Dèjá Vu

      the doctor had watched the young agent, her eyes blinked softly. ❝If you need any assistance out there, just holler.❞ a smooth chuckle came from angela as she sat back against the seat. almost like old times, huh? her hands would’ve rest in her lap. ❝But anyways, Lena-❞ a pause came from her as she turned fully towards her.

❝I hope you’re doing well.❞ angela spoke towards the brunette, a leg crossing over the other- her gunmental blue eyes fixing onto her.

@joyeuxe / lo

Lena was absolutely in her elemented, draped against the seat like a stylish gay jacket on a stylish gay coatrack. “No worries love, and feel free to call me if you need the cavalry to come save ya,” she offered back with a clear and happy hundred watt smile. So good to be back.

With the patience and steadiness of a saint Dr. Ziegler carefully moves the dripper closer to the pallet of red blood cells she was looking at from under a microscope. Her careful observation would help her determine how many droplets of venom she should be placing inside the dish, but that concentration was interrupted with a familiar voice whining for her on the other side of the nearby door. 

A soft gasp escapes the woman as her fingers pinch the end of the tube harder than anticipated, spilling all of the venom inside of it. The experiment was a bust now and she’d have to try it again later. For the slightest second Angela grits her jaw in frustration, but the whining on the other side of the door ends up lifting her spirits and brings an amused smile on her face.

The latex gloves are quickly removed and discarded and her protective eyewear is moved to rest on her head as she opens the door, expecting Lena to be doing something silly. Maybe she was just another concerned teammate who wanted to see Angela out of a damn office or lab and get some sun and social interaction.

That was not the case. 

“Lena? What are you- Meine Güte! Meine Liebste, what did you do?!” There was an excessive amount of blood and Angela doesn’t even want to risk looking behind the shorter woman to see what kind of crimson trail she left behind her. “Inside! Quickly! Lena, Darling, how did you manage this?” The pout on the other woman’s face really was pitiful, and Angela really couldn’t help but to smile at how odd the situation was. Already she was moving to get a medical kit set up to help Lena, all while she was waiting for an explanation. 

Lena was uncharacteristically quiet, just severely pouting as the doctor led her inside. Thankfully, the trickle of blood was at least somewhat stemmed by the clutch with which she held her left thumb, not that it alleviated her mood in any way whatsoever. She took a moment to collect herself a bit; being around Angela was a huge comfort, but, she was just so upset!

She’d been trying to do something nice and she’d just given Angela more work.

Gods, the pout was so strong, it even tinged the timbre of her voice.

“I was - I wanted to make you sushi because I heard you talking about it before and you said that you never really got the chance to eat out like that anymore because you’re always so busy and I was looking up youtube videos on how to make sushi and I went out and I got like really fresh fish and sticky rice and three different kinds of seaweed because I didn’t even know what kind I was supposed to get and I made the sticky rice like 3 times because at first it was just a glob but then I burned it but I finally got it perfect and I had it all rolled up and it was kind of ugly but it was going to be sushi but - my phone rang and I got distracted and I turned my hand into sushi too...”

It was kind of a funny ramble, really; like the way a child will explain themselves to a parent when they’re really upset, with run on sentences and over explanations. Usually, Lena didn’t act the child; she was happy, but that wasn’t childish. But trying to do something nice for a friend you admired very much and only giving them more work made her pouty indeed. 

With a wince, Lena carefully let go of her thumb; the slice was deep in the web of flesh between the base of her thumb and her palm, the blood beginning to thicken and slow due to the pressure she had put upon it - unfortunately, it had been a small artery that was nicked, so it did need a bit of looking after.

For perhaps the first time in too many weeks things had finally felt that they had once again reached some level of normalcy. Arcade had been at least momentarily pleased with the fact he was simply finally able to breathe, where he wasn’t having to memorize necessary rules and locations - especially the ones particularly off limits to non-agents - or step on any toes of people he hadn’t wholly had the proper opportunity to meet yet. Some people took to that sort of life like the proverbial duck to water. Him? Not nearly as much.

Perhaps that was a crying shame to some degree when one considered the man’s lineage, but he preferred to avoid that as much as possible.

Little did the man actually realize that he was being observed. He’d dipped into this little coffee shop due to its close proximity to where he would need to be later, and it was good to at the very least pretend that things hadn’t been an absolute shitstorm as of late. A nice cup of warm coffee and his data computer were before him, the good researcher occasionally plinking as it as he confirmed the state of where he’d last left off his own work.

Hmmm… nothing new.

Then again, he was rather on the side of used to no viably new results - it was the nature of the beast after all. One or two successes in amongst the scatterings of numerous failures..

It was this distraction that kept him from realizing that anyone was actually approaching. Thankfully for both their sakes he’d just resettled the mug down after taking a drink, and had just been prepared to input a few sequences when the touch on his arm startled him back to some better form of reality.

His head turned away from his work, brows knitted together in realistic confusion and… and oh. Oh. He actually recognized this woman, whoops. “I’ve seen you around.. from work.” A jerk of his head slightly, deliberately keeping it at least somewhat vague. Who knew who was listening in after all, given the fact they were in a very public location as well. “But I don’t believe we’ve had the opportunity to speak to one another yet. I’m Arcade.”

Meanwhile he was definitely attempting to place who exactly this one was, hooboy. The archer had striven to given him a brief lowdown on everyone he would likely encounter at some point, but he hadn’t had the opportunity to actually meet many of them due to varying reasons. Her accent certainly helped to narrow things down though - he couldn’t recall it being said there were many Brits running around.

Lena’s curious and rapt expression melded into one of absolute joy and charm, the slight tension in her body settling into an easy stance as she took a little step back to regard him in full. That was the new boy everyone was talking about. She rather liked the look of him! He had a handsome face, and he seemed to take good care of himself. 

The Brit nodded. Yeah, she was gonna like him just fine.

“Sorry about that love, I must have given you a hell of a startle,” she apologized, ever so slightly abashed - but she was just so excited. Getting to know your teammates was honestly one of her favorite parts of the job. She was proud to say that, with very few exceptions, she generally got on swimmingly with the rest of the gang.

“Pleasure to meet you, Arcade. That’s a fun name. I’m Lena,” she offered, sticking out her hand for what would be a reasonably firm handshake, especially for someone of her size and relative petiteness. “I heard about you a bit from Angela and Winston; Angela’s very into nanotech’s biomedical applications and Winston’s just a lover of any and all research so they were just about gushing over you,” she offered easily, settling in next to him as if she were at home right on the street; with the neutrality of the names given and the esoteric nature of the research she was talking about, she really doubted eavesdroppers would really pick up much.

His head tilts, surprise clear in his movements. Someone that hadn’t heard of Gabriel, the bane of Overwatch. He leans himself against the door frame, leather creaking as his arms come to cross languidly over his chest. 

“Someone who didn’t hear all about his failures, isn’t that just interesting. I thought everyone knew about it.” He can’t keep the chuckle from his voice, shaking his head. “I don’t blame them,  they want to forget what they were apart of, they don’t want it to color them for good. McCree is already wanted, and Genji has landed himself a much easier life now.” 

“You can’t ask them to give that up.”

“Don’t get used to it, because I don’t plan on doing it again.” He almost sounds annoyed, as if being reminded that he had saved her irked him. “I honestly should have left you to bleed, you’ll be nothing but a thorn in my side soon enough i’m sure.” 

He lifts a hand, inspecting the talons that stretch from his mangled hands. “I didn’t offer you anything, I merely stated facts aloud.” His fingers are all twitching now, the little things that the ghost in his head did to piss him off. His fingers curled into a fist, and he tucked it back into the crook of his other arm. 

“Any other questions?”

A hand came up to ruffle the shock of brown hair on her head, the British woman letting out a small sigh. It occurred to her often that no one had really taken her seriously then. Well, perhaps that wasn’t exactly accurate but she had certainly been sheltered from some of the worst things. It had made sense then, she supposed wryly; at 21, she had been an utter child next to more seasoned colleagues.

Look at them now, with two teens on the roster.

“I think we all had our failures,” she offered, quietly and wisely; hers had been her childishness then. “Although I’ll have you know, Overwatch is considered damn near close to a criminal organization. We may just have landed ourselves in a big pickle.”

A hoarse laugh; Gods, the man was tense, and she supposed she was too, but the way she was built psychologically usually afforded her the ability to let the negativity slip off of her like water off a duck’s back, ready to assess situations moment by moment.

She was sure, now, that she wouldn’t be dying.

Despite the excess of her hyperactivity, Lena considered herself to be a fairly graceful person. It wasn’t easy, blinking through time like she did and retaining enough mental acuity to accurately begin shooting upon her exit; hell, even harder were the acrobatics she was prone to, zipping through air and time and space to avoid well-aimed bullets from the various foes she encountered.

Yet, despite all of this, here she was in the kitchen, clutching a sliced thumb in the palm of her hand while a persistent and generous trickle of blood dripped onto the kitchen floor. She let out a tetchy little sigh, her face screwing up into a pout.

In front of her, a partially wrapped if entirely haphazard and only partway sliced tube of seaweed, sticky rice, and some fish and greens that would have made at least palatable, if not extraordinary, sushi lay, coming undone with each moment she wasn’t able to keep it together. Ugh. Guess she was just going to put it all in a bowl and offer it to Angela.

After the doctor tended to her wounds.

“This is so stupid,” the cross little Brit muttered, picking up her pace as she exited the dining area and began making a beeline for the Swiss woman’s lab, blood trickling along the floor the entire way, muttering angry little things under her breath to herself.

She did so like wearing her heart on her sleeve.

Lena finally came to a stop outside of the lab, letting out a little huff as she eyed the obstacle that was the door in front of her; and then her hands, bunched up and dripping sanguine. 

Nothing faltered and that bothered Junkrat. Her smile remained, voice still octaves higher with cheeriness, and her whole invitation made him wary. A nod was softly given with a shrug, “Roight.” He wasn’t gonna remember and didn’t plan to in all honesty. No one here was someone he planned to be close with. Roadhog protected him and that was all he needed. With that thought, he stuck himself at his friends side, and looked at the taller first. A frown crossed his features before he looked back at Tracer, “Mhmm.” He followed slowly. Staying by his much more menacing friend. Jamison went to speak, “‘Wanna’?"Who said 'wanna’-!” A serious notion, but was given a nudge. Taking the short nudge he took a moment to mumble to himself and peek at writing on his hand. Then promptly putting his hands in his pockets, “Oh- roight-!” A shrill, spastic giggle was given, before his voice fell into it’s familar accent, “Jus’ gettin’ paid for doin’ me work.” Now it wasn’t exactly a lie. He was getting paid for this. But it was complicated. A lot more was still being talked over. Roadhog was the one with demands though. Junkrat was a hell of a guy with words. But only in the feild of trickery. Jamison looked to Tracer with a bit of surprise at her mention of joining without choice, “Tha’ so? I expected ya joined of y'er own accord. I didn’ j–” A nudge. Less gentle, he changed his words, “–expect that.” The junker looked over her once again, but let his eyes wander the area, “Hooley..” His surprise was evident in that the place was clean, together, and if anything stable. A grin passed his cheeks, “'N wha'did I tell ya!” Jamison was ignored, but that didn’t stop his giggle filled gloating, “Tol’ ya so!”

The skinny Australian had a strange demeanor. His larger, calmer friend was a lot easier to bear; Junkrat, or whatever his real name actually was (she hadn’t bothered to ask, Winston probably knew), was a ball of activity, much like herself, except without all of the limitations of sanity.

Best to just. Remain chipper and do her job. 

“You don’t wanna, you just wanna get paid?” Lena echoed curiously, the edges of her voice tinged with just the slightest hint of disbelief. Quick as she was, she caught him staring at his palm like the guy from that movie Memento that had notes written all over him because he couldn’t remember crap. Who even did that?

She shrugged it off though, not extremely worried about it. Whatever the reason was, they were here, and it was probably going to be super annoying until she got used to them. Imagine! The idea of Lena Oxton actually having achieved a high level of irritation with someone when she was usually on the opposite end of the equation.

“Well, I mean, I did, but what else was I gonna do? I used to be the pilot, turns out the Royal Armed Forces prefer it if their pilots can’t blink all over the place, so here I am,” she offered with a shrug, skipping lightly as she walked them through the well kept halls of Overwatch headquarters. It was a mixture of utilitarian with a dash of luxury. They were, in a way, soldiers, yet in another way, also celebrities. Her most of all. 

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Her thank you almost quirks a smile on his broken lips, but he forces down any emotions that might have tried to surface. “Don’t thank me, thank Talons bankers.” A huff, shoving the second gauntlet into place. “Leaving the rest was Sombra’s idea, but the idea of a, little chat with Miss Ziegler…” His words take a darker tone as he trails off, silencing himself. 

“If you don’t need anything else, i’ll be taking my leave. I’m sure your friends will be quite frantic to find you.” His cloak comes next, tugging it over the gauntlets and giving himself a shake. He’s grown tired of playing medic, he was better at making wounds, not fixing them. 

“Gabriel was the head of Blackwatch, Miss Oxton. He knew things about you that no one else did.” He smooths his lapels, turning towards the doorway. “I’ll thank her, but only it’s going to fuel her already insufferable ego.”

He knew he was in for an earful when he returned to base, Sombra had already forwarded him the bad news of the pay cuts he was supposedly getting. But f they wanted to keep him on the payroll at all, the pay cut would ‘vanish.’ 

The way he speaks Angela’s name causes a frisson of anxiety to cut through her nerves. At her core, there’s nothing Lena does more than care, and it was so very easy for her to care for the Swiss beauty; she was warm, and kind, and though overworked, she always spared Lena time if the British girl needed it. 

But the way he said her name...

...why did he say her name like that?

The pilot bites her lip and decides not to ask; she wasn’t really ready to ask a question that she didn’t want the answers to, not when she had others on her mind of more immediate importance. 

“How do you know Gabriel?” she posited quietly, softly curious; she had only ever known the name through mentions; she’d been with Overwatch’s original run for a brief two, three years before the organization collapsed and knew nothing more of it now that things had started up again.

McCree didn’t seem to want to talk about it.

Lena wasn’t going to push him to do something he wouldn’t do.

Jamison was an odd one. Blonde hair rested atop his head. Locks of thick strands weaved together in knots. Thick, dirtied powder glazing the tops of his head and shoulders. Fire brimmed eyes that flickered about with his shortening attention span. Prosthetic’s strapped onto him with their crude design and coats of bright orange. The Aussie was an eclectic sight for sure, but his frame was turned in on himself. Shoulders hunched forward, arms carefully behind him, and his only words being to the man in front of him, “Hooley- whatta place, yeah?” He nudged for a reply but was given silence. He spoke, yet again, “I can’t believe trust us f'er hire?!” He spun on his peg leg and scuttled his way about. Body tilted with his weight as he leaned over to unnaturally carry himself. The junker looked blankly at her in his path. He was said to be meeting people, but his initial reaction showed the bit of distaste that rested, “’S'at, roight-” He gave a cock of his head at the ‘nickname’, “'N we keepin’ it tha’ way.” His features rested into a suspicious frown. His body set in a position of almost defense, “Mhmm.” A swift nod with nothing following. These fools may have trusted him, but Jamison had no intention of even associating with many.

The frame of his body shifted out of his crumpled posture as he stood his full height.

Lena expressed the depths of her disappointment at her greeting with an internal sigh. She didn’t particularly want to do this, she didn’t particularly trust him, yet here she was  - all hype and ready to be the best damn tour guide Overwatch had ever seen.

And he couldn’t even offer the barest amount of politeness.

No matter then, she would just do her damn job to the best of her ability because - damn it, even if he was kind of a complete meanie and about as trustworthy as a thief in an empty jewelry store, she still owed Winston a hell of a lot more than this.

“All right then, you can call me Tracer if that makes you more comfortable,” she offered with a grin - very much faked, though it was impossible to tell. She did wear her emotions on her sleeve, but if there was any emotion with which she didn’t have much difficulty faking, it was joy. That was generally her default setting, after all. 

“Right through here then, loves! We’ll get you squared away in no time,” she added with the same faux cheer, offering a short little bow and hopping to open the entrance, passing through the threshold.