Work Text:
China's countryside is peaceful this time of the year. Snow falls gently upon the slopes of the hill and Genji, adjusting the bag upon his shoulder, listens to the croaking of a crow in the peculiar-looking treeline just past the cottages that make up this village, and the rugged mountains beyond the view. The calmness of this all is easily contracted, he realises; this peace, this tranquility has already seeped into him, as if the threat of terrorism and omnic-human war has suddenly been wiped off the face of the planet by the breezes of this place, scattering amongst the greyish-yellow ground waiting for the winter to come.
He doesn't question why Zenyatta's here. At first, it had seemed odd to him, sure enough; what was the omnic monk doing so far out in the midst of rural China, now when the times were desperate for his presence elsewhere, in the cities where tensions were ever rising? But of course he'd be here, where the common people and the rusted-out omnics of the poorer areas needed him. He'd never been the kind of a monk that Mondatta had been, never one to seek that kind of widespread audience for his message, or a change that would take root in crowds. Rather, he would always seek out the individual... like he'd sought out Genji. Where he saw need, he attended to it; its magnitude, its significance in the bigger picture, had never been a concern for Zenyatta.
He simply believed, Genji had learned, that all suffering was equal. Where he saw discord, he stayed to heal those affected. That was the long and the short of it.
The hard-treaded path, narrow and overcome with patches of yellowed-out grass in places and wider and clearer in others, leads Genji up towards a bigger house. It looks very traditional, with sloping roofs and wooden carvings for decorations, almost like a shrine but without the atmosphere that makes them feel so special. It also looks run-down like most everything else here, with paint peeling off the ancient wood and the steps up to the porch and to the front door creaky and strangely soft with age and moisture that has taken residence inside the planks. One more adjustment of the bag he's carrying, containing all his books, his letters and pens, and his few clothes, and he clears his throat: then he knocks and steps back, shifting weight from leg to leg in anticipatory nervousness.
It is an omnic who opens the door for him, but not Zenyatta. She's a Chinese model, an older one; Genji's not sure what her purpose once was, but now she seems to be the one in charge of this house, this off-ways inn. She bows to him, and he bows back at her.
"You must be Genji," she speaks to him in easy-flowing Japanese; she must have mastered multiple languages for her purpose, he thinks, and although he's capable of speaking some Mandarin, this is a welcome relief to him. "Come in, you are expected."
"Thank you," he tells her, smiling underneath his mask.
He drops his hood as he steps inside - his clothes a barrier against the chilly early-winter winds - and the door closes behind him, leaving him and the omnic he's just met inside the inn.
It smells so strongly, yet subtly as if in an undertone, of incense that as he lets his bag slide down his arm and hit the creaky planks of the floor, his mind overflows with love for this place, for its ancient harmony, the present memory of those who'd been there before. His gaze turns for the dimmed windows - the glass is hand-made, his focus instantly finds the little imperfections that make it waver and bend like ice over water - and beyond it, he sees the cows grazing, each with a little sprinkling of fresh snow on their backs. He smiles as one of them moos but then, he's motioned to follow forwards.
"Master Zenyatta should be here any moment now," the omnic tells him, "I will bring your belongings to the room we have reserved for you. Hopefully you will stay for some time, it is quiet this time of the year."
Genji nods.
"Thank you. May I have your name?"
"I am Ying Yue. It is my pleasure to have you here. I have heard many good things."
"Is there a story to this building?" Genji asks; she leads him forwards and over to a table, gesturing towards a steaming kettle in the middle.
The scent of herbal tea wafts from it, mixing seamlessly with the old fragrance of incense still clinging to the room.
"Many stories, Genji," she tells him, a hint of a smile in her voice although her faceplate reveals nothing, "You will hear some of them, if not most of them, during your time here. Have some tea while you wait, if wish so."
She bows her way out of the room, leaving him there with the table and the tea. Shrugging, he settles by the table; his fingertips feel the cold over the guard covering his damaged jaws as he reaches to undo it from its frames, but once it's off, he doesn't feel the usual twinge of anxiety, the concern of what his company will think of his marred features. There's no one here but people like him - even if they aren't cyborgs, they are still machines who don't judge a man by his physical flaws. He pours himself some tea and leans to the back corner of the room that gives him a good view to the entrance, settling to wait... but he doesn't have to wait long.
His heart jumps at the sight of Zenyatta in the front doorway, directly visible through the open door to the room he's settled in now. He's surrounded by an outline of bright white light, but even the frozen cold can't undo the sheer warmth that envelopes him no matter where he goes. Instantly, Zenyatta's gaze turns towards him, and Genji smiles, pulling up in his corner to a half-standing pose, but Zenyatta chuckles and motions him to sit; he's already on his way there. There's no need to run to him, he's taught Genji more patience than that, more... of the way he always wants to be the one coming to others, never the one to make others move for his convenience.
They embrace. Genji's grip of the omnic is tight and almost desperate, so full of emotion that he can barely contain it; his cheek presses to the side of the monk's head and he draws a shaking breath that leaves him as a breathless laugh that breaks apart just enough to betray the tears in his eyes. Zenyatta hums at him quietly, his fingers trailing the shape of Genji's reinforced spine before pressing together there, his palms a welcome weight over the soft fabric of the cyborg's clothes.
"It has been so long, Master."
"No, not so long, Genji. Only a few months."
"Too long," Genji argues, or perhaps he's merely ignored the monk's words; his grip tightens still, and Zenyatta laughs, his hand running the length of Genji's back before pulling back up and moving to his shoulder.
They part, and Genji falls back into his seat with Zenyatta moving silently beside him; the omnic examines him, draws a finger through the black curl of hair resting against Genji's forehead, and just as before Genji can feel him smiling although how he can perceive such a gesture from the monk, he doesn't know. Gently, their heads come closer together until their foreheads touch, and Genji closes his eyes, his hand running down Zenyatta's arm in a lost manner until he finds the back of the omnic's palm and settles to rest there.
"What news from Nepal?" he asks moments later when they part again, his free hand reaching for his tea while the other still remains over Zenyatta's hand.
The monk tilts his head, then looks towards the same window facing the grazing cows as Genji did before; he hums again, rocks thoughtfully back and forth once, and then lets out a small "ah".
"Nepal is the same," he tells Genji in a voice that tells him he's far away from here now, in Nepal, gazing over the vast mountains, the snow-covered peaks, and the shape of the Shambali monastery. "Many are welcoming. Many others are not. Our brothers and sisters there remain steadfast and prayerful; they work hard to bring peace and prosperity to all around them. I was surprised how well I was received when I came back. Our parting was not as pleasant as I'd hoped."
Genji nods.
"I'm glad to hear that Shambali was sensible," he says, "You did nothing wrong. All you want is to help people in your own way."
"They never ran me out, Genji. I ran out myself. But it was awkward," Zenyatta chuckles, "to come back after that. I felt - a little like a runaway child returning home, afraid to hear what my siblings and my parents would have to say about my antics. It seems that we have found common ground, however. There is no animosity between us. Which means that you are welcome to return as well; no need to fear that uncomfortable conversation where you have to defend my choices..."
Genji laughs, too.
"I would defend you against anything," he says, "But I'm happy there's no need. I do miss my old room; the view of the mountains, and the wind."
"Is this your way of reminding me how we forgot that you can feel the cold much more bitterly than most of us do?" Zenyatta asks him, a gentle tease in his tone.
Again, Genji laughs; he shakes his head, his grip over Zenyatta's hand growing firmer for a moment.
"No, Master. I remember even the cold fondly. It felt purifying. The bite of it; the way it carried my pain and my past with it, took it far away from me until I was ready to embrace it again, ready to accept it and make it mine. Yes, I do miss Nepal, and the Shambali monastery, and my room, and the cold, and the heat of the summer days. But most of all, I've just missed you."
Zenyatta stays still for a while, and Genji lets him examine him in peace while he drinks his tea and tries to connect to that unity between them, the gentle mixing of electricity between their hands where the sensors touch, and the simple presence of the one who'd made him feel whole again.
"Why did you wish to meet here?" Genji asks finally when no other words pass to carry on their conversation. He turns a curious gaze towards the omnic, who tilts his head and lets out a gentle chuckle.
"Why not here?"
Genji squints at him; he can't really help it.
"It seems far away from where - I expected us to meet."
For a second, he reconsiders his words, nodding to himself before turning his eyes away.
"From where I expected you to be, really. I've been all around - Europe, the United States, even Japan, but..."
Zenyatta's hand turns around under his, his fingers grabbing a hold of Genji's as he speaks.
"Yes, Japan," the omnic repeats, "Tell me about it. How was it like, coming back home?"
The wind knocks demandingly against the wooden walls, and Genji feels a shiver rush up his spine, unsure whether it was spawned by the imagined chill or by the words spoken or the memories invoked by them. He shudders regardless, his eyes glazing over; now it's his turn to be somewhere far, far away from here.
"I can't say I missed it," he says at first, "the humid heat and the crowds, the way it's always light no matter what time of the day it is. But... then I saw the cherry blossoms, and the old temples, and the walls of my home. I'm just a man after all, and I have roots, even if I was violently torn from them and cast aside like a weed that had grown into a beautiful, immaculate garden. Laying my hands upon those walls and standing atop of them like I used to as a little boy - heh. It felt good, Master. I felt alive again. Like I haven't felt alive in years, in a decade, ever after my body was replaced by machinery and my veins with vessels."
"Did you meet anyone of importance?" the monk asks with his usual keen precision.
Genji shrugs.
"Is he of any importance to me, Master?" he asks. "You know I did meet him."
"But did you talk with him?"
"With him? No. At him? Yes. He is as deaf as ever, and, unfortunately, even blinder than he's been in the past. Driven by this thirst for revenge that I'm afraid cannot be cured, much like mine, but it's turned inwards, and he's extracting it against himself every day, his every breath like a blade stabbing into his soul. He refused to see me, and he was all too eager to fight me - over my own honour, nonetheless, Master. But I bested him. I am stronger now, and I am no longer afraid. He stood no chance in the end. Thinking I was no one, he sent his dragons at me; it was all too easy to bend them back at him. I've done it all my life. It used to be funny to me. Now all I could feel was his weakness. I told him what I could, but the rest is in his hands."
Zenyatta nods, his gesture filled with the appropriate weight for the words Genji's spoken to him. Then his aura brightens again and Genji looks at him once more, even as the omnic's fingertips brush over his features, as if mapping him out like they'd never met before.
"And what did you do after?"
"After?" Genji repeats, not having expected the question; he'd expected more analysis of their encounter, this supposedly important turning point of his healing. "I - went to eat some ramen outside the castle walls, and then I slept."
"An odd answer," Zenyatta points out, and Genji laughs.
"The whole meeting felt like a funeral, Master. I didn't feel like bowing down in prayer afterwards. All I wanted was -"
"A belly ache."
"Yes," Genji finishes with a bitter grimace, Zenyatta's fingers leaving his chin, "I wanted to eat like I was whole. And I regretted it."
"I suppose a man cannot entirely be turned into a machine of reason," Zenyatta says with his voice vibrating with amusement, "You will always hold onto your quirks and do what you please in the end, no matter how painful the consequences will be."
Genji chuckles. They're silent for some time, but then, once he's had his tea, Zenyatta shifts from beside him and holds out his hand to pull him out of his seat.
"Walk with me, Genji."
They leave the little village and its pastures behind. They move in silence, Zenyatta in the lead, the little, hardened path leading them towards the forest. From a distance, through the growing snowfall, Genji spots a little well which seems to be their destination. It's old - perhaps ancient - but when they get to it, he can see some ice around it, telling him that it may still be in use. He throws a glance behind them, towards the few buildings, and sees a child standing at the edge of the village: a little boy, with his fingertips touching his lips in hesitation. He watches them for a moment before his mother calls for him from somewhere behind the house with its back turned towards them, and the boy sprints away without a second glance, yelling something in Chinese in response to the woman's call. Zenyatta slides silently to sit on the edge of the well and Genji turns for him.
"I came here with Mondatta once," the omnic tells him then, finally revealing why they're there. "I came here to remember him now that our path seems to be taking a darker turn; not to ask for guidance but to think for myself in his footsteps. Mondatta always had a clear vision. These days, I don't feel that I do."
Genji nods.
"I knew you were nearby - well, on this side of the planet, at the very least - and I wanted to talk to you as well, and not just your memory, Genji. I have missed you as well."
The words cause Genji to swallow thickly. He brushes his palm over his arm and nods again, this time more hesitantly.
"Does it feel like years to you as well, Master?" he asks, finally seating himself beside the omnic, who lets out a small, warm chuckle in response.
"Sometimes. And sometimes it's fleeting, as if you were just here, but the longing then seems even stronger than at other times, like I could almost see you, but you're not there anymore. I knew one day you'd walk from me, our paths were never meant to be the same forever, but I do hope that they will cross once more so that we can be together more often. You are an extraordinary man, Genji. It feels as if you made my vision clearer too, and not just the other way around, but it is often that the teacher learns something from his student. Well; now you are no longer a student."
"I will always be your student."
"Yes, but I am yours the same. The way you will live your life is a path I would, and could, never take; to be able to follow you on it, to witness it, is a joy and a privilege, Genji."
Their hands touch again, Genji's seeking the reassurance of the monk's beside him, and Zenyatta takes it, holding it firmly.
"Having you by my side is a comfort I could not get elsewhere, Zenyatta," Genji says quietly, looking at the monk before leaning in and pressing the lightest kiss over his forehead.