In the year since their reunion in Hanamura, Genji had thought often on his brother's whereabouts. Hanzo had retreated off the grid, leaving behind no physical nor financial trail, though that had always been norm when it came to his life on the run. The only issue Genji had with it was that by confronting his brother, Genji had hoped to break him of his self-exile, to set him on a path of healing, as Zenyatta had once done for him. As the months passed without any communication or evidence that Hanzo was even alive, however, he couldn't help but wonder if he hadn't unintentionally made matters worse.

It was only a matter of weeks before the anniversary of his – well, Reyes had always called it the anniversary of his initiation into Blackwatch, but Reyes wasn't around anymore, was he?

Still, calling it his 'death' felt disingenuous, though he supposed it could be called that, as Genji Shimada did die that day, in a manner of speaking. Perhaps that was why a part of him still raged against his brother for his murder, despite his past and current self being one and the same. It was the end of the life he had known, a life mostly constituted of comfort, though it was destined to end in blood, either his own or of those he would have been tasked to slay in order to maintain it. In the latter case, a different Genji would have died, for the soul of the child who gazed at sparrows with pleasure and envy would have suffocated in the clan's corruption and sin.

There would have always been a choice. It was only that for a very long time, Genji had blistered under the belief that, in spite of all his struggles, his path had inevitably been chosen for him.

…This would be the part where Reyes would snidely mention that he could have spent the rest of his life in a bed if he'd really wanted to, though they both had known that wasn't true. The outcast scion of the Shimada wouldn't have had the funds to maintain such care. Blackwatch was as much of a choice for him as it had been for Jesse, a scrawny teenaged gangster that wouldn't have lasted a month behind prison walls.

Well, melancholy and Hanzo went pretty much went hand-in-hand, so it made sense that with the end of the year approaching, he'd secluded himself in the Watchpoint lounge room, armed only with a pair of loose fleece pajamas and a gallon of Strawberry ice cream melting in his lap.

The couch currently trying to eat him was an old plaid sofa Jesse had found in a local thrift store, and when Winston had made a weak protest that moth-bitten furniture clashed with the high-tech base (and could possibly be a health hazard) Jesse had retroactively added the sofa to his contract as a condition of his joining Overwatch.

Somehow, it'd worked.

Genji was still smiling at the memory when an alarm sounded over the speakers, and Athena announced an intruder standing at the entrance with a suspicious package.

After setting the ice cream down on the cushion, since putting it down on either the nightstand or the coffee stable was bound to lead to condensation stains, Genji sprinted on light feet, navigating the hallways effortlessly, before sliding in a controlled skid to stand at Jesse's side several paces behind the main entrance, a metal door large enough to fit a tank and thick enough to stop one.

His sidearm was already drawn. "Nice entrance there, partner," Jesse whistled without turning his gaze. "You just get flashier with age there, don't ya?"

As he ejected three shuriken from the cartridge in his prosthetic arm, Genji teasingly retorted, "Says the man dressed like a cowboy."

"Touché"

There was a polite rapping at the door, soft and tentative, and Genji felt his heart sink further into his chest. Hanzo always threw the entirety of himself into his actions, and as such, left no room for hesitation or doubt, yet the knocking at the door sounded almost meek. It couldn't be him.

With his finger hovering over the trigger, Jesse calmly asked Athena if she had any idea as to who might be stopping by for a visit.

Immediately, Athena responded, "The man appears to be in his late 30's and of Asian descent. I have requested identification and he divulged his first name without resistance." And she went on to tell them, after which Jesse's lips parted in a sharp inhale. More words were said, but Genji had ceased to listen. That plummeting feeling within him had changed directions, and yet it was joined by nerves and dread. He was no longer sure if he was ready to face his brother, not now that he stood at the door. All the months - the years – he'd spent rehearsing what he would say to him disappeared in a flash. Before, the meeting had been on his terms, the battle which had ensued playing out loyally to his imaginings. This wasn't going to be a short visit, however.

What would it be like to live under the same roof as Hanzo again? Genji would find out if he could only get through this first encounter.

"Let him in," he heard himself say, his own voice grating against a suddenly dry throat. Unconsciously, his back had straightened, as though anticipating a reprimand, and though he sheathed his weapons, he could not keep his fists from curling at his sides.

Jesse briefly spared him a glance, a familiar worry flashing in his gaze.

Staring ahead, Genji ignored it.

The entrance opened to reveal a man in a windbreaker, it's collar raised high to guard his neck from the elements. The sides of his head spotted a closely shorn cut that gradually thickened at the base of his jawline to morph into a neatly trimmed goatee. To keep the look from becoming too severe, the top of his head had been largely unchanged, as it was left long enough to fit into a tight bun.

The sun, now dipping below the horizon as festivities for the approaching new year began to gain momentum, with a smattering of premature fireworks cutting through the dusk to briefly shine among the stars, reflected off of the silver studs in his ears.

Hanzo had piercings. Plural.

There was a bar placed snuggly in his nose cartlidge, as well, and if Genji's jaw wasn't drilled into his cheekbone, it would have fallen clean off.

The man he'd confronted in Hanamura had been easily identifiable as Hanzo Shimada, the former heir of the Shimada clan. Now, however, it was as though he were someone entirely new. Who was this stranger standing awkwardly on the threshold with – Was that a strawberry cake?

What had happened to his fanatic loyalty to tradition?

Perhaps Genji wasn't the right person to have such thoughts, but how could Hanzo, ever inflexible and unerringly rigid in his adherence to a time long past, have changed in a mere matter of months?

As neither of the Overwatch members had seen fit to address him yet, Athena clearly broadcasted over the speaker, "Welcome to Watchpoint, Hanzo Shimada. May we know of your business here?"

Hanzo stiffened, unnerved by the lack of a body to put to a face. Then his gaze settled on the speakers hanging from the ceiling, and he visibly relaxed. "I was invited," he said, though he seemed into on focusing on the announcement system, as it gave him a convenient excuse not to address the pair of agents in the room. He hadn't moved from the threshold. "Were you not made aware of this?"

He was skittish, Genji realized. Like a stag ready to bolt. In spite of his disdain for them, Hanzo had willingly placed himself in a new environment, with people who, for all he knew, could very well try to kill him for what he had done to one of their own. Hanzo had come accepting that possibility, maybe even anticipating it, and yet here he was.

Genji took a step forward, forcing Hanzo's attention to fall on him. Instantly, McCree's arm barred him from continuing. He was tense, poised to shoot if Hanzo so much as looked at him funny. A mechanical noise of frustration issued from his vocal synthesizer when he impatiently pushed the limb down. "They were all made aware, Hanzo." A meaningful glance a Jesse. "They know that I have forgiven you, and respect my decision to give you a second chance."

"A terrible decision, really." Jesse muttered under his breath, leading Genji to clandestinely elbow him.

Hanzo, who'd followed the exchange with an arched brow, reacted to the resulting muted grunt with a low chuckle. It was a sound Genji hadn't heard in over a decade, and he momentarily reeled, unsure of what to say or how to react. Still, he'd be hard-pressed to mistake the twist at the corner of Hanzo's mouth for happiness.

Instead of speaking what was on his mind, however, Hanzo lifted the package he carried, "I brought a cake."

Triumph glinted in his dark eyes when Jesse's looked down at the treat with unmasked appreciation. "Well," he shrugged, "it's a waste to let something so tasty looking go bad. I'm willing to bet there's something in the kitchen we can use." Hanzo passed it over when he reached for it, looking only mildly reluctant, but when Jesse turned to head to the living facilities, with Genji moving to follow, Hanzo remained still.

They stopped. "What are you doing, partner?" Jesse scratched the back of his head. "It'd be easier if ya just came with us, 'stead of me havin' to carry out a slice for ya."

Remaining rooted, planted like an old oak, Hanzo waved him off. "There is no need…" He shifted, clearly uncomfortable. "I may have eaten the other one on the way."

A brief silence greeted the admission, with Hanzo looking more agitated with each passing second, until Jesse barked out a laugh, breaking the tension. "Is that all? Guess sweet tooths run in the family." He nudged Genji, who at this point wasn't sure if he wanted to give the cowboy his sincerest gratitude when all this was over or throttle him with his serape.

Hanzo seemed to appreciate the levity, though. He breathed out a relieved sigh. "May you and your," he paused, struggling with the correct address for members of the organization that had saved Genji's life, given it purpose. Eventually, he settled with, "teammates," though a frown made it clear that the appellation didn't fully satisfy him, "enjoy the treat." He shifted again, not forward, but backwards. "It has come a long way."

He was leaving. One of his boot-clad feet stepped past the threshold, out into the snow, and Genji floundered for something to say, something to keep him from leaving, or at least to ask why? Why come if he wasn't going to stay?

"Your organization is illegal. I am a wanted fugitive and former yakuza. Surely, you would not trust me with the safety of your fellow members?"

One of the most wanted out-laws in the Western hemisphere glanced sideways at Genji, before stepping forward with his arms outstretched and his gun plainly holstered. "That's a lot of words you just said, and when you put them together, they make a lot of sense, but… no one should have to spend the holidays alone." With a grudging slowness, Hanzo edged away from the door. "Where are you heading to, anyway?"

Hanzo's gaze slid to the wall. "A nearby hotel. I've booked a room."

And Jesse didn't roll his eyes, for which Genji was eternally grateful, but if such a thing were audible, then it came out clear as day in a blatantly unconvinced, "Sure thing." He closed the distance between him and Hanzo in the span of time it took for his brother to glare, and then there was an arm pressed lightly against Hanzo's back, and confusion flooded his expression as he was gently guided away from the exit. "Come on, there's a couple people who've been dying to meet ya."

Now that the initial encoutner was done, the three of them made their way inside, while Genji silently berated himself for freezing up.

Once the countdown had completed, and Lena, Emily, and Winston had all trudged off to bed, each of them a little tipsy, or at least tipsy enough to warrant Jesse following along to make sure they got where they were headed, Genji looked around to find that Hanzo had pulled a disappearing act on them.

It was only natural, after all. Hanzo had never wanted to come to Overwatch. After a life spent doing what he didn't want to for an organization he'd had no choice in being a part of, maybe it wasn't fair of Genji to force him into another. And yet, it was the only way to be close to his brother again.

He panicked. "Athena, could you tell me where Hanzo is?"

It only took her a second to check the security feeds. "Hanzo Shimada is still on base. He is currently seated on the highest level of the training range."

Knowing she could see him, Genji unlatched his visor to flash a quick smile at the closest camera. "Thanks, Athena."

Armed with this new knowledge, Genji raced to the training grounds, though once he at least had his brother in sight, he lingered by the equipment long enough to slow his heartrate. It would've been child's play for him to climb the perch, especially with his enhancements, yet he decided to forgo the quick method for the slower ladder climb, as alerting Hanzo to his presence early would give him some time to prepare.

Reaching the first rung wasn't a problem. His metal palms collide with the bar with a jarring clang. Above him, he saw Hanzo's muscles tense.

It was cold enough outside that the fingerless gloves he wore and and windbreaker were more than warranted, and though he'd mostly abstained from the alcohol that night (which was admittedly strange since Hanzo had never been adverse to drinking around company before) it was still far too cold to be positioned at such a high altitude with no protection for his head or ears.

The idiot was going to catch a cold.

When at last Genji had hauled himself onto the platform, he strode over to Hanzo's side and settled down. Their feet dangled over the edge. The gulls had long migrated for the winter, leaving them with the roll of the frosted waves from the shore and the whistle of the frigid wind. Quietly, Genji started, " I like the new look."

Hanzo huffed incredulously, tilting his head slightly to fix him with a disbelieving, "Do you?"

"May I ask what brought on this change?"

His expression growing distant and inscrutable, Hanzo passed his hands over the shortened hairs. Genji didn't know for sure why he had cut his long hair the first time, but he suspected.

Eventually, the moment stretched too long. Genji called his name, unintentionally startling him, as Hanzo reacted with a jolt, as though he'd forgotten his presence. Before Genji could press the issue, however, Hanzo opted to somewhat defensively answer the question Genji had posed a full minute before, "I have been wearing clothes that went out of fashion a thousand years ago. I believe I was due for a change."

Now he was just parroting Genji's own words back at him. It was frustrating that Hanzo did not appear ready or willing to give him an honest answer, since he doubted that five minutes with him would have convinced Hanzo of something that an entire adolescence spent trying to persuade him of the same hadn't.

Instead of pointing that out, however, Genji inquired with a twinge of anxiety, "What did you do with all your usual clothes?" The thought of Hanzo throwing away the kyudo gis, which were as much a part of him as they were a tribute to the traditions of their culture, didn't sit well with him.

As though sensing the path his thoughts had taken, Hanzo was quick to assure, "I still have them."

"In a hotel?" Genji asked, thinking back to Jesse's earlier skepticism.

"In a duffel bag." When Genji said nothing in response, Hanzo continued with a hint of smugness, "I have been on the run all this time, it would be far more shocking if I could not carry everything I owned." For an instant, it was as though no time had passed. Then a shadow of well-worn grief passed over Hanzo's features, his fingers curled over the cold platform's edge, and Genji was forced to accept that he was that shadow. Unable to bear looking into his visor any longer, Hanzo's focus slid to slightly above it, as he struggled, "I cannot pretend that I am not who I once was, even as I try to…"

"Become someone new?" Genji suggested when his brother seemed to falter.

"Someone better." He shifted to stare at their feet, at the training ground, at the frozen sheets of ice on the water. A muscle spasmed in his jaw. "You still call me brother, even after everything I have done. I wish to become a man who is worthy of it."

Hope bloomed once more within Genji, an impossible flower in the midst of winter. He felt a heady lightness, and without thinking, said, "Well, you will have to work hard. I have become rather incredible over the years."

Again, Hanzo looked startled, nearly as startled as he felt. Silently, Genji begged him to say something, anything, but though his mouth parted, no sound came out. His teeth bit into his lip, his expression shuttered. He stood up. "It has been an eventful night." Then looking down at him, asked, "Can you sleep?"

Confused, Genji cocked his head, casting a green light over the platform. "Looks aside, I am not actually an Omnic."

"That is not what I-" The sentence devolved into a frustrated hiss. He stopped, loosened his fists, and breathed, "Okay." And a second time. In through his nose and out through his mouth, long and slow. "Okay."

When he opened his eyes, they seemed clearer, more focused. It was enough that Genji dared to venture, "It is too late to rent a room at this hour. Will you stay?"

This time, Hanzo didn't merely look at him, his contemplative gaze pierced through him, "Would you let me leave?"

"Anytime. Whenever you want." Maybe Winston would protest letting a mercenary out into the world now that he knew the names and numbers of those positioned at Watchpoint, but Overwatch wasn't the organization it had once been and it certainly wasn't Blackwatch. It had to be something new, or it would fail. "You are not a prisoner here, and you never will be."

There was a soft rustle of fabric moving against fabric, the sound nearly inaudible over the wind, yet Genji looked up to see a gloved hand outstretched for him to grasp.