Work Text:
“This is like five kinds of hilarious.” Gabriel says, dropping the phone on the table to provide enough sound for Jack to know where it is. StarkPhones can take a bit of rough handling. (If it can still be called Stark Tech after all the tinkering Sombra did to bring the tablet up to a level above the toys Gabriel played with as a kid; this old school tech is a strangely hard adjustment despite familiarity.)
He sits down across from his husband, the cafe chairs and tables feeling like a child’s playset. At the moment, this whole world feels that way, small and fragile beneath them and oh so familiar. “I wasn’t expecting these Avengers to have their own Talon this early in the game—”
“Gabe.” Jack sounds grumpy as he had all morning. At least now Gabriel knows why, even if he doesn’t sympathize.
“—or at least, not for them to be fucking Nazis. Or reveal themselves so quickly.”
“According to Sombra, they're still in deep cover within SHIELD.” Jack rubs at his eyes and grimaces. He probably overused his visor that morning, sifting through the information faster than human eyes could process.
Idiot. Gabriel refuses to feel any pity when Jack waited to hand the intel over. When he says don’t talk to me before coffee, Gabriel doesn’t want to hear we’d have coffee here if you hadn’t drank it all or fucking hell, Gabriel, hide your soul-eating trash better . The interesting shit? This he wants to know, coffee or not.
“But she and Amélie say they have plans.” Gabriel takes a sip of the coffee Jack got him. Deliciously black and sweet; somethings stay the same over decades and worlds. “This Hydra wants to destroy their Overwatch before they really start up a movie villain world domination tour. I can’t decide if this is going to be a shitshow or great.”
“Seriously, Gabe?” Jack glances down at his own coffee. A reflex, since no matter what Gabriel tries with their nanites, he hasn’t managed to give Jack his sight back. Mercy’s explanation how the damage is primarily psychosomatic was interesting—Jack’s inability to unclench apparently trumps even Sombra’s upgrades to their nanites—but ultimately unhelpful.
Jack’s fixation isn’t about seeing his coffee anyways; from experience, Gabriel knows his husband is considering dumping the drink on him.
“Hey, it’s not our asses in the fire, let me enjoy this.”
“You violently murdered everyone who had a hand in and/or enjoyed our fall.” His voice is quiet, mindful of being in the middle of a busy cafe.
“Ah, to do that all over again.” Gabriel stretches his arms out and leans back in his chair, basking in Jack’s disappointed expression. His nanites keep Jack young — Gabriel may have been overly nostalgic when he de-aged both of their bodies to just barely out of SEP; getting carded all the time quickly loses its entertainment value —and that particular Strike Commander look is hilarious. “Sorry, babe, would have saved more of them for you but your vigilante shtick was too slow.”
Gabriel waits for a crack about methods or not fitting Talon’s dress code or even the years they spent trying to kill each other.
It doesn’t come. Jack just sighs.
Damn. Worlds away from a place where even Winston’s Overwatch was now a footnote in a history textbook, this vacation was going so well up until aliens poured out of a hole in the sky—seriously, fucking aliens — and this bargain bin Overwatch popped up.
What’s the point of dimension hopping if this place makes Jack gloomy too?
He’s not sure who will throw a bigger fit if they jump dimensions again so early; Sombra who is clearly invested in this world’s dirty secrets enough that she sends them intel free of charge or Amélie who will have the brunt of her girlfriend’s whining. Either way, it will be Gabriel’s problem because Jack won’t ask for himself.
“Want to play hero?” Gabriel offers, half serious. “For old time’s sake?”
Jack sits quietly and for a minute Gabriel loses himself in the bright blue of Jack’s eyes, the perfection of youthful features masking the man that has been at his side for decades.
“Maybe we should deal with the problem more directly.” Jack sounds old and tired despite his looks. “Play the boogeyman before they become a problem the Avengers can’t deal with.”
The words click immediately. Those were Gabriel’s reasonings once, when he had been the Commander of Blackwatch frustrated with the Strike Commander’s stalling over national sovereignty in the face of civilian deaths.
“Don’t tease me.”Gabriel reaches for Jack’s hand and traces a finger over the wedding band. “You sound like we’ll do this the fun way.”
“There are heroes enough in this world.” And there’s that shift from Strike Commander to Soldier 76 with a disdainful emphasis on the very word heroes .
Ugh, even more annoying but Gabriel already has ideas and firefights with wannabe Talon assholes will get Jack’s heart pumping, make him feel useful and brush away this mood. Gabriel pulls Jack’s hand up to his lips and kisses his knuckles. “We can give these heroes a chance, cariño. Uproot Hydra before they can cause too big of a problem and let these Avengers shine —”
Jack snorts and pushes at his face. “Save your Blackwatch spiel for someone who hasn’t heard it before.”
Rude . Why did he marry this asshole again?
Jack pulls away from Gabriel. “People are going to die,” He says as if this is somehow news to Gabriel. “But we could be useful in providing some...cleanup. Before everything goes to hell.”
Jack meaning things like explosives and gunfire and excessive use of force when he says cleanup makes Gabriel’s nonexistent heart flutter. He can’t remember these days if Jack Morrison has always been like this or years in Overwatch reshaped him this way. He doesn’t really care about the chicken or the egg conundrum; the golden boy from some cornfield in Indiana is a part of Jack’s template, but Jack never quite fit the Overwatch PR spins.
One day, they will play at being heroes again. But here, in this world, there are heroes aplenty and, for all of Jack’s years on the red carpet, the pair of them are both better at getting shit done than modeling for statues.
Gabriel drains the last of his coffee and texts a quick message to Sombra and Amélie. “You ready, old man?”
Jack actually laughs this time. “Are we really going to rush into this?”
Gabriel makes a face. Jack is the one always rushing in. “You want to plan an op in a public cafe?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
True, but that time they shared a terrible post-reconciliation hangover as well as being out of coffee. They were also in Dorado then and the wonderful people of Dorado cultivated a distinct lack of interest in what a supernatural mercenary and an infamous vigilante got up to when they weren’t shooting at each other. Some people actually have functioning survival instincts but Gabriel isn’t about to bet on such a rare phenomenon.
Here, they are nobodies—for now—talking conspiracies and murder. Better not spook the locals into calling the police, no amount of coffee is worth dealing with cops under a civilian identity.
“Come on, sweetheart.” With a bit of planning and keeping Jack focused on an acceptable target—bless Sombra for finding literal Nazis, a target Jack won’t develop a moral crisis over—this vacation could turn out to be fun . Gabriel takes Jack’s hand again and grins with more teeth than he usually allows to show in a world that does not know Reaper. “Let’s go be monsters.”