Chapter Text
Mercy was kind to him in a time where he had refused to acknowledge himself, touched him with care when all he had wanted was burn in that fire that Hanzo had left him in-
He doesn't think that now.
He was the pinnacle of all the years of hard work and study she'd thrown her life into in the field of medical research, her magnum opus. She had taken the gods' work in her very hands and taken a dead man, taken him, and brought him back to life, given him a body stronger than he had ever dreamed of having.
And he had hated her for it.
Loathed her.
Under Overwatch, mission after mission, he wanted to flinch from her kind hands in her clinic and take himself apart and to undo all the work that she had poured into giving him a second chance-
He was meant to be dead.
By his brother's hand-
Instead, brought back to life with this burden, the grief, the pain of knowing that Hanzo would take it upon himself to rid the clan of him-
He doesn't flinch when Mercy (and he laughs pathetically to himself, what mercy?) gets him to sit as she runs diagnostics on him after a successful assault taken by their smaller strike team in Paris. She hums as she reads the small data pad that she balances on her arm and Genji feigns ease as he sits, the intermittent humming of all the different machines in the clinic washes over him.
He feels numb, hollow, phantom sensations of the fire and his brother’s blade slicing through his skin when he closes his eyes—
"Everything seems to be in top shape, Genji, the scratches on your torso from that spray of bullets from earlier is superficial, and your armour will self-repair in no time," she remarks with an smile, pressing a few buttons on her screen that causes the hydraulics connected up to his spine to unlatch themselves from him and detract into their source of machinery; meant to feed his body with electric charges to bring him right back to a hundred percent.
He stands and while his new body's doesn't register pain and stiffness from sitting far too long, he stretches, vents along his shoulders and arms releasing steam as he does. Mercy gives him space and Genji can see her swiping through his medical history, typing in updates to his patient files with her deft fingers.
She gives him a gentle touch on the arm on his way out, and Genji can see in her eyes that there is nothing but care. It is almost motherly and he wonders if she looks at all her patients with such kind eyes, regardless of who they are or where they've come from-
He thinks that within time he might be able to forgive her-
She is not the source of his pain, or of his fury-
Forgive her for what she's done to him.
But he sustains it because of her hand.
If he is not gone by then.
He bows instead, grateful for her care and he can feel the warmth from her hands on his shoulder as he takes his leave. "Thank you, Doctor Ziegler."
“Of course, Genji.”
--
He sees her again more frequently now that they act in secrecy and he finds himself grateful for the reassurance and support that’s intrinsic within her every single action. She is a doctor, and she always has been. She was simply doing what she felt was right. Were they in another life, free from the war perhaps, Genji could see Angela as a great mother.
He has forgiven her.
Forgiveness and patience comes to him more easily these days.
He is in and out of her clinic for quick diagnostics more often than not but the warm hand on his shoulder is a constant.
Such is his gratitude.