All was quiet in the hospital ward. It always was. Some time ago, such a peaceful – if sedate – environment would've driven Ana crazy the longer she stayed there, but no longer. Ever since a report on television had delivered such devastating news, Ana had kept the device off, and only tolerated necessary noise made by the medical staff responsible for her care. At first, the quiet had been a forced escape – a solitude protecting her from the world outside, which no doubt conspired to deliver yet another blow to her life, her heart. She'd wallowed in nothingness for days, before a sliver of her stubborn nature reasserted itself, and Ana started to think. Taking one small step, Ana thought for herself first. And the decision she'd made after some deliberation…was probably for the best.
Staring into the handheld mirror, Ana took in the sight of her own face – the mix of faint and ridged scars scattered about her right eye, and the eyelid which had been sewn shut at her request. She touched the lid cautiously with her fingertips, feeling the odd sensation of the hollow socket beneath. They'd given her the option of taking a prosthetic, but she'd declined, thinking it to be a vain and pointless course of action.
When the doctor tried to teach her proper care of the empty cavity, Ana had declined as well, then voiced her decision to sew the eyelid shut. Though Ana didn't know what lay in store for her in the future, she knew in her gut that it wouldn't be easy, and it certainly wouldn't afford her the time to care for the cavity. Sewing the lid shut was the best and most practical decision, Ana reminded herself with a sigh. She lowered the mirror, unwilling to stare at her own ruined face anymore.
Dropping the mirror carelessly onto the mattress, Ana laid back on her pillows, staring up at the off-white ceiling with her remaining eye. She wanted to move on, to start planning her next steps after leaving the hospital. But her mind refused to budge, still wrestling with the heavy weight of grief and guilt for Overwatch, for her absence while it was dealt a disastrous, fatal blow. The organisation had been in such tumult, struggling under the backlash of both their successes and failures, suffering the vitriol and anger of the public which had once held them in such high regard. That Overwatch managed to tear itself down before anyone else got the chance…a poetic, if tragic end. Maybe they deserved it. For the hubris which had kept them going, long past the point when they should've stopped and laid down their weapons.
Overwatch's time was definitely over. Of that, Ana had no doubt – she'd been sure of it in the recent years, even. But now, one question bit into Ana – was her time up as well? Had she cheated death in her last mission, where she should've rightfully died, and was now living on borrowed time? Did she deserve this extra time, or was every breath she took just another spit in the face of fate? Should she have died back there instead–?
Ana closed her eye, taking a slow, unsteady breath. She swallowed against the lump in her throat, as her mind wandered back to that last mission, to the pale, unnatural visage of Amelie Lacroix. Puzzlement and anger rose within her once more, at the thought of that woman. Amelie…that was one mystery to solve, at least. One reason for Ana to keep moving and living, if only for vengeance. And if not that, then…
She ran a thumb over the wedding ring on her finger. This was the more important reason to keep living – her family. But did she deserve them, after the way she'd treated them for the many years past? Such distance she'd kept from them, justified with one callous excuse after another… Ana might as well have been a stranger to them. What good would her reappearance do now, aside from resurfacing old problems and grievances?
Besides, what sort of trouble would Ana bring upon their heads by going back to them now? She knew very well that the family had been ambushed time and again by reporters, all through Overwatch's 'golden age', even during its decline. And still, reporters posed the least trouble for the family. What of Talon? If they caught wind of Ana's survival, surely they wouldn't just let her be. And after what had happened to the Lacroix couple, Ana deeply feared bringing Talon's merciless hand down on her family as well.
No, it would be better to let Kamilah and Fareeha believe she was truly dead. Let them think she was gone, and tend to their own lives without having Ana complicate matters. For now, Ana would stay away, and figure her own life out as well. And if there came a time in the future when Ana was ready, was better, then maybe…
Ana's eyelid lifted at the sound of the door opening, and she blinked away the moisture before looking at Doctor Baranski, who approached her bed with a smile which couldn't quite hide the tension in his face.
"How are you feeling, Captain Amari?"
"I'm fine. You, on the other hand, look troubled."
Baranski gave a short laugh, and nodded. "Yes, I am. Captain, please know that I am committed to ensuring your full recovery. However, I am facing more pressure to…'accelerate' your recuperation. You understand."
"I do," Ana replied simply. Though the kind doctor had been reluctant to reveal his unpleasant situation, Ana had managed to wheedle the truth from him. Baranski had been one of the few to argue for Ana's treatment in this hospital, and helped keep her identity secret during her stay. But plenty of his superiors were unhappy with this decision, and pressure had grown on him day after day, to let go of Ana before she truly became a liability or worse – a bait.
Ana understood his situation, and had no intention of becoming a burden herself. So she smiled, despite not feeling the comfort she meant to convey. "Don't worry, Doctor. I'll be out of your hair as soon as I am able."
"Please, do not feel unwelcome here. I do wish to see you to full recovery–"
"I know," Ana said. "To full recovery, then. Thank you for your help, Doctor. I won't forget it."
Baranski stared at her in silence for a few moments, mouth open as if struggling to speak. But it seemed he was unable to find the words, and eventually settled on a wan smile.
Under Baranski's care, Ana recovered steadily in the next two weeks, and used the time to get accustomed to her now-limited field of vision. Having to look to the right always threw her off a bit, and Ana felt much frustration and self-directed anger for losing her damn eye, but worked through the explosive cocktail of emotions with the calm guidance of her doctor. And when the day arrived for Ana's departure, she'd already made much progress in acclimatising to her condition, even if she was still a hair short of true acceptance. Nonetheless, Ana wore a grateful smile and a spiffy new eyepatch while the doctor bid farewell. She gave him a firm handshake before pulling the hood of her jacket up, and left the ward without a backward glance.
Ana kept her face tilted subtly down as she traced the path prescribed by Baranski, which would bring her through the less-crowded sections of the hospital, towards a remote side entrance which was rarely used. Her walk towards the exit went smoothly, and she put on a pair of shades to obscure her tattoo before heading out into the town alone, with a light backpack on her shoulders.
She caught a few curious glances in her direction, what with the odd combination of shades and eyepatch, but no one gave the white-haired old woman trouble as she navigated through the streets, winding her way towards the older part of town. It took over an hour, but Ana eventually found the shuttered, abandoned autoshop she was looking for. Rounding the dilapidated block, Ana reached the back entrance, and checked her empty surroundings before pressing her thumb to the corner of a red brick by the door. It wasn't long before a quiet beep sounded from the wall's hidden scanner, and the heavy reinforced door before her was unlocked with a loud, rusty metal screech.
Ana winced at the sound, then looked around once more, before slipping through the door and closing it behind her. The warm yellow lights on the ceiling slowly came to life, and Ana climbed carefully down the flight of steps, reaching another metal door locked with a different security device. Placing her hand on what seemed like an ordinary card reader on the wall, a computerised beep answered in the affirmative, and revealed a small oblong scanner on the reader. Ana bent down to it, then cursed when she remembered her eyepatch, and shifted so the device could scan her left eye instead. Another beep confirmed her identify, and the door's lock was released with a gentler click this time.
Sighing in relief, Ana walked into the only safehouse which Overwatch had installed in Poland. One glance at the thin layer of dust which had settled over the modest dwelling, and Ana could tell it hadn't seen use in a long time. She flicked the lights on, then checked the cabinets to find a healthy stash of food supplies and bottled water, left untouched. Satisfied that she'd have basic necessities at least, Ana entered the mission centre in the next room, and activated the main computer. It took a moment to warm up, but soon enough, the screen winked on.
Ana cast an eye over the map onscreen – which showed not a single indicator of an active agent. Not unexpected, since Overwatch had been disbanded just last week, but the sight still stabbed at her heart. She took a breath, then flicked the agents' roster off, and enlarged the map of Poland to ascertain her location. Ana mused over the map, then pushed her chair back and stood. She walked to the closet behind her, looking up and down its shelves before spotting what she looked for.
Ana took the hefty metal briefcase in her hands, and set it on a nearby table. She flicked its latches and lifted the lid to find a kit of face-masking holo-tech, which was standard issue to every safehouse to aid in covert operations. A smile spread across her face, and she lowered the lid. Going back to the mission computer, Ana tapped in a few commands, and the map zoomed out enough to show both Poland and Switzerland, connected by different-coloured lines marking various routes an agent could take.
Taking a deep breath, Ana exhaled slowly. The journey would be exhausting, not to mention troublesome with her need to stay low, but…she had to lay eyes on HQ. Just one last time.
The journey took little over a day, with Ana under guise as just another old lady, taking a train and bus all the way from Poland to Zurich. She didn't go too far with the disguise, merely tweaking her facial structure and hiding her tattoo. But it worked like a charm, and the immigration officer barely gave her a second glance as he chopped her forged passport with a firm thud, then waved her on with a tired grunt. Ana had smiled at the officer as she walked away, partly to keep up her part as a sweet old lady, and partly because her little forgery back in the safehouse had seen her through. She let this small victory buoy her heart, but the joy steadily disappeared the closer she neared Zurich.
When she reached the city, Ana counseled herself with wisdom, and first sought out a safehouse to drop her backpack. Again, this safehouse was empty, but Ana couldn't even spare the energy to feel disappointed. She searched about the equipment stores, and found a sleek black bodysuit similar to her own uniform. She strapped an invisibility device to her chest harness, took a pistol and two clips of ammo, then pulled on a hooded black jacket for good measure. When she was done, she activated the invisibility device, and left the safehouse with a heavy heart.
Ana took to the streets which she knew like the back of her hand – following remote corners and alleys, skirting around police and the army guards posted on the borders of the now-defunct Overwatch headquarters, and entered its compound proper. They hadn't bothered to install lights around the uncleared wreckage, so Ana had to pull up the pair of goggles hanging around her neck, and activated its full-colour night vision. She glanced back at the guards patrolling in the distance with a relaxed gait, and couldn't help but smirk – obviously the authorities didn't understand the type of people Overwatch employed.
She huffed, then set to work amid the rubble. It seemed they'd cleared much of the ruins since the explosion, as what Ana saw now could hardly compare to the evidence of destruction she'd seen in news reports. From what she could tell, the scorch marks were centered around the training wing, where their simulation ranges, armoury, and one-third of the motor pool were housed. Perhaps whatever Jack and Gabriel did had somehow set off the rest of the weapons in storage? But their arsenal had always been well-protected behind blast-resistant alloys, and could hardly be triggered into a chain explosion on accident. Unless…it had been deliberate.
Ana frowned, then shook her head. No guesswork now. It was time to search – and search she did. She picked her way around the training wing, noting the lockers which had escaped the explosion intact, and housed weapons which Ana still remembered from their manifests. She tapped into the holo-device on her wrist, marking down their positions for retrieval at a later date. For now, Ana had more…important things to look for.
She walked slowly through the wreck, and finally reached the portion of the headquarters which was still standing. Ana stopped in her tracks for a moment, staring up the building – its interiors exposed as if it were a cross-section in some architect's blueprint. Her heart beat a painful rhythm, mourning that which she'd dedicated her life to, now brought down by the very people who'd built it up with blood, sweat, and tears.
Damn it all.
Ana gritted her teeth, and wrenched her gaze from the building. She took a deep breath, steeling herself, and chased all extraneous thoughts from her mind. With careful, determined steps, Ana walked into the residential wing, and reached her own quarters. Upon her entrance, Ana was unsurprised to find the room bare – Kamilah and Fareeha must've been here after she'd 'died', and retrieved her possessions. Well, her personal ones, at least. Official Overwatch documents still lay on her shelves and desk, some of which had been clearly left untouched. It surprised her – had Jack not bothered to take over the duties and missions she'd left behind? Or was he too busy with other matters at hand? Or…did he just stop caring in the end?
Sighing, Ana picked up one dusty folder and flipped it open, skimming the brief summary of a mission detailed within. She snorted, then finally did what she'd yearned to do in her long, difficult years with Overwatch – and flicked the folder away as if it were nothing. It was now nothing, Ana reminded herself, and suddenly that thought gave her an unprecedented sense of freedom.
Ana was now free. With Overwatch destroyed, and Captain Amari thought dead, Ana could do anything she wanted. Anything. Perhaps…
She turned her eye back to the folder, where it lay on the floor with papers scattered. Her time in Overwatch had involved calculation – too much calculation. Which missions took priority, what data was more valuable, which lives were worth saving at the cost of others. Close to the end, Ana had been forced to make these decisions based not on morality, but on publicity – only choices which would scrape Overwatch's image back together, in a much larger picture. But now, with her hands unbound, Ana could right the little wrongs they'd committed on the way to achieving the greater good…
Ana bit her lip, hating it as her mind made itself up. But she sat back at her own desk, and after a mental curse at herself, booted up her computer.
It had been five days since Ana arrived in Zurich. Since her first visit to the remains of Overwatch's headquarters, Ana had made many trips back to her old home, always in the dark of night. With each trip, Ana retrieved something valuable in her backpack and datapads – personal effects which Kamilah and Fareeha had missed, various mission files and intel which Ana thought worth investigating, and several weapons which would prove useful for her future plans, vague as they were.
For now, she was satisfied with her haul. She'd found various pieces of armour and bodysuits for fieldwork, and several sidearms which had been modified by Torbjorn long ago. She even dug up the biotic rifle which had caused so much friction between her and Doctor Ziegler back then, and though she did still regret the necessity of its use, the rifle would come in handy with its ability to harm and heal. It's for the greater good, Ana told herself as she had back then, and even now, she could hear the doctor's sharp reprimand in her ears.
Lips curving in a tired smile, Ana set the rifle down on the table, and chased Ziegler's voice from her mind. It was late, and she was tired from her workout earlier that night. So she stood and strolled over to the cot, falling onto the hard mattress with a wistful sigh, missing the hospital's softer bed.
Ana lay on her back for a while, then rolled onto her side. She reached for the holopad on the nightstand, flicking it on with a thumb, and smiled when a photo of Fareeha blinked to life, hovering over the pad. Her daughter was still a young girl back then, eyes bright and full of mischief, which matched the smile on her face. Kamilah had been the one to take this photo, and Ana had kept it on this holopad through the long years as a reminder of something to fight for, when she was tired beyond measure. Ana gazed at her young daughter for a good long time, before her smile started to fade as recent memory trickled back.
Letting out a breath, Ana switched the holopad off. After a moment of hesitation, she reached for the photo beside the holopad. It was a family photo of Ana, Kamilah, and Fareeha – who couldn't be much older than three. She'd found this lone photo beneath her desk, where her family must've missed it. Ana's eye lingered on her daughter, before moving to rest on the young face of her wife.
A sharp pang of guilt mixed with the tenderness in her chest, as she gazed longer at Kamilah. How much had she failed her wife, to whom she'd promised only happiness? Whose life she'd only complicated further and further as the years went by, and yet, she knew Kamilah still loved her all the same. And now, after all that patience and care, Ana had delivered the worst blow for Kamilah to suffer. So many years of loyalty and love, only to end in grief…and nothing.
They're better off without me.
Ana teared up, and set the photo face-down on the nightstand. She wiped at her eye quickly, took a breath to calm herself down, then pulled the eyepatch from her head. Carefully, she touched the hollow eyelid once more, then trailed her fingertips to the many scars around the eye socket.
Surely she wouldn't want this…wreck of a woman now.
As usual, Kamilah's waking was slow. The fog of sleep took a long time to fall from her mind, and when it did, Kamilah could find little reason to wake further. Her entire body felt hollow, chest still hurting from a phantom ache which had plagued her for what seemed like an eternity. But the dull state of half-wakefulness stopped the ache from turning sharp, and Kamilah drifted in and out of sleep for a long while – before she remembered, and a sudden wave of reality crashed over her.
Fareeha. Kamilah remembered hearing her daughter's voice, murmuring a quiet plea the night before…or was it just this morning, when she was leaving for work? Time had a tendency to blend together for Kamilah in recent days, but it didn't matter – she reached out with effort and grabbed onto the only thing which could keep her anchored in these uncertain waters.
Taking a breath, Kamilah cracked her eyes open. Bright sunlight was already pouring through the windows, filtered by the curtains which Fareeha had left drawn, to shade her mother from the light's glare. It must be late morning, judging by the brightness, and the thought gave her just a little motivation to move.
Groaning quietly, Kamilah turned her face into the pillow, then braced both hands against the mattress, and pushed herself up. Fareeha, was the only thought in her mind as she sat up, and Kamilah comforted herself with the fact that her daughter would be happy, despite how heavy she felt. Looking to the nightstand, Kamilah found a pastel green thermos, no doubt containing some oats for her breakfast. Beside the thermos, there was a glass of water, and a single antidepressant pill sitting on a piece of tissue.
Just the sight of that pill threatened to sap the energy from Kamilah. What little hate she could afford to feel bubbled to the surface. To think she'd been free of them for so long, only for her to lapse once more, and have to rely upon them again…
A shaky breath left her lips, and Kamilah slumped against the headboard, frustration binding her head in a tight ring of pressure. Simmering anger threatened to overflow and shut down the rest of her thoughts and emotion, but Kamilah forced herself to take another breath, calming herself like the counsellor had instructed during the last home visit. With the counsellor's voice in her ears, Kamilah took controlled breaths – inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. And when the vice clamp about her heart had loosened, Kamilah reached up to wipe the faint trickle of tears from her cheeks.
Be strong, she reminded herself. For Fareeha.
She looked at the thermos and glass of water, latching onto that thought.
Do it for her.
So Kamilah reached for the glass of water, and took the pill between her fingers. Popping the pill into her mouth, she washed it down with a gulp of water, and sighed from the soothing sensation of liquid passing through her dry throat. Setting the glass down, Kamilah pulled the thermos closer, and opened it. She took her porcelain spoon from the small pocket on the side of the container, and started scooping oats into her mouth.
One, two, and three spoonfuls. Kamilah tried dipping her spoon in for a fourth, but couldn't summon the energy or appetite to have another bite. Later, she promised herself, before putting the lid back on the thermos, and setting the spoon on the tissue.
Glad the activity was over, Kamilah laid back against the headboard, heeding Fareeha's lectures about not lying down right after eating. She stared blankly at the bedroom door for a while, then turned her head to the empty space beside her. The sight had become slightly easier to bear as days passed, and even when memories of her wife threatened to flood back, there was a well-placed distraction to stop her downhill tumble.
Kamilah smiled faintly at the purple dragon plush lying against the pillow, where it had been tucked in by Fareeha. She reached over and took the toy in her hands, placing it in her lap as she touched its soft orange spikes. The dragon wore that eternally goofy smile on its blunt-fanged mouth, ever the picture of a silly yet adored toy of a child – or in some cases, an adult owner who just couldn't outgrow it.
An affectionate huff passed her lips, then her throat tightened. Kamilah forced herself into another bout of breathing exercise again, filling and emptying her lungs at a controlled pace. And when her stuttering breaths had evened out, Kamilah swallowed tightly, and clutched the purple dragon to her chest.
Breathe, she told herself, taking comfort in the simple toy clasped in her hands. Breathe.
Kamilah's eyes fell shut, brows furrowed in concentration. But her breaths wavered despite her efforts, and stifled sobs rose to her throat as tears dripped down her cheeks.
I miss you.