The early morning light seeped through the curtains in soft, golden ribbons, pooling on the carpet like spilled honey. The faint rustle of the Roman city outside mingled with the distant chirping of birds, but the only noise in the room was the sharp click of a tongue.

"For heaven's sake, Lena, stop fidgeting." The woman beside her muttered, yanking gently on the hem of Lena's suit jacket. Her eyes narrowed with the focus of a jeweler inspecting a flawed gemstone. "If you keep squirming like that, I'm gonna pin you to the wall like a fish."

Despite her modest height, Clara Oxton had a presence that could fill a stadium. Years of professional sprints had made Lena's childhood filled with equal parts excitement and fond exasperation. Excitement at watching her mum's old videos of outrunning her competition, to even seeing her do so against people younger than her. Exasperation at the fact that, beyond all that, her mum was still her mum, fretting about her daughter as always. Every movement she made carried that same blend of grace and resolve, from the firm tug of Lena's lapels to the methodical smoothing of a barely visible wrinkle on her sleeve.

"Honestly, love, if patience were a plant, you'd have pulled it up roots and all by now." Clara rolled her eyes, fingers gliding over the fabric with the care of a gardener pruning a delicate stem. Her eyes, sharp as shears but warm as fresh-turned soil, darted up to meet Lena's. "Stand still. It's a suit, not a windsock."

Her parents had come to Rome just a couple days ago, alongside Emily's own family. While she was happy to see them both, her dad was quickly ushered out of the room by her mum, apparently so that Clara could help Lena with dressing up.

Lena agreed. There were two things that she knew she inherited from Elliot Oxton; her love of flying, and her dreadful taste in clothes.

Lena shifted her weight from one foot to the other, hands flexing at her sides like she wasn't sure where to put them. "I'm not moving." She muttered, eyes flicking to the mirror but refusing to linger. Her reflection stood there, clean-cut and sharp in a midnight blue suit with subtle pinstripes that shimmered in the light. It fit perfectly, but somehow that only made it feel more like someone else's clothes draped on her shoulders.

"You are, love." Clara shot back, tugging at the lapel of Lena's jacket with a sharp, precise pull. "Hands out of your pockets. Don't slouch. You're not a kid being dragged to Sunday service." She stepped back, tilting her head as she looked Lena up and down. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and Lena braced for the verdict.

Clara flipped a stray hair to the side, nodding as she did so, "There you go! Perfect!"

Lena glanced at herself in the mirror again, frowning slightly. Perfect wasn't the word she'd have used. She felt like a mannequin, polished and stiff, not the whirlwind of motion she'd always been. The suit, as immaculate as it was, seemed to weigh her down in a way her flight harness never did.

Clara, noticing her daughter's expression, placed a firm hand on her shoulder. "Lena." She said, her voice softening, "You look stunning. You don't need to overthink it."

"Yeah, maybe."

"Remember," Clara added with a sly smile, "You're not walking down that aisle for the guests. You're doing it for Emily. And she already thinks you're the best thing since spiked running shoes."

Lena chuckled despite herself. "Spiked running shoes? That's a weird thing to say, Mum."

Clara winked. "Well, I could've said sliced bread, but I thought you'd appreciate something a bit faster."

A knock at the door, "Miss Oxton?" A familiar voice with a politeness that didn't belong there. Despite her nervousness, she couldn't help the twitch of annoyance. Clara opened the door to a smirking Archer in a suit.

"Ahem." He gave a small cough, "I just wanted to inform you that your ride's here. It's waiting just outside."

Archer raised his hands in a gesture of apology, his ever-present calm as unshakable as the stones of an old temple. "Far be it from me to interrupt a moment between mother and daughter." He said, his tone smooth, measured, and maddeningly respectful. His gaze shifted to Lena, and though his expression remained composed, there was a flicker of something teasing behind those steel-gray eyes. "Miss Oxton, you're looking quite distinguished today. The suit suits you."

Lena's face scrunched like she'd bitten into a lemon. "Miss Oxton?" She let out a sharp, exasperated breath through her nose, pinching the bridge of it for effect. "That sounds so bloody-"

"Lena! Language!"

"-sorry Mum, force of habit - wrong coming from you of all people."

Archer inclined his head ever so slightly, the very picture of formal courtesy. "As you wish, Cadet Oxton."

Lena shot him a flat look, arms folding across her chest. "That's worse. So much worse."

Clara chuckled under her breath, patting Lena's arm. "You're wasting your breath, Lena. Men like him get their kicks from being insufferable."

"Caught me red-handed ma'am." Archer gave another chuckle, before continuing, "At any rate, the others are also ready to go at any time."
"I suppose we've made Elliot wait for long enough." Clara nodded to Lena, "Let me just grab my purse and we'll head on down." Her mother went on to do so, heading off into their room, leaving Lena and Archer for a moment.

Lena, without the supervision of her mum, had started to turn and twist her body in front of the mirror. Archer snorted as he watched, smirk still on his lips.

"I didn't peg you for being this nervous about your wedding. Where's all that bravado gone?"

Lena blinked, momentarily caught off guard by his shift in tone. But it didn't last. Her lips pulled into a grin so sharp it might've cut glass. "You gettin' sentimental on me, Archer? Careful, I might start thinkin' you actually like me."

Archer sighed, long-suffering but not unkind, his eyes rolling toward the ceiling like he was counting each second of patience she was costing him. "Don't flatter yourself, Oxton." He replied, his voice cool as a shaded breeze. "You're tolerable at best, insufferable at worst. But I'd rather you be insufferable in style than a walking disaster in formalwear." His gaze flicked toward her lapels, and he nodded with mock gravity. "Fortunately, you've managed to avoid both fates. Barely."

Lena barked a short laugh, her hands dropping from where they'd been fussing with her sleeves. "Yeah, yeah, keep telling yourself that. We both know you'd miss me if I wasn't around to keep you humble."

"Hard to miss a headache." Archer shot back, but his smirk had widened just a little - a flicker of warmth in all that sharp-edged poise. He stepped forward, eyes scanning her once more, this time with a more appraising look. No teasing, no jabs. Just the steady, silent scrutiny of someone who took his role, however unofficial, a little too seriously. His fingers pinched the edge of her sleeve and gave it a slight tug to straighten the line. "You're fine." he declared at last, stepping back with the air of a craftsman inspecting his finished work. "No one's gonna be looking at the suit anyway."

"Right, 'cause Emily's gonna be too busy swoonin' over how dashing I am." Lena quipped, puffing out her chest with exaggerated bravado. She struck a pose, hands on her hips, chin tilted skyward like she'd just been crowned Queen of Cool.

"Because Emily's gonna be looking at you, not the suit." Archer corrected, his tone exasperated but firm. "That's the whole point, isn't it?"

That pulled Lena up short. She blinked, her grin faltering for just a second as the words settled on her like a weighted blanket. Her eyes flickered toward the mirror, catching her reflection from the corner of her eye. This time, she looked a little longer. The suit didn't feel as stiff now. She tugged once at the lapel, more out of habit than doubt.

"Yeah." She muttered, quieter this time. "Yeah, I guess it is."

Archer gave her a small nod, satisfied, and stepped back to lean against the wall, hands tucked into his pockets. "Well, if you're done pretending you're about to get shipped off to war, maybe we can make it to the car before your mother starts calling you by your full name."

Lena winced. Archer laughed.

…

"Wow, chica." The first person she heard as they exited the hotel was Sombra, who sported a form fitting white dress, hair done up and the patterns on her arms being on full display, "Look at you, all sharp edges and clean lines. Didn't know you had it in you, Capitana Elegante."

Despite the teasing lilt, Lena knew that the hacker was genuine with her praise. All the more when Angela stepped up in her own dress, smiling all the while. "You look wonderful, Lena." Angela said, her accent adding a gentle cadence to each word. Her hands folded neatly in front of her, and her eyes crinkled with something that could only be described as fondness. "Emily is going to have a hard time keeping her composure when she sees you."

"Don't say that, Doc." Lena groaned, fighting the urge to bury her face in her hands. Her fingers fidgeted at her sides before she stuffed them in her pockets, only to pull them right back out again when she met her mum's eyes.

As Angela continued to fuss over her, with Sombra being a surprising addition, Lena could also see the rest of her friends standing near the hovercar they were going to use. Genji, Winston and Reinhardt were all wearing suits as well. Though, in Reinhardt's case, where Winston had gotten his tailor-made to suit himself, the Crusader had done the same, only it looked like it was a size or two too small.

Though, curiously, she couldn't see-

The door to the car opened and shut as someone stepped out.

Out stepped Elliot Oxton, looking every bit like a man who had been forced into formalwear against his better judgment. His suit was a classic charcoal gray, crisp and well-fitted, but the way he tugged at the cuffs of his sleeves made it clear he'd rather be in a jumpsuit with a wrench in hand.

"Not bad." He said, his voice rough but warm, like an old engine that still had plenty of life left in it. Neither he nor Lena acknowledged the way his eyes seemed to glisten, "Better than I expected, actually."

"Cheers, Dad." She similarly held back the breaking of her voice as she felt just a wave of absolute relief fill her, "High praise comin' from you."

She knew her parents approved of her choices. They had made that clear time and again. They, beyond a shadow of a doubt, loved her to bits as much as she loved them. That still didn't stop her from doubting that they might hold some hesitations. Judging by how her dad subtly turned his head to 'cough', she had nothing to worry about.

"Don't get used to it." Elliot replied, his lips curling into a faint grin. "Still think you look better in a flight suit."

"Don't tempt me, one wrong word and I'll be on that aisle in full kit."

"Please don't." Clara said with a sigh, rubbing her temples like she'd just seen a flash of her worst nightmare. "I didn't wrangle your father into a proper suit just to have you show up lookin' like you're about to do a barrel roll."

"Don't test her, Mum." Sombra chimed in, hands on her hips, grinning like a fox in a henhouse. "You know she'll do it just to prove she can."

"Don't encourage her." Clara snapped back, pointing at Sombra like she was holding a remote to a misbehaving TV. The older woman's smile betrayed her faux annoyance, "One more word from you, and you're ridin' in the boot."

Sombra raised her hands in mock surrender, though her grin didn't so much as flicker. "Callate, callate," she muttered with faux innocence. "No more words, señora."

"If you're all done with the pre-flight banter," Archer spoke, stepping forward with an easy, unhurried gait, "The clock's ticking, and last I checked, nobody wants to be the one explaining to Emily why her bride was late."

That got their attention.

Clara straightened up like she'd heard the starter's pistol, glancing toward Lena with that quick, sharp focus only a mother could muster. "He's right. We're not havin' Emily standing there waiting on you, love. Come on, bags in, let's move."

"Archer, you're driving?" In between the mess of getting the entire Overwatch Strike Team, plus three others, Lena spoke up, "And wait, aren't we still missing Amélie and Gérard?"

"They'll meet us there." The Spirit gave a nod and smile to Clara as she slid into the passenger side, "And I'd rather drive than get myself entangled in whatever mess you're all making back there. Make sure you don't break anything, alright? This is still a rental."

"Bastard!"

"Language!"

…

A/N: If you like what I do and want to support me, check out my P-atreon at P-atreon•com(slash)Almistyor.

And a special thanks to: FireRogueWolf25, Tassimo and Grant Walker.