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The beach is warm; the sand still holds on to the last vestiges of sun, despite the cold seeping into the air. The tide is coming in, inch by determined inch, and there’s a lone star visible next to the shadow of a new moon.
“Back here again,” Gabriel says, and Jack closes his eyes.
Gabriel clicks his tongue. “I see you still haven't learned any manners.”
“You're dead.” Jack doesn't bother with theatrics anymore.
“And aren't you supposed to respect the dead?” The sand shifts beside him, half burying his arm. “You used to be really intent on that.”
“I am.” Jack opens his eyes again; night has set. Time doesn’t ever pass correctly here. The stars glitter, then they double, and he pretends it's just part of the dream.
“I'm here because of you,” Gabriel says, and his voice is just off enough to be unsettling. “It’s you that can't let go. I have.”
That always stings. “Of course you have. Dead people don't get a choice.”
Jack hasn't looked at Gabriel since the first time he had this dream. Can't bring himself to see all the misremembered features again. Gabriel, as much as he always did, doesn’t appreciate being ignored, not leaving the silence for long.
“So are you going to try again?” he asks, because he always does.
“It's all I'm here for,” Jack replies. The stars still glitter.
“You're here for more than that, Strike-Commander,” and his voice is teasing, fond, like it should be. “You can't fix this mistake.” Cold and bitter, like it is.
“Why is it always the beach?” Jack asks instead. “Why can it never be the city, or Switzerland, or even Cairo.”
Not a question. Gabriel doesn't answer, just chuckles as if it’s obvious.
“I think,” he says after a long time, “Next time will go better. Don't you?”
“It would be easier if you didn't shoot me,” Jack mumbles. There’s a phantom pain in his back, pellets tearing through flesh and settling in.
“Too easy,” Reaper says. Jack closes his eyes again. Then, softer: “You hurt me first.”
“I know.” The stars bleed through his eyelids and dance across his vision, unrelenting. “But I can't say I'm sorry if I’m dead.”
“I don't get that choice.” Gabriel sounds almost amused. “You've imagined how much it hurts. You have no idea.”
“I know,'' Jack says, again, because there's nothing else to say.
“Leave Ana behind,” Gabriel suggests, lightly, but there’s an urgent slant to his voice. “Don't interrupt me on a mission, just come alone. You know where to find me.”
Jack does. He's thought about it for months now. Wander into the courtyard again and wait, no weapons but an apology. Whatever happens is how it should be.
“But you're scared,” his voice teasing again but unkindly so. “Scared I won’t listen. Scared I'll kill you anyway.”
“No,” Jack says. “I'm scared you won't believe me.”
Gabriel laughs. It’s been wrong every time. “Ironic.”
“Have you really let go?” he asks instead.
“Do you think so?'' Gabriel is close enough to touch; Jack can feel the imitation of warmth on his skin, and sinks his hands into the sand. “What would I do if I hadn't?”
Jack swallows. The sand is cold now, like ice against his skin. “I don’t know.”
“Of course you don’t.” A rap of knuckles against his skull that sends a shiver down his spine. “Because you’re thinking like you. Not like me.”
Jack squeezes his eyes shut until the imprint of the stars shimmer rainbow. He doesn’t know if he wants to remember what Gabriel thinks. It feels like a violation, in a way. Like he isn’t allowed to understand him anymore.
“It's what fuels you,” Jack says at last. “So no.”
“I’d tell you you’re right, but...” Gabriel laughs again, without humour. “That would just be self affirmation, wouldn't it?”
The waves wash over him, and Jack takes in a breath anyway. The salt sticks to his throat. When he opens his eyes, the only thing floating in front of him is the echo of a man he loves.
“At least try,” the shadow says. The scar across his lip is too short, his edges blurring into the ocean. “At least try. You owe me that.”
Jack wakes up alone.