Rated for canon-typical violence and language.
Disclaimer: Blizzard owns Overwatch and all associated characters.
Warnings: mentions of menstrual blood
"Tengo comida, Señores. Breakfast!" rang Alejandra's voice, as cheerful as a bell, waking Alma.
As she blinked awake, Alma realized she was starving. She also felt slightly less like roadkill than when she'd fallen asleep. She'd always healed quickly, even before joining Overwatch and undergoing Mercy's slightly alarming yearly "booster" treatments. She knew she'd be back to perfect condition in a week—as long as she could resist the temptation to scratch at her itchy, scabbing wounds. Her period cramps, unfortunately, were as persistent and as painful as ever. Alma rolled over on the mattress groggily, realizing that Jack was no longer there. She kicked her blanket away as she yawned and sat up; she noticed there was a spot of blood it, and, sure enough, more on the pants Señora Durante had lent her last night. Alma threw herself back on the mattress and groaned. "Vix! I hate you so much right now."
Sorry. Again.
"Señore, are you feeling—Oh! Don't worry about that. I'll bring you some of my pads, and some of Mamí's special tea."
Alma tilted her head to look up at Alejandra. The girl was holding a coffee pot and mug—like an angel sent from heaven. "Thank you. I'll take that coffee first. How are your knees feeling?"
Alejandra scrambled onto the mattress as Alma sat up, and poured her some coffee. "They ache a little, but only because I went back to the warehouse this morning to get Señor 76's things. Mamí finally let me out of the house."
"You did what?" That was from 76, who was leaning against the opposite wall drinking coffee—or had been, until Ale's revelation caused him to choke on it. It was a good things Alma wasn't drinking yet, because she probably would have done the same.
"How long have we been out?" Alma demanded.
"Two days. I brought your gun, Señor, and your mask. I'll go get them now from my room. And your pads, Señore Vix."
Well, forty-eight hours is a new record for us, Vix commented. And the cramps should be over tomorrow.
Thank the Iris for small blessings, Alma replied as she got to her feet. Ale bounced up after her and set the coffee pot on the table next to a grocery bag which was emitting an enticing breakfast smell. "It's Alma, right now," Alma told her. "Señora, if you must. Vix and I share head space."
Ale cocked her head, lips crinkling as she thought it over, and then tapped on an ear, indicating the space where Alma's implants showed. "Because of those?"
Sharp girl. Polite, too. And very brave.
Alma agreed with Vix. She nodded to Ale. "Listen, Ale, going back there was dangerous. And I bet your mother didn't know you did it."
"Not to mention stupid," added 76.
Alma glanced from Ale's hurt look to 76's scowl. Her own look clearly suggested that 76 keep his damn opinions to himself. "Just, don't go looking for trouble, niña. You wanna grow up to be a hero? Don't get yourself dead before then, okay?"
Ale rolled her eyes. "I'm not a little kid, you know. I know what I'm doing." She skittered up the ladder. "I'll be right back!"
You'd never know she nearly died a few days ago. Are all young humans like that?
Alma couldn't help but laugh. You were like that once, Vix. She dug through grocery bag and pulled out a warm torta. "That's quite the sidekick you've got there, 76."
"That's not funny," 76 growled. "She's going to get hurt."
Alma sighed, and turned to look at him. "Statistically, she's going to get hurt—killed even—whether or not she goes looking for trouble. That's the world we live in." She paused, remembering 76's words from last night. Then she said, in a softer tone: "That's why we need heroes."
"There are no heroes anymore," he replied witheringly. He took a sip of his coffee as if he hadn't just kicked over Overwatch's metaphorical gravestone. No heroes anymore, indeed.
"That's funny," Alma said, tone a little sharp, "because I thought I was looking at one."
"You're looking at the ghost of one. Less than that. I'm just a soldier now."
How stubborn could he get? Alma was about to snap at him when Vix suggested she take a a breath. Try to see things from his point of view.
Alma tried. She even thought she had it. "Fine. Maybe you're not Jack Morrison anymore. I'm not Sunstroke anymore either. I'm not even completely Alma Charo anymore. The names can change, 76, but what's inside, your heart, your heroism, stays the same."
"You're wrong."
Apparently she didn't have it. Or 76 was just being a stubborn asshole. "Then what are you doing here, saving teenagers and killing gangsters? That doesn't seem a little altruistic to you?"
He set down his cup and fixed her with a seriously look. "I'm only here for revenge. Plain and simple. I'm going to find the people behind Switzerland, and I'm going to kill them. Los Muertos might have a lead."
What kind of plan is that? Vix, don't tell me he's the reasonable one, here.
"And you're going to slaughter an entire criminal syndicate just to find out?"
76 didn't even blink. "If that's what it takes."
No, you're right. He's being an asshole, Vix said.
Alma planted herself right in front of 76, crossing her arms. "Half of Los Muertos's rank and file is just local teenagers with no hope and nowhere else to go. Just ignorant, innocent kids. Are you going to kill them, too?" She didn't give him time to horrify her with an answer she didn't want to hear. "76 , listen. There's a better way. The government here has their hands tied; Vishkar is trying to stage a takeover like they did in India and Brazil. I think Vishkar is funding Los Muertos so they can destabilize the country and have an excuse to take over. That's what I'm here investigating. If we can find the leaders behind the plot and prove it, bring it to the World Court, we could stop Vishkar and dissolve Los Muertos."
Alma could see his refusal in his eyes before he spoke: "I'm not interested in politics. Look where it got us last time."
"And you're not interested in justice?" she spat.
For a moment, in the silence that followed Alma's outburst, she thought she could see a flicker of doubt in his expression. Then it was gone.
"I'm not looking for a partner, Charo. Or a sidekick." 76 glanced upward at the trapdoor, apparently thinking of Alejandra. "I'm leaving today. Do what you want, but don't get in my way."
Alma let her tone go very cold, and Vix helped her flatten it in a way humans rarely could, a way they'd both discovered was very intimidating. "I think, Soldier: 76, that you're mistaking me for someone who worked with Commander Morrison: a timid, under-confident, unstable agent called Sunstroke. My name is Solarix, and I warn you now, if you give me reason to believe that you're a public threat, I will stop you."
Ale stood just next to the trapdoor with a burlap sack containing Señor 76's battered, singed rifle and visor, listening to the conversation going on below. She'd only been there for a few moments, but it was long enough to feel a tight band around constrict around her heart. Soldado: 76 used to be Commander Jack Morrison, not just one of the los Protectores, but their leader—and he didn't want to help the city. Her city. Alejandra thought of all the things her Mamí said while reading las noticias: how Ale must swear never to join Los Muertos, no matter how badly they needed the money joining the gang could bring; how the elections were all rigged these days; how Ale should stay away from the police because the honest ones were too busy even without her distracting them and the others were as dangerous as Los Muertos. She thought of all the posters and clippings in her room. Ale's cousin was a cavalera, in the gang. It was good money, in a place where money was too hard to find, and Ale got the idea it made him feel important.
"Half the gang is just ignorant, innocent kids. Are you going to kill them, too?"
Weren't heroes supposed to help, not hurt?
76 treated Solarix to complete indifference until Alejandra returned with his pulse rifle and ruined visor in a burlap sack. They were in better condition than he expected, and he knew how to do basic field repairs. It would have to do. He told the kid thanks before he remembered he was trying to ignore her too. She was watching him with wide eyes, much more quiet than she had been earlier. Usually the looks she gave him reminded 76 of Ana's little girl, little feisty Fareeha, back when he'd believed the stories he and the others filled her head with. Now, though, Ale's look reminded him of Ana herself, and looks she'd begun given him after Amelie was taken, after his promotion, when things had started going sharply downhill with Gabriel. Disappointed.
76 shook the memories off and grabbed his things. It didn't matter anymore. Amelie was gone; Ana was gone; Gabriel was gone. He wasn't going to let a naive teenager distract him from bringing their murderers to justice. Find Talon. That was his mission.
He left without saying goodbye to either of them.
"Was it me?"
Alma looked away from the torta she'd been crumbling viciously as if it were 76. Pay attention, Alma. "What?"
Ale was looking at her very seriously. "He's not going to help. Is it because of me? Did I do something wrong?"
The anger melted from Alma's face. Alejandra must have overheard them. "No. Under no circumstances should you think this is your fault, Ale."
Ale crossed her arms. "But if he's one of los Protectores, why is he leaving?"
Alma paused. How could she put this? It was obvious the teen had enormous faith in 76, and now it had been shaken for the first time. She let Vix suggest her next words: "He's forgotten what he is, that's all. He's lost his way." She sighed. "Don't give up believing in heroes, niña. I was lost once too, but I had somebody shine a light for me, show me the way. He just needs someone to do that for him." Alma knew the question that statement would invite when she said it, but she still wasn't ready to answer it.
"Will you?" asked Ale.
Alma closed her eyes. What more could she possibly say to him? Was it even possible to bring Jack Morrison back?
Maybe not. But that doesn't mean we couldn't try to save Soldier: 76.
Alma considered it. To go from being the leader of the world's foremost peace task force, its beloved poster-boy, team dad to a bunch of misfits who had complete faith in one another… and then to have that shattered. No, that was not something a person could come back from unchanged and unscathed—not anymore than Alma and Vix could come back unchanged from being stranded in space for 12 years [even if 10 of them were spent unconscious]. He's sure as hell not gonna save himself.
Alma and Vix opened their eyes gazed into Alejandra's. "We'll give it a damn good try."
EndNotes: Don't forget to review! Also, this fic is unbetaed, so feel free to be helpful and point out typos and inconsistencies, esp. w/pronouns!
Spanish Translations:
Tengo comida/I have food
Torta/sandwich
Las noticias/the news