@chronal-anomaly said: She knows better than to give him things. Vigilantes don't exactly have a need for an air fryer or a new set of linens. One more thing to keep track of, to eventually toss out when it got to be too much.
Lena also knows that he's restless. She can see it in his eyes, the way he paces as he waits for whatever intel he's been waiting on. It's likely he'll be gone within the week, possibly before the holiday itself. So he gets an envelope, contained one letter to be read when he's ready, a picture of the old strike team, and a drawing of a penguin wearing his visor.
The letter tells him how she's starting to understand some of the why, and that he's always got somewhere to go so long as she's alive. Not a home, maybe, but a warm place to be, and a hot meal. It's signed with a -T and a small drawing of her doing her signature salute.
With the envelope came a small tool set designed to fix glasses, but with larger, rubber grips. Easier for his hands to hold as he works on his visor, she figured. All of this is tucked carefully into Jack's duffle, so he can open it whenever.
Merry Christmas, Soldier 76
Snow fell in whimsical flurries, slowly building up on the half-broken window sill. It left little opening for the stream of moonlight that peered through the window. The base was a dead thing, pilfered of its valuables. But it held temperature, and that was enough for Jack.
He'd discovered the envelope shortly after settling in for the night, an anomaly in his otherwise meticulously packed bag. He opened the card in the low light from the window, blue eyes still sharp enough to read the card even in the low light.
It was the photo that caught him first. He smoothed its edges, looked at the marks on it. His motions were gentle, like handling fragile glass that could burst at any moment. He knew this image, though the memory was a fractured thing in his mind from a time long since passed.
Before things fell apart.
Ana was roped under his arm, laughing about something Reinhardt had said; the giant of a man stood behind them with Gabriel, his hand clapped on the taciturn man's shoulder. Torbjörn was sitting atop a turret, and Lena was caught mid chatter to him, Angela, and Vivian. Gérard and Mina had refused to be part of the photo, he barely remembered. Jack studied their faces- the joy, the brightness, the jokes shared. Had any of them guessed where they'd be in such a short time? There were signs, then, but they hadn't been captured in the photo. No, here, frozen in time, was joy on faces that were now so often drawn in exhaustion and sorrow- or lost entirely.
In his memories, faces could be blurry, voices jumbled and mixed. But he knew the photos, he could trust them. The image was tucked with the others, his private stash of the proof that he'd once been loved.
Did he thank her? Tell her how much he missed everyone, how much he still cared about her over some text? Did he tell her how much she meant to him, like a daughter he only wanted to keep safe from a world that now hated her? He wanted to hold Lena in that moment, regretted his cowardice. And yet he couldn't turn back. With Christmas coming up, his intention was to stay away from the new Overwatch. The last thing he needed was to get sentimental and have something slip up. He needed to move on leads. He needed to keep busy.
But he could appreciate the reminder. The proof. The memories. He tucked them away- her drawings, the photo, and the kit. They would remain safe with him.
[Text: T] Thank you.
[Text: T] Merry Christmas, Lena. Ill be back in a week, bring you something from Moldova.
romaincrisis
snowghoul
2087
