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“Happy eighteenth, birthday boy,” Ana said to Cole when she saw him. They hadn’t thrown a party or anything, but Reyes had given him the day off, and he wasn’t expecting anything anyway, not really. He missed the birthdays they’d celebrated in Deadlock—drinking under the stars, a slice of pie from a diner since none of them could really cook. Thinking about Deadlock made his stomach hurt.
“Thanks,” he said, sitting down with her in the mess hall. “How’d you know it was my birthday, anyway?”
“We managed to dig up some files on you, you know,” she said. “You’re not as invisible as you might have hoped.”
“There’s a lot y’all still don't know about me,” he said, a little uneasy at the thought that Overwatch might be keeping tabs on his past.
“I’d like to find out,” she said, smiling. If it were anybody else, he’d dig them about that sounding kind of like a line, but she sounded more like she really did want to know about him, and besides, it’s Ana. She reminded him of his mother, the few memories he had left of her from before she’d gone and died. God, what was it with his birthday that got him thinking about the past? “Do you want some tea?” Ana asked, distracting him. He frowned.
“I never really had tea before,” he admitted. “Isn’t it just leaves in water?”
“You’ve never had tea?” she asked, looking horrified. “Who raised you?”
“Raised myself, mostly,” Cole said.
“Well, we’ll have to fix that,” Ana said. She stood again and headed to the kitchen to prepare his first ever cup of tea. Without anything else to do, Cole followed.
It wasn’t the first kind thing she’d ever done for him, and certainly not the last, but Cassidy finds himself thinking about it anyway. It’s one of his earliest memories of her, one of his earliest positive memories of joining Overwatch, and he clings to it like a lifeline as he goes from room to room, building to building.
Before he goes into the room where she’d been positioned, he stands outside the door. He can’t bring himself to go in, bracing himself for the sight of her lying dead or disfigured by the window. What will he do? Call Reyes, of course. Break the news to him. Brace again for his reaction. When he opens it and sees her missing, he doesn’t know what to think. He wants to tell himself it was proof she was alive, that she’d simply been kidnapped, or something, and there was some way to get her back. But she wouldn’t have gone without a fight, and the room seemed untouched. More likely, she’d never been here.
Ana liked to reposition herself according to where she thought was the best shot. She often did this without informing the operating team, but would always correct her paperwork afterward. As the best sniper they had, nay, the best sniper there was, Overwatch was inclined to let her do as she wished. As such, she could be anywhere.
He goes to the room next door. Empty. He searches the whole floor, even the rooms facing away from the target. All empty. The building had seven stories, but she’d have only been able to get a clear shot from three of them. He searches through all seven regardless.
“Like a bloodhound, kid,” Reyes had said to him after a mission once. “Good job.” From him, it was a glowing endorsement. Even Moira had seemed impressed, which was astounding.
He told the story to Ana over a pot of tea, how he’d managed to track down their target when nobody else on the team could, and through the whole city nonetheless.
“Impressive,” she said. She blew the steam gently off of her cup.
“You never compliment me for missions,” Cole complained. “What, you don’t think I’m a good shot or nothing? I get it, I’m no you, but I ain’t half bad.”
“What makes you think you deserve a compliment?” she asked.
“Come on,” Cole said, “even Reyes thought I did good! Reyes! That guy’s like a brick wall sometimes.”
“I’ll agree on that,” she said. “Listen, Cole, it’s not that I don’t think you do a good job.”
“Then what is it?”
“Let me finish,” she smiled. “I don’t want you thinking you’re only your service to us,” she said. “You’re valuable on your own, too.”
“I guess,” Cole said, not really getting it. He’d only been allowed to join Blackwatch for his skills, anyway. Otherwise he’d be rotting in a maximum security prison. He knew it wasn’t exactly his personality that had led to Reyes seeing some kind of worth in him.
“I’m serious,” Ana said. “I’m glad you’re here, Cole. Even if you are no me.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Cole said, turning it over in his mind. He felt embarrassed for no real reason.
The building yields no results, so he calls in to HQ. “You found her?” asks, for some reason, Jack Morrison.
“Sir?” Cassidy asks. “Where’s, uh, Reyes?”
“He’s busy,” Morrison says. “Look kid, have you found her or not?” Whatever Morrison’s real reasons for overtaking the case are none of Cassidy’s business. He knows they were close—it was hard not to be close to Ana. She was one of the most welcoming people he knew. Knows. She might not be dead, yet.
“No, sir,” Cassidy says. “No sign of a struggle or nothing, either. I doubt she was in the building.”
“Sounds like Ana,” Morrison says, voice tight. He clears his throat. “I’ll have the codes to the adjacent buildings found and sent over. Search everywhere.”
“Understood, sir.”
“Cassidy?” Morrison asks. “Thank you for doing this. I know Gabe at the moment can be…”
“No problem, sir,” Cassidy says, and hangs up. He doesn’t need to be in the middle of his two bosses, certainly doesn’t want to be. These days, it’s hard to have a conversation with either of them that doesn’t circle back around to the other, though. That’s none of Cassidy’s business. He enters the next building, and keeps looking.
Fareeha didn’t like Genji. She didn't like the way he interacted with Angela, the obvious liking the two had taken to each other. She had a bit of a puppy crush on the doctor—it’s a running gag around Blackwatch, and honestly Cole found it cute. So he got why she didn’t like Genji. But what he couldn’t understand is why she didn’t like him.
“Morning,” he said to her in the mess hall, tipping his hat. She huffed.
“Fareeha, say good morning,” Ana said, not looking up from her tablet.
“Good morning,” Fareeha drawled, mocking his accent.
“Jesus,” Cole said lightly. “Woke up on the wrong side of the bed?”
“Fareeha!” Ana said. “What is going on with you?”
“God, mama, of course you’d take his side,” Fareeha said. “You always liked him better than me!”
“What?” Cole said, at the same time that Ana said something rapidly in Arabic that he can’t hope to understand. She shot him a sympathetic look and ushered her daughter away, still talking to her as she began to cry angrily. Teenagers.
Later, he went up to Moira after mission simulations. “You know what Fareeha’s problem with me is?”
“Oh, yeah,” said the doctor, filing at her long nails. “She recognises the liking that Amari has taken to you. Thinks she’s getting replaced as the favourite child. Moronic and insecure, but then, she’s only young.”
“Favourite child?” Cole asked. “I’m not– Ana’s not, like, my mother.”
“I don’t really care,” Moira said. “Is that all you wanted to know?”
“Sure, thanks,” Cole said. He didn’t like Moira at the best of times, and the revelation had him feeling uneasy. It had only been a handful of years since he’d left Deadlock behind, and the idea of a new family felt like betrayal. He tried to picture Ashe in his mind’s eye, but could only imagine a glimpse of her pale hair and the spark in her eyes. He tried to picture his mother, but nothing came to him at all.
It takes him two more buildings before he finds her. Well, finds what’s left. The room is trashed, and her rifle is abandoned on the ground by the window. She’s not there, but he knows right away that she’s dead. Years of combat experience tell him the amount of blood on the ground is in no way survivable. He takes a shuddering breath in, and falls to the ground.
“You know,” Ana said, one bright morning, when there were no missions to complete. “We haven’t celebrated your birthday, yet.”
He was two days clear of turning twenty-one, finally able to legally drink. Reyes had brought him a bottle of champagne to celebrate, and Genji had clapped him on the shoulder, but he hadn’t done anything with Ana yet.
“What do you propose?” he asked.
“Let’s go to a bar,” she said. “You know, I met Sam in this city. I can show you where.”
Throughout the course of the night Ana told him all about how she had met the man she would marry. It was a warm story, full of love, and it ended with them lying in a park looking up at the stars. It reminded him of Deadlock, and for once the memory didn’t hurt. He felt good. He felt home.
“I couldn’t find the body,” Cassidy says over the intercom. “But I sent through the pictures, sir. She’s gone.” Saying it feels unreal. Phantom pain shoots up his arm and through his chest. He feels like he’s having a heart attack—maybe he is. Maybe he’ll die here, too.
“I saw,” Morrison says. “Alright, Cassidy. You did the best you could.” He sounds disappointed nonetheless. But that’s how he normally sounds, these days. Ever since Lacroix died there’s been a feeling of impending doom, like a fog obscuring their every move. Something is ending. It feels like the world.
Tracer picks him up. Even she looks down for once. “Keep your chin up,” she says. “It’ll all work out. I’m sure.”
“If you insist,” Cassidy says, feeling more tired than he ever has. As soon as they make it back to base he crashes immediately. He feels weak and sore, despite what was on paper one of the easiest missions Overwatch has ever had him do. His eyes sting with unshed tears.
When he wakes up again, it’s past midnight. He creeps into the kitchen, hoping for a drink. Reyes keeps a stash of fine whiskey in the cupboards that he’s hoping to ‘borrow’, at least to take his mind off of things. He’s beaten there.
“You didn’t find her,” Reyes says, eyes nearly black in the half-darkness. Cassidy fumbles for the light switch, and finds him sitting on a counter, drinking the stuff Cassidy had been fixing to steal.
“No, sir,” Cassidy says.
“I sent you out to find her,” Reyes says.
“Yes, sir.”
“And you didn’t,” Reyes says. He takes a sip.
“No, sir,” Cassidy says. His throat itches. He feels like a scolded child. It’s an effect that only two people in the world have ever had on him, and they certainly exploit it. He stares at the ground and scuffles his feet.
“Didn’t look hard enough?” Reyes asks. “Didn’t care enough?”
Why didn’t you go, then, Cassidy wants to say. He doesn’t. He’s too tired to argue right now. The exhaustion is bone-deep, limitless, feels like it’s been building for years. He says, “I’m sorry, sir.”
“Sorry won’t find her,” Reyes says. He sounds more sad than angry when he says, “She deserves better than this.”
“I loved her, sir,” Cassidy says, and is only partly surprised to realise it’s true. He loved Ana more than anyone in the world, except for maybe Ashe, though he hasn’t seen her in years. Yes, he loved Ana. And now she’s gone forever.
“If you loved her,” Reyes says, standing and brushing past him, “you would have found her. Do better next time, Cassidy.”
Cassidy stays in the kitchen and drinks the rest of Reyes’ stupidly expensive whiskey, partly out of some petty idea of revenge and partly out of a desire to get so drunk he can barely remember his name. He sleeps through an entire day—nobody wakes him. He spends the next week in a drunken stupor, sleeping or drinking or sleeping off drinking. He doesn’t cry. Cole Cassidy hasn’t cried since he was a kid.
Nobody tells him to knock it off. As a matter of fact, nobody really checks in on him, except for Angela to make sure he’s alive. It’s all hands on deck now—well, except for his. Normally in a situation like this, Reyes would be telling him to get off his ass and come help. But he doesn’t come to visit. When Cassidy sees him again in the mess hall, he doesn’t say anything at all.