#He just wants to be deified a little. nothing fancy. just for people to believe his touch can heal

[towerartt]

Jack would make for a fine (false) prophet, with his flair for the dramatic, drug habit and blind faith in gods that have no intent of saving him.

[docholligay]

Fluff prompt: Lena talks to Winston about proposing to Emily

She was the patron saint of long odds, Lena Oxton, and it wasn’t terribly uncommon for a pilot, in the years when she had become a legend in her own right, especially to carry a charm of her insignia clipped to the edge of a jacket or tucked into a pocket. Not as they were superstitious, of course, but it never hurt. Her ability to raise from the dead, to come back from impossible injury, would become as enshrined in the mythos of Britannia as King Arthur or Saint George themselves, and Winston would always smile a bit as people spoke of her in that nearly reverent way. 

His experience of her never touched legendary qualities, for we cannot love the things we deify, the bright gold of them refusing the shadows that make a thing tarnished and worn enough to be real. No, Tracer, to him, would always be a bit of a mess, and get ahead of herself, and laugh at her own jokes, and lose her keys at the drop of a hat, and rage and sob and spark with joy all with equal immediacy. 

Besides, it was hard to think too reverently about someone with a crumb of cake on their upper lip. 

“I finally am going to do it, Win.” She grinned brightly, even as her fork still contained a bit of strawberry cake. 

“You’ve been talking about it for months,” Winston smiled, “I think I’ve heard at least twelve different plans.” 

“Right, right, but I’ve done it this time,” She took a brochure out of her pocket, “See? Been saving up, I ‘ave, and we’re off two weeks from now.” 

Winston knew about the cruise Emily and Tracer were meant to go on. Tracer had been saving for nearly as many months as she’d been thinking about asking Emily, and Emily, too, had been laying it aside. They deserved a fancy vacation, all things told, and so they’d carefully socked it away, Tracer being not too proud to pick up a  few flying lessons, to take one in proper luxury, on that was all inclusive, and finer than Tracer had probably ever seen in her life. It was the smallest room, the only one the two of them could afford, but Tracer had excitedly talked about which were her best suits, and encouraged Emily to look around for something properly formal for the dance nights on the deck. 

It was wonderful, to see Tracer so happy. 

“You’re going to ask her there? When?” 

Tracer leaned back,. “A little less sure on that, ‘ave to make a proper reconnoiter of the ship, right? Find the perfect place.” 

“She’ll say yes.” Winston was not even certain that Tracer doubted it, particularly, but he still wanted to offer the reassurance. Emily loved her dearly, in the way that it was impossible to spend too much time around Tracer and not begin to love her some. She pulled people into her orbit surely as any heavenly body. 

“Doesn’t mean I don’t want to get it right,” not concerned at all, Winston could see, “Em deserves the romance of it all, right? Something...like a fairytale, for ‘er. I’m not always so easy to be with, I don’t think.” 

“I don’t think that’s true, Lena.” Winston shook his head. “I don’t think you’re hard to love at all.”

“Such a soft touch, you are, big guy,” she giggled, and rubbed his forearm, her nose crinkling, “I mean that--I suppose it is also true that I’m a bit of a odd bird, bit annoying, at the corners, right--but I mean that me job, it’s a bit dangerous, bit unpredictable. Not many’d sign up for that, in the long term, and that I do know.” 

Winston nodded. It was true that Tracer had never had what could fairly be called a lack of luck, with women, but the battles and the danger, while excited at first, became a certain level of terrifying once you came to love Tracer. She narrowly avoided death, from day to day, sure as a jackrabbit, but there was always that sword hanging high above her head, the dayher luck ran out. Tracer herself was the first to admit to it, with a smile and a shake of her head, that people like her didn’t often die in their beds, but then, often isn’t the same as never, is it? 

And she was the patron saint of long odds. 

“She loves you.” 

It was simple, succinct, and the greatest truth that Winston could know. He’d known it from the first time he and Emily had sat down to one of Tracer’s little teas together, Tracer buzzing about the kitchen trying to assemble little trays of things, far more formal than any weekend tea she’d shared with Winston alone. The way she stumbled as she spoke to him, the way she gently complimented him, the way she tried to reassure him she would never try to take Tracer away. She had seen his fear, and he had believed her when she told him, and she had kept that promise. 

He felt he had gained someone else, instead of losing Tracer. He loved Emily, too. Emily seemed to love him. 

Tracer’s eyes sparkled. “I want to make ‘er ‘appy, Win. That’s all. I know ‘er family’s a bit cool on the idea of me--”

“Her brothers love you.” 

Tracer nodded. “Right, that is true. Mum and Dad, I mean, aren’t terribly keen on me. But,” she shrugged, “not as if it’s their life, and Emily seems pleased enough with me, and--” 

She pulled a little box out of her pocket, and opened it to show Winston. It was a small ring, but tasteful, slightly cloudy in the stone, but shined up as best as it could be. 

“Me nan’s. Not much but,” she turned it to her and looked at it, “I thought she might like it. Bit of me ‘istory, right? More than any bloody crest or what ‘ave you.” 

Winston took it out of her hand and inspected it. “No one else fought you for it?” 

“I mean, Ollie’s already married, Florrie, too, and took the ring from her dad’s side. Isn’t Parvati’s style at all, and I don’t think Raj’ll ever bother with marriage at all, right? Not as if it’s worth much, other than the sentiment.” She laughed, “But I did ask! Promise.” 

“Lena--” 

“Would you be me best man, Win?” Tracer cocked her head and looked at him, beaming, “Would mean a lot to me.” 

“Me?” If Winston was built for crying, he would have felt his eyes well with tears, but as human as he was, that was something they had never given him, “You don’t want to ask Parvati?” 

Tracer waved a hand. “Parvati’s gotten me the whole of ‘er bloody life, and god knows I don’t want to see the hen party she’ll plan. You’re me best mate, Win. I want you to do it. Promise I can find you a tailor for the suit.” 

Winston gently set down the ring. Could he have imagined, all those years ago, when he had figured out the riddle and pulled her back through time, a pilot whimpering on the bug jar floor, that he would grow to be so loved? To hear someone call him her best friend, and know that she meant it with her whole heart? Could he have imagined he would know what it felt like to be hugged tightly, and trusted deeply, and asked for such an honor? 

To imagine such a thing, when he came to earth a scared child, would have been impossible. 

“I would love to, Lena.” 

“Oh, thank you Win!” She sprung up in a jump, blinked, and hugged him tightly around the neck, “Promise I’ll message you soon as she says yes, with every detail, oh I will, and then we can ‘ave a bit of an engagement party when I get back, right? Just something small, but it’ll get Fareeha and Ang out of the ‘ouse if nothing else, and save Em telling the story too many times. Oh Win!” 

She hugged him again. “I’m so excited. So ‘appy.” She hadn’t needed to say so. She nearly vibrated with it. “I love you, Win.” 

No, not impossible. 

Just long odds.