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Ana Amari is a mother, before all else.
In her life, Ana Amari has been many things to many people, has fulfilled many roles, but there is only one which she is truly proud to claim: that of a mother. Before she was a mother, Ana was a soldier, a killer, a living weapon. Now, she is still all of those things, but Fareeha gave her something for which to fight, something for which to live, a true cause—to protect. When she takes a life, she does so not for herself, or because she is ordered to, she does it so that innocents might live, so that other children will be protected as she protected her own daughter. So, before she is anything else, Ana is a mother.
Always, Ana seeks to preserve life, as best she can, with the only tool she has available to herself—taking it. It is not an easy balance she strikes, nor a comfortable one, but it is all that she knows how to do, all that she is good at. Without her role as soldier, as protector, she was more lost than ever before, and it is not a pretty thing to admit, that she needs to kill in order to live, but it is the truth, the only truth she knows, and she will do what she must; she always has. If, to help save others, she must kill, then she shall. If, by tarnishing herself, by allowing their deaths to weigh on her soul, she spares another, then she will. If, with her abilities, she can prevent the loss of innocents and innocence, then she must.
For Ana, nothing is simple but this, the fact that she is a mother. Her work, her abilities, her morality, all are questioned, but her role as a mother is certain, is a touchstone.
.33
Ana Amari is a mother, now, and already it has changed her.
As Ana holds her child in her arms for the first time, she does not know what it is she feels. Whatever she expected—it was not this, this yearning to protect, this fierce desire to defend her daughter against all that Ana has seen (and done). When she names Fareeha (happiness) it is a wish, for herself and for her child, that Fareeha might bring joy to an otherwise grim life, and that her daughter’s own life might be itself filled with a joy Ana’s never has been. "Our children are the future,“ Ana has heard, and she hopes that the future will be a bright one—or else what has she fought for, killed for?
Never has Ana killed senselessly—and she never shall, she hopes—but now, she feels for the first time she truly has a reason to be fighting; no sense of duty could be greater than that she feels for her daughter, than the sense of responsibility and urge to protect which has overtaken her. For Fareeha, she shall continue fighting, shall face whatever may come, so that her daughter might grow up certain in the knowledge that she is safe, that there is someone to watch over her, in a world of uncertain things. Come what may, she will defend her daughter.
Her wish for Fareeha is not only safety, but freedom. Freedom from the life Ana has lead, from the expectation that she would, like all Amari, join the military, and serve with distinction, from being lead into a path on which she must kill to survive, must learn to live with horror and death in order to excel, from fighting, and the injury it does to combatants, even those who are never wounded. Her wish for Fareeha is a peace she never had, and a freedom to pursue that which she wills, in a world which has offered neither to herself. Her wish for Fareeha is complicated, and simple all the same, it is the chance to live up to her name, happiness.
.67
Ana Amari is a mother, but that is not all she wishes to be.
When Ana meets them, Jack and Gabe, the first thing she thinks is not with Overwatch, I can better combat the Omnic threat, it is not, now, I have a better chance of putting my skills to their best use, is not even, I might better protect my daughter, if I work with this organization, it is this: Jack and Gabriel seem like the sort of soldier one wants on their squad. Cheerful, funny, and loyal to a fault. She can see, or thinks she can, a strong bond between them, and she thinks I want that. With most of her old squad dead, or injured, or missing, Ana has few friends left in the world. She is lucky to have survived, to have made it through by sheer force of will, by the strength of her desire to return to her daughter, whole and hale, and to defend her. She is lucky, but she is lonely.
In the end, Strike Commander Reyes and Lieutenant Morrison do not win Ana over by being charming, or persuasive, not by having resources or a cause, they appeal to her need for contact, for her desire to have people with whom she is close. It is hard enough to raise her daughter, alone as she is—to do so and fight a war, to have any hope of what is good in her surviving, she needs support, needs people in whom she can trust and on whom she can lean. Jack and Gabe, as they call themselves, might fill this role, might be the sort of people with whom she can build a new home. In the end, try as though she might, Ana knows she cannot do everything alone.
To fight, to kill, to die—in all the ways that a person can, without truly ceasing to be—is not hers and hers alone. With others, whom she can trust, she can survive the war, can continue to do her duty as long as is necessary to ensure her daughter will be safe.
1.
Ana Amari is a mother, and that fact has brought her back into the fold.
Returning to Overwatch, after so long away (seven years, more than a fifth of her daughter’s life), Ana does not know what it is she ought to expect. What she knows is this: she is Fareeha’s mother, and if Fareeha is determined to be in the recalled Overwatch, if Fareeha is determined to live up to the legacy Ana never intended to create, then she must be there to protect her daughter. Before she is anything else, she is a mother, and she has a duty to defend. Ensuring the safety and happiness of her daughter has always been her noblest goal, has always been better for her soul than killing only because it is what she knows, or because it is what she has been told to do. Watching over Fareeha is what is best, Ana thinks, for them both.
When she steps off of her dropship, and is greeted by the sight of her daughter, tall, and proud, and every inch the soldier Ana had wanted to seem to be, she does not know what to say, or what to do. Before her is her daughter, but she can hardly recognize her as such. Gone is the little girl who wanted to fly, and here is a woman, fully realized, made not in Ana’s vision but in her image. What can be said, about this?
Too late, she finds her words, finds herself moving to embrace her daughter; too late, for her child has already fled her presence, not joyful, but angry. What sort of mother has she been, that her own child cannot bear to be within her gaze? All she wants, all she has wanted, is to hold Fareeha, to know that she is as well as she can be, to help mend what she can, and address what she cannot.
Instead, she stands in a hangar bay alone, and wonders where it is that things went so wrong.
1.33
Ana Amari is a mother, and being so has saved her.
By the time Fareeha is a child, the fierce desire to protect Ana felt when first holding her daughter has been subsumed by love. What she felt then was pure instinct, a love for the idea of whom her child might be; now, she knows her daughter, and loves her for whom she is: a precocious child with a strong sense of fairness and a penchant for getting into trouble.
In so many ways, Fareeha is the best of Ana, and what she might have been. Fareeha is cheeky and mischievous, like Ana was before a strict military upbringing stamped it out of her—and now, with her daughter, Ana finds herself becoming so again, finds herself smiling where before she might have not, finds herself laughing freely where she ought to suppress the urge. Having Fareeha around makes Ana more human, less of a machine meant only to kill. Having Fareeha around brings Ana back from a brink she did not realize she was at.
All those who know her note it, realize that she is becoming more relaxed, smiling more often, and it is true. Now, Ana feels more authentically than she did before, reacts more genuinely, exists in the present and is more honest. As she works, she is told she saves hundreds, thousands, millions in fighting Omnics, in killing bastions, and she tells herself she is saving Fareeha, and children like her.
This is true, but it is also dishonest. In so many ways, it is Fareeha who has saved her.
The war drags on, and on, and no matter how much progress is made by Overwatch, it seems that the Omnics remain one step ahead, that they will never be able to win this. She is tired, so tired of fighting, and she wants to give up, to give in, to say that someone else ought to take her place, but she cannot give up, for Fareeha is counting on her to be there to defend her, she cannot give in, for what would her daughter—with her black and white child’s sense of what is right, and what is wrong—think, to have a deserter for a mother, she cannot let another take her place, for who is more competent, more able? How could she trust another with Fareeha’s safety?
Thoughts of her daughter keep her going, keep her stable, and Fareeha herself brings joy to Ana’s otherwise bleak world, gives her something to smile about, and being a mother, having someone to look forward to coming home to, gives her purpose where she has had none.
1.67
Ana Amari is a mother, and a friend.
The longer Ana is in Overwatch, the easier she finds it is to become comfortable. This, she knows, is a mistake. If war has taught her anything, it is that letting down one’s guard is often fatal.
But how can she not? With Jack and Gabe, and later, with Reinhardt and Torbjörn, there is an easy camaraderie, a bond that runs deep and holds fast. She finds very quickly that she feels safe around them, as herself and not as whom she has been expected to be.
As a woman in the military, and as one with a legacy to uphold, that of the Amari family, Ana often has felt as if she must be strong, always, capable and confident, in order to be acceptable in the eyes of her comrades in arms. It is not so with Overwatch. Here, she can be vulnerable, and know that none of them will think her lesser. Already, they have seen her at her worst, and yet they still have faith in her, are able to trust in her ability to watch over them in the field.
When she is tired, so tired, of killing and fighting and denying herself fragility, and she is angry, angrier than she should be, and misdirecting that anger, Gabe steps in to remind her that it is not Fareeha with whom she is truly frustrated, reminds her too of her true priorities, of the importance motherhood holds for her.
When she feels she cannot last a minute more in battle, that her gun is too heavy to carry and her hands too stiff to pull the trigger, Jack is there to remind her that Fareeha is at home, counting on here, that there is always something worthwhile waiting on the other side.
2.
Ana Amari is a mother, one who could not bear to lose her daughter.
When at last Ana speaks with Fareeha, when she gains her forgiveness, Ana finds her humanity is once again restored by her daughter. For the past seven years, she has scarcely been anything more than a shadow of herself, still a killer, but now one with no true purpose, a soldier without orders, a mother without her child. Now, all of these things are restored to her, by the grace of her daughter, and she finds yet again herself slipping into her old role of protector.
She was wrong, so wrong, to leave Fareeha, to leave Overwatch. Even if, at the time, she could not bear to stay, she ought to have stayed as long as she could, for her daughter, if for no one else. Her daughter, her kind, forgiving, strong daughter, does not deserve so weak a mother who would abandon her.
When she admits such, when she gives name to the sins for which she cannot forgive herself, Fareeha forgives her, and she finds absolution.
With her daughter in her arms, and by her side in battle, Ana once again has found her place. With her daughter to protect, and defend, Ana once again has a purpose. With her daughter to love, and to be loved by, Ana once again has something worth fighting for.
2.33
Ana Amari is a mother, now and always.
At age thirteen, Fareeha first defies her, and Ana realizes what it is to love unconditionally. Even if Fareeha is not becoming the woman Ana long believed she might, even if Fareeha’s wishes and values are not one’s Ana might have hoped for, she still loves her child. For all that they disagree—on whether or not it is right for Fareeha to plan on enlisting, about what language they ought to speak in the home, over how it is Fareeha dresses—they are more alike than they are unlike one another.
(Ana curses her own desire to protect, the day she realizes that Fareeha has inherited it.)
Like Ana, Fareeha wishes to do what is right, and to help others. Like Ana, Fareeha knows what she believes to be right and what it is she believes to be wrong, and holds firm to those ideals. Like Ana, Fareeha is all too willing to sacrifice herself in order to both protect and uphold justice.
With so many commonalities, they ought to feel close to one another, but instead, they are driven further apart—unlike Ana, Fareeha has chosen a military life (and will not listen to her mother when she is told she ought, perhaps, to reconsider, will not listen when she is told she has time yet to change her mind, will not listen when she is told that being in the military may break her, may take from her all which she loves in herself), and Ana cannot help but believe that she has chosen incorrectly.
No matter how much they fight, however, she still loves Fareeha, still has the same desire to guard her from all harm, to shield her from danger.
Come what may, Fareeha is her daughter, and she, Fareeha’s mother.
2.67
Ana Amari is a mother without a child.
For all that she would never rebuke her daughter, could never sever ties with Fareeha, Fareeha has repudiated her. Now, Ana finds herself adrift. Since Fareeha’s birth, she has fought to protect her daughter, has had a cause; but without Fareeha, what reason has she to continue her work with Overwatch? Why ought she continue to serve, to kill, to be something which she has never wanted, if not to ensure Fareeha’s safety?
With the Omnic Crisis ended, there is no immediate need for her; it is true that she saves lives, in her work, but so might another sniper, one who is younger and believes in the cause. Has she not served her time? Has she not done enough? What more could be asked of her?
Yet, she stays. Not for herself, or for Fareeha, but for Jack, who has asked her head up a squad, and for Gabriel, who tells her to think of them like her children, to allow herself to be their mother, if she cannot be Fareeha’s, to find family where she can (as he has done with Jesse, he does not say, but she knows that he thinks it).
So her squad becomes her children, the men and women she watches over refer to her as “Mama Bear;” she learns all there is to know about them, their lives, their hopes, their families, and in turn they give her a cause for which to fight. It is not a relationship of equals, or of friends, as she supports them and they, in their way, her, but it is enough, for a time, for her to press on, it is enough to have people whom she cares for and needs to protect.
When she needs a friend she has Jack, and Gabriel, and she tells herself that they, along with her not-children, are enough.
This is not true.
3.
Ana Amari is a mother, one whose daughter has returned to her.
Beside one another, they sit in the garden at Watchpoint: Gibraltar, neither of them whole, both in the literal sense, and otherwise, both of them having lost in war, but together, and content, their broken pieces and jagged edges fitting together well enough that they need no longer worry that they cannot connect. The last time they were together, like this, it was shortly before Fareeha enlisted, and the differences between them seemed impossible, seemed insurmountable, but now it is not so.
It has been as Ana foretold, Fareeha is very much different for having been at war, is in many ways changed, warped by what she has seen, and done, but Ana cannot find it within herself to say that she was right. While she might have wished things were otherwise, might have hoped Fareeha had the good sense to stay out of war, and to seek happiness and fulfillment elsewhere, nothing can change her daughter’s decision, and she would not risk driving Fareeha away again.
Furthermore, she is proud of Fareeha, of all that she has accomplished, of the steadiness with which she does so. Ana thinks Fareeha is far more resilient than she ever was, and though she cannot give voice to such a thought, she can say that she is proud, that she loves her daughter—that she loved her as a child, yes, but feels still better able to understand the woman she has become.
War ought never to have united them, but it has, and Ana can content herself with that, if need be.
3.33
Ana Amari is a mother, and a frustrated one, at that.
Despite her warnings that to enlist would be dangerous, would be a mistake, it is one Fareeha seems keen on making. It is her own fault, of course, for having introduced Fareeha to the likes of her friends and colleagues, for having allowed her daughter to idolize men and women who, like her, kill for a living, men and women who, like her, have given all of themselves, and more, that others might be safe.
Now, Fareeha, her daughter, her only family left, wishes to become a soldier. Ana has known war, has known what it is to kill another, and, in the process, kill a part of oneself, and she has never, never, wished this for her daughter. When she has spoken to Fareeha of war she has not romanticized it, has not pretended that it is glorious, that it is to be celebrated, what she does, but Fareeha has learned to do so anyway, and now her daughter idolizes her, now her daughter speaks of upholding the family legacy—a legacy Ana never wanted, for either of them.
To think that Fareeha has come to believe that killing, for any reason, is the best she can do to protect others scares Ana. Fareeha is worth more than that, is capable of more, is quite a good student, and might, if she put her mind to it, be able to help people in so many other ways, but Ana has not been vigilant. When she has protected Fareeha, she has protected her body, and her spirit, but not her mind, she has allowed Fareeha, young and impressionable, to come to believe that violence is the best solution, because she has allowed, out of friendship, other soldiers to care for her daughter, when that ought to have fallen to herself and herself alone. Without Reinhardt’s tales, or Jack’s boasting, or Gabriel’s joking, Fareeha might not believe there were glory in war, might not want to throw her life away in battle.
Now, Ana realizes her mistake. She only hopes she is not too late to dissuade Fareeha.
3.67
Ana Amari is a mother, to her team if no one else.
Somewhere, Fareeha is at war. Somewhere, her daughter is fighting, and killing. Somewhere, her daughter is in need of someone to protect her, to watch her back, and Ana cannot be there. Instead, Ana is here, on a battlefield thousands of kilometers away, and it is all she can do to protect those whom she has with her. She must comfort herself, now, with doing what she can to protect her not-children, her team who call her Mama Bear and expect her to watch out for them. For when she protects them, she imagines she is doing so in place of the mothers who worry (as she does) for their children. To kill is to save, in this case, to end a life is to preserve the life of another mother’s child, the life of her own surrogate children.
But what of the mothers of those she kills?
During the Omnic Crisis, killing was a matter of survival, and the Omnics she killed were not always conscious beings, but now? Now she kills humans, and Omnics whose thoughts are their own, kills beings capable of conscious thought, beings with families and mothers (or creators) who care for them. How can she say this is to protect?
It wearies her, to wrestle with questions such as this, wearies her to worry herself over questions of morality and immorality. But to whom can she turn to discuss this? In whom can she confide? Not Jack and Gabriel, not now, torn apart as they are by one another and by their pride. They have not the time for her concerns, so busy are they with her own.
If only she were their mother, she might tell them to stop, might compel them to see sense, but she is not, and cannot.
4.
Ana Amari is a mother, one who watches over her daughter.
On the field, she watches over Fareeha, kills to prevent any harm which may befall her, and heals that which she cannot prevent. To kill again, after so long away, is difficult, to do so in the name of organization which betrayed her before is moreso. If there were another way, she would do it. If there were another path, she would take it. If she had another choice, she would make it. With Fareeha on the field, however, risking life and limb every day, what choice has she?
If she does not protect her daughter now, if she cannot shield Fareeha from further harm, then all of her years spent in Overwatch, all of the time in which she defined herself by motherhood, by her desire to protect, will have been for naught. She cannot, will not, let all of that have been a waste. To do so would be to make the deaths of her marks in vain, to do so would be to have destroyed a part of herself for nothing. It is unacceptable, to think that she has killed, has sacrificed a piece of her humanity, only for it to have not mattered at all. Whether Fareeha likes it or not, Ana must protect her, for both of their sake.
It helps, of course, that Fareeha does not mind. Perhaps Fareeha is used to the attention—after all, she is in a relationship with the team’s medic—but, Ana would like to think, a more likely cause is this is not so different from the way things always have been, is merely a logical extension of the relationship they had before. Mothers are protectors, always, whether or not they are on the battlefield or off of it.
Fighting beside Fareeha feels right, feels like what they were meant to do, and not for the first time Ana wonders at how Fareeha is made from all of the best parts of her. Like Ana, Fareeha is capable of fierce determination, is willing to do whatever is necessary in order to fulfill her goals, is able to push herself further and harder in the name of protecting those she cares about than most; but, unlike Ana, laughter still comes easily to her, at the end of the day. Unlike Ana, she has many friends on their team. Unlike Ana, her life extends beyond the love of one other person.
If Ana must die, must kill parts of herself, to ensure Fareeha might live, then it is worth the sacrifice. Fareeha is worth the sacrifice.
4.33
Ana Amari is a mother, one whose wishes for her daughter will never come true.
The Amari are a military legacy, have been great warriors for generations, and Ana is no exception. Neither, she imagines, will Fareeha be, as much as she wishes such were not the case. Enlisting was not Ana’s decision, was not a choice she was able to make, not against her family’s will, and not at a time such as the one she lived in, when the world was at war—but enlisting is Fareeha’s choice.
Were Ana a better person, she would not feel so bitterly jealous, would not wish to exchange places with her own child—but she has suffered, for an inability to choose, for having had to fight, and some part of her thinks it is unfair that Fareeha, whom she has given that choice to, whom she has made every effort to protect from warfare, will walk willingly the path Ana was forced upon. It seems, to her, a great betrayal; all that she has sacrificed, all that she has given of herself, all that she has been made to do, so that Fareeha might grow up in a peaceful world, so that Fareeha might lead a peaceful life, and for what? Fareeha has enlisted anyway, against Ana’s advice and will.
Never would Ana stop her daughter from pursuing her own goals, not when she herself has been deprived of a choice, but to see Fareeha act in direct opposition of her will, to see Fareeha fail to heed her every warning, smarts. She lashes out, without thinking, says in anger things which she wishes she did not mean—that Fareeha is arrogant, that she is foolish, that she is ungrateful for all that has been done for her—and she cannot take back what has been said.
She means it, and both of them know that. She will not insult Fareeha by lying to her; never has she done so, and never will she.
When Fareeha leaves home without looking back, Ana wishes she could.
4.67
Ana Amari is a mother, and a friend, and she suffers for both.
In the years since Fareeha has left, Ana has tried to define herself by protecting her team, but they are no substitute for her daughter, whom she misses dearly, are no substitute for having a true cause, as she did when she protected Fareeha. That being the case, she is quickly reaching the point at which staying may be intolerable to her. Her days and nights are consumed with questions of life, and death. What right has she to kill another mother’s child? What right has she to decide which missions are for the greater good? What right has she to decide who lives or dies?
To whom can she turn with these questions? To whom can she turn to for absolution? Not Allah, not now, while she yet lives. She may pray, but she knows she will never hear the answer, not in this life. Not to Gabriel, whose thoughts are centered upon Jack and upon revenge. Once, he might have had advice, but now, he is consumed by jealousy, and anger. Not to Jack, who is similarly obsessed with Gabriel, is convinced that there must be some plot against him, and Overwatch by extension. Years ago, he had consoled her, he and Gabriel, together, when she was lost as she is now, but how can he now? Without Jack at his side, he is diminished.
The two of them, they rend her apart, in the absence of an answer from her god. They ask too much of her, ask that she choose, that she guide them, when she cannot even care for herself. They would have her tear herself in two, and give half to each of them, leaving nothing for herself. Would that she were their mother, and such a sacrifice were possible.
As it is, it is all she can do to keep herself alive.
5.0
Ana Amari is a mother, and not only to her daughter.
Now, in the Recalled Overwatch, Ana is a mother to many. Almost everyone among their ranks is an orphan, and those who are not are often separated from their family by distance, by experience, by differing opinions. All of them could use a mother, even she. So, she becomes their mother, becomes the person she believes they need her to be, so that none of them will be without guidance, as she was, so that none of them will be without a purpose, or support. Surely, all of them need someone to care for them, surely, all of them need a guardian.
For the most part, this is accepted, even by those with whom she was once friends. For all that he seems large, and strong, Reinhardt has been without family for years. For all that he seems content to be left that himself, Torbjörn has long needed someone to forgive him for that which he has had a hand in. For all that she can support others, Angela rarely thinks to take care of herself.
Therefore, it is all too easy for Ana to slide into the role of being a mother, for all of them. It is all too easy for her to assume that this is the best way, and that no one will—or ought to—object.
Such is not the case.
Hana, the youngest of all of them, who needs a mother most, is the one to reject her. Hana, who has no parents of her own to speak. Hana, whom she can scarcely see as being anything more than a child.
Hana is the one who takes exception to her treatment, and Ana cannot understand why. Does she not need a mother? Does she not want support?
When asked to stop, Ana agrees, but her words are empty.
Everyone needs a mother, surely.
—.
Ana Amari is a mother because she must be.
Whatever she has told herself, the truth is this: whatever she was before she was a mother is long since lost, whatever drove her before Fareeha could not be enough to carry her through what she has seen, now, and done, whatever she might have defined herself as is now meaningless to her.
In her time away from Overwatch, in her time without anyone to care for, save herself, Ana was lost, and she knows this. Without Fareeha, or her other ‘children,’ she had no purpose, had no sense of self, was left to wander aimlessly for seven long years. War has long since robbed Ana of whatever good in her existed outside of this instinct to protect, this drive to defend those who cannot defend themselves, and so now she is left with only motherhood to her name. Whatever else she may have been has fallen by the wayside, and she orients herself by her efforts to do what she can to watch over those whom she loves. There is, to her, no higher calling than to do so, no greater purpose.
To be a mother, Ana must have children, and so her team becomes so. They need her, as she needs them—after all, none of the team has a mother to speak of, none of the team has someone like her. If one thinks too long about it, if one considers it too much, then perhaps, perhaps, she does not need all of them to be a mother, perhaps she might be content with only the few children, perhaps there is something larger at play… but she tries not to consider it, tries not to dwell on her own actions and motivations. Too long has she had only herself for company, too long has she only looked inwards, and never has it ended well; she will look outwards, now, and if it is an overcorrection, well, who but a sniper would know?
In the afternoons, she takes tea in the gardens, and gazes out—always out—at the waves breaking upon the rocks, out at the sky where her daughter practices aerial maneuvers, Angela in tow, out at the world Overwatch has pledged itself, and by extent, her, to serve. So far does she look, that she can scarcely see those nearest her, and when Reinhardt settles himself beside her, with care, she is not paying close enough attention to determine why his movements are so. Has he grown stiff with age, by injury, or due to caution? Foolish, Ana, to not be alert, she thinks to herself. Foolish grow complacent, even here,especially here. Always, she ought to be on her guard. Always, she ought to know the situation. How else can she protect Fareeha, or her other children? How else can she do what must be done?
For his part, Reinhardt does not notice her internal conflict, or if he does, he does not remark upon it. Instead, he allows silence to linger but a moment between them before speaking, "It is strange, is it not, to see her grown?”
Ana need not turn her head to know that he is looking at Fareeha, to imagine the sweep of his arm as he points to the sky, and she need not consider her response, as what he expects her to reply is clear, “Yes,” says she simply, and it is so. Always, Ana has wanted Fareeha to grow strong and able, but between knowing that her daughter would one day be an adult and seeing that the woman she is now, strong and just and full of life, there lies a great difference.
“It is strange,” Reinhardt repeats himself, “Yet it must happen. All people mature eventually, all people become adults, and, eventually, grow old.”
“Even the great Reinhardt Wilhelm? I seem to recall a number of drunken declarations to the contrary.” While his tone may be serious, it is Ana’s hope that she might coax a laugh from him yet, for it is funny to remember them as they were, to think of each other as young and foolish soldiers once again.
“Even I,” his voice is tired, and Ana finds she has missed her mark. It stings, to think that she has missed, almost more than it wounds her to think they have grown so apart that she might have misjudged so. In another time and place, she would have done neither.
A thought, suddenly, is this why he has come to her? His age? Were it to happen, he would tell her first, she knows this, but surely he is not—not yet.
Still, she must ask. "Are you thinking of retiring?“
At that, he does laugh, if only a little, "And admit to Angela that she might be right? No, no my friend, there may come a time when I do so, but it is not now. Today, I am not here to speak of myself at all.”
Her good eye narrows, “Whom,” she asks, voice clipped, accent stronger, “then, are you here to speak of?”
If he thinks she will retire when she has only just returned, then they truly do not know one another any longer.
“Hana,” he replies, surprising her. "I am here on behalf of Hana.“
"Does she know this? It isn’t like her to let another fight her battles.” For all that Reinhardt is well intentioned, Ana has known him long enough to know that he can be overzealous, and tends to act as he believes is best without first consulting all involved. On the battlefield, it is an asset—in their personal lives, it is less advantageous.
“No,” says Reinhardt, “She does not yet know, but I will tell her, and have already accepted the consequences of doing this. I would that this might have been resolved another way, but when she spoke with you nothing came of it—and it is not only for her that I am speaking, but for you, my friend, as well.”
“What,” she asks, already on the defensive, “Not sending Torbjörn in to meddle for you these days?” She knows he means well, and she cares for him, but she survived well enough on her own for seven years, surely she does not need Reinhardt’s help now, and part of her resents that he seems to think that she might. Ana is the mother here, Ana is the one whose role is to stand above, to protect, to guide.
But does not Reinhardt carry a shield as well? The thought is a traitorous one, and she wishes she could brush it aside, she cannot allow herself to be weak now, or ever, cannot allow complacency, knowing what happened before, in her absence. Without her careful guidance, her oversight, Overwatch fell to pieces—to watch over them now is her role, and hers alone.
“I do not want to fight you, Ana,” he says, and he sounds weary, in a way she has not heard him sound before. Perhaps he, too, no longer sleeps at night for thoughts of their failure—or perhaps he is simply getting old, as they both are. Matured as they have, together and apart, it is difficult to see, anymore, even with her good eye as sharp as ever, what has shaped them, what has warped them. "I am only here to help you, if you will allow me to.“
She would be a fool to say no, would be a fool to allow pride to force her away. She has been a fool, before, has been stubborn to a fault, has been too prideful, and where did it lead her? What did it gain her? It lost her her purpose, her self, her daughter. Old as she has grown, if not wise, she will not make that mistake again.
"As you were,” says she, falling back on formality and military procedure to allow herself some dignity, to dodge the admission of weakness as well as she is able.
“You treat Hana as if she is a child,” the rebuke is gentle, but it is one nonetheless. "I know she may seem young, at times—she is young—but she is not so young that she needs you to mother her.“
"Everyone needs a mother,” she replies, even you. It is easier to say this than to think about what it is he might be implying, than to think that what seems, to her, essential is not so for everyone else. Were that the case, were she to need them, more than they need her, then how could she say that it is she who cares for them, how could she define herself as a mother and caretaker?
“That may be so, but Hana does not want one.” A pause, “You never treated Jesse or Angela this way, when they were as young as Hana is now; what is this really about?”
Ana does not know how to answer. To tell the truth, to admit that she needs the others to be her children, that she needs to be able to protect them, in order to protect what is left of herself, what remains of her identity, to admit such is unfathomable. What would he think of her, were she to say as much? How would she be able to explain herself? She cannot have him worry over her, cannot have him be her equal, because if that were the case, if that were the case—
“Is it because of Fareeha?” he asks, interrupting her train of thought, “I know she has changed—as have we all—and it may not seem as if she needs you, now that she has Angela, but you are still her mother. You need not worry that she will replace you, her heart is large.”
“No,” says she, sure of this as she is of anything, “No, I know Fareeha will not replace me. That isn’t what I worry about.” No matter what she doubts about herself, and her worthiness, she knows, now, for certain, that she will always have the love of her daughter, no matter what may come between them, and no matter how difficult the act of loving may be.
“Then why?” Always, Reinhardt has had an expressive voice, and usually, it is a comfort, usually, it brings joy—but not now. Now, it hurts her, to hear his confusion, to know that she has created between them a distance which was never present before. It is for the best, she tells herself, but does not feel it to be true. "Why drive her away? Why distance yourself as you have?“
Distance. That is the crux of it. If she is to protect them, any of them, if she is to shield them from the harm they would do to themselves and one another, as she was unable to do with Jack and Gabe, as she was unable to do for her oldest and dearest friends, then she needs to be separate from them, needs to set herself apart. Were Overwatch any other organization, she might have done so by pulling rank, might have kept a space between them through formality and authority, but Overwatch has ever been too close. In the beginning, this is what drew her in, was responsible for their early success, but it was ultimately their downfall, also, and she cannot allow it to be so again.
So she distances herself the only way she knows how, by assuming the role of the mother, by setting herself above them as guardian, as one who knows more, has seen more of the world. Is it the best method? Perhaps not, but she can think of none better. Motherhood has suited her, and moreover it suits her purposes now. Close, yes, as they organization expects, but not so close that any of the others might approach her, not so close that she will not be able to intervene, should they attempt to tear themselves apart again.
She could not bear to be their friend, could not bear to be close to them, lest they rend her again in two, lest they pull her into pieces in the struggle. There is not enough of her left that she might survive such again.
But Ana does not say this, not yet, for the realization is too new, and too great, to put into words. Instead, her answer is simple, "I cannot lose another friend.”
This, Reinhardt understands, for he has buried more friends than she, of late, “You are going to lose her anyway, and all of us, if you continue down this path. To do so sooner does not cut the loss.” Before she can reply, can defend herself, he continues, “I have lost more than any of you, have buried you, but I would do it all again. To have been your friend, to have been joined in camaraderie with all of you, that was, and is, worth the pain. I would not sacrifice the happiness of the present out of fear of the future.”
“Perhaps,” says she, “For you, I will try.” What else can she say? How can she argue, without delving further into her reasoning? She has no choice but to nod along, to say that she will try.
And perhaps she will, if not for herself, then for the memory of the friends who first brought her here.
Ana Amari is a mother, but perhaps, if she tries, she might also be more.