Overwatch had been in the news a lot lately. And not in the good way. People were back to blaming the heroes for causing mass destruction. For being reckless. For not doing enough. And, of course, not being actually approved by the UN. They were supposed to be disbanded. Criminals. No longer active. But there they were, making headlines. Saving the day.

It was odd how it worked. Heroes who were constantly getting run through the mud. Heroes that worked relentless hours for little to no thanks.

Though, all knew that came with the job. A thankless job that had to be done. For it they weren't going to do it, who else would?

"We need to lay low," Winston said while shaking his head. "Anyone have a safe house?"

"I," Mercy flew up to the front of the line, "I might have a place we can stay. It's a ranch. Out in the middle of nowhere." She wasn't sure if the group would enjoy it, but at least they would be safe. It was a little town with miles and miles between neighbors. Honestly, it was perfect. It also had an added bonus that she was more than excited to see. Granted, that was if the rest agreed to her proposed place.

"Where at?" Tracer tilted her head. "Middle of nowhere sounds great. Lot of space to run around?"

"Of course. It's a quaint little house wedged between rolling fields in the middle of Indiana." Her smile grew and a twinkle sparkled in her blue orbs. "It's really quite a remarkable area. And we'd be away from everyone."

"Can we trust this person?" Winston asked, unaware that Mercy had friends in Indiana.

"With our lives."

Looking among the group, he asked for all in favor. Nearly everyone voted in favor. Those that didn't? Well, they weren't really against it. They just didn't want to vote.

The dirt road was beginning to take its toll on her comrades. They weren't accustomed to the bumpy ride in the sand-colored four door Jeep Wrangler she was driving. As they hit literally every pothole, she would just laugh. Didn't help that the air conditioning was busted. Or that it was without a roof and doors. Frankly, it looked like shit. But it still ran. It was a Jeep thing. Something she came to love after her first ride in one.

From time to time, she would sing along to the tunes on the radio. Only one station existed and it only played country. Again, something the crew learned. Mercy actually listened to and enjoyed country music.

"Well when it's the only station out here," she added calmly, "it kind of grows on you."

"Didn't know you had a Jeep either, Merc," DVa purred. She was the only one actually enjoying the ride, besides Lucio and Junkrat.

"Yeah, like I said, I have some friends out here. The garage we got this from has been taking care of it for me. They use it and are constantly fixing it. This thing will last forever thanks to them."

"And denial," Jesse muttered, still wearing disbelief on his face as he held his stomach.

"But are you sure we can trust them?" Pharah was being paranoid again. "No one ca-"

"Trust me. They know who we are. And they understand what we represent. This town sees us as heroes. They'll protect us."

Turning down yet another dirt road, she finally announced their arrival. "We're here. Well, almost. Final stretch."

"Thank god," muttered Symmetra who was more than ready to murder Lucio and DVa who were arguing over who had the better Pokemon for the past two hours. They had been dueling back and forth and kept coming out with a tie. One game, DVa would win and then the next it would be Lucio. Junkrat tried to play with them but ended up just getting a team of Voltorbs that only knew Self-Destruct. Didn't really help him win. But it didn't really make him lose either.

Changing gears, the Jeep rolled to a gentle stop. Mercy was the first to spring from the seat and walk over to the door of a quaint little ranch-style house wedged between a sea of what looked like soybean. It went on for miles and miles.

The house itself looked small, but everyone could guess that it was massive. Behind it set a barn, large and a nice deep red color. There was a wooden fence that held in 3 horses. There was also a field full of cows and pigs too. The law was dotted with trees and around those trees gorgeous flowers of red, white, and blue. An American flag sat neatly on a pole just off to the side of the cream-colored house with the wrap-around porch. If one were a guessing man, the pond out back with the diving board was the "pool."

Her light knocking against the door, caused all of them to sit forward, eager to see the face that would appear in the door frame.

"Angela!" A pair of arms wrapped around the blonde's figure. "Oh it's been so long. So glad you could come on over. We're making your favorite tonight," the woman with sandy blonde hair shared. Stepping out onto her porch, she waved over at the loaded Jeep. "My oh my, should have told me you needed extra room. Would have come down with the truck," she laughed while joining Mercy as she walked to the Jeep.

"Mrs. Morrison," Ang opened her arms up to the crew, "all me to introdu-"

"Overwatch. Yes I know." She punched Mercy lightly. "Don't think I don't know my son's legacy when I see them."

"Son's legacy?" Tracer's nose crinkled as she looked from Angela to the woman dubbed 'Mrs. Morrison.' That's when the realization hit. "Wait, Morrison? As in… the Morrison? Jack Morrison?"

The woman whose face wore many wrinkles nodded. "Yes," her words were a sweet purr, "that's my boy."

Mrs. Morrison's hands fell back on Angela's shoulders. "He's out in the barn playing with Skippy."

"Oh jeez, he's still alive? That cat's, what, 12 years old now?"

"14 but close enough," she smirked. "Go on, call him."

"Skippy~!" Her voice rung out and was carried for miles across the flatlands. Then, in a matter of seconds, a large, orange Maine Coon came trundling out from the barn. Not too far behind it was a little blonde boy with the bluest of eyes.

The moment he saw who was before him, he froze. Then came the largest grin ever and the fasted little sprint anyone could ever imagine.

"Mama, mama, mama!" He shrilled with joy until he was flying up into the air.

"How's my little soldier?" Mercy quipped while nuzzling the boy's cheek against her own.

"Mama, I caught a frog the other day."

"A frog?" Her brows knit together. "Why would you do that?"

"You said daddy would always catch them for you. You said you didn't like them because they're slimy."

"Still don't," she teased. "And daddy was a meanie. He was always trying to make me kiss them."

The little kid chuckled, finding it funny to hear mama call daddy a meanie. "Daddy just liked to see you laugh, mama. You know that."

"That I do," she planted a soft kiss against his round, tanned cheek. "Have you been a good boy from grandma?"

He nodded. "Look mama, I got my toof!"

"Tooth," she corrected before sticking her fingers into his mouth. "And you goof, you lost a tooth! How did you do that."

His face flushed red. Mercy turned to Mrs. Morrison. "Do I want to know?"

"I might have run into a door," the kid admitted.

"He was distracted at the market by a pretty little blonde girl. Reminded me of my Jacky when he first brought you home. Do you remember?" Mrs. Morrison chuckled. "He fell right over the fence and into the pit of pigs."

"Smelled like crap," Mercy remembered, "but I didn't mind. I climbed right in after him and kissed him anyway."

"He always acted like a love-struck fool with you," she waved a hand at the crew still in the Jeep. "Well don't just sit there. C'mon in. I made plenty of food for everyone. Just wash up and then we can eat."

"Mom," Mercy stepped in line with Mrs. Morrison, "you shouldn't have."

"Like I would let the mother of my grandson starve," she jeered before vanishing into the house.

Mercy continued to wait outside holding her son on her hips. "Well?" She cocked her head to the side.

"Ang," Tracer was looking over the 37-year-old woman and then the child, "I didn't… I didn't know you wer-"

"A mother?" The silent stare confirmed her question. "The timing was off." She set the little lad down. "Go wash up and find me that Skippy." With the boy inside, she leaned against the front of the house. "The timing was bad. I found I was pregnant after…" Her eyes drifted. "I saw no point in telling anyone but family. With Overwatch over, I came here. It wasn't safe with my family. And with Jack…" She bit her lip. "I moved in with them. Had the baby. Stayed here for a bit until I realized I couldn't just wither away in a house. I needed to be out on the field. Saving people. Helping people. So I left. And well, here we are now."

"But this whole time," Tracer's hands fell on Angela's shoulders, "you never mentioned a son."

"What was I supposed to say?"

"For starters, that you were pregnant."

Mercy shook her head. "We all have secrets." Her eyes gleamed over her friends-both new and old. "This was mine. You know now. It didn't hurt anyone or anything."

"No," Jesse shook his head. "Had we known, had I known, I would have been watching out for you more."

Mercy's brow lifted. She was confused.

"You're a mom, Merc. Had we known we would hav-"

"Treated me differently. Kept me back. Sent me home." She finished with a stern tone. "I'm a doctor, Jesse. I can't help people unless I'm there. I can't be back at base. We all know what happened last time and frankly, I don't want to repeat it." Then came her smirk. "And besides, I'm a mom. Moms are tough."

The crew fell silent before entering the house. There, right in the middle of the dim-lit living room was a man with white hair and dull blue eyes. He looked up and nodded his head at the group.

"Just don't feed that cat before 4AM. Damn thing will start thinking that's breakfast time. Took four years to convince him 6 o'clock is acceptable now that I'm old."

The little blonde boy sat happily in the floor petting the massive cat. It was easily a 20-pound cat, long and lanky too.

"Skippy likes to bit ankles," he warned. "If he does, just pick him up." Scooping the creature into his arms, he dragged the cat over to his mother. "Look mama, I can carry Skippy now."

"Well almost," she teased while touching Skippy's toes that walked along the wooden floor. "But soon you'll be so tall!" Taking the cat, she laid him against her shoulder. "Oh Skippy, I've missed you." Though the cat had little interest in Mercy. Instead, he was leaping over her back to rub up against the newest recruit, Soldier 76.

"Hope you're a cat person," she teased. "Because it looks like you've made a new friend."

76 shrugged before bending to pet the cat, an action that didn't go unnoticed by the kid. "Mama," he took Mercy's hand into his own, "who's he?" The kid's eyes were wide with awe and wonder. He instantly idolized the silver-haired, mask-wearing man in the leather jacket.

"That's Soldier 76," Angela quipped.

"What kind of name is that," the kid gave 76 a bit of a haughty glare. "What's your real name?" He leaned in.

"Soldier 76," he repeated with little interest.

The kid rolled his eyes before running into the kitchen. He he returned, he held a picture in his hands. "Mama, I made this." He held it up so all could see. "Look, it's you, me, and daddy." The stick-figure drawing was… well, a stick figure drawing by a 5-year-old. To the right was a woman with blonde hair, wings, and a white suit. In the middle, a little boy wearing blue with blonde hair and a big grin. To the left, a taller blonde in blue with a big grin too.

"Oh Jack," her hand fell over her heart, "that's precious!"

"I also made something for you to take with you." He retreated back into the kitchen before whispering. Minutes later, he returned with a picture frame. Inside, an old photograph of Angela and Jack back during the early years with Overwatch. And, cut out and taped in the middle, an up-close nose-shot of the kid.

"Jack," she stifled a laugh, "what is this?"

"I didn't know how to hold Gram's phone so I kinda ruined it. But she said it was perfect so I cut out and put in picture." He plopped it in her hands. "Do you like?"

"I love it," she whispered before bending down to kiss his nose.

"Sooooo," DVa twirled her hair, "not to be that person, but who's this?"

"Oh!" Her hands flew up as she inhaled. "My manners. Overwatch, this is Jack Jr."

He waved his hand wildly. "Hiiiii!" He said with a big, old grin. "Mama named me after daddy."

"Who's that?" DVa asked, still confused. They kept mentioning a Jack Morrison but who that was was beyond her.

"Only the finest hero Overwatch had ever seen. He was the poster child, the golden boy. The beckon of hope and the face of justice." Mrs. Morrison had wandered out into the main room carrying a freshly baked cherry pie. "My son, Jack Morrison, Overwatch's iconic Strike-Commander."

"Wait," Lucio's jaw fell to the floor. "That Jack Morrison. The Jack Morrison that saved thousands?"

"Yup," the man in the chair quipped. "That's the one. Didn't want to grow up to be like his old man, a farmer." He shook his head. "Had he, he might still be alive."

"Oh, stop," Mrs. Morrison rolled her eyes, "he would have killed himself years ago if he were a farmer. Just wasn't his thing."

"Well it wasn't my thing either but someone had to do it." Mr. Morrison shook his head. "Why he's lucky he's dead," he began.

"Oh no, here we go again," Mrs. Morrison quickly fled the room.

She had heard this story far too many times. The story about how back in his day you did this and how Jack was anything but perfect. Though the story always ended with Mr. Morrison saying that he loved his son and wish he hadn't lost him.

To be continued…. Check back for a link to the next chapter!