Chapter Text
It hasn’t taken Junkrat very long to figure out he doesn’t like Vishkar. If it wasn’t for how ungodly clean and proper everything was in this place, it would be for the stupid damned V’s they seemed to paste anywhere they felt like. Thus far at his time on the mega-corporation’s campus, he’s spotted at least fifty-seven. As if they didn’t already know what shit belonged to them.
He wrote his name on a bunch of his own crap too, but that was mostly to keep Torbjorn out of his things in the workshop. For some reason, he didn’t think Vishkar had the same problem.
It wasn’t until now, sitting in this cold metal room by himself, that Junkrat thinks maybe all of this wasn’t such a great idea. Last night it had seemed ace, and he’d even patted himself on the back for having such an incredible stroke of genius. He’d been gathered around the central table with the rest of the Overwatch agents at the meeting, taking his usual seat next to Roadhog.
“They better get this done quick,” He’d muttered to his larger friend. Roadhog said nothing but uttered a grunt he’d been pretty sure was in agreement. Last meeting had taken over two hours and all that got done was the bloody giant gorilla lecturing everyone that food fights in the cafeteria were expressly forbidden.
Well, that one had been his own fault, but still.
So when he glanced up at the screen before him and was met by the elegant face of the woman he still loved, he almost fell out of his seat. Roadhog caught him before he could, and thankfully no one seemed to notice all that much. Junkrat hastily rubbed at his eyes before he stared again. He found he hadn’t forgotten a single detail of her face—not the way her cheekbones curved in so delicately, or the regal shape of her nose. It was only a picture, but still the soft brown of her eyes managed to burn a hole through him.
The beginnings of a smile tugged at his lips. Only Satya could have this kind of effect on him, even through a screen.
“For those of you who have never met her,” Winston’s voice rumbled through the room. “This is Satya Vaswani, or Symmetra, as she was known in our ranks. She’s an extremely adept architech and used her abilities to pull turrets and teleporters into being from pure light. Unfortunately she left us some years ago to return to the Vishkar Corporation, whom she’d worked for previously.”
Junkrat suppressed a snort. It was an understatement to say she’d worked for them. They’d owned her. They only ever let Overwatch have her on a loan, and the moment she started to dare for an inkling of real freedom they’d demanded her back. He had no idea what that must be like, to be so loyal to a damn company of all things. And it wasn’t even like she’d willingly sold her soul to them, either. Their claws were dug deep into her a long time ago. She’d been too young to even stand a fighting chance.
He should have known. He should have understood from the beginning that she could never really be his, not the way he was ever hers.
“What’s this all about, Winston?” Pharah asked, a few seats away from Junkrat. “Is she coming back?” Coming back? Junkrat perked up at the notion. If someone had asked him the day before, he would have said he never expected to see her again. Not with how disastrous their goodbyes had been. The gorilla sighed and paused for a moment, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.
“I wish I could say that with any sort of certainty,” Winston said. “We have all missed Symmetra in our own ways. When she left, we could afford to move forward without her. And as I’m sure all of you know… that is no longer the case.” A tense silence fell over the room. Junkrat glanced up at Roadhog, who just sat there silently and resembled something of a brick wall.
“So we need to recruit her again,” Soldier 76 chimed in. “You want one of us to go to Vishkar and tell them we need her more than they do.”
“Precisely,” Winston nodded. Junkrat bit at his lip, suddenly fidgety, bouncing in his chair like a small child who needed the bathroom. He felt a heavy hand on his shoulder and knew it was Roadhog, attempting to steady him. “I’ve been trying to decide who to nominate to go—"
“I’ll do it,” Junkrat said, nearly jumping out of his chair. Everything was quiet for a moment as the rest of the room stared at him, and then looked at each other in concern. He crossed his arms and frowned. “Oh, come on. All you whackers know I have personal history with her. It should be me.”
“Do you really think that’s the best idea, Jamison?” Mercy began. “I’m not sure if she’d be as happy to see you as you’d be to see her.” He stops and looks at her, wanting to snap back that of course she’d be happy, she’d be fucking overjoyed. But he knows she wouldn’t be, not really. Not after how everything had ended.
“I have to agree with Angela,” Winston said. “Junkrat, I know you want to see her again. But if you really care about her, you’ll let one of us do it. And maybe… keep your distance if she does come back.” He feels his face flush as he looks back and forth between the gorilla and the angel in total bewilderment. Who the hell did that ape think he was, questioning whether or not he cared for her?
“Whatever,” He muttered, stepping back from the table. “Fine. Just get her out from under those fuckers’ thumbs, hear me?” With that, Junkrat left the room, Roadhog close behind him.
***
“Can you believe those wowsers?” Junkrat leaned over the latest prototype of one of his bear traps, tightening the screws so that it would stop going off for no reason. Again, Roadhog sat beside him, a bowl of cereal dwarfed in one massive hand and a spoon in the other. His mask was partially pushed up, exposing his mouth as he took bite after bite of the sugary concoction in his bowl. “I mean—okay, maybe she won’t be ecstatic or nothing to see me, but I’m the obvious answer! I know her better than any of them do.”
Roadhog grunted in response.
“I know she’s still probably mad. I would be too, you know. But that can’t beat out all the good memories we have together, can it? After all, she took the necklace,” He looked back at his larger friend in time to see him gulping down the last remnants of milk and soggy cereal. “The one I made her, remember?”
Roadhog nodded, spilling some milk on his chest in the process.
“So she can’t hate me. I wouldn’t believe if she said she did. And if she’s coming back… buddy, I gotta get there first,” He paused, sitting back in his chair. “If they’re the ones who bring her back, she won’t talk to me for days. Weeks. She’ll avoid the hell out of me. You know how she is. But if I get there before they do, she’ll have to talk to me.”
Roadhog took his handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed lightly at his chest.
“That’s what I gotta do,” Junkrat set down his wrench and put his head in his hands, trying to think. “I’ll get there first, we’ll talk, she can get all her anger out at once and we can come back home. And she’ll be happy, I’ll be happy, and that gorilla will give me a fucking medal.” He stood, a wicked grin beginning to form on his face. He knew then what he had to do.
“Thanks for the talk, mate, you’re the best,” He gave Roadhog a slap on the back before racing out of the workshop in the direction of the docking bay as fast as his fake leg would let him. He knew this just had to be his best idea yet. Maybe Symmetra would be angry at first— hell, maybe she’d even slap him. And he’d let her. Gladly. Seeing her face again would be nothing short of completely worth it.
She’d come around in no time. He knew she would. She had to.
Halfway there, he stopped dead in his tracks. What, was he going to show up on Vishkar’s doorstep like this? In any other situation he’d say why the hell not, but this time… this time he had someone to impress. Junkrat turned back in the direction of his bunk, hoping he could remember where he’d put that damned old thing. He definitely couldn’t remember the last time he’d ever worn it.
***
And that was precisely how Junkrat ends up in this cramped room, bored out of his mind, waiting for something to happen. The problem, it turned out, was that he had absolutely no idea how to fly a ship. Getting it in the air had been easy enough, and even keeping it in the air wasn’t too hard. Landing it, however, had been a different story all together.
Almost immediately after his arrival, Junkrat was whisked away by two Omnics and thrown in here. He’d been berating by cops for about fifteen minutes, but his lips were sealed. They kept demanding to know if he’d stolen the drop ship, if Overwatch knew he was here, if he was a bloody terrorist. And he’d simply sat there with his arms crossed, refusing to utter a single word. Well, he said a few.
“I’m not sayin’ shit until you let me talk to Symmetra.”
“Symmetra?” The officers looked at each other, confusion splayed on their faces. With the roll of his eyes, Junkrat heaved a sigh.
“Satya. Satya Vaswani,” He couldn’t decide whether or not he should be surprised. Was everyone just trying to keep the time she’d spent at Overwatch swept under a rug or something? The officers paused and then spoke to each other in hushed tones. He pretended not to hear.
“Fine,” The woman said, rising from her seat. “We’ll get Vaswani for you. And then you’ll talk, right?” Junkrat nodded slowly with a pointed smirk, and then they left the room.
Good riddance. He wasn’t here to talk to anyone but Satya. Anything else was a pure waste of his time. The sooner he spoke to her, the sooner this whole mess could just be forgotten about—she had to have at least some sway in Vishkar, didn’t she? And sure, Winston would probably be pissed about the destruction of one of his drop ships… but it was worth it to get Symmetra back.
More than worth it, actually.
And so there he sits for the better part of half an hour. In an uncomfortable, scratchy suit no less. Junkrat is reminded why he doesn’t care much for wearing too many clothes. For the first few minutes he can’t help but bounce his legs to get out some of the nervous energy, but his legs are so long and the table is so short that the kneecap of his good leg keeps hitting the metal underside. So now his knee is bruised and he’s resorted to making faces in the mirror across from him. He’s not stupid, he knows they can see him from the other side, but maybe if he freaks them out it’ll get him to Symmetra faster.
More time passes. Junkrat can’t say exactly how much time, but from where he’s sitting it feels like an entire life’s worth. If he knew this was how long it was going to actually see Satya, maybe he would have stowed away on the drop ship instead of plain stealing it. It would have been less messy, too, but where’s the fun in that?
He’s examining the rust on his prosthetic hand when he hears the doorknob jiggle. For a brief moment he’s hopeful and he tries to straighten out his suit jacket, fearing what Symmetra would say if she saw a wrinkle. But then it opens and in steps the woman officer from before, looking at him with contempt so sharp he could probably carve a steak with it. Again, he finds himself rolling his eyes.
“Oi, copper, I told you I ain’t sayin’ a damn thing till I see Sym—“
And then she appears. Satya Vaswani emerges from behind the door frame, and Junkrat feels as though he’s been sucker punched. God, the picture had done her no justice. Without her visor he can see her face—really see it, the angle of her jaw and the curve of her lips, those coppery-brown eyes that stare straight through him. Her hair, so dark that light seems to escape into it, is piled on top of her head with tendrils that hang down by her ears. She never wore it up much in her time at Overwatch, and now he has to wonder why. It’s marvelous.
He’s standing before he even realizes it. He tries to be as straight as possible, but it’s hard when his fake leg isn’t as long as the real one. Taking a step toward her, a realization hits him. How on earth did he forget how small she seemed? Small, but her presence is so large it takes up the whole room. Junkrat tries to breathe. It doesn’t work.
“Symmetra.” Air finally returns to his lungs, and he breathes her name more than he actually says it. She looks at him for a moment, the heat of her gaze making his suit seem a lot more sweaty than it was just a second ago.
“No one has called me that in years,” Her voice is soft yet measured. Still she refuses to break eye contact. “Jamison, why are you here?”
A million answers flood his brain at once. I missed you, he wants to say. I needed to see you. Gibraltar hasn’t been the same without you. Roadhog wanted me to come and say hi.
I wanted to take you away from this place, like I should have done three years ago.
“Winston sent me, you know,” The lie rolls off his tongue too easy. “Overwatch wants you back, Sym— Satya. G’day to you too, by the way.” She doesn’t answer him at first. Instead, she closes her eyes and shakes her head, mouthing something inaudible. Then she takes a seat across from him at the table, motioning for him to do so as well. So he does.
“Jamison,” Hearing his name on her lips again feels almost criminal. Not that he minds too much. “Do you remember why I left in the first place? I was needed at Vishkar. My place is here. If Overwatch is truly in need of another architech, perhaps I can arrange for a student—“
“No,” His voice cuts through hers and his tone startles her, looking at him with wide eyes and pursed lips. He tries to recompose himself, to calm down and be rational like he knows she wants him to, and then just thinks… fuck it. “We don’t need another architech, Satya. We need you. You’re the best damn one of the whole lot.” Only now does she look away, casting her gaze towards her hands folded neatly on the table. His heart nearly skips a beat when he realizes her nails are black.
“That is not possible. I have a life here, Jamison. It didn’t just start with Overwatch and ended when I left. I have more important things to do than—“
“Than do what?” He countered. “Saving the damn world?”
“I would appreciate it greatly if you would stop interrupting me,” Her tone is like ice. Again she looks at him, a surprising ferocity in her eyes. “Are you really doing this? Are you really asking me to come back when you were the one who… who…” Her cheeks tinge bright red and Junkrat finds himself somewhat frightened. Seeing her like this was rare. She never let others see her in such a state, not really.
She never finishes her sentence. Instead her hands have balled into fists and she looks into the table, biting at her lower lip. Her brows are knitted tightly together and something inside of him aches at the sight of her. Maybe Mercy’d been right.
“Hey,” He says softly, his hand reaching out for hers. “Hey, I’m sorry, love—“
This time it’s Symmetra who interrupts him. She whips her arm back as though he’s burned her and stands, glaring daggers. He peers up into her face, into the hurt in her eyes, and wonders if he can do anything to fix this. Before in his life he’d never encountered anything he couldn’t fix, or at least make better by putting explosives on it, but… this might be a first.
“Stop,” She commands. She cradles one hand in another. For a moment Junkrat is scared he’d actually burned her somehow. “You do not get to do this, Jamison. You do not get to walk back into my life like nothing ever happened! If Winston truly sent you here, tell him I said no. Tell him I said my loyalties lie with Vishkar. Not with Overwatch, not with him—“ She approaches the door and for a moment she stops to look at him. He realizes only then that she’s been trying not to cry.
“And most certainly not with you.”
Satya disappears behind the door once more, heels clicking in the distance as she makes her getaway. Junkrat simply sits there, slumped into his chair, and wonders how all of this went wrong. He runs a hand through his hair and leans his head back against the wall, fruitlessly hoping the ceiling will provide the answer to making all of this right again. The officer is still here, he notes, and her expression has morphed from one of disdain to one of disbelief.
“What did you do to her?” She demands. A dry, low chuckle sounds from Junkrat’s throat. What did he do, indeed. The answer was far too complicated and there was no way in hell he was explaining any of this to a complete stranger. He’d give her the condensed version, then.
“I broke up with her.”