Again and again and again.

Over and over and over.

Even when Gabriel had long since taken his eyes and mind off her words, they still played verbatim in his head. He wasn't sure of the answers he wrote or if they were correct, but he couldn't find it in himself to care.

Should he say something? Moira asked not to, though, hadn't she? Should he write back, then? Would that make the situation uncomfortable for her? She clearly wanted him to understand, well, everything; would it be fair to leave a note simply explaining that the contents of her letter were not lost on him?

Or would that make her uncomfortable?

He returned to reality for a moment to realize his pen had stopped moving, yet he didn't bother to have it continue its current task.

Wouldn't she want to know that Gabe received the words she poured her soul into? He believed so, yet he continued to hesitate. In all honesty, he was unsure of how she would react, though whether his fears were irrational was something he debated.

And then something about multiple things in her mind arguing?

His first thought was when he walked in on her speaking to herself yesterday morning. Sometimes she referred to herself as I and me, then other times she was not her, she was Moira, as if a second party was present and took part in the argument, explaining to the Doctor you're doing this and you're doing that.

Was that what was happening as she went silent that night?

Was she herself arguing with the other half that didn't seem to recognize they were one and the same? Did said other half win? Did she win? Which one wants to keep the individual hushed so terribly?

Is it healthy for her to have that thought process? he pondered afterwards, though he was sure he already knew the answer.

It didn't look like a good one.

This would then beg the question: did he ever believe her mental state was fine?

It was impossible for someone that intelligent.

Gabriel remembered being eighteen or nineteen and jokingly complaining about "wanting to be the smartest," then Dad telling him that he didn't want to be too smart, because "people like that don't function properly." He brushed it off as the burly man simply acting like an asshole, but...

Was...was Moira proof of that being true?

The way she saw the world, the way she saw people, placing her work over her own health and needs, living in extreme solitude and enjoying it, the obsession she had with finding answers and simply proving yes, she can, and she will; itwasn't...healthy.

Don't friend around with people like that, Gabe. Some of them are so screwed up.

Dear God, calm down.

Gabe silently chuckled to himself. He was nearly positive that was how the conversation ended, but holy Hell, if the young, rebellious version of himself could glance into the future; perhaps he would have never hired Moira.

Perhaps the young him wouldn't even become a soldier after witnessing the results of the SEP and the effect they had on him (disregarding the spectacular body and thighs; he was indeed attractive; at least, he hoped).

What would have happened to O'Deorain then is a mystery to him. She would most likely stay in Dublin, having no other reason to leave. That meant there would be no logic-defying genes, no peaceful dinners, no awkward hugs, and no letters stating sorry, I'm just really shy.

What a terrible fucking world to live in.

Gabriel fished out that certain paper from underneath his packet and gave her mostly-average penmanship (not very neat, not very sloppy) a quick glance.

What would he even write if he decided to respond? So, hey, if we're being honest with each other, I think you're gorgeous, and I make excuses to spend time with you because truthfully, I can't not enjoy myself when we do shit together and oh my God, I'm going off the deep end...

Gabe sighed. "What in the fuck are you doing to me, Moira?"

The door then swung open, Jack marched in, and the Blackwatch Commander's first instinct was to gently slam Moira's note down on the stack of papers before him.

Jack eyed him with a confused look. "I come at a bad time?"

"It's just a bunch of nonsense. You need something?"

There was tension in the air and in their voices.

"I need to talk to you about an upcoming operation," the blonde told him.

"Why?"

"Because we may need your assistance."

"What's going on?"

"Null Sector's up to something in the U.K."

Null Sector? That Omnic Rights group?

"Ana's got more details. You're going to have to head up with me to E-1."

Gabriel peered down at the papers on his desk. He had practically completed everything there was to complete, yet...

"Could you give me ten minutes? I'm in the middle of something."

"Just don't be too late, Gabe," said Morrison.

"Yeah, yeah," he responded, and with that, the Strike Commander exited the office, shutting the door behind him as he left.

Alone once more, he pulled a blank sheet from a drawer to his left and moved the rest of his paperwork to the side.

He didn't quite think of what he would write, the words just seemed to come as he went along.

"Sorry if this sounds rushed or half assed Jack wants me for something and I told him to piss off for a bit, so a bit is really all I get. I felt like i had to let you know I got your note and I want to say its (don't take this the wrong way) sweet that you went out of your way to clear some of that up. I understand alot better now. I think I was kind of nervous when you froze when i hugged you, I didn't really know what was going on and I thought maybe I did something wrong. Glad to know you weren't thoroughly disgusted by me. Also I get not wanting to talk about it in person. I know it can be difficult some times. Im not sitting here saying I know you but you get it." He pondered his next sentence carefully for a moment. "And hey if you ever want to talk about anything, you can. I'm all ears. No need for apologies or anything.

Anyways, from the shitstain you're forced to deal with,

Gabe."

Giving his note what could barely even be called a proofread and writing on his folder paperwork from Gabe, he finished the remaining few pages of the packet and took a stroll (and sometimes a jog) down to Moira's lab.

He was doing the right thing by responding, it was clear now. At least she knew he read and comprehended her letter.

The doors were still open when he arrived, and as he entered the large room, he heard a faint, relatively high-pitched rumbling noise emanating from the back room.

She was probably blow drying her hair, he thought, and for a moment, imagined the tall woman standing in front of a mirror doing just that, though he wasn't entirely sure why.

Gabe placed his note inside the folder and set the cardboard container on a desk, then proceeded to jog to the Overwatch wing of the facility.

God-only-knows what could be happening now.