Chapter 13: Reasonable Doubt

Several days had passed since the battle in the Temple of Anubis. Things had once again quieted down around Watchpoint Gibraltar, with little activity in the outside world requiring the team's attention. Tina was as frustrated as ever with the lack of action, but most of the others simply waved her complaints off.

Amos also made sure to keep as far away from trouble as possible, though this also included keeping his distance from the rest of the group. To that end, he had taken to eating his meals in his room, where no one could harm him and he could bother no one. This seemed to be an acceptable arrangement to some of the others, who either wished nothing to do with him or knew that he needed some space.

It did not sit well with everyone.

"Hey, Amos?" Tracer asked, catching him by the shoulder before he could sneak out of the mess hall with his latest meal. "Why not sit with us today?"

"Tracer, can we not do this again?" Amos groaned.

"Look, I know we haven't been getting along lately, but that doesn't mean you should cut yourself off from everyone," Tracer frowned. "Please sit with us?"

"For the last time, no."

The venom in his latest refusal seemed to slap her in the face. Her lips limply drifted apart for a second, closing long enough for her to swallow the hurt.

"Are you…still hurting from that fight we had?" Tracer asked slowly, the usual cheer voice dropped to little more than a whisper.

A pang of guilt stabbed at Amos' heart. "It's—look, it's not that today, it's—"

His eyes desperately scanned the surrounding area for some form of escape route, finding themselves on Genji as the cyborg made his way outside.

"I—I was actually going to hang out with Genji this morning," Amos blurted.

Genji stopped. Tracer looked up at the ninja, and Amos surreptitiously crossed his fingers.

Please don't say no, the Talon grunt thought. Please don't say no, please don't say no…

"He is right," Genji nodded.

SON OF A—wait, what?

"Oh…well, okay!" Tracer forced a smile, her cheerful attitude—or at least a front resembling it—returned. "Long as you're making friends here, that's okay with me. Have fun, loves!"

She went back to her table, and Amos went over to Genji.

"Hey, uh…sorry to drop this on you like that, I—"

"It is no trouble," Genji shook his head as the two headed outside. "I know you and Miss Oxton have your differences."

"No, really, I know you didn't have to stick up for me like that," Amos continued. "I really appreciate it."

"Amos, please don't worry yourself," Genji sighed. "I welcome your company."

"You…really?" Amos blinked.

"Of course," Genji nodded, a smile in his voice. "You seem nice. I'd hate to kill you."

A perturbed Amos stopped for a moment. "Uh…right."

The rest of their short journey was made in silence. Once the two were outside, each found a seat on a cliff. Genji sat cross-legged on the edge, with Amos lurking a short distance behind him (partly to avoid stumbling off the edge). The Talon grunt pulled off his helmet and, after a quick check to see if Genji wanted any portion of his meal, began to eat.

For a moment, there was silence. The sun rose into its throne of clouds once more, spreading its rays across the land and vanquishing the shadows of the night. Genji tilted his head back and let out a sigh of tranquil satisfaction.

"Thank you for sharing this with me," he finally broke the silence. "I feel…I must apologize for misjudging you when we first met."

"At this point, I'm used to it," Amos shrugged.

"Indeed," Genji chuckled.

Silence again.

"Um…Genji?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you…mind if I ask you something?"

"Not at all."

Amos took a calming breath before speaking again. "When you were in Overwatch…did you ever meet someone named Amélie Lacroix?"

"I mostly kept to myself during that time," Genji shook his head. "Your superior's former life was one I had little, if any, involvement with."

"Oh," Amos' face fell, but his helmet obscured it. "It's okay, just…figured I'd ask, that's all. Since, right now, you're…kind of the only person around here I can talk to about her without being judged or lectured or something along those lines."

"You seem to get along well with Winston," Genji pointed out.

"Yeah, well, I used to get along with Tracer, too," Amos sighed. "Then I told her the name of the person I wanted to help, and look where that got me."

Genji nodded. More silence followed.

"May I ask you a question?" the ninja ventured.

Amos hesitated before answering. "Depends on what you want to ask."

"I want to ask what it is that draws you so…powerfully…towards Widowmaker."

The mention of her name from his hidden lips made Amos wince, the well-known dread seeping its way back into the Talon soldier's heart. He pushed himself to his feet and began to back away.

"Uh, listen, I'm not so sure I'm okay with talking about thi—"

"From what I understand, the few people you have spoken to about her are blinded by a shared grudge," Genji interjected. Amos stopped retreating, giving into his jaw-clenching habit once more as he forced himself to hear the cyborg out. How did Genji keep learning these private things? "Miss Oxton witnessed the assassination of Tekharta Mondatta. Captain Amari was very nearly added to Widowmaker's kill count. As I said before, I barely know your friend; I will have no such bias."

Amos' body relaxed by the tiniest iota, but he maintained a wary mind as he sat back down beside Genji.

"Now, tell me…what exactly is it that motivates you to seek her out?"

Amos sighed, leaning back on his hands. "I…honestly, I'm not sure how to say it. I mean, I'm not sure how to say a lot of things, but…she's just—she's one of a kind, you know? Not just because, well, she's blue—I mean, that is part of it, don't get me wrong—but…hang on, let me try again."

He sighed.

"Working with her has been one of the better experiences in my life…and I can count those on, maybe, two hands at the most," Amos continued. "When my conditioning first failed, I…I was really scared. I was literally surrounded by frothing-at-the-mouth lunatics who would tear me apart if they knew I wasn't like them. And, Widow—I mean, Amélie—she could have done that…but, she didn't. She could have put me down for my life choices and, well, for being me in general…but, she didn't. In fact, after our first time working together, she walked up to me and told me that—"

A break in Amos' voice piqued Genji's attention.

"She…she told me that I could be great," Amos finished with a sniffle. "No one had told me that in so long, it just…it felt good to know that someone believed in me, you know? And she wasn't even trying to make me feel good, she just…stated what she thought were the plain-and-simple facts. That's how I know…I know she really means it. I mean, she does yell at me sometimes when I screw up, but she usually tells me what I did wrong instead of just throwing insults. She doesn't have to do things like that, but…she's still the best boss I've ever had."

Genji was quiet for a moment as he processed the praise Amos heaped on his superior.

"It would seem a little support goes a long way for you," the cyborg finally said.

Amos nodded. "Yeah...I guess it does."

Silence once more.

"I, uh…I want to be there for her," Amos spoke up. "Like she was for me. That's…why I want to help her break free. I don't think anyone deserves what Talon did to her."

"Mm-hmm," Genji nodded. "Is that the only reason?"

Amos buried his nose in his food, if only to hide the pink blossoming throughout his face.

"It's the only one worth talking about," he grumbled.

"I see," Genji chuckled knowingly.

Amos' forehead fell into his palm in tandem with an exasperated sigh.

"Can we drop it, please?" the grunt asked.

"Of course."

Cinderblock-sized feet sank into the snow, one after another. A lone Bastion, sporting a faded yellow coat of paint in contrast to the black-and-blue of Omnirex's personal forces, tromped across the sea of white, its single blue eye gazing about in child-like wonder. On the machine's shoulder was a small yellow bird, sitting cozily in a nest of twigs that only added to the cluster of plant life already calling the Bastion's body home.

Flakes of white sprinkled from the clouds above. The Bastion stopped, its eye focusing upward. The snowflakes were nigh-invisible, yet the robotic soldier could tell without a doubt that something was coming down. With its one human-like hand, it carefully reached out to catch that something. One such prize gently fell, followed by several others. Soon, icy confetti rained down upon the Bastion. All it could do was look up and stare.

What it saw was nothing short of beautiful.

The Bastion managed to catch a few snowflakes in its hand, but the cold metal flesh only turned them to ice. It slowly spun its torso around, ensnaring a few more. This went on for what seemed like an eternity, the Bastion continuing through the tundra beneath its feet all the while. The bird on its shoulder simply slept through its companion's celebration.

Then the sound of something other than snow underfoot could be heard. The Bastion's eye slowly turned downward. It had stepped on a freshly-plowed brick road, the kind of thing one found near human civilization. The Bastion looked around; it knew how humans reacted to its presence. It needed to steer clear.

That was when it saw the bodies.

Corpses of humans in police uniforms had been tossed across the road, blood seeping out from their wounds and trickling through the cracks in the bricks. Their bodies looked like Swiss cheese, ventilated with a plethora of bullet wounds. Their eyes, wide and empty, stared into the sky as the snow began to pile atop them.

More noise came, perking up the Bastion's audio receivers. Footsteps in the distance. A light clanking of metallic feet on brick road. The bang of a shotgun. The Bastion froze in what a passerby would call fright.

"Out of my way, meatbags!"

A voice. It sounded as if it were speaking through a metal can, like an Omnic would. But it also had a British accent, like a human would. The Bastion looked down at the carnage the voice's owner had left in its wake. Then, with a beeping sound reminiscent of a whimper, it backed away.

It had seen enough blood for a lifetime.

Down in Watchpoint Gibraltar's kitchen, Ana systematically set a collection of baking bowls across the stove. The days when she cooked for a family of three felt like a lifetime ago, but cooking for a dysfunctional family of seven (and counting) made her long for those old days.

She held back a sigh as her daughter's face crossed her mind. It was true that Fareeha was the latest in a long line of defenders; protecting others was very much in her blood. But, after all the suffering Ana had inflicted upon others in the name of justice—whatever that meant these days—it was clear that her ḥabībti deserved something better than a life of death.

Perhaps what Fareeha needed was someone to settle down with. Having someone to go home to could put a damper on that recklessness of hers, and having a partner to unwind with after a long day at work would give her a greater appreciation for her life. And, of course, having grandchildren certainly wouldn't hurt.

"For the love of God, Tracer, let me go!"

A familiar whine pulled Ana from her reverie, and soon enough, its originator was dragged into the kitchen by his wrist. Tracer shot Ana a smile as she finally let go of Amos, though his immediate attempt to flee forced her to grab hold of him again.

"What a surprise!" Ana smiled. "What brings you two in here?"

"Well, we know you've been having a hard time doing all the cooking by yourself," Tracer began. She took Amos' shoulders in her hands and shoved him forward as if handing over a surprise gift. "Then we found out that Amos here knows how to cook!"

"And I really regret bringing it up," the reluctant cook in question sighed.

"Oh, don't be silly, I'd welcome the help," Ana dismissively waved her hand. "Lena, we'll let you know when lunch is ready. Go give Tina a good sparring partner until then, would you? Some healthy competition might do her some good."

"Aye-aye!" Tracer saluted before blinking out of sight and out of the reach of Amos' extended hand.

"I hate it when she does that," he groaned.

"Yes, she is off like a shot once her mind's on something, isn't she?" Ana shook her head with a smile. "So…you can cook, can you?"

"A little," Amos shrugged. "I don't really recommend my own cooking, though."

"Heh. I wouldn't recommend mine, either, to tell the truth," Ana chuckled. "Maybe if we put our heads together we can come up with something halfway-edible?"

"Not like I have a choice at this point," Amos shrugged. "Can I see what we have in the fridge at the moment?"

Ana nodded, and showed him to the appliance he requested. He pulled the door open and rummaged through the refrigerator's contents.

"Uh, let's see…ground turkey, beef, mushrooms, bread—oh, wow, it's even gluten-free," he mumbled to himself. "What else do we have…some onions, eggs…okay, I think I did a meat loaf recipe once or twice that uses a lot of the stuff we have here."

"Sounds good to me," Ana nodded. "Care to walk me through it?"

"I mean, I'll do what I can," Amos shrugged.

The two set about preparing the dish, with Amos relaying instructions from the recipe saved on his phone. He plopped some mushrooms into a frying pan and cooked them in a helping of canola oil, giving the onions a similar treatment in short order. Ana, meanwhile, ground up whatever meat was still whole and distributed equally-sized portions across the various baking bowls.

"You know, you're a natural at this," Ana remarked as they worked.

"Yeah, sure," Amos said absent-mindedly. "Okay, how did this work again…the oven needs to be set at around three-hundred-and-fifty degrees, and if this one works anything like the one I had, it'll need some time to heat up."

"Done," Ana flicked a switch and activated the oven. "I mean it, though, you're clearly an experienced cook. Is this what you did for a living before you got wrapped up in Talon?"

"I did whatever made me money and didn't need a degree," Amos replied with a tinge of bitterness as he crumbled bread. "Can we stop getting off-topic, please?"

"Oh, give me a break, child. It's just conversation," Ana rolled her good eye. "Is talking with us really going to kill you?"

"Well, it's been killing me so far," Amos deadpanned.

"Don't be so dramatic," Ana groaned indignantly. "Listen to me; none of us is here to tell you the things you want to hear. We're not superheroes, we're soldiers. We are here to establish peace and keep people safe from organizations like Talon. Fighting for the greater good requires sacrifice, and if you aren't willing to make those sacrifices, then you shouldn't be here."

Amos worriedly bit his lip; he didn't have to read too deeply into her statement to catch the veiled threat. "Noted."

"You know what I think you need?" Ana continued, her expression softening slightly. "I think you need to find someone new. Amélie is certainly pretty, to be sure, but she's hardly worth chasing down."

Her assistant simply hid a roll of his eyes beneath his ever-present helmet.

"Tell me, what sorts of women are you into?"

"Okay, Ana, seriously," Amos protested. "This is getting into territory that I'd really rather not talk about, especially not with somebody else's mother."

"Well, you know what they say; mother knows best," Ana smirked. "All things considered, you seem like a nice fellow: you're sensitive, considerate, compassionate, Lena tells me you have a delightfully sarcastic sense of humor…"

"And none of those have done me much good lately," Amos interjected flippantly.

"Honestly, child, do you have anything good to say about yourself?" Ana huffed.

He shrugged. "Not really, no."

"Well, I think I know just the person to help pick you up," Ana smiled. Amos quietly rolled his eyes again as he sprinkled the bread crumbs into their servings. "You've met my daughter Fareeha, haven't you?"

All of a sudden, Amos dropped whatever bread crumbs were still in his hands. He turned to stare at her, mouth hanging open in a mixture of pure shock and even purer horror.

"I-I'm sorry, what?!" he nearly shrieked. "Please tell me you're not planning on playing matchmaker with me and her!"

"Why not?"

"Um, because that's the worst idea I've heard in a long time, and I've had plenty of bad ideas!" Amos cried. "You're aware she wants me dead, right?"

"She just hasn't had the chance to get to know you like the rest of us have," Ana replied, depositing several egg yolks into the recipe as she spoke.

"She doesn't even want to know me."

"Oh, you give up far too easily," Ana sighed, taking her turn to roll an eye. She held up one of the remaining eggs. "See this? Fareeha is like this egg. She might seem to have a hard shell, but once you crack it and get to see what's inside…"

She demonstrated by extracting the latest yolk and adding in the final pieces of their culinary puzzle.

"Uh, yeah, this is a nice metaphor and all, but…last I checked, most eggs don't carry more rocket launchers than the human body has cells," Amos said.

"Then I'll get her to leave them at home," Ana smirked. "I think you and Fareeha would be a good match if you give yourselves a chance."

"Yeah, sure, whatever," Amos sighed. Before Ana could scold him for his lack of perfect compliance, he raised a hand to stop her. "Okay, we have all our ingredients in, and the oven's ready. Let's just get these things baked."

A few hours later, Ana and Amos exited the kitchen, each with a slew of meat loaf plates in each hand. The rest of the Watchpoint's crew, realizing that lunch was imminent, quickly crowded around a table.

"Aw, wow, it smells so good!" Tracer grinned, closing her eyes and basking in the scent.

"I think I might forego my usual diet for this," Winston chuckled.

Tina said nothing, grinding her teeth together impatiently as she clutched the knife and fork that Ana had insisted she use over her hands. Genji quietly removed the bottom half of his mask, revealing the partially-scarred mouth underneath.

"It's ready, everyone!" Ana announced.

"Ha-ha, excellent!" Reinhardt laughed. "Let's dig in!"

Amos and Ana distributed the meat loaf servings, and in seconds, the agents were hungrily devouring the delicacies before them. Per his usual routine, Amos took his serving and prepared to slip away to his room.

"Where are you off to?" Ana abruptly asked him. "This is your dish. You should share it with us."

"Yeah! Come join us, love!" Tracer added. Half of her serving was already gone. "You guys did great, by the way! This is fantastic!"

Amos shook his head with a sigh and prepared to leave again.

"I agree!" Winston chimed in, prompting Amos to stop. "This might actually get Athena to stop bothering me about my nutritional intake for once!"

"Hey, uh," Tina spoke up, holding out a plate filled only with scattered crumbs. "You got seconds?"

Even Reinhardt seemed to approve, throwing his fist in the air. "This is the meat of champions!"

Genji was eating noticeably less—likely due to the composition of his body—but he nonetheless gave Amos a thumbs-up sign.

"See?" Ana smiled, placing a hand on Amos' shoulder. "We're all friends here. Come celebrate your skills with us."

But Amos winced nervously. One or two compliments would have simply rolled off of his back; a compliment from everyone present was something else. He could feel a bit of heat in his face, which only intensified when he saw how readily the crew helped themselves to what he had helped to make.

Before he could finalize a decision, Ana was already dragging him to a spot at the table beside Tracer. Amos had a sneaking suspicion that they had planned it this way, especially when Tracer turned to him with a massive grin on her face and crumbs stuck to her lips.

"This stuff is bloody brilliant!" she declared. She threw her free arm around his shoulders and pulled him into as tight a hug as she could manage. "I knew you'd be great!"

Amos' face was starting to feel like the sun he and Genji often enjoyed watching, which he took as a cue to finally remove his helmet and actually eat. The loaf did taste delicious, and the praise his comrades were suddenly determined to heap on him somehow made all of his and Ana's efforts seem worth it. There were now smiles where there were once suspicious glares. There was now encouragement where there had once been dismissal.

It felt good.

"Hey, Amos?" Tracer hissed in his ear while Reinhardt's raucous voice took up most of the table's conversation. "Could I say something real quick?"

The Talon grunt, given the food in his mouth, simply shrugged. Tracer evidently took it as an affirmative.

"I just want to say I'm sorry again," she began. "You've had a really rough start here, and we weren't doing much to make it better…especially me."

The rate of Amos' chewing slowed down somewhat. Most of the group failed to notice, being distracted by Reinhardt and Tina's competition of who can down their beverage of choice the fastest. Tracer's typical grin returned, as did the increased volume in her voice.

"Thanks for helping make this, Amos!" she chirped. "It's really good!"

"Tracer...you've said that, what, five times, now?" Amos sighed.

"It bears repeating," Ana assured him. "I think our dish turned out quite well."

"How come we're still not on a first-name basis, love?" Tracer asked. "You're really one of us, now."

"I-I mean…a lot of you have been heroes of mine since I was little," Amos explained. "Calling you all by your first names like we're friends just…feels weird."

"There's no more need for formalities at this point," Winston smiled. "Like Lena said, you're part of our family."

"How true," Ana nodded. "Maybe when we get some more funding, we can get you a new uniform to look the part? It's past time you left Talon behind you, anyway."

A few months ago, Amos would have agreed wholeheartedly. A few months ago, Amos would have been thrilled to be fully accepted as a member of Overwatch's eclectic family. But, today, he just gave a half-hearted nod. Today, a small voice from the back of his mind whispered warningly to him.

How long will this last?

These people had led him on before. Tracer had donned the mask of a supportive friend to learn of his weakness for Widowmaker, then used that confidential information to rip his heart asunder. Ana had wormed her way into his good graces just long enough to stamp him and the compassion she had just praised beneath her heel, and given their conversation in the kitchen, she was more than willing to keep doing so for his "benefit". Genji had been supportive, but his knowledge of private conversation topics gave Amos pause for thought. What about Winston? How long did he plan on being Amos' most consistent advocate? How soon did the ape plan on destroying him?

And then there was the most important concern: what was going to happen to Widowmaker—to Amélie—if Amos stayed in Overwatch? Her situation was a clear grey area, yet the entirety of Overwatch was blind to it. Winston was the only one who didn't know that the blue-skinned sniper was the apple of Amos' eye; what if he found out? That knowledge had turned Tracer against him, and Ana had also made sure to exploit it. Both were dead set on killing Amélie if it meant protecting the average citizen, and if Winston didn't see the need to try and lessen the widow's suffering, then—

Wait a minute.

Of course Winston would kill Amélie if he thought he had to. That was what he planned to do with Omnirex, someone who also wasn't in complete control of his actions. The idea of the gorilla's Tesla Cannon serving as an electric chair was disturbingly easy to imagine.

Ana was right about one thing; Overwatch was not made up of heroes. It was built from soldiers, iron-hearted warriors who killed and died for the express purpose of protecting the people. After all, the enemy was the enemy. There was no time or place for empathy, no reason to look beyond the cut-and-dried.

Overwatch would not save Amélie. She didn't need a soldier, she needed a hero. If she couldn't free herself from Talon's thrall, she needed a knight in shining armor to offer a hand.

Unfortunately, her only option was Amos Clemens, her squire in rusty and heavily-dented armor. He would have to suffice.

A thunderous clap snapped Amos back to reality as Reinhardt's lion-themed mug dramatically slammed onto the table, drained of whatever drink it once held. Tina's mug followed suit, though the impact spilled out some of its contents.

"You cheated!" the street urchin panted. She had apparently held her breath while trying to out-drink the Crusader.

"This old dog still knows a few tricks!" Reinhardt said proudly. "I will not be bested so easily, little one!"

"Gimme another round!" Tina snapped. "I'll put you under the damn table this time!"

"I suggest you put your competition on hold," Athena interjected from the wall-mounted speakers. "Sightings of a black-colored Omnic are coming from Russia."

Tracer's eyes went wide. "It's Eli."

"Or one of his soldiers," Winston added. "Either way, it's worth investigating."

"Last one there has to clean up here instead!" Tracer called before buzzing off like a shot.

The rest of the crew took that as their cue to leave. A half-drunk Tina stumbled out first, Genji dashed out second, and Winston lumbering out third. Ana and Amos exchanged glances, with the former making an "after you" gesture. The Talon grunt shrugged and left, going at a significantly slower pace than his racing comrades.

"Sorry, Reinhardt," Ana smiled. "Guess that leaves you on dish duty."

"What?" Reinhardt sputtered. "I must defeat that monstrous Omnic for the glory of my mas—"

A sleep dart found its way into his arm, sending the knight off to the land of dreams.

"Settle down, old man," Ana shook her head. "Going so gung-ho in Russia will cause more problems than it will solve."

With that, she left her fellow founder behind as she made her way to the hangar.

A short time later, the Orca touched down in the snows of Russia, just outside the sprawling company known as Volskaya Industries. Cold air swept through the ship the second the door was opened. Amos huddled himself, shivering. Never had he been so thankful to Widowmaker for pulling some strings and getting him permission to wear a shirt with longer sleeves than the other grunts.

"I shouldn't overstay my welcome," Ana mentioned. "I'm probably still on the watch list here."

"Ha! Not so much a goody two-shoes after all, are you, hag?" Tina snorted.

"It's not even remotely like that," Ana sighed. "Even during the Omnic Crisis, Russia has consistently refused Overwatch's aid. They did manage to fight off the Omnics on their own, but…things are different now."

"How so?" Genji spoke up.

Ana shot a quick glance to Amos before continuing.

"Not long ago, Talon tried to assassinate Volskaya's CEO, Katya Volskaya," she explained. "They failed, but I've heard tell that Volskaya hasn't forgotten. Security has doubled since the attack. For this mission, we'll need to tread lightly; Russia has never taken kindly to the thought of needing help."

"Good to know," Winston nodded.

Amos raised his hand. "Uh…can I join you all in a minute or two? I've, uh…my phone's been bugging me about something the whole way up."

Genji turned his head suspiciously, but said nothing.

"Sure. Just try and deal with it quickly, all right?" Winston advised. "It's best if we all stick together as a group."

The crew, sans Amos, headed outside. The Talon grunt waited a few moments, watching his teammates' fading backs, before stepping out the door as well. The team passed by a massive library on the way to Volskaya Industries, but Amos ducked inside it. He took a second to look around, making sure no one—not even Athena—was listening.

Then, he put a finger to his helmet's communicator.