. Poor leadership skills, and even worse reflexes. He didn’t deserve the promotion.
Instead he halts in his assault. Morrison’s still pinned, and Gabriel’s fist is still clenched, but everything is startlingly different.
Left eye is dilated almost entirely covering the iris, both wide open like he’s been electrocuted. The mouth is dropped open, quivering visibly. Most alarmingly, the side of his head is now gushing.
The headpiece had ripped off his head with a few sickening pops and a tear. Over a decade in Blackwatch means he knows what a hook through flesh sounds like.
Gabriel’s been issued a standard headpiece as well for missions, with an outer appearance identical to Morrison’s. It’s sculpted to fit around his ear, and a tight twist should remove it with ease. But whatever clattered to the floor has a thin curved spike covered in ridges. It’s approximately five inches long, covered in gore, and Gabriel can’t breathe.
“What-” before he can finish his thought, the headpiece makes an audible click and the intercoms come blaring to life. It’s deafening in the hallway, and probably throughout entire facility.
"Medical personnel in Area B to Room 218. Repeat, medical personnel in Area B to Room 218."
A stopwatch starts in his mind and Morrison’s flapping lips convinces him to slide down so his ear is practically in Morrison’s mouth. Only choked noises are escaping. The new position allows Gabriel to get a graphic view of the blood spilling on the linoleum floors.
His ear is tickled by Morrison’s pinched breathing, but the ragged breaths are starting to sound like words--
“G-ge-” he hears Jack wheeze out, barely over the intercom still screeching instructions. Security provided by the UN would be arriving shortly to apprehend Gabriel, and supposedly provide an unbiased perspective.
“Morrison, breathe, breathe . Oye, sitrep, Morrison!” He can hear people running towards them.
“I--” Jack harshly coughs, but Gabriel doesn’t let up despite the wet splatter on his eat. He finally forces a grating hiss out of his lungs, “--iron.”
Within the next two seconds, Gabriel’s tased, handcuffed, and tranquilized. Before he blacks out, he sees the white scrubs of medical staff swarm Jack’s body.
Gabriel wakes up with cotton mouth and cramps along his neck. He’s hunched over with his wrists chained to the table, feet to the chair, and neck to the ceiling. It’s a solid design he himself approved of during Blackwatch’s second year. With a firm press of a button, his metal noose would reel him in, either snapping his neck or leaving him to hang, anchored by the chair and table.
It could trap even Reinhardt, so Gabriel doesn’t bother looking for escapes. He would have had this installed in all interrogation room if it weren’t Jack’s insistence on cordiality even for prisoners.
He knows the French woman sitting in front of him. She’s relatively new and dating Overwatch’s own Gérard Lacroix. Amélie has accompanied Gabriel silently on several of his own prisoner interrogations. From both brazenness and curiosity, he’s pushed boundaries to see if she would shut them down. Instead, he’s watched her calmly wipe blood off her clipboard after torture sessions.
She wasn’t observing Blackwatch, he realizes. She was observing him.
“Bonjour, Commander Reyes.” she greets him when he stares directly at her.
“Release me.” he says. He rattles his chains in her direction.
“You attacked the Strike Commander, an act of treason punishable by death.” Her signature clipboard is with her today. She glances down as if this encounter were scripted. She always reads off of it, while rarely writing any notes down.
He scoffs, “No it’s not. I’ve beaten the shit out of enough people to know this is overkill.” It’s her turn to be amused, a simple noise out of her nose and small smile. “It was a simple disagreement.”
“You gave Strike Commander Morrison near fatal wounds. If we were in an establishment any less advanced, he would have died yesterday.”
Gabriel blinks, though more surprised by the passage of time. Morrison had a gaping hole in his head, he could have assume as much. But they had kept him unconscious for a day, probably to cover up.
“I roughed him up, not even enough to kill a normal soldier.” She hums neutrally. He knows not to expect honesty but says anyways, “We both know it was the visor. That wasn’t a standard visor.”
Amélie nods. “No it was not. I’ve been told it is a new prototype, more physically involved. Perhaps you will see the benefits when it is completed.”
“And the Strike Commander’s the guinea pig?”
“I am not in the research division.” She pauses. She licks her lips, matte lipstick remains perfect, but the motion is as telling as her tightened grip on the clipboard. Perhaps she is like him, stuck with her own suspicions and a job to do. “Did Morrison say something to you?”
“He was choking on his own tongue.” It isn’t a lie. “If he was trying to say something, he did a poor job at it.” He feigns disgust, as if he were incompetent enough to believe this entire charade. But he makes eye contact with Amélie and she blinks slowly, deliberately, before motioning with her eyes to her pen.
She writes quickly, but the pen taps loudly. When she finishes writing she glares at Gabriel, as if he missed something. She writes again and he recognizes a pattern in the scratches. The third time he finally gets it, morse code.
I R O N
When he’s released, he’s given a figurative slap on the wrist. His pay is docked, vacation days cut, and he’s assigned extra paperwork originally meant for his subordinates. He expected less, but compared to execution, he considers himself in the clear.
Belatedly he wonders who gave her access to the Blackwatch interrogation room.
Jesse immediately finds him during his retreat to his office. “Commander Reyes, what the fuck did you do!”
Gabriel pointed glare causes Jesse to shake off most of his edge. The kid still loses his temper around him, habitual from Deadlock’s choice to fight to solve arguments. Right now, he’d prefer it over this diplomatic web of deceit.
"Do you know where they’re keeping Morrison?"
“Yeah, everyone knows. He’s still in the medical wing. Had to go under surgery, and got a couple more before he’s out.” Jesse McCree barely conceals a snarl. “I know ya’ll got beef, but this was too far. You almost killed him!”
There’s a tense moment of silence. Jack may have originally opposed Gabriel’s initial shining on the boy, but soon befriended him after Gabriel practically adopted him. Gabriel and Jesse were a duo. He’d never admit this, but with Jack and his falling out, Jesse kept him sane.
Please trust me. Of all the people, please trust me. I’m not paranoid. I’m not some evil villain. I’m trying to fix things.
“I didn’t almost kill Jack. Now get out.” Jesse huffs but leaves.
Post Omnic Crisis - 2054
“What is your goddamn problem, Gabriel? We crashed those final Omniums together and we were promoted together .”
“We’re not equals, don’t pretend we are. We might be both be commanders, but half of Blackwatch’s assignments are handpicked by you . Because you’re acting like my goddamn boss.”
Jack Morrison, the Strike Commander of Overwatch, technically is. For every camera and article, Gabriel was second in command. But in truth, Gabriel’s has access to all of Overwatch’s operations, and this transparency is also extended to Jack for Blackwatch. It was his only condition. He believes UN only permitted this under the assumption Gabriel would be too preoccupied with his own division to bother Jack.
“That’s on you! You’re an asshole to every goddamn diplomat that breaths in your direction. You’re allowed to be at all the meetings so you can discuss these assignment with them yourself, but you’re never there! Either I choose something or we choose nothing.”
“I’m not going to kiss their rich asses. They need us, cabron, not the other way around.”
“We’re not politicians. It was easier before. It doesn’t take a genius to pick out evil slaughter machines.” Jack’s tone switches “You remember those meetings--countries we never even heard about. We need them.”
So Gabriel does go to the next meeting. It’s hell, watching Jack practically give these politicians rimjobs. Regardless, he listens intently, even discussing in depth about a dangerous and fast-growing militia organization in East Russia. Though he undoubtedly doesn’t know every recent international crisis, a political advisor of Overwatch aids him.
More than aids him, Bosma practically shoving him towards the East Russian representative, but Gabriel assumes it’s because they’re the only ones who have interested him so far.
He can practically feel Jack approval at him and it makes him bristle inside. He can do this job, easy. He could have been Strike commander, easy . The point he’s trying to prove is moot, Gabriel knows. They were past the point of redacting Jack’s position, and he’s never trade Blackwatch over. Regardless, he can feel the bitterness churning inside him. Smashing someone’s face into a desk isn’t professional, so he keeps his distance if only to prevent Jack from using his hostility against him during their next squabble.
By the end of the four hours, he has three assignments lined up for their crews, one he plans to sneak under Blackwatch’s care. They had to be approved by their porcelain figure head, of course.
Jack looks relieved when he agrees to them. Even with the jealousy while watching Jack shake their hands last, he feels glad to be involved. Later that day, when they see each other at home--a two-bedroom one-bath townhouse located on base--it’s silent.
That itself isn’t unusual lately, but there’s an obvious lack of tension between them.
“Thank you.” Jack says when the room is dark and they’re lying beside each other. There’s ample room between them.
“Don’t patronize me.” Gabriel gruffs. He hears Jack laugh quietly, because they both know he’s just being difficult. It’s a sound he misses. He lets out a groan, as if about to make a sacrifice, before rolling over. He drapes an arm on top of the other. Jack shuffles closer and even in the weak moonlight escaping their window, Gabriel can see the whites of his teeth. He’s grinning, and Gabriel is too.
“Goodnight.”
(Gabriel goes to East Russia personally a couple of days later. The mission was estimated for four days but in reality takes two weeks. When he returns to the Gibraltar base, he has a case of hypothermia that only supersoldiers wouldn’t lose knuckles over.
He isn’t greeted by Jack, who according to Jesse is in Armenia scrapping the remains of an Omnium. The kid gives a thin-lipped smile and says, “Commander Jack said he’s real sorry.”
Gabriel realizes it isn’t about missing his arrival when he gets to his desk and sees new assignments queued up on his tablet. He calls Jack on the emergency communicator. There is too much static to hear him, a problem always relevant with Omnium sites. Gabriel yells for seven straight minutes until Jack is able to properly respond.
He’s incredulous, “Fuck, Reyes, this is an emergency line! Look, we couldn’t postpone the meeting to wait for you. Just like how my teams shouldn’t be waiting--”
Gabriel ignores the rest. It’s a cold reminder of how pertinent his own input actually is. They’d wait for you, he wants to say, but it’s just too childish.
“Don’t use McCree as your messenger boy.” he snips instead, cutting Jack off mid sentence, and hangs up.)
Gabriel attended the next meeting and ignored Jack the entire time. He found himself launched to another unexpectedly long mission as a result. When he returned, he immediately steals the political advisor and stuffs him into an interrogation room. An hour into the threats, Jack stormed in. Bosma was transferred and the incident to buried as a side effect of his long mission. But Gabriel never forgot the distrust and disappointment shared between the two of them. It was large and growing and regularly slept between them at night.
Paranoia? Paranoia? They wanted him to believe it was a coincidence. Miscalculations twice in a row.
Gabriel now knows for certain his gut is right. The political advisor, the representative--they were in on it. Were the other representatives? How did they slip Overwatch’s security? How far did the rabbit hole go? He even wonders if Jack knew.
Post Omnic Crisis - 2067
He almost meets with Amélie for drinks two days after the interrogation. When Gabriel couldn’t find his keycard, he assumes it was swiped during his apprehension. However the nurses only have his handgun and cellphone to return to him.
He finds the card in his mailbox with a location off base along with a time. Juste nous deux and a winky face. It’s a ruse to share information.
He goes, desperate to learn more about IRON. Perhaps she could lead him to fellow conspirators. Others must have noticed. Where were Jack’s other friends, surely they noticed something amiss. As the commander sits alone in the bar for nearly two hours, his communicator rings. It’s Ana. He answers it, hoping she would also reveal her knowledge.
“Amari.” he says in lieu of a greeting.
“Reyes, we need you back on base.” She's brief, her affection withdrawn since his first denouncement of Jack's competency. On his arrival, she informs him of Amélie's kidnapping by Talon, an acclaimed terrorist group that Gérard openly despised. They need every piece of information on Talon as possible and Blackwatch had been entrusted with a few raids.
Gérard is raging at Morrison, demanding teams and resources to find her.
Blackwatch finds her in a cell a month later. His team tracks her down with ease, thanks to a new recruit who locates her by hacking Talon’s database. Amélie barely looks at him even when he breaks the padlock. She’s dragged through enough evaluations, mentally and physically, that Gabriel pities her instead of distrusts. Her blue skin is an anomaly but she’s still cleared. She thanks Gabriel for finding her, eyes bloodshot after sobbing into Gérard 's arms.
When she kills Gérard, Gabriel absorbs his Talon fixation.
We should have been more cautious. Morrison announces to the assembly. He makes deliberate eye contact with Gabriel. It seems like the blond is going to wink despite his downtrodden expression. He doesn’t and Gabriel is left reeling, wishing anyone else could see this smug asshole for what he is.
Post Omnic Crisis - 2067+
Three years after the incident, and Gabriel has only moved inches to saving Jack. He still butts heads with Morrison, acting petulant and temperamental to fight this bodysnatcher’s drivel. He never gets a second opportunity to steal Morrison’s visor. In three years, he can’t catch him alone during off time, or even in his office without guards posted outside.
He’s constantly tracking Morrison’s schedule, along with gathering IRON information in secret, and running Blackwatch without a hitch. He’s seemingly possessed and more than once, his quick temper lands him under psych evaluation. Gabriel narrowly avoids being fired since his work as commander is impeccable. All of this creates a canyon between his friends in Overwatch and him.
He can feel the tension when he’s prowling through the main corridors. It’s static. Everyone’s on edge when he appears, and no one can forget how close to death’s door he delivered the Strike Commander. Gabriel’s brewing something dangerous. It’ll hit hard, and nameless eyes of both organizations ask when? everytime he calls out Morrison for sending agents after blood money.
Blackwatch agents are picking up on his attitude, like rival schools they also become combative with Overwatch. The problem is he can’t trust any of them. Paranoia consumes him, making his previous anxieties seem like wonderland. But he can’t stop--not when he knows Jack has been stolen from him. He never makes Amélie's mistake of reaching out. Instead he learns the patterns of how the buildings were bugged, with even safehouses parodying Big Brother’s wet dream.
McCree also meets his cold shoulder and fears Gabriel is playing Titanic. He resigns one day, unofficially of course. He taps on his door and tells him he’s leaving base for the weekend. Nothing is unusual except for Jesse’s soft goodnight, stay safe. Gabriel wishes it back sincerely and offers a firm handshake.
It’s a mutual understanding. This will be the last time they see each other, at least without a smoking barrel separating them.
He learns three important facts in those years.
IRON isn’t so much a terrorist group as they were a secret organization with high ranked affiliates everywhere he turns. From UN to Overwatch to a Blackwatch recruit he kills himself. It’s nearly invisible. If Blackwatch is unheard of, IRON has never been considered. But Gabriel more than considers it, and, unlike Amélie, he’s still around. He doesn’t know if he’s covering his tracks well enough, or if he’s part of their charade as well.
Secondly, he learns from stolen Talon data that they know as well. They haven’t discerned the difference between Overwatch and IRON yet (Was there a difference? Is there an Overwatch without IRON?) but their targets are accurate. He even found their file on the Strike Commander and wiped it before other sticky fingers could find them. Gabriel would cooperate more with Talon if they weren’t primarily funded by weapon, drug, and human trafficking.
Amélie's kidnapping is marked as Talon efforts. Gabriel at first assumes otherwise, but she’s spotted on the terrorist group’s missions multiple times. He also considers IRON and Talon working in tandem but when Gérard's name is listed as the recruiter of the previous political adviser, he ditches the idea.
Lastly, IRON could do nearly anything to Overwatch and its members.
The problem is, he always assumed IRON would expand Overwatch to dystopic tyranny levels. They would play with their blond puppet until they either conquered the world, or the strings are cut short by Gabriel himself.
Even when Overwatch files were leaked to the public, and its originally members displaced faster than protests could begin, Gabriel thought Overwatch was still growing. Objectively, it had; it doubled up in recruits and in global activity. The core, however, is disassembled.
Ana is presumed assassinated, body never recovered. Reinhardt is forcibly retired despite his numerous objections. Torbjorn is moved to India to manage the construction of a new security point.
Even the newer competent members are unavailable. Mei disappears along with her entire station in Antarctica. Angela is constantly fighting with the brass against weaponizing her healing tech. Al-Farouk and Bayless are killed by Talon. Tracer falls into the slipstream and Winston blindly fishes for her.
Gabriel’s next to go. Most nights, he sleeps with his shotgun loaded and in his palm.
Within three years, Morrison is completely surrounded by strangers, and Gabriel assumes IRON is tightening its grip on Overwatch.
No, it was ready to let go.
Post Omnic Crisis - 2070
One day, his watch blinks purple with a single image. It holds for three seconds and a timer appears. It’s anonymous, but the work is easily recognizable as Blackwatch’s own.
His visor, however, shows the purple skull but overlaid is a map of an intricate web of explosives. They’re rigged into the foundations of the Zürich HQ, with a central blast to ensure complete destruction. It would collapse onto itself and then concave into its underground levels. He knows. He’s seen similar work from Liao during the Crisis, though at a much larger scale. A setup that took two weeks, a dozen suicide missions, and a rabbit’s luck to pull off.
The final Omnium had fortified itself into a biblical tower and this operation destroyed it. Correction: it annihilated it, leaving a blight as a memorial for the millions killed by that singular site.
It won the war.
This is going off in fifteen minutes. A discernible look around the hall and he catches the eye of another Blackwatch member. Everyone else shuffles by without pausing. He can see her wristband with the numbers ticking away. Sombra winks.
Leave Overwatch members to perish goes unstated.
He is startled by his own ignorance. Of course he knew he wasn’t the only one watching. He wasn’t the only one reading into every mission, recognizing that Overwatch ran ripe with corruption. But Gabriel naively assumed these agents, picked specifically for their audacity, would wait for his signal.
Sombra is Blackwatch through and through. Do not hesitate for morals, mercy, or miracles.
But in the end, Gabriel is an Overwatch original.
Sombra mouths adios when he pivots and dashes to the main security room. He smashes glass with his bare fist to pull the alarm. “ Evacuate the entire building, this is not a drill,” a woman’s voice calls in English before repeating in four others.
Bodies hustle pass him when he reenters the main hall, and he’s asking everyone where Morrison is. Only one employee pauses to answer him, and does so with a scoff, “Cool it, asshole. Just find him outside and pick your fight there.”
Gabriel should agree. If there was a singular understanding among every person in that building, it was run if they tell you to run. But something in his gut tells Gabriel he won’t find Morrison heading for the exit.
He’s right.
Morrison enters a room just as Gabriel turns into the right hall. He sees his heel and blue coat, followed by the crisp sound of an automatic door shutting. It’s the command room but his keycard won’t scan.
Time is slipping by him and his desperate yelling and knocking only increases when his watch buzzes at the five minute mark. “Jack!” He’s screaming himself hoarse. His knuckles hurt with the small shards of glass from the alarm digging deeper as he slams them against reinforced metal. He takes a step back and kicks out with all his weight, despite knowing these doors could withstand so much worse.
(but nothing could withstand the coming destruction)
They’re too close to the main blast zone. It’s four minutes. If he turns tail now, his back would be scorched to hell, SEP training or not.
Honestly, he should have left as soon as he spotted Morrison. It’s a transparent trap. But Gabriel’s seen enough funerals, been through just as many close calls. If he can drag Jack out, willingly or half dead, he’ll take the chance. So he continues knocking.
It opens briefly. Just enough time for Jack to reach out and pull him in, before slamming him back against the closed door. The pin is weak, and he can feel the trembling of his pale arms. He has bags under his eyes and new creases on his forehead Gabriel has never gotten to see up close.
“One step behind, Reyes,” Morrison sneers. “Send Talon our regards.”
Before he can consider the message, a sharp vibration from his watch alarms him of their final three minutes. Gabriel doesn’t understand Talon’s role, or how disposing the Strike Commander is IRON’s checkmate, but it doesn’t matter. The world doesn’t spin because of answers, and the clock won’t stop for his questions.
He meets no resistance when he grips the headpiece. With an exhale, he pulls it out quick with his wrist committing to the curve of the hook he remembers. (He sees it in his dreams.)
Like a switch, Jack’s entire body crumples to the floor but Gabriel follows fast. On his knees, he holds the blond tight. His palm is firmly covering the open wound, as if that could kill Jack faster than the bomb.
With his other hand, he smashes the tech against the door he leans against. It sparks and definitely burns his skin. He flings it to the other side of the conference room.
“Jack? Can you hear me?” And all Gabriel wants is to hear him speak one more time. Perhaps the last genuine thing was “ iron ” but it can’t be the last.
Jack’s breathing is harsh--his brain is probably scrambled. But all Gabriel wants is a word.
“Gab?” Jack finally exhales. It’s shaky, but miraculously not nearly as shaky as the first time. Gabriel hushes him but he continues with his wet whisper, “My k-eycard, i-i-”
He presses their foreheads together instead. Jack is oddly cold. The movement is enough to stop his stutters. They’re dead, he knew it the moment he heard the metal doors slide shut. Jack either doesn’t, or he’s too damn optimistic. (He was always so optimistic. At the end of the Omnic Crisis, he downed a litre of alcohol and nearly gave Gabriel a handjob in front of everyone. He thought it was over. He thought life would be so sweet and kind to them after they won the war.)
His watch audibly beeps. 120 seconds.
“Jack, te amo ” Gabriel says, low and desperate. Jack’s still gaping but there’s something fierce in his sky blue eyes.
“I love you too-” There’s an I’m sorry on the tip of his tongue but Gabriel takes it from him with wet and toothy kiss. Swipes it like Jack’s hoarding them, and one missing won’t be noticed. He should feel bad for stealing his words. Because autonomy is rare, strung with a price they will soon be dying for.
But when he pulls back, Jack’s hand is tangled in Gabriel’s standard jacket. “I missed you.” He’s crying and weakly tugging him back down. Gabriel wants to cry too, but the overwhelming feeling of relief and fear stuns him. He can only hold on a bit tighter.
Jack’s tears mix with blood before cascading over Gabriel’s hand. His raspy breath stutters, paced with every full body cringe. The siren screams from above, a smooth voice repeats instructions, and the room is bathed in red light. Overall, it’s nightmarish enough to compare with the impending catastrophe.
Yet Gabriel is alright with this.
Since his first field simulation, he believed he would die without realizing it. Not even a minute in and Gabriel found a paintball splattered across his ribs. He didn’t even notice until he heard his commanding officer call him out. So he assumed that’s how he would go--underfire or sniped, choked before he felt the bullet in his lungs. Instead, he’s given a minute with Jack.
He’s tucked between an unrelenting door representing every wrong decision he’s ever made, and the man he’d make the same damned decisions again and again for. There’s a million worse ways to die, and a million ways he deserves.
Instead he’s given a minute with Jack.
(Two dozen watches hit 0 as fire and debris blossoms inside the base. Its petals catch several tons of metal walls and soft bodies.)