Old Soldiers, Chapter 30: all those things left behind

[solarbird]

Honestly, I wasn't always sure this novel would be finished. But it is. Enjoy!

Chapter 30 of 30, as we are near the end, gets a cut. This chapter is worksafe. Click through to read. [AO3 link]

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"Ah, finally - you are home!"

Amélie waved as Lena - smiling, clearly in a good mood - popped in through the front door, back from Overwatch, back from a mission against a rather large organised crime syndicate operating under the aegis of the Russian mafia. They did not matter much - not in the larger scheme of things - but they did matter to the people and government of Ukraine, who had started a push to amend the PETRAS act, allowing the reformed Overwatch a bit more leeway.

The two women hugged, and kissed, gently, and slowly, as they often did, when one or the other came back from missions alone. "It is good to see you coming back from Geneva so... pleased," Amélie said. "It is quite a contrast. I presume you and Winston have patched things up?"

"Ah, yeah," Lena said, leaning her head against her wife's shoulder. "Winston wasn't ever the problem, luv. We had a bit of a rough patch, but just 'cause we have some... disagreements..." She shrugged, slightly, in her wife's arms. "Doesn't mean we can't be friends."

"It is a lot, you must admit, for someone like him to accept."

"It is, but... well. We'll make it work. We have so far."

"And the operation?"

"Oh, luv!" Lena grinned, standing taller again, grinning. "It's so much better now. Gabe's made all the difference, and Laticia's picking up the ropes fast. She's great." She snorted. "S'funny, though. Her Spanish sounds exactly like Sombra's. Didn't notice it in Mexico."

"I am afraid my ability to tell Spanish accents apart is less fine, I think, than yours. I did not notice at all."

The two women stepped apart, walking into the Talon facility's kitchen and dining area, fingers intertwined.

"Oooh! Ham!"

"I thought you'd be hungry."

"You think of everything."

"I do."

Lena teleported over, and started assembling a snack. "Any update on the videos, by th' way?"

"I am happy to inform you that the meme has become officially Old. Sombra tells me interest is so far down that when the real video finally appeared, it had fewer than 40 hits. She did not even bother taking it down."

"Brilliant," Lena said, muffled, though ham and scone.

"Ana's on her way home - local agents put her on what appears to be but is not actually a commercial medical-assistance flight to Cairo. It's one of ours, of course."

"Muzzled?" chirped Venom, adding some jam to the scone.

Amélie laughed. "No. But... sedated. Fareeha will meet her at the gate, with Angela, and perhaps with Gabriel, if he can make it there in time, and I suspect he will. Perhaps they will work something out."

"I doubt it," Lena snorted. "But for now, she's harmless."

"And if we run into her in the field?"

"As us?"

"Yes."

"Then she's any other combatant, and we treat 'er accordingly."

"Perfect," Amélie said, with a happy sigh, as Lena finished her snack, and the two women walked towards their living room. "I'm afraid we have only two hours before we must set out for our mission. Is that enough time for you to be prepared?"

"Ah, yeah, I packed everything up last week. Brazil?"

"Indeed."

"Brilliant. I'll nap on the way."

"Talking of, the new flight mechanic has checked in. You should go meet her."

"Right-o!" They'd lured her away from one of the larger Quebecois organised crime syndicates, mostly by reputation, though Amélie had met her once, in person. "What's her name, again?"

"Macha Ó Floinn. Pronounced with a great deal of Irish."

"A yah, the Newfie," she said, remembering the paperwork. "Trilingual. English, Irish Gaelic, and French."

Amélie smirked. "Quebecois. You cannot call what those Canadian barbarians speak 'French.'"

"Oi!" Lena snickered, bapping at her wife. "Don't you start!"

"I cannot not. I am French, and it is necessary."

A snort, in response. "Right, then - I'll pop out and say hi, introduce myself in person before we go."

The junior assassin made her way through the long tunnelway and to the underground hangar below the flight pad, whistling as she went. So many ghosts, finally settled, she thought happily.

"Hiya!" she called, into the large, noisy room. "Oi, Clara - where's the new F.M.?"

Their pilot looked up from the navigator calibration she'd been running, getting ready for their departure. "Working on the LM-29's left engine."

"The one that's always a bit buzzy?"

"Yes," the Talon pilot nodded. "She has already made good progress. I like this mechanic."

"Brilliant. Oi, Mah Ka!" she called, butchering the name, and teleporting half the distance to the flyer in question, following the sound of a drill.

"Bonjour-hi!" came a shout over the sound of grinding metal, as noisy work continued for a moment, then quieted, somewhat.

"Where are ya, luv?"

At the far end of the hangar, the noise stopped completely, all at once, and a ginger-haired woman wearing overalls, gloves, goggles, and far too much grease leaned back from an engine cowl, and looked at the Talon assassin, in disbelief.

"...Lena?"

She pulled off her goggles.

"Lena?!"

A moment passed.

"Oh my bloody bleedin'..."

Lena's heart stopped.

"...Emily?!"