Note: As I didn't really want to oversaturate my other collection (as it's supposed to be relatively unconnected happenings), I decided to expand upon this idea in it's own story. I'm not sure how long it'll go, but it explores the relationship between Gabriel and the 'Overwatch Generation' of agents, namely Tracer and McCree. Please note this deals heavily with AU and personal headcanons, but I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I do writing it.

"Yield!"

The offending arm that wrapped around his neck tightened in finality, before going slack and giving him the privilege to breathe. Greedily, he gulped the air, the lack of oxygen outweighing the aching pain that seared at his neck and spread up to the back of his head. It didn't help that the weight pressed down on his back refused to let up, and hard bone ground into his already bruised spine, adding insult to injury.

The winning male was none other than Gabriel Reyes, commander of the covet operations known only as Blackwatch, though as far as the public was concerned, no such branch existed and he was merely another agent wearing the peacekeeper's call sign. Coal-coloured eyes regarded his supposed protégé with disdain, chapped lips curling just enough to show the peek of pearly whites.

"You're showing me up, McCree. I thought you were more than the thug I picked up off the streets." Reyes spat, finally picking himself off of his student and moving towards the edge of the arena, swiping his water bottle and taking a much needed swig, savouring the cold liquid that ran down his throat after a session.

After all, Gabriel was going to make sure every last soldier under his command could fend for themselves in any situation – adapt to any spontaneous event. There was more to being a good fighter than knowing how to aim and shoot a gun in his books, thus he made it mandatory for hand-to-hand combat exercise alongside the regime of laps, combat simulations and strategy protocol.

Most of which happened within the gym of Overwatch's main headquarters, stationed in Switzerland. It contained everything they could ever need: treadmills, weights, dedicated wrestling arenas, and so forth. There were various soldiers and agents making use of the equipment, though some gathered to watch the training session between the Blackwatch commander and one of his own.

The fallen man, Jesse McCree, grumbled something indiscernible, blowing the sweat-drenched locks out of his eyes, hands splayed on the cushioned mat to assist himself standing up, before his commander's hand came into view. He accepted it graciously, and was hauled up back to his feet, stumbling a bit as the rush of wind returned to him. He had the (dis)pleasure of training with Reyes. While some may claim that to be an honour, his back would highly protest that it was not.

It hadn't been too long since he had been quote 'rescued' from the Deadlock Gang – and yes, he snickered every time the Overwatch commander stated as such – he supposed that the rigorous training and the burn he felt inside was better than rotting in some out of sight prison for the rest of his days. Jesse reminded himself to be grateful of Reyes accepting the responsibility of him, because had he not spoken up, he doubted he'd of gotten the choice in the first place.

"I prefer 'vigilante given a second chance.'" he ruefully stated, then sobered up the moment Gabriel shot him a dirty look, hands coming up in an innocent gesture of peace. " – No points for trying?"

"There won't be points to have if you're dead." the darker skinned American pointed out, hailing over one of the meandering personnel. They understood his signal, and approached the ring with a clean, dry towel. Gabriel took it, throwing it over his shoulders while wiping away any of his body's perspiration. Jesse was only mildly envious; the westerner was utterly soaked, comparatively.

"You're hesitating." It came out more of a statement than anything. The commander continued on swiftly, throwing a hardened, scrutinizing look to his student. "Your enemies won't in the battlefield, and neither should you."

It took a moderate amount of willpower for the younger man not to flinch under such an intense gaze, but Reyes was not the meanest son of a gun he'd ever dealt with – his former 'buddies' were quite a colourful cast of lowlife degenerates, some with faces only a mother could love. Yet, he held a point – Jesse was dithering, and all it had given him were painful reminders. His tactic of duelling was considerably dishonourable, and thought such a thing would be frowned upon.

"I thought since I've gone legit I can't bring my brass knuckles and flash bangs." he murmured, offering his commander a lopsided grin. Not to mention (and he wouldn't) that fighting his mentor was not the easiest thing to do personally. McCree once was a wanted man, had been called an outlaw – but he was still human, and he had a heart.

He watched Gabriel's eyes roll skywards, raising a hand briefly to pinch his nose and mutter something under his breath, then made a gesture for him to fetch them. It was just as well, because during the fight, he had lost the elastic band used to tie up his hair and it was becoming quite a rat's nest and obscuring his vision.

Jesse dipped his head, hauling himself over the ropes, heading to the lockers. It didn't take long to locate his, as it was topped off with his wide brimmed hat. He popped it open, taking a moment to grab his own towel and dry off the best he can, ruffling it through his usually silken locks, retrieving another band to bunch his long hair into a bun, followed by gathering the knuckleduster and grenades.

Although, when he returned, she was there.

She would've looked like any other ordinary agent, clad in modest blue shorts and simple white t-shirt, had it not been for the ugly device encased around her chest like it was on display, soft blue orb permanently shining with nothing but a quiet hum emitting from the accelerator. Little did he know she was not just an ordinary agent.

Lena Oxton leaned on the ropes, arms folded and glossy lips pulled wide to reveal a brilliant smile, laughter tinkling like chimes at something the cowboy missed, though he couldn't imagine much of what Gabriel said could've been charming. She curled one of her legs back, tip of the trainer tapping against the floor in absent minded habit, fingers still animating to her words even when her hands remained still and clamped on the supporting ropes.

Even more surprising, was his commander's cadence; voice low enough so that only she could hear and the features of his face not constantly depressed into a scowl. He seemed to have loosened up a little – casual, even, reclining on the metal post that acted as part of the arena's barrier and head regarding her lightly.

Reyes caught sight of McCree from the corner of his eye, stopping his talk and stepping closer to Lena, hand coming to rest strongly on her shoulder as the cowboy cautiously walked towards them, feeling like he had just interrupted something.

"This is the stray I was telling you about, Tracer." the darker skinned man teased; smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Boy couldn't hit a right hook even if I showed it him."

Gingerly, McCree touched his cheek where plenty of duels had the older man land such a blow.

"You need to work on your aim then, sir." impishly Lena insinuated, and where such a comment would've landed any soldier under his command punishment, it only caused him to chuckle hoarsely. Jesse didn't really have much time to dwell on that as the woman stepped up to him, exuberant and like an exploding star wrapped up in a single, five foot four inch package. He looked at her hand strangely, before it dawned on him and a large, dashing grin took his face, calloused, tanned hand enveloping her smaller, slimmer one.

"Well no wonder it's been gloomy outside, you've taken all the sunshine for yourself, darlin'!" McCree shook her hand firmly to the sound of her boisterous laughter – and he'd be lying if he said it wasn't infectious, because he too was chuckling deep in his throat; the sound like a low rumbling bass. It was easy for him to fall back into his natural drawl and play the flirt, but judging from the look in her liquid brown hues, she knew the game well enough.

"Oh, stop it, love." she winked, smacking him gently on the arm in rapport. They seemed to connect quite well, both of them extroverted souls that found it easy to mingle. She continued seamlessly.

"If the increasingly-frowning-as-we-speak commander hasn't introduced me yet, well, first I'd be hurt, and secondly, the names Lena Oxton – and really, duckie, you know your face will stay like that permanently if you don't stop."

Gabriel indeed held a sour look, watching the interaction unfold before him and scoffed quietly. He perked an eyebrow when Lena's head turned to appraise him. Jesse cleared his throat, drawing her attention back to him and unfortunately gaining the older man's one as well, as he offered an uneasy smile. He didn't know the extent of their familiarity, though from what he made of the Overwatch agent, she seemed to note everyone as a good friend.

"I guess you know about me, darlin'." he said, hand slipping away from hers and finding himself missing the warmth it radiated. "I hope the commander's said nothing but good things."

"Oh, yes. Thug, lowlife, stray.." she listed off on her fingers, pausing as she tried to recall, chocolate brown eyes looking up to the ceiling in faux thought.

"Vandal," offered Gabriel, though his gravelly tone lacked the levity that the light, chiming one Tracer's held. She snapped her fingers in affirmation, devilish smirk warping her lips at Jesse's sheepish expression. Such names were expected, as they were true to some extent, when he was a criminal. He had long since desensitized to the words, especially given the fact that most of the time it left the older man's mouth, whom was widely and infamously known that his social skills fared worse than his combat expertise.

"Only the best." McCree responded contritely.

It was only now that Lena looked one over the westerner, taking in his rugged appearance offset by the standard Blackwatch exercise uniform, face pinched with mild exhaustion and his exposed arms reddened in some areas where he had deflected some blows. She realised she likely had interrupted something, voicing as such;

"I hope I haven't stopped your training -"

"Not at all. I issued a five minute break for my boy to gather some additional items." assured Gabriel quickly, cowing McCree into silence with presence alone – the younger American made a mental correction that his commander was hastily outdoing the meaner members of the Deadlock Gang. "You're welcome to watch. I'm sure it'll prove informative."

"As much as I appreciate the offer to watch two sweaty men grapple and wrestle each other for dominance," started Tracer, both brows shooting up to the wild, untamed region that was her hair, "I have a date with a treadmill, loves."

Reyes bobbed his head, surveying his student waving her off as he lacked a hat to tip in respect. As he did so, a calculated thought crossed his mind, slow smirk sneaking across his mouth to match it, which wasn't a pleasant sight. Before she went to far, his fingers curled around her elbow, tugging her to halt, much to her confusion.

"Do me a favour and have this fight with my boy." he said.

"What?" responded the dual voice of the two in question; hers pitched higher in puzzlement, with Jesse's suspiciously flat. The westerner gave a sidelong glance to his new impromptu combat partner, a sinking feeling dwelling in his gut as the last thing he wanted the entire gym to witness was him beating up a girl who clearly did not share his weight class, though he dispelled such thoughts. Sure, she was tiny and a sprite of a thing, but looks were deceiving, and underestimating her like that was detrimental to her as an agent.

"I want to watch him from the sidelines. Maybe there's something I'm missing being too up close." reasoned Gabriel, holding the rope up invitingly with a sweeping gesture. Tracer truly hesitated for a moment, offering McCree an apologetic look for some reason before nodding uncertainly. She didn't really want to participate in the duel, but found it hard to deny the Blackwatch commander's innocent and well-reasoned request.

"Eh, sure, love. But I'm so calling in that favour one day." With Reyes' helping hand, she entered the ring. Jesse followed suit, though was unassisted by his commander, deigning to put the knuckleduster and flash bangs onto the table, only for him to be stopped. There was only one thing the older man said as he passed.

"Don't hesitate." It sounded more like a warning than a reminder. Then, louder, he said. "I'll ref. Ready in five."

Warily, the younger American slid the brass metal over his knuckles, flexing his fingers to the familiar weight, though the nausea that waved over him only grew tenfold. It wasn't like it was some dirty secret, because the woman before him could easily see his so called 'additional items', and made no noise about it. In fact, her eyes shone with determination, her smirk challenging and arrogant. It only served to make him feel worse.

The countdown was drowned out as his attention was focused on other things, such as taking in account her stance. Her fists were clenched, drawn up to her chest with her feet adequately spaced. It seemed like a typical power stance, which meant that her punches should be predictable, compared to his style – something akin to backyard brawling. At the very least, it would be different than the matches with Gabriel; she looked far more agile and flexible than the older, bulkier man.

McCree crouched slightly, muscles wiry with tension and fingers itching. Oddly, he was looking forward to the match – compared to his commander, he figured she was the type to be a good sport.

"Begin!"

The first thing Jesse grasped about Lena, was that she was fast. She had no issue ducking, dodging and weaving out of his swift jabs, her feet light as she stepped to avoid a sweeping kick aimed to knock her down. To his advantage, she was on the defensive, avoiding his blows and wearing on his stamina than playing to his endurance and strength as Gabriel did.

"Seems like you're having a hard time landing the mark, love." she mused, winking. "You want me to slow down?"

He managed to connect a solid hook that she brought up her arms to deflect, but he felt her weight waver under it. To her credit, she steadfastly held her position. Jesse leaned his face closer tauntingly, deep drawl dipping lower.

"Oh, absolutely not, darlin'. I love a good challenge."

He pulled away after a good start, recovering his energy as they circled around the ring slowly, their gazes never faltering, tenseness pervading the air. She darted forward, and he expected a mid-body punch, but was sorely mistaken when she advanced by kicking in front, perfectly followed by a jab to his jaw that he was unprepared for. Once on the offensive, Lena did not stop, twisting around and utilizing her back leg to add to the assault.

That was the second thing he became aware of (aside from the pain emanating from his jaw): she fought like a clean kick boxer. He slipped into the groove of the combat, finding the opportunity to counter and swiftly flip the tables to his advantage, letting go of his hesitation. It did come back to bite him in the arse when a particularly vicious hit with his adorned knuckles earned her a busted lip.

Gabriel, spectating the fight, nodded to himself approvingly. Yet his face fell slightly when he didn't get the reaction he was after – Lena merely rubbed the drawn blood with her thumb, wiped it onto her shirt and forced McCree to distance away from her when she performed an admirable, arcing crescent kick, the unorthodox move genuinely surprising the dirty fighter. The blow had only served to fuel her competitive fire; the need to win outweighing the stinging cut.

"Loser buys the other a drink?" he slipped in.

"You're on."

He wisely didn't give her time to regain her footing, because he pounced forward, arms wrapping around her waist and forcing her down to the cushy mat in a rough tackle. They rolled, wrestling until Jesse won the power struggle, victoriously pinning her below with a sordid smirk. She shared it, until she vanished out from under him in a dazzling show of blue light.

Wait, what?

He blinked rapidly, jerking his head up to see her inspecting her nails, reclining back against the rope, no cuts or bruises to speak of. That wasn't right – she was right there, he, he felt her. Jokingly, she used his bafflement to point her index finger and thumb to his forehead, mimicking an explosion noise.

"Boom, you're dead."

Reyes gave a gesture that signalled the end of the match, brows furrowed. His expectations were surpassed, though given the wild card status he attributed to her, he shouldn't be all that surprised. He resisted shaking his head, then spoke clearly.

"Nicely done, Oxton, even if your accelerator usage was a technical foul." he stated. "Match goes to McCree. I've seen enough to know what to work on next time, at least – and the two of you better check up with Mercy before leaving, too. She'll have my head, otherwise."

"Nothing is scarier than an angry doctor." agreed Tracer, helping McCree up to his feet, to which he felt Déjà vu towards. "But I protest at that verdict, love! I won. I mean, you didn't set any rules."

"Oh no, you're not getting out of buying me a drink that easy, little lassie." huffed Jesse. "Besides, if not that, let me buy you one. Least I could do."

"You kids behave," warned Gabriel, gathering his water bottle and regaling the younger, tanned American with a pointed look, before offering a curt, polite nod to the worn out woman. "Make sure he actually gets to his room, I don't want to find him in some drunken stupor somewhere."

Despite his purposeful attempts at making him embarrassed, he took it on the chin with a shameless simper, alongside Tracer's bubbly giggle.

"We will, love – and don't worry. I'll make sure he meets his curfew."

"I have ears, you know." His protest went ignored. The Blackwatch commander gave one last regard to them both before leaving them, and the moment he did, it was like the pervasive tension clinging to the air like thick smog cleared up. He didn't know about the lady beside him, but he certainly eased up. He breathed a sigh.

"I'll catch you at the bar after checkup, I need a shower." he grumbled. At least the promise of a nice, stiff drink was alluring enough to keep him energized for now, otherwise his aching muscles protested every movement. He forged onwards, regardless.