He shouldn't have been surprised that Stark knew who he was. Still, it had been a shock to see the man use his name so casually. A name he was supposed to have left behind. Perhaps it was a good thing he'd been in the neighborhood on other business, since the conversation he needed to have was best to handle immediately and not over a channel that kept such concise records.
Offering to assist the Avengers had been a decision he'd questioned for so long. It was a risk at the time, and it seemed history was doomed to repeat itself. He knew, after the fact, it had been some vestigial hope of sorts, seeing a group trying to achieve what he'd failed to do. It was in Rogers he'd seen his old self, in more ways than he cared to admit. For that reason, it was Stark he worked with most. Maybe he didn't want the young faced soldier to have such a long look at where his future could lead. Maybe he thought Stark's cynicism would be more beneficial. Whatever the reason, it hadn't stopped the inevitable. It was for the best, he'd told himself, that he'd only been loosely affiliated. It hadn't been his responsibility. This time.
After sending his message to the man, Soldier 76 tucked his phone away and took a running leap off the roof from where he'd been perched for some time. How he got up there is his own secret. He landed hard and loud, intentionally so, on the space Stark himself used as a landing pad. The glow of his visor shone bright against the black of the night sky as he approached the glass.
[ I've fallen behind on my Marvel movies, so I left it vague. But if I'm totally off-base, let me know. ]
How the rest of the world hadn't put the pieces together and come to the obvious (and correct) conclusion stopped surprising Tony a long time ago. Too much misinformation, too many rumors, too little clearance- there were plenty of reasons and he had used them in his favor more often than not. Stirring up the rumor mill and giving Morrison a little more breathing room with a smokescreen wasn't helping, it's selfish. He couldn't call on a contractor if they're too damn paranoid to come out of hiding, right? It's pragmatic.
Appropriate detachment was something he'd had once upon a time. Reminding himself of those habits took work but it was kind of required. Couldn't function if he took every little jab personal, or the silence in the tower would well and truly drive him crazy.
Besides the inherent hypocrisy of working with someone unaffiliated with the accords to handle things when they couldn't, there wasn't so much as a twinge when he contacted Morrison deliberately. Tonight had been a deviation of the norm punctuated by an audible thwump of a body landing hard on the armor assembly pad among polite British conversation lilting through the room. Instinct had his arm up to call the armor in until the silhouette became familiar and-
How in the hell had Morrison gotten on top of his building in the first place? Sometimes he knew better than to ask and this would just have to remain one of those mysteries. FRIDAY cracked the door open with a hiss and Tony waved him in, shutting off the endless feed of less than important period drama in favor of pulling up the plotted data of Reaper and Talon's activities. "You know that line's secure, right?"
Not that he minded the visit but. Pride came first.
He looked over the space as he walked in, as he always did. It was too open for his taste. Too many windows. It made him itch, like he could feel a laser sight focused between his shoulder blades. Too much time in the field, too much time deep in hiding. It made him more than a little paranoid.
"Not secure enough," he said. What he was about to explain was not something that should have a written record. It was something he shouldn't be explaining at all. But Stark had proved himself more than trustworthy, and had yet to show any signs of going all darkside on him. Then again, he'd missed the signs before until it was too late to see the knife before it went into his back.
As he approached Stark, looking as uncomfortable as always in such a casual setting, he did something he'd never done before. He reached up and pulled away the face plate of his mask. He'd aged much since his supposed death, and acquired a great many scars. He was a different man than the last images of the late Jack Morrison.
"Noted." He had a new method of encryption on the massive list of projects that needed handling, bumping it up the priority list wouldn't be difficult, especially if this was going to go the way he thought it would. "FRIDAY, kill the view."
The windows went opaque in short order as the lights dimmed, the plotted data of Reaper sightings and inventory of what was taken, who was killed (sometimes there's collateral damage and sometimes it was possible to hide an assassination in collateral; he wasn't unfamiliar with the concept) and what was left behind if anything. More often than not? Not much was left as evidence, not even DNA which-
Weird. But he'd seen weirder.
"Do you want me to start with what's in your veins or the relevant details?" Super Soldier Serum replication was a longstanding project in the medical world and one Stark Industries kept an eye on due to dear old dad's involvement back in the day with Project Rebirth. But that was digging back a little far for the current concerning behavior of 'what the fuck was this cell even planning' he'd been pouring over.
If Morrison was someone capable of relaxing, he might have when the windows went opaque. He did, at least, feel a sense of relief, less exposed in some regards. But Stark was a high profile person, and an easy target with the way he advertised his location. Especially when he seemed to have just so many enemies. It did say something that the man was still alive, at least.
It took a great deal to surprise the old soldier, even more to get him to show it. But his eyes went wide as the data appeared around him. He twisted around, taking it in, rather stunned. He'd known Stark was smart and resourceful. But this went beyond his expectations. Beyond what should have been possible. Then that simple question gave him the answer he needed.
"That's meant to be classified," he said, sounding all too serious but raising an eyebrow. "Let's stick to what you know about Reaper. Specifically, before and how he became..." he gestured at the data vaguely. "...what he is." He didn't even know for sure what Reyes had become. Or just how much of the man actually remained.
"Funny you should say that, it ties into the first bit. You have- and I'm not sure 'knockoff' is the appropriate term but it's damn close- a version of Erskine's serum in use. A point he made in his notes that went beyond 'enhanced reflexes, strength, and healing' was something he underlined and is probably relevant to your situation- and Reaper's. Good becomes great. Bad? Becomes worse. Not much to go off of from a scientific standpoint but." One of them was an old, determined soldier and one of them got blown up and became a wrathful murder cloud in a Halloween costume. "Reyes-"
Because that was the only other surviving member he could track down connected to Blackwatch or Overwatch on paper (and off, and off the record just to be safe) "Got the same brand. So it's either his sunny disposition or the serum mutating when exposed to a physical cascade of organ failure via the application of explosives. Wetwork's not my thing, I'd have to dig deeper into the original research to even begin hypothesizing how he is what he is or if it's reversible."
Lowering his head, something that was almost a smile ghosted across his aged features. If this were almost anyone else, he would have been worried. He'd consider getting to word to Winston through anonymous channels to alert him to a data breach. He'd start searching for a means of destroying the data. Of keeping Stark quiet. But he'd seen how the man operated, and though trust wasn't exactly something Soldier held these days, it was close.
"This is one of those moments I'm glad you're not on their side," he mused as he lifted his head. "Not sure if the enhancement program had anything to do with it, but what Reyes became it's...something that I should have seen sooner. In the early days, we'd been good friends. Beyond brothers in arms. But when I was given the promotion to Strike Commander, he didn't take it well, despite being given a command of his own. With all I had on shoulders, I didn't see this until it was too late." Another ghost of a smile tugged onto his lips, sadder than before. "But given all you've shown me already, I'll bet you could tell me what I had for lunch the day of the explosion." It was strange talking this way, openly. He barely even spoke of these things with Ana.
Staying put never sat well with Soldier, no matter the scale. It was one of the many areas he and Ana differed, it seemed. In the days he didn't have a mission or plan to focus on he felt unsettled. Waiting for things to happen was not his strong suit. It's why he was out when he received Ana's rather personal message. He called it patrolling, it was better than saying he needed to get out. They'd picked the building for its security, for the low threat of the area. But he still swept the area on a regular basis. Paranoid? Probably. But the longer they stayed, the more often he felt the need to do it.
Tonight he'd wandered further than usual. Part of him had been hoping to find something he could call a threat. Places like this always had at least some small band of thugs causing trouble. If he had some problem to tackle, he could put off considering something bigger. He'd received the call to reform Overwatch, which was something he neither wanted to consider nor respond to. He had a different mission now. Nevermind the fact that he shouldn't have received it in the first place, being considered dead and all. The reason for that was another thing he didn't want to consider.
But even as stubborn as he was, he could read between the lines of Ana's request. It wasn't about the tea, it was what people did over tea. And talking was something he'd been avidly avoiding since the call went out, but he couldn't put it off forever. He might be lucky and she'd want to discuss something else, but he doubted it. So he headed back to the building they were using these days.
"Alright, I'm humoring you," he said as he stepped into the kitchen, slipping off the front of his mask. He found his way to the small table, sitting down as he worked on removing his gloves and the rest of the mask.
The apartment was certainly not the worst she'd seen in all her years as a ghost. Old water stains on the walls and a kitchen stove that ran on gas -- a relic from the last century, to be sure. But it worked well enough, the water beginning to hiss in the battered tin kettle she'd scrounged from somewhere. She set out two mugs, her tea strainer propped on the chipped rim of one of them. Even in all the varying situations of scarcity she'd lived though, she'd always made a point to acquire tea leaves rather than bags.
How strange, Ana reflected, that she and Jack should have ended up here together. Slumming it on the edges of a city only half-rebuilt after the Crisis. The Crisis which had made them heroes, household names the world over. Who would have imagined them decades later, worn out in some places, hardened in others?
She glanced over her shoulder at the scrape of chair legs.
"Kind of you," she said, her voice dry. "A deed of true heroism."
He looked up at her, just raising one dark eyebrow. Very funny, Ana.
The comparison between what they had, the way the world thought of them, and where they were now was just yet another thing he intentionally didn't think about. What did all of that visibility get them, in the end? The world may have seen them as grand heroes, beacons of hope, but in the end what could they really do? For all the scrounging and squatting they had to do, it was easier this way. For the most part. Or so he'd convinced himself.
Peeling the head piece free at last, he set it on top of his gloves beside him at the table. Having decided to face the decision, he saw no reason to drag it out further.
"Been hearing rumors of Talon activity in Los Angeles. I think maybe we should head that way, check it out."
Okay, not really. And those "rumors" were still unconfirmed.
Her tone was mild, but something under it said don't argue with me. Whatever it was they needed to get out between them, Ana would not be ready for it until she had a hot drink cupped in her hands. She'd talked Jack down enough times over the years that she knew she needed all the sustenance she could get.
The water finally boiled, the kettle letting out a long, forlorn whistle. She flicked off the gas and poured the tea. Steam rose from the cups, the chilly air coaxing it into long curling wisps.
She set one mug in front of Jack, then took a seat across him with the other.
He started to protest, the first syllable already on his lips as she spoke. He knew that tone a little too well. Even as stubborn as he was, he knew well enough to wait. It gave him a chance to gather his thoughts further. Chase them around. Debate himself. As she worked with the tea, he worked on shedding more of his gear. The vials strapped to his arm, armor under his jacket, items from his belt. By the time she brought the tea it was laid out across half the small table, ready to be inspected.
Muttering his thanks, he wrapped his hands around the mug. He wasn't much of a tea person, but even he had to admit the warmth felt good. Sometimes, small comforts mattered even to a calloused husk like him.
"Rumors," he repeated. "High profile targets turning up dead. Sightings of a black cloud. Sounds worth checking out." It was Los Angeles, though. That was hardly enough to go on. But he'd rather chase ghosts than answer the call.
Ana did not reply immediately. She took a sip of her tea. The tannin in it was a hint of bitterness against her tongue.
"Los Angeles is an eighteen-hour flight away." Her voice was carefully neutral. She fixed him with a stare from her good eye. "And I've heard the rumours too. We've been hearing them for months. Why are they suddenly so important?"
This new security detail was not going as Morrison had planned. The idea had been to give everyone a sense of purpose in times of peace, as well as give various operatives a chance to work with those who they otherwise wouldn't have a chance to be on a mission with. The job itself was simple. A few hours in the command room, two or three people at any given time, monitoring internal security and worldwide events with the help of Athena. Simple, straightforward, and a terrible idea. The first few rounds was supposed to be the different commanders with each other's teams. His stint with Genji had been quiet and uneventful. But now with McCree? He was seeing the error of his ways.
They had only been in the room an hour and already McCree was grinding his last nerve. They had a strict no smoking rule, and yet McCree refused to put it out. It seemed to Morrison that threats of formal action against him only encouraged his behavior. How had he managed the last several years under Reyes, behaving like this? It took a great deal to get under Morrison's skin, despite his reputation for being somewhat impulsive. That was in times of action, when there wasn't time to think things over. But McCree was quickly pushing him to that point. He'd already made crass remarks in response to the threats of retaliation, had had blown smoke in Morrison's face several times.
That last puff had made something inside him crack. It would take one command to Athena to kill the camera in there and he could deal with McCree directly. Protocol allowed him to take direct action in extreme circumstances.
As the smoke cleared from his sternly set face, he fixed McCree with a hard glare. "Try that again," he said, his voice low in warning, "And I guarantee you'll regret it."
McCree, to his credit, has actually been planning this for a while. Playing with the Commander's ego in order to get under his skin. Compliments here, mockings there, flirting with the rules in ways that would get Reyes having him running laps for years. He's smirking as he taps the end of his cigarillo in the ash tray, leaning up with his feet on the monitor's dash.
"What, you gonna spank me, commander?" He laughs as he inhales again, eyes on Jack's face rather than the monitors they're supposed to be watching. "You may be in charge of Overwatch, but, well..." He taps the blackwatch logo on his armor as he blows the smoke into the commander's face. "I ain't in it."
He wants to push his buttons. Wants to see the legendary temper he supposedly had from the Omnic Crisis days. From his understanding, from whispers here and there in the commissary, Jack's got a bit of a dominant streak in him- when he's properly motivated- and there's nothing more Jesse wants than to say he got the leader of Overwatch to break. The hard dicking that'll result from it is just icing on the cake~
A majority of those rumors had no foundation in reality. If he knew about them, he would have shut them down immediately. He was far too often too wrapped up in his work, in missions and keeping his team going, to be involved in the sort of activities that would have founded such rumors. Somewhere along the way someone had equated his ruthlessness in battle and firm command into something completely different. And of course he was too absorbed in his work to have even heard about it. It wasn't that he was prudish, just...absorbed.
Fingers knit together, pressed against his lips, he tried to ignore McCree's jabs. The spanking comment didn't earn so much as a roll of his eyes. This was ridiculous, he reminded himself. He would deliver the cowboy to Reyes at the end of the assignment and ensure the proper punishments were handed out. One last attempt to be reasonable. It was that assumption that Blackwatch was somehow completely separate that snapped that final, frayed thread. They were special ops, not held to some of the same, strict protocols. But they were still part of Overwatch, and Morrion was in charge of it all. And he needed to prove that to this little upstart.
The moment the smoke hit his face, he was on his feet. He'd long ago learned to pull back on his strength and his speed. The enhancement program had done wonders for his skills in battle, but if he wasn't careful he could hurt those around him as they weren't as tough as he was. But here and now? He didn't much care if he hurt McCree a little. Seizing the younger man by the shoulders, he dragged him out of his chair to slam him against the nearest wall.
"I'll do more than spank you," he growled, not quite realizing that the implication in his own words.
The cigarillo hangs from his lips, a shit eating grin spread across his face as he can't help but think about how this would go in an ideal world. Crashing Morrison's lips against his, sliding his hands under that prim uniform and stripping body armor off of him. Morrison throwing him up against the consoles and fucking the daylights out of him.
"Might want to make sure Athena ain't watchin' then. Unless you're into that." Not that he'd mind. He knows the kind of shit he needs to do when he's fucking with the boss. More than once had to blackmail the leader of Deadlock for the same reasons just to keep his head above water.
"Athena?" He growled. "Priority override: Security blackout, this room only."
"Done, Commander," the AI responded as the cameras and monitoring of the room went dark.
He'd done it more to scare McCree, trying to intimidate him into worrying what might happen in that sort of situation. But Morrison wasn't that sort of man. He didn't command through fear or terrorize those he led. Despite his reputation, he was just trying to do what was right. Even if he had something of a temper. McCree needed to be put in his place through a few harsh measures. Which meant they had completely different ideas about how this would play out, to the point that not only were they not on the same page, they weren't even in the same book.
One hand moved to McCree's throat, gripping him firmly but not enough to hurt. Pressing his face close he snarled, letting all of that anger come to the surface.
"Reyes isn't here to protect you, you little punk!"
Oh, but that hand against his throat brings a rumble of a moan to his lips, his head tilting back to expose it to the man. He isn't purposely goading him now. Not really. But damn if that fierce, agressive energy doesn't do things to him.
"I'm more than aware, Morrison." He purrs softly, hands loosely grasping at his arms. "Why do you think I've been waiting until we're alone to finally break that ice between us, darlin?"
What they had was by far nothing he had expected. Brief encounters became long evenings together. Coffee became dinner. A gentle brush became a lingering touch. A difficult mission ending with her wrapping her arms around him. Something that took months to blossom. It wasn't what some might call a romantic courtship, as it was subtle and quiet, but it was something they seemed to so very much need. He wasn't even completely certain of what they had, exactly, until things became far more physical. However, lately, he had begun to worry something was wrong. She was certainly behaving differently.
On the day in question, specifically, he was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate on his work. It was a rather dull day, mainly monitoring communications and attempting to piece things together. The only active missions were for information gathering and low risk. There wasn't much decision making to be done, so he found his gaze wandering. Especially the way she seemed to find excuses to bend over in front of him. Brushing against him a bit too much to be an accident.
Needing to refocus, he found an excuse to head into the supply closet. It was cramped and stuffy, but it would be a chance to regroup. He was supposed to be disciplined. Getting distracted by a young woman? He just needed to reassert his priorities.
That day, it was slow. There wasn't anyone to monitor, nothing was scheduled for the day that needed her attention. The piece of tech she had been developing was at a different stage and with other people to look over what had been done. Make sure that it was correct and within their standards.
Quiet days were a welcome surprise, though sometimes they were the most stressful, waiting for something to just happen. She knew it wasn't going to be a busy day, so she'd decided to have a little fun with it. A little fun with him. When giving a report, she would take the stylus out to tap on the tablet screen and drop it in the middle of an explanation, apologise and then bend down to pick it up. Not the usual type where she would crouch, but bend at the waist. She had an outfit on of a skirt and blouse wit heels under her coat which she'd worn open.
She could tell her actions were getting to him and she had to be careful to hide her smile from him. Not long after the Commander had left she followed. Closet huh?
A quick check to make sure the coast was clear and she opened the door, stepping in quickly and closing it behind. Once it was shut she leaned back against it with her head cocked a little to the side.
It wasn't the door opening that gave him a start, but the fact that it was her. And he wasn't exactly the sort to startle easily. His dilemma was that he was supposed to be a gentleman. It's the way he was raised and they way he conducted himself, even in his younger years when he was just regular army. His fellow recruits would make a scene and act like savages, but he never gave in to those urges. He didn't then and he wouldn't now. But he'd never dealt with someone quite like Angela. Especially with the way she was acting today. Any way he could think she was expecting him to behave or respond seemed at odds with his usual methods.
He cleared his throat, turning to the nearest thing on the shelf. "Oh, fine. Just fine. We were out of--" What he'd picked up was a box with so much dust on it, it was a wonder why it was even still there. "...pencils." He finished, lamely. Knowing full well it had been years since there'd been a need for such an analog tool. Backup for severe blackouts, that they hadn't seen since the war. "Good to keep things well stocked!"
One brow was arched as she watched him. She had to wonder what was going through his head, did he think that that had actually been a good save?
"Pencils?"
She pushed herself off from the door, there wasn't much room, but she closed the distance and looked at the box in Jack's hand, then to the shelf it came from. There were three other boxes she could see and she looked back to Jack.
"Looks like we're pretty well stocked to me."
Another step closer, anymore and she'd pressed up against him.
"You sure you're okay? You look like you might be a little flushed there."
She reaches a hand up and places the back of it against his forehead, as if taking his temperature, but she moves it after a moment, letting it side down his left cheek, her fingers moving along his jaw.
Was he flushed? It did feel rather hot in the supply closet, but it always did, didn't it? All stuffy with supplies and the close space, and now with two people of course it was hot. Never mind that he could feel the tips of his ears burning, it must just be the temperature.
The touch to his face didn't help matters. He nearly crushed the box in his hands trying to keep himself composed. He set it back on the shelf as he hand slid over his jaw and he let out a low breath. She was making it very difficult to maintain his gentlemanly composure. His hands still resting on the shelf, he looked to her with one eyebrow slightly lifted.
"Angela," His tone was an attempt at a warning, but came out almost teasing. "We're on duty."
She couldn't stop it this time and a smile crept across her lips as she looked him up and down. It as satisfying to see him act the way he was, like he was crumbling. She licked her lips and dragged her bottom one between her teeth.
The storage room was awfully warm and she brought her other hand up to pop open a couple of buttons of her blouse. Making sure to keep eye contact with Jack as she did so. She took part of her collar and moved it, like she was fanning herself.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
for ~nonstopnarcissist
He shouldn't have been surprised that Stark knew who he was. Still, it had been a shock to see the man use his name so casually. A name he was supposed to have left behind. Perhaps it was a good thing he'd been in the neighborhood on other business, since the conversation he needed to have was best to handle immediately and not over a channel that kept such concise records.
Offering to assist the Avengers had been a decision he'd questioned for so long. It was a risk at the time, and it seemed history was doomed to repeat itself. He knew, after the fact, it had been some vestigial hope of sorts, seeing a group trying to achieve what he'd failed to do. It was in Rogers he'd seen his old self, in more ways than he cared to admit. For that reason, it was Stark he worked with most. Maybe he didn't want the young faced soldier to have such a long look at where his future could lead. Maybe he thought Stark's cynicism would be more beneficial. Whatever the reason, it hadn't stopped the inevitable. It was for the best, he'd told himself, that he'd only been loosely affiliated. It hadn't been his responsibility. This time.
After sending his message to the man, Soldier 76 tucked his phone away and took a running leap off the roof from where he'd been perched for some time. How he got up there is his own secret. He landed hard and loud, intentionally so, on the space Stark himself used as a landing pad. The glow of his visor shone bright against the black of the night sky as he approached the glass.
[ I've fallen behind on my Marvel movies, so I left it vague. But if I'm totally off-base, let me know. ]
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Appropriate detachment was something he'd had once upon a time. Reminding himself of those habits took work but it was kind of required. Couldn't function if he took every little jab personal, or the silence in the tower would well and truly drive him crazy.
Besides the inherent hypocrisy of working with someone unaffiliated with the accords to handle things when they couldn't, there wasn't so much as a twinge when he contacted Morrison deliberately. Tonight had been a deviation of the norm punctuated by an audible thwump of a body landing hard on the armor assembly pad among polite British conversation lilting through the room. Instinct had his arm up to call the armor in until the silhouette became familiar and-
How in the hell had Morrison gotten on top of his building in the first place? Sometimes he knew better than to ask and this would just have to remain one of those mysteries. FRIDAY cracked the door open with a hiss and Tony waved him in, shutting off the endless feed of less than important period drama in favor of pulling up the plotted data of Reaper and Talon's activities. "You know that line's secure, right?"
Not that he minded the visit but. Pride came first.
[ Vague works well! This is solid, thanks. ]
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"Not secure enough," he said. What he was about to explain was not something that should have a written record. It was something he shouldn't be explaining at all. But Stark had proved himself more than trustworthy, and had yet to show any signs of going all darkside on him. Then again, he'd missed the signs before until it was too late to see the knife before it went into his back.
As he approached Stark, looking as uncomfortable as always in such a casual setting, he did something he'd never done before. He reached up and pulled away the face plate of his mask. He'd aged much since his supposed death, and acquired a great many scars. He was a different man than the last images of the late Jack Morrison.
"Let's start with how much you actually know."
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The windows went opaque in short order as the lights dimmed, the plotted data of Reaper sightings and inventory of what was taken, who was killed (sometimes there's collateral damage and sometimes it was possible to hide an assassination in collateral; he wasn't unfamiliar with the concept) and what was left behind if anything. More often than not? Not much was left as evidence, not even DNA which-
Weird. But he'd seen weirder.
"Do you want me to start with what's in your veins or the relevant details?" Super Soldier Serum replication was a longstanding project in the medical world and one Stark Industries kept an eye on due to dear old dad's involvement back in the day with Project Rebirth. But that was digging back a little far for the current concerning behavior of 'what the fuck was this cell even planning' he'd been pouring over.
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It took a great deal to surprise the old soldier, even more to get him to show it. But his eyes went wide as the data appeared around him. He twisted around, taking it in, rather stunned. He'd known Stark was smart and resourceful. But this went beyond his expectations. Beyond what should have been possible. Then that simple question gave him the answer he needed.
"That's meant to be classified," he said, sounding all too serious but raising an eyebrow. "Let's stick to what you know about Reaper. Specifically, before and how he became..." he gestured at the data vaguely. "...what he is." He didn't even know for sure what Reyes had become. Or just how much of the man actually remained.
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Because that was the only other surviving member he could track down connected to Blackwatch or Overwatch on paper (and off, and off the record just to be safe) "Got the same brand. So it's either his sunny disposition or the serum mutating when exposed to a physical cascade of organ failure via the application of explosives. Wetwork's not my thing, I'd have to dig deeper into the original research to even begin hypothesizing how he is what he is or if it's reversible."
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"This is one of those moments I'm glad you're not on their side," he mused as he lifted his head. "Not sure if the enhancement program had anything to do with it, but what Reyes became it's...something that I should have seen sooner. In the early days, we'd been good friends. Beyond brothers in arms. But when I was given the promotion to Strike Commander, he didn't take it well, despite being given a command of his own. With all I had on shoulders, I didn't see this until it was too late." Another ghost of a smile tugged onto his lips, sadder than before. "But given all you've shown me already, I'll bet you could tell me what I had for lunch the day of the explosion." It was strange talking this way, openly. He barely even spoke of these things with Ana.
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For ~sightlines
Staying put never sat well with Soldier, no matter the scale. It was one of the many areas he and Ana differed, it seemed. In the days he didn't have a mission or plan to focus on he felt unsettled. Waiting for things to happen was not his strong suit. It's why he was out when he received Ana's rather personal message. He called it patrolling, it was better than saying he needed to get out. They'd picked the building for its security, for the low threat of the area. But he still swept the area on a regular basis. Paranoid? Probably. But the longer they stayed, the more often he felt the need to do it.
Tonight he'd wandered further than usual. Part of him had been hoping to find something he could call a threat. Places like this always had at least some small band of thugs causing trouble. If he had some problem to tackle, he could put off considering something bigger. He'd received the call to reform Overwatch, which was something he neither wanted to consider nor respond to. He had a different mission now. Nevermind the fact that he shouldn't have received it in the first place, being considered dead and all. The reason for that was another thing he didn't want to consider.
But even as stubborn as he was, he could read between the lines of Ana's request. It wasn't about the tea, it was what people did over tea. And talking was something he'd been avidly avoiding since the call went out, but he couldn't put it off forever. He might be lucky and she'd want to discuss something else, but he doubted it. So he headed back to the building they were using these days.
"Alright, I'm humoring you," he said as he stepped into the kitchen, slipping off the front of his mask. He found his way to the small table, sitting down as he worked on removing his gloves and the rest of the mask.
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How strange, Ana reflected, that she and Jack should have ended up here together. Slumming it on the edges of a city only half-rebuilt after the Crisis. The Crisis which had made them heroes, household names the world over. Who would have imagined them decades later, worn out in some places, hardened in others?
She glanced over her shoulder at the scrape of chair legs.
"Kind of you," she said, her voice dry. "A deed of true heroism."
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The comparison between what they had, the way the world thought of them, and where they were now was just yet another thing he intentionally didn't think about. What did all of that visibility get them, in the end? The world may have seen them as grand heroes, beacons of hope, but in the end what could they really do? For all the scrounging and squatting they had to do, it was easier this way. For the most part. Or so he'd convinced himself.
Peeling the head piece free at last, he set it on top of his gloves beside him at the table. Having decided to face the decision, he saw no reason to drag it out further.
"Been hearing rumors of Talon activity in Los Angeles. I think maybe we should head that way, check it out."
Okay, not really. And those "rumors" were still unconfirmed.
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"Tea first."
Her tone was mild, but something under it said don't argue with me. Whatever it was they needed to get out between them, Ana would not be ready for it until she had a hot drink cupped in her hands. She'd talked Jack down enough times over the years that she knew she needed all the sustenance she could get.
The water finally boiled, the kettle letting out a long, forlorn whistle. She flicked off the gas and poured the tea. Steam rose from the cups, the chilly air coaxing it into long curling wisps.
She set one mug in front of Jack, then took a seat across him with the other.
"So. Talk to me. Los Angeles."
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Muttering his thanks, he wrapped his hands around the mug. He wasn't much of a tea person, but even he had to admit the warmth felt good. Sometimes, small comforts mattered even to a calloused husk like him.
"Rumors," he repeated. "High profile targets turning up dead. Sightings of a black cloud. Sounds worth checking out." It was Los Angeles, though. That was hardly enough to go on. But he'd rather chase ghosts than answer the call.
a calloused husk LMFAO
"Los Angeles is an eighteen-hour flight away." Her voice was carefully neutral. She fixed him with a stare from her good eye. "And I've heard the rumours too. We've been hearing them for months. Why are they suddenly so important?"
he thinks very highly of himself, you see
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sorry for the slow tag, i spaced out on it!
And here I thought my fake-out image scared you off XD
no i'm just rly scattered rn :P
It's cool, I'm in the middle of midterms myself so I feel it
i'll have to check that out!
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For ~fistfulofbullets
They had only been in the room an hour and already McCree was grinding his last nerve. They had a strict no smoking rule, and yet McCree refused to put it out. It seemed to Morrison that threats of formal action against him only encouraged his behavior. How had he managed the last several years under Reyes, behaving like this? It took a great deal to get under Morrison's skin, despite his reputation for being somewhat impulsive. That was in times of action, when there wasn't time to think things over. But McCree was quickly pushing him to that point. He'd already made crass remarks in response to the threats of retaliation, had had blown smoke in Morrison's face several times.
That last puff had made something inside him crack. It would take one command to Athena to kill the camera in there and he could deal with McCree directly. Protocol allowed him to take direct action in extreme circumstances.
As the smoke cleared from his sternly set face, he fixed McCree with a hard glare. "Try that again," he said, his voice low in warning, "And I guarantee you'll regret it."
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"What, you gonna spank me, commander?" He laughs as he inhales again, eyes on Jack's face rather than the monitors they're supposed to be watching.
"You may be in charge of Overwatch, but, well..." He taps the blackwatch logo on his armor as he blows the smoke into the commander's face.
"I ain't in it."
He wants to push his buttons. Wants to see the legendary temper he supposedly had from the Omnic Crisis days. From his understanding, from whispers here and there in the commissary, Jack's got a bit of a dominant streak in him- when he's properly motivated- and there's nothing more Jesse wants than to say he got the leader of Overwatch to break. The hard dicking that'll result from it is just icing on the cake~
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Fingers knit together, pressed against his lips, he tried to ignore McCree's jabs. The spanking comment didn't earn so much as a roll of his eyes. This was ridiculous, he reminded himself. He would deliver the cowboy to Reyes at the end of the assignment and ensure the proper punishments were handed out. One last attempt to be reasonable. It was that assumption that Blackwatch was somehow completely separate that snapped that final, frayed thread. They were special ops, not held to some of the same, strict protocols. But they were still part of Overwatch, and Morrion was in charge of it all. And he needed to prove that to this little upstart.
The moment the smoke hit his face, he was on his feet. He'd long ago learned to pull back on his strength and his speed. The enhancement program had done wonders for his skills in battle, but if he wasn't careful he could hurt those around him as they weren't as tough as he was. But here and now? He didn't much care if he hurt McCree a little. Seizing the younger man by the shoulders, he dragged him out of his chair to slam him against the nearest wall.
"I'll do more than spank you," he growled, not quite realizing that the implication in his own words.
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The cigarillo hangs from his lips, a shit eating grin spread across his face as he can't help but think about how this would go in an ideal world. Crashing Morrison's lips against his, sliding his hands under that prim uniform and stripping body armor off of him. Morrison throwing him up against the consoles and fucking the daylights out of him.
"Might want to make sure Athena ain't watchin' then. Unless you're into that." Not that he'd mind. He knows the kind of shit he needs to do when he's fucking with the boss. More than once had to blackmail the leader of Deadlock for the same reasons just to keep his head above water.
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"Done, Commander," the AI responded as the cameras and monitoring of the room went dark.
He'd done it more to scare McCree, trying to intimidate him into worrying what might happen in that sort of situation. But Morrison wasn't that sort of man. He didn't command through fear or terrorize those he led. Despite his reputation, he was just trying to do what was right. Even if he had something of a temper. McCree needed to be put in his place through a few harsh measures. Which meant they had completely different ideas about how this would play out, to the point that not only were they not on the same page, they weren't even in the same book.
One hand moved to McCree's throat, gripping him firmly but not enough to hurt. Pressing his face close he snarled, letting all of that anger come to the surface.
"Reyes isn't here to protect you, you little punk!"
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"I'm more than aware, Morrison." He purrs softly, hands loosely grasping at his arms. "Why do you think I've been waiting until we're alone to finally break that ice between us, darlin?"
Oh yeah, he's certainly getting his flirt on.
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For ~caduceusvalkyrie
On the day in question, specifically, he was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate on his work. It was a rather dull day, mainly monitoring communications and attempting to piece things together. The only active missions were for information gathering and low risk. There wasn't much decision making to be done, so he found his gaze wandering. Especially the way she seemed to find excuses to bend over in front of him. Brushing against him a bit too much to be an accident.
Needing to refocus, he found an excuse to head into the supply closet. It was cramped and stuffy, but it would be a chance to regroup. He was supposed to be disciplined. Getting distracted by a young woman? He just needed to reassert his priorities.
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Quiet days were a welcome surprise, though sometimes they were the most stressful, waiting for something to just happen. She knew it wasn't going to be a busy day, so she'd decided to have a little fun with it. A little fun with him. When giving a report, she would take the stylus out to tap on the tablet screen and drop it in the middle of an explanation, apologise and then bend down to pick it up. Not the usual type where she would crouch, but bend at the waist. She had an outfit on of a skirt and blouse wit heels under her coat which she'd worn open.
She could tell her actions were getting to him and she had to be careful to hide her smile from him. Not long after the Commander had left she followed. Closet huh?
A quick check to make sure the coast was clear and she opened the door, stepping in quickly and closing it behind. Once it was shut she leaned back against it with her head cocked a little to the side.
"Are you okay, Jack?"
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He cleared his throat, turning to the nearest thing on the shelf. "Oh, fine. Just fine. We were out of--" What he'd picked up was a box with so much dust on it, it was a wonder why it was even still there. "...pencils." He finished, lamely. Knowing full well it had been years since there'd been a need for such an analog tool. Backup for severe blackouts, that they hadn't seen since the war. "Good to keep things well stocked!"
What was wrong with him?
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"Pencils?"
She pushed herself off from the door, there wasn't much room, but she closed the distance and looked at the box in Jack's hand, then to the shelf it came from. There were three other boxes she could see and she looked back to Jack.
"Looks like we're pretty well stocked to me."
Another step closer, anymore and she'd pressed up against him.
"You sure you're okay? You look like you might be a little flushed there."
She reaches a hand up and places the back of it against his forehead, as if taking his temperature, but she moves it after a moment, letting it side down his left cheek, her fingers moving along his jaw.
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The touch to his face didn't help matters. He nearly crushed the box in his hands trying to keep himself composed. He set it back on the shelf as he hand slid over his jaw and he let out a low breath. She was making it very difficult to maintain his gentlemanly composure. His hands still resting on the shelf, he looked to her with one eyebrow slightly lifted.
"Angela," His tone was an attempt at a warning, but came out almost teasing. "We're on duty."
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The storage room was awfully warm and she brought her other hand up to pop open a couple of buttons of her blouse. Making sure to keep eye contact with Jack as she did so. She took part of her collar and moved it, like she was fanning herself.
"It's a slow day. I'm sure no one would notice."
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IT HAS BEEN FOREVER AND A DAY SINCE DOING SMUUUUT
It's okay! I'll be gentle