"Master Fawkes?"

Junkrat's hands almost instantly fly to his launcher at the synthesised sound of Zenyatta's voice. It's been two weeks since the funeral, and it wasn't hard to tell that Junkrat (in his own way) was still grieving. The smoke pouring from his workshop and explosions at odd hours of the night was evidence enough, but to add to that Junkrat was rarely seen during the day and seemed to spend most of his time muttering to himself or visiting the ruins of Roadhog's grave.

"It's Junkrat to you, tin-can."

"Master Junkrat, then." The monk bowed his head. "I hoped to offer my condolences for what happened to Master Rutledge. I know the two of you were close friends."

"What would you know about friends? Goddamn robot."

"You are not the only one to have lost family, Master Junkrat."

"Get out of it, freak."

"I am sorry for what my kind did to your family. To your father, and to your friend."

"GET OUT!"

Zenyatta does not entirely understand how he sees the souls of others. He has, on occasion, speculated he may simply be malfunctioning and seeing things. Regardless, the swirling purple anger around Junkrat flares and dies away, left to simmer like water in a pot. Flecks of blue throw up into the mix, sadness being suppressed by the rage.

"Master Junkrat, I am only here to try and help. That is my purpose upon this Earth, and I fear that if we do not work together to eliminate the discord within you, it may consume you."

"I don't give a damn what your purpose is, mate. Get outta my room before I stick a grenade in your oil hole."

"I fear, Master Junkrat, you may have some trouble with that."

"Alright, that's it!" Junkrat leaps off his bunk almost like, well, a rat, going straight for Zenyatta with fists clenched. It's a major surprise when he finds himself on the floor with a bruised cheek, the monk unharmed.

"You're supposed to be a pacifist, freak!"

"I am far from unable to protect myself, Master Jamison. That is besides the point, however. I have something to show you."

"Stick it up yer arse, mate." Junkrat clambers to his feet and starts swinging again. This time, Zenyatta doesn't deflect or dodge - he grabs Junkrat's fist with one hand and rests another onto his forehead.

There are many things about the Iris that Zenyatta doesn't understand. How can an Omnic, a manufactured piece of machinery, develop a soul and even have an afterlife? How could he sense the pain in a fellow Omnic or a human? It didn't matter how so much as the fact that he could, though. Zenyatta's peculiarity had quietly grown in strength, and during his time with the cyborg Genji he had discovered that his Harmony orbs (as most of the Overwatch team called them) had a tendency to carry information. A sort of two way connection, a sort of sharing the weight of discord upon two sets of shoulders instead of just one. Emotions, memories, even just a fleeting thought, they all passed through his orbs.

Junkrat, of course, did not know any of this. As far as Junkrat was concerned, his mind was suddenly bombarded with images, only a few he understood. Roadhog, holding Junkrat by the scruff of his neck. Roadhog catching him midair after an explosion of a dodgy batch of bombs. A smiling teenage girl in a school uniform waving goodbye to a slimmer, happier Mako. Rage against a machine. The shame and regret of a terrible mistake. A quiet moment in the night, beside a fire, Mako watching Junkrat titter in his sleep.

"Too… too much potassium…" Jamison mumbles.

"Shut up." Roadhog says. It's not vindictive, just a habit.

The image lingers longer than the rest, and Junkrat feels a strange sensation in his gut. It's like having a family again. Like he's five or six, just before everything kicked off, his dad showing little Jamie under the hood of a car, telling him how the petrol combusts and raises the pistons. That sense of belonging that Jamison hadn't felt since the Omnium went off, Mako had felt that night. It was maybe a few weeks before Junkrat had suggested going straight.

And all of a sudden it stops. Junkrat is left on the floor, writhing a little on the floor. Zenyatta sits crosslegged beside him.

"Perhaps now you understand?"

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