Chapter Text
Soon weeks flew by, Tavish had been in Gibraltar for two months now. His cuts and stitches now turned into scars. He was healed enough to fight, run and lift, and Overwatch was using that last one as much as they could. They didn’t call him a prisoner, but he wasn’t free either. They weren't going to let an ex-mercenary walk the streets of Europe, or any continent for that matter. So instead they decided to keep him busy.
Today’s task was sweeping the large open workshop. Someone had shoved the broom into his hands with a smile that was more order than request, and then left him to it. The job wasn’t hard, but that was the point. They wanted him harmless, occupied, and most importantly, where they could see him. A demolition man turned janitor. Every scrape of bristles against the concrete grated worse than shrapnel, a reminder that he was caged, not in bars, but in boredom.
At this point Tavish had finished sweeping the workshop and he sure as hell didn't want a new busy work task. So he walked around the workshop halfheartedly sweeping the already swept floor, his eye wandering to a table of hightech tools. The monotony of repeatedly sweeping the same spot over and over was slowly eating away at him. Until it was finally too much, and he snapped, throwing down the broom in his hands. The wooden crack echoed sharp through the workshop, bouncing off steel walls and silent machines. He paused and waited for a moment. Someone had to come check on him. To yell at him about the noise… Right? But it never happened.
He was alone, alone with his boredom, alone with his now idle hands and a workshop full of scrap. His eyes wandered over the benches and shelves, cluttered with wires, tubing, and bits of metal that meant nothing to him. Nothing… until he spotted a coil of copper pipe gleaming under a work lamp. A slow grin crept across his face.
He dug through the scrap, pulling together a few pipes, a canister, and whatever else looked useful. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. As he worked, he couldn't help but grin. He had remembered the time Sniper had shared some of his moonshine, claiming it was a “family recipe,” though Tavish was fairly certain it could double as rocket fuel.
Now, crouched over his own crude little still, he could almost hear Sniper’s dry voice again. It wasn't great but it would get the job done. Now came the hard part, getting it back to his room without anyone seeing.
Winston had rounded a corner just as Tavish was hauling a bundle of tubing down the hall. Tavish froze, plastered on his best innocent grin, and mumbled something about “just takin’ out the trash.” Winston gave him a long, suspicious look before lumbering off, leaving Tavish sweating bullets and grinning to himself once the coast was clear.
Slowly, he brought piece by piece back to his room and reassembled it. His quarters weren’t much to look at, a narrow barrack room with just enough space for a bed, a locker, and a desk that creaked if you leaned on it wrong. Overwatch had given it to him once he was healed enough to walk on his own, a step up from the infirmary but hardly a home. The room was bare and colorless, the only touch of life was the photo Cassidy had let him keep, its corners taped to the wall above the bed. But now, he had his distillery, tucked in the corner of the dreary room. It was something… it was his.
A day or two later he’d finished the tedious chores, hauling boxes to the kitchen and cleaning lab equipment for Winston. The moment the last tube was put away, he made a break for his room. Finally he had it, liquor! And it wasn't half bad… Everything else they kept around here was weak beer, and you weren't allowed to have more than two. He took a sip feeling the familiar burn down his throat and warmth rise in his chest.
Once Tavish had had his fill, which would have been the whole still but he decided against it, wanting to save some for tomorrow. He left his room and made his way aimlessly though the base. Every corner looked the same, every hallway endless. He had nowhere he had to be, nothing he was allowed to do, and the illusion of freedom only made the boredom worse. Tavish let himself drift along, hands in his pockets, down corridor after corridor. The warmth from his drink spreading lazily through him, making each step feel heavier than the last. He turned left, then right, then left again, not paying much attention to where he was going. The base was bigger than he remembered, or maybe it had just felt smaller when he was bedridden.
By the time he realized he’d been walking in circles, he found himself passing the training room. The sound of gunfire drew him closer, the sharp crack of revolver shots echoing off metal walls. He followed it until he reached the wide doors of the training area, pausing just inside the threshold. Cassidy was there, revolver drawn, firing at a row of holographic targets while Echo floated nearby, observing every move.
Tavish leaned against the doorway, half hidden in the shadows. He watched as Echo’s form shimmered, her limbs folding and reshaping until she was standing there as Cassidy’s double.
Tavish blinked hard. “What the hell…” he muttered under his breath, rubbing his eyes like maybe he’d brewed something a bit too good.
Cassidy turned, lowering his revolver with an easy spin. “Well, look who finally decided to stretch his legs,” he said, grin crooked beneath his hat. “Didn’t think I’d see you up this late Tavish.”
Tavish shrugged, trying not to stumble on the threshold. “Aye, just walkin’ the place. Didn’t know the lass could do that.”
Tavish’s brow furrowed as he studied her. If she could look like Cassidy… could she look like the others too? The thought stirred something bittersweet in his chest. The faint, foolish hope that maybe, just maybe, she could bring back faces long gone.
Cassidy holstered his weapon and gave him an easy nod. “You oughta come join us. Love to see yer skills in person this time.”
Tavish gave a lazy wave. “Think I’ll pass. Don’t fancy showin’ off how bad I've gotten.”
Cassidy chuckled, but his eyes lingered a moment longer than his grin did. He didn’t comment on the slight sway in Tavish’s stance, or the distant glaze in his eyes. “Suit yourself,” he said finally. “We’ll be here tomorrow if you change your mind.”
Tavish nodded and turned back down the corridor. Cassidy watched him go, the grin fading just enough to show the worry behind it, before turning back to the range.
Tavish wandered the halls once more not really having a destination in mind. A right here, a left there, he rounded the next corner a little too fast and nearly collided with a soft body.
“Ach—!” Tavish stumbled back half a step, steadying himself against the wall. “Sorry, love—wasn’t lookin’ where I was—”
Angela stood there with a tablet in one hand and a raised brow, her coat fluttering slightly from the sudden halt. Eyeing him up and down with clinical precision, her gaze flicked over his flushed cheeks and the uneven sway in his posture.
“How much have you drunk tonight Tavish…” She asked quietly.
Tavish straightened up like that might help his case. His eye scanning the blank walls as if they were the most important thing in the world. “Just a wee bit lass.”
She sighed, but not unkindly, it was like a woman who had too much on her mind. “Well, I was looking for you anyway.” Tavish perked up, his eyes finally meeting hers. “I’d like to run a few tests. Check how your body’s holding up. Given the time gap, there’s a good chance your immune system isn’t prepared for... well, any of this.”
Tavish raised a brow, smirking. “What, afraid I’ll catch some sort o’ futuristic cooties?”
“I’m more concerned you’ll spread them,” she said, already turning on her heel. “Come on. Infirmary. Now.”
The infirmary was quiet, lit in soft white with the steady hum of equipment filling the silence. It was clean in the way hospitals always were, sterile like antiseptic. Tavish sat on the edge of the exam table, sleeves rolled up past his elbows, boots kicking idly against the base as he watched Angela move through the space. She stood at the counter, back turned to him as she prepped a syringe, the motion precise, graceful in its own strange way.
Tavish let his gaze wander, not out of wariness but out of sheer curiosity. Every cabinet in here probably held something way beyond his understanding, advanced medicine, nanotech, who knows what else. But it was her that held his attention. The way she moved. The way she didn’t flinch around him like some of the others still did. Like he didn’t bother her.
Angela glanced over her shoulder, catching him watching. “You’re getting vaccinated against five different airborne pathogens.” she said, deadpan. “Try not to look so impressed.”
“Aye, nothing like being stabbed by a beautiful woman to make a man feel wanted,” he said with a grin.
She stepped in close, holding his arm steady as she cleaned the skin with a cool swab. Her touch was light, practiced, almost clinical, but to Tavish, it may as well have been something else entirely. It had been a long time since anyone had handled him with that kind of care. No rough patch jobs, no barked orders or rushed field dressings. Just… quiet, steady hands.
He could smell the faint scent of her. Clean, like antiseptic and something faintly floral, and it made his throat tighten in a way that had nothing to do with the liquor. He didn’t move, didn’t even breathe for a second, afraid that doing so might break the moment. Her fingers brushed over the curve of his arm again as she reached for the syringe, and Tavish fell briefly, awkwardly quiet. He didn’t know what to say, or rather, he knew too many things to say and none of them sounded smart in his head.
He swallowed, trying to come up with something clever, anything to cut through the silence and the way his heart had started tapping against his ribs. “You, uh…” he started, voice lower than usual. “Are you always this gentle lass, or am I just getting the special treatment?”
Angela glanced up at him through her lashes, lips tugging into a soft smile. “Depends on the patient,” she said, her tone just light enough to land somewhere between teasing and kind.
Tavish grinned, emboldened now, even as the shot went in. “Suppose that means I should get injured more often, yeah?”
Angela laughed… actually laughed, a short breathy sound that surprised even her. “Let’s not go that far.”
Angela turned back to Tavish, gently pressing gauze to his arm before reaching for a bandage. “You’re tolerating everything that's happened well.” she said, her voice still warm from laughter. “I’d like to know more about your medical history.”
Tavish shifted, straightening up just slightly not out of discomfort, exactly, but reflex. The kind that settled into your bones after enough time around needles, scalpels, and a man who called himself a doctor.
“Ah, well,” he said, flashing a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Let’s just say I’ve had my fair share of... unconventional checkups.”
Angela raised a brow, but didn’t press, not yet at least. “No surgical history? No long-term medications?”
He waved a hand, the grin returning. “Nothing worth putting on paper. I’m in one piece, ain’t I?” His eyes flicked briefly to the side, not quite meeting hers, and his leg bounced once against the base of the exam table.
She hummed, not entirely convinced. Her fingers worked carefully over the bandage, smoothing it into place. “And what about before this?” she asked. “I know you were a mercenary, but that’s all I’ve heard.”
Tavish gave a small snort. “That’s probably for the best lass.”
Angela met his eyes, her gaze softening. “I’d rather hear it from you.”
That made him pause. There was no judgment in her voice, just quiet curiosity. She had wanted to hear it from him. Not from the grapevine of gossip. He scratched at his chin, thoughtful. “Was part of a team, all specialists, I guess you’d say. Hired guns, workin’ for a company that didn’t care much about right or wrong. We were all in it for the money anyway.”
The door to the infirmary hissed open. Neither of them noticed. Genji stepped inside, slow and quiet, pausing when he saw them. He didn’t speak, just lingered near the entrance, half-shrouded in the low light and the steady hum of the machines.
Angela tilted her head slightly. “And now?” she asked. “How are you keeping yourself busy while we keep you grounded?”
Tavish grinned. “Well, I’ve taken up sweeping, light trespassin’, illegal brewing…” He leaned in just a little, lowering his voice. “And flirtin’ with pretty doctors who ask a lot of questions.”
Angela let out a soft laugh, cheeks coloring just slightly as she shook her head. “You’re incorrigible.”
“I get that a lot,” Tavish said, a little softer this time.
From the doorway, Genji stood in silence. He had enough of listening and turned quietly and slipped away.