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Illari has never considered joining Overwatch, even as a hypothetical.
There wasn't ever really a need to. Overwatch was dead and long gone, disbanded for their dangerous potential, the crime of holding more power than any one organization should ever be allowed to. Her studies always framed it as a tragic necessity, a cautionary tale of a hero’s fall from grace. She'd seen old articles and hit pieces online call it something different—a blessing, overdue action, karma for the war criminals hiding behind the title of saviors.
Some part of her always wondered whether or not the world would see her that way too, if she managed to become an Inti Warrior. It's easy to picture the reasons why: too lucrative a power, wielded only by the strongest capable, a blinding light that should be snuffed out before it could cause tremendous damage.
They wouldn’t have been wrong, in the end. After the… after she–well, after everything, Illari understood both sides. She intimately knows that desire to protect the people no matter what, and how that desire leads you to consequences you can't even begin to fathom at the time. Maybe if someone warned about the true extent of her power before tragedy struck, put a hard stop to her future, then things would've turned out differently. Or maybe she shouldn't have needed to be warned in the first place, should've listened to the doubt that's festered in her ever since she was a kid, telling her that she wasn't good enough for this.
Doesn't matter, what's done is done. She doesn't think further about Overwatch past her studies because like her, that’s the end of it. All they are is a cautionary tale of good intentions and the bad those can lead you to.
And then Jack happens, and it's a sight into a past she'd never thought she’d see.
Jack Morrison. Survivor of the super soldier program initiated as a drastic stand against the Omnic Crisis. Ex-Strike Commander of Overwatch. Face of Overwatch and everything it claimed to stand for—Illari could recite info about him by heart, facts so thoroughly drilled into her brain, and she definitely remembers being taught his presumed dead status multiple times.
When she recognizes him at the end of her solar-rifle, there’s a plethora of questions darting around in her head. Why is he still alive? Where has he been? Why does he look like that? Why is he here? (though that one gets answered soon after). The questions, and Overwatch by extension, get tossed in the backseat of her mind once again as it’s established he’s supposed to be her contact from Sombra.
After everything, after Illari does the unthinkable and finally cements herself as the last Inti Warrior to exist, it’s still not a rush for her to think about Overwatch. There had been more pressing things to consider, a weight lifted off her chest only to be pushed even heavier down on top of her. She knew it wasn’t going to be easy, erasing history older than herself so that it couldn’t be used by Oasis, but knowing what it meant and finally crossing the point of no return are two different things. The world keeps spinning and it never once stopped, but the way she feels stuck in stasis tells a different story.
The opportunity to ask anything about Overwatch comes later, when Jack doesn’t leave like she expects him to. Like he was supposed to.
I have unfinished business, he said, curt and unquestionable. And then he ducked his gaze, scratched the back of his head awkwardly as he continued, and uh, if it’s not too much of a hassle, could I stay here for a bit?
Illari should’ve said no.
Instead, she had eyed him curiously, and told him that he would need to find something to sleep on if he was planning on staying.
Immediately, she regrets that decision. It's not anything in particular Jack does, it's more what he is—and that's not supposed to be here. Illari knows he lied about his unfinished business, but can't exactly pinpoint why, and that's already one reason she should kick him out. He's a deadman walking, probably wanted by too many people to count if the stories he tells sometimes is true, and that makes him questionable. A liability. What if he leads someone here?
(Illari doesn't let herself consider the reasons as to why she doesn't regret it. That he's probably the first person she's had real conversations with in a long, long time. That Jack might be the only person she’s met who treats her like an actual person—not a prodigy, not a child to be pitied, not a weapon. Just a person.)
So Illari tries to get him to leave. It feels wrong to revoke her permission to stay, especially after the help he's given, but if the choice to leave is his in the end, then that’s an entirely different matter. She sprinkles petty little actions here and there, nothing to threaten his life, but surely enough to question it. Makes him do long and arduous tasks, makes him try to clean Chuño and laughs when he gets spit at, makes him try things most Americans would scoff at.
Cuy. Can’t say that I have, but it can’t be worse than the rations we used to get back in the war.
The war. The longer he stays, the more questions get added to a mental list Illari's not even aware she’s keeping track of.
She wakes up in the middle of the night one time, from a bad dream or just coincidence, she can't remember. Illari doesn't remember most of her dreams, not unless they wake her up in cold sweat and haunt her with memories of people whose faces are burned into her mind. This is nothing like that, though she feels a zing on her skin and a slight race to her heart. There's limited space in her cave, so when she leaves bed to try and take a quick walk outside to hopefully burn some of this random energy, that's when she gets a clear sight of Jack.
She hadn't known this was how he slept, head slumped sideways as he rests in one of the only chairs she has, arms folded over themselves. As her eyes quickly adjust to the dark, she spots his visor discarded atop the dining table.
Illari's not sure if his super soldier blood stops him from shivering from the cold night, but it's still uncanny to see him with no external layers to keep him warm. He never said anything, never complained, and for the first time in a long time, she feels guilty over something new.
Quietly, she grabs a spare blanket from her small section of storage in the back of the cave, and cautiously drapes it over Jack's shoulders.
After that day, she gives up on the sabotage, and lets him stay unbidden. The feeling that there’s something off about this entire situation doesn't fade, but Illari is becoming well used to that itching unease under her skin. Nowadays, nothing feels as it should.
But eventually, the unease settles into genuine curiosity. Jack is complacent, Jack helps out, but this isn't the Jack that she's been taught so thoroughly about. With no real indication that he plans to leave any time soon, Illari dares to ask.
“What happened to you?” she blurts out in the middle of dinner.
Her appetite hasn't been the largest lately—maybe because she has excess energy to burn from her new relatively sedimentary lifestyle—so whenever they eat dinner, it’s more like Illari sits quietly at the makeshift table while Jack occupies himself with eating. They don’t talk to each other much during (or at all, really), maybe a few short conversations scattered here and there, but the silence is rather comfortable compared to filling it with needless words.
Wryly, she thinks it's almost too domestic, if home meant an old man staying around like a stray cat fed one too many times. The thought stirs something in her chest unpleasantly, so she never lets herself linger on it for too long.
Today it means Illari's mind wanders off into another field whose weeds seem to never stop growing no matter how many times she picks them. Just what is the full truth of Overwatch, and how does Jack fit into it all?
Illari may have rigorously studied the rise and fall of them, but she knows full well that history will paint whatever picture it wants the rest of the world to see.
(Her historians will adamantly say that she's not a killer, but a survivor. These two things are not mutually exclusive like everyone wants her to believe. If she is so innocent, why not tell the story in full?)
Illari's outburst ends up surprising them both. The spoonful of food held in Jack’s hand stops just barely past the tips of his lips. His face contorts for a fraction of a second, before he slowly lowers the spoon back into a bowl. He says coldly, “they don't teach that in schools nowadays?”
“They did. But you're here,” Illari points out the obvious, struggling to find a way to talk about this without it being shut down entirely, “and… you shouldn’t be. Clearly there’s something missing.”
“I don't go asking about whatever tragic past you have, do I?” he says harshly, and Illari can't help but flinch. She's never heard him so upset before, stoic persona shattered before her very eyes leaving only pieces of misplaced rage that try to cut her deep.
But she does anger well too, feels it warm her skin as easy as breathing. “I had to destroy what little remained of my people while you just got to sit there and watch, I even told you what happened with them—with me. Sorry if I’m curious what a deadman is still sticking around for.”
“I never wanted to go in there in the first place, you needed me to help fight your battles. If you didn't want someone else privy to your baggage, then maybe you should’ve made a better plan.”
Illari hates how she lets the words get to her, how it twists her stomach something awful. She doesn't even know this man that well, and yet that doesn't stop the piercing pain. Evidently, she got too comfortable. “If staying was such a hassle, then why are you still here? Why waste your time with me?”
“You want the truth?”
“That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
“I—” in an instant, all the fight deflates in him, and he runs a hand through ivory hair, gaze cast downward, “I don't know. Or maybe the worst part is that I do. I see some of myself in you, carrying all that responsibility and acting like it's the only choice you have. I know where that leads, kid, and trust me it's nowhere good. I stayed ‘cus I'm dumb enough to think I can make some difference before you end up like me. You deserve a better future than that.”
Illari doesn't know what to say to that, so she lets silence speak for her.
It's a heavy one, filled with implications she’d rather not face right now. At least she finally got an answer as to why he's still sticking around. It’s obvious in hindsight when Illari considers the conversation right before his supposed departure. Knowing the truth should be a comfort, but all it does is sink her stomach, makes her feel sick for an entirely different reason, and quickly fades to resignation. Some things never change, do they?
“I don't need you to babysit me,” Illari finally says, cutting the silence with a steeled voice.
He looks up at her, surprised. “That’s not what I—”
“But you are,” she interrupts, “you’re watching over me like I'm some sort of pet project. Do you think I’m something broken that needs to be fixed, too?”
Jack draws in his eyebrows, confused. "Who told you that?”
“You all think it when you see me, I can feel it in the stares. Like I'm some sort of victim that needs to be saved from themselves. Save it for the memorial, I don't need your pity.”
“I can't speak for anyone but myself, but what I'm showing definitely ain't pity,” He affirms. “I’m just trying to stop a disaster before it happens, like I've always done. This road you're on, it ends in misery and death, with nothing more to show for it. Think I’m qualified enough to say that, at least.”
“Like I’m not already there?” Illari hisses out. “You told me you had people who could help me before? Why don't you take your own advice, and go to them instead of projecting all your problems onto me? I’m not you.”
He winces at that, and Illari calls it fair game for his lowblow earlier. It isn't satisfying in the slightest. “My time is over, but you still have plenty left to make the right choices. You think you've seen just how far you can sink but trust me when I say there is no bottom.”
“How would you know what's right for me? You don't even know me.”
“I don't need to know you to know that no-one can sustain how you're trying to live.”
Illari laughs, devoid of all humor. “I'm so tired of people telling me what to do. I'm finally free to choose my own path, and suddenly it's wrong? Can I not do anything for myself?”
“Agency’s got nothing to do with it kid—”
“And stop calling me that!” Illari shouts, slamming her fists down on the table. She feels the energy coursing through her, knows good and well she should calm down before something bad can happen, but she's just so tired of it all. “I’m not some clueless little girl, so stop acting like it! I trained my whole life for this, and then I screwed it up. Don't tell me I can just leave this all behind, because I can't. Carrying on the legacy of my people is the least I can do after everything, don't you get that?”
Jack eyes her warily, but he doesn't back down. Of all the things she expects him to say, it isn't— “How old were you?”
“…What?”
“When you started training to become an Inti Warrior, what age was it?”
She freezes. “Why? It doesn't matt—”
“If it doesn't matter, then answer the question. How old were you?”
The question lingers, and Illari doesn't want to think about it but it's impossible to stop its tracks from forming in her mind.
Too young. Doesn't matter what she says, the answer is clear in everything else surrounding it.
Jack takes the silence for the answer it is, and nods grimly. “Guess I was wrong earlier. Agency's got everything to do with it.”
She wants to scream. She wants to punch him in the face. “So you think you have me all figured out? Are you my therapist now?”
He grunts. “No, but I am gonna ask you some questions like one. Earlier you said all you wanted was the truth? Well so do I. I’ll stop acting like I know you once you show me something worth believing.”
Illari should shut him down, but rises to the challenge instead. “Ask.”
Like a flip is switched, Jack’s posture straightens, eyes attentive and sharp as he folds his hands in front of himself. Briefly, she wonders if he ever acted as an interrogator, or perhaps recruited people first hand for Overwatch. It reminds her of how quickly this argument has moved away from its original topic. His voice is curt, to the point. “What’s your big plan? What are you doing right now?”
“I want to preserve the memory of the Inti Warriors. This place needs a protector, and now that I'm the last one left, it’s up to me to fulfill that role,” Illari recites what she's told herself her whole life, been made to believe without a shadow of a doubt, but Jack isn't convinced.
He leans back in his chair, shaking his head. “That’s not a plan. And last I checked, you destroyed any remnants of your people except yourself. Sounds like your life’s what needs preserving.”
Illari pointedly ignores his second comment. “You don't plan to protect, you just do. There's no active threats for me to deal with right now, except—” she frowns, “except Oasis maybe, but I don't know why they're still here, now that the data is gone. I’ll wait until they do something else to strike.”
“Waiting ‘till they act is risky, and a bad move. What you need, is intel.”
“I could ask Sombra.”
“I told you, bad idea to put any trust in her.”
“You seemed to trust her enough to come here.”
“I don't have the luxury for choosing trustworthy sources right now,” Jack refutes, “besides, she has her uses. Just as long as you expect to be used too. Sombra doesn't do anything without coming out on top, and what exactly do you have to trade?”
Illari's not stupid—she’s well aware of how people like Sombra work. She got lucky last time with her information request, but there's no telling just how far she can push Sombra’s supposed goodwill.
There's a chance Illari’s already been taken advantage of by Sombra and she just hasn't realized it yet. Some grand plan set in motion by the elusive hacker, one where Illari is just one errant cog amongst many. Those odds don't bother her as much as they should. Illari's not exactly sure she has anything left to lose, after all. What could Sombra possibly screw her over with?
“I could get the information myself?” Illari offers for the sake of it.
Jack actually laughs at that, much to her chagrin. “No offense, but I don't think you have the patience or skillset for that. Oasis isn't an entity you can shoot out of existence, despite how much I wish it was.”
She throws her hands up, exasperated. “Then how, exactly, do you imagine I get that intel?”
“You don't. You leave it to the adul—” he stops, and Illari is truly grateful for it. There's only so much anger she can defuse. “…To the people who can do some real damage to them. Even if you were to destroy the facility here somehow, all that would do is make them curious. Or angry. Either one is bad news for Runasaapi.”
“So you think I should do nothing?”
“I think you should actually make a plan if this is the road you're so determined to take.”
“My first plan worked out, and you went along with it. Why are you doubting me so hard now? You don't think I can do it again?” Illari throws out. She's used to being doubted—it was practically a drill when training to try to sew confidence in themselves—yet there's something especially infuriating at Jack’s clipped tone.
“You did good, I'll give you that,” he says, before pursing his lips, “but if I had said no to helping you infiltrate Oasis, would you have gone in on your own?”
“You wouldn't have said—”
“That's not an answer,” Jack sternly interrupts, and again Illari feels like she's been transported back in training, being scolded over a simple mistake. “I don't care about what actually happened, or the likely hoods. I want to know, if you didn’t get any help, would you have gone into that base all by yourself?”
For this question, Illari has never been sure of anything more, though she knows how it's going to be received. She straightens her posture, staring Jack down with conviction as she states, “yes. If you didn't help me, I'd have found a way, no matter what.”
“I’d say what if you got hurt, but I don’t think that’d be a deterrent for you.”
“It wouldn't be, as long as I could erase the information they had on the Inti Warriors. The rest… doesn't matter.”
“Then what if they captured you? You’d be a prime subject to do research on. If O’dearian’s employment is any indication, then they’d probably be happy to experiment on you, too. You’d be willing to put yourself through that?”
Who? “I would, because there'd still be a chance to do what I needed then. Or, at least I could escape to try again,” Illari says, before giving a gallows smile, “and if there isn't? Then I’ve already blown myself up once. At least this time, I wouldn't regret it. ”
Jack is not amused. “And what if they didn't even bother? Decided to just shoot you clean?”
“That was always a possibility, even with you helping. Every one of those outcomes were. They could've seen through the ruse, or came back quicker than we thought,” Illari laughs, then softly says, “Do you think I hadn't considered these possibilities when I put together the plan? One of the things I was taught, is to always be prepared for the worst. We don't have the luxury of outside help, or an overwhelming military force. Just our skill against the odds. Even though we trained as a unit, it was as bullets in a chamber, not cogs in a machine. Collective, but ultimately independent. You had to be strong, because if everyone else fell, then it was up to you to take care of the community. You don't think I’m being practical, but I don't think you understand.”
Her hands shake, from anger or something else, she couldn't say. She takes a deep breath, willing the weakness to stop, before continuing on, “this is all I have left, everything my life has built up to. I am the last Inti Warrior that will ever be in existence, and from the very moment I started training, I knew what I was in for. The responsibility that would be placed on my shoulders. So what could've happened that day, doesn't matter. I would still go through with my plan regardless. Because I’d have to. For the sake of my community, and for the sake of the people I've already failed. Some things are just more important than living. You used to be a soldier, didn't you? Shouldn't you know that?”
Jack’s face twists, and it's the second time today she's seen him upset, perhaps even more than before. “I know what oath I swore. What risks I took, what promises I made to my country — to the world during Overwatch. Don't kid yourself into believing your little sacrificial crusade is anything like that.”
Illari could almost laugh again. All this time spent wondering about Overwatch, and this is where he brings it up. “Why? Because it's less people? Not as grand as having the fate of the world rest on your shoulders? You claimed we were so similar earlier, now suddenly it's changed?”
“I was fully conscious of everything I did. I chose my own path in life, even with all my regrets. You're so deluded you don't even realize how worthless all that sentiment you carry is.”
She recoils as if slapped, “worthless? How—”
Jack stands suddenly, chair scraping against the ground roughly. “You've. Accomplished. Nothing. and you never will at this rate. All you've done is destroy things, and it seems you're content with adding yourself into the mix. Protector of the people? In the few weeks I've been here, you haven't gone into that city once. Not openly, not without something to cover up who you really are.”
“It isn't that simple!” Illari yells as she rises to meet him.
“It’s not supposed to be! It never is, and it never will be,” Jack lowers his voice, but the words hit even harder, “if you were really prepared for this, you’d know that, but as it is, you’re a sorry excuse of a protector. You're not wrong—you have failed your people. It's just not in the way you think.”
It is different to hear the words you've accepted long ago be said outloud, so certain that it feels it can't be anything but the truth. Illari wants to refute it, on principle if nothing else, but she can't muster up the strength. If even Jack can see it, then she was right all along. There's nothing left to fight but herself, as the back of her eyes start to sting. She starts to look away.
“Look at me.” Jack demands as he leans over the table, eyes piercing hers as he looks down on her. She does. “Where do you see yourself in a year? Two? Five? You told me you'll know when this ‘mission’ of yours ends? Fine. But I haven't even seen you start it yet. So far it seems like the only place you'll be carrying your legacy to, is an early grave. If that's what you want, then go ahead, keep following this path. If not, then how about answering your own question. What happened, to you?”
.
.
.
.
“I'm tired,” Illari says, then appends as she slumps back down into her seat, “of everything. I'm tired of people like you coming into my life thinking you can steer me on the ‘right path’, I'm tired of believing someday the looks from everyone else will stop, I'm tired—” she struggles to continue, “I’m tired of still being here, when the people I loved most died because of my mistakes. I’m tired of not knowing why—why I'm still alive and they're not, why I screwed everything up, why I can't seem to—”
She cuts herself off with a hiccup, and doesn't even bother trying to finish the stream of regrets. These days the list is a neverending torture.
So many why's and why nots, so much confusion surrounding what she's supposed to do now. Illari prepped her whole life to become an Inti Warrior, sacrificed everything just to have the honor of wearing the solar threading, and now that she has it, what’s she supposed to do now?
Even if her ceremony had succeeded, Illari doesn't think she'd know the answer. Even with the choice being decided for her, even with her bowing to the wishes of her community day after day, Illari's still not sure what there is to see at the end of the tunnel. All that effort, wasted on her.
Why is it so hard to accept that? Why can't she just be who she's supposed to be? One focused, single minded goal, and she can't even manage that on her own?
On accident, she lets slip, “why can't I seem to do anything right?”
Rhetorical, yet Jacks voice cuts through the self hatred haze with a clear voice. “That’s the first thing you've said tonight I’m convinced you actually believe.”
The very last thing she wants right now is to suffer more of him. “Just… stop talking. I’ve–I haven't lived up to what I should be. You don't need to keep going on, I get it.”
Jack sighs, sitting back down. “You're missing the forrest for the trees, kid—” Illari can’t even muster the annoyance needed at him still referring to her as a child, “—it's not about what you should be, it's what you could. Only you can decide that. Not your people, not your past. Not even the duty you were sworn into. Nothing is more important than living, and I haven't spent the last thirty years of my life protecting the future just to watch you throw yours away like this.”
The words roll right off Illari, though not intentionally. It's just that now she's physically tired as well as emotionally, adrenaline stretched as far as it could carry her for the night. She stands, stepping away from the table as she gently pushes in her chair.
“I’m going to bed,” Illari says, and doesn't bother waiting for a reply before moving to cross to the otherside of the room. The downside of her relatively small space, is that her bed and dining room is essentially one entity. She's never had a problem with it until now, when she'd rather not be anywhere near Jack.
“Illari,” Jack calls after her, and she stops to listen. Not like she has much choice but to hear. “I said we were similar? I don't want us to be, I want you to avoid that fate like hell. But if you keep going on without looking back, then you're gonna reach the end of the line quicker than you think. If you want to know what happened to me, maybe ask yourself some questions first. Might find some of the answers right under your nose.”
Illari doesn't comment. Doesn’t think she’s supposed to. Crawls up and into her bed, and tries to fall asleep in the new silence. It lasts for a few minutes before she hears the light scraping of a spoon against bowl, Jack seemingly continuing his forgotten meal, undoubtedly cold since the start of their argument.
She clutches her pillow, and wills tears not to fall.
Reflection is not something Illari is particularly mindful of. Sure, she's used to bettering her form after a long day of combat drills, or strategizing the best way to tackle a theorized battle plan, but when it comes to anything not especially tangible, reflection is something she's never been taught.
Most people probably don't need to be taught how to feel things, but then again, Illari's never been most people. Most people also haven't had the concept of being weak so thoroughly ripped apart in front of them, an utterly unacceptable state to ever be in as a guardian to your people. Never falter, never hesitate, and never let your emotions carry you — only weaklings choose that over duty.
She still doesn't think that's wrong, but she is starting to believe that isn't the complete picture to this.
After their talk, or more accurately, being talked down to by Jack, Illari tries to hide herself. The cave is not nearly big enough for this to ever be a feasible thing, so she settles on actively avoiding him, finding miscellaneous things to do outside in the mountains, paying frequent visits to Chuño (not that she minds that) making sure Runasapi is still safe from a distance. Anything that keeps her away.
Preparing food is still necessary, as is eating despite how little she does nowadays, but Illari finds more than enough reasons not to sit at that dinner table again. It's reminiscent of the short time when he first decided to stay, except instead of elaborate schemes deployed to try to get him to leave, Illari flat out ignores him.
It's both intentional, and not. Illari will admit she's still a bit bitter about it all, but mostly she just needs time to herself to think. About herself, what's left, whether or not she should even pay mind to any of Jack's words. It feels like all this thinking gets her nowhere, yet confusingly someplace closer to finding out the answers she so desperately seeks of herself.
A tiring endeavor. For the first time in her life, Illari feels bad for the philosophers in the world. Half-heartedly, she misses the days where someone told her what she should be doing, what was important and what not.
But then that's how she's ended up here. Alone, confused, and not able to pick apart the pieces of what makes her, her and cauterize them together again.
Well, relatively alone.
Illari exits her cave for some fresh air, and spots the back of Jack standing in the grass beside the makeshift pathway she's constructed that leads to her hideout. It's an odd sight, his neck craned up to watch the sun slowly set above him. Appreciative, or contemplative, she wonders. Illari wouldn't think much of it, if not for the fact that the sun has barely started its descent so he's practically staring at it in its full beauty. Visor or not, that's not very smart of him.
Slowly, she approaches. The grass softly crunches underfoot, no aspect of stealth to be had. Illari doesn't bother announcing herself otherwise. "I don't think staring at the sun is a good idea."
Jack's shoulders tense, before slowly relaxing. He chuckles. "Don't worry, I've got special eyes. And my visor's enough to negate retina damage."
"Whatever you say."
None of them say anything for a few seconds, before Jack starts, "didn't think you cared enough to try to warn me about my habits."
Illari can read between the lines. “Did you expect me to never talk to you again?”
“Maybe. Wouldn't put it past you.”
“That’d be awkward, considering you practically live here. Too much effort would go into avoiding you." Illari doesn't mention how she's considered doing that very thing, a multitude of times, actually, even before they had their talk, and doesn't draw attention to how she literally has been doing it for the past few days.
Jack doesn't mention it either, shrugging, "I'm leaving eventually. You wouldn't have to suffer the company for too long."
“When is that happening?”
“Soon,” he says, the picture of non descript. Illari lets out a noncommittal hum in response. She wonders if the other day pushed up his timeline and he actually doesn't know anymore, or if he plans to leave without so much as a warning. Illari could ask, but she doubts he'd tell her straight.
Or maybe he would. He's been brutally honest with her so far. It's a familiar, yet ultimately distinct quality similar to how she'd been raised. Coals don't actually become diamonds under pressure, but Jack seems to think she's neither nor—he doesn't think she's anything, but still he…
Illari must be silent for too long, stare blanked on thought, because Jack takes off his visor as he heaves a heavy sigh, turning to look at her with an uncertain gaze. “Look, I'm sorry for the other day. I'm not going to lie to you and say I didn't mean it, but maybe it wasn't my place to say anything at all. If you want, I can leave—"
"No, that's not—" Illari hastily interrupts. At his surprise, she folds into herself, suddenly nervous, "that's… not why I came to talk to you."
"Alright," Jack seems even more confused. "So—uh—why did you?"
What did she want? Nothing really. As if an unforeseen timer in her head hit zero, and she'd allowed herself to finally talk to him again. Illari didn't think about the why's — she just wanted to. Is that not normal?
For her, maybe not. In lieu of anything else, Illari goes with the thing she's wanted this whole time. She feels like a kid again, uncharacteristically shy as she asks, “I want to learn more about Overwatch. And… you.”
She doesn't miss the flicker of hesitation that crosses his face. "You still want to know what happened to me?"
Illari nods.
He clicks his teeth. "I'll be honest, I was kind of hoping you'd change your mind after that."
She casts her eyes down to the ground. "I just want to understand you. I guess–you don't have to, if you don't want to."
The words ring hollow even to herself. A part of Illari is resentful she offered an out at all. The timing may have been too soon since their argument, but it's not like she was ever given an out to difficult situations. Fortunately, Jack acquiesces, saying with a sigh, “dammit. Sorry. You just—you’re asking about a hell of a lot. What happened to me? Too many things to count. Much less explain. You're gonna have to narrow it down some.”
“Then start at the beginning, where—” everything started to fall apart, “—where you started to become who you are today.”
“The very beginning?” He grumbles, “I hope you're comfortable being on your feet for a while, because it's not a short one.”
True to his word, he starts at the beginning: before his supposed death, before he was the infamous Strike Commander Morrison, before he became one of the few survivors of the enhanced soldier program, before he was a soldier—he was John Francis Morrison, a kid with ideals lofty enough to change the world.
The stories she'd been taught tend to start later at his time in the soldier program, the rest of his life brushed over because they'd been deemed unimportant. As she listens to him openly talk about his family and the desire held to make them proud, listens to the wistful tone in his voice when he reflects on his dream of changing the world for the better and how they match up to what he's accomplished—what he's become, Illari knows that decision was anything but right.
She doesn't miss a beat, absorbing every single word without interrupting to ask the many questions on her mind. Distantly, Illari notes how far the sun has fallen in the background since he started talking, blue sky blending with orangish hues, and somewhere along the line the two of them ended up sitting on the edge of the walkway. It was never going to be a short story, but even with so much added context it doesn't feel like enough.
He reaches the tale of Overwatch, the hills he had to climb, their victory in the omnic crisis short-lived as they now had a world to fix too. The problems that rose, the doubts that managed to crack the surface of Overwatch's impenetrable shield, outside and in. Every choice he explains beautifully colors in the dull picture painted for her in the past. History is so much more than the concrete, it's in the perspectives of its survivors and what remains after. Even now she isn't certain this is the full truth, and that makes Illari excited.
(It's better to focus on that than the fact all this is a little too familiar. Driven by a sense of duty and innate desire to protect people, choosing to sacrifice any future you could have had for the sake of them. Nothing's more important than living—and yet, when did he? She doesn't bother asking, thinks she knows well what his answer will contain.
Illari gets what he meant now, seeing himself in her, and that almost hurts more than his harsh words had.)
“—and then…” Jack sighs heavily, nearing the tale of the end of Overwatch. Knowing what she knows now, she briefly thinks there's some weight too heavy for him too, “well. You know the and then’s. I’m sure they taught you all about it.”
Illari shakes her head, “I want to know how it happened from you, not from what they decided to teach us.”
His lips curl into a crooked smile. “Smart kid. Don't trust anything you're told, and that includes anything from me. If what I say next doesn't line up with what you learned, which one would you believe more? Your curated books, or the stories from a deadman walking? And if you can't trust one, can you trust any source?”
“So you're saying I shouldn't take any of your advice, and that I should ignore you?” she smugly asks. It's more comfortable to banter than she'd expected, considering.
“Smartass,” he grumbles, “I’m asking because that's the source of it all. Questions and trust,” Jack scrunches his face, “I didn't question one of my commanders enough, and he broke my trust for it with Blackwatch, broke the public's trust in us. Overwatch was started to answer the question—who would save us all from this crisis?” he sighs, “It ended much the same way. We were the enemy now, and someone had to ask when we were going to be stopped. The public’s trust had run out, and with it, their leniency."
Jack lets that settle for a second before continuing, "even in Overwatch's unraveling, the air was ripe with questions. Why didn't I see this coming? Why didn't I put a stop to it when I knew something was up? Why couldn't the nations see that we were needed, that we only did what was necessary to keep global peace? You don't save the world with a thumb up your ass, someone had to step up and make the hard calls for everyone, and if—” Jack stops himself from whatever tirade it seems he was about to go on with a shake of his head. “Well. It's too late for if’s. The last question Commander Morrison had on his mind, and the one I’m still seeking answers for today, is who the hell decided to try and blow us up in Swiss?”
That end comment cuts short Illari's slow digestion of all the information tossed at her so far, and her eyes widen. “So the explosion, it really wasn't..?”
“No. A captain always goes down with his ship. I’m no arbiter of justice, but I always believed in what we were doing. Consequences be damned. I would never be as cowardly as to bomb my own headquarters to escape prosecution,” Jack confirms, before raising an eyebrow, "did you think I lied when I said Reyes and I had nothing to do with it?"
"Not… exactly," Illari hesitates, "but you faking your death to escape the law and lying to me about it seemed just as believable as the story itself not being true. It's not like you're the most trustworthy person to meet."
"Fair enough."
“Could someone else have done it though? From Overwatch, I mean. You mentioned rising tensions, could—”
“They didn't. Trust me, I know.”
“But you just said one of your commanders broke your trust. Could you trust any of them at that point?”
“Now you're really getting it,” he says it almost proud, before his face scrunches in disdain, “Reyes is a bastard, but he wouldn't have done something like that either. He had his reasons for doing what he did with Blackwatch. I don't blame him for it, I blame him for being so careless. In another life, maybe that was me, so fed up with the bureaucracy in the world I snapped. On the wrong day, at the wrong time.” He waves a hand, “anyway, I know the people I chose to be on my team well enough to know they'd never do something like that. In Blackwatch? That's all Reyes. I still doubt it though.”
“You don't… you don't refer to him in the past.” At Jack’s confused look, Illari elaborates, “you said is, and not was, when you mentioned Reyes. Is he alive too?”
His lip curls. “That's another story, and it's one I don't even know all of,” he says, before nodding his head at her affirmingly, “good catch. Surprised you caught it at all.”
Illari doesn't offer how she's had to practice switching between the two tenses herself. She says, moreso to herself, "so of the six founding members, four of you are still alive?"
"Five," Jack meets her confused stare, "there's five of us still out there, last I checked. Taking a wild guess that doesn't match what you've been told?"
"It doesn't."
"Alright. List them for me and I'll tell you exactly who's still kicking."
She complies. "There's the people who should be dead, Mina Liao, you, Reyes, Ana—"
"Let me stop you right there, Amari is still alive."
“What?” Illari repeats. She racks her brain for facts stored. Ana Amari, world renown sniper and another commander at Overwatch. Presumed K.I.A even before the group was officially disbanded. Body… not found. “She's not dead either?”
"Not unless I met a ghost. Tracked her down a while back to Egypt, fell into a trap set by Reyes - long story. Thought she was dead too, to be honest but I should've known nothing could take her down. Still a damn good shot, even with only one eye.”
Illari frowns, tapping her knee in thought. So that's three original prolific members still alive despite general consensus. She thinks about the other prime members who she’d been taught about, half remembered pictures and health statuses flooding her memory, and wonders. “Do any of you stay dead?”
“Heh. If I find out, I'll let you know.”
Illari mulls things over for a few seconds, before daring to ask, "you don't speak highly of Reyes, but you do her… if you don't mind me asking, how come she's not with you?"
"We disagree on a few fundamental things, so she's more my shadow than a partner. Amari thought it was time I let things go. Leave Overwatch in the past and start thinking about my future," Jack snorts, "sound familiar?"
She side-eyes him. "Yet, here you are."
"Here I am." He shrugs, "never said I was good at taking my own advice. Or I guess, someone else's. Takes one lost cause to know another."
Illari frowns, but doesn't say anything further.
The sun has officially set now, moon in full bloom, and Illari takes time to appreciate the sight. She's always found it just as beautiful as the sun, if not more haunting. It invokes a contemplative environment, compared to the energizing rays of the day. Maybe she'll stay up longer from now on to fully bask in it, since she'll have all the time in the world to think.
Tonight though, Illari stands with a small yawn, raising her arms for a quick stretch. Then she breaks the comfortable silence, looking down on Jack. “Thank you. For telling me all this.”
He mirrors the action, brushing invisible dirt off his knees. “I picked you apart the other day, fell into old habits of mine. This, was me making it even,” he folds his arms, "though I'm curious, why were you so adamant in asking me this stuff?"
"No real reason. I just wanted to know."
"Really?" Jack asks, and he almost sounds suspicious. "Nothing else?"
"Yes." Illari looks him up and down, "what, do you think I'm trying to spy on you?"
"You'd make a terrible spy, your face is too expressive," it's said matter-of-fact, no measure of humor in his voice.
She ignores him, and takes a glance back towards her cave. "I think… I'm going to go to bed. Sleep on everything you told me today."
"Sleeping on my words? Sounds like good fuel for nightmares."
"I'll be fine. I've had worst dreams," Illari says, before awkwardly turning to him. Things feel incomplete if she just walks away, but this urge to give him a hug is so strange she won't commit to it. She settles on the parting words, "goodnight. Sleep well when you do," before pausing, "maybe someday you'll go into the city and buy yourself a sleeping bag, or at least a blanket. Anything is more comfortable than your one chair."
"Only if you give me directions," Jack proposes, and Illari tilts her head in consideration.
"If I do, then I'll make sure to point out a few other stores to check out so you can buy—" Illari stops, before squinting, "do you even have any money to buy anything?"
"I'll find a way."
"Do not steal from my people."
This, Illari superstitiously believes, was her unwittingly setting the stage for the next three weeks. She finds it all a little too coincidental to be anything but a case of speaking the future into existence.
There's nothing wrong for the first week. Her and Jack fall into the familiar habits of their new norm of a life. It's not hard to pretend like their argument never took place, at least on the surface. Casual banter and this false domesticity come oddly like second nature, but Illari can still feel the cuts from his sharp words, exposing a layer beneath her being she didn't think would ever be revealed. Too deep to heal naturally, but her hands have never been made to nurture, not without a weapon in hand, so she doesn't know how to stitch herself together before it's too late. Illari can't even recognize the extent of the damage that's been done to her — more than his words, more than the accident — and how would she start?
To that end, it was easier not to think about it. Jack doesn't push her to, not since that conversation, and now that she knows his history Illari doubts he will again. It wouldn't matter anyways. What little he said was already enough to make her have doubts.
Things would be even easier if Illari didn't feel guilty. She considers this another failure for the notches, another instance of letting someone down because she couldn't do enough. Illari is quite tired of trying to meet arbitrary expectations set by herself and others.
Then week two rolls around and Illari further learns that life doesn't wait for you to be ready.
She enters her makeshift home early afternoon in the middle of week two to find Jack leaning against the table, attention solely fixed on something metal and circular in his hands. Illari had given him the directions to a few stores where he could buy beautiful textiles to be made into a bed cover (or clothing, if he so chooses. Which he should, since even his special uniform will wear out eventually) as well as a spot with more than a few market stalls for him to pursue. Assuming their location hasn't changed since she's been there. She doubts it, but not with total uncertainty.
From this angle Illari can't make out exactly what it is Jack's holding, but notes that it's design isn't something she recognizes from this far. She looks around the room and takes in the lack of supplies. No clothes, bed, blanket, or souvenirs in sight, save for whatever he's holding in his hands.
“Did you have trouble… finding—” Illari starts to ask, before the stifling environment finally sinks in. He startles at the sound of her voice, eyes wide as they flicker between her and the item in his hands, which is already a tell in of itself that something isn't right.
His face quickly settles into something more grave, and his eyes attach themselves back to the face of the object.
The last time he looked even remotely like this it ended in an unpleasant discussion. Illari straightens her posture and cautiously braces as she begins to ask, “what h—”
“I went to visit the memorial today — the… one within the city,” he finally says, and Illari shuts her mouth so hard she bites her tongue. There's a metallic taste in her mouth, and it's hard to tell whether it's blood or just palpable disgust at herself when he continues. “You don't talk about it, and God do I know why. But it was on the way, and I let curiosity get the better of me. Have you seen it?”
She swallows thickly. “Yes.”
Jack nods in response, but his gaze is still fixed on the trinket he flips over and over between his fingers. "And when was that?"
"I don't know… it's been over a year, maybe? I don't—" she starts to say need to remember their names, but she does. She just doesn't need the memorial to do it. "There's no reason for me to visit. I'll always remember."
"Did you notice anything off about it? Something that wasn't supposed to be there?"
Illari's hackles raise. "No, why? Did something happen?"
“Well,” Jack clears his throat, straightening his back, “when I looked down at the plaque, I happened to spot this—”
He raises the trinket for her to finally get a good look. It has a design etched intricately into it, oddly familiar, and the reason why clicks no sooner than she had been shown it.
Her stomach plummets, mind racing. “That's… that's Overwatch’s insignia, isn't it?”
“It is.”
“Why is it here?”
“Wish I could tell you,” he says, and then it's back to staring at the medal, gaze far, far away. “You know on the road, I used to hear whispers about some new organization out there, and then I’d hear the name Overwatch get thrown into the mix. But it was always rumors, no concrete evidence, so I never paid them much mind. Mostly because I thought, ‘who’d go and do such a stupid thing like that, claiming to be Overwatch?’“ Jack scoffs, then his tone turns surprisingly fond as he shakes his head in disbelief, “now that I think about it, think I know a few idiots who would. Guess there really is smoke where there's fire.”
“What do they want?”
“Don’t know for sure, but I have one good idea,” he grimaces, “recruitment.”
Illari feels her heart rate tick up, and it's her turn to get lost in the history of the medallion, staring blankly. "Why here?"
“You're young, a little green around the edges but you have your wits about you—mostly—and you’re trained to fight. Wouldn't be the worst choice if it were up to me,” Jack says in his usual appraising manner, and it's not comforting in the slightest.
“That's not what I—how would they even know about me?”
“Could be they didn't. It was placed at the memorial. Good chance whoever came thought you all were dead, that info we had on the Inti Warriors has to be almost a decade old now after all.”
She snaps her head up, staring at Jack incredulously. “You knew about us for that long?”
“Overwatch knew everything there was to know about people kid, and it's not like your people were the most inconspicuous. We just didn't know how you all were made. Any potential threats, allies — all on hard copies somewhere safe in our facilities. There was too much instability after the Crisis not to keep a close eye on everyone, regardless if it was sanctioned.”
“And that's exactly why you were shut down,” Illari snarks, but all Jack does is shrug.
“Out of all my regrets, Overwatch isn't one of them. We did our job, and we did it well. If the world couldn't see that, then that's on them.” He sets the medallion on the table behind him, and folds his arms, “considering someone's out there recruiting again, clearly we were still needed.”
"And how much of that instability was caused by Overwatch 'doing it's job'?"
Jack's jaw tightens. "Welcome to the real world. Sometimes the greater good requires you to topple some walls that'll come crashing down on others. Maybe if we had more time to fix things, we could've. As it stands, we'll never know."
Illari has an extensive amount of knowledge about the damage Overwatch left in its wake, intentional and not. She was made to do a project on it once, an exercise in critical thinking as she brainstormed the ways in which Overwatch could've done better in minimizing the aftershocks of their operations in execution. Practice, for her own future. Hindsight is always clearer, but to undermine just how badly things turned out…
Right now, she doesn't bother arguing. There are more pressing matters to attend to. "So you think they want me? How do we know it's not a trap?"
“We don't. But I can tell you first hand that this medallion is the real thing. Either someone here is a hardcore fan and decided to throw a relic away at the memorial for some unknown reason, someone is trying to spring the most unbelievable trap, or there’s an Overwatch out there that's conveniently scouting for new members in Runasapi. Couldn’t tell you which one is more unlikely, honestly.”
Illari mulls it over, considers if this were actually real, what would she do? Before she can fully develop an answer, she decides to ask the man that's already been a member. "What do you think about it?"
"What do I think? I don't."
"Jack," she says pointedly. They both know that's not true, and from the way he sucks his teeth and looks away, he knows that, too.
"I think it's a waste of time, just like I did when I first received the recall. We don't need the fancy title to do the right thing, all it does is draw suspicion and attention," he says, "but you're not me, and they're not asking about me. Not anymore. Whatever this is, is your choice. Not mine."
"The recall?" Illari hangs on, and from the way Jack winces, she wasn't supposed to, "what is that?"
"A while back I received a—distress signal, to put it simply. We had an emergency system designed to contact all Overwatch members in dire situations, and it was possible to send any message of your choosing," he admits, and Illari's eyes widen, "the fact that anyone used it was telling enough, but the message was a call to arms to all ex-agents. Clearly, I didn't respond."
Illari stalks forward angrily, "so you knew?! You conveniently left that out when you were telling me about Overwatch — even a few minutes ago, you only said you heard rumors!"
"Wasn't a lie. I didn't think Winston actually succeeded in getting people to come back, and it didn't seem important to tell you about the recall."
"Why would that not be important? Why couldn't you just say, 'the dead organization you want to know about isn't actually dead,' is that so hard? You tell me Ana is still alive, but not that?" She asks, annoyed. There's ignorance and willful ignorance, and she can't tell which one his lack of admission is.
"My Overwatch was dead, and it should stay that way," Jack stares her in the eyes defiantly, "and I'm not obligated to tell you everything about my life anyways. I told you it wasn't a short story. You can't expect me to explain decades of history in a few hours. Had to stop somewhere."
"Just say you didn't want to."
"Okay. I didn't want to. Does that change anything?"
Just that I can't trust you. Illari shelves that thought with an aggravated sigh. She feels lightheaded, dizzy from the overload of information she's received from this past month. But most of all, the surreal realization that there's apparently an Overwatch that exists, and wants her to join them. A clashing of ideals war in her heart, churning her stomach, and she laments, "I can't go."
"Why not?"
"You know why I can't. I have a responsibility to my community, it wouldn't be fair to them."
"Well, I'm sure you know my thoughts on that."
"I do, so don't even start," Illari says with a warning. She can't handle that right now.
Jack shrugs. "Then you already know my response, too. "
“What if something happens while I'm gone, then? What if Oasis —”
“Whaever they would do, you wouldn't even know. Oasis works in secret. Their real operations. If something were to happen to your city, you wouldn't have a clue unless you stepped foot inside of it. And you and I both know that's not happening anytime soon.” When he notices Illari's heated glare, he meets it head-on, continuing, “I’m not going to sugar coat it for you, it's true. What we dealt with was only a fraction of their reach. People like them—like Moira O’Dearian—are powerful in ways you can't imagine. You can't do anything to them. Not by yourself.”
"You're one to talk. You're traveling the world as a one man army trying to uncover some grand conspiracy. Why can you do it alone, and not me?"
He chuckles bitterly. “This road isn't easy, and look where it's got me so far. More enemies than any friends, and a whole ‘lot of regrets. Not a path you should look to follow yourself if you have better options available. I have my own grievances with Overwatch, but that doesn't mean it should influence you," Jack smiles, wry. "Heh. Might even be good for you to be honest. You and that group are both so desperate to play the role of hero. Birds of a feather flock together and all that."
"And you're a hypocrite," Illari spits out.
"I know," he says, grim. "But you should realize this is a choice only you have full control over. Not me, not your people, and not whatever responsibility you think you have. Just you. How's your first real case of agency taste?"
Bitter.
Acidic, even. Or maybe that's the bile rising in the back of her throat. To consider this is a betrayal, even if Jack would disagree. She is rooted here in more than duty alone. This is her home, all she's known for the past eighteen years of her life. Her jadedness is not enough to forget the memories of home cooked meals, of warm smiles and a sense of belonging that used to feel so comforting. She remembers the faces of her peers, of the shopkeeper who let her have Chuño when she promised to take care of him, of the tens of faces who attended her ceremony each with congratulations on their tongues.
And yet, Illari can't help but consider. What would it be like, living down the mountain? What wonders if there for her to see for herself? Who are these people, trap or not? What would they think about her and everything she's done? What is going on outside the dome of her life that calls for something as drastic as a new Overwatch?
She shakes her head. "I don't want to leave my people, I-I've already failed them once. To abandon them like this would be—" Illari eyes pierce the ground, "I couldn't defend that, not even to myself. They deserve a better guardian than me, yes, but that doesn't mean nothing is the right alternative."
Jack is silent for a while, lost in thought. Then, he speaks, "you said you've visited the memorial, but have you seen the painting of you?"
That makes her freeze. "There's… a painting of me?"
He nods. "Yeah. Beautiful one, too. I can tell a lot of care went into it."
She hadn't known they… When, did they? Illari slowly drags her eyes off the ground to Jack's. "Why tell me this?"
"Because I don't know your people, but seems to me like they care about you. Not as their protector. You. I'm sure they'll understand you need to get away for a bit for your own sake. And if not? Screw them. At your core you will always be an Inti Warrior. Nothing can take that away from you, no matter how hard it might try. That's your cross to bear, but it's also the ticket to your freedom," he points to her, "your legacy follows you, you don't need to carry it. Wherever you go, whatever choices you make, your history will always be ingrained in it. Do them proud in whatever way you choose. No one can tell you otherwise."
Illari hangs her head, and finally starts to think.
Jack continues. "I'm not gonna persuade you either way, especially since I had my own choice to make in rejoining. But you wanna learn more about Overwatch? You just got handed front row seats to the Overwatch experience, and a directline to a couple other members from my time that you can pester with all the questions you want," Jack grunts, "and, I'm sure it wouldn't hurt to make some friends at your age. Little too young to be bonding with a fifty eight year old."
"I wouldn't call you a friend," she says more out of instinct than anything else, conscious mind preoccupied with thinking about more important things.
"Well until you actually make one, I'm the closest thing you've got. Otherwise you're at a net zero on the friends list. Not sure which is sadder to be honest."
Illari frowns, unsure of how her social life is even in consideration right now but plays along regardless. A distraction is a distraction. "No offense, but if they're from your era, I'm not sure I'd like to become friends with them. Especially if they're all like you."
Jack cocks an eyebrow. "I'm not supposed to take offense from that?"
"You've said worse to me."
He waves her away with his hand. "Well, it seems like this new Overwatch is out there gathering new blood. I'm sure there'll be plenty of faces I wouldn't recognize. Besides, of course they're not like me," he smirks, "Jack Morrison is one of a kind."
An attempt at lightening the mood, maybe. Or just a hint of his ego. In another scenario it might have worked, but with the crushing weight of this decision looming over her, it's not enough.
Jack must sense the mood, because his smirk drops, replaced by a serious thin line. "It's new company, new perspectives, and a new beginning, kid. Won't hurt to consider it, even if it's only for a second. You'd be surprised what new experiences can do for you. Whatever you decide to do, just make sure it's not something you'll regret months down the line. And if it is? Consider which decision you would've regretted more."
Illari takes a deep, steeling breath. "I don't think I can make this choice. Not now."
"You've got all the time in the world," he placates, before giving a half shrug, "not really, but no one's going to force you to make any decision, is my point. I know I won't say a single thing about it, unless you do first. Until then, you can pretend it doesn't exist, right up until the moment you can't anymore."
She squeezes her eyes shut, "then it doesn't exist. Not today."
"Okay. Not today," Jack says, and leaves the conversation there, pocketing the medallion. "Hard to tell what time it is from here, but. Are you going to bed?"
Illari is anything but tired, so she shakes her head, slowly opening her eyes. Jack looks at her curiously. She wants to ask what he plans to do for the rest of the day since he didn't end up getting any supplies, but dimly notes that other than busywork, there isn't much to do around here. She's certainly not in any mood for that herself, and she's hit her conversational limit for a while. What are either of them going to do then?
Suddenly, she has an idea. "Could you do something for me?"
"Sure."
"It's not too dark yet. Could you go into the city and buy me…" Illari hums, considering her choices. A sapo board would be nice, but she doesn't think it's going to be easy carrying it all the way over here. She settles on the easy option, "a deck of cards, if you can? I haven't played a game in ages."
Jack blinks, before grinning, "alright. Wish I could teach you clobber, but we'd need more hands. Could settle for euchre, I guess."
"Who said anything about you teaching me?"
"How about we trade? A game for a game. I'll teach you some of this old dog's tricks."
Illari manages a small smile. "Deal."
Week three is spent saying goodbye.
It's not a somber farewell, more inevitable. This was never going to last. From the moment Jack decided to stay instead of leaving there'd been an invisible timer ticking down for the both of them.
He doesn't tell her he's leaving, not immediately, but it's evident in every single thing that occurs that week. The card games they play that work to ease the burden hoisted on the both of them, the openness in which they talk to each other, the frequency — all so distinct from their other interactions this past month.
Illari isn't sad about it. To be honest, when she walked in to witness his utterly transfixed stare on the medallion, Illari knew Jack was leaving sooner rather than later. What she feels is a bit more resigned. Accepting, of the situation. Jack accomplished what he sought out to do, after all. Even Illari can't deny he's left an impact on her life, more than she could've ever expected in this short while knowing him.
Time will tell if it has been for the better or worse.
When there's no sand left in the hourglass, and it's finally Jack's time to leave, Illari sees him off.
She leans against the shell of her cave, waiting for him to exit. The good thing about him never getting a real chance to buy any bed supplies back in the city, is that there is practically nothing for him to pack up. He bought a small sling bag a couple days ago to take a few miscellaneous items (including the data drive containing the technical details of her failed ceremony. It's a little worrying how she almost forgot she gave that up) with him.
Illari had told him to keep the deck of cards, since she won't need them anymore. An unintentional parting gift from her, and as Jack finally slips through the door, she reckons with the thought that after today, it will be like he never existed. No lingering personal effects, and not a single dent left in the surroundings. Nothing except a memory of his existence.
Truly a ghost in everything but name. They will never meet again, after this. A conceptual death for them both.
"So you actually decided to see me off." Jack's voice breaks her from her thoughts, momentarily stunning her. Then, Illari shrugs.
"It's not as if I have anything better to do."
"Fair enough."
An awkward silence ensues, neither of them knowing how to fill the void. Jack clutches and unclutches the strap of his bag slung over his shoulders, and Illari just stares, memorializing him in her head.
Jack speaks first, rubbing the back of his head. "I should start with a 'thank you for housing me' but uh, goodbyes have never been my thing. Too sentimental."
"I can tell. And, you're welcome." Illari says. Apparently, it's not hers, either. She looks away, warring with herself. They could end it here, and it wouldn't be the worst of farewells. Just brief. Succinct. They've never needed much words, except when they mattered, so why drag this goodbye out any longer?
Because it matters. Maybe only to her, but she still sets free the words locked inside her heart with little care. Illari looks back, taking a deep breath. "Thank you. For… staying, telling me your version of Overwatch, showing me a different side to things. I — I never wanted you here, but, " Illari shifts her gait, losing confidence by the second, "I'm glad you decided to stay after all."
He seems surprised, but it's hard to know for sure with his visor on. Illari recalls him saying she was easy to read a few weeks ago. Hiding his feelings is another benefit to the gear besides the auto targeting. "Me too."
More silence, more comfortable than before, yet Illari would still rather not stew in it. "What will you do now?"
"My war isn't over yet. I'll need to find someone who can cross reference this data you gave me with the explosion in Swiss. That's a little bit out of my skillset."
"Do you have someone in mind?" Illari thinks about his prospects, reflecting back to the stories he told her. There's hardly anyone in his life, except for more ghosts and villains to chase. It doesn't inspire much confidence for the sake of her people's data.
"No," he says, "but I'll find someone one way or another."
"You could contact Sombra again. She'd already be familiar with it, too."
"If it comes down to it," he grumbles, "I told you my thoughts on her."
Illari hums in acknowledgement. He probably trusts her more than he even realizes, you don't take on wild leads for nothing. That, or it's a sign of his limited options. "Just make sure it's someone that won't screw you over. I don't want the Inti Warriors death to be more in vain than it already is."
Jack chuckles darkly, "trust me, if someone tries to pull one over, I've got a bullet with their name on it," a pause to make sure there's nothing else Illari wants to say, "well. I'm off."
“Don't die,” Illari warns.
He exhales amused. “I'll try, but I don't think that's up to me.”
Then he finally begins the trek, walking past Illari with his head held high. She doesn't move from the spot, staring at his form as he leaves.
Before he completely disappears out of sight down the path, Illari calls out after him, one final admission, “you said a while ago that your time was up?” Jack stops his stride, and Illari continues, “I don't think so. I think you still have a chance at living, too. Commander Morrison may be dead but Soldier 76 still gets to take another path.”
He casts his gaze upwards toward the darkened sky. “If only things were that simple.”
“It's not,” Illari smiles, though only she knows it, “‘but it never is,’ is it?”
He barks a laugh, shoulders shaking from the effort, "good to know you actually retained some of that." Soldier 76 turns halfway, expression unreadable with the distance and visor covering the crinkles of his eyes. His voice though is undeniably fond when he utters, "take care of yourself kid, you… yeah. Stay safe."
Illari nods, understanding underneath the words. He turns back to continue down the path, leaving her alone once again.
Once he's truly out of her sight, Illari lets out a deep breath, and heads inside of her cave. Standing at the threshold, she does a cursory glance around, taking in what's left. It's not as if there's anything different from before—her bed's still tucked away in the back, her small computer station surprisingly functional in its makeshift set up state, but without Jack's presence there's an uneasy feeling that she's—
Her eyes reach the table in the middle of the room, and spots the Overwatch medallion placed intentionally on-top of it.
Slowly, she approaches. Illari hasn't seen it since it was first shown to her, and true to Jack's word, he hadn't brought up the loaded conversation surrounding the thing again. For some reason, she expected him to take it, a fellow relic of the past that could've reminded him of the glory days.
But then again, this isn't his medallion, and this new organization isn't his Overwatch either. A mere reflection of the past. What he used to know is dead and buried along with Jack Morrison and all of his ties.
And yet from those ashes something new was born. Two different paths, each carrying on the legacy of what Overwatch once was in their own ways. If its history is remembered, if it can still find people dedicated to its cause, did it truly ever die?
Is it fair to still call it itself when it's been so crudely misshapen by the passage of time and guilt?
Illari pulls out a chair, slowly moving to sit down. She reaches over the table to grab the medallion, feeling the weight, tracing its design with careful fingers, and notes the thin, almost imperceptible cracks on the backside.
She sits there for hours, considering her future.