DISCLAIMER! This chapter takes place at the same time as the previous one, so don't get confuzzled heh. Not as much action in this one, sorryyyy. But we'll get back into it soon enough. Hope you all enjoyed the last Chapter! I just want to give a big shout out some peeps who have really inspired me during the process of making this fic. Thank you very much Time Pony Victorious for giving me some advice on how to improve my writing! You've really shown me some awesome tips, and I feel like my writing is already getting richer. And thank you Mason Tims for also providing great support! Your in depth reviews have been very useful and always put me in a good mood! And thank you to all the rest of the followers and reviewers for your support and kind comments as well! You all are the real reason this story keeps going. I hope to provide you with more stories in the future, and will try to read some from each of you as well! In the mean time, here's the chapter!

XXXX

It was incredibly dark in the generator room, even with one of Winston's high powered flashlights, which Lena was currently using to navigate her way to the backup generators. Every step she took made a satisfying, yet, admittedly, creepy echo throughout the room. She honestly didn't understand why Winston hadn't bothered to do this himself. He did live here after all. It would have saved her the trouble of turning this place on, that's for sure. But she guessed the scientist didn't really have a need for a fully operational base while in hiding.

"Come on loves, where are ya?" she said out loud, as if expecting a response from the generators.

A few more steps and a few turns led her right to them. Large layers of dust lay over the massive blocks of machinery like a veil.

"There you are,"

There were ten backup generators in total, standing lifeless before Lena, no power surging through their conduits. Not wanting to waste any time, Lena got straight to work. She blinked from one to the next, in quick succession, as she flipped each generator's switches. The switches made a satisfying clink as they were pulled into the downward position. A little moment of anticipation gnawed at Lena as she gripped the last one. Please turn on, she said to herself. She pulled it. A brief moment of silence, darkness, nothingness. The pause in time ate away at Lena, as she waited for something, anything to happen; anything good, at least. Then it happened.

The room was suddenly lit with glorious bright light. Monitors and terminals all around Lena hummed to life, their screens and LED's flashing and glowing. The rest of Watchpoint Gibraltar came to life, lights flashing on, hangar doors lumbering open, and blank computer screens, all throughout the base, now blinking 'Password Protected'.

"And we're back in the game!" Lena exclaimed to herself.

Satisfied with her work, she made her way back to the surface of the base, occasionally blinking to speed up the process. She took in the familiar surroundings, memories of when she was stationed here coming to mind. Lena remembered the time when Torbjorn almost fell of the cliff and Reinhardt only had enough time to grip the dwarf by the beard to save him. His jaw was dislocated for over a week. And then she remembered Jack, and his daily routine of jogging around the base early in the morning; six o clock AM to be exact. Some times she'd wake up early just to jog with him, to be around him, enjoy the small moments of peace that they had, while it lasted.

Lena's heart rate began to increase as the memory continued, a tight feeling in her chest, the kind that you get when you had deeply missed something from your past. She stopped blinking with her chronal accelerator, and started blinking with her eye lids instead, tears threatening to well up. She slowly tread up the staircase, the wall of their past slowing her pace. She remembered how he would smile at her, how he would laugh when ever she jumped up from behind and wrapped her arms around him, her legs dangling one foot above the ground.

Lena's skin crawled with goosebumps; another memory finding its way in. She remembered the weeks spent in Ilios, near Santorini Island. An omnic offensive was dominating the territory, with nothing but Jack, Lena, a squad of other Overwatch agents, and a small militia of Greek citizens to halt them. She replayed the scenes in her mind, vividly, seeing Jack rallying the two groups together in the final push against the omnic invaders. The determination and fire in his eyes moved his soldiers, inspiring them, telling them that, on that day, Ilios would be free.

The 'official' story behind that battle was that Strike Commander Morrison led his troops and the militia to a glorious victory, with minimal casualties to the heroes, and maximum casualties to the omnics. But Lena knew the truth. She saw as the inexperienced militia were gunned down by Bastion units in their sentry modes, watched as her squad was cornered into an ambush, and how the only survivors were herself and Jack. They were the only ones who managed to flank around and pick off the Bastions one by one, while they watched their comrades fall, ripped to shreds by the gatling barrage. The final Bastion unit was already severely damaged, but managed to retreat in tank mode, disappearing into the wilderness. Authorities never found that one unit, saying that, without proper resources to repair itself, it would eventually fall apart on its own. In Morrison's eyes, it was one of his greatest defeats of his Overwatch career.

For the rest of their time stationed on Ilios, Jack had no desire to talk with anyone, to step outside of his quarters, not even to eat anything, for days. Lena tried to comfort him, telling him that those brave men and women died for what they believed in, and that they couldn't have had a better leader. She tried to tell him that his words made them fight unlike any other soldiers she had ever seen, and that, if they could, they'd be honored to fight by his side again. That's when he told her; confessed his secret guilt, that it was more than just seeing his squad get mowed down like forsaken weeds. Jack had tried to convince himself that it was just a tactical necessity, that there was no other way; tried to tell himself that, if there was an alternative, he would have seen it. There was none, so he took the only way out. And to add insult to injury, the government didn't even have the decency to tell the truth of the mission, perhaps to continue the thought that Overwatch was always gloriously winning every battle they fought in.

"It almost seems like their lives were worthless, and that the only things of any value are the words of people who weren't even there,"

That took Lena aback. She couldn't believe that Jack would say such a thing. He valued the life of every soldier under his command, more than his own. Until this day, Jack had never lost a single soldier. Doubt started to creep into Lena's mind. It ate her up to hear him talk like this to her, made her almost not trust him with her life anymore.

The moment played like a movie in her head, as Lena recalled every detail.

"S-so, is that Jack Morrison then? Is this the leader that I throw myself out on the battle field for, every day? If we were in that same situation, and I had died, would you consider me as just another tactical necessity?"

Morrison stood up and grabbed her upper arms with a force he had never used on her before. His grip was like a pair of iron vices, it almost cut off the circulation to her muscles. She didn't bother struggling, but couldn't help but feel terrified, her heart racing fast and hard in her narrow chest. She looked up at Jack, expecting to see rage and fury all over his face. But nothing could be further from the truth. Jack stared down at her with grief and guilt, but also seemed to yell something at her, without saying a single word. She just kept staring, trying to find out what he were telling her. His steel blue eyes stared deep into her hazel eyes, as if he was peering into her very soul. That's when she realized; That thing that Jack was yelling at her; he was yelling that she was wrong.

Of course she was wrong. She knew Jack wouldn't throw away the lives of soldiers, especially his own soldiers. She knew he valued them like brothers and sisters; how could she think otherwise? When Jack made a split second decision, it's because there really was no other way. They had completed their mission and lived to fight another day. Guilt welled up in her chest, and she opened her mouth to say something, but he cut her off.

"You are more than a tactical necessity. But it's not just Overwatch that needs you..." a pause, he loosened his grip on her arms.

His grasp became less forced, and, instead, more gentle, tender. Lena trembled in her place, still looking up into his eyes, no longer racked with grief, but filled with compassion. The mood had changed in an instant, from anger and distrust to tranquil and confusion. She braced for what he would say next, anxious to hear it, but never would have guessed it.

"I need you," he finished.

Those words cut through Lena like a razor. She knew exactly what that meant, but still felt the inclination to ask. A billion questions seemed to swim in Lena's mind, she couldn't even control herself. Did he mean that? Was he being honest? Was he even feeling like himself? What does this mean for the future? Can this even work? But before she could ask any of these, she felt her legs move on their own. She was getting closer to him, almost instinctively. Morrison wasted no time. He pulled Lena up against him, and -

"Woah! Watch where you're going there, Lena,"

She was flung back into the present. Lena almost walked right into Reinhardt, carrying what seemed almost like a ton's worth of scrap metal. Getting her senses back, Lena backed up with a blink of her Chronal Accelerator.

"Ah! Sorry Reinie. Guess I was a little spaced out. Hehe…" Lena said, scratching the back of her head, slightly embarrassed for not looking where she was going.

Reinhardt raised an inquisitive eyebrow. He may only have one eye, but he didn't need it to see there was something else bothering Lena.

"Is there something wrong?" he asked gently, almost like a grandfather.

Lena almost wished Reinhardt wasn't so kindhearted. While she did appreciate her friend's willingness to talk to her, there were somethings that needed to be dealt with personally, and her angst about the past was one of them. She felt bad for lying, but she honestly didn't want to converse about her thoughts right now.

"Nope! I'm tip top, don't you worry 'bout me," she fibbed with a wide, chipper smile.

Reinhardt didn't need either of his eyes to see through the lie, but just smiled through his white mustache, not wanting to press the matter any further. He didn't want to force Lena to talk; that would just be counter productive. If there was one thing he knew about women through his years, it's never push them to talk to you.

"Okay. But if you need to talk, you know where to find me," and he marched off, scrap metal wrapped in his massive arms.

Lena watched as Reinhardt left, relieved he didn't continue to ask questions. She thanked him, in her head, for the offer, but she needed time to herself.

"I wonder if I left anything in my locker here," she said aloud, and found herself making her way to the locker rooms.

XXXX

Thanks to Lena activating the backup generators, Morrison and Alejandra were able to enter the shooting range and begin with her lessons. The future hero was beaming with anticipation, but secretly shook with a hidden nervousness. She had never even held a gun before. What would it feel like? Would it be too heavy? Would it make her feel unstoppable? Courageous? Heroic?

Jack set his heavy pulse rifle on the back table and unholstered his sidearm, at least, that what it looked like. After inspecting it for a short minute, Jack walked over to Alejandra, and held the weapon up, barrel to the ceiling.

"You know what this is?" he asked plainly.

The girl shrugged, "A gun?" she said, almost sarcastically.

"It's a high velocity, armor piercing, pulse firing, forty five millimeter, semi automatic hand cannon. Can punch a hole through the front of an M3A3 Abrams super heavy main battle tank. And can put a decent dent in a human too," he finished off, jokingly.

Alejandra couldn't help but giggle nervously at the morbid humor. While she did want to avenge her mother and bury Los Muertos, she still was a kid. It would take time for her to get used to the reality of the situation: one day she would have to kill. But this was just weapons training, that's what she had to focus on right now.

Morrison continued with the overview of the weapon. Alejandra watched as he pressed something on the side of the grip, releasing the magazine. He displayed it to her, showing the rounds inside.

"Each magazine holds twelve armor penetrating, pulse munition rounds. It's not a deep magazine, so keep track of how many shots you've taken. When you're out, press this-," he showed her the button alongside the grip, and tapped it with his thumb, "-to release the magazine. To reload, just slide a fresh mag back in," he did as he said, creating a satisfying click once the magazine hit home.

Holding the gun by the barrel, he handed it to Alejandra.

"Show me," he said bluntly.

Alejandra had a photographic memory, something her mother always envied, and did exactly what Jack had just done. She pressed the release with her thumb, letting the magazine slide out, and held it in the other hand. After a brief pause, she slid the magazine back into the grip. She looked to Jack for approval, who gave a nod in return. He held his hand out, palm upward.

"Now give it back," he commanded.

Alejandra did as she was told and handed the weapon back, with the barrel facing him. Jack grabbed the gun, holding it firmly by the grip.

"Now that was exactly how to not hand a gun to someone," he said calmly but authoritatively.

Alejandra bared her teeth in embarrassment, the tips of her eyebrows pointing upwards. She felt so stupid for making a mistake like that. Morrison just chuckled.

"Don't worry, you'll get the hang of it," he said, "But from now on, you always hand a gun to someone like this,"

He grabbed the barrel of the gun and handed it to Alejandra, grip facing her. She took it, and immediately mimicked his action. Smiling and nodding, Jack reclaimed the weapon, and continued with the lesson.

"Now that the magazine is in the gun, we gotta get the round in the chamber. Watch," he pulled the slide back forcefully, making it click back and forth in quick succession, "Now it's primed and ready to fire. Show me,"

They exchanged the weapon between each other, and Alejandra copied Jack once again, except with much more effort than him. It surprised her as to how difficult it was to pull back the slide, she could barely budge it without almost hurting her fingers. She handed it back to him after he nodded with approval.

"Now, the one of the most important parts, the safety," He showed her the manual safety switch on the other side of the hand cannon, "Right now it's on. You're not killing anything, and you don't want to kill anything," he flipped the switch, "Now, you're ready to kill, to defend yourself and your allies. The gun is only pointed at your enemies, nothing else," he stared at her, making sure she was paying absolute attention. This was something she couldn't afford to screw up. Turning the safety on, he handed it back to her, "Show me,"

She held it just as he had, so that the safety was facing him. She stared back at him with equal intensity, to show him she had been paying close attention. With her index finger, she demonstrated what he just showed her.

"Safety on; I'm not killing anyone, and I don't want to kill anyone," switch, "Safety off, I'm ready to kill, to defend myself, and my allies. This is only pointed at enemies," She switched the safety back on.

Morrison nodded again, proud of her display. He took the gun back, and demonstrated how to properly hold and aim the weapon. Aiming down the shooting range, Jack explained what he was doing.

"You want to keep your dominant arm locked out and your support arm bent, almost against your chest. Make sure your front and rear sights are as level as possible. Don't close one eye, that just messes with your depth perception. Keep them both open. And then-"

The shot from the hand cannon was probably the loudest sound Alejandra had ever heard, and it came by so fast. She didn't even have enough time to cover her ears. She could feel the air shake around her after the shot was taken, her bones vibrating in her body. She didn't even know if she could bare to hear it again; it might pop her ear drums. But she was also awestruck by the sheer power. The target dummy's cranium was completely gone.

Morrison saw how shocked she was and smirked. She was still new to this.

"You'll get used to it. Here, it's your turn,"

Alejandra took the gun in her hand and aimed it down the shooting range at her target. Her heart thumped fast in her little chest as she lined up her shot, holding the heavy weapon just as Jack showed her, at least, she thought she did. Her nervousness tampered with her photographic memory.

"Keep your arm locked," he said sternly.

She locked out her arm in response.

"Your other arm!"

Her dominant arm locked out, her support arm slightly bent. She took deep slow breaths, focusing on her target dummy. The sights were perfectly leveled. Biting her lip, bracing for the incoming sound, she pulled the trigger.

A hole instantly ripped open where the neck was, sending the head of the dummy flying right off. Surprisingly, there wasn't a ringing in her ears. She had been so focused she didn't even hear it. Either that, or she had already gone deaf. No, she couldn't have, she heard Morrison whistle right next to her. But still, the power in her hands, Alejandra couldn't believe it. She lowered her weapon and admired the sleekness and raw force of what she held.

"Nice shot kid," Jack said, "You've got the eye of Ana Amari,"

Alejandra giggled at the compliment, glad that she had impressed her commander. Morrison just smiled, remembering when he first fired a weapon. It didn't matter what age you were; your first time with any firearm was scary as hell. He pointed towards the firing dummy with vigor.

"Again! Three precision shots. Two at the heart, one in the gut. Go!"

She followed his orders like a good soldier, pumping the shots right where Jack instructed. The size of the wounds eventually made the dummy fall apart into a mess of broken aluminum and steel. Adrenalin rushed through Alejandra, feeling every shot shake her bones. It seemed too easy to pull the trigger; she felt dangerous. As she turned on the safety and lowered the gun, she could clearly see what she'd do with her skills. It was if the weapon itself was giving off some kind of voice, a whisper in her mind. She was going to put Los Muertos six feet under with this thing, that was a promise.

The violent thoughts left her when she felt Jack's hand on her shoulder. She looked up and saw his smile of approval, both gentle and authoritative at the same time.

"Good job kid," he said

Alejandra experienced a mixed bag of pride, joy, and excitement. She had just learned how to use a gun, a skill she never thought she'd ever need in her life, and she was a damn good shot as well.

"Aha! Weapons training I see!" exclaimed the all too familiar German accent from behind.

Jack and Alejandra turned to see Reinhardt walking through the door way, still holding his cache of scrap metal. He decided to make one last detour before heading back to Brigitte and their new partner, the omnic, who's name he couldn't remember for the life of him.

"Good evening Mr. Wilhelm!" Alejandra greeted kindly.

"Kleine! How about I teach you how to fight like a real warrior. Don't bother with these barbaric projectile weapons. A true soldier knows how to fight with their bare hands!" said the old veteran

Morrison chuckled, "I'm going to train her in every martial arts technique I know, don't you worry,"

"Ah, but Jack, we both know you could never best me in a fight! I think I am more than qualified to teach this kleines fraulein a trick or two," said Reinhardt, almost challenging his fellow soldier.

Jack just rolled his eyes. Clearly Reinhardt's memory wasn't as sharp as it used to be, because Jack recalled besting him numerous times in sparring matches. Either that, or the glory of Reinhardt's victories overshadowed the memories of his defeats. Either way, Jack just let Reinhardt revel in times long past.

After a moment of recollection, Reinhardt gave an unsatisfied look at Morrison. Something about the way Jack presented himself didn't sit well with him; it didn't seem like it suited the former commander at all.

"Und for goodness sakes Jack, let's get you some new clothes!" Reinhardt complained.

Jack was taken aback. He was not expecting a statement like that from Reinhardt at all. Nonetheless, he did feel somewhat offended that his friend didn't appreciate his new style.

"What? These clothes are fine. There's nothing wrong with them," he said as he displayed his jacket, filled with various rips and tears and bullet holes from his previous battles.

Reinhardt raised an eyebrow. Apparently he wasn't the only one with impaired vision.

"You look like a throw rug! Come on, I've got something a little more… old fashioned in mind," Reinhardt said with a smirk.

Morrison gave an inquisitive look, wondering what it was his old friend had in store. Shrugging, he agreed to Reinhardt's request.

The three of them made their way to Reinhardt's van, where Brigitte and Zenyatta were still unloading supplies into the base. Reinhardt set the scrap metal down, stretching his sore arms, and led Jack and Alejandra to the van. Inside the back of the van, Reinhardt opened up a long compartment, similar to a locker. Morrison stood in dumbfounded surprise to the contents of the storage unit. Hanging up inside was his old uniform; the navy blue coat and gauntlets, the armored chest piece, the multi layer, armor plated boots and shin guards, it was all here. A rush of nostalgia washed over Jack, walking over and inspecting the long lost equipment.

"Reinhardt, where did you get this?" he asked, picking up one of his gauntlets.

Reinhardt scratched his beard, "Um, let's just say I borrowed it for… historical purposes,"

Jack couldn't say he fully understood what the old soldier was talking about, but he just accepted the answer.

"Historical purposes… Got it,"

Morrison held the shining gauntlet against his forearm, comparing the size.

"Hm… Might be a bit tight," he observed.

"Ah Commander, in my opinion, that uniform always looked tight on you!" Reinhardt commented.

Jack turned his head, raising a 'what's that supposed to mean?' eyebrow at the German veteran. Reinhardt realized he had said that out loud, embarrassment running up and down his spine.

"W-what I meant to say is, eh, it will fit like a glove," he corrected himself.

"… Thanks," replied Morrison, turning back to his uniform, pulling it off the coat rack.

Jack held the pieces of his uniform in a neatly folded pile, making his way out of the van. The sun had almost completely set on them, preparing to let the moon take its place in the sky. A warm breeze rushed past Morrison, who welcomed the gentle wind.

He looked down at the clothes he held again, remembering a time when this uniform meant something to the public. Whether it meant justice or hope, Morrison knew it didn't matter now. But maybe one day, after all this was over, it could mean those things again. It was then that Jack remembered something; an item from the past he knew was still here.

"Reinhardt, how about you take over Alejandra's lessons for me real quick. There's something from the lockers I need to get,"

At the news, Alejandra beamed with delight. She was dying to hear the story of when Mr. Wilhelm fought against dragons. Reinhardt almost shared the same smile, eager to teach the new recruit.

"I'll make a warrior out of her yet. You do what you have to, commander. I've got this," the old veteran reassured.

Jack nodded and the group split up, Reinhardt and Alejandra walking back to the firing range, and Morrison making his way to the locker rooms.

XXXX

The locker room looked like it hadn't been touched in years; probably because it hadn't. Moon light began to shine through the open window, showing a cascade of dust particles floating gently through the air. Convinced that no one was around, Jack changed his clothes. After a brief moment, he looked in the mirror. The uniform was kept in pristine condition. It almost looked new. Reinhardt did an excellent job in maintaining it. Despite the gray hair, the scars adorning his face, and a few wrinkles, Jack felt like he was looking into the past. Though he did admit, it was a little tight around the waist. Guess he'd have to hit the gym later on.

He walked over to his locker to retrieve what he had come here for; the badge of the strike commander. Jack opened his locker, and there, hanging on the back wall, just as he had left it nearly twenty years ago, was his badge. The silver eagle shone proudly in the moonlight, beckoning Morrison to pin it on his coat once again, showing that he was ready to return to the past, to be Strike Commander Morrison. Without thinking, Morrison brought his hand up, reaching out to the badge. His fingers were inches away from it, when suddenly-

"Hiya!" the weight of Lena Oxton blinked onto Jack's back.

He felt her arms wrap around him like she used to do years ago. He felt her body lay on his shoulders, heard her soft giggle in his ear. At first, Jack gave a startled gasp, but realizing who had assaulted him, he just laughed. Feeling her hold on to him made him feel young again, and at first, he welcomed it.

"Heh. Hey, Lena," he replied.

Oxton blinked off his back and stood attentively, her wide smile spread across her face. She was so happy to hear that laugh again. She could already feel him coming back to her, which is what she wanted.

"Got the old uniform on, I see!" she said.

Jack replied, "Yeah. Reinhardt had it, after all these years. Said he kept it for 'historical purposes', what ever that means,"

Lena gave a soft chuckle, "Well, I'll tell you what: It makes you look thirty years younga',".

Ironically, that made Morrison remember he wasn't thirty years younger. It also reminded him why he couldn't be with Lena anymore. Every bit of logic in his head told him it was wrong, that he'd just end up hurting her even more when it was all over. He didn't want that, he didn't want to hurt her, he didn't want her to lose him again. He didn't want her to watch him die, while she kept on living. That's when she said it.

"I missed you, Jack,"

His heart squeezed itself in his chest; that was exactly what he didn't want to hear. He tried to redirect the conversation.

"Missed you too, I missed all of you. I'm glad we all answered the ca-"

"You know what I mean when I say that, Jack," Lena interrupted, walking closer to him.

Her limbs moved on their own, her legs stopping inches from him, her arms wrapping around his waist. Morrison could feel his body heat increase, his muscles and nerves tensing up as she closed the gap between them. This wasn't right. He couldn't let her in again. But her hazel eyes stared back into his blue ones, set, determined; she wasn't going down without a fight.

"I want to continue where we left off," she said, "I want you back,"

Jack sighed, shaking his head.

"Lena… No, we can't,"

She didn't avert her eyes, just kept looking up at him. But those words cut her deep. She didn't understand why he'd say that. Her heartbeat increased, honestly not wanting to hear the reason, only wanting him to change his mind.

"Why not?" she demanded, still holding him.

"I… I'm not a young man anymore," He said bluntly.

"Jack, if I cared about that, I wouldn't be here would I?" she asked, raising her eyebrow.

He hated it when she gave him that look. That was her 'you know I'm right' look, and he damn sure knew she was right. It ate him up inside to reject her, but he didn't want to go further with this, he couldn't.

"Lena, please. It's too late,"

By this point, Lena let go of him, frustrated by his stubbornness. But she did what she could to keep calm, looking at the old soldier in front of her. She didn't want to end things here. She wanted him back.

"Do you know how awful I felt when I heard what happened in Switzerland? We thought you were dead, Jack. I… I thought I lost you. I was about to rip this harness off of me and just fade out of existence! I didn't want to be here without you. But you know what I told myself? Would Jack want you to do that? Would he be proud of that? No, he wouldn't. So I stayed, because of you. And you know what? It gave me hope; hope that you really weren't dead, hope that you were still out there, somewhere. And now, here you are! Right in front of me,"

Her heart raced again, wanting to just jump on him again and never let go. He may have had a scarred face, graying hair, and tired eyes, but to her, she still saw her Jack Morrison in there, and she wasn't going to give up. She tilted the corners of her mouth upward, softly grinning at him.

There it was again, that sweet, irresistible smile. Morrison held back a gag, not because he was disgusted with her, but rather disgusted with himself, with what he was about to say. He cared about her, he truly did, but hearing what she was about to do to herself, after hearing of his supposed death, only made him more worried. He wished he could just tell her, but something held him back, some invisible force just dragging the words down his throat. Why can't he just tell her he'll pass away long before her? Why can't he just tell her he didn't want her to watch him die?! He had enough. He scowled at the floor and muttered two words.

"Get out,"

Her heart skipped a beat. The smile faded from her lips immediately, eyes full of confusion and pain. Lena took a step forward, swearing that she didn't hear him correctly. Did he just tell her to get out?

"What?" She asked, refusing to believe what he just said.

Morrison didn't repeat those words. Keeping his eyes on the floor, he said,

"That's an order,"

Lena blinked, forcing back tears. She stared, dumbfounded at the man she thought she knew. He pulled rank on her. He never pulled rank on her. For a moment, it seemed time had froze, her blood felt like ice in her veins. Maybe he wasn't the Jack Morrison she knew so long ago. She gritted her teeth behind closed lips, her confusion and grief turning into anger. Without another word, Lena blinked to the door of the locker room with her chronal accelerator, and blinked again, leaving Jack alone.

Morrison took one deep breath, and let it out slowly. Guilt crawled and clawed at his chest like rats in a maze. After what he just said, he couldn't tell if he had done Lena a favor, or made one of the biggest mistakes of his life. He was torn between relief and doubt. Jack couldn't do anything, except slam his fist into one of the lockers behind him, caving the locker door inward.

XXXX

"… Qué?" Alejandra asked, gesturing to the pile of gun parts in front of her.

Reinhardt had taken the hand cannon apart, separating the weapon into its individual pieces, and was trying to get the new recruit to put it back together, without a manual. The only parts that weren't on the table were the rounds. Reinhardt didn't want an accidental firing on his watch. All Alejandra could make of it was cruel and unusual punishment.

"That gun isn't going to rebuild itself! Get on it, Little One," Reinhardt said encouragingly.

Alejandra just gave a frustrated grunt.

"It's too difficult! You didn't even give me any instrucciones!" she complained, folding her arms against her chest.

Her new teacher just shook his head. If this were a cadet from boot camp, he would have put her in her place, right under his boot. But, she was just a child, an undisciplined one at that. He'd set her straight, but for now, he had to be patient.

"You think there is going to be instrucciones on the battle field?" He bellowed sternly, "You need to know your weapon inside und out! We're going to keep this up until you get it right, und then you'll be doing it ten more times! Now, just give it your best sho-"

He was cut short by an aggravated growl. Reinhardt and Alejandra looked out the doorway and saw Lena, furiously blinking by. Something had pissed her off clearly. The two poked their heads through the doorway and saw her blink to the roof of a storage room, over looking the Gibraltar sea.

Rienhardt was intrigued. There weren't a lot of things that upset Lena, but seeing her frustrated was something else. What ever the cause was, he knew she needed a little talk.

"Brigitte!" he yelled.

His companion set down a crate, wiped the sweat from her forehead, and acknowledged his call.

"Yeah boss?"

"Watch this kleine for a moment, please! There's something I need to do,"

Brigitte nodded and walked over to Alejandra as Reinhardt made his way to the rooftop.

"Hi sweetie," said Brigitte, kindly, kneeling down to her height, "What's that old guy making you do?"

Alejandra just pointed to the mess of gun parts on the table, clearly not enjoying her task. Brigitte just smiled, amused by the child's stubborn attitude.

"Oh, that's easy," she said, "Here. I'll show you a thing or two,"

XXXX

Reinhardt reached the roof of the storage room, where he saw Lena, pacing back and forth, apparently muttering to herself. Cautiously, he made his way to her, starting to hear her more clearly. For a split second, he heard Lena mention Jack; that's when it all began to click in his head.

"Lena," he said calmly.

She stopped her pacing and looked at her old friend, not fully composing herself, but just enough to greet him.

"Oh, hey Reinhardt," she said, then went back to pacing and muttering.

Reinhardt just smiled, almost amused by her frustration.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, only wanting to gently pull the information out of her.

He knew when and when not to approach if they needed to talk to him, and right now, Lena clearly needed to open up. She didn't stop her pacing, but began venting after a brief moment.

"It's Jack! I mean, I thought that, after all these years of separation, that he'd be happy to see me, that he'd want to pick up where we left off! But no, apparently not. He thinks he's too old for me, or something. Maybe he thinks I'm to young for him? That doesn't make any sense! I just don't get it! He's pushing me away for no reason. And you know what he did that really pissed me off? He pulled rank on me! Yeah, that's right! He pulled rank! He never does that, not to me at least!" She gave off another anger filled grunt, pacing faster, "I don't know what's going on in that head of his. I don't know how men think! You're a man, right Reinhardt? Yes, of course you are. You're one of the manliest men I know. Tell me, do you know what's going on in his head?"

Reinhardt took a seat on the air conditioning unit. He could tell she didn't understand Morrison 's reasoning at all, saw how torn apart she really was. Did she really not know?

"Come, sit down. We need to talk," he said, making as much room as he could for Lena.

His wide frame took up pretty much all of the AC unit. But Lena shook her head, waving off the offer.

"I- I can't sit down. Just- Just talk to me, I'm listenin',"

Reinhardt just shrugged and began, afraid of what her reaction would be when he revealed the truth to her.

"I'm surprised you don't know this, and even more surprised that no one has ever told you, after all these years,"

Though she looked like she was ignoring him with her pacing, Lena was listening closely. What did she not know? What were the others keeping from her? Reinhardt continued.

"Lena… you don't age," he said.

That stopped Lena dead in her tracks. Did she hear that correctly? She turned to face Reinhardt, a billion thoughts flying in her head, none of them good. He looked back at her, sympathy staining his eye. Lena's eyes blinked a few times, processing what he just told her.

"What?" she asked.

Reinhardt sighed. It almost broke his heart to have to tell her the ugly truth. It was going pretty much how he had expected.

"Your… condition, the chronal disassociation, is the cause of it, as you would expect. I'm no doctor, und I don't know all the science behind it, but what I do know is that your molecules are not fully stable. Even with your chronal accelerator, you are still not really… here. Why else do you think you're able to zip back und forth through time at will? The instability of your molecules and its reaction with the chronal accelerator are what allow you to do those things. In a sense, you are trapped in this time, forever. Haven't you noticed that you aren't getting any older, at least physically?"

The facts rained down on Lena like a missile barrage. She hadn't noticed at all. All these years, fighting, running, hiding, it didn't really matter to her how old she was. But finding out that she hadn't aged since the Slipstream accident, the reality of the situation was-

"Oh my God… Are you saying that, I'm going to live forever?! Oh God… I'm- I'm going to live forever. I'm going to live forever! I- I don't want that. No no… no no no! That means that," the realization hit her harder than Jack's rejection, "… I'd have to watch you all… die,"

Reinhardt nodded. His old heart trembled, watching her reaction to the truth. He saw the panic in her eyes as she realized her fate, watched as she ran a hand through her hair, trying to calm herself down. He could only imagine how scared she was.

"Exactly," he said solemnly, "Und that is why Jack thinks it would be better for you two to be… well, apart. He doesn't want you to watch him grow old, and lose him. He thinks it will tear you apart,"

Lena processed this for a moment. She couldn't deny it, it probably would tear her apart. But it almost seemed worse to have him push her away. She was already being torn apart, when it all came down to it. She lost him once, could she really go through losing him again? She shut her eyes and clenched her fists, pulling herself together. She's gone through worse, and she knew it. Thinking that Jack had died without her being there would always be more painful, than watching him pass right before her eyes. At least she could be with him in his final moments.

"That doesn't matter to me! I would rather watch him grow old than never live with him at all! I'm not going to just sit back and let him push me away. He knows me better than that!" She said, confidently.

There was fire in her eyes, the kind that wouldn't be put out no matter how hard you tried to snuff it. Reinhardt smiled, seeing Lena's confidence put him at ease. But, knowing her, she'd probably rush headlong into this battle, like she always did, and not think ahead. That's how you get shot down.

"You know, that floating robo-man, eh… Zarya I think his name is," he began.

"It's Zenyatta," Lena corrected, chuckling at Reinhardt's confusion.

"Ah yeah, whatever. I was talking to him for a bit earlier, and, let me tell you, he has some very interesting catch phrases. My favorite one is, 'A warrior's greatest weapon, is patience,'," he finished.

Lena heard what Reinhardt had to say, but couldn't help but roll her eyes and smirk.

"You know I'm not very keen on patience, Reinhardt,"

The old veteran chuckled,

"I know, but for this, you must be. Give him time. He's gone through a lot. Between surviving an explosion to leading us all again, you can't expect him to just come right back. He isn't a rubber band, he's a soldier. And soldiers need time to rest and recover,"

He was right, and Lena knew it. The realization dawned on her that she shouldn't have been so forward. She was just so happy to see him again that, she just thought he'd feel the same way. But then again, that's how she was; rushing in without thinking.

She sighed and accepted the situation. There would be time to talk things over with Jack later. Right now, they had a war to win. She set her emotions aside for the time being.

"Thanks Reinie. Oi, what is wrong with me?! I've just been an emotional mess lately!"

Reinhardt laughed,

"You're young! It happens! Don't bother thinking about it. Just remember; Be. Patient," he emphasized the last two words.

Lena rolled her eyes again and nodded, not needing the repetition.

"Alright, alright. I think I'm going to go spend some of this patience in the gym, and relax a bit,"

"Haha! That's a good idea. Maybe you'll end up like that one Russian weight lifting champion, um, Zenyatta I think her name was,"

Lena couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"That's Zarya! And no, I wouldn't want that at all. Cheers to her for gettin' that bod, but that's not for me!"

With that final comment, Lena blinked down the stairs. The news of her supposed immortality still lingered in her mind, however. If it was true, then she wasn't sure what she was going to do, or even how to feel. How could she go through life now, knowing that she'd be this way, while everyone grew old around her. She had to get these thoughts out. The future was long ahead of her. No need to worry about something you couldn't control. She just needed a good workout to clear her mind.

XXXX

After that unpleasant conversation with Lena, Morrison needed a good workout to clear his mind. He bumped into Jesse on his way and, without realizing it, began talking about his predicament. The two talked as they went to the gym, where Jack was now bench pressing a good amount of weight; 1900 pounds to be exact.

The serum injected into him years ago gave him the strength of twenty men, and then some; this was just a warm up. He spoke to McCree as he benched, feeling his augmented muscles burn with every contraction.

"I mean-," grunt, "She's a smart woman-," grunt, "She should understand-," grunt, "What I'm trying to do-," finishing his set, Jack released the bar on the supports, and sat up.

His sweat was already soaking his white Overwatch regulated tank top, creating a dark wet triangle down the middle. He panted slowly, catching his breath. It had been a while since he'd hit a gym. McCree just leaned against the wall beside him, silently listening to his commander while chewing on his lit cigar.

"What do you think, Jesse?" Morrison asked.

The former blackwatch agent tilted his head.

"Well, I think you coulda' stood to put on an extra 45 pounder or two on that bar. That was way to easy for you,"

Jack's eyebrow twitched.

"I was talking about Lena," he said coldly.

"Oh," replied McCree in realization, "Well, honestly sir, I'd say you're more trapped than a jackalope in a barrel, in between two fellas fannin' the hammer on their six shooters, at high noon,"

Jack just stared at Jesse with the look of complete dissatisfaction on his face.

"Thanks Jesse, you're a lot of help,"

Jesse pulled his cigar from his mouth, holding it in between his finger and thumb.

"I'm not finished. The way I see it, the only way out of your predicament is to either jump out, and run with your furry little tail between your legs, or, you can get out there and stop 'em,"

Morrison still didn't understand what Jesse was getting at.

"Okay, but how?"

"By tellin' 'em you want to live your life they way you want it, and that part is entirely up to you. We've only got so much time in this world, Jack. Sure would be a shame to waste it on doin' nothin',"

Jack pondered this for a moment. He couldn't deny the fact that he wanted to take Lena back. Seeing her again triggered something in him that he thought he had suppressed long ago. But he still couldn't allow it to happen. He knew it would be a nightmare for her, having to watch him get older and older, while she stayed young, not aging a bit. He didn't want to put her through that pain. But then again, he was hurting her now by rejecting her, by ordering her out of the room. Jack didn't know what to do anymore, but he knew that what Jesse said was actually good advice.

"Dammit, why do you always have to be right?" he said as he pulled off his shirt, annoyed by the cold damp cloth on his chest.

Jesse just smirked at his commander's comment, placing his cigar back in his mouth.

"Guess I've just had more game than you, Jackie boy," he said, tilting his head down to cover his eyes with the brim of his hat.

Morrison just rolled his eyes and stood up. He locked his fingers together and reached up, stretching his sore chest muscles. It was at that moment when Lena walked in, her flight jacket slung over her shoulder, and, instead, adorning a slim fitting tank top under her chronal accelerator.

Despite being in his fifties, Jack still possessed the body of an Olympic athlete. Lena blushed as she noticed him stretching, not believing he had the same physique from thirty years ago. He may have gotten older and grumpier, but from the neck down to the waist, he was definitely still Jack Morrison.

It took him a good second to realize Lena had walked in, and immediately tried to find his shirt.

"Lena! I'm sorry, I was- um. Jesse, where's my shirt?"

"I have no idea what you're talkin' about, commander," replied McCree, keeping his cybernetic arm behind his back.

Jack scowled at him, then turned back to face a giggling Lena Oxton.

"Jack, love, I've seen you shirtless. It's alright. No need to cover yourself up like a school girl," She quipped, setting her jacket down on the weight rack.

Nonetheless, Morrison couldn't help but feel slightly perturbed, not to mention annoyed by McCree's antics. Speaking of which, the gunslinger gave a loud yawn from behind.

"Well, I think I've had my fill of the day. Time to get off the saddle and get some shut eye. Good day commander," he said as he tossed the sweaty tank top up in the air, which Jack promptly swiped back.

McCree walked by Lena, holding something else in his hand by this point.

"Goodnight, darlin'," he said, tossing the other object to her as he passed, leaving the two alone in the gym.

Lena caught it, and noticed it was a pair of vintage aviator glasses. He actually remembered to get her something while on the plane.

"Wicked! Thanks love!" she said as she examined her new headgear.

She set the glasses on her jacket, then turned to face Jack, who was putting his damp shirt back on. Lena was almost disappointed.

For a moment, there was tension in the room; painful, awkward tension. They were just talking an hour ago, and now, here they were again; together, alone. Morrison scratched the back of his neck, not really sure what he should do. Fortunately, it was Lena who made the first move.

"Jack," she said, stepping towards him, "I understand now. Reinhardt… told me everything,"

A wave of relief washed over Jack. He could feel a massive weight lift off his shoulders, knowing that she finally understood. But even so, the advice that Jesse had given him mingled in his head. Lena continued.

"And, I get it, I really do. If you don't want to come back to me, I won't do anythin' about it. But I want to tell you that I'm not givin' up on you. I'll wait, 'cause I got all the time in the world,"

But Jack didn't. In fact, he was running out, give or take another forty years, but still, it wasn't enough. His legs carried him towards Lena, who was still talking.

"But if you never want to have anything to do with me again, then… that's okay too. And I'll… I'll get over it, I will. I just, I'm gonna miss you so mu-!" Lena was pulled into a tight embrace against Morrison's warm, muscular body.

"Why waste time when we have so little of it?" he said gently.

She didn't mind being pressed up against the sweat stain, because she could feel him coming back to her. Lena giggled under his vice-like hug, putting her arms around him as well, almost letting herself collapse in his arms.

Jack just smiled down at her, gently petting her soft hair. He felt Lena rub her forehead against his chest, just like she used to years ago. He couldn't help but pull her closer to him, even if her chronal accelerator dug into his abdomen. What mattered was he was doing what he wanted with his life; making her happy.

Lena looked up at him, smiling that wide, irresistible smile again. Tears threatened to leak from her eyes. Why couldn't she keep it together today?

"Now now," said Jack, "No need to get all mushy. I'm not dead yet. But listen. Our mission takes priority right now. If we do this, you and I again, it stays out of the battlefield, understood? We can't pick up where we left off, but we can start over. I… need to soften up a bit, alright?"

Lena nodded and backed off, clicking her heals and giving a salute.

"You got it!"

Her heart was beating in her chest faster than the rate of fire of her pulse pistols. She did it; she got Jack back. Lena did everything she could to contain herself. If he was willing to give it another go, she wasn't going to squander the opportunity. She almost felt happier than finding out he was still alive.

"Now," Jack said as he walked past her, "I am going to hit the showers, and you are going to do what ever you were going to do in here. If you follow me, I'm going to personally court martial you," he gave a smirk as he looked back at Lena.

She promptly returned the smirk, resting her hand on her hip.

"If that means what it used to, twenty years ago, I might just have to disobey that order, Strike Commander Morrison,"

Jack raised an eyebrow,

"You better not," he said, leaving the room.

Much to his surprise, she did, in fact, follow those orders.

XXXX

It took the better part of the night, but Alejandra finally managed to put the hand cannon together, and had to repeat the process ten times. Her opinion of Mr. Wilhelm had dropped slightly because of that task, but still very much enjoyed his stories and his jolly attitude. Nonetheless, she concluded that Brigitte was a much better teacher than him, and rather enjoyed her company. She was almost like an aunt to the new recruit. And Alejandra trusted her, which was the more important thing in her eyes.

After the weapons training, Brigitte and Reinhardt had to continue unloading supplies from the van, which gave Alejandra a chance to do some poking around. She remembered the conversation she had with Morrison back on the seaplane, and was determined to get more answers. Discretely, she made her way back to Winston's quarters, where his computer was still logged on. Not wasting anytime, she navigated her way through the Overwatch agent database. Hundreds of names appeared on screen, all categorized by nationality and last name. But no matter how hard she looked, she couldn't locate Reyes, Gabriel.

Then she noticed a different folder, hiding in the middle of a long list of subcategories. The file was labeled 'Blackwatch'. She clicked it. A different window popped up, with a new list of names, and at the top was exactly who she was looking for. She accessed Reyes' file and soaked up every bit of information she could: Date of birth, place of origin, military history, Overwatch history, the creation of Blackwatch, the classified war crimes, bank accounts, his supposed death in Switzerland, it was all here. But none of this mattered to her. What mattered was the smaller details, the little tidbits that you never saw unless you looked for them.

She didn't care about where he was from, but where he has been. She didn't care about how much money he had, but what he had done with it. Focusing on those points of data, Alejandra had what she needed, now all she had to do was connect the dots, see what made sense.

"A little late night browsing I see?" said the grumbling voice of Morrison from behind.

Alejandra gasped and spun in the seat, seeing him leaning against the wall behind her. Dressed in his uniform once again, he made his way over to her.

"Don't tell me I'm going to have to keep you from looking up eighteen years or older content. That kind of stuff doesn't build character," he joked.

Alejandra rolled her eyes and smiled, turning back to the monitor. That wasn't her kind of humor, but she let it slide this time.

"Here, take a look at this," she said.

Jack leaned over, looking at Reyes' data files that Alejandra had pulled up. First, they looked at where he had been.

"Look at this," she said, as she highlighted certain blocks of text, "It says here that in 2056, ten years after the start of the omnic crisis, and eight years after the creation of Overwatch, Gabriel Reyes was on a mission, in New Mexico, to eliminate the Deadlock Gang. No contact with him or other Blackwatch agents had been established until two months later, when he returned with a report of his mission, as well as new recruit: Jesse McCree,"

"Okay, yeah. That was his mission, what does that have to do with anything?" Jack said, clearly not seeing the connection.

Alejandra explained,

"Remember when I told you Mama was sent to Dorado by my father? She didn't used to live in Mexico. She grew up in New Mexico, working on a farm. And if she just happened to be in the same place Reyes was at the time, then they had to have met,"

"That's a pretty big if, kid," replied Jack, "but you can't base your theory just on that,"

At that point, Alejandra pulled up Reyes' back accounts. All transactions of his spending habits were listed here. For the most part, there was nothing majorly noticeable about the way Reyes used his money. Carrying a hefty sum of 70 million dollars in his savings, it looked like he was set for life. However, as they scrolled down, they noticed one huge discrepancy: half of his money was gone by 2053.

Jack leaned forward, brows narrowing towards each other.

"What the… ? What happened here?" he muttered.

Alejandra had only one theory floating in her head.

"Could it be possible that he transferred that money or withdrew it? If he did, he could have given it to my mother, so she could start a new life in Dorado,"

But that was still 35 Million dollars that Alexandria would have. Why use it on a simple restaurant? She could live wherever the hell she pleased. Morrison tried to think of other alternatives, other possibilities to this strange disappearance of money from Reyes' bank account.

"Can you find data on what he was spending his money on?" he asked, scanning the screen for an icon or file.

She scrolled up and down, trying to find anything that could help them, but nothing came up. She turned to Jack, shaking her head. That was when he spotted a different file, labeled 'CLASSIFIED'. He pointed to it, prompting Alejandra to click it. To their dismay, a window popped up, saying 'Password Protected'. Jack threw his head back and sighed.

Alejandra held her chin in her hand, glaring at their new found problem.

"I could… try to hack it," She suggested.

Morrison turned to look at her, his face full of both surprise and confusion.

"You know how to hack?"

She shrugged at the reply.

"When all you have to do at home is cook, clean, and read, you find time to learn a thing or two,"

Morrison honestly couldn't believe what he had just heard. The girl could hack? He would have to put those skills to the test later on.

"How about we just… wait for Winston to return. I'm sure he has the password. This is his computer after all," he suggested,

Alejandra folded her arms and pouted, looking disappointed with his decision. She wanted to learn more about Gabriel Reyes, even if he wasn't her father. But with the gathered evidence they had so far, and her limited, but still relevant, knowledge given by her late mother, it was the only lead she had.

"Hmph, fine," she grumbled.

But that was when she remembered she had a well of information right beside her: Jack. They were friends before, brothers in arms. Jack had to have known Reyes better than anyone.

"Let's just say, for the time being, that he is my father," she began, "What was he like?"

Jack looked into her eyes. They were full of longing, searching for a truth that he knew he couldn't provide the answers to. But if she wanted to know about the Reyes from the past, he could at least tell her that.

He looked down for a moment, pulling in what he thought were the more important memories of his former friend. It was painful for Jack to think about Gabriel. The memory of the Switzerland attack still stung like an old wound; it wouldn't go away.

"Gabriel was… one of the best soldiers I had ever fought along side with. We met while on a diplomatic mission in Moscow. I had already been a part of the soldier enhancement program by this point, and Reyes was already a decorated Chief Petty Officer with his own squadron,"

Alejandra listened intently, resting her cheek against her fist. She paid attention to every detail Morrison gave her.

"Russia needed some help identifying a new threat to the Moscow border, and the US was all too happy to oblige, as long as Russia's president promised to leave Ukraine alone, for the umpteenth time. The two squads, Reyes' and my own, linked up in the Khimki Forest, smack dab in the middle of winter. Reyes couldn't stop whining about the cold, saying it was nothing like Los Angeles,"

"At first, we didn't talk much, but Reyes was given command of the whole unit, due to his superior rank. Just looking at him, you could tell he was a leader, very by the book, but wasn't afraid to cut corners if he had to. We scouted that region for days, but found nothing but snow and trees and leaves. We all agreed it was time to head back to HQ, then we were ambushed,"

The scene played out vividly in Jack's mind, and he verbalized every detail to Alejandra.

"A hail of fifty caliber rounds hit us from all sides. No one saw it coming, the guns were well camouflaged in the trees and snow. The only ones quick enough to react were myself and Reyes, popping smoke grenades as soon as we realized we weren't dead. We both ran, finding cover behind a fallen spruce tree. The rest of the squad was too slow, and they were cut to pieces by the non stop stream of lead. All Reyes could do was curse himself. He should have been more careful and he knew it. But that didn't matter right now. What mattered was we had to stay alive and report back to head quarters. I snapped him out of it, reminding him of the mission,"

"The guns stopped firing at our squad, who were by now reduced to nothing but a bloody mess, and began to focus on us. Apparently they found out our little hiding spot. After what seemed like an hour of nonstop peppering, we noticed a pattern in their assault: They all fired in unison, and reloaded for two whole seconds. That meant we had a window. We waited for the next reload, and when it came, we split up, Gabriel taking the East flank, while I took the West. I couldn't believe what I saw next. Hiding in the snow wasn't a gun emplacement with an enemy soldier behind it, but a Bastion unit in sentry mode. Didn't have time to think, didn't care, I just opened fire until the thing crumbled in a scrap pile. First rule of combat: shoot first, then see who's still alive to ask questions later. I finished off the rest of the Bastions on my side, then scanned to see how Reyes was doing,"

"He fought like an animal, pouncing on his prey and giving it a point blank shot with his shot guns, blasting it till there was nothing left. We cleaned them up as best as we could, but one Bastion got away. They always make sure one survived, to report back to whoever sent them, as we would find out the hard way later. We regrouped and checked for survivors, but there was nothing recognizable to check. The whole team was dead, except us. We collected their dog tags, to at least bring something of them home. And just when we thought it couldn't get worse, a typhoon hit us,"

"We knew we couldn't get back to HQ in the storm, so we looked for shelter. We had to scare a bear out of its cave, I'm sure it found another cozy place to stay. Besides, we needed it more. For a week we were stranded out there, you get to know a guy after spending that long, alone together. From what I could see, he was a brutal soldier, and I told him he fought like a psychopath. And, heh, he told me, 'I'm not a psychopath, I'm a high functioning psychopath,',"

Alejandra couldn't help but giggle at the morbid humor again, even though she knew full well she shouldn't have. Maybe it ran in the family, finding humor in violence? Nevertheless, she was glad Jack was sharing so much information with her, learning more about her possible father's past.

"After the typhoon cleared, we made our way back to headquarters. We thought we were in the clear, but those damn omnics had another nasty surprise waiting for us in the snow. I felt a chunk of my side get ripped off by a stray round from the Bastions' fifty cal. Reyes reacted quicker than me, and pulled me aside behind a boulder. I couldn't move, I was practically useless with this hole in me. The Bastions peppered the rock that we hid behind. Gabe guessed there were only two this time. He could handle it. He just needed to wait for the window. He tightened his jacket around my wound, doing what he could to stop the bleeding. I had never been so light headed in my life. Reyes could tell I was slipping into unconsciousness but forced me to wake up. Then, he looked me in the eye and said, 'If you die, I'm gonna follow you into Hell and kill you myself, so don't do it! I'll be right back, Jackie,',"

"I must have passed out by that point, because when I woke up, Reyes was carrying me on his back. Guess he won that fight, no doubt ripping the Bastions to shreds. We gave our report to HQ, telling them about the Bastion units that attacked us. The Omnic Crisis had begun. After that, he and I were inseparable. Every mission that one of us was assigned to, the other joined in. A year later, the UN came up with Overwatch, and they wanted Reyes to lead. I couldn't have been more proud of him. He deserved that role more than anyone I knew. He saved my ass more times than I could count, and I always returned the favor by saving his. Gabriel was a real brother in arms, and I was proud to fight by his side,"

"But then… Out of nowhere, the UN decided it was time for a change of leadership, and gave me the rank of Strike Commander. I never understood why; Gabe was more than capable of keeping the position, but it was either take the promotion or leave Overwatch. After that…," Morrison blinked, remembering the falling out he had with his companion.

For some reason, he couldn't keep talking about it. A lump formed in his throat, the kind that almost stops you from breathing. He just continued everything in his head, the heated arguments, the insults, the anger. Then… Switzerland.

Alejandra saw the distress in Jack's eyes. She heard enough, she didn't need him to keep going. She put her hand over his, snapping him out of his memories. The two looked at each other, just talking through their eyes. Jack could feel her sympathy, telling him to stop thinking about it. The pain seemed to wash away slowly, as if she just willed it out of him. Morrison smiled, thanking Alejandra silently.

But the moment of peace was interrupted by a red flashing on Winston's computer. Alejandra gave a startled scream and held her hands up.

"I didn't touch anything, I swear! I'm innocent! My hands are clean!" she exclaimed.

Morrison saw the alert on the screen, flashing the words 'DISTRESS CALL: ANGELA ZIEGLER'.

XXXX

Amélie, more commonly known as Widowmaker now, broke off one half of the arrow currently lodged in her ankle, and pulled out the other, a screaming pain shooting through her foot, up her leg. She gritted her teeth; damn that archer and his trick-shot arrows. She'd be sure to repay him later.

Reaper had carried Widowmaker to their talon dropship, cloaked in plain sight in front of Lijiang Tower, and were en route to their destination. Setting the auto pilot for their desired coordinates, Reaper grabbed the med kit to tend to his partner's wound.

He cleaned the injury and wrapped a gauze around it, knowing full well they would have to do more later on. Widowmaker was curious to this strange behavior; he normally just let her fix herself, but this time, he actually helped her, almost like he cared or something.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Hmph, not even a thank you. No wonder you're single," replied Reaper as he stood up and returned to the cockpit.

Amélie frowned and followed the hooded mercenary, with a slight limp in her step. It's not that she wasn't grateful, she was just confused. But she decided to not dwell on it. Emotion wasn't her strong suit. She looked at the monitors on the dashboard and noticed something odd. The autopilot was not taking them to HQ, it was taking them to Numbani.

"Quoi? Why are we going there? Did the Chairman give us new orders?"

Reaper replied, "We don't take orders from the Chairman anymore,"

Widowmaker tilted her head, clearly confused by the situation.

"Je n'étais pas informé,"

"Neither was I, until now," he said, plainly, in his slow, raspy voice.

They didn't speak for the remainder of the voyage. The moon glowed brightly in the night sky, no clouds available to deter its radiance. But the two Talon agents did not admire the view as they entered Numbani airspace. They were too focused on the predicament at hand.

The dropship's autopilot brought them to the outskirts of the city, where it hovered over the courtyard of some kind of long abandoned building. The area was littered with graffiti and construction equipment and common trash. The two surveyed the area as their aircraft hovered in place. Amélie scoffed.

"This is where our mystery boss has taken us? I must say, it isn't the most discrete rendezvous I've -"

"Quiet. Look," Reaper cut her off.

The ground below them began to split in two, revealing to be two massive sliding doors, and a large dark chasm behind them. Slowly the doors lurched open, gravel and cans falling into the abyss. The two agents looked at each other and shrugged.

Turning off the autopilot, Reaper took control, descending the dropship into the chasm below them. Upon entering, the doors slowly closed, cutting off all light from the outside. Something told them that there was no turning back now. Reaper set them down on a landing platform at the bottom of the chasm, and the two exited the aircraft.

Widowmaker and Reaper swore they had just entered the Bat cave. Massive waterfalls entered the chasm they had just descended into, the water pouring into a reservoir right below the landing platform, creating a makeshift moat. Small spotlights were the only source of illumination in this cave, with one long stretch of road, acting as a bridge, leading to another room ahead. The cave itself was comprised of a dark granite, which glistened from the combination of stray water and the spotlights.

The two talon agents walked down the only path they had, their footsteps echoing throughout the cave. They entered the room, Reaper allowing Amélie to walk in first. When she stepped in, she saw the reason for the change of command.

At the far end of the room, there was a spear, the handle expertly crafted with African tribal carvings etched into it. It stood erect in the ground, almost looking peaceful, if it weren't for what was impaled on the top. The head of their former employer, the Chairman of Talon, was adorning the tip of the spear, his mouth agape and his eyes wide and lifeless. Reaper and Widowmaker approached what was left of their late leader, not entirely sure what to make of what they saw.

"Merde, who could have done thi-?"

"Um, behind you," Reaper replied, pointing past her.

Amélie turned and saw what he was referring to. A massive figure was making its way from the shadows. His foot falls echoed like boulders falling from mountain tops, and his wide, muscular frame only added to his tall demeanor. The stranger finally stepped into the light, revealing himself. Clearly of African decent, he was solid muscle from his chest to his calves, and was easily seven feet in height. His shoulder length dreadlocks were pulled back into six individual ponytails that draped over his back. A long scar ran down one side of his face, from the top of his forehead down to his bottom jaw. Another set of scars, what appeared to be claw marks (two sets of three), littered his right forearm. This man had seen more than his fair share of battles, and the Talon agents could see that.

He eyed the two before him, amused that they had to look up to him, just like everyone did when they saw him.

"Welcome," his voice was deep, and boomed through the caverns of the cave, "I'm glad to see you got my invitation,"

The stranger took a few steps towards Widowmaker, and held her chin between his large finger and thumb, inspecting her. He gave a smirk and a raised eyebrow at the assassin, who stared blankly back at him, not particularly caring for his actions. He pulled away as Reaper stepped forward.

"How about you explain what the hell is going on. You killed our boss and led us here. Who are you?"

The stranger stood tall and proud, prepared to explain his actions.

"You may know my family heritage by a certain name. My grandfather was known as The Savior, my father; The Scourge. I am now known as, The Successor," he gave a wide grin at the mention of his own title.

"Doomfist," Widowmaker said, sounding both disinterested and intimidated; Reaper couldn't tell how that was possible, but she managed to pull it off.

"Correct," Doomfist replied, "Though, without my family heirloom, it is not a title befitting of me at the moment. I come with a proposition," he said, walking past the two of them, "Work with me to crush all that Overwatch has accomplished, and in return, I will give you both what you desire most,"

Amélie and Reaper exchanged glances; as if they had a choice? They both knew if they tried to escape, this seven foot wall of muscle would snap them in two.

"What's the catch?" replied Reaper.

Even if they didn't have any other options, he still wanted to know what they were getting themselves into.

"There is no catch," said Doomfist, "My plans are not that much different from Talon. We both want to continue the Omnic Crisis. However, your petty Chairman was not thinking large enough," he patted the decapitated head of his victim, still impaled on the spear, "Look around you! Talon may have created little skirmishes around the globe, killing a peacekeeper here, eradicating Omnic civilians there, but they failed to see the big picture!" He removed the head from the spear and tossed it into the moat below, creating a satisfying plop as it hit the water.

Doomfist turned to face the two once again, eyes wide with dangerous enthusiasm.

"My vision is much, much larger. Humans and Omnics, trying to live together, in peace? Some have even begun to form… relations with one another. How pitiful. Mankind will always be the masters of machine. And when mankind has conquered the machines, the three of us will be above them all, ruling with iron fists," He clenched his fist in front of them, providing a powerful emphasis.

Reaper and Amélie were honestly still confused with the whole situation. They were listening to a seven foot tall, African man, who just decapitated the leader of Talon, talk about his plans for world domination. Of course, the whole idea of conquering the world seemed far-fetched, but he had them at giving them what they desired most.

Intrigued to see what Doomfist had in store, Amélie spoke up.

"And where do we begin, taking over the entire Omnic race?" she asked.

Doomfist gave a smirk that sent a chill down even Widowmaker's unfeeling spine.

"Have either of you ever heard of, The Iris?"

XXXX

Holy magikarp this Chapter took forever! But I enjoyed every late night with it haha! So yeah, This is my interpretation of the Successor Doomfist. Just to give you an idea of what he sounds like, just think of the Arbiter from Halo/Keith David.

ALSO, sorry, sorry, I'm sorry, sorry, for all the JackxLena fluff. I think I got carried away. I hope it isn't too cringy for you all.

This is probably the longest chapter to date, 26 pages! I need to calm down.

Thank you all again for your wonderful support with the comments! Don't forget to leave some more! I live for them. In the meantime, you all stay beautiful! I've got another chapter to write!