Ch. 6
Present Day
Jesse McCree
There was something so surreal about how things had turned out. It was ironic, really. It was an irony that Jesse knew would come to bite him in the ass one day. He just didn't think it'd be so soon, and so awkwardly.
When McCree pictured his and Hanzo's reunion it would have went more along the lines of… a tear filled embrace. Of course, that was usually followed up by passionate and incredible sex. It was a spectacular vision that over the last twenty years he had ran through his mind over and over.
The reality was, admittedly, disappointing.
Hanzo still hated him… even after so long…
It was devastating having his past come back to haunt him again and again. He felt he could never make up for all the mistakes he had made. He could give and give and give and nothing would ever change. For the most part, he had comes to terms with the inevitability of it all. With Hanzo, though, there was a hope – a desire – deep within him that he could make up for everything. He wanted nothing more than to reconcile.
Thunk.
It was the sound of an arrow thumping as its velocity broke and pierced the red circle that had been painted on a distant propped up log.
Thunk.
McCree flopped down on a rock and propped his elbows up on his knees. He leaned his chin onto his palms, feeling the itch of his facial hair scratching against his skin. He watched as the archer pulled back the string of his bow. His fingers grasped the nock of the arrow, tensing the string and his muscles as he aimed. Jesse watched as each muscle in Hanzo's torso tightened, creating hard fleshy lines that trembled slightly with intensity. McCree, unknowingly, licked his lips.
Thunk.
The arrow smacked into the center of Hanzo's makeshift target. The archer reached into the quiver on his back, pulling another piece of ammo from the case. He repeated the steps: nocking the arrow, aiming, and shooting. Each shot was a perfect hit.
Hanzo was dressed once again in traditional Japanese clothing rather than casual clothes. McCree equated it to him wanting to be dressed close to this heritage when he was fighting or practicing. Perhaps, it helped center him. Honestly, McCree liked seeing him that way. Maybe it was just his attachment to his own cowboy get up, but he felt the kimono fit Hanzo better than anything else.
How sentimental.
It was good seeing him that way again. It was more how Jesse remembered him. So much had changed, but yet so little.
Hanzo drew back the arrow again. McCree watched his left arm tense as he held onto the grip. McCree's eyes ran up the exposed tattoo hugging his taunt arm that he remembered far too well. He could remember touching it obsessively; his fingers dancing across the ink. It was so beautiful… just like Hanzo…
"Do you mind?" Hanzo asked, his voice traveling back to Jesse. The archer didn't remove his eyes from the bullseye. It was almost as if he could sense McCree's presence. It was consistently that way. Hanzo could detect Jesse without even looking at him. He wasn't sure why. Sometimes he worried he smelt weird or something. Hanzo would always flash a slight grin when McCree nonchalantly sniffed his shirt.
"Sorry," McCree answered, watching as he released the arrow and it hit the target with a thunk. "Gotta fill my quota for the day, ya know?" Hanzo sighed, turning slightly to the cowboy.
"I know," he murmured, nocking another arrow.
McCree tried his best to give him his privacy. He couldn't be around all the time – everyone knew that. It wasn't like he enjoyed constantly prying, but Hanzo wasn't trusted. It was the only way he could stay and both men knew it. When McCree was around he tried to stay in the back and as quiet as could be. Since Hanzo was some sort of psychic, however, he always knew. Maybe McCree just wasn't a good spy – not that he really was spying. He made sure it felt nothing like that while simultaneously making sure the archer had no shady connections.
He didn't, either. After three weeks of being attached by an invisible chain, McCree had not once seen Hanzo contact anyone outside of Gibraltar. He never even seen him use a phone or any sort of communication device. He was fairly certain the results were conclusive, but the rest of Overwatch wasn't satisfied. So McCree had to stay around.
McCree watched rather intently as Hanzo fired another arrow.
"What's the deal with the bow?" he asked, shifting on his rock. "Last time I saw you, you were usin' a sword – like Genji does." Hanzo scoffed, turning towards McCree. Jesse tried not to look at his half exposed torso. He bit his lip, forcing his gaze to stare into Hanzo's angry eyes.
"A weapon now stained with my brother's blood," he growled.
Jesse scratched the back of his head. He didn't know the details of what Hanzo had done to Genji – he had never been bold enough to ask. It was really none of his business, and he didn't want to pry.
"I left it where it belongs – in Hanamura."
McCree wasn't sure how to respond so he just said, "The bow works well for you." When Hanzo's reaction was an irritated glare Jesse winked in an attempt to be charming. Hanzo rolled his dark eyes and turned back to his target practice. He drew back the string and –
Thunk.
"I didn't take it to please you," he huffed. Jesse sighed.
"I didn't say ya did…" McCree was silent for a moment. "You're quite good with that thing. Where'd ya learn to shoot like that?"
"Same place I learned all my skills," Hanzo replied.
"Your father?"
"No," the answer was quick. He paused, tilting his head slightly to the side. His black hair shimmered in the sun. He was so… "No, what I mean is, not exactly. Genji and I were primarily trained by teachers. We had masters: all of which Genji never treated with a fraction of the respect he has for that… omnic."
"Zenyatta's a good guy," McCree defended. Hanzo just shrugged.
"I do not know him well enough to truly judge."
"Genji's grown up… It's been a while see you've seen him, you know."
"If only he'd had this sort of drive back then this could have…" he trailed off, looking away as he lowered his weapon.
"Turned out a lot worse," McCree said surely. That's definitely not how Hanzo planned on finishing his sentence. He sighed. He didn't want to but he said, "Your clan still fell, Hanzo. If things a-been different then you and Genji may be dead…" Hanzo hung his head. He knew McCree spoke the truth.
"Perhaps," he said simply.
McCree sighed. He jumped up from his rock and moved closer to the archer. He took his hat off and rubbed his fingers through his hair thoughtfully.
"I'm glad… things didn't turn out differently…" he said. Hanzo's eyes darted over to him and he growled.
"I wish they would have," he murmured. That hurt Jesse just a bit.
"Ouch," he whispered. He sighed, crossing his arms and watching as Hanzo's drew back another arrow. "I think ya need to stop beatin' yourself up for the past." Hanzo released an exhaled breath and shot his arrow. It hit the center with a thunk.
"I could say the same for you." He moved away from Jesse, walking to the target and pulling his arrows from the red center.
"Guess we both got things we could repent for."
"Doesn't everyone?"
"You're making being friendly awfully tough, darlin'."
"Don't call me that," he practically spit as he returned to his sniping spot. He didn't even look at McCree as he drew his bow again.
"I don't get you, Hanzo Shimada." The archer tensed slightly, but Jesse couldn't exactly pinpoint as to why. He said nothing. "You ain't ever gonna get anywhere if you don't learn to forgive." McCree wasn't sure if he was talking about Hanzo forgiving himself or Hanzo forgiving McCree.
"Will you shut up?!" The archer yelled. He turned on Jesse with a flaring spike of rage burning in his intense gaze. "I've had enough of this line of conversation." He returned to his target practice. Jesse sighed.
"Sorry," he whispered, admittedly upset.
McCree watched as Hanzo repeatedly fired his arrows into the target, retrieved them, and then repeated the process. He stood in silence, not making a move to try and speak again. He knew Hanzo preferred that he just stay relatively out of the way, and to act like he wasn't there. He didn't like being a shadow. He wanted to talk.
Hanzo looked over at Jesse who was leaning quietly against a rock. McCree shot him a small, assuring smile. The archer sighed, turning back to his practice. Jesse felt that may be an invitation to speak once more. Maybe he wasn't as uncomfortable with talking as McCree thought.
"So, uh," he started, "that thing hard to learn?"
"It's more difficult than pointing and shooting a firearm," Hanzo replied, drawing his arrow.
"Aww, I'm hurt, darlin'." He didn't snap at him for the name this time. He just ignored it. "There's a little more to it than just pointin' n' shootin', I promise ya." He drew his revolver from its holster. He aimed at the target. "It's a little bit more difficult to get the aim right than it may seem. An' if yer aimin' ain't right then, well, the gun's pretty pointless." He fired a shot, causing Hanzo to jump at the sound. For a split second he drew his bow on Jesse in mere reflex. He let out a sigh, lowering it. McCree smiled. He moved over to Hanzo. "Sorry I scared ya."
"You didn't-…" he cut off. "Never mind." He turned back, pausing when he saw that Jesse's bullet had split the shaft of one of his arrows. He turned his eyes over to McCree, narrowed. "Did you have to do that?" He shrugged.
"Didn't have to." Hanzo grumbled. "You wanna try?" His eyes flicked over in question.
"What?"
"You wanna shoot it?" He stared at McCree in pure confusion. His eyebrows raised, eyes widened in an almost innocent way. There was hesitation, but it seemed like the answer to the question was 'yes.' McCree wasn't sure if he'd ever shot a gun before.
"I, uh," he paused. He seemed a little flustered. It appeared like he was uncertain if he wanted to indulge in a whim, or if he wanted to uphold his disciplined manner. He scratched his tattooed elbow. "Yes." McCree had to stop himself from hopping up in delight. Instead, he just smiled wide.
"Great!"
Hanzo leaned his bow up against a rock, and turned to Jesse. He held out his right hand.
"Not so fast, darln'." Jesse smirked. He set the gun in his hand. Hanzo awkwardly folded his fingers around the grip.
"It is heavier than I expected," he said.
"You can't underestimate it. It packs a lot of force. First, get a nice comfortable grasp on it." Hanzo nodded. "Don't put your finger on the trigger just yet. I don't want you accidentally shootin' yourself in the foot. Genji wouldn't be too happy with me…"
"I am not so foolish that I would wound myself on accident," Hanzo snapped. Jesse waved at him.
"Right, right, I know. Kay, now what you need to do is aim. You want your arm nice and straight and your elbow locked." As McCree spoke, Hanzo followed his instruction. "It's got some kick so you don't want it flying back and hittin' ya in yer pretty face," he hadn't meant to say pretty so he kept talking like he hadn't said anything out of the ordinary. Still, he saw Hanzo's black eyebrow raise and his dark eyes flick over to him in question. "Now, take your other hand and wrap it around yer gun hand. It'll help steady your aim, and stop it from smackin' ya. You see that little nob there – that's the sight. You want to aim it at your target. Now, with the kick it's going to knock yer aim off a bit, so you'll want to compensate for that by aimin' down just a bit. You're already a good shot, so you shouldn't have too much trouble here. It'll help if you close one eye, and use the other to focus on what you want to hit." Hanzo flashed him a momentary glare. Jesse ignored it, but he noticed Hanzo was bending his elbow just a bit. "Lock your elbow," he repeated. "You want it nice and straight." He put his hand hesitantly on Hanzo's upper arm. Hanzo looked at him cautiously. He was fighting to not pull away. McCree's other hand cupped his elbow. He grasped his arm, holding it still while he pushed his elbow up into a straight position. "Locked," he murmured. He released him, his fingers burning where the skin to skin contact had been. His heart beat hard in his chest, though he didn't let that on to his student. He wouldn't swear to it, but there seemed to be the slightest blush on Hanzo's pale cheeks. Hanzo closed his left eye and tilted his head, aiming at the target he'd been practicing with. "Now just take a deep breath." Jesse breathed in as he said it. "Exhale and pull the trigger." He released his breath in tune with Hanzo.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Hanzo popped off a few shots. Two hit on the outside of the red circle, but one hit the edge of it.
"Woah," the archer murmured.
"Cool right!" McCree exclaimed. "Ya got two other bullets in there, kick some ass." Hanzo watched Jesse with hesitance. "Go ahead," he encouraged. Hanzo turned back to the target. "Elbow straight!" he reminded. He noticed him roll his eyes.
"Elbow straight. I understand." He took another deep breath, aiming the gun once more. He pulled the trigger.
Bang.
Bang.
One bullet missed the target entirely, but the second one hit closer to the center than any of them.
"Not bad!" Jesse announced with a large smile. Hanzo handed him his revolver back. "Stepping into the twenty-first century!" Hanzo blinked at him.
"Says the cowboy," he said sarcastically. He simply blinked for a second longer before shooting McCree a sly smile to which he flashed a grin. The archer looked away quickly as if he was trying to stifle a large smile of his own. Jesse holstered his gun.
"Can I try your bow, now?" he asked.
Hanzo crossed his arms. It looked like he was going to say 'no' at first. After a second his stiff composure relaxed and he nodded. "You may," he said.
"Thank ya, kindly," he said, plucking the weapon from the place Hanzo had set it down. He looked at it in question for a few moments. "So, uh, how do you use this thing?" Hanzo sighed.
"Hold the grip with your non-dominant hand," Jesse grasped it tight in his left hand. "Hold it at arm's length and grasp the string with your right hand." When he carried out the instruction Hanzo continued by saying, "Now pull back the bowstring and release. That is the basic movements." He handed McCree an arrow. He showed him where to nock it and where to place it on the string. Before he could give further instruction McCree drew back the arrow and released it. It shot up in the air before arching down at low velocity and sticking in the ground. McCree scratched the back of his head.
"Wah wah," he mocked himself. Hanzo stomped his foot.
"If you would have been patient that wouldn't have happened!" he hissed. He was simmering like an angered dragon.
"I thought that was it," he admitted.
"That is a silly thing to think. I waited for you to finish your instruction – you can wait for me." McCree hung his head. Hanzo was way too good at shaming him.
"You're right, I apologize," he acknowledged, nodding. Hanzo just shook his.
"Get back into position," the archer directed. "Using a bow is not using a gun. It requires a lot more control," he put emphasis on the word. "You have to have the correct stance – the correct form. Spread your legs apart with your feet placed firmly on the ground." Jesse put his left foot forward a ways and his right back a little. "A little further," Hanzo commented, examining him. He stroked his facial hair. McCree adjusted. "Straighten your posture." Jesse lifted his shoulders and arched his spine. "No, straight," Hanzo sighed.
"This is straight," McCree said, glancing over his shoulder at the archer. Hanzo rolled his brown eyes.
"That is not straight."
"I don't think I can…"With a huff Hanzo pressed his palm into Jesse's lower back, pushing against his spine. It didn't hurt, but the pressure made him arch his back further. Jesse's face flared in heat and he tried not to act as flustered as he instantly was.
"Uh-I… see what ya mean," he said back to him.
"Now broaden your shoulders," Hanzo said from behind him. It almost came like he was talking right in McCree's ear which made his nerves tingle. He swallowed hard. "You need to be an unmovable support for your weapon. You have to anchor it in the world." Jess held his shoulders high, lifting them up slightly.
The way Hanzo worded things was sometimes like unintentional poetry and it made Jesse's heart melt. His cute accent made things sound even more beautiful. The only thing he could think of was the sound of his voice in his ear. The hum was so familiar. He really wanted to…
"Jesse," Hanzo grumbled.
For a second it took McCree a moment to process that he hadn't flattened his shoulders but lifted them. He had been lost in thought. He didn't have time to fix his mistake because his brain was suddenly being wrangled by the fact that Hanzo had called him Jesse… instead of McCree. The way it rolled off his tongue was so dreamlike. The last time he'd said that name there'd been tears in his angered eyes before it dropped to the formal last name. His brain reflected on the sound and he could almost hear it being gasped pleasurably into his ear. The blush on his cheeks burned brighter and he was glad that Hanzo wasn't looking at his face.
"That is not flat." For second Jesse could swear there was a tremble in his normally strong voice. Then – his hands were there – firmly pressing down into McCree's shoulders. His fingertips dug lightly in Jesse's muscles. One of his fingers brushed the side of McCree's neck. It burned like he'd been lit on fire – and in some ways he had. Hanzo pushed down and pulled back, moving McCree's shoulders into a flat, strong position. Jesse could feel the warmth of Hanzo's body so near to his. As Hanzo went to move away McCree could swear that he felt hesitation. He lingered, moving back then reaffirming his grasping position for just a half-second longer. Finally, he stepped away. "Now, draw the string." McCree did. "Steady your arms and aim like you would aim your gun." McCree did. "Let the arrow go."
McCree released the string. The arrow launched forward at the target. It arched slightly, tearing through the air before the tip struck, lodging at the edge of the mark.
McCree's face lit up – a grin spreading across his countenance. He spun around to look at Hanzo. His smile was huge and he was so proud of himself. He didn't expect Hanzo to be smiling, but he hoped for more than a scowl – a look of accomplishment, maybe? Hanzo was glowering. His eyebrows were knitted. Jesse's smile instantly faded.
"I hit the target," he said innocently.
"You did," Hanzo murmured. Jesse pulled his eyebrows together. He looked at him with some concern.
"You alright?" he asked.
"Yes." Hanzo took a step back. "I'm going to return to my room now - if you're done babysitting me." McCree frowned. "Can I have my bow?" He handed the archer his weapon. "You can tell your fellow members that I have yet to contact Talon." He moved away from McCree.
"Hanzo," McCree said gently.
"No, McCree," he replied, returning back to calling him by his last name. "Goodbye." He turned away and walked off.
McCree sat back on the rock he had been on before. He put his chin in his hands and slumped over.
There was so much he loved about seeing Hanzo again, but trying to ignore what they had was very hard for him. He wasn't sure how Hanzo did it so easily because it was tearing him up inside. He wasn't sure how much longer he could pretend.
Genji Shimada
The doctor's eyes kept flicking over to him. They were cautious – accusatory even. It was as if he was waiting for the cyborg ninja to start viciously murdering everyone in the room. He was simply standing off the side with his hands folded behind his back. He scanned the room for danger, but kept catching the doctor's cold glare.
"He really doesn't like you," Pharah said, leaning towards him slightly and whispering. Genji nodded.
"He thinks I am an omnic, and he clearly is against them."
"I guess it's good that Zenyatta didn't come then." He nodded, holding his body straight and proper. Admittedly, the glares made him uncomfortable.
Angela was discussing her treatment of the patients they had dropped off. Some of them had recovered enough to return home. Others, like the girl Genji had saved, would need further treatment and/or therapy. She, for one, would have to get used to her prosthetics. Genji had tried to help her, and she had shown improvement. She would need to continue to adjust, however, and those doctors would assist.
Angela spoke French marvelously. Genji was always considerably impressed by her intelligence no matter how long he'd known her. She was such a skilled woman and he'd never met the likes of her in anyone else. After the collapse of Overwatch he had missed her companionship dearly.
Mercy turned away from the hospital doctor, nodding. She said something in French before saying in English for Genji and Fareeha's benefit, "I would appreciate discretion here, Dr. Rousseau. The PETRAS act is still in effect, and I would not like being arrested."
"You have shown these men and women kindness. I would not dream of harming an extraordinary medical professional like yourself," the doctor replied in a thick French accent.
Angela stood between her fellow Overwatch members. Rousseau looked between the cyborg ninja who he still believed to be an omnic and the large Egyptian woman who grimaced at him. He was clearly intimidated by them – as was their purpose.
"Of course he wouldn't," Fareeha said, crossing her arms threateningly.
"I hope my patients are well taken care of," Angela said.
"They will be, Dr. Ziegler," he assured.
Genji got a weird feeling from this man. He was very unsure of him and his intentions. He didn't know if they could trust him. He believed Pharah felt the same hence her protectiveness.
"You are taking a risk, you know," the doctor said.
"Being here? Or trusting you?" Genji asked, his synthesized voice deepening in attention. The doctor narrowed his eyes at him, clearly skeptical. "Perhaps both," Genji added.
"The three of you should be on your way before you compromise yourselves, and bring me down with you," he said harshly. His eyebrows pulled together, forming crescent lines.
"It's smart to be cautions," Angela said. "My companions and I will be on our way. I hope you honor our agreement. I would hate to see things end badly." Genji understood that Angela wasn't talking about them, but about the good doctor. He enjoyed the underhanded threat. At least that way, he would think twice before turning them over to the authorities like Genji knew he was considering.
"Of course, of course," the medical man said nervously.
"Goodbye dear, Dr. Rousseau." Angela turned to move away. Genji followed after her quickly, moving in quickened step to stay by her side. Pharah lingered behind, glaring at the doctor before catching up to the duo.
"I like your scary side," Fareeha said, teasingly jabbing Mercy in the arm with her pointed finger. Angela looked up at the solider, her blue eyes shimmering at the other woman through her thick lashes. She grinned.
"I think he got the point," she said, grinning in self-satisfaction.
"I think we need to be as careful as possible," Genji said vigilantly.
"Agreed, Genji."
It was a risk bringing the patients into France. The UN was currently very conflicted with Overwatch. The PETRAS act made it dangerous to make their presence known. The UN didn't have a problem leaving them be as long as they were staying in Gibraltar. They even looked the other way when they were fighting Talon. Every other time, however, Overwatch activity was illegal and that was enforced. Of course, that didn't stop them from operations – they just had to be a little more secretive about it all.
Their transport ship had been picked up on radar during their landing, and it had been tagged. It was clear they'd discovered who it'd belonged to, and were now looking for more traces of Overwatch as well as watching radar or incoming vehicles. Unfortunately, that meant the group was left stranded in France until security calmed down. Athena was monitoring their communications and watching for when that moment would be. Until then, the three were going to have to lay low and play civilian.
They couldn't go anywhere near Overwatch safe houses. They weren't public knowledge, but there was risk that they could have been discovered by local police and were off limits. They had limited funds, no change of clothes, and nowhere to go.
Fareeha decided that their best bet would be to find a hotel until they were cleared to leave. They arranged for Winston to wire them some money under false names, so that they would have enough to live off of during their "vacation." Genji hoped that it wouldn't be for too long. He felt strange in that place. People stared at him with confusion more than he was used to. He missed Gibraltar already.
The inside of the hotel was very extravagant. It was a blinding radiance of light beige and white – as if the colors were that different. It was decorated in marble pillars, plush day sofa's, and black stained wood tables decorated in French magazines. As they approached the counter he could see it was made of the same wood as the end tables, but was inlayed with a gold colored metal. Genji doubted it was real gold, but it was over the top anyway.
It was much different than anything he'd experienced in Japan, or anywhere else for that matter. On his travels he'd avoided hotels… especially like this. He knew he wasn't welcome. He found himself in a very unfamiliar situation, and wasn't sure how to handle it exactly.
"I am uncomfortable, Angela," he whispered to Mercy as they approached the counter. Fareeha was on point, striding towards the concierge with her shoulders held high. She was dressed in tight jeans and a leather jacket, but the way she held herself it was almost as if she could fool one into thinking she belonged in such a grand location.
"You will be ok, Genji," she assured.
"I do not belong here."
"You belong anywhere we do." Genji looked at the glinting floor.
"The list of those locations is becoming ever scarcer these days," he joked.
"Bonjour," the concierge said looking the group over with suspicion as they approached the counter.
"Greetings," said all three heroes at the same time.
"English then," the desk clerk said. "Welcome to the…"
"Yes, I know where we are," Fareeha said. The stiff faced clerk pushed up his thin rimmed glasses and huffed. He held his chin high.
"Then can I help you?" he asked.
"We would like to rent a room," she answered. The man looked between each member. His eyes froze on Genji. It was a look of disdain that Genji knew all too well.
"Who are… we?" Fareeha looked back at her companions. There was a look of uncertainty on her face, like she hadn't thought that far ahead. She looked back at the concierge. "I am Amalia Naheema and," she wrapped her arm around Angela, pulling her hard against her side. She locked her arm, pinning Angela against her while a look of shock lit her continence. "This is my wife, Melissa." Mercy's eyes flicked between Pharah and the clerk. She blinked her eyes before wrapping her arm around Fareeha's shoulders.
"That's me…" she murmured awkwardly.
Genji glared at the couple from behind his visor. He was glad no one could see his eyes because they'd know he felt jealousy.
"And the uh…," the concierge motioned to Genji.
"He's our omnic friend," Fareeha said urgently. Genji hated the idea of them further solidifying him as an omnic. He knew it'd cause trouble. "He's here for our protection."
"Protection from what?"
Pharah didn't know how to keep quiet.
"From street crime." Genji rolled his disguised eyes. He wanted to speak up, but restrained himself.
"Right… Let me just see what we have." He turned from them and began tapping away on a holo-computer – it was a fancy place.
"Why would you need a body guard?" Genji whispered to Pharah.
"You couldn't come up with something better?" Angela asked.
"I panicked," she answered. "He bought it. We're fine." Genji sighed. He watched as the concierge read from a screen painted in French. He glanced around, his eyes scanning the fancy hotel. He didn't know why they couldn't have stayed at some place less… on the map. It would have been far simpler – maybe even raised less eyebrows. Some part of him thought maybe this was a cheaper place, and everything in France was super gaudy.
Genji shifted, leaning towards the counter. His eyes moved around the room in search of any sign of danger. There weren't many people in the lobby – two or three. Of those people one was a woman with a child, and the other was an elderly man. He didn't find threats in either guest. He turned his vision to the concierge. This man was one to watch. His suspicion was dangerous. If he worried too much then he may look into it and discover their true identities.
The desk phone rang and the clerk answered it. He responded to the unheard voice in rapid French most likely answering questions about the hotel. Genji sighed. He needed to relax. If he was acting alert then that would draw more attention to them. He flexed his metallic fingers. His eyes moved across the desk, looking at the French brochures and jars of fancy chocolates. On the far end of the jars of truffles was a golden plate of crispy brown cookies drizzled in chocolate. Genji's eyes went wide.
"Cookies," he whispered excitedly under his breath. He glanced over at the concierge whose back was turned and attention was elsewhere. Genji reached for the cookies using his ninja-trained swiftness to his advantage. His plan was simple: swipe a cookie and hide it behind his back. If the concierge noticed he would be questioned, but Genji knew they were free to guests. He wrapped his robotic fingers around a single cookie, careful not to put pressure or it would crumble. He began to withdraw it from the plate, but a black notebook smacking him hard in the hand caused him to jerk away. It didn't hurt, of course, but it startled him. He'd been so focused on getting the cookie that he didn't even notice that the concierge had turned back. His flinch caused his joints to lock, crushing the cookie before he released its pieces and stepped back.
"What are you doing?!" the clerk demanded.
"He was just getting a cookie," Fareeha said, trying her best to sound nonchalant.
"It is an omnic," he hissed. "It does not need… cookies." He glared at Genji with hate filled eyes.
The treatment of the omnics was a sad thing. Being half himself he'd gotten a fair bit of racism. Though, to an extent, when people found out he was half human it turned more to disgust or interest. In cases like that it was best for him to pretend no matter how hard it was. He had resigned himself to the conduct, and tried to make peace. It was hard to understand that kind of blind hatred, however. Being careful made sense. The omnics had raged one intense war, and even three decades later the effects were still being seen. However, the omnics that Genji knew – omnics like Zenyatta – wanted nothing but concord among their races. They regretted the actions of the past, and desired only peace and equality. People like that concierge made true harmony impossible.
"I don't see the problem. He wanted it, so why does it matter?" Fareeha questioned.
"How could you trust having that thing," he said the word with so much revulsion, "around you. Do you know what they did during the Omnic Crisis?!"
"More than most," Angela whimpered, her melodious voice cracking in emotion. Genji placed a solid hand on her shoulder gently. He knew her past and how hard things were for her. Despite that, she held nothing but love for all creatures: human or omnic... or in Genji's case: both. People like that desk clerk could learn a thing or two from beautiful beings like Angela. Pharah was looking at Mercy with a gleam of sympathy. Her arm was still around her, and it allowed her to pull Angela close against the other woman's body. Angela squeezed Fareeha's waist and leaned against her for support. Even after all these years… things were still so raw.
"Omnics are not welcome here!" the concierge spat in Angela's face. Genji thought about taking his mask off then and there. He wanted to stare into the man's cruel hazel eyes with his own very human ones and he wanted to shout, "Do I look like an omnic to you?!" He wanted to rub the man's bigotry in his face, but he knew it was too dangerous. Genji would never put his pride in the way of his friend's safety. He restrained himself, hanging his helmeted head instead.
"Then we will find somewhere else to stay," Fareeha defended. She clutched Angela tighter, taking a step rearward. The concierge scoffed, a smug look blooming on his face like a flower on the cusp of spring.
"No hotel will take you, darling," he said, narrowing his eyes. Fareeha scowled, she raised her shoulders in defiance. "We all have the same policies. Your friend," he used the word skeptically, "will not be welcome in any hotel in Paris. We do not want to be destroyed from within like… all those other places the wretches ripped to pieces." Genji caught the two women from leaving.
"It's ok," he said. "You two stay. I will… go sit outside."
"Absolutely not, Gen-…" Mercy began, eyebrows knitting in defiance. Her blue eyes flared, but Genji held his palm up.
"No, Angela," he said quietly so that the clerk wouldn't hear her name. "It will be ok."
"This is ridiculous," Fareeha said. "You can't sleep outside!"
"You two stay," Genji insisted. He held his finger up to shush protesting. "You two get a room, open a window, and I will scale up." They looked at him with unease and hesitation.
"I don't like it," Angela said.
"We do not have much choice," he whispered. They were hesitant, but Fareeha and Angela nodded in agreement.
Slowly, the fake couple rounded back to the counter. Fareeha glared, challenging the concierge with a violent flare of eyebrows to say one asshole comment. Genji kind of wanted to see him get beat senseless by the Egyptian soldier. He knew, however, it'd be best if they didn't draw attention to them with an assault charge.
"We… will take the room," Fareeha aid between her teeth. Her brown eyes glared hard at the clerk. Still, a large Cheshire grin spread across his face in satisfaction.
"Of course Mrs. Naheema," he hummed. He turned from the trio, retrieving a keycard. He handed it over the desk. Pharah snatched it and slid him the money to pay for the first night. "Room sixteen on floor four. Enjoy your stay, but get your omnic out of here." He refused to look at Genji. His tone was so heartless.
Genji escorted himself from the hotel. He moved around the side, sitting quietly against a wall in an alley way. He folded his legs one over the other and rested his hands together. He felt anger and frustration. He felt the inevitability and the helplessness of his situation. People like that concierge made the world such a dark place. They were the reason for the tension now – the reason a second omnic crisis seemed more and more unescapable. Overwatch were a necessity in times like these… they were the only ones who could change the minds of the masses. It was a shame they were all criminals. Amazing heroes like Angela… were to be apprehended on sight simply because they wanted a better world.
Angela… she was the best of what they had to offer; an unearthly mortal too good for the world. She was a paragon of humanity – a beautiful angel among a crowd of demons. Genji looked down at his own form… Was he himself a demon – an oni? And what of his brother – of Hanzo?
He didn't want to think on that.
His thoughts returned to Angela. His mind's eye found that beautiful face that his eyes had first opened to after seeing nothing but darkness for so long. She was so beautiful, her big blue eyes gleaming at him in love and joy. She was a bright light that filled the bleakness that had overtaken him, bringing him from the brink.
Genji's eyes flicked up from his meditation. He wasn't sure how long he'd zoned out. They searched the citizens walking the street like the world wasn't falling apart around them. He envied their naivety. A part of him longed for the days of his carefree lifestyle: running about Hanamura, doing whatever he pleased, pestering his brother, romancing any woman he came across. Now, he was a… oddity of nature… and his life was wrapped around Overwatch. His brother hated himself and was weary of Genji. Angela was the only woman his heart soared for.
Genji looked at the city, taking in the sights of the city they had found themselves in. His mind was stuck on Angela, however. He despised how jealous Fareeha's fake marriage lie had made him. He despised how jealous Angela holding onto her as her sadness overtook her made him. He wondered if they may have… something… something that he wanted. The thought made him despise that it would be much better for Angela if she were to pursue such a relationship. As he thought of her light his eyes spotted something almost… too fitting.
Across the street in a small boutique Genji saw a dress. It hung in the large window of the tiny shop. He leapt up from his spot and moved towards it. Even though he was an "omnic" no one seemed to notice as he pushed by. He stood in front of the window, gazing inside at the garb. It was white – as white as he thought possible, gleaming almost in the sun. It was a summer dress – made of cotton with short spaghetti straps in place of sleeves. It was long in the back, but cut to the knees in the front making a flowing train of loose white cotton. Lace lined the edge of the tight bodice and train. He wasn't totally sure, but it looked about Angela's size, and it would absolutely fit her perfectly. It was beautiful and bright… just like her.
Genji had to get it for her.
The problem was: the workers would freak if he just walked in the door.
He had to get it for her… he had to find a way…
Scaling a wall with one hand wasn't the easiest thing Genji had had ever done. Luckily, there were balconies on every floor so the free climb wasn't too long before he got solid footing once more. He could see Pharah leaning over the railing, beckoning him to hurry or risk him being spotted. He was grimacing at her, but she couldn't see his face. He jumped the railing, landing deftly on his feet in front of the woman.
"I think he put us on a high floor just so you couldn't climb into our room," she said with a smug grin. Genji chuckled.
"Not everyone has the agility of a cyborg ninja," he joked, moving past Fareeha and into the hotel room.
The room was rather small – smaller than what he expected for such an upscale hotel. It had a single king sized bed framed up by a large plated mirror. Everything in the room was beige and white like the lobby. It was actually a nice relaxing lightness that washed cool over Genji. He could see a door off to the side; a light was cracking through the bottom. He assumed it was the bathroom. There was a large screen TV on a beige wooden table. It was turned on and switched over to the news, but muted. English subtitles played across the bottom. He caught something about a Talon attack in London.
Fareeha flopped on the edge of the bed. She crossed on leg over the other, placing her elbow on her knee. She leaned forward with her chin in her palm watching the news with attention.
"We need to get back to Gibraltar," Genji said, shaking his head. "Is it anything too serious?"
"Just a raid… they stole some things. Not too many people were hurt – no casualties, I believe. "
"Do you know what they stole?"
"The news didn't say. I tried calling Lena, but she didn't answer."
"Reinhardt told me that they're looking into it," Angela said as she came out of the bathroom, her phone in hand. She sat it down. "Athena detects that Paris is still on red alert for Overwatch activity. I'm not sure how long we'll be here."
"Are they sending anyone to England?" Fareeha asked.
"Jesse, I think."
"That's all?" Genji asked, concerned.
"Lena and Torbjörn left shortly after we did… I," she paused, looking at Genji with a hint of caution in her sky eyes, "I believe Winston intends to send your brother with him." Genji tensed. He did worry about his brother, but he was more than capable. Still, London had become a Mecca of Talon activity. It was a risk, but all he could hope was that McCree would watch out for him. He never spoke on his doubts. He knew Fareeha still had reservations about Hanzo even being within the organization.
"He will not let us down," Genji assured, instead. He wasn't so certain himself. He knew, though, that Hanzo now had a chance to prove himself. He could only hope that he chose right.
"I have faith that he won't," Angela said gently. "They hope it's nothing serious…"
"I have a feeling that is not the case." He shook his head, pacing across the room. "But it is not within in our control currently. I believe that the two of you," he looked at Mercy and Pharah, "should fight against your natures and not worry. Let's take this time as something of a… vacation."
"Genji…" Fareeha started to say, but Genji interrupted.
"Let us just pretend." He took a deep breath, unable to feel the air in his lungs, and exhaled nothing. "Try to relax," he said.
"Not all of us are," she paused to think of the proper word, "zen," she added semi-awkwardly. Genji smirked under his helmet.
"I am not saying we must meditate." He swiped his finger across the holo-remote and switched the TV to some movie channel. "Just try doing something that isn't worrying about work." Fareeha sighed. She leaned back on the bed, propping herself up by her elbows and staring hard – almost too hard – at the television. Genji turned to Angela. He smiled behind his helmet, but no one could see. "I got you something, Angela," he said gently. He held out the dress that he'd been clutching his whole way up to the room. She looked at him in question, her blue eyes darting down to the white cotton Genji held in his left hand. He folded his metal fingers open, offering it to her. Slowly, she took it in both of her small hands.
"Genji… I… you…" she stumbled over words in her sweet accent. She held it up stretching it before her so she could take it in. Despite what may have sounded like a protest, Genji could see her blue eyes shimmer at the sight. A slight smile tugged at her pink lips. "Genji it's… it's beautiful." She lowered it, her eyes darting to Genji's helmet. He could see the previously present worry melt away – if only for a moment. Fareeha's eyes had turned on them, taking in the scene playing out. Genji glanced over at her. Her eyes were narrowed and her lips were knotted in a frown. She was jealous.
Hmph. That was payback for the marriage thing.
His eyes returned to Angela as she said, "How did you get this?"
"You may not want to know," he replied, an invisible sly smile on his lips. "I did not steal it – no worries there."
"I would never assume that," she said in the most breathless way as her gaze turned back to the dress.
In truth, he hadn't stolen it. He'd just dashed in, swiped the dress and left the payment behind where it had been. No one had seem him enter or leave. His ninja skills were good for tasks other than killing.
"Go try it on," he goaded, motioning to the bathroom. She beamed, spinning without protest, and retreating into the other room to change.
"That was nice of you," Fareeha said with Angela out of earshot. Genji turned to her.
"She is a woman befitting only the most beautiful of dresses." The other woman smirked, leaning back a little further. Her eyes moved to the TV as she mused the idea. Genji could almost see her turning it around in her brain, examining each angle of it. A quiet rumble vibrated from the center of Pharah's chest. She pursed her lips.
"That she is."
Mercy opened the door. She stepped from the bathroom bathed in the warm yellow light from the bathroom. As she emerged both Genji and Fareeha fell quiet, their eyes widening as they observed her.
"Well," she said, smiling, "what do you think?"
Angela's beauty always astounded Genji. She was the loveliest creature he had ever seen, but somehow she still managed to look even prettier. The dress hugged her thin frame absolutely perfectly, highlighting her figure. The white flowed long in the back, almost touching the floor. In the front it exposed her pale white and flawless legs from the knee down. It was loose, flowing delicately around her and rustling slightly with each subtle movement. She'd let her hair down as well: beautiful light blonde locks curtaining her pointed angelic face. Anyone rarely saw Angela with her hair down. She stood in the glowing light with a huge smile on her beautiful face and her blue eyes gleaming in simple joy.
Genji's heart swelled. In that moment, he wasn't sure if he'd ever felt that way about another girl in his life. He'd been with many of them, but Angela was one of a kind. She was a magnificent creature with a heart of gold and the face on an angel. His heart squeezed tight in his chest. She was just so…
"Beautiful," both Genji and Fareeha said in breathless harmony.
A/N: Admittedly, this chapter is kind of filler. The first half is a little boring because of it, but I did enjoy how the second half turned out (it was meant to be longer, but got split off and will be continued later). I'm biding my time before I bring in a specific character, and I didn't feel doing it so soon was appropriate. I figured making a whole chapter dedicated to relationship development would work... even if a fourth of it is describing poorly how to shoot a weapon. Also, I decided almost on a whim to throw in some Pharmercy. The relationship has become a little more appealing to me lately, and I thought it would be interesting to give Genji a little competition. Reyes/Morrison and McCree/Hanzo have destructive and sad pasts as their conflict... Genji/Mercy have Pharah.
All reviews are very very much appreciated! Thanks for reading. Next chapter is past Hanzo/McCree.