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Chapter Text

My name is Harper Nolan. I am twenty-eight years of age, and a single mother of a beautiful young boy named Grayson. I'm still unsure why I'm writing this, and even more uncertain of who will read it. I was told that writing out my experiences might help still my mind, though I have my doubts. I've never been much of a writer; but, I guess I'll give it a shot. Anything to help forget the appalling things I've seen- the horrendous things I've felt over the last five years. 

I won't bore you with every tedious detail of my life story. Perhaps I should briefly summarize what's happened since my son was conceived, to give you an idea of how all of this began. After a brief three-year association with a criminal outfit in Denver, I met my son's father, Cooper. I pushed drugs through the city's borders; aiding in distribution and a bit of book keeping here and there. Cooper rescued me during an explosive race riot that had broken out between omnics and humans in the heart of the city. It was grizzly, and I thank my lucky stars that he managed to find me beneath the rubble that had accumulated over days of mayhem. Following the riots, we fell in love with one another during my recovery. Standard love story stuff, I suppose.  

Oh, and this is a critical part of the tale: during the riots, a massive C-4 explosion had not only left me trapped beneath smoldering wreckage, but had claimed my left arm and shoulder, leaving me disfigured. Following these events, I was understandably shaken. You witness these things happen to others, but never really imagine just how hard it would be, were it to actually happen to you. On the other hand (get it? Other hand?), it was infinitely better than death in my book. 

After designing and installing a baseline civilian prosthetic, Cooper nursed me back to health. He moved in with me during that time, and five months later, I became pregnant. Quick-moving relationship, I know. However, the pregnancy was unintentional. I was so scared. I didn't want to keep the child, out of fear that I wouldn't be a capable mother, that I wasn't good enough- but, Cooper insisted that he would ensure we had everything we needed. He loved me, and I was crazy about him. He was always there for me. As you already know, we named our little ray of sunshine Grayson. Looking back now, after recent events, I sometimes wonder if keeping Grayson was a mistake. Don't get me wrong, I love my boy with everything in me, and I always will; but I will never stop feeling this gnawing guilt over what I have put him through. I didn't ask for any of this.  

Sorry, I'm getting ahead of myself. 

Cooper worked as a contractor for the U.S. Armed Forces. He received an offer on my behalf from one of the companies he had previously done work for- a newly designed prosthetic arm. A prototype. Not only was it more functional and fluid than my previously-installed appendage, it also possessed unique capabilities that would ensure I could defend my son in the case that Cooper was not present to protect us. I reluctantly agreed. I feared that it may not function correctly, being a brand-new model, but I also liked the idea that I could be self-sufficient in dire circumstances. Cooper assured me that he was knowledgeable when it came to military-designed prosthetics, and that he ran over the details and schematics at least a dozen times. He insisted that this company produced only the highest quality technology. I genuinely valued his opinion on something so personal to me. And so, that's how I came upon my new "assets". 

Years later, after Grayson's fourth birthday, Cooper proposed, and we moved to the nearby town of Mesa (no, for the love of God, not Mesa, Arizona). Cooper's reasoning was one I had disagreed with: he feared the increasing omnic population in Denver. Regardless of the fact that I had literally lost a piece of myself during the local rebellion, I harbored no ill-will towards synthetics. I felt that his discrimination was unwarranted, his logic flawed. Even then, I turned a blind eye towards his blatant racism when all was said and done. This is because I had agreed that raising Grayson in a more peaceful, slow-paced environment would be best for the time-being.  

One night- and it hurts me to my core to recall this- Cooper was gone. That's it, he simply disappeared. Vanished. There was no note, no signs of struggle, not even a goodbye. At first, I thought he had been called in for an emergency contract and simply had no time to explain why, that perhaps he was under orders not to disclose a single word regarding his whereabouts. Days passed, weeks, months. I alerted the authorities on more than one occasion. They searched and searched. Cooper's superiors in the military finally visited me in person, and seeing them approach my home undid me. They had no leads, and with their sincerest condolences, they informed me that the search for my fiancé was to be abandoned. They didn't word it like that, but it's all I could really hear. For the first time in my life, I was truly in shambles. Depressed. All alone, I cared for my son in our new home. It felt so empty without Cooper, and my heart cracked more and more every time Grayson asked me when daddy would be coming home. I couldn't tell him what I really suspected: his father was likely dead. I know this is a brutal line of thinking, but it seemed the logical conclusion. Why else wouldn't he have reached out to me by now? Our relationship had no problems; we never really fought over anything significant in the years we spent together. He had no shady associations, past or present, with undesirables. Aside from his feelings towards omnics, we were always on the same page; he would never abandon me, let alone our child, whom he loved very dearly. But, who would ever murder Cooper? 

A month after the search for my fiancé was concluded, I knew I needed to distract myself from my broken heart. I took up self-defense classes. Real self-defense classes. Cooper had at least left a sizeable sum in the form of his bank accounts, including his investments in the company that had designed my prosthetic. I wanted to be fully capable of protecting our tiny family. I took many courses, under many instructors. I learned how to better manage my arm's equipped abilities, and along with my new combat training, I was essentially a walking weapon of sorts. Sometimes I wondered if this made me some kind of freakish aberration in the eyes of the other parents. Regardless, being labeled an oddity was absolutely worth the peace of mind in knowing that Grayson would be safe with me. 

I didn't have many friends, and I preferred it that way. It wasn't due to any sort of dislike for others; I simply never required much social stimulation one gains through maintaining relationships. Perhaps losing Grayson's father made me somewhat jaded, but I like to think that's not necessarily the case. I enjoy the company of others from time to time, but being a mother has truly been the most rewarding relationship I've ever experienced, even if I didn't picture that for myself before my son's existence. Although, I always made sure Grayson had ample social interaction with other children. I didn't want to push my lonely lifestyle onto him; I wanted him to grow into a well-rounded young man.  

Well, enough of all that. We can delve further into my personal past later on. Now that you're caught-up with the general details, we'll fast-forward to the day after Grayson's fifth birthday party. It was June, and the air outside our house was mild, the sun blanketing the surrounding valley in a warm dusk glow. Summers in Mesa County were arid, but lacked severe heat. Our house was a small, but semi-luxurious, contemporary prairie-style design. The outside walls were painted a brilliant azure, white pillars placed around the car port and front-deck where I presently sat, gently rocking in one of a matching set of orange chairs. Cradling a mug of fresh honeydew bubble tea against my chest, I twirled one blonde dreadlock gently betwixt metallic fingers as I watched Grayson playing in the yard. The corner my mouth lifted in a small smile as he squealed, arm whipped into the air, clutching one of the action figures a school-mate had gifted him for his birthday. He brought the figure back down, simulating an attack against another toy that I couldn't quite see.  

"Stop toying with your hair, Harper. And you wonder why your dreads have become so messy." 

Blinking and resting my hand in my lap, I glanced over at Amira, who sat in an adjacent seat to my right. Her metallic face-plate gleamed in the evening sun as glowing blue eyes peered in my direction. If she were able to express facial countenance, I imagine it would be a teasing smirk. 

"I don't know that I've ever wondered that, thanks very much. Plus, I thought you said- and I quote- that 'my fuzzies were endearing' ", I quipped, smiling easily. 

Amira chuckled. "I think all humans look adorable with those fluffy...things on your head, darling." 

"In that case, what do you think of Grayson's haircut? I did it myself yesterday", I turned my attention back to the small, giggling form before us. "I hate having to drive into town and spend so much for something so simple. Maybe that's selfish of me, but- hair is hair, right?" 

Amira looked at back at Grayson, tilting her head slightly. "I'm no cosmetologist, but I think you did splendidly. It suits him." 

There was a brief moment of silence between us as we watched him, amused by the 'pew-pew-pew!'s and various sound-effects he'd exclaim to himself, wrapped up in his own little world. He was so well-behaved and self-sufficient for his age. I couldn't be more proud.  

While I was currently unemployed for the time being, with considerable free-time between fighting classes and errands, Amira had been invaluable when it came to emotional support. I had met the snarky omnic four months prior, in a shopping center located in Denver, while buying new clothes for Grayson. He had been running in circles as we checked out, laughing and playing, not unlike he did now. Suddenly, he ran right into Amira's legs, causing her to drop her bags. Clothing scattered across the floor and I hurried over, embarrassed and apologetic as I helped her gather her things. Grayson stood still, wide-eyed as Amira repeatedly assured me that it was okay. He had not met many omnics in his short life, as they were few and far between in Mesa. Omnics and humans lived in relative peace within major cities, but the advanced race of robots tended to avoid less-populated areas, for fear of isolation amongst narrow-minded racial tensions. His little mind was astounded by the blue and gold plates that were her head and arms, a flowy pink pant-suit clinging to her slender frame. She was amused by his fascination, and I was pleased to see her get along with him so well. She had no children, omnic or otherwise, and yet she knew exactly what to say to make his face light up. We hit it off immediately, spending time around one another more and more. After learning of Cooper's mysterious disappearance weeks into our new friendship, she began spending more time in our home. She cared, and I felt blessed to have someone like her. 

"He's beginning to look just like him." 

I swiveled my head back toward Amira, her voice drawing me back to the present. Amira had seen countless photos of Cooper and I. She rocked slowly, focused on Grayson. I turned my attention back to him, contemplating silently.  

My voice came out quietly. "He is. His father had the same eyes, same nose." 

Amira held a loose fist to where her mouth would be and cleared her throat. More for effect, as it wasn't necessary for omnics. "Same...haircut?" 

I laughed, head tilting back. "Got me there, Sherlock", I admitted. "I suppose I'd be lying if I hadn't glanced at some pictures before cutting it." 

Grinning, I took a sip of tea as Grayson approached, his little legs pushing him up the porch steps. He stopped in front of Amira, offering his action-figure to her. "Look, 'Mira! Jeremy gave me a birthday present! He lights up, isn't it so awesome?!" 

Amira leaned forward, taking the figure from the boy's outstretched hand, turning it around in her fingers. Indeed, the small visor over the toy's face had a soft blue glow emitting from it.  

"I see!" Amira responded, warmly. "He is very awesome. What's his name?" 

Grayson balled his fists into the front of his shirt, excited that she had taken an interest. "Jeremy said his name is Jack, and he's a real-life hero!" 

"Jack, huh?" Amira said. She seemed to focus on the figure intently, studying it. 

After a few silent moments passed, she gave the toy back to the boy and rested a cool hand against his hair, smoothing it back, affectionately. I smiled to myself, watching them, and then looked at the action-figure he clutched to his chest. He peered down at it proudly, beaming from ear-to-ear. He had already shown it to me three times since the party last night, but I hadn't thought to ask its name. Jack. Vague recognition rested on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn't place what memories the figure stirred.  

"Sounds familiar, in a way", I commented, still gazing at the action-figure. "The name, the face." 

"Mm." Amira hummed, looking back out at the setting sun. "Strike-Commander Jack Morrison." 

My eyes rested on the omnic, her comment catching my attention. "Jack Morrison?" 

She was silent for a moment, her chair emitting the faintest creak as she pulled a leg up to rest on the seat. Then she spoke slowly, and I assumed she was remembering the forgotten reference. "You remember Project Overwatch? They put a halt to the first Omnic Crisis, years ago. Disbanded a few years back." 

I blinked, and then a flood of distant memories from my earlier years bombarded my mind. My gaze drifted to the white floor-boards beneath where Amira sat, staring absently as I nodded, hazily recollecting what I was taught years ago. 

"Yeah...yeah, I do. I mean, I don't really remember he crisis, of course. It was when I was pretty young- but, I remember my parents watching the news a lot. They were some sort of task-force, if memory serves me?" 

Grayson walked over to me and I pulled him up into my lap as Amira spoke. "Yes, I suppose it has been some time", her head turn slightly, flashing a look my way, her voice amused. "I forget how old you make me feel sometimes. 

"I do remember most of the whole ordeal. I was...manufactured only a few years prior to the God Virus outbreak. I wasn't infected. If I remember correctly, Morrison was one of the founding members of Overwatch. The poster-child, if you will. People loved him. He was legendary. Not surprising he's been immortalized in the form of a child's toy. I'd say many kids looked up to him as some kind of patriotic superhero." 

My eyes moved from Amira's faceplate, down to the figurine in Grayson's hands. He stared at it, small thumb moving in gentle circles over its shoulder. He didn't appear to be listening to us, likely growing sleepy as he sat curled against me. Peaceful. 

Amira's voice lowered. "Years after the crisis, their main headquarters was leveled. I don't think they ever recovered him." 

I inhaled quietly, a faint twinge of sympathy lodging in my chest as I tilted my head to get a better look at the figure. "Now that you mention it, I think I do remember hearing about the explosion. That's...unfortunate. I think the world could use more heroes like that." 

"I agree." 

We sat silently, watching the sun sink beyond the distant hills, crickets singing softly around the property. The skyline dipped and rose gently in the distance, edging against the dimming orange backdrop in a gradual, sloping manner. No clouds graced the sky today, as was common in our region. Goosebumps lightly rose on my skin as I realized the temperature was beginning to drop. I gazed down at Grayson's now sleeping form, his blonde hair mussed slightly as it rested against my chest. The toy was cradled lovingly in his small fingers.  

Another ache of sorrow pinged beneath my ribs as I watched my boy, my sweet pea. He admired a man he would never meet, a hero, not unlike the admiration I saw in his large green eyes many times when he looked upon his father. A man he would likely never see again. Two heroes fallen, taken from the world viciously. I grieved for my son, since he was not yet capable of understanding the devastation of death. It wasn't fair- to him, or to the rest of us who lost a piece of ourselves. I squeezed my eyes shut, wincing at the dull pain of Cooper's absence. It was getting easier to forget, but I had a feeling the emptiness that accompanied it may never go away.  

"We should get him to bed." 

Amira's quiet statement nudged me from my thoughts and I glanced over at her, attempting a faint smile. "Yeah. Getting tired, myself." 

Slowly scooping Grayson from my lap, I stood and we made our way into the house. Amira offered to take him from me while I went to get myself changed and cleaned up for bed. After she was gingerly cradling him, I rested a hand on her shoulder affectionately, offering to let her stay over. She agreed with a smile in her voice and took him to his bedroom upstairs. The second floor consisted of Grayson's room, with an accompanying bathroom, as well as Cooper's old study.  

I walked through the kitchen, which laid to the right of the foyer, and back into my bedroom. I headed straight to the bathroom after grabbing my nightgown. Turning to peer at myself in the mirror, I reached up to stroke my hair for a few moments.  

"Hmm. Doesn't look fuzzy to me", I murmured to myself. 

I took out the large white hairband that held the top portion of my dreads in place, letting them sprawl loosely around my shoulders. It had been around five years since I'd chosen this hairstyle, and they had finally reached my waist. I smiled, tilting my head up proudly at my reflection. I then changed into my gown and washed my face. After brushing my teeth, I entered the bedroom and Amira was there, pulling a grey pair of pajama bottoms on. I watched her for a moment, wordlessly, a grin slowly stretching across my face. 

"Maybe it's a little insensitive of me, but you know a nude omnic isn't really offensive to humans- like, at all." 

She spun around, startled. Holding her shirt in her hands, she looked down at it briefly before focusing back on me. "But it's inappropriate!" 

I rolled my eyes, "If you say so. Just letting you know, silly-ass." 

I moved to my side of the bed, peeling back the covers as Amira glanced once more at the shirt. Either way, she still put it on, to my amusement. However, I made no further comment. I didn't want her to feel uncomfortable. She slid into bed beside me, turning the lamp on the nightstand out before laying on her side, facing me, covers pulled up over her shoulders. I mirrored her position, curling up with the blanket and scooting a bit closer, so that our faces were less than a foot apart. The cerulean glow from her eyes dimmed, so as not to blind me in the darkness. I hummed, closing my eyes momentarily before looking up back up at her. 

"Amira, you know you don't have to do this." 

"Do what?" 

The corner of my mouth twitched upward. "This", my eyebrows pulled up, slightly. "I know you don't actually need to sleep." 

"I know", one of her hands slipped up from the covers and a cool metal knuckle lightly grazed the side of my chin. "I do it because I want to, Harper. I don't want you to be alone. Plus- we both know you need a nightlight." 

We both giggled. My jaw then clenched behind my smile, attempting to calm the lump that formed in my throat at her selfless words. A warm appreciation bloomed in my chest, spreading to my stomach and my extremities. Again, I cannot describe what a comfort Amira had been over the last few months. We had many nights like these, laying opposite one another, sometimes talking for hours into the night. There was nothing inherently sexual between us, as we weren't attracted to one another in that way. Human-omnic physical relationships were absolutely a thing, but it had never been my cup of tea, personally. I think Amira felt similarly.  

With that said, I sometimes wondered if I still had...I don't know...romantic feelings for my omnic friend. There was no arousal, true, but there was certainly an air of affection that transcended mere friendship. On bad days, where I struggled not to think of what Grayson and I had been through, we would embrace one another. She allowed me to- quite literally- cry on her shoulder. She would stroke my hair wordlessly, sometimes threading her fingers between my locks to lightly scratch my scalp as I hiccupped and sobbed against her hard frame. On lazy days, she would watch TV with Grayson and I, our hands clasped together. There was no doubt that we adored one another. Hell, I loved her. She got me, she always sensed when I was uncomfortable, when I was feeling depressed, when I was brimming with happiness, and she always knew how to make me laugh with her quick-witted, smart-ass comments. God, she was so smart, with infinitely more wisdom than I could ever hope to have.  

I would never understand the schism of hate that still existed between humans and omnics. Both races still fought, ruthlessly, in certain parts of the world; but for the most part, we lived harmoniously, and they posed no threat to us. They were people, too. They just wanted acceptance, like us. It seemed as though where racial tensions involving ethnicity had mostly faded into history, something had to take its place. Perhaps we as a species were doomed to constantly seek out flaws in others, a lightning rod to absorb the hatred at any given time. I inhaled deeply, quelling my roaming thoughts, and exhaled, closing my eyes once more.  

"I love you, Amira. Thank you for being here." 

"You don't need to thank me. I'll be right here." She caressed the side of my face once more, before withdrawing her hand. "Sleep tight, Harper." 

"Goodnight." 

----------

Later that night... 

I awoke with a start, eyes popping open, blearily. After blinking a few times, my gaze slid around the room. Amira was no longer lying next to me, but this wasn't worrisome. She often stayed with me until I dozed off, then went out into the living room to watch television, or upstairs in the study to work on case files for work. If I had dreamed, I didn't remember it, but wouldn't be surprised at all if that's what had caused my waking. I sighed, cursing myself as I rested my eyes once more.  

For a moment, I thought I heard footsteps. I listened for what I assumed to be Amira (given that Grayson should still be asleep). After a moment, I heard feet on the stairs. Oh shit, she had probably woken him. Cracking my eyes open, I groaned. It was going to take a century to get him back to bed. I waited for his little voice, laced with sleep.  

Instead, I heard Amira's voice coming from the staircase, and her question made me freeze, a chill running up my spine. "Who the fuck are you?" There was an unmistakable waver in her words, an uneasiness. 

Before I even had time to think, I heard my door creak open. Rising slowly, heart beginning to pound, I attempted to make out whoever stood in the doorway. It was too dark. Then, they flicked the light on and I couldn't help but twist my eyes closed, cringing back from the bright light. Attempting to peer up through squinted lids, my heart dropped into my stomach at the sight. My breath hitched in my throat in pure, unfiltered terror and my brown eyes widened. Another tremor wracked through my body as I heard Amira scream my name from the next room.  

Before me stood an absolute monster of a man, a black cloak wrapped around his well-built form, his face concealed by a bone-chilling white mask that seemed almost owl-like. His shoulders were broad, biceps peeking through just above his gauntlets, offering a glimpse of washed-out skin with the complexion of a corpse. However, the most terrifying aspect of his appearance was the hellish black smoke that radiated from beneath where he stood, tendrils creeping up the comforter as he stood at the foot of the bed, drilling holes into me with his gaze. I couldn't speak, I couldn't move, stricken with fear. Two shotguns hung on each side of him, and I managed to swallow instinctively, throat completely dried. Where was Grayson? 

He slowly lifted one firearm towards me, letting it hover point blank in front of my face. His voice dripped with malevolence- he didn't even sound human. 

"Time to wake up." 

Chapter Text

"Who...who are you?"  

My voice came out trembling, eyes fixed on the barrel of the intruder's shotgun. My throat constricted in fear and it was getting hard to breath. Stomach flipping relentlessly, I pulled my gaze back up from the gun and stared into the threatening white mask above me. Time seemed to stand still in that moment. I'd always imagined that I would react courageously in these situations; but, to my dismay, I didn't react. I merely shuddered, terror-stricken. I'd been taught how to disarm attackers at close range- but this man was no ordinary attacker, and I had a feeling this was no ordinary home invasion. There was silence in the next room, and I wasn't sure it made me feel any better.  

"Who I am isn't important", he responded, his voice an eerie drone. "Get up." 

He gestured for me to get off the bed, the sudden movement causing me to flinch. I complied, slowly sliding my legs off the side of the bed and standing. Wide eyes never leaving him, I was suddenly aware that I was wearing nothing but a silk nightie. I felt exposed, self-conscious. My fingers tugged uselessly at the hem of the gown. I swallowed. It was very unnerving, being unable to see the gaze lying behind black pits carved out of the mask.  

"Get dressed." 

Surely, he could hear my heart pounding against my ribs. I shifted uncertainly. I needed to know that Grayson was okay- but I didn't want to give away his presence in the house, in the case this man didn't already know. Were there others with him? Judging by Amira's silence somewhere in the house, I assumed there were. If so, how many? Holding my hands up, palms out, I spoke carefully. 

"I-I'll do whatever you want, I promise, just please don't hurt anyone. O-okay? I'll give you-" 

He growled, impatiently. "Get. Dressed. Now. This doesn't have to be hard." 

Strangling back the whimper that threatened to form in my throat, another shiver coursed through my frame. Nodding once, I turned to my right and cautiously pulled out the top drawer of the dresser. My back was turned, and I thought I could make out murmuring coming from the living room, but it was too low for me to hear. So, he wasn't alone. God, I hoped Amira was okay. I tried not to assume the worst, but in times like these, one's mind struggles to reassure itself. Resting my fingers on the edge of the drawer, my attention was drawn to a pile of shorts to the left side. Beneath it lay a compact pistol that Cooper had given me. In spite of the adrenaline pumping through me, I managed to briefly calm my quivering limbs. The cloaked intruder remained silent, watchful, his stare boring holes into my back. Ever so calmly, I lifted a few articles of clothing, attempting to appear as though I were searching for something appropriate. Gradually, my left hand slid towards the weapon. My breathing stilled.  

"Don't." 

I froze. There was a brief pause, followed by three heavy footsteps behind me. Goosebumps crawled up the flesh of my back as I felt- not heat- but a mild chill emanating from his body. He stood over my shoulder and I gasped quietly as the barrel of his gun pressed into the small of my back. His hand snaked into the drawer next to mine; a bead of sweat slid down my forehead as he calmly pulled my weapon from beneath the folded clothing and held it up. God, his hands...no, claws were nearly bigger than the pistol itself. From the corner of my eye, I saw the barn owl mask turn its attention to the side of my face. Too scared to speak, I waited in wordless anticipation. In silent agony. 

To my abject horror, he squeezed his fingers around the small gun and it protested with a loud cracking sound. The washed-out muscle of his bicep flexed, and the pistol caved in on itself with a crunch. His talons released it, bits and pieces falling quietly back into the drawer. 

The trespasser wasn't human. I was dealing with a monster, plain and simple. His breathing was ragged, and I could feel otherworldly black wisps lapping at my bare feet beneath us. The silence filling the room was almost deafening as I struggled, and failed, to keep my breathing calm. What was happening? What could I do? What could something so treacherous want with me? Something so...something.... 

I inhaled sharply, eyes popping open at the sudden realization. The realization that I knew- I knew- who the dark creature that lay behind me was. My palms were clammy, gooseflesh spreading from my shoulders, down my arms. Terror budding in the pit of my stomach. I whimpered, unable to contain it this time. Fuck, I was pathetic.  

"You...you're..." I whispered, barely audible. I hardly recognized my own voice. "T-the..." I couldn't finish, my words trailing off.   

He chuckled menacingly, a deep rumble in his chest. "Go on..." The muzzle of his gun pressed harder against me, urging me to finish. 

"The Reaper", I breathed. There was an air of defeat in my words. I had seen that ghastly visage on television, headlines exclaiming the unspeakable deeds he had committed, the chilling methods he used to accomplish whatever it was his goals were. There were terrorists in my home; I didn't stand a chance. My eyes sunk to the ground and my body seemed to deflate, dejectedly. This man and those he had associated with had mowed down small armies, blasted away innocents in droves. It was all coming back to me. He was wanted on an international scale.  

But what did I possibly have that he could want? 

"That's right. See, you're smarter than I thought. Now, I'm not going to repeat myself, Miss Nolan. Do what I say, and I won't burn down this house with you in it", his words slid down my spine, sprouting renewed fear into my bones. 

Licking my dried lips, I complied. I removed a pair of sweat pants from the dresser and stepped into them, cringing when I brushed against his leg in doing so. Turning my head slightly, I waited for further instruction. For a moment, he didn't move, didn't speak. Then he stepped back, allowing me a bit of space.  

"After you", he gestured once more with his weapon. 

I moved to face him, trembling. "Is this about Cooper? Are you...are you going to kill me?" 

"I might, if you keep asking questions." 

Suddenly, there was a loud thud directly above us, coming from upstairs. He tilted his face up toward the source.  

Grayson. 

I had to do something. 

Renewed courage swept through me and I shifted the index finger of my prosthetic, pressing it into an inlaid button resting in my palm. Before he could turn his attention back to me, the bolts in my shoulder unlocked with a low hiss, and a buzzing pressure released into the appendage. Planting my feet and forcing momentum up to my hips and shoulders, I swung back and released the hardest punch I could manage into his stomach, simultaneously knocking his raised shotgun away from me with my other hand. The wind was knocked from him and he stumbled backwards. His gun fired to my left with a resounding boom, shattering the front of the wooden dresser. Shards and debris rained all around us. Crying out, I planted a hand on his chest. Quickly hooking my leg around his, I yanked his foot forward. As he lost balance and crashed into the night-stand behind him, I seized the opportunity to smack the second gun from his loosened grip. He was disarmed. 

Scrambling for the weapon, I picked it up with a note of surprise. It was much heavier than it looked. Hearing a sudden presence in the doorway behind me, I turned sharply, raising my prosthetic arm in front of me. Connecting the now-charged tips of my fingers, the arm hissed once more. Puffs of steam were released in anticipation of my next move. Just as the second black-clad man before me raised his rifle, my prosthetic threw out a glowing red light-shield to protect me against the oncoming wave of bullets. I simultaneously strafed to the right, hoping that some of the fire would catch the bastard behind me. Reaper roared furiously. It had actually worked. The armed agent before me immediately ceased fire, cursing loudly at his mistake. However, upon stealing a glance to my left, I was appalled at the sight of the Reaper rising to his feet. The fucker was practically unfazed. Amira screamed my name desperately in the next room. 

Focusing back on the man in the doorway, I released the tips of my fingers. The shield blinked out of existence. Quickly, I raised the stolen weapon and fired once toward the doorway. The recoil knocked me back into the ruined dresser. The nameless man slumped to his knees in silence, collapsing. Blood pooled beneath his unmoving form. Adrenaline coursed through me in merciless waves, my dark eyes growing large at the sight.  

This wasn't the first time I had killed. The details of that particular story aren't important now, but in the present moment, I reeled at the familiar feeling. This wasn't something I ever thought I would have to experience again. I was a mother, an ordinary civilian. It's difficult to describe what taking a life truly felt like. I pushed back the memories as soon as they surfaced. I couldn't afford distraction in the chaos presently unfurling around me.  

I wasn't quick enough. I shot another look at Reaper and yelped as he threw himself in my direction. Attempting to escape him, I didn't make it more than a few steps before he grabbed a fistful of my dreadlocks. The tips of his talons dug painfully into my scalp, no doubt drawing blood. Whipping around, I fired the shotgun into his stomach. He dropped me- I fell on my ass, hard. The gun clattered to the ground, sliding across the hardwood floors; out of reach. When I looked back up at him, I was expecting to be met with the grisly sight of a mangled hole carved into his abdomen. But this wasn't so. I gasped, fear gripping me. 

In front of me was a billowing black pillar of smoke, rather than the Reaper's solid form. Still able to make out a humanoid shape in the dark haze, I simply stared in shock. I was having trouble processing what I was seeing. Before I had a chance push myself away from the bodiless horror, the cloud had collapsed into a formless, writhing pool. It leapt toward me, covering my body in an instant and I immediately felt a pressure constricting around my throat. My airway was cut off in seconds. Struggling to get a grip on the force around my neck, I began choking. I was then jerked up to my feet. My back slammed into the nearest wall, skull bouncing against the drywall. Picture frames fell and shattered at my feet.  

The darkened force before me began to solidify, gradually. My feet slowly left the ground and I began flailing. I grew more panicked by the second, desperate for oxygen. His now regenerated figure swam in my vision, and the edges of my sight began to grow darker. My throat was so small in his grip. A mere twitch would snap it, far less effort than he'd used to destroy my pistol. When he spoke, face inches from my own, his voice sounded distant. I could barely hear him over the sound of blood rushing in my ears. 

"I tried to play nice. I tried to make this easy for you", he seethed. "But, you ruined any chance you had at staying on my good side, you little cunt." 

With that, he threw me to the ground, forcefully. The side of my face smacked loudly against the hard ground. My ears were ringing. I couldn't see straight. The impact had split my upper lip open, and a sudden sharp pain around my eye suggested that my eye socket had cracked. I desperately sucked in air. Sputtering and coughing, droplets of blood sprayed the hardwood floor.  

I had failed. 

"Please", came Amira's distant voice. I knew she couldn't cry, but a sob struck her words. "Please don't let him kill her...please, please, please..." 

I had failed her. I had failed Grayson. 

Maybe it had something to do with how dizzy I was, but my life seemed to flash before my eyes in the following few moments. I saw Cooper, crouched before my near-lifeless form on the day we met. The side of my body was pinned beneath concrete beams. My skin was heated to a dangerous temperature by a nearby fire that had swept through the fallen structure. I willingly kept what little focus I had away from my arm. I hadn't the nerve to look. Screams pierced the air, women crying, men shouting. His eyes- those clear green orbs- stared in shock at my mangled form. That short moment of weakness he had, that brief look of alarm, was all I needed to tell me just how gruesome it was. It had caught him off guard.  I was barely conscious, as I was now, half-lidded eyes staring back at him. He shouted something into his radio, but I had trouble making out what was said. It felt like my ears were stuffed with cotton. He regained his composure, threw on that comforting smile I'd grown to love over the years. Trying to the best of his ability to remain calm for the both of us, his hands lowered toward me, cautiously. I remembered how he gently cupped my face, calloused fingers grazing my cheeks. I'll never forget how careful he was. His touch was tender- he didn't want to startle me or exacerbate my life-threatening injuries. All he could do while he waited for med-evac was try to make me feel a little better, a little less frightened. In any other situation, I would react to law enforcement or military with guarded caution- distrust.  

"Hey there, sweetheart...it's okay", his voice was warm, loving. "Everything is going to be okay. I'm gonna get you out of here. Just stay with me...I know you're tired, but you can't go to sleep, okay? Look at me. Hey- I'm up here, look at me. Nothing's going to happen to you, I promise." 

One black boot landed swiftly into my gut, jerking me from my memory. My ribs cracked. All the oxygen I had managed to regain was kicked out of me. I opened my mouth to scream. Nothing came out. Curling into myself, I shuddered. 

Pathetic. 

The Reaper's clawed hand twisted into my dreads once more, and he literally dragged me out of the room. We passed the dead body into the kitchen, through the foyer, and finally into the living-room. I could do nothing more than let out a soft, mangled cry. My fingers clawed weakly at the ground. So much for all those self-defense classes. So much for being prepared. 

He dropped me to the floor. Blood seeping from my lips, I hadn't the energy to lift myself. 

"O-oh my God, Harper...", Amira moaned in distress.  

God wasn't here. 

She leaned down to level her luminous blue eyes to mine. I could feel her cool fingers against my back, my face. Was she shaking? I moved my mouth to speak, but was unable. My breathing rattled loudly and I instead opted to tilt my head, peering up at her with apologetic eyes. I'm sorry, Amira. I'm so, so sorry. 

There was another man in black tactical gear, standing opposite of us. The eyes of his mask burned red. He leaned against the wall next to the foyer entrance, gun held at the ready in case we decided to play hero. What I assumed to be Reaper's foot stood planted in the corner of my vision. He was looking down at us. Down on us.  

"Time to say goodbye", his dark words rolled over me.  

"Mommy?" 

The tiny, fearful sound was all it took for me to gather my strength and lift my upper body onto my elbows shakily, eyes searching for the source. My heart began to race painfully in my chest. I could no longer see clearly through my left eye, as it had swollen shut. Words cannot explain the flighting feeling caused by my young son's sudden appearance in the doorway across the room. Why couldn't he have just stayed upstairs?  

My boy. My light. My little man. God, he looked just like his father.  

"Grayson, honey...", I attempted a calm voice. 

But he wasn't looking at me, he didn't so much as glance in my direction. His large eyes had settled on the intruder beside the foyer door, who had stood up from his leaning position against the wall. The stranger's dangerous red glare was fixed on him. Silence.  

I'll never forget the tension; the sheer, insurmountable strain that threatened to snap at any second. 

Grayson turned and ran, frightened. He didn't get far before the armed intruder took several quick steps in his direction. Every muscle in my worn-down body tensed. My thundering heart felt as though it may burst in my ribcage. I heard a familiar hissing sound somewhere in the room that I ignored in my maddened state. The large man grabbed Grayson by the arms. 

"GRAYSON!" My voice tore through my throat in a pealing shriek, filling the room.  

Out of view to my right, the front door slammed open- but, I ignored it too. My focus was on the fucking piece of shit touching my son, my baby. I heard a woman's alarmed voice somewhere in the background. Unfamiliar. Not important. Nothing else going on around me was important. My thoughts, my senses- they all mashed together violently in my head, a raging haze of hostility. All directed at Grayson's captor. 

How dare they do this. How dare they come into my home, threaten my family. 

Suddenly, I felt Amira's hands on my body go rigid. This tore my attention away from Grayson, and I hardly had time to register the red of her eyes before she was one her feet. I had never seen her move so quickly. Grayson squealed, pulling my eyes from Amira, back to the sight of the gunman holding him off the ground by his arms. I shakily attempted to get to my knees, despair lodged in my throat. My limbs threatened to collapse beneath me. 

What happened next completely caught me off guard. Reaper grabbed my right arm in an attempt to prevent me from going after my son. I threw myself to the ground away from him, attempting a fury-laden blow to his face in retaliation. There was a bright flash of blue before me. My fist froze midair and I blinked, confused. The Reaper wasn't in front of me. There was a loud crash behind me. When I turned to the source of the sound, it appeared as though Reaper had been hurled into the orange-painted wall behind him; before him stood a brunette woman I had never seen in my life. She had her back to me, acting as a buffer between the Reaper and I. Had she been here this whole time? Before I was able to assess the identity of my savior, the stranger who had grabbed onto my son bellowed in alarm. 

This is the part that still haunts my nightmares, to this day.  

When I turned, I gaped at the sight of Amira. She had latched herself onto the bear-sized man's back. Her legs wrapped around his waist with no intention of being torn off. He flailed and grabbed at her with little success. Everyone in the room was watching the spectacle- Grayson, Reaper, the woman behind me, and myself. There was something eerily...wrong about the omnic's movement's, the way she seemed to overpower the attacker who was significantly larger than her. After a few short moments of his struggling, she unhooked her arms from his neck and swiftly grabbed ahold of one of his arms. Amira wrenched it back, sharply. He cried out in unbridled pain. There was a gut-wrenching series of snaps as she twisted the arm at an ungodly angle behind him. My eyes widened and I felt nausea sweep into my gut as I watched her break every bone, effortlessly.  

In spite of his now-mangled arm, he didn't quit fighting. He braced his legs. Shoving his weight back with all his might, he crushed Amira against the wall behind them. She was pinned. Her grip loosened and he seized the opportunity to reach back and clutch his large fingers around her head. He wrenched the omnic off him. 

"Amira!" I shouted, struggling once more to pull myself up to my feet. 

I heard shuffling behind me, but couldn't take my eyes off the sight before me. The agent stumbled to his knees. His massive hand was still wrapped around the back of Amira's metal skull. He raised her limp body, and slammed it down, driving her faceplate into the floorboards. My heart dropped into my stomach and an icy sensation shot up my spine. He raised her up and hurled her face into the ground again. And again. Her faceplate cracked, shattered. 

The glow of her eyes flickered out. 

I screamed, pain searing through my mangled throat. My eyes welled with hot tears. Everything fell, my whole world crashed and I could think of nothing else. Lurching forward in an attempt to stop him, a pair of arms wrapped around me, anchoring me in place. 

"No! No, no, no!" I screeched. "Let me go! Let me go!" 

A female voice responded, urgency in her words. "Easy, love! She's gone. He'll kill you, you have to- erghh- stop it!" 

I flailed against the stranger's hold, but she wouldn't let up. Amira...Amira, my Amira, please God, no. Not like this. 

"MOMMY, HELP ME!" Grayson cried out, breaking me from my despair. 

Halting my struggle immediately, I looked to the doorway that Grayson had entered through, by the stairs. There stood the Reaper- the fucking bastard who ruined everything- watching us from across the living room. Held tightly under his arm was Grayson, kicking and screaming and crying. In his other hand was one of the two ebony shotguns, pointing in our direction:  

Exactly how all of this had started. A threat emblazoned in his stance, a warning to stay put. Full circle. 

The other woman and I were frozen in place, her arms still wrapped around me. Nobody moved. Nobody breathed.  

"Let him go, Reaper", the woman warned, cautiously. She released me slowly, and started to move toward him. 

With mind-numbing speed, the Reaper shifted his weapon and fired at the other man's head. Bits and pieces of the man's obliterated skull exploded between the three of us. Blood sprayed the front of our bodies, coating us in the gory mess. The woman behind me gasped in astonishment. I gagged at the sight. Dry heaving, I averted my eyes for a few moments. Holy fucking shit. 

"If I'll shoot my own men, I'll do much worse to you, Lena", he muttered, evenly. She stiffened at the sound of her name. "I'm taking the boy. Your friend here made her choice." 

"Please..." I begged quietly, my voice breaking. 

He didn't respond. The silence was long and painful as we all watched one another, waiting for something to give. Grayson continued to cry, struggling to free himself with weak arms. The sight absolutely broke me. I felt so helpless. I kept wishing that this was all just some harsh, distorted nightmare. Maybe I would wake up to Amira cooking breakfast, Grayson at her side with that fondness in his eyes. This was torture.  

The air around the masked man quivered, and the same evil black wisps that had strangled me minutes ago began to manifest in spaces around his body. Lowering his weapon, he gave a dark, condescending laugh.  

"Be seeing you, Harper." 

It took me a moment to register what he meant. Then, the whirling cloud of smoke enveloped him. I gasped and stumbled to the ground, my sore ribs screaming. Scrambling to my hands and knees, I tried to desperately close the space between the haze of darkness and I. Crawling clumsily, another streak of blue light shot past me. The other woman was there in an instant. 

"No!" She cried, her hands attempting to gain purchase in the cloud of smoke. 

But as it dissipated, I realized her attempts at saving my son were for naught. The smoke dispersed into nothingness. The space they occupied was empty. 

I felt sick. 

I ceased my crawling when I reached where Lena stood. Her breathing was becoming ragged upon realizing what had just happened. I, myself, stared at the empty space. My mind didn't race, my thoughts didn't flit from possibility to possibility in worry. I did not cry, I did not shout. I didn't breathe; I was numb. My mind felt as though it were short-circuiting- my brain seemingly shut itself down in shock. Cooper was gone. Amira was gone. Grayson was gone. Heartbeat slowing, my vision blurred.  

I passed out, crumbling at Lena's feet.  

All I loved had slipped through trembling fingers.

Chapter Text

After passing out, I stayed out for some time. 

I dreamed.  

I dreamed everything: of my childhood, playing video games with my siblings. My older brother was patient with me. My sister was not. I wonder if they still think of me? I wonder if they have normal lives now, with kids and spouses and steady paychecks? I thought I'd attained that sort of stability, but I guess even normal families are vulnerable. Fragile.  

I dreamed of a skeletal barn owl. I thought I could see red sparks in the black pits of its eyes. It observed me from the window sill as Amira's lifeless body bled from metallic sockets beside of me. Do omnics bleed? I didn't think so, but there it was- trickling from her eyes, pooling on the floor. My stomach clenched and I couldn't tear my gaze from her corpse.  

I dreamed that there was a knock on the door, and I opened it to see Cooper standing before me on the front porch. He extended his hand out to me; why did he look so distraught? Charming wrinkles formed in the corners of his eyes, his handsome face twisted into an expression of worry. God- he knew I'd lost Grayson. He never said it, but I know he did. Shame plagued my mind and tears began streaking down my cheeks, makeup running. He gestured for me to take his hand, more urgently this time. 

"Trust me, Harper" his wedding band was gone, I noted. "We've gotta go." 

I didn't move. Why couldn't I take his hand? God-damnit, Harper, just reach out and take it.  

"No", was my flat response to him.  

My mind struggled to wrap around the rejection I'd shoved at him. Have you ever felt locked in place during your dreams? Heavy limbs, mouth sealed shut. You have little control over your words and actions, and none of it is what you really want to say or do. Frustrating, right? I'd never bought into the "meaning" of our dreams, though I'm not suggesting there's anything wrong with it. Maybe they do serve a purpose. Maybe I was simply having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that there was a dead man at the door. Can you trust the dead? Those dreaded thoughts, pointing accusations at the man I'd loved. 

Did Cooper actually abandon us? Was he even trustworthy? 

"Harper." 

He grimaced at my refusal. The barn owl watched.  

No, stop it. Thinking like that wasn't fair to him, or our son. They've both been through so much, and now's not the time to jump to such dark conclusions- that felt disrespectful. This mess was my burden to bear. I had to face this; if I couldn't even manage that, how would I go on living? 

"Harper." 

Something swatted lightly at my right cheek and I groaned, aggravated. Blinking blearily, I furrowed my brow and turned my face away from the hand smacking insistently at me. I felt like shit, no sugar-coating it. Lying on my back, I raised an arm over my face, attempting to block out the light shining into my eyes. Speaking of my face- it felt like someone had beaten the side of it with a sack of bricks. I groaned again at the sharp pains driving into my skull like daggers. 

"Jesus Christ", I croaked, squeezing my eyes shut again. "Could you get that light out of my face?" 

"Negative", a male voice murmured. A stranger's fingers rested against my brow. "I need you to open your eyes so I can check for signs of a concussion." 

"Concussion?" 

And then everything came rushing back; Reaper throttling me against the wall, shattered glass. My body striking the hard ground violently, Amira's blood-curdling outburst. A lump formed in my throat. I remembered watching the light leave her eyes. I remembered Grayson... 

I took a deep, shuddering breath. "Is he here?" 

Opening both eyes, I stared straight into the flashlight's glare, as I was told. The man sighed, yielding no answer. I couldn't see his face, only feel his thumb pulling gently at my right eyelid. Instead, a woman responded; light British accent, voice like a lilting songbird. A voice full of caring. It was the same woman who had shoved Reaper off of me when he'd grabbed onto me. The one who kept me from throwing myself at the man who murdered Amira right in front of me- right in front of Grayson. Lena, the Reaper had called her. 

"Is who here, love?" She inquired, gently.  

"My son. Is he..." My voice broke. "...is he gone?" 

The question cracked at my composure and I quivered, despair squeezing my chest. I knew the answer. There was a moment of silence, an uneasiness gripping the young woman. The mysterious man's hand left my face after he checked both pupils. I blinked rapidly, trying to shake away the momentary blindness caused by the light. 

Lena spoke carefully, "I'm afraid he is. I didn't- I didn't make it in time." 

Swallowing some of my grief, I managed to continue. "I-I see. I...is he...?" 

Lena listened as my words trailed off. She didn't seem to understand the implication, but her companion quickly filled in the puzzled silence. 

"No", he assured me. "No, I doubt they've injured him."  

I was relieved, but still visibly shaken. As I regained my vision, I could make out the broad frame of a man kneeling over me. There was a dim crimson glow blooming from where his eyes should have been. My eyesight was still a bit fuzzy from waking up. Over his shoulder stood the thin silhouette of who I assumed was Lena. Twisting my eyes shut, I opened them again; slowly this time.  

Regaining focus, I realized the red glare over his eyes was the visor of a mask that concealed part of his face. A scar cut through his forehead, partially obscured. He smelled of aftershave and burnt plasma. A soldier. I couldn't place why the scent seemed so familiar- unmistakably masculine, the aftershave smelled of sandalwood. It was oddly comforting. 

Lena was the picture of grace. An endearing shock of brown hair framed a delicate face. Her aviator shades were pushed up over her forehead and I was greeted with a pair of liquid amber eyes, brimming with concern.  

Grunting, I attempted to prop myself up on my elbows. However, my efforts were hindered when the nameless man placed a firm hand over my shoulder.  

"Not so fast, Nolan, we haven't fully assessed your injuries just yet", his grip remained insistent, delicately pushing me back onto the ground. A silent protest escaped my lips, but I did as I was told. We were still in the living room of my house. I grimaced at the dull pain that pulsed all around my abdomen.  

"Fuck", I breathed. "I think my ribs are broken." 

Withdrawing his hand, he nodded once. "Exactly. You need to rest for a while, let the medkit and the biotic field do their thing. It won't fix 'em, but it'll at least get the healing process started. Doesn't seem like your ribs punctured anything- you're lucky." 

Lucky, he says. 

I took measured breaths, relaxing to the best of my ability. I then fixed the stranger with a wary stare. 

"Who are you?" 

He seemed to stiffen, as though he weren't prepared for my question. His voice was gravelly, experienced. I assumed him to be in his late forties, maybe early fifties.  

"You can call me Soldier: 76." 

I deadpanned. Lena rolled her eyes, the corner of her mouth twitching up. She shook her head. "Just call him 76. I dunno why he still insists on that silly name, honestly." 

Soldier: 76 growled impatiently, turning his face up in exasperation. "It's non-negotiable, agent. Call names are discretionary protocol, you know that." 

She held her hands up, defensively. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Just sayin', Commander." 

I watched both of them as they bickered lightly, and tried to piece together what was going on. Who were these people? Were they military? How had they known to show up just after my home was invaded by terrorists? The timing had me suspicious and after what I'd just been through, you'll understand it was difficult for me to trust uninvited strangers. I had a million questions, and their arguing wasn't doing anything to make me feel any less anxious. 

"Hey", I snapped, causing both of them to grow quiet. I fixed them both with a serious expression, eyes demanding answers. 
 

"The man who took Grayson", I started, speaking slowly. "He wanted me instead. Right?" 

They exchanged looks briefly, before Lena spoke up. "Yes. We think Gabriel- er, the Reaper I suppose- was initially after you. After the technology in your arm, actually. But...but I think because they weren't expecting me to show up, the task became too complicated, so...he took your son, instead." 

"My arm?" I raised a skeptical brow. "Why the hell would they need my prosthesis that badly? Is this a joke?" 

"No...no, it's not a joke, I'm afraid. Intelligence suggests they had meant to capture you to gain access to it. We're still not really sure why they want it, though. It's an impressive model, but after looking at a list of upgrades and specifications, we can't find anything that would push them to steal a child. Talon are brutal lot, but kidnapping's not exactly something they're known for." 

"To get to me. He took him as a hostage, because I wouldn't go with him, willingly. Because you wouldn't let him take me." 

Lena swallowed, brown eyes locking onto my own- a silent apology was written across her face. It was hard to tell in such low lighting, but her eyes appeared wet. I didn't know her. Even so, I had difficulty placing the blame on her. I sensed and accepted that she had only been trying to help me. But it was still hard. Looking away from her, I stared at the ceiling. I had nothing more to say. I didn't know what to say. 

76 shifted uncomfortably between us, also apparently at a loss for words. The air between us bled of disappointment, of silent what-ifs. Silence stretched before us and I took the time to weigh any possible options I had. They were few. I didn't have the faintest idea of where Grayson was now. What could I do? I didn't even have money, a ransom, to offer if it were even a choice. Resting my eyes, I tried to ignore the throbbing pain in the side of my face. I had to fight against the instinctual urge to panic, pushing it behind whatever logical excuse I could offer myself. A mother's need to charge head-on into a blind battle was all too tempting. Taking a few moments to collect myself, I spoke calmly. 

"Then I guess I'm giving them what they want." 

"You're kidding, right?" 76 chuffed, humorlessly. "You do know removing that prosthetic will take hours, if not days, of refined surgery- by an entire team of medical professionals." 

I sighed, frustrated. "I get it. It's not the kind you toss in the hamper before a shower. Thanks, Captain Obvious. I don't have the time or money for it, anyway. What I'm saying is that I'm giving myself to them." 

Both Lena and the soldier focused intently on me, the former's eyes growing larger at the suggestion. She shook her head, but 76 spoke before she did. 
 

"Absolutely out of the question." 

"Out of the question?" I demanded, shooting him a dangerous glare. "I don't remember asking your-" 

"Listen, I don't know what the hell Talon is getting at with that arm of yours, but we're not negotiating with terrorists- understood? God only knows what they're up to, and giving them that technology will cause more problems down the line", he growled, a finality to his tone. 

This time I sat up, ignoring Lena's polite protests to stay put. Face now inches from Soldier 76's visor, I seethed through clenched teeth, "I don't know who you think you are, but this is my child we're talking about." 

"I understand that-" 

"Do you?" I spat with a look of incredulity. "Do you know what having your only son taken from your own home feels like? Do you not see why this is the only option for me?" 

"I'm gonna need you to stand down, Nolan, you are way out of line." 

"How the fuck do you know my name?!" I all but screamed in his face, patience escaping me with each passing second. 

"Stop it!" Lena snapped at the two of us, lifting a hand between us.  

My breathing had become somewhat ragged. I didn't move, clenching my jaw as I continued to stare accusingly into the visor. I thought I could vaguely make out the silhouettes of his eyes through the red glow, alert and locked onto my own. He refused to be the first to show weakness in the stare down. Aftershave and burnt plasma. A realization suddenly hit me, eyebrows rising in astonishment. My pulse quickened. 

He smelled like Cooper. It was the same scent he brought home with him after a day of target-practice.  

Without thinking, I leaned forward slightly and sniffed, drawing in the scent. Nostalgia flooded through me, a dull ache of remembrance. I couldn't tell if it was calming or nerve-wracking, honestly. I was still grateful for the small chance to savor the memory. 

It wasn't until 76's brow furrowed and he pulled a few inches back that I realized how...odd my little moment was. Completely forgetting that we were arguing, I moved my face away from him, ears suddenly burning. Holy shit, Harper- weird much?  

"Uh...", I stammered, eyes wide with embarrassment. "...sorry." 

He didn't respond, studying me cautiously. Instead, Lena sat on the ground beside of me and broke the awkward silence. 

"Look, we know where you're coming from, love- you just wanna do what any good mum would. I get that. But there are better ways of executing this. And we don't know that they're even going to give him back if you turn yourself over. They're not exactly an honest bunch; they've lied during negotiations, and they'll lie again. You can count on it." 

I regarded her with skepticism, "And what 'better ways' are you suggesting? Calling the police? They were useless when my husband went missing. Not to mention I have a criminal record; long story short, cops don't like helping me." 

"No, no, no. Trust me, law enforcement can't touch Talon", she leaned forward slightly, a small smile gracing her lips, "Let me ask you something, Harper...can you keep a secret? A pretty big one." 

"Tracer-", Soldier: 76 attempted to cut her off, but she held a hand up. I nodded my affirmation to Lena, somewhat thrown off by the name 76 had called her by. Tracer. 

She continued, "I promise we're going to get your son back- but we need your absolute discretion on this. You cannot repeat it, okay?" After I nodded again, she sighed, "Well...it's all pretty complicated right now, but 76 and I are here on behalf of the newly-reformed Overwatch program. We want to help you. We can help you." 

I opened my mouth to speak, but the soldier stood suddenly, towering over the young woman. "Stop this. What the hell do you think you're doing, agent? This is extremely classified information." 

She leaned back, casting a challenging expression up at him, "With all due respect sir- I'll not hear it. I spoke to Winston before you got here, and this is what he wants to do." 

"I honestly don't give a rat's ass what Winston wants, Tracer; this is not how we're handling this. I'm not going to argue about it." 

"Neither am I", she retorted, a defiant look in her eyes. "She's gone through a lot, and Talon's one step ahead of us, as usual. She needs us, as much as we need her-" 

I could tell he was gritting his teeth now, "What she needs is-" 

"I'm doing this, whether you like it or not! We were supposed to save her from all this mess- we were supposed to prevent this from happening entirely, 76! Instead, Gabe's kidnapped a five-year-old boy!" She raised her voice, exasperated. Her accent was notably heavier when she was upset.  

76 took pause, staring down at Lena. I couldn't read his face, but I knew he was noting the way her body had gone rigid, brows furrowed together over glistening eyes. She plead desperately with her gaze. He deflated, a sigh passing defeatedly through his mask. His fists clenched and unclenched. 
 

"I think this is a mistake. But you do what you have to do, soldier", he murmured, gravely. "Either way, she needs proper medical attention. That's priority. The anesthetics will wear off soon and Dr. Kostas needs to check the damage to her ribcage." 

I didn't understand any of this, my attention moving back and forth between the two of them. Overwatch? My conversation last night with Amira surfaced in my memories. They were...reformed? Talon was after me? The Talon? Before I became too wrapped up in my own questions, Lena's voice broke through my thoughts. 

"This is your choice. I know this is all a lot to take in- but, will you please come with us, love? We can get a few of your things together and take you straight to the infirmary. I'll fill you in on everything on the way to the base." 

I blinked at her. The base? I wasn't even sure I could trust these people. She claimed they wanted to help. I looked up at Soldier: 76. He was watching me, expectantly. Dude was kind of a dick, to be honest. Not only did he think he could order me around in my own home, but he clearly wasn't interested in offering their help like his partner was. Then again, what kind of help was Lena even offering? I chewed at my lower lip, uncertainly. I was so tired.  

Cooper, what do I do? 

Looking back at Lena, she was patiently waiting for my response. The girl seemed trustworthy; and, admittedly, I couldn't do this alone. If law enforcement truly couldn't get much done in the face of Grayson's captors, seeking them out would only waste precious time. When Cooper had gone missing, I knew the police would take notice of my past gang associations. Most notably, the Corinth of east Denver and their subsidiary cabals. Drugs and illegal weapons. While they were a large and often violent bunch, the Corinth wouldn't have taken Cooper from me without reason. They certainly wouldn't kidnap my son. We'd parted on good terms- but the cops had no way of knowing that. As far as accepting help went, now wasn't the time to get picky. 

"Alright. I'll go." 

Beaming, Lena leaned back and graced me with the most genuine look of excitement I'd seen in some time. In a blue flash, she was on her feet already. How the fuck was she doing that? I thought I'd seen her blinking around earlier, but attributed it to losing my mind. Shit, I probably was losing it. My eyes lowered to the glowing contraption bound around her chest and back. That must have been how she was moving about so swiftly. I would ask her about it later.  

Right now, all I could think about was the possibility of getting my son back.  

"You've a bag or something? I'll round up things you need- you shouldn't be moving around too much, no offense", Lena offered. 

Meeting her gaze once more, I nodded. I told her where to find a bag, and some of the clothes in my room. Meanwhile, 76 lowered himself to the floor once more, and carefully asked if he could get a better look at my ribs and any other injuries I'd sustained. He fumbled over his words a bit, muttering something about not having to if it made me uncomfortable. Studying him for a brief moment, I reached down and peeled my nightie up over my stomach, though it was tempting to reject him. However, the pain in my abdomen was killing me, and he seemed to know more about this kind of stuff. Sliding both his gloves off, he gingerly placed his fingers around my ribs, prodding lightly and feeling for the extent of the damage. I winced a few times, trying not to vocalize the subtle pains that accompanied his touch. Each time I flinched, he paused and moved on, taking note of each sensitive spot.  

Lena appeared back in the living room, a blue duffle-bag in her hands. "I'm afraid your dresser and half the things in it didn't quite survive the attack. I went through the closet, though; anywhere else I should look?" 

"Laundry room beside the stairs", I pointed behind her. I regretted looking to my right, noticing the gruesome sight of the headless corpse Reaper had created a few feet away. His mangled arm rested at a horrendous angle. I shuddered. She nodded and made her way toward the room. Before crossing the threshold, she paused, staring at something lying on the ground at her feet. I watched her bend down and pick up the action figure Grayson's friend had given him on his birthday. The same one that he had proudly shown to Amira last night. Jack Morrison. If he had brought it with him when he came downstairs, I hadn't noticed.  

Holding the figurine in her hands, she studied it, just like Amira had; turning the toy around in slender fingers, recognition gripping her features. Throat tightening at the memory of my omnic friend, tears threatened to betray me again. Lena was also familiar somehow, not unlike the action-figure had felt familiar the previous night. I wondered if the young woman had known the commander. She turned a bit, fixing me with those big, sad eyes. A look of knowing. Inhaling deeply, she shifted her attention to the soldier bent over me, who was still examining my injuries. He was now probing my outstretched arm, checking for fractures. His back was turned from her, and her stare lingered on him for a few moments. She looked as though she wanted to say something. Hesitation. 

But, she didn't. Instead, she pushed the figure into my bag wordlessly, and turned to retrieve more of my clothing. Above me, 76 had paused. I couldn't see them, but I could feel his eyes on me and I shifted my attention back to him to see why he'd stopped. 

"Am I hurting you?" He murmured. 

The question caught me off guard, and I realized a few tears had spilled over onto my cheeks. Clearing my throat, I shook my head, "No. Sorry, you're fine." 

---------- 

Some time later, we were en route to one of Overwatch's operations centers, located out in Grand Junction. By sky car, the trip to Grand Junction was typically a little under 2 hours. However, Lena piloted a small airship, where Soldier: 76 and I occupied the cargo area behind the cockpit. He had insisted on carrying me into the ship, and I allowed him after no small amount of quarreling. Everything hurt, yeah, but it wasn't that bad. He was incredibly stubborn, though. As was I. He told me not to be an idiot, that walking might risk puncturing my liver or a lung. I told him he had terrible bed-side manner. Truthfully, being carried like a child simply hurt my pride more than anything.  

The sun was beginning to peak over the horizon, washing the valley in streams of gold and coral. The air was still chilly, but Lena had helped me into one of my hoodies before we boarded. The home chosen by Cooper and I offered an astounding view of the hulking plateau that loomed half a mile or so to the north, framed by trees of varying colors. We had few neighbors, all scattered a ways from one another, allowing a great deal of privacy. If none of them had heard the violence that night, it wouldn't surprise me.  

On our way to the base, Lena explained that the prosthetic-tech company who had produced my arm and facilitated Cooper's work was operated by a man named Akande Ogundimu. Ogundimu was responsible for the attack that had torn apart Numbani, and was behind bars, as a result. This is something I actually remembered quite vividly- reports of the assault were scattered across numerous news networks at the time. I was still pregnant, laying across the couch with Cooper as we watched headlines and chaotic feeds bombard the holo-screen. Turns out, that's where I had seen Lena, previously. She went by the call name "Tracer" in public reports. She was involved in an accident while trying to detain him. 

Ogundima was the powerhouse known as "Doomfist", another name I'd heard thrown around from time to time. Most knew of him. Lena elaborated on his associations with the Talon organization, emphasizing their penchant for conflict. Furthermore, she reluctantly brought up the fact that my fiance had accepted a contract with Ogundima's company; it was possible that he hadn't realized some of his schematics were being replicated in Talon's operations. It was hard to tell whether or not he was informed and willingly continued his work. Regardless, the point Lena finally made was cringe-inducing: 

There was no way Cooper lacked the knowledge that my prosthesis in particular was incredibly dangerous. He personally signed off in every step of its production. 

Again, Overwatch couldn't pinpoint what specific function made the arm such a severe risk. They would need to run tests on every component, as well as diagnostics screening that would assess the degree in which my body depended on the prosthesis. I had an apparently basic understanding of its capabilities when it was surgically attached to me. I knew that they had to put me under numerous times over the course of a week, slowly finalizing the finished product while ensuring I wasn't harmed. Being incapacitated within the bright walls of a hospital got pretty tiring after some time. Not to mention being drugged so heavily was worrisome. On the other hand, the arm was not an external attachment. It was implanted into the side of my body, and the process took the greatest care and accuracy one could imagine. Cooper had created the prototype with hopes that the wearer would never have to worry about the integrity and reliability of their prosthesis. He wanted to make sure the disabled wouldn't need to spend thousands on upkeep through the course of their life. That's what he had told me, anyway. Expensive initially, but little to no maintenance required. 

Had Cooper really lied to me? 

Holding my left arm up under the light above me, I studied it in the silence of the cargo hold. A cerulean sheen glared from the clean planes and surfaces that made up the arm's pieces. The joints and sockets were composed of a pliable black lining, accentuating the appendage with what I thought to be a sophisticated look. The pads of my fingers and the few buttons carved into the palm were of the same material; this ensured nothing could accidentally trigger the prosthetic's defense utilities. It was very advanced for a prosthesis, yes, but it had never struck me as a serious threat until now. I still wasn't even sure I believed it.  

After half an hour or so, we landed. The short trip took me by surprise- I'd visited the Junction a few times in the past, and was impressed with the time we made. It was just as gorgeous as I'd remembered; wide plateaus and peaks surrounded by breath-taking green foliage, landscape occasionally broken up by sparkling azure lakes. The wildflowers breathed much-needed life into otherwise dry plains. .  

The great rock face to the west offered privacy, ensuring that Watchpoint: Grand Mesa was hidden away from civilian sight. Everyone knew about it, or at least of Helix's recent acquisition of the building. I suppose they no longer controlled it if Overwatch had reestablished themselves here. The facility was prestigious, if not a bit dilapidated from lack of maintenance. It stood behind a series of broad plateaus and natural arches splayed across the valley. Actually, upon further inspection, it seemed as though the structure was built into the landscape's jagged ridges. There was no doubt; Overwatch's Colorado base was an impressive bit of architecture. Absolutely massive.  

Lena and Soldier: 76 accompanied me into the building, clearing all the entrances with user-specific access codes. Once we'd made it beyond the outer-walls, we were greeted by young woman named Demetra Kostas; she was the assigned specialist in charge of the medical ward. They escorted me to the infirmary, and I was deposited on a gurney. 76 had left immediately upon dropping me off and filling Demetra in on what he'd gathered, as far as my injuries were concerned. Lena remained by my side, while Dr. Kostas cleaned up and checked the bodily damage I'd sustained with expert hands and state-of-the-art medical equipment. 

The doctor was very accommodating, and I was comforted by her confident diagnosis. After a few moments of standard admission procedure, she stood back, looking into my face with a professional curiosity. 

"You know, the damage to your ribcage is almost critical. Several fractures, he must have kicked you pretty hard", she placed her hands on her hips, watching my reaction. "However, it seems as though something in your immune system is fighting against your injuries- very rapidly." 

I didn't really know how to respond to that. Was she accusing me of something? It seemed more likely that she was simply stumped by the phenomenon, but I couldn't help but feel defensive. 

I shrugged, "I don't really know what to tell you. I've been learning a lot about myself over the last few hours. I haven't taken anything recently- vitamins, drugs, nothing." 

Demetra regarded me with skeptical scrutiny, "Hmm...well, I can use what holo-gel we have left to mend your eye-socket, as well as the ribs. It shouldn't take long. Looks like 76's biotic field brought down most of the swelling." 

Lena spoke up, "What would cause her immune system to be so...fast-acting? Out of curiosity." 

I'd wondered the same thing, nodding in agreement. I could've been mistaken, but judging by her accent and complexion, I'd assumed she hailed from Greece. Dark tresses pulled back by a silver headband, her skin was a lovely olive shade, looking as though she'd been bronzed by the sun recently. Her cheek bones were pronounced, dipping into a notably feminine jaw line. The deep brown of her irises were even darker than my own, nearly black. I'd be lying if I said she wasn't stunning.  

"I honestly won't have an idea of what's causing it until we examine her to a further extent, later", Demetra retorted, eyeing Tracer. "I'll have to contact Dr. Ziegler once I've tended to Miss Nolan's wounds. She's seen more than I, so maybe she'll have a more informed answer." 

After a few hours of what I could only describe as pure fucking agony, the doctor had managed to re-align most of my shattered bones through the miracle of modern medical science. Truly humbling. When you hear "holo-gel", you don't realize how much worse it is than it sounds. I hadn't a mind for medical sciences, and I don't have the stomach to go into great detail on how her nimble hands accomplished it. 

I wanted nothing more than to nap, to regain some of my strength. But once Demetra had left me to rest in the mediocre hospital bed, I did nothing but overthink everything that had happened in the last few hours. Lena tried comforting me by squeezing my hand, recounting silly stories of her fellow squad-mates. I tried to listen to her- I really did. She seemed perceptive; naturally empathetic. The girl was selfless, worried about nothing but my own state of mind. My air of apprehension didn't escape her notice. I nodded at each comment, humming in response to her outlandish remarks and the occasional giggle. 

After a what felt like an eternity of half-hearted conversation, I told Lena that I was feeling sleepy. The young woman graced me with a benign look of understanding, and stood from her seated position on the edge of the bed. Nodding once, she squeezed my arm reassuringly, "Alright then, love. Sorry for talkin' your ear off there. I hope you feel better soon." 

I smiled, "Don't worry about it, Lena- and, thank you. I really appreciate you keeping me company. Your help means a lot." 

Subtle pride bloomed in her eyes and she chuckled, "No worries. If you need anything at all, just use the console by the bed to ring me." 

With that, she blinked over to the exit, and I was left alone among the soft beeping that filled the infirmary. Wired clamps adorned the fingers of my human hand, a few more connected to data sockets on the opposite arm. Readings scattered across the holo-interfaces at the foot of the bed. Nothing too invasive, just something to give them an idea of what I was working with. Dr. Kostas wanted to leave me hooked up while I rested to keep a read on my vitals. She also wanted to keep tabs on whatever was causing me to gradually self-heal. 

My smile vanished the moment Lena did. Frowning, I stared at the white ceiling, fingers clutching the soft blanket covering my lower-half.  

I know Soldier: 76 had assured me that than any harm coming to Grayson was unlikely. In spite of this, intrusive thoughts still pushed probing fingers into my head, nipping at me with heartbreaking images of my son's terrified countenance. I saw him locked in a room, calling out for me, frightened cries falling on deaf ears. He probably wondered why I hadn't come to get him yet. Would they feed him? Would they even bother taking care of him at all? My gut twisted, lines in my face deepening. 

Was he even alive? 

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to will away the awful thoughts. What kind of mother just watches while her child is kidnapped right in front of her? My mind ran through everything I could have done differently. The biggest mistake was putting up a fight at all. If I'd just did as Reaper said, I wouldn't be here. Maybe he really would have went easy on me, like he had initially claimed. If Amira...God, Amira....hadn't attacked them, she would still be alive. My eyelids fluttered, blinking back tears. What a mess. I couldn't even begin to think of sleep. Lifting my arm from the bed, I examined it once more. What have you gotten me into, Cooper? Everything that Lena had explained to me earlier only left me with more questions. Namely, I couldn't help but wonder if all of this had anything to do with my fiance's disappearance. It was feeling more and more likely that both catastrophes were connected in some way. 

The machinery around me let out a soft electronic hum- it had been years since I'd visited a hospital or doctor's office, not since the last evaluation on my prosthetic. Even then, I'd never seen such sleek medical facilities. The specialist who had worked on my arm had a pretty impressive setup, maybe the only establishment I could think of to rival this place. Sniffing a bit, I tried to reign in my shuddering. Maybe I should have asked for drugs to help me sleep.  

An hour or so passed, and I still stared at the ceiling. I was startled when a figure entered through the doorway to my left. There stood what looked to be a male omnic, watching me. He was dressed in traditional Shambali robes; casual but not lacking in sophistication whatsoever. His presence was impressive, not just in his appearance, but also how he carried himself so gracefully. He stood with his attention on me, hands clasped behind him.  

"My apologies, I hadn't meant to frighten you." 

I was beyond the point of being embarrassed of my tear-stained face, "It's alright", I sniffed, again. "Just not used to this place yet." 

He nodded, approaching the side of my bed. His movements were fluid. After he had moved a bit closer, I noticed the polished gold and silver tones of his faceplates and hands. The robes were a burnt amber color, trimmed with fine golden threading.  

"Is it alright if I accompany you?" He questioned, his voice gentle.  

Blinking at him, I nodded once and he stopped to stand at my side. Nothing about him seemed remotely intimidating or aggressive, but I remained wary.   

"My name is Tekartha Zenyatta", he introduced himself, holding a hand to his breastplate. "Though, you may simply call me Zenyatta, if it pleases you." 

Wiping my cheeks with the back of my wrist, I hiccupped before speaking, "Zenyatta. It's nice to meet you. I'm Harper. Sorry I'm such a mess right now." I smiled, sheepishly. 

"You needn't apologize; I doubt that anybody here would judge you for feeling upset. There's nothing wrong in expressing your emotions, my friend." 

I swallowed, eyes drawn to the foot of the bed, "I suppose so. Just...it's just hard to process so much in so little time, I guess." 

Reaching behind him, Zenyatta pulled forward a small metal orb. He cupped it gingerly in the palm of his hand, and held it out to me. Intrigued by whatever it was, I studied the detailed shapes engraved into its surface. There appeared to be a faint golden aura surrounding it; I had never seen anything like it before. It was mesmerizing. 

"It's...beautiful. What is it?" I looked up at him, curiously. 

"It is one of a small number of harmony orbs still in existence. I acquired them years ago, at a monastery in Nepal. I had hoped it would bring you some peace in the midst of the chaos you've witnessed. A small comfort." 

Holding both my hands together in front of me, Zenyatta placed the curious item in my palms. His movements were careful, mindful of my nervousness. I stared at the orb. 

Suddenly, I felt different. It's hard to explain. It felt like I could really breathe- like the anxiety was being gradually peeled away. My nerves settled, and the dark images that plagued me mere minutes ago were noticeably less insistent. I felt calm; almost happy, even. Closing my eyes for a few moments, I opened them again and fixing the omnic with a look of wonder. I wasn't sure what kind of magic this was, but it was indeed a small comfort as he'd intended. He lowered his hand to my shoulder, and if omnics could smile, I'd think Zenyatta was doing just that. The kind reassuring smile I used to make Grayson feel safe when he was scared. His words were soft. 

"Harper, I wanted to visit you to let you know you are not alone. I am personally unaware of the details of your stay here, but I can assure you that you needn't feel unsafe. You are among friends." 

Considering his words carefully, I rubbed a thumb against the surface of the orb. After contemplating for what felt like minutes, I spoke quietly. 

"I'm just worried", I sighed. "I hate sitting here, doing nothing. It feels wrong. Did they...did they tell you everything?" 

Zenyatta hummed, "Mm, yes. Miss Oxton filled me in shortly after she left you to yourself. My deepest condolences for the loss of your friend." 

"Thank you." 

Nodding again, his hand left my shoulder. I was surprised by my disappointment at the lack of contact, but I didn't say anything. I didn't dare admit to myself that I was scared to be left alone to my own thoughts. Instead, I smiled at him, shyly, "...and thank you for coming to see me, Zenyatta. You're very kind." 

He laughed pleasantly, "I'm glad to hear my presence is welcome. We must all trust and respect one another if we're to reach our goals", he moved to look at one of the displays whirring nearby. "Did Dr. Kostas tell you how long you are to remain in the infirmary?" 

"Yeah, just a couple of days. Five broken ribs and a broken face. She was able to re-align everything remotely with a...um...", my brow furrowed. I was having difficulty recalling how she'd outline the procedure. "I guess I wasn't really listening. She doped me up a bit before starting- still hurt like hell, though." 

"I'd imagine so. Are you feeling any better now?" 

"I am", I assured him. "A little sore, but in much better shape than when they found me." 

Turning the harmony orb over in my hands, I came to a sudden realization: who was paying for all of this? My hands fell in my lap. Jesus, this had to be expensive. Chewing my lower lip, I cast my eyes down, contemplating. I still had some money left in my savings account, but I'd been saving it for Grayson's school tuition. Judging by how pristine the medical facilities were, it probably wasn't cheap. I seriously doubted health insurance would mean anything here. I'd have to ask Demetra about it when she returned. 

"I sense that you are troubled", Zenyatta's calm voice broke me from my thoughts. 

Glancing back up at him briefly, I averted my eyes again. "I...yeah. I hadn't really considered my, uh, bill. Treatment here is probably meant for you guys- employees, I guess? Not someone like me." I shrugged. 

The omnic tilted his head slightly and clasped his hands behind him again, "Ahh, but Overwatch is not out for profit, my friend. I sincerely doubt they intend to charge you for treatment. We merely wish to help." 

"You want to help, but that doesn't mean everyone else here does. I don't think the doctor really trusts me." 

"Miss Kostas is known for being a bit...disagreeable. She heals all, yet trusts few. I wouldn't take it too personally. She certainly makes up for it by being one of the brightest medical officers in the organization. If I'm not mistaken, she is one of Dr. Ziegler's best pupils." 

I regarded him, curiously, "Dr. Ziegler? Demetra mentioned her." 

He nodded, "Another of Overwatch's original staff- she is currently stationed in Spain, I believe." 

I hummed in acknowledgment, and a comfortable silence enveloped the room. His attention was again on one of the many monitors beside the bed and I had taken to mapping out the fine details on the orb he'd given me. I still wasn't fully convinced that they had no plans to ask for something in return. How could he be certain they wouldn't? Sighing, I reminded myself that I tended to overthink everything. It had to stop if I ever hoped to clear my head and plan out a way to fix all of this. No need to make everything more difficult than it has to be, Harper. 

Zenyatta broke the long silence first, "I should probably let you rest, now. I'm sure you are in need of it. Just know that if you are ever need to talk, I would be honored to listen- and, please, feel free to keep the orb until you are feeling better. It has numerous healing benefits." 

Clutching it gratefully in my hands, I smiled and nodded at him, "I'd like for us to talk again soon. Thank you, Zenyatta. You didn't have to do any of this." 

"I know- I do it because I want to help. I look forward to your company, Harper. Peace be upon you", he bowed slightly, and turned to leave. Mid-step, the omnic paused and turned back to face me. "Ah yes- I hadn't decided if I should bring this up; I spoke to Demetra about the details of your rehabilitation. While she has made it clear that it is to be of no cost to you, I know we are lacking in funds at the moment. I had wished to make a small contribution to the watchpoint's medical wing, in your name. I hope this is okay." 

I simply stared at him, pausing in thought. A contribution? Like a donation? I wasn't sure I fully understood what he was saying, and he seemed to sense this. 

"A simple gesture of goodwill. To you, as well as the rest of the team." 

It dawned on me. Whether or not they had intended to request payment, Overwatch was just getting back on its feet. Maybe they really weren't in it for the money, but it didn't change the fact that they were likely in serious need to resume and maintain full operation. The organization's reform was outlawed by the Petras Act, which meant they were no longer receiving funds from the UN. Zenyatta knew this. He knew that I was a single mother, recently left alone to care for her young son. He knew said son had been stolen by a man who had physically attacked me in my own home. 

I swallowed tightly and my vision was blurred by a fresh wave of tears that threatened to spill over. For the first time in ages, they weren't sad tears. Would I ever stop crying? 

I opened my mouth to say something, but closed it, unable to find the right words to thank him. What do you say to someone who freely gives out help to those who may not even deserve it? How did he even know I could be trusted? How did Lena know? Why were they being so good to me? It was hard not to feel uncertain and alone given the circumstances, but they were truly making this much easier to bear. 

He reached a hand out, resting the tips of his fingers over my head. The touch somehow felt warm. I could only watch him in stunned silence, but didn't pull away. 

"There is no need for thanks, Miss Nolan. I'm merely doing what I feel to be right. Like I said, there are those of us who genuinely want you to feel welcome here. Please...rest, now." 

His hand atop my head may have felt odd in a different situation. However, the warmth radiating from his palm, coupled with the harmony orb's subtle effects, made me feel more comfortable than I'd felt in months. I hummed and closed my eyes, relenting to his request. Withdrawing his touch, I barely noticed as the omnic soundlessly left the room. Gratitude settled in my chest, and I sighed, relaxing and falling into sleep's gentle throes. I would have to properly thank everyone once I'd gotten a good night's rest. 

And it was a good night's rest, indeed. 

Chapter Text

It's been a week.

After spending a couple nights in the med bay, I was released and offered my own quarters within Watchpoint: Grand Mesa. It was basically a dormitory. I had a full-sized bed, a desk, and plenty of storage for the few things I'd brought along with me. There was even a small refrigerator to the left of the large window opposite the door. Nothing glamorous about it, but it was certainly doable. The room was situated in a long hallway stretching through the southeastern wing of the base. The only other facilities I became familiar with were the cafeteria, as well as the training area. Thankfully, both were in within close proximity from my quarters.

While still in the infirmary, Lena had come to visit more than once, sitting on the bed with me and asking how I felt. I was tired, and had a difficult time controlling a bevy of intrusive thoughts. I think she was able to sense that I was distressed, although I didn't yet feel comfortable enough with her to admit it. She was very kind to me; but it was difficult to reciprocate all the smiling. Once or twice she reached for my hand and gave my fingers a reassuring squeeze- we would find Grayson, but it would take patience.

Zenyatta visited me again once I was situated in my quarters. After he was satisfied that I was feeling well, I asked him about the Shambali and his travels. His stories were pretty enthralling, a distraction I was grateful for. The omnic brought his pupil, Genji.

I suppose I'm technically a cyborg, but this was my first time meeting a man who was mostly machine. His glowing, armor-plated visage was impressive, in my opinion. When I reached to shake his hand, he took my own hand between his. Bowing slightly, he apologized for all I'd been through, emphasizing that he would help return my son home. I was slightly taken aback by his meek disposition. I suppose his intimidating appearance hadn't prepared me for it. I thanked him with a smile.

Yesterday, Lena came to retrieve me from my room, informing me that Winston had requested me on vidcall. She had brought him up in our previous discussions, filling me in on his role within the reformed Overwatch. The part I found difficult to wrap my mind around was the fact that she was talking about a gorilla.

All in all, he was very professional. So professional, in fact, that I felt suddenly out of place when I spoke to him via holo-vid. I don't mean to imply that he wasn't kind; his smiles were genuine and his voice comforting. However, he seemed to take his job very seriously.

Winston repeated some of what Lena explained back on the airship, underscoring the importance of keeping me out of Talon's reach. Dr. Kostas had sent him some basic scans of my bionic arm's composition and energy readings. They identified not only all existing technical utilities of the prosthetic, but also indicated that one of the power stores was not functioning correctly.

At first, I thought he was suggesting that the arm had simply sustained interior damage during the fight last week. Honestly, I was surprised it barely had a scratch on it. Though, I suppose Reaper would have needed to keep it in one piece. But no, the power store wasn't damaged- it simply wasn't active. The strangest part, Winston said, was that their artificial intelligence, Athena, was completely blocked from accessing the store's CPU data. This would need to be further investigated when the scientist was able to fly in from the ecopoint in Antarctica, where he was currently extracting a former member of the task force.

He then went on to explain that if I wanted to work within Overwatch to infiltrate Talon and retrieve Grayson, I would need to be informally inducted. Luckily, this wouldn't be a terribly painful process. Since the organization wasn't legally or officially reformed, induction would only require processing paperwork and running a few extra background checks. Nothing fancy. In the meantime, I would have to work with the agents stationed in Mesa. The key part here was participating in a number of field exercises aimed at familiarizing me with the team's strengths and weaknesses. Simply put- team-building practices. I had no military history, but the number of defense courses I'd enrolled in surely had to count for something. It would, at the very least, give me an edge. Winston didn't try to hide the fact that he knew of my past affiliation with the Corinth in Denver. Fortunately, he kept that part brief. He suggested that I brush up on weapons training. After all, aside from the fight with Talon, I hadn't been in a real firefight in six years or so.

At the end of the call, the scientist peered up at me from his holopad, studying me. His tone was sympathetic, "Miss Nolan, Overwatch was founded to help and protect those in need. I know you have a lot on your mind, but you should take time to get to know everyone. We want to help you, not use you. With that said, please don't hesitate to contact me with any concerns you may have."

I hadn't seen 76 much at all throughout the week; he didn't seem the type to talk much. I visited the humongous gym complex twice, running along the second-floor track that overlooked both the weight-lifting and sparring areas. Exercise was another welcomed distraction. I spotted the soldier down there both times, unloading on one of the many punching bags or doing pull-ups. His stamina was astounding for a man of his age. I tried not to seem obvious when I glanced over, brow furrowing as my mind tried to comprehend how goddamn fast he was. I reminded myself to inquire about crew dossiers. No harm in staying informed, right? Not that I expected them to contain sensitive information. I briefly considered opening a dialogue with one of the Corinth's info negotiators, see if maybe they had more pertinent intel regarding Overwatch's agents. In end, I decided it was too risky. For now.

It wasn't until I had walked into the kitchen through the mess hall that I spotted 76 without his mask. In one hand he held a mug of coffee- the fingers of his free hand twitched instinctively toward the mask as it lay next to him on the countertop. I paused, hesitant, when I realized he looked...uncomfortable. Okay, so he didn't like walking around bare-faced. The scar on his forehead stretched across his face and another cut through his lip. His eyes were blue. I had to hand it to him, he was a looker.

"Nolan", he greeted me with a nod.

I squinted a bit. He seemed so familiar, but I was having a hard time placing it. Upon scrutinizing him, he averted his gaze. He was doing a poor job of acting casual. I made a muted sound of acknowledgment and turned to find something to eat. When I turned back to him, he was gone, his mask no longer on the counter.

Today, Lena seemed intent on getting me out of my room and around the other recruits. I initially protested, but had to admit she was right; isolating myself wasn't going to make me feel any better. She insisted that I get out and enjoy my day before my admission training started tomorrow morning. Turns out there was a rather impressive recreational area in the west wing. The lighting was soft, oversized leather sofas were spread across the right side of the room, situated around the most expensive holo-projector I'd ever seen.

"Wow. You guys are watching TV in style", I commented. "Expensive setup."

Lena smiled, "Right? Winston insisted we sell all non-essentials in here since we're tight on cash at the moment. But I couldn't let him, I mean, no one's gonna be at their best on the field if you take away all the fun!"

"That's a fair point", I counted a dozen or so faces. "There are more people living here than I expected. Are these all fresh recruits?"

"Not entirely, but they outnumber the old crew. So far we've re-established Grand Mesa and Gibraltar. We may have Antarctica back up soon, depending on whether or not we can find a good crew to manage it. For now, I'd say we have 60 or so recruits, and climbing fast"

"Good to know people want to help. Wait- are you supposed to tell me all this?" I eyed her as I moved to sit on one of the couches.

She rolled her eyes with a grin, opening the streaming guide on the TV, "Now you're starting to sound like Jack."

"Who's Ja-"

My question was abruptly interrupted by a wall-rattling boom that had me leaping to my feet in a panic. It sounded like we were being attacked. I looked to Lena, eyes wide, "What the fuck was that?"

The explosion had her bracing her arms on the back of the sofa, eyes wild.

"I- I don't..." She paused and looked to the window. Flashing over to peer out, her shoulders tensed briefly. "Aw, rubbish..."

"What? What is it?"

"C'mon, we better get down there before Jack does. He's gonna skin those two alive if he sees this."

I approached her to take a look for myself, "Skin who? Lena- what's going on?"

But before I could look out the window, she grabbed my arm, prompting me to jog with her out into the hallway, "Everything's okay love, one of the agents just had a little accident, I think. Come on, might as well introduce yourself."

I regarded her with heavy skepticism- not sure how eager I was to meet whoever blew up the courtyard. Following her uneasily, I chose to trust her, seeing as she hadn't steered me wrong thus far.

We turned left in the hall and went down an exterior staircase leading outside. We were immediately met with the smell of burning rubber and gun-powder. After rounding a corner, we both stood still, mouths agape at the sight in the courtyard.

"Jamison, what did you...what did you do? Are you off your rocker?!" Lena called out to the pile of rubble a dozen yards or so ahead. Smoke curled from what remained of the courtyard, splinters from destroyed crates and boxes still smoldering in the wreckage. My eyes were drawn to a huge hole blown into the towering privacy wall that separated the outskirts of the base from the breathtaking plains of Grand Junction.

"Oi, been here three weeks and all you blokes do is bitch and moan any time one of us hiccups."

The response came from a lanky man who ambled out from behind the pile of junk burning before us. His hair and skin was smudged with soot, fingers twitching restlessly. His eyes were wide with mischief, a sly grin cut into his features. I noted that one of his arms was a crudely-designed prosthetic, and his gait was attributed to a peg leg. He might have been attractive if he showered and didn't have the worst posture I'd probably ever witnessed. His gaze fell on me.

"Ahh, and who's this, eh? This the girlfriend you mentioned?" His eyebrow quirked, a new sparkle in his eye that wasn't there before.

"No, this isn't Emily. I want you guys to meet Harper. Harper, this is Junkrat. He's our demolitions expert."

My eyes widened. I knew that name.

"Wait, wait, wait...one of the Junkers from Australia", I breathed, suddenly wary. "You're wanted for all kinds of shit."

Junkrat's eyebrow lifted and he regarded me carefully. "That'd be us, I reckon. Gonna be a problem?"

I shook my head. "No, it's... not that. Some people I used to work for have a pretty massive bounty on your head", when he exchanged a worried look with Lena, I held up my hands. "Easy, I don't work with them anymore. I just thought you should know, since their base of operations is only a few hours away."

Junkrat continued to scrutinize me, but seemed to relax a little, "Yeah...yeah, no worries, mate. I'm used to it by now. Can't say I've been here before, though- curious as to why your friends would take an interest in little 'ol me."

I shrugged. "I, ah, don't really know the details, but the Corinth has a presence across the globe nowadays. I'd say you meddled with some stuff elsewhere, caught their attention."

I was startled when a hulking figure moved out from behind an unscathed stack of crates to our left. Stepping back instinctively, I stared up at the stranger with wide eyes. He wore a mask resembling a hog, and he was absolutely the largest man I'd ever met in person. Junkrat and Lena seemed completely unfazed by his presence. Junkrat beamed, amused by my reaction to his companion.

"Oi! Just in time, Roadie- meet our new friend...uh..."

I cleared my throat. "Harper. Nice to meet you."

Junkrat gave his friend's arm a pat. "This here's Roadhog, me bodyguard and best mate. Big fella's useful out on the battlefield. Pretty decent cook, too, if ya can believe it!"

I couldn't see his eyes behind the intimidating mask, but I could feel him staring right through me. Shifting uncomfortably, I nodded once and averted my gaze. Though he remained silent, he had a demanding presence- perfect material for a bodyguard, I suppose. Like Junkrat, there were harnesses strapped to his body, as well as a tattoo splayed across his massive belly. After a few moments of silence, his deep voice rumbled, "Is this gang going to be a problem?"

Swallowing, I shifted my stare back to him and shook my head. "N-no...I mean, I wouldn't know. I heard about the bounty through the grapevine, but I don't communicate with the Corinth anymore."

He hummed, "Mm. Best keep it that way."

"Of course."

Lena sighed, folding her arms across her chest, "Alright, alright, enough. I don't know what you two did here, but you should get it cleaned up before Morrison throws a fit."

"I thought that bloke wasn't in charge anymore", Junkrat grumbled, pouting. "He don't seem to like us much, always yammerin' about keeping live explosives outside, blah, blah, blah-"

"Regardless of his title, his word still carries weight. You're better off staying on his good side; plus, I gotta say it makes me feel better knowing your bombs aren't inside where we all sleep at night, for cryin' out loud."

Junkrat grimaced, "Thing is, Morrison ain't payin' us, so we ain't inclined to listen to him, mate."

Before he could continue arguing, Roadhog grumbled something incoherent. Throwing his arms up, the smaller Junker growled in exasperation, "Fine. We'll get it cleaned up, sheesh. Always ruinin' the fun, Roadie."

By now, a handful of people were standing at the rec room windows, peering out at the mess in surprise. Seems the spectacle had already drawn an audience. My eyes roamed over the unfamiliar faces, feeling a bit self-conscious as they stared down at us from the second-story. I then noticed the green glow of Genji's visor amongst the recruits. He tilted his head inquisitively behind the glass. I shrugged, wordlessly indicating it wasn't me.

My attention was suddenly back on Junkrat when he snatched up my left hand.

"Bloody hell, I ain't never seen anythin' like this! Is it bionic? Mechanical? Snazziest bit of tech I've seen in a while, I reckon."

An alarmed blush crept into my face when he lifted the sleeve of my shirt to examine where the prosthetic was attached. Though it didn't appear as though he were trying to feel me up, I couldn't help but feel a bit embarrassed. There was already enough attention on us as it were. I snatched my arm away, reaching up to pull my sleeve back down.

"Excuse you; and yes, it's bionic", my gaze lowered to his own prosthesis. "I see you're one arm short as well."

He held his hands up, defensively. "Easy, I weren't meanin' to bite ya or nothin'. Not unless yer into that sorta thing", he waggled his eyebrows, a mischievous grin cutting across his face.

I narrowed my eyes, unimpressed by his little jokes. Lena cut in before I managed a clipped response.

"Heh. Okay, Harper, whaddaya say we get some grub, love?"

I nodded, grateful for the distraction. "Yeah. Sounds good."

We left the two Junkers and made our way to the mess hall. From what I understood, the watchpoint had hired a small group of kitchen staff- the food wasn't five-star, but it was certainly home-cooked and I couldn't complain. Perhaps the base wasn't fully-staffed just yet, but they'd gotten a start on bringing in basic help to run the facilities so that they were prepared for an influx of new recruits.

Once we'd eaten, Lena said she had to take care of a few things before the day's end. Encouraging me to continue exploring the base, my curiosity was peaked when she mentioned a mini-bar in one of the barracks' lounge areas. Trying to act casual, I inquired about the exact location of said mini-bar. I wouldn't necessarily complain about a small drink. Or three.

On my way to the lounge, I mentally mapped out the route back to my room. A bit inebriated, this building might prove a little confusing to navigate. Not that I'd planned on getting too shitty.

Admittedly, it was a cozy little room. Not quite as expansive as the rec room, it housed a couple couches, a television, and a rather expensive-looking pool table. Lena's insistence that they keep the fun stuff must have left quite the impression on Winston. And true to what Lena had said, I spied a small wood-paneled self-service bar on the opposite side of the room. It was adjacent to one of the sofas furthest from the TV, where a man chewing on a cigar sat sprawled out, eyeing the television. Was that a cowboy hat?

To my dismay, he'd heard me enter the room and turned his head in my direction, subtle surprise in his face. Damn it. I was hoping to drink in peace. Being introduced to so many new people every day was exhausting.

"Well now, don't think I've seen you around here", he commented with a heavy southern accent that I wasn't entirely unfamiliar with, having lived in the southwest my whole life. "You one of the new recruits?"

My fingers gently grasped the bottom of my shirt, rubbing the fabric between my fingers nervously. "Uh, yeah. My name's Harper, I just got here last week."

The man leaned forward slightly to get a better look at me, shifting the glass of brown alcohol in his hand to rest on his knee. "Harper. Yeah, I believe someone mentioned you to me at some point", there was a thoughtful pause before he continued. "Guess Talon gave you the shake-up, huh? Real sorry about that, miss. Real dirty move on their part, getting' the drop on ya in your own home like that." He tipped his hat a bit, eyeing me thoughtfully.

I offered a wry smile, ignoring the sadness that bloomed in the pit of my stomach. "You're not wrong. I do appreciate the thought, um...?"

"Jesse McCree. People call me both names, whatever suits your fancy, Miss Nolan."

I nodded. "You can call me Harper."

He grinned and gave a chuckle. "In that case, you can call me Jesse, darlin' ", he lifted the glass he held. "So, you just sightseein' or you come here to make good use of the bar?"

I finally approached, forcing myself to stop fidgeting with my fingers. Geez, did everyone here really have to be good-looking? Even the more synthetic members of Overwatch were easy to look at.

"I guess I'd be lying if I said I weren't looking forward to a drink. What are you having?" I gestured to the drink in his hand.

He looked at it. "Oh, this? This is just plain 'ol whiskey. Simple and effective, how I like to get everythin' done."

I turned to the bar, hiding a small laugh behind my fingers. The childish part of me wanted to say 'Everything?' but decided it might give the wrong impression. Browsing the drink selection, I found myself a little indecisive. I used to be a big drinker years ago, when I was keeping some questionable company. I knew what I'd liked then, but knew my tolerance was probably laughably low nowadays. The thought of straight-up whiskey made me grimace, slightly. Never could stand the taste or smell.

"Don't be shy", Jesse drawled. "Hell, you deserve a serious drink. S'long as you ain't body-slammin' folks, Overwatch don't give a rat's ass about getting' a little toasty now and again."

I had to laugh at this, regarding him skeptically. "That a common occurrence around here?"

 He looked to the side for a second and gave small shrug, as though the answer were obvious. "Why, yeah."

Laughter leaving me again, I was suddenly kind of grateful that the one person who happened to be here was McCree. Conversation with him was rather easy to fall into. My lightened mood also made me more confident in my drink selection. He was right- I had nothing to lose by having a drink or two. Going for a crystal-clear bottle of vodka I mixed a somewhat generous amount in with some juice and joined McCree on the sofa, settling on the opposite side.

"I hope I'm not disturbing your quiet-time by coming here. Wanted to check out the bar scene, ya know?" I offered, glancing at him.

"You ain't disturbin' no one, darlin' ", he shook his head and sipped his drink. "As long as I have a cigar, a drink, and a cozy place to sit my happy ass, I don't care what ya do."

I smiled. "Good to know. So, I gotta say, your name's familiar. Are you from around here, Jesse?"

He tilted his head in thought, looking away for a moment. "Home's down in New Mexico. Though I can think of a couple stories you might've heard."

I turned toward him more, curious. "Stories?"

Jesse took a moment to cross his boots on the coffee table before him, studying them. "Yeah", he drew the word out. "Maybe you heard about the train incident recently."

I blinked, waiting for him to elaborate. When he didn't, and instead gave me a sideways glance, I searched my mind for what in the world he could have been referring to. Train incident? I wracked my brain, eyes lowering in thought. And then, I raised my head slowly, realization dawning on my face. That train incident?

Holy shit.

"That was... Jesse McCree. You're that Jesse McCree?"

His shoulder's shook once with a humorless laugh. "Yeah, that'd be me. Drew a little attention to myself for a minute there, I guess."

I raised my eyebrows, impressed. "No shit. You were all over the news for two days straight. Kinda surprised you'd be hiding nearby." I took a drink from my glass, eye twitching at the vodka's bite. Might've put too much in there. He gave me a teasing smirk, having caught my reaction. Thankfully he didn't make any jokes at my expense.

"Guess it wouldn't be the first time. Got into some trouble with Deadlock for a while, too. Didn't exactly start out makin' a lot of friends. Still don't make many nowadays", he said, somehow still managing to sound cheery about it. The comment about Deadlock had stilled me and I turned to observe him with caution. When I was silent, he met my gaze again, uncertain about my silence. I tried to make my tone casual. "Deadlock, huh?"

The cigar in his mouth switched sides as he studied me, then he nodded. "'Fraid so. Ain't my proudest days, I can tell ya that right now."

I nodded with some understanding and broke my gaze from his. "Yeah. I can sympathize with that. Since I had Grayson, I've managed to be fairly responsible. But I uh...I ran with the Corinth for a few years." After mentioning the last part, I couldn't help look back at him, gauging his reaction.

His cigar fell a bit and then he whistled, long and slow. "Oh", and then surprised me by laughing. "Well, shit, darlin', no one told me that part. You look pretty young though, I can't imagine you had to deal with Deadlock much."

I hummed in acknowledgement. "Mhm. I'm twenty-eight now, things really started going south for what was left of Deadlock by the end of my first year. You don't need to worry about getting any attitude from  me, though. I know some pretty shit people on both sides, none of it makes much difference to me now."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Can't disagree with ya there. In my day, I got a chance to witness when the heads really started rollin'. Back when Los Muertos started popping up above the border. Ya'll made quick work of us. I was lucky Overwatch pulled me out when they did. Might not be alive now."

I took another sip and stared absently at the TV, deep in thought. "For sure. The Corinth liked a stealthier approach to everything. Still do. Never hesitant to do some horrific shit in the shadows when the rare opportunity struck, though."

"Explains the whole snake thing they branded themselves with. Sneaky shits when it came to trading, too."

I gave him an unsure expression. "Yeah? I'm sure we drew some attention to ourselves, but I didn't think a Deadlock guy would have such a sure grasp on our economics."

He responded with a dry smile. "Why, sure. Guess your superiors didn't see the need to tell you young bucks about the shakedown in the valley. Just a few miles north of Route 66 actually, where Overwatch picked me up a couple years later."

It rang a bell, but I ultimately shook my head, slowly.

"Yep." He took a long drag off his cigarillo before continuing. "Both parties set up a drop point. Turns out there was a mole in Deadlock. The Corinth planned on pulling a fast one, but this wasn't no four-figure drug supply kinda deal. It was a half-mil weapons investment. Only problem was your people took a little too long to set everythin' up and we were able to send two into that fancy nightclub ya'll hooked up. Someone didn't pay attention. Anyway, point of the story is Deadlock never actually brought the weapons when the time to meet up came. I'm sure you know how a Trojan Horse works?"

I couldn't help but tilt my head, somewhat confused. "Wait. Deadlock won that whole firefight?"

He laughed humorlessly. "Of course. You thought somethin' different, sweetheart?"

Mouth slightly open, I stared at him in disbelief. Why was I just now learning this? Was he telling the truth? I wasn't involved in streetgangs during this whole event, but everyone knew about it- except the part where the Corinth did not, in fact, slay 20 members of the Deadlock gang as I'd always heard. Who else in the Corinth knew this? It was a big deal, but they'd managed to weave an incredibly thick lie in the face of it.

I stared ahead at the wall, jaw working slightly in thought. When I finally spoke it was a murmur, "Jaren completely reversed that entire story to my face, then. I can only imagine he was fucking pissed. Maybe a little scared, didn't want his followers thinking he didn't know what he was doing. Seems very like him."

"I agree."

Every time I shifted my attention away from him, he said something that took me by surprise and forced me to meet his gaze again. "You knew him?"

His eyebrows drew together in a mixed expression of concern and distaste. "Yup", he made a popping sound at the p. "Had the displeasure of dealing with him a few times. Heard some...things."

I swallowed. "Probably all true. He could be a little...dishonorable."

I remembered how much I had trembled years ago, shotgun pointed at the ground, eyes blown wide at the sight of so much blood on the ground before us. I didn't know it, but Jaren had been studying me with amusement. My first kill had excited him much more than I, even if he didn't express it out loud.

He wore a face that made speaking his point unnecessary. Jaren found words to be a waste of his time. That's what made him the perfect leader for the Corinth. Stay quiet, and if that failed, shoot first and ask questions later.

I cleared my throat. "He kept me near him for the most part in the years leading up to my exit. Made an excuse to leave and I guess I was lucky he actually seemed to respect me enough to allow it. Could have went a lot differently. Doesn't end well for most who try to get out. He's not forgiving." He didn't need to know the part where I slept with him. Twice. I winced at the memory. The resulting consequences made it the biggest regret of my life.

He absorbed my words for a moment and I missed the sympathetic look he cast in my direction. Though he didn't know details, he picked up on something in my words. Rather than dig a little deeper, McCree changed the subject to something nicer and offered that warm grin of his. It didn't go unnoticed, and at that moment, I decided I liked Jesse McCree. If he had been embroiled in the same dark underworld I had, and came out a decent person, I liked to think I did too. Nothing would ever erase what we saw or did, but cutting those ties and going legit wasn't an easy task, and doing so, in my opinion, was an accomplishment.

Mcree and I chattered animatedly about all sorts of things, and I admittedly started getting a tad carried away with the alcohol. After three drinks, our voices were a little louder than when we'd started, though I caught myself slurring more often than him.

I was laughing with tears in my eyes after McCree had told the corniest joke I had ever heard in my life, when 76 walked in. We turned in his direction, McCree spreading his arms. "Well shit, the legen' hisself has graced us with his presence! Grab a drink or two, Commander."

Soldier: 76 wasn't wearing his mask again and the look he gave McCree was nothing short of unimpressed. "Mm. Thanks, Jesse, but that’s not why I'm here. I heard you two and thought I should suggest that you switch to water and head to bed soon. Everyone is to be up at 5:00 sharp, no exceptions. Winston's going to be here then."

McCree groaned. "What in the hell could be so goddamn important that he has'ta make folks get up at the asscrack'a dawn like that?" I noticed his accent was significantly heavier when he was tipsy.

I gave 76 a lopsided, disapproving stare. That was in 6 hours. That was not going to be a fun hangover.

He apparently noticed the look I was giving him and his mouth set into a hard line. "Don't give me that face, soldier, I'm not making the rules here."

"Oh?" I swayed slightly. "Are youuu enforcin'em? Misterrr boss man?"

McCree snickered, covering his face with splayed fingers and I wiggled my eyebrows. 76 remained impassive, and blinked once. "You're a real comedian there, Nolan. I'll have to remember that."

I narrowed my eyes and McCree gave an exasperated sigh. "Hell, guess I better head back. Ain't like I got a choice now. Harper. Old Man."

76 made a disapproving sound in the back of his throat at the nickname and I told McCree goodnight with a wave. When I turned back to 76, his arms were crossed at he watched me with an expectant expression. I frowned and rolled my eyes. "Alright, alright, I'm goin', mom. Don't go all military on me, sir."

"I'm just trying to cause less regret for you in the morning, agent. Hope you have the good sense to prevent me from having to do it again."

After setting my glass on the bar, I turned back toward him, "I assure you that I don't need you monitoring my well-being, Commander. I try not to regret impulsive behavior too much. Lowers morale, yeah? Don't worry tha'pretty head of yours."

"Are you saying you're in the habit of acting impulsively, Nolan?"

His face and tone remained serious and professional as always, but there was something taunting in his eyes that I couldn't quite place. I inclined my head, fixing him with my best condescending stare. I don't know why, though.

"Yeah. Only when it's worth a damn, though", I refused to be the first to break eye-contact. "Dunno if things worked like that back in your day."

76 leaned back slightly, arms still crossed as he observed me with a sort of half-disbelieving, half-annoyed grimace. In spite of this, he took a measured step toward me and I was reminded of how huge this guy was, even without combat gear on. "Was that insult directed at my age, Soldier?"

His tone was intimidating, almost a growl, but I stood my ground. "Maybe." I lifted my chin.

I caught the muscles in his jaw flex. That alone triggered a warmth in my belly that surprised me. I may have bitten off a little more than I could chew, I admitted to myself. He didn't say anything for some time, then his head tilted and he regarded me with something I didn't recognize. Like he was amused but skeptical- studying my face in concentration. I raised an eyebrow and leaned back slightly. "What is that look for?"

This time the corners of his mouth twitched up, and I detected a subtle smugness. "Are you blushing, agent?"

Alarm bells rang in my head and I drunkenly realized that my face had indeed started burning up. I opened my mouth and then closed it, scrambling for a half-decent response.

"Thas' ridiculous", I crossed my arms and looked away. "I've had a few drinks, give me a break. Rosy cheeks and all that."

He hummed in acknowledgement. "Mm, solid excuse, I could see why it sounded good in your head."

My brows furrowed for a second, before my eyes snapped back to his face. He was doing a poor job at hiding a grin. His eyes crinkled at the sight of my face. Wow. Wow.

He thought this was fucking hilarious.

I glared at him indignantly, refusing to admit to myself that I just got had. Jesus christ Harper, first you sniff the guy while he gives you medical attention; now this? The fact that he was still waiting for a response made it even worse, and he obviously knew this. Shifting my weight, I raised my hands in exasperation.

"And here I thought you said I was the comedian", I regained my confidence, leaning forward. "S- Sholdier: 76, stand-up streaming live at Watchpoint: Grand Mesa, ladies and gentlemen."

His eyebrow's lifted, and he looked wholly unimpressed. "Mhm. You can call me Morrison outside of the field. Or Jack I guess, no one really does that, though." He shrugged a bit.

"Morrison." I rolled the named around on my tongue, thoughtfully. "Jack Morrison..."

Then his features settled into something unreadable. Impassive. Arms still crossed, he watched and waited for me to decide if his name was familiar. A vague hint of concern in his eye.

"Jack...", at that point, my face fell. "...Strike-Commander Jack Morrison."

I could just picture myself on the front-porch at home, weeks ago, holding Grayson's little action-figure in my hands. How had I only just made the connection? I was positively mortified. I was also drunk, which probably meant I looked mortified, too. And maybe a little sick. I didn't even register that Overwatch's old strike-commander was also the notorious Soldier: 76. My mind felt permanently stuck on how I had basically called him a clueless old guy, and that I was fucking blushing in front of him like a school girl. That I had been nothing but an arrogant, drunk flirt to someone so well-known and respected.

It wasn't until he shifted in place and regarded me uncertainly that I realized I had been staring at him.

Grayson's little fingers clutching his action figure. A knot formed in my throat and my eyes were burning. Nose buried in the top of Grayson's hair as he slept. He smelled like strawberries.

"Mommy, help me..."

God, I was such a fucking idiot.

I immediately lowered my gaze and pushed past Morrison, "I should get back. Have a good night, Morrison."

I exited the room just as hot, fresh tears began spilling down my face.

Vodka be damned.