Zenyatta they called it, but Junkrat refused to use the name. Names were for people, not for things , for machines that pretended they were alive. An omnic was an omnic, and omnics weren't human , they couldn't be trusted.
He spent the passing days avoiding it as best he could, eyes alert for any sign of the creepy, floating rustbucket, choosing different routes or scarpering from a room should it drift in. His improving health made the task a little easier, finally being done with the chair and onto crutches. Mercy seemed pleased with his progress, but Junkrat was still impatient. Until he was back to his usual shape, he felt unsettled. The bloody omnic just made things worse .
At least some of his troubles could be laid to rest. The senior Overwatch agents seemed to have drawn their conclusion, and from what he could understand he was off the hook. Sure, he was suspended from active duty, but Junkrat figured he wouldn't have been doing much while he was recovering anyway, and maybe they'd mentioned something about his record too, but Junkrat didn't give a damn about records. That was all paperwork, and the only time he really cared about paperwork was if it was printed dollar bills.
They seemed to have other stuff on their minds, Talon stuff, and if that kept them off his back, then Junkrat was pleased. Didn't stop Soldier glaring at him when he passed by, but Junkrat just grinned back. That seemed to piss the guy off even more , which only encouraged him to grin wider.
Hana and Lucio were the other worry... He'd promised them the truth, and he guessed he owed it.
So, he'd told them the whole story. Told them he'd killed Hector. Told them everything he could remember from that night, because there was no way to twist his way out of this one, and if he was gonna talk about it he was gonna say it all, 'cos it was easy once he'd started, and he'd rather spill the tale in one breathless go than in short, stuttering bolts, never certain what they were thinking…
When he was finally done, they were silent.
Immediately, Junkrat itched to move, to find a distraction, but he was too deeply focused on the pair of them, taut for some kind of response. He needed to know, needed to know now, needed-
Hana was the first to speak. "We kinda suspected as much."
Junkrat's breath caught. "Ya did?"
"Yeah..." Lucio said, quieter. He was looking at the ground, mouth turned down slightly in an expression that was near regretful. "Look, I'm not saying I'm happy about it, but I gotta believe you had your reasons. If you really thought he was gonna kill you, then I understand."
Junkrat didn't know what he'd been expecting. Something dramatic, probably. But the moment passed and there was only a mellow hush, and all of that pent up anxiety, that tension, bled out and left him feeling oddly hollow.
"Y'ain't pissed at me?"
" Should we be?" Hana asked.
Junkrat fidgeted. "Dunno. Figured ya might be. Figured... dunno what I figured..."
"Well, it's done now," she sighed. "There's no changing what happened. We trust you, if you think it had to be done, then... That's good enough for me."
"We've got your back, alright man?"
For some reason, his throat felt oddly tight, and Junkrat hated this. There probably wasn't any reason he deserved this, but they still smiled at him, still looked as if they believed he had the best of intentions, that deep down he was good, like them, and he had to wonder why . It was as baffling as it was... unexpectedly painful.
Because he wasn't. He'd never thought himself particularly cruel, nor villainous, but he had no illusions about himself. He'd done some pretty fucked up things, and he probably still would, somewhere down the line, because that's just how he was, just how he'd learned to be. Junkers weren't known for their moralistic approach. Heck, he was still learning what most people even considered right or wrong.
And yet... They trusted him, and the weight of that was near smothering, exactly the sort of thing he'd wanted to run from... He wasn't used to people looking at him like this, believing in him in any kind of way... you weren't ever going to let anyone down when they never gave a toss about you in the first place... it was liberating... but now things were different…
A double edged sword, really. As much as he liked them, as much as Overwatch meant to him, it was slowly dawning on him that when you actually cared about people the idea of letting them down was unpleasant. And why was that? Why was it that, the closer he felt he got to something, the more confusing it became?
It was too difficult a problem to work his head around for the moment, though, so he simply scrubbed a hand at his face as if to rub it away, and worked up a grin. "Appreciate it," he murmured to them.
"You know what I think?" Hana declared. "You're out of medical now, that calls for a celebration! What do you guys say to a proper games night, my place? I stocked up on snacks and everything!"
"Sounds like ya had this planned," Junkrat said.
" Maybe ," she said, with a sly smile. "So, you in or what?"
Junkrat hesitated. "Yeah," he said, "yeah I guess so."
There, at least, they found a familiar routine.
Games night was something he could use to ground himself, to remember how things ought to be. Even if he had to wheel himself or limp in on his crutches, it was something that was familiar and pleasant, almost enough to make him forget the omnic lurking in their midst.
As the days continued to pass, there wasn't a lot for Junkrat to do. Beyond busying himself in the workshop to restock his supply of mines, grenades, and other fun contraptions, he was more or less free to do as he pleased- although Roadhog kept a watchful eye any time he snuck out to the training range, in case he tried anything too strenuous.
He spent a lot of it trying to work out the bot's routine.
He knew it tended to be absent in the early morning, apparently enjoying meditating outside with the sunrise. He knew it visited the medical ward, and the workshop, and was often seen in the company of the cyborg. He also discovered, to his delight, that apparently Torbjorn and the Russian lady seemed to hold it in similar disdain, and it was encouraging to know that the entire base hadn't been won over by the smooth, robotic tones of the machine.
Torbjorn's gruff and unwelcoming attitude also tended to make it's visits to the workshop shorter than Junkrat expected they would otherwise be, and his respect for the engineer rose a notch.
He hated seeing the thing in the workshop. Made a place he'd come to think of with fondness suddenly unsafe, tainted, and he spent a while considering boobytrapping it before reluctantly deciding that Symmetra was unlikely to allow him.
What he needed to devote himself to was a plan.
Once the omnic was gone, then things would be perfect, he just needed to make it happen …
The debriefing had made it clear that the senior Overwatch agents wouldn't listen to reason, so convincing them of how dangerous the thing was to keep around seemed unlikely, and he didn't want to stir up more trouble with them by kicking up a fuss. Sometimes folk just didn't understand.
So, that left plan B.
Explosives, he decided, weren't an option since they were pretty much his trademark. He needed to be careful with this. As much as he longed to just smash that omnic to pieces, he couldn't just rush it.
As had become the norm, Junkrat scribbled out and immediately burned several plans, gnashing his teeth together in frustration and flopping down onto the floor of his room. He scowled at the ceiling.
How long had it been since the thing had appeared? How long had he just sat back, letting it worm its way into his home?
Home?
He paused for a second, wondering at the word. Was that what this was now?
Junkrat began to chew on his nails, expression troubled.
Fuck, wasn't like it mattered , right? What mattered was making sure the bloody bot wasn't here, not fussing about the weird feelings that stirred in his chest. Once it was gone, then he could worry about that other crap, but he needed priorities, 'cos that was important, and his number one priority wasn't about to change.
The only real question was how the bloody hell he intended to make it happen…
He sat up, staring at the notebook lying beside him, ragged edges from the pages he'd torn out in a temper reminding him of how much time he'd wasted already.
"Y'ain't no help," he told it, just so it understood.
He heard a grunt, and glanced at Hog momentarily before waving a hand as if wafting something away. "Nah, not you mate, though y'ain't contributin' much, either. Not that I'm complainin', mind, I'm the real mastermind of this operation after all, as ya know."
His bodyguard seemed to accept this, turning back to his book.
The big lug had taken to sticking closer to him than usual since the aftermath of the mission, even as he healed. Junkrat supposed he accepted it. Hog was familiar, made him feel a little more comfortable, even with the bot about, but it irked him sometimes when it reminded him of his own vulnerability. He wasn't weak. He refused to be weak. Maybe his body was still sore and didn't move quite like it was supposed to, but he could still kill anyone looking for a fight and anyone who thought otherwise would quickly learn their mistake.
He was beginning to feel antsy again, an hour sulking in his room was too long and he needed to find something to settle his mind. Junkrat hauled himself upright, stretching.
"Gonna get a refill," he told Roadhog, shaking his empty flask.
His bodyguard looked up, tilting his head questioningly.
"Nah, stay put, I'll just be a tick." Junkrat slung his launcher over his shoulder and gathered his crutches. It was a little awkward, but the the weight of the weapon bouncing against him with every lurching step was comforting. It had been a while since he'd bothered with it around the base, not since his arrival, but given the situation he remained on guard, and intended to keep it that way until such time as things were back to normal.
He hummed to himself, clunking his way off to the kitchen. The prospect of boba tea always put him in a good mood.
He'd fill up his flask, and maybe grab something to eat too... when was the last time he'd eaten? He wasn't sure, but he felt like he was hungry enough. Maybe he'd get something for Hog, too? Yeah, then maybe he could get the lug to drag some stuff out to the training range for him, blow off a bit of steam. He'd been working on some new prototypes based off what he'd learned from Tracer's pulse bomb, and he needed to work the kinks out still.
Then he needed to see what Lucio was up to, 'cos he'd been making some new music thing lately, and it was fun to see it fall into place bit by bit as the rhythm formed itself in a way that seemed near mystical to Junkrat, and listening to the DJ chat about it was almost as good.
Oh, and he hadn't visited Symmetra either, and the cowboy had promised to teach him a new game of cards last time they talked, and-
And suddenly Junkrat staggered to a halt, because hovering in the kitchen was the shiny silver form of the omnic, conversing pleasantly with Hana, and all his thoughts tumbled over one another and became lost amongst his growing, seething mass of hatred.
He fucking loathed that tin can. It shouldn't be here. It had no right to be here. Yet there it was, in the kitchen of all places, talking to someone it had no right to be speaking to. Ruining everything .
The thing was untrustworthy, dangerous, and he didn't want it near her, seeing it around Lucio or Hana was somehow worse than with anyone else. The thought of it talking to them with its gentle robotic tones and stealing their affections away, making them enjoy it's company... the whole idea made him sick .
So, this time, Junkrat didn't turn around and evade the thing, this time he swung forward on his crutches and entered the kitchen as loudly as he could, every bit of hostility written all over his face.
Hana glanced up at the noise first. She paused, concern flickering across her features though she quickly managed a smile and a wave. "Hiya, Rat!"
The omnic turned at that, offering its own greeting. Junkrat just glared at it.
"Far as I know ya don't eat or drink nothin', so what ya doin' here ?" he demanded.
"You are correct," it said smoothly, "I do not, but I took the liberty of preparing some tea for Genji. He seems troubled of late, and I thought it might do him some good."
It gestured to the fresh cup on the counter as if to prove itself, some herbal concoction by the smell of it. Junkrat just narrowed his eyes.
"Well, if ya done then maybe ya should go give it to 'im, rather than hangin' about in everyone's bloody way."
"I suppose I should," it said. It picked up the cup, turning to incline its head to . "Thank you for the conversation Hana, it was most pleasant."
"Sure..." she said, looking uncertain.
Holding the cup with both hands, it floated off toward the doorway, and Junkrat tensed as it approached, taking a step away. His fingers itched to find his frag launcher. His body screamed at him to move. He needed to kill it, now, before it got too close, before it could reach him and... and…
But as it approached the thing only offered him a polite nod.
"Farewell," it said, before drifting away. Junkrat let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.
He scowled, gritting his teeth as he fought off a wave of unease and listened to his heartbeat slow. Then he shook himself, and limped over to the counter.
Hana had her chin propped up in her hand, and was regarding him as he set his flask down and rummaged through the cupboards. "That was pretty rude, you know."
He snorted. "It's a bot ."
"So?"
"So there's no point in wastin' manners on a bloody trashcan ."
She winced. " Maybe don't say that kind of stuff around the others, it's not very PC."
"Well that's their problem then, ain't it?" Junkrat said, only glancing back out of habit before he turned back to his task, pulling the ingredient for his drink out and dumping it on the counter.
She drummed her fingers on the table. "Alright, I'm gonna say it. You remember how Lucio had a thing about Satya because of what Vishkar did?"
"Yeah, what about it?" he asked, suspiciously.
"Well it's a bit like that, isn't it?"
That caught his attention. He turned around, folding his arms. "How d'ya figure?"
Hana appeared to be considering her response. "Look..." she began, her voice losing its usual girlish enthusiasm, "Satya isn't responsible for what Vishkar did. And Zen... he's not responsible for everything omnics have done, either. I don't think he was even around during the omnic crisis. He's supposed to be part of the team now."
Junkrat was not impressed. Bad enough seeing her talking to the thing, worse seeing her defending it. Fuckin' omnic had probably been sidling up to them behind his back, fooling them into thinking it was an actual person. He should have gotten rid of it already. He should have gotten rid of it the moment he knew it existed, screw the consequences.
"Doesn't change the fact it's a bot! ," he snapped, eyes blazing. "Ya know the stuff they've done, eh? Think they're so innocent?"
Hana straightened up, head raised defiantly. "MEKA was formed to fight an omnic, I've seen... I've seen plenty of stuff, so I know . But you also know what? Some of my fans are omnics."
Junkrat pulled a disgusted face. The very idea made his skin crawl.
She sighed, sinking back in her seat. "Yeah... I felt pretty weird about it too to start with... but they're not bad. Not all of them. I think they just want to live their lives, same as us. I don't think I can ever look at them the same way Lucio does, but it wasn't them who did all that stuff... hurting them doesn't make anything better."
"How d'ya know if ya don't try?"
Hana looked at him almost sadly. "It sucks, Rat, it really does... but sometimes you just have to let things go, at least on the surface. It's best for PR."
Junkrat pursed his lips, gaze flickering away. She didn't understand. She couldn't , not really. Only Hog could truly grasp what he felt when it came to bots, and the bloke had as much reason to loathe them himself, the pair of them were a product of the mess the machines had left behind. "I can't," he muttered, shoulders hunching forward. "I ain't like you, I jus' can't ."
"Sure you can. Just takes a little practice." She gave an encouraging smile, attempting to meet his eyes. "Not like you have a choice, right? It's like... you've gotta sink or swim, yeah?"
"Pretty sure I only sink," he said, laughing mechanically, "metal ain't too floaty."
He lifted his mechanical arm, gesturing to it and then his pegleg.
Hana was at least willing to pity him with a small giggle. "It's a metaphor, dummy, stop trying to make a crappy joke out of things. But really. You don't have to like him, you just have to pretend , okay? Otherwise... otherwise things will just get messy and I really don't want to see that happen."
Junkrat huffed, but... Metal... wasn't floaty... it sunk... and somewhere, in the chaos of his brain a plan was beginning to slot itself together. His eyes went wide, mouth hanging open slightly as realization dawned. Then suddenly he snapped back into motion, stepping away from the counter, both hands aloft but not quite sure what to do with themselves so they hovered in the air, uncertain, pegleg creaking as his leg jiggled excitedly.
Yeah... yeah, he could work with this.
"Uh... you alright there Rat?" Hana asked, leaning forward and peering at him doubtfully.
Junkrat grinned back at her, a sharp but genuine grin. For the first time in a week he felt a gleeful enthusiasm, and boy had he missed it.
"Ya don't gotta worry," he assured her, "I got things under control ."
((Long time no update, sorry about that guys. But you don't have to worry, I'm not giving up on this!))
