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Hanzo found her in the transport. She was curled up in a corner by the pilot’s seat. He stood in the middle of the ship and looked up at her, and she stared back with angry red eyes.
Hana had her headphones on and was leaning against the wall. Her arms were wrapped around her knees and her jaw was tight.
“What,” she said. Her voice was raw.
Hanzo had trouble coming up with an adequate answer. He looked away, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “I thought you might appreciate the company.”
“Did they send you to bring me back?” she asked.
He scoffed. A smile danced across his lips. After her guilt-inducing outburst, everyone had just been happy to see her storm off. “No. I excused myself.”
She bowed her head, hiding it from view with her arms. He noticed that her fingers were white where they clenched at her jacket. “Company would be nice.”
Hanzo sat himself on the floor across from her. He was close enough to talk comfortably, but gave her space. She returned to her communicator, tapping away at something. He suspected it was a game. She always played games when she was upset.
He leaned back and closed his eyes, his legs outstretched and crossed at his ankles. The wall against his back was cold, even through the jacket. It was newly issued; something like excitement still stirred in his chest whenever he saw the Overwatch patch on the sleeve.
He never thought he'd get a second chance, but there he was: a hired gun finally stumbling his way onto the right side of history. For once, he was using his talents to help people.
Maybe that was why not being able to help people suddenly hurt.
Hana gasped across from him and he opened his eyes a crack to see her frowning at the screen. He chuckled, too quietly for her to hear over the music. Her eyes were still red, but she seemed too engaged with whatever it was she was playing to care.
Hanzo marveled sometimes at how well she shuffled and managed her emotions. He sometimes found himself wishing he could have been a little more like her at that age—even well into his thirties he could not compare. If there was anyone he knew who had control over themself and their internal reality, it was Hana.
She was another new recruit, having arrived just a couple of weeks after Hanzo. She was absolutely deadly; Hanzo had seen her mow down training droids in and out of her mech. Hana could be as terrifying as raging fire.
Curiously, though, she hid behind an extravagant persona. When she was “in character”—that was the only way he could describe it—she reminded him of a younger Genji. (In hindsight, Hanzo wondered how much of his brother’s self back then had been a fabrication.)
Suddenly she shuffled, and Hanzo opened his eyes. She had taken off her headphones and the communicator was on the ground beside her. She was staring at her feet, but her eyes were unfocused.
Hanzo tilted his head in silent question.
“Are we bad people.”
Hanzo sucked in a sharp breath. He adjusted his crossed arms, knotting them together tighter. “Who is we,” he asked.
Some seemed to think that the bubbly D.Va was her entire self. Those were the ones who chastised her for being too childlike, or accused her of not treating war with the proper respect. Those people were, in Hanzo’s humble opinion, absolute fools.
Hana sighed and her shoulders melted. “You. Me. Overwatch.”
Hanzo swapped which leg was crossed. He didn't know what words to offer that would bring her comfort. More concerningly, he didn't know what words were true, either. (He knew his answer for himself, and he knew his answer for her, but he didn't know his answer for “we”.)
D.Va was not all that there was to her. It wasn't even most of what there was to her: the persona was hardly more than a mask. Every once in awhile, Hana Song burned through it.
“I can’t believe we’re just going to let them die,” she said. Hanzo couldn't remember ever having heard someone sound so forlorn before in his life. She was utterly motionless.
“There is nothing to be done, Hana. They are already dead.” She knew this.
“They aren’t,” she said. Her voice wasn't wavering any more. “Two thousand people. Still alive.”
In the moments when the act that had become a self in and of itself faded, there was a ruthlessness to her. Her hardened eyes had seen too much to rest easy. Her smile was swiftly washed away, as though carried off by a racing wind. When she was too tired to hide herself for the sake of both others and her own sanity, the force of nature that was Hana Song was devastatingly transparent. She was the only person Hanzo had ever met who he felt equalled himself in severity.
“They are surrounded by the omnics and all air support is being shot down. There is no way in. They are dead.” Hanzo heard the fear and anger in his voice. He winced at how obvious it was that he was looking for an excuse.
“They’re afraid,” she said. “Children will be hidden in locked basements. Lovers will be saying goodbye.”
Hanzo pulled up his knees. He didn't want to think about the small town in Russia they’d abandoned any more than he had to.
“There is nothing to be done.”
Hana got up and stood on solid feet, like a tree with roots that reached to the center of the Earth. “We could have tried.”
Hanzo stared forward at where she had been sitting.
“Come with me?” she said. Hanzo looked up. Her eyes were soft. “There was a new release two days ago. I’m gonna stream for awhile.”
Hanzo savagely swiped away a tear with his fingertips. His breath shuddered. “I would appreciate that.”
Hana shoved him playfully as they left the ship. Her bubbly gait and lilting voice were returning. “Here 'cause I need company. You're funny.”