Chapter Text
From his vantage point in the slightly elevated observation gallery, Shimada Genji felt like he was watching a piece of theater from a box seat. Blackwatch’s cyborg ninja leaned on the railing, fingers grasping it loosely and watching the firing range. He was afraid to hold it too tightly, lest he break the metal - sometimes his grip strength with his cybernetic hand was greater than he expected, particularly under stress. Down below, his teammate Jesse McCree stood close to Dr. Angela Ziegler, Overwatch’s head of medical research, and woman who looked like there was probably nowhere else on the planet she wouldn’t rather be.
McCree reached up with two fingers and tipped his hat back, looking at the woman beside him. “Now, look here, Mercy. You’re only going to get better with practice.”
“I hate this.” Dressed in leggings and a long sweater, she held the Caduceus blaster loosely in her hands, her face wrinkling unhappily. “I do not want to be doing this, Jesse. And I’m not Mercy. Not here.” She looked like she’d smelled something terrible, though the room would only smell like concrete, gunpowder, and the faintly singed paper of targets. Maybe some of McCree’s cigar smoke might screw her face up so unpleasantly, but Genji was willing to lay most of it on the firearms.
“Fine then. Angela. Even if you don’t want to, you still have to,” he pointed out, “because you’re that important.”
“I should have taken Ana up on training,” she said, sighing. “Ana or… anyone except you, really.”
“Hey, Ana and Gabriel taught me a thing or two - and I have my own skills. You’re getting the benefit of three different teachers all in one.” He winked, and she exhaled.
“I just wish I did not have to deal with this gun.” How could McCree not tell how much she hated holding the gun? Even Genji could tell from up here, the way her fingers barely grasped it, just enough for safety’s sake. Not like McCree held his, gentle and cradled in his hands like a lover’s head. Genji would bet everything - not that he had much to bet, now - that Dr. Ziegler only took the blaster out when she had her obligatory sessions or when she was on a mission. She would care for it and do the maintenance it required, but it was still a tool of violence, a weapon she would tuck away as soon as she could justify it.
“Sooner we’ve got your training done, the better, right? You can put that thing back in its case and we can get a couple of drinks. You bring anything good over from HQ?”
“I did bring beers as promised,” she said slowly. “Maybe we could see how my shooting is after one?”
“Nah. Not good firearms safety.”
“Hah!” She let out a sharp laugh, and it ricocheted off the bare utilitarian walls and floor. “Firearms safety, from you of all people?”
“Half an hour, like we agreed on, then drinks in the lounge.”
“I do not know why I agreed to this,” she complained, taking the blaster back fully into her grip.
“You asked, remember?” He moved further into the firing range, and she followed, sighing. “You said ‘Hey Jesse, I’m a combat medic who’s got all the medical training and not much of the combat part, would you help me so I’m not putting you all more at risk?’ And I said ‘Of course, Angela, anything you ask,’ and you batted those big beautiful eyes at me and said you’d bring me a case of beer if I helped you get your firearms certification up.”
“I have regrets.”
“Shelve them.” He gently nudged her towards one of the lanes with a broad hand spread over the center of her almost oversized green sweater. “You’ve gotta do better than you did last month or you might find yourself stuck in the lab, and then where would our battle angel be? Can’t let you hang up those wings.”
“Make that a lot of regrets,” Angela said, plucking a pair of the large hearing protectors from a hook and settling them over her head.
She hated it; Genji could tell by the way her shoulders were almost up to her ears. No matter what McCree did, no matter how he cajoled and wheedled, how his hands slipped along her shoulders to get her to stand just so, how he nudged her feet wider, her body always reverted back to the tighter, tenser form it had held. Genji smiled behind his faceplate, almost laughing; Jesse was playing up every stereotype of an American cowboy, and terrible firearms teacher.
“Are you just trying to be this terrible a stereotype,” Angela asked tartly, her voice carrying clearly to Genji’s ears, “or are you actually trying to flirt with me?”
Genji’s smile widened. She really was clever.
“Trying to live down to your expectations, Ange. How many bad American Westerns have you seen?”
“More than enough. If you’re going to insist we do this, can you at least be serious about it, Jesse?”
“I have been, just trying to be nice about it. Figure you want to do this, least I can do is make it less awful.” He winked. “Now, try and maybe put all that stuff I’ve been telling you and showing you into practice? There’s the target, just go for center mass.”
Resigned, Angela lifted her Caduceus blaster and fired a series of the projectiles towards the target. She went through a clip and then lay the blaster down again. Jesse flicked a switch and the target came towards them. He looked at it with narrowed eyes, and Genji’s enhanced vision let him catch the placement of most of the shots. It wasn’t a bad spread, as he understood it - few had gone awry, but all of them managed to stay in the black.
“There’s our valkyrie,” Jesse said with a grin, clapping her on the shoulder. “Should be good enough to bring that back to Jack and get Commander Morrison to up your certification. Got to keep at it, though. Let’s police our- well, you ain’t got brass. So I’ll clean up, and meet you in the lounge.”
Angela nodded, turning for the door. Her eyes flicked up into the gallery and landed squarely on Genji. She met his gaze flashing him a bright smile that creased the skin by her eyes and bared bright white teeth.
He nodded to her, politely, and swiftly exited before McCree turned around to see him. He found Angela in the hall, blaster in its case at her side.
“Genji, I hadn’t thought to see you. I hope you’re doing well?” Her voice was light, a little throatier than he remembered it. “It’s been - what, nearly four months since you made your… move here?”
“Yes, about that. I am well enough. But surely you could simply look that up in records?” He stepped a little closer to her and inclined his shoulders in a partial bow to her. There was no scent of disinfectant around her, the scent he’d grown accustomed to in her presence. Instead, it was a faint tinge of ozone from firing the blaster, with some kind of delicate floral smell he almost couldn’t catch.
“You’re not technically my direct patient anymore,” she said carefully, “so I feel a bit awkward looking into that unless I’m asked to. Invasion of your privacy and all that, and I know how sensitive you are about it, so I want to respect your choices.” She smiled across at him; they were almost of a height, and it set him at ease, compared to the stocky build of McCree or the elongated figure of Dr. O’Deorain. Angela was clean-cut and simple, and he felt at ease with her. “I prefer to hear it directly from you. Is everything functioning all right? The joints and your cables, all the systems…?”
“Nothing I would burden you with, Dr. Ziegler.”
“Angela, please. Like I had to remind Jesse… right now, I’m not Mercy, or a doctor, I’m just an Overwatch agent getting a little extra firearms practice from one of her friends.” She pursed her lips and pointed her chin in the direction of the lounge. “I never thought to ask, before. Do you drink? Alcohol, I mean?”
“On occasion. I have had very little since joining Blackwatch. It affects me differently now, and I am… not at ease with it.”
“Less body mass to support it,” she said thoughtfully, nodding. “Well, I owed Jesse several bottles of beer for his firearms training, and I’m not sure how much I’ll drink, so you’re welcome to come and join us in the lounge. I leave in a few hours, on the return supply flight.” She paused, tongue darting out to lick her lips. “Would you care to join us?”
“Will McCree mind?”
“I don’t particularly care if he does,” she replied, winking at him. “It’s been far too long since I got to talk with you, find out how you’re doing. He’s just in it for the beer.”
“I am not,” McCree said lazily as he walked up the hall towards them. “I’m in it for the pretty company and the beer. C’mon, Shimada, you’ve got a nice jawline and pretty eyes, might as well join in.”
Genji was rooted to the floor at McCree’s words. Angela laughed, a rich sound that made her shoulders shake.
“Stop teasing him, Jesse. That’s not fair at all. You’ve been bothering me for at least an hour, I can manage to be the target a little longer. Give him a bit of a reprieve. He’s got to spend most of his time with you, after all!” The blonde woman glared despite her grin, trying to cross her arms with the blaster case in hand and failing. She finally settled for standing with the blaster case in hand and trying to look cross.
“He can defend himself, Ange. I’ve seen him do it. He’s good at what he does.” Jesse’s eyes flicked to Genji, nodding in acknowledgment. “Still - pretty sure he could be some fancy-ass model, even with your work on him. We going to drink what you brought over, or just stand here in the hallway and pretend we’re going to?”
“Drink,” Angela said, meeting Genji’s eyes. “Please?”
He wavered - he didn’t want to take off his faceplate. Angela knew his face, the scars and damage, and McCree had surely seen it by now, but there was a difference between rushed, quiet dining - Genji’s preference - and social drinking. He wouldn’t have called her expression pleading; he had the feeling Angela never pleaded, never begged, but there was a look on her face, one that made him want to say yes just so he could see if it made her smile again.
“Perhaps a small amount,” he said, and was rewarded as he’d hoped, a little one that bowed her lips and rounded her cheeks a bit.
“Good,” she said, reaching out or him and then pulling her hand back quickly. “Come on, then, Jesse. Time I pay up, I suppose.” She took a few steps with Jesse and then turned back with another smile to Genji. It was the smile that made him wonder if he should have his heart checked because it stuttered, except it was still organic.
Angela tucked herself up onto the battered couch, half a glass of beer in her hand. She leaned back against the arm, and Jesse dropped down beside her while Genji sat stiffly in an overstuffed chair across from them. “Pröschtli!” She raised up her glass. Her eyes settled on Genji, holding his half-glass, but his mask still on. Her eyes flicked to Jesse and she tapped her glass against his bottle and took a drink.
Genji set the glass on a small table, reaching up and unfastening the catches for the faceplate that covered his mouth and nose, and gently tugged aside the thin synthetic padding covering for most of his lower jaw. It kept it protected from the metal of the faceplate, and hid some of the scarring he so despised. He saw Angela’s eyes on it, the bright clinical gleam of curiosity, and he lifted his glass to his mouth, taking a deliberate sip.
“No problems?”
“Angela, can you not be a doctor for thirty seconds?” Jesse jabbed her lightly in the side with a finger. “Give the man a break. Makes me realize exactly why he doesn’t take the damn thing off if you do that every time. A guy likes to know a lady likes to look at him. You look like you want to take him apart, and I don’t mean in the fun kind of way.”
She was mortified by Jesse’s bluntness, her face turning the pink of cherry blossoms and the muscles in her neck and jaw going rigid. She turned her face away and began to pick at the stuffing exposed from a split in the couch arm.
“She has already had me on a table and put me back together. I am not worried about Dr - Angela’s intentions.” Genji tried to give her a reassuring look but was certain that against the scars and the black and red color scheme of his attire and cybernetics, it had to look more threatening than not. He wasn’t sure if she was looking, anyway, face hidden by the tangles of blonde hair. “There are no problems. Though the taste of the beer is…”
“Different?” Jesse tilted his head in the cyborg’s direction.
“It’s a local beer from where I grew up, a lager,” Angela supplied, the flush of blood and embarrassment slowly subsiding. “If I was going to pay in beer, I decided I would at least take the opportunity to try to give Jesse something better than what he brought back from America.”
“Hah,” Jesse said, leaning back with a grin and taking a pull from his bottle. “Sex in a canoe beer.”
“What?” Genji turned his eyes on Jesse, confused but grateful he’d swallowed his drink. Angela wasn’t so lucky, and nearly spit some of hers out with a startled laugh.
“Fucking close to water,” he explained. “This ain’t half bad though, doc.”
“Correct answer,” she said primly, sipping hers. “I will look for some Japanese beers the next time I’m out - I will guess you don’t have much of an opportunity to go shopping for them when you’re out.”
“You’re right.” He inclined his head towards her, cupping his glass in both hands. “It’s not something you need to worry about, though. I don’t think I would enjoy them much now.” Genji looked into the cup of amber beer. “May I ask a question, Angela?”
“Always.” She shifted on the couch, drawing her feet up and not quite sitting on them, leaning in a little closer to Jesse with the movement.
“Why did you ask for firearms practice if you are so reluctant?”
Jesse’s chest rose and fell with heavy laughter, and the blonde scientist gave him a scathing look. He grinned broadly, smile bright in his tanned face. “Yeah, Ange. Why did you ask if you’re always soo bent out of shape about it?”
“Because it isn’t fair,” she said, seriously. “I do not like fighting. I do not like weapons.” Genji felt his stomach twist - he was a weapon. She had made him into one, cybernetic enhancements that meant he was more machine than man. She must hate him, then, and hide it well. “But it isn’t fair, either, to be reliant upon everyone else to protect me when I have to go into the field. I become a liability more than an asset.” She exhaled, setting her beer down and reaching up to undo her ponytail. She combed her fingers through her hair absentmindedly. “I didn’t even want the gun, but it was pushed on me as compulsory. Some kind of firearm.” She gathered all her hair back up, redoing the ponytail. “And Jesse is good with guns, and so are Ana and Gabriel, and everyone’s been trying to make me less hopeless.”
“You’re important to us, Angela,” Jesse said with a surprising hint of sincerity in his voice, angling himself to face her. “C’mon. How many times do you patch up one of us? Your damn biotic tech has done incredible things, and Morrison’s made sure you’ve got all the money and research teams you could want. We’re selfish. We want to make sure you’re around, and you’re able to take care of yourself in the field if you’re in a pinch.”
“That’s what the wings are for.”
“Your staff,” Genji said in the pause, eyes flicking to her. There was one way to tell if she found him more weapon than man, or if she hadn’t been joking with the way she treated him. She’d always seemed to treat him the same as everyone else, but since he’d been discharged from her care, they hadn’t communicated much. “Do you ever fight with that?”
“Rarely. It’s so - the technology in it is somewhat delicate. I can in an emergency, but I’m… well. Worse with using it as a weapon than the blaster.” She blushed again and took a drink. “And I’m surrounded by marksmen, anyway.”
“If you’re so determined to improve your combat capabilities,” Genji said, looking down at the drink and back to her, “I would be more than happy to work with you on better managing your staff.”
“You would what?” Angela looked at him, blue eyes clearly baffled.
“I have not used a bo in many years,” Genji said casually, flexing his cybernetic hand. “It would be good practice for me - more combat training, would it not?”
He heard Jesse chuckle.
“I don’t know about that,” Angela said carefully. “You have been training with Jesse and with Gabriel, and if there was a concern they would have brought it to me. You’ve been running operations for some time already… Surely if there was a question about your fighting skills, they would have brought it to Commander Morrison, and if it was medical…” She wrinkled her nose slightly.
“You have McCree for firearms, and Reyes, and Morrison, and probably any other number of people willing to spend time with you for that.” Genji pointed out reasonably, with a slight gleam in his eye. “And yet the Caduceus staff remains your primary weapon - even though you don’t often use it as such. I can teach you how to use your staff for defense. Non-lethal defense.”
If she’d had an animal’s ears, they would have perked. Instead, she just leaned off the couch towards him, eyes bright, glass forgotten in her hands.
“You can?”
“I can, and I will. If you are willing.”
“Non-lethal force…” The words rolled off her lips, and he couldn’t quite pull her eyes off her excited face. “Absolutely, Genji. Name the time and place.”
“It depends on how often you can spare the time,” he said carefully, shrugging. He did not want to press his advantage now. “I do not have much chance to come to Switzerland, given matters, but perhaps the next time you come to see McCree, we could do some work.”
“Done. And if you’re ever in Switzerland, Overwatch has guest facilities.” She took another drink from her glass. “I will bring the staff the next time I’m here. I’ll be in touch with dates once I look at my calendar again. There are some new projects, and it’s becoming a difficult beast to track.”
“You’re going to have to find some way to do that. Don’t think I’ve seen him go near email or sending messages once.” Jesse took another pull from his bottle. “He’s got the company issued comm, but that’s it.”
“Who do I have to talk to? My family thinks I’m dead, and I am part of a black ops team, which is part of a fancy strike force based in Europe.” Genji snorted. “It isn’t as if I can go out clubbing or meet anyone like this, either.” He gestured at himself, and deliberately crossed his mechanical legs at the ankles. “My days of a busy schedule, getting the high score at the Hanamura arcade and spending all night out, are gone.”
“Blackwatch makes it more difficult,” Jesse admitted, “but it ain’t impossible.”
“For you. You’re still whole.” Genji set the glass of beer down on a table. “I am… what I am is obvious, no matter how many people have cybernetics after the Omnic Crisis, and the developments of technology. Someone like me…”
“Is a miracle,” Angela said, finishing her drink and standing. She put her hands on her hips and glared at Genji balefully. “And I will not have you badmouthing my patients, current or former, is that clear?”
“Yes, doctor,” he said, lips twisting slightly in another smile.
“Good. There’s a flight I’m supposed to be on, along with a few pieces of cargo that I need to make sure were appropriately packed, and I need to check with Gabriel before I leave.” She squeezed one of Jesse’s shoulders, over the short black serape he wore. Jesse reached up a hand and put it over hers, holding it there for just a moment, before he let it go. As she walked over to Genji, she reached out a hand. He brushed his flesh fingers against it, touching fingertips to fingertips. “I’ll see you here, or in Switzerland, all right?”
“Doctor’s orders?”
“Doctor’s orders,” she confirmed with a wink and a smile, and he nodded, following her with his eyes as she walked out of the room.
Jesse looked at him after she left the room, and tipped his hat respectfully to Genji. “You’re smooth, I’ll give you that.”
“Excuse me?”
“Took me a long time to get her to agree to extra shooting practice. You…” Jesse waggled his fingers. “Non-lethal staff shit. Sneaky.”
“I am a ninja,” Genji said with a rare smile. “And it is true. Overwatch gave her a staff so she could work from a distance, but no one gave her the training to use it beyond pointing it in a general direction. She’s given so much to me - the least I can do is give back a little to her.”