They just got out of the car. They just finished laughing about how Jesse was let go. They were just talking about the information on Antonio that was discovered. He just finished telling him how exciting it was to be working together again.

And now Lacroix was being rushed away on a gurney, Angela yelling German to the nurses accompanying her.

He didn't move. Gabriel couldn't make himself move. His body had decided to enter a state of catatonia, forcing him to watch as one of the only friends in his life was rushed to a medical bay within one of the aircrafts before him.

The heat from the destroyed facility, the searing pain from the burn covering the expanse of his forearm, the smell of fiery flesh: all became nonexistent. He was hardly capable of registering the screams from the people around him. The image of that man's skin dripping from his chin and sliding off his hands in sheets was stuck on perpetual repeat in his mind.

Over and over again, it played. Over and over and over again.

"Reyes!" McCree's voice seemed to hit Gabe's ears and bounce off the cartilage, the man's voice becoming lost on him. A pair of hands gripped his shoulders, and he was shook violently; only then did he return to Earth. "Reyes, he'll be fine! Mercy's got him! Come on, we have to get to the ship so they could put this damn fire out!" Blinking a few times, he nodded and followed Jesse as he ran towards the aircrafts.

The Southern man stopped and pointed ahead of him. "Anyone that's seriously injured goes to that one." He gently shoved Gabriel forward. "Go get your arm patched up."

"My arm isn't-" He glanced down and realized that his arm was, indeed, that bad. It resembled Gerard's face and hands: charred skin was hanging off muscle while blood congealed in the orifices. His pause seemed to hint to McCree that his commander had realized how serious the situation was. "I'll see you, Boss."

"If this is where the seriously injured go, why wasn't Gerard taken here?" Gabriel questioned.

"Because there's serious cases, then there's Gerard's case:" Jesse called over his shoulder, making his way towards another ship, "a new level of bad. Now get in the ship!"

He watched his teammate disappear into the aircraft adjacent to the ship he was assigned to, the residents of the base swarming around him as he stood completely still. A young man brushed past his boiled arm with a sorry, Commander, and that was the moment the pain resurfaced. A sting so intense it made his stomach churn shot through his arm and made it to the base of his neck, reminding him of where he needed to be. Cursing at himself for staring into space yet again, Gabe gripped his bicep to alleviate some of the pain and jogged towards the ship's opening.

The scent of burning flesh hit him upon entry. In the relatively small confines of the ship, the smell was more potent than it was outside, making it impossible for him to block it out as he did before entering the aircraft. He mimicked the actions of those around him and hid his nose within his hoodie, although it didn't help his predicament very much. He gagged as he traveled to a bench stationed away from the crowd. Breath through your mouth, Gabriel told himself. Breath through your mouth and don't think about it.

He watched as nurses went from patient to patient, sticking arms with needles and muttering she'll be here soon. She's very busy. He assumed they were speaking of either Moira or Mercy; both shes were equally as popular.

The way the medical staff went about their job, completely unperturbed by the horrific scent of their comrades' burning flesh, amazed him. It filled him with as sense of pride, as a matter of fact, seeing as how each and every individual, young or old, was willing to put the welfare of their teammates before their own discomfort.

Only the best.

"I hand you the tools necessary to keep yourself from injury, and yet..." Moira came into view. She knelt beside his arm and muttered a few words in her second tongue as he studied her. The woman was fully suited up, Gabriel noted, right down to her dark beret. A clean white mask covered her nose and mouth, preventing her breath from hitting his wrist as she examined the wound. "How did you sustain this?" she interrogated.

"I had to save Gerard," he responded quietly, some of the initial shock and disbelief from witnessing that burning man returning. She glanced up at his eyes, holding his gaze for a few moments before returning her attention to his forearm. "I see," was all she said. Her lack of a pretentious response and the stare he received told him she heard something in his voice, saw something in his stare. This Irishwoman was so fucking far from stupid; his emotions were, almost without a doubt, not lost on her.

Moira gently gripped his elbow with fingers tainted violet and hovered her remaining hand over the burn. As the golden liquid came into contact with his body, a familiar dark mist rose from his skin with a dull hiss. "Don't worry," the Doctor said quickly, "this is expected."

He cleared his throat before responding with, "If you say so."

Gabe watched as her palm repaired his damaged arm, taking note of how the skin on her fingers dipped inward between her joints.

Even through the glove, her thinness was too noticeable. Way too noticeable.

That very thought brought his attention to her torso.

The elastic material of her suit accentuated the form of her body in a way the slim shirts she wore never have. She seemed to become slimmer, the shiny material stretching over her snakelike torso and drawing attention to the outline of her ribcage.

The outline of her ribcage.

"You know it isn't healthy for your ribs to be poking out like that?" Gabriel explained, removing his nose from his shirt. The smells from the group of patients had already seeped in; his best bet was to try to ignore it from then on. "I'm the one that should be worrying about you, not the other way around," Moira didn't remove her gaze from his healing skin as she voiced her retort.

"You're a part of Blackwatch, I have to worry about you. It's kind of my job."

"I suppose that's fair enough." She gave is now-fully-healthy forearm a speedy inspection before rising to her feet. In the positions they resided in, she towered above his head, something that did not go unnoticed by Gabe.

"You needn't worry about my health, Gabriel," the woman told him. "Keep those worries and give them to someone more deserving than me." She sped away after that, disappearing into the horde of nurses and injured residents of the now-destroyed compound. The main opening to the aircraft began to shut, and as he leaned over to look through the glass, he noticed a new fleet of planes and helicopters flying overhead, all bearing the iconic symbol of Overwatch. "Good luck with the fire, guys," he muttered as the ship he was seated inside of began to take off.

Gabriel ran his hand over the healed flesh of his forearm and the burnt, crispy ends of his destroyed sleeve. That was going to have to be fixed again, he thought, a bit annoyed at the situation. He had to be thankful he didn't end up as Gerard did, however, with the skin of his face quite literally peeling off his cheeks and forming thin rivulets that ran down his neck.

At least he didn't end up like Gerard.

At least.