Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jesse McCree wasn't born a fighter.

He was carved, crafted, expertly molded by years of learning to survive and maybe even live a little, the grains of knowledge necessary for keeping his head where it belonged beaten into him the moment he may as well have sold his soul to Deadlock.

His life was snatched from his hands the day he was jumped in, fists and feet flying from every direction as he forced himself to stand tall and not make a sound for as long as he could. It was necessary, they'd told him. Showed your resolve. Showed if you deserved to be respected. Showed your dedication to the people who would become your only family. They would tell him in the days following that he was the first recruit to last as long as he did before his knees had given out, their arms draped over his bruised shoulders in camaraderie as they lit up celebratory cigarettes and knocked back bottles over stained teeth and split lips. The same hands that had only just been used to break him down wherever they could clapped him over the back. He would end up on the wrong side of an argument against some of those hands later on, and the chalk tally he kept on the inside of his boot would gain another notch as he would find himself yet another bullet short.

But that was how you survived.

They gave you a choice when you wanted to join. You either get jumped in, crime in, or walk in. They'd all seen what he could do on the streets already, so committing a crime to gain entry was too easy for their purposes; it was difficult to miss the chatter surrounding him before he'd so much as hit his teenage years in a town so small. He was a scrappy thing, and a stranger for the most part, so his odds of being sponsored by a member and walking in were incredibly low. So, from day one, he'd been put through the wringer to prove he was worth the time they would take to form him into the kind of member they'd need.

He doubted they saw the irony until long after he'd surpassed them all in their own craft.

All the same, they had taught him some valuable things over the years. He'd gotten along best with those with their specialty crimes among the gang, and his hands grew steady as he constructed crude imitations of explosives (whose use he didn't care to think too hard about) and ammunition as he absorbed their knowledge. He learned to stop thinking so much when a skirmish broke out between neighboring gangs. They had plenty of arguments over the weapons they trafficked for their wages, and it became a rare occurrence to have a shipment move out without some sort of bloodshed. "'Red sky at morning', Jes," they'd ribbed him the first time, and they'd laughed at the way his face paled.

The who and the what stopped mattering so much the longer he ran with them, because at the end of the day, all he needed to know was that they insulted us, McCree, and no insult goes unanswered, you got that? He hadn't noticed just how numb he'd become to the whole business until the day they'd gone out of their way to follow a lead on a group that had been exchanging talk over the newest shipment of firearms in Deadlock's possession (overheard by a friend of a friend of a friend of a member, of course). And just like that, with no need for confirmation on the information, they'd pulled a hit and run on a party crew (a damn street gang-wannabe party crew, they weren't even armed) and he'd found himself taking a long drag off of a cigarette and laughing not ten minutes later as one of the newbies turned several gorgeous shades of green and stumbled off to the bushes as the guilt clenched at their stomach. The kid would understand eventually.

(In the end, the newbie never did. He'd lasted a month or so before deciding to leave, but he'd broken the number one and practical only rule of the Deadlock gang. Other street gangs you could walk away from. But Deadlock? Deadlock was blood in, blood out. Jesse never saw the kid again, and he doubted it was by the poor sap's choice.)

The day he was branded felt an awful lot like becoming property to him, but he didn't care. If it meant he could wake up the next day with food to eat and people to watch his back, he would have willingly done the inking himself. A simple symbol, a lock in the webbing between his right thumb and index finger. Generic enough to make it known you had gang affiliation, but obvious to anyone in the region just who they were dealing with. From there, they didn't care what you decided to do to your skin. You were already marked, what you did from there was your choice.

There was a man with a name inked beautifully across his shoulder blades, a long, winding line of thorned rose stem drawn expertly twined around the cursive. It would have been a sight to behold in its original days, Jesse was sure, but it had long since been branded and scarred over, making the name illegible beneath the mass of welted tissue. Another had a cross in the webbing of his other hand to complement his lock. At first glance it appeared normal, but he had told Jesse over drinks on the roof of the dive that was their local diner one night that it had once been a key. A sort of promise to himself, he'd said after taking a pull from his bottle. A promise that he'd find a way to break away from the rat trap that was Deadlock and go his own way when he could support himself. Word never stayed secret in the gang, though, and before long the key had been inked over to form a thick, jagged cross. The man never spoke of leaving again.

Jesse had entertained the thought of adding another himself. An eye, most likely, to match the rank they'd dropped on him as the gang's sharpshooter. It would be ironically delicious, he was certain. He never did get around to following through on the thought.

Reputations came with consequences, as he found out early on, but that didn't stop him from earning one all the same. As the gang grew to recognize his skill with a revolver (six bullets, six graves, Jes, that's a gift you got there) he grew to have a say in strategy on the incredibly rare occasion when it was used and found a bounty the size of a small city hanging over his head before he'd even reached legal age. And yet, he'd been taught to survive. Told to survive.

So he survived.

It was enough for him, at first. Picking off competition, moving the shipments, making contacts with his quick wit and natural charm. And yet, despite it all, he'd find himself staring at his ceiling as he blew rings of dusty smoke to the rafters each night, feeling the hole where his life, his soul had been growing wider. Each life he took, each dirty deed, all of them settled into his being, he was certain.

But he couldn't feel it anymore.

He'd stared at the tattoo on his hand for hours at a time, long into the night, rolling the image over in his mind.

Deadlock.

They'd already given him the lock.

He just wished he could remember when exactly they'd killed him inside to complete the set.

The day the sting happened was the day he wasn't at any of his usual haunts.

In the end, he'd reflect, that was probably what had saved his ass.

He'd been posted in the diner as a watchpoint that day, but he'd soon gotten bored waiting on news of their next haul and wandered out into the midday sun. None of the others called him back or so much as spared him a glance from their cards as he tossed the doors open. They'd long since learned to let McCree be McCree. The air had been stifling, and he'd stretched languidly in the New Mexico heat as the first bead of sweat appeared beneath the rim of his hat. He'd rounded the building with the intent of stretching his legs and finding a better vantage point when he first noticed how silent the town had gone.

That should have been his first clue.

All the same, he'd been bored and the day was warm, and he'd run this exact operation too many times to count. What did a little silence matter?

Everything, apparently.

He'd been gone all of five minutes and managed to pick his way up to one of the crevices dug out of the canyon's walls when all hell broke loose. The explosion rocked his entire body as he found his footing high above the rooftops, and he'd whirled in place to gawk at the cloud of dust and smoke rising steadily over the gorge. The shipment had clearly been intercepted, and he dropped instinctively to his stomach as he'd edged out to the lip of the rock for a better view. The second explosion took him off guard, and he'd glanced between the two, bemused.

They were on complete opposite sides of the canyon.

In retrospect, it was the helicopter that confirmed anything for him.

The black chopper had dropped in relatively far from Jesse's position from seemingly nowhere, the blades kicking up more dust and dirt and blowing the smoke through the gorge as the sound of shouting and gunfire began to echo up to the walls of the canyon. He'd fumbled for his revolver, the weight of it in his hand grounding him as he watched the scene unfold below.

The fight was over before it had even started.

Men and women in lithe, black tactical gear had dropped from the chopper as they'd completed a quick, brutal sweep of the ground forces Deadlock threw at them. They'd joined halfway with a group of individuals dressed much like the R6 gang, a neighboring group that had been causing trouble for the Deadlock rebels for several months. The way they grouped together, however, had Jesse's eyes narrowing as the pieces fit together in his brain.

This was a fed operation. And if the R6 had been infiltrated-

They'd been sold out.

Most of the struggle had been squashed by the time Jesse had an inkling he'd been spotted. He had carefully made his way back down the other side of his hiding spot the moment the feeling swept over him, and he heard far less gunfire as his boots hit the dust at a near-silent run. He'd dodged his way around the back alleys of rock and buildings, biding his time as he tried to find the right angle to…

Well, he didn't quite know yet.

He wouldn't expect to win in a gunfight against what he had easily counted to be at least twenty five operatives.

But if it came down to it, he knew he could hold his own against at least 12 of them before they'd have a chance to get a word in otherwise.

So he'd slunk around the outskirts of the buildings as the black-clad operatives had busted down doors and dragged out his fellow rebels. Those who didn't come willingly or fought back didn't get back up.

He supposed he should have felt something in his gut as he passed by the third higher-up of the gang where he lay in the dirt, neck at an odd angle.

All he'd felt was the primal need to get away, survive this and you can get away-

Ironically, it had probably been his one-track focus on just that that did him in.

His luck ran out about fifteen heart-stopping minutes into his game of hide-and-seek, and they'd spotted him at the end of the street as he darted back around a corner to grab his hat where it had fallen in his haste to duck out of sight. The shouting was instant, and he'd taken off running faster than he'd ever run in his life, heart in his throat. A man popped out of nowhere in front of him, and he'd shot to kill before he could so much as open his mouth. The bullet simply knocked the man breathless, however, as the bullet pierced his body armor with all the effect of a small sucker punch. Switching tactics, Jesse had gone for the knees then.

He'd left the man howling in the dust.

Two more tried to stop him as he ran, and each time he'd shot for the knee, downing them as they fired after him. He'd almost made it to the edge of town, and he knew one of the bosses kept a car prepped for hot wiring in a shed just beyond their territory's limits for emergencies. If he could make it without running into anyone else, he was home free. He just had to run-

He'd rounded the corner at a sprinting crouch, eyes glued over his shoulder as his heart hammered in his chest and the sound of shouting voices grew closer.

He'd hit something solid, his gaze snapping forward to be filled with black-

-and he found himself instantly flipped to land painfully on his stomach in the dirt, his arm twisted behind his back as his hat skittered across the ground. He'd let out a shout, his other hand raising the revolver as he twisted desperately beneath the hold, and a startled noise from whoever had pinned him was all the warning he got before the gun was kicked cleanly out of his fingers, the scuff of metal-toed boots positively burning against his hand as he let out another shout of frustration. He was almost there, he could still make it if he just-

"Woah there, Eastwood, knock it off."

The voice had the audacity to sound amused. He found himself wriggling even harder, a somewhat feral snarl ripping from his throat as he had tripled his efforts to get away. He could feel his arm twisting painfully with each tug, and after a moment he'd heard a heavy, theatrical sigh as a knee came down on his back roughly.

"That clear enough for you?"

Jesse was nothing if not resourceful, and he'd let himself go still as the owner of the voice responded to a garbled series of voices on what sounded like a radio. "Got the runner, sit tight. Rendezvous on site and get ready for evac, sectors five and eight were the last to be cleared." There was a pause. "No, he won't be an issue. Will he?"

The knee dug a little harder into his back at that, and he couldn't quite hold back the grunt that escaped him. All the same, he forced himself to lay still, waiting for the right moment to make his break for the car. There was a shift in the pressure above him as the man tucked the radio back against his chest, his focus turned back to Jesse.

"Alright, up 'n at 'em-"

Now!

The second the knee had let up on its pressure and the grip on his arm had shifted, Jesse had spun with the force of a hurricane, the world around him blurring as he rolled out of his captor's hold and came face to face with them.

He had a split second to relish in the surprise on the man's face before he smacked his forehead smartly into it.

There was little more than a grunt for his troubles, however, and as he dropped away from the man and scrambled into a slightly disoriented crouch, he was disappointed to find he had not so much as discombobulated the operative. There was a sort of dull annoyance on the man's face, but aside from that, he showed little pain. Jesse's eyes darted over him furiously, scanning for some weak point to manipulate, some opening he could take-

As his eyes darted for his revolver, the operative spoke, voice gruff and chastising.

"Not a good idea."

The man had been crossing his arms. Eyebrow raised, he'd regarded Jesse with a careful, critical eye, and Jesse instantly felt uncomfortable as he shifted in his crouch, his own eyes narrowing in challenge. Something seemed to occur to the man he was facing, however, because a dawning look of realization had widened his eyes ever so slightly as they darted between the hat and the revolver. Jesse almost missed it as he saw his chance arise.

"Ah, hell, you're M-"

Jesse hadn't give him a chance to finish as he rushed the man. At the last possible second, he'd feinted left and rolled to his knees on his right, sliding past him expertly. He'd felt a thrill of satisfaction as he slid past.

It probably would have worked if the man hadn't decided to clothesline him.

He fell back into the dust, hands flying to his face as it exploded with pain. Eyes watering as hot blood began to seep down his face, he saw the man lean over him, expression exasperated. "What part of 'knock it off' do you not get, kid?"

Jesse made to snap back to his feet then, but the vice grip that had lifted him by his forearms had him thinking otherwise as that face suddenly came closer. There was that spark of amusement again, that mocking glint that made Jesse want to just shoot that stupid beanie right off of his head-

"Fine, we'll do it your way. Just remember, I didn't want to have it go like this."

He'd barely had a second to process that before the man's forehead had slammed into his own, and his world blurred into oblivion.

At least they'd left him his hat.

He'd woken with a start in a dimly lit room(and it unnerved him that he didn't know where it was), three things immediately apparent to him.

The first was the throbbing encompassing his face, undoubtedly from the unorthodox knock-out he'd been given along with the clothesline treatment. He'd spat a gob of blood to the floor in dull annoyance. He'd have to return the favor first chance he got. No insult goes-

The second was his hat, perched haphazardly atop his head as almost an afterthought.

The third were the thick cuffs pinning his wrists to the metal of his chair.

He'd been surprised, at first. He'd expected to wake up in a cell somewhere. He was certainly no stranger to interrogation, but after the fuss of gathering up lord knew how many of the rebels that were left, it seemed redundant to him.

The surprise had worn off what felt like hours ago, and by the time Mr. Meat-Arms-Mc-Beanie had made his appearance, Jesse was thoroughly bored.

They'd been sitting across the table from one another for hours now, Beanie asking his questions about the gang and Jesse doing his best to piss him off in as few words as possible before Beanie would up and leave him to his bloody nose and not much else. He'd caught himself dozing between interrogations, each time being jolted awake by the slam of the door as Beanie dropped back into the seat across from him. The dance would begin again, and he'd lock his jaw tight as he glared at the man responsible for the loss of the only sense of security he'd truly had.

"Age?"

"..."

"We'll put you at 15, then, if you're planning on acting like a child-"

"Twen-"

"Nah-uh. One of your buddies already gave us this one, and he's got lead in his foot from lying the first time. Feel like lying to me, friend?"

"...seventeen, and still shot three'a'ya without thinkin' twice."

The time passed, with him sitting in stony silence for as long as he could before his boredom got the better of him as Beanie poked and prodded.

"Feel like telling me where the last of the safehouses your boys used for shipments are before I find out anyways?"

He'd sniffed, the noise wet and the taste of copper hitting the back of his throat. "Feel like sleepin' for thirty years an' maybe punchin' you in the face, actually, but thanks for askin' all the same."

And so the hours crept by, each minute passing excruciatingly slow as question after question was met with a wall of indifference.

"Your boss-"

"Who?"

"Family-"

"Hah."

"That gun you've got-"

"Not for sale."

As Beanie ran a hand over his face wearily, Jesse dug deep inside himself to not yawn as his stomach growled, discontent. He hadn't been keeping track from the start, but the moment he'd seen the watch on the man's wrist, he'd followed the tiny arms in small glances when he got the chance.

Eleven hours.

They'd been at it for eleven hours now, not counting each of the breaks Beanie would take to leave the room.

As if on cue, the man stood, stretching long over his head before shooting Jesse a dour look and making for the door without a word.

"Come back real soon, we 'preciate your business!"

Jesse's mocking call was only met with the silence that slammed into place with the door.

He had no idea how much time had passed after that. He'd drifted again, allowing himself the barest hint of thought towards his fellow rebels. He'd known they'd rounded up some of them, sure, but from what he'd seen, most had gone down fighting. Probably served them right, he supposed. The next time the door opened, Jesse was awake and whistling tunelessly under his breath. He kept whistling as his eyes tracked Beanie's movement to the chair, a flash of something red in his hand catching his eye for a split second before the object disappeared under the table to rest in the man's lap. His whistle died slowly, but on a strong note as he met the other man's eyes.

His tactic had been to aggravate, and it had been working pretty well so far.

Beanie had appeared to have enough. The man's face was etched with hard lines as he sat back and regarded Jesse. He barely moved as he spoke.

"You hungry?"

Jesse didn't have time to answer before the man sat forward again, eyes narrowing as he switched tactics almost instantly.

"So what was your deal, then?" He sounded genuinely curious. "They point you in a direction and you pull the trigger?"

Jesse gave a dull, emotionless smile (just like the Deadlocks had given him before they'd jumped him in all those years ago, they'd be so proud), the effect losing some of its menace as the movement reopened one of the slashes over his nose and blood dribbled over his lip onto his teeth. "Ran the straw purchases,'s all. Errand boy."

Beanie didn't so much as twitch at that, his eyes hooded as he stared into the pit of Jesse's numb soul. He was sure that stare had worked on plenty of riffraff before.

But he'd been beyond feeling anything for so long now he doubted it was meant to come across quite as bland as it did to him.

The man leaned forward, his elbows planting on the rickety table and his hands folding in front of his face, his head tilting to address Jesse around them.

"You're trying to tell me that all you did was get guns from civvies. That's it."

Jesse gave the man a thoughtful once over at that. He hadn't really expected him to know what he'd meant by straw, and yet he supposed he shouldn't have been surprised. This was the man who, from what he could learn over their time chatting, had more or less single handedly hunted them all down and flushed them out like rats from the sewer that was Deadlock Gorge faster than Jesse could so much as blink.

Which, speaking of, the man now had yet to do.

It was surprisingly unnerving.

Jesse rolled his shoulders, the steady crack from his aching joints centering him as he spoke, tone distant.

"Sure."

The man had laid a palm down on to the table the second he spoke, and Jesse gave the hand a dour look. He raised a sardonic eyebrow, his gaze traveling up to meet Beanie's. The eyes he found were so suddenly different than the ones he'd been staring back at all day, and the change almost startled him. There was fire there, mixed with something dangerous he'd seen plenty of times on the streets. The thought was interesting.

Not interesting enough.

"Bullshit."

Jesse felt his eyes droop. He'd almost been hoping for a better reaction. Yelling, maybe. Frustration. But this?

This was boring.

"Is it?"

"Complete bullshit," the man said matter-of-factly, "and you know it. After all this... conversation, I really don't think you realize just how much we actually have on you, Deadeye. But thanks for the further proof that you're a horrible liar."

At the drop of his rank, Jesse felt something in his jaw tick ever so slightly. It wasn't much, but Beanie caught it instantly. The spark in his eye caused Jesse to inwardly curse himself. He knew better than to react to such obvious bait.

Idiot.

The man shifted his hand across his lap and onto the table to slide a large red folder in front of him, and before Jesse could make a quip regarding the operative's agency still using paper filing, honestly, what were they, neanderthals?, he opened it casually without breaking eye contact.

Jesse's curiosity got the better of him then, and his eyes darted down to the table before he could stop himself.

"This," drawled the man, "is you. Paint quite a pretty picture across the west there, don't you Mr. McCree?"

Jesse couldn't find it in himself to answer as he stared at the photo of himself paperclipped to the front of the surprisingly thick dossier. He was much younger in the photo, hair shorter and face rounder, eyes still dull but not lacking quite as much luster as they did these days. He recognized it from the first ID he'd been issued at a checkpoint in Nevada when he'd been forced to put a name to his face for entry to the territory he'd been given to stake out for what would end up being an incredibly successful home invasion. There was a fake name beneath the photo, but it was undoubtedly him. He heard himself speaking as his eyes bored holes into the paper.

"Where did you get-"

"Not your concern." The curt interruption drew his attention upward for a moment, and he saw the man leaning back into his chair, arms crossed over his broad chest. He met his eyes as they darted upwards, however, and uncrossed his arms to tick off numbers as he spoke.

"Twenty known counts of grand larceny and god only knows how many unknown. Upwards of fifty seven known aggravated assault charges. At least seven known cases of first degree murder. Upwards of thirty known counts of second degree in the last seven years. That's to be expected with Deadlock, I suppose, they did always seem to know that juvies got less jail time there-"

He bristled slightly. "I was ROP-"

"-which certainly explains your purpose and no, you weren't running your own program, thanks for that derailment-"

Jesse could do little more than stare as the man steamrolled on. "Countless cases of property damage, drug running, ammunition and weapon trafficking, and… well, who knows what else you got into in your earlier days."

The silence that followed was suffocating.

That alone should have told Jesse something. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt a silence quite so oppressive.

The man across the table exhaled noisily before running a hand over his head, tugging off the beanie and dropping it on the table as he leaned forward, resting his weight on his elbows once again. His eyes darted between Jesse's, clearly searching for something as his expression grew stern. His voice was soft, but the steel at its edges added an extra layer of frostiness to the silence.

"All of that before you turned seventeen and not a day you ended up pushing daisies."

Jesse simply returned the stare, the slightest crease in his forehead the only giveaway that he was processing any of this.

"I want," Beanie said, "to know why."

Then, and only then, did Jesse drop his facade.

He blamed the fact that he'd been keeping it up for the better part of a full day.

He blinked, bewildered, his mouth moving before his brain could shut it up. "All that and all y'want is why?"

He didn't give the man a chance to respond before he let out a short, unbelieving laugh that gave way to a full on fit of snickering. He shook his head, the laughter dying down slightly as the man stared expectantly at him and made no move to interrupt. The stoic silence is probably what did it, but Jesse found himself puffing his chest ever so slightly, rolling back his shoulders with another crack and spitting the blood from his mouth to the floor as he spoke evenly.

"'S all respect, isn't it? Y'get them to fear you, and they ain't gonna mess with you. Only way to be left alone-"

The man clearly wasn't buying it. He gave a humorless laugh and was speaking before Jesse finished. "They tell you to sell that company line or you just adopt it yourself? More violence, more respect?"

Jesse felt his lip curl at the interruption. "Wouldn't expect you to understand-"

"-right, right, because I don't know criminals like you do," he interrupted Jesse once again. "I may not have been in your little club, kid, but I know enough about reading people to know that what you're selling here? This whole-" He made a sweeping gesture up and down the length of Jesse's raggedy figure. "-devil-may-care bullshit? It's an act. A damn good one, sure, but I'd expect nothing less from the likes of you. But let me be very, very clear."

He leaned across the table, and Jesse prided himself on the fact that he only shifted in his seat by a millimeter.

"There are two more of you chained to chairs just like this one the next room over, and each of you has only just started to scratch the surface of what I need here. Twelve of you have squealed, and they aren't about to start regretting selling you out over their shiny new prison sentences. The rest are toes up and being sent back to HQ in body bags. Your damn lives are at stake every day, so that tells me you've got a brain somewhere behind all this snide bullshit and yet none of you have so much as twitched at the chance to strike a deal. So while I'm still in the giving mood and even willing to consider shortening any of your sentences, which should really be a goddamn crime in and of itself, then you had better start talking and cut. The. Crap."

Something about the way he said it did it in the end.

He wasn't sure if it was the condescending expression. The tone. The fact that he had been awake for easily two days straight and had been shot at and rough-housed and forced to watch his comrades dying like dogs in a ditch around him with nothing but six shots and a primal need to live only to be cuffed to a chair and smirked at and told off like a petulant child-

In the end, it didn't matter.

He'd have found himself at this point eventually, anyways.

Because suddenly, he could feel again.

And he was livid.

"It's all crap to you, I get it!" The shout was raw, the anger behind it adding extra power he'd forgotten he had, and he watched the flicker of grim surprise cross the man's expression as he continued on, his voice lowering but seething with words he'd been forced to bury in layers of desensitized  nothingness for years, and suddenly he couldn't stop if he wanted to.

"You don't have to pretend like you get it, I don't care! You wouldn't know what it takes to have t'just- t'make sure you even wake up the next day! It ain't about all the violence and the stealin', dumbass, it's about-"

He couldn't stop himself, he couldn't stop he needed to stop before he said something he'd regret-

"It's about survivin'!"

Shit, shit, shit, he'd said that out loud-

"Y'don't just start- start killin' people because you want to, y'do it because you have to, and if you can't see that early in the game-"

He inhaled sharply, his tone positively frigid.

"Then you ain't got a snowball's chance in hell to live to see another day."

The man's face gave nothing away as Jesse's words echoed back to him in the small room, his breathing the only thing filling the empty air. This silence was worse than the one before. Before, he'd only felt it clawing at his insides.

Now, he could feel the instant shame burning across his skin as he glared down the agent, the regret of letting his own guard crumble quite so easily punching him solidly in the gut over and over and over again until he was certain he'd be sick from the tension alone. He could fix this, he just had to think fast, act fast, and that's what he's best at, that's why they kept him around, wasn't it? He can be quick, he can fix this-

"You're looking at twenty five to life for this, kid."

He knew that, damn it, and there was the "kid" again, and he knew that, he knew, he knew-

"Hell of a long time to do a whole lotta nothing."

His breathing was back under control. He could get his guard back up, he could rebuild that wall around his soul if he was quick enough, he was always quick enough. His skin was still flushed, and he was still bleeding like a stuck pig and bruised and battered and so damn tired but inside he was shoving everything back into its respective box where it needed to be. Where it couldn't compromise him. Where he could ignore it and act aloof and pretend the world owed him everything for the sake of saving his skin.

Where it belonged.

"Sounds like a waste, don't it?"

He could almost speak again, if the asshole would just stop talking, he just needed a moment to-

"So let's discuss options here."

His eye twitched as his jaw ticked once again, the only outward sign of surprise. He had to concentrate, he was so close to getting back behind that wall-

But…

Options?

People like him didn't get options.

He must have voiced the thought aloud, because something changed in the agent's face.

"Door number one: you go to prison. For a very long time." The man held up a finger and slashed it across the front of his throat with a harsh, grating noise reminiscent of an antique buzzer. Before Jesse could react, he held up a second finger.

"Door number two: you start paying off the debt you're gonna find yourself with in hell. And you start now."

When it was clear after the few seconds of silence that Jesse didn't follow, the man stood, pushing the chair away from the table with a shrill squeal. He planted his palms on the table, the added height doing little to intimidate Jesse but certainly piquing his interest as the man continued.

"You give me everything you have on Deadlock. What's left of your friends gets chucked in a cell too small to stand up in. Your info comes across clean, then you work for me. When the head honchos ask you what you're doing here, you're a criminal consultant. You'll still face charges, but this way you can do some damn good for yourself instead of scratching tallies in the wall alongside the rest of your little motley crew for the rest of your life. You work for me, and I can promise you I won't be letting that… talent of yours go to waste."

Jesse stared.

And stared.

And stared until his eyes watered. Something in his head was screaming at him, pounding against that wall of his that was almost up, he's lying, he's going to send you to the slammer and you know it, you can't redeem the things you've done-

But something on the outside dripped sluggishly down his lip, and he blinked as he realized the blood from his nose had started flowing again. The blood from the nose this man had broken.

The blood that wasn't currently painting the sands of Santa Fe like the rest of his gang.

The blood that was still running through his veins.

His palm itched. The chair he was cuffed to was cold, and the metal dug into the undersides of his shoulder blades. He was bruised. Battered. Tired.

And yet, he couldn't remember a time when he could feel quite as much as he did now.

Hope.

It was hope.

The man's expression was slowly beginning to darken back into a glower, and he knew his time to answer was running short when he gave a long glance to the two-way mirror lining the wall. Jesse had barely spared it a thought until now, but he stared it down resolutely as he wondered just how many people had been watching. "Last chance, kid," the man's voice drew his attention forward once again. "You're the only one they're planning on letting me ask this, and I sure as shit wouldn't consider the two yahoos next door worth my time. Don't waste this shot."

One of the gang members he'd run with a whole lifetime ago had a tattoo of a bulky, black and blue shark. The thing had been ugly as hell and they'd collectively given him shit over it, but he'd been proud of the detail he'd managed to etch into his skin across such a small surface. The glittering, cold eyes, the toothy grin that was positively dripping in mischief and menace and practically screamed the promise that you're next-

The shouting in his head was drowned out as he rolled back his shoulders one last time. They made no noise as he stared up from beneath the brim of his hat. There was a fire in his eyes that he'd thought had long since been extinguished as he stared Beanie down, and he knew the other saw it rekindling as a slow smirk grew on the man's face. Jesse's voice was hoarse when he spoke, and the noise in his head finally quieted the moment the words passed his lips.

"When do we start?"

The man inhaled deeply at that before exhaling in a loud burst. He rummaged in his pocket for a long moment, drawing out a small tablet that he began tapping away on insistently in lieu of answering. After a moment, he put it on the table and slid it across for Jesse to examine. There was an empty form staring back up at him with four simple words typed across the top.

MCCREE, JESSE. BLACKWATCH OPERATIVE.

Jesse glanced up to the man. "Blackwatch-?"

"That'd be mine. I'll get to the details of it later, but from now on, you'll be answering to me. Lucky you."

Jesse gave the man a once over, seeing him through an entirely different lens than he had before. He layered on the drawl as he spoke, his overwhelmed confusion obvious as his accent flared.

"And, uh… you are?"

The man's demeanor changed entirely at that, and he tucked the tablet off of the table and away into his pocket in one swift movement that Jesse almost missed. He picked up his beanie with a small nod (though for what reason, Jesse couldn't for the life of him know) and jammed it roughly back over his head as he made for the door of the room. For a moment, Jesse was convinced he wouldn't answer, and just as he was beginning to puff up in indignation, the man turned.

"Gabriel Reyes. Welcome to hell."

When Jesse ran with Deadlock, he knew a man who had a shark with the grin of the devil carved into his skin.

Up until the day Jesse met Gabriel Reyes, he'd only seen that grin once.

The door shut behind Reyes with a click of finality, and Jesse was left alone to his thoughts as the silence bore down upon him once again. He searched for that nagging little voice, that numbing shell around what was left of him-

And came up blank. There was nothing but the usual burning need, and it was glowing brighter than he'd ever felt it in his gut. But this time, it wasn't a need to survive.

It was to live.

He stared at himself in the two-way mirror for what felt like an eternity before a slow, blood stained smile grew across his face. His expression looked a little wild to him in the reflection, but he couldn't find it in himself to care much as he saw his own eyes (his real eyes, not the ones that had given him his moniker all that time ago) for the first time in years.

Jesse McCree wasn't born a fighter, but he'd be damned if he wouldn't die one.

Chapter Text

"It's just a military operation?"

"Of a sort, sure. But Overwatch covers the, ah, prettier side of things. Blackwatch exists solely to get our hands dirty."

"…so it's just a military operation."

Reyes shot him a withering look from his position behind the desk, the papers scattered across the large screen he'd been observing momentarily forgotten as Jesse regarded him from his own seat across the table. He'd tilted the chair back onto the edges of its legs, and if it wasn't for the aching reminder that remained in his still-swollen nose, he'd have kicked his boots up to rest the edge of the desk. He supposed he should count himself lucky to have retained enough smarts to know when to pick battles.

And yet, that didn't seem to stop some part of his brain from still holding a grudge that it fully planned on repaying when the opportunity presented itself. The guy might've tossed him a bone with his "employment" offer, but Jesse was by no means indebted to him. He'd given him an eye for an eye already.

No insult went unanswered, after all.

He'd been invited to join the ranks of Blackwatch three days prior, and in that short amount of time his world had gone through enough inversions to make even the most skillful pilots sick. They'd fingerprinted him the second the cuffs had come off (which hadn't gone over well at first, he'd thought of booking it right then and there the moment the ink pad was brandished in his general direction), and his first day officially on the grid began. They'd slapped a wet rag over his nose and a platter with a cold turkey leg beside a pitcher of water in front of him as they sat him down across from a man, then a woman, then another man, then another woman, each asking him a series of pointless, flowery questions he would later be told were psychological evaluations. "Tell me what you see," they'd said as they held up flimsy bits of paper coated in misshapen blobs of ink, to which he'd replied "can't rightly say, ain't ever been much of an art critic."

The more petulant side of him wished he had known the purpose of the test before going in, as he'd done a pretty decent job of avoiding any concrete answers when he could. Not the best way to earn trust in a group, he'd imagine. If you danced in Deadlock like he'd been doing with these people, you'd likely find yourself on the business end of a sawed-off before you could so much as utter an apology.

Still, he didn't regret much. He gave them enough to go off of in the end, he supposed, because they'd shoved him in the direction of the showers and dropped a standard issue pair of sweats and a plain tee shirt with a bar of soap in his arms with a gruff command to clean the hell up and be back in the hallway before ten minutes were up. He didn't miss the disgust that flickered in the eye of the man who'd given the command as he stepped outside of the tiled room to undoubtedly stand guard outside. Jesse had watched him go with the first stirrings of resentment in his gut, but the promise of a hot shower and clothing that wasn't coated in an inch thick layer of grime was just too much to resist a second longer.

He'd met the man outside squeaky clean of blood and dirt after fifteen minutes and gotten a positively scathing glare for it.

Things had pretty much gone downhill from there.

The man had escorted him to a small room that was set up at the watchpoint (Colorado, they'd told him offhandedly when he'd voiced his confusion) as a sort of emergency room. They'd brusquely set his nose back to its normal alignment, and he'd taken enormous pride in himself when the medic had stared in shock as he hadn't flinched a millimeter. They had given him a half-melted pack of ice for the swelling. He'd tucked the pack in his pocket to be forgotten.

They'd given him a room for the short time they were planning on staying. A barrack, more like it, with a small, clean bunk and rickety, yet sleek writing desk along with a chair that wobbled on its back leg if he tipped it just so. A long, thin window lined the top of the wall, far enough away that the tips of his fingers would just barely brush the edge if he stood straight. It had been late into the night when he'd been shown his quarters, and the pale moonlight had filtered through the sliver of glass to mix with the watery orange circle cast on the floor from the pivoted, metal lamp mounted to the wall beside the head of the bed. A second pair of sweats and a plastic-sealed pack of generic T-shirts were on his pillow, and the man (a cadet, he supposed, he wasn't certain of ranks around here yet) had gruffly told him he'd be receiving his uniform after his information from the interrogation panned out and Reyes finished with the paperwork. "And don't even think about leaving this room until they've given you permission," he'd grunted, "or Athena'll shut you down faster than you can draw." The door had shut with force after that little tidbit was delivered, and Jesse could hear the heavy footfalls reverberating through the walls long after he'd gone as he was left to muse over who the hell "Athena" was.

Left to his own devices for the first time since the sting, he'd been forced to confront his thoughts in the quiet of the base as he triple checked the lock on his door. This was a different sort of night than he was used to. There were no drunken shouts outside his window, no rustling of cloth, no bursts of laughter from the diner, no gunshots, no insects buzzing into the night. This was a sterile, looming sort of silence that Jesse exhaled louder than usual into for even a hint of reprieve from.

The events of the day (days? He'd forgotten to ask…) overwhelmed him slowly as he'd stood in the middle of his room, and the longer he stared at the off-white paint chipping in the corner of the wall, the more his situation had sunk in to him.

He'd sold out.

Again.

Hadn't he learned anything the first time?

He'd sunk to sit on the edge of his bed, his eyes slightly glazed as he zoned out. Everything had had a surreal sort of filter over it from the moment he'd been dropped to the dirt back in the canyon, but the reality of what had happened hadn't truly hit him until that very moment.

He had shaken himself out of his reverie quickly enough (a man missing half his teeth and a jagged divot courtesy of a butcher's knife across his forehead dumping him out of his cot because idle brains end up spattered on the wall, Jes, stop sleepin'). Half-standing to reach for the desk, he'd snagged a pen as he'd slipped his boots off to sit back down. The smudged chalk tally inside them glared up at him as it always did, and he'd stared right back, the pen twiddling between his fingers.

He'd sat back against the wall serving as his headboard after the empty minutes had passed by, the pen uncapping in his hands as he'd slashed it across the bit of wall hidden behind the bed frame.

Day one.

The lock etched in between his fingers had itched with a vengeance as he'd swept his hat off of his head and hung it haphazardly over the lamp, the absence of his revolver settling heavily into his stomach and unnerving him as he'd realized just how defenseless he was. After checking the door's lock two more times, he'd finally settled with his back against the wall, the only light in the room seeping in from the window. He'd stared down at the tattoo for a long, long while that first night.

He wasn't free yet.

He'd just swapped one lock for another.

If he hadn't been through the wringer for the previous 48 hours, he didn't doubt that he would've had trouble sleeping that first night. As it was, he'd passed out almost instantly once he'd finally convinced himself to lay back against the pillows. The morning had come too quick for his liking, but he was alert, if not grouchy, by the time someone had come knocking to fetch him.

From there, the next two days passed in a blur of bureaucracy. This was where he'd eat, this was when he'd eat, these were his teammates, sure they're a bit frosty, but you did just put three of their own out of commission for lord knows how long and probably would have killed them given the chance, there's the bathroom, that's the gym, you won't be here long enough to worry about it much, yes, that was a gorilla on the video conference with HQ, no, you shouldn't worry about it, here's the list of information you'll need to report to Commander Reyes before you're fully in the system-

He'd gone to bed each night tense and with his head spinning as something poisonous in the back of his mind prodded him. There were so many rules, the who and the what and the where mattered so much here and Jesse simply couldn't wrap his head around it. He'd spent so long making it a point to not notice such things that he'd forgotten just how to reattach himself to them.

He'd been a grunt for less than a day before he'd grown to resent it.

His third day in the system rolled around, and he'd found himself being summoned to Gabriel's temporary office before he'd even finished putting his shirt on. The cadet (he still hadn't had a confirmation on that, but he'd taken to calling them just that all the same) that had delivered the message had poked her head in just long enough to get the words out blandly before heading down the hallway without waiting. Jesse had watched her go with unmasked disdain before trotting to catch up, hand jamming his hat to his head as he went.

He hoped they'd pull their heads out of their asses soon, because while it was true that he could deal with the filthy looks and muttered curses all day, they were really starting to get old.

He hadn't seen Gabriel Reyes since the man had introduced himself and left the interrogation room to be replaced by another man who would go on to extract all the information Jesse had on Deadlock. When Jesse found himself standing outside his door, his escort seeing herself out with a blasé wave, he discovered why.

His sturdy knock on the half-open door was greeted with a gruff "get in here," and he resisted the urge to bristle as he opened the door in full to find Reyes seated at his desk.

The man hadn't looked up as he came in, but as the door clicked shut behind him, he'd spared Jesse a brief glance before gesturing to the chair across from him. As Jesse moved forward, he'd spoken off-handedly.

"Take a seat. We need to chat."

Jesse couldn't quite stop the snort that had escaped him, and Gabriel's attention had shifted back away from the enormous stack of papers scattered across his desk to his newest recruit, his goatee shifting as he frowned and an eyebrow quirked in challenge as Jesse had spoken up.

"Ain't chatting all we've done, you 'n me?"

He'd meant for it to sound snide, but the swelling had only just started going down across his nose, and the comment only came across as nasal and pinched as his accent fought to be heard around it.

Of all the reactions he'd expected, the sharp, sarcastic laugh caught him by surprise.

It didn't last long, however, as Gabriel fixed him with that stare and promptly told him to shut up as he cut the laugh short.

And so he now found himself some twenty minutes later, mid history lesson on the making and workings of the elite force known as Overwatch. He'd heard of them, sure, but only in vague snippets regarding the ongoing Omnic Crisis that generally seemed too idealistic to be true. He'd listened skeptically as Reyes had given him his recruitment spiel, the cynicism plain on his face as he waited for the part that concerned him with the odd interjection here and there (mostly to see what sort of reaction he could get from the man). After what felt like an eternity of discussing the main dish, Reyes had finally whittled down to discussing their behind-the-scenes team of Blackwatch agents geared for-

"-fine, it's just a military operation, if that's what you want to call it, I don't care. You just need to know who we're dealing with."

Gabriel had risen to stand at some point in their discussion, his attention split between observing a series of maps on his desk and scribbling numbers and the odd note here and there across several of the pages present. Jesse had settled for tilting back his chair and folding his hands across his chest, his toe planted on the edge of the table's leg and tipping the seat gently back and forth.

"If I didn't know any better," Jesse drawled slowly, "I'd say you take offense at bein' labelled."

The commander pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes shut as he answered. "I really don't give a damn, kid. But if you're planning on underselling covert ops as "just" a government ploy, then I'm rolling with it. You'll get less questions that way anyways."

Jesse whistled, a shrill note of dry mockery. "Covert ops? Sounds fancy."

"You can't seriously expect me to believe you don't know what covert ops a-"

"And very, very not my style."

The exasperation on Gabriel's face multiplied tenfold. "It is now."

Jesse tilted his head to the side, expression thoughtful. He'd been pulling reads from the commander since he'd seen his face swim into view in the interrogation room, but there were some things he had yet to tell about the man. Organized. Clearly meant to lead, from the tone of the orders he gave. He'd clearly played a key role in the Omnic Crisis thus far, given his status, and yet…

Something wasn't adding up.

Jesse couldn't put his finger on it, and it was bugging the absolute hell out of him. He'd prided himself on his eye for trouble, and while Reyes spelled plenty of that, he did a mighty fine job of covering just about anything else.

"Alright," he finally said as Reyes tipped his attention downwards once more, "so it's a lotta dirty work, I get it so far. But I got a question for you."

"I'm certainly dying to hear it."

Jesse sniffed loudly and relished at the baleful look he was given in return. So far he'd pinpointed two pet peeves of one Gabriel Reyes. The sniffing was the easiest to execute by far. "How am I supposed to expect any of your little black-op flock to not shoot me in the back the second we hit the dirt and call it an accident, huh? They ain't exactly fond of me 'round here, and I only met an eighth of 'em."

Something dark swept over Gabriel's face as he opened his mouth to reply when his expression rapidly shifted, eyes unfocusing and head cocking to the side. Jesse was on the verge of questioning his sanity when Reyes' rolled his eyes almost imperceptibly and cracked his neck in one fluid movement.

"Remember the whole "who you're dealing with" bit?"

Jesse shot him a bewildered look. "How could I forget, you just told me. Y'callin' me stu-"

"Get ready to deal, then."

The words had no sooner left Gabriel's mouth than it happened.

"Where is he?!"

The shout from the hallway made it into the room a solid half minute before the voice's owner did. Jesse spared a cursory, somewhat alarmed glance to Gabriel, who didn't so much as look up from examining his desk for the millionth time that minute. As the sound of heavy footfalls drew closer however, he muttered distractedly from the side of his mouth, the crease in his forehead the only indication of his building agitation.

"Move your ass, kid, that door's about to give that nose of yours another run for its money."

Jesse didn't need to be told twice as he leapt up and shifted his chair a good distance from the door just in time for it to slam open. He gawked at the indent it left in the wall as the office practically shook with the force of it. His face had only been there mere milliseconds ago.

His attention wasn't held by the door for long, however, as the newcomer commanded it almost immediately.

"You."

The woman was relatively tall, her form filling the doorway almost as much as her presence filled the room. The coat she wore billowed behind her as she breezed past the doorframe, and Jesse found himself straightening his spine, sitting slightly taller despite himself as her eyes swept cooly over him and if that was a tattoo on her eye, that had to have hurt-

His own eyes darted to Gabriel, who had yet to look up as this new woman stalked into the room with a positively predatory glare.

Her palms hit the desk with a solid, satisfying slam, and Gabriel still would not look away from the papers before him. She spoke curtly, each word clipped and razor sharp around her accent as she addressed the top of Gabriel's head.

"Just what do you think you're doing?"

"I was," Gabriel muttered, "going over the details for the transfer." He finally looked up then, his eyelids heavy and a wry, humorless grin on his face as he kept his tone deceptively light. "But that's certainly not important. What are you doing here, Ana? I thought you were in the East on your way to Europe."

Ana, Jesse filed away the name as she leaned over the desk, her eyes narrowing as a finger jabbed into Gabriel's face. "I'm exactly where I need to be. But if you want to talk geography, then you'll be happy to know you're putting me a day off schedule with this little side-trip."

Gabriel simply stared at her benignly as he lifted a hand to nudge her finger away from his forehead. "And that's my fault now, is it?"

She huffed a dry laugh at that, a strand of dark hair fluttering out of her face. "What makes you think that?"

He shrugged heavily, and Jesse's attention piqued at the flicker of… resentment? Whatever it was, there had definitely been something in Reyes eye before he'd settled on staring cooly back, arms crossing taught.

"Seems an awful lot is these days."

"Oho, no you don't. You can pull this with anyone but me, Gabe. You know exactly what I'm here for, and I don't think I need to tell you when I want it."

"You're going to have to be more specific, A-"

She interrupted him almost immediately, but most of the anger in her voice had made way for something morose.

"A child? Are you serious? You recruited a child and didn't think twice about it?"

It took embarrassingly long for Jesse to realize she was referring to him.

His brow creased, the insinuation that he was no more than his age stinging as his gawk shifted between the two in front of him. Neither had spared a glance in his direction since before the conversation had began.

If there was one thing he hated more than being discussed behind his back, it was being discussed in front of his own damn nose.

"He turns eighteen in three months."

"That means nothing and you know it-"

Jesse cleared his throat derisively then, grabbing the attention of both parties in the room almost instantly. The two pairs of eyes bored holes through him for very different reasons, but he stood straight all the same, hands folding over his biceps as he mimicked Reyes position, ignoring the somewhat sardonic look in the man's eye when he did.

"Y'know, I reckon it'd be easier to get this conversation moving if we all stop pretendin' I'm not in the room."

Ana's eyes traced over him slowly as he spoke, and the way they lingered on certain areas unnerved him more than he liked to admit. The chalk on the cuff of his boot. The lock in his skin. The twitch of his trigger finger. The mass of purple swelling on his nose. His hat.

It remained there for an extra second.

Her gaze snapped to meet his eyes quickly enough that Jesse wondered if he'd imagined it. She stared him down, her expression torn between anger and consternation. "He offered you Blackwatch as a means for repentance, and you don't see something wrong with that?"

Gabriel's expression darkened, and he was speaking before Jesse could open his mouth. "Ana-"

"No, listen, Gabriel. You know best out of all of us just what goes into your operations. I would hardly call them repentant."

"The kid's got talent, and he chose this. I'm not about to take that away from him."

"You're the one who offered it in the first place-"

Jesse watched as the two argued, their voices rising steadily as they bounced back and forth, his eyes following their words like a spectator at a tennis match. It didn't take long for him to get exasperated. He cleared his throat again, speaking up when it didn't have the same effect this time.

"If I could just…"

"-didn't even think to let Jack know about this, you know how he feels about unsanctioned-"

"-Morrison can take it up with me personally if he's so damn affected by it, but frankly, I don't see how this has anything to do with him-"

Jesse's eyelids drooped, his own voice rising in volume to be heard over theirs, tone deadpan.

"Look, I don't think…"

"-about Fareeha? Are you just worried you won't be able to explain to her why she can't-"

"-n't you dare bring her into this, Gabriel, you are out of line-"

Jesse finally gave in as he rolled his eyes, his hands unclasping from his arms as he gave an exaggerated shrug.

Couldn't say he didn't try.

"Knock it off!"

If Gabriel looked positively mutinous at Jesse's shout, Ana looked ready to murder him and everything he held dear. He barreled on ahead before either of them could continue.

"Look, lady, I understand your… concern here, but I really ain't sein' how this is your business to be dealin' with. It was my choice t'make at the end of the day, and unless you're bigger than Blackwatch and plannin' on throwin' me in max instead of sendin' me into the field, then I'm gonna need a little more time to come to terms with some truly traumatic things here before goin' back behind bars for the rest of my life. Bein' a child 'n all that."

He'd been in shootouts with atmospheres less charged than the one engulfing the room.

Ana was staring at him, clearly still perturbed.

Gabriel just looked smug.

The moment was just stretching into the uncomfortable zone when Ana spoke, her voice low and gritty.

"And what will you do when they ask you to die for them? Will it have been worth it then?"

She barely bat an eye when he laughed at that, shaking his head with the hearty noise. "Ma'am," he started cooly, "I been willing to die for much less for longer'n you've probably had that coat. If I'm gonna be stuck in a cage here, I might as well get the pleasure of choosin' it."

Gabriel was giving him an inquisitive once over at that, the hard lines around his eyes still firmly in place. The commander caught the glance Ana discreetly shot him at Jesse's words, and his one shoulder lifted lightly as if to say you see?

Jesse got the distinct feeling she didn't.

And yet, the sharpness of the glare softened around the edges as the seconds ticked by, and Ana placed a hand over her face as she sighed. When she removed it, the anger had drained, leaving her eyes just… tired.

"Don't push your luck."

Jesse opened his mouth to respond, but she held up a finger as she continued. "I don't like it. I'll never like it, but if this is what you truly want…" Her eyes moved to his hat again, and he found himself adjusting it haughtily.

"Then I hope you aren't digging your own grave, my friend."

She left soon after, the mood in the room still tense but somewhat defused as she spoke briefly of the details of the "transfer" Gabriel was so focused on with the man, leaving Jesse to once again melt awkwardly into the background. He had been unable to get another word in to her before she was breezing back out the way she came with little more than a last cursory, searching look and a nod in his direction.

He couldn't help but feel as if she'd just signed his death sentence.

Her footsteps had long faded before either of them spoke. Gabriel did the honors, his voice dragging Jesse's attention away from the shut door.

"Captain Ana Amari. A co-founder of Overwatch."

"If that's her bark, I don't think I want to see her bite."

Gabriel waved a dismissive hand as he sat back down. "She'll get used to it. Just do me a favor and don't get killed right out the gate here so she can't say I told you so, hm?"

There it was again.

That odd, not-quite-serious, not-quite-humorous tone dashed with just enough bitterness to raise some questions in Jesse's mind. On the one hand, he could feel something in his cheek twitch in indignation. On the other… He sat back down himself, his chair tilting back slowly once more as he tilted his hat over his eyes, a shit-eating grin on his face as he played off of the mood he'd undoubtedly misread.

"Wasn't plannin' on it. But I guess we'll see how much I like it here. Haven't had the cosiest of receptions so far, might end up bein' better than whatever it is you yuppies got in store for m-"

Something caught the back of his calf, and before he could so much as flinch, his back smacked smartly to the floor, winding him as the chair fell with a clatter. Hat now knocked cleanly off from the force of his head colliding with the ground, his eyes were clear to see just what had happened.

Reyes had rounded the desk in an impossible instant, the toe he'd used to knock Jesse off kilter lowering back to the floor as he crouched to place his palms on his thighs and stare down at him. Jesse shook off the surprise, hot anger pouring into him as he realized what had just occurred.

"What the f-"

"If you ever," Reyes interrupted, and Jesse narrowed his eyes slowly at the frigid, dangerously calm tone, "hint that you'd rather get shot than work here again, then you're not just joining your buddies in max-security, I'm shipping your ass to Panama. Ever seen the inside of a Panamanian prison, kid?"

"When the hell would I have gotten the chance t-"

"It's not pretty."

Gabriel deepened his crouch, his knees bending entirely and his elbows coming to rest on the tops of his thighs as he lowered himself face to face with Jesse. The scars marring his face were oddly vivid from the bizarre angle. Jesse grunted and raised a hand to rub at the back of his smarting head as he started to roll out from underneath that piercing stare. He'd barely moved when Gabriel's hand shot out, gripping his wrist in a vice and twisting his thumb away from his hand to put the lock tattoo on full display as he kept speaking.

"Let me shed some light here. You, a Deadlock rebel-" He shook the tattooed hand for emphasis. "-are free to roam the halls under pretty damn minimal supervision until we're certain you won't either be pulling a disappearing act on us or causing any more trouble than you already have. You, who has made it this far in life by being the guy shooting back at ours. You, a seventeen year old, snot-nosed kid-" He held up his other hand as Jesse opened his mouth to protest, layering on the emphasis. "-have only just shot three of mine and put them out of the job until they've had surgery, and they should be considered lucky. So excuse them if they aren't opening their arms and inviting you for drinks just yet, they've got a lot on their minds."

He released Jesse's hand roughly as he finished. Jesse wasted no time in snatching it back to his chest as he finally got the clearance to roll away and into a crouch of his own, a slight snarl on his face.

"If that's the case then sir," he practically spat, words dripping with sarcasm, "my question still remains. How'n'the hell am I supposed to trust them when they obviously ain't feelin' much like trusting me?"

Gabriel's answer was immediate.

"Do you trust me?"

"You broke my nose-"

"You shot my men."

"-and then chucked me in a room before offerin' me an ultimatum that leads to prison or lap-doggin' for the military, so I don't think "trust" is the word t'be using here, no-"

"In that case," Gabriel said as he rose to stand, eyeing Jesse dryly as the younger man darted upright to match him in height, "you better start working on that. This whole business runs on being absolutely sure someone will be watching your back when you need them to be-" Jesse fairly exploded with a theatrical, drawn out sigh that Gabriel resumed speaking through. "That still "not your style"?"

"Oh, I'm sure we'll find out," Jesse said, "but the whole back thing still stands-"

"What, too much responsibility, having someone else's life at stake?"

"Havin' my own at stake! Y'still haven't told me what's keepin' the boy-scout brigade here from knockin' me off and callin' it a day!"

There was ice in Gabriel's eye as his voice reached a dangerously low level.

"We've got something called "morals" around here, McCree. I suggest you find yours."

No insult-

"I've got plenty already, thank y'kindly, but the vote of confidence there just does my empty lil' criminal heart such good-"

Gabriel didn't grace the taunt with a reaction as he circled back around the desk. He only held up a hand signaling for Jesse to stop mid-tirade when he was back to looking at those damn papers again.

"Worry," he said, "about yourself. Leave them to their own devices, and I can promise you they'll walk through hell and back at your side."

"'S not my side I'm worried about," Jesse grumbled under his breath, but he let the topic go as he realized how futile the argument would be. He didn't doubt the subject would be breached again, but they were getting nowhere fast with this current line of conversation.

If Gabriel heard the mutter, he was doing a fine job ignoring it. His attention was fully engrossed by the desk again, and Jesse, having already crossed about every line already drawn in the last five minutes alone, stepped forward to drop his hat smack in the middle of the mess.

"This all for me?"

The commander picked up his hat, tilting it in his hands and eyes chalk full of judgement as he chucked it back at Jesse's chest. He met his eyes as the younger man caught the object before standing in full and rolling his shoulders with a series of pops, hands coming to rest on his hips. The smirk that was slowly growing on his face did no favors to Jesse's dry well of trust.

"Ever been to Switzerland?"

Chapter Text

Few things were ever certain in Jesse's life. His gun was perhaps the most corporeal of them all. The fact that he'd never get less than a flush in poker if he had any say in it. The crease between his eyebrows he'd get whenever he scowled that became so common it finally up and settled in for permanent residence. But when it came down to it and you spent your days waiting for the next bullet to hit its mark and end everything then and there, you tended to not put a number to whatever was concrete in your life. There's little reliability for seeing the next sunrise when you decide to throw your lot in with people who firmly believe that the arms you traffic are more important than the arms on your own body.

So yes, few things were certain. And yet despite himself, Jesse couldn't help but put a number to just how many things were on a good day. He supposed it was as much of an entertainment as it could be. His ma, rest her soul, had planted that little habit in him in all the short years he'd known her. Count your blessings, Jesse, an' you'll never be wantin' for more than y'need, she'd said once. Or at least, he thought she had. The words tended to twist as the years went by and her face got a little blurrier in his mind's eye each day.

Today was by no means good under any of his standards, but for the record, two things were certain.

He was thirteen years old, and the man in front of him was dead.

Two shots to the chest, he'd gotten sloppy fanning the hammer. The time off he'd taken had clearly taken its toll as his hand had healed from a particularly rocky situation with a faulty payload and a whole lot of wrong-place-wrong-timing. He'd been convinced they would throw him under the bus then, both in the metaphorical sense as well as literal. He'd been dragged back from the collapsing hover-vehicle by the collar courtesy of an older member of the gang, his breath not even back in his throat before it was knocked out of him from being cuffed over the head. Could have cost us the best haul we got that entire year, goddamn kid-

They'd gotten over it right quick when they dropped him on guard duty in the middle of the desert and he single-handedly took out the group of raiders clambering for parts to salvage from the downed vehicle that night.

But that was three days ago, and now he stood with his revolver hot in his hand and a brand new corpse to match. He'd seen him go for his gun, sure, but he'd been dead before he could flip the strap off of the holster. Jesse watched with a blank sort of disinterest as the red ran beneath the body, the sound of shouts rounding the corner behind him sputtering to a halt as the rest of the gang arrived and took in the scene before them. Two things to notice.

He was thirteen, and one of their men was dead.

They didn't go back to yelling when they let the sight sink in. They never did. They stood where they were, swears mixing in with drunken, nervous laughter as many simply turned and walked away without so much as glancing back. They knew better than to stick around. This happened every other day, it seemed. The only difference now was who was behind the trigger.

"McCree, what the fuck are you doing?"

The question came from whatshisname, the average man with an average face who they relied on for something or rather and had gunned down enough of their "rivals" to earn the unquestionable title of "guess-you're-in-charge-for-the-month." The look on his face was mirrored in the few men and fewer women who stuck around. There was anger there, sure. But there was mostly stone-cold dread. This was the first time Jesse'd been the one to shoot one of their own, after all. He looked back at them, the weight of his revolver a dim reminder that he should really holster it. He did so with an indulgent twirl, the carelessness of the action not quite reaching his expression as the small crowd watched it in trepidation, their own hands hovering over their belts warningly.

It had been two days since he'd slept a full night, the strain from using his "gift" on the raiders keeping him wired and on alert for every little noise. He'd rarely been able to cool off quickly after living up to his codename, and this time had been no exception. He had no explanation for it. No reasoning he could give the others, and they knew it. They kept their distance, and he kept his as they all pretended he couldn't outright mow them down before they could twitch if he so felt like it when he was like this (when he wasn't like this, however, was a whole different story, he found). It went unspoken that they all were awaiting the day he could simply switch himself out of his Deadeye as quickly as he blinked into it. Maybe he'd learn when he gets older, they'd grunt to one another over cards and cigarette smoke when they thought he wasn't listening in the corner of the diner. Useful runt, but a fuckin' liability havin' a live wire like that around when he gets hot under the collar.

Unfortunately for them all, he had far too much time ahead of him to grow older and learn for their liking. He was thirteen, and the man in front of him was dead.

The bungee-boss' question hung in the air, thick as the smell of iron that was beginning to mingle with the choking dust of the start of summer. He could just leave it unanswered if he wanted to, and they couldn't do anything about it. But the buzz of Deadeye clung to his skin like static despite this being the fifth (five men killed, one falling with two bullets to satiate the need for a sixth) to have fallen to it in the last three days, and there was blood in the corner of his eye from the vessel that had burst with the two shots.

Jesse shrugged, not bothering to wipe the blood from his cheek as it fell from his eye to his chin and on to join the red clay at his feet. He supposed three things were certain that day.

He was thirteen, a man was dead, and the reaper itself judged him through Jesse's eye.

"He was in my way."

The transport they had loaded into was small, and yet somehow the other members of Blackwatch had put as much distance between themselves and Jesse as physically possible. They'd been open about their barbed glances before they'd taken off, but a single, silent look from Reyes was all it had taken for them to look the other direction. But the three empty seats (now two, which he supposed was worse, having filled one of them himself) were painfully obvious, and he felt eyes on the side of his face far too frequently.

He hadn't cared.

His own eyes were glued to the window the whole time, anyways. Traveling by air was new to him, and every shudder of the plane had him gripping at the arms of his seat until his knuckles went white. Awe and stone-cold fear fought for dominance in his head as he did an admirable job of schooling his features outwardly, a look of careful boredom plastered on his face whenever he felt those eyes staring again. The second they hit turbulence or passed over a cloud bank to show mountains covered in snow, so much more snow than he'd seen in the winters in Santa Fe, and a city miles high that glittered like gunmetal in the daylight, and water, so much water he could drop in the middle of it and never see land again over that much blue, he was back to gripping the seat, his foot tapping at the floor without any rhythm beyond the frantic beating of his own heart.

Gabriel had noticed the tapping instantly from far across the cabin. He gave him forty five minutes before he gruffly kicked the side of Jesse's seat and told him to pipe down as he shuffled past, eyes glued to a glowing screen in his hand.

They stopped for a pick-up of supplies of some sort in a nondescript location along the way, some five hours in. Jesse had gone to press his face against the window as the ship descended, but Gabriel's arm had appeared from nowhere to shut the window's shade with a snap before he could tell where they were.

His narrowed eyes were met with a look of blatant indifference as the commander disembarked without a word.

He'd returned within minutes, several nondescript soldiers carting crates of equally nondescript somethings into the back of the cargo hold. The crates, however, were not what caught his attention. Gabriel had returned with two people. The first was a man who barely came up to Gabriel's chest, an eyepatch visible beneath a flop of whitening blond hair. He had quite frankly the bushiest mustache Jesse had ever seen, and an ornery grimace that didn't quite reach his eye shifted his beard as he clapped Gabriel over the shoulder (though he had to reach far over his head to do so), the glint of metal catching Jesse's eye as the prosthetic arm whirred with the movement. The man disappeared into the cockpit of the ship without a single glance towards the Blackwatch members scattered in various states of boredom in the back.

The second was a woman, her hair as blonde as the man's, though she stood somewhat stiffly beside Gabriel as she spoke to him in low tones, her expression neutral and arms crossed. Her face appeared young, but Jesse had never been good with guessing ages anyway. There was a certain grace about her that could only be described as radiant, the gleam from the open hatch lighting the hair around her face in a soft glow. Seeing her beside Gabriel, him in his black hoodie and pants and her in her pale sweater and jeans was such a perfect dichotomy that Jesse almost laughed. He reined in the impulse shortly, however, as the two of them broke off their conversation and Gabriel followed after the man into the cockpit. The woman claimed one of the empty seats in the front of the carrier, a small tablet emerging from her pocket that she cooly paged through.

By the time Jesse had gotten bored enough to consider up and outright asking who the newcomers were, the plane was taking off once again, and he settled for what he had been assured on multiple occasions would be a very, very long flight.

They were on hour eight out of sixteen when he'd quite literally tripped Reyes up into a conversation. The man had returned after about an hour in the cockpit, his companion returning with him to claim the seat Gabriel had previously occupied in the front beside the woman. He'd glowered for a moment before apparently deciding it was a fight not worth the effort. Eyes zeroing in on the empty seat beside Jesse, he'd curled his lip slightly, resigned. Reyes offered no chance for questions as he'd flopped into the seat (much to Jesse's surprise, as he'd been busy staring out the window) and instantly tugged his hood over his head, the edge barely covering his eyes as he shut them. It was as good a sign as any to not initiate any conversation, so Jesse had been content continuing to gaze through the port as the light faded from the sky and more stars than he'd ever thought humanly possible to see appeared overhead.

After a while, however, he'd gotten restless and rose to stretch his legs. The movement caused Reyes to open a single eye and regard him moodily before shutting it again. Taking it as permission enough as any, Jesse had done a short lap of the back of the plane, relishing the pull of his muscles as they eased out of the cramps they'd gotten from so much sitting. He'd just made it to the back of the plane, however, when they hit their next patch of turbulence.

The force of it had sent Jesse flying to grip whatever support he could, and he made his way back to his seat more by falling forward than walking. The pointed, judging stares of several Blackwatch members followed him the entire way. He'd almost made it past a sleeping Gabriel when they dipped once again, and he was sent sprawling over the man in a gangling heap of limbs as he lurched forward. He'd been bodily thrown off and into his own seat instantly (albeit upside down), Gabriel's hand clearly going for Jesse's throat before he woke enough to realize what had happened. He was by no means pleased, and Jesse had given him a childish grin as he righted himself.

"I'd apologize, but no amount'a beauty sleep can help that ugly mug'a yours anyways."

"Ingrate," the response was grumbled as Gabriel shut his eyes once again, and Jesse almost missed it over the sound of metal creaking all around them. The noise drew his attention back out the window, and he felt something stirring in his stomach at the realization that he couldn't see a damn thing. They'd entered a cloud bank at some point, and the distant, jagged streaks of lightning were enough to tip him off. They'd have a bumpy ride ahead of them.

His eyes searched for anything to keep him occupied as the ship shuddered ominously beneath them once again. None of the others so much as glanced around, their eyes trained on books or tablets or shut in perfectly sound sleep. Jesse was convinced they had some mutation of sorts that he clearly lacked. His hands clenched at his armrests for the millionth time that trip as the transport dipped fast enough to make his stomach flip, and suddenly he was talking, the words blurted and gritty.

"Where'd you get the scars, anyway?"

Gabriel cracked open an eye and gave him a searching, sidelong glance at that, and Jesse forced his jaw and hands to unclench as the man's drifting eyes settled over them curiously. He ultimately failed, as the ship chose that exact moment to shudder and send his grip back to white-knuckling. Gabriel narrowed his open eye, but did not comment on the fact. Surprisingly, he answered instead, eye closing and face turning forward once again as he tilted his head back.

"Wrestled a bear in Russia when I was nineteen."

Jesse stared incredulously.

Part of him sincerely wanted to believe it.

After a few seconds, however, Gabriel's eye opened a sliver, and the corner of his mouth barely twitched. If Jesse blinked, he would have missed it. As it was, he'd almost already convinced himself he hadn't seen anything.

A joke.

Gabriel "sit your ass down and shut the hell up" Reyes had just told a joke.

The man's eye shut slowly, and he settled back into his seat as Jesse attempted to untangle his tongue and respond. All that came out was a short snicker and a breathy "no shit." Both of Gabriel's eyes opened then, and he stared challengingly at Jesse.

"It's true."

"Uh-huh, and I'm the czar of-"

Something positively sizzled outside the window, and the plane dipped faster than it had yet in their entire journey. Jesse cut off mid sentence with an undignified yelp, the force of the fall sending his heart somewhere down between his feet as they plummeted in the turbulence. His hands moved from the arm rests to the strap holding down their equipment in front of him, and he vaguely was aware of even Gabriel glancing around mildly as several of the others looked up, startled. He had just started a mental mantra of Hail Mary's when the plane settled once again, the Blackwatch members looking little more than miffed as they went back to what they were doing. Jesse, however, was frozen in his seat, eyes wide and heart still pounding resolutely even as the shuddering stopped. It took him far too long to realize Gabriel was talking.

"-Cree. Kid."

There were fingers snapping in front of his face now, and he jolted his head back as Gabriel's disgruntled face came into view. Unsticking his tongue from the roof of his mouth proved to be a feat in and of itself, but he managed all the same.

"Y'all do this willingly?"

Gabriel graced him with little more than a raised eyebrow before sitting back against the headrest. That blank gaze remained on Jesse after the fact, however, and he forced himself to relax even marginally under the close scrutiny. He shook himself off slightly, inhaling deep and exhaling in a rush that he hoped wasn't as audible as it felt. Aside from the obvious lack of reason or resources, now he fully understood why none of the Deadlock gang had bothered with flying. Almost as if the plane had read his mind, they shuddered shortly, the force jarring his jaw and causing him to bite his tongue as it clicked shut. He made a face at the sting.

The flight was long enough as it was. He really didn't care to make it even longer.

"First year of the crisis."

The sudden, blunt voice next to him startled him somewhat, and he gave Reyes a bemused glance as the man stared past him and out the window. He met his eye at the look, however, and unfolded his arms to gesture loosely to the scars on his face. "Rogue omnic we weren't expecting in a scouting mission. Surprised us. Got a few good shots in before we took it down." A pause. A short nod. "No way a runt like you gets out without a couple marks to show for it. If you expect me to kiss and tell then you'd better be willing to do the same."

Jesse was by no means slow on the uptake. But given the circumstances, he liked to think he'd earned the few extra seconds it took him to realize what Reyes was doing.

The man was willingly offering the first conversation they'd have that didn't involve threats of prison or direct orders or straight up insults. Quite possibly as a distraction from the flight. For whatever reason, Jesse couldn't for the life of him know. He felt the crease between his brows deepen as he regarded Reyes, his jaw tight. He never enjoyed discussing his personal life with people he'd just met. When it came down to it, they were usually either out to point a gun at him or ended up on the other side of his own anyways. And sure, the topic seemed innocent enough, but Reyes was basically a fed, and there was no way in hell he was about to admit to most of the things he'd done to gain his scars. He could just not answer. He could leave it in silence and there was nothing they could do about it.

He was thirteen, and a man was-

No.

"Jus' a scrape from a 'bot? Shoot, here I was hopin' it'd be somethin' badass."

Reyes' eyelids drooped in that don't bullshit me way Jesse had already grown accustomed to in his short time with Blackwatch. He sat back as another wave of turbulence began, inhaled, and-

"Had a bullet lodged in my arm when I was fourteen. Still got the scar from that there, if you look close 'nough. Ain't as excitin' as the time out in Nevada, but you ain't hearing' about that one anytime soon, I tell you what, last thing I need is-"

Three things were certain today.

One, he was seventeen.

Two, the sun had risen by the time he'd dozed off in the middle of listening to what he only assumed was an entirely embellished account of the early crisis. If Gabriel had stared at him for a long, long few minutes after he'd begun to drop off, eyes unreadable and mouth a hard, flat line, he would convince himself by the time he awoke that he'd imagined it.

And three, man was never meant to fly, god damn.

Chapter Text

As it turned out, Jesse would prefer rattling in his seat and the threat of falling thousands of miles out of the sky over the absolute agony that was Switzerland's HQ.

The building itself was nestled out of the way of the main populace, but not so far detached as to be too intimidating. They'd perfectly balanced just the right amount of "we value your privacy" and "but don't get any ideas." It encompassed enough land to make itself its own monument, really. The towering statue bearing the classic emblem of the self-assigned "heroes" they'd passed on the way in only added to the frankly surreal sense that Jesse would be walking into a museum instead of a high-security government facility.

It wasn't so much that it would be a difficult environment to grow accustomed to over time. He'd certainly done worse for himself in terms of relocating. The place seemed cushy enough, if not a little too much so for his blood, all high ceilings and sweeping hallways with so many more doors than any building rightly should have. From the little he'd see within his first few minutes on base, dazzling light poured in from what certainly felt like every angle across spit-shined floors and tastefully minimalistic walls throughout the main foyer and onwards. Jesse had had the feeling of being watched the instant he'd left the transport as the blaze of stark fluorescent lighting swallowed him whole. Glass stretched the lengths of the walls every direction you looked, even in places where glass should really never be. To see out one room simply to look into another seemed pointless to him, and yet someone somewhere had deemed it stylishly tongue-in-cheek enough to suit the needs of the build-a-battalion.

Yes, Overwatch had expertly planned every inch of detail for their headquarters to come across as a transparently beneficial, yet somewhat neutral force in humanity's day to day lives. A sort of sit back and let us deal with the shitshow so you can live your life.

It was disgusting.

The transport had swept in over a spectacular mountain range on their descent, all green and rippling with life as flowers Jesse didn't care enough to know the names of were gently fluttering in the wind beside a lake that could very well have been a mirror for all its stillness. He'd known next to nothing about Switzerland prior to setting foot on the plane, and even now his knowledge amounted to "it snows, there's chocolate, and we're buying you a watch." As he'd stared out the window at the far too cheery scenery that may as well have been from a damn picture book, something bitter settled hard and heavy in his chest.

He'd begrudgingly made a mental deal with himself to learn nothing more than that.

They'd disembarked with a speed and synchronization that seemed outright unnatural to Jesse, so he'd made it a point to sit back with his hands clasped behind his head for as long as he could as people bustled around him, grabbing this and stacking that and shouting across to one another as if he simply did not exist. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't preferred it to their glaring.

Gabriel, of course, had been the one to burst the happy little bubble of pettiness. He'd leapt up and made for the cockpit at their descent, but he'd returned several minutes after they'd begun unloading and given Jesse a pointed look from the front of the plane. Taking the hint, Jesse had relinquished his seat with an exaggerated sigh and gone to join the man as they left the cabin.

From there, it had been a lot of trailing Gabriel around resentfully as he spoke to Several Important Men and Women whose names flew over Jesse's head so fast he almost felt the breeze of them going by. He'd bypassed introducing himself, as Gabriel didn't leave an inch of opportunity to do so. All the better, none of them had seemed too interested in what he'd have to say anyways. He'd caught several non-discrete glances reminiscent of Captain Amari's at his hat, however, and his face had long since settled into a scowl by the time they'd finally gotten around to touring the facilities.

For the most part, Jesse blanked out everything Gabriel said as he was marched through the hallways. He took in plenty, sure, but he'd get his own reads on the place in time. He didn't need a tour guide for something he'd figure out eventually anyways. Gabriel picked up on the pointed disinterest relatively quickly, as he'd grunted and veered off course, cutting the tour short to show Jesse the way to his quarters.

Jesse had been somewhat surprised at the fact that Reyes was personally escorting him throughout the premises this time, but he supposed things ran a bit different at HQ than they had at Grand Mesa. Here, the looks he was given in the hallway were by no means subtle, and the open-faced apprehension found in most of them were quickly covered with a sort of grudging respect for Gabriel as his imposing form cleared their way time and time again. The glances coupled with the look on Reyes' face were more than enough explanation for the personal treatment. Jesse'd stared at Gabriel's shoulders with a lopsided frown the rest of the way, the realization of what was happening finally sinking in.

He'd displayed enough wares to know when he was being paraded around like a damn show pony.

His assigned room was slightly larger than the one at Grand Mesa, but only just. He'd raised his eyebrow at the keypad in place of a lock on the door on the way in, and Gabriel had briskly run through the security measures as Jesse had stood in the center of the room, hands on his hips and eyes lazily scanning the walls as if they had personally offended him.

"Whole place is monitored, so do us both a favor and don't try anything stupid. Because believe me, I'll know," he'd addressed the keypad as he punched a long series of numbers on the touchscreen. Jesse had watched the sequence dubiously, something in his expression apparently speaking much more than words could have as Gabriel had caught sight of his face and continued. "You'll be with me while we're on base for the most part, but I'm giving you some leash here to make sure you don't plan on choking me with it. Don't abuse that. You step out of line, you lose that privilege and don't get to so much as use the bathroom without an escort."

He'd moved right on along before Jesse could react, attention back to the panel on the door. "Security codes change every Thursday. Sometimes sooner, you'll get a memo when it's set. Athena'll update you once you're completely in the system, which gives you…" He'd glanced at the clock mounted to the wall, prompting Jesse to do the same with a quirked brow and pursed lips. "…less than day to get situated and not break anything while I get the pleasure of passing you off as being worth the space you'll be taking up here to the board."

He'd ignored Jesse's deadpan "again with 'Athena'?" and steamrolled on ahead as if he hadn't heard him at all, his foot already outside of the room. "Uniform is in the closet, let someone know if it doesn't fit. Doesn't matter who, they'll point you in the right direction. New batch of recruits coming in under Overwatch's supervision this week that need uniforms anyways, they'll have someone on hand somewhere that can adjust it. You'll figure it out."

He'd made to leave without another word then, and had only stopped in the middle of the hallway at Jesse's torso leaning slowly out the door with a dry clearing of his throat. He'd glanced over his shoulder, and Jesse had begun speaking before he could ask.

"That it?"

Gabriel had actually appeared confused at that. Well, as confused as he could ever look. A tiny extra wrinkle added itself to his forehead as he'd frowned. Jesse had stepped out of the room in full then, shoulders rising and falling in a loose shrug of disbelief as he shook his head slightly, maintaining eye contact.

"That really all you're giving me to go off of here?"

"Got a problem?"

"Uh, hm. You sure you want to open that door, there's an awful lot I've got a problem wi-"

"What, you need me to hold your hand to walk you through this? Just keep yourself occupied for half a damn day and keep your head down while I check in with the golden boys here, alright?"

It had been a long shot and he'd known it, but Jesse had pressed onwards all the same. "Can I at least get my gun back? I could get outta bein' underfoot and bum 'round that range y'blazed right on past or somethi-"

"Do you honestly think anyone around here would say "yes" to that, McCree."

It had been a statement, not a question. Jesse hadn't expected a positive response, but it had been worth the effort anyways. Reyes had looked him up and down somewhat suspiciously then, but his time had appeared too precious to look too close as he'd spoken.

"You've been walking around unarmed this whole time and haven't seemed to have a problem."

Jesse'd shifted the shiv he'd made out of the pen from his room in Grand Mesa a little further up his sleeve.

"None at all."

Gabriel had done little more than regard him with his chin tilted meaningfully to his chest before he'd walked away without letting Jesse continue, his patience having clearly worn thin.

The unspoken stay in your room and that's an order was followed for a whopping total of twenty minutes before Jesse muttered a to hell with it and swiped a finger across the touchpad on the door, unlocking it with a pleasant beep and stepping out to see just what on earth he'd gotten himself into.

And so he now found himself wandering the halls of the base, slinking along the less populated areas as he did his best to avoid dealing with people in general. The vibes he got from the clean cut, starched-shirt-and-pant clad men and women bustling about left nothing but a bad taste in his mouth, and he'd found himself pulling at the additions of his new uniform uncomfortably as he roamed. There had been a slightly too-large dark shirt and pants clearly meant for subtlety in the closet when he'd opened it, but he'd opted to put the fraying shirt and battered handkerchief he'd had on during the sting back on beneath the thick regulation harness. It brought a snug sense of familiarity to him, and he relished in the small and practical only feeling of ownership he had left.

If Gabriel Big-Man-On-Campus Reyes got to wear a frickin' hoodie beneath his gear, then he'd be damned if he didn't get to be comfortable too.

Nevertheless, the weight of the body armor and reinforced boots were odd to him. On the one hand, he'd been used to his feather-light attire and its usefulness in quickly getting out of scrapes relatively unharmed. But on the other, the extra layer of protection was almost intoxicating in its power. He'd spent a good few minutes smacking the bullet-proof chest plate against the chair in his room to see which of the two would cave first.

That reminded him, he'd have to put in a request for a new chair. Something was inexplicably wrong with his.

A grand total of maybe an hour had passed without incident as Jesse snooped the building, alcoves and air vents and convenient windows ticking off on a list that had been engrained so deep in his mind by Deadlock that he doubted he'd ever be able to enter a room again without looking for easy exits. He supposed that was one thing all that stupid glass was useful for; he'd had his fair share of messy exits through closed windows to know how to shatter them pretty damn effectively.

He'd found a quiet corner about forty five minutes in to his wandering that was far enough away from the main hub and was positively covered in the panes. The discovery had him making a mental note to revisit later to test how well they would shatter when he had another moment to himself and less of a vibe that Big Brother was watching from around every corner. The likelihood of them being bulletproof hadn't escaped him, however, and he really, really doubted there'd be anything diamond-tipped just lying around a place like this. Not much of a chance of busting them up with a shard of porcelain like he'd been used to falling back on, either. He'd eyed them begrudgingly, the dull reminder of just how incredibly out of his element he was without his usual access to resources spurring him to exhale harshly.

If just the windows in this place were making him feel institutionalized then he was really not looking forward to what the people inside of it had in store for him.

Boredom was a fickle mistress to Jesse, and he'd soon found himself back at the range just beyond the inner atrium that Gabriel had so graciously ignored on his whirlwind tour. It was empty, same as it had been that morning, and a few discrete glances down the hallway outside of the main entrance showed only a few meandering agents. They appeared far too preoccupied to spare him a second glance, so without further hesitation, he slipped inside and shut the main door behind him with a near-silent sntch.

There were probably hundreds of things he could be doing instead of nosing around empty corridors and visiting places he knew he couldn't utilize. Settling in would have been a good thing to start with, not that he had any belongings to unpack. Sizing up the people he'd be surrounded by for lord knew how long. Figuring out who the hell Athena was. Finding food, even, it had been a few hours. But all the same, Jesse crammed his hands in his pockets, gaze wandering across the empty range moodily as he planted his feet.

He wasn't a child, by any means, but he wasn't beneath letting straight up emotion rule his actions now and again.

He'd been trying to pinpoint the feeling from the moment they'd flown over the mountain range after he'd been well over the initial glamour (and slight horror) of flying, that bitter weight in his chest slowly descending as the day went on to settle somewhere in his stomach. He hadn't had the time to address it, as Gabriel in all his rapid-fire glory had swept him along. But now, after having nothing but his footfalls and the occasional stream of chatter passing by in the hallway to accompany him, he could fully recognize the weight for what it was.

He was angry.

He was very angry.

As he stared down the metal targets on the far end of the dimly lit range, he furrowed his brow and spat, the bitter taste in his mouth too much to handle momentarily. He'd known what he was signing up for, sure. Or at least, he'd thought he'd known. And yet, here he still was, silently fuming to himself in some backwards pity-party at his situation.

He didn't fully understand it, but by his accounts, he didn't need to. All he needed to know was that the longer he stayed here, the less he'd want to.

The room itself was spacious, certainly the most so that Jesse had come across in his drifting. Half of the lights were off in its disuse, and the shadows they threw across the anechoic chamber and circular targets downrange had an eeriness to them that crept into his bones as his eyes wandered. He stepped up to one of the mats lined meticulously up at the firing line, the small table between it and its neighbor empty of anything potentially interesting. He opted for gauging the distances to each target instead, his trained eye measuring the farthest at what appeared to be 90 meters or so. A rifle range, then.

Not that it would be much of a challenge with his revolver.

If he had it.

The thick material for sound-absorption coating the walls did its job a little too well, and Jesse soon found the hair on the back of his neck standing on end as he began to practically hear his own thoughts, his pulse rushing in his ear and unnerving him slightly. It was unlike that sterile hush of the watchpoint all those nights ago, and yet he breathed a little louder into it all the same, the noise far too isolated for the space it was in and instantly muffled.

Even the air here wanted nothing to do with him.

A glance at the sleek, holo clock on the wall behind the observation partition over his shoulder told him he still had several hours before "less than a day" would be considered to have passed by his own standards. Which meant he'd probably have a few more hours on top of that by Gabriel's. He gazed somewhat wistfully at the targets one last time, expression somewhat spiteful.

"Keep y'self occupied," the bitter mutter practically disappeared into the air around him, snatched away before he could claim it as his own. "Right."

Hands still jammed in his pockets, he pivoted on his heel, the small squeak of the mat below him drifting into that suffocating air as he made his way back towards the door. He gave one last, long look to the targets at the end of the stretch, but without anything to shoot with, they were little more than decoration. He removed one hand from his pockets all the same, fingers forming a gun and pointing down the range as he flicked his wrist up and back, his tongue making a sardonic gunshot noise before he shouldered open the door and stepped back out into the brilliant light of the hallway, mind already wandering to where he would be loafing around next.

Given the circumstances of his recruitment, he really should have known better than to turn a blind corner quite so fast.

If running into Gabriel in Santa Fe had been enough to knock the wind out of him, the positive wall of a person he smacked into left him absolutely wheezing. The contact threw him off balance, and he stumbled back, realizing an instant too late that his hand was still stuck in his pocket. With little more than one pinwheeling arm to work with as he struggled to free up the other, he was fighting a losing battle with gravity. He swore harshly, making it a point to turn his head so as not to bust his nose open again when he inevitably hit the ground.

Before he could dip past the point of no return, however, a positively massive hand shot out to grip his shoulders and tilt him back upright. Its owner was talking, his voice practically shaking the walls in its volume.

"Ah, apologies! I was not expecting-!"

There was a man from the R6's who'd bodily checked one of Deadlock's snipers into a table while trying to squeeze past him and the crowd around them once at a local bar. It had been an accident, sure, but the sniper had taken it personally. As a rebel, you got to decide what was an insult. Blood was spilt over many a stupid reason for that very rule, and that night had been no exception. He'd answered accordingly to the Deadlocks, and the bar had swarmed to nearly empty within minutes as the gunfire faded and no less than eight bodies were dragged away into the night, both gangs blaming the other and tearing the rift between them further in turn.

Jesse wasn't listening to the man as something roared in his ears, and he vigorously shook off the hand in one sharp shake as he spun out of arm's reach with a slight snarl, his fight-or-flight instincts kicking in almost immediately as the gunshots from the bar flashed in his minds' eye. His feet danced as far back from the behemoth of a man in front of him as they could, and his voice was barbed as he finally freed his hand from his pocket and brought his arms up, squaring off as his shiv slipped discreetly under his palm.

"Back off!"

The man's expression appeared somewhat hurt by that, but frankly, Jesse's racing pulse and spike of adrenaline didn't give a damn. Deep down, he knew the man probably didn't deserve it and Jesse himself was more likely to blame for the collision, but given the fact that the last time this had happened he'd ended up with a broken nose and the threat of prison or service, the last thing he wanted to do was make the same mistake twice.

The man's hands were up palms-out in front of him and Jesus, now that Jesse could get a good look at him, he was practically filling the hallway with the sheer bulk of his torso alone. If he hadn't already been crouched and ready to sprint for it, Jesse didn't doubt for a second that he'd have weighed his odds against this man being somewhere in the negatives as he had to tilt his own head back to even look him in the eye. His lip was still curled, and he distantly felt the tension in his forehead as the man spoke again, his voice just as sure and loud as before while still being somewhat more apologetic, his accent unrecognizable to Jesse. If you can't recognize it, Deadeye, it's a threat, don't let it-

"There is no need for that, it was not my intention to startle-"

Something dawned in the towering man's eye as he in turn gave Jesse a once over, the massive scar covering a good portion of his face wrinkling slightly as his brows pinched. There was recognition there when they took in his Blackwatch issued boots and armor, but such palpable confusion at the bandana around his neck that Jesse could practically taste it.

It was that all too familiar, second-too-long lingering on the hat that did it for Jesse.

He turned tail and booked it down the hall as fast as his legs could carry him, ignoring the booming shout of "wait!" echoing after him.

All things considering, it really hadn't been the best course of action to take. There were other people milling about who would probably not take kindly to seeing him sprinting hell for leather, suspicious and untrustworthy as he already was to the likes of them. He didn't doubt the man could catch up to him if he'd so felt like it, but as he rounded one corner after the next, doing his best to avoid the noise that hinted at the presence of people down certain paths, he heard no sound of pursuit. For all that he knew, the man was just as he was when he'd left him, hands out and face morphed in surprise.

As Jesse finally reached a point he felt to be far enough away, he slowed to a stop, his breath barely past a steady rush as he shut his eyes and leaned against the wall, two women walking past him with somewhat alarmed glances before continuing on their way without a word. He swept off his hat as the adrenaline slowly drained and left a rush of weariness in its wake.

It took a long moment of staring blankly at the frame of the quite frankly hideous wall-mounted art piece across from him to finally feel like a complete moron.

He brushed his fingers through his hair and tilted his head back to connect with the wall, eyes closing for a moment as his jaw clenched painfully tight against the wave of resentment that rolled over him. It wasn't his fault, the guy had surprised him. He couldn't be expected to have known. He didn't know the atmosphere here, didn't know the dynamics. He had no choice. He…

He was doing a damn good job deluding himself is what he was doing.

There were certain things you couldn't simply drop, certain lifelong lessons that you couldn't just unlearn once you'd up and moved away from the very place that had taught you. He'd grown used to needing to high tail it out of situations that turned sour at the drop of a hat, and when his gut told him to do something, he wasn't about to ignore it. It had done a pretty decent job keeping him alive thus far, after all.

The feeling in his gut twisted, and he sucked in a breath as he finally pieced the last bit of what had been bothering him together. Everything here just felt wrong. The rooms, the rules, the fancy keypads and stupid security codes, the empty ranges full of silence, the people bustling by off to do God knew what without going out of their way to heckle or rib him. The fact that he'd just bumped into someone the size of a tank and instead of mowing him down for the disrespect, he'd helped him up and apologized.

It was nauseating.

The instincts kicking in at the confrontation were all the concrete proof he needed, really. Well. He hadn't exactly needed any, but they were a confirmation all the same.

He opened his eyes, the breath he'd been holding leaving him in a steady sigh. His hat found its way back to his head, and he pushed away from the wall to brush himself off nonchalantly as he tamed his racing pulse and settled his mind as best he could. His eyes scanned his new surroundings as he righted himself.

There were four exits on the left, a fifth further down on the right.

At the end of the day, they could take him out of Deadlock. But he'd like to see them try to take Deadlock out of him.

Chapter Text

He wished he could say it had been some sort of odd surge of common sense that led him to consider making his way back to his room after standing in that hallway for lord only knew how long. That he'd had a sort of epiphany in that moment of embarrassment from running, and that he'd consider following Gabriel's orders out of the sheer goodness of his heart.

In reality, he was positively itching for a cigarette.

He'd managed to bum a few out of unsuspecting pockets here and there when he could, nicking a lighter to match from the bag of one of the more solemn Blackwatch members he'd met back in Colorado. Despite the short spans of time he'd had to himself late at night and in the wee hours of the morning, he'd managed to get a chance in night after night all the same, sneaking short smokes with the tiny window in his room cracked and the occasional foreboding glance to what he'd only assumed was a smoke detector above his door. Luck had been on his side over the course of that first week in Grand Mesa, as he had managed to burn through a good portion of them with no incident.

Gabriel had given him a critical once over on his fourth "cold turkey" day when he'd emerged from the mess hall smelling like a chimney, and when he'd returned to his room that night he'd found subtle hints that several someones had done a clean sweep of his quarters.

He'd kept them tucked in his sock and the inner lining of his hat just in case such a possibility occurred.

Until, of course, now.

Between the preparation for the transport and the actual flight itself, he was starting to gasp a little for his fix. He'd gone without them plenty of times before, and he certainly knew how to deal with the fallout of going without the nicotine for several days on end, but that didn't by any means make it a pleasant experience. As it was, the tiny, constant ticking of the muscles on the back of his forearm that he'd grown accustomed to on his second day without it was just starting to really bother him.

His head swiveled left and right as he tried to orient himself in the hopes that he would be able to find his way back to his room and the one and only cigarette he had left despite scouring Grand Mesa before their departure and damn, if that wouldn't have been a smarter way to spend the day today. He stared balefully in the direction of growing and ebbing voices.

Frankly, he would rather sit down where he was and melt directly into the floor than ask any of the people he'd seen thus far for directions.

He'd just picked a direction to start with when he heard a door open around the corner behind him, a flood of unusual noise coming from it as he paused in preparation for someone to come around into view.

Nobody did.

But the door was still open, and the sound pouring out of it was incredibly difficult to ignore the longer he stood rooted to the spot. Jesse's curiosity had declined over the years, but he'd felt more sparks of emotional impulse these last few days than he'd felt in ages, and before he knew it he was shuffling around the corner to investigate the source.

As he drew nearer, the muddled mess of sound separated from itself enough for Jesse to recognize shouting and the occasional echoing smack. He vaguely wandered in its direction, and as he rounded the corner of yet another near empty hallway (and really, with as many people as there was in this building none of the halls should be empty, there was practically a hallway for each person) he found himself in the doorway of what appeared to be an open-air observation deck of sorts. There were plastic sheets dangling here and there, covering holes and smattered with a powdery substance that he didn't doubt came from the ceiling given the half-scraped nature of it. It appeared to be empty.

The door itself was still wide open after whoever had occupied the room had apparently forgotten to shut it behind them, and after a quick glance around, Jesse slipped inside. Part of him was busy convincing himself that he'd only done it to see if he could nick something.

The other part of him was slowly putting its hand over that first part's mouth.

He found himself standing at a railing several yards above a frankly enormous indoor training ground of sorts, the floor below covered in a series of cushy mats. There was an array of people scattered about in varying states of combat, each wearing sweat-drenched shirts that looked an awful lot like the ones they'd dumped on Jesse all those days ago. He leaned against the railing after giving it a careful once over. It had appeared sturdy enough at first glance, but given the state of the rest of the room, he didn't feel like taking any chances. Once he was fairly certain he wouldn't be crashing to the mats below in a flurry of metal and whatever the hell else the junk in the room was, he watched the scuffling below, picking at his sleeve lightly as his eyes roved over the rest of the room, absorbing all the information he could out of force of sheer habit.

A woman he didn't recognize was observing the sparring groups, a clipboard in her hand and something projecting in a hologram by her side that occasionally flashed a series of images past. She focused on the hovering information intently, swiping things here and there and intermittently barking orders to the trainees.

Jesse was less interested in the combat so much as he was interested in the glassed-off shooting range further down the arena. It was unlike the one he'd moped around in earlier, as it appeared to be full to bursting with what he only assumed to be recruits. Either that or they all miraculously enjoyed wearing the same crappy shirts as the rest. Several older-looking militant types strut down the lines of marksmen, observing closely as they fired soundless round after round into the targets downrange. His hand twitched with a vengeance, and he clenched it in slight frustration as he watched the song and dance that would ultimately decide these peoples' futures unfold.

How many of you chose to be here? Wanted to be here?

"You know, I'd have thought the construction was a clear sign that this place is closed."

Jesse spun in place, the sudden voice from the doorway behind him causing his shoulders to jump somewhere up by his ears. He gaped shortly at the man who had spoken, brow furrowing as he inwardly cursed himself.

He'd left himself without an exit.

Eyes darting to the door the man was now blocking with his hands casually in his pockets, Jesse could feel heat blossoming at the back of his neck. There it was again, that stupid need to high-tail it. Idiot, you can't run from something as direct as this-

His stress stalled somewhat as the newcomer took the eye contact as an apparent invitation to step forward and join him at the rail of the observation deck. His eyes slid to the door and back to the man, repeating the glance several times before settling on the stranger's face, puzzled.

Well.

That certainly solved the exit problem.

And yet, he forced himself to stand his ground at the approach. He'd already made enough of a fool of himself once today, and despite his track record for interactions so far, there was a raw, inexplicable need in his chest to stay exactly where he was.

His muscles stayed taught as the man drew even beside him, tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as he formed several well-rounded retorts for the reproachful telling-off he was about to undoubtedly receive.

It never came.

Instead, the man did not look at him once, his eyes glued to the recruits duking it out on the field below as he settled Jesse. His steps were by no means silent, and Jesse vaguely wondered how he hadn't heard him approach from the echoing emptiness of the hallway. He did not relax even as the other man leaned against the railing, his weight shifting what appeared to be deliberately off balance. He kept his focus on the field below, but there was no way in hell that he couldn't see Jesse staring at him like a cornered dog from his peripherals. As the seconds dragged on, however, Jesse's hand twitched with another tremor, a dull reminder of what he had been planning on getting back to before waltzing on in. He could just leave; he obviously wasn't meant to remain.

And yet, something about the way the man stood told him much more than he'd pulled from his voice alone.

The set of his shoulders, the deliberate lack of direct eye contact. He appeared relaxed, but the longer Jesse looked, the more tension he could see in his neck as he supposedly observed the going-ons below.

He was waiting to see what Jesse would do.

Jesse, who was nothing if not a being ruled by absolute, pure spite, was not about to back down from such an obscure and possibly nonexistent challenge.

Silently giving a long shrug with a deceptive amount of laziness, Jesse leaned an arm against the railing as well, careful to keep his main focus on the stranger. And if he used the movement to discreetly shift his pen shiv a little closer to his hand from the elbow of his sleeve, well.

He'd hardly blame himself.

"Door was open."

The man had yet to spare him a glance, but something in his posture shifted a minuscule amount at the blank reply Jesse had given. The only response he got was a disinterested hum, and Jesse's confusion simmered into something dangerously curious.

The hell was with this guy?

His companion's attention remained fully engrossed elsewhere as he finally spoke in turn, voice low and generally unremarkable. There was a deep sort of warmth to it, but Jesse almost couldn't hear it beneath the layers of dry weariness that made him sound decades older than he probably was.

"Largest batch of recruits yet to come through. They say this is only a quarter of them."

Jesse still did not respond, his eyebrows crawling a steady ascent to his forehead as his brain tried to pick up on the shift in subject. Was he not being reprimanded? Had he really dropped it that quickly?

Was it a test?

Whatever it may be, he was somewhat disappointed.

He'd managed to come up with a choice few insults in the span of a few seconds that he'd love to have been able to use when the moment had been right.

The man must have sensed the mood change as Jesse was steeped in uncertainty, as he turned his head to finally regard him, eyes drifting across the purple bruising still coloring Jesse's nose before meeting his own. If his voice had seemed tired, his face was even more so. He addressed Jesse expressionlessly with a meaningful nod towards the room.

"Still doesn't seem like nearly enough, doesn't it?"

Jesse really didn't give a damn, so all he offered was a generic hum reminiscent of the one he'd just received that could have been taken any way as he tried and failed once again to size the stranger up. He had obviously been caught in the wrong here, whether or not Jesse had entirely known (or cared, but that was a different matter entirely). And by the way the man spoke, not to mention Jesse's general status as "shit-on-your-shoe" to most folks roaming the place, there was a fairly good chance he had the authority to admonish him in full.

And yet, he addressed Jesse as if simply spectating a particularly uneventful game of rugby.

There was, of course, the chance that this man had no idea who he was. It seemed unlikely, given how fast the news seemed to travel around the base by Gabriel's warnings, and yet Jesse found himself somewhat hoping despite himself. Anonymity was a rare things these days, and he'd unconsciously been craving a conversation that didn't involve unwavering, open distrust and his hand grasping for the weight of his revolver. So far, the man had exhibited nothing but bland observations. Which, while frankly boring, Jesse found himself almost appreciating.

But not quite enough to put him off of the edge he'd been on from the moment he'd heard the voice over his shoulder.

"Why do you think that one's joining?"

The man did not seem deterred by that lack of responsiveness Jesse exhibited, as he was now pointing half-heartedly to one of the recruits stationed at the shooting range. The "one" in question appeared to be in his mid twenties, and as he reloaded his rifle, he chatted easily with the woman on the mat next to his. Nothing remarkable about him that Jesse could see. He lifted a shoulder in half of a shrug, disinterested. Something prompted him to respond, however, and he tread carefully as his companion lowered his hand.

"All got their own reasons."

The sound of a boot scuffing as the other man leaned over the railing to watch the man on the gun range more closely. "You got yours?"

He'd been expecting this one long enough to not be fazed by it.

In all honesty, though, he could really only count how many times he'd been asked on one hand. From the second he'd set foot in Grand Mesa fresh out of interrogation, Reyes had made it a point to drill the answer into his head. You're expanding your horizons, he'd said with a sickeningly sweet tone, and nothing else. They're not gonna care enough to want anything more than that, so don't give 'em more than they need.

He'd found it ironic. Reyes had been the first to ask him outright why he'd joined Deadlock in the first place, after all. His slight breakdown in the interrogation room apparently hadn't been enough explanation for him, and he'd persisted in the matter on the flight over as if hoping to find some other nefarious reasoning behind his life choices.

There has to be more to it, he'd said curtly. Accusingly, almost.

Jesse'd kept his answer short then too, he supposed. There might have been a grain of truth to Reyes' words after all.

'S a livin'. Nothin' else.

It had never been about anything more than protection for him. Selfish reasons from the start, and he didn't hold the discretion to lie about it. If you didn't join the gang, you were against the gang, which made you their enemy on sight. And when your options were as slim as his had been, you tended to find the biggest fish to fry and helped yourself to the main course before becoming a side dish all on your own.

The parallels he was already pulling from Blackwatch were horrendously ironic.

His current company seemed to buy the line Reyes had fed him as he delivered it flatly (maybe a little more flat than he'd planned on), as the man tilted his chin forward slightly in an imitation of a nod. His face was still turned away, however, so Jesse couldn't be certain. Jesse blinked in surprise as the stranger continued his line of questioning, not missing a beat as he sounded offhandedly interested.

"How far you planning to go chasing that horizon?"

It took a second for Jesse to think of a suitable response. Before he could possibly undermine what had so far been a nerve-wrackingly uneventful conversation, he chose his wording slowly as he figured just enough indirectness could possibly throw the man off the topic. For the first time since setting foot on base, the option of simply not responding didn't even occur to him.

"…far as it's planning on takin' me, reckon. Could always use some extra miles under my belt. Credit company's got a special, I'm 4,000 away from a free cruise."

The look he got didn't give much away. Jesse supposed it had been bemused, if not a bit critical, but whether or not the man had found humor in the statement didn't matter as he dropped the subject just as quickly as he had with the first. Jesse was a little disturbed at the amount of relief that washed over him.

The man with the rifle was standing straight and lining up his shots, tugging Jesse's impromptu conversation partner's gaze away from their stilted chat almost instantly. There was a critical glint in his eyes that he almost missed, but he did not have long to ponder on the fact.

"His form," the man mused with that odd air of casualty. "Thoughts?"

Jesse couldn't help himself from snorting, the constant pull of focus back to the recruit inherently bizarre to him. "Well, ain't he just the apple of your eye-"

"Answer the question."

There was no animosity in the interruption, but the dangerous levelness of the tone somehow surprised Jesse more than an outright command would have. He spared the man a quick once-over, half of him positively clawing to outright disobey. What was he doing here, anyways? He had a cigarette and a room empty of pointless conversations waiting for him. It would be no fault of Jesse's to simply ignore the demand. He owed him nothing.

The other half of him, however, had kept him alive all this time. And still had its hand firmly clamped over the former's trap.

Jesse poured every ounce of boredom he held into his stare at the stranger before zeroing in on the rifle wielding recruit somewhat begrudgingly. The shots were muffled by the glass, of course, but he swore he felt them ringing in his ears all the same as the man fired off each of his rounds one after the other. Jesse was talking before he had even finished shooting.

"Complete crap."

His companion didn't respond or look away from the range, but rotated a wrist to indicate that Jesse should continue. Jesse settled his weight easily onto his elbows as his arms draped over the railing, his boots crossing over themselves at the ankle as he picked idly at his nail.

"He isn't thinkin' about the time he'll need to reload. That sort of shootin' looks fancy enough behind glass, sure, but when it comes down to the wire he's gonna be the first to go down." He nodded as the shooter paused for a split second, his hesitation palpable from even this distance. "Right there. Can see two different angles that'll knock him dead from up here alone."

Six shots go right quick, Jes, so you better be packin' more than I think you are if you're comin' along. Ain't got time to spare for an extra clip here.

His visitor was giving him a long look from the corners of his eyes. Jesse got the bizarre feeling that he was being sized up for auction, but the stranger was speaking before he could follow up on the thought. "That one," the man said, nodding to indicate who was next to be judged.

Jesse'd conducted plenty of pointless appraisals in his life. It was difficult to avoid them when you were a trafficker of any kind, really. Quality. Durability. Price point. The things that mattered when it came to a sale. But there were always the long moments of silence during the process that required a hell and a half ton of waiting, and he'd found himself subject to improvising specs to analyze to keep their clientele interested long enough to bargain.

That said, he couldn't think of a single fake spec he'd created that was any more pointless than the criticism his companion requested for the next ten minutes.

"She's bracing for the fall, but a wrist'll break if it hits concrete like that. That mat there ain't the most forgivin' looking, but I can promise you asphalt'll spit in your face sooner than it'll forgive."

Tucking your thumbs all wrong, Jes, gonna break a finger if you punch like that. Put 'em out here so they ain't gonna snap-

"Gun jammed three times already. He doesn't know how to load. Reckon I'd like to steal his lunch money right 'bout now."

You got dinky elbows, kid, but they're sharp as hell so use 'em. If you ain't gonna, then keep 'em in, you're givin' me too many excuses to grab there and pull y'shoulder outta socket-

"Don't get me started there, look at those eyes. If he's too much a gentleman to throw her, he's too soft for killin'."

"That can be fixed," his companion said bluntly, the first noise he'd made in several long minutes as Jesse had settled into a surprisingly easy stream of chatter. He lifted a shoulder at Jesse's look. "Doesn't take much these days."

Jesse grunted, his focus back to watching a scuffle unfolding on the mats below. Two of the recruits had been paired to spar by the woman with the hologram and clipboard, and she watched them with rapt attention as they circled one another. Jesse found himself watching just as closely, his interest strangely piqued now that the man had him looking for flaws. He'd always known he had a powerful one-track focus, but he could hardly remember the last time he'd had anything aside from gunning and running to focus on quite so intently.

His mouth appeared to miss the memo that his brain was no longer on the conversation.

"Sure, but some folks ain't nothin' doin' when it comes to killing. Even if they've been surrounded by it their whole lives." He narrowed his eyes as the recruits broke their circle to connect in the middle, elbows and fists darting sharply for an opening. His rambling continued, his attention slipping dangerously as the snippets of training below interspersed with his own in his mind's eye. Had he been focusing as raptly as he'd been previously on his companion, he might have been a bit more keen on the fact that he was being watched unnervingly close.

"'Course it's hard to tell with these type. Some probably seen it first hand, sure, got plenty'a chances what with the crisis 'n whatnot. But some probably only ever seen it on the news. When you're the one doin' it, though, it's-"

"-different." Jesse didn't mind the interruption, distracted as he was with his eyes squinting as he tracked a blocked hit that easily could have been made to the back of the head. The opportunity was missed, if they would just get over themselves and fight a little dirty they'd have a chance, but no-

"And you'd know about that?"

Red flags should have been flying in front of Jesse's eyes at the man's words. Alarm klaxons wailing like banshees in his head. Hell, a full on nuclear meltdown siren would have been appropriate.

Instead, he heard the frustrated shout of the man below being shoved back by his sparring partner.

"I mean, sure. Gone outta my way t'scrape by when I had to. Takin' out folks on the green-light list for 'bout as long as I was in Santa Fe, really-"

"Green light list?"

He waved the hand that had been tugging at his ear lobe distractedly, and he answered without glancing away from the recruits. One of them had just taken a knee to the gut, but the other was pulling his punches. Their form was fluid, but Jesse could see at least three openings that he'd have taken. If they'd just open their eyes and stop being so damn polite about it-

"Had plenty of 'em out for hard candy. Had my own name on there too, for a whi- "

He pulled up short as the recruit pulling punches below got flipped to the mat, interrupting himself mid-sentence with a flat "-yeowch." Two open rib-shots he could have taken. A palm to the nose would have done him good to get his distance. And the other's feet were all over the place, a simple sweep would have done him in instantly-

"Excuse me for being blunt, but…"

There was a gruffness to the tone, but Jesse simply inclined his head to show he'd heard as he watched the guy below scowl and rise back to his feet.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

They say that the best cider is made when you throw a rotten apple in the mix. The bitter brings out the sweet, and the sweet ferments into something a hair over the quality of expired milk, in Jesse's opinion. Cheap beer was cheaply made, and it didn't pretend to be anything else. Cider, for the likes of him, was a damn lie and a half. Supposedly clean-cut folks like the man beside him had the consistency of cider. He wouldn't trust them within an inch of his life, and they certainly made for much richer profanity when such words surfaced on occasion.

Jesse gave him a cursory glance for the first time in several minutes. There was no open confusion, no searching look on his face, only a simple, demanding gleam in his eye. The question had been posed, and he expected an answer.

Jesse found himself liking the man a little less despite himself.

"What, not followin'?" He tread carefully, the slow, dawning realization that he wasn't entirely sure what he'd been saying causing a burn of heat to rise over his face. What had he…

"You can start," the man seemed almost quietly amused beneath that critical shell, and something about that irked Jesse beyond belief, "by backing up. 'Green light' I can figure out myself, but 'hard-candy,' if we're talking about drugs here-"

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Distractions led to mistakes. Mistakes led to consequences. Consequences usually meant Jesse would have to dislodge his foot from his mouth without breaking his jaw from just how far in he'd crammed it.

He'd been sloppy, watching the scuffle and musing. It surprised him, slightly. Despite the clear vibes of danger, step carefully surrounding this man, he'd let his guard slip as their easy conversation had passed. How in the hell had that happened?

He sifted through every response he could in that millisecond, his brain working overdrive to think of something fitting to once again change the subject. Something careful, something that would give him an opportunity to finally bolt when he got the chance. He'd given talking a try, and it clearly was taking a turn he'd rather not follow. So of course, he would need to choose his next words wisely.

"Hard candy ain't a drug, smartass."

Good job, idiot.

Just go right on ahead and shove the other foot on in there with the first one.

Sure enough, a flash of something incredibly hard and incredibly dangerous lit up the others' eyes, and the neutral, not-quite-but-still-maybe-friendlytone he'd been using thus far dropped faster than a pair of cement shoes in the Pacific.

"Try that again."

Jesse could have gotten whiplash from the change in mood with that one short sentence. All the same, he squared his shoulders, facing the man in full as his mouth twisted into a slight frown. He gave the other a long, slow once-over, doing his best to be particularly obvious about the movement. As he finally met the others' eyes, he crossed his arms, voicing the thought he'd been ignoring all this time to cover the fact that he was outright kicking himself for having spoken to begin with. Should have just gone back for that goddamn cigarette.

"Why the hell I gotta tell you? I don't even know you."

Whatever the man had been about to say, he'd never know.

His day simply got infinitely better with the blunt, blatant interruption from the doorway.

"Huh. Must have lost my party invite in the mail."

While Jesse's reaction involved a significant amount of movement as he twisted in place to face the newcomer, his companion simply shut his eyes, a drawn out and barely audible exhale hissing from his nose at the voice.

Reflecting later, he probably should have taken that one tiny action as enough of a clue as any.

Gabriel was in the entrance to the overlook, his body draping against the frame with all the relaxation of a coiled spring. That wall-eyed, cold grin that Jesse had already grown to recognize was on his face, and yet the man couldn't have been any more threatening if he'd had his shotgun up in Jesse's nose. Something about his posture absolutely oozed aggression, even when he was simply leaning as he was now. Jesse was still getting used to that one. He'd been on the offending side of that stance plenty of times in the last week and a half alone. The object of that aggression, now, however-

"Consider yourself a crasher. I was just on my way out."

Jesse spared a dubious glance to the man at his side as he spoke. His expression was completely flat, and as he turned to face Gabriel in full with his shoulders stiff and head high, he looked through him more so than at him. Gabriel seemed to catch the intent of the action the same moment Jesse did, as his cheek twitched slightly and a new wave of animosity positively rolled off of him. Jesse slowly looked between the two men as the silence grew and neither made to move.

What in the hell-?

Something happened, as without preamble the stranger was moving towards the door. He stood for a moment, clearly waiting for Gabriel to move out of his way to pass. When all he received was a long stare for his troubles, he rolled his eyes and curtly shouldered his way past and out into the hallway. Gabriel kept his head turned to the side, his dull gaze over his shoulder as he watched the stranger's back disappear around a corner without so much as a glance back.

Jesse immediately wished the man would come back when that stare turned on to him. He stared right back, not even trying to keep the puzzlement from his expression as he raised a hand in a silent what?

There was venom in Gabriel's voice when he finally pushed away from the doorframe and strode forward, barely a glance spared for the recruits below.

"You want to tell me why the hell you were talking to him? On your own?"

Jesse gaped at the odd question, a humorless, huffed ha all the answer he offered at first. At Gabriel's continued glare, however, he shut his mouth, his face twisting into a sarcastic mockery of deep thought.

"Now, I might not be in the right here, so correct me if I'm wrong," the words were joined by a single raised finger that he tapped in the open air for emphasis, "but I think I'm old enough to be beyond the "stranger danger" speech."

Gabriel was having exactly none of that. "Do you want to be here, or do you just really get your kicks toeing the line?"

That had Jesse's attention. His posture grew stiff, and he raised his voice slightly as a sudden barrage of shouting from the woman running the drills below had all of the recruits scrambling away from their stations and onto the mats. "What line? Christ almighty, what are you even talking about? Ain't I even allowed to shoot the breeze with someone 'round here without there bein' some damn catch-"

"When I said keep occupied I thought it was pretty damn obvious that you were supposed to stay put. And then they tell me you're sprinting through the halls like your ass is on fire and couldn't look more suspicious if you tried-"

He cut himself off, breathing in slowly and pressing his palms together in front of his face, tilting them towards Jesse as he somewhat composed himself. "The catch," he growled, "is that you weren't chatting with just anyone. It hasn't been a full 24 hours and you already-" He stopped short again, and Jesse watched in mounting confusion as Gabriel pinched the bridge of his nose and grumbled something that sounded an awful lot like on the first damn day under his breath.

He'd yet to see the man quite so at a loss for words. It was, quite frankly, peculiar as all hell.

Gabriel settled for a hard stare, backtracking to pick up where he left off. "The catch is that you could have easily just gotten yourself a one-way ticket out of this building and off the closest cliff if you'd so much as given him a reason."

Reyes had a tendency of sounding serious. It came with the job, so sure, it was to be expected. This, however, was a whole new level of cross my heart and hope to die or I swear I'm taking you down with me serious that Jesse honestly hoped he'd never have to hear again. The sharp, echoing chorus of sir!s from down below drew his attention briefly, and he was distracted for a moment by the stiff salutes the recruits had snapped into at the appearance of a new figure below.

"The hell are you s-"

He stopped mid sentence as the semi-obscured form (the one they were all saluting and looked about ready to pass out from the sight of, and god he was a particular kind of moron wasn't he) stepped into view in full.

It was the man he'd been playing I-Frickin'-Spy with for the better part of the half hour, and he was being stared at from all sides with a childish awe that frankly made Jesse want to vomit. They were still saluting him, and he was addressing them bluntly, the words lost to the sound of soldiers shuffling back at ease. He stood tall, none of the open casualty that Jesse had witnessed anywhere in sight now. His face was all hard lines and cool detachment, the expression Jesse had seen Gabriel plaster on before discussing anything with anyone outside of his inner circle of agents. It was the face of a man who had carved his way through hell and came back with a few souvenirs to remember it by.

Something in Jesse's fingertips had gone numb as he'd been staring. Gabriel spoke up beside him, voice dry and dripping with sarcasm as his hand clapped Jesse over the shoulder, his fingertips digging in as he shook him lightly. The feeling barely registered.

"If I ever give you a second of free time after this, find a way to entertain yourself that doesn't involve career suicide and chumming it up with Strike Commander Jack fuckin' Morrison."

Chapter Text

The word "respect" can be found between "respecify" and "respectabilize" in the English dictionary. One and only one of these words applied to Jesse McCree.

"You're gonna need to run that by me one more time. You want me to what, exactly?"

His question was met with a blasé poker face from Gabriel. "We're running a simulation before I even begin to consider dropping you in the middle of a hotzone, so suit up and be on the main field in five."

"Now, hold on! I don't have any-"

"Just get your gear on and start walking, McCree. Five minutes."

Gabriel swept away from Jesse's door as quickly as he'd materialized not thirty seconds ago. He'd startled Jesse into dropping his boot on his toe when he'd spoken out of the blue, and Jesse glared at the offending object shortly before shoving his foot inside.

It had been several days since Jesse's run in with Morrison, and he still had yet to crawl his way out from the bleak atmosphere he'd found himself surrounded by after the brief encounter. He supposed it was due to a culmination of things, but the consequences he now knew were possible for his final act of that fateful day did little to give him the warm fuzzies about the base.

Then, of course, there was Gabriel.

While the man didn't exactly appear to have a mood that would constitute being "good" so far, he was certainly not in fine form.

He'd given Jesse a short rundown of what had occurred behind closed doors while Jesse had made himself a nuisance around the base, and from the sound of it, he wouldn't be winning over any hearts any time soon. The board had argued the case for hours, only relenting when Gabriel made a final stand and dropped his rank, stating that they had virtually no say in just who exactly he chose to bring on in the end so long as Gabriel deemed them fit for service as per their initial agreement during his demotion. Even at his persistent guarantee that Jesse would be his responsibility alone, the board had been hesitant to have him on base. Gabriel hadn't needed to say it outright, but Jesse was smart enough to at least glean that they were already planning on closely surveilling his activities for an indeterminate amount of time.

Joy.

Jesse hefted the command issued turtleneck over his head, hand tugging at the suffocating pressure across his throat as his other arm reached for his raggedy button up and bandana. He'd have bypassed the first layer of performance gear entirely if Gabriel hadn't gotten on his back about it on the walk back to his office those short few days ago.

They're looking for any chance to kick you to the curb they can get here, don't make it as easy as a damn uniform write-up.

The holster and chest plate came next after his bandana, but Jesse was already out the door before he'd finished putting them on, his sudden appearance in the hallway startling a few passerby as he skid around the corner. A yard or so down the corridor, he paused, doubling back and reemerging from the room at a trot, his hand jamming his hat atop his head.

He felt the distinct lack of weight in the holster at his side as he jogged down the set of stairs he figured would eventually dump him out somewhere by the field he assumed Gabriel had been referring to. There was only one area Jesse would consider a "field" that he'd seen thus far, at least, so with his luck there was likely another, bigger, secret field tucked away in some corner somewhere.

As he took the steps three at a time, he did his best to bury his resentment under the budding sense of actual thrill that threatened to break through the haze of dread that had surrounded him all week. This would be the first day he'd be able to do what he did best since his arrest, after all, and judging by his results, they'd be sending him off to do it again. Without any of the legal repercussions that usually came with the work.

Not that he'd paid them much mind to begin with, but hey.

He'd take what he could get.

He didn't care much for the amount of government meddling it would be steeped in, sure, but if he got to hold his gun again and see something other than a prison yard, then he was willing to dance.

Gabriel had given him an incredibly nettled account of Overwatch's hand in the creation and molding of Blackwatch shortly after the whole Morrison debacle those few days ago. He'd clearly wanted to avoid the topic altogether, but as Jesse had adamantly pursued the matter for the sake of being prepared the next time he inevitably ran into the strike commander, he'd relented. He was obviously still annoyed by the whole affair in the first place, and Jesse had done his best to defend his actions at the time.

It's not like I knew who I was talkin' to, I'd have thought that only the darn leader of Overwatch would be in whatever that meetin' of yours was, he'd fumed, his voice having risen to match Gabriel's as they'd barreled through the building towards Gabriel's more permanent office. The older man had only graced him with a snort and a scathing so did I.

It hadn't taken long for Jesse to get a handle on just how truly convoluted the sense of animosity was between the two men. A mutter here, a shared look there, such small signs as these given from the residents of the HQ were enough for Jesse to begin piecing together a narrative in his mind within two short days. Gabriel wasn't the type to waste energy on details when they weren't strictly necessary, but from the little he'd forked over at Jesse's questioning once they'd both simmered down somewhat, there was an untold history between the two commanders that was steeped in a steady sense of betrayal and loathing.

There was no answer as to whether or not it was entirely mutual.

As he'd finally nicked his last cigarette and found a secluded patio to pay his last respects to it late in the evening on the second night on base, that one thought in his mind led him to believe that Strike Commander Morrison may very well have purposefully gone out of his way to single him out before hearing what Gabriel had to say.

He'd held in the last of the smoke as long as he could, exhaling it in a gust and saluting it morosely as it drifted off into the night.

That had been two days ago, and now the gnawing feeling at the back of his consciousness subsided as he skidded to a halt in front of the double doors that would exit out onto the training pitch. He cracked his neck, inhaling sharply and exhaling just as quickly before he shoved open the doors and stepped into the sunlight.

The field had more of a sense of being The Field, if he was being honest with himself. Surrounded by a double story layer of glimmering steel walls and windowed observation decks, it spanned more space than most football pitches could ever dream of. There was a portion of retractable roof casting a blocky shadow over a quarter of the turf, and an impossible amount of… somethings lined the walls. Whatever they were, they were solid blocks almost as tall as Jesse and about twice his girth, spaced evenly apart every half yard or so. Jointed spherical objects bisected each of the units, and they spun serenely in their matrixes.

An internal thank god rang through Jesse's head as he blinked against the glare, spotting Gabriel and a smattering of others about halfway across the open space. His stride faltered somewhat as they turned as one to watch his approach, his eyes scanning their faces warily.

It struck him then that he really had no idea what he was meant to be doing here.

Gabriel gave an exaggeratedly long look to his watch that Jesse could distinguish even from this distance. He looked back up to Jesse and cupped a hand to his mouth to shout across the last of the space between them.

"Pick up the pace, you're a minute late!"

The scowl that grew on Jesse's face remained as he drew up beside the group, his jog petering out to a halt. "A whole minute," he muttered, already expecting the disapproving stare he undoubtedly received. Gabriel plowed right on ahead, his voice all business.

"That's sixty seconds of time you've just lost. You know what can happen in sixty seconds?"

"You sure you want that answer?"

Gabriel ignored him, that no-nonsense tone booming over the pitch. "If you're not where you need to be when you need to be, sixty seconds will be a lifetime. Your team could need backup. You could need backup. Sixty seconds leaves a lot of room for a lot of bullets, buckaroo."

Jesse fixed him with a stare of his own, his voice honeyed over layers of irony.

"I'm aware."

He was stubborn to the end on the outside, crossing his arms haughtily over his chest as he returned Gabriel's look. On the inside, however, he cringed somewhat. It did make sense, after all.

He just wasn't sure if these people were worth him hustling or not yet.

The others were in standard Blackwatch gear, all dark and sleek and looking ready to attend every funeral within a ten mile radius. Reyes stood in a simple black shirt and jeans, none of his usual equipment or holster in sight. The delineation between the neutral-faced drones standing at ease around him and Jesse's raggedy figure was painfully obvious.

He made it a point to slouch back on his heels a bit more.

Gabriel met his look for a single moment before addressing the group in full, moving along with barely a breath between statements. "It's a slow day, so they've graciously given us priority. We've got the place until 1900. Hope you're ready to sweat."

There was nothing on any of the others' faces that indicated they weren't.

Jesse got the surreal sense that he was surrounded by omnics rather than people.

"There's some… things that need to happen before we get to the bulk of what we're here for today," Gabriel continued, the barely noticeable hesitation on things drawing several pairs of eyes to Jesse, "so I'm trusting you to monitor your results for as long as it takes. Sync your gear, you'll be grouping for a run on the MetroA5 simulation in the meantime. Get set up and give the booth a shout when you're good to go."

Gabriel indicated for Jesse to follow him as he left the saluting cluster of agents to their devices, ignoring the sharp sir that echoed in unison. They peeled off from the group, and Gabriel's critical eyes turned on Jesse, darting over his hat and down to the bandana and button up. He frowned disapprovingly.

"You're wearing the rags again."

Jesse pulled at the front of the bandana, making a show out of brushing an imaginary speck of dust from the cloth. "Only one rag I can see here."

"McCree."

"What? Does it not match with the black or somethin'? Probably would if you'd give me back my vest, never did get that back-"

"Don't count on it."

"Aw, c'mon, if you liked it that much I'm sure I coulda-"

"It's got Deadlock branding all over it, you're not getting that garbage back."

Before Jesse could so much as bristle (he'd really expected them to at least let him hold on to that old denim vest, he'd only lived out of the thing for four years, damn) Gabriel jerked a thumb at his head and continued. "You really think the hat's going to fly with the kind of work you'll be doing here?"

Jesse gave him a dour look, something in him stinging a bit still from the vest comment.

"'S worked pretty darn well so far, I'd say."

Gabriel rolled his eyes as they approached the opposite end of the field. Whatever else he wanted to say on the matter, he dropped in favor of getting back to what Jesse guessed were far more pressing issues at hand. He kept a steady stream of blunt direction going as they made their way to a wide recess in the far wall.

"You'll end up in a sim with the others by the end of the day if everything goes as it should, but we need to calibrate for your skillsets first." He raised a hand, shooing Jesse back a few feet, prompting him to step away from the wall and out onto the field. After Jesse was well out of the way, he placed the same hand flat against the wall, something scanning from beneath the metal and beeping in confirmation. A large panel that had been sitting flush with the wall ejected itself slowly, revealing-

-well, then.

That was a lot of guns.

Jesse stared openly, not bothering to mask the slack-jawed astonishment on his face. The weapons were racked in a neat line, a rotating stack of pins keeping them orderly beside their respective magazines and ammunition. For the most part, they appeared relatively modern, but he could have sworn he saw a bolt-action he'd only seen in movies somewhere in the back. As Gabriel rummaged through the enormous filing of ammunition, Jesse felt his disbelief deepen further.

He'd only seen half of what they were stocking in this section of the wall alone. And this was only a sample of their firepower as a whole.

He was damn lucky he'd never had run ins with Overwatch before.

"Think fast."

Jesse startled as something was thrown in his direction, and he instinctively caught the rifle as it materialized in his field of vision. He regarded it shortly, bemused, before Gabriel shut the hatch and turned to drop a loaded magazine in Jesse's other hand. He kept a handful to himself, which didn't strike Jesse as odd whatsoever.

It really should have.

"I doubt it'll make any difference asking you to keep in mind that you've got an audience." Gabriel narrowed his eyes at Jesse's vaguely interested glance before the boy went back to examining the rifle in his hands. "Almost all of the board and a few admirals. Word gets around quick."

"Hm." Jesse glanced to one of the several cameras he'd seen lining the walls on the way in. "They tunin' in at home, or…?"

Gabriel gestured shortly to the series of airy observation decks far overhead.

"They're around."

Jesse snorted, his eyes darting to the tinted windows high above before going back to scanning the ammunition in his hand. "That desperate, huh?"

Gabriel was quiet for a beat. "Well. They want to make sure you're all you say you are."

Something in the phrasing gave Jesse pause.

""All I say I am?"" He mumbled as he stopped his inspection of the gun, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked up to see Gabriel had somehow managed to silently put a good few feet of distance between them. "What are you sayin'? I ain't ever told anyone anything about bein' good at… anything."

There was a gleam in Gabriel's eye that was, quite frankly, horrifying.

"You sure did. And it sure sold you as a platinum candidate for HQ."

"But I didn't-"

"They heard it through the grapevine, of course. I had to tell them all you've told me about yourself."

"But I haven't-"

"McCree."

"That's-"

"Shut up."

Jesse huffed in frustration, his mouth opening to retort just as the most fake look of realization he had ever seen in his damn life dawned over Gabriel's face. He brought his fist down to hit his open palm as he spoke.

"Ah, that's right," the older man's voice was far too casual to be innocent, "I knew I forgot something."

The pensive stare Jesse was giving him wasn't enough to prompt him onwards.

"Normal with old age, of course," Jesse prodded sourly.

The jab didn't even faze Gabriel as the man continued. "They wanted to know what sort of basic training you've had. A common question for newbies."

"Basic tr-"

"But I've found that asking such an open ended question leaves too many chances to lie."

Jesse really didn't like where this was going. "Look, I can just answer the question without all this-" He flapped a hand empathetically. "-whatever it is you're goin' on about, y'know."

"I know you can." The short pause that followed was charged with energy as Gabriel raised an eyebrow on an otherwise blank face.

"But I don't give a shit about what you have to say."

Jesse had a split second's warning as Gabriel pulled a palm-sized screen from his back pocket reminiscent of the one that had been beside the woman with the recruits the other day.

"I care about what you do."

The man's thumb tapped a single sliver of the screen, and in that one instant alone, Jesse's world turned inside out.

The air in front of his eye wavered like heat rising from pavement, and he stepped back in surprise just in time for a harsh beam of light to erupt from the panels along the side of the Field, the odd spheres spinning to life with an earsplitting whine. His head whipped side to side, his brain trying to wrap around what was happening as the beams grew taller and stretched across their quarter of the arena. As they grew in size, they grew in opaqueness as well, and it didn't take long for Jesse to completely lose sight of anything beyond them as the light faded and left something completely solid in its wake.

Within moments, he was surrounded by a long, rectangular matrix of four faded blue walls.

The flighty bit of panic that had erupted at the appearance of the enclosure did not entirely settle as he gawked up at it, words escaping him entirely. He tentatively reached out a hand before he thought better of it and prodded at the wall nearest him with the muzzle of his gun.

It felt like he'd scraped at actual cement, but a small spark of light at the contact shattered the illusion.

His brows drew together as his attention shifted to the rest of the arena he'd been trapped in. Small bits of terrain were still in the process of settling as he watched: a misshapen boulder here with smaller bits of rubble unfolding from it like origami flowers, a crumbling brick wall there, hell, there was even a tree piecing itself together from a sphere in the floor. A whole range of scenery erupted into life before his very eyes across the hundred or so meters. Aside from the distant ceiling far above him, he may as well have been outside. He shook his head as he watched, overwhelming awe spurring him to whistle.

"I'll be damned," he muttered as the setting seemed to finalize itself with a mechanical sigh.

"Probably."

His eyes jumped upwards, scanning the tops of the walls as Gabriel's sardonic voice crackled from everywhere and nowhere all at once. It sounded like a loudspeaker of some sort, but he couldn't pinpoint the source even as the man kept talking gruffly.

"This first part's just housekeeping. Try out the gun, we'll see if you need a different one."

The whir of machinery drew his attention back across the arena, and he spotted a series of multi-shaped targets in the process of revealing themselves as they scattered across the terrain. Some the size of dinner plates protruded from hatches that were steadily opening in the ground, others were shaped like boomerangs and spun as they hovered on near silent drones lowering overhead. He could spot a few that appeared to be made of the same hard-light simulation material as the environment itself, each the size of coins peering from between the leaves of the tree, and another set disappeared frequently into the cracks of the mound of boulders.

A slow smile grew across his face.

Oh, this was going to be good.

"Y'all certainly don't mess around here, do you?"

Gabriel pointedly ignored him. "Take as long as you need, but hurry up."

Jesse rolled his eyes. His hopes that the commander had seen from wherever he now was were left to be just that as the man continued. There was such a clipped, detached tone of professionalism in his voice that Jesse was having a hard time linking it with the image of the grumbling, glowering man he knew.

"Magazines'll be sent in when the one you've got is spent. You want one, head for the wall. I'd give you a rundown on the gun itself, but something tells me you'll know what to do. Knock 'em all down, and we'll move on."

He hefted the semi-automatic into the crook of his arm, his gaze running over it with a begrudging appreciation. It was a classic case of a cartel's best friend: closed bolt, aperture sight, and heavy duty hardware wrapped up in a nice portable package. The magazine was still in his other hand where Gabriel had dropped it, and he snapped it into place in a fluid, practiced movement as he got a feel for the weight. He'd never been a fan of the bulkier weapons himself, but he'd carted enough of them across the midwest to know a top model when he saw one.

A revolver was much easier to carry on his person at all times, and he'd learned early on that the heftier, less discrete guns usually meant trouble when using his "gift." Six bullets alone felt like hell on his brain if he didn't focus just right, but they were infinitely better than the seemingly endless stream that could be unleashed in a second with a rifle like the one in his grasp now.

He'd leave the heavy lifting to the soldiers. He was a handgun kind of guy, through and through.

He voiced the thought aloud, and his eyes narrowed as Gabriel replied matter-of-factly.

"So I've heard. Show me what else you've got."

Jesse waited a long few seconds, expecting more to come. When nothing did, he looked back down at the gun, nose wrinkled in slight disgust. He sucked in a breath, shaking his head in acceptance as he scanned the targets.

The hair on the back of his neck prickled. There were eyes on him.

Very Important Eyes, according to Gabriel. Eyes that would deem whether or not he would be sticking around or heading straight for the slammer at their say-so.

His mouth morphed into a grin that was all teeth.

Show time.

He made a scene out of sighing as he reached up to remove his hat, tilting it in his hand as he spread his arm out to his side. He turned a small circle in place, one slow step after the other as his eyes scanned over the edges of the walls where he'd seen the observation decks, a serene smile with the hint of something wolfish at the corners on his face as he completed the turn and lowered his head to replace the hat. He was just thumbing at the edge of it to secure it in place when Gabriel's exasperated voice echoed.

"Any day n-"

He never finished.

Chapter Text

Jesse was off like a shot before Gabriel could finish speaking, the rifle up and mounted at his shoulder in the blink of an eye as he took out five of the ground targets in sight in a matter of two seconds, the shots firing so rapidly that their rebounding echoes mingled into one single sound after each individual spit. He'd barely finished squeezing the trigger on the sixth before he shifted the aim upwards and squared off his stance. His cheek pressed to the stock, he sidestepped at a slight crouch with the gun trained on the spinning targets overhead. He fired twice with each smooth step, the sound of the drones hitting the ground ringing satisfyingly through the arena.

Ten seconds. Twelve targets down.

He spun in place, the part of him itching to show off prompting him to switch hands and wedge the rifle against his left shoulder to fire with his non-dominant hand as his eyes darted for the next target. The moving ones behind the boulders would do.

Fifteen seconds. Seventeen targets.

Beyond the boulders was the tree and the building facade, and he pelted forward with a light-footed conviction that he hadn't realized he'd been starving for. The uncertainty that came with every movement across the base had followed him from Grand Mesa, the knowledge that he was still not entirely out of the woods just yet close behind him every corner he turned.

There was no room for ambiguity in target practice. You either hit the target or you didn't. It was that simple.

He loved it.

He missed one of the ten smaller targets in the branches of the tree, but he didn't mind. He'd fallen into a pattern, and it felt damn good to be doing something so familiar, even if the gun wasn't his first choice. Or second. Or third, really, but he wasn't exactly in a position to look a gift horse in the mouth.

He'd have time to get picky later.

The urge to show off was still overwhelming knowing so many eyes were on him, and he dug through his ever-growing list of trick shots he'd used many times over in the long, slow hours leading up to cashing in on a haul. He dropped to his knee, searching for his next batch of targets as a plan spun quickly into shape. A moment of madness during an afternoon beneath a birch when he was sixteen with nobody but himself to entertain sprung to mind, and he wasted no time once he spotted the perfect line beyond the immediate scenery he'd watched unfold. They were placed neatly in such a way as to encourage walking and firing at the same time.

He could do one better.

Jesse swiped the hat off of his head and gave it a small spin before laying it delicately on the ground beneath the tree. As he spent a split second debating on what to do with the rifle to free up his hands, he snagged a thumb in his empty handgun holster at his thigh and held it out emphatically, making it a point to tilt his head back so his audience could plainly see the lopsided frown on his face.

Compromising, he let go of the rifle as he wedged it under his jaw, using the pressure from his cheek and shoulder to keep it in place as he pressed a hand to the simulated tree. It did not give way beneath the pressure, and he wasted no time scrambling up it, mindful of the weight of the rifle as he did so.

Something on his boot shifted with an odd, metallic click, but he paid it no mind as he concentrated on his next handhold.

It wasn't quite as solid as the wall, but it would hold him.

Once he was settled in the branches (and after he knocked over the simulated target he'd missed earlier with a somewhat petty kick), he reoriented himself, lining up the gun with the targets he'd seen. He sat casually on a bough, aiming dutifully as his legs dangled over the branch.

He would have paid to see the looks on the faces of his onlookers when he tipped backwards.

Using the momentum of the fall, he locked his knees around the branch, never lowering the gun from it's position for a second. When he reached the bottom of his arc, he unhooked a leg and allowed his speed to turn him in place before hooking it back over the branch, effectively turning him to face the targets. The rifle still had not moved, and the moment he was upside down and facing the right direction he fired a shot. A ping. Another shot, instantly after the first, a ping.

The line of five targets fell with a series of satisfying clatters within a matter of seconds as he dangled beneath the branch.

His grin probably looked as ridiculous as it felt upside down, but he left himself no time to reflect on the matter. By his count, he'd finished the magazine (and if Gabriel had thought he was being clever by not loading it completely, he'd have to try a lot harder) and flicked a finger to let it drop below in a steady movement as he released a leg once again, swinging it to give him the momentum necessary to unhook his other knee and slip to the ground at a crouch beside the spent mag. His hat hooked on the end of the gun as he stood, and he dusted it off nonchalantly before putting it back in its rightful place.

Ammo was his next priority. Head for the wall, Gabriel'd said. The glimpse of the blue from the edge of the arena that he could see through the scenery urged him to push off at a dash, the empty rifle steady against his torso as he ran. He reached the crumbling brick simulation that had probably been meant for him to cover behind, his speed not slowing a bit as he planted a hand and vaulted neatly over it to land at a run on the other side, a smug sense of accomplishment coursing through him as he tallied the downed targets littering the arena around him.

How do you like me no-

He didn't know how it happened.

All he knew was that whatever made up this segment of the floor of the Field hurt like hell.

Somewhere in the wind sprint to get to the wall, he'd slipped up on something, his balance flying straight out the window as he fell into a glorious faceplant. His cheek skid against the turf, the barely healed area around his nose stinging with the contact as he skid a good few feet.

In a matter of seconds he'd whipped back up to stand, the gun still in his hands as he spun to see what had tripped him.

His left boot sat tipped on its side several feet away, the object laying innocently in the open.

It took a moment for Jesse to piece together what had happened as his face grew red, and he jogged back to retrieve the shoe as he strung a litany of curses together in his head. Gabriel's voice joined the mental din.

That was happening disturbingly often lately.

Uniform is in the closet, let someone know if it doesn't fit.

As he shoved his foot unceremoniously back into the shoe he'd literally run out of, he tried his damnedest to ignore his own stupidity. They did fit, they'd stayed on just fine during his sprint in the halls earlier that week. Why now of all damn times-

The boot chose that moment to answer, as a stiff, metal plated strap flapped awkwardly to the side of his knee. He stared dumbly at it before grasping at the back of his knee to find the buckle it attached to.

It was missing.

When did…

…Ah, shit.

He probably should have known something was wrong when he'd heard the snap in the tree. But that would have taken brains, idiot, the hell were you thinkin'-

There was nothing he could do about it for now, so he steeled himself and straightened.

But as he recovered his footing and hobbled back into a run, the boot noticeably looser, the world around him shattered.

The trees, the rocks, everything but the blue walls dissolved into a burst of light much like a mirror splintering to pieces that forced him to grind to a halt and shield his eyes. When it faded, nothing but the enclosure remained. He barely had time to blink before Gabriel's voice was piping in. He sounded somewhat strained.

"Got it."

Jesse balked at the open ceiling, part of him truly mortified while the other part raged. "Whaddaya mean, "got it?" I was just gettin' started!"

"Looked pretty done to me."

"I barely got to half of 'em, I just stopped for my boot-!"

"So were you "getting started" or stopping, then, I'm confused."

Jesse couldn't believe what he was hearing. Gabriel had spent the last two weeks emphasizing just how important it was that he paint a good picture of himself for the people who were literally watching that very second, and here he was practically throwing him under the bus over a goddamn shoe.

He lifted his leg in front of him, gesturing at the dangling strap emphatically as he yelled. "It broke, what do you want me to do?"

"Gear breaks all the time. Especially when it's not being used the way it's supposed to." There was a pointed warning in there, and Jesse did his best to be open with his glare. He'd literally just climbed a tree, that was all it had taken! It wasn't his fault! "I want you to get over it," Gabriel deadpanned, the unintentional mocking echo from the speaker adding insult to injury. Jesse's entire face pinched in anger.

"Make better quality shit, then!"

"Funny you should say that, actually."

Jesse opened his mouth, uncertain of what would come out. Most likely a string of expletives mixed in with a fair amount of whats. Whatever he planned on saying, however, didn't matter as the arena erupted in noise, the generators lining the enclosure whirring back to life as a new scene unfolded and a portion of the floor drew apart, something being elevated to ground level from the middle of the mess. He shielded his eyes against the glare again, the hairs on the back of his neck rising as a new sound joined the mix. A grinding, consistent clicking sound. Something that wasn't simulated hard-light was moving, and it was moving fast.

As the setting finalized and he could open his eyes in full without being blinded, he saw exactly where the noise had come from.

And immediately dove for cover with a yell as a hail of bullets flew over his head.

A Bastion unit.

There was a goddamn Bastion unit inside the simulation.

He slid to a crouch behind a short wall, ducking as low as he could as his heart hammered in his chest and a spike of adrenaline rushed through him. "Reyes, what the hell is this?" His shout was almost drowned out over the ricochet of bullets, they'd given the thing bullets, were they trying to kill him? The empty rifle shifted in his grasp as he crouched even further, a hand coming up to grab at his hat as one of the projectiles skimmed close enough to it to almost knock it off. The rain of bullets whirred to a stop as Gabriel replied evenly.

"R&D found it necessary to set up a few rounds of training that weren't all simulations. What you've got there is a repurposed Bastion unit. It's been stripped to the bare bones and hardwired into a secure mainframe, so it-"

"I get what it is, damn it, you're missin' the part where it's usin' live fire!"

"Relax, they're rubber bullets and bean bag rounds," Gabriel had the audacity to sound annoyed. "Hurt like hell, but you're not in any real danger."

Jesse had a split second warning as the robotic clang of feet reached his cover, and he hefted the rifle to his chest as he took off at a run, ducking the spray of gunfire that followed him to his next cover behind a large, generic pillar.

"Yeah? 'Cause it sure feels like I am!"

Gabriel didn't respond, which left Jesse nobody to swear at but himself as the pillar was brought under another barrage of fire. From the glimpse he'd gotten, Gabriel had been right: the bot was little more than a skeletal frame of the usual model, wired to perform the most basic functions necessary for training without any of the possible programming to go rogue like so many of its predecessors. It made an awful lot of sense, strategically. Nothing could compare to the real thing in training.

Which was good and fine and all, except for the fact he'd never fought one of the damn things before.

"You'll need a magazine," Gabriel's unhelpful voice piped in overhead.

Jesse gave his thanks for the advice with a single raised finger.

A noise far to his left drew his attention, and he spotted a portion of the wall sliding smoothly out of place just in time to see the three loaded magazines being dumped into the arena. He grit his teeth.

All he had to do now was get past the literal death machine between him and his one ticket out of this insanity.

Easy enough.

Waiting out the gunfire proved to be somewhat difficult, as the thing seemed to have a never-ending stream of ammunition that it really didn't mind wasting. Though he supposed it wasn't wasting them entirely if they were pinning him down as effectively as they were. All the same, he was just getting tired enough of the whole affair to consider making a mad dash for it when the bullets slowed.

They came to a stop as it moved to reload, and he rolled out from the pillar to hit the ground running.

He'd almost made it to the magazines when he heard the telltale thump thump thump of footsteps behind him, and a quick glance over his shoulder had his heart stopping.

The thing was running.

Bastions weren't meant to run.

If it was possible for robots to look gleeful, this one looked like it had just won the lottery. Twice.

Jesse sidestepped clumsily as the thing drew even with him, its arm drawing back and swiping abnormally fast at the spot where he had just been a mere moment before. It whiffed past his face, his hat knocking to the ground in the breeze of it as he stumbled back, eyes wide and teeth grit as his mind raced. He needed the magazines first and foremost, get the mags, then move, get the mags, then move-

As the bot went for another sucker punch, he dropped into a crouch and rolled past it, hands clambering for the magazines. A huff left him as he snagged two of the three, but he didn't waste any time mourning the loss as he righted himself and snapped one of them home, reloading the rifle and shoving the extra into his belt.

"It didn't like that."

Jesse spun at Gabriel's truly necessary commentary and let out a yell as he dove, tucking into a ball and tumbling out of the way of the newest hail of bullets in an undignified heap. The unit had dropped into its tank configuration as he'd been retrieving the ammo, and the gun was trained on him immediately after he evaded its first volley.

He scrambled to his feet to sprint for cover, the sound of the machine gaining ground behind him spurring him to slide on his knees across the last of the distance between him and a short wall reminiscent of the first he'd come across. He pulled up in a stiff crouch, his pulse racing as the mechanism thundered closer.

Gabriel's voice crackled over the loudspeaker. Jesse could swear he sounded bored.

"Did I mention it learns?"

"Nah, nah y'didn't," Jesse's breathless shout to the ceiling was almost lost in the sudden ricocheting of rubber on metal, "but I'm absolutely sure y'didn't mean to leave that out!"

"Well, now you know."

Jesse snapped his head around just in time to duck a wild swing from the machine. It had seamlessly transitioned back to its standard form, its arm wrapping around the wall in a blind attempt at dragging him out into the open. He flipped from his back to his stomach along the pillar, his chest pressing against the object and his gun coming up around it to fire off a round. It connected with something, but he didn't stick around to find out what as he stumbled into a run and regained his balance several feet away.

His boot popped off just as he dove for new cover with an almost comical thop.

"Goddamn it!"

This was quickly becoming the most unnecessarily aggressive round of strip sharpshooting he'd ever had the displeasure of taking part in.

Though he supposed he'd have to had taken part in any kind of strip sharpshooting for that to be the case.

He was digressing disturbingly fast.

He rolled behind the simulated crate in time to avoid a new barrage of bullets, his teeth grit against the abuse aimed at Reyes that threatened to escape him. He could curse the commander's name all he wanted later, but for now he had to find a way to take this thing down. Having the rifle loaded made a huge difference in the meantime, and given the fact the bot was missing just about all of its protective outer shell, a few good shots would probably be enough to put it out of commission.

Getting the chance to get those shots, however…

His bootless foot dug into the dirt as he twisted in place, scanning his immediate surroundings for anything of use. This simulation was made mostly of disintegrating bits of steel building and the odd crate here and there. There wasn't much application to any of them beyond their obvious use as cover, and he didn't doubt that had been the plan for the test from the start. They expected him to figure out how to win against the unit with his own resourcefulness.

His eyes had just landed on something that held a glimmer of potential when a fist punctured through the crate he was behind an inch from his ear, the simulated box shattering into bits of light and dissolving.

There wasn't even time to yell before the robotic arm crossed over his chest and yanked, the breath leaving him in a gust as he was thrown to land back around where he'd lost his shoe. He managed to tuck himself into as tight a ball as possible, the rifle clutched to his torso as he tumbled through the air. His roll was sloppy as he landed roughly on his arm, and the twinge ran up to his shoulder as the gun dug uncomfortably into his ribs.

The Bastion unit had tracked his flight pattern, and having chucked him a good distance from any viable cover, was collapsing into a tank once again. He had mere seconds before he would be positively peppered with bullets if he didn't act fast. He hefted the rifle up, unloading more than half of the magazine before the unit could finish its transformation.

It barely flinched.

His eyes darted desperately around, his palms sweating on the gun as the realization that he could well and truly fail the test crowded his head. This wasn't fair, he'd never gone up against-

His boot lay on the ground about a quarter of the way between him and the machine.

He didn't give himself time to think before he lunged in its direction. The uneven gait he had from the missing shoe did little to help the sprint, but he pressed forward as fast as he could possibly go, the sharp strike of his sock-clad foot barely registering through the tunnel vision he had on the boot and his inevitable death preparing itself behind it.

As the unit finished assembling, he dropped like a stone, sliding past his shoe and gripping it as he flew by it.

That was when the first bullet hit.

A short, sharp series of five followed it and smacked against his arm, leaving a trail of absolute fire along his skin. Reyes hadn't been kidding, they hurt like hell. He didn't give himself a chance to stop, however, as he knew more were undoubtedly about to come if he didn't act fast.

He serpentined his sprint towards the unit, firing his own return volley as another rubber bullet skimmed his other arm and left a stinging trail along his elbow in its wake. When he got close enough, he stopped firing in favor of leaping onto one of the unit's treads.

It stopped shooting as he jumped out of sight, the rumbling from beneath him giving plenty of warning for what was about to happen. Before it got the chance to shift, he'd dropped back to the ground and ducked beneath the cannon.

It didn't have the time to register his presence before he was shoving the metal-plated boot as far into the muzzle of the cannon as he could and jamming it even further with the stock of his rifle.

The unit appeared confused by the action, and Jesse quickly took advantage as he leapt back onto the treads, his rifle slipping slightly in his grasp as his eyes scanned for something that looked important enough to wreck. After a tense few seconds of searching, he wrinkled his nose and opted for simply shoving his hand into the tangle of exposed wires beneath the wire frame. An experimental tug showed they were secured tightly to the innards of the bot.

Not if he had anything to say about that.

Jesse took aim and leaned back out of the way of any possible ricochet, firing until the magazine clicked empty and letting the bullets chip away at the housing connecting the wires to their respective ports before he chucked the rifle over his shoulder. He dimly noted the way the cannon tracked its movement, the unit still putting off a confused series of whirring noises as it debated on shifting to deal with the immediate threat or scanning the obstruction in its weapon. With both his hands free (and something in his arm felt like it was swelling already, fantastic) he gripped the bundle of wires, clenched his jaw, and pulled with all of his might.

It barely budged.

"C'mon-"

Planting his booted foot beneath the input, he pushed against the unit as much as he pulled at the wires, sweat beading on his forehead as his arms protested heavily-

-and he promptly flew backwards off of the Bastion as the wires gave way in a series of sparks.

His back hit the ground, winding him as the stack of cables came with him, the bundle still clenched in his hand. He blinked at them for a moment, the realization that the half-formed, completely idiotic plan had worked hitting him with the force of a freight train as he rocketed upwards into a sitting position. Sure enough, the Bastion was idling, the cannon ticking in place with another short shower of sparks as the rest of the machine ground to a halt.

The silence made his ears buzz a bit after so much noise, but he couldn't find it in himself to care.

He'd done it.

Holy hell, he'd just done that.

Letting out a whoop of victory, Jesse chucked the wires into the air, letting himself fall back onto his shoulders for a moment as he regained his bearings and wheezed for breath. The points where the rubber bullets had hit hurt just as bad as some of the smaller, actual gunshot wounds he'd gotten in his life, and he could bet they'd be leaving some truly fantastic bruises in their wake.

He was going to kill Gabriel Reyes.

In his short time with Blackwatch, he really should have realized sooner that just thinking of the man appeared to summon him.

The walls collapsed in on themselves in an instant, and he scrambled to stand as the scenery dissolved around him. The last of the enclosure's blue aura shimmered out of existence to reveal Gabriel standing about a yard away from him, the screen he'd used to call up the arena still in hand and his arms crossed. His face was unnervingly blank as his eyes roved over the angry red welts already beginning to bruise across Jesse's arms and the skinned cheek he'd obtained from getting acquainted with the floor before settling on the still present, truly out of commission Bastion unit. Jesse would have snapped something about staring, but he didn't dare waste precious time panting for breath on words just yet.

"You and I," Gabriel's voice was deadpan, "are going to be seeing a lot of each other."

"Already… already are… too often," Jesse managed between gasps, only able to sound about half as pissed as he actually was.

Gabriel shook his head. "Get ready for more, then," the man's voice was so, so different than it had been all day, and Jesse couldn't for the life of him pinpoint what exactly about it had changed.

Frankly, he was too mad to give a damn.

"I ain't… ain't so sure I-" He made an effort to wheeze in an enormous breath, putting a stop to his stuttered words and allowing for all of the explosive rage he was holding to channel quite nicely into his voice.

"The hell, Reyes?!"

Gabriel didn't react as Jesse steamrolled on. "Y'don't even let me finish target practice before y'throw me in with a goddamn Bastion unit? Without ammunition? Or a shoe?"

The man rose an eyebrow. "You managed."

"And, and live damn ammunition, I swear you're just tryin' to knock me off now-"

"You'll heal. We've got a medic on standby for these things."

"That's not the point!" Jesse reached instinctively for his hat to tug at it in frustration, but it was still lying in the dirt a few yards away from where it had fallen earlier. The sight of it only fueled his anger. "Do you really want me here?"

Gabriel still had yet to react, and Jesse was about two seconds away from up and slugging him in the face to knock the neutral calm off of it. "A stupid question. And one we've been over, I'll add."

"Then why," Jesse gave in and got into the man's face then, his voice a growl, "the hell were you actin' like you don't in front of all your goddamn precious VIPs hoverin' up there like vultures?"

That finally broke through Gabriel's facade.

But of everything Jesse expected, the dry grin he got wasn't one of them.

"The who?"

Jesse stared. He was not about to say-

"The whole "board" a'yours that you've been ass-kissin' since we got here, you said they were all-"

"Hm. I lied."

Jesse just looked at him. At the continued stare, Gabriel shrugged, voice blasé.

"I do that sometimes. Don't we all. Only ones watching were me and the engineers up in the booth with the new medic."

Jesse's mind reeled, the whiplash of what was happening too much to process. This man had chucked him into a simulation with an omnic just for his own observation. He'd just single-handedly taken down a Bastion, and the only one of importance who'd seen was the maniac of a man who had dropped him in with it to begin with.

He needed about five handles of whiskey right about now.

"Y'all ever heard of a hypocrite 'round here, because let me tell you you've got a great case study goin'."

Gabriel rolled his eyes, but he seemed somewhat less tense as the anger in Jesse's voice was replaced with sheer disbelief. "Got you to perform, didn't it?" He strode over to the downed Bastion, his eyes roving over it appreciatively. "'Course, you'd be dead if you tried that stunt in reality."

"You're sloppy," he continued, his voice back in that no-nonsense, coaching tone that Jesse already despised, "but you're quick on your feet, that's good. Reflexes are top-notch, I'll give you that. But your arrogance is blocking a lot of your potential." Jesse was now one second away from punching the man. "We'll work on your strategy, defense is going to need some tweaking too. Seemed to handle the rifle well enough, that's a decent enough sign. Still, we'll be doing a lot of training before you get to see an active mission."

He held up a hand to stall Jesse's sputtered protest. "Starting now. You've got 15 minutes to catch your breath and head up to the medic in the booth before we start the next round of sims. These next ones won't be so straight-forward."

It was commendable how easily he ignored Jesse's aghast expression. His eyes landed on Jesse's discarded shoe where it was still jammed into the barrel of the robot's gun, and the older man reached a hand casually into the cannon, gripping the shoe wordlessly and barely pulling. The thing practically flew out of the muzzle, and Gabriel held it for a long moment as he looked the object over, his mouth upturned slightly. He tossed it to Jesse before the he could comment.

"There's something awfully poetic about this."

Jesse's brain still hadn't quite caught up to what was happening, but he caught the shoe all the same, a sound he supposed could count as a question leaving him as he fumbled with it. Gabriel snorted humorlessly.

"They don't call it "bootcamp" for nothing."

Chapter Text

Gabriel liked to think himself a patient man.

Not because it was in his nature, per say, but it was a trait that had been born out of necessity. Growing up as he had left little chance to act too rashly, and the second he'd decided to sign on for the war effort, it had become even more essential. It was just another box to check off on one of the ten million forms they'd had him fill out before entering the Soldier Enhancement Program.

It had been tested pretty much daily from that moment on.

They'd made it a point to kick the living hell out of all of the applicants (the term was always used loosely, everyone there knew they'd been personally chosen long before they'd so much as heard of the program) before they would even consider checking their specifications for the final bracket of soldiers who would be inducted into the program. The bootcamp had been two months of intensive work, grueling hours coupled with impossible exercises and a never-ending string of tests, one after the other until you no longer knew nor cared if you were being observed. Most of the tests were essentially useless, outdated in their structure and frustratingly pointless. But it wasn't the tasks themselves that mattered.

It was how you handled them.

It had started with endurance training, groups of both young and old soldiers chosen to be tossed together out in the wilderness with a couple of rations and instructions to survive and little else.

He'd seen Jack around before, but he hadn't truly met him until this particular phase.

The younger man's frankly naive trust in his own strength would never have been enough for him to pass the SEP's requirements if he hadn't exhibited that one key thing the fat cats wanted in all their future investments.

Patience.

They'd both been soldiers for far too long by the time the SEP trained its eye on them. In Gabriel's case, of course, he hadn't been quite as bright eyed nor bushy tailed as his counterpart. The few extra years he had on Jack showed in their skillsets and general attitude towards the program as a whole, and though they were equally ambitious, Gabriel was more of the type to hold his cards close to his chest. He had few comrades he'd willingly call a friend at gunpoint, and he was content to keep it that way. He'd joined the military to excel at what he did best among his own personal reasons, and the SEP had seen that almost immediately.

They'd never publish it, but his invitation to apply for the program had been the first they'd sent out.

He had found an odd sort of camaraderie with Jack during the first impossible task they received, rocky of a start though it had been. It was a favorite tactic of the program: assign more duties and responsibilities than one single man could handle and force them to prioritize or fail altogether trying to make it all work. Forty percent of the applicants were cut before the exercise had even ended.

It had been the first day of bootcamp, and they'd pulled Jack aside as the soldiers had set up what would become their camp for the following two weeks. They'd all assumed it was something clerical, something wrong with his paperwork, something inconsequential. Nothing that concerned them, they were hardly there to focus much on one another as a collective. What happened to one didn't effect the others.

Or at least, going in to the program, it hadn't.

The confusion had been high when Jack had returned on his own, his expression schooled but his eyes clearly panicked.

The commander had called him over to inform him that he would be in charge of the camp. Alone. He'd asked for how long, and the reply had been less than gratifying.

"They laughed," Jack said over celebratory drinks with Gabriel in a quiet corner of an otherwise rowdy pub when the program had been said and done, four or five beers deep into reflecting on the hell they'd endured over the two months. "Like I should've known it was a stupid question. Asked 'em what I was supposed to be doing, you remember what they told me?"

Gabriel had found it easier to relax back then, even if only marginally. His face had twisted in a smirk as he'd lifted his own glass, five empties of his own matching it littering the table between them. "Don't care, just handle it."

"Just take care of it! You'll figure it out!" Jack had smacked his glass against Gabriel's then, neither quite aware enough to pay mind to the slosh of foam that escaped to the table below at the contact. The blond had squinted after knocking back a generous chug, using the stein for emphasis as he jabbed it at Gabriel. "Well on my way to crashing and burning on the first day if you hadn't been there, y'know that?"

Of course he knew.

He'd known exactly what he was doing the second he'd stepped in all that time ago.

It had been clear Jack was suitably flipped out at the realization that he had no idea what it was exactly they expected of him, but the younger man had hid it admirably, he had to admit. Jack had been invited to join the program due to his burgeoning leadership skills, basic though they might have been at the time. Gabriel had watched from afar as Jack had formed ranks of a sort among the few men in their little "battalion," delegating survival tasks and laying out ground rules he figured were applicable. It had worked, for a bit.

The job probably wouldn't have been quite so difficult if the group hadn't literally been chosen for their inwardly turned, laser-like focus.

There was something almost gladiatorial about the whole situation that clearly didn't settle well with their little squadron. For some more than others, it was difficult to willingly stoop and pick up the slack left by the lesser capable applicants when you were trying your damnedest to make your own work look worth the time and effort the SEP required. The entire exercise was futile in the end, as there was only so much team work the group was willing to commit themselves to whenever the chance to one-up their companions arose. After all, they'd all been assigned their own roles by the official commander before Jack had given them the instructions he saw fit as well. By the end of the first day, about half of the materials they'd needed made it back to the camp, and it had been clear Jack had failed miserably.

They'd learn after the fact that that was what the SEP investors were expecting.

The whole task had been meant to see how the inductees would prioritize their work under lesser authority. But really, it was more about knocking them all down a few pegs so they knew exactly where they stood in the grand scheme of things. Learning to recognize odds and deciding what would and wouldn't fly was more important to the SEP than being an overachiever in the end.

Subtlety was their lesser-advertised speciality.

"Never would have picked your scrawny ass to run that shitshow." Gabriel had been slowing on the drinks by then, but the conversation ran its course all the same as Jack had set his own finished stein on the table and looked appreciatively over their fellow celebrating SEP inductees around them.

"They thought I looked too comfortable," he'd said with the air of a man who knew he was well on his way to being drunk but refused to accept it just yet.

Gabriel'd already known that too. He'd asked the second he found the right moment, and one of the captains had brushed him off with the same answer. They'd chosen Jack for the exercise because he'd known exactly what he was signing up for. As one of the younger applicants, he'd signed on for the military with the intent of doing something more than anything he could have in the backwoods of Indiana. Despite his desires to return home after his basic service, however, he'd willingly been shepherded along into the dark alley that was the government's experimental science division.

That hero-complex had to root somewhere, after all, and where better than the charming rurality of the countryside mixed with just enough ego fanning from the military to ensure he wouldn't be leaving anytime soon.

The investors had recognized him for what he truly was despite the glamour he'd been painted with prior to the selection process. A straight-forward, chuck-and-jiving good ol' boy from Bloomington who'd yet to so much as boast despite his steady ascent in skills among his peers. He grew up rigorously, all rough hands and hard work in the fields and fences of his family's farm. A shining golden example of the payoff of rolling up your sleeves and shoveling your way out of the shit you'd been dropped in with a smile.

So Jack had gone in to the program surrounded by the obvious signs of being in his comfort zone. That first impossible task had worked just as it had been meant to, as he'd been wrenched from that zone entirely and chucked headfirst into the harsh reality that would become the rest of his life.

When Overwatch was created a few short years later, of course, that zone may well have never existed.

Still, if it hadn't been for that first week of endurance training, Gabriel didn't doubt things would have gone very different. He'd have found a way to get where he needed to be eventually, sure, but it never would have been so easy. The one perk of being tossed in with a bunch of grunts, he supposed.

Three days had passed in a similar fashion of bolstering the men and watching them slowly break themselves apart from each other in favor of building their own personal tasks on the sidelines, and when it had been clear that Jack was slowly losing his cool over the dwindling cooperation among the ranks, Gabriel had spotted his chance.

He'd waited, and he'd watched, and he knew exactly when the moment had been right. He would be chosen for the final program, and he knew precisely how he would be doing it.

Unless there was radiation involved, two heads were always better than one.

Jack had been five seconds from a fist fight with a man who'd lost the makeshift means they'd been using to get their water supply on his way back to the camp when Gabriel had finally stepped in and spoken for the first time the entire week. He had by no means been close to the size he was after they'd injected him full of God only knew what, but he was certainly no twig to begin with. He'd made lesser men turn tail and head for the hills with just a look before the SEP was even a twinkle in the military's eye.

Jack had looked about ready to punch him when he'd stepped between the two men, but he'd pointedly turned his back on the impromptu leader and sized the man who'd cost them a day's worth of water up.

That encounter had only involved a few choice words, but the man had returned hours later with a new supply and was damn happy to do so.

It had been clear at the time that Jack was irked by what he'd considered to be Gabriel's attempts at encroaching on his authority (fake as it may have been at the time), but as the days went by and things were finally getting done with Gabriel's not-so-subtle prodding, he'd accepted the man's presence at his side begrudgingly.

They'd organized the camp too well in the end as a tag-team, as the commander had returned with a head full of steam and declared the exercise over less than a full week in.

Gabriel hadn't missed the way more eyes than usual tended to track him after that.

After the whole debacle was over, the commanders never once spurred humiliation or the damned individuality the investors had been so happy to find in the men to motivate the recruits. They began to rely heavily on a more competitive streak among them, spurring them on to develop a collective us-against-them mentality as they cracked down on their physical and operational behavior as a unit instead. Discipline was beaten into their heads, and the petty sense of me first, then the group that had made the first week so impossible dissipated as each cadet slowly shaped up to fit the mold the military would need them to fill.

Nobody wanted to be the one guy who didn't get it right.

They'd tossed Jack and Gabriel together plenty of times as the months went by, and by the end of the initiation, there wasn't a single exercise they didn't have them running without the other: simulations, technique and tactics, defense, offense, policy, hell, even public speaking was thrown in there once.

"A question for Gabriel Reyes," the moderator had called to the rest of the applicants. About 30 remained, seated scattered about the small auditorium as Gabriel stood at ease on stage beside Jack. Their seated peers had all started on stage along with them, each called back to take a seat as they had ultimately failed to answer a question as the moderator saw fit. As more filed into the seats from the stage, they had become the ones to ask the pressing questions they all knew they would be presented with upon completion of the program. The moderator had been more than happy to hand the interrogation off to the men, as they collectively formed enough mind-warping questions to weed out who would remain by the end of the week and who would not.

Only Gabriel and Jack had remained on stage in the end, and the entire exercise had quickly boiled down to seeing who the seated soldiers could stump first.

They both had their own brands of confidence. And unfortunately for their interrogators, the stubborn streak between them was easily twenty miles long.

Neither had planned to back down.

"A question, if you would please."

The auditorium was silent at the moderator's press. They'd been at this for over an hour, each question more in depth than the last and yet so expertly handled that they could do little but watch in awe as the two men on stage fairly danced around them.

As the silence had grown and the moderator had stood to turn and stare the soldiers down, a lone voice had risen from the back of the room.

"Either of you ever seen Jaws?"

Gabriel was irrationally proud to admit that Jack had been the one to snort first.

The weeks had blended together after that, the end in sight and the stakes high as the last of the men and women present were pushed to their absolute limits and beyond. The hesitant, distrustful vibes Jack had held for Gabriel in the beginning had all but vanished long before they'd wrapped up their training, and the two flew through the paces.

A target fell, the smoke from the colored pellet tinted red as it rose from the hole scorched through it. Jack's own blue pellet soared high over the swinging bag as Gabriel's bullet knocked it off center.

"You born in a barn, Morrison? Because damn, that was messy."

A practical explosion of blue powder as Jack stole Gabriel's next line of twenty targets. A loud sniff as he reloaded, the smile threatening the corners of his lips not quite breaking all the way through as Gabriel pinned him with a stare.

"I wouldn't know. I was born very young."

The proctors had only written "chatty" under the "cons" portion of their checklists that day.

Gabriel never really knew when exactly he'd actually begun to think of the younger man as a friend and not simply a means to an end.

But it happened all the same, and the two built a steady reputation by the time the remains of the SEP applicants had pulled their heads out long enough to look around. The sheer caliber of their trash-talk on the field couldn't be challenged, and their dynamic baffled the investors and scientists alike.

The ending of the program had been almost underwhelming. The two of them had known for some time that there was a reason they'd been paired up for virtually everything, and had long since discussed what the future might hold in store. They'd gotten used to each others' company, almost grown to appreciate it, even. With barely a glance or a flick of a hand, each seemed to know what the other intended to do. In the two months (one of which was spent in shallow loathing and distrust by half the party involved) they'd known each other, they'd single-handedly altered the course of history and would never truly know it until long after the war was over.

And it had all pivoted on the selfish means of a single man willing to talk a man into fetching a day's worth of water.

"Ever wonder if it's worth it?" Jack was always the one to bring the existential bullshit into play, and that time had been no different as they'd sat at one of the tables in the middle of the track, Gabriel halfway through a sandwich from the canteen and Jack sitting backwards on the bench, his elbows up and planted behind him as he leaned back against the table.

They'd long since passed the point where they knew they'd be inducted into the program by then. The final rounds of testing were more a formality than anything else. Fifteen percent of the original inductees remained.

Gabriel hadn't bothered looking up from his platter as he picked a suspicious glob of something or rather out of the lettuce on his plate and jerked a thumb at it. "They're trying to kill us with this shit, so my vote's a solid no."

Jack had given him a long, bewildered look at that. Two months of blood sweat and grime together and he'd figured out plenty about the other man. But despite all that time, he still hadn't quite figured out the difference between Gabriel's serious-as-a-heart-attack voice and his I-couldn't-be-screwing-with-you-more-if-I-had-a-powerdrill voice.

Gabriel was fine with that.

The day the ceremony rolled around was uncomfortable and lackluster for everyone involved.

All parade-uniform clad and stiff spined, the dozen or so successful applicants endured hours of men they'd never met preaching their progress and only acknowledging them when strictly necessary. They'd stood in a line, the size of the ceremony small enough to make the whole affair ridiculous. Talk of the SEP was still being held in hushed tones, so to celebrate so publicly a program that would not make an ounce of sense to the few who had been privileged enough to gain an invitation made little sense to them.

Personal victory was nonexistent among the group. It was, simply put, not allowed. Their accomplishments as a group were heralded, which was only more difficult to process. The program had managed to take a group of overreaching, individualistically motivated strivers and forced them into a team.

It was all awfully backwards to Gabriel, but as long as he'd made it where he'd needed to be, he was fine with the outcome.

The man who they'd been told to respect with not a reason why had been speaking for twenty minutes about his own accomplishments before he so much as glanced back to the line of soldiers trying their damnedest to not picture a rope around his neck. Gabriel'd stood with the expression of a man who'd just washed down an entire lemon with half a bottle of vodka, and Jack had managed to find the perfect balance of aloof authority and boredom sometime ten minutes in.

"We are honored," the man had crowed, "to introduce our initiates for the Soldier Enhancement Program, effective immediately. What you see before you, ladies and gentlemen, is the future. Our future."

Our future.

Not your future, not their future. Our future.

The unspoken truth of it was hideously understated. The futures of the applicants were no longer their own to hold, and they knew it.

The SEP owned them now, and they couldn't be more obvious about the matter if they tried.

He'd finally acknowledged the soldiers directly then, as a stern woman made her way slowly down the line, clipping a small ribbon to each of the applicants' lapels.

"Your continued presence here does not mean that you have won." Gabriel'd caught the look Jack shot him from the corner of his eye as he'd stared blankly back at the speaker. They were idiots if they thought the men didn't know that.

"But," the speaker had continued, a touch of drama in his tone that sickened Gabriel to his core, "it means you have not yet lost either."

He supposed that was true enough.

But hell if it hadn't felt like a victory when they'd placed him and him alone in command of Overwatch another year or so down the line.

Not Jack, not anybody else.

Him.

So he supposed he did not think himself a patient man. He was a patient man, and he could play the long game far past the time any sane man would back out if needs be.

But patience only holds up so well against sheer bureaucracy.

The day the summons had come for him to stand before the board for their final decision on his demotion after all he had done, all they had done to him, all he had given for Overwatch was the day that long game became an absolute marathon.

Chapter Text

They'd changed the security code early.

Again.

Jesse glared bleary daggers at the little keypad that stood between him and sleep, the gentle flash of the red bulb indicating that he had officially tried the old code one too many times. The soft beep that had accompanied it had given up four tries ago, leaving the little blinking light to judge him silently, the fade of the red doing everything in its power to mock him.

All things considering, he'd never figured himself the type to take his frustration out on inanimate objects.

The verbal abuse he'd just finished spouting off at it now, however, he chalked up to being in the process of becoming a changed man, as the new favorite term being chucked around HQ was.

This was the third time this week alone that he'd locked himself out of his room, and each time seemed to be closer and closer to the previous one. The "weekly" changes had quickly become daily changes, and he still had yet to receive a single notification about the whole ordeal.

Technically, they had locked him out, so in his mind it wasn't exactly his problem to be dealing with. He memorized the codes well enough, but if they kept pulling stunts like this there was only so much he could do about them. Nobody else seemed to have the same issue, and they'd always give him odd looks when he'd be forced to go to them the next day for the newest input.

And unlike Gabriel had said during that first traipse around the base, nobody ever bothered with telling him what the new code was without him outright having to ask.

The blinking red continued as he let the light bleed out of focus, his eyes drifting down the hall. Anyone around had long since gone to sleep by now, and his list of options for the night ran fairly short in his mind. He could always crash on the couch he'd found in the rec room upstairs, but he didn't doubt that wouldn't go over well considering the types he'd seen passing through there. Given the amount of grime he was coated in, he'd probably kick himself out too. He could find a spot outside, but the nights were beginning to cool fast, and the sheer chaos that would erupt if he wasn't found in his room the next morning would undoubtedly bring a whole rash of hell down on his head for the next century.

A small, cheery beep had his eyes snapping back into focus just in time to see a man several doors down the hallway in the middle of opening his own door. He was staring at Jesse with a peculiar expression, his foot already through the door. Jesse didn't doubt he'd been zoning out at the man long enough to raise some questions in the other's head, but he couldn't find it in himself to be embarrassed as his window of opportunity quickly began to close.

Or, door of opportunity, rather.

He lifted a hand in the man's direction, his palm out in the universal hold up gesture as he grit his teeth and forced himself to be polite. You want something around here, McCree, then you better get damn used to treating people like people, not animals, Gabriel'd departed on him in the middle of proctoring a hand-to-hand session several days earlier. He'd ended up with a black eye and one hell of a headache from being dropped to the mat by the man he'd been pit against one time too many. Hadn't helped that he'd gone into the fight with a head full of steam and a boatload of trash talk that would probably make a nun up and spontaneously combust.

"Uh, pardon, d'you have the-"

The steady click of the door closing was all the answer he received.

He audibly groaned, scrubbing the outstretched hand over his eyes as he leaned against his door and slid to sit sprawled at its base. The dust and grit dried to his gear sprinkled to the floor beneath him, and he didn't doubt he'd probably left a smudge of mud against the frame.

God, he just wanted sleep.

A blurry glance at his nice, newly ruined watch showed it was 2347 hours, and he had officially been awake and on his feet for at least eighteen of those. They'd had physical training today, all running and jumping and dodging and crawling through shit he really didn't want to think too hard about now. The smell of it still clung to him some seven odd hours later, and what hadn't dried to his clothing had seeped through entirely, leaving patches of wet fabric to smack and cling against him as he moved.

It had only been eight days since he'd started bootcamp and it already felt like he'd died and reincarnated five times over. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been quite so tired or that he'd sweat as much as he had that day alone.

At the very least he'd been able to fly pretty low beneath the radar.

He'd meshed with the rest of the poor saps being forced to endure his same suffering for the most part, and they'd all been too focused on their own misery to really pay him any mind. If he could think straight past the mantra of bed sleep bed sleep bed sleep that had been running through his head each night he headed back to his bunk, then he might have found the energy to be happy for the fact.

The red light was still blinking serenely around him in the dim light of the empty hallway, and he planted the back of his head against the coolness of the door as he closed his eyes with a frustrated grunt.

What did the modern world have against a good old lock and key, anyways? This never would happen in Deadlock.

But then again, Deadlock wasn't exactly a global superpower either.

Still.

The concept was stupid.

And he did not just think that because he hadn't been able to use it properly three out of the seven days in that week.

Maybe I'll just stay here, his thoughts muddled with the ache in his legs and the droop of his eyes, and let 'em step over me in the mornin'.

"Are you alright?"

The voice startled him in the otherwise dead silent corridor, and he smacked his head smartly against the door frame in his haste to stand. He ended up failing miserably on that front, opting instead to pull up into a slight crouch as he blinked away the bleariness to see who had addressed him.

It wasn't difficult once the blur of white cleared, and before him stood the medic he had met those few days ago after his near disastrous run in with the Bastion simulation.

She was still dressed in her scrubs, all pristine and painfully bright in her short white coat with the name Ziegler embroidered lovingly in orange and black across the pocket. There was a box cradled in her arms, the size unassuming despite the way she held it as if it weighed significantly more than it looked.

He had no idea how he hadn't heard her approach. The thought crossed his mind that he may very well have actually fallen asleep leaning against the doorframe. Better than nothin' for the night, reckon.

She looked about ready to repeat her question before he shook himself and answered shortly, unfolding to stand in full.

"'M right as rain." When she didn't look convinced he forced himself to straighten, his words still stumbling over themselves slightly. Polite, be polite, you need something, be polite- "Mostly 'cause of you I guess, might add. Didn't, uh… didn't get a chance to thank you proper for that, did I?"

Angela Ziegler was the epitome of a miracle worker.

Jesse had seen plenty of her during that first day of simulations. He'd gone up to the booth to see the medic each time with more complaints than the last as the training had intensified, and he hadn't gone alone after several of the group runs. Unfortunately, most of the injuries then had been partly due to his own actions (what sort of idiot used hand signals without specifying them first) and had led to a truly uncomfortable atmosphere.

At first he'd been surprised to find the woman he'd seen on the flight over in the booth. She had seemed less tense in her make-shift emergency room than she had been on the transport, as she'd smiled warmly and shaken his hand with a strong grip before settling straight into business. He hadn't said much the first time he'd sat for her, dumbstruck as he was by the fact she'd actually seemed pleased to meet him. She'd filled the silence easily enough, speaking in low tones of the effects of rubber bullets and the methods she would be using and all other sorts of medical jargon he didn't expect himself to know. In the moments when she was silent, however, there was only a comfortable, companionable sense to it that he had yet to experience on base.

It had been, loathe to admit, nice for once.

The irony that he had been there due to the series of literal bullet wounds up his limbs did not escape him.

She had moved about the space with a brisk professionalism and left no room for argument, her words becoming short and her glances shorter as she deployed small stasis fields, their healing energy sapping the bruises from Jesse's arms and mending his broken skin.

It was, quite frankly, the most disgusting advancement in modern medicine he'd ever seen.

There was just something about watching as your skin regrew and meshed before your eyes that was so unnatural to him even now. He'd seen the devices used on others on occasion, sure. Carted enough of them to ditch on the black market for more morally ambiguous reasons than to heal. But to be on the opposite end of one made his skin crawl.

Literally.

On the plus side, the instant healing mended the last of his busted nose as well as the varying scrapes and scuffs he'd gotten during the sting. He'd given it an appreciative wriggle as he could finally breathe right again, the relief he'd felt short lived as Angela had bustled him out the door to see her next patient with a stern warning.

"Try to avoid getting hit on that arm to keep it from bruising for the week. But if anything makes contact, take it out and throw it back. None of you are allowed to keep souvenirs."

Gabriel'd been confused beyond all get-out at why Jesse had been mid snicker on his way back out to the field.

Now, Angela stood without that professional stiffness to her spine, her stance relaxed and a small, easy grin on her face. Outside of the med bay, she may well have looked like any of the other recruits roaming about if not for her lab coat.

"Thanks are not necessary. It is my job." She sounded somewhat grateful all the same, and her eyes shifted beyond Jesse as she changed the topic. She nodded to his door, unable to gesture much as she was with her hands still clutching the box to her torso. "I hear rumors of wonderful furniture inside these sorts of rooms, you know. Much more comfortable than tile."

He blinked before gesturing vaguely behind him to the door as his other hand scrubbed at his face. "Key code. Never get the updates."

Angela raised a brow. "Have you asked Athena?"

From the sound of it, the thought should have been an obvious one. Jesse gave an explosive sigh that startled her visibly before the noise dwindled into a slightly loopy chuckle, his eyes traveling to the ceiling as he felt something twinge in his aching neck.

"Y'know, at this point I reckon y'all are pullin' my leg."

"Excuse me?"

"All this "Athena" talk, none of you feel the need to elaborate on it. Who the hell is Athena? Ain't ever met her, but the way y'talk about her makes it seem like she's hangin' around here somewhere."

Angela's expression was difficult to read in the low light, but it was clear from her tone that she was incredulous. "You have gone all this time and not met Athena? Not once?"

"Nope."

"Commander Reyes didn't-"

She stopped at the look he gave her before she sighed.

Then, she tilted her head back and raised her voice slightly, mindful of the dozen sleeping agents around them.

"Athena, access code Foxtrot Mike Nine Five X-ray Charlie, if you please."

For a moment, nothing happened.

And then Jesse was convinced he'd up and fallen asleep again.

"Access code confirmed. Good evening, Doctor Ziegler."

It was clear Angela was amused by the look on Jesse's face as she responded to the smooth voice emanating from a single speaker across the hall from them, her arms tightening around the box she held as she adjusted its weight. "Please, just Angela is fine," she said with the air of someone who had had this very conversation many times over.

"Certainly. What can I do for you, Angela?"

Angela looked at him expectantly then, silent as she waited for him to speak up and address the disembodied voice that apparently was Athena.

But the words wouldn't come.

Instead, his mouth opened and closed soundlessly as he stared right back, the growing furrow in her brow going right over his head. When it was clear after a solid few seconds he had no intention of speaking, Angela pursed her lips slightly and addressed the open air.

"Agent McCree has not been given any of this week's clearance codes. Is he not in the system?"

There was an almost imperceptible pause before Athena responded. "I have not been given an access code for Agent Jesse McCree, no. I will speak with Winston and adjust his profile immediately."

Angela spared Jesse a glance. "He'll need a temporary code until it processes."

"He may use Tuesday's test strand," her voice was accompanied by that blessed, blessed beep of access from Jesse's door, and if he hadn't been three mental explanations deep into why he hadn't been told about the disembodied voice that was apparently listening to every word for a cue then he may have up and wept from sheer joy right then and there. "Will that be all? The sooner I notify Winston, the sooner he may be given full access."

"That should do nicely. Thank you, Athena," Angela said with a note of finality. 

"Duly acknowledged. Have a good night, Angela."

Jesse's brain fired back into high gear as Angela bid the voice a good evening of its own, and his tongue finally untangled.

"Uh," he said intelligently.

Angela's head tilted slightly to the side, the barest hint of a wry grin on her face. If it hadn't been for the somewhat sympathetic pucker of her forehead, Jesse would have been convinced she was enjoying this far too much. "How long have you been on base, again?"

"Uh," he repeated emphatically.

A small snort of dry amusement left her as she shook her head. "Don't worry too much about it, it took them almost two weeks to get me fully in the system when I came onboard last month. You should be-"

"Nobody thought to mention that?"

She blinked in surprise at his interruption. "System admittance?"

"No, the fact that-" He waved his hands vaguely over his head for a moment, gesturing wildly to the ceiling. "-this "Athena" has been listenin' to everything?"

Angela's face morphed in understanding, her mouth open in a silent "ah." For her credit, she did seem just as confused at the lack of information he'd been provided with as he was. "It's not entirely my place to say, but you might want to take that one up with your commander. Athena doesn't have access to every-"

"She just answered you immediately the second you said her name!"

"I'd be more concerned if she hadn't."

"How?"

"She's an AI."

His mouth opened.

And closed.

And opened again.

And didn't quite close.

"You-"

"-are being dead serious, I can assure you. And before you go any further, I'd like you to know that I've seen that expression around here before. You'd do well to not make it a habit of keeping it. She has been nothing but helpful, and one of the most brilliant minds I've had the pleasure to come across on this planet monitors and maintains her status."

"I wasn't-"

Angela hurried to cut him off again, her tone even, but firm. "I was not insinuating you were. I was simply stating a fact that you may be the better for knowing." She paused, a bit of well-meant sympathy entering her voice. "Given that those seem to be in short supply."

Jesse ran a hand through his hair as he removed his hat, the soft pattering of dirt cascading to the ground with the movement going entirely unnoticed on his part as he exhaled. All semblance of exhaustion was long gone now, but he didn't doubt a shower would do him some good.

But he also knew something else that would do him something better.

The short silence that had fallen was quickly becoming somewhat stilted in its awkwardness, and he rushed to end the conversation and get on with the plan forming in his mind.

"Look, thanks for the introduction 'n all, but I'm dog tired and I'm gonna need t'be up for-"

"Of course," she replied evenly. There was no misunderstanding between them. They both knew exactly what he was doing next, and it definitely didn't involve sleeping. Still, she humored him as she gave another short grin. "I'll leave you to it, then."

She shifted the box, her small grunt the only sign that the movement was remotely difficult. Jesse was moving forward automatically, an arm already out to help balance the box.

"Hold on, let me-"

"No!"

The raised, sharp exclamation was accompanied by Angela's arms jerking the box away minutely, her face flashing with an unguarded steeliness before dropping in dread as Jesse froze in place, his own expression openly taken aback. She shifted away another step, the box turning further to her side with the movement as Jesse watched, beyond confused at the reaction. She was talking before he knew it, her accent thick and clipped around the edges.

"I… should get back, they are expecting me for noc shift. Have a good night, Agent McCree."

And just like that, she was gone, the flash of white from her coat disappearing in an instant down the hallway and around the corner.

Jesse stared after her for a long moment, the bizarre turn the run-in had taken somewhat surreal from its suddenness.

"Well, damn, g'night then," he muttered to the empty corridor. Shaking himself off slightly as he returned his hat to his head, he put the whole interaction aside as his jaw set in determination.

He'd blame the combination of lack of sleep and general annoyance that had steadily built from day one, but the trip to the door he sought out went surprisingly quickly.

He didn't wait for the few night owls milling about in the corridor outside to move, nor did he bother with knocking. His foot was just suddenly up, and without breaking stride, he lashed out and kicked firmly beneath the handle.

The door flew open with a supremely satisfying slam, the sound of something falling off the wall greeting him as he stepped into the office. He tossed the swinging door closed behind him, sealing out the shocked stares of the few hall dwellers as his eyes never left the person he'd set out for. He knew he made an odd sight himself, all mud-caked and bags worthy of bounty under his wild eyes. Still, he knew it was the entrance more so than the couture-a-la-bootcamp that had garnered the surprised reaction from the occupant of the office.

"What-" Gabriel barely had a chance to begin before Jesse drew even with the desk he had been standing behind.

"You're a real piece'a work, y'know that?"

Gabriel was getting that glint that usually meant trouble in his eye, but Jesse was beyond being interrupted at this point and was fully prepared to keep talking over him if needs be. The commander slowly lowered the file he'd had in his hand to the desk, ignoring the slip of paper that drifted off of the folder and into an open drawer of his desk as his palms planted lightly on either side of the dossier, the initial surprise of Jesse's impromptu entrance clearly already worn off. Shockingly, he let Jesse continue, and the younger man wasted no time getting to the point.

"I get that y'dont like sharing or bein' honest and all that," Jesse grit out, "but something about not tellin' me that there's a literal 'bot running the place is awfully low."

Gabriel didn't react whatsoever.

"Athena?" Jesse pressed, making it a point to pour every bit of disbelief he held into the name.

"Athena is not a "bot,"" Gabriel started, and if Jesse hadn't been with him the entirety of the day he'd never have guessed the amount of work he'd just wrapped up from the calm impassiveness in his tone. "She's an AI."

"I'm not here to get picky on details, I'm here because when y'said "monitored" I didn't think you meant there was a literal guard posted over my head wherever I go! And a sentient 'bot at that-"

To his surprise, Gabriel actually looked confused for a split second.

"She never introduced herself?"

"Oh, sure, so now it's the computer program's fault-"

"Athena, access code. Echo Charlie Seven One Zulu Five Juliet. You around?"

Even though he knew what was coming, Jesse couldn't help the small jump at the sudden appearance of that now-familiar voice.

"Online and standing by, Commander Reyes. The access code was unnecessary, I was not previously engaged. Do you require assistance?"

Jesse tossed his hands to the ceiling, frowning harshly and doing everything in his power to give off a sense of you see? Gabriel ignored him and opted for sitting heavily in his chair as he steepled his hands on the desk in front of him. Jesse'd seen the pose before. It was the you asked for it pose he'd witnessed plenty of times with the bosses of Deadlock.

He already knew this argument wasn't going to go his way.

But hell if he wouldn't make it.

"Have you not introduced yourself to McCree, Athena?" Gabriel sounded genuinely curious, enough so to almost throw Jesse off of his exhaustion fueled crusade. He didn't let the tone fool him, however, and he crossed his arms haughtily as he stared Gabriel down.

It was quiet for a moment. The hesitation from before was definitely there again, and if Jesse hadn't been quite so overwhelmed, he may have noticed it.

"The timing did not seem... adequate, sir. He was unaware of my presence until Doctor Ziegler called on me several minutes ago. To do so would-"

"You've been watching me this whole time?"

Gabriel shot Jesse a disapproving look at the outburst, but the boy kept going. "I mean, they mentioned you by name to me on plenty occasions, y'never thought to tell me then? Any of you?"

Gabriel was slowly beginning to look annoyed now as his eyes drifted to the frame Jesse had inadvertently knocked off the wall and back again to his face. "Would it have mattered?"

Pettiness held a special place in Jesse's heart. And it was times like these that simply begged for it.

Quick as a flash, his hand gripped his hat, the object tossed to land in front of Gabriel on the desk in a beautiful smattering of dirt. The commander stared balefully past it to Jesse as the younger man shook a cloud of dust from his hair before speaking.

"You see this? This is what I've almost had to sleep in for three nights this week alone. Y'wanna know why?"

"I'm sure you'll tell me anyways."

"Because," Jesse leaned on the desk, his own hands planting on the edges, "nobody felt it necessary t'put me in whatever "system" of Athena's here gives me access to my own damn room after hours. Because I've opted for sleepin' on the grass instead of botherin' with waking one of you up just t'be yelled at for somethin' I couldn't control to begin with. So you tell me, commander. Would it have mattered?"

Gabriel was eyeing him funny, and after a long, long minute of silence passed, he spoke gruffly.

"You form these little spiels of yours ahead of time, or are they just always this melodramatic?"

Jesse swore he saw red.

"Mel-"

"Athena," Gabriel cut him off, quelle surprise, "meet Jesse McCree. Jesse McCree, Athena."

"A pleasure, Agent McCree. I sincerely hope my presence has not caused the distress your elevated heart rate and cortisol levels are indicating."

His heart rate. It monitored his heart rate.

Something occurred to Jesse then, and he bypassed returning the pleasantry or rising to take Gabriel's "melodramatic" bait as he addressed the ceiling for the second time, dread settling in his veins.

"How often you been monitorin' me, exactly?"

Her answer was immediate, the resonance distinctly robotic. "Only during public excursions and training exercises."

Jesse exhaled.

"And anywhere in between as seen fit by the board of directors or Commander Reyes."

He stared at the ceiling, his rage replaced with outright horror. Turning his gaze back to Gabriel, he saw the man raise his hands in a light shrug.

"Thought you could keep a smoking habit secret in a place like this?"

At some point in the past thirty seconds, Jesse's brain had up and outright decided to stop working.

Gabriel seemed happy enough to go back to digging through his desk in search of whatever had been in the file he'd been holding as his impromptu guest fell into silence, which was all good and fine to Jesse if it meant he wouldn't have to own up to the smoking comment. Distantly, he heard the clock overseeing the training pitch outside strike 0000 hours, and he sank to sit in a heap in one of the two pristine leather chairs across from Reyes' desk, ignoring the man's somewhat irked expression at the pattering of yet more dirt.

It was officially too early for this shit.

At the very least, he supposed the day couldn't get any more unusual. Midnight meant the start of the next day for him, and he was more than happy to put this one behind him as soon as possible and start attempting to get back to some semblance of normalcy as he came to terms with his apparently omnipresent, artificially manufactured, disembodied robotic prison warden.

That was right about the time the gorilla walked in.

Chapter Text

There was one blissful moment of silence where Jesse could pretend his entire life up until this point had been one massive hallucination. The gang, the bloodshed, the moody silent phase when he'd tried shaving half of his head once, the government job, the bootcamp, the AI watchdog in the middle of a literal war on machines.

The gorilla standing in the doorway.

The gorilla wearing eyeglasses and clothing standing in the doorway.

"Oh, excellent! I had hoped you'd be awake."

The gorilla wearing clothing and speaking English standing in the doorway.

Gabriel was pinching the bridge of his nose with a grimace, his files all but forgotten now as his office had quickly been occupied. It was clear that he hadn't been planning on getting sleep anytime soon, but the unexpected appearance of his two guests obviously was not factoring into his timetable. Just what that timetable entailed, however, was beyond Jesse. Reyes never spoke business to him beyond his direct commands during their training, and there had yet to have been a moment where Jesse had troubled himself enough to ask. As long as Jesse was stuck training, whatever Gabriel did in the real world mattered little to him.

"Winston," Gabriel stated cordially enough with a wave towards the gorilla that was more meant for Jesse's sake, "speak of the devil. You're our man of the hour."

"There… are a lot of things about that sentence that do not make sense," the gorilla wearing clothing and speaking English whose name was apparently Winston and was still standing in the doorway said good-naturedly, "but I'm sure you'll clarify."

Jesse didn't budge an inch in his seat as Winston maneuvered his way through the rest of the doorframe, some part of his mind making the connection as he gaped openly. This was the gorilla from the conference back at the watchpoint. The animal hadn't exactly said anything during the call, making Jesse dismiss his presence as some low-played gag despite the reassurance that yes, that was an actual gorilla in Overwatch headquarters on the call, Mr. McCree, now would you please answer the question. There had been enough faces on that screen, and the number of names tossed around had been enough to make his head spin; he couldn't remember for the life of him if "Winston" had been one of them. All the same, he'd seen the gorilla shifting about in one of the small boxes displayed from the webcams across the world and assumed someone had decided to play one really well planned joke.

But here he was.

Talking.

To Gabriel. Who was responding. Like they'd done it before. Like it was normal. Like any of this was normal.

The second Jesse could reconnect to reality here, he'd probably have plenty to say on the matter.

But for now, he was perfectly happy staying coiled in sheer disbelief in his chair, his arms stiff against the rests and his spine rigid as Winston shut the door behind him with a surprising amount of gentleness for his size. His forehead creased beneath the odd headgear encasing his hairline as his eyes landed on the shattered frame in the corner courtesy of Jesse's entrance earlier, but he did not comment on the item as his gaze settled on Jesse himself. Whether or not he could read the wide eyed, slack jawed astonishment on Jesse's face went unknown, as his face broke into a toothy grin.

"Athena mentioned I might find you here as well," he said with a warm openness. "I would have sought you out earlier, but I've only just returned myself." He extended a massive hand then, the palm open in a clear invitation for a handshake. "They call me Winston. Welcome to Overwatch, Agent McCree, I've heard a lot about you."

"Uh-huh," Jesse said flatly from his same position, refusing to move a millimeter. His eyes were still blown wide as he stared at the literal gorilla wearing eyeglasses and clothing introducing himself to him in English and no longer standing at the relatively safe distance of the doorway, his hand not making any move to meet the other's where it hovered between them. His gaze stayed firmly on the hand itself, the shape and size of it doing little to help his brain wrap around the situation as he saw Winston's expression flicker slightly in the background.

The amount of time that had passed since the hand had been offered had now long since entered the uncomfortable stage, and yet the gorilla did not move to take it back as Jesse continued to stare at it in dead silence.

Gabriel was the one to finally move things along.

"Yes, he's a gorilla, McCree. Stranger things have happened."

Jesse startled, shooting him a glance. It was clear his patience was wearing pretty thin, but Jesse barely gave the observation a second thought as his eyes snapped back to Winston, who had a somewhat droll expression on his face as the clarity of the situation undoubtedly reached him. His eyes met Gabriel's over Jesse's shoulder then, the hand still hovering expectantly.

"Didn't give him fair warning, eh?"

"Never came up," Gabriel brushed the remark off before addressing Jesse languidly. "Get over it and shake the damn hand, will you?"

Maybe, just maybe he'd actually gone insane.

At this point, he wouldn't be crass enough to write it off as an option. Maybe he was really in a ditch in New Mexico somewhere, and all of this had been some batshit crazy fever dream to pass the time until he'd up and kick the bucket already. Maybe it all was a hallucination.

He could almost get himself to believe it but for the one small, simple fact that literally nothing in his life ever gave him the pleasure of being that easy.

Jesse really hadn't gotten what he'd been hoping for yet out of Gabriel's little chat. Though really, the longer this evening went, the less he was certain of what it was he wanted to begin with. How long had he been here now, exactly? He'd come here for a reason, hadn't he? All the same, if he wanted to leave with what he wanted (there was a gorilla standing next to him), he'd have to play along with… whatever this was.

If he'd known what was best for him at the time, he should have just gone straight into his room the second the door had unlocked and knocked right out to sleep.

Clearing his throat through several lumps, his expression stayed frozen in disbelief as he lifted his own hand, a resounding to hell with it all the only thing in his head as he did so.

"All, uh… all good things y'heard, I'm sure."

Winston looked happy enough to have received an answer at all, and he laughed as he pumped Jesse's hand once enthusiastically, rattling up his arm and into his shoulder.

"Of course, of course." Winston's tone was a little too earnest, but he thankfully released Jesse's hand as he stepped back out of his space. His focus turned briefly on Gabriel as he lightly bumped the desk, who in turn could not be more obvious of the signals in his eyes if he'd up and lit them in neon. The unspoken get on with it that was there went ignored, however, as Winston turned back to Jesse, his expression pinched in a surprisingly human way that was unsettling to see on a gorilla.

"I wanted to apologize directly for the delay in adding your profile to the system. I would have fixed the discrepancy sooner had I been on the premises, but I was kept much longer than I'd anticipated in Spain."

Oh. Right. That was why he was here. Where the gorilla (Winston, just up 'n call him Winston if you're goin' along with this insanity, won't you) came into the equation, however, he couldn't be more unclear on. Aside from the fact that he was apologizing to Jesse for a problem he'd literally just had, he failed to see the other's involvement in the matter as a whole.

"Ain't nothin' to do with you," he said slowly, "supposed to be something to take up with the 'b…uh, Athena."

"Well, yes." The pride in Winston's voice was overwhelming, and Jesse almost physically recoiled from the absolute sincerity of it. "But as I was the one who brought her about in the first place, I find myself responsible for any mishaps she may not be equipped to adequately handle."

Wonders never ceased in Jesse's life. He honestly wished they would.

His eyes had practically dried by the time he graced that little atom bomb with a response. He didn't quite know why it was such a surprise. If there was anything to expect tonight, it was anything that could possibly be straight from the old soaps he'd used to watch on the dingy holo when he wouldn't feel much like sleeping and it was that unearthly time between three and four in the morning when nothing sat quite right or felt entirely real.

"You made Athena." It may have originally been meant as a question, but it came out much flatter than he'd expected it to. "The AI."

"That's correct."

"You."

Winston's brows drew together, his eyes searching Jesse's in growing confusion. "Yes?"

The gorilla.

The gorilla in the clothing speaking English was one of the "most brilliant minds on the planet" Doctor Ziegler had been referring to out in the hallway mere minutes ago. Who happened to be the one who had created and currently monitored the AI warden (and damn him if he'd call her anything else, her whole concept was off-putting). Who, by extension, was in a way the one monitoring the place in turn.

Jesse narrowed his eyes, giving a slow, sage nod as his mouth twisted into a contemplative frown.

And then he promptly dropped his forehead to smack smartly against the desk in front of him with a thud and a generous cloud of dust.

Gabriel's expression was far more dry than Winston's look of shock as they exchanged glances shortly over Jesse's slumped figure. The shared look turned quickly enough onto Jesse himself as he let his entire body weight shift forward, resting it all solely on his forehead as he let out a wheezy laugh.

"Sure. Why not."

"What's-"

"Why the hell not. Do me a favor, one of you? Wake me up when this is all over."

"I…" One thing Jesse'd already pulled from Winston was that he didn't allow for much silence to pass between bits of conversation. Now was no exception, though his voice was pitched low as he ultimately failed to mutter to Gabriel without Jesse hearing. "You do have a penchant for bringing in the, ah… troubled ones, don't you?"

"Eh." Gabriel's voice was halfway to jesting when he spoke. "I'm hoping it's a phase."

Jesse tilted his head back to glare at Gabriel from beneath the hair that had flopped unceremoniously in his face.

"I resent that."

Gabriel motioned vaguely to Winston, returning the quip with no more than a glance. Jesse tried not to feel too bitterly over the fact that the commander had somehow gleaned his own pet peeves while he'd been carefully mapping his in turn. He never took well to being outright ignored. Surprise, I'm human.

"I'm assuming you didn't just come here to be disrespected by McCree, Winston. You need something?"

"Not exactly." Winston was bulky enough as it was, but as his expression darkened and he straightened where he stood, his height was truly astounding in full. Jesse'd only seen actual gorillas outside of his early schoolbooks on one incredibly rare occasion, and compared to the hunched, blank-faced beings he'd seen back then, Winston may well have been another species. There was clearly something altered about him (did the fact he's speakin' English not give it away for you, genius?) that went beyond everything Jesse understood about the anatomy of a quadruped, let alone a biped. "It's more of an update on Gibraltar. The reason for my delay, really."

Gabriel said nothing, opting instead for taking a seat and resting his elbows on the edge of his desk as he nodded for Winston to continue. The gorilla spared Jesse a glance, but when he saw that the agent had gone ahead and planted his forehead back on the desk in lieu of actually tuning in to the conversation, he spoke in low tones.

"There's been activity they're having a difficult time explaining," the gorilla elaborated, clearly troubled. "I'll spare you the details until later, but we're concerned about the current security system. By today's standards, it's practically ancient, and we've had our first real cause for alarm over it. Entire sequences of recently outdated launch codes went missing this week-"

"They what?"

"-but returned within the day's cycle." Winston was holding up a hand, Gabriel's interruption barely phasing him. "There's no explaining where they went. I combed through everything for two days and found no trace of evidence that they'd even disappeared to begin with."

Something in the way he said it piqued Jesse's interest despite everything, and he lifted his head a millimeter to look slowly between his two companions. He was sidetracked slightly as his glance landed on Gabriel. The man's face was an absolute sight, and Jesse stared long and hard to commit the incredulous expression to memory to laugh at later when he wasn't still delirious from sleep deprivation and meeting Curious George along with Curious George's Monster.

"This happened how long ago and I'm just now hearing about it?"

"Three days, sir." Winston removed his glasses, scrubbing a corner of his shirt over them, his eyes never leaving Gabriel's. "We wanted to find something before bringing about any reason for alarm-"

"And?"

"And nothing." Winston's shrug was long and slow as he replaced his glasses, a deep, rumbling sigh leaving him. "We've triple checked, they're the same codes, and nothing's been altered. It's like they simply didn't exist for twelve hours."

Jesse assumed this was a much larger issue than he was catching drift of.

Whatever. Don't concern me none.

Gabriel sat back in his chair, clearly deep in thought. He tilted his chin up in inquiry.

"You haven't brought this to Jack?"

"Not yet, no. He's surveying the ecopoint in the south."

The smug flicker on Gabriel's face lasted a little too long to be considered unintentional.

"I want the old system swept by whoever we've got on the third floor now before they give clearance for the new one," he said, his voice shifting into that I'm the Commander and I Say So mode. "We may have a breach elsewhere we've overlooked."

Winston seemed relieved to have a course of action, and he nodded shortly.

"Luther's team is on call, I'll speak with them immediately. Thank you, sir."

"Just let me know when it's fixed. Now, I hate to put an end to all this," Gabriel switched abruptly, sounding very much the opposite, "but we're shipping out for recon on Moscow in what's now less than six hours and I have about eighty more pages to compile for the debriefing, so if you don't mind-"

Winston took the cue for what it was this time, and his eyes flickered to Jesse momentarily as the boy's head shot up off the desk.

"Of course. We'll just get out of your hair for the night, then. Good evening, commander."

Gabriel was damn underhanded when it came to trickery. There was plenty more that needed saying, and Jesse knew the briefing for the "recon" the next day was more than handled. Gabriel'd only been discussing the mission with his more seasoned agents for forever and a half when he thought Jesse wasn't listening.

Jesse was halfway to protesting the unceremonious kick-out when he felt the hand clap congenially on his shoulder, Winston's focus now lying solely on him.

"I'll walk with you to the bunks, I'm headed that direction myself."

And just like that, Jesse found himself being ushered out of his chair and into the hallway without another word between him or Gabriel as Winston gave a small salute, the commander waving lazily after them. The door didn't close fast enough to cover the growing smirk on his face.

The usual sterile silence of the corridors had given way to some odd amalgamate of awkwardness and foreboding all bundled together, and Jesse rocked back slightly on his heels as he waited for Winston to say something or at least start walking. The gorilla seemed much more tired now than he had in the office, and he rubbed at his eyes shortly beneath his glasses as a rumbling sigh reminiscent of the one he'd let out inside filled the hallway. After a short moment, his eyes drifted down to Jesse, and a small grin that didn't quite chase away the fatigue grew on his face.

"Shall we?"

Jesse opted for action over words, one foot falling after the other as Winston's steps echoed around them. The gorilla seemed happy enough with the quiet for the first time since he'd entered Gabriel's office, and Jesse was distantly grateful for the fact that he didn't attempt small talk.

They'd been halfway to Jesse's corridor when he'd spotted a light pooled beneath a single door along the line of dark, shut rooms.

A personal light left on late into the night in Deadlock signaled something was wrong. They preferred working out of darkness, the element of surprise a fast friend to their kind. It was just about all they had sometimes, when those who kept the whole gang's structure afloat were asleep and those who just had their guns and guts to their name on watch.

A light under a bedroom door at almost one in the morning was a bad sign indeed.

He'd lost himself to his musings enough to be startled by Winston's voice, and he jumped in place at the deep resonance of the gorilla's attempt at a whisper.

"Yours would be around here, yes?"

Jesse glanced at the numbers they passed shortly.

"Next hall over."

The quiet didn't last quite as long this time.

"I really do feel bad for the mishap with the system, you know." Jesse shot Winston a surprised glance, the embarrassment in the other's voice unexpected as they drew even with Jesse's door. He pulled them up short to a stop as his companion continued. "We're usually more diligent than this."

"Yeah, well." Jesse probably would have found a better way of answering, but all he could really think about now was the bed behind the door he was now in front of. He was fully planning on skipping the shower at this point. "Ain't exactly a "usual" case, am I?"

Winston actually grinned a bit at that.

"No, I suppose you're not. Still, by the time you need access tomorrow, you will be fully integrated."

Integrated.

God, he hated that word.

He wasn't so sure now why he'd put up such a fuss to begin with. This was only one more step at being sucked into the system he'd been actively avoiding.

Something dawned on Winston's face suddenly, and he ran a palm over it.

"Ah… knew I forgot something back there. I'll need to go back and get Commander Reye's papers on your transfer from Grand Mesa."

Jesse caught about every other word as the gorilla muttered more than outright spoke, but the gist of the sentence came across plenty clear. He raised an eyebrow, his nose wrinkling slightly.

"Ain't there just… I dunno, a computer or somethin' you could get 'em from? Y'all seem all about open access here, they're probably in there now."

There was an odd look on Winston's face that Jesse would later realize was some distant cousin to commiseration.

"You have had time to get acquainted with the building, yes?"

"Sure." He didn't need to know how much time he'd spent scouring the place for cracks in its armor. "Been here long enough."

"Have you noticed that he's the only one who uses paper filing?"

Jesse's brow furrowed. Now that he mentioned it, he hadn't seen a single paper file outside of Gabriel's office. There was plenty of paper, sure, but the files themselves appeared to be stored in a main database accessible from the smattering of computers found throughout the base. He'd been shooed away from one on his third day, the brisk ushering out not quite fast enough to keep his prying eyes from seeing what exactly they had been used for. But when it came to Gabriel…

He had yet to see the man file a single document to the main terminals.

"Commander Reyes is many things," Winston was continuing, taking Jesse's silence for the dawning comprehension it was. "Trusting is not one of them."

Well.

At least Jesse wasn't the only one to have noticed that little tidbit.

The gorilla extended his hand once again then, and Jesse partially blamed the fact he was distracted by his thoughts that he immediately gripped it this time.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Agent McCree. If you ever need anything, let me know. Athena'll tell you where to find me."

"Uh…" Jesse untangled his tongue, shaking the hand lightly as his focus returned. "Right. Thanks."

It seemed good enough for Winston for now, as he nodded amiably and took his leave, a small wave over his shoulder the last he offered as he disappeared back down the way they'd just come.

Jesse's eyes remained on the corner he'd turned for far too long before he shook himself back to the present and turned to input his access code.

Beep.

The light went red.

Jesse slowly shut his eyes as his forehead came forward to plant itself firmly on the door. If anything proved this wasn't simply happening inside his head, this was the final straw. He inhaled harshly, that same mental to hell with it all echoing a little louder now.

"Uh…Athena?"

There was dead silence for just long enough that Jesse had begun his steady descent to the tile, fully prepared to sleep propped against the door as he had earlier. But then-

"Hello, Agent McCree. What appears to be the problem?"

She sounded amused.

The disembodied robot sounded amused.

"The old code ain't workin' now," he said drily, not bothering to look up from the door itself. "Wouldn't have anything to do with you, would it?"

Athena's words were accompanied by the beep of the door and the small chk-click of the lock disengaging.

"How odd. This faulty system does these locks no favors, you know. Good night, Agent McCree."

Her light tone couldn't fool Jesse in the slightest, but he grabbed for the handle and threw open the door before any more issues could crop up. The sight of his bed was sheer heaven as he shut the door behind him without another word and face planted onto the mattress, clothes and dirt and all still intact as he let his eyes finally drift shut.

It took far too long to fall asleep as the last little encounter with Athena ran mocking circles through his mind.

He'd done many stupid things in his lifetime. He'd lost count of just how many a long time ago.

The moment Jesse'd thought there wouldn't be repercussions to getting huffy about the AI that ran everything was arguably the stupidest moment of his life.

Chapter Text

Jesse's hat hadn't made it out of Gabriel's office with him.

It was incredibly difficult not to blame Winston for the matter, but he found himself trying all the same. It wasn't exactly his fault that Gabriel had been so quick to kick them out.

The commander still hadn't given the hat back yet, and Jesse was getting the sinking feeling it may well have ended up in the trash alongside his vest. And, come to think of it, his gun. He hadn't seen a hint of anything he'd been dragged in with that hadn't ended up on his person in the interrogation room. It hadn't been much to begin with: a revolver, four shots missing, a pack of half empty smokes, the crappy lighter he'd borrowed from a rebel for too long to be considered borrowed, a couple of crude explosives, some spare change, the usual.

Still, that hat had been through more life with him than most living things had. To lose it would be to lose another piece of himself, and there was no way in hell he'd let that happen again.

His resolve had diminished as the days bled one into the next and he saw neither hide nor hair of Gabriel.

He supposed he should have known better than to expect to see him around. Gabriel had been gearing up to leave for Moscow for what certainly felt like the entire time Jesse had been present, and the way he spoke of the matter made it clear he'd been prepping for much longer. They'd shipped out in the early hours, long before Jesse had tossed his alarm clock against the wall and rolled to his feet to head to the showers. He'd already been told long in advance that he wouldn't be joining them on their little field trip, but the knowledge that they truly didn't believe he had the gumption for field work (even something as basic as recon) yet still stung his ego.

He'd been met at his door those few days before by one of the Blackwatch agents he'd yet to really interact with, and the sudden appearance of the man as he had opened his door to leave had startled him into backpedaling into the room. The agent hadn't seemed fazed by the reaction in the slightest, and had gone on to tell him he would be supervising his training until the commander and the bulk of the other members returned in more or less words.

Mostly less.

At the very least, the man hadn't been unpleasant. He didn't outright show he didn't want to be where he was, but he certainly wasn't jumping for joy either. Either way, Jesse was almost relieved to have the reprieve from Reyes' constant stream of chatter during his exercises as he was led through hours of solo work. Going from his group tasks with the Overwatch cadets trudging their way through bootcamp to the empty field where the one-on-one training that would usually take place alongside the other members of Blackwatch was a bit odd at first, but he settled surprisingly quickly into the routine as one day passed into the next. He had time to think, to relax even once the exercises would wind down each day.

The agent (he'd mentioned his name once, and Jesse supposed it would have been more civil to just ask him to repeat it considering he'd forgotten it the moment it had left his mouth) led him through the paces, setting up his basic simulations and running him through the gauntlets with short replies and the occasional instruction here and there. Jesse liked to think it was a testament to his skill that there were so few interruptions during these particular exercises.

Other exercises, however, he was silent for entirely different reasons.

The indoor rifle range wasn't so empty today, as the odd smattering of agents were spread far across the firing line, filling the air with the sharp rattle of gunfire and bullets striking metal alongside the easy murmur of voices rising and falling. Each appeared satisfied enough to focus on their own forms, their attention clearly on their own line of sight.

Jesse's wasn't.

His bullet soared wide, missing the slowly drifting target at the mid-range line just as the last had. And the last. And the last. He squinted harshly through the scope of the rifle, the lack of contact royally beginning to piss him off as he unloaded another rash of bullets, only about half of them finding their respective targets.

Something about having eyes burrowing silently into the side of your face as you attempt to shoot makes the process slightly more difficult.

His temporary supervisor had accompanied him to the range and set up shop on the mat directly next to his, carefully positioned to be far enough outside of Jesse's direct line of sight but near enough to make his presence clear. His critical glances were not discrete enough for Jesse to miss; the higher ups were clearly still hellbent on keeping a close eye on him, especially wherever weapons with live fire were present.

Jesse wasn't exactly an idiot. He knew when he was being babysat.

The rifle in his hands clicked empty as he ended on yet another miss, and he lowered it for the eightieth time that hour with a disgruntled sigh. He'd been actively making an effort with the rifle's model since the training sims, but unlike a revolver, the clunky mechanics of the automatic just would not cooperate. They lacked a finesse and skill to him that a revolver required for basic operation. If you needed more than six bullets at a time to get a job done, then you were doing it wrong by his standards. That coupled with the fact that his hands had begun to tremor on and off again from either the dwindling nicotine or the overexertion or some horrible combination of the two made the gun range his own current, personal circle of hell.

His hand rose to whisk the protective glasses away from his face as he let the magazine drop. He'd wanted nothing to do with them or the stupid earmuffs they'd shoved in his direction when he'd walked in, but the rules were clear: you hurt something, you cost us a lot of time and money, so be a good boy and put on the goggles. He tossed the glasses to the small table between his and Tall, Dark, and Silent's mat, the clatter against the glass partition between them drawing the other's attention briefly away from his own line of targets. Jesse motioned for the line of empty observation chairs several feet back from the mats as he swept the headphones off his head, over enunciating so the man could hear him through both the thin wall and his own protection.

"Takin' a breather."

He got a brusque nod for his troubles, and he set down the rifle and empty magazine heavily as the agent turned his attention back to his own gun, unloading a quarter of a mag perfectly into the centers of his next series of targets.

Jesse wasn't so sure the man didn't notice the face he made behind his back.

Sitting with a huff, he tucked his head into his hands, scrubbing them through his hair briskly as the continued absence of his hat only made itself more apparent. Part of him wanted to use the missing item as an excuse for his sloppy performance that day. But he knew himself well enough to know he was distracted. By the show of distrust on Gabriel's part leaving him behind as he had, by the odd behavior he'd witnessed going around on more than one occasion, by the chaperone trailing him around the base like a deranged duckling, by the AI he'd had to argue with each night to get back in his room as she'd berated him for attempting to smoke now and again, by the clunky transition from a revolver to a rifle.

It could have been any number of things. One way or the other, it was absolutely draining.

His eyes tracked down the firing line lazily, the few agents around still too absorbed in their practice to notice he was watching. For the most part they seemed pretty decent shots. The rifle was definitely a favorite choice around here, but there were a couple of handguns tossed in the mix about halfway down the range that practically had Jesse's mouth watering.

He'd do almost anything to get his revolver back at this point.

A flash of deep blue in the sea of black turtlenecks caught his attention, and he felt a dull pang of surprise as he recognized the owner of the uniform. She hadn't been in the range when he'd entered earlier. Come to think of it, he hadn't seen her around the base in general until today, and something about the way she held herself told him she'd just gotten off a painfully long flight.

Some people could enter a room and leave without you ever knowing they'd been there.

Ana Amari was not one of those people.

Her captain's coat was nowhere to be found, and her hair had been tucked neatly into a braid over her shoulder as she stood tall. Her arms were crossed loosely, gaze as sharp as ever as she observed a young woman at the farthest end of the firing line. The girl she was watching chattered away aimlessly as she lined up her dual pistols, pulling one back to her chest as she rapidly fired off a few rounds on the one before smoothly switching to the other, the stream of words barely interrupted by the gunshots. The captain looked faintly amused more than anything else as she listened, her mouth moving shortly whenever she found the chance to speak up herself. The two were far enough away that the remarks themselves were lost to the anechoic chamber, but Jesse wasn't too interested in their words to begin with. He was perfectly happy to stare at the pistols in envy, watching for a long minute as the girl ran through a series of exercises. She was quick, if not a little jumpy, but her hands never shook and her shots hit true to home.

Unlike someone else's.

Jesse willed himself to look away, catching his companion's eye as the man glanced over his shoulder to be sure he was still seated where he'd said he would be. The dichotomy between his own situation and the girl with the pistols' ran a mocking little loop through his head, but he brushed it off quickly enough as he dug his palms into his eyes, willing the bone-deep weariness he'd been unable to shake to leave him be for at least the next hour. He'd hoped to get some quality work in today, but with the way things were going, he doubted he'd be able to hit the side of a barn with a shotgun.

It was only fitting for Captain Amari to approach him like this.

He'd been sitting with his hands pressed to his skull for at least a minute, giving her plenty of time to make her way down the range and spot him. She had a horribly obvious presence, and even with his eyes shut Jesse could tell she'd stopped in front of his seat despite her silence. He hesitated at his sixth sense screaming in his ear, the back of his neck tingling uncomfortably despite the complete lack of sound from in front of him. He opted for ignoring her for the time being, letting her think he did not know she was present as his palms dug a little deeper into his eyes.

After he could swear he'd heard crickets he lowered his hands, inclining his head to address her without opening his eyes.

"And to what do I owe the pleasure, ma'am?"

The sound of echoing shots from further down the range interspersed the quiet that came in reply. He opened his eyes slowly to see her standing at ease before him, looking mildly interested. She only spoke when his eyes met hers.

"Simply passing through."

His babysitter seemed to take notice of the conversation for the first time then, as he stepped back from his mat momentarily to see what was happening. Captain Amari nodded benignly to the man as he saluted before waving him off, and as he made his way down the range to snag a new box of ammunition, she turned her attention to the firing line stretching before Jesse. Her eyes scanned down range, taking in the distinct lack of contact marks where they would have mattered most on his targets. Jesse watched in growing trepidation as her eyes picked over the rifle at the table before finally settling back on him.

"And how are you adjusting?"

The question came out of nowhere, startling Jesse into dithering for a moment before responding. "Well, uh," he started slowly, "I'm benched, I'm bein' constantly berated for livin' the way I always have by a voice that don't exist outside of bein' a voice, and I got introduced to a gorilla on Sunday."

Ana simply looked at him.

"So the answer would be swell, I reckon."

She shook her head, the first glint of good humor he'd seen lighting her eye for a split second as she claimed the seat next to his. Her arm draped across the back of her chair as she turned to face him, but her attention remained on the range itself as she settled.

"The fine print was very fine, was it not?"

Jesse actually snorted. "That'd mean there was fine print to begin with."

He instantly knew that was the wrong thing to say as she zeroed back in on him, that same steeliness he'd seen in her at their first meeting finding its way back onto her face. Even if he'd never been told her rank, he wouldn't have found it difficult to guess. Authority positively radiated from her, even in the smallest glances. "And that did not alarm you?"

"Didn't really have much'a chance to think about it, no. Or a reason to."

"So you did not know what they were asking of you?" Ana asked, clearly pushing for the answer she wanted to hear. He stared defiantly back into her face, refusing to so much as blink under her intense gaze.

"We been over this, you know. And I'm here to shoot, not be interrogated." He paused. "Again," he added as an afterthought.

She did not appear to be satisfied with that answer, but she let the matter drop for the most part as her eyes drifted back out to the range to settle on his weapon. The automatic lay just as he'd left it, disassembled and discarded in disgust. It was a long moment before she spoke up again, the rattle of gunfire the only noise between them.

"You struggle with a rifle."

He blinked. "I-"

"Am I wrong?"

Jesse sat up, bristling. "All due respect-"

It was clear from her expression she doubted a single ounce of respect was involved in this conversation.

"All due respect, but I don't struggle with much. Shot plenty of 'em before, I know my way around one. Just have my preferences, is all. Don't see the point in gettin' hired for being good at somethin' and then being told I can't do what I'm good at to begin with."

Ana appeared to be slightly mollified by this, but the tension in her face did not leave as she searched him with a critical eye. The crinkle of the tattoo always drew his attention before she spoke, and he didn't doubt she caught the constant ticking of his eyes to the ink. "It is important to hone your skills in more than one speciality. If you lose your weapon, you will need to improvise in the field."

She was preaching to the choir, there. He got the feeling she knew it, too, as she shifted in her seat, turning slightly away. Status be damned, she was just as easy to read as the others here. He nodded shortly to the woman she had been watching down the range as he leaned forward in his seat, determined to stay in her line of vision.

"You tell that to her, too?"

Ana followed his nod, eyes lighting on the woman for a split second before she waved him off. "She is a pilot. She hardly will be seeing the same circumstances as you will."

True enough, he supposed. Unless a pilot was shot down, they wouldn't be seeing the same battlefield as the others along the mats. Nonetheless, he pressed further. "You gonna tell me that every handgun in this place belongs to a pilot? 'Cause that don't seem right."

"Certainly not," she sounded surprised at the insinuation. "They have had time to gain experience with other firearms. They know the importance. Everyone here has gone through what you are undertaking now. They have all been able to choose their preference in time."

He gave a dry laugh as he stood up without warning then, the movement not fazing her as he strode back to the firing line. Gripping the empty magazine, he began snapping bullets into place, not sparing her a second glance. She hadn't moved in his peripherals, her brows barely raised in question as she watched him carefully. He couldn't help but feel as if he was being admonished in some way.

Three quarters of the way through reloading, she spoke up again.

"Gabriel runs… an awfully tight ship."

The topic shift garnered a tiny glance from him, but he snorted shortly before turning back to his work. "Hadn't noticed."

She did not so much as blink at his blasé reply. "When did you officially start?"

"Officially?" Jesse looked back at her incredulously then, finding nothing but professional curiosity on her face. His eyes drifted up to the ceiling as he mentally tallied up his time in hell. "What day is it?"

"Wednesday." To Ana's credit, she did not wait for the sardonic look Jesse shot her way before continuing. "The seventeenth."

"Uh, that'd put it at…" He furrowed his brow. "'bout three and a half weeks ago."

Wait.

That can't be right…

Ana seemed unaware of his sudden uncertainty, as she simply returned the comment with a noncommittal hum and stood to peruse the rack of firearms on the opposite wall. Jesse watched as she picked through them with a methodical certainty that came with years of experience, but as his eyes tracked the movements, his mind stayed fixed on its dilemma.

There was no way he had been training for three weeks already. And yet, some part of him could believe it. The first week had blurred together, the wide gap of time missing as he had adjusted to Colorado and then immediately to Switzerland. He couldn't pinpoint another stage in his life when he'd been quite so disoriented in time.

It was unnerving, to say the least.

He blinked himself back to reality as he realized Ana had chosen a weapon and joined him at the firing line, taking Tall, Dark, and Silent's place as she calmly scanned the targets set for the day. She held a rifle slung loosely in the crook of her elbow not unlike his own, and as she felt his eyes on her, she met his gaze before giving a short nod to the targets.

"Go on, then."

Jesse gave her a tiny, mock bow, his voice low and sweet. "Ladies first."

"You really don't want to make me repeat myself, McCree."

He lifted the rifle with a roll of his eyes, shouldering it without bothering to replace the glasses or the headgear. He centered on the swinging target he'd been attempting to hit earlier, the pendulum drifting lightly from the contact of other bullets. A steady inhale, and the sight lined up perfectly. He didn't wait before his finger squeezed the trigger.

The gun recoiled as his wrist spasmed, and the bullet skimmed the side of the pendulum as it moved gently away from his predicted trajectory.

His eyes shut slowly as he exhaled through his nose, his ears positively burning as he felt the eyes on his head. The rifle lowered in his still shaking hands, and he opened his eyes to stare resolutely at the targets, refusing to give her the satisfaction of looking him in the face.

You ever use that gift'a yours with an auto, boy? Life'd be easier, y'know. You're holding' yourself back like this-

"Three and a half weeks."

Ana's voice was neutral, but he didn't rise to take the bait that was undoubtedly there. He grunted in return, his rifle already raising for a second try. Maybe he'd put on the earmuffs after all.

"Seventeen years old."

The words were softer this time, both in volume and tone. Something in the way she said it gave him pause, and he looked up to see her staring down at her own weapon. Despite clearly knowing he was looking at her, she kept her gaze down for another long moment before shaking her head and raising it to meet his eye.

"You really are in this for the long haul, aren't you?"

It would have come across as snide from anyone else. But Ana just sounded firm, if not a bit resigned. Jesse scuffed his boot idly against the ground, the rifle lowering in full at his side as his finger drifted away from the trigger.

"Don't exactly got many options, do I?"

"There are always options."

He'd long since been past getting huffy with people for telling him he always had a choice when he so clearly had none. It was easy to preach safety and choice from the mountaintop when the floods raging through the lives below never reached your ankles.

"Not for me. Not now, 'least."

Ana's face was slightly scrunched, and she shifted the rifle in her hands discreetly. Ignoring his curious eye, she scrutinized the pendulum with a practiced gaze. Somebody down the line had just landed a shot, knocking it about to swing wildly on its axis.

He blinked, and she'd already mounted the gun to her shoulder and fired.

The moving target was dead still, her bullets hitting the pendulum so perfectly as to cancel out the motion entirely. The holes were not hard to see on the paper covering the object: two to each side, and a fifth dead center.

Jesse eyed them begrudgingly, impressed despite himself. He didn't have time to marvel for too long, however, as she began speaking again, her voice all business. It was disturbingly close to Gabriel's usual tone, and it demanded attention in a way that he couldn't ignore.

"You have nothing scheduled in your mornings on Thursdays."

He started slightly. It was true, the only thing he'd found himself with on Thursdays was hand-to-hand with the other agents in the afternoons. He didn't dare ask how she knew that.

"Aside from sleeping, no," he muttered suspiciously. He wasn't certain he liked where this train of thought was going as she shouldered her rifle, a mischievous glint in her eye.

"In that case," she said matter-of-factly, "I do believe it's a date, then. You may as well learn how to use these properly."

He spluttered as she turned on her heel, heading for the weaponry beside the observation lineup. "Hold up now, this Thursday? As in tomorrow?"

She racked the rifle before giving him an amused look. It was only marginally better than the critical gaze he'd gotten used to seeing.

"Was I not clear enough? Every Thursday. 6 AM. Here unless I tell you otherwise." His supervisor chose that exact moment to return, his expression mildly bemused as Ana made a sweeping motion towards the stammering Jesse with her arms. "He's all yours."

With that, she took her leave, a trail of salutes from the lower ranks left in her wake as she made her way to the door.

The absolute 180 in the captain's attitude had thrown him for a loop, and Jesse gawked after her as his companion dropped from his own salute, his head turning to regard Jesse. He was still clearly confused, but the man snapped Jesse out of his staring shortly enough with a grunt as he set his ammunition down beside his rifle.

"What was that about Thursdays?"

Jesse shook his head slowly, the weight of the rifle in his hands a dim reminder that he was probably breaking every rule the range had in existence. He raised it to his chest, the muzzle down-range as he slowly reached for the protective glasses.

"Soon as I figure that out for myself, I promise you'll be the first to know."

McCree, where did you learn to shoot like that? Was it Jack? Gabriel?

Always was a good shot, but I got a few pointers from the best. That'd be your mother.

-In-game interaction between Pharah and McCree

Chapter Text

WEDNESDAY, 17:14

"Heads up!"

The woman's sharp call to the mess hall was rewarded by the several dozen agents present lifting their heads as one, their stares finding her leaning partially through the doorway. Jesse had only just sat down with his own dinner, and he followed their lead with no small amount of trepidation, the lump of potato in his mouth somehow going even blander than before. Having only just managed to ditch his babysitter in the crowd of cadets leaving their SERE training on the field, he half expected the man to come storming through the door at any second. The shout from the newcomer didn't exactly do his stomach any favors.

They'd wrapped up at the range shortly after Captain Amari had left, and when the man had made it plenty clear he hadn't planned on leaving Jesse to his own devices after the encounter, he'd wasted no time in slipping away the second the opportunity had presented itself. The closest room he'd come across that hadn't been within range of suspicion had been the mess. Given the early hour, it hadn't been all that busy, but Jesse had ducked inside nonetheless. It was too late for lunch, but just early enough for dinner that the only agents present were either fresh from a day off or rushing to finish before heading off to their respective night shifts. Jesse'd had plenty of space at the table he'd snagged for once, but the sprawl of agents across the enormous room suddenly felt unbearably small in the wake of the soldier's yell.

Each and every one of the diners, new recruits and seasoned agents alike, continued to stare as a gleam entered the woman's eye. She stepped further into the mess, making her way to the double doors that led to the main kitchen.

"Fareeha's back in the building!"

The words had no sooner passed her lips than most of the mess audibly exhaled. For the most part, many of them went back to their meals, a few discreetly shuffling tech (and what looked suspiciously like gambling credits) back into their pockets. The newer looking cadets appeared to be just as confused as he did, and Jesse watched in mounting trepidation, the small grins growing on several of the senior agents' faces taking him wholly by surprise.

It didn't take long before he had his answer.

"Atten-tion!"

The staccato call came from one of the officers by the door, and in one smooth shuffle, half of the agents stood to salute sharply. The other half (the ones Jesse had seen glancing around in confusion) scrambled in their seats, their salutes slower and less practiced.

Jesse remained where he was. He leaned in his seat, chewing slowly as he attempted to catch a glimpse of who it was they had all been so quick to respect.

The quickly muffled laugh that lilted over their heads was not what he had been expecting.

His brows pinched together, confusion deepening even further as he went so far as to stand slightly, edging to the end of his bench as the newcomer cleared their throat. The noise was surprisingly young, and Jesse blinked as they finally spoke. The sound was loud and clear despite the oddly high pitch.

"At ease!"

And just like that, the soldiers relaxed, shuffling back into their seats or beginning to clear their plates as many of them laughed, the noise low and good-natured. The cadets were slower to sit down, their own stares just as incredulous as Jesse's as they landed on the form in the doorway.

It was a child.

She couldn't have been more than a pre-teen, and yet there she stood, head held high. Now that Jesse had a clear line of sight, he watched as one of the two senior officers present ruffled her hair on his way out the door, her expression souring in good spirit at the contact as she shook her head ruefully. She strode into the room with the confidence of one who made entrances such as these fairly often, hopping up to sit on the bench next to the small cluster of soldiers on the opposite side of the room. They clearly knew her well, as they offered her fond smiles and shifted to make more space for her as she began eagerly chatting away, her chin resting on her hand and her legs swinging idly beneath the table.

It was by no means the strangest thing Jesse had seen, but the interaction was still off to him. They just saluted a child. They regularly salute a child, if their demeanor meant anything.

He gave himself another five seconds of staring as he swallowed the potatoes with a grimace and turned his attention back to picking at his dinner. She was just a single kid in the middle of a sea of soldiers.

Her presence wouldn't mean anything to him in the grand scheme of things.

WEDNESDAY 17:46

It took all of seven seconds out of the mess hall to know he was being followed.

At first he'd assumed his babysitter had finally found him after half an hour of fruitless searching. But this tail was directly from the canteen.

Leaving most rooms around here had never been much a fiasco for him. He'd attracted eyes his first few days, but it had been apparent that the novelty of his appearance had worn off relatively quickly. All the same, he'd gotten used to blending with the smattering of officers and agents constantly flowing through the room, slipping out unnoticed when he was finished.

But the girl was having none of that.

He'd only made it about twelve feet out the doorway and down the hall before he heard her behind him.

A short glance over his shoulder showed an empty corridor at first, but he'd known she'd gotten up to trail after him the moment he'd made for the door. Her eyes had picked him out sitting on his own within minutes of her entrance, and he'd caught her staring more than once as he'd finished. He frowned as she made no move to reveal herself, undoubtedly hiding behind one of the pillars lining the entirety of the outer hallways across the HQ. They supported the massive windows, trailing off into the ceiling where the shades that lowered in the nighttime were nestled. The sun hadn't quite set in full just yet, and the light spilled across the white floor, bathing the doorways and walls in painfully bright hues of orange and red.

The color made it easier to spot her.

Not much of her was in sight, he'd give her that much. The very top of her head was all he could see at first, the tufts of dark hair barely visible around the curve of a beam. She was turned away, the flash of a silhouette of her nose the only inclination he had that she was listening for him to move again.

His eyes narrowed as she stayed stock still, and he begrudgingly turned to continue on his way, all of his attention now focused behind him. His eyes stayed dutifully forward even as he heard the scuff of her feet on the tile, and his frown deepened. It had been so long since he'd had to deal with kids, he…

He honestly wasn't sure if he was annoyed or not.

The chase went on for several long turns, with Jesse stopping every once in a while to look back in an attempt to spot his tail. Each and every time, she'd predicted his move and ducked out of sight. He'd be damned before he admitted he was impressed. Sometimes he could see her: a glint of hair behind an open door, the flutter of a dress disappearing back around a corner. Others, he had no idea where she'd managed to hide.

All the same, it didn't take long for him to begin losing interest in the little game.

He came upon a corner (the same one he'd passed twice now as he'd tried to shake her off) and gave a long, apathetic look over his shoulder as he slowed. He caught a flash of green from her skirt as she ducked hurriedly into an open doorway and, spotting his chance, he backpedaled into a near-silent jog, crouching low as he moved and sidling easily enough up to the open room. Leaning quietly against the wall behind the shelter of the open door, he crossed his arms and waited.

She didn't disappoint as she peered cautiously out from the room, her dark eyes scanning the end of the hallway. She made a small, huffing sound of annoyance through her nose as she realized she'd lost him, stepping out into the hallway in full and moving to pass Jesse where he remained unseen in the shadow of the door.

Just as she'd stepped in front of him, he finally broke the quiet.

"Now, what's a lady like you doin' in a place like th-"

He'd expected her to jump. He hadn't expected her to whirl quite so fast, her arms squaring off despite the surprise on her face. Her tiny fist connected solidly with his abdomen before he could so much as react, and he swayed back with a shocked huff, the force of the hit not quite strong enough to do anything more than knock him off balance.

The two of them stared at each other in silence for a long moment after that as neither made to move, the girl's face truly mortified behind her fists and Jesse's hand on his aching stomach.

"Uh," Jesse started slowly, "ouch?"

She lowered her arms slowly then, her eyes still wary as she kept her distance. There was a low mumble that may have been an apology, but Jesse missed it as the girl glanced away. Her face had gone a brilliant shade of red in embarrassment, and when it was clear she wouldn't be breaking the ice anytime soon, Jesse removed his hand from his abdomen, giving her a critical once over.

"You feel like tellin' me why you're following me? Assumin' you weren't just trying to get a good shot in there, 'course-"

"I wasn't following you," she interjected hurriedly, but it was clear from her expression she knew Jesse didn't believe her in the slightest as he tilted his chin to his chest, his eyebrows raising. Her gaze tipped to the ground as she shifted awkwardly in place. He hardly remembered being quite so fidgety as a kid. "…I might've been."

At least she had the sense to know when the jig was up.

"So you did just want to get a good shot in, then," he said, careful to keep his tone light. He was beyond done with their little game of hide and seek, but he had some moral compass, after all. The kid was clearly just curious, and he wasn't about to damn her for that fact just because she was stuck wandering the same base he was for whatever reason.

Yet.

He'd see how she reacted first.

"No!" Her horrified expression was gut-wrenchingly hysterical at first, but Jesse forced himself to keep a straight face as she backtracked. She sounded just as scandalized as she looked. "I just…"

She lapsed back into silence as Jesse watched her fidget in place, waiting for more. When nothing came, he glanced around, making a show of the gesture. The corridors were empty around them, the murmur of noise from the rooms along the way few and far between. The place was big enough to absorb the thousands of workers scrambling around during the busy hours without too much clutter, and when there were lulls like this during the regular dinner hour, the building may well have been a ghost town.

The ghost in question being Athena, of course. Jesse had yet to be able to wander on his own since making her acquaintance without the sense that she was keeping a careful… eye? Sensor?

A careful whatever on him.

"Nobody else here but you'n'me, kid. Whatta you want?"

She appeared offended for a moment that he would even insinuate she wanted anything.

But proceeded to tell him anyways.

"I know everyone," she said in a slightly more centered tone than before. She'd regained her balance out of nowhere as her hesitation appeared to up and leave, and Jesse regarded her quietly before responding.

"Do you now."

"Everyone," that tone of hers couldn't mean anything good, he was already certain, "except for you."

WEDNESDAY, 18:02

"Look, kid, I really don't have time for this."

"You ate early, what else would you have to be doing now?"

Jesse shut his eyes, frustration simmering just below the surface. He'd managed to make it back to his room in record time after finally confronting the girl, but the kid hadn't been deterred so easily, tailing after him and absolutely peppering him with questions along the way despite his clear derision to the thought of being interrogated. So he was the new Blackwatch trainee? Was it all true what they say? That he was only a teenager? Where was he really from? Was he really in a gang? Who was he, anyways?

He almost wished she'd go back to being embarrassed. At least she was quieter then.

"What I could be doing now," he grit out slowly, his eyes finding her tipped back on her heels behind him, "is crashin' for the night and not bein' grilled by a…" He mentally gauged her age, instantly subtracting twelve years. "…a toddler."

"I'm not-"

"Now I trust y'can find your way back to-" He waved a hand dismissively down the hallway as the other punched in his access code, making it clear from his tone that this conversation was long over. "-wherever it is y'came from. G'night."

The last number entered, he turned away from her annoyed expression and swiped his finger across the enter scan on the screen.

Beep.

"…that's supposed to be green, you know."

Jesse was pretty sure there'd be an indent the exact size and shape of his forehead on his door frame by the time he was ready to blow this joint.

WEDNESDAY, 18:12

"Is it your actual name?"

"What's it to you?"

"It's not a very clever one if it isn't."

"Didn't say if it was or wasn't, did I."

God damn Athena in all her "omnipresent" bullshit; she'd been characteristically unresponsive to Jesse's attempts at hailing her for the denied access. The door remained locked, the kid had only been more adamant on prying information from him knowing she had him cornered, and he'd long since given in and sat against the wall, his eyes shut and his arms draped over his knees as he tried his hardest to tune the girl out and wait for salvation in one form or another. He'd made to leave to find some other excuse for ditching the kid, but something about having to walk the entirety of the base listening to her was exhausting in and of itself. So, he'd elected to wait.

"That's an answer on its own, you know. You're avoiding the question. I'm right, aren't I?"

And what a horrible election it was really turning out to be.

They'd garnered some attention, slouched as they were across from one another in the hallway. She'd dropped easily enough to sit across from him, her own back to the opposite wall as she drew her legs under her. During the odd times he cracked an eye to check if she was getting bored, she'd been watching him with an unnerving inventiveness. As his eyes opened a sliver at her prodding question, he found her in much the same state as she had been for the last million times.

But the girl's eyes were now trained on his tattoo. Opening his eyes in full and frowning, he shifted his thumb closer to his index finger where it lay draped lazily over his elevated knee, effectively hiding the ink from view as the lock disappeared in the fold of his hand. She appeared to catch the deliberate intention of the movement, as her eyes narrowed and moved up to scrutinize his face in that soul-bearing way that only children could.

"My mom says not to trust people who hide things," she said slowly, her tone suspicious (not for the first time in her little information session) but curious all the same. Jesse gave her his best faux-interested face, his nose wrinkling.

"A smart woman."

The girl was not deterred by his derisiveness. She had spirit, that much he could tell.

"Mostly if they seem good at hiding."

"Uh-huh."

"You're not very good at hiding."

Jesse jabbed a thumb down the hallway, indicating the alcoves not unlike the ones she had tried ducking behind during her stalking. "Could say the same about you, can't I?"

She appeared to consider that for a long moment as he once again shut his eyes and continued to wonder just how in the hell he'd allowed himself to get where he was in life.

WEDNESDAY, TIME NO LONGER EXISTS IN THIS GODFORSAKEN PLACE

"You don't talk much, do you?"

What gave that away?

"Depends."

"On what?"

"On when I can get a word in."

"Oh."

A rare moment of silence.

"I can wait longer."

He looked up from picking at his nail.

"That'd be wonderful."

WEDNESDAY, WHO CARES ANYMORE DEATH WILL COME FOR THEM ALL EVENTUALLY ANYWAYS

Bam.

Bam.

Bam.

Bam.

"Doesn't that hurt?"

Jesse stopped shortly and opened his eyes, the back of his head an inch away from connecting with the door behind him once again. The girl had begun getting antsy, her weight shifting back and forth as she tried to find a more comfortable spot. Jesse'd been betting on her up and leaving the second she'd gotten uncomfortable on the hard floor, but he had been dismayed to find her resolve showed no signs of relenting.

"Nope," he deadpanned, popping the p.

She tilted her head, face puckering.

"You're lying," she said matter-of-factly. He'd heard that exact tone enough times in the last hour to know what it meant. She was absolutely certain. He was silent for a long minute before he thumped his head back once again to let it rest against the door.

"Hurts a lot less than other things I can think of."

"So you are lying."

"Buzz off, kid."

WEDNESDAY, TOO LATE TO MATTER

Green, Jesse decided, was a beautiful color.

The light flickered without warning as he tried his code for the umpteenth time that hour, and against all odds, a sputter of green overtook the glare of red. He didn't waste a second as his hand flew to the knob, throwing the door open before it could change its mind. He'd become a bit of a pro at the movement. He'd rather not have the practice entirely, but it had come in handy.

"Oh."

The girl sounded a bit dejected, and Jesse almost felt bad. But he'd just finished listening to his near-second hour of chattering, and sympathy was a hard commodity to garner from him these days. It had been a weird day, even by his current standards, and the badgering from the kid had only been the icing on the cake. His hand palmed open the door entirely as the other instinctively rose to thumb at the rim of the hat he knew wasn't there.

"Well, little lady, this has been… somethin'."

"Fareeha."

There was a beat of silence.

"Bless you."

"It's my name."

At least she sounded a bit amused. He was already closing the door with little more than a hum of acknowledgement when she decided to hit him with her final parting shot, her voice rising a notch to be heard as the heavy barrier began to fall back in place behind him.

"Good luck with mom tomorrow!"

The door didn't close fast enough for her to miss him turning to display the look of abject, absolute horror on his face.

The base was surprisingly active for six in the morning during the mid-week, and he'd been bustled along in an oddly large crowd outside of the hallway that led to most of the superior's respective offices on his way to the firing range. They'd appeared to have been waiting for something themselves, making it all the more difficult for Jesse to shoulder his way through the milling crowd.

He'd finally shuffled past the last of the crowd and practically tumbled through the door at 0608.

Captain Amari was waiting for him.

She was perched on a chair outside of the glassed-in firing line, a steaming mug in her hand and her eyes trained down range. The second he'd opened the door however, they had turned to him, taking in his frazzled appearance almost instantly. She seemed pleased he'd decided to bother turning up at all, and yet he didn't miss the flash of disapproval in those eyes when she glanced at the clock.

"I almost didn't expect you to show, Agent McCree. You're-"

"-late, I know, I know," Jesse interrupted, brushing himself off to clear the rumples left in his clothing from both the rush of getting up that morning as well as the bustle of the crowd. "Whole world decided it wanted to up 'n stand 'round out there today."

Ana lowered the mug from where she had taken a small sip, her brows arching as Jesse gestured down the hall towards the block of offices. "Ah. I hadn't realized they would be scheduling the final decision so early." She stood, stirring the small spoon in her mug slowly before tapping it with a gentle clink clink on the side. When she looked up again, there was a benign grin on her face.

"And yet, that does not excuse the fact that you are still late."

She waved him out of the doorway, stepping easily away from the chair and making her way into the room without further indication that he should follow. He frowned at her retreating back for a long moment before giving in and trailing after her. It was still incredibly odd that she was speaking so casually to him after their previous track record of interactions. The leap from the seemingly cold, aloof captain to… whatever this was was an enormous one; he wasn't so certain he could follow it all the way through, if he was honest with himself. But he could play along so long as she wasn't questioning his every decision anymore. The second he got the feeling she was, he was out of here.

Jesse elected to ignore the jab at his tardiness as his curiosity got the better of him.

"Final decision?"

His inquiry was met with a glance over her shoulder. That taut braid was back, and it shifted as she moved, blending against her turtleneck. "The new pilot program. You have not heard?"

"Don't know if you picked up on it, ma'am, but I really don't hear much of anythin' around here."

They'd stopped at a set of mats slightly closer than the ones they had occupied the day before, and Ana gently set her mug on the table dividing the two, brushing her hand lightly over the material of her pants to wipe away the prickling of the heat. Jesse had actually been surprised to see her just the same as she had been the day before when he'd arrived. Even he had gone so far as considering the puffy monstrosity of a black jacket they'd left in his closet when he'd gotten dressed that morning. The chill of the air was beginning to linger later and later in the mornings, and he didn't doubt he would soon have to cave and utilize the hideous thing soon enough. He'd expected to find her in her coat, but here they were, dressed as equals in their turtlenecks (albeit Jesse still refused to leave his button-up off) and command issued pants.

He wasn't given much time to reflect on the matter.

"The program," she was speaking more to the wall than to him as she placed her hand not unlike Commander Reyes had in the Field, "is for an experimental flight that requires only the best our test pilots have to offer. They have been running drills to determine the final trainee for several months now. The last one was yesterday morning."

Something niggled at the back of his mind at that, and he watched as the panel of the wall slid upwards at her touch to reveal a small line of weaponry. It was much more limited than the one in the Field had been, but nonetheless impressive in its hardware. She barely gave it a chance to open in full before she had selected four of the nine rifles.

Pilot program…

"She is a pilot. She hardly will be seeing-"

She turned to see him staring at her with a dry look, and aside from a small blink, she showed little reaction to the sudden change in expression.

"So you were just "passing through" yesterday, then?"

He almost didn't catch the rifle as it was dropped into his hands. He didn't miss the small grin ghosting across Captain Amari's face as she breezed past him to the firing line. When he didn't follow, she turned, her hand extending to the range and yet another of the small, palm sized remotes he'd become well acquainted with tucked neatly in her fingers as her thumb slid over over the power button, her attention shifting back to the targets appearing on the projection hovering above her screen. She scrolled through them, making her choices and watching as they materialized downrange.

"Enough talk. We only have an hour and a half before the range is no longer ours to use freely."

Jesse stared at the gun in his hands long enough to draw Captain Amari's attention away from where she was directing the new targets. The workings of the little remote were beyond him, but it certainly got the job done as she flicked it back and forth, shifting targets here and there and back again as she searched for a perfect balance. He hadn't looked away from the gun since she'd dropped it in his hands, but if she'd noticed he'd been pouring over it since then, she hadn't let on until now.

"Unfamiliar?"

He glanced up at her question. "This is…" He rotated the rifle as he trailed off, his glance darting between the weapon and the captain. "Tell me this isn't what I think it is."

"That would depend on what you think it is."

Jesse shook his head wordlessly, his eyes turning back to the rifle. It was a lever action, which in and of itself was strange. There was hardly any use for lever in this war. Particularly-

"A Winchester?"

Ana was not fazed in the slightest as she continued to direct the distance between the targets, her eyes once again glued to the range in front of her as she replied evenly.

"A 9422, to be exact."

"That's-" Something in his brain outright shorted out then and there as words failed him. When his tongue reconnected to his brain, his voice was dripping in disbelief. "9422's may's'well be a hundred years old."

She seemed impressed for a brief moment before she turned to regard him in full. "True, yes. But what you are holding is merely an imitation. You'll find it was manufactured quite recently."

"Why would you have a-"

"The theory-" Ana gestured delicately to the rifle then as she interrupted. "-to the art." Her arm raised in a sweep to the empty target range. "To understand the roots of the weapons we wield is just as important as understanding the enemy. Mockups assist in bridging that gap for our… less seasoned recruits before they move on to more practical means."

Mockup or not (and less seasoned, his ass) he was still holding a Winchester 9422. He'd only held one once before in his life, and back then it had been the real deal. He'd had to break the leg of the man who'd owned it initially to end up with it, of course, but the payoff for the old gun had been incredible. Antiques and rarities still sold like hotcakes these days, even in the middle of wartime. Sentimentality was a funny thing.

Though he supposed he shouldn't be bashing sentiment given the fact he now stood ogling a remake like it was his firstborn. He liked to think he deserved it. He'd only idolized the 9422 for half of his life. It was hard not to when you sweat, bled, and breathed the West since-

"How did you-"

"Agent McCree," Ana said, dry and flat, "do not ask me how I knew to hand a cowboy a 9422."

"For today," she continued before he could react, dragging him out of his silent reverie, "I thought it necessary to see just how well you manage with the rest of our little arsenal here before moving on to basic pulse hardware and our current low-rank loadout. We may yet have time to move on to handguns before the morning escapes us."

His lips had gone dry sometime in his last week here. The only way he really knew was from the fact that the bottom one split right down the middle as he broke into the first genuine smile he'd had in ages.

To hell with the morning escaping. If this was what she'd meant by using a "proper" rifle, he had all the time in the world.

THURSDAY, 06:21

"Now remember, you are shooting without a pi-"

"-pistol grip, I know."

"Then why are you still holding it as if you are?"

"…I'm not."

"Well you're not now. Move your thumb a bit- there. Let the curve of the crook rest on the bridge of your index finger."

The crook behind the trigger guard slipped easily over the inked lock in his skin, the gun steadying in his hands as he evened his stance and tried his best to ignore the way his ears were burning.

"I have shot lever before, y'know."

"How nice for you. Move your stock."

THURSDAY, 06:34

The ping of metal had slowly become more frequent. The twenty first target dropped, and Jesse lowered the Winchester to reload with a satisfied thrill.

He'd only just done so when it straight up disappeared from his hands to be replaced with an automatic.

"We'll revisit our friend here when you've mastered the next three."

He couldn't keep the disgust off of his face as she said it. She'd clearly seen the look, as her eyebrow had risen in that are you serious way he'd seen her pin Gabriel down with all those weeks ago in his office. Still, she seemed to catch the actual intent of the expression, as she continued.

"You're certainly doing better than you were yesterday. You make a promising shot."

That split lip of his threatened to pull again as he forced himself not to give in to the smug grin that was outright dying to be free.

"For a rookie."

Nah.

His lip would be fine.

THURSDAY, 06:47 (WAS IT? HE WASN'T SURE...)

"You know this one, I assume."

Know it.

Did he.

There wasn't a word strong enough for his hatred for the thing at this point. He'd liked it well enough before he'd been brought on, sure. But something about the disaster of a first simulation he'd run through with it had taken a bit of the gleam off of it.

Ana appeared to be waiting for an answer beyond his grunt, and he eyed the sight as he replied with a grumble.

"Well enough acquainted, reckon."

"Thoughts?"

"Honestly?"

The captain shot him a look. "We don't do things any other way here."

He hefted the stock to his cheek as his new line of targets appeared. They'd shifted each round, the distance and width and type varying each time as Ana discreetly tapped away at the controls, her directions fewer and further between as the morning went on.

"If it ain't got the decency to get me outta slow death-by-Bastion-unit, then I don't want nothin' to do with it."

He fired before she could reply. His aim was steady enough today, as the bullet soared true to center and smacked smartly into the pendulum. Her puzzled look bled into her voice as he paused to reorient himself.

"Why would you say that?"

"Didn't do me any good against R&D's lil' pet project, did it?"

The targets stopped moving abruptly, and Jesse's bullet pinged off the side of one as it pulled up short. He shot her an annoyed glance, only to find her staring at him with narrowed eyes.

"They gave you a Bastion."

His eyes shifted away for a second before sliding back to meet hers again.

"…yes?"

"As your first active sim."

"Well, it certainly wasn't my last, if that's what you're so worried 'bout."

He'd seen murder in the eyes of some of the fiercest men he'd ever known. The gleam had become familiar enough to him. It was often more subtle than he'd expected as a kid on the road, back when he was still young and stupid. A flicker here, a flash of rage, an intense sort of insanity that never reached the brain in full long enough to consider the consequences of the actions the body was about to commit.

Murder in the eyes of Ana Amari was terrifying.

"He will have a slow death."

Jesse turned right back to eyeing the range, his gun raising obediently as she restarted the scrolling targets.

"Best'a luck, the man doesn't seem to go below twenty miles an hour on a slow day."

"Oh, he will. Believe me, he will."

THURSDAY, 06: 5 7 .. 7 .. 7… 7…..

There was an omnic head on the target this time.

It was just a shell, but the blank stare it gave him wasn't helping much as he tried his best to ignore both the rounds of instruction he was being battered with.

"I find it best to blade my foot like so, then as you move you can-"

"-line up the kill, boy, you ain't got time to prepare-

"-keep your eyes on the target-"

"-stare the goddamn reaper in the face if you gotta to get it done but don't you damn well move-"

"-breathe in slowly. And when you are steady on the trigger-"

"-let 'em know who they're dealin' with before you-"

"-fire."

"-send 'em to meet their maker."

Jesse felt his finger squeeze gently against the trigger at Ana's cue, the kick of the gun knocking his second, mental coach out of his head and back to the past where he belonged.

The shot hit dead center. An instant kill, and more than enough to knock a bot out of commission.

"Very good."

The praise rang dull in his ears. He lowered the gun, eyes on the target.

He got the feeling the fleeting, belated flicker of a grin he gave her didn't have her fooled. He'd known this rifle well. The first time he'd opened up with an automatic on his Deadeye was hard to forget.

Captain Amari had no way of knowing such things, and he knew as much. But she was a smart woman. She did not praise him further as he continued on to dismantle every piece of metal the range threw his way.

They moved on to the next rifle in silence.

THURSDAY, 07:13

"So."

Jesse paused, the gun in his hands practically disassembled in full on the table between them. He'd been speeding through them, his brow furrowed in concentration as he pieced them back together under her watchful eye. He didn't think he'd messed up, but her tone spelled trouble. He looked up to meet her eye with no small amount of dread.

"I hear you've met my daughter."

He let out his breath in a silent hiss.

Of course she'd heard already. It was her own daughter they were talking about, and she didn't exactly seem the type to brush her little girl's "mom I met a convict today" off with a "that's nice, honey."

He was honestly surprised it took her as long as it did to reach the subject.

Jesse turned his focus back to the rifle in his hands, careful to avoid her eye. He supposed he should answer her, but nothing presented itself as a proper reply. She hadn't given any sign of being upset by the fact, but he didn't doubt she had a mean poker face. The longer she stared at him, the harder it was to come up with something. As the last of the rifle broke down in his hands, he blurted the first thing to pop to mind.

"Word travels quick 'round here, huh?"

He really didn't want to look at her. All the same, the disbelief that was likely written plainly across her face was plain in her voice.

"She's my daughter."

"I... yeah."

"She says you seemed keen on getting rid of her."

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

The stock in his hand stalled for a second as he finally looked up, slightly alarmed as he reached for an answer. "I wasn't… that is, I didn't really… I mean to say, it didn't seem-"

She was holding up a hand, forcing his words to grind to a halt. There was a surprisingly wry grin on her face, and a bit of the weight on his shoulders lifted upon seeing it.

"You're not the first. And you won't be the last. But if I may give you some advice: Fareeha is a rare find these days. Give her time."

Hardly her prerogative in the middle of a warzone.

The captain surprised him then as she leaned forward, her voice low and her eyes slowly widening as she tipped her head meaningfully. "But if I hear that you ostracize her again-"

"No, ma'am! No os-tra-cizin' happening' here, no sir," the interruption was blunt, only a hint of sarcasm buried deep enough within it to be missed by the untrained ear. "Only wanted a bit'a sleep last night, she caught me at a, uh... a bad time, 's all."

The captain was quiet for a moment. The first trickle of people was beginning to arrive further down the mats, as a couple of agents settled into the booths down the line. They maintained a respectful amount of distance between themselves and Ana, though their curious glances were difficult to hide even at a distance.

"She is… intrigued by you, I suppose."

He snorted. At her look, he shrugged half heartedly.

"News to me." He paused. "Kid's got a hell of a right hook, y'know."

She appeared disturbingly proud of this.

"Consider yourself lucky that's all she decided to dish out."

THURSDAY, 07:18, OR ABOUT FIVE MINUTES AFTER HIS MOST RECENT BRUSH WITH DEATH VIA PROTECTIVE MOTHERLY INSTINCTS

Captain Amari stowed the last rifle neatly as the panel snapped back into place without a sound. The range was open in full now, and the amount of people who were willing to practice before eight in the morning was appalling to Jesse. He nodded to the newcomers as she turned to face him once again, gathering up her empty mug as his shooting hand clenched and relaxed, the muscles stretching with an ache.

"They bring their own gear?"

She shook her head as she accepted the mug, looping a finger through the handle before crossing her arms and letting it dangle over her bicep as her eyes traced down the range.

"They open the access ports for weaponry at each station to the entire base when there are open range sessions on book for the day. I can add you to the schedule blast if you like."

Jesse blinked. "The what now?"

"The schedule blast. When they send out the open times for the week."

Duh. "I don't have any way of receivin' any of those, ma'am. Ain't exactly got any tech on me."

The captain's face morphed into a crooked frown at that. "I'll need to speak with Gabriel, but I'm sure something could be arranged. Would you prefer a tablet or something a little more discreet?"

Mud.

There was definitely still mud in his ears from yesterday. That would explain everything he was hearing. Or thought he was hearing, at least. "Pardon?"

"It's not difficult, McCree," she said, distantly amused, "just answer the question."

"Uh… something discreet'd be nice, I guess? Rather be able to keep it on my person, if that's alright."

Thankfully, she nodded. He'd expected a bit more suspicion at the request, but in all honesty, she'd been the one to offer in the first place. If this was his one and only chance to get something back from his gilded cage, he'd be making the most of it.

"I can get the ball rolling there. No promises, but you'll be needing something eventually anyways. I doubt they will push back. Much."

She moved on quickly enough then. That was the thing about the commanders he'd met so far. Once something was said and done, there was no coming back to it. Jesse was still figuring out how to keep up with these conversations without being utterly left in the dust.

"You did much better today." That's what happens when you ain't distracted and have a lot more ridin' on makin' the shot. "You still need work, but I'm pleased with the results. We will move on to handguns next Thursday."

Finally, some good news for once.

She bid him adieu shortly after, their exit accompanied by the familiar salutes. As she left him to his own devices and made her way down the hall towards her office (undoubtedly to check in on the final pilot choice from the morning), he faltered for a moment. He still had another half an hour before he'd need to be anywhere. He supposed he could grab a quick breakfast before heading out to the Field, but the mess was likely packed by now.

Ah, well. The biscuits and fruit he'd smuggled back to his room would do for now.

He'd blame the fact he was hungry later for the lack of intuition that usually niggled at his ear, and without stopping to think twice, he made his way towards the driest bread in the world and prepared to actually start his day.

Looking back on it, his day would have been better off staying right where it was.

Chapter Text

Jesse had pulled up short of too many near-death experiences out of sheer, dumb luck than he ever could have thought possible. Other times had been thanks to instinct, that odd little feeling keeping him from taking that one corner during jobs that had gone south that would have meant a quick trip to a better world had he turned it too quickly. He prided himself on that freakish sixth sense of his, the tingling in his skin when things were about to turn sour that kept him on his feet.

Bungee Boss #7 of Deadlock had joked on occasion about it. Called him paranoid at first, but had quickly gone on to shut his trap after Jesse's fist had closed around the man's collar and yanked him clear of the first bullet of an unplanned firefight.

I tell you what, runt, the day you lose that third eye of yours is the day you may's'well drop dead, right then and there.

The man had been wrong, Jesse was loathe to acknowledge. What waited for him the minute his intuition hit the happy trails was much, much worse.

And much shorter than he'd imagined.

Fareeha was outside of his door again, leaning casually against the wall and the very picture of perfect comfort as she waited for lord only knew how long for her social-study-of-the-week to stumble back from training with her mother. Jesse drew to a stop several yards down the hall as his eyes landed on her.

Lord have mercy for once in my life, she's an early riser.

The real surprise that had him questioning his intuition, however, came in the form of Commander Reyes beside her, arms crossed and looking cool as several less cucumbers than usual. A large duffel was slung over his shoulder, and Jesse didn't doubt that he had only just entered the building. There was an easy, relaxed look on his face as he listened to the kid chatter, and though it appeared to the untrained eye that he was hanging on every word she said, Jesse could tell from a single glance that his mind was miles away. That didn't stop him from registering the exact millisecond Jesse had stepped into the hallway, however. The barest tick of the man's eyes in his direction was all he had needed to confirm that.

But the universe couldn't just leave it be at that. No, Jesse McCree lived and breathed to have the phrase "what are the odds" shoved right back down his throat whenever they had the chance to be uttered.

The hallway was small enough on its own, but the hulking figure obscuring almost half of it made it unbearably claustrophobic. Jesse's heart had thumped once painfully in his chest the second he'd recognized the man, his height just as impressive (albeit a little more terrifying) as before. The cadets that passed Jesse to scurry through snapped off salutes to the cluster around Commander Reyes as they made their own ways back to their quarters, squeezing past the man as best they could and exhaling in relief once they'd popped out the other side.

Entire wars had been declared with far fewer people in lesser proximity to Jesse's bunk. He'd never felt more personally assaulted in his life.

He had just begun considering turning around and coming back later when Gabriel finally seemed to sense his dilemma in full and turned to lock eyes with him.

The two other pairs of eyes that sought him out in turn were far less welcome.

Aw, hell.

Jesse forced himself to straighten, ignoring the mental litany of cursing clawing at his brain as Gabriel's look grew sharper by the second. Well and truly stuck, Jesse slowly closed the gap between them. As he drew nearer, he pointedly ignored the burrowing, searching stare he was receiving from the big guy and chose instead to focus on the questioning scan he was receiving from Fareeha. She looked like she wanted to say something, but Gabriel beat her to the punch as he unfolded an arm, holding a hand out to gesture at Jesse as he entered earshot. His words were clearly directed towards his present company, but they shifted quickly enough to Jesse as he approached.

"Agent Jesse McCree. Blackwatch greenhorn." Gabriel flapped the hand shortly to the man, then Fareeha as Jesse found himself the true center of attention. "Reinhardt Wilhelm, Fareeha Amari."

It was hard to tell who exactly the introductions were for at first given their brevity, but the towering man claimed them first as something cleared in his eyes, warmth flooding them in place of the uncertainty that had been there only moments before. His voice was just as booming as Jesse'd remembered it to be, but that didn't stop him from squinting against the noise all the same.

"Yes, we have met once before! The rabbit!"

Jesse had been called plenty of things in his life. Scum. Pain in the ass. You there. Snake, runt, deadeye, sonuvabitch, kid.

But "rabbit" was certainly a new one.

He stared dumbly up at the man, the wheels in his head turning too slow to find a suitable response. "The… the what now?"

The man was not fazed in the slightest as he laughed, a hearty, deep sound. Jesse had never heard a noise quite like it before, all blatant sincerity and almost vulnerable in its open joy. He wasn't so certain if that was a good thing or not.

"You run very fast!"

Oh.

There were probably holes burning in Jesse's cheek from the stare Gabriel was pinning him with, but he pointedly ignored it in favor of scratching his chin as he cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Uh, about that-"

"No, no, there is nothing to say, do not worry!" Reinhardt was quick to interrupt. "It is a common reaction many have, you know."

The man sounded disturbingly proud of the fact. Jesse ran his eyes from Reinhardt's boots to his face, head tilting to both upward and downward extremes on his neck in the one movement.

"Couldn't imagine why."

Reinhardt's laugh was one Jesse had the feeling he'd have to get used to soon enough given its frequency. That didn't stop him from grimacing slightly as it assaulted his ears once again. He made the mistake of glancing away as he ran dry of anything more to say, his eyes meeting Fareeha's in time to catch the grin on her face.

"Hello again," she said brightly.

"Howdy," Jesse deadpanned, pouring every ounce of irony he could into the one word alone. Ana's voice niggled at the back of his head, and he bit his tongue against anything else to come. He wouldn't make an effort to nudge the kid away if he could, but he wouldn't make it easy for her to cling to his boots if he could help it.

But the less than warm welcome clearly wasn't enough to deter Fareeha. Rather, she just grinned wider.

The girl pushed herself away from the wall then, and it took all of Jesse's willpower to not just flick her forehead and have her bump back against it. He didn't doubt this little gathering was her fault. She'd likely been waiting for him to return, and her presence on this floor this early in the morning would undoubtedly raise questions for any officers happening to be passing by with their comrades.

Such officers in question, however, appeared to be done with pleasantries.

"If you need anything else, Reinhardt, ask Jack," Gabriel spoke up then, picking back up a thread of conversation that had clearly been dropped at Jesse's approach. "I'll need to pull a few strings for your request, but my word only goes so far these days. Can't promise much, but we'll see."

Something gnawed at Jesse at the choice of wording. Now where had he just heard that?

The dismissal was clear as day, and Reinhardt took it with a salute and a booming "thank you, sir!" before taking his leave. He didn't waste any time in clapping Jesse over the shoulder as he brushed past.

Human bone was never meant to withstand the force exerted from even a single skin cell on Reinhardt Wilhelm.

Culminated together to form an entire hand, that force may well have snapped every rib in Jesse's body. It sure as hell felt like it as the breath left him in a rush. He stumbled a step forward, a hand instinctively reaching for the throbbing ache in his shoulder with a somewhat resentful glance over his shoulder.

Learn to dodge projectiles the size of your entire upper body if you value your life. Check.

Fareeha appeared ready to speak up again when Gabriel's hand came to rest on the top of her head, and she glanced up to meet his eye as he shot her a meaningful look.

"You two can chat later. I need to steal him for a while."

Fareeha looked like she would have been more than happy to argue, but when the words came from someone like Gabriel, it was a little difficult to negate them. Begrudgingly, she nodded, blurting a hasty farewell as she made her way down the hall, Athena's voice piping overhead as she rounded the corner and disappeared from sight.

Jesse put his palms together, holding them aloft as he bowed his head low to Gabriel.

"Bless you."

Gabriel swatted his hands aside. "I didn't do it for you. You'll have to go through the same grilling the rest of the rookies have." He lowered his chin at Jesse's despairing look. "She will get what she wants. Don't fight it too hard or you'll waste your time. Besides, she's only here when her mother is."

He motioned for Jesse to follow as he hefted the duffel higher on his shoulder. Jesse gave a longing glance to his door and the food beyond it before turning to trail the man, his breakfast being left to nothing but a wistful hope as they made their way towards the elevator that would likely take them to Gabriel's office.

"Sounds like you've already met trouble, anyways," the commander continued conversationally, their footsteps falling in cadence with one another as Jesse caught up. Trouble. Ana's directions and corrections from the morning joined Fareeha's badgering questions as they rang through the back of Jesse's mind.

"You could say that."

Gabriel rummaged through his pocket in search of his phone, his other hand dragging almost subconsciously over his face. Jesse hadn't seen the man look weary yet in his time here, and somehow he doubted he ever would. This seemed to be the closest he'd ever get.

When he made no move to continue the line of conversation, Jesse gave him a drawn out, sidelong look. "Didn't expect to see you back this soon," he prompted as the silence grew a bit awkward.

"Yeah, well," Gabriel said airily, "here I am."

Nothing else.

He offered nothing else. No hooks for Jesse to latch on to, nothing to prod at, not a single jab.

Something was wrong.

There was an uncomfortable silence as the two stepped into one of the many lifts on base, the doors closing with a smooth, pleasant ding. Reads, as usual, were near impossible to pull from Gabriel, though that didn't stop Jesse from stealing a few discreet glances all the same as they ascended. When the man's face wasn't twisted into a contemplative, exasperated frown, it was near always tipped the other direction, some kind of calculating blankness that still managed to come across as almost lazy, a ghost of humor just barely there behind his eyes.

The humor, that one tiny glint, was missing.

"I'm not here for long," Gabriel continued out of nowhere, startling Jesse out of his musing as they arrived on the floor Gabriel had input. The man's attention was tipped downwards as he tapped out a message to someone, his screen blazing to life. "I'm giving clearance to move in with the information we gathered from recon. There's a situation that'll need immediate action. We're heading back out the minute I have everyone together."

A thrill ran down Jesse's spine suddenly, surprising himself.

We.

Everyone.

He didn't mean-

"Everyone?" He poured the emphasis on strong, his brow climbing slowly. Gabriel still did not look away from the message he was scribing as they grew closer to his office.

"Mm," the man grunted distractedly. And once again, nothing more.

Jesse was plenty quiet often enough to have meaning for every silence he'd ever had. This one was straight up impatient. But when nothing else came, he tilted forward, making it a point to get his head in Gabriel's direct line of sight as he prompted him once again.

"And?"

That got the commander to look up, a frown on his face. "And what?"

"And does this 'everyone' include-"

"You're still benched, don't get ahead of yourself," Gabriel cut him off bluntly, his attention returning to his screen.

Hm.

Rude.

He wasn't exactly asking for much. At this point, getting off base for a while would be more for his sanity's sake than anything else, anyways. They wanted him at peak performance, clearly, but keeping him cooped up would do little to help that. He had half the mind to think they knew that, too.

That good ol' dry well of trust appeared to be standing in his way again.

There was only so much of this place anyone could take at a time, and the steady pattern he'd been forced into was starting to make his palms itch. He needed to do something other than knock a few amateurs around on the mats and fire at nothing consequential. He needed to see something other than black and blue and the sterile silver of his glass prison, to breathe air that wasn't tinged with the smell of the mountains and the chill of the oncoming winter.

He needed out, and up until this moment when the possibility of getting away arose, he hadn't realized that he desperately needed it now.

"Sorry, I missed somethin'," Jesse said as he dug a finger in his ear, putting as much sarcasm into the action as he possibly could. "You did say 'everyone,' didn't you?"

"McCree, you're still in training. They're not about to let me take you along for a ride through a hotzone when you've been here less than a month at most. Moscow is riding on a lot of impossible odds, the last thing it needs is you interrupting the flow of operation. You haven't worked with the team enough to know what they'll be asking of you."

Well, that was harsh. In another time, Jesse might have even been offended. But for now, he was just determined to change the odds.

"Still not getting what you're sayin' here."

"How many ways can I say they don't want you on this o-"

"No, no, I heard what you 'said'. I'm just tryna' find the part where you think I give a rat's ass what they want."

Gabriel did not rise to take the bait, but something akin to mild approval crossed his face as he eyed Jesse before turning away. When he made to continue their little stroll, however, Jesse darted out a hand, grasping the older man's shoulder and turning him brusquely in place. He was speaking before they were fully facing one another.

"Do you want me on this?"

The slightly affronted look that had appeared on Gabriel's face at the contact vanished at the question, and he sighed, his eyes shutting as his fingertips scrubbed over them roughly.

"Look, it's-"

"Do you want me on this?"

Jesse stared defiantly up into Gabriel's face as the man went silent. A group of chattering recruits bustled past them, not a single glance spared in their direction until they'd made it well down the hallway and out of earshot. The beginning prickles of anger were just threatening to rise in Jesse's gut when Gabriel leaned in, his voice low.

"Guess we'll find out."

And with that maddeningly unhelpful quip, he took his leave, not bothering to wait and see if Jesse was following.

Jesse stared after him in open disbelief for a long moment, the distance between them growing before he broke into a jog to catch up, his voice just a notch below a shout.

"And what'n'the hell is that supposed to mean? Heck, what even was the point of you bringin' me up here, huh? Or even bringin' me on, you know I could be doin' more than these damn drills every day-"

When the younger man finally caught up, Gabriel had already unlocked his office and stepped inside a yard ahead of him. The commander's voice piped up from inside, out of sight.

"I'm just returning this. It's smelling up the place."

Jesse skid to a stop outside of the open door just in time for his hat to come flying out of the office and smack him smartly in the face. Fumbling with the object as he staggered in surprise, he looked up to see Gabriel already rummaging through his desk, his other hand pulling several objects out of his unzipped duffel. Jesse's eyes narrowed as he lowered the hat.

"Thanks."

The word was as dry as it could get, and yet Jesse somehow got the impression that he could have sung it and not gotten a reaction. Gabriel gave him a loose, two fingered salute as his focus remained in his desk, his hand sifting through in search of something or rather. Jesse jammed the hat back on his head (and man if it didn't feel like greeting an old friend), sliding into his usual seat as he waited for Gabriel to continue. When the commander found whatever it was he had been looking for, he wasted no time in slamming the drawer shut-

-and immediately making to leave the office again, the duffel slinging back up onto his shoulder as he zipped the new contents into it in the span of one brisk stride.

Jesse blinked from where he'd sat, leaping to his feet in lieu of being left behind as the man blazed out of the room. "What, "immediate" as in now? As in right this second?" He fairly trotted to keep pace as they wound their way out back the way they came.

"Thought that was clear enough, wasn't it?"

Jesse gave him a short, snippy laugh. "You're 'bout as clear as dirt on a good day. I thought you were bein', y'know…"

Gabriel met his eye as Jesse trailed off, searching fruitlessly for the correct word. The man's demeanor still seemed off, even as he automatically corrected his charge.

"Rhetorical."

"Rhetorical," Jesse repeated emphatically. "Why bother comin' back? Sure as shit wasn't to just throw me my hat." He paused for a reply that didn't come before continuing. "You couldn't just… I dunno, call in for backup and stay where you were?"

"Short answer, no."

They were back at the lifts, and if Gabriel minded the fact that Jesse was joining him, he didn't show it. He swiped the screen, the floor for the secondary aircraft hangar input as the elevator began its steady descent. Jesse had seen and heard plenty of craft coming and going from the roof, but everyone who was anyone knew that the big guns were kept deep out of sight of the public. Which in turn meant Jesse had known by his fifth day on base. Gabriel, being Gabriel, had all of his equipment stored on the secondary deck. Anyone who was also anyone knew that too.

Sort of took away from the whole secrecy thing in Jesse's mind, but he wasn't about to voice the thought.

"Then what's the long answer?" He pressed further, the enclosed space making an excellent trap for the conversation. "What are you even doin' there?"

"The long answer?"

"Yes, the long answer-"

"Is 'it's still no'.'"

Jesse leveled him with a scathing stare, the frown on his face growing as the seconds ticked by in silence. "You're-"

"-incorrigible, I'm sure," Gabriel interrupted as the doors opened, making it plain as day from his voice that the conversation was to be dropped. He strode into the open with Jesse in tow, weaving between the parked airships and machinery with ease as Jesse took in the sheer size of the hangar itself. They'd initially arrived via the elevated primary airstrip, but this one held so much more importance to it that Jesse could practically taste the pomp and circumstance in the air.

Sleek rotor-less helos, swollen aircraft carriers, even the odd hovercar dotted the floor. The ceilings were high and the machinery higher as mechanics dangled here and there from suspended cables, sparks and suds flying across the massive tech as they performed maintenance and buffed out the evidence of the latest losses. An enormous hangar door spanned the left side of the room, open and ready for disembarking aircraft to zip out over the sheer drop of the cliff face that had been carved away for the backside of the base to prevent unwelcome guests.

There was one plane in the corner that had been charred beyond recognition. For once in his life, Jesse really didn't want to know why.

Gabriel had pulled ahead while Jesse had ogled the aircraft, and when he checked back in to the real world, he found the man had stopped short of a hoverhelo not unlike the one he had bagged the rebels with. His duffel had already been chucked inside the open hatch, and by the looks of it, the noninclusive "everyone" he'd been waiting on were now waiting on him. The few Jesse could see from outside of the carrier were strapping in as the rotors whirred to life, the mechanic who had been running the pre-flight checks backing out of the hatch and shooting the pilot a thumbs up.

The noise drowned out the rapid-fire conversation Gabriel was having with one of the women present in the small group clustered around the plane, his expression pinched. There were five people in total, none with a single ounce of Blackwatch about them as they stood in varying states of ease. The men and women held the bearings of importance, that much he could tell. Jesse's eyes scanned over them disinterestedly as he made to approach the jet and make his final full-court press for freedom.

He stopped dead in his tracks when he spotted the flash of blond amongst the group.

Strike Commander Morrison was in uniform this time, all black and blue and standing as if he was every bit as bruised as his outfit looked. His eyes were intent on the jet despite the man beside him speaking directly into his ear, his gaze sharp as it roved over the last of the equipment being loaded.

Jesse hung back, gauging the odds of going unnoticed. He might not have been seen just yet, but if he got any closer, there was no way he'd be missed in the middle of the open space between the jet he was skirting around and the hovercraft gearing up to leave. Something was poetically ironic about all of this.

His last chance of convincing the commander to bring him along was slipping away solely because he'd been a smartass to the head honcho and couldn't face up to the fact.

Life was funny like that.

And by funny he meant downright shit.

Jack was speaking directly to Gabriel now in favor of listening to the other man at his side, and as Jesse saw the look on his commander's face, he threw caution to the wind and crept closer, being careful to keep to the edges of the hangar behind the group of what he now could see were-

Oh. Admirals, of course. Why the hell not.

He was not getting on that airship.

Jack's words were more audible as he spoke louder to be heard over the whine of the engine, though Gabriel did not appear to care if he heard one way or the other.

"-n't want another Barcelona. If things go south, you bug out this time, got it?"

Gabriel was less than amused. "I don't let things go south, Morrison."

Jack had his back to Jesse now, but he didn't doubt the man was carefully scrutinizing Gabriel.

"And you're always true to your word, aren't you."

He had a habit of making questions sound like statements, and if Jesse wasn't at the risk of painting himself the moron for not guessing all those weeks ago, then he would readily admit that his rank would have been obvious from the get-go.

Gabriel looked all of three seconds from slaughtering the man and calling it a mercy. Instead of wringing the strike commander's neck, however, he shot a look over his companion's shoulder to Jesse where he remained behind the admirals, something tumultuous in his eyes as he appeared to consider something. For one heart-stopping moment, Jesse was certain he would call him over just to piss the man off.

But then Gabriel turned to board without another word, and he was left to watch as the last of the equipment loaded alongside him.

Jesse leaned against the wall, his hands jamming bitterly into his pockets as the transport rose into a tiny, steady hover, the bladeless rotors whining as they geared up to lift off entirely. The technology of it all was beyond him. This was a whole next level of antigrav that he just couldn't wrap his head around.

Not that it mattered much, seeing as he wouldn't be getting a closer look anytime soon.

He'd been so close, so damn close to slipping away and getting a little breathing room. Now, he'd be stuck with Chuckles the Mortician-esque Babysitter. And the kid who was too nosey for her own good. And the kid's mom. And the rest of the damn place.

God only knew how long they'd be gone this time. If the recon had taken as long as it did, he'd only imagine how long the actual mission would take. And given the types he'd seen on board…

His stomach sank a little as his hand lifted to hold his hat in the sudden buffet of hot air, his narrowed eyes picking out the agents he could still see on board beside Gabriel through the open hatch. They didn't exactly have a contingency plan designed with him in mind. Hell, he barely knew what they were off to do. He had no weapons, all of a month of specialized training that had more or less culminated in him tripping up on basics-

Maybe it was for the better.

Maybe he wasn't ready for freedom.

The thought stung like hell and had every self-preservation instinct he owned fighting tooth and nail against it. Of course he was ready, he'd been free to do as he pleased his entire life-

It was only when the chopper had fully lifted off of the ground that his eyes sought out Commander Morrison amongst the admirals once again.

A chill, quick and violent, ran straight down his spine.

The man was standing to the side with the rest of the working stiffs, his hands clenched behind his back and his clothing flapping wildly in the wind as he held his head high. But unlike the rest of his cohort, his eyes were not trained on the aircraft.

They were dead set on Jesse.

The longer he stared, the higher the transport got (inch by inch, agonizingly slow, far too slowly to be normal for takeoff, couldn't it?), and suddenly Jesse straightened with a jolt as he finally got it.

He'd seen that look. That was the look he'd been wearing after leaning against the rail above the training room and starting a conversation he knew could only end one possible way. After posing his questions and watching Jesse squirm on the spot. After having the pot call the kettle black when the word smartass was thrown on the table.

That face said one thing.

I dare you.

Jesse didn't think.

He just moved.

Chapter Text

Jesse didn't think. He just  moved.

Aircraft inertial measurement systems had nothing on a Deadlock runt at his most rebellious.

He cleared the space between him and the chopper at a sprint he'd never known he could achieve before. But then again, the last time he hadn't been fast enough had seen him tossed into this mess to begin with. He could be fast enough this time.

He had to be fast enough this time.

Shouting erupted behind him as he blazed past the admirals, the sound of footsteps positively thundering even over the noise of the rotorless tech overhead. His vision tunneled solely on the open hatch as the transport leveled its flight and began its forward ascent, making to barrel towards the hangar doors. It was so close, he was just about to the point of drawing even with it-

But being even and inside were two very different things.

He knew the edge of the platform ended in nothing but air as the mountain dropped away below, but he ignored the nagging thought of what would happen if he missed as his eyes scanned desperately for a handhold, a strap, anything he could cling to for leverage-

The transport was well over his head and just about ready to clear the tarmac in favor of the open air outside by the time he was within reach of it, and in a last, desperate attempt, he launched himself upwards, the lunge carrying him within arm's reach. The breeze from above ripped at his hat, and his hand shot to keep it in place as he arced through the air, his legs pinwheeling in a futile attempt at gaining altitude. The fingers of his free hand brushed the metal, and a thrill of triumph ran through him.

It was short lived, as the very tips of his fingers slipped past one by one, his momentum just not enough to reach a point worth gripping.

He missed.

He missed and he was over a hundred feet of open air what in all of goddamn hell had he been thinking-

The thing about heights was this: it wasn't necessarily that one fears the height itself. It certainly wasn't the case for Jesse. Even in the transport on the way into the base, his white knuckles and grit teeth hadn't been due to the altitude.

It was the thought of the long, long time you had to reconsider everything in your life while you plummeted to your death if things didn't work the way they were meant to that buckled his knees more than anything.

As that reality made itself a very real option, his right hand released his hat and lashed out, his heart in his throat as he dipped past the peak of his jump-

-and his shoulder almost jolted out of socket as his fingers finally grasped metal.

Gasping slightly, he let his body swing once with the momentum below the helo before tossing his other hand upwards, clinging to the latch with both hands and sparing a glance at the ground as his hat spiraled off of his head to fly below in the gust of wind.

Holy Jesus, he'd jumped that high.

The group of admirals had swarmed onto the launch pad now, but their shouts were drowned out by the steady droning of the vehicle as it continued on its merry way. Jesse couldn't help the somewhat wild laugh that left him as its altitude increased, its speed by no means indicating any intention to land. Releasing one hand as he hooked an elbow securely over the bar, he shot his impromptu audience a cocky salute before he could think better of it and, regaining his grip, he hefted himself into the transport. He'd tucked himself inside just a second too soon to see Commander Morrison stooping to retrieve the battered hat on the tarmac.

Death, old bastard, had met and known Jesse for a long while now.

This marked the thirty ninth time he'd come within inches of shaking his hand and exchanging howd'youdo's rather than their usual passing glances.

It was only after Jesse was sprawled across the floor in a heap with his heart pounding at his ribs that he looked up, the roaring in his ears not quite drowning out the click of finality behind him as the door sealed shut. There were eight operatives in the transport, which meant there were sixteen incredibly intense eyes zeroed in entirely on Jesse. Each of the agents had a varying expression of surprise, but none more so than the man whose hand was firmly over the button that had only just shut the hatch. Had he done it a second sooner, Jesse would have been forced to give up his grip and start reconciling with every god he knew.

Jesse thought he recognized one face from Colorado, but aside from that, the others were new to him. There was an almost resigned look to a couple of the seated agents, but Jesse let the odd stares amongst the more expected shock slide as he caught his breath, his face beginning to burn from more than just exertion as something occurred to him.

He hadn't quite thought this far into the plan.

His original burst had been steeped in such a desperate need to just get on the transport, he hadn't even considered what he would do once he'd made it. The eyes were still on him, and he stared right back, refusing to be the first to speak. If he was, he'd almost certainly stumble over the words that would come. His mind was blank. It was blank. He'd just leapt out across hundreds of feet of open air to make it onto this flying deathtrap, and if anyone asked him now, he couldn't give a good reason why.

"He did not just do that."

And then, of course, there was that little matter to attend to.

Jesse looked up to see Gabriel seated in one of the buckled, strappy chairs so characteristic of Overwatch along the wall of the helo. He would have looked as casual as could be had it not been for the fact that his palms were flat over his eyes, his head tipped back against the wall.

"One of you," the commander muttered wearily. "Tell me he didn't."

Gabriel Reyes was never met with silence. Never in his career had he been ignored or outright left without an answer. No one dared leave the ex-Head Honcho of their whole operation and commander of Blackwatch hanging on anything. He could have asked after the menu of a hole-in-the-wall restaurant entire nations away and he'd have an answer before he could draw another breath.

The transport was silent as the grave.

There wasn't so much as a twitch from Gabriel, and yet the feeling that something had shifted was overwhelming. Jesse could tell the operatives felt it as well, as they'd moved on from looking surprised to something bordering on dread.

Jesse'd had enough of the whole ordeal before it had even begun. He spoke up from where he was sprawled across the floor.

"Does it count if I'm the 'one' to tell you?"

Gabriel inhaled for what felt like a century.

And promptly answered with a long, low groan as he doubled over in his seat, his hands pressing further into his eyes as the noise quickly devolved into a growl of frustration. His hands dropped from his face, and Jesse didn't have time to guess how he really felt before he laid it out, plain and simple.

"I warned you," Gabriel said quietly, "about uniform write-ups."

Jesse opened his mouth to retort, but his chance was lost as Gabriel continued, his eyes boring into Jesse's. None of the others dared move.

"And instead you decided you'd skip that and go straight for insubordination instead."

"I-"

"You what?" Gabriel hissed, the noise startling after his previous hushed words. It was uncharacteristic even for him in his moments of anger, and Jesse's mouth snapped shut as Gabriel stood from the seat, a hand on the overhead railing keeping him balanced. "I'm dying to know, I really am."

Jesse fidgeted awkwardly in place under the glare, the wheels in his head spinning as fast as they ever had. A reason, what was the reason, why was he here, don't be pathetic-

"I, uh…" He could feel himself trying to stammer, so he fell back on the one thing that had stayed true to him in his most dire of times.

He danced around the question.

"I wasn't about to let y'all have all the fun now, was I?"

Gabriel wasn't hearing it.

"What were you thinking?" There was no venom in the words, but the tone somehow stung more than it would have if there had been. "You know how easily you could have killed yourself just now?"

The anger was now radiating off of him in waves that Jesse didn't doubt the rest of the transport could feel just as palpably. As it was, he could feel their collective stare on the back of his neck like sweat on his skin. This isn't how this was supposed to go, find your tongue you damn fool, say something-

"You are not ready for this," Gabriel continued as he swayed in place. The helo jolted one more time, and Jesse forced himself to unclench his jaw as it rattled with the metal. The shake snapped him out of his moment of stunned silence, and he met Gabriel's eyes as directly as he could as he grasped for straws.

"What happened to 'not lettin' me go to waste', huh? My 'talent' you'n'your boys are so interested in? When exactly were you plannin' on using it?"

That's a start, good, keep goin'-

"You're weeks," Gabriel ground out, "months away from being cleared-"

"But Moscow don't have weeks to wait," Jesse threw back. He was really only a few seconds away from throwing up if they jolted one more time by the feel of it. "Y'all need me now, and I'll be ten ticks from the pearly gates if you don't know it too behind all this... this bureaucratic bullshit!"

Quiet suited Gabriel Reyes. It allowed him a chance to think, to analyze, to regain his bearings on the rare occasion when they were lost.

But if quiet suited him, this quiet slapped a frock and apron on him and called it a three-piece. It was uncomfortable for just about everybody involved.

Gabriel seemed to take notice of the rest of the eyes then, as he tore his own away from Jesse to share looks with the rest of the squadron. Whatever may have silently passed between them all then, Jesse would never know, as Gabriel's attention zeroed back in on Jesse's stubborn challenge. The anger was still there, but there was something else-

"I should have you court-martialed for this."

A stack of paperwork ten miles long (and thirty years off of some poor defense attorney's life) regarding Jesse's original court case after being recruited was still plunked down in a drawer in HQ somewhere. The hassle to compile it was enough to knock a few years off of Gabriel's life, if he was honest. There was no way he'd willingly do that again…

"But you won't," Jesse started uncertainly, some of his bravado dissipating a bit under the threat.

"And you would know that for certain? Since you know more about what I want than I do, is that right?"

"What was I supposed t'do?" Jesse threw his hands up in frustration, all caution going to the wind. This was ridiculous- "You were droppin' hints and everything!"

"Hints?" Gabriel sounded as close to scandalized as he could probably ever get.

"'Guess we'll find out?'" Jesse shoved air quotes forcefully around the words. "I'm sorry, was that not meant to be hintin' somethin'? Because I tell you what-"

"I didn't think you'd launch yourself into active airspace over-"

"What the hell else was it supposed to mean?"

"What do you want to hear?" Gabriel's voice rose just a notch, and although it wasn't much above his speaking voice, Jesse forced himself to hold his ground. The confines of the helo weren't helping out much in the acoustics departme- hold up. The helo… "You act like a damn infant, asking if I 'want' you around! What am I supposed to say to that when my hands are tied? You don't exactly give me much of a choice, do you?"

It sounded weak even to Jesse.

Jesse let the barb slide as he grew quiet, the realization he'd had in the middle of Gabriel's tirade spinning the words for him in his head. It was a single, simple fact he'd subconsciously noted the second Gabriel had stood to berate him, and now it was painfully obvious. It was his ace in the hole, but if he didn't use it now, then he got the feeling it'd be far too late.

"But I'm still here, ain't I?"

Gabriel stilled almost imperceptibly before steamrolling on. "By your choice. Your action-"

"What's stoppin' you from turning back and dumpin' me out right now?"

Gabriel's current, particular brand of silence returned with a bonnet to match the frock and apron.

Fate intervened then, though whether in Jesse's or Gabriel's favor was uncertain. The pilot slid the partition separating the massive, open cockpit from the cabin to the side, leaning in his chair to shout above the steady drone of the engines. "Commander, sir! Tower is requesting a circle-back for emergency landing at your discretion! Need a confirmation!"

Sweat beaded at the nape of Jesse's neck, but he refused to move a millimeter as he stared Gabriel down. The man's attention had shifted along with the others to the pilot when he had spoken, but now he was staring at the wall under the close scrutiny of every operative present.

"ETA on a touch and go if we comply?"

"Negative, they want you on site."

Gabriel's eyes found Jesse's again, and it was all he could do to not shift under the look. The commander was still addressing the pilot, but Jesse refused to break eye contact.

"Time for double back and bug out at minimum?"

"Depends on ground time, sir. Hard to say, but could be anywhere from forty, fifty minutes up."

Gabriel pinched the bridge of his nose, his other hand planted firmly on his hip. Jesse felt like every nerve in his body was being coursed through with electricity as he vibrated in his seat from the tension alone.

Or it might have been the turbulence.

Either way, he was definitely going to throw up now.

Gabriel released his hand and looked directly over Jesse's shoulder to the cockpit. "Denied," he said firmly. "Kindly remind them that this is a time sensitive op and we can't afford to waste miles or minutes on reprimands."

"Copy, sir!"

Oh, sweet merciful-

Jesse could have passed out then and there from sheer relief. That went… not well, exactly, but better than he'd expected given how tongue-tied he'd been the second his back had hit metal.

A hand materialized in front of his nose, and Jesse's eyes crossed as he registered it. Gabriel held it steady as Jesse tentatively accepted the assist, and with barely a twitch he'd hauled the younger man to his feet. The same hand shoved back into his personal space once again as Gabriel held a pointed finger warningly in his face.

"You're not off scott-free here. Once we make base again, you've got some hell to pay. And you better hope it's with me."

Jesse didn't care. At the end of the day, Gabriel hadn't actually answered his question. He knew a good old fashioned verbal dodge when he heard one.

Gabriel paused as he registered Jesse's torso's lack of… well, everything, really. He hadn't exactly chucked on the extra body armor with his holster that morning for the range. Gabriel's expression darkened. "You're staying in the helo with the pilot unless I tell you otherwise, you got that? I don't need you or anyone else here kicking the bucket because of this stunt."

No holds barred, huh. Business as usual. "Aye, aye, sir," Jesse muttered ruefully as he brushed the sweat off of his palms under the pretense of getting rid of the grease he'd acquired from his unorthodox boarding. Gabriel watched with an unamused eye and lifted a hand to an open chair.

"Welcome-"

"-to hell, yeah, you've already dropped that one on me."

Gabriel leveled him with a look. "I was going to say 'aboard'."

"…no, you weren't."

"Wasn't dramatic enough for you again, was it."

Jesse's ears burned as he heard a muffled cough from one of the other operatives in the helo. Which reminded him…

Now that he wasn't fighting for his place onboard, Jesse acknowledged the rest of the cabin. He didn't feel shame, per say, at the display he'd just put on. It had worked in the end, hadn't it? But that didn't mean the whole kip and caboodle had been the best first impression to make on the people he'd be working alongside eventually. Shooting the group a non-discrete glance as he sat down, Jesse jerked his head in their direction.

"This'd be "everyone," then?"

Gabriel looked back to his team, who had relaxed significantly once their boss had made his decision. Pleasantries really weren't for Blackwatch it would seem, as Gabriel bypassed them entirely in his usual fashion. Not unlike the meeting with Reinhardt and the Amari girl, he held a hand out in turn to each member as surnames flew past his lips. A few nodded as their names were said. Others sat in stony silence.

"Cook, Weston, Siegel, Valdez, Johnson, Nguyen, Ingles, Williams."

There was a distinctive hacking cough from the cockpit of the plane, drawing every pair of eyes from the cabin. Gabriel rolled his skywards.

"And Briggs."

The pilot and subsequent owner of the name gave a thumbs up in blind acknowledgement before returning to whatever it was he was doing to ensure they stayed airborne. Jesse pointedly looked away.

"You all know McCree," Gabriel deadpanned, and judging by the looks on many of the others' faces, they knew him plenty well enough. That in and of itself was concerning, given the fact he only recognized a couple himself. This was one of those moments when he really hoped his reputation didn't precede him too much. "He's impressionable, so keep the bad habits to a minimum, please."

Jesse couldn't fit in a glare before Gabriel clapped him over the shoulder and spoke through grit teeth.

"Anything else?"

He opened his mouth, a scathing reply already on his tongue. But the snark died slowly as his stomach growled uncomfortably loud, and he was mortified as he realized there was something else. Gabriel was looking at him expectantly as he looked around the cabin in an effort of glancing anywhere but the commander, his better judgement forcing the words out for him.

"You, uh... y'all have any food on you? I… I didn't eat this mornin'."

He regretted the words the second they left his lips. If Gabriel had looked unimpressed before, he was downright looking to demand a refund on service at this point. He stared Jesse down as if he could somehow get the point of how right he was and how absolutely wrong Jesse was across harder if he made eye contact longer, and just as Jesse was ready to snap, he shook his head.

"Briggs'll bring you something from up front when he's ready. Strap in. It's a long flight."

With that, he disappeared to the front of the transport, effectively abandoning Jesse in the middle of a group of staring, distrustful strangers whose main goal in life was to maim or outright murder.

He had to try pretty hard for a moment to convince himself that this had been worth the hassle.

Jesse pointedly turned away from the others, scanning the chair Gabriel had gestured to earlier. Strap in. That wouldn't be a problem, given the fact the chair seemed to be ninety percent strap to begin with.

Two of the agents were mid exchange of something when Jesse turned back around to settle into the seat, their hands discreetly meeting as something passed between them. The receiver met Jesse's eye unabashedly. The two looked at one another for a long, long moment of silence before the agent seemed to reach some sort of decision and shrugged.

"Guess I should be thanking you."

Jesse's eyes narrowed. "Thankin'-?"

"Had a bet."

A beat passed before Jesse made any indication for the man to go on. The agent shared a look with his companion.

"Half the lads thought you wouldn't try anything. Other half knew you would."

Oh. Great.

"And you-"

"Yeah." The man leaned back in his chair, his eyes closing and his hands folding across his chest. "You just won me twenty quid."

"-and I'm telling you now, you don't have the kind of clearance to know."

"I'm on the plane, Reyes. The one goin' there, in case you forgot."

Hour one had come and gone in silence until Gabriel had joined the team in the cabin, quiet conversations passing between the squadron. Their glances in Jesse's direction were not discrete by any means, and it took everything he had to not give in and grimace back at them. That little voice in his head squawking about what a mistake this had been was getting a lot more difficult to ignore. He was pretty sure his face hadn't stopped burning in over forty five minutes.

He'd gotten tired of the glances just in time to corner Gabriel on his way to one of the steel-reinforced supply packs strapped into the aisle by Jesse's chair.

"So I'll ask again. What's in Moscow?"

As Jesse pressed him for the second time on the point of the mission, Gabriel's look to the rest of the team on the other side of the transport was record-breakingly short. Something clearly caved, as he looked away just as quickly with a grunt.

"Not sure."

Jesse stared.

"N-what?"

"I mean, there's Saint Basil's Cathedral," Gabriel said casually, not looking away from the pack he was strapping back into the wall. He tightened it abruptly, nearly elbowing a dumbstruck Jesse in the face in the process. "But we don't care."

His eyes would dry with the rate he was gawking, so Jesse forced himself to blink several times in disbelief. "Remind me," he said slowly, "why we don't care?"

Gabriel actually looked at him then, a small, rueful smile appearing on his face.

"Because that's not where we're headed."

"I've got a second team on Moscow," he continued as he brushed past Jesse to check the next pack in line, "there's nothing out of the ordinary there now. Recon split in two when we got a warning from intel overseas on our current heading. I needed something from HQ before we could head out. I wasn't humoring you when I said this was time sensitive."

"For what? Where are we going?" And do the Golden Boys back at base know went unsaid, but Jesse could tell from Gabriel's look that the intent had been read loud and clear. It went ignored.

"We've been following news of a shipment of highly volatile material being sent into a fringe group off the coast of the Falkland Islands. The cost is apparently high, and the hassle to maintain it is even higher." Jesse waited patiently for more as Gabriel paused to adjust another strapped pack. The man had that devil shark's grin once again when he turned around.

"We're en route to relieve them of this burden."

Ah.

Thieves and criminals are we, it would seem. No wonder Gabriel'd been fine with him joining Blackwatch. If this was how they operated normally, then he'd have been more surprised he hadn't been directly sent a job application in the mail.

Jesse crossed his arms as he leaned back in his seat, the wheels in his head spinning slowly. "And how long have we known about this one?"

Gabriel snorted as he moved further down the line of packs away from Jesse's seat. "We've been sitting on this so long we may as well have squatters' rights."

And with that, he moved easily from the one conversation and instantly into another with one of the agents (Siegel? Cook? Weston? Damn it all…) further down the line. Jesse watched him go with a furrowed brow. That sense of wrongness around the commander, the feeling that something wasn't sitting right from the halls back at the base was still clinging to him like wet fabric. He couldn't put his finger on it, and it was absolutely crazy making-

The pilot materialized from seemingly nowhere in the cabin then, a small brown bag in his hand.

"George has things up front. Who called for drink service?"

Going by the looks on his companions' faces, the joke had been made about eighty times too many. Jesse raised two hesitant fingers in response, catching the bag when Briggs proceeded to toss it to him. Jesse unfurled it slowly, running his eyes over the contents: a hastily thrown together sandwich and a small bag of carrots nestled inside. Jesse raised an eyebrow when he looked back up, but there were no eyes to make contact with as Briggs had moved on to dig around in a bin overhead.

He couldn't help but get the feeling he was being mocked somehow. Give the kid his paper baggie before he misses the bus-

Whatever. Food was food.

The actual words the pilot had said filtered through his mind then, and he looked up as he dug into the bag to fish out the sandwich.

"George? Don't remember hearin' that one."

Briggs made a small, indecipherable noise. "Autopilot."

Jesse glanced into the cockpit to see the empty pilot's seat as it clicked. He could feel his face paling. "This thing's flyin' itself?"

Briggs just looked at him.

"They do that, you know."

Jesse didn't trust himself enough to answer. Commercial planes, he could understand. But there was enough tech in this plane to level a small city. Leaving it up to a bit of programming seemed a bit irresponsible.

And absolutely terrifying.

His hands had just begun to numb when Gabriel returned and flopped into the seat next to him. The sudden presence of the commander was too noisy of an approach to be an accident, and yet it made him jolt all the same. Before Jesse could say a word, Gabriel was jerking a finger to his own head.

"Lost again?"

Jesse blinked before his eyes blew wide, his hand flying to the top of his head as horror rocketed across his face.

"Aw, hell-"

"I just gave that back."

"I know," Jesse grumbled, his hand dipping back into the bag. With his luck it had probably drifted off into the ravine. May's'well just stay there at this point, he thought bitterly.

"Hey. This might be a long shot, but…"

Jesse already knew that Gabriel wouldn't continue without prompting. He'd grown used to the tone. "What?" He pressed, making it clear in his own voice just how unenthused he was about the conversation. At least his hands had stopped tingling…

"Remember," Gabriel said slowly, "when I asked if you thought the hat would fly in this line of work? I didn't mean it lit-"

"Mmph," Jesse interrupted as loud as he dared, half of the sandwich promptly crammed into his mouth at once in the best way he saw possible to end the conversation.

It worked.

It worked really well.

There was a sense of tension that washed over the cabin that Jesse didn't quite understand as hour lord-only-knew came and went. They'd seen the sun rising, and they'd seen the sun setting already, and as Jesse completed his third lap of the helo in a futile attempt of getting feeling back in his legs, Briggs was quick to shout the reason for the shift in mood from the cockpit.

"Approach."

Jesse's eyes flew to the front window. The partition had been set aside for most of the flight, and he'd been forcing himself to steal glances outside when he could. Sure enough, their night-enhanced view was no longer filled with blue and nothing else. A spit of land blurred with the curve of the window, and Jesse found himself inching forward despite himself. He made it a point to ignore the flashing lights and switches and buttons as he came to a stop behind Briggs, his eyes drifting across the scene laid out ahead.

The island was tiny. Tinier than he'd expected, really. The mountains (all three of them, woo-wee) were steep, but hardly spanned enough to be much of a problem. There was a lush layer of what he assumed was green speckling most of the rock, but some portions were shriveled and brown, the decay obvious from even this far away. Whatever they were keeping here couldn't have been anything permanent. There was hardly room to breathe, let alone run a malicious lair of operations.

Briggs spoke up then, more so to the others than to Jesse. "Cloaking is up, should settle in just fine. You've got maybe an hour of ground time if I fiddle with it again, possibly more."

"Fine by me," Gabriel's voice piped in from the cabin. Jesse kept his eyes out the window, scanning the blur of motion that was the world outside.

"Ain't we goin' a bit fast to be cloaked?"

Briggs inclined his head as he registered Jesse behind him, and he laughed shortly before realizing it had been a serious question. "Nah. These suckers can go much faster and barely flicker." He paused. "Saved me a lot of money on sports cars," he mused as an afterthought.

"McCree," Gabriel's voice rose from the cabin once again, and Jesse shot a glance over his shoulder to see the others had gathered together, their attention split between securing their packs on and triple-checking their supplies. Jesse tottered his way over on unsteady legs as the plane bumped and shook with the turbulence they'd been dealing with for easily an hour now. Gabriel had already started his final debrief.

"We know they're packing heavy, so I'm sending Nguyen in there first to run point for Siegel's group while we flank. All goes according to plan, then we won't have to worry about any confrontation here."

The man Jesse only assumed to be Nguyen looked up at that.

"I love you too, boss."

"Get serious," Gabriel reprimanded over the chorus of low snickers that rose. Jesse could only watch in mounting disbelief as the agents slowly fell back into a semblance of order, their stares razor sharp on Gabriel as he powered his way through the briefing.

All of that hesitation, that aloof boredom Jesse had come to link with the Blackwatch cronies out on the fields and in the hallways was no longer there. They looked… Well, they actually seemed human for once. Just by being away and out from the thumb of the Overwatch officials changed their demeanors entirely. They were in their element now.

Jesse probably should have felt a bit more unease at that fact than he did.

"They're not staying long," Gabriel continued, "but they'll be long enough to give us a solid window for intercept. Our limit is set by Briggs' cloaking. There's not a whole lot of cover to begin with here, folks, so we're in and out in an hour tops or we're dealing with an aircraft sighting on an island we have no business being on. One hour."

Briggs shouted from the front then, bypassing the intercom entirely as they rattled dangerously. "Buckle in, ladies and gents, we're heading into descent. Not lying, it's gonna be rough-"

"Just get us down there quietly without wrecking us and I'll be happy," Gabriel cut him off. Jesse's face puckered as he watched the man smoothly snap his pack into his seat next to Briggs up front. Easy for you to say.

The ten minutes of descent went much slower than Jesse would have liked. Briggs' voice was a welcome distraction when it piped up again amidst the jolting of the metal around them. "Radar's silent," he said in an odd tone. "Nothing unusual, we're in quiet."

Jesse narrowed his eyes. It sounded like good enough news to him, but judging by his companion's faces, "good" wasn't anywhere in their ballpark. He caught the eye of the operative across from him and gambled a question.

"Ain't that sort of ideal?"

Williams looked surprised that Jesse had spoken, but she answered all the same, if not a bit hesitantly. "Usually. But with the way we left things-"

"Silent running," Gabriel cut the woman off brusquely as he walked past. He had been the only one up and about the cabin as they'd descended, and Jesse had watched him incredulously as he'd barely shifted with the turbulence. They didn't dare speak any more while the commander was around, but the second his back turned as he went to strap in to the co-pilot's chair and raise the partition between the cockpit and the cabin, Jesse and the agent exchanged a look.

"This could be good though, can't it?" Jesse pressed quietly. Her face was grim in return, and despite her searching glance towards the cockpit, Jesse was surprised when she actually replied.

"Or this might be an entirely different kind of canary in a coal mine."

The noise outside escalated before Jesse could so much as consider the words, and he turned his attention to the window to see the ground was much closer than it had been before. And coming much faster. Briggs' voice was barely audible as they shook with enough force to rattle Jesse's bones.

"Cloaking steady-!"

This wasn't turbulence. There was no way it was. The entire transport felt ready to shift apart at the seams, an eerie sort of humming emitting from the metal as they came in closer to the ground. Jesse slammed his eyes shut as his hands gripped the fabric on his thighs. Steady, steady, steady-

The transport shuddered on impact as it bounced once, twice, then settled just as quickly as it had rocketed in, and Jesse finally allowed himself to breathe. He had managed to rattle himself nearly out of his seat, and he struggled back upright as best he could to see that the others had already unbuckled methodically.

Machines, the damn lot of you.

"Thanks for the two-for-one special there, twinkle toes," Valdez called to the pilot as he snagged his gear.

Briggs's voice piped up around the partition as Gabriel reemerged from behind it. There was urgency in the pilot's tone. "Oh, hey, Valdez! Got something I need to tell you, actually, thanks for the reminder!"

"What?"

"Shut up!"

"Any day now," Reyes interrupted the banter shortly, and Jesse looked up to see the man poised for departure. He'd gathered his equipment in record time, and the others were not far behind as they dropped low into place in front of the door.

The fact that some of the agents had yet to speak a single word the entire flight dawned on Jesse as he watched them group together. There was the cold aloofness Jesse was used to seeing. Their eyes were razor sharp, their faces blank as they prepared to book it hell for leather through their limited cover.

No signal, no words, nothing passed, but Gabriel's hand released the latch on the door, and before it had finished opening the operatives were gone. Not just gone out of the plane gone, but gone Jesse had no clue what the hell just happened gone.

Gabriel was the last out. The lingering stare he pinned Jesse with was in no way encouraging as he spoke firmly.

"Wait it out and stay. Put."

Jesse watched as he dropped silently into the brambles, disappearing into the thicket with the rest of the squadron as the ramp retracted and sealed the jet with a mocking hiss of finality.

His eyes lingered on the wall for a moment longer before he scoffed, turning to retake his seat.

He'd done his fair share of waiting. He could handle this.

He couldn't do this anymore.

It hadn't even been half an hour yet, but the wait had already driven Jesse to pace restless circles around the cabin, each one of his laps doing little more than irritating Briggs a bit more each time.

He'd picked his way through every piece of the plane, sat in every seat, scanned every leftover pack, even pestered the pilot for technical details on what all of the mess across the dashboard was ("the second you say "English, please" is the second you convince me you wanna be left here, got that?"). By the time he'd reclaimed his seat with a huff and looked at his watch, all of ten minutes had passed.

If he hadn't known it was impossible, he'd have convinced himself that they'd entered some sort of time loop the second they'd touched down.

Jesse exhaled raggedly, his head dropping as his hands clasped behind his neck in frustration. The little voice had been running faster circles than he'd been pacing, and they were absolutely laps of victory. A mistake, a mistake, a m-

Your left.

Jesse's head whipped up a millisecond before he heard it.

Tap-tap.

It was small, but distinct. He squinted, ears straining in the silence as the hair on his arms prickled, curiosity piqued. It hadn't sounded accidental. And if his instincts were as shrill as they were now over it…

Half a minute passed before he heard it again, closer this time. A tap-tap from the outside, the first tap several feet higher than the second. A long pause, another tap-tap further along the body of the helo, stacked one above the other just as the others had been.

Something small and purposeful was tap-tapping it's way down the outside of the transport. Jesse narrowed his eyes as the sound became more insistent, the tinny echo of it the only thing filling his senses as it passed directly behind him.

His palm itched.

A short look towards Briggs showed the man supposedly unaware of the sound as he busied himself in the front of the cabin, his low whistling not enough to drown out the mysterious noise. As the tapping moved slowly to his right, Jesse shifted off of the seat and crouched to get closer, his ears practically ringing with the amount he was straining to hear outside of the jet.

He'd followed the sound to the back of the plane before it started to fade. Disappointed, he frowned at the back wall. The noise hadn't disappeared exactly, just gone on to tap at what sounded like the tail fins.

It wasn't gone for long.

As it was, it already sounded like it was slowly making its way back around the side, coming back to echo quietly to his left as it met back with the cabin wall opposite of where it had started. Jesse watched it pass him, rooted to the spot as his frown deepened. It was a purposeful noise.

Methodical. Almost as if…

Jesse froze, the sound moving on without him.

The tail fins. It had followed the tail fins before circling back around.

Something out there was gauging every bit of the plane, and it was awfully close to finishing.

"Hate to, uh, dampen the mood," Jesse said offhandedly as his eyes tracked the last point of contact the noise had made, "but I'd eat my hat if somethin' out there didn't just map us out."

Briggs had looked up at the sound of Jesse's voice, a raised brow the only response he gave at first. At the insinuation of an unwelcome guest, however, he squinted and glanced behind him into the cockpit, where the exterior night vision cameras displayed across several wide screens. The pilot's forehead puckered, and Jesse already knew he didn't believe him.

"Monitor doesn't show anything out there but dirt and dead thin-"

The pilot's abrupt pause was instantly followed by another tap-tap. Jesse scooted forward, careful to step over the few things strapped to the aisles.

"Got somethin'?"

Briggs was leaning over his chair now, a finger trailing a millimeter away from the screen. "Not sure… I saw a- there."

Sure enough, a flicker of movement blurred across the screen. Briggs' eyes never left the screen as he held up a finger, jabbing it over his shoulder and to his left at the bulkhead as the blur disappeared.

A gentle tap-tap rang out from the exact spot he pointed to.

The two exchanged looks briefly before Briggs nudged his way past Jesse to rummage for something in the cabin. The rifle he returned with wasn't much of a surprise. The fact that he dropped it in Jesse's hands, however, was. Jesse blinked at the gun before looking up at the pilot. The man's back was turned, but he addressed him all the same.

"You're givin' it to me?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

Briggs turned, the gun in his own hands just as visible as the disbelief on his face now.

"You expect me to handle this on my own?"

Oh. "I, uh, didn't think…"

Briggs' brow was up again.

"…never mind."

Of course there's more than one weapon in here, dumbass.

Briggs had already moved on, brushing past Jesse once again to scan the screens. The buzz of movement and its accompanying tap-tap appeared three, four, five more times, each at different points along the plane. Thirty seconds apart, each time.

Thirty five seconds passed after the fifth, halfway down the cabin.

As a minute crawled by, Briggs frowned sternly. He shot a look to Jesse, jerking his head to the back of the cabin.

"Get yourself back by the cargo latches. I get the feeling they're not just curious."

Jesse didn't need to be told twice, and he found himself crouched on the door in the floor they used for small cargo drops with a sickening mixture of apprehension and straight up anticipation roiling in his gut. Action, action, finally some action for once-

Briggs remained in the cockpit, his hands fiddling here and there across the controls. He muttered something into the comm, too low for Jesse to hear, but the silence that clutched the transport when he finished was suffocating. The pilot nudged a few more things here and there before trying again, his tone more urgent than before. His swear was more than audible. Jesse stared expectantly, waiting for an explanation. When none came, he cleared his throat.

"Radio not playin' your song?"

Briggs shot him a glance. "Something's blocking the signal," he said ruefully, his hands planting themselves firmly across the dashboard. "Comms are dead."

"Ah. Lovely."

"Decidedly n-"

The hatch moved. Jesse startled as the button mere inches from his face seemed to compress on its own, and he shot a warning look to Briggs as the telltale creak-hiss of the metal decompressing rang through the cabin. Briggs had seen it just as clearly, the utter disbelief on his face palpable. They were in a military grade vehicle. Money couldn't buy the kinds of tech that made this thing run. And someone out there was forcing open the door.

Briggs' eyes darted to the cargo latch and Jesse, and without warning, the man was in his face, hissing low as he shoved one of the tiny comm units into Jesse's hand. "You're going after the team. Now."

Jesse spluttered, the door beside them creaking another centimeter open. "What?"

"Just do me a solid and take out as many as you can on the way out."

"You heard Reyes, it's his order keepin' me here, I ain't about to just-"

"I trust myself a hell of a lot more to guard this thing than I trust you to follow orders, you got that? They're blocking our comms, they know we're here. They're walking into a hell of a lot of-"

The door dropped open a few startling inches at once, and when Jesse's attention whipped back to Briggs, the man was already back in the cockpit. Something in Jesse's stomach flipped as he realized the man had significantly more cover than himself.

Panic briefly coursed through him. What about me? Why am I here? How the hell am I supposed to leave?

As the door began to ease open in full, Jesse realized with a cold certainty that this was the exact reason Reyes had benched him.

He had virtually no idea what to do in this situation.

With a mental shake, Jesse eased away from the door, forcing himself to calm down as he slipped the unit into his ear. He couldn't afford to think that way now. Whatever Briggs was doing would work fine for the pilot. Jesse would just have to do something by his own terms to find a way out.

So, he did what he did best. The door cracked, letting weak moonlight frame a square on the floor of the transport. It didn't open far before a figure came into view.

And the balaclava-clad intruder startled horribly when it came face to face with the business end of Jesse's rifle. Their head snapped up within milliseconds of registering the weapon, and Jesse gave the figure a once over.

"Evenin'."

The intruder wasted no time in attempting to muscle its way on board, but Jesse was prepared. Well, more or less. He stumbled more than he stepped to the side, allowing the form in. The attacker had barely made it inside before Jesse swung with all of his might, slamming the butt of the gun down as hard as he could onto the newcomer's head. They crumpled almost instantly, but before Jesse could bask in the satisfaction of having actually taken down a threat in the field, holy shit that had been easier than he'd expected, a steady series of clicks drew his attention outside.

"Oh." He paused. "Uh, evenin' to all of you as well, I suppose."

No less than eight weapons of varying size and lethality were pointed insistently at his nose. Guns, knives, Jesse was pretty sure there was a sword in there somewhere-

Eyes slowly going to the downed figure beside him, Jesse cleared his throat awkwardly. "Now, uh, look fellas, we gave at the office 'n all, but if you ain't takin' no for an answer this don't seem like much a good way of gettin' a 'yes' to m-"

The words were literally torn from his throat as something solid slammed into him from the side, and within that one crucial moment a series of shots went off directly where he'd just been standing. Landing several feet to the left of the door in a winded heap, he sat up as quickly as he could, dazed. One of the reinforced steel packs had slammed into him from the direction of the cockpit, dashing him to the side and out of the way of what would have been no less than ten bullets to the head. He gaped owlishly at the thing as his entire torso throbbed from the impact. The packs were buckled in, the only way one could have come loose was from-

"Stop sleeping, agent! Go!"

Briggs had stepped in and didn't seem pleased about it at all, a second steel pack in his hands currently being used to bowl into the figures still on the ramp. The toss had done some good, taking most of the intruders by surprise and forcing them back as the lump of metal and canvas caught one of them square in the torso. Jesse could hear the crack of ribs from his own seat and winced despite himself. He'd gotten damn lucky that hadn't been him. Even if it sure as hell felt like it-

Their attackers didn't give him another moment to waste as they regrouped from their initial surprise and swarmed the ramp. The sound of gunfire snapped Jesse out of his daze, and he planted his feet firmly on the wall, shoving himself into a slide across the floor and behind the cover of the center row of seats as a rattle of gunfire followed. He fumbled with the rifle, hands and teeth clenching as the sounds of struggle reached him. Risking a glance around the side of the seats, he scanned for what the absolute hell was happening.

Briggs was holding his own just fine. Jesse caught glimpses as the man expertly spun this way and that, hands flying and arms blocking every hit thrown his way as he used the relative cover of the cockpit's partition to avoid the gunfire outside. Blackwatch training at its finest, Jesse assumed. Not that he'd know, what was he doing here-

Just as one of the intruders whipped around on Jesse, the pilot slammed his own attacker into the wall, his forearm pinning the others throat as he yelled over his shoulder.

"Go!"

Jesse started, ducking a swing from his own nuisance before dispatching him with the rifle. The body crumpled to the floor beside him, and he dutifully ignored the fact that it had, once again, felt far too easy. Sloppy, even. His frustration simmered into his voice as he hollered back, a round of bullets nearly winging him. "How? Y'not seein' the situation on our door?"

Briggs kneed the pinned man firmly in the crotch before letting him drop in a crumpled pile. Without wasting a breath, he snagged the discarded pistol from the man and swiftly took down the knife wielding attacker approaching Jesse from behind. Jesse stared down at the corpse of the man he hadn't registered with a wrinkled nose as Briggs shouted once again. "Get to the latches, damn it! This has sabotage written all over it, they're walking in blind-"

The pilot was interrupted as the man he'd kneed regained his bearings enough to swipe out a hand and knock him flat on his ass. Jesse started forward, but instantly thought better of it when he saw a few other forms stirring.

Including the one at his feet that was currently in process of bleeding out from a fatal bullet wound.

Holy…

Jesse's eyes widened on their own accord as a twitch of breath entered the man he'd just shot dead. It had been no mistake. When he shot to kill, his targets didn't move again. Except, it would seem, this one.

What in all of-

"Go!"

Jesse didn't need to be told a fourth time.

As it was, he didn't have a choice.

Briggs lunged for a switch up front when he got the opportunity, and before Jesse could figure out what was happening, the floor beneath him gave way. With a wordless holler, he slipped out into the open air, falling five, six, seven feet to the ground below before landing with a whoosh as the air left him on impact. He barely had time to get his bearings before the cargo hatch above was slamming shut once again.

He'd been dumped out the bottom of the transport, far enough away from the open door to allow for a swift escape, unseen if he was quick enough. Jesse stared for a single second as the sound of gunfire and fighting from the other side of the helo continued.

A dead man was waking up inside there. A man he'd just shot dead. A dead man. A  dead  man-

He was up and disappearing into the thicket before his brain (or his sanity, for that matter) could process what it had just seen.

Chapter Text

Finding a strike team chalk full of agents who literally specialized in not being found was difficult enough of a task on its own. Tossing them all into unfamiliar territory in the middle of the night made it an extreme sport.

Jesse never had been a fan of sports.

He stumbled more than he ran as he put as much distance between himself and the transport as he could, his breath coming in short bursts as he futilely tried to remember which way he'd thought he'd seen the team going. That little tidbit of information had slipped both Briggs' and his own mind in their haste to get him out of the plane, but now that he was on his feet and out of immediate threat's way, he was just as lost physically as he was mentally in all of this mess. Goddamn it all, where does he expect me to go-

There was one moment in his sprint when he'd actually considered ignoring Briggs and returning to the ship to help. The pilot had said it himself, he wasn't exactly good at following orders. But that moment had, thankfully, been brief as hell. Even his own common sense ranged wide enough to pick up on the fact that alerting the others was the most important thing he could be doing now. If he could just find them-

He'd tripped and traipsed his way through the pitch black of the island's night for too long, way too long, they didn't have time for this- before he got his first clue of where they'd gone.

The horrible, rattling feeling he'd despised so much on the ship during landing returned out of virtually nowhere, vibrating through his head with a ferocity that caused him to stumble. He grit his teeth as they felt ready to shake straight out of his skull, and his eyes squinted harshly as they darted around the darkness, trying to pick up on the source of the sensation. There wasn't any pain involved, but the sheer intensity of the feeling overwhelmed him to the point of slowing, his hands coming up to grip the sides of his head.

But just as soon as it had started, it stopped with an abrupt snap that may as well have shot straight through his brain. He stayed frozen in place for a moment, waiting for the feeling to return. When nothing happened, he lowered his hands. Less than half a minute had passed before he hesitantly started forward again.

The sooner he got to the others, the sooner he might get some goddamn answers.

A burst of static in his ear caused him to wince before he could fully regain his footing, and his hand flew to the comm as the fuzzy noise faded. It didn't disappear entirely, instead diminishing into a low, indecipherable buzz. A spark of hope coursed through him as he fumbled to tap the microphone on just as he'd seen the others do prior to disembarking.

"If this-"

The words had no sooner left his mouth when something whipped around the cover of a trunk several feet in front of him. The only thing Jesse could truly make out in the dark was the shape of an extended arm and-

"Shit-" Her name, what was her name, shit, shit, sh- "Ingles, it's me-!"

There was a tense moment of silence before he heard a quiet swear from the agent as she lowered her gun. Jesse had thrown his hands up in front of him, and he squinted into the night to try and make sense of any features he could. From what he could remember, she was in position to intervene if things went south. She would be alone here. Which meant the others were likely nowhere near them now. Perfect.

"Report." Gabriel's clipped command in response to Ingles' curse came through blessedly clear on the comm. Before Jesse could reach for the earpiece to activate his microphone properly like he'd failed to do so moments before, Ingles spoke urgently into the unit, scanning their surroundings all the while.

"Stowaway, boss, he left the helo-"

"Are you kidding m-"

"They know you're here!" Jesse interrupted in a breathless, hushed shout the moment he got the mic up and running, effectively cutting the commander off. They didn't have time for this! "They've got guys all over the ship, knew it was there even with the cloakin' and everything. Briggs thinks they meant to sabotage, strand us-"

Ingles was listening with rapt attention, all pretense of exasperation dropping at the mention of the ambush. Her expression did not change once as Jesse rushed through the explanation.

"-'n the comms were down but they're workin' out here an' I still don't know what they did to the ones on the helo but I think the buzzin's got somethin' to do with it but it don't matter 'cause he told me t'book it on out 'n warn y'that there might- there might be, I dunno, might be somethin' wr-"

"McCree," Ingles cut in abrubtly. Jesse pulled up short, speaking on a wheezy exhale.

"What?"

"Breathe."

Jesse finally stopped, gulping down an enormous breath as he realized just how long it had been since he'd actually inhaled. It had been a while since he'd had to talk so fast and so much with this kind of urgency. Even he had heard just how horribly his accent had flared during that little tirade.

When he finally steadied himself enough to breathe normally, Ingles nodded for him to continue before leveling their surroundings with another long, searching look. For the first time since he'd come across her, he made an active effort to take in the vicinity.

Yup.

Still dark as shit.

"They know you're here," Jesse said, his voice firmer now that his breath had returned, "and they don't want you leavin' any time soon. Briggs'n'me knocked a few down, but they were gettin' back up when I was leavin'. And they ain't no flesh wounds these guys are walkin' off, I shot to kill."

Ingles eyes creased slightly, but aside from that, she showed no reaction to his words. Gabriel was uncharacteristically silent in his ear as well. What was wrong with these people-

"Long 'n short of it, I don't reckon things'll be playin' out the way you want out there," he finished somewhat lamely, pointedly speaking into the comm more so than to Ingles. The furrow in her brow was more than enough for him to know she was carefully considering his words. There was no chatter for a long moment after that, the only sound coming from a distant bird calling quietly into the night. A voice Jesse hadn't heard yet tapped in, a short, inquisitive "we calling it, Charlie?" the only thing on the line. The realization that the entire team had just sat through his garbled explanation was enough to make him blanch slightly, but he didn't care.

They just needed to go.

Gabriel sounded every ounce the leader he was when he finally spoke back up, but there was a definite note of hesitation in there. Jesse couldn't help the pang of annoyance that ran through him. They knew something wasn't right back in the plane, and yet they still don't believe everythin' he was saying-

"Slots three through five, you're closest together. Double back, give the Bird a hand. The rest of you, reg-"

The gunshot was doubly loud than it would have been if it had just been fired in the open air.

Instead, it echoed through both the trees and the comm unit, and a short burst of static from Gabriel was all the sign they had of where it had come from before the line went dead. Ingles and Jesse exchanged alarmed glances (well, alarmed on Jesse's side, more so grudging acceptance on the other) before apparently making an executive decision as one.

The two burst into a sprint in the direction of the shot as an absolute litany of gunfire filled the air, disrupting the night birds and sending them squawking for safety. The noise was scattered at first, random pops and rattles of fire coming from somewhere far to their left. But the longer they made their way through the dark, the more concentrated the fire became. They dodged their way around the trunks with varying success (Jesse'd known that root his foot had caught up on had been there, he wasn't blind, Ingles-), and it didn't take long to find the problem.

Especially given the fact that the problem found them first.

Something in Jesse's senses screamed just a millisecond before Ingles did.

"Hit the deck!"

Her shout barely processed before her leg had neatly swept Jesse out of his sprint and off of his feet into a tumbling roll. His knee banged roughly into the ground as he sprawled to what felt like rock below, and his head whipped up as a short series of three shots rang out close enough to send his ears whining into oblivion. A figure crumpled in the dark a few feet away, a knife having clattered out of their hand and what he only assumed was a pistol holstered to their thigh. Jesse's eyes were beginning to adjust. There were three holes in their chest.

Lovely first sight to see plain as day, truly.

Ingles still had her gun out when she reached down to grip Jesse's arm. "Rough. Sorry," she said in that tense tone she never seemed to drop out of. Jesse could do little more than nod, his mouth dry as he stared down at the man. He'd been mere inches away from outright slamming the blade up to the hilt in Jesse's eye if he hadn't been tripped up.

Ingles was already moving again, and Jesse snatched the knife for himself before joining her. A sudden, jarring thought halted him in his tracks, however, and he bolted back to the corpse to remove the pistol, strapping it haphazardly into his own empty holster. If this guy was anything like the ones they'd been dealing with on the helo, he'd want him as incapacitated as possible when he got up again.

When he got up again.

That thought had no right to exist. Whatever was at play here, Jesse wanted virtually no part of whatsoever. A day ago he'd been content with the knowledge that when your number was up, your number was damn well up. But whatever this was was not natural, and the thought that a situation involving artillery of this level couldn't just be solved by a bullet…

He wasn't about to go there now. Hell, he still wasn't sure he'd actually seen what he'd thought he'd seen. He could just be dead wrong about all of this.

He hoped.

That last tiny, truly sane bit of his mind was starting to think he'd take the occasional turf skirmish over whatever black-ops bullshit this was any day.

They could hear the fight ahead of them before they saw the signs of it. The gunshots were rapid and contained, returned by a series of far less controlled fire. Half of the rounds were professional in a way Jesse had heard maybe twice in his lifetime. His ears strained against the rattling, mentally cataloguing the types of firearms he could recognize. One, tw- no, at least six seperate automatics, possibly even seven, a sawed-off, maybe two, what the hell even was that one-

Gabriel hadn't been kidding, these guys were packing heavy. Whatever they had here, they really didn't want to share.

And when Ingles and Jesse finally cleared enough of the brush to get a handle on the situation, the commander in question didn't appear too happy about the fact he'd been right at all.

Gabriel was still plenty far away, but it was obvious even from the distance that he was scowling. He didn't appear to be having any issues out in the slightly more open space ahead of them, and he ducked and wove his way through no less than a dozen attackers as if they were doing no more than wasting his time. His forehead was barely wrinkled in annoyance as he went to work, and Jesse couldn't help but stare. He himself had been on the receiving end of Gabriel's version of justice. To see it from the outside was an entirely different experience.

He had two modified shotguns, just as he'd had on him the day he'd booked Jesse, and the flash of their muzzles was a constant crack in the darkness as shadowy figures crumpled and scattered around him. He never once went for cover, choosing instead to use the ambushers themselves as such, spinning behind them and dropping to avoid wild swings of arms. But their opponents were apparently smart enough to not fire on their own, and he found himself starting the whole dance again as more joined the fray from the treeline.

Surprisingly, it appeared that one of the other agents had grouped up with the commander already, darting in and out of the sparse woodwork along the edge of the chaos as they drew their own attention away from Gabriel. Jesse couldn't see who it was from the distance, but even if he could, he doubted he'd recall a name with the amount of adrenaline coursing through his veins. All he knew was that the number of attackers that followed them away from the main fight was significantly larger than the number coming back.

Jesse stayed crouched where he was, allowing the mess to wash over him in full. Almost three dozen attackers, maybe less now. He'd lost count on the ARs, five shotguns, at least seven pistols, an absolute mess of knives from the glints of metal he could make out. The tendons in his legs tensed as he prepared himself to join the fray, a familiar thrill of anticipation running down his spine. He could do something with those odds, he could even-

-immediately fall back into the cover of the treeline the second a new burst of attackers poured from the other side of Gabriel's forest-gone-graveyard.

No way in hell-

It was only then that the sound of waves reached Jesse over the cacophony of the gunfight and their newest round of company, and his resolve wavered slightly as he realized just how close to the coast they were. A fringe group off the coast- The pickup for whatever the material Gabriel had been so interested in was happening on the beach, and if the commander was this close to the water now-

If these guys had more friends at the ready, this would be the place they'd be.

Jesse turned to find Ingles' eye and say as such, but his mouth shut quickly when he found she was no longer beside him. She'd slipped away silently at some point, not a single word or sign given at her departure. He couldn't help but feel slightly insulted at that, but the less childish side of himself forced itself to the surface. She was doing her job. Just like Briggs, she was assuming he'd know enough to handle himself if needs be.

Joke was on them, he was just bone stupid.

But he was bone stupid and armed. He'd lived through much worse with a lot less.

Gabriel had almost finished single handedly dispatching most of the threat, anyways. By the time the next wave of support would be arriving, he would be more than ready for them. Jesse could wait it out, strike when the opportunity presented itself. He could serve an actual purpose instead of crashing out into the middle of an active firefight. He knew his own brand of strategy. He would be more than useful when the time came to fully utilize the element of surprise, and they'd never be any the wis-

A whisper of noise behind him was all the warning he had before he leapt into an instinctive, messy roll, his body snapping straight into fight or flight mode. The world tilted and spun around him as he righted himself, the holstered pistol he'd snagged from his earlier attacker coming up at the ready as he dimly hoped he'd dodged in time.

The blade was sharp enough he almost didn't feel it.

But the moment he'd come out of the roll, the sting across his shoulder blade more than made up for that initial moment of uncertainty. It would have been mere inches from piercing his torso if he hadn't dropped to the side, but the long, shallow gash it left along his shoulder was plenty enough of a wake-up call. He'd twisted to fire at his attacker before he'd even finished getting his bearings.

And the gun clicked empty.

He only had a moment to gape at it in disbelief before the ambusher swung again, but he saw the move coming this time. The empty pistol was shoved unceremoniously back into the holster, and Jesse fought his instincts to grab for it again as he jolted the rifle into place instead. But his attacker was bearing down on him, and he'd have less than a second to-

There!

The man fell, the bullet having found his head instantly. Jesse stole a precious second to stare at the dead man, that sick feeling in his gut returning from before.

There it was all over again.

Easy.

There were plenty of the bastards to be dealt with, sure, but on their own they were too damn easy to take down. Gabriel was mowing through them without even breaking a sweat, and Jesse had managed to kill his own handful without so much as a scratch until this moment. These guys were supposed to be professionals, and even Jesse was holding his own in the middle of the chaos. Hell, the gun he'd stolen from the one hadn't even been loaded.

It was almost like they just didn't care.

Maybe they weren't pros. He didn't exactly know what constituted "fringe groups" these days, but he'd expected them to post guards worth their salt on whatever this thing was that they were so protective over. Either way, it all felt wrong.

But the time he had to mull the thought over was long gone. His gunshot had alerted the newest batch of attackers, and within five seconds, he had much bigger things to worry about. The figures slipping through the dark had peeled away from the outer edges of the circle swarming Gabriel and the other agent in favor of the closest threat.

Jesse was used to being considered a threat, but that didn't make this instance welcome by any means.

There were eleven of them that had chosen his rifle over Gabriel's shotguns, and Jesse ducked for cover as one fired where his chest had just been. They were far enough away in the sparse treeline to make the shots difficult to gauge, but he wasn't about to take any chances. He fired back blindly around the trunk he'd glued himself to, but they'd ducked away just as quickly. So, he grit his teeth, his head turned as he watched their approach from his peripherals.

And he waited.

It didn't take long for them to disappoint.

The first of the group that broke off and came at him fell just as fast as the surprise attacker had earlier, and Jesse felt the itch in his palm receding. Four.

After that, however, there was no second or third to come.

Instead, they all came at once. And they came fast.

Jesse swore vicously, stepping back from his cover the second before he saw the decision in their stances, his rifle leveling as all ten moved forward as one. One at a time was easy enough on its own, but even the least skilled marksman could manage a lucky shot when they were lumped together in a group like this. Too many targets-

There was something different about the way they were moving now, something organized that he hadn't seen in the individual fighters. They were weaving, moving in and out of the cover of the darkened trunks too fast for him to find an accurate shot on any of them. If they made it to him in their cluster, he'd have a hard enough time getting a fast enough hit in before they swarmed him.

So, he did the only thing he could.

He turned on a dime and ran like absolute hell.

He could still hear them in the trees around him, and not more than half a minute had passed before the first of them took a swipe at him from the darkness. When the blade whiffed past Jesse's cheek, the attacker followed through by straight-up body checking him to the side, effectively bringing his little wind-sprint to a grinding halt and forcing him to face the music as he slammed against a rotting trunk. The others were on them in seconds.

He wasn't panicking.

And it wasn't a lie. If anything, his head was clearer than it had been all day.

This was what he knew.

Jesse kicked the first man away, a snarl on his face as he ripped his own pilfered knife from his waistband. The slash was wild and completely missed its target, but it got the attacker to back off and gave him a second to breathe.

He was hiding under the billiard table, a butterknife the only thing he had in his hand as he waited for the shouting and arguing overhead to move outside. He'd hate to have to use it, but he had an awful lot of money in his pocket from that last match and there was a Stetson in the shop out in the city with his name on it-

A shot went wild when he grabbed the arm of the next attacker, stopping him from slamming the weapon against his forehead just a second before it would have made contact. He gripped the wrist as tight as he could, the clatter of the pistol on the rock barely reaching him as his fingers ground at the tendons.

He was sitting on the hood of the hover, his chin in one hand while the other kept the revolver trained on the temple of the sweating man sitting beside him. If they stuck him on hostage duty one more time this week, he might actually have to shoot somebody. His hand flicked the cigarrete from his mouth. Goddamn, he was bored-

Apparently he'd been wrong about the attacker's mental capacity earlier. One of the morons fired directly through the shoulder of one of his own as Jesse shoved the poor son of a bitch towards the rest of his friends.

He was nursing a bruised hand, the shattered bottle in his other still dripping with beer and something less appetizing as he reclaimed his seat at the bar. Shaking out the cricks in his knuckles from the punch he'd dealt, he raised two fingers for the barman, blatantly ignoring the fact that the man wasn't looking at him. Nobody was. The man twice his size and sprawled across the floor beside him was apparently slightly more interesting to them all. It always took a few seconds to regain any kind of normalcy after a knockout in a barfight these days-

The next shot shattered a branch next to Jesse, and he instantly dropped, scrambling out of the way just a bit more uncoordinated than he'd meant to-

-and rising directly into the right hook of a flanker. His head spun as he fired blind, and he vaguely noted the figure staggering back a step with the shot. His back hit the ground hard-

There was a hand clapping his shoulder, and he was  not  choking on his first cigarrete, it had just gone down the wrong pipe was all-

-and in the time it took the breath to be knocked from his body there were more shots, the vegetation around him exploding into bits of twiggy shrapnel. The rifle had slipped from his hand, and he scrambled for the pistol just a second before remembering-

Empty. The room was empty, and he was alone for the first time since he'd made the active choice to throw his lot in with these assholes. The bruises would yellow by the morning.

He wasn't panicking.

He was not panicking.

A deluge of gunfire kept him from outright lunging for the weapon, but the moment the bullets slowed even the slightest, he darted out of the brambles, tumbling over the rifle and carrying it with him behind the last bit of leafy cover he had.

The trunk positively shattered behind him.

The bullets chipping away on his cover were coming from too many different angles, the shooters moving apart and together too quickly to group together for one clean massacre, and he. Was not. Panicking.

Jesse McCree never needed to panic.

He had one more option. He always had one more option. He couldn't exactly believe it now, after the ease he'd been handling this all with before, but he always had one option.

A mistake, a mistake, a mistake-

He exhaled as his stomach plummeted in preparation for what he was about to do, his hand steady on the trigger as he straightened his back on the tree-

And Jesse blinked.

Gabriel had never been one to use the word "disaster" lightly after the events of the crisis. This little fiasco, however, may well end up being the first true exception.

They likely would not have had such difficulty if they'd had time to prepare (the intel had come through on the emergency line, they'd had all of an hour to get their affairs in order before booking it out the door). If they'd known ahead of time. If the damn kid hadn't been so wrapped up in his own thick head to recognize when he was out of line. If they'd worked a little more, if they'd seen the early signs…

If, if, if.

As fate would so have it, the universe didn't give a flying fuck when it came to "ifs."

A quiet exit was off the table, and as Gabriel slammed the butt of his gun over the head of one of the more fortunate attackers, he found his eyes darting over what was left to analyze. The number of ambushers was dwindling significantly, and by the looks of it, Valdez was doing his part to dispatch them deeper in the cover of the trees. But Valdez had been the only one closer to the coast than Gabriel himself had been. Which meant they hadn't intercepted the material yet. It was still here somewhere, but with the amount of noise they were making, there was no way in hell they'd have a clean pickup. As it was, these nutjobs had seen the plane. Hell, they were inside the plane, if what Jesse had been stammering about had been entirely true. The bastards would have more than enough information to dig around and discover where and who to retaliate against if they lost all of the material.

Damn it all, this was a mess-

The distinctive sound of Ingles' handgun echoed from the trees coast-side, and Gabriel growled under his breath as he easily dodged a knife swipe. They needed to regroup, get their bearings if they were going to finish this properly. If there was a way to finish properly at this point.

The last of the attackers he could see fell as he dead-legged the man, and a swift shot at point-blank range to the chest downed him faster than he could realize what was happening. Gabriel lowered the shotgun slowly, the quiet ringing in his ears louder than any of the gunshots had. His eyes roved slowly across the result of six minutes of nonstop carnage, a disgruntled frown settled deep on his face as he looked down.

He'd just washed this jacket.

The last few pops of gunfire petered out around him as he picked his way through the mess, eyes peeled for movement. Valdez and Ingles had slowly finished with what was left on their plates as well, by the sound of it. Gabriel shut his eyes as he inhaled, the annoyance that had threatened to overhelm him ebbing slightly as he tamped it down.

The world turns. And we run damage control.

I don't  let  things go south, Morrison-

They hadn't had a mission tank this fast in ages. Blackwatch didn't do things this way. A quiet in, and a quiet out. They didn't exist. But the body count on this one…

There was virtually no common sense in blaming the shitshow on the one glaring difference that had presented itself this go around, but it was hard not to all the same. Basic reason told him it wasn't the case.

There was no way Jesse could have had a hand in any of this.

If anything, it was thanks to him they'd been given the heads up at all, even if he may have been a bit overzealous at the time. But damn, the coincidence was just too painful to ignore. And if he couldn't ignore it, there was no way in hell the boys back home would either.

He sighed heavily as he shouldered one of the guns, his foot lashing out to catch the forehead of a dazed attacker slumped on the ground. It sent him quickly back into unconsciousness, and Gabriel continued past as if nothing had happened, his eyes scanning for any other signs of movement. His finger tapped the comm unit, but he was greeted with the warm, fuzzy buzz of static in place of the quiet he'd been hoping for. His frown deepened at the indistinctive mess of noise, and with another tap of his finger he tried getting through all the same. Never know-

"Charlie actual. Current threat neutralized, rep-"

A smattering of handgun fire followed shortly by a single rifle shot in a direction he'd heard no fighting from gave him pause, and his eyes darted up to find the source. It was one of their guns, by the sound of it. The pulse hardware was distinctive enough in its own right. But it wasn't modified. Most likely one of Briggs', then-

Barely ten seconds passed before an absolute explosion of shots sounded. It had hardly started before Gabriel had vaulted the grimy rock beside him and bolted into the trees towards the noise.

Faster men than Gabriel were hard to come by. He knew of only five others who could have kept pace with him to begin with. That being said, the amount of gunfire that had managed to be exchanged before he had even managed to get a visual on the situation should not have been possible.

There were seven of them vertical, three in varying states on the ground that he could see. None of them were anywhere near each other, and their fire was focused entirely on-

Ah, Christ's sake-

Jesse's head was just barely coming into view around the tree the ambushers had unorthodoxly trimmed. Gabriel didn't need to see any more before he stepped up to the plate.

Hell, he was already going to have to wash the jacket anyways. What were a few more stains in the grand scheme of things.

His first shot took them by surprise.

The second one did too.

By the fourth the remaining three figured they should probably fire back or head for the goddamn hills. None of them chose correctly.

When the last round of fire finished echoing around them, Gabriel re-holstered the shotgun without a single shift in expression. He didn't get enjoyment out of this. He didn't get much of anything out of it. But Jesse's face, on the other hand, was an odd combination of startled and irked when Gabriel finally rounded the trunk he'd been covering behind. The kid quickly settled with the latter.

"I had that," he said testily, the annoyance on his face as he stared up at Gabriel so incredibly juvenile the commander almost would have believed it was an act. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he grabbed Jesse's elbow and hauled him to his feet before he could protest.

"Clearly."

Whatever else he wanted to say (and there was plenty) had to wait, as the comm unit gave off a shrill whine in his ear through the static. His eyes narrowed slightly, and he could see even Jesse wincing as a hand drifted to his ear.

"-les, package is-" The fuzz returned. Gabriel could have crushed the damn thing. "-tially secure, twin sam-" The word jittered, repeating the same syllable as if on a broken record before settling back on- "-ple and out cl-" More static. "-ack to Bird, ove-."

A beat passed.

And Gabriel exhaled heavily, his mental checklist rearranging itself automatically as he prioritized, and reprioritized, and re-reprioritized. A mess, this might have been. But a result, it might have had all the same. She got one.

He didn't know what he did right to wind up with competent agents, but here he was. He pressed a little harder on the unit, aware of and blatantly ignoring the bemused look Jesse was pinning him with.

"Copy. Following through."

The faint buzz was all the answer he received, but he still allowed himself to release some of the tension in his neck. He'd live another day without tossing the word "disaster" around, it would seem.

"That, uh…"

Well. That remained to be seen.

Jesse didn't meet his eye when Gabriel looked his way again. "That sounded… good, I hope?"

"Good enough," Gabriel grunted. "We're out. Reinforcements may be en route if we-"

"They won't need them."

Jesse's interruption was almost exasperated, and the tone grabbed Gabriel's attention more than anything else. He hadn't heard it yet from the runt, but he sounded so genuinely frustrated it actually gave the commander pause. He pinned Jesse with a searching look, which the boy didn't return. Instead, his eyes were firmly at his feet.

"They ain't dead," he said gravely, and Gabriel followed his gaze. Jesse's toe was prodding at the body of one of the figures he'd managed to down before Gabriel had entered the scene. There was still a trickle of red escaping from the mouth of the one closest to him. The commander looked back up at him with a careful degree of disbelief on his face.

Prioritize.

"Something tells me they are," he mused slowly.

Jesse appeared even more miffed than before as he shot Gabriel a look. "Trust me, they ain't down for the count. I know what I s-"

Re-prioritize.

Jesse's eyes widened a moment too late, and he lunged towards the commander with a shout already on his lips. Gabriel had already felt what the kid had seen a second earlier, and he spun on the spot, a single shot taking down the man attempting to get a drop on them from behind.

The dark couldn't hide the telltale signs of an earlier shotgun blast across the tatters of the figure's shirt.

He'd killed this man five minutes ago.

Gabriel said nothing, but before he could so much as open his mouth to begin with, another of the attackers leapt from the cover of the trees, knocking Jesse firmly off of his feet as they slammed into him. Gabriel didn't have a chance to aim before two more barrelled through the trees in his own direction. His lips pulled into a taut, grim line as he neatly took out one and side-stepped to avoid the other. There were more shreds of buckshot visible on their clothing as well. They'd sprinted from the direction of his own showdown only minutes before.

Re-reprioritize.

Sweet Lord almighty, they'd actually done it.

In the time it took for him to dispatch the two would-be assailants, Jesse had gathered a crowd of three on his own, his back to Gabriel. The rifle was still in his hands, but as Gabriel watched, the kid did not take aim. Rather, he hefted it up to smash into the face of one of the figures, spinning with a snarl as he tossed it away from himself. The hit had only been enough to make the man stumble, but Jesse took full advantage and slammed his heel against the side of his knee. Gabriel could hear it crack as the man went down with a howl.

The other two didn't wait to receive the same treatment, but before they could regroup, two blasts rang through the night and the duo fell to rejoin their third.

Again.

Jesse's back was still turned, but Gabriel could tell just from his posture that he was once again frustrated beyond belief that Gabriel had stepped in.

"I had-"

Gabriel swept up the discarded rifle and grabbed Jesse's shoulder as he clipped the shotgun to his belt, steering the kid into a stumbling walk before he could finish.

"Congrats. We need to go."

Jesse winced almost imperceptibly, and his hand darted to swat away Gabriel's the moment it had made contact with his shoulder. The movement didn't seem to be intentional, and the commander finally scrutinized him now that he was close enough. He lifted his hand away, noting the tear in his shirt only a moment before he caught the faint gleam the thin ribbon of blood on his hand gave off in the low light.

Damn it-

He didn't stop walking, but he did shift Jesse to take the lead and stumble in front of him instead, confusing the living hell out of the kid for a moment.

"Woah, what're you-"

Jesse's head strained to see what Gabriel was trying to do while the commander kept them marching forward, but when he felt the fingers moving the gashed material on the shoulder of his shirt, he turned his attention back to the path ahead once again, grumbling slightly as he did his best not to faceplant during the inspection. Gabriel's brief examination of the flesh wound was over in an instant, and he drew alongside Jesse once again.

"You'll live," he grunted. If the kid had heard him, he made no indication whatsoever.

That in and of itself should have tipped Gabriel off that something wasn't quite right. He always had a quip, a snarky reply at the ready. But he just let the statement go. Almost without quite noticing it, the commander brushed the lack of reaction off. It didn't matter. They'd be coming up on the airship at any moment now-

Movement in the corner of his eye drew a glance from him, and he watched as Jesse scrubbed his palm over his face. His hand came away just as red as Gabriel's had from his shoulder.

There were smudged streaks of blood that Gabriel had certainly not seen there just moments before, ruddy across his cheeks and standing in stark contrast against his skin. But as long as he looked, he couldn't see a source for the life of him. When it was clear Jesse had no plans on removing his palm from where it scrubbed at his cheek, Gabriel spoke gruffly.

"Where's it coming from?"

Jesse started at that, his hand dropping instantly. "It ain't mine," he muttered.

In all the short time he'd known Jesse, Gabriel had never once heard him fake anything quite so terribly.

The kid was a master when it came to lying. Hell, it was part of the reason Gabriel had taken an interest in bringing him on in the first place. Every nuance, every inflection, every facial expression was perfect when he fell back on deception. Gabriel had always been able to tell, of course. He hadn't exactly gotten where he was in life by letting his commanding officers and peers lie to his face. He knew bullshit when he heard it, and he knew when it was being dealt well.

This casual display of normalcy was sloppy at best.

Gabriel regarded Jesse quietly. When it was clear the crap was all the kid was offering for now, he inclined his head and said nothing more. But his eyes ticked back to his companion's face just as often as they checked their heading.

Try as he might, however, Gabriel couldn't find a source for the blood. And when no more bloomed across his face during their little trek, he was slowly inclined to believe Jesse was telling the truth.

But not the whole truth.

It was quiet when they finally made it back to the transport. The night birds had long gone, and judging by the pile of figures at the base of the ramp, the team had had virtually no problems dispatching what was left of the ambushers. Gabriel ran a careful eye over them as he marched Jesse on board, his expression darkening. They wouldn't stay down for long, that much he knew.

They'd done-

The rest of the agents had already made it on board, by the looks of it. Siegel and Nguyen were standing at ready on the top of the ramp, their rifles trained on the neat little pile of would-be assailants. The second Gabriel and Jesse had passed the threshold, however, they ducked back inside, slamming the button to shut the entryway. Gabriel shot brief looks to each of his agents, mentally cataloguing them as they strapped in for one of the quickest takeoffs they'd likely ever had. Briggs was at ready up front, a laceration across his neck the only visible injury Gabriel could see. The others appeared to be a bit rough around the edges, but none the worse for wear.

Ingles was sitting on top of a crate that had by no means flown in with them. She met Gabriel's eye for a moment before giving a tiny shrug and looking pointedly away. The commander looked away as well.

Disaster was nowhere near the word he needed for today.

"Wheels up," he called to the pilot as Jesse left his side to flop down into his seat, and Briggs' hands had already flown across the dashboard before the words were completely out. "Headquarters."

"Headquarters, sir!"

The pilot's confirmation from the front of the plane was the only thing that finally let Jesse breathe.

There would never have been a time when he'd have thought he'd feel happy to be in a rising aircraft, but the second he felt the vehicle leave the ground, some of the ache, the absolute crushing pressure in his head lifted a bit. He shut his eyes as he leaned against the back of the seat, and slowly, slowly let the post-adrenaline induced shakes run their course.

It took half an hour for his hands to stop quivering quite so noticably. Even then, he'd kept them shoved beneath his thighs to keep them out of sight.

It would take him months to forget the feeling he'd gotten the second his theory had been proven true.

The dead hadn't been dead on that island, and nobody on board had even so much as mentioned it yet. He knew Briggs had seen it first-hand. The others, he couldn't account for. But Gabriel, even…

But there was more, so much more to what had happened that he couldn't even begin to form a coherent thought on the whole clusterfuck. The sloppy fights, the last minute bursts of confidence when the fringers had been grouped as they were, the empty magazines, all of it had to have an explanation. But try as he might, Jesse couldn't focus long enough to piece one together.

As it was, his mind was on something else entirely.

He opened his eyes, letting them trail to the front of the plane. Gabriel had been busying himself in the front the second they'd reached a cruising altitude, strapping the crate Ingles had dragged onboard into the furrows of the co-pilot's seat. His sole focus was the box itself, but the longer Jesse watched, the tenser he seemed to become.

If the commander had known how close he'd come to getting a bullet between the eyes earlier, he'd have plenty better reasons to be tense than over a bit of cargo.

Jesse'd damn near had a heart attack when Gabriel had appeared out of the bushes, and it had taken all he had to force himself not to raise the rifle and fire as he'd been gearing up to do. His hands had been vibrating, the amount of energy it required already coursing through him before he'd had the chance to turn and take the shot. Whenever he went through with his gift, the leftover buzz made him feel like he might fall apart at the seams if he didn't spend the entire magazine. To have not even started on the magazine was an entirely different story.

The second he'd recognized another figure in the darkness as he'd leaned away from his cover, all of his instincts had zeroed in on its forehead, that red in his vision so utterly tempting, it was right there, you've got eighteen shots left-

-but he'd shoved it down, shut his eyes until the red went pink, and forced himself to speak when the time came.

He knew Gabriel hadn't bought it. He'd be lying if he said he would have bought it. The second he'd thrown that rifle from his hands as if it were on fire hadn't likely instilled confidence in the commander's heart. But if he held it for another second, he wouldn't have been able to put it back down until the bullets inside were spent.

The whole charade was all he could offer while he felt like his head would explode otherwise, and each subtle scrub at his face on the walk back to the airship only had Gabriel seeming more suspicous. He could feel the blood tickling the back of his nose even now, but he refused to let it take him. He could wait. He would wait.

His hands had stopped shaking enough for him to comfortably set them on top of his legs, but he could feel the jittery aftermath still trying to escape as his leg began to bounce quietly in place. He hadn't had to shut himself down before following through with it in a long, long time. His body didn't know what to do about the no-show, and he had no way of telling it to pipe the hell down. A surreptious glance around showed the others going through their post-mission routines, cleaning equipment or otherwise getting comfortable for the long flight home. Their guards had dropped again.

Jesse's stayed firmly in place as he stared unseeingly out the window across from his seat.

He'd managed to get a handle on this, once. Only a few shots from an automatic, and he'd gone almost a week before he'd had to take down another. The magazine had had almost thirty shots left to it then. He'd managed to get by, even if it had taken close to a month. It had been hell incarnate, but he could do it again. He'd started shooting, back then. He hadn't now.

He could do better.

But as long as he stared, the pressure behind his eyes refused to budge. The blood welled at the corner of his right eye, and he blinked as he subtly scrubbed it away, irritated. He hadn't even started the magazine, and there were only seven, eight, nine on board, you've got eighteen bullets, hardly a dent would be made if you just-

Jesse had long since memorized the alphabet backwards. It took three mental rounds of it to run the red out of his vision this time.

He didn't know how long he stayed like that, his knee bouncing and his ears buzzing as he tried to get a handle on his own head. It would be brash to assume the zone-out was helping in any way, but it felt like the only real semblance of control he could get.

He should've known it wouldn't last long.

Gabriel's approach hadn't been silent, but Jesse jumped all the same as the commander materialized in front of him, and all that nervous energy raced right back as if nothing had even happened. He looked sharply up at the man, taking in the way his hands were shoved deep in his pockets and the neutral, searching look he was pinning Jesse with.

Couldn't this damn well wait, please, for the love of-

But Gabriel didn't say a word.

And Jesse's vision was instantly filled with blue.

He blinked, taking too long of a moment than normal to register the feeling of cloth on his face as his thoughts stuttered to a halt. After a short moment where he'd convinced himself his brain had finally broken, his hand raised numbly, gripping the material and dragging it away to stare. It was a scrap of towel, and half of it had been wetted down with water.

When Jesse looked up again, Gabriel had already turned away, his attention claimed by the next check to mark off on his list.

It wasn't an offer of gratitude or congratulations on a mission well done. But it wasn't a kick to the ass, either. Jesse wasn't so sure which he'd have been more prepared to receive at this point.

Jesse gripped the washcloth for a long while after that. The water had wrung over his hands and been well on its way to drying before he finally ran the scrap over his face, scrubbing the trails of blood and grime away as he tried not to think too hard about the fact that his commander had just smacked him in the face with a wet rag.

It got the job done quick enough, and Jesse shut his eyes, scrubbing at the grit around them wearily as the jitters finally began to drain his body. The buzz of it was still there, but he refused to acknowledge it now. The scrape of the cloth centered him, and he scrubbed diligently at his cheek even after the blood was long gone.

Wonders never ceased, but by the time he finished, he genuinely felt ready to conk out and call it a day.

The realization was an odd one, but he wasn't about to fight it. The less time he spent awake and on the verge of letting it run its course, the less time he had to deal with his own lack of control. He set the washcloth across the back of his neck, trying not to make it too obvious how uncomfortable he was. His eyes shut briefly, even as he stayed sitting rigid in his seat. Who was he kidding, he wouldn't be able to manage this-

A rustle of cloth interrupted him as someone claimed the seat next to his, and his eyes squinted open for a moment against his better judgement as he shifted away from the noise.

Ingles had her head tipped back against the headrest already, her arms crossed and her own eyes closed, the straps having already been buckled the moment she'd sat down. She said nothing, and her eyes remained firmly shut even as Jesse stared at her. The pointed choice of seat was an obvious one.

Jesse didn't have it in him to feel grateful at the moment. But he was content with the show of confidence at the very least.

There were others strapped in, some already well on their way to a deep sleep while a few appeared more than happy to simply sit with their eyes shut. A few remained up and about the cabin, Valdez at the front discussing something in low tones with Briggs while Nguyen rummaged through a pack for something or rather.

Gabriel was the last one to sit down as Jesse fidgeted in place, looking for a comfortable position. The box of material had been completely buckled down up front, taking the place of Gabriel's extensive equipment and, in turn, his own seat. As such, he appeared to be more than happy to crash in the cabin with the rest of the team. Although the term "crash" didn't so much apply when it came to Gabriel. He eased himself into one of the seats across the cabin from Jesse, exhaling heavily as he brought something up on the glowing screen in his lap. His eyes never glanced up once in the time Jesse watched him get settled.

With that, Jesse did the one thing he wouldn't have thought possible on a plane surrounded by Blackwatch agents. Hell, he wouldn't have even done it on base surrounded by Blackwatch agents.

He let his eyes close completely, the pressure in his head subsiding as the visible targets disappeared.

And he let sleep claim him.

It wasn't unusual for his team to simply pass out the second their backs hit something solid after a mission of this caliber. Sure enough, most of them had done just that, strapping in and knocking off the second they got comfortable.

But Gabriel had honestly been surprised to find Jesse among them.

Jesse had yet to leave himself vulnerable around the other agents even once, but now appeared to be the first true exception. The kid was slumped back in his seat across from Gabriel's, head tilted at an angle he'd surely be feeling in the morning and eyes shut tight.

The second he'd felt the kid had stopped staring, the commander had looked up from where he'd been surveying the Moscow report, his expression empty as he watched him in turn. There were conversations that had to be had about today, and ramifications that would be coming down hard the second they set foot on base. The circus that undoubtedly awaited them on the tarmac hadn't even truly entered Gabriel's mind until they'd taken off, really, but even now he had about four different plans of action once they made base in mind.

Jesse would need the sleep for the absolute hell that was about to rain down on him at base.

He deserved every bit of it, that much was true. He'd directly disobeyed orders, and in doing so, had put Gabriel in a position that could have just as well compromised a class A operation. He was still pissed about the unorthodox boarding, if he was honest.

But at the same time, Jesse was the reason they'd known about the ambush in time to prevent the sabotage to the airship.

And he had taken out his fair share of the fringers. In a way, he'd inadvertantly given Ingles the time she'd needed to get a clean in and out with a sample of the material. He hadn't been a perfect distraction, what with getting pinned down and all, but he'd served a distraction all the same.

Gabriel's head felt heavier in his hand the longer he caught himself rationalizing. Sometimes he really wished the world was painted in a lot less grey and a metric crap ton more black and white.

The kid had buckled in just as the others, and if it weren't for that stupid bandana and button up, Gabriel would have admitted he looked every bit as much a Blackwatch agent as the men and women sleeping around him as well. Their uncomfortable poses, the grime and grit of a job seen through to completion, all of it. They even shared that same exhausted pallor, even if his was a little paler than the oth-

Gabriel slowly lowered his hand from where it had been supporting his chin. His eyes narrowed as he looked more closely at Jesse.

Something was off. More so now than even earlier.

He knew the kid was hiding something, but this seemed… different somehow. The commander stared long and hard, the few agents left dithering about the cabin for food or otherwise fading into white noise as he strained to focus. Jesse's drained face hadn't changed, and he seemed otherwise to be completely asleep. There was nothing out of the ordinary there.

Twenty seconds passed before Gabriel finally realized he hadn't seen the kid's chest rise or fall once since he'd shut his eyes.

He was out of his seat and in front of Jesse in a split second, causing Ingles' and Cooks' eyes to crack open curiously on either side of him. But Gabriel ignored the stares, his own eyes darting over Jesse in search of a wound he'd missed on first inspection as he shook the unconscious boy's shoulder roughly.

"Hey. Hey."

There was a time long before the SEP, back in the days when signing on for the military didn't call for a willingness to turn superhuman, that Gabriel had accidentally dumped an entire can of beans into the lap of the man next to him.

It was standard protocol before each meal for the officers to hand the meal itself around the long tables of cadets, where each greenhorn would need to hold it firmly in their hand, sitting up straight as a board without taking their eyes away from a point straight ahead, and loudly state what it was they were holding before passing it to their left to repeat all over again. Every day, every meal, they would need to go through the agonizingly slow ritual before eating. Discipline, they'd said it was for. The cans would go around, beans, sir, and each cadet would get their chance, beans, sir, to state their meal for the hour-

The can had been deceptively hot when Gabriel had grabbed it from the hand of the woman on his right that day, and he hadn't been prepared. He'd rushed himself, beans, sir, and shoved the can to his left as quickly as he'd dared.

His hand had released the can before the man had fully grabbed it.

It had been quiet, the sheer disbelief at what had just happened thick in the air, and the cadets had ignored the fact that an entire meal's worth of hot food was now in the lap of some poor bastard as they stared diligently forward. The man Gabriel had just dumped piping hot beans all over, on the other hand, was looking down.

He'd looked up then, his eyes forward and his voice slightly strained. Beans, sir.

Few things could make Gabriel feel moronic. That moment in particular would always make the list.

And now, this current moment would be joining it.

Jesse's disoriented eyes snapped open to dart wildly left and right, one hand flying to grip his nonexistent hat and the other bolting for an equally nonexistent weapon as he sat up. "Whowha'shappn-?"

His voice was slurred in haste, the words barely intelligible. When he registered Gabriel in front of him, alarm entered his face with a swiftness that almost surprised the commander. He sat back on his heels, eyes searching Jesse's as the initial shock cleared from them to make way for pure, uncensored confusion.

God, he looked so young like this.

Jesse was clearly on the way to waking up entirely, and Gabriel knew he wouldn't be able to brush the encounter off without an explanation. So, he cut to the chase.

"You don't breathe much, do you?"

Jesse looked positively flabbergasted at that. Gabriel couldn't say he blamed him.

"I should hope I do," Jesse said slowly, as if he were trying to convince himself this wasn't some sort of bizarre dream. "The hell you on about?"

Gabriel was quiet another beat before he stood, feeling Jesse's bemused stare following him at every move.

"Go back to sleep."

Jesse's slightly disoriented grumbles about how he'd been trying to do just that went ignored as Gabriel reclaimed his own seat, making it a point to pull up the extendable hovering holo screens of his tablet to give him something other than the exhausted agents across from him to look at. Less than five minutes had passed before he glanced up to see Jesse passed out once again.

He watched him for some time, the barely-there rise and fall of his chest the only thing keeping him from shaking the kid awake once again.

Gabriel Reyes was by no means a moron.

This boy had shot to kill his own agents not so long ago. He'd been nothing but a pain in the ass since he'd set foot on base, and the kid had been more than pleased to know it. He tested Gabriel's patience on the daily, and he pulled stupid stunts for the sake of stupid stunts, and he kept secrets and he lied and he argued, good lord did he argue-

But Gabriel Reyes was not an idiot. And that one, split second of dread when he hadn't registered Jesse breathing, that tiny prickle of cold…

The holo screens couldn't block everything, and Gabriel's chin found his hand once again as his forehead creased, his eyes narrowed as Jesse barely breathed.

And then he promptly thickened the opacity of the holos as he plunged back into what would undoubtedly be one of the longest, most eye-straining strings of reports he'd had in a long, long time.

Chapter Text

It was almost four in the morning when the "Moscow" crew touched down in Zurich.

Every agent on board had been wide awake for at least an hour prior, the same tension that had covered the plane on descent the day before once again returning in full. That would have been fine and dandy under the circumstances, but this time, it was a tension that nobody knew how to dispel. Before, they could bail out with their fists or their firearms, hell or high water. The ramifications that were waiting for them now were not so easy to run from.

There wasn't much but the low hum of the engines as Briggs brought them in gently, and the helo cruised through the open hangar doors in relative silence. Jesse had had his head between his knees for the better part of the last hour, his hands clasped behind his neck as he moved gently with the vehicle. He'd started feeling sick the second he'd woken up, and he knew it wasn't entirely due to the flight.

Gabriel hadn't left the window since Briggs had called for their final descent, his boots just visible at the edges of Jesse's vision alongside Ingles' and Nguyens'. The commander hadn't reprimanded Jesse in full yet, and that in and of itself was unsettling. He'd been expecting the verbal lashing he'd undoubtedly be receiving at some point, but it hadn't so much as been hinted. The second he'd been shaken awake to see the commander's face filling his vision those long hours earlier, he'd fully accepted the fact he was likely about to die.

Instead, he'd been quipped at and told to knock back out.

They hadn't spoken since then, and that was fine by him. But it didn't settle the unease that had been building the moment he'd reawoken for good. His stomach had been roiling with the sound of the engines as the enormity of what he'd truly done had finally begun to settle into his gut. There was going to be a conversation whether he wanted there to be or not, and the ones who'd be having it with him…

There were people down below who would rather see him hang than let him see the bright side of an op ever again.

"Look alive." Gabriel's grunt drew the attention of everyone but Jesse, the shuffling of equipment joining the nauseating grind of the vehicle. Briggs settled the ship on the ground with a long, churning thrum, and still Jesse kept his head down.

It was quiet for several beats before he looked up.

They were staring at him. All of them. They'd gathered everything to disembark, the packs on their backs and the heavier equipment set beside the door in preperation to scoot down the gangway, but they were clearly waiting on him, expressionless for the most part. There was no sympathy he could see in any of the eyes he managed to meet. Jesse pointedly looked away as he unclasped his restraints and stood.

Gabriel was still looking at him as he brought his fist down on the hatch, and the door lowered with its telltale hiss. The noise couldn't have been any different than it had been before, but Jesse could swear it was infinitely more ominous than usual. He rolled his shoulders back, forcing himself to stand tall and ignore the pounding in his head as the gangway settled, slowly, slowly, slowly to the ground. If he was about to dive headfirst into Hell, he'd do it with some damn pride.

As it turned out, Hell was pretty quiet at four in the morning.

To his (and surely the others') surprise, the tarmac was empty, the echo of the hangar door closing them into the darkness the only noise to be heard. Canned lights buzzed to life high overhead, leading a faint trail to the door. Beyond that, the aircraft loomed, hidden in shadow beyond the faint gleam of their metal, towering over the team like patient predators. When it came to true predators, however…

Not a single officer was waiting to greet them.

The tiny sigh of relief that Jesse let out seemed to be felt just as viscerally by the others, as each of their shoulders dropped almost imperceptibly. But the sheer lack of anything was unsettling in and of itself, and the team made no move to disembark, as if shifting a single inch would break some silent spell and unleash the wrath of the directors where they hid just in the shadows. It was horrendously quiet in the hangar as they hesitated, the massive, empty space doing little to dispel the unease that came along with the silence.

"Hm." Gabriel was the first to break the quiet, his short grunt echoing back to them. With one slow movement, he lifted a leg and planted his foot on one of the tech boxes they'd had on board, shoving it into a noisy slide down the gangway before following suit.

And just like that, the spell was broken. The crash and clatter of offloaded equipment broke the pre-dawn quiet, snapping the agents into action as they wearily made their own way off of the transport, personal supplies in tow. Jesse eyed the containers and packs left on board for a split second before levering himself out of the plane beside the ramp, slipping to solid ground on somewhat shaky knees. His eyes were already firmly on the door across the hangar, a quiet getaway in mind. The needle-like stress grinding just behind his eyes was beginning to drive him insane, but it was nothing another few hours of sleep couldn't fix, surely. Besides, he had no equipment of his own, and they seemed to have a handle on-

A box was dropped unceremoniously in front of him from above, and the enormous clatter of it made him nearly jump out of his skin, the pop and fizz of the pressure in his eye ramping up twenty degrees as his hand twitched for a gun he didn't have. His head shot up to find Cook standing just above him on the ramp, a thoroughly unimpressed expression on the man's face.

"Oops," the agent said blandly, his eyes boring into Jesse's. "Mind getting that for me?"

Before he could so much as reply, Cook had vanished back inside the transport, one last look of disapproval his only parting gift. Jesse gestured rudely to his retreating back before turning to the crate and relenting moodily.

Oops, my a-

He stacked it with the others, only staggering slightly as he dropped the box on the slowly growing pile of equipment beside Gabriel. The commander was checking off a short list of their inventory as the supplies made their way to him, but when Jesse stood from his crouch, Gabriel was staring directly at him, that empty expression on his face once again. Jesse resisted the urge to shift his weight between his feet.

"Get cleaned up," Gabriel ordered out of nowhere, his voice grim and attention shifting back to the crates stacking beside him. "And find someone to seal that cut."

Jesse opened his mouth, but before he could even think of something to respond with, Gabriel cut him off.

"I'll deal with you later."

And with that, he turned back to his list, effectively dismissing Jesse without another word.

If he could think of anything better to do, he wouldn't be standing outside of the infirmary now.

But Jesse couldn't, and he had sort of been ordered to go (as much as he gave a single rat's ass for that aspect), and everywhere else he went seemed to be hellbent on leaving a bad taste in his mouth. They'd been back for nearly half an hour now, but the time had slipped past as easily as the water through his fingers as he'd showered, his head pounding and the world around him meaning little as he fought the urge to throw up and just keel over at every turn.

He'd been dithering outside the infirmary's entrance for a few minutes now, the feeling of fresh blood on his newly washed face jarring him out of his exhausted thoughts. Distractedly, he swiped a hand over his eye and smudged it off on his pants, swaying a little from the action alone. It had been a while since he'd been this wrung out from its effects, but he couldn't say he was surprised. He'd never been forced to be surrounded by so many people for so long immediately after preemptively shutting it down.

Jesse stared blearily down the hall to the bank of elevators. The cut on his back had stopped stinging hours ago, and the shower had done little to aggravate it. He could live without having it sealed with their freakish medicine. Why was he here again? There was nothing the doctor could do for it, anyways. A solid day of sleep would do him fine. Maybe he'd just head back to his bunk to crash until they decided they were ready to hang him out to dry-

He hadn't made his mind up on staying or leaving before the infirmary door had opened out of virtually nowhere, and a man rubbing at his neck with a grimace almost bowled Jesse over where he stood.

Spare shots, go for the gun, the gun, spare shots, where is  the gun -

Jesse stumbled awkwardly out of the way as his vision throbbed, but whatever acrid thing he had to say died on his tongue when he and the man locked eyes. He got the distinct feeling he was being sized up in the quiet that followed.

"So," Briggs said. There was nothing in the word that implied he planned on continuing. Jesse forced himself to focus on the man's face, his own expression shuttering.

"So." He returned in kind. It appeared to satisfy Briggs for some reason, as the man's shoulders relaxed slightly.

There was a tiny pink line where the gash across the pilot's neck had been, the skin around the laceration practically glowing a faint gold. Doctor Ziegler was in, then. Briggs noticed the tick of Jesse's eye to the scar, and he raised a hand to tap lightly at it, the motion long and almost bored.

"Souveneir," he said mildly. "Knocked him straight out the hatch, though, so he'd better have something to remember me by." The fact that a man who'd taken a fatal fall would remember anything went blatantly unacknowledged by them both.

Briggs' eyes traced over Jesse's own collection of bumps and bruises alongside the new smudge of red across his cheek, and his brows knit together as silence overtook them once again. There was an awkwardness to this one that had Jesse resisting the urge to fidget something terrible. Should've just gone back to the bunks.

When Briggs met Jesse's eye again, he cleared his throat. "Listen, I know this is a bit of a mess-"

"'s a word for it, sure," Jesse interrupted, his voice strained.

"-but we're not in an active zone anymore, so I can cut the crap here." The way Briggs said it almost made Jesse wish he wouldn't. His eyes were suddenly harder than they'd been on the mission, the jovial, quick-witted persona having dropped in a millisecond. Jesse's guard was up within an instant, his weight shifting onto his back foot slowly and his eyes narrowing.

God damn, the amount of moodswinging that happened in Blackwatch was going to give him whiplash at this point.

Briggs' eyes remained locked with Jesse's, an uncharacteristic intensity to them. "You're still kind of on my shit list for knocking Bauer and Zhao and the lot down for the count with your little… let's say job interview back in New Mexico. But I'm gonna level with you."

Jesse eyed the man warily. In all honesty, he'd forgotten about the agents he'd shot outright back in his desperation to avoid being caught in the gorge. Despite all appearances, Briggs clearly hadn't. The agent raised his arms suddenly then, and Jesse tensed, prepared for-

The pilot crossed his arms.

"Thank you. And not just for the bet. Can't exactly say you didn't make a difference back there."

Jesse wasn't stunned often in life. But something about two-worded-groupings seemed to stun him the most, with "thank you" being the top of that list. He gaped back at the captain, taking perhaps a moment too long to answer, because Briggs was continuing as if nothing had happened.

"But still," he said easily as he stretched his arms behind his back, "probably could have avoided a trip to the Butcher here altogether if you hadn't taken so long gathering the troops out there. You find a hot date along the way or something, Trinity?"

Butcher? Trinity?

The entire jab was clearly in jest, and the nicknames absolutely flew over Jesse's head, but he levelled the captain with a look all the same, the thank you still ringing awkwardly in his head. He prided himself on being good at reading people, but for the moment, he genuinely couldn't tell what terms they were on. The intensity had all but vanished as quickly as it had appeared, so Jesse slowly rolled with it, carefully watching Briggs for any signs of sudden movement in case the mood change was simply a trick.

"Nah," he muttered, the word drawn out. "Jus' figured you needed the target practice is all."

Briggs snorted at that, and without further reply he was moving down the hall towards the elevators, his hand lifting casually in farewell. He turned only when he reached the open car.

"You ever try dropping all this snide crap?" Briggs asked, sounding genuinely curious.

Jesse blinked. The red that had encroached on his vision the moment the pilot had swung his arms forward had yet to clear. But he diligently blinked again, watching quietly as the pilot boarded the car in a haze of pink. He seemed content he'd gotten the last word in.

Jesse could by no means have that.

"Sure," he called out, the words just below a shout. "Once. Worst ten minutes I ever had."

He got an actual laugh in return for his efforts as the doors closed Briggs out of sight.

Jesse hesitated in the hallway for another minute before giving in. Figuring there was no way in hell the doctor hadn't heard the entire conversation, he dutifully stepped into the infirmary, resigning himself for the moment. The knife wound across his shoulder actually was pulling a bit now that he focused on it, so at the very least he could do without that. The door slid shut behind him, and he turned to face the room, his body aching and his exhausted mind almost looking forward to Dr. Ziegler's quiet mutterings.

"The worst ten minutes you've had, you say?"

Jesse froze, the sight of the medbay seeping in just as he heard the voice. It wasn't Angela's. And this wasn't-

It took several short blinks to convince himself he wasn't hallucinating. Nothing about the layout he could see made sense. He'd been in here before. Several times. There was supposed to be a large chair in the center, a small covered table to the side. Dr. Ziegler's equipment bathed in soft light, quiet murmurs from the radio in the corner-

None of that remained. Instead, all he could see in the darkened room was steel. Hard edges, cold silver, sharp corners, not a single scrap of material aside from the metal. The chair was gone, the desk replaced by a panel of screens high on the wall, and in its place was a solitary operating table.

The owner of the voice was leaning casually against said table across the room, her jagged nails drumming absently against the steel as she read from a screen above her. She wore a standard Overwatch lab coat, the medical insignia plain to see even from across the room. Her glinting eyes turned to pierce Jesse's own a moment later as he remained in the doorway, and he couldn't quite tell if the shiver in his spine was entirely from the cold of the room as those eyes slowly swept up and down his ragged figure. The corner of her lip lifted, an imitation of a grin appearing as she stepped back to gracefully waft a hand over the table.

"It truly pains me to say we just may remedy that."

The Butcher, it turned out, lived up to her name.

Jesse's first encounter with Doctor Moira O'Deorain had by no means been a pleasant one. The nickname she'd earned for herself in the short time she'd been on base did no justice: to call her a butcher was a kindness. She was what Jesse had presumed doctors to be as a whole: frigid and detached, simply piecing back together material.

"She runs the noc shifts when she's not overseas," Ingles had said bluntly when she'd had her own run in with Jesse on her way in to see the medic herself. "Takes the third floor infirmary, Doctor Ziegler heads out into the field and sets up on the first floor with the newbies in residency when she's back. You're not the only one who's not happy about it."

His shoulder was somehow more swollen than it had been when he'd gone in, and the afterimage of the medic's lights piercing his eyes had yet to leave in full. To say he wasn't happy was an understatement.

The brief encounter with the Butcher was a blur, if he was honest. She'd sealed the wound on his back with something not unlike Dr. Ziegler's equipment, a constant stream of cold conversation jarring him out of his daze. He'd been in enough of a haze of discomfort and confusion to forget most of what she'd said, but he was partially certain they'd introduced themselves at some point. It was the only way she'd have been able to know his name. At least, he thought as much.

He'd returned to his room to pass out for however long he could shortly after stumbling out of the infirmary, somehow more exhausted than he'd been going in. He'd only expected an hour of sleep at most before they'd bust down his door.

And yet he'd woken six hours later, sleep uninterrupted and head significantly clearer than it had been before he'd crashed. The red had faded to a fuzzy pink rim just outside of his periphery, and he'd been satisfied he wouldn't need to fight his own instincts quite so hard at every loud noise and suspicious glance that day. He'd gotten dressed, gone to the mess hall, returned to his room, and waited for the other shoe to drop.

And waited.

And waited.

A day had now passed, and not a single call for Jesse's head on a platter came through.

The tension roiling in his gut had calmed down to more of a manageble simmer, but the fact that not a single one of the admirals who had clearly seen him leap directly into the fire had bothered filing a complaint against him wasn't sitting well. There was no way they wouldn't be upset with him after such a display, and yet, nobody appeared to feel much like punishing him.

Thud, thud, thud, thud-

Until, it appeared, now.

Thud, thud, thud.

Thirteen times. The person at his door had pounded their fist no less than thirteen times without stopping once.

It had to have hurt them on some level.

Jesse didn't even need to glance at the holo clock on his desk to know that it was ungodly-o'clock in the morning, and his feet hit the floor with a solid thud of their own as he glared blearily at the door. His eyes weren't even open entirely yet and his hair felt like it was on its way to up and lifting off of his head if it stuck out in any more angles than it already was, but he forced himself up all the same and yanked the door open with more force than was probably necessary, not bothering to check and see which unfortunate underling they had decided to send to piss him off this early.

"What in the goddamn hell d'y'wan—"

He stopped short, the snarl dying on his face along with the words in his mouth. He blinked rapidly, once, twice, three times. Then once more for good measure. But no matter how many times he tried to clear the sleep from his eyes, the sight in front of him did not change.

"No, no, please," Gabriel said quietly. "Finish. Don't let me stop you."

Jesse could only stare, his jaw working quietly on words that wouldn't come. The commander was wearing sweats. Outside his door, just past 0300 hours. What in the hell-

Nevermind the hour, Gabriel never wore sweats. The only thing closest Jesse had seen was the hoodie he wore with his combat fatigues, and even that had now been swapped for one lighter in weight. The hood itself was up, and his hands were resting in his pockets as he stared drily back at Jesse as if he hadn't just woken him several hours before the crack of dawn.

"Uh," Jesse finally started, his voice cracking from sleep, "not sure I need to finish."

Gabriel raised a brow. "I'll be the judge of that."

Jesse glanced down the hallway, taking in the barren quiet that usually accompanied the base after about 0100. His eyes narrowed as they landed back on the commander, the clenched fist around his gut closing back in on itself for the first time in a solid day. There was nothing to read on Gabriel's face, but dread sunk deep into Jesse's stomach all the same.

"What," Jesse said, careful to keep his voice even, "no shackles? This just the part where you read me my rights or somethin'?"

In lieu of actually answering, Gabriel jerked his head to Jesse's closet.

"Get dressed," he ordered. "You've got two minutes."

He wasn't dead yet. So he had that going for him, which was nice.

Gabriel hadn't said a word since he'd shown up at his door, and Jesse didn't trust himself to try prying for information just yet. He'd been trailing after the commander for several minutes now, climbing stairs and turning corners until he lost all sense of where they were in the base anymore. He was just starting to feel the aches in his legs courtesy of the thirtieth flight of stairs when Gabriel pulled them up short in front of a set of double doors. Jesse eyed them warily as the commander set about rummaging for something in his pocket. He'd never seen them before, and he was pretty damn certain he'd seen everything on this base.

The commander swiped something across a keypad on the wall and rattled off his access code in one fell swoop, and Athena's gentle good morning, sir greeted them warmly as the doors unlocked with a solid click. The lights inside the room were off, but the smell was sterile and the air was cool as Jesse stepped inside behind the commander. The tangy smell of metal and sweat mingled just behind the antiseptic, and Jesse paused in the threshold as Gabriel stepped further inside. When he noticed Jesse had stopped following, he turned and stopped himself.

"Desperation," he said simply, "never works."

Jesse looked blankly back at him and waited for more to come, but Gabriel appeared to be pausing for him to respond in turn. He shook his head slowly. "You waitin' on applause? 'cause it ain't coming."

Gabriel was not fazed, his hands joining behind his back and his voice cold. "After that little… slip-up in Moscow, I can see-"

"Now, hold on just a second there, what slip-u-"

"-I can see," Gabriel repeated, silencing Jesse with a look, "that we need to up your hand-to-hand."

Jesse couldn't have been more surprised if Gabriel had outright burst into a jig right then and there. Before he could channel his disbelief into words, however, Gabriel was plowing on ahead, turning his back. "Your gun and sense alone'll only get you so far," the commander elaborated sharply. "You can handle your own with the element of surprise, but you still haven't figured out how to fight properly once you've dropped into the thick of things. We're fixing that today."

Athena had a flair for the dramatic, it would seem, as the lights slowly rose to bathe the equipment around them in the harsh CFL. It was a gymnasium, pristine in every sense of the word and empty save for the two of them. Jesse eyed the quiet room with growing dread as Gabriel's words faded. The commander had stepped out into the center of the room, a short demand bringing up the rest of the dim lights over the thick training mats he stood on.

"You're tellin' me," Jesse said incredulously when his wits returned, "y'got me outta bed at three in the mornin' to run a simulation."

Gabriel's expression was still shuttered when he turned. "Who said anything about a simulation?" He held up a hand when Jesse moved to interrupt. "And as long as you're under this roof, under my command, you answer to me whenever the hell I say so, soldier."

'You can stay,' she'd told him once the group had finished talking quietly amongst themselves, an agreement made within minutes. 'But you gotta pay the price. Three minutes a'gettin' jumped. No free passes 'round here. You're either all in, or you can get on the first train out tomorrow mornin' and pray we never see your face again.'

'I'll pay,' he'd said firmly. She seemed shocked at first that he'd been so quick to accept. But then, he supposed she didn't know his full intention. He was starting to get a little too much attention drawn to him on his own as it was. "Full price" be damned, he'd be leaving in the morning anyways. He wasn't planning on sticking around in the area after the fact, so he doubted any consequence they could contrive would reach him once he'd gotten the hell out of Dodge. But he'd eat their food and take their supplies if they were so willing.

Jesse's blood ran cold, gooseflesh prickling at his skin as Gabriel stared him down challengingly. He returned the look with a resolute glare, refusing to let how shaken he truly was show on his face. It was the first time he'd been called soldier.

And it was sitting about as well as spoiled milk.

"If this is your idea of…" Jesse flapped a hand, disgruntled as he shifted the subject, "… of, I don't know, a punishment or somethin', then you're-"

"Enough," Gabriel said sharply as he swept his hood from his head. "You're not here to talk. You're here to learn."

Jesse watched with a sinking feeling in his gut as the older man gestured to the mats. Ignoring every instinct screaming for him to head for the hills, he stepped forward, kicking off his shoes and stepping up, making it clear from his expression that he was hating every second of this… whatever it was. When Gabriel made no move to retrieve the usual omnic dummies they tousled with for warm-ups, he held his hands out to his sides.

"And what'm I supposed to be fightin' this lovely mornin'? Got another Bastion for me? Maybe somethin' deadlier to start of with, huh?" He still didn't believe there wasn't some sort of reprimand at play here, and the longer Gabriel went without acknowledging it, the more on edge Jesse was becoming.

Gabriel wasn't one to mask his feelings often. When he thought you'd said something stupid, he let you know. But all he did now was to slowly stoop into a defensive crouch, his arms raising to rest just in front of his torso. Jesse just stared at him, his chin connecting with his chest. And then Gabriel motioned for him to enter his own fighting stance.

"Oh, you ain't serious."

Gabriel didn't react to Jesse's words whatsoever. Instead, he began to stalk to Jesse's left, forcing the younger man to square up himself and back away in trepidation. He didn't want to have anything to do with this, but he wasn't exactly stupid. If he just stood there, Gabriel would have him flat on his ass before he could so much as sniff.

"The hell is this?" Jesse protested, his feet crossing one over the other as he matched Gabriel slow stride for slow stride.

"What," Gabriel said, still circling, "you forget how to take a punch? How to dish one out?"

Jesse scowled. He knew exactly what the commander was doing, but that didn't stop him from responding all the same. "You know darn well that ain't what I mean. This isn't-"

The brain was a fickle thing sometimes. Entire sequences of the day could be forgotten in favor of something more important, something that demands remembering, and you'd have no say in the decision whatsoever. A long, uneventful drive home. Getting ready in the mornings. Easily forgotten, but certainly not purposefully so. It made room for the things that required your attention, ensuring the brain wouldn't overload on information by the end of the day.

Jesse was convinced he'd forgotten what had just happened before it had actually happened, and while he was no expert, he was pretty sure it was something important enough to need to remember later.

He blinked up at the ceiling, registering the fact that he was on the ground a split second before the pain hit. His arm felt like it had twisted out of its socket, and the longer he stared at nothing, the rest of the last second caught up to him. Gabriel's face appeared, blocking the view. Jesse narrowed his eyes into a glare.

"Ow," he grunted pointedly.

"Get up."

Jesse sat up, using his elbow as a support as he glowered up at Gabriel. "You wake a man in the dead'a night to knock him around and y'think it's not a punishment."

"You think your enemy will care what time it is?" Gabriel sounded thoroughly unimpressed.

"If they're smart," Jesse muttered, levering himself up completely.

He wasn't even on his feet before Gabriel knocked his arm out from under him, his back reconnecting with the floor painfully. The breath left him in a wheeze, and he sat up just as quickly as he'd been knocked down, voice exploding in frustration as he scrambled to his feet.

"What the f-"

"You're brash," Gabriel cut in, as casual as could be as he swung neatly for Jesse's exposed head the moment he had his feet under him. Jesse narrowly raised an arm in time to block the punch. "So you need to know how to fight like you mean it."

Jesse grit his teeth, nearly tripping up on his own feet as he dodged to Gabriel's left to avoid a wild sweep of his foot that would have sent him flying right back to the mat. "I do," he ground out, trying his damndest to not let on how much attention the two simple words took to get out as he dodged Gabriel's expert swipes.

"No, you don't."

Jesse didn't catch the jab to his right cheek in time, and his head snapped to the side as Gabriel's fist brushed him just enough to discombobulate him. He staggered back a step, throwing his arms up to block the secondary punch Gabriel had thrown. Jesse bit back a snarl of frustration, but Gabriel clearly didn't miss the effort it took just to pull up the expression as he increased his offense, bearing down on Jesse's flimsy defense.

"Who're you to tell me that, huh?" Jesse retorted, heat in his voice. "How would you know what I mean and don't mean?"

Jesse lashed out his own leg then, ducking low and aiming for a sucker shot to Gabrie's knees. The commander had clearly seen the move coming, as he danced nimbly out of the way in time to connect his own forearm with Jesse's shin and send him toppling off balance. Jesse bounced away from Gabriel just in time to stand before another onslaught.

"You fight like a cornered animal," Gabriel said. His tone hadn't changed once. He still sounded like he was simply lecturing a particularly bored student, even as his arms and fists flew, his body twisting this way and that. "And that's-" The word was accompanied by a sharp jab to Jesse's ribs, which he only just managed to block with a wild bat of his hand. "-a good way to get yourself killed. You need to know how to protect yourself properly before diving right into the fray."

Jesse didn't respond, but rammed the flat of his palm towards Gabriel's chest with a snarl instead. The man easily caught the hand and spun him on the spot, twisting his arm painfully behind his back. He bit back a wordless yell of anger as Gabriel's voice sounded just beside his ear, the words suddenly sharp and biting compared to his previous tone.

"Are you not listening? Desperation-"

And just like that, Jesse was flipped to the mat again, his back connecting with the ground with a solid slam.

"Never-"

Jesse inhaled sharply and rolled to the side just before Gabriel's heel connected with the mat where his chest had been.

"Works."

He scrambled to his feet again, his ribs twinging from the abuse they'd taken. But he stood tall, panting from the exertion and anger. Gabriel didn't give him a chance to catch his breath, pacing forward almost too fast for Jesse's eyes to track. Jesse's forearms took the brunt of the hits coming his way, and he grit his teeth as sweat rolled down his face. They'd stalked in a circle enough times to lose count of now, and it was all Jesse could do to stay upright as the deluge rained down on him. Gabriel never gave him a chance to switch to offense, and instead bore down on him even harder the moment he so much as hinted he would be shifting away from defense.

Until-

There!

Gabriel had swung wide. His face was completely unprotected as he went for another rib shot he thought Jesse hadn't seen coming, and that nose was just itching to be smashed. Jesse's palm darted for the opening instantly, the sheer irony of the placement making him positively giddy. Gabriel guessed what he was going for a second too late, as his forearm swiftly moved to block the jab. Jesse's other arm batted away the block as his hand finally closed in, and his palm positively rammed into Gabriel's nose as he let out a wild huff of victory, the force enough to snap it from any angle.

But Gabriel just staggered back a step, looking no more than mildly inconvenienced as he wrinkled his nose. It was perfectly fine, and by the look on his face, Jesse would have assumed he was waiting for a traffic light to change rather than recovering from a blow that would have absolutely shattered the cartilage in the nose on an ordinary man. Gabriel's fists rose between them at ready once again, but Jesse's remained where they were dangling at his sides. The commander's eyebrow rose as Jesse made no move to prepare himself for the next volley.

"Something to say?"

Jesse shook his head slowly, his eyes never leaving Gabriel's.

"What," Jesse drawled in quiet disbelief, "the hell are you?"

In the time it took for Jesse to blink, his back was flat on the mat and the breath left his lungs yet again. Gabriel's leg was already retracting from where he'd swept out and tripped him up. He couldn't care less. Rather, he ignored the cheap shot entirely and hefted himself up on his elbows to continue staring. Gabriel allowed himself to fall out of his offensive stance with a begrudging roll of his eyes.

Jesse knew about the SEP. He'd seen the files. He'd heard the talk on base. He'd done his research. There was a whole lot of ambiguity in there, sure, but he got the gist. They'd pumped these people full of something, and after a hell of a lot of touch-and-go, had eventually been successful enough to round up their own particular brand of super soldiers. Just what that meant hadn't occurred to Jesse until now.

The frowning man in front of him was virtually anything but an ordinary soldier.

He was honestly lucky Gabriel hadn't decided to kick his ass earlier.

"You're bleeding." The blunt statement from Gabriel startled Jesse out of his reverie, and he lifted a hand to his face. Sure enough, a smudge of red came away from his nose. He stared at it, miffed. He didn't remember taking a hit to his nose-

"That 'ain't yours' too?"

The question threw him off, and he blinked up at Gabriel dumbly. The commander was crouching in front of him now, his arms draped over his knees much in the same way he'd done during his first verbal knock-out in his Colorado office. The close scrutiny wasn't nearly as unnerving then as it was now.

"What?" Jesse asked, the sound surprisingly thick. He wrinkled his nose, scrubbing his fist beneath it once again. It came away just as red as it had before.

"I thought I told you to get checked out," Gabriel said bluntly in lieu of elaborating.

Jesse rolled his eyes, making it a point to wipe the blood from his hand as discreetly as possible. Right before smackin' me around like a friggin' ragdoll, sure. "I did. By the Butcher."

Gabriel's eyes flickered at that, but whatever may have been there disappeared too quickly for Jesse to catch. The knowledge that Dr. O'Deorain was at play seemed to be enough to dismiss the topic for now, but he looked between Jesse's eyes quietly as the kid scrubbed the last of the blood from his lip.

"Why didn't you shoot?"

Jesse's forehead wrinkled. "I did shoot," he said in confusion. "Awful lot, in case you're forgettin'."

"You stopped," Gabriel pointed out frankly. "You had a rifle. And you didn't use it."

The memory came back to Jesse then, and he cringed somewhat. He hadn't thought twice about it during the moment, but using a gun as a club and then promptly ditching it when there were still enemies present probably had looked odd. But the alternative had been unacceptable, and he wasn't about to explain that to Gabriel.

"Didn't think it made a difference," he said instead, sniffing wetly. "They were dead."

And just like that, Gabriel's expression shuttered. "They were n-"

"Aw, hell, spare me!" Jesse exclaimed, tossing a hand in the air in exasperation. He was not in the mood to run this circle again. "Of all'a you clowns I expected you to at least acknowledge-"

"There's nothing to acknowledge-"

"-even is the point of this, then, really, you just felt like kickin' my ass? 'Cause I sure as hell ain't learnin'. Is that all this-"

"God damn it, Jesse!"

The sudden use of his first name would have been enough to shut him up, but the shout that accompanied it did the trick in the end. Jesse stared up at the commander, dumbstruck into silence. Gabriel's expression had finally shifted, and he was not happy.

"There are things," the commander growled, voice low, "that we do not discuss. And there are things that will lead you down roads you don't want to go down here. These things happen to coexist."

Jesse had no response, but even if he had, Gabriel would have continued all the same. "You might not want to believe it, but I know you. I've seen you before. Your kind, hundreds of thousands of times out there. You may have gotten your ass on board the Bird and managed to keep it there, but don't think for a second that means you're in a position to be demanding things you know nothing about. You're still a cadet whether you like it or not, and I know you've got instincts, so damn well use them and drop whatever it is you're trying to chase here before it-"

"Apologies," Athena's smooth voice filled the room with a suddenness that made Jesse jump, nothing about her tone even hinting she would wait for a reply before continuing. "But I must interrupt. Agent McCree's presence has been requested immediately on the seventh floor."

Gabriel and Jesse both looked up at that, the mild surprise on the commander's face doing little to convince Jesse he'd heard her wrong.

"Wh- now?" Jesse asked with an incredulous glance at the clock hanging over the door on the far wall. It was not quite four in the morning, and yet-

To his surprise, Athena sounded slightly confused as well. "That is correct, yes."

Gabriel's eyes were still on the ceiling, his brows knit tightly together. At Athena's prolonged silence after her confirmation, he looked back to Jesse, his stare trained solely on the last of the blood smudged across his face. It didn't take much to know he wasn't pleased with this new development, nor had he expected it.

"Who's asking, Athena?" Gabriel asked gruffly. Jesse wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer. There was a long pause before Athena clarified.

"Commander Morrison, sir."

Chapter Text

It was an unspoken rule that Route 66 was not turf for the taking. There were croppings of gang activity along it, of course, but the road was over two thousand miles long to begin with. There wasn't a gang in existence that could handle monitoring it, let alone defending it, and the impracticality of claiming it in its entirety just never felt the need to be addressed. You'd have to be either dead stupid or downright ballsy to try for it.

But this was the world of people who'd seen mountains that may well have met the sky and thought hey, dibs.

The R6 arrived in a ball of absolute hellfire, all guns and hovercars blazing straight from Chicago to Los Angeles. They were about as picky as starving hyenas when it came to who they allowed entry into their infant gang. Before anyone could so much as spit they'd multiplied tenfold, picking up strays and setting up stations of command as they cut their way across the United States. Seven months was all it had taken for them to rise to their peak, and without further ado, Route 66 had been claimed.

Something about the impending threat of war keeps you from noticing something that enormous right away.

The Deadlock Rebels had been around for much longer than the R6. They were etched into the very rock that surrounded them, the canyon walls marked in their name on maps and crossed off on many in red as a blight on existence. Their reputation preceded them, whether in good favor or bad, and they were left to their own devices for far too long, their confidence growing disproportionate to their size. Competition wasn't exactly readily available in their little alley, after all. But their lack of contenders was easily mistaken for complacency by the new kids in town when the R6 decided to make a grab for the canyon. It was a vital passageway of Route 66, after all, and to own it was to control the flow of the very road itself.

The R6 tried encroaching on Deadlock Gorge a grand total of once in their early days before they'd lost enough members to realize that may not have been the best idea.

They kept themselves separate for the most part as they settled into their turf, but as the months rolled on and the two competed for resources and contacts, tensions only grew. There wasn't a gang in the South that didn't despise the R6 for breaking the one golden rule they held among themselves, none more so than the Deadlock Rebels. They were losing business fast as the enormity of the R6's reach found its way to the ears of their clients, but there was hardly anything they could do themselves to prevent it. The odd skirmish here and there did little in the grand scheme of things. The funnel of resources the new gang had was impossibly large, and taking out one group of lowlife was ultimately useless when you knew a new leader would be dropped back in their place the next week.

The government announced a state of emergency as the first true Omnic Crisis began full swing.

And the R6 remained.

They were careful, horrendously careful with their information. Three years into their inception and they had yet to show their hand. But with the little wrench that was the Crisis thrown into the mix, lips started to loosen under stress. A gang's integrity was only as good as its weakest link, and if there was any word to link to Route 66 on the advent of the omnium war, it was weak.

It had been Deadlock who ultimately found out the reason they'd become such a force to reckon with so ungodly fast. A few pleasantries, a careful choice of rookie from the diner, a few offered drinks and flashes of a switchblade, and in the end that had been all it had taken to get the kid to spill the beans. The skirmishes diminished after that little encounter as they'd finally found a way to tip things back in their favor. A well-placed bribe, a few offers of favors in return for backing off. The R6 had been careful about betraying their parentage up until those last three months leading into the downfall of the Deadlocks, and it turned out they had damn good reason.

After all, when you had the mafia in your back pocket, the world was your oyster.

HQ's seventh floor resembled more of a ghost town than an office bullpen as Jesse stepped slowly out of the elevator. Anyone with an ounce of sanity wouldn't be awake for another hour or two at least.

The gentle ding of the elevator doors disappeared into the still corners of the corridor, and he found himself holding his breath to keep the quiet as long as he could. The sun still had yet to even consider rising, the weak light of the half moon fighting valiantly to be seen through the few windows left unscreened. The dim glow of the after-hours security lights won out, casting eerie shadows across closed doors and carving a watery path through the unfamiliar turf.

If the universe tried to be any more obvious about the kind of trouble he was walking into it would've had to up and throw a neon arrow reading "THIS WAY TO YOUR IMMINENT ASS KICKING."

He wasn't sure how much time passed before he finally moved forward, every step carefully measured as he ran his eyes over the names on each door. Athena had said he'd need to make his way to the seventh floor, but she'd left it at that in her ever-so-helpful manner. Jesse was by no means familiar with the executive's floor (and he would've been more than happy to never be), so he took his time, squinting in the low light at each plaque he passed.

Carver, Simmons, Kaddour, Liao, McNamara, Chen-

Jesse frowned as one door after the next slid past him. He was beginning to sincerely wonder if it would have been better for Gabriel to tag along just to point him in the right direction. Not that he necessarily wanted the man present for what was about to happen.

Gabriel'd already made it plenty clear that whatever happened next was on Jesse anyways. This isn't my cross to bear, kid, he'd said, tossing Jesse a gymnasium towel to mop the blood off of his face. You made your bed. Time to lay in it. One last searching look and a short command to find him in the canteen after the meeting had been all Gabriel had left him with.

On the one hand, Jesse wasn't too concerned. Morrison had been the one to stare him down back on the tarmac, after all.

But on the other hand, that was all he'd done: stare. Jesse was already 1 for 1 on misreading looks for this mission alone, so he very well could have read that wrong too. For all he knew, he was about to be fired. Or discharged, he guessed. Or whatever the fancy military word was for terminated-on-the-spot. The details really didn't matter to him.

Jesse turned a corner and resisted the urge to groan as he came upon another stretch of doors that wound its way far into the distance. Back to squinting and scanning, then. Would a firing squad get bored and dismiss itself if their target was late enough?

He was halfway down the row of offices when he heard them.

The voices were quiet, but after searching in deathly silence, they may as well have been shouting in Jesse's ear. He paused, pinpointing their source several doors down. It was one of the few he could see that still had a light on beneath it.

"-ow something about this?"

Jesse slowed to a halt. That was Doctor Ziegler's voice. From what he'd understood, she was supposed to be in the field. His brow furrowed on its own accord as he shifted closer and strained to hear more, disgruntled. If he could've avoided a trip to Dr. O'Deorain entirely, he was going to have some words.

And somebody was going to hear them.

But Dr. Ziegler sounded stricken at the moment, and that alone gave Jesse pause as he stopped several feet away from the closed door. It was Winston's voice that answered her question.

"I wish I knew," he was saying. He sounded just as unhappy as Angela, if not more. "I really do. But that's not important right now. What is is the timing-"

Jesse crouched lower against the wall, his breathing steady and slow as he tried to make himself less of a target. He doubted anyone would happen to be out for a stroll to catch him in the act this early, but if both the doctor and Winston were awake, he wasn't about to take any chances.

"Not important?" Dr. Ziegler cut Winston off incredulously, her words sharp. "Winston, you're not serious."

A rumbling sigh made it through the closed door, and it was so visceral Jesse could almost see the weariness on Winston's face in his mind's eye. "Dead so." He didn't sound like he wanted to continue the conversation any further, but he clearly felt obligated. "Luther didn't find anything wrong with the old system in Spain aside from the missing launch codes. The new one's up for everything but dispatch, comms, and the medical database. Now you can't tell me-"

Slam!

A door down the hallway had swung shut with a force that jolted Jesse so hard his knees almost buckled, and he scrambled to his feet with all the grace of a drunken deer as the echo gave way to clicking shoes. The buzz returned to his ears, already beginning to fade as quickly as it had appeared as he hurried several paces down the hall in a light haze of pink. A string of profanity bounced around his head as he tried his absolute hardest (and failed his absolute worst) to keep quiet.

He didn't make it far before a flash of a name caught his eye in his rush, and he ground to a halt, his heart still in his throat. There it was, bright and bronze beneath the fading glow of red.

Strike Commander J. Morrison.

The door itself was shut, a soft light glowing beneath it. Jesse pointedly ignored it in favor of staring down the dim corridor as a man appeared at the end of the hall, his nose buried in something or rather as he slowly made his way to Lord only knew where. He gave no indication whatsoever that he knew Jesse was even there, his feet shuffling quietly as his eyes ticked over the tablet in his hand.

Jesse watched him inch along with a frown. There was no way in hell he'd be able to eavesdrop as long as the newcomer was moseying on through, and going by the snail's pace the agent had set for himself, the conversation would be long over before he had another chance to try sneaking back to it. The tickle of fading pressure at the back of his eye after the startle wasn't exactly boding well, either. His frown deepened.

There went his last excuse for putting this off.

Jesse shook himself, the heavy weight leaving his throat and re-settling in his stomach. He'd been preparing for this exact moment for days now, and yet here he still stalled, nails idly scraping across the itch of his palm.

Just get it over with, Jesse. No point draggin' it out.

He'd barely knocked twice before a voice called from inside.

"It's open."

Commander Morrison was seated at his desk, but as Jesse closed the door behind him, he didn't appear to have been preoccupied by anything. The commander had his hands folded into his elbows, his arms planted on the near-empty table, looking for all the world like a man simply waiting on a bartender to slide an old-fashioned his way. A pristine black coat was draped over the back of his chair, and Jesse raised a brow at the crisp shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows.

Goin' somewhere, or  been  somewhere?

The commander sat back, his hands loosely falling on top of each other. "Not the longest I've had someone wait to knock on my door, but a lesser man would be insulted, Agent McCree."

Jesse did not respond.

Morrison waved a hand to the chair opposite him. "I'd say 'at ease,'" he said with a pointed look to Jesse's slouched posture, "but we'll settle for 'sit.'"

Jesse only hesitated for a second before doing as he was told, suddenly overwhelmed with an uncomfortable self-awareness now that they were on eye level with one another. Him in his raggedy training sweats, all bruises and scars and four-day-stubble, hair still plastered back on his head with sweat. The commander had loosened his tie a bit, but aside from that and his folded sleeves, he was the picture of military precision. Starched shirt, coiffed hair, and Jesse didn't doubt that if he peeked, he'd find shoes outshining gunmetal.

They hadn't even begun talking yet and Jesse couldn't shake the feeling that he'd already lost somehow.

Morrison hadn't looked away from Jesse for a second, and Jesse had the distinct impression of a buzzard waiting for roadkill to up and croak. He didn't seem like he was in a rush to wring Jesse's neck, so he pressed his luck and nodded to Morrison's getup, running a hand over his own head unconsciously.

"Get all prettied up jus' for me?" He asked, gesturing to the shirtsleeves. "And at this hour? Ain't that a bit forward?"

Morrison glanced idly over his shoulder to the suit jacket. Jesse hadn't exactly expected a smile for the snark, which was all good and fine, as he got a frown instead.

"Funerals tend to call for a certain decorum."

Jesse's fingers paused in his hair, and he watched long and hard for any sign that Jack was testing him again. The commander's face was unreadable. Jesse pointedly looked away, letting his hand fall to his knee.

"Wouldn't know 'bout that."

Morrison said nothing. He seemed content to watch McCree fidget for the moment, so Jesse took advantage and glanced around the room to avoid having to follow up that little conversation stopper. The office itself was large, if not surprisingly modest for a commanding officer. The gleaming white surfaces of the counters and desk would have undoubtedly been a sight to behold during the daytime when the sun would pierce through the window that spanned the entirety of the opposite wall.

But for now, in the glow of the single lamp on Morrison's desk, they were dull and lifeless. Steely fixtures of silver and grey lined the room, the odd scenic holograph tastefully accenting the walls here and there. A frame filled to bursting with medals and honors hung over his head like an afterthought, and four plush chairs faced off against one another over a small glass table in a sitting area further to their left. Jesse eyed the crystal decanter half-full of amber liquid and lack of clean glasses on the serving tray that sat beside it. The commander had entertained recently, then.

Jesse didn't need three guesses as to who.

A short, hollow laugh came from Morrison then, and Jesse turned his observations forward once again. The commander was looking out into the dark past the window.

"Anthony Ganivent. Nineteen years old. Fresh out of a mid-west family three times the size of any troop I've ever overseen." He paused, a finger tapping idly on the back of his hand. "Some of the sharpest wits I've seen in a soldier his age. Sharp tongue, too. Well on his way to a promising career with us."

Morrison's eyes slid away from the window to meet Jesse's.

"I folded his casket's flag for his family personally today. His, and thirteen others."

There was nothing Jesse had to say in response to that.

Well. That wasn't entirely true.

There were several things. He knew what he was gettin' into being the first. Or did he? You draft him too? Did you care how old the other thirteen were? Would it have mattered? And the one that itched the fiercest on his tongue:

'Least they got caskets.

Jesse sat in uncomfortable silence, hardly risking shifting as Jack continued to tap away at his hand. The commander shook his head after a long minute. "I was younger than him when I joined," he continued, giving a long, hard look to the medals holding silent vigil above them. "I had just as many chances to go down. But here we are."

There was a subtle emphasis on the we, but Jesse gave no indication that he'd caught it. He simply continued to sit in silence, waiting to see just what exactly Morrison was driving at. It didn't take much longer as Morrison's hand stilled, unfolding to press onto the desk.

Here we go.

The commander opened his mouth, and Jesse lined up his well-practiced arguments in his head, bracing for the consequences he knew were coming. In my defense, sir, y'did give me a look, and that's basically askin' me outright, and that means I was technically doin' what I did on your orders, which means-

"You got folks you remember before Deadlock?"

Jesse could practically hear the gears in his head grind to a halt. The only thing that made it from his brain to his mouth was a blank, "Huh?"

"Family," Morrison clarified. "I read your file. You weren't born into the Rebels. You know your history before you joined up?"

Jesse eyed Morrison warily. For a couple of seconds, it was all he could do as his brain backpedaled.

Gabriel had asked him the same thing all those weeks ago. He'd been cuffed to a chair and breathing through a broken nose then, but somehow that situation had felt less dangerous than the one he was in now. Not that it really mattered one way or the other.

Because really, aside from the odd voice, distant pieces of conversations here and there, faces in a crowd he could have sworn he'd seen before, Jesse didn't remember much of his family.

It used to bother him, a long time ago. Holidays were a bit awkward when he'd been in that odd limbo between finding shelter. When everyone and their mother felt the need to pry into his business out of that odd spark of charity that only seemed to exist at very particular points of the year. Don't you have a family to get home to, they'd said with all the good intention in the world as they'd seen a scrap of a kid shivering on the street, I'm sure your folks are worried sick you're out this late.

What's it to you, he should have said. Both to those who asked him then and now.

"M'family tree is more of a shrub, if we're bein' honest," he said instead under Morrison's searching stare.

A hum was all the commander offered him in return before he lapsed back into silence. Jesse's eyes wandered to his left once again as the quiet threatened to suffocate him, and Jack spoke sharply the moment they left his.

"You're not stupid, Agent McCree."

Jesse blinked, the sudden shift throwing him off kilter. "Well, gee, thanks," he replied drily.

"But damn if you haven't done an incredible job convincing just about everyone otherwise."

"'s that supposed to mean?"

The commander lifted a hand, ticking off numbers in an odd, lilting way so characteristic of Gabriel that Jesse couldn't help but wonder who'd started the little practice first.

"Pleading errand boy in interrogation. Slinking around in off-limits sectors. Asking the judge at your trial for his sister's phone number. Fumbling group simulations designed for agents a quarter of your displayed skill level on the Field." Morrison paused there, the fifth finger rising as he watched Jesse carefully. "Throwing yourself into an engaged helo."

To be completely honest with himself, Jesse was impressed.

The amount of runaround the commander had taken to get to this point was astounding.

But here they were now, and Jesse felt himself sitting up straighter despite himself. That little line of arguments came popping back up one by one in his head, starting back up as if they hadn't been knocked right out of line earlier. In all honesty, sir-

In all…

In…

In all honesty, he just couldn't find it in himself to give a shit.

Here's-what-I-think-of-you-and-your-good-for-nothing-board is what should have come out.

"Okay," Jesse said instead.

Morrison's eyebrow ticked slightly upwards at that, but his composure remained astoundingly intact as he regarded Jesse. When it was clear that was all Jesse was offering, the commander shook his head.

"That's not an answer."

"I didn't hear a question."

Morrison turned his attention back out the window, his eyes tracking something Jesse couldn't see in the darkness. The beat-down Gabriel had just dished out was still fresh on his mind, and Jesse was uncomfortably reminded that Commander Morrison had undergone the same treatment that Gabriel had.

"Having Reyes interrogate you was my decision." Morrison didn't sound entirely happy about that, but he followed it up with, "One of the arguably better ones I've made."

"Wait," Jesse interjected with a raised hand. "I seen this in the movies. This the part where y'get me to ask you 'why?'"

"You already have the answer."

"If you tell me it was inside me all along, I'm leavin'."

"I said," Morrison began quietly, "you're not stupid, McCree."

Well, gee, that just clears all that right on up, don't it?

"It's good, sometimes," Morrison continued, idly running his thumb over his knuckle as he stared past Jesse to the door behind him. "Getting the world to underestimate you makes it that much easier to get away with whatever the hell you want. But you're not in New Mexico anymore."

"Tell me you got a point somewhere in here." It was a monumental effort at cutting to the chase so Jesse's heart could stop beating quite so loud in his ears, all disguised under ten layers of apathy. "I'm runnin' on two hours of sleep and wanna get back to punchin' the other guy who woke me up."

"You weren't the first to figure out the benefits to playing the role people expect you to have."

Jesse stared long and hard before lowering his head to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Could this really not have waited until the sun was up?"

"Do you know why Commander Reyes was chosen to lead Blackwatch?" Morrison asked, blatantly ignoring any and all of Jesse's attempts at derailing the conversation.

"Sure," Jesse grunted. "Y'kicked him off his high horse 'cause you liked the view up there yourself."

A glimmer of something- regret? - came and went from the commander's face at that, but he'd schooled himself lightning fast.

"He was chosen because he's the only one of us who can do what needs to be done to make Blackwatch work."

Jesse moved to speak again, but Morrison did not give him the chance to cut in this time.

"You've seen it firsthand," he said, gesturing towards Jesse's ragged appearance. "He knows how people think, how they work. And he knows how to get them to think what he wants them to think without them ever being aware of it. He pits people against themselves, and they'll live out the rest of their lives never knowing it. That is the commander Blackwatch requires. You're not an idiot, and he knows that. But he sure as hell knows how to play you like one if you give him the chance, and you'd never know the full extent of the consequences."

Jesse could practically feel his brain warping in on itself. First a gym session, now psychology. There better be a continental breakfast at the end of this one.

Morrison's fingers resumed tapping the back of his fist as he gathered his thoughts, his brow furrowed.

"I barely know what he's doing anymore," he confessed, "but that's not half as bad as him not knowing. Half of the reports that come across my desk are blatant lies, and I know for a fact he isn't about to stop. He's gotten into so many heads he doesn't know what to do with his own."

And then Morrison looked at Jesse.

That look, that one right there was quite possibly the worst thing he had ever been pinned with in his life. It was a command, an order- but also a question, a request, something so genuinely human beneath the cold facade all rolled up into one terrible, terrible glance. Jesse had to resist the urge to clock him in the nose just to make it go away.

"But pitting you against yourself in his usual way may as well pit him against himself," Morrison went on, nose intact and expression holding at several steady levels of 'bad.' "He sees something in you that confuses him, and he doesn't like to be confused. You're a problem he doesnt have the answers pre-planned to."

Pre-planned.

Do you want me on this?

Guess we'll find out.

Guess we'll find out, Gabriel had said. Not once did Jesse even consider that the commander may have been just as surprised by his answer as Jesse had been.

"If he's going to get back to leading his team properly," Morrison was continuing, "he's going to need to sort his head out and learn to deal with problems he can't force his own solutions to."

Jesse squinted, trying desperately to pick the commander's diatribe apart. "Are… I think y'just blamed me for screwin' with Reyes' head… but also… helpin' fix it?"

"Not blaming," Morrison said bluntly. "Stating."

"Whatever," Jesse waved him off. "So y'want him back to… whatever it was he was doing before I crashed the party. The hell are we talkin' for, then?"

Morrison just stared. Jesse read the look loud and clear.

"Because I'm not an idiot, right, been over that one, thanks. But it ain't an answer. Not one you'd need me here for at the crack'a dawn."

"Drastic measures are what he knows," Morrison said. "He's forced to plan more carefully in the future when things don't go as he expected. He's been pupeteering for so long now, he hasn't had to prepare for anything unexpected since before Blackwatch. And you… well, you're anything but predictable."

Unpredictable. Drastic.

The runt's a damn live wire, get him outta here 'fore he kills another one of my boys-

Like hell, he's doin' the R6 a favor they ain't ever 'bout to forget, y'hear me? Nothin' that those Rebels'd ever-

"So, lemme get this straight," Jesse said, brow pinched. "You're tryna tell me I'm smart, unpredictable, and"—he threw jagged air quotes— "drastic."

Morrison just looked at him.

"And you want that around?"

"Why did you jump, Jesse?" Morrison asked in lieu of answering.

Because you looked at me funny sounded about as dumb in his head as it would out loud. He gave the commander a long, level look. "Maybe I just had to meet my do somethin' stupid quota for the day," he said pointedly.

The corners of the commander's lips pulled taut. It was the closest Jesse ever thought he'd come to seeing the man smile.

"You and Gabriel are a lot more alike than you'd like to think. Keep an eye on that."

"But of course," Morrison continued abruptly, shifting the topic, "this conversation never happened. I just called you up here to retrieve these before you started your day's duties."

Huh?

Morrison pushed his chair back a bit as Jesse eyed him warily, stooping to rummage for something beneath his desk. When he straightened, he had a small, sleek box in his hands, alongside the bulky, tattered form of-

A wordless exclamation left Jesse despite his best efforts, the relief in that single noise readable even by a blind man. Jack picked up on it plain enough, as he raised an eyebrow and shook the thing in his hands emphatically.

The Stetson was a bit rumpled from its impromptu trip, but appeared to otherwise be none the worse for wear. Jesse eyed the commander with caution as he took it from the man, none of the right words finding their way to his mouth. The commander took care of that for him in the end.

"I'd give that one a by from here on out," he said. "If you want to keep it, of course."

Something in Jesse's head released at those few short words, the final confirmation he hadn't been getting outright at any point in their little conversation. Morrison had danced around them expertly, but with that—

"'Here on out'-?"

"Got a request to process something the day you left," Jack went on, ignoring him as he slid the box across the desk. "Given your position entering Overwatch, you qualify for one only with the consent and supervision of a commanding officer. Captain Amari was…. very specific in her order."

Jesse took the box wordlessly. He slid the lid away, opening the little package to blink at—

Himself.

His baffled reflection stared back up at him from the shiny black of a small touchscreen, warping as his fingers pried the phone from its cushion. He tilted it in his hand, the weight unfamiliar to him as it flipped over.

There was a dinky little Sherrif's star etched into the back.

"It's up to date, all you'll need to do is turn it on," Morrison said, watching as Jesse shook his head at the little insignia. "I don't think I have to tell you these things are monitored."

Jesse didn't turn it on. He pocketed it, sliding the box back to Jack. "Nah, y'don't. But if you're givin' me this-"

"Last point of business. Report to the mess at 1500 hours for standard kitchen patrol in place of your current 1500 designation. Do you understand?"

"I… yeah. Yeah, but-"

"Then that will be all, agent," Morrison said, his focus shifting back out the window. "You're dismissed."

Thunder on a sunny day would have taken Jesse less off guard.

Here he'd been, working himself up for hours, for days— and one of the highest commanding officers on base had called him in to tell him he was being kept around for the exact reasons he'd expected to be thrown out for.

And then he'd given him a gift.

They say nothing good happens after one AM, but here he was, a living, breathing dichotomy if there ever was one. Jesse wasn't about to question whatever good graces Morrison seemed to be giving him, so he stood without another word, the chair scraping back noisily. He'd made it to the door before Morrison spoke up.

"Wait."

Jesse stalled in the doorway, hand already braced on the knob.

"You owe me something," the commander said, his gaze still on the gently lightening mountains beyond the base. Jesse turned back to him in full, not bothering to mask his fresh bout of suspicion.

The catch. Of course.

"I got nothin' to give 'n you know it."

Morrison looked up only then. "I think you do," he replied mildly. His hands steepled in front of his face, and he tilted them towards Jesse after a short pause. "Green light lists and hard candy bring up some rough results online."

Time inched past as Jesse faltered, surprised. Already it felt like that first encounter of theirs had taken place years in the past as opposed to less than a month's time. Either way, Morrison was waiting expectantly on a response and didn't have the look of a man willing to leave without one.

"Means…"

He could give the commander what he wanted.

Or he could lie.

It was a viable option. He hadn't been kidding, he really didn't have much to give. And the kind of information he was asking for wasn't exactly meant for ears outside of the gang. But then again…

Certain amounts of deception factored into everyday life in Deadlock Gorge, but despite all efforts, there were some things you just couldn't lie about without drawing attention. There was little honor among their particular brand of thieves, but brutal honesty usually let you live a little longer than those who preferred to weasel their way through their numbered days. Masks and charades made for better party games than lifestyles, and it had long since come to pass in the gorge that if something looked like a duck, quacked like a duck, and acted like a duck, then it was a duck.

Jesse came from a place where ducks were ducks and men were paranoid.

He shrugged.

"Means I was up for murder."

Morrison sat in silence as the seconds limped by. That one sentence clearly wouldn't be enough for him, as he rotated a hand in a silent go on. Jesse returned it with an open palmed what can you do of his own.

"Green Lights are only… uh, lit by the boss. Anybody coulda cashed in on the killin' and they'd get off free. No retaliation from Rebels or anyone else." He paused, searching for the right words before continuing slowly. "You get tagged for hard candy, only your gang knows. You pissed 'em off. Them'n'only them get to take you out. But if you get the Green Light, 's open season from anyone. Rebels, R6s, S Nation, Hawkers, didn't matter."

Morrison was silent. Jesse ignored the pink at the edge of his vision.

"So it wasn't usual," Morrison finally said. He'd taken all of that in surprising stride, his face just as impassive as it had been before.

"You had to do somethin' real special to piss that many people off," Jesse agreed.

"How many names were on this list?"

Jesse couldn't help the snort that escaped him. "Only seven ever made it on the one runnin' for all Route 66 as long as Deadlock's been 'round that I know of." He paused. "Two were left when you stepped in. Y'all killed one during your little raid. That leaves one."

The commander hummed under his breath. Jesse didn't doubt he was filing that bit of information away for later. "And how long have you…?"

The rest of the sentence went unsaid, and Jesse shot the man an incredulous look before he could think better of it. It was the kind of question you never asked in the gang. It didn't matter how long someone had been on a list. All that mattered was the fact that they were there.

They'd done something unforgivable, even by the disgustingly low standards most of the surrounding gangs held. The Green Light was a death sentence, and it was expected to be carried out immediately. Folks on it never lasted long, let alone got their names off of the list without kicking the bucket. At most, he'd heard #5 had gone for almost seven months before they'd finally taken her down. She'd lived the longest out of all the others Jesse had known.

Commander Morrison was still staring at him, waiting patiently for the answer. Jesse looked away for a long moment before meeting his eye, his brow furrowed.

Whatever.

This wasn't Deadlock, and he had nothing to gain or lose over something so trivial. His information was his here, which meant it was his to give and his to keep as he pleased.

He'd be lying if he said it wasn't the tiniest bit exhilarating.

"I been Green goin' on three years."

It had been about five months since there'd been any attempts on his life, and even more time between the last instance before that. They were usually by outsiders, newcomers to the surrounding gangs itching to prove themselves one way or another. And a three year green light was the perfect hand to scratch that itch. Enough of the rest of the gangs had the sense to think on just why it was such a long light.

It took an awful lot to stab Jesse McCree in the back, and even more to shoot him point blank. It had taken three years for most people to stop trying.

Jesse had seen rocks show more emotion than the commander did now. Morrison simply kept tapping away against the back of his hand, expression as stiff as the dress shirt he wore.

"Before you go," Morrison said out of the blue, "it's not every day you see a new country. What did you think of Moscow?"

Jesse wasn't sure what he expected, but that certainly wasn't it.

It was a choppy attempt at a topic shift, but it had worked. He'd said it much like he'd asked a dog what are you eating? Nothing about it even hinted that he didn't know the truth behind their little joyride to the Falkland Islands.

He weighed his options as he stared down at the rumpled hat in his hands.

Half of the things that come across my desk are blatant lies, and I know for a fact he isn't about to stop.

Jesse slipped his hat back onto its rightful place, tipping it up in time to catch the commander's eye.

"It was cold," he said, thumbing a bit of dirt off of the edge of the Stetson. "Sir."

Gabriel had a half eaten pile of hash browns in front of him, his gym clothes having been swapped for his usual fatigues and his hair slicked back from the shower that Jesse so desperately needed himself. Reyes was speaking before Jesse had even had the chance to announce his presence.

"Your head's still connected to your neck, so I'm assuming it went well." He paused just long enough to look up from his plate and raise a disbelieiving eyebrow at the Stetson. "You just have an endless stash of those somewhere or are you really that damn lucky?"

Jesse snorted, falling easily onto the bench across from Gabriel. It was just early enough for the canteen to be near empty, an occasional agent scattered here or there and talking in low mutters as they geared up to start their day. Odd glances were being thrown Gabriel's way now and again. As a man who generally kept to himself during meals, his silent presence was rivaling a Sasquatch sighting.

Jesse didn't grace Reyes with a response as he snagged an untouched apple from a small basket further down the empty table. Loathe as he was to admit it, his pride was still stinging along with his ribs from their little talk that morning. As it was, he'd almost bypassed this meeting entirely. But Athena's promise of polite, insistent badgering had seen to it that the thought didn't go very far. Still, if the commander really wanted to know what had happened on the seventh floor, he'd have to work for it.

It took a minute, but he didn't disappoint.

"Y'know, for the amount you harp on me about interrogating you, you sure seem to like it," Gabriel said after his short glances had led into long glances had led into outright staring.

Jesse ran his hands back over his head, the bland look he gave the man losing some of its effect as they pulled his skin taut. He remained silent.

"You're actually going to make me ask." At the continued silence, Gabriel rolled his eyes skyward and leaned in conspiratally, speaking in a dramatic whisper. "Animal, vegetable, or minera-"

"He's been buryin' people all night."

There hadn't been much of a spark in Gabriel's eye to begin with, but what little that had been there flickered out as he sat back to regard Jesse from a distance. The seconds limped by before his eyes wandered to a point just over Jesse's shoulder.

"Hm."

"Wanted to warn me about what I'm doin'. Where I'll end up if I keep doin' it."

"How noble. Couldn't wait to do that during the day?"

"You didn't," Jesse deflected, letting his resentment drip thickly from each word. Gabriel pointedly ignored him. He clearly wasn't about to get back into that conversation. Jesse took a needlessly aggressive bite from the apple and chewed thoughfully for a moment. "He asked what I thought of Moscow."

"And?"

"Told him everything."

Gabriel's fork paused halfway to his mouth. It resumed its course after a second. "I hear R&D has a new bare-bones bot they need tested on the Field."

"I'm kidding."

"I'm not."

Jesse glared over his apple, some sense of spite spurring him to keep talking. "He gave me a phone, too."

Gabriel gave him a look that clearly said he didn't believe him.

"Captain Amari told him to," Jesse said, hand digging into his pocket to waggle the little touch screen on display.

"Amari? What's she got to do with anything?"

"She's been teaching me on the range while you've been out doin' whatever the hell it is you do."

"Huh. You're just charming people left and right, aren'tcha?" Gabriel sounded more impressed than he'd probably wanted to. Given that sounded just a smidge more interested than his usual tone, it wasn't much to begin with.

"If this is charmed, I'm concerned."

They lapsed into silence as they chewed, Gabriel's expression a little too thoughtful for Jesse's liking. The sun had begun to peek through the windows, the angle perfectly bouncing the light directly into Jesse's eyes. He squinted, annoyed, and by the time he'd shifted away from the light, Gabriel had come to some sort of decision.

"When's she been teaching you?"

"Th'rsd' morn'n'," Jesse mumbled around a mouthful. He swallowed noisily. "Only got the one lesson in 'fore F- uh, Moscow."

Gabriel's fork clattered onto the plate as he finished the last of his breakfast. "She take the whole five hours you got before lunch?"

Jesse watched his face carefully. He didn't like where this was going.

"Nah, just the one."

"Give me the phone."

"Get your own."

"McCree."

He did so reluctantly, watching as Gabriel powered the little screen up. A few short swipes and taps later and he was handing it back to Jesse, a small calendar of duties and daily tasks on display.

"You'll meet me for two of those five hours for hand-to-hand."

"Oh, come on-"

"Just because you don't feel like telling me what actually happened up there doesn't mean you're off free, either, by the way. Morrison might not have kicked your ass, but I saw that 1500 KP override he forced on your schedule. I'd be mad if I hadn't been thinking of doing it myself."

Jesse blinked. "KP?"

"Kitchen," Gabriel clarified cooly. "You only get KP when you piss off a higher officer. Everyone learns that early on."

Of all the impressions he'd gotten from Morrison, "pissed off" was not one of them. Bemused, Jesse looked over to the little window leading into the kitchen, noticing the other soldiers working away behind the scenes there for the first time. His forehead pinched.

"I didn't know that."

"Explains why you'll be peeling potatoes then, don't it?"

Jesse ignored the barb, too far into his own head to bother responding. The commander had been anything but angry from what he could tell. Hell, he'd inadvertantly praised Jesse's wit more than he'd done anything else. But overriding Gabriel's calendar to shove him on KP, an act meant as punishment—

—marking it plain on his schedule, where Gabriel would be forced to see it. And inevitably come to his own conclusions about the meeting—

Jesse looked back to Gabriel, careful to keep his face schooled.

What was that about playing people against themselves, Commander?

"You need to work on your technique whether you like it or not," Gabriel said, forging on ahead without preamble, "and I'm not letting you anywhere near a helo pad until I know you can keep your face off the mat for more than five seconds."

"I already have hand-to-hand on Thursdays. The whole afternoon is for punchin' shit, why make it my mornin' too?"

"Because you're not punching me."

Jesse grumbled into another bite of apple, the crunch obnoxiously loud.

And somebody on the other side of the canteen dropped their food tray, the clatter slamming through the silence with enough force to wake the dead.

The apple fell from Jesse's hand as he startled along with the rest of the canteen, but as the others acknowledged the cause and moved on, he clapped his palms over his ears, the ringing he'd been sweeping under the carpet spiking to a peak before fading instantly. Pink gave way to red gave way to black as he slammed his eyes shut, his muscles tightening as his body refused to get the message that he was in virtually no danger.

It was over in a second.

The thrill of it ebbed as quickly as it had appeared as the lack of a weapon in his hand registered— just as it had in the hallway on the seventh floor— and he was quickly left with nothing but the adrenaline in his veins.

But it took too long, too long to remember who he was in the presence of.

He squinted warily, but when he saw only the warm yellow of the canteen, he blinked in full, the hands over his ears lowering as the ringing faded back to a dull buzz.

Gabriel was staring at him.

The commander's expression was unreadable, and he only moved when Jesse opened his eyes, his own ticking between Jesse's. Every inch of focus the man had was zeroed in on Jesse's face, and if the burning hadn't come from the flush of embarrasment Jesse knew was creeping in, he could have convinced himself that the stare was frying his skin clean off.

The red had faded, and the pressure behind his eyes had subsided, but the damage was done.

Jesse looked away first.

"Gonna tell me what that was?"

It was a command disguised as a quiet question, but Jesse ignored it. They weren't about to have this conversation. Not now. Not ever if he could help it.

"McCree," Gabriel said, his voice edged with steel as Jesse sat in stony silence. "Don't make me make that an order."

Jesse exhaled heavily, a lie spinning into shape in his mind. It was a long shot, but it might do the trick—

"The… whatever the thing was blockin' the signal in FfffmmMoscow"— he'd really have to work on that, damn— "I think it… I think it messed with my ears. Been ringin' since I felt it in my head. Goes all haywire when things're too loud." He paused to consider. He might be pushing it if he kept going, but hell, he had nothing left to lose. "Thought it caused the nosebleeds, too, 's all connected up in there, y'know?"

Gabriel didn't appear convinced. "Felt what in your head?"

That took Jesse off guard. He watched Gabriel's face closely for any sign of deception, but if he was feigning ignorance, he was doing a phenomenal job of it.

"The- y'know, the buzzin'. Just off the ship. Felt like my head was gonna explode when the comm came back online." Gabriel only looked at him. "You didn't feel it?"

The commander's eyes narrowed.

"No. No, I didn't." He didn't sound too pleased about that little fact, either. "Dr. O'Deorain didn't find anything wrong?"

Aw, shit. He'd forgotten that he'd told Gabriel he'd followed his orders from the tarmac those short days ago. Using (not entirely fake) discomfort as a cover, he grimaced and gave a half-hearted shrug.

"Said it would go away on its own in a few days."

She never got past my shoulder.

Gabriel still didn't seem like he was buying it, but Jesse had already started selling it. There was no going back now. He squinted curiously, his head tilting as he none-so-gently swerved the conversation his way. "You sure you didn't feel anything?"

"You're the only one who's mentioned it," Gabriel grunted. Which doesn't convince me you're not full of shit went unsaid.

A split second stroke of inspiration hit, and Jesse let his expression go distant. "I heard things on the airship when Briggs couldn't. 'n most of what's kept me alive this far comes from… I dunno, I always thought it was instinct." He paused for effect. "Maybe somethin' in my head's just… sensitive. Wired wrong or something."

"I could've told you that much."

"Oh, wow, low hangin' fruit. Kick a man while he's down, why don'tcha."

For what it was worth, the suggestion seemed to be enough to get Gabriel off of his bloodhound trail. The commander appeared to be genuinely thinking that through, his hand rubbing idly at his chin as his eyes bored into Jesse's.

"Stranger things have happened."

The deal was only truly sealed when the universe decided to smile upon Jesse's favor. A gentle ding came from Gabriel's phone, and he fished it out with a furrowed brow. A quick glance later had him pushing the bench away from the table and standing.

"See O'Deorain again, and have her do a thorough scan this time. I can't clear you if you're compromised."

See O'Deorain again almost made Jesse miss the last half of that statement. His initial grumblings slammed to a halt, and he gawked up at Gabriel as he started to leave. "Woah, wait, what? Clear me—?"

"Stick to that calendar," Gabriel ordered in lieu of elaborating, "you have half an hour before they're expecting you on the Field. Get your ass to medical."

The commander didn't so much as slow down as he left the canteen, several pairs of eyes trailing after him.

Jesse gaped after the man for a minute too long before he looked back to the black screen of the phone on the table. A few quick taps brought him back to the little schedule Gabriel had modified earlier, and Jesse's eyes widened as he took the time to actually read it.

There was a massive red mark on the last Friday of the month— three weeks away— a small note tapped out from Gabriel above it.

'Jump for a helo again and I'll have you court martialed. Show me you can do better and we'll see about making you active.'

It took a few minutes to process the words.

Another five to try and find Gabriel's justification for them.

Another five to realize he wouldn't have been able to find it himself.

You're a problem he doesn't have the answers pre-planned to, Morrison had said. Drastic measures are what he knows.

He took another five minutes to pinpoint the feeling in his chest as something other than the anxiety he'd been drowning in since Falkland, and an additional two on top of that to put the word apprehension to it.

And then another one for good measure to change that word to determination.

All of that together took half an hour of not going to medical and going straight to the Field instead.

Winston snapped a wire that would take two weeks to replace on the third floor. Angela loaded the last of a batch of fourteen identical boxes with no addresses in sight onto an overnight airfreighter. Jack signed off on another useless march towards the hope of victory. And Jesse realized in the sweat soaked, grit-toothed thrill of stealth training just how hard he'd been prepared to fight for his right to stay.

Chapter Text

Red or any shade thereof was blissfully absent in the days that followed Jesse's meeting with Morrison.

He wasn't religious by any means, but he was thanking something for that.

The longer he went, the further along he got from the Falkland incident, the less it seemed to pull from him. The few times he startled, went for a gun that wasn't there, aimed to fire a rubber bullet that wouldn't kill, the need for eight, eight, eight became seven, seven.

Another day passed, and it became six.

He didn't know how it was happening, but somehow, someway, he was managing his Deadeye.

The second he realized it, he had a goal. He would stay away, far away from the shooting range, from a live-fire rifle, from anything that could so much as nudge Deadeye into action until he felt that urge creep past one, one, one into none. If he could lie, plead sickness, sign on for extra KP, do anything to get out of his Thursday session with Amari— without attracting Gabriel's attention— he might, just might win out against himself.

No, he wasn't religious.

But he sure as hell was starting to feel like he might have to be to make it through this.

"What did O'Deorain have to say?"

Jesse looked up from the communications terminal he'd been seated at for a little more than an hour now. Gabriel had been running him through the basics all afternoon— callsigns and morse and enough codes to make his head spin.

He'd ordered him to the Butcher's office two days ago. It was a surprise to hear him ask about the event now, to say the least— Jesse'd been expecting the question a lot sooner. On the bright side it meant he'd had plenty of time to come up with a proper answer.

But that didn't stop him from trying to dodge the topic altogether.

"Y'didn't ask her yourself?"

"Medical's offline," Gabriel said with an odd grimace. "Couldn't get in to the database to check for results."

The conversation he'd overheard between Winston and Angela on the seventh floor all those nights ago crept back to Jesse, and his forehead wrinkled as he wached the commander carefully.

"Yeah, but you could've asked her," Jesse said matter-of-factly."Y'know, in person."

Gabriel didn't look at him, choosing instead to scan the mock-message Jesse had been drafting up to relay to his mock-agents in the field. "She's a busy woman."

And just like that, something clicked.

Gabriel glanced away from the terminal at the prolonged silence to see Jesse staring at him with an open mouth. He frowned in return.

"What?"

"You're afraid of her."

Gabriel leveled him with his standard Unimpressed Look #3— the one with the weird thing he did with his chin. "Terrified," he said, the word completely flat.

Oooo-kay, then, nope. That wasn't it.

"Well, somethin' about her puts you off. Y'don't like talkin' to her face to face."

Gabriel looked pointedly back to the screen.

H uh. Guess  that much was true, 'least.

"I haven't had the time to," he said bluntly. "And you didn't answer my question. What did she tell you?"

Jesse stretched his arms high overhead, groaning at the first movement he'd made in almost an hour. He was careful not to show it, but the realization that Gabriel wouldn't be talking to the doctor face to face anytime soon made it that much easier to lie to his face.

"Nothin' to it. Sensitive ears. Should be gone by tomorrow."

Egyptian silk had nothing on just how smoothly that little fib had been delivered. Gabriel was quiet as he stared at the terminal.

"Run this one again," he said, dropping the topic entirely. Jesse couldn't be sure who's benefit that was for as the commander jabbed a finger at the screen. "You're all over the place."

"Huh?" Jesse squinted at the coded message he'd painstakingly typed out over the course of the last fifteen minutes, his eyes drifting across the screen. "'s wrong with it?"

"You're supposed to be cueing your flanking team in on an unknown signal at their four o'clock."

"Yeah, I know. What'd I say?"

"You told your pilot to keep an eye on the others in case one of them sets themselves on fire."

Five, five, five…

" —not that they can't, right, it's more that they shouldn't. The newer models are terrible when it comes to punching out. I almost broke my neck on ejection, but I can see wh — Jesus, Mary, and Joseph."

"Huh," Jesse remarked blandly at Briggs' abrupt self-interruption. "Gang's all here."

The swear had pulled Jesse's attention away from the finniky strap he'd been fighting on his shoulder, and he glanced up for the first time since the two of them had started walking. They weren't running their group training exercises on the Field, as was their usual for Mondays— instead, Reyes had sent out a blast to each of the Blackwatch agents, relocating their practice session to meet on the massive empty lot of land just behind the building.

Frankly, he would have been more than happy to make the walk to their scheduled training on his own, but Briggs had cornered him in the mess at breakfast and invited himself to flop down at Jesse's empty table without preamble.

"You try the grits yet?" He'd said in lieu of a greeting, his plate clattering down across from Jesse's. Jesse had only raised an eyebrow in return as Briggs had stuck his fork into the pile of pale mush that the mess constituted as grits, the utensil sticking perfectly straight up into the air from the solid mass. "Good. Keep it that way."

It didn't take much more convincing than that for Jesse to very much so keep it that way.

After their last little encounter, he'd been on edge the entire meal. It was kind of hard not to be after being told you were on someone's shit list. But Briggs had simply gotten right down to talking, and until now, hadn't stopped. Jesse still wasn't sure what had brought them around to discussing the ejection protocols in the pilot's newest government-funded billion dollar toy, but he was more than happy to let that conversation go.

Briggs waved a hand to where the massive double doors had opened before them.

"Har-dee-har, wise guy. You not seeing this?"

To be fair, there wasn't much to see.

Better put, there was nothing to see.

Everything past the doorframe was white, harsh and gleaming in the sunlight that had managed to pierce through the waning layer of thin clouds overhead. It blazed from the mountains on the horizon, from where it had drifted against the door, from where Jesse knew there had been a treeline the day before—

Jesse'd seen snow before. But this was beyond snow.

Neither he nor Briggs made to move through the open doors, the cold beginning to seep through in earnest as they marveled at the sight before them. It felt a bit like staring into the sun itself as the clouds shifted and let the light shine in full, but Briggs didn't seem to have a problem with that.

Jesse made it a point to stare harder.

"First 'fall of the fall," Briggs said ironically, his hands moving to pop his collar against the chill. "They'd been calling for it any day now. Gets earlier every year, lucky us."

Jesse would have shot him a look if his eyes weren't glued to the gleam of the mountains. "This happened overnight?"

"Oh, great."

Jesse had heard Weston approach long before he'd heard her voice. She stood just behind them, her hands coming to rest on her hips as her eyes roamed slowly over the massive drifts of snow in clear disgust.

"Should've seen this coming a mile away," she said ruefully. "He never could wait past the first snow, could he?"

Briggs nodded in grave agreement, and with that one little exchange, Jesse knew he wasn't looking at just snow.

Or at least, he was looking at snow. Briggs and Weston were seeing something completely different.

Before Jesse could so much as open his mouth to ask, Siegel and Nguyen rounded the corner to join their little group. Siegel barely spared the blinding white a second glance, while Nguyen's face fell instantly.

"Aw, now this is cruel, even for him," he said with feeling. Briggs' nod made another appearance, joined by Weston's own take on it as well. Jesse watched their little bobblehead act before shaking his own.

"Bring me up t'speed here, what's cruel? It's just snow."

Whoever may have been willing to answer him never got the chance, as the next second saw Briggs getting a solid kick to the back of his body armor.

The pilot flopped face first into the massive drift just outside the door, a startled shout the only thing that left him before the upper half of his body completely disappeared beneath the snow. He was back out in an instant, looking more aggravated than hurt as he scowled at his assailant, powder falling from his hair as his breath formed visible puffs in the frigid air.

"Valdez, you son of a b-"

"Watch it, Wings," Valdez said as he lowered the leg he'd roundhoused the pilot with. Weston and Nguyen didn't bother masking their laughter, standing in stark contrast to the last four agents to join them. The rest of the Blackwatch team had apparently materialized alongside Valdez, and going by their faces, none of them were surprised by his exuberant greeting. "Might need another dunk to cool that hot head."

And with that, Valdez went flying.

His yell rivaled Briggs' as he soared, the kick he'd gotten sending him an easy ten feet into the snowy field. He had the presence of mind to flip as best he could to avoid the same faceplant treatment Briggs had received, and in a dramatic puff, the black of his uniform was swallowed entirely by white.

As someone who'd been on the receiving end of Gabriel's kick before, Jesse figured that had hurt like hell.

"My message said to meet outside."

Gabriel was deceptively calm for having just rocketed a man into the stratosphere. He acknowledged the rapid salutes he received and waved them off with a drift of his hand, the other rising to tug the beanie further over his ears. Jesse threw a sloppy salute of his own, straightening just enough to not be slouching.

He didn't miss the way the commander's eye lingered a split second longer than usual on it.

Briggs sat up in his drift, his own salute fired off to Reyes before he craned his neck to see where his assailant had landed. The pilot stood, stiffening to attention as chunks of snow sloughed gracelessly from his shoulders.

"Permission to speak, sir," he said, voice sharp.

"Granted."

"I request an alteration in callsign."

Gabriel didn't so much as blink. "Do you now."

"Permission to retire from 'Wings' and reserve it for Agent Matías Valdez in honor of his newfound gift of flight, sir."

The commander marched out into the snow, passing Briggs with a deadpan, "Denied."

The rest of the agents trudged out behind him, a few deft smirks and chuckles already being smothered as they shoved their way into the banks. With no eyes to catch in disbelief, Jesse was left to simply follow.

A barked order for their usual twenty laps started them off, and in that instant, he knew exactly what was so 'cruel' about today.

Jesse felt his lungs burn with a vengeance after just five, massive puffs of clouded breath rising over the agents as they ran in close formation. Twenty was nothing on a sunny day, but with the slush stamping into his pant legs, the sun blazing off of the white surrounding them and forcing him to screw up his eyes, the freezing air stinging his throat— he may as well have already done forty. Somehow he was sweating and shivering all at the same time.

Ten laps passed and Jesse decided he'd be perfectly happy never seeing snow again.

At twenty one laps, Gabriel motioned for them to fall into line near Valdez's impact site. They stood stiffly, hands behind their backs as they stared straight ahead to their next activity. Jesse was the only one breathing heavily, but he didn't have the time to resent that fact as he recognized what lay around the corner of the building.

Running almost the full length of the massive spanse that was Headquarters was a course of ropes and wires, metal posts and platforms, walls and wood— all set up semi-permanently and looking like the world's worst jungle gym. It was a sight he was familiar with from his first days of impromptu bootcamp, but for the fact that it was now coated in a massive heap of snow. Whatever wasn't buried was iced over, the sunlight glinting off of it threateningly. All that frozen metal somehow managed to hurt just to look at, and there were patches of the course that looked ruddy and brown, mud mixed in with the slowly melting snow.

Jesse stared balefully at the frozen edge of the ten foot wall that started them off. His insulated, grip-assisting gloves, pristine and unused, sat in the back of his closet four floors overhead.

He made a mental note to check the weather on his handy dandy new phone every damn morning from here on out.

"You know the drill," Gabriel said, hardly looking fazed by the cold as he planted his hands on his hips. "I'm not assigning teams. You want to finish fast, you find someone to partner with. You think you can do it on your own, that's on you. First three to finish get the showers. The rest of you get to run it again."

Jesse had been the last to finish this same course more times than he cared to admit, and that had been when it wasn't looking like something straight out of A Wonderful Life. He caught Briggs and Weston exchanging a look out of the corner of his eye, but by the time he looked in earnest, they'd gone back to staring straight ahead. Jesse followed their lead begrudgingly— he was getting the feeling he wouldn't be feeling much by the time the morning was over. They'd only just warmed up and he already had to resist the urge to stamp his feet to fight the chill creeping back into his toes.

"Mark!"

Their lineup crouched as one, steadying themselves.

"Go, go, go!"

Slush sprayed in every direction as they took off like a shot, their feet hindered instantly by the sheer amount of snow. Jesse'd barely gotten his under him and two of their ten had already made it to the first obstacle.

Johnson leapt for the wall, his height working to his advantage as he latched onto the edge high above him. His hand slipped the second he connected, and he landed in a cold heap with a curse. Cook flew past him, making the same jump but sticking the landing with his gloved fingers. Once he'd hefted himself over, he lowered a hand, deftly catching Williams as she leapt— the two were over and out of sight by the time Jesse made it within fifteen feet of the wall.

He slowed his sprint, eyes scanning for the least amount of snow possible as he prepared for the jump he'd failed to make on three seperate occasions, dread already thick in his veins. Johnson scrambled to his feet and started his double-back run, gearing up to get enough momentum to try again. Weston had made it up, her hand lowered for Briggs to latch on to as Nguyen found his own handhold and vaulted himself over.

Jesse buckled down, bent his knees, gauged the distance, and jumped.

What he wouldn't give to know how he'd done it on the helo pad, as this leap barely got him high enough to brush the edge with the tips of his fingers. His swear rivaled Johnsons' (there was Ingles making it up and over in his periphery) and he braced himself to land and try again—

—just as two pairs of hands closed like vices around his wrists.

Snapping his head up, Jesse stared into the pinched faces of Briggs and Weston. Weston didn't seem to have broken a sweat, but Briggs was grimacing against the weight.

"Get moving, Trinity, Ingles puts us at fifth!"

Jesse snapped out of his shock and scrabbled for purchase with his feet, the two above hefting him up easily. He expected to be let go of once he'd reached the top, but their hands remained where they were, and before he knew it he was being tossed off the other side. A yell left him on its own accord, ending abruptly in a grunt as he landed heavily in the snow below.

His improvised team had landed deftly beside him by the time he'd scrambled to his feet, his hand instinctively going for the hat he'd left in his room. They were shoving him into a run before he knew what was happening, and within moments they drew even with where Williams had managed to skid on a patch of ice before passing her entirely.

Cook, Nguyen, and Ingles had already begun hefting themselves across the suspended ropes that lay next, their legs swinging in tight control beneath them as they moved hand over hand, the drop below doing little to faze them as they flew forward. Weston followed suit, her running leap causing the ropes to bounce wildly on impact. Briggs drew up short with a glance to the ice layering the thick rope, a scowl on his face as he looked down at his own gloveless hands.

Jesse was ripping off his bandana before he could think twice about it.

"Here," he said, shoving it urgently into the pilot's palm before he tugged the sleeves of his raggedy shirt over his own hands. He leapt for the rope and snagged it just as Weston had before him, and it bounced lightly as Briggs followed suit.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven of them landed in quick succession, each sending a freezing blast of snow up their pant legs and into their shoes as they got back to sprinting. The cold rattled once again in Jesse's lungs, and he faltered despite himself, wheezing a visible cloud of breath as he took a split second to double over in his run. Briggs smacked his back as he sprinted past maybe a second later, the bandana shoved into Jesse's collar in one deft move.

"Smokes'll do that to you!" He shouted over his shoulder, his run amping up a notch as Johnson appeared out of nowhere and made to match his pace.

Jesse ripped the bandana from his collar before sucking in a frigid breath and powering back into a full sprint. Weston was waiting for them to catch up at the next obstacle, calm urgency in her eyes as she knelt to boost Briggs up the massive net they would need to climb. Both glanced back to keep tabs on where Jesse was.

It was colder than hell frozen over, but for some reason, he felt warmer than he could remember feeling in a long, long time.

Apparently, finishing in third wasn't enough to get him out of his last round of KP.

He wouldn't have minded so much if the Amari girl hadn't been propped high on Reinhardt's shoulder in the mess when he went down to report.

Jesse had to pass them to get to the kitchen (how many potatoes did one army even need, honestly), so he pointedly stared straight ahead and crossed the room, keeping his strides long. Word travelled fast, and he knew for a fact his helo stunt had been passing around in whispered rumors for days now. Nobody had confronted him to confirm it yet, of course.

But he hadn't seen hide nor hair of the kid since he'd gotten back from Falkland, and he knew she'd be on him in a second with questions if she noticed him.

And yet, despite his best efforts to do otherwise, he still managed to meet her eye.

She watched him for a split second, her face morphing into something he wasn't sure he liked. She always looked like she was planning something, waiting on something, getting ready to say whatever was on her mind in that one calculated moment. But this was something almost...troubled?

Before he had the chance to identify the look, she gave him a small wave.

His pace slowed, just enough that only he would truly have noticed. The kitchen doors were mere feet away.

Jesse shot a half-hearted, two-fingered salute back at her.

He didn't duck into the kitchen fast enough to miss the way she positively beamed in return.

Four, four, four…

"What does it mean?"

Captain Amari had a way of inclining her head that always made it seem like she'd been waiting for you to speak. Now was no exception.

They were the only two people left in the rec room, and had been for some time now. Early nights among the lower ranks seemed the norm around here, and while Jesse could fully understand why with such early morning wake-up-calls, he couldn't find it in himself to drop off to sleep voluntarily any earlier than 2100 hours on the days when he hadn't been run ragged from training. Even that was pushing it at times.

That simple change from when he'd first started out with Blackwatch didn't slip his notice.

The less-than healthy habit of bumming around the rec room on the upper floors had developed as he'd taken to wandering the quiet halls in lieu of getting right in bed, letting the day's aches and pains dissipate some with the comforting knowledge that he would be one of very few people roaming about.

Just as most of the things Jesse had found around base, the discovery of the recreation room had been a happy accident. He'd stumbled on it one afternoon in his early days weeks before, and had been happy to find it mostly empty. It was by no means well stocked, but the couches were comfortable and there was a card table with decks and chips stashed inside. He'd noted early on that the flatscreen monitor mounted over the table never played anything other than world news.

He still hadn't found the remote for it and had a sneaking suspicion the others had given up searching entirely.

Tonight, he'd finally given in to something he'd avoided when he'd first found the room— he'd hustled a couple of trash-talking cadets from Morrison's squadron. They hadn't appeared to mind who they were playing against, and the extra weight of the not-exactly-legally-won cash in his pocket lifted his spirits immensely.

A bone-headedlysimple round of seven card stud and they'd still had the audacity to ask him if he needed a rundown on how the game worked before they began. They'd quite literally asked for the ass-kicking they'd received by the end of it all.

His opponents had left with their pockets significantly lighter some thirty-odd minutes ago it seemed, and he'd been content flipping the cards over in his hands, an impromptu round of solitaire making its way onto the table as he watched the banners of the news scroll by the muted television overhead. The EU was encroaching on some mighty thin ice over a debacle regarding what was left of the Australian omnium again.

Seemed that it was always Australia these days. Detroit and Nigeria's own omniums' hands in the crisis had lost their luster a long time ago, and Russia had enough of its own problems to own an entire channel for itself.

Jesse watched the wanton destruction on the screen for a long time, his hands stilling on their respective cards. Sometimes it was easy to forget just how far into hell the world had crashed when he was no longer out in the thick of it.

By the time Jesse had torn his eyes away, the room had practically emptied, the only sound coming from the flop of the cards against the table as he resumed his round. All but the captain and himself remained.

She had not moved, seated as she was on one of the couches across the small room with that familiar mug steaming lightly in her hand. Her own eyes were on the screen as well, the corners pinched as she scanned the updates wearily.

The longer he'd spent glancing in her direction from the corner of his eye, the more his curiosity had grown. That and the realization that the silence was bordering on stifling, as she hadn't made it unclear that she knew he'd seen her.

"What," she said quietly, "does what mean?"

The way she threw his own words back at him made him backtrack instantly. Right, didn't actually voice that very well…

"The-" Jesse drew a quick circle in the air around his eye as words failed him.

Understanding dawned gently on her face, her eyes drifting away from the screen to meet his. "Udjat. The Eye of Horus."

"Who now?"

She looked mildly surprised, her mug shifting from one hand to the other as she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Mm. How much do you know of Egypt's history?"

"Deadlock ain't exactly a boardin' school, ma'am. If it ain't affectin' the world now and I didn't learn it by the time I dropped outta the system, I don't know it."

The hum she gave in return held no judgement. He was grateful for that much.

"Horus was one of many gods worshipped in ancient Egypt," she elaborated, "and the mark of his eye is meant to protect. Among other things."

"Other…?"

The corner of her mouth lifted. "Perfection. Sacrifice. Power, depending on the depiction. The eye itself was believed to have brought Horus' father back from the dead." She raised her mug to her lips before she paused, lowering it without taking a sip. "But the stories have had a long time to be interpreted."

She lifted a hand to brush against the hooked insignia once again as her eyes grew distant, signifying the abrupt end to the short conversation.

Back from the dead.

He watched her for a long time after that, not bothering to be discreet. The words burned on his tongue, prickling at his throat with a whiskey-strong heat. How badly he wanted to say it. To see what she would say.

To see if she knew, if she would parrot the lines Reyes had been feeding him. Back from the dead.

There are things that will lead you down roads you don't want to go down here.

Jesse looked back down at the table and flipped his last card. It was the second round he'd lost to himself.

Three, three, three…

It would be close, but he trusted his judgement this time.

"Fifteen feet."

"Fift- get your eyes checked, that's maybe nine."

Cook's challenge hung in the air, his disbelief thick as Jesse exchanged a glance with Ingles. She sat beside him in the booth high above the Field, her own set of controls demanding most of her attention as she led Williams and Nguyen through their own gauntlet far below. Her face was impassive as ever, and she shrugged at Jesse's exasperation as she turned back to leading her charges. Jesse shook his head before doing the same.

The simulation was a simple one- a series of corridors and uneven platforms, corners and hidden alcoves rigged with motion activated, beanbag-bullet turrets at the ready. It would have been easy enough to traverse had it not been plunged in complete darkness.

The tech-treated glass of the booth allowed for Ingles and Jesse to see the obstacles plain as day, walls and turrets alike clear to them and only them. As for their teammates on the ground-

"He called fifteen, play it as fifteen," Johnson said shortly, his voice buzzing over the booth's speaker. He was a few feet behind Cook, squinting considerably against the pitch black. Cook shot a narrow eyed glance over his shoulder.

"Sorry, are you the one who's gonna get shot if he's wrong like he was last time?"

"Nah. Nah, that'd be you."

"My point stands-"

"Two minutes left," Jesse interrupted, letting his frustration bleed into his voice. "Trust me or don't, but get a move on. Fifteen feet."

There was a split second of hesitation from Cook before he relented and eased forward, his stride mimicked silently by Johnson. Four feet passed. Five feet. Six, seven, eight-

His pace faltered for a split second at nine feet.

And continued briskly at ten.

"Looked like nine," Cook grumbled under his breath as he pulled up short of the turret at fifteen feet. Johnson got to quick work disarming the machine from the relative safety of their cover as Jesse sat back in his chair, kicking his feet lazily up onto the control panel.

"Y'know, normally folks look smarter with the lights off, but good on you for bein' a rebel," he drawled, thumbing his hat further back on his head.

Cook raised his hand pointedly to the booth, flipping the bird in one smooth motion as Johnson snorted into his gear. Ingles' mouth twitched from the corner of Jesse's eye.

He ran back over the remaining ground his team needed to cover, each tiny detail silently filing away. The last turret was twenty feet ahead and around a corner on their left. "Johnson, twenty feet. Hook a right but stay close to the wall."

Johnson peered into the darkness with some confusion as the turret beside him powered down. "You mean Cook?" He asked, clearly bemused that Jesse had the exercise-designated engineer suddenly taking point.

"Nah. Gonna need to split up 'fore you can get to the next turret." Jesse ran a finger over the glass, tapping lightly on the turret directly to the left of the corridor they'd be traversing. "Cook, twenty feet ahead, hook a left."

Twenty feet passed in silence.

Johnson took his right, staying low and keeping his rifle at the ready. Cook swung around to take his left.

Later that night, Johnson would clap Jesse over the shoulder in the mess, a cigarette stealthily tucked into his hatband without a word.

Cook, on the other hand, had a right hook like a freight train.

Three, four, three, four, three, three, three-

The light on Jesse's door greeted him with a gentle yellow.

"Athena," he said suspiciously, "not that I don't like what you've done to the place, but ain't yellow a bit last season?"

"Good evening, Agent McCree," Athena replied smoothly, sounding amused despite herself. "Yellow is a silent alarm. Your room was accessed within the past hour by non-personnel."

"What?"

"Accessing the surveillance database from 1900 hours to 2000 hours shows it was Miss Fareeha Amari."

Jesse dragged a hand down his face. "How did she get my code?"

"I do not know. Would you like me to open an investigation?"

"Nah, just…" He punched in his number with more force than necessary, the door unlocking with its telltale click. "Just give her a warnin' for me, y'got that? Tell her to keep her nose outta my busin-"

There was a book on his pillow.

Physical books were a rarity these days, and it took Jesse a long moment to fully realize what he was looking at. He squinted at it critically before picking it up, turning it over in his hands.

It looked a dime a dozen and was beat up around the edges, well-loved or forgotten in a backroom once or a bit of both. The front cover was a faded photo of a silhouetted cowboy, his stallion mid-gallop and enormous, blocky lettering encroaching most of the small space — The Hell Bent Kid.

"I'm sorry, Agent McCree, I did not catch your full request. What would you like the message to say?"

Jesse dropped the book back on his pillow.

He picked it back up a second later and placed it in the drawer beside the bed.

"Forget it."

Two, two, two…

Wednesday arrived, which wouldn't have meant much more than physical training and another round of communications. Communications that promptly told him he should be calling that same physical training 'PT'.

But as it turned out, this particularWednesday was a lot stranger than anyone could've guessed it would be.

He'd never seen so many people crammed in the hallway before. Voices echoed around him as he turned the corner, following the rippling hubbub out of habit and some small degree of curiosity. Officers of every rank— cadets, engineers, even some of the medical staff by the looks of it— all of them were clamoring about, their focus pulled to something at the other end of the corridor.

Jesse strained onto his toes to no avail, craning his neck to see over the sea of people. There were raised voices at the end of the hallway, commands to clear out and so on echoing above the noise. Some listened, but a surprising number stayed.

One of the soldiers with better self-preservation instincts made to pass Jesse, but he grabbed the man's bicep, pulling him to a stop.

"Hold up now," he said, quick to let go of the others' arm at the surprised glance he received. "What's goin' on here?"

The soldier jerked a thumb over his shoulder towards the front of crowd, his brow furrowed. "Updates on the Slipstream pilot program from last week."

"Pilot program?" Jesse vaguely remembered the crowd he'd had to fight through to get to Captain Amari's lesson, but she hadn't gone into any details then. "Ain't they done decidin' on all that?"

He got a bemused look at that. "Well, yeah," the soldier said. "But the plane's gone."

Jesse's brows raised. "What, like stolen?"

The confusion on the soldier's face turned into downright disbelief.

"It's a teleporting fighter jet. And the pilot they grabbed to test it last week just disappeared right along with it."

Cadet Lena Oxton was reported missing basewide by that afternoon.

One, one, one, one, one, one, one, one, one, one, one—

It turned out that Jesse didn't need an excuse to get out of Thursday's marksmanship. The missing pilot provided that well enough for him. Captain Amari called him first on Wednesday evening, canceling their lesson and promising to make it up to him when she returned from her investigations the next week.

"Time is not our friend right now," she'd said cryptically, a ghost of a joke somewhere in there. Jesse had been too relieved to hear it to think too hard about it.

Thursday arrived without fanfare, and he was steady on his feet.

Steady.

Solid stance. Arms up, eyes open. Lean left, watch the left, block the right, strafe right, but mind the le-

Shit!

Jesse snapped his arms tight over his torso, barely catching Gabriel's haymaker with his forearms as it caught him from the left. The force of it made him stagger back a step, and as per usual, that was all it took for Gabriel to take him to the mat.

He groaned as the commander stepped back, his arms flopping down to rest at his sides as he stared up at the ceiling. "How many's that?" He asked when his brain stopped rattling in his skull.

Gabriel wiped his hands on a towel before tossing it aside. "Sixteen."

"Really? Hurts like twenty."

"Better not let it reach seventeen, then. I hear twenty one's a killer."

Jesse dragged himself to his feet, his shoulders aching something fierce as he fell back into his stance. Gabriel circled him as he had before every round, not yet in his own fighting stance. The commander tapped Jesse's foot here, nudged his elbow closer to his chest there, corrected the little errors Jesse hadn't ever considered to be mistakes.

"You know the definition of insanity, McCree?" Gabriel sprung it on him from nowhere as he lowered Jesse's elbow, placing his fist just below his chin.

"They let you become a commander without knowing the definition of insanity?"

He fully expected the light cuff he received to the back of the head for that one.

"It's doing the same thing, over and over again, and expecting a different result," Gabriel went on, a hint of a warning in his voice. "You can't expect to get better if you won't change how you're doing what you're doing first."

When Gabriel was certain Jesse was in the perfect position, he took up his own stance again. "There's an opening you haven't taken once. Don't let it slip this time."

With that, he waved Jesse forward. Jesse inched along to his left, letting his weight lead his sway as he watched Gabriel's eyes. The commander followed his dance, his hands loose in front of him as he bobbed right along with him.

A flicker in his eye was all the warning Jesse got before they began.

But a flicker was all he'd needed the last few rounds.

Jesse ducked the jab he'd learned to expect from that look on Gabriel's face, and he followed it up with a short, sharp strike of his own to the commander's ribs. It was blocked instantly, turned against him as Gabriel used the momentum to spin Jesse to his side, striking out behind himself with his heel in a single fluid motion.

He'd done this on attempt nine, and Jesse saw it coming this time.

He dropped like a stone, avoiding the strike entirely and rolling back to his feet behind Gabriel. He stayed low, using the crouch to throw extra force into an upwards, open-palmed strike. The hit conneted with Gabriel's shoulderblade, and the commander took a single step forward at the contact. For Gabriel, that was as close to a stagger as Jesse would likely ever get.

"Better," Gabriel said, spinning on the spot and bearing down on Jesse once again. He raised a knee, jabbing aside Jesse's followup strike before throwing one of his own. He'd done that on attempt thirteen, and Jesse inhaled sharply before throwing his forearms across it in an X, a move Gabriel had taught him not quite an hour ago now. He caught the wrist in the crux of his own—

—but faltered as he realized he had no idea what to do next.

Gabriel took full advantage of the pause and threw his full weight forward, letting his arm slide straight through Jesse's hold to connect smartly with his chin, the strike forcing him to take a step back.

It ended the way all of his staggers did, but this time, a stroke of inspiration hit him just before the mat did.

An openin' I never take-

His back connected with the ground, and as Gabriel began to back away, Jesse flung his legs skywards, latching his ankles over the commander's neck and pulling.

Gabriel was forced to flip over Jesse as he flung the commander to the ground, his ankle popping unhappily from the messy roll he used to get himself up off the mat. His calves were still around Gabriel's neck, and he quickly shifted them to place the man in a chokehold, his knees protesting the odd angle.

Gabriel could have easily broken the hold and had him on his back again in an instant. But for the first time since they'd started training the week before, he tapped Jesse's leg three times.

Jesse released him with a heavy exhale, the sweat dripping into his eyes as Gabriel sat up with an approving look in his direction.

"There it is."

Jesse gave a lackluster thumbs up in reply as he snagged the towel from the edge of the mat, swiping it over his face as he panted. Gabriel raised an eyebrow.

"Hurt like twenty one?"

"Hell naw," Jesse said breathlessly. "You're not countin' that as seventeen, you tapped out."

Gabriel sat back, his hand finding the mat behind him as his eyes glimmered with something Jesse knew he'd seen before but couldn't fully place. "I did. After you hit the mat first."

"The hell kinda ruling is that? You tapped out!"

And with that, Jesse recognized the look on Gabriel's face. He was 100% busting his chops, that glimmer the same look of amusement he'd seen back on that first flight to Switzerland. Fought a bear once—

"Respect your commanding officer, McCree."

"Now that sounds like the actual definition of insanity to me."

He probably should've expected the chokehold he found himself in not two seconds later.

And almost without him noticing, one, one, one faded into 

nothing.

He swatted at the commander's arm futilely as Gabriel grumbled something half-hearted about insubordination, but even stuck in the lock, he felt giddier than he had in weeks as something that had been needling in his head went blissfully numb. For the first time in his life, he'd fixed something.

For the first time ever, he had control.

Chapter Text

Either the crew had all forgotten how to speak as a collective, or they’d just discovered a new level of awkward tension never before experienced by humankind.

Jesse adjusted his hat, his feet itching to be anywhere but where he was now. It was the first time he’d seen any of the Blackwatch crew in the rec room, and the first time he’d seen her anywhere outside of her freakshow lab.

“Last time I’m gonna say it man, pull up a chair,” Siegel said, not bothering to look up from the cards in his hands. Cook looked like he’d be happier if Jesse ignored that demand entirely. Williams didn’t look like she gave a damn one way or the other.

Dr. O’Deorain, on the other hand, hadn’t looked away from his face since he’d pulled up short in the doorway. Jesse wasn’t entirely convinced she hadn’t up and surgically removed the urge to blink.

Seemed like something in her wheelhouse to do.

The doctor and the Blackwatch crew had commandeered the card table in the rec room, a short game of some variant on five-card draw wrapping up on the table before them. Jesse’d made the mistake of pausing at the sight of the odd gathering when he’d entered the room, and they’d seen him before he could duck back out.

He cleared his throat. “I don’t think they’d take kindly to me bettin’ on-“

“Aw, shuddup and sit down,” Siegel cut him off. He left no room for argument this time, kicking back the last open chair and already counting out a healthy pile of chips for their newcomer. The chair almost toppled over entirely, but the doctor shot a hand out before any of the others could react, tipping it back upright with a spindly finger. She let it linger on the edge of the chair before moving to gracefully float her hand back to her stack of chips.

Jesse sat wordlessly, ignoring the burn of eyes on his cheek before O’Deorain turned her focus back to her cards. He watched them finish the last of their game, eyeballing the massive pile of chips in front of Cook. He’d clearly been cleaning up shop on the other three for some time now, but Williams took the pot that round, dragging the chips towards her meager pile with a huff of relief. She slapped the deck of cards down in front of Jesse.

“What’ll it be?” She said, idly popping a handful of peanuts into her mouth.

Jesse eyed the varying piles of chips on the table. “This real cash or just for show?”

Cook raised an eyebrow while Siegel and Williams pinned him with a near identical look.

“For show,” they said in a flat unison. O’Deorain simply sneered.

Great. Real cash, then. Something he was awfully sparse on since the whole ‘joining the spec ops’ thing got in the way of his usual sources of steady income.

He picked up the deck quietly, hands going into autopilot as he shuffled and ran through his mental list of games. He’d spent hours doing just this, the cards moving back and forth, bridging and cutting and mingling in one of the most familiar feelings he’d ever had.

“Holy shit,” Siegel muttered, the blunt swear pulling Jesse’s attention up from his shuffling. The man’s eyes were glued to the cards. “Nevermind, man, go away. I’m not betting against that.”

“Don’t be a fool.” The doctor’s voice was quiet, yet somehow made more of an impact than Siegel’s curse. She had her hands crossed on the table in front of her, a nail idly tapping at her pile of chips. Between the snow drifting outside the rec room windows and her smile, Jesse’d be hard pressed to pick which was colder. “Party tricks aside, it hardly means he can play.”

Jesse stared her right back down, much to the obvious discomfort of the others in the room. After a long moment, he slid on a serene smile of his own.

Before he’d ever been handed a rifle, he’d been taught how to cheat at cards in no less than twenty ways.

Thirteen of those ways would guarantee a barfight. The rest, if you were damn good, could see you sitting pretty on a pile of cash by the end of the night with nobody the wiser. As far as he was concerned, he didn’t play cards.

He played people.

Jesse deftly finished his shuffling with an outrageous flourish that was mostly for the doctor’s benefit. In the half-minute it had taken him to fiddle with the deck, he’d controlled the ace of spades right up to the near-top of the deck. “Texas hold’em,” he said, his eyes still locked with Doctor O’Deorain’s. “Small blind is yours, doc.”

She arced a sharp brow, the chips in front of her gently click clacking together as she lifted them as one and let them fall back into place. “How much?”

“We’ll make it 5-10.”

Her smile grew predatory as she slid a single $5 chip into the center of the table. Siegel, taking his cue on her left, slid in two of his own.

Jesse burned the top card, tossing it to the side. It was a quick deal, two cards down to each player, three face up for the flop. It was, as far as Jesse was concerned, the simplest game to determine skill (or a cheat) off the bat. His ace made it neatly into his hand without any noticeable suspicion, and he allowed himself to relax a little.

“Ten to stay in,” he said, pointedly glancing at the faces around him in search of the more obvious tells. A tick of the temple here, a scratch at an itch that didn’t exist there, the smallest furrow of a brow.

It was an easy request, as each of them matched Siegel’s two chips on the table. Jesse burned the top, tossed down another card face-up, and a few of the others glanced at their own cards. O’Deorain kept her eyes on Jesse all the while, hawkish stare tracing his every move. Wordlessly, she tossed two jet black chips into the center.

A $200 bet.

Siegel swore viciously again, catching a couple surprised eyes from the other non-poker playing inhabitants of the room.

“Hell no,” he groused, tossing his folded hand back to Jesse. Cook followed suit and didn’t look the least bit happy about it, but Williams matched the doctor’s bet. Jesse threw his own couple into the pile.

“The turn,” he muttered, flopping the fourth card onto the table. Siegel and Cook broke into grumbles, both clearly rethinking their choice of folding so early as a third eight made its way onto the table.

Jesse tapped the corner of his cards on the table, nodding for the doctor to bet. Her eyes had narrowed at the flop, and for the first time since she’d glanced at her cards, she peeled her eyes away from Jesse.

“Check,” she said, reaching for a thin glass of something amber and taking a slow sip.

The bet passed to Williams, who tossed an easy two black chips into the pot. Jesse matched it smoothly, and the doctor…

“Five hundred.”

If Jesse hadn’t had years to practice his poker face, that may have thrown him off kilter once. Either he’d accidentally dealt her a damn good hand, or she was bluffing all the way back to the stone ages and making way too much of a show of it.

Williams paused at that, but eventually caved with a shrug. She replaced her two chips with a single $500. Jesse watched carefully, that feeling of ice on his cheek impossible to ignore. A single chip of his own joined the pot.

Cook scoffed, leaning back in his chair to drain the last of the beer in front of him. “You realize you gotta be good for the kind of cash you’re throwing around here.”

Jesse didn’t look up from the deck. “I’m good for it.”

Cook clearly wasn’t the only one who didn’t entirely believe him, but they remained silent. Burn the top card, flip the final card onto the table.

“And the river.” Jesse slid the small stack of burned cards to the side before looking up to meet the doctor’s gaze. “Final bet.”

“Check,” the doctor said, sitting back in her chair, glass swirling slowly just below her chin.

Williams, in what could have been the smartest move of her night, folded. Jesse stared the doctor down for a long, long second before he spoke.

“Check.”

The doctor’s eyes crinkled in a not-quite smile. “I thought as much.”

With that, she flipped her hand. A two of a kind, ace high- a full house when she paired it up with the three eights on the table. Jesse exhaled quietly through his nose as his cards joined hers on the table. The doctor cooly looked them over, a small, light hum that somehow still managed to sound sharp leaving her.

“Four of a kind,” she sighed. “And an ace, to boot. How… unexpected.”

Jesse gave her a look as he sat back, folding his hands neatly on his chest.

“But I guess,” she went on, leaning back in her chair as well, “the house always wins, hm?”

“Seems that way, don’t it?” He kept his voice light and serene as he dragged the winnings towards his meager pile.

Cook snorted, the first actual noise he’d made the whole game. “If she does’t out and say you cheated, I will.”

Of course you will. Jesse tucked the cards on the table neatly back into the deck, handing it off to his left with a quirked brow. “Fine, then. What’d I do?”

He was met with silence. It didn’t break until the doctor grabbed the deck and shuffled it. The sidelong glance she tossed Jesse’s way was calculating, but not in her usual dissecting manner. There was an ounce of approval in the look that took Jesse off guard, but it quickly vanished as she looked back to the cards without a second thought.

“Seven stud,” she said primly, “ante is six to play. If you’re not good for it, make a friend who is.”

The tension had settled a bit with her decision, but something uncomfortable that had entered the room with Jesse still hadn’t quite left. He was starting to think winning so early had probably not been the best way to keep things friendly.

Chee-chee-chee. Chee-chee-chee.

All hands paused over their chips, eyes darting to the source of the sound. The sharp chirp had come from Williams’ pocket, and she let out a small groan. “I knew I shouldn’t have gone for the beer tonight…”

She fished out her phone, all pretense of relaxation and enjoyment draining from her face as she did. An identical chirp came from Cooks’ pocket then. Siegel’s wasn’t far behind. The two exchanged wary glances before they followed suit and dug their own phones out, eyes scanning the screens with quick authority.

What little comfort there had been left in the atmosphere drained entirely within fifteen seconds.

Jesse watched them read in silence, his eyes ticking to the doctor. She merely watched the agents with a detached interest, drink swirling mesmerizingly in her hand.

Without another word, the three were pushing back from the table.

“Woah, where’s the fire?” Jesse raised his voice to be heard over the scraping of chairs and shuffling of belongings hastily being gathered. “What was that?”

“Boss,” Siegel said as he scooped what little was left of his chips into his jacket pockets. “Backup request, marked urgent. Sounds like all hands on deck.”

Jesse’s heart plummeted to somewhere around the cuff of his boots. He was vaguely surprised to feel most of the certainty he had mustered these past few weeks deflate at such a simple sentence.

He was well within range of being cleared at this point, and yet he hadn’t received the call himself for another “all hands on deck” event. Gabriel had given him a lifeline to cling to as a goal at the end of his training, but it appeared that hadn’t been the case after all.

He wasn’t sure he was entirely surprised, but damn if it didn’t sting a little.

“Backup?” He tried to keep it casual, but the long glance from O’Deorain made it obvious he’d done a poor job of it. “For what?”

“He’s been in the field two days now, trying to get in contact with the new asset from the Shimada clan.” Williams lowered her voice, mindful of the others on the other side of the room. “The guy’s been with the actual Moscow team for about a week. Something must’ve gone sideways.”

“Wait, there’s an actual Moscow team?”

“Yeah. Had their own fringe group to keep an eye on.”

Jesse supposed that made sense. The information they had on Falkland had to come from somewhere, and what better cover for a clandestine op than a mission that actually existed?

He cleared his throat. “Well, uh…  y’all have a blast and all and let me know-“

“You look like a kicked puppy,” Cook said through a snort, interrupting Jesse’s slow descent into wallowing. “You told us yourself, you keep your phone on silent, idiot.”

As the others said their brusque goodbyes to an otherwise disinterested doctor, Jesse fumbled for his generally unused phone in his pocket, his pulse already threatening to overwhelm him entirely. Dr. O’Deorain’s attention had nowhere else to turn but back to him as he tapped at the screen clumsily, breath held as the little device lit up.

A fullscreen notification, red and glaring, blinked urgently up at him with a time, load out request, and aircraft bay to report to.

“Genji Shimada.”

“Shuwh-mawh-duh?”

“Drop the drawl. Shimada. Shih-ma-duh.”

“Shhhuhmawduh.”

Gabriel had the wise sense to stop trying, his attention turning back to the front of the helo. “Practice it. Or he’ll make your death last a lot longer than is probably considered humane.”

They’d made it to the transport in time to meet up with the couple others of the team that had been left on base before brusquely being told to buckle in by a pilot Jesse had never met. Gabriel had already been onboard, all wound up and terse as ever as he hustled them along. Time from receiving the notification to take off was less than twenty minutes, but this time, Jesse had food in his stomach, hat on his head, and the names of his teammates down pat.

All except one, it would seem.

“Ain’t ever heard of a Shimada on base before,” he mused as he shuffled on his empty holster.  “Who’s the guy?”

“Nobody you need to concern yourself with just yet. All you need to know is that if he’s calling for backup, something’s gone very wrong. He’s been just outside Moscow for the past week running recon, nothing his team was doing required confrontation of any kind. This’ll be an active firefight, so you’re paired up with me for the breakout, got it?”

“Sounds fair ‘nough.”

“Good. There isn’t much we…”

Gabriel trailed off mid sentence, his mouth closing slowly in time with the narrowing of his eyes. His gloved hand prodded Jesse’s nose before he could so much as flinch.

It came away the faintest hint of pink.

“Aw, hell, again?” Jesse grumbled, raising his own hand to his face. When he wiped beneath his nose, however, there was nothing to be seen. A stinging further up the bridge snagged his attention, and his hand shifted to brush it. The sting intensified, and his fingers came away with the smallest smear of blood. He stared at them, brow furrowing in confusion before he met Gabriel’s exasperated eyes.

“I… alright, I swear I ain’t bullshittin’ here, I have no idea where that came from.”

Gabriel scanned Jesse’s face in silence, his eyes lingering on the cut. It had already stopped bleeding, but the stinging was a force to be reckoned with.

“Winters are dry here,” Gabriel said with an air of finality. “Skin’s probably just not happy with it. Not worth thinking too hard about.”

Jesse brushed a hand over the split skin one last time before shaking his head. “Speakin’ of thinkin’-“

“You decide to take it up as a hobby?”

Jesse shot him a baleful look as he sat down, clipping on the last of his gear. “I been thinkin’ and realized I don’t have a call sign.”

“You sure do. A temp at least, until you’ve earned one more fitting.”

“Well it sure ain’t helpful if I don’t know it.”

“You can thank Ingles for it. Hell, you were standing right there with her when you got it.” Gabriel clapped a hand on Jesse’s shoulder. “Recommend you stop “thinkin’” and get ready for landing, Stowaway.”

With that, he made his way back to the front of the helo, leaving Jesse to sulk with his “thinkin’”.

The flight in and touchdown was much less eventful than the fake-Moscow crew’s had been, and before he knew it the team was assembled on the ground of a small clearing, the latest snowfall melting into a muddy slush a their feet. The team began taking final stock of equipment and listening as Gabriel laid out the plan. Jesse scratched absently at his shoulder as they settled in.

“We lost contact two hours ago,” Gabriel said evenly, standing in front of the group with his hands clasped behind his back. “The signal for backup came in half an hour prior about 70 miles due west from the original position in the city, approximately a mile from this location. We’re lacking details on the where or why here, all we know is there’s a high chance the enemy knows we’re coming. The last transmission we’ve had confirmed they do not know the organization they are facing, but they have their suspicions.”

“Cook, Nguyen, Ingles- you’re on scout for the general location we last know Shimada’s team to be. Strike 2 and 3 will be on standby for your signal once you have eyes on target, from there we move in. Let’s go, folks, we’re six hours in the dark here.”

A shuffle of salutes snapped off to Gabriel, and the three agents on scout disappeared into the brush in the general direction of the last signal from Shimada. Jesse leaned back against the Bird as the rest of the team set about busying themselves with one thing or another that seemed to involve a lot of re-checking weapons.

He’d asked after his gun choice on the ride over, and had gotten a “you’ll get it on the ground” in brusque response from Reyes. So far, there had been no sign of anyone equipping him. He wasn’t sure if he needed to remind anyone he was there or not again.

“You need a tree to scratch that against or something?”

Jesse’s hand froze in place where it had been mid itch at Siegel’s sudden question. He hadn’t stopped scratching his shoulder since the briefing had started, and now that he’d stopped, he could feel a bloom of absolute fire across his skin. He’d dealt with plenty of mid summer bug bites and the hell that came with giving in and scratching them in New Mexico, and this didn’t feel too far off from that exact feeling. If the bug that had bit him now was the size of a small dog, maybe.

“Nah,” he waved Siegel off. “Zoned into it. Just burns.”

Siegel snorted as he turned away. “Sure, anything would after digging at it for that long. Leave it alone.”

Easier said than done. It took the next few minutes of staring into space with a clenched fist to keep Jesse from going right back to itching. When he was certain nobody was looking, he finally caved and shimmied his bandana and the collar of his shirt aside, craning his neck to see his shoulder.

There was a perfectly straight cut, not quite bleeding but surrounded by a mottling of purple bruising and a strange, sickly yellow. His heart dropped the longer he stared, the ice now in his veins still not enough to cool the sudden fire under the skin.

He’d seen this cut before. It had been given to him courtesy of the fringe militants in the fake-Moscow mission, nearly a month and a half ago.

And he’d watched with his own eyes as it had been healed in seconds by Dr. O’Dearein’s freakish tech.

A hand slowly drifted up to his face, the gentle touch to his nose sending a stinging reminder of the nick on his nose Gabriel had pointed out. The familiarity of it came back to him now. That had been healed by O’Dearein just two weeks ago after a slip up in training.

Dread, heavy and cloying, slow and stifling as molasses, filled every bit left to feel of Jesse.

“Signal, Commander!” The sharp call from the helo got the attention of everyone gathered. The signal came through from Nguyen- he’d spotted the enemy, and they were ready for engagement. Jesse reluctantly shuffled his collar back into place, thoroughly disturbed as a bustle of activity exploded around him. He inhaled sharply and shook his head.

He’d let himself wig out about it later. He needed his head present, and freaking out pre-loadout on his first call-in for backup didn’t seem like a great way to get invited back to the party.

Each member of Strike 2 was finishing their prep and assembling as they’d planned on the ride in. As part of Strike 3, Jesse stood to the side, wary of the motion and waiting to check if there was a weapon he should just snag from the racks in the Bird. They’d have another few minutes to get set and head in after Strike 2.

He’d just made up his mind when a revolver was held out sharply in front of him.

He stared at the gun. “This?”

“Is for you,” Siegel said, shimmying the gun for him to take. “You did us a lot of good back in Falkland, you know. You aren’t supposed to have one of your own yet, really, but Boss was pretty insistent.”

Jesse was silent, the revolver in front of him stealing any coherent thought he had and melting away the sudden alarm at the old injuries. He hadn’t expected something like this from anyone, but to have it come from one of the agents he’d interacted possibly the least with was downright bemusing. He eyed Siegel warily.

“Then why didn’t he just give it to me himself?”

Siegel’s eye gleamed. “No regulation against brothers in arms giving gifts, is there?”

Jesse stared a moment longer before looking back down at the revolver in the agent’s hand. The meaning was clear enough. Gabriel was covering for himself as commander by sending the revolver through the grapevine.

“Crafty,” Williams said appreciatively, apparently coming to the same conclusion as she gave up all pretense of not eavesdropping. The rifle she had been cleaning turned neatly over in her hands. “Far as I’m concerned, they should’ve had you on that from the start. These”—she finished her cleaning with a hefty shake, clicking the last components of the rifle into place— “never did seem your style.”

Siegel snorted. “You kidding me? You seen what Captain Amari’s taught this kid?”

“No, but I’ve seen his file, and the word ‘revolver’ is in there a lot more than ‘rifle’.“

“Why the hell have you seen his file?”

“You’re telling me you haven’t?”

“That’s beside the point,” Siegel said easily, waving the question off too quick for Jesse’s liking.

“Of course I’ve seen it,” Williams said as if Siegel hadn’t spoken, “if the boss says we’ve got a kid capable of handing all of us our own asses joining the team, I’m gonna want to know who we’re dealing with.”

Jesse glanced up at that, allowing himself a small thrill of pride as he extended a hand reverently for the revolver. “You’ve only seen my file?”

“This is starting to feel like an Abbott and Costello gag,” Williams said as she planted her chin on her hand. “Yes, I’ve seen your file, Stowaway.”

A toothy grin broke Jesse’s face.

“Then you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.“

The handle of the revolver touched his palm.

And nothing became

One.

Red.

Red, and red, and red. So much red he was sure he’d never see another color in his life.

A spike of fear, raw and wild, rammed through him and chilled down his spine, his eyes slamming shut before he even knew what he was doing. The grip he had on the gun went white-knuckled as every muscle in his body tensed with a vengeance. It took everything he had to keep his eyes closed as something roared in his ears, the rush of blood to his head sending a pulse of heat across his face, and the pressure, the grinding, splintering, aching pressure behind his left eye that he thought had finally dissipated days ago, weeks ago grew and grew and grew-

And he had nothing.

There was nothing. The gun wasn’t loaded.

“What’s with the sour face?”

The question was clearly aimed at him, but Jesse’s eyes remained firmly shut. Apparently, he took too long to answer as the chatter moved on without him.

“It’s his first back-up call, give him a break. Nerves are a helluva thing.” That was Siegel, he’d handed him the revolver-

“His first? Not reassuring, bud.“ Williams, unaware-

“Thanks,” Jesse grunted abruptly, ending the others’ banter on the spot. Sweat was beginning to bead on his forehead, threatening to run in rivulets to his eyes. Eyes which remained firmly screwed shut. “Y’all excuse me a minute?”

There was a short silence before Siegel cleared his throat. “Uh, sure. Clearing out in 3 though, you’ll be ready? Ammo’s in the crate up on Commander’s left.”

“Crate on the left, got it,” Jesse managed to say, already spinning to hop back up in the helo before either could say another word. He barely heard Williams’ sarcastic mutterings of emotional reunions between a cowboy and his revolver as he slipped behind the partition between the cockpit and the main bay, safely out of sight of the team outside.

His back hit the wall, hands shaking around the death grip on the gun. Jesse forced himself to breathe, a shaky gulp shocking even him as it forced its way through him. This wasn’t right. This didn’t happen. He didn’t get it when he had an empty gun. He used it, and it left him damn well be until the next time he was forced to fall back on it again. He’d even gone so far as to try the rifle range in the last month, and not a speck of red had been in sight as he’d been relieved enough to practice.

But here it was, heavy and overwhelming as if it had already built to its full potential despite…

Despite it not being called on. Geared up, and never used. Not in the last month and a half, that was.

Another ragged gasp escaped him as he pulled the revolver up to his chest, both hands clamped around the gun as his pounding heart threatened to rattle the wall behind him. He gave the chamber a spin to be certain. Empty. It was empty, this didn’t happen on empty.

The thought was the only thing that convinced him to try to open his eyes. One at a time, agonizingly slow, he relaxed the clamp of his eyes to a droop, to a squint, to a half lidded opening. His vision was masked in so much crimson he had to blink seven times before it lightened enough to truly see.

And he did see. He saw just fine, and saw without the one thing he dreaded with all the panic in his veins in that moment.

The feeling.

The feeling was missing. The pressure in his head was there, and the red wasn’t budging, but that feeling, the need to scan for a target, for a shot to take, was missing.

The hammering of his heart slowed an increment as he forced his focus to drift to an agent waving the rest of Strike 2 forward. They were just within his line of sight through the windshield. His heart raced again, his fear threatening to choke him as he stared down the back of that agent’s head for a second, two, three…

And nothing happened.

The jagged gasps turned to a deflated sigh of relief, and Jesse let his knees give a bit to deposit him on the floor. It wasn’t there. The need to fire, the all consuming burn to use every bullet he had.

He could do this.

He would do this. He didn’t have any other choice. He’d bide some time, pocket some ammo, and only break it out when he absolutely knew he could use it to finally send the feeling on it’s damn merry way.

He could do this.

But for the sheet of red and the all-consuming pressure in his head refusing to fade.

He sat for a moment, urging his breathing to slow and his eyes to drift, using every trick he’d ever taught himself to ease back the red. It lightened a degree, but he didn’t have time to try anything further.

“Strike 3!”

The call rattled his already addled brain, and he jolted upright. Strike 3, that was him. Siegel said three minutes. They’re moving. We’re moving.

Jesse scrubbed a hand across his eyes, urging the pressure to relieve even the slightest bit, and he planted a palm firmly on the wall to hoist himself back to his feet. With shaking hands, he fumbled for the empty holster, firmly shoving the revolver in place and latching it in with vigor. He paused, hoping against hope that the lack of contact might let it subside.

No such luck ever graced his life, and it certainly wasn’t planning on starting now. The red remained.

He breathed deep once, twice, willing himself to appear normal, at best sane, as he ducked back out of the helo and onto the prep grounds. Nobody gave him trouble as they all moved to mobilize.

He missed the quizzical look Siegel sent his way as he snagged a handful of ammunition and fell in line with the others. The bullets were shoved unceremoniously in his pocket.

“On tail of Strike 2. We’re flanking folks!” Reyes no-nonsense tone pierced the air for the last remaining team members. “Target’s holed up in an old factory, and they know we’re coming! We’re going in on stealth, but don’t expect that to last long. Expect a fight. Hit hard, hit fast, collect our crew, and get the hell out!”

The shout to deploy went out, and the team of eight moved as one into the treeline. Jesse fell diligently in line, tucked to the middle of the group and hoping they were too distracted to notice the clenching of his hands or the grit of his jaw.

It wasn’t long before they’d reached the ledge above the factory the scouts had marked out for them. Crouching in the slush of the treeline, the team took in the scene before them. A factory it truly was, though what it had once made was anyone’s best guess. Crumbling concrete, piles of rotten wood, and overturned cargo containers littered the outside, jagged stretches of rebar stretching as if competing for height with the weeds. The building was a massive split level against a hillside, the top appearing to be the main factory floor and the bottom a warehouse of some kind.

The warehouse below had a rattle of gunfire already echoing up to greet them.

A few deft hand signals from Reyes had the team moving silently, splitting off into pairs as they fanned out and slid down the muck of the hillside to land along the back wall of the upper floor. Jesse pointedly avoided eye contact with Reyes as they paired up, his heart hammering in his throat and the weight of an empty revolver crushing his chest as his commander joined him.

Siegel, Williams, the others- Jesse could fool them easily enough if they questioned his sudden hesitation, the jumpiness to his movements. But Reyes… Reyes was never not on the lookout for funny business. There’d be no fooling him.

Didn’t mean he still wouldn’t try…

They slid down the hill to hit the back wall quietly as a pair, the ice and mud of the hillside softening their approach. Each pair moved at a crouch towards one of two decrepit openings on either side of the building they could see.

Inside was quiet and cool, cement walls meeting a mashup of concrete and patched wooden flooring. A mess of furniture and machinery was strewn about, forgotten and left to rot long ago. Portions of the floor looked like they’d fallen away before the place was abandoned, and haphazard patch jobs of cracked floorboards and rusty nails blotted the space. Each pair entered silently and split, drifting to the far corners of the massive space and peeking doors and corners that opened to who-knew-where.

A terse wave of hand signals for the all clear came through.

Jesse’s head pounded.

Something wasn’t right. Beyond the obvious he himself wasn’t right. Every instinct he had was screaming at him, and he scanned the shadows creeping under the edges of the ceiling slowly as he edged his way further into the room.

New Mexico had a penchant for silence in the summers. The heat was too much for any sane man to willingly trek out in during the days, and the nights were a reprieve from the blistering sun that few felt much like wasting on rowdiness. Quiet could cling to you in those nights, a gentle lull of buzzing insects joining the coyotes calling out their kills in the distance.

But there were other nights where the quiet wouldn’t sit right. They were nights that called for laughter, drunken hollering, jeering- anything to shatter the suffocating bubble the heat seemed to have made.

The corner of the wall he skirted along was covered in an odd wood paneling, the closest riddled in splinters. Too many of them looked newer than the rest. His finger skimmed lightly over the tell tale sign of a bullet passing through. His head throbbed and his vision clouded, convincing him for a single moment that his hand came away stained red. He pinched the bridge of his nose to will it away, drawing a glance from Reyes.

Many of the sounds that broke the quiet of New Mexico happened more than once a night. Shouts of swears and brawls that lasted all of ten seconds before they were broken up one way or the other. Gunshots in particular, he lied to himself and forced himself to think of as a lullaby in their own way. Sound, most sound, and after a while any sound during summer nights in that gorge in New Mexico generally meant one thing—

Jesse’s next furtive step caused an agonizingly loud creak in the patch-job floorboards, and he winced despite himself.

A death sentence.

He had no time to think before something exploded through the wood, shards and splinters flying to the far corners. Jesse managed to fling his arms up in time to block most of the onslaught of broken wood and stumbled back, his breath catching as his head whipped up.

“Turret!”

He had no idea who made the call, but Jesse gawked just a second too long given the circumstances. The sentry turret had punched through the patch in the wall, black and sleek and moving unlike any he’d ever hawked on the market. Its head swiveled, tilted, and gave Jesse exactly half a second more to get his brain back into gear before it open fired.

Scrambling for the closest cover he had, Jesse tumbled head over heels behind a toppled metal surface that appeared to have once been a conveyor system, the sound of gunfire overtaking all other noises as he hit the deck. A darting glance around the room saw the others doing the same, diving for cover where they could. The few smart enough to prep shields were popping them up and holding their ground.

A few shots were fired back, and Jesse half fumbled for the revolver. It was all he could do to keep his eyes from screwing shut at the noise, the rattle of the sentry and the return fire overwhelming.

“Fall back!”

It was a miracle he’d heard it at all, but the sharp command pulled him back to Earth as he snapped his attention to it. One of the agents had moved up behind the shields, and he could see something sparking in his hand. Jesse inhaled sharply and dove for new cover as the agent hefted the object at the turret.

A bloom of crackling electricity shot from it, arcing to the conveyor Jesse had been behind and sparking the room in a series of bright blues and whites. The turret jittered and shivered, the head ticking back and forth in what may have been the closest thing to fury an omnic sentry could display.

“Out!” Reyes was shouting. “Stealth is off the table, get to the lower level!”

The team broke, two pairs heading for a door on the other side of the room. Jesse scrambled to his feet and hustled to join Reyes, who hadn’t removed his eyes from the turret yet.

“Sorry-“ He gasped out, but Reyes waved him off, his full focus on the downed omnic. Unsure of how to take that, Jesse followed the rest of the agents through the door. The commander closed off the group and followed behind.

The two agents at the front were the couple that had shields, and they popped out the corridor with their glimmering blockade at the ready. The moment they were visible, a smattering of gunfire made contact with the shields.

The two of them shuffled forward beside each other, the cover just enough to allow the rest of the agents to funnel out of the stairwell and into the warehouse-turned-warzone. One of the walls had completely blown open, a short stretch of icy, crumbled parking lot leading to a small field and treeline outside of the rubble.

The chaos of gunfire echoing in the confines of the concrete building lit absolute fire to Jesse’s nerves, and it took all he had to dart between the stairs and the first bit of cover he could see beyond the shields. Williams was already there, peering over the top of the shipping container with an odd mirror-like device. She lined up a shot over her shoulder as she stared into the device, then popped up just enough to confirm her targeting and fire before dropping back beside him. She nodded roughly to the next metal container over.

“You’re clear,” she shouted, “but they’ve got our guys backed into that left corner!”

Jesse knew exactly what he was supposed to do with that information. He’d spent the last months drilling into his head exactly what this type of situation would call for, meticulously watching and training and practicing with the group to general success.

He didn’t have the devil using the backs of his eyeballs as speed bags then, though.

His hesitation caused one of the other agents to run into him, and the two stumbled more than slipped away to the new cover. The split second of extra time in the open gave someone enough of a bead on them to change their aim and fire a few rounds.

The shot meant for him went high, fatally wounding Jesse’s hat and dashing the cloth to the ground. He let out a wordless yell as it fell, and finished his roll behind the next crate over with the agent who had moved alongside him. The man gave Jesse a withering look, but whatever was in Jesse’s face gave him enough pause to apparently let bygones be bygones.

And by golly was he gone. In a blink, the man had disappeared around the next corner, the next set of pairs rushing to join them and returning fire over the crates.

It was so purposeful, so planned, so easy of a play if not for the pressure, the red. Jesse clenched his jaw and fumbled for the loose bullets in his pocket as the shield team gave the signal to move up, each member dodging forward as they cleared the closest enemies. He popped his head over the container, watching as each of his crew inched forward, getting closer to the main fight.

There were no less than fifteen enemies left, a mix of omnics and man, most focusing their attention on the Strike 2 team on the other side of the warehouse. There were a few among the team he didn’t recognize, and he guessed they were the crew they’d been sent to collect.

One in particular had him certain the usual film of scarlet had given way to straight up hallucinating.

A blur of a completely different shade of red twisted its way through the carnage, darts of light almost impossible to follow as they flew this way and that. The sharp clang of metal on metal echoed, and as Jesse finally could focus on the movements enough to see what was happening, he was shocked to find a sword as the cause. The sword was somehow the least interesting thing about the situation, as their owner disappeared in another whirlwind of movement into the fray.

An omnic? But it moved like a man-

A sharp shout from one of Strike 2 pulled his attention back to his current situation, and Jesse dug diligently back into his pocket, shakily pulling out his bullets.

Most missions, he only loaded five in a revolver. An old habit from a mentor whose name he’d never bothered to learn in the Gorge. Never know when you might get the hammer stuck on somethin’ and say goodbye to your left foot. I keep the chamber under the hammer empty unless I know to expect trouble.

Jesse fumbled with his handful of bullets to get six of them into line, reaching for the revolver and exhaling shakily as they glinted red, red, red-

“Heads up!”

It was all the warning he had before the turret from above crashed through a patch in the ceiling, landing in a spray of splinters and gunfire. A sloppy roll out of the way was all Jesse managed, his eyes watering as he bit his tongue and flung himself out of the way.

When he got his bearings, it was all he could do to keep himself from letting out a manic laugh. The entire handful of bullets was now generously spread across the active warzone of open space before him.

The reintroduction of the turret had thrown their team into chaos, as what once was perfect cover was now pinning them down. Jesse grit his teeth, his eyes on a single bullet that he might be able to reach without sticking his neck out too far-

A flash of red brilliance split his vision, and in a flurry of noise and light, the turret ground to a screeching halt. In a blink, it was riddled with holes, sparks and jittering movements all there was left to it.

The blur of red slowed to a stop, a metal arm hanging loose and looking… dislocated? Broken? 

Now that the figure had finally stopped moving, Jesse really couldn’t be sure if he was man or machine.

A harsh mask of silver blocked any discernible features he may have had, and though his chest heaved like he had lungs to fill, his right arm, lower torso and legs were undeniably robotic. The metal arm that hung useless barely appeared to slow him down, as he had managed to sheath one sword across his back and held the other at ready in his flesh and blood hand.

He turned sharply in Jesse’s direction as he stared, and the eyes that met his were filled with such a coldness that Jesse felt himself physically recoil.

The look passed as the man leapt back into the last of the fray, pushing the remaining handful of attackers back with the Strike 1 team. It was only moments before the gunfire had faded and the last of the enemy were either dead or sprinting for the treeline.

Jesse stood once he was sure he wouldn’t lose his head to a stray bullet, his eyes darting back to the bullet holes in the turret. How in the hell does a man do that with a sword?

“Clear!”

“Clear!”

“Clear!”

“Commander!”

The calls echoed one after the other as the agents cleared the last of the rooms’ corners. Siegel’s call to Reyes was the odd one out as he finished his lap of the room. Jesse turned to see him at the doorway of a small off-set room, his forehead wrinkled in trepidation behind his mask.

“Boss,” he said, keeping his voice low, “you’re gonna want to see this.”

Reyes wasted no time in striding to him as the others began triage and scouring the place, teams of two splitting once more to gather any of their injured or information they may be able to analyze later. Jesse hopped from one foot to the other, the pounding in his head his only companion for all of twenty seconds before he made up his mind.

Reyes was his assigned partner, after all.

The little room Siegel and Reyes had disappeared into was little more than an office, old filing cabinets and a small desk left to fend for themselves. The back wall had crumbled in the firefight, creating an opening large enough to shimmy through to what looked like an open gap beyond.

Siegel stood at the opening, on alert as he flicked his eyes to Jesse as he entered the small space. He didn’t rebuff him, so Jesse took another few hesitant steps forward to poke his head into the hidden room Reyes had already squeezed into.

Hundreds of crates identical to what they’d recovered from Falkland were lined in the center of the room, locked down and sparkling new amidst the ancient technology around them. Reyes walked slowly alongside them, his eyes roaming over their lack of labels, expressionless.

Jesse stepped in in full then, a low whistle escaping him. Gabriel spared him a glance before going back to his scrutiny.

“Guess they really didn’t want to share this time,” Jesse muttered, joining Reyes in his walk-around as he looped to the opposite side of the stack. “Know what all this is?”

He hadn’t expected a response, so he was surprised when Reyes grunted in return.

“I have an inkling.”

“Ah,” Jesse muttered, a weak attempt at sounding lighthearted. “Took up the thinkin’ hobby yourself then?”

Gabriel’s long glance more than told him he’d failed at coming across casual. But Jesse’s attention was stolen by a tabletop set up against the opposite wall, and he wandered to it for a closer look as Reyes made his way along the other side of the crates.

Notebooks stacked high sat next to a canister about the size of his forearm. Safety glasses, gloves, pens, standard lab affair littered the surface. Everything about it said do not touch.

In a haze of crimson and crippling curiosity, Jesse reached for the canister and popped off the lid before any coherent thought could catch up to him.

A gush of smoke escaped once the lid was removed, inky black and vaporous. Jesse scrambled back at the sudden puff, the lid still in his hand as he clamped his other palm over his nose and mouth. The smoke continued to curl, licking into the air in a way he’d never seen any matter do before. It looked like it was… searching, like it was tasting the air for something. There was no breeze to be felt inside the old building, but the curl of smoke changed course and drifted gently in Jesse’s direction all the same.

Gabriel chose that moment to round the corner of boxes.

In the split second that he took in the scene before him, Jesse had slammed the lid of the container back on and twisted it tight, choking off the smoke. It dissipated slowly, collecting like sludge on the table before dissolving in on itself. Wide eyed, Jesse turned to Gabriel.

Not once had he seen the look he now saw in the commander’s eyes. It flickered away so fast he could have convinced himself he imagined it, but it was so raw, so wrong to see on the commander’s face that Jesse knew he couldn’t have thought that up himself.

Gabriel was afraid.

“The hell," Jesse gasped out, "was that?"

Gabriel was saved from having to respond by an interrupting shout from Siegel.

“Bandits spotted, Boss, they’re coming back with more friends! We’ve gotta clear out!”

Reyes stood stock still, locked in a silent moment with Jesse as they stared at the canister. In a split second decision, Gabriel grabbed Jesse’s shoulder and spun him to hustle out of the room.

When he glanced back over his shoulder, he saw Reyes following right on his tail, expression grim and determined.

The canister was no longer on the table.

Before Jesse had a chance to protest, Siegel was ushering him out the door and covering their exit. Sure enough, the remaining team left in the warehouse that hadn’t begun the trek back to the helo were back under cover, firing shots into the treeline.

The omnic-man was crouched behind a crate, his broken metal arm held loosely by his opposite hand as he tried to wriggle it back into place. His eyes darted up as they joined him behind his cover.

“Status, Shimada,” Gabriel clipped out tersely.

Ah.

Of course this was Shimada.

Jesse should probably have seen that one coming.

If he’s calling for backup, something’s gone very wrong-

Shimada jerked his head to the treeline behind them. “First count, twenty in the trees. They have another thirty eight and a modified Bastion on the way.”

His voice was quieter than Jesse expected, a flat, deadly serious tone. He watched as the man gave up on re-locating the metal arm and settled for lashing it to his torso to keep it from moving. He looked ready to speak again, but a sudden rattle of gunfire on their metal cover caused the three of them to duck and cover.

Shimada picked his blade back up, the wicked curve of steel glinting in the light as he closed his eyes. He seemed to be settling himself for something, his body stilling as his breathing slowed. Jesse left him to it as Gabriel took a moment to sprint to the next cover over for more room, his own return shots cracking through the air. He tapped his comms, his shout to fall back and evacuate confirmed from each team in quick succession. Strike 3 fell into place to cover the retreating groups, and only then did Gabriel look back at Jesse in full since the moment with the canister. The confusion that overtook his face would have been comical given any other circumstances.

“Gun’s holstered?” Reyes shouted his way.

Jesse startled at that, sparing the commander a glance. Shimada barely cracked open an eye next to him.

“Out of ammo,” Jesse shouted back. And that was true, he didn’t need to go into the specifics of it never having any ammo to begin with. “Ain’t much use as anything other than a club right n-“

Gabriel hooked a discarded rifle up from the ground with the toe of his boot without listening to another word, checking the magazine in a swift flick. In one deft move, he chucked the rifle Jesse’s way.

Damn Deadlock.

Damn his life on the road.

And damn every instinct he’d ever received from the two. Without thinking, Jesse’s hand snapped out to catch the gun, even as a ragged cry left his lips.

“No!”

Shimada’s other eye snapped open.

The rifle hit Jesse’s hand and suddenly, he had twenty one bullets.

It had twenty one bullets.

Red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red-

Angry, violent, all-consuming, it pulsed across his vision, words choking off in his mouth and stopping the breath in his throat. He snarled, the sound coming from a deep, visceral part of his gut as he snapped the rifle into the crook of his elbow. The sound terrified him on the small level of awareness he had left. He could feel it building, back with a vengeance tenfold from any time he’d called on it before, and the pressure mounted as he stared wide-eyed at nothing. The red deepened, and in a blink a small trail of heat ran from his left eye to stain his cheek.

A hand landed on his shoulder, and Jesse jerked away harshly, his free hand flying to his eyes in a panic as he refocused. In the split second he’d zoned out, he could pinpoint exactly where every agent in this building was, clear as if they’d been shouting their positions to him.

He’d seen more of them than enemies, and something in him knew if he opened his eyes now, they’d get the full brute force of his own personal hell before he could so much as turn to face the trees.

No, no, no-

He kept his palm flat against his face, but try as he might, his eyes refused to close. Never like this, this had never happened before!

His eyes were open, and nothing he could do would close them, and the pressure was going to kill him if he didn’t let it go right now, if he didn’t shoot the six, the four, five, six, seven, eight-

Shimada’s hand was tightening on his shoulder. He may have been speaking. He was dimly aware of the tingle of more hot trails of blood on his face, from his nose, from his eye, it didn’t matter, none of it mattered, he had to shoot.

There were three of them at the card table in the room. He shouldered the door in, demanding their attention without a word.

“McCree, put the gun down now or so help me your ass is on the next train outta—“

“Dan, wait, he’s bleedin’!”

Red, scarlet and blinding even as his eyes closed.

Something finally popped.

And Jesse screamed.

He bent double, his hand grinding further into eyes that wouldn’t close, half a second, not even a second was all it would take-

Three shots off and done. A single second. The gun smoked, the bodies slumped over their cards, and Jesse’s knees hit the ground. Ashe was gonna kill him.

There was swearing now, and another hand on his shoulder, one on his elbow, one trying to pry the gun from his hand.

There were fingers going for the hand over his eyes.

No!

His head jerked uselessly against the hands, and he’s not even sure he’s saying actual words anymore, but it doesn’t matter, because there are twenty one people in this room who are as good as dead, and he’s sure to join them shortly after the smoke clears and they come and find him with their blood on his hands and he can’t, he can’t like this, after everything he’s done here, after everything he’s gone through to make it right, he can’t—

No.

No, he could.

Pressure, pressure, pressure, creaking and needling and crimson red, red, red, red—

With a new weight of dread in his stomach, Jesse shook himself one last time with everything he had left, dislodging the helping hands and stumbling away from the cover of the crate. There were surprised grunts, but they were behind him.

All that mattered is they were behind him.

Jesse rounded the crate at a stumbling sprint, the brush of a hand trying to grip his foot following him as he broke free. He wrenched the hand from his eyes, staring desperately into the trees. They were too far, too far, and too well under cover for him, for it to see.

The sound of someone following behind him reached through his haze, the urge to simply look back and let it free threatening to overwhelm him, so he clapped the hand back over his eyes, somehow bone dry and watering at the same time.

And he ran blind.

He ran like he’d never run before, straight into the open, towards the rattle of gunfire from the trees. No less than six voices cried out his name behind him, and still he ran.

The sound of gunfire multiplied tenfold, no doubt an easy target firing up their ambushers. The return fire rattled in kind, forcing back the attackers for only a moment, and Jesse ran, the blood on his face a constant flow behind the cover of his hand.

Something hit his shoulder with the power of a freight train, a distant part of his brain registering he should be in pain. He stumbled and slipped on the icy mud, but still he ran, his legs pumping in time with the pounding in his head.

Another sharp sting to his hip, and still he ran.

It wasn’t until he crashed through brush that he let his hand fall. Shimada was true to his count, as twenty stunned faces, omnic and human both, greeted him from their cover. Guns were already swiveling to find a new angle to aim at him around the brush.

The noise that would come next they’d surely hear back in Switzerland, up to the lofty seventh floor, up to the clouds the Board kept themselves on away from the rabble, up to God himself and all the sons of bitches Jesse had sent to meet him.

And in the years and years and years of red, red, red that filled the span of that millisecond, Jesse finally pulled the trigger.

“No!”

Gabriel had heard his fair share of complaints from Jesse over time now. He knew each tone, each drawl, each hint of a joke, each time he was dead serious.

Not once had he heard more agonizing pain than the sound Jesse just made.

His attention had immediately turned back to their attackers after he’d thrown the rifle, but now it snapped back to the kid at the strangled yell. The rifle was tucked into place like he was ready to shoot, but his opposite hand was shakily covering the upper half of his face, teeth grit as a snarl unlike anything Gabriel had ever heard from him escaped him. Genji had a steadying hand on his shoulder, eyes narrowed as he scrutinized Jesse.

For a moment, Gabriel could convince himself he’d accidentally thrown the rifle too high and clocked his cadet across the forehead somehow.

The moment passed immediately as a thick ribbon of blood appeared from behind Jesse’s hand, immediately joined by a second line running from his nose. Alarm spiked through him at the sight, a grim confirmation of something he felt he’d already known. ‘Not mine’ my ass, kid.

“What happened?” He shouted to Genji as he stood from his cover, returning fire.

“Not sure. Something from the gun-“ Genji began, his eyes still searching Jesse’s face as Reyes closed the distance between them once again. He hadn’t quite gotten to their cover when Jesse doubled over and screamed.

Raw and wild pain, so much agony behind the noise. It would have thrown Reyes off his balance if he hadn’t already been sprinting forward. Sliding on his knees into cover, his hand gripped Jesse’s other shoulder harshly.

“Hey! Hey, what’s wrong? McCree, what’s going on?”

A short call came through the comms from the Strike 2 team as the remaining agents of Strike 3 risked glances around their cover to stare at Jesse. Anxiety radiated through the buzzing static as Ingles piped up.

“Was that Stowaway? The hell just happened down there?”

If the kid heard Reyes or the comms, he made no show of it, his hand continuing to claw at his covered eyes. The blood was pouring in earnest down his cheek and from his nose now, and Gabriel bit back a string of swears as he exchanged a look with Genji.

They had to move, and they had to move now.

“McCree. McCree, we’re out of here. Can you stand?”

Again, no sign he’d heard him. Gabriel nodded for the rifle, and Genji moved to remove it from Jesse’s death grip. Gabriel wrapped his own hand around the fingers Jesse had clamped over his eyes. “C’mon, kid, help us out here-“

It was the wrong thing to do, apparently, as Jesse convulsed with a vigor that surprised them both. In a second he’d removed their hands and rolled away from their cover, his palm firmly staying over his eyes. A ragged gasp that could have been a sob left him, and before Gabriel could react, he took off towards the enemy fire.

“Jesse, wait!”

Surprised calls echoed around him as Gabriel lunged for the idiot, his hand just missing Jesse’s foot as he sprinted into the open. With a curse, Gabriel stood, immediately firing every round he had into the treeline to cover what little he could of Jesse’s desperate scramble.

“Cover fire in full, everything you have!” He shouted to the team, trying to keep the thin thread of panic that had risen in him out of his voice. Of all the goddamned, stupid, dumbass things he could do-

They ramped up their return fire around him as he vaulted the crate, ducking low and taking off into the open after Jesse. He didn’t need to look to know Genji was following, but he didn’t care enough to order him back in line. His focus was tunneled on the only thing that mattered for the next twenty seconds of sprinting.

Eyes locked on Jesse, it was impossible to miss the spray of pink as a bullet took the kid in the shoulder. Gabriel’s heart leapt into his throat. No-!

But the kid kept running, his stumble landing him quickly into the cover of the trees and out of their sight.

Gabriel put on a burst of speed, the last of the distance clearing slow, too slow-

And all hell let loose.

At least, that’s what it sounded like. Gunfire a hundredfold, the underlying tone of a pulse rifle the only recognizable piece of the mess. It drew Gabriel up short despite himself, a flinch so minuscule only he himself would notice it, but the sheer explosion of sound-

In all his time during this war, he’d never heard anything like this.

The flinch was just enough to give Genji a lead on him, and the cyborg leapt into the treeline regardless of the noise, the lights on his armor a blur of movement. A shout of warning was all he gave Gabriel as he swung his blade in front of his face, lightning fast and angled.

A single bullet pinged off it, embedding itself into the trunk of the tree beside him. If he hadn’t raised the blade, it would have taken him perfectly in the center of his forehead.

As quick as it started, the sound of gunfire stopped. Gabriel’s stare narrowed as he ducked through the foliage, shotgun at the ready and dread pooling heavily in the pit of his stomach. He barely slowed as he picked past the maze of overgrown brambles alongside Genji, his eyes tracing the ground as no further shots were fired.

If he hadn’t been able to see as well as he could in shaded cover, he would have tripped up on the body at his feet. And if not over that one, then likely the next one.

Or the next one.

Or the next-

He slowed to a stop as he looked between the downed bodies, the threat level effectively gone. Each had taken a perfect headshot, the bullets in identical places despite the bodies being so far spread. One appeared to have even been hit through one of the thinner boughs of the tree in front of it, the bullet cracking the branch cleanly in half and leaving it dangling haphazardly over the corpse. Genji made a small sound that could have either been impressed or appreciative.

Impossible…

“What,” Genji said, low and fascinated as he crouched beside a body, “have you invited into your team, Commander?”

A stick snapped somewhere ahead of them. Gabriel looked up sharply, Genji’s sword snapping back into ready position.

Jesse was leaning heavily against one of the trees up ahead, his chest heaving. His tattered bandana was loose around his neck, stained nearly black from the blood still running from his face. One of his hands was clasped over his left eye, and the rifle Reyes had thrown to him was dangling loose from his other, haphazardly aiming at his own foot. Blood seeped through his shirt from his shoulder and hip, his dangling hand dripping steadily into the snow below. He didn’t seem to care. In fact, he didn’t seem to register their approach at all, his visible eye glazed as he stared at nothing in particular. The commander ran his gaze over the carnage surrounding him.

There was no way.

No way in hell Jesse had done this just now, alone. He himself had seen the kid shoot a hundred times over. He knew what he could do. He knew his limits.

And sure, he was fast on a trigger, but this…

This was supernatural.

Twenty downed enemies, omnic and flesh-and -blood, each with a perfect headshot. Scattered as they were, the kid would have had to move inhumanly fast to get a bead on each of them in the level of cover they had.

What have you invited into your team, Commander?

Jesse’s entire body shuddered suddenly, the rifle dropping from his hand. Before Gabriel could react, the buzz of his intercom faded in, and a faint voice interrupted the static.

“Commander, what the hell is going on down there? Bird’s up in eight, we need to go!”

Reyes ignored it, his eyes glued to Jesse.

The kid still hadn’t registered they were there, but there was a sudden wetness to his gasping breaths that snapped Reyes out of his reverie as a nearly black tear of blood fell from Jesse’s hand to paint the snow below.

Gabriel stepped forward, accompanied by a low hum of warning from Genji. He ignored it.

At the movement, Jesse finally seemed to notice their presence, as he startled in place. His eye met Gabriel’s blearily as his hand finally flopped from his face, revealing his left eye.

All white had been replaced with crimson.

“Well,” he forced out after meeting Gabriel's stare for a second, the word wet and strained and near incomprehensible. “I miss anybody?”

His knees buckled as his eyes rolled upwards with a sudden fervor, and Gabriel barely had time to cross the remaining distance and catch the kid before his head hit the ground.

Chapter Text

Billie the Bull was built like a brick house and had about as many thoughts a day as one.

Whereas most men walked, he lumbered and shambled with an aimlessness never quite fitting of a man his size. While others sat, he flopped and crashed and caved the world in around himself. Where others’ words were spoken, he grunted and snorted and gave just about every impression that he’d never learned to speak sentences that required more than four words at a time. For all he didn’t say, though, his was a presence that could not (and would not) be ignored.

Allan Feeney didn’t like the guy because of any of that. He liked the guy because he was the single-most member of the R6 who didn’t have a crippling nicotine addiction.

Feeney ran his faction as cleanly as he could. The mafia (Scorpion Nation, he’d told himself again and again, but it never sat as right) had chosen him personally for his position, one of four other R6 leaders along Route 66 keeping watch over the comings and goings of their business. Keep an eye, step in when you need to. Keep your head down, but never out. Keep them in line. Keep, keep, keep.

For being in a business where most of the work went towards getting rid of crap, they sure asked him to keep an awful lot.

He’d only been in Flagstaff a few short months now, and ever since murmurings of the oncoming crisis had begun, he’d done his best to keep his sleeves rolled up and his hands in as many pies as the bosses needed. Kept secrets that needed keeping, cut out tongues that wagged when they shouldn’t. Tracked their shipments, watched the customers, hired and ‘fired’ and all around made it a point to keep the red sands of Arizona red so long as it turned a buck.

Far as he was concerned, he was pretty good at what he did.

But to be able to do that required sticking his neck out farther than a chicken prepped for slaughter. He’d lost count of the close-calls he’d had, but he did know that the attempts on his life had dwindled significantly the second he’d practically chained the Bull to his side.

He had other body guards, sure, but they never stuck close by. They did what they saw best for themselves. Easier to spot hints of trouble from afar, easier to find it up close. But keeping Billie close while he worked was the best way he knew of keeping the butcher’s knife at bay- the beast of a man would never feel the itch to nip off for a cigarrete on guard duty and was more than happy to sulk in silence for hours at a time in the hallway outside of Feeney’s ramshackle room. His quiet presence looming just outside had become something Feeney could pick up on almost like a sixth sense, the heavy silence of him leaning against the wall just as easy to detect as the shuffling of his lopsided pacing.

So it wasn’t hard to tell that something massively wrong was happening when the Bull used his meaty fist for something other than cracking skulls and knocked.

Feeney lowered the bottle, the just-opened beer left untouched as he narrowed his eyes at the door. This was the one hour he had out of the day to himself, and he’d be damned if he’d be spending it doing anything but drinking. But the Bull knew better than to disturb him unless the world was collapsing into fire and brimstone around them.

“Who’s head’s been knocked off?” He shouted, already going back for the swig he’d been interrupted from enjoying. By the time he thunked the bottle back on the rickety table, the Bull had opened the door.

His face was lined with a scowl, grooves cutting deep into his forehead and casting grim shadows over his chin. The skin around his eyes was pinched in a way Feeney’d never seen as he gave a long, narrow eyed glower to something in the hallway beside him. His throat cleared with a rasping hack so pointed and uncharacteristic of himself that he may as well have shouted for help.

“Guest,” he grunted.

Feeney waited for more, but when nothing came, he rolled his eyes skyward and kept them there. “Either they got a name not worth hearing or you already know you’re supposed to tell them to piss off.”

A mutter drifted from the hallway behind Billie, and the Bull’s eyes squinted, deepening those pinched lines to trenches. Feeney’s hand had already found his pistol, the grip seating nicely in his palm. Just his rotten luck, he couldn’t even have an hour off these days.

“McCree,” Billie huffed.

Feeney hacked and spat. “Never heard of the bastard.”

But another mutter from the hallway had the Bull’s eyes already snapping back to his left, a steadily growing trickle of rage causing them to glisten in the low light. Feeney’s pistol found its way to the top of the desk.

“Mister,” Billie ground the word out, his jaw ticking with the effort of the single utterance. Feeney recoiled as if struck. Formalities were only equal to mums being mentioned as far as Billie was concerned.

“Pull the other one, what did you just say?“

“Mr. McCree,” the Bull clarified with a snarl. The ‘Mr.’ dripped in menace, muddling into a puddle that did little else but join the nauseating swirl of thick tension already flooding the room. “Mr. McCree t’see you.”

The short pop of a gun sent the Bull facedown onto Feeney’s floor.

Feeney was on his feet before Billie’s forehead made contact with the hardwood, his pistol held steady and trained on the now empty doorway, more than ready to pull the trigger the instant the attacker moved.

“Ouch,” the intruder’s voice oozed around the corner, the pitch higher than Feeny expected and dripping in false empathy. “Bigger they are, harder they fall, am I right?”

Feeney brought his left hand up to brace his grip on the gun, his ears ringing with the effort of pinpointing where the rest of his backup was. The gunshot hadn’t brought anyone running. In fact, it was downright silent outside. “The fuck you want?”

“Ah, ah, language, Jesus. You kiss your ma with that mouth?”

“The fuck are you and the fuck. You. Want.”

He didn’t get a reply.

A thin trail of sweat snuck beneath his collar, his hand shifting on the grip of his pistol. There were shouts outside now, the sound of a brewing chaos finally beginning after the gunshot had sounded. Sharks swarming for the blood they knew was now in the waves. But the cause of that blood had apparently turned on his heel and left the building, as the slam of the door at the end of the outer hallway was all the answer Feeney got in the end.

With another vicious swear, he scrambled to his one and only window. It took only a second to fumble the latch open, and he tossed it with enough force to crack a corner.

“Guy leavin’ the front! Kill him!”

His shout was all the gathering gang had needed to act on, and they swarmed as one around the building, weapons at the ready. Feeney spun on his heel and strode out into the hall.

He wouldn’t need to rush by any means. There were at least fifteen of the gang heading for the intruder, they’d have taken care of it by the time he made it.

A pop. Then another. And another, another, another-

Gunfire so fast Feeney faltered in his step, his heart hammering into his throat in sudden panic. He’d never heard anything like the sound in his life, and if he hadn’t already recognized the thrum of the rifle on the first shot, he’d never have guessed this was from the same weapon. But it was unmistakably still there, that small display of power present beneath the rattling. But this didn’t even constitute rattling. It was more like a full on frag had replaced the bullets inside. It was wrong, so wrong, but he regained his stride and burst through the front door all the same.

For the first time in his life, Allan Feeney wished he’d chosen a different career.

Ten, fifteen, twenty five bodies littered the sand, all R6. Each with a shot so precise to the head it looked staged, like a grim final act from one of the soaps showing down at the old theater in Kentwood. Had it not been for the crimson and the stink of gunsmoke in the air, Feeney could almost have believed it. And there, standing in the middle of the grotesque stage-

A child. No more than fourteen, the barest hint of stubble on his chin. He shouldered the automatic in his quivering hands with what appeared to be some hesitation, wiping an arm under his nose distractedly as he blinked. A rivulet of red escaped his left eye as he fixed his gaze on Feeney. He ignored it, letting it drip to the sand as he addressed the R6 leader.

“Here’s how this’s gonna go,” he said, his voice tight. “Number one: you’re gonna tell me exactly who you been callin’ boss for the past three months, and you’re gonna tell me where to find them. Number two, you’re gonna show me the stacking I need to get anywhere near them. And number three-”

Feeney let out a rabid snarl, a pulse in his vision and a pounding of adrenaline so fierce in his ears he’d never experienced before. His gang, his whole crew lay around him, and this child who was somehow responsible (how, how in the hell) had the nerve to make demands.

He crossed ground fast, his hand deftly yanking the knife from his waistband as he ducked below line of fire, ready to gut the fool who dared to challenge the R6, murder his men, challenge him-

A second blast of gunfire caved the dirt in front of him, sending him reeling and landing in an undignified heap of rock and sand. His eyes, whether he wanted them to or not, stayed locked on the kid as he tried and failed to process what had happened.

The automatic hadn’t moved from the boy’s shoulder, but a revolver sat smoking lightly in his other hand. It was shaking.

“Number three,” McCree drawled, the stark line of scarlet running down his cheek matched by the wild glint to his eye, “is that ’mhere to make a deal. But if you’d rather give me an excuse to reload, then this conversation’s gonna be real short.”

It had been five minutes since Ingles had handed Gabriel a fresh beanie to replace his bloodied one. It stayed where it was, dangling loose in his hands somewhere by his shins, his elbows planted on his knees.

The sprint back to the helo had all but ruined the beanie he had on now, Jesse’s head having lolled along the back of it as Gabriel had ran for all he was worth. Keeping the kid from toppling right off his shoulders had been the hardest part, as he’d gone limp and stubbornly stayed that way. Genji had helped heft him onto Gabriel’s back as best he could with one arm out of commission, the kid’s head drooped and his arms dangling loose over the commander’s shoulders.

The way they’d swung against Gabriel’s chest, knocking against the stolen canister tucked beneath his jacket, had only spurred him to run faster.

Jesse was strapped in on the helo’s foldout flat-bed of a stretcher across from where Gabriel now sat. Two swaths of pressure bandages colored his torso in an attempt to staunch the gunshot wounds, the white cloth on his shoulder already gaining a tinge of pink. A low hum buzzed from the medpack Nguyen slowly moved across his form, doing what little he could to keep him stable. They’d cleaned as much of the blood as they could from his face to gauge his condition, but even as Gabriel watched, a slow drip escaped from his shut eye.

The flurry of noise and activity that had occurred as they’d rushed onto the helo had long since died down, but the thick tension in the air could have had a buzz all its own. The exclamations, the questions, the rush of protocol for liftoff, the anxiety around the state Jesse was in, it had all happened at the same time, all energy seeming to explode and disappear with the takeoff as they’d assessed Jesse and gotten him situated. Reyes had only taken his own seat once he was sure the kid was still breathing.

Genji had sat without a word, strapping himself in and staring unblinkingly at the stretcher.

Reyes had given the order for takeoff as he sat beside him. The last of the insistent questions of what had happened died after his sharp look- a silent order. Darting eyes and stares went unhidden, but the mutterings were kept quiet and the questions did not pick back up again.

Thank the Lord they hadn’t, because for the first time in his life, Gabriel didn’t know what he would say.

Another crimson tear dripped down Jesse’s cheek. Gabriel removed the beanie.

Moments.

Seconds or years, too quick to catch, but long enough to know he didn’t want any part of them. Confusing and short and bringing with them the pain, so much pain, that he never let himself focus on them long.

Fingers searching his neck, his wrist. Low voices, wary and alarmed. A gentle finger prying back his eyelid as something soft scrubbed at his cheek.

Movement.

The jostling had pulled him further to the surface than he would have liked. In one agonizing moment of clarity, his eye had opened just enough to see the back of a head swimming in his vision, his arms hooked over someone’s shoulders and a vice grip under his knees keeping him in place as the person sprinted hell for leather.

A blur of red followed alongside them, and the panic at the sight didn’t get a chance to set in before he drifted back into the dark.

He stayed there a while. It was comforting, in the moments he wasn’t entertaining visitors. Memories, hallucinations- either way, there they were. Ghosts drifting through, paying their respects or their curses.

The ghosts gave themselves voices, for better or worse.

“-okay, okay, breathing, that’s good, that’s something-“

“Christ, Boss, what happened to his face?”

“-room, need to strap him in for takeoff-“

Breathing was good. And takeoff, right. They had to leave. Had to go. The question was a good one, though. What was wrong with his face?

What had he done?

“State your name for the record,” the presiding judge was saying. He loomed overhead, and somehow Jesse knew he wouldn’t remember his face by the time the week was out, regardless of if they decided to let him stick around and join Gabriel Reyes’ little crew.

“McCree.”

“Full name.”

“Hoo, now. Ain’t that movin’ awful fast for the first date?”

Jesse had damn good hearing, and if hadn’t known it wasn’t physically possible, he swore he could hear Reyes having an aneurysm on the court room bench behind him. A few quiet snickers were muffled into coughs from the committee surrounding them.

The judge, on the other hand, didn’t so much as blink.Tough crowd.

The darkness provided no answer to what he’d done, the ghosts simmering down unhelpfully as he mulled it over. A low hum had taken their place, and with it the feeling of slipping into a cool lake on the most suffocating day of the summer.

So he floated.

“You got any other training?” Gabriel was asking him. It was his first week on base. His head was tilted back over the edge of the couch in the officer’s mess as he haphazardly tossed a wadded napkin in the air to catch. Gabriel was looking at him, a steaming mug of something on the counter ignored as it steeped.

Jesse squinted as he caught the napkin. “Gonna have to be more specific.”

“Skills. What can you do aside from shoot?”

“Been told I make a mean rhubarb pie.”

“Har-dee-har-har.”

The memories felt ragged, something important not threading together the pieces he was forced to bear. The edges were curling in on themselves, in self preservation or full shut-down he couldn’t be sure, tangling together what little he thought he knew into a nauseating mess.

Possessions

drenched with memories of times he would never see again.       Money

more than enough for others.  The unattainable- a lifetime spent in

the same home, and an ancestor’s ancestor’s ancestor’s lifetime on top of that, a feeling he’d never know

that made it near impossible to leave. Each

other, through love or lust or anything anywhere in between.               Things to keep.

To keep.

Jesse is 11, and he keeps a bug-out bag.

It had never been meant to be used as long as it had been. He’d made it to last him the week on the streets while he scouted out where next to survive.

He blinked, and two weeks had passed.

Then it was a month,

      three months,

five,

and that threadbare bag had become the center of his life. His entire world had circled it: his food, his water, his cash, his shelter, his gun, everything that kept him alive and kicking was somewhere in that bag. He’d be better off lopping off an arm than giving it up for anything.

He wasn’t sure the last time he’d seen it, these days.

He stung, and he didn’t know why he knew that. He couldn’t even really tell where he stung, there was just a piece of him that knew.

The ghosts, interrupting his reverie. A voice that was familiar, sounding as if from underwater. Light and joking at the time, low and serious now. Emotional reunions between cowboys and their revolvers-

“What actually went down back there? He looks like hell.”

A huff, unfamiliar. A soft accent, bringing with it a mental image of red light and flashing steel. “He fights like it, too.”

That he knew. Hell, he’d been trying to vouch for the fact since the day he’d hit the sand in New Mexico. And the day he’d… the day he’d…

Three, four, five, six-

Seven Suits, each looking more constipated than the last, gathered at the door.

Jesse didn't know when they’d shown up, but he was half out of his chair and still slowly rising when Gabriel held a palm out to him. The warning was clear: stay put.

"Gentlemen," Gabriel said easily, a practiced silkiness in the diplomatic tone, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Cut the crap, Reyes." Suit #4 was the mouth of the group, it would appear. “This isn’t a social visit."

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “Then what?”

All eyes turned on Jesse in silence, and his veins felt like they’d been filled with lead. Suit #4 spoke once again, eyes glinting in a silent victory as he nodded to Jesse.

"He can't stay."

No.

No, that couldn’t be right. That wasn’t how it happened, was it? They’d said he could. He’d given them everything, everything he possibly had, and they’d said he could. It may not have meant much to him then, but after all this work, all this time…

He wasn’t leaving. He could stay, he would stay-

Something jostled him again. He would stay!

He’d lost the sensation in his arms at some point, but he dimly felt one connect with something all the same. A distant yelp of pain, not from him.

“Shit, you ok? Someone grab his arm-“

“-trying to help, idiot, thanks for that-“

“-all that blood his?”

“—r O’Deorain around? Call ahead for med-“

The name pierced through the haze, bringing with it a mental flash of bruised skin, purple and yellow and mottled around the gash of a knife. He wasn’t sure why, but he knew with every fiber of his being that it couldn’t be her. Anyone but her, he’d stay, not her, he’d stay, not her, he’d stay-

“Where’s the damn medpack already!”

“Easy, kid, easy…”

A wash of the cool lake trickled over him again, the overwhelming panic fading into an uneasy numbness. The pains drifted further into his periphery, leaving him suspended in… not quite comfort he supposed, but something that wasn’t abject horror and agony.

“Athena, run a message ahead, tell them to expect-”

Frankly, he’d had enough.

He let awareness slip again, the humming in his head reaching a fever pitch. The swearing and sudden burst of urgent noise that followed him through his mental exit-stage-left wasn’t enough to bring his focus back, and he let the dark claim him once again.

Jesse McCree never regained consciousness at any level of alertness below what most would call “alarming.”

He’d scared the living daylights out of many a new Deadlock recruit with the way he snapped straight upwards upon awakening. During their training, the Blackwatch agents had already gotten used to having to place their equipment slightly higher than usual above his loadout bunk on the helo to avoid injuring his thick skull further. There was never a moment when Jesse wasn’t fully prepared to be on alert, sleep be damned.

So when he came to in a fog of uncertainty, he should have been more than a little unnerved.

Blinking past a blurry film, his first fuzzy thought waved him down- his left eye wasn’t budging. Lifting a hand to it slowly, he brushed soft cloth, his fingers trailing along the edge to find it taped to his forehead and cheek.

He felt his forehead pinch slowly. His eye roved the ceiling, a steady beeping reached his attention as words, words, labels, things, drifted at the edge of his consciousness. Hospital. No. Medical… medical what? Infirmary?

It was oddly comfortable.

That, out of anything, should have startled him most. Jesse avoided hospitals like the plague, the atmosphere and comfort levels for an off-the-grid Deadlock being akin to that of a prison. To feel almost peaceful now should have been beyond bizarre to him. After all, the last he had…

His mind drew a blank, his train of thought gently leaving its station and sailing out of reach.

He let his gaze wander lazily to his left as some deeply buried part of his brain pounded at his mental walls and screamed. Something is wrong, so incredibly wrong, where are your wits, why aren’t you awake-

There was a clutter of monitors and wires to his left. Several small pieces of tape held an array of needles in his hand and forearm, and he watched them distractedly. IVs? What had he done to warrant IVs? For all the time he’d spent getting patched back up here, this was easily the most barbaric of the equipment he’d experienced.

Yes, the little part of his brain shouted in relief, yes! Remember ‘here’? Remember why?

He looked down blearily, finding he was propped up to a not-quite seated position in a crisp white bed. A robe, loosely tied, didn’t do enough to hide the peek of bandages from his sight. He prodded the fabric to the side, eyes roving disinterestedly over a thick swath of cloth wrapped across his shoulder. A second much smaller bandage was on his hip. It felt more like an afterthought compared to the mountain of material taped to his collarbone.

Huh. O-kay, then.

Searching for some other clues, his gaze slowly roved back around to the right side of the room.

There was a series of windows that looked out into the hallway, privacy shutters closed. A monitor sat idling on a small desk that he thought he recognized, and his eye lazily tracked the screen saver as it bounced its way gently across the holoscreen. After a moment, he was bored of it and allowed his eye to wander once more.

He froze when he spotted the stasis equipment laying innocently on a rolling tray beside the bed.

Stasis.

What was important about that?

He knew this, why couldn’t he think straight-

It dimly drifted into his mind as a name evaded him. A phrase, whispered and mocking, greeted him.

The Butcher.

He didn’t notice he’d torn the needles from his arm right away. It registered moments later, in a heaving breath that brought stinging pain along his skin. He found himself clinging to the side of the bed, his knees having given out on him the second his bare feet had hit the floor. But the IV, the monitors, whatever the hell they were- they were out, his arm dimly tingling in the way he was slowly growing to recognize as well and truly pain-killed. Other aches reached him, a stretch from his shoulder, a throb in his skull, but he didn’t give them the time of day as he sucked in a breath, stumbled for the closest door, and threw it open with enough force to shatter the glass viewport.

Go, the little piece of his brain cheered, run!

But why?

Go! Run!

His vision blurred as he whipped his head back and forth, searching the empty hallway, uncertain of where it was exactly he was headed. A mental litany of stay at war with run, he settled for the bank of elevators at the other end  of the hall and stumbled towards it, his bare feet echoing noisily off the tile as the shrill whine of an alarm from the machines he’d left behind chased him.

He slammed the call button on the screen with more force than necessary, the adrenaline coursing through him tunneling his vision through his fatigue. His head was pounding again, harder to ignore this time, and he planted a hand heavily on the wall to lean against it as he gasped for breath.

The doors opened with a pleasant ding.

“Agent McCree!”

He startled at the shout, legs threatening to give out on him once again as he turned sloppily in place. His vision wavered, but there were figures, more than one, rushing his way from the end of the hall.

Stay! Go! Run!

In a haze of panic, he scrambled into the elevator, heart pounding as his eye darted about wildly for the controls. He could feel his breath coming in short bursts, speckles of light dancing in his vision the longer he searched. At some point, he’d sunk to his knees.

There was no screen, no button. Just blank walls, wobbling mockingly as they closed in on him.

“Jesse, what are you doing?”

“Damn it, who was supposed to be watching him? Athena, keep those doors open and find the commander-”

His head snapped back, and they were there now, close enough to touch and reaching even closer.

His back hit the corner, his legs scrabbling for purchase to push his way up the wall. Something ripped in his shoulder then, spots flaring in his vision, but still he threw out a hand in warning. He’d meant to speak, but all he could do was gasp, the breaths searing and feeling like too much and too little all at once.

What was happening?

Go! Run!

“Woah, okay, just… just calm down, okay?” He felt he should know who was speaking, but their faces were swirling together. “Fareeha, back up a bit, yeah? Think you can go find your mom for now?”

The figures stayed, swimming close but not moving closer as their words bounced off Jesse’s consciousness. He shut his eye, his head shaking in a futile attempt at clearing it. He had to speak, say something past the hammering of his heart and the stars in his vision.

But his shoulder seared angrily, and his brain used the jolting moment of clarity to finally open the floodgates and drown him in information.

The operation, the revolver. The un-healed cut. There had been a fight, a turret. Box after box after box. The rifle, the desperation, the sprint, the pain, the terror, the moment he blinked and the gun was fired-

And fired, and fired, and fired.

He should probably be dead.

“-sse, look at me.”

His eye shot open at the proximity of the voice. He didn’t know how long he’d been crumpled there, reality escaping his grasp as he let the memories flood him.

Someone was crouching in front of him now, the wavering of his vision making their expression unreadable. The others were gone from sight, but a low murmur of voices reached him from the hallway all the same. The figure nodded when Jesse’s shaky eye found the general direction of their face. They made no move to reach towards him like the others had.

“You know where you are?”

“H—“ Jesse’s breath hitched, his throat dry. He cleared it painfully. “Hospital.”

“Close enough,” the figure said neutrally. Reyes, Jesse’s brain finally provided through the haze, it was Reyes. “You remember why?”

Twenty corpses.

He nodded jerkily.

Reyes didn’t look like he entirely believed him, but he accepted the nod all the same with a small grunt. He held out his hands, palms out and placating as he shifted the smallest bit closer. His eyes never left Jesse’s, careful and calculating and something else entirely.

A flash of an image, Gabriel rounding the corner of crates, Gabriel afraid-

“Gonna tell me what’s got your ass on the floor and not in bed, then?”

A stasis pack. Red, red hair, red blood.

His eye widened, the left one going so far as to split just slightly behind its bandage, and what little control he’d gotten over his breathing fled as it quickened in pace. Run, go-

A moment was lost, and Reyes was giving his cheek a sharp but gentle tap. Jesse forced himself to focus at the feeling and found he was now standing, his hand balled in a fist in the commander’s shirt in front of him as he gasped for air.

Reyes lowered his palm, his other hand gripped in a vice on Jesse’s bicep, holding him steady as he quaked. Apprehension colored his features now, his eyes searching Jesse’s face beneath a pinched brow.

“C’mon, kid,” he said, voice lower than before. “What’s wrong with you?”

It was a loaded question. The deep part of Jesse’s brain somehow knew it beyond it’s cheers to run, could pick up on the meaning. What’s wrong with you?

How the hell did you do it?

One of the figures in the hallway detached from the rest over Reyes’ shoulder. It wore a white coat.

Words poured from him then. Fast and stammered they flew, wholly tangled into a mush of nothing comprehensible, his fistful of Reyes’ shirt tightening until his knuckles went white. The commander stumbled the slightest bit under the sudden shift of weight, the first flash of genuine concern cracking through his ‘stoic leader’ facade.

“It doesn’t work,” Jesse finally gasped out, eye darting wildly between Reyes and the white coat in the hall beyond. “It doesn’t work, it doesn’t work-“

“Jesse, what-“

“It doesn’t work, she’s wrong, it doesn’t work-“

“What doesn’t?”

The hand not locked on Reyes’s shirt fumbled for his bandaged shoulder where he knew the cut from Falkland would be, fresh and hideous, and he clawed at it in a haze as his awareness pulsed dangerously. Reyes reached for the spasming hand and stilled it, concern and confusion at war on his face. When he looked back up to Jesse’s face, he hissed.

The patch covering his eye felt wet. Before either of them knew what was happening, Jesse was marking a steady descent back to the tile.

“Shit-!”

Reyes rushed down with him to cushion his landing, sitting back heavily on his heels and supporting his shoulders as Jesse collapsed in on himself. Jesse’s hand dropped from the commander’s shirt entirely as he shut his eye in a wince, heat flaring up the side of his torso with a vengeance. Reyes swore softly, shifting to duck under Jesse’s good arm.

“And this is why you were supposed to stay put,” Reyes groused, moving to lift him from the floor.

Jesse forced his eye open and ignored the way his head spun as he looked down to find the source of the sensation. The bandage on his shoulder was quickly absorbing a growing stain of deep crimson, and he felt the pull of skin against something as he forced himself to focus on not passing out.

He’d clearly failed on that front, because in the next moment he became aware of, he felt himself being dragged quickly through the hallway, draped haphazardly with his arm flung over Reyes’ shoulders. He registered voices trying to catch his attention through the haze and felt a twinge in his chest.

“Need you to breathe, alright?” That was Reyes, the sound rumbling through his chest against Jesse’s lolling head. “Breathe, McCree, c’mon, I didn’t do all that just so you could clock out at the finish line.”

“Is he…is he going to be ok?” Small, and scared, so scared.

“Fareeha! I thought I told you to find your mother!” Ingles, maybe?

“Athena, where’s Angela? Code red her, now.”

“He’s passing out again, grab his leg-”

The ghosts returned with the comforting promise of knowing no more, and Jesse welcomed them with open arms. Wary faces, too many to count, fragmented and swirled into one, following him into the darkness amid their grating whispers.

Reyes stayed a while, after that first jailbreak the kid had pulled. Dr. Ziegler had promised him wholeheartedly that she had no less than three of her medical residents and Athena on rotation to keep an eye on him from here out. He stayed nonetheless, sat in the cool metal of the visitor’s chair and stare unwavering on the bed’s occupant.

He was there the second time Jesse woke up later that evening. This time, there was no recognition in his eye. Just a quiet glaze that skimmed past Gabriel entirely as it wandered the room. He answered no questions, made no move to hint that he knew anyone was there with him. He slipped back under in less than two minutes.

Gabriel stayed standing beside him for a long while, after that.

With the promise to alert the commander immediately if he woke up again, Angela bustled him out of the room not much later. He had planned to head to the mess, a hot meal and a moment to walk, to think, sounding like a good idea.

Instead, he found his feet taking him back up to the seventh floor.

Ana was waiting in his office.

For what may very well have been the first time in years, he couldn’t find it in himself to be irritated at that. A part of him had known, by instinct or otherwise, that she would be here. With barely a pause, he entered.

She was perched on the edge of his desk, her arms folded as she stared at a bland holo picture on the opposite wall, her eyes unfocused. It had been a long time since Gabriel had seen her out of her Captain’s fatigues. The soft turtleneck sweater and light pants she wore now were a jarring foil to her usual crisp uniform. But even while comfortable, Ana had an air of authority to her- her hair pulled taut and spine straight in a way that always reminded Gabriel to stop slouching, damn it. She didn’t look up at his approach or as he rummaged in an overhead cabinet along the wall of the room.

She did accept the glass he handed her.

“And what,” she said, finally meeting his eye, “has held you up?”

He paused from where he’d been about to un-stopper the decanter that he left out more for show than use. He wasn’t even sure what was in it anymore, given that it hardly had any effect on him these days. Just one more thing the SEP had stripped away from him in the end.

With a slow shrug, he moved to pour her a glass. “Ice run.”

She glanced at her ice-less glass and returned his quip with an unimpressed frown.

She accepted the pour all the same, her eyes drifting to the window. It was well past midnight now, the spotlights surrounding the building spearing into the darkness and fading into nothing long before they could even touch on the mountainside. She waited for him to pour his own glass before raising hers and offering a silent cheers, the clink of the cups the only sound for some time as they sipped and stood.

“They’re saying things,” Ana finally said, whiskey swirling in her glass as she stared into it. “Things you should probably know.”

“Hm.”

“Not so much about you this time around.”

“How refreshing.”

She finally turned to face him in full then, the glass finding the desk as she fixed him with the hardest stare he knew she had in her armory.

“Gabe,” she said, all business. “This is serious.”

He let himself sit then with a weary sigh, turning his back to Ana and dropping onto the small couch he kept for rare visitors. “You think I don’t know that?” He said, lifting his glass to her meaningfully.

“What happened?”

It was his turn to be silent as the clock chimed 0100 somewhere down the hall. She left him to sit and ruminate as she remained standing at the desk.

“What,” he finally exhaled, all fight having long left him for the day, “have you heard already?”

“Dozens of accounts, all seeing a member of Blackwatch fighting his way tooth and nail off a stretcher on the way to Medical,” she said, watching his face carefully. “Most claiming it was difficult to tell who it may have been. Due to the sheer amount of blood on his face.”

Something in Gabriel’s chest twisted at that.

Ana grabbed her glass and finally moved to join him. She opted to sit on the edge of the small coffee table in front of him, forcing him to face her searching eyes.

She knew.

Of course she knew. She just wanted to hear it from him.

“He’ll live,” Gabriel muttered, taking a sip to pointedly avoid having to hold her gaze as he said it.

“Gabriel-“

“He’ll be fine, Ana,” he said firmly, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’d have avoided this conversation altogether if he could, but he knew damn well how persistent Ana could be. At least, that’s what he might have told himself any other time.

But the reality was, for the first time in a long time, he had to admit to himself that he was… unsettled.

For the first time in a very, very long time, Reyes needed the stability of an old friend.

“He took two bullets on the way back,” he continued, doing little to temper the horror on her face. “They’ve already healed one entirely with Angela’s new tech. Damn kid just doesn’t know how to stay down long enough to not hurt himself more.”

“It was too soon, you put him in that position-"

“Most of us would be dead if he hadn’t done what he did.”

She pulled up short at that, her brow just as deeply furrowed. “You’re serious?”

“Unfortunately.”

Or so he suspected, at least. Ana just didn’t need to know he had a hunch they might have very well died by the kid’s own hand. But a hunch it remained until Jesse woke up long enough to hold his eye and tell the truth.

Troubled, Ana took another sip, her face a perfect study in intensity. Gabriel held his glass under his chin, rumbling a sigh.

“Fareeha was there,” he said ruefully. “When he woke up.”

Ana slowly shut her eyes. After a moment, she scrubbed a hand over her face, her voice pained. “I could’ve told you that much. She disappeared the moment word got out that the boy might be the one who was injured.”

“Well, she found him.”

“Of course she did. She has a knack for that.”

Gabriel took a useless sip, gaze finding the ceiling as he exhaled around the bite of the whiskey on his tongue. “Ingles tried to send her away, but she saw some things. Things that might… disturb her.”

Ana watched him carefully as he set his glass down and met her eye.

“Things that disturb me.”

She had known him long enough to know when to let him have his silence. She did not break it now as he found the words.

“The things this kid did out there, Ana. The way he did,” he said quietly, hands folding on the low table in front of him. He shook his head, sparing her a glance. “You’ve never seen this kind of carnage.”

“That’s a stretch. I’ve seen a lot over these years, old friend.”

“Not like this.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but her eye found the doorway and pulled her up short. Gabriel glanced to follow her gaze.

Jack, dressed in full uniform, had stopped in the hallway just outside the open door. He was looking ahead down the corridor, but when Gabriel trailed off, he turned to meet his eye.

Only a moment passed before he continued on his way.