Winston seeks to check in on Mercy and the patient in her care. What he discovers will shock the world. (It won't.)

Author note: I imagine Winston and Zarya having a very good platonic friendship, him so eager to learn, her bearing within her the history and culture of the Russian people. Also Winston is very fun to write.


It was a peaceful night in the base. The team was asleep, the halls quiet, the day's work done. Adjusting his glasses with a colossal hand, Winston looked up from his book, eyes keen to hear anything from the medical bay. Meeting only silence, he turned back to his paper delight; a copy of Brothers Karamazov in the original Russian, loaned to him by Zarya. The pages were well worn, and he often found annotations she had left. He always enjoyed these; many an afternoon was spent wrapped in the discussions they'd sparked. Idly marking an interesting passage, Winston reached for his stylus on the desk.

Or was it on the table?

By the door?

"Oh." Winston let out a flat sigh. The med-bay; he'd set it down when checking on Mercy and Soldier: 76. As he stood up from his desk, being sure to mark his page, his eyes glanced at the clock. It was, he supposed, getting late. Perhaps best to set down the book, retrieve his stylus, be sure 76's procedure had gone well, and get some sleep.

And, he chuckled to himself, if a banana strayed across his path as he walked through the kitchen, no one would have to know.

As he wandered out of the kitchen, stylus perched as it had been delicately behind his ear and banana in hand, he caught sight of the med-bay, seemingly deserted and with lights off.

Strange, he hadn't heard either Soldier: 76 or Mercy leave.

Curiosity piqued, he made his way to the med-bay in the name of stylus and science.

Winston stepped inside, eyes shifting to pierce the gentle darkness. For a moment he reached for the light switch, before stopping himself.

He made out two figures upon the bed, fast asleep in each other's arms. Mercy's golden hair shone in the gloom, framing the soft lines of her face resting peacefully on the other's chest. A gentle hand rested on her back, holding her close as she nestled into his embrace. And there, with the peace of one brought back to life, was Jack Morrison, in the arms of his angel.

Overcome by a wondering smile, Winston stared in awe, before turning to leave. In the tender stillness of the night, two reunited lovers slept, undisturbed.