Chapter Text
It’s an ordinary Tuesday morning the next time she sees Jamison.
Satya strides across Vishkar’s campus with a purpose, neatly organized and labelled binders clutched to her chest. The night before had been spent pouring over every last detail of her latest project, tweaking at every apparent imperfection she could find. There was a reason these kinds of assignments were handed off to her like gifts to a spoiled child, after all. Anything her bosses wanted done right, they made sure was done by her.
And so that was why she had been made chief architect of Elyseum. No city like it has ever before been built; a vast, multi-tiered metropolis with no allegiance to any nation. It is, simply put, her greatest work yet. She’s on her way to present the finalized blueprints to her superiors, and she knows they’ll be impressed. The air is too hot for her blazer, a bold blue V emblazoned across the lapel, but she pays it no mind. There are far more pressing matters to focus on.
“Miss Vaswani!” An eager voice calls from the distance. Satya stops in her tracks and blinks, turning her head towards the source of the noise. A man, shorter than her with a head of thinning white hair is running towards her. The set of keys fastened to his belt jingle with every step, and the closer he becomes the more apparent it is he’s completely out of breath. Satya can’t help the smile that lights up her face, or the slight laugh she lets out at the sight.
“Professor Gupta,” She greets his warmly. The old man stops a few feet from her, one hand on his knee while the other wipes sweat from his brow. He’s panting, but manages to get out a few words in between.
“I’m—I’m sorry, my dear,” He says. “I don’t mean to…to be a distraction on your way to the board.” Satya tilts her head and wonders what news could be so urgent.
“It’s all right, Professor. Is something wrong?” Curiosity tinges her voice. Avinash Gupta had a reputation for being one of the most eccentric teachers at Vishkar Academy, but it was no secret that his various oddities masked genius beyond compare. So what, in his mind, could possibly be a valid excuse for perhaps making her late to this meeting? He had known her since she was a little child, a starving waif plucked from the streets to begin life anew at Vishkar. He had handpicked her himself. As much as Satya cared about her own success, Professor Gupta cared more. After all, he had more of a stake in it than she ever did.
“Oh? Oh, oh no. No no no, of course not,” The professor waves his hands in the air emphatically. “Well, I suppose that depends upon your definition of ‘something wrong.’” Satya feels her eyebrow quirk up at his response. This can’t mean anything good.
“Perhaps it would be best if you were to show me, Professor,” Satya steps towards him, intent on trying to solve this issue before the meeting. It was still another forty-five minutes away—she’d planned on being early, setting up the room and her presentation just perfect. Either way the board members would be happy with her work… but Satya wouldn’t be satisfied with herself unless everything was exactly the way she’d envisioned it.
Gupta nods, blinking and muttering to himself about why he hadn’t thought of that before. He starts making his way back from where he came, motioning for Satya to follow him. She notices now that there seems to be a crowd of people moving with them, talking amongst themselves in hushed tones. If she strains her ears, she can almost make out what they’re saying.
“—right into the gates, can you believe it?”
“I heard there was only one person—“
“Do you think Overwatch knows anything about it?”
She hears that name and nearly stops in her tracks, but instead quickens her pace as not to lose the shorter man amongst the thrall of people. Overwatch? Whatever was going on, it seemed they somehow had a hand in it. It was hard not to be surprised, but she had to admit to herself that she shouldn’t be. It had been years since she counted herself among their ranks, but the organization didn’t seem to suffer much in light of her absence. Every few weeks she’d see something about their exploits in the papers. Thwarting a terrorist attack, protecting those in need, holding the world together by a mere string… sometimes she almost missed it. Almost.
“What is this all about?” She leans down by the professor’s ear so he can hear her. But before she can answer, she looks up to see they’ve arrived—
--and suddenly her arms go limp, binders hit the ground with a thud and papers fly away in the wind.
Satya feels as though someone’s punched her in the chest, like all the air has disappeared and it’s impossible to breathe. A ship… a drop ship has reduced Vishkar’s front gates to a crumpled mess of iron before her. The white and orange O emblazoned on the ship’s side tells no lies.
“When—“ She must swallow the lump rising in her throat. She can’t let herself be rendered speechless. “When did this happen?”
“Approximately thirty minutes ago,” Professor Gupta answers, looking up at her with understanding sympathy in his eyes. Half an hour ago would explain why she hadn’t heard a thing. She’d been in her workshop, ignorant to the events of the outside world thanks to the soundproof walls. “No one requested permission to land anywhere. Actually, we hadn’t heard so much as a peep from Overwatch prior to this. No one was expecting a visit.”
Her brows furrow and her lips form a thin line. None of this sounded routine, not for Overwatch. The only possible answer she could muster was that they were under attack, that the only reason they’d crashed here was because they were forced to. But then… even that didn’t make any sense. She casts her eyes up towards the sky, scouring the clouds for a possible attacker. It’s bright and blue and clear as crystal. And as far as she knows, Talon hasn’t mastered the art of cloaking technology yet. Not for gigantic ships, anyhow.
“Do you know who was in it? Was anyone hurt? Were there… were there any casualties?” Names and faces flash through her mind. Tracer, Reinhardt, Roadhog, Zarya... the thought of any of them being seriously injured, or even possibly dead, fills her stomach with lead. Being an agent of Overwatch is a dangerous job. They had all known that when they signed on. They all knew what was at stake. Satya has to remind herself of this, and even then it doesn’t make the prospect of their deaths any less horrifying.
“Thankfully no one’s dead,” Gupta says. Relief floods through Satya’s veins. She opens her mouth to respond, but the professor continues before she can. “I can’t say the same for injuries, however. One of our scientists received some burns, a few close to the gates when the crash occurred have concussions. Nothing too serious. Oddly enough, there was only one person in the ship. Quite a tall fellow, too.”
She breaks her gaze from the ship, staring at him with alarm. That doesn’t mean a thing, she tries to tell herself. That was an adjective that could describe a great many people, after all. Especially members of Overwatch. None of this means it could be exactly who she hopes it isn’t.
“Tall?” She echoes. “Professor Gupta, what does this person look like?”
“Oh, long face, I suppose,” He says, stroking his beard. “Blonde hair. Some poorly constructed prosthetics. Covered in soot. Looks like a wild man, if you ask me.” Gods. Satya rubs at her temples and suppresses her internal screams. No explanation in the entire world could be good enough for why Jamison had decided to quite literally knock down her front doors to see her again. That was why he was here, right? It had to be. She can’t even fathom why he’d desire to see her in the first place.
Not after how they’d left each other last time.
“I appreciate you showing this to me, Professor,” Satya says. She kneels to the ground and gathers her things, quickly flipping through the binders and making notes of which pages are missing. If she leaves now, perhaps she can grab the copies she needs and still make it to the meeting on time. “But you know as well as I do that my time with Overwatch is over. Whatever reason they have for being here, I’m sure they can contact me professionally without resorting to destroying Vishkar property. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting to attend.”
She stands, smoothing out her skirt with one hand while holding her things in the other. She doesn’t have the time or energy to explain things to Gupta, and frankly she doesn’t really want to. That chapter in her life was now closed and she had absolutely no intentions of revisiting it.
“Vaswani, Satya.” She turns on her heel and finds herself face to face with an Omnic with a blue V stamped directly on its forehead. Well, she’s certainly popular today. She tilts her head as she nods to address it.
“Yes, that is me.”
“You have a visitor, Ms. Vaswani. Follow me, if you please.”
***
It’s no surprise they end up in Vishkar’s primary security building, waiting to be allowed access to the holding cell. Now it was certainly too late to attend the meeting, Satya thinks to herself, and questions why she hadn’t just ignored this whole situation and gone anyway. The annoyance bubbling inside of her is slowly turning to anger. Moving forward with the plans for Elyseum would be pushed back at least a week now, and for what? She’s sitting in the lobby next to the omnic, hands clasped so tightly her knuckles begin to go white.
She’d worked so hard for this. And now… well, she knows if Jamison had to describe the situation, he’d say it had all gone ‘tits up.’ An expression she can’t help but just cringe at. And it’s not as if she cares a single bit about what he’d have to say in the first place. All of this is his fault, and now she has to bear the consequences for it.
“You must be Vaswani,” A woman emerges from behind a door in the back of the room. Her attire almost looks like that of a regular police officer, except for the sewn-on V above her heart. Satya stands, giving a single nod and following the woman into the back. Quickly she realizes they’re not headed toward the holding cell, but the interrogation room.
“Will this take very long?” She asks. The woman glances back at her with something of a scowl.
“It will take however long it’s going to take,” The officer says. “This man—Junkrat or whoever he claims to be—refuses to speak to anyone but you. He’s responsible not only for the wanton destruction of our property, but the injuries of at least four other persons. All of this happened on Overwatch’s behalf until they claim otherwise. This could cause an international incident, Miss Vaswani. If you’re the only way we’re going to get to the bottom of any of this, so be it.”
Satya grits her teeth, wishing she could tell this woman she has no more idea of what’s actually going on here than anyone else, but she knows it won’t help. Besides, if Jamison really told them she was the only one he’d talk to… then she supposes she really does have no choice.
That settles it then. He’s here for you.
Gods, how she wishes she could quash that voice in the back of her mind. Maybe she’d get lucky, maybe she’d only have enough time for a quick hello before someone else from Overwatch came to pick him up. Somehow, though, she doubts it.
Soon enough they arrive at what must be a two-way mirror. The room before them is almost empty except for a table and two chairs, one of them occupied by a particularly lanky man. It takes Satya a moment to catch her breath when she sees him. Jamison.
To her total lack of surprise, his hair still sticks up in every which direction and is singed at the edges. Spots of soot dot his face, and he still has that gleam in his eye she could only ever describe as wild. Any doubt she previously had about who her visitor could possibly be has now vanished in a puff of thin air.
However, it does catch her inordinately off guard that he seems to be wearing a suit.
It’s not a very well-kept suit. There are patches sewn into the coat, and even from where she stands she can tell it’s incredibly threadbare, just as sooty as the rest of him. He wears no shirt underneath, as apparent from the visible skin stretched tightly over muscle. A red tie hangs undone around his neck. Satya can’t help but shake her head. What does he think he’s doing? Who is he trying to impress? Does he really care that much about what she thinks, even now? And why would he wear a tie if he wasn’t even going to try and tie it?
He looks ridiculous, she tells herself. Jamison slumps in his seat, obviously bored, whistling as he closely examines his prosthetic hand. How silly, she asserts in her mind. Thank god he was out of her life.
Not anymore. She hopes he wasn’t planning on making this change permanent.
“Ready?” The officer’s voice breaks Satya out of her reverie. She startles, but then catches herself and nods. All she has to do is figure out why he’s here. That’s it. And then she can tell him to go home and never see her again.
“Yes,” She says. “I just want this over with.” The officer doesn’t say anything more and leads her into the interrogation room without ceremony. Before stepping inside, she must remind herself to breathe. To pray for her heart to stop hammering in her chest.
“Oi, copper, I told you I ain’t sayin’ a damn thing till I see Sym—“
Satya braces herself, clenches her fists at her sides and steps forward. Jamison’s attention shifts from the officer and almost immediately he stands up, chair crashing into the wall behind him. He steps forward and she stands her ground, refusing to grant him any softness in her gaze. His eyes, on the other hand, light up with some sort of sweet sadness she didn’t know was possible. He speaks and his voice is soft, almost resigned, how it was the last time they ever spoke. She hates the way it makes her almost miss him.
“Symmetra.”