Though Captain Amari made it a point to engage in fieldwork regularly, it was still far less often than she'd liked; if she wasn't bound to her desk by endless paperwork, she'd be assigning younger commanders their own missions, in a bid to start grooming the next generation of Overwatch leaders. Much like Jack, Ana was mostly reserved for missions of the highest priority, which meant the chance to stretch their legs came few and far between – or had to be fought for, on other occasions. It was the soldier in them, they knew, that yearned for the simpler world of a field agent, instead of the constant game of political chess they were forced to play, day after day.
That didn't stop them, however, from seeking that very simplicity – an escape from the mire they were stuck in. That was why Ana had secured the best training room in base for herself; it was hardly the largest, but its high-grade tech made it the most useful and immersive. Simply dubbed the 'VR Range', it could create a physical environment filled with inhabitants, all made of hard-light. With the help of a sophisticated A.I. program, one could simulate a realistic combat situation where hostiles and civilians behaved near-organically, and the user could feel the sting of feedback from suffering bullet wounds or melee attacks.
It was easy to lose oneself in such a simulation, and Ana did so wholeheartedly – extraneous burdens had fallen from her mind, which was now focused on routing two enemy platoons by herself. Hardly an impossible task when she was armed with elite stealth-cloaking gear and her trusty sniper rifle, not to mention a nimble body with reflexes still honed to a razor's edge, trained from decades of warfare.
Ana ran up the hard-light floors, leapt from building to building, then slowed to a whisper-quiet stalk of a predator, just before she claimed another target with a silenced shot. It was a routine burned into her bones since the Omnic Crisis, and she relished in its practice as she always did. Though a victorious outcome was assured, Ana took much care and pride in every step towards the end – a personal challenge, as it were, to execute a perfect maneuver.
Taking two more shots, Ana thumbed a control on her wrist device, activating a drone as two bodies fell and disintegrated into light fragments. The drone flew a pre-designated path over the remaining hostiles, distracting them while Ana slunk from her corner and ran to another building, flanking her foes. She settled behind a window which shimmered slightly when she rested her rifle on the sill, but paid it no mind.
Ana waited patiently, and when the drone was shot apart amid a shower of sparks, she tossed a flashbang into the square where the last squad stood. Her ears rang even from this distance, but Ana turned her cybernetic eye back to the scope, and in five heartbeats dropped the last five bodies. She looked down to check her wrist device out of habit, but it was unnecessary. The A.I. announced the mission's success through her earpiece, and advised her to descend to the ground floor before deactivating the simulation.
Exhaling a long breath to loosen her muscles, Ana rose to her feet while ignoring the cracks from her back. She strode slowly down the stairs, and when her feet were back on the training floor, she gave the deactivation command. Hard-light infrastructure started disintegrating around her as she walked towards the exit, then took the stairs up to the control room where instructors would usually stay to observe, and hold a debrief with recordings of their cadets' exercise. Ana had no use for a recording herself, and intended only to check her mission timing before erasing the footage for security reasons.
But she forgot her intent briefly upon entering the control room, which was occupied by two people who weren't there before. One was a tall Frenchman, with dark hair combed neatly back on his head, complementing the crispness of his suit. He smiled at Ana's entrance, and brought his hands together in polite applause.
"A flawless run, Captain."
"Just practice, Gerard," Ana said, flicking the safety for her rifle and setting it on the briefing table. She turned to look Gerard over, before her eyes drifted to the woman who accompanied him.
Gerard's wife was very striking indeed, and Ana found herself impressed by the cool confidence behind warm brown eyes. The woman's gaze softened under Ana's scrutiny, and a smile curved her lips – every bit as sweet as Gerard loved to proclaim.
"Amelie. A pleasure to finally meet you." Ana offered a hand, and was surprised by the firm clasp in return – she'd expected a fleeting handshake, nothing more.
"The pleasure is all mine, Captain," Amelie replied smoothly.
"Ana. And trust me, some of it is mine as well." Ana cocked her head appraisingly. "I'm glad that of all the things Gerard boasts about, you are the most true."
Amelie laughed. "Ah, yes. I've heard he's been quite…talkative."
"You don't know the half of it," Ana said before Gerard could defend himself. "He can barely take two breaths without mentioning you. By the way – did you know she's the best dancer in France, and shall make great history with her art? Oh, and her voice would make the birds sing in the morning, her eyes could–"
"Ah, Captain, Captain. You are embarrassing me," Gerard simpered, looking not one bit embarrassed as he puffed his chest up, casting a loving glance at his wife. "I merely proclaim the truth to the world, that is all."
"Spare me, LaCroix." Ana's eye-roll drew a snicker from Amelie. "How long will you two be here?"
"Three days, maybe four. We'll be leaving on our holiday as soon as I've straightened things out with Jack and Gabriel." Gerard shrugged, growing thoughtful. "I'm afraid you'll have to wait a little, my darling."
"It's quite alright," Amelie replied, smiling up at Gerard, then at Ana. Her eyes fell on the rifle behind the Captain, then she wound a hand around Gerard's elbow, tugging gently. "Come, dear. Let's not bother Ana for too long."
"Ah yes, of course. But first – dinner tonight, Captain?"
"Sure."
"Splendid!" Gerard beamed, and bowed his head in farewell. He straightened himself smoothly, and made his leave with Amelie on his arm.
Ana watched them go, and gave an amused huff when the doors slid shut behind the couple. Gerard was a man of countless admirable achievements, and served with distinction as the head of Overwatch's anti-terrorist division. He wore his stripes with due pride, but acted as if they were nothing beside his wife; a hallmark of an utter fool in love, but Ana could hardly fault him for that. She had been in the very same position, after all.
Still was in the same position. The self-reminder woke her up a little. It almost felt like she'd forgot…
Ana turned around and set a hand on her rifle, but didn't pick it up. This custom-modified weapon had seen her through decades in Overwatch, and was a symbol of her power – a source of pride. It was something she stubbornly clung onto, despite repeated urgings for her to set it down, to let go. That which had kept her firmly anchored within Overwatch, had also kept her so distant from…
Unconsciously, Ana touched the ring kept hidden beneath her gloved hand. Regret sparked in her, but she quelled it with practiced swiftness. Slinging the rifle onto her back, Ana erased her recording in the VR files, and made for her own office.
In the first few months of training, it was all too common to hear the barks of instructors delivering harsh reprimands throughout academy grounds. Recruits always incited and endured the worst of their instructor's tempers, and it was no surprise to move around in the academy and chance upon a group of greenhorns being ripped into. Kamilah had long been desensitised to such an environment, and she would've walked past this bout of yelling disinterestedly, if not for the instructor's voice echoing despite him being half in open air.
Curiosity piqued, Kamilah followed the noise towards the recruits' barracks, but any sort of amusement she felt promptly evaporated when she saw Fareeha among the four being shouted at. Kamilah paused in her tracks, frowning when she realised her daughter was covered in cuts and bruises, as were the other three. She hesitated, then walked slowly over to the group.
Fareeha was the first to notice her approach – the girl's eyes flickered up, then dropped back down again. She didn't even look up when the instructor caught sight of Kamilah as well, and ordered the group into a hasty, uncoordinated salute. The recruits seemed oblivious to Kamilah's reputation, but it was evident in the straight-backed posture of the instructor.
"What's going on here?" Kamilah asked, passing an eye over the group. Her heart was sinking slowly, already knowing the story behind this.
"They were fighting one another in the barracks, ma'am," the soldier replied. "So I pulled them out."
Kamilah nodded, scrutinising the group once more. None dared to meet her eyes, which lingered on her daughter for a moment, before turning back to her colleague. "I suppose some punishment is in order?"
"Clean-up duty tonight, then their squads will have some field training together."
'Field training'. The term made Kamilah's lips curl. It would be more a gruelling physical trial than actual training, given the reason behind it. But Kamilah nodded again – this was only to be expected. "Very well."
The instructor waited for a few moments, but when she didn't speak further, he turned back to his recruits. "Remember – 1900 hours tonight, or I'll double your damn punishment."
The bruised recruits shouted in the affirmative, and held perfectly still until they were dismissed. Before they could disperse, Kamilah spoke.
"Amari. Follow me."
Fareeha looked back at her, dread crossing her features before her gaze fell to the floor once more. The rest of the group glanced at her, then quickly shuffled away as if to avoid being singled out as well.
Kamilah turned to the offices without looking back, and she entered the building with Fareeha at her heels – walking at a proper distance without their usual familiarity. Her daughter remained silent when they reached her office, and the young Amari stood at ease with her hands behind her back, while Kamilah took a seat behind the table.
Cocking a brow at Fareeha's formality, Kamilah gestured at the guest's chair before her desk. "Sit."
Fareeha hesitated, still not looking at her, before moving forward to sit in the chair. To her credit, Fareeha didn't sit gingerly on the edge like many officers had done before, but her posture was still rigid, face blank. Kamilah suspected she wouldn't be forthcoming at this point, but tried anyway.
"How did it happen?"
A moment's pause. "We didn't like each other."
"Who picked the fight?"
"Them," Fareeha replied curtly, then added in a quiet grumble, "Not that it matters."
"No, it doesn't," Kamilah concurred. In here, as long as you were caught in the trouble, you were responsible for the trouble. "But I want to know. Why did they pick on you?"
This time, Fareeha didn't answer. She averted her eyes, staring stubbornly at the edge of Kamilah's desk, probably hoping her mother would let the matter slide.
"Did you offend them?"
"No," Fareeha growled.
"Then?"
"It wasn't my fault, is that what you're trying to get at?"
"No, Fareeha," Kamilah said calmly, and it seemed to make Fareeha catch onto her minute aggression, a tinge of regret flitting across her features. "You've been doing well so far. Why would you try to mar your own record?"
"I'm not trying," Fareeha retorted, almost through gritted teeth. She clenched her jaw briefly, then her shoulders sagged by just a fraction. "They picked on my name, okay?"
"They know…your mother?" Kamilah asked, not needing to clarify which. And judging by the displeased frown that creased Fareeha's forehead, she'd hit the nail on the head.
She would've asked further, but her computer emitted a single-toned blip. Kamilah glanced at the screen, cursing at the email, then busied herself with the communications. Jabbing at her keyboard, Kamilah fired back a response, then set her mail app to silent for the moment. And when she looked back at Fareeha, she found that the girl had finally moved from her wooden posture, and was leaning towards the corner of Kamilah's desk.
Kamilah watched quietly as Fareeha stared at the framed photos, then took them for a closer look. There were three photos Kamilah kept on her desk – one of herself with Ana and teenage Fareeha in Zurich, another with toddler Fareeha dressed in that blue bird onesie she loved so much. The last was of herself and Ana, both in smart dress blues, smiling as Ana hugged Kamilah by the waist. They were both so young then, faces smooth and carefree, hair still thick and dark.
That was the photo Fareeha gazed at the longest, holding the frame between her hands as she rubbed a thumb over the picture. "When was this?"
"After the Crisis ended," Kamilah replied. "We went to celebrate that night, after she was awarded the Sinai Star."
Fareeha didn't respond, merely gazing at the photo in silence. Her expression was unreadable, and it set Kamilah ill at ease. She wondered what her daughter was pondering in that photo – probably Ana. And if her guess was right, Fareeha's thoughts would likely be nowhere near a happy place. The thought made Kamilah's heart twinge, but before she could say something, Fareeha set the photos back beside the computer without a word.
"You should be going now," Kamilah suggested, after they'd sat quietly for a time.
"Yeah." Fareeha stood from the chair, and seemed to think better of saluting her mother, arm twitching awkwardly by her side. As she made for the door, Kamilah spoke again.
"Try to keep your nose clean, alright?"
Fareeha let a grimace cross her placid expression, then nodded. She gave a small wave in farewell, and left the office without a backward glance.
Kamilah sighed and leaned back in her seat. She hoped this would be the last altercation Fareeha involved herself in. But chances were…
It seemed Kamilah had spent most of her free time cleaning the house recently, but she didn't mind. With the house all to herself, there was no one to complain about her dragging up dust-covered boxes and digging into old cupboards, making an even bigger mess before she packed everything up nicely again. Kamilah could rifle through the house at her own pace, tossing old belongings that were taking up space, and rearrange some things to make the place seem fresher.
It was quite a therapeutic process, and it kept Kamilah entertained as well, finding old stuff that were once well-loved, but had been forgotten over the years. She'd found and cleaned Ana's purple dragon, and the tiger hoodie Ana had bought her, for instance. And she'd dug up plenty of Fareeha's toys, which the girl still had trouble throwing away despite Kamilah nagging at her to make space in her bedroom. In the end, the girl's unwillingness to part with her hoard had brought some joy to Kamilah as well.
Kamilah smiled as she picked up the bird plush sitting dutifully beside Fareeha's pillow – it was the very same that had accompanied Fareeha since she was three. Though they'd sent it for washing and repairs, the clean plush was unable to light up and sing that rhyme when they squeezed it anymore. Not that Fareeha seemed to mind though, as it was one toy she was very protective of.
Dusting off the bird, Kamilah fidgeted with the plush to find just the right spot beside the pillow, and left it alone. Dimly, she wondered where her own tiger plush had gone, as she went about wiping the rest of Fareeha's furniture. Though her hands itched dearly to look through Fareha's toy stash, she left it alone and instead turned to the posters still tacked by the window. Kamilah ran a cloth over each one, amused by the young and proud faces immortalised in each poster, and how different they looked back then.
Her eyes roamed across Jack and Reinhardt's pictures, skimmed over the rest of the agents, before landing on the one who was her favourite – though she never did tell Ana that. Kamilah huffed at the dumb airbrushed face of Captain Amari – their PR department never dared to do the same again after Kamilah, and in turn Ana, had raised a vehement protest against it. From then on, they never touched up the agents' faces too heavily, and allowed natural features to shine through, like scars or wrinkles.
Sighing quietly, Kamilah grazed her fingertips over young Captain Amari, with her smooth face, thick black hair, and that ever-annoying fringe hanging before her face. Despite the over-editing, Ana did still look striking…the perfect, confident image of the very same goof who'd struggled for her attention, so many years ago.
God, how had the years slipped by so quickly? Where had this woman, this reckless idiot who loved her more than anything, who would do everything to be with her, had gone? Now Ana spent most of her time halfway across the world, saddled with too noble a cause to even spare much time for a homecoming. Kamilah knew she still cared, of course, that her heart still belonged with her family. But it was becoming more difficult to believe, the more time Kamilah spent missing her.
Her fingers lingered over Ana's face on the poster, before falling away. Kamilah turned back to look at Fareeha's bed, at that bird plush sitting by her pillow, and she was struck again by her daughter's absence. First Ana, then Fareeha. She wondered if Fareeha would follow blindly in Ana's footsteps as well, fly far from home to serve a greater cause, heedless of everything else?
Part of her hoped not, but…ugh. Thinking too much.
Kamilah rubbed at her temples, suddenly realising how groggy she felt. She had gotten up early this morning, and been puttering about since then…
Walking over to Fareeha's bed, Kamilah fell heavily on top of the covers, heaving a sigh. Closing her eyes, Kamilah let her mind drift, and wondered just how long ago it'd been since she'd last tucked Fareeha into bed.
Ana entered the research wing of the headquarters, making a few turns down numerous hallways to reach the newest addition to the facility. Though it was put together with all haste, Ana was still impressed by how sleek and professional the chronal chamber looked. Its construction had been overseen by Winston, who'd been the urgent taskmaster eager to see its completion after the first reappearance of Lena Oxton – a pilot thought lost in an experimental flight program.
The chamber was finished just before Oxton had appeared a second time, and Winston's quick action on the console had managed to keep her in the present for a mere minute, before she disappeared once more. Since then, Winston had committed to the task of bringing Oxton back, and he could rarely be seen away from the chronal chamber – which was why Ana was surprised to find it unsupervised when she arrived. A quick glance around revealed no trace of Winston – aside from banana peels and empty jars of peanut butter – so Ana decided to greet the pilot herself. Provided she was there, at least.
Walking up to one glass window, Ana peered into the empty chamber, looking around curiously before she nearly jumped out of her skin.
"Heya, Captain!" Oxton rematerialised right before Ana, with a bright grin on her face. "Here to visit again? I'm really touched, you know."
"Nice to see you're in good spirits, Lena," Ana replied, cocking her head. "Why, has Winston made progress?"
"Some! I was here the entire day…yesterday. At least, Winston said it was the entire day. Felt like a few hours to me."
"Trust him, then. I don't think your own clock is quite reliable right now."
"Tell me about it." Lena's eyes widened, and she disappeared. Flashes of her blinked across the chamber, before she returned to the spot before the window. "Sorry about that. Uh, how long was I away?"
"About…10 seconds?"
"Oh! Great, I thought it was an hour." Lena scratched her head sheepishly. "Sorry, I'm not great for proper conversation right now…"
"It's quite alright," Ana said.
"Yeah." Lena bit her lip, worry taking over her features as abruptly as her chronal hiccups. She looked back up at Ana, and asked tentatively, "You've read Winston's reports, yeah? Think he'll do it? Anchor me in one place?"
"He's hard at work, Lena. I'm sure he'll come up with something soon," Ana replied, though she regretted how ambiguous it sounded, when Lena seemed to deflate after she spoke. "But don't worry – we won't let this rest until you're back with us. Fully."
Lena gave a wan smile. "Thanks, Captain. I'm getting worried though – Winston's been pushing himself a lot, I don't think he's rested in the last decade."
Ana raised a brow.
"That's how long it feels to me, anyway," Lena chuckled, as if she'd been waiting to deliver that punch line for a while.
"I'll order him to rest, then. Don't worry."
Ana clasped her hands behind her back, feeling the conversation trickle to a close as silence fell over them. An excuse to leave rose to her tongue, but Ana looked Lena over again, struck by how young the pilot looked. She was young, even younger than Fareeha. Yet she'd already experienced and lost so much more, all for a purpose she'd thrown her heart and soul into. Guilt dug into Ana – Overwatch's experiment had turned this young woman into a casualty. But Lena wasn't the first, and she certainly won't be the last.
Breathing a quiet sigh, Ana met Lena's eyes, which rested on her in a quiet, expectant gaze. Lena wanted her to stay, Ana realised – it was a lonely affair to be trapped in a chamber, with only Winston and the occasional guest for company. Ana wanted to leave, knowing there were a hundred things on her desk fighting for her attention, but she hesitated the longer she looked at Lena. The young pilot probably needed some comfort, or even guidance in such a time of vulnerability, and Ana was in a position to help…
Putting a smile on her lips, Ana strode to the reinforced glass doors of the chamber, and sat on the floor. Lena followed her, sitting on the opposite side of the door as well, and looked at Ana curiously.
"So, I've heard there are plenty of interesting things to see while you're…" Ana waved her hands at the air. "Time traveling?"
"Oh, yeah! You know, aside from the whole 'who am I' sorta thing, it's actually pretty cool! I've seen different decades, centuries even. I've been so many different people, that it's…hard to keep track, really. But it's an experience. You know how it feels to be a kitchen maid? 'Cause I do!"
Ana smiled, feeling laughter bubble up to her throat as Lena rambled on about her experience with chronal disassociation. It was obvious Lena was troubled by her condition, which could potentially be fatal, but her relentless positivity about the whole thing was rather infectious.
Ana marveled at the spirited heart Lena carried, and wondered where her own had gone.