When Brigitte wakes the next morning, she can't quite remember how she got to bed. She sits up, feeling a dull ache in her scalp. When she reaches up she feels that her hair is still in its ponytail; she must have fallen asleep during the movie. Which means that Reinhardt must have carried her to bed.
That's...kind of embarrassing. She hasn't done that since she was a child! She normally has no problem staying up late-usually outpacing Reinhardt in that department-but perhaps she's still catching up on the sleep she missed earlier that week. Oh well, if she gets a little extra ribbing from about it she'll remind him about the time she found him asleep at the kitchen table. She rolls out of bed, tugging her hair out of its tie and rubbing the soreness out of her scalp.
Brigitte takes pity on Reinhardt and only chooses Bäckerei-Bar once out of the next four evenings, sticking with their usual bar haunts except for on Sunday when they stay in and she makes some passable stir-fry. That night, which is their usual movie night she chooses To Kill a Murderer as a counter to Reinhardt's exceptionally dull romance of the night before.
"Are they even trying anymore with these movies?" The knight laments as soon as he sees the title. He then goes into a rant about the declining quality of the film industry in general, starting with the less-than-inspired directors who title their films such, and- she tunes him out. She doesn't care what he says, true crime is way more interesting than romance. Besides, she's heard good things about this movie, he'll see!
In the end, after a surprising twist in the last five minutes of the film, Reinhardt is forced to concede that the movie did perhaps have a better plot than he thought it would have.
On the final night of her dinner selections, they find themselves back in Schwartz Taverne . Brigitte is nursing a sore ear; she thinks that maybe she should invest in a helmet for their sparring at some point. Usually the arm and leg pads are enough, but they've switched from grappling back to dueling-style martial arts. Reinhardt likes to cycle through different forms of training weekly, "to keep the muscles confused" and make them stronger. This week their sparring sessions include the use of padded kali sticks and shields, and she hadn't been quick enough to block Reinhardt's kali when he struck.
Ella already has their usual drinks poured by the time they make it up to the bar, and she leans in when they take a seat.
"Evening, you two." She greets, sliding the drinks to them. "Before you get to ordering, I have something I'm supposed to give you, Reinhardt." She reaches beneath the bar, pulling out a cream-covered envelope. "Fella came in about two days ago looking for you, I said I'd pass it on."
Reinhardt takes the envelope, turning it over in his hands. He opts not to open it, instead passing it to Brigitte, who does the same. She even holds it up to the light to see if she can read what's inside, but the paper is too thick.
"What did this man look like?" The knight asks, clasping his hands around his drink.
"Oh, pretty average sort. Older, white-haired, kinda short. Seemed like he might be a farmer." Ella shrugs.
"Did he give a name?" Brigitte wants to know; the description doesn't sound like anyone they should know. She turns the creamy paper over in her hands, thumbs its pointed corners. Letters are unusual; hardly anyone uses paper post anymore when email is so much more efficient.
"'Fraid not." Ella sighs. "I should've asked."
Reinhardt waves a hand dismissively. "No matter, Ella. Thank you for carrying the message." Brigitte hands him back the envelope, which he tucks inside his jacket. They will open it together later, away from curious eyes.
They order their entrees and Reinhardt becomes distracted by the football game playing on the bar's television, but Brigitte is sidetracked by her own thoughts. She's very curious about the letter. If it were up to her she would have driven them back home right away to open it, but she must be patient. As she chews on an onion tart her mind races, thinking of all the possible things that could be inside it.
A letter from Artur? No, unlikely. He and Reinhardt had each other's information now, they could email or holo-call if they wanted to talk. Is there something dangerous in the envelope? She remembers back in not-so-distant history when people were killed with biological agents that were passed by letters. Reinhardt was a member of Overwatch and it was no secret in this little town, though all the locals seemed content to keep the information to themselves. No, tech-bombs were the warfare of choice now against important officials. Easy to deploy remotely, difficult (nigh impossible) to track, and very deadly. Maybe it was a love letter?
She had to cover her mouth to stifle a giggle. Yes, that was possible. It wouldn't be the first time either. Reinhardt had been very popular after his time with the Crusaders, and even after the fall of Overwatch. Maybe that old guy had been a soldier he had saved during the war, or a relative of someone he'd saved! Or maybe just a run of the mill pervy old man. If so such a suitor would surely be disappointed; as far as she could tell Reinhardt wasn't looking for a relationship with a ma-or anyone else.
Brigitte abandons her train of thought as their meal arrives. She will only drive herself crazy with the possibilities if she thinks any longer; better to just enjoy the food and the company. She tucks into her Spätzle with gusto and joins the rest of the bar in watching Die Mannschaft play South Korea.
"That was a close game." She remarks as they head out the door of the tavern and climb into their car. "I'm glad they were able to pull out the win, I think Ella might have had a heart attack if they hadn't." Reinhardt laughs in agreement, as if he weren't being almost as dramatic as the barmaid back there.
On the way home with nothing to distract her from it anymore, Brigitte gives in to her curiosity. "So...what do you think is in the letter?"
The knight is silent, mulling it over. "I am not sure."
"I bet it's a looooove letter ." She jokes, reaching over to poke him for emphasis on the last two words. He bats her hand away. "C'mon what if some old guy has the hots for you!"
"I think not." He grunts, and she can see his expression wrinkle in distaste. Solid no on that front then. "But if you get us home faster, we will be able to find out!"
She speeds the rest of the way back, much to his chagrin.
When they get inside, she holds her hand out, beckoning for the envelope. "I want to take it to my workshop to open it. You know, make sure it's not dangerous." He hands it over, rolling his eyes a little bit as he does.
"I do not think-" he begins, but she takes off downstairs and doesn't hear the rest.
Once inside her studio she squishes the paper between her fingers, testing it. It doesn't feel like there's anything in it beyond, well, more paper. To be safe she slides it into her hydraulic press and clamps down on it for a few seconds. When she releases the the pressure the letter remains undamaged. Reinhardt is watching her from the door, shaking his head a little at her antics.
"I'm going to open it, okay?" She asks, sliding on a pair of cut-resistant gloves and picking up a box cutter. As an afterthought she adds the extra protection of her welding shield, that way at least she won't inhale anything funny. She slides the knife under the lip of the envelope, slicing cleanly through the creamy paper and then shaking the contents out onto the floor. A folded letter flutters to the ground, and that's it. No explosions, no puff of strange dust, no freaky nude photos.
"Well, I guess it's okay then." She shrugs, handing him the letter and envelope. He remarks that her overzealousness reminds him of her father, and then sets to reading. It takes everything in her to not climb onto his back and read it over his shoulder.
"We have a request." He says once he is finished, and hands her the letter to read for herself.
A request, eh?
Back before the Overwatch recall they had traveled the European countryside mopping up local crime and generally helping where they could. They had even set up a contact system where people could request their assistance; whether it be stopping vandals, retrieving stolen property, or rounding up loosed pigs ( that had been a memorable mission); there were not many requests they turned down. Usually the solicitations came via email, where they had set up a special address for such a purpose. But once Reinhardt had been called back into active duty they had purged that account and shut it all down. He would be too busy to take on such things anymore after all.
She looks down at the rows of surprisingly neat handwriting, scanning the letter quickly.
The request comes from a man in east Germany who has has a collection of expensive farming equipment and antiques. He has been having trouble lately with thieves stealing his equipment at night, and wants their help in apprehending the looters. If they choose to help, their reimbursement will be significant (about which she cares little; they don't do this for the reward), and he would like to hear back from them as soon as possible. His contact info is included in the letter as well as his name: Andreas Mayer.
Brigitte looks up at him once she finishes reading. "A mission?" She hands him back the letter. "Well, you're not taking any requests now. You'll be back with Overwatch in three weeks." At his pensive expression, she balks. "You're not thinking of taking it, are you?"
The knight runs a hand through his hair. "Well…" he hems, finding the words. "Overwatch does not have a planned mission anytime soon. Winston and Athena are still trying to locate many of the former members, as well as recruit new ones. I think it will be some time before I receive any official assignments." He taps the papers against his palm. "And this Andreas went to a lot of trouble to seek our help."
Brigitte isn't sure how to feel about this. "Well, what if Winston needs us early? He only gave that extra time so that people like Dr. Ziegler could wrap up their work outside Overwatch." She argues further, "And isn't it a little weird that he came searching for us , instead of calling the police?"
Reinhardt frowns. "That is a little strange. But perhaps this man is one of those people who distrusts law enforcement." That is certainly plausible. The public opinion on enforcers was at an all-time low, after all. The knight sighs tiredly. "Well, I do not think it would hurt to give him a call at least."
It's obvious that this Andreas has impressed him by the lengths he went to to procure their services. It speaks of a certain dogged determination-or else perhaps desperation.
Brigitte follows him as he makes his way upstairs, stops him with a hand on his shoulder before he can disappear into his room. "Whatever you decide to do, I'm there." She wants him to know that despite her doubts she will back him up completely. Even if she doesn't always trust his judgement, she trusts that he will be completely transparent with her. She also trusts that she'll be there to get him out of any sticky situation he gets himself into.
He gives her a small smile, wraps one arm around her in a tight side-hug that she leans into.
"I know, Shildlein ."