#and the burden Tracer has unceremoniously foisted n her

[docholligay]

Beast of Burden

Just me on my shit, noodling as I wait for Jewlet. This takes place after Pigeons and Park and the Weight of Love, like, immediately after. 1600 words. 

The day was grey and cloudy, but it didn’t seem dreary to Tracer. She loved the grey of London, as she often observed that one never could appreciate the sunshine properly if they saw it every day, and what’s more, it made the bright colors she favored stand out all the more. In fact, the world had never seemed more wonderful to her, as she sat across from her best friend of many years, the two of them going back and forth over the menu as the day went on around them. 

Winston had been reticent, at first, to come. He was always a bit nervous, going anywhere he hadn’t been several times before, and sometimes even places he had been. It was understandable, Tracer supposed, given how many people were silly enough to be afraid of him, but the only way to show them what a gentle soul he was, was to show them what a gentle soul he was. She was very keen on this now, on having the entire world see him as she did. 

They never really understood him, and she always wished she could make them see all the kindnesses he had done for her, how loving he was with children, how incredibly loyal he was. He would always be a protector of London, even if it was not natural in him to fight. 

And all this might have overwhelmed anyone else, but Lena Oxton, aviatrix and Overwatch commander, was determined to enjoy the day. The grey day was her beloved London at its most London, the Royal Inn was lovely, even if the menu was a bit fussy for Tracer’s personal tastes, and if people could not see the wonder, warmth, and goodness of her best friend, it only gave her the opportunity to make them see. 

“Do you want to just get the cheese board, and maybe the vegetable one, too?” Winston took a delicate sip of his beer and looked over the menu. 

Tracer turned from her thoughts and looked over and Winston, placing a hand under her chin. “Bit rich, calling themselves a pub with a roasted vegetable board.” 

Winston chuckled. “You can always get the fish and chips, Lena.” 

“Don’t tempt me!” She grinned brightly and tossed back a drink of her own, but then shook her head. “Let’s us share, just as you said.” 

Tracer looked out from the tiny table, tucked beneath the awning. The patio was mostly empty today, owing to the weather, but that was all the better for Winston, who always worried about bumping people, or feeling that he was crowding them. Yes, it was a lovely day, and nothing--

“What made you want to finally get into this place today? Thinking about the wedding?”

It was a simple sentence, and one that Tracer should have been well prepared for, and yet it struck her as neatly as that romantic horse drawn cab nearly had only an hour ago. She had run to Winston first, because Winston would tell her how to tell Emily, but oh, how could she tell Emily? To tell her, and ask what of her next? A future with Tracer had always been a bit of a daring thing, but it was one thing to ask her to dare, and another to ask her to set herself up for a fall. 

There was a deep longing within her to throw herself across the table into his arms, to bury her head in his shoulder and cry and cry and just let it wash out of her. 

Oh Win, I’m dying, Win. Ang’s done so much and she’s tried so ‘ard and even she brought someone in from America, supposed to be the best, but Moira broke me so well, Win. She broke me so well. I’m so frightened, Win, not even of being dead--but also I don’t want to be dead, I love being alive, love me life, love London and Emily and you and Overwatch and the fat little pigeons on the street in the morning and the fog and damp--but Win, I don’t know what it’ll be like to die. Sounds as if there’s a long road ahead, and I’m so frightened. Sounds as if no one knows. Sounds as if it’ll take me piece by piece. It’ll just keep taking, and we don’t what next. Win, I’m dying. I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to be taken bite by bite.  

She wanted to tell him. She wanted to tell him so badly. To tell someone about the thing that lay in her heart.  It was what she had brought him here to do. She wanted to tell him, and go back to his house, and snuggle on his couch, and be afraid together. 

“Lena?” He called her name softly and she looked up from the menu, tears in her eyes, “Lena, what’s wrong?” 

Tracer opened her mouth, taking in all of him. How concerned he looked, how carefully he studied her. Everything would be different, once she told him the truth. He would cry. He’d be so sad. And there was nothing he could do, except be scared and upset right along with her. Winston would never look at her the same, after. He would never treat her the same. She had brought him here to tell him, and she could not possibly tell him. Not if she wanted to still be Lena. 

She shook her head. ‘Nothing. Trapped in a memory is all, you know ‘ow I get sometimes.” 

He looked at her carefully, finger pinched around his glass of water. “When you...you don’t really act like...you just seem different.” 

Tracer shook her head again, and gave a big grin. “Only that. Under a bit of pressure with Fareeha, is all, and she doesn’t mean it, mind, just quite a bit going on with her, as well. The both of us ‘aving so much to plan for, and all. Bit ‘arder to close the door against those little gusts of wind, right?” 

Winston studied her for a moment, and then seemed to decide that she had to be telling the truth. Of course he would think that. He trusted her, and he loved her, and he believed that she would tell him anything. She didn’t prefer to lie to him. Only to protect him, right?

Besides, Mercy hadn’t completely given up yet, hadn’t she? She was only telling Tracer what she thought would be true, because Mercy was so honest, and didn’t want to mislead her. So she was being a bit grim, and that was her right, Tracer supposed, but it didn’t mean that the game was fully over, not quite yet. Still a few moments on the clock, right? Of course right. 

She bounced along quickly. “Been meaning to ask what it is you have planned for me hen do.” 

Winston’s eyes flashed with excitement. “I’ve been thinking, now, I know it’s not very fun, the idea of staying in at my house, but I could clear everything out, and get a DJ or something, and of course I would have us go out for dinner first, well, if you don’t like it…” 

“Oh no, Win, I love it already.” Her voice, she knew, was soft and faraway. Drifting. 

It sounded wonderful. It sounded like a night with all her favorite people, laughing and dancing and carrying on, celebrating everything that had come before, and all the wonderful things that were to come. It sounded like being alive and happy and hopeful and all the things that she had taken for herself, every day of her life. She had lived so hard and so full, knowing that someday she’d likely be caught. 

“Fareeha has already said she’ll come, but I think Angela would like to go with Emily..”

“Of course. I love that they’re friends.” 

She did. She knowing that Emily would have someone in their little group when she was gone, have someone who could bear any of the questions or medical talk that might come up. She loved knowing there would be something for Emily, the same way she loved that Winston had her last name and her family, the same way she loved knowing that London would always stand, and she would always be a part of London., the same way she loved the pigeons that cooed outside her window and the drizzle that fell in the fall without stopping. She loved it all, loved her entire world with abandon. 

Which was why she had to protect it. 

Put it away, Lena. The day will come regardless, and you don’t have to ruin the loveliness of the day, the loveliness of this life, for Winston, for Emily, for anyone. There’s always time to tell them later, right? Just wait. Maybe Ang will find something. Maybe you’ll drop dead, and there’ll be no need to have caused them to dwell on this. Close the door on it and make it force its way in. Don’t ever welcome it. The moment you tell them is the moment everything changes. The moment you become sick. Remember Mum. Remember how people looked at her, when they knew. 

You’re strong, Lena, and you can carry this alone. It’ll be so much harder for them than it is for you. 

Tracer grinned brightly up at Winston. 

“You’ve thought ever so much about this, ‘aven’t you then? Never could ‘ave come up with ‘alf these ideas, me! Knew you’d be the right pick.” 

He smiled modestly, but from the way his chest stuck out, he was obvious pleased at her approval. 

Today was the day she had learned. Today was the day she had to know what Mercy knew. But no one else had to know it, not to so long as she could walk that tightrope and keep it from them. Let them enjoy the flowers and forget the frost. Can’t change it anyhow. May as well soak in every beautiful moment, as it comes. She certainly intended to. 

I don’t want to die. 

Well, she may have to die. Moira might have seen to to that. But Moira could not take her life. She would live just the same as she always had, the only revenge she could offer a dead woman. Tracer would live in the sun, and never acknowledge the storm. Her family would never know the weight of it, the weight of loving someone bound to die, who was not yet done living. 

She and Mercy would hold it between themselves, like a pact. 

Tracer would see to that.