Roadhog sat down on the bed with the tablet clasped in his hands, and Junkrat bundled in as close as he could physically manage considering his partner's bulk. He pressed forward until his nose touched the glass of the screen. With a grumble, Roadhog nudged him back, and it was only when Junkrat managed to find a distance that suited the two of them that his bodyguard started the video.

Sombra was already in frame. She smiled. It was as smug and self assured as he remembered, and although he searched for any trace of the bruises he knew must have once littered her throat he found nothing.

"Hola," she said, "hope this didn't take you too long to find."

"See, cocky, what'd I tell ya," Junkrat muttered, eyes narrowed. His gaze snapped to Roadhog, eager for some sign of agreement, but the man's attention was fixed solely on the tablet and the video it played.

Sombra's voice continued. Sulkily, Junkrat forced himself to focus.

"I was only going to leave this for one of you, but then I figured, why bother? I know how this plays out. As much as I'd love to chat to the more reasonable one, I hear you're a package deal these days. How are you by the way, Rat? Wasn't sure you made it, word was you left Scotland in a bad way."

"Oh piss off!" Junkrat spat. "That's Talon's fault, you bloody work for 'em."

"She can't hear you," Roadhog said. "Recording."

"I know that, but she's… it's fuckin' condecending, mate."

"Just listen."

"-as planned," Sombra continued, and Junkrat struggled to catch up to what she was saying. She took a pause, a long and dramatic sigh escaping her. "Things could have gone better for both of us. The yelling? That, I could have done without. 'It was supposed to be a simple mission Sombra', 'you said no one would notice you Sombra', 'what happened to not needing support Sombra', on and on…"

She rolled her eyes.

It was, like the entirety of her message, a performance. Folk might call him a hypocrite for pointing it out, but he could spot someone who loved the sound of their own voice, and from her playful tone to the exaggerated way she responded for the camera, Junkrat knew she was enjoying herself.

"Do you want to know why I accepted that mission?" she asked, leaning in conspiratorially until her face filled the tablet screen. She left another pause. "I'll let you in on a secret - two reasons. The first - information. Talon was only interested in one thing, but I know there was more in there, material they would have overlooked. Information is power, and me? I know so many things. The second reason? You."

"Bullshit!" Junkrat snapped, slapping a hand over his mouth at Roadhog's warning growl. The urge to talk was overpowering though.

He hated her, the smugness, as if he hadn't thoroughly bested the woman last time they'd crossed paths. He didn't understand how she could be so far away and as infuriating as ever, how she could make herself seem so tangible when she was nothing more than pixels on a screen. Moments ago the prospect of a message had seemed exciting, ammunition for a scheme he was already building the groundwork for, but he had forgotten quite how her behavior chaffed.

She had threatened him. She had threatened his friends. But she talked as if that were inconsequential, like she had nothing to fear, and there was absolutely fuck all he could do about it but sit there and listen.

As he watched, Sombra examined her fingernails. "I wasn't lying when I said I thought we could be friends. I tested that theory in Dorado and we got along so well. So I thought, why not have a catch up? You do me a favour, I do you a favour, see if we can get something going again. Take things slow."

Junkrat bristled. "Ya pointed a gun at me!"

"Rat," Roadhog warned for the third time, and he fell silent, arms folded across his chest. He rocked forward and back in a hopeless attempt to expel the energy elsewhere, but he kept his eyes on the video.

"I didn't expect you to be so stubborn. I mean, Overwatch? Really? I thought that was just a little game for you. I'm surprised, I'll give you credit for that."

She idled for a moment, apparently lost in thought as she toyed with the purple ends of her hair. Then abruptly the spell broke and her attention returned to the camera. "It didn't go the way I planned," she admitted. "So, let's forget about then, hmm? Let's forget about building up a working relationship and cut right to the chase. I want something from you."

Junkrat knew that already, but he still tensed.

People always wanted something. Life had wasted no time in teaching him that, and ever since one fateful day scavenging in the battered bones of the old Omnium he'd had the misfortune of a painful reminder that was burned in the back of his brain with a clarity no other memory could attest to.

Several years on the move and anytime folk spoke in such a way he still only thought of one thing.

As if sensing his apprehension Sombra smiled, the expression unfurling slowly like an uncoiling snake. "Ooohh I'm not interested in treasure. I know what you found, but what use is it to me? I have bigger things in mind. What I want to know if who else has an interest in it, because there are powers out there even Talon doesn't know about, and it's time someone lured them out of the shadows. I can't do that while you're playing happy families with Overwatch, I need you to seem… available.

"Which aaaalll brings me to my point. A favour for a favour. I could help you, si? I know a lot about Talon, so many juicy secrets, things Overwatch would just love to get their hands on. You could give it to them. You could give them the chance to take Talon apart. And all I need in return is a few days of your time."

The last words were almost sing-song in tone, inviting, and Sombra gave the camera one final smile.

"Think it over," she said. "I'll be in touch."

With a wink, and a ripple of fingers in farewell, the screen turned black and Sombra was gone.

Junkrat stared at his own murderous reflection in the dark glass. It stared back.

Tearing himself away from the sight he swung off the bed and to his feet, making a quick circuit of the room. His lips were drawn tight, eyes flicking left and right but skimming over his surroundings with no focus, no intent. What mattered was the motion itself, because the video still rang in his head with every smug little word and jibe, and he needed, in whatever way he could, to distance himself.

The video was a good thing. Logically, it was. Sombra had just handed him a very important part of his own plan - she'd told him exactly the bait he needed. All that was required was himself, and that he had in abundance, so long as he stopped her from dictating what happened next he had exactly what he desired from her message. Everything was working out fine.

Why was it then that he couldn't shake the unease worming its way through his chest? Why was he thinking, still bitterly, of all the ways he could end her and remove any chance of her inching closer with that sly, taunting grin?

He'd proven how a confrontation ended. It should be him overbrimming with confidence, not her.

When his path led him back to the bed Roadhog had put the tablet down and was waiting. Junkrat read the unspoken question effortlessly.

"Tell ya what I'm thinkin', mate," he said, flopping down onto the mattress beside him. "I'm thinkin' she's smart enough to change tact. First time it's all threats, right, relyin' on me own self interest, an easy way out of a fight. Now she's pretendin' to be open, laying her cards on the table and makin' a real offer."

"And?"

Junkrat laughed. It was high, and shrill, but lack the cheer it normally carried. "And I ain't buyin' it. Either she's lyin' through her teeth an' she ain't about to give up Talon's secrets, or she's ready to sell 'em out and you'd be a complete drongo to trust someone like that. Could be makin' up the whole thing. Only bit I know is she toys with people, uses 'em, and that ain't about to be us, mate. Not this time. Besides, already made a promise to Overwatch."

He glanced across, trying to gauge his bodyguard's reaction. He thought he caught a hint of approval in the lift of his chin. Satisfied, Junkrat returned to contemplating the ceiling, legs kicking back and forth in a steady rhythm where they dangled just short of the floor.

He sighed. "Only problem is she's bein' the opposite of helpful. 'I'll be in touch'? The fuck's that supposed to mean? Coulda left a phone number, ain't like it's hard."

"Cautious?" Roadhog suggested, but Junkrat only echoed the word back mockingly.

"Waltzed right in here to leave the bloody message," he said, "reckon it's got more to do with remindin' us who's in control. Makes it a tad tricky, gettin' her where we want if she just pops up whenever she pleases."

"Plan?"

Junkrat hummed for a moment. That, he supposed, was the important part.

It had always been his job during their partnership to choose their next step, save for the few times he'd been incapable. At first he'd taken it as the natural order of things - an employer dictating the actions of his hired hand, something he hadn't bothered to question. Later, when time had rid him of that particular notion, it dawned on him with some surprise that Roadhog was interested to see where this would take them, and that maybe, just maybe, he held a glimmer of respect for Junkrat's ingenuity.

It was a perfectly balanced act in practice - Junkrat's flair for the dramatic and his ability to plot and scheme paired well with Roadhog's more level headed approach, which tempered his wilder ideas into achievable recipes for quick cash and dead bounty hunters.

"She'll leave it a few days," he decided, sitting back up again. "Wants us to stews. That gives us time to sort out what we need, make sure we got a proper welcome ready for her. Then, maybe we leave her a message. Make a few demands of our own. She's payin' attention to Overwatch, has to be, an' if there's a little security slip, little bit of stray info, I'd wager she'll be on it in a flash. An' if I'm wrong, where's the harm?"

Roadhog nodded. It was only a short dip of the head, but there was no hesitancy or grumbling to accompany it, so Junkrat judged this to be a solid agreement.

"Not bad, eh?" he said, finding his grin.

"Can sort out the details later."

"Too right." Between the missed sleep and the trainwreck of the last few days he doubted he had it in him to sit down and scribble up the perfect strategy, step by step, with all his standard redactions and hastily inserted notes. Even the thought of it was exhausting. There was so much hanging above him, uncertainties and expectations and memories he had yet to organize his emotions for. He scrubbed a hand across his eyes, giving himself a shake and a small giggle. "It's been a helluva day, Roadie, like I told ya… I did tell ya, right? 'bout the bot?"

Roadhog grunted.

Cautiously, Junkrat side-eyed him. "Ya ain't… mad at me?"

"Told you it was your decision," the man said with a shrug.

"Yeah, ta get rid of it or hit the road, but this is different." He waited, fidgeting closer to the edge of the bed so his peg leg could find the floor, scraping circles across it. He shot Roadhog another look, but the man hadn't moved. "Just... just checkin'."

A customary quiet fell, a mark of deliberation as Roadhog's heavy breaths drew in and out. Junkrat set his other leg on the ground.

"Your decision," Roadhog repeated eventually.

Junkrat frowned. It wasn't an endorsement, but it wasn't a condemnation either. He wasn't sure which would have been better.

Movement tore him from his own thoughts as Roadhog held the tablet aloft, a question in the way it hovered in his grasp. The distraction was welcome.

Tipping his head to the side, he studied the device. "What about it?"

"Gonna tell them or not?"

"Tell 'em what? Oh…" Junkrat blinked, frowned again, and stood upright.

The possibility of that had escaped him - the need to report, a need that hadn't existed in his life until recently. He had enough sense to understand this was something Soldier and the other senior agents would consider worth their time, but the idea of them sitting down and watching that video was… unpleasant.

The way she talked to him was bad enough, but more concerning were the things she said.

She'd remind them of the other uses he could present…

Was it paranoia to think they might listen? That they might entertain the possibility, might dig in places he couldn't afford them to?

The understanding between them so far had been unspoken, that that was something they could not ask for, that he would not surrender, but what if they changed their minds? Hell, with everything that had happened recently, what if it was something they started to think they were owed?

He needed this to be paranoia... he needed it to be. He just wasn't quite brave enough to find out.

Junkrat snatched the tablet from Roadhog's hand. He held it tightly, sparing his shadowy reflection a glance before he flashed his partner an apologetic grin. "Yeah, nah. Asked us to catch her and that's what we're doin', right? Think I'll burn this."

Roadhog's short, rasping laugh was just a little judgemental.

"What?" Junkrat whined. "It's therapeutic, mate. I deserve it after today."

"Get some sleep."

"Soon as I've taken care of this, ya got me word." He patted himself down, looking for somewhere to stow the tablet before remembering his satchel still lay discarded on the desk and hurrying to retrieve it. Buckling it on, he hesitated at the doorway. "We really dealt with her in Dorado?"

"Already told you, yes."

"Ya sure?"

Roadhog's grunt was less patient.

"Just wanna be clear, mate, no need to go gettin' cranky. Makes ya wonder though, don't it? If this stuff was so important to her, why not mention any of it then, eh, why wait till now? She really just takin' it slow?"

Roadhog remained silent, but the irritation eased from his posture until there was only a pensive stillness.

Satisfied, Junkrat smirked. "Exactly. Bit suss if ya ask me. Dunno the whole of it, but I know one thing for sure - can't trust a thing outta that mouth."

Junkrat never much liked taking his own work apart. Oh, he liked taking things apart when it wasn't his, when it was fair game, scrap for the taking, and he'd never shed a tear for his projects when they burst into glorious flames, intentional or not. Dismantling something with no intention of putting it back together always seemed like a shame though.

He'd done it plenty. In the outback you couldn't go getting sentimental, had to know what the priority was, to be ready to strip anything for parts when the time came. Working outside of Oz had given him the luxury of hanging on to things however, Overwatch doubly so. There was no need to end a project before its time and rob it of all potential when he had a constant supply of fresh scrap and no pressing dangers save for whatever missions presented.

Unfortunately, this time was different. His design had already been thoroughly shot down by the likes of Soldier, and Junkrat still wanted quick solutions, an answer to Sombra and a method to buy his way back into the good graces of those that held the power. Waiting for the next supply shipment was not an option.

It wasn't the trap's fault. It was a magnificent machine to Junkrat's mind. He'd been particularly proud of the flamethrowers.

However, with several solid hours of sleep and a chance to rest his prosthetics he was ready to face the necessity, and so as soon as consciousness returned he got down to business.

His morning consisted of unscrewing bolts, cutting through steel, untangling wires and syphoning gasoline. When it was all done, he piled up the pieces and dragged them back to the workshop one by one to shove into the corner until he could design a more practical approach.

Torbjourn watched the whole procession without a word.

When the last haul was deposited, Junkrat dusted his hands off and turned to face the Engineer.

There was no open sign of hostility that he could detect, no more than the man's usual prickly disposition, but quite where he stood with the majority of Overwatch after the fireworks night he wasn't sure.

Warily, he opted for a grin. "G'day."

Torbjorn looked at the mismatch pile of scrap, and back to Junkrat. "Morning," he said with a nod. It was gruff, but cordial, and perfectly in character given their previous interactions and Torbjorn's distaste for mornings in general.

Junkrat's grin broadened.

Emboldened by this, he braved the kitchen by himself in search of breakfast.

Tracer was busy slurping down a smoothie, but she gave him a smile too, if practiced, and Junkrat counted that as leagues better than the thousands of other possibilities he'd entertained.

She asked him how he was. She babbled about the weather for a bit. She went as far as to offer to put the kettle on for him for a cup of tea, and by the end of it he was completely lost but he had a steaming mug in one hand and a plate of buttered toast in the other.

He got the sense that he must have somehow done something right that he had missed, but for the life of him he didn't know what it was.

Baffled, but ladened with food, he opted to make his own retreat somewhere secluded to devour it and ponder his next step.

Junkrat made it as far as the end of the corridor.

Rounding the bend came Lucio, and he was immediately rooted to the spot. There was no cover, nowhere to duck, to hide, his options ran thin and he stood where he was and hoped desperately that his smile was friendly and not as tight as it felt, plastered across his face.

He remembered the door. Closed.

He remembered walking away with no promises from either side.

Worst of all he remembered how defeated Lucio had seemed, not angry, and as he looked over the DJ now he didn't know what to expect.

Lucio didn't smile. Lucio always smiled, that was how it worked. Yet there was no upward tweak of his lips, no hint of joy to greet him, and Junkrat dared not move an inch.

Lucio shuffled his feet, but he didn't take a step closer or attempt to push past down the corridor. He waited, and Junkrat waited, and the pair of them stood watching one another like actors holding out for their cue long after the director had gone home.

In the end Lucio was the first to speak. "Hey," was all he said.

It sounded… uncertain. Perhaps as uncertain as Junkrat himself was feeling.

"G'day," he croaked out in return.

Greetings completed, they both returned to their awkward standoff and Junkrat began to furiously calculate the chances that he was supposed to be saying something he hadn't the social fluency to realize. He was missing something. Had to be, right?

Lucio opened his mouth, closed it, and appeared to reconsider the whole scenario as he rubbed at his arm self-consciously.

Junkrat squinted.

He didn't understand the hesitancy. Why should Lucio stumble over his words? Junkrat was the one with everything to lose, the one still waiting for an answer because they wouldn't just hand it to him when he'd asked.

Was this a good sign? A bad sign? How did you bloody tell?

His knack for reading people came down to recognising what would or would not get him shot. Junkrat could spot resolve, or fear, or anger, or greed - the twitch of a trigger finger and the gleam of a knife readying to strike. All these things he was vividly familiar with.

What completely lost him were moments like these, when situation ran so far outside the breadth of his experience he had nothing to draw upon, no signs to watch for, nothing save a feverish optimism that wilted beneath the weight of each passing second.

"Heard you apologized to Zen," Lucio managed.

Junkrat examined the words carefully, searching for any hidden meaning or implication. It was simply a statement as far as he could tell, so after clearing his throat he opted for an equally plain response. "Yeah."

"I think he's glad, you know," Lucio said, a little quicker this time. "That you did. And that you actually talked to him for once."

"Ain't gonna be makin' a habit of it."

"I figured. It's good though, man, means you're trying. Look…" he said, attempting to meet Junkrat's gaze despite its evasive flicker, "I'm sorry, I should have done more to try and understand. I should have known before it happened, if anyone should have it was me, then maybe… I don't know."

Lucio looked down, and his hands tugged at his t-shirt distractedly before he raised his head again. "Back with Vishkar and everything I acted like a total ass, I couldn't see past them, Satya was just- it was like I was staring at the company that had tried to trample over my home, I was so sure she was just another one of them. It's easy, thinking that way. You don't even notice the things that prove you wrong. I know I didn't. I'm not saying it's the same, but... but I'm trying to understand, okay?"

With the utmost caution, Junkrat finally made eye contact, and for the brief second it lasted the sincerity staring back at him was as unmistakable as it was painful. His chest felt tight, in both a good way and a bad way, and he didn't really understand it but the situation seemed far less like a confrontation than it had. The sharp edge of uncertainty was dulled, the tension eased to something bearable.

"Right," he said, with more confidence.

"Just no murder. We gotta be clear on that."

"Unless they're Talon," Junkrat said, "or they're tryin' ta off me."

"But only if they are trying, not just because you think they might." Lucio's stance was firm, no room for argument in the words nor the way he held himself, but Junkrat was steadily regaining his composure.

Bargaining, he could understand. Drawing lines and building an agreement, rules for both parties, these were things he could grasp and better than that, they were things he knew how to interpret.

It meant opportunity. It meant progress. It meant the very real possibility that the misery of the night before had not been in vain, and the humiliation and torment he'd suffered before the bot was worth it if only because now he saw a way forward.

Junkrat nodded, grinning with genuine enthusiasm. "Got it," he said.

He was even encouraged enough that he attempted to finger-gun back before remembering the cup of tea and a plate of toast still in his hands, which resulted in a high stakes juggling act and a lot of cursing.

Maybe he would have felt worse about the blunder if it weren't for the sound of Lucio's startled laugh, caught a little too late and turned to a hiss of air. When he looked up, a shadow of a smile still hung on the DJ's lips. The expression wavered. "I really hope you mean that."

"Course I do," Junkrat said, drawing himself up haughtily despite his own delight, "Ya callin' me a liar?"

"No, I just... just don't forget, please?"

The earnestness of his tone landed Junkrat off-guard. He deflated, checking the DJ cautiously. There was something about the way he was watching him that made Junkrat increasingly worried that this was a very important moment that he was in danger of fucking up.

He ran his tongue across his teeth, chewing over his response. "Not gonna happen. I'm makin' a promise, proper one, okay mate? If that's what ya need I swear it, on everythin'."

Lucio studied him for a moment, but nodded. "I believe you."

Again, Junkrat found the revelation to be both painful and comforting. Trust was such a peculiar thing in that way.

If he'd known Lucio five years ago he would have called the man naive, a fool, a soft hearted imbercill without the common sense to see the harsh truth of a world that drowned in lies and broken oaths and buried those not quick enough to spot them beneath its waves. Now, he knew different.

At his core, Lucio was brave. Brave in a way Junkrat never had been.

"Hana's been talking about a Disney movie marathon, and I know movies aren't really your thing but there's lots of songs in these ones and they've got jokes and everything too, so… I guess if you wanted to stop by tonight that'd be cool?"

It ended as a question, and Junkrat wondered if it would be rude to snatch at it too eagerly, to leap forward when Lucio still appeared to be testing the ground between them.

"Think I could manage that," Junkrat said slowly, "if nothin' else comes up."

Lucio's head dipped forward in a nod, just once, and he tugged at his shirt again before a small smile worked its way across his face. "Alright man," he said, "I'll catch you round."

It was in a very tentative way that Junkrat began to wander again. But when he dropped by to borrow a fresh coat of paint from Brigitta to patch up his prosthetics, she displayed no particular grudge, and Reinhardt was as loud as usual. He told the story of his battle in Eichenwalde, which Junkrat found riveting, if only because the man understood the need to do the voices. While the following story about how an omnic had saved his life was of less interest to Junkrat, he had finished with the paint and was ready to move on.

He still felt he was missing something. Was the animosity of two nights ago all in his head? Not that he minded, it was just… strange. Even the cyborg had no comment to offer as they passed one another in the hallway.

Junkrat resolved to ignore the mystery for the meantime, because pushing for an explanation felt risky and he had other concerns, specifically Sombra. She was the priority. Her, and the prize she presented, her and the satisfaction that beating her at her own game could bring. He had a job to do.

He couldn't help but wonder, though, what Disney was.

Mei was the one to answer that for him, and although she'd appeared wary at his approach the topic was one that quickly set her at ease. Junkrat left with a head full of talking lions and magic carpets, and a mild suspicion that Mei was making up the whole thing. He knew she often took his humour the wrong way and it wasn't a great leap to imagine this might be a subtle form of revenge.

Talking lions? He couldn't be the only one to think that sounded like a load of bullshit. Seemed mad even to him.

When he and Roadhog conveened back in the workshop to wrangle the scattered pieces of his old design into something new, the man laughed at his poorly concealed curiosity. Apparently they were classics. Apparently, Bambi was the best film, and Roadhog had used to watch it years ago with… people he would not name.

Torbjorn insisted that Beauty and the Beast was far superior, and Symmetra told him that Disney movies were overrated, and the whole thing devolved into a workshop argument that Junkrat couldn't follow.

The only thing he could gleam from it was that it was something people were passionate about. His interest was thoroughly piqued, and for once his own ignorance wasn't as daunting as it normally was. What he felt was excitement.

He really had fixed things. That door would be waiting, open, and behind it the room would be warm and full of laughter and talking lions and an easiness he'd been missing so sorely. Things could go back to being how he wanted them.

This time, he was absolutely not going to fuck it up.

His instructions were clear. He had a promise to keep.

When his trap was re-built in its various transportable pieces, and Roadhog and the other engineers left him to fuss over the details, he lingered until he was certain they were gone and then abandoned his project in favor of the marker pen sitting on the bench.

He popped the cap with his teeth and set his prosthetic arm down in an effort to keep it still. Very carefully he began to write.

Junkrat marched his way to Hana's quarters twice that night before veering off in the opposite direction. It was only on the third attempt that he managed to make it.

The door was ajar, just a sliver, but the sight was blessedly familiar and Junkrat's steps were slower the moment he saw it, freed from the energy that had sent him on two consecutive trips around the base already.

His heart was beating unreasonably fast.

He wondered if he should have brought more gifts. He wondered if he should have showered. He wondered, of all things, if the room had changed in his absence, a change that felt as drastic as the one he'd unwittingly wrought between them.

That line of thinking was pointless though, so he stamped it out before it had the chance to grow. Instead he knocked, and very quickly stuck his head round the door in a bid to beat his own thoughts, which resulted in a mouth that wanted to speak but no words to fill it, and a vague noise that he hoped could be interpreted as a friendly greeting.

The room had not changed, and Lucio and Hana were in their usual spots, the former nestled in his beanbag and the latter leaning off her bed to grab another can of soda. They both looked up at the sound he made, and both of them smiled.

Something about it wasn't like it had been though, not cold but… careful, warm in all the right ways but not the light and easy thing they were all used to.

"Hey," Lucio said, "you made it."

"Well, figured I had time to spare, might as well see what the big deal 'bout a bunch of movies," he said as nonchalantly as he could, a half laugh and a white toothed grin quick to follow.

Hana snorted. "Just wait till I introduce you to anime."

"Weeb," Lucio muttered, and Hana pulled back and stretched a leg off the bed to give his beanbag a kick. Junkrat took this to mean it was an insult, but probably a mild one given the playful way it was tossed out.

He took a few uncertain steps, closing the distance between himself and the swivel chair where he normally sat. The largest monitor had a menu screen of some kind on it, but no film.

"Didn't start without me," he noted with surprise.

"Course not, can't start a movie halfway through," Lucio said, picking up a remote. His posture was casual, matching his tone. "You're here now though. There's, like, a million Disney movies so we're just sticking to everyone's favourites. Rules are you get to pick first since you haven't seen any, then it's my turn since Hana lost at rock, paper, scissors-"

"I don't lose, you cheated!"

"She lost. Anyway, then it's her turn, and if we're still all awake you get to pick again. Sound good?"

"Got no complaints here," Junkrat said, closing his fingers around the back of the chair. It was solid, and real, and completely unchanged. "Dunno how ya expect me to pick when I know shit all about this, mind, bit pointless don't ya think?"

"Soooo… I can pick for you?" Hana asked slyly.

Lucio shook his head. "Nu-uh, you lost, deal with it. I can describe them for you if you like, dude, just sing out if anything sounds fun."

"Right-o," Junkrat chimed, inspecting the chair one last time before he sank into place. He gave the floor an experimental push with his heel, feeling the twist of the seat and the gentle roll of wheels beneath him, guiding the chair to where he wanted it. A position that felt natural. As if maybe everything else would snap into place with it, like it seemed so close to doing. All the pieces were there.

Lucio was already rattling off a tirade of short summaries, the remote rapping against his open palm as he talked, and Junkrat scrambled to catch up to what he was saying. He heard something about a poisoned apple, and a puppet with a huge nose, and he scrunched up his face and tried to hone his attention in as closely as he could because it felt important.

There had been no lectures, or warnings, or drawn out formalities with his return, just a space left open for him and the background strain as they all waited to see if it could be filled. He needed to get this right.

His concentration was broken by Hana's voice.

"What's that on your arm?" she asked, slurping at her soda.

Junkrat glanced down. The words were there, just as he had made them, still new and unscratched, strange in their brightness but he couldn't help a degree of pride in the way he gazed at them.

"Oh, yeah, uh… see for yerself," he told her, leaning over obligingly with the prosthetic held out for her to study.

Hana's face pinched in concentration as she picked apart his chicken scratch, then she fell back, and of all things… of all things she laughed.

Junkrat froze.

"Oh my god, Rat," she gasped out between giggles, "you have the worst sense of humour."

Lucio had stopped talking and was quick to the scene, and he too was peering at the black writing, stark against the orange paint.

Junkrat said nothing.

He tried to keep still. He tried to resist the urge to pull his arm back, close to his chest, where it would be safe and the sudden sense of exposure wouldn't creep its way down his phantom limb. The twitch of his mechanical fingers he could do nothing about.

They laughed, and Junkrat's teeth bit together through his grin until his jaw ached.

When Lucio turned to look at him the DJ's smile was bright, but the longer he looked at Junkrat the further it faded.

"It's not a joke, is it?" he asked eventually.

Junkrat finally found the strength to reel his arm back in. The fingers of his other hand ghosted over the metal surface and the words he'd taken such care to spell out. "No," he admitted.

Hana's giggles abruptly cut off. She winced, and Junkrat wished he's said nothing at all.

He was ruining this. Minutes in and he was already fucking it up because he was that bloody stupid, and he really should have just laughed it off and let them think what they pleased. He normally liked it when they laughed. Normally, it didn't sting.

"Thought it'd make ya feel better," he mumbled.

"Yeah, someone writing 'no murder' on their arm isn't as reassuring as it should be," Lucio said wryly, and it wasn't angry but it still wasn't what Junkrat wanted.

"Ya told me not to forget..."

"I was kinda hoping you could do that by yourself."

"I want to, mate, but this here ain't always reliable," he said with a strained voice, tapping the side of his head. "Told ya that plenty before."

What had he really hoped? That they'd see the gesture in the way he'd intended it? A mark or promise, proof of something he valued enough to keep where it couldn't slip is mind?

Hana sighed. She pushed herself up with her arms, switching to a proper sitting position rather than her usual sprawl. "Rat, I'm gonna ask you a question," she said, "and I want an honest answer, okay?"

His fingers drummed at the rough angles of his prosthetic arm, and he swallowed, working up a smile. "Sure..."

"Why is murder wrong?"

Junkrat stared at her. It felt like a trick question, something designed to trip him up, and he didn't understand what it was they wanted. What the right response was.

"Because ya wouldn't like it?" he hazarded.

The pair of them seemed to deflate.

"Alright," Lucio said, "that's something we're gonna have to work on."

"Well what's the right answer?"

"I can't tell you that, man, because if I do you'll just parrot it back without meaning it. You're not... I don't want to believe you're a bad guy, you try your best to be friendly even when you mess it up, and you nearly got yourself killed saving everyone else on our last mission together, and your always... your always apologizing, you even talked to Zen because we told you that's what needed to be done, so... so you're trying. That's the important bit. But sooner or later you're gonna have to figure some things out."

"What things?" Junkrat demanded. "If I'm doin' it wrong just tell me. I can fix it."

"Rat…"

His agitation was growing, the chair abandoned as he stood, pivoting one direction and the next but finding no path that suited him. He wet his lips. "Ya want me to tell ya it's cos it's illegal? Or cos it's… permanent? Or cos there's no point if folk don't deserve it? I know all that, mate, I do, I ain't stupid. What d'ya want me to say? I ain't killin' no one that don't have it coming, even bots, I promised ya! I know I messed up before but I promised."

"I know, and that's why we're still friends, okay?" Lucio said. His voice was soft.

Slowly, Junkrat turned his head until the DJ was in view.

"We are?"

"Yeah. Yeah, we are."

Junkrat weighed this information. He wanted to believe it so desperately. He wanted to cling to it with greedy, calloused fingers, but words in this place never made any sense and he didn't know if he understood them in the same way they did. He barely understood himself, or why he was so hungry to return. Wouldn't it be easier, not to? Wouldn't it be safer?

But he didn't want to go, he didn't want a world of closed doors and people who didn't smile back. There was something, here, that meant more than surviving and taking and burning, something precious, and he'd known from the moment they'd first welcomed him closer that it was worth the risk. The only problem was he didn't know if he could keep it.

His brows knit together in intense focus as he pondered the last few things they'd spoken, and what it was he was supposed to draw from them. "So I don't have to leave?"

"Nooooo," Hana said, hastily throwing her arms up in an exaggerated cross, her eyes flying to Lucio before they found him once more. "No way. Working on things doesn't mean we want you to, like, disappear for good. You're trying. We're trying. That's what friends do."

"Oh." Junkrat's shoulders relaxed minutely. "Right."

Another thing he hadn't been certain of, another thing he needed them to spell out.

Lucio subsided back into his beanbag with a sigh. "It goes both ways, dude. If we trust you to try and do the right thing, you can trust us not to walk away the second you do or say something stupid."

"Because you do say a lot of stupid stuff."

"Hana, not helping," he hissed.

Hana's threw her hands up again, this time defensively. "Sorry, sorry… Lu has a point though. Maybe you don't have the answer now, but that doesn't mean you can't figure it out."

Junkrat frowned. Immediate answers and immediate corrections were always the preferred approach to him, something direct, something to stop him running off in the opposite direction and burying the problem where he couldn't find it. He understood his earlier choice of words to me a misstep. What baffled him was how they seemed content to brush it aside with the apparent belief that it would fix itself.

What if he couldn't puzzle it out? Was there a time limit? Did it matter or not? Cos… cos if it did, he didn't want to fail all over again.

But 'trust' was a term they chose to repeat, and maybe it tasted strange to him when it was so much easier to think about all the other possibilities, all the motives or opportunities he'd spent years learning to root out, but had they given him a real reason to doubt them yet? Not stupid things, not little things, but a real reason?

Junkrat took a few unconscious steps and found himself back at his usual chair. He gave it a poke with his peg leg, watching as it spun, but as it lazily turned to meet him he slipped back into his seat unthinkingly and hunched forward until his elbows rested on his knees.

There were so many questions he could ask, demands he could make, but Junkrat looked down at the writing on his arm and he finally laughed, because really, it was a little funny. Someone like him, with that marked where everyone could read it.

"Turnin' meself into a bloody notebook here, and it ain't even right," he snickered, reaching back to scratch at the nape of his neck. "Should I… get rid 'a this?"

"Not if you think that's what it takes," Lucio said. "We're still pretty big on the 'no murder' thing. It's a little weird, man, but it's your arm."

Junkrat contemplated the writing once more. It was an artless scribble, and the placement was too close to the inside of his arm because he hadn't bothered to take the prosthetic off for the job. It was simply marker pen against the garish orange plate. There was no finesse, no flair, and the longer he scrutinised it the more it was lacking all the significance he'd poured into it.

He didn't need marker pen to remember something so simple.

But what if… he did? What if the bot looked at him funny one day and he just forgot? Wasn't like it was impossible, wasn't like he didn't have his occasional moments, points when things just slipped away or the sudden, sharp jolt of the unexpected reduced him to instinct.

He'd told the thing he'd leave it be and he was fairly sure he'd been telling the truth, but an omnic was an omnic. There were times when his brain would recognise it as nothing else.

Would Lucio and Hana forgive him then? The rest of Overwatch wouldn't, that was for sure.

The snap of fingers brought him back to the present and Junkrat blinked, his eyes focusing on Hana. How much time had passed he wasn't sure.

She sat on the bed with her back against the wall, one leg dangling off the side and the other crooked sideways to cradle an open packet of Doritos, and when she saw his attention flicker to her she grinned.

"Hey," she said, "you wanna watch the Lion King?"

Junkrat angled his head sideways. He raised an eyebrow. "That the one with the talkin' lions?"

"Yeah, you dork, clue's in the name."

"I'm vetoing," Lucio cut in before Junkrat could retort, "he's way more of a 'Little Mermaid' person. Or maybe Aladin."

"You're just saying that cos you cry when Mufasa dies."

"No spoilers! You'll ruin it for him!" The DJ lunged across and Hana fell back laughing, easily dodging the hand meant to silence her. "Rat, look at these, which one do you want to watch first? And don't listen to Hana."

"Pick the lions! Lucio's just being a coward!"

A playful scuffle was quickly breaking out but Junkrat doubted it would last long. Hana had Dorito dust all over the right hand and she wielded it like a weapon, waving it about and forcing Lucio to back away before she smeared it anywhere on his person.

Precisely what had happened he didn't know, but the earlier confusion was so easy to leave behind in the wake of their lighthearted teasing and maybe, maybe it was okay to do that. Writing was just writing. He could settle on a decision later. They were granting him the opportunity to do so, it would be rude, wouldn't it, to turn it down?

Leaning back in his chair he turned his attention to the colourful pictures still filling the largest monitor, all geometrically aligned rectangles full of characters and sparkles and fancy titles.

There was a floating boy in green tights, and girl with a sword, and many other women in dresses, and somewhere, amidst everything else, a weird blue dog thing and a small child surfing on a wave. They looked like they were having fun. It reminded him of beaches.

Beaches were important for some reason, he was sure, even if he couldn't quite pinpoint why. He'd never been to one, but something was niggling at the back of his head insistently, and after a brief hesitation this was the one he pointed to.

"Oi," he said, "if you two hoons are done with all that I want the one with the messed up dog."

"Messed up?" Lucio's expression was bemused as he peered over his shoulder, still clutching Hana's wrist to keep it from his face. As his eyes settled on the picture Junkrat was pointing to, though, understanding bloomed, and the smile that followed was the best Junkrat had seen in days.

"You know what?" he said. "That one's perfect."

((I know chapters are slow, but I really hope this is still engaging for you guys. I'm trying. Please let me know your thoughts if you can.))