The doctor clicked his tongue as he scribbled something down on his clipboard. By all accounts he was a fairly young man given his position, mid-forties, but he had been on call working with Overwatch for some years now.

The troublesome thing about having your DNA rewritten by a top secret government program of questionable moral standing, is that the government doesn't like foreign doctors poking at you anymore. Hence, Doctor Richard Gansey, one of the very few number of doctors in the world who had clearance to treat SEP graduates, had been shipped out to act as a doctor for Jack and Gabe. During the war, he took on more than his share of additional patients out of sheer necessity, but officially, he was specifically assigned to watch over Jack and Gabe's health.

His bedside manner left a little to be desired.

"Well in spite of your best efforts," Dr. Gansey sighed, leaning back on his stool, "seems like your arm is finally setting correctly."

Though to be fair, Jack was not the best patient either.

"Does this mean I can take off the sling?" Jack tapped his fingers against the sides of the examination table absentmindedly, "It's been driving me crazy."

"It's the only thing that's made it so we didn't have to break your arm again." Dr. Gansey shot back dryly, "You'd think after all this time, improperly set bones, and me explaining how the regenerative properties of your modifications can cause problems with healing bones, you'd learn to be cautious with broken limbs."

"Look at it this way doc," Jack started to undo the straps of his sling, "If I keep breaking my bones, you keep getting money."

"I have a salary, Morrison."

"I'll bring up a raise for you with Adawe." Jack pulled his sling off and gave his arm a quick stretch, rolling the joint in it's socket. "Much better. How much longer until I'm clear for active duty again?"

Dr. Gansey scoffed, "Most people retire after saving the free world."

"Not interested." Jack deadpanned.

Dr. Gansey leaned over scratching his head vigorously as he grumbled, flipping through some pages on his clipboard. It managed to bring a small smile on Jack's face, though it faded quickly.

"Another week at most. Just don't do anything strenuous. The majority of your injuries were internally sustained, and other SEP graduates have given themselves tumors by straining themselves during the recovery process." He pointed his clipboard at Jack accusingly, "You may recover from injuries faster, but that just increases risk of complication if you don't take it easy in the meantime. I don't need one of my patients saving the world, only to develop cancer."

Cancer somehow managed to feel like the last thing Jack needed to be worried about. After that night at the Gala, those… visions hadn't really stopped. They weren't as powerful as the ones at the gala that has knock him into memory vertigo, but they were every present in his mind, lurking and looming. He'd been struck by deja vu so many times in the past few days it would be easier to count the number of things that hadn't felt familiar. Even this conversation with Dr. Gansey felt familiar.

Jack was a little more than halfway convinced he might be going insane.

"If there's nothing else," Jack started, uncertain, "I did want to talk to you about something else?"

Dr. Gansey raised a skeptical eyebrow. Jack winced, palming the back of his neck. He knows it's not like him to sound that tentative, especially after he'd known Gansey for so long.

"It's just, well," Jack swallowed thickly, trying to word this as innocently as possible. He didn't need to get Gansey suspicious of him. "are you able to disclose if any of the other SEP graduates are running into complications?"

"Complications." Dr. Gansey echoed, clicked open a pen and held it to his clipboard, "Are you experiencing symptoms?"

"Oh! No, no," Jack covered the lie with a short laugh, "It's just, now that the crisis is over with, and I somehow managed to crawl out of it alive, I was just wondering if there's anything that I need to look out for, if it crops up later."

Dr. Gansey's eyes flicked away from Jack, and now it was his turn to rub at the back of his neck. While the other man had never mentioned if he had worked with the SEP during the actual modification process, Jack had his suspicions.

"Well, thing is," He made a frustrated noise, "We just don't have a lot of data to work with, Jack. Of the small handful of graduates from the program, less than half of you have made it through the crisis. Currently speaking, there are less than a hundred SEP graduates alive, and while some have had to leave active duty due to medical reasons beyond injury, the sample size is too small for us to reach any conclusions that it's connected to genetic modification.

"I know that sounds like I'm trying to cover someone's ass, but I'm not, really. All I can say for sure is that you're at a higher risk for developing tumors, so keep your eyes peeled for abnormal growths, especially around injuries. Bone spurs seem to be relatively common, more than a few have gotten them, but that's comparatively minor." He threw his hands up in the air. "All I can say for sure at this point. I'll inform you if we start noticing trends."

Jack nodded, trying not to worry at his lip, he took a deep breath, "Any mental health problems?"

Dr. Gansey did a double take at that one, and Jack clenched his jaw just slightly.

"I don't think that that's likely." Dr. Gansey's eyes raked over his body, like he was trying to run tests on him with just a stare. "Modifying a brain was too risky on far too many levels for it to be a target of modification, too many unknowns, lack of significant benefits, and a little bit of morals ruled it out of modification. Your family history is also fairly clear of mental health problems, so I wouldn't be concerned about it being an SEP related risk."

Jack nodded, his mouth going dry like it had just been shoved full of cotton. So whatever was going on with him was probably just him then. Still no answers.

"Though, Jack," The Dr. Gansey started, his tone even and diplomatic. It was an easy thing to spot, even distracted by alien thoughts. "Given what you would have had to endure during the crisis, It's certainly plausible that-"

"Oh no, I'm fine." Jack smiles and put out a hand, placating, "just trying to cover the bases is all, doc."

Dr. Gansey doesn't look particularly convinced, but he just plastered a somewhat forced expression of neutrality on his face and glances down at his clipboard.

"Alright." He said, shaking his head near imperceptibly, "Then you're free to go. Come back in two days so I can check those injuries again."

"Yes Sir." Jack nodded in affirmative, making a beeline out of Dr. Gansey's little office.

Jack marched straight down the halls. The halls of the watchpoint reminded him just slightly of the halls at the facility the SEP was situated. However, the merciless gray on gray color scheme managed to seem warmer at the watchpoint, thanks to boxes of clutter littered around. It felt more lived in and less clinical, though he never did like to stay long at Gansey's office, or the medbay for that matter. The smell of ammonia and antiseptic made him anxious.

He didn't have anywhere in particular to go. No one really did right now. The higher ups were trying to assess the damage that the crisis brought down on the world, as well as figuring what to do with the remaining omnics. For the strike team, this meant a welcomed break while they licked their wounds from their last mission. So, once the smell of a hospital had cleared from his head, he leaned up against a wall, took a deep breath, ran his hands through his hair, and tried not to have a mental breakdown.

The visions were still so fresh in his mind, no matter how hard he tried to push them into the darkest corners of his mind, they would scrape and claw their way out far faster than he could shove them away.

After the night at the gala, the visions became less fragmented, much to his chagrin. He could only curse the fact he was off duty. He would lie awake for hours unable to do anything but get a clearer picture, no matter how hard he tried to suppress the information. As the pieces of the puzzle started to fell into place, he could make a strange sense of the visions.

Most of them dealt with one of two things: Visions when he was acting as strike commander, or him investigating some sort of Overwatch-related conspiracy while in hiding. Inexplicably, he knew for a fact that the latter was supposed to be after the former. He tried not to think of why he knew that, because not only did it freak him out, but it painted a pretty negative picture. Honestly, he hated those investigation memories a lot more than others, in them he was always alone, everything was tinged red, and he felt like he had zero context for what he saw.

It was all such nonsense .

Gabe was their strike commander. Thinking of the visions where he was referred to as such by a whole variety of people, most of which he didn't know, triggered a defensive reaction of sorts. Like getting angry on Gabe's behalf. Gabe was the tactical genius of their generation; with a near perfect record of command, and could make tough calls unflinchingly.

Though Jack couldn't completely silence a small, unwanted voice in the back corner of his mind that mused that it would be nice. Logical, even.

"Get it together, Jack," He reprimanded to himself, shoving his face in his sighing loudly. He couldn't sit here all day either, but god, did he want to. He could feel an all-too familiar feeling of lethargy trying to crawl into his bones. Something he hadn't felt in years, not since before Overwatch, and certainly not strongly since since after SEP.

He tried to stamp it down.

He dragged his hands down his face, taking a deep breath. That was enough time to focus on staving off the mental breakdown for now.

He pried himself from the wall and turned down the hall, only to realize he wasn't alone.

It was that young woman from the gala, staring him down from the end of the hallway.

In the wake of everything he'd forgotten the weird girl, who was even weirder from the front. Same exact outfit from the night of the gala, aviator's jacket and orange leggings, with a bizarre device fastened to her chest that looked like it was damaged somehow, cracks splintering it and a broken lens sitting uselessly in the center. She had a dreamy expression, that made her look like she was sleepwalking, not quite looking at Jack as much as she was looking through him.

Jack's muscles tensed, taking a step towards the woman. His head pounded. She definitely should not be here. He's got another sighting.

The throb of a headache instantly spiked into a stabbing pain behind his eyes and he flinched, wrenching his eyes shut.

And all at once, the memories came rushing in, leaving his head spinning.

Memories. That definition, somehow, alarmingly, felt right. What he'd been seeing were memories. His memories. Not visions.

Unlike last time, there wasn't a rush of nausea to accompany them. It was like they just slotted into place. Like he'd been ready for them to come to him, and he could almost feel himself getting swept away in the sea of memories, but he managed to shove those memories down, leaving only the whispering chatter of newly remembered conversations he had never had, and forced his eyes open, just in time to see the girl walk around a corner.

Frozen, though only for a moment, he surged himself forward. He could almost feel the memories rushing to catch up to him, at his heels, waiting until he dropped his guard so he could be tossed headlong into more unwanted sights and sounds.

As he rounded the corner to pursue, he found himself narrowly stopping before he skid into none other than Gabriel Reyes.

Gabe's face was blissfully blank for a few seconds, but it was painfully fleeting, as his face quickly hardened into forced neutrality.

"Uh," Jack took a half step away from Gabe, a little too close after their near collision. He could feel his face going red for a whole variety of reasons. "Hi, Gabe."

"Hey." Gabe nodded tightly, his voice clipped. Jack could feel blood rush further to his face, like a child with his hand in the cookie jar.

He had sort of been trying his best to avoid Gabe the past few days. He'd made it a point to largely stay a bit away from everyone, but Gabe was the only one who he actively avoided, with very little subtlety, at that.

Gabe just knew him too well. Jack felt like if Gabe just stared at him for too long, the gory little details of what's happening to him would spill out of his guts, and he'd be an open book.

Those memories licked at the back of his mind, each a small flame that threatened to consume him if fanned for just an instant. He peered over Gabe's shoulder, trying to catch a sight of the girl, but she was nowhere to be found. Besides that, Gabe would have stopped her if he ran into a stranger.

Maybe he was just going crazy.

He needed to get away from Gabe.

"Going somewhere?" Gabe asked, voice drenched in mock curiosity.

Jack swallowed. Gabe wasn't exactly the type of person you just walk away from if he's speaking to you. Especially not for Jack. He'd spent the better part of the past ten years of his life putting almost everything on hold to listen to Gabe speak.

Besides, Jack couldn't deny the other man deserved better than how he'd been treating him lately. He couldn't give Gabe an explanation for his behavior, no, but he owed Gabe a conversation.

"Do you have to go to the thing again?" Gabe pressed, acid dripping into his tone.

Jack could only splutter out a very meek laugh and glance away. One of his less than subtle attempts to avoid Gabe was, as Gabe sat down next to him at the mess, to excuse himself to go to quote: 'a thing'.

It was by far the least graceful lie of his life. But he'd never been particularly good at lying to Gabe in the first place.

"You're avoiding me." Gabe said. He had this way about it that made him feel like he was crossing his arm, when in reality his hands were still firmly jammed in his sweatshirt pockets. "Ever since that night at the party, actually. Should I expect a reason why, or is this shit just going to continue with the Morrison brand avoidance?"

"Look, Gabe," Jack said, considering his words carefully. Lies wouldn't work. Beyond just a general preference of not lying to Gabe, he wasn't sure he could even pull it off. "I've just had a lot on my mind."

Gabe's jaw twitched, like he wanted to grind his teeth.

"You know I'm not looking for some vague bullshit." Gabe snapped, but seemed to collect himself with a breath. "Be straight with me. What the hell is going on with you? Out of nowhere, Iron Stomach Jack tosses his cookies over hors 'd'oeuvres, I cover for him, and then you don't talk to me for three fuckin' days."

Jack didn't have any input. Mostly because what Gabe was saying was true, partially because he was too mentally preoccupied trying to stay focused on the here and now to think of anything to say.

"Well?" Gabe asked, emotion creeping back into his voice, like he was bracing himself.

Jack blinked. Somehow this felt familiar. The ghost of a scene played in his mind. Gabe pushing him up against the wall, coat balled up in either hand. His face twisted into an ugly snarl that Jack could recognize, but felt somewhat alien being directed at him. His face was older, subtly so, but clearly more weathered in places jack could recognize, white poked out curiously from a few hairs on his face, a new scar rested on his lip.

"Well?" The older Gabe shouted. Jack's head spun.

He heard himself say "No.", but it was defeated, almost dead. Gabes face screwed up, Jack recognizing the emotion as hate, and he released jack, shoving himself away.

As quickly as it came, it went, and he was still staring blankly at Gabe, the few wrinkles and new scars gone from his face. Jack coughed awkwardly into his hand. He could see Gabe's jaw tense just slightly more.

The memory pulled Jack into action.

"Gabe, look, it's not…" Jack swallowed. There was a lot that he could say, but very little that he should say. "You haven't done anything wrong, I promise."

"I know that." Gabe said though there was the smallest creek of defensiveness to his voice. Be it out of assumed accusation, or insecurity, Jack couldn't say.

"It's just, there really is a lot on my mind at the moment." like a hundred million memories trying to eat their way into the forefront of his mind as he spoke. "It's just complicated."

"Complicated." Gabe repeated, disdainful. Jack tried not to wince. Gabe actually was crossing his arms now. "What's so complicated, Jack?"

Jack suddenly wasn't entirely sure what this conversation was about. His conversation with Ana at the gala come to mind. It threw him off balance and left him staring at Gabe for far too long for his silence to not be considered an answer.

Jack felt this was a little unfair. Did Gabe really think he would be acting this off because of cold feet in regards to their relationship? Jack was trying not to have a mental breakdown, and that is what Gabe was pissed about? Anger started to come to steam in his chest, hot, fleeting, but unpredictable.

"Look, It's nothing worth being concerned about," Jack said, his voice clipped, "If it was, I'd tell you."

Gabe stared at him. He could feel memories surfacing. More Gabes stared at him, each with a hundred different little quirks to the expression, a curled lip, a frown, wrinkled nose, raised eyebrow, but they all conveyed one thing: Doubt. The sheer number that seemed to flash before his eyes was a little staggering in that instant before one last one burned it's visage into his memory. Eyes hard, jaw set, frowning, chin raised just slightly.

Distrust mixed with contempt, tempered by cold determination.

Jack thought he was going to be sick again. But besides that, anger and hurt quickly moved to dominate him, and an inexplicable knife in the gut sensation of betrayal. His hands twitched, like they wanted to punch something, but he kept the steady at his sides.

He needed to get away from Gabe.

"Now," Jack said, trying to keep his voice level, "If that's all, I need some time alone, thanks."

"No, it's not 'all'" Gabe spat, "But if you're going to be such a secretive prick about it, then I guess this is about as much as I'm gonna be able to stomach."

His words felt laced with a challenge. For Jack to continue arguing, or for them to fight it out, but Jack didn't rise to the challenge.

"Fine." Jack said simply, walking past Gabe, just barely brushing his shoulder as he did. "Talk to you later, then."

For some reason, this sort of parting felt like it was familiar rather than alien. Jack's chest tightened to the point of collapse, but he continued to walk away in spite of it. He blinked hard, trying to center himself, and when he opened his eyes once more, the world was tinged red.

He could hear his shallow breathing up against a mask, feel the condensation making the air around his face stuffy and oppressive. In his hands, a rifle.

Another memory of him investigating the conspiracy. He tried to do anything, move in any way, blink of his own accord, but just as before, it was futile.

Instead, he he just kept on walking. Slow, measured steps through an uncertain labyrinth of metal corridors. He couldn't tell if it was old or new because of the red tinge to the world, muting rust from his senses. Every so often his head would turn just slightly back, as if expecting someone to come at him from behind.

Wherever he was, it seemed abandoned. Every so often, he would pass by an open door, and do a quick check of the interior. Empty cots, cleaned out lockers, a few barren desks with the odd piece of paper that he didn't check. Wherever it was, it was cold, and he could feel the chill of the air though the jacket he could feel himself wearing.

Just when he started to wonder how he had gotten sucked into such a banal memory, there was a rush of air from behind him, and as he whipped around to face it, rifle at the ready, a rush of air- and smoke, so black it was like the red tinge of his visor was sucked away from the space it occupied, overtook him. He fired his rifle, kickback was smooth like velvet, at the mass of smoke, turning as it ghosted around him, continuing to fire in quick, rapid bursts as the smoke blew past him. Oddly enough, it seemed to react to his shots, each time a bullet found its mark, it jolted to a new location, leaving inky contrails in it's wake, until it was a good 10 meters away.

There it pulled itself together, like watching a cigarette burn in reverse at it condensed into something solid, something human. Just a torso at first, but with clear, broad shoulders, but eventually arms, and a head formed, through legs never formed, like it was resting on a furious thundercloud.

He could feel his muscles tighten, his finger twitched on the trigger of his rifle.

He couldn't make out much of the figure in the din of the corridor, but gradually, a mask, shadowed by a black hood, came into view. He could guess that it was bone white in spite of the rosy tinge his mask gave it, and it looked as if it was fashioned to look like a cow's skull.

"Playing around on memory lane?" A voice- the voice from before, that metal echoing on metal mocking drawl, seemed to emanate from the thing facing him. A shiver seemed to go up his spine.

The name Reaper thundered in his mind. Whatever that thing was, his memories told him it went by Reaper. A quick flash of a classified file with photographs of a matching mask flashed into his mind. He'd seen it before, on a little picture wall, strings of thread connecting various photos and news clippings pinned to drywall.

"What wrong, Jack? Here to kick up more ghosts?" The Reaper mocked, shotguns seeming to appear in his hands from thin air.

Jack wanted to back away, run even, but his body refused to move. Whatever this thing was, it was like it had been pulled straight from a horror movie, and what's more, it seemed to know who he was. He wasn't certain what this was about, but he was sure that he was supposed to be in hiding.

"Nowhere to run," The reaper continued, his form seeming to glide closer effortlessly, and still, his body made no move, only thing he did with tighten his grip on his rifle. "Nowhere to hide. Just you, and me."

The Reaper raised his shotguns, and an explosion ripped through the corridor between them.

And the memory was gone with the sharp breath, as his body came back to him in the present day, eyes wide, and muscles tense for action. He forced his nerves back down and jerked himself to face behind him.

The empty, brightly lit halls of Overwatch HQ were the only thing he could see. Even Gabe seemed to have disappeared.

He swallowed down the intense feeling of dread that was trying to crawl it's way out of his throat, and and marched down the hall as if nothing had happened as he tried to jam the door shut on what he'd just seen.


Notes: Please say hello to Dr. Gansey. Also say goodbye because we never see him again. Legit just needed a doctor for that scene, and Mercy is uh well... like 12 years old and a war orphan at this point.