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Edible Flowers and Heartbreakers

Here is the BapWeaver date fic! Because I said I'd do it!!

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Baptiste looked up at the strangely fluid serif-font of La Brasserie Brassique's sign, then squinted through the restaurant's window, trying to get a better look at what everyone inside was wearing. It was one of those restaurants that had that carefully calculated rusticity and coziness, that was undercut by a waitstaff that moved with the clipped, furious discipline, grace, and speed that suggested a highly professionally competitive atmosphere.

Baptiste internally debated whether or not to keep his tie on for the next two minutes. 'Brasserie' suggested a casual dining experience, but then again all the terrifyingly fancy and avant-garde restaurants were always naming themselves ridiculously vague and minimalist names like 'The place' or '12' or 'Salt' or stuff like that.

"You made it!" a buoyant, almost sing-songy voice behind Baptiste caused him to flinch to attention. He pivoted on his heel to see Niran.

Baptiste wasn't sure why he thought Niran would be any smaller without those big biolight petals constantly flanking him, the botanist architech still towered over him. He wondered if Vishkar forced its architechs to go through leg-lengthening surgeries to meet their high aesthetic standards—couldn't be any more invasive than taking one of their arms, right? Niran was dressed in his usual modified pha chung hang, but had swapped out his ivory-colored plunging neckline wrapped top for a less daring light blue tunic with delicate blooming trees embroidered in gold. The neural implants at the corners of his forehead were obscured by a more relaxed hairstyle, and a pale silken braid hung over one shoulder, tied off with a gold ribbon. A smile tugged at the corner of Baptiste's mouth as he wondered if this was Niran's attempt to appear more casual.

"Er--yeah, wasn't too hard to find," said Baptiste, adjusting his tie. Together, they both headed inside.

The interior of the restaurant was like a dark jewel in the evening light. The lights had turned on, but a little bit of twilight light made the multiple monstera and spider plant pots hanging above appear almost black. Their greenness was only barely maintained maintained by violet and warm yellow accent lights posted at strategic parts around the restaurant.

"Niran!" the hostess lit up from her little tablet pedestal and clasped her hands together, "You came!" Her eyes flicked over to Baptiste, "And... you brought someone!" The hesitance in her voice at this addition made Baptiste give Niran a short side-eye but Niran just beamed with that easy grace. "Tatienne, this is Baptiste. Baptiste, Tatienne."

"Charmed," said Baptiste, trying to match Niran's ease in the situation.

"We're here to take you up on that offer?" said Niran.

"R-right," Tatienne pushed a stray bit of hair back, maintaining composure, "This way, please."

Instinct made Baptiste want to request a table at the back, easy to keep an eye on the whole restaurant, constant eye on the entrance (and exit) and kitchen doors, but their table was located at a front window corner, cozy, decently lit, and frankly a little exposed for Baptiste's tastes. A mini holo-lantern projecting purple fractals like romanesco broccoli illuminated the center of their table. A waiter came by, set down their water glasses, ran through the usual spiel on the specials that night, and how the kitchen was willing to accommodate any allergies before setting their menus down in front of them and telling them to take their time and enjoy. Baptiste gave a glance over to Tatienne at her little podium and glanced back at Niran.

"...she likes you," Baptiste said, taking his seat.

"Mm?" Niran glanced up from the menu.

"The hostess. Come on, she took one look at me and it broke her heart!" Baptiste snorted.

"Wow," Niran scoff-laughed, "Come on, give her a bit more credit than that!"

"I'm giving you as much credit as necessary," said Baptiste, "So, what's the story?"

"There was a group that was insisting the restaurant needed insurance, and I stepped in on their behalf to say they were perfectly fine."

"So you're saying you fought off a protection racket that was threatening the restaurant."

"No! I mean--!" Niran's fingers curled in with a bit of helpless frustration, "It wasn't so vulgar."

"No, of course not," Baptiste sipped from his water glass, "You hold yourself to a professional standard."

"Anyway she asked if there was anything she could do to repay me and I knew it was notoriously difficult to get a reservation here, so I asked for a table for tonight, and she was all too delighted to elbow out some space for me."

Baptiste raised his eyebrows and pressed his leps together at Niran.

"Look, it's not like she would--" Niran was going on and then seemed to catch himself, clearly running the math of several social cues he may have missed in his recap of the events. "Oh," he said, and then "Oh..." a bit more concerned. He glanced over his shoulder at Tatienne at her little Maitre d' podium and his eyes flicked back to Baptiste.

"Do you think I should say someth--?" He shook his head, "A bit late for it now, isn't it?"

"A bit..." Baptiste conceded, "Heartbreaker."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you like the drama," said Niran, looking back at his menu.

"I like drama I'm not be the center of," Baptiste admitted.

"Are you sure you're not the center of it?" Niran asked coyly.

Baptiste just snorted and picked up his own menu. He scanned for a seafood section, turned the menu over to find only the wine and other drink selection, thought for a moment, and did his best to hide his immediate realization.

Brasserie Brassique. Brassicas. Broccoli. Cabbage. Kale. Duh.

"...Of course it's plant-based," Baptiste chuckled over the menu.

"Is that a problem?" Niran gave a slight eyebrow waggle from behind his own menu.

"Not at all. Don't usually have the option, in my travels," Baptiste shrugged.

"Well, I'm glad your travels could bring you here," Niran said breezily, leaning back in his own seat.

"You make time in all your running from Vishkar to eat at fancy restaurants?" Baptiste, sipped at his water.

"Well.. 'stop and smell the roses' and all that," Niran was scanning his own menu.

"And...not to be crude but you're sure you're okay with treating?"

"Well, if you're sitting on a giant pile of mercenary gold and just happen to go for the cutely scuffed-up improvising globetrotter part, I won't say that's not incredibly attractive in a deeply wrong way," said Niran.

"I... am afraid the 'cutely scuffed up improvising globetrotter' aspect of my appeal is completely genuine," said Baptiste.

"Ah. Yes. Well, Mum sent me her latest, 'You're killing me, you're killing your mother, please don't starve' check, and I'm on good terms with the owners so--!" He gave a theatrical little hand flourish, "My treat."

Baptiste snorted. "Just how far do you plan on getting by on charm and people worrying about you alone?"

"It's gotten me pretty far as far as I can tell," Niran shrugged.

There was a shy little throat clearing next to them and they both glanced up to see the waiter with a small tablet.

"Are you ready to order?" asked the waiter.

"I'll have the radish cakes and endive," Niran handed his menu off to the waiter.

"And I'd like the portobello steak, please," said Baptiste, handing his menu off as well.

"Anything to drink?" the waiter asked.

Baptiste hesitated and wished he had taken a closer look at the cocktails menu, but Niran said, "We'd like the 2074 Côte du Rhone Guillard Collines Rosé--and if we could get both an ice bucket and a decanter that would be wonderful."

"I'll... see what we can do," said the waiter.

Niran immediately picked up on the curious way Baptiste was looking at him and explained, "There's a very specific equilibrium for that year and region. It's battery acid, otherwise."

"...right," said Baptiste.

"Trust me," said Niran.

"I do," said Baptiste.

Niran fidgeted with the end of his braid as a pause passed between them.

"So..." Baptiste started, "You've been traveling alone for a while, then?"

"Well... like I said earlier, you can get surprisingly far on charm and worry."

"What are your plans for taking on Vishkar?" Baptiste leaned back in his seat.

'To be honest, I thought more people would be turning on them at this point..." Niran murmured.

"2074 Côte du Rhone?" the waiter returned with the wine bottle in an ice bucket and stand in one arm and a decanter in the opposite hand. He looked a bit harried, like it had taken some negotiation to get both.

"Oh--lovely, thank you," said Niran as he set both down, "I can take it from here."

Niran was rapidly spiraling the wine around in the decanter when Baptiste spoke up again.

"I'm just asking because, it turns out the crew I'm running with is actively working against Vishkar," said Baptiste, watching Niran pour the swirled wine into glasses, "The approach isn't as organized as we'd like, but we'd be very interested in having more people with inside information with regards to combating them."

"Goodness," Niran tucked a stray bit of hair away from his temple, setting the decanter down, "And here I thought 'invite them to join your group of vigilantes' was reserved for the third date." He held a wine glass out to Baptiste.

"You like doing things your own way, I can respect that," Baptiste sniffed at his wine, "But there is safety in numbers, and I think we could use more people like you."

"'Like me' how?"

"Builders. Scientists--"

"Healers?" Niran arched an eyebrow.

"Yes," Baptiste said a bit sheepishly.

"To builders, scientists, and healers then," Niran raised his glass.

"Builders, scientists, and healers," Baptiste clinked his glass against Niran's. They both sipped the wine. Baptiste had to admit that the seemingly contradictory practice of both chilling and decanting had brought out an unusual balance of both a refreshing and less acidic sip, and opening the palette's attention to the wine's more floral notes.

Of course it has floral notes, he thought, wryly.

"Listen," Niran's expression was apologetic as he set his own wine glass down, "I was happy to help you out for that one mission, but as you've already mentioned, I do like doing things my own way. I also have to admit... I'm not entirely convinced the new Overwatch has learned from the old one's mistakes."

"Such as...?"

"Over-reliance on combat to solve problems?" Niran arched an eyebrow.

"You seem to hold your own in combat pretty well, though."

"It doesn't mean I enjoy it," Niran sipped his wine, "It's like fire, only I can never be sure whether I'm letting something burn itself out, or if it's spreading somewhere I can't see."

Baptiste took his own, small, hard gulp of wine at this.

"Believe me, no one is more aware than me of how few options I have. Vishkar has already done everything in their power to paint me as a thief and charlatan," said Niran. The melody left his voice here, and Baptiste felt a twinge of pain. Niran was an aesthete, that was clear, and the way he laughed things off and insisted he had no shame suggested a surprising resilience, but Baptiste could also sense a soft heart in there as well, someone who only ever wanted to help the world seeing all of their efforts and all the good they had done be drowned out by a cultish corporation trying to save face and push a bottom line, "The world is desperate for heroes, but I don't know if that desperation is enough to make people forget about how Overwatch let them down before."

"You're not wrong there..." Baptiste stroked his chin thoughtfully "I had similar doubts. Vaswani, too.."

Niran visibly perked up. "Come again?"

"Plus, to be fair, she only joined us because Vishkar had painted a target on her back for Talon," Baptiste went on.

"Vaswani as in Satya Vaswani?" Niran was leaning forward.

"And it could be very well that we're pissing off Talon even more by having her here," Baptiste mused.

"Satya Vaswani is in Overwatch."

"She's dug out a niche for herself," Baptiste said vaguely.

Niran's mouth quirked off to one side and his eyes narrowed. "I see what you're doing," he said, leaning back in his seat.

"Mm?" Baptiste was sipping his water.

"I think you should know, if my friends jump off a cliff, I don't jump off right after them," said Niran, raising his chin.

"No, you strike me as the first person jumping off," Baptiste smiled.

Niran gave him a shrewd look, then. Up until now, Niran's glances had had an almost overwhelming warmth to them, but here was the problem solver, here was the evaluator, here was the architech.

"For what it's worth, I'm there, too--- it would be a lot easier to coordinate our next date. That is, unless, your plan is just to run into me by chance, again."

"...or you could join me," Niran mused.

"Now who's moving fast for the first date?"

"Well it seems to me you did pretty well for yourself with the whole 'globetrotting' thing," said Niran, "Maybe you'd be interested in something more... fluid."

"I thought--" Baptiste started but was cut off.

"Portobello and radish cakes?" The waiter had returned with a tray.

"Oh! Beautiful! Thank you," Niran exclaimed as pale radish cakes lazily resting on a bed of vividly purple endive leaves and garnished with nasturtium flowers, with a small hill of forbidden rice itself topped with a violet. Baptiste's own plate was arranged in the kind of typical 'steakhouse' arrangement, with the portobello flanked by a parsnip puree, a small green salad, and a cleverly hollowed out parsnip standing at attention and stuffed with minced maitake in a way reminiscent to the bone marrow in pot-au-feu. Baptiste cut into the portobello and took a bite. He kept his bites and cuts slow. He was used to just kind of stuffing his face to keep himself going, it was a rare treat to eat something that had clearly been so carefully prepared.

"Merci," Baptiste gave a nod to the waiter who briskly headed off. There was a brief minute and a half filled only with the careful muted scrapes of forks on plates and quiet 'Mm's.' Plant based or not, Baptiste hadn't had anything this nice in months, maybe years even. His eyes flicked across the table to Niran who was first trying everything out individually, following bites with wine or clearing his palette with water, then he was experimenting with different combinations of the rice and endive or radish. So much of the time with Overwatch, 'eating' was just jamming in the necessary calories to make it to the next mission. You had chatting and jokes and a certain degree of camaraderie, but the food wasn't nearly this good and most of the time there was a conscious knowledge of this mission or that bit of Watchpoint maintenance and what parts of his equipment needed calibrating before the next mission. He honestly couldn't recall the last time a meal had felt this intimate, had had this kind of emphasis on the sensory.

"You were saying...?" Niran goaded.

"I thought I was," Baptiste conceded, taking another bite, "But... you tend to figure out pretty quickly that the 'one man war' thing is more about you than it is about stopping whatever you're fighting against."

Niran considered this, glancing off and taking another slow sip of his wine. "And I take it you had intel that was valuable to them, as well?"

"I did," Baptiste huffed, "Look, the way I see it is this: When Overwatch was first formed in the Crisis, it was about pooling resources and cleaning up logistics because so much destruction was being done, there was no way for the traditional governmental and military channels to keep up with it and respond to it. All the buzz about 'heroes'--that was propaganda. It was necessary propaganda to keep people from panicking and keeping from further complicating relief efforts. But it was still effective. Hell, it made me want to join, as a kid. But the current Overwatch I think is a lot closer to that initial framework, they just aren't in a position to propagandize themselves, nor do they really want to because—I'm killing the vibe, aren't I?"

"A little," Niran sipped his wine and gave him a catlike smile, "How many people have you hit with the sales pitch?"

"You're the first, actually," Baptiste laughed a bit nervously.

"I'm shocked," said Niran, clearly not shocked.

"For what it's worth I did tell myself I was going to try to relax tonight," he paused, "But... I do also want to see you again, and I would prefer if you did not get murdered by Talon or captured and lobotomized by Vishkar before then, so..."

"You really know how to charm a man, don't you?" said Niran.

"Well I don't see the point in pretending we don't live the lifestyle we do," Baptiste shrugged.

"It's good for getting under their skin," Niran leaned forward, "Nothing drives your enemies crazy like making them believe you don't think about them at all."

"I am not interested in making anyone crazier than they already are," Baptiste chuckled.

"Ooh—Toxic exes?" Niran set his wine glass down on the table.

"It's a bit more complicated than that," Baptiste sipped his own glass.

"Usually that means 'yes,'" Niran gave a slight raise of his eyebrows, "You know, I think I like not being the only heartbreaker on this date."

"You like drama?"

"Only in the nosy, obnoxious sense that most people like their drama. But... I do think you see more of people's true selves when everything's a bit off-kilter."

"Well, if I was still making the sales pitch, this is where I'd say you'd like my team, then."

Niran scoff laughed before pushing his plate forward. "Here, have a bite of this."

"You sure?"

"That's the whole point of ordering different things at a restaurant. Which means I get to take some of yours."

Baptiste snorted. "Fine."

They exchanged bites, Baptiste carefully sectioning off a bit of radish cake and a small amount of the forbidden rice, the now-wilting endive that had lost a bit of its bitterness. It was complex, artful, and well balanced. He honestly preferred his own order since it was a bit more savory, but he could definitely see the appeal. But Niran grunted from the other side of the table.

"Dammit, you win," he muttered.

"It was a competition!?" Baptiste sputtered out a laugh.

"It's always a competition!" He huffed, "I hate the phrase 'portobello steak' it's fungus. Like fungi are miraculous on their own! Why jump through hoops to make them more meat-like!? And I hate that it's good."

"I think they just use the 'steak' phrasing to win the carnivores over," Baptiste snorted. "But I'd say they jumped through the right hoops if I won."

"Well if it won one carnivore over..." Niran smiled.

They ordered dessert, Niran tried to float the idea of lying to the waiter about it being Baptiste's birthday but Baptiste backed down. They talked more. They took turns taking bites from a coconut rice pudding brulée with a passionfruit reduction. Baptiste liked watching the bow of Niran's mouth as he nibbled on the mint leaf garnish. Niran talked about his siblings. His older sister who had more or less cut things off with him with the ultimatum of 'until he got his shit together', his younger brother who he was still in contact with whom he admitted he was probably a bad influence on. Baptiste didn't really have siblings to speak of, but he found himself talking a lot about Rosaline and the clinic.

"...I'd like to see it," Niran said, topping off both their glasses with the last dregs of wine from the decanter.

"What, the clinic? It's... not really impressive."

"It's not about 'impressive.' It means something to you," Niran was flushed at this point, "I always push the artist shit--the individualist shit--because I've disappointed so many people that the only standard I can really hold myself to is my own. But you have people. You have a community...." he stroked a finger along his eyebrow, "God, we're going to get back to the sales pitch, aren't we?"

"I wasn't going to say anything..." Baptiste felt a loose and easy warmth from the wine himself.

"...I just don't want to let more people down," Niran said quietly.

This sobered Baptiste somewhat. "Hey," he said "You... made something brilliant. So brilliant, in fact, there are lot of people who want you dead. And you believe in things--things bigger than what a lot of people want for you. And those two things together... that's lonely."

Niran made a short little "Hm" sound.

"I'm not going to push the sales pitch," Baptiste put both hands up, "But... I am going to say, you should be around people who care as much as you do. If that's not with my team, that's fine. But I do think you should look for it."

"...but your team has Satya," the wine was clearly hitting Niran at this point.

"My team does indeed have Satya," Baptiste confirmed, watching Niran drain the last of his glass. He knocked his own back in solidarity.

"I need to annoy her again," Niran was glancing off.

"Don't worry, I assure you, we all annoy her plenty."

"Well that I just might make time in my busy schedule to see," said Niran, "To make sure you're all doing it right, of course."

"Of course," said Baptiste.

True to his word, Niran covered the bill, but Baptiste insisted on the tip. There was a brief, less-than-sober apology to Tatienne over any misunderstanding considering the dinner, and she was absolutely saintly through it (and likely just desperate to end her shift at that point). Baptiste and Niran walked together through the city streets in a kind of easy silence, both suspended in that moment when the night was still full of promise and just as easily carried the potential for disaster.

We could go dancing, Baptiste wanted to say, And drink more, and maybe there would be some drama with someone else drunk at the club and one of us would end up crying and then neither of us would want to really text the other back after that mess.

We could sneak into a gallery showing, Niran wanted to say, And ask each other which is our favorite, and watch what is basically a weird bloodstained striptease behind a white tarp while someone sobs and rants in Spanish and clap bewilderedly and then steal a whole bottle of champagne, and run off to a park, and watch the sun rise like in that old movie and then become confronted with the horror that is our continued presence in the morning.

But instead they both ambled to the edge of the harbor and looked out, listening to the dark rush of the waves below.

"This is... my pickup point," Baptiste said, as he leaned against the guardrail, "If you want you could stick around, catch a ride, I'm sure Oxton would be happy to drop you off anywhere. Or you could..."

"...Come back to your place?" Niran arched an eyebrow.

"Maybe I could continue the sales pitch," Baptiste shrugged.

"I say this to a lot of salesmen, but I mean it this time: You've given me a lot to think about," said Niran. He paused, "And..." he seemed like he was about to say something more, but he just forced a chuckle. "Yeah. A lot to think about."

The lap of waves was suddenly drowned out by a resonant 'vmmmmm' and both of them looked out over the water to see the Overwatch dropship approaching. Baptiste and Niran looked back at each other.

"Punctual bunch, aren't you?" Niran was smiling, but his brow was crinkled.

"Yeah..." Baptiste's voice trailed away from him and he looked back at Niran. They had to say goodbye now, and despite years of basically earning a blackbelt in avoiding discomfort, he had no idea how to do it.

Hug? Kiss? For the love of god, Baptiste do not shake his hand-- his mind was a fog of indecision but Niran stooped and gently kissed his temple and brushed some fingers behind his ear.

"Don't be a stranger, Augustin, hm?" his fingers trailed down the side of Baptiste's jawline.

"I was about to say the same thing," said Baptiste.

"No you weren't," said Niran.

"Well I am now," said Baptiste.

And with that, he ascended into the dropship.

Niran was just a shrinking little spot of blue and ivory and gold below as the dropship pulled away. Baptiste slumped his head back into the dropship seat with a huff.

"Y'know... if you two wanted to get a hotel, you only needed to send a text--"

"It's not that simple--" Baptiste cut her off but then caught himself. He craned his neck to catch Tracer in the dropship's rearview mirror. "I don't--You didn't let me do this because you wanted to recruit him, right?"

"No!" Tracer said on reflex, "I mean, would we want him on the team? Sure! But... it's about you, Baptiste. I'm just glad you took a whole bloody night for yourself, really!"

There was a pause between them.

"You didn't try to recruit him, did y--?" Tracer started.

"I wasn't thinking about the team! He just seems to be doing this hippie thing and I don't want to worry about him!" Baptiste blurted out.

Tracer snorted. "You're adorable."

Baptiste just scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"Oi--what's that on your ear?" Tracer's head swung around from the pilot's seat.

"Eh--?" Baptiste felt at his ear, his fingers touched on a slightly smooth and warm mass, and he pulled away a pale pink orchid of biolight that had been perched upon his ear. He blinked a few times and then flinched as the orchid dissolved into a tesselation of pink-white sparkles.

"Wow..." Tracer said a bit breathlessly, "You realize you can't not call him back now, right?"

"I wasn't going to not call him back!" said Baptiste, frustrated.

"Good to know," said Tracer, settling into the pilot's seat, "Wouldn't want you to be a heartbreaker, would we?"