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As the last rogue omnic crashes to the ground, the smell of burning metal wafting through the air, Jack heaves a sigh.
He loosens his grip on the pulse rifle; his shoulder aches from the constant shock of recoil, and he rolls the joint, hoping to quell the pain. It works well enough.
Soft congratulations waft over the line; the rest of the strike team, patting each other on the back for a job well done. Jack taps his comm, barks a “Good work, everyone.”
The work really was good, is the thing. The force they’d faced had been double the expected amount, and they still escaped with no casualties. It had almost been one, he thinks with a grimace; only Ana’s sharp eye and quick shot had saved him from having his ass handed to by a sneaky Bastion that had rounded behind him.
He scans the horizon, spots the familiar figure perched atop a squat building. He raises his hand, salutes to the sniper; a grin stretches his face as he sees Ana stand stock straight, returning the salute with all the enthusiasm of a cadet straight out of basic. He bets she’s smiling as well; the gesture has become sort of an inside joke between them, seeing as Ana saves his life almost daily.
He begins the trek to the rendezvous point; it’s a long one – they’d pushed the line back a full half-mile through the city before destroying it fully. He snakes through the empty streets, gazing at the abandoned buildings around him as he runs. There used to be people living here, and a lot of them – it was the biggest city in Russia, before the Crisis started. Now, the winding paths through the street are silent, save for the sharp whistle of icy wind.
Gabriel runs into him about three blocks in; he rounds up next to Jack, falling into step as they rush through the streets. He turns to look; Gabe is breathing heavily, shotguns clanking against each other as they dangle from his belt; his beanie is pulled snug over his ears, and his gloved hands are clenched into fists.
Twin footsteps pound the pavement, echoing the rhythm of gunshots still ringing in the back of Jack’s mind as the pickup point approaches. He spots Torbjörn loitering on the edge of the clearing, leaning against the wall of a sky rise. He is wildly gesturing at Reinhardt, probably describing the total destruction of omnics under the fire of his many turrets.
Reinhardt nods along with a wide smile, listening to his friend animatedly describe the day’s battle; when he sees Jack and Gabriel approaching, he straightens up and gives them a jovial wave. Torbjörn turns around, paused in his story, and nods to them. Jack waves back as Gabriel tilts his head towards the two in acknowledgement, and they return to the conversation.
In the center of the pickup point, there is a large fountain, emptied of water; Jack sets himself down on the rim, pulse rifle propped against the wall. Gabe sinks down next to him, close enough that their shoulders press together. Jack reaches for Gabe’s hand, entangles it with his own; the press of Gabe’s calloused palm against his own, the tightening of his fingers, pulls him away from the mindset he’s been in since the battle started, and he lets his body relax, leaning into Gabe’s warmth.
The hand squeezes his again. “You okay?”
Jack nods, head turning to press into the side of Gabe’s arm. “Yeah, just been a long day.”
Gabe chuckles. “I get it. Don’t worry, we’ll be out of here soon.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Ana; she enters the area the same way they did, rifle slung over her shoulder. She approaches the two of them, raises an eyebrow at Jack. “Glad to see you both still in one piece. Good work out there.”
He can feel Gabriel’s laugh where his head is still pressed up against his arm. “Thanks, mom. Always nice to know you care.”
“You know, if I didn’t care for you, you probably would have died ages ago. Always running into the thick of things, leaving me the cleanup.”
Jack lifts his head and winks at her. “Why wouldn’t we, when you’re so good at it?”
Ana lifts her hand to her mouth in a mock blush. “Oh, you flatter me, boys. Anyway, where is Liao? I would prefer to be gone before tomorrow.”
As if on cue, a lithe figure appears from a small alley. Liao makes their way over silently, pulling up to the small gathering and giving them a nod. “How was it out there? Didn’t hear much over comms, so…”
“Went really well, actually. Only a couple scratches, and good ol’ Jackie boy here got ‘em patched right up.”
Jack fidgets with the biotic canister, sitting snug in his arm belt. “We got lucky today – seems like everything just clicked.”
A tired smile grows on Liao’s face. “Thank god for that. Is everyone here? I was ready to leave yesterday.”
Gabe reaches up to his ear, toggling on the comms. “Chopper, this is Reyes. Strike team is primed and ready for evac.”
The voice on the other end of the line says something Jack can’t hear, and Gabe lowers his hand again. “They should be here any minute now.” He raises his voice, hollering to Torbjörn and Reinhardt. “Hey, we’re leaving! Get over here!”
As the pair lumber over, the sleek black outline of their ride descends over the horizon. “Wow, that was quick. Guess they knew we’d be done fast.” Jack watches the helicopter begin its descent, landing not 50 feet away. A flash of ginger hair sticks out of the door.
The group hustles their way over, slinging up and into the craft. Gibson greets each one with a handshake or a pat on the back, yelling “Welcome back” and “Nice work out there” into their ears. Jack takes a seat at the back end of the copter, and the others fill in around him as the doors slide closed and they take off into the sky.
Gabe slides down the wall next to him; their hands intertwine once again, and Jack leans his head on Gabe’s shoulder. He looks over, can see Ana and Reinhardt in pretty much the same position; sometimes it’s funny, Ana’s slim figure juxtaposed over Reinhardt’s bulky mass, extenuated by his Crusader gear. Their hands are locked tightly together; as he watched, Reinhardt leans over to press a light kiss to the top of Ana’s head.
Liao is next to them on the opposite wall, head between their knees. He knows that posture – Liao uses it to calm themself down after each day of fighting. Soon, they will be back to normal, cracking jokes and conversing with the rest of the team.
Torbjörn is seated to Gabe’s left, out of Jack’s line of sight, but he knows the man is already fiddling with his holopad, diagramming his latest invention for use on the field. The man’s mind is a nonstop train, racing to come up with better ideas and putting them into work. Even for a genius, Jack thinks, it must be exhausting, but Torbjörn seems content in his line of work, and Jack is happy for him.
As he settles his head back on Gabe’s shoulder, closing his eyes, he can’t help but be grateful for the day.
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The copter lands, and the group disembarks, heading for the renovated gymnasium that they call home base. Only a small section of the gym is being used, sleeping bags scattered haphazardly, surrounded with possessions. Jack begins stripping off his armor before he even reaches his bag; it’s been a long day, and he, along with everyone else, wants to rest as soon as possible.
He tosses his gloves down next to the bag; the arm belt comes next, delicately set to preserve the biotic canisters tucked inside. He removes his chestplate, setting it down with a resounding thunk, and the loss of weight soothes his aching joints.
As he removes the rest of his armor, he looks around. The rest of the team seems to be in similar states of disrobing; Reinhardt’s armor is massive, but he lays it down with grace, preventing any dents. Ana helps him with the task before beginning her own process; the domestic give-and-take they share is admirable.
Torbjörn has unattached his arm, and it lays motionless at his side. He is, surprisingly, the quickest to completely strip his armor, and he pulls back the corner of the sleeping bag, crawling into it. Liao, next to him, is done next – their only real armor is the small pads they wear on their elbows and knees to prevent scratching, as well as a light chestplate.
The rest of them wind down, finishing up and sliding into the warmth of their bags to sleep. As Jack settles into the soft cotton, he feels a body slide up behind him, and Gabe’s arms wrap around his middle, tugging their bodies flush. Their sleeping bags are connected – no reason in being subtle when there are only four other people who will see, all of whom already know – so they are pressed skin-to-skin, and he can feel the short curls on Gabe’s chest as they rub up against his back.
He lets out a hum, snuggling back into Gabe’s embrace, and he feels a set of lips press a soft kiss into the back of his neck. Gabe’s voice is low when he speaks, and it drifts soothingly into Jack’s ears. “Love you, Jackie.”
“Love you too, Gabe.” He smiles as he says it; he’s so glad he can say he’s not lying. Loving Gabe comes easy – like riding a bike, he thinks with a chuckle – and it’s the most all-encompassing thing he’s ever done. He knows Gabe loves him back just as much – it shows in the way they work on the field, in the soft press of his lips to Jack’s on the nights where he can’t seem to find sleep, in the crinkles in his eyes whenever they share a look – and he wouldn’t trade it for the world.
Gabe’s breathing has evened out against his back, and Jack decides it’s probably best for him to sleep as well. Closing his eyes, he relaxes his body, melds into Gabe’s form.
It’s the perfect end to a perfect day. He hopes it will be like this forever.