Chapter Text
Officially abandoned, Watchpoint Gibraltar appeared to be little more than a ghost town. The wind whistled down long corridors that had once been full of chattering, working people. Bridges and archways slowly rusted themselves to pieces, while weeds grew through cracks in the pavement. To anyone who didn't know better, it looked like there was nobody living there but the gulls.
Lena Oxton, 'Tracer' to her friends, very much knew better. This place had been, and in many ways still was, her home. More importantly, it was her good friend Winston's home. Unlike her, he was unable to leave and join the world at large, nor find another place to go.
Which was why his friends came to him. Especially on nights like this - Christmas was a time for family. Tracer absolutely considered Winston to be part of hers. So what if he was a talking gorilla? He was also one of the best people she knew.
The moment she stepped inside the section he'd turned into his home, tension slid off her shoulders that she hadn't even realized she was carrying. Sighing, she locked her hands together and stretched them up above her head, straightening her spine. She felt the vertebrae pop back into place - much like it felt like she'd returned back where she belonged, the world in its proper alignment once again.
"Tracer!" Winston's booming voice was so low that it always felt like a rumble in her chest rather than a noise in her ears. "You made it!"
"Of course I did!" Tracer blinked over to him, not wanting to take even the few seconds needed to cross the room, and threw herself into a hug. "I wouldn't miss it for the world, you know that."
Winston gave the best hugs. When his shaggy arms enfolded her, it was exactly like having a giant, living teddy bear cuddling her. His body was so warm it was like a furnace, and without the armour he wore when they were on missions, she could feel how soft he was.
It was possible she hung on a bit tighter and longer than she normally would have. When she moved to draw back, Winston placed one big hand on her head, gently ruffling her hair and peering down at her with a concerned look. "What's wrong? Where's Emily, was she not able to make it?"
Tracer felt herself go stiff, though she tried to fight the impulse. Regret, anger, and longing churned in her gut. Of course she'd known he would ask the question, he was very fond of her girlfriend.
Ex-girlfriend. Months later, she still had to remind herself to put the 'ex' in front. And the reminder hurt every time.
"Things... didn't work out," was the most diplomatic answer she could come up with. She gave him a smile that she hoped wasn't too wobbly. "We went our separate ways a while back. I'm sure she'll email you to wish you happy holidays, or some such."
Winston's face fell, and the hand on her hair stopped ruffling and started stroking, instead. There had been people in Overwatch who complained that they couldn't read the expressions on Winston's 'inhuman' face. Tracer didn't have a damn clue what they were talking about, because he'd always been an open book to her. And right now, he was hurting nearly as much as she was, on her behalf.
"Aw, don't look at me like that," she scolded, trying to put on a brave face for him. Winston cared so deeply about his friends, and this holiday was supposed to be about enjoying family. The last thing Tracer wanted to do was ruin this night of celebration. "Plenty of fish in the sea and all that, yeah? Didn't your email say something about a bunch of other people coming this year, anyway?"
He studied her a moment more, then released her to push up his glasses, giving her the excuse to draw away. It was clear that he was humouring her desire not to talk about it, but at least her question did distract him somewhat. "Yes, quite a few people made it this year. Mei and Angela are here, as well as Reinhardt. Torbjorn sends his regrets, but..."
"But Christmas is for family, and he's got a big one," Tracer finished, nodding. "Be a bit hard for him to sneak all those grandkids in here without anybody noticing!"
He led her into another part of the base, that used to be the mess hall. As far as she was aware he hadn't been using that area regularly, but now one of the long tables was all done up with a Christmas feast, decorations and all. Tracer spotted Angela Ziegler immediately, and all but flew over to the other woman. "Angela! It's been ages!"
"Lena." Angela's pretty face lit up with a warm, welcoming smile. She followed it up with a hug. "It's good to see you well. Why, I haven't had to patch you up in years, now."
Tracer laughed. "Not for lack of bumps and bruises on my part, doc. You know me, always getting into trouble."
"Well, should you ever need assistance, my hospital is always open to you," Angela assured her.
Tracer knew the offer was sincere, and also understood the value of it - technically, all Overwatch missions were now illegal. That meant if Angela helped, and didn't report their actions to the authorities, she would be considered just as much a terrorist as Tracer herself. "Thanks, Angela," she said, and put all the sincerity she could muster into the words.
"Ah, Tracer!" Reinhardt's boom wasn't quite a match for Winston's, but it wasn't for lack of trying on the Crusader's part. He gave her a broad smile and waved her over. "Come, my friend. I demand a hug as well!"
"You say that like I'd ever refuse," Tracer laughed, and blinked over to receive the requested embrace. Without the advantage of Winston's fur, Reinhardt's hug wasn't as soft, but it was no less all-encompassing. Seeing him without his armour was very weird. "So, technically, you're not my lieutenant anymore. Do I still have to call you sir?"
He laughed heartily. "Not at all, little one. Call me whatever you like."
A merry, mischievous grin flirted across Tracer's lips. "Ooh, careful, big guy. Think about who you're making that offer to. There are so many good nicknames I can come up with for you."
Clapping his hand on her shoulder - nearly staggering her in the process - he turned to gesture to someone else behind him. "Tracer, I'd like to introduce you to my squire."
"Squire?" Tracer blinked at the old-fashioned term. Well, Crusaders were technically knights, so she supposed it made sense. "I didn't know you had a..."
All the breath left her lungs in a rush, so fast it left her dizzy. Tracer stared at the young woman who came to Reinhardt's side, as stunned as if McCree had tossed a flashbang at her.
The girl was gorgeous. Drop-dead, mind-shatteringly attractive. Not the starved model 'beauty' so many people seemed to admire, but in a strong, healthy fashion that had Tracer's libido sitting up to take notice as heat swirled through her body.
She was tall, long-limbed and graceful, muscled enough to suggest she worked hard but not so much that she lost the lush feminine curves of her body. She wore a flowing red tunic with tight black pants beneath, practical but festive. Long, dark hair was pulled up away from her face at the sides but allowed to fall in a shining river down her back. Her wide, generous mouth was curved in a reserved smile, large bright eyes shining with curiosity... and there was the tiniest smudge of what looked like grease on the inner shell of her ear, as if she'd missed washing it off.
Belatedly registering that the woman was holding out her hand, Tracer kicked her brain into restarting and reached out to accept the offered handshake. The grip was strong but not punishing, squeezing as if she was unaware of her own strength rather than trying to one-up Tracer. There was heavy callus on her fingers and palms, and scars across her knuckles. It felt like a feminine version of Torbjorn's hands, and Tracer guessed she was an engineer or something similar.
"Um. Hi." Tracer mentally kicked herself for that brilliant opening. Swallowing, she fished for something more interesting to say. "I'm Tracer." Yep, that was much better. Because it wasn't like Reinhardt had already said her name, or anything.
"We've met before, actually," the vision declared, one corner of her smile kicking up an extra notch, in a way that suggested she was amused by Tracer's utter banality. She had a lilting accent that Tracer couldn't quite place. Definitely not German, she sounded nothing like Reinhardt. Something Nordic, maybe?
"Er..." Desperately Tracer tried to think of a polite way to phrase her refusal of that statement, without declaring the woman to be a liar. "Pretty sure I'd remember meeting you. You're really... uh, memorable." Heat swept over her face, and she was mortally certain she was turning bright tomato red. At least she hadn't blurted out something completely embarrassing, like ‘attractive’.
"Well, back then I was smaller than you are, so I guess it's not surprising you don't recognize me," the woman chuckled. "Papa brought me to an Overwatch Christmas party, not long before it was shut down. I'm Brigitte Lindolm."
"Oh!" Tracer smacked herself in the temple with her palm. "And here I was just thinking your hands reminded me of Torbjorn. You're his youngest daughter. I do remember meeting you."
The girl she'd met, a few years younger than Tracer herself, had indeed been short and scrawny at the time. Obviously at some point she'd hit a major growth spurt, and put in a lot of work to earn all that muscle. Probably at least partly from hauling Reinhardt's armour around - that was the kind of thing a squire did, right?
"I'm surprised you're not at home with the rest of your family," Tracer added, tilting her head. “Torbjorn was always talking about how important family is.”
"Papa's not pleased that I'm away from home," Brigitte confirmed, her smile going a little crooked. "But Reinhardt insisted he wanted to see his 'other family', since so many of you were coming this year. I go where he goes."
"Well, I'm certainly glad to see him,” Tracer said with a smile at the giant of a man. “It's been far too long! And glad to meet you again, too."
"There, you see?" Reinhardt patted them both on the shoulders. It staggered Tracer again, but Brigitte took it like a rock, unmoved. "I knew you two would like each other. Tracer, why don't you give my goddaughter a tour? I want to greet Angela, it's been too long."
"I want to say hi to her as well, you know," Brigitte replied, but Reinhardt was already turning away, his booming voice shouting a greeting to the doctor as if she wasn't only a few feet away.
There was a long moment of awkward silence between them. Tracer cleared her throat. "Goddaughter, huh? And you know Angela well?"
"Very." Brigitte's smile warmed again as she glanced over at the doctor. "I actually thought she was my aunt for years when I was a little girl. Papa was very close to his teammates, and they've always been in my life."
That stung, and Tracer bit her lower lip to hide the quiver that wanted to emerge. She'd been Torbjorn's teammate, as well. But he'd never reached out to her that she was aware of, since they'd all been split apart by the fall of Overwatch.
Giving herself a mental slap, she reined herself in. Tracer had never reached out to him either. Moreover, she'd been part of his team for less than a year, whereas he'd been working with Reinhardt and Angela for decades. Plus, she'd been in London, while Reinhardt and Angela were much closer to where Torbjorn's family lived.
"Well, I can't tell you how many times Angela, Reinhardt, and your father saved my life," she said, reaching for and finding a smile that at least resembled her usual bright cheer. "Not to mention everything they taught me that's saved me since then!"
"I've heard a few stories about you," Brigitte acknowledged, a sparkle of laughter in her eyes. "So, about that tour?"
"Oh! Do you really want to?" Tracer was startled. "I mean, Reinhardt does tend to get these ideas in his head about what people should want to do, and he doesn't always remember to check with them about whether they actually want to..."
"Yes, he does have a way of running roughshod over you, doesn't he,” Brigitte laughed. “It's probably a good thing I inherited papa's stubborn streak."
"Pretty sure that stubbornness is one of the things that made them good friends in the first place," Tracer replied, chuckling. "They did seem to love to bicker, but it was like siblings fighting, not enemies. All bark and no bite."
"You did know them well, didn't you.” Brigitte grinned outright, and lifted a hand to pat Tracer’s shoulder. “Come on then, squirt. Show me around."
Tracer rolled her eyes at the derogatory term, though she certainly couldn’t deny that she felt like a bit of a runt next to the tall, solidly built woman. "I've already got a nickname, thanks. Two, if you count your dad calling me the cavalry."
Brigitte grinned. "I've heard him mutter to himself about that. He said you were like a dog with a bone about it."
"Cheers, love! The cavalry's here!" Tracer chirped what had become her trademark phrase, and dragged a snicker out of Brigitte. She was even prettier when she laughed, her eyes bright, dimples creasing her freckled cheeks.
The tour didn't really take long - the Watchpoint was huge, but only this tiny area was still in use, and empty cargo containers and vehicle hangers probably wouldn't be of much interest. They finished up on the observation deck that overlooked the staging area out front, and the wide, endless sea beyond. The stars were out in force, shining jewels scattered across the velvet backdrop of the sky, like a million diamonds set out for display.
Tracer stared at them out the giant window, and sighed appreciatively. "I always forget how beautiful the sky is here," she murmured. "There's hardly ever stars in London, and even when they do peek through, I think I could count them on my fingers."
"I love the sky outside the cities," Brigitte agreed, and her voice held a dreamy note. "The world is a beautiful place, when you step away from the hustle and bustle to notice it."
The urge hit her to reach out, slide her hand over Brigitte’s in a quiet invitation for more contact. But the end of her long relationship with Emily had made her skittish, and she didn't know Brigitte well enough to be sure the interest would be welcomed in any way.
It struck Tracer that while there might be plenty of fish in the sea, she had no real idea how to go about constructing a net to catch one. Emily had reeled her in; Tracer had floundered around at the start of their relationship, flustered and confused by her own emotions.
Though she’d realized early that she was attracted to women, Tracer had never done anything to act on that attraction. Not from shame, but from sheer lack of time. She’d dedicated her teenage years to becoming one of the best pilots in the world, determined to prove wrong everyone who told her that she’d never get into Overwatch.
So she’d never learned to flirt, never learned how to tell if an attraction was mutual or one-sided. Tracer felt like Brigitte could become a good friend in time, and she didn’t want to jeopardize that by making a move that ended badly.
No, better to stay quiet for now. Build the friendship, and see if maybe that led to something more. But damn, she knew who she was going to be dreaming about tonight - and for the first time in too long, it wouldn’t be Emily.