Chapter Text
Reaper, for the life—or un-life—of him, couldn’t understand what was going through the old man’s head. Jack Morrison had once been someone he could read like a book, but now Soldier: 76 was a blank wall; unreadable. Or, maybe, Reaper just lost his touch. Six years apart did that to even the strongest of couples and Gabriel Reyes and Jack Morrison were hardly even friends in their final moments.
Watching the apartment from his perch across the street, Reaper had been expecting some sort of display or show. Something to signal Soldier: 76 putting himself out there as bait. What other reason would he have to come to a place only they knew about? What was he trying to accomplish?
It had been bought under an LLC which acted for a non-descript trust account with the grantor’s names redacted. At the time, Gabriel Reyes had been adamant on keeping this safe haven secretive and went through a million complex legal loopholes to have their names as far removed from the property as possible. It had been fueled half by wanting a semblance of normalcy, half out of desperation and corroding paranoia. Not even Jack Morrison and Gabriel Reyes’ closest friends and confidants knew about it; not until after their deaths. In Gabriel Reyes’ will, everything had been left to Jack. Even at their worst, in the midst of considering divorce, the old Blackwatch commander never bothered to change it. Reaper wondered if Morrison had left everything to Reyes or if he had gone through the effort to leave everything to someone else, someone he actually cared for.
Reaper pushed those thoughts away before a bubble of anger could surge forward. There was no point in getting muddled up in the emotions of a dead man. Reaper prided himself on remaining emotionless and calm. It was also a necessity. The nanites didn’t like strong emotional spikes. It caused his control to falter, his body to lose composure and slip away. Reaper was not going to let the past sway him. That’s probably what Soldier: 76 was hoping for, why he’d chosen this place, lured Reaper here.
But, alas, the shutters remained latched shut and locked in place. The soldier’s movements were contained inside the apartment, save for the morning after his arrival and the old man stocked up on some provisions and far too much alcohol. There was no mystery what that was for, as highly unprofessional and sloppy as it was. Jack’s abuse of the bottle predated Gabriel’s death. The real mystery was why if this was supposed to be a trap for Reaper.
As many signs there were signaling this entire set-up was a trap, there were twice as many cracks and faults, showing an entirely different, but equally troubling story.
The past few days of watching and observing had answered none of the questions bouncing around in Reaper’s skull. If anything, he had more. On the second day, after seeing Soldier: 76 not leave the apartment once after his little morning shopping trip, he had searched the block for any sign of back up. Jack and Ana had teamed up in Giza; it wasn't a stretch to assume they had stuck together afterwards. But, alas, Reaper had found nothing. Skepticism and suspicion coiled at the base of Reaper’s spine, forcing his hand in contacting Sombra for intel. Anything to shed light on this situation.
The hacker hadn’t found much. Then again, the reason Soldier: 76 was still around was because he had been difficult to track. Reaper had wondered if the old man even knew how to use the tech on hand. Jack never had the patience for learning its nuances in the past, deferring to others for troubleshooting and sticking to older, outdated models; an old man even then, now he finally matched it with looks. Over six years on the run probably hadn’t made him anymore tech savvy. Probably still used outdated burners of 20 years ago, bouncing signals on the few remaining cell towers that hadn’t been destroyed during the Crisis.
Sombra had only been able to supply the plane tickets: one from the day prior leaving from Cairo and arriving in Los Angeles under a pseudonym and the return scheduled for seven days later. Quite lacking for what she usually was able to supply.
“Maybe he’s taking a vacation,” Sombra said through their private comm link. Reaper could picture her now: feet propped up on her desk as she leaned as far back at her chair would allow. “Old age must be getting to him. Bad knees due to a deterioration in the cartilage, according to his last medical report back in 20-”
“Enough,” Reaper hissed, cutting her off. How or why she felt the need to dig through medical records nearly a decade old were of no concern to Reaper. Where she was getting the information and what others she had on hand would be a concern for later.
“Hey now, no need to get all-”
Reaper shut down the connection, not letting her finish. She’d continue to nudge, weasel and dig if he let her. She already knew too much and he didn’t trust her as far as he could throw her. Besides, if it were truly important, Sombra was more than capable of overriding his comms as she had done time and time again.
Without Sombra’s annoying and perhaps hostile companionship, Reaper found watching the apartment holding his nemesis to be a rather dull affair. Whatever he had been expecting the old man to do, it was not seclude himself in such an intimate place. Reaper didn’t want to travel down the avenue that he might’ve been wrong about Soldier: 76’s intentions, that perhaps this wasn’t a trap. That would be opening up an emotional can of worms he didn’t care for. There was nothing to reap there, only more fuel for his anger.
For the next couple of days, Reaper remained on his post in the distance. Gabriel Reyes had been an expert at covert reconnaissance missions and Reaper was just as good. The dead had all the patience in the world. Talon could go a few days without him, so long as they didn’t become nosey in his extracurriculars.
He didn’t dare approach the apartment. Though there hadn’t been a trap the first night, Reaper was hesitant to rely on that. Between Jack and Ana, the mind games could be crazed and convoluted. There was no telling what was going through either of their heads. At least Ana had an excuse for it; being literally shot in the head gave allowance to insanity. Morrison didn't have that luxury.
If there were any two people to be Reaper’s downfall, it would be them. Ana had always been sharp and knew far more than she let on. She had a read on everyone. Reaper had no doubt her mind was running itself ragged in possible scenarios to bring him down. Reaper wouldn’t blame Ana, though. The fault there was on himself. Gabriel Reyes should have known better than to let so many people in, especially those as clever and observant as Amari.
Jack Morrison was another complication. More annoying, more troublesome.
There weren’t many regrets in Reaper’s life, but there was one that had been nagging at him for a while now, an irritation digging and nestling into the base of his skull.
He should have killed Jack Morrison long before Zurich. It would have made his life far easier, perhaps even preventing Reaper’s entire miserable existence. If only Gabriel Reyes hadn’t been so sentimental. The thought had been burning under his skin since the explosion, though it had settled into a barely-there smolder during the past six years the fire lay dormant. It was after Giza the flames were awakened, burning hotter than ever. The need to correct the mistake and remove Jack Morrison from the equation was stronger than ever.
But he failed in Giza, and hadn't anticipated Morrison and Amari to come together. That’s what he told his higher-ups and the annoying little hacker in his ear. Reaper must not have been convincing. Sombra wasn’t letting it go, whispering nonsense in his ear, and Akande even going as far as to question his intentions. Reaper wouldn’t let those allegations stand. He couldn’t. Not if he wanted to keep Talon at his disposal and not the other way around.
Yet another reason Soldier: 76 and The Strike have to go. Reaper would make sure of it this time.
The limited information Sombra had been able to relay to Reaper hadn’t indicated Amari traveling with Morrison. Reaper had enough faith in the hacker to trust she had searched heavily. Reaper hardly spent more than a few minutes pondering their separation. A plethora of reasons could be behind it, none of them important at this point in time. Morrison was alone and sitting around.
Enough waiting, Reaper decided. Five days he had waited since stumbling upon the old man curled in their- that bed. If the plane ticket Sombra supplied was to be believed, Reaper’s time was running short. If Soldier: 76 wasn’t going to make his move, Reaper would take the opportunity to. Pussyfooting wasn’t getting either of them anywhere. It hadn’t in the past, it wouldn’t now.
He waited until nightfall, as he had done the first time five nights prior. He’d wait until the neighboring units turned their lights off for the night and the building fell quiet. The only apartment that held his attention never turned on the lights. With Soldier: 76’s visor, it wasn’t needed and the light would draw unnecessary attention. The apartment had been abandoned for over six years, no need to draw any curious gazes towards it now. After tonight, Reaper was certain that it would remain abandoned indefinitely.
Similar to the first night, Reaper approached the apartment incorporeal, just a cloud of decay and ash. In the darkness, he was nothing more than another shadow, slithering through the building’s dark corners. The front door was unchanged since five days prior and Reaper slipped through the crack along the bottom.
He expected the same scene inside as before: dusty surfaces untouched by time. However, the strong scent of bleach and artificial lemon assaulted his nose as he came to form. A quick scan showed that the old man had been busy the five days he locked himself away.
Every surface had been cleaned and scrubbed down, trinkets and items on each surface carefully dusted and returned to their original locations. In the corner, by the doorway, were a bag of garbage to be removed and a box of empty liquor bottles piled up for recycling. Reaper was beginning to rethink his notion of Jack Morrison being a smart man. Sentimentality had always been Morrison’s Achilles’ heel.
Reaper took a bit more time than his last visit to evaluate his surroundings. They were the same as he remembered, not just from five days ago, but also from six years ago. If Reaper hadn’t been keeping tabs on the old soldier these past couple of days, he would have thought he’d been dumped into the past. Reaper half expected to see Jack, fluffy blonde hair and bright blue eyes, rummaging around the kitchen or see the Strike-Commander throwing off his iconic blue coat on the floor to fall face first into the couch, snagging the blanket thrown over the back and curling around it. Reaper could almost feel the firm chest pressed against his back, forehead and soft hair tickling the back of his neck, strong hands around his waist, could practically hear the rough grumble of, “About time. I’ve been waiting for you, Gabe-”
Reaper recoiled violently at the thought, his body threatening to fall apart as his emotions took over. He struggled to regain control, pushing all thoughts out of his mind except keeping his body together.
This is why Jack Morr- no, Soldier: 76 needed to go. His presence was bringing up memories long ago buried; buried under rubble and ash and lies and deceit and hatred; laid trapped and forgotten underneath the foundation of everything built, left to die alone in Zurich just like Gabriel Reyes had been.
This is why he needed to go. Reaper would spin himself in circles if he let it continue. Spin himself into something human again and that was unacceptable. He was not Gabriel Reyes anymore, he was not human; he was Reaper.
When Reaper was solid enough to continue forward, he moved quickly. Smoke and nanites still buzzed and hissed around him, unsettled by the turmoil Reaper shoved down. It was fine. It always was when episodes of remembrance struck. The best way to deal with it was to reap and that’s just what Reaper planned to do. There was only one soul in this apartment and it belonged to Reaper; by fate and vengeance, by hatred and rage, by love and quiet vows whispered in a small far away chapel-
Reaper let himself fall apart this time; dissolved into nothing more than rage, tearing through the apartment less like a wisp of smoke and more like a torrential storm rolling in. He crashed into the bedroom door and poured through the cracks with such force the old wood creaked, threatening to crack and shatter under the force.
Before Reaper finished solidifying, he could already see this part of the apartment had been left relatively untouched in comparison to the main living area. Dust was still evident on nearly every surface and rather than the smell of cleaning products, he was met with stale air and the sharp stench of alcohol. Bottles littered the floor, though only half of the room was touched.
Just like before the old fool laid in the bed, taking up exactly half and leaving the other half unused, the sheets stubbornly tucked in as they had been six years ago. The only difference was that Reaper could tell the Soldier was awake and waiting.
Reaper lunged immediately, not giving Soldier: 76 time to move and act on whatever he was planning. He may have left his pulse rifle and sidearm in the living room, but the man was still dangerous. Reaper could recall the footage of him at work in Dorado, could remember the way he had moved in the Crisis. He was not to be underestimated, even at his current, pathetic state.
But as Reaper landed on top of him, one gauntlet around his throat, the other holding his shotgun to the man’s forehead, Soldier: 76 made no effort to move, barely even flinching as the weight landed on him. He only turned his head to look up at Reaper; cloudy, milky eyes-
Soldier: 76 wasn’t wearing his visor. Reaper was startled by the revelation and could only wonder how stupid the man beneath him was. He didn’t have long to stew on that thought, not as he looked down at the sightless eyes below him.
Jack Morrison always had a scope, ready with aim-assistance. Reaper had assumed the visor was just an extension of that. He hadn’t realized what laid beneath.
I’m not the only one who left broken.
The thought should have been a victory, albeit a small one. Reaper thought he’d feel some sort of vindication in the thought that just like him, Jack had lost himself in Zurich, or at least a piece of him. No more bright blue eyes, no more sharp sight, no more handsome, scar-free, picturesque Strike-Commander. Instead, Reaper felt hollow, a pit forming in his gut, a strange emotion clawing at his throat and wanting to crawl out.
A question was on the tip of his tongue, one he swallowed away. He forced his hands to remain strong around the other’s throat, firm on the handle of his weapon.
Soldier: 76—Jack—opened his mouth to speak, but Reaper simply cuffed him with the shotgun, letting the weapon dissolve in a swarm of nanites. A soft noise left the old soldier and that’s when Reaper could smell it.
The stench of alcohol was thick and coated the entire room. It had hit Reaper like a brick wall when he materialized inside, but now that he was here; he could see where it had all gone. It would explain the sluggish movements, the weak responses, the vulnerability.
Jack moved his hand, slow and clumsily, aiming for Reaper’s knee by his hip. Reaper intercepted the movement and Jack’s hand immediately went limp in his grasp, no pulling away, no fighting, just letting it rest encased in Reaper’s, almost like they were holding hands. Reaper couldn’t let that thought linger and settled for pinning the soldier’s wrist down. Jack didn’t struggle, remaining soft and open.
“Welcome home.”
It was slurred, mumbled, almost incoherent, and muffled by the lack of oxygen, but it still rang loudly in Reaper’s ears, a mimicry of words that had been repeated to him years and years ago in this very apartment.
“You're drunk and unarmed. No Ana here to have your back.” It was an observation but it begged a question beneath it. When he got no answer, Reaper sneered, “What kind of game are you playing?”
There was no fight in Jack, his body limp and pliant under Reaper. Despite his strong build and years of hard muscle, the old soldier felt almost delicate under his talons. Reaper adjusted his grip on Jack’s throat, claws digging into the skin and drawing blood. The soldier’s pulse was fluttering under his fingers, like a butterfly trapped in a cage.
“No games, Gab-”
Reaper tightened his grip, choking off the remainder of that word.
“I thought you were smarter than this. Has sentimentality made you this weak?” Reaper shook his head mockingly, though he knew the man below him probably saw nothing. “Pathetic, Jack.”
Reaper had seen the reports, heard the accounts of those that had crossed Soldier: 76 in the past six years. He was nothing like the man lying defeated beneath Reaper. Even with the lack of oxygen and the tightening pressure of Reaper’s hand around his throat, Jack stayed still and lax. Too much trust, even after all this time.
“Not going to fight me?” Reaper seethed. What was the point of this? What was the point of any of this? Why did Jack have to take a walk down memory lane? Why here? Why disturb this resting place? Why awaken the anger that silently bled through the walls from all those years ago?
Unable to answer vocally, Jack gave the barest shake of his head, fingers gently moving in Reaper’s grasp. No.
A snarl ripped through Reaper’s throat. He shook Jack harder, squeezing tighter until his pale skin took on a sickly hue. The sight of it made Reaper flinch, his hand loosening its hold enough to allow air through.
A hissing wheeze filled the air around them as the old soldier struggled to breathe. Reaper only allowed him a few seconds before pressing forward again, lowering his face until the forehead of his mask just barely brushed against Jack’s.
“Where did all that fight in you go? Left it behind in Giza? Zurich? Giving up?” The words were spilling out of him: anger, pain, rage and hurt pouring out of him like the smoke off his body. His dead heart was pounding violently in his ears. His temper had spiked higher than it had in many years. Seeing Jack this muted only stoked the flames inside Reaper, causing his rage to surge.
Jack’s unseeing eyes slipped shut. Reaper almost throttled him for that until Jack’s mouth opened and words, however quiet they may be, slipped out.
“No fighting, no arguing. Just us.”
Reaper wrenched himself back, his hands leaving Jack’s throat and wrist. For a moment, his form had trouble remaining corporeal, the nanites buzzing loud enough to be hissing in their panic. He slammed his eyes shut, focusing on staying complete and whole. Bitter memories rose up his throat like the smoke in his lungs. He swallowed them down but evidently it wasn’t enough.
When Reaper opened his eyes, there was no sad, pathetic old man lying weak and defeated beneath him. Instead, there was a phantom: blonde hair graying at far too young; sharp, startling blue eyes shining bright and full of mirth; warm, sun-kissed skin with a smattering of freckles and a healthy flush; a devastatingly beautiful mixture of some smile and too many worry lines beginning to form around the creases of the eyes, mouth and forehead; pink and smiling lips. They were forming words, moving. Reaper could hear none of them with the buzzing in his ears roaring like the explosion in Zurich, but he could read the words the man beneath him was saying.
I missed you, Ga-
Reaper slammed his hand down over the mouth. The spell lifted immediately: blonde faded to stark white; blue clouded and fogged; warmth drained away to cold and sickly; scars added in addition to the wrinkles; pink turned red as Reaper’s talons drew blood on those thin pale lips. Whether he had actually been speaking or not, it was hard to say. The buzzing inside him was still too loud for Reaper to hear much of anything.
Jack’s body remained loose and calm, a stark contrast to Reaper’s that clicked and hissed, unable to hold his form yet, too tense to budge or move. His own breathing was ragged and gasping; choking, unable to get air. Too many false promises swirled around his mind, smothering him.
“I’m pretending,” Jack murmured, his voice weak and slurred, his lips hardly moving beneath Reaper’s talons. “That’s what we promised each other right? We built this house on lies, Gabriel. Let me live in it a little longer before you put me to rest.”
Reaper had never seen Jack Morrison like this. Even in the most devastating hours of his life, Jack had never been this unresisting, this vulnerable, this defeated and resigned. The man that brawled him in Giza had been scoured by the booze, revealing something Reaper had no idea what to do with, revealing a man he’d never met.
This was not the man that was Reaper’s ruin nor was this the death Jack Morrison deserved. Reaper didn’t want him willing and ready. Reaper wanted the fight, the struggle, to see the regret for what he had done. He wanted Jack to beg, to cry, to be out-matched by his own fate. Not this. Not whatever this was. Reaper didn’t know what to do with this, didn’t know how to handle it. This was not a Jack Morrison he recognized, this is not the man he’d known for nearly forty years.
“You are delusional,” Reaper snarled.
Jack opened his mouth to speak again but he would not get the last word. Not this time.
Reaper kept his hand firmly over the other’s mouth, sharp talons pinning his lips together and threatening to tear if he dared to move. Jack settled into the hold, eyes fluttering shut.
Reaper let himself get carried away after that. He had been fighting his body for control for too long and after whatever the fuck that was, he couldn’t hold it together any longer. He collapsed in on himself, his hold on Jack was removed but the other man remained silent and rooted in his spot.
The nagging weight of his shotguns reminded Reaper of why he was there. However, the thought of holding the dual weapons at this point made his body feel even less together than before. He needed to leave, find a quiet place to get himself whole again. Somewhere far, far away from what lay in that cursed apartment.
He left the same way he came, letting his lack of control take over until he was nothing more than a swirling cloud of nanites and too many emotions.
Reaper didn’t return to the apartment the next morning, not after locking himself in the nearest abandoned Blackwatch hideout to collect himself. Perhaps Reaper had been the naive one in assuming he could deal with his past emotionless, he just hadn’t expected it to ruin him so quickly; hadn’t expected Jack to still be able to knock him off kilter when no one else could.
It didn’t matter. Knowing Morrison, he wouldn’t remember the night or it’d just be a twisted nightmare for him. Reaper would have his chance to deal with Jack properly.
Third time’s the charm, he hissed bitterly to himself.
He had wasted enough time already and his absence had not gone unnoticed. He had several pings requesting his presence and Sombra was getting exceptionally annoying. There would be other times for Reaper to take care of Jack, on his terms. Besides, the old man and Ana had their uses still, however marginal they were. With their own mission into the fall of Overwatch and who was behind it, it meant Reaper had less work. Small mercies then. Sure, The Strike and Soldier: 76 were nuisances to Talon, but their time would come when Reaper decided. Not anyone else.
He wasn’t going to spare either of them anymore time at this point. Not that he could focus on much of anything with Sombra’s continual pinging of his comm. Reaper wasn’t sure what was more annoying: her randomly turning on his comms and interrupting him or the incessant pinging, each tone changing to something more obnoxious than the last. Her chosen notification alert at this hour? Off-key kazoo chimes. Reaper was going to kill her the moment she was within arm’s reach. She was smart enough not to be, but Reaper didn’t care about that.
“What, Sombra?” Reaper hissed, turning on the comm.
“Finally,” the hacker let out a relieved sigh. “I thought something terrible happened to you!” Her exaggerated mock-worry only agitated the wraith more. “I was worried I’d have to have our dear friend Amelie come and check on you!”
Reaper froze, processing the words carefully and the underlying threat there. Whether the threat was from Talon or Sombra specifically, Reaper wasn’t sure. A different kind of anger coiled in his gut. This one was cold, sharp, unlike the boiling rage Reaper felt whenever he thought of Jack.
“There is no need for that.” The finality in his tone could have been mistaken for disdain or contempt. The hacker took it a different way.
“No need to be jealous, Gabrielito,” Sombra purred through the comm. “I know he is yours. Amelie might have a thing for dead husbands, but she draws the line at old men.”
There were a million things to say, a lot of unpack in those few words. Reaper settled for a simple, “Don’t call me that.”
Sombra laughed, her voice borderline mocking. “Of course, of course. I only kid.”
That was debatable.
“What do you want?”
“Is that any way to talk to a friend? I realize you don’t have many, but I should think you’d be singing my praises. After all, I don’t have to help you. I do it out of the kindness of my heart.” Reaper held back his sarcastic snort. “A little appreciation goes a long way.”
To punctuate her sentence, Reaper received a chime on his holovid. Looking over to it, he could see the screen lit up with the familiar purple sugar skull motif. It faded away to reveal a file with various documents with several names and locations. A few pictures accompanied the information detailed in the documents.
Sombra spoke as he scanned them. “This should be enough to keep you busy for a while. None of them were too hard to find. It is almost painfully easy. You’d think they’d try a little bit harder to stay under the radar. Not even the last one with such an obnoxious bounty on his head.”
Reaper skimmed down to the last name, cocking his head slightly. All the names on the list rang a note of familiarity in Reaper. Undoubtedly, former Blackwatch Commander Gabriel Reyes had encountered them at some point in his long career; however, there were only a few that could rattle emotions in Reaper. He thought he had had his fill of them in Giza. Reaper was mistaken to think time would erase all attachment.
"He’s close too, just a little ways south of you. Probably could be there in a few days and the world would be down one less hideously dressed cowboy. I’m sure the higher ups wouldn’t mind him disappearing either after the whole train debacle. Want me to send you the route? I figured a scene drive down the coast would be right up your alley-”
“We’ll start at the top of the list,” Reaper said, though he knew in doing so would ring too many warning bells. It was another secret for the Sombra Collective. She already knew too much, probably knew more than Reaper was even aware of. But, sometimes giving her the information willingly got him closer to his goal. A show of good faith went a long way for the hacker.
There was surely a Cheshire’s grin on her face. “Oh, Gabi-” Reaper let out a low growl at the name “-very well then. I’ll arrange transport to New Zealand. Better not waste any more time. Vacation is over.” As an afterthought, Sombra added, softly, almost friendly, “If your list of exceptions keeps growing, the wrong people are going to get suspicious.”
Reaper knew this too well. He was handling it. He didn’t need her interfering more than she already was. As much as the hacker knew about his own personal mission, it was better to keep her at arm’s length. The last time he tried to involve others had, quite literally, blown up in his face. “Anything else?”
“You better bring me back a souvenir and not another keychain!”
Jack could feel Ana’s gaze on him before he could see her. Without the visor, he was legally blind, but he could see enough shapes and shadows—coupled with his other sense—to make his way through the building until he could safely attach the visor without drawing attention.
His disguise was flimsy at best: an old sweater, faded jeans and a baseball cap tipped low to conceal as much of his face as possible. No one paid him a second glance; all anyone saw was a sad, old man. There was no reason for any passerby to look at him and see the deceased Strike-Commander. Only fools looked for and sought out the dead.
He had barely passed through the final security checkpoint and was out into the main waiting area when he felt a firm, small hand on his shoulder.
“Hello, Ana.”
He didn’t turn around to greet her. There was no need as she scooted up beside him and linked their arms together. To anyone else who might look at them, they were just a reunited elderly couple, not ghosts of a bygone era.
“How are you feeling?” Right to the chase, then. Jack half-wondered if Ana would send him right back on that plane if she sensed him anything but fine.
Well, lying it is then.
“Better. I actually slept.” For the most part, that was true. She didn’t need to know how he’d managed to get that rest or what he dreamt of when he did sleep. Jack was certain Ana would disapprove of his methods.
“Good,” she let out a sigh of relief and leaned her head onto his shoulder as she guided them out of the airport. “It’s good to have my partner in crime back.”
“Done with your vacation?” Jack quipped.
Ana let out a soft snort. “No rest for the undead, Jack.”
“Is that what we are?” he asked softly, his mind bringing up a silhouette of vapor and rage. He pushed the thought away as quickly as it had popped up. He had thought enough about Gabriel over the past week and now he needed to put him to rest. Again, his mind unhelpfully supplied.
“We are ghosts, Jack.” Ana spoke, her voice softer than normal, far away. “We are just memories from the past, unable to move forward until the job is done. We can never rest until then. Even after, who knows if we will truly find peace when all is done.”
Neither of them spoke as they drifted out of the airport and walked to the parking lot. Ana led with purpose until she stopped them in front of a car. Carefully, she pulled the duffle bag from Jack’s shoulders and put it in the backseat, letting Jack settle himself in the passenger’s side.
She didn’t speak as she started the car, driving them through the parking garage and out of the airport. Jack reached into the pocket of his sweater, pulling out his visor and attaching it.
He waited for the connectors to link up, wincing at the initial startup. There was always a bit of static before his vision would clear. Annoying, but a rather small price to pay for the sight he had lost.
He turned his gaze to Ana, her eyes on the road, eyebrows knitted together in deep thought. Her body betrayed nothing of her expression as she leaned back casually in the seat and steering with one loose hand on the wheel. He had seen that look on her face a thousand times before. Age and death—however metaphorical it was—didn’t change the way her eyebrows pinched so close together they nearly touched or the firm press of her lips together holding enough pressure to turn them pale. Jack also knew after many years of friendship that Ana was not to be disturbed from her thoughts, not until she sorted, allocated and calculated every possibility.
He turned his attention to the window, giving Ana space. She had her own thoughts to sort out and so did he; thoughts he had adamantly avoided and would be more than fine with avoiding for quite some time.
Unlike Ana’s sleeping formulas, alcohol never gave him a clear head and the line between fiction and reality had blurred so much in that past week Jack had the unfortunate luck of trying to discern what was real and what wasn’t. Even worse, what he wanted to be real.
He could still feel the harsh leather and sharp claws on his neck, squeezing and pressing until he couldn’t breathe. His own hand traveled to his throat to mimic the gesture. Reaper plagued his nightmares and apparently his delusions. Was it wistful thinking that Reaper would seek him out? Restrain him from ending Jack there? To have the cruel imitation of an embrace?
Jack wasn’t sure what to think of that particular delusion. He wanted to think it was only that, but it didn’t explain the taste of blood in his mouth or the faintest of fading bruises on his neck.
Jack pressed his head to the window, letting the smooth glass surface ground him to the present. Whether Jack was truly losing his mind or Reaper had sought him out that night, neither option was welcomed. Neither option could be mentioned to Ana either. He’ll suffer through his madness if he had to. He still had work to do…and if it was true and Reaper had been there, then maybe, just maybe, Gabriel wasn’t that far gone. Somewhere in the center of Jack’s chest, he felt a tad lighter.
All was not gone, Gabriel—however distorted by rage and vengeance—was still there, still alive to some degree. All had been lost without him but now that he was back, regardless of their standing, Jack had to rethink, reevaluate as he always had with Gabriel. He was to always be taken into account. That much was certain. Everything else may be gone and buried in the ashes of Zurich, even their love, but Gabriel was still Gabriel in his core. He had to be. Jack wouldn’t rest until he was certain.