Chapter Fourteen: Fix It

Georgia was confused when Hanzo avoided her the next day, and the day after that. Every time she would seek him out, he was nowhere to be found or had a very good excuse why he couldn't talk to her. She sunk into herself. She showed up to her various trainings and did her chores, but not much else. She watched the news and did as much research as her access to the Overwatch database would allow, still on restricted access thanks to Winston.

Brigitte noticed, but didn't say anything about it, just tried to cheer her sister up where she could. Later in the week however, she had the perfect opportunity to talk to who she guessed was the reason for her sister's depressive mood. She was tinkering with something on the workbench waiting for him as he walked in, and she glanced up to level him with a glare.

He paused and came to a stop where he was in the middle of the workshop floor. He had picked up on the tension in the room as soon as he had entered, and wondered what he had done to warrant it. There was a very long, awkward pause as he waited for her to speak.

When the engineer did not, he cleared his throat to collect his thoughts. "I am here for my spare set of grieves? Torbjorn informed me they were ready."

"They are." She gestured to the pair of armoured leg guards on the bench. "But you're clearly not."

He blinked, unsure or her meaning. "I am unsure what you are referring to."

She put a hand on her hip and quirked an eyebrow. "What did you say to my sister?"

He blinked. "I have said nothing to your sister." His face settled into an even stare as they continued to watch each other.

She huffed. "Well you have to have said something. She's depressive and moping. The last time she was this mopey, her dad had just abandoned her. So, I'll ask again. What did you say to her?"

He grimaced in annoyance. "I have said nothing untoward." He thought for a moment, puzzling over a few things before speaking again. "What makes you think it is me who has upset her?"

She rolled her eyes and groaned. "Oh my god there is no way you are this thickheaded, right?" she waved her other hand—the one with the screwdriver—in his direction. "You have to know by now. It's so obvious everyone else has pretty much chalked it up to a schoolgirl crush."

His brows almost met his hairline and he struggled to find words to say for a moment. "I beg your pardon?" if everyone knew, why had his brother not said anything?

"You heard me. Georgia has feelings for you. I don't think papa knows though, or you would have been lynched by now." He wasn't worried about the aged engineer. He was more worried about his silent brother.

He almost growled at her. "That is not the impression I received the other night."

Her brows shot up and she spluttered. "Wait what?!" the screwdriver was suddenly a very real threat as she rounded the workbench and shoved it up at him menacingly. There was a fiery, murderous glare in her eyes as she struggled to keep herself calm.

Hanzo flung his hands up to try and placate Brigitte, but it only enraged her further. "That is not what I meant."

She glared at him. "Then what exactly do you mean?"

He sighed. He was going to have to tell her, at this point he had no choice. "I have been training Georgia for the past several months in parkour and hand-to-hand combat."

She blinked, and took a step back. "What?"

He lowered his hands as the screwdriver was lowered, though he still kept one eye on the offending tool-turned-weapon that was still very much a danger to his life. "She was determined to go and find this Jesse McCree at some point. And besides being able to fire a pistol, she has not been afforded the same training and favouritism as others seemed to have been given. I could not let her leave unequipped."

"Oh." Brigitte stepped back again, the screwdriver now thankfully out of reach. "I—I thought you had—"

"Thought I had what? Taken advantage of her? Not at all." He shook his head. "But we did end up in compromising stalemate the other night during a spar."

"And?" Brigitte probed. She seemed more forgiving now, but he had to tread carefully.

He sighed. "And she ran away. End of story."

Brigitte blinked. "She ran away?"

"Yes."

"From a compromising position with you?"

He huffed in annoyance. "Yes." He gritted his teeth.

But she seemed in another world of thought, having turned away from him to ponder something. "Holy crap." She leant against the workbench and looked up at him almost pityingly. "Damn."

"Is there something wrong?" by this point he was just irritated that she wasn't explaining herself. And he didn't need to relive the rather embarrassing moment where he had shown his hand and had been wrong.

"Well, uh, yes and no." she held up a hand to stop his following query, and he set his jaw in frustration at her. "I shouldn't tell you this, but man you're as bad as each other." She took a deep breath and looked back up at him. "She has very strong feelings for you. And it's scaring her. She doesn't normally spare a second thought on a man, but she's terrified to mess it up."

"Mess what up?" he'd heard the strong feelings part, but had a hard time believing that when they had spent months in close proximity but with no sign from her that would indicate that. The Georgia being terrified part he couldn't quite grasp.

Brigitte groaned. "Are men always this thick?" it was incredible that she had gone from murderous to friendly in the space of a few minutes. He wasn't sure he would ever truly grasp the mind of a woman. She fixed him with an exasperated look. "You and her. Your friendship. She doesn't want her feelings to get in the way of one of the few genuine friendships she has."

Oh. Well that explained a few things. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, but no words formulated.

"Well, now you know you can go and fix it."

He blinked at her. "Fix it?"

She nodded slowly, as if sensing the cogs were turning a little too slowly in his brain and dumbed it down a bit for him. "Yeah. Fix it."

"How?" he didn't feel like getting shot, cussed out or ignored by Georgia if he 'fixed it' wrong.

Brigitte groaned and face-palmed. "Talk to her. Hold her. Just…she needs someone who is going to be there." The young woman fixed him with a haunting glare. "So when you do talk to her, and if you decide to pursue something with her, make sure that you're sticking around. I don't think she'll survive another person abandoning her."

The words stuck in his head as he collected his greaves and exited the armoury workshop. That had been, for lack of a better expression, fucking weird. What was it with these Overwatch agents? They were so protective and accepting. It was unnerving.

The problem now—how was he going to 'fix' it with Georgia? He hadn't the faintest clue where to start.

Talk to her. It was easier said than done. He'd spent the better part of the day in the shooting range, thrashing his poor bow. But it had afforded him some clarity of mind. Hold her. Again, easier said than done. He wanted to, but was it right? Should he? Would she rebuff it, after he'd been avoiding her and their training?

His mind was whirring when he found her on the shooting range after dinner, practicing with her rifle. Her honeyed hair was plaited down her prone back, and the only indication that she'd heard him approaching was a slight cocking of her head in his direction. He came to stand behind her a ways, unsure of how to start when she was ignoring him.

His dragons, oddly, stayed inside their tattoos for once. The tension on the range was high, and inched up the longer they stayed in their stalemate. Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, she was out of bullets in the boxes she had beside her. She stood and went about packing up her things.

"Georgia…" Hanzo took a step towards her, and she glared up at him. Her face was cold and shut off from the world. Her voice steel and hard. A blade that could cut through the finest armour.

"What?" She clenched her fists and her jaw.

"I…I'm sorry." It was appalling, but it was honest.

She scoffed. "For what? You ain't done nothing."

He hadn't heard her speak like that before. Her accent was thick, southern. Her eyes were shining. "I've been…avoiding our trainings." He mentally smacked himself.

"I figure when you didn't show for a week or two." Was that how long it had been? Gods.

"I apologise for that. I would like to continue if you would."

She fixed him with a searching gaze, the fire in her eyes dampening. "I would."

He nodded. "Good."

She turned to leave, but stopped and glanced back at him. There was still a hardness to her voice, but also a soft inquiry. "I'm glad we're friends again." It was a statement, but there was a hidden question.

"Indeed." His answer seemed to satisfy her as she nodded and continued on her way. He watched her go, unsure if he'd actually succeeded in his apology or not.