"They slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered."

F. Scott Fitzgerald ― This Side of Paradise

Introduction.

They don't know it yet, but their bodies shall remain as they are right now, naked and together, for a little more than two days.

Two cups of coffee shall witness the genesis of their passion, as the liquid grows cold and the night fades to black only to shine brightly again, come morning.

There'll be times when the archer shall wish she was wearing clothes - only to undress her all over again with hands that cannot be stopped and with the hungriest of mouths. The woman, in time, shall cover only selected parts of that slender body of hers with the bed sheets, inviting the man into a game in which his wishes are finally heard.

But right now, her mind is struggling to remain focused on what's happening in that bed.

The intense marathon of his love has only just begun, yet she has seen him repeat the same actions over and over again - his teeth tear open the small wrapping and then she watches as the condom rolls on, only then he slides in. The woman appreciates the caution but still, she finds it curious. His care and his precaution disrupt the atmosphere - for a man so wild, it seems hard to believe.

She can't exactly blame him - she has yet to tell him about the many scars that Talon's corruption has left on her body. Up until this moment, she has only offered him an abridged version of the truth, what everyone else knows, what everyone else has seen with their own eyes.

But the terror still spreads inside. It knows no end.

There are things she won't ever be able to give him.

He's almost forty now, and the ritual of putting on a condom comes naturally to him. It wouldn't surprise her if he had lived the life that he should have lived - or perhaps she's wrong, maybe she's looking at things the wrong way. Perhaps the fact that he hasn't lived the life others had planned for him is the real reason why such a thoughtful gymnasia became second nature to him.

Sex in the life of a clandestine mercenary must be a nightmare, she thinks. Always ready to walk away, never sticking around long enough to forge true, meaningful relationships. Sex for him must have been occasional back then, the woman ponders, the repertoire of strangers roaming that body of his must have been peculiar, to say the least.

Or perhaps sex was the last thing on his mind during those years. That would explain this hunger.

But he is incredibly thoughtful. Amazingly gentle. For a man with a beast dwelling inside, his delicacy is truly unparalleled.

Another condom rolls on and the woman can't help but appreciate the gesture. Still, her mind wanders elsewhere, trying to deconstruct and dissect the nature of his moves - perhaps he's trying to protect them from STDs that are transmitted through skin-to-skin touching. Venereal diseases surely are a thing, she knows - so she's grateful for his altruistic, generous protection.

The woman closes her eyes as his tender ministrations bring her back to the reality they have just created in the microcosm that is his bed. She smiles, tenderly, feeling lucky and terrified at the same time for she knows she shall tell him. She knows she shall let him in for good.


"Morrison, can I have a word with you?" Satya said, her arms were once again folded across her chest. She had tried to talk to him several times during the last couple of days, and he had successfully pushed her away every single time. If the disapproval encysted in her eyes was any indication, she was displeased by the whole situation. And who was he to blame her? They hadn't seen Hanzo or Amelie in the past couple of days – but they all had heard them. The former Strike-Commander slammed his fist hard against their bedroom door, his eyebrows knitted together, a frown of complete frustration taking over his aged visage.

"I asked for a minimum decorum, Amelie!" He yelled, "A minimum!" Not even a single soul in Hanamura hadn't heard their 48-hour-long marathon of loud moans and nearly guttural grunts.

"This will only take a moment," The architect insisted but her words only seemed to exasperate him even more. Jack sighed, bringing his fingers to the bridge of his nose - the pounding headache caused by those indiscreet snipers was becoming annoying.

"Do you really think this is a good time, Vaswani? What makes you think this is a good time, huh?" He slammed his fist against the door again, harder than before. When his anger didn't find a response, the ex-vigilante simply kicked the door out of utter frustration. "I swear to god, I'm gonna kill them both with my own hands the second they leave this fucking room."

The woman tilted her head to the side: she had heard stories about the old Jack Morrison, the authoritative, short-tempered Strike-Commander of Overwatch - yet this man standing right in front of her was definitely the real deal, easily surpassing all rumors about his moody temper. She watched him in silence, smiling quietly to herself as the man kept on cursing the busy lovers - yet her eyes darkened after a while, "Are you in charge?" Satya questioned, causing the man to turn around and look at her, "Are you the one in charge of this team?" The woman repeated.

It was an uncomfortable question. He had assembled the team, that much was true, but he couldn't really tell if they still saw him as a capable, trustworthy leader.

"I need to speak with the one who's in charge of this operation." Symmetra added, "If it is you, then, I would like to request an audience."

Jack laughed, though his smile never reached his eyes, "You don't need an audience to talk to me, Vaswani," He turned around once more, his fist colliding furiously against the door again. "Not anymore."

An unexpected sound prevented the woman from speaking again - it was guttural, throaty and surprisingly high-pitched for a grown man's moan. They looked at each other in complete bewilderment: neither Jack nor Satya could really tell for sure if Hanzo was suffering the most excruciating pain or if he was experiencing some sort of ultimate pleasure still unknown by the majority of mankind.

The architect and the soldier looked down, completely ashamed to realize their cheeks were now turning a bright red. "For the love of god," Jack yelled, nearly helpless, "Shimada, you're almost forty!" He turned around and stared at the woman still waiting for him, "And she's no child either…"

Satya grinned awkwardly, "Perhaps you're right, after all. I don't think this is the right time, Morrison." She whispered before leaving and the man nodded his head quickly, energetically - he didn't know exactly what had changed for both snipers to be professing that sort of passion now and he wasn't even sure if he wanted to know what had caused Hanzo's mouth to emit such a sound. But something had changed. Something had definitely changed between them and, deep down, he feared his words had been the cause.

I don't expect you to be his widow forever, you know?

A new sound interrupted Jack's train of thought - it was louder than the previous one and, for a moment, the man could have sworn he had heard the heir begging for the Frenchwoman to stop. But then the sound changed again, as it turned into a far more amicable exclamation - only to die in a brutal grunt and the sound of the bed breaking. Jack slammed his fists against the door for the last time that afternoon, defeated.

When he turned around to leave, he saw the omnic monk floating slowly towards him - "Are they alright? I'm not sure if they sound alright." Zenyatta said, the filters modeling the monk's voice were unable to hide a peculiar sense of uneasiness. But Jack, unable to voice a coherent answer, only shrugged as he walked by the puzzled omnic.

The cowboy appeared then, rubbing his sleepy eyes with his one good hand,

"Is there an animal in there with them?" He asked, his imagination already creating the most improbable and far-fetched scenarios in his head, "And they say Genji was the kinky one..." Jesse let out softly, but Jack simply raised his hands, feigning ignorance, and kept on walking.


Variations on a Theme

Act VIII

Microcosms

(or how to tear them apart)


"I learn a great deal by merely observing you, and letting you talk as long as you please, and taking note of what you do not say."
T.S. Eliot.


I – Borrow.

After resting his head on her stomach for a short while, the archer stretched one of his arms and opened the top drawer on his bedside table. His fingers searched, digits exploring the tiny mess of small objects resting inside the container but to no avail. Then he looked over his shoulder only to find her curious stare gracing him again - only mild concern was decorating his expressions now.

"We're out of condoms," He let out softly as he stood up and covered his naked body with his black robe. Amelie tilted her head to the side only to observe how his narrowed eyes were clearly exhibiting signs of confusion: not even Morrison's profanities, only moments ago, had successfully threatened the heir.

She watched him as Hanzo approached his bedroom door - but then he stopped, hands anchored to the doorknob, eyes transfixing a question he had yet to ask. The man turned around slowly, he seemed lost in thought,

"Perhaps I can borrow one from my brother,"

The expression, that should have sounded logical and most obvious in all its simplicity, had been stained by the unshakable reality of a bond he himself had tarnished. It should have been simple, after all, for a man to ask his brother for a spare condom - yet deep inside he knew he didn't even have the right to do so. Even the smallest of favors, even the most trivial, insignificant thing was too much for him.

He just couldn't bring himself to ask Genji to do a single thing for him.

Genji had already done enough.

"Hanzo?" Amelie whispered, noticing the look of complete emptiness devouring his eyes. The Japanese man stayed right where he was. "Hanzo, what is it? What's wrong?"

He moved his head from side to side, slowly, meticulously, then he said:

"I don't even know if my brother can use a condom anymore,"

She remembered the conversation they shared on his last day in Gibraltar, during a training session. It had been nothing but a joke to her, a poor excuse to make him feel uncomfortable: talking about Genji's penis, if it was human or perhaps, inorganic, just like most parts of his new body. He hadn't known back then, and he still didn't know now - She witnessed every single question taking hold of him: all the things he didn't know about his brother represented all the conversations he had chosen not to have, every little thing he didn't know about Genji was now a missed opportunity.

No wonder both Hanzo and Genji had agreed on something: it was not working. Their bond was not healing. The distance between them had not moved a single inch.

He didn't say anything, but it was clear the realization of such a powerful truth had hit him with unprecedented cruelty: it wasn't working because he wasn't even trying.

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II - Intimate.

It took him a while to move his body towards the bed again. The questions remained inside his brain, slowing all of his movements, and making the man doubt himself again. Amelie received him with open arms, helping him out of the silky robe he had just wrapped around his frame, yet she was not willing to question why he had chosen not to ask his brother for help. She could understand the doubt in him, and could embrace the guilt as her own - she too knew firsthand what it felt like to be consumed by the void they themselves have carved into others' eyes.

"Are you on the pill?" He whispered, resting his chin on her shoulder. He couldn't remember the last time he had dared ask that question, or who had been on the receiving end back then, but going back to the little reality he had forged with that woman felt like safe harbor for him, plus, he knew there was no point in acting naive, "I know I should have asked you earlier than this," he added, "For that, I apologize."

Amelie grinned politely then ran her fingers through his velvety black hair. It could be consequentially dangerous to even try to address the idyll they were living as a second adolescence - people like them, she knew, were not exactly entitled to experience that sort of romantic leisure and, furthermore, she could not forget how hard it had been for them to finally open up and get together. If anything, this romance they were sharing was nothing short of a second attempt at adulthood - a stage of their lives they were supposed to build, just like architects. When the notion dawned on her, the woman realized she would never be able to help him unless she let go of her own insecurities.

She took a deep breath, her fingers still busy, clumsily trying to curl some of those rebel locks of his.

"Hanzo, if you're looking for a method to avoid getting me pregnant, you don't have to." Her fingers stopped playing with his hair; her eyes and ears, curiously expecting, were already waiting for a reaction.

Hanzo shifted in her arms, a puzzled look on his face.

"They emptied me."

From that moment on, the man began to feel a little too conscious of his own facial expressions. He didn't want her to think he pitied her, nor he wished her to feel he had made him uncomfortable. It took him quite a while to find serenity in neutrality - the muscles in his face, the ones ruling his expressions, could not look extremely stiff - that could make her think he was angry at her - neither could he offer her a lazy expression without the risk of making her feel as if he didn't care.

"I never wanted kids anyway," Amelie clarified, salvaging his honor from the scrutiny of her almost surgical stare, "but I guess I would have wanted to be able to make that choice myself. Angela confirmed this to me, I can't have kids."

As he retrieved her fingers from his hair in order to squeeze her hand gently, Hanzo found himself thinking that the fact that Talon had deprived her of such a fundamental choice was an ode to what the terrorist organization had done with her: they had crushed her will by demolishing her mind. He could see the correlations with what the clan had done to him but still chose not to dwell on it.

"You never wanted kids?" He asked, "Not even when your husband was still alive?"

"He understood," Amelie said, "and I always thought that, perhaps, since he was already a father, he didn't feel the need for us to have a child because he had already experienced what it felt like to become a parent. Besides, he knew I was no good with children: I don't know how to act around them, don't know how to speak to them… he saw it first hand, every time I would try to talk to his little daughter - maybe he saw that, and understood that you just can't force that sort of connection."

Hanzo lay on his stomach, one hand placed on Amelie's nearest knee, the other one underneath his own chin,

"I didn't know he had a daughter," He said, causing the woman to nod her head once in response.

"I was Gerard's second wife;" The French sniper confessed, "his first marriage had failed because, according to his ex-wife, he was never around. When we started dating, we had to be very discreet because they were already divorcing. Back then he was trying to get custody of the child - but looking back at how things ended between us, I can say I'm glad he did not get it." Her smile was bittersweet, "When the divorce ended we were finally free to be seen in public as a couple - but his ex-wife wasn't happy about it. I was much younger than her, a ballerina… so she would always come up with an excuse so he could not see his daughter, it was heartbreaking, really."

"Have you seen her lately, Gerard's daughter?" The archer asked, but the woman only shook her head.

"How could I?" She looked down, "I killed her father, Hanzo." He propped himself up with his hands and pulled her closer to his chest, "This is not like you and Genji, Hanzo: that girl should still have a father."

"Well, it's not entirely the same, but I'll have you know my chances of ever becoming a father died out the second I killed my brother," He stopped, even when he hadn't planned to break the tension with a joke he had successfully done it, "That came out wrong, sorry," He didn't even know he had it in him, humor as a valid resource. "But even if my life had been different, say for example that I never got to kill my brother, and the clan was still a reality - I don't think I could have done what my father did. Walking your fourteen-year-old firstborn to that ritual… I'm not that strong. I could have never let them cross that door." He confessed, "But all things considered, I'll have you know that I'm not good with kids either. If I had stayed as kumicho, if I had gotten married to the woman they had promised for me, I would have delayed having children - I would have delayed it until forever if possible."

"The elders would have forced you to," Amelie indicated, "They would have needed an heir to ensure the clan's continuity."

Hanzo nodded pensively, then he looked up at her, "I would have been a father by now," he realized, "If I had stayed and if I had lived the life they had planned for me…" He was stunned by his conclusion, yet he collected himself quickly, and shook himself out of it, "Now I'm pushing forty, I think I'd be too old for diapers, toys, and pacifiers."

"You're still young…" She whispered softly, the tip of her index finger was busy drawing circles across his chest.

"I could never look them in the eye," He offered in all honesty, finally opening up, "A child's stare must be something so powerful, like a magnet pulling you close, drawing you near. How could I endure the look in those eyes? Always shrouded in dark clouds of shame, forced to live in the shadows of such a monstrous man like myself? I could never be a father, Amelie. Not after what I did to my brother."

"Hanzo…"

"It's true," He said, "I could spend the rest of my life performing good deeds and becoming a better person. Still, the blood I have spilled will stain me forever - my own brother's blood, it's unforgivable." He looked at her, "It's the cross I have chosen to bear, Amelie - it is also my most important duty as a guilty man: to leave no trace in this world, to cast no shadow - once I'm gone, I'll be gone for good, I don't want to be remembered, I don't deserve to be remembered. I won't extend this name no further; I will not let our bloodline contaminate this world no longer."

She contained him in her arms just like she had done many, many times since joining the team in Hanamura - looking past his initial coldness and rejection, the woman felt glad she had not listened to him back then. Fueled by her own fear of never seeing that man again, Amelie had mustered up her courage in order to find him in his element, in order to be with him. Now it was clear the man seemed lost in that fortress of wood and stone that his own name had carved into his skin - still unable to swim through the muddy waters of his past, stuck in a mixed-up present he did not seem to comprehend.

But the alluring voice of comprehension faded quickly in the air, as the woman understood how pathetic it was for them to find solace in the coincidental nature of all those things they had wanted to be, but could never be, thanks to the negative impact and the systematic abuse of others in their lives. It seemed twisted, deprived of all common sense to find relief in the arms of someone who shared the same emptiness inside but at the same time, the sole notion of knowing that he understood, that he felt the same way, that he had endured the abuse was comforting, to say the least. If she had to be completely honest with herself, the fragile peace they could find in such a deserted, hollowed void, was frightening.

Yet it was the only thing they could do.

Holding on to each other had become the only thing they could afford to do.

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III - Frightening Thoughts.

That afternoon, Morrison decided it was time to finally sit down and listen to whatever Satya had to say. He couldn't put his finger on exactly what was making him feel so uncomfortable about the whole situation, but he knew deep down that it had to do with the fact that Symmetra had intended to speak to the one in charge of the Hanamura operation. While it was hard for the man to assimilate the effects of his decreasing authority, the fact that the architect was so adamant had somehow validated the strange position he was now occupying - juggling power and leadership, at the cost of proper authority or credibility.

Accessing Sojiro's office became, then, the next reasonable movement for the former vigilante. Hanzo wouldn't be using the room in the foreseeable future due to his seemingly endless love session with Amelie, besides if Symmetra was seeking guidance or true leadership, the least he could do for her was to remain stoic in the image of the Strike-Commander he was no more. A simple mirage, that's what it was, but right now, it was all he had to offer.

Sitting down on Sojiro's legendary throne was an ode to irony - and Satya promptly let him know as she grinned somberly at him and looked around the stunningly impressive room.

"Does it feel weird," She hummed quietly, "occupying the place of one of your biggest enemies?"

Morrison chose not to answer - he knew those words could hold two very different meanings: she could be congratulating him, giving testimony of his endurance while his enemies had fallen long ago, but she could also be implying a certain sense of desperation, as if subtly letting him know that only a man in such an insufferable position would have the stomach to sit so nonchalantly in the nest of a former crime syndicate.

He could have pointed out that the symbolical throne now belonged to Hanzo, that the heir's intentions were good and that time and the right company had fully reformed the man. Still, Morrison refrained from doing such a thing: deep down he knew Satya couldn't care less about the archer or his handful of unformed ideas about personal redemption.

"I wish to leave," she said, "as soon as possible." Determined to be heard, Satya went on, "I don't know what we're doing here anymore, everyone's lost their focus. For a vacation, this has been simply too long, for a romantic escapade with a formidable view, perhaps you failed to see that not all of us are in a relationship." Morrison's mouth was agape, he knew Symmetra was not particularly thrilled by how the mission was going, but still, her words were a hard pill to swallow.

"This is not a romantic escapade," He began, but the woman only smiled, and interrupted him.

"Oh, is it not?" The sarcastic smirk on her face was hard to ignore, "I did not come all the way from Gibraltar to listen how other people orgasm, Morrison. I can tell you exactly how many times your friend has climaxed over the past few days - and the love triangle taking place in the other room," She leaned closer, feigning innocence, "I'm sorry, is it a triangle? Am I saying it correctly? Their novella is slightly dramatic, I'll give them credit for that - they yell at each other, they fight, they have sex, sometimes they just stop talking to each other… and then there's you."

"Me?" Jack asked, stunned.

"Yes, you. The timid schoolboy that is constantly looking at his crush, but every time the good doctor looks back at you, you shy away from her…it truly is heartbreaking. So the monk and I wander around, with nothing to do and, you know, my skills are meant to be more than a mild distraction to spice things up between the two snipers."

Morrison narrowed his eyes; "Well, while I do appreciate your extensive analysis of human behavior, I still have to remind you that we are on a mission."

"Is that so?" The woman asked, renewing her impeccable sense of sarcasm, "Are you certain that Talon will strike? Are you absolutely sure they will penetrate this fortress in order to exterminate us? Because I honestly don't believe that's what's going to happen - I think they are advancing towards their goals and no-one is trying to stop them, Morrison. I believe your strategy, or your lack thereof, has backfired, and your stubbornness has isolated us from the enemy, giving them time to carefully elaborate their plans and space, to properly see them to fruition."

Leaning back in the chair, Satya crossed her arms over her chest and broke eye contact: she couldn't stand the sight of a so-called leader so overwhelmed by simple facts, struggling so pathetically not to lose his composure in front of her.

"Now I know, since controversy has knocked on your door, that you're desperately seeking validation as a leader, so I won't be sharing my point of view on the subject with the rest of the team, I can promise you that. But understand that while you're trying to figure out your position, they are only wasting their time - and the enemy can only benefit from all this."

The aged soldier opened his mouth to protest, but no words reached the outside. Was she threatening him? Mocking him?

"I did not join Overwatch to make friends, Morrison, I joined because I believed in this cause, and I was eager to do my best - but you're only slowing us down." She sighed, though the sound was more a symptom of her frustration than an actual proof of any possible empathy she could feel for that puzzled man. "Please forgive me if I'm being rude to you, but I honestly believe Amari could do a much better job than you. At least, in this strange context that we find ourselves in."

She stood up, but Morrison's stern voice made her stop before she could leave the room.

"I didn't say you could go," He slammed his fist on the desk, "Sit down."

The builder raised a suspicious eyebrow but obeyed and sat back down on her chair, crossing one leg over the other ever so elegantly, and allowing her hands to rest on top of her knee. Her disposition and her gestures, even when she had already made herself perfectly clear with words, remained unreadable. One thing was clear for Morrison: allowing Symmetra to leave Hanamura could be dangerous - her contempt could be contagious, and others could feel tempted to follow. The only thing he could do to keep the architect on his side was to be frank about the whole situation, seek her help and hope she would choose to stay.

Giving up his stentorian voice, and letting it rest for a while, the soldier began to show himself as a much more approachable man - his tone was now significantly softer than before, more friendly and accessible than it had been only seconds ago.

"Over the last couple of weeks, the mission has changed: if at the beginning we were aiming for precaution, now we must seek discretion instead," he began, but the woman offered him a puzzled look.

"If the mission changed during the past couple of weeks, how come I'm only hearing about these changes now, Morrison?" Satya inquired, "I thought I was part of this team."

Morrison cursed himself through parted lips, for once he just wished she would let him speak with no interruptions. Still, the man continued, knowing too well that he was standing on thin ice. "Angela joined us because, when we analyzed the bodies that we found just outside Hanamura, we discovered those corpses were not Meisa's missing sons." His explanation was messy, he knew he could have done so much better than that but the woman barely gave him any time to clarify the words he had just told her.

Satya was confused, "So you're trying to tell me that we held a funeral for the wrong people? You are basically telling me that you let that woman mourn her sons, even when you knew they were still alive?" Her eyes had darkened, "Perhaps you enjoyed playing dead for a while, but please don't think that comes naturally to everyone,"

"We couldn't tell Meisa because we still don't know if she's involved or not - that's why we needed to keep quiet about it." He said, trying to justify his chosen course of action.

"Morrison, that is just preposterous…" The upset architect retorted, "I can understand why you started to suspect the maid, but when you say we, who are you referring to? Who exactly decided all this, Morrison? Who decided it would be best to just keep a part of your own team, the team that you yourself assembled, in the dark?"

"Amelie and I."

Symmetra laughed out loud, sardonically, "That's why she came all the way to Japan, isn't it? You're trusting our defensive strategies to a former Talon agent now?"

Morrison lifted his hands, defensively. It was clear Satya still didn't trust Amelie.

"She came looking for Hanzo, and I was already doubting the maid, her story seemed flawed, to say the least..." he explained, "That night, when I saw her trying to get across the garden, I told Amelie what was going on. She shared her thoughts with me, so I heard her opinion on the subject, and we decided to take DNA samples and to take them directly to Angela. Mercy joined us as soon as she got the results - those men are not Meisa's sons." He paused, and took a deep breath - still the scrutiny of those dark eyes contemplating his complicated truth at the other side of Sojiro's desk seemed unperturbed by his version of the story. "I've been trying hard to find these men but all I got are dead ends and suspiciously detailed alibis - that's why we agreed on not telling the maid: is she's been acting as Talon's liaison, she can't know that we know."

The woman shook her head slowly, "But that is precisely the point, Morrison: we don't know - I assume Zenyatta doesn't know a thing about..."

"McCree doesn't know either," This time, he was the one interrupting her. "So now that you know, you must understand that it's imperative for us to remain quiet about all this."

"No," She refused, determined, "You must tell them - you must tell McCree and Zenyatta. If you don't, I'll tell them myself - then I'll leave, and I'm sure I won't be the only one."

The man shifted in his chair, sweaty, nervous and insecure. It was unlike him.

"They will be informed, eventually. Right now my priority is to find those men,"

"Your priority?" Satya fought back immediately, "This demands plural, Morrison, we're supposed to be a team - how can we act as a team if you keep half the members in the dark? You are supposed to lead us, Morrison - still, you're the only one who's actually working on this case and when you had the chance to trust your agents, you decided to bring Mercy in..." She stood up, "Call the others and let them know, Morrison,"

Feeling suffocated by her constant questioning, Morrison stood up as well,

"Do I need to remind you who's in charge of this operation?" His voice was a menace, he was at the end of his rope, the man had already burned all his boats.

"In charge, you say…Last time I checked, nobody really trusted you - not after the woman you trust so blindly now took of liberty of uncovering your lies," She spat venomously, "I didn't know Strike-Commander Morrison, but I heard a lot of great things about him - now this man that has emerged from the lie… confuses authority with true leadership, mistakes validation for simple camaraderie and the worst part is that he lacks the clarity required in order to establish real priorities, otherwise he wouldn't have denied half his team just for a chance to experience again what it feels like to share a secret with the woman he loves." Satya let her hands rest on the desk, her shoulders hunched forward, she was exhausted.

The man walked up to the door, "I don't think we should continue this conversation. I'll gather all agents, I'll let them know."

"I honestly believe you're losing focus, Morrison." She said.

"How could I be losing focus when I'm the only one who's actively trying to find these men?" He fought, "Up until this moment, and even now that you know the truth, all you do is complain and highlight other people's mistakes when you could be helping."

"Complain?" She exploded, "I literally had to wait until those two had finished having sex for you to listen what I had to say. The Jack Morrison they remember would have kicked down that door, he wouldn't have taken no for an answer, they would have never dared to ignore one of your orders,"

"I'm not that man anymore," he stated matter-of-factly, "Because if I was, you would have never talked to me like this."

After that, Jack stormed off, slamming the door on his way out.

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IV - Eastern Boys and Western Girls.

By Hanzo's request, all of Amelie's belongings were moved to his bedroom - even when she had only brought one suitcase with her and the rest of her stuff remained in Gibraltar. Still, Meisa's daughters made a whole ceremony out of it, as they moved across the room with renewed rapidity, making sure their new master, watching calmly from his bed, was satisfied with their choices.

Every dress in a hanger; boots and shoes arranged by pairs and even her training attire, neatly folded, resting on a chair and ready to be used if necessary.

Amelie was observing them too, but unlike Hanzo, she was up. She even tried to offer them her help but the maid's daughters kindly refused every time the sniper would so much as try to touch one of her own garments. When everything was in its right place, the three young women exited the room, leaving the snipers alone again.

Amelie sat down on the bed, "What makes you so sure that your father was not cheating on your mother? These women are not much younger than you or your brother."

"I told you, he loved her, he would have never cheated on her," Hanzo began, with a smirk on his face and one of his hands resting on the small of her back, "I know the oldest one is three years older than me, and the other two…" He paused and tried to remember.

"You don't know, do you?" She joked, and the man laughed quietly and nodded his head, admitting to his faulty memory or perhaps, his evident lack of interest.

"My mother died when I was nine years old, Genji was barely six. Remember that time in Gibraltar when I told you about her? She had asked us what we wanted to be when we grew old," Amelie nodded her head silently, "That was one of the last days the three of us got to spend together, and I remember my brother was five or maybe six years old when that happened. I believe Meisa-sama had two daughters back then, but I'm not entirely sure." He placed his hands behind his head and leaned back on the bed, "Everything we suspect happened between my father and Meisa-sama, happened after my mother died. I remember my father would always say that he had been through both heaven and hell in order to be with my mother, so I don't think he would risk it all by cheating on her - plus, my mother had her temper too, you know?"

The woman rested her head on his chest; his hands were now on her stomach.

"My father became kumicho when he was just twelve years old," Hanzo told her, "My grandfather died, unexpectedly, when he and a handful of his men got ambushed by an enemy clan. Oftentimes, my father would tell me that at least he had been the one initiating my coming of age ritual instead of some random clan elder - I knew, and he knew as well that it was not enough to make things easier for me, but he hadn't had his father back then and as years went by, I found myself agreeing with him on this because I know if he hadn't been there, I would have lost my mind that night." Many times he had tried to imagine the events of that night if his father hadn't been there for him - Sojiro's presence hadn't exactly eased the pain back then, but his sole complicity had prevented Genji from having to endure the same torturous ritual that Hanzo had unexpectedly failed.

"After he completed the ritual, my father was introduced to the woman that should have been his wife, exactly like I was, but during one of his many trips abroad during his youth, my father met my mother." He was smiling now, the retelling of the story their mother had told them so many times was surprisingly refreshing, "They met in Sussex."

Amelie shifted her position so that her chin could land on his stomach. She took a good look at him, but before she could express her surprise, the archer continued:

"Now before you make a fuss about it, let me clarify: my mother was Japanese, just like my grandfather, her father, but her mother was British - my mother's parents met here in Japan, but her family moved to England when my mother was still a child because my grandfather was a merchant, and he was... well, following the money." He said, "My father and my mother got married in London and my father, anticipating the scandal waiting for him back home because don't forget that he was supposed to marry another woman, sent a letter to the clan elders explaining that he had met the daughter of a wealthy Japanese politician and that they had gotten married. Of course, he was lying," Hanzo laughed, "But the letter had been incredibly effective because the second they read it, the elders waiting for my father back in Hanamura bought the story almost immediately: they thought my father had been clever enough to shake hands with the Japanese government by marrying this woman - they thought the union was going to grant them unprecedented impunity." He looked at her, a new smile was curling up his lips, "Can you imagine that? A yakuza leader marrying the daughter of a politician?"

Amelie smirked fondly at him, then asked: "But what happened to the girl your father was supposed to marry?"

"The clan elders gave her family a very generous compensation," Hanzo said.

"So… money?" She concluded, and the man nodded his head.

"Basically," he squeezed her shoulders gently as he sat up on the bed, "By the time my parents arrived in Hanamura and the elders found out that my mother was not who they thought she was, it was already too late. They were married now, the contract binding my father to this other woman had been officially terminated and I was already on my way - the kumicho's first child, yours truly, was already growing inside my mother's belly, so they couldn't even touch a hair on her head without my father's permission."

Amelie listened as Hanzo's story came to an end, yet the smile on her face faded quickly.

"It must have been hard for your mother," she said, "she followed the man she loved but, ultimately, she had to adapt to the Yakuza life. Once she came here, she really didn't have a choice."

Hanzo looked down, "We never got to talk about it, I was a child when she died… but I can imagine being married to an assassin slash drugs and guns dealer can't be easy. She was young, with child, and far away from home. Still, she loved him, deeply… if you think it over, the men from this family seem to have a thing for western women: even if my mother was Japanese, she had spent most of her life in England. Take Genji and Angela, me and you…"

She slapped his shoulder, "Is that supposed to move me, archer?" Hanzo raised his hands defensively, yet her question disarmed him completely: "Do you miss your mother?"

He nodded in silence. A part of him was grateful life had taken her away so soon - that way, she had not seen him going through that ritual, that way she had not seen him taking his younger brother's life.

But another part of him, the part that hurt the most, still wished she was here.

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V - Elvis has Left the Building.

Ever since the day Amelie revealed his true identity, the man has been watching the world turn in slow motion. Trapped in the perpetual inertia, his body struggles to move but stays right in place, only slightly pulled forward by inertia, but never really moving on his own. His muscles seek the recoil, the moment when every single piece is supposed to fall back into place but there's no trigger - his hands, empty, cannot fire.

He watches others, as they enter his peripheral vision every now and then, and contemplates their dystopic tempos. Some seem to be trapped in the same timeless element, like Angela and her sentimental confusion, for example, while others like Hanzo and Amelie seem invested in a deadly speed. He wonders what will happen once the world slows down for them too, wonders who is going to break their fall.

As they sit around the table, he gazes at them. All those faces cannot seem to recognize who is that man staring back at them now or who he is supposed to be anymore - does he still represent the sepia-colored clouds of a golden era long extinguished? Or does he stand in front of the fall of all symbols? Does he even have a name anymore? Is he the one he was before, or is he some other version of himself - perhaps the ruthless vigilante known as Soldier: 76, or perhaps the reformed version of that twisted version.

Just how many versions of one man can exist at the same time? Where is the frontier where all lines overlap and all versions melt into one mess of an incoherent version?

Is that what he is now? An unshaped travesty of previous versions of the original man he is no longer, all matched together and mixed up in a frantic blender where he only acquires aspects and details of each version of himself but never enough to become a single, conjoined human being?

As he informs them that the bodies they buried are not Meisa's sons, he watches as their faces change surreptitiously - some are quite vocal, like Satya, although the woman does not act surprised. She seems proud, somehow, that the rest of the team is finally hearing the truth from his mouth. Perhaps she thinks the team is no longer in the dark thanks to her. Hanzo and Amelie are trying their best to back him up, answering questions and giving explanations no one has asked for - it seems their bond has acquired a true symbiotic nature where they act and react as if they were the same entity.

But Angela's questioning is silent. Her lack of reaction is fascinatingly strident. She sees the cowboy in distress; she suffers what Jesse suffers even when she had agreed it would best not to tell him anything. Her reproach is mute, those big blue eyes of hers are asking the man why he didn't warn her that this was going to happen and the man understands her frustration, yet there's nothing he can do to placate the feeling. Not when Jesse stands up and says the words none of them are longing to hear.

Jesse says he's had enough, and they know he's not only talking about the mission. Still, his courtesy knows no limits, so the cowboy sticks to the most professional aspects of his speech as if he was aware of the fact that he's doing them a favor by doing so.

Jesse says he's already been there, he says he knows how the story ends.

He exits Sojiro's office, walks back to the room he shares with Angela and Genji, packs up his bags and finally leaves Hanamura. Yet his last words linger in the air long after he's gone: he says back then, a man separated the team with secrets and lies. He says that very same man is the one leading them now.

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VI - Our Father's Sons.

The repercussions of the meeting were still affecting them. While Mercy had tried her best to convince Jesse to stay, her words had been aimed at deaf ears. The cowboy was gone, Morrison's attempts at keeping the team together had backfired but what hurt the most was the fact that those ones that Jesse loved the most had been the ones keeping secrets from him.

As the doctor busied herself trying to contact Jesse, Genji went outside his late father's office and sat by himself under a sakura tree. Amelie watched him in silence: for the first time since meeting Hanzo's younger brother, he finally seemed approachable enough - aware of others, aware of the circumstances involving the group, but still approachable enough. His meditation posture, without a doubt learned from the monk during the Sparrow's stay at the Shambali monastery in Nepal, had indeed isolated the troubled man from the rest of the team yet something in his artificial stare was piercing - he was waiting, perhaps, for Jesse to return or maybe, just maybe, for Hanzo to notice the sound of his heart breaking all over again.

But Hanzo didn't notice. The older Shimada joined Morrison for a drink, and while the Frenchwoman was glad the archer had finally made a friend - or a battle buddy, to be more specific, since all their conversations seemed to revolve around strategy and tactics for both offensive and defensive maneuvers - the lonely scene taking place outdoors was hard to ignore.

She joined him outside, sitting on the green grass right next to him and bathing her face in the pale moonlight. Her posture had yet to be perfected; this became crystal clear when the ninja let out a soft chuckle, letting her know that he was well aware of her presence.

"I didn't know if I should come over or not," Amelie began, apologetically, "Angela is still trying to get a hold of Jesse, but he's not picking up his phone,"

"Of course he's not," Genji said, "He's stubborn. She should give him time - he'll come around... eventually."

"You seem quite confident, and laidback..." She remarked, as her hands came to rest on top of her knees. "How can you be sure he'll come back?" Perhaps a little too calmly considering the seriousness of the situation, the ninja chuckled once again: she really didn't know him at all.

"Laidback?" he asked, "I'm boiling inside." The green lights from his visor flicked briefly, "I'm not a fan of drama, you know? He could have talked to us if he was feeling so frustrated. He didn't have to leave; he's a grown man, not a teenager."

His words were harsh. The way he had said it, it was getting hard to perceive the romantic bond between those men.

"I don't think Jesse was frustrated by the news," Amelie offered, "I think he felt betrayed by you and Angela."

The ninja was silent. Her words had killed his. It took him a while to gather his thoughts, then he shifted position so he could face the woman staring intently at him.

"Hanzo once told me that I need Jesse around because he brings me back to a time of my life when my soul was ruled by dark emotions." He said, "Jesse does represent that darkest portion of my life: a time when seeking revenge was my only goal - a time for murder and blood, for self-loathing and hatred."

The sniper put her arm around his nearest shoulder yet she removed it almost immediately, still unable to read the complexity of his character.

"Perhaps a part of you still needs to see Jesse that way,"

"I really don't want to talk about him." Genji retorted.

"What would you want to talk about then?" Amelie asked, a bit frustrated to know that, perhaps, she hadn't been as supportive and helpful as Genji would have needed her to be.

"You and my brother,"

"Why does everything always have to be about your brother?" The woman smirked disdainfully but what she didn't know was that the ninja, albeit shielded by his armor, had already replicated her gesture.

"I told you this already - since you've been taking up most of his time, perhaps I should stop trying to talk to him and just focus on talking to you about him. You're much more amenable than he is anyways." Just as she had felt back in Gibraltar, it was still intrinsically hard to tell if he was being friendly or not. "I wish to know what are your intentions with my brother," Genji asked, puzzling the ballerina with such an old-fashioned expression.

The woman was staring back at him with eyes full of surprise yet before she could even manage to conjure an answer, the Sparrow went on:

"I heard you already moved all your stuff into my parents' bedroom - you used to move rather slowly when I first met this reformed version of you, but now you're moving at a completely different pace,"

"Genji," She didn't know what to say. His words sounded like an accusation.

"You've been fucking my brother non-stop for the past forty-eight hours... and in my mother's bed, no less." When he finally removed his visor, he revealed the angry look on his face, "Are we supposed to be family now?"

"I don't know." Was all she managed to say. She felt overwhelmed by him.

"You know what I once said to my brother?" The Sparrow questioned her, "She told me that she feels closer to me than she feels to you. He knew I was only bluffing, but he understands it's only half a lie. I think you consider yourself the victim of your story, just like I do when I think about my own story. You and I can relate. But there's this other feeling, this feeling he'll never get to experience: the moment when you open your eyes and you have to struggle to recognize who you are, where's home now, what have they done to you, what are they expecting of you…" he looked down, "When I opened my eyes, I knew I had to end the clan - and I'm sure, the second you opened your eyes, you just knew it in your heart - you shall be the one eradicating Talon."

It took her a moment to find her voice.

"I will end Talon, Genji. Even if it costs me my life - I have to." Her eyes were filled with tears, "I still don't understand why you have to be so bitter all the time."

Genji shook his head, "Guess I just can't seem to understand why you - someone who is exactly like me - would choose someone like my brother."

Torn by his simple confession, the woman broke eye contact.

"I believed you when you said you had forgiven him - but I don't think you'll ever be able to fully forgive your brother," Amelie said.

The ninja took a good look at the sniper then grabbed one of her hands in his: "Look at me," he commanded briskly, guiding her hand to his armored chest, "You just look at me and answer this: what if I can't forgive him? Does it make me a bad person?" He laughed briefly, darkly, "You must really like him, Amelie. Did he tell you how it happened?" She shook her head, "No? Really? He didn't tell you about the most defining moment of our lives?"

Hanzo hadn't told her, but she hadn't asked him either. She wasn't sure if she was strong enough to endure the tale of how Hanzo had murdered his own brother, especially if narrated in the first person by the archer himself.

"That's a remarkably cruel thing to say," Amelie whispered, still taken aback by Genji's words. "Still, I can't understand why you have to punish me for the mistakes your brother made. Every time we talk I feel that way: like you're lashing out at me because you can't lash out at him."

"What makes you think I can't lash out at him?" He asked, mildly amazed by the naïveté of her words.

"Because if you did, others would realize you haven't forgiven your brother - at least, not genuinely." Amelie retorted, "All your generosity, all your good intentions would be perceived as nothing but lies."

He took a moment to process her arguments - he had forgiven his brother, or at least he had embraced that elusive sense of forgiveness years ago. Still, deep within, his feelings for his brother were in constant contradiction. A contradiction he could not yet dominate completely.

"I'm not trying to be rude on purpose," Genji said, apologetically, "It's just that I can't wrap my head around the idea of…"

"Us?" She finished for him, "Together?"

The ninja nodded. In all honesty, he was not trying to end the discussion as quickly and as simply as possible - his curiosity was genuine. There had always been a transversal difference separating the Shimada brothers when it came to women: Genji had the experience that Hanzo seemed to lack. The Sparrow had thought about this difference many times during their youth, but the thoughts were still there - and now that Hanzo had finally found someone, Genji's questioning seemed to meet no end. Well, according to every single psychologist he had visited during his teenage years, everything could be traced back to their predecessors.

In other words, one could simply blame everything on their parents.

"I was only six years old when our mother died. If I had to be honest, I can barely remember her," He said, "But Hanzo got to spend more time with her. Maybe that's why he's always been thoughtful and considerate with his partners while I was a bit more…"

"Of an asshole?" She said, "I heard you were a playboy."

The ninja offered her an ironic grimace, then continued as if she hadn't said anything: "While my mother was alive, she tried her best to keep our father at bay. She said that even if Hanzo was the heir, and he was supposed to lead the clan one day, they couldn't just repress his childhood – but when she died, it was game over for little Hanzo."

Through his teachings and his strict sense of discipline, Sojiro had forged a future for his older son. But Genji, helpless and younger than the heir, was completely defenseless without a mother – so Sojiro took the Sparrow and placed him carefully under his wings, sheltering and protecting him from the rest of clan.

"I don't think my father was trying to divide us on purpose," The Sparrow considered, "but he always told me that I reminded him of our late mother – perhaps he tried to protect her memory by protecting me and spoiling me, just like he had done for her." Their mother had always been a free spirit, but the freedom that Sojiro had procured for Genji was limitless. And, ultimately, it backfired. "When he died I became a menace: they started to say that my rebelliousness could infect Hanzo... Of course, they had other reasons to kill me, they weren't so nice and innocent - but I'm sure none of them would have tried to attack me if my father had been alive. Hanzo included."

The woman looked away for a brief moment then her eyes found the ninja again.

"So, if you were your father's favorite child, does that mean that Hanzo was more of a mama's boy?" Amelie asked.

Genji scratched his chin minutely, "Could be,"

As cruel as it was, Genji knew that Sojiro could never see Hanzo as a son. He was a tool, and Sojiro was the one supposed to turn him into a valuable element.

In the kumicho's eyes, Hanzo was the heir, the one supposed to take his place after his death so there was never room for love to bloom between father and son – all they shared was just a very solemn sense of duty. Sojiro's discipline, inherited from his predecessor and the clan elders, indoctrinated Hanzo in order to create a future leader. When they finally suffocated the real Hanzo and replaced him with this so-called superior version of himself, it was all over for the siblings.

"I think my father saw a student in Hanzo, a successor. But he saw our mother in me. While Hanzo was tradition, I was rebellion, just like she had been." The Sparrow went on, "My shrink once told me that the clan, and by the clan I mean almost exclusively our father, had emotionally castrated my brother. Love was always an issue for him: in the beginning, they made him feel as though love was only a contractual obligation – they would choose a woman for him and he would marry her, have children with her and grow old with her. But now, after everything that happened between us, the notion seems to be finally mutating into something new: now he is learning that he gets to choose the one he loves. The only problem with that is that he still feels he doesn't deserve to be loved by anyone – that's why he was trying so hard to push you away; he wasn't just trying to protect you from Talon," He sighed, "And that's why I often speak about the sentimental education that he's always lacked. But you're becoming his new dogma now – in a way, I feel as if you were becoming his new Genji: the one that breaks all his walls and allows him to visit and explore a brand new world." He stood up, and offered her his hand for the woman to stand up as well, "If I were you, I would be careful though," He warned her, "Unless you want to end up like the first Genji."

Her wide-eyed gaze only intensified as the Frenchwoman stood up and saw Hanzo standing behind his younger brother.

"What are you telling her?" He asked, causing his brother to turn around almost immediately.

And then she saw it, the current difference between them: Genji had a broken body while Hanzo didn't have a single scratch. But Genji's mind was intact and Hanzo's was still perturbed by the sights of yesterday.

"We were just reminiscing, you know? Going through some parts of our history, Hanzo," The Sparrow told his older brother.

Hanzo grimaced darkly, challenging the ninja, "Which parts?"

"Mostly about our youth," The Sparrow offered, unable to contain the venomous thoughts running through his head, "Like that day, when you said you had the high ground, remember?" An eclipsed smile was reflected in his eyes, "Looking back, I should have listened to you."

Hanzo crossed his arms over his chest – "You should have listened many times before that day. Perhaps, if you had listened, that day would have never happened. Still, you never listened, you just kept on doing whatever you pleased, wasting the clan's money, driving the clan's cars," he raised an eyebrow, his tone was getting sterner by the second, "It was simple, wasn't it? Your mouth kept repeating that you hated the clan, still, you seemed determined to use all of its assets for your benefit."

"By assets I take it you mean guns and drugs?" Genji retorted, his tone matching Hanzo's.

"You and drugs?" The archer challenged, "Don't get me started on that topic."

The Sparrow laughed sarcastically, "Was I the only one, brother? And since you mentioned me wasting the clan's money, please know that I actually did enjoy wasting it the way I did, especially knowing where it was coming from… Now about the cars," He scratched the back of his neck just as if he was trying to pretend he was uncomfortable, "More than once I asked myself, wouldn't it be best, to just crash this thing into a wall and be done with it? But you never noticed that, brother."

Amelie took several steps back, but neither Genji nor Hanzo noticed it.

"Well, unlike you, I never took pleasure in harming others." Hanzo reproached him yet the ninja smiled viciously at him.

"Hanzo, your woman is here, you don't want me to talk about the things that used to bring you pleasure and joy." Both brothers had their backs turned to the French sniper. Even if Genji had just mentioned her, it was clear she was the last thing on their minds. "I had to do things for the clan, and you know it. But you also know that I always expressed my nonconformity – I wasn't like you, Hanzo, I couldn't justify everything just by claiming it was my duty. Thinking back, I should have left…"

"But you didn't," Hanzo interrupted him, "You couldn't. A part of you has always longed for that darkness." The older Shimada looked over his shoulder only to realize Amelie was no longer with them. He sighed, frustrated by his own temper.

Only then Genji looked past his brother's shoulder and noticed her absence. He, too, sighed helplessly.

Not only were they hurting themselves now.

But they were also hurting others as well.

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VII - Praesentia.

Only when his back had met the mattress, he cursed himself under his breath. If only he had paid attention every time the ninja would try to teach him how to read kanji… now his limited knowledge of the language had led his bones to a cheap motel in the outskirts of Tokyo. The neighborhood per se was nothing to be remembered, and he couldn't tell for sure whether he had paid too much for such poor accommodation or not. All in all, he felt robbed - to say that the room he had booked was humble was too much. But he had a bed, at least his body language had made it clear that he needed to rest.

After contemplating the dirty ceiling above him for a long while, Jesse stood up and stretched his red serape over the bed - he wasn't sure if his mind was playing tricks on him or not, perhaps the feeling was just in his head, but he couldn't get rid of the sensation of having several tiny little insects crawling all over his body.

He then lay on the bed again, but sleep was not meant to come his way. Not just yet. He could hear it coming and going, its multiple, tiny legs strolling freely across the room. The smell, that disgusting odor they exude… in spite of Angela telling him those horrendous creatures have no smell, he knew his nose never lies. The smell always precedes them - certain and unavoidable.

Until his eyes found it - a small cockroach, venturing his surroundings as if he wasn't even there. He got to his feet and followed it, instinctively, trying to determine if the cockroach was alone or if it had brought some unwanted company.

The second discovery of the night, however, felt better than the first one. He was checking under the filthy motel bed when her feet became visible - her legs followed, then the rest of her tricky existence. He tilted his head to the side, a bit confused by her sudden apparition. Mercy had been calling him all night, perhaps she had been able to pinpoint his location by tracking Angela's failed attempts at communication, he thought. He scratched the back of his head, doubting his own theory - technology had never been his cup of tea, he knew.

When he saw her shape fully formed, sitting on his bed, staring right into his eyes, the cowboy sat down on the floor before her, allowing the insect to finally run away. Sombra smiled bitterly at him, sliding her hands across his shoulder. Her words resounded in his head, then, "Are you still playing boyfriend and girlfriend, Joel?"

Perhaps, Jesse considered, she had known all along. Perhaps she knew such a revelation would be enough for him to make up his mind and finally walk away.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" He asked, but instead of reproachful, his tone was calm.

Sombra nodded; she had made herself perfectly clear that night in Hanamura: she had told him to run. Now, at least, she wouldn't have to worry about him.

"I didn't know how was I supposed to call you," He joked, "wasn't sure if you would come if I left a pie by the window, or perhaps you wanted me to draw a little purple skull by the door… I just wasn't sure."

In the tender bitterness of her smile, Jesse understood that there was no need for him to explain anything to her. If she was there with him, she already knew why he had left Hanamura. The hacker surrounded him with her arms and pulled him close.