Trigger warning: Brief suicidal ideation. If you want to skip it - it starts at the paragraph which starts with ' . Continue reading at the second ' .
It was nearly midnight. All was quiet in the Necropolis, and the air carried a chill with which Ana relished snuggling under the covers. So here she was, dressed down for the day in a t-shirt and track pants, sitting on her mattress with a thick blanket draped over her legs. It was cozy enough for Ana to feel relaxed, even happy on this serene night, but her heart felt as heavy as her body.
She'd just returned from Cairo that afternoon, and hadn't been able to focus on anything else since. Her mind was still fixated on home; when she tried to read her files, she was left staring at the same page she'd started on minutes ago. When she disassembled her rifle for a tune-up and an attempt at modification, she lost her train of thought and was left staring blankly at its parts arranged neatly on the worktable. Eventually, she gave up on any productive work, and left the Necropolis for a walk in the city – hiding her tattoo with concealer, and wrapping her head in a scarf to avoid easy detection of her true identity.
But even outdoors, her mind wouldn't stay her own. She'd walked along the streets until she tired of walking, then took a rest in a nearby mosque, sitting in the back of the hall as the melodious prayers of the faithful attempted to fill an emptiness she couldn't dispel from her chest. She'd shut her eyes, feeling her throat work silently in tandem with the melody, as old and faded memories of her mother's infrequent prayers at home rose back to the surface. Her lips quirked in a faint smile at the recollection, and her heart softened, settling in the safety of her mother's image.
When the prayers ended, Ana quickly slipped out of the mosque before too many people spotted her. She'd strolled around the city longer, had a light meal to appease her stomach, then returned to the Necropolis under the cover of the night's shadows. Upon her return, Ana discovered her mind had indeed cleared from her walk, and she tinkered at her workstation under the warm glow of the lamps. Only hours later did she emerge from her work, roll her tense shoulders and neck, then took a quick shower before bed.
And now, here she was. With a body spent and satisfied from the day's activities, but a heart low and unsettled from the weight sitting upon it. In Ana's hands was a photo of her family, held in one of the few frames she'd purchased from the market a few days before. Her eye rested on the happy faces of her wife and daughter, as the yearning she'd tried to smother reared its head again.
It had been so difficult to leave Cairo. To turn away and leave the apartment from which she'd stood in distant vigil over her family. She might've torn herself away successfully this time, but Ana knew, deep down, that she dearly wanted to be with her family again. To soothe her heart's ache at the separation, to relieve the pain she'd inflicted upon them, to right the wrongs she'd done for so many years past…and was still doing now. Deep down, Ana knew she would face them once more, in the flesh – one day.
But she didn't know what she'd actually do when the day came, and what would come of it. And that, perhaps, was why Ana had stayed away despite herself. A deep-seated fear of the unknown, of the possibility that she'd be spurned by her own family whom she loved most, and be banished from the home she'd yearned for. No chance to make wrongs right. No chance to redeem herself. To make the family whole once more.
Whole once more?
The thought brought a dry, cynical smile to her lips. Ana focused on the photo in her hands again – her family, blissfully smiling together, once upon a time. This… Ana couldn't even remember the last time they had been 'whole'.
Her heart squeezed at the realisation, and she set the photo down by the mattress, unable to look at it anymore. It hurt – too much to keep thinking of her family. She heaved a sigh and leaned back against the wall, hands coming to rest on her blanket, fingers digging lightly into soft fabric.
Time like these – when things were too quiet, too peaceful, Ana would be haunted by thoughts that threatened to suffocate her. So she pried its cold fingers from her throat with effort, and turned her mind back to her workstation. She thought over the half-finished modification of her rifle, then moved onto the files she'd loaded into her computer. The information which she'd memorised, Ana rifled through now, diving back into that state of mind which had always successfully pried the Captain's mind away from her family.
This, Ana decided. This would be the reason to keep going…for now.
Her hand drifted back to the photo, but dropped tiredly onto the mattress.
Until I'm ready, Ana told herself, swallowing thickly.
When I'm ready.
It was nearly midnight. All was quiet in the house, and the air carried a chill which brought memories of warmth and companionship that Kamilah fought to keep at bay. So here she was, perched on a bar stool at the kitchen counter, with her head rested heavily in one hand, and a bottle of pills in the other.
Kamilah was at home alone. She had been for a few days now – Fareeha was and would be away for two weeks, on a work assignment which brought her all the way north to Alexandria. Something about their combat suits being upgraded, and getting some training before Fareeha and her squad were sent back to Giza.
In her daughter's absence and under the care of her sisters-in-law across the street, Kamilah had been going to the therapist faithfully, and worked hard at keeping healthy habits during her recovery. There had been a few stumbles when Kamilah hadn't found the strength to leave her room, or had lost her temper and flung an innocent pen at the wall; but on the whole, she was getting better.
She prepared meals for herself like before, putting actual thought into assembling her food together, instead of merely tossing a bunch of oats and milk into the pot in an easy excuse for dinner. She took regular walks around the neighbourhood and its park, tracing old paths she used to take with her partner, dwelling wistfully on that old companionship, and sometimes having her recollections interrupted by a well-intentioned neighbour, who expressed happiness at her activeness…and in a subtler undertone, her recovery from grief. Such attention made Kamilah feel uncomfortable, preferring to keep her…vulnerabilities private, but she always forced a convincing, gentle smile to her face in gracious acceptance. And, truth be told, once she'd shaken off the discomfort, she did feel better. It was a distinct sign of improvement, no matter how it felt.
Such encouragement from the people around her, was part of what kept Kamilah going. Their willing companionship took her mind off an unspoken need for interaction, and allowed her to focus more on rebuilding her life. Even if…she didn't quite savour the way she had to do it.
Kamilah's eyes refocused on the bottle in her hand, and she realised she'd stared off into space for a while. Rolling the translucent orange bottle between her fingers, Kamilah read the label which she'd read a hundred times before, and her mind wandered again.
' It would be easy. Much easier than forcing herself up from bed every morning. Than catching the hint of a sob in her throat and directing her mind to some other inane task for distraction. Than to see that glint of pity in the eyes of friends which made her want to either scream or lay down in defeat. Just empty the bottle…and all of her struggles and problems would disappear. It was so easy. Too easy.
A habit from old, similar musings sprang to life, and gave her a mental shake. Kamilah took a sharp breath, then a slower inhale to calm her nerves. Her fingers clutched the bottle tight, briefly turning the tips of her flesh white, before she forced herself to relax. Breathing in practiced rhythm, Kamilah pushed the dark thoughts down, then with a trembling hand, tipped the bottle over. One pill tumbled from the bottle, and bounced once on the countertop. She stared at the single pill for the longest minute, before her fingers slid to the top of the white plastic lid, and pushed it down with a firm click. Setting the bottle down before she could think any further, Kamilah took the pill and threw it into her mouth, picking up a glass of water to wash it down.
' She sighed in relief – both from the cool water, and a hurdle successfully cleared. Kamilah looked back at the bottle, but this time, her heart eased from its nervous, accelerated beat.
It would be easy, yes. But nothing worth fighting for would be.
An old memory from the Crisis emerged, and that rough, dulcet voice echoed in her head, accompanying the crooked smile floating in her mind's eye. Kamilah felt a pang in her chest, but she didn't chase away this memory immediately – not with an instinctive swipe to bat the unpleasantness away.
'I'm proud of you,' Ana had often repeated in their younger days, when Kamilah had trodden this very same path of recovery.
Would you be proud of me now?
Five months later
So the days trickled by, one by one. With each step that Kamilah took, with each sunrise and sunset she managed to stay out to catch, the long days had flowed past her in months. And now, out of nowhere, it had been a year. A full year since Kamilah's fall into the darker pits of her mind, since the life she'd pieced back together had shattered.
Somehow, it was now a year since Ana had passed.
Kamilah had been incredulous at first, when Fareeha mentioned going to the cemetery, and asked what Ana's favourite flower was. Then she remembered – the day she'd honestly never thought she would see. The anniversary of her wife's death was finally upon them.
She'd been frightened by Fareeha's reminder. She wasn't ready. What if all the strength she'd built had been a façade, and it shattered the moment she looked upon Ana's grave? What if all the times she'd decided that she was moving on, that she was starting to accept the loss, turned out to be nothing but a lie, and she'd be reduced to tears and grief once more in front of Ana's tombstone?
What if she was forced to come face-to-face with the truth – that she couldn't live without Ana, and all her efforts thus far were for naught?
It seemed her fear had shown on her face then, because Fareeha offered reassurances quickly – offering to leave Kamilah back home, while she visited the cemetery with her aunts instead. But a look into her daughter's eyes was all that Kamilah needed to steady herself. No – she wouldn't do this again. She wouldn't crumble and leave Fareeha to bear the weight on her shoulders alone. Not again.
So Kamilah had given a weak smile, and promised to go.
Then she'd blinked, and now the anniversary was tomorrow. To keep her mind off the matter, Kamilah had spent the day dusting the house in preparation for Fareeha's return. Oddly enough, Fareeha had stayed out of the house for the past two weeks, even though she was still assigned to the Temple of Anubis. She'd always made the effort to come home after work, despite the lengthier commute from Giza to Cairo. But since Fareeha's stay in Giza would make life much easier on her daughter, even if for a short time, Kamilah figured it was nothing to worry about. After all, it was good to know that Fareeha still knew to take care of herself, amid all that fretting over her mother.
Kamilah was just straightening a stuffed monkey plush in the study's bookshelf, when she heard the hum of Fareeha's hoverbike outside the house. A faint smile crossed her lips as she glanced out the window – where she had just missed a glimpse of the girl's bike. Kamilah cocked her head, and with nothing much to occupy her attention, she strolled out of the room and towards the garage to greet her daughter.
"Hey, mama," said Fareeha when she spotted her mother at the doorway, and that deliberate cheeriness in her voice set off a flag in Kamilah's mind. But Kamilah left it alone. It was a tone Fareeha had often adopted while caring for her, and it was the anniversary tomorrow.
"Enjoyed your holiday, little one?" Kamilah asked in gentle tease.
"Ha, yeah," Fareeha said slowly, back still facing her mother as she fiddled with her hoverbike much longer than necessary – to Kamilah's experienced eye, anyway. "Not totally, but…yeah."
Kamilah's brows drew together in a faint frown. "Is everything alright?"
"Yeah. Well, kinda depends. Um." Fareeha picked her duffle bag from the bike's top box. "Have you been…okay, the past few days?"
"Yes?" Kamilah replied slowly.
"Good…good." Fareeha slung the bag over her shoulder, and shut the lid of the top box. Her shoulders rose and fell in what seemed like a bracing sigh, then she turned around – and Kamilah froze.
They stayed in silence; Fareeha stared tentatively at her mother's wooden expression, while Kamilah stared right back at Fareeha–, no. Kamilah stared not at her daughter, but at the small, yet obvious tattoo below her daughter's right eye. It was not the same, not quite identical, but god damn it.
It was a reflection of the old, in something new.
A reflection that wasn't supposed to be there. That Kamilah didn't want to be there.
But there it was, staring right back at her, and Kamilah felt as if her chest had been pounded by a sledgehammer. Part of her wanted to recoil in shock, in fear. She'd taken such comfort in Fareeha recently, recognising in her daughter's actions the will to forge her own path, to veer away from Ana's grand and overbearing legacy. But here Fareeha was, wearing a tattoo like her mother's…with whom she'd clashed so fiercely in the past.
The thought gave Kamilah pause. No – the problem…might not be Fareeha's. Her daughter, who had fought Ana with nearly every breath she took, was now wearing a mark of her mother. Fareeha had always chafed from her relationship with Ana – so much that the resentment she'd revealed in bits and pieces over the years, had made Kamilah believe that Fareeha would break away from Ana when given the chance. Well, the chance had come – and it seemed Fareeha had taken a tumbling relationship back in the opposite direction.
"Listen," Fareeha began, with a sheepish smile on her lips to ease the tension. "I know how it looks. And I'm sorry if it upsets you. But I…I just don't want to stay angry at her anymore, you know?" She sighed, shrugging her shoulders. "I thought about it a lot, and holding a grudge against…a ghost just seems pointless to me."
Fareeha reached up, touching the still-reddish skin around the tattoo. "And after all is said and done, she did inspire me to do my best, even if…you know. It wasn't the healthiest of relationships. But she's still my mom–, was my mom. And she did lots of great things, for the sake of the world. That's what I want to remember. What I want to honour – the best of her."
Kamilah's bottom lip trembled, and she bit down on it. No, the problem wasn't with Fareeha. It was herself.
She knew all too well that the best of Ana had kept her wife away from home, from family, for so many years. It was the best of Ana that had gotten her killed. Even if Fareeha could forget that, Kamilah could not.
Her foot slid back of its own volition, as if in a bid to put distance between the person–, her daughter who frightened her so. But Kamilah clamped down on her racing heart, and drew a painful breath through a tight throat.
"I–," she rasped, then cleared her throat. Realising she had no words left after Fareeha's short spiel, she cast her mind about for a line of escape. "Okay. Have…you eaten?"
To Fareeha's credit, her lapse was brief before she hastened to reply, "Yeah."
"Then I'm…going up. For a while. To rest."
"Yeah, okay. Then we'll head out for dinner later?"
Kamilah jerked her head in a nod, then turned back into the house. Step by step, her feet carried her up the stairs and into the bedroom, where she shut the door behind herself. A few more steps, then she sank down onto the bed, staring blankly at the floor.
Ana. She'd seen Ana again, seen too much of her wife in her daughter.
And she was afraid. So damned afraid.
Six months later
Through her years in the Egyptian Army and Overwatch, Ana had thought she'd seen it all. She was hardened from her time in the Omnic Crisis and her long tenure in Overwatch, and she was rarely fazed in her later years as Strike Captain. But now, in the span of one year as a vigilante, Ana had unearthed so many surprises that it nearly made her want to laugh from the coincidence of it all.
She had started her new 'calling' in the shadows by tracking down a minor drug cartel within Egypt, hoping to test her mettle with what she'd expected to be an easy feat – a systematic dismantling of their operations by taking down its leaders and supply lines before it grew too large. But one drop of blood led to another, then another, and Ana soon found herself on the trail of the very organisation which had vexed Overwatch for so many years – Talon. Granted, the trail was faint, as was expected of Talon. But she decided to hang onto this bit of information, while keeping an eye on the local syndicate under its insidious thumb.
And the longer Ana kept tapped into their communications and movements, the more information she pieced together into coherent wholes which at once frustrated her, but also brought some measure of relief. Or, more specifically, frayed threads of old friends which had been led together, and became entangled once more. Two individuals, whose existence and proximity Ana was sure of, even though she'd believed them dead.
One, was a Talon agent called 'Reaper' – a name which had stirred curiosity within Ana, then confusion and anger, when the data trail came together and revealed the man to be none other than Gabriel Reyes. The man who had once wreaked havoc on Talon's operations, who had the blood of dozens of Talon heavyweights on his hands, had now joined their fold. Unthinkable, but it was now reality – a betrayal which Ana sought to understand, and rectify. Through blood, if necessary.
The second, well. Ana was confident that it wouldn't come to bloodshed between them. A masked man who bore the designation '76' on his back, a pulse rifle in his hands, and demonstrated superhuman strength and agility. This new vigilante had barged into Ana's territory just two months ago, and already he'd cut through the underground with so little subtlety that he'd painted a large target on his back – ire that Ana had taken a whole year to earn. She was half-tempted to sink a sleep dart into his back just to make him stop.
But she didn't. Jack Morrison had always been easy to read, and he'd led her on a trail which had crossed Reaper's many times. Intrigued, she'd allowed the man to go his own way, and eventually took her eye off him briefly, to take care of her own business. A foolish goal, in hindsight – Ana was aware that 76 had been on her trail as well, despite her attempts at shaking him off. With this knowledge in mind, she should've known this old friend would've traced her to the compound which she'd staked out, and ruin her cover in his bid to tussle with Reaper.
Old friend? Old irritant was more like it – but she was glad to see him nonetheless.
Jack had led her to his hideout first – some slapdash camp set up in an old warehouse. Ana had rolled her eyes at the state of disrepair of his spartan den, then forced him to his crates of supplies and equipment, and led him to the Necropolis.
It wasn't much of a hassle – Jack had notably less equipment than Ana, who'd hauled all her valuable equipment to the tomb in bits and pieces. Jack just set up his cot in a corner opposite Ana's, placed his crates near her workstations, and marveled at the workshop and control centre she'd built up. No mean feat, Jack observed, and Ana gladly agreed, ribbing her old friend for not operating on her level.
Jack had broken into a sheepish smile then, scratching at his thinning white hair. This brief re-emergence of that awkward man she once knew, long before he became Strike Commander, set her heart at ease.
For three months since their reunion and promise to fight together once more, Jack had stayed by Ana's side, and was she ever glad to have the old American war dog as a partner. Though scarred and grizzled and often too grumpy, Jack was as unrelenting and solid as he had been before. Although Jack had confessed to his motive of recruiting Ana for the purpose of tracking Reaper and other Talon operatives down, he agreed to set his own goals aside for the time being, and aid Ana in taking down the many unsavoury figures who infested the dark corners of Egypt.
Though they'd butted heads many times as they had before, they worked well together; two old comrades who knew each other inside and out, and wouldn't hesitate to spill their own blood to save the other. This familiarity was welcome, but that was not all. Ana thought this vigilante life had actually brought them closer together. Well, forced them closer, more like. But the mutual need to cover each other's backs when no one else would, revived that spark of warmth in their friendship. No longer were they cloistered in their own offices, buried deep in their files and communicating only through emails or impatient growls. They had to share a common living space, to compromise, and it fostered the same sort of camaraderie which had grown within the Strike Team during the Omnic Crisis.
"You keep looking out that telescope," Ana said, carrying two cups of tea to where Jack sat by the window, eye pressed to said telescope. "Aren't you sick of it yet?"
Jack snorted, lifting his head and turning around to accept the cup she handed to him. "I like it, alright? And not everyone has your–" He stopped abruptly, glancing at Ana's eyepatch and her cocked brow, then mumbled into his cup, "Sorry."
"Idiot." Ana chuckled under her breath, and sat beside him on the cold stone floor.
They stayed in companionable silence for a long while, sipping tea and staring out through the window at the forgotten Necropolis. How fitting, Ana thought to herself, but the vague comparison to two old ghosts vanished from her mind when Jack turned his head and nodded at her sleeping area.
"I noticed your photo," he said. "I have a couple too. Where'd you get yours?"
"From the wreck of HQ," Ana replied simply.
"Yeah? Me too," he said with a lopsided smile. "Went back to retrieve whatever I could find. I wanted to leave the photos behind at first, but it was so hard to…"
His voice trailed off, and Ana wished he would change the subject. He'd tried to broach the subject a few times the past months, but always kept his mouth shut at Ana's reticence. Apparently though, Ana wasn't being reticent enough tonight.
"I thought you got yours from home, honestly." His voice was softer. "Have you…gone back yet?"
Ana's eye moved to rest on his face.
"Back to your family?"
She snorted – though at his naiveté or her own weakness, she couldn't tell. "No."
Jack nodded. "Must be difficult. They're just within reach, and yet–"
"Jack," Ana said sharply. She was quite ready to bite into the man, to tell him to shut up – which he did at her tone. But the longer she glared at him, the more she realised she did want to talk about it. How she would handle it, though… She didn't know.
"I…" She'd barely started, and her voice had already failed her. But Ana forced herself to take a breath, and continued, "I don't want to…mess their lives up again."
"But you do want to see them," Jack stated, plain as day. "I know you, Ana. You might've stayed back in Zurich most of the time, but deep down, you're still a family woman."
"Yeah? Then I shouldn't have any problem staying away from them now, after so much practice," Ana said drily, then drank more tea to drown the growing tide of self-resentment. "After all that's happened, after what I've done…I don't think I can see them just now. I don't deserve to."
A faint smile returned to Jack's face. "But?"
God, did she want to punch that smile off his face. "But…I'm worried," Ana admitted after a moment's conflict. "I mean, I know Fareeha can hold up just fine without me. All she needs to do is remember that she hates me."
"She doesn't."
Ana's lips parted in argument, then pursed together again. She wrangled with her heart, then decided to leave it alone. "Then, there's Milah…"
Jack snorted. "Oh, she's a tough old bird. She'll be fine." He raised his brows when Ana frowned at him. "You don't happen to know what she did when she came to HQ for your funeral?"
Cry, was Ana's instinctive answer. But at the light-hearted look on Jack's face, she wagered it was something else. "No?"
"The very first thing she did after her feet touched the landing pad, was march straight to my office, and sock me right in the nose."
Ana barked out a laugh. "For real?"
"Yeah," Jack confirmed with a tilt of his head. "Yelled at me too. Nearly made me cry." His gaze grew faraway, as his voice faded into thoughtful silence. The levity in his expression trickled away, leaving a sombre, unreadable mask on his face. "On second thought…I think it'd be better if you went to check on her."
"What happened, Jack?" Ana asked, but she found no answer when Jack turned his gaze back to the window. The air turned chill on her skin as possible scenarios raced through her mind, possibilities which could've made Jack doubt his trust in Kamilah's strength in a mere minute.
All she got in reply was a tired look.
"Ana, not all of us had a family like yours. Intact, and…so stable. If you were someone else from the team, maybe I would've told you that war's the only thing left for us. But you – you still have something worth keeping. Don't throw it away just because you don't think you deserve it. 'Cause you do. You really do."
Ana stared at him for the longest time, then her frigid expression was broken by a snort. "You melodramatic asshole."
"Maybe." Jack shrugged with a smirk. "But I mean what I said. You deserve to be with them, no matter what you think. And…they don't deserve to suffer when they can find some happiness instead."
Ana's throat tightened. They'll find it without me, she wanted to say. But her own heart beat a painful rhythm, buoyed by an undercurrent of hope, and she hated Jack for it. Easy for him to offer advice, when he let his own relationship with Gabriel fall to ruin. Easy for him to give encouragement…when he wanted her to have what he couldn't have.
She tore her gaze away from blue eyes half-shaded in shadow, and brought her cup up to her lips, distracting herself with a sip of lukewarm tea.
"I'll…think about it," she relented, mouth dry.
A/N: Hang in there, we're finally here :3c