The Death of Aidos

by Deos

With Overwatch recalled, Reinhardt returns to active duty accompanied by his loyal squire, Brigitte. With trouble brewing as both Talon and the Vishkar Corporation set their sights on upsetting the world's peace, will they be able to protect those they care about, and themselves? Slow burn Reinhardt/Brig

29. New Years - Reinhardt

A/N: Two chapters, just for you. Don't say I never gave you anything, world.

I had been my whole life a bell, and never knew it until at that moment I was lifted and struck.

~Annie Dillard

They land back at the Watchpoint nearly seven hours later, safe and sound as he had predicted.

Reinhardt can actually see the tension drain from Brigitte's shoulders the second they land; her relief palpable.

Lena drives the jet into the silent hangar, and they disembark. Reinhardt stretches in the salty breeze, feeling the creak of his tendons as he does. He's been sitting too long again, cramped into a seat that's just a hair too small to be really comfortable. He's looking forward to the freedom of the weight room to work some of Ingrid's cooking off.

"I think I will visit the gym before lunch. Will you join me?" He extends the offer to Brigitte.

She shakes her head apologetically. "Sorry, I'm finishing up an urgent project. I promise I'll be back in the routine by the time the holidays are over!"

As they enter the Watchpoint they're greeted by no one; the halls are silent, the mess hall empty.

"Dr. Ziegler's still visiting her family. She should be back tomorrow." Lena offers an explanation as they walk past the closed door to the med room. "Try not to get injured before then, yeah?"

"I most certainly will not!"

The workout is much needed; he feels looser, lighter, more focused afterward. Relaxing at the Lindholm residence was nice, but their workout equipment tends more to the cardiovascular. Still it was good to see everyone. Torbjörn's grandchildren are growing like weeds.

There are cold plates of leftovers in the fridge when he looks; what appears to be leftover turkey, salad, wine, and even an ornate chocolate cake. Perhaps he can put off cooking until tomorrow then.

"Finally come back, huh?" The jingle of spurs announces McCree. He sweeps into the kitchen, peering under Reinhardt's arm into the fridge. "Have a good Christmas?"

"Ah yes, it was a rousing success! I am certain I have gained five kilos." Reinhardt jokes, moving aside so McCree can help himself to a slice of chocolate cake.

"Well, ain't a good holiday unless you come back a little fatter. 'Sides, as soon as sims start back up again I'm sure it'll melt right off."

"I hope so. At my age these things take time!" Reinhardt is tempted by the cake as well, but resists. Salad and turkey first.

"Well, m'glad yer back. Christmas dinner was good an' all, but it was frozen dinners before that." McCree stuffs a chunk of cake into his mouth, then chews thoughtfully. "Though, with that party comin' up maybe we'll be swimmin' in leftovers soon enough."

Ah yes, the New Years party. He had forgotten about it; such a celebration would not be complete without a round of hors d'oeuvres. Perhaps he should begin planning a menu…

And that is how he spends the rest of the evening.

With only three days left to plan, decorate, and cook for the party, he finds himself unusually busy. The shopping list lengthens as his menu grows, and getting input from the other agents only confounds things. Everyone has different suggestions with the exception of Zenyatta, who does not eat.

In the end his shopping trip takes two whole hours, first to replenish the general stores of the Watchpoint, then to purchase specialty items and a few decorations.

His offer to workout is again rebuffed by Brigitte the next day, her citing a need to continue work on some project. The sneaking suspicion that it might involve his present is what keeps him from knocking on her workshop door, though it does put him out a bit. Working with a partner is always more motivating.

Over dinner he's scrolling through the recipe list on his pad, trying to plan the order of food preparation when Angela peeks over his shoulder.

"What are you doing?"

She's still bundled in the winter coat she had worn upon her arrival back at the Watchpoint, and he cannot blame her. The heaters cannot keep up with the bitter cold that worms its way into the stone.

"Planning for the New Years party." He moves to the next recipe, [blank]. Those should be easy enough to prepare, he will do them last. "I have found some starters that I think everyone will like.

To his surprise, she snatches his pad right out of his hand. "You are planning to make all these?" she says incredulously, scrolling through his bookmarked recipes.

"Yes, I -"

"No, I absolutely forbid it."

He's so startled by this declaration that he can only stare at her, open-mouthed for a few seconds. "You - what?"

The attention of the rest of the table is on them now. McCree, Lúcio and Brigitte gaping openly, while Lena only smiles. Hanzo watches through the corner of one narrowed eye.

"I said, I forbid it." She shakes the pad at him like a stern finger. "You already do so much of the cooking around here. I absolutely insist that you let the rest of us do some of the work for once."

"That's a great idea, Angela," Genji agrees.

"Hey, speak for yerself. I'm no great shakes at cookin'." McCree says, adjusting his hat uncomfortably.

"Find something simple, then. Or come up with something to drink!" Lena suggests, spinning her fork between two fingers. "I agree with Angela. You should sit this one out, Reinhardt."

At the word 'drink', McCree perks up. Reinhardt isn't sure he likes the gleam in those brown eyes, and apparently he isn't the only one.

"Do not put him in charge of drinks." Hanzo places his utensils down on the table with a little more firmness than is necessary. "Not unless you wish to poison us all with undrinkable swill."

This starts an argument that has become quite common between the two of them, one that seems to have no end. Reinhardt turns away from the fight to regard Angela.

"Well - I...if you insist."

She seems pleased with his response, relinquishing his pad back to him. The iron edge drains from her voice, and she reaches to touch his shoulder. "If you really wish to cook, I won't stop you. I just wanted to take some of the responsibility off of your shoulders. You do so much for us, and I don't think we thank you enough."

Reinhardt pats her hand, feeling a bit embarrassed by the praise. "It is nothing. I like doing it. But I will let you take over, just this once."

When she smiles at him, he knows he's made the right decision.

Now that cooking has been taken from him, he finds himself at loose ends. Suddenly there is time - a lot more time. He invites Brigitte to work out with him the morning of the 29th but is again rebuffed.

"Ugh. Believe me, I'd rather be at the gym the whole day," she says morosely, picking at her eggs. "I'm being dragged into town to go dress shopping."

"Coffin shopping" couldn't have been said with more dread.

"Aw c'mon, it won't be so bad!" Lúcio says, leaning backward a little in his chair.

"Says you. You don't have to wear one."

"Well, you don't have to either!"

Lena nods in agreement, and gives a hearty thumbs up. "He's right, you know. I'm wearing a suit!"

Brigitte seems intrigued at the thought, but then slowly shakes her head. "I wish, but I just feel like I should you know? Besides, most women's dress pants are way too short."

Reinhardt can understand her struggles. Both of them are of unusual sizing for their genders; he himself can't buy dress clothing off the rack. Fortunately he has the option of a tailored tuxedo, while she does not.

Mei, Lúcio, Lena and Brigitte spend the better part of the afternoon in town, and when at last he hears footsteps closing in on the rec room he looks up from the TV. They enter, all of them looking like they've been through an ordeal. "How was it?"

"Y'know, I think I never want to shop again."

Lúcio collapses into the sofa, Brigitte plunking down next to him so hard that one of the couch pillows flops onto the floor.

"Yeah, people are completely barmy." Lena throws herself into one of the recliners and flips up the footrest. "I guess I should have expected it to be busy though, it being so close to New Years and all."

He gleans from the conversation that they'd been utterly overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of shoppers at the mall they'd chosen, and counts himself lucky. Navigating through crowds is always troublesome for a man his size.

"Well, at least we're done!" Mei says hesitantly, trying to lift their spirits. "Now all we have to do is decorate tomorrow!"

That earns another, rousing groan.

For the first time in nearly two weeks, Brigitte joins him in the weight room the next day.

"Man, I think I lost some muscle!" she remarks as her lifts stall at a weight five kilos below her last personal bests.

Reinhardt helps her to switch the plates out, moving to take his own place in the rack. "That is what happens if you don't have consistency."

At that, she looks guilty. "Funny you should say that, actually…"

Hands poised to unrack the bar, he pauses. "Hm?"

"Well, I don't think I can work out tomorrow either. I promised Lúcio I'd help him move his equipment to the mess hall, and in the afternoon I'm going to be helping Angela with the food prep."

He takes the bar in hand and begins to press, ignoring the faint weight of disappointment settling in his chest. It's only one more day, he reminds himself. After the holidays their routine will return to normal.

He heaves the bar up with a sharp exhalation and a clang of metal. "That's fine. But you better be prepared to work come January!"

"I will, I promise!"

They take their time that day and go for two rounds instead of one; weights in the morning, sparring in the evening. Brigitte is the one who suggests it, citing it as a punishment for her failure to keep up her schedule in the past two weeks.

By the end of it they're both breathing hard, and as he leans back on the mat he can actually feel his muscles quivering. He has definitely overdone it, but can't find it in himself to regret it. A good workout is always worth the pain the next day in his books.

It's worth the pain.

Reinhardt reminds himself of those words as he lays in bed, barely able to get up. Oh yes, he had definitely overdone it. Every muscle feels like the hinges of a rusty door, ready to shriek with pain at the slightest motion. Today is the day of the party; how will he be able to walk, let alone dance?

He must get up!

One hot shower and two tylenol later, he's made it to breakfast. Brigitte looks similarly worn; the careful way that she lifts her fork to her mouth speaks of a pain that echoes his.

Lúcio looks between the two of them, watching each stilted motion. "You're both crazy," he says finally.

Reinhardt grins at him, flexes, and winces. "It is worth it, my young friend."

One dark eyebrow quirks at him doubtfully. "If you say so." He turns to Brigitte. "You sure you're gonna be able to help me today?"

Brigitte nods enthusiastically. "Yeah. It feels better the more I move, I should be fine."

Reinhardt offers his assistance. Surely with more of them, it will be more efficient?

"I dunno, you seem a lot worse off than me," Brigitte teases, poking him in the arm. "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?" he sputters. Such cheek. "I think if anyone will need wheeling, it is you! I happen to dance quite well, sore or not."

"Uh-huh." She dismisses his claim in a tone he knows well; the sound of someone who doesn't believe a word he's saying. They've never had occasion to dance before. She will get the shock of her life tonight then.

Instead of belaboring the point he leaves the youngsters to their devices and heads downstairs; she may have had a point about doing a little walking. Loosening up his muscles is a good idea. He needs some flexibility for later - he still has to go into town today to pick up everyone's tuxes, after all.

Whistling as he goes, he can't stop the trickle of thoughts about tonight. He is excited, so very excited to show what he can do. It has been too long.

By late afternoon he has returned, a stack of suits in silken bags draped over one arm. He passes them along to the others, and then hangs his own up. Trying the jacket on, he's a little discouraged to feel how tight it is around the shoulders, but decides against taking it back. There's a good chance he won't keep the jacket on all night anyway.

When he emerges from his room he follows the low sound of chatter down the hall and into the mess hall, where the action is in full swing.

True to their word the kitchen had been completely taken over by a number of agents working on preparations for tonight. He stands by to assist with decorations, but listening to them work is amusing.

"Where's that hot pot thing?" McCree says, rummaging through the cupboards aimlessly. "You know. The thing that cooks things over a couple hours."

"A crock pot?" Lena pauses in her slicing. "Should be on top of the fridge, why?"

"I need it for my little smokies!"

Reinhardt does not know what 'little smokies' are, but they certainly sound like something McCree would like.

Hanzo and Genji are working together to clear away tables, making the center of the mess hall one large, open space. Lúcio works on the wall opposite the door, setting up piles of components and equipment that Reinhardt cannot make head or tails of. His sound stage certainly looks complicated.

Reinhardt takes another temporary hook from the box, peels the tab and presses it to the wall. A row of these encircles the whole mess hall now, and he takes a long string of white lights and begins to thread them around the room. They're just barely long enough to make it to the plug.

By the time dinner rolls around the excitement is growing, and the smell of something meaty and spicy is beginning to take over the kitchen. Reinhardt only eats lightly; there will be starters aplenty at the party, and he wants to be light on his feet. He helps prepare until scarcely an hour before the party starts, then retires to his room. This is it: it's time to get ready.

One hot shower later, he realizes his folly. His hair is wet, and there's no way he'll be tying it up in a ribbon if it'll be soaked through. Embarrassed he tiptoes across the way to Angela's room in a bathrobe and knocks; when she opens the door, her surprise is etched on her face.

"Ah...do you perhaps have a hair dryer I could borrow?"

At least she does not laugh at him. Instead she smiles understandingly, goes to the bathroom and returns with a bundle of cords wrapped neatly around a purple handpiece.

"You're lucky I don't need this tonight," she teases. "Doing something fancy with your hair?"

"You will see," he says, attempting to sound mysterious. "And, thank you Angela."

Back in his room, he adds 'hair dryer' to his shopping list.

The rest of his preparations go off without a hitch. A quick trim to neaten up the edges of his beard first, a little balm to style it, and he's nearly ready.

The rest of the suit fits perfectly, though he spices up the appearance by switching the white button down shirt for one of his own - a cloud gray number a couple shades darker than his hair. A paisley gray and black tie tacked down with a silver bar, shined shoes, and a silver ribbon tied over his hair tie completes the look.

He preens in the mirror for a moment, quite pleased with his appearance, then leaves.

Tonight will be a good night, he can feel it.

He is the first to arrive. Lúcio's sound stage is empty, though a low strain of melody is coming from his speakers. With nothing better to do he begins to pull hors d'oeuvres from the fridge and lay them out, peeling the cellphane from the more delicate items.

On the counter McCree's crockpot still sits, the lid opaque with water droplets. This is the source of the meaty smell. He tips open the lid, releasing a cloud of warmth; inside, what looks like a pile of miniature sausages swimming in barbeque sauce. A dangerous food to eat in a suit.

He is just moving the pitcher of punch over to the table with the next people arrive: Genji and Hanzo.

"Nice tie," Genji remarks.

"I was going to say the same about yours."

Indeed his eyes have been drawn almost instantly to Genji's tie, a gleaming, lime-green thing striped with white. In the subdued light of the room the color is softened, highlighting the rim of light shining from his visor.

"Do not lie to him, it will go to his head." Hanzo leans against the doorway, crossing his arms. He does not look all that pleased to be there.

"You are looking dashing as well, Hanzo!" Reinhardt points to his tie which is a rich cobalt blue that shimmers with golden thread. "Where did you get that? I have never seen anything like it before."

Genji laughs at Hanzo's discomfort; his head turns this way and that, as though confused by the compliment. "I…"

"Go on, tell him the truth, brother!" Genji slaps a hand on Hanzo's back. "I picked that tie out for you!"

Putting his hands in his pockets, Hanzo stalks away from Genji and towards the snack table. "I bought it online."

Their burgeoning argument is disturbed by the arrival of both Lúcio and McCree.

"Wow, all of us are here before any of the ladies?" Lúcio remarks, looking around at them and then shaking his head. His dreadlocks have been let out of their usual ponytail, cross-crossed and tied in an ornate waterfall behind him. He's looking dashing in his own suit, a bow tie of a green even brighter than Genji's at his throat.

"Ain't that surprising." McCree wanders over to his crock pot, steals a fork from the drawer and helps himself to a little smokie. "Women always take forever to get ready."

"Guess I'll just crank up the tunes to let them know the party's started."

Lúcio glides over to his setup, and Reinhardt realizes he's wearing skates instead of shoes. Odd. How does he intend to dance in those?

Reinhardt helps himself to a cup of punch and smacks his lips; the drink is smooth, the alcohol almost undetectable. Dangerous. He will have to remember to drink water tonight.

Winston shows two minutes later with a heavy pounding of knuckles on the floor, looking a little out of breath. "Sorry I'm late everyo- oh." At the sight of all the other men, he pauses. "I guess I'm not that late then."

"Nope, you're right on time!" McCree swings by to pass him a cup of punch. "Nice bowtie."

Winston lifts the cup to his nose, sniffs, then sets it down on a nearby table gingerly.

It's almost ten minutes before the rest of the agents arrive as one, lead by Angela. Lúcio dims the music as they approach, announcing over the loudspeaker: "And now the ladies of the hour!"

He stands, stepping forward with a broad smile to take her hand and ghost the impression of a kiss over the back of it. "You are looking lovely tonight, Angela!"

She smiles at him, looking serene and almost ethereal in a gray dress that nearly floats around her. "You old charmer. Did you intend to copy my look?"

Glancing down at his own gray shirt, he laughs. "No, a mere accident. But it means that I must have the first dance with you tonight!"

Behind her Mei and Lena are approaching as well. At first he had not recognized Mei; her hair is done up elaborately and she is clutching her hands together, looking shyly around the room. When he compliments her and bows to give her hand a kiss as well she flushes.

"You really are like one of the knights out of my story books," she giggles. "I didn't think people did that any more."

"Yeah, chivalry ain't completely dead." McCree approaches, jingling slightly. Reinhardt sees he's wearing black cowboy boots instead of the usual brown leather, still festooned with spurs. He bows to Mei and Lena, red tie flopping to hit him in the face as he does.

"You look beautiful, Angela." Reinhardt can hear Genji just behind him offering a quiet compliment. The sound in his voice is soft, almost yearning. Reinhardt steers his group away, not wanting to intrude on them. It's only when he does this that he spots Brigitte.

Her back is to them, caught up in conversation with Winston. There's not much he can see besides the back of her head and dress, but already the difference is astounding. Her hair is nearly as ornate as Mei's.

"Can't believe they found a suit in your size!" Tracer tugs at his straining lapel, dragging his attention back to her.

He flexes his chest slightly, showing the wrinkles that appear when he does. "It is...not quite my size." It will have to be removed before he pulls any of the more acrobatic moves out of his arsenal, most certainly.

From behind him their is a burst of familiar laughter. He turns to see the back of Brigitte's head, now right behind him. How had she snuck up without him noticing?

He taps her on the shoulder gently, careful not to prod what must be a sore deltoid. "Who do we have here?"

She turns to face him, and he blinks in surprise.

Shildlein. Is that really his Brigitte? She looks so very different. Perhaps it is the dress; he has not seen her wear them for a long time. Not since she was very little, forced into them for Lindholm family photos, in fact. He is still trying to place his thoughts when she greets him.

"Um, oh! Hi, Reinhardt. We were just talking about Genji's green hair!"

"What? Reinhardt looks at Genji. His visor is off, but the dim lighting makes it hard to tell if his hair has changed from the black that he has always known. "Genji has green hair? It must be a very dark green."

Genji shakes his head, holding up a finger in correction. "Actually, I used to have green hair. When I was young, I dyed it a color close to that." He points to Lúcio's speakers, where a neon-green emblem glows.

"Hah! That must have been a sight to see!" It is easy to tell that the color still holds its appeal for him; the vents on his suit and his visor glow a very similar color almost constantly. He claps Genji on the back, and Hanzo, who had until that point been standing near their circle of talk, walks away.

"Anyone want a little smokie?" McCree sidles up into the space Hanzo has vacated, offering a plate of small sausages around.

Just then Lúcio's voice booms over the music, causing everyone to jump. "Alright everybody, it's time to get this party started!"

As he turns the music back up, Reinhardt recognizes the tune; it's an old line dance. He is the first on the dance floor, intent on enjoying himself. This will be a good warm up for the main event.

A few songs later his muscles are warm and the worst of the soreness has dissipated, allowing more freedom of movement. He shucks of his coat, annoyed with the way it pulls at his shoulders.

Off to the side he notices Brigitte sitting at one of the tables, sipping on a cup of punch. She's watching the other dancers, but doesn't seem all that interested in joining; quite uncharacteristic for her. He has half a mind to go over to her himself when Lena flits off the dance floor and pulls her to her feet.

"What a fine amusement this is."

The low, calming voice of Zenyatta drifts to him under the sound of the music, and he turns his head to see the omnic floating behind him. His head is tilted, slit-like eyes watching the dance floor with an expression Reinhardt can't read. It might be his imagination, but Reinhardt thinks he might be getting better at reading Zenyatta just by watching how his mala move. They're floating serenely around him now in a loose circle, a motion that Reinhardt interprets as contentment.

"Indeed, it is good fun!" he agrees, making room in case Zenyatta wants to join. "Do you dance?"

"I do indeed."

Genji perks up at that statement, turning to regard Zenyatta with wide eyes. "Master, I have never seen you dance before. I did not know you could."

"Ah, my pupil. There are still many things I have yet to show you," Zenyatta says, and this time Reinhardt definitely catches the edge of amusement in his tone. Simultaneously his mala flex, swirling more quickly. "I believe a demonstration is in order."

And then he moves onto the dance floor.

McCree retires to a seat nearby, fanning himself with his hat. They watch as Zenyatta begins an elegant series of movements perfectly in time with the beat, mala seeming to act as visual flair for each of his motions.

"Well I'll be damned. The robot dances better'n me!"

"He does have skill," Reinhardt agrees, impressed. Zenyatta has hidden depths; what else does he know?

They continue the dance through a number of different tempos and styles, and after awhile Zenyatta retires from the dance floor to vigorous applause from Genji and Reinhardt. "Impressive! I'm beginning to think that there is nothing you do not know, Master."

Zenyatta laughs, and it is the first time Reinhardt has ever heard him do so. "Those who think they are all-knowing know nothing of what they do not. There is still much I have to learn, Genji."

And with those cryptic words he retreats, floating to the back of the mess hall to watch them again.

"Okay let's slow it way down now." Lúcio slows the tempo, transforming the upbeat music into something much slower, more orchestral. A waltz.

Yes! He has been waiting for this all night!

He approaches Angela, offering his hand. "If I may?"

She takes it, smiling. This is not the first time they have danced before, but it has been a long, long time. If she does not remember how, that is fine - he is a strong leader. But as he places his hand on her waist and they begin to step he knows she has forgotten nothing.

"So, are you enjoying the party?" The rhythm they have settled into is easy, instinctive. He feels comfortable settling into conversation, steering her around the other dancing couples.

"Yes. It's nice. I've missed occasions like these," Angela admits. "I think sometimes we get so wrapped up in daily activities that we forget to relax."

Over her shoulder Reinhardt can see Brigitte sitting again, this time picking at a plate of hors d'oeuvres. He had hoped that Lúcio would ask her to dance. To his relief, it looks like she will not be alone; McCree approaches, offering his own hand.

He realizes he has forgotten to reply to Angela.

"Yes. It would be nice to have more holiday parties, wouldn't it? Seeing everyone in their finery is something I could get used to." He grins wryly at her, admiring the way the opals in her hair gleam.

"It is fun, isn't it? Everyone looks so different." Angela blinks, eyes cutting to look at Genji and Mei dancing together as she does. Reinhardt feels a twinge; perhaps he should not have asked her to dance. Hopefully Lúcio will play another slow piece. Perhaps he will even request it.

As quickly as she had blinked, her eyes are back on him. "Oh, I forgot to thank you for those cherry cordials. I didn't think you remembered that I liked those!"

Their conversation moves on to more inconsequential topics, and he lets his gaze wander. Hanzo is still avoiding all forms of dance, leaning against the wall furthest from Zenyatta. Lena and Winston huddle close, waltzing without touching. Genji leads Mei in a slightly stilted version of a waltz, her giggles trickling over the top of the music. McCree and Brigitte stand on the furthest edge of the dance floor, doing a slow rock instead of a dance. Her arms are around his neck, his around her waist. They're awfully close. Perhaps it is not Lúcio he should worry about.

The dance ends, and he feels the faintest hint of relief as McCree tips his hat to her, then departs for the buffet table. Brigitte exits the room soon after, with Angela excusing herself for the restroom shortly thereafter.

Are they done for the night?

Reinhardt heads to the buffet himself, feeling quite hungry. Punch and a little of the bagels covered in lox and cream cheese make their way into his stomach as the music continues to roll. The level of punch in the bowl has dwindled quite a bit; will they make it to midnight? Checking his watch he sees that it is only thirty minutes 'til. Time has flown by tonight.

Angela and Brigitte re-enter the room and he moves out of the way as they head for the refreshments. He decides to sit for a few minutes, letting his food settle and watching the dance floor.

Brigitte fairly drags Lúcio away from his equipment, and together the two of them dance with a fervor that he envies. Ah, to be that young again. When Lúcio does the splits he amends that thought: to be that young and that flexible.

"Hey, Reinhardt! How ya holdin' up?"

It is Lena. She appears to be mostly supporting Mei, who is pink-cheeked and smiling. From the unfocused look in her eye he can guess that it is she who has been at the punch all night.

"I am well. Perhaps a bit too old to do this anymore, but I will never give up!" He fans himself with his empty plate, gesturing at the sweat stains that are starting to soak through at his chest. "And you?"

"Oh, I'm great!" Lena shifts a little to better accommodate Mei, who is beginning to slip. Reinhardt stands to help her, wondering if he should perhaps just pick her up and carry her off to bed. "This one though - I think she's had a little too much fun. As soon as the ball drops I'm gonna cart her off to bed."

"Fun! M'havin' a lot of fun!" Mei agrees. "C'n we go an' dance sommore?"

"Yeah, yeah, once you get some water down!" Lena says. Can you get some water? she mouths behind Mei's back to him, and he obliges.

It takes some coaxing and more than a few napkins to catch the water dribbling down Mei's chin, but they manage it. Hopefully they will be able to minimize some of the pain that Reinhardt knows will be in store for her tomorrow.

The music begins to change, again spinning down from an energetic beat. "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 waltz that comes through the speakers is slower, a bit more contemporary than the one earlier that night. Genji offers a hand to Angela. Hers reaches faster, meets, twining with his as he leads her to the dance floor. Reinhardt follows Lena as she struggles to join the others, wanting to ensure that she isn't about to lose her grip on the other woman before he turns to scan the tables.

There she is. Brigitte is sitting alone, watching Hanzo and McCree talk on the opposite wall. He approaches at the edge of her sight and when she turns to look, offers his hand.

"Will you honor me with a dance?"

He keeps his tone serious, for this is a matter of some importance. As far as he knows she has never waltzed; this will be her instruction. She nods and takes his hand, and he guides her onto the dance floor.

He positions himself accordingly, pleased when her hands fall naturally to the right positions. Perhaps she has done this before after all. When he begins to lead that hypothesis is proven false; she steps with the wrong foot, stepping on his toe.

Well, he has had worse than that.

"Oh shit, sorry- I mean, sorry-" He chuckles a little at her embarrassment. If he had known it would've been this easy to rile her up, he would've tried it sooner.

"Relax, Shildlein. I've got you."

He pulls them closer, ensuring that she must follow his lead. This time when he steps she is forced to move correctly.

For a first-timer, she is learning quickly. There are only a few mishaps before he can bring them up to tempo, guiding her seamlessly through the room.

"You've been holding out on me, old man!" She shifts her weight against him, rocking him back onto his heels as she taunts. "Never thought you were actually telling the truth about this!"

So, she believes all his claims are falsehoods, does she?

"Ha! This old dog still knows a few tricks!" He grins, feeling a bit devious. He wonders how she will feel about this next move.

He drops his hand from her shoulder, bringing their linked hands overhead to force her into a twirl so vigorous it fans her dress up in a maroon flare. His other hand grabs her free one, pulling it down and across so that she is wedged against him by her own arm. Holding them there for a beat, he then reverses the movement, pulling her back to him with just a little more force than necessary.

That will show her.

He laughs as she punches him in the chest. "Show off."

"Maybe you should show a little respect for your elders, hmm?"

He expects a cheeky retort, but does not get it. Instead she laughs.

The sound startles him. It's rich and throaty, a sound ripped from deep within her. She laughs and keeps laughing, until he can see tears beading at the corners of her eyes. He's almost concerned, but then the laughing tapers off and the tears are blinked back, unshed.

"Did I say something funny?"

Brigitte smirks at him, a look that, when paired with the catlike tilt of her eyes makes his chest squeeze with sudden tightness. Somehow when he was not looking, his goddaughter had grown into a beautiful woman.

"Nope, just had a funny thought." She looks around, noticing their reduced speed, then nudges him with her knee. "Don't tell me you're getting tired! Do I need to put you to bed, grandpa?"

"G-grandpa?!" Hadn't he just finished teaching her a lesson? "You- why, I-"

She sticks her tongue out at him, a childlike gesture at odds with her elegant appearance. His heart quickens, fired up with the urge to show just who's old.

"You've got some nerve." He drives their tempo up drastically, wondering if she will falter. She doesn't; she's tall enough that her steps match his with ease. "What have I done to deserve such an impudent squire?"

"You're just lucky, I guess." She grins, a wide, toothy thing that he's seen turned on her brothers more than once. Just try me, that look says. Then she winks.

She is not getting away with that.

He pushes them to the edge of the tempo, cutting dangerously close to the other dancers as he does. She hardly seems to notice. The shadows of the room distort and flicker as their passage disturbs the candles, turning everything into a dim, ethereal haze. He throws twirl after twirl in, a move that must surely make her dizzy - but she takes it all in stride, still grinning up at him.

Lúcio's music is crescendoing, he knows the end will come soon. He does not want it to. It has been a long time since he has danced so effortlessly; he feels wonderfully, vibrantly alive.

But all good things must come to an end. And he has saved his best move for last.

An orchestral crash heralds the peak of the song and as it does he places a leg behind Brigitte, pulling her back so that she falls. It's obvious she isn't expecting it. She grabs for a hold, gripping the front of his shirt so tightly that the collar squeezes his neck - but she needn't worry. His arm is waiting to catch her. The moment she realizes this her eyes snap open and he laughs, delighted at her surprise.

"Be easy, Shildlein. I told you before, I have you."

The music fades away and with it the frantic pounding of his heart. He pulls her upright, and she releases him.

"You could've given me a little warning, ya know. Then I wouldn't have had to strangle you." She pats at the front of his shirt, trying to smooth the wrinkles that have been formed by her clutching hand.

He slides his hand down from her shoulder but pauses, lingering at her waist, not quite ready to let the magic of the dance disappear. "What would be the fun in that?"

"Wooh! Everybody, those were some fine moves!" Lúcio thunders over the speakers, not an ounce of enthusiasm lost. "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!"

Reinhardt checks his watch. Lúcio has timed it perfectly; it's less than thirty seconds until 2077.

"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!"

2076 was a fine year. Returning to Overwatch, a successful mission in the books, many agents returned to the service. What will 2077 bring? Only good things, he hopes.

Brigitte is warm under his hand. He can feel the rise and fall of each breath.

For an old dog like him, love may be beyond his reach. But it is not too late for her. More than anything he hopes for good things for Brigitte; success in Overwatch, in life, and - his eyes flick to Lúcio, considering - perhaps even love. The thought is bittersweet.

Lúcio raises a fist, the mic clutched in his other hand. "Okay, count with me!"

"TEN!"

"NINE!"

"EIGHT!"

"SEVEN!"

"SIX!"

"FIVE!"

"FOUR!"

"THREE!"

"TWO!"

"ONE!"

"HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

From outside comes the many explosions of fireworks in the distance, powerful enough to vibrate through the Rock of Gibraltar. Many-colored lights play on the wall opposite the windows, shimmering like the aurora.

He is surprised to feel a warm hand on his face angling his head down, then the soft press of lips against his cheek. Brigitte. Then she is gone, giving all the remaining agents the same treatment.

As she helps Lena hoist Mei between them, he feels a swell of fondness.

He begins to help clean up, consolidating the remaining food on smaller plates and replacing the cellophane. All of the tea lights are pinched out with a lick of his fingers, and the light garlands unplugged.

"Nah, leave it." He turns to find Lúcio talking to Brigitte, who is gesturing towards his sound equipment. "I'll get 'em tomorrow. Or, later today I guess. Think I might change real quick and go watch the fireworks awhile. You in?"

"Sorry, I have something else planned," Brigitte says apologetically. She turns to him, looking expectant. "Ready for your present?"

Ah! He had almost forgotten about that. "But of course!"

They head towards the workshop, as he expected. With the number of hours she's put in there lately, it was only natural that he speculate that his gift had something to do with her work. He has tried hard to guess at what it is, preferring the surprise.

She brings him into the room and past some of the worktables, but he does not see anything wrapped there. No brightly colored paper peeking out from beneath any workbenches. Perhaps it is still hidden.

"Alright, close your eyes."

His ears prick of the quiet click of something unlatching, then the snakelike slide of something rubbing across what sounds like fabric. The curiosity gnaws at him, almost unbearable.

"Okay, you can look."

When he opens his eyes, he is astonished. There, set into the wall are two sets of armor. He looks back and forth between them, disbelieving. One is unquestionably his old Crusader armor -he can tell by the scratches and discolorations alone- and the other is…

He has to open his mouth a little just to breathe. The air feels strangely thin.

It is new armor. Fashioned true to the style of the old, it has been updated and, if he knows his squire, likely improved. It will be better, stronger, lighter. The legendary power of the Crusaders, made modern.

Reinhardt, live with honor.

He reaches for her and pulls her into a hug.

"Shildlein." He wants to say more, but his throat closes up. He can only squeeze her, trying to let his body tell the magnitude of his gratitude.

When she lets out a choked cough, he realizes he is being overzealous. Setting her back down he loosens his hold but doesn't relinquish it, still not quite ready to speak. It is a long moment before he can. When he looks down at her the room seems to be swimming.

"Don't cry!" Her voice wobbles, reflecting his own emotion. "You're supposed to be happy!"

He laughs thickly. He is, he's just doing a terrible job of expressing it. "I-" he pauses to swallow, willing the lump in his throat to disappear. "I am happy." Then he cannot resist another hug, still overwhelmed with awe. "You made this for me?"

This time her arms wrap around him, returning the embrace. "Yeah. And it was a real pain in the ass, let me tell you." Her voice is muffled into his shoulder, but the weak attempt at the joke is still obvious.

Laughter comes easier the second time. He stands back and watches as she wipes at her own eyes, smearing some of her makeup. He wishes he had carried a kerchief for her.

"It's basically the same as your old armor - just updated the materials and components and added a few new features." The specs she lays out for him are a little overwhelming; it would do Torbjörn proud though. He's still too stunned to completely absorb what she's saying. In lieu of listening he moves forward to touch the metal, feeling how smooth it is beneath his fingers.

"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."

"Yes, of course!" After some sleep he would have hours and hours to test it out. He really should be getting to bed. But a large part of him isn't quite ready to leave - he wants to stay and bask in his memories, just for a little while.

Brigitte seems to understand. "You can stay here if you want. Just pull that panel down and turn off the lights before you go, okay?" She points to the hide-away panel and shows him how to slide it down, then waves a goodnight.

As soon as she has gone, he feels like something is missing. Like there's something he must do.

What is it?

He has to think only a moment before it comes to him. Fool! He hasn't even thanked her properly!

Bursting through the workshop door he sees she's only made it partway down the hall and pounds after her. She must think that he wants let through because she moves aside, pressing herself to the wall. When he lifts her up she blinks, surprised.

There is only one way to do this.

Pulling her close he returns the gesture of before, planting a kiss on her cheek. The skin there is quite warm, fragrant with some perfume he has never noticed before. One wide, hazel eye regards him curiously. His heart drums.

"Thank you, Shildlein."