She woke up shivering, the drugs making her sluggish system more sensitive to the cold. The prison infirmary had been warm, hot even, as she fell asleep. But now, under the pale blueish light of the moon, she felt like she'd been dumped in an ice bath.
Sounds. That's what had woken the Overwatch agent; trained to be alert and ready at the drop of a needle. Voices, grumbling sounds she couldn't decipher the meaning of. Except for one of them; deep and guttural with perpetual rage, husky and raspy like a whisper in a storm.
She barely saw it. Felt it, really, more than anything. The temperature drop, the stuffy feeling that she wasn't alone anymore. The tingle of her sixth sense at the thick dark fog pouring through the door. Her heart clenched as she recognized the form the miasmic gasous form was taking. She was all alone, tied to a bed, drugged, injured and with no hope of back-up; up against the Reaper.
He stood there, watching, silently judging; a stark contrast to the violent and enraged harvinger of death she saw glimpses of on the battlefield. She knew more about it from field reports than first hand experience. She had never truly appreciated this before now.
The otherwise silent room was now filled by two terrifyingly present sounds. His low, slow and steady raspy breathing. Her high-strung, rapid and quickly becoming erratic heartbeat; blood pumping through her temples. She caught a glint of the moonlight off his bony mask, his talons catching her eye as well; she knew if she hadn't been strapped down... She'd have fled with her tail between her legs.
She only just now realized that all the rumours about death walking among the ranks of Talon; the vengeful wraith that took down countless Overwatch agents, had phased through a wall, to get to her. If she hadn't been stupefied by terror - after all, Reaper had come to, likely, handle her - she would have gushed over the impressive power that resembled her blinking ability.
"Tracer," he rasped. Her heart stopped. Then sprinted a staccato beat of fear, trepidation and another ugly, twisted feeling. Validation. She felt validated that him, Reaper - the most wanted man in the world - not only knew who she was, but for all intents and purposes broke into her detention unit. Who else could claim that?
But if she only knew why her name came so easily to him... Behind the mask of the Reaper stood, if only for a moment, Gabriel Reyes. The once proud leader of Blackwatch, proponent of Overwatch and senior officer to Lena Oxton, also known as Tracer... In his world-weary eyes, she was still a child; an Overwatch agent, but a child nonetheless.
"Disgusting," he growled, his voice thicker, but betraying none of the conflict he felt. It was directed at both he and Overwatch; himself for having emotions towards her and Overwatch... In general.
She felt her heart stutter to a pitiful stop for an instant too long. What was disgusting? Was he talking about her appearance? Usually she would've quipped some snarky yet playful remark, but now she only worried it would send him into his world-feared rage. Or maybe he was talking about the fact she got captured, despite her speed and blink ability - a comment on her lack of skill and long-term experience. Or maybe it was directed at her, as a person?
"Using children to fight for their cause... How low has Overwatch sunken," Reaper growled, taking a step closer.
Children? Overwatch would never! Besides, how would Reaper even guess that? Just by looking at her? How? She wanted to reply, to shout, to tell him to rightly bugger off. But her voice caught in her throat.
Suddenly, the man - the thing - in front of her exuded authority, it intimidated her. It was so similar, yet terrifyingly different to 76's disciplining stance that she found herself gobsmacked. Reaper had only crossed his arms.
"You were so young... I remember." The words lingered, the disgusted angry tone from earlier gone; a whisper in the breeze, replaced by melancholy. World-weariness.
"R-Remember what?" she asked tentatively.
The man in front of her said nothing. Wordlessly, he approached her bedside and, despite everything she had learned about him; dashing all the expectations she had of him eviscerating her, torturing and murdering her... He sat. Rather unceremoniously too, only slowing down as to not jostle her.
"Lena," he said, voice gruff and authoritive. Like a commanding offer. Like her commanding officer. "The guards rotate at oh-five hundred; a twenty minute window until your cell is fully monitored starts then. Do you copy?"
Shocked, gobsmacked and just so confused; it was all she could manage to commit the info to memory and nod jerkily.
He droned on, his voice curiously familiar now, despite the raspy and windy quality to it. "Your IV will have run out by oh-three hundred. Don't waste time trying to gather intel. Head North-North-East for fiften clicks. Clear?"
"S-Sir!" She whispered. Why was he helping her? Was it a trap? Had he set a bug on her? Or worse, in her? "Why should I trust you?" she demanded, her words as shaky as her breathing.
"You shouldn't," he replied. "But... You're just a child, Lena."
"H-How do you know my name?"
"The same way you know mine; I told you."
She froze; she had never met him, much less had a conversation with the man - passing insults and taunts as she zipped by him in a scuffle at most. Her name rarely came up in discussions nowadays; the only company she kept were her teammates.
"Who are you?" Her words were spoken softly, even for whispering. A disturbing contrast to the sunny, energetic young woman she usually was. Her eyes searched his mask, bore into his eye-holes for a sign, for anything.
He sighed - or produced a deep rattling breath that felt and sounded like one - and looked away in an uncharacteristic display. Despite his hulking frame, he looked small. Shoulders hunched, hands between his knees, looking away, and looking down.
She couldn't help herself. "What's wrong, love?" It just came out; in the odd few minutes she'd seen him up close, she felt an odd aura from him. Oddly familiar.
"You never saw this," he told her.
"What're yo-"
"Never." he ground out. "You never saw this."
"I'm drugged and asleep, r'member?"
He sighed - definitely, she knew that type of sigh anywhere. It was the "dad sigh" that 76 made whenever he found her stuck somewhere, or when she managed to slip puns in mission reports. A short breath, exhaled through the nose.
Just as she was about to quip anout how much he was being domestic, she saw his hand move. Towards his mask.
"G-Gabe?"