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Chapter 8: Search and Rescue

Summary:

Reinhardt, Tracer and Brigitte battle their own demons on the mission to rescue Mei.

Chapter Text

The Manta cut silently through the night air, making an astounding lack of noise considering the years of idleness it had endured. The inside of the aircraft was just as quiet, however this silence was booming. The beginning of the trip had been buzzing, as Reinhardt briefed the team on how their evacuation mission would unfold, what their duties were and most importantly, how they were going to get Mei safely back home. His plan was simple, the way he liked it - get in and out as fast as possible. The bad weather had passed, but none of them knew the terrain well enough to judge their safety after such a storm, despite Tracer joking that London in winter seemed pretty similar. Reinhardt had allocated each of them specific duties that were crucial to the success and ease of their mission - Tracer was to find somewhere easily accessible and close to the dock to land the Manta. They needed to be able to bring Mei back to it as smoothly as they could. Once they'd landed, Tracer was to keep the aircraft hot while Reinhardt paved a safe way into the dock. They didn't know what kind of wreckage to expect, but judging by what little information Winston was able to give them, they'd need as much of his brute strength as they could get. Once inside the dock their immediate task was to find Mei. Again, they had no idea what kind of condition she'd be in, and this was where the plan became murky. Brigitte needed to stabilise her enough to move her out of the building and all the way back into the Manta. Reinhardt had been on many a dangerous mission with the eldest Lindholm daughter before, and as battered as he ended up, she'd managed to return him to working condition. But this wasn't a typical "fight first, hurt later" kind of task. This was delicate and confronting, and not the kind of thing Brigitte had been exposed to regularly enough. If Mei's condition was bad, if she needed critical care and that burden was left up to Brigitte...

Reinhardt shook his head. The silence of the ship had become too much for him, and letting his mind wander was not something he liked to indulge in often. Hoisting himself off the cold bench he'd been sitting on, he looked towards the front of the craft aiming to catch a glimpse of Tracer. He knew they were nearing the dock, and if the inky black sky was any indication, they were getting closer by the second.

"How much longer?" he called, sensing Brigitte jump nearby at the sudden clap of his voice. Tracer's head poked through the opening of the cockpit and she called "Shouldn't you have gone to the toilet before we left?". Reinhardt grinned, always welcoming a moment of levity in situations like this. It was over in a moment however, as Tracer's voice rang out again, nowhere as easygoing this time around.

"Give it another 10 minutes and we'll be ready to land,"

Reinhardt nodded solemnly and watched Tracer refocus on piloting. He took no offense the jokes she cracked - she'd always been like that, seemingly finding either the best or worst time to try and get a laugh or two. But he knew it was her way of getting through everything they had to get through, and he was similar in a way. People coped differently, and he'd always accepted that. He'd always been the first person to shut down any mean-spirited talk about the way she carried herself back in the day, and nobody ever fought him on it. Because when it came down to it, she was one of the most sincere people he'd ever had the pleasure of meeting, and the honour of fighting beside.

"Hello?"

Quickly Reinhardt snapped out of his reminiscing and looked down at Brigitte, standing cross-armed in front of him. She looked at him as if waiting for an answer. "Did you say something?" he asked, trying to escape her frustration with a small smile. She sighed tiredly, arms falling to her sides.

"I was asking if you were okay. You seemed very lost in thought," she explained. "I'm the team leader, I believe it is my job to check on you," Reinhardt replied gallantly, noticing how tight her jaw was set. He placed himself back down on the long bench that stretched the distance of the ship and patted the spot next to him. Brigitte sat, straight as a rod. He frowned - he knew why she was anxious, but it was still a shock to see her like this. Things didn't normally phase her - she was stubborn and sharp which reminded him all too much of her father. She looked down.

"I'm... okay," she began. Reinhardt tilted his head to be more at her level, inviting her to keep going. She didn't face him, and he didn't expect her to. "It's just... we've been through a lot. I've patched you up more times than I can remember, and I'm used to it. I know how to help in that way, I know how to protect and I know how to engage. But this is different," she trailed off. Reinhardt nodded, knowing what she was getting at. She let out a long breath of air before continuing.

"If she- if Mei is hurt, hurt badly, I just... I don't know how much I can help."

Reinhardt sat back, looking out the window on the other side of the plane. It was unfair what they were asking of her. He knew that, and he knew they all knew it. She had nowhere near the field experience for a task like this, so critical and so quickly able to go wrong. They'd been in many brawls before, it wasn't her level of skill he worried about. He knew fine well what she was capable of - but she was not a doctor, and that's what Mei needed. If the growing feeling of dread in his stomach was anything to go by, she'd need more than just one doctor.

"Ideally," he began, looking back at Brigitte. "This wouldn't be up to you. I'm sorry that it is,". Her head snapped towards him, eyes wide with outrage.

"I'm not complaining-"

"I'm not saying you are," Reinhardt cut in, gently chuckling. He placed a large hand on her shoulder and smiled warmly, albeit wearily. "But you must believe in yourself more. You haven't just been "patching me up", you've brought me back from the brink of death. Multiple times,"

"Five minutes guys," Tracer called. He thought for a moment, before continuing. "Whatever we encounter down there, you're prepared for. I know you are. Whatever you can and can't do, you will not fail. Because truthfully," he looked conspiratorially at Brigitte. "I don't think you know the meaning of the word."

She mulled this over for a moment, before returning his gaze. In her eyes was that familiar determination, and he felt more at ease. Mostly because he'd helped Brigitte steel herself again, and slightly because he'd managed to say the right thing. If anyone was more infamous for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time than Tracer, it was him. But as he watched Brigitte stand and begin double checking all the supplies she'd be carrying to the dock, he knew his leadership skills hadn't worn off just yet. He stood next and reached for his armour, relishing the cool touch he'd come to love after all these years. Time and time again Brigitte had goaded him to let her create him something new, entirely from scratch, and time and time again he'd refused. This armour was a part of him. It had protected him at his worst and supported him at his best. It carried the weight of sorrow with it, something that grounded him when his bravado began to get the better of him. And it held the constant promise of what the future could hold - and how hard it was worth fighting for.

"I've got eyes on the dock!" Tracer yelled. Brigitte and Reinhardt both rushed into the cockpit. That dread in Reinhardt's stomach began to pump into his bloodstream. Brigitte gasped. "It's not looking good," Tracer muttered, hovering the Manta high above the wrecked building below. "But I know where we can land."

Suddenly she jerked the steering and the plane responded immediately, almost sending Brigitte and Reinhardt flying. "I'd strap in if I were you two," she instructed, her nimble fingers flicking multitudes of switches one after the other. "It might not be a clean landing."

The passengers hastily followed her orders and secured themselves to the benches. Tracer swiftly brought the aircraft lower to the icy ground below them, and even inside the Manta the temperature dropped. It was freezing. Brigitte's mind began to flood with every single thing she'd have to contend with when she found Mei. On top of whatever injuries she'd sustained, there was the added threat the temperature posed. She swallowed once and gripped the bench. 'She needs me. I won't let her down.'

With a stroke of luck, and Tracer's unmatched piloting skill, the Manta landed with ease. At Reinhardt's request she opened the large hangar door, and a feral gust of ice blew inside. Just not strong enough to permeate their protective gear, but it had the potential to wreak havoc if they were out there too long. Tracer hopped out of the pilot's seat and dashed towards the opening door.

"Are you sure you don't need me out there?" she asked, hungrily looking out into the frozen landscape. She wanted, no, needed to help. And sitting here, waiting to fly them back to Gibraltar just didn't feel like enough. Reinhardt approached her and peered out into the darkness as well. "You don't have to be everything for everyone," he replied suddenly, a much deeper response than either of them had been expecting. Tracer's gaze fell to the floor momentarily. He quickly cleared his throat and she looked at him. "Besides, what are we going to do if our star pilot loses her fingers to frostbite?" he bellowed, earning a smile that crinkled Tracer's eyes. A cut off sigh left her mouth, before she turned to face him and feigned a salute. "I will lose no fingers, Captain!"

Reinhardt was swept into the memory of her first ever strike mission in London all that time ago. She really hadn't changed. More faintly he heard Tracer add "Please bring her back." He nodded firmly and watched her fly back into the cockpit to check on the plane's systems. Brigitte had made her way over, and the both of them stood in silence for a moment. The night sky above them sparkled, as did the ground below them. In any other situation it would have been a sight to behold.

"Are you ready?" Reinhardt asked. Brigitte adjusted the large pack on her back. "Born ready." He grinned, the familiar adrenaline rush beginning to combat the fear in his body, and the thrill of his next sentence igniting his senses.

"Overwatch strike team!" he boomed, not even the sub-zero wind being a match for his voice. "Search and rescue."