A Sparrow with a Pen

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Green fields. Grasses that came up to your waist, that were so soft and pliable walking through them was wading through a sea of softness. It moved in waves too, delicate and welcoming, promising none of the dark dangers lurking beneath even the shallowest of seas. Oh, there were other threats, but not in these grasses, not that you could sense. There was nothing but delicate brushes against your sides as you stepped towards- the empty kitchen rooms. Suddenly brought to your senses by a now familiar scent. Angela Zielger smelled of soap and antiseptic. So strongly that you could smell her around a corner or know that she had been in a room. It wasn’t a harsh smell, just a notable one, and whenever you crossed her path you were snapped back to the present. It wasn’t unpleasant it was just, strange. You rarely came back to yourself so quickly. The present didn’t hold any more glamour than the past. But Dr. Ziegler crossed your path and, there you were. Here and now.

It was weird.

“Oh, you’re back! Angela said you weren’t in here.” Brigette grinned, shoving in another cart of paint. 

“I was looking for…” You paused and tried to catch the thought. Brigette kept her eyes on you, nodding encouragingly. 

“Hm. Oh, did I order the stoves yet?” You walked to the plastic table you were working off of and grabbed your tablet. They weren’t in the hangar when you went to look for them. And then you got distracted remembering the mid-afternoon walks you used to take when you lived out in the prairies. It was so quiet out there. You have spent so much time alone. It used to be much easier, when they were fewer people, and fewer eyes to keep you from wandering into the wilds. Nature was never opposed to hosting myths in its presence.

“Yeah, you and Reinhardt were trying to figure out whether or not we needed a flat top. We were having sandwiches at the cliffside?” As she spoke the memory floated through your mind. The bread had been freshly baked, and Reinhardt was so tall his shadow kept the sun off of you. You nodded and checked the tracking numbers.

“They’re coming tomorrow, right. Thank you Brigette.”

“Anytime. We’re painting now though right? Unless these are for the bathrooms.” Brigette popped open a can and you shook your head.

“No, that’s for here. I don’t think we should use the same color for the bathrooms.” You pried open the top of one of the cans, admiring the gentle yellow color.

“I’d like a light blue. Maybe grey.”

“A lot of things are grey.” Clouds, fog, ashes, fur, sidewalks, cars, stones, the sky when a storm is rolling in, the inside of a hospital room echoing with the sound of wet coughs and the smell of copper. You blinked and wiped the first broad stroke of yellow on the wall. Sunlight, lemons, butter, egg yolks, topaz, dozens of topaz, all sitting on a gold chain braided into ornate knots.

“Yeah?”

“It’ll be the trim. Blue walls, grey trim. Thank you Brigette.” Painting walls always went so fast for you. One moment the wall was bare and the next it was painted, bright and beautiful and strongly scented. It made you dizzy but just a little bit. Mostly you were pleased that everything turned out right. That you finished a job and the world was now changed. How many permanent changes had you left behind. If you couldn’t remember them then were they real? Did it really happen, was there anything behind you at all? You know you’d been there. That as much felt true. You knew you didn’t grow up with electric bulbs or iron stoves. No paved roads or cobblestone streets. It was hard to remember that far back though. It felt like sinking. Falling. Tumbling. 

“Hey- You done with that wall?” Brigette squeezed your shoulder, but you couldn’t muster a response beside a glazed over blink. Part of you wanted to replace her face with anothers, one who always wore a blue headscarf. The other part wanted to work with her to drag you back to the presence.

“There you two are. I figured you’d be here when I got back.” Dr. Ziegler’s voice was a bright anchor to force your memories back where they belonged. You nodded at Brigette, putting down your paint roller and rubbing the ache from your previously clenched fingers. You tried your best to avoid thinking about your childhood. You knew there was one, but looking that far back was a bad idea. Especially without anyone who could pull you back telepathically. A shame there weren’t any vampires willing to sit with you while you dove down deep. The only ones of any significant age just happened to be incredibly annoying.

“Is everything alright?” The doctor was at your other side before you had time to register her moving. She gently hooked her fingers under your chin, tilting your face towards her so she could stare into your eyes. You found your words caught up, tangled between her fingertips. Part of you noticed Brigette out of the corner of your eye, scooting away from the two of you and heading towards the door.

“I- Yes, yes sorry, the fumes. Spent, all day painting I probably need to go for a walk.” You were surprised a complete sentence came out of your mouth. Your attention was completely on the present, completely on her, but your ability to form coherent thought was still well and thoroughly out the window. Not that it spent much time with you as it was. Still, you would have appreciated its assistance when she was so close and her hands were so soft. Her fingers lingered under your chin a moment longer than necessary before she smiled and withdrew.

“A walk would be lovely. Along the cliff?”

“Yeah… that would probably be nice. Not too cold at this time of day.” But just cold enough to help you snap yourself back into some sort of functionality. You didn’t particularly like being a babbling wreck. A forgetful wreck was enough.

“Perfect, let’s go.” She caught you off guard again, hooking her arm through yours and dragging you out of the freshly painted dining hall. The scent of chemical paint was quickly wiped away by the familiar sea salt air and the faintest combination of soap and antiseptic. The sky was overcast, rain waiting on the horizon, the wind whispering of harsh waves and scattered flocks of birds. You could feel the energy in the air. It tasted like light on the tip of your tongue. You loved a good storm. There was a great deal of peace to be had standing in the middle of a raging storm.

“Huh, not as lovely as I thought it might be… Oh, I take it you like this kind of weather?” Dr. Ziegler smiled at you. 

“It’s so much easier to focus in the middle of a storm.” Honesty was easy when you were so excited. Even the youngest, weakest of your kind could feel alive with so much energy in the air. The stirring winds and shocks of lightning lit up your senses. It danced on the edge of your awareness, just close enough for you to lock onto it but not close enough that you could drink it in just yet. Your brightest memories were centered around storms. That moment on the ship with your hands clasped with hers, promising her that despite her fear of the waves and winds that everything was going to be perfectly okay. She had nothing to fear at your side, and she responded to that promise by wrapping you both in that oversized velvet shawl of hers and burying her face in the crook of your neck. That silly thing.

There are a lot of different kinds of love. Romantic. Familial. Platonic. There’s love that makes you want to go cliff diving and plunge into the cold ocean and love that makes the world feel steady. You didn’t know if you loved Reaper. You could, someday. Or maybe you loved him now and just didn’t want to admit it. Life seemed to love pulling the rug out from under your feet whenever you found any kind of comfort and stability. Wouldn’t it be the way of things if you decided that you loved him only for everything to come crashing down on you, the way it always did? It was easier to say that you didn’t know. That you appreciated him, that you liked his attention, that you liked his time, that you liked the way he found you only to pull you into his arms and stand like that for a few brief moments before letting you go on with your day. Maybe it was fear, then, that kept you from saying that you wanted him at your side at all times. Not just when you desperately needed it. But always. Even when things were okay.

Part of you was afraid to love him, afraid of that every interaction with him was the sea receding from the shore and preparing to drown you in a wave of whatever secrets he kept. The other part of you wanted to just love without fear consequences be damned. But you were scared. A lot of the time. All the time. You hadn’t been completely free from worry since… Well. Overwatch.

It was easier to double down on your hunt for overwatch’s traitors than it was to look at who you’d become, wasn’t it? Easier to take Sombra’s call and get onto another Talon jet and lean back with a glass of wine in one hand and a tablet in the other. The manor was a couple thousand square feet of unnecessary, all imported wood floors and hand laid mosaics. Situated just close enough to loom over their neighbors but with a tall brick fence trimmed in painfully sharp looking iron decorations. Cameras everywhere, a private security force, with a plentitude of incredibly nosy neighbors looking to get over on whoever they could.  It was a challenge. Not the sort of job you would regularly take for the sake of your reputation. But the woman in question was throwing a party, and you weren’t one to pass up the opportunity to spice up the parties of the rich and boring.

Getting in wasn’t a problem. Talon could provide false identities at the drop of a hat. Another new name on top of the thousand others you had put on and thrown away. Maybe you would throw away Wrath too. Be nothing more than a face and the lingering smell of charcoal. For now you were a bright smile, expensive clothes, and a glass of the most expensive chardonnay available. It was awfully nice of your host to provide you with good snacks before you murdered them and ruined their big social event. There’d been plenty of people who hadn’t even put out a bottle of water before you scorched them into the ground. The most you’d ever gotten is a half-stale bag of forgotten pita chips, and those just made good kindling.

You were relaxed. Comfortable. Confident. You were in her house. You knew where her car was, where her helicopter pad was, where her panic room was. You knew how long it would take you to disable all three if you were so inclined. A shame the back up generator was so very exposed. It would have been smart to tuck it away in the panic room but then it wouldn’t look like such a luxurious little lounge now would it? Can’t ruin the aesthetic.

A shame you were just here to murder and destroy. You somewhat craved the game of creeping right in front of someone’s face, stealing all of their little secrets. Craved the pleasure of smiling at someone while you walked right out the front door with an armful of everything they wanted to keep hidden. Maybe you could find something anyway. If you were just going to destroy it all there couldn’t be much harm in taking your pick of whatever made it through the fire. There was really a shortage of pretty things that could withstand being caught up in a raging inferno and that was a crime against you, specifically. 

You wandered down the hallways, smiling at passersby who were also passing judgement on the decor. It was sterile, bordering on artificial. Perfect modern walls in the lightest shade of blue they could get away with while still claiming the walls weren’t white. They were blue, of course, trimmed in white molding and dotted with paintings that bordered on monochrome themselves for a ‘splash of color’. Lots of vocal points with nothing to say. There was one piece that you liked, a glass sculpture in shades of red, orange, and yellow. Bittersweet and full of regrettable memories. But you liked it nonetheless. Lingered in front of it while you barely touched the still full glass that was starting to go a little warm. You sighed and took it down in a single drink, leaving the glass empty next to the little sculpture.

As you left a hand clasped around your mouth, and a much stronger hand gripped one of your arms, dragging you into a small storage closet. Which was bad for them. You calmly raised your hand to theirs, scorching them for just a second before they tore away from you with a muffled curse. You spun and slammed your hand into their throat. A ball of fire burst to life in your other had, revealing an unimpressed looking McCree pointing to his throat.

“Do we have to do this.”

“I dunno McCree. Did you have to drag me into a dark room?”

“I didn’t want to risk making a scene. What are you doing here?”

Oh yeah. Dragging someone into a room definitely wasn’t making a scene. He was lucky the hallway was empty and that you weren’t ready to spring your trap on the target just yet. You wanted to make sure she was caught in a corner when everything went up. You slowly released McCree’s neck and took a step back. He didn’t need to know that.

“Can’t I have a social life?”

“You don’t have to lie to me. You’re here for Talon, why?”

“What I do and why couldn’t be less your business. Why don’t you tell me why the fuck you’re here. This isn’t your scene.” You kept the fire dancing in your hand, staring more at the flames than him. You were curious. He was never a player who enjoyed dressing up and stealing with a smile. So if he was here than there was something interesting. Unless he was here to save this woman’s life, but why would he. She betrayed him as much as you. She sold out all of Overwatch for the sake of a life in the fast lane. There was nothing to gain in protecting a traitor.

“I need something. A key, looks like a flash drive. For Echo.”

“Echo… the omnic?” Needed a key? You’d never met her yourself. But the way McCree was looking, she was important.

“It’s… Can you help.”

“What? Like. How.”

McCree gave you a withering look, leaning against the wall of the closet with one arm crossed over the other. You immediately put up your hands to stop him. You knew what you said. You also knew what you meant by it. You didn’t need any of his sass.

“I mean. What do you need done.”

A smile. “I need to find out where it’s being kept, might need help getting it if it’s in a safe. You can burn through metal right.”

“I didn’t say I was going to help you!” You snapped. But he just grinned and you flicked a harmless spark his way. You were going to help him. Why not? You were going to burn this place down and kill a woman anyway, might as well get your fix of subterfuge by stealing from her first. But you really didn’t want your face tied to McCree. If you were going to end up on police watchlists it was going to be for your own selfish gain, not for another spontaneous outburst of charity.

“Thanks, I owe you one Smokes-”

“Don’t call me that!”

“Sorry, sorry. I’ll meet you in the office. Don’t want to ruin your reputation right?” He winked and opened the door to the closet, motioning you out. You fought to wipe the snarl from your face as you walked out into the hallway. Anger was just as good as wearing a spotlight at parties like this. You put on your calmest, most pleasant smile, found a glass of champagne, and began to wander your way towards the stairs.

There were guards everywhere. Just enough to make getting up the stairs in any kind of subtle fashion impossible. If you tried just burning them all to death you risked your actual target getting spooked and running away. You wanted her to run to the panic room if she was going to run anywhere and that was unlikely if her guards were piles of ash in her hallway. You knew from your prep work that climbing up the outside windows would get you unwanted attention from the guests in the gardens and the neighbors next door with their faces plastered to their bedroom windows, pretending to sneer at their neighbors frivolity while they desperately want to be invited.

A smile slowly spread over your face. You knew of a very easy way to lure the guards from the stairs. It would put McCree’s business on a time limit but he deserved that sort of stress. You could get an easy out, falling into the chaos.

Your target was in a large, open living area. She stood next to a fireplace, silly thing, a bottle of wine in her hand. Her dress close to the thin glass that sheltered her from the fire.

Was it subtle? No. Was it a brilliant flash of fire that swarmed over her and then down over the carpet? Yes. Could you, an innocent bystander, who screamed and ran for a fire extinguisher, be blamed? Well that would just be silly. The fire extinguisher was quickly ripped from your hands and you were sent out of the room with the rest of the guests as the screams died down and the fire began to spread. It was enough of a distraction to clear your way to the stairs and keep all eyes from you.

“That’s a lot of screaming.” McCree eyed you as you slipped into the office, content with yourself.

“I got my job done, now time for yours.” You shrugged, “Where’s the safe? Oh also I set the house on fire.”

“Oh? Really? That’s new.” McCree pushed a button beneath the desk, causing one of the bookshelves to swing wide. She couldn’t even hide it somewhere interesting. Like underneath the floor, or disguised in plain sight. You weren’t really one to talk though you wouldn’t pass up the chance for a hidden bookshelf safe. You slowly dragged your hand down along the keypad panel, a small line of white hot flame cutting into the metal. Luckily it wasn’t one of the trapped safes. You would’ve needed to call Sombra in if you saw the tell tale branding and the last thing you wanted was her smug face when you tried to pretend you weren’t helping Jesse Fucking McCree.

“You know… Winston put out a recall.”

You raised your eyebrow and glanced his way while you dragged your flame to complete the circle, popping the keypad out of place. “Did he? Isn’t that illegal.”

“You work for Talon.”

“Figured Winston was above breaking the law.” You shrugged, tossing the metal piece aside and holding a barely warm flame towards the opening. The safe was filled to the brim. McCree moved to your side and searched for just a second before immediately grabbing a small white box.

“That’s what we’re for, right?” McCree opened it, smiling warmly at the contents, “That’s why I’m rescuing Echo; Winston needs help.”

You frowned, “What, are you going to tell me he needs some firepower?”

“I figured I’d leave the puns to you. Talon aint you. This is you, doing the right thing, even if it’s the wrong way.”

“Like you ever knew me.” You were distracted. Part of you wanted to get angry and start throwing sparks his way. The other of you was aware of the way your other fire was growing, how easily it fed on the art and tapestries that filled the house. There wasn’t time for arguing, not really. The both of you should be moving. You shoved him towards the door, pointing to the smoke already slipping through the cracks.

“I always thought we were friends. The only thing we ever argued about was her.” McCree said it with venom. He raised his serape to cover his face and lead the way out of the office.

“Friends? You thought I was the mole!” You snapped, tunneling heat to give yourself some sort of protection from the smoke. You were fireproof, not airborn chemical proof. Moira would take care of it one day.

McCree paused on the stairs, giving you the first angry look you’d seen on his face since, since Overwatch really. But he said nothing. Instead he just lead the way outside, leading you through a small hole in the backyard fence that led out into the tiniest alleyway, right onto the street. You covered your face now. Smoke inhalation could be fixed but cameras seeing you would be a problem. The two of you slipped out of the neighborhood without a trace. Just like old times. You ended up in a small darkened park watching the night sky lit up by the rising flames of an uncontrolled fire. The houses being so close together was a poor decision in the end.

“I never thought it was you, that was bullshit and I argued against it.” McCree snarled, angry not at you but at… at your bosses. Old, bosses. 

“It didn’t make sense. You never lied, ever. About anything, except maybe your feelings about Reyes but even then your lies were weak. Your only contacts were internal. I tried Arson. I tried so damn hard and you know what, I left. There were a lot of reasons that I wrote down that day, and there’s stuff I can’t tell ya. But I know it wasn’t you.”

He had you speechless for a moment. All these years you were angry at your friends for not sticking up for you, but the one man you didn’t consider a friend was the one who did.

“I’m… I’m sorry.” You leaned on a tree. Stared at your feet for a bit. For someone who worked in intelligence you were real damn wrong. At least being an asshole wasn’t a surprise to you; you were quite familiar with the role. McCree snorted and ruffled your hair.

“Don’t be, you were screwed over. But things are different now. The world’s on the brink and it needs us to do something about it. You could be a tide turner.”

“... What if Winston doesn’t agree with you though. What if he doesn’t want me involved. I mean. I’ve spent over a year working for Talon, if you don’t count everything I’ve done for Vishkar.” Not that you were considering it. You were comfortable where you were, not being the good guy. And even if Overwatch was reforming it would be Overwatch, not Blackwatch. There wouldn’t be a place for you unless they met to have you on barbeque duty. Sure they could put you in combat but, you weren’t an angel or a flash of blue light. You were roaring flame. And how long would it take to connect your powers with the underworld?

“He wants you there, trust me. I’ve got things to do but, I’ll meet up with you back at Gibraltar. We’ll see things fixed.”

“I didn’t say I was going.”

A smug smirk, a tip of his hat, and McCree started walking away. You built up a quick fireball that fizzled out as a thought hit you. One that was far more important than fucking with the people you knew contributed to Overwatch’s fall. One that was personal.

“McCree. Who do you think it was then.”

“Partner… You know who I think it was.” He kept walking, didn’t look back. He was wrong of course. Just the same old feelings coming back. There wasn’t evidence there… and you didn’t want to look. Because if you did you would be completely alone. Left to consume yourself to cinders with no one to tell you that everything was going to be okay. Or, rather, without anyone to shake her head calmly and make you drink water until you calmed down. To let you lay about in a lab while you whined about things that, to her, meant nothing. You needed your best friend.

The necklace around your neck was white gold. A chain so fine that it felt like silk, soft and sublime. And at its apex? Diamond. More blue than the sky itself. It was lab created but you could never understand why people were so hung up on natural diamonds. Nature had created some lovely things, you could admit. But humans could do it better. Humans could adjust the hue of a rose to make it soak up the colors of the sunset. Humans could make a gemstone perfect at the drop of a hat. Humans could take nature and perfect it. Nature was the raw material. Humans were the artisans. It’s just how the world worked and you were just the type of person who could embrace it.

Your philosophy was how you ended up the best dressed at every single function. Flawless hair dyed to match the color scheme of your outfit. A stand-out drop dead look that got every pair of eyes on you and kept them there. Like they should be, really. You put in the work and effort and money to look better than all the so called art they had hanging on these walls. 

You could go the more traditional route. Simple, clean lines. All black. Thin gold jewelry that was just enough to reveal that you were, in fact, wearing jewelry but not enough or you would be gaudy. But you would rather die than be another boring mannequin lining the halls of this museum gala. You were there to be seen. Besides, that was your job. You couldn’t make connections and gain names if they didn’t notice you from the moment you entered the room. A lot of brokers thought your gaudiness made you weak, but a lot of brokers weren’t at this party now where they.

In fact, you might be the only one there. 

Although that might be your willingness to work with whoever was interested in giving you something that you wanted. Usually, you could be bribed with fashion, you wouldn’t lie. That didn’t mean that you didn’t enjoy cash. But if one hand was offering you their wallet and the other hand was offering you a one of a kind beautiful watch on top of the money well. How were you supposed to resist? It was good business and good looks. If people were going to pay for the contacts you could give them they really ought to be paying you in glitter and glam. It was only right. It was only what you wanted.

There was a particular omnic who never failed to catch your eye, or reward your attention. Maximillien. The only person here who could possibly come close to competing with your network. Not that he was competition. No, he had bought your friendship quite literally. Gold, valuables, new cars, new houses, anything you wanted. He paid handsomely and at this point you considered yourself on retainer. If you were going to do a favor for anyone it would be him.

He was waving you over from across the room. The person he was talking to didn’t even turn to look where he was waving. Taller than most, that was interesting. The black suit would be boring if it didn’t serve to emphasize the shocking red of the hair. Was that natural? Dyed? It was a good choice regardless. No one else here had red hair like that. It was unique. Lovely. A lean profile set into an iron spine. There was nothing delicate or ethereal about the figure you were gazing at. They were strong, and powerful, and definitely had your attention. Not for very long, black suits are boring, but long enough to have the chance to say something interesting. Anything interesting.

“My friend, it’s no surprise to see you here.” Maximillien started his routine as soon as you were in earshot. He didn’t need to but you weren’t going to stop him. You did like to hear compliments about yourself and you would do what he wanted after he was done. But compliments first.

“Maximillien, a pleasure. Who’s your friend?” You shook his hand and turned to face his associate. And found your breath taken away.

Those eyes. You’d never seen anyone with heterochromia before and certainly not heterochromia like this. They were, amazing. One of them was the brightest crimson red you’d ever seen. Such a vivid and striking color, not unlike blood but far brighter. Far more beautiful. The other the most beautiful shade of blue. Like idyllic clear water or electric lights. No, no. These eyes were shocking neon. New and bright and singular and unique. Amazing. You were rarely stunned silent but you found yourself forgetting languages.

“This is Dr. Moira O’Deorain, she’s a colleague of mine. I was just telling her about you and how much the two of you would get along. It looks like I was right.” Maximillien chuckled. You blinked yourself out of your stupor to shake her hand, almost falling back into wide eyes and parted lips when she laughed herself. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Doctor. A-are you um, sorry, do you, do medical research or are you more hands-on?” Wait that’s not, fuck, that’s not how you meant to ask. But she’s laughing and you’re charmed.

“I’m a geneticist, though I do practice medicine from time to time. I tend to focus on genetic modification. There’s always ways to improve ourselves, don’t you think?”

Oh. No wonder Max thought the two of you would get along. Your focus slid into place amongst the dazzle. You smiled at her and nodded, not bothering to hide the way you leaned forward in interest. This was the only thing you cared about. Someone who understood the chase for perfection, unattainable as it was.

“Tell me more.”

“It would be my pleasure. I’ve long thought that traditional medicine is failing us on a critical level. Law and regulation and morality are all roadblocks to real progress. I’m interested in seeing humanity grow. There’s so much we can do with the smallest tweaks to genetic information, and that’s where I focus my attention. Supported of course, by Maximillien, amongst others.” You hung on her every word. Wished you were hanging on her arm too. There was the opportunity. A garden stroll was better suited for conversation than a crowded ballroom.

The reason I scrapped it was because I thought there were conflicts with deadlock’s structure. 

It implied, Super Heavily, like almost directly but not quite, that reader is the one who blew up McCree’s arm, but the two teamed up because another ‘leader’ in deadlock was doing shit that reader decided crossed a line. Reader was in on it in order to begin a takeover of deadlock but, as these things go, it was gonna change.

Green fields. Grasses that came up to your waist, that were so soft and pliable walking through them was wading through a sea of softness. It moved in waves too, delicate and welcoming, promising none of the dark dangers lurking beneath even the shallowest of seas. Oh, there were other threats, but not in these grasses, not that you could sense. There was nothing but delicate brushes against your sides as you stepped towards- the empty kitchen rooms. Suddenly brought to your senses by a now familiar scent. Angela Zielger smelled of soap and antiseptic. So strongly that you could smell her around a corner or know that she had been in a room. It wasn’t a harsh smell, just a notable one, and whenever you crossed her path you were snapped back to the present. It wasn’t unpleasant it was just, strange. You rarely came back to yourself so quickly. The present didn’t hold any more glamour than the past. But Dr. Ziegler crossed your path and, there you were. Here and now.

It was weird.

“Oh, you’re back! Angela said you weren’t in here.” Brigette grinned, shoving in another cart of paint. 

“I was looking for…” You paused and tried to catch the thought. Brigette kept her eyes on you, nodding encouragingly. 

“Hm. Oh, did I order the stoves yet?” You walked to the plastic table you were working off of and grabbed your tablet. They weren’t in the hangar when you went to look for them. And then you got distracted remembering the mid-afternoon walks you used to take when you lived out in the prairies. It was so quiet out there. You have spent so much time alone. It used to be much easier, when they were fewer people, and fewer eyes to keep you from wandering into the wilds. Nature was never opposed to hosting myths in its presence.

“Yeah, you and Reinhardt were trying to figure out whether or not we needed a flat top. We were having sandwiches at the cliffside?” As she spoke the memory floated through your mind. The bread had been freshly baked, and Reinhardt was so tall his shadow kept the sun off of you. You nodded and checked the tracking numbers.

“Tomorrow, right. Thank you Brigette.”

“Anytime, we’re painting now though right? Unless these are for the bathrooms.” Brigette popped open a can and you shook your head.

“There are so many bathrooms… No, yes, we’re painting here. Now. Thank you. ” You picked up a roller and headed to prime a wall, preparing it for bright colors that were easy to clean. You didn’t think that Overwatch was going to be filled with mercenaries who threw their leftovers at the walls but there were always incidents and you didn’t want anything that couldn’t just be wiped up. You couldn’t count the number of times you’d abandoned a property because of messy walls and you weren’t ever going to try. And it was far less practical to abandon an entire military base than it was to abandon multiple farmhouses. And one apartment in France. But in your defense there was also a war going on. Lots of people left France because of wars and forgot to come back to collect their things. A visit to France would be nice, come to think of it. There wouldn’t be anything left but that wouldn’t stop you from seeing it anyway.

“Was Dr. Ziegler looking for me?” The thought came to you suddenly, with the stripe of fresh new color against the white primer. Crisp. Brilliant.

“She didn’t mention it, but you could always go visit,” Brigette smiled, a glint in her eyes. It would be nice. The doctor was good company in most cases. But the longer you spent with her the more you would risk both revealing your secret and embarrassing yourself. Actually if you thought about it, that was really the same thing. Dr. Ziegler didn’t strike you as the type of person to believe in legends even if you made her clipboard float around her head. She wouldn’t laugh at you but certainly wouldn’t believe you. You were willing to be many things to many people but no one would call you a liar.

;4; !!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!