Chapter Text
Dry leaves crunched beneath the slow, heavy tread of the soldier's boots. The grass, stiffened by a late autumn frost, flattened beneath his weight, each footprint a visible reminder of what laid behind him. His path meandered between the rows, the destination always within his sight. There was no hurry to his footsteps, no urgency to propel him forward. After all, he had all the time in the world.
At last, he stopped before the quiet spot, shaded beneath the boughs of a velvet ash: Gabriel Reyes' last known address.
Nothing loud, no pomp or circumstance here, just a narrow lot crammed into a forgotten corner. From the abundance of weeds and overgrown grass, the soldier doubted anyone else even cared enough to visit.
Except him, of course.
Soldier: 76 sighed, the sound like the rustle of autumn leaves tumbling down a dusty road, his breath crystallizing into curls of white mist. He sat down on the frost-kissed grass, stiff joints creaking with age. The cold seeped into his bones, but he paid it little mind as he reached into his rucksack and pulled out a case of beer.
Delicate glass bottles clinked together as he set them down beside him. He uncapped one with a deft twist of his wrist and let the bottle hang between his fingers. After the last wips of carbonation wafted from the open mouth, the soldier first brushed aside mottled leaves to make room and then set the bottle down in front of him.
"Brought your favorite," he said at last. "You'd never guess how damn difficult it is to find this stuff off-season. Had to order it special. Hope you appreciate the trouble." He reached over for a bottle of his own and opened it.
It tasted just like he remembered. His shoulders shook with bitter laughter, a contrast to the sweetness of the strawberries on his tongue.
"Sometimes, I wish we were still on speaking terms." His thumb traced over the familiar label, the words evoking memories of a bygone age. "I miss your voice the most. Never thought I'd admit it, but here I am." He brought the bottle to his lips and drank deep. The beer burned down his throat and settled into his stomach.
He finished the bottle and opened another. His thoughts drifted to the past, just as they always did whenever he visited here.
"Beware of old men in a profession where most die young." The soldier scoffed and shook his head. "That's what you used to say, right?" The soldier finished the bottle and drew another one from the case. "Funny how that turned out."
Soldier: 76 waited for an answer, just in case.
"You're awfully quiet today. I think you might still be mad, what with this whole silent treatment. You sure picked the worst day to give me the cold shoulder." He wrapped his arms around himself and pantomimed shivering for effect. "I think it might snow tomorrow."
Soldier: 76 finished his bottle and let out a slow breath, the cold, dry air stabbing through his lungs. He welcomed the pain, a counterpoint to the healing scars dividing his face, still sensitive enough to ache when he stretched the new skin.
"Last thing you said to me, I think, was go to hell." He laughed. "Is that what this is? Feels too cold for that, you know—too empty, too lonely—but it makes sense, when you stop and think about it. Jack Morrison died, and now he's cursed to wander the grey, endless purgatory ‘til…" He trailed off and laughed into the rim of his bottle. "I forgot. You told me this a few times, too, about faith and God and His plans. Sorry I never paid more attention."
He emptied another bottle and set down beside the rest. He lifted the last one from the case and considered the glint of sunlight off the dark brown glass. "I'll take it, since you have yet to finish your first one. Guess you've turned into a lightweight after all this time." He cracked the bottle open and let it dangle between loose fingers. "To be fair, neither of us have been able to get drunk without lots of effort since the SEP. Remember that time in Maotai with that shitty Chinese vodka?" He tried to laugh.
"Sometimes, I wake up and forget. I reach over and find cold, untouched sheets, and no matter how much I pretend, they don't smell like you: not your cologne, not your aftershave, not that stupidly expensive mint soap you always bought." He tipped his head back and swallowed down the last bottle all at once. It joined its brethren on the grass, soldiers lined up in neat, tidy rows. A silent vigil.
Soldier: 76 reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin. It fit easily in the cusp of his hand, the metal dulled and scratched with age. The chipped orange and silver Overwatch emblem mocked him, and the soldier closed his fist around it. Despite its small size, it weighed heavily in his palm.
"I'll find out what happened." His thumb traced the raised edge of the coin. "I promise." He brushed scarred lips over the cool metal before he bent over to set it atop the time-worn stone. Not a quarter, no, but it would suit his purpose all the same.
"When I'm done—when I've avenged you—I'll come back here to say goodbye. I didn't get the chance before. This time—the next time, I suppose—I want to do it right." He thumbed at the safety of his sidearm. On, click. Off, click. "Just one round in the chamber, quick and easy. The last thing I want to see is you. That way, even if..." His throat closed, thick with emotion; he couldn't finish the sentence. "'Til death do us part, Gabe, just like before. We promised each other that a long time ago, and I haven't forgotten." His lips curved down into a sad smile. "Just wait for me a little while longer, and then I'll see you again. You understand, right?"
There was no answer, and he told himself he hadn't expected one. A bitter lie, but here and now, he could believe.
Soldier: 76 rose to his feet with a sigh and cleaned up the cardboard case, the empty bottles, the decaying leaves, until only the first untouched beer remained.
He straightened to attention and brought his left heel to rest against his right, a perfect forty-five degree angle. Stiff legs, level hips, lifted chest, straight back, shoulders square and even. He touched the tip of his right forefinger to the corner of his brow, palm flat and arm arranged in a straight line. He held the position until his body grew numb from the chill, until the pain in his chest dulled to a bearable ache.
The dying sunlight caught the glint of metal resting on polished marble, and he blamed it for the burn of his eyes, the wet heat rolling down frozen cheeks. Soldier: 76 turned on his heel, pivoted, and left the headstone behind. Dry leaves crunched beneath the slow, heavy tread of his boots, until at last, the cemetery grew quiet and still.