worry. rein/zarya

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"A new one-- ahh, for fucks-" 

Interns. Proteges. Honor, he couldn't even take pride in it full-heartedly. At some point he'd be proud he was given his own protege but for now she's another recruit to train, another hot headed kid looking for glory he couldn't give her - yet. Eventually, training is painstakingly slow but they're slowly getting there, McCree included. "Fine- fine! Just give me a time," mid december's the best schedule he got. Communication between peacekeeper branches? 

Golden. 

Days pass and nobody's dead yet, it's about as good as he can wish for. A years time in this facility and they aren't half as far as he hoped for, but nobody's died yet so that's- 
something. "Hey grandpa,"

Yes, Alejandra?"

"Phone call, something about a protege, fancy huh?" 

"Today?"

"Stop taking my phone calls."

Alejandra recaps the phone call -- Aleksandra Zaryanova, a recognizable name and a few hours waiting time. Practical heads ups, "she sounds fun, y'know?" 

"Thank you." Apparently, that was all he needed to know. No prior thought invested into it, at this point if Aleksandra was to follow him, he might as well just let her walk in. No introductions, no guidance -- that's the quickest way to learn after all! She sounds fun, so let her have fun, a true Zaryanova would be fine. Sombra leaves his office and it's a few short hallways from the entrance - she'll find him eventually. 

Eventually, a frequent thought.

They'll get there -- soon enough.

[lance]

Today's the day, fresh off the rack of the academy and already sent to my first assignment - and hah, it's a fitting one.

Not back home to Nine, not to the small scrap of land on the edge of the world known as District Twelve, but here, the place I'd found fit the label of home much better than Nine had ever been.

But in all fairness, it makes sense. The place of my mother's heritage, old and imperfect yet also not a cesspool of criminal activity? There was no contest.

But even here, there's no escape. It is good that there are those among my superiors that share my views on those that choose crime for a living, for there are also those that think that bringing such people into our own force is anything close to a good idea.

But reformation is a flawed process, for there is no changing one's true nature.

But an assignment is an assignment, and even with the unofficial mission I am still the protege of Reinhardt Wilhelm, effective as of this morning.

You know what you must do, Aleksandra. Oh yes, I do.

A trek, a large building - houses twelve, not counting the staff - and a large man, gray with age but otherwise the pinnacle of a human physique, and "That would be Reinhardt himself."

My mission was to orchestrate her downfall from inside, but that would come second to basic manners, for above all, a Zaryanova treasured honor most of all.

"Mr. Wilhelm?" An introduction, to the man who would be my superior. "Aleksandra Zaryanova, at your service."

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Aleksandra Zaryanova -- that rings a bell. 

Names, the past is something Reinhardt tends not to visit much; old colleges, old quadrants, he much prefers it less. Ana, Jack and Gabriel are long gone. One photo is good enough, there's enough to get lost in if he thinks hard enough -- it's not worth it anymore. Zaryanova, twenty year age difference but still, a woman like that is hard to forget. Honor, a loyal one that lass, high hopes. 

Reinhardt strums his fingers along his chest, head rested on his chair's backing - how hard can it be? Training one intern, maybe a helping hand is all he needs. Twelve recruits, one intern, a Zaryanova nonetheless. Old radio scratching classics for a second and he counts the beats, "Mr. Wilhelm?" Shit- "Aleksandra Zaryanova, at your service?"

He blinks, focusing blurred vision onto one pink haired woman, rubbing the bag of his eyes and standing tall. "Wilhelm? Ahh, that's a family name!" Wide eyes, wider grin, protege huh? Some one to succeed him, another reason to feed a lion's pride. "If you're comfortable, Reinhardt is fine-" a second's sleep gnawing at his eyes. Zaryanova, he tries to remember the woman he fought under, he sees her in Aleksandra's jaws. 

"Zaryanova? By blood or coincidence?" A question, nearly a challenge. He already knows the answer but it's nice to hear more -- at least one comrade is still alive. Survivor's guilt gets lonelier by the day. 

[lance]

Loud and boisterous, it is a wonder why this man would volunteer his sanity and very reputation on rehabilitating criminals. Or how he'd work at it, for that matter. I'd expected a stern, unfeeling drill sergeant type, and yet this man reminded her of somebody's extremely buff father.

"If you're comfortable, Reinhardt is fine-" stranger and stranger, this is getting yet I know better than to cause disrespect when none was intended. "Very well then, Reinhardt," A bow of my head, no need to hate the man right from the get go, "it's a pleasure to meet you."

Surprise threw me off from the start, hours of preparation to getting close to someone I'd envisioned to be tough and cold as the steel that made the buildings around me ripped to shreds at the sight of him.

"Zaryanova? By blood or coincidence?" But that is the question that takes the cake, a split second's worth of conclusion chased away by understanding - did he know my mother? - and for the briefest of moment, my composure falters.

But I am quick to recollect myself, the widening of my eyes conveying nothing but honest, genuine surprise as truth sinks in. "Blood, most likely," comes the answer. "My mother spent twenty years in the force before she had me."

A pause. "It was because of her that I joined, actually." No point in mincing words; the question is bound to come up eventually." "To honor her memory, mostly.

Thirteen years later, and the wounds still sting when scraped against.

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