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haberdashing · 3 years

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open your eyes (i see your eyes are open) (4/?)

Jon, faced with being the last one left in a dying world, sends his memories back in time to someone who might be able to fix things before the worst can happen.

Sasha James, for her part, is very confused.

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4

on AO3

The visit to Artefact Storage was nice, but just like when she’d been reassigned, Sasha was only too happy to get out of there and head to the Archives, though she knew well enough now that the latter was plenty dangerous in its own right. At least she knew what to expect from the Archives. At least the Archives weren’t literally paying her to test out horrible, unpredictable things...

...no, that was Jon’s job now, wasn’t it? Elias had chosen him, the Web had chosen him, and now he was the Archivist, and he was going to be put through things much worse than anything Artefact Storage had to offer...

Sasha had started this train of thought in the hopes of reassuring herself, but instead, as she entered the Archives, she just felt a little queasy as she thought of what lay in store in Jon’s future.

Or what would lay in store in Jon’s future, anyway. Things wouldn’t be so bad this time around, not if Sasha had a say in it.

Jon was already in the Archives, perched over Tim’s desk as the two spoke about something, and Sasha was struck by the sight of him. He looked so different than he had in his final days before, and not just because his skin was free of scars--his hair was short and much less gray than before, he was still wearing a suit of all things rather than the hodgepodge of outfits he’d rummaged through as his professional mask slipped and his options grew slimmer...

...and, as Jon turned her way, Sasha could see his eyes focus on her, and though his gaze was still dark and meaningful, there wasn’t the same weight to it, the same sense of the universe itself staring back out of those deep eyes.

(She still felt like she was being watched, but that was only to be expected now, wasn’t it?)

“Good to see you, Sasha.” Jon shot her a quick nod. “I was just briefing Tim on his next project--you’re still working on the Hodgson file, correct?”

God, that felt like ages ago, though Jon had only given Sasha that assignment last Thursday. The Hodgson file wasn’t even one of the real ones, just somebody who’d gotten drunk and mistook what was probably a plane for an alien vessel, though Sasha was struggling to recall all the details at the moment. “Right, yeah, I was, er, having trouble looking up the relevant flight patterns, I believe it was? But I’ll keep trying, of course, so-”

Jon looked over Sasha again, and his gaze softened slightly. “Are you feeling alright? You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine, I... it’s just, um...” ...hell, she was struggling to come up with an excuse, so why even bother? She wanted to tell Jon about what she’d learned eventually, and perhaps now was as good a time as any. “Actually, could we talk in your office? When you’re done with Tim, I mean, I don’t mean to rush you.”

“I think we’re done here already.” There was a flat tone to Tim’s voice that set Sasha on edge--had he and Jon been arguing, perhaps?

“Oh, yes, we’ve covered pretty much everything I wanted to discuss at this point, so.” Jon rapped twice on Tim’s desk with a slender fist, a gesture Sasha had never seen him use before his promotion but had already encountered several times since. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“Sounds like a plan, boss.” Tim’s voice had a bit more energy to it now, and as she walked with Jon to his office, Sasha saw him shoot her a wry grin.

Sasha closed the door behind her and took a seat as Jon got settled.

“What was it that you wanted to talk to me about?”

“Well...”

That feeling of being watched that permeated the Institute was making the hairs on the back of Sasha’s neck stand up, and she knew it wasn’t just because Jon was looking at her with an expression somewhere between curious and impatient.

What were the odds that Elias- that Jonah Magnus was watching them right now? Probably not great, really, he did have an actual job besides just spying on his employees, but he certainly could be watching. Was thinking about it that much more likely to make it happen, drawing his attention to her thoughts? God, it was hard to know, wasn’t it? And that was the problem, being caught up with knowing and not knowing...

“Now that you’re the head archivist here, it’s your job to hear when the general public’s encountered something supernatural, right?”

“If it’s in a statement given to us, yes, but those are usually made by liars and the mentally unwell.”

Sasha did her best to drum up a smile. “Good thing this isn’t a statement, then, right?”

It could be a formal statement, probably, but Sasha didn’t want that, not when anybody with access to their archives could read it afterwards, not when there was information she now knew that could prevent the literal end of the world if the right people acted upon it.

A soft sigh, more perfunctory than anything. Jon was trying to play the grump again, but Sasha was pretty sure she could see through it even without everything she now knew about Jon masking his true feelings. “Where are you going with this, Sasha?”

“This weekend, my mind just- just filled with a ton of information suddenly. Info about you, about the other assistants, about the supernatural, about a little bit of everything really. Things I should have no way of knowing, but now I do. I figured you ought to know--could come in handy down the line.”

“Do you have any proof of this?” Jon tilted his head to one side slightly. “Something you shouldn’t know about me, perhaps--and not just from hacking, either?”

Sasha thought about arguing the point about hacking with Jon, but honestly, it was fair enough that she be called on it. Instead, she just nodded and took a deep breath--not that she really needed the extra air for what she was going to say, but because it felt right, and who was she to deny the moment that extra bit of dramatic flair?

“Mister Spider wants more.”

Jon’s face went pale in an instant, his gaze unfocusing as he seemed to look more through Sasha than at her.

“Jon?”

Jon didn’t respond.

“Jon, it’s okay!” Sasha rapped gently on his desk. “It’s just me. It’s not... it’s not that.”

Jon blinked rapidly a few times before shaking his head.

“You alright?”

“I’m fine.” Jon was clearly not fine, as his hands were shaking slightly and his face still didn’t have its full color back, but Sasha wasn’t going to argue the point. “But I- I’ve never told anybody about that, how did you-”

“I told you. Weird supernatural information shoved into my head over the weekend. Simple as that.”

“Right. You- you weren’t making that up, then.”

It wasn’t really a question, but Sasha answered just the same. “Of course not. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Jon looked unconvinced, and Sasha suddenly remembered how when “Antonio Blake”’s statement had appeared, Jon had thought only Tim could be trusted to investigate it, only Tim could be ruled out for having written it as a practical joke on his new boss--that felt like an eternity ago, and yet it hadn’t even happened yet...

“You said you didn’t want to give a formal statement, correct? Was there any other action you expected from me regarding this?”

Sasha shrugged. She still wasn’t sure how much she could share, especially here, in the belly of the beast. Maybe in the tunnels, some time... assuming there still were tunnels, and they weren’t being plagued by worms or Not-Thems or murderous Jurgen Leitners...

“I just wanted you to know about it, mostly. I know a lot about these old archives now, so if you’ve ever got a question, I’m glad to do what I can. Not that I wouldn’t be willing to help anyway, but, you know, if I already know the location and validity of statement number 0051701, or whatever, might as well use it, right?”

Jon squinted a little. “What is statement number 0051701?”

“Oh, it’s...” Sasha let out a soft giggle. “We haven’t gone over it yet, but it’s about an old calliope organ.”

“Kuh-LY-o-pee.” Jon corrected.

“Ka-lee-O-pee.” Sasha repeated, a grin growing on her face. “Though there’s really no one correct pronunciation, or so I’ve heard.”

“...right. Well, thank you for letting me know about all this, I suppose.”

“Of course. You are the boss around here, right?”

“As Tim keeps reminding me, yes.”

Sasha stood back up and cracked open Jon’s office door, but before she left entirely, she added, “Seriously, reach out if you need me- or any of us, really. It’s not healthy to spend too long cooped up in here by yourself.”

“Duly noted.”

As the door closed behind Sasha, she could only hope that she was doing enough, that her offers to help would be taken advantage of when Jon needed it most.

#tma #tma au #tma fic #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #the magnus archives au #the magnus archives fic #the magnus archives fanfic #personal #my writing

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bittysvalentines · 4 years

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WTF

From: @insertatitlehere AO3: emimix3

To: @dyinginjapanese

Tags: Social Media, Friendship, Pets, Cats

Message: Hi! I hope you'll enjoy this piece as much as I enjoyed working on it :) It was a pleasure to write this for you!

Tango

> Guys I made a mistake

Whiskey > What now

Ford >> I mean, if you noticed you made a mistake, you must have made a BIG mistake

Tango > mmh just come to my dorm room

Ford >> Is that a ghost. Did you find a ghost in your room

Whiskey > just stop with ghost hunting, it doesn’t work tango, you need to accept that

Tango > bring meat if you’ve got some in your fridge

Whiskey > What > Tony Tango Tangredi what

Ford shot a message to Whiskey when she was about to reach Tango’s dorm, and he replied to her that he would be there in two minutes – so, she waited for him at the building. Whiskey arrived, with a Tupperware in hand.

“It’s chicken tenders,” he explained. “I hope Tango won’t eat them all, because I wanted to have some for dinner.”

“If Tango don’t eat them all, I will. I had a class over lunch so I didn’t eat.”

“I’m not your personal chef, Denise,” Whiskey said, as he opened the dorm’s front door.

“I’m the one picking everyone’s room on roadies, Connor. If I were you, I’d play nice.”

“Okay, you can take two, and I don’t want to be with Tango and Hops again. My ears still haven’t recovered from last time.”

When they reached Tango’s room on the third floor, they didn’t even have the time to knock that he had slightly opened the door to usher them in.

“Tony, what the hell?” Whiskey asked.

Tango didn’t reply immediately. He just looked at his desk, and mumbled something that neither of his friends managed to understand – and that’s when Ford noticed, on the desk chair:

There was a tiny, scrappy, brownie kitty.

“Oh my God,” Ford said, a hand on her heart because she honestly needed as much to not die of cuteness overload.

“Oh my God,” Whiskey said, a hand in front of his mouth because there was no way that Tango did something that stupid, and that he was about to involve them into this.

Tango scratched his cheek, a bit uneasy.

“Okay so, I found a kitty, his name is Doubt Legs Alarm and I’d die for him.”

“Oh my God you’re so cute,” Ford gushed, going to the little squeaking kitten. “Look at him Whiskey! He’s so cute!”

The kitten didn’t seem to want to be pet, but he instead began to try to bite Ford’s fingers and scratch them. Yeah, he was kinda cute, even if he had matted, uneven fur, that he was almost certainly too thin, plus the small issue that he had, you know, no eyes.

“I’m sorry Tango,” Whiskey managed to utter, “but what the fuck did you say his name is?”

Doubt Legs Alarm was nicknamed “Doug” while the three friends were sitting in the nearest vet’s waiting room – the kitty in a big cardboard box, because that was the only thing they found to transport him.

“You know you can’t keep him, right?” Ford told Tango.

“Shhh,” he replied, putting his index in her lips. “Shh.”

“Tango. Ignoring the issue won’t solve the issue,” Whiskey sighed.

“Shh,” Tango said, now putting his index on Whiskey’s mouth.

It was soon enough their turn. They entered the vet’s consulting room and Ford carried Doug out of the box to put him on the table – the poor kitty seemed to be terrorised by the whole ordeal, and he was meowing uncontrollably. In the meantime, Tango was telling the vet what he knew about the cat.

“I saw him while taking a shortcut from a class to another,” he explained. “Behind the Murder Stop&Shop, you know?”

“The Murder Stop&Shop?”

“Yeah, not the racist one, the one where there was a murder a few years back. Anyway. He was meowing between two trashcans and he was alone and eyeless, so…”

“Well it’s good you took him. He wouldn’t have lasted long out there – his eyes injuries are fresh, they could get infected quickly…”

“Also he’s not eating. We tried to give him a chicken tender but he didn’t want to try.”

“A chicken tender.”

The vet was really helpful – gave an age to Doug, probably between two and three months (but it was hard to know because of how thin he was), something to try to soothe his eyes, a thousand of recommendations that Ford dutifully noted on her journal, and prescriptions for worm killers and vaccines.

“You plan to keep him, right?” the vet had asked. “Or do you have someone lined up to take him, a shelter?”

“No, no, I’m keeping him,” Tango replied straight away.

“Okay, then we’d need to schedule his neutering…”

He also gave them a lot of advice on what to buy to take care of him, and books to read – he walked them to the front of the clinic, and while Whiskey and Ford were thanking him, the secretary gave Tango the bill for the consultation.

Ford didn’t manage to see it, but Tango blanched and asked in a quiet tone if payment plans were an option.

She took it on herself to not yell at her friend the second they were out. She waited that they were sitting on the bench at the bus stop, waiting for their ride back to the campus.

“Tango. You can’t keep this cat.”

“I can. He needs me.”

“Tango. You live in a dorm room. You can’t have pets. Plus, it’s way too expensive. He’s sick and blind – he’s going to have medical bills way higher than this one. You need to pay for his food, his toys, his litter, for someone to take care of him when we’re on roadies.”

“But he’s so cute! He’s gonna die out there!”

“There’s shelters-”

“He’s blind! Who will want him?” Tango pleaded, holding the cardboard box close to his chest.

“I know. It’s breaking my heart, too, Tango. But we need to find a solution, quick.”

They needed to, and quick, indeed. The bus to campus stopped right in front of them. Neither moved, and the bus left. Another one would come in twenty minutes anyway. Tango was sombre and Ford looked really upset too.

“He can be our cat, the three of us. We can share the expenses; that would help a lot already. And we can leave him at the Haus,” Whiskey proposed.

Tango and Ford turned towards him, hoping he’d elaborate.

“It’s… Okay I don’t like cats much, but he’s hella cute. And Tango, you obviously care a lot about him, and Ford, I know you want the best for him. So it’s the easiest solution. I know that Bitty had refused a Haus cat when Chowder asked, but if we go in there with a sob story and a cute kitty already on our laps he won’t be able to say no. We’re spending half of our time in the Haus anyway, so we’ll be able to take care of him there. Plus, if he’s at the Haus and even if he’s our cat, we maybe can get the others to chip in with food and all – I know the team would be happy to shower him with toys and stuff. Plus, it’s in the middle of the frat row, so there must be someone in the Haus that knows someone who’d be around when we’re away for roadies.”

“And for the summer and other breaks, at least one of us three can take him,” Ford reasoned. “That, or as a few guys in the team stay on campus year-long, they’d be happy to Haus-sit him.”

“And,” Tango concluded, “if we’re the rightful owners of the Haus cat, that he can potentially come and go at our will – surely, that would give us a lot of leverage regarding getting dibs to live there next year.”

The three Tadpoles looked at each other, and nodded – before they shook hands to seal their perfect plan.

“What about after college?” Tango asked. “If he’s our cat. Who will get him when we graduate?”

“Well Tango, either one of us gets custody, or I guess that means we’ll have to be roommates in whatever city Whiskey will get an NHL contract in,” Ford joked.

“Sounds good, haha. Whiskey, please sign with the Jersey Devils.”

“Wait, what now? I just signed for a third of a blind cat, not for two eternal roommates!”

They rehearsed the sob story on the way to the Haus. Ford let her inner theatre kid take over and she was intransigent on their acting, reminding Tango that they’d have to surrender Doug to a shelter if they couldn’t convince Bitty to keep him. It worked, because Tango was nearly in tears when he was sitting in the living-room of the Haus, the kitty on his lap and telling all the Hausmates the story of this poor eyeless kitty who just needed a roof and a lot of love, and isn’t it the best place for him to have all that (and yes, of course, we’d be the ones cleaning the litter)?

Chowder was bawling his eyes out at the story, Nursey was enamoured with Doug, and Ollie and Wicks were already budging Bitty to please say yes, Cap, you’re not that heartless are you?

After a while, Bitty sighed and reluctantly accepted. Dex was already talking about plans for a cat tree to build.

Doug grew quickly accustomed at the life in the Haus. He was still running into some walls and misplaced furniture on the regular, but he was quiky to map out the entire place, and always knew at which room’s door to meow to get pets and food (he was especially good at tricking different people into giving him two or three dinners a day). During kegsters, he was staying in Chowder’s room, but the rest of the time he liked to hang out in the living-room where there were always people – or in the kitchen, where there was always food.

Bitty loudly hated the fact and kept complaining about it, but more than once Ford caught him petting or feeding scraps the cat when he was sitting on the counter while Bitty baked. Of course, Tango and Ford did all they can to stay number one in Doug’s heart – but the cat seemed to especially enjoy the company of Whiskey. Probably because Whiskey favourite way to hang out with people and animals was to sit in the same room, without saying a word?

Doug had become the lucky charm of the team, (everyone needed to pet him before a game or a roadie, or else…) so after Ford just off-handily mentioned that maybe her, Whiskey and Tango would look for an off-campus apartment that would accept cats for the following year, an emergency Haus Meeting was summoned. Neither of them was certain of what was said in it, but the following day, the three of them got dibs, so all went according to the plan.

[Instagram video: the cat has been brought to Faber and is wearing little cat shoes to walk on the ice. He’s meowing in despair because of how slippery it is.

@samwellmenshockey Our mascot is actually playing too – hopefully, he’ll be on the starting line by next semester!

Instagram picture: Doug is wearing a tiny knitted “ZIMME 1” jersey. It’s obvious there wasn’t enough room for the rest of the name. He’s lying on Tango’s stomach who is napping on the couch.

@samwellmenshockey Doug is supporting the @FalconersPVD tonight! Obviously that means that the @FalconersPVD will send him some 12 lbs dry food bags, right @FalconersPVD?]

“I’m happy we kept this cat,” Tango said one evening, while he was watching a movie, curled under the blankets on the couch next to Ford and Whiskey – petting Doug, who was on Ford’s lap.

“He’s not half-bad, in the end,” Whiskey agreed, scratching the kitty behind his ears.

“I saw him do his business on the Lax bro’s porch this afternoon,” Tango said.

“A cat of good taste and perfect manners. We taught him well,” Ford acquiesced.

“Are you kidding?” Whiskey asked. “He’s the worst cat! I saw him watching a mouse run in the basement, and he wouldn’t even get up to run after it!”

“Yeah? And did you get up to run after the mouse Whisk?”

“Wow, you’re so lazy, Connor.”

“Will you both stop making fun of me?”

Yep, Ford thought, as Whiskey was throwing at her and Tango popcorn in the face, and Doug jumped to try to catch them. She was happy they kept this cat.

#fordtangowhiskey #wtf #bv2020 #bitty's valentines #omgcp fandom #omg check please!

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oswaldsleeping · 7 years

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Series: Viva Las Vegas Or: How Jack Morrison became Jack Reyes Chapter(s): 1/1 Rating: T Wordcount: 3,174 Warnings: brief mentions of sex Summary: When in Vegas, do as the Vegasans do. Author’s Notes: i just wanted to do r76 week like the cool kids :3c

No one could tell why this year's summit was being held in Las Vegas of all places.

It's doesn't fit, when you think about it. No one thinks "important, world changing decisions" when they think of the City of Lights and nothing has really cooled Vegas' debauchery - not politics, war, or time.

But there he was, Strike Commander Morrison of Overwatch, shaking hand with Senator Who-Really-Cares-They're-All-The-Same in Sin City itself.

The Bellagio was as beautiful as they said, the marble halls echoing with voices and the click-clack of overpriced shoes. The wine flows freely, waiters in pressed white shirts offering him bits of this-and-that. The lights make the night seem like daytime, the sounds of the city vibrating in the air.

Vegas was, and is, eternal.

Knowing what he does about politics, Jack assumes whoever chose the location has a girlfriend in the area. Hell, most of the people here probably have a girlfriend (or two) in the area. It's the nature of politics – get some work done, romance your paramour, get more work done. Two birds with one stone, right?

He feels slimy enough having to shake hands with these people; he can't see the appeal of hopping in bed with them.

- - -

You don't have to be a genius to see Jack's not a "Vegas" kind of guy. The loudest Bloomington ever got was the church's summer potluck when the pastor decided to fire up the organ and play Bruce Hornsby (every summer - there's only so much The Way it Is one man can take).

Vegas is pretty. Hell, Vegas is beautiful. But it's too much - the city's too loud, too...fast. It's like the ocean, churning and crashing. The people never seem to stop moving, they just kind of...gyrate everywhere.

He won't be singing Presley anytime soon, let's go with that.

But it has it's perks, he guess. Five years ago saw the repeal of the “12:00 AM Marriage Limit” and couples were getting hitched all hours of the night once more.

Admittedly, it's sweet to see young couples running out of gaudy, neon churches, their faces shining with delirious joy. Even from the windows of this too-perfect, too-expensive hotel, he could see them celebrating on the streets (talk about eagle-eye). Sitting another stifling gala, in another smothering suit, Jack can't help but watch these happy couples with a pang of jealousy.

He's no blushing bride, but...hey a man can dream right? He's never been interested in big weddings or elaborate ceremonies. They just seemed so stressful.

No, Jack leaned more towards the small and the sweet - a handful of friends, a quick ceremony. He feels like such a teenager, sitting in class and daydreaming about flights-of-fancy. He turns his attention back to the woman speaking to him, his face fixed into the best smile he could muster.

45 minutes to go.

- - -

45 minutes feels like three days. When he's finally allowed to leave, he all but drags himself to the elevator. It's exhausting, kissing that much senator ass and he's really ready to sleep off this jaw ache.

And besides – he's not needed until 1930 the following night. Which means a whole 19 hours of sleep.

Christ he hasn't had that in ages.

Morning run be damned, after 2 straight weeks of 18 hour days he's going to get some shut eye if it kills him.

- - -

In everything but name, they're together.

So there's no real surprise when he gets off on the “wrong” floor, goes into the “wrong” hall, and puts his key into the “wrong” door. Jack has his own room but, as with most things, it goes unused.

He never did like sleeping alone.

Reyes snores lightly, already fast asleep. He's in a similar boat, overworked and with a staggering sleep debt. It's...unnerving – Reyes' is a naturally light sleeper, it says a lot that he doesn't awake the moment Jack opens the door.

Honestly, Jack's surprised Gabriel hasn't asked for a different room. When he'd stormed out that morning, he was certain Gabriel would want to get as much space between them as possible.

What had the morning's fight even been about? Jack can't even remember - only that there was no goddamned reason for it to turn into a fight at all.

Putting it lightly, things have become...strained between them. New standards of authority, new ranks, new procedures - politics has wormed it's way into their love life, a death sentence for most. Jack rubs his eyes, trying to shake the stupid fight out of his head.

Years ago, they didn't fight about this shit. Hell, they barely fought at all.

Sure, they had disagreements, differing opinions. There's no such thing as a couple that won't have that and anyone who says different is a piss-poor liar.

But they never turned into the screaming, name calling, trash-flinging matches they are now. Jack thinks about some of the things he'd said that morning, feeling an embarrassed flush creep down his neck. He knew better – knows better.

Still...still they sleep together. Considering circumstances, that says a lot.

During SEP and the war, they slept back to back - both with one eye open, half a mind ready to spring into action. Between them, they made one functioning human being and, at the end of the day, that's all you need.

Do that enough and it becomes a habit. Practice that habit for years and it become a necessity. Jack doesn't sleep well when he can't feel Gabriel's back against his. It makes him fell unprepared.

He tosses his clothes off, stripping to the skin. Taking off the heavy armor, he's not Strike Commander anymore he's Jack. He feels normal again - a feeling he never thought he'd long for so much.

It's easy to find Reyes' hoodie (one of many) in the dark. He slips it over his shoulders, nuzzling his face into the soft insides. The musk of cologne and cigarettes surround him, cradle him. His bare skin tingles as he stumbles to the bed.

“Move it,” he grunts, pushing Reyes to the side

Gabriel grumbles and rolls back. Jack flops onto the bed, heaving a great sigh, the tension leaking from his muscles. The blanket is soft and plush, the pillows cool to the touch and goddamn is he happy the UN is providing the best of the best for their commanders.

Arms snake around his waist, pulling him into the warmth of Reyes' chest. Jack groans, laying his head back on Gabriel's shoulder, his eyes fluttering shut.

"Hey." He whispers, fingers interlock with Gabriel's, "Sorry about this morning."

"'s okay."

They sleep.

- - -

He gets a good two hours of sleep before he feels lips on his neck.

“Jack. Jaacck.”

“Wuzzit.” He slurs, head still tucked into the pillow.

“Jackie wake up.”

“Dunwannah.”

“C'mon Jackie – up, up, up.”

How Gabriel can go from 0 to 100 is completely beyond Jack. He'll never quite understand this man's bizarre form of energy storage - dead exhausted one minute, running around the room the next - really, it's entirely unfair.

“Wake up John” Gabriel nuzzles his mouth into Jack's neck, drumming his fingers against his hip, "I've been thinking."

“I'll alert the authorities.” Jack grunts, his words still slurring. It takes everything in him to be semi-coherent.

“Don't play. I'm being serious.” Gabriel snaps, nipping Jack's shoulder. He's sitting up on his elbow now, his fingers still drumming on Jack's hip, “We need to get a new apartment.”

“Gabe we have an apartment,” Jack opens one exhausted eye, searching around for his watch.

In reality, it's not so much an apartment as Gabe's quarters on base that they'd decided to share. And sure, the place is way too small for two full grown men, Jack will admit that whole-heartedly. But it's not like they have time to apartment hunt.

“No, a bigger apartment. Actually, no, no, a house.”

Oh lord, Gabriel's thinking big. Jack rolls his eyes, sliding off the bed to crawl along the floor, still searching for his watch. It's one of the things that he both loves (and, at this time of night, loathes) about Gabriel. An idea will pop in his head and suddenly he leaps headlong into it, going through every minute detail, every con and pro. Gabriel's mother had a name for it - "thinkin loco".

“It's 1:17, Gabe," Jack groans, holding up his (finally found) watch, "Did you really wake me up to tell me we should get a house? Because you could told me that when I woke up."

“Actually, I woke you up to tell you we should get married, but yeah, that too.”

Oh.

Well, that woke him up.

Jack sits up bolt-right, eyes gone wide. Married?

...Married...

“Have you been drinking?”

“No!” Gabriel guffaws, that wonderful, throaty laugh, “Why do I have to be drinking to ask you to marry me?!”

“Well, you've either been drinking or you're joking, and if you are joking, it's not funny.” Jack climbs back on the bed, irritated.

“I'm not joking either.” Gabriel's smiles, grasping Jack's hand, “We're in Vegas, after all, we could go right now.”

Gabriel seems so serious...Jack looks at their hands, studies them. He can almost convince himself that Gabriel's being entirely sincere. Gabe's smiling at him, that serene, sweet smile that he reserves for the people he cares for. It's so rare to see...

Why would he want to marry a screw up like you?

Jack snatches his hand back. He stands, beginning to pace the floor, back and forth, back and forth.

“Why?” Jack starts, his hands on his hips.

“Why not?” Gabriel swings his legs off the side of the bed, leaning back on his elbows, “I love you, you love me. Does it have to be more complicated than that?”

“The press -”

“Doesn't have to know.” Gabriel quirks an eyebrow – Jack hates how he looks so confident in everything.

“...A ceremony...we'll have to tell everyone.”

“No we won't because it's not “everyone's” businesses what we do. Hell, I'm not planning on telling anyone. Are you?”

"You've always got an answer for everything," Jack snaps, still pacing

"That's why you love me." Gabriel smirks

Jack gradually begins to slow, one hand still on his hip, the other running through his hair (He can hear Gabriel chiding already -“You're going to pull all your hair out like that!”)

And then he gives a breathless laugh, gingerly sitting besides Gabriel. Adrenaline begins to flood his body, his brain going sixty miles a minute.

“You want to get married, oh Jesus...”

His head falls into his hands, his eyes still wide and searching.

This...it doesn't make sense, not to Jack.

He's not a good person, he's possessive, he's easily jealous, he's petty - this list could go on and on for miles.

His skeleton's don't have a closet, they have a goddamned house and Gabriel wants the fucking keys. No sane person would do this.

"I...we got into the stupidest fight this morning." Jack spoke into his fingers, "We keep getting into these petty, bitchy arguements over shit that isn't even that important, and you want to get married. I don't understand..."

It keeps repeating in his head Why would he want to marry a screw up like you, why would he want to marry screw up like you, why would he want to marry screw up like you?

“We don't have to.” Gabriel's soft voice cuts through the fog. A hand rests on the small of his back, rubbing small circles, “We can wait as long as you want to. Hell, we never have to get married, if that's what you want. I didn't mean to scare you.”

It will always amaze Jack at how...kind Gabriel really is. His gruff exterior hides someone so warm, so unfalteringly selfless. Jack gives another breathless laugh, his eyes beginning to sting.

“No...no, I want to but...oh god, Gabe, you could do so much better.”

Jack knows his flaws. Knows them well. Knows them very well, knows that Gabriel doesn't deserve to be tied down to someone who can barely function as a human being.

But Gabe laughs. Grabs Jack by the shoulders and pulls him down, guiding his head into a kiss.

“Don't think I agree with that, mi luna.”

“You're a stupid man Gabriel Reyes.” Jack says into his lips, clutching onto him for dear life.

They stay like that for what feels like an eternity, holding onto each other while the city thrums beneath them.

“Okay.” Jack says finally, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Okay?”

“Yeah....okay.”

- - -

They dress as quickly as possible, as casually as possible – the best kind of hiding is in plain sight, right?

“There's a service elevator,” Jack says breathlessly, his hands playing with the edges of Gabriel's hoodie, “Down the hall. We take that, avoid the media circus outside...”

Gabriel laughs, grabbing his duffle bag – leave it to Jack to think about the “escape plan”

“We need a witness.” Jack's sitting on the edge of the bed, legs shaking, “Ana?”

“Naw, not this late with the kid.” Gabriel's looking in his bag for something, his back turned to Jack, "Now where did I..."

“Who then?” Jack's hands fiddle with one another, finally grabbing onto his knees. He chews his bottom lip - he's too old to be this nervous, but the butterflies in his stomach have turned into fucking hornets and he feels like he's going to be sick, “I guess they'll have somebody there-”

“Stop worrying. C'mon, let's go.” Gabriel tosses the duffle bag away, guiding Jack to his feet, “I know who to get.”

- - -

Contrary to popular belief, Jesse does not sleep in his hat. He does, however, sleep in his underwear and like a fucking log.

Which would explain why he shrieks when Gabriel hollers in his ear “UP AND AT 'EM, MIJO”

Jesse flies off the bed, lading in an ungraceful heap while Gabe wheezes with laughter.

“T-The hell y'all doin here?!” Jesse demands, his eyes darting between a choking Gabriel and a deer-in-the-headlights Jack, “What's goin on?!”

“Nice shorts,” Gabriel snickers at the dancing sheep that dot Jesse's boxers, “Get dressed, you're going to a wedding.”

“...A wedding?” Jesse scrambles to his feet, yanking his clothes off the floor, “Who the fuck's gettin married at 2 in the--”

He pauses, midway through the first jean leg and looks between the two. He knows that smirk Gabe's giving him.

And then he grins, bouncing to get into his jeans quicker.

"Well shit, if ya'll'da told me, I would've brought something fancier."

- - -

It's a whirlwind from the hotel, to the marriage license bureau, to a wedding chapel (who knew it would be so tempting to be married by Elvis?)

Jack stands in the hallway, staring at the empty pews and sleepy receptionist. They're the last couple of the night, it seems, the reverend welcoming them warmly.

"Let me know when you're all ready to get started." He says, getting his cards together and leaning on the pedestal - he's got this speech perfectly, could tell it to you by heart, Dearly Beloved we are gathered here today...

Jesse's sitting at the front pew, reading over the chapel's brochure ("It costs how much to have Elvis sing?!"), Gabe's adjusting his jacket in the mirror one last time. Jack continues to stare at the empty chairs, running his finger over the well-loved wood.

"I keep thinking I'm going to wake up," He murmurs, "That this is all a dream and you went back to base after this morning."

That I'm going to wake up alone, is the unspoken fear, And I'll have driven you off for real this time.

"Your dream wedding would have more food," Gabriel chuckles, taking off his beanie. He's freshly shaved, his beard messy, but acceptable.

“Maybe. And you'd have a full head of hair.” Jack grins, turning bright red. God, what he wouldn't do to see Gabe's natural hair right now.

Gabriel snorts, cupping Jack's face in his hands. The world seems to melt away, time standing still – they sway, foreheads pressed together. "Listen to me,” Gabriel murmurs, eyes boring into Jack's, “I know you probably didn't expect, you know...this.

He motions around before looking back at Jack, “I know you probably want a big wedding with the fancy shit. I'll make it up to you – we'll do this right, the moment we can.”

A lump's starting to form in Jack's throat, “We don't need to. This is right.”

Tears prickle at the corner of his eyes – this is right. This is totally, perfectly, absolutely right.

“C'mon, save the waterworks for the end.” There's a warble in Gabe's voice that he can't hide.

Dearly Beloved, we're gathered here today...

- - -

When the Reverend asks for the rings, Gabriel fishes a tiny box out of his pocket. He slips a silver band onto Jack's finger and that's when the real waterworks begin.

“Did you plan this?!” Jack demands, fighting back sobs. He feels like such a two year old right now and he could care less.

“No,” Gabe's eyes shimmer, “I've been carrying those around for a while.”

“You're a stupid man, Gabriel Reyes.” Jack cries, capturing Gabriel's lips with his own, “I would have said yes a long time ago.”

- - -

Jack can't stop looking at the band.

The curtains are open, a shaft of moonlight slinking into the room. The city glows and churns beneath them, feral and alive.

A trail of clothes marks a path to the bed – his body aches, heat still thrumming in his belly. The all important consummation of the marriage has left him boneless.

“I can't believe we did this.” Jack whispers. Gabe's eyes are closed, but he's listening, rubbing circles on Jack's lower belly, “Jack Reyes...I like the way that sounds.”

“Think you'll still tell everyone to call you Morrison?” Gabe rumbles.

“Yeah. Until we're ready to tell everyone.”

Gabriel makes a noise of agreement. Jack presses a kiss to Gabriel's jaw, their fingers locked together. There are love-bites all over Gabriel's neck and shoulders...they look good.

“What time do they need you again?”

“1930.”

“Good,” Gabriel bites down on the junction between Jack's neck and his shoulder, “Because you're not getting out of bed until 1929.”

Jack groans in delight, his toes curling into the sheets. They move together, the sheets soaked with sweat, the pillows and blankets tossed away. Skin to skin, heart to heart, it's hard to tell where one ends and the other begins.

They lay still, staring at one another.

“I...I still don't understand.” He says, squeezing Gabe's hand, “Why me?” The nagging doubt raises his head once again.

There's a pause. Gabe raises their hands up above their bodies, studying the way their fingers twine together.

“Because I love you. No matter what we fight about, no matter how many times we fight – I love you. Always will.”

Their bands shimmer in the dim light in the room.

“You know, we still have to look for that house.”

Jack laughs.

#chitter chatter #text #reaper76 week #r76 week #overwatch fanfic #chara: Jack Morrison #chara: Gabriel Reyes #fic: VLV #day 7: fluff #man this is my first time at real hardcore fluff #it was haaarrdddd #fluff really ain't my thing but it was a lot of fun to write

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