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This will be the fourteenth therapist Hanzo has seen in two months. The price of his new Overwatch membership: a full psychological screening plus six months of one-on-one counseling. Each of these failed sessions has validated Hanzo’s poor opinion of the profession of psychotherapy as a whole, but with every therapist nixed, the six month cycle begins anew, and he doesn’t know how much more he can take.
To think that this was the compromise—a compromise that his own brother proposed and fought for. Genji’s always been great at creating problems for which Hanzo alone has to pay, but this is a turn for the absurd. If he thinks that this exercise in humiliation is going to change anything, then that omnic monk has truly warped his mind.
But the way Genji asked it of him. His visor in his shifting hands, eyes so uncharacteristically sincere, eyes surrounded by scars, scars that Hanzo put there himself—
After two more sessions, Hanzo feels he has a tolerable option in Dr. Ito. She doesn’t ask him foolish questions, like the one who wanted to analyze his dreams. She is experienced and professional, unlike the one whose desk was covered in used take-out bowls and other detritus not worth mentioning. She doesn’t seem convinced whenever she asks him about his feelings and he pretends to think seriously about the answer, but she never presses.
She actually reminds him of the practical yet amusing women his grandmother often sought for company. Even the ones pushing one hundred were active and chatty. Dr. Ito is certainly calmer, but something about her feels familiar.
Genji accepts the news with equal calmness, though Hanzo can tell he’s excited. “She sounds like the best one yet. Something to celebrate.”
“Hn.” They are eating stale rations on the steps of Gibraltar’s least run-down training facility after a disappointing workout; celebration is the furthest thing from Hanzo’s mind.
They haven’t spoken about his therapy in some time, so Hanzo feels it coming right before Genji says, “You know that I don’t think you’re crazy, right?”
Hanzo snorts. “No. You think I’m in deep pain. I’m not.” He glances at training partners Cassidy and Lúcio who are, luckily, chatting too loudly to hear the brothers. “I have accepted my actions.”
“You’ve told yourself a version of a story—it may not be the only one. Neither of us were ever given the freedom to shape our own perspectives. That is all I want for you: an outside perspective.”
As much as Genji tries, to Hanzo, he always sounds like Zenyatta: dubiously mystical, bordering on inane. “There is no perspective in which I am not guilty.”
“True. But how you deal with that guilt is another matter.”
“I am handling it.”
Genji sighs. “I don’t mean handle it the way father would’ve handled it.”
Hanzo’s rage spikes. “I am not—!”
“Father, I know. But you weren’t allowed to think any other way. Neither of us were.” Genji drinks from his bottle, then offers it to Hanzo. “You may think I’m weak now, but I was far weaker back then.”
Hanzo doesn’t tell Genji that he doesn’t think he’s weak. He just takes the water and lets his eyes wander to the other men chatting nearby. He ponders asking Cassidy about what Genji was like during Blackwatch, whether or not therapy seemed to change him over time. The Shimada upbringing may have been strict, but it didn’t limit his perspective; Hanzo reassures himself of that many times over before he finally approaches the cowboy.
+
Sake has always accompanied Hanzo through these sessions. At first he drank only before and after; six therapists in, he started pouring the sake into a coffee cup to drink during. Dr. Ito hasn’t yet noticed, but then he’s always been a very competent drunk.
His talk with Cassidy was… difficult. The man seems more tolerant than the rest of Overwatch, but what he said was certainly not pleasant. And he did not mince words; the Genji he described in Blackwatch’s early days was volatile, violent, and utilized a bevy of unhealthy coping methods in response to his chronic agony.
But picturing that alongside the Genji of now… the one who meditates on the cliffs, who looks at his would-be murderer and uses words like ‘hope’...
“What is the role you are playing now?”
Hanzo looks at Dr. Ito. He fake-pauses to seem as if he’s thinking seriously about her question, looking up and to the left.
But the question sinks deep and his eyes swim, losing focus. He has probably had too much to drink. “What do you mean?”
“You took your role as eldest son and heir to your father’s business very seriously. You had purpose. What have you decided is your purpose now?”
Hanzo scans her like he would have any of his former rivals. She was educated in Tokyo and the UK. Top of her class; he checked. Forty years of experience. Surely she is not attempting to game him?
She looks on with such confident patience that he cannot bring himself to make up another lie.
“To reclaim my honor.”
“When did you lose it? When you hurt your brother, or when you left your family for good?”
The question sinks ever-deeper. Hanzo looks sideways at his empty mug. He could always pretend that he has to use the restroom and then fill it up off-screen.
But he is tired of pretending. He was never any good at it. If he was, he might still be back in Hanamura.
“I do not know.”
Much goes on behind this woman’s eyes. One of his grandmother’s companions rises to the forefront of his mind: the daughter of a long line of fishermen. The endless patience of one who trusts her own mastery.
“You left a toxic world, but that world held you up. It is your system of understanding. There is nothing wrong with seeking honor, but you have to decide what that would look like in the world you live in now.”
There is only one image of reclaimed honor that Hanzo has entertained since he abandoned his home: death at the hand of a worthy foe. “I have nothing now.”
“You have your life. You have your brother. It seems as though you have people around you that you could support, and who could support you. You spent years in isolation before reuniting with your brother, yes? Searching for the opportunity to restore your honor? Perhaps within your new situation is a better chance than first impressions could tell.”
Hanzo’s jaw refuses to unclench. There are so many details he left out to protect Overwatch’s secrecy and his own identity that he’d abandoned all hope that anyone could ever tell him anything truly insightful, yet this woman has traveled to his edges without his notice.
But it hardly matters; she is still wrong. “I am not wanted here. Even if I were, I do not agree with… this organization’s mission. I must walk my own path.”
“You can only ever walk your own path. But you have decided to reunite with your brother, and he is with this organization now. If you have disagreements with their mission, perhaps you could lend your expertise in a spirit of good faith.”
“And if they do not want my expertise?”
Dr. Ito offers that smile again; the one that makes Hanzo’s paranoia crumble into brittle shards. “Then you will have a better idea if you and this path are right for one another.”
+
Hanzo walks into the mess hall with Genji’s hand on his shoulder. The importance of his task tonight amplifies his already weighty self-consciousness, but luckily, the room is empty—save for the cowboy. Cassidy offers to help, but Genji explains that the Shimada brothers are going to recreate their mother’s special tonkatsu recipe, just the two of them.
It’s not a complicated recipe, but Hanzo is determined to make it perfect. His concentration is interrupted only by Cassidy’s seemingly equal determination to engage him in he and Genji’s conversation, but he succeeds in sticking to his task. The only response he gives is when Cassidy makes a crude joke about the way Hanzo wields the tenderizer mallet; the force of his laughter makes him smash his own thumb, for which Cassidy profusely apologizes.
Two hours later, the harried brothers serve the team. Florid expressions of gratitude bounce off Hanzo’s stiff shoulders; obviously their effusiveness is meant to reinforce his effort at group harmony, but the gesture is no less welcome.
The rest of dinner presents a greater challenge. Hanzo finds little opportunity to join the conversation. But he is determined; as soon as Winston brings up their next mission, he steels himself and attempts—as politely as possible—to lend his talents in strategy and espionage.
Winston looks like a deer in the headlights. “I… that’s… thank you for the offer, Mr. Shimada, but—”
“Ah,” says Hanzo. He returns to his food. “It doesn’t matter. Put it from your mind.”
“No, I… it’s just that we’ve already planned the operation. But I would appreciate any input you could give us next time.”
Hanzo quietly confirms that he would be honored to help in the future. From his side, he can feel something like tension radiating off of his brother, but Genji says nothing.
After dinner, the two of them insist on cleaning up alone; Hanzo brings the dishes to Genji, who arranges them in the washer.
“I am…” Genji starts, then stops.
Hanzo sees a thousand things criss-cross his face; he has grown used to the scars, but not the man his little brother has become. Not the emotions he thinks he sees.
He braces himself as he hands off a platter. “You are what?”
Genji takes the plate and shakes his head, smiling a bit. “Nothing.”
Hanzo turns to gather more dishes. “The tonkatsu was not as good as mother’s.”
Genji doesn’t reply, but it doesn’t feel awkward for long. Unlike preparing the meal, Hanzo slips into the flow of his work and stops thinking altogether.
+
“These people,” Hanzo groans, rubbing his neck. “They wish to accomplish so much, yet are prepared for so little. The leader… he cannot bring himself to make the difficult, necessary choices.”
“It is difficult, going from being your only authority to working with others. There is bound to be friction.” Dr. Ito re-settles in her chair and takes on the expression she always gets when she is about to start down a path Hanzo never saw coming. “You said you attended the meeting with your brother. How did Genji take it?”
Hanzo scoffs. “He told me I need a better hobby.”
She smiles. “Perhaps he sees more for you than you do for yourself.”
Despite his resolve to finish his last six sessions with Dr. Ito, Hanzo has never wanted to quit something so badly in his entire life. Nothing is accomplished or resolved in these sessions, even while he is compelled to talk about things he has never said to any breathing human. Often he just shares whatever is on his mind in the moment, only adding new details about his history when they seem relevant. She has leveled insights that have stunned him, but most of the time, he walks with subtle yet persistent dread.
Besides—how can he trust even her insights when he’s had to lie to her about who he really is? What he’s really done?
Not for the first time, he considers telling her. “Genji and I… what I did to him…”
But his throat locks. Hanzo has long since grown comfortable relaying the details of his past; it’s shameful that he can’t get the words out now, when it truly matters. His inner shouting reaches its apex as the outer silence stretches painfully on.
But Dr. Ito breaks it. “Your guilt may never truly leave you, Hanzo.”
He looks up. He’s never actually looked at the holoscreen for very long; now his eyes ache from the brightness of it.
“But that doesn’t mean it should keep you from the life you are capable of. No matter how terrible your mistakes,” her eyes flit to Hanzo’s tattoo, then back up again.
Of course she knows. She’s known for some time; he’s done a sloppy job of hiding the tattoo ever since he started drinking during every session.
“Life is always regenerating. Perhaps you could entertain the idea that something even better than what you had before—who you were before—is awaiting you. If not that,” she smiles at his automatic snort of disbelief, “Then perhaps an acceptance of what is.”
Hanzo lowers his head again. “I can’t. Or… I do not know how.”
“Look to your brother. You said he is augmented because of his handicap? Perhaps he wishes for you to accept your life because he has discovered the joy of doing so himself.” Dr. Ito leans back in her chair, not looking at Hanzo as she shifts to get comfortable. “Or, at least, he could be a good place to start. You do sound like two very different people.”
Hanzo thinks of Genji as he is now: buoyant, yet steady. Bizarrely quiet, yet at ease. Then he thinks of how Cassidy described Genji as he was in Blackwatch.
He looks at his gourd sitting in the open drawer and wonders what it would be like to leave it there for a while.
“Hanzo. The reason I have hope for you is because you admit to your mistakes. You take full responsibility for them. That means that you can learn. Humility is the door to the contentment you seek.”
“You tell me to…” Hanzo shakes his head, starts over: “I cannot take Genji’s humility and make it my own.”
“Then look at the trees.”
Just when he thinks Dr. Ito is revealing herself to be just another addled quack, she shifts to the side, turns, and gestures to the wall of bonsai behind her. “They don’t know when I will water them or when I will cut their branches. They trust that all will work out without needing to be anything other than what they are.” She settles back and grins. “That is humility.”
+
Humility feels like the cold and implacable punishment of his former masters. It’s a fist in his shirt collar with the other hand poised to strike. Every day of quiet servitude and sloppy attempts to participate—to engage with the other Overwatch agents—is as humbling as being whipped in the streets.
But the more he sets aside his own shame, the more the others warm up to him. He is proud of the team’s accomplishments in the training simulations. Every day is full of opportunities to perform esteemable works. And no one seems interested in punishing him; more than their unified goal, Overwatch’s agents all seem dedicated to maintaining a group culture of altruism and good faith.
Winston asks him to participate in strategy meetings and he sees his efforts rewarded with trust. Even Dr. Ziegler, who doubtlessly thought that Hanzo would have abandoned Gibraltar by now, treats him like a colleague. He and Cassidy begin making regular excursions to the local town for supplies and Hanzo finds himself enjoying the cowboy’s company more than he thought he would.
Many things are beginning to surprise him, to the point where he wonders what else he’s been missing out on all these years.
+
Sessions are still discomfiting. But in-between them and the work and the rare moment of idleness, Hanzo begins to notice his surroundings. The people talking and his own ideas about them. The constant sound of the ocean and the ever-changing wind. The wildflowers and the generous sun.
During a trip to town, he scratches a dog behind the ears and realizes that this dog has never not enjoyed the sun, and this thought puts him into a state of such despair that he says nothing to Cassidy the entire ride back to base.
When his session with Dr. Ito begins, he is sober for the first time, and already fighting the urge to weep.
After he relays his insight with the dog, she points it out. “What is it, Hanzo?”
It takes him a long time, but eventually, he whispers: “I will never be better.”
“You already are,” she replies. “You are showing up every week to understand parts of yourself you used to push aside. It will be uncomfortable for awhile. But that you were able to recognize that that dog was living in the moment is no small thing. Besides,” she leans forward, more animated than Hanzo has ever seen her, more like the vibrant women whose ancestors cast their nets into dark water so many times that they lost all fear of the ocean, “You are able to recognize that there are times when you are self-conscious and times when you are not. That is something the dog cannot do. The comparison will help you recognize the joy you are capable of at any time. Exactly as you are now.”
+
There’s a low shelf on the western cliffside that used to serve as a tourist look-out. There’s an antique mounted telescope that once took coins. There is sea lavender and roosting birds and when the sun sets it warms the smooth rock and combines with the high breeze to create something like perfection.
He returns to meditate again and again. One afternoon, he sits for so long that the fine salt mist beats his face red; Cassidy teases him immediately, but he doesn’t mind as much as he probably should. The cowboy, like the others, has his own way of teaching Hanzo that he did not make the wrong decision by coming here.
One day, he returns to the look-out to find Genji and Zenyatta already there. Genji turns his visor towards Hanzo, who apologizes and moves to leave. “Stay, brother. Join us.”
Genji no longer sits in seiza; a judgment arises in Hanzo’s throat as he takes his seat, but he quashes it before it can escape. He doesn’t need Genji to sit the way he does. Or, he shouldn’t need it.
The waves break inside his mind until it’s all he can hear. Eventually he realizes that he’s not listening to the waves, but his own brother’s breath, serene and natural and right beside him.
When they part, he confesses: “The tonkatsu was good.”
Genji laughs. “Of course it was.”
+
A message with two attachments is sitting in his inbox.
From: Dr. Angela Ziegler
Subject: re: psych eval
Instead of opening it, he waits for the next session with Dr. Ito. They discuss all its possibilities and implications. The sensation of comfort has never accompanied the sensation of not knowing. He notices it like he noticed the dog; he cherishes it, carries it with him to the balcony around the communications tower, the highest accessible point on base. He offers it to the storm-touched wind and breathes deep the decision he has made.
Cassidy appears soon after, a bottle in his hand and an expectant grin on his face. “Heard the news. How you feel?”
With still no inkling of what the e-mail says, Hanzo smiles. “Good.”