A/N: This update was inspired by a scene at the end of the last Hunger Games movie, because I couldn't help but think of Hanzo and Amelie every time I thought about it.
The arrow whizzed past its intended target, it's razor-edged shaft brushing so close it left a shallow groove upon the omnic's metallic cheek. Hanzo straightened from his crouched position on the rooftop's edge as the Shambali monk was led away from the podium by his entourage and herded backstage, where he would undoubtedly be shoved into a waiting vehicle with tinted windows and bullet-proof glass.
With their cover blown, there was no choice left but to call the mission off.
How unfortunate.
"You missed."
Annoyed by the intrusion, Hanzo glanced over his shoulder to see the deadly assassin known as Widowmaker standing several yards behind him, displaying a deceptively relaxed posture that betrayed no more emotion than the apathetic set of her angular jaw. Once, she might have been a model or a dancer, but that was another life. Talon had taken her natural beauty, and weaponized it, turned it cruel as the moth's flame.
Keenly aware of her icy gaze following his every move, Hanzo kept his heartrate and breathing even as he slung the bow over a shoulder, and rose to his feet, still facing the edge, "It happens to the best of us."
When he finally turned, it was to find her still staring at him, unblinking, her expression inscrutable. "But not to you."
He waited for her to continue, wondering idly if she was going to report him to Reaper. If Talon was given any reason to suspect that his reprogramming was faulty or ineffective, then they would either wipe him clean and try again, erasing anything left of Hanzo Shimada in the process, or they would dispose of him.
Either way, he didn't much care.
When the assassin finally did speak, however, what came was a request far from what he'd imagined, "Will you do it again?"
Even working together, they couldn't sabotage every mission.
Someone would begin to suspect if two of the world's best snipers began missing their targets on a regular basis, but often they aimed to injure, to graze, and sometimes it was enough. Sometimes their quarry was granted the miracle of living another day.
One day – long enough to double their security for some, long enough to visit their families for others, long enough to say goodbye.
Or that was what Hanzo would have liked to believe, but something deep within him whispered that when it came to those close to the heart, no amount of time could ever be enough.
When it came down to it, though, such sentimental motivations were simply beyond them. Every botched mission, every do-gooder allowed to spread their message of hope and peace was as good as spitting in the face of those who held them prisoner within their own minds. Due to having been groomed his entire life for combat and cruelty, Hanzo found himself scraping desperately against the small and jagged corners of his skull for any semblance of remorse after each successfully completed mission. There was a part of him that welcomed the killing, the challenge of it, the test of his skills, as though the lives cut short by his arrows meant nothing at all. And yet, it was his pride that prevented him from growing complacent under the control of another. Though his mind and heart had been warped beyond recognition, his spirit refused to bow.
Before his capture, Hanzo had been a vagabond, a gun-for-hire who'd spent his days settling stranger's vendettas and petty strifes, until a cyborg claiming to be his brother urged him to pick a side. It was difficult to recall what happened after that night, as his memories seemed to blur and blend into an unrecognizable struggle, many hands holding him down, cool metal cutting through his wrists. There was a single painful prick, a sting as some cool liquid was pumped through his veins.
Then he was on a rooftop. Aiming to take down his first target.
And missed.
He was punished, of course. Thick, ropy welts crisscrossing his broad back remained for many weeks, a testament to his failure, yet he counted himself lucky. This life of reward and punishment was not foreign to him, he slid into it easily enough, but Amelie, a woman he began to think of as a partner of sorts, had once been a young girl in love. They'd turned her against her friends, her family, and forced her to murder the man she'd looked forward to spending the rest of her life with. As much as Talon had taken from him, they had taken a thousand-fold from her, but they could not take her hate, and so she hated the organization with every cell of her body. Every ounce of her blood was poisoned with it.
No, they didn't endanger their missions to save lives. They did it to spite the ones responsible for stealing theirs.
Gradually, they fell into a rhythm: a few successful assassinations, abductions, and thefts, followed by someone mysteriously triggering the alarm, alerting security to the sniper's position before they could complete the objective. What would have been suspicious with only one of them was suddenly possible with two.
It was after one of those missions that Hanzo, after intentionally hesitating before taking his shot, a beat of precious time which, combined with the anonymous tip the security might have received about an attempt on her life, allowed Yuki Chen, a young and ambitious politician quickly rising up the ranks of her government, to return home to her daughter that night, that he felt the brush of Amelie's cool fingers against his shoulder's bare skin. He glanced up to see her watching the commotion with an expression he hadn't believed her capable of until that moment. Looking down to meet his gaze with a subtle quirk to her lips, she answered the unspoken question with an uncommonly gentle gaze, "Let us return, mon ami."
Although their partnership only grew stronger over time, to the point where they made each other promise - that should their efforts to subvert Talon's control be discovered, and they were expected to be imprisoned or changed once more, that they would each do whatever it took to take the other's life. The world had never shown them mercy, and so it was up to them to bestow it upon themselves. But rumors soon began to spread about Talon's new sniper, an archer who bore the likeness of a wrathful dragon spiraling around his right arm, and with them, came Overwatch.
A three-man team, consisting of Hanzo, Widowmaker, and Reaper, were sent to put an end to a reported leak in Talon's intel. Whether the traitor had experienced a change of heart after finding out first hand that the terrorist organization was capable of anything when it came to achieving their goal – profiting from the spread of fear, violence, and hate – or had always been a double agent, not a single one of them cared. More than likely, the soldier had already shared any valuable information he'd possessed with Overwatch or the authorities, so even keeping him alive was pointless.
They chased his cyber-trail to Nepal, found him in a cheap, dilapidated hotel he'd paid for in cash. Sombra had eyes on the streets, in the hallways and airports and train stations. With her around, there was no hiding.
If the traitor had truly wanted to live, he shouldn't have stopped running.
From his perch on a ledge several buildings away, Hanzo could make out the blurry outline of the deserter sitting listlessly on the side of his bed. The threadbare curtains around his window were partially drawn, resulting in a mere sliver of clear visual, but Hanzo knew that Amelie and Reaper were positioned at the exits. Even if the initial shot failed due to the fabric getting in the way, or if the arrow missed any vital organs, and the solider tried to run, he would only find them waiting to finish the job.
A quiet, nearly inaudible shifting in the gravel behind him alerted Hanzo to the presence of an unaccounted for adversary, and so he waited, forcing his muscles to remain loose, until the interloper once again stepped forward.
Teeth bared, lips curled back in a snarl, Hanzo twisted to face the would-be attacker, an arrow of sharpened steel already drawn and aimed unerringly at the dial pulsing a soft green on the center of their chest. They froze, giving Hanzo time to absorb the white armored plates covering the length of their lithe form. Each of them bore scorch marks and scars, remnants of recent battles. Clearly, the omnic had been neglecting its maintenance.
Hatred burned through Hanzo's veins. He recognized the unmoving omnic only as a puppet of Overwatch, Talon's sworn enemy. His sworn enemy.
It cocked its head to the side, a common gesture that nonetheless forced old, faded memories to the surface, then silently straightened, ignoring the creak and groan of Stormbow as Hanzo drew back on the string. The omnic reached up to its mask, released the latches on the sides with a hiss of steam, then removed the visor, allowing Hanzo to see the human living within the machine. Before him stood someone Hanzo had long thought dead. And just as it had during their latest confrontation in Hanamura, the sight momentarily silenced him.
Back then, they had fought and Hanzo had lost, but the cyborg had spared him, even encouraged him to join in his battle against forces trying to plunge the world into chaos.
What must he think, then, of Hanzo joining the very forces he'd been prevailed upon to fight?
Hanzo looked at the cyborg – at Genji - seeing in him a lifetime of mistakes, and felt nothing. The absence of emotion stretched and spread, like a gaping black hole expanding within him, one that dragged in heat, destroyed light, carved him out and gutted him into a hollow husk.
He feels nothing and it's wrong wrong wrong
Widow was calling for him through the comm link, sounding anxious. With great effort, his cold gaze never leaving his brother, Hanzo opened his mouth to tell her he was fine, that she should maintain her position – something told him her presence would only complicate an already unsalvageable situation – but a sharp pain lancing through his skull rendered the words unintelligible.
He tried to move, to shoot, to lower his bow, but found his body paralyzed, caught between the engrained desire to destroy Overwatch and a revulsion that turned his stomach. If he was going to aim a weapon at his brother now, if he was going to repeat the same terrible mistake, then for what reason had he thrown away his sword? What was the meaning of his quest for redemption? Or of anything he had done or said since the day he struck his brother down?
It doesn't matter. Complete the mission.
Gritting his teeth, Hanzo delved within his own mind, determined to find what had been stolen from him. A wall rose up to stop him, too high to jump over, too wide to walk around. He crashed into it, using his own body as a makeshift battering ram until cracks began to form in the brickwork. For the last blow, he reared back and slammed his forehead against it, ignoring the ringing in his ears as the entire structure crumpled to dust.
An abyss yawned before him, a sea stretching out farther than he could see. When he peered over the edge, frustration welling up within, he found what he'd been searching for, what he'd been missing.
And it nearly destroyed him.
His eyes flew open – when had they closed? – to see that Genji had dared continue his approach. He was much closer than before, almost close enough to touch, but he'd stilled when Hanzo opened his eyes, wary of being attacked. It wasn't until he realized that no such assault was forthcoming that Genji noticed how bloodless Hanzo had grown in the space of such a short time. There was a glassy, unfocused quality to his gaze now, as though he were staring over a great distance.
"Hanzo?" Genji ventured, concern outweighing caution.
Slowly and with visible effort, as though waking from a dream, Hanzo concentrated on him, "What have I been doing?"
It was the lost, broken tone in the words that compelled Genji to reach for him. In that moment, he did not see the man his brother had become, but the boy he had once been.
Despite himself, Hanzo flinched violently when Genji took an abrupt stride forward, like a wounded dog bracing for a blow.
He tensed when the cyborg's gaze suddenly flicked upwards, followed by a frantic shout of, "No, wait!"
A sharp sting in his neck was the only warning the archer received before a wave of drowsiness swept over him. That, combined with the agony tearing through his mind, robbed him of any remaining strength he possessed, and he pitched forward, too exhausted to even put out his hands to soften the fall.
Faster than a blink, Genji dropped to his knees, hitting the gravel hard so that he could catch his brother before he hurt himself. Hanzo slumped against him, relying heavily on his support to even remain upright.
"I've got him," he heard Genji bark into the comm built into his visor. "Let's get him back to base."
While he was being carried away, his surroundings blurring into watercolors and garbled sounds, Hanzo distantly wondered if Amelie would shoot him. They had a deal, after all. He waited, still in his brother's arms, for the bullet that would finally grant him the peace he'd been searching for, even caught a glimpse of what might have been the sun reflecting off her helmet's scarlet scopes, but the end never came.
She watched Overwatch shove him into the back of a truck, allowed them to take him away, and as drugged sleep finally dragged him under, he found he didn't know what he wanted more - to curse her for breaking their promise… or to thank her for it.
They found her near Gibraltar several weeks later, alone and apparently staging a rescue.
Widow was clever and quick, keeping her distance while firing long-range bullets at a range that would have decimated anyone unlucky enough fall into its path, but Overwatch had numbers and healers and a sniper of their own.
Tracer kept her busy, constantly appearing in front and beside her, skewing her aim and drawing her focus while Genji slipped behind her. He was augmented to be stronger than the average human, but so was Widow, and when he looped his arms around her, she bucked against him, slamming her heels against his knees, elbowing his armored torso, and smashing her head against his, anything to loosen his hold. But Genji held fast.
From where he was perched, weapon aimed and ready, Hanzo silently watched the struggle. Seeing that it was finished, he lowered his bow, and listened.
She was calling his name, begging him to kill her, screaming for him to pierce her heart with an arrow at the top of her lungs, head thrown back and eyes wild with fear. He could only imagine how much it must have hurt her to do so, after so many years of never raising her voice.
He leapt down to approach with effortless grace. Amelie's eyes widened at the sight of him - dismay, betrayal, hurt. Despair. She thought they'd changed him, that her ally was gone, erased by the enemy. She thought she'd failed him.
She hadn't.
A dart entered the side of her slender neck, robbing her of her strength. However, her body gave out before her will, and she fired off several more shots at random, though Reinhardt charged forward to allow his translucent shield to neutralize the majority of the last ditch assault, thus keeping the damage to a minimum. The failed attack cost her the last of her energy, however, and Widow slumped, finally relaxing into Genji's hold.
Even without the heavy rise and fall of her chest, Hanzo knew well that she was afraid, even terrified of the fate that awaited her now that she was at Overwatch's mercy – he'd felt it not so long ago himself, still felt it every now and then, like a phantom pain that refused fade – but Overwatch wasn't going to change her, nor were they going to erase what remained of Amelie Lacroix. Instead, they wanted to help her take back what was hers. Her compassion. Her grief. Her pain. All of it.
Even so, it was a betrayal, a betrayal of her bond and everything they had been through together. Despite their promise, he had aided Overwatch in her capture, knowing full well that she would be placed under the scalpel once more.
When her piercing yellow eyes, filled with loathing, began to slide closed, Hanzo slung his bow over his shoulder, paused to offer Genji a grateful nod, then tilted his head back to look at the sky. The sound of a helicopter's choppers could be heard in distance, coming from the direction of the base.
It was only for a moment, but when the archer turned his attention back to Widow, his gaze was surprisingly soft, "We have been dreaming, Amelie," he told her gently, certain she could still hear him. "It is time for us to wake."