Worried for her friend, Ana Amari reminisces with Soldier 76 to see if Jack Morrison is still there.



It might have been weeks ago but there were always clues to be had. Stuff the beat cops missed. That’s exactly why they had made the rough journey from the sands of Egypt to the snowy buildings of France. They might be undercover and they might not have a true home but with what was going on in the world, they would take any hints they could get.

Jack Morrison, the mystery man known as Solider 76, knelt inside the art gallery. Snow drifted in from the hole in the roof, his visor inspecting every element of the rubble. Normally, he would have had to knock the police out and add to an impressive resume of crimes as an unknown man. On the positive side, thanks to his new ally, things had become much easier. Said guards he would have beaten until they were unconscious were now quietly sleeping outside, propped on the wall so observers would be none the wiser.

The old woman with an eyepatch watched Morrison with a stern gaze, waiting to hear his findings. According to the news, a pair of famous and wanted Junkers had broken into the art gallery with intent to steal. What piqued the duo’s interest were how they were stopped: A familiar face coupled with an unfamiliar ally. Of course, questions piled on outside of that.

“No doubt about it. This had to be caused by one of Oxton’s pulse bombs,” Jack grumbled.

Ana raised a lone eyebrow. “And the other one?”

Jack shook his head. The assistance Tracer had received hadn’t been someone he recognized. “Some kid, from the look of the security tapes. Wore a hoodie. Had some special gloves on his hands, was punching the fat Junker and matching him blow-for-blow despite being half his size.”

Instantly, Ana grit her teeth. “Was it him?”

In response, Jack shook his head. “No way it could have been Doomfist. Kid fought like a boxer. Ducking. Bobbing. Weaving. Doomfist was more of a one-and-done guy, if we’re talking about the one we’re worried about.”

Sighing, Ana looked to the sky. “So what is it? Why are there Junkers in France? Otherwise we’re just here to figure out if Lena’s alright?”

Standing from the rubble, Jack moved over to Ana. “Same night, a munitions plant was robbed. Didn’t make the news because of the ties to Overwatch in this story. More importantly, there were rumors and reports that they Junkers got away in a black jet of sorts.”

Clenching her fist, Ana walked with Jack as the two moved to get out of the building. “Talon? Helping the Junkers?”

Nodding, Jack stepped into the cold. He quickly took his jacket off, placing it in a duffle bag alongside his visor and pulse rifle. From said bag he removed a large parka and thick hat, quickly disguising himself as a tourist. Ana did much of the same, albeit her clothing was a little longer and make-up was applied to hide her tattoo. Despite their fame, nobody would recognize the heroes of the Omnic Crisis when they were disguised as such.

From the alleyway the two began to walk onto the frigid and dark streets of Paris. Winter was setting in heavily and the evening was upon them as they carefully surveyed their surroundings. Even with disguises, the threat of being discovered was enough to put the two old soldiers on edge. “So what now?” Ana questioned. “Do we track them down? Heavens know that they’d be hiding out…”

Jack nodded in response. “We’ll get a plane. Still got the money from the Helix job. If I had to guess, Gibraltar.” Looking to his side, Jack’s eyes met with the disapproving face of Ana. “What?”

“You’re better than this, Jack. You know how I feel about such things,” Ana spoke, careful to disguise her words so that a passing couple couldn’t hear them or gleam information neither wanted to let leak. “At the very least, you’ll apologize?”

A grunt. “Provided I’m not dead at the end of this…fine. I’ll serve my time and do my service,” he muttered. It wasn’t a concrete promise but perhaps there was still hope for Morrison. Such a thing did tug at Amari’s heart however. To see a man she’d admired and loved as a leader, torn down to little more than a soldier.

The snow began to pick up, Ana checking her watch. “We find a place to stay for the night, before we freeze to death.”

“Quit being melodramatic. There are plenty of hotels and hostels to sleep at,” Jack muttered. A nearby bed and breakfast seemed to illuminate itself by luck, Jack nudging his neck to the side and beckoning Ana to follow. Quickly crossing the street, the two made it inside just in time to avoid the torrential snow that began to rain over Paris like a pale blanket.

Locking the door behind them and holding a steaming cup of coco, Ana moved to the desk. It was a small room and it was thankfully one of the few left for the night. She’d made sure to check if there were people on either side, allowing the two to talk freely about their situation. The room itself wasn’t anything special, two beds, a desk, a bathroom and a television. “Do you remember how we used to sleep in the most luxurious hotels? Speak at grand balls?”

Jack snorted, throwing his coat to the side. “You and I were the faces, what else did you expect? Dress up fancy, say a few words, dance in a ballroom, repeat until you want to shoot yourself.”

“And you say I’m melodramatic,” Ana chuckled, moving to sit across from Jack on the bed. “Do you know what today is?”

“Hmph. Wednesday. December twenty fourth,” Morrison mechanically repeated.

Ana nodded. “Christmas eve, you know.”

Jack’s gaze narrowed at Ana. “You don’t celebrate Christmas though.”

Ana rolled her eye, sipping her coco. “Fareeha and I would still attend the holiday parties however, remember?”

Grunting, Jack turned to the table. It was clear that he wasn’t willing to talk about it, keeping up the facade of the strong soldier. “No use talking about the past, you know. Can’t change anything. It happened, we move on.”

Not content to watch Jack be a Bastion unit, Ana smirked. “Don’t you remember how Reinhardt spent hours studying Ramadan to make sure Fareeha and I would feel welcome? The poor man worked himself to the bone. He didn’t even enjoy the party the first time he did it. Passed out on the sofa the moment we all came in.”

A faint twitch on the corner of Jack’s mouth, his rough mask broken momentarily. Ana smirked, pressing the attack: “How about when Torbjörn got drunk on spiked eggnog and started ranting about how omnics shouldn’t celebrate holidays?”

For a moment it looked like the prodding failed. That’s when the softest of smiles graced Jack’s face. He chuckled deeply, looking at the floor. “Winston tried to decorate the lights and ended up shorting out HQ. Spent the holidays in the dark that year.”

“Every year, Angela tried to bring heart healthy food and nobody ever touched it. She would get so frustrated when people would gorge themselves on sweets yet she’d go home with trays of leftovers,” Ana added.

Another laugh, although this one was more genuine and lighthearted, from Morrison. “First year Jesse joined up, he started drinking alcohol while underage. You remember how Gabe-“ Jack froze. The entire room turned to ice as he looked away from Ana. All the good feelings and all the positivity they had recalled for the holiday season had died the moment his name was brought up.

The two sat in silence, Ana frowning as she saw the brief glimpse at the old Jack Morrison vanish. Solider 76 was sitting with her now, the iron-faced vigilante who wanted nothing more than to bring Overwatch’s downfall to light. She briefly looked at her watch, blinking. “Hm, would you look at that.”

“Eh, something wrong?” Jack asked, peering at Ana.

Ana motioned to the alarm clock sitting on the nightstand. A red twelve, followed by a zero and a three, blinked at the two. “Seems that it’s December twenty-fifth.” Ana waited for Jack to say something, for him to do anything. Silence.

Reaching into her coat, Ana pulled out a peppermint candy cane. She handed it to Jack, who looked at her with an expression that could only be described as deadpan. “I was going to stir my drink with it, for festive reasons, but it seems like you deserve it more.” She placed the candy cane in his lap, nodding at him. “Merry Christmas, Jack.”

Jack stared at her. “You don’t celebrate Christmas.”

Ana’s gaze narrowed. “Take my damn gift.”

At this, Jack stopped. He stared at Ana for the longest time, neither person breaking their stern gazes. That’s when Ana’s lips quivered. Jack’s own expression struggled to remain stern. What began as a soft chuckle turned into a boisterous guffaw, the loud laughter resounding through the small hotel room as the two laughed. It was an idiotic thing to laugh at for two old veterans but by god, it was the best joke they’d heard in months. Wiping the corner of his eye, Jack smirked at Ana. He held the candy cane in his hand, nodding to her earnestly and lovingly.

“Merry Christmas, Ana.”