Brigitte

It was a memory she recounted so clearly she felt as though she were experiencing déjà vu. So vivid it assaulted her heart in recent days. She thought, maybe, that it was the first time her developing mind had truly begun to store treasures like this.

She recalled waking up alert, as if expecting something amazing to happen that day. The sun was brightly cascading through the Lindholm household, and she could smell her mother cooking breakfast, bacon and pie among the other delicious things she could whip up with seeming ease. As she rubbed her eyes and began descending the stairs from her tiny bedroom, a boisterous laugh like none she had ever heard before eroded from the main floor, exploding throughout the halls and engulfing her with a warmth she didn't know existed.

'How could you possibly not remember such a glorious battle, my friend? I single-handedly took down that God-forsaken omnic, its damned blade digging into my ribs as I tore its heart clean out!'

'Bah! I was too busy keepin' the rest of the machines away from ye. My turrets needed maintenance, you know!'

Papa. Papa and…someone else. His voice wasn't completely unfamiliar, but she couldn't comprehend where she had heard it. Looking back, it may have been filling her head with wonder since her first days on earth.

'And another thing: the omnics don't have damn hearts! They have cores! How many times do I have to tell ye?'

'Bah! Semantics be damned.'

'Language, boys.'

Mama. Her tone was somewhat fun but stern at the same time. She didn't even realize she had crept out from around the corner of the living room, gripping at her shirt and fidgeting with her mouth before the enormous man perked up, slapping his knee and grinning brilliantly.

'Brigitte! There she is! Come on over here!'

She did so only somewhat tentatively, feeling the guest's massive hands pick her up with extreme ease and placing her next to him on the couch, Papa on her other side.

'You remember ol' Reinhardt, don't you, sweetie?' Papa's tone became gentler.

Brigitte squinted, her temple throbbing with intrigue.

'Perhaps you'll remember this story, then? Another battle full of justice, honour, glory, and Reinhardt!' The man bellowed, making Brigitte's chest throb with curiosity.

'Oh, how original! Hahah!' Papa chuckled.

'Listen closely, little lady, because someday you may find yourself in a similar predicament, only your wits and strength available to fight with.'

'Reinhardt, Brigitte isn't going to be fighting in the frontlines, you know?' Mama sighed.

'That's right! The girl has a knack for machines, like her old man.'

'Bah to that, I say! You never know. I see a fighter in this one's eyes. A fearless lioness!'

Chills ran her spine at the proclamation. A fighter? A Lioness? Looking back, it could have been lip service, and Reinhardt would never know the impact such words had regardless. As he went on talking of his incredible crusades, Brigitte's eyes widened more and more, her hands clenched close to her face and her mouth beaming with idolization. Papa laughed the more his old friend went on, and Mama could only look back from her cooking with knowing amusement.

None of them knew. Not even Brigitte. But that morning; that pivotal encounter, would shape the rest of her life.

'My squire…?'

'Yes.' Brigitte had never been more sure of herself. She had thought about it for hours and hours and hours on end as she worked on her latest project. As she crafted armour. As she covered herself in grease, sweat, and fatigue. She had to do more. Wanted to do more.

Reinhardt thought about it, cupping his chin and gazing about thoughtfully. Scars littered his body. He was older now. Spots of grey were filtered through his facial hair and mane.

'What has your father said to this?'

'Papa?'

'I won't take his daughter and feed her to the dragons I conquer without his approval. It wouldn't be right. He is like a brother to me. And you…'

Brigitte scowled, feeling her nose scrunch in frustration.

'I'm old enough to make my own decisions! I want to fight!'

'…No.' Reinhardt answered sternly. 'Not the battles I endure. Learn from your father. Craft weapons on the field that can support me. Repair my armour. My role is not one fit for a young maiden. Not now. I am closer to Death than anyone else on the field. My shield allows those behind me to attack. And when my shield breaks, I replace it, my body,' He glanced to his shoulder, an enormous crater carved across it. 'A living border between my comrades and injury.'

'I will be your shield, Reinhardt. I can do it. Trust me.'

He hesitated, then. He may have seen the fire Brigitte felt festering in her soul. The lioness he had called out years ago. The need to do more than repairs and fiddle with machines. The calling to fight in the frontlines where this man she admired more than any other resided. She thought she had him. She was wrong.

He reached for a strand of hair at the side of her face, his hand so large it cast a shadow on her, but Brigitte slapped it away, still frowning.

'I'm not a child anymore. Please. Let me fight with you.'

Reinhardt blinked long and hard, but simply shook his head.

'I will not kill you. You are too precious for a death like that.'

'Then what about you!?' Brigitte hated that her eyes were watering at this point. She had held herself together so well. Weak tears. Weak body. Weak sex. 'You're a hero, yet you thrust yourself into fights no mortal man should!'

A beat, an expression upon Reinhardt Brigitte had never seen. Despair.

'I…owe it to my master.' He left it at that, turning away from her, his titanic body seeming just a little smaller as he walked away.

Brigitte stormed out at the realization she hadn't won the approval of Reinhardt. Images of idolizing him as he told his tales of conquest stabbed into her sides, and she took her anger out on the projects she had started in her workplace, smashing anything that got in her way and scaring her poor cats.

'Damn it! Damn it! Damn it all!' Brigitte raged, catching a reflection of herself and grimacing at her spindly arms and developing breasts. If only she had been born a man. If only she wasn't built like her mother. If only she wasn't a pathetic girl. If only these ridiculous tears would stop streaming down her cheeks!

'Damn it!' She shrieked, kicking through a mirror and losing her balance, stumbling onto the ground and whimpering desperately. She lay there for a time, sobbing into her hands even as Mitzi purred and rubbed against her.

How long did she stay like that? Brigitte wasn't sure. But being the kind of person she was, she would always remember the sound of a switch being flipped. Her eyes red and swollen, she shifted herself into a plank position and pushed up. Then down. Then up. Then down.

It wasn't easy. She had developed some strength from all the work she had done in the shop with her father, but this was a different form of labour. His labour. Muscle. Girth. Power. Glory. Her sex be damned. Her handicaps be damned. If her hero wouldn't train her, she would do everything herself. She would develop herself.

Up. Down. Up. Down. More. More. More.

It became an addiction.

Brigitte continued to work with her father, and Reinhardt seemed relieved she had appeared to give up on the idea of entering the frontlines of battle, remnants of the Omnic Crisis still lingering in parts of the world, but in the late hours of the night, when all was quiet save for the wind and crickets outside her workshop, Brigitte was training. Building. Breaking down and building more. Her cats loved her late-night attendance, but her body rejected the demands, struggling to keep up with how tirelessly she wished to become stronger.

Brigitte soon crafted a few weapons to try, each having its merits, but the custom Rocket Flail being her favourite, fit for her smaller frame despite her wishing to wield a battle hammer as impressive as Reinhardt's. She managed a makeshift Barrier Shield, again, a miniature version of the type her idol handled, but it made sense for how she wanted to fight.

She researched effective ways to train with weapons by herself, utilizing katas in conjunction with the wildly varying workouts she found effectively built her up.

'Yer gettin' some muscle to you, aren't ye, sweetie?' Her father had commented once, and Brigitte couldn't recall the last time she felt so complimented.

She stared at a new mirror in her shop, lifting her shirt and seeing definition forming on her stomach. She was getting thicker. Bulges were building on her arms. She flexed and adjusted her pose to see the gratifying fruits of her labour. Her chest was bigger too, unfortunately. Her hair was longer. Time was passing, and Reinhardt was still fighting alone…

'Look at her; all grown up and what have you? I leave for a few missions and I come back to hear you've been dating this and that?'

When had he returned? It had been years since they had spoken last. Papa had given little bits and pieces of his wellbeing, but Brigitte had been left to her own devices, training both her mind and body. She had joined a gym. Met a man. Let him take her on a couple of dates. Why did all of that seem so trivial suddenly?

'Reinhardt…' She uttered his name, her heart hurting.

'He just thought he'd pop in and say "hi", honey. Is that okay?' Her mother could see it. She could tell something was wrong. What that "something" was, Brigitte couldn't even say, but she felt strange.

'I must meet this boy. See if he's worthy of you.' Reinhardt jested, standing tall, his build as monstrous and glorious as ever. More scars. More grey hair. Yet, still majestic. More than Brigitte could recall.

'Now, now, old friend; Brigitte seems to like this one, so, don't scare the poor lad to death.' Papa laughed.

'Bah. If he isn't willing to fight for her then what good is he?'

'Enough.' Brigitte shook her head, stomping across the ground past her squealing siblings. 'I'm going to wait outside for him. I'll be back late.'

'Not too late, I hope.' Her mother enforced gently.

Brigitte stepped down the stairway leading to her house, sitting upon a tire swing and letting it sway back and forth amongst some trees, pieces of evening sun piercing through the leaves. She was wearing a yellow, flowing dress that reached down to about her mid-thigh, black leggings underneath, and a small jean jacket for accentuation. She had her hair down, and leaned back on the tire, watching the world pass her by from a new perspective.

Reinhardt was back. She should have been happy. Instead, she just felt anxious. Frustrated. Angry. Confused. He saw her in this silly dress. Everett said he liked such a style. Brigitte didn't. But she thought it would be nice of her to try and appease him a little bit. He was a nice man. Calm. Patient. Strong enough. Not stronger than Brigitte, to his frustration, but a personal trainer at the gym regardless. Square-jawed yet still somehow baby-faced. Couldn't grow facial hair to save his life. No scars.

'Brigitte…'

The tire stopped, and Brigitte opened her eyes, seeing Reinhardt looking down at her. How could such a large man move so quietly? How could an elderly being still seem so…gallant? So capable? So amazing?

'Hey.' She didn't know what else to say.

'I almost didn't recognize you at first in there.' He paused, allowing Brigitte to sit back up on the tire.

'Oh. The dress…' She pulled at the thin material.

'Well…that, yes. But also this.' He squeezed her arm, and Brigitte flinched back. 'Hahah! Back in the day I would've squished you like a grape! But now? Why, you've been doing some hard work, haven't you?'

'Here and there…'

'Very good.' Reinhardt nodded.

A long pause, and Brigitte searched for the right words to say. Attempted to manage the deluge of emotions passing through her soul.

'Your father says you've been training tirelessly for quite some time.' The legend went on.

'That's right. Even if you won't teach me, I can still fight.'

'Is that a fact?'

'It is.' She snapped angrily without understanding why.

'Heh.' Another break. 'How long until that boy arrives?'

'Twenty minutes or so.'

Reinhardt glanced to Brigitte and her papa's shop, smirking slightly.

'Care to show me what you've learned?'

Her chest flipped, and her eyes instantly burned. Unbelievable. Brigitte wanted to hide, but instead, eased herself off the tire and placed both hands on her hips, forcing a smile.

'Think you can keep up?'

'Hahah! You dare question my power?'

'Hope you're ready for some punishment.'

They geared up, Brigitte's heart hammering against her chest as she stripped her dress off over her head, a black sports bra containing her annoyingly bountiful chest. She tied her hair up in a ponytail and glanced to Reinhardt, his muscles rippling within his white, raggedy tank-top. He equipped a practise shield and hammer, adjusting the straps and twisting his shoulders.

As Brigitte did the same, her weapon more akin to the size and shape of her Rocket Flail, she understood this was what she lived for. This is what she wanted. The anticipation was ruling her. The desire to fight was stronger than ever. She had suppressed her wishes for so long, yet here she was, practically salivating she yearned so much for battle.

'Ready?' Reinhardt growled happily.

'Ready.' Brigitte raised her shield in one arm, gripping her weapon tightly in the other.

'Decent posture. Not bad at all.'

She didn't want to blush from the compliment, but she could feel the warmth coming over her face as she lunged forward, delivering the first strike widely.

'Heh. Fast.' Reinhardt appraised again, easily pushing Brigitte's attack to the side. She adjusted her stance, realigning her posture, and blew a strand of auburn hair from her eyes. She evaluated Reinhardt's form, seeing not a single opening. Even if there was one, the pure aura of capability made her muscles seize, her flustered initial strike seeming impossible to enact again with ease.

So, this was the lion of Overwatch. A living legend humouring one little girl. She wasn't even worthy of being his squire.

Screw that.

Brigitte shifted around him, locking eyes with the man and searching for a way to land a decent hit. Years of training. Of sweating herself to death. Of depriving herself of sleep to fit it all in everyday. Working with Papa. Working on herself. She didn't have time to be afraid. This was her shot. This was her chance to prove herself. She wouldn't squander it. Couldn't mess it up.

'I like the fire in your eyes. Some men can barely stand before me without pissing themselves. Then again, I am wielding a much more lethal weapon in those cases.' He chuckled, and it both irked and encouraged Brigitte. She loved it when he evaluated her positively. Couldn't get enough. She was on cloud nine simply being here, fighting this man she looked up to so. Since infancy. Since she could understand anything, even if she was beginning to become confused again. Her chest ached terribly.

'Hah!' Brigitte decided to lean into her strength over Reinhardt's: speed. She went for a flurry of attacks, but it was as though the man could read every move she thought up, hardly fazed as he deflected strike after strike, his feet not even shifting until Brigitte dashed to his backside, forcing him to show some effort.

This was…frustrating.

'Powerful swings, but some movement is wasted, you should know. Less energy for something like this!'

Brigitte instinctively lifted her shield, and despite his weapon being made of hardened foam, she imagined she would have still been injured by the attack had she not defended at the last moment. She stumbled across the floor, dirt and dust scuffed on her right side, and Brigitte struggled to get up, her body jumbled by just how strong Reinhardt's strike was. She doubted he was even using his full strength. Such a vast difference in power. She could never be that strong. She simply wasn't built like him. Could never live up to his expectations for a squire.

'Damn it…' Brigitte's voice trembled. In one blow, her reality, hopes, and dreams were shattered. She wasn't an idiot. She could see, clear as day, the gulf between them. How idiotic of her to think she could ever stand next to this legend through her own efforts.

'Damn it…!' She hissed again, tears forming in her eyes.

Fine. Point made. Enough with the charade. She would never bother him again. She would focus on what she could do as a support, as her father did. She wasn't a prodigy, like Angela. She couldn't fly through time, like Tracer. She was just a back-wood mechanic. A girl who had foolish ideas of grandeur.

'Is that it, Brigitte?' Reinhardt's tone sounded sympathetic.

'Yeah.' She pushed herself up into a sitting position, staring down at the calluses on her hands and feeling the burn of her torn skin over her arm. 'I got it. I won't waste your time anymore.' She stood, brushing dirt off herself. 'I need to clean up before Everett gets here.'

'Oh?' The man lowered his equipment.

Brigitte couldn't look at him. She was embarrassed. Ashamed. Humiliated. Years wasted. Her pride broken. Frustration swelled in her bowels. She wanted to throw up. But then, his words cut through, as they always did.

'I thought, of all people, that wouldn't be enough to shake you. You are Torbjorn's daughter, are you not? My best friend's pride and joy? Come at me again. Defeat is meant to be overcome. It is only through defeat that the strong are defined. You think I am invincible? Hah! Hardly. Although I am close. One of the greatest battles of my life is one I lost. Think about that, Brigitte.'

It stung. She suddenly felt like a child again. A temper tantrum? Really? One setback and she was done? No. That wasn't fair either. A few setbacks. This one just hurt the most. Yet, Reinhardt had a fair argument. What had she been training for exactly? This. This very fight. She wasn't a little girl anymore. Time to show Reinhardt just how true that was.

Brigitte brandished her weapon and shield once more, narrowing her gaze and spacing her feet apart just right. She ignored the burning on her arm, and grit her teeth in preparation.

'That's my Brigitte.' Reinhardt uttered with approval, and a wave of joy like none other filtered through the young maiden. That joy morphed into energy, and Brigitte began her attack anew, only to be struck down again, and again, and again…and again.

'Yes. See how much power you have? See what you can endure?'

Her body screamed for relief, but she wouldn't stop. Not yet. Not when he was so close. Not when she had been reaching for his broad back for so long. Not when…when she had missed him so.

Brigitte pushed forward suddenly, propelling herself with her strong legs and using her shield to knock Reinhardt off balance. It was for but a second, but the man stumbled, notably shocked by the move, and Brigitte felt the sensation of her weapon tapping the man's shoulder before he smacked her down for the last time. Brigitte was gasping for air, her arms and legs literally trembling from the demands, but then Reinhardt began speaking, and her chest felt light.

'What on earth was that?' He asked with amusement in his tone.

'Shield…bash.' Brigitte revealed, her cheeks colouring slightly. 'It'll work better…with the armour I'm making.'

'Shield bash, hm? The one I use in combat is too large for such a technique, but for you…Interesting.'

Reinhardt approached Brigitte and helped her to her feet, but even after that, she couldn't remain stable, and collapsed into his arms, her heart pounding so hard she thought for certain the man could feel her whole body reverberating.

'You fought like a lioness.' Reinhardt told her, his voice in its rare form of honesty. 'You may be a cub now, but should you still wish it…I would be honoured to take you as my squire after what I've seen today. No normal person would get up after being down so many times. No. My squire is just as glorious as I. You have made me proud, Brigitte.'

She dug her hands into his arms, resisting the urge to cry with happiness.

'Thank-you…' She managed.

'Now go. Clean up. You have another task to fulfill yet. Everett, yes? He shall be here any second, I'm sure. That man better understand his fortune.'

'Hahah…Right.' Brigitte mumbled. 'Right…'

Reinhardt ended up teasing poor Everett mercilessly, Brigitte allowing the young boy to survive the encounter in panic the whole time. She hardly remembered the date. Her head was elsewhere. She was drunk with admiration and expectation. Reinhardt's squire. More time with her hero. The legend. Everett seemed so small in comparison. Brigitte had dated a couple of men over the course of her years training. Nothing serious. More than less a way of easing the longing she was beginning to recognize more and more. The yearning she wanted to ignore so desperately she allowed intimacy where she didn't truly want it. It didn't feel good. It didn't feel bad. It was nothing to her. Meaningless. This may have upset some, but Brigitte didn't linger on the thought.

She broke up with Everett that night. Didn't go to his place. No longer wished to see him. She found clarity in that particular area. It was a sad, tragic clarity, but an answer nonetheless, and one she made peace with as she lay in bed, flushed face pushed into her pillow and soaked hand between her legs uttering a legend's name under her breath over and over again.

'I thought we talked about this. You don't have to do this anymore.' They had. Many times. Brigitte saw the white that had engulfed every hair on his face and head. Saw the multitude of scars covering more of his skin than clothing no matter how many times she patched him up.

They were in an abandoned pub, the town evacuated further accentuating what they discussed, the world shuddering at what could be coming. Even as Brigitte went on, she was trying to convince herself, tired of seeing Reinhardt hurt himself, and tired of his answer to her wanting to fight from the past remaining still in a silent repellence.

'Winston's message wasn't meant for you.' Lies. She knew it while the words slipped out of her mouth. 'This isn't your fight. Papa told me, after so many years of service…You gave Overwatch everything, and then they pushed you out! Why would you go back to them?'

A stupid question. Reinhardt likely couldn't even hear her as he stared at his medal, that rare expression upon his face anew. Despair. Regret. A wound Brigitte could never heal no matter how much she wanted to. An injury he didn't speak of. A story hushed between her parents and this legend. Even after so much time together training and mending one another's injuries, Brigitte knew there was a weight upon the normally boisterous Reinhardt's shoulders she couldn't hope to lift in this lifetime. She hated that fact. Hated it with all her heart because of how much she truly cared. Cared more with every single day that passed.

'Come.' Reinhardt said simply, and Brigitte did so. She always would. They traversed through the graveyard that was once a prospering village in silence; a rare scene for the two who were often found jesting around one another. The ruins of a great battle. Omnics torn limb from limb. Blood still caked to the ancient rock. It was difficult to find humour in this space. It was even harder because of the solemnity that followed Reinhardt's massive form as he walked, glancing slowly this way and that as if recalling the fight scene by scene. Eichenwalde gripped a piece of Reinhardt's spirit, and Brigitte feared she would never know why.

The pair crossed a bridge, entering the musty castle and experiencing shadows of what used to be brilliance. Reinhardt approached the magnificent armour that lay in the throne room's chair, sighing deeply to himself and pausing, Brigitte wise enough to give him space.

Minutes passed, but still, she would say nothing.

Reinhardt slowly approached the throne, and even more definitively placed the Overwatch medal next to his master's armour. His low, rumbling voice spoke out, and it pierced Brigitte's chest, almost causing her to lose her balance.

'I have been called.' He stated clearly, half-turning with an expression that nearly broke his squire. An expression that told her everything she needed to know without understanding precisely why.

'I must answer.' And as he passed her, with all possible finality. 'Always.'

Brigitte hesitated for a moment only because of the impact of his words and the emotion behind them, but ran to the man's side, grabbing at his hand with unflinching strength.

'Then I answer with you.'

She expected him to reject her again. To treat her like a child. To pat her head and push her along her way. But instead, and perhaps even more painfully, he gripped her back, and simply nodded, a semblance of relief upon his face then.

'I would trust few others by my side.'

Those words were tested much sooner than either individual could have ever anticipated.

'Code Black? Ah, my friends, there is glory to be won already!'

'Code Black? The um…handbook said that means it's a terrorist attack on base. Is that true?' Brigitte and Reinhardt were already in full gear, training away as they frequently did at such a time in the day.

"Initiating security level 5. All Overwatch agents on guard and in position for enemy infiltration. This is not a drill. Code Black is now active. Proceed with caution. Do not engage with Talon agents categorized as threat level 4 or higher. Repeat. Initiating security level – "

"Boop!"

Only a fading red-hued tinge remained for illumination, all of the main power from Overwatch Gibraltar cut abruptly.

'Heh. Bold ones, are they? Let us go, Brigitte; to your maiden battle!'

Brigitte was glad one of them was excited, because as she and Reinhardt exited the southside docking bay and into the storm, they were greeted by a sight that Brigitte was sure she wouldn't forget for the rest of her life. A black-cloaked figure stood amongst a sea of bodies, the rain practically hesitant to fall upon his weighted shoulders, two large shotguns in both hands.

'They intend to hold the south with such a monster, hm? Very well…'

'I-is that…Reaper?' Brigitte followed in closely with Reinhardt, a small squad of other Overwatch agents having rendezvoused with them upon making their way outside during the chaos.

Reinhardt tossed his helmet to the side, the storm making such a piece of equipment near useless due to the risk of losing visibility.

'If you'd like to call him by that silly codename of his, then yes.' Reinhardt extended his arm outward, as if demanding those that followed remain behind. 'Gabriel Reyes! You dare lay waste to men and women still willing to fight for glory and honour? You shame yourself!'

The skull-masked individual slowly turned, the whiteness of his features reflecting the slight light Overwatch Gibraltar created despite the rain and darkness surrounding him.

'Hmph. Finally. Someone worth killing.' His voice crackled as if fed through a broken synthesizer. Brigitte's skin prickled, but she wouldn't falter. She wouldn't leave her master's si –

'Everyone back.' Reinhardt commanded, his head soaked completely now. 'You face this beast unprepared and you die. I fight him alone.'

'What!? No! His profile clearly stated that getting close is suicide!' Brigitte contested.

'Feh. And getting within my range of combat means what, Brigitte? Hm? You know this better than any. He is delaying our movement to the main battle. I will not be taken so lightly. A traitor with a few whelps? Hardly worth concern.'

Brigitte squinted, and finally made out the collection of Talon agents along the back wall of Overwatch Gibraltar, simply watching one of the organization's best rip Overwatch's lower classed soldiers apart. There had to be close to thirty, their red and black masks as unsettling as Reaper's.

'You always were full of yourself, old man.'

'Hah! You're no spring chicken anymore yourself, Reyes.'

Brigitte grit her teeth. She knew she was expected to hold the line. If any of their men attempted to navigate to the front of the base where they were needed Talon would counterattack and further chaos would erupt. If Reinhardt were to bring Reaper down, then…

'Be careful…' She muttered.

'Aren't I always?' He grinned, turning back to the battle that waited.

Brigitte gripped her flail. No. You're not. That's the problem.

Two opposing titans stood before one another for a moment, the scene potentially amazing to see save for the way Death lingered in the air. Brigitte knew her master was one of the strongest men in the world, but even he had his limits, and she was terrified of Reaper, her instincts telling her everything she needed to know about the man even without having the knowledge of his lethality through the profile Overwatch kept on him.

'Any last words, treacherous cur?' Reinhardt growled.

'I'm looking forward to crossing you off my list…'

Reinhardt grunted in rejection, exploding from his stance and into a full-on charge. As if anticipating Reaper's ability to blend with the shadows around him, Brigitte's master swung his hammer in a wide arc, narrowly missing Reaper as he appeared behind him, bending backward to avoid the strike. Reinhardt's shield went up next, and Reaper closed the gap immediately, both men recognizing the other's strengths and weaknesses while fighting accordingly. Shotguns echoed within the storm, and Reinhardt huffed, switching between his shield and counterattacking with everything he had.

It was a brief exchange, and the men and women behind Brigitte seemed to cheer in hope, but her more trained eye and better understanding of Reinhardt put her on edge. He was simply too slow. Reaper was overly skilled, and read every move Reinhardt made with enough time to adjust his tactics until Reinhardt's shield began cracking and even pieces of his armour started shipping away.

'What have they done to you, Reyes?' He gasped, thrusting his hammer upward and sending a blast of power crashing into the Talon grunts, the calculated technique missing Reaper, of course, but yielding damage to the other side regardless.

'Gave me the power to destroy those who used me as nothing more than a scapegoat! Now, let's see you deal with me and defend those pathetic cowards hiding behind a little girl!'

'No!'

Reaper didn't need to say anything more. The Talon agents that survived Reinhardt's blast scattered, sprinting through the rain with their cybernetic enhancements in tow and burst toward Brigitte. She had been trusted with a task, and she wouldn't falter in her first official fight as part of Overwatch. Gathering the courage Reinhardt had bestowed upon her – the man who had taken a nobody and believed in her to be somebody – Brigitte raised her flail in the air with a snap and projected her shield before screaming at the top of her lungs.

'Rally to me…!'

And she fought. She fought with everything her body could physically provide. Her years and years of training paid off. Her dedication to every lesson Reinhardt bestowed upon her saw reward. She defended her allies. She pushed the opposition back. She healed those she could with the projectile health packs she had created herself. Brigitte was a warrior. Man? Woman? She wouldn't be restricted to a gender when it came to the fight. She was a defender. A soldier. An Overwatch hero!

She helped push Talon back enough to leave the rest to her comrades, and immediately jumped into the fray with Reinhardt, unwilling to watch him suffer any longer in a mismatched duel. She wouldn't lose him. Never. The emotions she held at bay for him swelled within her chest as she leapt into the fight, shield bashing Reaper unsuspectedly and allowing Reinhardt to finally connect with his hammer, the Talon monster stumbling back and laughing deeply all the while.

'This is no place for a baby cub…' Reaper threw away his guns, extracting two more from the void within his mysterious cloak.

'Brigitte…' Reinhardt uttered, blood dripping down the right side of his rough face.

'I told you,' Brigitte tightened her jaw. 'I will be your shield.'

There was no room for argument anymore. Reinhardt had little ground to stand on. Thus, as she had done hundreds of times in her dreams, Brigitte stood side by side next to Reinhardt, the lion of Overwatch, and prepared to slay a dragon with her master and the man who had claimed her heart over a decade ago.

It was momentary bliss, but bliss nonetheless. Reaper truly was a magician of destruction, fading between the physical and spiritual realm unpredictably, forcing Brigitte and Reinhardt to attack practically at random, praying they would connect. They went back to back, easily moving with one another and holding Reaper at bay while the rest of Overwatch clashed with Talon. The black-cloaked man was among Talon's very best in terms of raw power, and if Brigitte could help down him, it would be an incredible success for Reinhardt and her. She could begin making a name for herself in Overwatch beyond being Torbjorn's daughter and Reinhardt's squire.

'Heheh…Too easy.' A demon's voice whispered in her ear from the darkness.

So close! When had he – ?

The pain bit into her nerves, tearing her flesh apart before she could even register what had happened. Brigitte stumbled, but wouldn't faulter further, gritting her teeth and shaking as she refused to fall. Blood had exploded from her side, and it continued to flow all over her armour, soaking the wet ground beneath her.

'A-ah…' She whimpered, huffing and forcing her eyes to stay focused.

'You coward! Face me!' Reinhardt's muffled voice screamed.

'In a moment.'

A white pain to the side of her head, and Brigitte was down, eye twitching and more blood soaking through her hair. Shot? Was she shot in the stomach? Struck in the head? She didn't know. She couldn't tell. All she knew was that she had failed Reinhardt, and the tears came in further frustration.

'I'll kill you!' Reinhardt howled, and the whole earth trembled.

It was pathetic because, even in the presence of utter defeat, she knew the lion of Overwatch rarely roared like that. Unfiltered rage…because Brigitte had been hurt. It wasn't a terrible way to go…

'Japan, is it? Have you spoken with Genji about the crazed place? He spent many years of his youth galivanting about in search of pleasure there. Perhaps he would have a word or two of advice to make the most of the trip?'

Brigitte had recently finished an intense morning training session with Reinhardt, having showered hastily and joining him for an early meal. They didn't dine together often, but she certainly didn't mind the private experience together, considering the time of day.

'I think we'll be good. Hana's coming with us, and she's been there a load of times because of tours and what have you.'

'Ah! Yes. I suppose that's true. She is a worldly girl. Hahah!'

'I'm pretty excited, honestly. Might explain why I wasn't the best sparring partner today. My focus was all over the place.'

'Bah.' Reinhardt waved the comment away, consuming his enormous meal happily. 'You were fine. A little sloppy, yes, but still leagues better than most. Always impressive, I must say. Nothing less from my squire.'

'Heh.' Brigitte beamed.

'Still, best have fun while you can. Conquer some poor men while you're there, hm? You would have no problem adding a few notches to your belt, surely.'

'What…what makes you say that?' Brigitte's mouth suddenly went dry, Fareeha's words of encouragement haunting her more than she cared to admit.

'Well…you know what I mean! Hahah!' The man evaded, and Brigitte almost gave up, scared of pushing too hard, but perhaps more frightened of hearing nothing at all.

'I'm not very attractive to men, I think. Too strong. Hahah!'

'Nonsense! I mean, yes, you are built quite well for combat, but you have…feminine charm as well…surely.'

A flustered Reinhardt. Only Ana could get him like this easily. Perhaps it was a victory already? One more push would satisfy her.

'As a man, then…' She tried to steady her voice. '…what would be my best feature as a woman?'

'Your…?' Reinhardt blinked, finally lowering his fork away from his plate of breakfast. It was hard to see because of his facial hair, but Brigitte could have sworn his skin coloured just a bit. Maybe not. She wasn't certain. She couldn't meet his eyes anymore.

'I…I am just an old man now, Brigitte. My opinion means little to any maidens now. Hahah!' He didn't believe that. Yet, a modest Reinhardt was also a rare sight.

'We both know that's not true.' She felt a pain in her neck. 'Just tell me…for good luck!'

Reinhardt breathed out slowly, giving Brigitte a small glance before stabbing a stack of pancakes and muttering quietly.

'If I had to say…perhaps your…hair.'

'My hair?'

'It's a pleasing colour, I suppose. You take good care of it.'

Brigitte couldn't taste her food after that. So silly how she derived that much pleasure from the simple compliment, but overjoyed she was, and as Reinhardt helped her load her and the other girls' things into their ride to the airport in Busan, Brigitte almost said it. She wanted to, but feared above all the repercussions of her actions. She couldn't lose him. Not because of her own selfishness. Even after so many years of being together, she knew what his answer would be. She had played the scenario out in her mind thousands of times. She had cried about it only a handful of occasions. The fantasies surrounding her most fanciful of dreams fueled her desires late at night when she could only rely on herself to fill her empty lust for a love that wouldn't be.

'Take care of yourself, Brigitte.' He said her name with such affection that it hurt as always.

'You, too. Nothing crazy while I'm away.'

'Yes, m'am.' He chuckled.

She hugged him. That wasn't an odd thing to do. But as they parted, she slid her fingers down his arm during the separation, purposely intimate, feeling the broken skin and muscles within it, and gripped his hand, pushing the love she harboured through the exchange as desperately as she could. This man was a living legend, but even legendary weapons needed a sheath, and if that was to be her role at his side, she would fulfill it willingly.

However, maybe someday…someday…

Brigitte then grinned, winking playfully but not without subtle suggestive meaning, and shrugged.

'Bye, Reinhardt.' And she didn't have the courage to look back at the expression he returned.