They've done this about a hundred times, and yet, as Moira poked and prodded and inspected him for muscle atrophy, all Gabriel could do was scold himself for the emotions he allowed to arise when she requested he removed his shirt and for the thoughts that raced through his mind as her eyes danced across his torso.

None were good, of course, but the worst was did she like what she saw?

That isn't right, he thought. He shouldn't think about those kinds of things when it came to her, and he shouldn't experience these feelings whenever she was around. Gabe has always attempted to keep every relationship of his as professional as possible, for the sake of making his life (and the other party's life) easier; why was he letting himself slip? It certainly isn't the first time he's felt...like this-whatever this may be-towards a colleague. He would ignore his emotions, and they would fade into nothingness.

But this, he's nursing this.

Every offer to eat breakfast together, every hotel room shared, every practice spent near the pool, every casual conversation in the hallway, every hour-long trip spent next to one another on a drop ship, every appointment; he was allowing this to become something it shouldn't.

"You appear to be stable, Gabe."

And then she says his name, and everything about avoiding friendly occurrences is thrown into the wind.

God, of all things, it was his name on her tongue that made his heart beat a mile a minute and rendered him incapable of frowning.

It was her voice, Gabriel deduced. That low, suave voice amalgamated with her unique accent is what made her speaking his title so...attractive.

A flick at his temple brought him back to reality, and the first thing he saw upon his arrival was an expectant set of colorful eyes and the pale, beautifully contoured face they were attached to. "What?" Gabe said rather stupidly.

Great job, he mocked himself. Moira rolled her eyes, seemingly only slightly irked, and (he assumed) restated, "I asked how your improvement was coming along. It doesn't seem as if you're interested in conversation this morning, however."

No, he was very much interested in conversation. He would sit on that cold table the entire day if it meant the time passed would be spent with her.

Gabriel should have told her he was busy. He should have left that lab and went about his day. There was no need to allow this to grow.

Instead of doing the right thing, however, his lack of self-control prompted him to say, "No, I'm fine, really. And uh, I think I've gotten better, but then again, compared to you I have the intelligence of a caveman, so..." His words earned him a laugh from the woman in front of him "I don't believe that's entirely true."

"No? Only somewhat true?"

Moira nodded enthusiastically.

"You're such an asshole," he laughed.

"I strive to be."

After a moment's pause, Redhead asked, "Have you thought about what you're going to get from me?"

"Not yet. I'll think of something, though, don't worry. It's most likely going to have to do with food. I'm just saying."

"Something I would expect from the likes of you."

"Yeah, pretty chunky, aren't I?"

Moira's grin disappeared. "I hadn't meant that."

"Could it not be implied?" he mimicked her words as well as her accent.

"You're mocking me," she retorted, "and your accent is disgusting."

"Is it disgusting?"

"I'm quite amazing at making it seem like involuntary manslaughter."

Gabe chuckled. "It's funny how you talk, I don't know, properly, and then you say things like amazin' and makin' and disgustin.'"

She quirked an eyebrow. "It's the way I speak."

"There isn't anything wrong with it, it's just unorthodox."

Folding her arms behind her back, she informed him, "In Dublin, pronouncing the 'G' is considered out of the ordinary."

"Really? I never knew that."

He didn't like the way he was speaking. Words flew from his lips quickly and carelessly, and Gabriel had no power over it. That part of him (that stupid, childish part) perpetually battled with the more logical, mature side of himself and won.

Over and over and over again.

"Well, if you don't have anymore comments, you're free to leave," Moira told him. He nodded and stood, slinging his shirt over his forearm in the process. "I'll see you, Moira," he called.

"Bye," she replied, walking towards the back of the room. "Perhaps you should run a few laps around the pool, you seem awfully full of energy today." He scoffed nervously as blood rushed to his ears. Of course she noticed that. She's Moira. "That isn't a bad suggestion."

"It would be in your best interest," she said.

Gabe sighed, quite embarrassed, and trekked out of the main doors once they slid open.

"What were you guys doing in there?" Lena's voice, although slightly drowned out by the hissing of pistons, made his heart skip a beat. Hers eyes widened, and she covered her mouth with the stack of papers she held in her hand. "Sorry, Commander!"

"Don't worry about it," he sighed once the entrance to the laboratory was sealed shut. "What do you think we were doing in there?"

"Well," she began sheepishly, "you guys were laughing, and your shirt's gone, and your ears are really red, so I thought you were..." her eyes went to the floor, then her papers, then back at him, "making out?"

"You know, in between that laughing, there was talking," Gabriel pointed out.

"I couldn't hear that!"

"Why immediately assume we were making out is my question."

"Well, McCree tells me things."

"I thought you were smart enough not listen to him."

The Brit shrugged and giggled nervously. "Sorry, it's fun to poke fun at everyone sometimes. I really couldn't care less about what you do, Sir." He pulled a Moira and raised a brow. "You're lucky I like you. Now, what are you doing down here?"

"I need to give the Doc her paperwork." Oxton gestured to her papers. Gabe, being the good samaritan that he was, stepped to his right and punched in the necessary code. As the doors parted once more, Lena walked past him with a small thank you and headed inside.

As he walked away, he heard Moira's voice as she called out Gabe? and the second, shorter woman's voice as she responded with Cadette Oxton, actually.

He cringed. Lena knew he didn't like that nickname being tossed around.

What if she asked about it? What would be Moira's response?

Gabriel hoped it went over her head, because if it didn't, her supposed theory on the Doctor's and his relationship would seem all the more plausible.

And the last thing he needed was more of McCree's jokes.