Chapter Text
"The slopes are steeper than I remember," Genji reminisced. "I often came here to reflect on my dual existence as human and machine when I was younger, but too often it ended in childish sulking."
The wind murmured through the brush around them as they descended. Two hundred feet below lay the airstrip of Watchpoint: Gibraltar. For the average hiker, the climb downward was perilous verging on foolhardy. But Genji and his companion were not hikers.
“Then our arrival heralds new opportunities for introspection amongst nature,” Zenyatta replied contentedly. It was indeed a beautiful area: the light ocean breeze tickled his sensory nodes and the moon lit the picturesque slope in silver and blue. “That presumes there will be time for relaxation at all, however. Have you spoken to Agent Winston again since he contacted you?”
“No,” Genji admitted, picking his way easily through the terrain even while his sights were trained on their destination below. “I thought about it, but unless he has changed, Winston was always better speaking in person. He does not have a way with video calls.”
His dry tone was not lost on Zenyatta, who chuckled in return. “Very well. I trust the judgement that led you to favour a swift return.”
Genji suspected Zenyatta had reservations about the recall. They had been in Osaka dealing with the fallout of an anti-Omnic protest turned violent, hoping to sow sentiments of peace and understanding in ground razed by hatred and violence. Twelve omnics murdered in the last week after the riots, and directly following Mondatta’s assassination in King’s Row no less. Responding to the recall pulled them from their peacekeeping, and fraternizing with an illegal organization put them in yet another line of fire from the many forces working against them.
Concern swelled in his chest as he glanced back at his mentor. It was a frightening time to be an omnic, and Genji knew better than to fool himself into thinking it wasn’t affecting Zenyatta. He would compartmentalize his gnawing worry, save it for a quiet moment when he could process it fully. But until that time came, even a tranquil monk could experience disquiet.
So Genji talked. He regaled his master-- his best friend-- with tales of Ovewatch’s golden age, of the heroic agents he would be sure to meet in the coming days. From then on, time passed quickly as the sun peaked over the blue horizon and bathed their destination in a halo of gold and rose.
-
It was easy to spot Winston as they arrived. He exited the hangar just as they set foot on the airstrip, and Genji jogged to greet him, barely containing his overflowing enthusiasm. Zenyatta kept his distance, giving them time to get properly reacquainted, though he made sure to stay in earshot in case he was addressed.
“We came as soon as we could. I hope it was alright that we arrived on foot. I thought it would be the best way to get into the watchpoint unnoticed,” Genji explained. Indeed, he had picked up a few leaves and twigs during their downhill trek. With splinters wedged into the soft plates between his armour, he rather looked as though he had just emerged from a bird’s nest, Zenyatta reflected bemusedly. It would no doubt prove uncomfortable when the excitement abated.
Winston nodded appreciatively. “That’s more than alright. I’ve noticed a few more helicopters in the area than usual, and it’s only been three days. Thanks for taking the time to arrive subtly. But how have you been, Genji? You have to tell me what you’ve been up to all this time, and who you brought along. Why don’t we walk?”
As they began to stroll down the airstrip towards Winston’s lab, Zenyatta took his time observing the surroundings. This was to be his home for the foreseeable future, after all. Supplies were strewn about, but from what Genji had told him of the watchpoint’s resident scientist, he suspected it was organized chaos. Even to a newcomer, it seemed navigable enough. Blue tarps covered equipment that had lain still for years, but here and there machinery, charts, and electronics were uncovered and laid bare in the open. The facility, he thought, was stirring like a bear waking from a long slumber.
He turned his attention to Genji. The cyborg moved with telling vigor, making wide, sweeping gestures as he spoke with Winston. While Zenyatta maintained some reservations about becoming a part of the new Overwatch, his heart warmed for his pupil. A homecoming could be a wonderful thing.
Shouting from behind diverted his attention. He spun to see a small man charging at him. For a split second, he relived his first encounter with a wolverine years ago.
“Three bloody days and someone sends an omnic to stick its cold metal digits in our business!” the man roared.
Zenyatta retreated, equal parts curious and perturbed. He had expected some opposition, but not so soon. Or so heated. “I assure you-”
“Oh, the machine can talk! They make ‘em real fancy these days, but it’ll still stab you right in the back, Winston, mark my-”
“Torbjörn.” A calm voice split the tension like a bullet. Had the sun grown hotter, or were his internal fans failing? Zenyatta nevertheless felt a rush of embarrassed heat as Genji stalked in front of him, blocking the angry man from coming closer.
He raised a cautious hand. “My student, I can handle my own-”
“This machine,” Genji hissed, his voice rising in volume, “is Tekhartha Zenyatta, member of the Shambali and honoured guest of the new Overwatch. He is my mentor and my guest, and you will speak respectfully toward him. Am I clear?”
The man, Torbjörn, eyed him for a long few seconds. Zenyatta saw many emotions flash through his eyes, too many to count but the essence of his reaction was clear: he would keep the peace but his sentiment was unchanged.
“Well, good to see you, Shimada, not accountin’ for your company,” he finally muttered, ambling over to Genji and Winston. As he passed, Zenyatta could feel the disgust rolling off him, an impenetrable barrier of distrust and hatred. “Let’s go, then.”
He couldn’t help but feel as though he was being sized up like a particularly useful piece of scrap metal- and wondered suddenly if he should worry for his safety.
But he quickly dismissed the feeling, letting it slip by and dissipate. This was Overwatch, not a gang of anti-omnic criminals.
The delicate hues of dawn had faded to clear blue skies by the time they arrived at the barracks. “I converted a few of the rooms to storage,” Winston admitted sheepishly. “Lots of projects on the backburner. But I’ve been cleaning them out and there’s space for the both of you if you share a room for the time being.”
“That is satisfactory,” Zenyatta said, and hoped offhandedly that Torbjörn wouldn’t appear in the middle of the night with a hammer and a screwdriver. That would make for an uncomfortable situation.
As they entered the building and made their way down a dusty, hazily lit hallway to the cleared-out rooms, Winston continued, “I know what Genji’s used to, but will you have any, you know, special needs? Forgive my ignorance- we didn’t have a lot of omnic members in the original Overwatch.”
Zenyatta nodded. “I understand, my friend. Do not worry on my behalf; I have become quite used to improvising any necessary arrangements during my travels.”
This seemed to satisfy Winston, who adjusted his glasses and led them to a series of adjacent hallways with four rooms on each side. Most of the halls were cluttered with cardboard boxes, plastic storage containers, and long-forgotten mementos from a bygone age. But three were impressively pristine. Winston had been busy in the past few days.
Zenyatta would have had an easier time surveying his surroundings if he did not have to feel Torbjörn’s glare burning a molten hole in his back. He might not have felt any real sense of danger, but it was discomfiting nevertheless.
As if sensing his unease, Genji spoke up. “Can we share my old room, sensei? I think I left some belongings there. I would like to go through them to see if anything may be of use.”
It was clear to the monk that his student was propelled by nostalgia more than pragmatism, but that was easily forgiven. For his part, he was curious about what a window into Genji’s past might reveal, though he also feared the consequences of revisiting such a conflicted time in his life.
As he watched Genji, the eager incline of his neck and the relaxed curve of his back, he decided ghosts from the past would be unlikely to rattle the foundation of self-confidence and understanding he he had watched his student develop over their years together. “Yes, I believe that is a sound arrangement.”
Always polite, Genji bowed his head and thanked him. There was no need to move in, as they had brought hardly any belongings, so instead they accompanied Winston and Torbjörn to the adjoining mess hall, where Winston informed them he would be making a quick speech at noon for the members assembled thus far. They were free to explore until then, he added, but it would be good for Zenyatta to be there so he could introduce himself to other Overwatch agents.
With that said, the impromptu leader of the new Overwatch left to continue renovating the living quarters, leaving Zenyatta alone with Genji and Torbjörn. If he had noticed the remaining tension, he had chosen to avoid it.
It did not take any mystical ability for Zenyatta to feel the anger still emanating from the man, but there was no sense in rushing reconciliation when it risked widening the antagonistic chasm between omnic and human. Though Torbjörn’s presence continued to make him uncomfortable, patience was to be his greatest ally in building any sort of constructive relationship with him.
Zenyatta hummed thoughtfully. He hoped to learn more about Genji’s old teammates, Torbjörn included, but finding a conversation topic that would keep the man pacified would take a delicate sort of tact.
Sadly, Genji’s grasp of diplomacy was sorely wanting when he was aggravated. “You will get along,” he told Torbjörn thickly. “It may have been years, but I should hope you still have a little faith in my ability to reason-”
“Never did, Shimada,” Torbjörn sighed with open, exasperated hands. “You were a real loose wire. Who’m I to say you got better? Especially in the company of an omnic that doesn’t know its place?”
Genji took a menacing step forward, and Zenyatta could almost feel his wiring frost over. Under his tutelage the cyborg had blossomed, shedding layers of surliness and self-loathing to reveal a keen sense of integrity and honour, but this had also come with an overprotectiveness for his master that was sometimes misplaced.
Ultimately, however, he had to trust his better judgement and assume that Genji’s missteps would not cause irreparable or long-lasting harm to any of them, and that forgivable social blunders might become opportunities for later learning. He kept his silence.
Torbjörn held his ground, crossing his arms, his critical hazel eyes nearly masked by his bushy brows. “You got somethin’ to say, or are you just going to stand there?”
“It should not surprise me that a bitter old man hates change,” Genji finally scoffed.
Zenyatta resisted the urge to put his palm to his face. Perhaps he had underestimated the angry flames licking at his student’s clear thinking. “Genji,” he asserted pointedly, “I suspect your friend Winston would appreciate assistance with his remodeling efforts.”
This gave the cyborg pause. He looked slowly from Zenyatta to Torbjörn, and then back to Zenyatta. “Master, I trust in your judgement…”
“But?” Zenyatta continued, opening his palm in a ‘go on’ gesture. He took no measures to prevent the undercurrent of amusement in his voice. “If you believe I have erred in my evaluation of our situation, please inform me. I am eager to know of my blunder.”
Genji deflated, and Zenyatta knew he would be blushing bright with chagrin under that mask, but before he or Torbjörn had a chance to say another word, a very excited new voice shattered the tension with an explosion of pure jubilance.
“Genji!” A young woman appeared suddenly next to the ninja, tackling him in a hug that nearly brought both of them to the floor, and Zenyatta wondered if his visual processors had glitched.
The agitation in Genji’s posture vanished as he returned the embrace whole-heartedly. “Lena!”
It dawned on Zenyatta that this must be the Tracer he had heard about on numerous occasions. Genji was fond of her: she had been a light of optimism during the dark days of his recovery, and had pulled him many times from his gloom with her joviality and charisma.
“Who’s this, love?” Tracer pulled away from Genji only to flicker over to Zenyatta, standing on her heels and giving him a cheeky salute. “New recruit? Or just a- oh, my!”
She took in his attire; ragged though it might be, it made his status clear. “Goodness, you’re a member of the Shambali! It’s an honour, er… uh…”
“Tekhartha Zenyatta,” he replied warmly. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. You must be Lena Oxton. Genji has spoken fondly of you.”
Tracer chuckled sheepishly, a bright chirrup that seemed to illuminate the entire mess hall. “Oh Genji, you didn’t say anything too embarrassing, I hope!”
Then, with the unpredictable swiftness of a hummingbird zipping between flowers, she was on to another topic. “But you’ve got to come see Jesse! He just got here and oh, he is suffering from positively dreadful jet lag.You didn’t hear it from me, but he’s a riot when he’s so grumpy! And Reinhardt and Dr. Ziegler are set to arrive tomorrow! We have to clear out rooms for them! Come! Come on!”
With Tracer grabbing his arm and dragging him away, Genji didn’t have time to protest. He threw a worried glance over his shoulder as he departed, but Zenyatta waved him away calmly. It would be good for him to reacquaint himself with the other returning agents of Overwatch. As for spending time alone with Torbjörn, he doubted there was much progress to be made in a day, but as he glanced at the man from the corner of his visual sensors, he hoped they might at least find some form of common ground.
There was silence for a moment. Arid sunlight streamed in from the numerous windows, illuminating years of dust on the tables and seats. Torbjörn grunted and turned to leave.
“I do not expect you to trust me,” Zenyatta finally offered.
Torbjörn slowed, but kept heading towards the exit to their right. “Hm. Smart bot. That it?”
“Not quite,” Zenyatta admitted, earning him a knowing glare from the Swede. He continued nevertheless. “If we are to work together, we need to establish some sort of truce, or any animosity between us could harm the entire team’s morale.”
Another grunt, this one less dismissive and more considering.
“I will make a marked effort not to bother you on your free time,” Zenyatta said, “but we must work together during any future drills or missions regardless of our feelings. I will maintain an impartial and professional relationship with you. In turn, I ask that you treat me with the same respect you show your human peers. Does this sound fair to you?”
Torbjörn let out a tired harrumph and shifted his weight uneasily. “Well, so be it, then,” he muttered, avoiding eye contact. “Since it doesn’t look like I have much choice in the matter.”
This time Zenyatta let him leave. It would still be disquieting to work in close quarters with a man who thought him more a tool than a sentient being. But it was, the monk reflected solemnly, the everyday reality for many of his kind.
Too many.