Watchpoint Gibraltar, the same day.
Much to Widowmaker's surprise, Genji had been right.
Indeed, there was something that Amélie would love in the basement of Watchpoint Gibraltar. However, she might not have realized that immediately when she walked into the slightly messy armory and workshop that marked the kingdom of one Torbjörn Lindholm.
Widowmaker followed Genji out of the elevator. The latter wasn't really fazed to see that the armory was quite well attended at the moment, while the former might have felt a sudden rush of discomfort. Amélie did notice that people tended to turn and glance at her briefly whenever she entered a room. It wasn't really something she particularly enjoyed. The fact that the armory down there was usually well visited -not only by the combat wing of Overwatch but also by the various technicians who got their instruments and tools from Torbjörn- didn't really help matters.
Two random members of Overwatch were waiting for the elevator, carrying a huge box, and quickly thanked Genji for preventing the door from closing on them before they could maneuver the cargo into the elevator.
This was where the members of Overwatch got their equipment. Torbjörn, the quartermaster of Overwatch, constantly worked on improving the tools his comrades used during battle or simply kept them stored and maintained for them. His domain was a large underground area, divided into various different sections. The first section, nearest to the elevator, was almost like a gun shop. It was fronted by a counter, where the agents of Overwatch could give Torbjörn their equipment and pick it up again once he was done with it. Behind the counter, there was a large storage area with shelves that overflowed with unidentifiable parts, pieces and tools, there were shadowboxes containing probably millions of tiny parts like screws and bolts, and, of course, there were also more steel cabinets than anyone would have cared to count, probably also filled to the brim with whatever it was their owner put inside. If there was a system behind the storage space, Amélie didn't immediately recognize it. It was more likely to be chaotic storage anyway.
The wall to the right side had a pretty large double door in it, leading into the workshop. It was the place the Swedish dwarf used to come up with his ingenious ideas and constructions. Just as expected, it was properly messy, too. Spare parts and pieces were laying around everywhere, halfway finished projects collected dust and multiple machines were apparently used to salvage them for components. At least, that was the impression Widowmaker got from glancing through the door. The scents of machine oil and cuttings were rather prominent in the air, but interestingly enough, not really bothersome. It fit the whole scenario perfectly.
The door to the left side led into the shooting range. A large sign, warning that firearms were being used, was posted on the door, reading that the door had to be kept shut at all times. Even with that being the case , the closed door did little to completely muffle the rhythmic banging sound of people using the range. The entire facility was meant as a testing area where either Torbjörn tried out his inventions himself or the agents could see what changes the gunsmith made to their equipment.
From the sound of it, some serious testing was going on.
Amélie quickly spotted a familiar face but was far from overjoyed to see this individual again. He had kept his distance since they had come back from Diskon, but Widowmaker wasn't stupid. The cowboy surely had been watching.
There was McCree, apparently collecting a whole stack of bullet-boxes. He was leaning on the counter like they were in a wild-west saloon, casually feeding the sliver tubes into his trusty six-shooter. One after another, they went in with such well practiced carelessness that it almost seemed as if he was returning deposit bottles at the vending machine of the local beverage store.
"Howdy!" McCree greeted as he noticed his cyborg friend approaching. "Widowmaker," he also acknowledged Genji's companion with a level voice. He wasn't outright hostile toward the former Talon assassin anymore. She was relatively certain that he still hated her, but Jesse was professional enough to accept that the former assassin was meant to stay. Morrison made this clear and the commander always had the final word. McCree didn't see a reason to cause trouble as long as she didn't start any. He would be ready for it, however. The time would come, he was certain.
"Jesse," Genji said with a polite nod.
"Salut," Widow waved. She had to admit that, of all the members of Overwatch she had met so far -and of course apart from Angela and Lena- Genji was actually not so bad. He was calm and didn't talk when it wasn't necessary, which was great. That said, Torbjörn also seemed like a decent person so far. Maybe a bit... not really rude, because he wasn't, but well... uncouth. McCree, on the other hand, she most likely wouldn't get along with ever unless some sort of cosmic miracle happened.
"Is the man of the house not at home?" Genji wanted to know. As an answer, McCree pointed over his shoulder toward the workshop.
"The dwarf is strapping new parts of armor to our glorious knight. He should be back in a-" Jesse was abruptly interrupted by a loud metallic rattling and someone cursing in a foreign language that Widowmaker identified as Swedish followed by someone apologizing.
"It's fine, it's fine you big klutz. Get out of here. Sometimes I really wonder if all that armor slows your brain down." The grumpy voice of Torbjörn was getting closer.
"Ja, and I sometimes wonder if your height is why you're always in such a bad mood. I apologized. There are no eyes at the back of my head!" was the loud reply from someone else following close behind Torbjörn.
A moment later, both appeared in the room Genji, Widow and McCree were in. Reinhardt slammed his fist to his chest as if he was checking the proper fit of the armor he was wearing.
"I'm in a bad mood because I have to waste my day talking to idiots," Torbjörn muttered, noticing the two newcomers in his domain. "Ahh, if that isn't our science project and it's evil counterpart. Didn't think I'd see you two down here," he laughed as he got behind his counter. There must have been some steps and some kind of platform behind it because there was no way the dwarf would have been able to stick his head above the counter even if he tiptoed.
Reinhardt had suddenly stopped moving and just stared at Amélie who in turn glared back with an ice-cold expression. People were always staring. Wherever she went, eyes were upon her. In the past, she didn't give a damn about that; her contact with civilians was rare at best. But here, at the Watchpoint, it was starting to really get on her nerves. It was annoying. She didn't want to be bothered with the opinions of people she did not care about.
"So, you are Widowmaker," Reinhardt said finally, taking in the presence of the woman standing in front of him. She was nothing like the elegant, charismatic lady he once knew as Amélie Lacroix. And yet, Lady Lacroix and Widowmaker were so similar: cruel, cold and manipulative. The old discussion about Gerard came to mind, but he knew what he saw. He knew the real Amélie - or so he thought. A wave of hatred washed over Rein as he was painfully reminded of what that monster did to his wife. But it was immediately followed by a wave of sour regret. What if it's true? Angela had been so insistent. Torb was too. It was all a big mess. In the back of his head Reinhardt knew they would have to talk one day. One day, but not now. It was too soon.
"Non. My name is Amélie." she replied coolly, returning his gaze unwavering. Despite Reinhardt easily being twice her height, she was not intimidated. She caught herself subconsciously searching for weak spots in his armor and found plenty where she could strike. He might have been large, but she was fast, nimble and fatally accurate.
"There is not much difference between the two," Reinhardt grumbled, the years of contempt dripping off his voice like venom. "You have always been a cruel bitch."
Just when Amélie was about to insistently inquire what exactly the knight wanted to express, a thumbscrew flew across the workshop and hit Reinhardt on the forehead with a light plopping sound.
"Rein, if you have a problem with her, you will not discuss it in my workshop! Or at all, for that matter. If we have that kind of talk one day it is going to be with the Doc and me present, got that?" Torbjörn stated, clapping his hands together before tossing some stuff from the counter into a box.
Reinhardt sighed heavily, knowing that he didn't stand a chance against his stubborn friend. "I promised Angela I'd give her one chance, but-"
"Stop it right there. Give her the chance she deserves then," Torbjörn interrupted. "Let's talk about something else and not dig around in poor Amélie's past all the time."
"I'm standing right here. You do realize that, oui? I can hear you?" Widow sneered. She was getting fed up with all the people around her who apparently knew way more about her own past than she did, herself. She had heard so many references to her past -her husband, her story and everything since she arrived at the Watchpoint- she couldn't stand it anymore. Either everyone was going to shut up really soon or someone was going to give her a straight answer to a simple question. What the hell happened between her and Gerard?
"That you are," Genji said, not really in fond of talking about someone in their presence either. "But that topic is better saved for another day among people who know more. Right now, you are here because of the bet."
"Ahhh! The bet! Great idea," Torb cheered, happy that the topic of the conversation changed and also looking forward to finding out the answer to the topic of heated discussions among the Watchpoint's personal. "I hope you all know that the Doc will kill us all for this should she find out, but this needs to be done. That goes for you too, Amélie."
"Me? Why?"
"Because we all know you are good friends with our good doctor. Don't you sell us out to her."
"I make no such promises," she replied, slightly irritated.
"Well, can't do anything against that now. We have to do this, for science, I guess. Let me get her stuff and you all go to the shooting-range already."
"I won't stick around to see this," Reinhardt announced "You all know what I think the results will look like. There is no way that woman can beat the current record. I have somewhere else to be right now. It is of grave importance!" And with that, he entered the elevator and was quickly gone.
"Well, I think we all can do without his foul mood. Don't worry mitt barn, he will come along." Torbjörn shrugged and smiled warmly at Amélie, who really didn't know what to do with his gesture. "Let me get everything we need."
Widowmaker wasn't sure what exactly was going on, and she really didn't like the entire setup here, either. The thought that maybe this was not as friendly as she initially assumed crossed her mind. They were in the basement, after all. But the one with the foulest mood did leave, so it couldn't be bad, right? Yeah, she was no fool. Letting her guard down now would have been a mistake. That people were a bit friendlier than usual meant nothing. Lena wasn't here, and Angela apparently should never know about this.
"What are you doing?" she asked, subconsciously getting into a defensive stance. "I would really like to know what is going on. Right now, if you please." Her voice was tense and she stepped slightly behind McCree, so she could grab him and either choke him to death or break his neck should worse come to worst.
"At least you now ask first and shoot later," McCree laughed, turning around to face Widowmaker and then leaning against the counter again, like the relaxed cowboy he usually was. "You see, there has been some disagreement between a few of us concerning your marksmanship. Reinhardt, for one, is convinced that you can't beat the current record holder, whereas Lena has insisted you would easily beat it. Come to think of it, she is very supportive and defensive of you whenever she gets the chance. Maybe she's into you. That would be just like the damn dimwit."
"What did you just call her?" Amélie hissed, giving Jesse a piercing stare, and McCree actually took a step back, raising his hands in defense.
"Nothing, nothing. Jesus, you act like she's your lover. I was just trash talking. We wanted to have a shooting competition, if you are woman enough to step up and prove your skill, that is."
"Wait, is this about target practice? For points?" Amélie asked in disbelief, relaxing her stance.
"Of course, what were you thinking? That we'd beat you up down here? I think Reinhardt wouldn't have left if we were gonna," Jesse said with a shrug.
"No shit-talking in my workshop, cowboy!" Torbjörn admonished. "You think you still know how to hold a gun?"
"Please. I'm offended." Widow snorted.
"We'll find out soon enough. I'm getting your rifle."
Widowmaker felt an invisible string pulling her lips upward into a wicked grin as she walked into the shooting range. A lot of people were in there, just as the loud noises would have indicated. For the first time, Amélie wasn't bothered by everyone staring. She would show them what a real marksman was capable of pulling off. After a brief explanation that this shooting range was specifically built to simulate any desired distance along with any other environmentally reasonable influence, she took her trusted rifle from Torbjörn into her hands. The alloys it was made of were immediately melting into her hands like they were made for each other. The weapon morphed into sniper configuration, and Amélie's eagle-eye peered through the scope.
"I would take my bow against your rife any day," a voice with a prominent accent said from her side. Widow looked up again and saw an Asian man with a neatly trimmed beard that was slowly starting to show signs of greying. He was holding a composite bow and an elaborate looking arrow. Amélie gave him a quick once-over.
"That would be the last mistake you ever made," she replied with an air of superiority.
"Let her show how well she does, brother, before you judge her. If what is said holds true, her skills are formidable," Genji said.
"Ha!" Hanzo exclaimed. "Rumors are hardly anything to go by. Though I must admit, I have heard many stories about your work," he said with such confidence that it was as though he was the heir to a great Japanese clan. Which he was. But Widow didn't know that, nor did she really care.
"See, he ain't sure of her, either. Told y'all to wait and see. I like you, friend. Name's Jesse McCree."
"Shimada. Hanzo Shimada," the bowman replied, and Widowmaker glanced at Torbjörn, who was rolling his eyes.
"Oui, oui. Very nice. You want a café too? Or are we going to do what we came here for?"
McCree laughed. "Do your thing, lassie. We'll be watching."
"Give me 600 meters, s'il vous plaît. We'll go up from there."
-/-
The wheelchair was causing the gravel underneath it to make muted crunching noises as Reinhardt pushed it in front of him. He didn't know that he was heading toward the exact same bench Angela, Lena and Amélie had been talking on some days prior.
Maybe twenty minutes before, he finally did what Mercy had urged him to do on the day he had last visited Fareeha. She was still in a coma back then. She wasn't anymore. His heart was heavy and conflicted when he walked into the infirmary, not knowing what he should say and certainly not knowing what he should do. He was breaking a promise. But Angela was right about this. Fareeha deserved to know. It had been too long. Ana was dead; she wouldn't be coming back. It wasn't right to not tell Fareeha. Damn Mercy with her logic all the time.
His little encounter with Widowmaker prior to going to the infirmary today wasn't really doing his mood any favors, but he had his mind set on it. He had walked into the infirmary, finding Dr. Ziegler gone. Slightly confused, he found Fareeha in one of the sickbeds, reading a magazine of some sort. It turned out to be a weapons catalogue. Without much ado, he had fetched a wheelchair, telling the nurse present to shut it and leave before he went to Fareeha's bed. She asked what was going on, but Reinhardt didn't say a word and effortlessly lifted the young woman out of the bed. She had shrieked adorably but then watched curiously as Reinhardt carefully fixed the belts on the wheelchair so the woman sitting inside wouldn't fall out of it.
They hadn't spoken since, Fareeha apparently accepting that there was something to either see or talk about later. Still, that didn't mean she necessarily liked the silence. Reinhardt was her idol, her hero and her role model all at once. She never really got to know him, and yet he had always felt very familiar, like they had some kind of connection. Her mother always told her that was the stupid imagination of a young girl, but the feeling never went away.
"You know," Fareeha started, actually starting to enjoy being pushed down the small walkway they were on. The weather was finally sunny and reasonably warm again, despite the air still being a little humid from all the rain in the past days. "I had a poster of you on my wall when I was a child," she said with a beaming smile on her lips, remembering her most precious possession at the time.
"I remember the poster!" Reinhardt sounded excited for some reason. "My hair looked amazing!" he laughed contagiously.
"It did, right?" Fareeha joined. "Was it always like that? Or just for the photo shoot?"
"It always was. Especially during times of glorious battle!" he boasted.
Fareeha smiled fondly before a thought crossed her mind. She didn't know why, but she had voiced it before she had even thought about it. "My mother hated it."
"Hated what?" Reinhardt inquired with a strange edge in his voice
"The poster," Fareeha clarified. "Always wanted me to take it down."
"I see," was all Reinhardt replied until they arrived at the exact same bench that was also used by Mercy, Widowmaker and Tracer. Reinhardt parked Fareeha's wheelchair next to the bench and made sure the breaks were correctly secured before sitting down next to her. His overly large body looked ridiculous on the comparatively tiny bench.
Yet again, there was silence between the two, the only noise being the ocean rhythmically washing ashore in the distance. Just when Fareeha wanted to ask what all this was about, Reinhardt beat her to it. "There is something I need to tell you. I promised your mother I never would, but it needs to be said. You deserve to know."
"Ha. I like it already." Fareeha said dryly. She didn't get along with her mother. She never understood the woman either. The rational part of her realized that it may have been because she was still too young, , but it didn't help. Her mother was gone and what was left were the bad memories of neglect and 'more important things' her mom constantly had to do. What could possibly be more important than your own daughter? A lot of things, apparently. 'Duty first' was in the Amaris' bloodline,it was like the family's credo. Fareeha grew up to be little different. But she had always promised herself that, should the time one day come, she would always put her family first. Could be difficult considering who I am crushing on...
"It is about your father," Reinhardt said with small voice, his resolve quickly fading away. Was this right? Should he do this? He gave a promise to Ana, the woman he loved more than anyone in the world. He was honor-bound to make good on that promise. But those were different times-different circumstances, which drove them apart, reasons no longer valid, reasons that forced them into hiding what they shared. The crusader program was a thing of the past, it's rules and those who enforced no longer active, and Ana was dead.
"I like it even more now!" Fareeha's eyes lit up with such pure excitement that Reinhardt had to fight the tears quelling up in his eyes. His heavy heart was aching at the thoughts of what he missed because of what they thought was the only way. He wasn't there to see her grow up into the wonderful woman she was now. Ana didn't allow it. It was wrong. Fareeha's eyes and smile told him everything he needed to know and more.
He reached for her hand, taking it into his, despite knowing that her nerves still hadn't fully recovered. He was careful to not hold her too tightly.
His voice was quivering a little bit when he said what he promised would be left unspoken. "Your father, Fareeha, was a coward. He and your mother did something they weren't allowed and they were afraid of the consequences. He left your life before you were born for foolish reasons. Reasons your mother and he agreed on when they learned that she was with child. They justified this to themselves by saying it was for your protection and safety. But it was cowardice." He inhaled sharply, looking at the quizzical expression Pharah was giving him.
-/-
Flashback: 33 years ago, Germany, Eichenwalde, Crusader headquarters:
"You wanted to see me, your eminence?" Reinhardt asked as he entered the meeting room behind the throne's chamber inside castle Eichenwalde. Despite being ancient, the old fort was perfect as a base of operations for the crusaders, and not just because it was fitting to their style.
Three people were already present. The commander of the Crusaders, Balderich von Adler, wearing his glorious golden armor, was the one who stood out the most. Just like Reinhardt himself, the man towered over everyone else, his impressive stature only amplified by his glorious armor.
Standing next to Balderich and clad in crimson silk and velvet was cardinal Enrico Maxwell, his posture as arrogant as always. The cardinal was absolutely certain that God was standing behind him, shining his divine light on Maxwell's mortal form. The cardinal's face was slim, and his eyes, not hiding a tad of lunacy, were well inside his skull. His skin was grey and leathery on his bony hands and arms. The cardinal was here because the whole Crusader program, despite being a German military project, was funded by the Holy Church. Or more accurately, their top-secret special operations division was. Sector XIII was the official unofficial name, but everyone who knew about its existence called it the Iscariot Organization. The same people responsible for burning witches and for the crusades. They were religious extremists who believed that the existence of AI was pure blasphemy and that it had to be wiped off the face of earth. Needless to say, their power grew rapidly during the horrors of the Omnic wars when AI-controlled machines were slaughtering innocent civilians by the millions. The Iscariot Organization was more than willing to do anything to get rid of AI, even aid in the creation of supposedly sterile, genetically modified super-soldiers for the Crusader program. The holy church had vast resources at their disposal, which they threw at Iscariot to contain the whole chaos that was the first Omnic crisis. Cardinal Enrico Maxwell was the head of Iscariot and was also the one personally overseeing the Crusader program. Officially, his role was purely advisory, but he was also in charge of managing the troops, their training and their deployment.
The third person in attendance was a woman. She had dark black hair that reached almost down to her hips and light chocolate skin. Clad in a blue trench coat, worn over her light body armor, and a blue beret, she was sitting on the edge of the table with one leg, the other one still firmly on the ground. There was a prominent Overwatch insignia on her coat's shoulder, and she had a tattoo under her left eye. Ana Amari was the liaison officer from Overwatch; she coordinated the joint efforts of the Crusaders and the world's peacekeepers. She had been here for well over a year and was well-received by the troops as well as the higher ups, accepted by the former for her exceptional skills as a warrior and valued by the latter for her diplomatic talents. Everyone liked her. The soldiers especially fancied her unparalleled exotic beauty, despite relationships or any kind of affairs being strictly forbidden by the church.
Reinhardt glanced quickly at her, but she didn't acknowledge him past a professional nod. She never did when they weren't alone.
"I still fail to see why I should agree to this. You are a bunch of nonbelievers. And you, Miss Amari, I don't even want to know which gods you follow."
"And it doesn't matter either, your eminence," Ana replied with her best diplomatic voice. "I am informing you of this purely out of courtesy. The exchange was requested via formal routes by Commander Morrison and was approved by German high command. Must I remind you that this operation is only partly under command of the church? Lord von Adler has approved of my choice, which settles things in my eyes."
"Adler is under the command of the Iscariot Organization, the holy church and subsequently me," Maxwell insisted.
"Your eminence," Adler spoke up, his voice deep and raspy, "We should not needlessly complicate things. The exchange is a good idea, for it will bolster morale and faith all around the world. The absence of one of the crusaders is hardly going to have an impact on the war. Besides, Captain Amari is right. High Command has given us their orders. And they are righteous orders; don't forget that."
"Sir? May I ask what this is about?" Reinhardt spoke up, not sure what was going on.
"My son, you have been chosen for an exchange program. This infidel woman is taking you away to Overwatch, out of the glory of God's righteous army. I cannot believe this is happening. Balderich, you and I will have a serious talk about this... insubordination of yours," the cardinal declared. He then stormed off, leaving a baffled Reinhardt, an annoyed von Adler and a heavily sighing Captain Amari behind.
"I better see to it that he doesn't start a suicide mission in his anger. Have fun in Gibraltar, Rein. I wish I could go with you, enjoy beaches, beer and bitc- sunshine, but I can't. Instead I'm sending my best." Balderich shrugged, walking past Reinhardt, before turning around toward Ana. "M'Lady. A pleasant day," Adler said, and he was gone.
"Mind filling me in on what's going on?" Reinhardt turned to Ana, who had gotten up from the table and was walking toward an exit on the other side of the room.
"Take a walk with me, will you, muscles?" she said, leading the way, and Reinhardt followed without a question. Their walk was a long and silent one, leading them out of the complex structures of the castle, through some secret passages and out into the open.
Soon, they were deep in the forest surrounding castle Eichenwalde, at their usual spot. They had discovered this, their own small piece of Eden, a long time ago when they searched for a place to be alone. It was a small clearing in the forest. A beck flowed through it, and the birds were always singing beautifully. They set up a small bench here months ago so they wouldn't have to sit on the soft moss all day long. Now, Ana was sitting in Reinhardt's lap, the sun shining down on the two of them.
"You have been awfully quiet, meine Blume. What is bothering you?" Reinhardt asked, leaning back on the bench in the woods, enjoying the feeling of his secret fiancée snuggled up against his chest. They couldn't share a ring or anything, but their oath to each other, given three months ago, was still valid in their eyes.
"We have a huge problem," she said suddenly "A huge. Fucking. Problem."
"Oh?" Reinhardt frowned. "Did someone find out about us? I can deal with Maxwell, you know? Forbidden love my ass. Ha! He can have a taste of my hammer!"
"No. In comparison, that would be a minor inconvenience. Maxwell is an annoying pest, but that would be solvable." She said.
"Then what troubles thine mind, my fair maiden?" Reinhardt said, hoping that what usually cheered Ana up would work again. It didn't.
"How long has Iscariot tried to create a second generation of super-soldiers now? Ever since someone stole the formula and killed the head scientists? That was what? Ten years ago?"
"Ja. But they didn't get far. Only failures so far." Reinhardt chuckled. "Guess they regret not removing the side effect of the transformation that makes us sterile now." he couldn't help but laugh at the irony. It was deemed unimportant at the start of the program. Iscariot even managed to twist it into something positive. A true warrior knows neither love nor family. His mind is filled with thoughts about battle and prayers to the lord.
"Yes, except that you aren't sterile," Ana said plainly.
Reinhardt blinked. A second time. And again.
Impossible.
Confusion must have been written all over the knight's face.
"I'm pregnant, Rein." Ana clarified with a deadpan expression "And no, I did not sleep with anyone but you. It is yours."
Reinhardt was silent for what felt like an hour in which he tried to comprehend what was just told to him. Ana was pregnant. She was having his child. They would have a kid. A true family.
"That is wunderbar!" he cheered happily, jumping up from the bench and tossing Ana in the air, catching her and whirling her around once before sitting down again.
Ana looked at him with a mix of happiness and regret.
"I know you are happy," she said. "But it isn't wonderful. Not one bit. Think this through first. Do you have any idea what will happen should anyone ever find out whose child it is? What do you think Iscariot will do? Not only to you, but to the child? We are in deep, deep trouble. You think they would just see us off to maternity leave? Only three out of every ten people subjected to the genetic reprogramming survived the procedure; they didn't care. Do you think they would care about our child?"
"Scheiße," Reinhardt said, realizing that Ana was right. Of course she was; that was kind of her thing, being right. Iscariot would take the child away and use it to create a second wave of super soldiers with little to no concern for the kid's well-being. Their unborn child was in grave danger.
"That is why I sent you to Gibraltar. Everything is prepared there for your arrival. Morrison knows; we can trust him. He will help you. I will have to go for some time and take care of everything else. You will leave first thing tomorrow."
"Ana..." Reinhardt began seriously. "With taking care of everything, you surely don't mean..." he didn't dare to speak further.
"To abort the child?" Sorrow appeared on her face as she touched Reinhard's cheek with her warm hand. "Of course not! Are you crazy?! I want her just as much as you do! And I want her to live a happy, normal life far away from all this madness. But my love..." Ana looked at Reinhardt with a broken expression, the guilt of what she knew had to be done breaking her soul in half, "... that means she can never know who her father is. No one can ever find out. We have to think about something if this is going to work, and we have to do so fast. We'll have to separate, and I need to quickly find another partner for a while, someone I can claim is the father should need be."
"Ana..."
"No!" there were tears in Amari's eyes "Don't make this more difficult now, Rein! You want your child to live, don't you?" she almost screamed, her own desperation getting the better of her. Iscariot was powerful and their spies where everywhere. She didn't want to attack Reinhardt like this, but it was the only way she could cope with the pain in her chest, the desperation and the knowledge that the family they could have had would never be possible.
"Of course," Rein said mutedly.
"Then swear to me that you will never try to contact her. Never ever try to find out who she is. I love you, but... if we want our child to have a chance at a normal life... if we want our legacy to grow up like any other child... we can never see each other again. I have to take care of all the necessary preparations. Backstories and papers and..." she stopped "Spirits, I am so sorry! I don't want to leave you, but it is our only damn option. If Iscariot finds out about us... and soon my pregnancy will be showing! I can't..."
"You have nothing to apologize for," he said bitterly, trying to be strong. It needed to be done. His head knew this: Iscariot was too dangerous, the risk too high and the times too desperate. But his heart still broke in this moment.
"I love you, Reinhardt. You know I do. And I will be your wife for the rest of my life. Even if we can't be together."
The next morning Reinhardt was on a shuttle. Ana wasn't there to see him off.
The first time he saw his daughter was when Mercy called him into the infirmary to extract stem cells off his body. This day, he found out her name. Fareeha. She was having a horrible fever, but Angela refused to tell him more.
-/-
"God knows we were in panic. It was a hasty decision, Ana disappeared for years after that, and when she came back again, she wouldn't look me in the eyes anymore. And I couldn't either. At the time, Iscariot, the organization we tried to protect you from, was long dissolved. They were evil, Fareeha. Properly evil and the world realized this soon enough. The Apostolic See excommunicated them all a few years after the Omnic war ended, most of its members were imprisoned, some even executed. We were cowards." He inhaled sharply. "I was a coward. I should have protested when I had the chance, but I didn't."
"Reinhardt?" Fareeha perked up an eyebrow, but the German soldier just went on.
"I'm breaking the promise I gave to your mother all those years ago now. Fareeha, I am your father. I'm so sorry I couldn't tell you sooner. There was so much guilt, so many broken hopes and dreams between your mother and me, and so much self-hatred. I couldn't bring myself to tell you, and your mother... we couldn't look each other in the eyes anymore. We were ashamed for what we did. I was. And when things were slowly getting better, Ana was killed by our new guest..." Reinhardt stopped, letting go of his daughter's hand, waiting for her to show some reaction. Any reaction.
"I don't expect you to forgive me anytime soon. Or at all. But I want you to know. You deserve to know what happened, why it happened... and who I am. I should have told you years ago, but I always valued my promises. Stupid."
"So that was all my mother's idea?" Fareeha blurted,
Reinhardt answered, "We agreed on it. Our reasons were stupid; I realize that now. But we were scared, your mother and I, not only for our safety, but most of all for yours. We wanted you to have a normal life."
"A normal life?" Fareeha laughed painfully. "Yeah, what a normal life that was. Being neglected by my mother, not knowing my own father."
"I am so very sorry." Reinhardt said, sounding broken.
"Why were you not allowed to have a wife?"
"The church didn't allow it. Their rules said so."
"So you are a priest and a warrior?"
"No. Just a warrior. I used to live under a very strict codex. Parts of which I still value today. Not all was bad."
"And you are also my father?" she asked, looking him dead in the eyes.
"Yes. I am."
A long moment passed before Pharah smiled faintly, turning to look over the endless ocean in front of her.
"I know." She stated. Reinhardt was too stunned to say anything. "I think I always knew. There was this connection I felt toward you. It's strange to describe. But it makes a lot more sense now. This is good, I... well, I like the idea."
"I expected you to be very mad with me," Reinhardt admitted.
"No." Fareeha sighed "I don't think it's your fault. You did what my mother wanted. Everyone always did what she wanted. Her and her stupid games. She told me my father was dead, you know? That he was just some grunt she slept with one night and that he was KIA."
"Oh..." Reinhardt slouched his shoulders, looking defeated.
"Yeah. I'm just glad I get to know you, 'abi" she said and was happy. Her father was right in front of her ever since she had joined Overwatch.
Fareeha was happy.
-/-
Meanwhile, happiness wasn't exactly the most fitting word for Dr. Ziegler's mood. She was not happy. She was frustrated and close to outraged, a combination she experienced very rarely. Angela was, in fact, almost frustrated enough to simply ask Athena where Widowmaker had vanished off to. Almost. There was one place she would check before she would take this measure of invasion into someone's privacy.
If she wasn't there, and Mercy highly doubted she would be, then she would ask the Watchpoint's artificial intelligence for her aid. The doctor pressed the button of the elevator and stepped inside, waiting for it to carry her down into the basement.
After some moments of waiting, the doors opened again, the distinctive Bing typical of all elevators informing the occupants of the arrival at their desired floor sounding. The first thing Mercy noticed was that Torbjörn's workshop was completely empty. It was never completely empty. There was always someone who came to pick up new tech or who brought something that needed to be repaired.
But not today, apparently.
Mercy was about to turn around again and leave, when a gunshot boomed through the workshop.
Then, there was another one, followed by a third in rapid succession. It wasn't just any gunshot, either. Despite having heard that particular sound only once in her life before, Mercy knew immediately to which infamous weapon it belonged. Widowmaker's rifle. She heard it being fired during the escape in Diskon; it wasn't a sound she would quickly forget. Back then, the bullet was meant to take out McCree, who Widow thought would hurt Angela.
Mercy turned back on her heels again and stormed toward the shooting range. Yanking the door open, she found the reason why the workshop appeared empty. The shooting range was crowded with people watching something really interesting. Angela pushed people out of her way to get to the focus of everyone's attention. With a little distance from everyone else, there were Genji, McCree, and Torbjörn. They were standing around Amélie, who was just getting up from the floor, her rifle retracting into a more compact form.
"It would appear taking my bow against your rifle would, indeed, have been my last mistake," Hanzo said with a straight face, like he didn't really believe his own words.
"Let's not jump to conclusions just yet, shall we?" McCree adjusted his weathered hat, while Torbjörn was reading something off from a datapad.
"Well boys," he shrugged, "it seems we are all proven wrong. 5400 meters, three shots, three hits in a little over two seconds. She beat the Captain. You owe me 50 bucks, McCree."
"I call bullshit," McCree exclaimed, snatching the datapad from Torbjörn to read it himself, while Hanzo looked over his shoulder with a superior smirk on his small lips. "Well, I'll be damned."
Widowmaker just chuckled, deeply satisfied with the result, as she turned around. "I told you, cowboy, I don't miss. It's-" She froze in place with her eyes wide open, just like a little kid who got caught with the hand in the cookie jar. Amélie realized now why everyone was saying that the good doctor must never find out. The expression on her face was not amused. "Angela," Widow stated, the look of surprise quickly replaced by slight irritation due to the doctor's sudden presence. This was the second time that Mercy miraculously managed to sneak up on her. How did she do that all the time? To be fair, the first time, Widow had been in bed with her lover and rather concentrated on something else.
"Someone care to explain what's going on?" Dr. Ziegler asked, crossing her arms over her chest. The moment she made her presence known to the spectators, she had the undivided attention of everyone in the shooting range.
An awkward moment of dead silence passed.
"Err, you see, doc," McCree started. "We were thinking that..." he tried, but his brain didn't come up with anything useable. He quickly looked at Torbjörn, hoping for support.
"Yes, you see, I was wondering if maybe I could make some improvements to Widowmaker's rifle, but..." There, he also ran out of ideas, but Genji was there to at least try and save the already completely unbelievable story.
"But it didn't seem right to proceed with modifying someone else's property without their permission. Thus, we decided to involve the owner of the weapon in the process. Err..."
"What Genji wants to say is that the project is still young. We only started testing." Torbjörn finished, McCree nodding supportively.
Inwardly Mercy was sighing like never before. Why were her friends such morons? "I see. So you wouldn't mind telling me when you asked Amélie to help you with this? I can't remember anyone of you showing up in the infirmary."
Silence and awkward faces were all the doctor got as a reply.
Rolling her eyes she addressed the other person involved in all this. "Amélie?" she asked.
"They wanted to know if I could beat the previous record holder in distance shots. Apparently they made bets about it, I don't know. I'm just pulling the trigger again," she replied with a careless shrug. She couldn't have cared less if she got someone into trouble by telling the truth; she had no reason to cover anyone of them.
"Traitor," McCree muttered under his breath.
The fury was written all over Mercy's features. She was seething. Despite her usually calm temper and kind attitude toward everyone, Dr. Ziegler didn't take kindly to anyone getting one of her patients into trouble. No one wanted to be at the receiving end of her accusations when Mercy decided someone had overstepped a boundary. Now was apparently such a case, it showed clearly on her face. "Let me ask you, do you think it is adequate behavior for Overwatch agents and what I thought were men of honor to take advantage of a friend and patient like this?" she asked completely calmly. It made her even scarier. "By now you all know more than enough about Amélie to come to an educated decision. Yet your own stupid, childish curiosity managed to get the better of you, didn't it? You just had to bring her down here and let her shoot stuff. Did you at least ask if she even wanted to do this? Or did you just assume?"
Silence.
"I didn't object." Widowmaker replied. "I might have enjoyed the idea of a bit of... action." She said the last word almost with shame.
"Not objecting isn't agreeing, Amélie," Mercy sighed, shaking her head. "This isn't Talon where you aren't left with another choice." She reached out, took Widowmaker's rifle out of her hands and tossed it at Torbjörn before grabbing the French assassin's hand and dragging her off.
"You all might want to get your priorities straight. Getting her into trouble like that. And I'm not talking trouble from Morrison, but psychological trouble. What would you have done if she had reacted badly to the weapon, did you have a plan for that? You all know what Talon did to her; what if a hidden trigger had kicked in? And I swear to god, Jesse, if you pull your sixshooter as an answer now, I will make you swallow it. You bunch of idiots. What were you thinking?" Angela said loudly as she left the shooting range, not giving her friends the opportunity to reply to anything. Mercy didn't speak up until they were back inside the elevator again.
"Are you fine? Do you feel weird or is there anything you'd consider out of place?"
"I'm fine."
"All good? Did you experience some kind of rush during the shooting? Any kind of anger?"
"I'm fine, Angela. Thank you. It was nothing, really. Actually, it was kind of fun, to be honest," Widow said, a little ashamed. "Maybe I shouldn't have left without a word."
"You were bored, weren't you?" Mercy asked. "That's why you snuck out."
"You aren't mad?"
"Nein. I thought you'd run off sooner or later. Or at least try. I just thought I'd notice it sooner."
"Well, I'm the world's deadliest assassin for a reason," Amélie replied with a shrug, glancing briefly at Mercy. The doctor was worried for her; so much was obvious by now. "Besides... I needed to think about a few affairs."
"Oh? Like what?" Angela asked.
"Where I want to go from now on. What I want to do."
"I see." Angela said. "Anything you want to share with me?"
"I'd rather discuss this with Lena first," Widow replied.
The doctor smiled apologetically, feeling like she had intruded on something very private and personal, something that didn't concern her in the slightest. "Of course," she said.
"Doctor?"
"Mh?"
"You can let go of my hand now." Amélie said dryly. Mercy looked down at her hand, only now realizing that she had been holding Widow's in her own the entire time. She blushed a deep shade of red and immediately let go of the other woman.
"Entschuldigung," she managed, shoving her hand into the pocket of her white coat. Her mind quickly tried to find something to change the topic just to avoid awkward silence and proceed with talking about literally anything else.
"You know, if you're ever bored again, just tell me. I'm sure the two of us can come up with something to keep you busy. Something which doesn't involve rifles and still keeps you entertained," Mercy said, still sounding embarrassed. Widow smirked. She couldn't resist. It was too great an opportunity to let pass. She stepped a closer to Angela, so close she was almost touching the doctor's shoulder with her chest.
"That sounds like something Lena would say on... certain occasions." Widow basically purred that last part into Angela's ear, causing her to blush even more fiercely. Amélie was observing the wonderful reaction with the very definition of a smug grin on her lips. "I thought you weren't into girls. And I'm taken. How rude of you, Doctor Ziegler." She hummed, letting a hand run down Mercy's back, just to tease her further.
"N-Not that, y-you useless lesbian!" Angela squealed, surprised about the insult, herself.
Amélie took it with humor, laughing like she achieved some kind of personal goal. If that was making Mercy uncomfortable, the former assassin definitely got what she wanted. "This useless lesbian got you out of a lot of trouble, doctor," she stated with mocking dryness.
"I know that. Sorry, I really don't know where that came from, I didn't mean to-"
"You're cute when you're embarrassed, did you know that?" she said, backing off from Mercy and giving her some space. It was just teasing, after all.
"I... yeah... Lena told me as much before." Angela tried to catch her breath again.
"Of course she has." Amélie smirked as if she was up to no good, but apparently decided to not torment the poor doctor further. "So, am I in trouble?" she asked instead.
"For running off and breaking Morrison's rules? Nothing happened as far as I'm concerned. I don't think he has to know. Besides, Lena should be back soon. She is way better at keeping an eye on you," Angela replied, letting out a breath. Why was it apparently so enjoyable to wind her up? Damn, Amélie and Lena were almost too similar in that regard. They were both so good at it too; neither Tracer nor Widow needed more than a few words to get her completely flustered and blushing fiercely.
It wasn't fair.
They were always pushing the same buttons, insinuating things that clearly weren't there. Dr. Ziegler wasn't into girls.
Clearly.
She never had been.
No doubt about it.
"Did you beat Ana's record?"
Widow gave her a look that said more than a thousand words. "Pff. Please." She said easily, before suddenly becoming very serious. A very much unwelcome thought suddenly appeared in her mind, spawning out of nowhere. "Is it true that I killed her? I don't remember..."
"Amélie, don't burden yourself with the past, you can't change it now. It makes no difference"
"Did I? I need to know."
Angela looked away and replied in a whisper.
"Yes..."
-/-
Watchpoint Gibraltar, 0109 hours, private quarters of Commander Jack Morrison
Jack had long given up on tormenting himself about this particular habit. He filled the glass in front of him halfway with some chap-ass whisky. Wasting a quick thought about how Lena would probably have his head for drinking this piss, he reminded himself of the evening he spent with the ever-cheerful Brit down in the bar an eternity ago. He knew he didn't handle his liquor well; the little adventure he had experienced when trying to keep up with a considerably smaller and supposedly inferior Tracer proved as much to him.
That didn't mean he didn't like it, though. The booze was bringing a heavy tiredness with it, followed by a dreamless, uninterrupted sleep. It was what he needed the most. If the circumstances were different, he would have asked Dr. Ziegler for help, but he couldn't-she would ask questions he had no answer for, she would inquire about details that he could not share, and she would worry about something he could not change. He could never explain why he had trouble falling asleep and why his nights were filled with nightmares. The ghosts of the past didn't leave him alone. So many lives. They all were lost because of him, people sent to their deaths because of his orders or murdered with his own hands. But he had no choice, Morrison knew; someone had to do it. That didn't mean his decisions didn't haunt him.
Visions of Mei visited him almost every night since he had shoved her off that balcony in her lab. He would give everything to forget her face despite knowing that it needed to be done. Jack was perfectly aware of this. She needed to go. Her death was critical for success. But that it needed to be done didn't mean it was easy. The environmentalist had been a friend of his for many, many years. She was someone he had trusted until he found out what kind of information she had been forwarding and to whom. Now, she was dead. Morrison dreaded the thought of how many more would follow.
A lot. No question.
He just hoped their game panned out the way they wanted it to. It was a long shot, he was aware. But it was the only option they had. And they were so close already. So close. Soon, this nightmare would come to an end, and Morrison would finally be able to retire. He could feel it in his bones; they were on the last stretch. Or maybe it was just the exhaustion slowly getting the better of him. He was tired, so very tired. Tired of fighting, tired of pretending and lying. It just wasn't right. In the beginning he didn't envy Reaper and the job he had to do, but he at least didn't have to lie his friends' faces.
Not much longer and it would all be over, one way or the other. There wasn't a lot of time left. He really didn't need a reminder of that.
Elections of the new UN general secretary would be held soon, and, with them, the end of their mission would come-at least, if there was a change of the one in office, which seemed to be highly likely these days. Thiery Savant had somehow managed to gain massive support from the general public. But if he won that also meant that the mission would come to an end, should it not be done by then. At that point, pursuing the mission would be moot. Time would be up.
There was a deadline now.
He groaned, reaching for his glass and chugging the entirety of its content down in one gulp. The taste was bitter and cheap, but Morrison didn't care. He really didn't drink it for the taste; medicine never tasted good.
But this wasn't medicine. It was booze.
Still, to him, it was all the same.
Rubbing over his face tiredly, he left the glass on the counter and headed toward his bed. However, he would discover that his much awaited and highly desired sleep wasn't meant to be when the phone started ringing loudly, persistently demanding attention. Morrison reached for the device and put it to his ear.
"You have any idea how late it is?" Morrison yawned, feeling the effect of the alcohol on his empty stomach.
"Whatever," the voice on the other side growled. "I have something, and I swear to god, if I ever have to dig through that many files again, I will string someone up."
"You've done that plenty, already," Soldier: 76 deadpanned.
"Spoilsport. Anyway, here is what I found out. You remember when we talked about the mole we just had to have in Overwatch?"
"How could I forget? I've been going through the files over and over again, but I couldn't find a single problem. For a time I was actually looking at Ana Amari, but she turned up clean. Besides, she is dead. And Mei is already taken care of, so she can't leak anything anymore." Morrison sighed, again reminded of the Chinese environmentalist. She was the sole survivor of the tragedy in Antarctica. Being recovered a whole ten years after contact with the Ecopoint had been interrupted, the poor scientist was obviously having trouble getting back into society. Ten years of harsh winter, so bad and so brutal that no one managed to get through to the place. Or, at least, that was the official explanation. In reality, the place was simply forgotten after Overwatch was dissolved with the Petras Act. No one bothered to come and rescue the sole surviving inhabitant of the Ecopoint. It was a miracle the scientist was alive and kicking when someone eventually did bother to see what was left of the long-forgotten outpost deep inside Antarctica. Her colleagues weren't this lucky; they all died in their cryo-chambers. "Don't tell me you know who did it?"
"No. Unfortunately nothing that concrete yet. I don't have a name. But I have found multiple references in Talon documents. Way too many to be a coincidence," Reaper said plainly. "And it clearly suggests that the current head of Talon and the mole we have been searching for must be the same person, it can't be any other way. The intelligence leaked from Overwatch never registered as having any kind of source; it was implemented directly into working orders."
"So if we figure out the mole, we will figure out who the head of Talon is." Morrison said, shaking his head. "Easier said than done, I guess. Anything else?"
"There's something huge going on. Be on your guard, and have your people ready. That's all I can tell you." Reaper sounded tense.
"You know more, don't you?"
"I do. But you don't need to know that now. It would only raise suspicion. You'll have to find out on your own."
"I hate when you do that."
"We are playing weird games, brother."
"That we are. Take care."
-/-
A/N:
"Are you still writing?"
-Yeah, one second
"Non. Take a break. You have been at it nonstop for hours now."
-I'm telling your story here, Amélie. I want it to do you justice.
"You can finish that after dinner. Come on now. I cooked for you"
-You did?
"Oui. I did."
Alrighty boys and girls. Seems like this has to be all for today. Thank you all for all the attention, the love and the reviews and favs. It means so much to me that you all seem to enjoy this story so much. *bows*
Special Thanks to the three Angels again, this time with an addition of another Beta-reader. Ihaveacoolname is now supporting the team and is doing a great job so far, I think. EhMattissimo has a lot to do these days and I want to take some pressure off him. He is such a great guy and doesn't deserve to have me on his back all the time because of beta-reading stuff.
Anywaaaay, that's it from me now, I guess?
"Hey, patate, are you coming now?"
Yep, I am so gone now.
See you around guys
o7
E82
-/-
If you want to support me and my story, you can do so here:
tipeee com slash e82s-fanfiction
-/-
Translations:
meine Blume = (German) my flower
'abi = (Arabic) Father
mitt barn = (Swedish) My Child.
Entschuldigung = (German) Sorry!