Save Him One More Time: Phase 3

Chapter 8- Talon

The gut-wrenching teleporting never seemed to end. Hours, it seemed to Angela, that they skipped over alleys and busy roads, skirted lit areas, but it was really only a few minutes before they disappeared one last time, only to reappear inside a shuttle. As soon as they were still, she threw up.
"Can't handle shadow stepping, doc?" Reaper's voice held an amused note.
"Is that what you call it," she gasped between heaves.
"Gabe, you're going to clean that one up," a female voice said. Angela looked up. The Latina from the shuttle to Poland. The purple-haired girl waved.
"Hey, chica. Thought you could hide from us?" She laughed. "Next time look twice before you say something." Reaper rolled his shoulders.
"Where's the next stop. Our captive is going to need a rest."
The Latina tapped a few buttons that holographically appeared near her fingertips.
"Next stop is the East coast. Better make yourself comfortable, it'll be a few hours."
Reaper picked Angela up by the arm and propped her up in a corner, sitting next to her and setting his mask on the seat.
"Sombra, wake me up if you're getting tired." He leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes.
Angela shuddered. Her stomach was still twisted in knots and she knew she was going to have a rough time of it, now, in the shuttle. She didn't bother thinking of what lay ahead. She closed her eyes and tried to relax, breathing slowly and deeply to rid herself of the nausea.
She startled lightly when the Latina spoke.
"Gabe, it's a nasty mess in here. Clean it up." Reaper sighed.
"Do I look like I'm made of towels? Unless you've got a bunch of napkins or something, we're stuck with it. So shut up, Sombra, and let me sleep."

He was exhausted. Shadow stepping on his own was one thing. Add another person to the mix and it was essentially like he'd run five miles with thirty-pound ankle weights. And then she'd thrown up on him. Not the worst thing he'd been splattered with but all the same it wasn't pleasant. He cracked an eye and looked at the medic. Her eyes were closed and she still looked a little green. She was familiar, somehow. He'd seen her before. Before the debriefing, when he'd seen her face. He knew her from somewhere. Before-
His thoughts were cut off suddenly.
"Gabe, for real this time. It's going to be stuck on the floor and Moira's going to think you hurt her. And you know what happens if you hurt her."
He opened his eyes and glared at Sombra.
"Again, I don't have anything to clean it up with. I can explain a splash of barf. If it was blood that'd be a different matter. You remember when I shadow stepped you once. You threw up for three days. Moira's not going to kill me for getting barf in the shuttle." He crossed his arms. "So shut up and deal with it."
"Clean it up with your jacket. You've got barf on it already, what's a little more? It's gross, Gabe," she whined. "Disgusting."
"Sombra, shut up and let us get some sleep. You didn't have to drag a body over New Sacramento all night. Maybe you should clean it up."
Sombra let out a loud sigh and pulled her feet up on the seat.
"Whatever."
She got up suddenly and went to the front, mumbling something in Spanish. Gabe ignored her, turning his attention back to the medic. She didn't look as green anymore, but she still looked like she didn't feel very good. He wondered if she was asleep, and figured that since Sombra had moved, he might as well make his captive comfortable. He really didn't want to incur the wrath of Moira if the medic was injured in any way, and he knew a stiff neck from sleeping wrong would count. So he slipped his arms around her shoulders and under her knees. Her eyes snapped open and she tried leaning back to get away.
"Stop squirming," he said, "I'm not going to hurt you." He picked her up, surprised at his own weakness. She hadn't been this heavy when he'd dragged her out of the apartment. He managed to get her into the seat and set her down.
"I know you from somewhere," he said, "I don't remember when, or where. But I know your face."
She sat where he'd set her, leaning against the wall. He sat next to her.
"You know me too, don't you," he said quietly. "You remember what I was before..." He let one hand dissolve.
"Before this."
She watched him silently, sitting perfectly still.
He waited a minute for her to respond, and when she didn't, he nudged her gently.
"You know me."
She nodded slowly.
"Yes."
"How? How do we know each other? Why don't I remember?" She took a deep, shuddering breath.
"Seven years ago, Overwatch dispatched me on my last mission. We lost good people that day. You didn't go. I was almost killed. Overwatch was disbanded less than two weeks later." She paused for breath and wiped her eyes. "We were leaving the base, and the-" she stopped for a second- "the shuttles exploded." She covered her face with her hands and cried for a minute, managing to say between sobs, "I- I thought- you were-" she wiped her eyes and tried to control herself long enough to whisper, "I thought you were dead," before breaking down again.
He sat there and watched her cry. So he had been important to her. She had thought he was dead. So was this worse than death to her?
"So does this," he motioned to himself, "does it bother you?"
She sniffed, wiping her face, then looked at him.
"It's here," she tapped her head. "How could you do these things? Hunting the other agents, massacring those innocent people. What happened to you?"
"You tell me, doc." He held up his hands. "This... thing I can do, the turning into dust. Moira says it's my wraith form. She says I'm still dead, and still alive. Never both and always both. I don't understand it. Moira said you could bring people back from the dead. Is that it, doc? Is that what happened after he dragged you away? Did you shake him off and try to bring me back? Did it fail? Is that why I'm both dead and alive and at the same time neither?" He paused for breath and nearly fell off the seat as a coughing fit shook him.

She sat and stared at him as his voice grew louder, tears still on her face, and when he stopped, coughing blood, she wished she had her gear, or at the very least her halo and staff. Maybe then she could tell what was wrong with him.
"Gabe," she said once he'd stopped coughing so hard, "don't you remember me?" She wiped her face with her sleeve.
"It's me, Angela. Don't you know me?"
He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, leaving a streak of blood on his face.
"I did." He looked down. "I'm not so sure anymore."
"Just shut up and kiss already! Gosh, you guys," Sombra called back from the front. "I feel like I'm watching a cheesy movie!"
"Shut up, Sombra," he growled, "and stop eavesdropping."
"Chill out, hombre, I can't not listen to you talk on and on and on. There aren't really any doors on this thing."
He sighed. "Then keep your thoughts to yourself."
"Whatever."

He looked back at Angela. She still looked upset, but also a little confused.
"Sombra doesn't listen to anybody," he explained. "She just kinda does what she wants."
Angela nodded, fear gathering over her face.
"Why did you take me, Gabe? What do you want with me?"
"I-" he hesitated, unsure of what to say.
"I didn't do this on my own."
"You brought Sombra, of course it wasn't on your own."
"No. I mean I- this was- ah, $#&%, I'm on a mission. That's why you're not dead, doc." He shook his head. That hadn't gone like he wanted.
"I mean that M- my boss sent me to get you. She wants you for something. I don't know what. But I'm not allowed to hurt you."
"What does Moira want with me? She's already stolen my research, I'm no longer allowed to practice anywhere anyone knows who I was, she's taken you already, what else could she want?"
"I don't know, doc, and I don't think you want to know."

It was dark and comfortable. He could hear someone calling him, but he didn't want to listen to them. He didn't want to go back where the pain was, where he'd been shot. But he listened anyway. He couldn't help it.
"Jesse!"
He tried to move. Couldn't.
"Jesse! Wake up!"
He tried again. A wave of pain hit him, and he remembered why he couldn't move.
"Come on!"
Sam.
His eyes flickered open and he coughed.
"Jesse!" Sam stood up.
Jesse tried to speak, but he couldn't.
"What do I do?" Sam started crying.
He saw it. The staff, leaning against the wall. He tried to point at it, but his arm wouldn't obey.
"Sam." His voice was a hoarse whisper.
Sam looked at him.
"See that?" Jesse looked at the staff and Sam turned around. He ran over and grabbed it, nearly falling over.
"This?"
"Yeah. Point the-" he winced hard as another wave of pain radiated from his chest, "the end with the-" he coughed, and tasted blood- "with the fins at me." He felt his chest seize up and he gritted his teeth, trying to stay coherent. Sam did as he'd been instructed.
"What now?" The kid was trying not to panic.
Jesse felt his mind slipping and managed to say, "Pull the trigger," and then he blacked out.