Variations on a Theme

Act XII

Do Cyborgs Dream of Electric Sheep?


"Here my tears are falling, Nastenka. Let them flow, let them flow — they don't hurt anybody. They will dry, Nastenka."

Fyodor Dostoyevsky - White Nights


I - Master

When the screaming subsided, and the good doctor began to work her magic on her unexpected patients, almost every member of the team began the heartfelt procession from one room to the other: from the broken bed where the former heir of a criminal empire now rested, rocked by the irony of a love that had shown its darkest colors to him to the isolated room where the deadly French woman had met seclusion once again, after doing the only thing she had sworn she would never do again.

Almost everyone was now part of the endless parade of troubled souls still keeping up Hanamura during the lowest hours of the night. Almost all of them – all but one.

"Master,"

The voice, weak and adorned with concern, did not care about the artificiality of synthesizers. The element inside the shiny vessel was still intrinsically human, the shape was a mere riddle, only destined to fool their eyes.

"Genji, what are you doing here?" The monk greeted the student as soon as his figure became visible in the night. "I thought you were watching over your brother," Zenyatta questioned him, orbs radiating yellow in the dark landscape of the gardens.

"I can't," the sparrow confessed, "Master…"

Genji sat down right next to his master but this time, he didn't care about achieving the perfect lotus position or finding the right tone for his words to match the turmoil he carried inside.

"History is filled with them," the monk began to speak peacefully after a while, "fighters that get lost after the battle, and no-one ever hears from them again; heroes that never get back home – but you did, Genji, you both did."

The cyborg ninja removed his visor only to reveal the sorrow in his eyes. He knew his master was often cryptic in his teachings, allowing the mind a certain space to maneuver on its own – but deep down they both knew this was not the time for rhetorical verses to come out and play. Euphemisms were heartless in essence, but the scorching heat inside those broken eyes was still talking about a fire that had never died; the flame had endured through the lonely years of anger and misfortune. The monk still recognized the burning spark in those eyes, a tepid flame now almost dispossessed of the enchanting incandescence that had glowed oh so relentlessly so many years ago – but this brand new void, consuming nothing but ashes of a long lost bonfire, was different.

"I wasn't there," Genji lamented, "I could have helped him, master – I should have known something was wrong,"

"But you knew something was not right, didn't you?" It was clear that the benevolent master had chosen not to dwell on the fact that the Sparrow hadn't been home while Amelie was attacking Hanzo – it was Sunday night after all, they knew; Sunday nights always presented the Sparrow with a clear destination. "You never really liked the idea of your brother and Amelie together, am I correct?"

"It's not that," Genji defended himself quickly. "It's not that I don't like them as a couple – but given her story…"

The imperturbable face of the monk could have deceived the ninja – yet Genji knew his master like the back of his own hand.

"Your brother has a story as well," Zenyatta said, "and you've always been a fundamental part of it – but since stories are not static tales forever anchored to our memories, could you tell me what is the part you're supposed to play now in Hanzo's story, considering these recent events between your brother and Amelie?"

The question seemed powerful enough to disconcert the ninja for an instant, but then he looked at the monk and said:

"I guess it's just too early to know," Genji knew his answer was premature, still he went on: "When Amelie wakes up I guess there'll be lots of questions, and my brother is going to have to answer many interrogations as well. I think Angela has worked really hard tonight, and from this point on I sense Morrison will have to step up and do his part, as expected,"

Zenyatta nodded.

"But my question was not about them," the monk indicated, "it was about you, Genji – your brother is hurt and you're not there with him, you're here with me instead, even when the fact that you are unable to stay by Hanzo's side is clearly unsettling for you."

"I see the irony, Master," Genji retorted, visibly frustrated, "trust me, I do." He rested his hands on his knees and took a deep breath – "I should have been here, but now that I am I can't be… there." The cyborg ninja paused for a second, cursing himself under his breath, "This is ridiculous, I remember when Jesse used to tell me that it was weird that Talon was not trying to get her back, I myself thought it was odd that she never had an episode like this before… of course she struggled at the beginning but then Hanzo had been there for her and even if my brother doesn't know anything about love,"

"What makes you say that?" The monk interrupted him and Genji stayed there, motionless, "Why do you think Hanzo doesn't know anything about love? Is it because of what he did to you?"

The Sparrow shook his head, even when a part of him wanted to say yes.

"My brother never had someone, romantically, I mean… I don't know what he did all those years he spent on his own, after he left the clan - of course, he could have found someone, he could have an entire family waiting for him in some other place right now but I don't think that's the case," Genji said, "But Amelie knew what love was, she was married – I don't know what she saw in Hanzo, I don't know how you manage to go from a loving husband to a former criminal who doesn't know first thing about love," he stopped talking after he realized he was at the verge of screaming, "So yes, it was odd, it was weird that a woman who was finally able to feel again would choose a man whose only purpose in life was to repress everything he felt in order to remain functional to a criminal doctrine – and even so, Angela would always say that Jesse and I were unable to see the silver lining at the end of the road, she would often say that we didn't know how to trust people, that we were so used to chaos and drama that we had completely forgotten how to be optimistic about things," he paused once again, and smiled bitterly, "Angela's optimism almost kills my brother tonight,"

Zenyatta's quiet laughter interrupted him,

"I appreciate the insightful reflection, Genji, but I'm afraid you still haven't answered my question," the monk said, "in hindsight, now, what is the role you should play in Hanzo's story?"

Silence stretched between them, a clear sign that the Sparrow still did not have an answer.

"Now that Hanzo's been hurt," Zenyatta tried to help.

"Danger was always a constant parameter in our lives," Genji offered, looking resolute, "first, as clan members and now as Overwatch agents, we are used to it, we know what's at stake – it doesn't mean we don't take precaution, master: danger is always unsettling, it forces you to pay attention – danger is what taught us to be careful,"

"You think your brother wasn't careful enough?"

Another moment of doubt.

"No…" Genji offered after a while, "I can't blame him for trusting people after all."

"But?"

The ninja smiled, "There must always be a but, right?"

"You tell me,"

The Sparrow shrugged his shoulders, uncertain, "I already said that I should have been here, I don't want to sound like a broken record, master. I know she would have probably attacked my brother anyway, but the image… I was just getting home when I heard Angela screaming, and then I saw Morrison running towards the pond and I…" he closed his eyes, "I knew it was Hanzo, master, I just knew. I thought he was dead."

As one of the monk's metallic hands landed on Genji's nearest shoulder, Zenyatta's soft voice reached for his student in the night:

"But he wasn't – and now that he's survived, you're no longer special." Genji's wide-eyed gaze was filled with torment,

"I was never special, master…" he whispered, "Not then, and definitely not now."

"Perhaps special was not the right word," the master reckoned, "but there was a distinctive quality in you, I remember from your first days in the monastery: you could not find the human in you, but you didn't want to be treated like an omnic either,"

"But what has that got to do with Hanzo?" the Sparrow asked, confused, as his master stared intently at him as if fascinated by the fact that Genji still seemed unable to see the most obvious of truths.

"Your brother is the one in your place now," Zenyatta said, "he's the one that's weak, he's the one that's still breathing because of Dr. Ziegler's timely intervention. Now it's your brother the one who has had to watch a loved one trying to end his life, now he's the one who will have to overcome the attack and find forgiveness in his soul – now it's your brother's turn to decide what to do with all these feelings in constant contradiction," the monk's voice softened gradually, "like you once did, Genji, when you overcame the attack and found forgiveness in your soul; you, the one that is still breathing because of Angela, the one who had to watch your brother trying to end your life, the one who eventually decided what to do with all those feelings in constant contradiction," the Sparrow looked down, the words were lost in his throat, "the one who eradicated the clan, the source of your hatred, but decided to spare and forgive Hanzo."

Hands at the sides of his waist, the ninja stood up and stared at the monk: he could understand every single parallelism between him and his brother, still…

"Ever since we got here, he provokes me all the time," he retorted, raising his voice again, "it's like he doesn't want to be a part of Overwatch, he's not even trying,"

The monk shook his head in silent contemplation, "You didn't want to be a yakuza man when you were younger, you could have left this place, but you stayed until the end. Why?"

Only then the notion dawned on him, as the Sparrow sat down again, right next to his master, "I didn't want to leave him all alone… and I guess that's why he chooses to stay with us, maybe he does not want to be an Overwatch agent, but he stays because he doesn't want to leave me all alone, " he smiled tenderly, "now I know most of you don't think of me as a lonely person, but having my brother around is…"

"Reassuring?" Zenyatta asked, and the ninja nodded his head silently, "you know I cannot exactly feel, my student, but I remember what it was like to have my brother Mondatta with me," even if Zenyatta's face plates did not allow the monk to show any traces of sympathy, the Sparrow could swear there were hints of an impossible emotion in the omnic's soft voice, "when you say your brother provokes you, you must remember you are always provoking him as well – I believe this eternal quip between siblings is part of the very essence of the bond uniting you,"

There had been so many provocations in the past, Genji remembered. Countless quips that had gone both ways and that had sometimes transcended into proper fights. Many heated discussions and unpopular transgressions had taken place between him and his brother – ever since they could remember.

"Anyway, it's not the same, master," the Sparrow said after a while, "Amelie did not kill my brother,"

"And your brother did not kill you," Zenyatta said, "I'm afraid you won't be winning this debate, my student."

Eyes narrowed, frustration was starting to get the best of Genji.

"I don't think Amelie was trying to kill Hanzo," the monk confessed, "even if Angela managed to create a softer version of the Widowmaker we used to fear when she was still working with Talon, she still is a deadly combatant: if she wants to kill somebody, she will kill them," artificial fingers landed on the Sparrow's shoulder once again, "same goes for your brother, Genji: former heir to a criminal empire, trained to become the perfect assassin… you were attacked by Hanzo Shimada: if he had really wanted you to die, you would have died."

"I was saved by a miracle, master."

Zenyatta shook his head,

"There are no such things as miracles, Genji," the monk said, "you were saved by the best doctor this world has ever seen – but only because you could be saved."

"Could be saved?" Genji yelled, "he left me for dead,"

Resting both his hands on his lap, the monk stared at the troubled ninja,

"Did your brother pierced your heart with his sword?" Genji shook his head. "Did he manage to separate your head from the rest of your body?"

The ninja shook his head again.

"Was there a final straw? Did he check if you were still breathing?"

"In the end, he was just a crying mess," Genji remembered, "I think he did not have the heart to check if I was still breathing,"

"Remind me again, then, who is your brother, the one who tried to murder you,"

An unusual question, followed by a simple answer.

"Shimada Hanzo." Genji whispered, "leader of the Shimada Clan,"

"How many trained assassins leave their victims without checking if they're really dead?"

When Zenyatta began to peacefully float away, the ninja stood up and followed his master:

"Unlike you, master, I believe Amelie was trying to kill him," he said, "she didn't make it, because this softer version of the Widowmaker you just mentioned did not allow her to kill the one she loves – but I also believe it's only a matter of time until they get her back, master. And once they do, once they possess her talent for destruction once again, the real Widowmaker won't hesitate."

Zenyatta turned around and joined Genji once again as the Sparrow rested his back against a large stone.

"Morrison says Talon wants to recruit Hanzo," the monk considered, "why would she try to murder him if Talon needs him?"

With warm tears in his eyes, the Sparrow whispered:

"To save him from the darkness ahead," a deep breath, an inconsolable pause, "they were trained for that, they were made that way. My brother could have let me go, and still, the clan would have found me – they would have killed me, there was no silver lining waiting for me at the end of the road, master. Amelie could have spared my brother, but Talon would have found him all the same," he looked down, finally able to understand, "it's too twisted, it's just too dark to be true, but we have never lived in the light. They taught us many things, but they were careful enough not to teach us how to speak."

He stood up, "my brother tried to murder me because he did not want the clan to kill me, Amelie tried to kill Hanzo because she does not want Talon to contaminate the man she loves," the pain in his chest was familiar, "they were clever, master: they taught us how to fight one another – so that we would not pay attention to the bigger monsters lurking in the dark."

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II – Hide and Seek

"Where do you think you're going?"

Her voice froze him in place. One foot in the corridor, the other one still inside the heir's room, Jack Morrison turned around and faced the doctor as the woman crossed her arms over her chest the way an angry mother would do when one of her children disobeys.

"Jack, I told you someone has to stay with him at all times while he's recovering, even if to you he's only sleeping, he might still need help," She scolded him, yet the man stayed right where he was, "I told you he needed constant supervision and you said you would do it yourself so that I could go and check on Amelie," the soldier opened his mouth but no words came out of it and the woman tilted her head to the side, still waiting for an answer.

"So why were you trying to leave him alone, Jack? Where are you going?" Angela insisted.

He counted to ten inside his head, then took a deep breath – then the former Strike-Commander mustered all his courage and finally said:

"To the bathroom,"

It was simple, it was easy, it was no big deal, but Angela still seemed to disagree:

"There's a bathroom in there!" she yelled at him, tapping her foot relentlessly against the floor.

"I know," Jack said as he raised both his hands, defensively.

"You think the leader of a yakuza empire wouldn't have an en-suite bathroom in his master bedroom?" Angela's deduction seemed logical, yet the old man only furrowed his brow and crossed his arms over his chest, mimicking her gestures.

"The toilet talked to me," he confessed, ashamed yet resolute, "it talked to me, Angel… I don't like this room, I don't like it at all,"

The heir's bedroom was intimidating. Majestic in size and splendorous in everything else from design to décor but the incursion of cutting-edge technology seemed a bit out of place in such a traditional context.

"It's not your style, I know," she said, as she remembered the austere apartment they used to share until he decided to fake his own death and leave her behind.

The man closed the door and leaned his back against the wall. Then he leaned closer, even if they were the only ones standing in that corridor, and whispered:

"I just wanted to use a toilet knowing it won't try to strike up a conversation with me while I'm at it," he tried to excuse himself, but the woman was relentless,

"You should have called someone," she said, "if you really needed to leave the room,"

"What's upsetting you?" Jack asked her, still able to read her like an open book, "He's asleep," he told her as he broke the distance and put his hands on her shoulders, "I know what you said, Angel, I just didn't think it would be such a big deal," her impeccable half-smile surprised him.

"What you didn't think is that I was going to catch you red-handed," there was a hint of sympathy in her words, in the unexpected wink of her eye, in her rosy cheeks.

"Fair enough," he smiled back at her, struggling against his better judgment and clearly losing the battle, "how's Amelie doing?"

"Sedatives are helping her sleep," Angela composed herself, letting the doctor take over the woman as she stood firmly in front of the man she had loved the most as if he was just another stranger in her way, "Genji said he just spoke to Jesse, he told him what happened," he nodded his head as he listened and paid attention to her every word, allowing the leader to take over the man, "Jesse will return in the morning, Genji told him not to travel alone during the night,"

"So, I assume we can all agree on the fact that we think Talon had something to do with this," he said and the doctor nodded her head in silence, shaking hands once more with the opinions of the leader she had respected and admired during her first years as a combat medic.

"He told Genji he has something to show us," she said as she looked down, finally breaking eye contact, "something important."

Jack moved to the left, attempting to resume his march towards the bathroom at the end of the corridor but an unexpected silence forced him to turn around again only to realize that Angela had yet to enter Hanzo's room.

"What is it?" the reformed vigilante asked as the woman stood petrified, her back glued to the wall for support now.

"I can't stop thinking about what she said to me," she whispered, eyes lost in the hazy memory, "when we were in Gibraltar, before she decided to come here,"

Retracing his steps, Morrison joined her once more, shoulder leaned against the wall.

"What did she say?"

She looked at him, pain clear and evident inside those lovely blue eyes of hers,

"She asked me, in case something happened to him, if I would help Hanzo like I helped Genji," her voice trailed off but the man nodded his head, showing his attention and encouraging her to go on, "back then I thought she was just trying to find out whether I resented Hanzo or not, but now I'm not so sure,"

The man sighed, inaudibly, and looked down.

"What did you tell her back then?"

"He's breathing, isn't he?" Angela answered, biting her bottom lip as the words rolled off her tongue.

"You think she knew something like this could happen?"

She turned away from him, unable to feel his hands as they reached for her and tucked her hair behind her ear. Distance was a safe harbor for them – the comforting proximity they could steal from these moments of shared loneliness was treacherous, they knew.

"I can't say for sure that she knew," she said, folding her arms over her chest again, closing off her body, "but perhaps she could sense something amiss, as the feeling grew stronger," clinical explanations were all she had in store for him, "go find your precious, silent toilet, Jack, I'll stay with him." She gave up, "But don't take too long, I want to write to Ana, I need her to send me Amelie's old brain scans," the woman watched in silence as the man disappeared into the dimly lit corridor, then she turned around and finally stepped inside the broken heir's bedchamber.

More darkness ahead, the shadows in the night were surely frightening – and there he laid, completely on his own, in a bed made of shattered moments that were now indefinitely paused.

"How's she doing?" his weak voice surprised the doctor and she finally turned on the small lamp on Hanzo's nightstand. When she sat down on his bed, the creaking sounds of the broken structure ricocheted all around her, making her jump in surprise – the man smiled, for the first time that night.

"I thought you were sleeping," Angela told him as she quickly moved away from the heir's bed.

"I can't sleep," the older Shimada retorted, trying to get up and leave the bed but the doctor's cold stare was enough for the man to understand he wouldn't be leaving that room any time soon.

"I gave you enough sedatives to dope an elephant," she let out softly as she sat down on the small, burgundy armchair right next to his nightstand, "how do you feel?"

"My throat hurts," Hanzo chose to start with the most obvious part, "and my pride, as well," he said as he broke eye contact, "since I was beaten by a girl,"

Angela laughed: it was hard to imagine one of the Shimada brothers talking so bluntly about their wounded egos, but she had been the chosen one - the heir was embarrassed, or so it seemed.

"I'm sorry to hear your pride has been damaged, Hanzo," she said, "but I'm afraid there's no medicine to fix that," the man tilted his head to the side, addressing her presence with an exasperating grimace, all thanks to the sedatives, "and between you and me, you did not defend yourself, did you?" The woman let out a small chuckle before getting up again.

"What happened to her?" he stretched one of his hands and captured her nearest arm as she walked by his bed, forcing her to stop right where she was.

"I don't know," the doctor said as she leaned closer to him.

"Should I be worried?" he insisted, tightening his grip around her arm, "Do you think this was just an isolated incident, or perhaps something triggered her and,"

"I don't know, Hanzo," she interrupted him and watched as the man suddenly let go from her, "we'll wait until she wakes up, see what we find – if she remembers something, anything…" she softened her words, trying to help him feel better, "I'll ask Ana to send me all the brain scans we have in Gibraltar,"

She leaned closer, brushing the heir's cheeks ever so lightly. Then she reached out and tried to comfort him, rearranging his pillows.

"Why are you doing this?" he whispered against her face, pausing all her movements for a brief moment.

"Doing what?" Angela said as she sat down on his bed again, in spite of the constant creaking.

"Helping me," he took her hand in his, gently, "you did your job, you said it yourself: I just need to rest – so why are you here? You're Genji's girlfriend," his voice trailed off, "I want to see her, Dr. Ziegler, I need to ask her what happened, I need to know,"

The doctor shook her head in silence, heartbroken by the sight of a man so broken up inside, then she put her arms around his broad shoulders as if trying to shelter him from all the pain he was feeling.

"I'm here because I'm Genji's girlfriend, Hanzo." Angela whispered softly as she rocked him in her arms with the tenderness of a mother, "and if Jesse was here, I'm sure he would be helping you as well," the man closed his eyes, "we are not your brother's allies, Hanzo, we're not just his lovers – we are his family, and by extension, we are your family too. And since you're with Amelie and she's our friend, she's now part of our family too,"

A family. A distant notion he could not even remember.

"That's why you've been sleeping with my woman? Because we're family?" The archer said, trying to free himself from the embarrassing chains of weakness.

"Your woman?" Angela retorted, resting her chin on his shoulder, "Such a possessive man…" she smiled, "it suits you, Shimada, and she suits you – that's what hurts the most. And I'm not talking about the fact that you have similar stories to share, Hanzo…" her constricted throat was making it impossible for her words to reach the outside, yet the woman went on, unafraid of her emotions, "We are your family now, Hanzo, the four of us: your brother, Jesse, Amelie and I – so let us take care of you, like family."

A family. A distorted repertoire of faces always demanding things from him. Always taking. Never giving. She was still holding him in her arms when Morrison entered the room – Hanzo cleared his throat the second he saw the former Strike-Commander and the woman understood that the moment had passed. She stood up and planted a soft kiss on the heir's forehead, but before she could leave the room, the heir crossed his arms over his chest.

"Where were you?" The archer demanded as Morrison took a first step towards the bed.

"Your toilet talks," the older man complained.

"Then mute it," Hanzo fought back, grinning devilishly.

"I'm out," The woman said, already headed for the door, "you'll stay with him?" she asked Morrison and the old man nodded his head vigorously, "you're not going to leave the room this time?" another nod, "Goodnight, gentlemen," she was almost out the door but that didn't mean she was gone, not yet, "make sure he sleeps, Jack, don't keep him up all night with your conspiracy theories, he needs to rest." The man offered her a puzzled look but the doctor did not give him any time neither to ponder nor to retaliate. As soon as her slender figure disappeared behind the door, the former vigilante turned around, and slapped Hanzo's nearest leg,

"How are you feeling?" Morrison asked, clearly alleviated to know the doctor wouldn't be coming back.

"Better," the archer replied with renewed simplicity, "what's wrong with my toilet?"

The older man pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, already exhausted by the topic. Then he sighed loudly, anticipating the embarrassment about to take control.

"The first -and only- time I used it… after I was done, it… it thanked me," his cheeks were turning red and he could feel the heat spreading rapidly across his wounded face.

"It's a good toilet," Hanzo mocked the man, clearly enjoying the moment, "a highly educated one,"

"Sleeping pills won't work, huh?" Morrison slapped him in the leg again, harder this time, "Have you tried counting sheep? What's keeping you up?"

A potential family. A broken bed. A paralyzed heart.

"I feel guilty about what happened," Hanzo confessed, resting his hands behind his head and finally sitting up on the bed. Morrison rolled his eyes but he couldn't hide the evident symptoms of empathy already clouding his eyes with the sepia-colored flashes of an irretrievable yesterday.

"Here we go, the story of my life," he whispered and looked down, trying his best to stay afloat in a sea of intransigent commitments.

"A couple days ago, my brother and I got into a huge fight and Amelie was there, it was so uncomfortable – I have to admit I haven't been the most caring, attentive man around," perhaps that's why they had become such good friends during their stay in Hanamura: Jack had never been caring or attentive, his lack of romanticism was yet another item in the endless list of things they had in common, "I couldn't even realize that Talon had sent those souvenirs,"

"The twins?" Jack interrupted him and Hanzo nodded his head once.

"Maybe she felt it was like a message, maybe it affected her – the fact that we killed them," the sorrow in his eyes was like a pitch-black abyss trying to drag him down.

"We had to," Morrison reassured his friend, "we did the right thing,"

"But why did we choose to kill them when she was rehabilitated?" The heir questioned, "We could have killed her as well… also, if Talon sent the twins to remind her of the fact that they are out there that means they know she's here, they know exactly where to find her,"

"Hanzo…" He was blind, Jack knew. The pain in his heart was blinding him.

"We talked about this, Morrison – it was weird they never tried to get her back, she was basically on her own the night when we captured her, it was as if they were actually waiting for Overwatch to come get her," the archer remembered, "and the worst part is that, looking back, it was easy. It shouldn't have been easy, we captured Widowmaker, Jack, she was supposed to put up a fight, but she didn't," the archer paused his outspoken elucubrations the second he noticed Morrison was beginning to drift away from the conversation, "what?"

"Where does your brother go each Sunday night?" The former Strike-Commander asked bluntly, "We all have noticed this, Hanzo – every Sunday night, ever since we set foot in this place, your brother disappears. It's just a couple hours, granted, but we don't know where he goes, who he meets, what he does…"

"What are you suggesting?" Hanzo inquired, unable to follow Morrison's reasoning.

"Your brother recruited you for that specific mission: he wanted your help, he said he could not capture the Widowmaker all on his own – but the mission went suspiciously smoothly." The older man explained, still, the heir could not believe his ears, "Now he disappears once a week, and you said it yourself, Hanzo: since Amelie and you got together, he's been giving you a hard time,"

He had heard similar rumors in the past: Genji betraying ideals and bonds that should have remained untouched – he knew how the story ended.

"My brother has got nothing to do with Talon, Jack," Hanzo reacted firmly, "in fact, I have reason to believe Talon was one of the many reasons why the clan elders decided to kill him – he told me: he was in the wrong place, at the wrong time," he remembered, "the elders were aligned with Talon, and he found out,"

The doctor's timely intervention saved the soldier once more as she stepped into the heir's room and walked towards Morrison:

"Jack," she reached out to him, demanding his undivided attention, "Jesse's here, you have to see this,"

The old man looked over his shoulder, then back at her:

"I'll be there in a minute – just let me call someone, let's make sure Hanzo has someone watching over him while I'm gone," Dr. Ziegler nodded her head but yet another figure became visible in the threshold – hands resting on the wall, the ninja stood in front of his brother's bed, petrified by the vision of a broken Hanzo.

"I'll stay," the Sparrow said, "I'll watch over my brother from now on."

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III – The Saints and The Sinners

The old soldier led them across the halls and deeper into the labyrinth of stone and wood that was Shimada Castle until he stopped in front of his bedroom door, and indicated the ones walking alongside him that they had reached their destination. The doctor and the cowboy followed the man as he traveled the darkness of his room, then he sat alone in his bed, facing the newcomer:

"Always playing by the rules and doing as you're told," he was serious, "we weren't expecting you until morning, Jesse, I guess you learned your lessons well when you were in Blackwatch," he shook his head and stood up again. He turned on the lights, finally, and signaled the doctor to join him, leaving Jesse all alone in the center of the room.

"Always nice to see you, boss," Jesse retorted as he started to pace around the room, "I know moving around town this late at night is dangerous, especially when an enemy like Talon is out there, but I can take care o' myself – and this couldn't wait," he tossed the papers he was carrying with the classical nonchalance that had always colored all his moves, "guess not havin' this kinda information is far more dangerous than walkin' the streets at night."

Morrison caught the folder with a swift moment of his arm, then his eyes traveled through the letters scrambled on the paper – Talon file report N° 2589/3, Beuhs, Thomas. The name didn't ring any bells.

"What's this?" he asked.

"It's a report, Jack," Angela finally intervened, "I was just reading through the pages, but this is going to be an all-nighter I'm afraid,"

"It's all fake, Morrison," Jesse joined her, "whatever Amelie thinks she feels for Hanzo, it's all a holistic construct – or whatever the hell that means,"

McCree was already searching his trousers for yet another pack of smokes but Morrison could not look away from that old folder resting now between his hands.

"Angela?" he said, voice weak, eyes clouded by uncertainty.

"This, huh, this report explains how they made her, Jack," the good doctor informed as she took the document in her hands and scanned quickly through the yellowish pages, "this is the step-by-step explanation of how Talon made Widowmaker."

The blood running through his veins froze at the thought: not only they had ruined Amelie's life, not only they had murdered one of his best friends – they had written a manual: how to make your own monster.

"Let me see that," Morrison demanded as he snatched the file from Angela's hands, "you read this already?" the cowboy nodded, but the doctor shook her head, "And you're gonna pull an all-nighter to read this thing," now she nodded, "I'm staying with you, then, we'll be reading this together. Contact Ana, tell her we need those scans as soon as possible,"

"Already did," she informed him, "files are being transferred as we speak,"

"Did you tell her what happened?" Jack asked her.

"I only mentioned to her that there was an incident involving Amelie," both Jack and Jesse were staring intently at her as if expecting the doctor to magically solve every single one of their problems and predicaments, like she always did. The woman smiled at the cowboy but her words were only aimed at the soldier: "but I figured you'd want to talk to her yourself since you're in charge. Once we read this file and once Amelie wakes up and we speak to her, you'll be the only one doing all the talking,"

The dark and dense cloud of smoke engulfed the entire room as the smell of tobacco impregnated the atmosphere. Jack stood up and opened the window for Jesse, pushing the man slightly on his way back to the bed. The doctor closed her eyes and breathed hard through parted lips: she had fallen in love with the cowboy when they were but little kids, then the soldier had come along for her not to feel so all alone when Jesse decided to leave – Jesse had been the beginning, and Jack had been the end.

"Look, I'm proud to say I was the first to see somethin' good in Amelie when she was still Widowmaker – I just want to help her," the younger man tried to defend himself as he moved closer to the window, "I don't want the woman to suffer, she's been through enough already,"

"As we all have, Jesse," Angela spoke softly, meeting the cowboy's worried gaze with genuine concern, "you did the right thing," she was toying with her fingers, the file now resting on her lap.

A quick glance, followed by an awkward silence,

"Mind if I ask you," she finally said, "where did you get this file?"

"Someone gave it to me," Jesse replied, faster than usual.

The entire room went quiet as a hollow, black end circled around them, exposing each saint and each sinner in their glorified shapes.

"An informant?" she asked again, softly, yet irreversibly worried.

"That's as good a name as any," the cowboy said as he shrugged his shoulders and looked down.

They knew him. They knew him too well to pretend they didn't know his methods.

"You know, Jesse, I wasn't born yesterday," Morrison intervened, standing up again and joining McCree, "this is not the regular tip you get from your trustworthy, regular informant, this is the holy bible, son." He signaled the doctor to hand him the file and the woman obliged, knowing in her heart that the former Strike-Commander was determined not to stop until he got his answer.

"Jack," she tried to persuade him, but she too knew that man like the back of her own hand. Sadly. Holding the file in front of the cowboy's seemingly unperturbed face, the group leader was relentless:

"Who gave you this report, Jesse?" he insisted.

"That's not relevant, not now," a futile diversion, "plus you know we're not supposed to disclose our informants' identities,"

He could recite the entire ABC on how to run an Overwatch operation – he knew it by heart: Reyes had made sure his lessons were promptly learned by his disciples. He could have fooled anyone but still, he could have never fooled Jack Morrison.

"Jesse, I know he taught you well, he was a great mentor," a punch below the size, where it always hurt the most, "but this report… this is the real thing, you didn't just get this information from someone on the inside, that goes without saying," how he knew his rhetoric, his speeches, his contrived sense of leadership, "only a high-ranked member of Talon could have given you this file, Jesse, because only a high-ranked agent would have access to this sort of files in the first place,"

The cowboy hesitated: Morrison was gravitating too close to the truth yet he was done pretending. He was done running from the man that he was.

"Angela, can you give us a moment, please?" Morrison asked and the woman nodded her head in silence and understood that she had to leave. She didn't want to – but she had to. The cowboy was biting his lip when she left the room in silence as if anticipating the pain he was surely going to cause her.

"Look, Jesse, I'm not suggesting you're a double agent," Morrison began as he grabbed Jesse's pack of smokes and took a cigar, "I don't think you're one of them – the fact that you are giving us this file proves it,"

"You need proof now, Jack?" Jesse asked sarcastically, leaning closer, offering his lighter for the former Strike-Commander to rekindle an old habit of his.

"No, Jesse, I don't – that's the point." Morrison breathed out, sitting next to the open window, "I've known you since you were a child, I know who you are and even if we don't always happen to see eye to eye, I know the kind of man that you are, I know what you're made of, son." He had never spoken to Jesse in such a way – that had always been Reyes' job, "I just want to make sure you know what you're doing, I need to know you're not in way over your head,"

The flash of a smile was curling up Jesse's lips: "You're starting to sound an awful lot like him, Jack,"

"Maybe," the soldier whispered and uneven columns of smoke began their journey as they abandoned his lips only to fly across the gardens of Shimada Castle, "but you know we're not fond of surprises. I'm the best example of a rotten secret that backfires – Genji goes missing once a week, soon they're gonna start asking questions like they always do," it had been ages since he had had his last cigarette, Jesse sure was a bad influence, "and now you bring in this report… they will ask, Jesse, and what happens when they connect the dots? You and Genji were Blackwatch, you two were under his command,"

When did his ghost become so big? When did he lose his name and became anonymous in his irrevocable identity?

"I know," the cowboy looked down, "it's not him, Jack – I'm not that stupid."

When did his shadow begin to cover the light?

When did his heart go missing?

"No, Jesse, I think you're even stupider than that – if that's even possible," Morrison yelled, and threw away the still half-alive cigar, "When you left here, why didn't you go back to Gibraltar? You could have gone someplace else, Jesse, you could have gone anywhere – but you stayed here. And now you have this?"

Jesse sat down on Morrison's bed, holding his head in his hands – he was about to become the kind of man she hated, the kind of man she would not want to protect.

"It's Sombra," he finally confessed, hating himself, cursing himself, waving goodbye to every single thing that could have been, "the hacker… we met on Christmas night, a couple years ago, now we meet from time to time,"

"How can you trust her, Jesse, you know what she does,"

"We don't talk about work, ever," the cowboy yelled, interrupting the soldier, "she doesn't tell me about Talon, and I don't tell her about Overwatch,"

He still was a frightened, confused child thriving for a semblance of love. Just crumbs of the emotion were enough for his heart to keep on beating – perhaps that's all he was ever going to be: a frightened, confused child, thriving for a familiar sentiment. The older man sat back down on his bed, and let the file rest between his legs and Jesse's,

"Why would she give this to you?" his voice was significantly softer now.

"My best guess?" the cowboy said as he looked away, "I think she was tryin' to scare me off, she's always sayin' that when he comes, I should just run my ass off – I guess she thought if I read this, I would feel terrified of Amelie, so I wouldn't come back here," his smile was torn in two, just like his entire world.

"So that you would stay with her instead?"

"Could be," Jesse guessed, "Nah, that's not really our thing," he shook his head, "we're no horny teens, boss, we know I'm not Romeo, and she's definitely not Juliet,"

He should have screamed – should have grabbed him by his ridiculous jacket and shake. But he didn't.

"I just hope you know what you're doing," Morrison said softly, patting the cowboy's shoulder, "even if I do believe you're in way over your head," both men stood up and walked towards the door then: Morrison still had the file in his possession, and a long night was surely coming his way.

"What about Angie?" the older man said all of a sudden, one of his hands resting on the door.

The cowboy met his gaze and shrugged his shoulders: he had just betrayed Sombra, he could not afford to think about the unpredictable future.

"What about her?"

.

.

.

IV - Brother

The first step was short and shy, as if asking for permission.

Then a long pause had kept his older brother waiting, with his arms crossed over his chest and that petulant smirk of his already plastered on his face. The second step was languid and dispossessed of all sense of determination.

"Baka…"

The Sparrow removed his helmet and threw it wildly in Hanzo's direction: he might have been covered in metal, but he still was intrinsically human in essence – temperamental, and reactionary.

"I haven't heard you speak Japanese in a very long time, brother," the third step had been fueled by Hanzo's twisted sense of humor, "Amelie must have hit you quite hard in the head then," the Sparrow said as he finally approached Hanzo's bed – his parents' bed – trying his best not to pay attention to every single detail trying to remind him of the ones they were no more.

"Here, let me fix that pillow for you," the younger brother said after a while, leaning over, trying to escape the endless scrutiny of Hanzo's incredulous stare, "come on, Hanzo, move a little, let me rearrange these pillows," he was struggling, but his brother did not seem to care.

"It's fine, you don't have to," Hanzo said after a while – the truth was, he thought his brother was stronger than that.

"But how can you be comfortable in here? Look around you and…" Genji protested, "Is the bed broken?" taking a step back to admire the view, the Sparrow's wide-eyed gaze traveled from the bed to his brother:

"You two broke down this bed?" his smile gave him away, and Hanzo grinned, timidly, as if afraid of reciprocating the gesture, "well done, brother,"

Sitting on his brother's bed, the Sparrow took a moment to observe each and every single scar illustrating Hanzo's body – the marks her love had tattooed on his skin, the marks his older brother would never forget.

"So, how are you?"

"Angela says I need to rest, but I feel fine," Hanzo began, "My throat hurts, my crotch hurts, even my hair hurts and my head's been spinning ever since I got in this bed," he signaled Genji to move closer and the Sparrow obliged, timidly, "Did you talk to Angela about Amelie? I tried talking to her myself, but she only said that Amelie is sleeping – sedatives, she said."

"And those sedatives are not working on you, right brother?" Genji retorted, crossing his arms over his chest. "She didn't tell me anything," the Sparrow reassured him, "I know as much as you do,"

He could only see his eyes, and a handful of scars illustrating his cheeks and his nose – still, he could recognize the brother he had loved so dearly, several lifetimes ago.

The mere sight of him was enough to make him tremble.

"Genji," he reached out, and cupped cold metal with warm skin, "do you think our fight could have caused her to…"

"I thought about that too," the Sparrow interrupted his older brother, voice weak and softened by the burden that was remorse, "and even when I think we were not the reason why she attacked you, I can't stop feeling guilty about it,"

Silence knew who they were – where they lived, and who they really loved.

"I feel the same way,"

Silence knew all of their scars, silence knew who they really were.

"So, you like her, then," Genji said, careful enough not to mention the actual feeling, "you care about her – you care so much about her that you chose not to hurt her,"

"Genji if this is about what happened between you and me," the memory, more painful than ever before, set in his eyes and called out his name, undressing the man he thought he was, "I don't think I have the energy to withstand another fight,"

"No, no, that's not what I meant," Genji raised his hands in a defensive stance, avoiding the conflict, seeking peace for the very first time, "she's a great shot, Hanzo, but when it comes to close quarters combat, she has no chance going against you. You're stronger, faster..." he went on, trying to find a logical explanation why his brother had chosen not to retaliate when he had clearly had the chance to do so, "Why didn't you defend yourself?"

A brief smile, ghostly, almost imperceptible.

"I did," Hanzo whispered, "I just tried my best not to hurt her in the process. That was the only thing that was clear to me back then – no matter what happened to me, I was not going to hurt her; I was not going to cause her any more pain,"

Several years ago, when his brother attacked him, Genji had decided not to hurt him – not to cause him any more pain.

"I understand the feeling, Hanzo," the Sparrow said as he looked down, voice laced with melancholy, "I honestly do,"

He took his older brother's hand in his, and looked into those big, dark eyes of his, the safe harbor of his childhood, the beasts dictating the infuriating events of his teenage years, "Do you feel safe, brother?" he dared to ask, "When you are with her, knowing what she's done to her husband – do you feel safe?"

Hanzo cupped Genji's fingers with his free hand,

"Do you feel safe when I'm around?" he asked, then he looked down, and contemplated the communion of skin and metal resting between them, "It's complicated, isn't it? It's all been reduced to a simple matter of trust." He said, "Is that why you don't like her for me? I mean… ever since Amelie and I got together you've been acting strange, brother,"

Genji shook his head,

"Maybe,"

"A part of me thought you didn't like her because you didn't want me to be happy," yet another confession, another step towards that place they were both dying to reach.

"That's all I ever wanted, Hanzo," he had learned to speak with those incomparable eyes of his, "for you to be happy, really happy. And even if I know she's trying her best, even if I see her struggle each day I can't help but fear that one of these days you're going to lay down beside her but when the morning comes, you're not going to wake up," he snatched his hand away from Hanzo, and looked deeply into his eyes, "and I'm still pretty sure that even if I have forgiven you, you still feel like you need to face some sort of extraordinary atonement -" the tone of his voice was darker now, even reproachful, "I need you to know that you don't have to give up your life in order to earn a forgiveness you have already earned," he said, heartfelt words softening his mouth again, trespassing the inevitable artificially of his vocal chords, "but if you feel safe around her, brother, if you feel she's worth the fight, I'll be there for you – always."

He could have stared at his brother's hands indefinitely – until the end of time, probably. He could have asked himself whether it was a metaphor he hadn't been able to understand in the past: his insufferable grasp relentlessly trying to hold on to someone who just wanted to be free.

"Thank you, Genji,"

Freedom had been elusive back then, for the both of them, even the illusion of it had turned out to be nothing but yet another dungeon.

"So how about you, brother?" Hanzo asked after a while, "Are you happy with the cowboy and Dr. Ziegler?"

Genuine interest, at last.

"I guess some things are about to change on that front," the ninja began, "rather sooner than later,"

"Because the cowboy left?"

"Among other things," Genji said, "I can't blame you for thinking the way you do – it is true that Jesse takes me back to another time of my life, a darker time, and it's also true that I will be forever grateful of Angela, for everything she's done for me over the years," his eyes sparkled with a love that had endured, "but that doesn't mean I don't love them, brother - I do, I love them both, deeply."

Silence stretched between them once again, but for the first time in ages, it wasn't uncomfortable.

"But these times are complicated, brother," Genji reflected, "and I can't help but feel I've let them down. All this constant fighting between us… I was so frustrated, Hanzo, I can't blame them if they feel they had enough,"

Hanzo could relate. He understood – probably like no-one else could.

"Genji, there's something I need to ask," the older dragon said, mustering all his courage, "where do you go every Sunday night?"

Genji stared intently at him, unable to provide his brother with an answer.

"Some people think it's… suspicious."

"Who? Morrison?" The ninja inquired, smiling sarcastically under the lower half of his mask, "Hanzo, that man sees shadows crawling in everywhere, I know we can't blame him for acting the way he does but he really needs to understand that you just can't live life expecting to uncover an enemy in everyone around you," he paused, "It's not Talon." He felt the need to clarify, "I can't tell you where I go every Sunday night, it's my secret – and I'd like to keep it for myself for a while longer, brother, I hope you understand," Hanzo nodded in silence, "but it's not Talon, Hanzo, I give you my word,"

He stood up and paced nervously around the room as Hanzo watched him in silence,

"How could I?" The ninja finally asked, "Talon already killed me once, brother – they won't do it again,"

"Talon didn't kill you, Genji," Hanzo mused, toying with the very notion that had ruined their lives, "I did."

Hands at the sides of his waist, Genji leaned his back against the wall and shook his head pensively,

"A lot of people killed me, Hanzo," he grieved, "you were their weapon of choice,"

He had never seen himself a weapon, even when the clan had successfully turned him into one. Perhaps his younger brother had sensed their macabre intentions – maybe, back then, he did not rebel against their ancestors' heritage, maybe he was simply trying to make sure they could never change the one that he was. But now his hands had the potential to tear and slice: Overwatch had turned him into a weapon – the clan had murdered the child, his own brother had clipped the Sparrow's wings and Overwatch, that distant silver lining that had miraculously appeared at the end of the road, had exposed his broken soul to the most horrendous irony: in order to save his life, they had turned him into the one thing he didn't want to become.

"I'll tell you, one day… I'll tell you where I go every Sunday night, you can rest assure," Genji whispered, "but not until you learn that not everything is black and white in this life, brother; not until you understand you're not the only one to blame for everything that happened between us,"

He knew the clan had done its part. Knew the elders were to blame. Knew his father should have been that – a father. Still, he could see his younger brother's blood like endless rivers of furious crimson, wrapped around his fingers.

"Hey, I didn't know you had a copy of this picture of us," the Sparrow said, forcing the heir out of his trance. The younger dragon walked around Hanzo's nightstand and picked up the framed photograph resting right next to the small lamp.

"Neither did I," Hanzo alleged, craning his neck to catch a glimpse. He still remembered that day, he still remembered those smiles.

"I recognize the frame, this is the picture of us I had in my room, back in Nepal," Genji exclaimed as he held the picture in his hands.

"Your omnic friend must have put it in there while I was asleep," Hanzo assumed in a rather nonchalant fashion as he crossed his arms over his chest, "this was our last picture, I remember,"

Of course he did. They both remembered.

"You weren't too fond of photographs back then, I guess you only agreed to take this picture because my hair was green," the smile in Genji's voice was evident, "we look so young," he moved closer to his brother, "look at you, all mighty and important, and with significantly less gray around the temples… guess that's why you got that undercut, right?"

Hanzo looked at his brother, then smiled tenderly at him.

"You looked like a character from one of your anime shows," he finally said, tracing Genji's green locks with the tip of his index finger, "I've been watching a show lately, a brand new version of a vintage anime show you used to watch, I believe, Violet Evergarden, it's quite good, actually,"

"Hanzo, that show is for girls," Genji agonized as he snatched the picture away from his older brother's grasp and put it back in its rightful place.

"I figured," the heir shrugged his shoulders despondently, "but the girl in the show doesn't understand what love is, she doesn't know what "I love you" means; and I can relate,"

Genji sat down on the bed again,

"Hanzo, if you didn't know what love was, you would have never left the clan," he said, patting his brother's nearest shoulder, "and Amelie would have died tonight… but I guess I have missed that, you know?"

"What?"

"You, giving me reasons to be ashamed of my older brother," that sassy remark, that gratuitous and snarky comment: the Genji he had known, the Genji he remembered from his childhood was alive inside that body. The ninja removed his hand, and took the solitary book that was resting underneath the pillows, "what do we have here?"

He hadn't seen that book in ages. He could still remember every excuse he had come up with when his father gave it to him, on his twentieth birthday: too old-fashioned, slow-paced, boring… He scanned through the pages with hungry eyes until he stopped before one of the many markers Hanzo had left among the yellowish pages, and began reading out loud:

"But no, no, I am not to blame, Nastenka; I feel that, I know that, because my heart tells me I am right, for I cannot hurt you in any way, I cannot wound you! I was your friend, but I am still your friend, I have betrayed no trust. Here my tears are falling, Nastenka. Let them flow, let them flow — they don't hurt anybody. They will dry, Nastenka."

He closed the book, and let it rest on his lap.

"I guess it doesn't seem so boring anymore," Genji admitted – mostly to himself.

"Why don't you take it?" The older dragon encouraged him, "Read it, it was her favorite book after all,"

Maybe that's what had stopped him before. Perhaps he was too young. Perhaps she had already begun to disappear from his memories.

"I don't remember her," he confessed, brokenhearted, "I try, but I can't, Hanzo. She's gone."

"You said she would have liked Amelie,"

"I said what you needed to hear," Genji lamented, "but I can't remember her – I can't look at her pictures, I feel like I'm cheating, you know?" He was crying – Hanzo couldn't remember the last time he had seen his brother cry, "I'm her son – I'm supposed to remember her,"

"Then you should read her favorite book, see if it can help you," Hanzo said, cupping Genji's hands with his own, "there's a lot of her in those pages, Genji," he reached out and held his brother in his arms – the feeling was alien, yet he couldn't deny the increasing familiarity of the gesture.

"Tell me about her," Genji said, leaning against his brother for support and Hanzo smiled, weakly, tenderly.

"She would always read to us, and play with us," he remembered, "she would create entire universes for us – and in every one of them, we were never criminals. We were astronauts, and chefs and actors… and she would always sit by the pond, always," the anguish carried by Genji's tears silenced his voice, and the heir listened closely as the Sparrow cried for their mother, for their family, for the ones the clan had murdered.

"Genji, you were so young when she died…" he remembered, "Take the book, keep it."

"I couldn't," the ninja said, wiping his tears with clumsy fingers, "it's yours,"

Hanzo shook his head, recognizing the stubborn nature of the fragile creature in his arms,

"Father gave it to you, Genji, I just took good care of it for some time because, like mother used to say, every book deserves an owner,"

"You keep it," Genji negotiated, "I promise I'll read it, then I'll give it back to you – I know how much you miss her, Hanzo, I know how much she means to you," the one he had loved the most, the one he still missed, "besides, I can download entire libraries with my visor,"

"Really?"

"No, Hanzo," he finally laughed, the clouds before his eyes were no longer blinding his vision, "I'm more human than you think, brother, and just to clear things up once and for all, my dick is intact."

The bratty Sparrow was back. And Hanzo was grateful.

"I told her!" the heir exclaimed, finally able to play along, "I was trying to murder you, I had no reason to chop off your penis!" he laughed, but Genji turned around, and met his gaze with renewed concern.

"What if I read the book but I still can't remember her?" the ninja asked.

"Then at least you can say that you had Father," Hanzo said as he let his hands land on Genji's shoulders, "I had her, and you had him,"

"Father loved you, Hanzo," Genji retorted. "he had a funny way of showing it, but he loved you, brother."

"I'm not sure he did," Hanzo said, shaking his head, "I think he only saw me as a tool,"

"He loved you," Genji whispered, "what he didn't love, I believe, was the idea of Hanzo, the successor. Hanzo, the heir meant that he was going to die, brother; the fact that the elders were training you to replace him must have been incredibly hard to accept," he offered, "by accepting you, he was also accepting his own end – as a concept, it was just too difficult to assimilate. One more year for you was one less year for him." His hands held on tight to the book still resting on his lap, "Hanzo, the heir, also meant that he wasn't absolutely necessary for the clan to survive: he was replaceable, he wasn't almighty,"

He turned around, and looked into his brother's eyes:

"But yes, I guess it's safe to say that I had him and that you had her," he admitted, "and now we only have each other, and the ones we love - it should be more than enough, Hanzo."


Baka: fool.

The fragment of the book read by Genji is a quote from White Nights, by Fyodor Dostoyevsky