#soldierwatch.

         the commander earns himself a skeptical look from the doctor; they’ve been at this for what felt like hours now. a routine check on the doctor’s project— a new device with the intent of aiding agents in the field— now devolved.. into this.

        “—stop,” she starts, hand up, palm facing him. she’s laughing softly, amused by his antics— for better or worse. she stands up from her desk, taking the staff from him delicately; it hums in her hands, as she applies soft pressure.

        “it needs a gentle touch, commander.”

             the footfalls of the soldier behind her draws her gaze in that direction, albeit only for a short moment before the broken wing of the valkyrie flight suit recaptures her attention. she’s still angry at him— she should have known he wasn’t dead, should’ve been told.

             but he’s here now, isn’t he? their former commander was alive &. well, even if he was on a one-man mission, in spite of everything they’d been taught about squads &. teams.

             the sound of the mug finally attracts her attention— looking at the coffee over the rim of her glasses, then to him. it’s an act of kindness that takes her by surprise, makes her wonder if he did still care.

             she sighs. she’s been too hard on him.

             “merci vilmal,” she offers quietly— accepting the coffee. she’s gotten caught up in her work again, she thinks, sipping the beverage. she would’ve expected him to be sleeping by this point.

              through everything that has happened, the cyborg feels as though he’s talking to a man that had long since passed on. in the place of crow’s feet stand scars that tell tales of a life of war &. struggle— even for genji, it’s hard to disregard what jack morrison represented. though he never rested until his goals were met, every fray in his jacket &. every scar that littered his body told a story of surviving against the odds.

              genji’s own robotic trill of a chuckle comes, then— taken by surprise with his cheeks slightly dusted by the rough words of the man he’d called commander, once. whether it’s a fatherly pride, or simply one stemming from seeing genji at his lowest, he’ll never know— he suspects morrison will never tell.

              “thank you. it was.. certainly difficult, at times.”

              there’s a moment of hesitation where doubt plagues the younger shimada’s mind, turning his own smile tentative. jack had changed plenty as well— though perhaps not entirely for the better. genji doesn’t doubt his intentions, trusting in him just the same as he had before, but he will always have questions for the commander— unasked, &. unanswered. instead, he offers his sympathies— his support. jack has had enough hurt in his life.

         her heart aches in response— she knows life’s been rough on him. his position at overwatch came with its faults, &. each of them rested upon jack’s shoulders. whenever overwatch came under scrutiny, so too did morrison. his views for a better world were questionable, at best— but angela believes in them. for all of his faults, jack morrison was a man that wanted the best for everyone. what did he get out of it?

         he got accusations. he got hate. he got distrust.

         some of it was among his own ranks. people sworn to fight &. die by his side, questioning his morals &. his endgames. whether he even had them.

         even reyes.

         god, her empathy will kill her one day.

         “you’ve been under a lot of stress lately, jack. with the media coverage on the venice incident—” she pauses, the big, bold letters reading overwatch: friend or foe? still fresh in her mind, images of the blackwatch team fighting talon soldiers on the now blood-streaked streets of italy. the casualties must’ve been in the hundreds— this wasn’t how things were supposed to go.

         “you need some rest, some time away from all of this. we’ll have another chance at talon, but we won’t do it while sacrificing you. we can’t.” another pause, this one not as long. “we won’t leave— I won’t leave. you’re our friend as much as you are our leader.”

      “you know what? you should be.”

      quick anger hurts her heart. morrison was her family, once— he was as much of a brother as reinhardt, or torbjörn. he was someone that angela wouldn’t have hesitated to go to for a problem, someone she felt she could trust with anything.

      times change. what once was will not always be, &. not all that glitters is gold. she remembers how much of an honor it was to be invited down to overwatch’s headquarters, how starstruck she was at the promise of a better world, where the omnics &. humans could coexist without fear of being wiped out, of being made lesser. overwatch was a lot of things, for a lot of people— but it wasn’t until the allegations of malpractice &. abuse of power started gaining traction that it was too late to back out.

      angela had a lot to thank overwatch for — for her chance at keeping people safe; to provide hope for children &. adults alike. it lit a fire with her that was only recently reignited. mercy was born of overwatch — &. was supposed to die with it.

      “sorry doesn’t fix the decade that you pretended you were dead. sorry doesn’t fix breaking your promises. sorry doesn’t fix weaponizing my research that you said would never be weaponized. do you just think I haven’t noticed ana’s rifle, both of your grenades? can I hold anything you say accountable?”

      her breathing’s growing ragged, arms trembling at her sides. they cross over her chest to disguise her stress. even now, her heart aches— but she knows she’s pointing the finger at the right person.

      so why does it feel so wrong?

      “we could’ve died.” a long pause. “all of us could’ve died. null-sector’s attack on paris could’ve ended with two more bodies in closed caskets. our brothers and sisters. our family.”

      she takes a deep, rattling breath. mercy’s gaze breaks from the soldier before her, arms unfolding to wipe lines of tears from her cheeks. all of this, &. angela still can’t shake the feeling that jack doesn’t deserve to hear this.

      her voice breaks when she continues.

       seeing him upset was an unexpected sight. she doesn’t think she’s ever seen him upset, ever since meeting him in his office all of those years ago. if there was one man she truly thought was unshakable, jack morrison was it. overwatch spread him thin— used him, abused him, then threw him away when everything got rough. in the eyes of the public, they became the same criminals they’d been trying to stop.

       she sits in the seat across from him. it doesn’t have the same structure as she remembers— the couch cushion depressed from the box sitting on it for as long as it had, an unwelcome impression left in the seat by the box.

       but none of that matters right now. what mattered was the broken soldier ahead of her. physically, it was easy to say he was fine— but that unwavering facade of his was cracked, showing its years of damage.

       “it wasn’t your fault. did you know that?” a pause. “rey— .. reaper. you couldn’t have known what was happening to him. there was only so much you could’ve done, jack, but you had to have known. he would have had to let you in.”

       she offers a reassuring smile. it only lingers for a few seconds before it falls back to a somber expression. she didn’t want to think about it— about jack, about reyes, about ana.

          it was foolish to think that he would ever answer that question seriously. this one just gets a groan out of her— glasses pushed up on her brows as she rubs the bridge of her nose. that dad joke wasn’t good enough for her to laugh.

          or so she thought, at least. even with her forefinger &. thumb pinching her nose, she still laughs. damned sleepless nights making everything unjustifiably funny.

           it’s a reality that’s hard for her to face; not every life can be saved, not every wound can be healed. the fire to save people was something she missed, but it came with its own problems; no longer was ‘just enough’ good enough. she still fears the day will come she’ll have to decide who’ll be the one she saves. will she be grounded by inaction? can she make that decision? how many more will they have to lose?

           his hand helps bring her out of her thoughts. she offers a soft smile, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. eye contact is dodged, even though it feels silly with how long she’s known him; he’s a soldier, but she knows he’s not stupid. she responds to the hand on her shoulder by placing her own on his— it’s awkward, but too much has happened to do anything more.