Tuesday. Four days after Winston's announcement, it's a glorious day, for Dr. Ziegler has finally cleared Brigitte for regular duty.
The scans all show her fracture is fully healed, no sign of blood in her brain and the bullet graze is only a pink scar now.
"I've said it before, but the speed at which you healed is quite remarkable." Angela says as she inspects Brigitte's head, cool fingers pressing gently at her temples and crown. "No pain?"
"Nope!" In fact, Brigitte feels completely normal.
She almost floats into the kitchen for breakfast, and hums her way through her oatmeal and eggs. When Reinhardt asks her if she's feeling okay, her only answer is an enthusiastic grin and an invitation for him to join her in the weight room today.
"You've been cleared?" he asks, face lighting up in answer to her own excitement.
"Yep!" she says, "which means we can get back to training full-strength!" She has missed it terribly. Getting back into sparring and lifting has been one of the things she's looked forward to most.
They plan to meet in the weight room that morning about an hour after breakfast, so their food has time to settle. In the down time she visits Lúcio, returning to him the speaker she had taken with her from the med bay.
"Thanks for this!" she says, handing it to him, "I've said it before but I think you're the reason I got better so quickly. I owe you one!"
"Oh, no, it ain't nothin'!" Lúcio flaps a hand, shrugging off the thanks. "You did all the healing, this just helped it along!"
She hangs out with him for a few minutes to talk about his music; she has been curious about the tune that had been playing on repeat while she was healing. Turns out, it's a song he composed himself, though she should have guessed as much. He is a voracious composer, spending much of his free time in his room creating.
The setup he has impresses her every time she sees it; the dark blue eggshell padding lining the walls and ceiling give it an almost cave-like feel. The green lights that adorn his turntables, speakers and even his headphones glow like bioluminescent algae, pulsing in time with the music that thrums ever-present in the background. It's completely, totally him.
This reminds her that she really should get something to personalize her room a little more…
After a nice chat Brigitte makes her way down to the weight room, feeling cheered. She throws open the door to see rows of dumbbells, the hulking frames of weight platforms, the gleam of Olympic bars resting on racks. The smell of iron predominates, undercurrented by the faintly medicinal tang of cleaning products.
She is home.
Reinhardt arrives as she is putting plates on the bars and moving equipment to set up for her usual circuit of exercises. He raises an eyebrow at the amount of weight she's loaded on the up.
"Are you certain you want to start so heavy?" he asks, "you have been away from here for awhile."
He's right of course, which sucks. She removes some plates reluctantly while he sets up his own, considerably heavier weights.
Reinhardt constantly has to remind her to go easy, lest she push her muscles too far. Grumbling, she drops to 60% of her prior capacity for each set; she doesn't want the soreness that is sure to follow to inhibit her workouts for several days after all. And Winston is planning a training sim this afternoon; she has to ensure she has enough energy for that.
After pushing herself through three sets of squats, shoulder presses, curls and bench presses she can already tell that she might have overdone it. Her muscles feel a bit like jello; when she pushes herself to finish the last two reps they quiver and quake, burning with exhaustion.
Normally she would do a set of four, dropping even more weight for the last set to do a total burnout and really ensure that she can't lift her arms the next morning, but she thinks she's already past that point.
"Man, I am really going to be feeling this tomorrow!" she complains good-naturedly as she racks her bar, rubbing her arms.
"I told you you should go easy," Reinhardt says, helping her up so she can spot him for his last set, "but did you listen to me?"
"I know, I know," she says, taking her spot at the head of the bench as he unracks the bar, "I just got a little carried away…"
She hovers overhead as he grunts his way through his set, ready to snatch the bar if he shows any signs of failure, but he pushes through. Instead of sitting back on her own bench, she starts re-racking her plates. Each movement feels a bit rusty, a sure sign that she's overdone it.
"I sure hope Winston goes easy on us today," she jokes, spraying down a hand towel liberally with disinfectant, "I don't think I'm going to make a good impression if I can't hold my shield up."
"Why? You don't need to be part of the simulations," Reinhardt says, confused. He begins to re-rack his own weights, used to doing only three sets.
"What? Yeah I do!" she says, wiping down her bench, "How else am I going learn to be a part of the team?" It seems pretty obvious to her that she has to be there.
"But...you aren't part of Overwatch," he says, and his voice sounds strange. He's watching her intently, and ends up spraying the disinfectant next to the towel instead of on it at first.
She's beginning to get confused. Surely her membership is just a technicality at this point; she hasn't ever actually formally asked to join after all, just assumed. As Reinhardt's squire, she would need to be a part of the organization so she could watch over him during missions.
"Fine," she retorts, "I'll go ask Winston now, and he'll put me into the system and then I'll be at the training sim this afternoon."
Reinhardt halts, partway through cleaning his own bench. "Winston isn't in charge of deciding who will join Overwatch. And besides, you aren't going to be a member." He says it in such an offhand manner, as though she is silly for even thinking she would be. That statement is so at odds with her expectations that she can't do anything but gape at him for a second. He thought she wasn't going to be a member?
"Uh, well he decided that Lúcio should join, so I don't see why he can't approve me as well," she responds, "and what do you mean I'm not going to be a member? "
She can see him realize that she is becoming upset.
"But...you are too young!" he says, dropping his ratty towel towel onto his bench and focusing completely on her, "and it is far too dangerous."
This is the first she's heard of an age limit for members. She's legally an adult, so why should there be any objection on that front? Not to mention, Lúcio can't be that much older than her!
What she's most irritated by is his last statement though, and that's where she focuses.
"Oh, it's dangerous?" she can't strip the sarcastic edge from her voice when she responds, "well, I guess that's it then. I've never been in dangerous situations before!" He frowns, disapproving of her tone but she continues. "I mean, really! How could you think that I wouldn't want to join? I've been in dangerous situations with you before-how am I going to watch your back if I'm not on the team?!"
Brigitte drops her towel in favor of putting both hands on her hips and staring him down. She can see them reflected in the mirrors; her posture aggressive, yet open. His relaxed, but wary. It's not a real fight - yet - and she hopes she can keep it from becoming one. She's pretty sure she knows exactly where his reluctance is stemming from before he even answers.
"I know you want to join." He says carefully. "But being a member of Overwatch is far different from anything you've faced before. There could be situations - no, it is very likely there will be situations as dangerous as the one we faced on Andreas's farm, if not more so!" He approaches her, hands held up pleadingly. "Besides, I'm sure your father would not approve."
Oh, that is the wrong thing to say. She has to bite her lip before she explodes, and takes a deep breath before responding. After everything that's happened she should have expected this attitude, but it still rankles.
"Reinhardt," she says, slowly and carefully, still tamping down on her anger. "With all due respect, neither you or my father should be able to choose this for me." There, that's coming out nice and even. "And I'm pretty sure you're saying all this because you're worried about me, but can't you see that I'm just as worried about you? We've been a team these last few years, and you've always trusted me. You've always supported me. Why not now?" She's proud of herself for holding in her temper. Though she and Reinhardt can both be quite, er...passionate about their beliefs, her reasoning in this has to make sense to him.
He stands at the weight rack, staring first at her, then at the floor, then at the room as though he's searching it for an answer.
Finally, he sighs.
"I just...don't want you to get hurt again."
Bingo.
"I know." She picks up her dropped towel, squeezing it in her hands. "But you can't prevent every outcome. I could just as easily leave Overwatch and get hurt in a-a machine accident while working or something. I know you want to protect me, but trust me to protect myself." She walk by him to head out the door back to her room, and flicks the towel out to snap perilously close to his stomach. "Besides, wouldn't you rather have me where you can keep an eye on me? There's no telling what I could get up to while you're away on missions!"
Reinhardt rolls his eyes at her and picks up his own towel again. "Just talk to your father about it before you go to Winston, Shildlein ."
She promises she will. Not only because she thinks Winston will want the input of both Reinhardt and her father before he approves her, but because she's going to keep to her word about talking to him when things happen.
Brigitte opts not to join in on the simulation that day. After lunch she finds the exhaustion that had plagued her when she was first recovering seems to have crept back minutely. It's nowhere near as bone-deep as before, but perhaps working out for the first time in forever has taxed her more than she knows. Disappointing, but she has to start somewhere.
Instead of joining them she goes to work in the shop. Her father had brought her shield prototype, but it's still in the mold. He has been using his workshop since he arrived, tweaking new additions to the turret system that he plans to install later in the week. This will be the first time that she has the whole place to herself, and she makes good use of it. Brigitte works for hours, pushing herself through her tiredness so she can have a majority of the work done before he is back.
By the time her father enters the room she has sandblasted most of the surface imperfections out of the metal and beaten it out of its slightly warped shape. She just needs to heat-treat it and add the particle field generators before she buffs the surface to a gleaming shine and inlays the lions-head crest that is now her trademark.
That will be work for another day though.
"Makin' a new shield are you?" Torbjörn says as she hangs the metal frame on a wall hook, "the old one not suitable anymore?"
"The old one's fine," she says, cleaning up her workstations, "just wanted to see if I could make the whole thing a little lighter."
He nods approvingly, inspecting the frame. "It's a good idea. Just don't forget to compensate for the weight when you install the crest. Too much of a load on the front end will skew it forward."
She nods along in agreement. She's already taken that into consideration; this crest is much thinner than the old one.
"Thanks Papa! Shop's all yours now," Brigitte waves goodbye to him and turns to go, only stopping to look back when he calls out to her.
"Say, can I get your help tomorrow with installing the new targeting system? I want to do some troubleshooting before I give it to Winston to patch through."
"Sure thing!"
Aside from liking to help her father, it doesn't hurt to get into his good graces before the discussion she plans on having with him tonight.
After a quick shower she joins everyone in setting up for dinner. There's plenty of dicing to do with stir fry, not that she minds. The rhythmic click of the knife on the cutting board is almost meditative, allowing her thoughts to wander freely even as conversation swirls around her. She's trying to imagine how the talk tonight will go, to predict what her father is going to say so she can best counter it.
Dinner is a quick affair. They mix it up this evening, taking bowls of hot stir fry into the rec area to recline on the sofa and watch TV. There is some argument over whether they should watch the news ("They call that news? Pointless drivel if you ask me.") a sitcom, ("Didn't they just play this episode last week?") or a movie, and in the end the movie wins out.
Action films seem to be universally accepted, so Lena picks the fourth remake of Spiderman that they all cringe their way through.
That night before bed she walks down the hall to her father's room. It's opposite of Reinhardt's, which is fitting of the two best friends. She knocks on the door, letting herself in when she hears him bark out permission.
"Hi, Papa!" she says, shutting the door behind her.
"Brigitte," he acknowledges, spinning around in his desk chair to face her. He is in his pajamas. "What's going on? Is everything okay?"
"Nothing's wrong, Papa!" she holds back laughter at his immediate suspicion, "I just wanted to talk to you about something."
"Oh. Well, best be out with it then," he says, indicating for her to take a seat on his bunk. She sits, sees that he has one of her mother's quilts spread on the bed, and pulls a corner of it over herself. She steels herself to say the words, curling her fingers into loose fists beneath the blanket.
"Papa, I want to join Overwatch."
Six simple little words. She had been worrying over them all day, ever since her discussion with Reinhardt that morning. She was completely aware that it was very likely her father's stance was exactly the same as Reinhardts, and even though she could use the same arguments against him, they were unlikely to be nearly as successful. He was her father, after all. She wasn't sure she could attain membership without his approval.
One heartbeat, then several more. Her hands are closing tighter beneath the blanket; she can feel her blunt fingernails pressing into her palms. Her father stares at her from his chair, his expression unreadable. Why did he have to have such a thick beard? It was at least good that he wasn't turning red yet.
Finally, he sighs.
"I can't say I'm surprised," he admits, grudgingly.
"You're not?" she says. Her fingers pause in their squeezing.
"Tch, no," this time it is he who snorts in response, "look at who you're workin' for! Reinhardt's been fillin' yer head with his tall tales ever since ye were born! Of course you'd want to join Overwatch!"
Well, she's not sure her desire to join Overwatch is purely from that. She will admit though when she was little hearing his stories of honor, valor, and glory had been awe inspiring. She's old enough now though to understand the reality of the sorts of things he and her father had faced then. Heck, just seeing the work her father had done for Overwatch had been inspiring in itself! He's just as much a motivator for her as Reinhardt.
"So...you approve?" she says, hopeful.
"No!" He retorts, sliding out of his chair to come sit next to her on the bed, "of course I don't!"
"You sound like Reinhardt," she pouts glumly. This is going exactly how she expected.
"Somethin' me and that old fart agree on, imagine that."
"But why not ?" Brigitte tries not to afflict a whiny tone. Sounding like a child is just going to hurt her argument.
"You want me to go down the list?" he holds up non-prosthetic hand, ticking off each finger. "Aside from bein' technically illegal , it's dangerous," - one finger down - "it'll be hard, thankless work gettin' this organization accepted back into the world," - another finger curls into his palm - "it's dangerous," - a third finger gone, - "it's a target for other organizations like Talon," - he is rapidly running out of fingers - "did I forget to mention, it's dangerous -"
"Yeah, I get it Papa!" She interrupts his diatribe, putting her head on her palms and squishing her cheeks against her curled knuckles. "It's dangerous, Reinhardt already told me that. You think I haven't figured out how dangerous things can get by now?" She uncurls one finger to tap knowingly at her head.
"Yes, and that's precisely why it's better for you not to join!" Torbjörn says emphatically, "You're already an engineer. You could have a good career if you get out there-the Guild is always looking for innovative people to head projects. Why isn't that enough?"
God, she's expected this question. She could wax poetic about the glory of Overwatch, its mission to help the world, the impact it's already had on global peace-but she doesn't. Because really, all her arguments boil down to one, essential truth:
"I feel like I have to do more."
Her father breathes in a deep breath and let's it out in a whoosh. It's a little louder than a sigh, not quite as vehement as a groan.
"Brigitte…" He speaks her name in a half-sigh that's a blend of fondness and resignation. "Bein' in Overwatch…it's a lot like bein' an engineer. People care about the end result, they don't see all the hard work that goes into the designin', and plannin' and the execution. They just want it to work, and to look good doin' it. Same with Overwatch-Jack knew that. We have to work hard, make sure we're keepin' our toes from crossin' the line cos when somethin' goes wrong, we're the ones that are gonna get blamed first." Torbjörn rubs the deep line between his brows, as if to ward off a scowl.
"It's public relations and bureaucracy on top of tryin' to keep the damn world from tearin' itself apart! And that's not even mentionin' how damn unpredictable the missions can be!" His tone explodes back into exasperation before he reigns it in. "What I'm tryin' to say is, bein' a part of Overwatch is a lot more than just those stories you grew up hearin'. It paints a big target on your back, bein' an agent. And I've never wanted that for you."
She knows what he's saying is true. It reminds her a lot of her feelings about being Reinhardt's squire; a lot more had come with that job than just repairing his armor, but she had learned to adapt to that, too. Impulsively, she reaches out and captures her father's hand. It's warm and dry and tough, just like hers.
"I know, Papa. Really, I do."
He looks at her, fingers squeezing hers. His prosthetic hand settles over the top of their clasped ones, cold and smooth.
"...I reckon you do, don't you," he rumbles. Then, a real sigh.
"Well, if you're dead-set on joinin', I won't stop you. I just want you ta know what you're gettin' into, and -" he squeezes her hands again, "-that you can quit at any time and no one'll condemn you for it."
She can hardly believe her ears.
"So...you're okay with it?" she breathes, tamping down on the wild excitement that's suddenly sparking under her skin.
"Tch... barely."
"Oh, thank you Papa!" She drops their hands and instead envelopes him in a hug, just barely stopping herself from bouncing up and down on the bed in her giddiness. He returns the embrace, laughing a little at her excitement.
"I'm going to go and talk to Winston!" She says as she breaks the hug and bounds off the bed. She feels like she could sprint the whole way there and not break a sweat, such is the energy filling her. She never thought it would be possible, that he wouldn't fight her on this.
"You better, if you want to join us for sims tomorrow. And don't forget, ye still gotta help me with those turrets!" He scolds from the bed, but she can see the smile he's trying to hide.
"I won't, Papa. Goodnight!" And then she's gone, positively flying down the hall towards the stairs.
She knows where Winston's lair is. In her casual exploration of the Watchpoint she'd happened upon it, though never set foot inside. It's set apart from the rest of the agent barracks in what looks like might've been a briefing room attached to a CEO's office.
The garage-like main door is open to let in the cool night breeze, and she pauses just outside the doorway, nervous. She's never visited Winston before, and the strangeness of his living situation makes it feel less like she's entering someone's private room and more like she's barging into his house.
"May I assist you?" The cool feminine voice comes from overhead, scaring a surprised squeak out of her.
"A-Athena?" She stammers, trying to calm the racing gallop of her heart.
"Yes. Are you here to see Winston, Brigitte?" It's weird, hearing her name spoken by Athena. Brigitte hadn't even known if Winston's AI knew who she was . Her network access had always been under "guest".
"Um, yeah. Can you get him for me?" she asks.
"There is no need. You are welcome inside, please come in." The perfect synth-human hostess, Athena lights the room as Brigitte walks inside. The room is large, sprawling, littered sparsely with old chalk boards, maintenance equipment, and even a huge tire hanging from the ceiling. That last one looks like a more recent addition compared to the dangling shell of some kind of old landing shuttle that hangs in the center of the room. Far more eye-catching are the glowing orange projections of the globe that hovers above one table, and the holographic world map that takes up almost the entirety of one wall. There are brilliant points of light dotting the continents, some brighter than others. The word "DECOMMISSIONED" on one corner draws her eye - are these all the former Watchpoints? Ecopoints? Locations of agents?
"Winston is upstairs, if you would like to speak to him." Athena interrupts her investigation and indicates a sweep of stairs by illuminating the small, square lights that have been inlaid in every other step. Hastily, Brigitte hurries away from the map, not wanting to be considered nosy. As she ascends, she hears the creak of something heavy shifting, and then the thump of footfalls - er, fistfalls as Winston knuckles over to meet her.
"Good evening, Brigitte." He says sounding politely puzzled by her appearance. "Is there something I can do for you?"
"Um, kind of, I guess," she says, folding her hands nervously behind her back. "it's nothing too important but I need to ask you about something."
"Sure!" he says and beckons her back towards his room with one large hand. "Come in, take a seat."
She enters what appears to be his private office. In the center a large set of monitors, another enormous tire, a spare computer chair and several empty jars of peanut butter. Winston sweeps the latter into a wastebasket hastily and scoots the rolling chair towards Brigitte, plunks himself in his tire-seat and then hastily jumps out again.
"Oh! Forgive my rudeness. Would you like something to drink? I have water or - well, just water, actually…" he trails off into a mumble.
"Thanks Winston, but I'm fine," Brigitte replies, hiding a grin at his embarrassment. It's kinda cute, how bashful he can be.
"Ah, alright then." Winston heaves himself into his tire facing her and settles his hands across his stomach. "What did you want to talk about?"
"I want to be a part of Overwatch," she says confidently.
"Oh, okay," Winston replies, scratching his cheek, "um, what are your specialties? I know you're an engineer, like Torbjörn, but he always gave me the impression that you were more...defensively-oriented."
"Oh! Um…" how would she paraphrase what she does? She didn't prepare for a question like this! "I guess you would say I'm a lot like Reinhardt...I have a shield, but it's quite a bit smaller, and I have a mace that has a retractable flail, I mostly use it to corral things though. I've basically been a support for Reinhardt. I can fix armor, I design it too, as well as other defensive weaponry..." she's almost babbling by now, trying to come up with a comprehensive list of things that she can do, "...and, uh...I can maintain a lot of the equipment my father makes, as long as I get a good look at it first or have the blueprints."
Winston hums thoughtfully, rubbing a finger on his chin. "Well, that certainly sounds like a lot; I think you'd be a valuable addition to the team. Alright, I'll add you to the roster." He scoots around in his tire and hunches over his keyboard, beginning to type. He doesn't ask any more questions, nor does he give any indication that he has anything else to say.
"That's it?" Brigitte says, a little shocked at how easy this all is, "No paperwork, or fingerprints or like, a background check or a drug test or something?"
"Er...no. We aren't exactly a business. Besides, if you were a complete unknown Athena and I would have done a deep background check on you before ever extending an offer. I trust that we won't find anything, uh, questionable on you," Winston looks over his shoulder at her as if appraising her, then turns back to his keyboard. The heavy click of keys starts up again before he adds, "Just let me get your profile set up and you should be good to login. Was there anything else?"
"Uh...nope, Guess that's it!" Brigitte sits in her chair, waiting to be dismissed. Winston continues to type for another few minutes, before at last he turns back to her.
"Okay, the first time you log in you'll need to use a temporary password, I've made it 1234. Your agent ID is 3945_52, you'll see a box the enter that in too. Do you want me to write those down for you?" Winston begins searching on his desk for a pen and paper before Brigitte stops him.
"No, I think I can remember that. 3945_52, 1234. Got it!" She stands up from her chair and begins to head for the door. It's nice that the process is so uncomplicated. She had really had this whole thing built up in her head. Before she makes it to the top of the stairs she remembers her manners.
"Thanks Winston!" she yells back to him, and then, a beat later, "oh, and you too Athena!"
"You are very welcome, Brigitte." Athena answers, her voice seeming to come from everywhere. She lights the door for Brigitte to leave, and then bids her good night.
On her way back to her room Brigitte thinks that, with all the fuss both Reinhardt and her Papa had made over it, it was kind of funny that with so little fanfare she has just become the newest member of Overwatch. She can't wait to tell everyone in the morning!
When she gets back to her room Brigitte's boots up her desktop, eager to see if anything new shows up. Sure enough, once her home screen appears there is a new icon, shaped like the Overwatch logo. She clicks it and the login screen pops up.
AGENT_ID: _
PASSWORD: _
She enters the numbers Winston gave her and hits ENTER. As soon as she does she's prompted to create a new password, which she does. When she logs in a second time she's got a new home screen. There's a confidential messaging system, a database of all the current agents, the history of Overwatch, even a news outlet. She'll definitely need to dig through this...later. Now she's just tired. Tired, and happy. It's official now, no turning back.
She's ready.