The morning that Winston announces that they're flying to Russia, Brigitte nearly chokes on her eggs. She manages to swallow them down with plenty of coughing and a gulp of water, emerging red-faced on the other side.
"Wow, that was fast!" she croaks, and nudges Reinhardt in the side. "Look like your flirting really worked!"
He gives her his grumpy bear look, having not had enough coffee yet to appreciate her teasing, while across the table Lena and Lúcio' raise their eyebrows. The rest of the team looks at Reinhardt, and Winston says "Um...what?"
"Oh, nothing," Brigitte brushes off the comment, taking another bite of food. "What were you saying?"
Winston blinks back down at his pad, and Brigitte can almost hear the moment his brain clicks back into gear. "Okay, ah - I have it planned that we'll fly out in four day. Everyone, take time to ensure all your equipment is in good shape, and give me any orders for extra supplies you might need by the end of today and I'll have everything expedited here. We'll probably need a day to pack everything, so the day before I'm cancelling our sims, but I want to run a few extra-long sessions in the next three days, just to prepare for the kind of firefights we might see there. So, meet at the training range at ten, we're going to practice through lunch."
There's a disappointed groan from around the table, from everyone except Reinhardt, Genji and Angela.
"I know, I know," Winston says, shrugging his shoulders, "but I want to try to mimic our conditions as best we can. We'll probably be fighting on an empty stomach."
Brigitte takes an extra helping of eggs after that pronouncement.
In her room after breakfast, Brigitte sits at her desk, hunched over a pad of paper. She begins to write, scribbling lists of equipment, tools, and tasks that all need to be done before they leave. When her list overflows the first page, she rips it off and begins a second. She can probably expect to help Papa with some of his stuff too - undoubtedly he'll be bringing a few turrets, and boxes upon boxes of ammo. Will he need any special tools to take down the Titan? She makes another note to ask him about that.
Now that the mission's looming over her, it feels like there's so much she's skimped on doing. Her desire to work on Reinhardt's new armor overrode everything else, so she hasn't oiled or polished their suits for nearly a week. She'll have to do that tonight, since it's time for sims now.
When she clunks down the stairs and into the sim room, she's surprised to see the black-clad figure of Hanzo standing next to Genji. They're standing apart from the group, Hanzo looking surly while Genji tilts his visor towards him and mutters in a low hum that she cannot make out.
So, has Hanzo joined Overwatch?
The doors open again as Winston barrels through.
"Sorry, everyone. Had to make some last-minute changes to the program since we are going so long. Is everybody-" he stops short at the sight of Hanzo, sitting back on his haunches. "-uh. Are you wanting to watch, today?"
Hanzo snorts. "No. We are going to Russia, are we not? I would think it obvious that I would join you to prepare."
So, he's joining them on the mission? This is news to everyone except Genji.
"But, you-" Winston starts, flustered, "you're not part of Overwatch. Only agents are officially sanctioned to attend missions."
Hanzo narrows his eyes. Before he can open his mouth, Genji steps forward and dips his head, hands clasped.
"Forgive me for my rudeness, Winston. I invited my brother to join our mission. I thought that his expertise would be welcome, and that the addition of another fighter would strengthen our ranks."
Winston goggles for a minute, and looks around to the rest of the team.
"Well...how does everyone else feel about this?"
Brigitte exchanged a glance with Reinhardt, then sweeps her gaze across everyone else. They're all looking at each other, as if expecting someone to say something. Nobody speaks up.
"Um...I don't mind," she says, raising her mace as she speaks like she's a schoolgirl in lecture. "I think we could use more firepower." Not to mention, she already invited him to join the sims weeks ago. To go back on her word now would be rude.
Besides, he hasn't murdered us in our sleep yet.
McCree tips his hat back and shifts his weight to one hip, spurs clinking. "Don't see any reason why not. Could always use someone with snipin' skills on the team." He turns his head to Lena, nudging her with a serape-clad elbow. "Whaddaya think?"
Lena shrugs, and twirls one of her pistols. "Sure! I think Genji is right, we could use another person for this fight," she cocks her head at Hanzo, fringe bouncing. "Are you wanting to join Overwatch?"
Hanzo folds his arms, standoffish. "No. I am here only for my brother."
Brigitte wonders if it's a cultural thing, to be so brusque and straightforward. Or maybe it's just a Hanzo thing. Either way, his tone is businesslike, clipped. She wonders why he's so cold to them, when they've done nothing but offer him hospitality.
"Well, oookay then!" Lena chirps, and holsters her pistol. "But I don't think that attitude is gonna fly with the rest of us."
"No, it will not." This time it is Angela who speaks, and Brigitte has never heard her sound so frigid. She steps forward, planting her Caduceus staff on the ground with a click.
"If you can't fight for the good of the team, you can't be a part of this mission," she says sternly, pinning Hanzo with icy blue stare. "Regardless of whether you are a member of Overwatch or not."
The air crackles with tension as Hanzo turns toward her. Brigitte can see the muscles ripple beneath his dragon tattoo as he pulls his shoulders back.
"No? You would be so foolish as to deny the addition of a peerless fighter to your ranks, when you are about to enter a war zone?" he says - borderline sneering.
"Yes."
There's not an ounce of hesitation in Angela's declaration, her resolve unwavering. "If we can't trust you to work as part of the team, you're a liability to the safety of everyone."
Torbjörn steps up to side with her. "She's right," he barks, pointing his forge prosthetic at Hanzo. "An unpredictable ally is worse than an enemy! At least the rustbuckets we'll be facin' all have the same agenda. If we don't know what yer actions are gonna be on the battlefield, there's no tellin' what might happen!"
The tension is rising, Hanzo and Angela practically turned to slabs of stone as they face off. Brigitte doesn't want this to turn into a fight, but it feels increasingly like where this talk is headed, unless something changes. She wants to say something - but what? Angela and her Papa are right, if Hanzo is only going to watch out for Genji, he's not going to be much help. But Hanzo is right too, if he's as good as Genji is, he'd be a valuable ally...
She catches Lúcio's eye, but he looks just as paralyzed as she feels. He knows everyone here less than she does, poor guy.
The doors to the sim lab open, and close.
Zenyatta hovers just inside the door, his mala drifting peacefully around him. He advances towards them silently, and Genji flits to his side immediately.
"I sensed the discord emanating between you," he says to the group at large, as if to explain his sudden appearance. "What has happened, to spark such adversity?"
Genji bows to Zenyatta's ear, murmuring quietly. As he explains the situation his hands flutter like birds, gesturing between different members of the group. Brigitte feels strangely like she's being brought before the schoolmaster, about to be chided for being naughty.
"Ah, I see," Zenyatta murmurs once Genji's explanation ends. "A miscommunication."
Brigitte isn't sure 'miscommunication' is an adequate descriptor for the fight that's about to break out. 'Fundamental difference of opinion' might come close.
Zenyatta floats closer, coming between Hanzo and the rest of the Overwatch agents. "I would like to be of assistance, if I may?" he asks, turning his faceplate to Wilson.
"Er...go right ahead!" Winston says. He sounds relieved, eager to give up his mediator responsibilities.
Hanzo is not so keen on this development.
"We do not need your assistance with these matters, omnic!" he says, voice a hairsbreadth from becoming a snarl. "We will resolve this as equals."
The silence is deafening. Zenyatta's mala continue their easy swirl, gleaming gold and silver in the fluorescent lights. Is it just Brigitte's imagination, or are they glowing faintly?
Genji hisses something in angry Japanese at Hanzo, who turns his head away.
"Be easy, Genji." Zenyatta lays a hand on Genji's arm, and it's amazing how suddenly the sharp tension seems to drain from the cyborg. He slouches, loose-limbed and languid at his Master's side, as content as a dog receiving a pat. It's kind of freaky.
"So, you wish to aid your comrades on this mission, yes?" Zenyatta says to Hanzo, whose lip curls at the word 'comrades'. Hanzo says nothing though, which Zenyatta seems to take as an affirmation. "And so far you have been unwill to engage with them."
The monk turns to Angela and Torbjörn. "And you do not trust a stranger at your backs." His mala tighten their orbit, spinning rapidly for a moment before relaxing back into a lazy circle. "I know of the doubts that plague you," he says simply, looking into Angela's fair face. She blinks, frostiness fracturing, seemingly taken aback.
Zenyatta turns between their two groups again, spreading his palms out to either side, beseeching. "Errors in judgement arise when words are spoken in haste. Deliberate over the meaning before you come to conclusions. Hanzo, I believe the meaning of your declaration was unclear. You have come here to be with Genji, but you will fight for the team - is that correct?"
Hanzo, still bristling at Zenyatta's unwelcome interference, manages to nod curtly.
"I thought it was obvious," he says, glaring between Angela and Zenyatta. "Only a fool would disregard the tides of battle and fight alone."
Zenyatta turns to Angela. "Is that acceptable?"
Angela nods, and her icy aura fades. "I apologize, I did misunderstand you," she says to Hanzo, who tilts his chin up slightly in acknowledgement. Perhaps he respects her apology, because his glare fades as well, though he says nothing. Between them, Zenyatta folds his hands in his lap again and drifts back towards Genji.
"Thank you, Master," Genji says softly, bowing to the omnic. Zenyatta's orbs swirl, seemingly pleased.
"It was my pleasure," he says to the group at large before heading back towards the sim doors. "I will take my leave for now." Then he is gone, as silently as he had come.
"Okay," Winston says, and after a few heartbeats pause, he moves. "Okay, well - uh, I'll be right back. I need to grab another comm." He follows Zenyatta's retreating form out in a knuckled gallop.
Now they're left in the strangest silence Brigitte has ever experienced. She isn't sure what to say; the mix of leftover tension, curiosity, thoughtfulness and even some admiration of Zenyatta leave her feeling intrigued. Maybe after this she would ask him some questions, she wants to know how he learned to be such a good mediator. How he manages to keep so calm, almost detached even in the face of Hanzo's ire.
Winston returns a few minutes later, cradling a spare comm which he hands to Hanzo, giving him a brief rundown of its function. Brigitte watches Hanzo inserts the comm into his ear, and then flicks on her own. There's a small, musical ping as it comes to life, and then Winston's voice is on the line.
"Okay everyone, as you know the sim today is going to be about twice as long as usual. I've tried to mimic some of the conditions we can expect in Russia, so just roll with it. Remember, duck your head to talk to teammates, lift it if you want to talk to Athena."
Brigitte readies her shield as all around them the walls flicker, then dim as they're overlaid with a holoprojection. They become grey, rough stone and asphalt - a run-down street. To her left Papa is on the move, scouting out high ground to set up a turret.
Brigitte ducks her head. "I'm going to cover Torbjörn while he sets up." She follows him, shield at the ready. He's climbing a set of stairs when the first bots appear out of nowhere, slinging energy bullets.
Reinhardt's shield explodes into life, and the battle begins.
The next two days follow much the same; the extended sims really do a number on her, but Brigitte is grateful for the practice.
Integrating Hanzo into the group had been nearly effortless. He meshes with them seamlessly, filling in the chinks in their armor. He is every bit as skilled as Genji; scaling walls and watchtowers, sending down hails of unerring arrows, sniping stray bots. More than once Brigitte has raised her shield for cover, only to see a pale arrow sprout from the faceplate of the bot nearest her.
Even in close combat he is talented; his bow must be made of strong stuff because he's able to bludgeon down bots with the broad side of it whenever they get too close. He darts like a fish between cover until it's safe to gain the high ground, and once there offers insights into the flow of battle. His responses over the comms are brief, but polite. For one so opposed to joining Overwatch, Brigitte thinks he would do well here.
Their numbers make a huge jump once he joins too, and there may be a bit of a three-way contest between Hanzo, McCree and Genji because their kills climb each day. The second day Brigitte thinks she can see a small smirk on Hanzo's face when he turns away from the leaderboard; he's outdone them all in kills.
By the time sims are over on the last evening before they pack, Brigitte wants nothing more than to collapse into her bed, or into a plate of food. Maybe both at the same time. However, dinner still has to be made so instead she runs back to her room for a cursory shower (sweating into the dishes is generally discouraged) and jogs into the kitchen to help Reinhardt.
They're in for a treat tonight - Reinhardt is cooking up some big, juicy hamburgers. The smell of the bacon grease sizzling in the cast iron skillet is enough to get Brigitte's stomach growling. She's leaning over his arm, watching the patties bubbling with greedy eyes until he shoos her away to help Lena cut tomatoes and onions, and she pouts. She had been hoping to snag one to scarf, piping hot before the actual meal.
The wait is worth it.
They lay out an assembly line of toppings, baskets of fries and bottles of condiments, then sit down for first meal as a unified group. Hanzo has finally joined them at the table, looking discomfited at the prospect of eating with his hands, but at least he is here. He sits at the very end of the table next to Genji, taking quick, neat bites and saying little.
Brigitte doesn't mind, she's more glad that the invisible frost surrounding Hanzo's interactions with the group seem to have thawed. It can only bode well for the impending fight.
Tomorrow, they fly out to Russia.
Normal activities for the day are completely disrupted. The MV-261 (affectionately dubbed 'Orca' for it's fat, almost ponderous shape) is fuelled and taken for a test flight by Lena before they can load it. Though Winston and Athena had run a systems check on each aircraft after the recall, the machinery had languished in storage for years. There is no telling how smoothly it will run.
When Lena thrums back out of the clear blue sky thirty minutes later and gives a thumbs up, they're greenlighted to start packing.
Everyone is a flurry of activity: bows are strung, blades sharpened, guns oiled, fluids topped off, ammo reloaded. Everyone helps to load medical equipment, weapons, and extra cases of bullets. The Orca has ample storage compartments, but it still feels a lot smaller with all the agents going in and out. Brigitte is gratified that there's even a special compartment just for Reinhardt's armor - she had wondered how she could make it fit neatly between everything else. She gives the shields and plating once-over, then a twice-over before packing it. She needs to be sure everything is in tip-top shape before they go.
Once packing has been double and triple checked, everyone gathers over dinner to go over the plan. They settle down with a smorgasbord of leftovers, cleaning out the fridge and freezer. There's no telling exactly how long they'll be in Russia.
They have their orders: take out the Titan. They have not received any useful intel as to routes to the Titan, so they must wait to strategize for that. Instead, Torbjörn goes over the information they do have: details only a man who helped design them would know.
He lectures them all over his plate of meatloaf, pointing a fork with his prosthetic hand and pulling up schematics on his holopad with the other.
"Now, Titans have external heat sensors. No way ta sneak around 'em; the only thing that'll work is either distance or shielding. Obviously we're gonna have t'get close, so the first option's out. Infrared shielding is an option, I already let you know," Torbjörn nods at Winston, who returns the gesture, "So, hopefully when the RDF will have it ready. It don't need to be pretty, it just needs to hold up for us to get close. Once we're inside the Titan we shouldn't have any need for it."
Torbjörn draws for a moment on his pad, then taps it to project a diagram of a Titan. He's drawn a circle around the legs of the behemoth.
"No tellin' how much the Titan's been modified, but in the original plans there were maintenance hatches on th'outside of both legs. If we're lucky, they'll have left 'em there and that's how we'll get in. If not, well...we'll tackle that later." Torbjörn taps the pad again, bringing up a new schematic. It's the layout of the Titan's internal workings.
"Now, there's prob'ly an internal defense system. We'll have to destroy any drones or cameras as quick as we can, or else we'll have the whole horde of 'em on us. Shouldn't be too hard, just shoot at anythin' flyin' around and don't miss." Torbjörn uses his fork, tracing a path from the foot up to the legs and into the torso of the Titan.
"There's ladders to ascend to a landing in the middle - that's where security on it is gonna be tightest. We may have to go in two teams, up each leg and meet in there to make it work. Once you get there, there's more room 'n more ladders that lead to the control center up top. Might need some time there, there's some security doors in both the midsection an' the control center we'll need to break through." Torbjörn indicates two sets of doors, one at the top of each leg and a third near the head of the Titan.
"Once we get to the control center, I can take over from there n' shut it down."
"Should we not destroy it?" Hanzo says, imperious. "I do not see a point in merely disabling it."
Torbjörn raises one bushy brow at the archer. "Considerin' the armor on these babies is built to withstand Class A thermonuclear bombs, I think we'll have better luck goin' with this plan. We disable the Titan, and the Russians can airstrike the omnium. Once that's destroyed the rest of this war is just moppin' up the rest of the functional omnics."
They all sit, staring at the revolving holograph for a moment.
Papa makes it all sound so simple, yet Brigitte knows that is probably miles away from reality. Just thinking about them, scurrying around like ants beneath the TItan's monstrous metal feet is enough to make her feel a little nauseous. Good thing she already ate.
"So, once we arrive in Russia we should be briefed by the RDF on what they think our best route to the Titan will be," Winston says, wrapping up the meeting. "I believe they have a plan and maps for us, but they didn't want to pass that information over any channels."
"Probably an old supply tunnel or sewer, if I had to guess," Torbjörn says, grimacing at the latter. "Keepin' under cover is our best bet for gettin' close."
Brigitte remembers him telling her about wading through the sewer in Boklovo, how the IR shielding did nothing to obscure the smell. It was a week before I could get that smell outta my nose!
Man, she hopes they don't have to take that route.
That night Brigitte lays in bed, trying unsuccessfully to sleep. Her mind is alive with worry, darting like a hummingbird through a series of mental checks. Has she packed everything they'll need? Is she forgetting any tools? Should she recheck Reinhardt's armor before they leave? Should she bring her older shield as a backup?
Behind all these nagging thoughts lies that grainy video footage of a hulking, dark figure.
A Titan.
Brigitte had done her research, even before the briefing this evening; she knows what Titans are. Heck, it hadn't been that long ago that her father had been forced to apprehend his old friend Sven, who had appropriated a Titan for his own fiendish purposes. She feels some relief that they have her father. Who better to take down a Titan than its creator? They've gone over the strategies, the possibilities, what may lie ahead for them, but still…
Brigitte worries. If the whole of the Russian Defense Forces hadn't made any headway against it, it feels a little unbelievable, thinking they will.
She lays there for several minutes, forcing herself to breathe slowly and deeply, to keep her eyelids firmly shut and hope her restless mind will quiet itself. She notices some of her hair is trapped under her cheek, and frees it. After awhile that side of her body starts to feel too warm, so she turns over to her other side. Her blankets are overheating her, so she kicks them off, only to get cold within a few minutes. She sticks her feet out from beneath the covers, hoping that will balance it out but instead it just makes her toes icy.
Frustrated, Brigitte gets up and leaves her bedroom. She has to get these fears out in the open or they'll drive her crazy. Padding down the hall, she reaches a crossroads. To her left is her father's door, to her right, Reinhardt's. If she goes to talk to her father, what will he say? She can imagine it already; he'll go over the strategy again with her, give her the specs of a Titan, together they'll analyze it's weaknesses, and what to expect.
She knocks softly on Reinhardt's door.
Brigitte hears an indistinct sound from inside his bedroom that might have been a welcome, so she pushes the door open. The room is dark, becoming completely black when she closes the door behind her. Before the light from the hall vanishes, she gets a glimpse of Reinhardt's shirtless form sitting upright in his bunk, a blanket half-over his lap. Whoops. She should have guessed he'd already be asleep.
"Reinhardt?" She shuffles towards him in the darkness, trying not trip on anything that may be on the floor.
"Yes, Schildlein?" Reinhardt answers, voice heavy and fuzzed by sleep. She feels guilty, having woken him up.
"Um, sorry for waking you," she whispers, not wanting to break the somnolent ambiance of the room. "I just...I'm just kinda worried about this whole mission." Her eyes still bleached from the light, she moves blindly towards his bunk, one hand feeling the air in front of her. Reinhardt meets her halfway, one of his outstretched arms colliding with hers when she gets close enough. He helps her to the edge of the bed and she sits, shivering slightly with the cold.
A warm weight drapes over her shoulders. Reinhardt has swept part of the blanket over her.
"Are you scared?" he asks, the question followed by a muzzy yawn.
"No...not scared," she says, which is the truth. Brigitte is not scared per say, just...overwhelmed. "It just feels like there's so much we don't know yet. So much that could go wrong."
It's easier to talk to him like this, shrouded in the darkness. She doesn't have to see his face, the concern that could be written there. Hopefully he doesn't think she's going to chicken out of this mission, because nothing could be further from the truth.
Reinhardt hums, a baritone rumble that means he's thinking of a response.
"It is normal, to be nervous before your first mission. It means you understand what we are up against," he says finally. "But do not let worry paralyze you. Remember your training, and your teammates. You trust them, yes?"
She nods, before realizing that he can't see her. "Yes." Well, maybe not Hanzo.
"Then trust that everyone will know what to do, when the time comes. We have been in dangerous situations before, and you have always reacted appropriately. Trust your training."
Brigitte traces the scar on her scalp. We have been in dangerous situations before. The last time had not gone so well. But then, there had only been the two of them.
She leans against Reinhardt's side, his bare skin a hot counterpoint to the chill of the room. He brings his arm around her, pulling her flush against him. She can feel the strong pounding of his heart, vibrating through her bones.
Brigitte turns her head against his shoulder, murmuring the words towards his armpit. "So...you think that we'll do well?"
You think that I'll do well?
"Yes, I do." Reinhardt says the words with such steadfast certaintythat she can't help but believe them. Her worries melt away, leaving nothing but a swell of contentment and gratitude. Somehow, he always manages to make her feel better.
Brigitte slides out from under his arm, only to wrap him up in a tight hug. Surprised, it takes him a second before his arms come around her, crushing her in an answering embrace. For a moment, she is acutely aware that he is shirtless. That must be why this hug seems so much warmer than normal. So warm in fact that her own face flushes with heat.
"Thanks, Reinhardt," she sighs, and they break apart. "I think I can sleep now. Uh, sorry again for waking you."
"It is not a problem, Shildlein. Sleep well."
Brigitte feels her way back to the door and then slips out quickly, trying not to blind him with it. When she crawls back into her own bunk she finds a comfortable position quickly, and this time her mind is quiet. She can sense the roar of the ocean through the stone, a gentle, ceaseless thrum of white noise…
They're out under the star-strewn sky, surrounded by trees in a vast, grassy field. Andreas's farm. They're surrounded by danger.
Brigitte is edging around Reinhardt's blind side, backed up against a row of defunct omnics. She throws her flail towards the nearest shooting figure, striking his arm and knocking his gun to the ground. As she turns to glance at Reinhardt, she sees it - a man, who has flanked them!
She charges towards the man, shield raised. She can see the flash of his gun as he shoots, and she closes the gap so that he's forced to target her. She swings her mace, forcing him to drop his gun but now he has something in his hands, and when she tries to flail at his head her weapon tangles with his.
She knows what comes next.
She bashes him with her shield, and beats at his legs, trying to take him to the ground. There's a tinny whistling sound as metal zips through the air, and then -
Crunch!
Reinhardt is there, swinging his hammer in an upward stroke that knocks the man clean off his feet. He lands yards away, and does not get back up.
Brigitte looks up into the face of her hero, and smiles.