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The first thing she does every morning, when her shrill alarm goes screaming off at 0500 sharp, is fumble with closed eyes until she inevitably knocks it off the table (or chair, or wherever it’s perched this time) and groan loud enough to drown out the chime. Then it’s rolling over, grabbing it off the floor as the rest of the squad grumbles and moans about the noise, and blearily jab at it until it shuts up.
She rubs her eyes clear of sleep, kicks Jack’s cot next to hers, and looks longingly at her holo of Fareeha. Ana Amari is the rock of their little group, but every day she goes without her daughter cracks her foundation just a little bit more.
Jack wakes Gabriel with a kiss, and Reinhardt grabs MREs for everyone’s breakfast. It takes a while in the morning for his boisterous cheer to kick in, but when it does, the whole crew brightens up. If Ana is the rock, Reinhardt is the Sun.
Torbjörn immediately takes out his blueprints for whatever machine he’s thinking up this time; he’s never known how to relax, and the guilt that nags at him for helping start all this shit has kept him absorbed in his work since the first attack. Ana has to remind him to eat sometimes, gives him aspirin when his back creaks from being hunched over all day.
Liao takes it the best of all of them, honestly. He knows battle, has war in his bones. Still, he manages to be cheerful, if in a calmer way than Reinhardt. On the bad days, Ana is grateful for his understanding and good humor. She wouldn’t make it through this with any other group of people. None of them would. They are one unit, bound together in a way she doesn’t want to call fate.
“How’s Fareeha doing?” Gabriel asks, sitting on the floor with the rest to eat. Ana huff a sigh as she plops down next to him.
“She’s been acting up, apparently,” she says, “Getting into fights on the playground. But she won her basketball tournament, so I guess that’s something.” After a few quick bites, she adds, “I told Salma to sign her up for jiu jitsu so she can get out her anger productively.” Gabriel and Reinhardt just laugh, fond of their honorary family.
“A fighter, just like her mother,” Reinhardt says, shaking his head. Ana knows he means it as a compliment, but all she can see in her mind is Fareeha on the battlefield some day. It’s not a life she ever wants for her daughter. That’s why she fights now.
She asks about Gabriel’s sisters, who are doing well; Rosa just got accepted to her first choice school. Jack’s mom is good, still getting used to the new house he got her. Brigitte is learning quickly, top of her class in Senior year. She’s going to graduate Summa Cum Laude, Reinhardt thinks. Liao’s siblings just got together for dinner, and he shows them the photos they sent. There’s a cardboard cutout of Liao in one of the chairs, and Ana can’t help but chuckle at that. Torbjörn just huffs and goes back to his work when they ask about his wife, so they figure he’s gotten a bad letter from her again.
Gabriel pulls out a set of maps, pointing here and there to emphasize his directions. Today they’re raiding another omnium, just like half their missions have been. It’s gotten a bit boring, if she’s being honest. Shoot the enemy, shoot her teammates, put someone to sleep here and there, destroy the power core and mainframe; the same shit every day. There are a few other units assigned to help with the infiltration, but their group is always on the front line, always the ones to go in and finish the job. Though she knows it’s because they’re the best of the best, it still doesn’t feel like a compliment. It feels like a weight on her shoulders, the lives of every soldier and every civilian weighing her down. All she wants to do is rest.
They shower, though Ana has never understood showering before a mission. Yes, it’s nice to be clean, but they’re just going to get sweaty and dirty and bloody again, so why bother? They shower after, and as long as there’s not night terrors, no one wakes up sweating. It’s an extra hassle, but it’s routine, and it’s almost a bonding time. She washes Reinhardt’s back, his thick arms too large to reach behind far enough. Gabriel and Jack get each other’s, standing close and whispering sweet words Ana pretends not to hear. Torbjörn lets Liao massage soap into his shoulders, a quick massage that leaves him squeaky clean and slightly less tense than before.
Once rinsed and dried, they all brush their teeth next to each other, bumping shoulders and hip checking each other away from the single sink, giggling all the while.
Dressing is quick, each putting on their layers upon layers of armour and clothing with ease gained only through practice. They all help Reinhardt get into his armour, latching the heavy pieces together in a show of gentle teamwork. Reinhardt leans his forehead against Ana’s once he’s suited up, both of their eyes closed, sharing slow, anxious breaths. She swallows hard, pulls back, goes to check her rifle.
The mission itself is a blur. Memory disengages as focus takes over, her mind more interested in what’s happening at the moment than being able to recall it later. They’re successful this time, omnium disassembled after long hours of blood and sweat.
Tomorrow they’ll have to come back to wipe out any remaining omnics, just in case. But for now they trudge back to base, exhausted in a way that makes gravity feels heavier on their heads. Reinhardt and Liao still manage to make small jokes, tired voices bringing just a tad of joy to the group. It’s just enough.
Again, they all help Reinhardt with his armour. The suit is hung up in Torbjörn’s makeshift workshop, waiting to get the dents and dings tapped out of it. There are bruises here and there where bullets slipped through the seams of the plating to hit the chainmail beneath, and Reinhardt presses them gently, cataloguing their seriousness. The rest disrobe and Jack takes out a biotic field for them to all sit under, yellow light warm and soothing as it encourages the nanobots inside them all to repair any damage.
Stripped down to nothing but underwear and bone-deep fatigue, they discuss the mission, what parts they can remember. Gabriel takes out his phone, scans the casualty messages from the other units. Command will consider ten dead and twenty injured as a huge success, but when it's your fellows-in-arms shot down beside you, when you feel their blood on your face, soaking the ground beneath your boots-- ten becomes far too many.
When the yellow light fades and most of their aches are soothed, they crack open some more MREs and eat. Reinhardt has to eat three times as many as them, too big and strong to survive off of just one. Torbjörn runs a few packs to another group who’s gone short on them. He takes far longer than he should on the way back. They give him his space.
Shower time comes again; scrubbing each other’s backs, massaging shoulders and necks and feet, holding each other close under the lukewarm spray to chase away the shakes. Out of courtesy, they all pretend not to notice Jack and Gabriel exchanging small, intimate kisses.
When they finally lay down to sleep, standard-issue cots hard against their backs and sides, Reinhardt slips into her bed with surprising stealth. They are far too big to be next to each other, so she lays face-down atop his chest. No words come, just breathing the same air, being together. Letting the other know they’re not alone in all this hell.
She falls asleep like that, fully clothed with his strong arms wrapped around her. By time she wakes, he has moved back to his own bed. She never remembers him leaving, though he must wake her up every time. Selective recall, she thinks. She never wants to remember him leaving; never wants to be without.
The first thing she does every morning, when her shrill alarm goes screaming off at 0500 sharp, is fumble with closed eyes until she inevitably knocks it off the table (or chair, or wherever it’s perched this time) and groan loud enough to drown out the chime. Then it’s rolling over, grabbing it off the floor as the rest of the squad grumbles and moans about the noise, and blearily jab at it until it shuts up. She rubs her eyes clear of sleep, kicks Jack’s cot next to hers, and looks longingly at her holo of Fareeha. One day she will go back to her family; maybe she will be able to bring this new family with her.