#naive zenyatta

[thefluffzone]

„You don't seem like yourself tonight.“

Character/Pairing: Zenyatta x Reader (gender neutral)

Fandom: Overwatch

Words: 1022

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You were an agent of Overwatch, working at Watchpoint Gibraltar in the division of Tekharta Zenyatta. At first, you never thought he could be a good agent and commander, but this monk – this omnic monk – destroyed your prejudices immediately. He was gentle and friendly, but also strict and stern with his „pupils“, how he called his agents. He could be unforgiving with his enemies, but not for the people in Overwatch. And they often tried to make him happy and asked him to teach them the way of the Shambali. You were one of them. 

Not the first who asked him, but the most eager to learn. Unfortunately, you developed feelings for the omnic, more than just simple friendship. Well, more unfortunately, he still was your boss. But these emotions made you think. A lot. Could omnics feel? Or even be in love? One evening, you grew more and more restless, so you decided to release your stress. You sneaked to the training range and went to a lonely target, where Zenyattas 'main student', Genji Shimada, used to train. It was hidden from the others and a bit further away, so you had your peace to train with the shuriken Genji gave you once. After a good while, you felt like being watched, but you couldn't see anyone. Well, since you still couldn't get over this feeling for the next couple of minutes, so you spoke into the night: „Whoever is watching me, please don't hide. That's creepy.“ You heard a distant chuckle you knew way too well, then some engine noises came your way. „I taught you well about listening to your instincts, little one..“, Zenyatta said while hovering to where you stood. You made a surprised step backwards, the orbs floating around him immediately reacted with a chime you could only describe as confused. Just how 'alive' are those things exactly?He watched you for a second, then he said: „You don't seem like yourself tonight, agent. I can feel confusion, stress, even despair. Do you need someone to talk to?“ 

Tension washed over you like a wave and Zenyatta noticed that almost instantly. The sound his orbs made became quite soothing and one hand reached out, like an invitation. „Please, agent.. please Y/N, do not fear me. Did I do something wrong? If so, do not hesitate to tell me, its my wish to clear any mistakes I make in social interactions.“ That brought a soft smile to your lips, not being able to resist his gentleness. You never were, what was one more reason why you fell for him. „Master..“, you finally spoke. „If you promise to not dodge me as a student, I will tell you. But I need to sit down for this.“ He chuckled, nodded and led you to a rock for you to take a seat. The monk hovering in front of you maintained a proper distance, but looked at you curiously. The orbs made a sound and once more you felt like they were confused. You cleared your throat and started quietly: „You know, to be honest it's about my.. emotional state. Still wanna hear it?“ You smirked as he asked you to go on. „In my past I was rarely in love. I think, mostly because it always meant for me I'd have to give me to someone, like I'd have no true 'me' anymore. So I tried to not feeling anything more than friendship at all. It worked quite well, until..“ You sighted. „Until I met you and learned about your teachings. Learning from you, Master, really changed my mind.“ You played nervously with one of your shuriken so you didn't have to look at him.

„So, I assume you developed feelings for someone.“, he said. „May I ask why this confuses you?“ You flinched and cut your finger at the sharp edge of the object in your hands. But it didn't hurt, it even felt kind of warm. One of the orbs floated to your hand, descending until it touched your palm. The cut closed before your very eyes, but the orb stayed where it was and chimed to relax you. „Well, it's confusing and scares me because I don't know how this person feels about me. To be honest, I don't even know IF this person is feeling anything at all.“ The ball in your hand made a strange noise, like it was asking „What?“, but when you finally looked at its owner, he just chuckled again. „You are the most interesting person I met here, Y/N. I cannot imagine anyone not taking an interest in you. Maybe, you just need to talk to this lucky being, at least to lighten your burden.“Now you smiled. You couldn't help yourself, but it was simply cute how he acted. So you gathered all your courage and tried to make it obvious. „Master, can an omnic monk feel? And if yes, is he even allowed to?“ 

You could swear the little ball in your hand laughed, at least the chirping noise he made sounded like it as the simple hearted Zenyatta slowly realised what you were saying. Then, the environment suddenly seemed to getting brighter as golden light radiated from the monk. The orb in your hand started floating again, but before its warmth could also leave your palm, Zenyatta took your hand into his. The monk watched you a moment before he finally said: „Yes, we can feel. And technically, I'm under no Shambali rule anymore, so those do not matter to me.“ He chuckled and rubbed gently over the back of your hand. „Little one, I actually do feel for you, too. For a long time now. But I am inexperienced in this field and I cannot give you everything a human partner could.“ He carefully floated closer and pressed the lower part of his faceplate to your forehead, as if he would kiss you there. „But you would never have to give up yourself.“ You smiled happily at him and got up from the rock, still holding his hand. „I'd very much like that.“

want more? /ask for a Request

[shadybiotics]

Perv!Zenyatta and Perv!Ramattra x Reader [NSFW headcanons] Part 2

[ part 1 ]

During the colder months both Zenyatta and Ramattra get extra physical with you. Why? Well, metal is very sensitive to temperatures and adapts quickly, so both omnics are like walking ice cubes, and they like to use that against you.

Zenyatta will sneak up from behind and quickly slide his freezing hands underneath your jacket only to grab your chest which he has the honor of fondling for about two seconds before you react and slap his arms away, all while he giggles. He will lean his cold face into your neck as well.

Ramattra will do something similar, but he wont be sneaky about it, like at all. He will hold you in for a 'kiss' but as soon as his faceplate leans in close enough he will grab the back of your neck. You hiss at the cold touch while he plants even colder 'kisses' on your face. "Mwah mwah mwah!~" he laughs.

Sometimes they will gang up on you. While Ramattra holds you still by your arms at your back Zenyatta will grab your body all over with those cold hands of his. Underneath your shirt, into your pants, amywhere he can reach while you thrash around trying to escape Ramattras grasp.

At lunch time everyone gathers in the cafeteria to eat, even omnics but more so symbolically, for the company. You grab your chosen snacks and head over to the table where Zenyatta and Ramattra are sat. Even Genji is there, oddly enough. When you arrive at the table you pause and see theres no more seats left. "I'm gonna go grab a chair and be-" you start before one of offm cuts you off. "Theres no need, you can sit right here" Zenyatta says as he pats his lap. "Or here" Ramattra continues, leaning back in his chair, patting his lap as well. They both look at you intensely.

You naively thought it was sweet of them to offer but things got uncomfortable quick when the omnic started bouncing his leg up and down as you sat on it, making you almost tip over the table before he grabbed you tightly by the waist pulling you back onto his groin. "Dont worry, I've got things under control~" he'd reply slyly, still holding you.

[overwatch-does-stuff]

Okay, it’s time for some deep nerdery to speculate about Overwatch 2

Overwatch 2 has 30+ characters. That’s one hell of a large ensemble. If Blizzard had any brain cells, they would probably try and take a similar approach to how Marvel handled their large cast in Avengers: Infinity War.

Remember Infinity War? It functioned as a movie by keeping its groups of characters small (at most five people per group) but also by choosing ‘main characters’ that it focused most of its emotional energy on (most notably, Ironman, Dr. Strange, Vision, Thor, Thanos, and Gamora). The main characters were the ones with emotional arcs and therefore had the most screentime. The rest of the cast was quite static. Also, characters in different groups rarely, if ever got to interact with any characters outside of their group, with the rare exception of a quip or two.

My suspicion is that Overwatch 2 is going to do a VERY similar thing. This means that the roster of Overwatch heroes are going to be divided up into groups and assigned either main character or side character status.

So who’s going to be in each group? That I can’t tell you. As Marvel has shown, characters are grouped up not based on character compatibility, or even arc potential, but instead on what would best make the plot go forward. (For example, raise your hand if you predicted that Ironman, Spiderman, and Dr. Strange would team up with Starlord, Mantis, and Drax for the climax. No one? That’s what I thought.)

What I can predict, however, is whether each Overwatch hero is going to be given main character status or not. My predictions are going to be based on lore importance and current emotional arcs that have been set up the Overwatch continuity. Unfortunately, fan favoritism or previous screen time is not a good indicator (again, as shown in Infinity War.: raise your hand if you predicted that Captain F*cking America would have less than fifteen minutes screentime?) and therefore will not be counted in my evaluation.

NOTE: It is assumed that the plot of Overwatch 2 will be the plot that was introduced in the Zero Hour short, along with the gameplay trailer.

I’ll go tank/damage/support, alphabetically through each section.

D.va- Oh, poor D.va. Unfortunately, I think she’s just going to be a side character. Being so unconnected with the rest of the cast is a death sentence for plot importance. The only way I can see her being a major player is in an indirect way- if Blizzard decides to focus on the “Omnic From the Sea” they teased at in the short Shooting Star.

Orisa- Orisa is not so cleanly cut. Given that she was created to defeat Doomfist, she has potential to be the one who takes him down. They’re narrative and thematic rivals (an analysis of which could be a whole other post) which made me finally decide that she’ll be main character status. I know that seems like a cop-out, but given how Doomfist is the main face of villainy, her connection with him makes her important.

Reinhardt- I’m going to be massacred for this, but I don’t see any universe where Reinhardt is a main character. His character is static, his connection with old Overwatch is the most flimsy out of the oldies, and most of his backstory has already been explored. He’s going to be a side character, relegated to a mentor to Brigitte.

Roadhog- Nope. Side character. He and Junkrat fall into the same boat. Not being a part of Overwatch and having no connections to any characters in Overwatch makes more than passing screentime impossible.

Sigma- OUR BOY SIGMA is going to get no screentime, calling it right now. He’s going to be firmly relegated to side character status. Why? Although he might be a serious fan favorite, his lore and the conflict it introduces (the cosmic horror of the universe) doesn’t really apply to the rest of Overwatch. We know he’s affiliated with Talon, but more like a weapon than a character. He’s got serious redemption potential, but the arc would be very. . . simple. As soon as he gets to Overwatch the arc would be over. 

Winston- MAIN CHARACTER. Our mans is currently the driving force behind the majority of the plot (that isn’t whatever Talon’s doing). He’s the one who recalled Overwatch. Enough said. If he doesn’t get an arc about learning how to be a leader, I am going to be shocked.

Wrecking Ball- lol side character. Given how Blizzard hasn’t made any attempt to treat him more than a walking gimmick, he’s going to be such a side character that he might blend into the background.

Zarya- This is another character that makes me hesitate. At first glance, she’s in the same boat as D.va in that she has no personal connections with the lore or the main cast. HOWVER, she’s directly involved in the conflict of Overwatch 2 because she is currently fighting Omnics in Russia AND has been trying to track down Talon on her own for a while now. Plus, she also has a very juicy potential character arc: she’s racist towards Omnics. Her comic touched on the fact that she has the potential to outgrow her prejudice. This leads me to believe that Zarya is going to be one of the main characters, if a more minor one than the rest.

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Ashe- Side character. Her connection to McCree ensures that she’ll get some juicy interactions, but not enough to be considered a main character. More than likely she’ll be contacted to help out with the plot conflict, but she’s not going to have any sort of arc or emotional connection with other characters beyond snarky one-liners.

Bastion- . . . I hate this, but I don’t trust Blizzard to give Bastion the relevance they deserve as a character. Don’t get me wrong, I think Bastion will be important to the plot of stopping the rogue Omnics, but I think Bastion themselves will be treated as a McGuffin. They’re mute and prone to acting naively, which is not conducive to character agency. I’m going treat McGuffin as a third category to my predictions.

Doomfist- literally the Thanos of this conflict. He’s going to be a main character, but I doubt he’ll get any character development, because that’s what Reaper is for.

Echo- Main character. It’s pretty much guaranteed by the fact that McCree sought her out in his animated short and that she was once the payload of Route 66. The Overwatch narrative also treats her as the “sPeCiAl OmNiC” that’s somehow more advanced/better/more sentient than the rest of the Omnic cast. As much as I think the role that they’re going to give her would be better suited for Bastion or Zenyatta, I just know that Blizzard is going to give her the full main character treatment. She’s going to be the magical bridge between Omnics and humans. Count me mad about it.

Genji- I love our ninja boy, and he’s an honorary mascot of the game, but as far as arcs go he just finished his. He’s finally found inner peace. That’s not a good sign for main-character-ism. However, he has tons and tons of connections to the rest of the cast and the lore. . . but I don’t think it’s enough. I think he’s going to end up as the character that other characters are able to bounce off of. Everybody knows him, so they’ll be talking to him a lot, but he isn’t going to drive the plot with his own struggles. He’s a side character. His brother, however. . .

Hanzo- As one of the two people in the Overwatch roster actively undergoing a serious life crisis, I suspect that Hanzo is going to be a main character. The fact that he and his goals are not connected to Talon or Overwatch is a detractor, but his emotional turmoil as established in the short Dragons is too important too ignore. His decisions, however reckless and hot-headed they will be, will significantly impact the plot. Why? Because his potential for redemption is such juicy story bait. Also, he could bring in an entire other faction, the Shimada Clan, into the plot, and that could be a game-changer.

Junkrat- Side character. The same reasoning for Roadhog applies here. He’s not connected in any way to the cast. The only potential mystery about him is the ‘treasure’ that’s been alluded to over and over again. If he has this story bait, why am I calling him a side character? Unfortunately, it’s because his ‘treasure’, whatever it is, is going to be a McGuffin. Junkrat’s going to be lucky if he avoids the same status.

McCree- A side character, but an important one. This decision was a difficult one. He’s got the lore and the connections to the other characters but not the internal character arc. He was an active player in unleashing Echo, but it’s also hinted at that he isn’t going to join the recalled Overwatch, instead striking out to do his own thing. That’s not conducive to being a major player in the story. However, his connections and conversations with other characters might, in the same way I’ve predicted Genji’s might, motivate other characters to drive the plot forward.

Mei- Side character. Nothing much else to say. Her focus on climate science isn’t going to be super relevant to the Omnic plot. She’s got only a very loose connection with other characters in the form of her Overwatch membership.

Pharah- I hate this, I hate this, I hate this, but she’s going to be a side character, calling it right now. She’s got so much potential because of her relationship with her mom, but that’s about it. Ana is her only connection to the rest of the cast. It’s important that they reconcile, but their reconciliation has nothing to do with any other plot point. It’s isolated. That’s not a good sign for her screen time, especially considering that she’s not looking for Ana and Ana is not looking for her.

Reaper- MAIN CHARACTER. You should have seen this coming. As the primary instigator of the plot (aka the reason Winston recalled Overwatch,) it should be meta-textually obvious why he’s going to have a lot of screentime. He’s directly responsible for a significant chunk of the unresolved lore conflict within old Overwatch. In order to resolve it, we’re going to be seeing him, a lot.

Soldier 76- Main character, for exactly the reasons listed above. As Reaper’s foil and the person who’s hunting him down, Soldier is going to be pretty important in concluding that unresolved conflict. It’s destiny. Like in a murder-soulmates kinda way.

Sombra- Tricky, tricky, tricky. . . it’s difficult to say. It all depends, I think, on the amount of emphasis Blizzard places on her conspiracy. If she’s the only character who knows exactly what’s going on, that could set her up to be very plot relevant. However, her relationship with other characters and to the rest of the Overwatch lore is shaky at best. I’m going to leave this one blank. There’s just too much we don’t know.

Symmetra- Here we have the other person in the Overwatch roster that is actively undergoing a serious life crisis that I alluded to. Symmetra might at first seem unrelated to everything- the lore, the characters, etc, but Blizzard has set up a surefire redemption arc for her that needs to be resolved. She is going to realize that Vishkar and Talon are connected, and she is going to make the decision to either go full villain (unlikely) or to turn over all the information she knows to Overwatch. Either way, she’s going to get involved, and she’s going to grow as a character. Main character material.

Torbjorn- Torbjorn, oh Torbjorn. Here’s a case that makes me upset. For all intents and purposes, he should be a main character. He’s the one who helped develop the Omnics, and he’s got an active character arc where he’s trying to undo the damage Omnics have caused. This ties him pretty damn directly to what we know of the plot of Overwatch 2. However, Blizzard lately has refused to treat him with respect, reducing him to a joke character because of his height and accent. Not only that, but they diminished his importance in the lore with the invention of Mina Liao and Echo. I could write and entire post about how the Mina Liao/Echo introduction was made to replace Torbjorn and Bastion’s importance in the potential plot, but all of three people would read it.

Tracer- As the literal face of Overwatch it’s pretty damn obvious that she’s going to be a main character. If you need a reminder, look at the London Calling comics and then the cover art for your copy of Overwatch.

Widowmaker- Widowmaker has literally zero character agency and only very very very loose connections with the lore/characters. HOWEVER, she does have the potential to be redeemed by death (I could make a whole other post on this) but it’s not enough to bring her into major character territory. Side character.

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Ana- Side character. Given that she’s avoiding her potential emotional arc by avoiding Pharah and the rest of recalled Overwatch, she’s flat out of luck for main-character-ism. She’s going to be very important to Soldier 76 and Reaper but she won’t be the one instigating any plot points. Unfortunate.

Baptiste- Another tally for the side characters. The fact that it took him a year to even get voice interactions with the rest of the cast reflects this. His arc of leaving Talon is already done, the idea of Mauga being added to the game is history by now, and he has few connections with the current cast and plot. Big F, my dude.

Brigitte- With both her dad and her mentor being important former Overwatch members, it makes sense that she should be a main character, right? Right? Unfortunately, I think she falls into the same pitfalls as Reinhardt. Her backstory is already mostly explored and her dad is better at any plot-relevant mechanics that might be needed. She’ll help her dad, no doubt, but she’s a side character.

Lucio- I really want Lucio to be a main, really, I do, but he’s a side character. He suffers the same exact problem that D.va does. He has very little to involve him with the rest of the main caste. He’ll join Overwatch, sure, but I think it’ll be more of a decorative declaration than anything. His connection with Symmetra is his only saving grace, but even that just relegates him as a side character in her emotional arc.

Mercy- I think she’s going to be a side character, because all of her current content has her separated from everyone else and unsure about going back to recalled Overwatch. I don’t see the narrative following her inner emotional turmoil about this decision very much. She also doesn’t add anything to the potential plot.

Moira- Okay, Moira is tricky, so hear me out: her lore importance is off the CHARTS, and she’s a lot like Doomfist in the aspect that she is quite clearly villainous. She brainwashed Widowmaker. She turned Reaper into what he is today (physically, mind you,) and she probably has something to do with manipulating Sigma. But is being a villain enough? She’s not the one directly orchestrating Talon’s plan, like Doomfist is. And she’s not so directly connected to the fall of Overwatch like Reaper is. I hesitate to call her a main. Narratively, she’s going to get her comeuppance, but. . . (I’m going to leave this one blank.)

Zenyatta- The only true wild card on this list. Sure, I’ve left Sombra and Moira blank, but Zenny boy? He’s literally got nothing. There’s nothing to base predictions off of. No lore to speak of. We know that he mentored Genji. We know that he knew Mondatta. We know that he defends Omnics’ rights to exist. However, I doubt Blizzard has the nuance to tackle his perspective on the impending Omnic war in Overwatch 2. He could be a seriously major player if he was treated with the respect that his character deserves, though! He could potentially have an active role in trying to figure out what’s making the Omnic uprising occur and stopping it in its tracks! There is so much potential there! It’s all in Blizzard’s hands. It’s all about how Blizzard chooses to finally flesh out his character. . . IF they flesh out his character at all.

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Total tally out of 32

Main characters: 11

Side characters: 17

Undecided: 3

McGuffin: 1 (poor Bastion)

And that’s the results! It’s important to note that I am far from infallible and that these are just my opinions/speculations on the future. Please please please argue with me in the tags/reblogs. That would make my day.

[poladraws]

Allow the friendly swordsman to lead the way through the fog?

[freak60000-moved-to-uniduck600]

Different anon and not to zenyatta post in your ask box but like young zenyatta pumps me full of serotonin. This omnic can pop off about the wealth significance in the brevity of existence at one moment and then switch to playing hacky sack in the park at the next. I think he'd gleefully watch someone launch a soda rocket and have the same "oh shit" moment when it bonks someone on the head. Zenyatta totally has the zeal for life and humor that stands with his wisdom, not in opposition of it and his taunt emote is proof. Thank you for coming to my ted talk

YOU ARE. SO RIGHT. everyone makes him out to be Only serious Very naive No humor when hes? very much not. and like u said his taunt emote and a lot of his voicelines prove that

[overdrivels]

Deleted TWtaH Scenes

[Original opening sequence for chapter 1]

The kitchen once held no less than twenty cooks at a time back in its hay-day at peak hours, and at least four during downtimes.

Now, there was no need for that many cooks, however. There were less agents this time, less funds which meant less provisions, and a dejected look inside the nearest fridge yielded even less ingredients that can contribute to a coherent dish.

The only fitting solution was the age-old family-friendly Overwatch (and Blackwatch, of course) version of Russian roulette: the "Surprise Menu".

The small pot of translucent slop bubbled gently by its lonesome atop a gleaming stove meant for the meals of thirty agents of varying tastes.

A ‘ping’ notified you that an order was placed. A quick glance at the name (Agent McCree) already had your hands grabbing for cabinet doors and bowls.

McCree always ordered from the regular menu, even when it contained things that he would leave untouched (like the octopus salad four days ago) or when it would have nothing he liked to eat (he leaves everything half eaten those days, except the bread—he usually asks for seconds regardless of the type).

The previous Commander Gabriel Reyes had forced him to choke down anything that was being served on the "Surprise Menu" that day for being a little shit. Jesse McCree can now eat anything, but the grimace on his face made it clear he would rather not.

Soldier 76’s ratio of “Surprise Menu” to “regular menu” was fairly even. He would take the tray and disappear for several short minutes before returning the tray, completely devoid of any traces of food. You were never sure if he ate all of it or if he has just eaten a little and chucked the rest, though a check of the base's garbage disposals just made you then wonder if he actually flushed the food down a toilet somewhere.

"Thanks, it was good," he would say when returning his tray. Only ever compliments. "Better than sewer rats," he had once said. Though, he did once admit the chicken was too spicy in one of your dishes.

D.Va bristled at the suggestion and demanded for more spice immediately after.

You endeavored to warn 76 of spicy dishes on the Surprise Menu and to find ways of adding more flavor to those of D.Va's.

The plastic tray echoed a finality against the window counter that bounced off the far away kitchen walls and rung in your ears.

You flip through the worn list hanging by the refrigerator nearest you.

Foods must be similar in portion.

Foods must be similar in consistency.

Foods of different color cannot be next to each other.

Foods of different temperatures cannot be next to each other—

You didn't even hear the doors to the cafeteria swing open.

Favorites (at least one for every meal):

Curry with soft beans (ABSOLUTELY no hard solids, no half-cooked beans. Chili is not acceptable substitute!!) Potatoes (plain) Extra short grain rice (extra water) Basmati rice (normal water)

**When cooking rice, wash four times (taste is noticeable otherwise)

A ‘ding’ of the overhead monitor alerted you that someone had placed an order.

Zenyatta did not eat, and Genji's limit was a cup of tea half the size of his fist and a sweet, but they enjoyed sitting near the kitchen window to speak with flashes of your hands and the clinking dishes set in front of them, but never for them.

[Deleted scene of Chef fighting back against Talon]

The video plays.

A team of six sweeps through the cafeteria, and immediately, he sees the issue which has the team swarming the kitchen door and the service window.

The lights were on.

Even though he knows of your fate, he couldn’t help but feel a tinge of fear grasping at his chest. They split up into two teams. One checks the window–they signal to the other team around the corner, and they signal back, guns at the ready.

He can see them count down with each wave of their hand.

One.

Two.

Three–

Hanzo expected that when it happened, you’d walk out daintily, the same way you put down a tray noiselessly, the same way your fingers touch the marble service window, the same way you touch your fingertips together when in thought, the same way you gesture–all soft flourishes and curling fingers.

But no.

You stride out through the double doors like a storm, head ducked down to avoid any deviant bullets, armed with only a large soup ladle made to handle a meal fit for five and a deep furrow in your brow with a scowl to match.

And then you begin to swing. Not wildly, but small, precise sweeps of little circles and sharp flicks of the wrist that cleanly disarm the shocked Talon operatives before slamming the underside of their chins. Even he has to give a sympathetic wince when their teeth clack together, or even worse, when they don’t.

Up close, he can see you still wear your chef’s uniform, all white and emblazoned with the Overwatch logo right on the sleeves of your upper arms.

You only had three of them; the other three take their shots through the window.

He sees you reach back with your free hand inside the doors, and immediately, a metal door comes slamming down behind the window. The Talon operatives jerk back, lest they get their arms caught.

He’d never admit it, but he swears that his hair has just become a bit greyer after watching the surveillance video.

[Deleted scene of McCree’s interview with Head Chef Richard v1]

The meal is delectable, but he doesn't taste it. Countless experiences with chasing spirits and tobacco did not come without a price.

Even so, he makes a show picking at his food with enthusiasm. Just enough to show interest but not overly flatter and be taken for a fool.

[Filler]

“Cœur d’Artichaut.” The man flips the card elegantly between his long, thick fingers. “A leaf for everyone. A bit of love for everyone. Sounds good, no? Everyone deserves a bit of love."

He then holds the card still and places a gentle kiss on it, letting it cover his lips as he murmurs, "But what that means is to give and give and give until you’ve nothing left.”

The man takes a moment to pull out a pack of cigarettes and lights himself one, silently offering one to the disguised McCree. Not one to turn down such an offer, McCree takes one for himself, leaning into the flame when the chef holds the lighter to him, his dark hand cupping around the flame and McCree’s face. It’s an oddly intimate gesture that he can't be sure isn't because he's being polite. McCree just hopes the heat doesn’t affect the hardlight contours of his disguise.

A plume of smoke gushes from the chef’s mouth. The grey wisps caress his sharp cheekbones and winds itself around his head, allowing only his lighter eyes to shine through. It reminds McCree of a mythical creature.

"It iz a chef’s responsibility to take care of their customers. Cook ze best food for them. Love them with all our being. We chefs exist for them.” A bitter quirk of his lips accompanies the change in his tone. “We die for them. Their bodies are built on the meals we make, and so we must give as much as we can to help our customers face another day. This, of course, includes love."

"I see ‘love’ is a running theme with this restaurant. Could you tell me what you mean by ‘love’?" McCree raises his tablet and pen.

Just when he’s about to interrupt the silence with another inquiry, Richard takes another drag of his cigarette and stares out into the distance.

"Love,” he begins. “No greater form of love than to nourish another's body and soul. It can be as simple as a prayer or as complicated as picking out ingredients and cooking them in a way that is appropriate for that customer and that one customer only. There are many ways to love and show love. But to give and give and give love but not receive, even the greatest of lakes will run out. Love is an ingredient. Love,” he stresses with a wave of his hand, “iz not infinite."

"But love isn't an ingredient you can put on food, is it, sir?"

The chef's eyes slide over, fixing itself onto McCree's face for a moment, so piercing that he's sure he can see through the disguise. It sends shivers up and down his spine. He’s being measured, judged, like a fish on the chopping block.Mercifully, Richard looks away, letting the smoke rise out from between his teeth. Something like a laugh makes the smoke stutter.

"It is the food. It is the effort. The thought.”

“And so you plan on carrying on the ideals of the previous CEO?”

Richard barks a laugh.

“Of course not. That foolish, naiive child."

“Could you explain?”

“Mm. A naive, desperate people-pleaser. That sort of love means little. People like that ought to have more self-respect.”

“There’s nothing wrong with a chef doing their best, is there?”

Richard waves his hand dismissively. “Of course there isn’t. But doing one’s best to satisfy their customer’s paletes is different from being a doormat.”

[Filler]

"That child does not understand that love can flow in many directions."

[Filler]

"I am here to restore the balance and clean up ze mess my...protégé...has made."

"Hm. So long as my protégé remains a child, then this toy will remain in my possession."

[Filler]

"Even chefs must eat."

[Filler]

"Do parents not give their lives for their children? It iz an obvious conclusion."

Protests and bitter memories that illustrate the contrary almost make it out of McCree's mouth. Instead he swallows them down and replaces them with a, "Of course. There's no parent who wouldn't."

No other lie has ever burned his tongue so.

[Filler]

“I hope this interview has been…enlightening…" There's something about the way that word is said that puts his nerves on edge.

"Oh, it has. Thanks very much for your time."

Richard scoffs, snuffing out the last of his cigarette against the heel of his hand. Tough son of a bitch. No wonder he and Reyes got along so well. The butt makes its way into a pocket instead of on the ground and Chef Richard opens the back door.

Over his shoulder, he calls, "Please do come again in the future. I look forward to reading your article. As thanks, we will have...surprise meatloaf waiting.”

McCree’s shoulders draw back tight and he fights every instinct to not stiffen and turn around. Instead, he keeps walking, a wry and defeated smile on his face.

“Oh, and tell that child that one should not preach about love if without having experienced it in full."

The smugness could not be any less evident, and the door slams shut, allowing the threat to linger in McCree's ears.

Sonnavabitch.

[Deleted scene of McCree’s interview with Head Chef Richard v2]

He’ll have to evaluate their true value, but decades-old wine definitely has buyers and he thinks he may know one or two. It’s not gentlemanly to let a favor like this go unpaid, and he’s already got a few ideas on how to do it.

And that’s how he finds himself here, sitting in the very back of Cœur d’Artichaut, bathed in the afternoon sun with his laptop, pouring a tiny pitcher of espresso into his coffee. He never understood fancy places and their need for so much extra silverware and fine china when the food he’s eating is the size of a well-used soap bar.

At least it tastes better than one.

Glazing across the restaurant, he sees the person he’s supposed to thank, still talking to the General Manager, Argus.

With half the cup in his stomach, he puts his hands to keys and types.

‘Chef Richard Sauveterre, a chef of renown fame whose name is given reverence, not in written word, but through the mouths of those he has fed,’ the first few lines of his draft reads.

‘The very definition of tall, dark, and handsome, made more distinguished by thick cornrows that trace the sides of his skull like a crown, the remainder cascading down in a neat waterfall down his neck. He is King Midas in a chamber of heat, steel, and raw ingredients that he spins into award winning meals capable of turning the stoniest of hearts into gold.

‘Now the CEO of acclaimed charity restaurant, Cœur d’Artichaut. The heart of an artichoke, a leaf for everyone, is their motto.’

McCree pauses for a moment, licking at the scab on his lip, searching for the next words and filling himself with another deep sip of coffee when he can’t find them.

“Pardon the wait, monsieur Morricone.”

“Not at all, Chef.” McCree gets up from his chair and extends his hand. “I’m just glad you made time in your busy schedule for me.”

“Likewise.”

McCree was bracing for it, but the weight behind the chef’s handshake still catches him off-guard. It’s just one strong up-down motion with a firmness that softens as they let go, but it’s that immediate contact, that sheer presence that puts him off-kilter and reminds him that this man is not only a cook but also a world champion fencer who could give some of the lower and mid-tier members of Blackwatch a run for their money in terms of reflexes and sharp wit. It is not only his hands, but Chef Richard makes sure to lock eyes with him, pinning him down. While Gabe would look for weaknesses to be exploited, Chef Richard is looking for gaps to be filled.

At least Richard doesn’t greet him the way he greets Reyes: with more kisses on each cheek than should be necessary. Though he may have to attribute that distance to his current disguise.

McCree begins his usual spiel: who he supposedly is (Joel Morricone, freelance writer, likes long walks on the beach and freshly roasted coffee), why he’s writing this (following up on a previous article he wrote about the restaurant ousting their CEO), and a few general compliments to loosen up his interviewee.

In the midst of all that, Argus brings over Richard’s coffee and replaces McCree’s. Her movements are quiet and unobtrusive, befitting of a high class restaurant like this. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think she’s forgiven him for having written an article about them firing their CEO, but he knows better. She definitely debated turning him away at the door when he tried to come in ten minutes ago.

In return, Richard gives a brief summary of who he is and his accomplishments, factually and without embellishments as though he were talking about someone else. The names of awards and institutions he gives are fancy and long and would probably be more impressive if McCree actually knew them, but all he can do is nod and ask probing questions that makes him sound like he actually knows more than he does.

If McCree didn’t know his history any better, he would have missed that the man glossed over the fact he led Overwatch’s kitchens for a good portion of its existence.

Past the initial niceties, McCree begins digging into the real reason for his interview.

“Prior to this position, do you mind telling me what you were doing and why did you come here instead?”

“I came because I saw some article about a former employee of mine leaving behind unfinished business.”

“And where did you come from?”

“My mother’s womb, where else?” he says dryly, and McCree damn near types that down.

“I’m guessing you don’t want to talk about it.”

Richard smiles. “No.”

“O--kay. Let me remind you that this interview is confidential and you will be the first to review the contents before public—”

“I am aware.” Then he pauses as if reconsidering, his smile growing wider with a glint in his eye that makes McCree want to squirm in his chair. “If you must know, I was anchored.”

“Anchored?”

He doesn’t elaborate any further and McCree’s brain is working overtime trying to decipher his words and not let it show on his face.

Anchored. Tied down somewhere. Somewhere that you nor anyone else have been able to reach. McCree goes through all the iterations of what that could mean and he lands on either ‘prison’ or ‘out so far in the boonies that technology couldn’t reach him’. Either one is possible with this man.

“Right, next question.” He clears his throat. “Now that you’re here as the new CEO of Cœur d’Artichaut, what is going to be your strategy for the restaurant going forward and your current impressions of things so far?”

Richard’s eyes flit once between McCree’s disguised face and his own cup of coffee. There is a semblance of bitter fondness that lingers in the corner of his lips that is quickly covered by the rim of his cup. For the first time since this interview started, his demeanor shifts. McCree can’t explain it, but it feels like he’s no longer talking to Richard, a professional chef, but Richard, a person.

“Avoir un cœur d’artichaut.”

“Pardon?”

“‘I have the heart of an artichoke’. I love everyone who eats my meals, for everyone who has eaten my meals has a piece of my heart.” He sips at his coffee for a moment too long, . “This restaurant’s motto, ‘cœur d'artichaut, une feuille pour tout le monde’, iz something I had said a lot in the past.”

“So the restaurant’s namesake is from you?”

“The saying is not mine alone, but that seems to be so.” There’s a bitter twist to his lips like he wished it weren’t. “As for the direction of the restaurant, a lot of effort has been put already and I will not change what does not need changing.”

“Have you had a chance to speak with the previous CEO during the transition?”

“No.”

“And is there anything you’d like to say, any message you’d like to convey?”

“Yes. ‘Do it your own way.’”

“That’s it?”

“Did you expect a heartwarming speech?”

“Well, I was expecting something a little more personal?”

“Personal things should be told to the person in question, yes? And not to a...” Richard looks him up and down, real slow and deliberate. A shiver runs through McCree’s spine--the look would make a lesser person shrink in their seats and the way he says his next word would evaporate them from existence. “...mere reporter?”

McCree manages a grin. He’s seen scarier. “You’re right, you’re right. So if you don’t plan on changing the restaurant or giving any words, any menu changes?”

“I’d take away those awful pancakes,” he exclaims with a toothy grin and a flap of his hand, and McCree can’t tell if that’s supposed to be a joke. He doesn’t have to guess as Richard continues. “This menu is like a baby imitating their parents. Too many recipes similar to mine, not original enough.”

“Oh?” McCree puts his hands to his keyboard again. Food seems to be the way to get this man to open up. “I’ve seen raving reviews for ‘em—”

“Bah. Shitty taste buds. Zis thick piece o’ dough cannot be called, eh, pancake. Babies will choke and the elderly will die of malnutrition, zis--non, non, non. Zis is something only someone with bad tastes could like. But ze compote! ‘Ave you tried it? That is the only thing that makes it menu-worthy.”

The rambling critique of your menu goes on and on and Richard’s accent only gets thicker as his excitement pours out in unstoppable waves. As disparaging as though remarks are, McCree can’t help but get the sense that Richard right now is like a proud father, and he wonders how he can convey that to you in his article.

“A chef must always think of their customers. This menu is subpar, but I can feel the thoughtfulness in the service and selections.”

“Humans can eat most anything and survive, but it is a miserable existence. Gladden the senses, bring people together. Our dishes are made with love, but that love must come from somewhere. No chef can provide it all without having received any, and I will continue that mission here.”

[Filler]

“Please, stay for lunch. I do not wish to host a guest without showing proper hospitality.”

McCree suspects he’d probably be murdered if he does agree if not by Richard then by your own staff who already hold a grudge against him for having written an article about your forceful resignation without their consent. (A scoop is a scoop, and it made Richard come back to Gibraltar, so all’s well that ends well.)

“Thank you kindly for the offer, but I think you’ve shown me plenty.”

“It will be on the house.”

“Really, I’ll come by another day. Lots left to do.”

McCree pulls out a handle from his bag and presses a button, the rest of the cane materializing as he uses it to get up. Chef Richard is right there beside him with a hand hovering over his elbow.

[Filler]

“The next time you come we will have our specialty for you prepared: Surprise Meatloaf. Oh, and no need to be concerned; insurance will handle both the trucks you and your friends destroyed.”

McCree turns around but the door clicks shut behind him, the heavy wooden door now much more threatening than before.

He grins wildly to himself, dragging a hand through his hair.

That sonnavabitch.

[Deleted Scene of Reaper encountering Chef]

"Hello, dishwasher."

You turn and gasp at the stranger in the kitchen. “What the f—ATHE–!!”

The man explodes into a tidal wave of mist, and your mouth is covered with one large hand, claws digging to your face, the rest of your body held immobile by the darkness. “Now, now. No need for that, dishwasher.”

Dish–!!?

Paralyzing fear courses through you like lightning. You struggle to free yourself from the confines of...whatever it is that is holding you. You need to alert everyone. You need to get free. A threatening squeeze of your body--your spine pops a little and your recently healed injuries protest the rough treatment--and the bone mask in your face makes you pause for a moment.

“Now, be good; don’t call for help. I’m just here for a house visit.”

He removes his hand slowly.

“A house visit?" Your voice is shakier than you'd like it to be, brain buzzing with fright.

The mist detangles itself from your limbs cautiously, ready to strike and immobilize you against if you were to make a stray move. The blood rushes back into your head and brings spots to your eyes, drumming in your ears and making you more nauseated than you would've liked.

While you're busy trying to reorientate your body, the part-mist, part-man glides slowly around the kitchen, looking around. You can see him pause at some of the injuries the kitchen sustained during the Talon attack.

"Pity. That baker, Woo, really liked this countertop. She'd have a fit if she saw this."

Stunned, you stare at the wandering mist figure. "You know this kitchen, you know Patisserie Woo?"

He turns his mask toward you, and you’re sure that he’s raising an eyebrow behind it. The response, 'Obviously,' exudes from every fiber of his body. .

"Wait, who are you…?”

“Take a guess.”

You narrow your eyes, curling your fingers around your lips in thought. Someone who knows your past. Someone who knows you since you were a dishwasher. The chefs in this kitchen didn’t exactly have a high turnover, but there were very few people who knew you throughout your journey up the ranks. A man who first knew you as a dishwasher and called you such.

"Omar? Frederick? Johnny?"

“Try again.”

The fear and wariness ebbs away as the threat of death evaporates.

You search your memory. There's nothing familiar about this man except the way he stands, arms crossed and staring down at you. If you squint, you could almost overlap a memory with this figure.

“Come on, now. You picked up everything in this kitchen pretty quick. You can’t even figure this out for yourself?”

It hovers over the edge of your memory, just out of reach. Think, who is this person acting like? You’ve seen this behavior before.

The voice becomes soft, endearing almost as he utters, “Come on, dishwasher. You’re smarter than this.”

The image of a man, leaning against one of the counters during the lull between service, watching you attempt a new recipe with calculating eyes. You almost expect Head Chef Richard to appear behind him and slap him on this shoulder, watch them both get up and give each other a brotherly hug.

Your eyes widen.

"Gabriel.” Your mentor's voice and yours overlap in a breathy whisper. "Comman, commander Gabriel Reyes."

There's a hint of a smile in his voice when he says, “There we go, always knew you were a clever little thing, but I go by 'Reaper', now."

A slight flush goes through your cheeks, forcing out the icy sheen of fear that lingered in your veins. Even now, despite being on opposite teams, it is nice to be praised by the former Commander. However, your thoughts are quickly interrupted when you remember that this is Reaper--the Talon higher-up whom the recalled Overwatch were on the look-out for.

"What are you doing here?"

"House-visit," he repeats. You're not quite sure what that even means. "You're not supposed to be there."

Confused, you ask, "Be...where?"

Commander Reyes--Reaper--sweeps his arms out, gesturing at the kitchen in its entirety. "Here. You weren't supposed to be here that night."

Talon. The attack. You gasp, hand flying to your mouth and other protectively against your middle. Your wounds ache at the mention and quickened pulse.

“They were supposed to lure you out," he continues. "Leave the path open so that Talon can use the passage,” he rumbles.

"But I came back..."

"Right. Now I came to give you some information."

"Why would you do that...?"

He shrugs. "Because I'm feeling generous, maybe?"

A small laugh escapes the fingers covering your mouth. That can't possibly be true, but then again, he is--or was--Gabriel Reyes.

"You don’t trust me?"

It’s hard to trust someone who looks like the Grim Reaper come to life.

"I do," you say distantly. "Because I trust Command Reyes. And…” You hesitate. “And, you know, the Head Chef…he really loved you."

"That man loves everyone,” he scoffs. “Don’t bring him into this. Anyway," --he waves his hand around-- "don't you wonder about the attack that night?"

"Yes. Like how they were able to find the passage. It's only supposed to be known to kitchen personnel--wait." Something clicks in your head. "Were you the one who led everyone here?"

Reaper exhales something between a growl and a huff. "No, but someone in your little organization’s turned traitor."

The world got absorbed into a vortex, and you suddenly feel like you're free-falling or sinking or just dying. You can't breathe, you can't hear, couldn't think, not when reality decides to take an unexpected vacation.

You force out a shuddering laugh that sounds grating even to your own ears. "What do you mean 'turned traitor'? There's, there's no one who knows that would ever..."

You sink down to the ground, reality righting itself and your limbs feel like a ton of bricks or that you've been hit by them. It didn't really matter. You're trying to get your brain to function, to think. But the shock of his words were too much. You trust--trusted--everyone at your restaurant.

But...then...

“Turned traitor on you and your organization."

You clench your fists and bring them to your mouth.

"Reaper on premise! Reaper on premise! Repeat, Reaper is on the premise!"

"Took them long enough,” Reaper says at the exact same time you order, “Athena! Cancel the alert!"

"Command overridden. Reaper on premise!"

You give the man a weary look and he returns it with a shrug.

"Can I offer you a meal before you go?”

He laughs. “I don’t think you can make anything fast enough. Those Overwatch brats will be here soon."

You’re already walking to one of the refrigerators while he speaks and pull out a lunch box that was meant for Agent McCree before his mission, but given the circumstances, you’re sure it wouldn’t matter much. You can just make a new one anyway.

"Here you are."

He takes one look at the name written on it and tosses it right back at you.

"Give it to the brat. I don’t take sloppy seconds.”

You don’t even have a chance to retort before he disappears into a puff of smoke, slipping in beneath the door from which he came.

The kitchen doors burst open, Agent Soldier: 76 at the helm. And not a moment too soon.

“Kitchen personnel only!” you say, reflexively.

“Where’s Reaper?"

The other agents are spread out, alert, but some are looking around the place like it’s a tourist attraction. You cringe.

"I didn’t notice anyone here."

His sweeping gaze falls on you, and you’re suddenly an insect that’s been pinned, unable to escape from the piercing gaze of the ex-Overwatch Commander.

"Talk, Chef.” Nothing in his stance bodes any hint of compromise.

You know he doesn’t believe you. Not when you’re standing there with McCree’s lunch in your hands, wrapped and with no dishes around.

[Original scene of Hanzo’s first break-in into the kitchen]

He drops down from the top of the doors, only to freeze when you round the corner.

The words tumble out of his mouth ungracefully. “You’re a person.”

“Get out.”

The biting intensity in your voice is challenging enough for him to forget exactly who he is speaking to.

“I go where I wish.”

It’s the wrong answer.

He sees your eyes flash. In an instant, you’re trying to man-handle him out. Hands clumsily fisted into his gi, twisting, tugging, hips down and bearing weight against his bulk. However, you’re no match for a trained assassin. His reaction is too immediate. He has you on the ground, straddling your hips, pinning both your arms to your back with a hand, his other hand bracing himself on the floor by your head.

You try to buck him off relentlessly, like an animal.

“GET OUT!”

He grits his teeth, and presses tighter against your hands. Your breath comes out in a wheeze, and in the back of his mind, he’s aware that you will have trouble breathing.

“I do not take orders from a mere chef!” he barks.

You seize in his hold.

For a bone-chilling moment, he thinks he may have gone too far in his technique. His grip slackens just a margin.

You twist violently. He gets unseated just long enough for you to aim a knee up at him. He blocks it, and you are scrambling off the ground, hand reaching for something. Anything.

A ladle—you hold it out in front of you, the rounded end pointed squarely at his chest.

“Get. Out.”

He furrows his brow, aware that he’s all teeth and spitting fire. “Is that all you can say?”

“Agent Hanzo, you are forbidden here, get out.”

“What is the meaning of this?”

It’s Satya who stops the fight from the door, well within the boundaries of the rules set.

“Going into the kitchen is against Overwatch policy,” she recites coldly.

He can see you’re still ready to fight even though you are horrible outmatched. If he really wanted to, you’d be dead in an instant.

But those burning eyes promise him something more than a poorly attempted beatdown should he push the matter.

With a huff, he leaves.

She gives him a disapproving look, which he shakes off, angered.

[Filler]

The next day, he’s only mildly horrified to find two turrets stationed outside the kitchen doors, and is suddenly paranoid that there are many more waiting where they cannot be seen.

Hanzo does not know if it's you who ordered them or if the architect had done it off her own free will. (If he has to guess, you had explicitly requested it.)

The architect is extraordinarily good at her job--able to merely look at a building and understand the structure and blind spots even if she doesn’t fully appreciate the depth of this part of her skillset.

He could swear they’re all looking at him--glaring, even--ready to teach him a lesson for his transgressions.

It prickles at him.

[Alternate shopping scene with Chef and Hanzo]

The air, crisp with the snap of an impending winter, chills your lungs as you breath it in. It feels liberating.

The market is as busy as you remember it. Medication and a lengthy preparation time kept you sleeping past the normal time you'd be up and about, searching for the juiciest, freshest, and tastiest of produce. But at 0830, most of them were already snatched up by other more savvy people and chefs who have likely returned back to their kitchens to celebrate their prizes. Now only the more casual crowd remained, a steadily surging crowd.

Agent Hanzo stands right at your elbow, being one of the few agents who were awake when you were plotting to leave and caught you in the act of trying to disconnect yourself from the supplies that are theoretically keeping you healthy. (You’re fine. You can stand and walk with minimal trouble, so a few hours outside shouldn’t be an issue.)

“It is not safe by yourself. I shall accompany you,” he declared like it was a given.

You just didn't have the energy to fight him. After a few failed attempts to even stand up from your bed, you figured it wouldn't hurt to have him around in case your body decided to betray you. Athena, bless her, was blissfully complacent in letting you both go once you promised you would take it easy and forced Hanzo to take responsibility for protecting you (and that you'd both return by lunchtime; she threatened to send other agents after you both and you shudder to think of the commotion that would cause).

So far, Hanzo’s been attentive and pleasant company with an occasionally sharp comment that is more witty than barbed and a helpful hanp.

“Is there anything you'd like for lunch or dinner today?”

“Are you so unwell that you are now taking requests?” he asks incredulously, glancing at you briefly with a raised eyebrow before sweeping the crowd with his eyes.

“Very funny, Agent Hanzo. I’m serious.” You pick up a radish and look it over. You can make radish curry with this. Agent Symmetra would probably like that--something closer to home--or maybe radish salad, or garlic roasted radish with feta cheese, or maybe even grate it into a yogurt sauce. “Since you decided to accompany me, it's the least I could do.” You didn’t have much else you could give to him or do for him anyway.

He scoffs, a tiny smile at the corner of his mouth shows it’s not as condescending or mean as it sounds. “Anything you can make without dropping.”

“That was once! And you dropped way more things than I did.”

“The magnitude is greater,” Hanzo says flippantly, lifting the heavy bags he held so easily back into view. “Whatever you plan on making with this will be payment enough, I’m sure.”

Somehow, you couldn't help flush a little, unsure if it is meant to be genuine or teasing.

“If you don't decide soon, I'll make pepper soup.”

Hanzo just laughs, a light and actually jovial laugh that makes you flush a little brighter. It's a stupid threat especially against an Overwatch agent, but it’s all you have. But even so, he didn't have to make fun of you.

“I'm really going to do it, Agent Hanzo.”

He looks at you, a challenging gleam in his eyes that you've seen far too many times from other ill-fated agents who think the kitchens are a game. The look makes you burn just beneath your skin.

“Aren’t you supposed to reward me for my services?”

“And I will,” you say with a firm determination. “I promise.”

He has nothing to say to that, but the look on his face speaks for him: we shall see.

For the remainder of your shopping trip, Hanzo remains a quiet but intimidating presence behind you as you continued to pick out your produce. Hanzo still says nothing even after moving through several other booths where you take your time to buy and bargain for large and colorful peppers. He wordlessly takes your bags as you get them, refusing to return them to you even after you kick up a small fuss that quickly exhausts you.

[Filler]

A heavy weight in the middle of your back nearly makes you jump out of your skin and you clench your teeth to hold back the noise of pain that tries to crawl its way out of your throat.

At your ear, Hanzo mutters, “Come.”

“Is someone following us?”

He doesn’t answer, weaving his way in and out of the crowd with you held close to his side. Absentmindedly, you realize he’s quite warm amidst the autumn air. As sharp and callous as Hanzo is, he sure is comfortable. It’s presumptuous, but maybe you could ask him if you could take a nap against him when he has the time. Maybe for half an hour or so. Just once.

You’re startled out of your thoughts with a quick jostle. “Chef, hurry.”

“Okay, okay.”

“Stay beside me.”

“Do you see something?”

Again, he doesn’t answer.

You can see him scanning the area as though seeking a route. The number of people have thinned considerably, leaving you both exposed. Hanzo keeps you by the walls of what buildings are around, but those are quickly becoming sparse, too. There’s a constant flex in his jaw and it’s clear to see he’s a little agitated.

“Oh!”

You reach for one of his hands--it’s also very warm and very large--and begin to pull with what strength you had even as he tries to snatch it back. You both need to stay together and this is the best way to ensure it even though you’re very sure he can keep up against your injured self.

“Wh—”

“This way.”

You know Gibraltar better. You know its secrets and its truths and exactly how to lose people here. Hanzo, perhaps knowing this, follows obediently after you--he has no choice, you have his hand.

The bags are definitely slowing you both down and a small ache begins to settle around your stomach and sides--the pain medication must be reaching its end, but you push forward through small alleyways that barely fit the both of you until you both made it into the Siege Tunnels where you both took turn after turn into the winding dimness.

“We...we should be safe here,” you huff.

He nods and says nothing, both of you listening, backs pressed against the chilly stone walls, listening for anything beside the echoes of the whispering wind or cries of the many macaques that call these tunnels their stomping ground.

The darkness makes it hard to see anything, but it only makes everything else just so much more apparent especially the proximity between yourself and your bodyguard for a day. You notice you still have his hand in a death grip but you refrain from saying anything: there’s no telling if the danger has passed yet and you didn’t want to risk making any more noise (and he hasn’t tried to pull away again after the first time). It’s embarrassing and downright childish, but you had to admit you felt just a little safer just having him beside you as a solid and warm presence.

You’ve worked alone for so long, it was nice to be in such close proximity with someone who is not looking to you for orders or putting the pressure of work on you. How many years has it been since you were free of expectations? When was the last time you stopped vying for the approval of others?

It must have been a long, long time. All of your actions had you wrung out and stressed, looking over your shoulder at every whisper and imagined gaze. Were the UN after you? Was the Head Chef there? Were your staff watching your every move and judging you? You didn’t ever feel certain even as you rose higher and higher in the world--it felt like each step toward what most people would consider to be an ‘accomplishment’, you became one step closer to uncertainty, trapped by silver walls and isolated from everyone else around you.

This impromptu trip was a good idea even if it made your muscles hurt. Agent Hanzo didn’t judge you, didn’t try to give unnecessary praise or respect, or treat you any lesser. He’s good company with a discerning eye and even better jabs. Maybe next time you decide to sneak out, you’ll tell him first.

Somehow, you realize you’ve closed your eyes as you were thinking. The cool stone at your back and the warmth at your side is intoxicatingly comforting, the shoulder beneath your head is a little hard—

“Oh! I’m so sor—” You bite your words back, forgetting momentarily you both were on the run, a chill running up and down your skin because what if--.

“It’s fine. I believe we are clear.”

You breathe a sigh of relief. “Great. We can take this tunnel straight back to the Watchpoint. It’s a bit of a walk, but I think it’ll be faster than going back outside.”

You push yourself off the wall with a grunt of effort. After running around so much and taking a break, your muscles refused to cooperate. Hanzo gives you a strong pull with the hand you have gripped tight.

Again, you flush with the realization. The danger has passed, there’s no reason to keep holding hands.

“Sorry, I didn’t really--I can let go, if you’d like? This must be stopping you from doing your job.”

A contemplative look crosses his face, but it’s difficult to tell in the dark. After a moment’s pause, he gives your hand an experimental squeeze and says, “No. We’ll stay like this. So you cannot get lost in the dark.”

There’s a hint of a wicked smirk in his voice that’s somewhat playful and again, a warmth blooms just underneath your skin; a mix of embarrassment and indignity.

“I can find my way around with my eyes closed!”

“Shall we try? I will not warn you of walls, just so you are aware.” Regardless, he walks with you, close to your side.

“I don’t want Athena to send a team after us, so next time!”

“Next time.” The way he says those words sounds like he’s testing them in his mouth. It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking, but you swear you can hear his smile. “Next time.”

[Deleted interrogation scene between Chef and others]

The facts were laid bare before him once more in the morning when Hanzo speaks to Winston, Soldier, McCree, and a holovideo of yourself and Ana.

It is almost like a trial, the image of your listless face, turned away from the monitor, sits on the central terminal of the meeting room for everyone to see and judge. It's the first time Hanzo had seen you since you were carried out of the Cellar by Soldier--the Cellar which has been opened up by order of Winston and interconnected with Athena's systems, yet the secrecy of it's entire contents remained mysterious by effort of the Junkers and the AI herself. It may be a small comfort to you to know that not everything was defiled, but he doesn't know just how much you knew about the state of your kitchen.

But today's meeting wasn't about that.

You were told to deliver the facts of what you've been doing and your dealings for Overwatch. You did so, slumped in your bed without care for appearances or the usual politeness that came with your service, answers flat and pointed. Normally, this type of disrespect and blatant disregard for manners would earn his ire, but instead, it makes him uneasy.

It is not the look of an injured person on the sliver of your face, but your whole body told the story of someone who has given up after a long, harrowing effort.

You confirmed that you owned a restaurant, the card of which sat on Hanzo's scant dresser. It explained the service, the food, the aesthetic. It seemed so painfully obvious that Hanzo wondered why he never saw the connection before.

When questioned about the previous head chef, you admitted you didn't know where he was. You should have set off for France, but you knew he wouldn't go there. Some personal issues that you never understood and no one wanted to question.

You distantly confessed the amounts you've given Overwatch, the methods for contacting donors, and the sloppy way you went about verifying them. Even sloppier were your attempts to make the transactions seem legitimate and the lengths you went through to protect Overwatch, the donors, and your customers from the potential fallout.

All throughout, you refused to look at them or give excuses, only clinical facts and simple 'yes' and 'no's.

"Anything else?" you ask wearily.

"No, we will let you know if we require further information. You have given us enough for now. Please get a good rest," Winston says.

Nodding at them, you lean back into your pillows, and let out a bone-rattling sigh. Mercifully, the screen turns off

There is a deafening silence that follows.

They have been given a lot of information to digest and Hanzo, long grown out of the habit of writing down thoughts during a meeting, finds himself wishing that he had if only to organize the chaos that you’ve thrusted upon them.

It is an incredible tale, regardless of the number of times he had to hear it. The amount of danger, sacrifice, and sheer naivety involved

"The donors can claim ignorance then."

"It was well planned." Even Ana sounds slightly impressed, toying with the string of her teabag. "If the auditors checked, only Chef would take the blame." A smirk comes over her face. "Ah, doesn't that sound familiar, hm, Jack?"

The man grumbles something unintelligible.

"What's that, Jack? I did not quite hear you."

"The restaurant workers are just as guilty. They are accomplices." Ana rolls her eyes at Soldier's obvious diversion but allows it to proceed by sipping on her drink.

“The way it’s set up, only Chef handles the finances. On paper, as far as the other two go, they can say they didn't know about the operation...”

[Filler]

It's not safe for them to continue sending the money especially not after they had their run-in with the auditors. It wouldn't take long for an investigation to find both the restaurant and Overwatch guilty of money-laundering.

What is the best thing to do?

Hanzo's brows furrows, painfully tight as he rummages through his mind for the correct answer.

He is not well-versed in Gibraltar law and even less so with financial laws involving a charity like yours.

"It's smarter this way."

"Though how they plan on covering the gap is beyond me. The timing is too convenient and matches the auditors' investigation too well."

"Wouldn't it be weirder for them to stop?"

[nol-overwatch]

Overwatch and Among Us Part 2

So I may be a little addicted to Among Us, and before I knew it I made these prompts for all the characters playing this game.

You can read Part 1 here.

Characters in this prompt: D.va, Doomfist, Echo, Genji and Hanzo.

D.va | Hana Song

As Crewmate:

Hana hates being the Crewmate. She’s the type to leave the game when she sees she’s not Impostor.

Nevertheless, there will be times she’ll stay when she’s playing with friends or fans, and will even stream the game on her streaming platform (racking up to a good five hundred thousand views as well).

“I swear to god it’s either Jamison or McCree. They’re acting waaaaay too sus, chat.”

Hana trusts Soldier a little too much.

“Huh? What do you mean it’s the old man? Psh, it’s not him I saw him do ta-- WHAT THE HELL IT IS THE OLD MAN!”

She doesn’t really vouch for anyone’s innocence without proof, but she knows a liar when she hears one.

And she’ll scream on her mic when she sees the Impostor in the act, and spam match chat with ineligible, caps lock ASDFGHJKL’s.

As Impostor:

Now THIS is what Hana wants to play as.

She can be especially good at this too. She can do all the killing, the sabotaging, and the lying with ease.

Pair her up with either Brig, Lucio and, weirdly enough, Hanzo, and they’ll be an unstoppable force.

If her duo made a mistake, she can cover up for them as long as they don’t expose her as well.

If Soldier is a Crewmate, she’ll make sure to kill him first because she knows how easily he can guess its her.

“Let’s get that W, chat!”

Doomfist | Akande Ogundimu

As Crewmate:

It’s actually very difficult to have Doomfist as a Crewmate, because people suspect him ALL THE TIME.

It’s also very rare for him to play this game; with running Talon, doing missions and probably throwing people off the roof, if you see him in-game prepare to be intimidated a lot.

Even so, he’s calm and collected; he’ll do his tasks efficiently, and will sometimes hangout in admin to check where everyone’s gone to.

If you are the Impostor and you vented, pray that Doomfist wasn’t on admin or else; he’ll smoke you out smoothly and efficiently.

So if you’re the Imp, try to kill him first for some easy wins.

If Sombra is in his game, instant doubt.

Nevermind, he doubts everyone; Talon or Overwatch, even if he saw them do tasks.

Most likely to get booted out of the airlock by the Imps for being scarily good at accusations.

As Impostor:

Literally one hit k.o’s his victims aka: appearing from out of nowhere by getting out of a vent and then killing immediately.

Doomfist doesn’t kill a lot of victims per round. He sabotages to make sure nobody will discover his kills until there were like, two disasters happening in the same time. He’s also the type to self-report after nobody’s discovered the body for a long time.

Be careful with his lies. You might be playing into his trap without knowing, and in the end he’ll always try to come out on top, kicking the skeptics out and killing those naive fools.

Works well with his Talon colleagues, but will have difficulty if his partner Imp is from Overwatch. He also has no problem kicking his partner Imp out the airlock once they’re suspicious to the main crew.

He’s the type to sabotage Reactor a lot.

Echo

As Crewmate:

Incredibly efficient with finishing tasks; her particular favorite place to do tasks are Weapons and Navi.

While she figures out tasks faster than the average person, she doesn’t actually know who to trust until they claim during emergency meetings that they were doing tasks. She doesn’t understand some of the slang such as ‘doing shields’ or ‘garbage’.

If she sees the Imp in the act of venting, she’ll not-so-innocently corner Impostors during meetings.

“Hey, McCree, how did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“You went inside the vent, that was really cool.”

Of course she knows the mechanics of the game, she just finds it funny seeing and hearing the reactions coming from her fellow crewmates.

Because of this, she’s most likely to offer useful information on Imps instead of defending someone.

As Impostor:

Echo doesn’t kill, but she can be scary with sabotaging. That is why she’ll need an aggressive partner to do all the killing, while keeping the crewmates away from the bodies. McCree comes to mind, even Pharah or Winston.

She can’t really fake her tasks well, thus getting her booted out early in the game, but be warned. With her as a ghost she can freely sabotage facilities and lock doors to help her fellow Imp.

You would want her to be the last Imp if you’re a Crewmate, otherwise it would feel kinda annoying to lose to her as the only survivor.

Genji Shimada

As Crewmate:

Speedy boi coming up. He’ll actually request at the very beginning (not healing, thank god) to crank up the movement speed if it’s not to his liking. He and Lucio became fast friends because of this.

He used to spend a lot of time fooling around when he was younger so games aren’t a problem to him; it’s just that team games are little difficult for him to comprehend.

His baseless accusations often make him lose rather than win.

“I think it’s McCree.”

“Why do you think so, Genji?”

“He’s taking too long with the card swipe thing.”

Also he follows Hanzo a lot, causing Hanzo to sus him and eventually vote him out.

If Hanzo is an Imp, he won’t believe it until he’s killed someone right in front of him.

All in all, not a useful Crewmate, but he’s hilarious nonetheless.

As Impostor:

One of those players you’d immediately know it’s the Impostor with the way he’s acting i.e not doing tasks, waiting for players to disperse groups.

If Mercy and/or Zenyatta is in his game, he’ll kill them either first or last, there’s no in between. 

He doesn’t actually know how to deal with Hanzo if he’s a Crewmate. The dude straight up doubts anything Genji does lmfao.

Either way, if he wants to win, all he needs to do is either kill Hanzo first, or make sure to beat the game with sabotage.

Would sometimes dance in front of the camera if he knows somebody’s there watching (and usually that’s Hanzo).

He works best with Zenyatta, as they watch each other’s backs well.

Hanzo Shimada

As Crewmate:

He doesn’t believe in teaming up, but if he sees someone doing their tasks he’ll vouch for their innocence when suspected.

The Security Guy: the first thing he’ll do is go to cams to check on everyone else. This sometimes gets him killed, as he’s often alone, but he knows that people can guess who’s the Imp and who’s not just from this simple thing.

He’s the type to make 10000iq questions such as: “Before I reveal the location of the body, I’d just like to ask everyone’s locations NOW.”

If Imps want to win, they need to kill Hanzo first.

He is suspicious of Genji all the time, and it doesn’t help that he follows him all the time, Crewmate or Imposter.

As Impostor:

Precision and perfection, a known creed in the Shimada household, and Hanzo upholds those ideas precisely and perfectly. He’s the least expected person in the group to be Impostor with how clean his actions are, as well as his expertise on assassinating and lying cultivated throughout most of his years.

As someone who checks on cams a lot, he often kills around the leftmost area of the map, where the vents connect for him to hide in.

He surprisingly works well with Hana as an Imp; with a bloodthirsty gamer girl who leaves bodies left and right, Hanzo can provide some reasonable-sounding lies to deflect suspicions pointed towards her. Another capable partner is Widowmaker.

He’s wary of Genji and won’t think twice about murdering him (again), but then people would know it’s him so he ignores him completely, or at least, pin the blame on him to kick him out.

[trin0dinz]

Alternatively: Zenyatta knows exactly what those shirts mean and just likes messing with people who think he is naive.

He knows

[themetaisawesome]

Overwatch characters as RVB quotes

McCree: "Oh no! It's Mad Dog Deadeye Jack Rabbit Cherokee Wild Bill Quick-draw McCree, the Red Canyon Kid! He's the meanest, and laziest, gunfighter in these here parts!"

Genji: "Hanzo doesn't know what he's talking about? Stop the fucking presses."

Soldier 76: "Once again I find myself torn. On the one hand, there's one less blue in the universe. But now Doc's got a bigger body count than me! And that just won't do. No sir."

Reaper: *in Spanish* " If I saw something, I would be shooting, dumbass."

Pharah: "Fight because you deserve to fucking win!"

Sombra: "When the EMP goes off I'll be fine. It only affects computers, remember? And I am a motherfuckin' ghost."

Tracer: "Time...line? Time isn't made out of lines. It is made out of circles. That is why clocks are round!"

Doomfist: "Everything was looking good... and that's when the meteor hit."

Ashe: "I wouldn't say I'm mean. I just get hired to do mean things."

Junkrat: "Hey, you can't make an omelet without blowing up a few eggs."

Bastion: "Rest in peace, pinkie toe. YOU WILL BE AVENGED."

Hanzo: "There's a fine line between not listening and not caring. I like to think that I walk that line everyday of my life."

Widowmaker: "I swear to God, I think somebody fucks with the sights on this thing when I'm not looking."

Torbjorn: "This is a hammer, you fucking idiot."

Mei: "Not my fault. Someone put a wall in my way."

Roadhog: "That's right. Fear the claw, bitch."

Reinhardt: "Today is a good day to die!"

Winston: "That's what you get for arguing with science. Stupid bitch."

Zarya: "Fuck that, I'm pissed! Let's fight!"

Orisa: "She is young and naive... and delicate. She is a precious flower."

D.va: "Payback's a bitch, and so am I."

Ana: "I think it would be ironic if our guns didn't shoot bullets, but instead squirted a healing salve that cured all wounds."

Mercy: "Remember; you're no good to me dead! Although, I suppose I could run some experiments on your body."

Zenyatta: "I'm not a doctor, I'm a medic. Well, a doctor cures people, a medic just makes them more comfortable while they die."

Lucio: "I have glamorous calves and a miserable fucking life!"

Brigitte: "I just wanted to say that no matter what happens, it's been an honor working with you, sir."

Symmetra: "Could you put that in a memo and entitle it, 'Shit I already know!?'"

Moira: "Running only makes me want you more!"

[chimeramoth]

3 and /why/ 👀

List your fandoms and one character from each that you identify with.

You picked a tough one! This Will take me a while, and I'll give the big ones, no particular order.

Overwatch

Zenyatta-being peaceful and observant.

Breath of the Wild

Sidon-A prince who has high hopes in his friends and believes they deserve to be the best versions of themselves.

Pokemon

Wally-A kid who's been sheltered and a bit naive due to being ill for a good chunk of his life and needing stay indoors and rest.

Steven Universe

Nephrite-Sometimes I feel like a silly creature trying to make sense and communicate in unusual ways. Anxious.

Stardew Valley

Elliott-A romantic, poetic gentleman who moved away from his family to pursue his dreams without their criticism.

Undertale

Mettaton-Glorious, glamorous, sexy transformation.

Animal Crossing

Kidd-Goats are my favorite animals. Kidd is so cozy and casual and calm. He also has the same bangs as I do.

Homestuck (not really into it anymore but it was a big part of my teeanged years, so this one I associate more with Teenaged Me)

Kankri

Having to over-explain lots of things in order to feel content in the conversation. Info-dumping, warning people to respect other people's feelings even if theyre ridiculous. Naive.

[acceptedmyself]

☂: Shove them into a body of water.

☂: Shove them into a body of water.

The despair of betrayal was one he knew only too well, but each time could hurt even more than the last. What a heartless world this was, one for which he was maybe too soft, too naive…

Naive enough to have trusted Hammond when he beckoned him to take a closer look at the surface of that pond. Before the cyborg knew it, the hamster had leaped and delivered a kick that was enough to push him right into the water. 

Oh, Genji was fine, really. Just soaking wet, and with a aching knees because the pond turned out much shallower than expected. But for the first time in forever, all of Zenyatta’s advice on controlling his anger were forgotten. He rose from the water, already wondering how he was going to ask Reinhardt if hamster meat went on the barbecue as the giggling little critter made himself scarce.

“あの鼠のやつ…!”

[chellysplace]

You know who needs a backstory- No, i take it back. Needs a personality? D.Va D.Va has absolutely no lore of her own - not counting the one paragraph on the wiki that says shes a StarCraft Pro (which I hear they retconned) No comics, no animated shorts, no relationship with any of people in Overwatch or Talon that I know of. She's kind of just... There. Want me to be brutally honest? She's got almost no personality. Almost every voice line of hers is "Gamer Talk", most of which, you'd never ever hear someone say in real life (or even in games, now that I think about it) so it makes her feel like a gimmick than a character. Compare D.Va to... I don't know... Tracer. What do we know about Tracer's personality? She's virtuous beyond words (almost to a fault), has a naive outlook on the line between good and evil (then again, most of the OW world does). Shes confident, loves inspiring others to be heroes, can get the job done, but would rather have fun. She's just happy to be there, even if it means she has to fight. Lena knows what Overwatch stood/stands for to people all over the world, and makes it her mission in life to live up to that ideal. D.Va? There's not much. She's a gamer, she's got great reflexes and she's cocky. That's about it. Because we've got so few genuine character traits (or moments) shown to us, and because we've got no stories featuring her to highlight what she's really like when not on the battlefield, and because her interactions with other heroes are minimal at best, we have a severely one dimensional character that feels borderline fanservice. In fact, most of the other Heroes don't even have much to say about or to her, and their interactions tend to be comprised of her saying/replying with another "Gamer talk" quote. I would love to know more about her, but as it is, D.Va just feels very one note. She's a gamer. She's got a mech. That's all. I want to know more, and as the only original Overwatch hero to still not appear in her own story - outside of maybe Zenyatta, but I'm not sure - she definitely deserves it. D.Va needs a personality of her own and deserves to be more than a "QT gamer gril gf" for people to drool over.

[overwatchworks]

Mcgenji Week: Settling Down

Genji walked off the drop ship that had been sent to Nepal after he had agreed to join the recall, talking his master into coming along with him to see if he would like to help as well. He hadn’t been in the best conditions when he had been in both Blackwatch and Overwatch, and it had been even worse before he left.

Now though, Genji was a different man, was finally whole again, and he wanted to help make a difference. The years he had spent learning to accept his body and who he was in Nepal with Zenyatta had completely changed him, had given him the peace he yearned for, and he had been taught to forgive. Genji had gone to see his brother before he came to Gibraltar, offering his forgiveness and a spot in Overwatch, should Hanzo want one. 

Now, after years of work and training his soul, he was happy, truly happy, and he wanted to help the people he had left behind what felt like an age ago. 

Genji was able to take all of two steps before a flash of blue registered on his sensors, and laughed as Lena tackled him in a crushing hug.

“Genji luv! You came! It’s been too long, oh you look so good, and you’re laughing that’s amazing, who’s this you’ve brought with you, he looks lovely!” She squealed all in one impressive breath, Genji grinning as he hugged her back.

“That is Tekhartha Zenyatta, my master from Nepal. We met at the monasteries there, and he has helped me find peace within myself. I am forever grateful to him.” Genji replied, Lena’s face flickering with more than a few emotions before she brought him back in for another hug.

“That’s wonderful, I’m so happy for you Genji!” She sniffled, Genji crossing his arms over his chest with a smile as the British woman hopped over to Zenyatta and greeted him in her usual, clingy way. Zenyatta laughed bell-like, returning the affection happily and tilting his head in that way of his that showed he was smiling.

“It is lovely to meet such an important person within Overwatch. I have heard much about you and your good deeds, Ms. Oxton.” Zenyatta chimed serenely, Lena blushing and rubbing the back of her neck.

“Aw, thanks luv. I’m glad you could come, we really appreciate all the help we can get.”

Genji cleared his throat, interrupting the conversation but sensing a good opportunity to ask what he had been wondering about the whole trip to Gibraltar.

“Who all has answered the recall so far?”

Lena shifted her weight onto her hip, looking up as she ticked off her fingers.

“Well, of course there’s Winston and I, and Angela should be coming real soon as well. I know Reinhardt has gotten the message, as well as Torbjörn, but I think they’re still debating. There’s quite a few new recruits or people you haven’t met yet that we’ve sent the recall to, but we’ve only gotten a few answers so far. I hear Lucio is going to be joining us, along with D.Va! How cool is that? We’ll have international stars on our team!”

Genji bit his lip when he didn’t hear the name he wanted, thankful for the visor that covered his crestfallen features, and he nodded.

“Yes, that is very cool...” He murmured, taking a little breath before he straightened a bit.

“Well, if you don’t mind, I would like to find a room for a little bit of rest.”

Lena perked up at that, zipping a few feet ahead of him in a trail of blue, a bright smile on her face as she waved them forward.

“Of course! You’ve had a long trip, I’ll show you to the living quarters. We get to pick whatever rooms we want now, since there’s plenty of them to spare, but you better snatch up the good ones before someone else does!” She told them cheerily, leading both Genji and Zenyatta inside.

--

Genji was meditating on the little balcony of his room, the inside sparse save for his weapons and the few personal belongings he had brought from Nepal. He had taken off all his armour platings in order to get a fuller sense of peace and relaxation, wanting to feel as safe here as he did in Nepal. Genji had already donned the old Overwatch lounge uniform, marveling at how even after all this time the clothes had kept their softness and were still better than the old Blackwatch uniforms. 

A small smile played on his lips at that, eyes still closed and breathing even as he recalled some of his more fond Blackwatch memories, though the quirk of his lips faded when he remembered who had made those particular ones so enjoyable. With a sigh, the ninja lowered his hand and rested it in his lap, slouching a bit as he looked out over the glittering waters of the Gibraltar Strait.

There were plenty of things he regretted in his Blackwatch days, but he had forgiven himself for all except one. His guilt and regret had come back along with the recall and the chance that, maybe, he would see Jesse McCree again after all these years. Genji was thinking-more like hoping-Jesse would answer it as well so he would get a chance to at least apologize for his behaviour and treatment of the cowboy. 

Genji had been angry, irrational, and downright cruel at times, this he knew, and he had often let it out on the only person who had truly cared about him. He had been wrong to treat Jesse the way he had, and even more so in letting the gunslinger leave on such bad terms, with the barriers he had forced between them in his rage and lust for revenge. 

Genji had let that all go, but he still couldn’t completely shake the anxious feelings of guilt clawing at the back of his mind now that there was a possibility he would see Jesse again. And with that possibility came another one: Jesse might want nothing to do with him anymore. Genji wouldn’t blame him if he did, but he wanted to at least make amends first. If Jesse showed up at all. Genji had to keep reminding himself that the cowboy had left two years before Overwatch had been shut down, he had seen it all coming and left before he could be dragged into the mess, so what reason would he have for coming back at all? 

The naive part of Genji hoped that maybe Jesse would think of him, perhaps still hold some feelings for him, but the ninja squished that thought down. He did not deserve any more affection from the cowboy, had hardly earned it before, so he dared not hope. Seven years, a horrible final meeting, and no contact whatsoever had more than likely destroyed any leftover feelings Jesse might have had, if he even had any at all after he had left. 

Genji groaned and flopped back on the blanket he had brought out to meditate on, putting an arm over his eyes and chastising himself for getting so caught up in his thoughts and feelings again. 

The problem was, he still loved Jesse McCree, and no matter how much he tried, Genji could not let it go.

--

A week had passed, Genji anxiously waiting as each day went by for news of the cowboy, the drop ships bringing in both old friends and new recruits, but not Jesse. Genji had greeted Angela and Reinhardt warmly-the two of them getting a ride together since they had both happened to be in Germany at the time of the recall-and the ninja was pretty sure a few vents had busted from the strength of Rein’s hug. 

The doctor had commented on how well he seemed, and Genji had told her all about Zenyatta, always one to jump on the chance to talk about his incredible master, since the omnic was too humble to do so himself. Lena and Winston had then come out and effectively stole the attention of the newcomers, the British woman as chipper and excited as always. Genji had slipped back inside after one last longing look towards the drop ship, going back to his room to meditate without much luck.

--

The next day, Genji woke early, going outside to meet Zenyatta for their morning meditation session, still sleepy and stretching his arms over his head as he went. The ninja slowed when he sensed he wasn’t alone, and he looked around for whoever was making him antsy. 

Genji’s eyes widened when he glanced up and saw Jesse leaning against a railing three stories above him, eyes cast towards the ocean as he smoked a cigar, not seeing the ninja yet. He must have gotten in during the night, otherwise Genji would have known about his arrival. 

He was debating whether or not to just climb up the wall to get to Jesse when the cowboy snuffed out his cigar with an audible sigh, then turned around and went back inside. Genji stared up at the space Jesse had just been standing in, fingers tapping together lightly as he shifted on his feet, then decided against going after him. They would meet again within the day, and it wouldn’t look like Genji was as anxious or expectant as he was if he didn’t go seek him out. 

Sure, he wanted to amend things between them, but he had to act cool about it too. Genji continued his walk to the cliffs that Zenyatta had surely been waiting on for a while now, settling down beside his master quietly.

“Good morning, my pupil.” Zenyatta greeted softly, his orbs chiming in a pleasant rhythm around his middle while he meditated.

“Good morning, master.” Genji replied, beginning his breathing exercises and letting his arms fall into their usual position. It was quiet except for the sounds of the waves below them and the gentle tune of the orbs for a moment before Zenyatta made a little noise.

“He’s here, isn’t he?”

Genji closed his eyes, breathing out through his mouth and trying his best to relax.

“...Yes...He did not see me though.”

“But you will talk to him, yes?” Zenyatta asked, his serene voice taking on a slightly more stern tone, making Genji smile slightly underneath the faceplate.

“I will, yes. It is all I have been wanting to do of late.”

“Oh good. Then you can stop moping about.” Zenyatta teased lightly, and Genji scoffed.

“I don’t mope anymore! I was just...More subdued than usual.”

“Indeed.”

Genji chuckled softly, Zenyatta’s orbs chiming in a slightly faster manner, mirroring their host’s mirth before they both settled back into a comfortable silence for the rest of the morning.

--

Genji was walking down the hall to get back to his room when Jesse rounded the corner, eyes on the tablet he had in his hand. The ninja halted in his tracks, his own eyes wide under the visor before he broke out into a run, forgetting all pretenses of being relaxed and giving in to his impulse, tackling the cowboy in a hug and sending them both stumbling.

“Oomph—Jesus christ!” Jesse huffed, steadying them and absently returning the hug out of shock and surprise.

“Jesse!!! I didn’t know you had come! When did you get here?!” Genji told him in a half lie, wondering if the gunslinger had always been that tall and broad. Jesse was a lot tanner too, now that Genji pulled back to get a better look, and he gasped when he saw the metal adorning his left arm.

“What the hell is this?!” Genji asked accusingly, grabbing said arm and it holding up for both of them to see.

“Wait a minute...Genji? Is that you?” Jesse murmured, brows furrowed low and lips pulled down into a slight frown. It definitely wasn’t the expression Genji was expecting to see, and he quickly let go of Jesse and took a step back.

“The one and only.” He replied in a more measured tone, though still teasing, suddenly glad for the faceplate as it once more hid his rapidly falling features.

“Well I’ll be damned. Yer...God, yer different. Lookin’ a lot better.”

“I have found my peace, both in my body and my soul. So yes, I am much better.” Genji replied, tapping his fingers nervously at the guarded tone Jesse was using, the way his face remained completely neutral.

“That’s good. I’m glad.”

Genji pursed his lips, nodding a bit and wishing they weren’t just standing awkwardly in the hallway, both blocking the other’s path.

“So...What made you come back?” The ninja inquired, turning and walking the direction Jesse had been going and hoping he would follow. The cowboy fell into step beside him after a moment, shrugging his shoulders lightly.

“I could ask ya the same thin’.“

“I...Figured I could actually try to help this time, now that I have a clear heart and mind.” Genji offered, mildly noting how much he sounded like Zenyatta, Jesse glancing at him warily.

“‘S good ‘a ya.” Was all he replied with, leaving them in a very tense silence. After it got too heavy, Genji took a deep breath before letting it out slowly.

“Jesse. We need to talk.”

“Weren’t we just doin’ that?”

“No, I mean about...About what happened. Between us.”

Jesse stopped at that, looking Genji dead in the eye and lowering his tablet.

“Gen, I’m over all that. It’s been seven years since we’ve even seen each other, an’ I’m not petty enough ta hold it against ya. Ya were goin’ through some rough shit, we all were, but it’s in the past. I don’t care ‘bout any ‘a that anymore. It’s over an’ done with, alright?”

Genji froze at that, his chest constricting painfully at the last few words, what Jesse was implying with them, and he nodded absently.

“Oh...That’s good...”

“So...Yeah. Don’t worry ‘bout it anymore. I don’t.” The cowboy stated with a lazy wave of his hand, and Genji had to blink rapidly to fight back the tears, irrational as they were.

“I...I still want to apologize. I was...I treated you horribly, and I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that, or any of the shit I put you through. Thank you for helping me as much as you did and staying for as long as you had. It meant so much to me...” Genji finished resolutely, surprised his voice didn’t crack or waver throughout the little speech. Jesse tilted his head a bit, giving the ninja a small and slightly forced smile.

“Ain’t a problem, partner. Glad I was able ta help a bit. I’ll see ya ‘round.”

He then continued walking down the hall, leaving Genji alone once more, the ninja blinking and going back to his room after a moment of staring in silence. Genji sat down on his bed, tapping his fingers against the mattress and then pulling off his faceplate, setting it aside gently. He curled his knees to his chest, flopping onto his side and stared at the wall, not caring if he let the tears fall now. He hadn’t expected Jesse’s feelings to still be there, not really, but it didn’t lessen the pain of having his heart broken by the confirmation.

--

Genji had cried it out the day he and Jesse had first spoken, meditated on it, then bounced back to normal after a good night’s rest. He wasn’t going to let that bring him down when he was given a reasonable and respectful explanation, and he would be reasonable and respectful back to Jesse in turn. It was the least he could do for all the cowboy had done for him. 

Genji decided to leave his faceplate off for the day-he trusted his friends and fellow agents enough to feel comfortable without it on-plus, he needed the sun and fresh air. He went to the commons room that was serving as the cafeteria due to how few agents there were at the base so far, and he grinned when he saw Reinhardt making a feast of a breakfast for everyone, Lena chattering animatedly at his side.

“Yo! It smells amazing in here.” Genji greeted, Lena stopping mid-sentence and staring at him with her mouth open a bit, Reinhardt turning and raising a brow with a smile.

“Why thank you my friend!” The German boomed just as Lena burst into tears and blinked over to Genji, wrapping him in a hug.

“Genjiiiiiii you...Y-you look amazing I can’t believe I’ve fi-finally seen what you look l-like I can’t—I missed you so much I’m so g-glad you’ve gotten better you deserve it luv I-I’m so proud!!!!” She blubbered into his shoulder, Genji laughing and patting her back as she sobbed harder at the sound.

“I’m glad to be back with you all. Now stop this crying, I want to see your smile as well!”

The Brit sniffled, taking the napkin Reinhardt offered to her and wiping it over her face while Genji set out some plates and silverware.

“So, Lena~ I’ve heard you have a girlfriend. Care to tell me about her?” Genji asked, Lena’s eyes immediately lighting up as she hopped onto the counter and sat cross-legged, proceeding to chatter non-stop about how sweet and pretty and perfect her girlfriend Emily was.

“And then she just laughed-she has the most gorgeous laugh, by the way-and honestly I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so, just, relaxed about everything! She probably didn’t even know what the heck I was talking about, chronal accelerators, time jumps, the dissociation effects, any of it, but she still just, accepted it all!”

Genji smiled as he listened, head turning at the sound of another pair of footsteps entering the little kitchen.

“Oh! Jesse, you’re right on time luv!” Lena called, and Genji gave the cowboy a little grin and a salute in greeting.

“Mornin’ everyone. How’s Overwatch’s finest agents doin’ today?” Jesse said through a yawn, Reinhardt puffing out his chest at the compliment while Lena grinned.

“Definitely a little more awake than you are!” Lena chimed as Jesse’s eyes lingered a bit on Genji’s exposed face, the ninja finding himself suddenly hyper-absorbed in getting some of the potato pancakes and sausage onto his plate.

“Here, have some breakfast, that’ll wake you up nice and proper. One hundred percent German fuel!” Reinhardt rumbled, keeping his voice low but still somehow making it travel half way across the base as he handed the gunslinger a plate. Jesse took it with a nod of thanks, Genji removing himself from his spot by the stove and heading towards the door with a little wave.

“Thank you for breakfast Reinhardt!” He called as he walked out, Lena making a little noise of protest that Genji ignored, preferring not to have the tension between him and Jesse hovering over the table while they tried to eat. 

The ninja wandered around the halls until he found an empty commons room, then slipped inside, a familiar wave of nostalgia washing over him as he looked at the similar set up it had to the one he used to hide out in back at the Swiss base. Him and Jesse both. Genji sighed and sat down heavily on the couch, grimacing and coughing when a cloud of dust accompanied the action.

“That’s gross...” He mumbled to himself, opting to go out on the balcony instead. It really was a lovely morning, why shouldn’t he enjoy it? Genji sat down with his back facing the rising sun, humming happily at the warmth it provided, then popped some of the potato pancake into his mouth. He closed his eyes, just enjoying the feeling of the gentle breeze on his face, safe in a place he could call home for now, surrounded by people he trusted, friends and family.

“Mind if I sit?”

Genji nearly choked, his eyes snapping open as he coughed a bit and banged a hand against his chest lightly. Jesse raised a brow at him, the ninja motioning with his hand and shaking his head.

“No, that’s fine.” He managed, the cowboy handing him a bottle of water as he dropped down next to him, Genji taking it gratefully. They sat in silence for a while, Genji’s eyes flicking to Jesse’s face every now and then anxiously as he picked at his food, suddenly losing his appetite. Jesse didn’t look at him at all, just stared out at the ocean.

“Yanno, yesterday didn’t go...Great. Ya were tryin’ ta be nice, an’ I kinda just shot ya down without even listenin’ ta ya. I’m sure it was more than a lil’ difficult ta come up ta me after all those years an’ apologize, ta remember that whole time an’ have it be the first thin’ ya wanted ta clear up. So...‘M sorry ‘bout that. I really didn’t give ya a chance.” Jesse suddenly spoke, Genji looking over in surprise and finding those honey-brown eyes gazing into his own.

“Oh...No, it’s fine...I wasn’t expecting much, to be honest. If you were still mad or at least resentful, I would have completely understood, for it was well warranted. But you’ve let it go, and I’m glad. I just wanted to apologize and say my part before I did as well.”

Jesse bobbed his head at that, taking another bite of his breakfast as Genji fidgeted a bit.

“Jesse I—“

“What I said also—“

“O-oh, sorry, you go ahead...” Genji muttered, Jesse stuttering out an apology at the same time.

“Oh, well...What I said, ‘bout everythin’ bein’ over an’ done with...I still, uh, meant that. I know I probably wasn’t the nicest goin’ ‘bout it but...I kinda just want to leave it in the past, if ya get my meanin’. But I still, yanno, I still wanna be friends. None ‘a this whole awkward avoidance business or tension, ‘cause that’s just drainin’ fer the both of us.” Jesse told him, hand rubbing the back of his neck as Genji stared down at his lap, an unpleasant feeling curling through his stomach and chest. He thought he would have been over the pain it brought by now.

“I understand. That’s fine too.” Genji murmured, Jesse gazing at him expectantly when he didn’t say anything else.

“Ya were sayin’ somethin’ too? I don’t wanna steal the spotlight here or nothin’.” The cowboy urged lightly, and Genji shook his head with a tiny, pained smile.

“No, it was nothing. I would like to still be friends as well.” He uttered quickly, standing and taking his plate with him as Jesse gave him a calculating look.

“Yanno, I can still tell when yer lyin’.”

“That’s fantastic.”

“Genji...”

“Jesse.”

“Okay, seriously? We gonna do this whole dancin’ ‘round one another shit again?”

“No, no it’s not your problem, it’s mine, okay? I’m just trying not to drag you into my business anymore. I’ll get over it, but I’m not going to be perfectly okay with it right away, like you are.” Genji sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and grimacing at his poor word choice.

“Wait...Whaddaya mean by that...?” Jesse asked warily, Genji gripping his plate a little tighter as the feelings he had been trying to keep down for seven years overflowed his barriers.

“I mean that I still like you, okay?! I’m sorry, but you were kind of the only thing that kept me sane those years in Blackwatch, you were the only person I cared about, and it’s hard to let go of that love and comfort, alright?! Fuck I just ruined everything didn’t I?” Genji yelled the last sentence, staring up at the sky and repeatedly slapping himself internally, his heart racing.

“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have—I’m sorry, I won’t bother you again Jesse...” Genji muttered as he quickly turned and walked inside, not daring to wait for a response or burden Jesse anymore with his ridiculous outbursts. He went straight to Zenyatta’s room after that, knowing that he would not be able to meditate and find peace by himself after such a scene.

“Genji, what a wonderful surprise.” Zenyatta greeted, Genji groaning and collapsing next to him in a heap, covering his head with his arms.

“Oh dear...”

“Master...I’m an idiot.”

“Now now Genji, that is no way to talk about yourself. So what did you do this time?”

Genji groaned loudly again, Zenyatta patting his head consolingly with an airy chuckle.

“It can’t be that bad, my student.”

“I just basically confessed my feelings from the past seven years up until now to Jesse right after he specifically told me that he wanted to leave that all in the past.”

“Oh my.”

“And then I ran back here before he could reply because I don’t know how to handle myself.” Genji whimpered, and Zenyatta urged him to sit up.

“Well, it is better that you let him know now, instead of hiding it from him and letting it get in the way of you two bonding once more. It would have been said either way, since those feelings would have simply grown through your continued friendship, yes? Telling him early on will start you out with honesty, and it is better than setting back your progress in friendship later in your relationship with him, should he even take the news badly.” Zenyatta told him serenely, Genji looking up with a raised brow.

“So embarrassing myself and completely ignoring what Jesse said because I don’t have a filter is a good thing...?”

“I never said that...I just meant that starting off with honesty is always good. It would have been harder if you were trying to smother those feelings while you were getting closer to him, correct? You would have been hurting more if he did not know.”

“I...I suppose. But...He probably hates me now...”

Zenyatta sighed softly, taking Genji’s face in his warm metallic hands and making him look up.

“He just told you he wanted to be friends, did he not?”

“Yes...”

“So what would possibly make him hate you? You merely spoke your mind and feelings, which were love, so there is nothing wrong with what you did as long as you communicate with him and respect one another’s decisions.”

It was Genji’s turn to sigh, and he sat up straighter, crossing his legs and resting his arms in his lap.

“You’re right, as usual...I just...God it was embarrassing...And that’s twice now!”

“Well, you know how the saying goes: the third time is the charm.”

“I guess.”

“Just try again tomorrow my pupil. I’m sure things will not be nearly as bad as you think.” Zenyatta hummed, Genji bobbing his head and closing his eyes to meditate.

--

Genji didn’t see Jesse the next day, nor the day after, he was too busy with unloading shipments of new supplies, greeting new recruits, and showing them around the base. On the third day, the two international stars Lena had been talking about came to Gibraltar, bringing with them plenty of excitement. The one called D.Va seemed particularly interested in him once he told her that he had been a big gamer in his past, and she had immediately challenged him to a game that Genji vaguely remembered hearing about on the radio recently. She was sweet though, her and the famous DJ from Brazil, Lucio, hitting it off almost immediately, the both of them apparently being big fans of the other. 

Genji had left them to it when they started ranting about one of Lucio’s albums, giving them a friendly wave before heading back to his room to grab his weapons, thinking he might practice a bit. He, of course, ran straight into Jesse right before he could reach the safety and privacy of his room.

“Oh, hi Jesse...” He grumbled, hoping to duck past him and continue on his way but stopping when he saw the small, genuine smile on the cowboy’s features.

“Well don’t sound so excited. Ya mind walkin’ with me?”

Genji opened his mouth, then closed it a few times before just nodding, once again forever thankful for the visor. It saved him more than a few embarrassing moments just in the past week. He walked alongside Jesse a bit stiffly, fingers fidgeting at his sides unconsciously until the gunslinger elbowed him lightly.

“Relax Gen.”

“I’m perfectly relaxed, what are you talking about?”

Jesse chuckled, Genji not really understanding what was happening but happy that his outburst hadn’t seemed to deter the cowboy in any way.

“Ya don’t have ta be nervous ‘round me Gen. It hasn’t been great these past few days, but I’ve had time ta think an’ get settled in, so I promise I’ll be better from here on out.”

“Ooookay...?”

Jesse looked down at him, Genji gazing back up at him in confusion, really just not understanding what their interactions were anymore, but at least the current one wasn’t as strained as the others.

“I just mean...Yanno, I ain’t gonna...I ain’t gonna snap or be all guarded with ya. So can we try this all again?” Jesse sighed after a moment, Genji realizing they had stopped in front of the commons room that they had eaten breakfast in three days before.

“You mean the talking thing...?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, uh, sure. So do you just want to...” Genji trailed off, making a motion to the room as Jesse nodded, and they both stepped inside silently. The gunslinger was about to sit on the couch when Genji grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

“Wait! I did the same thing the other day. It was...Uhm, really dusty.”

“Oh, heh. Here lemme just clean ‘em up a bit.”

Jesse then took the cushions, made a face and grumbled something under his breath, and took them out to the balcony to dust them off outside. Genji smiled and took the remaining cushions and joined the cowboy, smacking the two pillows together to get rid of the filth.

“We’ll have ta get some new blankets an’ more pillows in here. I like havin’ a second room ta relax in, with the plus of a kitchen.” Jesse started easily, thankfully making conversation to get rid of the slightly overwhelming quiet.

“Yes. I also already ordered some marshmallows. They’re jumbo size this time.”

“Ya still like those?” Jesse chuckled, glancing over at Genji with a warm look in his eye.

“Of course! I didn’t get to have any in Nepal, no one knew what they were, much less where to get them!” Genji replied, stepping back inside and readjusting the cushions after wiping off the back of the couch, Jesse doing the same next to him.

“So...Ya’ve been in Nepal these past couple ‘a years?” Jesse asked slowly, probing for information but obviously trying to be respectful about it. Genji just smiled, taking off his faceplate and setting it on the little coffee table in front of the couch.

“Yes. I met Zenyatta and he took me to the monasteries there, then helped me find peace. And you? I hear you have a bounty of sixty million on your head. Care to tell me what that is about?”

Jesse chuckled nervously under Genji’s stern gaze, rubbing the back of his neck, completely unaware of how adorable he was.

“Eh, yanno how I am. Don’t really pay attention ta the rules, or in this case, the law...”

Genji laughed, then let out a little breath and schooled his features, sitting on the couch and tucking his legs beneath him.

“Jesse, I want to apologize for my outburst the other day. It was improper of me, and I did not mean to put that weight on your shoulders. It came out wrong, and I in no way blame you for any of this, nor do I disagree with your decisions. I realize that we were both still wary of one another, but I see no reason why that should continue now. I would like to renew our friendship, if you are still willing.” Genji told him, Jesse watching him and tilting his head slightly.

“Of course I’m still willin’, Gen, nothin’ ya said that day did anythin’ wrong. It actually...Um...It wasn’t bad. It gave me a lot ta think on, an’...Well...I was tryin’ ta convince myself that I didn’t want anythin’ like that again, that I didn’t feel the way I used ta...But every time I look at ya, I see the person that I would get glimpses of in our Blackwatch days, the man I saw beneath all the anger an’ sadness...An’ I can’t deny it. I see who ya really are, who I could see sometimes back then, an’ the way ya smile an’ laugh an’ enjoy life now makes it impossible ta ignore anymore...An’ dammit Genji I still love ya.”

Genji’s eyes widened right before Jesse surged into a kiss, the ninja’s eyes falling closed as he wrapped his arms around the cowboy’s shoulders and head, reciprocating passionately. He vaguely felt himself tipping back and hitting the cushions on the couch, though Jesse’s arms were laced securely around his back, laying him down gently, the contact between them never breaking. 

The ninja let his lips part after a breath, Jesse taking the invitation and deepening the kiss, swiping his tongue over the synthetic bottom one and exploring more when Genji made a soft noise of appreciation. The cowboy certainly had not lost his skills in the past seven years, the simple kisses leaving Genji breathless by the end. Jesse pulled back, but only just enough to lean their foreheads together, that beautiful lopsided grin tugging at his lips, a dusting of pink covering his dark and freckled cheeks.

“What’s this? Jesse McCree is the one left blushing now?” Genji teased softly, his own smile only getting wider by the second.

“Honey, ya should see yer face if ya wanna talk ‘bout a blush.”

Genji laughed, Jesse smothering the end of it with another kiss, the ninja’s hands curling in his hair as he basked in the feeling of being loved again.

“God, I missed you so much Jesse...I missed this, missed us...” Genji whispered against the gunslinger’s lips, Jesse sighing softly and nuzzling their noses together.

“I’d be lyin’ if I said I didn’t feel the same. The more I saw ya, the harder it got ta convince myself, an’ now I don’t know why in the hell I didn’t do this the moment I saw ya again like I should’a.”

“Well, better late than never, right?”

Jesse huffed a laugh, Genji beaming and pressing another kiss to his lips.

“Yeah, I’d reckon so darlin’. I love ya Genji. More than anythin’.”

“And I have waited seven years to say the same thing back to you, Jesse McCree. You mean the world to me, and I love you too.”

~~

[overstalking]

What yanderes do you think would really like a childish, naive S/O? On the other hand, which would appreciate a mature, sexy S/O?

This is their preference, but love is love for them ya’ll.

Childish, naive: Reinhart, Pharah, Hanzo, Widowmaker, Junkrat, Roadhog, Moira, Zenyatta. 

Mature, sexy: Tracer, Mercy, Mei, D.Va, Doomfist, Genji.

Both: Reaper, Soldier 76, McCree, Sombra, Torbjorn, Winston, Orisa, Zarya, Ana, Lucio, Symmetra. 

[overdrivels]

The Way to a Heart (9)

I really can’t thank dickbutt enough for listening for me scream and cry about writing this and living through my own self-inflicted slowburn.

<<Chapter 8

Contrary to what others may think, Hanzo is not the cool, collected, rational man that he presents himself to be.

Genji could easily recount the times that his brother has flung something in anger after being forced to contain it for appearance’s sake or the way he sulks for days on end in that sort of irritating silence that he's come to know from being on the receiving end of such behavior for years leading up to the...incident.

Rage that once rattled at Genji’s remaining ribcage like a beast had ebbed away into a void-like weariness and then into the occasional spike of all-consuming fury that ate and ate and ate at him until it extinguishes itself with little remaining other than the desire to sleep for a long, long time. Family, obligation, and his past became such a distant thing in Genji’s mind when he was taken in under Zenyatta’s wing. Prior to this, he obsessed over the idea of revenge, believing for years on end that he had done absolutely nothing to deserve the actions taken against him that day.

Things change, he supposed, especially when Winston initiated the Recall. Winston was concerned about the lack of agents that answered and asked Genji if he knew of anyone capable of taking on the mantle of being a hero. While no hero, Hanzo was one of the strongest he knew.

The idea was not his alone, of course, but he was not opposed to it.

He had been worried that his older brother would have delved far too deep into his self-destructive tendencies in these ten or so years of absence to listen to reason or to even continue living—he was not deaf to Hanzo’s betrayal and not immune to the snarky joy he felt, uttering a vicious 「It serves you right, you monster」that did not give him any satisfaction. His brother is not made of the stone that their elders had envisioned him to be. Genji supposes it's an equal parts luck and his brother’s pride that prevented Hanzo’s complete destruction.

It’s likely the same luck and pride that allows them to work cordially together for the few missions that Hanzo had been asked to accompany. It was almost as if nothing had changed. Until they had again, like his older brother had slipped into reality and finally come to grips with the exact situation he’s landed himself in.

It gives Genji a sort of nostalgic headache to be the target of Hanzo’s silent treatment again. He had been prepared for it, though, giving his elder brother the space he so required to finally process the situation he had landed himself in. (Their initial contact was going well, far too well for it to have been able to last long.)

Even if Hanzo will not communicate with him, at least the company of Overwatch could be trusted to keep his brother anchored. There’s no mistaking the way he treats some of the members—some with the strict type of respect reserved for those sitting higher in a hierarchy, some with genuine kindness, and only one or two people with a sort of brief unguarded playfulness that Hanzo rarely allows himself to have. (And if Genji were being truly honest, it was a little bittersweet.)

So when Lena tells him in confidence that Jesse had made a bet with Hanzo involving the kitchen, he had to worry that his brother would soon be neck deep in something reckless in his attempt to cope—funny how the tables have turned after all these years. The cyborg is almost tempted to ask the man what his intentions with his brother are, but thinks better of it. Jesse is known for making calculated trouble, and can be slippery when he feels like it.

And although it's only you remaining in the kitchens now, there’s no doubt you’re dyed in the ideals of your former mentor.

Gabriel often spoke of it and Genji didn't bother caring too much until now: the kitchen staff will defend their territory to the death and to pry their treasure of them if you dared, but all have big hearts made to give and give and give regardless of the crimes committed against them. Hanzo likely does not know that, however, and would not treat you with the same sort of careful reserve he does with the other members (each with their own strengths and abilities that could be interpreted as ‘threatening’)—you’re a chef, and if he knew his brother, someone that he could not see as a threat requiring him to put up any mental shields against.

Maybe this type of contact, this type of discourse, is what Hanzo needs.

And what sort of brother would he be if he didn’t meddle a bit?

The next few days before his first mission in a long time are perilous. While he is no coward, Hanzo did not know how you would react to him ordering food after his shameless (though disguised) attempt to infiltrate the kitchen.

To his surprise and suspicion, however, all his interactions with you have remained the same—“Thank you, Chef.” “You’re welcome, Agent Hanzo.”—almost as though that night in the kitchen never happened. Though, if he dared let himself think it, the food may even be a higher quality than before—the sauces more flavorful, the food is fresher, the flavors a little more bold. It’s likely his imagination, but he feels no shame in ordering seconds and there is no issue with those orders, either. However, it does not keep him from checking his food over, turning ingredients over and inspecting your dishes until they have gone lukewarm and eating in small bites.

Even more baffling, no one else mentions his attempt, instead just giving him raised eyebrows that simple say, “I’m waiting.”

The only indication that that night ever happened was the stinging underneath his beard where the rim of your ladle grazed that’s little more than an echoing throb.

He finds himself contemplating it.

Hanzo was careless, unfocused in the face of an adversary he seems unworthy. It’s a bad habit, his teachers had told him. Even the weakest of creatures will bare their fangs when cornered, and yet, he had constantly been letting down his guard and catching himself in the act. He only remembers your eyes and the expression on your face that looked too painfully familiar.

While making preparations for the upcoming mission—scouting with Satya and retrieving some items from an informant in America (McCree was mercifully assigned elsewhere)—Hanzo concludes that the chefs must have been either taught to fight (if one could even call the reckless jabbing of a ladle ‘fighting’). A strange weapon of choice especially when you’re surrounded by knives and other utensils that could better serve as a weapon. Judging by your skill, you either have not trained in a very long time or you were not trained very well from the beginning. It’s a gross miscalculation on your part if your intentions were to protect the door. It’s baffling how anyone would think your level of skill would be able to defend against a whole base of agents, or why no one has ever attempted to break in yet.

McCree (and everyone else) must have misjudged you and your abilities or there's something he's not seeing.

He suddenly feels like a pawn in a game, a feeling so eerie familiar, it makes his skin crawl and his lip curl. It makes no sense why McCree himself will not try when your prowess is practically non-existent. McCree, based off their training sessions and scarce missions together, is more than capable of taking you out without trouble.

For a moment, he’s tempted to think there is no treasure, that he's being played for a fool so that everyone can laugh at his failures again, but he remember his encounters with Fareeha, Genji, and Ana who all say otherwise. It is unlikely that all of them would be dragged into some ridiculous scheme (though he cannot dismiss it as a possibility).

A change in tactics might be prudent, he muses.

The night before his mission, he finds himself venturing to the kitchen in the middle of the night for the first time since finding out you were human; he had tried to grit his teeth and contain himself to his room whenever the feeling of something jittering in his veins strikes now—he does not need tea from the kitchen. It is a luxury that he’s gotten far too accustomed to far too quickly when he has perfectly good (stale) tea bags among his belongings. He had let himself become too spoiled, like a child, like…

The door opens and he stops in his tracks.

Mei, in her pajamas and her hair sticking out every which way and looking so very undignified, chatting at the window. He doesn’t know whether to feel relieved that it’s not him that is responsible for keeping you from your sleep or annoyed that other people are doing so. He's quick to dismiss that thought, however. This is your job. There is no reason to feel excessive sympathy for a person doing what they're supposed to do.

She seemed very absorbed in talking to you and doesn't seem to notice his presence—it’s funny just how much focus she can have for something as simple as a conversation. Cynically, he thinks that it wouldn’t be difficult to end her if any assassin chooses so. It’d be a huge loss to the world of ecology (and to the world in general), however.

As he approached, he can see that the scientist holds wrapped packages held together by string. It reminds him almost of the onigiri wrapped in bamboo wrapper—ones that he would keep tucked into his clothes when he was out on missions in enemy territory. Food there is never guaranteed to be safe (or guaranteed in general), so it was prudent to have some rations on his person.

"粽子! Oh, I missed these."

Mei’s face lights up as she speaks. Hanzo almost smiles. The scientist’s enthusiasm is always infectious, her smile even more so. In a way, her being here reminds him that there is still good in the world, people who will try their best to save everyone, people who are still naive enough, but strong enough to express their emotions and believe in the best in everyone.

"Oh! With the egg, too? Thank you, Chef! I'll be sure to bring something back for you."

He can't hear what you're saying, but he can see your hand peeking out of the window, waving—'no, it's not necessary'—and gesturing—'it's okay'. Hanzo wonders why he has never noticed it before. You seem to have them out often enough to prove you were human. Has Overwatch dulled his senses or did he just care so little about the faceless chef—not so faceless now—that he just never took notice?

"Oh, Hanzo!"

"Miss Mei."

In the beginning, he had called her Dr. Zhou, fitting of her status and title. At her vehement and animated insistence that they were friends and she prefers him to use her name like anyone else, it eventually led to compromise.

“What are you doing up so late?”

“I could ask the same of you.”

Mei looks down for a moment, contemplative, before beaming a smile right at him. "I am going back to Liangjiang to meet up with a colleague and to visit my family, so I wanted to drop by for some food to take with me before I go.”

Family.

Hanzo could only blink, the distinct feeling of slipping into a different plane of existence pulling at him. Family. He’s never heard Mei mention her family before, didn’t know what it was composed of, didn’t know her relation with them—it must be good if she’s going out of her way to see them.

“I see. Good luck.”

The words feel awkward in his mouth. Good luck. What is he wishing her luck for? Her family life likely isn’t as screwed up as his own. Most people’s families, he had long realized, were not so dysfunctional as his own—where dinner talks consist of politics, territories, war strategies, where birthdays are celebrated with lavish gifts and shows of power while sitting at the head of the room with legions of people kneeling, where fun is comprised of sparring sessions and listening to your enemies appeal for your favor and peeling back the layers of greed and self-preservation to see the miserable creatures that lay helpless inside.

Mei didn’t seem to notice his odd choice of words. “Thank you! I'll be gone two weeks or so. Is there anything that you'd want?”

His immediate reaction is pineapple cakes. The little ones from Taiwan. Chunks of pineapple in that gelatin that's sweet but not excruciatingly so, wrapped in a crumbly skin like the shortbread Lena brings back occasionally, but much more moist. Just the thought of them makes his mouth water.

“No,” he answers instead, swallowing down the suggestion. “Do not trouble yourself.”

“Oh, nonsense! I was planning on getting souvenirs for everyone. Is there any food you’d like?”

It takes a lot of willpower not to speak his desires. “I have all that I need here.”

There’s a twinkle in Mei’s eyes that could just be a reflection of her glasses. “Well, all right, I'll think of something.”

He's about to protest a second time when she asks again, “What are you doing up so late?”

“I was thirsty.” The excuse sounds incredibly lame to his own ears, but it’s much better than saying that he could not sleep because he feared what lurked in the recesses of his mind.

“Oh, sorry, sorry! I didn't mean to take up your time.”

There really isn't anything for the woman to apologize for, but she seems to feel compelled to make herself scarce for a transgression she did not quite commit.

“Good night, Hanzo. I’ll see you when I get back.”

“Good night, Miss Mei.”

She leaves quickly enough, and Hanzo returns his attention to the surprisingly empty window. You’re no longer there, having long abandoned them to their conversation.

Hanzo does not know whether to say it’s rather professional of you to leave them to their ‘private’ conversation or to have left your station in the presence of a customer.

Curiously, he peers into the kitchen, sticking his head slowly through the spacious hole. From this angle, the Cellar door is still hidden from view. The doors beside it that look like they lead into a walk-in freezer are now fully stocked with all types of boxes and seem to be overflowing with various contents. Ingredients for their meals, no doubt.

“Can I help you, Agent Hanzo?”

You come into sight from a blind spot in the kitchen, oven mitts in hand.

“Chef,” he answers as flatly as possible and retracts his head like he wasn't trying to scope out the area. “I was wondering if you were still here or if you had gone off before I could order.”

You splutters, much to his satisfaction, and reply hastily, “I would never—so long as my customers still require me, I will be here.”

“Hm.”

He pretends to busy himself with reading the menu, skimming over the ‘Chef’s choice’ listed all the way at the bottom of the tea list. He could easily skip over it as he had so many times before; he knew what he wanted. It could be guilt, however, that makes him pause over the option. A chance for you to get at a sliver of retribution before he leaves on a mission. He would be putting himself at your mercy, but he is nothing if not unshakable. (Others would beg to differ and he’d like to silence them all the same.)

Tonight, he makes the daring move of selecting it and waits.

It's lucky the cafeteria is so silent; he can hear everything from the kitchen. A quiet yet excited gasp and the hurried yet rhythmic workings of the kitchen: the running of water (...two, three, four beats), the clicking of a stove (...two, three, four), then silence. And the unscrewing of a cap (one, two), and the sounds of utensils; clack, clack (three, four).

There’s a sense of calm that quiets everything in him as he listens. Hanzo catches himself counting. There's a beat to your works that he's never really noticed before, not that he's ever given it much thought. Previously, you were background noise that he cared little to know about, but now, knowing you are human and up at this hour, your presence has become more pressing, more demanding of his awareness. Even your steps, as muted as they are, follow this rhythm. Maybe his mind is attempting to make up for the inattentiveness he's had for his environment and is attempting to cram every bit of information he could glee from you into his brain. Maybe some part of him just feels bad. Regardless, you were an entity he's never considered before and as always, that could be very dangerous in his line of work.

The sound of the bell signals the end of his musings and the slide of the tray, also on beat, ends the unconscious counts on a four.

Instead of the teapot and teacup he expects, there's a large mug with something milky-looking and a square treat that is still bubbling just a bit. It looks to be some type of steaming, wet, spongy thing that looks like a cross between tamagoyaki with an uneven crust and raisins. It looks borderline unappetizing, but he won’t risk asking and making a fool of himself.

“It’s bread pudding,” you supply.

Now he really isn’t sure if you could read minds. Perhaps he paused too long at the window or you were really able to tell what he was thinking, but the information does not soothe him in any way. Bread pudding. He cannot help the way he grimaces at the idea of it—how can bread be pudding? Or vice versa?

Or maybe he overestimated your professionalism and you’re getting back at him.

But you haven’t served him anything he truly disliked yet, so there’s little reason (other than the fact he tried to break into the Cellar) for him to distrust anything you’ve given him.

“Agent Hanzo?”

“Yes?”

“You have been...checking your meals lately, may I ask why?”

Hanzo finds that he is not as surprised as he should be. You are, as he thought, ridiculously attentive.

“You are not angry about my trespassing?”

You raise your hands up, one holding an elbow and the other straight up as though to hold your chin in thought. He swears he could almost hear the moment the implication clicks in your head.

“Oh. Oh!” You wave your hands erratically. “We chefs would never tamper with your meals. It's against the rules. And a waste of food.” You mutter that last part beneath your breath before continuing. “Even I am angry, I would never do anything to your food that you disliked. I swear it.”

Maybe he underestimated your professionalism.

“But you are still angry.”

“I could never be angry at someone for trying to feed themselves. I was…irate, yes, but that was history. I...remembered some things and...unfortunately, I have taken out my anger on you.” Then, even softer and more sincere, “You didn't deserve that. I'm sorry.”

“No, you do not have to apologize.” It's he who should apologize, but he can't quite form the words. “Is there a reason why no one is allowed in the kitchen?” Hanzo asks instead, casually. “A reason why this rule exists?”

Your torso shifts around, an uncomfortable hum strangles your words.

“The...kitchen must be kept sanitary at all times and there have always been reports of people filching food, so…”

While he's sure your words are partial truths, you're also a terrible liar, almost as bad as Winston. That's fine, this means he has a good chance of getting information out of you later. Patience is key.

His lips quirk up. “So you mean to say we are untrustworthy and dirty?”

“No!” you shout. “That's not what I mean! It's just...we have a very strict code in here from the old days and I'm just trying to keep it together.”

Tradition, yes, he would know a thing or two about that and upholding it. Instead of answering, he takes a thoughtful sip of the milky tea—the chef’s choice—and almost immediately, he's struck by it's sweetness.

It's creamy, rich, fragrant, and a bit sweet that reminds him of royal milk tea, except different. Like he's consumed a mouthful of flowers, but it's not unpleasant. He takes another hearty sip and it settles comfortably in his stomach. Something like this could put anyone back to sleep. Maybe he could have this another time.

“How is it?”

An underlying excitement and eagerness betrays your attempts at remaining neutral. The archer is reminded of a puppy, one who seems all too eager to please.

“It is acceptable.”

He could almost hear the smile in your voice and finds himself wondering what you look like with one—all he knows is the anger and the weariness of your features that's already fast fading from his memory—before dismissing the idea with deadly swiftness.

“Oh, excellent. And the bread pudding?”

The slice of bread pudding wobbles when he presses it with the back of the little fork you've provided and seems to ooze just the slightest bit. It smells nice, but just looks plain unappetizing.

Hanzo braces himself and cuts a piece, shoving it into his mouth and chewing quickly. Though, his movements slow and Hanzo ruminates on what he’s eating.

It's warm and sweet, almost on the side of too sweet and the choice of pairing this tea with this bread pudding is questionable but there's cinnamon and raisins and it's bouncy and there’s a slight crunch and—

“Delicious.”

He almost chokes when a resounding “phew!” echoes in the kitchen.

Hanzo and Satya board the Orca late in the afternoon for the maximum amount of cover with the blessings of the other agents who are soon to go off to their own missions.

The trip is many hours too long. The only consolation is, to his surprise, that you had packed them lunches—small, neat sandwiches that's neither soggy or too tough with different fillings each and a cup of hearty broth and other side dishes—in sophisticated lunch boxes that may have once been a relic of an organization that barely exists. It could be a mark of change, then, that this is really it. They're Overwatch.

There's even a small cooling compartment for dessert: tiny fruit tarts that look like they belong on a sauce-decorated plate of a single-star restaurant than in the dinky little trapdoor in a lunch box. It tastes like it, too.

It's a far cry from the ration packs Soldier: 76 had distributed to them this morning. He shudders to think of what is in them, swearing to secretly discard them somewhere on the ship before they land. One look at Satya says that they are of the same mind, especially with the way she holds the bland packages like it personally offended her.

Satya gives off the impression she’s very used to having things a certain way. For Hanzo, it’s both an irritation and a relief. She understands the need to have a routine, the need to have beautiful plans, and tolerates his insistence of sticking to a particular method even if she does not agree so long as he is able to prove that he is correct. Though, after working with her on few projects around the base and a mission or two, he finds himself deferring to her for certain things.

Her sense of visual balance and her ability to create things at her fingertips makes her a valuable ally. More than once, he had caught himself staring at her work that shifted from nothing to some so structurally sound yet so delicate, a motion of Satya’s mechanical fingers would crush the creation in a second.

There really aren't that many people Hanzo would say that he preferred working with, but Satya ranks high on the list (if only for the fact that she makes lists and mentally has every aspect of the mission organized like an itinerary).

After a lengthy discussion with her on the ship to review the mission details, he's almost confident this mission will see no distractions.

Which was too much to hope for, apparently.

Everything within the first day had gone smoothly. They had made contact and were about to meet their informant at a determined location. Then nothing went well after. Truthfully, the challenge was not unwelcomed. (Satya would disagree.)

There was a close call while meeting with this informant with some unexpected 'guests’, and he had run out of arrows. In desperation, Satya crafted him a few out of hard light for him to at least do some sort of damage to their pursuers—likely Talon-affiliated, but neither of them are quite sure. Their informant got spooked after the attack and it took too long to find her again.

Between quick purchases of street food (guiltily enough, Hanzo did manage to sneak some alcohol into his purchases) and trying to find this informant again and running from pursuers, Hanzo really cannot wait to get back and get a proper meal into his stomach with some actual tea.

Taking Satya’s seemingly perpetual grimace since this mission went south, Hanzo is sure that she feels the same and then some.

The days on the base were quiet without some of the agents around, but no less busy. The time you would have used for serving the agents are easily replaced with other things; the kitchen needed its weekly deep-clean, contracts had to be renegotiated, menus had to be created, ledgers had to be edited, in-person conferences had to be attended, the agents’ health has to be managed, meetings, and so much more.

All this work makes running a restaurant look like a joke.

After putting out some boxed lunches and dinners onto the service sill for everyone, each marked with its respective agent’s name (barring the ones you know will not be returning soon), your communicator beeps, reminding you of your next appointment—another negotiations meeting, likely a shitty sales pitch from someone who doesn’t even know the industry all that well—and you’re tempted to just ditch it so you can catch a moment of rest.

Instead, you force yourself to thumb through your pictures, your second greatest source of strength: a happy Agent Junkrat with his face stuffed full, teatime with the Amari family, lunchtime with Winston and Agent Tracer, and then there was Agent Hanzo, fork still in mouth and eyes closed with the faintest of smiles.

A warm, raw feeling entangles itself with the dull pang that seems to be ever persistent in your stomach. It travels up into your chest and squeezes hard.

“We chefs exist for them. We die for them.”

You pocket the communicator. With a final adjustment of your jacket—much more formal and well-fitted—you set off to depart the Watchpoint, chin held high.

They return on the Orca with the hard-won mission objective in their hands. Tracer greets both of them, too cheery for either agents, and hands them lunch boxes that must have travelled for hours to get to their hands. He only feels slightly bad that he does not have the appetite to eat it immediately, squirreling it away into his belongings for later so he can work with Satya on the mission report until their landing.

Their return is marked by the rise of the sun and jetlag.

Hanzo skips breakfast and lunch entirely in favor of a briefing with Winston and Satya and then a shower and some sleep. He finds himself waking up nearing midnight, but without the jittery feeling of suffocating and fear. Instead, it’s the untimely rumbling of his stomach. It reminds him of the terrible street food he’s endured on the mission, though Satya had more to endure than he—at least he ate meat.

Strangely enough, when he bumbles his way into the kitchen, the terminals read ‘Closed’ again. Hanzo regards them carefully—it’s far too soon for them to be closed. While he is not here all the time to qualify his theory, there’s something about the timing that feels too off.

A trap, perhaps?

To test his theory, he approaches the window, ignoring the stacked boxes—likely dirty dishes from another Overwatch agent’s trip. “Chef? I wish for tea.”

There’s no answer.

The kitchen lights are dimmed, but not shut, indicating that you are likely still around. How curious. He would turn away and leave you be, but his stomach grumbles once more, announcing its demands.

“Athena.”

The response is immediate and all around him, echoing in the vast cavern of the mess hall. “How may I assist you, Agent Hanzo?”

“Is the chef available at the moment?”

She pauses as if checking. “Affirmative. Would you like me to pass on a message?”

“No, that’s fine. I would like to contact the chef myself.”

“I’m afraid I cannot provide you the chef’s information for privacy reasons.”

Hanzo narrows his eyes and repeats slowly, “Privacy reasons?”

“The chef is considered a civilian and therefore Winston had requested that communications be kept at a minimum.”

The skepticism that’s been building these past few months again grows by leaps and bounds. What is that gorilla thinking? If he didn’t want a civilian involved in the first place, then why are you even here? “That’s ridiculous.”

“My apologies. These are the rules set in place.” Again with archaic rules. “The only way would be to have the chef personally provide contact information.”

Hanzo resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Very well. Let the chef know I am here.” And hungry.

“Understood.”

The AI leaves him alone and in silence. Hanzo takes the time to lean into the sill, poking his head into the kitchen area. Since you have the audacity to make him wait, he may as well scope the area. Though, there's very little to observe. Everything is immaculate as always, gleaming.

He can hear something slide open; it’s familiar and he soon recognizes it as the Cellar door accompanied by the hurried rustling of clothes.

“Agent Hanzo.” You sound slightly breathless, though that’s quickly tempered. “Welcome back from your mission.”

“Thank you.”

“I'm glad you've returned safely. How may I help you?”

There's the obvious stiff politeness that he is sure is nothing like how you are really like, but he’s not here to endure your posturing or to make friends anyway.

“I would like to order dinner.”

“Please use the terminals t—”

“They're closed.”

Confusion colors your voice when you repeat, “Closed? The terminals are closed?”

For a moment, you disappear from the window and all Hanzo hears is silence followed by some nonsensical grumbling before your torso returns.

“I apologize, I must have shut them down when I…” You trail off, leaving him to wonder what exactly you were doing before you arrived. “Let me turn them back on.”

“Anything is fine,” the archer snaps. “I just need dinner.”

“Oh, of—of course. We have three different entrees tonight, our offerings are a seafood fri—”

“I said, ‘anything is fine’.” he grounds out. If he has to repeat himself one more time…

“...I understand. Please give me a few minutes.”

He lets out a long suffering, but silent, sigh. He knows you’re doing your job, but this is too much. You shuffle into sight a small distance into the kitchen and toward the large freezers, shoulders hunched down and looking overly defeated, like a puppy that just got scolded or beat. He suppresses a grimace, knowing it’s his doing and maybe his words were brought on by hunger rather than reason. Genji had always complained of his behavior when he hasn't had sufficient food.

He watches you pull out everything you need, or seem to need, and spread it out on an island counter that gives him a good view of everything you’re doing. You seem just as weary as the night he went into the kitchen, but the anger is not there. Just looking at you, he gets the sense of an overwhelming exhaustion that likely cannot be solved with just a night’s rest. Maybe...just maybe he should retract his order and eat the boxes food he didn't eat during his return home.

But then, you take a breath and exhale, slow and methodical like a musician before a crowd right before a performance or a master before a fight.

And then it begins.

Cutting board and a knife are pulled onto the surface. Your hand shoots out and there goes the click-click-click of the stove and the slam of a metal skillet. In one hand, the knife comes up, and the other feeds ingredients onto the board. Thu-ka-thu-ka-thuka-thuka-thukathukah—whatever you’re chopping becomes minced in an instant, the knife rocking back and forth with relentless precision. A loud scraping sound signals the finish to that ingredient.

Without even glancing over, your free hand shoots out and grabs the next ingredient, a poor onion which is also reduced to nothing in a matter of seconds before you put down your knife and drizzle oil into the smoking pan beside you as you turn and reach for something else.

Hanzo can’t help but stare at your technique and the efficiency in which you use and know your space, he finds he barely breathes as you continue this storm with the same striking rhythm he founds himself counting to before he left for his mission.

Most strikingly of all, however, is probably the look of laser focus on your face. There’s none of the shamed timidity or false professionalism, just pure and unadulterated you. It reminds him a little of his archery teacher, whose wrinkled face would change from harsh lines to a sort of ethereal calm and cool tranquility, unwavering even under the most intense of pressures as she made her mark.

Is this how you make all their meals? With the same conviction as the master of any other craft?

Loud crackling and hissing breaks him from his reverie and the kitchen is flooded with the thick aromatics of onion that’s topped with a sweep of salt and sugar. His stomach growls fiercely and he swallows. Patience. You give the pan a quick toss, the ingredients arching up gracefully in the air and landing without a single piece lost.

He hardly notices himself uttering, “Impressive.”

There’s a pause in your rhythm that brings his hunger rushing back, and in that moment, he thinks that all that you’ve done has been ruined, but then you respond with a voice that sounds almost hopeful. “You think so?”

Hesitantly, he replies, “It is.”

He’s seen people cook before at fancy dinners where they make their food in front of you, but those people always glanced at the audience, gauging their interest with a narcissistic greed in their eyes that always ruined his appetite. Even worse was the clapping and the cheering for a particularly flashy and cheap trick that contributes nothing to a mediocre meal. The best of the best would never look at their customers that way, keeping to themselves and turning all their focus on quality, lost in their own world where there is nothing except themselves and the ingredients they prepared.

Hanzo can’t see your face, not with the way you turn to open a fridge door right underneath your tabletop, but he can hear some blooming pride as you speak.

“That’s very kind of you to say, Agent Hanzo. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for all the others, however.”

“The others?”

“Oh, yes.” You seem fairly content, now deveining shrimp with a new knife, much smaller than the one you previously had, but with the same tempo you've been sporting. “I learned everything from the other chefs here in the old days, but especially from Head Chef.”

Again with this mysterious ‘Head Chef’.

"Did you learn how to...fight from this Head Chef as well?"

Not that you were particularly good at it, not enough to call it ‘fighting’ anyway; this is just 'friendly' conversation, admittedly not unlike the manipulation techniques he was taught so many years ago, though he never would have guessed he’d use it for something so mundane (if you could call a hidden treasure ‘mundane’).

Tossing the shrimp in some combination of spices, you give a thoughtful hum. "The Head Chef forced me to learn it."

“And what for?”

The bowl of shrimp is set aside as you give the pan another shake and a quick turn of a spatula. You scrape off something from the chopping board and dump it into the pan, the smell of roasting garlic bursting forth.

You seem hesitant to answer, not that Hanzo is surprised in the least. You rinse your hands and wipe them against a towel at your hip before picking up your knife again.

“Well, you see, Head Chef Richard was actually an Olympian fencer at one point.”—chop, chop, chop—“We all used to laugh at how stereotypical that was, but it was because his father was a previous champion. Head Chef gave it up for some reason and pursued cooking. No one really knows why." There's a brief pause in your chopping before it resumed again, steady, grounding. "But he didn't forget fencing. He taught it to me, I guess, because he couldn’t let go of it."

“And you fought me because of what he taught you?”

There’s a stutter to your cutting and he knows he’s slowly cornering you, but holds off on savoring victory just yet.

Your voice is surprisingly weak. “You...surprised me that night.”

“I recall you mentioned a rule; non-agents are not allowed in the kitchen.” He leans forward onto the sill a bit more. “Is that not why you attacked me?”

He could practically hear the gears turning in your head as you desperately try not to reveal what he already knows (and doesn’t know). It’s almost...cute to watch you struggle.

“Well, sort of…”

“Why is that, Chef?”

The chopping stops and sizzling begins, a new mixture of aromas—herbs and vegetables that he can’t name—permeating through the window. Then the shrimp are thrown in as well and the pan hisses violently, but you do not answer. No matter what you throw into the fire, the sounds won’t be enough to cover the subpar deceit you’ve set up.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, though, Junkrat’s warning of, “Y’don’t mess with the bloke that feeds ya,” rings out above his ambitions. With his food (and his stomach) at your mercy, it’s best to heed that advice now, but a professional promise from you to ‘never tamper with his meals’ only serves to soften that blow.

Maybe he can leave you alone on the Cellar’s secrets. For now.

"Was fighting a necessary skill for a chef?" he asks instead.

The change of topic is clearly welcome and the tension in your shoulders visibly fades away as you consider his question in between stirring and throwing in some colored rice.

“I don't know. There were many chefs here who knew how to fight, though. We had some ex-cons and some really amazing people." You laugh to yourself but the sound bounces straight into his chest, a strange feeling of fullness filling him up.

“There was sous chef Mori, he knew jiu jitsu, I think. Our rôtisseur, Fuchs, was great at chopping stuff up and boxing. She was arrested for major fraud but ended up here somehow. Oh! And patissiere Woo, she taught me a lot about sweets from different countries, but I don’t really know her fighting style. People just...fall to the ground when they attack her.”

Again, you laugh, sadder this time. “I kind of wish they were still here.”

"Where are they now?"

At that, everything quiets down and even the sizzling seems to have taken a turn for the somber. The activity is no longer rhythmic, instead, each motion sounds forced and entirely out of sync. It's as though Hanzo has just stepped on a conversational landmine, and not for the first time, he thinks there is too much he does not know about Overwatch and the secrets that they keep guarded from him.

"They’re...around,” you say carefully.

It seems like Hanzo has a knack for stumbling upon unpleasant topics, but that only feeds his curiosity. He then asks, quietly and slowly, "Then why did the other chefs not come?"

“We wouldn’t have been able to compensate them properly.”

At the mention of compensation, Hanzo knits his eyebrows. Winston and Athena have the money to compensate each agent, but not another chef? Surely an agent (though outlawed) is more expensive than that of a single cook.

You add, “They also all have their lives and a lot of them just got it back on track. So, to come back to Overwatch would be...well, it'd be giving that life up.”

“And you?”

Bitter laughter floats above the sound of the food getting plated, and it just sounds all sorts of wrong. It sounds of deceit and history.

“I want to be here.” There’s a tone of finality to your voice as you begin to set up his tray, signalling an end to that discussion.

There is nothing he can say to that, but still, he stews on it. It’s difficult to describe, but he may have just stumbled upon the edge of something incredibly personal.

“Here you are.”

You slide the tray in front of him and he sees the moment you catch yourself about the ring the bell, likely out of instinct. He smothers a huff into his fist. He watches your hand twitch away from the bell and move toward the lunchboxes beside him, taking them away.

On the tray is a fried rice dish with seafood and medley of vegetables, arranged carefully in a done with a sprig of parsley on top, accompanied by a thick mug of tea rather than his usual teapot set. It smells good, even better now that it’s up close. Again, his stomach rumbles, so very eager to disregard all conversation and any further thoughts of distractions, demanding that he stay here and eat rather than go through the trouble of sitting down at a table.

Hanzo puts his hands together. 「Thank you for the meal.」

With gusto, he digs in. The shrimp is succulent and splits apart in his teeth with a bounce. The grains of rice are similar, chewy. The vegetables have a crunch to them that offsets the seafood. There's even the slightest hint of spiciness accompanying the mild flavor of herbs. He's shoveling more food than he can chew into his mouth just to feel the textures and keep the taste from dissipating at the haste in which he's eating. He drowns it with occasional sips of his drink—a more subdued barley tea.

Vaguely, he's aware you’ve returned, just out of sight and watching him, but it's not the uncomfortable type of gaze that he had received all his life up until now. His throat does not close up, his appetite did not diminish; he finds himself still relaxed. It's...comfortable, like he's being watched over—protected—rather than scrutinized. He clears off his plate and leaves it to you with a, “Thank you,” and receives a gentle, “You're welcome.”

While today yielded more questions than answers, Hanzo returns to sleep—he will have more time to interrogate you, patience is key—content with a belly full of food and, rarely enough, does not wake up until the next morning.

Chapter 10>>

[insecuriosity]

got tagged by @darksidekelz

Rules: choose any 3 fandoms (in random order) and answer the questions, then tag 10 people you want to get to know better

Three fandoms:

• Transformers

• Overwatch

• Team Fortress 2

The first character you loved:

• Starscream from TFP. Whenever that guy was on screen you KNEW he was going to mess everything up and create unnecessary amounts of extreme drama!

• Reaper. I really enjoyed his design and I was in love with the idea of his dual shotguns - my favourite gameplay involves walking around with a shotgun, and to have TWO??? I was hyped.

• Medic! Watching his short was what got me into the game, but I learned to love all of the mercs!

The character you never expected to love so much:

•Shockwave. I didn’t know him before getting into the fandom but once I did I just fell in love. His character offers so much that can be reworked, changed, and tweaked, and he is fun to write without exception! I also enjoyed how he pretends to be emotionless, only to have some of his decisions be 100% emotionally driven

• I like Zenyatta a lot. Just.... the idea of this peaceful monk-inspired character floating around and breaking noses with his hard metal balls. It cracks me up ! xD

• Oof this is a tough one. I think Miss Pauling. As one of THREE whole women that feature in the comics, I was expecting her to be the ole ‘scatterbrained, naive, innocent little girl’, but she is just as badass as the mercenaries - though her job is different.   

The character you relate to the most:

• Shockwave and Swerve have a tie here actually. Swerve is relatable because of the troubles he faces in making friends and actually talking to them as opposed to making jokes and trying to be funny/interesting. Shockwave is mostly someone I’d desire to be for his unflappable confidence in himself, and his ability to just go on ahead and do what he wants.

• None of them. Overwatch characters aren’t deeply interesting to me, and there’s not one of them that really grabs me as relatable.

• PYROOOOOO! I don’t enjoy showing off my body or my face, and a mask can be freeing in that regard. Pyro is happy and kickass, and since nobody knows their gender they have a wide variety of feminine and masculine taunts that are all enjoyable and theatrical!

The character you’d slap:

• Sentinel Prime from TFA. He’s just such a dick, so unnecessarily! Just practice some decency you cretin!

• DVa. I like her in concept, but in practice she just irritates me. Her characterisation in fanfic ranges from ‘whining baby gremlin child’ to ‘epic memelord millenial lol bruh’. Just not my thing.

• I’d probably slap Spy. I WOULD slap Soldier, but I think he would actually kill me, and Spy would at least do it in my sleep and be more of a gentleman about it. Actually no - I’d slap Engineer. I hate his gameplay, I hate his sentries, and he’s the least interesting character outta the bunch.

Three favorite characters, in order of preference:

• TFP Starscream, Shockwave, Swerve.

• Reaper, Zenyatta..... nobody.

• Pyro, Spy, Medic

A character you liked at first, but don’t anymore:

• Drift in RiD2015. Though to be fair, I liked him for about 5 seconds and then he opened his mouth and I was like “God please no”. I really wish that they could have done something better with him.

• Uhh... I liked Roadhog for a little while there, but it didn’t last long at all since all of the fanfics made him one of those “I never tell anyone what I think, the only people who get to be my friends read my mind.”  characters which was not my thing. 

• I used to like the heavy, but gameplay-wise he’s so out of his league in tf2. His gameplay is boring and slow, but hard to master because everyone and their dog is like 5 times faster than you are. No amount of health or damage can make him fun to play again. Also, when compared to the other characters, his voicelines are forgettable.

A character you didn’t like at first but do now:

• Miko. I kept expecting her to begin whining about boy-things or school projects, which would lead into a full human-themed episode where the bots would help them with paying baseball or some inane shit. Instead, Miko’s reckless attitude was singlehandedly responsible for some great and interesting episodes!

• Nobody.

• I didn’t like Scout. Actually I still hate playing against Scout because he’s FRICKIN ANNOYING but I really enjoy how his character and gameplay complement each other. Both in game and in voicelines, he’s a cocky little shit with a grating voice.

Three OTPs:

• I don’t have OTPs.

• Reaper and Soldier 76 I guess.

• Spy/Sniper, Medic/Heavy.

I am NEVER going to tag ten people.  @bobateebrek You up for a blog game?