As he gets ready to go to the supermarket, Reinhardt realizes that he still doesn't have a change of clothes. He has forgotten to retrieve the spare shirts from wherever they've been stashed in the med bay, and hasn't had time to wash his own clothes in the ensuing mess of their arrival. Adding clothing to the list, he thinks this shopping trip may become more involved than he originally planned. If he's going to make a production of it, he might as well ask his teammates if they would like to come along.
He bypasses Winston, as the scientist rarely makes public appearances. It's no surprise as to why; he's legendary as a member of Overwatch and it's hard to find a disguise for a giant talking gorilla. He finds Lena and Lúcio in the rec room watching a program on the TV. When he asks, they both agree to join with surprising alacrity.
"You're going to be doing those amazing fry-ups in the morning again, aren't you?" Lena asks excitedly, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "I really missed those!"
"Man, if someone is cooking I will gladly do dishes." Lúcio declares.
"Certainly! If there are people willing to eat, I am willing to cook!" Reinhardt laughs. It will be nice to have such fellowship again.
They head to the hangar where all the vehicles are stored. In between the monstrous MV-261 Orca and now-refueled OSS-7 Aurora sits three nondescript vehicles; a truck and two vans painted a forgettable white. Lena hops into the driver's seat of the truck while Lúcio is sandwiched between her and Reinhardt, who takes the passenger's seat.
"Winston and I got this one running." She says proudly, turning it on. "We...haven't exactly checked the others yet. Took a few tries to get this one started up, and we've been more concerned about making sure the aircraft are in working order." Reinhardt isn't surprised; it has been many years since any of these vehicles have been used. It's just one more thing to add to the long list of things to do to get the Watchpoint fully functional again.
The ride into town is wonderfully smooth. Though the winding back road from the Watchpoint to the main road is woefully overgrown, it matters little with the repulsors keeping them a comfortable foot and a half from the ground. There is a rusty gate that guards the exit to a side road that leads into town; the keys on the number pad are so stiff from disuse that it takes the strength of both Reinhardt's hands to loosen them.
When they get into town Reinhard is disappointed to see that the local mercado he so faithfully frequented no longer exists. In its place is a sprawling chain market that has virtually eaten the whole block. Unfortunate, but the store is also a hypermarket, so he won't need to make another stop for clothes.
They split up as soon as they enter the store. Reinhardt takes a cart while the other two use only small baskets. They've agreed that they're less conspicuous when they're separated; Lena disguises her chronal accelerator with a hoodie while Lúcio wears his hair down and a long-sleeved shirt to hide his tattoo. Reinhardt has no disguise, but he reluctantly takes the hair tie Lúcio offers him and sweeps his hair back into a ponytail. It's paltry camouflage at best, but he finds that many people avoid the direct gaze of a man of his stature.
By the time they meet in the bakery department, Reinhardt's cart is groaning under the weight of his supplies. Lúcio gapes a little at the mounds of food and drink there, but Lena only giggles. "Get enough, did ya?" She chirps as they shuffle through the self-checkout line.
"Hah, this will last us barely a week!" He replies. Once the other agents arrive, they will have to look into the prospect of discrete deliveries of bulk staples.
They slog through the line and drag the groceries into the car. As they start the journey home, Reinhardt tucks into a premade sandwich. With nothing but a little coffee in his system he's starving, and he has a lot of cooking to do today.
"Did you two get the email Winston sent this morning?" Lena asks conversationally as they take the winding road out of the city. Lúcio nods in acknowledgement, but Reinhardt shakes his head, mouth full of food. He's been remiss in checking his inbox; he really needs to get back into that habit.
"Don't worry about it." Lena says breezily. "He just wants is to get together tonight in the briefing room, seven o'clock. Pretty sure he just wants to go over what happened last night so we're all on the same page. I have to say, I am pretty curious to hear what you two were up to!"
Reinhardt frowns around his meal. He would have expected that Winston would have shared his report with them all.
Lena can evidently read his mind, because she chirps, "Don't worry about telling us now. I think the big guy and Athena are working on tying up some loose ends before we talk tonight. You know how Winston can be!"
Winston is a scientist, first and foremost. He likes to know as much information that he can, dissect every piece of it and then formulate his own hypotheses before presenting them before everyone. He wants to make sure that he has answers, or at least educated guesses to the questions that will no doubt be posed tonight. He, like Reinhardt, is probably dissatisfied with the ambiguity of the situation, but Winston is far better at extrapolating with little data.
Lúcio and Lena both help him load the fridge when they make it back; a feat that takes less time than anticipated when they snag a utility cart from the hangar. It's fortunate that he has them, because now he must spend the next few hours cooking before the meeting.
He gives Lúcio a packaged salad meant for Angela, and he and Lena spend time chopping vegetables and meat. She's used to assisting him in the kitchen; many times they would stand here side-by-side and listen to the rolling banter of Jesse and Liao as they argued over whose turn it was to do the dishes. How long ago that seems, and yet he feels like he could turn his head and see them there now. Reinhardt gives his head a little shake, dispelling the ghosts.
Right now he's preparing chicken noodle soup for Brigitte, and some sesame chicken for the team. Easy meals that please most palates. By the time he is halfway through cooking the evening meal, the smell of sizzling meat and spices has attracted Winston as well.
"Winston!" He greets the scientist with a jaunty wave of his spatula, "Good to see you out and about! Care to join us for dinner?"
Winston knuckles his way into the kitchen, sniffing interestedly at the pan. "What are you making?"
"Sesame chicken! Unfried, if Angela asks." He tries to find a happy medium for all their teammates.
"Hmm.." Winston hums thoughtfully, shifting out of the way as Lena brings over a cutting board full of chopped broccoli.
"If it is not to your taste, I think there is something in the cupboard that might strike your fancy." Reinhardt knows that in the past the scientist has preferred to take his meals alone. Perhaps these isolated years at the Watchpoint have changed him though.
Winston opens the largest cabinet and grunts in surprise. "Peanut butter? Chunky and smooth? Thank you Reinhardt!"
" Aaand honey-infused…" Lena sing-songs, trying to entice the scientist into staying. Reinhardt hears Winston blow out an amused breath.
"Maybe later. I still have a few things to run by Athena before the meeting tonight. See you all there!" He leaves the jar of peanut butter on the shelf, though behind his back Lena mouths he'll be back.
The dinner is done by four, three whole hours before the meeting. It's a bit early for a meal, but Lúcio insists that food is best served hot and fresh, so the three of them sit down together to eat.
"Man…" Lúcio swoons over his first mouthful. "I stand by what I said. I will do dishes forever as long as you keep cooking!" Next to him Lena nods her agreement. True to his word, the young man merrily washes their dinnerware and scrubs the pots and pans while Lena dries them.
After packing up the leftovers, Reinhardt ladles up a large bowl of soup and some thinly-sliced bread to take to Brigitte. He is sure that she must be hungry; she's had nothing but that protein bar for almost a day. When he gets to the med bay he walks in to find Dr. Ziegler's desk empty. The remains of a salad are stacked neatly there, evidence that she has been there recently. When he goes into the bay of patient beds he finds her there, waiting just outside the restroom.
"Oh, how thoughtful!" She exclaims at the sight of his laden tray. "Just put it on that table. Brigitte will be out in a moment."
He sets the food on the overbed table, arranging it neatly as he waits. He feels slightly awkward; he isn't sure Brigitte will want him here to see her traipsing to and from the bathroom. Before he can make up his mind to stay or go however, Angela raps gently on the closed door.
"Are you doing alright in there, Brigitte?" She calls softly, ear pressed against the wood. Reinhardt can't hear a reply, but evidently she can. She cracks the door slightly peering in. "Do you need any help getting out here?"
"No...I think I'm okay." The sound of Brigitte's voice-still weaker than he would like yet firm-fills him with warmth. The bathroom door creaks open and his squire shuffles out slowly, Angela hovering just behind her.
He can see why. Her gait is unsteady, her arms held out to aid in her balance. Surely the head injury has messed with her sense of equilibrium. His first instinct is to rush forward and hold her under the arms, as if she were a child learning to walk. He resists it though, as he would definitely end up with an elbow in his gut. She is fiercely independent; a Lindholm . So instead he walks forward and offers his arm; a gentlemanly gesture. She has the choice to accept his help, or refuse.
After a moment's pause, she loops her own arm through his, leaning on him more heavily than he anticipated; more evidence that this injury has sapped her strength prodigiously. The guilt nibbles at him again, its teeth have grown sharper. He helps her settle back into her bed, raising the head of it upright so she can eat.
"Did you make this?" Brigitte asks, blowing gingerly on a steaming spoonful.
"Of course!" He exclaims, then, more conspiratorially, "No one else on this rock knows how to-its a wonder they survived all these years."
She laughs, which turns into a sort of pained half-cough. "Oh, ow. Hurts to smile." She eats a couple spoonfuls of soup, before remarking thoughtfully, "Actually, it hurts to do anything. But, try not to make me laugh for a few days, okay?" He can tell by the light in her eyes that she is at least partially joking. But he vows to not bring more pain upon her, swearing it to her dramatically with his hand over his heart.
By the time she finishes her food she looks sleepy again. "Why am I so tired?" She mutters grumpily, stifling a yawn. "I've been sleeping all day!"
Angela bustles over, another syringe of medication in her hand.
"Your body is healing itself, which requires a lot of energy." She says, emptying the syringe into the IV line. "I suspect you may be quite tired for a few days." She lowers the head of the bed back down and dims the lights in the bay. "Get some more rest. I will wake you in a few hours to do another scan."
As Reinhardt gathers up the dishes to go, he feels a gentle tugging on his pant leg.
"You haven't told my dad about this, have you?" Brigitte asks sleepily.
Oh. That was something he hadn't even considered. Why had he not thought of it until now? He should have informed his friend immediately!
"No, not yet. I can call him after this though, if you wish." He says.
"Don't." Her voice is insistent, a little urgent. "Please, don't tell him."
She doesn't want him to know?
"Why is that?" He asks, confused. She's Torbjörn's daughter-wouldn't she want to know if it were he who were injured?
"Ugh, because he'll just get all worked up about it." She wrinkles her nose in distaste. "He likes to worry, if you didn't already know."
He does know. Torbjörn is legendary for many things, one of them being his pragmatic, if somewhat pessimistic viewpoints. While this was useful during the war for keeping Overwatch one step ahead of the omnics, the flip side was that he tended to worry over things, turning them mentally over and over, searching for flaws in a way that occasionally tended towards obsessive. Torbjörn knew as well as he did some of the outcomes of people with head wounds like Brigitte's; he would undoubtedly worry over her and anticipate the worst.
"I will let you be the one to tell him." He acquiesces, and her expression relaxes.
"Thanks, Reinhardt. I'll tell him when he gets here, or whenever my face looks less messed up. Whichever comes first." She yawns widely, nestling back into her covers. "Visit me tomorrow?"
He reaches for her hand, which relinquishes its grip on her blankets. As he holds it, he notices how long her fingers are. They used to be so small; now their hands fit well together. When did that happen?
"Count on it, Shildlein ."
The visit has taken him to two hours before the meeting, and he is in desperate need of a shower. When he sees himself in the bathroom mirror, he grimaces at how haggard and unkempt he looks. He rubs a hand across his cheek, feeling the rasp of stubble. Well, his newly-purchased razor will take care of that soon.
Stepping into the hot shower, he can feel his muscles practically sigh in relief. The water pressure is blissfully strong here, and the pounding spray is nearly as good as a massage on his aching body. He takes a few minutes to bask in the sensation as the tension bleeds from him, before he sets to work.
By the time he's done, he feels like a new man. Groomed, clean and warm he feels like he could retire to bed now and sleep for twelve hours straight, but he has only an hour and a half before the meeting.
Well, just an hour of rest wouldn't hurt, would it?
He sets an alarm on his holopad for thirty minutes before the meeting and retires to his bunk. Sleep is instantaneous, and deep; pure unconsciousness. He drifts for what feels like no time at all, before-
"Reminder: Meeting in the briefing room at 7, it is 6:50 now." Athena's voice, cool and feminine rings out from his computer, slicing through the haze of sleep. Did he turn off his alarm without even knowing?
"Thank you, Athena." He groans, rolling out of bed. The nap has done nothing except remind him how deep his exhaustion runs. Hopefully this discussion can be wrapped up quickly. He departs his room at a brisk walk.
At seven o'clock on the dot they've all gathered in the briefing room except for Angela who joins them via holo-call. Understandably the doctor doesn't want to leave her sleeping patient.
Winston pulls up his holopad and clears his throat.
"Uh, good evening everyone. Just a little housekeeping before we get to the main topic. As you're aware, I have given agents on the outside another 2 weeks before they return to active duty. Athena and I have been recruiting since the recall, and you've already met our newest member, Lúcio." He gestures to the DJ who gives a little bow in his seat. "He arrived, uh, a little earlier than I expected, but we're very glad to have him." Winston taps his pad, as though crossing something off the list.
"Agents McCree and Tracer have already re-entered active duty. McCree is currently in America taking care of some personal business. While he's there I've asked him to look in on a few things." Reinhardt waits for Winston to clarify, but he doesn't. "Tracer and I investigated some questionable activity around the Gallery last week and managed to foil a plot by Talon. It appears they were after Doomfist's gauntlet."
He is calling that housekeeping?!
"An attack by Talon?" Reinhardt can't stop himself from exclaiming, " Why am I only hearing of it now?"
"That is rather important." Angela pipes up, frowning.
"Well, uh,-" Winston gulps, looking flustered. "It was only a rumor. We didn't have much time to act. And besides, they didn't manage to take anything!"
Reinhardt appeals to Lena. "Who did you fight? When did they strike? If Talon is making moves-"
She reaches out to him, patting him reassuringly on the arm. "Relax, big guy. Athena picked up on chatter about more activity than usual surrounding the Gallery, and we went to check it out. No harm done." She gestures to Winston. "Besides, he punched the living daylights out of the Reaper. And we moved the gauntlet to a more secure location."
"Whose idea it was to keep that powerful artifact in a public museum, I do not know." Reinhardt shakes his head. This is all happening too quickly. An attack on the Watchpoint prompting the recall, then an attack on the Gallery and the theft at Andreas's farm by an unknown organization? Something is brewing.
"Uh...anyway," Winston continues hesitantly, "Most of the recalled agents are expected to check in within the next two weeks. At that time we'll discuss plans to reactivate old bases."
Winston puts down the holopad and folds his hands on the table. "Finally, we're here tonight to discuss the incident from yesterday. Reinhardt?"
Reinhardt launches into his tale, starts from the beginning, including the letter and the little background he knows of Andreas and his forbidden hoard. When he gets to the part about the teleporter, Lúcio perks up.
"I did not see it myself, but Brigitte said they had a teleporter somewhere back in the forest, which is how they arrived. They were transporting the omnics through a second teleporter to an unknown location."
"That has to be Vishkar." Lúcio hisses the name like a curse.
"What would the Vishkar Corporation want with old war machines?" Lena asks, confused.
"It's too early to speculate." Winston interrupts the burgeoning discussion. "Was there anything else, Reinhardt?"
Reinhardt thinks back, trying to see if there is anything that had jumped out to him. At last, he shakes his head. "No. After we drove them away I called you. Once we arrived here I told Andreas to not go back there until we came and gave the all clear-there is still a chance that they've left some clue behind."
Unfortunately they've lost a whole day. Any evidence that remains could be being swept away by someone as they speak. Evidently Winston has the same thought.
"I think we need to go out there and do some investigating. That kind of organized thievery makes me think that someone much bigger could be pulling the strings." The scientist crosses his arms and rubs his chin, thinking. "I've had Athena run some background on Andreas Mayer; after your correspondence I thought we might be able to dig into his background but she didn't find much. Not even evidence that he had a child. What did he say his son's name was?"
"He didn't." And Reinhardt hadn't thought to ask. "I will send him a message; hopefully he will respond."
"If he doesn't, then I guess you have your answer as to whether or not this was some kind of setup." Lena remarks, and Reinhardt nods in agreement.
"Does anyone else have something to add?" Winston asks when silence falls around the table. They look around, but no one else seems to have much to say.
"Okay then. Tomorrow morning I want to send you three-" He points a thick finger at Lena, Lúcio and Reinhardt, "-back to the site. Just look for anything you think is suspicious. Take pictures if you can, and upload them to Athena. If you even think things are about to get dangerous, abort the mission and come back."
"What do you want us to do with the omnics, if they are there?" Reinhardt asks. This is probably the most important part of the mission to him; moving them to a secure location, or destroying them.
"Bring one back, if you can. The rest you can scrap. It's too dangerous to leave them lying around when we know people are after them." Winston picks up his holopad and taps another thing off his list.
"Right. Before we end, I just want to say something." He clears his throat, straightening up in his seat.
"Thank you everyone, for being so quick to answer my call. I know that you all have lives and family outside of Overwatch and it must be difficult to leave that behind, especially now. We're not exactly welcomed by the public anymore but we're going to be needed, and soon." He takes a quick glance at his pad. "I know you must have been watching the news; there's unrest stirring in Russia. They've had a lot of omnic attacks, and the death toll is rising. I've had contact with soldiers in the Russian Defense Forces; not everyone has been willing to talk but I have one who has been honest with me about how conditions are there. We need to be ready to intervene, even though it's likely we won't receive a warm welcome when we do." He sighs slightly and pushes up his glasses. "I suppose what I'm trying to say is: there's a lot of work that needs to be done, and we'll have to do it quickly. But there's no other group of people I'd rather be with taking this on with, and I think, uh, that we'll be very-very successful." With the end of his speech, he sets his pad down on the table and shifts in his seat, seeming slightly discomfited.
"Aww, thanks big guy. We're glad to be back!" Lena leaves her chair to give Winston in a hug, while the rest of them murmur their approval. Her arms neatly encircle his head, and he reaches around to pat her shoulder.
It is good to be back, though he wishes the circumstances had been slightly different. Leaving the briefing room fills him with bittersweet nostalgia. How much changes, yet stays the same.
Winston's no Jack Morrison, but he thinks in time he could be close.
When he retires to his room that night his mind is full again. Worries about Brigitte have finally taken a backseat to something else: thoughts about the situation in Russia. Is there any link to Talon's activities and the trouble brewing there? He had of course seen the news; the re-activation of the omnium had been big news, and while hypotheses abounded as to the reasons behind it, up til now the reason hadn't mattered. What they did know was that Russia had cranked up production of their Svyatogors in response, and that the battle raged on. It was sad, really. News of deaths in Russia didn't even make the front page anymore; the media everywhere stated that Russia had the situation well in hand, though Reinhardt had privately thought differently. There had been no outcry for aid though, and he had plenty of requests to keep him busy in the eastern part of the country for the last while. He should've looked into it more.
Well, that was the past. Perhaps Winston would give him the contact info for their informant in Russia; he would surely like to know firsthand what they had witnessed. When Torbjörn finally arrived he would sit down with him and Brigitte, and together they could discuss these things. Those two more than any other agents would be able to understand the capabilities of the Russian's Svyatogors.
He takes a deep breath as he lays in bed, feeling the ache of exhaustion in his bones, the pull of sleep like quicksand slowing his mind. He was still getting too far ahead of himself. There was much to be done before they could intervene in Russia. The other agents had to arrive, they had to run drills, practice missions, tune up their equipment, revamp their communications…Brigitte had to heal…
Sleep cocoons him, obliterating all thought.