The first bit of surprise came when they arrived at the training range to discover, for the first time, they were earlier than Fareeha Amari. The second bit was when their wait pushed ten minutes past their scheduled training time, and yet yielded no sign of the blue-armoured soldier. The third bit landed when Jack's hail to her personal comms device was rejected, only to be replied with a terse written message to be excused, no reason given. Surprise evolved into concern when she was absent from the dining room during lunch hour. Angela waited for thirty minutes after lunch time, watching Widowmaker sneak her own private meal away from prying eyes. But after that, no one else stepped through the kitchen doors. She tried hailing Fareeha's device as Jack did, with less luck. No reply came, so she went to the next logical option: house call.

Jamming her finger into the buzzer for the fifth time, Angela spoke through the speaker again, "Fareeha, if you're sick then you should come to med bay. You've tried sleeping it off before, but it didn't work. Remember?"

Silence. Her patience evaporated when her finger hovered over the buzzer again. So she turned to the keypad instead, tapping in Fareeha's code to unlock the door.

She was greeted with a wall of stale warm air the moment she entered. Frowning, she looked around to find the windows closed, with the persistent rays of a hot afternoon sun spilling through the glass. Sitting under the light, on the side of the bed with her back towards Angela, was Fareeha. The woman did not make a single move when Angela strode over, her head angled downwards as she stared at a…piece of paper? Angela stole a peek at its contents, identifying the familiar format of a letter.

"Fareeha, it is so stuffy in here," Angela said, moving past the bed towards to the windows. "Why didn't you–"

"Don't." The force in her quiet command made Angela's hand pause on the handle. "Do not open it."

She turned back towards the bed, hand falling to her side. Fareeha finally looked up from the letter in her hands, face expressionless. Her gaze was on Angela, but it had a blank, faraway quality. Concern grew to alarm when she realised Fareeha was trying to disassociate.

"Fareeha," Angela said, placing a hand on her cheek. "What's wrong?"

Fareeha raised the letter. Unsure of the woman's intent, she took it, noting a minute twitch at the corner of her mouth. Angela held the letter up and realised she could not read it. The entire thing was written in Arabic, but there was something familiar in the smooth, flowing handwriting. She could read Fareeha's name in her native language at the top left corner, and at the bottom was…

Her mouth went dry. She examined the paper, noting faint creases and the two intersecting lines where it had been folded. There was only a very slight tinge of yellow growing at the corners. Either it had been well-preserved after all this time, or it was written recently, kept just long enough for the heart to give in.

"Ana," Angela whispered. She lowered the letter, meeting Fareeha's eyes. They were still painfully devoid of emotion, and Angela's heart surged in compensation. "What does it say?"

"That she loves me. And misses me," Fareeha replied. Flat, mechanical. Like she was reporting the failure of a mission. She swallowed hard, pressing her lips together. Angela knelt before her, slipping her fingers through a clenched fist.

"Angela, I never told you. She is still alive."

In that moment, Angela was thankful she was already on her knees. The past came flooding back. Receiving news of Ana's death. Tears shed and prayers said by grieving comrades. Heartfelt eulogies, Jack's voice cracking noticeably in the mic. An empty casket being lowered into the ground, Fareeha watching with silent tears. Hating her own cowardice as she watched Fareeha being led away by her friends, an apology for not saving her mother sitting on her tongue, never to see the light of day. All of that…for someone who still lived?

"How did you know?"

"She wrote to me, a year after her funeral. Said she survived and went into hiding. But she could not stand by anymore. So she continued fighting."

Ana was alive. And still fighting. Another colleague, returned from the dead, fighting for the same cause they believed in a long time ago. It was starting to feel like a dream. Surreal. Angela barely noticed the firm grip under her arm, lifting her from the ground and settling her on the bed. She looked down at the letter again, as though the foreign letters would suddenly make sense.

Dark fingers tightened around hers. "This letter says that we will meet soon."

Meet. Soon.

Meet?

Ana?

"How did you get this?"

"I found it on my nightstand this morning." Was that why she wanted the windows closed?

"What are you going to do?" she asked.

"Nothing," Fareeha replied after a short pause. "I don't want to lift any hopes up."

In case she does not appear.

She nodded slowly, looking back at Fareeha just in time to see a single tear finish its path down her cheek. Letter fluttering to the floor, Angela pulled her in, holding Fareeha tight as strong arms reciprocated with equal intensity. She pressed her face into Fareeha's neck, feeling the steady pulse under her skin.

No, this was not a dream.

Despite vehement protests, Angela gave Fareeha mandatory leave from her duties for two days. During which she paced in her room. In Angela's office. In Angela's room. The doctor had intended for Fareeha to clear her head. Think things through and remain calm until Ana made her appearance. But all it did was make her restless, a panther caged against her will when she should be out on a hunt. And hunt she did, the moment her lockdown was lifted. Fareeha went on mission after mission, some assigned, some volunteered, the rest she forced herself into. Mercy accompanied her most of the time, soaring after Pharah as she rained devastation on malcontents, helmet always turning this way and that, searching for a phantom yet to appear. Hope dimmed after each assignment. Fareeha sitting in the armoury still wearing her flight suit, staring down at the floor, revisiting old shreds of grief as Angela's resentment towards Ana grew. For staying away all these years, for taking so long to appear, for putting such a strain on Fareeha's longing. For choosing not to remain in Gibraltar, leaving only a lousy letter and a bullet in a security camera.

But that was a concern for later. Now, the mission took priority. Mercy kept her staff trained on 76, stopping the bleeding between his shoulder blades as he reloaded. Then he nodded, and she switched to the damage boost as they ran out of the alleyway, back into the battlefield. They were in a large abandoned town, taken over by an anarchist gang specialising in explosives. Either lunatics or insane geniuses, they lined each and every part of town with traps, ready to blow up unsuspecting stragglers. That was why Mercy stayed on the ground for most of this mission with D-Va, Zarya, Torbjörn, and 76, only floating in the skies long enough to heal Pharah. Damage boosting rockets into explosives would cause more damage than intended, and their mission was to seize control from the undesirables, not level the entire place.

While Zarya and 76 gunned down the anarchists, Mercy snuck a glance up at the sky where Pharah was. She had lost her nervous energy for the missions, wearing instead a grim focus reminding Mercy of search-and-rescue teams at disaster sites, after too many days had passed. Hope still existed, but burdened by the heavy weight of reality. The blue figure shot three times in succession, setting off a calculated explosion on another street.

"Reinforcements. 10 from northwest, 15 from east," Pharah reported, hovering at her vantage point. "Eastern group is escorting a large payload. Advice."

"Advance on their HQ," 76 ordered. "Pharah, delay the eastern group."

"Understood. Pharah, out."

So they pressed forward. D-Va and Zarya took point, alternating between the defense matrix and barriers, absorbing fire while 76 and Torbjörn answered with some of their own. Explosions from the anarchists' grenades and modified weapons were starting to become white noise in her ears when a louder, sharper blast burst in the air. She whipped her head up to see the fading remains of fire…and lightning?

"Pharah, what was that?" Torbjörn asked, with something akin to awe.

"Some kind of…mobile artillery," she said uncertainly.

"The payload?"

"No. The payload seems to be an explosive of some kind. Or a pile of explosives."

"Of course it is," Torbjörn deadpanned as he shot an anarchist in the head.

"What is the payload for?" Mercy asked, gliding forward to Zarya. "Are they willing to destroy their own territory?"

"I wouldn't put it past them. Pharah, are you able to–" 76's question was cut off by two of the newer explosions, and Pharah's short exclamation of pain.

Mercy looked up again, this time to watch the blue figure plummet towards a nearby rooftop. Out of sight. Out of reach.

"Pharah!" she called into the team channel. "What's your status? Pharah, respond!"

Only the surrounding commotion piped through her still-open comm link, accompanied by very faint hints of crazed laughter. No. No no no! Mercy turned, but a firm hand on her shoulder stopped her.

"Mission first. We'll get her later."

76 did not give her time to respond, merely steered her back to the front and resumed fire. Mercy blinked, taking a deep breath and latching onto Zarya with a damage boost as she threw charges into enemy lines. She'll be fine, she repeated the mantra in her head. She'll be fine. She'll be fine.

As if in response, a gasp and wet cough burst through the comm channel. They heard metal scraping against concrete as she coughed a few more times.

"Pharah, status," 76 said.

"I'm…fine. Better even?" Pharah replied, sounding stronger by the second. Then a short shuffling. "There's some kind of…dart on my shoulder. I think it healed me. Did any of you…"

"No. It's not yours?"

"No. It was on me when I woke up."

"Leave the speculation for later. Keep an eye out for any unknowns in the area," 76 ordered. "But focus on the payload first. Clear its escort."

"Copy. Pharah, out."

Again, they pushed forward. Faster this time, because the anarchists' headquarters was in sight. It was a dirty, thirty storey building that had a ragged hole in place of a corner at its rooftop. Dirt covered the walls, cracks boasted poor infrastructure safety, and rubble was strewn around the entrance. For a new gang wanting to make it big, they were not giving a good impression. Aesthetically. Combat-wise, they were a major pain in the ass. Very reckless. As in, 'gather an entire squad of crazies with rocket launchers in front of HQ and shoot at the same spot' kind of reckless.

Mercy's eyes widened at the sight. Dimly registering D-Va's repeated chants of 'fuckfuckfuck' and Zarya's imperative order to gather, Mercy felt herself being squashed between 76 and Torbjörn. She watched the anarchist squad fire in unison, rockets sailing towards them as they were enveloped in the biggest barrier Mercy had ever seen Zarya throw out. Closing her eyes and hiding her head behind an arm, Mercy felt the thundering impact of rockets shattering the road around them. The barrier took one, two, three direct hits and shattered, blowing the entire team backwards. Fire seared into her face and burnt through her armour. The smell of charred skin and burnt hair clogged her nostrils, a faint splatter of blood landed on her right cheek. She fell to the ground face-up, winded and dazed, the ringing in her ears nearly drowning out Pharah's shouts of concern. Her fingers clutched tightly around the caduceus staff, blindly squeezing the trigger for the healing stream, hoping it would latch onto someone – anyone.

As she struggled to breathe through the pain, she heard distant reports of a sniper rifle and bewildered exclamations from the lunatics in front of them. Then, something hard bouncing off her foot and the familiar wash of rejuvenation over her body. Her vision cleared and she took a breath, filling her lungs with no difficulty. Mercy stared at her staff, baffled. The healing was definitely not her work. A thick hand appeared before her and she grasped it, thanking Torbjörn as Zarya and 76 finished off the remaining anarchists. Sweeping an eye over her team, she found them back at full health. No signs of injury anywhere. She frowned, looking back down to find that thing she felt on her foot–

There it was. Mercy picked it up, turning the canister over in her hands. It was still warm from the forceful release of its healing chemicals. The crease between her brows deepened. This was a biotic grenade. Torbjörn's design. But there were none of these back in Gibraltar.

"Torbjörn." She held the empty grenade up when the gunfire ceased. The Swede looked up, eyes widening.

"Now there's a beauty I haven't seen in ages," he said, taking the canister in his hands. "And here I thought we lost 'em."

"Focus," 76 interrupted. "Our mission is not done."

"Then it's time you hurried up."

They paused at the new voice. It was heavily modulated, sounding more computerised than human.

"This is an encrypted frequency," 76 said. "How did you–"

"No time. Just know that I'm on your side. I've taken care of the tangos from the north-west. But Pharah's having trouble with the east. I will assist her. Disable their control ASAP."

The comm channel clicked off. No explanation for knowing their battle plan and Pharah's call sign.

"Let's go," 76 ordered, after the team shared a few glances. Zarya took point. D-Va – whose mech was destroyed in the rocket assault – followed close behind with her pistol, and the rest on her tail. As they launched an assault on the building, Mercy noted the constant blasts of Pharah's rockets growing louder with every minute they spent clearing the floors. When they reached the master control room – which was only on the 10th floor, thank god – Pharah's voice broke through the radio.

"The payload is through. I repeat, the payload is through. Its escort is dead but it's on auto-pilot. Should I destroy it?"

"No," their ally replied. "It's too close to a network of explosives and we don't know the magnitude of its blast. Recommend extraction. Now."

"But that means we fought all the way here for nothing!" D-Va said. "It doesn't matter if we deactivate remote control of the traps if that payload's gonna set them off anyway."

"Hurry up, 76. The payload's getting closer."

76's fingers drummed against his rifle once in a rare display of irritation.

"Athena, emergency extraction. Torbjörn, status?"

"Almost done. Go on down, I'll be along soon enough."

"Zarya, Mercy, D-Va. Head to the entrance, keep an eye out for reinforcements."

"There are no reinforcements, 76. Why reinforce a suicide attack?"

Mercy saw the crease between 76's brows deepen before she followed her teammates back down the building. Despite their ally's comment, D-Va and Zarya held their weapons at ready as their VTOL appeared. Pharah soared into sight over a distant rooftop, a large metallic bulk trailing behind along broken roads. Mercy squinted, eyes just making out the steel case wrapped with countless wires and numerous smaller explosives attached all over. Shaking her head in disbelief at how…exaggerated the damn thing was, she turned her gaze towards the VTOL now landing in front of them, whipping about sharp blades of air. Running against the wind currents, Mercy entered the stable interior of the ship, turning to watch Pharah land and join them.

"ETA 4 minutes. Hurry up, gentlemen."

"On our way," 76 growled. Mercy could almost envision the old soldier baring his teeth. The men finally appeared with two minutes to spare, sprinting towards the ship.

"Mind flying north-east? I could use a ride."

"Athena," 76 said simply as he boarded, with Torbjörn huffing by his side.

"Understood," the AI replied.

Moving backwards and holding onto safety grips at the sides, the team fought to keep their footing as the VTOL took off with the ramp still down. They cleared over the roof of the anarchist HQ, flying in the direction of their anonymous ally. Two rooftops passed by before they spotted a cloaked figure running along the edge of the third, leaping off the building with ease. Light boots thudded against the metal ramp, gloved hand reaching out to clasp onto Zarya's outstretched arm, as a thunderous blast shook the VTOL from behind. The squad held their breath, waiting for a dreaded chain of explosions follow. But it did not come.

The mission was a success.

Relative peace returned to the ship's interior when the ramp was finally sealed. Mercy let go of the safety grip, watching the masked sniper release Zarya's arm and nod in gratitude. 76 stepped forward, rifle at his side but still on alert.

"Now, I believe you owe us some answers."

"Relax, Jack. Is this any way to greet an old friend?"

Mein gott. Is this…? Mercy glanced to the side where Pharah stood in her armour, visor still down. Only the thin line of her mouth was visible.

"How did you know my–" 76's voice disappeared.

The sniper reached for their mask, disengaging it with a soft click. It was as if the VTOL's atmosphere had been vented the moment the mask was lowered. Hair now white, lines sitting proudly at the corners of her eyes and mouth, the woman wore her age well. The devilish curve of her lips remained, as did the sharp glint in her eye and of course, the bold black lines of her Eye of Ra tattoo. Even after all the time that had passed, one could not mistake her for anyone other than the legendary Ana Amari.

"Holy shit." A hushed, Korean-accented whisper broke the trance, prompting an amused glance at its source. Hana gulped, feet shifting apart and hands moving behind her back, as though at parade rest.

Jack reached up for his own mask, removing it to reveal wide eyes and a trembling mouth, at a loss for words.

"Still a hopeless, sentimental fool, I see," Ana said with a smile.

"Ana." His deep, rough voice cracked for the first time since recall. They heard him take a ragged breath, before stepping forward and throwing his arms around the woman, who returned the hold with a growing smile. Angela saw her eye roving over Hana and Zarya, onto Torbjörn to whom she returned the nod. The engineer never liked making an emotional scene, without the encouragement of a couple of pints first. Angela's back straightened when the gaze fell onto her, throwing the medic back to the time when she was still making her name at Overwatch.

Ana was finally released from Jack's hug, patting his cheek affectionately before moving closer to Angela.

"You have grown into a fine woman, Doctor," she said. "As I knew you would."

Standing there, staff in hand, Angela found herself at a loss. For both words and action. Delight at an old colleague's return mixed uncomfortably with the growing bitterness she had nursed on Fareeha's behalf. Ana was alive and well, still in fighting condition. It was always good to see a friendly, familiar face. But this one hid herself away while her daughter– No. She stopped herself. This should stay within the Amari. Do not get involved unless asked otherwise.

She smiled at Ana as warmly as possible. "It is good to see you again, Ana."

"Likewise."

Relaxing unconsciously when Ana turned her attention away, Angela felt herself stiffen again when the sniper finally faced her daughter. Fareeha had stood at the side, unmoving in her Raptora armour, while Ana greeted the others. Her fingers were curled lightly into her palms, and Angela noted slight trembling in the blue armoured digits. A heavy silence fell over the squad when Ana came to a stop before Fareeha, mother and daughter locked in an interminable stare. Neither moved, and Angela had an abrupt impression of two predators sizing each other up. Then Ana broke the stalemate first, speaking in Arabic with a playful lilt in her voice.

"Cat got your tongue, little one?" Fareeha would translate for her later.

The younger Amari did not move. The elder's smile slowly vanished. Ana raised a hand, placing gentle fingers under the yellow visor, and lifted it. Fareeha's jaw was clenched. Eyes narrowed slightly, the same way they did whenever the soldier was overwhelmed and forced herself not to feel. Gloved fingers dropped to her cheek, pausing with uncharacteristic hesitation, before making contact with skin covered lightly in dirt. Ana traced the tattoo with a thumb, gazing up at her daughter with a look so soft, Angela wrenched her eyes away. She was intruding. They were intruding.

A movement to the front caught her eye: Jack was motioning silently for her to leave with the rest of the squad. She nodded, moving heavy feet after her teammates, clutching onto her staff tightly. The squad walked down to the next compartment, some already unlatching their armour before they entered. Angela stopped dead in front of the doorway, over-protective streak manifesting in the turn of her head, to look back at the Amari reunion.

It was quiet, but Ana had her arms around Fareeha's neck. The younger woman's arms were still locked by her sides, head tilted down so the visor covered her face. The ache in her heart sharpened – for both women – but she pushed it to the very back of her mind. She was an outsider. Distance yourself.

Angela forced herself to take a step back, at the same time Fareeha moved. She watched her lover's arms move jerkily, fingertips landing on her mother's back, slowly spreading so her hands pressed fully on the heavy cloak, as though to make sure Ana was really there. Then they slid across, the soldier's arms properly circling around Ana as she leaned forward, pressing her face into the woman's shoulder. As Ana's arms tightened around her, fistfuls of cloak crumpled under Fareeha's hands, still shaking as reality took a strong foothold.

This is not a dream.

This is real.

Ana is back.

A/N: "aa'ilah" = family (can include both immediate and extended family)

Slammed this chapter out after I stopped screaming about Ana. Next chapter should explore more between Fareeha/Ana. Until then I'll scream some more.