Archive of Our Own ^beta

Siebren tastes salt on his tongue, the ocean breeze hitting him plainly in the face with a spray of salt water. He looks down and his bare feet are sinking into the warm sand. When he looks around, the beach stretches out for as far as he can see in either direction, unpopulated and unmarred across its entire length. Except for the hole, its diameter wider than he is tall, just a few steps away.

He takes a few steps and peers down into it, expecting to see… something. He’s not sure what, but it tickles at his brain, like a word dangling on the tip of the tongue, unwilling to tumble out.

Instead, he peers in, and sees blank space peering back at him, the black of a starless void, and the silent screaming horror of eternity, welling up to consume him.

He blinks,

Anything before Talon is… sketchy for Sigma, to say the least. He vaguely remembers the accident. He remembers little of being hospitalized and contained. He remembers only clips and snatches of things before that, the exposure of his mind to the black hole having run his consciousness through a blender of a thousand different realms and possibilities, some of which human brains were never meant to witness, much less comprehend. He has trouble sorting out what’s what. What memories are his or whispers of some other plane.

Sometimes he remembers being happy; warm and safe in some place he can’t remember, arms of a faceless body wrapped around him. He remembers smiling and laughing.

He generally writes those off as the memories of someone else.

It doesn’t matter anyway. When he tries to focus on them, they slip through his fingers like sand, the harder he grasps at them, the quicker they flake away.

He has the current moment, and part of his recovery was coming to peace with the fact that that’s all he has. He had to put the idea of recovering his old life, some other life, far out of the realm of possibilities.

It hurts less that way.

Still, sometimes, in idle moments, he wonders. And dreams.

“Why do you Germans do that?”

“Do what?”

Siebren stares down into the hole, considering the face looking back up at him. By his estimate, the man is about the same age as him, despite the boyish glint in his eyes that are only slightly hidden behind a tangled mat of tousled blond hair, frazzled from the sea salt. The smile was the second thing Siebren noticed about him.

The first was how he was built like a bulldozer. A fact hard to miss given his bicep is almost as big around as Siebren’s waist.

“Why do you dig holes on the beach?” Siebren says, venturing a foot closer to the lip of the hole. A few clumps of sand fall down into the pit, messing up whatever vague symmetry the lip may have had, though the man doesn’t seem to mind, his smile never faltering. “I always wondered.”

“And yet I am the first one you decided to come to,” the man says, puffing up his already large chest.

Siebren rolls his eyes, and bites back a comment about how he’s hard to ignore with his booming voice and chest as wide as a snowplow.

“Well, I will be happy to tell you,” the man continues, jabbing a finger in the air. “Under one condition.” His grin is twisting now with just a glint of mischief.

“Oh?” Siebren asks.

“You must join me,” he says. Before Siebren can choke out a ‘what’ the man is already making room next to him.

Siebren sighs, but — after a moment of consideration — slides into the pit.

Skirmishes with the newly reformed Overwatch are becoming the new normal, Sigma realizes, after several encounters during Talon operations. He remembers very little about Overwatch. Sometimes, he’ll see flashes of an old lab, a few faces that seem familiar yet unrecognizable. But he has his files, and he has what Talon has told him. He knows they locked him away and studied him. He feels like that’s more than enough to know which side he’s on.

This time, his barrier is holding well, covering the efforts of his team. He’s been tinkering with it, trying to hone it into this level of protection, and it seems his work is finally paying off. Which is why it comes as a shock when a blinding bolt of flame strikes straight through his shield, as if it were nothing but air. He dodges, but the flames still lick half his armor. Especially his helmet, which lights up with two dozen error codes before giving up and going black. He rips his mask off, scrambling to make sure he hasn’t missed another threat.

He backtracks the trajectory of the bolt of flames, and sees an armored figure, swinging a hammer while barreling his way towards his team. Siebren readies an attack, but the hammer stops mid-swing. He finds it only fair to halt his attack as well, pulling his orbs back, though he can’t help but wonder if this is a trick.

“Siebren?” comes a confused shout from behind the mask.

Sigma feels a chill down his back.

The man pulls off his own helmet, and an old man looks at him with one piercing blue eye.

Sigma stares at him, but feels no recognition.

“Sigma!” a voice shouts from behind him. He floats back, away from the staring man, tuning into his colleague's voice as Moira says, “We’re falling back.”

“Siebren!” The man shouts again. His voice is wrecked, desperate.

Sigma continues backing away. He recalls his shield, and just as the man’s face shows a glimmer of hope, he fires a spray of debris at him, stunning him and opening the way for his team’s escape.

Sigma has no use for ghosts, he decides.

“Siebren?”

Siebren spins around, utterly lost in this new base. He’s been re-stationed a number of times since joining the science division of Overwatch, and in his experience it is almost always a mess. Currently he has a crate of file folders hugged to his chest, trying to navigate the crowded hallway. He hears his name shouted again, and the rest of the scientists and movers in the relocation brush past him as he looks around. He walks back towards the loading bay, poking his head outside.

He’d seen the heavy lifting going on with forklifts and reinforced suits, but now he notices one is slightly different. Siebren looks up at this giant suit of armor that’s carrying a crate the size of an elephant, hefted over his shoulder. The crate comes down, shaking the ground as this hulking figure lightens his load. It kneels in front of him, hands reaching up for its head… Only for it to be pulled off, revealing a head covered in golden locks.

“I thought that was you,” the man says, smiling brightly.

Siebren squints at him. The face is familiar at first brush, though the recollection is hazy. It takes him some time to work backwards from the new laugh lines and scars to place him with a memory from nearly a decade ago.

“Wilhelm,” Siebren says. He sets down his own crate, and before he thinks better of it, he reaches up to touch the scar over his eye.

If Reinhardt minds the touch, he doesn’t say anything. “I told you to call me by my first name.”

“Wilhelm is a first name,” Siebren says, still tracing the edges of the large scar. “It’s not my fault your name is backwards.”

Reinhardt laughs, the same loud, booming, carefree laugh that Siebren remembers, and transports him back to a beach, ages ago.

“It’s good to see you again.” He doesn’t say it, but Siebren hears the words unsaid. I’m glad you’re alive.

“What happened to you?” Siebren pulls his hand away finally, still looking at him. Not just the scar, but the whole picture; this already huge man clad in a giant suit of armor, like a shining knight from a fairytale.

“Me?” Reinhardt asks with a laugh. “Nothing worse than what happens to those that shoot at my team.”

Siebren frowns, though he’s not really upset. “Are you stationed here?”

Reinhardt shrugs. “Not exactly. But I’ll be here to cover the resettling.”

“Then perhaps you’d like to get coffee,” Siebren says. “Catch up.”

Reinhardt gives him a look, before laughing. “The commissary coffee is hardly good enough for a romantic chat.”

“Who said it would be romantic?” Siebren says, looking away in faux-innocence. “And don’t be silly… I have a fine collection of grounds in my quarters.” He looks back at Reinhardt. “But don’t you dare tell anyone on base that.”

Reinhardt rests a hand over his breastplate. “I will die before exposing your secret stash of coffee.” He smirks. “So, what time should I find you in your quarters for this very unromantic secret coffee date?”

Siebren snatches a scrap of paper from his file folder, and quickly scribbles his new room number on it. He reaches up, and slips the paper under the armor around Reinhardt’s neck. “1900 hours,” he whispers. “Don’t dawdle,” he adds, before pecking his cheek.

As Siebren makes his retreat, Reinhardt gives him a cocky salute.

Siebren isn’t sure how long he’s been rambling when he comes to the sudden realization that he’s explaining the light refraction principles that play into the color of the sunset over the beach he’s spent most of the day at.

When he looks over, he’s surprised to see that his hulking German companion is still watching him intently, seeming to hang off every word.

Siebren suddenly flusters in the face of the attention. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was still going on like that… Not sure if I was making any sense at all.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Reinhardt says, with a smirk. “I didn’t understand a word of it.”

“Oh… I’m so sorry, I just got excited.”

“No need to apologize,” Reinhardt continues. “I like hearing your voice.”

Siebren suddenly starts to feel uncomfortable, second guessing all of his choices today. Despite Reinhardt’s insistence that everything is fine, he starts to wonder if he’s overstayed his welcome. He barely knows this man, and yet Reinhardt has been feeding him snacks and beer from his cooler, and went to grab lunch for the both of him. Just as he begins to wonder if his companion is only doing this out of a sense of politeness, a large arm rears up in his periphery and catches him around the shoulder, pulling him close.

“Now you’re just thinking too loudly,” Reinhardt says. “Let me hear that voice again. What were you saying about the light waves?” In his free hand, he nudges the cooler open again and grabs another beer, moving to bite the cap off.

Siebren relaxes, and starts to launch back into explaining the function of air particles in dispersing the shorter wavelengths of light. Reinhardt seems contented again, and hands him the now open beer.

Siebren awakes, first to the sensation of breath on the back of his neck. It tickles the hairs on his nape with an odd sensation, but he settles down, surrendering to the warmth of the body enveloping him. He looks up at the alarm clock before thinking better of it, blinking a few times at the red numbers before they start to make sense to his brain. It’s about a quarter to six, just fifteen minutes shy of when his alarm was set for. He decides it must be a sign to get an early start to his long day, and tries to push himself up.

Only for the tree trunk of an arm to tighten around him, dragging him back to the mass of the warm chest behind him.

“Wil,” Siebren mutters, his protests soon muffled into the comforter that drapes over him. He scrabbles to try to get free, only for the arm to tighten again. “Wil, it’s morning, I need to get up.”

“Who’s Wil?” the massive man mutters, pulling him close again. “Also, I am asleep. It’s dangerous to wake a sleep talker. Best to just go back to sleep.”

Siebren grumbles, a noise which is doomed to turn into an undignified yelp at the unexpected sensation of lips pressing against his neck.

“Wil,” Siebren says again, then more softly, “Reinhardt.”

Reinhardt seems to give up pretending to be asleep. He plants more kisses on the back of his neck and down between his shoulder blades, and his hands start moving, and with how wide they are it feels like they cover Siebren’s entire torso. Reinhardt presses up against him, and Siebren feels… all of him.

Siebren tries to grumble again, but much to his annoyance it comes out more like a petulant whine. “I have to go. We have lunar colony planning this morning.”

“And if you were late?” Reinhardt asks, impishly.

“I doubt anyone would like to hear the reason why,” Siebren mutters.

“I’ll write you a note,” Reinhardt says. “And I’ll make sure it’s a magnificent story to tell!”

“Look, I don’t know what you tell your coworkers…”

Reinhardt scoots back, leaving Siebren to fall onto his back with his support now gone. But before Siebren can make a break for it, Reinhardt straddles over him, kissing him.

Suddenly all the reasons that he had to get out of bed are melting away as he pulls him in and kisses back.

Sigma fiddles with the shield emitters one more time, hoping this round will be more productive. His last few attempts at his shield generator, the emitters fell out of sync too quickly, causing the barrier to fizzle long before a useful amount of time had passed. From his research, he knows this is why traditional shield generators have an array of emitters at a single fixed point, so that the space between emitters is never an issue.

If he gets this working though, it will have much more versatile application than traditional barriers. And combined with his mastery of gravity, it could be deployed in any way he wished… provided he can keep the emitters in the exacting range they required to function.

He deploys the emitters one more time, and this time it works for only a moment before finally fizzling out, and raining down sparks on him.

On the other side of the lab, Moira chuckles. He looks over to her, not having realized she was even paying attention. He knows she’s also prone to getting lost in her work, as he is, so as a lab partner she suited him fine. The less small talk he had to make, the better.

“Any ideas, Dr. O'Deorain?” he asks, glancing over at her.

“Not my field of study, Dr. De Kuiper.” She turns in her chair to face him, crossing her arms. “Though, I’m curious. Shield development hardly seems to be your wheelhouse either.”

Sigma is hardly listening, tinkering at an emitter that he brought down just far enough to work on. “Huh?”

Moira huffs. “Your mastery of gravity is more than enough power to bring nearly any enemy to their knees,” she says. “Why bother with a shield?”

Sigma pauses, and his brain churns over that. He’s not sure when the idea occurred to him to make a shield. But when Talon had said that his powers would make him a welcome asset in the field, well… making a shield had just seemed obvious.

He prods that assumption in his brain, and gets very little rational reasoning out of it for his trouble. Just a jumble of unexplained thoughts and sensations; memories that feel blocked up in the fuzzy regions of his brain. There’s something at the tip of his tongue, and the more he prods at the memory, the less that feeling forms into words and the more it just tastes like sea salt.

“Have you been to the beach recently, Dr. O'Deorain?”

Moira raises an eyebrow, shocked at the non sequitur. “Starting to crave a holiday?”

He’s not even really sure why he asked the question. It seemed related, up until the moment it left his mouth, and he couldn’t even follow the track of his own thoughts. “Perhaps I am.”

Siebren wakes up from a nap he didn’t realize he was taking. He blinks from his slumped position on his work station. At first he’s not sure what woke him, but as soon as he tries to sit upright, he feels the weight on his shoulders, pushing him back down. He cranes his head around, and his eyes meet a wide pair of yellow eyes in return.

“Ah, 28,” he says, fondly, reaching up to pat the toddler gorilla. “What are you doing out and about?”

Winston makes a waving motion, and Siebren follows his hand to the flashing screen of his tablet.

Siebren checks the time on his watch, and after muttering a few Dutch phrases that he silently hopes his small friend won’t learn to mimic one day, he launches for the tablet. Winston luckily has enough forethought to grab tightly to his shoulders, so as to not accidentally be sent flying in Siebren’s panic.

The incoming call had already disconnected, but he quickly hits the redial button and waits.

“Siebren!” comes a loud booming voice, a beat before video deigns to connect. Finally, an image pops on the screen, the same hulking behemoth that Siebren remembers. The smile is the same as it’s always been, in between shoveling food into his mouth.

Siebren’s stomach growls, missing Reinhardt’s cooking. Though, he also strains to remember exactly what time it was when he last ate.

“And I see you have a friend with you,” Reinhardt continues while Siebren’s tired brain is still catching up.

“Oh, of course,” Siebren says, looking over his shoulder in time to see Winston wave. “I think he wanted to say hello.”

Reinhardt laughs. “So, is he the one I have to thank for reminding you of the time?”

Siebren scowls, but Winston lets out a delighted noise, seeming happy to take the credit.

“I’m very sorry, Wil, I just lost track of time.” He stops, and looks over his shoulder as he hears Dr. Winston shouting for his small counterpart.

Reinhardt clearly hears it was well, because he chuckles. “Go on, mauschen, I can watch over him from here.” He crisply salutes, which delights Winston even more.

“Go on,” Siebren says as well. “I won’t tell.”

Winston nods in appreciation, before jumping from Siebren’s shoulders, and scampering out.

“Seems you’ve been taken in by the natives,” Reinhardt says, still laughing.

Siebren sniffs. “I’m fairly certain he likes you more than me,” he says. “After all, you gave him the cute nickname.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want anyone getting jealous of you, schnecke.” Reinhardt chuckles for a moment, but carries on. “Sorry if I woke you.”

“You didn’t—” Siebren starts, but Reinhardt waves him off.

“Bah! You can’t fool me, liebling. I know what it’s like when you wake up.”

Siebren rolls his eyes.

“Go to bed!” Reinhardt continues. “You need to be taking care of yourself up in space, until you can come back to me and let me dote on you.”

Siebren stands and plucks the tablet from its dock so that he can carry it back to his quarters. “You don’t need to worry about me, lekker ding,” he mutters, while looking around the hallway to be sure none of his colleagues might be bothered by his conversation (or worse, listening in).

“Of course I do,” Reinhardt says. “What else would I do with my time?”

Siebren smiles, despite himself, and quickly keys in the code to his quarters. He slips in, and after a thought, instead of going to his desk, he collapses on his bed, tablet still in hand.

Reinhardt laughs. “He can be taught.”

Siebren smirks. “I should hope so. And I have the degrees to prove it.” He sets the tablet so it can stand up, right next to his pillow. If he closes his eyes, while Reinhardt is speaking, he can almost fool himself into thinking they’re lying next to each other.”

“Don’t fall asleep in your lab clothes,” Reinhardt chides him.

“I almost think you want me to undress on camera.” Siebren sits up, and smiles impishly as he shucks off his labcoat.

“Well…” Reinhardt shrugs. “I miss you, you know.”

“I do too, Wil,” Siebren says. He throws his lab coat on the floor, and pulls his feet up onto the bed.

“Were you working without shoes again?” Reinhardt asks, and Siebren squints, wondering how the camera is angled for him to see that.

“What no one notices won’t hurt them,” he mutters again as Reinhardt rolls his eyes.

“You’re just the same as always.”

“You almost sound disappointed.”

Reinhardt smiles. “No, I miss all of you. Even your quirks.”

Siebren smiles back, loosening his belt. “Don’t fret. We’ll see each other again soon.”

“Do you have leave coming?” Reinhardt asks, a hint of hopefulness in his voice.

“Maybe.” Siebren chucks his belt to the floor as well. “Horizon has been a successful endeavor, but not my ultimate stopping point, you know. Restorations on the International Space Station will be done soon, and then I can move my work over there, to a lab more suited to my experiments.”

Reinhardt sighs. “Schnecke...”

“Soon, Wil,” he says again, more feverently. A promise. “Soon, I’m so close to a breakthrough. And the new lab will only help speed things up.” He lays down on his belly, looking up at the camera. “I’m so close, Wil. And when I’m done, everything will be different. The whole world will be different, and I can’t wait to show it all to you.”

Reinhardt smiles at him, the same lovesick smile he always gave when they reunited, but sad too. “Well, I would never want to rush you.”

Siebren grabs a pillow, and hugs it to keep from falling over. In the process, one hand brushes the other, and his fingers ghost over the ring on his other hand. He smiles. “I know it’s hard, lekker ding. But it will be worth it. I promise.”

“Oh, Siebren,” Reinhardt says with a small chuckle. “Waiting for you has always been worth it.”

“What was all that about?”

Sigma only vaguely realizes someone is talking. He forces himself to look up from the scorched helmet in his hand — he’s been tinkering with it since they retreated back to the extraction point and successfully boarded the escape vehicle. He’s not sure if he can fix it, and part of him is tempted to just ditch the helmet altogether. With his control of gravity, it may be possible to replicate the same protection by…

Right, someone was talking, he reminds himself. “Sorry, what?”

“The brute with the hammer,” Moira says. “What was all that shouting about?”

Reaper is lurking in the corner, pointedly not looking at them, in the way that Sigma has come to realize means he’s actually interested in what comes next but would rather not convey it.

Sigma thinks about it for a moment, looking back at the burnt helmet, but not getting lost in the thoughts of the repairs this time. He didn’t feel it at the time, but now there’s a nagging feeling in the back of his head, a little annoying tingle that won’t go away. Like his brain firing in a futile attempt to connect to something, but ultimately coming up short.

He looks down at the cavity of his helmet, black and deep, like the void threatening to overtake him. Sometimes, when peering into the void, he feels fear.

Sometimes, like now, he feels a rush of excitement, and the taste of sea salt and beer on his tongue.

“I honestly have no idea,” he says to Moira, but keeps the unprovoked feelings welling up in him to himself.

It’s a beautiful night. Siebren relaxes into Reinhardt’s arms around him, relishing the feeling of the nighttime breeze and the sand between his toes.

He hadn’t been very surprised to learn that Reinhardt had set up something of a surprise for him. With how much Reinhardt had been needling him to take a break while his lab equipment was still being installed, Siebren would have been shocked if he hadn’t had an ulterior motive.

Well… more ulterior than usual.

He’d been taken aback by the sight of the beach though, Reinhardt having set up the part of the beach he dubbed their spot with strung up lights and a full picnic. They had long ago finished their food, and danced through the sunset to the playlist that Reinhardt had put together. Siebren had managed to stay quiet as it shuffled through some of Reinhardt’s favorites, mingled with his own, but now he starts to relax as the track changes to his favorite song.

“So, how did I do, Schnecke?”

Siebren chuckles into Reinhardt’s chest. “Thank you for convincing me to take a break.”

Reinhardt pulls away from him, still smiling. “I’m glad you let me tempt you.”

Siebren moves to close the gap between them again, but Reinhardt steps back again, keeping the distance. Before Siebren can ask him why, he’s kneeling in the sand.

Siebren blinks. “Is this… Wil…”

Reinhardt pulls out a small box from his pocket, and holds it up. “I hope that this isn’t too traditional for you.”

“I…” Siebren feels his voice catch in his throat, finding his normal wide vocabulary somewhat lacking now.

“I was hoping for a reaction somewhat more excited.”

Siebren kneels down in front of him. “It’s not that… I mean, of course I want to…” He sighs, trying to collect his words. “Of course, I’m excited, but…”

“But?” Reinhardt asks, quirking an eyebrow.

Siebren clasps his hand, the one holding the box, in both of his. “I’m about to be deployed.” He points vaguely upwards to make his point. “And… I don’t… I don’t know how long it will take, and I don’t want you to waste away waiting for me…”

Reinhardt quiets him quickly by darting forward and kissing him. He pulls away with a chuckle. “Siebren… I think I’ve been in love with you for more than two decades… Nothing’s going to change just because you’re off in space trying to change the world.” He laughs again, harder this time. “That’s how you are even when you’re on Earth.”

Siebren punches him in the shoulder for that, but it doesn’t seem to faze Reinhardt in the slightest.

“So… what do you say?” Reinhardt asks, cracking the box open.

“You know, you never did explain the hole thing to me,” Siebren says. The stars are just starting to come out. A bit of a chill is descending, though it doesn’t bother him much, given the space heater of muscle wrapped around half his body.

Reinhardt laughs, the vibrations thrumming through Siebren’s chest as well. “You mean you haven’t figured it out yet?”

“Was I supposed to have been working on that?” he asks in return. Despite himself, he’s forced to agree that it was very comfortable to relax in, with the dug up sand being cooler than the scorching hot sand on the surface during the day. But over time, their hole had warmed up too, just in time for twilight to fall.

“Every so often, a German feels the urge to make the long journey to the beach, and dig a fantastic hole,” Reinhardt says, making wide, sweeping gestures with the hand that Siebren isn’t laying on. “Much like salmon swimming upstream and birds building nests for their mates.”

“This doesn’t sound very scientifically—”

“And then, the German lies in wait,” Reinhardt continues, unbothered by the interjection, “hoping for a beautiful mate to come by. And thus impressed by their glorious hole, they are tempted into staying with them the entire day.” Reinhardt turns his head to him, grinning. “And as you can see, I have been very successful.”

Siebren sniffs. “Well, I’m not exactly a biologist, so I’d have to take your word for it.”

Reinhardt moves closer to him, their faces looming close to each other. “Are you saying that I haven’t caught you after all?”

Siebren’s eyes dart down, considering his lips for a moment. “Well… I wouldn’t say that exactly…” He pecks Reinhardt’s lips, who responds with a deeper, more passionate kiss.

Siebren lays back, satisfied, and watches the stars slowly coming out to play.

“Wilhelm,” Siebren says, and then catches himself. “Reinhardt?”

He looks up, and the void is looming, across the sky, and slowly seeping into Reinhardt’s eyes. “Yes?”

“You said you like it when I talk,” he says, quieter now. “I think… I think I’d explain the entire universe to you, if you’d give me the time.”

Reinhardt smiles, though Siebren can hardly see it now. It’s fuzzy in the darkness, but also fuzzy in a different way. Siebren tries to focus more intently, more closely, but with each effort, the image slips away, like sand pressed between his fingers.

“And I would…” Reinhardt’s voice trails off, the last words of the promise unintelligible, to the point that he starts to forget what the voice sounded like in the first place.

Until finally,