It should have been him for a lot of things. If the enemy operatives had their way, it would have been him for the grenade that took out Jesse's arm. It should have been him to leave Overwatch, not Jesse. It should have been him that survived, instead of this coward who ran and ran and ran and didn't stop running until he was pulled up short by the news that the man who he considered a father was dead.

And he kept running.

Until he landed here, worn out and exhausted, unable to run anymore. He hadn't caught the sun, but he had faced his shadows, the demons that clung to his back and whispered in his ear what a damn disgrace he was. What a failure, what a fool. What a poor excuse for an operative, what a poor excuse for a son-

"... Thanks..." He carefully takes the water with his newly repaired hand, tries to ignore the way he's still shaking. Whether it's with exhaustion, nerves, or more, he cannot say. Only that he's tired, he's so tired of running. And he's missed the old man in front of him.

"... Reyes, I'm..." A pause, a sigh, and he finally looks him in the eye. They're probably red-rimmed and bloodshot from crying, but that hardly matters now, does it? "... I can't change the past, but... Movin' forward..."