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You can’t sleep.
You had a particularly close run-in with Talon just a few days ago- Widowmaker had you cornered and was ready to put a bullet through your thick skull, rifle pointed. It was only because a smoke bomb had appeared and given you time to flee that you’d gotten out with your life, clutching at the crates you were hiding behind.
Soldier: 76 had found you like that, sweating, in the midst of a panic attack as you started to doubt your years of training. He hadn’t said much, just huffed at you to get up and ‘go to the backline, recruit’. You’d struggled to get up but you’d rather have your legs collapse than defy an order by the imposing soldier.
Since then, your dreams had been…traumatic. Every time, it would be Widowmaker, and every time, she’d have another creative way to kill you- you’d wake up right before the bullet would hit you, in a cold sweat, fear of death creeping up your spine.
And thus, you were climbing out of bed at 4 A.M., tired- in the literal sense and tired of the dreams- and ready to eat some goddamn donuts.
There wasn’t usually much junk food in Gibraltar, for the sheer fact that food rations were hard to come by and no one really knew how to make them from scratch. Neither did you, but your craving was strong enough to actually have made a little snack cupboard a few weeks after you’d arrived.
The halls were eerily quiet. Good, on one hand, because then no one would see how pale you were. Bad, on the other, because the silence was deafening in its own way, leaving your thoughts to roam freely. That was never the best thing- you’d go from ‘everyone’s sleeping’ to ‘everyone’s dead’ in the blink of an eye, all rational thought draining from you.
The kitchen was quaint, still partially unusable as Winston tried to get the funds to turn the mess hall into a shadow of it’s former glory, but it had every appliance you could possibly want. That, and you had a little secret cupboard- a cooled corner where the tiles came loose and it left a perfect little space for snacks.
“Sneaking around?”
You bang your head against the wall in a panic when realization seeps through you- it’s just 76, it’s fine, it’s fine, relax, deep breaths, in and out, in and-
“I’m grabbing some food.”
You carefully slide the tiles out- you know 76 can’t see you yet, because his voice sounded distant enough, probably just figuring out who was rummaging through the kitchen at this hour. Then again, why was he awake at this hour?
“It’d be better to sleep, recruit,” he replies, voice robotic through the unremovable- you guessed- mask.
“No shit, Sherlock.”
It slips out before you know it, due to fatigue, and you audibly gasp and cover your mouth. Fuck. He knows it’s you, and you know Soldier: 76 isn’t one to tolerate shit-talking.
It’s eerily quiet again, save for the tiles moving by your hand. You can see the bright packaging now, and you’d just have to wait it out until 76 decided to leave. Couldn’t be too long, right.
You hear footsteps approaching.
“It would be more productive to visit a therapist instead of crawling around the kitchen at night.”
“I know, sir, but I’ve found there’s very few therapists around and awake at this hour.”
The angry tone was seeping through.
“Don’t be a wisecrack, recruit, it’s not a good look,” 76 seemingly sighs, and you can see him leaning on the counter.
“I have a name, 76, it doesn’t hurt to use it,” you smile- a meagre apology, but if he was going to stick around at this hour you’d like to rise above the status of ‘recruit’.
He’s leaning on the counter, broad shoulders spread wide. The red visor blares across the room considering there’s only the dimmest lighting- you’re imagining him smiling, though you don’t know what he looks like.
You distract yourself by thinking about his face.
You’d always imagined him somewhat handsome, considering his voice was rich and low. Dark eyes, perhaps, and sculpted jawline, and you imagined a big, crooked nose. It added to the image of him being so serious all the time.
“I’m not even using it and you’re already staring,” he is laughing- a rich chuckle echoes through the kitchen and the tips of your ears turn red.
“I’m just,” you turn back to the tiles, taking out the fresh donuts, praising yourself for getting them last week, “wondering what’s under the mask. Like pretty much every new recruit.”
He doesn’t move when you get up and stand on the other side of the counter, in front of him- eagerly unpacking the food before looking around.
“You want some coffee?” you ask, “Personally, I’m up for some milk.”
“Coffee would be great,” he replies, “No milk, one sugar.”
You start the coffee machine- a pleasant whirring filling the room. The milk is always well-stocked- for some reason, many people drank milk- so you easily find a carton. Sugar, however, would be another thing.
Out of the corner of your eye, you see him reaching for one of the donuts.
“Hey!” you shout it, but you’re smiling, “no touching until I’m there!”
A snort.
“What are you going to do, throw a milk carton at me?” he taunts, leaning in a bit closer- even then he’s still taller, you know that even though you’re a few feet away.
You close the fridge quietly and grab the full cup of coffee.
“I thought about it, but decided against it, since you’re in a position where you can fire me.”
You smile at him- guessing he’s smiling back, because you can’t actually see.
“Where’s the sugar?” you ask him, pointing around the kitchen- and in a completely unnecessary move, he easily maneuvers himself over the counter, and fuck, it’s hot.
How does he do that at his age? How old is he, anyway?
“That was wholly unnecessary,” you comment, opening one of the cupboards before you feel his shoulder brush against yours.
“It should be here somewhere,” he says, before turning the visor towards you, “why don’t you sit down and start eating?”
You complied- you knew he’d seen you pale, walking through the halls, distressed- and you guessed this was just his way of showing he cared. You sat yourself down on the counter after hoisting yourself up, greedily digging into the donuts.
Ah, chocolate filling. You loved chocolate.
76 joined you a few moments later, mimicking your pose- legs crossed, hunched over- discarding his jacket.
Fuck, he was ripped.
And fuck, you were staring again. You tore your eyes away from his arms and toward your glass of milk.
“So, what do the recruits think is under the mask?” he asks it playfully- you feel like you’re seeing a whole other side of him. You are one of 4 new recruits, lucky to have been contacted discreetly by Winston.
“Emma thinks you’re an omnic. Which is viable. I don’t think Joan really had an opinion, but Pete once told me it was just one of your ki-“ you’re in too deep now, so you continue, “kinks.”
At the silence, you swallow.
“That’s all Pete though! I think you have a normal face under there.”
You’d have to apologize to Pete for throwing him under the bus like this, but 76 was due for training you soon and you didn’t want to urge him to make it any harder than it already was.
“Really?”
He’s challenging you with that question- teasing, urging you to tango. You’re sure of it.
“Uh, yeah. I think you are a handsome man with a crooked nose. If you wanted to know,” you grin, stuffing your face with another donut as he just looks at you.
“Ah shit, want me to turn around? You can’t eat like this,” you realize it a bit late, but with the visor on, he can’t eat, and with you looking, he can’t take the visor off. Or doesn’t want to take it off. Either way it’s a vicious circle.
“It’s fine,” he mutters, and you’re guessing he’s just going to wait until you’re done- bad idea, all the donuts would be gone if he didn’t interfere- “let’s make a trade.”
You raise an eyebrow in interest.
“I’m listening,” you smile, taking a sip.
“You see my face and in return you go talk to Angela about your nightmares tomorrow.”
A tough trade.
You didn’t want to admit you were weak- you were here with a reason and the training was hard, and ruthless. You had to prove you could handle this and this might backfire.
On the other hand, if 76 was making trades like this, he might just make sure you didn’t get booted out.
“Deal,” you smile again, shaking his hand.
Your eyes are locked onto his face when his hands reach up and touch behind his throat- something clicks, and hisses, and the plate in front of his face releases. He catches it easily, looking back at you with the same intense stare.
“Wow,” you mutter- huskily- “no crooked nose, huh?”
He’s gorgeous. He’s clearly less older than you expected, yet still not really in the prime of his youth anymore, and though he has two enormous scars on his face, he’s beautiful. Bright blue eyes. Very defined cheekbones. A bit of stubble, probably grey, but not too much. It just adds to the rugged persona he’s built for himself.
“You’re staring,” he grins, and his voice sounds even better without the visor on.
“My mother always told me to appreciate art.”
It slips out again before you can stop yourself, and 76 almost chokes on his donut. He’s not blushing- he’s older than you, and probably less prone to it, but you are. You are as red as a tomato.
His eyes are wide, though, revealing his surprise.
“I am so sorry, sir, that was a compliment yet still kind of inappropriate. Even at 4.12 A.M.”
“I’m flattered.”
It’s quiet- restrained, like he might say something inappropriate by accident if he keeps talking.
“I should be the flattered one. Has anyone here…?”
You awkwardly point at your own face, circling it a few times.
“Most everyone. We decided not to show the new recruits because…” he pauses, and it clicks.
“They’d recognize you,” you complete, finally letting the puzzle pieces fall together- the penchant for blue, the scars, the piercing blue eyes and the strong jaw. The avoiding of saying the word ‘Overwatch’ and the training.
“Holy shit, 76,” you almost gasp it, still trying to make sense of it, “weren’t you dead?”
“Evidently not,” he grunts, but his lip is curling up- he’s grinning.
“Wow. I’m even more flattered,” you say as drink up the entire glass of milk. He’s still calm, a pillar of quiet and relaxing vibes.
“You are too kind, recruit,” he growls, almost, “you shouldn’t be.”
Boldly, you reach out and offer him another donut.
“Who do you think inspired me to be here?”
He’s quiet, thinking no doubt.
“I am in awe that such a promising recruit is here because of me,” he smiles, taking the donut, “and such a wonderful person on top of that.”
You blush again, fiercely, burying your head in your hands.
“You shouldn’t say things like that without the mask, I’ll get a heart-attack,” you laugh, but you are serious- voice light and jittery. You startle when a gloved hand pulls one of your hands away from your face, and you find the old soldier staring at you intensely.
“If only you didn’t react like that, I’d keep my mouth shut.”
It’s soft, and sweet- said with an intensity that you can’t quite place, but you do know training sessions will be getting a lot different from here on out.