@sightlines

[mylawn]

[All in all, things could have gone much worse.

Null Sector was stopped. The hostages are safe and King's Row is liberated. Things are back in the hands of the British government, and their little four-person team has returned to headquarters. They've been debriefed, and the mission was, arguably, a success. Despite that apparent fact, Jack has been fielding phone calls from Petras and the Prime Minister and all manner of people who are now extremely angry with him. He expects to be brought up on charges sooner rather than later, but right now it's late, and the calls have all fallen silent.

Jack is going to take advantage of the precious few hours of peace while he can--there will be meetings and interviews and press conferences in the morning, but for now he has a six pack and he's on his way to Ana's office, because after today they probably deserve a break.

He knows she's up, because the two of them hardly ever sleep, to say nothing of trying to rest after a day like today. Still, he's not rude about it, knocking on her door and waiting for the answer before holding up the beer, shrugging a little.]

Thought we could use this.

[A sort of modest congratulations, maybe, while they have the opportunity. Before all of the nitty-gritty of the mission comes out. Despite what the worlds' governments will say tomorrow, they can't deny that Overwatch saved lives today. That's something to celebrate.]

Comments

thank you!

[sightlines]

Dear Fareeha…

[ Ana’s fingers tap absently against the dark wood of her desk as she stares at the screen. Her work is done for the day. The mission reports have been reviewed, due diligence done in the chain of command, electronic transcripts sent off into the endless machine that’s Overwatch’s bureaucracy. Now all that remains is for her to write the hardest message of all. ]

Dear Fareeha, as you may have heard from the news, we did some good work today. I can’t say too much but Reinhardt, Angela and Torbjörn took one of our new recruits with them to London…

[ More and more these days she doesn’t know what to tell her teenage daughter — and not merely because so much of what they do is increasingly classified, carefully sequestered away from the ever-starving media vultures. To boast of their successes runs the risk of encouraging Fareeha’s dangerous obsession with Overwatch; besides, lately her words have started to feel like they ring hollow. What they did today she’s sure was the right thing, but the rest of the world seems determined to convince them otherwise. In that she doesn’t envy Jack his position.

She’s tired.

The knock on the door is a welcome distraction from the email she’s failing to compose. Ana saves the draft and stands to open it. This late, there’s only really a few people it could be. She folds her arms and leans against the doorway, eyebrows raised, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. ]

Oh? Trying to get me to loosen up?

[mylawn]

[He'd invite himself in, ordinarily, but Ana posts up against the door frame so he waits for permission. Jack isn't surprised that she's awake, but he's not sure what she'd been doing before he showed up. Knowing her, paperwork. Reports. Drafting some e-mails, maybe. Whatever it is, he's glad to pull her away from it.]

I would've brought champagne, but that's for people who aren't about to be court martialed.

[He sounds tired too. In earlier years, a successful mission like this would have been cause for celebration--now he's just preparing himself for another reaming courtesy of Petras and the UN council. Jack knows he did the right thing, and knows that Ana will agree with him, but he misses the golden years when Overwatch could do what they were best at without the red tape. Save lives and prevent crises without worrying how they'd show up in the papers. He's been good at playing by the rules, but it wears on him more and more with each passing day.

Hence the alcohol, but he'll certainly understand if Ana wants to call it a night.]

If you're tired, we can take a rain check.

[sightlines]

I’m always tired, Jack.

[ He's a man she would know better than her own brother, if she had one. She looks him over, missing nothing. The strain at the corners of his eyes. The way his fingers curl around the cardboard of the six-pack. Sometimes he needs her, or she needs him, in a way that's more than the professional solidarity they show to the public eye. More than comrades in battle, even. Pushing herself upright, she steps out of the way and gestures him in. It's only a little mocking. ]

Make yourself at home.

[ Her office is neat, but not excessively so. It's lived in; there are pictures of Fareeha and of various Overwatch members from younger years. The two chairs in front of her desk are made of worn wood, a rare sight in the world of gleaming durasteel and bulletproof glass they inhabit. Ana shuts the door behind him.

Locks it.

The click is audible and deliberate. She takes her time turning around, though, willing to let him set the pace for now. ]

[mylawn]

[His shoulders seem to relax a little when she finally invites him inside, though he doesn't miss the way she scrutinizes him in the moment before stepping aside. They're both tired--they've both been tired for a very long time, to the point where Jack just accepts it as the reality of his situation. He's been something of an infamous insomniac for years, but he writes it off as part of the job. It isn't anything he hasn't learned to deal with.

At least, that's what he tells himself.]

More tired than usual.

[Jack tries to give her a smile. Her office is a little more homey than his. Both are smaller than one might expect, simply by virtue of the building's layout, but where Jack has kept the glass and steel and wall-to-wall holoscreens, she's moved in real wood chairs, and he's always found it sort of nice, a reminder that not everything needs to be military-formal.

This certainly does not need to be military-formal, though Jack tends to have difficulty extracting himself from that mindset. He has to be concerned with appearances and protocol and sometimes it takes him a moment, even with Ana. The lock of the door does not go unnoticed, but he feigns obliviousness as he busies himself with uncapping two bottles and setting them out on her desk, only meeting her eyes after he's tossed the caps into the trash bin.

He holds up his bottle in mock-toast, though it's unclear whether or not he actually intends to drink.]

Cheers.

[sightlines]

[ Ana takes her beer. The glass is cool in her hand. She'll have half of it, she decides; no more. While she has a respectable tolerance, they're always careful to watch themselves on nights like these. What they do behind closed doors is loaded with enough risk -- for so many reasons -- without adding inebriation to the mix. ]

[ Besides, given a choice, she'd have chosen a tart red wine. A six-pack, really? Damn the man and his inveterate American tastes. ]

Cheers.

[ Instead of sitting, she moves to stand behind him. Not touching. Not yet. She takes a sip of her drink, the carbonation a pleasant buzz in her throat. ]

What was it you came looking for tonight, Jack?

[mylawn]

[The worst part is Jack’s enhanced metabolism has him burning through most substances before they can really affect him, and it takes much, much more than a six pack to get him buzzed. Ana sees right through that, he’s sure, but he won’t openly address it. The beer is an excuse, more than anything else. He likes the taste, and he likes sharing it with his friends.

Or people who are, sometimes, slightly more than friends.]

Company, maybe.

[That much is obvious. It would be very easy for Jack to lock himself away in his quarters after a long day of fielding less-than-friendly phone calls, but he owes it to Ana not to, and he finds himself leaning back in his chair, taking in her presence behind him.]

Isn't gonna do us any good to be alone.

all goood

[sightlines]

No, [ she agrees. ] It isn't.

[ He shifts towards her, and for some reason this small movement is the trigger; she finds herself responding, wanting him. Minus his scars, Jack is as physically perfect an example of manhood as one could ask for. The enhancement programme made sure of that, but it's not really his body that she desires. It's everything else that lies between them -- all their long and tangled histories of debt and conflict, loyalty and sacrifice. It's not romantic love in the sense that some of Overwatch's more rabidly wistful fans might imagine. Neither of them have ever pretended that that was something they could have. Even if they hadn't been co-commanders of differing ranks...well, they've both always been fighters, not lovers. But what they do have is at times all the more irresistible for its impossibility. ]

[ Now she does touch, shifting her bottle to her other hand so she can reach out with fingers cool from the glass and trace the curve of his right ear from behind. Just a brief touch, a brush, but deliberate nevertheless. ]

[mylawn]

[It’s a brief touch that’s over too soon, but somehow it doesn’t feel that way at all. Jack finds himself leaning back into it almost out of reflex. Ana knows him better than he knows himself, most of the time, and though that’s certainly an invaluable quality to have in a second-in-command, it's on a whole other level when she's acting as more than that. He's got military professionalism ingrained in the very fiber of his being--a testament to being a soldier longer than he's been anything else. Sometimes it's hard to put that aside, even for someone like Ana. The touch helps.

What doesn't help is facing away from her, and Jack is quick to correct that, easing himself up from the seat and turning so that they're face-to-face.]

If it's okay with you.

[He always wants to give her the option to back out, admit that it's a terrible idea. Jack certainly won't blame her for it, even as he leans in to trail his thumb down the side of her face, his touch equally insubstantial.]

[sightlines]

[ It's such a mild statement, coming from a man she's seen unleash hails of rockets into Titans and defend his actions before hundreds of assembled world leaders. She almost laughs in his face, but doesn't. Instead the corners of her mouth quirk up and she puts a cool hand on his chin. Standing, he's almost a head taller than her, and she has to tilt his head down so she can pull him into a kiss. Such is her answer to his request for permission. ]

[ Her lips are cool, the kiss precise and forceful and familiar. In public, she defers to him with absolute decorum, even if they have their disagreements over strategy and tactics. In private the lines of their relationship are redrawn, and what exists between them is far more mutable and volatile. ]

[mylawn]

[There's relief in Jack's shoulders when she doesn't offer any more words--despite the fact that he's always up in front of people saying things (important things, things that get played on international news for days at a time), all too often he feels like he isn't very good at it. He reminds himself that there's a difference between speaking for television cameras and talking about his own feelings to one of his closest confidant. The latter should be easier for him, but somehow it's not. Jack chalks it up to the entirety of his career caring little for the things that he wants. An entire lifetime of putting everyone else before himself.

When she kisses him, he can pretend that maybe he's allowed something just for them. He bends to her without being told to, body reacting before his mind has a chance to put a stop to this.

It's only a moment later that his hands are snaking around her waist, settling on her hips, the bottle forgotten on the table behind them.]

[sightlines]

[ It's so many kinds of inappropriate. But appropriate means nothing more than reserved friendship, and cold nights alone in their offices or quarters, and figureheads of a failing organization frozen into images of themselves. She's tired of it. And after their years of struggle, don't they deserve to be a little inappropriate, if they want?

She takes her time with the kiss till she's satisfied, luxuriating in the way he lets her lead. Pulling away, she catches his hands in her own -- smaller, but equally calloused -- and looks him up and down, a long purposeful glance. ]

I'm thinking about how I want you tonight. [ she breathes, then makes a considering noise in her throat. ]

Shall I let you come? Or leave you wanting? Let you have the use of your voice, or order you to be quiet? You've been doing an awful lot of talking lately.

[mylawn]

[Even though he knows it's coming, Jack can't help the way his breath hitches a little in his throat as they move from business to something a little less so. He spends all of his time making decisions and being the go-to for an immeasurable number of choices that the prospect of having someone call the shots excites him more than it should, he thinks--doubly so when that person is Ana. It's a dynamic they've settled into as their incredibly irresponsible activities have evolved, and in a way it makes him feel a little better about engaging with his second in such a way. She gets to call the shots.

He lets her take his hands, raising an eyebrow at the way she gives him an obvious once-over. He'd come here pretending like this wasn't his intent, but of course he can't hide anything from her for too long.]

Had a lot to say.

[Jack gives her a crooked little smile, more in anticipation of what's to come than anything else. He knows full well that she'll wipe it off his face if she so chooses, so he's going to take advantage of being cheeky for as long as he can, leaning in a little to try and press his lips to her neck.]

Saved the world again today, you know.

[sightlines]

Someone's full of himself.

[ Ana's tone is teasing despite the reprimand: she's feeling indulgent. The kiss is permitted; she even tilts her head to allow access, her long unbraided dark hair falling over one shoulder. She wraps fingers around his wrist, trails her other hand up an arm, tracing the lines of corded muscle, her thumb brushing the crook of his elbow. Then she switches direction, her fingers creeping lower till she's toying with his belt buckle. ]

How about this. Ask me for something, and I'll decide if you deserve it.

[ She deliberately leaves the question wide open, almost threateningly vague. A challenge he can put his brilliant tactical mind to. Or perhaps he'll flounder, the Strike Commander thrown off his game. Either way could be fun for both of them. ]

[mylawn]

I think you like it.

[If only because they both know that Jack would much prefer not being paraded around as some kind of paragon--that he hates the statue outside with every fiber of his being, and would rather do good on his own terms than receive medals and accolades. Not that people stop giving him medals and accolades. At the very least, he can hope that this is just joking, that securing peace is its own reward, that it hasn't gone to his head. Another reason he's glad to have Ana. She grounds him in more ways than she knows.

Or maybe she does know it--very little actually gets past her, no matter how hard Jack tries.

Even now, he can tell that this is a test, that she's waiting for him to give a good answer or for him to fumble entirely, though he's not sure how she could possibly blame him if it ends up being the latter. Ana does things to him that he can barely describe, and already he's set to be done talking. He tells himself it wouldn't be as fun without the challenge, and that helps temper his impatience, if only a little.

Jack talks between kisses, running his mouth up the line of her neck as she exposes it to him. He decides to start small--get her yes-es and no-s incrementally, and his hands run up to the collar of her shirt.]

Let me take this off.