Chapter Text
“Start recording. This is Strike Commander Winston, present for an agent interview. Present in Agent Sojourn. Please state your name for the record.”
“Ramattra.”
“Interviewing takes place at 10:25am, at the Gilbratal base. Interview begin.”
“So,” Sojourn’s voice rang out through the recording. Hanzo leaned back in his chair, in the cover of darkness in his room. It had been a few short hours since this recording, so it was still fresh to the world. He had requested a copy, since it had been decided the scene would be closed to observation to everyone, baring Zenyatta. Everyone else had already had their chance to say their peace. The debates were had, and a decision was reached. There was very little anyone could do about it now. “We have deliberated among the other agents about the proposition of you joining Overwatch. Even as an ally, we have some concerns.”
This was all anyone was talking about currently. Ramattra. It was impossible to escape. The debrief had been chaotic, only made worse when Dr. Ziegler arrived late, announcing that she had already shared sensitive information with the omnic, and he had been receptive to help. Agent Sojourn with an impassive face, but fury simmering right underneath everything, telling the doctor to sit down, while they continued.
Ramattra in the video did not respond, staring blankly at the two humans before him. His human eye twitched slightly within its recessed socket, but none of the body language changed much else.
“You are already familiar with the situation,” Winston said, sitting up a bit more. “And Dr. Ziegler and Baptiste have advocated in your favor.”
They had. Fiercely. People were quick, if not cautious to point out that Zenyatta was largely biased in his want for Ramattra to join them. A perspective they seemed less inclined to take into consideration. Genji as well, although only a few brave souls actually voiced that one. As soon as talk of the disease, theories, and steps forward started to be talked about, Dr. Ziegler and Baptiste were adamant in their advocacy of Ramattra. Four people out of the already small organization were advocating for this omnic. It grated Hanzo to no end. It burned him from the inside out to see everything that this man was being handed.
“We’re just worried,” Lena said, the conference table simmering with heated words and discussion.
“I am sympathetic,” Baptiste said, “I really am. But he’s different. He’s not the same man that went missing a year ago, he’s changed. Even being here for as short of a time as he has, he’s changed. I understand the worry, but he’s become less guarded”
“ He still needs our help with his recovery,” Dr. Ziegler interjected. The two of them had been ruthless in their arguments, often talking one after another, barely allowing enough time for someone to get a word in. It was all under the guise of sympathy, but they wanted something. They wanted Ramattra to stay. “that’s not something I am willing to stop, not when so much progress has been made and he already knows about this disease. He was receptive to the idea of helping. Adamant about it, even. His knowledge would be a huge asset.”
“Plus,” Baptiste said with a smile. “I think he likes us.”
Hanzo did not care whether Ramattra liked any of them. Preferably, the omnic would go away and no longer be a problem. His inability to move did make that difficult.
And Hanzo had tried. He had tried very hard to eliminate all interest from the omnic. His stupid brother had laughed him off, time and time again. The pradling monk had been wholly unreceptive to the words. Although, Hanzo was sure he could have framed it better, given a sober state of mind, he still did not regret anything that was said.
But no. Of course. Hopeless, lost causes they seemed determined to stick with, no matter how clear it was that they would die in this stupid, stupid hill.
So fine. Fine. Hanzo understood. Message received loud and clear. They were going to help Ramattra no matter what, no matter the pain, the suffering, the futility, everything. So fine. Hanzo looked at his writing of a workout plan. If things went according to plan Ramattra would learn to hate Hanzo by the time he was done. He would work Ramattra until he bled, until he was worthy of Genji’s time, and attention. If that was what it took, Hanzo would do it.
“I am willing to ally, temporarily, with Overwatch, with the express purpose of getting to the bottom of this plight, and eradicating it.” Ramattra said, coolly. He presented very formally here, his back straight, prime and proper. A different to all of the times Hanzo had delivered a meal, and watched the omnic groan pathetically in pain, or cry. Hanzo had not been familiar with the omnic terrorist prior to this incident, only distantly hearing about him. The elder Shimada never expected him to be so whiney. “I do not think we have time for these sorts of things, so get on with it. I would like to begin as quickly as possible.”
“Hold on,” Sojourn leaned forward. “Ramattra, I am worried about your addition for a multitude of reasons. One is your attitude.”
The omnic immediately bristled at the accusation.
“My attitude.” Hanzo smiled a bit at the irate tone. A similar talk was given to him when he had first arrived at the doorstep of the base. Although Genji had been in the room, and it had been a lot more erring on the side of welcoming. His had been an interview. This was an interrogation.
“You have been working alone for a while,” Winston said, his tone much softer than Sojourn’s. “We are a team here, and need at least full cooperation from all agents.”
“I have been cooperative.”
“You’re also not going to be in charge,” Sojourn took the conversation again. She pointed to Winston. “He is. I am. Not you. You take orders, you are not in a position where you will be calling any shots, at all. I want you to understand that.”
Ramattra’s hands clenched into fists. His shoulder hiked up.
“You’ve been recovering from a traumatic experience,” Sojourn continued. “I understand that. But know that, under my command, you will not be coddled. I have expectations and they will be met. I do not tolerate insubordination. We are not on your ship, and we are not Null Sector. If you are not able to follow orders, then I don’t want you in my team. End of story. Do I make myself clear?”
Truth be told, Hanzo wanted to see the omnic break. He wanted to see him lose his temper. Throw something. Curse them out, break something. Show how out of control he was. Be a bad agent.
Over the past few weeks, Hanzo had made himself much more familiar with Ramattra, and the things that he had done. Terrorism, there was no other way to describe it. He had seen the aftermath of the destroyed cities, people who were hurt. It was a lot, it was vast, and Hanzo could see the sins in the ruins of each city that had been left to rot. He had shown these things to Genji, in one of his many attempts to try to get his brother to change his mind about his current crusade. His brother had looked at him, the mask covering any emotion that he had beyond what was carried through in his voice.
“We have harmed people as well. For much less justification, and reasoning as Ramattra. I am not saying it is right, I am not saying that his actions are justified. I am saying that we are given another change. So he should as well.”
Hanzo had left his brother standing there, a vice of steel placed over his chest, and squeezing him too tight. The words poured over in his mind, and hard to shake.
He tried to refocus (again) on the recording. Hanzo had already gotten the notice. He knew the outcome of everything. But still, there was a part of him that hopelessly wanted Ramattra to trip over his own feet in the end.
“Crystal,” Ramattra said through gritted teeth. “However, I will not tolerate any direct or indirect discrimination or harmful behaviors to any omnics, nor mechanical entities. If I see, hear, or come to know of any discriminatory actions that have befallen any of them I will leave.
“Additionally, everything will be done in your power to protect, assist, and cure all of the afflicted omnics. Any hate crimes that are observed will be stopped, by every agent. If I see, hear, or come to know that anyone did not do everything that they could to stop harm to come to an omnic, I will leave.”
“These are terms we can agree to,” Winston immediately agreed to. “We want to make Overwatch better than it was. It’s good to have fresh perspectives on board.”
Based on Ramattra’s lack of response, this was not the right thing to say. The omnic held his tongue though, a testimony to actually trying to make this work. Winston continued.
“And you won’t be doing any field work immediately. Dr. Ziegler states that you are still recovering, and they still want to work with you in strength training. Are you familiar with Agent Hanzo?”
Despite himself, Hanzo smiled. Planning ahead had been a wonderful idea. If anything Winston had been very excited to hear that Hanzo was willing to take on the responsibility of Ramattra’s strength training. He did mention that Hanzo should check in with the medics, just to get a good idea of when they would be able to begin, and what the omnic would be able to handle. Which he was going to do. No reason to cause further injury. But everything else, Hanzo planned on working the omnic to the bone. He had been trained all his life, since when he was taking his first steps, Hanzo had been trained, beaten, whipped, cut, sliced, and molded into the perfect weapon. He knew how to train, he knew how to become strong.
If Genji insisted on investing in this monumental waste of time, Hanzo would do his part to ensure Ramattra did not die the moment he stepped onto a battlefield. The omnic would pay back the sizable debt he was wracking up, if Hanzo had anything to say about it.
“I am familiar,” Ramattra gritted out. His patience was being tested. Good.
“He’s offered to oversee much of your strength and adaptation training,” Sojourn continued. “He’s good at what he does, and will be in contact with either Mercy or Baptiste, to make sure you’re not going to get reinjuried.”
“I understand.”
“Good, now,” she leaned back again. Her sharp eyes drifted to the doorway, a momentary break in her controlled persona. Assessing the situation. “We need to talk about what happened at the cave. You’ve already been briefed on the situation, correct?”
“Yes. It is- missing.”
Ah. Right.
“The cave is gone,” Dr. Zhou said, looking at the cameras that had been set up prior to them leaving. There had been talk of going back to the cave at some point, to collect more samples, or actually go into the yawning drop off in the back that they had found Ramattra at. It was a distant goal, but it seemed that they had been beaten to the punch, at least in this instance.
“Gone?” Cassidy asked, pulled forward from where he had been leaning dangerously far back in his chair, bracing his forearms on the table. His brow furrowed, looking to the screen.
“What do you mean gone?” Lena asked, doing much the same.
“It’s gone. Just carved out. Someone messed with the camera, so we didn’t notice it earlier. But we did fly down to make sure, and-”
Images flashed on the screen. A cave, with deep scratch marks etched into it, seemingly hollow. It was much larger than the only time Hanzo had visited it, the lack of space being taken up by the flesh of the walls. A few of the pictures showed further in under harsh, flood lighting. There was nothing but rock, and evidence of stone work. The cave had been cored like a fruit, leaving nothing but rind behind.
“How?” Baptiste breathed, looking at the images with a hand over his mouth.
“We don’t know,” Winston admitted. Hanzo would have never admitted to such a thing. “We can assume that it was by the same people who created the virus, but we don’t know for sure.”
“The two incidents might have different perpetrators then?” Mercy asked.
“Maybe.”
Maybe. But probably not. There was too much that they did not know about everything that had happened. Hanzo had already been assigned to an infiltration and information gathering mission to a research facility, suspected with ties to Talon. He was set to leave in the morning, and wanted to get as much work done here as possible. He wanted to be through with this interview, and do the rest of the work he had.
“We’re currently trying to gather more information on the situation to know how to best handle it,” Ramattra’s shoulders tightened at Winston’s words. Sojourn seemed to notice, leaning forward a bit, but nothing happened. “It would be helpful to know what happened to you. Zenyatta reports that you remember everything. Is that correct?”
Ramattra’s breathing was shaky on his inhale. Pathetic. Weakness.
“Yes. I remember.”
“Would it make you more comfortable if it was just Zenyatta in here,” Hanzo had overheard the two having this conversation. Sojourn did not approve of the coddling, she did not want someone who could not go through a recollection without a PTSD breakdown on the field, with her agent's lives at stake. Hanzo was inclined to agree. But Winston thought it was cruel to test Ramattra so soon, especially when, physically, he was not combat ready. Not yet, at least. “This is being recorded, we can review the footage at a later date, but we just need a record of what happened.”
Ramattra turned his eyes downward. Good. Shame. Shame for his inadequacies. Hanzo already knew what happened, Zenyatta would continue the interview, but at least he knew that this omnic felt a warrior’s shame for his short comings.
“I would like- Zenyatta. Please.”
Winston and Sojourn exited. Zenyatta entered. The omnic moved his seat to be next to Ramattra. The two intertwined their hands. From the silence, Hanzo assumed that they were speaking together in that omnic language. Genji apparently knew it.
“Alright,” Ramattra breathed, his body already shaking.
“For the past year, I have been held in captivity by a creature that calls itself Legion. I am unsure if this is its real name, where it came from, nor how it got its current form. I know that it was unintentional that I came into captivity. I was in the region for a reason, but I am sorry, I do not remember why. I do not think that Legion could move, and it was a misstep that landed me in its clutches.
“It did not tell me much. Not about its true intentions, purpose, or goals. The only thing it spoke of was insults, degrading words, and mockery, while it-”
Ramattra was shaking more. The yellow, ornamental orbs circled around the two of them, while Zenyatta pulled the large Ravager into a tight embrace. Ramattra followed without resistance.
“It killed me. It killed me over and over and over again. There are logs of my death, I have seen them, they are there. They are in my circuitry, I know it happened. It made it a point to kill me in a new way each time. Breaking me down, taking me apart, pulling wires out of me, scrambling my memory, overheating, freezing. It got very creative in some ways.
“It counted. A thousand and one deaths. That was what it wanted to get to. To kill me a thousand and one times. I have been too frightened to look at the total number of death logs that I have. After a while, it all became far too much. I shut down my systems, except for the bare minimum to keep my body alive, just for some relief from the torture. Sometimes it would try to power me back on, but I shut myself down quickly. I had long since given up trying to fight Legion in its pursuit, and trying to escape. I didn’t know what else to do. It was killing me in a way I could not handle. I needed relief.
“I did not know it was transforming me until I was rescued. I did not realize the extent until much later. I do not know how it was able to do this. I do not know where it came from, what it is, what its goals nor allegiances are. I know it held and tortured me for a year before transforming my body into the prison it is today. That is all I know.”
Hanzo shut off the interview. He could see that the rest of it was Ramattra crying, struggling to control himself. That would have to be something they worked on.
The ex-scion got up, stretching his back a bit, looking at the collection of documents spread out before him. He had a couple of things he was working on at the moment, preparing for his mission tomorrow, developing Ramattra’s strength training program, some of his personal metrics in relation to weight training, reviewing some of the most recent mission footage. Hanzo was adapt to doing a multitude of tasks all at once, and completing them at a fervent pace. The couple of years he had spent as the leader of the Shimada clan, and the lifetime he had spent training for the role had ingrained the habits deep. He used to do his tasks at some public space around the base, but found that Genji did not like seeing all of the work Hanzo made for himself. So now, more often, he hid away in his room to do his work, as to not disturb his brother. Although, that had been much less of a problem.
But it was noon, which meant it was time for a light meal and some additional training before he continued with everything he wanted done before the end of the day. At this very moment, Hanzo felt the dragging pull of his body, and the weight of his mind. He wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed, and not move. A newly replenished alcohol stash tucked just inside his night stand. It was dark here, the temperature was perfect, and, better yet, he would not have to go outside. He would be alone, and his heart would ache a little bit less at the mind numbing nothingness he craved so desperately.
Instead he opened the door, and left the room. In theory it should have been better for him. But Hanzo always felt worse when he denied himself these selfish, unrelenting wants. It was like puppeteering a body, a persona, that he knew was fake. He made sure that when people looked at him, they saw a competent, reliable agent, who could take on the burden of anything. It was a sham of course. A lie. An extended lie. One that he kept up to be useful to his brother. The skin fit because he made it fit, and he had been molded into it. But it never felt like it did.
Hanzo made his way to the communal kitchen of the base, starting to hunt down his usual meal. The team had a schedule of who would cook for dinners, usually in pairs, due to the amount of agents they currently had, but were on their own for the rest of the time. As a creature of habit, he had found that the same three or four meals were easy to make and remember. Today was simple rice, miso, some fish, simple, with no complex flavors. It would be easy to eat.
He entered into the room, and immediately someone was talking to him.
“Look, I appreciate the concern but-” Lúcio’s voice was hard, more so than Hanzo had heard before, at least outside of the meetings they had been having. The man was sitting in the barstools, at the counter of the large, industrial kitchen. Hanzo assumed that, in its heyday, Overwatch had their own chefs who made all of the meals for all staff. Those days were long gone.
Lúcio whipped around, seeing Hanzo in the doorway, and his shoulders slumped a bit. He was still on guard, but had relaxed just a bit. It was an unusual reaction to Hanzo’s presence.
“My apologies, I was going to be making some lunch. Do you wish for me to come back later?”
“No, no, sorry, I thought you were. It doesn't matter,” he turned back to his own meal, a bowl of something. Hanzo continued his way into the kitchen, gathering the cut of fish he had previously purchased, the ricecooker, and some dashi. “People have been finding me all day, and asking if I’m ok with everything that has been happening.”
Hanzo hummed, purely as a way to let the man know he was listening, and heard what he had to say. Nothing more. They did not need to talk.
Hanzo placed the rice into the cooker, and started it up. He lightly seasoned the fish, and heated up a pan. The dashi was heating up, keeping a close eye on it to make sure that he did not overheat it.
He was not good with emotions. Not at all. There was no way he was qualified to give someone advice. He wished Genji was here, so he could actually give good advice on what to do, and Hanzo could escape this profoundly uncomfortable conversation.
“What do you think? Of Ramattra, I mean.” Hanzo wanted to leave. He did not want to talk, he did not want to share an opinion that did not matter. He wanted to be left alone. Maybe he should invest in a personal rice cooker he could keep in his room, so he did not have to leave to make any meals. “You’ve been spending more time with him. And I just,” Lúcio signed. “I want to stop being angry about this.”
“I am not a good person to talk to for that,” Hanzo said plainly, willing the rice to cook faster with his mind. He turned down the heat on the dashi, taking out some miso paste, placing a healthy amount in.
“You’re not angry,” Lúcio said with a flippant turn of his hand, like it was the most ridiculous thing that he had heard. “Sure, maybe a little shy, but not angry. At least not outwardly. Not in the way that Ramattra is. Not in the way that I am.”
“I rephrase, I am not good at helping people with emotions. Go to,” he would have suggested Zenyatta, but that was not a good recommendation at the moment. “Someone else.”
“Look, I just want to talk man. Everyone else is walking on eggshells around me, and I’m sick of it. I just want to talk with another person. Can I just do that?”
Hanzo looked at the rice. Still a long way to go.
“Fine.”
Lúcio’s face lit up for some reason, and Hanzo grumbled to himself. How did he ever find himself in this situation? He was supposed to be running an empire, not doing- whatever this was. Pathetic.
“Ok,” Lúcio leaned forward in his seat, as if Hanzo could not hear him perfectly from where he was. “It’s like, I get it. I’ve been thinking about it a lot and I really do get it. Omnics are not treated well. I’m sure Ramattra has been treated horribly. I’ve been looking up a lot of recordings of Ramattra before he started Null Sector. There’s a group of people online, obsessed with him. In, like, a weird way. But, anyways, I see what has happened to him. I see the violence, the harm, the discrimination. I get why someone would be angry. I see why he would be angry.
“But,” Lúcio pulled his hands together, folding them over each other, his eyes downcast. “He attacked my home. He killed people. He hurt people. I was there, I saw, I helped, I treated the people he hurt. Because he hurt people. No matter how much he was harmed in the past, I can only think about the ruined buildings of my home. Seeing people I care about bloody, and broken under rubble.
“And it makes me so angry,” his voice cracked, lifting his hands up to cover both of his eyes. He sounded like he was going to cry. Hanzo really hoped that he did not cry. “I’m not stupid. I know there are awful things in the world, and I know that things are unfair, and horrible. That’s why I am here, to try to do my part in making it less so. I can do something about it, so I am going to try. I just don’t-”
Oh fuck. He was crying. Hanzo froze, looking at the man before him, rubbing his eyes furiously, trying to drain the tears from them, but more just kept coming. Why did he have to deal with this? There were so many other people who would be so much better, why Hanzo?
“I don’t-” he breathed, shaky, desperate for control. “I want to stop being angry about this. I want to just accept that he’s going to be here. Oh, great realization Lúcio, the world is harsh and cruel, and it’s up to us to be kind despite all of that.
“But I don’t want to be kind. I don’t want to get along. I want-”
He paused, looking down at where his hands now rested on the counter. They were limp, unmoving. All of the energy drained out of him.
“An apology. I want an apology.”
It was like being stabbed. Actually, Hanzo would have preferred to be stabbed, because then he could pull the blade out and bleed to death. He would have thought that Lúcio was purposefully trying to be cruel with this conversation topic if the man did not look so earnestly at the Shimada. It almost felt like shooting a rabbit, soft and innocent.
“What would an apology do?” he gritted out, turning his back to Lúcio, and overstirring the rice and miso.
“Nothing. Probably. At least he would acknowledge the pain he’s caused. At least he would just, I don’t know,” the anger was being drained out of him. “Just so I know. Just so I know, that he knows what he’s done.”
“Would that do anything?” Hanzo was going to be sick. He was not sure if there was even a point to making lunch now, he was not going to eat it he felt so sick.
“Probably not. I don’t know how to stop, and the guy I usually go to is so wrapped up in all of this, I don’t think he could look at it objectively.”
“It is the only thing people have been talking about.”
“Yes!” he threw his hands out to Hanzo. It startled him a bit, the quick, genuine gesture. “Thank you! It’s all anyone talks about, and I know it’s a lot, and a huge shift but-” he sighed heavily. “I miss talking with Jean and Angela.”
The rice cooker went off. Hanzo could not be quicker in starting to assemble his bowl, mixing his rice with furikake, setting his fish on it, adding in some tofu and seaweed to his miso. He wanted to take his meal and escape. Run far far away. But leaving the teary eyed Lúcio felt wrong. Rude. So instead he grabbed a pair of chopsticks, and started to eat. At least once he was done, he would have a good excuse to run off.
“I don’t know man,” Lúcio ran a hand over his dreadlocks. “This is going to happen no matter what. Winston already approved it, and he’s not going to stay in med for much longer. I just wish I didn’t feel this way. I don’t like it.”
Hanzo had a plethora of experience in feeling things he did not want to. Really all things he felt he did not want to. He could suggest alcohol, but that was probably not helpful. So he just kept eating his food, waiting for Lúcio to tire himself out from talking.
“I am going to get over it though,” he wiped the last of the moisture from his eyes. “We do have to help these omnics, and Ramattra is one of our best assets to do that. I’m not stupid, I know that. I just wish I felt better about it.”
Hanzo finished his rice, and was onto the miso. If he tried, he could probably eat it in one gulp, but it would be rather undignified. So he settled for three. Then it was to the gym.
“Anyways, thanks,” he smiled, and Hanzo almost choked on his soup. “I appreciate you just letting me talk. The others, they mean well, but I- I don’t know- don’t really want advice? I guess. And hey, maybe Ramattra is different, like Jean said. I still haven’t talked to him. I should probably do that at some point.”
Lúcio seemed to turn something over in his head, before he looked up at Hanzo.
“Anyways, what are you doing for the rest of the day?”
Hanzo placed his dishes in the dishwasher, and cleaned up the rest of his mess. There was no evidence that he had ever been here.
“Training. Then some more preparations for my mission tomorrow.”
Lúcio was quiet for a moment.
“Can I train with you?”
No.
Hanzo filled up a water bottle, and fished out a protein shake from the fridge. They were purchased in bulk, since he kept a scrutinizingly close eye on his protein intake. He would need to get more, once he started training Ramattra.
“Do what you want. I don’t care,” he settled on as a response, leaving the room as quickly as he could.
Lúcio was on his heels. There was no way that he would be able to outrun the DJ. He signed, resigning himself to company during his workout. Company that was very much, not welcome.
~
There was a knock at his door. Hanzo shot up in his seat, a sharp intake of air filling his lungs. His back screamed at the sudden change in position.
He had fallen asleep at his desk. Amidst everything. It was 11pm now, and he had an early morning tomorrow. Fuck, how he had been so careless? The plans before him were perfect, he had triple checked them, memorized the layout of the building, checked all of the public employee directories. There was nothing he was not prepared for.
Another knock. He had forgotten about the door.
Getting up made him momentarily dizzy, spinning his head a bit. He gripped his chair, steadying himself before walking over to the door, and commanding it open. It was Genji on the other side, a bento box and covered meal drink in his hands.
“Hello brother,” he said, looking beyond him for a moment to the desk. “May I come in?”
He stepped aside for his brother. While there had been a question, Hanzo was not sure that he could deny Genji anything. Not anymore.
The cyborg entered, promptly sitting on the ground, gesturing for Hanzo to join. He did, and the box was placed into his lap, before Genji removed his visor, setting up his own meal. Hanzo was following every movement, aware that they were happening. But it still felt too fast for his mind to keep up with.
Hanzo had gotten the bento boxes a while ago, an impulse purchase he made very drunk one night, teary eyed and wanting to make his brother something simple from their childhood. He had forgotten about it, until he got the notification a package had been delivered to the communal PO box that they all shared. Embarrassed by the foolish thought, he had long since known that Genji could not eat any solid foods, he had hidden the box in his room for months. It was not until Genji had helped him with some spring cleaning that it was found, and placed in the kitchen. It was only used by the cyborg himself, to make Hanzo food, which just eviscerated him each time it happened. But Hanzo would never mention this, and just take the gift he had been given.
“You can eat,” Genji said, “it’s not perfect, a lot of it is leftovers that I found in the fridge, and some other things, but it should still be good. Little bit of everything.”
He nodded, opening up the box, because that was what Genji wanted. He was right. It was a little bit of everything. A three cheese ravioli dish that had been made a while ago. A bed of rice with some chinese sausage, furikake, and a runny egg. Some steamed broccoli, another hardboiled egg, but with soy sauce infused into it. A little cupcake that was squished into one of the compartments. It was a mish-mash of a lot of things, but it dragged guilt to the very bottom of Hanzo’s stomach all the same.
“Thank you,” he took the chopsticks and started to eat. It was fine. Everything was fine. Not the best he had eaten, but it would get the job done. But it was made by Genji. So it had to be the best meal he had ever eaten.
“I heard that you are going to be taking over Ramattra’s strength training.”
“That is correct.”
“And that you were the one who requested it.”
“Yes.”
Genji smiled. His face was lopsided due to the amount of scar tissue, but it lit up the whole room. Hanzo turned away, shoved more food into his face, trying to silence the shuttering in his chest.
“I think that’ll be good for him,” Genji said, and guilt threatened to kill Hanzo. The trust was so so unearned. His brother had no idea the depths of the foul nature of his soul. “He needs more friends, and you and him are alike in some ways.”
Hanzo wanted to get back to work.
“I assume you already have a plan. I heard about your mission, so if you want, I can run it by Jean. See what he thinks so you can have some input when you get back. It’s late, so won’t have time today.”
Hanzo had work to get done. He wanted to get back to work.
“What time do you have to leave tomorrow?”
Why? Why did this happen? Why couldn’t he just be left alone? He contributed to the team, did not complain, what more did they want from him?
“Hanzo?”
“6am,” he muttered, getting to the end of his meal. All that was left was the cupcake.
He loved sweets. Always had. When he had been on the run, a dollar store candy bar was often the only comfort he would receive for weeks. In terms of vanilla versus chocolate, he would choose chocolate. This was a small, chocolate cupcake, with whipped frosting, and a few sprinkles. Very clearly homemade, if the rough, loving nature of the frosting was to go by. He had been nearby when Lena had made them, stealing a few, and running off before he could be caught. A very rare comfort.
It was squished into the compartment, parts of the frosting were on the lid. He pulled it out, carefully, his chest constricting. Maybe he needed more sleep.
“You should sleep then,” Genji said, placing his empty shake down, and slotting the mask into place. “Are you going to be ok? I can ask Winston to add me to the rooster.”
“It’s an infiltration mission,” the cupcake was so good. The perfect ratio of sweet, with whole, gooey pockets of chocolate chips mixed in. “I have done many before. I will be fine.”
“I know.”
He choked the rest of the cupcake down in one bite. He didn’t really want to savor it.
“Then why did you ask?”
Genji did not respond. He held out his hand to take the used bento box, putting it under his arm. His hand rested on Hanzo’s shoulder, the weight of it crushing the man more than he could say.
“Come back safe brother.”
He was gone. Had been for a while, while Hanzo stayed sat on the floor. He looked at his desk. Work. Always work.
In twenty minutes, he had a small file of his workout plan for Ramattra in a folder, with plans to drop it off with Genji before leaving, and the rest of his mission prep complete. He was in his sleep clothes, hair draping down to his shoulders, teeth brushed, curling up under his covers. Alarm set.
Maybe he just needed some sleep. Maybe that’s all he needed. Just a few hours of blissful, peaceful.
Sleep.