To let go is to release the images and emotions, the grudges and fears, the clingings and disappointments of the past that bind our spirit.
~Jack Kornfield
Yes, it was just as she had feared. Her work finishing the suit had been below-par.
Brigitte stands before Reinhardt's armor, testing the feature that had inspired three whole days of sub-par sleep: the shield-link.
It is supposed to deploy under two conditions: close proximity of the sensors placed in both the lion-head crests of their shields, and the deployment of a button on each of their gloves. As it is it is deploying only one-third of the time, and requires proximity of less than eight inches, which is not ideal.
She had told Reinhardt he would get his present in the New Year. The pressure is on to finish it.
Unfortunately, that means only one thing: she has to beg off of working out again.
"Sorry, I'm finishing up an urgent project," she tells him the 28th, hating the way her stomach twists at the words. It's an annoying mixture of butterflies and guilt, the way his face falls a little. "I promise by the time the holidays are over, I'll be back in the routine."
It takes another day and a half to work out the issue: the newest photon projectors she's installed weren't inserted correctly. A careless mistake. When she tests the shield again, this time they interlock without a hitch.
Yes!
Maybe she should install a camera in the workshop too. She wants to preserve the look on his face when he sees this forever.
Her glee at finally finishing the armor is short lived; later that evening she's cornered by Lena and Mei over dinner.
"You wanna go shopping with us tomorrow?" Mei asks excitedly. "We need to get something to wear to the party!"
Brigitte takes a huge bite of turkey to give herself a moment to think about it. The instinctive answer is no, but, damn it all - she needs something to wear too. Mood plummeting like a stone, she nods her head reluctantly. Mei seems to sense her emotions.
"You don't have to go if you don't want to, really. I just thought it would be more fun to go together!" She takes a bite of her salad, still eyeing Brigitte hopefully.
Waving a hand in an attempt to dispel Mei's worry, Brigitte sighs. "No, no...I need to go too. I just really hate shopping."
And that's what she tells Reinhardt the next morning when he asks to work out again. At least this time he doesn't look disappointed; perhaps he can sense her deep regret on the subject.
"Aw c'mon, it won't be so bad!" Lúcio bounces next to her on his chair, trying to cheer her up.
She shoots him a look. Lucky dog. He can rent a tuxedo, she would feel weird renting a dress. "Says you. You don't have to wear one."
"Well, you don't have to either!"
"He's right, you know. I'm wearing a suit!" Lena pipes up, giving a thumbs-up.
She considers it for the briefest moment, but shakes her head. "I wish, but I just feel like I should you know? Besides, most women's dress pants are way too short."
That's the excuse she gives, but the truth is far more embarrassing. She does want to wear a dress for once in her life. She wants to look...pretty. Mostly she wants to see Reinhardt's reaction to her; she's never worn a dress for him before.
Wear it for yourself, not him! A more sensible part of her chides. That part is nothing though, nothing to the hope rushing through her at the thought of him looking down at her and admiring.
It's this hope that carriers her through the day, through the crowds that she can't go more than ten feet through without bumping into someone. The thought brings her energy when she's flagging, sick of being trapped in a dressing room for the last half-hour while Lena and Mei pass every dress that might fit her under the stall.
And when she finally finds a dress she thinks will work, it's that part of her that preens.
Finding Mei and Lena what they're looking for takes a little longer; they take lunch in town then go back at it. Brigitte entertains herself in the fitness section of each store, buying a few sets of leggings as a reward for tolerating the crowds so well.
By the time they return late afternoon she's exhausted, frazzled, and doesn't want to see the inside of a mall for the rest of her life.
"How was it?" Reinhardt is reclining in the rec room, TV turned onto the sports channel.
"You know, I think I never want to shop again."
As repayment for his patience, Brigitte embarks on a full-day workout with Reinhardt the day before New Year's Eve. They hit every muscle group, then spend the afternoon sparring. It's taxing; not only is she a little out of shape, but the close proximity has her heart rate jumping.
It's worth it, she reminds herself, moving on wobbly legs to scour the mats clean. Her nose is full of the warm spice of his deodorant, her stomach churning with nerves.
It's worth it.
New Years day dawns cold and bright, and Brigitte absolutely does not want to leave her bed. Not only because of the chill lingering in the air, but also because she isn't certain she can.
"Oh yeah. Went way too hard yesterday," she mutters to herself as she tries to roll onto her side and all the muscles in her abdomen cramp. "Hooooly crap."
How the heck is she going to dance like this? It's a good thing Mei insisted she buy low heels; she's going to make a fool of herself for sure.
She knows the pain won't improve until she starts moving, so she pushes herself out of bed and, with many loud yelps, into the shower. Active stretching and hot water help. The worst of the cramping has dissipated by the time she limps into breakfast.
Reinhardt sits down just as she's started in on her eggs, and she can tell from his movements that he's feeling the aftermath of yesterday just as she is. Lúcio looks back and forth at the two of them, disapproving.
""You're both crazy." Really, he shouldn't be all that surprised by now.
Across the table Reinhardt flexes, straining the arm of his long-sleeved shirt. "It is worth it, my young friend."
"If you say so." He turns to her, looking appraisingly as her face twitches when he accidentally knees her thigh. "You sure you're gonna be able to help me today?"
"Yeah. It feels better the more I move, I should be fine."
"I could help as well," Reinhardt offers. "With more people it will get done faster!"
Brigitte isn't sure she can handle the pain of her muscles and the butterflies; she's apt to drop something important. "I dunno, you seem a lot worse off than me. " She reaches across the table to poke him in the arm, and he flinches. "Maybe you oughta go walk it out on the treadmill. Wouldn't want to have to wheel you around on the dance floor tonight."
"Wha-wheel me?" Oh yeah, that got him right in the pride. "I think if anyone will need wheeling, it is you! I happen to dance quite well, sore or not."
In an effort to save face, he's exaggerating, as usual. "Uh-huh."
He shakes his head at her, as though he can't believe her irreverence but ignores her.
After breakfast she follows Lúcio back to his room. One look inside the door and she's shocked; most of the setup on his opposite wall has been taken down, components stacked on top of each other in the center of the room. There's a lot more than she'd been expecting.
At her wide-eyed look, Lúcio shrugs. "What? This is my baby! I can't perform without it!"
"All of that?"
He laughs, and then picks up a box. "C'mon. Let's get the small stuff first."
She was right. Tonight's going to be a challenge. Just moving Lúcio's things had been an exercise in pain and temperance; but now that it's over, she has to spend the afternoon cooking. Angela had wanted everyone to get involved with making snacks, and Brigitte had agreed. Reinhardt does deserve a break, after all.
"Hey, you wanna get ready together? I can leave my door unlocked an hour before the party!" Lena whispers as she helps Brigitte line a tray with crackers, cheeses, and sliced meats.
"Um, sure?" Brigitte slices another round off of a thick roll of pepperoni. She hasn't even thought about that yet. How long will it take to get ready?
Lena extends the same offer to Mei and Angela.
"Oooh this is going to be fun!" Mei clutches a ladle to her, excited. "I've never had girlfriends to get ready with before."
Girlfriends, huh. Come to think of it, Brigitte hasn't either.
Maybe that's why she feels just a little bit odd, sneaking down the hall with her bag of supplies to Lena's room at 7. She knocks and the door creaks open from the impact, music spilling out into the hall.
"Hello?" She pokes her head through the door to see Lena in her underwear on the bed, bobbing to the music.
"Ah, we're all girls here. Nothing we haven't seen before," Lena says breezily, holding up two hangers. "Which shirt should I wear, do you think?" She holds up a dark purple shirt and a bright orange one Mei and Brigitte simultaneously agree on the orange one; the color is a cheery warmth that suits Lena's personality, as well as accentuating the strawberry copperiness of her hair.
"This is going to be so exciting!" Mei's voice floats from the open bathroom where she's shimmying into her dress. "I haven't dressed up for anything for a long time!"
"Tell me about it." Lena says, buttoning her shirt up and sliding her chronal accelerator over the top. Brigitte watches, fascinated. She's never seen Lena not wearing it. "Seems like the only thing I dress up for anymore is weddings, or...well. You know."
Wedding or - what? Brigitte has to ponder for a few seconds before it comes to her. Funerals. Jack Morrison's funeral might have been the last time any of the old agents had occasion to dress up.
Hopefully this party will be able to chase away the ghosts of the past.
"Could one of you guys help me zip this up?" Mei comes out of the bathroom, dress gapped at the shoulders. Brigitte goes to help, hooking the clasp at the top and then zipping it the rest of the way to the top. It looks quite nice on her; navy blue and floor length, with lace that stretches from her wrists to the to her shoulders, accentuating her fair skin.
Well, she might as well get into her own outfit. She changes, self-consciously shucking her bra with her back turned to Lena when she slides the dress over her head. As she feels it strain over her lats she feels the first moment of panic; is it too small after all?
A few hard tugs and she finds her fears are unfounded. It does fit. Perhaps she's just a little swollen from the workout yesterday.
"That's a good color on you!" Lena remarks, bouncing too her feet to come look at Brigitte. "And a nice cut. I don't know the first thing about dresses, but I think you picked a good one."
Brigitte agrees. If there's anything she could've asked for in a dress, she's gotten it with this one. Loose and flowing about the legs, a slit up one side to guarantee ease of movement, no open backing - and the color even looks nice on her; a rich, wine-like burgundy.
"You want the mirror?" Mei offers. Brigitte shakes her head; she already knows what the dress looks like.
"Okay, I'm going to start doing my hair then!"
Brigitte fiddles with the lacy bodice, uncertain what to do. There's still fifty minutes until the party starts, and not much she needs to do other than brush her hair. She takes a seat on the bed and watches as Lena pulls on the rest of her suit and pats mousse into her hair, styling it in her trademark spikes. When she pulls out a tie and expertly knots it around her throat Brigitte whistles, impressed. She herself has no clue how to tie a tie.
Lena admires herself in the hanging mirror over her door, then snaps a selfie. "Lookin' sharp!" She taps away on her pad for a few seconds, then throws it on the bed and sighs. "I wish Emily could've come. She's working tonight."
"Bummer." Brigitte would have liked to meet Lena's girlfriend, she's heard so much about her. "Where does she work?"
They chat quietly for the next twenty minutes, until Mei lets out a little cheer from the other room.
"Woo-hoo! Done!"
Brigitte looks, then does a double take. Mei's hair has been utterly transformed; instead of her usual bun it's been pinned in an elegant upsweep of coils and secured with a silver chopstick. Brigitte has never seen such a hairstyle.
"Where did you learn to do that?" Lena asks, amazed.
"It was a bit of a hobby when I was younger." Mei confesses, spraying a cloud of hairspray on her head. "My mother always wanted help with her hair once I started getting good at it, so I got a lot of practice."
"Dang! Maybe I should've asked you to do my hair!" Lena plucks at one of her spikes, then shrugs. "Ah well. If Overwatch ever falls through you could start up a business!"
Giggling, Mei shakes her head and then fans the rest of the hairspray away. She looks over to see Brigitte watching, and blushes. "Oh - I'm sorry! Let me get out of the way so you can do yours!"
"Nah, don't worry about it." Brigitte fishes her hairbrush out of her bag, holding it aloft. "This is all I'm doing!"
Mei goggles at her. "You're not doing anything?"
"Nope!"
"But - why not? You have such nice hair!" She sounds aghast, like Brigitte has just committed a crime in front of her.
"I don't really know how to do anything besides tie it up," Brigitte admits, a little embarrassed by the way Mei is staring at her.
"Oh! Would you mind - would it be okay if -" Mei is stuttering, fingers twitching a little. "Could I maybe do your hair?"
Startled by the request, Brigitte can only nod. Whatever Mei does can only be an improvement, after all.
Is this what having girlfriends is like? She wonders as Mei pushes a chair into the bathroom, then points for Brigitte to sit in it. Her hair is brushed out, then combed between Mei's fingers as she mutters to herself. It's strangely relaxing. It's been a long time since anyone's played with her hair.
"Do you care what I do with it?"
Brigitte shrugs. "Nope, I trust your judgement."
As Mei begins to tug and twist her hair, her eyes begin to slip half-shut. She's only partially listening as Mei explains what she's doing; mostly her mind drifts, wondering about inconsequential things. What kind of music Lúcio will play, whether or not she'll spill food on her dress, if she'll be forced to dance, what Reinhardt will be wearing.
"What do you think?" Mei's voice snaps her out of her reverie some time later. Brigitte can only look in the mirror and stare.
Her hair has never looked like this before. It has been pulled back low against her neck in a mass of sleek chestnut twists. The long locks of hair that usually frame her face have been pinned just behind her ears, forming loops that dangle like jewelry. Gold clips catch the light as she turns her head.
"It looks...really nice!" Brigitte stumbles to find the right words, still gobsmacked.
Lame. Can't you come up with a better compliment?
"I didn't think my hair could look this good."
There comes a light rapping from the door. Brigitte instinctually checks for her watch, thinking they might be late - but she forgets, she removed it. Lena goes to open the door to reveal Dr. Ziegler.
"My apologies," she says, slipping into the room, clutching her bag. "I thought it would be easier for me to get ready in my own room. I hope I'm not too late."
Angela looks positively radiant, clad in a pearly gray gown that folds elegantly at the neck and waist. Her hair is braided on one side, twisted into a bun and pinned with a jeweled clip.
"Nah, you're right on time!" Lena says, sliding the door closed behind her. "Mei was just working her hair-magic. I think all that's left is makeup, if anyone's going to bother with it."
"I brought my makeup bag." Angela holds up the small pink clutch and sets its contents neatly on the sink. "I'll only be a moment."
"Not going to do your makeup either, I bet," Lena remarks to Brigitte as she scuttles out of the bathroom so Angela has enough room. "Don't think I've ever seen you wearing it."
"Honestly I never even think to put it on." Brigitte closes her eyes as Mei approaches with her can of hairspray, a gleam in her eye.
Angela is leaning close to the mirror, swiping a small brush over her eyelids. "Well you have lovely skin. I don't think you need it."
Brigitte holds her breath as the hairspray dissipates around her, then grimaces when she can taste it. "Yeah, but you don't need it either Dr. Z."
That earns a low, musical laugh. "Sunscreen can only do so much. I can't avoid all the pitfalls of aging, I'm afraid."
When she finally leaves the bathroom Brigitte can see how the makeup has changed her, subtly altering the shape of her cheekbones and accentuating the blue of her eyes. It's the sort of look she'd like to have, if she ever learned to do it.
"Does it take very long to learn to do that?" She points to Angela's face. "I like that look."
"No, it's quite simple actually." Angela pauses in putting away her brushes. "Would you like for me to teach you?"
Brigitte shakes her head hard, laughing. Oh, boy. If there's one way for her to ruin her look tonight, it's attempting makeup for the first time. "Oh, not now. I don't think it's possible for me to get it right in ten minutes!"
"I could do it for you." Angela has the same look as Mei on her face now; contemplative, and almost predatory. It's like she's seeing something in Brigitte that highly interests her.
"Uh - well, if-if you're sure!" Brigitte stammers. Again, that thought: is this what it's like to have girlfriends? It's a little scary.
Again she's shepherded into the bathroom and plunked in a chair. She eyes Angela with some trepidation as she rummages through her bag, pulling out compacts and tubes.
"This won't take long. Try to relax." At Brigitte's expression Angela smiles, her tone falling into the easy, soothing rhythm that Brigitte remembers from her time in the medbay. She squirts a small dollop of some kind of lotion onto one finger then approaches.
"Eyes closed, please."
Something is smeared onto each eyelid, drying quickly to what feels like a slightly tacky finish. She can hear the sound of something clicking on the sink, and the light dims as Angela hovers overhead again.
"You know, strictly speaking you're not supposed to share makeup," she murmurs, patting gently at Brigitte's closed eyelids. "It's unhygienic. Tilt your head back a little please."
More motions. Brigitte tries hard not to squeeze her eyes shut as something tugs gently at the delicate skin there.
"For you, I will make an exception."
"Thanks?"
Wetness is traced at her lid line, and she can easily guess what that might be. She's seen enough women putting on their makeup to know: eyeliner. Holding her breath, she tries not to move.
"Now, open up and look upward."
Angela works with the skill of a painter, delicately tracing the brush along her lower eyelids. When she sits back and nods approvingly, Brigitte almost sighs with relief.
"There, that wasn't so bad was it? What do you think?"
Brigitte blinks at her appearance in the mirror. The transformation is more drastic than she's expected; Angela's done something with color near the corners of each lid, transforming her look into something darker and more adult. The eyeliner just barely overflows the corner of each eye at a slight angle, a catlike uptick that makes her look…
Sexy.
"Holy shit."
The words leave her mouth before she can stop them, and she claps a hand across her lips, embarrassed to be using that language in front of Angela. "Oh damn. Sorry. It's just - well, I look really different with all the-" she gestures to her dress and hair before she can continue digging herself a deeper hole, and her sentence dies.
Angela is packing her makeup back in her bag, a small smile on her lips. Brigitte tries again, thinking about her words this time. "It looks really good, thank you!"
Drawn by the outburst, Lena peeks in and gasps.
"Aww little Brigitte!" Lena's hands twitch toward her, as if wanting to pinch her cheeks. "Look at you! "
"She does look nice, doesn't she?" Angela says, perching her chin on her hand thoughtfully.
"I remember when you were this big!" Lena holds her hand out at about knee height, then throws both arms out, beholden by the sight of her. "And now look - you're all grown up!"
Embarrassed by the scrutiny, Brigitte crosses her arms across her chest and tries not to hunch into herself. "Guys, I'm just dressed up!" Really, they're acting exactly like her mother had the only time she had gone to prom. She's been an adult for awhile now.
"I know, I know." Lena hiccups with laughter, curling one arm around Brigitte's shoulders to give her a squeeze. "It's just that when you've watched someone grow up, it's always a little weird seeing them like - well, like an adult. I'm just messing with you. Ready to go?"
"Yes, please!" Mei bounces to her feet, pulling open the door. "We're already late!"
As they make their way down the hall Brigitte can already feel her calves protesting. The sensation stings, and at first she thinks that might be the source of the strange, leaden feeling that's suddenly manifested in her stomach.
But something tells her that's not quite right.
It had started just after Lena had said that last bit - when you've watched someone grow up, it's weird seeing them as an adult. For some reason, that's bothering her.
Why?
Lena, wanting to pinch her cheeks.
Brigitte, ruffling Hugo's hair and smiling at his blush. Such a cute kid, with a cute kid crush.
Oh, shit.
Brigitte's foot comes down awkwardly on the next step and she wobbles, nearly twisting her ankle. The cramp that shoots up her thigh makes her slow, shortening her steps. A chill settles over her, one that has nothing to do with the winter cold oozing through the Rock of Gibraltar.
What if...what if Reinhardt still sees her that way?
She tries to imagine herself in his shoes, looking down at Hugo in fifteen years' time. She just can't do it. Every time she tries she can only see snapshots of him; first as a round, screaming baby, a rambunctious toddler, now the blushing [age] year old with a mop of blonde hair.
Her heart sinks.
Of course. Of course Reinhardt still sees her that way. How could he not? Look at how well he's looked after her; coming to comfort her after the mission, letting her sob into his shirt like she was his own daughter. It's a crushing realization.
Just a kid. I'm just a kid to him.
"Brigitte, are you alright?" Mei has fallen back from the rest, waiting for her just up the hall.
Forcing a smile on her face, Brigitte picks up her speed. "Yeah, sorry. Me and heels don't mix, I'm pretty slow."
Strains of music are drifting down the hall toward them. Normal music; Lúcio isn't using his crossfade tech for this, she can tell by the way the tune drifts right through her. Too bad. She could really use a pick-me-up right now.
Swallowing a sigh, she tries to find her enthusiasm, but it's gone. What is the point of coming now? She'd been foolish, actually imagining that he'd admire her. Dolling herself up. She'll probably just look like a kid playing dress-up.
C'mon, you can still dance with Lúcio probably.
That's the only thing that keeps her moving forward. She'll hang out with Lúcio, dance for a little bit, then turn in until midnight hits and show Reinhardt his gift. He'll be happy for that.
They enter the mess hall which has been transformed. In the darkness the moonlight that filters through the high windows casts the place in an intimate shadow, brightened around the edges by strings of small white lights. Cream-colored tealights have been placed on each table, and the oven light in the kitchen has been left on to illuminate the spread of hors d'oeuvres already laid out.
The room throbs with the low beat of music, Lúcio's speakers set in surround-sound in each corner of the room.
As they approach his voice booms out, reverberating around the room. "And now the ladies of the hour!"
The volume is jarring; she's no the only one who flinches. He apologizes and turns down the mic, then leaves his sound booth and glides towards them smoothly on green-lit skates. "Ladies, welcome!"
Dang, he likes the color green even more than Genji. Lúcio has his tuxedo jacket off and his sleeves rolled up, a bow tie in the most violent shade of kelly green that she's ever seen fluffed around his neck. Green glowtubes are threaded into his hair, swinging with each motion of his head.
Angela is already inside talking to Reinhardt, so he takes Lena's fingers first to plant a genteel peck on the back of her hand. "You are all looking positively radiant this evening!"
He reaches for each of them, repeating the treatment. When he reaches for Brigitte she steals her hand away and punches him lightly in the arm, feeling the first threads of amusement. Trust him to be able to cheer her up.
"Alright, alright. I shoulda known you wouldn't like that." He rubs theatrically at his shoulder.
"Trying to be all charming, but I can see right through you, Lu." She shakes her head at him and plants one hand on her hip so she doesn't wobble right off her heels.
"Trying?" He affects an injured air, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. "You're killing me Brig!"
"Puh-leez. Also, you owe me at least one dance tonight for helping you today." That's right. A pity dance from Lúcio ought to cheer her right up.
"Anything for you, madame."
She rolls her eyes as he returns to his sound booth, snickering. Out in the center of the hall she can see the other ladies moving forward to greet the men who have all already assembled there. Reinhardt's towering form immediately draws her eye, and she can feel the telltale squirming of anxiety and disappointment in her stomach.
Is it too soon to break into the champagne?
"You're looking lovely tonight, Angela!" She can hear his remarks from here, and can't stop herself from sneaking a peek at them. Reinhardt is taking in Angela's appearance, smiling broadly.
"You old charmer. Did you intend to copy my look?"
Brigitte can hear the warmth of Angela's reply. Laughter. They stand so close together, the proximity of two old outfits even match - Reinhardt's dress shirt is a shade of gray just darker than Angela's dress. A shard of jealousy embeds itself in her heart.
How had she not seen that before? They look perfect together.
She turns her head to avoid the scene and instead focuses on Winston, who is standing slightly apart from the group and looking awkward.
"Hey Winston!" She forces a little cheer into her voice. "How are you tonight?"
"I'm doing well," he says, shifting toward her. "Feeling a bit underdressed, but-" a shrug, "-not much I can do about that. You're looking nice tonight, Brigitte."
Winston is of course not wearing a tux. Brigitte doesn't think there is a tailor that exists who could alter a normal suit enough to fit the barrel-chested, long-armed form of a gorilla, but even so he's found a way to spruce himself up. His hair has been neatly combed, and around his neck is royal blue bowtie that shimmers with inlaid silver thread in a circular pattern. Peering closer, she sees it's the Overwatch logo.
"Nice! Love the bowtie." She reaches out and, when he permits it, touches the fabric. It feels luxurious, obviously of high quality.
"Lena and Emily gave it to me for Christmas!" He puffs his chest out proudly, tie straining as he does. Dang. She hadn't gotten him anything.
As if on cue, Lena drifts over to them. "You're wearing your bowtie!" she exclaims, swooping in to hang off Winston's arm. "Aw, you look so dapper!"
"Uh, thank you," he says, shifting awkwardly. He seems unsure of what to do with all this attention. "You're looking very nice yourself, Lena."
"Oh, I need to get a picture of this for Emily!" Lena fumbles in the pockets of her suit, pulling out her pad and offering it to Brigitte hopefully. "Could you get a picture of us?"
Brigitte snaps a few pictures of a beaming Lena leaning against Winston's arm, before Lena begins to make silly faces and poke Winston in the side so that he laughs. Of all the pictures she likes the last one best; a laughing Winston looking down at Lena who is grinning widely, both hands buried in his hairy sides.
"You want a picture too?" Lena asks, taking the pad back.
Brigitte, having left her own pad in her room due to a conspicuous lack of pockets, shrugs. She hadn't considered that there would be pictures taken tonight. "Uh, if you want."
So she ends up posing with Winston as well.
Pictures snapped, she drifts away from them to help herself to a cup of punch, watching the rest of the agents while she sips at it.
Her eyes are drawn to an unfamiliar figure conversing with Hanzo. His back is to them, but upon hearing Angela's voice he turns and she sees that it is Genji.
His appearance is so strange that she has to stop and blink a few times, as if in doing so she will dispel a mirage. Almost all of his cybernetics have been covered by the same style of tux that everyone else is wearing. She's so used to seeing him in only his enhancements that until this moment she hadn't considered that he could wear clothes. On the tail of that thought, another one - is Genji normally naked?
Huh.
Strangest of all is his face. His visor, which normally completely encompasses his head seems to have been stripped away piecemeal, exposing him from the bridge of his nose up.
Genji has eyes.
She can see him talking to Angela, focused intently on her. He blinks, the skin around his eyes crinkling as if in a smile. He's actually human underneath the armor.
A silly thought, she knows he's human, but after seeing him fight she had wondered. Now she wonders why he has never removed his visor before. It has to be hot underneath it, especially now that she knows that he had actual hair hidden under there too. It's jet-black as opposed to Hanzo's softer brown, long enough to be swept back in an almost-pompadour.
Taking him in as a whole, for the first time she can picture him as the man he was. She wants to go talk to him. See him up close.
Brigitte drains the rest of her drink, marks the cup with her teeth and leaves it on an empty table. Like a coward she takes the long way around, leaving a wide berth between Reinhardt who is now conversing with Mei. At her approach Angela and Genji part, making room for her.
"Good evening, Brigitte," Genji says, sounding characteristically amused. She can see how his eyes flick up and down her, cat-quick and almost guilty. "You look quite nice."
"I said that too," Angela agrees, pleased.
Brigitte, rubs one of her arms, feeling a bit shy. Up close she can see his scars, and is trying not to stare. "Thanks. You look pretty good too. Never seen you wear a suit before."
"It is a rare occasion." He plucks at the black fabric with silver fingers, and adjusts his tie. "But not unwelcome."
"Indeed." Zenyatta, who had at that point been floating serenely around to various conversations, moves to theirs. "I have always said that finery becomes you, my student."
Surprisingly, Genji blushes at the praise. "You are too kind, Master."
There's a funny sound just to Brigitte's right. She turns to see Hanzo, who has apparently just snorted.
Genji has heard it too. "Have something to say, brother?"
"Only that you have always been prone to gaudier displays," Hanzo sniffs. His voice, though haughty carries an undercurrent of amusement. He points to Genji's tie.
Brigitte is beginning to think that haughty is just how his voice naturally sounds, and perhaps he doesn't really mean offense. Indeed Genji just tilts his head with a chuckle.
"He's referring to our younger days, when I dyed my hair green," he explains, running his fingers through his dark hair. "I looked amazing!"
"You looked like you were sprouting leeks from your head."
Brigitte can't help it, she bursts out laughing. They're squabbling reminds her so much of her and her brothers, constantly teasing and poking and pinching at each other. Hanzo may be doing it with words, but the dry irony in his voice is unmistakable. Even Zenyatta seems amused, if the gentle swirl of his mala is anything to go by.
She feels the tension leave her as she chuckles, escaping in short bursts like steam from a release valve as her laughter tapers off. All her worries about Reinhardt are forgotten for the moment.
That is, until a finger taps her gently on her shoulder.
"Who do we have here?"
She turns to see Reinhardt, hands on his hips smirking down at her. His suit, black like the others strains at the chest where his broad shoulders have deformed it. The silvery-gray of his shirt emphasizes the remains of the tan still clinging to his skin.
Brigitte realizes she is staring.
"Um, oh! Hi, Reinhardt," she says lamely, tearing her eyes away from his chest and glancing back at her companions. "We were just talking about Genji's green hair!"
"What?" he glances at Genji. "Genji has green hair? It must be a very dark green."
"Actually, I used to have green hair," Genji corrects. "When I was young, I dyed it a color close to that." He points at the front of Lúcio's setup, where a neon-green frog logo pulses in time with the music.
"Hah! That must have been a sight to see!" Reinhardt roars in laughter, clapping Genji on the back. Hanzo, who has detached himself from the growing crowd of people around them rolls his eyes.
McCree moves in to join the conversation, and Brigitte takes that moment to slip away herself, back to the refreshment table. She had thought she was doing better, but even a few moments in close proximity to Reinhardt had almost resulted in something embarrassing. What if he had noticed her staring?
Despite her abrupt return to reality, she still can't quite shake her feelings for him yet.
She fills up her cup with punch again and takes a few more of the little lox bagels, as well as some of the 'little smokies' McCree had been so excited about earlier. They're pretty good, if a bit messy. And what better than meat to help keep her head when she's downing all this punch...
Behind her the music shifts as Lúcio switches seamlessly from one track to the next.
"Alright everybody, it's time to get this party started!' he hoots into his mic, dropping a beat that Brigitte recognizes as a popular line dance. She watches some of the agents gather in the makeshift dance floor, bobbing her head.
Lúcioreally has a way with music. She already knew that, but it's more apparent the more she listens to his music; he's interspersed his own rhythms and chord progressions into the song, transforming it into something hypnotic. What would it be like to be at one of his concerts?
She waits through the next song too until and eager Lena sees her watching and pulls her onto the dance floor. "C'mon, Brigitte! You have to dance too!"
Lena guides her into something like a ridiculous shimmy, and encourages Mei to join them. It helps Brigitte feel less awkward, knowing that she's not the only one struggling to find a way to move gracefully. As she pulls an old move out of her repository - 'the sprinkler' - she can see Lúcio laughing at her.
As soon as he starts switching to the next track she tiptoes up behind him, waiting until he's dropped the next song to slam both hands on his shoulders.
"Alright, you're coming to dance!" She says loudly over the bass, pulling him away from his deck and onto the dance floor to join the rest of them. When he tries to brake with his skates she merely picks him up, tottering awkwardly on her heels and almost drops him.
"Whoa, whoa okay! I get it, don't drop me!" he laughs. "You got about five minutes before I gotta switch tracks but until then, let's bring it together!"
And the night goes on.
Lúcio rolls through songs, mixing genres, styles and tempos. Zenyatta surprises them by joining them on the dance floor, moving his mala in smooth circles reminiscent of a flowing river. Genji applauds, and adds his own flare with acrobatics she's never seen before.
Brigitte, who is resolutely ignoring the fact that she hasn't spoken to Reinhardt except for the one exchange at the beginning of the evening is still enjoying herself; laughing at the antics of the crew, taking turns dancing with whoever wants to and even coaxing the shy Winston into doing the Cha Cha Slide with them.
She almost feels back to her normal self.
"Okay let's slow it way down now," Lúcio croons into the mic as he spins the temp down from the upbeat dance number that had been playing. The music slows, morphing into something that sounds like a classical waltz.
Oh no. Slow dancing with an actual step pattern? She's never been much good at that. The closest she gets is the sort of dance where she and her partner can just sway back and forth to the beat.
Brigitte takes a seat at one of the tables with a drink and another plate of food, intent on watching her teammates this round. Lena has paired off with Winston, Mei with Genji and Reinhardt with Angela. Across the room she can see Hanzo, who, just like her has dedicated himself to staying off the dance floor. His back is to the wall and he's eyeing the dancers with his usual look of disdain. Of course, he's been doing that the whole night.
There's a soft jingle of spurs as Jesse approaches her bearing a plate of his own.
"What's a pretty lil' thing like you doin' here?" he asks, looking surprised to see her sitting there. "Didn't peg you for a wallflower."
Brigitte smiles and takes a sip of punch. "Well, I'm not very good at waltzing. I'd probably break someone's toes!"
"Well, that ain't no excuse!" McCree sets his plate down and holds out a hand, willing her to get up. "It'd be a crime for me to deny a beautiful woman a dance. C'mon."
He pulls her to her feet and onto the dance floor, placing his hands lightly on her shoulder and waist. "Now, I ain't no good at waltzin' neither but I bet between the two of us we c'n figure it out."
Brigitte tries to follow McCree's lead at the same time that he tries to follow hers, and she promptly steps on his toes.
"Oh! Sorry!" She apologizes, highly embarrassed. If this doesn't end with broken toes, she'll be surprised. "I'm really bad at dancing."
""Hah! It'll take more'n that to break me. 'Sides, these are steel-toed," Jesse waggles one boot at her. "Let's try again."
They work up a careful rhythm, not exactly on-tempo. Brigitte's first instinct is always to lead, and she has a few more mishaps before she can instinctively let him take the reins.
"See, we're gettin' there!" McCree says when they've gone a whole minute without a breakdown. "Just relax and go with it."
It is easier when she doesn't overthink it. Brigitte looks over Jesse's shoulder, distracting herself by watching the other agents.
Genji is leading Mei in some form of a waltz that looks different than what they're doing, but nonetheless more graceful. They must be conversing because she can see Mei's lips moving, but they're too far away to hear.
Near them Winston is dancing with Lena. They're not exactly touching, because Winston can't stand on his back legs for an extended period of time. Instead they're doing the two halves of the dance and orbiting each other closely, like two celestial bodies fixed in their paths.
Of course, their dance is nothing to the elephant in the room. Or, the elephantine man in the room.
Reinhardt and Angela dominate the dance floor, overwhelmingly elegant. Reinhardt had always told her he could dance, but somehow she had always chalked that up to another one of his artistic interpretations of the truth.
He hadn't been exaggerating.
Reinhardt deftly guides Angela around the other couples, steering them in a winding path that brings them close to Jesse and Brigitte, then away. They glide across the floor, a dreamlike progression of smooth steps and turns. Angela's feet never falter.
Jealousy boils up in Brigitte's throat like bile, burning her up from the inside. She tries to swallow it down, but her eyes follow every detail of the scene in front of her - she can't look away.
Reinhardt, tall, gallant. One huge hand cradling Angela's, the other spread across her shoulder and upper back. He's smiling as he dances; Brigitte can see his gaze focused down on his partner's beautiful face.
Angela's dress fans out behind her with each twist, the pearly gray material nearly iridescent, the opal pins in her hair glow like a halo in the warm light. She looks every bit her namesake; angelic, ethereal.
She is everything Brigitte is not.
Brigitte abruptly swings them around, so that McCree is the one facing the rest of the dance floor now. Her face feels uncomfortably hot.
"Whoa ho! You alright?" Jesse asks, startled by the abrupt turn.
"Yeah," she lies, "just got a little dizzy watching the other dancers. I think I drank too much punch."
"Well, we can slow it down if you like." McCree takes them from a triple-step to the easy back and forth sway she's more accustomed to. His hand on her shoulder falls to her waist, and she shifts accordingly so that both of her arms cage his neck. It's a little more of an intimate embrace than she was prepared for, but that's what she gets for lying.
Out of the corner of her eye, a movement. Hanzo has moved to the far end of the dance floor away from the tables. He seems to be glaring at them. As she watches, he crosses his arms and looks away from her. Looks like she's not the only one having a bad time right now.
To distract Jesse, she leans forward and murmurs into his ear, "What do you think it'd take to get the sourpuss to dance?"
McCree throws a glance over his shoulder to see Hanzo still resolutely glued to the wall.
"Heh, I reckon hell would have to freeze over first," he laughs. "Ain't met a man as damn rigid and unfriendly as him in my life."
Brigitte tries to imagine asking Hanzo to dance, and receiving only a chilly scowl in response. Seems about right.
"I'd pay to see someone try."
"Reeeaaaally," McCree draws out the word as if savoring it. Like he's actually contemplating doing it. "I might take ya up on that."
"Really?" The surprise snaps her out of her melancholic funk. She hadn't actually been serious!
"Yep."
"But why?"
"Well," he drawls, "because you asked, an' because I got a bigger piece'a crazy in me than others, I guess."
Brigitte blinks, wide-eyed. "What do you want as payment?"
"Nothin'!" Jesse smirks as the music begins to morph, changing from the waltz to more of the light jazz that signals one of Lúcio's scheduled breaks. "Bringin' a smile to your face'd be enough."
They break apart from their swaying dance, and he tips his hat to her. "Just say kind things at my funeral, alright?" Jesse says with a wink and strolls back to the refreshment table.
An interesting man, that McCree. She'll be curious to see how his plan goes, but in the meantime she needs the bathroom.
The toilets are outside and just down the hall from the cafeteria. She goes inside, slips into a stall and shuts the door behind her.
Okay.
If she's honest with herself, half of the purpose of this little break is to use the bathroom, but the other half is because she needs to just get away. Needs a quiet moment to try and untangle the mix of emotions coiling in her stomach.
First, the damn jealousy. Now that she isn't seeing the spectacle of Reinhardt and Angela the envy has faded, but just thinking about it again has the familiar burn rekindling.
Stop thinking about it!
But she can't. They had looked so perfect together, gliding around each other like two swans in an elaborate mating display. Angela is smart, beautiful, and most importantly, actually in a decent age range for Reinhardt. How can she compete against someone like that?
It's not a competition! Stupid of her to think of it like that, anyway; as if she could ever be a contender.
Her ire deflates. Propping her forehead against the cool stall door, she sighs. Nothing was going to change, so why worry about it? She should just go back out there and make what she can of the night. It hasn't been so bad.
The bathroom door creaks open and Brigitte pushes herself away from the stall door and hurries to do her business. She doesn't want to linger about with someone else here.
Outside at the sink she scrubs her hands and looks into the mirror. Her hair is holding up surprisingly well, maybe a bit flattened from the sweat but all the pins are still in place. Her makeup likewise is still on, though when she looks closely she thinks some of the eyeshadow may have smudged. She dries her hands and pats at the excess quickly, willing herself to get it done before whoever is in the stall leaves.
The roar of the flushing toilet heralds her failure.
"Oh, Brigitte!"
It's Angela.
Of course it is. The fates are laughing at her, Brigitte can tell.
"I'm glad I'm not the only one who had to sneak away for a bit." Angela continues, delicately washing her hands to avoid splashing water on her dress. "The dance scene is a little much for me these days. I must be getting old!"
Brigitte can only manage a small smile at Angela's self-deprecating joke, but can't think of anything to say.
"Are you alright?" Angela asks, ever astute.
"Yeah, fine," Brigitte replies, trying not to sound irritated. "Just trying to fix this darn makeup!"
"Here, let me help." Angela wets the corner of a paper towel and approaches, and Brigitte cannot think of a good reason to refuse her. She closes her eyes obligingly as Angela wipes away the excess color, her other hand gently touching Brigitte's cheek and jaw to hold her still. She's so motherly and kind on top of all her natural charms, such a genuinely good person Brigitte can't bring herself to dislike.
Her irritation fades away, replaced with a twinge of shame that she could even fathom being mad at Angela, especially for something she can't help - just being herself.
"There, all fixed!" Angela steps back to admire her handiwork, and Brigitte turns to check the mirror. It is indeed all fixed.
"Thanks, Angela," she says, genuinely appreciative.
Together the two women make their way back to the mess hall, and more importantly the refreshment table. Brigitte is picking up some more food when Angela pours herself a glass of water and hands it to her.
"You were looking a bit peaked in there," she explains. "Now, I'll try not to mother hen you but I do think you should have some water."
"Yes, doctor!" Brigitte salutes and takes a deep drink. It is probably a good idea, since she's had nothing but punch to hydrate herself tonight.
As Lúcio begins to wind the music up again she checks the kitchen clock. Only thirty minutes left until midnight - where had the time gone? And still not one dance with Reinhardt. That is probably for the best; as she'd already proven with McCree, she has two left feet. If he hadn't been wearing steel-toed boots she really would have broken his toes.
Finishing her food and drink, she taps Lúcio on the shoulder.
"I believe you owe me a dance!" She has to speak loudly to be heard of the music, a quick, upbeat song that will doubtless be difficult to partner dance to.
"Oh! Of course, m'lady, forgive me." Lúcio tips an imaginary hat at her and slides out from behind his deck, joining her on the dance floor.
She doesn't have a dance style in mind so together they just wing it. He glides around her on his skates, surprising her by doing the splits at one point and then rising back up unassisted. "Woah, you're flexible. Dang." Even if she practiced for a year, she'd never be that good.
"I have my talents."
After the dance with him, she's sweating. She takes a break to refill her water cup and cool down, watching as her teammates continue to party. A lot of the guys have removed their suit jackets as the night has gone on, slinging them over the backs of chairs until only Hanzo is left fully suited.
Winston has long since vanished, citing work to be done. Frankly she's surprised Hanzo hadn't disappeared with him. The archer is still resolutely not dancing, alternating between standing against one of the walls or walking over to talk to Genji when he strays to the fringes of the dance floor.
Reinhardt has been talking to Mei and Lena, who seem to have become joined at the hip. Maybe that's because Lena has turned into a human crutch for Mei, who has had far too much punch. She's speaking so loudly that at times she's audible over the music, and her laughter has slowly risen in volume over the evening.
Lúcio comes over the mic again as the music begins to change.
"Okay ladies and gents, this is our final song before the ball drops. Grab somebody and hold 'em close while I bring us through to the New Year!"
The new song comes on in a familiar, pulsing tempo. It's another slow waltz, more contemporary than the last but unmistakable. Brigitte casts her eyes over the dance floor.
Lena is holding Mei, who is half-slouched over her shoulders and possibly hiccuping as they sway to the beat. Genji extends a hand to Angela, who accepts it graciously. To her surprise he pulls Angela into a close embrace, and even from here she can see his eyes trained on her face. It reminds her of the look Papa sometimes shares with Mama.
Brigitte looks away.
Then, she catches sight of it. McCree, striding towards Hanzo who is still leaning like a stone figure against the wall. He bows to the archer, offering his hand and a wide smile.
Oh God, he's actually doing it!
She watches with horrified amusement as Hanzo looks down at Jesse's proffered palm as if he was just offered a dead rat. It doesn't seem to deter McCree, who more insistently shakes his hand in Hanzo's face. Hanzo is saying something she can't hear, and McCree responds by brazenly slinging an arm around his shoulders, nearly pulling him off the wall. He's tugging Hanzo towards the dance floor, and Hanzo...isn't resisting?
Brigitte can't tear her eyes away as Jesse leads him amidst the other dancers. Hanzo's saying something again, now trying to buck out of McCree's grip. They're close enough that Brigitte can hear the vehemence of his tone, but no words. Jesse speaks, sounding plaintive. He places one hand on the archer's waist, the other coming up to his shoulder before Hanzo snarls and pushes right through him, stalking around the group of dancing agents and right out of the cafeteria. McCree follows, hot on his heels but not before throwing Brigitte a finger-gun as he passes by.
She'll be sure to think of something really nice to say at his funeral.
Brigitte's eyes are on the still-swinging doors when a shadow falls over her. She doesn't turn her head for a moment, absolutely certain of who she'll see there. She can feel him the way she can feel the sun; all imposing, radiant heat.
She looks up to see Reinhardt.
He extends a hand to her, gravely serious."Will you honor me with a dance?"
She can't seem to get her tongue to work so instead she places her hand in his and lets him lead her to the dance floor. Oh, this is going to be embarrassing.
Remember what you practiced with McCree. Don't overthink. Let him lead.
One of his hands splays across her shoulder and upper back, the other cupping her right hand gently. She follows his lead, trying to focus on the ground beneath her feet so she can ignore the heat of his body and the anxiety boiling through own.
He steps to lead and she moves with the wrong foot, promptly trodding on his toe.
"Oh shit, sorry-" "she bites down on her lip, hard. Fuck, she's swearing at him! "I mean, sorry-"
"Relax, Shildlein," Reinhard chuckles, a low rumble she can feel through her own chest. "I've got you."
He pulls her closer, until their waists are almost touching. This time when he moves, she's forced to move with him.
Now Brigitte understands the difference between a mediocre lead and a great one. Reinhardt's steps are confident, his hand on her shoulder guiding her with pressure into each turn. At times when her steps falter, he slows until she regains her footing before returning to the beat.
He makes dancing feel effortless, and soon even with her nerves she's able to keep up.
They are so close. She can't even look into his eyes, knowing the instant she does her face will probably explode. There's a rising pressure to say something, anything to distract him from the furious racing of her heart. She resorts to the only thing she knows.
"You've been holding out on me, old man!" she taunts, using her weight to shift him back on his heels as they take another step. "Never thought you were actually telling the truth about this!"
So painfully juvenile, the way she's flirting. What is she, ten years old? And yet, it's completely natural, exactly how they normally banter.
"Ha! This old dog still knows a few tricks!" he grins at her, all teeth and crinkled blue eyes.
He drops the hand on her shoulder to whip her around into a twirl that fans her dress so high that she almost regrets the slit along the left thigh. His free hand comes back to grab her trailing fingers, pulling her arm across her waist like seatbelt and bringing her flush against him. For a moment all she can feel is that heat - pressed against every inch of her back, the swell of his muscles against her shoulders - then he flinging her away so that they're stretched out like a dangling yo-yo before snapping them back together.
They impact, belly-to-belly and Reinhardt barks out a laugh as she gives his chest a half-hearted punch.
"Show off." She slips her hand back into his waiting one.
"Maybe you should show a little respect for your elders, hmm?" he murmurs teasingly, maneuvering them carefully around the swaying Mei and Lena.
How easily they slip back into this familiar teasing, intimate and friendly all at once. Brigitte wonders why she's never appreciated it before, this closeness with her mentor. She's his goddaughter, sure, his squire, yes - but it's so much more than that. They're friends.
She reflects on the relief she'd felt at having an excuse to avoid him in the last two weeks, and is ashamed. What a terrible friend she's been lately. Why could she not see it? Her attraction is no reason to push him away. If he had done the same to her, it would've been intolerable.
Closing her eyes, she takes it all in. The doubts, the shame, the embarrassment. It seems very near the surface now, practically leaping through her skin, struggling to get out - and she lets it. The emotions wash over her, a maelstrom that rages with agonizing intensity. It circles tighter and tighter as Reinhardt guides her, becoming a knot in her chest so painful she wants to cry.
Instead, she laughs.
Just like earlier that night the laughter comes hard and sudden, ripped out of her in a tone she's never heard before. Same as before, she's unable to stop it.
And she doesn't want to.
The poisonous emotions pour out of her, draining like stagnant water. She laughs until tears are pricking at her eyes, and blinks them back as her outburst trickles off, looking up at Reinhardt's bemused expression.
Warmth is all that's left in her now. Bone-deep and radiant, she feels it all the way to her soul as she gazes into his eyes.
She loves him.
"Did I say something funny?".
Brigitte smirks at his confusion. "Nope, just had a funny thought."
She notices that their dancing has slowed, and nudges him with one of her knees. "Don't tell me you're getting tired! Do I need to put you to bed, grandpa?" A small taunt, to spur him on.
"G-grandpa?!" he sputters, and she can swear his eye twitches. "You- why, I-"
She gives him a wicked smirk and sticks out her tongue.
"You've got some nerve," he growls, increasing their speed. Somehow she's able to match his lengthened steps, so that they're almost flying across the dance floor. "What have I done to deserve such an impudent squire?"
"You're just lucky, I guess." She gives him her smuggest grin, the one she knows can send her brothers through the roof on any occasion, and winks to show she's just messing with him.
She can tell he's not going to let her get away with it easily.
This must be what a headrush feels like. The room around Brigitte blurs as they swirl and cut across the floor, so that the only clear thing she can see is Reinhardt. She feels dizzy, like the world is tilting on its axis - but that can't be right. He's right there.
Lúcio's music swells around them, synchronizing with the pulse of her heart. She feels transported, alive.
She'd never risk this.
As the song crescendos she prepares herself for the inevitable end, the moment they no longer touch. An orchestral crash of sound heralds the peak and just as it does - he trips her.
His front leg crosses behind her feet so that when she steps back she loses her balance. Pushed by his forward momentum she topples back, a thrill of panic running up her spine as the world starts to go sideways.
Instinctively she grabs for his neck, almost choking him with his collar before she feels the solid warmth of his arm supporting her. She opens her eyes, not even realizing she's shut them and looks up to see him looming over her, shoulders bobbing as he laughs. She can feel the gentle bounce of it through the arm that's wrapped securely across her back, the splayed fingers that curl around her ribcage.
"Be easy, Shildlein," he practically purrs. "I told you before, I have you."
Oh. He's dipping her.
The music decrescendos in a flurry of woodwinds, fading until it vanishes with a final pluck of synthetic strings. Still they remain frozen, breathing heavily for a few seconds after the last echoes of sound fade.
Then, Reinhardt pulls her back upright and she gives up the death-grip on his shirt. There are small wrinkles creased from where she clutched, which she pats at ineffectually.
"You could've given me a little warning ya know," she says, trying and failing to sound grumpy. "Then I wouldn't have had to strangle you."
"What would be the fun in that?"
She realizes Reinhardt's hand hasn't left her, just migrated from her shoulders to alight just above her waist. He probably doesn't even realize he's doing it.
"Wooh! Everybody, those were some fine moves!" Lúcio's hoots over the speakers, nearly blowing them away with the force of his enthusiasm. "Really, you are all amazing! I wish we could dance all night, but we've finally reached the moment you've all been waiting for!"
This is it. It's almost 2077. Looks like she's ringing it in the same way she has every other year; resolutely single, but surrounded by friends. For now, she wouldn't have it any other way.
"Alright, you got ten seconds to find somebody to smooch, if that's your jam -not sayin' I'd turn one down, just leaving that out there- and then we count DOWN!"
Unsurprisingly, there isn't a mad scramble for partners. Instead everyone drifts back together, close enough to each other to reach out and touch. Reinhardt is at her side, the gentle weight of his fingers at her waist prickling at the edges of her awareness.
"Okay, count with me!" Lúcio whoops.
"TEN!"
"NINE!"
"EIGHT!"
"SEVEN!"
"SIX!"
"FIVE!"
"FOUR!"
"THREE!"
"TWO!"
"ONE!"
"HAPPY NEW YEAR!" they all crow, and in the distance there's a sonorous boom as fireworks explode into the sky. It's impossible to see much through the high windows, but the rocks on the opposite wall glow with multicolored light.
Impulsively Brigitte turns to Reinhardt and, before her courage abandons her, plants a kiss on his cheek. Stolen intimacy, significant only to her. She doesn't linger but pulls away to reach out to everyone else and give them the same treatment. She plants cheek-kisses on Lena, Angela, Lúcio and even Genji's helm, though she chooses to peck Mei on the forehead. The poor girl is so drunk she might have smeared drool across her chin, and is definitely going to need help getting back to her room.
Brigitte helps Lena half-carry the slurring, stumbling Mei back and get her situated on the bed, forcing a glass of water into her before helping her ease out of her shoes and tucking her under the covers with water within easy reach. Then they hurry back to help the rest of the crew wrap up the food and refrigerate the drinks, plating up a few more morsels for themselves along the way.
"Nah, leave it," Lúcio waves them off when Brigitte indicates his turntables and speakers, "I'll get 'em tomorrow. Or, later today I guess. Think I might change real quick and go watch the fireworks for awhile. You in?"
"Sorry, I have something else planned." She waves goodbye to him, and Lena who tags along behind him.
She turns to Reinhardt. "Ready for your present?"
"But of course!"
She leads the way to the workshop, letting one hand trail across the stone wall as she does. Her legs are tired, her muscles screaming - but she feels happy. Happier than she has been all day. She only hopes this will make him just as happy.
Flipping on the light switch, she brings him just inside the door opposite the false panel where his armor is hidden. "Alright, close your eyes."
She waves her hand in front of his face, ensuring that he's not peeking before pushing the paneling up. His old armor is there, side-by-side with the new set which lies polished and gleaming in its padded black showcase. His hammer has been refinished, all the nicks and scratches buffed out, the metal restored to a gleaming shine. She's not sure she'll ever be able to top this gift.
"Okay, you can look."
She doesn't need a pad for this. Instead she watches his face, wanting to etch the moment in her mind forever.
First his eyes widen, looking back and forth to the two sets of armor. Then, his lips part, just barely.
He's silent.
So silent.
After a few seconds, she begins to feel nervous. Maybe this had been a mistake - maybe he's taking it as an insult, retiring his old armor. Like she's closing the door on his days as a Crusader. Oh hell, why hadn't she thought of that befo-
Reinhardt sweeps her up in a crushing hug, so tight and sudden that she can feel her ribs creak.
"Shildlein." His voice is taut, hoarse with unspoken emotion.
She waits, but he seems unable to say anything more than that. If only she could say something - he's squeezing her so tightly she actually can't breathe. A choked cough is all that can escape.
He eases up, letting her down to the ground but not completely letting go. It's a long moment before he does, and when she looks up into his face she can see that his eyes are bright with unshed tears.
Oh.
"Don't cry!" she says, halfway to tears herself. "You're supposed to be happy!"
He lets out a laugh that sounds a bit strangled, and dashes at his eyes. "I- I am happy." Then he enfolds her in another hug, this one more controlled. "You made this for me?"
She returns the embrace, feeling a few tears squeeze out when she tries to blink them back. "Yeah. And it was a real pain in the ass, let me tell you."
This time his laugh is easier. When he lets her go she swipes gingerly at her eyes and sees smudges of black on her knuckles. There goes all Angela's hard work.
"It's basically the same as your old armor - just updated the materials and components and added a few new features." She steps towards the case and begins rattling off specs. Reinhardt listens patiently, moving forward to touch the metal himself.
"And it can do some pretty cool stuff - not sure you want to try it out now, but maybe we could go to the practice range later today and I'll show you." She smiles, thinking about the interlocking shields. He's going to love that.
Reinhardt nods, eager. "Yes of course!"
But the way his eyes linger on the armor tells her a different story. Brigitte understands. She thinks she felt something similar the first time she was allowed into her father's workshop.
"You can stay here if you want. Just pull that panel down and turn off the lights before you go, okay?"
She waves her goodnight at him and heads back toward her room, feeling tired and pleased. Today - or was it yesterday now - had been a real rollercoaster, but she finally feels like everything is looking up. She's gotten ahold of her feelings for him, finally. Now she can look forward to the new year, uninhibited.
Heavy pounding steps sound behind her. She turns to see Reinhardt running down the hall toward her, and flattens herself on the wall to let him by. Is he going to be sick? That'd be a new one, excited puking.
Instead of sweeping by though he sweeps her up again in an embrace that's not quite a hug, and not quite a carry. Whiskers tickle her cheek as he plants a chaste kiss there.
"Thank you, Shildlein."
A/N: Bet you didn't expect an update so soon, huh? Happy New Years, even though it's not quite midnight here yet!