You guys could be some valuable assets, you know?

That's what Sombra had said.

You've got a smart cookie on your side here, Commander. The stuff she comes up with; pretty snazzy.

That's what Sombra had said.

I'll be around. And I'll keep in touch with you. Now, show me how to get out. I'm not going back the way I came in, you know what I'm saying?

"God only knows what way you came in," Gabriel mumbled to himself.

"What's that, Gabe?" Moira called over to him.

"No worries, just thinking."

"About?"

He walked over to where she stood near her desk, a box of glass science apparatuses within his arms.

He promised he'd help.

It most certainly wasn't an excuse to spend time with her.

But it was.

"Nothing specific," he replied. The woman only hummed her response as she looked away and opened a drawer, fishing out a small plastic bag of what looked like chocolates.

"We could stop if you'd like," Moira offered, and she sat in the seat beside her and popped a candy into her mouth. Gabe set his item on the flat surface to his right. "I think that's what you'd like."

She looked to the side. "What gave it away?"

"Maybe all the complaining? That's my guess."

The Doctor went silent for a moment. "It smells like dust in here."

He couldn't help but laugh at her disgust. "You're not having too much fun right now."

"I'll be honest with you:" she scratched her forehead, "I'm dealing with the most painful cramps at the moment."

He decided to pull out a stool from underneath the table a little ways away and sat himself in front of her. "Can't say I know what you're going through." She shook her head gently.

"Can't you, I don't know, exercise that off? Not sure how much I remember from Health class," he chuckled awkwardly.

At least he was attempting to be helpful, right?

"You can," she smiled, "that's why I decided to begin organizing without you. I can't say it assisted me very much, however."

She crossed her legs and slumped in her chair.

The poor thing looked so tired, and her focus seemed to be elsewhere.

"We'll stop for now," Gabriel said, "if you're in pain." Moira simply nodded, placing another chocolate on her tongue.

"Go and enjoy the rest of your day," she commanded. "I'm not very entertaining."

"More entertaining than the other two shitheads we work with." He meant that wholeheartedly.

She grinned once more, but it faded as fast as it appeared, and after a brief moment of thought, the Doctor told him, "You still say that even after the way I acted yesterday night."

He furrowed his brow. Was she talking about not answering his question?

"Didn't I tell you not to worry about it?"

She shook her head for a second time. "It was embarrassing and...wrong."

"What the hell do you mean, 'wrong'?"

"I wanted to respond, yet couldn't."

What did that mean?

He decided against asking that question. Truthfully, he was afraid she would freeze again. Gabe hadn't the slightest clue why it happened or what triggered such a strange reaction, but fuck, he'd rather castrate himself with a butter knife than give this pitiful toothpick another reason to beat herself up.

"Well, if you couldn't, you couldn't, right?" he continued hopefully. "Some people aren't comfortable with certain things."

"And what I'm not comfortable with is ludicrous, and it gnaws at me," she said, a hint of irritation present in her voice. He had a feeling it wasn't directed at himself, however.

Moira wiped a bead a sweat from her temple, something Gabriel wasn't aware of until her actions brought his attention to it.

Why was she sweating? Was she anxious? Was she nervous, perhaps?

It could be a "that time of the month" thing, too, couldn't it? I don't know how this shit goes, he thought.

"You alright?"

There was a nod; a small one.

"Uh, right, well, why don't we just screw the subject?"

She nodded once again. "I apologize."

"Dear God-Moira," he smiled nervously, "quit with the apologies. You didn't do anything wrong."

When the woman in question said nothing, he continued with, "What do I need to do to get you to believe that?"

He hated seeing her like this, he truly did, but he couldn't help the thought of him being the only one allowed to witness this part of Moira O'Deorain. This strange second side of her that he couldn't figure out was something only he saw, and that notion alone was enough to make him feel so fucking special.

"I wish I were able to tell you, Gabe," the redhead replied, and it raised more questions than it answered, if it answered any at all. It seemed as if she'd become angry at herself in uncomfortable situations. Of course, that made absolutely no sense to him, but at the moment, she wasn't making anything easier, and it was the most logical conclusion he could come to.

Moira held out the small baggy previously placed in her lap. "Would you want these?"

"You sure?"

"I am." With that, he took her offering from her hand, fingers delightfully brushing against fingers.

"I may shower." She ran the heel of her palm across her forehead. "I feel disgusting."

You don't look disgusting. "I get it, sort of," he said, putting in his best effort not to sound crestfallen.

"Bathing helps numb the pain."

"That sounds depressing."

"I'll tell you what's depressing: you're required to complete that paperwork for me and you haven't."

"That's agonizing, let alone depressing," he laughed as he dumped the entirety of the small bag's contents into his hand (there weren't many left) and threw them into his mouth.

"I left everything on your desk in your office. There will be an extra page, I forgot to staple it to the rest when I gave them to you."

She stood and pushed in her chair, and, attempting to combat the overload of mint he was experiencing,-holy Hell, that was not just chocolate-he brought his stool back to its original location. By this point, Moira was already heading to the back room. "Bye," she sounded pleasantly.

"You going to be around later on?"

That didn't sound weird, right?

"I might be." She paused near the back door and turned ninety degrees to face him. "Why?"

Gabe shrugged, his face heating up in an uncomfortable way.

She smiled at him. "You'd better be careful, Gabriel. I'm beginning to think it was genuine when you called me your friend."

He rolled his eyes and told her, "No, I was lying just to get a reaction," then tossed his empty bag in the bin under her desk.

"It's happened before," the woman said, and God, how he just wanted to hug her and make every terrible memory from her seemingly shitty past and every aspect of herself she hated just fade away.

Even though he wasn't quite sure if she were insecure about anything or if she even liked physical contact, that's what he wanted to do.

"Well," Gabriel explained to her, "I'm not like that."

"I believe you," she smirked, and with that, the two recited their goodbyes and went about their day.

He decided to journey to his office and complete the task Moira had assigned to him.

Of all people, he didn't want her to believe he slacked off.

The path he usually took was now more unfamiliar than the path to the Laboratory, and he wasn't sure how to feel about that. Now that Blackwatch wasn't as active as it used to be, he found himself traveling here less and less. Overwatch was apparently now receiving a lot of slack, and this was the true reason the division is dying, from what Genji explains Angela tells him.

Did he feel the same way that Gabe felt about Moira with Angela? It sounded so plausible, considering-

No, because Genji's not a dumbass like I am.

The Shimada was apparently also absorbed in self-loathing and -hate; this is what the Doctor explained to him one evening in a meeting.

He didn't have the greatest reputation amongst women, either, now that the Commander thought about it.

He eventually reached his destination, ending the odd internal predicament he had about his employee, and the object that stood out the most was the infamous folder sitting on his desk, a single paper placed squarely on top.

Normally, he didn't allow anyone access to his office, but with Moira, there was an exception, for more reasons than just one.

He shut the door behind him and trekked over to the desk at the front of the room. Deciding to hold up the lonely sheet out of curiosity, he glanced over the front and spun it around to-

What?

"...I want to apologize-"

"...argued with myself-"

"...didn't want you to believe-"

It was a note.

"Before anything, I want to apologize for not having the ability to tell you this in person. Truthfully, Gabe, there are topics I have difficulty expressing outwardly, as you've witnessed. I'm not quite sure why, when the rest of the world speaks their mind so freely, that I pause and stutter. I have an inkling that the cause is multiple aspects of my mind arguing with one another, deciding whether or not I should say, but this is only speculation. Regardless, I would like to complete what I was attempting to get across to you: I recognize"-something was scribbled out-"your respect and the companionship you offer, and I"-another scribble-"wanted to explain to you how appreciative I am that you find enjoyment in my company. The words would just not come forth. That night, I argued with myself; I couldn't and still do not understand why something so simple as an acknowledgement is"-scribble-"difficult for me to put into words. I was afraid; I didn't want you to believe you did nothing but render me uncomfortable. You didn't. That was simply me acting like my undesirable self and becoming angry over it. Forgive me for when I placed the blame on you. Something else I would like to bring up: I also apologize for the way I acted later that night. Contrary to what I'm certain you believe, I genuinely didn't mind your hug. The truth of the matter is, that was the first time in nearly 20 years I've received one, and the sensation was so foreign to me and I was so caught up in conjuring up something to say (which I never ended up speaking) that I essentially froze. If you haven't figured it out yet, I was never a very loved individual. Please, don't believe I find physical contact repulsive, it's simply new to me. And as a note, if you try to bring to my attention"-yet another scribble-"anything I've written in this letter to me in person, I may very well curl in on myself and die, so unless you would want to witness that, I would refrain from doing so.

Thank you for being as patient with me as you are,

Moira."

Gabriel reread it.

And reread it.

And reread it.

Over and over.

And over.

As his heart pounded in his chest.