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Months. It had been months since Overwatch fell, but the shock felt fresh in Morrison’s mind. Everything he was, the one thing to his name, taken by the blast that engulfed his home. The headquarters in Switzerland, half of it reduced to damn rubble and he’d caught a majority of it with his face.
What else did he have before then?
Survival was going to lead to disaster. Reinhardt was gone, Torbjorn actually had a family to return home to, Ana had been shot in the damn skull, and Gabriel-
Sat in the walls of the crappy motel room Jack called a shelter, his heart ached for Gabriel.
For someone that he could fucking hold onto.
The one person that actually kept him from falling further. Jack felt himself shiver, staring into nothing. If he’d hit rock bottom, all he was given was a shovel to just fucking dig himself deeper.
The room itself met the bare standards of living up to a creature comfort; while he didn’t miss the halls that smelled of disinfectant, water stains on the walls and the creeping feeling that some host of insects had made their home here just made him feel as if the walls themselves would close in on him. Dark corners, the flickering lamp that Jack rarely kept on- he hated it. The loneliness, the cold, how the hell he survived the blast was beyond him. Maybe, he thought, he’d wake up. And when he woke up, the dark corners of the room would stop growing all the more vast. If he was lucky, this was some fucked up dream, or a simulation, something that meant he didn’t have to face the fact his found family was now entirely people he’d never see again in this lifetime.
He shifted his weight on the bed he was sat on, cross-legged and kept grounded by a hoodie. Did wonders to keep him warm, too. Much like everything else in this hellhole, it cracked the moment he moved. Tonight, he’d kept himself in the dark. Literally and figuratively. Without a professional that he could rely on to look him over, most of what he noticed was up to his own assumptions to figure out. It didn’t take a miracle worker to assume that your eyesight going foggy after a building collapses on you wasn’t a good sign. Right now, he wished that there was one to tell him otherwise. And for one to reassure him that this would blow over, because God knows that it’d take a miracle to do just that.
With how minimal the decorations were, how dark it was, Jack began to feel more like a sickly bird in a shoebox than the commander he was months before… this. He didn’t doubt that he looked the part.
Pulling himself back to the cold, real world, Jack fumbled about over the covers, trying to feel for where his phone was. Cracked to shit, he knew that much, but it worked. A call for help. Maybe it’d be fine? He could call Gabriel, Vincent, anyone , but quickly pulled his hand back, disappointed in himself that the thought crossed his mind. He was in danger. People could track him that way. And if they didn’t- the world would find out that Jack Morrison survived, and the firepower would come back twice as hard. How many people would be put in danger if he showed his face again?
Fucking idiot. Jack groaned, pulling the hood over his face. As with a handful of things he was able to salvage, it was once Gabriel’s. Another reminder of what he lost, but even considering his touch was enough to make him feel less isolated from the world he quickly learned was dangerous. Out to get him. Like he was trapped in the middle of SEP, all over again. He could’ve sworn that those days were past him, but apparently not. Jack almost felt himself laugh at the thought, nerves and exhaustion cutting deep. God, he was even more tired than he thought he was.
In the dark, Jack tried to squint at his phone again, as if looking at it would jog his memory of something. Sighing, he scratched at his chin, itchy with dark stubble after a good few days without being able to properly shave. He was quick to draw his hand back the moment a finger ran over the fresh scar over his lip. Being thrown back to remembering what it was like to earn those (if you could call it ‘earning’- Jack was convinced they were slapped onto him for the hell of it). There had to be someone. At the end of his rope, all he could hope was that Reyes was, somehow, alive. But being tracked-
The payphone.
Practically jolting up the moment he realised that they weren’t tracked, Morrison didn’t deny that it was an idea that he was foolish enough not to try. The one he saw wasn’t tapped, Jack was sure of it- it wasn’t going to be tracked. Right outside, too. There was some safety there. Security that he could speak his mind without danger finding itself drawn closer to the one-commander.
It was more of a struggle than it should’ve been, heaving himself up and off the bed, like a foal unsteady on its feet. One call. Then he could rest properly- move again, plan, make sure he was constantly one step ahead. He just had to be fast. It was dark enough for an inch of light to be unable to crack through his drawn curtains. As he heard the patter of rain hitting cold concrete outside, he was at least convinced that even moonlight wouldn’t properly touch him. Streetlamps would be a problem, maybe. But he knew to keep himself covered, and maybe people wouldn’t stare too hard at the stranger mid-nervous breakdown trying to call someone up in the middle of the night.
He was quick, putting on slippers- the closest thing he could find, frankly. They came with the room and he wasn’t going to pass that up; the distance they put between him and the ground was slight but more significant than he had anticipated at first. What held him up a moment longer was fidgeting about, trying to find a decent amount of loose change either at the bedside table or near his duffel bag. Money in hand, he almost sprinted out of his room, hoodie making sure that he wasn’t seen. His one-track mind was good for something, and at least that something was for making sure getting outside was as painless as possible.
Once the soldier was stood out in the rain, he stopped. With his eyes in the state that they were, streetlamps and cars driving by only became visual noise, streaks of yellows and blues blending across his vision. What did it look like before this?
No point in standing around. Fucking idiot. He winced, realising he was going to be soaked to the skin if he was out here for much longer. Jack pulled the hoodie across him tighter, breath coming out as slight mist. There’d be someday he could appreciate this a little more- look back at it and laugh at how he thought he had it rough. That was if he was that much of an asshole to his past self. Trudging his way to the phonebox, Jack made a mental note that his future self could suck it if he was laughing at this. Maybe it was the cold adding another layer of regret to this garbage.
Now or never. It had been a while since he’d actually used one of these things- goddamn years back. He pondered the memory, trying to pinpoint when it was as any feeling of grace he had almost completely evaporated as he fumbled with money and the glowing buttons of the keypad. Despite the blur, Morrison still knew what to press. It was a slow process. Slower than he would’ve liked it to be. Slow enough for him to slow to a crawl, then a complete halt once it was time to enter the last number.
Would he even pick up? What was he supposed to do if he did? Before the base was bought to rubble, tensions had already grown. Blackwatch was revealed, made public, and both of them suffered. Both of them fought.
He’d apologise. He could do something . Apologise and hang up. Like dealing with Vincent again, only if Vincent fucking blew up in front of him.
With the phone held in one hand, Jack hardly kept a tight grip on it, fairly sure he was going to drop it if someone picked up. His breath came out shaky, eyes screwed shut the moment tones beeped right into his damn ear.
Then, nothing.
Maybe he should’ve breathed a sigh of relief, and-
Hey.
Morrison’s heart just about did a somersault in his chest. He could’ve sworn that his feet would fail him, that he might as well collapse where he stood. It was him. Gabriel, after everything-
Reyes here. A little tied up with work right now, but if you’re feeling lucky then I can talk soon. Leave a message, or just. Call me later.
Fuck. Ahead of himself again. It was for the best, being greeted by an answering machine. No dealing with the bullshit of explaining himself, hearing Reyes tell him over the phone that he didn’t care. He didn’t push aside the sinking feeling in his stomach. Or that he felt so much smaller in this world. Jack cursed the part of him that never fucking knew what to say without some hint of guidance. Ana could’ve been there- he could’ve kept looking, but the time for dwelling on the not-so-golden age had to stop. Drumming his fingers against the glass, Jack waited for the tone to sound until he could actually say anything. If he was lucky, Gabriel would hear. Or his family.
Better than venting into the damn void.
Another beep. This had to be one of the worst ideas he’d ever had.
“So, I- Gabe. Sorry. About everything. At the base, with what happened at Rialto. I don’t know. I was a fucking asshole.”
The silence from the other end made it all feel too real. Leaning against the glass, Jack wasn’t sure how he was supposed to properly continue.
“Maybe you’re still out there. Wishful thinking, and all, but. You were gone in moments. Sorry doesn’t cut it, probably never will, but I miss you. So fucking much. If you were here, I’d probably be a hell of a lot better.”
With a second of silence, Jack forced himself to swallow the growing lump in his throat. Not now, goddamnit.
“We’ll probably see each other, at some point. If you’re out there. You were the best thing to happen to me, I guess?” he continued, almost unwillingly at this point. It’d been too long since he’d spoken his mind to someone, even if by now, that person was only in his memory. “I’m sorry. That’s… really it, honestly. Could’ve done with someone better than me.”
There was reluctance as he hung up, movement slow. It didn’t help, now that he thought about it. He’d already sunk to the point of running in the shadows. Might as well call up a ghost, as if it’d change anything.