"McCree?"
"Yep?"
"What are you doing?"
He stood up from the grass. "Just inspecting this here bush," he said as he unfurled his fingers, where upon rested several red things the shape of tear drops.
"Are those chilies?" questioned Tracer.
The soldier raised an eyebrow when he nodded. "And what are you planning to do with those?"
"Why, crush them up between my palms and have a grand old game of 'who's there'."
Jack stared at him flatly.
"See, it's the game where I come up behind you, put my hands over your eyes and ask—"
"I know what it is, McCree," he interrupted. "And if you so come close to me with those things I'll send you back to mainland. Like a javelin. With my fist."
"Easy!" The former gang member raised a hand in mock surrender, still holding onto the chilies. "Just pullin' your leg was all. How about this, a little competition?"
"Do any of you know how to start a fire?" asked the cyborg as he walked over, the ape visibly struggling to spark one in the background. "What is that you're holding in your hand?"
"This, my friend, are chilies. Or more specifically, cayenne peppers. Though indigenous to central America and the south, they can be found peppered across the world—"
"I didn't know you were so interested in peppers," the soldier cut in with a wry smile.
"I don't doubt there ain't many things you don't know about me."
"That… doesn't work," said Lena thoughtfully, "there was a triple negative there, so what you really said was—"
"No, robot man," said McCree, abruptly turning away from the pilot, "I don't know how to start a fire. Contrary to popular belief, the south isn't so technologically inept that—what're you laughing about?"
Genji's voice shook as he spoke through his giggles. "Did you mean to do that?"
"Do what?"
"When you said… peppered — He bent over in a fit of silent laughter — across the world… because you were talking about peppers—"
He stared at him, unimpressed. "Are you serious?"
Genji took a few deep breaths to calm himself, the rest of the party patiently waiting. "And south of where?"
McCree puffed out his chest and held his belt buckle. "The great USA, of course!"
"The great… u-sah?" asked Genji, confused.
"Are you serious?"
"Am I really the last to arrive? Did I keep you waiting?"
The doctor crossed the beach to meet them, emitting a warm glow as the stars and moon shined against the gold of her head, which cascaded smooth down her shoulders with a lock partially obscuring her right eye. Plumes of sand rose from beneath her bare feet as she skipped over, her oversized pale pink shirt, almost baring her left shoulder, softly rippling with the wind.
"You are," replied the soldier gruffly. "You can help Winston start the fire."
She acknowledged the enthusiastic waving of Lena and the nod of McCree with a smile. It soon faded from her lips. "Is something the matter, Genji?"
"You look particularly beautiful tonight, Doctor Ziegler," he put bluntly. He came upon the revelation that this must had been the first time in a while the doctor had any time to dedicate to herself, all the while having spent it on the care of himself when he arrived on the watch point and the others, when they were wounded in the fight.
The doctor blushed furiously and looked off to the side, hiding her face behind a curtain of gold. She was not expecting that. "Are you saying I don't look so on any other night?"
The cyborg laughed. "That's why I said particularly."
"Oh… you," she said, not knowing quite what else to. She shuffled on the spot, fidgeting with her denim shorts for a second before moving over to the ape, whose frustration was beginning to take on a color on his face. "I'll… I'll go help Winston."
"Nice," remarked McCree.
Genji looked at McCree, who winked in response. Jack just shrugged.
"The four of you over there," called Winston, freeing himself from his predicament with the barbecue. "Help me prepare the food. Genji, the butter's over there. Don't forget the brush!"
All six set to work, the chill of the evening air caressing them. They laughed when Winston stumbled and fell when he tried to prevent the falling of the plastic knives blown by the wind, and paid for it sorely when the operatives four picked them up one at a time, tallying them accordingly to the ape's will. The entire time, the commander was watching the southerner closely, taking his earlier sarcasm very seriously.
"You said something about a competition just now, didn't you, love?" commented Tracer.
"Yeah," acknowledged McCree, "and a little wager of sorts. A game of chance. It goes like this. We sit in a circle around a flat surface, and I put Peacekeeper here – he patted the revolver holstered on his hip – between us. Don't look so worried, empty of course! So I spin it and whoever the gun points to has to eat a chili. We'll put the water on a separate table away. The first one out of the circle loses. I think this game has a name which at present escapes me. Something about the soviets… and a game, something about a wheel?"
"Russian roulette?" volunteered Jack.
He snapped his fingers. "That's the one."
"So what happens to the loser?" asked Winston.
McCree shrugged. "What's the fun in deciding now? Heck, we could even have one winner and five losers, instead of five winners and one loser. Who's to say?"
Jack smirked. "The one who proposed the game?"
The bounty hunter waved him off. "Can't you see I'm trying to worm my way out of any more effort? Geez, man."
Genji and Lena looked at each other and shared a chuckle.
"Finally!" The back of Angela darkened as she stood between the fire ignited in the pit and the group. The light flared from the outlines of her silhouette. "The charcoal was wet, Winston. It took forever to get going."
"I'll keep them indoors next time. My apologies."
"Apology accepted. Till next time then," she said cheerfully, casually stepping aside and exposing the fire to the party.
In an instant, the man encased in the suit of metal and artificial fiber became assaulted by a barrage of thoughts. The sensation of pins being pushed forcefully into his skull became more intensely apparent as his mind fell under the inundation of abstract information, like water crashing through floodgates. And the concrete was cracking.
A casket under an ineffably familiar pink-leafed tree. A sword, long as a cane and straight as an arrow, crimson at the blade and gilded at the hilt. He clutched at his head. He felt as though it was about to explode. A letter. Extremely brief. Too brief. A wooden shack, built into a hollow of a tree. Darkness.
Then fire.
The pain became more intense. Too intense. Despite this, with every iota of strength he would muster, he pushed himself forward, back into reality. He saw Winston looking at him, concerned, in a tunnel vision. Lena was there too. She looked equally worried. Their lips were moving.
Genji felt as though he was under a lake, peering through the darkness unable to make out their voices. McCree was on his feet, his hands in front of him and his eyes helpless. Morrison remained seated, watching him with a slight frown. He tasted blood. And in the foreground of his vision was the doctor in front of him on the verge of tears, mouth moving rapidly with arms on either side of him.
He thought she must be the one holding him up. He couldn't be sure, though. He couldn't feel it.
For once, he was glad he had a metal, mechanical, unfeeling arm. An arm which if otherwise flesh and blood, would be shaking and writhing, betraying him. An arm which he brought up with calculated ease, resting it on the doctor's shoulder. He tenderly patted her once, twice, with as much focus as he had, for he knew if he did not he would crush her like a leaf in autumn.
He did not allow himself to speak. He knew that as soon as he would part his lips, a scream would emerge between them. Instead, he slowly pushed himself up with equally cold, unfeeling mechanical legs, and at the doctor's face, washed with relief, put a singular finger in front of him, indicating his desire for a moment to himself.
The night had begun well and in a good mood. This would be his last one on the watch point and with his savior, who he knew he would not see for many more moons. He refused to ruin it.
He stalked away from them and rounded the coast, where he broke into a sprint when he broke their line of vision. There he ran, as fast as he could, to the other side of the rock with nowhere else to run, no more possible distance he could put between them.
Ripping off his mask, he screamed like a wounded, feral animal into the night sky. The wind tore and tugged, stealing away his voice into the glassy sea. In the moments he needed to pause for breath he pounded his fists into the dark rock he stood upon which gave and broke apart on every impact. Debris and rock dust geysered into the sky as numerous small craters eventually turned into one large one. Exhausted, he slowly sank into it and curled up, the pain receding to a dull ache which throbbed in his head.
After a long while, it eventually faded into a faint presence, a constant hum of white noise at his temples. It stopped hurting, at least, he thought as he got up and took his time returning to the barbecue, trying to invent an excuse for his absence.
The more he thought, the more confused and frustrated he felt. What did these flashing visions mean? They weren't dreams. No, they were far too real. Genji knew it came from the life he was from, but he couldn't make any sense of it. Everything that's been presented to him seemed so unrelated, so abstract… like an impossible puzzle.
An impossible puzzle, but one he felt… no, was certain was extremely important. Somewhere deep inside him, a place which continued to evade him the more he chased, told him it was the reason why in that very moment, he was walking on the beach, that he was alive.
He couldn't explain it. He just knew. Making up his mind, he resolved to ask Winston a question before he left for Korea, insisting for an answer no matter how uncomfortable he might become. He kept his eyes on the dancing black waters which gleamed cream under the moonlight, letting his thoughts drift. What would I tell them?
As soon as he rounded the corner, the doctor immediately stood up and approached him. Her eyes displayed unsettled worry. He felt a pang of guilt for this, and the lie he was about to tell her.
"Genji, are you alright? Was it the painkillers again? Tell me where it hurts. How do you feel now? Oh, I'm so sorry. Follow me, we'll return to the infirmary where we'll do a full—"
"Doctor," he said softly, "you're bleeding under your fingernails."
"Oh, this?" she said offhandedly, hiding them behind her. "It's just a nervous habit, I tend to chew a little…"
The cyborg slowly but firmly grasped at her arm, brought it forward and examined her hand. After a moment of silence with Angela's head bowed, he began, "Doctor Angela?"
She raised her head and met his eyes. He knew that she couldn't exactly see them, but he always had a feeling that it didn't matter. For anyone else on the watch point, either. He saw all of them as friends, and had always felt the warmth in their eyes.
"Please, promise me you will not harm yourself like this again."
Her eyes flickered for the briefest moment, showing an intent to argue, before dissolving just as swiftly. "Okay," she practically whispered.
"As for me," he said as he let go of her hand, "I'm fine, doctor. It's just a migraine that comes every now and again."
"A migraine? There must be a reason. We will just go to the operating theater—"
"Really, it is nothing. You have nothing to worry—"
"No needles this time, I promise. I understand your irrational fear of them now and—"
"It is not irrational!"
"Genji," coughed Winston, interjecting, "has a medical history of migraines. It was on his file when he first arrived. If he says it's nothing to worry about, Angela, we shouldn't push it so much."
"Hardly! I just wanted to do a prognosis, I mean, we're all here anyway. And I checked his file myself, I didn't see anything about migraines."
"It was on page seventy-nine. You couldn't have gotten that far while you were operating on him."
"Well…" She bowed her head. "I suppose I did only… skim it a little."
The cyborg shot the ape a grateful glance. He returned it with a smile.
"Now that that's settled," he said, rubbing his hands together, "let's get down to cooking! Look, the fire's almost died out. Genji, pour in more charcoal while I grab the food."
Genji picked up the sack and easily hoisted it over the pit. As Winston laid the food across the grill, he asked quietly, "I had a history of migraines?"
The ape replied with a shrug and a wink. "Maybe. I don't know. Your record ended at page seventy-eight. I know what you're trying to do, and I don't exactly approve, so you'll explain it to me when all is said and done."
Looking over to where the rest were, Genji found that the soldier was still sitting in the same spot, and still watching him with penetrating eyes. McCree had visibly relaxed and was holding light conversation with Angela, but Lena approached with a peculiar expression on her face.
"Are you sure you're okay?" she asked.
"I am. Thank you for asking, and for your concern."
"I don't want to make it weird, but…" She looked away bashfully. "You helped me more than you know, even if you didn't really mean to. All of us. Especially with the whole invasion thing." She was gushing now. "So I want to let you know if there's anything you might want to talk about, anything at all, you can always talk to me."
When he put down the bag of coal, he realized he really was going to leave tomorrow, and felt a great sadness to having to bid farewell to such warmth. "Thank you," he repeated sincerely. "And the same goes for you too. I will always remember, as I know you will."
"In that case… okay then!" she said as she straightened, her eyes lighting up. "Let me get some more food—"
"I hope y'all are ready!" exclaimed McCree, now over by the benches and tables. He pulled out a bottle of liquor from out of nowhere and slammed it grandly on the table. "Ain't a proper barbecue without any alcohol to wash it all down, and as luck would have it, I just happened to have some!"
The soldier smirked. The doctor responded with a soft 'oh'. The pilot hesitated. "I uh…" she began, "I don't think I'm legal yet."
"Not an issue! I was drinking since I was fourteen!"
The soldier snorted. Lena glanced at Angela meaningfully.
"When you were part of Project Slipstream," the doctor said slowly, "it was based in the US, so you would be right to say you were not legal." She paused. "But technically, the rock of Gibraltar is under European jurisdiction… so—"
"You hear that, miss I'm-not-sure-if-I'm-legal-or-not-as-if-it-matters?" interrupted McCree, leaning forward, eyes glinting. "You're legal somewhere in the world. Drink up!"