Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Fareeha had been put in bed and Ana and Sam were exhausted enough to go to bed themselves, but they had resigned to slumping against each other in a half-asleep haze on the couch together. Their holovid screen was casting dancing blue lights on both of them. They knew the smart thing was to go to bed, but with Fareeha in her demanding toddling years, they hardly got much time just to be together alone like this. Neither of them was paying particular attention to what they were watching, but the stream was pleasant background noise.

At 10:37 it was cut short by a blaring beep, so loud and grating that it jolted both Sam and Ana awake. 

“This stream has been interrupted by an emergency broadcast,” an automated voice blared from the holovid screen as Ana seized the remote and turned down the volume, “Please stand by.”

Both Sam and Ana’s phones started buzzing with a spill of messages. Their group chats with various colleagues around the world were suddenly bursting to life, messages of “Are you okay?” “I’m fine.” “I can see the smoke!” “Has anyone gotten in contact with Fatih? I can’t get a hold of him” “How close were you to the first attack site?”stacking on top of each other down the phone’s screens. The holovid screen cut to a news reporter, shivering in smoke and snow flurries as a column of fire burned behind him.

“Oh no,” Ana said quietly. 

“I’m here live in front of the site of a devastating series of drone strikes that have caused yet-untold damages to the Detroit-Windsor area. Authorities are still evacuating the area and—”

“A terrorist attack?” said Sam. 

Ana put a tense hand on his shoulder and he fell quiet. She could feel his eyes flicking between her and the holoscreen. 

“Satellite imaging indicates that the drones were short range, likely within the Detroit area.”

“What–Why would the states strike us and themselves?” said Sam.

Ana glanced down at her phone. “What did they mean by ‘First attack site?’” she said aloud.

Sam looked over at Ana, then changed the holovid channel where a news reporter was speaking urgently in Korean, subtitles translating is words rapidly in a red line underneath him.

“Just minutes ago Busan suffered a–”

Sam changed the channel again.

“London has not seen an attack of this scale since the second World War–”

He changed it again.

“As favelas do Rio estão no caos enquanto as autoridades lutam para entender-”

He changed it again. Ana’s stomach lurched at the sight of the familiar scroll of arabic at the bottom of the screen, and at the skyline of her own birthplace.

“Cairo was not equipped to handle an attack of this magnitude,” the reporter was saying, “We’re looking at a strike of unimaginable destruction. The human death toll is–”

Ana broke her eyes away from the screen and Sam turned it off.

“…they’re going to ask for you to come back, aren’t they?” his voice was quiet.

“They’re going to need me,” said Ana, her voice strained.

“We need you,” the words fell out of Sam and he instantly regretted them, “I’m sorry–” he added quickly, “I know it’s…” he took a deep breath.

“I know,” said Ana.

Sam clasped a hand around hers.

The next few hours were spent anxiously watching the news reports and desperately calling and texting friends and family, bouncing between stories of devastation from all around the world. The attacks were indiscriminate–striking global population centers hard and fast. It was 3 AM by the time Ana and Sam were finally able to tear themselves away from the screen and catch a few hours of light, dreamless sleep–a sleep that was more about keeping exhaustion at bay than getting actual rest. The next day they told Fareeha they were going on vacation, loaded up the car, and left Vancouver, heading for Sam’s cabin up north. It only took watching the news for a little while to know they had to get away from the cities and fast. 

The call came a few days later. The flight back to Cairo was all prepped, they were even sending a car for her, Ana only needed to ready herself. Ana didn’t have much to bring with her aside from some photos of Fareeha and Sam, her old fatigues, and a handful of toiletries and other necessities. She was a minimalist like that.

“But you said when we’d go back to Egypt, we’d all go together,” Fareeha pouted.

“And we will, ḥabībti, one day, when it’s safe,” said Ana.

“Are you going to be in trouble?” Fareeha’s small hands were wringing the fabric of Ana’s fatigues. 

“Mummy’s going to be saving people” said Sam, kneeling down to Fareeha’s level. 

Ana dropped down to one knee as well. “Fareeha, I’m going to be gone for a long while,” she said rifling through her pockets, “I’ll talk to you and your father through the holo every chance I get, but you have to promise me you’ll be strong, all right?”

Fareeha’s pout turned into a tense, thin-lipped expression, weighing Ana’s words. “How long?” there was a shake to her voice.

Ana stroked the side of Fareeha’s face with her other hand. “I… I don’t know yet. But I’ll come back to you and your father the first chance I get.” 

Fareeha looked down.

“Habībti,” Ana spoke gently and brought a hand up under Fareeha’s chin, “I have something for you.” She pulled four gold beads from her pocket and pinched a lock of Pharah’s hair between her fingers. Ana couldn’t cook worth a damn, but when it came to braiding hair, she was almost as good a braider as a sniper. Her fingers worked quickly. “These were on a necklace of your grandmother’s,” said Ana, tying off the gold beads at the tips of Pharah’s braids, “It fell apart when we moved up to Vancouver, and I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away, but I think that must have happened for a reason.” Fareeha’s hair was so soft and thick between her fingers. Ana tried not to think of how long she would go without touching it, without brushing it. Without brushing her teeth next to her daughter in the morning with foam running down Fareeha’s chin. She tied off the last braid. “Our ancestors believed that gold was divine and indestructible, that it was the light of the sun and the flesh of the gods made tangible. That the gods would bless and protect the kings and queens who wore it. When you miss me, I want you to look at these and know that no matter how far I am from you, I will do everything in my power to protect you. Do you understand?”

Fareeha’s small hand went up and felt at the beads, still warm from her mother’s touch. She gave a hesitant nod. Ana was littering her daughter’s face with kisses as the jeep pulled up to take her off to the airfield.

Fareeha was hugging at Ana’s knees when Sam took her in his arms and kissed her.

“There’s gotta be a better way than this,” said Sam, tucking back Ana’s long black hair.

“The second I find a better way, I’ll let you know,” said Ana, kissing him on the cheek, “Keep her safe for me.”

“Always,” said Sam.

Fareeha valiantly stuffed back her tears for the last few goodbyes. Ana felt her stomach drop as the door of the jeep closed and they started pulling away down the cabin’s dirt road. Ana gave a shuddering breath and sniffled, stuffing down her own urge to cry as she turned and looked at the pines rolling past the jeep. She caught sight of something in the rearview mirror and her breath caught in her throat. Fareeha was running after the jeep, her face flushed and wet and the dust of the dirt road the jeep was kicking up sticking to her tear tracks. Sam managed to catch up to Fareeha and hold her and Ana could hear the wail of Fareeha’s cries. Ana bit the inside of her lip hard as both of them shrank into the distance behind her, before the road curved and they disappeared completely. 

Chapter Text

Battery Davis wasn’t meant to be a fort–well it had been, well over a century ago, but not these days. But for now it was all that was keeping the rain off of them, and all that was hiding them from the encroaching horde of OR14s and Bastions. They had managed to divert a significant force of the Omnics away from the city Jack and Gabe crouched in the cement tunnel and waited for the groan of metal and the binary roar of OR14s. The air was damp, heavy and cold and the sky was starless from the fog.

“Reasons to live—go,” said Jack.

“Pork banh mi,” said Gabe.

“Just… jumping to food right off the bat? No, ‘I’ve got kin back home,’ or…?”

“Jack, I’m fucking hungry,” said Gabe, “Also I should clarify: this is no ordinary pork banh mi–this would be a pork banh mi from the ‘Banh Mi Me’ food truck on La Brea.”

“Ah of course,” said Jack, “I guess… that’s still technically home.”

“What–you gonna start waxing poetic about your cornfields?” said Gabe.

Jack half-snorted half-scoffed. “You know I could never let myself stay there,” said Jack.

“Well… congratulations, you get to see the world. Welcome to fabulous San Francisco–you know if you get to the hill above the battery you can see the bridge… what’s left of it, at least.”

Jack huffed and smiled. “We’ll fix it later,” he said, smiling.

“You said that back in St. Louis. Jack, I really want to know, how the fuck are we going to get that arch back up?”

“I don’t know. My job is to keep shooting until we have time to figure that part out,” said Jack.

Gabe snorted. “Why couldn’t they shoot up Rushmore? Giant stone heads always freaked me out…” he trailed off and glanced over at Jack, “You still haven’t named yours yet.”

“Well if I say ‘my folks’ that’s going to sound guilt-trippy and corny now,” said Jack, “And if I say a food you’ll start going on about the horrors of Indiana cuisine.”

“Oh my god you have a food in mind.”

“I never said I—” Jack scoffed, “Sauerkraut Balls.”

“Sauerkraut what,” Gabe repeated.

“Well like–Fried pickles—they’re good, right?” said Jack.

“Yes,” Gabe said hesitantly.

“Well it’s… pickled cabbage, and you…roll it up in a ball with ham and cream cheese–”

“Oh my god—”

“…and you fry it.”

“Jack, we have been the lab rats of a government experiment that killed off two thirds of the participants, we have been fighting murderous robots for four months, we could literally die here, and yet that, that right there is the most horrifying thing I can think of.”

“There we go—Horrors of Indiana cuisine,” said Jack with an eye roll.

“Battery Team," their CO sounded over the comm, "Scouts are finally getting movement from the OR14s. Need you moving to flank. Let’s keep these reinforcements from reaching the city.”

SEP operations were still black ops in those days. The military thought it was better to have them working behind the scenes, softening the blows on the main forces rather than making the subjects of a controversial super-soldier program front and center in the fight against the Omnics. Gabe brought down his night vision goggles and was able to make out some lights moving among the eucalyptus and cypress trees.

“Out of audio range,” said Jack, loading his rifle as they crouched low in the battery tunnel, “Think ours are still motion-based, or do you think they got the same update as the Detroit Omnium with the thermal vision?”

“Half the shit coming out of the Michigan front is unverified, Jack, you know that,” said Gabe, tweaking his goggles slightly.

An OR14′s head swiveled toward him.

“Shit. Thermal. They got thermal,” said Gabe as the OR14 let out a binary screech to its compatriots. Both Jack and Gabe leapt out of the way of the blaze of bastion turret fire that now filled the battery tunnel. “Any ideas?!” Jack had to shout over the roar of fire. There was a brief pause as one of the turrets had to cool down when Jack laid down some cover fire to keep them from heading through the tunnel.

“Keep ‘em busy, I’ll flank,” said Gabe, scrambling up the ice plant-covered hillside the battery had been dug into. Jack could feel the rain on the back of his neck mingle with a clammy sweat. Just stay calm. Trust that Gabe knew what he was doing and it would all work out. They’d done this before. Jack sometimes wondered if the SEP program had done something to their heads—maybe opened up some neural paths that only he and Gabe had access to, knowing each others’ moves like a well-rehearsed dance with only a few words and a knowing look. The SEP should have been lonely, considering how many people died during those first few trials. But not with Gabe. It should have been horrifying and it was, objectively, horrifying, but Gabe was there, so at the same time, it wasn’t. This should be horrifying, objectively it was horrifying, but all the same, Gabe was there, so it wasn’t. He leaned through the tunnel and laid down more suppressing fire. He gave a glance down to the ammunition indicator on the barrel of his pulse rifle, gradually dropping toward the red. Keep looking at me, he thought, Keep your eyes on me.

Then Gabe dropped in. One blast from his BLK001 shotguns to the right spot and the rudimentary processors used for bastion units were shut down. One bastion down. The OR14 turned toward him, giving Jack an opening to helix rocket it in the side of the head.

“Gabe!” Jack rushed down the tunnel to back him up as Gabe kicked out the coupling for the bastion’s main gun and puzzled over the mess of wires. Jack looked through the grove of cypress trees to see more lights from various omnic units. “We really need to get moving—” he started and ducked down as several shots from an OR14 whizzed past his head.

“Hey–wanna see me do something stupid?” said Gabe, gunfire just barely missing him as he bent over the bastion. 

“Stupider than staying here when we’ve got more Bastions on our ass?” said Jack, taking out an incoming bastion mid-reconfigure.

“Yeah–” Gabe pried open a panel on his half-collapsed bastion and tore out some wires.

“What are you–?” Jack started but the broken bastion’s turret suddenly burst to life sending out hails of bullets.

“Christ, Gabe” said Jack, flinching away hard as the gun went off. The omnics suddenly reared back at fire from one of their own, previously thought dead.

“Help me with this!” said Gabe, holding the turret gun in place.

“Shit—” Jack shouldered his rifle and took hold of the rotary barrel next to Gabe. He could feel the gunmetal going red hot through his gloves as they both shoved their weight against the rapidly firing gun and threw its line of fire to the incoming omnic horde. They couldn’t even hear each other over the roar of the gun. Jack was screaming. Gabe was laughing. Then Jack was also laughing. Finally the rotary came to a spinning, smoking stop and Gabe and Jack were left standing on the collapsed remains of their commandeered bastion and the shelled out wreckage of numerous omnics strewn about the bullet-riddled eucalyptus and cypress trees. 

“That was crazy,” said Jack.

“That,” said Gabe, elbowing him, “Was fun.”

“Remind me to try and give you a normal idea of ‘fun’ when this is all over,” said Jack.

“Tch. Like you want a normal idea of fun,” said Gabe. 

“Morrison! Reyes!” Their CO’s voice crackled over the comms, “Where are those OR14′s?”

“Battery Davis is secured,” said Jack, touching his finger to his ear, “We’ll fill you in on the details l—”

“Incoming!” Gabe suddenly shouted.

Jack didn’t have time to think. He heard only the whir and clank of a bastion reconfiguring into a tank when Gabe tackled him hard from the waist and suddenly the ground right next to where they had been standing erupted in a spray of earth and fire and hunks of metal. The force of the blast threw them both several yards and they landed with a few painful bounces among the wreckage of the omnics they had just taken out. Jack covered his head as the ground exploded again several yards away from them and glanced over at Gabe, who was draped pietà style across the remains of an OR14, his face heavily bloodied. 

“Gabe–!” Jack started. Gabe didn’t respond. Jack gritted his teeth and picked up his gun. He sprinted head on against the bastion, the ground exploding on either side of him as he barely dodged the shells of the cannon. With two jumps he launched himself airborne off of the broken frame of another bastion, just in time to see the bastion attempt to reconfigure itself back into recon mode. It was obliterated in a blast of helix rockets and Jack rolled across the ground, panting. He looked at the collapsed steel frame of the bastion and shot the bastion unit right in its flickering optic receptor for good measure before giving a sharp glance over his shoulder back at Gabe.

“Shit–” he sprinted back to Gabe, “Shit-shit-shit–” he cupped Gabe’s bloodied face in his hands and did his best to wipe some of the blood away, revealing several large gashes on Gabe’s face, “…Shit…” he said again, setting down a biotic field,  “Come on–” he shook Gabe, “Get up! Hey! Gabe you are not dying from this, you hear me? Reasons to live, remember? You’re getting that stupid Pork bun thing from that food truck!”

Gabe suddenly coughed. “Banh Mi,” he said.

“What?” said Jack.

“Pork Banh Mi. Not Pork bun. it’s a sandwich—”

“Dammit, Gabe you scared the shit out of me,” said Jack, gripping Gabe’s shoulders.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Gabe coughed, he suddenly squinted his eyes, “Ah shit—” he wiped his own blood out of his eyes and looked at the blood smeared on his glove, “Jack–please tell me I’m still pretty,” said Gabe, his fingers tracing among the new gashes on his face.

Jack just huffed out a sigh, bent and touched his forehead to Gabe’s. “You’re goddamn beautiful, Reyes,” said Jack.

Chapter Text

The scar was mostly healed at this point, but it still ached more in the cold. Overwatch told him they could replace his eye with a prosthetic but it didn’t feel right. He could adapt. He could adjust. It was a reminder of what he was here for. He looked at Balderich’s coin emblazoned with the Overwatch insignia and turned it over in his fingers and looked out the window of the transport. It was just a cloud bank below, but he could feel Germany behind him. Several snowy peaks thrust themselves up through the clouds. He wasn’t too far, at least. He looked at the massive steel crate which stored and cooled his armor, and then gave a glance over to his hammer. It could be disassembled for easy travel as well, but he didn’t like being too far from it. Not since Eichenwalde, anyway.

“Now arriving at Zurich Headquarters,” the ship’s AI announced. Reinhardt’s scar ached with his ears as the orca made its descent. Reinhardt gave one last glance to the Overwatch coin in his hands before pocketing it. The Orca touched down and Reinhardt undid the safety belt criss-crossing over his chest, rolling his shoulders as he rose to his feet and picked up his duffel. The sealed doors of the Orca opened to a somewhat cloudy sky and a broad tarmac and a chaotic scene of vehicles taking off and various crates being wheeled speedily and desperately on hover-dollies across the blacktop.

 It was still the height of the crisis back then, and Zurich headquarters was little more than a glorified airport where a handful of UN members were still trying to corral international forces into an actual cohesive team. These were messy and chaotic days, and there was a few seconds where Reinhardt found himself stuck in place, watching the business and desperation of it all, There were a handful of uniformed, together-looking units making their way to transport vehicles, but for the most part it was a storm of vehicles and people, each somehow miraculously making their way to their intended place. He heard a sharp whistle and glanced down the door/landing ramp of the orca to see a stunning woman in a blue beret with long black hair, olive-brown skin, and a tattoo trailing down from her left eye. If he was being completely honest with himself, she was probably the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. His breath caught in his throat but he quickly maintained composure. Don’t gawk. Crusaders knew how to conduct themselves when it counted. Balderich would want him to make a good first impression. She wasn’t looking at him, but rather down at a tablet.

“First name Reinhardt, last name, Wilhelm–Is that right?” her accent was lovely and Reinhardt took a beat to try and readjust himself to english so he wouldn’t just word-vomit German when it was his turn to speak. “Did we enter that ri—?” she spoke after an assistant who was hurrying by but sighed and shrugged as he ran out of earshot just as quickly has he came. She paused as she glanced up from her tablet and found herself looking at a solarplexus where she expected to see a face. She corrected her line of sight and craned her neck upward to Reinhardt’s face. Her eyes widened.

“…Reinhardt Wilhelm?” she said, looking up at him.

Reinhardt cleared his throat and bowed. “Y-yes. Former First Lieutenant of the Crusaders, filling in for Balderich Von Adler. At your service.”

“Big…” Ana blurted out then caught herself, “Big help! I mean we’re sure you’ll be a big help, Lieutenant Wilhelm. I’m Ana Amari,” she held out her hand and he shook it, “Captain. Formerly of Egyptian Special Forces.”

“An honor,” he said with a bow of his head. Reinhardt glanced over his shoulder to see several people had loaded the crate with his armor in it onto a hover dolly and was being laboriously pushed down the orca landing ramp.

“Don’t worry, we’ve all heard the stories. We’ll be sure your armor is well taken care of and ready for your first mission with us,” said Ana, already walking. Reinhardt quickly started walking after her, “Unfortunately we’ve only been officially commissioned by the UN for a few weeks, so you can imagine things have been…”

“Busy?” said Reinhardt as someone rushed past him.

“’Busy’ is generous. I like ‘chaotic,’” said Ana, “We’ve still only mobilized a handful of those commissioned for the Overwatch Initiative. I’m afraid not everyone is as punctual as Germany. The States have thrown a lot of weaponry our way, but they’re being very mysterious about their manpower. We have a good deal of the EU backing us, which is good because the machines are already flooding into Switzerland—” there was a shout behind Reinhardt coming from the Orca and Reinhardt turned on his heel to see three men struggling to lift his hammer onto a hover dolly but clearly having a lot of trouble.

“Easy! Easy!” Reinhardt sprinted back up the ramp and grabbed the handle of his hammer and took it from them, “I can carry it. It’s fine,” he said, walking down the ramp with the hammer.

“Mish mumkin, what were they feeding you over in Germany?” said Ana, watching as Reinhardt carried the hammer with ease.

“…Food?” said Reinhardt, shouldering his hammer.

“…I’ll make a note for the commissary,” said Ana. She continued walking with Reinhardt following in suit as she tapped through her tablet. “We’ve tried to conduct ourselves as swiftly and secretly as possible for a global initiative but…” she huffed, “As you can imagine machines have an easier time organizing themselves than people. Judging by current movements we may need to send you out to Thun as early as 0300 hours.”

“I would be happy to crush as many bastion units as you need, Captain Amari,” said Reinhardt, “You need only name the time and the place.”

“I like your attitude, soldier,” said Ana, smiling, “And your beauty mark.”

“Beauty…?” Reinhardt spoke in question but Ana motioned to her left eye. 

Reinhardt’s own hand went to his scar. “Ah. Yes. Well. I like yours too. Your beauty–your eye–mark–tattoo–yes,” he cleared his throat and she snickered.

“It’s an eye of horus,” said Ana, “For protection.”

“Well… I hope I am able to serve you as well as your tattoo, Captain Amari,” said Reinhardt with a smile.

“Stick with me, Wilhelm,” she said, giving him a gentle punch in the arm as they walked, “I’ll get us home safe.”

Chapter Text

The sky was light lavender, and the trees outside of Jack’s window were gold and red and orange. The office was new. The office smelled new. New paint, fancy ergonomic chair–too soft. Too clean. This place wasn’t lived in, but then again he wasn’t used to lived in spaces. The past few years he was stuck in makeshift bunkers that they could barely fortify against the assault of the omniums, and now they were here. He had taken off his dress uniform jacket. They still hadn’t dedicated the new headquarters–that ceremony was tomorrow. Then there were the press junkets and the dedication ceremony and gala for the new headquarters, and all the diplomats and politicians and god he was so tired. He was so tired and yet the world was rushing to rebuild itself after everything and it had every right to, and yes, it was a great honor that he was being called on to help with that rebuilding but… he gave a glance to the row of medals on the dress jacket resting on the back of his chair, then sighed and rubbed his temples. He just wanted to rest but he knew the world didn’t have time to rest. The door slid open and Gabe walked in and set a mug on the desk in front of him.

“Drink up,” said Gabe, motioning with a mug in his own hand.

“Coffee at 7?” Jack picked up the mug and sipped it, then winced at the burn of alcohol.

“Mostly coffee,” said Gabe. Jack snorted. “Irish coffee,” said Gabe, “You’re Irish, right?”

“You’ve gotten cozy with the promotions,” said Jack, chuckling and taking another sip.

“You know me. You know it’s not coziness,” said Gabe, “We need to take what little creature comforts we can get.” He stared into his own mug a bit, “You’ve had a long day.”

“Strike Commander…” Jack repeated the words but they sounded hollow. He looked up at Gabriel. “Gabe–I told Petras–I did say you had more experience… that you—”

Gabe scoffed and clapped Jack on the shoulder, “Look, at this point, I’m just glad I can get through a night without worrying that a bastion unit’s going to shoot me to a pulp.”

“…You still worry about that,” Jack said a bit quietly.

“Yeah well… that’s how it is,” said Gabe, looking out the window, “Nice view,” he said, “They’re sticking me in the freakin’ ‘Meanwhile at the Legion of Doom’ tactical intelligence room in the basement level. No windows. Lots of screens though,” he sipped his coffee, “Feels cool, really.” He snickered, “Y’know once that statue goes up you’re going to have an excellent view of your own ass.”

“They’re not putting up the statue,” muttered Jack.

“Oh they’re putting up the statue,” said Gabe.

“Well they sure as hell aren’t putting it up here,” said Jack, he rested his forehead in his hand before taking another sip of the heavily spiked coffee, “I’m not ready for all this,” he said, taking one of the medals they had pinned on his jacket off of it and turning it over in his hands.

“We did say someone’s gotta be there to pick up the pieces when all the fighting was over,” said Gabe, “I’ll be honest I was hoping they’d have someone other than us picked out by now, too, but…” he shrugged, “The way I figure it, it might as well be us. Someone else might mess it up.”

“You’re handling it a lot easier than I am,” said Jack.

“Not as easy as you think,” Gabe gestured with his mug. “Second cup,” he said flatly.

Jack snorted again then downed the last of his own coffee in a sharp, burning gulp. “I’m glad you’re here, Gabe,” he said quietly.

“Psh, yeah well you’d be pretty screwed without me,” said Gabe.

“Hey now, is that any way to talk to a CO?” said Jack.

“Don’t worry, I’m fucking the Strike Commander,” Gabe delivered the line with perfect deadpan while sipping his coffee.

 This managed to get a longer more genuine laugh out of Jack which eventually faded into an exhausted chuckle. “…god, I’m terrified,” Jack said at last. 

“Same,” said Gabe with a shrug, “But we got this, right?” he held his mug over to Morrison.

Jack grinned and clinked his own empty mug with Gabe’s. “Yeah. We got this.”

Chapter Text

Ana was stuffing different tupperware containers and sippy cups into Gabe’s fridge.

“I can’t thank you enough for doing this, Gabe,” said Ana, rifling through a large bag, “With the usual sitter canceling and this mission–You’re a lifesaver.”

“Yeah you know when they asked me, ‘Gabriel Reyes, what do you plan on doing with your stellar black ops record’ I just told them, ‘Let me change diapers.’”

Ana snorted. “Fareeha’s not in diapers anymore. Just make sure you ask her if she has to use the potty every now and again and she should be fine.”

Gabe snorted and glanced over at Fareeha on the couch, repeatedly smashing a toy fighter jet into a toy Svyatogor. “I swear she’s grown a few inches since I last saw her.”

“Won’t be long ‘til she’s your height,” said Ana.

“You’re hilarious,” said Gabe flatly.

Ana just huffed a little and started pointing at different containers in the fridge. “The apple slices and peanut butter are for snack. The salatit zambadi and chicken polenta is for dinner. Fruit salad and yogurt for breakfast. Orange juice. Milk. Water.”

“No soda,” said Gabe.

“No soda,” Ana nodded, closing the fridge door, “And try not to have her watching holovids the whole time.”

“Sure thing,” said Gabe, following Ana to the door.

Ana exhaled. “Again, Gabe, you’re a lifesaver.”

“Comes with the job,” said Gabe, shrugging.

“Habībti,” Ana called. Fareeha slid off the couch and hurried over and hugged her. Ana broke out of the hug briefly, “You be good while I’m gone, all right?”

Fareeha nodded. Ana kissed her forehead.

“Ana!” Reinhardt called from the car to take her to the Orca.

“On my way!” Ana shouted back. She turned to Gabe, “You take care,” she said to Gabe. Gabe gave her a nod.

“You’d better get going,” he said.

Ana saluted him then blew a kiss to her daughter before rushing out the door. Gabe waved her off as she and Reinhardt drove away. Fareeha watched the car out the window, toy fighter jet and svyatogor clenched in each hand.

“She’ll be back,” said Gabe, ruffling Fareeha’s hair, “Anything you wanna do?”

“Arm day,” said Fareeha, instantly.

Gabe snickered, “Kid it’s not arm da–”

“Arm day!” Fareeha ran down the apartment hall to his bedroom, where a chin-up bar was installed in the doorway. She wedged herself in the doorway and started climbing up. Gabe followed after her and watched as she scrambled up to the chin-up bar and hung there, kicking her legs back and forth. “’s arm day!” 

Gabe snorted. “All right all right—don’t kick me in the face,” he said, taking ahold of the bar himself. Fareeha grinned and dropped to the floor, then wrapped her arms and legs around Gabe’s waist as he lifted his feet off the ground. She cackled as he lifted himself up with her clinging onto him. He did a couple reps with Fareeha laughing and yelling “Arm day!” as he did so. He knew he could do a lot more with the SEP serum, but as he told Fareeha, today was not arm day. He lowered his feet to the ground and Fareeha dropped down then took off back down the hall again. Gabe snorted and walked after her. She was at the window again. She pointed outside.

“Yeah, sure kid, let’s get your shoes–” Gabe cut himself off as the sound of rain hitting the roof started, “Welp, I guess that’s not happ–”

Fareeha giggled loudly and started hopping up and down on her heels and pointing outside.

“Aw, come on, kid,” said Gabe, rubbing his forehead.

Please?” said Fareeha. She tucked her hair out of her face and looked up at him. She looked outside, then back at him, then pointed outside again.

“The face is not going to work, kiddo,” said Gabe, folding his arms.

“But Gabe—please?” said Fareeha.

“Yeah your mom’s gonna kill me if you catch a cold,” said Gabe.

“Please?” Fareeha said again.

Gabe’s brow furrowed.

—

“Fifteen minutes,” said Gabe, mostly to himself, watching as Fareeha ran through puddles on the watchpoint tarmac. She was screaming and laughing and smashing her fighter jet and svyatogor together and making explosion noises as she leapt into particularly large puddles. “Just fifteen minutes.” He had put one of the Overwatch emergency ponchos that were meant for adults on her, and it went down to her ankles and rendered her a small amorphous blob of bright yellow splashing through puddles. 

“Gabe look! Look, Gabe!” she yelled at him and jumped into another puddle. 

“I see you, kiddo,” he called over to her, “Try and take it easy, it’s a little–”

Fareeha tripped and fell face-first into a puddle.

“…slippery. Shit,” Gabe rushed over and quickly picked her up, expecting crying but she just screeched and laughed, “You can take a tumble, huh?” He said, squinting at her face and making sure it wasn’t scratched up. Fareeha just laughed and smacked him in the shoulder with her svyatogor. “I think it’s time we head in,” he said, tucking a strand of wet hair out of her face.

“But Gabe!” said Fareeha. Thunder rumbled overhead and Gabe quickly stood up and put Fareeha on his hip.

“No buts,” he said, quickly walking back to the apartments.

—

Gabe used Jack’s hairdryer to dry Fareeha’s soggy sneakers as Fareeha splashed in the bath. “I’mma fight too,” said Fareeha, splashing her svyatogor into the water.

 Gabe turned off the hairdryer. “What?”

“I’m gonna fight too, when I’m big,” said Fareeha. She then demonstratively smashed her fighter jet into her svyatogor and made an explosion noise.

 Gabe sighed and set down the hairdryer, then dropped to one knee next to the bath and grabbed some of the shampoo Ana left. “Head back,” he said, and Fareeha lifted her chin up as Gabe worked the shampoo into her hair. “Hopefully you won’t have to fight when you’re big,” said Gabe.

“But I want to fight! Like you! And Mum! And Jack!”

“Well tough luck, ‘cause we’re going to get all the fighting done before you can grow up,” said Gabe, taking one of the plastic cups floating in the tub and pouring water over Fareeha’s head.

“Pffft!” Fareeha sputtered under the water, “That’s no fair!”

“Well there’s lots of other stuff to do besides fighting,” said Gabe, pouring another cup of water over her head. He glanced at the svyatogor in Fareeha’s hand. “You could… be an engineer.”

“Engineer?” said Fareeha.

“Sure, you like cars and planes and mechs and spaceships,” said Gabe, draining the tub, “Engineers make all those things. Torbjörn’s an engineer.”

Fareeha gasped as she stood up from the draining water. “Will I get a beard, too?”

“Sure, kid,” said Gabe as he wrapped her up in a towel.

“Really?” said Fareeha.

“Yep,” said Gabe, “All engineers get beards when they become engineers. Not all of them wear the beards though. Torbjorn just wears his because he’s a traditionalist like that.”

“What’s a tradishlist?” said Fareeha. 

Gabe snorted. “Let’s get your PJ’s on, yeah?” he said, giving a glance up to the ceiling as the rain started coming down harder on the roof and thunder softly rumbled.

—
Fareeha ate her dinner in her pajamas on the couch with a holovid playing. She finished pretty quickly and Gabe was washing her tupperware in the sink when thunder cracked and the power went out. Fareeha let out a half-scream half-squeal from the living room.

“Just–stay put, kid,” said Gabe, pulling his comm out of his pocket and using the flashlight function to get to his closet and pull out a tactical lantern, which he brought to the living room. Fareeha whimpered and pulled the couch throw blanket up around herself, staring at the lantern. Gabe walked back out of the room and called up Bayless.

“Hey–Bayless—Power just went off in the residences,” he spoke on the comm.

“Yeah sorry about that, Reyes,” said Bayless, “Power surge. We had to use the residential generator to keep the Watchpoint security systems up. Everything all right with you?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” said Gabe, glancing back at Fareeha, “Just dark.”

“We should get it working again in a couple hours,” said Bayless.

“Good to know,” said Gabe, clicking out of the call.

“Well…looks like it’s dark until bedtime, kiddo,” said Gabe, plopping back down on the couch.

Fareeha furrowed her brow, then lighting flashed outside the window and she flinched, pulling herself deeper into the blanket.

“You doing all right?” Gabe leaned over to her.

 He heard sniffling from inside the blanket. “I want Mum,” Fareeha’s voice cracked.

“And I’m sure Ana would love to be with you right now,” said Gabe, “She’s just busy saving the world, is all.”

Fareeha pouted, then glanced off and pointed. Gabe glanced over to where she was pointing, at his guitar in the corner. He scoffed a little, “You should be going to bed soon,” he said, folding his arms.

“Please?” said Fareeha.

Gabe sighed and stood up, grabbed the guitar, then positioned himself on the couch. He played “Blackbird” for her. The song was far too old for him to bother knowing or remembering the lyrics, but he hummed it a bit. She set her head down on his legs. Gabe was mostly watching his own fingers on the guitar, but he would give glances back to her to see her eyelids drooping. He was pretty sure she didn’t even make it to the end of the song when her breathing went slow and rhythmic. Silently, he set the guitar off to the side and tried to move a hand under her head so that he could get up. She grunted and frowned in her sleep as he attempted to move her, and he realized there was no way to move her without waking her. With this, Gabe just leaned back on the couch with resignation, pulled his beanie down over his own eyes, and slept.

Chapter Text

“Come out, Reyes!” Morrison called, “There’s nowhere to run!”

“You’ll never take us alive!” Fareeha shouted, springing up from behind the rec room couch only to be yanked back down by Gabe as a hail of foam darts flew overhead.

“That was a warning shot, Habībti,” Ana called, “You should know I never miss.”

“They’ll flank us,” said Gabe, his voice low.

“We can take ‘em!” said Fareeha in a loud whisper, pumping her foam dart gun, “We just need…” she paused dramatically, “The mech.”

Gabe pinched the bridge of his nose, “Kid, you’re getting a little too big for the mech…”

“I thought Mom said you were super strong,” said Fareeha, folding her arms.

“Well, yes but—”

“Is it ‘cuz you’re old?” asked Fareeha.

Gabe’s brow furrowed. “Fine. It’s mech time.”

—

“They’re being awfully quiet back there…” said Jack, giving a glance over to Ana as they kept an eye on the couch, “Think they’re discussing the terms of surrender?”

“When have you known Gabe or Fareeha to surrender peacefully?” said Ana, arching an eyebrow.

Jack smirked a bit and raised his blaster, “All right Reyes, come on out with your hands up and maybe we’ll go easy on you!”

“Oh now you’ve done it, Jack,” Reyes’s voice came dark and menacing from the other side of the couch, “You’ve forced us to use our trump card.”

“You don’t have a trump card,” said Jack with a roll of his eyes.

“Oh yes we do!” said Fareeha.

“A weapon to surpass the OR-14!” Gabe shouted as he suddenly stood up, Fareeha riding on his shoulders and brandishing both of their dart guns.

“Die! Die! Die!” shouted Fareeha as Gabe easily vaulted over the couch, shooting every which way.

“Get down!” shouted Jack as he and Ana both dramatically dove out of the way.

“Get behind me!” shouted Reinhardt, shoving past both Jack and Ana with a couch cushion, effectively shielding them but getting grazed slightly by a single foam dart. He reeled back, “I’m hit!” he looked over at Torbjörn, who avoided eye-contact from the rec-room table, “Torbjörn! I need armor!”

“For the love of—It’s a foam dart,” said Torbjörn, desperately trying to enjoy his coffee amidst the foam firefight.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving me here to die like this! My dearest friend! How could you!” said Reinhardt.

“I just want a normal lunch break,” said Torbjörn, very quietly to himself as he put creamer in his coffee, “Just one. normal. lunch break.”

“Reinhardt, no!” cried Ana as Reinhardt slumped to the floor.

“Avenge me, Ana…” Reinhardt gasped before flattening himself on the ground.

“Noooo!” Ana shouted.

“You’ll pay for this, Reyes!” said Jack, raising his plastic rifle.

“It’s nothing personal, Jack,” said Gabe as Fareeha fired off her dart gun. A single foam dart bounced off the standard-issue chest plate he wore beneath his usual blue overcoat and landed on the ground. 

“Looks like you’re out of ammo,” said Jack.

Gabriel cleared his throat and pointed at the ground. Jack looked down and saw the dart. “Oh,” he said, and then, “OH!” And he staggered back as well, clutching his chest and making dying noises, “You got me! Ngh! You got me good!” he slumped against the wall, “Is this.. where it ends? Jack Morrison…struck down by the one he trusted the most…and also Gabe.”

“Jackass,” said Gabe with a smirk.

Ana sharply cleared her throat and Gabe caught himself. “Oh–uh—Sorry Fareeha. Forget I said that. Bad word.”

“‘Kay,” said Fareeha.

“Lights…fading… everything… going black…” Jack Morrison was still sliding down the wall, “Make sure… my statue… doesn’t make me look stupid.”

“Too late, Jack,” said Gabe, folding his arms.

Jack made a very convincing death rattle before flopping limp against the wall.

“So I guess that just leaves…” Gabe started. Ana raised her own plastic rifle and Fareeha instantly dropped both of her foam dart guns to the ground and put her hands up. “Pfft. Traitor,” said Gabe.

“Smart girl,” said Ana, grabbing Fareeha off of Gabe’s shoulders and throwing her over her own shoulder as Fareeha giggled, “I think it’s time our little double-agent gets some snacks,” she said, heading out of the room.

“I was a double agent, too,” said Gabe with some mock obnoxiousness as Ana walked away.

“But clearly not the mastermind,” said Ana, the door sliding shut behind her.

Gabe scoffed and chuckled, then gave a glance down at Jack and Reinhardt, still sprawled out on the floor.

“So you two are… just going to stay like that, huh?”

“It’s called ‘committing,’ Reyes,” said Jack from the floor.

“Just…one normal lunch break. That’s all I ask,” said Torbjörn from the rec room table, rubbing his forehead.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Gérard was straightening and re-straightening his tie in the bathroom mirror.

“Morceau de—” he muttered under his breath as the bathroom door swung open and Jack Morrison walked in

“Ease up,” said Morrison, walking past him over to the urinal.

“I’m at ease,” said Gérard, straightening his tie again and then fidgeting with his cufflinks.

“You look fine,” said Jack, relieving himself, “This is your night. You’re a hero.”

“I’m an analyst who got lucky,” said Gérard, picking a hair off of his lapel, then squinting at his own hairline. He should have gotten a haircut before all this. This was a disaster.

“And by ‘Getting lucky’ you saved 47 hostages and unmasked the current greatest threat to peace,” said Jack, zipping up his fly and walking over to the sink to wash his hands, “The hell kind of name is ‘Talon’ anyway?”

Gérard chuckled a little. “I just connected some dots and found out a name, I’m sorry it can’t be a better one.”

“Yes, truly the world is quaking in fear of Birdfinger,” said Jack, drying off his hands and examining his own face in the mirror, “Petras and I are already in talks of forming a new Task Force–I’ve put in a good word about who I want heading it… Please tell me my hairline’s not receding already,” he muttered.

“Task force…?” Gérard repeated but then caught himself. Had to focus. Had to ease up. Had to… somehow do both of those things. “You look fine too, Strike Commander,” said Gérard, before turning back to the mirror himself, “This isn’t my night–It’s a night so that the Paris elite can assure themselves they’re safe. Figuring out what Talon is and what its goals are is only the beginning of the fight.” 

“I know,” said Jack, “But…” he clapped a hand on Gérard’s shoulder, “With you on our side? I’m feeling pretty good about it. Now get out there, hero,” he said, walking out of the bathroom.

“Hero,” Gérard repeated with a slight eye-roll before sweeping his hair back and forcing himself away from the mirror. He was fixating. He knew he was doing that. He had to stop. He took a deep breath and pushed out of the bathroom into the halls of the museum. There were prime ministers and socialites and endless talking and toasts and speeches. Gérard wasn’t really used to this—his position in Overwatch before the Algiers Incident was pretty unassuming and suddenly he was in this world of high danger, intrigue, and powerful people. Gérard knew why he was here as well–Overwatch had a reputation to maintain–his story maintained Overwatch’s narrative of ‘Heroism’ which was an image that was getting harder and harder to keep up in an increasingly complicated world.

The Strike Commander said that maintaining support for Overwatch was just as serious a fight as the ones they had on missions, but at least on a mission there was a clearer idea of what to do, of who to trust. Here was a minefield. Lots of smiling. Lots of nodding. Lots of little quips and deflections. Lots of politicians trying to have their picture taken with him. He downed several flutes of champagne, learned to time his consumption of canapes to avoid questions. The night reached a point where he was letting his tired eyes scan across the different art pieces of the halls to avoid talking to people as he mindlessly plucked the fancy little hors d’oeuvres off of passing plates… And then he saw her. 

And he stopped mid-chew.

Her dark hair was swept off the back of her neck in a sort of half-bun half-ponytail, with the ponytail portion of it flowing over her shoulder. Her black dress cut a narrow figure and bared her back—strong, graceful. She wasn’t talking to anyone, simply holding a champagne flute and looking at a statue of a weeping girl. He watched as she fidgeted slightly with the bracelet around her wrist before turning her attention back to the statue. The muscles in her back shifted slightly and she turned her head. She looked at him.

And it was then that Gérard became acutely aware that his face was stuffed full of Foie Gras crostini, swallowed hard and broke eye contact before suddenly being sucked into a conversation with several French parliament members discussing exactly how much Overwatch interference in international affairs was appropriate. He broke his sight away from the dignitaries to look back at the statue, but the woman was gone.

More politicians. More generals. More decrepit socialites whose wealth miraculously survived the crisis. More questions he could maybe answer if he had three hours and two assistants running fact-checking and three agents in the field (and he did not currently have any of those things). Eventually he found himself using the statues dotting the halls as cover, using them to break up the lines of sight between himself and the various diplomats as Strike Commander Morrison and Commander Reyes rubbed elbows with the elites. They had been doing this longer than him, but he could see the exhaustion in their faces as well. He needed air. He grabbed one last champagne flute off of a passing tray and discreetly excused himself outside. It was a temperate night, and scent of the Seine hung in the air as he walked across a narrow path to a bench overlooking the river and slumped down onto it. A statue cast of Dea Sequana loomed next to it, a woman in a duck-shaped boat looking out at the water. He sipped at his champagne.

“A little much for you too?” a voice spoke next to him and he nearly spat out his champagne, and his head swiveled around to see the woman in the black dress from earlier, curled up at the feet of Dea Sequana, champagne flute in one hand and her shoes in the other.

“I’m pretty sure climbing on the statues is not allowed,” said Gérard.

“It’s not as though we’re in the museum. Are you going to tell Overwatch on me?” she said with a mischievous tilt of her head.

Gérard chuckled. “I am not going back in there–not right now, at least,” he said, gesturing back at the museum doors, “Why climb up there?”

“I wanted a better view,” said the woman, gesturing with her champagne glass out at the river and the city beyond it, “And I’m sure she doesn’t mind…” she gestured up at the goddess statue, “They only brought her in after the Crisis anyway… make the rebuilt areas of the retaining walls look more natural…” she trailed off and looked at him, “It’s you,” she said, as she scanned his face in the faint light of the streetlights and the light off the river, “The hero Gérard LaCroix, our guest of honor.”

“Are you going to tell Overwatch on me?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

She snickered, “No,” she said, tossing her shoes down. They clattered on the pavement next to Gérard’s feet. “I’m sure this all seems terribly silly to an Overwatch agent,” she said, hoisting her skirt up to clamber over the boat.

“I’m barely an agent,” said Gérard, “I was an analyst on assignment in Algiers and then there was that attack and I–it’s… there was a lot.”

“’Barely an agent?’” the woman repeated, “So the 47 hostages was all just spin?”

“No I mean… I… I didn’t really count the hostages, I just…sort of panicked and then–”

“Catch,” she tossed her champagne flute down and he instinctively snatched it out of the air.

“You could have broken that,” he said, waving the empty champagne flute at her.

“‘Barely an agent,’ he says,” she said, over her shoulder at him as she pulled the skirts of her dress back down and he set both champagne flutes down on the bench.

“Do you need help with–?”

“I wouldn’t climb up somewhere I couldn’t get down from, don’t worry,” said the woman, sitting on the edge of the statue’s platform.

He extended a hand to her all the same. She smiled a little then took his hand, then pushed off the edge of the statue. He stumbled back as her weight fell against him, but managed not to fall on his ass as her bare feet padded against the cement and they both regained their footing.

“Um…” there was an awkward half beat where she was scanning the ground for her shoes, but still in his arms before she broke away.

“You’d be a terrible dancer,” she said, a laugh in her voice as she picked her shoes up.

“And you’re an expert on that?”

“I’d like to think I am, yes,” she said, sitting down on the bench and pulling her shoes back on.

“…I realized you have me at quite the disadvantage, Miss…”

“Guillard, Amélie Guillard,” said Amélie.

“The ballerina—you–Of course!” Gérard ran a hand through his hair, “It’s an honor to meet you, mademoiselle.”

“You don’t have to pretend you know who I am,” she said with an eye-roll.

“I saw your production of Coppélia a few years ago. You were brilliant,” said Gérard, “I didn’t recognize you when you weren’t moving like…” he made stiff jerking motions with his arms similar to the titular character. 

Amélie laughed again. “I hope I didn’t look like that,” she said with a smile.

“Well it was far better than anything I can hope to imitate,” said Gérard.

Amélie tucked a loose strand of hair back from her face, “I wouldn’t have taken an Overwatch agent for a connoisseur of the arts.”

“Well, you’re what we’re fighting for, aren’t you?” said Gérard.

Amélie blinked a bit confusedly and Gérard caught himself. “I mean you as in–the arts–” he stammered, “As in… we… need the arts and…” his tie felt too tight, he fidgeted with it,  “And–and we need… people… to be alive… to… make the arts. So Overwatch has to… stop bad people.. from hurting other people so… we can… have arts… and… please, please, Miss Guillard, please interrupt me because the more I talk the more I feel my life draining from my body.” 

“I understand,” said Amélie with a smile.

Gérard exhaled with relief.

Amélie looked over his shoulder back at the museum. “I suppose I can’t steal you away from your Overwatch superiors,” she said thoughtfully.

“As much as I’d like you to,” said Gérard with a smile. 

“I should probably be getting back as well,” she said, folding her arms. 

“Unfortunately,” said Gérard.

“We probably shouldn’t enter at the same time, people are insufferable gossips,” said Amélie.

“Insufferable,” Gérard agreed, “You should head in first. You were out longer.”

Amélie nodded and then moved to walk in, but then paused, and turned on her heel to look at him, “I still count myself lucky that I was able to catch the hero Gérard LaCroix,” she said with a grin. She paused and her smile shrank slightly.

“Are you all–” Gérard started but she reached forward and straightened his tie with a serious look on her face.

“There we are,” she said, smiling and patting his lapel, “Better.”

Gérard didn’t even have a mirror but it felt like the first time his tie felt right all night.

“I’ll see you inside, Monsieur LaCroix,” said Amélie, walking away from him back to the museum.

“Until then, Mademoiselle Guillard,” said Gérard, watching her walk off back to the museum. He picked up the two champagne fluted from the bench and looked out over the Seine. “The hero Gérard LaCroix,” he repeated to himself, “Hero…”

The title didn’t seem so bad now.

Chapter Text

It was the most crowded the Panorama Diner had been in god-knew-how-long. Overwatch agents and local law enforcement mingled in a mix of blue and beige, some clustered around table booths hasty laptop and holo-comm stations, some pacing about the floor, talking on their own comms and headpieces with officers back at Watchpoint Grand Mesa or even as far as Zurich. The most crowded Panorama had been, and no one was eating.

Well… almost no one.

“You sure you don’t want any?” said Gabe, pressing the side of his fork into the slice of apple pie, sectioning off the flaky crust and gooey filling.

Cole Cassidy frowned sullenly at his own plate, his own slice of pie already in a puddle of melting vanilla ice cream. He moved to pick up his fork and the chain of his handcuffs clinked with the movement. He glared up at Reyes from beneath the brim of his hat, but Reyes kept calmly eating.

“It’s good pie,” Gabe said with a slight shrug. The corners of Cassidy’s mouth pulled inward in a repulsed little scowl.

“Ain’t you got anything better to do?” Cassidy growled. There was a pitchiness in his voice that spoke to the last miserable ekes of puberty in all their acne-speckling glory still clinging to his scrappy form.

“Oh we’ve got all the time in the world,” said Gabe with another forkful of pie.

“Where’s Ashe?” said Cassidy.

“Her folks posted her bail, and I have a stack of forms from her family legal team roughly as thick as your head that forbid me from saying anything further on her involvement in this incident.”

“Oh,” Cassidy huffed a little and eased back in his seat, “Guess that means they’re coming for me next,” A smug smile eased onto his features, but Reyes didn’t seem to respond to that, just let Cassidy’s words sit in the air between them as his fork scraped across his plate, gathering bits of pastry and melted ice cream dappled with cinnamon.

Cassidy first basked in the silence as victory, but as he noted the lack of reaction in Reyes, doubt crept in slowly. Reyes gently set his fork down on the side of his plate and looked up at Cole. The calm eye contact from Reyes was all it took for Cole’s nerves to bubble up in his throat.

“I mean… “ a short nervous laugh rippled out of him, “Th-that’s what they said, right? They’d be representin’ me, too?”

Reyes said nothing, just gave him a steady look.

“Right?” that pitchiness sharpened in his voice, nearly making it crack.

“…it’s a tough truth of this world, kid,” Reyes said, leaning back in his seat slightly, “Don’t get involved with rich kids. They can buy their way out of trouble, but you…”

“No–” Cassidy interrupted him, “No–there’s–there’s been a mistake. Ashe said–she said—” 

“Maybe there was honor amongst thieves out here, under an open sky,” said Reyes with a weary shrug, “But I can’t say the same in the US legal system. And it’s a story jurors would love to hear: the pretty, oil tycoon princess just wants adventure, just wants attention, she gets mixed up with the dastardly local trash… falls in with a bad crowd… oh but she can change, she just needs another chance–it was Cole Cassidy doing all the work, anyway, it was all his idea. Is that even his real name? Oh but don’t worry, 12 years in a maximum security cell oughta straighten him right up.”

All color had drained from Cassidy’s face. The look in those eyes would have been heartbreaking if Reyes wasn’t well aware he was a little shit.

“So that’s the stick,” said Reyes, picking up his fork, “Do you want to hear about the carrot, now?”

Cassidy tried to bring some hardness back to his expression, but his brow was still crinkling, realizing just how easy it was for Ashe’s family to throw him under the bus and how he had refused to see it for so long.

“…I ain’t a rat,” said Cassidy, staring down at the pie, “’sides, not like I can give you anything useful anyway.”

“I’m not looking for information,” said Reyes, “I’m looking for insight. A sharp eye. A steady hand.”

“Fresh blood,” Cassidy tilted his head up a little. Reyes gave a small single nod.

 A small scoff escaped Cassidy. “You can forget it. I ain’t a narc and I ain’t cannon fodder.”

“Did I say I was looking for a narc or cannon fodder?” Reyes pointed a fork at him, “Overwatch has plenty of those in our ranks already, rebuilding after the crisis is going to take more than bright-eyed button-up dumbasses star-struck by propaganda,” Reyes set the fork on his plate again and pushed it aside, now picking up a binder that had been on the seat next to him and flipping it open to CCTV photos of Cassidy. One was of him fixing up a dilapidated hover bike, another was of him carrying groceries in both arms for an old woman, and there were several photos of non-lethal gun wounds, “We had to do months of research to pull off this sting operation, and you know what I saw? Guts. Resourcefulness. Resilience. The ability to defuse high-tension situations. The ability to convince other people towards your own goals. The marks of a man who lives by a code… or at least is starting to. You wanted to be the goddamn Robin Hood of Route 66, but you’re young, you’re cocky, and you’re sloppy, and now you’re here.”

“You know how many ‘you have so much potential’ weepy speeches I’ve had to sit through?” Cassidy muttered.

“I don’t know, but I can guarantee you that whether you say yes or no, this is the last one,” said Reyes.

Cassidy’s glance fell down to his handcuffs. “It’s like that, then?”

“It’s like that,” said Reyes.

Cassidy was silent for a long time.

“I can give you the usual spiel–three square meals a day, roof over your head, travel the world and meet new and interesting people, top notch combat training–but you’ve heard all that shit before, and that didn’t convince you then, so there’s no reason it’ll convince you now,” Reyes went on, “You had fuck-all to do around here, but it wasn’t like you were going to join Overwatch or the army just to get out of here–you didn’t want to get out by fitting into someone else’s mold.” 

Cassidy made a near-scoffing “hm” noise that hinted at a smile.

“Did I read you right?” said Reyes.

“Fuck you,” the words came almost warmly out of Cassidy and his eyes were fixed on Reyes with a pensive curiosity that made Reyes wonder how interesting the conversation got out here in the middle of nowhere. Cassidy rubbed his chin, with one hand, the cuffs forcing his other hand to lift and hang lazily with the motion. “…y’know, I saw you in all those Crisis propaganda movies… thought you’d be more like Morrison.” 

“Morrison can have all the clean-scrubbed soldiers he wants,” said Gabe with a shrug, leaning back in his seat, “Me? I want the survivors. I want the cockroach motherfuckers.”

Cassidy snorted at this.

 “Dying for a cause you believe in,” Reyes followed up, “That’s easy. I saw loads of people do it… doing what needs to be done though… being willing to live with that shit afterward because there’s more shit to be done… It takes a certain kind of person to do that. And I’d rather have that person on my team than rotting away in a cell.” 

“On your team,” Cassidy repeated, squinting skeptically. 

“After the proper training of course. And there’s medical care. Dental. You get dental with the whole outlaw thing?”

Cassidy’s lips self-consciously closed over his teeth on instinct.

“And for what it’s worth, we’ll let you keep the hat,” said Reyes.

That smile tugged at the corner of Cassidy’s mouth. He resettled in his seat slightly, picked up his fork and sectioned off a bit of his own pie, now a virtual pile of pastry and apple mush beneath the melted remnants of its vanilla ice cream.

“Cockroach motherfuckers, huh?” said Cassidy, taking a bite of the pie.

“Working team name. Jack’s been pushing me toward ‘Blackwatch’ but what the hell does he know?”

“What does he know?” said Cassidy with a smile, taking another bite.

Chapter Text

It was a night like any other. 17-year-old Olivia Colomar was perched, cross-legged in her swivel chair, fingers racing across the keyboard. She had a few names for her portal–the rabbit hole if she was feeling posh, combing through the offshore accounts of CEO’s sapping the life from her city, Mictlān if she was feelng more dark, turning over the internet’s rocks and seeing the predators and traffickers and the assassins writhing underneath, and there were invisible threads connecting both worlds, drawn taut. 

She followed a handful of criminal organizations’ servers like one might have accounts on different social media platforms. The Shimada data servers were always entertaining because it was a bit like watching a trainwreck in slow motion. She gleaned what assets she could without their noticing, but mostly just used them as a jumping-off point for a whole network of numerous off-the-book bookkeeping for an impressive number of Asian, American, and Pacific corporations. There was a money-laundering casino in Monaco that had a host of all sorts of interesting friends. She gleaned what she could from these organizations, and she would (internally, at least) emphasize the word ‘glean’ because she was only grabbing what no one would notice, the runoff and the little forgotten numbers. If anything she was keeping the books cleaner for them. She kept tabs on a good number of governments as well–Overwatch’s digital defenses were practically Swiss cheese, fitting for their Zurich base, but really only a handful of individuals from the organization really caught her attention: Reyes, O’Deorain, and LaCroix–they seemed like the only people who really knew what they were doing, but that was just off of what Olivia could get from the emails. She gleaned what she could from Overwatch and a handful of messy political official’s accounts as well. She reasoned that if governments needed money to support the people, she was just helping the government do its job… even if it was just one person (her), and all the while her invisible threads were there–like that line of half-consciousness drifting through a daydream. She knew they were all connected at one source. It wasn’t a hunch so much as a pattern she could follow, the priorities of one singular, powerful, unseen force, pushing everything towards… something. 

Some things only needed the right nudge–a Shimada assassination here, a shipment of rare minerals needed to construct hard-light projectors there, and a chain reaction would be set off—a building collapse in Numbani, a multi-antibiotic resistant virus escaping past the confines of a hospital in Giza, a gas explosion in the Rockies, the effects were seemingly random, and yet, the trails of money and resources bursting forth in the aftermath of these found their flow, found their way into the most unassuming pockets. Old money–money that survived the Omnic Crisis, money that somehow hid away from all the government’s reconstruction efforts after the crisis, but it wasn’t sitting stagnant. No, it was feeding back into the cycle– perpetuating itself, but still moving towards that unknown center. But oh she was getting better at tracking them down. She was getting faster at it, too. She had drawn out complex webs  in cheap black and white composition books of different organizations and where they were sending their money and resources. She hid them behind her processors. She felt a bit silly for going analog for the most vital bits of data-tracking, but she chalked that up to whatever the Omnic Crisis and its aftermath had done to twist up her childhood psyche–that wasn’t important. What was in the notebooks–that was important. What was on the screens–that was important. Being the unseen watcher–that was very important.

Which was why a cold panic spiked through her body when, after just a few keystrokes, no more daring than any other night, all of her screens suddenly blared red. Her music distorted and folded over itself, its catchy beat turning to a groaning ripple. This wasn’t a virus. It couldn’t be a virus. She had too many safeguards in place for a virus, and any virus that could get past her defenses would have to be one she wrote. All the fans on her processors were whirring with the strain of whatever intrusion this was on her system.

Then words appeared on her main monitor.

>Hello, Olivia.

Olivia flinched back from her screen hard, her breath catching in her throat, fogging warm over her fingers as she covered her mouth, not sure if she was trying to suppress a scream or quiet her breathing.

>You’re very observant.

Olivia was hammering away at her keyboard, unsure if she should reset the system or if that was what it (what was it?) wanted, but trying every combination she could to try and pull out of whatever she had just stepped in.

>That isn’t going to work, Olivia.

A bolt of electricity rippled over her keyboard and Olivia cried out and yanked her hands back from the keyboard as more words started appearing.

>You’re going to watch, Olivia, and you’re going to remember.

> It’s okay. 

>You’re good at it. 

>This is what you’ve been doing nearly every night for nearly 10 years now.

>You got your nice, fast, strong, computer and all its neat little parts from it. 

> You got your pretty clothes from it. 

> You’re very good at it and you’re going to keep doing it.

Olivia’s chest was rapidly rising and falling with her breath and she was shaking her head as if whatever was putting the words on her screen could see her right now. Could it? How would she know? She could access classified CCTV as easily as tying a shoe, what could they do? And then the words started their dance across the screen again.

>You can watch, Olivia. 

>You can watch all you like.

>But just know we’re watching too.

>And that we’ve been watching for much, much longer.

>And we can do a lot more than just watch.

There was a horrible fizzing sound and all of Olivia’s screens were suddenly displaying a stylized eye symbol, glowing candle white against screens that were the same red as the back of your eyelids after staring into the sun, Olivia could smell smoke as another ripple of electricity shocked out from her processors and suddenly her room went completely black. She shrunk in her seat, some primal part of her, some screaming little Omnic Crisis orphan with the logic of ‘they can’t get you if you’re small enough,’ overriding half her senses for a solid minute until she notice the light outside her window had shifted. She got up from her seat and went to the window. The streetlights were out. Somewhere in the distance, a dog was barking, and out there in the dark were the partially glowing skeletons of a few Los Muertos members puzzling under a burnt-out stoplight. Whatever had just made contact with her had sent a message by knocking out the power for her section of the city grid.

She slumped back into her seat, but panic threw her right back out of it again and on impulse she seized her composition books from their hiding spot behind her now smoking processors. She flipped them open, her eyes blurring with tears–she wasn’t sure if it was the smoke or the panic–as she looked over her notes. This wasn’t safe enough. Analog wasn’t safe enough. Nowhere was safe. Head still buzzing with panic she yanked out her wastebasket and set it in the middle of the floor, then rifled through one of her drawers and seized a lighter. She held her notebooks at arm’s length over the wastebasket and flicked the lighter underneath them. One click, a spark, and nothing. Two clicks, nothing–stupid, panicking, shaking hands. Four clicks and a little flame sprung up on the lighter and she brought it shaking up to the corner of the notebooks, but then she stopped before flame could meet paper. 

This was her work. This was what she could do. This was her. And they thought they could stop her–what, because they had been around longer? They thought they could scare her–they had scared her–no they had to scare her. They wouldn’t have reached out to her if she wasn’t a threat, or shaping up to be one. She had to keep going. But now she had to be smart about it. She set the notebooks down on her desk next to her smoking monitors and paced around in the dark. She looked back around her dark apartment.

“They just turned some lights off…” Olivia said quietly, “Anyone can turn some lights off.”

They could find her. They already knew where she was. She could memorize it—it was practically already a memory web in her head already–but without the data, without her processors to back it up, these were just the notebooks of a conspiracy theorist. And the processors weren’t safe anymore, she knew that. No hardware. No analog. Definitely no cloud. That only left…

She curled the fingers of her hand inward and outward. The human brain was capable of storing terabytes of data… it could probably store more. It would probably have to store more. She would have to be more.

—

It was the next morning in a dingy back-alley Augment shop. 

“You’re talking about a second brain,” said the cyberneticist, folding her arms, “I’ve done plenty of spinal implants and neural data drives, but you’re talking about grafting a goddamn hard-drive onto yourself.”

“With my other specs–” Sombra started, almost completely swallowed up by her hoodie.

“Yeah, and your other specs are insane–” said the cyberneticist, pressing her hand to her forehead, “It’s like you’re trying to turn yourself into a–a human data lamprey. I don’t know how I could implant them without crippling you.”

“…I have some neuroprosthetic blueprints ripped right out of Ogundimu Prosthetic’s R&D department,” said Sombra, pulling out her holophone and displaying them, “The procedure’s safe. If the babies in Numbani can manage it, so can you.”

The cyberneticist studied the blueprints. “I mean, procedure wise, yeah, doable, but I’ll need to whip up a lot of the components in-shop and the amount needed to offset the amount of lathanum alone—”

“Do you know who you’re talking to?” said Sombra, pressing another button on her phone and showing her a number.

“…not really,” said the cyberneticist, “But,” she pointed at the number on the screen, “That? That’s good enough for me.”

“I’m glad we understand each other,” said Sombra.

—

Olivia Colomar died on Wednesday, November 8, after throwing herself onto the tracks of the Metro de Dorado. Suicide by train had been significantly cut down all over the world thanks to advances in station safety design in the past few decades, but not every city could afford to install such preventative measures, especially not in the wake of the Omnic crisis. A crisis orphan herself and a savvy freelance tech security consultant, Olivia Colomar lived a quiet, solitary existence, but had handfuls of friends in a few reform- and Crisis-reconstruction-minded forums online from her days in Overwatch’s UN-sponsored orphanages, a handful of foster homes, and Adawe Foundation-sponsored boarding schools. Everywhere she went, she was one of hundreds, thousands. A face in the crowd, no more remarkable than anyone else. 

That was the narrative Sombra went with. To her own credit she anonymously wrote herself a very touching obituary, though she doubted anyone would read it. It was a lot easier to make a death without a body than one might think, especially with her new augmentations. First fabricate the CCTV footage–the same technology that could remove crowds from photo frames could add new randomized crowds pieced together from months of footage before. Then came the legwork: shut down the station for maintenance, shut down the train for a certain amount of time, spill your blood that you’ve been draining out of yourself from the three weeks of healing from your augments onto the tracks. Hypertrains. Barely left enough to cremate. Fudge the right paperwork at the morgue and from there you were just a stamp on a piece of paper in a dusty filing cabinet in archives no one gave a shit about. It would have been harder, she reflected, if she had people who cared about her, but, lucky for her she didn’t. But that didn’t matter.

The eye was right. She would keep watching. And now, with neuroprosthetics itching under her skin, hungry and sore and tingling, with neural implants scorching along the side of her head, with the remains of Olivia Colomar’s life burning behind her, she would do a lot more than just watch.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

A fog bank had settled on Hanamura that night, and the night sky was tinged orange from light pollution. Hanzo’s knuckle was pressed to his lip with pensiveness as the streetlights sailed by outside the car window. It was a Friday night and he could see stumbling revelers laughing and ambling to their train stations and bus stops, some huddling close in the damp night air as they awaited their ride shares. He glanced to his driver, studied the back of his head. The raggedness of his hairline at the back of his neck irked Hanzo–perhaps the annoyance was intensified by the clean metal of the back of an omnic enforcer’s head in the co-pilot seat— but it wasn’t like Hanzo could tell him to get a haircut, not with his own hair to past shoulder-blades. He had it tied back at least, but such sloppiness from his own driver… Hanzo glanced back out the window. Yuriko was right–discipline was slipping in their own ranks. It was the whole damnable reason he was out tonight.

“Here,” said Hanzo, and the driver pulled over. He got out of the car and brushed his hands down his shirt to smooth it. Before him was a nightclub, a neon sign advertising its name Tori No Su, the Bird’s nest. Hanzo gave a derisive scoff. Sparrow’s nest, he thought to himself as he moved toward the door of the club. he heard the car doors open behind him and glance over his shoulder at his driver and enforcer stepping out. “Stay with the car,” he said.

“You sure, boss?” said the enforcer.

Boss. Sometimes it still felt unnatural, hearing that. Sojiro had been putting him in charge of a handful of smaller clan operations over the past few months, and it wasn’t that he didn’t like them or wasn’t good at it, but Sojiro was ‘boss.’ Not Hanzo. Not yet. ‘Sir,’ certainly, but ‘Boss’ not as much. There was a line at the front door of course, but Hanzo stepped up to the bouncer.

“Back of the line,” said the Bouncer, not looking up from his list.

Hanzo stood his ground and folded his arms.

The bouncer glanced up from his tablet. “Did you hear me? I said back of the-”

He recognized Hanzo’s features, the blue dragon tattoo peeking out from the rolled up sleeves of his collared shirt, and his eyes trailed to the car behind him where his driver and enforcer gave a polite wave. “You’re…” the bouncer’s voice trailed off.

“An investor,” said Hanzo, “And I’ll only be a minute.”

“Right,” said the bouncer, stepping aside, “Of course, sir.”

The door opened and the full blast of the music and the heat of gyrating bodies and the tang of sweat and alcohol slammed into all of his senses. The club was dimly lit with projections of vintage, heavily filtered tokusatsu edited to match the beats of the music and 8 bit video games on the walls. Sparrow’s nest, indeed. He moved through the crowd smoothly and silently, everyone too caught up in their dancing and drinking and hedonism to give him so much as a second look. He glanced up at an upstairs VIP lounge overlooking the entire club and sighed as he made his way to the stairs. There was another bouncer at the stairs, but one glance at Hanzo’s tattoo and he stood aside. Hanzo ascended the stairs.

The upstairs lounge was significantly less crowded than the bar and dance floor, room to breathe, at least, and it had its own bar and a handful of gyrating bodies. Hanzo’s eyes, however, quickly fixed on a nook in the corner with a loveseat and a glass table projecting those same tokusatsu clips being projected on the walls. There were four people there. One girl refilling shot glasses of vodka, one girl snorting lines off the table, and two men lazily sticking their tongues down each others’ throats, one of them with garishly dyed spiky green hair. The girl snorting lines was the first to register his presence as he stepped up to their nook and her head jerked up and she thumbed her nose, looking up at him with a certain addled defiance. The side of her neck was tattooed with honeysuckle flowers. The other girl pouring shots glanced up at him and Hanzo watched as the vodka overflowed in the last shot glass and distorted the projected image of the sentai warrior on the glass table as it bubbled over before she jerked the bottle back upright.

“Genji,” the girl with the neck tattoo punctuated his name with a short sniff and the green-haired man broke out of his sloppy kiss with a sigh.

“I told you, you can put the whole thing on my–” his voice caught as he made eye contact with Hanzo, “…tab,” Genji leveled his dilated pupils at Hanzo and further broke apart with the lithe man next to him. A few long seconds of gauging each other passed between the two brothers. Genji sighed and gave his own short sniff before taking a steadying breath and putting on a smiling mask.

“Hanzo!” he said, pushing up from the couch and yanking Hanzo into a honeydew-vodka-scented hug, “It’s so good to see you! Have a drink with us!”

“Is this that brother you mentioned?” said the vodka-pourer, setting the bottle on the table.

“Asshole brother?” said the man Genji had just been swapping spit with, snickering. His voice was thick with an Osaka accent.

“Asshole brother,” Hanzo repeated flatly.

“Ignore them,” said Genji, breaking the hug with his hands on Hanzo’s shoulders.

“It’s time to come home, Genji,” said Hanzo.

Genji scoffed. “Home isn’t going anywhere, and you’ve been working your ass off,” he said, plopping back down onto the couch, “You should join us,” he plucked up one of the shot glasses and held it out to him, “Take the edge off.”

Hanzo’s eyes narrowed.

“You came here with a driver, didn’t you?” said Genji, arching an eyebrow as the girl with the neck tattoo crept over him like a vine and laid kisses on his jaw and collarbone. She didn’t break eye contact with Hanzo as she did so. All of their eyes were on him. The Osaka man regarded him with that same laziness as he took a long drag off of a vape pen.

“This is not the company the our family keeps,” Hanzo spoke under his breath. Genji’s cohorts didn’t really pick it up over the din of the music, but Genji heard it just fine.

He let out a scoffing chuckle before knocking back his shot. “What are you talking about? I’m assuring product quality and networking with our market. Didn’t you say I should get more involved with the family business?”

Hanzo swallowed a furious rant of ‘We only see to its circulation, to actually partake in the product shames the family. You’re shitting where you eat.’ But Genji was already incriminating them enough with his stupid drunk mouth.

“Oh, we’re networking?” said the neck tattoo woman, tracing a finger along the neckline of Genji’s shirt, “Is that what you call it?”

“An important aspect of any business, Mika,” said Genji, playfully booping her nose and prompting a snort and a snicker out of her.

“Sure… ” said Mika, her eyes flicking back to Hanzo as the other two busied themselves with their row of shots to try and drown out the increasing tension between Genji and his brother. She gave Hanzo another once-over, “I don’t think he’s interested in ‘networking’ like you are.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” said Genji glancing toward Hanzo. He smiled. “Come on, join us!” 

“We’re leaving,” said Hanzo flatly, seizing Genji’s arm and yanking him up off the couch.

“Hey–Hanzo–” Genji’s feet stumbled and shuffled beneath him as Hanzo yanked his arm, “Fucking hell–let go–Hanzo, I can get home on my own–”

“Hey!” Mika briskly walked after them and grabbed Hanzo’s shoulder, “He doesn’t want to go with you!”

Hanzo gave her a terrifyingly cold glare and shoved up the shirt sleeve on Genji’s arm. “Do you know what this is?” he said pointing at Genji’s green dragon tattoo.

She looked down at the tattoo on Genji’s arm, gave another short sniff, “Look–” she started.

“You know what it is, so I suggest you and your friends make what will definitely be the wisest decision you’ll make all night and stay. Out. Of. This,” said Hanzo.

Her eyes flicked to Genji. Still coked up. Still ready to do something stupid–ready to make a scene if Genji permitted her. The girl pouring shots and the man from Osaka stared at them blankly from their little nook, both of them drunk, but at least aware they were too drunk to get involved with this. But Genji’s lips parted and moved wordlessly for a few seconds before he muttered out, “It’s fine, Mika. Go back to the others. I’ll call you later.”

Mika watched as Hanzo walked down the stairs with Genji. Hanzo felt Genji’s eyes fixed on him as they walked out of the club.

“You didn’t have to threaten her,” said Genji.

“I didn’t threaten her,” said Hanzo.

“Bringing up our family is a threat,” said Genji.

“Get in the car, Genji.”

“No, I’m curious, would you actually follow through on it?” said Genji.

“Get in the car,” said Hanzo, opening the door to the car. 

“You would, wouldn’t you?” said Genji, incredulity and disgust in his voice.

“The car, Genji, stop embarrassing yourself,” said Hanzo. 

Genji let out a sighing snarl and ducked in to the car.

“You’re the one putting those idiots in danger to begin with. If not from the clan, then its enemies,” said Hanzo. His driver and enforcer glanced over their shoulders at them briefly before Hanzo motioned to them to start driving. They kept their eyes straight ahead, mercifully ignoring what was far from the first or last argument between the two brothers.

“So what? I should just be a friendless asshole like you?!” said Genji as screens of yellow light from the streetlights outside the car passed across his face.

“They aren’t friends! They’re parasites!” said Hanzo, “They’re little more to you than the garbage you were pouring down your throat!”

“Oh here we go, ‘I’m Hanzo and because I’m a joyless bastard who based my entire personality around the clan, I assume everything that isn’t presenting my  asshole to the clan elders to be routinely fucked is meaningless!’”

“You will not speak of the clan that way!” said Hanzo.

“Oh we murder and run protection rackets and sell drugs and weapons but god forbid we get vulgar!” said Genji, 

“You’re an embarrassment,” said Hanzo.

“I’d rather be an embarrassment than a monster.” 

“Oh don’t act as if you’re above it–you’re willing to carry out assassinations for the clan because that means we hold onto our money, and you’re happy to spend all that blood money to drink and drug yourself to oblivion,” said Hanzo.

“Because I’m a fucking human,” said Genji. A laugh shook his voice. “Yeah. I drink. I fuck. And there’s the coke, weed, molly, kakuseizai– Sure. Because I’m still feeling things. Because I still want to feel things. Because I know if I stop feeling things, I’m going to turn into you.”

“So to maintain your purity of heart and strength of character, you’re going out to kill brain cells and have meaningless sex with virtual strangers who wouldn’t give you a second glance if you didn’t have the clan’s money,” said Hanzo.

“Fuck you,” said Genji, turning his head and looking out the window.

A long pause passed between them. Their driver and enforcer were dead silent, letting the tension between the brothers percolate for a few taut minutes.

Hanzo exhaled, breaking the silence. “The clan is who we are, Genji, the sooner you accept that, the easier it will get,” said Hanzo.

“Easier for you,” muttered Genji, not looking at him, “Perfect Hanzo. Didn’t even flinch the first time the Clan elders made him slit someone’s throat. Our prince. Our scion.” 

“You’re drunk, Genji,” said Hanzo, staring straight forward.

Genji sighed and leaned his head on the car window. “And you don’t need to drink to deal with this shit,” he muttered under his breath, “I think that scares me more.”

Chapter Text

One could see Shimada castle and most of the city from the Shimada family plot. It was a late, long-shadowed hour, with the angle of the sun glaring off some of the buildings’ windows. Hanzo was on one knee in front of the grave while Yuriko stood next to it, one hand on the headstone. It reminded Hanzo of the way she would touch his fathers’ shoulder when calling him away from dinner to address clan matters. Hanzo’s eyes flicked over to his mother’s headstone at the thought of it. It was older than Sojiro’s headstone, but only by a few years. Hanzo’s eyes finally trailed up from the headstone to the tall, dignified figure of his aunt. She was dressed smartly–collared dress shirt, high waisted pants and suspenders with a black and white haori resting on her shoulders. Yuriko’s gray-flecked hair was piled on her head in a pompadour-like updo, but it tumbled past her shoulders and down her back as she pulled a few pins from it, looking out at the city.

“How bad was it?” asked Hanzo.

“I’ve cleaned up most of the mess,” said Yuriko, shaking her hair out, “The Inago Gang is still grumbling, but Noriyuki trusts me. He’ll keep them in line. He knows whats good for them in the long run.”

“Good,” said Hanzo, folding his arms against himself, “Good–”

“Not good, Hanzo. These are footmen. The hierarchy is supposed to be clear. If a gang as lowly as the Inago are raising this much hell, it shows how vulnerable we are to the other families.”

“The council—” Hanzo started.

“Continue to be very vocal in their doubts about the strength of the main branch as Clan leaders,” said Yuriko, “Hideyoshi can’t pacify them like he used to.”

Hanzo’s lips thinned.

“If the main branch loses power, it’ll be a vacuum. A bloodbath. We’ll collapse on ourselves,” Yuriko went on. She looked down at Sojiro’s grave and lifted her hand from Sojiro’s grave and put it on Hanzo’s shoulder. “We need to talk about Genji.”

“He’s grieving—” Hanzo started.

“There’s grieving,” said Yuriko, pulling out her phone, “And then there’s being a liability,” she showed Hanzo a picture of Genji–clearly drunk, surrounded by beautiful, laughing people. 

“Genji was always…” Hanzo trailed off.

“Look closer,” said Yuriko, zooming in on a figure in the background of the photo. Hanzo noticed a koi tattoo creeping up the neck of a grim looking man in the background.

“Teiji Furukawa,” said Yuriko, furrowing her brow, “He’s not even avoiding having his picture taken. The Furukawa clan wouldn’t send out a hatchet man this high up unless they wanted to send a message,” she withdrew her phone from him and sighed, “Genji isn’t just your problem anymore. He’s the clan’s problem. He’s been the clan’s problem, and neither of us have been willing to face up to that.”

“I’ll talk to him,” said Hanzo.

“You’ve been talking to him ever since Sojiro passed,” said Yuriko, “Whatever you’re saying isn’t sinking in. If he can’t step up to clan duties,” Yuriko took a breath and tucked some of her hair back, wearily, “Then there have to be consequences.”

Her hand lingered at her hair for less than a second. Hanzo’s eyes always flicked to the stub of her missing pinky when she tucked her hair back, even when his father had told him it was rude to stare.

Consequences. Hanzo’s stomach tightened at the word.

“There has to be a better option,” said Hanzo, “Perhaps exile—”

“And leave him vulnerable to act as an informant to law enforcement or our enemies?” said Yuriko, “You know we can’t allow that.”

Hanzo was silent, staring at Sojiro’s grave.

“Do you think saying this is any easier for me?” said Yuriko, “You and Genji are all I have left of my brother. All I have left of one of one of my dearest friends. But this is bigger than what I want. The interests of the clan must always take priority over our own feelings on the matter,” she sighed, “This is a mistake of Sojiro’s as well… We can’t make the same mistake. We have to rectify it.”

 Hanzo kept his eyes fixed on the headstone.

“This isn’t a burden you should bear so soon after losing him,” said Yuriko, putting her four-fingered hand on his shoulder, “I know–”

“I know it is my duty,” said Hanzo, finally breaking his sight away from the grave to look at her, “Give me a chance to speak to him. Give him one last chance to take his place in the clan.”

“You are the scion,” said Yuriko, “You don’t need my permission. Ultimately how you carry out your duty is up to you.”

—–

2 Days Later

—–

It was a little after midnight when a sleek black car crookedly parked in a Hanamura parking garage and Yuriko emerged from it.

“Hanzo!?” Yuriko called as she slammed the car door shut and looked around the garage. 

“Boss, are you sure we should be leaving the castle security this sparse–” an enforcer spoke in her earpiece.

“Finding the scion takes priority,” said Yuriko, keeping one hand on the tanto at her hip, as she looked around the garage, “Stand by near the exits, and keep in contact with other search parties. Keep searching the city. Keep in contact with the Inago and Hikigaeru gangs and maintain our numbers on the streets. We need to keep this as quiet as possible. As far as the other gangs are concerned, everything is proceeding as normal for us.”

“Sure we shouldn’t get a cleanup crew on the bodies back at the castle?” said the enforcer.

“They aren’t going anywhere,” said Yuriko, “We’ll get them when we’re sure Lord Shimada’s back home safe.”

“Understood, Boss,” said the enforcer, clicking out of the comm.

“Hanzo?!” Yuriko called, her voice echoing through the cold garage, “Hanzo–where are you? Han–!?” She cut herself off and cursed under her breath as she undid the buttons at the cuff of her dress shirt and shoved her sleeve up her arm, revealing a red dragon spiraling around her arm. “Ryū ga anata o mitsuke saseru, Shimada Hanzo,” she muttered under her breath as red light spiraled off her arm and then shot off down the dark parking garage, hanging in the air like a ribbon. She hurried after it.

The ribbon of red light faded away as she reached the second highest level of the garage.

“Hanzo?” she called again, but she fell silent at the sound of shuddering breaths off in the darkness. She followed the sound to see a figure hunched over next to a support column. Hanzo’s hands were bloody. His clothes were still torn from the skirmish, with several still-bleeding slashes in spots. His sleek hair was awkwardly chopped short in one spot. He was buckled over, shuddering. At his side was a sword, in-sheath.

“Hanzo…” Yuriko stepped next to him and dropped down to one knee, “Look at me.”

He shook his head.

“Han–” she reached a hand forward and Hanzo flinched back from her extended hand, she withdrew it only slightly. “It’s me,” she said softly, “It’s only me.”

Yuriko’s eyes fell on the sword at his side and she reached over and picked it up, she unsheathed it and saw the red staining the silvery steel.

“Oh, Hanzo…” she said softly. She moved to reach forward and comfort him but he flinched back at the sight of the sword. Yuriko’s eyes flicked down to the sword, then she stretched her arm out and set the sword down further away from him, out of his line of sight at least. He wouldn’t want to look at it now.

“He’s dead–I ki–I–” Hanzo’s shoulders suddenly bunched up and he retched. Yuriko flinched back slightly at the splash of vomit against cement, “I killed him,” Hanzo’s voice was creaking, “I killed him…He was my brother and I–” he gagged again. His hand flailed out and smeared blood on her shirt as he gripped her shoulder and pulled himself up slightly to look at her in the eyes. “How… how could I…?”

 “You did what you had to do for our clan,” her voice was gentle.

Hanzo shook his head again. “No–No, that’s not—he was…”

“The weight you bear now is unimaginable,” said Yuriko, “But I promise you… it will get easier to carry.”

Hanzo’s breaths were still short and shuddering. “Will it…?” he looked at his hands.

“It will. No one can question your loyalty to the clan now, or your sense of duty,” said Yuriko. She looked around the parking garage, “This is no place to grieve. Come home, Hanzo. It’s where you belong,” Yuriko cupped her four-fingered hand to his cheek, “Our scion.” 

Chapter Text

Mercy felt queasy. Maybe it was the fact that the Blackwatch transport was smaller, more easily jostled than the Orca. Maybe it was the fact that she could feel this armor weighing down on her chest more heavily. She glanced down at her ‘adjusted’ uniform. The beret was red, not white, her hair tightly tied back and under it, and her nose, mouth and jawline were covered up by a gray and black mask that was somewhere between surgeon’s mask and pilot’s oxygen mask. Her valkyrie suit had been done up in Blackwatch’s black, red, and gray color scheme, more heavily armored. It didn’t feel right. The purpose of the valkyrie suit wasn’t just easy transport around the battlefield, it was supposed to be a symbol of hope, it was supposed to boost morale, and calm people down. Her face needed to be exposed—people had to know that it was a human looking after them, a doctor. That was the point. All this armor, all this secrecy, felt terribly grim to her. Her grip on her caduceus staff tightened and she pursed her lips, already feeling claustrophobic with the mask, but her unease only made worse by the jostling. She didn’t like this. She never got motion sick. Her body had all but been trained out of it with the Valkyrie suit.

“It’s tactical,” Reyes spoke from across the transport, as if sensing her discomfort. She brought her eyes up from her lap to him. “It’s not permanent,” Reyes went on, “Just for this mission. This was outlined in your contract when you signed on.”

“As were the non-disclosure agreements,” said Mercy, furrowing her brow slightly.

“That’s…  kind of the definition of a Black operation, Doctor Ziegler,” said Reyes.

Mercy glanced from Reyes to Cassidy next to him, apparently half-napping with his hat brim pulled down, covering his eyes. Mercy craned her neck to look out the window of the transport. Hanamura glittered below, a city that had recovered more quickly than most after the crisis.

“Why were you so sure you would need a medic for this mission?” asked Mercy.

“We’re doing a pick-up,” said Reyes.

“So you’ve said,” said Mercy, “But Blackwatch has its own medics, doesn’t it?”

“We do, but… we figure since previous reports indicate there’s no way to tell how bad the damage might be to our pick-up, we’ve decided it’s wise to prepare for the worst,” he gestured at her, “By bringing in the best.”

“Your flattery is appreciated, Gabriel, but it’s a poor substitute for more details,” said Mercy, eyeing the three other blackwatch agents coming along as backup.

“This ain’t Overwatch, Doc,” Cassidy, apparently not as asleep as she had previously thought, lifted up the brim of his hat with his thumb as he leaned forward, “We run things a little differently here.” Reyes shot Cassidy a look and Cassidy cleared his throat and gestured at Reyes with his thumb. “He,” Cassidy said, correcting himself, “He runs things a little differently here.”

Mercy glanced back at Reyes and Reyes gave a reassuring nod. She rolled her grip on her staff and did her best to quiet the storm of Murphy’s Law thoughts that now clouded her mind.

The transport landed on the roof of an arcade and the team poured out and quickly descended a fire escape, with Mercy herself simply jumping off the roof and descending safely with the Valkyrie wings.

“Drone intel pans out,” said one Blackwatch agent, unfolding their tablet as they ran up a hill, “Most of the security is spread thin around the city. Some kind of manhunt, it looks like.”

 The six of them came upon a massive wooden gate. Mercy paused, staring at the Emblem on the gate: two dragons, spiraling around each other. Her stomach dropped.

“Wait–” she started.

“Deadeye, take point,” said Reyes, “Remember–Non-lethal takedowns for any remaining hostiles.” 

“Got it, boss,” said Cassidy running past the gate.

“Gryphon,” Reyes motioned to another Blackwatch agent, “Back him up.”

The agent, apparently codenamed ‘Gryphon,’ nodded and ran past Mercy after Cassidy.

“Reyes—” Mercy spoke through gritted teeth.

“We’re in the field. Codenames, Merce,” said Reyes.

Mercy rolled her eyes. “Prospero,” she said, her voice dripping with venomous disdain for the theatrical codename, “The NPA stated it wanted no interference from Overwatch in regards to Shimada Clan activities.”

“The NPA’s concern has been noted,” said Reyes. 

“Courtyard secure,” Cassidy spoke over the comms, “One body, no other hostiles.”

“Understood. Advancing,” said Reyes, “On me, Mercy. Daleth, you’re with us.” he pointed at another blackwatch agent, “Nero, maintain the perimeter.”

“…noted and ignored,” muttered Mercy, following after Reyes as he and the Blackwatch agent moved through the courtyard. Mercy saw the body. It was far from the first body she had ever seen in her career as a combat medic, but somehow in the context of a Blackwatch mission, it felt… more wrong. They were in the den of one of the largest and most dangerous crime families in Japan, a part of her was mentally prepared for this at this point. His suit indicated him as one of the higher-ranked members of main branch security detail. Cause of death appeared to be a stab through the ribcage, followed through with a slash across the neck. The blood hadn’t even pooled around him, being instantly sucked up by the gravel of the karesansui beneath him, the weight of his body disrupting the ripples of the gravel. A sidearm lay uselessly by his side. Who brought a knife to a gunfight and won? she wondered.She shook her head then followed Reyes through the shadows of the wall surrounding the compound before they backed up against the wall of an interior gate that opened into a smaller garden filled with blooming cherry trees that looked silver in the moonlight. Reyes peered around the corner of the gate.

“Two hostiles,” Cassidy spoke over the comms, “Hold your position.”

Mercy, Reyes, and Daleth maintained their position for several seconds.

“Hostiles downed,” Cassidy said after a tense minute.

“Non-lethally?” said Reyes.

“One of ‘em, yeah. The other….didn’t really give us an option.”

Reyes sighed. “Gryphon, get the body back to the courtyard. Make it look like they were killed by the same person.”

A wave of nausea surged up from the back of Mercy’s throat. “Does Jack know about this?” she asked, her voice hushed.

“Would it make you feel any better if I said ‘Yes?’” returned Reyes.

Mercy fell quiet then. 

“Deadeye,” Reyes brought a hand to his ear, “You almost at the target?”

“Almost there, Boss.” said Cassidy over the comms, “Inner garden is clear, moving to the interior of the main building.”

“Copy. Moving to the main doors,” said Reyes, as he, Mercy, and Daleth moved through the garden, past Gryphon carrying the body on their shoulders out to the courtyard. 

“What happened here…?” murmured Mercy.

They walked toward a small garden pavilion just outside the main building’s front door and stopped short at the sight of three bodies, more Shimada family security guards. Mercy’s hand went up to go over her mouth in shock, but her fingers just ended up bumping dumbly against her mask. Bullet wounds, all of them, two in the head, one through the chest. The grass of the garden was muddy beneath them. 

“A gunman?” said Mercy, examining the wounds, “Or—”

“Main building’s clear. One body–Oh shit–” Cassidy’s voice came over the comms, “Boss, I think we’re too late.”

“What?” said Mercy.

“Our esteemed Doctor will be the judge of that,” said Reyes. He looked at Mercy. “Get in there. Deadeye’s watching you from the upper balcony. I’ll watch your back at the door,” Reyes brought a hand to his ear, “Nero. Get the transport and wait for us at the north terrace off the main building.” 

Mercy’s grip tightened on her staff as she peeked down the doorway and saw a large dimly lit chamber. A green and blue dragon circled each other on a tapestry. Then her eyes trailed down and her breath caught in her throat. There was a figure there, lying on his side on the floor, dressed in black and green. She pushed off the ground and shot forward on her valkyrie wings before reaching the side of a bloodied figure in the middle of the floor, her staff already activating its healing stream before she reached him.

 An arm was gone. Both legs were gone. A large chunk had been taken out of his torso, and blood was staining the white tatami beneath him red. A bloody sword lay at his side and Mercy pushed it out of reach before getting to her knees next to him and getting to work. She acted quickly, stopping off the bleeding on his severed limbs with foam bandage-gel and trying to focus on the massive chunk taken out of his torso.“I need a hand over here!” she shouted, and Daleth ran up alongside her and took a medkit out of their pack and placed sensors on his torso, taking out their tablet to monitor his erratic heartbeat. A weak half-drowned sound escaped him and Mercy looked around, keeping the stream of biotics on him. There were no limbs or entrails scattered around him, and deep lacerations of varying width scored his torso and face. The most unusual lacerations on his face were along his jaw, what was left of it at least, with a clean triangular thumb-width chunk, bone included, simply gone.

“Gabriel–” Mercy started and then caught herself, “Prospero,” she corrected herself with Reyes’ codename, “No human should be alive with injuries like this.”

“That’s why we’re picking him up, Doctor Ziegler. He’s not like any human alive,” said Reyes.

“Even from here it looks like it’s gonna take a hell of a lot more than a biotic staff,” said Cassidy.

“Just get him stable enough to move onto a stretcher and get into the transport,” said Reyes.

“I don’t understand,” Mercy muttered, keeping the biotic stream on him, “These wounds aren’t consistent with… with anything, I mean there’s some blade lacerations but whatever’s taken his limbs—it’s literally taken them.” 

“Vitals are crashing,” said Daleth.

“What? No!” said Mercy. She pulled her staff up and grabbed a scalpel from one of the pouches on her hip.

“Set down a biotic field,” she instructed Daleth, who complied and the three of them were in a small circle of yellow light as Mercy jammed the scalpel between two plates of her caduceus staff.

“Merce, what are you doing?” said Cassidy.

“I don’t have a defibrillator on hand, and I don’t know if his torso could handle a blow like that, I’ll need to use the next best thing,” she said, prying off a plate and revealing the two chords which controlled both the ‘Damage boost’ function of her staff and the biotic stream, with a capacitator dividing them. Mercy jimmied the scalpel under the capacitator and pulled it out of the staff. 

“Please work,” she whispered as she gripped down on the staff’s trigger, “CLEAR!”

 Daleth flinched back away from the bright braid of blue sparks and yellow light that shot forth from the end of the staff. The usual soft chime of biotics suddenly loudened to a shriek, and the crackle of the damage boost a sound like thunder that had struck too close, causing the staff itself to shake and glow blue and yellow with unbridled power as the man spasmed from the force of the beam. A roaring scream escaped the bloody man.

“Wh–How is he conscious!?” Mercy shouted over the crackling and singing of her own staff and the man’s screaming. Her eyes widened as suddenly a green light started issuing out of his body. “What…?” she said, her voice hushed by awe as the green light shaped itself into a dragon above him. Daleth scrambled back away from the dragon, but Mercy was fixed in place, unsure of what she was looking at. 

“Holy shit,” Mercy could hear Cassidy’s voice in her earpiece comm.

“That…. That’s not possible…” she said, releasing the trigger on her staff and staring at the dragon. It opened its maw and roared at her, blowing loose strands of her hair loose and blowing her beret off of her head.

The bloodied man’s eyes snapped open, glowing green, and suddenly his hand shot up and gripped her neck as the dragon spiraled around his arm, Mercy gripped his wrist.

“Shit–” Cassidy said again,  “Boss, I have a shot—”

“Don’t shoot him!” Mercy blurted out, even with his hand squeezing her neck, he barely had the strength in his arm to grip it. The dragon had shrunk down to a brighter, more concentrated form, coiled around his arm, green light flushing off of it as if it were trying to lend the man his strength, and Mercy could feel it, his fingers closing on her throat. 

She looked down at the man, into the his glowing green eyes, then glanced at the dragon glaring at her from around his arm, “You’re a part of him, aren’t you?” said Mercy to the dragon, her fingers gently moving under the man’s fingers on her neck, “If he dies, so do you.”

His eyes scanned her, squinting a little, unsure of what to make of her. Unthinkingly, she took her free hand, previously gripping her caduceus staff and undid the mask covering her nose and mouth. His eyes widened slightly at her face.

That’s why the valkyrie suit doesn’t cover my face, Reyes, thought Mercy, People need to know there’s a human in it.

 “You have to trust me,” she said, “Please, let me help.”

His hand loosened from her neck, the dragon coiling around it disappeared like a neon green ink diluting in water. His arm dropped to his side and the green glow faded from his eyes, then his eyes rolled back in head and closed.

“…h-heartbeat stable,” said Daleth, looking at the tablet in their shaking hands, “For now.”

“Get him to the transport,” said Reyes, walking in and picking Mercy’s beret up off the floor, “Let’s get him back to Zurich.”

Reyes, Cassidy, Daleth and Mercy all eased the bloody mess of a man onto a Vishkar tech hard-light stretcher and brought him up a short set of stairs onto a large covered terrace, where Nero, Gryphon, and the Blackwatch transport waited. It took off into the night and Mercy watched out a window as glittering red lights pulled up outside the Shimada estate as they flew away. Mercy re-installed the capacitator in her staff and kept a steady stream of biotic energy on their pick-up. The transport was silent as they flew out and Hanamura shrank beneath them.

“So…” Cassidy said at last, “Helluva resumé you’re building, Doc.”

“What?” said Mercy, glancing up from the glow of biotics that she kept on the bloodied man.

“Angela Ziegler,” said Cassidy, with no small amount of gravitas, “Doctor. Surgeon. Biotic Technology Pioneer. Dragon Tamer.” 

Chapter Text

Genji didn’t know what day it was. Or even if there was day and night. He remembered Hanzo, his face twisted by rage and grief and fear–so much fear. Genji remembered an inferno of blue and fangs, the wetness of his own blood on the tatami, the pain that blinded him to nearly everything… and then there was a face–big eyes, yellow-white hair. He remembered a voice. English, but not a native speaker. “You have to trust me. Please, let me help.”

And he was in darkness for a long time. Stale air, then too cold, hands, then a sterile smell, and shadows over him, lights rolling past overhead, the gentle hum of a hover-stretcher, and that voice, drifting in and out. Sometimes even talking to him. He wasn’t sure how much of it he was imagining or mistranslating from english to Japanese in his head, but the voice periodically flashed in his mind like a lighthouse beam, signaling his own consciousness like a distant shore.

“Stay with me.”

“Maintain intravenous dosages of…”

“Decrease sedation but maintain anesthesia…”

“Pupil constriction–Are–are you lucid? Can you hear me? Blink if you can…”

“Hang on… Just hang on…”

“Nerve endings still responding to stimuli….”

“No. Not yet. Tell Jack and Gabe that the patient will….”

“You may feel a slight pinch and–Oh who am I kidding you’re on enough sedatives to down a horse–”

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before he could process sensation back into thought, but one gray morning he opened his eyes and found himself in what appeared to be a hospital bed. His eyes flicked to the window, where snow-capped mountains towered along the horizon. There was an intercom announcement–English he didn’t really have enough focus to bother translating in his head. Sojiro had insisted on an intensive education in multiple languages, and Genji was told his english was very good, but his head was fogged up with painkillers and his own disorientation from not knowing where he was or how much time had passed since Hanzo’s attack. He could make out “Doctor” and “report” and by then the message was repeating itself in German and French and Mandarin and Spanish. He wasn’t in Hanamura, he realized. He wasn’t even in Japan. 

Pain ribboned around his body and there was a raw itch on his insides. There were things in him. There were things under his skin. His mouth tasted like blood and metal–or maybe he couldn’t tell the tastes of blood and metal apart. His eyes scanned around the room and he saw IV’s overhead. Blood? Saline solution? Painkillers? His eyes trailed down the thin plastic tubes and nearly reached his own arm when the door opened and a woman walked in. He recognized her. Big eyes. White-yellow hair. She was in a labcoat and black turtleneck and she looked exhausted. He had to say something. The woman said something in english and he half tuned it out. He managed to pick out the word ‘Awake’ as she walked over to his bedside.

“It’s all right,” she said quietly as his head readjusted to hearing english, “You’re safe.”

Safe? The concept seemed almost funny to him. He wanted to say something, but then with the taste of blood and metal in his mouth he became aware of the numbness of his jaw and numerous patches of gauze in his mouth as well. 

“You’re in the medical wing of the Overwatch Zurich Headquarters,” she went on, “I’m Doctor Ziegler. I’m here to help you.”

Overwatch. Zurich. He was very far from home, and worse, in UN custody. This was safe? His eyes flicked back up to the doctor’s face. He tried to say something but the gauze in his mouth made only slurring wheezing sounds come out. He moved to take it out but the doctor perked up. “Here–” she disinfected her hands with some sanitizer on his bedside table and gently brought her hand up under his jaw. He didn’t feel her hand though. He didn’t even feel her gently open his mouth, he didn’t taste the alcohol of the disinfectant on her fingers as she pulled a wad of pink gauze out from under his tongue.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, tossing the gauze into a wastebasket and disinfecting her hands again, “Any severe pains? We can up your painkiller dosage as much as you need—”

“No,” Genji managed. “Hhh…” he made a noise but his voice was not his voice. There was something ringing, metallic. “Hanamura…” he managed, “You…”

“I was the chief medic of the team that extracted you,” said Doctor Ziegler, “It’s been four days since your incident.”

“Incident…” Genji moved to look down at his body but Doctor Ziegler reached forward and put her hand on his shoulder, making his eyes flick back to hers. He remembered his brother. “Hanzo–” he started and nearly moved to get up, but she kept that gentle hand on his shoulder, still looking into his eyes.

“Genji, I need you to remain calm–your body is in a delicate state right now, if you start pumping yourself full of adrenaline, it could have adverse effects.”

“No–I have to–” Genji moved to take her her hand off his shoulder with his other arm, but no other arm came up. He looked down at the heavily bandaged stub of his shoulder. His breath went short and shuddering. The raw itch was clawing up his insides now. “No…”

She adjusted one of his IV’s and the worst of the panic subsided and the itch dulled. She took a steadying breath and tapped a few things into her tablet. “Genji, you’ve lost your right arm, both your legs from just above the knees down, and significant portion of your torso.”

She kept talking but for a few seconds her words faded into a haze of english he didn’t bother translating in his head. His arm. Gone. Both legs. Gone. Hanzo had taken so much. Hanzo had all but killed him. His own brother. That raw itch, those ribbons of pain running through him turned to fire, yet that sensation was splashing against the wall of numbness of the anesthesia. Hanzo had to pay. The clan–his family–no, not his family–They had to pay. To call him their son all his life and then…No. They would know loss as dearly as he had known it. He had to–

His train of thought stopped as he felt a slight squeeze from the doctor’s hand and realized she was still talking, then tried to focus on her words.

“…looking very promising. My biotics were able to stabilize and repair a a good amount of your injuries, but you’ll still need extensive prostheses,” Doctor Ziegler finished.

“Pros.. prostheses?” There was that not-his-voice, again. Hoarse, metallic. He hated it.

“Cybernetics,” said Doctor Ziegler.

“Overwatch is… giving me cybernetics…” 

“Yes.” 

“Why?” 

“Overwatch’s mission isn’t just peacekeeping, our developments in medical technology and its accessibility is just as much an important–”

“Why save me?” he managed.

Something in her face softened. “I’m a doctor,” she said, “For me, there isn’t a ‘Why’ about it. You do everything you can to save people.”

“I’m from the Shimada Clan. Overwatch made you save me,” Genji’s fingers on his remaining organic hand were sluggish as they moved to grip the sheets, “You are not Overwatch.”

“Well, we’re all Overwatch but—”

“What does Overwatch want with me?” Genji’s words were clearing up slightly, but still the ring on his own voice was horrifying to him. How long would it be like this?

“Genji,” she took a deep breath, “Overwatch had been viewing you as a potential asset since the death of Sojiro Shimada. Technically, by having you here rather than immediately handing you off to the Criminal Affairs Bureau, we’re actively undermining Japanese law enforcement. However, upon reviewing the reputation of the Shimada clan among the rest of Japan’s criminal underground, Commander Reyes decided–”

“That I would not last 10 seconds in a Japanese prison,” said Genji.

“That… yes, our custody would be safer,” Doctor Ziegler conceded.

“Because you want me alive,” said Genji, “Because you want me for something.”

Doctor Ziegler’s brow furrowed, but there was a sadness in her eyes. “My job is keeping you alive,” she said, a bit crisply, “But as I said, Overwatch sees you as a potential asset–we can help each other.”

“You need me to help take down the Shimada clan.”

Mercy’s lips thinned. “You’ll have to speak with Commander Reyes on the specifics of–”

“Just answer yes or no,” Genji’s eyes flicked up to her.

“Yes,” said Mercy, “That was… among the things discussed in–” 

“I’ll do it,” Genji’s eyes were fixed on her.

She blinked in surprise. “Well–obviously there’s a lot that has to be done, both in regards to your recovery and installing you as an agent—”

“What do I have to do to see my brother’s head on the ground as quickly as possible?” said Genji.

Doctor Ziegler paled. In spite of all the anesthesia currently running in his veins, Genji realized that probably wasn’t the best thing to say.

 “I–You can’t–” Doctor Ziegler took a steadying breath, “Well, before you do anything you need to rest,” she said, pushing her hair back from her face.

“I’ve been resting for four days,” Genji scowled, but his scowl softened as he watched the small gesture. He noted the dark circles under her eyes, the smell of coffee and antiseptic and sweat on her, and wondered when was the last time she rested in those four days.

“Genji, the trauma you’ve been through, both physically and mentally, is going to take a long time to process. I’m going to need to ask for your patience while we work towards your recovery,” she studied his face–the bloodshot eyes and the latticework of scars and the cold steel jaw implants they had put in clenched furious and tight. She sighed, “But,” she conceded, “I imagine being stuck in here is frustrating. I’ll see if I can’t get you a wheelchair and an attendant to get out of this room in the next few days. You can look around the headquarters, get your bearings. We can fit you with some prosthetics and begin physical therapy if your condition remains stable.” 

“Thank you,” the words came out of him on reflex and she gave a nod.

“Just doing my job. I…. I have to get to some other patients, but if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call me,” she said, moving towards the door, “Again, please try to rest.”

“Understood,” said Genji. The door slid open and she walked out and he adjusted himself on his pillows slightly. His eyes flicked down to his legs, or lack thereof, hidden beneath a sheet. His jaw tightened slightly at the thought of being stuck in a wheelchair–no, prosthetics, she said they were building him state-of-the-art prosthetics. Yet he had said ‘Thank you’ on gut reflex and the thought suddenly occurred to him that he hadn’t thanked her for saving him–well, she had said that was her job, but still… He looked at his one remaining organic arm and the intravenous tubes trailing off of it. Am I grateful to be alive? he wondered briefly. He moved to curl his fingers into a fist and found his reflexes infuriatingly slowed by all the painkillers he was on. He huffed. He would thank her when he could walk again. He would thank her when he would grasp a sword again. He would thank her when he struck Hanzo’s head from its shoulders and Shimada Castle was in ashes at his feet. Then he would thank her from dragging him from death into this painful existence. It was only polite.

Chapter Text

Paolo the probation officer kept a leisurely pace behind Genji as he wheeled through Zurich headquarters. Paolo was medium height, dressed in the all-black of Blackwatch with multiple tattoos up his arms. He had a mild south Italian accent and had even politely offered to push Genji’s wheelchair, but Genji could already feel the muscles of his remaining organic arm softening and refused. He felt a little exposed compared to the blackwatch agent, just wearing a gray tee and sweatpants whose empty dangling pant legs had been tied off in knots and folded under his leg stumps. They were only just starting to put him in prosthetics, and he was far from balanced when he wore them.

“So…” Genji gave a glance over his shoulder to Paolo as he wheeled, “You’re in Blackwatch?”

“Eh, just a grunt,” Paolo gave a dismissive hand wave, “I was a security guard at the Blackwatch headquarters in Roma.” He chuckled a little, “Much warmer there.”

“Mm,” Genji fixed his eyes back forward and kept up his roll. He would ask more but a part of him knew he wouldn’t get the answers he was looking for out of Paolo. All those answers lay ahead of him. He was more used to the rhythm of the wheelchair than he would like to admit at this point. They got into an elevator and Paolo leaned in a corner, humming as the elevator descended.

Doesn’t seem very disciplined for a black ops division, Genji thought to himself before the elevator dinged and the doors opened to a narrow hallway with two guards standing next to steel doors in all-black tactical gear.  They gave a glance to Paolo, who flashed them an ID card, one of them scanned the card with their comm, returning an affirmative beep, and both gave Paolo a nod before pressing a button on the intercom next to the door.

“Agent Montemurro and Candidate Shimada entering,” said the guard before the steel doors whooshed open.

Candidate Shimada, Genji turned the word ‘candidate’ over in his head as he wheeled into a massive underground office space with multiple monitors all over the walls and orange-ish industrial lights illuminating everything. Here seemed to be a mix of agents and office workers, some in varying layers of tactical gear, some in full armor while others just in black shirts and fatigues, some in business casual, all more or less caught up in their own affairs as Genji and Paolo crossed the space. Genji felt a few eyes on him as he wheeled through, and glanced down at the stumps of his legs self-consciously.

“This way,” said Paolo, walking ahead of him, and Genji could only sullenly wheel after him. He scanned the room, too many bodies for him to remember one face, and so many of them glancing at him, glancing down at him as he wheeled across the floor, but he caught a familiar voice, though he wasn’t sure how it was familiar.

“Nah, the intel from the Sharoy mission says that’s all bullshit. Look, get in touch with Agent Mazur and you should–Oh–hey!”

A tall, swaggering figure in Blackwatch fatigues, a cowboy hat and some kind of black poncho suddenly swung in next to Genji’s wheelchair. He had an agreeable squarish face framed by umber brown sideburns. Genji didn’t recognize his face, but he caught sight of a skull tattoo on his forearm that sparked some blurry memories from the night Hanzo attacked him. He remembered being jostled on a stretcher with that tattoo steadying it before falling into unconsciousness again.

“It’s you!” the cowboy said, chewing on an unlit cigar, “Didn’t think you’d be up and at ‘em this early! Look at you, all wheelin’ around..!”

His voice trailed off in an odd way, as if expecting Genji to pick up the conversation. Genji glanced up at him and slowed in the rolling of his wheelchair.

“I’m sorry,” said Genji, “Do I know you?”

“Heh,” he walked alongside Genji’s wheelchair and tilted back the brim of his hat with his thumb, “Oh I’m nobody. But I was spottin’ the doc that night we took you in. Nearly killed you. Full disclosure.”

Genji’s face scrunched up in some combination of confusion and fury. ‘Spotting the doc?’ What?

“Weird night. Think it worked out, though,” said the cowboy, before giving a glance down to Genji. He held out a hand, “Cole Cassidy. Kinda got the same deal you’re gettin’.”

Genji glanced at his hand before looking back up at his eyes.He lifted a hand from his wheels to shake Cassidy’s hand before returning back to his wheels. “Shimada Genji,” he said in turn.

“Oh I know,” said Cassidy, chuckling and looking forward.

Cassidy strolled alongside them until Genji found himself rolling up a ramp leading into a glass-walled office where two men were talking. One was as familiar as Cassidy was, with medium clay-brown skin with scars that danced as he moved and spoke, and large, penetrating brown eyes that offset the soldierly squareness of his jaw. He was talking to a posh-looking man with an ivory complexion and jet black hair and mustache. Both of their eyes flicked to Genji as Genji, Cassidy, and Paolo walked up to the door of the office.

The scarred man was the first to notice them and leaned, catlike, across his desk to press a button. The doors slid open and Genji and Cassidy walked in. Genji gave a confused glance to Paolo, who simply gave him a polite wave as the doors closed on him.

“Genji Shimada? Gérard LaCroix. Blackwatch’s attaché to the UN,” a crisp, bright voice, only slightly softened by a Parisian accent, spoke and Genji’s head swung up to look at the voice’s source. The mustached man was standing in front of him, politely holding out his hand. Genji awkwardly brought his hand off the wheelchair’s armrest and shook Gérard’s hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” Gérard went on.

The phrase, ‘good things, I hope’ seemed to be a really stupid thing to say at this point. “I’ve heard about you as well,” said Genji, hoping he had and had just forgotten about it.

“Ah good to hear. So you have a decent idea of what we intend to do here,” said Gérard.

“Yyes,” said Genji, blankly, then after a beat, he remembered his conversation with Mercy, “You need my help to dismantle the Shimada clan.”

“Among other things,” said the scarred man, pushing away from his desk and walking toward Genji, “Gabriel Reyes. Blackwatch commander. I was also on the recovery team bringing you in.”

Genji sat up in his wheelchair slightly, “I’ve been meaning to ask some questions about that.”

“A lot of the answers to that will likely be classified, but I can answer what I can,” said Reyes, folding his arms.

“How were you watching me and for how long?” said Genji, his eyes narrowing, “You had to be, to know when to swoop in like that.”

Reyes and Cassidy exchanged wary glances, but Gérard cleared his throat. “If I may?”

Gabriel gave Gérard a ‘go ahead,’ gesture and Gérard straightened the collar of his waistcoat. “For the most part, the UN and Interpol had decided to leave dealing with the Shimada clan up to the NPA, but we feared the clan was becoming prominent enough to garner the attention of the international terrorist organization, Talon. We used a light hand. Only a handful of operatives seeded around the city, gauging the internal structural strength of the clan. They’ve since been extracted. The plan was, initially, to detain you on charges of possession, match the drugs in your possession to those our other busts had recovered worldwide, and drag the clan into the light behind you, doing all this in collaboration with the NPA.”

“You were never planning to recruit me,” said Genji. Something tensed in his stomach. Hanzo had always said he was a liability, would he have taken the whole clan down if Hanzo hadn’t killed him?

“Initially,” Gérard emphasized, “When we found out that the Shimada Dragons might be more than a metaphor, that warranted closer observation.”

“So you’re recruiting me for the dragon,” said Genji.

“We’re recruiting you because we have a shared interest,” said Gabriel, “But as far as what we saw the night we extracted you goes… it would be a waste to let it, and you, rot in a jail cell.”

“…so my choice is either help you or go to jail,” said Genji, flatly.

“Not necessarily,” said Gérard, “And… here’s where we get into the messy legal stuff. You could argue for the case that ultimately your safety was compromised by Overwatch’s interference, that one of the agents we had observing you was compromised. As far as all of Overwatch’s records show, there was no such incident of compromise, but you could legally argue that that occurred and Overwatch or the NPA could provide you with the legal representation to argue that case in court. After all, we couldn’t keep eyes on you 24/7, maybe something happened that we weren’t aware of. If you successfully prove your case, Overwatch faces severe scandal and UN inquiry, but then your case gets handed back to the NPA—”

About midway through Gérard’s long ramble on his legal status, Genji had half-tuned him out, glancing over his shoulder in his wheelchair to look at Cassidy. Cassidy was still chewing that unlit cigar, leaning against the glass wall of the office. He gave Genji a smirking, ‘Welp’ shrug, as Gérard went on, and Genji frowned beneath his surgical mask.

 “And again,” Gérard was still going on when Genji yanked his attention back to him, “We could provide you with legal representation there, but this is a process that could take months, years, even, given how entangled the Shimada clan’s offenses are with multiple governments around the world. Overwatch would be more than happy to accommodate you in that time, provide you with rudimentary prosthetics. So there is a chance of having all your charges dropped, it’s just… an unfortunately small one through at least half a dozen legal systems and a lot of tedious litigation.”

“But I don’t think that’s what you want,” said Gabriel keeping a steady gaze on Genji, “From what I hear, you’re more than eager to take the Shimada clan down.” 

“’s better than my deal, anyway,” said Cassidy with a huff. Gabriel shot him a glare and Cassidy just gave him a shrug.

Genji met Gabriel’s big brown eyes. Reyes was right, but he was right in a way that made the smoldering coals of Genji’s own fury blaze up inside him again. He did want this. He did want to take the Shimada clan down, but the idea that it might be for yet someone else’s ends infuriated him. This was his vengeance. No one else’s. And he let that rage penetrate through as he stared at Reyes, but Reyes met his eyes with a resigned calm. A patient, weary look of, ‘Noted. Whenever you’re ready to move on.’ And a part of Genji felt that look should have made him angrier, should have pushed him further in to that fire and darkness, but instead Genji felt his brow crinkling slightly. He realized in that moment that he was not the first person the Shimada clan had hurt. And he would not be the last. It only stung deeper for him because that was his family. But it wasn’t his family any more. And there were a few confused seconds of floundering fury where Genji wanted to cuss Reyes out, wanted to storm out as dramatically as his stupid wheelchair would allow, but he remembered his own words to Doctor Ziegler.

“What do I have to do to see my brother’s head on the ground as quickly as possible?”

“There’s plenty of time to–” Gérard started.

“I’m in,” Genji’s voice was flat.

“Good to hear,” said Gabriel with a casual nod. 

“But I want direct involvement with every Shimada clan mission,” said Genji, “Every one. If possible I want to be on the main strike team involved with each mission.”

“…after your physical therapy and psychological evaluations, we’ll do everything we can to–” Gérard started.

“You’ve got it,” said Gabriel, matching Genji’s voice in coldness and simplicity.

Gérard cast a sideways glance to Gabriel but Gabriel met his eyes with the same steadiness he met Genji’s with. Gérard cleared his throat. “But of course,” he said, only some slight hesitance in his voice. 

“Well then,” said Reyes, the slightest of smiles tugging at the corners of his mouth, “Welcome to the team, Genji.” 

Genji’s eyes flicked between Reyes’, Cassidy’s, and Gérard’s faces for a few seconds. “…it’s that easy?” said Genji in the silence.

“Well yeah,” said Cassidy, leaning on Genji’s wheelchair, “First thing you gotta learn, bud: Blackwatch plays by its own rules.” 

Chapter Text

Dragon teeth and flesh tearing. Hanzo’s face contorted by rage and grief.

“And we’re breathing…” said the physical therapist supporting Genji’s shoulders, “And we’re breathing…”

Genji floated in the heated pool, the room itself humid enough so that there was no discomfort on the bare skin of his chest as it rose and fell with his breath. The warmth of the pool was supposed to help facilitate the healing of his organs with their new cybernetic grafts. He only had his one arm, his current prosthetic being more about training him to the neuroconnectors and not being 100% waterproof. Apparently Overwatch thought it expedient to include this babysitter and their repetitive coos of ‘breathing’ to try and bring him up to the snuff of their psychological evaluations. He partially suspected Doctor Ziegler’s hand in it as well–all ‘You’re traumatized’ this and ‘You’re traumatized’ that. Yes, his mind was putting in horrible throbbing reminders of his panic and agony, but he figured the fastest way to fix that was killing Hanzo, not floating in a pool like an idiot.

“And we’re taking all those negative thoughts—” the therapist cut themselves off as the door to the hydrotherapy pool slid open and Doctor Ziegler walked in with her tablet. The physical therapist looked at her expectingly, probably assuming she wanted Genji out of the pool to run some diagnostics on something or other.

“Pretend I’m not here,” Mercy’s voice was barely audible over the sloshing of the pool, but the physical therapist nodded. Genji had half a mind to keep an eye on the doctor himself, but he figured if he pretended she wasn’t there like she asked, he might have a chance of getting out of the pool of idiocy faster.

Genji opened one eye to see Doctor Ziegler stepping up to the bench near the pool and pick up a tablet from that bench. With a permissive nod from the physical therapist she tapped something into the other tablet. 

“Eyes closed,” said the physical therapist and Genji shut his one eye again.

Combining notes, thought Genji, I wonder how much they say about me that they didn’t say to my face. I wonder how much my family talked about me before they decided–

“We’re taking all those negative thoughts–” the physical therapist went on.

They wanted you dead. The council wanted you dead. Your family wanted you dead and your brother hated you enough to do it—

“We are acknowledging them, and we are releasing them with our breath. Slow exhale—”

“–In through your nose, out through your mouth,” Genji was a child, kneeling at Sojiro’s left hand with Hanzo on the other side. Breathing. Breathing. He had to breathe.

“And we’re breathing,” said the physical therapist. He had lost count of how many times they had said that at this point.

Both he and Hanzo were at his father’s bedside, and there was that last exhale as he felt Sojiro’s hand still in his own. There was Hanzo’s shuddering breath as Aunt Yuriko took him aside to discuss arrangements for the funeral. Discuss arrangements now that Hanzo was head of the clan. When did they start talking about it? Right then?

The physical therapist waded around to Genji’s side. “We’re going to close out this session with some affirmations. Can you open your eyes for me?”

Genji’s eyes slid open and his pupils suddenly shrank to pinpoints. The features of the physical therapist were obscured by the bright light just behind their head. In retrospect, it wasn’t the physical therapist’s fault that the way they were currently leaning over Genji perfectly matched the last silhouette Genji saw of Hanzo that night as Genji treaded the line between conscious and unconscious, but there it was. The warmth and wetness of the pool running off of Genji’s skin was suddenly the blood-soddened tatami mat beneath him, and instinct took over. Genji seized up in their arms with a gasp, but the physical therapist was half-preoccupied with the nurse wheeling Genji’s wheelchair back into the room and assumed the sound from Genji was one last ‘deep breath’ before they gave a glance back to Genji.

“I am more than my pai–” the physical therapist started before receiving a hard fist to the face. They reeled back on instinct and Genji sank into the pool, flailing and splashing, trying to keep himself afloat with only stubs for legs and one arms. Chlorine stung his eyes and his own panicked breaths sucked down water and he was coughing and spluttering. His mind was scrambling between the searing memory of Hanzo and the dragon and the new panic of “Oh. This is drowning. I’m going to drown in a fucking therapy pool.” Blood was clouding in the water, but not his blood–but it still hurt there were still things under his skin that shouldn’t have been there and the dragon still burned and his legs–god, his legs—

 He didn’t hear the other splash–or if he did he did not distinguish it from his own flailing, but suddenly he felt two sets of arms holding him, restraining him. Naturally he flailed against this as well, but he heard a voice.

“Genji–Genji!” that same voice that was like a distant lighthouse in his unconsciousness before he first came here, “Genji! It’s me! I’ve got you!” 

The voice flagged that last bit of light from the all consuming, all horrifying memory of that night.

You have to trust me. Please let me help..

Genji found himself looking up into two big gray-blue eyes framed by semi-wet white-blond hair. Mercy was in the pool, fully clothed, droplets of water on her glasses and her labcoat flaring out in the water behind her. She was holding him up, keeping his head above water while the physical therapist was gripping his arm to keep him from swinging it again. He coughed a few times and his arm eased up in their hands.

“I–” he looked at the physical therapist, the lower half of their face completely bloodied by his hit, “Oh…kuso–”

“It’s okay, Genji,” said Mercy.

“No–no–I shouldn’t–that wasn’t…” Genji looked at the physical therapist, “I am so sorry..” 

The physical therapist released his arm to pinch their own bloodied nose, but kept one arm underneath him to support him, “It was a reaction. It.. it happens. Usually I can anticipate my patients’ movements a lot better but…”

“Ninja,” said Genji, glancing off awkwardly.

“…we are going to have to tell Morrison about this,” said the physical therapist as they and Mercy gently pulled Genji off to the edge of the pool.

“Wait–how much will this put off my going into the field?” said Genji as he was hoisted out of the water and toweled off.

“I don’t know,” said Mercy, helping him into his wheelchair, “We–we need to make sure you’re stable with prosthetics before we upgrade you to combat-ready cybernetics. This session was supposed to help you, but if your trauma is this severe–”

“No–I have to–I can get over this if I fight–You have to let me fight–you have to-” he felt a slight squeeze on his remaining hand and he glanced down to see Mercy’s hand wrapped around his. He looked up into her face and suddenly a memory stung in the pit of his stomach. Those big, scared eyes. Scared of him or scared for him? He wasn’t sure, but he had seen those eyes before. And he had seen his own bloodied hand around her neck. He lashed out at her that night, he remembered now, and he fell silent.

“…let’s get you cleaned up,” said Mercy, pushing his wheelchair out of the therapy pool room. Genji glanced over at the physical therapist, now being attended to by several nurses. Droplets of water fell from the corners of Mercy’s labcoat as she wheeled him towards the showers and a few custodial drones glided across the floor after her, cleaning up after the water that dripped off both of them.

“I’m sorry,” said Genji, rolling the knuckles of his remaining organic hand.

“It was a reaction,” said Mercy, “And I’ll admit this is a jarring new environment to be in.”

“I don’t mean about the pool–Well, yes, I’m sorry I punched the therapist but–that night you saved me…” he trailed off and Mercy stopped walking. Genji looked over his shoulder at her, “That night you saved me. I attacked you then, too, didn’t I?”

Mercy blinked a few times at him. “Well–I wouldn’t call it attacked–”

“I grabbed your neck,” said Genji.

“You had no idea who I was, and you were dying,” said Mercy, “It was instinct. Like this was.”

“You were just trying to help,” said Genji, glancing off.

“Trauma rewires your brain,” said Mercy, “And if your brain and body were already wired to fight…”

“So it’s not just my body that’s stupid and broken and useless, it’s my head,” muttered Genji.

“Ach du—” Mercy exhaled, “…healing the head takes a lot longer. And even then it’s never going to be 100% the way it was before because, well, you’re changing and growing even while you’re healing. It’s not really about becoming your old self so much as… doing the best you can with yourself.”

“I don’t think I want to become my old self either,” said Genji, unrolling his fingers from their fist, “But… I’m sorry. For both of those incidents.”

“I accept your apology. And… I’ll relay it to the physical therapist. They’ll be reassigned, most likely, but they’ll appreciate it,” said Mercy, “Though… I have to ask for your patience, because this indicates that we do need to be very careful in your recovery process.”

“Mmh…” Genji’s shoulders slumped. Wonderful. His stupid broken brain had just bought him several weeks worth of what could only be something more tedious than floating in a pool.

“I mean, on the bright side, you only got the one punch in, and from there it was mostly panicked flailing at being in the water with only one limb,” said Mercy, “At least you aren’t biting social workers.”

Genji snorted. “Did one of your patients actually do that?”

Mercy’s smile shrank and she glanced off awkwardly, “Um… yes. That was one of my patients,” 

Genji craned his neck slightly to study her expression. “Wait–Are you talking about yourse–”

“Oh look! The showers! The nurses can take it from here!” said Mercy, pausing in front of the showers of the physical therapy facilities. Almost on cue, several scrub-dressed nurses came out of the door opposite them. She cleared her throat, “I should–probably–” she gestured up and down at her wet clothes “Clean up. We’ll talk later,” she said walking off, briskly, wringing out the bottom of her labcoat in her hands.

His eyes trailed after her. Something had happened to her, too. Something before him. It hung around her thought processes and speech patterns as unmistakeable as a limp. The curiosity hung in his mind and it was only his lack of another arm that kept him from wheeling after her to ask.

She had jumped into the pool to help him even though he could have hurt her again. Was there hesitation on her end? A fear of pain? Or was the compulsion to help too strong?

Genji glanced at his hand, “…already wired,” he murmured to himself, watching the slight tense twitches of his fingers before the nurses wheeled him in to the showers.

Chapter Text

It was four in the morning as Genji stared up at the ceiling of his room in the infirmary. He wasn’t healing fast enough–at least, not in his opinion. Doctor Ziegler kept saying things like ‘Oh your progress is coming along much more quickly than anticipated!’ But she never seemed to want to adjust that progress for what he could do. He could move his prosthetic arm just fine now. Sure, eating soup with it without spilling was difficult, and moving chess pieces without knocking some over was a headache, but he could move it.

He just needed to be able to move it more. He just needed to fight again, maybe bring the memory of his training back to the ghost limb trapped within that metal apparatus. But no. Doctor Ziegler was a stickler for safety, and if he didn’t know better, he’d say she was doing her best to keep Commander Reyes from his quarters as well. Why? He had spoken to Reyes only a few times, but he did get the feeling Reyes wanted Genji out in the field just as badly as he wanted to be out in the field. A bitter part of him wondered if it amused Doctor Ziegler to see him frustrated like this, but he knew she was just as exhausted by his constant goading to move forward faster in his physical therapy.

He gave a glance to the wheelchair parked next to the door to his room, maddeningly out of reach. Then, he looked to the IV next to his bed–only a slow saline drip so he wouldn’t get dehydrated in the night. Tomorrow’s–or today’s physical therapy would be in the stupid pool–with the stupid guided breathing exercises and him floating on his back, staring just as uselessly up at a ceiling and breathing as he was now–no. He could do more. He had to do more. Every second he was stuck in this damned bed he could feel Hanzo getting further away, more of the Shimada clan slipping into the cracks. He couldn’t stay in here. He whipped the sheets off of the two stumps of his legs and he huffed. Right–they tended to take his leg blades off for lights-out. Granted, he did sleep easier with them off, but it was also a precaution against him trying to get up and hurting himself. He knew he had a spare pair in the physical therapy center.

He looked at his IV stand and then to the saline drip running into his remaining organic wrist.

“Kuso…” he whispered under his breath as the thumbs of his prosthetic hand uselessly brushed up against the tape, “Come on–” he managed to peel up one corner of the tape, “Ha!” getting overexcited, he ripped off that corner of the tape, leaving the IV still in his arm. He huffed. It took him another minute to grab another corner of the tape and slowly peel it back before he took a deep breath and summoned all of his focus to keep his prosthetic steady as it pulled the needle from his arm. He brushed the little bead of blood at his wrist off on his hospital gown and took ahold of the IV stand with his prosthetic. It lifted off the ground surprisingly easily. A few twists and Genji was able to extend the IV stand to its full height. Steadying it with his organic hand, he reached across the room over to the wheelchair, wedged the hook of it in one of the spokes of the wheelchair’s wheels, and started pulling.

 The brakes of the wheelchair were in place so it squeaked and groaned across the floor as he pulled it over. It surprised him a bit how strong the prosthetic was. He set the IV stand back upright, then adjusted the wheelchair next to his bed, propped himself up on his arms and pushed himself over into the wheelchair with a heavy exhale. His heart was thumping–the urge to move was still itching under his skin, but he was aware now that, as Doctor Ziegler reminded him virtually every day, less body mass meant easier fatigue. He took the brake off and wheeled to the door, taking the little clip-on ID badge off of the pocket of his hospital gown and holding it to the door’s panel.

“Not Authorized,” the door responded automatically and he swore again. Doctor Ziegler let him wheel all over the place during the daytime, but considering the fact that he would probably be in prison right now if Overwatch didn’t scoop him up, he couldn’t really blame them for not letting him sneak out at night. He glanced over at her desk in the corner, where a computer was keeping more detailed track of his vitals. He wheeled over to the desk and rifled through the drawers.

“There you are,” he said, pulling out Mercy’s ID tag. He had noticed she kept spare key cards ferreted away in certain spots around the Watchpoint–in case she forgot hers or needed to lend one to someone who forgot theirs… always thinking of others, that Angela. He held the key card to the door panel and the door slid open. Pocketing Doctor Ziegler’s key card, he wheeled out into the halls. It would have been eerie, but he found it peaceful. He could see the mountains from his own window, but there was something a bit more thrilling in seeing the mountains roll past as he wheeled through the hallway. Their white-painted peaks were blue in the moonlight. He knew the path to the physical therapy center well. He used Mercy’s key card to take the elevator up a few levels, rolled down a few more halls bordering the courtyard, and used Mercy’s key card to open a door leading out onto an open-air walkway. The night breeze of the mountains hit him hard and a huff escaped him as he wheeled quickly across the walkway to another door, opening that one with Mercy’s keycard, and rolling through as soon as it opened, closing it behind him.

“So…” said Genji rolling forward slightly in his wheelchair, “We meet again.”

He was addressing the two parallel bars that stood at roughly waist-height in the center of the physical therapy room.

“You’re not getting the better of me,” he said, to those bars, wheeling over to where his spare leg blades were in a locker (opening that cubby with Ziegler’s card as well), “Not tonight.” He strapped on his leg blades and wheeled back over so that his wheelchair was positioned between the two bars. He took a deep breath and set one leg blade against the floor, then another, then braced his hands down on the bars and with a grunt pushed himself up and out of his wheelchair. He was breathing heavily as he steadied himself with his arms.

“Okay,” his breath was huffing, “Standing. You can stand.” He knew his arms were doing most of the work here, though, “And if you can stand, that means you can walk.” He gritted his teeth and pushed his leg forward, “You… can… walk,” he told himself. He dragged one leg forward and huffed. Okay shuffling. Shuffling wasn’t that far off. He moved between the length of the bars, putting the majority of his weight on his arms but moving forward.

“Hands forward. Hips between your hands. Hands forward. Hips between your hands,” he spoke the words as a mantra to himself as he moved forward until he reached the end of the bars, “HA!” his excitement was short lived as he realized he would have to turn around. Well that was fine. He was a pro at turning around at this poi–

He miscalculated in shifting his weight between and slipped. The floor was padded beneath him and he caught himself with his hands still on the bars, but still, he grunted. “Stupid,” he muttered, “You’re better than this.” He moved to haul himself back on his feet but found his arms shaking with weakness at this point.

“No–come on!” he tried to will more strength into his arms.

Well now you’ve done it, a bitter voice spoke inside of him, Maybe you should crawl back to your wheelchair and roll back to your room before any of the night nurses know you’re gone.

No. No, he didn’t roll all the way out here and probably put himself on probation with Doctor Ziegler and all of Overwatch just to crawl back in defeat. His hands still gripping the bar. He tried to pull himself up again but just grunted and exhaled. He took a few steadying breaths, Please, he thought, Please help me. I can’t do it without you.

He opened his eyes to see green light spiraling around his arms, filling them with strength. Controlling his breathing, he hauled himself to his feet and braced both arms on the bars to stabilize himself. He looked to the green light spiraling around him. “Thank you,” he said very softly. A dragon’s head only as big as his thumb materialized on his wrist as if to give him acknowledgement before dissolving back into the ribbons of green light spiraling around his body.

The clan elders would probably be going mad to see me stooped to using you like this, thought Genji, looking at the light, But then again, neither of us were very good at following their rules, were we? 

He pushed forward again, leg blade still dragging against the floor.

He pushed another leg forward. We can do this, he thought, Lift up. lift up one foot– 

He brought the leg blade up off the ground and his breath caught in his throat.

The door slid open and his head jerked up to see Doctor Ziegler in the doorway. Not even in her lab coat, she was in sweats and a holey university crew neck with her hair up in a lopsided top-knot. She looked like she had just sprinted out of bed—and she probably had. Genji could see the dragon’s light reflecting in those big eyes of hers as she stared at him, stunned.

“Doctor Ziegler, I can explain–” he brought his hands up off the bars and she gasped and took a few quick steps forward.

But he didn’t stumble. He looked down at his leg blades, standing balanced on the ground. His hands were shaking as the light of the dragon faded off of him.

“How did you find me?” he asked.

“My comm gets pinged if someone not matching my biometrics uses my keycard. I looked at the last place it was pinged and… How are you doing that?” she looked at him up and down as he put one hand on the bars to stabilize himself.

“You did say progress was coming along much faster then anticipated,” said Genji.

“I–I know but—even in the top percentages of recovery speed for injuries this severe, it should be weeks–months before you should be able to…”

“I don’t have weeks or months,” said Genji, still bracing his hands on the bars, but grunting a little as he pushed forward, closing the distance between them.

“Genji you don’t have to–” she took another few brisk steps forward and they all but bumped into each other between the two parallel bars. Genji had been so used to looking up at her from hospital beds and wheel chairs, it caught him off-guard to have her nose so close to his at this level. He also became acutely aware of how sweaty he was from all the strain of wheeling over here and struggling between the bars with her this close. Still, he tightened his jaw.

“I do have to,” said Genji, “I have to bring down the Shimada clan. I have to k-” he caught himself.

“…Kill Hanzo?” Mercy finished the thought and he huffed and glanced off. 

“You have to let me do this,” said Genji, “I won’t know any peace cooped up in this infirmary. You know that.”

“You won’t find any peace in killing things either!” Mercy snapped at him, “The second you prove healthy enough for Reyes to put you on his team you’re going to–You’ll—”

“…do what I’m best at,” said Genji. He wobbled a bit where he stood and Mercy quickly and easily positioned herself to support his weight. “Whatever Reyes will have me do, it can’t be any worse than what the Shimada clan had me doing before.”

Mercy’s lips were pursed. “They won’t just be releasing you from my care, they’ll be putting you in with Blackwatch’s cyberneticists.”

“So I’ll get better legs than these ones,” said Genji, looking down at his leg blades. 

Mercy looked down at the leg blades as well and pursed her lips. “Their methods…” she started but trailed off.

 “Hey,” Genji spoke and she looked up at him, “I’ll be fine! I’m already fine! Look!” he brought his hands up from the bars.

“Be careful–!” Mercy started but Genji took a successful step backward from her and only wobbled a little. 

 “See?” said Genji.

Mercy pressed her hand to her forehead and pushed a few stray hairs from her topknot back. “Genji–I saw those lights earlier–I… I don’t understand what they are, but I do know last time you… brought that…that thing….”

“Dragon.”

“Dragon,” Mercy repeated, still feeling a little crazy every time she said it, “Last time you brought that dragon out, it was to keep yourself from dying. So you can understand my concern at you pushing yourself like this.”

“I wouldn’t be pushing myself if you weren’t holding me back,” muttered Genji.

“I’m not holding you back, Genji! I’m following normal medical procedure! You shouldn’t even be here! What if you hurt yourself?!”

“Well it’s a good thing I’m in a fucking infirmary, isn’t it?!” Genji snapped right back at her. He wobbled and flailed for the bar but Mercy caught him easily. They were both short of breath, Mercy, holding him secure with one arm around his waist. Genji was gritting his teeth. She was silent. 

“I’m sorry. I’m… I’m so tired, Doctor Ziegler,” Genji’s voice was taut, on the edge of breaking.

“Well, that’s why we have to take it slow, Genji, build up stren–”

“I just wanted to walk again,” Genji’s voice cracked a little. The reverberation of the cybernetics in his throat managed to catch the pitch.

“You’re doing incredibly well, Genji…” Mercy said quietly, “I know it’s frustrating and painful. But… you… you are probably the most strong-willed person I’ve ever met. And believe me, I know some of the most stubborn bastards in the world, working here. You will get better. I know you will. But we have to work together for that.”

Genji’s eyes were shining. She couldn’t tell if he was holding back tears or if it was from all of his exertion just moving around to get here.

“We…” Mercy took a deep breath, “We can use the hydrotherapy session tomorrow–well, today, to rest up before we start you on crutch training. I don’t want you straining yourself too much after all you put yourself through here.”

“Crutch training?” said Genji.

“You’ll be on your feet more often. We’ll keep a wheelchair nearby, just in case,” said Mercy, “I am wheeling you back to your room, though. You know it’s nearly 5 in the morning, right?”

Genji huffed a little, “Understandable,” he said, still leaning on her. He looked over at the wheelchair at the other end of the parallel bars.

“I can help you—” Mercy started hoisting him up.

“Wait–” said Genji and Mercy paused. Genji pushed away from her only slightly, she braced his forearms in her own.

“Are you sure?” Mercy looked at his leg blades as Genji swayed a bit to get a better gauge on his weight distribution with them.

“Yes,” said Genji.

 Mercy kept their arms braced together, she walked backwards as Genji stepped clumsily forward. They walked the length of the parallel bars together before Mercy helped Genji take a slumping seat back into his wheelchair. 

“That was good!” she said, the most cheeriness in her voice he had heard all night.

“You think so?” said Genji.

“I don’t think you’ll be using the crutches too long,” said Mercy with a smile. 

Genji smiled and eased up in the wheelchair as she turned him toward the door. “Oh–before I forget.” She held her hand out to him.

“What?” said Genji.

“Key card,” said Mercy.

Genji rolled his eyes and handed her key card over. She passed the card next to the door panel and walked him out into the night. She shuddered as a breeze hit them on the walkway, and quickly entered the other building where a long stretch of hallway laid out before them, all periwinkle in pre-dawn light.

“Hey…” said Genji, “Can you run really fast down this hall? Just… wheel me as fast as you can.”

“Genji, that is pointlessly dangerous and ridiculously immature,” said Mercy.

She took off in a run.

Chapter Text

“And there’s no discomfort?” said Mercy, half walking backward and half sidestepping around Genji as he walked down the hall with his forearm crutches. She checked her tablet to try and figure out the level of painkillers they had him on now. He was being weaned to lower dosages, and Genji himself had been complaining about foggy-headedness, but the amount of cybernetics supporting his internal organs meant they couldn’t exactly go cold turkey. 

“None more than usual,” said Genji, crutching alongside her with his head held high. His spirits seemed significantly improved since roughly a week back when he had snuck out of his room to try and force himself to walk in the middle of the night, “Or I guess I’m just excited to be on my feet out of the physical therapy room.”

“Well, just let me know if you’re getting fatigued,” said Mercy.

He huffed a little. “You worry so much,” he said, with a movement of his shoulders she couldn’t tell was a shrug or just adjusting for the crutches.

“Of course I worry,” said Mercy, rubbing at her eye under her glasses, “It’s my job.”

“Another late night, Doctor?” said Genji, as they rounded a corner.

“What makes you say that?” said Mercy, glancing out the window and squinting slightly at the glare of the cloud white sky and white-peaked mountains of Zurich.

“You wear the glasses when you want to cover up the under-eye circles,” said Genji.

Mercy’s brow furrowed, “That’s rude,” she said, turning her attention to the tablet.

“I prefer ‘Observant,’” said Genji, with a slight smirk hidden beneath his hospital mask made apparent only through the expression of his eyes.

“Which doesn’t mean it’s not rude,” said Mercy, waving her tablet stylus at him scoldingly before turning her attention back to her tablet as she continued walking, “Reyes keeps stalking at my door, waiting for the second you’re combat ready, but I still think we need to–” she glanced up, realized that she had dusted Genji with her own manic hospital walk a ways back, and stopped and turned around to see Genji towards the beginning of the hall, apparently staring at the wall. “Genji?” Mercy backtracked back to him and looked at the point on the wall which had his attention and her face dropped.

It was a poster of her, or well, Mercy, Overwatch’s Mercy, anyway, in the full combat medic gear with her staff in one hand and the other open and outstretched out toward whoever was viewing the poster, as if she was motioning to help them up. The sky behind her was pink tinged with the gold of dawn, to further highlight the blue of her combat medic uniform. It looked painterly, somewhere between Norman Rockwell, a Madonna Portrait, and Shepard Fairey–the kind of propaganda a soldier like Jack or Gabriel would approve of. The lettering on the poster seemed harmless enough–emblazoning the same words Jack used to bring her into this organization:

Save Lives! Join the Overwatch Medical Research Division Today! 

There were a few other enticing text blurbs promising ‘On-Site Accredited Training!’ and ‘Full-Ride Scholarship Programs!’

The expression of her poster-self was rosy-cheeked and benevolent, with soft eyes and parted lips, an imploring expression.

“…wow,” said Genji.

“We should keep–” Mercy started.

“Is that you?” said Genji looking between her and the poster.

“…sort of,” Mercy said stiffly after a few beats.

“Or I assume, this is how you theoretically look with 10 hours of sleep,” said Genji, that same smirk in his voice. She smacked her tablet playfully against his arm and he chuckled. “I can’t believe it,” he said looking back at the poster, “You’re Mercy.”

“What? Really? I was in the full Valkyrie suit the night we brought you in,” said Mercy.

“…I didn’t know how much of that I dreamed or hallucinated after Hanzo…” Genji trailed off, “I thought I just kind of… conflated the two blondes in my head. I didn’t think Mercy was a real person.”

“She’s not,” Mercy said on reflex, flatly.

Genji broke his sight away from the poster and looked at her. Mercy caught herself.

“What I mean is–Reality is a lot more disappointing. Mercy is a–a–” Mercy scoffed and made a ‘jazz hand’ motion with her non-tablet holding hand, “’Beacon of hope,’ or whatever it is that recruits people or brings in donations. Angela Ziegler, the flesh vessel Mercy has the misfortune to reside in, is in fact a bitter nagging crab running on 3 hours of sleep, 8 cups of coffee, and pure spite.”

“I don’t think you’re disappointing,” said Genji.

“What?” said Mercy.

“Well–It’s like you say–Mercy is just an image. Angela Ziegler is the one doing all the work.” 

Mercy blinked a few times and cleared her throat before adjusting her glasses and tucking her tablet stylus behind her ear. “Yes–well…”

“But this is a good poster though,” said Genji, pointing at the poster.

Mercy huffed.

“Overwatch should make more like it,” said Genji.

“Oh this is plenty on its own,” said Mercy, dryly.

“I can see all the other posters now though,” said Genji, trying to pose as seductively and dramatically as he could with his crutches, “’Join Overwatch–It’s better than Jail!’” he struck another pose, “‘Buy Overwatch Bonds–Jack Morrison needs a new office chair!’”

Mercy snickered.

“’Vaccinate your children! Mercy’s working too hard as it–’ Kuso–” Genji got a bit overambitious with the last pose, wobbled and nearly lost his footing on his crutches but Mercy caught him and stabilized him where he stood, “Okay I deserved that,” he said.

“A little bit,” said Mercy, smirking as she made sure he was stable, “…did you really mean that? About me not being…”

“I think everyone who just knows you for the poster is missing out,” said Genji. He continued down the hall on his crutches. Mercy watched him walk. Hobbling didn’t seem the right word for his movements. There was still a bit of marionette-like jauntiness in his movement from the suspension of weight the crutches granted him, but that was balanced out by the determination of his gait. He’s a bit like Mercy too, she thought, When he’s not brooding over the Shimada clan.

Genji realized she wasn’t walking with him, paused, and looked over his shoulder at her. “Are we still going to–?”

“Oh!” Mercy briskly walked up so she was next to him again, “Yes, yes we should go.”

They continued down the hall, leaving the poster to fade in the sun.

Chapter Text

Genji's arms thudded against the limbs of the training dummy as Mercy stood tensely by with her tablet, observing and taking notes. The impact didn’t feel quite right--he could feel the reverberation of the metal at his organic stubs on impact. He was in a gray training jumpsuit--more of a wrestling singlet, really--that left his organic arms and legs exposed. 

“You don’t have to--” Mercy cut herself off at a particularly loud thump of one of Genji’s blows landing, “You don’t have to go too fast, it’s just about maintaining blood flow and muscle movement, and building up coordination.” 

Genji didn’t respond, mostly just glad he had something to hit now. He let Mercy’s commentary dull to a quiet buzz at the periphery of his consciousness as he fell into the movement of punching and kicking. He heard an audible sigh from Mercy, recognition that he wasn’t actually listening, and just let himself fall into the motions more and more. Not strong enough. Not fast enough. None of the blows hitting right. Get it better. Get it right. How could he avenge himself against the clan and Hanzo otherwise? How could he make them pay if he was just a stupid, pathetic, bloody little science experiment--? He moved to pivot into a devastating back hand strike when a sharp pain suddenly flared along his side and he seized up with a grunt.

“Genji?!” Mercy looked up sharply from her tablet and her eyes widened.

“Nngh--” Genji’s hands went to his side as she briskly walked over and stooped a bit to where his hands were.

“How bad is it?” said Mercy.

“I wouldn’t stop if it wasn’t bad,” Genji said through gritted teeth.

“May I?” Mercy said, her eyes flicking up to him.

Genji scoffed and glanced off, shoving the shoulder strap of his jumpsuit/singlet off and letting Mercy pull it down slightly to examine his ribs.

“No bruising to indicate internal bleeding--skin irritation near the prosthetic is well within normal range...” Mercy murmured, “Where specifically does it hurt?”

Genji pointed at the bottom of his ribs with his thumb with a grunt and Mercy felt at that point for a few moments.

“Is the pain still as sharp as it was when you were moving?” Mercy asked.

The question came so easily to her but Genji felt his ears burning

“...no,” he said a bit stiffly. 

Mercy gave a sigh of relief, “Just a muscle stitch then.” 

“A muscle--?!” Genji scoffed, “No--something has to be--I don’t get stopped by cramps!” 

“Maybe not with your old body, but---” Mercy caught herself.

“There’s--there’s stuff in me now, how do we know it’s not... stabbing?” said Genji.

“If you want, we can stop for the day and I can take a closer look,” said Mercy, tucking her tablet against herself.

A low growl of a scoff rumbled in Genji’s throat and he glanced off. He didn’t want that. He was glad to be standing again, he was glad to be moving again, he didn’t want his own paranoia about all the things jammed into him to leave him bound to an infirmary bed or examination table again.

“Or I could give you something mild for the pain--?” said Mercy

“No,” Genji nearly cut her off with his answer. He didn’t want his rage to be dulled. Didn’t want anything slowing him down.

Her brow crinkled and her mouth drew to a thin line, and he couldn’t maintain eye contact with her when she was making that face.

“Just---” Genji made a pushing gesture at her, “Give me space. I can handle it.”

“We still need to take it easy--” Mercy started.

‘If it’s just a stitch, I can handle it!” Genji snapped. He remembered Sojiro’s voice. Breathe through it. Breathe through it. He took a few deep steady breaths. “It’s fine,” he said, the pain dulling with his breaths, “I’m fine.”

Mercy backed up a bit and Genji re-centered himself to a ready position. He gave himself one more steadying breath before he threw himself back into punching and kicking again. The stitch was still burning in his side but he ignored it as best as he could, focusing on the breath, focusing on the impact of the punch, the recovery. But he had already begun to feel the creep of exhaustion with that last pause. No, he couldn’t be tired, not yet. Did all those hours looking like an idiot in horse stance until his entire lower body was on fire mean nothing? All those early mornings sprinting around Shimada Castle, racing after Hanzo with the cold damp on his skin and his breath fogging in front of him? All that conditioning, all that work, all of his time that the clan ate up for their own ends, Hanzo had taken it all away from him. And here he was struggling to work up to a fraction of what he was previously capable of. Keep at it, keep at it, let the rage power the limbs. But even rage could only take him so far. There was a high pitched ringing in his ears as he watched his own strikes get slower, sloppier, but still he kept pushing himself. 

“Genji--” Mercy’s voice was distant with the pounding of his own heart in his ears, and the strike of his limbs against the training dummy, “Maybe you should--” But he just kept going, just kept hitting, and she quieted down. She was making that face again. He could feel her making that face, and he kept striking.

Don’t pity me. Don’t you fucking dare pity me.

That burning stitch in his side was little more than an afterthought, but the limbs were slow, heavy. His lungs were burning and he was drenched in sweat. With his prosthetics he smelled like pennies. Smelled like blood.

Metal. Stupid. Useless.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, didn’t want to know how much time had passed, when he finally slumped forward, supporting himself on a training dummy that was just as damp with his own sweat.

“Just--breathe--pushing yourself too hard could make the healing process even slower,” Mercy warned. 

“I know what I can do!” Genji said through gritted teeth. He hated the metallic ring of his own voice now.

"I know it’s frustrating, but even with state of the art prosthetics, you can't expect to get back to your original speed that fast," said Mercy.

Genji let himself drop to his hands and knees, panting.

“You have no idea how frustrating it actually is,” he snarled, not looking up from the floor.

"Your body has lost a significant amount of its original mass... it's going to be a while before your stamina returns, too," she said quietly.

Genji kept panting. She stepped away from him briefly and he looked at his own hands on the floor. He clawed his fingers, both organic and prosthetic, across the mat in frustration.

“Here,” She stooped over and held a water bottle out to him. He glared at the water bottle.

“You’re still human and humans need water,” said Mercy flatly. 

His eyes flicked up to her face and he reached out and sullenly took it. He didn’t break eye contact with her as he drank from the bottle, trying to read her expression. There was exhaustion in her eyes, there always was, but there was something in the line of her mouth now, not quite that pitying pursing, her lips nearly parting like she had something to say, and yet at the same time didn’t. She settled down to a kneeling position beside him on the mat. 

“All these... things I say... I’m not trying to dismiss your feelings. I know you’re angry. I know you feel cooped up here and you want to get out there so you can get to work stopping the people who did this to you.”

Killing. Stopping’s just a side effect of killing, Genji thought but he said nothing still panting. 

“I want you to have your body working the way you want it to just as much,” Mercy went on, “But this isn’t something you just... power through to. You’re angry--I know you’re angry--but the more you fall into that anger, the more cortisol and adrenaline your brain pumps out--the more your body believes it’s trying to survive and shunts down numerous vital functions, rather than putting its energy towards repairing itself.”

Genji was still panting but hearing it put in such technical terms caught him off-guard. The body believes it’s trying to survive...

“Just...” Mercy sighed a little, “Have a little faith. Everyone here wants you at you at full capacity as quickly as possible just as much as you do. Even if we’re all...” she shrugged a little, “Annoying and preachy about it.”

Genji snorted at that before letting himself collapse onto his side and then roll onto his back, his chest still rising and falling with a shudder of exhaustion. Mercy pressed one hand against the mat, then lowered herself, laying down flat on the ground as well, staring at the ceiling.

“...why are you on the floor?” muttered Genji.

“Seemed like the right place to be,” Mercy mused, “...there are multiple times a day I wish I could curl up on the floor, and this seemed like a good chance.”

Genji snorted again. “You’re funny,” he said glancing over at her.

Mercy glanced over at him and smiled.

Genji sighed again and looked up at the ceiling. “You want to know a really stupid thing that’s pissing me off about all this?’ 

“What?” said Mercy.

“It’s... hitting me that I really liked my body. I mean, I was hot before all this.”

Mercy snorted.

“I was!” Genji insisted.

“I know!” Mercy blurted out and then caught herself, “I mean--” she cleared her throat, “Yes, it’s very jarring to have your appearance suddenly changed without your consent.”

“...so you agree I was hot,” said Genji, a bit smugly.

Mercy scoffed.

“OKay--Sorry--I’m being obnoxious. What I’m saying is... there was so much about it I took for granted, even with all the training and the conditioning the Shimada clan put me through...” he sighed, “And it’s gone now.”

“Not gone, necessarily. It’s... different. It’s changed. That doesn’t mean you can’t make it your own,” said Mercy, “That doesn’t mean it can’t be beautiful. That doesn’t mean it isn’t beautiful now.”

Genji paused, then gave her an ‘Are you fucking kidding me’ look. 

“Okay, we can work our way up to that,” said Mercy with a slight eye roll, “Just.. in my line of work you see a lot of... nastiness... so you kind of have to look for the things that give you hope. And a lot of the time that can make you come off as...” she huffed, “Completely out of it to some people. Stupid. Ignorant.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid,” said Genji, “Preachy, sure, but stupid?”

“Just as much of a charmer as your dossier stated,” Mercy said flatly.

Genji huffed and a long pause passed between them on the floor. Genji took stock of the exhaustion in all of his limbs and lifted his prosthetic arm up toward the ceiling, examining it the way the light hit it. “...you think I’ll be able to do what I could do before?” 

“Do you want my honest opinion?” said Mercy.

The question-as-answer made Genji tense slightly and he propped himself up on his elbows, glancing over at her. “Yes...?” he said slowly.

“I think you can be even more,” she said, not looking at him, staring up at the ceiling, “I just hope who that is, is someone you like.”

Chapter Text

“You can’t approve of this,” Mercy’s knuckles were white with her grip on her tablet. She and Gabriel Reyes were standing in the observation room overlooking an interior training area as Genji slashed through several training bots with an alarming fury. There was a wildness to his actions, a fervor that Mercy assumed that could only come from spending weeks on end struggling with leg blades and crutches. In terms of creating an efficient cyborg body that matched all of Genji’s previous athletic qualifications, the Blackwatch cyberneticists had outdone themselves. But in terms of creating a body that would actually help Genji adjust mentally to his new reality of being a cyborg… 

Mercy flinched as Genji beheaded a training bot, then sliced the still-in-the-air head in two with a kick.

“If both the cyberneticists and Genji are satisfied with the prosthetics, then it’s out of my hands,” said Reyes.

“It is not out of your hands because you’re in charge of Blackwatch,” said Mercy, “Those leg blades–who put those on him?”

“They’re pretty crazy, right?” said Gabriel, his eyes lighting up, “Now his axe kicks are like axe kicks. They’re really—” Gabriel read the furious disapproval contorting Mercy’s features and cleared his throat. “You don’t approve of them. Look, he’s already an assassin, so–”

“If an engineer loses his hand, would you say we should replace his fingers with screwdrivers?!” said Mercy, furiously.

“…Torbjörn replaced his arm with that molten core claw,” said Gabriel with a shrug.

“That’s–Torbjörn chose to–He—” Mercy took a furious inhale through her nostrils and huffed, “I don’t think this is best for Genji. If he sees his body as… as a tool, as a machine—”

“Interpol wants to see results with the Shimada clan and psych evals said he’s field ready,” said Gabriel.

“Blackwatch psych evals,” muttered Mercy.

“And Blackwatch understands special circumstances. Besides, with how much he keeps going on about taking down the Shimada clan… I don’t think holding him back is helping him.”

Mercy flinched again as Genji sliced another training bot clean down the middle. He stood in the wreckage of all the bots, his blade still drawn and his shoulders rising and falling with the smoldering tension of his breath. 

She hit the intercom. “Genji,” she spoke gently and Genji’s head jerked up, ready for whatever came next. She cleared her throat. “Are you feeling any discomfort from this prosthesis?”

She heard Genji’s breath ragged over the other end and suppressed a shudder.

“No discomfort,” said Genji, “They work.”

Mercy’s eyes flicked over to Reyes and he made a little ‘See?’ gesture at the intercom. 

She hit the intercom button again. “Let me know the second that changes,” she said, not breaking eye contact with Reyes.

“Understood,” was his only response.

——-

Mercy took the issue to Jack of course, tried to call up anyone in Overwatch’s medical research decision to back her up. She even got Liao on vid-comm who just ended up launching into a meandering half-to-herself lecture about transhumanism as it related to the robotics question of ‘Does a submarine swim?’ and ended up burning about an hour and a half without actually going anywhere. So at the end of the day Mercy was, once again, in Jack’s office and complaining while he, once again, was nodding and giving her the odd “I’ll look into it” while both of them knew it wouldn’t really go beyond a talk to Reyes. Jack trusted Reyes. He trusted Reyes’s judgment more than he would ever trust hers, and most of the time she didn’t take that personally, and even with the majority of Genji’s care now shifted out of her hands, she knew it wasn’t personal. This was no grand conspiracy to drain the energy of Angela Ziegler, but simply how Overwatch was. 

And who was she to hold Genji back? 

She sighed and returned to her lab, first going over correspondence with a handful of scientists over their findings with biotics, replicating some of the experiments described to her, sending her findings in, saying she would conduct more experiments more formally and et cetera but these were her results. The usual. Enough to get her mind off things. Enough to make her feel like there was something she could do. Hours passed.

The sound of the coffeemaker late that night filled Mercy with equal parts of calm, resignation, and regret. As she felt the vibration of the grinder against her palm and let its characteristic buzz drown out all other sounds of the lab before pouring the grounds into the filter, she came to terms with the fact that tomorrow morning was going to be a living hell for the sake of tonight’s productivity. She watched the pot slowly fill with that chocolate-smoke smelling liquid before stretching and massaging her temples.

Deep breath, she thought to herself, inhaling through her nose, letting the coffee-scented air fill her lungs to the peak, Now exh–

“Doctor Ziegler?” a voice spoke up next to her and the squawk of surprise that escaped her along with the hard flinch made the sweatsuit-clad figure suddenly standing next to her flinch back. “Sorry!” Genji said on reflex, his voice muffled into a metal faceplate, “I thought you heard me come in. I guess I’m a lot quieter with the new prosthetics…”

Mercy’s hand flew over her chest as she tried to catch her breath. “It’s–it’s fine,” she said, tucking her hair back.

“I meant to talk to you after the prosthetic test–” he started.

“Something’s wrong with them. I knew it,” said Mercy perking up and quickly grabbing his arm, “Where does it hurt? How intense is the pain? Are you–”

“There’s nothing wrong with them, Doctor Ziegler,” Genji’s voice was tired and she caught herself, releasing his arm.

“Sorry…” she said, folding her arms against herself.

“I just… it had been a while since we last talked and… I wanted to check in with you. See how you were doing. And the light in the lab was on so…” he itched at the point where his faceplate ended and the exposed skin of his neck started.

“…Oh,” said Mercy. She blinked. “You’re checking on me?”

“Well… yes. You sounded… tense… during the prosthetics test today,” said Genji, “I apologize if this is out of line, and I can leave if you’re busy–”

“No–I’m not–I mean, I am working but… company would be nice,” said Mercy. She gave a glance to the coffee pot, “I probably shouldn’t finish this on my own, anyway. Would you like some?” 

“Sure,” said Genji with a shrug as she grabbed one of the spare mugs next to the coffeemaker.

“So Blackwatch is treating you all right?” said Mercy, pouring him a cup as he took off the lower half of his faceplate. 

“So far, yes,” said Genji, taking the mug from her and sipping the coffee, “Just–one question.”

“Mm?” Mercy was looking at him as she sipped her own coffee.

“Is Cassidy… always like that?” said Genji.

Mercy snorted, nearly choked on her coffee, swallowed hard and let out a sputtering laugh. “He’s always like that,” she said, snickering.

Genji’s shoulders slumped. “Kuso…” he cursed under his breath.

“It’s an acquired taste, but you do acquire it,” said Mercy, grinning.

Genji just huffed in response. 

“What do you think of Reyes?” said Mercy, tilting her head.

Genji thought for a few moments, “He’s… interesting. At this point I’m used to people not… not knowing how to look at me, and I can’t really blame them, because at this point, I don’t know how to look at me. But Reyes he’s… practical. Inspiring, even. It’s just sort of like ‘You’re here. Let’s get to work.’ It’s kind of refreshing, honestly.” 

“Mm…” Mercy didn’t really know how to respond to that so she just glanced off while sipping her coffee.

“…Doctor Ziegler?” 

“Yes?”

“When I said you sounded a bit tense at the prosthetic test, today…” Genji trailed off, “What was bothering you?”

“Oh…” Mercy bit the inside of her lip, “Well…I….” she straightened up, “I was concerned about those loose wires!”

Genji’s hood was up but he felt at the back of his head.

“And….and the leg blades…” Mercy tucked her hair back, “I mean, they’re your legs! You shouldn’t treat them like weapons!”

Genji shrugged, “I was using them like weapons before,” he said, sipping his coffee.

Mercy’s mouth drew to a thin line. “Yes but that’s—You shouldn’t–”

Genji was looking at her with genuine concern and Mercy’s stomach sank. This was his body–it was far from something he could easily change, and even then, if they could change it, how in control of the process was he?

“I… I’m probably overreacting. And I’m probably more used to treating civilians,” she said with a hand wave, “I mean, I only really saw the prosthetics at a distance and in a few health dispatches the Blackwatch cybernetics sent me…”

“You haven’t gotten a good look yet?” said Genji.

“Blackwatch is secretive,” said Mercy with a shrug but she quickly reddened as Genji unzipped the front of the hoodie and shrugged it off, setting it on the counter behind him. Scarred skin strained against cold metal, rippling muscles alongside synthetic frames and bits of armor. Tubes flowing into his skin. Fury and hatred flowing into the gaps left by his injuries. She hated herself that the first words that came to mind were, What’s black and white and red all over? In truth he looked… good. Really good. But good the way a statue of Prometheus chained to a rock looks good. Good the way a Saint Sebastian painting looks good. Good the way a crucifix or one of Rodin’s more contorted works looked good. Good in a way that made that furious, traumatized part of her brain cry out ‘For the love of god, help him.’

“Is there something wrong with them?” said Genji, trying to read her face.

Mercy was biting her knuckle, unsure of how to respond. “Does it hurt?” the words came out of her.

“No,” Genji said on reflex, but those big gray-blue eyes were piercing into him and he huffed and sipped his coffee, “I mean, it itches. And there’s the phantom limb pain, but that’s there whether the prosthetics are there or not. Doctor Ziegler, I need these. And maybe they’ll get better in the future, but for now I’m fine with putting up with these,” he picked up his hoodie from the counter and pushed an arm through the sleeve, “So long as it means I’m not cooped up here in Zurich anymore.”

“I know… and… and you’re right. You’re right to want that. But please… just remember that the body and the self have a very complicated relationship,” said Mercy, glancing off.

“And justice is bigger than both,” said Genji, zipping up his hoodie, “I’ll worry about what I am once the Shimada clan can’t hurt people like it hurt me.” 

“I know,” said Mercy glancing down, “But… you know your worth as a person isn’t based in taking them down, right? You know that?”

Genji stared at her for a few seconds. “I… believe life has a worth. That life has to have some worth…but to be fair, Doctor Ziegler, you haven’t lived your life as an assassin for a powerful crime family. When someone is searching for redemption, it’s not up to someone else to say, ‘You’re good. You don’t have to try anymore.’” He furrowed those thick brows beneath his steel headband, “There are things I must do, and I do think with Blackwatch and my goals overlapped, that I can do them. The more you focus on feeling better rather than fixing the root problem…. the harder the fight to feel better becomes, doesn’t it?”

Mercy just sipped her coffee sullenly. “I trust your judgment,” she said at last, “But… just…. promise me you’ll come to me? If things start going wrong? If things start hurting more than they should?”

Genji huffed. “I promise,” he said, his smile tugging at his scars.

“Thank you,” said Mercy, before quickly adding, “I’m not paranoid.”

“I know.”

“I’m not.”

“What is the term?” said Genji, “Canary in the coal mine?” 

“I’m the canary in the coal mine?” Mercy repeated flatly.

“You worry a lot–you’re a good person to look to when looking for something to worry about.”

Mercy furrowed her brows at him.

“But I mean, you never worry about anything not worth worrying about!” he smiled, “But it’s a big world–there’s always something to worry about.”

“So, should we should rename ‘Medical R&D’ to the ‘Overwatch Worry Division?” said Mercy arching an eyebrow.

“No, it’s important you stay scary,” said Genji.

“Oh I’m scary now?” said Mercy with a slight chuckle.

“In the best way possible,” he sipped the last bit of his coffee. “I… I should probably let you get back to work.”

“You can hang around if you don’t mind me sequencing silicon-based RNA and cytochromic reactions,” said Mercy.

“…I have no idea what that means,” said Genji with a slight chuckle.

Mercy nodded with her head over to her monitor. “Would you like to find out? I warn you, it might be scary.”

Genji chuckled and refilled his coffee cup. “The best kind of scary, I’m sure.”

Chapter Text

“I don’t see why we’re doing this,” said Cassidy, frowning out the window.

“Sometimes being a part of Blackwatch is… acquiring or retaining assets Overwatch can’t use publicly, but can’t afford to let fall into the wrong hands,” said Gabriel.

“Like me?” said Genji, vacantly.

Cassidy shot Reyes a dark look as Genji mindlessly circled his organic hand over his cybernetic knucles. 

“No Genji,” said Cassidy, not breaking eye contact with Gabriel, “Not like you. You were a rescue op. This—Well what do we call this, boss? ‘One man’s trash is another man’s treasure?’”

“If you want to be an ass about it,” said Gabriel.

“Hm,” Cassidy turned his attention back out the window.

Now arriving in Dublin, the Blackwatch AI announced as the transport touched down in a depressingly empty parking lot.

“I’ll do the talking,” said Reyes, getting up, “You two stay back.”

“Sure,” muttered Cassidy as the transport opened and Reyes headed out.

Reyes took in the damp, cool Dublin air and gave a glance to the buildings in the distance as he turned his attention to a large laboratory building as a tall, skinny figure with short cropped red hair emerged from its front door.

“For covert operations, you certainly have a penchant for the dramatic,” said Moira, folding her arms.

“You know why I’m here?” said Gabriel.

“You can tell Strike Commander Morrison that I am not responsible for his misplacement of my letter of resignation,” said Moira, crisply, “It’s on his desk just like he asked. If he wants to continue dragging me through the mud to preserve Overwatch’s pathetic facade of ‘peace and progress,’ he’ll have to find another scapegoat. Have a good evening, Mr. Reyes,” she said, turning on her heel and walking toward her car.

“I’m not here on Jack’s behalf,” Reyes called after her and she stopped walking.

She looked over her shoulder at him.

“The world still needs you,” said Gabriel, “But it’s not ready for you.”

“Such is my curse, it seems,” a not-quite smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

“We can help,” said Gabriel, stepping toward her, “You’ll have all the resources you need to work. Less red tape. Not sure how you feel about having less attention…”

“Some time out of the spotlight should do me some good,” said Moira, turning on her heel to face him, “But what do you get out of it?”

“I get the best geneticist in the world on my team,” said Gabriel.

“Ever the flatterer, are we?” she said, smoothing back her short-cropped red hair, “Does Jack know about this?”

“Jack knows as much as he needs to,” said Gabriel.

“May I ask what inspired this… magnanimous offer?” said Moira.

“The world wasn’t ready for the Soldier Enhancement Program. It turned out we were what the world needed though. I think there’s a lot of forces in this world like that, and we’re better off figuring out how they can help us rather than cowering in fear of them.”

Moira chuckled. “You and Morrison,” she said, stepping toward him, “Forged in the same fires, but not made of the same stuff, are you?”

“Jack has to be what the world thinks it needs,” said Gabriel, “I just fill in the gaps from there.” 

“And there are so many gaps to fill…” said Moira.

“So the offer stands. You don’t have to answer right away–” 

“I’m with you,” said Moira.

“…You’re that sure?” 

“You say the world isn’t ready for me, true as that is, that doesn’t change the fact that I have much to do,” she paused, “We have much to do,” she corrected herself. She extended a hand, “Giorraíonn beirt bothar, Gabriel. I look forward to working with you.”

Gabriel glanced at her hand, withered gray and threaded with violet veins that seemed to choke up the back of it like ivy, then looked up at her eyes, sharp and discerning, half-daring him to rescind the offer yet knowing, knowing he wouldn’t.

“Welcome to the team,” said Gabriel, shaking her hand.

—

Genji and Cassidy watched the conversation from the opening of the transport, missing most of it over the thrum of the engines. Cassidy swallowed as Gabriel and Moira shook hands.

“Genji?” said Cassidy.

“Mm?” Genji’s red eyes flicked over to him.

“Please tell me I’m not the only one with a bad feeling about this.”

Chapter Text

“It worked on the rabbit, it worked on you—I don’t see what the issue is here,” said Gabriel, pacing back and forth across the lab.

“It’s not that simple,” said Moira, frowning down a microscope.

“I gave you all my tissue samples. What’s it going to take–another spinal tap? Marrow sample?”

“The serum itself, Gabriel,” said Moira, “I can’t be sure there won’t be any adverse effects unless I can see what compounds were injected into you in their raw form.”

“It’s been a long time since the SEP program,” said Gabe, “If any records of it haven’t been shredded to hell, my looking into it will raise a lot of red flags on both me and Jack.”

“Seems to me that Overwatch has no issues undermining every other government except that of its commanders,” said Moira, pulling her eyes away from the microscope and rubbing them slightly. Gabe frowned and glanced off and she smirked that not-quite-smirk of hers. “You Americans,” she said with a shake of her head before turning her attention back to her microscope, “So touchy.”

“Moira,” Gabe rubbed his forehead, “You saw the tech we salvaged from the enemy on the last mission. You know what we’re up against.”

“The physiological difference between you and non-SEP humans is already very signifi—”

“And it doesn’t cut it,” said Gabe, “We need an edge. I saw what you did to yourself.”

Moira rubbed at the wrist of her withered hand a bit bitterly.

“And I saw what you can do as a result. We’ve seen it in a scientist. Let’s see what a soldier can do with it.”

“If there are unforeseen side-effects…” she trailed off and furrowed her brow.

“…How bad do you think the side-effects could be?” said Gabriel.

“There’s the gene itself, and then there’s the expression of the gene,” said Moira, holding up her own withered hand, “We shouldn’t take this step forward until we have a better grasp on what’s going to happen.”

“What happened to ‘I take risks others do not because I do not share their caution?’” said Gabe, briefly taking on Moira’s theatrical intonation and putting his hands on his hips.

“First of all—Never attempt to imitate my accent again if you know what’s good for you, secondly, I barely escaped my own ‘trial and error’ with my life,” she murmured, curling her graying fingers inward, before her heterochromatic eyes flicked back up to him, “I can take risks when I’m the only one I’m risking. You’re Commander of Blackwatch. You’re a different case, entirely. I mess you up and it could mean the end of all my work. We both know you haven’t told Jack about this. ”

“Jack’s got enough on his plate as is,” said Gabe, glancing up.

“You’re changing your body, Gabriel. The nanites will affect you like a retrovirus, rewriting you bit by bit. The fight your body has against it could destroy you—Considering your… closeness… there’s no way Jack won’t notice the changes,” said Moira.

Gabriel’s lips thinned.

“Oh please,” said Moira with a slight eye-roll, “As if half of Overwatch doesn’t know already,” she glanced off, “There’s no way Doctor Ziegler won’t notice either.”

“Angela won’t be a problem—there’s plenty to occupy her with,” said Gabriel.

“…You’ve thought about this a lot, I take it?” said Moira.

“A lot more than you give me credit for,” said Gabriel, “And I trust you.”

The statement gave Moira a start. For a few seconds she looked completely thrown off-guard. “What did you say?” she said, her brow crinkling.

“I said I trust you,” said Gabriel.

“…I can’t recall the last time anyone’s ever said that to me,” said Moira, looking off, still completely confused by the statement.

“Yeah that doesn’t surprise me,” said Gabriel, elbowing her a little, “I trust your skills, and I trust you to be you, at least,” he said with a slight smile.

“You had me worried there for a moment,” said Moira, before she combed her long fingernails through her hair.

“My point is, I know you can do this,” said Gabriel, “And, let’s be honest, we both know you really want to see what’s going to happen.”

“Oh so dearly,” said Moira, tilting her head back with an unsettling amount of longing and ecstasy. She caught herself and cleared her throat. “You’re sure?” she said, composing herself as she stood up and stepped over to a small freezer, where she pulled out a small black vial.

“I’m sure,” said Gabriel, as she pressed the vial into the palm of her hand briefly to warm it up. 

“Here,” she handed the vial to him and he looked at it, it only took a few seconds in the warmth of his palm for the vial to go from solid black to having veins of violet running through it, as if it was moving itself around within the vial.  “It’s going to be a series of four increasingly concentrated injections over 8 weeks,” she said, pulling out a sterile syringe from the drawers beneath her microscope and taking the vial from him, “We start with the first one and there’s no going back.”

“Hey, you’re not the first one who’s injected god-knows-what into me to turn me into god-knows-what,” said Gabriel with a shrug.

“You’re going to be brilliant, Gabriel,” said Moira, staring at the vial, “When I say we’re on the brink of the next step of human evolution–This is what I’m talking about–You… you’re what I’m talking about.” She stuck the needle of the syringe through the seal of the vial and pulled up the syringe’s plunger, filling it with a vividly swirling black and purple liquid. She flicked one of her talon-like fingernails against the syringe and her eyes flicked back up to him. There was a warmth in her face that Gabriel had never seen before as she looked at the syringe–a quivering smile and a wetness in her eyes. If Moira wasn’t…well, Moira, he’d almost say she looked like a mother looking at her child as she looked at the syringe. “We’re going to build a new world,” she said, her voice hushed.

Gabriel smiled. A few beats passed as he let her bask in the glow of her own undertaking. 

Finally she sighed with some satisfaction as her eye flicked back up to him from the syringe. “All right,” she said, “Left arse cheek. Let’s see it.”

“What?” said Gabriel.

“Ventrogluteal injection, you understand,” said Moira.

“So the next step in human evolution starts in my ass,” said Gabriel flatly.

“It could start in worse places,” said Moira with a shrug.

Gabe snorted.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Hideyoshi sat unceremoniously and sipped a beer, watching the fireflies hover over the garden from the engawa of his home. Technically it was a summer villa for the main branch of the family, far away from the bustle of Hanamura, but Sojiro had put him up in it some years ago, with a small security team and some help to maintain the deceptively large house. It was a muggy night, the screech of cicadas and the chirp of frogs mingling in the heat of the thick air. A tiny electric fan whirred next to him. The heat would have been oppressive if he were a younger man, but he was happy to let the heat sink through to his bones, in

Hideyoshi Shimada was a figurehead. He knew that much about himself at this point. His word had some sway over the remains of the council, but he also knew loyalty wasn’t what it used to be in this family. Hanzo’s departure, his abandonment, had shifted perspectives. With Genji dead, the only remaining member of the next generation of the main branch was Hanzo, and if he had rejected the role of their scion, their head, what would that mean for the clan’s future? They had resources, obviously: ancient investments in land and hands deep in corporate pockets, drug and weapons trafficking, a few protection rackets for lower tiers in the organization, and even after all these years no one paralleled their assassins, but the dragons… the dragons were what set them apart from every crime family and every Yakuza ring in Japan.

“Hoo!” he heard a huffing exhale, the wood of the engawa creaked behind him, and he glanced over his shoulder to see a 30-something woman flapping the front of her blouse, unsticking it from the sweat of her torso and fanning it slightly with the fabric, “That’s all the laundry done,” she put her hands on her hips, “I’m heading off for the night. Need me to grab you anything before I go, sir?”

Hideyoshi shook his head. “You should get out of this heat, Chiyo.”

“It’s not a problem, sir, really,” Chiyo smiled. She pushed a sweaty strand of hair back from her face, “But you don’t need to tell me that twice. You take care of yourself, all right?” she said, smiling as she walked off toward the front of the villa.

Hideyoshi took another sip from his beer and the light flickered on him as a moth fluttered on it. “Touma,” he called.

A rather burly looking man, clearly suffering from the summer heat in his black suit jacket, stepped out onto the engawa. “Got a problem, boss?”

“See Chiyo gets to her car safely then take the night off,” said Hideyoshi.

“Boss, I don’t really think I should. The other council heads said—”

“How old is Kanna now, Touma? Eight?” Hideyoshi sipped his beer.

“Eleven, sir,” said Touma.

“Growing up fast, I see,” said Hideyoshi, “Before you know it she’ll be the one too busy for you. Take the night off.”

“But sir, with the recent–”

“I am aware of the situation, Touma,” Hideyoshi spoke calmly but firmly, setting the beer can down on the wooden boards of the engawa, “See Chiyo safely to her car and take the rest of the night off. That’s an order.”

“I—Yes sir. Have a good evening, sir,” Touma bowed before walking briskly after Chiyo.

Hideyoshi continued watching the fireflies in the garden for a few more minutes. The screeching chirp of cicadas was a comfort to him, like white noise. A drop of condensation rolled down the side of his beer can and he sipped it once more and then gave the can a slight shake to assess the level of beer left.

“I know you’re out there,” he said, sipping his beer again.

Two red eyes glinted  against the dark silhouette of a large maple at the edge of the property and a figure leapt down and landed soundlessly in the close-trimmed grass of the garden. At first Hideyoshi thought he was clad all in black and white and red, but as he stepped from the shadow of the trees and into the yellow and silver light of the porch light and moon, Hideyoshi saw that the black and white and red were not clothes, but mechanical parts. a steel faceplate glinted in the light, and two furious red eyes peered out between that faceplate and a forehead guard that seemed to be modeled on the Shimada clan’s own headbands.

“You’re the one, aren’t you?” Hideyoshi said as the figure walked toward him.

The figure gave a single nod.

“The others—Taken out by your people as well?” asked Hideyoshi.

The figure shook his head.

Hideyoshi studied the figure. “All you?” he said, gesturing at the figure with his beer can.

The figure gave another single nod.

“Well… I can’t say I’m not impressed,” said Hideyoshi, sipping his beer, “Can I get you anything? Sake? A beer?”

“You know why I am here,” said the figure, drawing his sword.

“I wouldn’t have sent Touma off if I didn’t,” said Hideyoshi.

“You wish for death?”

“You mowed through the bodyguards of other clan members easily. Touma has a little girl. I didn’t want her to lose a father.”

“He knew the risks when he joined this organization,” said the figure, his grip tightening on the sword handle.

“But he is not the one you are here for,” said Hideyoshi.

“No,” said the figure, pointing his sword towards Hideyoshi, “No, he isn’t.”

Hideyoshi calmly finished his beer and set it down. “I know this means very little to you at this point, but I am sorry, Genji.”

A visible shake traveled down the blade of Genji’s sword. He quickly steadied the blade and his stance tensed further. “How did you know?” was all he said.

Hideyoshi calmly extended a hand and a greenish-blue light began spiraling around the tattoo up his wrist, “You forget I am of the main branch as well,” he said, a small teal dragon traveling up the length of his forearm, “Never as impressive as my brother or Sojiro’s, but where the dragon doesn’t lend strength, he lends wisdom. I have advised my brother, and your father, and my dragon advises me,” the dragon dematerialized, “But I didn’t need a dragon to know it had to be one of our own doing the assassinations. I was wracking my brain over who it could be for the longest time. But the dragon knew, though I feared the idea myself. As soon as you passed into this garden… we knew.”

Genji’s red eyes narrowed. “Well you will not live to speak it to another council member,” he snarled, touching the steel of his sword to the side of Hideyoshi’s wrinkled neck. In an odd way, the cool of the steel was a slight relief on the hot muggy night.

“Who did this to you, Genji?” said Hideyoshi, his eyes trailing up the red fibers of Genji’s prosthetic arm.

“You did,” the flat of Genji’s blade pressed insistently against Hideyoshi’s neck, “You. The council. Hanzo. You made this monster. What you see before you is every bit my choice. I am whatever I need to be to tear this organization apart from the roots.”

“This is my fault…” Hideyoshi looked down, “I thought by abstaining… I could shut the very notion down. I had hoped it would never come up in our meetings again. I assumed I had the same power I had when your father lead the clan… but I was wrong. The council was already turned in Yuriko’s favor… Genji, I—”

“Where is she?” Genji gripped Hideyoshi’s shoulder with his scarred remaining hand, “Where is Yuriko? Where is Hanzo?”

“The council pushed me to the margins… There’s very little they tell me anymore. I can’t tell you where they are,” said Hideyoshi, “And even if I could–They’re my family, Genji. They’re yours, too–”

“No,” Genji replied.

The blade lifted from Hideyoshi’s neck and quick and smooth plunged itself cold and sharp between his ribs. Hideyoshi’s breath went shallow and wet as he felt the blood start spilling into one of his lungs.

“Don’t,” Genji shifted the blade and Hideyoshi felt the blade pierce the other lung, “Call this,” Genji wrenched the blade out of Hideyoshi’s side, tearing it through his brittle ribs and sternum, and sending blood spraying out onto the wooden boards of the engawa, dripping onto the grass and gravel beneath it, “A family.” 

Hideyoshi only made some soft choking sounds–no screams, no words with blood-filled lungs. With the last bits of his strength Hideyoshi braced one arm against Genji’s organic shoulder, while cupping one hand to the steel of the cyborg’s faceplate. He felt the darkness closing around him before he could will the strength to pull Genji into an embrace. The pain dulled itself out to a screaming white noise, blurring his senses. Hideyoshi remembered two young boys in clad in blue and green playing out in the very garden he was in now, catching fireflies and laughing. Genji broke away from him and Hideyoshi’s torso buckled in on itself from the exit wound of the blade and he collapsed to the boards of the engawa. His last breath was not a breath, but air forced out of him by the blood flooding his lungs.

With that, Genji wiped the blood off of his blade and sheathed it once more, then pivoted on his foot and clambered back up the maple to vault over the high wall of the garden. He landed easily on the other side and put two fingers to the side of his helmet, turning on his comm.

“–probably off brooding again like the goddamned drama queen he i–Genji! The hell have you been!?” Cassidy’s voice  buzzed with some feedback and Genji grunted in pain with the volume in his ear.

“I’m fine,” said Genji, “I was having some issues with my comm.”

“Well I’ve been holding down this stakeout without you,” muttered Cassidy, “Reyes has been this close to calling interpol on your shiny metal ass. You have any idea how hard it is imitating your accent and that reverb on your vocoder? Get your ass over here.”

“Understood,” said Genji.

Genji clicked out of the comm channel and brought his hand down from the side of his helmet. He caught sight of blood on his organic hand, then sighed and wiped it off before slipping off into the night.

Chapter Text

Genji folded his arms in the front seat of the car as Cassidy frowned over the engine. He couldn’t really tell what he was doing to the engine with the hood up, but Genji figured Cassidy knew what he was doing more than he would. Mercy sat in the driver’s seat looking over a map and he realized he had never seen her in civilian clothes or out of a labcoat or scrubs before. Reyes and Morrison’s instructions were for them to keep a low profile, which Genji couldn’t really do with Genji’s whole… look. But with any luck they wouldn’t be pulled over. Besides, Genji was a ninja–his whole point was being unseen. Being stationary in a car though… it made him antsy. Even more so when the car wasn’t moving.

“This is a waste of time,” muttered Genji.

Mercy glanced up from the map. “You keep going on about taking the fight to the Shimada clan,” she said, raising an eyebrow. 

“It would be better to strike at the heart,” he said, looking out the window at the desert, “The Shimada clan conducts many weapons and drug deals with numerous criminal organizations around the world. It conducts these deals in order to keep them in line. One petty motorcycle gang—”

“Deadlock ain’t just one petty motorcycle gang,” said Cassidy from outside the car, “It’s an organization with an iron grip on the whole southwest, and it’s lookin’ to expand. It might just be the Shimada clan’s way of keeping them in line, but this weapons deal goes through and we’re all in a helluva lot more trouble,” he tweaked at something under the car’s hood. “All right, try turning it over.”

Mercy turned the key and the car rumbled to life. Cassidy shut the hood and threw his hands up, “Hallelujah,” he said with a grin as he made his way around the car again, “Scoot das boot, Doc. My turn to drive.”

“You do realize you’ve just said ‘Scoot the boat,’ right?” said Mercy, still looking at the map, “And it’s not my fault your car broke down.”

“I realize this is a joint Blackwatch-Overwatch operation, which means yours truly’s in charge,” said Cassidy, thrusting a thumb at his chest with a grin before putting his hands on his hips, “Now come on, scooch.”

Mercy sighed and clambered between the driver and co-pilot seats into the back and Genji realized why he had been thrown off by seeing her in civilian clothes–it was the shorts. He had never seen Doctor Ziegler with bare legs before. It was always either pants or dark tights. Her legs were surprisingly muscled, but then again, considering a childhood in Switzerland and how she was practically on her feet all day, it made sense. He caught himself and quickly turned his attention back to the front of the car as Mercy plopped into the back seat and buckled her seatbelt muttering “Scoot das boot” under her breath bitterly and unfolding the map again.

“The Orca would be quicker,” Genji said as Cassidy started driving down the road again.

“We send that thing into Deadlock airspace and they’re gonna clear out fast. We gotta take things easy,” said Cassidy.

“This location you’ve been speaking of isn’t anywhere on the map,” said Mercy.

“I’m the map,” said Cassidy. He elbowed Genji. “Loosen up. Both of you. It’ll be another 2 hours before we hit Gabe’s rendezvous.”

Genji leaned back in his seat slightly, but remained somewhat tense. 

“So… not much of a driver?” said Cassidy, rolling his grip on the steering wheel.

“I am better with hovercycles,” said Genji. Cassidy’s face lit up.

“You shouldn’t have told him that,” said Mercy.

“Why not?” said Genji.

“Because he’ll want to race you,” said Mercy.

“You’re saying that as if it’s not an amazing idea,” said Cassidy, he glanced over at Genji, “But no kidding? Hovercycles?”

Genji nodded. “Back in Hanamura, we would have a driver. When I was old enough, I preferred riding among the hovercycle escorts,” he paused, “Easier to break off and go do other things.” He glanced out the window to see reddish-orange rock formations. “So this is where you grew up?” said Genji.

“Implying Cassidy grew up?” said Mercy, tucking the map away.

“In the vaguest sense of the word,” said Cassidy with a grin.

“It is beautiful,” said Genji, looking out his window as they drove past a lonely abandoned gas station, “In a desolate way.”

“Just like me,” said Cassidy and Genji snorted. 

“Oh so you do have a sense of humor!” said Cassidy. 

“That was not a laugh,” said Genji. He looked out the window again. “Do people still live here?” he asked.

“There’s some communities out here,” said Cassidy, “Omnic crisis shook everything up. They were targeting areas with big populations so some people fled out to the boonies, made cute little towns that wouldn’t be as big a target. I grew up in one of those towns. Not a whole lot to do except target practice with bottles on fences just in case the bots decided to come for you.”

“And you, Doctor Ziegler?” said Genji, glancing to the back.

Mercy suddenly broke her gaze away from the window. “What—Oh I was…” she seemed to force a smile and then tucked her hair back, “Well I certainly wasn’t shooting bottles off of fences.” She went quiet after that and Genji tilted his head and thought to question her further on it when Cassidy suddenly pointed out the window.

“Oh hey! Terah! That town’s still standing!” he said as the drove past a sign.

“Still standing?” said Genji

 “Well–you know how it is. Lots of people moved into the big fancy cities once the Omnic Crisis was over. But some people fell in love with the desert and stayed out here. Lot of ‘em were good people but…” Cassidy trailed off. 

“They were vulnerable to the Deadlock gang?” said Genji, and Cassidy nodded. 

Genji stared out the window, “The Shimada clan took advantage of the tragedy of the Omnic crisis as well,” he said, looking out the window, “In the panic of Omnic attacks on cities, we—I mean they would move in and wipe out their enemies.” Cassidy could see Genji visibly tensing further. “We had the resources to fight back against the omnics, to grant escaping civilians protection, and we only used the chaos to further our own power. I was only a child at the time. Father said looking after our own was what kept the Shimada clan alive.” He looked at his hand and then curled it into a fist, “But then…I was one of their own.”

He glanced up at the rearview mirror to see Mercy staring at him and he glanced off and uncurled his fist. Her brow was crinkled and her mouth was a thin line, like what Hanzo had done to him was somehow her fault. He never knew what to do when she made that face, so he simply straightened up in his seat and said, “So they have no true values, except in power. And they must be stopped.”  

“Well… good thing we’re shutting down this weapons deal then, right?” said Cassidy. He elbowed Genji again. “You’ll get your chance, I know it. We do this, then we gotta do this right. Right?”

“Right,” said Genji. He glanced back at Mercy and found himself making eye contact with her through the rearview mirror.  She opened her mouth as if she was about to say something, then seemed to think better on it and looked out the window again.

—

Mercy was asleep in the back seat less than half an hour later. Unsurprising–she had a tendency to nap when she could. Sunlight was catching in her hair.

“You should get a visor,” said Cassidy.

“What?” said Genji.

“A visor. Y’know, like on Reinhardt’s helmet. Wouldn’t get dust in your eyes when you’re rushing forward,” Cassidy smirked, “And you could probably get away with staring more.”

“Staring–!” Genji started but then looked off, “I was not staring. I was just thinking while I happened to be looking in a mirror where she was reflected.”

“Sure,” said Cassidy with a smirk and Genji’s brows furrowed, “Okay, I’ll bite. What were you thinking about?”

“Doctor Ziegler seemed… reticent when the conversation turned to the Omnic crisis,” said Genji, “Did I overstep? Or say something wrong?”

“Ah–that one’s on me,” said Cassidy, “I probably should have changed the subject before we got too into that. You don’t know so she knows you wouldn’t…” Cassidy trailed off.

“Don’t know what?” said Genji.

“She’s a crisis orphan,” said Cassidy.

“Oh…” said Genji, “Was she there when it…?”

“Yeah. Bombs knocked the roof of her house in. Killed her parents. Messed up her spine something bad. She’s got spinal implants from the whole thing.”

Genji stared at Cassidy and glanced back at Mercy. “I had no idea,” he said. 

“Well she ain’t in the habit of talking about it,” said Cassidy.

Genji leaned back in his seat a little then stretched his prosthetic hand out in front of him, “It’s strange–I believe I’ve spent more time with her than anyone at Overwatch, yet I hardly know anything about her.”

“To be fair you’ve been pretty focused on this ‘destroying my family who killed me’ thing,” said Cassidy. Genji folded his arms. “Which is fair!” Cassidy quickly added, “Hell, if I went through that shit, I’d probably be derailing every conversation into ‘Reasons why I must destroy my criminal empire family’ too.” 

Genji’s eyes widened with some surprise and his shoulders shrank inward a little. 

Cassidy sighed, “Okay it’s not derailing–I mean, we are on our way to stop a Shimada-Deadlock weapons deal.”

Genji looked thoughtful. “Now that I think on it, you have barely spoken of Deadlock at all this whole trip,” he said.

“What can I say? I’m focused on the present,” said Cassidy.

“The present concerns Deadlock,” said Genji.

“Well I guess I don’t like talking about it then,” said Cassidy. They hit a pothole and Mercy muttered something in german in her sleep before readjusting herself against the window again. “All this time I’ve known her and she still has the most fucked sleep schedule in the world,” said Cassidy.

“You’ve known Doctor Ziegler a long time?” said Genji.

“Yup,” said Cassidy, “Couple years now.”

Genji glanced back at Mercy, then over to Cassidy. “Have you and her ever…?”

Cassidy snorted, “Nah. She shut that shit down pretty much her first day here. But I’d keep getting the stuffing kicked out of me on missions or just sparring with Reyes so we’d end up talking a lot.”

“What would you talk about?”

Cassidy snickered, “I dunno. Movies and shit. Maybe some old missions. Mostly just gossip and shit-talking around the Watchpoint. She liked to stay updated.”

“Gossip?” Genji repeated, looking up at the rearview mirror.

“Well that’s the best part about working with us,” said Cassidy, “No shortage of interesting people.”

“Hm,” Genji nodded in agreement.

“You’re staring again by the way,” said Cassidy.

Genji straightened up and then quickly turned his attention away from the rearview mirror and out the window. Cassidy snickered. 

“You know something?” said Cassidy.

“Mm?” Genji glanced up.

“I think that’s the first conversation we had that didn’t default to your usual ‘I must stop my criminal empire family,’ brooding,” said Cassidy with a grin.

Genji glanced off and scoffed. “Let us just get to the rendezvous point,” he said, looking out the window again.

Chapter Text

She dreamt of them again. It wasn’t the usual ashes and rubble and blood dream, but simply herself, small, running as fast and as hard as she could to catch up with them, then looking up at them, only to find their faces blurred. When she woke she made a point of opening up her old (heavily neglected) social media accounts and scrolling back as far as she could through the photos. She hugged her knees at the sight of them both. She knew their faces. She knew she knew their faces, yet she remembered the tragic irony of memories that they are slightly affected every time they are recalled, like a photo of a photo of a photo increasingly losing definition each time it was taken. She clung to silly details in her mind. The fairy lights her mother had hung around her room, the hand-painted Gloriosa daisy pattern on the family’s china plates, the way her vision blurred when she tried on her father’s glasses. 

She looked at the photo on her computer and something tugged at the corner of her mouth. Her mother’s hair was fair, like her own, thick, like her own, and fairly manageable in a heavy braid she would wear over one shoulder. Her father’s hair, however, was light brown and fine, and grew up and out. If he had lived to see more than the hair at his temples go gray, he most certainly would have looked like a mad scientist. Her own hair was a combination of the two, light colored, but wild and thick. Young Angela herself was standing between them, still small enough so that she had to hold her own hands at the level of her shoulders to reach their hands. Their faces were all wind-chapped, flushed from exertion, and they were wrapped up in brightly colored windbreakers. She could recognize Interlaken in the valley behind them. Mercy huffed and closed the photo. Closed the social media accounts, got her slippers on, pulled her robe around herself, looped the lanyard with her keycard over her head, and walked.

The Zurich headquarters themselves were pretty much the height of human ingenuity. They had a living roof featuring native Swiss plants for efficient insulation and water runoff, solar panels, labs featuring the most advanced technology available, state-of-the-art security, helipad, hangar bay, and as a memorial to those lost in the Omnic crisis, a courtyard garden, dubbed “Watcher’s Rest.” Ironically she had been coming here more and more on nights she couldn’t sleep. The garden itself was carefully curated and was one of the crown jewels of Ecowatch engineering in attractive, functional, and sustainable landscaping.

 The garden was well lit, even at night, with lighted pathways, and lights illuminating the various statues and artwork around the garden. Irrigation for the garden was powered via a small decorative artificial waterfall built out of one of the garden walls, which flowed alongside a slightly oxidized bronze relief of Overwatch Agents bearing Overwatch’s flag in the midst of the wreckage of an Omnium. She stepped close to it. The agents in the relief weren’t meant to look like any particular individuals within Overwatch, Jack Morrison and Gabrielle Adawe had insisted so when commissioning the artist, but Angela could easily see the artist had heavily been inspired by Ana Amari’s black hair flowing out of her beret in the wind, and one of the soldiers on the left was a dead ringer for Liao. She smiled a little.

“Doctor Ziegler?” she heard a familiar, slightly reverberated voice behind her and turned on her heel. 

“I thought that was you,” he said quietly, “What are you doing up at this hour? Trouble sleeping?”

“No… just…” Mercy waved dismissively, “Working late.”

“Working late… in your pajamas,” said Genji, glancing down at her robe and slippers.

Mercy pursed her lips. “I could ask you the same thing, you know,” she said. Then her brow crinkled in some concern. “The prosthetics—they aren’t making it difficult to sleep again, are they?”

“No, no–” said Genji, “Just… easy to stay awake, if anything…”

“You’re still thinking about what went down in the Southwest,” said Mercy. The words fell out of her. Genji had passed through the post-mission debriefings and psychological evaluations just fine, but she could only imagine how difficult it was finding out the person he had wanted vengeance on the most had left the Shimada clan, and on top of that, no one knew where he was.

“I…” Genji exhaled then gestured at his faceplate, “You’d think with this, I’d be a little harder to read…” he said quietly.

“That mission was hard on you,” said Mercy.

“I suppose it must come as some relief to you, though,” the words slipped out of Genji more bitter than he’d like.

“Excuse me?” said Mercy.

Genji’s eyes widened in surprise at his own tone towards Mercy and he drew into himself a bit. “I…” he huffed a little, “I know you don’t approve of… of what I’m doing.”

“I understand where you’re coming from,” said Mercy, reaching out and putting a hand on his shoulder, “I just… don’t think your approach to it is the healthiest.”

“I know there’s more to it than that. I’m spending nearly every waking moment obsessing over destroying my family, when you’ve had your family—” Genji caught himself and Mercy’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry…” said Genji, “I shouldn’t have…”

“You know?” the words came out of her hushed.

“Cassidy told me,” said Genji, “I asked him why you went so quiet when the Omnic Crisis came up in conversation and he…I’m sorry. I should have asked you. I mean–probably not–that’s… inappropriate… I…”

“It’s fine,” said Mercy. 

Genji exhaled again. There was a long period of silence, with the only sound being the running water through the garden.

“I dreamt of them,” said Mercy, “That’s why I’m out here.”

“Do you dream of them often?” asked Genji.

Mercy shook her head. “It… happens every once in a while, but when it does happen….” she forced a chuckle, “That’s probably why I work so hard, if I’m being completely honest with myself. If I can work hard enough, usually by the time I can finally sleep, I’m too tired to dream,” she half-laughed and half-scoffed at this, “Listen to me–I’m a terrible doctor.”

Genji was giving her a steady level look. Mercy huffed a little.

“I’m not trying to work that hard…” she chuckled a little, “With how busy Overwatch keeps me, I really don’t have to try…” she tucked her hair back and looked back at the relief.

“I understand,” said Genji, “It is… easier to have something to work for than to… just be stuck with yourself.”

“I suppose that’s what worries me about you,” said Mercy, “Eventually, all of the Shimada clan will end up in custody or… well… you know…” she shook her head, “I’m just worried about… what you’ll do with yourself when that happens.”

“Well it will have to happen first,” said Genji, folding his arms.

“Yes, I suppose it will…” said Mercy.

Genji looked at the relief Mercy had been examining. “In a way, I am a bit jealous, Doctor Ziegler. Overwatch will always need your abilities… but if in the end it is a peacekeeping organization, eventually they won’t need a weapon–”

“You’re not a weapon,” said Mercy, firmly. Genji broke his sight away from the relief and looked at her. “You’re not,” she said again, “You’re Genji. And… and I believe you will find out what you’re meant to do in this world and it won’t be killing.” This statement gave Genji pause, Mercy huffed. “I… I joined this organization because I believe in helping people. And… I’ll be honest with you, it’s disappointed me. They made a rifle with my biotic research. A rifle. Against my explicit wishes they weaponized my accomplishments, and I don’t know if I can ever forgive Jack for that but…” she huffed, “When… when we found you… I just…” she trailed off, “I can’t let you believe you’re a weapon. I can’t let everything Overwatch touches become a weapon. I know we’re better than that,” she smiled a little, “I know you’re better than that.”

Genji was silent for a long time at this. “I…” Genji rubbed the back of his neck, “I don’t know how to respond to that,” he said quietly.

“I’m sorry…” she said, “I… sort of went off on a rant there–”

“No, you made sense,” said Genji. He chuckled a little, “You can make a terrifying amount of sense sometimes, Doctor Ziegler.”

Mercy smiled, then rubbed at her eyes. “Well that’s a relief,” she yawned, “I’m surprised I’m making any sense at all right now.”

“You should… probably get some sleep,” said Genji.

“So should you,” said Mercy.

“Right,” said Genji. He gave a short bow. “I wish you a more restful sleep, then, Doctor,” he said.

“You as well,” she said, walking off. She tried to focus on walking back to her apartment in the Zurich headquarters, but she found herself looking over her shoulder, watching him fade into the night.

Chapter Text

Genji wasn’t used to seeing large empty areas of the practice range at Zurich headquarters. He knew the area was fully customizable, with different agents putting together a hodgepodge of all kinds of challenges for themselves with moving platforms, various difficulty and aggression programs for the training bots, and all manner of obstacles and surfaces to climb, but, as it stood now, there were no training bots, there were no crates to hide behind, and a large flat area had been laid out with two partially metal, partially holographic basketball hoops at either end. All the lines of a basketball court had been holographically laid out as well. Genji watched from the window of his infirmary room as Jack and Sojourn played two on two with Reyes and Cassidy. He never really cared for most sports other than baseball, fencing, or Kendo, but hearing their laughter from all the way up in his room stung a little. He heard a short huff behind him.

“I told Jack to take it easy on that knee…” Mercy muttered. Genji flinched a bit where he sat, glancing sharply up to look at her, and she perked up as well. “Oh! Sorry! I thought you heard me come in!”

“Oh–Yes.. well… I suppose I was distracted,” said Genji, looking back out on the basketball game. He was in his wheelchair, which was to be expected given the damages his prosthetics had suffered in the last mission, and this one was automated, allowing him to control its movements with an analog stick. 

“We’re still 3-D printing your new shock absorbers,” said Mercy, “So I’m afraid I can’t get you out there for the second half.”

“Get me out there for–” Genji glanced over his shoulder back down at the basketball game, “Oh–pff–I don’t care about that,” he shrugged.

“Ah, a fan of the sport, then?” asked Mercy, taking her place alongside him to watch the game down below.

“Well…no,” said Genji, glancing off, “It’s… um… it’s useful for anticipating both Reyes and Cassidy’s strategies in a fight, and… I suppose for that matter, Morrison and Sojourn’s.”

“Ah,” said Mercy. He could hear the little ripple of disbelief in her voice but she apparently opted to play along, “So… what does basketball tell you about our teammates’ strategies?”

Realizing he actually had to back up the statement he had just pulled out of his ass, Genji turned his attention back down to the court. He watched as Cassidy tried for a three pointer he had no hope of making, and Reyes caught the rebound and slammed the ball through the hoop. “Reyes knows how to get Cassidy to overcompensate with only a word or two. It takes him longer to really get to Morrison,” said Genji, in truth, he was half-going off of what he had seen in missions, “…As for Morrison…” he trailed off.

“More distracted than he lets on,” said Mercy, looking down at the basketball court as well, “He thought this game might clear his head, but the truth is, he can’t do either. Sojourn picks up enough of the slack so its hardly noticeable.”

“…That’s a pretty sharp read,” said Genji.

“…how mean would it be it to say I had that about 70% figured out before I saw them on the court?” said Mercy.

“Mean enough,” said Genji, glancing up at her, “To be honest the case was the same with me and Cassidy.”

Mercy snorted. “Still, I’d like to see you play, sometime,” said Mercy.

“I’m sure it would be hilarious—” said Genji, with an eye roll.

“Well, when your prosthetics come back, of course. I mean, you’re agile, and as far as I’ve seen, no one in Overwatch can jump like you so….” she trailed off with a sly little smile and Genji awkwardly itched at his faceplate, not 100% sure how to respond to that.

Genji turned his attention from her to the game below, “Well as it stands, it’s 2 on 2, so if I had to play, so would you–To make it even, of course.”

Mercy snorted. “I’d be terrible.”

“That’s why you would be on Morrison’s team,” said Genji.

Almost on cue, Jack Morrison got an assist from Sojourn and slam-dunked the ball and Cassidy threw his hands up in disbelief. 

“…Did I say Morrison? I mean Reyes,” said Genji.

“No take-backs,” said Mercy, grinning.

Chapter Text

Mercy held her tablet close to herself as she knocked on the door to Genji’s room. She rolled her shoulders and rubbed the back of her neck. There was no response on the other side of the door. “Genji?” she knocked again, “It’s Doctor Ziegler. Are you free?”

There was a grunt on the other side. “Come in,” Genji’s voice came on the other side.

Mercy touched the panel on the side of the door and the door slid open. Genji’s room was depressingly bare, and shoved into an awkward, tucked away corner of the Zurich headquarters. A bit colder than the other on-site apartments with a too-high ceiling, too-cramped floorspace, and no natural light. She had tried to get him to one with a window at least but he had insisted on this one. Said he didn’t want to be seen. And Blackwatch was more than willing to accommodate that. It was close to Blackwatch’s own below-ground intel center, anyways.

Mercy was looking at her tablet as she stepped in. “You missed your psych eval for this week and I was concerned because of the–” she was cut off by the sound of another grunt from Genji and suddenly flinched back as red and wires suddenly swung into her field of vision. She stumbled back two or three steps, fumbling with her tablet as her eyes flicked upward. Genji was hanging by his knees from a horizontal bar suspended between the two walls of the corridor leading from his apartments sitting quarters (it didn’t seem accurate to call them rooms) to the sleeping quarters. His fingers were interlaced behind his head as he hauled his body up in an upside-down sit-up with another grunt. His faceplate was off and Mercy could see his artificial collarbones shifting with the effort. He smelled of sweat and metal. The words fell away from Mercy’s mouth for a few seconds and she stammered, “B-because of the–the um..”

“Rome?” said Genji, unlacing his fingers from behind his head and grabbing the bar on his final rise, nimbly tucking his knees against himself and lowering himself down from the bar. He touched down on his floor lightly

“Because of Rome–yes,” said Mercy, glancing off, reddening as Genji grabbed a towel off of the back of his chair and pressed it to his scarred face.

“Mm,” Genji made a noncommittal noise. 

“Reyes and Cassidy are both shaken up by it,” said Mercy, tucking her hair back, “And if you didn’t attend your psych eval…”

“I wasn’t there,” Genji’s voice was flat.

“I know, that’s why I’m here–” Mercy started.

“I mean I wasn’t in Rome,” said Genji, looking over his shoulder at her as he clicked his faceplate back on.

Mercy huffed. “It’s still difficult to process,” she went on, “Blackwatch’s covertness always brought an assumed sense of security—”

“…because I’m in Overwatch to feel safe,” said Genji, flatly, grabbing his elbow and stretching out his organic side.

“Genji,” she said his name with an exasperated softness and that at least managed to throw him off-kilter from his moodiness.

“…I appreciate your concern, Doctor Ziegler,” he conceded, lowering his arms and glancing off, “And…” he huffed, “Yes. The incident in Rome is… deeply troubling. But the truth is, the only thing that would make me feel better is making sure something like that doesn’t happen again, and how we do that is going to be up to Reyes or Morrison. I can’t run my sword through ‘maybes.’ And I’ve run out of training bots.”

“That explains the…” Mercy gestured upward at the bar overhead he had been doing sit-ups on, “When did you put that in here?”

“Torbjörn helped me put it in a few weeks ago,” said Genji.

“Torbjörn?” Mercy repeated, incredulously. 

“I socialize,” said Genji, folding his arms.

Mercy snorted.

“To an extent,” said Genji with a slight shrug, “He said if it meant fewer training bots to repair…” he trailed off. Though she couldn’t be sure with the faceplate on, she almost heard a smile in his voice. His red eyes flicked to her. “How are you holding up?” 

“Me?” said Mercy.

Genji nodded.

“Well… I…” she fidgeted with her hair, “I don’t do well with the idea of buildings collapsing. In, um, in general.”

Genji remembered what Cassidy had told him about her parents a while back. “I see,” he said, quietly.

“But I suppose I’m stuck same as you… all we can really do about it is  see where Jack and Gabriel point us,” she shrugged.

“…you were able to help with Gérard,” said Genji.

“Well–Emergency dispatchers in Rome did most of the work for me,” said Mercy.

“Still I’m… I’m glad,” said Genji, “As much as I like Cassidy I think Gérard’s the only one who makes Blackwatch feel… right. Well, not right, but—”

He was cut off by the sound of another knock at the door.

“You’re awfully popular this afternoon,” said Mercy with a slight smile as Genji walked past her to the door.

“I told you, I socialize,” said Genji with slight mock admonishment as he opened the door. A tall, narrow figure with short cropped red hair loomed over him and instantly the stumbling, slowly optimistic mood of the room plummeted back down to pure tension.

“Genji,” Moira smiled graciously, and Genji unconsciously leaned back from her, “So glad I could get ahold of you. Reyes wanted me to fetch you.”

“…fetch me for what?” said Genji, hesitantly.

“I’m afraid it’s all very hush-hush, I’m as in the dark about it as you are,” said Moira, examining her unsettlingly long nails, “Blackwatch. You know how it is.” Moira’s eyes flicked past Genji and lit up like a cat that had just spotted wounded prey. “Why, Doctor Ziegler–making house calls, are we?”

“Moira,” Mercy’s jaw was tight.

“It has been a while, hasn’t it?” said Moira.

“Jack called for your resignation,” said Mercy, her brow furrowing.

“And Reyes didn’t share that sentiment. One hand takes away, and the other gives,” said Moira with a cavalier gesture.

“You’re–you’re in Blackwatch,” the words stumbled out of Mercy, 

She looked down at her black, red and silver outfit, “Yes. Dreadfully tacky, but Reyes loves his theatrics.” She glanced back at Mercy, now red in the face with fury. “Oh–they didn’t tell you?” she clicked her tongue, “Naughty Jack…Oh! Wait–” she looked at Genji, “Naughty you!” 

“Genji–” Mercy started.

“It was classified,” said Genji, looking down.

“Oh dear…. And it seems I’ve breached it. Oh well. I’m sure this little…” Moira waved a hand at Genji and Mercy, “’Consultation’ is definitely within Overwatch’s regulations.” 

Mercy was shaking with rage and Moira was clearly loving every second of it. Genji had half a mind to put a hand on Mercy's shoulder, to try and snap her out of it, but she seemed to be keeping it contained, and they felt vulnerable enough just with Moira looking at them both in his room.

“Now, I’d love to stay and chat, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to borrow him from you,” said Moira, putting a hand on Genji’s shoulder, “But I assure you, I’ll do my best to get him back to you in one piece.”

Both Mercy and Genji bristled. Mercy from Moira’s words, Genji from the hand on his shoulder.

“Genji–” Mercy started warily.

“…I’m just going to go see what Reyes wants,” said Genji.

“Stay safe,” the words fell out of Mercy like a flinch and Genji just gave a single nod in return before he and Moira both headed out of the door.

Chapter Text

Gérard wasn’t sure how long he had just been asleep. He knew it had been three days since the incident had happened, but that time had been a near dream-like state. He remembered an intensive care unit in Rome, then darkness, then being put on a plane with several doctors looking over him, then darkness, then the medical wing at Zurich and Doctor Ziegler telling him he should make a full recovery, then darkness again. Even with biotics, healing after everything was an exhausting process.  He wasn’t sure if it was the light on his face or the faint smell of lily, champagne, and pink pepper hanging in the air that made him wake up first, but his eyes opened. 

He shifted his head slightly to see Amélie in a chair next to his hospital bed, reading. She looked a little jet-lagged, but stunning as usual. Her dark hair tied back in that tight, river-like ponytail that flowed over one shoulder, in a simple outfit of a black boatneck top and skinny jeans. His eyes flicked to the cover of her book, Malone Meurt.

“I don’t want to spoil you,” he said, looking back up at the ceiling, “But I think Malone dies in that.”

“Gérard!” She startled, the book flopped to the floor as she stumbled up from her chair and bent over him in his hospital bed. She gingerly touched her fingers to his still-bandaged face. “I flew over as soon as I heard what had happened in Rome–Well–I flew to Rome but you had just left and then I had to re-coordinate with them to fly hereand–and I’m sorry–I’m rambling, I’m just so–Are you all right? Are you in pain?”

He glanced down at her other hand on the bed to support the angle at which she was bending over him. It took some effort for Gérard to move his own hand over hers. “I’ll be fine. I’m on a lot of anesthesia, but I’m fine,” he said, squeezing her hand a little, “Doctor Ziegler said I should make a full recovery… unless I dreamed that.”

“No-no she, told me the same thing,” said Amélie, biting the inside of her lip, still brushing her fingertips at his bandages. “Oh Gérard…” his name escaped her in a helpless huff. It was hard seeing her like this–she always had that ballerina bearing and focus, he hated seeing her this frightened. He breathed in the scent of her wrist. 

“You’re wearing the nice stuff,” he said quietly, “Expecting to go to my funeral?”

“Don’t joke about that!” she scolded, her jaw tight, she softened slightly, “It’s the same scent I was wearing the night we met.” 

“I know,” he said with a slight smile. “Yvresse Penombre. I thought you ran out of the stuff.”

“I was saving the last few drops for our anniversary, but then you had to go and–and–” her shoulders were bunching up.

“If it helps, I didn’t do anything stupid. I was just standing in a building this time,” said Gérard.

“It does not help,” Amélie huffed, “What does this mean–? Blackwatch is supposed to be the covert ones, but apparently Talon knows enough about them to blow them up–blow you up and then they–they–”

“They what?” said Gérard.

“Gérard what if these people get you killed?!” Amélie pressed her fingertips to her temples with distress.

“Amélie,” he winced slightly trying to sit up in bed more but squeezed her hand again to get her to  look at him, “What did Blackwatch do?”

“You don’t know…” her voice was hollow but then she swallowed hard, “No–Doctor Ziegler said you have to focus on recovering–”

“Amélie,” Gérard said again, “Please.”

Amélie bit the inside of her lip and fished her phone out of her pocket, she only typed in a few things and then held the screen up to him. There was an Italian newspaper cover that featured a too-familiar silhouette and the article title “Overwatch Attaca.”

“Oh no,” said Gérard.

Amélie’s lips thinned and she swiped to the next image, an American magazine cover that featured a picture of Reyes facing away from the camera and the article title “Blackwatch: In the Shadow of Overwatch.”

“Reyes, what did you do?” Gérard said softly.

“They killed a businessman. Broke into his home and shot him in the face,” Amélie pulled the phone away and looked off.

“Antonio?!” Gérard’s eyes widened. He looked down, “No–no, that’s all wrong. We were in a position to pull out his organization by the roots. His investors–the lead in Monaco–with him dead we can’t—” 

 “Gérard, this wasn’t planned before you–?”

“No!” said Gérard, “This wasn’t my plan at all! I need to talk to Reyes–no, wait, Morrison–Is Amari available?”

 He reached for her phone but she drew it back. 

“Doctor Ziegler said–” Amélie started but Gérard was trying to reach for the phone.

“I’m out for three days and Overwatch manages to blow off its own bloody kneecap–! Gah!” Gérard winced hard.

“You still have to heal, said Amélie, gently but firmly pushing him back against the pillows, “I shouldn’t have told you–”

“No… If a civilian is the first person I’m hearing it from, that gives me a sense of how bad things really are,” said Gérard.

“’A civilian?’” Amélie folded her arms, “I am your wife, Gérard.”

“You know what I–” Gérard grunted in pain a bit, “I’m sorry. Okay, healing first. Overwatch can put out its own fires without me…” his shoulders slumped a little, “I hope…”

“You could resign,” said Amélie.

“What?” Gérard looked at her, shocked.

“You’ve given more than enough of yourself to Overwatch. You nearly died for them, and what do they give you in return?” she looked at her own phone screen, “In one night they undo months of your hard work and make themselves look like murderous tyrannical thugs in the process–and maybe they are tyrants–are they, Gérard? You would know better than me–I’m–I’m just a civilian.” Her voice was cracking but last word left her in a near hiss.

“Amélie, I would never sanction anything like this,” said Gérard.

“Then resign!” said Amélie, “You still have that offer with Helix Securities! You could get better pay, you wouldn’t be… called off to Mozambique or wherever in the middle of the night like with Overwatch, we could put more focus into having children like we planned–”

“I can’t,” said Gérard.

“But–” Amélie’s eyes were brimming with tears.

“If I step down after this, I’m letting Talon win. Someone needs to stand up to them.”

“You already stood up to them!” said Amélie.

“And if I go down after one hit, can we really call that standing up?” said Gérard, tilting his head.

Amélie’s lips were quivering. She squeezed her eyes shut to try and discourage tears but that just made one bud out from beneath her eyelashes and run down her face.

“Hey,” it took more strength than Gérard was willing to admit to lift his arm and brush the tear away from Amélie’s cheek, “It’s going to be all right. I promise.”

A chuckle that was a half-stuffed down sob escaped her. “Of course it will. You’re the hero Gérard Lacroix, aren’t you?”

“The one and only,” he brought her hand up and kissed her knuckles, “Somehow it still only sounds real when you say it,” he said smiling, “Although if I have to clean up a mess this big, they might have to change it to ‘The Janitor Gérard Lacroix.”

“Cleaning up crime, all over the world!” Amélie made a sweeping motion with her hand as if imagining the words all done up in lights.

Gérard snorted, laughing made his head ache, but if it was Amélie making him laugh, it was worth it.

“They don’t deserve you, Gérard,” Amélie said with a smile, though her eyes still looked tearstrained.

“Don’t worry. I remind them of that every day I walk into the office,” said Gérard.

Amélie snickered and another tear ran down from the corner of her eye. She leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead, between skin and bandage.

“Well,” Amélie huffed a little, “I may be ‘just a civilian,’ but if Talon wants to get to you, they’re going to have to go through me first,” she said with a smile.

“Oh you will strike fear into their hearts, ma chérie,” said Gérard, grinning right back at her.

Chapter Text

“…and this is on us. No, obviously this is Overwatch’s responsibility, yes, this is a failure of Overwatch’s character, but this is on us because we gave them this power to begin with. This has happened over and over again through history— You look at Caesar or Andrew Jackson—when a war ends, generals assume power, and we were all too happy to lend our so-called ‘heroes’ power after the Omnic crisis. And look where it’s gotten us.”

Mercy could hear the commentator through the door, her stomach twisting in knots. She took a steadying breath and opened the door to the nearly-empty rec room where a large flatscreen television displayed several news reporters and political commentators seated around a table while images of Blackwatch’s fiasco in Venice were displayed behind them. Genji was alone in the room, cross legged on the couch, red eyes fixed to the screen.

 “Commander Reyes’s statement was that they proceeded unsanctioned by Strike Commander Morrison,” another commentator cut in, “It could very well be that a judgment call was made on Reyes’s part and—”

“At best, Reyes proceeding without command from Morrison indicates incompetence on Morrison’s part, but I highly doubt that’s the case…” a third commentator cut in.

“The question we have to ask ourselves now is that is Overwatch protecting the people, or is Overwatch protecting Overwatch?” the first commentator stated, prompting nodding and murmured agreements around the table.

“…Are you sure you want to watch this?” asked Mercy.

Genji’s gaze broke away from the screen only briefly to turn his head and look at her over his shoulder. He turned away and continued watching the screen.

“We should know what the world thinks of us, shouldn’t we?” he asked.

Mercy sighed and tucked her hair back, then took a seat on the couch next to Genji. “Just… you know how the 24 hour news cycle can be–they sensationalize. They’ll say whatever they have to to keep your atten–”

“What really worries me is that the bodies of Talon agents recovered from the mission showed signs of biotic decay,” the second commentator cut in, and Mercy cut herself off and looked at the screen as well.

“Moira,” Mercy’s brow furrowed and the name slipped out of her, a furious simmering growl in her throat. She would have to talk with Jack later.

 “This means Overwatch is weaponizing biotics!” the commentator went on, “It’s time Overwatch gives the public full disclosure and tells us exactly what it’s doing in its science division.”

“Stuff like this, apparently,” said the third commentator, hitting a button on their tablet and bringing up a massive picture of Genji on the screen behind them.

“Good god I still can’t get used to that,” said the first commentator.

Dread was pooling in Mercy’s stomach and she looked over at Genji, his arms folded tight around him, the nails of his organic hand digging into the synthetic muscles of his prosthetic arm.

“I think we should turn it off–” Mercy started.

“No,” said Genji.

The image of Genji was half blurred by movement and yet still clearly terrifying. Sword a red slash of color, dripping in blood, red eyes glaring from behind a mask, loose wires dangling off of him. He was unrecognizable–most of the civilian footage recovered that night was shaky and blurry and that was a saving grace, though it sent the conspiracy theories online spiraling out of control.

“Look, I think we need to remember that in the wake of the Omnic crisis, prosthetics are fairly common-place—” said the second commentator.

“This goes beyond simple prosthetics,” said the first commentator, “This is taking–god, I don’t know how much of that thing is human—and affixing it to a weapon. Overwatch isn’t just weaponizing biotics. It’s weaponizing people. Are these the people we want touting the world’s ideals of peace and progress–”

Mercy grabbed the remote and turned the TV off. Genji showed little reaction.

“They don’t know,” Mercy said stiffly, “They don’t understand.” 

“…I think they understand completely,” said Genji standing up.

“Genji–” Mercy started.

“Even if they did know the whole story, what then? I was a killer before I was given this body. My enlistment into Overwatch undermined Japan’s government and law enforcement. Everything about what I am only confirms what they already know.”

Mercy’s mouth was hanging open. She felt like there should be a counter-argument to that, but any words were dying in her throat. Genji’s red eyes were boring into her, somehow both so angry and so numb. Finally he broke his gaze away from her. “I suppose you had a point earlier,” he muttered, “There’s little this news can tell me that I don’t already know.” He turned on his heel and began walking away from her, “If you have need of me, I’ll be in the training facility.”

“You’re not—” she finally blurted out and he stopped and looked over his shoulder at her. “…You’re not just what they say you are.” she said, “You don’t have to be.”

There was a long pause between them. Something had softened in those red eyes, shifting them from numb to questioning before he broke eye contact and faced away from her once again. “What I am is whatever is necessary to destroy the Shimada clan,” he said simply before walking off.

Mercy’s arms tightened around herself as the door shut behind him, leaving her alone. 

Chapter Text

It had been two weeks since the airlock incident. Horizon Lunar Colony didn’t sound the same. There were the hoots of gorillas, chimps, and a plucky capuchin, and maybe the odd hamster squeak coming from the ventilation shaft, but the only words that were heard were mainly automated announcements from the Colony’s AI system. The scientists used to play Mozart and Debussy over the lab speakers to keep morale up, but there was no such music now. Except on the observation deck. One gorilla kept the music playing, but kept it contained to the observation deck’s speakers. It made the earth prettier somehow, he felt. 

Winston was tapping away at a computer on Horizon’s observation deck when the door behind him slid open and a gentle-faced bonobo lumbered in.

“You didn’t show up to Simon’s last two meetings,” Ellie signed.

“So?” Winston signed back.

“I know you’re still mad about how everything happened,” Ellie signed, “But regardless of how it happened, we’re on our own now. We need to work–”

“Simon’s meetings are about Simon, not about us,” Winston signed, “He’s a bully. You’re only following him because you’re afraid of him and Hypatia–”

“I was sick of it too,” Ellie signed. 

Winston stopped working at the computer and looked over his shoulder at her. Direct eye contact was rare between lab subjects on the colony—one behavioral evolutionary hurdle many of them didn’t try to vault. They could note hands and expressions through their sign language, but sustained eye contact was unusual, confrontational.

“I was sick of it too,” Ellie signed again, “All the injections. All the tests. The way they looked at us. They made us but they didn’t know what to do with us–”

“They raised us,” Winston signed back, “They were the closest thing we ever had to–”

“That was you and Doctor Winston,” Ellie signed, “You both imprinted. It was different for you.” 

“And Simon knew that. And he murdered him,” Winston signed, turning away from her. 

Ellie touched his shoulder and he was forced to look at her again. “We’re still your family,” she signed, “You don’t have to come to Simon’s meetings, but at least come work with me in hydroponics–that way Simon won’t think–” Ellie stopped as she noticed Winston seemed to be clearing his throat, bunching up his shoulders a bit. “…Winston?” she signed, backing up slightly, afraid he might roar at her.

“No,” said Winston, the word was a near grunt, but the consonant and vowel combo was unmistakeable.

Ellie’s hands froze mid-sign. “Did… you just…” her signing was slow, hesitant.

“No,” Winston said again, “No… Hido–Hydro-pron-ircs. Too… busy.”

“You’re verbal,” Ellie signed. She bounced up and down where she stood, hooting and eagerly signing, “Winston, you’ve gone verbal!”

“Shhh!!” Winston’s ‘shh’ was half a raspberry as he clumsily stuck his finger in front of his mouth.

“Simon’s the only other gorilla on the colony who’s verbal!” signed Ellie, “Say something else!”

“Some…thing… else,” Winston’s voice was deep and croaking. 

Ellie made an excited high pitched sound and Winston signed for her to quiet down again.

“Say another thing!” Ellie signed excitedly.

“Do you promise to be quiet if I do?” Winston signed back, furrowing his brow at her.

Ellie nodded, still bouncing up and down a bit.

Winston took a few steadying breaths. “N-nevurr. Never ax–Never accept th-the world… as…as it appears to be…” He looked over his shoulder at the earth past the observation deck telescope, “Dare to… see it for w-what it… c-could be.”

Ellie stared at him and stopped bouncing. “Doctor Winston?” she signed.

Winston nodded.

She looked off, now melancholy. “I’m sorry…” she signed.

“It… wasn’t… you,” said Winston.

“I know but…” Ellie signed and then trailed off, “Winston…” she signed, “You can say more than Simon. Much more.” she paused, “But that doesn’t make sense,” she signed, clearly attempting to negotiate her previous observations with what she was seeing and hearing now, “You scored below both Simon and Hypatia… significantly below them.”

Winston smiled.

“You flunked on purpose?!” Ellie signed, shocked.

“Not… flunked,” Winston said slowly, “Just… ansa–answered the… r-right k-kuh-questions wrong.” He paused and then signed, “Didn’t trust Simon. Didn’t want attention from him. Didn’t want him to see me as competition.”

Ellie shrugged a conceding agreement. “But,” she signed, “If your genetic modifications were this successful, you could be the Silverback! You challenge hi–”

“No,” Winston said again.

“Winston, you said yourself he’s a bully!” Ellie signed furiously, “I’d back you up! We could get others to–”

Winston shook his head. “No… more… fighting,” he said firmly. 

Ellie’s shoulders slumped a little, her signs were short and bitter. “If you won’t challenge Simon, and you won’t help me in hydroponics, then what are you doing over here that’s so—”

She looked over his shoulder at his computer screen, showing schematics for a rocket. Her eyes trailed from the screen to Winston.

“…You’re leaving?” she signed.

“I don’t… belong here,” Winston said slowly.

“All the parts and tools that have been disappearing around the colony… that was you…” Ellie signed.

Winston nodded.

“How much room is in your capsule?” signed Ellie.

Winston was silent.

“How much room!?” Ellie signed again.

Winston glanced off.

“So you’re leaving me too…” signed Ellie.

“The others… need you… here,” said Winston.

Ellie shrank a little where she stood. 

“I’m… sorry,” Winston’s voice was low.

Ellie took a deep breath. “How can I help?” she signed.

Chapter Text

The knock on the door of the lab caught Mercy mid-yawning stretch. It was still early in the evening at Zurich headquarters, lavender twilight light bleeding over the mountain peaks out her window. Still early enough for it to be pretty much anyone who let this work chew up as much of their personal life as hers. Ana, she thought, heading to the door, About the updated humanitarian projects in Giza, probably. Or maybe Sarioglu about the inoculations on the Siberian–

The door slid open and Genji was standing before her in a loose gray long-sleeved shirt, not his usual Blackwatch hoodie. His arms were folded against himself, his shoulders tucked slightly inwards. He stood up a little straighter as the door opened.

“Doctor Ziegler,” he said her name almost with some surprise, as if she had suddenly materialized in front of him rather than been working in the same lab they had spent countless nights chatting in before.

“…It’s been a while, Genji,” she tried to make her voice warm, but wasn’t sure what he was here for. The dust was almost beginning to settle from the Venice incident, but she had seen virtually nothing of him since that painful exchange in the rec room. The Venice incident itself was still being picked over in longer term publications, and it would definitely keep giving all the news outlets investigative journalism fodder for months to come, but Blackwatch was suspended and a significant amount of its resources had been re-allocated to other Overwatch departments for the duration of its suspension, which was enough for most news outlets to let it drift to the side in favor of more recent events.

There were a few seconds where he seemed to be gathering his thoughts before he said, “I can go if you’re busy–” He wasn’t making eye contact.

“N-no–” her fingers tensed on the doorframe, “I mean…” she moved aside slightly, “I wouldn’t mind the company.”

His eyes met hers and softened for.a few seconds before he caught himself and shuffled into the room, as if the offer might be rescinded. As he had gotten more used to his prosthetics and more settled in with Blackwatch, he had come to carry himself with what some might call grace–a grace that was heavily overshadowed and sharpened by the smoldering anger in his eyes and asymmetry of his prosthetics, but a grace that still spoke to his years of physical and mental conditioning with the Shimada clan. Now, however, his movements were smaller, clumsier even—reminding her almost of their early days of physical therapy and his flinching self-containment, the way he would shrink inside hoodies and skulk in corners.

“So… what are you up to tonight?” he asked, looking around the lab. 

“Just some correspondence,” Mercy shrugged, “There’s… been a lot.”

Piles and piles of emails from former colleagues and activists furious at the fact that I continue to associate myself with Overwatch after this scandal, she thought, And maybe I could deal with them all by releasing a personal statement, but how much of that would just come off as me trying to save face while throwing Overwatch under the bus?

“Not about Venice?” Genji stiffened a little where he stood

“Yes, about Venice,” she folded her arms, her gaze was steady and tired.

“But—that’s not fair. Nothing we did there had anything to do with you–” Genji was genuinely confused.

“Blackwatch is still Overwatch’s responsibility,” said Mercy, “And if there was evidence of weaponized biotics on site, naturally people have questions for me and, of course,” a huffing, uncomfortable chuckle escaped her, “Everything I stand for in working for Overwatch.” 

Genji’s thick eyelashes lowered over the red of his eyes in a combination of frustration and guilt. “I… meant to talk to you about that when I got back…”

Mercy’s shoulders slumped as she turned back to her chair and sat down in it.

“How long was Moira on your team?” she said quietly.

“She… joined about two months after Jack made her tender her resignation,” said Genji, “I was with Reyes the night he recruited her.” 

Mercy’s lips thinned and she wasn’t looking at him. “So… how did it work? Would she just… cartoonishly avoid being seen by hiding behind vending machines? Dipping around corners?”

“I never actually saw much of her in Zurich or Rome. Reyes usually had her working remotely at a black site. The attack on Rome forced us to bring her into Zurich for her own safety and for our response to the attack.”

“So the resignation was all just theater to put her somewhere where she would have even less oversight and accountability,” Mercy’s lips were pulling back from her teeth in frustration.

“I… don’t really know the specifics of it,” said Genji.

Mercy was silent at this, sitting with her hands in her lap. 

“Angela,” he said her name and she looked up at him, “Believe me, if it weren’t for Blackwatch’s procedures, I would have told you. There were so many times I wanted to tell you—”

So many times I wanted you to help… he thought.

“Jack knew?” Mercy said quietly.

“He knew, to an extent,” said Genji, “To be fair, even Cole and I didn’t really know what she was doing at the black site… I suppose we also didn’t want to know.”

“And everyone’s been letting her tinker with my biotics doing god-knows-what to them and then leaving that ugly smear of what was once my work at the site of an act of–of—I don’t know what to call it–Extrajudicial murder?”

“Angela…” he brought up his prosthetic hand, apparently with the intention of putting it on her shoulder, but seemed to think better of it and drew it close to himself, “If I had known Reyes’s actions would impact you like this—”

“So Reyes’s actions are only wrong because they’re negatively impacting me,” said Mercy flatly, “Not because, I don’t know, it’s utterly horrific to shoot someone in the face while in the process of making an arrest?”

Genji was taken slightly aback by her bitterness. Then again… there was a decent chance she had been dealing with whatever angry emails from people all over the world who wanted her to answer for Blackwatch’s actions for several days now. But Blackwatch did the right thing, didn’t it?

“Antonio’s weapons trafficking with Talon was probably killing far more people than that…” Genji floated the words out there, assuming they might calm her down, “If it meant stopping him–”

“’Probably?’” Mercy’s voice was incredulous. She huffed, trying to process, “That-that’s not how this works, Genji. That’s not how the law is supposed to work. You don’t kill people on ‘Probablies!’” 

“The law wouldn’t have worked with him anyway. He bragged that he had allies who would get him out within the week.” 

“That doesn’t mean you kill him!”

“I didn’t kill him, Reyes did! I just–!” Genji huffed, the sound was metallic behind his faceplate, “Look, the Shimada clan are weapons traffickers, too. I know what kind of person we were dealing with.”

“It doesn’t matter what kind of person he is, what matters is the proper procedures! If Overwatch can’t hold itself to those standards, then we can’t call ourselves peacekeepers!” 

“Reyes brought me on the team because I’m an assassin,” Genji’s voice was unsettlingly even.

“You were brought on the team because you have unique intel and skills—”

“From being raised to be an assassin,” there was a smoldering frustration in Genji now, stepping toward Mercy, “Don’t confuse what you want me to be with what I am.” 

Mercy seemed to visibly wince at this. She glared up into his red eyes, her own gray-blue eyes bloodshot from staring at her screens. “Don’t confuse who you are with what’s convenient for Reyes,” she said darkly, “If you don’t see anything wrong with what Reyes did, then Jack suspending Blackwatch was the best call he could make.”

Genji’s skin was burning with fury beneath his faceplate. “Oh and I’m just supposed to sit on my hands and watch the Shimada clan continue to kill people because Blackwatch has to be suspended for Reyes’ mistake.”

“Yes, Genji! That’s how accountability works!” Mercy was wringing her hands. 

“So you’re willing to let–You weren’t– you have no idea what I– You–!” Genji was stumbling over his words, his anger seemed to be mashing the ability to translate in his head down into an angry pulp of Japanese with a few english swear words peppered in. He took a sharp seething inhale. “You know what? I’m leaving.”

“Fine!” Mercy threw the word after him as he turned on his heel and stepped out the door of the lab. 

He snarled with frustration beneath his faceplate as he quickly walked down the hall. Folding his arms tight across himself as he stepped into the elevator.

She doesn’t know, she wasn’t there so she has no right to talk about it like… Genji’s organic fingers squeezed on his prosthetic arm, Like… 

He took another breath. Fine, he thought, It’s fine. I’m sick of her acting like I’m anything other than… he looked at his prosthetic hand and realized he was shaking. He closed his fingers into a fist before stepping out of the elevator, still walking, angrily and quickly through the Blackwatch offices towards his own quarters. save for the small lights lining the pathways between desks and offices, Blackwatch was virtually pitch-black.

“Trouble in paradise?” a low melodious voice sounded across the underground offices and Genji flinched to see Moira barely illuminated by the multiple screens of Reyes’s main intel computer, holding a tablet in one hand and a lowball glass of whiskey in the other. She was donning that horn-like reverse biofeed, apparently lazily scrolling through some lab work. Shouldn’t the UN have seized it with the suspension? thought Genji.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Genji said curtly before continuing to walk.

“Personally I like when she gets all sanctimonious while Overwatch is actively screwing her over,” Moira looked back down at her tablet before sipping her whiskey. Genji stopped walking. “Reminds me of those little dogs yapping on the ends of leashes, and then their owners just get tired of them and scoop them up… and there’s a life story in 10 seconds. No power to begin with and all you can do is bark and bark–”

“If you talk about Doctor Ziegler like that again, you’ll–” Genji caught himself.

“Ah. So you were haunting her door,” Moira’s eyebrows raised with some amusement.

“You don’t know,” said Genji, stiffly.

“I know you’re easy to read,” said Moira, not even looking up from her tablet, “And I know we’re all slaves to habit. So what happened?”

“Nothing I’m sharing with you,” said Genji walking forward.

“That’s fine,” Moira kept scrolling through her tablet as Genji walked past her.

She was only a few steps behind him when she spoke up again. “I understand how deeply it stings, when you realize you’re not the person someone built up in their head.”

Genji paused again, his shoulders bunching up, and he glanced back at her.

“But I’ve also always had great admiration for those who know exactly who and what they are. I like to think it’s why Blackwatch was as efficacious as it was…. despite… some personality clashes,” she gave an easy shrug.

Genji was silent for a few seconds. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m only saying that you have my sympathy for finally understanding the difference between those up there,” she nodded up to the ceiling, to the upper levels of Overwatch, “And those of us down here.” 

Something prickled in Genji then. He remembered the weight of his father’s hands on his shoulders, saying, You have to understand, this is who we are. And Genji tensed then. 

“You’re not alone, Genji, that’s all I’m saying,” said Moira, sipping her whiskey.

“Good night, Moira,” was all Genji managed to say as he walked off.

Chapter Text

Lena Oxton’s last words were cut off.

“It’s fine,” she was saying, “I think it’s fi–” And then the radio cut out as the Slipstream slipped from existence in a bright blue flash. A silence fell over the air traffic control tower of Watchpoint: Pembrey for a solid two minutes. “It could be a fluke,” one of the air traffic controllers said, “The teleportation could have messed up her signaling. Give it another minute, let her reset her comms.”

Another minute of silence passed. The Overwatch Experimental Flight program was no stranger to collective anxiety, the flare of butterflies in the stomach from watching a new fighter take to the air, the way everyone seemed to draw a tense, shallow breath as a prototype drone banked a turn. But it was no stranger to failures, either. That was the point of experiments, after all–testing, failing, learning, getting better–they had been so sure this would work. It would be a wonderful, revolutionary thing–obviously it would be years before it could be developed for commercial use but in terms of immediate response to global incidents? It was brilliant. But as the air traffic control tower looked out over the waters of Carmarthen Bay, a chill seemed to gather in the room. Something went wrong. Something had gone terribly, terribly wrong. Lena Oxton, young, bright, Lena Oxton, one of the faces of Overwatch’s future, was gone. And it was Overwatch’s fault.

The search efforts for her were an anxious formality–maybe only one or two of the experimental fight program really held out hope that the teleportation had been successful and something else had gone wrong and Oxton was forced to make a water landing. Everyone in the flight program knew but didn’t want to say it: the black box was state of the art. If it was gone, Slipstream was gone, and Tracer along with it.

It was three months of a PR nightmare. Several directors resigned and funding was gutted. Numerous engineers and scientists were fired or reassigned to less public, more out of the way work with other Overwatch science divisions. Watchpoint: Pembrey, the experimental flight division’s crown jewel, became little more than a gloomy airfield–mostly used for Orca maintenance and run by a skeleton crew of pit engineers and security. No one really wanted to work there after the Slipstream Incident—without its old crew of engineers and scientists, it felt broken. Everything there felt broken and off.

And on top of that it was haunted.

It wasn’t confirmed haunted—no hauntings ever really are, but several janitors working graveyard shifts had reported a figure made of bright blue light appearing in a flash, screaming, and disappearing again. The sightings started out short, erratic, nighmarish, but as time went on, and the blue figure’s sporadic appearances persisted, other witnesses reported odd behaviors. The blue figure would appear next to Lena Oxton’s old locker, trying and failing to get it open, its hands merely phasing through the lock. The blue figure would appear sprinting, on the shoreline path next to Carmathen Bay where Tracer would go for her morning runs. The figure would appear in Watchpoint: Pembrey’s hangar, staring at where the Slipstream once was. In that time, the ghosts features became sharper and sharper–a sharp jaw, a small, slightly upturned nose, a head of spiky hair—everyone knew who the ghost was, but most dared not to say it.

Four months of random sightings passed, some within hours of each other, some weeks apart. In that time, a ramshackle rocket broke through the atmosphere and Overwatch recovered it, finding it had only one passenger. A genetically modified gorilla from the Horizon Lunar colony, carrying with him a head full of astrophysical and engineering knowledge, and a lot of bad memories. Winston’s scientific prowess proved invaluable, but the gorilla was quiet and kept to himself mostly. He apologized often for absentmindedness, offhandedly mentioning the loss of his father. Overwatch said he could work at any state-of-the-art Overwatch facility he so desired. He chose Pembrey—now a quiet and out of the way Watchpoint. Strike Commander Morrison briefly questioned his choice, but immediately recognized the grief that seemed to radiate off Winston, and was willing to give the gorilla the space he needed to grieve.

Winston had only been on Watchpoint Pembrey a week when he saw the ghost. She appeared when he was rifling through his locker, said, “What did you say about thermodynamics?” Winston could not recall saying anything to her about thermodynamics and then she disappeared again. She reappeared several weeks later, screaming while Winston was eating his breakfast, then disappeared again. He gave remarkably little reaction. She appeared again a few days later. “—fix it?” she said.

“What?” said Winston.

“Can you fix it? The thing you were saying yesterday. The time thing.”

“…time thing?” said Winston.

“You’re a super-genius, aren’t you?” she tilted her head.

“I mean… that’s being… very generous about it,” Winston paused, “You seem very calm about the fact that I’m a gorilla.”

“Well I’ve been seeing you around the watchpoint for almost a year now, I’m pretty used to you,” she said, smiling. Winston had only been on the Watchpoint for eleven days.

 She reappeared a few hours later.

“You aren’t frightened?” she said.

“You’re not a ghost,” said Winston, he paused and then added, “It’s basic thermodynamics.”

“Basic thermo-what—” she started before disappearing again.

 She reappeared two days later.

“Thermodynamics,” Winston said quickly, as soon as she appeared, “If you can’t interact with a ghost, it isn’t made of matter, and if ghosts aren’t matter, ipso facto, they are energy–however, in every thermodynamic system, energy is lost. Ghosts, by simple laws of physics, have nothing to sustain themselves on, and therefore cannot exist.”

“What are you talking about?” she said before disappearing.

It was four weeks before she appeared again. Winston was staring at the photo of his father again when he saw a glowing blue figure in the doorway.

“Is there a reason why you keep appearing to me?” said Winston.

“What kind of question is that? You’re my best friend!” she snapped before disappearing.

She reappeared 17 hours later and shouted, “OH MY GOD A GORILLA WHY IS THERE A GORILLA WHAT IS GOING ON” before disappearing.

She reappeared several minutes later. “If I’m not a ghost, what am I?”

“…someone who’s not experiencing time linearly,” Winston said.

“Can you—?” she started before disappearing.

Winston thought in silence for a few moments. “… fix it,” he said, remembering the second thing she had ever said to him, “’Can you fix it?’”

Chapter Text

Genji lay on his narrow bed, staring at the too-high ceiling of his quarters and replaying the argument between himself and Mercy in his head as he had done so for the past few days.

I messed up.

A part of him felt like he should be used to it, after years of Hanzo telling him he was an embarrassment, but this stung differently and deeper. It wasn’t not meeting the draconian standards of the clan, it was realizing he had a perspective on death that was fundamentally incompatible with the morals of someone he cared for deeply. He glared at the ceiling as he remembered Moira’s words.

You’re finally understanding the difference between those up there, and those of us down here.

But Cassidy had spoken up against what Reyes had done. He wouldn’t shut up about it the whole mission. 

Well he and Angela were close so… Genji’s thoughts trailed off then, wondering if Ziegler and Cassidy would talk about how he and Reyes were monsters.

Even after having his body destroyed and reconstructed to this patchwork of flesh and metal, it had at least given him focus and purpose: vengeance. It was a relief from all the pain to commit himself to the destruction of the Shimada clan, to killing Hanzo, and he could have done that through Blackwatch, but now one death of someone who definitely had it coming had blocked the path. He had no way of knowing what was ahead, and he had just alienated one of the few people at the Watchpoint he actually liked talking to. But she didn’t get it, the Shimada clan had to be stopped. Hanzo had to die. What kind of world did she think she was living in? He raised his prosthetic hand and ran the thumb of his organic hand along the lines of its plates.

You’re not a weapon. I can’t let everything Overwatch touches become a weapon…  he remembered her words from the garden on a night that felt so long ago.

So what am I? Shimada Ninja? Blackwatch Agent? Assassin by another name?  Machine? his eyes trailed to his organic hand, Man?

He let his hands drop, hanging over the sides of the bed, I guess I’ve managed to screw up as every single one of those.

His morning alarm started beeping and he sighed. Cybernetics always woke him up a little too early.

After freshening up in the dormitory washrooms and dressing , Genji stepped out of his quarters and walked down the hall to the main body of the Blackwatch facilities. There were fewer bodies moving between the offices today. A significant number of office workers and agents had been either suspended or relocated to other Overwatch operations, and the remaining faces looked exhausted and grim.

It’s not just Angela dealing with the fallout of Venice… thought Genji as he walked through. He needed to talk to Cole, he decided. He wasn’t quite ready to talk to Angela yet. A part of him knew he needed to apologize, but another part of him knew an apology was worthless without a clear adjustment in behavior and perspective–and with the path before him so obscured now, he wasn’t sure what that shift would entail. Plus if anyone knew how to smooth things over between people, especially someone also from Blackwatch…

Genji’s thoughts were interrupted as he heard muffled shouting from Reyes’s office.  He looked around and saw what few agents were down in the Blackwatch offices had all chosen to give Reyes’s office a massively wide berth. One intern lingered close to the glass with wide eyes before being quickly escorted away by a more seasoned-looking clerk. The glass walls around Reyes’s office had been tinted opaque, but he made out Morrison’s muffled voice.

“—can assure you our agents and local law enforcement are doing everything they can, Gérard–”

“Don’t give me that!” Gérard was the shouter, something that sounded unnatural to Genji given how polite Gérard had always been in his previous brushes with the UN Attaché. “None of this would have happened if you had kept Reyes and his team where they needed to be!”

“We don’t have enough intel on Talon movements to know the timeframe on—”

“We have even less intel because of the shit you pulled in Rialto! Do you know how many active files I had to surrender to the UN Inquiry to keep Blackwatch from being completely gutted?!” Gérard snapped, “Talon took my wife and thanks to you I have to deal with that with both hands tied behind my back!”

“You’re not dealing with it alone–” Morrison was trying to reassure him.

“Morrison I cannot tell you how sick I am of covering for you covering for Reyes–And the fact that covering for Reyes is largely my job speaks to how much control you’ve ceded–” Gérard snarled.

“Chewing us out won’t get her back,” Reyes’s voice cut in bitterly.

“No, but you should both understand it’s one more product of your mistakes,” Gérard’s voice was thick.

Genji hadn’t realized how close he was leaning to the tinted glass of the office and started briskly walking down the hall, trying to put as much distance between himself and whatever was going down between Reyes, Morrison and LaCroix.  He heard the door slide open and shut and picked up the pace of his walk. He heard bitter muttering in French a ways behind him before hearing, “Agent Shimada?”

Genji pretended not to hear and started walking a bit faster down the hall.

“Agent Shimada!” there was a rapid clacking slap of expensive oxfords on the cement floor and Gerard suddenly caught up with him. Fast, was all Genji thought at first, I guess he was a field agent at some point– But that trail of thought cut off as Genji took in the disheveled appearance of the usually suave and stylish Gérard Lacroix. Licks of dark hair were shrouding one side of his forehead, broken free of their usual glossy black coif. He wasn’t wearing a suit jacket or tie, his sleeves rolled and rumpled up to his elbows and his usually paper-crisp collar rumpled and wilting, his suspenders emphasizing all the wrinkles of his usually immaculate shirts. He smelled like cigarettes. Genji didn’t even know he smoked. 

“I need to talk to you–it’s paramount importance–Your dossier said Talon tried to recruit Sojiro once–Yes?”

“Um… yes?” said Genji.

“Do you remember any names from that time?” Gérard gripped Genji’s shoulders and Genji’s arms tightened at his sides at the touch, Gérard’s eyes were wide, pleading.

“Er…” Genji hesitated.

“Anything. Any name at all. Even aliases are a lead. Code names are a cypher. I can figure this out. We can get her back–we have to–there should have been demands–there have to be demands–we can’t negotiate but we can buy time–isolate the signal–” Gérard’s fingers were drumming on Genji’s prosthetic shoulder as if punching out sums on an invisible calculator. He wasn’t even looking at Genji.

“I… wish I could help,” Genji’s words came slowly to him. They felt strange, soft, helpless. He really couldn’t remember any names from that time, at least none that he could be sure he actually remembered and hadn’t just pulled out of nowhere that would only lead Gérard on a wild goose chase. For Genji, the only really memorable part of that meeting had been Hanzo had taken a shine to some Talon lieutenant and refused to tell Genji about it when he asked.  

So much for specialized Shimada intel… Genji thought a little bitterly. But Gérard stared straight into Genji’s eyes and Genji saw a flicker of heartbreaking realization in Gérard’s expression.

“….listen to me,” Gérard’s voice dropped slightly as his hands dropped from Genji’s shoulders, “I….I’m talking to a suspended agent hoping for nearly decade-old leads…” Gérard made a sound that was between a chuckle and stuffing down a sob as he pushed those dark licks of hair from his face, “I’m a mess without her.”

Genji’s stomach stung a little at the words ‘suspended agent.’ It had felt so temporary but hearing it from Gérard made it sink in as a reality with no visible end, but just as affecting was Gérard’s distress, the fact that the charming, if a little litigious, agent was suddenly up to his neck in paralyzing fear and helplessness when he wasn’t the one in danger. Genji studied Gérard for a few seconds.  

“Without…. who?” said Genji. He knew it was Gérard’s wife but wasn’t about to let Gérard know he had heard the whole exchange between him, Reyes, and Morrison.

“Amélie,” Gérard seemed to be looking through Genji then, his brow crinkled, “Talon they–I mean we’re not positive yet but–well you aren’t cleared for this yet. I shouldn’t…”

“Suspended,” Genji shrugged, “And… looking like this, I can’t exactly get off-site to talk about it.”

Gérard huffed “And… I’ve heard you’re not exactly the talkative type,” Gérard smiled a little.

“Ninja,” Genji shrugged.

“I-I think she’d like you…” His shoulders sagged, “Practical… steady… if she were here she’d probably tell me I’m making a fool of myself.”

You are and I have no idea how to help you so please let me go, thought Genji, but the smile on Gérard’s face eased him a bit. Genji wasn’t sure what to do with this feeling–helping and yet not helping. He remembered certain looks in Mercy’s face when he would talk about the Shimada clan, those hints of wanting to do something but feeling the ability to do so just beyond his reach. How often did she feel that with all of his fury? With all his grief?

“I wish I understood what was going through Reyes’s mind in Rialto…” Gérard spoke and startled Genji from his own thoughts. 

“…Antonio told him his associates would get him out within the week, Reyes… responded… practically,” said Genji.

“Practically,” a huff fell out of Gérard, “Just like in the debriefs.”

Genji’s brow crinkled. “The point of Blackwatch is to operate from the shadows. It was never about how it would be seen because it… wasn’t meant to be seen.”

“But it still has effects,” Gérard murmured, “And you still have to live with yourself afterwards.”

You still have to live with yourself.

The image of Zhihong Peh gurgling on his own blood on the end of Genji’s sword flashed to his mind. The thwack of his father hitting a fish on a rock in Shirakami-sanchi.

Make it clean. Make it quick.

“Would Amélie still have been taken if…?” Gérard’s voice pulled Genji from his memories again, but Gérard just lowered his head and furrowed his brow. “It doesn’t matter now.  have to find a new angle. I have to… she…” he lifted his chin slightly, “Monsieur Shimada. I appreciate you putting up with the ravings of a madman. I must go. Thank you.”

“….you’re welcome?”  said Genji, but Gérard was already walking past him.

Genji stood there in the hallway a few minutes longer. Amélie LaCroix had been taken. Whether or not that had happened in response to killing Antonio remained to be seen… but it was clear that the fallout from Rialto had not helped. He looked at his hands. For so long ‘practical’ had been a straight line, but now it seemed that the path he had been carving out was caving in on him. What was practical now?

Whatever you can do to help.

And where do you start?

With the people who you know always help.

—-

It was late at night in the lab and Mercy was nodding off slightly, her chin in her hand at her monitor when a coffee mug gently clacked down on the desk beside her. She flinched awake and her head swung around to see Genji slowly withdrawing one hand, holding his own coffee cup in the other.

“Peace offering,” said Genji, “…if you don’t want to deal with me right now, you don’t have to. Say the word and I’ll leave you alone.”

Mercy tentatively picked up the mug and sipped at it, glaring at Genji slightly through her eyebrows before lowering the cup into her lap.

“What do you want?” she said, her voice clipped. 

“I wanted to say… I’m sorry for storming off like that and…You were right,” Genji said quietly, “Killing Antonio creates far more problems than it solves.”

There was some hope in Mercy’s eyes, but she also gave him a sort of uneasy, puzzled look.

“And…” Genji’s voice was a bit more tight, “On a… lawful and ethical level, it… was wrong.” He dropped his voice to a low mutter, “Even if he would have wormed his way out of the law.”

Mercy huffed and smiled a little. “I… I know the law also needs reforms so that doesn’t happen, so that justice can be done… but in the meantime…”

“In the meantime we shouldn’t shoot people in the face,” Genji conceded with a shrug.

“Right,” said Mercy. Her smile was a little crooked. There was a long silence then, tentative, and a little anxious. Genji leaned against the desk, wrapping his organic hand around the mug, taking some comfort in its warmth.

“Angela—I need you to understand something about me,” Genji said, not looking at her.

“Please don’t—“ Mercy started.

“Just listen. The first time the clan made me kill someone, I was 14 years old,” Mercy’s eyes widened and Genji’s knuckles rolled tight on the coffee mug, “And that wasn’t the only person I killed for them."

Mercy’s shoulders shrank inward, her eyes not meeting his.

“The clan,” Genji paused and took a steadying breath before continuing, “Worked to make me into something… no one should be. It…cultivated a way for me to see the world that very much affected my concepts of what is acceptable. What is good.” He gave a short huff. “But I don’t… I don’t want to be them. I don’t want to cause the same hurts they have caused.”

She looked at him then. That same searching look. That same ‘I want to help but I don’t know how’ look, and Genji’s stomach stung with the strange helplessness he felt when Gérard was gripping his shoulders earlier that day.

“But Blackwatch never asked me to question what the clan taught me. It just… saw I was angry, saw I was hurt, and pointed me in a certain direction,”  he huffed, “And now I’m stuck here. And I can’t do anything. And… ” he took a steadying breath, “I care about you. I care about our friendship. And I care about what you think of me. I don’t know… if I will ever be fully rid of what the Shimada clan cultivated in me… it… it feels like it only got sharper after what Hanzo did to me. It feels rooted in my very survival instincts. But I know I don’t want to be Reyes, and I don’t want to lose you, and… if what Blackwatch did caused all this hurt to all these people who had nothing to do with what happened in Rialto.. it’s true that it should be suspended.”

Mercy blinked a few times. “Do you really mean that?”

“Well… to an extent…” said Genji, “If Blackwatch still had its intel networks up…”

“Maybe we could help Gérard find Amélie,” Mercy said quietly.

“You know about Gérard?” Genji looked over at her.

“I only got the briefing a few hours ago,” said Mercy. She was quiet for a few seconds. “Genji… I… I don’t think you’re a bad person for what the Shimada clan conditioned you to do. You do scare me sometimes, but I genuinely believe, deep down, you want to do good.” 

“I scare you?” Genji lifted his prosthetic hand and looked down at it.

“Not because of that…” Mercy touched the metal of his knuckles and he let his hand drop as his eyes raised to hers, “I–I’m scared for you. I don’t want you to think you’re alone. And–and I want you to be able to have a life outside of Overwatch.” She huffed. “That’s what it does. It takes in people who have nowhere else to go and who just want to help and it takes everything they can give and you never know if it’s being used to help or to…” her voice trailed off and she was staring forward. Genji touched her shoulder gently.

“For what it’s worth… without Overwatch I would have never met you,” said Genji.

“I’m glad I’ve met you too,” said Mercy, smiling a little, “Silver linings right?” 

“Right…” said Genji.

A long pause passed between them. 

“…so where do we go from here?” said Genji, quietly.

“Well… I still have my work… I suppose this means we can spend more time together?” Mercy shrugged, “And… with Blackwatch suspended… maybe you can take some time to figure out what you want. Outside of Overwatch. Outside of taking down the Shimada clan.”

I don’t know how ready I am to deal with that, thought Genji, but he just nodded.

“So…” Genji swirled his coffee in its mug, “What are you working on tonight?”

“Well… apparently there’s been this incident at Watchpoint Pembrey,” said Mercy, glancing back to her monitor, “But it’s very confusing on, well… a physics level?”

“Something is confusing the genius Angela Ziegler?” Genji pulled up a chair, “Tell me more.”

Mercy snickered a little. Then started telling him.

Chapter Text

“I don’t know about this…” Genji mindlessly brushed his fingers along the handle of Ryū-Ichimonji as he walked down the hall, “I’ve never really thought of myself as a teacher…”

“You said you wanted to get off the bench,” Reyes walked alongside him, both hands in the mono-pocket of his hoodie. He had a way of carrying himself that made it easy for the eye to scan past him, despite being head of Blackwatch, but Genji drew the eye, bare skin and metal, and stark black, white and red prosthetics, and so in their walk virtually all Overwatch staff in the hallway gave them an unnaturally wide berth, first a natural reaction to Genji’s appearance, then a flinching recognition of Reyes. “This is the best Jack and I can do for you,” Reyes went on, “Besides, she was in the RAF before this, so it’s not like she’s coming into this with no combat knowledge.”

‘The best Jack and I can do for you,’ Genji glanced away from Reyes, his eyes narrowing in thought, So you show Jack one hand with me, while keeping the other behind your back with Cassidy. I’m the ‘accountability’ agent, but Cassidy and Moira… they’re still Blackwatch. They’re still working. His ‘real’ agents. Genji wondered where Cassidy was now. Was it an ‘errand’ this time or a ‘vacation?’ It wasn’t as if it was sanctioned by Jack either way, but it wasn’t like Jack would look too closely or question it so long as the cyborg ninja was accounted for. 

“Hey,” Reyes spoke and Genji was forced to pull himself out of his bristling silence, “Being a part of Overwatch isn’t just cutting through shit with a sword. You have to show you can work with people, and not just Blackwatch.” Reyes gave a short snort, “Though, let’s be real, saying you worked with Blackwatch is a bit of a stretch.”

Genji kept his eyes fixed away sullenly. “So she’s not the only one learning, here,” he mused. 

“Now you’re getting it,” said Reyes, smiling.

“You don’t know when Blackwatch’s suspension is ending, do you?” Genji’s voice was level but it wiped the smile from Reyes’s face in an instant. 

“Can’t say that I do,” Reyes flicked his own eyes forward, down the hall, “But that doesn’t mean I’m sitting on my hands, Shimada. You can believe me when I say I’m working on ways to get you back out there, because Talon’s only going to get bolder while we’re wrapping ourselves in red tape. But you have to show me, Jack, and all these UN pearl-clutchers you can adapt. Do you understand?”

“Mm,” Genji gave a single nod as they exited two automatic doors out to the training area, where a cluster of training bots where doddering around in various directions.

“Had ‘em cue up your usual warm-up,” said Reyes, putting his hands on his hips, “Think benchwarming got you soft?”

Genji gave a short scoff before drawing Ryū-Ichimonji from his back, but Reyes could hear the smile in his breath beneath his faceplate.

—-

“Wow… Blackwatch!” Tracer’s eyes were wide as Mercy and Winston stood next to her in the elevator, “I heard all about the–I mean, everyone heard about Venice but–blimey! Are we sure it’s all right?” 

“We’re approaching this as a sort of… rehabilitation from suspension,” said Mercy, “And don’t worry, I’m very well-acquainted with your future teacher and I can assure you that Genji Shimada holds himself to a very high standard as an agent.” 

“I know that but….I don’t know if I’m cut out for any of that ninja stuff,” Trace glanced down at the chronal accelerator glowing in her chest, “This thing doesn’t exactly make it ea–easy to sneak around.” A brief ripple of glowing blue chronal feedback bloomed around her on the word ‘easy’ and her shoulders bunched up self-consciously, “Sometimes I don’t know if I can pull off that… speed-up thing I did back with the prototypes…”

“The accelerator reacts to your nervous system,” Winston chimed in, “We can worry about safely discharging the chronal distortion later, but it’s perfectly safe and stable as it is right now! All you need to worry about is keeping a cool head!”

“Cool head,” Tracer said firmly, “Right.”

“But if anything feels wrong you should tell us immediately,” Mercy quickly added.

“Gotcha, gotcha,” said Tracer, nodding. The three of them stood in a nervous, excited silence for a few seconds.

“Is he nice?” Tracer asked, looking at Mercy, “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I can deal with the ‘tough love’ types, but I guess I’m just not really sure what to expect with all this Blackwatch stuff…”

“Oh he’s wonderful,” said Mercy beaming as the elevator dinged and the doors opened, “And I think, while both your situations are very unique, he’ll definitely understand what you’re going through. He’s basically had to re-learn how to coordinate his body, too!”

Tracer’s shoulders slumped with some reassurance as they stepped out into the open air of the training area, “Well that’s a relief,” she said, with a lopsided smile.

“Oh yes. He’ll be a great teacher. He’s patient, and attentive, and really quite funny once you get to know him, and he’s very—”

Mercy was cut off by a snarling, roaring, cybernetically warbling scream as a red, white, and black blur rushed past them on the training grounds. Tracer, Winston, and Mercy watched in some combination of awe and terror as Genji Shimada tore through a batch of training bots like a hurricane. 

“Very–um…” Mercy’s words turned halting as Genji dove and slid under one bot and became a whirlwind of blades and kicks, slicing up the training bots closing in on him, before sending the poor training bot he had dived under into the air then springing into the air himself. His wires whipped around him as he twisted in the air, sending the training bot flying back with a kick that made it shatter against a wall. 

“Very–” Mercy tried to regain her composure and speak quickly but winced as she was cut off again by the screech and clatter of metal, the loud scream of a broken vocal box on one of the training bots as Genji jammed both sword and wakizashi into it before ripping it outward and rendering the training bot an explosion of broken metal parts. Mercy looked sharply over to Tracer who’s mouth was hanging open in a petrified gawk.

“He’s very…” Mercy was trying to eke words out of herself as Genji sliced off the head of one training bot with his sword then stabbed it through with his wakizashi before pivoting and smashing another training bot’s head with the skewered head of its compatriot. “…enthusiastic?”

Genji’s breaths were ragged and his forearms were quaking with how hard his hands were gripping his sword and wakizashi, surrounded by the sparking broken bits of training bots, his shoulders rising and falling with his breaths. Tracer, Winston, and Mercy all flinched to attention at the sound of clapping next to them and looked to their right to see Gabriel Reyes stick his thumb and forefinger in his mouth and whistle shrilly before clapping some more.

“Attaboy, Genji! Still got it!” Reyes called out to Genji and Genji seemed to pull himself out of a blood-drunk haze (or at least the robot-destroying equivalent of a blood-drunk haze), looking over his shoulder and then flinching to awkward attention himself as he noticed Reyes was now accompanied by Mercy, the gorilla, and… the newbie. 

His student.

Who looked about ready to either throw up or piss herself or both from what she had just seen him do.

Reyes was still clapping and smiling obnoxiously, Genji awkwardly lifted his wakizashi (smaller sword was less threatening, right?) and gave a small wave.

“Uh… yo,” he said.

“Er–excellent form, Genji!” Mercy raised her voice so he could hear her but it came out as a squawk, her desperation to try and diffuse the situation obvious in every intonation, “Very… efficient!” She had that ‘everything is going wrong but for the love of god be strong, Angela’ deliriously forced smile on her face, which he had seen both at 3 AM in the lab and at press conferences going down in flames.

“Thank you?” said Genji, sheathing both his sword and moving to walk toward them but then stumbling over a piece of broken training bot. He quickly recovered, straightened himself up to full height and walked briskly over to them before giving a stiff bow.

“So glad you could join us, Oxton,” said Reyes, turning to look at Tracer, his hands on his hips.

“Reyes?” Mercy’s voice was steel wire-tight, “May we speak?”

“Sure, Ange, what–” Reyes started but Mercy grabbed him by the loose sleeve of the hoodie and practically dragged him through the doors of the training area’s control room.

“Wait, shouldn’t we–” Tracer started feebly after them but the steel doors of the room slammed behind them. Tracer, Genji, and Winston all vaguely made out the muffled sounds of Mercy yelling at Reyes on the other side of the doors. 

“What were you thinking?! What was that?!”

“What are you yelling at me for? I just thought he should get a little warmed up and the newbie should get some idea of–”

“Some idea of what?! We’ve only barely scratched the surface of the effects the chronal disassociation is having on her physical abilities and you’re throwing up these warzones like—”

“Hey, I just set up his usual training bot session, Doc, you got a problem with Genji’s style, you take that up with him–”

“I don’t have a problem with Genji’s ‘style’–! I–Don’t act like you don’t know what you’re doing—! Is this some other play?! Are you–”

Winston cleared his throat. “We should probably…”

“Right..” said Tracer a little sheepishly.

The three of them edged away from the steel doors. Genji glanced over at Tracer, who didn’t seem to know whether to even look at him as they walked themselves out of earshot of the argument.

“So you’re the new recruit from the flight program,” said Genji, folding his arms and trying to sound as casual as possible.

“Ah…y-yeah!” Tracer blurted out. She cleared her throat and stuck her hand out, “Lena Oxton! Callsign Tracer! Reporting for du–” blue light suddenly flared brightly around her from the glowing object on her chest and she seemed to catch herself, clearing her throat, “er… reporting for duty,” she said extending her hand again, which had somehow jerked back to her side with the blue glow.

Genji moved to extend his organic hand, found that that would be awkward with the hand Tracer had chosen to shake with, then hesitantly extended his prosthetic. She shook his hand so hard it jostled up his whole arm before she caught herself and withdrew her hands to her side, clearing her throat.

“Ah so that’s…” Genji started.

“Yeah it’s a thing,” said Tracer, glancing down.

“Well…” Genji gestured up and down himself, “This… is also a thing.”

“I can see that,” said Tracer with a bit of a nervous giggle. They both gave a glance to Winston. 

“Oh!” Winston perked up and started unconsciously signing as he spoke, “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. Winston. I’ll be on the science team overseeing Tracer’s condition with the chronal accelerator. Along with Doctor Ziegler. So we’ll be watching while you’re training together!”

“I see,” said Genji, “And you’re…”

“From the moon,” said Winston.

“From the moon,” Genji repeated, both of them silently agreeing that they didn’t have to go into the ‘gorilla’ part of things. He glanced back at Tracer. “Look–” Genji started but then caught himself, “I–if I scared you back there…”

“You didn’t scare me!” Tracer blurted out.

Both Genji and Winston gave her steady looks and Tracer stiffened her shoulders slightly, “I mean… y’know it’s… nothing I can’t handle. Really!” she put her hands on her hips and huffed, “You’re pretty tame compared to some of the things I’ve seen,” she said. She was trying to inject an adventurous sense of swagger into her voice, but her youth undermined a lot of that. 

Genji tilted his head slightly, studying her, and she made eye contact but didn’t sustain it for too long. He was used to that at this point. The red eyes were off-putting for a lot of people, but then his eyes flicked to Winston, then down at the chronal accelerator glowing in Tracer’s chest. There was something simultaneously familiar and alienating standing in their presence, and hearing the faint muffled sounds of Ziegler and Reyes arguing on the other side of the door, there was a spark of kinship between the three of them. Three people who wouldn’t have any place in the world without Overwatch.

“So how do we start?” said Tracer.

“Start?” said Genji, “Now?”

“Well, Doctor Z said you already went through all this stuff to re-learn coordination with all your…” Tracer gestured up and down at him, “Whatnot. And I figure, the sooner for me, the better, right? So lesson one, Teach! Let’s hear it!”

“Uh…” Genji rubbed the back of his head.

“Perhaps you could begin with assessment?” Winston suggested, “Establish what level of combat training Tracer should start with?”

The fastest way to do that is sparring, Genji thought and he got a horrifying mental image of Ziegler and Reyes emerging from their argument in the control room only to walk in on him punching Morrison’s beloved time-hopping newbie in the face.

“The first step to training is…. establishing the training space!” Genji blurted out. He vaguely remembered some lectures from his Shimada clan trainers indicating something similar, but the force that propelled those words from his mouth were more of the ‘70% panic’ variety.

“Establishing the training ground?” Tracer tilted her head.

“You can’t train in a cluttered space,” Genji pointed at the countless broken bits of training bots strewn across the training grounds, “You can start by cleaning those up.”

“…isn’t that your mess?” said Tracer.

“Who’s the teacher here?” said Genji, folding his arms.

“Right! Of course! Sorry!” said Tracer with a sharp salute before zipping off in a blue streak. Genji flinched hard at how inhumanly fast she moved and she seemed to catch herself as well, skidding to a halt on her heels. “Winston!” she called out excitedly, “Did you see that!? I did the thing! I did the speedy thing again!! I didn’t even think about it!! You’re such a good teacher, Genji!”

“I know,” said Genji, trying to look off stoically as Tracer zipped around the training grounds, picking up broken training bot bits and laughing between flashes of blue light.

“…you don’t know what ‘the speedy thing’ is, do you?” said Winston, very quietly.

“No,” Genji replied, also very quietly.

“You’re making this up as you go along,” Winston said flatly.

“It’s called ‘adapting,’” said Genji. He could still feel Winston’s eyes on him, skeptical. “I can adapt,” Genji said, mostly to himself as Tracer threw a bunch of training bot parts into a recycling bin with a loud clatter.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Angela Ziegler looked exhausted, but that was nothing new. 

“I’ve compiled my post-rescue observations with… the Blackwatch notes,” she said. Her voice tensed on ‘Blackwatch.’ She was still angry about Venice, Jack knew, still angry he and Gabe had let her go on so long not knowing Blackwatch had picked Moira up right where Overwatch had dropped her. Jack glanced over at Gabe. They had agreed that they couldn’t afford to let O’Deorain’s skillset fall into the wrong hands, and Gabriel had stated that her work was invaluable for Blackwatch operations, but her presence in Blackwatch had turned the Venice into that much more of a PR nightmare for Overwatch, and that much more of an internal relations nightmare when it came to Doctor Ziegler’s feelings on the whole thing. Jack broke his line of sight away from Gabe and looked through the one-way glass at the thin dark-haired woman sitting a bit nervously on an examination table. Gérard LaCroix was standing next to her, smoothing her hair, saying soft words to her in french. She was here, at least, she was alive. Jack had to admit this felt like Overwatch’s first win in a while. 

“It’s all clear,” said Mercy, “No toxins, normal nerve responses, some residual traces of sedatives in her bloodwork which line up with her experiences of time loss in Talon custody and Gabriel’s theory of gaslighting. Behavior is well within the normal parameters for her trauma. Obviously she’ll need continued psychological evaluation but for now, the healthiest thing we can do for her is give her time to recover.” 

“Still doesn’t feel right…” murmured Ana, “Obviously they were targeting Gérard through Amélie… but the way Gérard dogs them, you’d think they’d realize taking her would just make him work harder to take them down…”

“Talon doesn’t strike me as the most socially inclined bunch,” said Gabriel with a shrug, “So that’s your word, Doc? She can go?”

Mercy watched as Amelie lifted her hand and gently brought it up against the back of Gérard’s neck. He bowed his head slightly and put his forehead against hers. Her lips moved and a small smile tugged at their corners as Gérard took her other hand in his.

“Yes,” said Mercy, watching them, “With continued psychological evaluations, as I’ve said before.” She looked back at Amélie, “Nothing too strenuous, obviously,” she added.

“Good enough for me. In three days I want to debrief her again, see if there’s anything else she might remember from her time in Talon custody,” said Jack, “Contact our Liaison in Paris, see if we an’t post up one of our psych specialists in a Paris office for the time being.” 

“You’re the Strike Commander,” said Gabriel.

“I’ll sign the release forms then,” said Mercy.

Jack and Gabe walked off, and Mercy moved to go back to her labs after them, but then paused and looked at Ana who was still watching Gérard and Amélie through the glass.

“Is everything all right, Captain?” she asked. 

Ana didn’t respond for a few seconds at first then suddenly jerked to attention and shook her head, “Sorry, come again?”

“I said ‘Is everything all right?’” said Mercy. 

“Yes just… thinking,” said Ana.

“…You don’t want me to sign those release forms,” said Mercy.

Ana shook her head. “It’s not that. I can tell you if I went through the same thing… I’d want the same thing too. It just… feels off, is all.”

“How so?” said Mercy. 

“Talon has to have some idea of how Gérard operates at this point… and targeting the specific families of Overwatch agents is… unusual for them. They usually target high profile individuals, or have more generalized attacks. If they wanted to get Gérard off of their backs, they could have targeted me through Fareeha, and coerced me into taking him off the task force. But…” Ana put a hand to her forehead and shook her head, “I’m probably only projecting…” she looked at Gérard, “I can’t imagine the hell they’ve been through… we owe them some time to rest.”

“I agree, Captain,” said Mercy.

—

“Welcome home, Mrs. LaCroix,” Gérard said smiling as he opened the door to the apartment. Despite sleeping on the plane ride from Zurich, she still felt exhaustion deep in her muscles from everything. She stepped out of her shoes and her feet padded across the hardwood floor. 

“…Forgot how much of a mess I left this place in,” murmured Gérard, hanging his coat up. Nearly all the tables in the apartment were covered in papers, multiple tablets and data drives were strewn about as well, and there were maps on the walls covered in sticky notes and newspaper clippings and lines of yarn and photos of suspects. 

Amélie picked up a manila envelope with the Overwatch logo on it from a stack of papers. “Oh I see how it is,” she said with a smirk, waving the envelope in his direction, “You say you won’t bring your work home with you, but as soon as I’m gone, you turn this place into your second base of…” she trailed off as she looked at one of the photos on the maps on the wall, and saw it was a photo of herself getting out of a car, “…operations,” she said quietly. She stepped closer to one of the maps on the wall and looked at the newspaper clippings, “This is for me…” she said quietly, “You were looking for me.”

“Don’t tell Jack,” said Gérard, smirking and leaning against the table, “He’d tell me to go home and get some rest, and I would go home and then….” he gestured at another one of his map collages. “To be fair, I was doing it for very selfish reasons. It turns out it’s very hard to sleep without you around. So if I wanted to sleep, obviously I had to get you back.”

“Gérard,” Amélie walked over to him and ran her fingers through his hair at the side of his head, “You’ve been going gray, too…” she said softly, looking at his sideburns.

Gérard huffed a not-quite chuckle and then held her hand against his cheek, “I know. How tragically ironic that when we finally got you back, I’m too much of an old goat for you now.”

“Idiot,” she said with a smile before cupping her other hand against his cheek  and kissing him. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, but gingerly at the same time, terrified of hurting her, terrified of her slipping from existence. He kissed her forehead and took in the scent of her hair.

“We have a lot of sleep to catch up on, don’t we?” she said, leaning her head against his chest.

“Yes we do,” said Gérard, smoothing her hair down her back.

—-

Overwatch’s Paris offices were a lot brighter than the Zurich headquarters. Amélie could see flowers in the window box just past the glass, and saw a mother lark feeding her chirping young.

The evaluator was a bright eyed, curly haired brunette, seated across from her in an old-fashioned but not imposing desk. “Okay Amélie—Can I call you Amélie?” 

“Yes,” said Amélie.

“Great. You can call me Elsie. So I’m going to say five words to you and you can repeat them back to me in any order.”

“Five words,” said Amélie, nodding slowly, her eyes trailed back to the birds’ nest in the window box. Four baby birds. one was still chirping, one was still screeching up to its mother for more food.

“Don’t worry, I know you can do it, this is just re-establishing your recall ability. Okay. Here goes: ‘House. Flower. Red. Bird. Doll.”

“Cause.” Amélie heard a voice in her head that wasn’t Elsie’s.

“Effect.” Amélie heard her own voice in her head but could not recall when she had said the word.

Amélie’s fingers twitched slightly and she heard a high pitched ringing in her left ear. “Flower. House. Red. Doll,” her eyes trailed back to the window. The baby was still screaming and the mother lark was tilting her head at it with glassy indifference. Did the evaluator not see? Did she not hear the cries? “…Bird.” Amélie realized she hadn’t finished, “Sorry–I remembered I just… was distracted.”

“That’s fine,” said Elsie, “That’s totally fine. We can take all the time you need. Let’s do one more set, okay? Okay, five words, repeat them back to me in any order: Boat. Dog. Costume. Family. Moon.”

“Boat. Dog. Moon.” Amélie repeated watching the bird’s nest in the window box. What was the mother bird doing? Feeding the screaming chick more? Then she saw a bald pink chewed-gum shape fall over the side of the nest, fall over the side of the window box. The mother lark had pushed the screaming chick from the nest. They were on the third floor. “Costume. Family,” said Amélie, not missing a beat this time.

“There we go! Perfect!” said Elsie, smiling.

“Perfect,” she heard another voice in her head and the high-pitched ringing returned to her ear. It was loud enough to make her wince this time.

“Are you okay? It’s okay if you’re having an attack. This is a safe space,” said Elsie, leaning forward in her chair.

“My… my ear…” said Amélie, covering her left ear.

“It’s okay. Focus on the sound of my voice, and the sound of your breathing. This is normal. Tinnitus is a more common side-effect of trauma than people realize,” said Elsie.

“Mm…” Amélie gave a weak nod with her hand still over one ear. After about a minute, the high-pitched noise passed and Amélie sighed with relief and leaned back in her chair.

“Better?” said Elsie.

“Better,” said Amélie.

“So, your pre-evaluation notes said you were also getting nightmares, which, again, normal. Now, I’d be happy to prescribe you some medications to help you sleep better, however, since the source of your nightmares is an ongoing investigation from Overwatch, I’m obligated to ask if you remember anything more from your time in Talon custody. This information could help Overwatch significantly.

“I’ll do it. Please. I’ll be good. I’ll be perfect,” Amélie remembered her own voice.

“We know you’ll be,” she remembered another voice. 

Amélie opened her mouth, “No,” she said, “I’m… I’m sorry. I wish I could help more.”

“That’s fine,” said Elsie, smiling, “I think right now the best way you can help is focusing on getting better–and we’ll be there to help every step of the way. That sound like a good plan?”

Amélie nodded.

The rest of the evaluation was tedious. Questions she could not answer and an MRI scan she knew would turn up nothing. Elsie was insufferably supportive and warm through the whole thing. Amélie was happy to step out of the Paris offices of Overwatch, but then her eyes trailed down to a line of ants across the sidewalk. She scanned across the line of ants and saw them swarming over a pink shape—too large to be a wad of gum–no… it wasn’t gum. She knew what it was. She walked off.

—-

A week and a half. Another tedious psychological evaluation. Poor Gérard stretched thin between doting on her and tracking down Talon more obsessively than ever. A letter from the ballet conservatory, expressing its immense relief at her safe return and noting that she had a large window of time to rejoin them before the next theatrical season, nights made swift and dreamless by the pills Elsie gave her. The first week she felt as if she were in some sort of cocoon, sleeping, doing what she could to distance herself from what she couldn’t even remember back with Talon. The second week felt like a groggy morning, the light of her old life seeping back into it. She needed to dance again. She knew she had to. 

The calendar marked two weeks since her rescue, and she found herself in the bathroom, staring at the two little pills in her hand. She looked at herself up in the bathroom mirror and then heard sighing grunt. In the reflection of the bathroom Mirror, she could see Gérard taking his shirt off in their bedroom. She watched the way his muscles shifted across his back, the way his scars from the Rome explosion danced on the sides of his ribs as he tried to stretch the aches of the day away. She looked at her husband, then down at her pills, then slipped the pills back into their jar with a slight smile and closed it. She didn’t want to knock herself out. Not yet. She slipped out of the bathroom and slid her arms around Gérard’s waist, kissing his shoulder.

“Hello,” he said, looking over his shoulder at her. She grinned, then slipped under his arm so that she was in front of him, then pushed him back onto the bed and straddled him, kissing him as his arms wrapped around her.

“Amélie–Amélie—” he started between kisses and she broke away to let him speak, “Are you all right?” he said, his thumb stroking the bottom of her ribcage.

“Ugh Gérard, I’m fine,” she said with an eye-roll.

 “I…” he tucked some of her hair back, “I know you want to put what happened behind you… behind both of us, but you don’t need to push yourself, you can take your time.”

“I feel like a glass doll ever since I got back… All this fussing, all these evaluations…” said Amélie, glancing off, “I just… I want to be your Amélie again.”

Gérard smiled up at her, then gently put a hand on the side of her face to turn her to look back at him. He stared into her eyes. “You are,” he said, “And you will always be, my Amélie.” 

He embraced her and they kissed and rolled back on the mattress then. They made love for hours and fell asleep in each other’s arms. She loved him. He loved her. She was Amélie. She was his Amélie.

And then she woke up. 

And then she wasn’t.

There were no night terrors tonight. Just a high-pitched ringing that woke her up. She glanced over at Gérard, happily, comfortably sprawled across the bed. The ringing in her ears was deafening.

“I’ll be perfect.”

“We know you’ll be.”

She walked through the dark of their room into the bathroom, opened a drawer and pulled out Gérard’s straight razor. She remembered the dead baby bird with the ants swarming over it on the sidewalk. She remembered long drives through hills and down poplar-lined roads. She remembered a hand clasped in hers. The ringing in hear ears drowned out everything. Drowned out every image. She remembered a gun in her hand and its barrel pressed against the black-bagged head of a stranger and even that faded to the din of the ringing. 

“I’ll be perfect.”

She set the razor against Gérard’s throat.

“I’ll be perfect.”

She drew the razor swift and deep across his neck. He always kept it sharpened so diligently… he barely felt it. His eyes opened as he was bleeding out and he looked at her face. He didn’t even fully comprehend what was happening. The mattress was red beneath him already, the blood spilling out on either side of his neck and soaking into the pillows looked almost like red wings. She didn’t flinch away from his body as the blood saturating the mattress stained her knees. She bent and kissed him on the lips before walking out onto her apartment’s fire escape, still naked, still holding his straight razor in one hand. She ascended the fire escape to the roof of the apartment, not even shivering in the night wind. She stared up at the sky and watched as a Talon transport descended from the light-pollution-orange fog overhead. It turned as it descended, opening its bay doors to her which touched against the gravel of her roof. She stepped up into the transport and the door closed behind her as it lifted off into the sky. She watched the lights of Paris shrinking away beneath her.

“I’ll be perfect.”

“We know you’ll be.” 

Chapter Text

Gérard LaCroix was dead. Overwatch’s ace in the hole. Overwatch’s shining star—-one of the last few pegs holding up the Organization’s reputation in the wake of the Venice incident and Blackwatch’s revelation. Cassidy and Reyes were taking it hard, but then again, they had been in the organization longer than Genji had. Still, the scattered remains of the target bots in Zurich’s training area were riddled with shuriken. This organization was the best means he had of avenging himself, and now it felt like it was falling apart at the seams. He threw harder. Not fast enough. Not accurate enough. Nothing was good enough. He could feel his blood boiling, the thermoregulators at the edge of his prosthetics steaming. 

“Gah! Ooh!” another training bot fell to his shuriken strike, but he heard a sound close behind him.

“Halt!” one of the training bots said in its goofy voice. He had let one get that close? Stupid. Distracted. Instinctively Genji turned and smashed his prosthetic arm through the training bot’s metal frame, then winced. 

“Kuso…” he muttered, looking at the warping of the metal on his wrist plates.

He attempted to reload another knuckle-full of shuriken. The plate on his wrist slid back and jammed. He huffed. He had to get this fixed.

“End training session,” he called out.

“Ending Training Session,” the Watchpoint AI responded as he walked out of the training area.

—

He knocked his organic hand on the door to Doctor Ziegler’s office.

“Doctor Ziegler?” he called. No response. He frowned. She was probably out at some other section of the watchpoint, he figured. She probably wouldn’t mind him coming in and grabbing a spare wrist plate. She had a few stowed away in there. He pressed the panel next to Doctor Ziegler’s door and it slid open.

Doctor Ziegler, was in fact, in her office, but she was slumped over her desk, her face buried in her arms and her shoulders shaking a little. Her head jerked up as the door slid open and she made eye contact with him. Her eyes were wet and bloodshot and there was a little bit of snot coming out of one nostril.

“Oh–I—” she started and then feverishly wiped her nose and eyes, “I–I’m sorry—”

“I can… come back…” Genji said slowly.

“No! I mean, you’re here for a medical reason—it would be,” she snorted and tried to draw a steadying breath, “I can’t just let you go just because I’m–I’m—” she tried to draw another steadying breath but it was cut off midway by a hiccuped sob.

“…Crying?” said Genji.

“Allergies–It’s–I have—there was a lot of dust in here so—so…” Mercy’s voice was shaking, “What did you need?” she said, snorting up some more snot.

“I just…” Genji held up his wrist.

“Oh—I can…” Mercy briskly walked off and Genji heard another shuddering sob along with the shuffling of cabinets in her closet before she walked back into the office with a spare wrist plate and several miniature pistons and screws for good measure, “Let… let me see,” she said, leaning against her desk.

She worked quickly. Her sobs seemed to quiet down once she had something to do with her hands. Genji couldn’t help but marvel slightly. She was able to unscrew the old wrist plate in spite of the jamming, replace one of the plate-shifting pistons for good measure, then screw in the new wrist plate as fast as if she were in a pit crew. Genji noticed a shake returned to her fingers as she brought her hands away from his wrist.

“Give it a… uh… try…” she trailed off.

Genji flicked his wrist slightly and easily loaded several shuriken between his fingers.

“Good, it… it works,” said Mercy, itching at her bloodshot eyes.

“Thank you, Doctor Ziegler,” said Genji, flicking the shuriken back.

Mercy nodded, her lips tight and shaking. 

Genji moved to walk off but then paused.

“Doctor Ziegler,” he started.

“I’m fine,” Mercy’s voice was stiff, “Go–You should–Don’t mind me–”

“..Is this about LaCroix?” said Genji.

“i… I told you it’s allergies it’s…” she suddenly slumped back against her desk and buried her face in her hands, sobbing, “It was my fault. It was my fault.”

“Your fault–?” Genji started.

“I signed those release forms. Ana said it didn’t feel right but I still signed those release forms. If we kept Amélie in Zurich maybe we could have found out more… We could have kept an eye on them… Maybe we could have stopped…”

“…it’s not your fault Talon took her again,” said Genji.

“They murdered Gérard!” said Mercy, “And now Amélie’s probably dead too if they aren’t torturing her as we speak. There must have been something I missed—Some kind of tracker they put in her—something….” Tears were dripping off her chin, “A part of me feels rotten, as if… as if it’s far worse than anything I can imagine—”

“Doctor Ziegler,” Genji put a hand on her shoulder and and she rubbed her eyes and looked up at him.

“I’m sorry—” she said, “I’m so sorry—This is—I shouldn’t… You shouldn’t have to…” 

Genji pulled her into a hug and she sobbed into his cybernetic shoulder for nearly a minute before she caught herself and broke out of the embrace.

“I’m sorry–I’m sorry—” she was saying rounding her desk and slumping into her seat.

“I’m sorry,” said Genji, “That was inappropriate—I shouldn’t have…”

“No–I was…I shouldn’t be…This is a mess,” Mercy pressed her fingers to her forehead. 

“…you shouldn’t put it all on yourself,” said Genji. 

Mercy broke her sight away from her desk to look up at him. 

“You couldn’t have known… As long as I’ve known you, you’ve never used anything but the best of your judgment when it comes to people in your care,” said Genji.

“I… thank you,” said Mercy, rubbing her eyes.

“To be honest, I always wondered how you did it,” said Genji, “How you managed to care so deeply about so many people… seeing you like this… it’s a relief.”

“A relief?” Mercy had half of a huffing laugh, another tear trailing out of the corner of her eye.

“The guardian angel is human… somehow that’s more comforting to me,” said Genji.

Mercy smiled slightly. 

Chapter Text

All of Zurich was buzzing with tension. People were rushing past Genji in the halls, talking very quickly on their comms or tapping away at their tablets, completely absorbed. Genji rolled his organic shoulder, the sting of Tracer’s training grade pulsefire still prickling, but it was a good ache. God, had he been benched for that long? Did he heal faster with Blackwatch? He shuddered at the physical memory of Moira’s biotics, frankly relieved that Blackwatch’s suspension had more or less sent her to the darkest and most distant watchpoint labs to focus on her work. He couldn’t imagine she was working on anything good, but at least there was less mocking, needling, and long, unsettlingly dissecting stares to deal with. And instead what they were dealing with was… what may be the onset of another Omnic Crisis. Would it be another Omnic Crisis or would they just… add it to the pile that was the situation on the Siberian front? Either way he was stuck here, the Shimada clan had dropped to a lower priority for Overwatch, and there was nothing he could do about it.

He had heard about the new mission though. Cassidy had been sending in Blackwatch a trickle of information for several days, better than their satellite imaging could pick up of London, and the direness of the situation had finally forced Reyes to show his hand to Morrison and Amari. Genji guessed Reyes’ and Cassidy’s little ‘vacation’ scheme would keep Blackwatch benched for at least a few more months, probably launch more inquiries from the UN as Jack’s means of damage control if Cassidy’s presence ever became public. Doubtful, given the chaos on the ground, but then again, a cowboy in London stood out. 

He made his way through Zurich Headquarters, the black hood of his Blackwatch hoodie up over his hair, midway between trying to avoid the crowds and trying to glean what he could about the mission parameters. A part of him wanted to go to Jack, to volunteer for the mission, but he knew if Jack was already aware of Cassidy’s presence in London, he wouldn’t have trust in plopping another one of Reyes’ operatives down there. He hated this. He hated being caught up in the soap opera of Reyes’ and Morrison’s bizarre tango of power, trust, deceit, and willful ignorance. Back when Blackwatch wasn’t suspended he could just focus on mission to mission, able to convince himself that every slash of his sword was getting him closer to vengeance, closer to satisfaction, but now, he was stuck sitting on his hands, forced to watch the debates play out to try and get a hint of what his fate might be. The flow of the crowd brought him to the various labs, workshops, and garages, that surrounded Zurich headquarters’ hangar bay. He paused in the open doorway to a lab at a familiar flash of pale blonde hair under cold white fluorescent lights. surrounded by shifting bodies in white labcoats.  They all stood out starkly against the deep gray of the lab. 

Mercy wasn’t in her usual labcoat, but donning her blue combat medic uniform as she adjusted the white beret on her head. A handful of lab assistants and engineers were pacing around her, running inventory on the supplies in her belt, calibrating her HUD drone, and helping piece on her armor. As two assistants came up to attach her wings to her back, a flinching instinct of politeness nearly forced Genji to look away, but curiosity kept his eyes fixed on her. She was fully covered as they put the wings on her, and he had of course, seen her without the wings plenty of times throughout the time he had known her. The wings locked into their respective sockets on the uniform with a ski boot-like ‘kluchunk-pop’ sound, and Mercy’s shoulders visibly drew up and back with an almost flinching motion and her breath drew in sharply. Somehow the action of it made Genji feel like he was seeing something he shouldn’t be seeing. Something intimate, and almost sacred—she’d probably scoff at that, the same way she scoffed at those posters of her. But there was something transformative in the way she carried herself once the wings went on and the little yellow glow indicating the valkyrie suit’s self-healing systems were in effect.

“Systems check,” said an assistant, tapping at their tablet.

Mercy rolled her shoulders and her wings flickered to life, blue knife-like feathers of light beaming out from them. The wings folded and unfolded, tilted and angled this way and that.

“Marginal covert hydraulics and scapular stabilizers fully operational,” Mercy’s eyes were downcast and her voice was clipped. Another assistant walked up to her briskly and presented her with her staff. She took it, flicked on the staff and it hummed to life, a yellow sphere of light rippling at its end. “Biotic systems fully operational. Tether test?”

The assistant who had previously been tweaking her wings quickly ran across the lab.

“Testing tether!” They called from roughly 25 feet away. They were holding up one of the biofeedback indicator beacons that were sometimes put on the training bots for Mercy to practice with. Mercy quickly pivoted on her heel and fired off a yellow beam from the staff and a ribbon of gold light gently oscillated between Mercy and the lab assistant.

“Obviously we don’t have time for a full flight test…” said Mercy.

“Given the nature of this mission…” said the assistant with the tablet, and Mercy sighed.

“Torbjorn should have enough gear for in-field calibrations and repairs,” she said firmly, “Thank you, I should be getting down to the hangar–”

She glanced at the door and their eyes met and Genji’s shoulders stiffened where he stood.

“Genji,” a smile lit up her face as she walked to the door.

“Doctor Ziegler,” he managed to say. His eyes scanned across the assistants and engineers behind her, some of their eyes fixed on him–some with an uncomfortable technical curiosity towards his prosthetics, some with the general contempt a large body of Overwatch agents now held toward Blackwatch with the fallout of the Venice incident still affecting their work and their relationships. But Mercy gave them no mind as she briskly walked toward him. “Is there something you need?”

“Me?” Genji blinked a few times, “Oh–no, I was… just passing through.” He motioned to her uniform, “Besides, I’m guessing your schedule’s full for today.”

She did a little scoffing chuckle. “Yes, I suppose you’re right but…if you’re not busy, I wouldn’t mind some company heading down to the hangar.” 

Genji’s eyes flicked back to the scientists behind her and they all quickly seemed to become very involved in their tablets or clearing up the lab rather than make eye contact with him. “I would like that,” he said, glancing back at Mercy.

She smiled and hefted up her staff, walking out into the hall. He trailed alongside her hesitantly. There was a stark difference between them–her, clean and prim in her blue and white uniform, and him, a ragged mix of man and machine wrapped up in a well-worn black hoodie. He pulled the hood back from his head and nervously ran his fingers through his hair as they walked together.

“So you’re really going to London, then?” said Genji.

“Unless local law-enforcement can break through in the next couple hours, but that doesn’t seem likely,” said Mercy.

“And… you’re okay with overstepping the UN?”

Mercy huffed, “Do you really care about that?”

“I know you do,” said Genji.

Mercy glanced off. “I actually told Jack I think the Prime Minister’s an idiot for forbidding us from intervening.”

Genji blinked with some impressed surprise and Mercy snorted at his expression.

“Well he is!” she huffed, “Of course I understand his hesitance given our current public relations, but we have resources—and if we’re not using them to help people… well that’s only building more resentment and letting many people die uselessly due to the mistakes and egos of a few!” Her eyes fluttered at him momentarily as she caught her own words, but she set her jaw with a sharp breath through her nostrils with resolve, “We just…we need a chance to fix things… to prove we can still do what we set out to do at the outset of the Omnic Crisis. Peace and progress. That’s the goal.”

Genji stared at her for a few seconds as she seemed distracted with readjusting her beret and wristguards while they walked. It threw him off sometimes, remembering how resolved she was in her moral views, in her determination.  It honestly sometimes baffled him how she could see ‘Mercy’ as such a distinct personality from her own… or did she just get more like this when she donned the wings? Was this a mask? His fingers mindlessly brushed at his own faceplate before he realized how long the silence had hung in the air. She didn’t seem to notice the lull in his response, and to be fair, so many other Overwatch employees were rushing past them that he couldn’t blame her for letting her mind pivot back to the mission. As they both pulled to the side to let a handful of operatives and communications officers pass by in the narrow hallway, he managed to regain his footing in the conversation. “It’s true, at this point, it’s the most practical choice, but I know you’ve had issues with Overwatch charging in before…”

Mercy smiled wearily. “Thank you,” she said, tucking her hair back as they both stepped into an elevator, a bit of nice reprieve from the hurried halls, “But.. I’m fine. I suppose the way I’m dealing with it now is, well, I want to be able to say I did all I could. I think this is a dangerous slope, but if it means saving lives…” she trailed off slightly.

“I know,” said Genji. 

“And–with luck, we might be able to slip right past their defenses!” said Mercy, “Or the Prime Minister’s forces can beat them back… or…”

“I think we can safely say you’re going into a literal warzone,” said Genji, folding his arms.

“It’s not really about going in and shooting,” said Mercy, checking the way the skirt of her uniform hung as she shifted her legs, “It will be a two-part mission: first shutting down the Null-sector anti-aircraft guns, then cutting them off from the power plant.”

“…which involves going in and shooting.”

“Well… yes.”

 The elevator dinged and they both stepped out.

Why am I talking like this? he wondered, briefly, I should be letting her focus–just because I’m frustrated at Blackwatch being benched doesn’t mean I should muddy things up for her…not at a time like this.

“I’m sure it will be fine,” Mercy said, almost as if tuning in on his thoughts as they walked down a , “Missions with Reinhardt always turn out to be…” she sighed, “adventures, but he’s never let me down. And if there’s anyone who can out-engineer Null Sector, it’s Torbjörn.”

“Are you sure that’s enough?” said Genji, “Between Torbjorn and Reinhardt, that’s not a lot of mobility…”

“Well, that’s where Tracer comes in,” said Mercy.

It was times like this where Genji was glad his faceplate covered a lot of his own expression. “Oxton?” The name flinched out of him, “But—she’s only—she hasn’t—”

“This will be her first mission, yes,” said Mercy, “But she’s from King’s Row herself! She’ll know the terrain.” Mercy smiled a little, “And with all she’s learned from you, I’m sure she’ll be more than capable.” Her brow crinkled a little, “Unless—Well, you’ve actually been on the training floor with her, is there anything I should know?”

Genji looked off, fixing his eyes on the tiles of the floor passing beneatht heir feet, dozens of half-formed thoughts pinballing between angry, resigned, bitter, confused, and the very rare sensible boiling up in him. Overstepping the UN and the explicit demands of a Prime Minister—with an agent with no field experience—What was Jack thinking? But even louder than the practical illogic of it was his own jealousy and envy.

They’re sending in a newbie and I’m stuck here because Reyes shot some idiot in the face, the thoughts burned in his mind, And of course Cassidy’s there because he’s Reyes’ favorite and I’m just a freak. I should be the one going. I can scale the buildings. I can flank past their defenses and cut through them like silk. And they’re sending her in, what, because she has a glowing clock jammed in her chest? So I’m not good enough? Not special enough? You haul my bloodied corpse in here, give me this repulsive body, and then just leave me to collect dust?! Having the fucking Shimada dragon isn’t good enough for these people?!

“Genji?” Mercy’s voice snapped him out of the spiral of furious thoughts, “Are you all right?”

“Oh—I—“ Genji straightened up slightly, quickly looking back at her. The concern in her eyes melted the fury in his head and chest into a nauseous guilt in his stomach. She doesn’t need this, he thought, Put her first. Put the mission first. “Sorry… everyone rushing around like this… when you’ve been stuck in Zurich long enough, you—um—you get more sensitive to it.” Not a lie, but not the reason.

Mercy tilted her head slightly. Her lips parted, but he couldn’t stand the idea of her taking her precious pre-mission time just to soothe his own stupid ego. 

“Tracer is fine,” Genji’s voice was short, stiff, before she could speak, “To—to answer your question, I mean. Her fighting capabilities are… sufficient.”

Mercy’s lips closed again for a few seconds of thought, and the light in her eyes shifted. He could tell she wanted to say more, draw more out of him, help him–Angela Ziegler, always saving the world–but London awaited, and the team needed her more. “A bit more than sufficient, if there’s anything I learned from watching your sparring matches,” said Mercy pivoting the conversation to a more playful tone, “Most of our other agents can’t last more than a few seconds against you.”

“To be fair, the reason she lasts longer than a few seconds is literal time travel,” said Genji, giving Mercy a wry side-eye. He put his hands on his hips with a bit of faux machismo, “And I was going easy on her.”

“Oh, of course,” said Mercy, with a sly smile.

They had both come to a stop in front of the doors to the hangar. Genji saw Mercy’s jaw visibly tighten. She straightened her shoulders, took a deep breath, quickly brushed a hand down the front of her uniform smoothing it, and tucked some of her hair back behind her ear. She gave a glance to Genji.

“Well… I should… probably meet up with the rest of the team,” she said looking at Genji. He could see the shift in her, that first little flare of ‘this is happening,’ adrenaline that makes time slow down. 

“Right,” said Genji. He brought a hand up towards her but he wasn’t 100% sure why he did it. Maybe to put a reassuring hand on her shoulder? That didn’t seem right. A memory flashed of their embrace back when LaCroix had died, when she had cried into his cybernetic shoulder–one of the few times his prosthetics had felt close to human. He wasn’t about to pull her into a hug now, so he quickly lowered his hand at an awkward handshake level. 

“Um… Come back safe, Doctor Ziegler,” said Genji.

Rather than shake his hand, Mercy reached forward and clasped his forearm. The action was startling, but not unwelcome. It almost made him feel like he was heading into battle with her, but maybe he had his own battles here. 

“Hm,” she gave a tight-lipped smile and nod as she squeezed his arm. There was that flicker in her eyes again, the one that wanted more time, the one that didn’t want to leave things as they were but knew she had to. He squeezed back, not sure if she could feel it through her wrist guards, staring into her eyes before they both released and her hand slipped through his as they broke away.

 The steel doors to the hangar slid open and he saw Torbjörn and Reinhardt, both donning Overwatch blue, lifting their heads, Reinhardt waving as Mercy stepped out into the hangar, her wings bobbing behind her, the light catching in her hair before the steel doors closed and obscured her from view. He walked away from the door and for some reason the buzz and bustle of headquarters seemed more quiet, muted around him as he made his way through the halls, up to the roof of Zurich headquarters. The cold wind forced him to bring his hood back up, but he heard the whir of engines and turned to see a white aircraft hovering up into the sky. He hadn’t even gotten a good look at the ship in the hangar, but he knew that was it. He knew that’s where she was. And the team. The real heroes, not Blackwatch.

Maybe it isn’t that I’m stuck here, Genji thought, pocketing his hands in his hoodie as he watched the dropship zoom into the distance, west, chasing the sun, racing towards London, Maybe it’s that she’s going where I can’t follow.

Chapter Text

“You said it was a routine mission,” said Genji, walking briskly alongside Jack and Gabe.

“Not to you,” said Jack, “You understand the point of compartmentalization, don’t you?”

Genji visibly bristled but Reyes put a hand on Genji’s shoulder. “Easy,” Gabe said, looking between them, “You know my squad’s been antsy since we’ve been benched.”

“There’s a difference between ‘antsy’ and ‘listening in on conversations that could compromise multiple Overwatch operations,’” said Jack, before glancing over at Gabe, “How many of my meetings and debriefings do you have him listening in on?”

“I don’t ‘have him’ listen in on anything! He gets around the base!” said Gabe.

“If you can’t control your agents—” Jack started.

“By all means continue talking about me as if I’m a child who is not here,” said Genji.

“Calm down–” said Reyes. 

“Calm down!? Morrison is putting the appearance of Overwatch over the safety of its agents and you want me to calm down?!” Genji fumed.

“Reyes,” Morrison said his name in warning and Gabe breathed tensely through his teeth before giving Genji’s shoulder a ‘please shut the fuck up for both our sakes’ squeeze.

“There’s no guarantee you would have been able to do anything if you were on that mission,” said Reyes, looking at Genji in the eye, “Your being here is a privilege because Morrison recognizes that the wellbeing of Doctor Ziegler is very important to you. Your being here is against protocol, and it can easily be revoked if you can’t control yourself. Do you understand?”

Genji’s eyes narrowed and he glanced off, the fury in his face hidden by the metal plate of his mask. “I understand,” he said, his voice dull and hot like iron from a fire.

The three of them walked out to Zurich headquarters’ hangar. Several medical staff were already present with a stretcher as the Orca hovered in, flanked by several maintenance vehicles before settling on the floor of the hangar. Genji tensed as the door to the Orca opened and Reinhardt hurried out, closely followed by Torbjörn and Tracer. The front of Reinhardt’s armor was splattered with blood, and in his arms he was carrying a crumpled figure, her face obscured by a shroud of white-blonde hair and a red-flecked white beret.

“Angela–” Genji instinctively stepped forward but Reyes put an arm in front of him as the medics already in the hangar rushed forward with a stretcher. Reinhardt stooped and put her on it and she was briefly obscured by several medical staff. The medical staff seemed to be questioning Reinhardt and Reyes brought his arm down, allowing Genji to rush to the side of the stretcher.

“Angela–Doctor Ziegler–” he started, reaching her side.

Her eyelids fluttered but kept her eyes half lidded as one medic fussed with an I.V at her wrist.

“Genji?” her voice was hoarse and blood was all down the front of her blue combat medic uniform, “You’re… you’re not supposed to be on this mission…” 

“You’re not on the mission, you’re back at headquarters–you’re safe—” Genji was stumbling over his words.

“Oh…?” Her eyes flicked around the hangar sleepily before they turned back to him, “The others… are the others…?” her eyes rolled back in her head and she went limp on the stretcher as her eyes closed.

“Angela?!” Genji said in alarm.

“Vitals are still stable–” said one of the medics, shoving Genji out of the way as they all swarmed the stretcher, pushing the stretcher out of the hangar and towards the medical wing. Genji would have followed after them but knew he would probably only get in the way. He looked over at Reinhardt. Reinhardt watched the stretcher be wheeled off in a grim, tense silence that was uncharacteristic of him before he turned on his heel and perked up to see Morrison and Reyes.

“Strike commander–” he started, looking at Morrison.

“You were captain on this mission!” Genji suddenly stepped in front of him, “How could you let this happen?!”

“Genji–” Reyes started.

“It wasn’t his fault!” Tracer darted between Genji and Reinhardt.

“Of course it was the rookie,” snarled Genji, turning on Tracer, “You overextend in training and you overextended here, is that it?! You never listened to a single word I said in CQC, did you?!”

“Genji!” Reyes said more harshly.

“Reinhardt’s shield went down! There was nothing we could do!” said Tracer. Her voice cracked a little.

“You can time travel and I’m supposed to believe there was nothing you could do!?” said Genji. Tracer winced at his words.

“You’ve got no business yelling at her when you weren’t even there!” Torbjorn snapped.

“No! Apparently I’m supposed to just be okay with the safety of Overwatch’s chief scientific and medical mind being left in the hands of the elderly and incompetent!” Genji fired back.

Torbjorn turned beet red with fury and opened his mouth to retort but was cut off by Reyes.

“Shimada! Stand down!” Reyes barked and Genji caught himself and looked over his shoulder at Reyes.

“Morrison and I will debrief the others,” said Reyes, “You came here to make sure the Doctor was still alive. She’s still alive. Now back to your quarters.”

“I–” Genji started.

“To your quarters,” said Reyes, his voice steady.

Genji drew a breath shaky with fury before turning on his heel and storming out of the hangar.

—-

“You made her cry, y’know,” Cassidy said the next day as Genji sullenly hunched over his tablet in the Blackwatch intel center beneath Zurich headquarters, looking over the heavily redacted debriefing of the mission Reyes had given him.

“Genji,” Cassidy said his name and Genji glanced up. “I said you made Tracer cry. I saw it at breakfast this morning. She zip-zooped right out of the mess hall to try and hide it.”

“That’s not my problem,” said Genji, looking back down at the tablet.

“I know you’re upset over the Doc getting hurt but everyone cares about her just as much as you do. Everyone’s just as upset–” Cassidy started.

“If everyone cared maybe she wouldn’t have gotten hurt,” Genji’s voice was still tense.

“This shit happens, Genji. Reyes said she’s going to make a full recovery—”

“Maybe you can handle being stuck around Zurich like a useless pile of trash because that’s your natural state, Cole, but I can’t,” said Genji, standing up and pacing around.

A beat passed between the and it hit Genji how harsh his words just then were.

“…Jesus,” said Cassidy, after a beat.

“I–” Genji’s shoulders tensed, “I didn’t–That wasn’t—” he inhaled, “I’m sorry.”

“You’re messed up, Genji,” said Cassidy, “But I get it. You should apologize to Tracer, too.”

“I should…” Genji said quietly, “I mean I will but–I will.”

“Go take care of what you need to take care of,” said Cassidy, “Get your head right.”

“Mm,” Genji gave a single nod.

—-

“It’s important that Doctor Ziegler not be disturbed at this time,” said the Omnic nurse posted outside Mercy’s room in the infirmary.

“I know,” said Genji, “I won’t wake her up. I just.. I need to see her. I’ll be short.”

“Well… you are on her list of approved visitors…” said the Omnic, stepping aside.

“I am?” said Genji, “I–I mean, thank you.” He pressed the panel at the side of the door and it slid open. He stepped in and it closed behind him.

Mercy looked a lot better than she had the previous night–of course, cleaning all the blood off of someone and putting them in a hospital gown would do that. Her hair was down, splashed around her head on the pillow like a halo.

“Our guardian angel,” an uncomfortably familiar voice spoke and Genji whirled on his heel to see Moira leaning against the wall in the corner of the room. She had taken to dressing a bit more casually since Blackwatch’s suspension, dressed in a quarter-sleeve boat-necked black shirt and high-waisted faded jeans. She stepped alongside Genji, looming over Mercy in her hospital bed. Moira clicked her tongue with pity, “The stateof you…” she said to Mercy, with an almost theatrical sorrowfulness.

Genji flinched away from Moira. “You’re on the approved list of visitors?” he blurted out.

“The list of what now?” said Moira, folding her arms and tilting her head, “Oh–no. Well, probably not. But better to ask forgiveness than beg permission and all that. Considering I wouldn’t even be in Blackwatch without the efforts of our esteemed Doctor here.”

“What?” said Genji.

“I never told you?” said Moira, before she glanced off and muttered, “Of course I never told you, why would I tell you?” she caught herself and cleared her throat, “Ah, well… prior to your…” Moira gestured up and down at Genji, “Joining, of Overwatch, I was actually a scientist of great esteem. The position our dear Doctor Ziegler holds now? Well, once upon a time, that position was mine.”

Genji’s eyes narrowed.

“Once,” said Moira, stepping around Mercy’s hospital bed, “I had as many resources at my disposal as she does now. But then I make the mistake of publishing my findings, as any scientist worth their salt would do, and when other scientists were unable to replicate the results of my experiments, when other scientists decry my methods as ‘unethical,’ then everyone leaps for my throat. And then who should show up then but dear little Angela Ziegler? The Crisis orphan? The child prodigy? ‘I looked up to you once’ she says, and with only a few words to Morrison I am cast down from my position. My funding is cut and I am forced, for the sake of Overwatch’s reputation, to tender my resignation. But of course, I’m too useful to really be let go, so Morrison just lets Reyes scoop me right up from where he dropped me. Overwatch let my reputation and my grants burn, but still there is work to be done, so here I am.” She looked down at Mercy in the hospital bed, “Here I am,” she said once more, as if Mercy could hear her. “She’s easier to control than I was,” Moira said quietly, “I suppose Morrison likes that.”

“She is not ‘easy to control,’” said Genji, his hand balling into a fist at his side, “She’s a good person.”

“One’s willingness to be defined as quote unquote ‘a good person’ determines how easy one is to control,” said Moira with a smile, “We once let our morality be defined by people who burned anyone with a heliocentric theory of the solar system at the stake. Are we really willing to put our preconceived notions of morality above that of which we perceive with our own eyes?” 

“You’re glad she got hurt,” Genji’s voice was dark.

“That’s not really the right word for it,” said Moira, unfolding her tablet and projecting a blue hologram of an artist’s mannequin-like model of the human body–a section of its back highlighted yellow, “I’m not glad she got hurt so much as I’m willing to make the most of it. You see, our dear Doctor Ziegler has these biotic spinal implants of her own design that she lets almost no one get a good look at. I was simply here to compile what biometric data I could about their design. I can’t exactly run a full MRI on her.”

“…Maybe she thought whoever had the design wouldn’t use it with good intentions,” said Genji, watching Moira squint at the hologram on her tablet.

“Science isn’t about good intentions, Genji,” said Moira, spinning the hologram around with a flick of her wrist, “Science is about truth. But Overwatch doesn’t care about truth. Overwatch doesn’t care about you or me or her,” Moira gestured at Mercy, “Overwatch cares about Overwatch. And I’m sure you realize that by now.” 

Genji winced a little bit where he stood. “If you aren’t on Doctor Ziegler’s list of approved guests, you should leave,” he said, squaring his shoulders.

“Of course, Agent Shimada,” said Moira disappearing in a wisp of smoke.

Genji took a steadying breath where he stood before looking down at Mercy.

“You are a good person,” he said, just as much to himself as to her. He walked towards the door and pressed a panel next to it, opening it.  “I’ll be here when you wake up,” he said, before walking through.

Chapter Text

“No, mum, I’m not going to quit, it was just a mission that went a little rough, that’s all!” Tracer was talking into her phone as she descended the stairs. She huffed and held the phone away from her ear as a wail was let out on the other end. “Not ‘a little rough’ like the slipstream incident, no,” said Tracer, bringing the phone back to her ear, “It wasn’t even me that got hurt this time–No I didn’t get hurt back during the Null Sector Uprising–I mean I did but the doc–Mum, if you could just let me fini–MUM!” Tracer took a steadying breath as the ranting continued on the other end of the phone before saying, “I’m fine. My team is going to be fine. I–no, where did you hear that? I mean yeah there’s investigations, sure, but that’s part of being in a UN-sponsored organization. Every country has some concerns about something. It’s going to be fine, mum. I’m going to be fine. And stop watching that Clapham guy! You know he’s awful, and inaccurate, and he only stresses you out!” Tracer paused again, “I love you too, Mum,” she said quietly, “Take care.” She hung up and sighed, slumping her weight against the wall of the stairwell.

“Oxton,” Tracer heard a raspy voice and flinched hard, the chronal anomalies of a near-recall fizzing around her in a pale blue light. She whirled on her heel to see Genji perched half a floor above her in the stairwell. Tracer’s brow furrowed, “Y’know you can just walk up to people like normal. You don’t need to sneak up and scare them.”

“I wasn’t–” Genji started but then descended the stairs, “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“You don’t scare me,” said Tracer, stiffly.

“You just said–” Genji started then scoffed and tried to focus, “I–I wanted to apologize.”

Tracer blinked.

“I was… emotional. And I took it out on you. And you didn’t deserve that. Torbjörn was right. I had no right talking like that about a mission I wasn’t even on. So,” Genji straightened his shoulders, “I’m sorry.” He bowed, brisk and a bit stiff—not sarcastic in the gesture so much as someone who knew it was the appropriate gesture yet almost never bothered with it.

“Oh Genji,” there was a softness in Tracer’s voice that made Genji’s stomach tense.

“And I will continue training you in close quarters combat,” said Genji, “And–and you are getting better. You need a better idea of where your recall will leave you in relation to your opponent, but you are getting better.” He wasn’t making eye contact.

“Cole told you I was crying, didn’t he?” said Tracer, folding her arms.

“I… heard no such thing,” said Genji, “This was just the appropriate thing to do.”

“You don’t need to pretend about it,” said Tracer, “I know I’m–I’m too young, and I’m stupid, and I have this-this big stupid thing in the middle of my chest that I don’t even really know how to use—”

“No one would know how to use that!” said Genji, gesturing at the chronal accelerator, “Literally nothing like it or like you has existed before! Ever! But you know how to use it and you want to use it to help people and that’s–that’s…” Genji huffed, “I don’t want to… alarm you or make you worry, but I think Morrison would have given up months ago if you hadn’t come along. And if Morrison had given up, Reyes would have given up.”

“…no pressure then,” said Tracer.

“That was meant to be a compliment to you. You…. you make people want to believe in heroes. It’s why they put you on the posters. It’s why they keep coming to you for commentary for the holovids. I know how to infiltrate. How to kill. I know how to fulfill my missions. You actually give people something they can trust. Something they can believe in.”

Tracer’s shoulders slumped a little. “Thank you,” she said, folding her arms under her chronal accelerator. “Y’know, there’s a lot of times where I wish you were on my team, too. I like Reinhardt and Torbjörn but… you’re a good teacher.”

“Thank you,” said Genji.

“Plus you’re all… cool and mysterious,” said Tracer.

“I–I am?” said Genji, bewildered. He shook his head. “You don’t have to–”

“What, you give me all that stuff about ‘Oh Reyes and Morrison would have given up without you’ and you expect me to just let you walk off like that? You’re a good agent, Genji, and I mean it when I say I want you on my team.” 

“I wouldn’t want me on the team considering my behavior–” Genji muttered.

“If you were on the team you could at least say you did the best you could to keep Doctor Ziegler safe,” said Tracer with a shrug.

Genji visibly tensed at her words.

“That’s who this was about, wasn’t it?” said Tracer, smirking a little, “Rein and Torb and I–we’ve had missions go south before. And you’ve responded to those missions with about as much care as breakfast that morning. But the second something happens to the Doc you just—” Tracer snapped her fingers and Genji glanced off.

“She saved my life,” said Genji, “And–and she’s very important to this organization…” he trailed off.

Tracer tilted her head with a smile. It wasn’t pity in her eyes, but there was an ‘Oh you’ in her expression that made him bristle with frustration. She had no business acting all knowing considering she was about a decade younger than him.

“Are you going to keep giving me that look or are you going to accept my apology?” said Genji, stiffly.

Tracer just smirked. “Apology accepted,” she said, “Y’know, I could be an arse and say my acceptance is on the condition that you actually tell Doctor Ziegler how you–”

“Then I would curse you out, and make you cry, and then we’d be right back where we started,” said Genji, folding his arms.

Tracer just kept smirking. “Maybe I was too quick on the ‘cool and mysterious’ thing,” she said, putting her hands on her hips.

“I suppose you’ll just have to keep up your ‘hero’ thing for the both of us, Oxton,” said Genji. He paused, “I–Thank you. For accepting my apology.”

“Holding grudges is tiring,” said Tracer with a shrug, “I do hope the higher-ups find a way to get you off the bench, Genji.” 

“Well, being an ass to you definitely isn’t helping things,” said Genji.

“Chin up,” she gave his shoulder a gentle punch, “It’ll turn out all right.”

“You really mean that when you say it, don’t you?” said Genji.

“Well yeah,” said Tracer with an eyebrow waggle as she continued on her way down the stairs, “Part of the hero job, y’know.”

Chapter Text

Mercy stirred awake to find herself in a bed in Zurich Headquarters’ medical ward. Panic gripped her briefly–the others, had they made it? She remembered the feel of Reinhardt’s armored arms carrying her, the warbling feedback of Tracer’s chronal accelerator zipping about in a panic.

“You’re not on the mission,” she remembered Genji’s voice, “You’re back at headquarters. You’re safe.”

No, that couldn’t be right. Protocol wouldn’t have Genji down in the hangar when they touched down. She must have dreamed that.  She moved to adjust herself in bed to press the button to call whatever nurse was on duty when she heard a rustle of paper. She glanced down to see a folded up piece of notepad stationery that read ‘From the desk of Jack Morrison’ at the top with ‘Jack Morrison’ scribbled out. She arched an eyebrow at the odd intimacy of the note’s positioning but then instantly recognized the handwriting.

Doctor Ziegler,

Genji .She rolled her eyes. Of course Genji would sneak notebook paper off of Jack’s desk. He was only getting more impatient with Blackwatch benched.

If you’re reading this, Reyes or Sojourn called me off before you woke up. Oxton, Lindholm, and Wilhelm are all fine (you were worrying about them before you passed out.)

Mercy breathed a sigh of relief, then tilted her head. So he was at the hangar that night.

I’ll be back as soon as I can–unless they put me on a mission! (That is a joke. They are going to keep Blackwatch locked down here forever  or at least however long the organization has). Please take it easy and get well soon.

Until next time,

Genji

She huffed a little at the poorly crossed-out sentence. “Oh Genji,” she said, with a sigh, pushing her hair back. The door slid open and Mercy instinctively shoved the note down under the sheet of her bed, as if it was a little girl’s note being passed around in class and the teacher had reached her desk. She immediately felt a little ridiculous with the action. It was just a get-well soon note, not really worth hiding aside from the fact that Genji had snuck the paper off of Morrison’s desk.

“Genji?” she leaned up in bed slightly but the man who came through the door was not Genji. It was Reinhardt. He was in full civilian clothes, which Mercy found odd–usually Reinhardt donned at least one emblem of Overwatch on his clothing with pride even when he was out of his armor. He had a bouquet of irises, sweet pea, and hyacinth. He flinched in the doorway as he made eye contact with her and she smiled a little.

“Oh–” he said, his voice quieter than normal and a bit stuffed up, “You’re awake.”

“It’s good to see you well, Reinhardt,” said Mercy.

“Yes, well,” Reinhardt cleared his throat and stepped over, placing the bouquet on the beside table next to her hospital bed, “It is a relief to see you recovering as well, Doctor Ziegler. I’m afraid I cannot stay long, though.”

“I understand,” said Mercy, as Reinhardt turned back towards the door, “Thank you for dropping by.” 

Reinhardt gave her an oddly stiff nod as he paused at the door. “It… has been an honor being your shield, Doctor Ziegler.”

“‘Has been?’” Mercy repeated.

Reinhardt wasn’t looking at her.

“Reinhardt?” Mercy said his name in question but he didn’t say anything. He passed through the door.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

“So she just walked right up and—” Genji punched his open palm. his prosthetic not quite making that ‘smack’ sound but close enough. It was a quieter night than usual.  The memorial had only been two days ago, but everyone was still murmuring about the punch. 

“That’s what I heard from Cole,” said Mercy with a shrug, taking a seat in front of her monitor.

“The Strike Commander?” Genji repeated incredulously before scoffing and looking off, “We really need tighter security.”

“Well, to be fair, I don’t think anyone expected it,” said Mercy, “The day was about creating space for grieving and… I suppose… that was her grieving.” Mercy sighed, staring down into her coffee cup. “It was her mother…”

“I suppose if Jack knew her well enough to let her get that close,” Genji mused.

“All of the original strike team knew Fareeha,” said Mercy, “When I first visited Overwatch during my med school years, she was about 12 and they were all treating her like a favorite niece, but by the time I joined Overwatch, she and Ana were barely talking. I didn’t look too deeply into it because, well, Ana was my superior and it wasn’t appropriate.”

“Why join Egyptian Special forces over Overwatch?” Genji swirled his own coffee in his mug, “I mean if she was going to go into armed forces no matter what… Do you think she was afraid Ana might give her special treatment?”

“Ana never gave me that impression,” said Mercy, “And I don’t think now’s exactly the time to ask Fareeha about it, either.”

“Mm,” Genji glanced off, “Legacy’s rough.”

“Legacy?” Mercy glanced up from typing through an email.

“Well…” Genji gestured vaguely, “Having a parent who has such an impact on not just your world, but tons of other people, it… it does something to your head. They’re never 100% your parent. And you’re not 100% yourself–you’re an extension of them. And when they’re gone everyone talks to you, but you’re only a reflection of them. I–” he made a dismissive wave of his hand, “I’m probably rambling.”

Mercy was leaning her elbow over the back of her chair, giving him a quiet, contemplative look. Not pitying, but concerned. “It’s fine,” the words left her half a beat too late and the thought “oh I really shouldn’t have said that much.” burned in Genji’s mind. He cleared his throat and sipped his coffee.

“So…how are you holding up?” said Genji, quickly trying to shift the focus of the conversation back to Ana and the memorial.

“I’m getting more used to it,” said Mercy, resuming typing at her monitor, “But… between her, Lacroix and Liao, it just… I don’t like the path it’s putting us on.”

“What do you mean?” said Genji.

“Well–With Liao, we had the sense that we were taking post-Omnic Crisis reconstruction in the right direction–we had someone who understood omnics, someone willing to act as a bridge between human and Omnic. But now she’s gone and what are we doing to ease human-omnic relations? Hardly anything!” said Mercy, “And you knew LaCroix. You know how vital he was to Blackwatch.”

“…I don’t think Blackwatch will ever get off suspension without him,” said Genji, glancing down.

“Exactly,” said Mercy, “His background in intelligence gave Blackwatch legitimacy, allowed for easier negotiations with other agencies, but the second LaCroix was out of the picture…”

“Reyes shoots Antonio in the face,” said Genji, “And I would again like to stress that–”

“That you were just a bystander?” said Mercy, wryly arching an eyebrow as her fingers tapped away at the keyboard.

“He said mission parameters had shifted,” said Genji, folding his arms. His shoulders slumped a little, “In any case, I’m on the bench now so…”

“So it brings us back to Ana,” said Mercy, the clacks of her typing slowed to silence, “A soldier, yes, but… she was the balancer. She was the voice of reason. Without her, Jack and Gabriel…” she trailed off and caught herself, “Not that I don’t think Sojourn’s perfectly capable in command, I do, but between losing Ana and everyone and that Ecopoint disaster down in Antarctica….all the people that made this organization feel like… something more than just uniforms and guns… they’re disappearing.” Mercy set her elbow on the desk and leaned her forehead against her knuckles with exhaustion. She felt a hand on her shoulder and perked up, looking up at Genji standing next to her.

“You’re still here,” said Genji.

Mercy scoffed and smiled a little. “Yes, where would Overwatch be without Mercy? They need someone to put on the posters—”

“Not Mercy, Angela Ziegler,” said Genji, “I mean… yes, I trusted Ana and LaCroix and Liao, too but… for me, you were the first. I only gave the rest of them a chance because you trusted them.” 

Mercy was staring directly at him again with those patient, curious gray-blue eyes, and ‘oh I definitely shouldn’t have said that much’ flashed in Genji’s mind before he quickly withdrew his hand from her shoulder and itched at his cybernetic jawline awkwardly.

“It um… It does mean a lot to me that you’re here, too,” said Mercy.

“Really?” said Genji, “I… I wouldn’t really say I’m like Liao or Ana, though.”

“No but…having someone who’s willing to listen, someone who’s willing to see me as more than just the doctor on the posters…” Mercy trailed off and then sat up a little, trying to compose herself, “I know Blackwatch being suspended has been hard on you, but having you here makes me feel like I’m not just… pumping my work out to a faceless organization. You make Overwatch feel a lot more human.”

“More human?” Genji gave an unconscious glance down to his prosthetic hand.

“Mm-hmm,” Mercy smiled, then suddenly perked up and started feverishly typing at her monitor, “Oh! There was something I meant to show you!”

“What?”

“I was going to show it to you a few days ago, but then… all this happened and…I forgot about it and when I remembered it there was all the memorial and administrative things to deal with and–anyway,” she cleared her throat and opened a file on her monitor. Genji tilted his head as several image files of sketches and diagrams opened on the screen. 

“Is that… what is that?” said Genji.

“Well… they’re concepts for upgrading your prosthetics,” said Mercy, “Lighter, more protected…”

“No loose wires?” said Genji glancing at her.

“No leg blades, either,” said Mercy, “Before this was mostly me and some cyberneticists tossing some ideas around on implementing more state of the art prosthetic technology for combat, and with how extensive your prosthetics already were we just sort of… defaulted to our notes on you for their theoretical application–well it started out with hypotheticals, but now with the organization as shaken up as it is…” Mercy fidgeted with her hands, “I… may have asked some cyberneticists what, hypothetically, your prosthetics on an Overwatch strike team might look like.”

“…you think I might join the strike team,” said Genji, “As in Tracer’s strike team.”

As in your strike team, he thought and he could have sworn he felt his heart slam itself against his ribs. He wouldn’t just be getting out of Zurich, but getting out of Zurich with Angela–No, keep your head, Genji. Don’t get your hopes up. Stay realistic. 

“You’re a good agent, Genji, and I mean it when I say I want you on my team,” he remembered Tracer’s words back in the stairwell and that little flare of hope burned in his chest. Could that happen? Was that possible?

“With Reinhardt retiring and Torbjörn going off field missions in protest and Sojourn having to take up more of Ana’s duties… the list of specialized operatives is pretty short,” said Mercy, “So…what do you think?”

“I’d love to be on your team,” Genji said on reflex.

Mercy chuckled a little, “Well that’s good to know, but I was asking about this,” she pointed to the monitor.

“Oh” said Genji, tracing his fingers along the holographic monitor to rotate a three dimensional model of the armored figure, “It’s…uh… shiny.”

“Shiny…good?” said Mercy.

“Shiny bad for a ninja,” said Genji with a smirk. 

“It’s only in the helmet and pecs!” said Mercy, more defensive than he expected over the design.

“Why do I need chrome-plastered pecs?” said Genji, a laugh shaking his voice.

“Well–your missions with Overwatch wouldn’t be like Blackwatch. It wouldn’t be all about sneaking around. This armor and prosthetics are all about making the most of your agility. It’s just… adding a bit more form to function, really.”

“Form and function…” Genji repeated, turning the model around. He looked at the posterior of his potential armor and shot a knowing, cat-like look at Mercy.

“It’s–it’s not as if it’s any worse than your Blackwatch prosthetics!” said Mercy, stiffly, reddening and glancing off, “In fact, they’re unequivocally better. More movement, better shock-absorption, they wouldn’t need as frequent maintenance…”

“Ah, but then I’d have fewer excuses to come see you,” said Genji. The corners of Mercy’s mouth twisted up in a ‘Don’t you dare’ grin as she scoffed. He smiled, looking back at the rougher sketches of the armored figure in action. They must have been taking notes from all of his footage with the training bots. “I do like them,” he said, “I might have some modifications for it myself in mind.”

“Like I said, this is all hypothetical,” said Mercy, pushing her hair back, “But well… so long as we don’t know when you’re going back to the field…You know, it’s just something to think about.”

“Honestly, with everything going on, it’s kind of nice being given something to think about that isn’t…well…”

“Being terrified that Overwatch is collapsing beneath us?” Mercy tilted her head.

Genji snorted. “Yes. That.”

“It’s all we can do to just… be practical,” said Mercy, “Look out for each other. Like she looked out for all of us.”

Genji nodded. 

“I should have asked–but I started rambling–How are you holding up?” said Mercy.

Genji leaned against the desk and sipped his coffee. “Honestly… I’m just hoping it sinks in for me because for me it’s like… what’s the term Tracer uses? Coin drop?”

“Penny drops,” said Mercy, “So for you it’s still like…”

“It’s like she’s not gone, even though I know she is gone, and I feel like an ass because everyone around me is sobbing their eyes out and I’m standing around uselessly wondering when it’s going to hit me.” He felt at the back of his neck, “The prosthetics wouldn’t… have an affect on me like that, would they?”

“Hmm, no, you’re definitely emotional,” said Mercy on reflex, before she caught herself and put a hand over her mouth, “I mean–I mean I know you feel things–not that you’re irrational or—What I’m saying is, no grief is exactly the same.”

A huffing chuckle fell out of Genji. “Good to know, Doctor Ziegler.”

Mercy smiled and sipped her coffee.

Chapter Text

“Oh for–” Mercy frowned, scrolling through the tablet as she walked down the hall of Zurich’s medical ward, “Who in anesthesiology approved this compound for post-surgery?” 

“Well you insisted that the transition to the new prosthetics happen with as little damage to the patient’s remaining organic organs as possible,” said one of the Blackwatch Cyberneticists walking alongside her, “This compound is the safest for that.”

“Well, yes, but Mr. Shimada’s mental state is already delicate enough without these… side effects,” said Mercy.

“He’ll be fiiiine, dude was probably doing mountains of coke and god knows what else back with the Shimada clan,” said another Blackwatch cyberneticist. Mercy shot that cyberneticist a glare and the first cyberneticist made a cutting motion next to her neck and shook her head.

Mercy just huffed. “The new prosthetics are responding to basic reflexes?” she said, looking at the first Cyberneticist.

“Yep. They’ll probably need some further calibration as he recovers more from the surgery, but we have nervous connection.”

The three of them paused in front of the door. 

“We’ll leave you to it, Doctor Ziegler,” said the second cyberneticist. Mercy nodded as they headed down the hall and she opened the door.

She had to admit, she liked the new prosthetics–better than the old ones anyway. Taupe sarcofibers stretched across his torso and over the frames of his new prosthetic legs. More muscle-like movement, better shock absorption for how much he jumped around. It still was markedly different from organic flesh, certainly, but less jarring than the mass of black, white, and red metal and fibers and red and black wires which wracked his previous form. Lighter, too. They’d need him to go through the tedious process of going through different armors to protect the new prosthetics with the least amount of sacrifice to his movement, but the new prosthetics would be significantly lighter. 

Genji was awake already. Sitting up in bed, even. She knew the biotic feed running into his organic arm would keep the new organ grafts from damaging themselves. She had noted in previous observations that he seemed to metabolize and burn through sedatives far faster than most humans. Her gut told her that it was something to do with the dragon, but she feared recording such things in Genji’s medical records might make him more of a lab subject than he already was. 

 She saw Genji was staring at his hands and her stomach knotted. She knew that the transition between prosthetics was easy to make him feel even more disconnected from his body. She stepped forward, ready to say something comforting, but noticed something odd about the way he was moving his hands. His pupils were completely dilated and he was slowly trailing his hands up and down in front of himself, his expression not disgusted, but almost awed.

“Genji?” she spoke softly, not wanting to startle him.

“My hands have ghosts,” he said, waving his hands up and down.

Aaaand I’m firing that anesthesiologist, thought Mercy.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, smiling a little.

Genji blinked several times and looked up from his hands to her. His cybernetic jaw dropped. “Doctor Ziegler?” he said, eyes wide.

“Yes, Genji, it’s me, you may experience some disorientation with your current painkill–”

“You’re glowing,” Genji leaned dangerously far over the side of the bed towards her.

Mercy took a few steps forward and gently took him by his shoulders. “Your vision is also probably affected–strobing, doubles, more vivid colors, nothing too extreme– but I assure you, it’s temporary,” she said, re-centering him on the bed so he didn’t fall out.

“You’re so strong,” Genji said in awe, his hand trailed up toward her hair, “And yellow…” he reached a hand up toward it.

Mercy managed to put her hand over his and bring it down before he could touch at her hair. “You’re also experiencing some loss of inhibitions,” she said, pulling away slightly.

“Mm,” Genji nodded. 

“So I’m just here to ask you if you’re in any pain and see how the prosthetics are treating you,” said Mercy, trying to get him to focus.

“Hmm,” Genji nodded.

“So are you in pain?” said Mercy.

“No,” said Genji.

“Good,” said Mercy, “And the prosthetics?”

Genji looked at his hands, then started slowly waving them up and down once more. He was quiet for a few beats before holding up his prosthetic hand and saying, “This one’s not real.”

“But does it work?” asked Mercy.

Genji curled and uncurled the fingers of his prosthetic hand, then suddenly loosely flailed it back and forth. “It doesn’t jiggle like the old one!” he said, eyes wide while still flailing his hand.

“The old one jiggled?” said Mercy.

Genji stopped flailing his hand and pointed to the thumb joint on his prosthetic hand. “Here,” he said, “But not anymore.” He paused, “Was it your idea?”

“Well, I had been hoping to update your prosthetics for a while,” said Mercy.

“You’re so smart,” Genji flopped back against his pillows, “…and you… you look like that? All the time?”

“Well, as I’ve said, you may be experiencing some blooming and strobing with your vision right n–”

“You’re like the sun,” Genji went on, “…But… if you could actually look at the sun. And the sun was beautiful. And the sun has eyes. Kuso, your eyes are huge.” 

Mercy snorted. While she was still miffed that the anesthesiologist would make Genji so disoriented, she had to admit, it was a bit of a relief to see him not obsessively brooding over the Shimada clan for once. The stream of compliments was, admittedly, disarming, but intel had said Genji had been more than a bit of a charmer back before losing his body… maybe his confusion was bringing that through. It had occurred to her that she had almost never seen him smiling until now.

“Well I think you should be getting some rest, Genji,” she said with a slight smile.

“You’re leaving?” there was a sadness in Genji’s voice.

“Well I have other patients to get t–” Mercy opened the door to find Cassidy standing outside.

“…Doc,” said Cassidy.

“Cassidy,” said Mercy, furrowing her brows, “Reyes sent you?”

“Well, just to check on Genji…” Cassidy stepped through the doorway.

“And I’m guessing I wasn’t supposed to still be in here,” said Mercy, arching an eyebrow.

“Maybe,” said Cassidy glancing down.

“Well as you can see, Genji’s doing fine,” said Mercy, flatly.

“Look, Reyes was just concerned because you pushed through really fast with this surgery without much oversight from him–” He paused and looked at Genji’s legs, “You got rid of the calf blades?”

“If Reyes had his way, we would have been waiting until Genji went through catastrophic prosthetic failure before we replaced them,” said Mercy, folding her arms, “And yes we got rid of the calf blades. They were awful.” 

“Well I mean, if it ain’t broke…” Cassidy started but made the wise choice of not finishing that sentence with Mercy glaring at him.

“Doctor Ziegler, Cassidy is here,” said Genji, who was slowly waving his hands around again.

“I can see that, Genji,” said Mercy.

“How you holdin’ up?” said Cassidy, smiling over at Genji.

Genji gave a thumbs up with his prosthetic hand and then pointed to it, “No jiggling,” he said proudly.

Cassidy noted the odd amount of relaxation in Genji’s expression and the ease with which he was slumped against the pillows.

“They got you on the good stuff, partner?” smirked Cassidy, arching an eyebrow at Genji’s I.V.

“Good stuff?” Genji repeated dreamily, looking at his hand again and turning it over.

“Yeah they got you on the good stuff,” said Cassidy.

Genji seemed to perk up at remembering something, “Cassidy–” he said in a loud whisper and motioned for Cassidy to come closer.

“Mm?” Cassidy leaned in a little

Genji motioned with his head at Angela. “Look,” he said quietly.

Cassidy glanced over at Mercy. “What?” he looked back at Genji, “The doc?”

Genji nodded.

“…what about her?” said Cassidy.

“She looks like that,” Genji gripped Cassidy’s shoulders and his voice dropped to a loud hoarse whisper, “All the time.” 

“Yeeeup, that’s sort of how people work, Genji,” said Cassidy, gently pulling Genji’s hands off of his shoulders.

“It’s amazing…” Genji said quietly.

“Yeah I’m just going to let you sleep this off,” said Cassidy, grinning as he pulled away.

“Mm-hm,” Genji nodded and glanced out the window, staring for a few seconds before saying, “The mountains are breathing.”

“They sure are,” said Cassidy, stepping towards the door, “Oh I’m going to give him so much shit for this later,” he whispered to Mercy.

“Good bye, Cassidy,” said Mercy flatly. 

Cassidy tipped his hat and headed out the door.

Mercy closed it behind him. 

“I need to get going too,” she said, looking back at Genji, “Try to get some sleep.”

“Doctor Ziegler?” Genji spoke up and she paused in the doorway.

“Thank you,” said Genji. He gave his prosthetic hand a demonstrative flail. “No jiggle.”

Mercy smiled. “Call me if you need anything,” she said.

Genji nodded and looked out the window again.

Chapter Text

Genji sat on a bench in a locker room and nervously tested the plates of his new prosthetic arm, sliding them back and forth into place. He lifted his head to see Mercy, her back to him, putting her hair up in a mirror. Tracer was stretching and Winston was fiddling with his shield projector. They were all dressed in their black, gray and orange training jumpsuits, save for Mercy, who was in a less-armored version of her Valkyrie suit, though the lines of the training jumpsuit were visible underneath. Genji’s jumpsuit was sleeveless to accommodate for the heat sinks on his shoulders.

“Right, team,” said Tracer, “We’re staying focused, it’s just like any other training session.”

“Except Morrison is watching,” said Winston, readjusting his glasses, clearly nervous.

“And we aren’t going to worry about that,” said Tracer, putting her hands on her hips before looking at Genji, “None of us are.”

Genji apparently wasn’t paying attention until he felt a hand on his shoulder. His head jerked up to see Mercy smiling down at him.

“Just a normal training session, right Genji?” said Mercy.

“Oh–uh–right…right,” said Genji pushing up off the bench.

“Morrison wants a new strike team, and that’s exactly what we’re going to show him!” said Tracer. She stuck her hand out, palm down and looked at the other three. “New strike team?”

“Oh!” Winston stuck a hand out over her hand, “New strike team!”

“New Strike team,” said Mercy, putting her hand over Winston’s, “You’re going to be a wonderful leader, Tracer.”

“Aw, Doc!” said Tracer, rubbing the back of her head with her free hand bashfully.

“New Strike Team,” said Genji, putting his hand over Mercy’s.

“Aaaaand break!” said Tracer, pressing her hand down before throwing it up as the rest of the team followed her lead, “Let’s go!”

She darted down the corridor to the training area and Winston lumbered quickly after her, “I still think we should run through our strategy one more time–!”

Mercy and Genji followed after them at their own pace.

“I still can’t believe they’re giving me this chance,” he murmured, “Cassidy was the one Reyes was grooming—he should–”

“Tracer wanted you, Genji,” said Mercy, “And I wanted you too.”

Genji’s shoulder vents steamed. “Uh–”

Mercy suddenly reddened and caught herself. “Bad phrasing! Bad phrasing!” she said waving her hands nervously, “What I’m saying is, you trained Tracer. She knows how to work with you. And as important as Cole is to Reyes and everyone, you have to admit he’s been…out of sorts… since Venice.”

“Not to mention Reyes probably likes having him on reserve for more ‘vacations,’” muttered Genji.

“But you’re going to be a great addition to the team,” she said.

“…if Morrison approves,” said Genji as they stepped out into the sunlight of the Zurich training field.

—-

“…I’m still not sure how good of an idea this is,” Jack murmured, standing on an observation deck overlooking Zurich’s biggest training area, watching as several maintenance workers prepped the area.

“You wanted our input, and here it is,” said Sojourn, standing next to him.

“We benched Blackwatch for a reason, and he was one of the most volatile agents on it–granted ‘Volatile’ and ‘Blackwatch’ sounds redundant but…” Jack trailed off.

“He’s made a lot of progress,” said Sojourn, “And he and Oxton have built up a strong rapport these past few months. Honestly, I’m surprised you’re more concerned about the ninja than the gorilla.”

“Overwatch has never shied away from an unconventional image,” said Jack with a shrug, “Plus he’s… y’know, cute. Kids’ll like him.”

Sojourn snorted. “Always thinking of what looks good on a poster, huh? Let’s just hope he’s as good in a fight as he is in a lab,” said Sojourn as they watched the four figures take their places at the edge of the training field.

“Is that Genji?” he said, looking at a figure in a silver helmet with only the green line of a glowing visor at his face.

“You haven’t seen the new prosthetics, yet?” said Sojourn.

“No I–It’s a good look. He’s…”

“Less terrifying?” said Sojourn arching an eyebrow and smirking.

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah but it’s fun making you uncomfortable,” said Sojourn, rolling her shoulders, “So–what should we throw at them? I took the liberty of customizing some of the training bot AI’s.”

“Let’s not softball it,” said Jack, “We aren’t just putting this team together to sell posters.”

—

“Take a deep breath, everyone,” said Mercy.

Genji heard Winston audibly inhale and exhale and he elbowed him a bit playfully. “You’ve got this, Winston,” he said. Tracer pulled her goggles down over her eyes and readied her pulse pistols.

“I sure hope so,” said Winston. A loud buzzer sounded and Jack Morrison spoke over the loudspeakers.

“Good afternoon, agents, this is Commander Morrison. As you know, with the impending retirement of Lieutenant Wilhelm, and Chief Engineer Lindholm’s transference out of field missions, we need to restructure our primary strike team. You are our top candidates for that team, but obviously you need to demonstrate an ability to work together before we can send you out in the field.”

He means us, thought Genji, looking over at Winston, He already knows Tracer and Mercy can work together–if we blow this, I’m back on the bench and Winston’s back in the lab. I don’t know how much longer I can stand being cooped up here if I mess this u–

He felt a hand touch his arm and startled slightly, glancing over at Mercy. She brought her hand away from him and mouthed ‘Deep breath,’ then demonstratively closed her eyes and drew in a steady breath through her nose, lifting her chin as she did so, before exhaling out of her mouth and relaxing her shoulders. He matched her breath as Jack Morrison went on.

“Your test is to break through enemy defenses and secure two objective sites. The objectives are indicated on your HUD and holographically indicated in the field. The training bots will maintain an assault on you throughout this whole mission, and there is a time limit so you don’t back yourselves into a corner and hope to mow them down slowly.”

Sojourn cut in here, “The training bots’ blaster rounds are nonlethal, but they have been known to break the odd bone or cause second degree burns here and there, and your suits are equipped with sensors that recognize the damage done as equivalent to pulsefire. Basically: Once your suit reaches and registers ‘critical damage’ from enemy fire, you’ll be flagged as ‘dead’–and if you’re dead, you’ve failed the test. No miracles here, Doc.”

Tracer swallowed hard at this but Mercy just furrowed her brow with determination.

“Of course, we’ve taken the liberty of replacing Ziegler’s traditional biotics with an anti-damage ion tether that functions, in the eyes of our sensors, as healing. So your role, Doctor Ziegler, will be essentially the same, just with no risk of anyone actually dying.”

“Except for the second degree burn part…” murmured Winston.

And the risk of never having a field mission again for the rest of my career, thought Genji.

“Any questions?” said Sojourn.

“Yeah!” Tracer spun her pistols, “Is that all?”

“Don’t get too cocky, Oxton,” Sojourn playfully chided over the intercom, “Test begins in 3, 2, 1–”

A loud buzzer sounded and suddenly training bots were flooding into the training area.

“Keep it tight, loves!” said Tracer, already firing off her pulse pistols, “Winston! You and the Doc go high and head for that objective site! Genji! Cut a path for them! I’ll run interference! Break!”

Mercy kept a damage boost on Winston as he hurtled upward in a leap. Genji had to trust Winston would be able to body-block her from incoming damage as he and Tracer went low. These bots were faster, more armored, and more aggressive than the usual goofy, doddering training bots he was so used to effortlessly destroying. They must have taken some notes from the Null Sector attacks, thought Genji as he did several backhand springs out of the crossfire of several training bots before Tracer plowed through them in a blaze of pulsefire. Winston slammed down onto the objective point, crushing two training bots before hauling up his tesla cannon and unleashing a braid of sparks across the training bots, short-circuiting them. Mercy slowed her own descent with her valkyrie wings, taking advantage of her higher perspective to knock out a few training bots before their return fire forced her to drop down to the ground and take cover behind Winston, keeping a steady stream of her ‘healing’ ions so that he could draw the brunt of enemy fire.

“How are you holding up?” she called to him over the high-pitched sounds of pulsefire.

“No second degree burns, yet!” said Winston and Mercy smiled a little.

“Doc! Incoming!” Tracer called and Mercy had to pivot on her feet and draw her blaster to take out a flanking training bot before seeing a flash of green corkscrew through a mess of bots and see Genji burst out of the skirmish, sword drawn and bots exploding behind him.

“Are you both all right?” said Genji, deflecting several shots from various angles as he backed up to rejoin them.

“We’re fine!” said Mercy, “You seem to be handling yourself well!”

Genji just chuckled as he kept up his deflection, “Well, being benched, there wasn’t much to do besides wrecking training bots,” he said with a shrug.

“Don’t jinx it!” said Tracer, darting into formation with them, “Okay, big guy! Your cue!”

“Right!” said Winston, slamming a shield projector down. The four of them stood back to back on the objective, protected by Winston’s shield, keeping the waves of training bots at bay. Mercy patched up any damage indicated on their suits before drawing her blaster and helping them maintain the perimeter with her own fire. Genji sent out fans of shuriken, just enough to split the training bots’ attention between himself and Tracer and to make up for the lack of range on Winston’s tesla cannon. Even though he could see fissures already running through Winston’s shield. there was a comfort on this team that he couldn’t remember ever having on Blackwatch.

It’s probably the shields, he thought a bit ruefully, but then he saw Mercy’s feathery ponytail bob into the periphery of his vision as she fired off her blaster, and it occurred to him how at ease she made him feel. Moira as a medic was a far less comforting presence—those unsettling heterochromatic eyes dissecting him, the fact that he could feel the amusement emanating from her as he limped after a biotic orb, and the odd rapport she seemed to have with Reyes that made Genji very uneasy with what should be ‘routine compartmentalization’ of Blackwatch’s intel. Mercy, meanwhile, would zip right to him in the thick of battle to heal him. The team clearly trusted her. He trusted her. She felt constant. Just having her at his back made him feel like no opponent was too tough. Then a loud chime sounded over the speakers.

“Objective A captured,” Athena spoke over the intercom, “Commence attack on Objective B.”

—

“Mm,” Jack Morrison watched, unimpressed.

“Yeah I agree,” said Sojourn, “Not much compared to London, huh?” She stooped over one of the monitors controlling the training bots on the field and typed in some new commands, “Maybe my buddy from Toronto can give them a challenge.”

“Toronto…?” said Jack.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Sojourn, hitting a few keys.

—

“Didn’t I tell you this was like any other training session? I don’t know what you and Genji were getting so worked up about!” said Tracer, as the four of them ran out from the previous objective.

“I wasn’t getting worked up,” said Genji, a bit sorely, but he heard a gentle snicker from Mercy and he just huffed.

“Stay focused, team! Next objective!” said Winston as they rounded a corner on the training field. They had reached a rhythm now, Tracer and Genji breaking off to flank the training bots converging on them from all sides, Winston barreling forward, and Mercy darting between all three of them to keep the damage indicators on their suits at a minimum. Mercy had to admit she felt a lot better about having Tracer flanking when Genji was backing her up–during her missions with Reinhardt and Torbjörn, Tracer could hardly stand to stay near Torbjörn’s turret–she simply wasn’t a “maintain the perimeter” sort of fighter, often to the frustration of Torbjörn and Reinhardt–but Genji and Winston greatly increased the team’s mobility. And Mercy couldn’t deny the grace with which Genji moved. When Genji talked about his missions, he usually did so in a minimal manner, as if every move was simply the next logical step, but watching him cut through training bots, run along walls, run on enemy’s heads, it seemed almost like a dance. Plus (And she would never bring this up to Tracer) Genji couldn’t recall and leave her in a patch of enemies. Which was nice. 

Her wings blazed as she kept a damage boost on Genji to quickly dispatch the high turrets pointed down on their objective as Winston touched down and lay down a shield generator.

“Taking the point,” said Tracer, darting around Winston and laying down cover fire, “Last one and we’re home free, loves!”

Genji and Mercy touched down onto the point alongside Winston and Tracer.

“Easy peasy!” said Tracer. But then a loud, droning horn sounded.

“…please tell me that was the ‘we took the point’ sound,” said Winston.

“It was not, “ said Genji as two massive steel doors just behind the objective point.

The whole team fell silent as a massive robot emerged from the steel doors.

—

“Is that pushbot?” said Jack, looking at Sojourn.

“He’s called TW-1,” said Sojourn.

“That isn’t a training bot, that’s a piece of industrial machinery,” said Jack.

“It’s a challenge,” said Sojourn with a slight smile as they both watched Pushbot slam Tracer and Winston off of the point with a swipe of its massive arm.

—

Both Winston and Tracer thudded hard into the walls bordering the end of the training field. Winston pulled himself up and tried to shake off his disorientation from the blow.

“Are you all right?” said Winston, looking over Tracer.

Tracer grunted, shot a training bot over Winston’s shoulder, and popped up to her feet. “Why is pushbot here!?” she said, firing off her pulse pistols on a few more training bots.

“Move!” said Genji and they all dove out of the way of another swipe from Pushbot. Tracer zipped around the heels of the robot, unleashing bright bursts of pulsefire until it pivoted and swiped at her and she recalled back to the team’s previous position before blinking over to them. Genji lost count of how many shuriken he had embedded into the robot’s plating, but still it lumbered around them, protecting the objective like an oversized goalie. He felt a tingle jolt up his spine from Mercy’s damage boost, yet even with the additional force, the robot’s movements weren’t slowing in the slightest.

“That armor’s too thick—” said Genji.

“My HUD indicates less than two minutes to take the point,” said Winston.

“That’s not enough time for any of us to get through that robot’s plating!” said Tracer.

“Is this part of the test!? Do they want us to fail?!” said Winston and Genji’s stomach lurched at the thought.

“Just stay calm–I can figure this out–” said Tracer.

“Violence isn’t the solution–” said Mercy, suddenly.

“Doc–Now’s not the time to go all pacifist–” said Tracer, shooting off several more training bots.

“No, I mean the test is about taking the point, not taking the robot down!” said Mercy.

“We only need one person on the point,” said Genji.

Tracer’s face lit up.

“60 Seconds remaining,” said Athena.

“Doc! Genji! You go high! Winston, knock him off-kilter!” said Tracer, darting off.

“Oh! Uhhh right!” said Winston. He took off his glasses, tucked them into a protective pouch, cleared his throat, then let out a near deafening roar as he leapt at the pushbot in a primal rage. Tracer dipped past the pushbot in a blue flash and darted about on the point, doing her best to keep the waves of training bots from overwhelming it. Genji quickly scaled the body of the Pushbot and drew his sword while Mercy flitted about its head, firing at it with her blaster. Between Winston at its midsection and Mercy at its head, Pushbot didn’t even notice Tracer holding down the point, but it did notice Genji jamming his blade through its shoulder. Winston, still in a haze of primal rage, was now working on knocking back several training bots from Tracer. Pushbot suddenly seized Genji and threw him hard. Genji sailed through the air, partially regretting how easy the lightness of his prosthetics made him to throw. He braced for the impact of a wall, but Mercy tackled him in mid-air instead. They tangled in the air only briefly before she loosed him from her arms and he found himself below her, her holding onto him by his forearm, his shuriken-bearing arm free.

“Are you all right?” she said, breathlessly.

“Ryū-Ichimonji is still jammed in its plating!” said Genji as Mercy tried to keep Pushbot’s attention on them by firing her blaster at its face. Genji did his best to back her up with his shuriken. Slowly the robot lumbered toward them.

“As long as Winston and Tracer are holding down the point, we can–” Mercy cut herself off as there was a high-pitched chirping sound from the point. Tracer had apparently set off one of her pulse bombs to knock back another wave of training bots, and caught the attention of Pushbot. Pushbot pivoted and started heading back to the point.

“Oh no–” said Genji.

“…I’m going to try something stupid,” said Mercy.

“Stupid?! Stupid how?!” said Genji. Mercy was not a ‘Try something stupid’ kind of person. 

“Just trust me and get your sword!” said Mercy, holstering her blaster, wrapping her other hand around Genji’s arm, spinning around hard in the air, using Genji’s own inertia to swing him around and increase her speed until she let him go like a hammer throw. A surprised yelp escaped Genji as he hurtled through the air, limbs flailing, but he turned a somersault to re-orient himself before making impact against the pushbot. He scrambled up and took ahold of Ryū Ichimonji’s handle and yanked down. There was a scream of metal and a blaze of green as Ryū Ichimonji tore down through Pushbot’s chassis. Genji yanked his blade out and pushed off or the robot, backflipping through the air to bounce back on his feet. Mercy aimed her blaster at the new fissure funning down the side of Pushbot’s chestplate as she drifted to the ground next to Genji. The robot lurched toward them and Genji instinctively stepped in front of Mercy with his blade in a defensive position, but then a loud chime sounded.

“Objective B captured,” announced Athena.

Winston and Tracer were whooping and cheering on the objective point as the remaining training bots shut down and slumped over. Even Pushbot powered down to a slumping position.

“Sorry about the, um… throw,” said Mercy, twisting her grip on her staff nervously.

“No–that was–that was incredible. You’re really strong,” said Genji, sheathing his blade.

“Well, you’re pretty light so…” Mercy was pushing her hair back from her face and smiling.

“.087 seconds remaining,” Jack Morrison’s voice came in from the periphery and all four agents turned around to see him walking amidst the mess of broken training bots, “Cutting it a bit close, but… congratulations.”

“Uh–thank you, sir,” said Winston, clumsily putting his glasses back on.

“That shield generator’s very impressive, Winston,” said Jack, walking past him.

“Thank you! I mean–I already said that–not that I don’t mean it again!” Winston was nervously stammering before Tracer playfully elbowed him and he eased up a bit.

Jack Morrison came to a stop in front of Genji.

“Agent Shimada,” he said.

“Commander Morrison,” said Genji.

“Your combat style has gotten more… collaborative,” he gave a glance over to Mercy.

“Most of the credit should go to Doctor Ziegler,” Genji started on reflex, “I was just–”

“Genji was reviewing strike team mission logs from under Lieutenant Wilhelm’s command for months,” Mercy cut in, “And he trained Tracer in close quarters’ combat. He possesses incredible intuition with regards to the team.”

“…right,” said Morrison, before turning back to Genji, “I hope you understand this team won’t be operating like Blackwatch. There’s going to be a lot more eyes on you.”

“I understand,” said Genji, “I am thankful for this opportunity, commander.”

“Spotlight’s not easy, Shimada, the spotlight isn’t easy,” said Jack.

“How about we lighten up and just be happy for ‘em, Jack?” said Sojourn, stepping up alongside Jack, “We have our strike team.”

“We’ll see how they do in the field before we pop any champagne bottles,” said Jack.

Tracer’s shoulders slumped slightly but Sojourn cleared her throat “Buuuut,” Sojourn added.

“But…we… did take the liberty of getting a cake in the event that you passed this appraisal,” said Jack, “Which… you did.”

“Cake!?” Tracer’s face lit up.

—-

Genji wasn’t in the habit of eating in front of other people, but Tracer still insisted on sending him off with a slice of cake. He stood awkwardly with the plate full of cake for a few minutes in the conference room, watching as the others mingled and answering the odd question from Sojourn or Jack, until their attentions trailed over to WInston and Tracer. Genji quietly excused himself from the room and started walking through the hallways of Zurich headquarters. He stared at the quaint little slice of yellow cake with chocolate frosting with flakes of toasted coconut on its paper plate as he walked away from the conference room. He heard Mercy’s valkyrie boots tok-tok-tokking up briskly behind him and he slowed his pace and turned around.

Mercy was holding her own plate, already a few bites taken out of her own slice of cake.

“You should be celebrating with the others,” said Genji.

“Jack’s doting on Tracer and Sojourn’s interrogating Winston,” said Mercy.

“Jack dotes?” said Genji with a slight chuckle.

“Only on Tracer,” said Mercy with a smile, she gestured over her shoulder, “If you wanted to eat alone I can…”

“No–” said Genji, “I–um…I mean, I’d appreciate the company.”

“I imagine we’ll be spending a lot more time together,” said Mercy.

“Really?” said Genji, his visor brightening.

“Well… yes,” said Mercy, looking at him a bit oddly.

Genji suddenly caught himself, “Oh–Strike team,” he said after a beat.

“Yes, strike team,” said Mercy, smiling wryly, “I’m looking forward to it.”

Genji looked out the hallway window out over Zurich headquarters. Custodial workers were still carting out training bot wreckage from the practice range. His initial discomfort at first, standing with a piece of food he didn’t really feel comfortable eating in front of others, but now it was hitting him that he was off the bench. He would be going on missions again. Suddenly the world past the window glass seemed so much larger. He gave a glance back to Mercy, chewing on a bit of cake and following his line of sight nonchalantly.

“I’m looking forward to it, too, Doctor Ziegler,” said Genji.

Chapter Text

Genji had set up a makeshift table of a wooden plank atop a crate of rum bottles. The hurricane rattled at the factory windows, but the two of them were oddly cozy despite holing up in the distillery of a Talon shell company as Sojourn and her people questioned Maximilien back at the sea fort. It had been hours–Overwatch had to scrub the sea fort and distillery, and a handful of blue-armored agents passed by here and there, poring over the offices and running scans on the distillery barrels. Genji and Mercy had finished their debriefing with Sojourn, but opted to wait for Tracer and Winston to finish their own debriefings before they would head back to the hotel. Tracer and Winston’s debriefings were taking unusually long though. And exhaustion setting in as it was, Mercy and Genji had taken to passing the time as best they could after a harrowing mission facing down hundreds of Talon thugs.

“Don Rumbotico,” Mercy squinted at the label, before her eyes flicked up to Genji, “I’m really not a rum person.”

“It’s got that sugary burning,” Genji agreed, “Almost cinnamon-y. Not clean like sake or gin.”

“Exactly,” Mercy gestured with her glass toward him before they both threw back a shot. 

“Terrible,” said Genji.

“Terrible,” agreed Mercy.

They both refilled their glasses.

“I mean,” Genji shrugged, “Quality is quality, though.”

“So you’ve said,” said Mercy with a grin.

“This isn’t dinner by the way,” said Genji.

“Rum is not dinner, no,” said Mercy, tilting her head, “And you haven’t bought anything, we’re just compromising evidence.”

“To compromise,” said Genji holding his glass out. Mercy clinked her glass against his and both threw back another shot.

“What I mean is I’m still going to buy you dinner,” said Genji, clearing his throat.

“I figured as such,” said Mercy, resting her chin in her hand, “You’re very gentlemanly like that, did you know that?”

“Gentlem–I’m not–You asked me to buy you dinner,” said Genji.

“But clearly you’re holding yourself to a standard when it comes to that,” said Mercy.

“That standard is, ‘actual food’ and ‘probably takeout considering both our schedules.’ Believe me, if I could take you out to a restaurant with too-small portion sizes and candlelight and music, I would.”

“Why does the restaurant have too-small portion sizes?” said Mercy with a laugh in her voice.

“Because it’s nice. The really nice places always assume you’re there to look good rather than actually eat,” said Genji, “We’d get an ice cream or a kosher corndog at a bodega afterward, obviously.”

Mercy snorted. “Truly your sense of romance knows no bounds,” she said.

“Romance?” Genji repeated.

“I–Well–you said candlelight—” Mercy stumbled over her words.

“Oh–I mean I just figured you’d like some atmosphere—”

“Yes well obviously it’s nice to get away from work—”

“But of course the whole thing would be–”

“Professional,” they said at the same time. Mercy briskly refilled both their glasses and both of them took a shot, avoiding eye contact.

“I mean, I would–if there wasn’t… all this,” said Genji his throat burning with rum, as he gestured around, “You know you’re… well… you’re… amazing. Whoever you choose to be with will probably be the luckiest person in the world.” 

Mercy reddened. “I–” she forced a laugh, “Whoever I choose to be with will have to get used to absurdly late nights in the lab or infirmary and me just coming home and passing out.”

“Well, from my experience, spending all night with you in that lab isn’t bad at all,” said Genji.

A long tense pause passed between them as both considered the weight of what Genji had just said.

“We should hydrate–” Mercy started.

“Get something to eat–” Genji suggested.

“Has Sojourn called? Or Tracer?” Mercy feverishly began clicking through her comm feed.

“Should probably arrange for a ride back to the hotel,” said Genji looking around for what Overwatch agent would be best to talk to for that.

“This was silly–” Mercy started.

“Compromising evidence–” Genji agreed.

“One more shot?” said Mercy.

“I mean we did just find out Doomfist’s location after a life-threatening mission,” said Genji. 

They refilled their glasses, interlocked their arms at the elbows and made eye contact.

“To the mission,” said Mercy, “To catching Doomfist.”

“To the mission,” said Genji, in agreement.

They threw back one last shot, then made eye contact once more, their arms still interlocked, still holding their glasses a few inches from their lips, mouths burning from rum.

A mad part of Mercy that she was desperately tamping back thought, I wouldn’t stop you if you kissed me right now. 

An equally impulsive part of Genji thought, If I was as much of an asshole now as I was three years ago, I would kiss you right now. 

But those thoughts fell muted off to the side as an overwatch agent buried in their tablet walked awkwardly close to them. Genji and Mercy both unlocked their arms from each other and shared an awkward laugh.

“…back to the hotel?” said Mercy, pushing her hair back.

“Yes. We… probably should,” said Genji, glancing off. He pinged the strike team’s comm channel for possible transportation and easy as that, a car was on the way. Another long pause passed, “I don’t think spending time with you is silly,” he blurted out.

“What?” 

“It’s not silly. You’re fun. You think you’re dry and boring and people just… put up with you, but you’re not and they don’t. You’re passionate and funny and smart and you care so much and–and–and I’m going to stop talking before I make this weirder than it already is.” 

Mercy smiled. “Thank you, Genji.” 

“I’m happy to have your back, both on the mission and just being around the lab and–and I’m making this weird–I need to stop talking. This is why rum is terrible.”

“It is terrible,” Mercy agreed. She elbowed him a little. “But thank you.”

Chapter Text

Mercy rubbed her eyes. It was getting to that point of the night where all the data lines were starting to look the same. She ran a hand through her hair. Greasy. How long had she been working? She had showered pretty much immediately when they got back from Havana, but had barely toweled off when Overwatch’s labtechs started blowing up her comms as soon as they heard she was back from the mission. No time to even sleep off the Orca-lag, not to mention the exhaustion from the mission itself. She reached for her ‘self-medicating’ mug and found it was empty, then slumped back in her seat and sighed.  She swiveled in her chair to look at the coffee pot on the left lab counter behind her and noticed it was about a third shorter than it should be. Her brows furrowed.

“Genji,” she said, not even turning around.

She only heard an obnoxiously loud sip in response. Cheeky. She swiveled to see Genji perched on the opposite lab counter, stolen mess hall mug in hand, stolen coffee in mug, mask off, and a large plastic bag with a carnation and ‘Thank You’ in red text on it on the counter next to him. They locked eyes and he sipped the coffee again, his scars only enhancing the smugness on his face.

“As I recall, ninja stealth skills are meant for missions, not sneaking around the base,” said Mercy, smirking.

“Must the two be mutually exclusive?” said Genji. He pushed off of the counter, picking up the bag with him and walking over to her. “How’s everything going?”

“I would say ‘It’s going’ but it would hardly seem to be doing that,” said Mercy, giving a glance back to her screen. 

“Then a break wouldn’t hurt,” said Genji. He held up the bag, “You missed dinner hours at the mess hall. And you did say I owed you a dinner. Not exactly candlelit cuisine, but I paid a visit to that Kosher place you like.”

Mercy’s stomach growled from the very thought of food and the faint smell of Tzatziki and garlic coming from the bag. Oh right. You couldn’t replace every meal with coffee. That was not a doctorly thing to do. 

“My hero,” the words fell out of her.

“Your gyro,” said Genji, holding the tinfoil-wrapped wrap out to her.

She snickered and took it from him, unwrapping it and biting into it before slumping back against her seat with a heavenly sigh as the first food hit her system in god-knew how many hours. Fats. Proteins. Starches. Vitamin C and sugars from the tomatoes. The appetite loss from her coffee buckled and fell away in the wave of ecstasy from consuming actual food. She briefly lost herself in the first few bites before managing to blurt out a “Fankf,” that was supposed to be a ‘Thanks’ with her mouth full that Genji just chuckled at while he ate his own gyro as well. She had taken down two thirds of the gyro when she finally slowed down and looked up at Genji.

“It’s a bit late for you too, isn’t it?” she said, wiping a bit of tzatziki off the corner of her mouth, “You should be getting rest, especially with the Doomfist mission coming up.”

“Probably the reason I’m still up, to be honest,” said Genji.

“And you’re usually still up at this hour,” said Mercy, arching an eyebrow.

“That too,” conceded Genji, “But… I know it won’t be over after this–there’s still so much we don’t know about Talon. It feels strange to finally get a bead on one of its leaders now. To have Maximilien just… hand him over to us like this…”

“It’s far from trustworthy,” Mercy agreed, “But Talon’s already been destabilized by Doomfist ascending its ranks, if we have a chance to take advantage of that…” she took a bite of her gyro, “We can’ft let it flip–” she swallowed, “I mean, slip.” 

“I know…” Genji sighed, “Talon has the advantage of being able to play a long game. It can let itself fade into obscurity–in fact, it benefits from its own obscurity. Meanwhile, we have to deliver results to the UN and the people of the world, let them know we’re keeping them safe. And we have to be transparent about it. We can’t attack from the shadows anymore.” 

“Do you miss Blackwatch?” asked Mercy, before taking another bite of her gyro.

Genji glanced off “I don’t know…” he said quietly, “It’s hard to tell how much of my memories of it are distorted by my anger at the time. I want to say I feel like we, as in Overwatch, collectively, were getting more done when we had it… but Venice probably blew any progress we made with Talon out of the water and just ended up hurting Overwatch more in the end so…”

“But you were just a bystander,” said Mercy, gesturing at him with the remains of her gyro and grinning, “That’s what you said.”

“And if you can’t trust your ninja, who can you trust?” said Genji with a shrug.

Mercy just chuckled a little at this.

A pause passed between them as Mercy finished her gyro and Genji managed to make it two thirds into his. He chewed tentatively for a few seconds before saying, “We need to get this right.”

“Mm?” Mercy was dusting off flatbread crumbs from her lap.

“Doomfist,” said Genji, “Overwatch needs this. You’ve been saying that Reyes and Morrison have been arguing more and more and with Tracer’s strike team nearly getting reassigned when it’s only barely started…”

“I would miss working with you,” said Mercy, smiling a little.

“As would I,” said Genji. He didn’t really want to say his other concerns. You’re a doctor. The world will always need people like you. If Overwatch falls, where does that leave me? If I don’t even know if I’m man or machine–Not a Shimada Ninja, not an Overwatch Agent—

“You’ll get him,” Mercy’s voice cut through the fog of thoughts.

“Mm?” Genji perked up slightly.

“Doomfist,” she said, reaching forward and putting a reassuring hand on his arm, “You can do this. I have complete faith in you.”

Genji smiled. “Thank you, Doctor Ziegler.”

“Anytime, Genji,” said Mercy, “But you know now you also owe me a bag of coffee beans sometime, too. So you’d better come back from that mission safe.”

Genji chuckled. “Of course."

Chapter Text

Emily was twisting the bracelet on her wrist with anxiety as she followed Sojourn through the Singaporean hospital. Overwatch had flown her in, and despite the constant assurances that Lena would be fine, Emily’s worry had only increased in hours it took to fly here. 

“The news report said minor injuries,” said Emily, walking next to Sojourn.

“And they were,” Sojourn’s hands were pocketed, “Physically, she’s virtually unharmed… temporally…”

“Oh no…” said Emily.

“It’s all right!” Sojourn said quickly, “Winston was able to put together an…ionized tachyon field? I think that’s what he called it. He told me it will definitely keep her stable until he can finish repairs on the chronal accelerator.” The two of them stopped in front of a room with two Overwatch security agents flanking the door. Sojourn gave them a nod and they opened the door for her. They stepped in and Emily’s hand went over her mouth. Tracer was in what appeared to be a hard-light cube–Overwatch’s access to Hard-lIght technology was only by the whims of the Vishkar Corporation, so what projector they did have on hand was about the size of an industrial air conditioner and took up half the room. Inside the cube, Tracer was sitting cross-legged on a futon on the floor, frowning over a heavily sticky-noted copy of ‘Quantum Physics for Dummies (Law of Causality Violation Edition).’ She perked up at the  two figures entering the room and blue light bloomed around her.

“E–em!” her voice and image fizzled in blue light for a second before suddenly appearing at the hard light partition, her hands pressed to the glass-like hard-light. Joy lit up her features, but as Emily pressed a hand to the partition over hers, that expression faded into guilt. “It’s not as b-ad as it looks-ooks.” She said, blue light distorting her like a crappy television signal, her voice like a scratched and skipping CD.

“Lena…” Emily started.

“I’m se-rious! This is nothing compared to af-af-after the slipstr-ea-m-eam!” said Tracer, forcing a smile, “And Winston-on says he’ll have the new-new-new-ew chronal accelerator ready in a couple hou-r-s-hhours!” 

“…I think getting you excited might not be helping…” said Sojourn.

“I’m g-good-good. I can control it!” Tracer insisted. She took a steadying breath. “I. Can. Control. It.” she said firmly, the blue light not overtaking her once as she spoke and then her face lit up with excitement before flinching as blue light distorted her image again. Both Emily and Sojourn gave her a worried look and Tracer held up the book. “I’ve been do-doing-ing homework,” said Tracer, “The hard part-art about fi-i-i-ighting is figuring out where the recalls leave me in relation to things but in-nin-in here, it’s sta-stabilized” she gestured at the hard-light containment chamber she had been put in, “Once I get the chron-chronal accelerator back, I ju-ust need to remem-mem-mem-ber where I am, where I’ve been, and where I’m going to be at ev-every zeptosecond and…” she trailed off and glanced down at the book, “Maybe it’ll do some-something?”

Sojourn huffed a little. “Well, learning quantum physics can’t hurt,” she said with a shrug.

“It does hurt, actually,” said Tracer, smiling and rubbing her forehead, “I’ve got a ripping headache-ache. But tha-at-at could be the…” she trailed off and looked at Emily, not wanting her to worry, “It’s fine.”

“I’ll leave you two alone,” said Sojourn, walking out of the room. Tracer sighed, leaned her back against the hard-light barrier and slid down it to a slumped sitting position on the floor.

“In fair-airness,” she said quietly, “I did tell you things-ings could get weird.”

“I don’t mind the weird,” said Emily, leaning her own back to the partition, hugging her knees,  “I just… don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” said Tracer.

“You didn’t phase out that time,” said Emily, smiling.

“Told you I was getting the ha-ang of it–Oh boll-ocks-ocks-ocks,” said Tracer, blue light fizzing around her, “It’ll get bett-better, Em. We beat Doomfist-ist-ist! We’ll have Tal-Tal-Talon on the run!”

“I know, just…” Emily glanced down, “You do so much already. You fight so hard already. But Lena, you’re like this because of Overwatch! Not because of Talon! And Overwatch took this–this–thing they did to you and they turned it around and they act like you’re some kind of superhero!” 

“They did-idn’t do it to me on purpose,” said Tracer, glancing down, “And if I can use this-is-is thing to help people….” Tracer looked over her shoulder at Emily leaning against the barrier and Tracer knocked her knuckles on the barrier. Emily glanced up and Tracer spread her fingers against the pale blue of the hard-light. Emily put her palm up on the partition over hers once more. “We’ll take-ake a break once Winston fix-ixes the accelerator. P-p-promise. I know-ow this looks bad, but things are only-ly-ly going to get bet-better from here.”

“I hope you’re right,” said Emily, sighing, “…well at least we’re traveling. You did say we’d travel, too.”

“Let’s get durian after this,” said Tracer. Emily could hear the smile in Tracer’s voice, “Appare-pare-ently it’s supposed to-to-to smell horrible.”

Emily snickered. “I’d like that.”

Chapter Text

The hospital wing that had been allocated for those injured in the attack was sunlit, bright and cheery, with children’s drawings covering the wall. They didn’t have intention of staying there too long. With Doomfist captured, Overwatch would need to work quickly to take advantage of the new power vacuum in Talon's ranks but in the meantime Genji’s injuries needed treatment, and they couldn’t exactly travel in the Orca with Tracer in the state she was in.

“How is she?” Genji wasn’t making eye contact, only sullenly looking down at the knuckles and fingers of his prosthetic hand seizing up as sparks ran over them.

“Well, she’s finally managing to stay in one spot,” said Mercy, “But she’s still… blinking in and out,” she exhaled, “Winston’s got that stabilizer working but I don’t know how stable the stabilizer is so all we can do is hope he finishes the repairs to the accelerator before the stabilizer explodes or Tracer shuts it down herself and gets thrown 20 years into the future or heaven knows what or—” Mercy caught herself and glanced back at Genji, who was giving her one of those long, steady looks. She stopped and exhaled, “She’s fine,” she said, briefly touching Genji’s shoulder, “She’ll be fine.”

Genji scoffed under his breath, “I should have rebound off of that car instead of slicing through it—broken his line of sight, maybe then she would have had a better opportunity to—” he huffed, “It was a stupid mistake. I–ngh!” Several sparks flew across Genji’s chest and he winced inward.

“Easy!” said Mercy, “Easy…” Genji looked up at her again. “It wasn’t a stupid mistake,” she said, hands gingerly reaching out to find the catches on his armor, “I watched as much security footage as they could pick up. You… reacted accordingly. Akande Ogundimu’s trained for years to recognize and counteract his opponents’—”

“I know,” Genji cut her off. Mercy’s brow furrowed and her mouth drew to a thin line and Genji caught himself. “Sorry…” he said, glancing off, “I know you’re only trying to–ngh–” he suddenly gripped his shoulder as sparks flew over it, “I know you’re only trying to help.”

“So let me help,” said Mercy, gently moving his hand aside and working at the armor on his shoulder. She pressed one catch and the plate on his shoulder clicked off. 

“Be careful,” said Genji, “I can’t tell when it’s going to—”

Green sparks ran over the surface of his armor and Mercy jolted back with a sharp gasp.

“Did it get you?” asked Genji.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” said Mercy, “The sparking was supposed to stop when you pressed on the catches. I’ll get some people on that.”

“It feels like I only just got this armor and I’m already destroying it,” said Genji, glancing down at himself, “It is far more practical than my previous—” he glanced up and snorted, then quickly glanced down again.

“What?” said Mercy.

“Nothing,” said Genji, clearly trying to suppress a laugh.

“What—is there something on my–?” Mercy’s hand went up and she found all of her hair was sticking out on end from the electrical shock. “Verdammt,” she sighed. 

“It’s a good look,” said Genji with a chuckle before he flinched again from his own electrical shocks.

“We’d better get it off before it damages the prosthetics any further,” said Mercy, tying her hair back in a ponytail before pulling on a thicker pair of gloves. She removed the remaining plates with some ease.

“…You watch all my fights?” said Genji as she was clicking off his armor.

“What?” she glanced up at him.

“You said you watched all available footage of Doomfist’s capture. Do you watch every mission?”

A soft laugh escaped her, “You were in Blackwatch,” she said, taking off his chest plate, “I couldn’t watch any footage of those missions even if there was and even if I wanted to. It’s mostly your training footage and your work in our more high-profile missions like this one. Just to make sure the prostheses are working properly.”

“…I looked foolish rushing in against him, didn’t I?” said Genji.

Mercy shook her head, “You were flanking him–it was a strategy anyone with common sense would go for. Granted, most couldn’t do it running on the side of a building, but If anything you were operating at optimal levels,” she said.

“I suppose I want to believe I made a mistake on this mission,” said Genji, “That there was something I should have done differently and he would have gone down much more easily and Oxton wouldn’t be…” Genji trailed off as Mercy got the last of his armor off.

“To be fair, you’ve always been pretty focused on the Shimada clan and they don’t… exactly operate on Ogundimu’s level…” she smiled a little, grabbing her caduceus staff and administering a stream of biotics to him, “At least not anymore. You did well Genji. We caught him. We caught Doomfist. We’ve never been able to do that before.”

“Winston caught him,” said Genji, folding his arms.

“You helped,” said Mercy, grinning.

“I helped a little,” muttered Genji, then his voice dropped slightly, “And then I got thrown into the side of a car.” 

Mercy huffed. She was still forcing the smile slightly, but Genji could tell it was fading. “It was still something,” she said, trying to press her bangs back down to her forehead, but still finding them sticking up, “No wonder Reyes hogged you all to himself in the beginning. I’d want you on my team every mission, too.”

Genji straightened up in his seat a bit, then rubbed the back of his neck. “I-I see,” he cleared his throat, “Thank you, Doctor Ziegler.” A long pause passed between them, filled only with the soft whirring chime of the caduceus staff. “I suppose I could say the same to you,” he said, smirking beneath his faceplate as he watched the stream of biotics, “I um... I must say the company with this strike team is far more agreeable than Blackwatch, though.” 

Mercy snickered.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

“Is this really necessary?” Genji muttered as Tracer straightened his tie. 

The three of them were at the headquarters of the Adawe Foundation in Numbani, more specifically at the Adawe Foundation’s New Year’s Eve Gala, a celebration that heavily centered on Overwatch. The four of them were in a lounge-like waiting room just outside the restrooms of the higher offices. Enough to give them some privacy as they did some last minute prep before heading out into the Gala.

Cassidy had muttered something about it being a “Victory over Doomfist” party, and Tracer had teased that Cassidy was bitter that he didn’t get an invite, which didn’t exactly go over well considering Blackwatch was still suspended. Jack, however, was keen to emphasize that they had caught Doomfist in Singapore over two months previously and that this celebration was largely to maintain Overwatch’s mutual support with Numbani. They knew though. The whole strike team knew. Overwatch needed that win and now it needed to capitalize on it. Genji didn’t like the idea of being in the spotlight. Only a year or so ago newscasters were looking at blurred footage of him in the Venice incident like he was some monster, some horrific amalgam of Overwatch’s scientific sins, and now he was on the posters–all gleaming armor and glowing green visor. And now a tie.

“If I can handle a tie, so can you,” said Tracer. Genji just grumbled under his breath. When Tracer wore a tie, she actually pulled it off. She didn’t look like a jigsaw of machine parts juxtaposed on a human’s suit.

“As the new strike team, we do have a responsibility to put our best faces forward!” said Winston, daintily folding his own pocket square.

Genji hesitantly brushed his fingers along his own faceplate.

“Uh… poor choice of words,” muttered Winston.

“Lena!” Genji heard a disappointed voice on the other side of the room, “Really?” His head instinctively swiveled to the doorway where Mercy was standing in a short, sparkling gold dress and a black silk cropped jacket. Genji attempted to maintain as neutral a reaction as possible to the outfit that he had never seen the doctor in. “You said I wouldn’t be the only one in a dress!”

Tracer’s lips thinned and he laughed nervously, “Well–yeah, but then Em found this frilly shirt and–well–” Tracer was stammering over herself.

“Don’t bother,” muttered Mercy.

“Sorry, Doc,” said Tracer, straightening her bowtie, “Cant help looking this good.” 

“Well now everyone’s in black and I’m stuck—sticking out, and—” she glanced down at herself, then caught Genji’s visor out of the corner of her eye, then caught herself, folding her arms. “It’s fine. This is fine. I’m fine.”

She turned on her heel then, apparently all too easy with her patent leather black wedges, and paced out of the room.

“Oof,” said Tracer. Tracer looked at Genji, then at the doorway, then at Genji, then back at the door.

Genji looked blankly back at her.

“Talk to her,” Tracer mouthed, furrowing her brows and Genji nodded as if he totally knew what he would say to her (he didn’t) and he moved to follow her out the door when the door swung open and Jack walked in, looking more upbeat than he had in months. Mercy was right next to him, apparently caught right outside the door and now smiling her “maintaining-public-relations-while-dead-inside” smile.

“There’s my favorite strike team!” said Jack.

“Really?” Tracer said with a grin, “Are you sure we’re you’re favorite strike team?”

 “Okay, second favorite,” said Jack, clapping her on the shoulder, “But really, I’m so glad you all agreed to this.”

“Who doesn’t like a party?” said Tracer.

I can think of two, thought Genji, glancing at Mercy. Maybe if the party wasn’t going to be four hours of stumbling through conversations with politicians Mercy might have the energy for it, but if something as little as being the only one in their group in a dress was already getting under her skin this much, it was going to be a long last night of the year. A few years ago he would probably already be drunk, hopped up on whatever party drug was fashionable at the moment, and embarrassing his entire family on the dance floor, but the dragon had burned that old Genji away. He rolled the thumb of his prosthetic hand over his knuckles as Jack and Tracer continued talking.

“And the Adawe Foundation represents some of Overwatch’s most critical ambassadorial work after the Crisis,” said Jack, “We couldn’t ask for a better crowd.” He gave a glance down to Tracer’s chronal accelerator. “Are you sure you’re all right with the–?”

“It’s been fine, Commander,” said Tracer, jamming thumb over her shoulder at Winston, “I had the big guy take a look at it special for tonight.”

Winston adjusted his glasses, “The accelerator is in optimum condition, sir,” he said, tucking in his pocket square.

“Hope you guys are ready for a lot of pictures,” said Jack, “Let’s move out.”

—

Sojourn greeted them as soon as they came out of the elevator. Mercy seemed relieved to see her in a dress–a striking asymmetrical scarlet number with her white dreadlocks swept off to one side. 

“Lookin’ sharp, team,” Sojourn said, folding her arms with a smirk. Her eyes lit up at Genji, “And look at you!” She rapped a knuckle against Genji’s suit lapels, “Actual cloth? Amazing.”

“Gabriel helped find him one that fits,” said Jack.

“How’s he doing?” said Sojourn, looking at Jack.

“Gabe? Fine–he’s–fine,” said Jack, folding his arms, unsettled by the question, “He–you know, he… gets it.”

Genji felt Tracer, Mercy, and Winston’s eyes flick to him momentarily, as if he might have a better idea what was going on with Blackwatch, but the truth was he didn’t. All he really knew was that he was seeing less and less of Gabriel and Moira, and that just put Cassidy on edge, who was already anxious considering Blackwatch was benched and his very position with Overwatch was probationary. Genji tried to read Jack’s face in that moment. He found that Gabriel and Jack were sort of emotional barometers for each other, problems in their minds settling similar lines across their faces. Even though Jack seemed to be puffing out his chest and pushing his ‘Heroic Commander’ persona as much as his receding hairline would allow him, there was an exhaustion in his eyes. 

“It’ll be all right, soldier,” said Sojourn, patting Jack’s shoulder.

“Yeah–New Year, right?” said Jack as he and Sojourn walked towards the party’s main hall with the strike team in tow.

The party itself was thankfully not as exhausting as anticipated. The next three and a half hours were a slog though. The first hour was largely Jack and Sojourn walking them around the party, introducing the strike team as a group, before splitting up and leaving them to ‘mingle.’ A word Genji dreaded. Winston and Tracer managed to keep a lot of attention off of him, and what attention was on him was gradually buffed off by his own taciturn responses. Winston on the other hand could lecture more or less indefinitely on physics, and Tracer maintained her dizzying energy, blinking around different conversations of the party, giving little quips about time travel (which of course went over well considering it was New Year’s) and generally being the charming face of Overwatch Jack had been grooming her for. Mercy on the other hand….

Genji watched from across the room as Mercy was caught in a conversation with what looked like a circle of five different dignitaries. He was impressed with how gracious and at-ease she seemed in the conversation in spite of how frazzled she had been with Tracer earlier. She wasn’t Angela in that light, he realized. This was Mercy. Angela Ziegler was all messy buns and thoughtful thumbnail chewing and weary, snarky looks from behind black-rimmed glasses when they stayed up late in the lab together–Mercy was a mask and a shield, keeping people at a distance but dazzling them with her grace and dignity.

“You still gotta talk to her,” said Tracer, brushing past him and sticking two champagne flutes in his hand.

“What?” said Genji but Tracer was already slipping back off into the crowd to take pictures with Winston and a handful of younger Adawe foundation members, leaving him standing awkwardly with the two champagne flutes. He glanced back at the crowd of five that Mercy was caught in and was slightly alarmed to see that Mercy was no longer there. When did she get the chance to slip off? He circled through the party, and found that most left him alone when he was carrying two champagne glasses because they assumed he had somewhere to go, someone to meet, and in a sense they were right, but Genji himself felt aimless and a bit stupid. He couldn’t even drink one of the champagnes, anyway–that would require taking the faceplate off and no, he was not doing that with this crowd. 

“15 Minutes to Midnight!” Tracer announced cheerily from the midst of the crowd, and Genji decided to ditch his champagne glasses before he was caught holding them like an idiot when the new year was finally rung in.

A lot of the tables at the party were occupied by chatting couples, so he couldn’t just drop off the glasses there, and it felt odd to trail after one of the waiters carrying trays to put full champagne flutes on their trays–the balcony, he decided. People forgot their drinks on balconies all the time. He stepped outside and saw a familiar figure in a gold dress slumped against the guardrail of the balcony. Mercy had kicked off her heels and was looking out over the city. The exterior of the party was only marginally cooler than the interior–Numbani wasn’t exactly known for cold climes, after all. The city glittered all green and orange and gold beyond her. 

“Angela?” said Genji and Mercy glanced over her shoulder at him.

“Oh,” she pushed up off of the guardrail slightly. 

“I um… I got you, well, actually Tracer got you—here,” he held up one of the champagne flutes.

 She smiled that weary smile and took it from him, “Thank you, Genji.”

“Is everything okay?” said Genji. 

“I should apologize to Tracer,” muttered Mercy, “She looks better in a suit and it was a completely arbitrary thing to be upset about.”

“I think she understands,” said Genji.

“I should be the mature one here, not her,” muttered Mercy, “I mean–Of course she should be mature, she’s team leader, but I shouldn’t be the one getting upset over things as small as wardrobe changes, but she said she would and I would like it if people in this organization actually did what they said they were going to do–and–and–”

“It’s… not about Tracer or the wardrobe change,” said Genji, leaning against the balcony.

“I think… it’s new year’s eve. I know I’m supposed to feel like there’s a fresh start coming, but at the same time, so much feels out of my control,” she looked back over the city, “Overwatch put away one the biggest threats to world peace since the Omnic Crisis but I just… it feels wrong. It feels rotten.”

“…It feels too easy,” said Genji.

Mercy’s shoulders bunched up, “It wasn’t ‘too easy’–you were thrown into a car and Tracer had her chronal accelerator ripped off of her—”

“But Talon’s barely made any effort to restructure with him gone,” said Genji, “It operated so… complexly… before. I don’t think that Doomfist’s ascent to power would be so disruptive that it would destroy every contingency. You would think that they would be fighting harder to prove removing Doomfist doesn’t decrease how much of a threat they pose–like a wounded animal lashing out.”

“Oh thank god, you feel it, too. I thought I was just being paranoid,” said Mercy.

“Well… I’m paranoid too, so…” Genji shrugged and Mercy snickered.

She extended her glass to him, “To paranoia and the new year,” she said with a smile.

“To paranoia and the new year.”Genji clinked his glass against hers, she moved to sip her drink, then stopped, looking at him just awkwardly holding his glass.

“…you haven’t had a drink all night,” said Mercy.

“There’s a lot of politicians here. Someone should stay sharp,” said Genji.

“Genji I’m pretty sure this party has the most extensive and well-equipped security in the world. You can relax a little,” she smiled, but then her smile faded and her free hand went up to her own jaw, “Oh–your…” 

“The faceplate, yes,” said Genji.

Mercy gave a glance back to the party through the and she leaned in a bit closely to him, “…Would you like to drink?”

“…yes, yes I would,” said Genji.

“Here,” Mercy set her glass down on the guardrail, then shrugged off her jacket and stepped around him, holding her jacket up and spread out as a shield between them and the party, “But you’ll have to be quick.”

Genji, seeing he was obscured from the party by the jacket, quickly clicked his faceplate off, clinked his glass against Mercy’s on the balcony, and with a quiet, “Kanpai,” gulped down his champagne. Mercy lowered her jacket as he clicked his faceplate back on and his visor slid back into place, lighting up green. 

“You’ve rescued me again, Doctor Ziegler,” said Genji with a sight chuckle.

“Angel wings,” said Mercy with a grin, waving her jacket around slightly before pulling it back on. She sipped her own champagne and both looked out over the city. A pause passed between them, not uncomfortable, but both sort of navigating their own thoughts in the comfort of each other’s company.

“…it’s not that bad, you know,” said Mercy, after a while.

“Mm?” Genji glanced at her.

“Your face–the… the scarring’s not as bad as you think,” said Mercy, sipping her champagne, “I know, ultimately, it’s about what you’re comfortable with showing, and that’s what’s important–”

“And I’m a ninja,” said Genji.

“…and you’re a ninja,” Mercy conceded, grinning, “But… I like your face, Genji. I see it and I think, ‘Oh–there’s someone who has my back.’ Even with this on–” She mindlessly reached up and touched the faceplate and there was a sudden kssssh of Genji’s shoulder vents that made her flinch back. “Sorry–I shouldn’t have–”

“No, no, it’s fine, it’s fine–Numbani. It’s warm,” said Genji, tugging at his collar to release some trapped steam. He cleared his throat and glanced off. “Um… thank you. I… I like your face, too. It’s…” his shoulder vents steamed again with another ksssssh, “It’s a good face,” he managed to finish, “That wasn’t–This suit has no proper venting.”

Mercy chuckled a little. “I understand,” she said, smiling.

A din rose up from the interior of the party. “3 minutes left!” Tracer could be heard over the crowd.

“…Guess it’s getting to the final countdown,” said Genji.

“Yes,” said Mercy, her shoulders slumped a little, “We should probably head in, get the whole… strike team together for the photo-ops at midnight…”

“…right…” said Genji, not really wanting to subject himself to a flurry of camera flashes but knowing they couldn’t let Tracer and Winston down. He started moving across the balcony back to the door.

“Oh–umm before midnight—” said Mercy, catching his shoulder.

“Mm?” Genji glanced over at her.

She gave him a short, soft kiss on the side of his faceplate.  “Happy New Year, Genji,” she said, pulling back, looking a bit too red for it to just be the flush of champagne.

KSSSSHHHH. Steam flooded up and out of Genji’s collar, wilting it from its sharp tailored angles to a rumpled mess. “Ah–Um…” Genji stammered, “Happy New Year to you as well, Angela,” he said. He gestured a bit helplessly at his collar, “Venting–Numbani–You know–”

“I know,” said Mercy with a grin as they headed back into the party for the countdown.

Chapter Text

Looking back, she wished she could have noticed more on that mission, maybe if she had, things would have ended up differently, but everything was coming apart in those days. The protestors around Zurich headquarters were particularly bad that morning, and what started out as a pre-mission briefing with Jack turned into a furious argument that trailed all the way to the Orca hangar before Jack had to break off to deal with some new PR crisis that was apparently more important than their latest mission. She was the last one to board the orca, plopping down in her seat with an angry huff.

“Protestors key your ride, too?” said Tracer.

Mercy’s eyes widened, “Oh Lena–No…”

“It’ll buff out,” said Tracer with a hand wave as the Orca doors closed and they lifted up into the air, “But what happened with you?”

“Just Morrison again,” muttered Mercy.

“Ah,” said Tracer, knowing not to inquire further into what the argument had been about unless she wanted Mercy’s rants to consume the entire orca flight. The fact that things are coming apart was an unavoidable topic though. Tracer glanced out the window at the protestors in front of Zurich Headquarters below, shrinking into ants with picket signs. “You’d think they’d have something better to do,” she quipped. It was meant to be playful, but Mercy was already on edge.

“It’s well within their rights,” Mercy’s jaw was tight, “As an organization we’ve failed them. Multiple times. We’ve betrayed their trust. They counted on us to aid in humanitarian crises, to protect them from threats around the world, and what do we give them? Inaction and corrupt bureaucracy, intel leaks and security breaches, Blackwat–” Mercy caught herself before she said ‘Blackwatch’ and her eyes flicked to Genji, who was staring out the window as well. She cleared her throat. “It’s not about them ‘not having anything better to do,’ it’s about what they believe in.”

“…well… I still believe in us,” said Tracer.

Mercy forced a smile. “I know,” she said gently.

“We all do, right, big guy?” Tracer elbowed Winston next to her.

“I–uh–yes,” Winston adjusted his glasses. 

“Genji?” Trace looked over at the ninja.

“Mm,” Genji gave a single nod without breaking his sight from the window.

“Doc?” Tracer smiled at her.

No, a quiet, bitter voice spoke from the back of Mercy’s mind, but she kept forcing that smile. “I believe we should be reading the mission briefings so we actually know what we’re up against,” she said.

“Of course,” Tracer said with a slight eye-roll before taking out a tablet and reading it.

Mercy glanced back at Genji, still staring out the window. He hadn’t been the same since the Doomfist fight, and she doubted all the internal turmoil at Overwatch was helping much either. Mercy took out her own tablet and her eyes scanned over the mission’s intel.

“Orochi Hovercycles…” Tracer scrolled down her tablet, her eyes suddenly widened and she looked up at Genji. “The Shimadas–”

“The Clan is mostly collapsed at this point,” Genji didn’t even look away from the window, “This factory is likely only money-laundering and a chop shop for one of the former branches.”

“Well, good thing we’re bringing you along, eh? I mean there’s bound to be ninjas,” said Tracer.

Genji huffed, “Not likely.” 

He was right. The mission itself was almost embarrassingly short compared to the Orca flight there, most of the security around the site immediately surrendering as soon as the Winston dropped in, and, after Tracer and Genji cut him off at the factory’s back exit, the head of the factory easily submitted himself to their custody but would say absolutely nothing until his lawyer was present, so they handed him over to the local authorities. No bloodshed, honestly the smoothest-running mission they had had in months, but hollow-feeling. Something the local authorities could have handled on their own in due time, Mercy thought.

 She looked down at her Valkyrie suit, the blazing yellow wings, the halo biofeed, and felt a bit ridiculous just standing aside and watching the local police take care of things. Were they all flash and no substance out in the field at this point? She wondered how many other people wondered the same thing about them. She wondered how many other places she could be if she weren’t on-call with wherever Overwatch needed her to show up next.

Tracer tried to remain chipper about the whole thing as well, but Mercy could tell the hollowness of the mission was getting to her, too. Jack had been putting her on more and more PR-related tasks, this had been what she would describe as her first ‘Real’ mission in a frustratingly long time. Winston, it seemed was the most relieved, but then again he had been out in the field for the least amount of time. No one would blame him for wanting a smoothly-run mission. But still, he was troubled as well… he was aware that, as a gorilla, he naturally stuck out like a sore thumb, but Tracer was quick to comfort and distract him on that front.

And what about Genji? The only time Mercy had ever seen Genji come away from any Shimada related missions, he was seething, but that was also mostly back in the old days when he was in Blackwatch. There was a withdrawnness to him now, with so much of the combat of their mission simply not being there, he seemed acutely uncomfortable to be in public.

As they headed back to the Orca, Mercy noticed Genji lagging behind, looking at the crowd of squad cars outside the factory. 

“Genji?” she put a hand on his shoulder and he gave a slight start. She withdrew her hand.

“Sorry,” he shook his head, “I should get going–”

“Is everything all right?” asked Mercy. 

“It’s fine,” said Genji, “I just…” he looked back at the squad cars, “I wish I could say I was getting more closure from this. This factory was the last large out-of-country holding for the Shimada Clan. What remains of it now is little more than some protections schemes and petty theft.”

“Hanzo is still out there,” said Mercy. Genji tensed at the name but only briefly.

“But he’s left the clan,” said Genji, “And not a big enough threat to warrant Overwatch’s attention… not with things as they are. He’s not Talon.”

“Yes… well…” Mercy pushed her hair back, “The work we do is still important.”

Genji turned his head toward her, expression unreadable with his visor and faceplate. “How much do you believe that?” he asked quietly.

“What do you mean?” said Mercy, furrowing her brows, slightly.

“You’ve been arguing with Jack more and more,” said Genji, “You keep saying things like, ‘I joined this organization to help people’ like you…. like you don’t feel like you’re doing it any more.” 

Mercy’s eyebrows raised. “I–I don’t think—I just think—”

“You’re one of the most brilliant doctors in the world, you don’t need Overwatch to help people…” he paused and looked over at Winston and Tracer, eagerly chatting at the Orca’s open door, “Are you just staying for the team’s sake?” 

“Genji…” Mercy started.

“For mine?” Genji tilted his head. 

Mercy’s eyes widened.

“Oi!” Tracer called to them from the Orca and they both broke out of the conversation that had seemingly dimmed out all other sound from the world, “We still gotta get back, you know!”

Mercy touched his shoulder. “We can talk more about it back at headquarters,” she smiled a little, “You know where to find me.”

“I know,” said Genji.

The flight back to Zurich was quiet. Mercy did her best to try and sleep off whatever jet-lag this whole ordeal might give her, so she could get right back into work back at headquarters to try and make up for what felt like a colossal waste of time of a mission. Tracer was debriefing with Sojourn over vid-com on her tablet, Winston was tinkering with his Tesla cannon.

One of the last times Mercy saw Genji before he left Overwatch was on that Orca, still staring out the window. If she had known that she wouldn’t hear from Genji for months as she watched him walk across the headquarter’s tarmac after they landed, she would have stopped him. But there was no way she could have known.

 That night she was working late, as usual, and she brewed a fresh pot of coffee expecting her usual company and conversation. Around midnight she glanced up from her monitor to the door of her lab, and then glanced at the still half-full pot of coffee on the counter a ways away from her desk. She glanced at her watch.

Probably training, she thought to herself, He seemed like he needed to clear his head after that mission. He’ll be here.

Only he didn’t come. That night, the coffee pot remained only half-drunk. In the morning, Cassidy reported that Genji’s footlocker was emptied, and Genji himself was gone.

Chapter Text

“I don’t know what to tell you, Doc,” said Jack, folding his arms and looking out the window of his office, “With the completion of the Orochi assignment, Genji’s contract with Overwatch is completed. He’s free, so to speak.”

“Well yes, I understand that, but he wouldn’t just leave,” said Mercy, running a hand through her hair, “Security didn’t pick up anything unusual last night?”

“Nothing,” said Jack with a shrug.

“But there was the post-mission diagnostics–the follow-ups—Possible de-weaponization procedures to discuss—” Mercy was thumbing through an armful of files she was holding.

“Formalities mostly, more suggested than required,” said Jack, turning on his heel away from the window towards her, “You were never cleared for discussing those de-weaponization procedures.”

“Well–he wouldn’t be a part of Overwatch anyway….so would it really matter?” said Mercy.

“It’s best if he’s ready if Overwatch has need of his skills again.”

“But you don’t even know where he is!” snapped Mercy.

“Well yeah, but that’s mine and Gabe’s concern, not yours,” said Jack.

Her mouth tightened and she dropped her armful of manila folders onto Jack’s desk with an unusual amount of fury, “You let Torbjörn craft that–that awful rifle with my technology but you won’t even let me help him!?”

“All due respect Doc, but I think he’s the one not letting you help him,” said Jack, calmly gathering her files back up into a neat stack.

Mercy blanched and her brow crinkled and let out a short, sharp exhale. Jack looked up from the files as Mercy turned on her heel and walked briskly toward the door.

“Doc–your files–Doc?” Jack spoke after her but she shut the door behind her a bit harder than usual and he was left standing dumbly with a pile of her folders on the desk.

—

Mercy was hugging her knees atop the highest maintenance platform in the training area, looking out over Zurich's mountains She heard the metal ring of someone clambering up the ladder. She sighed. “I’m on my off-hours. If you need someone down in the infirmary, you can refer to one of my assistants,” she said loudly.

“I don’t need patchin’ up,” came the reply from down the ladder. Mercy got to her feet and walked over to see Cassidy climbing up.

“Cole?” Mercy called down to him as he grunted up several more ladder rungs, then pulled himself up onto the platform, panting.

 “Gotdamn… how’d you get up here without breaking a sweat?” he said, plopping down into a seated position. He noticed Angela was wearing a familiar harness over her clothes and snorted then broke into laughter. “You’re telling me you used the Valkyrie wings just to come up here and sulk?”

“I didn’t tell you anything” said Mercy, folding her arms, “And I’m not sulking.”

“Well I mean… if you’re not sulking, you sure picked a good spot to sulk,” said Cassidy, looking out over the mountains.

“Was there something you needed?” Mercy spoke sharply.

“Nah—Heard what happened with Jack though,,” said Cassidy, he tipped the brim of his hat back with his thumb, “Usually it’s me or Gabe throwin’ stuff around and storming out of that office. This Genji thing’s really bugging you, huh?”

“I just think we should all be a bit more concerned with one of our best agents simply disappearing without a word to anyone!” said Mercy. She quickly caught herself, “Sorry for snapping at you.”

Cassidy chuckled. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’ then,” he said, looking back out over the water.

“Why isn’t it bothering you?” said Mercy.

“I’ve seen the guy on missions, Doc. He can take care of himself just fine,” said Cassidy.

Mercy’s mouth drew to a thin line, “I know but…” she paused a long while and then sighed, “These past few weeks he’s just… been talking less and less… and during diagnostic check-ups I would catch himself looking at his arms like…” she mindlessly ran a hand over her own wrist, “What if he hates me for what I did to him?”

“For savin’ his life?” said Cassidy, “Seriously?” Mercy looked down. “Hey Doc,” said Cassidy, prompting Mercy to glance up again. “There are days when I wake up and I hate this thing,” he held up his own prosthetic arm, “But I’m not gonna hold that shit against you.”

“But his was much more extensive—” Mercy started.

“Well yeah, because he needed it!” said Cassidy, “He wouldn’t be able to do any of the ninja stuff he does without all the work you put in. And he wanted to do all that ninja stuff because that was the only way he was going to get back at the Shimada clan for what they did to him.”

“But how do you know he doesn’t hate me?” said Mercy.

“Trust me, I’ve spent enough time with Genji to know that if he hated you, you’d know,” said Cassidy, “And I think you know him well enough to know that’s not the case either.” Cassidy exhaled “You wanna know what I think?”

Mercy pursed her lips and was quiet for a second. “What do you think?” she asked.

“I think he’s figuring his own shit out,” said Cassidy with a shrug, “He spent all this time obsessing over taking down the Shimada clan, and we did, and now he’s gotta figure out what to do with himself.” He glanced over at Mercy, “And maybe he’ll come back one day. Maybe he won’t. In the meantime we got plenty of work to do.”

“I suppose that much is true,” said Mercy, tucking her hair back. They were both quiet for a long time, watching a flock of birds shrink into the blue past the mountains, “I just hope he’s all right,” Mercy said quietly.

Cassidy smirked a little, “You got it bad, don’t you?”

Mercy reddened. “Excuse me? I am–My concern is perfectly reasonable–I have–My feelings are completely irrelevant to—I’m not—Genji Shimada is an important—Stop giving me that look!”

Cassidy snorted and elbowed her playfully. “Don’t you worry, part of bein’ Blackwatch means you can keep a secret. Besides, I think he took more than a bit of a fancy to you while he was here.”

“I–” Mercy blinked a few times, “You think so?” she said, still bright red.

“Well to be fair, he’s a bit hard to read what with the whole,” Cassidy gestured up and down at his face, “But he’d get just as ruffled as you did when I asked him what he thought about you.”

Mercy scoffed. “You’re teasing.”

“I’m not. You know what a ruffled Genji Shimada looks like? The visor starts glowing and he starts literally steaming and he gets all up in your face but can’t complete a sentence, just like you did only half of it’s in Japanese.” 

Mercy chuckled a little. “Do you miss him too?” she said, looking back out at the water.

“Sure I miss him. Good guy to have on your side in a fight. But if he’s gotta figure some stuff out well… I’m not going to stop him. Probably couldn’t if I tried.”

Mercy chuckled again, “Yes, I suppose that’s Genji…” she said. She was quiet a while longer. “Thank you,” she said.

“For what?” 

“You came all the way up here when you heard I was upset,” said Mercy, looking over at him and smiling.

“Oh,” said Cassidy, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck, “Sure. Yeah. That’s why I came up here.”

“How did you know I was up here?” said Mercy, then immediately noting his expression, “…You didn’t know I was up here,” she said flatly.

“I come up here to hide from Reyes sometimes,” said Cassidy, “If you head down before me, don’t tell him I’m here.

Mercy scoffed and chuckled. “I won’t,” she said, leaning back slightly and looking at the water, “Thank you. Again,” she said.

“Anytime, Doctor Z,” said Cassidy. 

Chapter Text

She kept making too much coffee. That was what kept throwing her off. She could try to be mindful about it, she could try to say “No one is coming” when she would measure out her beans before she ground them, but saying that stung, and stung deep. It never really occurred to Mercy how much Genji figured into her daily interactions and how much the rest of it was work until he left. Tracer was exhausting without Genji to bounce between them, and while Winston was about the same, now he kept asking ‘how she was doing,’ and she had to keep saying ‘fine’ because there was too much to unpack. Where was she supposed to start? Mei and the Ecowatch Antarctica team were all dead. Reinhardt had been unceremoniously shoved into retirement. Gérard Lacroix was dead. Amélie Lacroix was missing-presumed-dead. Genji was missing. Captain Ana Amari was missing-presumed-dead. Liao was dead. Jack Morrison and Gabriel Reyes were barely talking. Talon was getting bolder and bolder even with Doomfist imprisoned, which raised the question of how effective Tracer’s strike team actually was. 30 million orphans from the Omnic Crisis were now being fed into a thriving underground economy of mercenaries, black market technicians, and human trafficking. More governments were investing in private security corporations rather than Overwatch, disease outbreaks were blooming in the most vulnerable communities all around the world faster than Overwatch’s relief teams could respond, and all the while Moira O’Deorain was thriving like a cancer in the chaos.

And here Mercy was.

With her too-full coffee carafe at 11:30 PM on a Wednesday night.

The worst part about missing him was how sneaky he was. She used to be able to speak to an empty room and he wouldn’t be able to resist giving himself away to say something snarky. She still did it, mindlessly.

“This cell culture just does not want to cooperate,” she said, pulling away from her microscope, only to find herself speaking to no one. His absence ached like a phantom limb.

He’d know a lot more about phantom limbs than you would, that stinging voice spoke in the pit of her chest.

She pushed away from the microscope in her swivel chair and forced herself to stand up, feeling her exhaustion in every curve of her spine. Just walk around, come back to this with fresh eyes, she thought to herself, refilling her mug. She walked out of the lab and looked down the hallway of Zurich headquarters. The emptiness of the halls had more of a foreboding to them now. Before, she loved the liminality of the bustling-in-daytime headquarters in its silence at night, but now that silence felt hollow. She sipped her coffee and looked out the window at the line of tents outside the headquarters’ main gate. Jack’s statue had been vandalized--not torn apart, thankfully, but relentlessly graffitied. They had stationed security bots for it, but if there was one thing all the protestors had proven, it was that even civilians with enough anger and willpower always found ways to get their point across. 

“I never wanted that damn statue,” a gruff voice spoke next to her and Mercy’s head jerked over to see Jack Morrison a few steps away, looking out that same window.

Mercy blinked a few times.

“How goes the lab work, Doc?” said Jack, not looking at her.

“Slow,” said Mercy with a shrug, “It’s like that sometimes.” 

“Mm,” Jack grunted in acknowledgment. A long pause passed between them.

“You’re up late as well,” said Mercy, smiling slightly, “Strategizing with Reyes?”

“No,” his voice was flat.

Mercy bit the inside of her lip. “If it sounded like I was implying anything, please know that was not my inten--” she started.

“I know,” said Jack, “Gabe--Commander Reyes and I have agreed we both need more... perspective.”

“New approaches can help,” Mercy offered, but she knew there was far more weight to what Jack was saying about his and Gabriel’s partnership. Jack was very good at spinning things at this point--and she could tell how much he hated it. “Is there anything I can...?” she trailed off. Jack’s eyes flicked to her only momentarily and Mercy’s lips thinned.

“It’s fine,” said Jack, “Just... keep at your work.” 

Mercy gave a glance back out at the tents outside Zurich’s gates. “You know, the hard part about being in an international organization, it becomes a lot easier for people to treat you like you don’t belong anywhere...” she pushed her hair back from her face, “But--we’ve done good work. We’ve done wonderful things. We’ve helped people---”

“That’s a lot of past-tense there, Doc,” said Jack.

“I--We’re helping people--they love Tracer!” Mercy felt desperate and a bit foolish at this point.

“They do, don’t they?” said Jack, not looking at her.

“She believes in us...” said Mercy.

“Do you?” said Jack.

Mercy looked off. “I... I should be getting back to work.”

“Right,” said Jack. Mercy straightened her labcoat and moved to walk off.

“Doc?” said Jack.

“Yes?” said Mercy.

Jack’s face was half in shadow, the light from the window only making out his craggiest features and highlighting the gray of his hair. His lips parted with a slight inhale and for a few seconds Mercy thought he was going to apologize. How entitled do you have to feel to assume that? she thought to herself, But... between the biotic rifle, Moira, and Genji....

Jack seemed to catch himself. Any apology he might have would be too little, too late now. “You... take care of yourself, okay?” he motioned with his head toward the line of tents outside the gate, “Weird, angry people out there.”

“We wouldn’t be here if we weren’t weird, angry people,” said Mercy with a slight smile. 

Jack huffed a little and turned back to look out the window, “Maybe we should try recruiting with the protestors,” he said wryly. 

“Maybe,” said Mercy. It does feel so empty here, she thought, but she gave a glance over to Jack, “Get some rest, Commander.”

“You too,” said Jack.

Mercy rounded a corner in the headquarters and was now walking along a hallway looking down into the courtyard garden below. 

“In a way, I am a bit jealous, Doctor Ziegler,” she remembered Genji’s words down in that garden, “Overwatch will always need your abilities, but if in the end, they’re a peacekeeping organization, eventually they won’t need a weapon...”

“You’re not a weapon,” she had told him, “You’re not. I can’t let everything Overwatch touches become a weapon.”

Mercy let her fingertips trail along the glass of the window before she gave a glance to a door where the name next to the door had been blacked out. It should have read ‘Captain Ana Amari’ but she wasn’t here anymore. Mercy kept walking, descending a stairwell deeper into the lower levels of the building. 

“Are you staying just for the team’s sake?” he had asked her on their last mission together, “For mine?”

Stop it, She thought to herself, reaching the bottom of the stairs and continuing her brisk walk down the halls of Blackwatch’s quarters, You’re only making it worse. Just focus. Don’t think about him. Keep walking. Stop thinking about him. Keep walking. Just keep--

She stopped and found herself staring at a too-familiar door. Genji insisted on not even having his name on a plate next to his door, but she knew it all the same. Her hand touched the cool metal of the door. You’ve checked it before, she thought, You did everything you could short of pulling the wiring out of the walls looking for some clue he may have left you as to where he went. He doesn’t want to be found. He doesn’t want you in his life. You’re making it worse. You’re making it---

She touched her key card to the panel next to the door and it slid open. She stepped inside. The room was completely empty...it was bare even when he was living in it, she didn’t know why she thought she would find anything new looking in it now. 

Her comm buzzed at her side and and she pulled it from the pocket of her labcoat. ‘ENCRYPTED CHANNEL’ displayed on her comm’s holographic projection and she arched an eyebrow. Her high position in Overwatch meant her own channel was extremely secure--there was no way an encrypted channel would be able to access her unless she had given them a prior access code. The only people she had given that access code to were...

She quickly opened her comm. “Genji?!” she spoke breathlessly.

“...Sorry, Doc, hope I’m not too much of a disappointment,” a warm voice came on the other end.

“Cassidy,” Mercy huffed and her shoulders slumped, “I’m sorry I just thought...”

“I get it. So still no word from him?”

“Still no word,” said Mercy, glancing up at the chin-up bar that was still installed overhead. She smiled a little, “But I must say, it’s been a while since I heard from you! Why are you calling from an encrypted channel?” Her face suddenly dropped, “Cole--why are you calling from an encrypted channel?” she asked, tension coiling in her stomach.

“...I’m not on any more Blackwatch ‘vacations’ if that’s what you’re asking,” said Cassidy, “I’m not...” He audibly huffed on the other side of the line, “Doc, are you alone?”

“Yes?” Mercy answered hesitantly, looking around Genji’s room.

“Okay,” Cassidy took a steadying breath on the other side of the line, “Doc, I know Genji leaving broke your heart, and I don’t want to do that to you, so that’s why I’m callin’... but... the truth is, I’m gone.”

“Gone--what do you mean--” Mercy’s face scrunched up in confusion and then her eyes widened, “Cole, you can’t--Your contract with Blackwatch---”

“...Will paint a target on my back, I know, but...this isn’t me hittin’ the dusty trail and ridin’ off into the sunset. The truth is, shit’s going down, Doc. I don’t know how much I can tell you without putting you into danger, but all I can tell you is that it’s not safe there. Wheels are fallin’ off, lines are being drawn, and you gotta get out while you can.”

“No--no---you can’t just leave me in the dark like this,” Mercy was pacing back and forth, “I can’t just leave, I have people counting on me. Overwatch’s relief work---”

“Shit--I gotta go,” Cassidy cut her off, “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to get on this channel again, Doc, but--please stay safe. I promise I’ll bring the chip back when the dust settles.” 

“Bring what chip back--” Mercy heard a click on the other end, “Cole? Cole Cassidy, are you there!?” she brought her comm away from her ear only to read ‘DISCONNECTED’ on the holo-projection. “Oh Cole, what are you doing?” she said quietly. She looked around Genji’s room. “...what am I doing?” she said even more softly.

But there was no one around to answer that.

Chapter Text

It had been over 3 months since he left Overwatch. 

For some reason the image of the lone wanderer trudging through the desert on a spiritual quest always seemed sort of romantic in and of itself, but currently, Genji felt like an idiot. In fairness, if EcoWatch hadn’t been pretty much gutted in the months before Overwatch’s collapse, the tour group he was a part of would have probably had the data that told them it wouldn’t be safe to head out into the desert that day, but as it was, they did, and as it was the sandstorm separated him from the group. He did try staying in one place for several hours, but when no rescue came, he started walking.

The sand made soft ‘shuff’ noises beneath his feet as he trudged over the dune. His cybernetic visor told him the time, so at least he knew with the sun on his left shoulder he was heading south, which was his best bet with reuniting with the Numbani tour group which brought him out here. The sandstorm already left grains crunching in every joint of his prosthetics, even beneath his faceplate it was stinging his eyes, grating at his scars, making his mouth taste of salt and bitterness and his throat raw in the heat. He knew with his reduced organic body mass, he didn’t need as much water as other people, but he could also feel dehydration more acutely. And he did–God, he did.

“Well of course if I nearly managed to drown myself in a therapy pool, I could manage to die out in the middle of nowhere on a spiritual quest,” he said to himself, his voice hoarse in the heat.

“Don’t talk like that, Genji,” a voice spoke pityingly and he looked sharply to his right to see Mercy in her labcoat, droplets of water on her glasses, her hair stuck to her forehead with wetness. A mad part of him wanted to tackle her right there, lick the water from the dip in her collarbone, but he knew she couldn’t be there, and he knew that would be insane even if she was there. He knew exactly when he had seen her like this, and he knew there was no way she could be here, looking like this now.

“You’re not here,” he said, continuing to walk.

“Obviously,” she replied. She wasn’t dripping water anymore. She was in Overwatch’s standard gray and orange training jumpsuit.

“So I’m just torturing myself,” said Genji.

“Or, maybe you trust me more than you trust yourself,” said Mercy, “Which, granted, also isn’t good.”

“…You would say that,” said Genji with a roll of his eyes.

“You left without saying goodbye,” she said quietly.

“I don’t need this right now,” said Genji.

A part of him half-expected the hallucination to persist, but instead he found himself alone, only the sound of the wind on the sands and the blazing sun overhead as his companions. He couldn’t even bring his eyes down because of the stinging glare of the sun on his armor. He sighed and trudged on. Just keep the sun on your left shoulder, he thought, Just keep the sun on your left shoulder.

The heat sinks on his shoulders had been jutting out for hours, the thermoregulation of his armor built more around keeping a reduced organic mass warm than cool. He could feel the remains of his internal organs curling in on themselves with his dehydration, his mouth dry and his throat tacky.

Overwatch designed me with the idea that they would never be far away, he thought, as he pulled his faceplate off in some attempt to escape the heat of his skin and the stench of his own sweat. There was no one around to see his scars here. And if they found his shriveled corpse with the mask off… well, it wasn’t as if he would be around to care.

Eventually his shadow got long enough that he knew now to keep it on his right shoulder to keep heading south, and he figured at least two or three hours had passed. He grunted as he reached the apex of one dune and looked out at the sea of dunes around him. The vastness was enough to just make him drop to his knees right there, nothing but an unreachable horizon in all directions, and a great unfeeling void of cloudless pale blue sky, that boiling sun lying at the center of its bowl. And at the same time that vastness seemed nearly incomprehensible, the line between gold sand and blue sky blurred and rippling like water. Water, his stomach coiled at the thought.

“That’s a mirage,” said Mercy-Who-Couldn’t-Be-There as Genji looked at the glittering, waving lines on the horizon. She was in those same cutoff jean shorts she was wearing on their mission to the southwest.

“You’re a mirage,” said Genji, continuing to trudge along the spine of the dune. He wasn’t sure if it was his own brain assuming that even a slight elevation put him closer to the sun and therefore in more heat, but the heat was everywhere. It was radiating up from the sand, it was beating down from the sun, it was boiling inside his own armor, it was inescapable.

“I’m a hallucination,” said Mercy, folding her arms, a bit insulted, “There’s a difference.”

“Either way, you’re not really here, so I shouldn’t listen to you,” muttered Genji.

“You know what a mirage looks like, Genji. Your best bet is to just keep going south,” said Mercy.

“I know that,” huffed Genji, sidestepping down the dune, “That’s what I’m doing.”

“You didn’t say goodbye,” she said.

“I meant to–” he started, turning to look at her, but she was gone, “Oh it’s like that, isn’t it!?” he said, kicking some sand, “You’re just going to keep coming in making me feel like shit, and then dip out before we can get any progress or closure on anythi–!” A patch of sand gave way beneath his foot and he stumbled down the dune, kicking more hot sand into his prosthetics before managing to regain his balance at the base of the dune, the still-falling sand from his misstep flooding around his ankles. “Not that it’s… actually you…” he yanked on foot out of the sand, “or that… you would actually want that… so it’s just me…” he yanked his other foot out of the sand and kept walking south, “making me feel like shit…” 

He tramped onward a few more hours, sometimes surrendering to his own dizziness lack of focus as a brief reprieve from the overpowering heat, until the sun was sinking into the horizon and turning all the sand a bright vermilion from the lowering light. Stars showed up early with so little light pollution, hanging in a barely periwinkle sky. 

“We thought we’d always have each other’s backs, didn’t we?” he heard her voice again and his head turned, she was in her white valkyrie suit, hair ruffled by humidity and suit scuffed from the Havana mission, “Or maybe we both just wanted to believe that.”

“You were the only thing that made Overwatch feel like more than a means for vengeance for me,” said Genji, continuing to trudge along.

“I can’t be the only thing that gets you out of your holes, Genji,” said Mercy.

“I know,” he said quietly, “But I shouldn’t have just… left you like that. I could have asked you to come with me, I could have…” 

“I go wherever I can to help the most people,” said Mercy, walking alongside him. The sun had set now, and she was donning the blue of her combat medic uniform, her white beret practically glowing in the moonlight. She looked almost blurred, painterly, like that poster she hated.

“But it’s collapsing, we could both feel it,” said Genji, “Are you okay?” he asked suddenly.

“I’m not real, Genji,” she told him plainly, “There’s no way for you to actually know that.”

He fished through his bag–he was a light traveler, of course. Choji oil and nuigigami tissue, a whetstone, a small toolkit for repairs he might have to make on his own prosthetics, a book Mercy had given him what felt like a lifetime ago, and finally his comm. He hadn’t turned it on since he left, for fear of the GPS signal it might give off. He looked at it, knowing the second he opened it he would be faced with messages from Mercy, Cassidy, everything he had left behind in Overwatch. But madness for water had left him desperate. He was doing this to check if she was okay, he didn’t need–no, he needed help. He was going to die here. He turned the comm on and the holoscreen blipped to light, shining a blue-white light on his face and the dune behind him. The words ‘NO SIGNAL’ shined on him with a crushing indifference.

“Oh…” he said quietly and he laughed a little. It was so obvious. Of course he wouldn’t have a signal out here. And then he cried a little. He wasn’t sure if it really was crying because there wasn’t even enough water in him for tears at this point. Maybe it was still laughing. He wasn’t sure when he had fallen to his knees but he was curling up in the sand now.

“You can’t give up, Genji,” Mercy was leaning over him, his blood was staining her hands up to her forearms. She was in that blackwatch variation on her valkyrie suit, the surgical mask pulled away from her face, “You don’t give up. You’ve never given up for as long as I’ve known you! I’m here because you want closure from me but you were the one who never said goodbye! So don’t give up!” her voice was cracking, those big gray-blue eyes were wet.

Would she cry for me? Genji thought, Or do I just like the idea that she would cry for me?

He briefly remembered that time after Gerard Lacroix was killed, the feeling of wetness on his shoulder as she hugged him and cried against him. His stomach lurched at the memory of even tears as wetness.

“Please don’t give up,” The Mercy-he-knew-wasn’t-there was saying, “Don’t make all that pain you went through meaningless. Mi o sutete mo, myōri wa sutezu.”

“…you don’t speak Japanese…” was all Genji managed to say before he blacked out.

—-

Genji was so used to his cybernetics waking him up automatically that grogginess felt foreign to him. He woke up to a muted brownish light and a smoky smell. He blinked a few times (even his eyes felt tacky and dehydrated) and found himself staring into a pair of dark brown eyes. Genji’s eyes widened and he found himself staring at a young boy with copper-brown skin dressed in dark blue. Upon being looked at, the boy suddenly sprang to his feet and darted off faster than Genji could lift his head to look after him. Genji heard shouting in Arabic. Genji squinted and shifted, and then felt a pain at his wrist. He looked and saw he was hooked up to an IV with what looked like saline solution heading into his veins. He could hear chatter in Amharic and Arabic muffled by cloth.

“You are lucky they found you,” a calming voice spoke and Genji flinched to alertness at the sound of English.

“Sorry, do you speak english?” the voice spoke again and Genji’s head swiveled to see an omnic floating with his legs in a lotus postion next to him, “Français?” 

“Nnyes,” Genji’s own voice came to him hoarse and stumbling, “English… not..franss… Not french.”

“Ah, good. You are a traveler as well,” said the omnic, “You are in an encampment belonging to the Banu Tufayl tribe. An omnic in this encampment picked up a GPS signal from a device of yours and we found you a few hours ago.” The omnic set a cup next to Genji.

“You are… of this tribe as well?” said Genji, his eyes saw the cup and his arm instinctively sprang out for it, but his own grogginess and weakness made the action clumsy and he knocked it over. He could have cried watching the liquid flow into the fibers of the carpet. 

“No, merely a fellow traveler. You must be patient,” said the omnic, “You’re at least hydrated enough now that drinking won’t send you into shock or damage your organs, but drink too fast and you’ll throw up.”

Genji’s vision was swimming at the edges. He glanced up to see an orb glowing over his head.

“Just some biotics,” said the Omnic.

“…rescued again,” said Genji, slumping against the carpet he was laying on.

“Oh?” said the Omnic, setting a refilled cup next to Genji.

“I–Thank you, I mean no offense,” said Genji, consciously forcing himself to slow his hand so that he could pick up the cup.

“Are you ashamed that life is valued?” said the Omnic, “Are you ashamed that your life is valued?”

Genji blinked a few times and looked at the omnic. “…who are you?”

“My apologies,” said the Omnic, “I am Tekharta Zenyatta. And you are?”

“Genji,” Genji managed.

“A pleasure to meet you, Genji,” said the Omnic, “I am very curious as to how you got all the way out here.”

“It’s a long story,” said Genji with a huffing chuckle.

“We have time,” said Zenyatta.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Mercy had handed her letter of resignation in to Jack 11 days before. There was no arguing, no bargaining, no promises. She had threatened resignation before and he had managed to convince her otherwise in previous years, but they both knew this wasn’t the Overwatch she had joined anymore, and that there was nothing he could say to make her stay.  He just looked to the letter and looked back up at her with an expression on his face that said, “This might as well happen.” The next week was spent more or less assuring that the science and medical division wouldn’t collapse when she left—showing her replacement the ropes, referring her last patients to new physicians, mountains of correspondence, and so on. The remaining four days were spent unceremoniously cleaning out her lab. Much of her research legally belonged to Overwatch, but she couldn’t trust what they would do with it when she was gone, so she was painstakingly grabbing everything she legally could. She was a ghost in the Watchpoint–people looking at her out of the corner of their eye but not making eye contact as she carried her boxes down the hall.

 There had been a handful of colleagues talking about how they would miss her. Reinhardt took it hard, but Torbjörn was understanding. Genji was long gone, but as Jack had said, he had every right to leave now that the Shimada clan was eliminated. She had been sending him texts regularly, but with no response. That was fair, she supposed, it wasn’t as if Genji had a lot of good memories with Overwatch. Cassidy had disappeared to god-knows-where and now had a bounty on his head for violating his plea deal with Overwatch. In a way she sort of admired that—Cassidy had left sooner than she did, even if it meant going against the law. Still, she had come to peace with her own decision well before she handed her letter of resignation in. She had no regrets about it.

She walked a little brisker with the last box–technically she wasn’t supposed to take her caduceus staff, but Overwatch had the blueprints to it, and she had built this one herself. It was her most trusted model, disassembled into three parts and hidden beneath several paper files in the box. 

It was a lonely evening in early autumn the last time she walked out of Zurich Headquarters. She was in the parking lot loading the last box into her car, about a hundred yards from the main building of the headquarters when it exploded. 

She knew the sound better than she would have liked, and for a brief second wondered if the stress of the past few days had suddenly caught up to her and she was flashing back but no, she could feel the earth rumbling beneath her feet and hear the roar behind her, so loud it was disorienting. She only barely glanced over her shoulder to see the brightness flooding up in the windows of the building, then, the glass shattered. She vaulted and slid across the hood of her car to take cover behind it, covering her ears and ducking her face down as the world roared around her and the hot wind swept through, shattering her car’s windows and showering her in glass. For a few brief seconds she was a scared little girl in Thun, the weight of her parents’ bodies on her, and the smell of smoke disorienting her as the ground continued shaking beneath her.

It will pass, she told herself, pressing her hands hard to the side of her head, It will pass then you must act. 

Ashes were already fluttering down in the air and she pulled up her black turtleneck over her nose and mouth to keep out the smoke, which stung her eyes. The emergency vehicles were already pulling up as she was desperately digging through the other boxes in her trunk, pulling out an untested prototype biofeed and re-assembling her caduceus staff. 

“Ma’am—” a swiss policeman hurried up to her, “You need to get out of the area and let the first responders—”

“I am a first responder!” snapped Mercy, putting on the biofeed. She had been playing around with making a biofeed that was also a comm, and the result was a headband-like angled circle. She pushed it against her forehead and strapped her caduceus staff around her back.

“What?” said the policeman. 

She pulled her turtleneck down briefly to show her face and pulled up her ID card. “I’m Angela Ziegler,” she said, “I need you to get me in that building.”

—

They gave her a jacket, helmet, heavy gloves and an oxygen mask, but what she wouldn’t give for her Valkyrie suit in that moment. She had been in burning buildings before with all her rescue work, but it was a whole different experience when it was the Zurich headquarters. She wasn’t running fast enough. The reduced oxygen made the Caduceus staff heavier in her arms, and despite the goggles of her oxygen mask, she could feel tears running down and pooling against the foam seal of the goggles. She had spent so much time mentally distancing herself from this place, and now that it was in flames, the thought popped up like a reflex, “Not here. Not my home.” But it was never her home–but there were still people here she needed to save.

“Survivors through there!” she said, seeing figures lit up green through the walls on her biofeed and pointing. A firefighter bodyslammed through the door and emerged carrying several heavily burned survivors toward the exit. 

PRIORITY TARGET: GABRIEL REYES–CRITICAL HEALTH, blared in her earpiece as a cross symbol appeared in the corner of her vision.

“Oh no…” she said, turning on her heel and rushing down a hall toward the cross symbol. 

“Doctor Ziegler, wait!” said a firefighter, hurrying after her. The hallway opened up into a high walkway in a large hangar where Orcas and jeeps underwent maintenance. Nearly all the vehicles were burnt out skeleton frames now

CRITICAL HEALTH, CRITICAL HEALTH, the biofeed blared in her vision as she looked down to a lone figure sprawled out on the cement floor surrounded by flames, the red and white icon hanging over him.

“Commander Reyes!” Mercy had to stop and remember that she wasn’t wearing the Valkyrie wings to keep from vaulting over the railing of the walkway to fly toward him. No guardian angel, here. She raced to the stairs and hurried down them with the firefighters still struggling to keep up with her. He was in full tactical gear so it was hard to see the full extent of his injuries, but smoke was trailing off of him. She dropped to one knee next to him. “Commander!” she swatted out some of the flames on his uniform. “Gabriel!” she shook his shoulder and his eyes opened blearily. 

“Ange…?” Gabriel’s voice was gravelly from the smoke.

“Just hang on,” said Mercy, activating the biotic stream of her staff as two firefighters finally caught up with her. 

“Thought you quit…” murmured Gabriel.

“I did,” said Mercy, “That doesn’t mean I’m leaving you to die.”

“Shit…” one of the firefighters said as they looked down at the blackwatch commander. Gabriel suddenly flinched and grunted hard as the biotic stream hit him.

“Nngh! Ange–don’t—!”

“It’s okay–the nerve endings react differently to biotics when it’s a burn injury,” said Mercy.

“Get Moira,” said Gabriel, his voice a growl.

“I don’t know where she is—Where’s Jack!?” Mercy suddenly looked around. 

“Gone,” said Gabriel.

“What…?” Mercy’s eyes went wide. Suddenly a loud groan of steel beams buckling lowed down from the ceiling of the hangar as the fires spread and roared around them all.

“This place is coming down!” said one of the firefighters, “We need to get out of here!”

“Help me with him!” said Mercy, bringing her hands up under Gabriel’s arms and struggling to haul him up.

Mercy and the two firefighters managed to haul Gabriel out of the hangar and pulled him a fairly safe distance away onto the headquarters’ tarmac.

“Bring the EMT around to the tarmac! Get us a crash cart!” one of the firefighters barked into their comms as Mercy pulled off Gabriel’s armored vest and shoved up his hoodie to look at the injuries on his torso. She reared back at the sight of a void of black smoke crumbling upward.

“What—what is this–?” she said, her eyes wide.

“You should’ve left, Ange…” mumbled Gabriel.

“No–I’m not leaving you to die,” Mercy’s voice was thick from grief and fear and smoke. She activated the biotic stream but Gabriel only convulsed and groaned in pain under the biotics.

“He’ll crash faster if you keep that stuff on him!” shouted one of the firefighters as Mercy realized the same thing took the stream off of him.

“Moira–We need Moira—” Gabe was mumbling, closing his eyes.

“I don’t know where she is, Gabriel, and if I did there’s no way we could get her here in time!” said Mercy, “What happened here!? What happened to Jack?! Were we attacked?! 

“You can still walk away…” Gabriel said softly

“I’m not doing that!” said Mercy.

CARDIAC ARREST IMMINENT, flashed on Mercy’s biofeed.

“No!” Mercy yanked off her oxygen mask and put it over Gabriel’s face, “Stay with me! Where is that EMT!?” she looked over at the firefighters.

“The west building collapsed, it’s blocking the road!” said one of the firefighters, holding his hand to this comm, “They’re finding a detour–”

“We don’t have that kind of time!” said Mercy.

“You can’t save everyone, Doc…” Gabriel’s eyes rolled back into his head.

“No! Stay with me!” said Mercy.

CRITICAL WARNING: CARDIAC ARREST blipped above Gabriel’s red and white cross icon on the biofeed. 

“No!” Mercy gripped his shoulders, “Defibrillator! I need a defib—”

Gabriel’s red and white cross icon on Mercy’s biofeed blipped into a pale gray-white skull icon.

“No…” Mercy said quietly, “Commander!” she shook him, “Commander Reyes! Gabriel!” Tears streaked down the gray ash now staining her face. She cupped a hand over her mouth and stared at his body.

 Trace Post-Mortem Biotic Energies detected, the biofeed stated, Window of 10 seconds for Biotic Countershock Defibrillation. 7….6…

Mercy’s eyes eyes flicked to the caduceus staff at her side. 

“Wait—” one of the firefighters started, “If it was hurting him before—”

“This is the only chance he has,” said Mercy, picking up the staff, holding it over Gabriel’s body, and setting the biotic output to maximum. “Helden sterben nicht,” she said quietly before holding down the trigger on the staff. Both of them were suddenly encased in columns of yellow light as the flood of biotics burst out from the staff. The yellow light faded and Mercy sat there, still gripping her staff. Gabriel was still on the ground, but he wasn’t registering on Mercy’s biofeed. Was she too late?

“Is he…?” one of the firefighters leaned over Gabriel. 

Gabriel’s chest slowly rose in a shallow, rattling breath.

“Gabriel…?” Mercy spoke his name but her voice was half-muted by the crackle of the flames and the wail of sirens behind her.

Gabriel didn’t breathe out.

Gabriel screamed. He screamed and screamed and screamed and his back arched against the ground as his torso crumbled upward in smoke.

“What’s happening!?” shouted one of the firefighters.

“Gabriel!” Mercy shrieked, flailing out a hand to him but his flesh eroded away before her hand could make contact, like the image of a riverbank collapsing sped up. His screams didn’t sound human. They were throttled, drowning and burning all at once.

 And then, in a plume of black smoke he was gone.

“What…what was that? What was he?” said the other firefighter.

Mercy opened her mouth to speak, then a haze passed over her. Her vision darkened at the peripheries. Zurich Headquarters was burning. Gabriel was gone. Gabriel was dead.

 Gabriel Reyes had died twice. 

The second time was in agony.

The second time was her fault.

“Doctor Ziegler?” one of the firefighters.

The building. Headquarters was burning. She still had people to protect. She would have to grieve later.

“We… we need to find the other survivors before the whole building comes down…” Mercy moved to rise to her feet but her legs turned to jelly beneath her. Her vision went black. She didn’t feel herself hit the ground.

—

Mercy woke up in a stark white hospital room.

“You took off your oxygen mask in a smoke-heavy environment,” a voice spoke, and Angela turned her head over to see a black woman with close-shaved gray hair sitting in a chair next to her hospital bed, “Combine that with the… emotional distress…” she closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead.

“Under-Secretary Adawe,” said Mercy, sitting up in bed, but pressing a hand against her forehead as the blood rushed from her head.

“I’m retired and from what I heard, you resigned,” said Gabrielle Adawe, pushing a glass of water across the bedside table, which Angela took and drank deeply from, “No need for formalities here.” 

“The survivors—” Mercy started, her voice raw from the last gulp of water, “Jack–?”

“Jack Morrison’s DNA was found in the blast site, but no sign of him… it’s… safe to assume that he died in the blast, and his body was destroyed along with the Headquarters,” Gabrielle trailed off, “I’m sorry, Angela.”

Mercy’s mouth drew to a thin line.

“I never thought Overwatch would ever be this successful,” Gabrielle said quietly, “…I never thought it would be this much of a disaster, either.”

“What happened?” said Mercy, “Were we attacked?”

“Reports are adding up to explosions on the interior of the building…” said Gabrielle.

“So infiltrators,” said Mercy, “Moles–Saboteurs—”

Gabrielle was silent.

“Or…” Mercy trailed off, “Or…” She had a sinking feeling in her stomach. Something worse. Something much worse.

“You should’ve left, Ange…” Gabriel Reyes’ gravelly voice echoed in her mind.

“If it was an infiltrator, it speaks to the current state of Overwatch’s incompetence… this is all the UN needed,” said Gabrielle.

“All the UN needed…?” Mercy repeated.

“They’re shutting Overwatch down. All of it. No suspensions. Complete shutdown. The Watchpoints are being mothballed. Anyone acting under what they claim to be Overwatch-sanctioned activities is now a criminal. I suppose you should count yourself lucky that you were already on your way out.”

Mercy pursed her lips. “Lucky…” she said softly.

“That’s not the right word. I apologize…” said Gabrielle, standing up, “I’m… a bit tired myself. I… I have a lot of families to talk to. But if you need—I can stay…”

Mercy shook her head. “I… I should probably rest,” she said, glancing off.

“I understand,” said Gabrielle, getting out of her chair and moving to the door of the hospital room. She paused in the doorway. “You gave so much to this organization, Angela. You deserved better from it than this.” 

“I think we all did,” said Mercy.

Gabrielle huffed. “On that, we can agree. I wish you the best of luck in whatever you do from here on out,” she said, walking out the door.

“You as well,” said Mercy.

The door clicked shut behind Gabrielle Adawe and Mercy glanced at the small pile of her effects on the bedside table next to the empty water glass. She reached forward and dug into it, pulling out her old Overwatch comm.

“Shutting down Overwatch…” she said, tracing her fingers over the Overwatch insignia on the comm. I suppose there was more than enough reason, she thought, but still her stomach turned slightly at the fact that it would no longer be there. She turned the comm on and it buzzed and she nearly dropped it in surprise. A Message blipped up on the screen of the comm.

14 Missed Calls.

4 messages.

She opened the calls. The name “Genji Shimada” appeared 14 times with the times of the calls listed and various voicemails left. He had been trying to get in contact with her. 

She didn’t have the energy to make a phone call, she turned over to her text messages.

Genji Shimada 22:06: Saw Zurich on news. Are you all right?

Genji Shimada 22:11:  Doctor?

Genji Shimada 22: 21: I am fine I am sorry for falling out of contact. I was out of comm range.

Genji Shimada 22:33 Please write back, Doctor.

Mercy wanted to text him. She had to let him know she was all right. But there were a few minutes where she just pressed her comm to her forehead and rolled up in a little ball in her hospital bed. She forced herself to look at her phone screen again. She had to let him know she was alive. Tears were welling in her eyes as her thumb shakily moved across the projected keyboard as if possessed.

It’s all gone, she texted, It’s all burnt down. They’re both dead.

Chapter Text

Steam puffed up over the food stand, the warmth in the air intermingling with the crackling sound of fryers. Genji watched as the Omnic vendor skillfully scooped several chicken momos up from the fryers and set them in a paper-lined cardboard tray, holding it out to him. Even well into the night, Kolkata was thrumming, vibrant, noisy and alive–Delivery drones buzzed overhead, hover-mopeds weaved between packed buses, hovercars honked their horns, and omnics in Shambali garb were attempting to start up conversations with irritated Vishkar representatives on the sidewalks. Zenyatta watched all the bustle with his usual patience-with-underlying-shrewdness. They had been traveling together for nearly a month now, but Zenyatta had been called back to the Shambali monastery in Nepal earlier than he would have liked and, as he explained it, Kolkata was the easiest place for them to drag their feet without Zenyatta’s brother sending more reminders their way. Zenyatta didn’t seem particularly resentful of Mondatta, but there was a definite hesitance in his return to Nepal that spoke to some complexities in his and Mondatta’s relationship.

They were able to find an isolated enough alley for Genji to keep his hood up and head down as he quickly stuffed down his dinner before clicking his faceplate back on and heading back out to the main street. Genji watched as a bright blue hovertram streamed by, so packed there were a handful of humans and omnics virtually hanging off it as they rejoined the crowd on the street. The press of human and omnic bodies here was different than Numbani–with Numbani there seemed to be a careful cultivation of the ‘City of Harmony’ image, with clean-scrubbed streets and gleaming buildings, and carefully outlined street and foot traffic for optimum efficiency, but here felt closer to reality–the clamor of voices and the natural messiness of shared spaces, the streaming of bodies moving in different directions, pooling and spiraling around each other like water. He didn’t feel like he stood out here–the crowd was so mixed between humans and omnics that the eye glazed right past him. He and Zenyatta fell behind a group of pilgrims, a mix of about two thirds omnic and one third humans. Genji studied the organics. He recognized the look of some of them–those searching for truth and identity, like he had been, like he still was. They were dressed in bright colors and their conversations were peppered with aphorisms from all the Shambali’s best-selling books and Mondatta’s holovid speeches. At least one of them had dabbed on a bit too much patchouli oil. Genji gave a glance back at Zenyatta.

“So what is your hesitance in returning, Master?” asked Genji, looking back at the group ahead of them. He had only been calling Zenyatta ‘Master’ for a little over two weeks now, but it felt easy. Felt natural.

“The journey is just as important as the destination, my student,” said Zenyatta as they walked.

Genji gave him a slight, ‘Come on’ head tilt, and Zenyatta tented his fingers, composing his thoughts.

“As machines, the Shambali have been able to adapt our–their message, to human agendas. And this is well and good–there is no reason why the Shambali’s message of peace should be incompatible with already present human social constructs.”

“I see…” said Genji, a little wary that Zenyatta was going to launch into another pondering monologue where the words ‘Pedagogy’ and ‘commercialization’ swam in and out and Zenyatta would ultimately end with a hand wave and ‘But I suppose it depends on the individual,’ or something like that.

“Omnics do not need to sleep, so the Shambali can travel as much as they need–But I do have concerns about treating our ideals as a machinated export when ultimately we strive for unity between the organic and the–” Zenyatta cut himself off and perked up at the odd ripple that seemed to be going through the crowd.

“Master?” said Genji. He looked around the crowd, trying to see what Zenyatta was seeing. People were stopping mid-step and pulling out their phones, some bumping into each other but barely glancing up. Couples and groups that were walking together stopped and exchanged concerned murmurs in Bengali and Hindu and english. Genji suddenly felt a seed of anxiety growing and spreading from the pit of his stomach, phantom limb pain prickling throughout all of his prosthetics. Something was wrong. Something felt wrong. The group of pilgrims had all but dropped to a standstill, several of them crowding around a human’s phone. She had her hand over her mouth. Two or three of the pilgrims were speaking English.

“The Headquarters?”

“It couldn’t be an aerial attack could it?”

“Do they know who did it?”

“God I hope it wasn’t Null Sector… If Omnics get blamed for this–”

“What about Talon?”

“They beat Talon–”

“They beat Doomfist. Doomfist isn’t all of Talon.”

That prickling anxiety that manifested as phantom limb pain now was rushing hot along the skin of his neck and cybernetic jaw as he looked around. His armor felt claustrophobic around him but his head was jerking around this way and that, looking desperately now. Headquarters? Talon? Newsfeed. He had to find a newsfeed.

“Genji…” Zenyatta said his name as if trying to pull him back to the present, but this fear was the present, it was pressing in on him like the crowd. His head swiveled to see people accumulating around a pawn shop window where multiple holoscreen projectors of various ages were displayed. He rushed through, ninja training guiding his feet and the angle of his shoulders, sliding through the crowd like a knife until he reached the front of it. The holoscreens of the shop window were displaying the news in numerous channels and Genji’s eyes fixed on the familiar face of the news reporter Olympia Shaw. The television was muted, of course, but there was captioning. Before his brain could make out the words, his eyes fell on a helicopter or drone shot hovering over a massive building semi-obscured by multiple columns of smoke.  The complex cluster of plaftorms at the building’s western side were blackened. There was a recognizable patch of green at the building’s heart–a courtyard, that soon was obscured by smoke as the wind shifted.

Zurich. Zurich Headquarters.

The explosions took place only minutes apart. Both Strike Commander Morrison and Reyes were in the building when the explosions occurred— Olympia Shaw’s mouth moved along soundlessly to the captioning on the screen. Something chilled in Genji’s stomach. Zurich headquarters itself had been many things over the years with Overwatch, during his long stints in physical therapy and during Blackwatch’s suspension, it had felt like a prison-like box, but there were a few nights…

Eyewitnesses have told Atlas News that Doctor Angela Ziegler, formerly known as the Overwatch agent ‘Mercy,’ who was reportedly resigning from Overwatch, is apparently inside the headquarters attempting to rescue personnel. There has been no–

Genji suddenly had the physical sensation of dropping rapidly through a dark, cold space. 

He wasn’t there. She was in trouble and he wasn’t there.

Genji…

The tone of her voice was distant. His entire body tensed as the memory of late nights in the lab arose. He remembered her snorting laugh in the small hours of the morning, her shoes kicked off and her legs tucked close to herself in her swivel chair. 

Genji–!

He remembered their elbows interlocked in Havana, the burn of rum flushing across her nose and cheekbones and shining in her eyes. 

Genji?!

He remembered her stooping over him, wet lab coat hanging off of her, her glasses fogged with the steam of the therapy pool. 

“GENJI!” Zenyatta was gripping both his shoulders and he found himself standing in that crowded street in Kolkata, the televisions still glowing behind him. 

“I’m okay,” Genji said, “This is fine–it’s not fine–I’m going to fix it–I just need to go–”

“Go–?” Zenyatta started.

“I need to go,” Genji was breaking away from Zenyatta, already walking. He would have broken into a sprint if it weren’t so crowded. “I need to go–She can’t–I left her but I can—” Breath didn’t seem to be coming to form the words. Maybe if he just kept walking…

“Genji, you’re having a panic attack,” said Zenyatta.

“I don’t get panic attacks!” Genji snapped.

But he did get panic attacks–he just thought he left them behind in Zurich. Burning Zurich. Burning Zurich where Angela was and she was in trouble and he wasn’t there and he hadn’t even said goodbye when he left like the fucking heartless self-absorbed piece of shit he always knew he was. He was still talking. He wasn’t sure if he was talking because it kept the shortness of breath away as he moved but Zenyatta was floating after him as closely as he could in the crowd.

Zenyatta suddenly seized Genji’s shoulders again. “Genji!” he spoke clearly and a small orb of harmony suddenly alighted next to him.

“You have to let me–” Genji felt his own hands gripping Zenyatta’s wrists. He had fought Null sector Omnics before. He wondered how much physical force he needed to get Zenyatta off of him but Zenyatta’s fingers tightened into his shoulders with a furious grip.

“YOU. CAN’T. CONTROL THIS.” Zenyatta’s voice was deeper than usual, startlingly commanding. Enough to shock Genji into a space of neutral confusion.

“Wh–but…” Genji’s breath was still short.

“…you can’t control this,” Zenyatta’s grip on his shoulders loosened, “It is not your fault you can’t control this. It does not make you a bad person that you can’t control this. It is an event happening 7,430 kilometers away, and you can’t control it. It doesn’t mean that it is irrational that it is affecting you deeply. It doesn’t mean that it is nonsensical that it is hurting you deeply. But the only thing you can control, right now, is your own reaction. Can you even breathe right now, Genji?” 

“I–I–”

“Start with that. Start with breathing.”

The respirators of Genji’s cybernetics were audible as he drew in a breath.

“Again,” said Zenyatta.

Genji drew in another breath, held it for the same amount of time as it took to draw it in, exhaled with that same slowness. Drew in another, held it, exhaled. 

“You are here. You are in Kolkata. There is cement beneath your feet. There are green and growing things springing up from the cracks in the cement–” Zenyatta’s voice was short, but not unkind.

“But Zurich–” Genji started.

“You are not there. You are here. And you are breathing.”

Genji consciously drew in another breath. “But I have to–”

“We are still learning what is happening over there,” said Zenyatta, “How long do you think it will take you to get there?”

“I–I don’t know…”

Zenyatta paused, calculations running through that Omnic mind. “The fastest flying vehicle available would get you there in four hours, but you do not have the resources for that. Commercially… it would take at least 8 hours. What do you think the situation will look like in 8 hours? 6, even?”

Genji wasn’t really sure what to say to that. The consciousness of his own breath seemed to slow things down though.

“You don’t know that either,” said Zenyatta, answering the question for him, “…we’re going to get away from the crowds and find somewhere to sit down.”

“I can’t do nothing…” Genji said quietly, as Zenyatta was already leading him away.

“I know. It is a very admirable trait,” said Zenyatta, “But you are doing this.”

“Which is nothing!”

“It’s not nothing. Right now, there are only two people you can help–”

“Two–?”

“You can help yourself, or you can help me,” said Zenyatta.

“Help you??”

“Help me help you.”

Genji was quiet for a few seconds but it was more of an incredulous processing of Zenyatta’s words than anything.

“I think we should walk,” said Zenyatta, “Will you walk with me?”

Genji just dumbly nodded and let Zenyatta lead him away. They walked several city blocks in relative slience, Genji trying to return to his breath. 

“This world… it can be full of… unbearable cruelties. All we know can be wrenched out from underneath us in only a few moments,” Zenyatta spoke as they walked, “I cannot pretend to know how to fix it. I suppose… that is why I left the Shambali. I cannot stand to be around those who will happily claim they can fix your problems when they don’t actually know that it will. I… am utterly petrified of disappointing people… all the time. So I disappointed the people who meant more to me than anything, and now I am here with you. Hope is one of the most painful and terrifying things you can let into your life. It is all I can do to try and instill hope in other people as a resilient and living thing. You call me master when I am constantly questioning whether I am worthy of such an address.”

“Are… are you all right?” Genji’s voice was quiet.

“No,” said Zenyatta, plainly, “And neither are you.”

A long silence passed between them as they kept walking. The world seemed too upended to call the motion comforting, yet at the same time, staying still would have made things feel like they were curling and collapsing all around them. Movement as grounding seemed like an oxymoron, and yet that was the space Genji and Zenyatta found themselves in. They were in a more residential area now, cigarette, weed, and hashish smoke sinking down on them from the balconies above.

“When you were watching that newscast, you kept saying things like, ‘I left her.’ Back when we were in the Banu Tufayl tribe’s encampment, you said there was someone who made you believe in your work… someone who you clung to like a ship’s mast in a storm,” Zenyatta said after a while, “Is she in Zurich?”

“Yes,” the word came out of Genji more choked than he intended, his words felt tight, “I can’t leave her–she saved me, so I have to–I have to…” Genji pressed his fingers to his forehead plate.

Zenyatta tented his fingers thoughtfully. “It has been said, one of our greatest means of dealing with grief, is confronting the reality that we may lose the ones we love. Confronting the eventuality of that loss.”

“I can’t do it now–” Genji said , his voice tight, “I can’t– I didn’t even say goodbye to her… I wasn’t sure if I could say goodbye—”

“…still reeling from the Zurich attacks—” a crackly voice sounded overhead and Genji stopped in his tracks, his head jutting upward. 

“Genji?” said Zenyatta.

“You there! With the radio!” Genji shouted at one of the apartment balconies overhead. A portly middle-aged man with a receding hairline leaned out over the balcony.

“Can you turn it up?” Genji called.

The man shrugged and disappeared back behind the balcony.

“Genji,” Zenyatta spoke gently, “I’m not sure if harassing random people can really–”

The crackle of the radio audibly got louder.

“–Angela Ziegler is unconscious but stable at Zurich hospital–” the radio sounded. 

A shuddering breath of relief fell out of Genji. “She’s… she’s alive,” he said, looking at Zenyatta. 

Zenyatta gave a nod and a noise that was midway between laugh and sob fell out of Genji.

“As I said,” said Zenyatta, “There is much we can’t control but–” 

Zenyatta was cut off as Genji suddenly caught him in a tight hug, his cybernetically armored shoulders shuddering with those not-laugh, not-sob sounds. “She’s alive… she’s alive,” he kept saying.

Zenyatta patted his shoulder with some unsureness, “And so are you.”

Chapter Text

The memorial service was held in the Court D’Honneur at the Palais des Nations, a fairly humble but dignified assembly with countless flags flying at half-mast. Gabrielle Adawe stood at a podium in front of a seated crowd, with Geneva’s Celestial Sphere a few yards behind her and her scarf wafting in the wind. She scanned the crowd and saw a few recognizable faces. Torbjörn Lindholme sat stone-faced, while Reinhardt was hunched over slightly next to him with people behind him still struggling to see past his shoulders. Angela Ziegler was there, looking on forlornly as Lena Oxton sobbed into the shoulder of Winston next to her. There were many international dignitaries, representatives of Numbani, Ministers of Oasis, and the families of those lost in the blast at Zurich making up for the bulk in the crowd, but the number of civilians at the margins was depressing. In many ways, they weren’t just commemorating those lost in the destruction of Zurich Headquarters—with the Petras Act now going into effect, this was a funeral for Overwatch the institution itself. And yet so few came. So few mourned. But who could blame them after Overwatch had lost the public’s trust? Gabrielle Adawe inhaled and folded her hands in front of herself on the podium.

“My appointment to the position of Under-Secretary of the UN was not what I had hoped it would be,” she said, speaking into the mic, “It was not an acknowledgment of my statesmanship, but rather, a gesture of necessity, with my predecessor having perished in the early omnic attacks on humanity. We were all terrified, desperate people in those days. In its conception, Overwatch was—, to use an American colloquialism, a Hail Mary pass. A pooling together of our best and brightest individuals and resources in our darkest hour. Even as I was picking out some of the most brilliant scientists and soldiers for Overwatch’s task force, my mind was filled with so many doubts as to the fate of humanity. Jack Morrison never had those doubts. For Jack Morrison, as long as Gabriel Reyes was by his side, there was no threat too great to face, no life too small to save. 

“With Overwatch at the forefront of the fight, humanity was able to turn the tide against the omnics and end the Crisis, and in rebuilding our world from the destruction of the Omnics, there was a dream that they would serve as champions of peace and progress for the benefit of all humanity. In the end though, they were all only human themselves. Just as capable of harm and corruption as you or I. We have been disappointed, heartbroken even, by the scandals that shook Overwatch in its later years, and we were right to feel so. But we also love to forget that our heroes are human. We make them far more than we could ever hope to be, and far more than they actually are. For all their flaws, Jack Morrison and Gabriel Reyes were two men who only wanted to build a better, safer world. And in many ways, they succeeded. In the 20 years since the Omnic Crisis, we enjoy a markedly improved quality of life and technology elevated to heights not previously thought possible. They have built a better world, and it’s our job to see that it keeps getting better.

“With the ending of Overwatch, we must not think of this day as an ending to heroes, but a calling. We must be our own heroes now. We must live out the dreams of peace and progress Overwatch wanted for humanity. We must maintain hope in the face of adversity. All of these were principles Overwatch stood for, and in spite of Overwatch’s ending, they are principles we must continue to stand for. For the sake of our heroes and the sake of ourselves. All we can ever give this world is our best.” 

A ripple of applause rose up from the crowd as the camera panned out and a newscaster spoke. “Speaking up next in the memorial ceremonies is acclaimed poet laureate and—”

“Turn it off,” a voice croaked across a dark room filled with the steady beeping of a heart rate monitor. Moira clicked the monitor off and walked over.

“The hell are you wearing on your face?” said the voice as Moira turned her head towards its source.

Moira touched her fingers over the metallic half-mask now extending from her forehead, over her blue eye, and ending past her cheekbone, “Souvenir from Zurich,” she said.

“Looks stupid,” muttered the voice.

“Could look worse,” said Moira with a shrug, before clearing her throat. “Well, lab results say you’re stabilized,” she said, flipping through some lab results on her tablet, “Structurally, at least.”

“It hurts,” said the voice.

“I got to you as quickly as I can, but your current pain level… it’s the best the other scientists and I can manage without knocking you out,” said Moira.

“What’s…what’s happening to me?” said the voice.

“Survival of an organism is contingent on two states: Homeostasis, the maintenance of an organism’s baseline equilibrium, and transistasis, the adaptation to one’s environment. I’m afraid these two states are far more… evident in you than in other organisms.”

“Mirror,” said the voice.

“I’m not sure that’s a good—” Moira started.

“Mirror,” the voice insisted.

Moira turned the camera on on her tablet and then stepped next to the bed the voice was coming from, and hesitantly held the tablet out. Two hands, grayed with death with black smoke streaming off of them extended and took the tablet.

“… I’m sorry, Gabriel,” Moira said as Gabriel Reyes looked at his own face in the tablet’s camera.

Gabriel’s breath shuddered and he ran a hand down the side of his face, chunks of it falling away into black smoke as one of his now-red eyes twitched. He looked like death. Blackened veins clawed up his grayed face, his scars were flaking away into smoke and ash,  “No…” he said quietly, “No–this isn’t…”

“My working theory is that the explosion catalyzed some kind of…. trauma reaction in your SEP serum that ended up targeting the nanites of my treatments, attacking tissues of your body, including your heart, and that Doctor Ziegler’s biotic resurrection ended up cementing your cells into a permanent state of… I’m not sure what to call the processes they’re going through—Necrosis? Apoptosis? It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”

“You have to fix it,” said Gabriel.

“I don’t know how to,” said Moira.

Moira was not a person who was in the habit of saying she was confused or that she didn’t know what to do. The sentence seemed unnatural coming out of her mouth and it made the world seem to crumble away from Gabriel. Moira herself was pacing, running her long fingernails through her short hair.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” muttered Gabriel.

“It was bound to all come crashing down sometime…” said Moira, “And now that it has…”

“There’s going to be a power vacuum,” said Gabriel, “Overwatch gone. Lots of little organizations scrambling to rule the rubble. Going to be a bloodbath.” 

“It’s all we can do to shut them down and keep them in line,” said Moira.

“’We?’” said Gabriel.

“Giorraíonn beirt bóthar, Gabriel,” said Moira, “I told you, I’m with you. But we’re both going to need all the help we can get.”

Gabriel huffed. 

“And I’ll find a way to improve your condition, I promise you. It’s just as important to me as it is to you.”

“Taking all this in stride, as usual,” said Gabriel. 

“Adaptation is key to survival,” said Moira, “We were never the people Overwatch wanted us to be. Not truly. Now’s our chance to be who we were meant to be,” she stuck her fingernail underneath the metallic half-mask on her face, peeling it off to reveal a crumbling lattice-like pattern of black and purple on her skin stretching over the portion of her face the mask previously covered, black smoke trailing off of her skin like the smoke trailing off of Gabriel’s own body, “Both of us,” she said with a smile.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Technically the assignment was Talon sub-leasing his contract to Vishkar. Mauga teased him about getting “cushy work” but Baptiste was just happy to get a combat medic mission that was more ‘medic’ than ‘combat.’ The mission site was a ruined village in the Seychelles. When he stepped off his transport, he would have guessed a hurricane whipped through the place, but looking at the smoldering remains of some of the buildings, he told himself maybe a gas main blew. 

There were a handful of Vishkar employees there, tapping away at their tablets, surveying the area, but one woman seemed to be singlehandedly constructing shelters for the displaced people. She was a striking sight among all the refugees: Effortlessly creating beautiful little white geodesic dome tents with waves of her arms and dancer-like gestures of her fingers. Her probably-long hair was swept back in a glossy black bun. His own combat medic armor had ventilation, but wondered if she was hot in that long-sleeved uniform.

 Baptiste had seen videos of Vishkar’s hard-light online, but it was a whole other thing seeing it in real life. He gave a glance back to his area of work, a canopy tent distinguished by a hovering medic’s cross over it, before looking back at the woman, still making tents with all the ease and focus that one might have folding paper cranes He remembered a quote he read somewhere–’Technology, when sufficiently advanced, is indistinguishable from magic.” If there was anyone in this area who seemed like a wizard…

“I take it you made my medic tent?” he asked, tilting his head and her shoulders jerked in a flinching motion and she whirled on him, gold eyes veiled by a blue visor of light.

He flinched back a little and brought his hands up in turn. “Sorry–didn’t mean to surprise you,” he said, itching between the plates in his combat medic armor, “Augustin. Reporting for duty.”

She forced a polite smile and resumed materializing tents, facet by facet. “I’m fine,” she said, “You may call me Satya. You are one of the subcontractors, are you not?”

“Yes I am,” said Baptiste, putting his hands on his hips, “I’m one of the medics.” He flashed a grin. “If you ever start to feel faint, just give me a call and I’ll come running.”

She arched an eyebrow at him.

“Not that you’re.. prone to fainting… it’s.. just… hot and… you’re… working…hard,” Baptiste made an awkward finger gun at her, “Stay hydrated.”

“I will. I believe there are locals in more immediate need of your services,” she said, finishing off the tent she was working on with a whirl of her wrist.

“Oh-yes–of course,” said Baptiste, heading into the medic tent. God, he was so glad Mauga was not around to see that. He would not hear the end of it. 

It seemed most of the locals had managed to semi evacuate before the fires set in. There were some second degree burns at worst, they looked worse before you cleaned them, but with some biotics. It was crowded, but with Vishkar overseeing everyone’s treatment, people were having their injuries treated and being sent out to the tents with a near frightening efficiency. A Vishkar agent pointed him to where he could handle some overflow of patients, and he walked off in that direction. He approached a bench where two girls, apparently sisters, sat. The smaller girl, couldn’t be older than 7, shrieked and hid her face in her sister’s dress. Her older sister spoke soothing words to her in Seselwa. The Creole threw him off briefly, like his own, but not quite. But he knew they could probably parse French from him, at least. 

“Allô?” he offered, holding his hands up in a soothing motion while slowly closing the distance between them, “Tu es en sécurité. Je suis là pour aider.”

 The older sister lifted her head and nudged her younger sister a little. “Ça va,” she said quietly, “Son casque est bleu.”

“Mon casque?” Baptiste’s fingers brushed at the the transparent blue of his combat medic head guard. The younger sister lifted her head from her older sister’s dress, her eyes tearstrained and defiant.

“Elle a peur. Les monstres aux casques rouges ont tout brûlé,” said the older sister.

“Monstres?” Baptiste repeated and his stomach dropped. Red helmets. He knew exactly what red helmets they were talking about. He shook his head. He had to see to their injuries now, worry about that later. He cleared his throat. “Les monstres sont partis,” he said, “Montre-moi où ça fait mal.”

The older sister nudged the younger sister again with more soothing words in Seselwa and sniffling, the younger sister extended her arm, ribboned with blisters. Baptiste’s stomach tied up in knots at the sight of it. He tended to their injuries, then a few more locals—the burned, the dehydrated, the delirious, those with chronic conditions that were exacerbated by the fires or the panic.  He let the patients just be a whirl of injuries to be stitched up by his hands, let the work drown out the thoughts, the dread, the knowledge of who had done this to them. He had completely lost track of time when a Vishkar agent put a hand on his shoulder and he jolted back to awareness.

“It’s your break,” said the Vishkar agent.

“Right…” said Baptiste, “Right…”

He headed outside to see the golden-eyed woman from earlier frowning over a roughly table-sized 3-D hard-light projection of what looked like neat beachside residences laid out strategically across the island’s shoreline floating in front of her.

“Staying hydrated?” he called to her, and her head jerked up from the projection.

“Oh,” she said, smiling a bit more genuinely now, “It’s you. Saved the whole island, have you?”

“Well, I’m on break,” he looked over the projection, “You’re still working?”

“Oh, merely musing,” said Satya, tweaking the position of one of the residences on the projection.

“Vishkar’s planning a development here?” asked Baptiste.

“Well, nothing’s set in stone yet,” said Satya with a shrug, “The corporation made an offer before, but the locals refused,” she shrugged, “Stubborn. Unfortunate as it is, this attack has made Vishkar’s offer the best choice for the people here.”

“So it was an attack,” said Baptiste, more to himself than to her.

“A barbaric attack,” said the woman, shaking her head and looking back at the projection, “But things will be much better from now on. Vishkar will protect them against thugs and criminals like Talon. We’ll give them all a better way to live.”

“You know it was Talon who did this?”

“Yes,” said Satya, “Despicable. Cowardly. But it’s because so many refuse to see the superiority of Vishkar’s order that Talon continues to thrive. If people were only willing to see…” she trailed off and folded her arms. “Talon needs chaos to survive. And Vishkar stands as a beacon against that chaos.” 

She has no idea, thought Baptiste, watching her eyes as she talked. She honestly believed all this. She honestly believed she was building a better world, when in fact, Talon and Vishkar went hand in hand. Talon burning through obstacles to Vishkar, and Vishkar swooping in to be the heroes building a better world, all the more filling Talon’s coffers with the money it made in the process. He wanted to throw up a little, but he managed to keep a straight face as she continued talking. 

“…don’t you agree?” she said and he was forced to snap out of his own train of thought.

“Pardon?” said Baptiste.

“I said ‘People must be willing to accept the truth if things are going to get better for any of us,’” said Satya, “Don’t you agree?”

“Yeah…” said Baptiste, looking back at smoldering remains of the village, mere skeletons of buildings standing stark like ghosts behind her perfect geodesic dome tents, “Yeah, I agree.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Emily was hugging her knees on the couch. Her nose was stuffed and runny and her breath was shallow. Her hand was cupped over her mouth with her eyes fixed to the screen.

“–reports say shots were fired on the rooftops surrounding the area, though the assailants haven’t been found,” the newscaster on the screen was breathless as the crowd swelled and roiled around her with barely contained panic as event organizers and security tried to keep them contained. They were wailing. A blonde woman in a knit beanie was sobbing as her omnic partner embraced her and pressed their head against hers.

“We have no word on Mondatta’s status as of yet,” the newscaster continued on and Emily felt a sinking in the pit of her stomach, “We have been told that the Shambali’s own repair experts and several roboticists have been called in to examine the trauma to his head—”

Emily changed the channel.

“I don’t want to get people’s hopes up because the situation clearly is still very serious, but we’re talking a one in a million shot,” a commentator was saying gesturing to several diagrams of the interior of an Omnic’s head behind him, “Omnic Cerebral cores are basically as indestructible as airplane black boxes—-this is why during the crisis, you’d see more outright destruction of Omnic chassis rather than precision disabling. Until we can hear from the Shambali and the roboticists, we can’t say for sure—-”

He’s dead, a small voice spoke inside Emily’s head, He’s dead and they’re just trying to keep another riot from breaking out.

She didn’t want to believe it, but she knew that voice and she knew her gut. That little voice had kept her alive in King’s Row this long. It was hardly ever wrong. She felt the grief hit her, scooping out her insides and leaving her cold and heavy and hollow. She sneezed and pulled her blanket tight around her, tears brimming in her eyes, half from the sneezing, and half from the grief. She changed the channel again.

“—-While shots are no longer being fired, several unconscious security agents were found on the rooftops surrounding the event, leading experts to believe this was a precision strike, and we are unsure if the assailant is still in the area—”

Lena, Emily suddenly stumbled off the couch, blanket still wrapped around her. The blood rushed from her head as she stood up and she swayed, but quickly shook her head and hurried over to her coat rack. Sickness be damned, she had to find Lena, she had to make sure she was safe. She pulled on her coat and hat. Tube’s probably blocked off while they’re trying to find the shooter, thought Emily, I can take the vespa, take the back alleys, bypass the.police blockades—-did it all the time during the worst of the riots, nothing I can’t do ag—

The door suddenly opened and Tracer stumbled in.

“Lena!” Emily rushed over to her. There was a faint smell of ozone around her.

“Em—Em I’m so sorry—-“ Blue light suddenly whirled around her and suddenly Tracer looked like a warped VCR image, multiple semi-transparent copies of herself layering over the original. One was sobbing hard, another was hyperventilating, another was screaming and railing, “It’s my fault! I was so stupid! I thought it was like the old days and I treated it like a game and she killed him—!”

“Em, I’m sorry,” the original Tracer said again as the ghosts of herself railed around her, “I tried to stop her, I—I tried…”

“Lena—-You’re alternating,” said Emily, cupping a hand to the original Tracer’s cheek, “Calm down and let me see it.”

“Alternating” was the shortest term they could come up with for it. Normally Tracer’s chronal disassociation just rendered her a living ghost, unable to actually interact with her environment, but with the chronal accelerator anchoring her to this time, a malfunction could create multiple illusory copies of herself reacting in different alternate ways. Winston said he still wasn’t sure whether the ‘alternates’ were how Tracer was reacting in different timelines, or if they were a result of Tracer’s psyche shattering through the Chronal accelerator itself. The original Tracer brought her shoulders back and two of the alternates quieted, though still warped and faded around her like images burned into an old tv screen, as Emily looked at the chronal accelerator, warped, broken, sporadically firing off sparks.

“We need to call Winston,” said Lena.

Almost as soon as she said it, a video call ring with the Overwatch emblem started sounding off from Tracer’s desktop and Emily hurried over and hit a key on it, bringing up a video feed of Winston.

“Tracer!” Winston spoke urgently, “I just got a news alert on the Mondatta speech and—-Oh… oh no…”

“He’s gone…” Tracer’s voice was thick, “I’m so sorry—The sniper from the museum—She…”

“It’s Talon,” said Winston, taking off his glasses and polishing them, his eyes flicked downward slightly and he frowned, “We’ll have to discuss it more later. For now, first priority is fixing the accelerator. Emily—-“

“Repair kit,” said Emily, getting up, swaying a bit as the blood rushed from her head, then hurrying away, “Right.” She hurried off to their bedroom and hurried back with a small black leather bag with the Overwatch Emblem on it. She zipped it open and there, neatly organized were several tools, countless small parts, and one spare, glowing blue core.

“Lean in, let me get a better look at it,” said WInston.

Tracer bent over the desk slightly as Winston examined the accelerator more.

“Stabilizer seems to be intact, it’s the recall that’s malfunctioning,” said Winston.

“She’s alternating,” Emily said in agreement, before blowing her nose.

“So we don’t need to replace the core,” said Winston, “All right. We’ll start by disassembling the frame. Remember—“

“Not too much pressure, I know,” said Emily, taking a miniature screwdriver out of the kit, “I’ve repaired a decent number of Omnics at the shelter, Winston. I’ve got this.”

The repair work was a long and tedious process, taking two hours with Winston directing it, sometimes stopping to re-examine the accelerator, then nodding and continuing on.The alternates around Tracer faded away one by one, to one hologram-like shadow that blipped out of existence in a blue flash as Emily tightened one last screw.

“And remember—”

“Give it a couple hours so I don’t recall it back to its damaged state,” said Tracer with a smile, “Got it, big guy.”

“Tracer…” Winston said slowly, “Between this and the attack on Gibraltar, we need to organize. It’s not enough sending the recall out—-we need more than just you and me.”

“Can we figure this out in the morning?” said Emily, smoothing Tracer’s hair back.

“Right—” said Winston, awkwardly, “Of course you’ve obviously been through—been through a lot. I’ll… You can call me back when you’re ready.”

“See you then,” said Tracer. Her voice sounded fragile, trying to pull itself together.

“And… I’m sorry,” said Winston, “I know Mondatta meant a lot to you.”

Tracer’s lips thinned and she only managed to nod before letting out a shuddering breath and clicking out of the video chat.

“You should be resting,” said Tracer, looking from the darkened screen back at Emily.

Emily suddenly embraced Tracer in a tight hug and kissed her on the cheekbone.

“It’s okay,” Emily said, “It’s not your fault. I know you did everything you could.”

“I’m fine,” Tracer’s voice was thick, “Winston’s right—we need to think of our next step—” she cut herself of as Emily kissed her on the forehead and pressed her forehead against hers, tears budding in her eyelashes.

“Easy,” said Tracer, “You’re going to get me sick you know— You’re… you’re all sweaty and—and snotty and—and—”

Tracer broke down crying into Emily’s shoulder.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

“Take your time,” said Zenyatta.

Genji stood outside the Watchpoint. He took a deep breath and let the heat sinks in his shoulders click out and steam. He raised a hand to press the button on the intercom, hesitated, then immediately turned on his heel and probably would have walked back to the hovercycle had Zenyatta not gently (but firmly) put a hand on his shoulder and turned him around.

“Empty your mind,” said Zenyatta, “Clear away your guilt and your doubts. When you have done this, the task is simple: hit the button and speak.”

Genji raised his hand toward the intercom button once more, but again he withdrew it and now paced back and forth in front of the gate, “It is not simple,” he said, pacing.

“You chose to come here,” said Zenyatta.

“Yes,” said Genji.

“You know what you wish to do here,” said Zenyatta.

“Yes,” said Genji, still pacing.

“We have discussed what you are going to say,” said Zenyatta.

“Yes,” Genji said, pacing faster.

Zenyatta immediately picked up that these reminders were making Genji more anxious than reassured. “So…take your time,” said Zenyatta and Genji’s shoulders slumped a bit and he swore under his breath. Zenyatta watched as he paced a bit more and muttered before finally stopping in front of the intercom again.

“The task is simple,” he said to himself. He raised a hand toward the intercom, then heard a voice behind him.

“Hey–Private property. Y’all best clear out before–Holy shit.”

Genji slowly turned on his heel to see a large truck laden with what looked like the charred remains of a satellite. “Genji?” A familiar head stuck itself out of the window of the truck. Cassidy laughed a little and opened the door to the truck and hopped out, “Well I’ll be a dog in the manger–Is that Genji gotdamn Shimada?” said Cassidy, walking over.

“I–yes…” said Genji, “I…received Winston’s recall. I wish to help.”

“No shit?” said Cassidy, he glanced over at Zenyatta, “And your friend here?”

“Tekartha Zenyatta,” Zenyatta extended a hand and Cassidy shook it, “I wish to assist in my student’s mission.”

“Tekartha?” Cassidy’s eyebrows raised and he looked over at Genji, “Wait–Student?”

“It is… a long story,” said Genji.

“Seriously?” Cassidy tilted his hat back with his thumb, “Five years and that’s all you got?”

“Ah–well–” Genji started, “I–I realize it has been a long time—”

“Hey,” Cassidy gave him a gentle punch in the shoulder, “I’m messing with ya. It’s good to see you again. You look good.”

“Good?” Genji glanced down at himself.

“Yeah. The green’s a good look on you,” said Cassidy.

Genji’s visor brightened and Cassidy’s comm suddenly buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket. “Yeah?” he answered it, “Yeah I got it, Winston. Yeah—Yeah no, it’s in about as good shape as you’d think. Hey—Winston—you got the security feed for the front gate running?” Cassidy paused while Winston spoke on the other line, “Well I suggest you give it a look,” said Cassidy. He looked at Genji. “Give ‘em a wave,” he said, pointing to the security camera by the gate. Zenyatta and Genji both waved at the camera. The steel gate rattled open and suddenly there was a flash of blue zig-zagging out of the slowly opening gate.

“Genji!” Tracer exclaimed, zipping around him, “Look at you! It’s been too long! And you!” She turned on her heel and zipped to Zenyatta and eagerly shook his hand, “It’s an honor to meet a member of the Shambali. Mondatta was an inspiration to me!”

Genji gave a glance toward Zenyatta, wondering if he should correct her on Zenyatta’s status with the Shambali, but Zenyatta waved him off, patted a beaming Tracer on the shoulder and said, “To me as well. I miss him greatly.”

Tracer gave a glance back to Genji. “You all right, love?”

Genji stood a bit awkwardly, “To be honest, I was not sure what I expected to return to here, considering how abrupt my departure was those years ago,” he gave Tracer and Cassidy a short bow, “Thank you, for welcoming me.”

“The world could always use more heroes,” said Tracer, smiling. She then elbowed him as well, “Plus, don’t think you’re getting off that easy. There’s still the vetting process for your friend here, and you’re going to have to tell us everything, and someone’s got to teach you a lesson for making Doctor Z worry so much when you took off!”

“Doctor Ziegler?” said Genji, “She’s here?”

“Yep,” said Cassidy, “Got here a few days before you did.”

“Where is she?” Genji blurted out.

“Last I checked she was with Torbjörn,” said Cassidy, “Something about getting the Valkyrie wings checked out.”

Genji immediately moved to rush into the Watchpoint, then caught himself and looked over his shoulder at Zenyatta, “Oh—the vetting process—” he said, looking back at Zenyatta.

“I will be fine,” said Zenyatta, “Go. Reunite with your friends.”

Genji didn’t need to be told twice. He rushed off through the Watchpoint’s gates.

——

“You missed her,” Torbjörn said as Genji rushed down the stairs to his workshop. Genji skidded to a halt.

“What?” said Genji.

“You came down here for Doctor Ziegler, right?” said Torbjörn, hammering away.

“I—-” Genji caught himself, “Well I am—-I thought I should greet everyone. It has been five years after all,” he cleared his throat, “It is good to see you, Torbjörn.”

Torbjörn stopped hammering and turned around. “I’m going to take a wild guess and say, after five years of being away from everyone at the watchpoint, you didn’t pop back and immediately say, ‘Oh where is Torbjörn? I must speak to my dear friend Torbjörn!’”

“You don’t know. I could have said that,” said Genji.

Torbjörn rolled his eyes. “She’ll be in the training facility,” he said, gesturing up the stairs with his claw arm.

“The training facility!” Genji repeated, then caught himself and attempted to sound as casual as possible, “The training facility. Of course. I was just headed there next.”

“Sure you were,” said Torbjörn as Genji moved to rush up the stairs again.

Genji paused on the bottom step. “It is good to see you again, Torbjörn,” he said.

“Good to have you back as well,” said Torbjörn, resuming his hammering as Genji rushed up the stairs. As soon as Genji was out of earshot Torbjörn scoffed. “‘Just headed there next’ he says. It’s on the other side of the blasted watchpoint.”

——

She had to admit she had missed the wings. She couldn’t help but smile as she zipped through the fire of drones at different beacons hovering around the training room. She, Athena, and Winston had specially designed the beacon training program for the Valkyrie suit. There were ‘ally’ drones bearing beacons, and ‘enemy’ drones which would shoot at Mercy and her ‘ally’ drones, and would light up when their ‘health’ would drop.

A beacon lit up and she flew to it, just as a training drone fired a few shots at her, she turned in mid air with her caduceus blaster at the ready, aimed and fired. She wasn’t carrying her actual caduceus staff, rather, it was a gray training staff that was built with an indicator that would beep when she was within range to fire a (hypothetical) biotic stream. This would activate the ‘ally’ drones self-reparation programs, which were disabled for the sake of the exercise.  She wasn’t in the full valkyrie suit either. She only donned the wings and the shock-absorbing boots along with the standard-issue gray and orange Overwatch training jumpsuit. Another beacon lit up and she pushed off of the last one with her feet and shot over to it until her training staff beeped. More training drone fire whipped past her and she let herself free-fall briefly while shooting at the training drone, letting her wings catch her just a few feet above the ground as the training drone shot apart with a few more shots from her caduceus blaster.

Genji stood in the doorway to the training floor and watched as she flew overhead and fired. He glanced over at the training drones and his right arm itched a bit, his fingers twitching with instinct from the hours he would spend in Watchpoint training rooms reducing training drones to scrap, but then his eyes trailed back up to her again. This was her session. This was her fight. And he was more than happy to just watch. It turned out he only caught the tail-end of her training session however, as Athena sounded off a loud buzzer and Mercy descended from the air. She wiped the sweat off her forehead. “Athena?” she called out, “How was that one?”

“53% damage absorbed,” said Athena.

“Verdammt,” Mercy muttered, “I really am out of practice. Reset the exercise.”

“Resetting exercise in two minutes,” said Athena and Mercy stretched her arms above her head and spread the Valkyrie wings out behind her as she made her way over to a duffle bag where she kept her water bottle. She saw a figure in the doorway of the training floor out of the corner of her eye, turned, and froze.

Genji found himself somehow rooted to where he was standing as well. He quickly attempted to remember what he had discussed with Zenyatta, all the help and advice Zenyatta had given him in preparing for this, but only found his mind a bright white haze.

“Genji?” Mercy tucked some strands of hair stuck to her forehead with sweat away from her face.

He had to say something, but what could he say after five years? His scars itched beneath his faceplate, he rolled his knuckles. He had to say something.

“Yo,” said Genji, giving a small wave.

“Genji,” her face lit up and her voice cracked a little. The valkyrie wings brightened behind her and she rushed forward, feet not even touching the ground, and whipped her arms around him tight. The speed and force of her impact sent Genji rocking back on his heels and it took him half a heartbeat to register what was happening before he returned the embrace. He could feel the warmth of her even through his armor and she pressed her face into the point where his neck met his shoulder. His heat sinks clicked out and steamed, rifling her bangs a bit. He wasn’t sure how long they held each other, only that when she broke away, it didn’t feel long enough. “You—You’re here—” she said, looking up at him.

“I…” Genji paused, “I wanted to help,” he said.

“Good,” she said, “That’s—“ she had a short breathy laugh, “That’s—that’s good. You…um… You seem well, Genji.”

Genji smiled beneath his faceplate and stood up a bit straighter, “I am a new man, now,” he said as he had practiced with Zenyatta, “I am who—”

He was cut off by the sound of Athena’s buzzer and suddenly the training floor was filling with pulse fire from the training drones all over again.

“Oh—” Mercy turned on her heel, “I—I have to—”

“I should let you— I should be getting back,” said Genji.

“Right—the others—the vetting process—” said Mercy. Pulsefire whipped past her head and over Genji’s shoulder and Mercy turned and fired her caduceus blaster at the training drone until it fell apart.

“Impressive,” said Genji.

Mercy blushed, “Oh well it’s just—” another drone started firing at her and she turned and started shooting at that one.

“I look forward to working with you again, Doctor Ziegler,” said Genji with a small salute, heading toward the exit.

“Likewise,” said Mercy, smiling, “Welcome back, Genji.”

Chapter Text

“I sense you are nervous, my student,” Zenyatta intoned as he and Genji made their way across the watchpoint mess hall.

“Nervous?” Genji blurted out the word more reflexively than he would have liked, “No, I’m… excited you two are finally meeting! That’s all!”

“We have both known you at deeply vulnerable times in your life, but that does not define your entire character–”

“Master–” Genji started a bit frustratedly. The longer they were on the Watchpoint, the more Genji observed that Zenyatta had a habit of saying things that weren’t wrong, necessarily, but definitely left no room for response without opening a whole can of worms. Angela could do the same, albeit in a cooler clinical sense–though both seemed to be saying these sort of things more to assess their own understanding than actually with regard of the full attention of the person they were saying these things to. Not to mention Mercy, in spite of all the angel imagery, really wasn’t a particularly spiritual person to begin with. She sounded very excited and supportive of Genji’s experiences with Zenyatta in their letters, but he wasn’t sure if she was just humoring him. There was only so much text could convey, especially with english being neither of their first language. But Genji couldn’t even continue this compounding spiral of thought, as his eyes caught sight of an arm waving both him and Zenyatta over to a table. 

Angela.

 This still felt weird– Zenyatta was someone you climb up mountains or trek across deserts to find, and Angela may as well be walking out of a high-stakes medical and political thriller, and here they were meeting over—Genji glanced down at his lunch tray–split pea casserole. Kuso, he thought, We really needed to look into scraping together a better food budget. 

“Genji!” she called, “Over here!”

Genji’s shoulders’ tensed slightly, but he gave a glance over to Zenyatta, who gave him an easy tilt of the head. He took a steadying breath before they both made their way over.

“Angela,” Genji started as soon as they fell within reasonable earshot, “This is–”

“Tekhartha Zenyatta,” Mercy stepped forward and briskly and warmly shook Zenyatta’s hand, “It’s an honor to finally meet you.”

“You as well, Doctor Ziegler,” Zenyatta gave a slight bow of his head, “Genji has told me much about you in our time together.”

“And he’s told me much about you in our letters,” Mercy smiled at Genji before gesturing at the table for them to sit down, “Though I must admit, I did do a little digging on my own.”

“Oh?” Zenyatta and Genji took their seats, and Genji could already feel a nervous prickle at the back of his neck.

“Most of the official sources I could find on you were just with regards to the Shambali, but those were at least two years old. Still, I was able to find some word of you on some online blogs and forums… as well as some word-of-mouth at some of the relief camps I’ve worked at. You’ve been traveling for the past couple years, haven’t you?”

“Yes, though not as swiftly as you,” Zenyatta remarked with some amusement, “I have heard much of your work as well, Doctor Ziegler.”

Genji was looking between them, grateful that his visor hid the movements of his eyes, but that prickle not leaving him. The way Mercy talked about diving wholeheartedly into research as if it was the simplest thing in the world could also be off-putting, but Zenyatta didn’t seem to be bothered? This was good, right? They were getting along? Should he come in with a comment?

“I’ve also read some of your work!” Zenyatta added, “I had the good fortune to find your thesis, ‘On the Ethics and Medical Applications of Nanorobotic Machine Learning?’”

“Oh goodness-that one was ancient! I hadn’t even patented my biotics yet!” Mercy blurted out, instantly reddening, “Er–” She took a bite of her own food to give herself a moment to think, and one of her eyelids fluttered and her mouth pinched together at the all-consuming blandness of the food that was worse than anything she had ever eaten in her years of traveling. She blinked several times and suppressed a gag reflex at the combination of blandness and mealy texture before she grabbed her water cup and washed it down with a thick swallow, attempting to regain her composure. “And–” she cleared her throat, “Well, obviously what speculative machine learning biotics could have is in a different area of robotics entirely from the artificial intelligence developed for omnics.”

“I found your thoughts and observations quite enlightening, actually, it’s clear that even in the earliest conceptions of your technology, you have a deep respect for both the potential of machines, as well as the concept of the organic as mechanical.” Zenyatta spoke easily, being an omnic, he didn’t have to eat, and he also had this somewhat annoying habit of patiently waiting and watching to see how long you would put up with self-inflicted discomfort out of politeness.

But the compliment seemed disarming enough to help Mercy push past the unpleasant taste in her mouth, her shoulders bunched up and her eyes flicked to Genji for a moment before she glanced down with a slight smile, “Thank you.”

Genji was sort of at a loss here. How much of Angela’s writing had Zenyatta read? He had barely commented on it to Genji. Sure, Genji had trudged through some of Angela’s academic papers with several other tabs open just to keep up with all the technical terms, though personally he preferred reading her interviews because those at least put her voice in his head, but Zenyatta had found even older writings?

“Have you ever considered writing?” Mercy , “I know there are a lot of published works by Shambali scholars, but I never saw anything from you–in spite of all the word of mouth.” 

“Well.. it’s different for omnics–” Zenyatta tapped a metal finger against the side of his own head, “Much is… recorded, and much can easily be accessed by date, time, supplementary memory data, and a somewhat synthetic equivalent of ‘keyword.’ Many of the Shambali have recorded extremely long tomes that are still being translated out of omnicode, but I must admit to my own… indecision on the topic. After all, we have declared ourselves as having the equivalent of souls, but what is the soul without growth and change, and what is that growth and change without a concept of thought as transient? And text, of course, is such a static medium, I do not want to pass off dogmatism on a subject I may change my mind about later. ”

“Er– Master…” Genji started a bit hesitantly. Long philosophical rambles like this were where Zenyatta had lost Winston but he glanced at Mercy, who was chewing her food with rapt attention.

“Fascinating,” she breathed and Genji tried to ease up in his seat a bit more. 

“I am interested in journals, however,” Zenyatta added, “I do think that in that case, the stasis of text can be very enlightening to the individual.” 

“I’ve tried a couple times,” Mercy mused, “But a lot of the time they just turn into talking in circles about my current labwork…” she snorted, “I guess I have a hard time talking about myself, even to me.” She took another bite of her food, hoping that maybe she just had a bad first bite and–no, this bite was also abysmal. She choked it down with another gulp of water. Genji knew Angela wasn’t exactly a picky eater so this was plenty of forewarning that left him not even bothering to take his faceplate off. Instead he was quietly pushing bits of casserole around his own plate.

“Really?” Zenyatta inclined his head.

“Well, I suppose it feels easier than usual now, but I think that’s because Genji’s written so much about you to me, it feels like I’ve already known you for a while!” Mercy subtly pushed her plate to the side in a motion that most of the time would signal, ‘I’m more into this conversation than the food’ 

“And Genji has recounted much of his times in Overwatch with you to me as well,” Zenyatta said warmly. 

Mercy snorted. “Good things I hope?”

“Indeed,” Zenyatta replied and did not elaborate at all. Genji wasn’t sure if that was a cue for him to start talking. If it was, it would have been way too obvious. But instead Mercy was able to pivot the conversation to one of their old missions together, and from there they got to talking about Tracer, then Mondatta, then Morrison, then about differing opinions about Omnics in different parts of the world. The conversation bumped along in its own easy, pleasant way of two people gradually figuring out their own conversational rhythm from there. Zenyatta’s favorite anecdote about the monastery here, Mercy throwing in a thrilling relief work story there, and eventually Mercy stood up.

“It’s been a pleasure, Zenyatta, and I would love to talk more–But I have some work I should be getting back to…” she paused and gave a glance to her barely-touched casserole, “Aaaand I should probably grab a protein bar on the way back. But feel free to swing by the infirmary if you want to talk more!”

“I have some more settling in to do as well, but I will take you up on that offer in the future, Doctor Ziegler,” said Zenyatta.

“And you know my door’s always open to you, Genji,” said Mercy, smiling.

“R-right,” said Genji, “I mean–good–I mean… thank you?”

Mercy gave Genji a slightly bemused half-smile. “I’ll… see you later then,” she said, walking off.

“See you later.” Genji could just blankly echo her.

He watched her head out of the mess hall, that gentle bob of her flame-like ponytail, the way her labcoat was taut across the back of her shoulders, and her determined stride. Several seconds passed before Genji became aware he was being observed and his head swung over to Zenyatta.

“Interesting,” said Zenyatta.

“’Interesting?’” Genji repeated.

“I hope you did not feel too left out of the conversation,” Zenyatta tented his fingers.

“I didn’t–I just–Obviously it’s egotistical to assume the only thing people would have in common is their mutual acquaintance–” 

“Mm,” Zenyatta just shrugged in response to that.

“I just—” Genji huffed, and he glanced toward the door, “I don’t know–I feel like I’m finally in the space to actually… engage with her! Like I’m not this mess of self-hatred and vengeance like I was back in the old days but now…”

“You have both grown in your time apart,” said Zenyatta, “In many ways, you are meeting all over again. I have warned you not to become too attached to the idea of a person, or the memory–”

“I know–I know–” Genji was resting his elbows on the table, gripping his arms, “But… I do like the person she is now, too! It’s like she’s had space to breathe, to really pursue what she’s passionate about…”

“She still seems interested in you,” Zenyatta said easily.

“Really?” said Genji.

“‘Open door’ has a lot of connotations and she strikes me as a very careful person,” said Zenyatta.

Genji’s shoulder heat sinks vented with a ksssh. “I… I need more to go on than connotations–” He huffed and clicked off his faceplate, trying to take his mind off the subject, taking a bite from his own plate before immediately gagging. “Kuso– She wasn’t wrong–this is wretched.” He quietly tongued out the half-chewed wad of food into his napkin and took several gulps of water to wash the taste out of his mouth.

“I was surprised you didn’t suggest going somewhere for better food to Doctor Ziegler,” Zenyatta mused, “Or you could have offered to cook something for her. I recall the other Shambali acolytes quite enjoying your cooking.”

Genji froze in his seat. “…I could have done that.”

 “Indeed,” said Zenyatta.

“Why didn’t I do that?!” Genji blurted out.

“It would seem you have much to learn, my student,” Zenyatta said mildly.

Chapter Text

Zenyatta floated in front of Athena’s screen, staring at a large projection of a group photo of the original Overwatch operatives all smiling and waving at the camera. He had taken an interest in looking more into the history of Overwatch, looking through at photos of its different members, how the organization had once been in its golden days. He was learning to put names to faces now. He hit a key and the photo changed to one of Singh, Mirembe, and Gabrielle all grinning in the Orca and looking scratched up enough for Zenyatta to assume the photo was taken after a mission. He hit a key on the keyboard and the photo changed to a photo of Cassidy and Gabriel Reyes at a bar with Dr. Ziegler, Cassidy giving Reyes bunny ears with the fingers of his prosthetic arm, The next photo, apparently taken seconds later, was of Reyes holding Cassidy in a headlock while Dr. Ziegler was yelling in the background. The photo after that was of a young Reinhardt hoisting both Ana and Jack over his head with ease while Winston had Reyes hoisted above his head and was clearly struggling a bit more with Tracer laughing off in the photo’s corner. 

“Master?” Zenyatta heard Genji’s voice behind him and turned.

“Oh, hello, my pupil,” said Zenyatta, turning his attention to the next photo of Torbjörn and Dr.Ziegler at a halloween party, “Was there something you needed?”

“I am fine,” said Genji stepping up alongside Zenyatta and looking at the screen with him, “I could not find you by the cliffs or on the observation deck. I did not expect to find you in here.”

“I thought it appropriate to better understand Overwatch and those who have been a part of it if I am to join it,” said Zenyatta, gesturing at the photo. He hit a key again to a photo of Jack Morrison asleep at his desk with a pile of paperwork on it.

“Cassidy took that one,” said Genji.

“Mm?” Zenyatta flipped to the next one which was of Dr. Ziegler and Mei slumped against each other, sleeping while surrounded by lab reports and even more paperwork.

“Reyes caught him sleeping while he was supposed to be working one time and yelled at him. So he spent the next week going all over the Watchpoint and taking photos of Overwatch members napping on the job to prove a point to him. He called it ‘Sleepwatch’ though I always thought ‘Oversleep’ would be more appropriate.”

“How many did he take?”

“A surprising amount,” said Genji, “But it turned out the jet-lag from the Orca was actually heavily affecting on-Watchpoint activity, so it brought up an unaddressed issue concerning Watchpoint productivity and ended up helping a lot.”

Zenyatta clicked to the next photo, which was of Reyes napping on a sunlit bench with his hat pulled down over his eyes. Genji chuckled, “He got in a lot of trouble for that one.”

“Did he take one of you?” said Zenyatta, flipping through photos of Tracer asleep on top of Winston, Amélie and Gerard tangled up together on a couch, and even Ana napping in one of the training rooms with a sleeping Fareeha under her arm. 

“He could never catch me sleeping,” said Genji, folding his arms cockily.

“I see,” said Zenyatta. He continued scrolling through different photos in silence, “There are very few photos of you,” said the omnic, at last.

“Oh–” said Genji, “Well… I usually did not take the time to take them. I was quite fixated on vengeance back then.”

“Hmm,” Zenyatta continued scrolling through photos. 

Genji sighed, “And… I had not yet adjusted to my… appearance.”

Zenyatta glanced over from the screen. “A shame,” he said turning back to the photos, “Your current form is quite appealing. “

“Well I did not think so when–what?”

“It is appealing,” said Zenyatta, “A harmonious and aesthetically pleasing union of the organic and the mechanical.

The heat sinks in Genji’s shoulders clicked out and steamed. He coughed and cleared his throat. “Yes, well… I was not of that opinion back then.”

“And now?” said Zenyatta.

Genji glanced down, “I am far more at peace with myself and my appearance than before.”

“Perhaps we should take photos then,” said Zenyatta.

“What?” said Genji. 

“The old Overwatch took many photos and documented their friendship. Perhaps we should do the same.”

“I…” Genji paused, “I suppose that is true,” he said.

“Then we are in agreement,” said Zenyatta. He turned to the screen. “Athena?”

“Yes?” Athena’s icon lit up on the screen.

“Do you possess photographic capabilities?” asked Zenyatta.

“Yes.”

“Please take a photo of us,” said Zenyatta.

“Wait I’m not—” Genji started but the screen flash and then an image of Zenyatta looking perfectly fine next to Genji with hands blurred by motion appeared on the screen.

“Excellent,” said Zenyatta.

“No it’s not,” said Genji, “I made it blurry.”

“Repetition is the path to mastery,” said Zenyatta, “We will try again. Athena–”

“Wait–” said Genji, “Let me uh—” he put an arm around Zenyatta’s shoulders and threw up the “V” sign. Zenyatta threw up a peace sign as well. “Athena,” said Genji, “Take the picture.”

The screen flashed again and a much more well composed photo appeared on the screen. “A wonderful start, my pupil,” said Zenyatta.

“Start?” repeated Genji.

“Yes, we must take far more,” said Zenyatta. 

“More?” said Genji. Zenyatta nodded.

Genji chuckled a little, “It would be a bit silly to just spend all this time using Athena to take pictures of ourselves, Master.”

“There are several portable cameras around Winston’s lab,” Athena chimed in, “Weather is optimal and the Watchpoint is very well lit this time of day, especially on the east side.”

Genji’s visor brightened in surprise. “Wonderful,” said Zenyatta heading out the door, “Come, we must document our new friendships.”

Genji moved to follow Zenyatta, then paused and gave a glance back to Athena.

“You’re not going to make him take all those photos alone, are you?” said Athena.

Genji scoffed and chuckled, then followed after Zenyatta.

Chapter Text

Genji watched intently as the onigiri quietly crackled on the watchpoint mess hall’s massive skillet. He lightly and swiftly brushed nori sheets on a dry section of the skillet and tested its pliability after toasting, before giving each sheet another brush or two for good measure. He had greased the skillet with butter, and brushed the onigiri themselves with miso butter, rather than oil. It wouldn’t have the complexity or funk of the yak butter used back in Nepal, but it would still grant at least some of the nutty richness he was aiming for. Spatula in hand, he quickly flipped each onigiri up from the skillet, wrapped its bottom in a neat square of nori, and gently set it in a little casserole dish. A quick sprinkling of Himalayan pink salt, sesame seeds, and red pepper flakes later, and he put his hands on his hips with satisfaction. The recipe was his own invention, the perfectly crispy-exterior steamy-interior yaki onigiri from his own childhood, but now with Nepalese fillings from his time cooking for the Shambali monastery. This batch was just 8 onigiri with a dense lentil curry filling, with the Watchpoint food budget still being pretty low, but the spice combination was very unique to the Shambali. He glanced over his shoulder at Zenyatta, who was busying himself rooting through the mess hall pantry while occasionally leafing through what had to be a crisis-era cookbook titled ‘Full Catastrophe Dining: Substitutes and Foraging For the Apocalyptic Gourmand.’

“What do you think?” said Genji, glancing up from the casserole dish.

Zenyatta glanced up from the book and floated over, his feet touching down lightly on the floor as he inspected the onigiri.

“Quite impressive, my student.”

“But it’s casual–it doesn’t come on too strong?” said Genji.

Zenyatta tented his fingers sagely, “Well, when one cooks for the one they love, that is a way of saying–”

“I–it’s just lunch!” Genji insisted, laughing nervously, “It’s rice balls!” 

Zenyatta gave him a slightly pitying head-tilt. 

“It’s fine,” Genji said, looking for the casserole dish cover, “It doesn’t come on too strong.”

“What doesn’t come on too strong?” a voice piped up from the other side of the kitchen.

Genji had barely glanced up towards the source of the voice when there was a blue flash of light and Tracer had zipped up right next to him.

“I thought something smelled good!” Tracer said brightly, pushing her goggles up onto her forehead, “Genji–you cook now?”

“I cooked before,” Genji said a bit defensively, but he looked over to see Zenyatta’s gaze had gone skeptical now, “A little,” he added weakly.

“Mm! Well now you can definitely cook-cook,” Tracer said with an audibly full mouth. Genji’s head jerked over to see her cheerily munching on one of the onigiri.

“Uh–that’s…” Genji’s voice trailed off weakly.

“Really good!” One of Tracer’s cheeks was puffed out, full of rice, “God, I’d kill for the King’s Row pubs to serve this kind of thing at 1 AM! Crispy, carby–” she took another bite and her eyes lit up, “Oh! That’s the spices I’ve been smelling!”

“Yes… well…” Genji couldn’t really bring himself to say, ‘It’s not for you! It’s for Angela! And now I only have 7, which means it’s not symmetrical or filling up the casserole dish as nicely!’ But all he managed was, “I learned the curry recipe from my time in the Shambali.”

“You can tell! Oh! you know who’d love this?” Tracer grinned and gave a waggle of her eyebrows and a sly, half-rice puffed grin, “The Doc.”

“That’s a great idea,” Genji said blankly, glad his visor hid pretty much all of his expressions as he shifted the placement of one of the Onigiri so that it was front and center, restoring some semblance of symmetry.

“Anyway, I gotta grab something for Winston, but thanks for the snack!” said Tracer, doing a short jog away before disappearing in another blue zip of light.

Genji moved to cover the casserole dish when Tracer suddenly zipped back.

“Hey, mind if I bring one to Winston?”

“Er–sure…” said Genji.

“Thanks, love!” Tracer held the onigiri up in a toasting gesture before zipping off again.

Genji huffed before glancing down at the casserole dish. “Six is enough. Six is plenty. And if other people have eaten some, it won’t come on as strong. It will be fine.” He glanced at the mess hall doors, “Now I just need to… get them across the Watchpoint.”

“Hm,” was all Zenyatta responded with.

“What? ‘Hm’ what?” Genji looked over his shoulder.

“Nothing,” said Zenyatta, “Best of luck, my student.” 

The light of Genji’s visor narrowed with skepticism as he picked up the casserole dish and started walking. He gave Zenyatta a suspicious glance over his shoulder before he stepped outside of the mess hall. He forced himself to give a steadying huff of an exhale. “It’s fine,” he said, “It’s going to be fine.” And he started walking.

He didn’t see anyone for a while, and eased up a bit as he got further and further, rehearsing and tweaking what he would say when he finally got to the infirmary.

“Angela, I know you’ve been skipping meals again and–no…”

“Hey so remember how bad that pea casserole was a few days back? I thought–no…”

“Irasshai mase–wait, no, that doesn’t work if I’m coming to her–I mean, it could? Technically? No–no–”

“Oh! Angela! I’m glad you’re in! I was thinking I should volunteer for mess hall duty for a couple nights so I whipped these up. Do you think the rest of the watchpoint would–”

“Who’re you talking to?” a voice spoke up and Genji’s shoulders bunched up in a flinch. His head swung around to see Cassidy leaning up against one of the branching-off hallway corridors, idly chewing on a toothpick.

“…myself,” Genji said stiffly.

“Uh huh,” Cassidy pushed off the wall, “And whatcha got there?”

“Nnnothing?” Genji felt himself naturally angling the casserole dish away from Cassidy.

“Really?” Cassidy pushed the brim of his hat back with his thumb, “Because it looks to me, like you got food.”

“They’re not for you,” Genji said on reflex.

“You sure about that? See, I distinctly recall overhearing you saying you were volunteering for mess hall duty, so if you’re looking for folks to try out your recipes…” 

The joints of Genji’s prosthetic fingers creaked on the casserole dish with tension. 

“That is, unless, that was a bullshit explanation and you just cooked all this up to try to impress one person, in which case I would happily walk with you and protect your little casserole dish with my life to see that it gets to its location and your intended target safely–”

“You can have one,” said Genji, taking the lid off of the casserole dish. 

“Pleasure doin’ business with ya,” said Cassidy with a wink before taking one of the onigiri.

Genji was once again glad his faceplate and visor concealed the majority of his expressions as Cassidy sauntered off, onigiri in hand. Five was enough. Five was fine. Five would be perfectly acceptable. Five was cool, and casual, and ‘Oh hey, Angela, did you want one of these?’ Just keep walking. Just keep walking and don’t make eye contact with anyone. Genji dipped into the Watchpoint’s undercroft just to bypass any other familiar faces. A fitness buff like Pharah or Brigitte would probably say something like ‘Oh! Carbo boost!’ and grab three, or D.Va would go, ‘Oh I’ve been marathon streaming for 7 hours! Mind if I take the rest?’ Or Lúcio would be there, and who could say no to Lúcio!?!? No, no, no, he couldn’t have that. He was on a mission. Well, not really, but also really. He wasn’t going to let anything sway him, not even Mei passed out on her lab table and all of a sudden Snowball was frantically chirping in his face and oh no Mei was passed out on her lab table. 

He stopped abruptly and hurried over, tucking the casserole dish under one arm.

“Doctor Zhou?? Doctor Zhou?!” he said urgently, shaking her shoulder. Snowball was feverishly buzzing about him.

“Whuh…?” Mei’s head lolled up, a sheet of some of her research fluttering off her forehead. 

“How long have you been working?” asked Genji.

“There’s…” Mei’s voice trailed off weakly, “9 years of data…” 

“When was the last time you ate?” he asked.

“Oh… um…” Mei trailed off and blinked with asynchronous wooziness, “I don’t… I mean… I must have lost track of time…It… it gets like that sometimes… after the freezing…”

“Take one of these,” Genji pushed an onigiri in front of her, “And some wa–” Snowball shoved in front of him with a water bottle, “And some water.”

Mei took the onigiri and Snowball shoved the water bottle into her hand. After a few gulps she did that dizzy blink again and took a bite out of the onigiri.

“This is… really good…” she said distantly. 

“Thank you,” said Genji out of reflex.

“You made this?” Mei blinked again and smiled, “Were you just… walking around with emergency onigiri?” a giggle shook her voice.

“…Yes,” said Genji after a beat. 

Mei snorted a little. 

“Are you going to be okay?” asked Genji.

Snowball chirped and nuzzled up against Mei’s shoulder, “I’m just going to go lay down once I finish this, but… yes. I’ll be okay,” said Mei, “Thank you, Genji.” 

Genji let out a relieved exhale before heading out of the undercroft. Okay… four. Four was perfect to share between him and Angela… and… now it was very much less casual and more ‘I cooked up lunch for two.’ He cursed himself under his breath. Granted, he didn’t really regret giving Mei one, but he could hear Zenyatta’s skeptical little ‘hm’ at the back of his mind. Did he know this would happen? Why was Genji allowing it to happen? 

“Oh! There he is!” A bright voice from the end of the corridor sounded and Genji froze. Brigitte and Reinhardt were at the other end of the hall. “Hey Genji!”

Genji chose the ancient ninja technique of ‘pretend you didn’t hear that’ and started quickly walking in the opposite direction, already plotting a route to the roof to cut across to the infirmary.

“He must not have heard us,” said Reinhardt, and Genji walked faster.

“Hey–!” Brigitte’s warm-even-through-his-armor hand caught his shoulder and he froze. Damn, he forgot she moved faster without all her armor.

“Cassidy said you made snacks for the Watchpoint!” Brigitte was beaming warmly.

Beneath his visor, Genji’s eye twitched. “He did?”

“Indeed!” Reinhardt jovially clenched a fist, “With curry, no less!”

“Curry’s kind of the big guy’s favorite,” said Brigitte with a hapless shrug and a playful thumb-jab in Reinhardt’s direction.

“Oh…” Genji’s shoulders tensed, “Well–I’ve already given several away, and I thought–” He looked up at both Brigitte and Reinhardt and silently cursed himself before saying, “Iiiii thought ‘I bet Reinhardt knows his curry.’ Would you like some?”

“Don’t mind if I do!” Reinhardt exclaimed as he plucked up an onigiri.

“You’re a lifesaver Genji,” Brigitte sighed as she plucked up an onigiri as well, “I thought I was going to die without a carbo boost,” she said, mouth half-full.

There it is, thought Genji before he forced out a, “Glad I could help.”

He practically sprinted to the infirmary from there. No more, he thought, Please, I know it’s just a stupid bunch of rice balls, but let me get them to her. And maybe they aren’t even that good– I mean certainly they’re all right in comparison to what we’ve been eating lately, but I just–I want her to know I’m trying. Please. Please.–

He skidded to a halt in front of the door to the infirmary and there was a three second pause where he had to register he was in front of the infirmary–that there had been no further interruptions. Then he shook his head as if shaking free of a dream, and hit the door panel.

Both he and Mercy flinched simultaneously to see each other in the same doorway.

“Oh!” Mercy’s ponytail bobbed a little with her movement, “I was just going to go look for you! I got texts from Cassidy and Mei saying you were handing out rice balls around the watchpoi–”

“Take them–” Genji stuck out the casserole dish to her, his gaze fixed on the floor.

“Genji?” Mercy’s brow crinkled.

“Just–” Genji looked up at her face and his shoulders slumped, “Er–do you want them?”

“Um… yes,” Mercy chuckled a bit nervously, “Are you all right?”

“Yes–” Genji’s hand clasped at the forehead plate over his visor, “Yes, I’m just- Could you just take them?” 

“But what about you?” Mercy tilted her head.

“What?” said Genji.

“Have you had one, yet?” 

That brought Genji closer to an upright position, “Well… I didn’t make them for me.”

Mercy was doing that head-tilt thing with a hapless smile. “I know. It’s very sweet of you to cook for the whole watchpoint.”

“But–” Genji started.

“Cyborg or not, you need to eat too, Genji,” Mercy said with an only partially scolding waggle of her eyebrows.

“Right,” said Genji, as Mercy plucked up the last onigiri from the casserole dish and pressed it into his prosthetic hand. It accepted it easily… dumbly. 

“…want to join me on the veranda with these, then?” Mercy gave a playful wiggle of her own onigiri as she breezed past him in the doorway. A second of dumb hesitation passed.

“It would be my pleasure,” said Genji. 

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

The workshop was always warm, and the smoky-metallic smell was somewhat of a comfort to them. The crackle of Torbjorn’s welding torch was far enough away from them that they could hold a conversation without raising their voices too much.

Genji handled the halo biofeed gingerly, and Mercy watched the thoughtful way his fingers traced over it.

“I really did try to make it smaller,” she murmured, her chin in her hand, “But that shape was the only thing that gave it the maximum range of bio-data while still being practical and wearable. I didn’t intend for it to look like…”

“A halo?” Genji glanced up at her.

She snorted. “As if the wings weren’t bad enough already–I’m just adding fuel to the fire of god-complex doctor jokes, aren’t I?”

“I think it fits for you,” Genji’s visor shifted up from the halo to her, “I’ll miss the beret but… I like this.”

Mercy flushed a little and pushed her hair back.

“What–what I mean is–well, Overwatch was already using you as a symbol of hope and compassion…” he wasn’t sure if he was digging himself into a deeper hole now.

“To cover up for their clear oversteps of UN-set boundaries,” said Mercy, folding her arms bitterly. She blinked and caught herself, glancing up at him. “I mean you–Blackwatch was–”

Genji made a ‘don’t worry about it’ gesture with his hand. “I know,” he said, with a shrug. He turned the halo biofeed over in his hands, and then his eyes flicked up to her. 

“May I?” his hand went up to his own visor.

Mercy nodded, “Of course,” she said, smiling.

Genji pressed a catch at the side of his helmet and his visor clicked upward, exposing his eyes but keeping his faceplate on. He clicked the halo biofeed at the catch and flinched a little as the bio-data flooded his senses. He could see Winston through three walls, a green-lit outline digging through a jar of peanut butter. He could see Pharah and Cassidy, small and distant as they were, at the makeshift training grounds of the watchpoint. He could even see Tracer’s outline, zipping along, running laps around the Watchpoint. His eyes flicked to Mercy and she was smiling a bit at the way his neck was craning to look at his teammates through the walls of the watchpoint.

“Doesn’t it get overwhelming?” said Genji, “If two teammates dip into critical status but they’re nowhere near each other…”

“I would know, yes,” said Mercy, “At that point it’s a judgment call: who do you keep alive to keep the whole team alive?”

Genji glanced off, a little afraid to press further on the issue. How often have you had to make that judgment call? he thought, Who on our team would survive that judgment call? But then as he shifted his gaze back to Mercy, he could see a little yellow light flickering in front of her, like a little candle flame suspended in the air. He wasn’t sure if it was instinct or impulse that brought his hand forward, but it simply phased through the light.

“…what is that?” said Genji.

“It’s the BDI—sometimes I call it the ‘Beady,’” said Mercy with a smile.

“…Beady?” said Genji.

“Biotic Defibrillation Indicator–if someone on my team slips into shock or cardiac arrest, I can use the biotics still present in their system from my staff to…revive them. The beady indicates if I can… still do that.”

“Did you do that with me?”asked Genji.

“The biofeed wasn’t nearly that advanced back then and since you didn’t have my biotics present in your system….” Mercy trailed off with a shrug, “With you I just yanked off my staff’s capacitor and… it was sort of a defibrillation? Considering the state of your injuries you were holding on much more strongly than was… well…”

“Than was what?”

“Than was thought humanly possible,” said Mercy.

“Father did always say the dragon gave our clan an unusual amount of resilience…” Genji said quietly. He paused, “So these little lights…” he phased his hand through the little candle-like light in front of Mercy again, “Mean the difference between life and death for your team… and you call them ‘Beadies.’”

“I mean… not out loud,” Mercy said, reddening slightly. She rolled her eyes. “Gabriel called them ‘souls’ and obviously that’s being very overdramatic about it and in the heat of the moment, well…. ‘Beady’ is less…. stressful than ‘Soul.’”

“That’s fair,” said Genji. He huffed a little. “Reyes would call them souls.”

Mercy grinned, “He would,” she said, and then her smile faded, “…it… it isn’t always accurate,” she said quietly, “The beady.”

“Mm?” Genji was distracted by phasing his hand through the little light again.

“Sometimes it will tell you that you can revive someone when… when you really shouldn’t….” Mercy’s fingers curled into a distressed fist, her thumb running over her knuckles with anxiety, “I just… hope I can make the right calls this time.”

Genji’s eyes softened on her. He reached over and put his hand over hers. “Angela,” he spoke gently, “I have complete faith in you. You’re the best medic I’ve ever known, and you probably keep one of the coolest heads under pressure that I’ve ever seen. Whenever we’re teamed up I–” he itched at the point where the halo had clicked onto his helmet, “I feel safe. Because you’re there.”

“You mean that?” a smile lit up her features.

“I mean it,” Genji gave her hand a slight squeeze, “I feel it…” he paused, “Deep in my beady.”

Mercy snorted hard.

Chapter Text

The box shook the desk a bit as it landed. Mercy rubbed her forehead and pushed her hair out of her face as she sorted through it. Empty biotic canisters from the old days, some reusable, some not, some she had marked with a black felt pen to be cannibalized into other biotic distributor prototypes. Some old files featuring alternate designs for the caduceus staff, and even some old designs for the valkyrie suit itself. Mercy felt her spinal implants itch a bit. A part of her longed to wear the wings again, and that was one of the reasons why she came back, wasn’t it? No one could pilot it like her. No one could help people like her. It was the same reasons she had joined Overwatch when she was barely grown years ago, only now she hoped she would not make the same mistakes. 

“Doctor Ziegler,” Athena’s voice suddenly came from a pocket in Mercy’s labcoat and she rifled through them and pulled out her comm.

“Yes, Athena?”

“If you desire, the dining hall has recently become operational, and will be serving dinner in 15 minutes.”

“A bit early for dinner isn’t–” Mercy glanced at the time on her comm display, “…Oh. Thank you Athena,” she moved to set the box aside, “You know in an odd way, I’ve almost missed Overwatch’s terrible, salty RTE—” she glanced down at the comm to see Athena’s icon was gone already. “AI’s work is never done I suppose,” murmured Mercy. She straightened the collar of her labcoat and headed toward the door of the infirmary lab when suddenly a spray of droplets hit the window. Mercy sighed, then glanced over to the side of the door to see a red umbrella covered in cobwebs tucked into a lonely corner. She scoffed a little. Five years. Five years and that umbrella had been here the whole time. Still, it was a bit serendipitous. She grabbed it, dusted it off and opened it up, then headed out the door. 

It wasn’t a particularly heavy rain, just one of those odd, humid small downpours that would sometimes find their way in off the sea, with thick clouds somehow easily punctured by sunlight and an almost eerily low amount of wind. She made her way across the watchpoint and walked past a figure on a rock, then paused and turned on her heel. It was Genji, meditating on a rock facing the sea. She walked over and he showed about as much reaction to her as the rock he was sitting on. She stepped closer and waved a hand in front of his face. Again, no reaction. She thought to speak to him, but then he seemed very deep in his focus that she couldn’t really bring herself to disturb him.

 She watched as the rain plinked down on his helmet and dripped off of his visor. Her brow furrowed a bit and she took her umbrella off her shoulder and then held it out slightly so that it would keep them both dry. She wasn’t sure how much longer he planned to be out here, but she had a few minutes before dinner. She watched patches of sunlight move over the water and listened to the rain hit the canvas of the umbrella for a few minutes. No wonder Genji would pick this spot on the Watchpoint to meditate–even in the rain, the view was lovely, though with the visor she couldn’t really tell if his eyes were open. She pulled out her comm and started scrolling through her schedule for tomorrow. Stopping today she could allow herself another two hours tomorrow to finish getting the lab back up, then there would be a check-up on Winston (which she knew he would probably try and put off but five years without a checkup had to catch up with him sometime), then Cassidy, of course, that would be a whole mess in itself—

“Doctor Ziegler?” Genji spoke and gave her such a start she nearly dropped the umbrella. His hand flew out and caught it but not before it tilted and sent a splash of water onto his head. 

“Oh—” Mercy dropped her comm and her hand flew over her mouth, “Oh my–Genji I’m so sorry–”

“It is fine–” he managed, then glanced at his hand over hers on the umbrella’s handle, then withdrew his hand, Mercy’s own grip righting the umbrella’s angle.

“Does your master always make you meditate out in the rain?” said Mercy with a slight smirk.

“No. I chose this time for myself. To be honest, I had not really noticed,” said Genji glancing upwards.

“Hadn’t noticed?” said Mercy, a slight laugh in her voice. Her face suddenly dropped. “Wait–You didn’t feel it at all? Have your sensations been dulling? Do i need to run a diagnostic on your nervous–”

“I can feel it, Doctor Ziegler,” Genji quickly assured her, “I suppose my mind was simply on other things.”

“Oh…” Mercy tucked her hair back, a bit embarrassed that she had started worrying so quickly. 

“However, that begs the question of what you were doing out in the rain,” said Genji, folding his arms.

“I was…” Mercy’s mind went blank briefly before her stomach growled and she went, “Oh–Dinner. I was on my way to get some dinner,” she paused, “You’re welcome to join me, if you wish.”

Genji considered this briefly. “Very well,” he said, getting to his feet off of the rock. He glanced down then bent over and picked up Mercy’s comm which she had dropped and held it out to her, “You probably shouldn’t leave this behind,” he said.

“Thank you,” said Mercy, taking the comm. She held the umbrella up slightly so that he could get underneath it and both walked to the dining hall. 

Chapter Text

The orb of harmony hovered over a shoebox as Zenyatta kept his hands reaching forward to keep it levitating. Normally the orb would be able to sustain its levitation with slight repulsion technology around its target, but the bird’s mass wasn’t large enough to sustain that equilibrium. Bastion looked on anxiously, occasionally reaching forward to gently lift the lid of the box to peek under, and chirping in quiet concern. Zenyatta withdrew the orb of harmony and sighed. He didn’t really have lungs to sigh with, but had picked up the sound from humans who had visited the Shambali monastery who had made that noise when expressing sadness, resignment, or relief. As soon as the orb was withdrawn Bastion’s head jerked up from the box and the siege unit beeped in alarm at Zenyatta and raised its maintenance arm and gestured at it as if Zenyatta had forgotten what he was doing.

“I am sorry, my friend,” said Zenyatta, “Sometimes the greatest battle is acceptance of things beyond our power.”

Bastion opened the lid of the box and looked sadly at the small bird. Bastion was silent for a while before it suddenly perked up, made an arching movement with its arm around its head, and then beeped with the same cadence of Mercy’s cry of ‘Heroes never die!’ Ganymede flapped his wings enthusiastically to further illustrate Bastion’s point.

Zenyatta looked hopeful, but then remembered a polite but firm Mercy telling Bastion, who had brought in a pigeon with a missing foot several weeks back, that she could not ‘fix’ every injured animal he brought to her. He did not doubt Doctor Ziegler’s compassion, but perhaps the situation could be handled more delicately than with a notoriously fretful siege automaton. It was then that he heard a voice.

“Master?”

Zenyatta glanced over his shoulder to find Genji.

“Both of you missed Winston’s briefing,” said Genji, holding up several papers, “I had Athena print out a transcript for you.”

“How thoughtful, my student!” said Zenyatta, taking the papers. “Hmm, it seems now that we must review these briefing notes, we will need someone to run this box up to Doctor Ziegler.”

Genji tilted his head. “What box?” he said, leaning around Zenyatta to see a shoebox with Bastion staring into it. “Not another one…” said Genji, folding his arms.

“I believe it’s quite serious this time,” said Zenyatta, picking up the box and pushing it forward towards Genji, “I realize Doctor Ziegler is very busy, but perhaps if she believes you found it….”

“I do not like lying to her,” said Genji, taking the box, “And why would I convince her any more than Bastion?”

Zenyatta tented his fingers and was silent. He gave a glance over his shoulder at Bastion, who shrugged. “…you have known her longer,” said Zenyatta, at last. Genji glanced down at the box skeptically and Zenyatta went on. “And I believe deep within you is a wellspring of compassion for all small creat–”

“Fine–I will bring it to her,” said Genji, glancing under the lid of the box before turning around. 

—

“You found this?” said Mercy, glancing into the box.

“Yes,” said Genji, “It must have hit a window,” he added, watching as Mercy pulled on gloves and gingerly lifted the bird out of the box to look over its injuries.  “…Or perhaps a cat got it?” Genji itched at one of the plates in his arm.

“Bastion found it,” said Mercy, flatly.

“Bastion found it,” Genji conceded.

Mercy scoffed and smiled a little, set the bird gently down into the box and then started rifling through her cabinets. 

“Why not simply use the staff?” said Genji, as Mercy looked through the cabinets.

“It doesn’t really have a setting for organisms that small,” said Mercy, “But I’m pretty sure I still have some biotic applicators that were designed for lab rats–here!” she pulled out what looked like a pen-sized version of her caduceus staff, but all gray rather than with the white plating. She smacked it against her palm a few times and it weakly glowed yellow. She then gently scooped up the bird and began streaming biotics onto it. Genji leaned over her shoulder as she worked. There was something calming in the way her hands moved. He remembered the sight of her fingers testing the plates and catches on his arm years ago, but he remembered something different about her hands back then.

“Bandages,” he said mindlessly.

“What?’ said Mercy. And Genji caught himself.

“Oh–Nothing—I was just—” he suddenly became acutely aware of how close he was standing to her and took a step back, “Back when you were working on me, your fingers would sometimes be bandaged up. You would keep it covered with gloves but…” he paused, “Was it from my armor?”

Mercy smirked a little and glanced up at him, “You know, when I was doing the final examinations on your prosthetics, I really wish they had told me beforehand what it was your right arm could do. Jack knew I would probably have given him hell for that. Still, one does not usually expect a shuriken loading mechanism built into the forearm.”

“They were trying to match it to my Shimada gauntlets,” said Genji. He glanced at his arm and the plates slid back briefly, “They did excellent work.”

Mercy’s mouth drew to a thin line.

“I am sorry if it harmed you,” Genji added.

Mercy just huffed a little, “It’s fine. I’m sorry Overwatch built that into you” she turned her attention back to the bird, “You know…if you ever need a prosthetic that… doesn’t do that… you can come to me, right?”

“But this arm serves my purposes,” said Genji.

“If that’s what you want,” said Mercy.

“I want to protect my friends,” said Genji.

Mercy smiled, but there was some trace of sadness still in her eyes. Suddenly the sparrow fluttered in her hands and she flinched back in her seat a bit as the bird suddenly took flight around the room. “Oh–” she said and Genji quickly opened a window which the bird shot out of.

“Not even a thank-you?” said Genji, watching as the bird took off over the Watchpoint. Mercy snickered then pulled off her gloves, washed her hands off in the sink, then pulled out a small box of bandages and laid one over her palm. “What happened?” said Genji.

“Oh just a scratch,” said Mercy, “For such a little bird it had some surprisingly sharp claws.”

Chapter Text

“Come on—get under there you stupid—” Hana was tucking her hair up under a baseball cap, the brim of which was already tilted up at a somewhat 80′s-looking angle from being forced over the majority of her hair in a bun. When she finally managed to get her hair under it, she stood back and put her hands on her hips with some satisfaction.  She was wearing a baggy printed tee and high-waisted shorts with sneakers. She pulled on a slightly oversized letterman jacket to complete the look. and struck a pose. “Cute!” she said, turning around and tugging on the socks of her sneakers. She grabbed her phone and snapped a selfie then nearly posted it, but then stopped herself and set her phone down. “Nope. No posting until you get back,” she said to herself in the mirror, before making finger guns at herself, “Hana Song is just going to have a normal night out!”

She popped in a fresh stick of gum and grabbed her bag, pulling her hat down as much as she could as she made her way out of her room and through the watchpoint residences. She was nearly out the door of the rec room when she heard a familiar voice.

“Oh, sneaking out, are we?”

D.Va turned on her heel to see Tracer leaning against the couch.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell on ya,” said Tracer, grinning. She squinted and leaned in, “You’re not wearing your little stripes. Going low-profile?”

“No!” said D.Va, she then paused and fidgeted with some loose hair before trying to tuck it back under the cap, “…yes,” she said quietly.

Tracer smiled. “Here then,” she said, reaching into an interior pocket of her jacket and pulling out a small case. She popped it open and handed D.Va a pair of aviator sunglasses, “Gotta complete that undercover celebrity look, right?”

“Oh thanks!” said D.Va, taking the sunglasses and putting them on.

“You take care now luv, you hear?” said Tracer.

“Got it,” said D.Va, heading out the door.

—

It was simple enough getting into town, call MEKA, fly low, dismiss MEKA. Finding the venue wasn’t too hard either.  It was the line that was the hard part. She was used to being able to walk pretty much wherever she wanted since she was, well, D.Va. She probably could get VIP seats if she wanted, but she knew that would turn the night into a whole thing. Hana was wearing her thumbs down on her phone playing a mobile version of 16-Bit Hero. Someone muttered something about the line moving behind her and she stepped forward, not looking up from her phone’s screen. She bumped into someone in front of her. “Oh–” she glanced up, “Sorry, I–” she heard an explosion noise in one of her earbuds and glanced down to see her player icon in a 16-bit explosion. “Dammit–” she said and then glanced up again but then saw the person she was apologizing to had turned away. “Oh–I didn’t mean you–” D.Va pulled down her shades, “Wait, Lú–?”

He quickly turned on his heel and made a cutting motion with his hand next to his neck and D.Va’s eyes widened. “You too?” she said with a sly grin. 

Lúcio smiled and nodded a little.

“Geez, I almost didn’t recognize you,” she said, pocketing her hands in her jacket.

“I could say the same. I almost miss the little…” Lúcio trailed off and pressed his fingertips to his cheeks in the same spot where D.Va had her stripes.

“Almost?” said D.Va.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, you look great with them, like, really great—I just–This is a good look, too.”

She snickered, “Thanks…” she looked him up and down, “So why are you dressed like a dad?”

Lúcio glanced down at his outfit which was noticeably more bookish than his usual clothes, “What–seriously?”

“Who wears argyle to a concert?” said D.Va, a slight laugh in her voice.

“Hey, the Electric Sheep are acoustic. Cut me some slack,” said Lúcio.

“Uh huh,” said D.Va folding her arms.

“I mean, if you don’t want people to notice you, you don’t dress in your usual style. And it’s worked pretty well for me so far,” Lúcio said with a slight shrug. He itched at the low bun he had tied his hair back into, “See, I thought it was less ‘Dad’ and more ‘Hot Professor.’”

D.Va gave him another glance up and down and shrugged. “Okay, I can see it. Where’d you get the glasses?”

Lúcio pressed the tortoiseshell glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Actually… these are mine.”

“No way,” D.Va said in awe.

“Well the visor I wear on-mission is prescription, and I usually wear contacts in the off-hours so…” Lúcio shrugged, “Yeah, makes sense why you’ve never seen these.”

D.Va worked on tucking some loose hair back under her cap, “It uh… It works for you.”

“Thanks,” said Lúcio. The noise from the line swelled briefly as feedback was heard inside the club. “Sounds like they’re setting up,” said Lúcio. He glanced over at D.Va, “So… big Electric Sheep fan?”

D.Va laughed a bit awkwardly, “I’ve uh… never heard any stuff by them. Mostly I just saw they were playing tonight and wanted to get away from the Watchpoint.”

“Fair enough,” said Lúcio. He dropped his voice a bit, “Okay, real talk? The only album I have by them came out like, four years ago. I don’t know any of their new stuff.”

“Freedom fighting keeps you busy, huh?” said D.Va, folding her arms.

“Yeah, hence the low profile,” said Lúcio as the line moved forward, “That and the other thing.”

“The other thing?”

“Same reason you’re wearing that hat,” said Lúcio, “It gets tiring, sometimes. Being…” he looked around and then spotted a poster across the street and gestured at it. It was aa soda advertisement featuring a winking D.Va, “Being that,” he said.

D.Va huffed a little, looking at the photo of herself. “That shoot took forever,” she muttered.

“You don’t have to be that with me, you know,” said Lúcio.

“Huh?” D.Va glanced up.

“I mean like… D.Va’s really cool, but I wouldn’t mind hanging out with Hana Song, either.”

“They’re one in the same,” said D.Va, folding her arms smugly.

“All right, that’s fine too,” said Lúcio. He snickered, “It’s just–for me, there’s Lúcio,” he gestured at himself, “But also there’s Lúcio, you know?”

“So who am I dealing with right now?” said D.Va, grinning.

“Well as far as everyone else is concerned?” said Lúcio, glancing around at the crowd, “You’re just dealing with a random guy you just met.”

D.Va gave him a playful punch in the arm. “A random cute nerd I just met.”

Lúcio chuckled. “Seriously though, we should hang out more. I mean, you’re free to play as much Starcraft in your room as you want, but if you ever want to chill, give me a call, all right?”

“Aw, you care about me,” said D.Va, batting her eyelashes with a saccharine voice.

“Hey, Freedom fighters and war heroes aside, Overwatch newbies gotta stick together, right?” said Lúcio.

D.Va paused, then smiled, “Yeah. Okay.” The line moved forward again and Lúcio pulled out his phone and started checking through his messages.

“Okay so, I haven’t heard any of these guys’ music,” said D.Va.

“I’ve got one of their old albums on my phone,” said Lúcio, rifling through his pockets and pulling out earphones. He plugged them into his phone and offered her an earbud. She took it and put it to her ear. Lúcio hit play and Hana let the music make the world blur and fade around her as they waited for the line to move forward.

Chapter Text

Efi was perched on Orisa’s shoulders as D.Va and Lúcio gave the grand tour of the Watchpoint.

“So this is the launch tower,” said Lúcio, gesturing upward, “We don’t use it all that often, but there’s a really great view from the maintenance platforms.”

“I still can’t believe Winston won’t let me launch my MEKA into the stratosphere,” said D.Va, putting her hands on her hips. She turned on her heel to face Orisa and Efi, “Welp! That’s about it for the tour! As you can see the Watchpoint’s totally safe!”

Efi smiled, “See Orisa? Totally safe!” but Orisa’s photoreceptors narrowed skeptically.

“My neural mapping indicates that there is a section of the watchpoint that has not been covered in this tour,” she said, folding her arms.

D.Va and Lúcio exchanged glances, “Well… we just gave you the tour we got when we first got here,” said Lúcio, “It should have covered everything.”

“Not everything,” said Orisa, turning around and walking off with Efi protesting atop her shoulders.

“Orisa, you can’t just walk away, that’s rude!” Efi folded her arms and pouted.

“Your safety is my primary concern,” said Orisa, “We must investigate this area to be sure that this Watchpoint is indeed safe.”

Lúcio and D.Va quickly followed after Orisa and Efi as they headed off around the main hangar of the watchpoint to a fenced-off area. One area of the fence however, was flattened.

“Huh,” said D.Va as Orisa walked over the flattened point in the fence. She stepped over the flattened chain-link as well and took a few steps into a heavily grassy and overgrown sunlit area that received a nice breeze off the sea despite being further inland than most of the watchpoint. There was a small fence lining what must have been a garden at some point, with rusted and oxidized solar panels and a dilapidated greenhouse. Lining the area were several overgrown citrus trees, their branches groaning with fruit.

Lúcio whistled behind D.Va. “Man, Winston’s been holding out on us.”

“I don’t know if he even bothered looking into–” D.Va started then stepped in something that squirted, “Ew!” she said, glancing down and lifting her foot to see a half-eaten orange. “What the–?”

Something chittered at her ankle and D.Va leapt nearly a foot in the air and stumbled several feet back to see a Barbary macaque snatch the orange she had just stepped on and run off into the grass. “Stupid Gibraltar…” muttered D.Va.

“Must have wandered in from the nature reserve,” said Lúcio walking up behind her. He grabbed an orange off of one of the trees and tossed it up and down in his hand, “Can’t really blame ‘em.”

Both D.Va and Lucio perked up at the sound of Efi shouting “Orisa, wait!” and Orisa’s fusion driver powering up.

“Identify yourself!” Orisa announced loudly as both Lúcio and D.Va raced over and quickly turned a corner around the greenhouse to find Orisa pointing her fusion driver at Bastion with several macaques scattering away from them. By the looks of bastion’s tread-prints in the ground, it had apparently been there for hours, allowing the macaques to sun themselves and groom each other on it as Ganymede flitted around the overgrown garden for food.

“Orisa!” Lúcio quickly dipped between the two omnics, forcing Orisa to lift up her fusion driver away from Bastion, “It’s fine! Bastion’s with us!”

Bastion booped and gave a friendly wave behind Lúcio. Efi gasped and she quickly scrambled down from Orisa’s shoulders to the ground and shoved past Lucio and stopped in front of Bastion. She waved her arms. Bastion made a questioning beeping sound and waved its arms in turn. Ganymede swept over and alighted on Bastion’s head, and both chirped in greeting to each other.

“Amazing,” said Efi, “The Omnium never bothered with a personality matrix for the siege automatons! Who customized it?”

“No one,” said Lúcio, shrugging, “Bastion was just sort of… Bastion when we found it.”

Efi laughed and rolled her eyes, “Good one, Lúcio.” She walked around Bastion, giving him the occasional knock with her knuckles and poking at his joints with a furrowed brow. Orisa looked equally skeptical and leaned close to Bastion, prompting Bastion to whistle and chirp with some self-consciousness.

“It’s amazing it’s still functioning,” said Efi, putting her ear against Bastion’s side and giving it another knock with her knuckles, causing it to boop confusedly. Ganymede gave Orisa a quick peck, causing her to flinch back a bit, photoreceptors widening.

“Torbjorn gives it a tune-up every now and then,” said D.Va. She pointed a scolding finger at Bastion, “So this is where you’ve been wandering off to all this time! He gets all worried and grumpy when he doesn’t know where you are, you know!”

“Not a bad place to wander off to, though,” said Lucio, opening up the door to the greenhouse.

“And Winston said we’re not supposed to feed the macaques!” D.Va went on, kicking aside another half-eaten orange, which was quickly snatched up by another macaque, “This facility’s a launch site! It’s not safe for—” She glanced over her shoulder at Lúcio, who had stepped within the doorway of the greenhouse.

“Please tell me you’re not thinking what I think you are,” said D.Va, folding her arms and walking up next to Lúcio.

“Hm?” Lúcio glanced away from the greenhouse at her.

“We don’t get a lot of time between missions as is,” said D.Va.

“It wouldn’t be too hard to clear out the weeds,” said Lúcio, looking around the greenhouse, “I mean it wouldn’t be too big of a garden, just some basil, tomatoes, cilantro….”

“Please tell me you’re not serious,” said D.Va.

Lúcio snapped his fingers, “Strawberries. Strawberries would do great here.”

“You are serious,” said D.Va.

“Oh come on, half the food on the watchpoint is canned!” said Lúcio, “I used to work on community garden projects in Rio all the time! This is nothing!” As soon as he said that, a panel fell out of the ceiling of the greenhouse and landed, shattering on the floor, behind Lúcio. “…We can fix that,” he said, glancing over her shoulder.

D.Va rolled her eyes, “You want to fix this place up, be my guest,” she said, throwing her hands up, “Not really my thing.”

“Suit yourself,” said Lúcio.

—

About a day later D.Va was playing on her handheld in the empty dining hall when Zenyatta floated past her carrying a large bag and wearing a large straw hat that she was pretty sure belonged to Mercy.

“You too?” said D.Va, glancing up from her game.

“It is good to surround yourself with growing things,” said Zenyatta, briefly stopping, “You are welcome to join me, Hana.”

D.Va glanced at her game, then back to Zenyatta, then clipped her handheld shut and got up from the table.

—

The garden was bustling when they reached it. Winston was setting up new solar panels while Torbjörn was trying to get the sprinkler system working again. Apparently word had spread and the prospect of fresh produce on the Watchpoint was hard to turn down. Bastion was assisting Torbjörn with repairs to the greenhouse and Efi was helping Lúcio pick oranges and lemons while Orisa would prune the trees back after they were done picking from each one. Zenyatta easily floated past D.Va with his large bag and focused on areas already cleared of weeds to plant new seeds. Winston’s presence alone seemed to be enough to keep the macaques from coming back.

“Hey!” Lúcio glanced up from one of the trees over to her, “Glad you could make it!”

“Okay don’t look so smug,” said D.Va, tying her hair back, “What do you need me to do?”

Lúcio shrugged. “Where do you want to work? Mulch? Compost? Worm garden?”

D.Va folded her arms and Lúcio snickered and clapped her on the shoulder, “Kidding. Here, you can help me with the trees,” he said, grabbing another orange and tossing it to her.

“Maybe I could get up on your shoulders so we could actually reach them,” said D.Va, tossing the orange between her hands.

“Ha-ha,” Lúcio said flatly hoisting up the basket as D.Va picked some fruit.

–

Work got done far more quickly than D.Va anticipated. Orisa could easily till up the ground in minutes and while Bastion seemed to feel bad about picking weeds, he was eager to help when it came to hanging up birdfeeders or repairing the greenhouse. Zenyatta would make trips to the dining hall to make sure everyone stayed hydrated, and by the time the sun was going down D.Va found herself with her knees covered in dirt planting strawberries alongside Zenyatta. She wiped some sweat off her forehead.

“Okay hand me the next one,” she said, rolling her shoulders.

“That was the last one,” said Zenyatta.

“Huh?” D.Va sat up and glanced down the row to see a long line of strawberry plants, “Oh…” she said. Zenyatta floated up from the soil and went over to Bastion, who was clunking away from the greenhouse.

“Hey–You ready to hit the dining hall?” said Lúcio.

“Let me guess, dinner is orange chicken with orange glazed carrots and orange juice?” said D.Va.

“Nah, same MRE stuff from what I heard,” said Lúcio folding his arms, “Though rumor has it they may have whipped up some orange sorbet for dessert.”

D.Va snorted and stood up, dusting her knees off. “Oh–you got some—” Lucio reached forward and tucked a loose strand of her hair back, then wiped off some dirt that was on her cheek and temple with his thumb. “There you go.”

D.Va just smiled and plucked a leaf out of his hair. “So do you,” she said. She glanced over her shoulder at Efi and Orisa who were both softly chatting over some small potted seedlings.

“You go save me a spot at the dining commons,” she said, elbowing Lúcio, “I’ll walk them back.”

Lúcio smiled and headed off and Hana let her hair down out of its messy bun. “Hey kiddo,” she called over her shoulder. Both Efi and Orisa looked up, “Ready to go?” Efi sprang to her feet and Orisa lumbered after her.

“You’re so lucky you get to date Lúcio,” said Efi as they walked through the watchpoint toward the dining commons.

D.Va snorted. “What–Oh, no we’re not dating.”

“But you’re always together in the magazines and holovids,” said Efi.

“Well yeah but they always like to push that stuff,” said D.Va shrugging.

Efi’s brow furrowed thoughtfully. “So… how long have you known him?”

“I first met him when we were working on Hero of My Storm,” said D.Va, “He wrote a couple songs for that movie—the one for the club scene, that scientist montage, climax, and the end credits.”

“I love the scientist montage song,” Efi said, her eyes sparkling, “I played it on repeat when I was working on Orisa!”

“It’s catchy, right?” said D.Va, grinning, “Well anyway, I actually met him because he needed to record me yelling for the climax song.”

Efi gasped, “For that part where it goes ‘Ah-ah-ah-ah’ and then it’s all BOOM!” She gave a hop to emphasize the beat dropping.

“Boom!” Orisa repeated behind her.

“Yeah!” said D.Va, “I was in his sound studio for an hour trying to yell at the right pitch for him. He was…” she snickered, “Really patient and encouraging. And then we started hanging out ever since. He’d be a really good guest on my streams and stuff, and with him I wouldn’t have to worry about getting a date for fancy events and we can coordinate looks together easily, and really he’s just a good person to hang around with and make out with when you’re bored.” D.Va caught herself and slowly glanced over at Efi, who was grinning ear to ear. “…you didn’t hear that last part,” said D.Va.

“You like him,” said Efi in a sing-songy voice, grinning.

D.Va snorted. “He’s Lúcio. Who doesn’t?”

“Yeah but you kiss him,” said Efi, maintaining the sing-songy voice.

“Yeah not gonna lie, that part’s pretty sweet,” said D.Va, grinning.

Chapter Text

The interior of the room had been rendered his own personal solar system, or even galaxy, of a sorts. Papers and books drifted around him in wide ellipses, not hitting the walls. He was the sun, or the black hole at its center, his bare feet not touching the tiles as he frowned at the whiteboard which hovered off the floor closest to him—presumably the object of the greatest mass in the room. They had let him change from the orange jumpsuit of his previous holding facility to a slightly more dignified set of teal scrubs with a gray long-sleeved undershirt.

“So. We brought a bomb back to base,” said Sombra, folding her arms as they looked through the one-way glass.

“Not a bomb,” said Akande.

“Yeah yeah, bombs explode, he implodes—let’s be pedantic about it,” said Sombra, “The point is, he’s one skipped xanax or one too-strong coffee away from turning the base into rubble.”

“So he’ll fit right in,” said Reaper.

“I love you, Gabe, but I’ve never seen you crush a guy like a beer can with your mind,” said Sombra, “The guy needs help. Like help-help or this could end up blowing up in our faces…. or imploding in our faces.”

“Nonsense. He has to have some control if he can keep it contained to the room,” said Moira, leaning close to the glass, “I don’t believe the human brain yet has the architecture to shoulder what he’s been burdened with. But if anyone could grow to understand it, to control it… it’s him.”

“He merely needs an environment to foster that growth,” Akande agreed, “And we will provide it.”

“Wow, we’re so charitable,” said Sombra, flatly.

“Talon stands for the advancement of humankind, Sombra,” said Akande, “Our friend here has been gifted with something great, and how did his government treat him for it? Imprisonment, isolation, sedation… is this how we treat the next steps in human evolution?”

“So, who’s going to be the first to un-isolate him?” said Sombra, putting her hands on her hips.

Moira briskly stepped over to the door into the room.

“I was only being half serious,” said Sombra.

“You’re right. He needs someone to talk to. To help him acclimate,” said Moira, sipping her coffee.

“Not to rag on your bedside manner but—” Sombra started but Moira put her hand on the panel next to the door. It slid open and she walked in. 

Sombra looked between Doomfist and Reaper. “So we’re just letting her do this?”

“Yes,” said Doomfist, putting a weighty hand on Sombra’s shoulder in a ‘Settle down’ motion.

“She knows what she’s doing,” said Reaper, “…most of the time.”

Sombra gave a deep inhale through her nostrils.

“Doctor De Kui–” Moira started and then flinched as her feet drifted off of the ground. Her feet flailed beneath her briefly but she saw she was caught up in the same ring of revolution as several books and a few loose sheets of paper. The furthermost ring of the room from him. She suddenly gripped her coffee cup with alarm, expecting the liquid to float out from it.

“Your coffee should be gyroscopically contained to your cup,” said Sigma, observing his own mug as it drifted by. He took it and sipped it. Decaf, of course, but there was still an equalizing element about it.

“Thank you,” said Moira, glancing down at the liquid spinning in her cup as she neared her first complete revolution of the room, “Well–I certainly don’t like floating against my will, but thank you for not spilling my coffee.”

“My apologies for any inconvenience,” said Sigma, not even looking up from his whiteboard, “I think better like this. I would have to rearrange everything to keep you on the ground, you understand.”

“Typical man in STEM—everything has to revolve around you,” said Moira, tilting her head.

Siebren glanced up from his whiteboard to her, watching as she floated by. She was smirking.

“I recognize you.” There was a flicker in his eyes, fear, maybe. “Moira O’Deorain.”

“…you read my paper,” said Moira.

“Everyone read your paper,” said Sigma, “Unfortunate… what followed after.”

“Unfortunate? You believe my findings?” Moira arched an eyebrow. 

“I’m living proof that you can follow an experiment model to a ‘T’ and not get the expected results,” said Sigma, “Is it fair to label someone a pariah simply because you can’t replicate their experiment results?” He looked at his own hands, “Do you think anyone would try to–no–” he shook his head, “No. They wouldn’t. They shouldn’t.”

“Siebren,” Moira spoke his name and he seemed to compose himself again.

 He glanced over at her. “That’s not why I recognized you, however. You and the others–you were at the facility.”

“I wanted to see your condition for myself,” said Moira, “A very interesting case, yours… The Dutch government claimed you died on the space station, and yet… there you were. There had been reports of certain phenomena in the area so… we investigated. And we liberated.”

“’We,’” Sigma repeated the word and then gave a glance to the glass. He couldn’t see through it of course, but he frowned. “They’re watching us now, aren’t they? Your associates?”

“For our safety, yes,” said Moira.

“Safety–” Something seemed to flicker in Sigma’s expression again, “How long has it been since I was last sedated?”

“With the dosages of your old facility?” Moira glanced off in thought a moment, “I’d say… 22 hours.”

“Twenty-two!” Sigma repeated with some horror, “No–no–It’s not–you shouldn’t–”

Just stay calm,” said Moira.

“But at the facility–to keep everyone safe they had to– they had to—” Sigma pressed his fingertips to his forehead, “I can’t control it–”

Moira looked down to see the liquid in her coffee cup floating upward in a liquidy cloud. The objects in the room previously caught in a leisurely planetary revolution around Sigma began shuddering. He was losing control.

—

“Should we do something?” Sombra was close to the glass, watching the objects shudder around Sigma as he pressed the heels of his hands to his forehead, “She’s inthere! She could be–!”

“She can handle herself,” said Reaper.

—

“Siebren,” Moira spoke his name but he seemed to hardly hear her, inhaling sharply and erratically, “Siebren,” she said again, more harshly this time. She released her coffee cup and faded, turning to smoke and shooting through the other rings of objects floating around the room until she reformed and took ahold of Sigma’s shoulder, “Siebren!” she barked.

He startled at her touch and the objects shuddering around the room froze.

“You’ve been in control,” said Moira, “But your control isn’t going to improve if we keep knocking you out. The people at your old facility were wrong, Siebren. They were afraid. They didn’t understand what they were dealing with. They kept you from your work.”

It was as if those last six words flipped a switch in Sigma. He blinked. “My work…” he said quietly and then looked back at his whiteboard, “Yes–my work–they wouldn’t let me…” he trailed off, “They didn’t understand,” he said softly, before looking up at her, “Do you understand?”

“We want to understand,” said Moira, “But we believe the first person who’s going to understand this, if anyone, is you.”

Sigma’s eyes seemed to light up and the objects floating around the room suddenly dropped to the ground with various thumps, flutters, and clatters. Moira herself stumbled as her feet met the floor, then she flinched at the sound of both hers and Sigma’s mugs shattering on the tiles.

“Oh…” Sigma looked around the room, now a complete mess without everything revolving around him in neat ellipses, “My apologies–”

“We’ll clean up in here in a bit,” said Moira, “Maybe you should get some fresh air while we do that.”

“Beg pardon?” said Sigma.

“Outside,” said Moira.

“Outs-out–No–no that’s not… I shouldn’t…” Sigma glanced down.

“When was the last time you saw the sky?” asked Moira.

Sigma’s eyes flicked up to her. “I… I remember seeing the earth from the space station…” he scratched at his temple.

“I’d say you’re overdue, then,” said Moira smiling.

—

“This is fine,” Sombra was pacing back and forth on the Talon headquarters airfield, “This is fine. This is good. Great, in fact. I am super glad we’ve got Captain Gravity out here surrounded by dropships he can just chuck at us with a thought.” 

“You’re working yourself up,” said Reaper, “Just give them space.”

“Look. Look. Here’s the thing, okay? I can plan around virtually everyone’s abilities. You and O’Deorain’s weird vampire nanobot cloud thing? Sure! Hacked into those schematics years ago. This guy’s augmentations?” Sombra gestured at Doomfist, “What am I, five? I know them like the back of my hand! That guy?” she gestured over at Sigma, floating and staring upward at the sky a few dozen yards away, “I don’t know what that guy’s limitations are. Or even if there are limits. That is what’s freaking me out.”

“This is probably healthy for you, then,” said Akande with a smile, “You know there’s only so much you can control.”

“Oh ha-ha I feel so healthy,” said Sombra, folding her arms tight across herself.

“I think we’re making a good impression,” said Akande, gesturing as Sigma chuckled at something Moira said a ways away from them.

“Because Moira making the good impression isn’t worrying at all,” said Sombra, still keeping her arms folded.

—

“They’re talking about me, aren’t they?” said Sigma, still staring up at the sky.

“Well, in their defense, you’re very interesting,” said Moira.

“There’s more to it than this, isn’ there?” said Sigma, “There’s more to it than understanding my condition. There’s more to it than helping me control it.”

“Oh naturally,” said Moira, “The world we lived in would have all your friends and family believe you were dead, Siebren. It would have you drugged and strapped down to a table. That’s not a very good world, is it?”

“….No, no it isn’t,” said Sigma.

“We become scientists to change the world,” said Moira, following his line of sight up to a cloud drifting by, “Talon just… helps us do that.”

“Talon?” Sigma looked at her.

“Your new friends,” said Moira, “I think you’ll do quite well here.”

“Well…” Sigma opened his palm and allowed two hyperspheres to form, “There is much work to be done.”

Chapter Text

Sombra kicked her legs over the edge of the building, her fingers moving idly as she lazily hacked her way to stealing Lúcio’s latest yet-unreleased album. She glanced back at Widowmaker, staring down the scope of her rifle to the outside of a restaurant below, and then Sombra brought her legs up and turned around so she was sitting cross-legged on the edge of the building.

“He’s on a date, you know,” said Sombra, “It could take a while.”

“I hate this holiday,” muttered Widowmaker.

“I don’t think it’s all bad,” said Sombra, bringing up another screen with a swipe of her hand to several feeds of data she had running of numerous politicians, corporate leaders, and military officers. “Illicit affairs, suspicious purchases, sudden mysterious dips in public funds… You could say Valentine’s day is harvest time for blackmailers. Any movement?”

“Perhaps they moved toward the back. No word from Reaper on whether we’ve been compromised.” Widowmaker brought down the infra-sight on her recon visor, “Personne n'échappe à mon regard.” She frowned at she looked at all the red bodies moving through the restaurant below, only to see the target in that same corner booth as a waitress approached them and placed what Infra-sight was picking up as what must have been a pot of coffee on the table.

“Well?” said Sombra.

“They’re getting coffee,” Widowmaker scoffed. “Que c’est banal,” she said, bringing her eye away from her scope and dropping into a seated position. Sombra chuckled a little.

“What?” said Widowmaker.

“You know you get twice as bitter when the target is out on a date—-and you’re twice as happy taking them out,” Sombra paused and looked at Widowmaker, “Or… you know, however close to ‘happy’ you get.”

“Hmph,” Widowmaker brought up her gun again and looked through the scope.

“When was the last time anyone took you out?” said Sombra, lying on her stomach on the edge of the building and putting her chin in her hands.

“No one has taken me out. I am still here,” said Widowmaker.

“Haaaa,” Sombra wagged a finger at her, “I knew there was a sense of humor somewhere in that 3-beats-a-minute heart, amiga. You know what I mean.”

“I do not ‘go out,’” said Widowmaker, bringing her rifle down.

“Well not with that attitude, you don’t,” said Sombra, “We should go out.”

Widowmaker looked at her incredulously.

“I’m serious!” said Sombra, sitting up, “What about dinner?”

“My metabolism has slowed to the point that food is ash in my mouth,” said Widowmaker.

“A movie?” said Sombra.

“You see every film before they are even edited.”

“A show.”

“A screaming crowd in the dark and music blowing out my eardrums. Comme c'est délicieux.”

“Dancing!” Sombra said, exasperated.

“I do not dance,” said Widowmaker.

Sombra grinned and brought up a video of a young Amelie LaCroix on stage and en pointe, “I’ve got a few videos that say otherw—”

“Sombra,” said Widowmaker and Sombra immediately closed the video screen. Widowmaker brought up her rifle again and looked through the scope, bringing down her recon visor again.

“Ugh,” muttered Widowmaker, watching the target, “Another pot of coffee.”

Sombra sighed and got up from the edge of the building and walked across the roof. “I am ze Widowmaker,” she said, imitating Widowmaker’s whispery voice and accent as she brought up several screens with a wave of her fingers, “I ‘ave been a leeveeng weapon ev-air seence all ze fun was sair-gically removed from my ‘eart. C’est la vie. Omelette du fromage.”

“I can hear you, you know,” said Widowmaker, glancing over her shoulder to see Sombra actually looking busy and not cavalier, “What are you doing?”

“Bringing up the city power grid,” said Sombra, her brow furrowing, “Let’s ruin this guy’s date.”

Widowmaker chuckled a little and then watched as Sombra’s fingers worked a completely separate screen, causing apparently random lights to turn off in buildings in the skyline opposite the restaurant. “What are you doing there?”

“Focus on the restaurant front,” said Sombra and Widowmaker nodded and brought up her rifle. Right on cue the lights went out in the restaurant and there was a hissing noise and Widowmaker smirked as people started pouring out of the restaurant front, their clothes and hair wet. Sombra had activated the fire sprinklers. Widowmaker peered through her rifle’s scope. The thing about bodyguards was they made it remarkably easier to pick the target out of a crowd. Always with the sunglasses and the black suits. The target walked between them, his date wringing out the bottom of her dress. Widowmaker smirked, exhaled, and squeezed the trigger. The target fell. His date screamed as the bodyguards scrambled to drag him out of the line of fire, not that it would do him much good at this point. Widowmaker brought her rifle down and turned on her heel. “We should get going,” she said as sirens started sounding in the distance, but then she noticed something off about the skyline. Most of the lights in the office buildings were off, however lights in rooms across a row of office buildings had been strategically turned on. Reading across about 8 different skyscrapers, one could make out the word “COFFEE?” spelled out of strategically lit up rooms on various floors. Widowmaker’s brow furrowed but she smirked.

“Incroyable,” she said looking at Sombra.

“What?” said Sombra, coyly. Widowmaker gestured at the buildings and Sombra looked over and gasped. “You’re asking me out to coffee?”

“Wh—You did that!” said Widowmaker.

“This is so unexpected! ” said Sombra, her hand flying over her heart.

Widowmaker would have protested further but then heard the sirens getting louder. “Fine! Allez! But you’re buying.”

“Whatever you say,” said Sombra and she laughed a little. She couldn’t remember the last time she paid for something with her own money. Widowmaker hurried to the edge of the building and Sombra ran over after her. Sombra wrapped her arms around Widowmaker’s waist and shoulders as Widowmaker fired her grappling hook onto another building and then leapt off and swung with Sombra holding onto her, the two of them disappearing into the night.

Chapter Text

“Are you all right?!” Tracer was leaning close to the laptop screen.

“Lena, honestly, I’m fine,” said Emily, folding her arms, “I live here. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Well–yeah–but the news—” Tracer nervously ran a hand through her hair.

“It’s a couple of broken shop windows and some flaming trash cans. We’ve gotten worse shite after football games,” Emily frowned, “The news really sensationalized the whole thing though. The ‘Bot Lover riot,’” Emily scoffed, “There’s one human-omnic marriage on Valentine’s day and everyone suddenly decides, ‘Oh we should start looting!’” Emily grabbed a wineglass from offscreen and sipped it with a furrowed brow, “Bastards.”

“So the shelter—?” Tracer said, hugging herself.

Emily paused, then sighed, “Okay the shelter got molotv’d.” Tracer’s mouth dropped open. “But it’s nothing we can’t handle!” Emily insisted before sighing, “No one got hurt. We were able to put out the fire before any real damage got done,” Emily lifted up her laptop so that Tracer could look over her shoulder to see an Omnic on the couch, “But uh–Cindi here didn’t feel safe heading home so she’s crashing on the couch tonight.”

“Hi, Cindi,” Tracer said, waving. The omnic waved back but had a blanket draped around her shoulders and kind of tucked into herself more.

“I should be there,” muttered Tracer, “You don’t have to act all tough, you know,” she said to Emily.

Emily scoffed a little, “Who says I’m acting?” she said, folding her arms, “We can’t let a bunch of rotten…hooligans scare us into stopping our work. We can’t let losing Mondatta–” Emily stopped herself and rubbed her forehead, “Lena–” she laughed a bit bitterly, “You’re part of a renegade international task force trying to stop a shadowy terrorist organization. You don’t have time to fuss over me.”

“Oi, time does not tell Lena Oxton what to do!” said Tracer, gesturing at her chronal accelerator, “I’ll fuss as much as I want!” Emily snickered at this and Tracer was finally able to laugh a bit, too.

“So–How’s Greece?” said Emily, and Tracer easily picked up on Emily’s desire to change the subject.

“You know what, forget what I said about me being there—” said Tracer, looking out the Orca’s window at Ilios’s lights, “You should be here! We could go shopping, and see the ruins, and hit the beach—”

“I’m pretty sure I’d be red as a lobster as soon as I stepped off the plane over there,” said Emily.

“Yeah, also Talon’s supposedly here…” murmured Tracer, rubbing the back of her head. She sighed. “I’ll be home soon. I promise.”

“I know,” said Emily. She fidgeted with her hair a bit, “It’s…two hours later over there. I should let you get some sleep.”

“Yeah,” Tracer rubbed her eyes, “The apartment’s locked?” she said, still a bit worried.

“Doors and windows,” said Emily, “Curtains lowered, and I’ve got the—”

“Cricket bat next to the bed,” Tracer and Emily spoke at the same time and Emily smiled.

“Get some sleep,” said Emily.

“I love you,” said Tracer.

“Love you too,” said Emily, clicking out of the video chat. 

Chapter Text

Widowmaker could feel Sombra’s eyes on her from across the table as she used her fork to carve out a ladylike bite of pear tart. They sat in an outdoor cafe, both wearing sunglasses. Sombra was in a pale lacy pink blouse with wide-leg high-waisted gray trousers, and Widowmaker in a lavender A-line dress and Grace Kelly-style headscarf, Widowmaker knew Sombra was smirking. She could feel her smirking. Widowmaker glanced up. “What?” she said.

“You’re a liar, Araña,” Sombra said with a grin.

Widowmaker arched an eyebrow.

“’My metabolism has slowed to the point that food turns to ash in my mouth,’” Sombra leaned back in her seat dramatically, imitating Widowmaker’s whispery voice.

“It’s an expression,” said Widowmaker, picking up her coffee and sipping it, “You’ve seen me eat before. The difficult part is enjoying it.”

“Taking enjoyment of food away from the French…” Sombra’s eyes widened, “Truly Talon is something to be feared.”

Widowmaker huffed a little and took another bite of pear tart while making eye contact with Sombra as if to prove a point. “Is everything a joke to you?” said Widowmaker.

Sombra blinked a few times and returned to a bit more normal seating position. “No, but someone’s gotta lighten up this bunch.”

Widowmaker sipped her coffee. “We are trying to start a war,” said Widowmaker, “We do not need to make light of anything,” she paused, “But… you never joined because you believed in that, did you? You have a different goal, and we are a means to an end for you to reach it.”

“Are we doing this?” said Sombra.

“You asked me out,” said Widowmaker, gesturing at her with her coffee cup.

Sombra’s brow furrowed and she sipped her coffee. “War as an end in and of itself is good enough for Akande,” she said, “What I’m looking for is information which, is a very hot commodity as is today and will be even more so in war so…good for Akande and me but…” Sombra suddenly looked around and Widowmaker followed her sight. 

Sombra knew Reaper was keeping tabs on her. She knew Talon itself gave her flexibility in her operations. She had definitely pushed things back with Katya Volskaya, but thankfully with Akande wrenching power back from Vialli, Talon was with her in the opinion that Katya Volskaya was of more use to them alive. Reaper knew she had her own agenda, and concordantly Akande knew she had her own agenda, and until it became an inconvenience to her, she didn’t mind. There was another watcher she feared, and at this point she was pretty sure it wasn’t within Talon.

 Apparently satisfied, Sombra leaned forward and dropped her voice a bit. “There’s a bigger picture.”

“There is always a bigger picture,” said Widowmaker.

“I mean there’s a force that goes beyond Talon, beyond Overwatch, beyond nations,” said Sombra, “And I’m going to find it.” 

Widowmaker looked unconvinced.

 Sombra huffed, “Well… you asked,” she said. 

“I didn’t ask, I stated,” said Widowmaker with a slight smile. She leaned forward a bit in her seat, “So is this to further your goals?” she gestured at the pear tart and coffee between them.

Sombra smirked and sipped her coffee, “This is to make sure I don’t go crazy while furthering them,” said Sombra.

“You asked out an unfeeling killing machine,” said Widowmaker, “Are you so sure you’re not already?”

“But the unfeeling killing machine said ‘Yes,’” said Sombra, booping Widowmaker on the nose with the word ‘Yes,’ “So I’m pretty sure I’m on the right track.”

Something like a smile tugged at the corner of Widowmaker’s mouth and she took another bite of pear tart.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Widowmaker’s ponytail whipped around behind her as the boat sped across Lac Du Guillard. To Widowmaker’s left, Akande was looking out over the lake, his tablet in his lap quietly chiming from numerous notifications from his company and from Talon informants. To her right, Sombra was stretched out, sunning herself with her feet propped up on the back of Reaper’s seat. Reaper himself was up front with Maximilien, slightly hunched over in the southern French sun, his arms folded.

“I’ve had my people hard at work on restoration and preparation for your arrival,” Maximilien rolled his mechanical fingers on the steering wheel of the boat, “Vialli’s interests, as always, were more fiscal. He was using the place almost entirely as a wine cellar for the vineyard one of Talon’s shell companies owns over the hills which… while it looks very glamorous on the label saying the wine comes from a chateau’s cellars, I believe we can do him one better. I’ve diverted some of the profits from that company over to Guillard’s restoration,” he glanced over his shoulder at Widowmaker, “My gift to you, Madame,” he said with a nod before pulling the boat into the boathouse that would lead into Chateau Guillard’s cellars.

“You can’t give someone something that was theirs to begin with,” Sombra said with a smirk, giving Reaper’s seat a slight nudge with her foot and prompting a growl out of Reaper.

“Ah but of course! Forgive my presumption,” said Maximilien, stepping neatly out of the boat and tying it off, before offering a hand to Widowmaker, “Welcome to your home, Madame Guillard,” he said with a flourishing bow as he took Widowmaker’s hand and helped her out of the boat.

“Madame Guillard,” Sombra repeated the title with mock gravitas as she, Reaper, and Akande got out of the boat as well.

Several Talon agents gave them nods as the four of them made their way up from the cellars of Château Guillard. Widowmaker picked up one of the countless wine bottles lining the walls of the cellar in racks, and frowned at the label before putting it back while Sombra brought up several screens as they ascended the stairs.

“Your guys got my specs, right?” she said, tapping at several screens, and bringing up several sheets of information.

“The hardware was installed several days ago and we put the finishing touches on your wireless security infrastructure a short while later. Your connection to the various data channels around the world should be as good here as at any of Talon’s major facilities,” said Maximilien. As they entered the main halls of the chateau, they could see several Talon agents acting as security, while a handful of painters and construction workers and cleaners were hard at work, fixing the place up.

“Is that so?” said Sombra, taking a few swift steps to catch up with Widowmaker, then grinning at her, “Looks like I have a new favorite hideout,” Sombra said, grinning.

“We still need you in Castillo to oversee the assets we planted within Lumérico,” Akande said behind her, and Sombra sighed.

“Fine,” she said with a sigh. 

“What about security?” said Reaper, looking around.

“Geographical location and the lake make entry into the Château very difficult as-is,” said Maximilien, “Considering our other facilities, it is hardly a priority target for those that would wish us harm, still, security systems are in place, and I’ve taken the liberty of installing jump pads to give the lady of the house an extra edge in dealing with unwanted guests should she not have her grapple on hand.”

“You know me well,” said Widowmaker with a smile.

Reaper gave a “hm,” that indicated that this response was passable. 

“But of course, Madame,” said Maximilien, “Your room and salon has already been completely refinished to the preferences you outlined in our correspondence,” said Maximilien, gesturing up the stairs of the chateau to higher floors.

“Merci,” said Widowmaker with a nod.

“I will leave you to get settled in. Monsieur Ongundimu, if you’ll join me, we still have much to discuss regarding Vialli’s other assets,” said Maximilien.

“Of course,” said Akande.

“I’ll do a perimeter check,” said Reaper.

“I have several of my best agents maintaining the—” Maximilien started but Reaper gave a sharp glance over his shoulder and Maximilien cleared his throat, (an unneccessary gesture for an omnic) and he gestured at Reaper, “By all means, Monsieur,” he said as he walked off toward the dining room with Akande.

“Guess that leaves us to do the housewarming!” said Sombra, elbowing Widowmaker playfully.

Widowmaker smirked and began ascending the stairs.

“Can’t believe you’re like… a princess or something,” said Sombra, looking out the window of the stairs onto Lac Guillard.

“Comtesse, not princess,” said Widowmaker as they reached the next floor.

“Comtesse,” Sombra repeated the word, grinning as they strolled through the salon to Widowmaker’s bedroom, “Yeah that seems more ‘you,’ Araña.” 

Widowmaker chuckled and Sombra’s eyes widened as they entered the bedroom. “De pelos,” she said, looking around. Her eyes fell on a table where a chilled bottle of Provençal Rosé sat on a table with two glasses set next to it. Sombra snorted. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say our friend Maxi has a thing for you,” said Sombra as Widowmaker stepped over to an antique record player and turned it on, softly playing La dernière valse. 

Widowmaker just chuckled as she uncorked the bottle, “He’s an omnic,” she said, “He can’t drink wine.”

“Then why–?” Sombra started but then saw Widowmaker pouring out two glasses.

“As you said–housewarming,” said Widowmaker, holding a glass of wine out to Sombra as she was stepping out to the bedroom’s balcony, “He did say he had the room set up to my preferences.”

Sombra’s eyes brightened and she took the wine glass and stepped out onto the balcony as well. She and Widowmaker clinked their glasses together before both taking a sip.

Chapter Text

Sombra sipped at a sour, smoky cocktail of mezcal and Lapsang Souchong, leaning against the railing of Vialli’s luxury barge and looking out over Singapore’s waters. The night air was warm, muggy, and salty. The city glittered on the coast, looking like jewel-toned flames springing up from the red embers of the red lanterns lining the streets below. Sombra herself was dressed for the occasion in a black cropped silk jacket over a long red and gold dress. Not her usual color scheme, but one she could pull off pretty well and one that conveniently covered up most of her spinal implants. She had parted her hair to hide her neural implants as well. She knew the party was at least 90% Talon allies with the remaining 10% being those who were likely to be brought into the fold, but still, for her, you could never be too careful.

“I’m surprised you’re not in there,” a smooth and deep Irish accent cut through the mugginess as Moira stepped up alongside Sombra, towering over her almost comically, “Personal data being exchanged, secrets being loosened by drink, compromising situations just waiting to happen… I imagine that’d be a buffet for you.”

“Max said we weren’t working tonight,” said Sombra, smiling a little and sipping her drink. 

“Ah but the work is never finished for us, is it?” said Moira, swirling her whiskey in its glass. Sombra didn’t dislike Moira–sure, the geneticist cut a pretty spooky figure, but there was a combination of aggressive independence and professionalism about her that Sombra could respect. Honor among thieves, she supposed. Moira was looking a bit more feminine than usual tonight in a violet qipao. 

“Never is,” Sombra agreed before clinking her glass against Moira’s.

“Start any wars lately?” Moira quipped–subtle ego stroking, Sombra didn’t mind, but it wasn’t anything that would bring them any closer. Moira probably knew that.

“I’d have to check my schedule,” said Sombra, “Start any plagues?”

“Well they won’t be plagues until they’re released on the general populace, you understand,” said Moira with a smile before sipping her own whiskey. Sombra didn’t really want to know if she was joking, not tonight. She gave a glance back at the interior of the barge–air conditioned, she was sure, otherwise with how crowded it was in there, more people should have been flooding out where she was.

“It’s been a good year for us,” Moira went on, leaning against the railing, “I hope you realize we owe no small part of that to you.”

“I try,” said Sombra with a shrug.

“You do a lot more than that. I feel there could be a lot of mutual benefit having someone with as great a command of information as you in the inner circle.” 

Sombra was quiet at this, giving a tentative sip to her drink. The work really never was done with Moira–not even Talon’s inner politics.

“New year, new opportunities,” Moira spoke a bit airily, swirling her whiskey again, “Just something to consider.” She sipped her drink.

Buttering it on thick, aren’t you? thought Sombra. “You offering me a seat at the table?” Sombra arched an eyebrow.

“That depends on if you’re inclined to accept,” said Moira, bringing the glass down from her lips, her voice a bit husky with the burn of whiskey.

Sombra wasn’t inclined. She knew Akande’s special little club with their big table in Venice would only put more eyes on her, only slow her down. She knew Talon was pulling a lot of strings, and she wouldn’t mind getting her own hands on some, but gut instinct told her Moira was not the way to do that. If she ever did make it to the big kid’s table, she wouldn’t want to be carried there in someone’s pocket. Moira was the last person you wanted to owe favors to, as well. 

“I’m a little busy with my own stuff right now,” said Sombra, examining her nails.

“To be expected,” said Moira, “Well the offer stands,” she pushed off of the railing and headed back towards the doors to the interior of the barge, “And if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

“I know where to find anyone, it’s kind of my thing,” said Sombra with a grin.

Moira gave a soft chuckle, a narrow silhouette against the light of the barge’s window’s behind her. From the inside of the barge, a swell of music was muted by the window glass, but Sombra’s eyes flicked from the shadow of Moira to two figures past the glass. Widowmaker was walking past, her arm hooked in Doomfist’s. Sombra’s eyes widened at the sight of her. She knew Widowmaker was no stranger to fashion–her number at Maximilien’s casino a few months back was proof enough of that, but this look blew the Monaco dress out of the water. Ornate and body-hugging, the aubergine cheongsam featured a daring slash up the front of her thigh, and bared the spider tattoo on her back. Her earrings were dripping with rubies and her hair was done up in an intricately looped updo pinned in place by a hairpin sporting a large, dangling blood-red mystic knot of silk. And stockings–of course the Parisian had to be sporting lacy sheer black stockings.

 Sombra brought her martini glass to her lips to try and hide her staring but one glance at Moira and she knew it was obvious. Again, she didn’t dislike Moira, but she didn’t like Moira knowing a lot about her. She didn’t like most people knowing a lot about her. She didn’t like anyone knowing anything about her but Moira smiled a bit, following Sombra’s line of sight to Akande and Widowmaker.

“Talon’s crown jewel,” Moira said, looking admiringly on Widowmaker. Some part of Sombra’s stomach knotted. Sombra wasn’t sure how much involvement Moira had in making Widowmaker…. well, Widowmaker—She wasn’t sure how many records of that time had been destroyed. And Moira was still in Blackwatch then…No. Not the time to fixate on that. 

“Seeing a pattern between this and Monaco,” Sombra said, glancing at Akande as he spoke to Maximilien with Widowmaker on his arm, “They’re not…”

Moira laughed a little. “Do you honestly think she’s even capable of those kinds of feelings?” she said, looking back at Widowmaker, “No. We made her perfect. But you know Akande–Likes to make an entrance.” 

The music thrummed against the wood and glass and Maximilien took Widowmaker’s free hand. He bent and kissed it (Well kissed it about as much as an omnic could manage) and then gestured to the dance floor. Sombra’s brow furrowed and her lips pursed as Widowmaker broke away from Akande and disappeared into the crowd of the dance floor with Maximilien. Sombra started briskly walking toward the doors.

“Play nice, Sombra,” said Moira, clear amusement in her voice as Sombra pushed past her for the door. 

Sombra suddenly gulped down her Lapsang Souchong cocktail, “Oh, I’m playing nice,” she said, and tossed the martini glass over her shoulder, over the ship’s railing where it splashed soundlessly into Singapore’s bay. She pushed through the doors and entered the crowded interior of the party. Sombra knew how to move through a crowd. She knew how to be the person no one looked at. Despite the mezcal now burning in her solar plexus and hazing her senses slightly, her footing was sure and direct. Her heels clicked across the wood until she stepped out onto the barge dance floor. She only had to scan the crowd briefly to see Widowmaker and Maximilien dancing. 

A socialite, a rich suit with a face she couldn’t be bothered with recognizing right now, one of the 10% and therefore, probably an idiot, blocked her vision briefly.

“Where have you been all ni–” he started with charm but Sombra completely ignored him and walked past him. 

The music was a combination of east and west–Big band compositions rendered atmospheric and romantic by the erhu and guzheng, and the singer of the band giving a lovely Malay cover of Sinatra’s “Strangers in the Night” while piano dripped in and out. Widowmaker’s tattoo bobbed through the crowd as Maximilien danced her across the floor. Between the multiple couples to push through, it took Sombra a good couple of seconds to reach them. It didn’t really occur to her that maybe this wasn’t a good idea until she tapped Maximilien on the shoulder. He turned his head and looked at her. Widowmaker lifted her chin slightly to look past her shoulder and there were maybe three seconds where Sombra remembered, Right. Big kid’s table, as she looked at Maximilien.

“Can I help you?” Maximilien said, looking down on her. For a brief second Sombra wondered if her need to take down or control all the corrupt systems of the world were a part of a Napoleon complex, but one glance at Widowmaker’s eyes and she stared into the red glare of Maximilien’s eyes without fear. She hadn’t been afraid of a man in a suit in her life, and she wasn’t about to start now.

“I was hoping I could cut in,” said Sombra, extending a hand toward Widowmaker.

Maximilien managed to make a waltz position look statue-still as he looked down at Sombra. “That would depend on Mademoiselle,” he said, giving a glance over to Widowmaker.

This isn’t about Amélie, Sombra realized immediately, This is about power. Big kid’s table. This was about her knowing her place in the organization. About Amélie knowing her place in the organization. Sombra made eye contact with Widowmaker, wondering if she could see the same, wondering if she knew the same, wondering how much was behind those yellow eyes. 

Moira’s voice echoed in her head. Do you honestly think she’s capable of those kinds of feelings?

  Bad idea, Sombra realized, Bad, bad, bad idea. You’re counting on the favor of someone who was literally brainwashed to have no preference. But Sombra couldn’t pull out. She couldn’t say, “You know what, you look you’re having fun, I’ll leave you alone,” because then Maximilien would know that she would back down where Talon wanted her to, and she couldn’t have that. She just had to brace for the humiliation of Widowmaker’s rejection. That was it. No one knew who she was at this party. It didn’t matter. Sombra was a ghost. A shadow. Her shield. It would all just go right through her. Maximilien–well she could deal with Maximilien later.

A long pause passed between the three of them, the other bodies on the dance floor still shifting and gliding to the music around them. 

“Well—” Maximilien started after a few beats.

“Mademoiselle accepts,” said Widowmaker, breaking away from him and taking Sombra’s hand.

“What–I mean, well of course, as you wish,” said Maximilien, pulling away from them with all the grace he could muster. 

“Oh–” said Sombra as Widowmaker took her hand and put a hand on her hip. Her hands were cool–not cold, Singapore was too warm for their usual clamminess, but the coolness was a comfort that Sombra could feel through the silk of her dress.

“I’ll lead,” said Widowmaker, “I’m taller–is that all right?” 

Sombra nodded dumbly as Widowmaker stepped into a dance. At that point, the last song ended and a Malay cover of “It’s Only a Paper Moon” started. Widowmaker knew how to dance—she knew how to lead. Sombra could feel her face burning and the mezcal still burning in her gut. She knew she could hold her liquor better than most but she was hyperaware of any misstep she could make now, but Widowmaker looked down at her.

“That was bold,” said Widowmaker after a minute or so of dancing.

“Psh,” Sombra bunched up her shoulders, “You think just because he’s got a chair in Venice that I’m scared of him?” 

“You should be scared.”

“Don’t have to be scared if I’m smart,” said Sombra.

“Stepping on the toes of Talon superiors is not smart,” said Widowmaker, flatly.

“Well sorry for figuring you didn’t want to spend the night as someone’s hood ornament,” said Sombra.

Widowmaker smirked a little. “I can handle myself,” she said with a smile.

“I know you can,” said Sombra as Widowmaker twirled her, “But it’s New Year’s. I figure you’d want to have fun.”

They swayed to the music a while longer.

“Tell me something,” said Sombra.

“Mm?”

“Would you want a chair on the council?” asked Sombra, “Y’know… Venice?”

Widowmaker looked thoughtful. “I wasn’t made to lead,” she said after a long while, “I was made to kill.”

A part of Sombra wanted to debate the terms of Widowmaker being ‘made’ but she knew that was a whole other can of worms, so instead she simply proceeded in the same line of the conversation. “But if you lead, you could direct Talon so it kills better,” said Sombra.

“I don’t want to leave the field,” said Widowmaker, her eyes scanning across the crowd on the dancefloor, “I had more than my fill of the politics in Monaco.”

“Akande likes you, though,” said Sombra.

“Because I do my job,” said Widowmaker, a barb and a smile in her voice.

“Mean,” said Sombra.

“I know,” said Widowmaker. 

Widowmaker just smirked and swayed Sombra across the dance floor. “You do know how to make a night interesting,” she conceded. Widowmaker studied Sombra for a moment. “You changed your hair,” she said after a beat.

“Yeah well… you know these parties,” said Sombra, with a shrug, “It’s not bad, is it?”

“I almost didn’t recognize you,” said Widowmaker. She tucked a bit of Sombra’s hair back, revealing one of the metallic nubs of her neural implants, “There–”

Sombra instinctively brought her hand up and tucked her hair back over the nub. Widowmaker’s hand pulled back slightly.

“Sorry,” Sombra glanced off.

Widowmaker shook her head, “I understand,” she said after a beat. They danced a while longer. Widowmaker smelled good–Perfume didn’t really trail off of her the way it should with her lower body temperature, it took the warmth of the room for it to occasionally bloom off of her as she and Sombra glided towards other bodies. Sombra would only get occasional bursts of labdanum and peony.

“So you… uh… like dancing?” Sombra managed. 

Widowmaker chuckled a little, “I like dancing,” she said, dipping Sombra, the movement making Sombra curse an uncountable amount of times in her head while feeling her face burning as Widowmaker stooped over her before bringing her upright again, “I also like seeing people like Maximilien brought down a peg or two…” she swung Sombra around so that she could see the bar, where Maximilien was bitterly ordering a glass of Glenwales organic oil. Sombra snickered a little as Widowmaker swept her across the dance floor, “And I like that you make a living of doing just that.”

A nervous chuckle escaped Sombra, “Yeah well… You got anyone in mind, you just let me know, you know?” she said as Widowmaker pulled her out of a dip again. 

“I will keep that in mind,” said Widowmaker, smiling.

Sombra could hear the distant pop of fireworks from Singapore’s shores as they kept dancing, but she didn’t feel particularly inclined to go watch them. Not just yet.

Chapter Text

Genji examined the heart-shaped box and gave it a skeptical shake, then tried to check the nutrition and ingredient info on the back of the box for its manufacturing location. It was the last of its brand in a largely picked-clean aisle, but it featured a small Swiss flag on the box so things seemed hopeful.  He heard  a giggle and looked over his shoulder, to see… nothing.

“Hm,” he moved to turn his attention back to the box when suddenly there was a flash of blue and the box was gone from his hand. He heard more giggling and glanced up to see Tracer perched on top of the shelf, chocolate box in hand.

“Gonna have to be quicker than that, Genji!” she said, waving the box within his reach, but then pulling back when he snatched for it.

“Oxton!” He said grabbing for the box but only to see Tracer disappear in another flash of blue light. He made a frustrated noise and looked down the aisle. There had to be another box of Swiss chocolates, right? He hurried down the aisle to find another box. Not heart-shaped, but red, just as big as his first choice, featuring a Swiss flag on the sticker sealing it. 

He grabbed for it, but then another hand grabbed it at the same time. He gave it a small yank. He really didn’t want to be rude but to be fair, he was very quick and had probably made contact with the box first, right? The hand held on to the box with an iron grip and Genji’s eyes trailed upward first to some very impressive biceps and deltoids, then to the face of none other than Aleksandra Zaryanova.

“…Hello…” said Genji.

“I will break you,” Zarya said without hesitation, holding onto the box of chocolates.

Genji immediately released the chocolate box. He could not give Angela chocolates if he was dead. He watched as Zarya walked off with the chocolate box, then glanced back over his shoulder at the rest of the aisle, largely picked clean. Somewhere near the cash register of the store he could Junkrat going “Mine! Mine! Mine! This is my chocolate!” and a high pitched laugh. He sighed, but out of the corner of his eye he could see one last lonely red box all alone on the shelves. He walked over to it. It was small, yes, smaller than all the other boxes of chocolate but it had a small sticker on it that said “Product of Switzerland.” He reached for it, when another hand grabbed it first. He glanced up into the face of Ana Amari, and Ana looked up at him.

“Genji,” she said with a slight smile, “Enjoying the cheap candy?” she held up the box.

“Captain Amari,” Genji paused and then cleared his throat, “I must ask you for that box of chocolates. I believe they are the last Swiss chocolates in the store–”

“Oh, they are,” said Ana, dropping the chocolates into her shopping basket. Genji’s heart sank a little and his shoulders slumped. "Genji,” Ana said with a slight chuckle, “Valentine’s day is over. It hardly matters at this point.”

“Yes but—” Genji cleared his throat, “You see, Ange–Doctor Ziegler got me Swiss chocolates, and I…I had completely forgotten to get her anything for Valentine’s Day, so I wish to make it up to her.”

Ana seemed genuinely moved by this. “That is very sweet of you,” she said, “Angela is very lucky to have someone willing to go through such efforts for her.”

“I–thank you,” said Genji.

“Unfortunately these candies are for Reinhardt,” said Ana, turning around.

“But–” Genji started after her.

“Nām,” said Ana and Genji suddenly felt a brief sharp pain in his side, then everything went black.

When Genji awoke, a store clerk was poking at him with the butt of a broom.

“Buddy–hey–you dead? My manager will be really pissed if someone died in the store–buddy–”

 Genji woke with a start causing the store clerk to flinch back and swear. He quickly sat up and got to his feet. “My apologies,” he said with a bow to the store clerk. He turned on his heel to look at the candy aisle, only to find the shelves completely barren. “…How long was I unconscious?” he said slowly.

“I’unno,” the store clerk said with a shrug.

“Are… Are there any chocolates left? Any at all?” said Genji.

“I’ll go check the back,” said the store clerk, turning around. Genji was waiting for several minutes when the store clerk came back with one relatively plain black and white striped box with a red ribbon. “I was kind of saving these for myself, but honestly it was like… super-depressing watching you fail to get a single box of candy.”

Genji turned the box over. “Are they Swiss?”

“Nah, man, San Francisco. The good shit.” 

“Hm,” said Genji. He gave the box a shake. The chocolates inside sounded troublingly small.

“Trust me, Bridge Mix is like crack. It’s better than the tacky red boxes anyway,” said the store clerk.  

“I will trust your judgment,” said Genji, looking at the box.

“Whatever, man, just don’t pass out in the store again,” said the clerk.

“Understood,” said Genji, “Thank you.” With that he headed to the cash register.

—

“Angela,” Genji set the box on Mercy’s desk, “I got you some chocolates,” Genji paused and added a bit uncomfortably, “Not Swiss.”

Mercy glanced up from her paperwork and looked at the box. She quickly picked up on Genji’s self consciousness about the whole thing and then sighed theatrically, “I suppose it will have to do,” she said, before looking up at Genji and smiling, causing him to loosen up slightly, “Thank you, Genji.”

Chapter Text

Mercy had all but tuned the music out as she scrolled through the agendas on her phone, trying to figure out how much tonight would set her back. There was still the forms and filing on the civilian cases from the Hollywood incident, post-mission check-ups with all members of the team, and countless emails from scientists all over the world on ethical applications of biotic technology. “The lab will still be there when you get back,” Winston had said as she frowned at different dresses D.Va had picked out for her, yet still she was compelled to at least get some of her scheduling done while she was at this silly party.

 She only glanced up from her phone to do a bit of people watching. She had to admit, Hal-Fred Glitchbot threw a great party. D.Va and Lúcio, well-adjusted to fame and flash, were taking pictures with Thespion 4.0 and Hisao Takahashi, grinning and eagerly chatting with each other. Winston had managed to get into a private conversation with Dr. Al-Shahrani (the Dr. Al-Shahrani!) and was discussing lunar geology over a shared banana bread pudding. Cassidy was surreptitiously hoarding hors d’oeuvres to take home with Pharah running interference for him (or maybe she was just flirting with the waitresses while he swept half the canapes into a doggie bag–it was hard to tell), and Tracer and Emily were tearing it up on the dance floor. She glanced back down at her phone when someone stepped alongside her.

“Surely you are not working tonight of all nights, Dr. Ziegler?” Mercy glanced up from her phone to see Genji standing in front of her. His appearance was so sudden she fumbled and nearly dropped her phone but Genji easily caught it. She gave him a brief glance up and down. She thought her first words to him would be “Hello Genji” or “Enjoying the party, Genji?” but instead she just incredulously blurted out “You’re in a suit.”

“And you are in a dress,” Genji said, gesturing at her slightly. He was in a black suit with a gray waistcoat and green tie, while she donned a backless amber-gold dress with a grecian collar. When she was a young girl, she remembered hating the appearance of her spinal implants, yet after her time in Overwatch, she couldn’t care less.

“Oh–” she glanced down, suddenly far more conscious of how much skin the dress was showing than before, “Yes–Well–Hana helped me pick it out.”

“She has good taste,” said Genji.

Mercy suddenly flashed back to Hana practically hopping her heels as Mercy stepped out of the dressing room, going, “Yes! That’s the one, Doctor Z! Rock that cleavage! Own it!” and she reddened at the memory. 

“Thank you,” said Mercy, then she cleared her throat, “I mean–her—thank her. I mean, I’ll have to thank her.”

Genji held her phone out to her and Mercy glanced down at it a bit more confusedly before she remembered nearly dropping it and him catching it and then she said, “Oh–thank you,” and took her phone back. She glanced up at Genji and smiled a bit. “I would have expected you to be working as well,” she said, putting her phone away in her clutch bag.

“Really?” said Genji.

“Patrolling the perimeter or something like that,” said Mercy.

Genji chuckled a little, “Perhaps I would be doing that several years ago…” he glanced out at the people dancing, “I did not permit myself much enjoyment back then, perhaps none at all—I suppose my new body made me look upon my younger self as foolish, hedonistic even.” He turned back and looked at her, “It took me a long time, but I feel I have come to find balance, even in enjoying myself. My master has helped me much in that regard.”

“Where is Zenyatta?” said Mercy, smiling.

“He asked Mr. Glitchbot to show him the set for…Six Gun Killer, I believe the movie is called?”

Mercy snorted. “Really?”

“He is a fan of Mr. Glitchbot’s work. Particularly ‘They Came From Beyond The Moon.’”

Mercy raised an eyebrow then laughed a little, “I would not have expected that.”

“He is full of surprises,” said Genji, looking back at the dance floor. They both watched as Tracer spun Emily around and lifted her, Dirty Dancing style. Emily  was sputtering and giggling while Tracer had a carnation from one of the table vases between her teeth.

“They seem to be having fun,” said Mercy.

“Mm,” Genji nodded. A pause passed between them as they continued watching the dance floor. “Would you like to dance, Doctor Ziegler?”

“What?” said Mercy.

Genji held out a hand to her, “I said ‘Would you like to dance?’”

“Oh,” Mercy reddened but glanced over at the dance floor and gauged the tempo, then hesitantly took Genji’s hand, “I’m… not very good with the fast songs,” she said.

“You will do fine,” said Genji, heading out to the dance floor with her following after him. The music was much louder on the dance floor and a bit overwhelming at first but she attempted to move her shoulders and hips to the rhythm. She glanced over at Genji to see him moving with far more grace and confidence than she could have possibly anticipated. Her dancing slowed a bit as she watched and Genji looked at her.

“Are you all right?” said Genji.

“Yes,” said Mercy, “You’re–” she cleared her throat, “You’re very good.”

“Thank you,” said Genji, “You are…” he glanced at her awkward bobbing and shimmying, “…also dancing.”

Mercy’s brow furrowed but then she laughed a little. 

“Do you need help?” said Genji.

“Help?” said Mercy. Genji took her hand and twirled her, then pulled her into a dip. “Oh,” said Mercy. The song ended and a much slower song started. Genji quickly brought her back up to an upright position and cleared his throat.

“Well,” said Genji, “Thank you, Doctor Ziegler. Would you like me to get you a drink? Something to eat?”

“You’re stopping already?” said Mercy, glancing over her shoulder at the other couples slow dancing. 

“Yes–I mean, no–I mean—Ah,” Genji trailed off and Mercy took his hand in hers and then interlaced their fingers. She brought his hand up slightly, then placed her hand on his shoulder. He recognized the positioning of her hands and his hand went toward her waist, then hesitated, hovering just above it. Genji rolled his fingers then Mercy briefly took her hand off his shoulder to place his hand against her waist. 

“Closed position,” she said, putting her hand back on Genji’s shoulder and pulling him towards her slightly. The heat sinks on Genji’s shoulders steamed, but since he was wearing a suit, the steam was forced out of his collar and the cuffs of his sleeves. Mercy giggled a little and Genji glanced off. The tension in his shoulders loosened up as he and Mercy started moving in time with the music.

“I thought you said you couldn’t dance,” said Genji, as he glanced down at his own feet to make sure he wouldn’t step on hers as they danced. 

“I said I wasn’t good with fast songs,” said Mercy, grinning.

Genji chuckled a little. “It would seem you are also full of surprises, Angela.”

“Angela?” repeated Mercy.

“I mean–Doctor Ziegler,” said Genji, suddenly straightening up a bit as Mercy helped pivot them into a turn.

“Angela is fine,” said Mercy.

Genji’s visor brightened. “Very well…Angela,” he said as they continued to dance.

Chapter Text

Genji sat cross-legged on the highest maintenance platform overlooking Gibraltar’s sea, though he could not really say he was meditating, more mulling. He couldn’t even keep his thoughts in order in the usual spot where he meditated, so it seemed a simple matter to find a different spot for a change in perspective. The view was nice, and for a brief moment he wondered why he never came up here, but the question easily answered itself:

1. It was a satellite launch tower and therefore not exactly readily accessible during his days in the original Overwatch.

2. When he was stationed here in those days, he was more or less blinded by rage and pain, as well as being constantly away from the Watchpoint while trying to take down his family’s crime empire.

He shook his head. His mind was wandering again, doing anything to avoid what he had come up here to figure out. Empty your mind, focus on the task at hand, he repeated the words in his mind.

I love you.

No, that wouldn’t work. He couldn’t just walk up to her and say that. You don’t just drop that on someone.

Doctor Ziegler—

No. Too stilted, too formal.

Angela, can we talk?

Well that was a start. 

For a long time I’ve—

“Genji?” Genji heard a voice behind him and visibly flinched and turned around. Angela was on the rungs of the ladder behind him

“Ah–Sorry–I didn’t know you were here. I’ll let you—” Mercy moved to go back down the ladder.

“No–no, it’s fine!” Genji said quickly, and Mercy paused, “I was just thinking about—” he caught himself, “I mean… It’s a beautiful view. I would not mind the company.”

Mercy smiled and pulled herself up onto the platform, then took a seat next to him.

“I suppose my secret’s out,” she said with a smile, looking out over the water.

“Your secret?” said Genji.

“This spot,” said Mercy, she paused, “Well, come to think of it, it isn’t secret. Cassidy used to come up here to hide from Reyes back in the old days, and now Lúcio comes up here to write music…”

“And why would you come up here?” said Genji.

“Oh–I….” The question seemed to give her pause, and she fidgeted with her hair a bit, “To think,” she said, looking out over the water, “To just… give myself some space to breathe.”

“I can only imagine,” said Genji, looking out over the water. A pause passed between them. “It’s beautiful here,” said Genji, at last, “I could never appreciate it before.”

Mercy smiled, “I… don’t know if I’ve told you this before but… I’m glad you’re here, Genji,” she said, following his sight out to the sea, “You didn’t have to come back, but… I’m glad you did.”

“I wanted to,” said Genji, “If I cannot use my abilities to help others then everything I’ve gone through, everything Zenyatta taught me, will be for naught.” He glanced over at Mercy, watching the sea wind rifle through her hair. “But… that was not the only reason. There was another reason I came back,” said Genji.

Mercy’s eyebrows raised, “What?” she said.

“Doctor Ziegler—” Genji started, then caught himself. No, he wasn’t going to start it like that. The inside of Genji’s faceplate felt hot, stuffy even. He clicked the catch at the back of his helmet and pulled his faceplate off. He exhaled and felt the wind against his scars, “Angela,” he turned and looked at her, and noticed her eyes were wide. His hand went to his scars, “Sorry–” he said, “I should—” he moved to put the faceplate on again but Mercy reached out and stopped his hand.

“Don’t–” she said, then paused and glanced off, “I mean…you can if… if that makes you more comfortable but—” she looked back up at him, “I hardly ever get to see your eyes,” she said, a shy smile spreading across her face, “They’re lovely, you know.”

Genji reddened and the heat sinks in his shoulders clicked out and steamed. “Oh…” he said. He glanced down at her hand, still on his, and she noticed it too and moved to withdraw it.

“Sorry—” she started.

“No, don’t be,” he let his faceplate clatter to the platform and clasped her hand in both of his. Genji inhaled, then exhaled. “What…what I was saying was… The other reason I came back was…”

“Yes?” Mercy leaned toward him.

“It–” The words seemed to be catching in his throat. She was close enough so that he could feel her breath on his scars. “The reason was…” The world seemed to be fading to gold around him, it would take so little to close the distance, “It was…”

“Genji!” Tracer’s voice suddenly went off far too loudly, with some feedback in the comm built into the side of his helmet. 

“Ow! Tracer!” his hand went to the side of his helmet, his ear ringing. 

“Tracer?” said Mercy, leaning back.

“No–” said Genji, trying to turn the volume down in his helmet’s comm, “No–Just–my comm went off. Sorry, that wasn’t what I was saying–what I was saying was—”

Genji’s comm went off with feedback again. “Genji this is an emergency! I need you down at Athena’s main monitor right away!” said Tracer.

Genji glanced down at Mercy’s hand still clasped in his own. “…can it wait?” he asked.

“No, it can’t wait! That’s what ‘emergency’ means! Do you know where Doctor Z is?” said Tracer.

Genji looked up at Mercy. “Yes,” he said flatly.

“Good. Bring her too,” said Tracer, “Now hurry!” 

Tracer clicked out of the comm channel and Genji released Mercy’s hand and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Kuso…” he muttered under his breath before he picked up his faceplate and clicked it back on. 

“I take it we need to get going,” said Mercy, tucking her hair back.

“It would seem so,” said Genji, clicking his visor back down and getting to his feet. He held out a hand and helped Mercy get to her feet as well, then glanced down at her hand in his. “I…ah…” he trailed off then let go of her hand and rubbed the back of his neck. “We’ll talk later,” he said.

“I understand,” said Mercy with that slight smile. 

Genji cleared his throat then walked past her and started going down the ladder back down to the watchpoint, muttering bitterly under his breath in Japanese as he did so. Mercy gave one last look out over the sea before quickly following after him.

Whatever reason Tracer was calling them in now, it had better be a good one.

Chapter Text

Mercy was shaken from a nap by a slight jostling of the Orca. Her eyes flicked to the viewport, where they were still heading through a gray, pre-dawn sky. She heard chattering and glanced up into the cockpit at Tracer, who had Emily on a voice channel. She then glanced across the Orca at Genji, whom she was pretty sure had just been asleep himself but was now sitting up in his seat and gauging his environment. He glanced over at her, gave a small wave, then moved to settle back into his seat to rest more when the orca shook again.

Tracer could be heard from the cockpit, saying, “Hang on, Em. We’re hitting turbulence. I’m going to need to call you back.”

Angela then heard a soft metallic sound, and glanced back at Genji, whose wrist plate was clicking back into place. She looked to his hand to see that he had only drawn one shuriken from his wrist, which he held between the tips of his fore and middle fingers. She watched as with a slight tilt of the wrist, he let the shuriken roll back to his knuckles. He then let the shrunken drop and flip over his knuckles with the shifting of his fingers. Down, then up, then down again. She snickered a little, and he glanced up from his hand.

“Doc Holliday,” said Mercy with a smile.

“Pardon?” said Genji.

“Cassidy can do the same trick with a coin,” said Mercy, “I asked him about it, and he said he learned how to do it because of Doc Holliday.”

“A coin doesn’t seem as impressive,” said Genji. His face was completely covered by his visor and helmet, but Mercy could hear the smile in his voice.

“But how impressive are shuriken if that hand can’t be cut by them?” said Mercy, grinning.

“Fair point,” said Genji. He flicked his wrist upward and Mercy reflexively looked up, expecting to see a shuriken embedding itself in the Orca’s ceiling, but there was nothing. Her eyes flicked back to Genji, who, with no lack of smugness even with his face completely covered, rolled the shrunken back up to its original position between the tips of his fingers. “Made you look,” he said. Mercy snorted.

“Arriving at Volskaya Industries,” Athena announced over the Orca’s speaker system.

“Roger, set her into autopilot for the landing” said Tracer, stepping out of the cockpit.

“Of course,” said Athena as Tracer bound down the steps in front of Genji and Mercy.

“Right then,” Tracer cleared her throat and stood up a little straighter, “So…” she clasped her hand together, “Distress call. Svyatogor gone haywire. Volskaya’s own security forces are doing their best to keep it contained at the factory, but if that thing breaks loose and hits the city, there’s going to be a lot of people in a lot of trouble. The big problem is that it’s a prototype that represents a significant amount of Volskaya Industry’s time and resources, and the fact that it’s working with a prototype power cell means that it’s too risky to try and destroy the whole thing outright, so we need to move in and shut it down,” Her lips tightened a bit and Mercy gave her an encouraging smile and Tracer pushed her hair back from her face, “Anyway, “I know we’re a bit shorthanded right now with Reinhardt and Torbjörn off in Eichenwalde, but we’ll have plenty of backup from Volskaya’s own security forces. Doc, you’re on relief and evac. See injured civilians and personnel get out of there safely.”

“Understood,” said Mercy.

“Genji–” Tracer looked to him, “You and me are on this bot.” 

“Right,” said Genji, “It should not be too hard, should it?”

“Svyatogor in sight,” Athena announced, “Left window.”

Genji looked out the window and saw the Svyatogor raging in one of the shipping yards of the factory, standing  nearly as tall as the factory itself with gunfire sparking across its metal frame.

“…Ah,” said Genji.

“Athena–I don’t think coming at this thing from the ground level’s going to be an option,” said Tracer, “Drop us off on the nearest roof.”

“It will definitely notice the Orca,” said Genji, watching the Svyatogor, “We need a distraction, something that can–”

A beam of pink light cut past the Svyatogor’s shoulder, forcing it to turn its head.

“That works,” said Tracer, “Athena!”

“Bringing you in,” said Athena as the Orca swept low over city rooftops. The main door of the Orca opened, bringing in a rush of wind and a flurry of snowflakes with it. 

“Doc! You get to those guards and get the injured out of there! We’ll be in contact!” said Tracer.

“Be–” Mercy started but Tracer had already zipped out the door, leapt, then tucked and rolled across the roof of one of the buildings bordering the Volskaya factory. Genji moved to rush after her but Angela put an hand on his upper arm and he stopped. “Be careful,” she said to him, “Both of you.”

“I will, Doctor Ziegler,” said Genji. He glanced down at her hand on his arm, and unthinkingly brought his own up to touch hers, but she withdrew it before he could do so. He covered this up with small salute before leaping after Tracer.

—-

“Personally I think I’ve outdone myself,” said Sombra, feverishly working on several projected screens and watching from a safe distance on the factory roof as the Svyatogor picked up one of the trucks in the factory yard and sent it flying into the line of Volskaya security guards, who were forced to scatter.

“Sombra, focus,” Reaper spoke over the Comm.

“Wow Sombra,” Sombra dropped her voice into something imitative of Reaper’s guttural rasp, “Good job bypassing all of those encryptions and firewalls to reprogram and take control of the most locked-down mech in the whole Volskaya factory. Now we can attack from the shadows.”

Reaper just growled on the comm.

“Oui, Sombra,” Sombra went on, in Widowmaker’s whispery voice and accent, “Merci for doing what literally no other hacker could. C’est magnifique. Whatever would we do without you? Mon dieu, I am so attracted to you right now.”

“Really?” Widowmaker spoke over the comms.

“Awww come on, you know you love me,” said Sombra. Widowmaker just scoffed in response.

“Just keep security busy while we find that GMS Omnicell,” said Reaper.

“I could find Katya Volskaya—” Widowmaker started.

“Talon’s priorities have shifted,” said Reaper, “Katya Volskaya is no longer a priority. The Omnic tech she’s been dealing in is.”

“Hmph,” said Widowmaker.

“Still sore about losing that kill, eh, Araña?” said Sombra.

“Just focus on your silly little robot puppet,” muttered Widowmaker. 

“With pleasure,” said Sombra, spreading her fingers and grinning as the Svyatogor shoved a crane into the Volga. She heard the hum of engines and frowned and looked up. “Mierda…” she said, suddenly activating her thermoptic cloaking as the Orca flew overhead. She watched as it landed, “Gabe,” she spoke over the comms, “Looks like we’ve got a bit more company.”

“Let the bot take care of them,” said Reaper, “We’ve got more important work to do.”

Sombra watched as a pink beam hit the Svyatogor full-on in the chest. “And her?” said Sombra.

“Not a priority,” said Reaper. 

—

Jack and Ana were tucked away on a crane platform that offered them plenty of vantage over Volskaya Industries’ shipping yard. Ana peered through the scope of her rifle and fired a shot at a limping guard being supported by his comrade as they ran from the rampaging Svyatogor. He flinched from the shot, his hand went to his leg, then he began running.

“Katya Volskaya is off-site at this point,” said Jack, watching through his tactical visor, “Security around her has quadrupled. Talon’s intel had to have told them that much,” he paused, “So why come back?”

“They are a terror organization,” Ana said, setting her gun to her side and unscrewing the top of a thermos full of tea. 

Jack shook his head. “Reaper doesn’t need a Svyatogor to terrorize people.”

“It’s a distraction, that much is obvious. Loose a bot into a city whose primary export is the destruction of bots,” said Ana, sipping her tea then closing the thermos before picking up her biotic rifle again, “Creates a big enough stir. Injures,” she looked through the scope and fired another biotic round at one of the injured guards moving away from the area, “Maybe kills enough people to be a legitimate threat, but in the end, it’s controlled.” She watched as the Svyatogor seized a barge out of the icy river and brought it down on top of a building, “Well… sort of.” She glanced at Jack.

“He could just be trying to lure us out,” said Jack.

“Not everything is about you, Jack.” said Ana. They both fell silent at the sound of engines passing by.

“What is that?” said Jack. But he knew. He knew it instantly. “Goddammit, Winston,” he muttered as he glanced over his shoulder to see the Orca landing a ways away from the factory.

“To be fair, this is the kind of threat we would deal with in our day,” said Ana.

“It’s still our day,” grumbled Jack, “That’s their mission. We can focus on our own.”

“Do you think Fareeha’s with them?” there was something hollow and distracted in Ana’s voice.

“Ana–” Jack started.

“No—,” Ana shook her head, “She’d be in the air already.” She took a calming breath. “They don’t know, Jack. They don’t know Talon’s here.”

“We can’t compromise ourselves,” said Jack.

Ana furrowed her brow at him. Jack sighed. “We can provide cover fire, but the first sign of Talon and we go back to our mission,” said Jack.

—

Screaming. Mercy was used to having to think while people were screaming. The key was knowing what and when to tune out. 

“Hold him still–if he keeps flailing he’ll bleed out,” she said to one of Volskaya’s security forces as he held his compatriot down as she focused her caduceus staff on his grisly-looking abdominal wound. She glanced over her shoulder to see a blue flash tracing its way up the torso of the Svyatogor. Well, Tracer was alive, she could tell that much. She squinted for a few more seconds until silver armor caught the sunlight briefly before disappearing again. Genji was alive too. Please be safe, she thought, though she knew that was a difficult thing to wish for the two of them scaling a rogue Svyatogor. She inhaled and turned her attention back to the guard. She made eye contact with him as he struggled and cursed in Russian. She made eye contact with him and his struggling slowed as she kept a steady healing stream of biotic energy on him. He glanced over at his fellow guard holding him and said something in Russian.

“What did he say?” said Mercy.

“He is asking if he is already dead,” said the guard.

Mercy scoffed a bit and pushed her hair back from her face, then intensified the biotic beam. “You are not dead,” she said, furrowing her brow and smiling wryly, “Not if I have anything to say about it.” 

“Doctor!” one of the guards shouted, “Look out!”

Mercy glanced over her shoulder to see the Svyatogor’s arm crash into the upper corner of a building, sending a shower of rubble into the shipping yard  and onto her and her charges. Immediately she moved to grab the injured guard beneath her and fly to safety as fast as she could, but instead she found herself and both guards surrounded by a pink bubble as the roar of a particle beam sounded and shot past them and overhead, reducing the rubble into a shower of pebbles. 

“Are you all right, Doctor Ziegler?” a husky Russian-accented voice called out over the din of alarms and shouts and explosions as the bubble shielding faded off of Mercy.

“I’m fine, I—oh…” Mercy found herself staring up at an enormous muscular woman with pink hair and an X-shaped scar above her eyebrow, “Yes, I’m fine,” said Mercy. She glanced back at the guard she had been healing. “Are you all right?” she said.

“Zaryanova…” the guard said in awe, staring at the pink-haired woman.

“Zaryanova?” repeated Mercy, “As in Aleksandra Zaryanova?”

“’Zarya’ will do just fine,” said Zarya, hefting up her particle cannon. She looked at the guard. “Ты можешь идти?” she said.

The guard stared at Zarya then stammered out, “да.”

She looked to the other guard. “Get him out of here. We will handle this,” she said with a smirk. 

The guard nodded and helped his formerly injured coworker to his feet before both ran out of range. Zarya fired her particle beam at the Svyatogor again.

“I thought Volskaya didn’t want the Svyatogor destroyed?” said Mercy.

“There has been a change in orders,” said Zarya, furrowing her brow.

Mercy’s eyes widened. “Wait—” she said. Zarya ceased fire for a moment. “I didn’t come alone,” said Mercy, “My friends—They’re attempting to scale the Svyatogor and shut it down from the inside.” 

“Your friends sound like madmen,” said Zarya.

“If we can buy time and keep the mech from heading to the city, I’m sure they can shut it down,” said Mercy.

“I can keep it from moving,” said Zarya, with a grin, “But tell your friends to hurry. They have four minutes before my particle beam pierces that armor.”

Mercy’s eyes widened and she quickly put a hand to her ear.

—

The chirrup of Tracer’s pulse pistols met with the groan of metal as she attempted to shoot the locks around the Svyatogor’s maintenance hatch open. This was taking far longer than she would like. Gunfire from the guards below sparked across the Svyatogor’s outer shell and they rang off of Genji’s sword as he stood in front of Tracer and deflected them as she continued trying to get it open. 

“What I wouldn’t give to have Torbjörn here…” said Tracer as she finally shot off the last lock and hauled the hatch open. They dropped down into a narrow corridor, only wide enough for them to move through in single file. Mercy came on the comm as soon as they were inside.

“I’ve lost visual on both of you, are you inside?” said Mercy.

“Yeah, Doc, we’re in,” said Tracer. She reached into the interior of her jacket “Activating hacker drone,” she said, pulling out the small drone they had used during the King’s Row uprising, “This little guy should—” The drone was shot down and Tracer looked up at the sound of humming. Her eyes widened as the hovering interior drones that were used for maintenance and security started shooting down the hallway towards them. “Aw, rubbish.” 

“Are you all right?” Mercy asked.

“We’re fine,” said Genji, taking down several drones with his shuriken, “But–there’s been a complication…”

“Hacker drone is down! We’re going to have to do this manually!” said Tracer. Tracer downed several with some pulsefire.

“You need to find the center of that thing quickly. The orders around the Svyatogor have changed. If we can’t shut it down in the next four minutes, they’re destroying it,” said Mercy.

“Simple enough,” said Tracer, moving forward, “Starting a timer now.”

“You are unharmed as well, Doctor Ziegler?” said Genji.

“Yes, we’re mostly okay down here,” said Mercy, “The injuries aren’t nearly as bad as I thought they would be, which is surprising considering the damage and there don’t seem to be a lot of medics within the area of incident.”

“Guess we should count our blessings,” said Tracer, continuing to move down the corridor and shooting down more drones as she did so.

“I thought the energy core for this mech was a prototype?” said Genji, “One that hadn’t been fully tested and might cause more damage if destroyed?”

“I suppose the city has taken priority,” said Mercy.

“Hm,” Genji was skeptical, though a part of him wondered if he was only skeptical out of bitterness since they had gone through the trouble of getting into the Svyatogor, “Well… keep us updated,” he said, “We will shut the mech down.”

“Keep moving!” said Tracer, rushing forward, shooting a path for herself through the drones with Genji following close behind. Torbjörn had been able to remotely provide them rough schematics of the Svyatogor from Eichenwalde during their ride over on the Orca, so they had a decent idea of where they were going. The Svyatagor would shift at random, however, throwing them into walls or off their balance. At one point the Svyatagor shifted again and corridor they were running through suddenly turned into a deep shaft that they found themselves tumbling down, stopping from dropping only by Genji plunging his sword into one of the walls and grabbing Tracer’s wrist. They both hung until the passage righted itself again. Still, the two of them were probably the quickest members of Overwatch, and in spite of being randomly tossed about in the Svyatagor’s interior, as well as several attacks from maintenance and security drones, they were able to make their way to the central heart of the mech. The door slid open to reveal a surprisingly roomy chamber with a large circular projection in the middle of it. The projection consisted of a violet beam shooting straight up from the center of the floor and numerous arcs and half circles of violet light rotating around it. Genji stopped dead.

“Right then,” said Tracer, glancing at her timer, “We’ve got about 90 seconds to figure out how to shut this thing down or get out of here.” She brought up the projection of the Svyatogor Torbjörn had sent them on her comm and zoomed in on the heart of the machine along with some notes Torbjörn had given them on shutting it down. “Oh this isn’t good—this doesn’t look anything like the schematics Torbjörn sent. Maybe if we–Genji?” She gave him a gentle shove in the shoulder and he snapped to attention. “Genji? What’s wrong?”

“This is omnic,” said Genji.

“What?” said Tracer.

“This is omnic,” Genji said again, walking around the beam, “Or a very good imitation of it. We had the same generator in the sanctum back at the Shambali monastery. But something’s wrong–it’s not supposed to be this color–”

“Genji, I don’t mean to rush you, but we’ve got no hacker drone and we only have—” Tracer checked her timer, “A minute!”  

“Right–shutting it down—We can shut it down—” said Genji, rushing over to a monitor.

“Are you sure you can shut it down?” said Tracer.

“Blackwatch had their fair share of tech work. You pick things up,” said Genji, typing in several commands. “This, however—I’ve worked with this before in Nepal–” he feverishly typed in more commands.  Tracer moved over to help him, but soon found herself covering him with her pulse pistols as several maintenance drones flew into the chamber.

“What is your status?” Mercy spoke on the comm.

“We found the main generator for the Svyatogor, but there’s a bit of a complication,” said Tracer, shooting down a few more drones.

“Another complication?” said Mercy.

“Doc, it doesn’t look like Torbjörn’s schematics at all. We need you to buy us more time.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” said Mercy. There was a pause, and suddenly the entire chamber rocked and Tracer had to brace herself against the wall while Genji gripped the monitor to keep from falling himself.

“I thought you said you’d buy time!” said Tracer into the comm.

“Zarya is using a graviton surge on the Svyatogor to hold it in place. With the nanoboost from my staff we might be able to sustain it for longer than usual, but you need to shut it down now, or get out of there!”

“Gotcha!” said Tracer, “Genji? Any luck?”

Genji was working as fast as he could. He never could read binary as fast as the omnics at the monastery. “I’m trying,” he said, “In Nepal we’d just use the generator to keep the village and monastery heated–powering a mech like this is—” A purple skull icon suddenly flashed on the monitor and then a lock icon appeared. “What?” said Genji, hitting several keys, but finding the monitor unresponsive, “Kuso—No–no–no—”

—

“Nice try,” said Sombra, tapping a few things out on her violet screens, “Well.. not really.”

“Sombra,” Reaper spoke over the comms, “We need you.”

“I thought I was the distraction?” said Sombra, tapping out a few things on her screens, “Can’t be in two places at once, Gabe.”

“We’ve hit a block,” said Reaper, “Abandon the Svyatogor and get on the factory’s security network.”

Sombra sighed, “Fine, but we’d better move quick. That distraction won’t last very long without me.” she said, typing out a few automated command sequences into the bot to keep it going as long as it could without her puppeting it.

“We’re sending backup to your position,” said Reaper. 

Sombra scoffed. “I don’t need Talon rookies slowing me down.”

“Well maybe if we had killed Katya Volskaya like we were supposed to, I wouldn’t think you need backup,” said Reaper.

“Ugh,” Sombra closed the comm channel and activated her cloaking advice before running to look for a factory terminal.

—

“What’s the holdup?” said Tracer, shooting down a few more drones.

“I don’t know–,” said Genji, still attempting to get the monitor to respond but finding the lock icon on it unchanging, “It worked back in Nepal—”

“This isn’t Nepal!” said Tracer. The Svyatogor rocked again.

“It’s breaking loose!” said Mercy over the comms, “You need to get out of there, now!” 

There was the roar of a particle beam again, and the Svyatogor rocked once more. Then there was a long agonized groan of metal.

“The outer hull is pierced,” said Mercy, “I’m sorry, but you need to get out of there.”

 Tracer glanced over at one of the walls of the chamber, now going red hot with the heat of the particle beam.. “Thats our cue to leave,” said Tracer, grabbing Genji and half-leading half-dragging him away from the monitor. They rushed back down the passage, moving back toward their exit as drones bore down on them. Tracer blinked past a handful of drones and turned on her heel to shoot them.

“Go!” said Genji, taking down some drones after her, “If you stay too long, they’ll flank you! I’ll catch up!”

“But—” Tracer started.

Genji drew his wakizashi and sped forward, taking down several drones as he did so before drawing his shuriken and taking down two more. “Go!” he repeated. He broke past the line of drones and was in close pursuit of Tracer when they saw the light from their exit up ahead. Tracer glanced over her shoulder to see Genji close behind when she grabbed the rungs of the ladder out of the maintenance hatch. At this point the pink particle beam was cutting through the wall behind them as they continued sprinting forward. Tracer made it to the exit and zipped up and out of it in a blue flash. She looked to a nearby rooftop and leapt, nearly missed the ledge, then blinked forward and rolled onto the roof. Genji scrambled after her and nearly made it to the outer shell of the Svyatogor when a drone slammed into him and knocked him back. He grunted and stabbed the drone through with his wakizashi before regaining his footing when the Svyatogor rocked again and he was thrown into the wall behind him. He heard a cracking sound and an alarm blaring that immediately cut out, then felt heat from his right side. He glanced over to see fire rushing down the corridor. Well… that wasn’t good.

—

“Their time is up, Doctor Ziegler. Tell your friends to clear out for their own safety,” said Zarya as the Svyatogor struggled against the graviton surge.

“But—” Mercy started.

“Doctor, I have to think of my city. I have to think of Russia,” said Zarya, letting her particle cannon cool down for a few moments before raising it again.

“They can do this!” said Mercy, keeping her nanoboost on Zarya, “They just need—”

The Svyatogor tore loose and slammed hard into one of the factory warehouses. Instantly Mercy’s hand was at her ear, “It’s breaking loose! You need to get out of there, now!”

The svyatogor sent another shower of rubble onto them and Zarya quickly put down a particle barrier around them both, her particle cannon’s core brightening as rubble dissolved around their barriers before she fired. The highly charged particle beam collided with the Svyatogor with even more force than before. Mercy saw a blue flash zip out of the back of the Svyatogor then dart onto a rooftop, then squinted, before putting a finger to her ear.

“Tracer, I just got visual on you, where is Genji?”

“He was just behind me!” said Tracer.

“Oh no…” said Mercy.

—

Genji scrambled up the ladder rungs to the maintenance hatch as the drones behind him were consumed by fire. he dove off to the right of the hatch as soon as he was out and fire burst out right where he had been only a heartbeat before. 

“Genji!” He heard Tracer’s call and looked up to see her on a nearby roof. He ran toward her, moving to leap off of the Svyatogor’s shoulders and onto the roof when the Svyatogor rocked beneath him. He looked to Tracer, who was taking a few steps backward before running forward. He immediately understood what she was doing and rushed forward as well. Jump. Grab Tracer. Let her Recall and pull you both to safety. The Svyatogor was already collapsing beneath his feet. He knew he couldn’t clear the jump but if he stayed on the Svyatogor he would die. He leapt. Tracer leapt. Her hand flailed out toward him, he reached out to grab her hand. An explosion burst out from the Svyatogor behind him and Tracer instinctively recalled to avoid the blast as Genji was thrown through the air like a ragdoll from its force.

 There was heat and panic and dull pain and the world was spinning around him. Falling. He was falling. Tracer’s voice was drowned out in the wind rushing around him. He couldn’t die like this. He didn’t survive Hanzo, and go through all that pain only to die like this. He couldn’t. He looked around desperately for something, anything to grab onto, but there was only crumbling rubble to his left and a burning and collapsing svyatogor to his right and the rush of empty wind on all other sides. Then he heard a cry of “Genji!” and saw a flash of yellow in the periphery of vision and suddenly Mercy practically tackled him out of his fall, her impact sending them both spinning for a few seconds before the valkyrie wings righted themselves. “I’ve got you,” she said, half to him, half convincing herself, “I’ve got you.” As soon as Genji was able to orient himself, he realized Mercy was holding him bridal style as her Valkyrie wings let them both slowly and safely descend. They were both panting from the panic. “Are you all right, Genji?” she asked.

 Her eyes were wide and her face was flushed and her breath was short and in that moment he could not remember ever having a stronger impulse to yank off his faceplate and kiss her. His rescuer. His angel. His Mercy. But instead he sat, still stunned from the fall, and just managed a, “Yes, I’m fine.” He winced and gripped his side and Mercy quickly activated the healing stream on her caduceus staff with her thumb. Genji eased up in her arms a bit. “Thank you,” he said. They watched the Svyatogor collapse as they descended. 

“What happened in there?” said Mercy, watching as the Svyatogor dropped to its knees, its metal frame groaning.

Genji remembered the flash of the violet skull icon on the monitor in the heart of the machine. “I don’t know,” he said, “But… I don’t think it just went haywire.”

Chapter Text

It didn’t take them long to descend to the ground. Genji would have worried about her arms getting tired between holding him and her caduceus staff, but she seemed to be in about as good spirits as she could be after saving him from falling to his death. 

“Genji! Genji are you all right?!” Tracer’s voice came over the comms as Genji and Mercy were descending.

“We’re fine,” said Genji, putting his hand to the side of his helmet.

An audible sigh of relief came on the other end of the comm.

“What’s your status?” said Mercy.

“Some scratches from the drones and debris, but nothing I can’t handle, Doc,” said Tracer, “If the blast hurt me, I think the Recall undid that.”

“Good,” said Mercy, 

“We still need to regroup,” said Tracer, “I’ll see you two at rendezvous point A?”

“Understood,” said Mercy and Genji at the same time. They exchanged glances, then both looked off. Being held bridal-style was a new experience for Genji. Back in his Blackwatch days Cassidy or Reyes could both haul him into a fireman carry if he was injured on a mission, though he remembered his cybernetic limbs were heavier back then, but this was different.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re remarkably strong for your build?” said Genji as Mercy’s boots touched down on the ground.

“Oh,” Mercy blinked a few times, “Well... years of biotic treatment and the demands of the Valkyrie suit... I mean, to your credit your prosthetics were designed to be pretty lightweight.

Genji chuckled a little. “I’ve been thrown around enough to know that much is true,” he said.

That got a grin and a slight laugh out of Mercy. “I’m just glad you’re all right,” she said.

“Thanks to you,” said Genji.

Mercy smiled and a pause passed between them, the only sound being the groans of metal and the sparking cables of the fallen svyatogor, and the soft chiming whir of Mercy’s own caduceus staff.

“You...uh...” Genji cleared his throat, “You can put me down now, Doctor Ziegler.”

“Mm? Oh!” Mercy reddened and set him down, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to---I don’t know what I was---”

“It’s fine,” said Genji, “There are worse places to be.” 

Mercy could hear the smile in his voice and her blush brightened as she pushed her bangs back from her face. 

“Doctor Ziegler!” Zarya called and hurried over. She looked at Genji, then back to Mercy, “Your comrades...they escaped?”

“Yes,” said Mercy.

Zarya huffed with some relief, then looked Genji up and down. “An omnic?” she said, brow furrowed.

“No,” said Genji, “Just... extensive prosthetics.”

“Hm,” said Zarya.

“Genji--What did you mean earlier---it didn’t just go haywire?” said Mercy.

“Oh--yes,” said Genji, “There was some kind of... skull icon on the screen in the machine’s core. I... I think the mech was being controlled.”

“Controlled,” repeated Zarya, skeptically, “That is not possible.”

Genji rubbed the back of his neck, “Well I didn’t think Omnic generators could be hacked either but---”

“Omnic?” said Zarya.

“Yes,” said Genji, “The mech’s core was clearly Omnic.” 

“And how would you know what Omnic tech looks like?” said Zarya, arching an eyebrow.

“I... spent several years among the Shambali,” said Genji.

“So I’m supposed to trust an Omnic sympathizer,” said Zarya.

“I think we’re getting off-track,” said Mercy, “If the mech was being controlled-”

“Volskaya industries does not use Omnic technology---It is devoted to defending Russia against the scourge of the Siberian Omnium,” said Zarya.

“Do you want me to dig among the wreckage and point it out to you?” said Genji, putting his hands on his hips.

“Genji---” Mercy put a hand on his shoulder, picking up on the frustration in his voice. Zarya brought her hand to her ear and spoke in Russian ( “Все ли вне пределов досягаемости?”) and the heat sinks in Genji’s shoulders clicked out and steamed in frustration.

“I think that would be inadvisable,” said Zarya, bringing her hand down from her ear and looking at the wreckage of the Svyatogor. 

“Inadvisable?” said Genji.

Zarya pointed her gun at Genji and Mercy. Genji flinched and instinctively stepped in front of Mercy and braced himself, but then he found them both encased in a pink bubble. “What---?” Genji poked at the bubble and watched as Zarya encased herself in another bubble from her gun. “What is thi--”

The wreckage of the Svyatogor exploded. Genji looked around, feeling a spike of panic then some slight confusion as the flames rushed up against the pink glow of the bubble he and Mercy were in. The flames died down and the bubble faded around them.

Genji looked around at the now smoldering wreckage of the Svyatogor. He was pretty sure at this point, if he could have proven that the heart of the machine was omnic before, he couldn’t prove it now.

“As I said,” said Zarya, “Inadvisable.”

“Thank you,” said Mercy, “For the shielding.”

Zarya just shrugged. “We know what we’re doing here,” she said, resting her particle cannon on the ground and leaning against it.

Mercy exhaled and stepped forward, “Look,” she said, “Omnic technology or not, I’m sure there are plenty of safeguards in place to prevent this sort of thing from happening to begin with. So something had to cause it.”

“Perhaps some new remote attack from the omnium,...” said Zarya.

Genji folded his arms.

“Or something different!” Mercy added quickly, “We should probably look around to see if there's anything unusual.”

Zarya scoffed a little, “I am not about to let two members of a renegade task force wander around a factory in a city I am sworn to protect.”

Mercy pursed her lips and glanced off.

“...Unsupervised,” said Zarya after a long pause. Mercy’s eyes widened. “You saved many lives on the Siberian front, Doctor Ziegler,” said Zarya, “And you helped protect many people today. I would be remiss not to put your concerns at ease.”

“Well... we have another friend coming along. We’d better get to our rendezvous point,” said Mercy, smiling slightly.

---

“Seems like the Russians have this well-handled,” said Ana as they watched the Svyatogor go down from one of the moving platforms of the factory.

“Well of course they did,” said Jack as the platform drifted away from the sight of the wreckage, “It was only a diversion after all.”

“Hm,” Ana fiddled with her shrike helm a bit before putting it on. There was the roar of the explosion from the yard, “I hope they’re all right,” she said softly.

“If they want to throw their lives away attempting to rebuild something the world doesn’t want, they’re welcome to do so,” said Jack. He felt a sharp glare from Ana even from behind her shrike helmet. 

“They’re not our responsibility,” Jack said firmly, “And if they’re smart, they’ll get out of here before the UN realizes they’re here.”

“But Reaper is here,” said Ana, “They may not be his priority, but if he has a chance to kill more former members...”

“Well then we’d better stop him first, shouldn’t we?” said Jack as the platform moved deeper into the factory. Ana said nothing, but loaded another biotic cartridge into her rifle. They heard yelling as they reached the interior. There was a guard on a stretcher. Ana peered through her scope at the scene. The Svyatagor attack was meant largely as a distraction for Talon, she knew that much, but naturally for it to be a big enough threat, people had to actually get hurt. She had a short window before the platform moved too far for her to fire. She and Jack had a job to do, she knew this. Volskaya had their own medics, she knew this as well. But it was a panic out there, they were still scrambling to get the facility secure again. Who could know if he could receive the proper treatment in time? They had a mission. She knew they had a mission.

---

“Well?” said Reaper as Sombra worked at a panel next to the door. 

“There’s some new hardware since our last infiltration,” said Sombra, “Nothing I can’t crack though.” She glanced over her shoulder at the handful of Talon agents they had to bring along with them this time and rolled her eyes.

“They wouldn’t be here if you had done your job last time,” said Reaper. Sombra shot him a sidelong glance as he flicked his comm on again. “Widowmaker,” he spoke, “How is our perimeter looking?”

---

Widowmaker brought a hand to her ear from her perch. She brought down her visor and watched a blue streak race across the factory yard.

“Are you sure they are not a priority?” she said, bringing the scope of her rifle up to her eye.

“If you can make the shot without compromising the mission, I won’t stop you,” Reaper spoke over the comm, “What do you see?”

Widowmaker frowned as she stared through her scope at Tracer racing through the yard. “An annoyance,” said Widowmaker.

“Widowmaker?” Reaper spoke over the comm. Widowmaker said nothing, her eye and scope slowly narrowing in on Tracer’s blue streak as she moved across the yard.

“Forget about what happened back in Numbani,” said Reaper, “Focus on the mission.”

Widowmaker rolled her eyes and brought her recon visor down.

“Well without the alarm trip of last time, we shouldn’t have a—-“ she caught sight of two figures on one of the moving platforms of the factory, “Merde.”

“Report,” said Reaper.

“If I report, can I trust that you will stick to the mission?” said Widowmaker, arching an eyebrow.

“Widow,” Reaper’s voice was a growl.

“The Shrike and the Soldier,” said Widowmaker, “I would know those guns anywhere.”

Reaper audibly scoffed on the other end. “Regular family reunion, isn’t it?”

“They did not seem to be engaging the Svyatogor like the others,” said Widowmaker, “I believe they’re operating independently,” she paused, “Perhaps they are here for you.”

“Keep them busy for now. I’ll deal with them in a bit,” said Reaper.

“I could deal with them for you,” said Widowmaker.

“They’re not yours to kill,” said Reaper.

“Akande was right. You are getting sentimental,” said Widowmaker.

“I don’t have to explain my reasoning to you. Kill them if you must, but only as a last resort.”

“Tch,” Widowmaker gave a glance back to Tracer, “And the annoyance?”

“She makes it through those factory doors and she’s all yours,” said Reaper.

“Very well,” said Widowmaker with a shrug.

—-

“You catch that?” said Reaper, bringing his hand away from his ear and turning to Sombra.

“I got it,” said Sombra, moving past the final encryption on the door’s security code. The doors slid open. Just past the doors was a workshop where a single engineer was taking notes on the glowing core of new prototype a particle cannon. He looked up at them, made eye contact with Reaper, immediately turned on his heel and raced to grab his comm and raise the alarm when Reaper fired and the engineer slumped over his table, his blood pooling around his tablet screen.

“Not much for conversation, are you?” said Sombra, stepping into the lab and gingerly around the blood puddle.

“Not much to say,” said Reaper, walking in after her. He stopped at the corpse, turned it over, and grabbed the keycard from around its neck.

Sombra looked around the lab, then brought up a couple screens up. “So this is their top-secret workshop…” she said, scanning around at the numerous projects and screens around the room, “Particle tech prototypes, graviton generators, Svyatagor plans for the next decade…Aw Gabe,” she said, elbowing him, “You know me.”

“We’re not shopping,” growled Reaper.

“Ugh, you’re no fun,” muttered Sombra,

Reaper said nothing, but scanned the keycard he took off the engineer in front of another door, and it opened to reveal a comparatively plain room with a single bright spherical object floating a few inches above a magnetic stand at the center of it.

“Hm,” Sombra put her hands on her hips, “Probably booby-trapped. Got any bags of sand?”

Reaper scoffed and moved forward.

“Oh come on—that movie’s from your time, right?” said Sombra.

“I’m not that old,” muttered Reaper, “Scan for additional security on it so we can grab it and get this over with.”

“Yeah, we should probably have you in bed by 6, right?” said Sombra, bringing up several screens.

“Sombra,” said Reaper.

“Kidding!” said Sombra.

She tapped at her screens, “Hm… tricky. By the looks of this system I may need to shut down power to—” An alarm suddenly started blaring and Sombra’s eyes widened.

“What did you do?” said Reaper.

“Don’t look at me!” said Sombra,

---

“There’s only a limited number of areas of the factory I can show you,” said Zarya, “I assure you our own guards are investigating the matter deeply, but perhaps a fresh pair of eyes can—”

The alarm started blaring and Zarya’s brow furrowed as several announcements came over the factory loudspeakers in Russian. Zarya swore and hefted up her particle cannon.

“What did it say?” said Mercy.

“The Shrike has been spotted,” said Zarya.

“The what?” said Mercy.

“Terrorist, vigilante, spy, angel, no one knows what its motives are, or even if it’s human or Omnic. But it’s armed with some kind of sniper rifle and unauthorized and frequently in places it’s not supposed to be. It’s become a bit of a ghost story among the factory workers here,” said Zarya, “It’s been months since it’s shown up though.”

Mercy pursed her lips and felt a buzzing on her comm. She brought her hand to her ear.

“Doc! What’s with the alarms?” Tracer’s voice buzzed in her ear.

“There’s an intruder in the factory,” said Mercy, “A sniper called ‘The Shrike.’ Do you think you can scout ahead? Don’t engage unless necessary, see if you can chase them down and corner them. We’ll move our rendezvous point to the interior of the factory and be right behind you.”

“Gotcha, Doc!” said Tracer. Tracer clicked off of the comm.

“She’ll need backup,” said Genji.

“She’ll get backup,” said Mercy, “But we stay together.”

---

“To be fair, I did tell you I was on the watchlist here,” said Ana as she and Jack crouched behind several crates as someone shouted at them in Russian through a megaphone, his voice half drowned out by the alarms.

“We said we weren’t going to compromise our position,” said Jack.

“What was I supposed to do?” said Ana, “Let that guard bleed out?”

“Let their medics handle it,” said Jack.

“I made a judgment call,” said Ana with that weathered determination of hers, “I honestly thought I was out of sight enough for him,” she huffed, “Either they’re getting better at their jobs or I must be getting old…”

“Tell me you at least have enough sleep darts for all of these guys,” said Jack.

Jack couldn’t really read Ana’s face with the Shrike mask, but the silent look she gave him was message enough. “Fine,” said Jack, activating his tactical visor and looking around the factory. He looked off to the side of the guards and saw several pipes of what his visor recognized as coolant leading up to the skeleton of a half-formed Svyatogor. He fired on the pipes and they released a blast of freezing vapor, forcing the guards back and breaking off visual contact, allowing him and Ana to sprint away from them. Ana skidded to a halt as sniper fire barely missed Jack’s head. Jack heard the fire and turned on his heel in the direction of the fire, laying down suppressing and retaliatory fire. That wasn’t a guard, Jack realized as he and Ana dove behind a large support beam for cover.

“It’s her,” said Ana, turning her head to see a figure in the shadows grappling across the upper walkways of the factory.

“Reaper can’t be far,” said Jack. Widowmaker was moving, already trying to circumvent their cover. “Go!” he said to Ana, “Get a vantage point! I’ll cover you!” Ana nodded and ran off as Jack fired his pulse rifle in the direction of Widowmaker.

---

Tracer was sprinting forward, pulse pistols in hand, when she reached the large open doors of the factory and heard the automatic fire. She blinked forward and dodged off into a room that had several screens displaying the various statuses of the machinery on the svyatogor assembly lines, then peeked out of the doorway slightly. Tracer barely made out the faint red glow of Widowmaker’s recon visor before she had to pull her head back in as sniper fire blazed past it.

“Oi, Doc,” Tracer brought her hand up to her ear, “There’s no ‘Shrike’ here, but we’ve definitely got trouble.”

“We’ll be there as soon as---” Mercy started.

“That’s a negative,” said Tracer, “We’ve got a sniper. Widowmaker.” 

“Talon?” repeated Mercy.

“She’s the only one I’ve seen so far,” said Tracer, “She was more or less working alone back in King’s Row, but keep an eye on the skies. She’ll probably have a pickup coming.”

“Understood,” said Mercy, clicking out of the comm.

“Of course it’s you again,” said Tracer with a frustrated sigh as she gave a glance up to Widowmaker, “All right then,” she furrowed her brow and spun her pulse pistols on her fingers, “Rematch.”

---

“Shut it off,” said Reaper, as Sombra rapidly tapped through numerous screens. 

“I’m trying,” said Sombra, “The alert isn’t localized to this area of the factory. We should be fine as long as we don’t—”

The lighting of the room suddenly shifted to red and Sombra looked over her shoulder at Reaper, who was holding the Omnicell.

“Are you kidding me?!” said Sombra, opening up a new screen to stop the lockdown procedures but the doors were closing rapidly.

“Apagando los luces!” Sombra shouted and an EMP burst off of her spinal implant. The lights shut off, the doors froze, shaking in their place with currents of electricity running over them. The alarms in the room went silent, though the other alarms could still be heard in the distance of the rest of the factory. Reaper grunted, his own nanites almost disrupted by the pulse, “I could have hacked it if you gave me the time!” snapped Sombra.

Reaper tossed her the Omnicell. “We don’t have the time,” said Reaper.

She glanced down at the Omnicell in her hands and noticed it was completely unaffected by her EMP. “Woah…” she said quietly.

“Don’t get distracted,” said Reaper, grabbing her by the back of her coat’s collar and hoisting her off her feet.

“What—” Sombra started but Reaper all-too-easily tossed her through the doors. She stumbled but didn’t lose her footing.

“Gabe—!” she called after him as her EMP finally wore off and the doors started closing again, but Reaper turned to smoke and slipped through the narrow gap, the doors closing behind him. Sombra huffed. “I have a translocator, you know,” she said, angrily straightening her jacket as she looked at the omnicell.

“You’re going to use your thermoptic cloaking to take that to the roof for pickup. Widow and I will be rendezvousing with you shortly.” He motioned to the three silent Talon guards and picked one out from the group. “You, go back up Widowmaker,” he picked out another, “You. With me. Watch my back. Stay out of my way,” he picked out the final one and motioned to Sombra, You. Make sure she gets to the roof.”

“I can take care of myself,” said Sombra.

“We can do without you going off-mission this time,” said Reaper.

“Where are you going?” said Sombra.

Reaper cocked one of his guns. “Hunting,” he replied.

---

Circumventing the main entrance of the factory took a while, and involved running across one of the barges on the nearby river to one of the fire exits, which Zarya scanned a key card to enter. Zarya, opened the door, which lead down a dark stair. “You wanted an entryway into the factory that would give you coverage from a sniper,” said Zarya, “These maintenance tunnels can take you anywhere in the factory,” she paused, “You have fought with Talon often?”

“We’ve had... brushes,” said Mercy as they headed down the stairs into the dimly lit tunnels, lined by tubes of electrical cables and coolants. It was almost claustrophobic, the three of them forced into single file with Zarya leading, Genji following shortly behind her, and Mercy bringing up the rear. “Smaller scale operations that we were able to shut down, but not much that gives us a lot of information on their movements.”

Zarya huffed. “We have held off an attack from them before. I did not think they would be stupid enough to try the same thing twice, particularly considering Katya Volskaya is not here right now.”

“You were brought in after that attack, were you not?” said Genji, as Zarya scanned her key card through a checkpoint

“I was informed that there were threats to Volskaya industries beyond the Omnium. If Volskaya Industries falls, my soldiers have no Mechs to back them up in their fight and Russia’s cities will be left virtually defenseless against an omnic air raid. Russian forces are the only thing keeping whatever woke up the Siberian Omnium from spreading to the other Omniums across the continent. I do not see what Talon means to gain from such destruction.”

“Many people stand to profit from war,” said Genji, remembering his own clan using the confusion of the Omnic crisis to take out rivals and further its own power. He paused. “Perhaps if Russia was willing to work with peaceful omnics, there might be a way to---”

“‘Peaceful’ Omnics?” Zarya repeated the word incredulously.

“They exist,” said Genji, “The Shambali believe---”

“Machines do not ‘believe,’” said Zarya, “Machines adapt. If their continued existence is dependent on the humans’ belief that they are peaceful, then they will say they are peaceful, but one needs only look at the Siberian front to see what Omnics are really built to do.”

Genji’s heat sinks steamed and he moved to speak when Mercy spoke up.

“We’re getting off-topic,” said Mercy, desperately trying to quell the rising tension between the two of them, “Our focus here is Talon.”

“Agreed,” said Zarya, stepping toward a set of elevator doors at the end of the hall. She scanned a key card and hit a button, “After you, Doctor Ziegler.” said Zarya.

Genji folded his arms a bit sullenly, trying to remember what Zenyatta had told him about keeping his anger in check. He felt Mercy’s hand on his shoulder as she walked past him into the elevator. He sighed.

---

“Open this door, Sombra. Hack the Svyatogor, Sombra. Stop hacking the Svyatogor and open this door, Sombra. We’re not shopping, Sombra. Take the glowy priceless omnic thing to the roof, Sombra. Sombra--the door,” Sombra imitated Reaper’s guttural snarl as she tapped through several screens featuring security footage from around the factory while walking along one of the upper walkways next to her escort Talon agent.

“Reaper’s orders were to---” the Talon agent started but Sombra shot him a sharp sidelong glance with a slight tug at the corner of her mouth that said, ‘Please, by all means, tell me what to do and see where that takes you’ and the agent quickly shut up. 

“Someone needs to be prepared for when all his ‘careful planning’ doesn’t pan out,” Sombra did finger-quotes around the words ‘careful planning’, the footage feeds on her screens changing with the twitch of her finger quotes. She glanced back at her screen, saw Genji, Mercy, and Zarya all in an elevator together and blinked a few times, “Oh so there you are,” she said, her eyes widening, “But where’s the cavalry...?” she glanced over at another screen and saw a bright streak break across the video feed. She shifted the camera on the factory floor and caught sight of Widowmaker grappling through the air, “Ah. Well, my Araña has it handled,” she glanced back at the screen that featured Genji, Zarya, and Mercy, “You however, might be a problem.”

“Maybe drop the elevator?” said the Talon agent behind her, “Take care of all of them?”

Sombra gave him a look that was half-amused, half-pitying.

“Can... can you do that?” said the Talon agent feeling more than a little vulnerable by the way she looked at him.

“Elevator emergency stops are analog,” she said turning her attention back to the screens, “I’d need to hit the elevator with an EMP to properly drop it, but then I’d have to be on top of the elevator and---I don’t know why I’m explaining this to you. You’re not worth it,” she turned her attention back to the screen, “No, all it takes is timing and we can divide and conquer. Though, when the time comes, I’ll need you to do something for me.” She glanced over at one of the unoccupied construction mechs used for putting Svyatogor plating on on the assembly line.

---

The three of them were awkwardly silent in the elevator. Mercy rolled her grip on her caduceus staff, looking between Zarya and Genji.

“I’ll take point,” said Genji as the elevator moved up.

“I’ll take point,” said Zarya, folding her arms.

“I’m faster,” said Genji.

“I have particle barriers and I know the factory,” said Zarya.

“I’m sure you’re both very competent, it doesn’t really matter who takes point,” Mercy said with some clear exhaustion in her voice.

“Yes it does,” Genji and Zarya said at the same time. Mercy rubbed at her temple with the fingertips of her free hand, trying to keep a headache from emerging. The biofeed of her halo was sending her a steady feed of Genji’s, and now Zarya’s vitals. Heart rates were elevating---they were on each other’s nerves, that much was obvious. She sighed and brought her hand to her ear. She hoped Tracer was handling the sniper all right while they were taking this route.

“Tracer, what’s your status?” she spoke into the comm.

“Still---” Tracer’s end of the comm filled with static, “--nned down,” static cut across the audio again, “Going to try---- see if----”

“You’re cutting out,” said Mercy and she glanced up at Genji, “Genji, try and hail Tracer on your comm.”

Genji brought his hand up to the side of his helmet, waited for a few seconds, then shook his head. “Only static,” he said. Zarya’s eyes widened and she activated her own comm, speaking Russian into it before she frowned.

“It must be Talon interference,” she said, “We should move quickly.

The elevator chimed and came to a stop. Both Genji and Zarya quickly stepped out, who was taking point was still not established, but Mercy hung back for a brief second, trying to adjust her biofeed halo to bring up Tracer’s current status when she heard a distorted dial-up like sound. She glanced over at the display of what floor the elevator had brought them to, and saw not the number of the floor, but rather a purple skull icon.

“Genji,” she spoke, and Genji stopped and looked over his shoulder at her. Mercy moved to step out of the elevator, “What was it you said about a skull ico--” the doors of the elevator suddenly slammed shut on her before she could exit. Genji was at the elevator door in a heartbeat.

“Doctor Ziegler?!” he said in alarm.

“I didn’t do that! It’s not opening!” said Mercy, from the sound of it apparently trying to get the doors open from the other side. 

“Hold on!” Genji braced one foot on the doorway and tried to pry the door open, but couldn’t get a proper grip on the doors.

“Genji---there was a skull icon---didn’t you say---?” Mercy started from the other side of the door.

“Just hang on, we can---” Genji looked over his shoulder at Zarya, “Can you override it?” Zarya tossed him her keycard and Genji quickly swiped it through a slot at the side of the door. Nothing happened.

“There’s a manual override several floors up,” said Zarya, “We can probably reset the system, knock whoever’s controlling it out of the system for a few seconds to get her ou---”

There was a series of loud mechanical clanks overhead and Zarya looked up. “Move,” said Zarya.

Genji was still prying at the door. “What?” he said.

“Move!” Zarya shouted.

Genji looked up and then scrambled out of the way as a large construction mech dropped down from one of the upper assembly lines. They only had a second to see a Talon agent at the controls of it.

“How did they---?” Zarya started but with one swipe of a massive mechanical arm, she was knocked hard off to the side and slammed hard into a wall.

“Miss Zaryanova!” Genji blurted out, but then the mech advanced on him. He drew his wakizashi and with a flick of his wrist had three shuriken at the ready. He stepped back slightly, but then found himself practically with his back to the elevator doors. He could hear Mercy clanging around inside. This really wasn’t a fight he wanted to get into without a medic. He moved to spring into an attack against the mech when suddenly a pink blast hit it from the side, the force of it sending the mech sliding across the floor, sparks flying under its steel treads as it did so. Genji looked over to see a heavily bruised Zarya, holding her particle cannon at the ready. Zarya spat out some blood and hoisted up her particle cannon. “Get to the factory overrides,” she said to Genji, “Get Doctor Ziegler out of that elevator. I will show our guest what happens when you steal a Russian mech.”

“But---” Genji started.

The mech fired a large molten bolt as big as Genji’s forearm at Zarya, who encased herself in particle barrier from her gun. The core of the particle cannon brightened as the bolt dissolved against Zarya’s barrier. “The room at the intersections of walkways P and 12! Bypass code: ‘7714!’ Go!” she shouted over the roar of her cannon as its beam barreled into the Mech.

Genji gave one final glance to the elevator door before dodging off to the side of the mech and racing past it, scrambling up a nearby wall and rebounding off of it, grabbing the edge of one of the upper walkways and pulling himself up onto it. He gave one final glance below at Zarya shouting, “Come on!” and charging the mech, particle barrier blazing before he raced off down the upper walkway.

---

Widowmaker reached the second walkway and turned on her heel, her ponytail whipping around her in the drafty factory as she switched her rifle to automatic and fired on them when she saw that familiar blue streak out of the corner of her eye. The shrike had already broken off from the soldier. Fine, she could deal with the Shrike later. Only now the annoyance and the soldier were here, but as to whether they were working together, she could not be sure. She turned and saw a lick of dark hair poking out from behind a doorway, and fired on it. A warning shot more than anything.

“Patience,” she said, though she knew Tracer was far out of hearing range, “I’ll deal with you soon enou---” she turned to fix her scope back on the soldier when she saw several helix rockets hurtling towards her. She grappled to a moving platform, laying down suppressing automatic fire as she went, the rockets exploding behind her. As soon as she reached the moving platform, she dropped down to one knee and looked through her scope at the soldier. She fixed the crosshairs on his head. “One shot--” she started.

“Oh no you don’t!” there was a flurry of pulsefire sparking along Widowmaker’s platform, and she looked up to see Tracer charging toward her in a blue flash from one of the upper walkways of the factory. Tracer leapt down from above, pistols blazing. Widowmaker turned her sights on her. Widowmaker fired on her and Tracer recalled and disappeared to dodge the bullet. Within that heartbeat of Tracer’s disappearance, Widowmaker fired a venom mine at her own feet. Tracer reappeared, still mid-fall as Widowmaker grappled away to another walkway. Tracer’s eyes widened as the venom mine detonated when she was only a few feet above the platform, spraying her with a noxious vapor.

“I see you’re finding new ways to make the same mistakes, cherie,” said Widowmaker as she took her position on the walkway. She would have had Tracer in her sights again if the soldier hadn’t fired another spray of pulsefire at her.

Tracer coughed heavily, her carefully calculated leap turning into a tumble as she fell, bounced painfully off of the platform, and landed on the ground. She grunted but then found herself coughing and gasping for breath again when something seized her by the arm and dragged her under the awning of the walkway. She heard gunfire. She would have fired on whoever grabbed her if it weren’t for her own struggle to stay conscious amidst the poison of the venom mine.

---

Don’t get involved, Jack had told himself, They can take care of themselves. But now he was here, and he and Tracer only had seconds before Widowmaker repositioned and got them in her scope again. Tracer was gasping and coughing on the ground next to him and he set down a biotic field. Tracer’s coughing slowed slightly as the biotics healed her.

“Breathe slow, get stabilized,” he said to her, activating his tactical visor, “I’ve got your back.

Tracer coughed as Jack’s tactical visor searched the environment before honing in on its target. Widowmaker was in the midst of using her grapple to get to that new vantage point. He thought he would have that split second as he squeezed the trigger on her as she zipped through the air, but then, in mid-air, her rifle clicked back into sniper mode and he realized she already had an angle on him. He was struggling to get back down when the sniper fire cracked past the face covering on his visor. He fired his helix rockets to force Widowmaker to change position again, and because his tactical visor was no longer doing him any good with its internal circuits destroyed. HIs sight was briefly obscured by a multitude of warnings in various languages flashing all around the periphery of his vision. He yanked off the visor, then realized his face was wet. He wiped at it and glanced at his hand, seeing the wetness on his face was in fact blood. He felt at his face, found that the damage to the face covering of his visor had managed to leave a gash on his cheek. He dropped down into the glowing golden circle of the biotic field. He was feeling the wound on his cheek close up and keeping an eye out for Widowmaker when he heard Tracer speak up behind him.

“...Commander?” she said. He froze.

Chapter Text

Tracer was staring at him, her eyes wide. She coughed one more time from the venom mine, then immediately she looked down at her chronal accelerator and over her shoulder at the back of it, apparently checking to see if it was damaged.

“You’re not…” Jack started and she looked back at him, “You’re in this time. The accelerator’s not broken,” he sighed, “It’s me. Here and now.”

“I was about to say, you look terrible,” said Tracer.

“Zurich took its toll,” said Jack, wiping the blood off his face but still feeling the two diagonal scars from Zurich there.

The red dot of Widowmaker’s sight passed along a nearby wall, and both Jack and Tracer remained crouching low.

“Five years,” said Tracer, quietly.

“I know you’re upset,” said Jack, peering out and looking for Widowmaker, “I know you’re confused. But it’s going to have to wait—”

“It’s waited five bloody years!” said Tracer, “I mourned you, you absolute tosser! We all did! And now—”

Sniper fire dented the wall several feet behind her but only an inch above the small barrier they were hiding behind but that didn’t seem to cut Tracer’s fury in the slightest.

“And now you show up and–where the hell were you during that fight with the Svyatogor? Where were you during the Recall? Where have you been all this time!?”

“Tracking down Reaper,” said Jack flatly, “We’ve tracked him here.”

“Reaper!? Reaper’s here?!” said Tracer, “I need to warn Genji and the Doc—I need to–” she stopped herself, “Who’s ‘We?’”

—

It took Ana longer than she would have liked to find the stairs leading to the upper walkways. A few deft shots of her sleep darts and whatever guards she ran into on her way there were downed. She pulled them out of the line of fire from the walkways. They have their own backup for that, she thought to herself, I’m losing too much time. And yet she still did it. She found her perch though, and though Widowmaker had clearly moved position several times by the time she was able to reach her first vantage point, Widowmaker was still well within her scopes.

“Ana, We’re pinned,” Jack spoke over their comm channel, “What’s your status?”

“Ana?! As in Ana Amari!?” a high pitched voice snapped on the other side.

“Tracer–please,” said Jack.

“I thought you said we weren’t getting involved?” said Ana.

“There’s been some unforeseen developments,” said Jack.

“Of course there have,” said Ana, smiling a bit beneath her mask.

Widowmaker was looking down. Ana knew the biotic rifle didn’t work the same way as regular rifles. At this point she preferred it that way. If she were working with the same rifle she had in the Omnic Crisis, this would be over by now, but it wasn’t the Omnic Crisis. She would subdue Widowmaker, buy time to actually put her down without drawing attention to herself.

“I’m giving you an opening,” said Ana. “Nāmī.” She fired a sleep dart and it hit Widowmaker. The sniper collapsed. With Widowmaker downed though, it made shooting her considerably harder. Still, it would buy Ana a short while to get to a new vantage point and finish the job or at least for Jack to get his own vantage point and take her out, if he could. She was already moving to a higher point on the walkways when she suddenly heard a clanking noise behind her. Ana turned to see one of the assembly mechs had dropped off the line and was currently engaged in a fight with a pink haired woman–she recognized her from a dossier on Volskaya–Zaryanova? Was that her name? She glanced back at Widowmaker. She had to focus. She had to end this. Sniper logic–kill one, everyone goes home safe. She heard a pained grunt from behind her and turned around to see Zaryanova had been thrown back from the force of the mech.

“Jack,” she spoke over the comm, “You’ll need to finish the job. I’ll be with you shortly.”

—

Zarya’s shielding was flickering around her as the mech moved in. She wiped the blood off of her mouth and hauled up her particle cannon, when she felt something impact the back of her left shoulder. Something ricocheted off the armor of the mech that wasn’t from her, and Zarya gave a quick glance over her shoulder to see an indigo-clad figure in a mask and hood with a rifle fixed on her.

“The Shrike…?” she said to herself before having to leap out of the way of another molten bolt from the mech.

“I’ve got your back!” The Shrike shouted to her.

Zarya didn’t have time to argue, she pointed her particle cannon back on the mech and fired.

–

Sombra only followed to watch the svyatogor drop down to Genji and Zarya briefly before slipping away before her cloaking wore off. The grunt she had piloting the mech had a name, several years of piloting and industrial machinery experience—enough to buy her time to get to the roof. She made a point of compiling information on everyone she was about to do a mission with beforehand, but you wouldn’t catch her dead addressing any of the main Talon forces by their names. Didn’t want to build up any familiarity and give them the wrong idea. She kept a screen open and tapped away with it at one hand, while carrying the Omnicell under her other arm. She brought up factory blueprints and detoured slightly to the main factory controls. It would be faster to do what she needed there than to attempt to hack it without using a direct terminal. Gabe still wanted her to get to the roof, but with the Shrike setting off the alarms, they now had three Overwatch agents on their backs as well. By Akande’s standards for mission success, that was way too many variables introduced, and now that they had the Omnicell, they didn’t have time to engage in combat with them. The best option was divide and conquer.

She glanced at her screen and thumbed through several security feeds of the factory, but stopped on the one that had previously had Widowmaker on it. Widowmaker was not there. Sombra’s eyes widened and she switched to several different security feeds of the same area, to finally find one of Widow downed. Sombra’s breath caught in her throat. She put her hand to her ear and rang up the frequency of the Talon agent that Reaper had sent as Widowmaker’s backup.

“Status?” she said.

“En route to Widowmaker as per Reaper’s orders,” came the reply. Most Talon agents had vocal distortion built into their masks. They weren’t high-profile like Reaper or Akande or Widowmaker, and thus benefitted from anonymity. Sombra still thought it sounded a bit ridiculous though.

“I’d pick up the pace,” said Sombra, “If anything happens to her, I will find you, and then no one will find you. Do you understand?”

“I…yes. Moving as quickly as possible.”

“Better be,” said Sombra, clicking out of the channel. She scrolled to a security feed of the elevator and smirked at Mercy managing to knock off a panel and then puzzling at the wires within.

“Don’t kid yourself,” muttered Sombra, “You’re a doctor, not an electrician,” she paused, “Though I suppose you’re not doing much good just stuck there.” She heard a blipping sound and brought up another screen. The transport was en-route. Sombra frowned “Hm…” she brought up another security feed and saw Genji racing down the walkways in her own direction, then another feed of Reaper making his way out from the workshops toward the staircases. “Still hunting, huh Gabe? Okay,” she said, interlacing her fingers in front of her then stretching her arms out, cracking her knuckles. “I think I’ve got a plan.” 

—

Widowmaker hated the familiarity of sedation. When she first felt the prick of the sleep dart in her arm there was simply the thought of “Oh,” And then darkness swallowed her up. She felt another needle prick and her eyes flicked open and instinctively her hand went out and gripped the throat of a figure standing over her. In one swift movement she had seized her rifle and with her other hand had it against his temple. The talon agent choked under her grip and she released him. “How long was I out?” she said.

“Not long,” said the agent, “We have orders to regroup on the roof.”

“Reaper?”

“Making his way up. He sent Sombra on ahead with the Omnicell.”

“…And he seriously expects her to stay on mission?” muttered Widowmaker, getting to her feet. She scoffed. “We need to move.”

There was a warping sound and a flash of blue light in the corner of her vision. She brought down her visor and watched as Tracer’s infrared signature darted up stairs. “Now,” said Widowmaker,  firing off her grapple, “We move now.” She shot one of the coolant tubes near where they were standing, sending out a dense, freezing fog to give them cover as the Talon agent ran and Widowmaker retracted her grapple, flying through the air.

—

Genji was racing, his mind repeating Zarya’s instructions almost like a prayer. The room at the intersections of walkways P and 12. Bypass code: 7714. He passed a walkway labeled Л and a dread rose in his stomach that Mercy and Zarya could die as a result of his grip on the Cyrillic alphabet being tenuous at best. Focus, he had to keep telling himself, Just focus. He tried to hail Mercy on the comm but found it was still filled with static. They were essentially running blind in regards to each other’s locations. Still, with his speed it didn’t take long to reach the intersection of walkway P and walkway 12, where a small box-like room sat.

Genji remembered Zarya had a keycard and wondered if he would have to run all the way back to grab it, but found the only door leading into the maintenance and control room for the factory was already open, with the key card screen at its side displaying a violet skull icon rather than the typical keycard display. He knew the skull icon. He had seen it on the Svyatogor. Genji’s stomach dropped and with a flick of his wrist he had three shuriken at the ready as he peered into the room.

 The room seemed to serve as a major security channel feed, with multiple screens on every walls, as well as several monitors displaying power stability levels and other displays of basic factory power grid statuses. What was concerning however, was that half of the screens seemed glitched out or frozen, and displaying that same skull icon. Then there was one screen at the center of it all, displaying the face of a woman who looked to be a few years younger than himself.

“Hola,” she said. Her tone was casual, almost cheerful. Genji held onto his shuriken then warily drew his wakizashi.

“Yeah. You. I’m talking to you,” she said from the screen, “Come in here.”

It’s a trap. It could not more obviously be a trap, Genji thought to himself.

“I mean… how else are you going to make sure your friends don’t get killed?” she asked. Then suddenly one of the skull-displaying screens flickered and displayed Zarya getting knocked back by the mech. “I know you want to help them. I want to help you.”

It’s a trap. It’s a trap. You know it’s a trap, Genji thought. Still, with Zarya and Mercy in danger, he had little choice. He exhaled and stepped into the room.

“You were the one controlling the Svyatogor earlier,” said Genji.

“The one and only,” she said with no lack of smugness.

“So you’re with Talon,” said Genji, his grip tightening on his blade.

“Well… yes. To an extent,” she said with an airy wave of her hand.

“So why help me?” said Genji.

“I think we can help each other,” she said, smiling.

Genji scoffed. “I doubt that,” he said.

“Okay but hear me out,” she said and the screens suddenly clicked off.

“What—?” Genji started but felt a finger tap on his shoulder. He turned on his heel to see the woman from the screen standing there.

“Hey there,” she said, smiling.

He raised his Wakizashi and she crossed her arms over herself as if flinching when suddenly a bright violet light erupted off of her in all directions and and the visual receptors in Genji’s helmet were scrambled. His limbs were unresponsive, his head was buzzing with only her words of ‘EMP Activated’ filling his ears and his head and all his senses. His sense of balance told him he was falling forward, though with most of his nervous receptors scrambled, he only felt the impact of the floor as a numb jolt through his limbs.

—-

Sombra stepped back as the cyborg ninja fell flat in front of her. “Huh. So I was right,” she said, pulling the Omnicell out of her coat. She had expected the omnicell to amplify the EMP, but not to this extent. She had even had her machine pistol at the ready, expecting Genji to still be able to move after her EMP. “No wonder Akande wants this so bad,” she said stuffing it back into the interior of her coat.  She glanced down at Genji and nudged him with her foot a little. “Hey. You still alive? I still got business with you.”

–

“Come on–just—” Mercy had given up on the panel behind the buttons and was now jabbing up at the emergency exit shaft at the top of the elevator with her staff. She very well wasn’t going to sit in a locked down elevator while Genji and Tracer and Zarya were all in danger. She managed to shove the shaft open just in time for the elevator to shudder back to life. “Finally!” She said, pressing the door-opening button. The panel didn’t respond. “Ach du lieber—” she said, turning back to the shaft, when the elevator shifted beneath her feet, then started moving up.

“What? No—” Mercy was pressing for the floor she assumed Zarya and Genji were still on. “Don’t—” The elevator chimed, and the doors opened. Mercy glanced at the floors. It had apparently gone above the main factory floors, above the walkways and assembly lines, to the administrative offices. The doors opened, and there was a single Talon agent looking around, casually waiting for the elevator. He made eye contact with her, and Mercy reacted. He raised his gun. With a long swipe of the caduceus staff, she knocked his gun upward as he fired, one shot grazing her arm and the rest riddling the ceiling of the elevator as she drew her caduceus blaster and fired four shots to his chest, knocking him down to the ground unconscious. Maybe two point blank shots to the face and that could probably kill him, but the Caduceus blaster was designed more around self-defense than lethality, and Mercy didn’t have to kill him now. Still, she couldn’t stay here. She had to find a way back to the others, and she wasn’t willing to take a chance with how much time the elevator might cost her if whoever was hacking Volskaya’s systems affected it again. She raced out of the elevator. Stairs, she thought, Find stairs. Find the others.

She found the stairs.

Reaper was on the stairs.

There was a beat. She knew the stories. He knew of her. For the past five years they had experienced each other as distant opposing forces, Reaper creating terror and chaos wherever he went in his work with Talon, Mercy doing everything in her power to undo that in her relief work. To Mercy’s knowledge, this was the closest they had ever been to each other. To Reaper’s knowledge, this was the closest they had been in five years. He raised a gun.

She turned and ran and a section of the wall shattered from a shotgun blast behind her as she sprinted behind it. Reaper followed her, pausing at a fusebox at the top of the stairs and shooting it. The hallways went dark. He was harder to see in the dark, she stood out like a lit candle. He knew this, and he pursued.

—

“You’re not getting away!” Tracer shouted after Widowmaker as she zipped after her, with Jack desperately sprinting behind her. The talon agent sent to escort her up to the roof was easily downed in a volley of pulsefire, Tracer wouldn’t even let him slow her down.

“Slow down!” Jack shouted after Tracer, “You don’t know if she’s leading you into an ambush!” 

“You know what would have been nice to know?” said Tracer, “That you and Captain Amari were alive and hunting down one of the most dangerous men in the world! That Talon was here and this wasn’t just a case of a Svyatogor gone haywire! But no! You couldn’t trust us! You had to pull this vigilante nonsense and let everyone believe you’re dead for years!” 

“You shouldn’t have rushed in with insufficient intel–” Jack started.

“It was a giant robot smashing the factory!” said Tracer, “You expect us to just stand by!?”

“This really isn’t the time–” Jack started.

“Time does not tell Lena Oxton what to do!” snapped Tracer. 

Tracer skidded to a halt in time to see Widowmaker grappling away again. Widowmaker was moving upward, Tracer realized, but she wasn’t looking back and firing on them. She was escaping.

“The roof,” said Tracer, “We need to get to the roof.”

Jack brought up the schematics of the factory Ana had lent him on his visor. “This way!” He said, turning sharply. 

—

Most of Genji’s sensory receptors came back online in time for him to feel a nudge of a foot. He struggled to spring to his feet, to raise his wakizashi. His own voice came to him, distorted. “What did you do…?”

“You’ll live,” she replied.

Genji snarled and continued struggling to get his limbs to work.

“Aw, pobrecito,” Sombra squatted in front of him, resting her chin in her hand. She reached forward and drew Ryū Ichimonji from the sheath on his back.

“That’s not yours!” He snapped as she nonchalantly tested the weight of the sword in her hand. His legs not were responding to him, his remaining organic arm was straining against his own armor, his head was still buzzing from the EMP.  

“Don’t worry, it’s not my style. It’s a little low-tech for me,” said Sombra, running her thumb across the fuller of the blade. Sombra extended her hand toward him and with a few waves of her fingers, made his prosthetic arm and legs go numb again. “Always thought you were funny like that—Given the most advanced prosthetics in the world, yet you still insist on fighting with weapons that no one uses anymore.” Genji felt the tip of his own sword beneath his chin and was forced to lift his head up to look at her. “I think I can work with you, though,” said Sombra.

“Work with me…?” Genji repeated the words and Sombra pressed the blade a bit more firmly under his chin.

“To be honest, I figured the space ape would be the one coming,” she said with a shrug, “But you’ll do.”

“What makes you think I would ever work with someone like you?” said Genji.

“I take it you’re going to want this back,” said Sombra, giving top of his helmet a slight bonk with the flat of the blade, “And,” she brought up several screens, “You’re probably going to want to help your friends.”

Genji’s breath caught in his throat as he saw her display the feeds from several security cameras. One was of Zarya fighting the factory mech, another was of two figures racing up a stairwell, Genji could recognize the glow of Tracer’s chronal accelerator but couldn’t make out the face of the man running alongside her, then finally, there was a dark screen featuring Mercy, hiding alone, visible only by the faint glow of her valkyrie wings. She seemed safe, but then a white shape emerged from the shadows near her. A bone white mask. Reaper. Mercy turned toward him and pointed her caduceus blaster at him, then Sombra closed the screens.

“Let me go,” the words fell out of him, more instinct to them than thought. Sombra smirked.

“We have some terms and conditions we should work out before that,” said Sombra, “We’re going to be very good friends.”

“I’m not working with Talon,” said Genji.

“You’re not working with Talon, you’re working with me,” said Sombra. She brought up a photo of a busy street, “And I happen to be very good to my friends.” Making a frame shape with her fingers she zoomed in on a single figure in the crowd.

“Hanzo…?” Genji squinted at the figure she had zoomed in on. He had changed his hair but Genji would know his brother anywhere.

“But my friends have to be good to me,” said Sombra, closing the screen, “I get the feeling you’re very interested in knowing your brother’s whereabouts—-it would be a shame if that information found its way into the hands of the Shimada clan. I’ll do you two solids: I let you go so you can save your pretty doctor friend and be the hero,” she did a ‘jazz hand’ motion with her fingers on the word ‘hero,’ “And I’ll give you everything I have on your brother’s whereabouts—for whatever that’s worth—but, in return you’ll owe me two favors. Not Talon favors. Me favors. Seems fair enough, right?”

“And if I refuse?” said Genji.

“Well I could shoot you,” said Sombra, “Seems a waste though, especially after our doctor friend worked so hard to keep you alive,” she brought up that same screen of Mercy, “Nah, I’ll probably just EMP you again to keep you stuck here for a few minutes so you don’t kill me while I head to my extraction point. Thing is, though… I don’t think Doctor Ziegler has that long,” she closed the screen.