A muzzle seemed excessive. No, it was excessive, but they seemed to think it was necessary. Fawkes stepped out of the transport covered head to toe in restraints. The chains on his hands seemed heavy, too- enough so to make him slouch forward considerably. Even so, Lucio remembered how the Australian had towered over him and tossed him around as though he were weightless in spite of his frail form. Jesse came out with Angela and Lucio to greet Overwatch's new charge. The southerner had been given Jamison as somewhat of a warden, a watchful eye on the man's activities while on base. In short, he was McCree's responsibility and no one objected at all. The only reason the Brazilian was even there was out of his own curiosity since his involvement in bringing the terrorist in was the majority. He wasn't exactly opposed to bringing him on board, but he had his reservations. Seeing that shocking face every day was certainly a concern. Jesse walked up to the guards and gave them the okay to remove the binds, which they took to with efficiency, even with their momentary hesitation. The last item to come off was a muzzle. Once free, the blond set his jaw opened and closed his mouth a few times.
"Strewth. You'd think I had rabies," he exclaimed with a tinge of annoyance. Jesse gave a sympathetic smile and a shrug.
"Well, I don't exactly blame 'em. You caused a lot 'a trouble, kid." Jamison didn't offer a verbal retort, simply huffing and scratching some of the spots where chains had been. Lucio was personally surprised that the department of corrections let the man have his minimal, tattered clothes back. Overwatch wasn't going to let him, would they? There might not have been uniforms, but they had standards, right? Angela came up next to Jesse and patted Jamison's chest.
"Could you stand up straight for a moment, please?" Jamison did as was asked, but looked to McCree in question.
"Doctor," was his simple reply and it was enough to make the Australian a little less testy with the small intrusion of personal space. Angela walked around Fawkes, scrunching her face every so often upon finding something that Lucio guessed was wrong.
"It's hard to get a good look with all this... dirt," she explained, smudging a patch of soot on Jamison's right side which caused him to twitch away uncomfortably. "I can tell that you are a little too slim in the waist, however... some bruising and concerning scars... I'll need to get you into my office for an extensive check-up after you bathe. Any Medical conditions we should know about before hand? Allergies?"
"Uhhh... Well... I have eczema... Like... reoccurring er whatever... er... was it psoriasis...? I 'unno, one 'a the two. I get this thing on me chin 'n neck. Other 'n that... nnnnnnoooo..." He seemed a little uncomfortable.
"Makes sense," Lucio thought. "Doctors probably don't get out to where he's from very often." He remembered a few stories where journalists and other outsiders had been attacked upon entering the irritated sector of the outback. From all sources he could find, the Junker domain was like an entirely different world apart from civilized society. Jamison was like a member of a lost tribe being brought into the fold of civilized people. Hell, he even looked the part.
"How did you lose these?" Angela lifted Fawkes' right arm with one hand and tapped his peg-leg with the other. The junker moved away in response, but kept a docile demeanor, though still uneasy along the edges.
"Uhh. Well, I make explosives, right? Was testin' a pressure bomb and accidentally knocked it on the floor. Blew part 'a the wall off me house and-" He made an ill-fitting popping sound with his lips while curling his left hand into a fist and then splaying it in tandem. "- No more leg. As fer the arm, well... I was young. Details 'r fuzzy." Angela chose not to prod any further and accepted the explanation. With a nod, she looked at Jesse and started to walk back inside from the hangar.
"Send him to me once he's cleaned up." Jesse tipped his hat as she passed and Jamison cleared his throat.
"Erm... When she said 'bathe'..."
It took some doing, but Lucio was sure McCree had finally gotten Jamison into the shower. He didn't stay to watch the entire ordeal, but saw enough to know that Jesse had his work cut out of him. As for himself, he had made his way back to his room and had been trying to get his shirt off as delicately as possible. Angela had been treating the burns from his first mission, but the pain was anything but ebbed. Not even close. In the mirror, he tried his best to follow the giant splotches of of welting skin and char. The worst of it wound down from his shoulder blades, along his back and down past the waste band of his jogging pants where it continued over the backs of his thighs and stopped just below the backs of his knees. It was darker around the shoulders and small of his back and that was certainly where it hurt the worst. A small part of him wanted to deeply resent the man who gave him such injuries, but he could remind himself that they could've been worse and that the injuries weren't brought about by directed malice. In that moment of silent reminder, Lucio stopped in his tracks and realized something very... disorienting.
He'd been so nonchalant over the ordeal as a whole. He accepted his injuries, didn't argue when the man who caused them was brought on-board with the operation... He'd felt.. hazy since the incident had ended... no, maybe even before that... He'd been a little off for a few weeks, only then really noticing it. He eyed his reflection, doing an about face to get a better view. For some reason, he looked otherworldly to himself. His own face and body seemed foreign and it felt so damn wrong. Aside from a new sense of unease, he'd been mostly emotionless. Why? He pondered and stared into his own eyes, seeing them and feeling more and more like he was standing before stranger with each passing minute. They shouldn't have been strange to him at all. They were the same as his mother's, the same dark shade of chocolate brown. People remarked about their similarity, in fact. If he looked upon her face, he was sure they wouldn't seem so new.
He took a deep breath and tried to collect himself, wherever those parts had fallen. It helped considerably for a moment and allowed him to force a smile and re-dress. From there, he walked from his dark, empty room into the hall. As fate would have it, Lena was coming towards him. Her face was somewhat irritated and he didn't have to guess why. He didn't think anyone aside from McCree was happy about the situation... or indifferent like himself. She waved him down and met him with a sigh, something Lucio retorted to with a sympathetic spread of his lips. "We should send Jesse in to deal with hostage situations," she joked. The Brazilian's smile stretched into a grin as a chuckle forced its way out.
"Right? If he made Sergeant Kahza budge, he's using some black magic or something."
"He better be savin' some of it for that psycho he's just adopted. Rehabilitatin' him could only be magic."
"No kidding..." he managed allow himself a sigh of respite. "Not like there's anything he can do here, at least. Athena's tacked onto him, he's suppose to be locked in his room when the lights go out and McCree is going to be on him twenty-four-seven. Honestly, this might be even more secure than prison, especially with his friend still out there. He has an escape record that goes all the way back to age fourteen."
"Wait, you actually read his file?" she seemed amazed. "That thing looked like a novel when I was holdin' it. I wasn't about to look through it."
"Yeah, well... I wanted to actually know something about the first person I brought in as an agent, you know? Commemorate the occasion in a weird way?"
She laughed. "Weird is right. Well, I'm headin' out for patrol. See ya later!" A few bright blinks and she was gone. Lucio smiled after her, feeling a little bit of weight lifted from his stomach as he walked down the hall in the other direction. He felt that maybe he could relax better with something solid in his belly. All he'd eaten in the past two days had been a bagel and a bag of chips he'd rationed throughout a day. He hadn't had much of an appetite, but it was about time he forced himself to have a real meal, even if he didn't feel up to it. when he got there, no one else was in the mess hall. Round tables were clear and lonely, laid upon with pink and orange hues from the massive floor-to-ceiling windows along the left wall. They outlooked the ocean over the cliffside. Lucio used to think that such a view was more suited for a meeting room, but he'd come to appreciate it where it was. The room was always unlocked, always welcoming... people weren't usually prone to coming in there at odd hours like himself. It was a pretty place to be alone when one's room was suffocating. He decided to sit on the floor in front of said windows, crossed legs nearly touching the glass and forehead pressed into it. It was pleasantly cool and, through it, he could feel the distant rumble of waves throwing themselves upon the rocks below. Was he sick? The possibility crossed his mind once or twice, but now he was starting to believe it. Perhaps his body was warning him that a virus or something was building up.
The silence didn't last long.
An off-beat clacking came from the hallway leading in followed by the dull, heavy thuds of boots. Lucio took his head off the window and turned himself enough to see Fawkes being escorted into the room by Jesse who had a tight hold on his left elbow. The southerner didn't even seem to see Lucio as he pushed Jamison into a chair and pointed sternly at the ground. "Stay." He didn't suggest anger and he left just as soon as he'd come. Jamison huffed after him and slouched in his spot. Even from the distance, Lucio could tell that the Australian looked different. His skin and hair were considerably lighter and an array of bruising and scars were now incredibly visible along his neck and shoulders. When the man looked in his direction, the change was stark, but it didn't entirely correct the previous issues the Brazilian had. His eye-sockets were lighter and his face didn't look anywhere near as aged, but Jamison was still as strange and lop-sided-looking as ever. Amber eyes caught the smaller man and recognition was very palpable. In that, Lucio feared conversation, but it never came. The lanky man merely stared for a moment before looking away in the near opposite direction. Lucio wondered if the other was in trouble already. Even if Jesse didn't appear mad, something had to have been about for Jamison to be distinctly left in the hall.
"At least he's listening..." For a second, the Brazilian chalked it up to himself being there, but that changed instantly upon remembering how easily overpowered he was in a one-on-one fight with the other. If Jamison wanted to leave the room, he could confidently do so. All things considered, Fawkes didn't appear as the type tp fully and compliantly commit to his sentence, let alone willingly sit in this room on that stool for as long as Jesse was inclined to make him wait. Still, there he was... sitting silently, albeit irritated, and expectant. It was another five minutes before McCree returned. In his arms was a duffle bag that he tossed on the floor next to their new charge.
"Okay, partner, I'm gonna get you some supper and then you're gonna take that bag back to your room and change into those clothes." Upon hearing those words, Jamison instantly regarded the nag with a new sense of disgust and weary.
"I thought you said there were no uniforms."
"There ain't, but there is somewhat of a dress code. Yer clothes don't fit the guidelines. Don't worry. It's nothing embarrassing. The clothes we provide for you will be comfortable and tasteful." He tried to be reassuring, obviously mocking someone in the last couple of sentences- Lucio guessed it was Winston. In spite of that, Fawkes continued to look displeased.
"If, uh... If you say so, cobber." Jesse nodded and started to walk behind the counter. "Ehh, I'm not really hungry, mate."
"Well, Doctor Ziegler says she wants you on a diet of three strict meals a day and gave me all of the details. You gotta eat something now. 'Sides, you need something to wash down those meds with." Lucio hadn't even noticed the bottles in Jamison's hands. One was a liquid medication and the other was pills. He scrutinized them both with equal volumes of contempt on their mention. Jesse walked into the kitchen and came out minutes later with a plate and an unfolded paper in his hands. The plate seemed to have some diced meat on it. It wasn't a lot. "For right now, she says you need a little meat with the pills. Once you're done eating, you take some of the liquid stuff and then give them both to me." He put the paper in his back pocket and set down the minimalistic meal on the table behind the Aussie. Once again, Jamison reminded Lucio of a teenager, rolling his eyes and one poking lip away from a pout.
"I dun think you can get high off of supplements," He allowed his expression and tone to lighten considerably with that. A small smile even crossed his lips and a chuckle managed to escape. Jesse only spun his finger in the air to signal that he wanted Jamison to turn around, which he begrudgingly did, but only to leer at what looked like chicken. McCree leaned against the counter and waited, finally looking away from the Aussie. When he saw Lucio, his expression lit up like a firecracker.
"Oh! Hey, kid. Sorry if we bothered ya'."
Lucio smiled softly and got up to approach him. "Nah, it's fine. Was kinda bored, actually. Nothing more entertaining than watching a twenty-five-year-old man act like a five-year-old being served broccoli." Jamison laughed sarcastically as he picked up a piece of meat and unhappily popped it in his mouth.
"'Least I'm not th' size 'a one." Before Lucio could utter a retort, McCree snapped his fingers at Fawkes.
"Eat yer food," He commanded like an annoyed parent. The Australian made a face, but continued eating. Honestly, he seemed tired. "Don't forget the pills."
"Aye, aye. 'M not forgettin' th' pills. Keep yer chaps on."
"Watch the back-talk." The cowboy wasn't being entirely serious, finding humor in the ordeal.
"Struth, yer like a ruttin' granny."
"Don't make me get my cain." Jamison laughed at that, but the sound wasn't exactly pleasant. It was shrill and accented with a small snort at the end. In spite of that, Jesse allowed himself a smile.
"So, how are those burns doin'?" Lucio rubbed his back.
"They're fine. The lighter stuff is already hurting less. Angela said the darker spots would be there for a while, though. I'll get used to it. I'll get plenty more burns being here, I'm sure."
Jamison turned around slightly, swallowing a pill. "Did I do that?"
As uncomfortable as it was being directly addressed by the man, Lucio tried not to sound spiteful, though he thought a small drop of venom wormed its way into his words. "Uh.. Yeah. That, uh... That... 'bomb' of yours did it. Destroyed my armor, too." The last sentence was almost a bite and Fawkes reeled slightly from it. At least he had the decency not to prod and leave the smaller man be from there. Jesse gingerly patted the Brazilian's left shoulder- mindful.
"Yeah, I'm sure Torb will be happy to help you rebuild it. God knows he's been itchin' for somethin' to do." Lucio smiled again, trying not to look as run-down as he felt.
He hated it. He absolutely hated it. The baggy, black cargo pants weren't really a problem, but the tight, black t-shirt with the Overwatch insignia taking up most of the front was the object of his disdain. Aside from it being uncomfortably tight and a high crew-neck, the material was... he didn't know how to describe it, actually. It was thick, slick and shiny. Seeing it on his torso made him more self-conscious than he ever was going without a shirt at all. On top of all of that, they took his boot, gave him a shiny new one that he wasn't suppose to scuff up and mentioned something about getting him a new leg that was "more efficient." "It's better than prison," he reminded himself, but his faith in the statement was starting to dwindle as Overwatch started to resemble such a place. He had a special diet, special medicine, regular doctor visits for radiation treatments, a schedule that locked him in his room during certain hours and an escort who was also talking about combat training and "work." What could Overwatch possibly have planned for him? He doubted he was even allowed to leave the base, let along the main building, so what "work" could be even do? Pick up trash on the beach? Move boxes? Mop the floor and do the dishes? A good portion of his mind didn't doubt for a second that he was brought on for the organization's sole benefit rather than actual "community service." Was this really better than prison?
He sighed. "Three months is better than a life sentence." That was true. In three months, he could be back out on the streets and back to being free. Fuck Overwatch. Fuck this community service. Fuck the world. With that, he walked from the mirror to the pristine, white bed. Jesse had said something about being able to personalize the room as long as it stayed clean and undamaged. That had confused him since he wasn't sure he was exactly allowed to go to the store and buy posters. They took his pocket money in Numbani, anyway. They were certain that he had stolen all of it. "I earned five of it legitimately ," he had told them, but it was either all or nothing with the processing crowd. Jamison sat down and picked at the strange material of the shirt, still trying to figure out what it was. It was going to drive him crazy.
