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thanks, dad. love, hana

Chapter Text

D.Va has seen a lot of things in her time as a mech operator - tragedy, stupidity, bravery, strategy, desperation, to name a few - but she will readily admit it’s the first time she’s seen anything like this.

She and her squad are deployed in Hanamura, Japan. There have been reports of Overwatch activities around the area, which is slightly odd given the Shimada clan’s foothold here - in fact, Hanzo Shimada himself had been spotted here just days earlier, coming and leaving before anyone could do much more than report his presence. Though Hanzo has no ties to either the clan or Overwatch, at least as far as South Korean intelligence knows, the two are likely not coincidental, which brings her to her current situation.

She pops the bubble of her gum as she props her chin on her hand, observing the man in front of her; though she can’t see his face because of his visor, she’d peg him to be middle-aged, if not older, and he stands in a way that screams I’m dangerous and I know it. Even from the safety of her mech, Hana can’t help the twinge of nervousness in her gut - the rest of the MEKA squad is spread out about the city, so if she gets into a conflict, she’ll be on her own for at least thirty seconds.

But, in all honesty, she’s more surprised than worried, because what she’s seeing now is recklessness - sheer recklessness for one’s life. In her limited experience of fighting omnics, she has definitely never seen this kind of brazen behavior before.

“You know,” she says conversationally, “You have a million U.S.-dollar bounty on your head.”

Soldier: 76 merely grunts, hefting his plasma rifle. He hasn’t pointed it at her yet, but she keeps her thumb on the trigger of her mech’s defense matrix.

“I am also livestreaming this, so there is a good possibility millions of people know where you are,” she adds. It’s a bluff, but not one that can be disproved.

That gets his attention, and his head turns so he can presumably look at her. His back is still to her, but she knows better than to shoot; the bounty had said he had to be alive, and, to be honest, she’s curious. She knows he’s been striking at former Overwatch stations to steal tech and information, so it’s not surprising that he’s here. The recent reestablishment of Overwatch, and the rumors that Overwatch agents are likely nearby, would no doubt get the man’s attention.

“Turn it off,” he says at last. His voice is a low rumble.

“Tell me why you are here first,” Hana shoots back, watching his every move. She’s been doing this long enough to know when and where to strike, and so far, 76 hasn’t shown any indication that he plans to attack her.

“It would be easier to kill you,” he says as soon as she thinks this, but she still gets the sense he won’t do anything more than threaten her.

As it stands, though, her curiosity trumps her caution, and so she reaches up and goes through the motions of turning off a livestream, pressing the necessary buttons to presumably shut off her cameras. “There,” she says. “Now will you tell me?”

“You already know,” he answers.

“I will make my question more precise,” she says, resisting the urge to sigh. He knows what she meant, she can tell. “Why steal Overwatch tech? What is your interest in the organization?”

“That’s two questions.”

“I am so glad you are able to count,” she retorts, and she lets a smirk curl her lip when he huffs on a laugh. “Answer, please.”

“Why should I?”

“I am curious. Why not humor a young pretty girl asking about your life?”

“Mm-hm. You’re D.Va. You’d be more interested in your Starcraft aliens than an old man like me.” She frowns at that but doesn’t interrupt as 76 swings his rifle over his shoulder, finally pivoting on his heels to face her. The motion is practiced, professional; like every report says, this man knows what he was doing, despite his age. “I’m curious, too. Wanna check it out. That’s all.”

“Then why steal Overwatch tech?”

“Gotta start an investigation somewhere,” he replies. If she could see his eyebrows, she’s sure he would be quirking one. “And they have the best weapons.”

“Really?” Hana would be lying if she said she hadn’t been looking for ways to upgrade her mech’s short-range guns.

“Mm.”

“Were they not a terrorist organization, though? Why be curious?”

“Isn’t that why you’re here?” 76 says. “Sent out to check out the Overwatch rumors?”

“No,” she says, lying quickly and easily.

“Uh-huh.” It sounds like he’s smiling; he totally doesn’t buy it, which is hilarious since she’d lied to his face before without any problems. “Overwatch was never a terrorist organization, you know. They were peacekeepers.”

“I do remember that from my history textbook, but that goes against every military report I have ever read,” Hana says, furrowing her brow.

“Can’t ever predict who’s gonna tell the story,” 76 answers, and, well, he’s not wrong. “Look a little closer next time.”

“Can I not just ask you?” she says. “You seem to know a lot, despite being ‘curious’ about Overwatch’s revival.”

“Since you were livestreaming earlier, I don’t think I can stay to chat.”

“I was lying about that. I am only allowed to livestream during skirmishes.”

76 is silent for a while. Hana watches him; being unable to read his face, she instead eyes his body movements. Even then, it’s hard to tell, given how still and poised he holds himself, every muscle ready to coil and move at a moment’s notice.

“You seem very interested in this,” he says at last. “Beyond what a regular soldier should be.”

Hana lets a beat pass. Two. Three.

“Overwatch used to be full of heroes,” she says. “The best of the best on the whole planet. I am the best Starcraft player in the world. I would enjoy the competition. I play to win.”

“Fighting’s not the same as video games.”

“You would be surprised. Why do you think only pro-gamers drive our mechs?”

76 tilts his head, conceding the point. “So when you said you were curious, you meant you wanted to find these people and, what, challenge them to a duel?”

“How medieval! No. I would rather crush them than duel them.”

Another silence. Hana gets the sense that 76 either thinks very quickly and is processing a lot all at once, or he thinks very, very slowly. She’s hoping it’s the former, that he’s just considering his options - though she can’t begin to guess at what options he has. She is the one in the mech, after all.

“How much do you like your country, D.Va?”

A peculiar question. She mentally debates about giving him an honest answer and decides there’s no harm in it. “It’s my home,” Hana says. “I’d rather not see it destroyed. It is why I suited up in the first place.”

“Overwatch’s aim is to prevent destruction and war from happening.” 76 is staring directly at her, or at least his visor is aimed in her direction. “I lied earlier. I wasn’t curious about them; I was going to try to find their headquarters. See who’s leading the pack.”

That takes her by surprise. She’d’ve thought he was against them, what with all the semi-terrorist acts he’s committed over the past few years. She doesn’t say anything, though, and instead waits for him to continue.

“If I think they’re serving the higher purpose I hope they are,” 76 says, and then he shrugs, languid somehow, still a ripple of muscle and strength, “Maybe I’ll join them.”

A higher purpose? Justice, maybe. She can’t begin to guess at his motives, but he hasn’t even pointed his gun at her once during this entire conversation, despite being on opposite sides of a - well, could she even call it a conflict? He seemed genuinely invested in their conversation so far, and she doesn’t think he’s lying. But one thing still bothers her.

“Why tell me this?” she asks.

“Thought you might want to come with.”

Mee-cheen-nom. As if she’d ever want to - “If I leave, I desert,” she says, which isn’t a no.

“Well aware of that,” 76 says, amused. “Offer’s still on the table. Get to face those best of the best in battle or whatever, ‘cause I’m gonna find them eventually and the South Korean military isn’t even close.”

… She could swing this with her superiors. Couldn’t she? Make it so she doesn’t get in trouble when she goes back home, at least? Maybe slip them some reports, or give them Overwatch’s location when they get there, or - there has to be something, because she is far too tempted to say no.

“You can’t have any contact with home after this,” 76 says, watching her. Watching her facial expressions. Hana kicks herself inwardly for that. “I need to trust you not to turn me in. But I think I can - everything I’ve heard about D.Va says she never backs down from a challenge.”

Her gut roils uneasily as she looks down at the ground, a good two meters away. This would mean turning her back on everything she’s ever known, leaving behind everyone she’s ever loved. She wouldn’t be able to stream without setting up protections to keep her untraceable, she certainly couldn’t ever bring up a game of Starcraft, she might have to fight against her own people. But.

But.

(This means escape, in some ways. Escape from her role, even if only briefly. And if not briefly, then - anything would be better than this, wouldn't it?)

“Hana,” she says, hands returning to the controls of her mech. “D.Va is my streamer name. My name is Hana.”

“Hana,” 76 echoes, and he finally relaxes. It’s an odd thing to see; she’d known he’d been ready for action, but now his shoulders slump a little and the rifle is swung back into its holster, quick as you please. “Do me a favor and get rid of anything you can use to get in contact with your squad.”

This is easier said than done, but Hana - well, she may have some experience in disabling her systems so no one knows what she’s doing. (Look, that ice cream shop looked very appealing, and no one had to know she’d left her mech for a few minutes.) Once they are down, 76 gestures for her to follow him with a jerk of his head, and she grins ferociously as she does so. Her mech’s stomping makes 76’s silent steps pointless, but she doesn’t think he minds.

She’s going to go against some of the best people the entire world had to offer, and she’s got a well of information about Overwatch beside her. And if she doesn’t like it - she can always make a break for it.

“Game on,” she mutters, and 76 lets out a rumble of a laugh.

Chapter Text

Traveling with Soldier: 76, Hana quickly finds out, has no shortage of trouble. Mostly it’s skirting around populated areas, only darting in and out to grab necessities, occasionally a breathless moment crouched and hidden as people or soldiers march by, but there’s something about it all that keeps 76 and Hana by extension on edge. They haven’t been caught, not yet, and it’s a miracle Hana’s loud and heavy mech hasn’t given away their location at any point since she'd joined up with him.

(The fun part had been getting to the mainland from Japan, which had involved sneaking onto a barge. Given how sneaking is impossible with a mech, it’s a wonder how 76 managed to keep her hidden.)

It’s been about a month of this constant travel and fraying nerves before she resigns herself to the inevitable: her MEKA needs maintenance. She’s no specialist, and even if she was, she doesn’t have any of the necessary equipment with her - meaning she’ll have to find one as 76 leads her in a jaunty path across the continent of Asia towards a place he called Gibraltar.

There is a singular problem with this that she can think of immediately: if South Korea ever learn she’s traveling with a renown criminal, she’ll be in far worse trouble than she is now. Several other problems include that she would be recognized no matter where she goes, there’s no way her mech can get into a town without a reported sighting, and if her mech is spotted, that means 76 will be exposed... which in turn means bounty hunters will flock to their location in order to nab him, which in turn will leave her an easy target for South Korea to bring her back. Further, even if she does find a specialist willing to keep quiet, the likelihood of them having the expertise she needs is extremely low. Complications, complications - so many in sight, no way to deal with all of them.

But there’s no way around it. She’s beginning to detect noticeable drops in performance across the board while suited up, not enough to be of true concern but enough to know that she'll have to worry about it soon. Given how unwieldy the MEKA is for 76’s sneaking purposes in the first place, any worse than it is already and she can’t begin to guess what might happen.

“Could change the color before we bring it in,” 76 suggests when they pause their never-ending flight to rest, the moon rising slowly, serenely in the sky. They’re somewhere in China at this point, close enough to a rural town to see smoke rising from huts, far enough that they wouldn’t be seen by anyone. “Maybe if I pretend to drive it?”

“You are too recognizable,” Hana replies with a grin, pointing towards her eyes. 76 raises a hand to run his fingers over his visor, soundless; she’s not wrong, no matter how much he’d like to deny it. “And there is no way you would fit into the cockpit. The color thing might work, but where would we get paint?”

“Bad paint job might be less suspicious - make it seem like an off-market mech.”

“Once someone opens it up, there is no way in hell they will mistake it for anything but Mobile Exo-Force.”

“Language,” 76 chides, as if he doesn’t swear up a storm every time his coffee isn’t straight black, the few times they've managed to get coffee, anyway. Honestly, the man could be her father, the way he hems and haws over her, and it grates at her a little bit; she's no child, no matter what her appearance might suggest. “How long can you go without maintenance?”

“Maybe another two, three months,” Hana says, looking the MEKA over. The bright pink paint is beginning to fleck off and there's dirt and plants wedged near its feet, but otherwise it's not noticeably worse for wear. “It will not stop working, but I cannot guarantee what would happen if we got caught in a firefight.”

“Can’t leave it behind, I suppose.”

“I am a pretty good shot, but you have not seen this thing in action,” Hana shoots back, crossing her arms over her chest. “You can take my MEKA away over my dead body.”

76 grunts. His plasma rifle is resting quietly in his lap as he hunches over his knees, and Hana can see that he has a crick in his back as he shifts slightly in place. She forgets how old he is when he sprints for hour after hour, only her rocket boosters allowing her to keep pace, and it’s moments like these that she really takes a step back and wonders how the man is so experienced and tireless. A month of traveling and she knows barely anything about him, despite peppering him with questions about Overwatch itself.

“Might be able to pull some strings,” 76 says at last. “In Nepal.”

Hana frowns at that. At the rate they’re going, they would reach Nepal in a month or two, probably less considering how much ground 76 can cover in a day. It’s manageable, but it doesn’t soothe her nerves. “That is the soonest we can get help?”

“Used to be an Overwatch base there. With any luck, I might be able to contact the organization directly. Risky - ” and here he casts a swift glance at her mech before looking away again - “but necessary.”

Hana blinks slowly and looks up at 76. His visor glows a soft, dim red in the darkness and he’s not facing her, but she gets the sense he’s deliberately avoiding eye contact. (Not that she can actually maintain eye contact with him ever, but, eh. Semantics.)

“How do you know so much?” she asks at last. It’s a question that’s been coiled in her chest for a long time. She doesn’t expect a response, honestly, but she figured she might as well try.

The silence stretches on after her words - a minute, then two, as she keeps track of the seconds in her head. It’s summertime and the wilderness is alive with noise, but it seems muted somehow; quiet, unerring, careful. She tries not to breathe loudly and stares at her toes, knowing she should get her bedroll and set up for the night because asking the man of anything was a pointless endeavor anyway.

She shifts to stand and 76 says, “Don’t move.”

One week into their journey and she would’ve sassed him. Now she freezes in place save for a hand inching towards her handgun, tracking 76’s visor as the light dims to nothing and he listens for something she can’t hear yet. She’s learned to trust his instincts, and so she waits and doesn’t ask questions, even when a mosquito lands on her face and she watches it in agonizing silence as it sucks her blood.

“One hostile,” 76 says at last. His voice is barely above a whisper. “Well-trained. When I give the signal, get into your mech.”

“Roger,” she whispers. She can hear the footsteps now, quiet and careful and sure, along with - a jingling of some kind? She furrows her brow. Who would have tracked them this far into China, so far removed from any bustling city that no one ever shot them a second glance? There isn’t any bounty hunter she could think of who could do such a thing -

76 is on-his-feet-firing-his-pistol-pivoting-on-his-heel in one fluid motion, suddenly, abruptly. Hana takes this as her cue to scramble into her mech, legs first and arms last, powering up with arms flying this way and that, and instantly activating her defense matrix out of sheer reflex as soon as the MEKA programming is online. Once this is done, she takes up a stance just a bit ahead of 76 as he throws down a biotic field, pulse rifle pausing as he reloaded. She grimaces when a six bullets are ricocheted away from her, and then -

And then she just stares when their opponent steps into the open.

“Howdy, partner,” the man drawls, and he’s got a stupid revolver spinning in his hand, a cigar in his mouth, and - and Hana is almost positive she’s seen his outfit in old cowboy movies her friend Nari back home liked to watch. His belt flashes in the moonlight and she loses all respect for the man when she sees it reads BAMF.

“McCree,” 76 growls, and if the man is surprised that he knows his name, it doesn’t show on his face.

“Pardon the intrusion,” McCree says, giving first Hana and then 76 a winning smile; “But Overwatch is mighty interested in collectin’ that huge bounty on ya, 76, and, hey, they figured that I could do the job.”

Chapter Text

Hana had never considered a wannabe cowboy would be part of Overwatch. Just as well, because said cowboy ends up having disturbingly uncanny aim as she moves her hand to trigger her MEKA's gun - only to yelp when a bullet grazes the back of her hand, not hitting her exactly but close enough to know that it had been a warning shot.

“Out of the mech,” he says. Hana doesn’t move until 76 gives her an almost imperceptible nod, and then she cautiously steps down, landing lightly on the ground as McCree flashes her a smile. “Bless your heart, darlin’. Now drop the weapons, please.”

“You’re part of Overwatch?” 76 says, and for the moment Hana keeps her mouth shut. Usually, firefights makes her blood rush through her veins, adrenaline kicking her brain into high-gear, a manic smile on her face as she lands shot after shot; now, though, she can only swallow back an intense sense of doom and hope this McCree person doesn’t shoot as she and 76 slowly place their weapons on the ground and fold their hands behind their heads.

“Don’t see how it would interest you any, Soldier,” McCree says, casually reloading his revolver. Hana can see that not all of 76’s bullets had missed from his barrage earlier, though the cowboy was wearing some kind of chestplate that, while having a few dents, doesn’t seem any worse for wear. “Didn’t realize you’d have company with you, though. Howdy, by the by.”

Hana doesn’t say a word, eyes intent on his gun, fear locking her into place. If McCree notices this he doesn’t comment, only tipping his hat in some kind of weird respectful gesture, maybe.

“Leave her out of this,” 76 says, rumbling.

“Ain’t her who’s got a million-dollar bounty on her head, partner,” McCree says breezily, and Hana can’t help the cool relief pooling at the base of her spine. It doesn’t nothing to relax her shoulders, however. “Best to come nice and easy, ‘less you want someone t’get hurt.”

“Leave. Her. Out of this.”

When she had said she wanted to go up against the best of the best, she may have misspoken. It’s clear this man is well-trained and dangerous and she - well, she's fought against omnics and humans and giant beasts of the sea without batting an eye, but it's especially different when she’s not ensconced in the safety of her MEKA. Alone in her bodysuit, she's vulnerable and a single shot could kill her.

“Wasn’t intendin’ to hurt her, Soldier,” McCree says cheerfully. Somehow he sounds careful. Considering. “All y’all gonna come with me or we doin’ this the hard way?”

“I’ve been trying to contact Overwatch for a few months now,” 76 says, as if McCree hadn’t spoken. “Perhaps we can come to a deal.”

“Much as I’d like t’talk, I’d have to clear it with my boss before anythin’ else,” McCree replies, all nonchalance. Hana’s beginning to get a read on him, though, and she can tell he’s a bit antsy, cautious in a casual way; he hasn’t taken his finger off of the trigger of his revolver, and it’s pretty clear he’s got them both lined up in a shot. “‘Fraid I’m gonna have to tie you up, too. Safety first, y’see.”

“Take us to Gibraltar first,” Soldier: 76 says. It’s not a plea; it comes out more like a command. “We will cooperate fully if you let me talk to your superiors. If not, I won’t make it easy for you.”

Hana watches McCree’s face as he considers this. The man is largely impassive but she’s spent enough time around 76 and his ugly mug to get hypersensitive to facial expressions - at any rate, the cowboy appears to be genuinely curious and it doesn’t look like he’ll refuse.

“No reason for me to take the girl, ya know,” McCree says at last.

“You’ll take her or I’ll shoot you where you stand,” 76 says, and she hopes that’s not all bravado, and she also hopes a least an iota of his courage would bleed over to her.

“What happened to leavin’ her out of this?”

“She comes with me or we don’t come at all.”

McCree sighs. “All right,” he concedes, tilting his head. “I’ll call in for pickup and tell ‘em the news. Still gotta tie you up, Soldier. No hard feelings.”

“Acknowledged,” 76 says, which isn’t really an answer at all.

“One move outta line and it’s drastic measures for both of you, yeah?” McCree says, smiling slightly at 76's words. It's a threat, not a pleasantry. “Got orders to knock you out in case of trouble.”

“Don’t hurt her,” 76 says, and wow, he is going full dad mode now. Hana is hit with a strange, sudden pang of longing, gone as soon as it had come; her father had never been like this. Almost immediately it’s replaced by irritation - she's just as much a soldier as he is, and Hana crosses her arms and lifts her chin.

“I am not a child, 76.”

“You’re nineteen,” he quips back.

“I am an adult. I have been taking care of myself for some time now.” A bittersweet truth.

“You’re still young. Don’t be reckless.”

“Much as I like watchin’ the two of you squabble - hands out, please.” Hana complies without thinking, distracted as she is as she scowls at 76, and then jumps when McCree claps a pair of cuffs on her wrists. 76 lets out a warning growl but otherwise doesn’t do anything as McCree ambles over and does the same to him. “Much obliged. Thunderbird’ll be here pretty soon. Should be only a coupla hours to Gibraltar with our ace pilot at the helm.”

76 mutters something under his breath as Hana regards the cuffs on her wrists with distaste, too quiet for her to catch, and then she looks over at her mech. At least there is a silver lining, she thinks; her MEKA will likely be able to get the maintenance it needs at Gibraltar, providing shit doesn’t hit the fan once they get there.

Chapter Text

The plane - if she could call it a plane - is noisy and seemingly unwieldy as it lands in the undergrowth. Hana can only chew her lip and stay close to 76, still a little peeved the man feels the need to stay in front of her but mostly grateful that she has at least one person she can trust in this situation. It’s a miracle none of the locals have come to investigate yet, and given how a person typically gets one miracle per day, she’s not about to test her luck and get shot.

McCree sweeps out a hand to gesture them into the plane as its cargo door lowers. 76 starts walking but pauses when Hana doesn’t; she is in the slow, careful process of edging towards her MEKA, unsure if she is allowed to get in and drive it. She can do that without hands, but she can also operate guns without hands, and she just really, really doesn’t want to get shot.

“One false move, remember,” McCree warns, watching her with what she is now certain is feigned nonchalance. She sees something shine in his palm and zeroes in on it; a flashbang, maybe, she’s seen a few of those while stationed in various parts of the world with her MEKA squad. “Git, then, drive your mech on in.”

76 nudges her shoulder with his when she doesn’t move right away, and she doesn’t take her eyes off of McCree as she carefully steps backwards and into her mech. It’s still powered up, a reassuring hum in her ears as she presses into its embrace, and then she moves the mech forward with 76 just ahead of her. McCree brings up the rear, having nabbed both of their weapons, and then they’re in and she can hear rather than see the cargo door close behind them.

“First time a mission’s gone so smoothly, love!” a female voice rings out. 76’s head snaps up, and Hana belatedly realizes it must come from an intercom. “I’m impressed!”

“Ain’t it a wonder when I do my job right?” McCree drawls. Hana tracks him in her peripheral vision as he steps ahead of them and gestures for 76 to sit down, which the man does. Hana takes that as her cue to extricate herself from her mech, aware of McCree’s heavy gaze as she quickly takes the spot next to 76, pressing close enough that her arm touches his.

“Yes indeed, Jesse,” the female voice, presumably their pilot, says, and now Hana knows McCree's first name. “We’ll be straight on our way! Should be a few hours before we reach the U.S. - ”

“Change of plans, sugarplum,” McCree interrupts. “Man wants to go talk to Winston. S’the only reason he’s cooperatin’.”

There’s a pregnant pause.

“Why not just give him an earpiece?” the pilot asks, which is a fair point; that had been 76’s plan in the first place, as Hana recalls. “He can talk, I don’t have to mess with the piloting program and change course, everyone wins!”

“You know how Winston is about sharin’ the earpieces, Lena.” 76 stiffens. Hana bumps her elbow against his lightly, but 76 just shakes his head. “Figured it couldn’t hurt. He’ll want to talk to him, and I know Angel’s been wantin’ to check ‘im out, too.”

“Oh, fine, changing courses. Just for you.”

“Thank ya kindly.”

“Don’t let it get to your head!” Lena doesn’t sound the least bit exasperated by this despite her words, a fact further confirmed as she changes subjects and asks, “Say, who’s the stranger, love?”

“I don’t rightly know, actually,” McCree says, to which their pilot titters a bright, bubbly laugh. “Mind introducin’ yourself, darlin’?”

Hana looks over at 76. 76 looks back at her. She can tell what he’s thinking right away: her streamer name is more recognizable than her real name, but more importantly, her real name is not something she wants everyone to know. She’s seen enough of movies and politics and plays to realize it could be dangerous in the wrong hands, could trace back to her family.

“D.Va,” Hana says, and 76 nods; his approval puts a small smile on her face. She glances over at McCree, who had observed the exchange closely. “I’m D.Va.”

McCree apparently doesn’t recognize her because there’s no outward reaction beyond a pursing of lips, and - huh, she hadn’t even noticed him get rid of his cigar somewhere. She is remotely offended for a few seconds before she notes that McCree isn’t a young man; maybe he’s never gotten into the gaming world. Actually, he’s probably never touched a cell phone, if the way he’s dressed is anything to go by.

Lena’s reaction, meanwhile, is another thing entirely, and all three of them wince when her voice crackles loudly over the intercom as she shouts, “I’m driving a plane and D.Va is in it? McCree, why didn’t you tell me sooner‽”

“You know her?”

“How do you not?” Lena says, and she giggles and says, “Oh, this is amazing! Winston better let you in, love, that would be so fun!”

Hana blinks and finds herself inexplicably exchanging a glance with McCree, who just looks amused as Lena continues to chatter after that, loud, consistent - fortunately enough that Hana can tune her out. She puts her tied hands in her lap and doesn’t look at McCree after that, and while under any other circumstances she’d be thrilled to meet a fan, right now just doesn’t seem like a good time to celebrate.

Evidently the cowboy has the same idea, because he eventually speaks up over the pilot and says,  “Oughta be interestin’ when we get back t’base, what with a criminal and an apparently famous Mobile Exo-Force member."

He kicks back in the seats across from theirs and is my MEKA really that recognizable? she thinks, frowning. His hat tips over his eyes but Hana is sure that he’s watching them.

“How long?" 76 asks.

“Enjoy the ride," McCree says, smooth as can be. Hana thinks he isn’t going to answer until he adds, “And you can ignore Lena up there; she’ll stop eventually, and we’ve got a few hours to kill.”

Chapter Text

Hana doesn’t realize she’s fallen asleep until 76 is shaking her shoulder with a large, steady hand, and then she snaps awake and feels around for her weapon. She deflates a moment later when she remembers her gun is resting by McCree’s knee, and then she shrinks further when McCree laughs, probably at her antics. She’s been on the run for a while now, no one can blame her for being prepared.

(She’s grateful when 76 shields her from McCree’s view as he walks her to her mech, when all is said and done -a shield between her and a piercing stare. Not that she would ever admit it aloud.)

The first thing she registers when the cargo doors open is the sharp, distinct smell of the sea. It brings on with it a wave of homesickness, soft and lagging, gone as she forces her mind elsewhere; and then she notes the sun was just beginning to rise, or maybe set, she isn’t sure, and then she steps outside, she blinks, and suddenly there’s a young woman standing next to McCree with a wide smile and a perky wave.

“Hello!” she says, and Hana keeps quiet, eyes narrowed. There isn’t any way the woman got out of cockpit and outside the plane faster than her - she would’ve seen it, her mech would detected it. Yet this is very obviously their pilot, and she’s very obviously standing there, and Hana huddles in her mech and says nothing.

“Tracer,” 76 says, and really, how does he know these people?

“Oh, now there’s a surprise! I suppose my name precedes me.” Lena - Tracer? - sketches a brief bow, bending neatly at the waist at a perfect ninety-degree angle. “Lena Oxton, callsign Tracer, at your service! Delighted to meetcha, D.Va, by the by, huge fan.” Hana offers a weak grin but not much else, and thankfully Tracer's attention shifts away from her soon enough. “Let’s ring Winston, shall we?”

There’s a sound, something between a whirr and a click along with a whoop, and then Tracer is gone in a blur of blue. Hana cranes her neck out of her mech to see the woman blinking in and out of view, laughing all the while, disappearing into the building ahead of them. Gibraltar, Hana supposes, though she doesn’t ask. Best to let 76 take the lead in moments like these.

“And there she goes,” McCree says. He studies 76, cradling both his and Hana’s weapons in his arms. His revolver is tucked into the holster at his waist. “Weird that you know Lena, gotta admit.”

“I’ve heard a lot about Overwatch,” 76 says, and if that isn’t the understatement of the century.

“Mm. Been stealin’ a lot of our old tech, as I recall, or at least you hit Grand Mesa and got Winston's knickers in a twist, so to speak. Why I was sent out in the first place, matter of fact. Figured it was the best way t’get you to stop and get some money on the side.” McCree tucks the two guns under his arm and pulls out a cigar, slotting it between his teeth before going for a lighter. “But plans change, I suppose. Follow me. We’ll be takin’ the long way in.”

Hana guides her mech forward and stomps along behind 76 as McCree begins to walk with long, easy strides, his back to them but ever-watchful nonetheless. Now that there’s light and she can see him properly, she can only find herself even more off-put by his appearance. It looks like he’s wearing some kind of red cape thing and the jingling she remembers from earlier come from actual spurs on his boots; the hat and cigar complete a very bizarre look. The chestplate is completely out of place, metallic and shining and hard where his clothes are soft and flowing, and overall Hana finds herself genuinely curious about his fashion sense.

Still, she has other things to distract her. There’s a fair number of red lights spattered across the display board of her mech, more than she remembers, and Hana is so preoccupied with reading through them that she doesn’t realize they’ve entered the building until her mech bumps against a doorframe and McCree says, singsong, “A bit to your left, darlin’, there you go.”

76 glares at the man for her. McCree is entirely unfazed as he leads them in.

Inside is empty. Rounded edges, bright but bland colors, Overwatch logo everywhere she looks. She walks her MEKA into the first room before powering down and popping out, and it occurs to her that it’s been at least a week since her last shower and that her bodysuit is starting to get a little worn. Great; going to see the big boss, Winston apparently, in hopes of joining Overwatch, and she’s dressed little better than a beggar. 76 is, of course, not any better, but at the very least the raggedness of his jacket fits his appearance: rugged, untamed, intimidating.

Then again, she thinks, looking over at McCree, and at his raised eyebrow she merely smirks and shakes her head. That’s as much as she’s going to do, though, and she stays close to 76 as they follow the cowboy deeper in the building. There doesn’t seem to be a lot of people here, or at least they don’t run into anyone else on their lengthy journey into what ends up being a conference room, which strikes Hana as odd. If this all works out, maybe she can ask why.

There’s a figure at the head of the conference room who turns after McCree drawls, “Brought ‘em to ya, big guy,” and then her stomach drops because that - is - that is a -

“Gorilla,” 76 murmurs for her ears alone, and Hana nods mutely. Best of the best. Somehow she finds this hard to believe.

Chapter Text

“Ah, D.Va, Soldier: 76,” the gorilla says, and Hana stares as he pushes a pair of glasses further up his nose. Beside him, Tracer waves again, and McCree drops into a chair with a sigh. He’s lost the cigar again, Hana notices. “I’ve been waiting for you. Please, take a seat.”

Hana follows 76’s lead and sits when he sits, in the chair close to and behind him - a shield between her and the unknown. 76 doesn’t look completely at ease, but he doesn’t look entirely uncomfortable, either; just like before, she’ll let him do the talking, at least until she knows that she’s safe and won’t get shot. She really does not want to get shot.

“Lena tells me you’re interested in joining Overwatch,” the gorilla says. Winston? “I’ll admit I’m surprised. Soldier: 76, you’re an infamous criminal across the globe and you’ve been stealing from our old facilities. You’re the last person I would have expected to come here.”

76 grunts. He sounds entirely unimpressed.

“And you, D.Va,” Winston continues, “I’d heard reports of a mech operator deserting Mobile Exo-Force, but I didn’t realize it was their most well-known member.”

Hana doesn’t grunt, but she knows her facial expression is equally unimpressed, especially when McCree lets out a dry laugh.

“What exactly would you bring to the team if we let you in?” Winston asks, expression unreadable, tone slightly resigned, maybe, she isn't sure. Hana knows that 76’s mouth is open to speak before Winston says, “D.Va, perhaps you would like to begin.”

Hana’s eyes dart from Winston to 76 and back. Shit, she’s not prepared to talk about herself like it’s a job interview, she’s not - what if she says something wrong? She can’t afford to say something wrong. If she gets shipped back off to South Korea, the ramifications are endless and terrible, at least if she ever wants to live a normal life again. Not that her life was ever normal to begin with, given what her rank was back home, but even so... she’s just Hana Song and she can drive a mech and she plays video games professionally and -

and she’s D.Va.

Just like that, Hana feels her spine straighten and her lips curve upward in a winning smile. She’s had to launch into a long explanation of her mech before and she can go into how it works, she knows she can, she knows she has before, and she knows she can do it now. All she has to do is play the part they expect of her: young, a bit headstrong, confident, proud, just like she is while she streams.

“As you know, I drive a mech,” she says. “It is specially made by South Korean engineers. Fusion cannons allow for infinite short-range shooting. A defense matrix allows me to repel any incoming bullets, and it lasts in bursts of twenty seconds with a thirty second cooldown in-between. The armor can withstand continuous fire and the unit itself is very mobile, as rocket boosters can lift me up or shoot me forward.”

This doesn't appear to faze any of them. D.Va continues, undeterred.

“I am experienced with working in teams, as I was part of the Mobile Exo-Forces. I am squad leader of my squad back home, and we were given a fair amount of independence; therefore, I can follow orders but also act with a degree of initiative.” She frowns a bit at that, she’s pretty sure that’s not an actual English expression, but, eh. Close enough. “From what I can see, McCree and Tracer can do a lot of damage, but they perform best when they have cover to hide behind. I assume you, Winston, normally provide this protection, though you are also the boss and are thus likely needed here more than out there. My thought is that you will require someone else who can take a lot of damage. That is me.”

There is silence for a bit. D.Va lets her smile fade into a confident smirk, leaning back in her chair to prop her arms behind her head, almost putting her feet on the table before she stops herself; she doesn’t want to ruin this entirely. 76 turns his head for a brief moment to glance at her and he gives her a slight nod, which she acknowledges with two blinks of her eyes.

“I see,” Winston says. He doesn’t look very impressed, but D.Va merely winks and shoots a finger pistol at him. Tracer is smiling delightedly, clapping her hands together silently, and McCree merely watches and waits as the gorilla turns to 76. “And you?”

76 has placed his tied hands on the table at this point and appears to be studying them. “Command experience,” he says at last. “I can lead a group. I can bring a group together. I have combat experience in a variety of places in a variety of ways. I’m a skilled mercenary; that’s about it.”

“Good shot, too,” D.Va chirps, leaning over to rest her arm on the back of 76’s chair. The man startles slightly when her chin goes to rest on his shoulder, but he otherwise keeps a steady glance on Winston. “Visor can help him aim, sometimes. Better than your cowboy, at any rate.” McCree snorts but doesn’t say anything. “We are useful. We want to help you.”

Winston considers this, eyes going from her to 76 periodically for a few moments. D.Va continues to lean on 76’s chair, smiling, while 76 continues to stare at his hands.

“Aw, c’mon, love,” Tracer says after a moment, bouncing on her heels. “Let them join, yeah? We need a tank besides you!”

“Can’t hurt any,” McCree puts in, which surprises D.Va quite a bit; he’d seemed pretty ambivalent to the whole thing, right from capturing 76 to ushering the two of them off of the plane. “’Sides. One wrong move, ain’t hard to put ‘em out of commission.”

“I resent that,” D.Va says with a sniff.

“So do I,” 76 says, which is another surprise.

Winston scrutinizes them. She feels her smile begin to slip, feels D.Va darting through the cracks so that Hana shines through, and without thinking much about it she moves so her face is hidden behind 76’s head instead of on his shoulder. Hana is scared, dammit. She know she shouldn’t be but it’s been a terrifying month in some ways, and even now that they are here, there’s a possibility shit will hit the fan.

76 won’t let her down.

Winston might.

Chapter Text

It’s an eternity later when Winston sighs and says, “You’re right, Lena. We need all the firepower we can get, and they certainly seem capable.”

Hana forgets how to breathe for about two seconds. 76 has no outward reaction beyond a tiny relaxation of his shoulders, something Hana only detects because she’s so close to him, and she forces down a smile as relief pools calmly and coolly at the base of her spine.

“Took me over a week to track Soldier down,” McCree points out. He leans back in his chair and props his feet on the table, ignoring Winston’s disapproving look. “Man’s skilled. He and D.Va kept a mech hidden the entire time, too.”

Tracer is clapping her hands together loudly now, grinning unabashedly. She is apparently so thrilled she can’t get words to form because she doesn’t say anything, and Hana can only stare as Winston shakes his head, smiling slightly.

“I’d like to see them in action, first,” the gorilla says. “I know it’s been a long day for the two of you, but do you think you could go through a quick training simulation?”

“I slept a bit on the way here,” Hana says, cautiously poking her head around 76’s to look at Winston. McCree is holding back a laugh at her, she can tell, and she studiously ignores him. “My mech needs maintenance, but provided it is nothing too extreme, I will be all right.”

76 remains quiet. Hana reaches over and puts a hand on his shoulder, shaking slightly, and his head lifts slightly; thinking, she supposes, in that processing-everything-too-quickly way of his, though he isn’t too out of it to respond, “Should be fine, as long as it’s short.”

“Excellent,” Winston says, sounding pleased. Hana would tentatively call the expression on his face a smile. “Lena, would you show them the way?”

“I’ll tag along, too,” McCree says, hefting himself to his feet, grinning broadly at the two of them. “Gettin’ a little rusty what with all this inaction. Plus you’ll be wantin’ your weapons back.”

“Almost enough for a full squad!” Tracer says. The grin on her face has somehow grown. It looks a bit painful. “Oh, I’m so excited, you have no idea.”

“I think I have an inkling,” Hana mutters, and 76 lets out a rasping laugh.

“I’ll call you if anything arises,” Winston says, and yes, he’s definitely smiling. Hana tries a small smile back and is rewarded with a tilt of his head. “Make sure to introduce the two of them to Angela, if she’s finished with whatever she’s working on. Oh, and Jesse, please don’t shoot up the walls again.”

“High noon waits for no one,” McCree says cryptically. Tracer has already zipped from Winston’s side to the door at this point, jogging in place as she impatiently watches them talk, and then the cowboy lets out a sigh and says, “Then again, that’s probably a pretty big bite outta my paycheck.”

“That it is, cow hustler, Winston showed me the sum,” Tracer says with a bright grin. McCree groans. “C’mon!”

“You know you’re insane, right?”

“And you’re barmy, so fair’s fair, yeah?” Tracer turns her head to look at Hana and 76. “A little shooting will get you out of your shell! Maybe we can talk more then.”

Hana is not a shy person. She tries to say this and ends up opening her mouth and closing it without a word being uttered, because Tracer’s already turned away to chatter at McCree, who lets out low laughs and rambles that twang, and, well. Hana thinks she might be good friends with Tracer if the woman ever came down from her sugar high.

“What happens when she drinks coffee?” she muses.

“Chaos,” 76 says promptly, so confidently Hana can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of her throat, one that he echoes with his rasping, rumbling laugh. It makes both Tracer and McCree look back at them, finding only 76 gazing stoically ahead as Hana covers her smile with her hand, giggling.

Chapter Text

Hana can’t begin to find her way around this place when they somehow arrive in the room where her MEKA is waiting, and Tracer oohs and aahs appropriately as Hana powers up the thing and lumbers after them, 76 remaining relatively close to her side. They go outside the building to get to the training ranges, as McCree calls them, and then into another building, and then there is more than one range and Hana marvels at it all: Overwatch had been huge in its time. It’s a little sad to bear witness to what remains of it, no matter how sordidly the history books had painted its past.

“Athena, would you let us in to Range Three?” Tracer asks. Hana blinks and glances over at 76, because 76 seems to kind of know these things, but he gives her a half-shrug; no answers from him, apparently. “I’ve three guests with me.”

“Of course, Agent Oxton,” a female and clearly artificial voice says from somewhere. The ceiling, probably. Most disembodied voices came from ceilings, at least in this place. “I’d like to remind Agent McCree to refrain from shooting up the wall.”

“One time,” McCree grumbles. Athena doesn’t laugh, but Tracer does, loud and bright as everything she does ends up being, and Hana follows 76 into the range. The cowboy wordlessly passes her and 76 their weapons once they’ve taken a few steps in. She doesn’t think the irony is lost on him, when he hands her the tiny little handgun while standing in front of her very dangerous mech, but he doesn’t do more than grin and wink before moving off towards Tracer, who is busy punching stuff into a console.

76 looks his weapon over with quick, practiced motions as Hana futilely tries to work through some of her mech’s more pressing issues, and both of them look up when training - bots? Training bots - come out of indents in the wall. There are a lot of them. It’s actually a bit intimidating, though, thankfully, Hana knows she’ll have to actually step into the range for the simulation to begin.

“Show us what you’ve got, loves!” Tracer says, and Hana glances over to see her leaning against the wall. Now that she’s looking, there are two pistols at her waist, and McCree’s lighting a cigar - he shouldn’t be doing that, Hana thinks, that’s probably a hazard - while his revolver spins lazily in his hand. They are, if nothing else, a panel of judges.

Hana sucks in a breath and taps her fingers along the two triggers in her mech. An exhale, she lets her grip tighten and her eyes focus in on the moving bots, and she’s ready.

“What is the plan?” D.Va asks 76, quietly enough that McCree and Tracer can’t hear.

“Take the ones in front, as many as you can. The others will try to flank you; I’ll stay behind you and take care of them on both sides.” D.Va nods, remembers he can’t see it through the mech, but 76 seems to pick up on it anyway. “Don’t hesitate to use defense matrix if you feel threatened. If you need a biotic field, signal me.”

“How?”

“Screaming works,” 76 says, which is the closest approximation to a joke she’s ever heard him make. Besides the ‘chaos’ one when she asked about coffee, she supposes.

“All right. I am ready if you are.”

76 nods, bracing his plasma rifle against his side. “After you.”

Chapter Text

D.Va doesn’t hesitate. She’s barely taken one step in before she’s firing, fusion cannons steady and constant in her ears as she mows down bot after bot. She disregards all that make it past her initial barrage; she only suffers a few glancing bullets from them before 76 shoots them down, and soon they’ve progressed at least halfway through the course, a crude imitation of a temple of some sort, D.Va’s guessing.

76 lets out a colorful array of swears and the bots on either side of her get a few extra shots in before they are destroyed; “Wasn’t watching my six,” 76 growls at her questioning noise, setting up a biotic field as D.Va brings her mech flush against a wall for cover. “There’ll be a more powerful bot at the end of this. Don’t try to strong-arm it; take cover and whittle it down from afar.”

“Did you see it already?” D.Va asks. 76 doesn’t answer, instead firing off a complete round and reloading, and D.Va only hesitates for a second longer before breaking out of cover to continue her advance. It’s nothing new, him not answering every question she asks; by now, she figures he’s got more than enough to hide and, well, he’s been looking after her long enough for her to trust him.

It turns out she needn’t have bothered questioning him; not thirty seconds later she rounds a corner and then darts backward when the boss bot fires at her. It looks more like a turret, one of those old Bastion models she remembers studying, except immobile and with a lot more armor and a lot of minions. She picks those off as they approach while 76 puts down another biotic field and pushes his back against the wall.

“I’m gonna circle around,” he says after a moment, gunning down a few more of the smaller bots between words. “Can you handle yourself from here?”

“I am not a child,” D.Va retorts, grinning maniacally. “Go on, old man, work your magic.”

“That’s mister old man to you,” 76 says without venom, and then he’s gone, sprinting from cover to cover as the big bot attempts to track and shoot him. D.Va covers him as best she can before turning her attention to the center of the square field, darting out of cover every now and then to fire off a few rounds before darting back in. She and 76 make a game out of it: he fires until he has the big bot’s completely attention, then steps back into cover as D.Va attacks, right up until the big bot’s turned to shoot at her, rinse and repeat.

It’s all fine until a loud blaring screeches in D.Va’s ears, and she jumps in her mech and hits her head and flails and tries to turn it off. The MEKA's taken enough abuse, it seems; she watches with something akin to fear as her left gun goes offline and her mobility is reduced to a sluggish walk. Damn. The bot must’ve gotten a few bullets wedged in one of the legs of the mech, and maybe also in the gun.

Shi-bal,” she mutters. 76 is now handling the bot on his own and he’s too far away to throw a biotic field down, not that it would help. She still has one operational gun but for how long? The big bot had smaller bots helping it out, too, and she’s already occupied keeping those away from her with the single fusion cannon. Her mech is falling apart and D.Va can’t focus on anything - there are too many red lights and warning noises and beeps and this isn’t what she wanted, she knows the bot won’t kill her but this, she didn’t want this -

A last resort.

She breathes in.

“Find cover,” Hana shouts to 76, across the square.

What?

“Find cover!” she shouts again, and then she activates her rocket booster, slams her hand down on the button she’d been told never to press, and hits the eject button. She goes flying and manages to land in a tight, coiled roll, darting behind the nearest wall and pressing her back to it. “Nerf this!” she yells to the bot, and she braces herself for what will follow.

The sound is incredible. Beyond the sound of circuitry cracking and walls crumbling and who knows what else, the actual explosion makes her ears ring. She regrets not shutting her eyes soon enough, too; she’s not blinded but there are blurry patches in her vision when she cautiously pokes her head out from behind the wall, and she sees that her mech had caused a huge swath of damage. All of the big bot’s minions have been destroyed as well, bits and pieces of them scattered as far as twenty meters away, maybe, she’s not good at judging distances, and.

She’s holding it in her hand; a trigger, like one for a bomb. She’s holding her breath as she presses it, and 76 rolls out of cover to see a mech falls out of the sky and land in front of her, brand new and ready to go. No, that’s not quite right, it hadn’t come from the sky: it had materialized near the ceiling and then dove right towards her position, right in front of her, open so she could climb in and fight again.

A last resort. She remembers her trainer telling her she shouldn’t use it unless it’s an emergency. She remembers her trainer telling her about the self-destruct button. She sure as hell doesn’t remember her trainer telling her the mech could self-regenerate, somehow, without breaking the laws of physics, and -

Ileon jenjang,” she says. Holy shit.

“Language,” 76 says, probably out of reflex and not by virtue of actually understanding her, and then, with traces of anger, “What the hell was that?”

Chapter Text

Hana gapes at her mech. 76 is swiftly at her side, almost faster than she can blink, and then he has a grip on her arm, voice rumbling as he demands, “What did you just do?”

“I,” she starts, swallows, starts again, “I was told to use it as a last resort, eum, but I. Was not expecting…”

She makes a few wild gestures to the MEKA in front of her, humming peacefully as it awaits its operator. It looks exactly like her old one, probably functions exactly like her old one, but there’s no way it should be here.

“Would your superiors know if you used this?” 76 snaps, though he appears to soften when she flinches, his grip loosening and his posture becoming more relaxed.

“I do not think so. I have - I have not used it myself, but people in my squad have before. They were never docked pay or anything of, of the sort. As far as I know.” She wraps her arms around herself. “If they did, I don’t think it would be easily tracked, there’s no way to know where the mech will land after it is reconstructed.” She swallows hard and says more quietly, “I d-did not think it would be so destructive.”

There’s a few quiet moments as 76 stares at her, contemplative. Hana doesn’t meet his visor with her eyes as he sighs.

“There’s a good possibility that I would’ve died, had I been in the open,” he says, the hand on her arm shifting so that it’s on her shoulder. Hana exhales loudly, breath shuddering, and his voice is gentle. “You saw how powerful that explosion was. What if the wall you’d been hiding behind collapsed? What if the ceiling fell in?”

She hadn’t even thought of that. “I did not mean for it to happen,” she says in a small voice, because she’d done the only thing she thought she could do, even if it had been a bit preemptive; nothing here is out to kill them. She had overreacted, plain and simple. “I panicked. I should have asked you for advice.”

“Yes, you should have,” 76 says firmly. “It’s all well and good to take initiative, but if you don’t know what to do, you should ask for help. Okay?”

“Okay,” Hana agrees, shoulders slumping. His hand is a heavy weight, but it’s reassuring, too; grounding her, in a way. He’s still here. He doesn’t hate her.

76 sighs, long and drawn-out. When he speaks again, she’s startled to hear that his voice is warm. “I’m not saying you did the wrong thing, but it would’ve been nice to know about it before you did it.” She nods, and he nods back as he says, “You’re fine, Hana, as long as you learn to be careful about this. Blowing up an enemy is good, but not when you blow up a teammate, too - or yourself.”

“Okay.”

“Good.” He squeezes her shoulder before his hand drops. “Back to Tracer and McCree, then. Should’ve been a good enough show.”

“I want to shower.”

“Could sleep for a week, probably,” 76 agrees, and that brings a smile to her face. “C’mon. Shouldn’t keep them waiting,” and with a nod she slips into her new mech. Picking their way out of the range is much easier than pushing in, and when they step over the threshold and the bots begin to be swept away - Athena’s doing, Hana guesses - Tracer’s eyes are wide while McCree lifts his hands and gives them three slow claps. 76 steps over to them, Hana close behind, only stopping when they are a few feet away from the pair.

“That’s certainly a way t’make an impression,” McCree says after a moment, nodding to Hana.

“Did we pass your test?” 76 says without inflection, drawing the attention back to himself. His arms are crossed, his rifle replaced on his back; it’s clear he’s saying that while he’s not a threat, he could be in a moment’s notice.

“I was right impressed,” Tracer assures him with a smile. “Very efficient. The two of you work well together.”

“Been watchin’ old Overwatch vids, yeah?” McCree says, tilting his head at 76. “I could tell. Used some old Overwatch tactics in there.”

76 stiffens for a split second. Hana doesn’t miss the way McCree’s eyes flash, as 76 instantly recovers and mutters, “Acknowledged,” followed shortly by, “Commander Jack Morrison had good strategies.”

Tracer’s smile wavers slightly at the name while McCree shows no outward reaction beyond a tip of his hat. Hana watches this with interest but keeps her mouth shut.

“Well, reckon you’ve done a good enough job,” McCree drawls, as if she had not blown up part of a training range. Athena probably will not be happy about that. “Let’s go see if Angel’s willin’ to meetcha, and then we’ll get ya both to your rooms. Oh, and you can leave the mech, darlin’.”

“I’m not your ‘darling’,” Hana mutters as Tracer zips away, presumably to where this Angel - Angela? - person is. 76 waits for her to power down her mech and slip out before the two of them follow after McCree, and he gives her shoulder one last pat as they go. She can’t help but smile: as strange as he may be, 76 is always watching her six.

Chapter Text

Tracer is nowhere in sight when McCree leads them to their destination apparent, the medbay. It’s probably the cleanest place in the entire area, and Hana makes a mental note to figure out how to get here as McCree knocks on the door before stepping in unannounced. She and 76 exchange glances before following him in, revealing a pristine, white-washed room that smelled faintly of disinfectant and something else, too.

“Lena?” McCree calls.

“In here!” Tracer calls back, and one flash of blue later she’s leaning against the doorframe to - maybe a examination room? Hana’s not sure. “The doctor’s not quite done yet, but - ”

“No, no, it’s all right. I can use a short break.” That’s a female voice, accented in a way that Hana can’t quite pinpoint. European countries tend to blend together after a while, at least in her mind. “What is it? Did Jesse shoot up the wall again?”

“Christ Almighty, when’re all y’all gonna put it to rest?”

“When you stop sounding so indignant about it,” the voice answers, sounding amused. Tracer steps away from the doorframe when another woman steps out and - Hana stares. Blond hair swept into a neat ponytail, smooth features, a benevolent smile, and beside her, 76 goes completely and utterly still. “Oh! I didn’t realize you had guests with you.”

“Lena didn’t tell you anythin’?” McCree says, giving Tracer a mock-scolding look. “That’s it, yer grounded.”

“I got distracted,” Tracer says defensively. “She and Winston have been working on a new chrono whatchamacallit and she was explaining it to me. And since when did you have the authority to ground - ”

“Hush,” presumably Angela interrupts. She turns to them with a kind smile as both Tracer and McCree shut up immediately, which tells Hana that the doctor can be very scary when she wants to be. “Winston mentioned a few minutes ago that we had new recruits. My name is Angela Ziegler; it’s lovely to meet you.”

“I am D.Va,” Hana says, mustering a small nod. Dr. Ziegler must recognize her streamer tag because her smile widens, and Hana takes that as her cue to gesture to her companion and say, “This is Soldier: 76.”

There’s a brief pause before Dr. Ziegler asks, “That is your name?”

“Yes,” 76 says, the exact same thing he’d said to Hana when she had asked. “Soldier or 76 is fine.”

Dr. Ziegler continues to look the both of them over, perfect lips pursed slightly, eyes narrowed in thought. After a moment of this, she nods, as if coming to a decision. “You both seem to be in good health, though I notice Soldier has a few bumps and bruises. Did you force them through a simulation?”

“Winston’s orders,” Tracer pipes up.

Dr. Ziegler lets out an irritated sigh. “They are both suffering from fatigue and, of course, he must test them first. I will have to talk to him.” Something beeps in the room behind her and she glances over her shoulder, just for a second, before looking at the both of them again. “I advise you to get some sleep. With the way world events are playing out, we will not have much time to relax. That includes you as well, Jesse.”

“Can’t keep my from my beauty rest, doc,” McCree answers in a way that suggests he’s lying through his teeth.

“If you require sleeping aids, you need but ask,” Dr. Ziegler says neutrally and ooh, Hana is liking this woman. McCree ducks his head, properly chastised. “Lena, I believe we have a few rooms open, yes?”

“Haven’t been cleaned much yet, but I can show them the way!”

“Good.” Dr. Ziegler smiles at Hana first and then 76. “I’m sure we will be seeing a lot of each other in the future. Sleep well.”

Kamsahamnida,” Hana says, bowing her head slightly. She’s not sure if Dr. Ziegler understood how formal that was, but the intent is clear: thank you.

“Look forward to working together,” 76 echoes.

The phrase is innocent enough, but Hana knows enough of 76’s tells to recognize that Dr. Ziegler’s split-second hesitation is suspicious; Hana glances over at 76 and notes how still he had remained since seeing Dr. Ziegler, and theories begin to swirl in her mind. McCree's, too, given the quiet focused expression on his face.

“This way, loves!” Tracer calls, zooming towards the exit of the medbay, and with one last lingering look at the doctor 76 turns and follows, Hana on his heels.

Chapter Text

“And here’s your room!”

Hana expects something like a dorm room: a cot, a bedside table, a desk if she’s lucky. Bland walls and wood floors, maybe, with a tiny window, no closet, a communal bathroom down the hall. Wouldn’t be any different than military barracks is what she’s thinking, so she’s already braced herself for the worst because Tracer had said the rooms hadn’t been cleaned up.

What she gets instead is this: a bunk bed, with sheets and comforters. A bedside table with two drawers. A nice desk; a big desk. A dresser and a closet. Her own bathroom, with shower included when she peers inside. Dark blue carpet, white walls, pictures hung up tastefully. A skylight and a window. Two lamps. Outlets and, hell, a power strip. The door itself has a lock and key, but can also be opened by a card in the scanning thing by the doorknob. Like a hotel, almost, but Hana is a little too busy gaping to notice.

“S’little dusty,” Tracer says cheerfully; she’d been waiting outside the door when McCree had finally led them to the barracks, bouncing from foot to foot. “But it should do the job! What do you think, love?”

“It looks great,” Hana says, and she means it.

“Smashing! I'll you settle in and take a shower, bring you some clothes, you can probably fit into mine. Cheers!”

And just like that she zips down the hallway and is gone. McCree just shakes his head, amused, and 76 looks over at Hana briefly before tilting his head and following the cowboy down the hall. Hana stays out just long enough to see which room is his (it’s the one next to hers, and she’s sure that’s on purpose). Once that’s done she closes the door and pads to the bathroom, flicking on the light to reveal powder-blue tiles on the floor and halfway up the walls, more white wallpaper, a stand-up shower with a blue and white polka-dotted curtain. A fan whirrs softly as she peels her bodysuit off, and she can’t hold back a sigh of relief as the warm water hits her shoulders.

She takes her time scrubbing clean - she’s bathed, sure, but she hasn’t had time to shave her armpits and, well, periods suck but they happen and it's a little gross - and it’s a little over a half-hour before she emerges from the steam, wrapped in a light blue towel. (A shame the color scheme for this room couldn’t be pink, really.) Peeking out the door reveals that Tracer had dropped some clothes off already, a pair of black sweats and a T-shirt that reads PRESS HERE TO ACTIVATE MY BRITISH ACCENT, and then she gathers up her bodysuit and decides to try and find a laundry machine. She’s only got one bra, after all, which is balled up inside the suit. Shopping is in order, hopefully sometime soon.

She wanders down the corridor, tempted to knock on 76's door but deciding against it - he's probably napping - and instead finds herself in the mess hall. There’s clanging coming from what she presumes is the kitchen; a quick peek inside reveals McCree making something in a pot over the stove.

Does she really want to interact with McCree right now? Not that he dislikes her, but he is pretty intimidating and she can probably find the laundry room on her own. But what they don't have one and she has to go to, like, a laundromat or whatever? Do they even have laundromats around here? Probably best to ask, she thinks, and so with a small, resigned sigh she pushes through the door.

“’Lo, darlin’,” McCree says and of course he had noticed her before she’d even walked in. Probably laughing to himself when he saw her hesitate, actually, and Hana feels a slight burn on her cheeks. “Don’t suppose you’d like some coffee?”

“That is coffee?” she asks, and McCree moves his hand to reveal a bag of coffee beans. So it is. She decides to channel D.Va and be a bit more outgoing because they're teammates or whatever now, so she says, “If I were not planning to sleep after washing this, I would. Sorry.”

“No worries. Reckoned I should ask, is all.” McCree measures out some beans in his hand - strangely imprecise but Hana would not be surprised if it happened to be just the right amount - and then looks up, as if realizing what she had said. “Lookin’ for the washin’ machines, then?”

“Yep.”

“You’re not too far off. Just keep goin’ down the hall past here and it’s to yer left. Third door down.”

“Okay.” She smiles. “Thank you, kauboi.”

He laughs at that. “I don’t need t’speak Korean to know what that meant. Git.”

She gives him a little wave before darting out and following his directions. There are a couple of machines lined up; she can see one already contains 76’s jacket and briefly wonders if McCree had lent him some clothes (and whether she could get photographic evidence of it). She loads up her suit with bra and underwear, dumps some soap in there, turns it on - and contemplates if she could get her hands on a computer. She’s been offline for so long, she’s sure people think she’s dead.

One thing at a time, she tells herself, and she settles in to wait, feeling more at peace than she has in weeks.

Chapter Text

“Shouldn’t be sleeping here, Hana.”

Hana doesn’t deign that with a response, instead curling up more tightly into a ball - she’ll sleep wherever she damn well pleases, thank you very much, even if the floor is tiled and hard and the wall doesn’t make a good headrest. As a result, she almost screams and punches 76 when he puts a hand on her shoulder, adrenaline roaring through her bloodstream as she fights to control her sudden, rapid-fire breathing. Even then, it takes a few moments to register that he is crouched in front of her, that she’s staring at his red visor, that his jacket is draped over his arm and he is wearing what looks like plain, navy-blue pajamas.

It comes to her slowly as her breath evens out; right, she’d come to wash her clothes, only to have dozed off before the machine finished its cycle. Checking the window of her washing machine reveals her bodysuit is elsewhere, however, and 76 evidently follows her gaze because he says, “Put ‘em in the dryer for you.”

Ah. She nods in thanks, but then frowns because that means he had touched her undergarments. “That is gross, 76.”

He of course understands her meaning right away. “Don’t give a crap,” he informs her, entirely deadpan, and Hana laughs, reassured. “’Sides, not like it’s the first time.”

“Kids?” Hana guesses. That would explain some things.

“Something like that.”

“What does that mean?” she asks, laughing again.

“Maybe I’ll tell you someday.” His hand leaves her shoulder as he stands up, though he offers it to her a moment later. She takes it, stifling a yawn, and allows him to pull her to her feet. “Think you can walk?”

“I am sleepy, not concussed.” She goes for irritated but can’t help but smile when he chuckles, low and rasping. “What time is it?”

“Around 1800 hours or so, a bit earlier. They’re making dinner in the mess.” She casts one last, fleeting glance at her laundry before following him out of the room. “Think you can manage without brushing your teeth?”

“Wow, dad,” Hana says with a snort, keeping pace alongside him despite his longer strides. She doesn’t miss the startled glance he flashes her way, but then he’s shaking his head with a long, drawn-out sigh and Hana, unrepentant, snickers.

“You look ridiculous,” he tells her a moment later. Saving face, she’s sure.

“Yeah, well,” and she casts a significant glance at his clothes, “You look old, so fair is fair.”

“McCree has bad taste.”

“That is no excuse.”

“Can’t change how I look,” he tries.

“It is entirely possible to dye your hair.”

The easy banter between them continues all the way to the mess hall, which is depressingly empty for such a large room; McCree lounges at one of the tables - still dressed in his cowboy attire, though he’s ditched the chestplate - while absently tapping the surface of a datapad, but other than him, the room is deserted. Though Hana can hear Tracer and Winston singing some kind of duet together in the kitchen, accompanying each other on pots and pans, it’s not the same as having them physically in the room. The tables are so long that everyone at this Watchpoint, even with Winston’s girth, could fit easily in one half of a table.

“Evenin’, Soldier, sleepin’ beauty,” McCree says, flicking 76 a lazy, two-fingered salute. He hasn’t looked up from his datapad once; Hana decides it’s entirely useless to combat the man’s insatiable need to nickname her. “Nice PJs.”

“No thanks to you,” 76 answers. His voice is low, as always, but it comes across as friendly. Teasing, even, though Hana couldn’t begin to guess why. “How old are these?”

“Heck if I know, Soldier. They’re clean, though, better than what you had before.”

“They feel like they’ve been starched. Three times.”

“Well, now, are you saying random clothes from vacuum storage bags ain’t up to par? Mighty harsh of you, partner.”

“They make him look old,” Hana pipes up.

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” McCree replies with a shit-eating grin.

76 makes a sound between a sigh and a groan and mutters, “Can’t believe I’m willing to go clothes shopping of my own volition.”

“I will go with you,” Hana tells him loftily, grinning when he makes the same sound again. McCree is laughing as she insists, “It will be fun.”

“No, it probably won’t,” 76 disagrees, but she can tell that underneath his mask, he’s smiling.

Chapter Text

“Shopping will have to wait until tomorrow,” McCree informs them, lip quirking up in amusement at Hana’s pout. “Not t’mention, there’s no way either of you can go lookin’ the way you do. Gotta be disguised.”

While he’s talking, 76 slips into the seat across from him, the only sign of a grimace being his furrowed brows. Hana, of course, places herself right next to him, grandly ignoring McCree’s snort of amusement. “He will probably look better that way,” Hana says in answer to McCree’s comment, pointing to 76.

“Harsh,” 76 replies without missing a beat, “Now if only we could get you a new attitude.”

Hana sniffs, choosing not to respond. McCree’s smile widens, and he tilts his chin towards the kitchen; his curls are so thick that his hat doesn’t so much as shift from its perch on his head. “Bring it up with Winston. Big guy will think of somethin’ - not the attitude part, the disguise part,” he adds quickly at Hana’s glare.

“Quickly, I hope,” 76 grumbles, tugging at the sleeve of his shirt. It’s button up and it’s a little loose on him, but from where she’s sitting right next to him, she can hear the fabric make audible scratching noises as he pinches and rubs it between his fingers. Starched three times, indeed. Unfortunately - or perhaps fortunately, Hana isn’t sure - whatever 76’s going to say next is interrupted by a joyful shout of “Food’s ready, loves!”

Dinner comes in the form of a traditional English breakfast, at least according to Tracer when she zips out of the kitchen, two plates balanced on two hands. This results in a plate of bacon and sausage arranged into a smiley face on a slice of toast, scrambled eggs serving as the face’s hair with tomatoes, small bits of sausage, and mushrooms put in such a way that they look like hair ornaments. Baked beans take up the rest of the plate, of what little that remains uncovered at least, and all in all Hana doesn’t realize how hungry she is until she smells it even if it’s not something she’s ever had before.

“Breakfast is served!” Tracer announces, setting down a plate first in front of Hana and then in front of 76. She pauses, her face dropping into a contemplative look. “Even if it’s dinnertime.”

“It looks delicious,” Hana tells her. 76 lets out a noise of agreement.

A wide smile blooms on Tracer’s face. “Hopefully it will taste just as good, yeah?” She’s gone and back in a few seconds with a plate for McCree and for herself, though she doesn’t sit down yet. The cowboy gives her a nod of thanks as Tracer cheerily goes on, “Winston has to help with the eggs, since they always come out a tad wonky when I make ‘em. Team effort!”

As if on cue, Winston lumbers out of the kitchen, balancing one last plate and a lot of silverware on his arm as he makes his way over to the table. It must be for Dr. Ziegler seeing as she doubts Winston would want to eat this, and Hana watches with no small degree of fascination as the gorilla skillfully places the dish, forks and knives on the table, smiling widely as he does so. It’s apparent he’s had a lot of practice, and Hana recalls that he’d been the one to send out the recall for Overwatch, at least according to 76; did he miss this? Is he happy that a newbie like me joined the ranks?

“I’ve already called Angela on comm, she’ll be here shortly,” the gorilla informs them as he settles not at the table but nearby. While these tables appear to be sturdy, he'd likely break the benches pulled out from underneath them.

“What about you?” Hana asks, curious, figuring it can’t hurt to start building connections and rapport between them. It’s always been her modus operandi to know her teammates as fast as she can; it’s saved her skin more than once in her MEKA squad, knowing her squad’s strengths and weaknesses and personality, and from what she’s heard she knows Overwatch will be if not similar then the same. “What do you eat?”

Winston grins and reaches behind him. When he pulls out a banana, Hana can’t help the startled laugh that escapes her, and when she sees the jar of peanut butter the laugh turns into giggles.

“Gotta ask, how many jars do you go through a day?” 76 asks, leaning over on the table. He’s going to have to take his visor off to eat, at least partially; Hana’s seen it before, but she can tell McCree and Tracer are visibly curious.

“Only one,” Winston says defensively.

“Usually two to three,” Dr. Ziegler’s voice corrects gently, and Hana peers over McCree’s head to see the doctor entering the mess. Winston lets out a prolonged sigh - must be a recurring argument - as Dr. Ziegler points out, “It really is not a healthy habit, Winston. If anything, you should be consuming more vegetables and different varieties of fruit.”

“It’s a good source of protein!”

“And fats and oils,” Dr. Ziegler says dryly, taking the spot next to Tracer, the pilot now sandwiched between the doctor and McCree. Winston looks geared up to fight back, but Dr. Ziegler merely shakes her head and says, “Another argument for another time, however. This looks fantastic, Lena.”

“Dig right on in, then!” Tracer says cheerily, taking the wind out of Winston's sails just like that.

Jal meokgetseumnida,” Hana says aloud, and she doesn’t think Tracer understands her but the woman laughs anyway as Hana stabs a piece of bacon with her fork.

Chapter Text

The others waste no time in diving into the meal, and though Hana’s stomach rumbles, she pauses to cast a questioning glance at 76. He nods to her and she turns back to the table as he stands, plate and silverware in hand.

“Yer not gonna eat?” McCree asks after a few bites, tilting his head towards 76.

“He does not eat with strangers,” Hana chirps, which is a goddamn lie because he’s eaten in front of her before. She hadn’t been a person intent on turning him in to the authorities, however, thus the extension of trust.

“And he couldn’t have told us that himself?” McCree inquires, all feigned nonchalance.

“Would’ve sounded weird from me,” 76 rumbles. Hana wants to groan, but there isn’t much else he could say without sounding even more blatantly suspicious. “Better when she explains it.”

“If that is the case,” Dr. Ziegler says with a tilt of her head, “Perhaps you would prefer to eat in the kitchen?”

Tracer makes a disappointed sound as 76 takes Dr. Ziegler’s suggestion and begins to walk towards the back of the mess. “So we can’t all eat together?”

“Nope,” 76 says. He still looks unbelievably stupid with his hi-tech visor and his pajamas. “I’ll clean up after myself, no worries.”

With that he turns the corner and disappears from view. Hana, unperturbed, continues munching away at her dinner; though the flavors are odd and unfamiliar, it’s pretty tasty, all things considered. She’s about halfway through her plate when Winston finally takes a subdued bite of his banana, and then everyone else slowly tucks into their meal, casting wary glances towards the kitchen all the while.

Hana gets a feeling that these dinners are usually pretty loud, but can't find it in her to feel guilty on 76's behalf for ruining the dynamic. He has his reasons. She understands them, even if these people don't.

“Relax!” Hana chirps after what she thinks is maybe three minutes of tense silence, her plate relatively clean. She ends up startling Winston enough that the gorilla flinches. “It is not anything personal, just a safety precaution.”

“I must ask, have you seen his face, D.Va?” Dr. Ziegler asks, and when Hana meets the doctor’s eyes her chest tightens with a sudden, inexplicable sense of unease, as if she had just been strapped to an examination table with no way to move or escape. She nods in answer and Dr. Ziegler asks, “Is he merely self-conscious about his appearance?”

“I do not know,” Hana says, unable to tear her eyes away. She tilts her head. “However, he does have a very high bounty on his head. I cannot blame him for being a little paranoid.”

“I heard that,” 76 calls from the kitchen. Soon after ensue sounds that suggest he is washing dishes.

Dr. Ziegler stares at her for a little longer before sighing and placing a piece of toast in her mouth, followed shortly thereafter by a bit of sausage and egg. Hana’s already done with her plate, as are Tracer and McCree, and Winston is dipping a finger into his jar of peanut butter with a thoughtful look on his face; Hana briefly considers asking for seconds but decides against it when Dr. Ziegler swallows her mouthful and concedes, “I suppose he does have good reason to keep some secrets.”

Her timing could not be better, as 76 is just walking out of the kitchen but is too far to overhear her words. He casts Hana a glance when he sits down to which she smiles and nods, and then everyone picks up their plates and moves towards the room 76 had just left.

“Board games!” Tracer announces after the dishwasher is running. Hana finds it endlessly amusing that 76 had to physically intervene and show the woman how much powder soap to put in it.

“No,” Dr. Ziegler says with a tone of finality, and when Tracer droops, the doctor points out, “I need to make sure 76 and D.Va are medically sound, Lena, not to mention you should check over their rooms and ensure they have all they need to be comfortable. We are good hosts, not buffoons. - No offense intended, Winston.”

“None taken,” Winston says. He still has his jar of peanut butter as he shrugs. “It’s true, in any case.”

And with that, a pouting Tracer trails after McCree out of the mess hall, only halfheartedly engaging in the cowboy’s attempts at conversation, while Dr. Ziegler begins ushering 76 and Hana towards what Hana assumes is the medbay.

McCree leaves behind his datapad. Hana chances a look before she leaves the table; though she’s always been good at reading quickly in English due to her gaming, she only manages to catch Hanzo Shimada written in neat, small letters at the top of the screen before she’s pulled away.

Chapter Text

Dr. Ziegler’s medical examination involves a basic physical, taking a blood sample, harassing Hana’s health care provider back home for her immunization records (masquerading as Hana’s mother, of course, with a fancy translator whose model Hana has never seen before), grilling Hana about places she’s been and thusly assessing the risk of developing certain diseases, and gifting her with shampoo and conditioner to use for a week or so to ensure she is infection-free. It’s pretty intensive and takes almost two hours, and by the time Hana and 76 get themselves to the barracks, she’s ready to collapse and pass out for at least eight hours.

“You’ll be okay on your own?” 76 asks her once they reach her door.

“Seventy-six,” she complains, her tone saying it all, and 76 has the grace to at least wince in embarrassment. It's kind of a valid concern, considering they've been sleeping in pretty close proximity over the past month, but on the other hand - she is really not a child, and he knows this.

“Be next door if you need me,” he tacks on anyway, ignoring Hana’s exaggerated groan, and then he’s walking down the hall and she’s dragging herself inside her room. She knows she has a toothbrush in the bathroom - Dr. Ziegler had called Tracer halfway through her examination to make sure Hana got one - but she’s too tired to even think about brushing; the most she can manage is a trip to the toilet and then she’s stumbling to her cot and falling face-first into the pillow. It’s a bad idea because if the pillow had been any firmer she might have broken her nose. At least that aspect of military life is consistent, she thinks, kicking her legs a bit so they actually make it up onto the bed, and that is the last conscious thought she has before she’s out like a light.

She dreams of home.

Well, not really home, per se. Home has always been a confusing blur or give and take, do and not, talk and silence; Hana’s parents had divorced while her mother was pregnant with her, which meant she spent the first ten years of her life coming home to a small, loud house one week, to a large, empty mansion the next. It wouldn’t be until she was eleven that her mother would give up on her precocious daughter who wanted more than she could give, and then Hana would be with her father in his large house with only her friend Nari to keep her company, and even then only at school.

For her, home has never been permanent: it’s an ever-shifting abstract concept she’s never understood, not really. It’s more like something that’s just out of reach, something she could get if she strains a little harder so her fingers will catch and she can pull herself in, something that's always in view in her smiling classmates but never really explainable when she asks.

Her home was drafty and distant, coldly curving and echoing edges and tearing turns. She remembers seeing her father every now and then as he puttered between business calls, remembers Nari moving away and leaving her isolated, remembers downloading Starcraft II and teaching herself how to play from the very beginning. Her memories of home aren’t positive and they aren’t quite negative, either; she’s aware now that her father was negligent, but she was always fed, always clothed, she was disciplined when her grades were poor and was given what she wanted when her grades were good, so it wasn’t as if he wasn’t paying attention. He just wasn’t paying… enough attention, she supposes. Which was the core of the issue, really. It's one thing having the knowledge your parents love you, but quite another to know they do.

So yes, she dreams of home. She dreams of the mansion where she lived, the expansive rooms and the tall walls and the chandeliers and the plush chairs and soft carpet and old wood and advanced tech strung throughout the house. She dreams of the day she came home, crying after Nari said her final goodbye, only to find her father on an unexpected business trip thanks to a note on the fridge. She’s lucid enough to remember that that had been the time she'd bought and downloaded Starcraft, but instead of going to her room like she’d done that day, she steps into the kitchen -

and the dream melds into something else, an air-conditioned stage with rows upon rows stretched out as far as she could see, screaming all around her with her headphones secure over her ears, a small smirk on her lips with her tongue just barely sticking out as her fingers fly across the keyboard. Starcraft responds beautifully to her commands and she laughs when her victory is assured, laughs harder when her fans scream louder as she wins the championship, starts to cry with sheer elation when the paparazzi pounces and bombards her with questions, and she’s just stepped off backstage -

and suddenly she’s in her MEKA with tears prickling the corner of her eyes as she grits her teeth and guns down the men and women and omnics in front of her, their uniforms stark and striking against the terrain behind them, her squadmates lined up besides her to aid in the slaughter. Her father had been so proud when his little daughter had joined the military, but now Hana wonders her mistake as she returns home, blood and dirt caked into her mech while she herself is spotless, her fans clamoring for bloodshed as her trainer nods and suggests maybe streaming her battles was working out even better than they had hoped -

and Hana is woken up by heavy knocking on her door.

It’s a product of living on the run with 76 that she’s awake immediately, all traces of sleepiness gone as she springs to her feet, and it’s fortunate she hadn’t been under the covers - she definitely would’ve gotten tangled in them - as she races to the door. When she throws it open it’s 76. He’s dressed in his battle gear. His pulse rifle is swung over his shoulder. It’s enough to get her blood pumping.

“Emergency mission,” he says, and thrusts something at her - her bodysuit, she realizes as she shakes off the last vestiges of her dreams, and he has her handgun, too, which she grabs after she shifts her clothes under one arm. “Be ready in five.”

“Where’s my mech?” Hana asks, because she knows asking about the mission now will only waste time; 'hurry up and wait' is something she is very used to.

“Waiting in the hangar already. We’ll go together,” 76 says, and it’s D.Va who nods and closes the door.

Chapter Text

Intrinsically, D.Va knows her bodysuit is kind of crappy armor. It’s tough and resilient all around, doesn’t tear easily, doesn’t stain easily either, but it’s not Kevlar or anything even close to bulletproof. It’s spandex, pretty much, sturdy spandex but spandex just the same, but even so, slipping into it settles D.Va’s nerves into a manageable hum. She shoves her handgun into its waiting holster, throws Tracer’s borrowed clothes onto the bed, and then she’s tucked her card key into her bra and she’s out the door where 76 is waiting.

“Just under a minute,” 76 says when she does so, sounding ever-so-slightly impressed, and she flashes him a grin as he sets off down the hall at a jog. His legs are so much longer than hers, though, meaning a slow jog for him is a fast trot for her. “We’re the last ones, I think.”

“What time is it?”

“Six hundred hours, give or take fifteen minutes.” Eurgh. Back in Korea, she'd be sleeping in for at least another three hours. “Told there’d be breakfast of some kind at the hangar. We’ll see.”

“What is happening?”

“No idea.”

76 easily guides them from the barracks to the outdoors. The sun is just beginning to rise over the ocean, and D.Va breathes in deeply as they make their way over to where the airplanes are housed. The air is fresh and clean and smells of the ocean.

“Overwatch has some nice digs,” she says.

“You’ll change your mind when you see the safehouses they have in the States,” 76 says, which is one of the longest sentences she’s ever heard him utter.

“You assume we will be deployed there at some point?”

“Overwatch was once a U.N.-sanctioned organization. They worked worldwide, once upon a time.”

“I know that,” D.Va says, a little sourly, and 76 chuckles. “I meant that this Overwatch is currently an illegal vigilante group. Given our size, it seems unlikely we will go anywhere overseas anytime soon.”

“You forgot Winston set out a recall. More agents will be coming in soon.”

“A recall?” This is the first she’s heard of this.

76 glances over at her. If she could see his face, she’s sure he’d be giving her an amused look. “How do you think I heard about the revival?”

D.Va’s mind scrabbles a bit at this; something about that seems just a tiny bit off. It takes her a little more time before she says, “Winston only sent out the recall - fairly recently, though, was it not? Otherwise there would be more members here. You have been active for much longer than that.”

76 clucks his tongue, which sounds downright strange coming through his visor. He doesn’t say anything else, though, meaning D.Va’s caught him in a lie, and she doesn’t bring it up as they enter into the hangar and navigate through a sea of dusty crates. She’ll ask him later, maybe, if she thinks it’s important; right now she needs to focus on what Winston wants them to do, if only because she doesn’t want to mess this up right from the start.

Tracer is nowhere to be seen when they finally turn the corner and see what D.Va remembers is called the Thunderbird, which makes sense since she pilots the thing, but McCree, Dr. Ziegler and Winston are milling about outside the plane. Well, milling about isn’t the right word, D.Va supposes, given that the two humans are listening to Winston rattle something off with identical frowns on their faces. Clearly whatever mission they’re supposed to be doing is rather important, and as D.Va and 76 approach she can see her mech is already nestled inside the plane itself. I wonder how they got it in there.

“Glad to see you made it in one piece,” Winston says when he catches sight of them, breaking off his conversation with McCree and Dr. Ziegler. D.Va and 76 nod in return, and she takes a moment to examine his attire; apparently he’d been wearing the gorilla equivalent of civvies last night, because now he’s in white-plated armor with rocket boosters of some kind on his back, and he’s holding what D.Va would tentatively call a Tesla cannon. Dr. Ziegler is dressed in a similar armor, pristine and reflective, and she’s holding a long staff in one hand along with a pistol tucked at her waist. McCree, of course, is in his cowboy attire, with his revolver in its holster. What strikes Hana as more interesting is the cold weather gear visible in one corner of the cargo bay; clearly, they’re going somewhere where it’ll be needed. “I’ll brief you during transport.”

“Acknowledged,” 76 says. It’s interesting how quickly he can shift from being in charge to following orders, which only makes D.Va wonder just what his life was like before - well, before he got the scars on his face, she supposes. She’s seen them when they were on the run, and they were long scars that slipped under the collar of his shirt. Whoever he’d been before Soldier: 76 had gone through a lot of shit.

With that being said, the five of them enter the plane - Winston, McCree, 76, her, trailed by Dr. Ziegler. Then the cargo doors are shutting and Tracer announces over intercom, “Should be there in a tick, loves. Be sure to buckle up!”

“At the speeds we will be going, buckling up is pointless,” D.Va says before she can think about it, smirking slightly when McCree lets out a startled laugh. Beside her, 76 shakes his head, fondly she thinks. “Not that it matters. What are we doing?”

Winston pushes his glasses further up his nose and lifts a datapad that D.Va only now notices he is holding. Dr. Ziegler takes the time to hand both her and 76 two granola bars - peanut butter with no chocolate chips, much to D.Va's disappointment - as he says, “I’m guessing you’re aware that I sent out a recall signal to all former Overwatch agents, right?” Everyone nods, D.Va included even though she'd only learned about it literally minutes ago, and he goes on and says, “I got a ping from Torbjörn - ah, he’s a mechanic, I suppose you would call him - that confirmed he would arrive as soon as he was able. It’s been several days since then.”

“Lemme guess,” McCree says, cigar in his mouth. It’s unlit, probably because of Dr. Ziegler’s narrow-eyed glare, one that the cowboy ignores quite grandly. “He sent out an SOS.”

“Er, something like that,” Winston replies. D.Va can’t read his datapad from here as he peers at it more closely and says, “What he actually said was ‘if you lardbutts don’t get your arses over here in five hours, not having my turrets aren’t the only thing you’ll have to worry about.’”

“That’s an SOS message,” McCree insists.

“Agreed. Where are we headed, exactly?” Dr. Ziegler asks, nipping the argument in the bud.

“Northwestern Russia,” Winston says.

Dr. Ziegler frowns. “That is not very precise.”

“Athena managed to pinpoint the location at which he was transmitting the signal. It’s not near any noticeable town, as far as we can discern.” Dr. Ziegler hums thoughtfully, and Winston adds, “I’ve already informed him it will take us some time to get there, but I have yet to get a response. Provided he does answer, we can track him as Lena gets us closer.”

“Won’t take long,” Tracer pipes up. She sounds bright and peppy as always despite the early hour. “I’ll let you know when we get within range, Winston.”

“Thank you, Lena.”

“Should we expect any resistance?” 76 asks, shifting in his seat.

“It’s likely,” Winston says. “From what I can pull from Athena’s conjecture, we’re liking facing up against Talon.”

Talon. D.Va feels as though the name should have more significance in her mind than it does currently, and a sidelong glance at 76 reveals hunched shoulders and a compulsive twitch of his trigger finger. Hardly noticeable unless you were looking for it, and with a small huff she faces forward again as McCree sighs and says, “Sounds familiar.”

Dr. Ziegler quirks an eyebrow. “Oh?” The question comes out like a command, which gets her a dry yet weary chuckle.

“They attacked a train I was on once,” McCree says. “Tried to get their hands on somethin’ or other. Couldn’t tell ya for certain. Had to kill quite a few of ‘em, though.”

“We don’t know what to expect,” Winston says, leaning back on his hind legs with a sigh. The datapad is set on a nearby chair; everyone eyes it but no one picks it up. “For now, we’ll go in assuming that Reaper or Widowmaker may be there, so be on your guard.”

“Widowmaker?” 76 says, arching a brow.

Reaper?” D.Va echoes, far more incredulously. McCree snorts; she realizes a moment later that it’s because she, too, has lifted an eyebrow, imitating 76 to a tee. She sticks her tongue out at him in retaliation, which earns her a wide smile.

“Widowmaker is a highly skilled sniper,” Winston explains, and then he looks just tired as he goes on, “Reaper is some kind of - ghost. He wields two hand-held shotguns, he can teleport, and he has the ability to temporarily have complete immunity to all damage.”

“His fashion sense leaves a lot to be desired,” McCree adds.

“You’ve never seen him, Jesse.”

“You’ve described him to me,” McCree points out, which Winston concedes with a nod, “And what kinda asshole wears all black with a skull mask?”

“It was actually reminiscent of a barn owl,” Winston says.

“Whatever,” McCree says, flapping his hand. “Point is he’s a wannabe Grim Reaper.”

“A Grim Reaper who can teleport and have temporary immunity,” Winston corrects again.

Whatever, big guy.”

“He sounds like someone who would shop at Hot Topic,” D.Va says with a grin. Predictably, none of the adults around her react to the name - well, Hot Topic had long gone out of business but remains the butt of many jokes on social media, so D.Va supposes she can’t really be all that surprised - and, disappointed, her grin drops and she sighs. “Ignore me.”

“Young people,” McCree says, shaking his head in a manner that comes across as fond.

“You are the crazy uncle that would show up drunk during the new year,” D.Va informs him without missing a beat.

“Ouch.” McCree puts a hand over his heart as 76 chuckles, just once. “Spare your thoughts for an old man, darlin’.”

“You’re thirty-seven, Jesse,” Dr. Ziegler says, mock-exasperated.

“That makes me ancient,” McCree proclaims, sharing a conspiratorial glance with D.Va, and huh. Maybe she’ll be able to get along with him after all, and D.Va shoots him back a smile.

“Focus, people,” Winston interrupts before Dr. Ziegler can launch a retort, and everyone falls obediently silent, save for Tracer’s absent humming in the cockpit. “This is an extraction mission, understood? Don’t engage unless fired upon. We don’t know where we’re going to be landing, but we want to draw the least amount of attention possible.”

“Aye aye,” McCree says, with that lazy two-fingered salute.

“Additionally, I will be staying behind in the Thunderbird, now that we have D.Va to provide some cover for all of you.” D.Va smiles when Winston looks over and meets her eyes. “Think you’re up for it?”

“I play to win,” D.Va replies, winking at him. “We will be fine.”

“Torbjörn will be safe and sound,” Dr. Ziegler agrees, though D.Va’s not sure who she is trying to reassure. “He has been through worse than this.”

Winston grimaces. No one says anything for a bit.

“Have you all such little faith in my abilities?” D.Va asks archly, though she is one-hundred percent kidding.

“Of course not,” Dr. Ziegler assures her anyway.

“Been a while since we saw the old coot, is all,” McCree explains, tipping his hat down slightly. “Wouldn’t be surprised if we get there and he’s bashin’ omnic heads in fer no good reason.”

“Jesse,” Winston says, a warning in his voice. “Talon is involved.”

“Jus’ a thought, big guy. No need to take it personal.”

“Torbjörn is biased, not stupid,” Dr. Ziegler reprimands. “Do not be so quick to judge.”

McCree snorts. “Like he ain’t ever judged me for being former Deadlock. I know I’m kind of an asshole, dead to rights,” and McCree ignores 76 hiss of language, and also how no one bothers to insist that no, he isn't an asshole, “But old Torby needs to realize times have changed. Ain’t that right, Lena?”

“I mean, yeah, but it’s Torby, love. He’s a right nice bloke, just a bit, er, misguided!”

“See?” McCree says like that proves his point, which it definitely did not.

Mein Gott,” Dr. Ziegler says with no small degree of exasperation. “You are all hopeless.”

The discussion soon dissolves into almost childlike bickering between the cowboy and the doctor. D.Va can only stare; these are the people who make up Overwatch?

“Some things never change,” 76 says, quietly. D.Va looks between Dr. Ziegler and McCree, and 76 shakes his head and murmurs, “Him and Torbjörn never did get along that well.”

How do you know - the words die in her throat when she catches McCree staring over at them, and she resolves to ask 76 later. Instead, she meets McCree's eyes and tilts her head, after which he looks away.

“Might as well catch a bit of shuteye,” 76 says in the meantime, jerking his head briefly towards the rest of the empty seats. “Wake you up if anything happens.”

“I think I am too jittery to falls asleep,” D.Va murmurs back, bouncing her leg.

“Try anyway.”

With a huff D.Va obeys, stretching out on the length of seats and, after a moment’s hesitation, resting her head on 76’s thigh, brushing her hair over left shoulder as she closes her eyes. 76 pats the top of her head before she can hear him shift to face forward again, and she must be more tired than she had thought because even the soft sounds of conversation don’t keep her from first dozing and then falling asleep.


“You two related?”

76 doesn’t react, holding himself carefully still with the ease of long practice; this has the dual purpose of not waking Hana up and keeping himself from physically reacting. Jesse is watching him with a peculiar degree of intensity, but then, he has since he first laid eyes on him and Hana. It’s more dangerous now with Winston and Angela here - just his luck that all of the first responders to Winston’s recall are Overwatch veterans, really.

“No,” he says, glancing downwards to see if Hana’s awake. She somehow looks less relaxed in sleep than she does when awake, and he still can’t really understand why his chest constricts at the sight. He’s a soldier, they’re going into battle (well, maybe not, but he’s learned not to hope), there’s a pretty good chance any one of them might die, and he doesn’t know why he would protect this girl until the day he died.

“Thought so,” Jesse says. “Don’t look anythin’ alike.” 76 makes a sound of agreement and resists the strong urge to somehow shield Hana from those prying eyes.

“How did you meet?” Angela asks, all soft furrowed brows and flawless skin and friendly half-smiles. She hasn’t changed a whit since he’s seen her last and it makes 76’s heart ache for better days.

“Ran into her in Hanamura,” 76 says, finally giving into the desire and brushing his fingers through Hana’s hair. She doesn’t stir - a testament to her exhaustion, her breathing soft and even. “Explained that she could arrest me, then decided not to. Offered to let her join me and she agreed.”

“Just like that?”

Not at all, but. “Yes.”

Angela lets out a thoughtful hum. “She’s very young. She told me she was only nineteen.”

“The South Korean military recruited her into the MEKA program when she was eighteen,” Winston put in. “She’s been deployed several times in areas needing extra manpower against omnic violence, according to Korean intelligence. Whether there was actually omnic violence or just the one giant omnic is debatable, but the point still stands.”

“Ain’t no delicate flower, that one,” Jesse murmurs, as if he hadn’t known all of that already. 76 knows the agents around him pretty intimately and he knows every one of them has scoured Hana’s file top to bottom at least three times.

“We can hope so, at least,” Angela says softly. Her face is impassive but her eyes hold a glimmer of sadness, when 76 looks over at her, and that’s when he knows she’s seen through Hana’s fearless bravado that she called D.Va.

The rest of the flight is relatively quiet as each agent falls back into their own musings, and 76 clenches the hand not resting on Hana’s head into a fist. He’d let these people down, once upon a time - let down the entire world, once upon a time. Now that he’s here, he can start atoning for his mistakes, and he lets out a sharp exhale as he lets his head fall back against the headrest. There’s not much give to it and he doesn’t close his eyes.

Hana stirs slightly beneath him, and he runs his fingers through her hair once more.

He would not fail again.


D.Va awakens to 76 shaking her shoulder and Tracer’s voice, with the pilot currently sounding less than happy as she barks, “Storm’s doing a number on the Thunderbird, Winston, gonna have to drop us at least a kilometer south of Torbjörn’s location.”

“I see you still have quite a few creases to iron out,” an unfamiliar voice laughs into - her ear. She has a comm on her ear now, and when she reaches up to brush her fingers against it she finds the smooth, hard plastic somehow pressed against the whorl. A glance at 76 reveals he has the same thing, and at her questioning expression he nods; he’s the one who put it in, likely as she had been sleeping. “Not to worry, my babies can manage for a bit longer.”

“He says as he’s pinned from almost all sides,” McCree says dryly. He’s lost the red poncho thing for a heavy black coat, not thick per se but compact, form-fitting, and heat-retaining, that much is clear. D.Va glances around and sees this is true for everyone, and that a coat of her own is folded up on her lap. “Any signs of - oh, sleepin’ beauty’s awake. D.Va, say hello to Torbjörn.”

Anyoung haseyo,” D.Va says, shoving her arms into her coat and zipping it up.

Hej hej,” Torbjörn answers, and then he grunts and there’s the sound of a hammer striking metal as Dr. Ziegler hands D.Va a pair of snowpants, similar to the coat. “She drives a mech, you said?”

“Yes,” Winston says. “She was the star player in South Korea’s first MEKA unit.”

“I am the defending champion in Starcraft, as well,” D.Va says. She has no idea if her comm is on, since it’s unlike any one she’s seen before, but she doesn’t pay much mind as she slips into the pants and finally into the boots Dr. Ziegler offers her. Everyone else is dressed in almost identical attire, save for Winston.

“Gonna be honest with you, girlie,” ah, so it is on, “I have no idea what that is.”

“Sounds about right,” D.Va says with a sniff.

“Any chance you’d let me peek under the hood of your mech?”

Jugeodo andwae.

“Language,” 76 drones, because he seriously has some kind of dad radar for this kind of thing.

“I’m guessing that’s a no,” Torbjörn says with a laugh, and D.Va, with one last warning growl, lets it go when the man drops the subject. “You lot any closer yet?”

“Getting there, love!” Tracer answers. She sounds jittery. D.Va would bet money it’s because she’s physically bouncing up and down in her seat. “A few more seconds, tops, then we’re dropping in!”

“Good. Widow’s not here, but I think I saw Reaper skulking around - djävla skit.” A cacophony of sounds, one D.Va likens to when her mech blew up yesterday, and then Torbjörn is yelling, “Dra åt helvete! I take it back, Reaper is here!”

76 mutters a colorful array of swears under his breath as the comm goes static and D.Va, being a saint, doesn’t say anything about it as she refuses the hat Dr. Ziegler offers her. Her mech will keep her warm; honestly, the coat, pants and boots are just precautions.

“Okay, loves!” Tracer zips in to stand amongst them, moving her goggles so that they cover her eyes. Her face is hidden behind a ski mask but D.Va can still tell when she smiles. “On your call, Winston!”

“Never used to obey orders just like that,” 76 muses, quietly enough that only D.Va hears it, and she sends him a confused look. He turns to meet her eyes, at least she thinks he does through his visor, and says, “Stay close to me.”

“Might not be able to,” she points out, which she is sure he knows, but she concedes with an “I’ll try” at his continued stare, to which he nods, looks forward again, and stands. She copies the motion and steps over to her mech, slipping herself inside and entering in the sequence needed to turn it on; a few moments later she waits in the humming machine, resting her chin on her hand and watching the chaos unfold around her.

Winston barely fits in the cockpit, which is a hilarious picture all on its own, but then he’s shouting that the cargo doors are opening and, just like that, D.Va urges her mech forward and off and, after a maybe three meter drop, she’s on the ground. 76 lands heavily beside her, with McCree, Dr. Ziegler, and Tracer close behind, and then she straightens up and allows Winston to access her mech’s screen to provide her with a visual showing Torbjörn’s location.

There’s a lot of snow ahead of her. “I can plow through this with my rocket boosters,” she says, assessing, gauging; this is similar to a battle she once fought against the giant omnic in the ocean back home. (She is not going to think about that right now.) “You should be able to follow behind me.”

“You know where to go?” McCree says, his easy drawl soft in her ear.

“Yes.”

“Lead the way,” Dr. Ziegler says, and D.Va feels rather than sees the doctor activate her staff and wings. She’d read about the Caduceus weapon and armor line before, but it’s a whole new thing when the soft silver glow surrounds her in halo, when her mech’s guns report optimal performance levels just like that, when she knows the doctor can follow her anywhere in battle just by thinking about it.

“Yeah, sure, just leave me to catch up,” McCree groans, and D.Va remembers that he doesn’t have a way to move quickly like the rest of them.

“Where there’s a will, there’s a way!” Tracer answers, a shit-eating grin in her voice.

D.Va merely shakes her head. “Buseuteo on,” she says, pressing down on the button, and she knows 76 is sprinting close behind her, Dr. Ziegler is flying alongside her, Tracer is zipping along in her path and McCree is taking off after them as fast as he can.

She breathes in. She watches her boosters burn out on her screen, shoves forward through the snow until they’ve recharged, goes again. The distance between her blue dot and Torbjörn’s red one grows steadily smaller.

She breathes out.

They can do this.

Chapter Text

It’s barely a minute later when D.Va hears the telltale booms from - shotguns. Must be Reaper, she thinks, just as 76 rumbles, “Sounds like Reaper is here after all.”

“Winston, what is the general plan of attack?” Dr. Ziegler asks. There isn’t an answer, even when Dr. Ziegler curses and tries again. “Verdammt. The weather must be worse than we thought.”

This is Overwatch?” D.Va wonders out loud, which earns her a resigned chuckle from McCree. Tracer lets out a full-bellied laugh while Dr. Ziegler just sighs, loudly, and 76, just at the edge of her peripherals, shrugs.

A bit further and they finally break through the endless snow to find a small hut braving the elements, forlorn and alone in the storm raging around them. Near the hut’s door is a stout red turret, tracking and shooting down operatives in black as they pop out of cover - made of metal crates, it seems, so out of place in the otherwise untouched terrain so they must have been brought on purpose - to fire upon it before retreating again. Six shots ring out and six operatives drop, and then heads start turning towards them and McCree shouts, “Let’s go!”

“Jesse, Winston said not to engage unless fired upon!” Dr. Ziegler calls, but the damage is already done.

“We should have waited to engage until we were all in position!” 76 growls in agreement, and D.Va grins; there’s the old commander again, not the dutiful soldier, as he lifts his pulse rifle and fires.

“Last I checked, you weren’t the bossman,” McCree drawls, and he accents this by reloading and shooting out another six, though two shots miss. D.Va activates her defense matrix and knocks away incoming bullets from the spared operatives with quick, practiced motions of her hands as Dr. Ziegler flits away to the cowboy’s location. “Besides, they were going to shoot us anyway; it was a preemptive strike.”

Tracer is suddenly right next to one group of soldiers, and the smile on her face is almost leery as she shoots three of them in the temple before zipping away in retreat. The one Talon operative remaining swings his semi-auto around wildly, only to be gunned down moments later with a few precision shots from 76. The man looks and sounds exasperated as he puts a hand to his ear.

“Stay close, Tracer!” 76 barks into the comm. “McCree, you need to cover D.Va’s left flank, I’ve got her right!”

“Don’t order me around,” McCree snarls.

“He has command experience, Jesse,” Dr. Ziegler snaps back, and her tone books absolutely no argument. “You said yourself he has the skills to back it up, and Winston can’t contact us right this moment. Now is not the time to argue!”

McCree growls, wordless, but obediently falls back, settling himself close and just behind D.Va’s immediate left as she slowly urges her mech forward. Tracer continues to rain havoc behind the enemy lines, many of whom are now turning towards their little group and assessing them as the more dangerous threat, and it’s then that she sees the one who can only be Torbjörn: a short, stocky, stout man, just like his turret, with pale skin and pale hair and beard that’s so long he’s able to kind of braid it into place.

“Target sighted,” someone says, and that’s definitely not any of her teammates because the voice is deep and raspy and extremely unfamiliar. It sends shivers down D.Va’s - Hana’s spine, and she bites her lip and forces her mind elsewhere until D.Va can finally focus and realize she has no idea where Reaper actually is.

He can teleport and he can have temporary immunity - and he’s close.

“We need to move!” D.Va shouts, and, not waiting for confirmation, she activates her boosters and charges forward. She can tell 76 is keeping pace and Tracer dances around her, adjusting her zips through space and time so she can best defend D.Va’s advance, while McCree catches any stragglers. Dr. Ziegler flits between the four of them, occasionally shooting with her free hand while attached to one of her teammates with her staff, and soon D.Va is close enough to plant her mech near the entrance to the hut. Close enough to defend; far enough that Torbjörn’s turret has room to aim and shoot.

“Sure took your sweet time in comin’, lass!” Torbjörn barks, wailing on his turret with a hammer. He only has one arm; the other is some kind of strange combination between cybernetics and straight-up mechanics. “Figured out where Reaper is yet?”

“Working on it,” 76 says, throwing down a biotic field and pressing a hand to his visor. His tactical vision activates and he guns down all of the operatives McCree and Tracer haven’t gotten to yet; a glance up, however, reveals that reinforcements are en route. 76 launches rockets at the closest flying transport as Dr. Ziegler dodges and rolls past Torbjörn’s turret and into the hut, McCree grunting as he fans the hammer and reloads his revolver, Tracer giggling as she goes from place to place, chirping, “Here you go,” and then a whole bunch of Talon operatives screaming as they explode up and out and there’s so much blood.

Hana watches it splatter on the frostbitten ground, blinking as she blindly fires towards where a bunch of operatives are taking cover. Her breathing is loud in her ears, suddenly, and her eyes are blown wide, and she jerks her head up to see one of the planes on fire and careening towards the earth. 76’s doing, and she can hear the shouts and yells and the stench of dead soldiers’ bladders emptying, and she coughs when smoke reaches past her filtration system and lodges in her throat, and -

she doesn’t realize how uneven her breathing is until 76’s voice comes into her ear and says, “Are you all right?”

No, she wants to say, like she never says. “Yes,” she manages, choking past the whimper prowling around her tongue.

76 doesn’t say anything at first, instead letting out a burst of bullets that takes down a Talon operative running towards them with an automatic weapon of some kind. Then he says, “We’ll talk later.”

“Yeah,” Hana manages, swallowing hard, and then her fingers tighten on the trigger and D.Va says determinedly, “How much longer?”

“I’ve just barely managed to raise Winston,” Dr. Ziegler answers. Her voice is calm and soothing and D.Va latches onto it like a lifeline. “He says Athena can’t detect any more advances, though she’s sending her drones out to make sure.”

“What exactly does Talon want so badly?” McCree huffs, ducking behind D.Va to take a short break from the action. She can’t see him but D.Va can hear him reload his revolver with ruthless efficiency.

“Show you once this is over,” Torbjörn says, taking aim over his turret. He’s finished repairing it, it seems, and D.Va spares only a fleeting glance towards his weapon, which seems to fire - molten ore, perhaps. “It’s important, though, as far as I can tell.”

“Yeah? You’ll forgive me if I doubt ya there, Torby.”

Torbjörn’s laugh is dark and biting. “Still got yourself a death wish, eh, dumhuvud?”

“Gentlemen, please,” Dr. Ziegler says sharply, looking none too pleased when both Torbjörn and McCree laugh, and then -

“Die, die, die!”

D.Va doesn’t even realize she’s slammed down the button for her defense matrix until she is suddenly aware of how fast her hands are moving to keep Reaper’s bullets - he’d appeared out of goddamn nowhere right in the middle of the battlefield - from hitting the people around her. It helps that McCree chucks a flashbang and Reaper stills midshot when it hits him, briefly disoriented, but she's aware she probably kept at least her and Dr. Ziegler from getting the worst of the hits. She’s always had good instincts, had to in her line of work, and she thanks her lucky stars for her foresight as she sags in relief, breathing out a mighty exhale that leaves her slightly shaky.

She has no idea what she would do if - if 76 had been hurt. She likes McCree all right, and Dr. Ziegler, too, but 76 - she’s not sure what she would do, she’s really not, and she watches with blank detachment as 76 slaps down a biotic field and lunges across the field, straight towards Reaper’s tall, imposing form.

Mein Gott,” Dr. Ziegler mutters; “He killed his own men, too.”

That snaps D.Va back into reality, and she chances a few glances around to see Tracer straightening up some distance away, frowning visibly under her ski mask; she’d gotten behind cover during Reaper’s massacre, thank goodness, but now all of her targets were eliminated for her, and D.Va can see her confusion change into recognition and then sheer fury as her eyes settle on Reaper, who is currently tossing aside his shotguns for a new pair, an eerie, deep-throated laugh shaking his entire limber frame.

“Haven’t changed a bit,” Reaper growls, attempting to shoot 76 point-blank in the face. D.Va grits her teeth when 76 dodges easily as if expecting it, swinging up the butt of his rifle in a move that would knock out any other person’s teeth; instead Reaper bobs around it, hazy black smoke slipping around the man like a phantom. “Didn’t think this one through, did you?”

“Shut the fuck up,” 76 growls, going for a leg sweep only to have his foot pass through Reaper’s clothes like there’s nothing there. Temporary immunity, D.Va remembers, and then she snaps herself out of her trance and tries to target Reaper with her fusion cannons. Tracer’s already darted in and engaged the ghost for just a moment, a quick flyby so she doesn’t run the risk of shooting 76 instead, but Reaper ignores her entirely as he takes the shots from her little pistols, focusing on 76 in front of him.

D.Va has never actually dueled anyone with her gun before. Watching Reaper and 76 go at it is like watching a dance, if a dance involved whacking each other really hard whenever the other left an opening, if a dance involved never touching each other and in fact doing everything in their power not to, if any dance could be as graceful as this - but as it stands, Torbjörn is cursing as he dismantles his turret before it shoots both of them up, Dr. Ziegler has attached a healing strand from her staff to 76, Tracer is zipping in and out to act as a distraction, and McCree has been oddly silent and still. His revolver is tucked into its holster but his hand is over it and his fingers are in constant motion, like a wave from his pinky to his index.

D.Va keeps herself in front of Dr. Ziegler, giving up on trying to shoot Reaper. There’s too much motion, too much stimuli, too much happening for her to focus and aim, and even the thought of accidentally shooting 76 makes her cringe - so she keeps her defense matrix ready and worries her lower lip between her teeth, unsure of what to do, unsure of what not to do.

And then 76 slips on a patch of ice.

Hana sees it in slow motion - his foot smashing down as he sidesteps a gun whip, the heel sliding out from underneath him, his arms compulsively cradling his rifle to his chest as he tucks his head in (not proper falling technique but the best he can do in his situation), Reaper catching the moving foot beneath him and raising his guns up high, his rasping laugh coming out full and gloating -

It’s high noon -

and Hana turns her head to see the quickest draw of a gun she’s ever seen in her life, McCree’s eyes narrowed and steady as his mechanical arm stabilizes his firing arm and he shoots a single shot.

Reaper howls. It’s ghastly and eerie and it makes Hana wish she had earplugs, but then the silence that follows is profound. The ghostly figure vanishes from sight in a swirl of black smoke and whirling snow, leaving 76 lying on the ground, staring up, as Dr. Ziegler continues her healing stream, the other hand over her mouth.

Hana doesn’t even think as she jumps out of her mech and darts over to where 76 is just starting to sit up, one hand cradling his chin. She’s vaguely aware of McCree dropping to one knee from where he stood, teeth gritted as he pulled his hat down his face (how was that still on his head?), but almost all of her focus is on the man in front of her as he stands up with a grunt.

“I’m fine,” he says to her, though he winces as soon as he says this. Dr. Ziegler’s staff may heal minor wounds, but Hana’s willing to bet Reaper got him in the leg somewhere because his first step is a limp. “You need to get back into your mech. It’s not safe.”

“Says the man who cannot walk without help,” Hana bites back, one of her hands under his elbow, the other on his shoulder. He leans on her heavily as they slowly make their way to the hut and she blinks rapidly when her vision blurs. “I will be fine. We need to get you inside.”

“Hana - ”

“Do not ‘Hana’ me until you do not run the risk of hypothermia,” Hana snaps, feeling her ears slowly go numb in the blistering winter wind. She should’ve taken the hat Dr. Ziegler had proffered her back in the Thunderbird.

76 doesn’t offer anything to that, merely accepting her help and grunting in pain every now and then. Torbjörn’s dismantled his turret so everyone can file inside the hut, and once Hana and 76 stagger in, he shuts the door behind them; once he has, Dr. Ziegler deactivates her medical staff to rush over, taking 76 from Hana’s arm and easing him onto a pallet on the ground - she must have prepared that during the time Hana had been helping 76 walks, she guesses. McCree, meanwhile, is hunched over by Dr. Ziegler's side while holding up his lighter to act as a light source, and Tracer, her chronal accelerator glowing, zips around. Hana would guess she is checking for supplies, though she’s not sure what the woman hopes to find in a small little hut in the middle of nowhere.

From the outside, the hut looked rickety and unstable; on the inside, it’s surprisingly well-insulated, though that’s not to say it isn’t cold. Rather, the worn wooden walls are thick and solid despite the worn-down look outside and the roof seems to be easily holding up the weight from snow, though that may be aided by a pillar in the middle of the single room. There’s a few unlit lanterns scattered about and thermal supplies in the corner, evidently dug up by Tracer, and all in all Hana could see how an agent could squat here for a couple of weeks if they had the food for it. They would only have to melt snow outside to get water.

“I recognize this,” McCree says dully after a few seconds of silence, during which Dr. Ziegler and 76 confer in low voices as she examines him. “Used to be a Blackwatch safehouse. Went outta commission the minute Jack got blown up.”

“You stayed here once?” Hana asks, and then frowns and glances over at 76 worriedly when he lets out a loud cough, but looks back over and says, “What is Blackwatch?”

McCree eyes her for a long moment. The flame from his lighter casts his face in a strange glow, rending soft curves into long shadows and hard edges. “You’re one of us, so I s’pose you deserve t’know,” he says at last. “Blackwatch was Overwatch’s covert ops division. Did whatever Overwatch couldn’t do legally illegally, that’s the general idea.”

Hana turned this over in her mind. Once, twice.

“It was in my history textbook,” she says slowly, recalling the details foggily. “But there was so little information on it that my professor only had a few test questions concerning it.”

“The way it should be,” McCree says with a sigh. Then he looks around as if remembering something. “Lena, you find it yet?”

“Still looking,” Tracer says, and Hana frowns in slight confusion.

“Should’ve just said you were looking for it,” Torbjörn says with an exaggerated sigh, toddling over to a tall shelf in the corner. He budges it a few inches away from the wall without struggle and there’s a thump as if he’s hitting something. Hana yelps when the floor shifts underneath where she’s standing, jumping away until she’s on solid ground and she can see the wood boards slide to reveal a staircase leading down. “S’what Talon was after,” Torbjörn says. He flaps a hand towards the dark depths. “Haven’t taken a good look meself, but whatever's down there, there’s somethin’ of value.”

“Much obliged,” McCree says. He goes as if to stand up but ends up wincing instead.

“Don’t move,” Dr. Ziegler tells him, flinty. “You know how Deadeye affects you. In fact, do us all a favor and raise Winston on comm. Athena has sent out more drones, so it should be possible by now.”

McCree lets out a prolonged sigh and puts his hand to the side of his head. After a moment, static crackles in Hana’s ear and Winston’s voice says, “Can you all hear me?” Various murmurs of assent fill the room. “Good. Talon’s backed off for now, but I don’t imagine we have a lot of time. Secure Torbjörn and get out.”

“What am I, chopped liver?” Torbjörn grumbles before adding, “There’s somethin’ here, Winston. We gotta retrieve it before we can go.”

“What is it?”

“Looks like some kind of data drive,” Tracer says, and Hana suddenly realizes the woman is nowhere to be seen - she’s probably down the stairs, looking around the tiny room. “It’s a standard Blackwatch bunker for interrogation, looks like, all the systems down and such of course. But there’s a little thingy here plugged into the mainframe.”

“I’ll be at your location in thirty seconds,” Winston says. “Is everyone able to move?”

“Got a splittin’ migraine but should be fine,” McCree grunts.

“76 has several fractures in his left femur,” Dr. Ziegler says, sitting back on her haunches. “He will be able to walk with support, though I will have to take a look at him when we return to Gibraltar. Not to mention,” she adds when 76 sits up, “We must discuss how your recklessness could have cost us the mission, 76. Yours as well, McCree.”

“I know,” 76 rumbles. There’s no doubt that he does, as Tracer flits back up the stairs with a small, black, rectangular thing in her hand, something she drops into the plastic bag she pulls from her waist. “Reaper - we’ve crossed paths. Before.”

Dr. Ziegler tuts at that as she sits back and rises to her feet. The motion is elegant and smooth and fluid, her wings flaring out with a soft orange glow as she stares down at him. “That does not excuse anything. And you, D.Va.” Hana flinches when the woman’s eyes turn on her. “I know you meant well when you charged forward, but you should have at least waited for confirmation before doing so.”

“Mercy,” 76 says, his voice a warning growl. Mercy? Hana wonders but doesn’t ask.

“Lay off, doc,” McCree rasps in solidarity. “Been a bit of a weird day for all of us.”

Hana releases a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding as Dr. Ziegler’s attention turns away from her. She makes a mental note to thank both 76 and McCree for their intervention later: Dr. Ziegler is scary.

“Do not tell me to ‘lay off’, Jesse McCree,” Dr. Ziegler snaps, bristling. “My top priority is the wellbeing of my patients, and you know all too well you should not be using Deadeye so flippantly.”

McCree mumbles something under his breath, wordless, instead of engaging in the argument, as Hana tucks herself under 76’s arm and hoists him to his feet. Torbjörn’s already opened the door to greet the Thunderbird as it drops down, not quite touching the ground and weaving unsteadily in the storm, and Tracer swings McCree’s arm around her shoulders and pushes him forward, leaving Dr. Ziegler to take up the rear.

Hana exhales sharply as she hops into the Thunderbird before helping 76 pull himself in. He’s safe. He’s injured, but he’s fine, and after she doubles back for her mech and she's powered it down, she looks around as the cargo doors close to see Torbjörn, McCree and Dr. Ziegler no worse for wear, visibly at least. Tracer has a cut on her sleeve that’s bleeding freely, though she pays it no heed as she trots to Winston and passes the data drive to him, murmuring something too quietly for Hana to pick up. The whole thing hadn’t even lasted half an hour. Somehow this makes everything worse.

Hana drops into the seat next to 76 and curls up next to him without saying a word, using his uninjured thigh as a pillow, facing away from the cabin at large so her face couldn’t be seen. Closing her eyes is out of question, not with the battle so fresh in her mind, so she stares dully at the back of the black plastic chair and tries to cast her mind elsewhere; usually after a battle she would drown herself in a more mellow video game - Journey has a special place in her heart, despite its age - but for now she just holds back tears and tries not to think of the number of people she killed today.

76’s hand is a soft and heavy weight on her shoulders, and it helps, a little bit.

Chapter Text

By the time they get back to base, it’s late afternoon, around seventeen hours. Hana disembarks the Thunderbird with 76 using her as support and then it’s a long hike to the medbay, during which neither of them talk much and McCree, Torbjörn, and Dr. Ziegler take turns reassuring a still-bleeding, slightly-hysterical Tracer that she’s not going to die. Winston stays behind a bit to finish up with the plane and possibly move Hana’s mech, she’s not sure, and then she’s shoved into a chair at the medbay as Dr. Ziegler herds 76 into an examination room.

She stares down at her feet as she kicks them back and forth, watching them appear and disappear from her vision, hands stabilizing her as they hold the edges of her chair as she focuses on making her breathing as slow and even as possible. Next to her, McCree’s kicked back with his hat tipped over his eyes, and across from her, Tracer is bouncing uncontrollably and Torbjörn is examining his mechanical arm.

“Y’know, I have to ask, Torbjörn,” McCree says after a few minutes of silence. “What were ya doing in Russia, anyway?”

Torbjörn looks up from his arm, lowers it to his side, and tilts his head a bit. “Taking an interest in my affairs, Jesse? I’m surprised.”

“Call it paranoia or whatever the hell you want,” McCree answers. “I just wanna know.”

Torbjörn grunts and resumes examining his arm again. “I’m sure it’ll come up during the debrief.”

“Still a bitter old man, I see.”

“And you’re still an arrogant dumfan, so I guess nothing’s changed,” Torbjörn replies, looking nonplussed but definitely not acting nonplussed.

Hana bites her lip as the room goes quiet again. She’s having a hard time believing Overwatch used to be full of people like this: she thought they were heroes, not people with petty arguments and bloody clothes and terrible headaches. And that’s the rub, she supposes - they’re people. Heroes, yes, but people underneath, and she knows that. She would know, after all; South Korea celebrates her as a hero, but she doesn’t feel like one most of the time.

“You were all part of the original Overwatch, yes?” she asks before she can think about it, and it takes all of her willpower not to flinch when three pairs of eyes settle on hers. She doesn’t wait for a response before rushing on, “Was this what it was like?”

“Like what?” Torbjörn says.

“Um.” Hana thinks about it, briefly runs through numerous words she could use, and finally decides on a dubious “Chaotic?”

McCree lets out a hum; Torbjörn just laughs outright. It’s Tracer who gives her a wobbly grin and says, “Well, I was only in Overwatch for a short bit before they put me in Blackwatch, but from what I can remember - it depends on the mission, is all. ”

“Never was in Overwatch myself, either,” McCree agrees, tilting his head forward. “Torbjörn here prob’ly knows best.”

“Aye, suppose I do.” Torbjörn nods thoughtfully. “Back when Commander Morrison was in charge, this place ran like a well-oiled machine. Helps that we had more members to balance our skills, too.”

There’s a brief bout of silence after mentioning the late commander. “Did you all get along?” Hana asks after waiting a proper amount to speak, remembering McCree talking smack about Torbjörn in the Thunderbird, remembering how 76’s leadership skills were undermined, remembering how all four of them save Dr. Ziegler took risks that should have probably been avoided.

“We all have our rough patches,” Tracer says, smiling still. “That doesn’t mean we aren’t friendly, yeah?”

“I mean, you saw what we were like in the plane,” McCree says. “Banterin’ like a buncha idiots. I know it don’t seem like me n’ Torby here are buddies, but in the heat of things, I’d watch his back.”

“‘Seem’ being the operative word - but I’d watch his back, too,” Torbjörn confirms, before sighing and saying, “’Course, in my experience, Jesse needs someone watchin’ him every second of his life.”

“Yeah, probably,” McCree agrees instead of snapping back, which is entirely out of character if Torbjörn’s expression is anything to go by. Hana’s willing to be it’s because of his migraine, and it’s a wonder he’s talking at all, really. “Lena’s job.”

“You were keeping an eye on me,” Tracer corrects, “Because I was ‘too goddamn unpredictable with no sense of self-preservation’.” She laughs. “I miss old Reyes every now and then.”

Gabriel Reyes. Hana recalls the name from her history textbook. “Did he not die when an Overwatch base blew up prior to its disbandment?”

“Yeah, he did,” Tracer says, smile dropping with a sigh. “Such a hardass. Things were rough before that happened.”

“Amen to that,” McCree says with a laugh, one that quickly turns into a grimace because, well, migraine. “Cranky old coot. Always meant well, though. Wonder what he’d be doing now if he hadn’t kicked the bucket.”

“Probably tryin’ to get into Morrison’s pants,” Torbjörn says with a snort.

Tracer starts laughing, long and loud, and McCree winces and covers his ears even as he’s grinning, trying not to laugh himself. Hana only stares at Torbjörn’s smug smile and, suddenly, a ton of her history teacher’s curriculum makes a lot of sense.

Chapter Text

76 exits the medbay while Torbjörn and Tracer are still snickering at the Swede's joke, McCree is grinning widely under the darkness of his hat, and Hana is staring into the wall, reviewing everything her teacher had talked about and noting every single instance where he had mentioned again and again how close Jack Morrison and Gabriel Reyes had once been. Everything makes sense now, she thinks with a detached sense of wonderment, only snapping out of it when 76 sat heavily beside her, chair creaking ominously under his weight.

“Lena,” Dr. Ziegler calls, not even bothering to come out of her examining room. Tracer stands up and zips in, the door shutting behind her due to the change in air pressure or something, Hana’s not sure, but then it opens again and Dr. Ziegler pokes her head out. “Torbjörn, you’re free to go if you wish; I believe your room is still open. McCree - ” and she tosses a small pill bottle that McCree catches, in an easy, casual way that suggests honed instincts rather than actually looking up - “No more than four per day, understood?”

“Got it, doc,” McCree says, as Torbjörn grunts and jumps off of his chair. He stands up with a grunt and says, “After you, shorty.”

“You’d like me to break your knees?” Torbjörn retorts, and then the door to the medbay slides open and shut behind them and, just like that, their dialogue is cut off and it’s silent. It takes a while for Hana to look away from the door and drag her gaze over to 76; everything feels heavy and glazed, and even the comforting glow of 76’s red visor does nothing for her nerves.

“How're you holding up?”

She draws in a breath and lets it out. Honesty, dishonesty; she weighs the pros and cons on an imaginary scale.

“Not so good,” she answers at last.

76 grunts in agreement. He looks worn out.

“We missed lunch,” he says after a moment.

Blood freezing on the ice, gas and smoke and stench in the air, hands clenching the triggers of her fusion cannons. “I am not hungry.”

“Gotta eat something. You’re still growing.”

“Women generally stop growing taller two years after their period begins,” Hana corrects.

“Brain doesn’t stop developing until your late twenties,” 76 counters. He makes a motion to get to his feet, and Hana bolts upright to support him when he puts weight on his left leg and winces. “’Sides, everyone else is probably hungry. Think we can whip something up?”

“I know I can, but I do not know about you,” Hana says, and she’s too short to provide support for 76 if he put his arm around her, so instead she kind of cups his elbow and pushes upward as he leans down against her. “Why did you not get crutches?”

“Can still walk on my own, just easier this way,” 76 says, which is a deflection if she’s ever heard one and also a lie because of how much weight he'd putting on her right now. It’s a long way to the mess hall, and also Hana had just left without Dr. Ziegler looking at her, but whatever. “Also, I can cook.”

She looks at him dubiously. “When we were on the run,” she says, “You made soup and put a lot of salt in it because you said, and I quote, ‘salt is a spice’.”

“It is,” 76 says. If it had been anyone but him, it would’ve come out petulant; as it is, it sounds mostly annoyed.

“Salt is not a spice.”

“Anything is possible if you believe.”

“It would not have been difficult to procure black pepper.”

“Youth these days,” 76 mock-grovels, “So particular.”

“Unlike you, I appreciate good food.”

“Harsh.”

“You put Sriracha sauce on your ramen!”

“It’s good,” he says defensively.

They’re still squabbling about ramen and what one puts on it by the time they make it to the kitchen, after which Hana sends 76 on a hunt for chicken while she grabs a pot and checks the fridge. She’s in luck, as someone had had the foresight to go grocery shopping; with a smile she nabs cabbage, onions, scallions, a few sweet potatoes (no doubt Dr. Ziegler had been responsible for this), though she’s unable to find all of what she needs, so she settles on tofu instead of rice cake and decides soy sauce will have to do instead of gochujang sauce.

“I need spicy things,” she tells 76 when he returns, dropping the sweet potatoes into the pot of boiling water, bearing - frozen chicken breasts. She sighs inwardly. Better than nothing.

“Salt.” She glares and 76 laughs. “There’s pepper in the cupboard, I think.”

She hadn't spotted any chili peppers in the fridge, oddly enough, so that would have to do. “What time is it?”

He must have a clock built into his visor because there’s not even a second’s worth of hesitation before he says, “Seventeen forty.”

“Defrost the chicken in the microwave, please.” She has time. Luckily, dak galbi doesn’t require much prep.

76 snorts. “Only because you asked nicely.”

She sticks her tongue out at him as she washes the cabbage, ruthlessly tearing it apart and washing it again. 76 leans against the microwave and keeps an eye on the chicken as she dices the cabbage, onions, and scallions, shoving everything into a bowl when it’s done, wondering briefly how she knows this recipe so well she doesn’t even need to look it up.

(Home alone again; a wide, empty house that echoes when she calls. Premade dinners that she ignores as she flips open a cookbook from her mother, grocery lists she leaves on the table to come home and find everything she asked for in place. At least she can blame the tears on the onions - )

The sweet potatoes are slightly undercooked when she cuts one open, unfortunately, so she puts it back and waits a bit longer as 76 removes the chicken and pokes it a bit before nodding at her; it’s defrosted. She hands him a knife and together they cut the meat up into small, manageable pieces, and she wavers briefly before tossing the chicken into another bowl and dousing it with soy sauce and pepper. She has no idea how good that will taste, but, well, she doesn’t have all the supplies she needs right now, so she’ll just work with what she has. Maybe there's oyster sauce somewhere?

“You’re going to stir-fry this?” 76 asks after the sweet potatoes are finally done. It’s a few minutes after eighteen hours, she’s pretty sure, as she carves up the potatoes and throws it in the bowl with the rest of the vegetables.

Instead of answering, she says, “Is there a large pan somewhere?”

Chapter Text

“I found Sriracha sauce.”

“I am not putting that in,” Hana hisses as she expertly jerks the pan back and up, the food inside flipping neatly in the air and sticking the landing. She’s been making the dak galbi in small batches so she doesn’t have to stress about a huge pan and so far it’s going pretty well. “You have no respect for food, 76.”

“Suit yourself,” 76 says, taking one of the plates she’s already prepared. Hana narrows her eyes at him as he upends the bottle, and she proceeds to make gagging sounds as he spreads the sauce liberally on his dish. “No sense of adventure.”

“I am already working with strange ingredients. Do not try my patience.”

76 reaches up and removes his visor with one hand, a surprisingly quick process despite the intricacies of the thing, leaning back against the counter as he grabs a fork and stabs into the stir-fry with it. His back is to the door, allowing him a buffer in case someone else were to walk in, and Hana rolls her eyes as he says, “I’m sure it’s tasty no matter how you swing it, Hana.”

Hana harrumphs, but she watches 76’s face carefully as he takes a surprisingly delicate bite. The man has two long scars that slip diagonally down his face, one past his left eyebrow that goes down to his right cheek, the other cutting across his lips, and she watches those lines flex and move as he chews, eyes half-lidded and slow-blinking. He's found time to shave, at least, and it makes him look younger despite the gray-white of his hair.

“Delicious,” he says after swallowing. “Should’ve made you cook more in the last month.”

“If you had gotten me the ingredients and equipment, I would have been glad to,” Hana assures him, smiling as a tight coil in her chest loosens, relief slipping coolly into her bloodstream. “I cooked a lot when I was in Korea.”

“For fun?”

“For myself to eat,” she says with a laugh. “Why else?”

76 shrugs. “Seems odd someone like you would cook for yourself, I guess.”

Hana’s smile drops and she turns away, busying herself with the stir-fry again. She’s sure 76 has noticed he’s overstepped a line he hadn’t known had been there, but for now she merely bites her lip and doesn’t think about how this dish had been her comfort food, especially after she had been drafted into the military.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” 76 says after a moment, “Where’d you learn?”

He’s toeing the line now, poking and prodding to see what was acceptable and what wasn’t. Hana is slightly amused despite herself, even as she moves the stir-fry around with her spatula.

“I taught myself,” she tells him, focusing intently on the sizzling food. She should probably have used more oil, and with a mental shrug she pours a bit more soy sauce into the pan. “Told myself that if I was going have a useful skill, it should be the ability to make tasty things.”

“You can pilot a state-of-the-art mech.”

“A skill that is only useful in times of war.” Hana dumps the latest batch on a plate and covers it with another plate, scooting it aside. Currently there are three other servings set out; she still needs two more. “My only other skill is my ability to play Starcraft, which is useless except in that very specific context. If I had not encountered video games and there had not been not a giant omnic attacking South Korea, I would be useless.”

“Video games help people develop hand-eye coordination,” 76 says mildly, taking another bite of his food.

“How useful,” Hana says, dry, cold, like frozen nitrogen. “You know I cannot shoot for shit regardless.”

“Language.” 76 sets his plate down, half-eaten, and she hears him takes a few steps towards her before his hand settles on her shoulder. “Practice makes perfect.”

“To what end?” Hana snaps, slamming the pan down a little too roughly on the stove. She takes a moment to even out her breathing before saying a little more calmly, “More fighting? I fought to save my people in Korea - my home - and still our MEKA squad was sent out on the military’s whim. I have killed and will continue to kill. I have no other skills to my name.”

She expects him to laugh, to make light of her situation, for she is far more fortunate than others and here she spits in its face - but instead 76 lets out a thoughtful hum, his hand squeezing her shoulder before disappearing.

“You’re still young,” he says, picking up his plate and fork again. She listens to him dig in as she flips the stir-fry in front of her. “Don’t assume your path’s been chosen for you already. A lot can change in a short period of time.”

“After whatever it is Overwatch wants to do, I will have nowhere to go,” Hana says bitterly.

“You’ll always have a home with me.”

The way he says this indicates he’d said it with absolute certainty, and when Hana jerks her head around to look at him, his expression looks grave and focused - blue eyes intent on hers as he sets his fork down. She turns his words over and over again in her head as she slowly turns back to the pan, and she can’t get her throat to open up after it had constricted so tightly.

Whatever she might have said next is interrupted when Torbjörn sticks his head in and says, “Is that food, lass?”

76 has fluidly turned-away-clicked-his-visor-back-on-clutched-his-plate-close-to-his-chest in mere heartbeats as Hana shakes herself out of it and smiles, a little forced, nodding to the mechanic. “It is a traditional Korean dish,” she explains, and then winces, “With a few twists, as I was missing a few ingredients. Would you like to try?”

“There is no universe where he would say no,” Tracer says, blinking into the kitchen and carefully picking up one plate in each hand. Hana still needs to finish up another. “I’ll take these out for you, yeah?”

“There are more coming.”

“You’re a doll, love - I’ll set these ones out and come back, then. See ya in a jiffy!” Torbjörn lets out a startled sound when Tracer zips by him and his somewhat-precariously balanced plate, but only grumbles as he toddles out of the kitchen, and then Hana is alone with 76 again and she’s dumping the contents of her pan onto another plate.

Neither of them say anything for a while, especially with Tracer zipping in and out to grab plates and presumably set them out on a table outside. Hana busies herself by placing the pan into the sink and opening a cupboard to grab a jar of peanut butter, along with a spoon, a banana, and the small bag of green beans in the refrigerator, and she’s tucked these under her arm and is about to leave the kitchen when 76 says, quietly, “You don’t have to.”

She knows exactly what he’s talking about, and for a long, long moment she stands there, facing away from him, trying to get her tongue to untangle itself.

“I would love it,” she says honestly, her voice coming out more as a croak, and she doesn’t wait for 76’s response as she darts out of the kitchen.

Chapter Text

Everyone shows up for dinner and everyone save Winston heaps praises upon her once they taste the dak galbi, which makes Hana duck her head with a small smile. McCree even slaps his hat onto her head while announcing that he’s found a worthy opponent in the kitchen, which soon devolves into an argument about how bad his food is and how wonderful Hana’s is, and - to be honest, Hana’s a little too overwhelmed to say much, so once 76 has finished eating and has settled at the table with them, she gratefully presses close, a happy smile on her face.

Home.

“I’m just sayin’,” McCree says, stabbing his fork in Dr. Ziegler’s direction, his mouth still full of sweet potato and chicken, “We need t’get more spices in that kitchen. Can’t make a good anythin’ without ‘em.”

“I see yer manners haven’t improved,” Torbjörn says.

McCree grins, slow and easy. “Least my bedside manners don’t leave nothin’ to be desired.”

Torbjörn gags, clutching at his throat. Dr. Ziegler smiles a pretty little smile that promises death. “There are kids here,” 76 says, visor as inscrutable as ever as he slowly shakes his head.

“She’s nineteen, she can take it,” McCree says.

“I do not want to,” Hana grumbles, which makes the table laugh, though it quickly fades as everyone continues to stuff their face. She feels warm, knowing her food is tasty enough for people to eat it so quickly.

“Can I get seconds?” Tracer pipes up, making Hana smile even wider. Then the woman frowns and asks, “Are there seconds?”

“You will probably have to make your own food, Lena,” Dr. Ziegler replies, glancing over at Hana and receiving a nod of confirmation. “You know you eat more than everyone else here.”

“Peanut butter sandwich it is!”

“Hey! Those are my jars of peanut butter!” Winston exclaims, lumbering after Tracer as she blinks into the kitchen, laughing almost maniacally. The bag of green beans Hana had brought and Dr. Ziegler had insisted he eat is held safely in one of his hands, at least. “Get your own!”

“The pantry is public space!”

I wrote my name on the lids!

“You’re too slow!”

Torbjörn laughs and slams his fist down on the table, rattling everything on its surface, and 76’s hand flashes out to keep Hana’s plate from tumbling into her lap. “Where is Reinhardt? He is the only one who would appreciate a Sonic reference.”

“Winston told me he was in Greenland and that he is making his way here,” Dr. Ziegler says. Her smile is a kind one, now, and Hana shoves another bite into her mouth and chews as the doctor goes on, “Of course, you know how he is. He comm’d us a few hours ago to tell us he would be further delayed because ‘justice needs to be served’ or something similar.”

“Nice to know not all of us have changed,” Torbjörn says fondly. “Hope his new mechanic’s doing a good job on his armor.”

“Have a little faith,” Dr. Ziegler says with a laugh.

“You’ve seen the way he treats his Crusader armor, Angel,” McCree says, and Torbjörn nods in agreement.

“That’s true.”

Reinhardt Wilhelm. Another famous name, and Hana rests her elbow on the table and props her head on her hand. Of the six founding members, one has returned, another is in the process of returning, three are known to be dead, and one hasn’t been seen ever since Overwatch’s disbandment. Then there’s Dr. Ziegler, who had been a part of the organization back then, much like McCree, Tracer, and Winston. All four of them had been highly decorated officers, her textbook had said that much, not to mention how Tracer and McCree had taken part in the infamous Blackwatch; it’s a sign of desperation that she and 76 are here at all.

You are the star player of South Korea’s first and most effective MEKA squad, she reminds herself, scooping up the last of what’s on her plate onto her fork. You are reigning champion in Starcraft. (Though that might not be true anymore?) 76 is an experienced leader and a good soldier. They are not desperate - they are recruiting.

“Mercy,” 76 says suddenly, the first thing he’s said out loud to anyone other than her all evening. Dr. Ziegler turns to him with an inquisitive look on her face, and he says, “Any chance you or Winston can get us computers?”

“I need it for gaming,” Hana chirrups, her plate now empty. She would take it to the kitchen but, from the sounds of it, Winston and Tracer are still tussling in there. “My fans likely think I am dead.”

Dr. Ziegler puts a hand to her chin, thoughtful. “I’m surprised Winston hasn’t requisitioned one for either of you yet. I would bring it up the debrief.”

Oh, right, that’s a thing that happens. It’s surprising that Hana forgot about it, considering she’s been in the military for so long.

“Acknowledged,” 76 says. He grabs Hana’s plate and gets to his feet. “It’s in the conference room?”

“Yes,” Dr. Ziegler says, looking faintly surprised. “I assume Winston will have us report there as soon as he and Lena are finished with their... rough-housing.”

76 nods and Hana is quick to jump up and patter after him as he makes his way to the kitchen. “Maybe I should call ya ‘duckling’, D.Va,” McCree calls after them, only to hold his hands up in surrender when 76, Hana, Dr. Ziegler and even Torbjörn round on him with a glare. “Fine, fine, I’ll lay off. Sheesh. Ain’t no one who can take a joke.” Hana can hear Dr. Ziegler beginning to scold him as they walk away, and 76 chuckles when Hana chucks the hat on her head at McCree before following him.

The kitchen is pure pandemonium when they get there - Winston is hovering over his peanut butter protectively as Tracer continuously blinks around him, trying and failing to get the jars out from beneath his girth. The beginnings of a sandwich lay forlornly on the counter, knife and two slices of bread and a jar of strawberry jelly, and 76 quietly puts Hana’s plate into the dishwasher and ushers her out before either of the two notice them. McCree and Torbjörn are making their way to the kitchen when they exit while Dr. Ziegler waits by the doorway, and she falls into step beside the two of them as they walk.

“You left before I could examine you, Hana,” Dr. Ziegler says to Hana as 76 leads them - presumably to the conference room? “You don’t appear to have any injuries, but I would still prefer to check after the debrief if that is all right with you.”

“Okay,” Hana says, because she’s not about to cross Dr. Ziegler anytime in the near future.

“Excellent,” Dr. Ziegler says with a small smile. “Come find me once the debrief is finished. I promise it will only take a moment.”

Hana nods. 76 doesn’t offer any conversational topics of his own, and Dr. Ziegler seems satisfied with saying nothing at all, so the walk to the conference room is spent in slightly uncomfortable silence.

Chapter Text

76, Hana and Dr. Ziegler are the first ones to arrive to the conference room, unsurprisingly. What’s more surprising is when McCree breezes in just a minute or two later, followed by Torbjörn, Winston and Tracer all walking together.

The seating arrangement goes like this: Winston at the head, resting on his haunches as is his prerogative. Tracer in the closest seat up front, on the left; across from her, McCree leans back, unlit cigar between his teeth. Next to him sits Dr. Ziegler, looking relaxed yet pristine in civvies. Across from her sits Torbjörn, or, rather, stands Torbjörn. 76 slips into the spot next to Dr. Ziegler and Hana fights the urge to take the spot next to him; instead she sits across from him, next to Torbjörn, who gives her a toothy smile before facing the front.

“I’m sure none of you need a recap,” Winston begins as soon as everyone is seated, tapping a few keys of the holographic computer, “So I’ll keep this short. Talon was after a data drive that has presumably been kept in the Blackwatch bunker in Russia for some time. We retrieved the data drive and I’ve begun looking through it - and I’ve found something I think you’ll all find quite exciting.

“But first, Torbjörn,” Winston says, looking at the stout mechanic, “Would you mind explaining what you were doing out there on the first place?”

Torbjörn shrugs, smiling widely. “I was on the run. You know how it is.”

“Actually, I don’t,” says Winston, the gorilla who has stayed in the same place ever since Overwatch was shut down.

“I do, and I don’t understand why you’d go to Russia of all places,” puts in McCree, the mercenary who has a crazily huge bounty on his head. “It’s as bad as it gets.”

“Maybe to the ignorant lot,” Torbjörn says with a sniff. This earns him a collective eye roll, but he just laughs and explains, “Basically a lot of people are after me so I can build ‘em new superweapons and such. Since I’m not about to do that, then or now, I figured I might as well start running about to keep ‘em off of me. Ended up in Russia when I got the recall.” He flaps a hand. “Took me a bit to respond, took me a bit longer before I realized I wasn’t going to make it here without help.”

“So of course you call us in at the last minute,” Dr. Ziegler says with a sigh.

“I was handling myself just fine!” Torbjörn says defensively, though he quails under the doctor’s sharp look and mutters, “The backup was nice.”

“So it took you a bit before you settled in a hut in the middle of fu - freakin’ nowhere,” McCree says, catching himself mid-sentence when 76’s hand curls into a fist on the table. Hana rolls her eyes so hard her head physically moves with the motion, and McCree cracks a smile. “How’d you even get there?”

“You’d be surprised how easy it is to rig up a snowmobile from car parts,” Torbjörn admits. “Fuel was a bit harder - ran out a few kilometers west. Had enough cold weather gear to last for a few weeks so I figured I’d keep moving. Stroke of luck that I happened upon the place.”

“I didn’t see any cold weather gear while we were bailing you out,” Tracer says with a frown.

“Bulky. Makes it hard to move,” Torbjörn explains. He shrugs. “When I called you lot, I realized I needed to keep warm somehow. Turns out down goes up fast.”

“That’s it?” Winston says.

Torbjörn nods. “You know the rest.”

“When did you know it was a Blackwatch bunker?” Tracer asks, leaning forward in her chair.

“You kiddin’ me, lass? Walked in, saw there was nothing there, knew right away it was suspicious. Bit o’ searching and I found the actual bunker mechanism pretty quick. Didn’t look around because who knows what’s in it, but when Talon showed up I knew there had to be something.”

The story is plausible. Hana sees no reason why the man would lie, and apparently no one else does, either, because Winston merely nods and picks up the data drive in question.

“Talon’s known about that particular bunker for some time,” Winston says. “Athena has been going through every single bit of data we can pull on the group and, based on reported activity, it seems they’ve been going there for a while.”

“So Torbjörn essentially stumbled upon a goldmine of information completely by accident,” Dr. Ziegler surmises.

“Precisely,” Winston confirms. He shakes the data drive for emphasis. “Which explains why they were so aggressive in trying to retrieve this.”

“They pulled back after I shot the Reaper guy in the head,” McCree points out. “The information on there’s important, sure, but maybe not totally essential. I mean, relatively? They gave it up pretty easily.”

Winston’s smile is strangely enigmatic, for a creature who was typically so straightforward. “Not essential, but it’s important, I promise.”

“You said something interesting was on the drive, yes?” Dr. Ziegler says as if on cue, the gorilla plugging the data drive into the holographic computer’s mainframe. “What was it?”

Winston doesn’t say anything for a while, tapping away at the computer. A few moments later it projects a blue-hued screen in the air, symbols and numbers flitting by so rapidly Hana can’t follow. Winston pauses it after a moment, clicks on a series of letters, and a new screen opens up to reveal - an ID of sorts. It’s in a language Hana doesn’t understand but the picture gives her pause. It takes everything in her not to glance over at 76, though she manages to appear to look at the ID without any outward reaction. She’ll ask 76 about it later; there must be a reason, or maybe more than one reason, that he’s hiding his face.

 After all, the picture looks exactly like 76 without his mask on, minus the scars, minus the gray hair.

“According to this,” Winston says, with a tone that is equal parts dread and excitement, “There’s a pretty big chance that Jack Morrison is alive.”

Chapter Text

Hana spends the rest of the debrief in a slight daze, doing her utmost to keep her gaze trained away from 76. If anyone thinks it’s odd how intensely she’s studying the holographic display, no one chooses to comment; in fact, most are too distracted to pay her the least bit of mind.

“Jack could be alive?” Tracer shouts, leaning so far out of her seat that there’s no doubt she’s definitely standing up.

“Jack died when the Swiss base blew up,” Torbjörn puts in, leaning forward until his hands are flat on the table. “There was nothing left.”

“I don’t know how or why,” Winston says placatingly, “But Talon has reason to believe Jack is alive and has been traveling around the world. His last known location was Dorado, in Mexico, according to this.”

“Can we trust this information is legitimate?” Dr. Ziegler asks as Tracer sits back with a huff.

“Considering it was under several layers of encryptions, I believe so. I was just as wary of getting my hopes up, but - everything checks out. Talon has been keeping careful records of where Jack has supposedly struck, and they do match up to actual attacks. The Los Muertos gang in Dorado were quick to announce a bounty for the vigilante that attacked them, at any rate.”

76 has little reaction of any kind to this news, despite everything - Hana can see several of his tics in her peripheral vision, but they are subtle, unnoticeable to the trained eye. He’s cautious and antsy and he wants out. There’s no doubt in Hana’s mind: she’s looking at a man who should be long dead.

“Not to be the one rainin’ on the parade,” McCree says, holding his cigar between two fingers, looking more alert and far less relaxed than Hana’s ever seen him, “But ain’t it a bit of a reach? Man’s good as dead. All of us saw the base in Geneva. There’s - the chance that he made it out is slim, that’s all.”

“I was at his funeral,” Torbjörn says. It comes out almost like a snarl. “Reinhardt gave the eulogy. You were there, Winston.”

“It was closed casket,” Winston points out.

“Because there were not enough of his remains for viewing,” Dr. Ziegler says, succinct and precise. She doesn’t sound cold, not quite; mostly she sounds tired. “Even with the stipulations in place concerning autopsies of those in the super-soldier program, I was still able to examine Gabriel. For Jack - there was almost nothing left.”

“Did you ever see these remains?”

“I - yes, of course,” Dr. Ziegler says, bristling slightly. “It was hardly recognizable, but what bits, what scraps that were dug up matched. He’s dead. We should accept that.”

Her certainty strikes Hana as unusual, given the uneasy glances everyone is casting each other. She doesn’t know how, but she has a very good bet that 76 knows why.

“Okay, so if he is alive,” McCree says, holding up his hands when Dr. Ziegler rounds on him with a poisonous look, “Hypothetically, theoretically, what have you - if Jack is alive, why the hell would he be strikin’ out on his own? The minute he heard about the Overwatch recall, he’d’ve hightailed it here, yeah?”

“He’s got a point,” Torbjörn agrees. “Jack and Gabe put everything into Overwatch, and most governments have caught at least wind of us. We should’ve heard from him, or he should be here right now if he’s still alive.”

Oh, the irony. Hana must fail at choking back her laugh because everyone looks over at her, and then she tenses up when 76 nudges her foot under the table with his because, well - what would D.Va say? “Sorry,” she says with a cheeky smile, patting her upper chest a few times. “Hair caught in my throat.” McCree and Winston fix her with identical confused looks. Torbjörn, meanwhile, shakes his head with a smile as Dr. Ziegler lets out a soft, lilting giggle and even Tracer cracks a grin - so Hana, feeling a little brave, tilts her head and says, “You know, when you take a long hair and it gets into your mouth? And then goes down your throat?”

“What,” McCree says blankly. 76 nudges her foot again and she briefly looks over at him and nods marginally.

“It’s irrelevant,” Torbjörn assures him, though he throws Hana another smile that she returns.

Hana makes a show of turning around as if to get the strand out of her mouth - ugh, she’s done that enough to know how to fake it - as Winston, amused, says, “Going back to Torbjörn’s argument, I think the fact Jack isn’t here is actually more telling. He’s clearly going around and doing what he thinks is right - apparently he’s also stopped a bank heist recently.”

“So he’s helping out in his own way,” McCree surmises. He frowns. “Jack never did like to work alone, you know? Still don’t seem quite right.”

“I am not sure if I can believe this at all,” Dr. Ziegler says dubiously. “Jack is dead. As McCree said, we’ve all seen the explosion site. Everyone in the facility, not just the high-profile Overwatch members, were killed.”

“What happened to your motto, Angela?” Tracer snaps, speaking up for the first time in a while. She looks furious, but at the same time - not? It’s hard for Hana to say for sure. “You were always the one who told us heroes never die.”

“That is different and you know it,” Dr. Ziegler says, steely.

“Yeah? Care to explain why, then?”

“I was not there during the explosion, Lena,” Dr. Ziegler says, and her patience is starting to wear thin, Hana can see it. “By the time I arrived, it was far too late. There was no way I could have saved either of them - ”

“So you weren’t there, so there’s a chance Jack is still alive!”

No, there isn’t.”

“Talon thinks so!” Tracer’s on her feet now, violently jabbing towards the holoprojection of Commander Jack Morrison's ID with her hand. Her chronal accelerator’s glow intensifies and brightens as she snarls, “Jack could be alive and we’re squabbling about whether or not we should be finding him? No! We should be searching for him! He would have come to us otherwise, he must have been stopped, or, or arrested, or - ”

Torbjörn snorts. “Jack is too good for the authorities to catch him just like that.”

“I’m with Torby,” McCree says, his gaze flitting away when Tracer turns flinty eyes on him. “The odds are not lookin’ good, Lena, and since when have we ever trusted Talon?”

“But what if he is alive?” Tracer says, her hands fisting on the table. “We can’t just - we don’t abandon each other! We’re family, we help each other when we need it! If he’s alive, are we really willing to take the risk of leaving him out there without - ”

76 stands up and, without a word, slips out from between the seats and makes his way towards the exit of the room. Hana, after a brief hesitation, jumps up as well, though it’s not until she’s trotted to catch up with him that anyone seems to notice.

“The debrief isn’t over, Soldier, D.Va,” Winston calls, sounding subdued and startled at the same time.

“Could’ve fooled me,” 76 answers, painfully neutral, and Hana can practically hear the collective wince that goes around the table. “Let me know when you all stop arguing about a ghost.”

No one moves to stop him when he palms the conference room door open, and Hana casts one last glance over her shoulder before she crosses the threshold after him.

Everyone is staring in eerie silence as the door closes behind them.

Chapter Text

It’s only once they are in the safety of 76’s room that he sighs and says, “Ask away.”

The room is color-coordinated, much like hers, though his is a muted green rather than a pure blue. There are signs of him here already - water bottles and snacks lined up on his dresser, granola bars and extra ammunition for guns he doesn’t even own sitting nice and pretty there too, everything in neat and impeccable order. Hana’s willing to bet his bathroom is spotless, with a toothbrush in a toothbrush stand and the tooth paste and floss tucked away in a drawer. Seriously, who even flosses these days?

As it stands, however, she tilts her head at him, considering. 76 has always been exceedingly careful about his own personal information, in fact she hardly knows the first thing about him despite traveling with him for a month. The simple truth that he is willingly baring his neck to her in this way is, frankly, a little daunting; Hana never thought she would have a person she trusted as much as him, and to know that that trust is reciprocated is scary. It’s an honor, to be sure, a privilege, but that doesn’t make it any less terrifying.

As it stands, however, she’s been given an opportunity, and even 76 would not be pleased if she squandered it. So she squares her shoulders, takes in a breath, and says, “You are Jack Morrison.”

76 nods. Two hands reach up to press the release valves on the sides of his visor; when it comes off, Hana is treated to startlingly blue eyes and a scarred visage that has become so familiar in the last weeks it doesn’t seem possible that 76 is someone else. Yet the proof is right there in his face, and Hana briefly flicks her eyes away, considering, before looking back at him again.

“Should I call you Seventy-six, still?” Hana asks, before musing, “Not that I could call you Jack in front of the others.”

Something in her words makes 76 physically deflate in relief, and Hana realizes with a jolt that the man had expected her to immediately tell the rest of their team members who he is. It’s… it’s a little insulting, actually, and she gives him a tight frown that he smiles apologetically at, so at least it’s smoothed over.

“Yes,” 76 says in belated answer to her query. “I’m not really Jack anymore. Different man, different morals, different goals. It wouldn’t be right.” He winces. “That sounded emo as hell.”

“At least you acknowledge it,” Hana says with a small smile, one 76 returns. It fades, though, as she asks, “Is that why you wish to hide the fact that you are alive - you do not want to resume the same role, because that is no longer who you are?”

76 nods. His expression is one that Hana would describe as morose, in an exhausted sort of way.

“Then why bother coming back at all?” Hana wonders.

“Can do the most good this way,” 76 says promptly. He sighs. “There’s only so much you can do as a wanted man.”

“McCree would beg to differ.”

“McCree can go jump in a lake.”

She snorts. “That I would watch.”

76 cracks a grin at that, and it strikes Hana that she’s staring at a legend - that she’s friends with a legend. This is a man who helped end the Omnic Crisis with sheer power of will and a motley crew of recruits; this is a man who ushered in an era of peace after the Crisis, who maintained diplomatic ties between countries at war and often sat at U.N. meetings and was so heroic the medals he had were innumerable. Commander Morrison’s death sent the entire world into silence. His name continues to be used to scare recruits and inspire them in the same breath.

And here he is: Jack. A man who was defeated by inside forces people have yet to find, buried under rubble in Switzerland and thought for dead. How long has he been on his own?

“Who is Reaper?” Hana asks, remembering as if in a dream: he and 76 had interacted in Russia as if they had known each other. 76 had even mentioned that they’d run into each other a few times beforehand.

“Gabriel Reyes.”

She… she’s surprised, to say the least. Not only because Gabriel Reyes, too, should be dead, but because 76 had so quickly decided he could trust her with this information.

“Even in death, you two are still fighting,” Hana says, and then smiles a razor-thin smile. “Ballads have been written for less.”

“There’s nothing poetic about violence,” 76 says, eyes on his feet. She’d always known that 76 was old, but it’s different when she can see his face, see the beginnings of wrinkles on his face, see how he lets his whole body uncoil and loosen in the safety and privacy of his room. He lets her see all of this as he breathes out a weary sigh and looks up at her with a smile. “Gabe and I never really did see eye-to-eye, even when he was Strike Commander.”

“What is he?”

“A ghost,” 76 says. He doesn’t look unsettled by this. “I don’t know what he looks like - I probably never will. His mask is bolted to his face.”

“It is bolted to his face?”

76 reaches up and touches a finger to the right of his forehead, then his left. Where the bolts are, she imagines, and she shudders. “That was my reaction. I recognized him by his shotguns.”

“Why would he - who could have - ”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” He shakes his head. “Maybe Talon. I can see why Talon may have reconstructed him. He’s effective, but expensive.”

“He throws his guns away when he needs to reload.”

“Exactly.” They both shake their heads at this, his fond, hers incredulous, before a comfortable silence falls. Hana’s mind is whirring along speedily, processing everything she’s learned in the past few minutes, and 76 gives her time to contemplate everything as she slowly settles on one last question.

“Why bring me along?” Hana asks at length. “Why ask me to join you, if you did not want to put an innocent in danger?”

76 is expressionless. He slouches over his legs and rests his elbows on his knees as he considers, and Hana studies what she can see of his face as he brings his hands up to his chin.

“You looked lost,” 76 says at last. He shrugs, looks up at her, and then glances away. “I know the feeling.”

Chapter Text

The next morning finds someone knocking on Hana’s door at the asscrack of dawn. Hana would normally ignore it, but even burying her head under the pillow doesn’t drown out the steady, monotonous pounding, so instead she groans, long and loud, and drags herself to her feet. She blindly navigates her way to the doorway and, when she opens it, she’s almost surprised to blink her eyes open and see the red glow from 76’s visor.

“Wake up,” 76 says, like the barbaric morning person he is.

Hana’s not sure what she says in response, but she’s sure it’s nothing good or intelligible as she steps aside to let him in before closing the door behind him. He has the audacity to flick on the lights and laugh as she hisses at him, one arm almost slamming into her face in her rush to cover her eyes, and then he gives her a slight nudge towards her bed and she stumbles over and drops into it. She huffs. Nappeunnom.

“You have to get up,” he says after a moment.

Shirreuh.”

“Everyone else is up.”

Shirreuh.”

“Hana, it’s past ten.” Pause. “In the morning.” Another pause. “You missed breakfast.”

There is no universe in which Hana could care less. She rolls around for a bit until her covers are kind of wrapped around her, almost like a blanket burrito, and then burrows into her pillow and repeats, with a tone of finality, “Shirreuh.”

76 lets that settle in the silence. Hana has a niggling feeling that it won’t last, but she’ll take what she can get - or so she thinks, right up until she’s just about dozed off and 76 rouses her into wakefulness again as he says, “They’re running practice simulations and they want us there in - ” And there’s a pause, like he’s checking something - “Ten. You gonna take a shower?”

Shirreuh,” she mumbles again, and then she shrieks with 76 reaches over, businesslike, and rips her blanket away. She is so startled that she rolls off the bed and hits the ground with a thump, though she’s on her feet in an instant and her hand goes for her handgun just as 76 reaches out and bats it off of her bedside table. She ends up taking his arm instead and twisting, serpentine, until she can throw him over her shoulder and onto the bed, and then she’s got her gun and - and now she’s awake. Dammit.

“You are the worst,” she tells him as he laughs, lowering the handgun and looking around for her bodysuit. She’d had the foresight to lay it out on her desk, at least, and she snatches it up and makes for the bathroom. “I will meet you in five.”

“Better make it three. It’s a bit of a walk.”

She grunts in acknowledgment, closing the bathroom door and shedding the loose-fitting clothes in favor of her skintight bodysuit. Then she shoves a comb through her hair as she brushes her teeth, breezes out to grab her headset and finding 76 had vacated the room, and when she exits and locks her door 76 inclines her head and they set off at a brisk walk. She does a double take when he wordlessly hands her a plastic baggie with sliced apples, but she nibbles on them nonetheless as they go along.

“Have to work on your gunmanship,” 76 muses after a few moments. “Hopefully they’ll be okay with us going to one of the shooting ranges instead.”

“Why would they not be?”

“As you’ve probably figured out,” 76 says, “It’s hard to get this team to agree on anything.”

… He’s not wrong. Yesterday’s debrief is a pretty good example of that, and Hana bites down on another apple slice, crunching thoughtfully. “I could do my damsel in distress impersonation.”

“We might just have to practice later,” 76 says. “Not like you have anything to do until your computer arrives.”

“True,” she concedes. They’ve made it out of the barracks and into the late morning air, now, and it’s a bit cloudy and windy, the ocean waves a bit higher and whiter than usual. She wonders if they have raincoats stashed around base, or if she would have to run back to the barracks outdoors. Why, if Overwatch is so advanced and amazing and awesome, are there not any tunnels or skyways?

The rest of the walk is spent in amiable silence as they enter the training ranges and the door slides shut behind them. Even from the entrance Hana can hear the other members of Overwatch already squabbling away, and she and 76 follow the voices until they reach a closed door and palm themselves in.

“Cavalry’s here!” Tracer shouts from atop a bunch of metal scraps, all the while giggling wildly. Her handguns are holstered, thankfully, but Hana notes with quick observance that everyone else is either partially behind cover or in a defensive position, so clearly something had gone down prior to their arrival. A few moments later the woman snaps upright and sees them in the door, waving. “Oh, D.Va and 76! Hullo!”

Hallo!” someone else says. It takes Hana a moment to realize it’s the mountain of metal scraps that’s talking. It takes her a bit longer to realize that it’s not a mountain of metal scraps - it’s a person. “You are both very small!” the person says, and Hana focuses in on the friendly face poking outside of the ludicrously large armor. His head looks small in proportion and she has to resist the urge to laugh, even while 76 tenses slightly beside her. “Have they not been feeding you well here? I will fix that!”

No one says anything for a while. Hana continues to stare, 76 slowly lowers his pulse rifle - and when had he raised that? - and everyone else in the training range seems to be suspended in an almost cautious silence.

“D.Va, Seventy-six, this is Reinhardt Wilhelm, a bit ahead of schedule,” Winston says at last, in a voice that sounds infinitely tired. “Reinhardt, this is D.Va and Soldier: Seventy-six, our newest members.”

Reinhardt laughs. It’s as hearty as his name, and Hana can’t help but smile in return.

Chapter Text

Reinhardt is a very big person. Hana, being a tank herself, is pitted against him as one of the first ‘practice rounds’, much to her chagrin, and even when she looks up at her MEKA she’s not sure how she’s going to win against him. He’s got decades of experience on her, for one thing. For another, her aim is not nearly as bad in her mech but it’s still something she needs to work on, even with such a large target.

Naturally, even before 76 could finish phrasing the question, Winston vetoed the idea of Hana and 76 going off to practice her markmanship and insisted that he and Hana stay for the team practice - so that’s out until later in the day. Why did she agree to this?

“Stay out of range of the hammer and be ready to dodge his charge,” 76 advises when she glances over to him before boarding her mech, knowing now, at least, that he’ll know quite well what each of Reinhardt’s strengths are. “Watch the barrier shield. Whittle it down with your fusion cannons.”

“Can it block a self-destruct?”

76 tilts his head, considering. “Probably,” he says, before amending, “If it’s fully charged.”

Hana nods. That’s something she can work with. “Anything else?”

A few moments pass while he thinks. “Earth shatter,” he says at last, thoughtful. “If you see him bring his hammer straight up over head, try to flank him. Otherwise you’ll be incapacitated for a bit.”

“Uh.” The how? goes unspoken.

“No way you’ll keep your balance, even in this,” 76 explains, raising a hand and giving her MEKA a quick pat. “Once you’re caught flatfooted, he’ll make his move.”

She chews her lip as she steps up and into her mech, absently flicking switches and pressing buttons and booting up the screens until it hums softly, awake and ready for action. 76 gives her one last nod before stepping off to the side, and then D.Va steps into the training range - a simple arena now, with Reinhardt on one side and her on the other, a few walls here and there to act as cover - and Tracer, sitting pretty on the viewing deck up a floor, waits until both tanks are in place before shouting gleefully, “Match start!”

D.Va begins firing immediately, mind whirring. Her defense matrix is useless against a hammer, so she deactivates it and allocates the extra power towards her boosters instead, nervously watching Reinhardt flick out the barrier shield and begin a slow advance to her. The bullets from her fusion cannons don’t seem to do much but she keeps it up, moving to circle around the knight and stay out of range.

She notes the change in stance immediately and slams down on her rocket boosters before thinking about where she’s aiming. Unfortunately for her, as Reinhardt goes flying towards her, she boosts directly towards him, and with a hissed sigh she braces herself for impact - only instead of being launched away from him, he catches her, drives her forward, and crunches her into a wall. She barely has time to boost away before he swings his hammer at her mech and “I thought no one was supposed to get hurt!” she yells, running diagnostics as she resumes firing at him. She gets a few solid shots in before the barrier is up again, and this time she can see cracks running along the glowing surface. Her mech informs her that it's fine for now, but even one more hit like that and it will quit on her.

“I will not hurt you badly,” Reinhardt promises, though it sounds much more ominous than she would like. He doesn’t seem to notice as he once again begins his slow advance, and this time, D.Va begins to shy away more quickly, occasionally stopping her endless fire to move away faster. She won’t be caught again.

So she thinks, until Reinhardt roars and swings his hammer and fire comes out of it. She tries to sidestep but she’s in the middle of firing her cannons; the flame hits her and goes past and drives her sensors haywire, something she ignores with gritted teeth as she continues to shoot. 76 hadn’t warned her about whatever that had been; she would ask him or maybe Reinhardt himself later.

She’s just about to quit shooting again to move further away from Reinhardt when his barrier breaks and he charges her instead. With a grin she rocket boosts out of the way and fires bullets on him, moving continuously as he abandons his previous caution and runs towards her, hammer swinging. He isn’t able to catch her - he gets close, sure, but he doesn’t catch her, and D.Va laughs delightedly as his armor chips under her endless rain.

It's all well and good and she seems to have an extreme upper hand until “You’ve heard of charge, now get ready for - ” and here Reinhardt swings his hammer high above his head - “Earth shatter!

D.Va swears and activates her rocket boosters full tilt, aiming diagonally but mostly left of Reinhardt. The hammer, when it comes down, cracks the floor with glowing orange, like lava, almost, and she can see exactly what 76 meant as she immediately opens fire again. Reinhardt charges her instead, and with a grimace she lets him crack into her again before she slams down the self-destruct button, ejects, and runs for the far side of the arena as the mech counts down behind her. She just barely swings behind a wall when the thing explodes, and she swears again when debris cuts down her arm and leaves a tear in her bodysuit and her skin.

But then it’s over. Reinhardt lets out a groan as Hana pokes her head out and sees him flat on the ground, armor looking far worse for wear, and then he begins to laugh jovially, and then he says, almost in wonderment, “Small and mighty! An excellent combination.”

“D.Va?” 76 calls, and Hana edges out of cover and gives him a slight wave. It should be hilarious how his shoulders relax in relief, but mostly she’s just glad she’s not dead.

“You’re gettin’ slow in your old age, Rein,” McCree says, to which Reinhardt laughs before cutting himself off with a wheeze and oh yeah, isn’t he really old? Hana steps her way over as her mech reforms and lands with a crunch behind her, and when she offers a hand Reinhardt takes it. Somehow she actually helps him to his feet, though she suspects he does most of the work as he huffs, hands over his knees, and offers her a grin.

“D.Va, yes?” he says, and Hana nods. “You are very strong for your age! I am almost envious.”

“Is it not time for you to hang up your armor?” Dr. Ziegler says, exasperated. She’s flitted over to Reinhardt by now, healing staff activated, and she puts a hand to her forehead as she sighs. “This is causing unnecessary strain to your body, Reinhardt. You need to be careful.”

“I can still match the youth!” Reinhardt declares.

“That does not mean you have to,” Dr. Ziegler retorts and, after a cursory glance at Hana’s arm, she waves her away. “D.Va, have 76 look at that. Reinhardt has pushed himself too far, again.”

“Understood,” Hana says, and it’s only then that her arm decides that yes, it is in pain, and then she winces and makes her way over. 76 places a biotic field down as she nears him and she sits down in the middle of it with a happy sigh, not bothering to budge when 76 takes the seat next to her, pulse rifle cradled in his lap.

“You did not warn me about the fire,” Hana says after a moment, a little sleepily; the warmth in her body, especially her arm, is making her drowsy.

“Forgot.” He shrugs. “I’m old. I forget things.”

“Not usually, you do not.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, and she can tell he’s smiling, and it strikes her that he's proud of her, “I guess so.”

Chapter Text

As the training goes on, Hana is paired up with everyone at least once, or put into a group with them at least once. The very last match pits her, Tracer, and Dr. Ziegler against Winston, 76, and McCree, which is not very fair in her opinion, but they manage to crush them anyway in no small part due to Hana’s defense matrix and Tracer’s abilities. Dr. Ziegler hardly has to use her staff; indeed, she focuses more on powering up Hana’s attacks and occasionally firing at the opposition.

“Getting too old for this,” 76 huffs afterwards, slinging his pulse rifle over his shoulder and wincing when it hits a bruise. Hana bumps her shoulder against his arm, grinning, and he shakes his head fondly. “Good job using your DM. Couldn’t get a hit on any of you.”

“That’s just because I didn’t use deadeye,” McCree complains, a bit petulantly.

“I did not have my mech explode,” Hana counters.

“And I didn’t use any pulse bombs!” Tracer adds.

“And I didn’t go all-out, and 76 didn’t use his tactical visor, and Angela didn’t use the full extent of her abilities,” Winston finishes, effectively shutting down the argument before it can begin. “Let’s go to the mess hall, shall we?”

“Is that where Reinhardt and Torbjörn went?” Winston nods and Tracer whoops. “Bratwürste! I’ve been dreaming of them for years!”

Hana, after a moment’s consideration, hops back into her mech before tromping after everyone else. 76 falls into step with her, as does Dr. Ziegler, who simply informs Hana that her examination yesterday proved that she was in good health before flitting after McCree, and then Winston somehow squeezes in next to them and asks, “How are you settling in?”

“A computer would be nice,” Hana says immediately, eliciting a sigh from 76.

“I did manage to procure two of them for you,” Winston says with a smile. “Swing by the conference room with me after lunch. But other than that, everything is good?”

“Rooms are good,” 76 says, Hana humming agreement. “Wasn’t expecting our own showers, to be honest.”

Winston winces. “We used to have locker rooms, but that was before the, er, incident, back in Overwatch’s heyday.” Hana burns with curiosity; she’ll interrogate 76 later. “Athena and I had some construction drones fit the rooms with showers shortly after I sent out the recall message, just to save us some grief.”

“You can just build in plumbing systems whenever you want?” Hana asks, eyes widening as possibilities begin to expand in her mind. “So you could change the color of my room?”

“Well, it took almost two full days of working, which is the beauty of drones,” Winston says, laughing, “And there were some mishaps before you two came along. We worked out the kinks, though, after Lena got here.” There’s a story there, and Hana makes a mental note to ask Tracer about it. “As for the color change - that would involve taking out your carpet and repainting the walls. Do you not like your room?”

“It is wonderful,” Hana reassures him, “But I like pink better than blue. As you can likely tell from my MEKA.”

A few more moments of conversation, during which Athena joins in from the ceiling and Winston confirms the construction bots can probably finish changing the color scheme of her room during the next mission, and Hana smiles delightedly. She can tell 76 is more than ambivalent about it all - not that he would ever say it to her face, but she’s sure he finds the whole thing shallow and pointless - but considering that’s where she’s going to be streaming, she wants it to be a place she really likes. Blue just doesn’t cut it.

Lunch is bratwürste, as Tracer had predicted, and by the time Hana slips out of her mech and into a spot next to 76, the pilot has already stuffed her mouth full, somehow continuing to talk animatedly to another woman who introduces herself as Brigitte, Reinhardt’s mechanic. Reinhardt himself is nowhere to be seen, but Hana can hear his booming voice from the kitchen, occasionally joined by Torbjörn’s gruff laughter, and everyone else is already digging in by the time Reinhardt himself shows and sets a plate in front of her. He does it with enough force that the entire table shakes, but no one seems to notice.

“Try updog!” he declares, giving Hana a hearty pat that makes her wheeze. “It will make you bigger!”

Hana frowns, staring at her plate, before looking up at Reinhardt again. She’s… not sure if she’s missing a cultural cue here? Is that what they call bratwursts in German - but wait, isn't ‘bratwurst’ a German word? “What’s updog?”

The collective table groans, 76 included. Reinhardt, meanwhile, starts laughing so hard Hana thinks he’s going to suffocate. Torbjörn, from the kitchen, guffaws. Hana furrows her brow as she considers what she just said, but it seemed like a legitimate question - is there a wordplay she missed? The man is aware that English isn’t her first language, right?

“It’s - ” and here 76 lets out a long-suffering sigh - “It’s a joke. People used to say ‘what’s up, dog’ to friends. That’s the joke.”

All of her time in chatrooms and Hana had never once encountered the phrase. Then again, many of the chatrooms she has been in use Korean, and when she had acted in a movie a year or so back, the English-speaking employees had always addressed her stiffly as ‘Ms. Song’ and never greeted her informally. She supposes she doesn’t have the best grasp of English slang yet and glances around the table.

“Does he do this to everybody?” she asks. She’s answered in more groans while Reinhardt, having recovered his composure slightly and reduced to only chuckles, is set off again. By this time, Torbjörn is close enough to catch the question and joins his friend in laughter.

“They get worse,” Brigitte informs her gravely.

“No,” Hana says incredulously.

“Yes,” Dr. Ziegler intones, with the air of someone who has Seen Some Shit. There’s a moment of silence - Hana suspects it is likely for something related to terrible jokes that happened in the past, so she doesn’t interrupt, merely taking a bite of a bratwurst with a stab of sauerkraut and a shred of bread. Afterwards, the doctor says in an exasperated voice, “Another thing Reinhardt should consider retiring.”

“No appreciation for the classics!” Reinhardt nearabout roars, completely unperturbed as he stabs into his own bratwurst. It’s a bit violent, not nearly as bad as Dr. Ziegler but still pretty exciting, and soon Torbjörn chimes in agreement and it dissolves into a friendly not-quite argument that consumes the whole table, save Hana and 76. She’s content to listen, eating quietly with 76 solid and sure at her side.

Then she hears Athena’s voice, artificial and calm, and everyone stills as she says, “I am sorry to interrupt, but we have two unidentified figures approaching from the cliffs. It might be prudent to greet them.”

Chapter Text

The reaction is immediate: everyone stuffs one last bite in before rising and racing out towards the coordinates Athena is rattling at them from above, 76 waiting for Hana to get into her mech before taking off at a dead sprint, Hana activating her rocket boosters to keep up, everyone else either instinctively getting out of their way. For all of their squabbling, these people know how to work together, and now it’s up to Hana to figure out how to fit herself in their well-oiled machine.

On the plus side, Hana thinks with no small sense of glee, she and 76 are easily the fastest people in Overwatch (if one discounted Tracer's blinking), a fact that is further proved when Dr. Ziegler occasionally flits up to 76 to stay close to the main group. Pretty soon they’ve pulled quite a bit further ahead than everyone else, and they are thus the first to arrive at the coordinates whereupon they both stop and wait and watch the two approaching figures hold their arms up in a pacifying gesture.

“Do you recognize them?” Hana asks in their temporary privacy, squinting. The strangers have scaled the cliffs somehow, or they went down the cliffs, whatever the word is, and all she can see is glowing green from one of them while the other floats in midair. Their profiles look distinctly omnic, hard edges where it should be soft and curves where it should be sharp.

“Recognize the one on the left,” 76 says. The red glow of his visor has thinned out and she realizes a moment later it must have zoomed in for him; she quickly adjusts her MEKA to do the same for her, but she still doesn’t recognize the two omnics approaching. She’s not too good at identifying omnic models from each other, anyway. “Green guy is Genji Shimada. He was in Overwatch before.”

“He is not like any omnic I have ever seen.”

“He’s not fully omnic.” He doesn’t need to turn his head to see her give him a look. “It’s complicated. Ask Angela when you can.”

“Fine.” She will let it go for now. “What about the other one?”

“Couldn't say. Same model as Mondatta.” She knows who that was, at least, and now she can see the resemblance. “Couldn’t begin to guess what their agenda is. Genji I remember was angry all the time, especially at Overwatch itself. Surprised he came back willingly.”

“We will have to wait and see.”

“Guess so.”

At this point Dr. Zeigler flies up to 76, and she settles on the ground with a few quick steps before pausing and saying, “Is that Genji?”

“Who?” 76 says without missing a beat. Well, there’s a reason he hasn’t been found out yet, Hana supposes.

As it is, Dr. Ziegler doesn’t answer, instead replacing her staff to her back and deactivating most features of her Valkyrie suit. Presumably Genji and his friend put their arms down as she walks forward, and once they meet about halfway they confer in low voices, too low for Hana’s mech to catch despite her tuning its sensors in their direction. Either out of respect or kindness neither she nor 76 get any closer, and the rest of the team, when they catch up, follow their lead; they don’t have to wait long, though, before Dr. Ziegler’s leading Genji and friend towards them, and she’s smiling, which is a good sign.

“Genji!” Tracer shouts, and Hana hears Genji grunt when, one blink later, he’s been tackled to the ground. His voice is recognizable as human but it sounds mechanical, whirring in the back of his throat, and when he laughs, it’s just a bit robotic. “You made it!”

“Yes,” he says in response, definitely accented. Hana pinpoints it immediately as Japanese, though his name had given that away early on. “It was a bit of a hike.” His head turns to focus a green slit on the gathered members of Overwatch once he is standing, each showing varying degrees of excitement, and he remarks, “Seems we are a bit slow to the party.”

“In no small part due to lack of speed,” the omnic next to him says. Something in his voice makes Hana think of hands on her shoulders and the warmth of being inside her mech, strangely calming but so very artificial. “My apologies.”

… She hears a huff behind her. When she activates her rear-facing cameras, she sees Torbjörn stomping off towards the mess hall again, grumbling under his breath; she doesn’t know the man very well and can’t recall much from her history textbook, so she’ll probably have to ask someone about it later. Add that to the list of things that need to be squared away, she thinks dryly.

“This is a surprise,” Winston says, lumbering over to the two, Tracer and Dr. Ziegler stepping aside. “You should’ve comm’d, Genji - we would have prepared a bit more of a formal welcome than this.”

“I do not mind,” Genji assures him, before adding a little bashfully, “I may have broken the comm by accident.” The omnic beside him lets out a gentle chuckle and Genji ducks his head.

“Either way, it is good to see you, Genji!” Reinhardt says as Winston sighs, exasperated but fond.

“Been quite some time,” McCree agrees, tipping his hat towards them. “Who’s yer friend?”

“Ah, yes. Master, these are my former teammates.” Genji points to each in turn. “You’ve met Angela already, but this is Lena, Winston, Reinhardt, and McCree. Overwatch, this is Zenyatta, a Shambali monk from Nepal.”

“Peace be with you,” Zenyatta says, receiving nods and the phrase repeated back to him before turning to Hana. “You did not introduce these two.”

“D.Va,” Hana says with a smile, quickly slipping out from her mech to allow the two newcomers to see her. “It is wonderful to meet you.”

“Soldier: Seventy-six,” 76 says with a curt nod. He’s watching Genji closely, likely because Genji is still staring Hana down for some reason, as Zenyatta greets them both with a regal nod and a murmured peace be with you.

“Genji Shimada,” the cyborg says, sketching a short bow, one that Hana instinctively copies, and that is that.

Seeing as this is a team of people who regularly do rigorous work, the focus soon turns back to the food that had been abandoned back in the mess hall, and quickly the whole group begins to migrate back that way through the Watchpoint. Hana is surprised when Genji chooses to walk alongside her and her stomping MEKA, and 76, out of politeness she would guess, pulls ahead to speak with Zenyatta.

“I am sorry if this may seem intrusive,” Genji says, “But you are the same D.Va who plays Starcraft, yes?”

“Yes,” she says with a grin. “You have heard of me?”

“I was afraid you had died,” he says frankly, and she frowns sharply as he points out, “You haven’t streamed in over a month. Your fan blog has received more traffic in the past week than it has in its entire lifetime.”

“I was worried about that,” she says with a sigh, “But I will have a computer soon. Once I can get some equipment, I can assure everyone that I am still alive.” Then she realizes something and she feels her lips curl upward as she says, “You watch my streams?”

“I have ever since you started making waves in the Starcraft community,” Genji says, with a seriousness that makes her laugh. “May I have your autograph?”

It doesn’t seem like a good time to indulge a fan, but at the same time, when will it ever be a good time, now that she’s here? “Of course,” she says with a widening smile, and though she can’t see his face, she’s sure he’s smiling as well.

Chapter Text

Lunch finishes up easily given Genji and Zenyatta both politely decline the option of food, and Hana is more than delighted to find that Genji is well-versed in video games, though his tastes are a bit more rustic, given he has almost twenty years on her. She doesn’t miss how people watch her as she and the cyborg chatter animatedly at each other; this is the most she’s spoken in the past month, the most anyone’s heard her say since she’s arrived here just a few days ago. Still, she and Genji quickly leave everyone behind with their fast-paced gamer lingo, and soon even 76 loses most interest and listens instead to the enthralling discussion of whether yellow peaches are better or worse than white ones.

(Meanwhile, Dr. Ziegler puts her head in her hands.)

It’s also helpful because Genji and Tracer are longtime friends - impossible not to be when they’ve fought side-by-side, when they’ve saved each other’s lives, when they’ve watched each other’s backs as only the two fastest and most lethal members of Blackwatch can - which means Hana gets to know Tracer a bit better. Indeed, she is regaled with stories of how the two of them, taking point at Reyes’ order, would disappear for minutes at a time, only to reappear with blood on Genji’s sword and a feral smile on Tracer’s face; it’s interesting in a morbid way, and it gives Hana an opportunity to describe her own missions on her MEKA squad, though she omits any and all missions that involved shooting down actual, live people.

“It is an unfortunate fact that peace is often achieved through violent means,” Genji says at some point, hands folded neatly in front of him on the table. He is deathly still in a way only omnics can be, though the gestures he has made while speaking are humanlike in nature; it’s interesting to see how a conglomeration of the two leads to something distinctly different from both, yet so eerily similar. “Both Overwatch and Blackwatch were proof of that.”

Tracer tilts her head, comically childlike, and for the first time since meeting her, Hana has to wonder just how much brutality her bright smile hides. “S’that what Zenyatta thinks? Seems a bit contrary.”

“I believe we can achieve harmony with humanity if we speak to them and allow them to see that omnics do not mean harm,” Zenyatta says out of nowhere; apparently he too is no longer interested in the great peach debate, and Hana had noted his change in position when it had happened - he is now floating over the table, just a centimeter or two above its surface - but he had remained so quiet she hadn’t expected him to speak.

“I feel that would not be possible in some areas,” Hana says, thinking of South Korea, thinking of how the giant omnic in the sea destroyed lives, destroyed people’s faith in their robotic compatriots, destroyed everything Hana had once held to be true. She agrees with Genji; she is young, sure, but like she constantly tells 76, she is no child and no innocent in the face of war.

“In present circumstances, it is possible, if one tries,” Zenyatta says, with the serenity of someone who knows what they are talking about, somehow not condescending but terribly, awfully close.

“He is very stubborn,” Genji explains, a bit unnecessarily. If Hana could see his face, she’s sure his lips would be twisted into a wry smile. “You have him to thank for my mellowness, Lena.”

“I was wondering about that,” Tracer says with an arched brow. “Before, it was all ‘honor’ and ‘stupid brother' and 'I am a living weapon’ and ‘raugh’!” She accompanies this with her arms and hands in the air, flexing her fingers as though she is a giant cat and they are claws. It makes Genji laugh and several lights on Zenyatta’s head to glow, something Hana tucks away in her memory. “I’m surprised! Pleased, don’t get me wrong, but surprised. Thought you’d gone to off your brother, but Winston says Hanzo’s still alive and kickin’.”

“I have forgiven him,” Genji says, and Hana has no idea what’s going on but she thinks she is missing a vital piece of information somewhere. “He had no choice, and even if he had let me live, I believe Talon would have found me eventually. It is not ideal, but in some ways, I am grateful for what has happened.”

Tracer stands and zips around the table until she can settle her arms around Genji in a loose hug, smushing her cheek against where his would be. It looks like it hurts her a little bit, and Genji makes a show of trying to escape until Tracer knocks the side of his head and he laughs. “I’m proud of ya, Genj! Still pissed off at Hanzo, though.”

“I hate him, too,” McCree calls, briefly breaking off from his tirade against white peaches before being promptly drawn in when Reinhardt takes the opportunity to start talking again.

“It is unnecessary, Jesse,” Genji calls back, to which McCree flaps a dismissive hand and Tracer chuckles. She’s already back in her seat, and Genji turns back to her. “My master had no small role in showing me how to be who I am now. He is the one who found me and consoled me when I was wandering, conflicted and confused.”

“Chaos and harmony must exist in equal balance for tranquility,” Zenyatta says with a marginal tilt of his head. It seems like he’s staring right at Hana, and suddenly she’s forced her mind away from blood and frozen snow and 76 slipping and towards the empty plate now in front of her. He doesn’t need to know about her mental battles, the ones she fights when she’s alone and it’s dark.

“Genji mentioned you were a Shimbali monk?” Tracer says, thankfully, all attention now on the floating omnic. She doesn’t wait for a response before her smile drops and she says, “I really looked up to Mondatta. I’m sorry I couldn’t save him.”

“The world is less for his passing; I miss him greatly,” Zenyatta says, before his faceplate turns away Hana’s face and instead regards Tracer’s. “But it is not your fault he has left us.”

Tracer’s grin is thin-lipped and tight. She has her own mental battles, Hana thinks, and Zenyatta lets it go. “D.Va,” 76 says quietly, as if on cue, and Hana looks over to see Winston standing by one of the exits of the mess, waving them over. She nods and 76 stands, her following suit as she looks towards her eating companions.

“It was an honor to meet you both,” she says with a smile, settling her plate on top of 76’s and sliding it towards Tracer when the woman offers a hand. “I look forward to speaking to you in the future.”

“As am I,” Zenyatta says.

“Me as well,” Genji says, before he briefly looks after 76 and asks, “Is Soldier your father?”

“No,” Hana says, but she hesitates. He’s not her father, but he’s - something. She trusts him, and that’s not an easy thing to gain; she’s learned to keep her cards close to her chest. “It is… complicated. I will tell you the story later, if you would like.”

“If you do not mind,” Genji says. Zenyatta doesn’t respond, but Tracer looks visibly interested.

“Of course.” She gives them a slight wave before she trots over and catches up to 76, nudging him with a fist before falling into step beside him. He puts a hand on her shoulder and leaves it there, and then Winston’s chattering about something as they follow him to the conference room. Hana lets out a breath when they're out of sight from the mess, feeling as though she’s been picked apart on an examining table; socializing takes a lot out of her, and even though she loved talking to Genji, it’s something of a relief to be with 76 again.

Winston gives them both their computers, slim holotops with an extra processing unit and mouse for Hana (to which she tackles Winston in a hug, as best as a nineteen year-old girl can tackle a huge gorilla in a hug), and then she follows 76 past the mess hall and to their rooms, and then she comments, “Torbjörn did not seem keen to greet Genji or Zenyatta.”

“He doesn’t like omnics,” 76 says. They’re outside of Hana’s room, paused by her question. “Never trusted them to begin with. Doesn’t help with what happened in Boklovo; Titan-class omnic almost destroyed the city,” he explains at her look.

“Genji is not fully an omnic, though.”

76 shrugs. “Still an omnic in his mind. Only Genji and Angela knows how much of him is organic, and she’s not keen on sharing.”

Hana puffs out her cheeks, blowing air out so it whistles between her teeth. “I can understand his viewpoint,” she says after a moment, “But it still seems unfair. Mondatta was an international figure - even I knew about him. Would Torbjörn have killed him, had he the chance?”

“Honestly? Yes.” Hana’s eyes widen briefly at the frankness of his voice before swinging her gaze to 76, who is fixing her with a steady, glowing red stare. “He always thought it was best to kill them before they stabbed you in the back. Could never make him change his mind. No reason to, at least during the Omnic Crisis.”

She’s quiet for a while.

“Should we warn Genji and Zenyatta?” she asks at last.

“Genji already knows,” 76 says with a tilt of his head. “Blackwatch, remember - him and Tracer and McCree. They’ll watch out for each other. Always have.”

“Torbjörn seemed nice,” Hana says, still perturbed.

“What is it they say - ‘hate the sin, love the sinner’?” 76 sighs. “Can’t deny his abilities, Hana. Can’t deny his character. He means well, but justice is defined by the hand that holds it.”

He’s right. It doesn’t make her feel better, and eventually she just shakes her head and says, “If anyone needs me, I will be informing my fans that I am not dead.”

“Acknowledged,” 76 says, before patting her on the shoulder again and saying, “We all have our flaws. You and I both know this. At some point, you’ll have to accept him for who he is, if we want Overwatch to operate as a team.”

“Yeah, okay, dad,” she says with a smile, and he laughs quietly before he goes to the neighboring door. She doesn’t wait for him to enter before slipping into her own room, sweeping Tracer’s borrowed clothes off of her desk’s surface (and she’s given up on shopping - she’s just going to order online after this) and setting up her holotop with the processing core and the mouse. Minutes later she’s downloaded the systems and applications she’ll need to stream and, soon enough -

“D.Va online,” she says with a grin, giving the camera a cheeky wave. The chatbox explodes; she watches it with something like glee. “Did you all miss me?”

Chapter Text

Monday.

“I will never get this,” Hana snarls, throwing the gun on the ground. It bounces and clatters but doesn’t break; it takes everything in her to resist stomping on it. “I hate it! Why can I not have something that helps me aim like you?”

The worst thing about 76 is how unflappable he is. Instead of yelling at her to keep going, like her instructor back in Korea would’ve, he instead stoops down to pick up her gun, inspecting it for damage before going over to the table nearby in the range and placing it on its surface. “Snack break,” he says, motioning for her to sit down right where she’s standing, and she does so with an irritated huff of air, accepting the baggie with what appears to be cut strawberries in it from him without paying much attention. She pops one into her mouth as he settles down across from her.

“Sometimes people shoot better when they’re angry,” he offers after a moment. His voice is low so that Reinhardt, Mercy, and Brigitte, inspecting Reinhardt and Reinhardt's armor, respectively, can't hear him. “Had a recruit like that once; shot just like you when xe first came in.”

“So what,” Hana grumbles, morosely biting into a particularly large strawberry.

“You ever taken that thing apart?”

“No,” Hana snaps, affronted. She would break it if she did that.

“Neither had xe. Once xe had, xe started shooting better. You know why?”

“Obviously you’re going to tell me.”

The look he gives her, even through his visor, is long-suffering, incredibly, infuriatingly patient. “You have to know your gun before you can learn to shoot well.”

That is the stupidest thing she’s ever heard. She opens her mouth to say it out loud - only to yelp when he reaches over and puts a strawberry between her teeth instead.

“You flinch just a bit whenever you pull the trigger of that thing,” 76 says, finally giving out his critique. “You’re afraid of it. You can’t be afraid of it if you want to shoot well.”

She chews and swallows. She wants to yell that there’s no way he could know that, but that’s dumb because of course he does. She wants to complain that there’s no way he could know how she feels, but that’s unrealistic because he’s a soldier, through and through. She wants to ask why, why her handlers back in Korea had never noticed but he, in the time it took her to blink, had seen it. In the end she sulks, which is the better option but somehow still made worse by the fact that 76 doesn’t rub it in her face or otherwise make her feel bad for realizing that on her own.

“It is supposed to be an extension of my arm,” Hana mutters after a while. Her baggie is almost empty now, and she munches on a last strawberry as she recalls 76’s smooth movements with his rifle - casually swinging it over his shoulder, hooking it under one arm, bracing it against himself as he shoots it. He’s right, as he’s wont to be.

76 reaches out to put a hand on her shoulder. “You’ll get there.”

She believes him, more than she believes in herself - so when he stands, so does she.


Tuesday.

“I know I have been gone for a long time,” Hana says, leaning forward towards the camera. This time she’d taken a bit to actually put some makeup on and look the part; once her clothes and equipment arrive and are picked up from the nearby town, she’ll be able to really get into it, but for now this will have to do. “I am sorry for that, as I said the last time I was online.”

She smiles and leans a hand on her chin. “Regardless, I will answer your questions as best as I can. Ask away.”

Her moderators had quickly come out of the shadows upon her return and, as always, they are ruthlessly efficient to sorting out the stupid questions from the legitimate ones. The first one they present to her is short and to the point, but it still makes Hana hesitate: why didn’t you tell us you weren’t dead in the last month?

“There are a variety of reasons as to why,” Hana says after a moment; “Unfortunately, I am not in a position to divulge many of them, but I will tell you what I can. I had no access to wifi, as you might have guessed; no, not even from my mech,” she says, seeing the question pop up in the chatbox, “Given I could have been tracked that way. I had a cell phone on me, but I disposed of it as a safety precaution. It was safer for me to go dark.”

Why do you not want to be tracked?

“If you do not already know, I have deserted the Korean army,” Hana says with a small, grim smile. The chatbox pounces on this information immediately and she is sure tabloids in Korea will carry both the audio recording and a transcript of this in mere hours. “I could be convicted of treason, should I ever return or should Korean agents ever find me. You understand my caution.”

Why did you desert?

“I cannot tell you. I am sorry.”

Why not?

“For my own security,” Hana says. “I really am sorry, but you will not get any more answers even if you continue this line of questions.”

Her viewers don’t listen, predictably, instead continue to pepper the chatbox with questions she refuses to answer. Her moderators do the best they can but it’s pretty clear that they’re a bit overwhelmed, and Hana sighs when she says, “I apologize, but I have to leave. I will be answering questions on the blog; this is a little too chaotic. Annyeong.”

(Later, she’ll be confused when Genji comes up to apologize - and then he’ll reveal that he’s one of her moderators. It’s little wonder why they always worked so fast, she realizes belatedly, and Genji lets out a small, startled yelp when she hugs him tightly.)


Wednesday.

Hana hits the center of the target once and almost drops her gun in shock. Then she’s dropped her gun anyway and is jumping up and down and smiling, shouting, “I did it!”

She calls enough attention to herself that McCree and Genji, recently arrived at the training range, come over to view her handiwork. She knows it’s such a little thing to be proud of, but she’s been practicing a lot whenever she can, even when 76 isn’t around to help her out like today - and to think she did it all on her own! She laughs delightedly when Genji gives her a bone-crushing hug and McCree slaps his hat on her head.

“Soon you’ll be shootin’ like a pro, darlin’,” McCree says, grinning as Hana tucks his hat more securely on her head. It’s too big, predictably, but it’s comfortable, like a blanket around her shoulders on cold days. “Reckon you’ll be doin’ a lot better now that you've gotten a good shot in, too. Does Soldier know?”

She shakes her head and laughs again when Genji steals McCree’s hat from her, holding it out of her reach as they race around the small open area of the traning range while McCree raises 76 on comm. It’s going to be a good rest of the day, she thinks, and decides that maybe she’ll relieve Winston of lunch duty just because she’s feeling so good.


Thursday.

“It’s,” and here Reinhardt pauses conspiratorially, “For a friend.”

“Sure!” Hana reaches out for the small slip of paper and pen, scribbling out a brief salutation in Korean before writing love, D.Va underneath. She hands it back to him and doesn’t miss how he clutches it close; for a friend, indeed, and she smiles a sly smile, and then she hears herself saying, “You should join us and Genji today! We are having a gaming night.”

“What kind of games?” Reinhardt asks.

“We are not sure yet - anything we can torrent off of the wifi, probably.”

Diner Dash is available,” Genji says over comm; he’s already hooking up the holoprojector in the now-not-nearly-as-empty lounge. “The original version from the early two-thousands, brushed up to HD.

“That is one-player,” Hana says with a frown.

If we play hardcore mode, we can switch off each time someone fails a level.

“You’re on.” She gives Reinhardt a smile. “The offer stands.”

Git gud, old man,” Genji says; Hana can hear the devilish grin, the undisguised provocation.

It works. “I will crush you both!” Reinhardt announces, and Hana can only shake her head with a malevolent smile.


Friday.

“Is there a reason I passed by Reinhardt’s room today and heard him crying and muttering about a meme war?”

Zenyatta regards 76 with an unreadable expression. Then again, his face never changes expressions, so that’s nothing new.

“No,” the monk says.

76 eyes him for a moment longer. Hana, at his side, is snickering loudly.

“It better not come to blows, and don’t let it happen in the mess,” 76 says at last.

“You are not the leader here, yes? I will do as I please.”

Hana whispers oh snap and gives Zenyatta a high-five. 76 just shakes his head and keeps walking, knowing she would eventually catch up.


Saturday.

“How are you settling in, Hana?” Dr. Ziegler asks, seating herself from across Hana as she speaks. Hana looks up from her handheld and puts it aside, pausing her game as she does so; she has a feeling this discussion is going to involve her full attention, as it always does. Dr. Ziegler misses very little and there’s a lot Hana wants to hide.

“Good,” Hana says in response to the question. “It was a little disorienting at first, but I think I am beginning to find my way around.”

“Excellent.”

Dr. Ziegler’s stare is piercing. Hana meets her eyes as squarely as she dares, which turns out to be for a few seconds before she looks down at her folded hands. No one can out-intimidate Angela Ziegler on a mission, according to 76, and so she figures she should quit while she’s ahead.

“As a doctor, it is my duty to do my best for my patients,” Dr. Ziegler says after a moment. She leans forward in her chair, propping her chin in her hand, her elbow on her knee. “It’s not my place to force you to talk about something you do not want to. But - ” and here her eyes briefly flick away from Hana’s face - “I could not help but notice your aversion to blood.”

Hana frowns. “I do not know anyone who would not try to avoid it.”

“You freeze up when you see it,” Dr. Ziegler explains, quietly. “Briefly. Enough that you are vulnerable, if only for a few moments. I thought perhaps it might have to do with...”

She trails off when Hana grabs her handheld and gets to her feet, yet Dr. Ziegler merely continues to watch her with a patience that makes Hana's chest coil hot and tight in anger.

“You are not alone, you know,” Dr. Ziegler says as Hana goes, and Hana does not answer.


Sunday.

Sent at 18.34
Lúcio Correia dos Santos
yo d.va!
i know this is kind of out of the blue but it seemed as good a time as any to introduce myself.
seeing as you’ve come back from the dead and all?
anyway i'm lúcio and this is just me asking for your autograph.
i’m a huge fan! have been for a while now :)
if you can’t i totally get it. being a celebrity is pretty time-consuming…
hoping we can talk soon! later!

D.Va
oh my gosh, is this actually lúcio???
as in lúcio who made synaesthesia auditiva?????
please tell me you are not trolling me because that gets old really fast
Seen at 20.16

Sent at 20.17
Lúcio Correia dos Santos
lmao i know that feel.
but yep! i’m the real deal!

D.Va
세상에
i think i am hyperventilating
i am sorry i am just a HUGE fan of your latest album i have been listening to it nonstop since i got it the other day
i promise i usually have more chill than this 이런 젠장
anyway
you can have my autograph if i get yours? :3c
Seen at 20.17

[You have added Lúcio Correia dos Santos into your contacts as Lúcio!!!]

Sent at 20.18
Lúcio!!!
sounds like a plan to me! B)

“Why do you always twitch whenever I call you ‘dad’?” Hana asks, tucking her phone away with a smile on her face. “It is just a joke.”

76, per usual, freezes up for a split second before resuming his task: dismantling his rifle and putting it back together again. He can do it in under a minute, and Hana, so far, can do the same thing to her handgun in about five.

“Tracer used to call Jack ‘Commander Dad’ as a joke,” 76 says after a moment.

Hana had been prepping for a jest, or a sarcastic remark - not brutal honesty, his voice scraping at the end like she’d just touched something painful. Shi-bal.

“You are still a very good commander,” Hana says, remembering how quickly he had taken charge in Russia, how he had engaged Reaper to distract him from everyone else.

“I failed them,” 76 says, slamming the last piece into the gun; Hana's not sure who 'them' entails, but she can guess. The rifle hums to life as he gives it a brief once-over, and then he hefts himself to his feet. He’s decidedly not looking at Hana as he says, “I wasn’t good enough.”

Hana has nothing to say to that. She slips her handgun into her fingers and stands next to him, and, at his nod, she takes aim and fires five times in succession.

Each bullet hits its mark.

Chapter Text

D.Va

no i am being completely serious
he is literally a cowboy it is the greatest thing
Seen at 07.41

Sent at 07.41
Lúcio!!!
there’s no way that’s true.

D.Va
hang on let me go get a picture

[You have sent Lúcio!!! a file: jessemccreeatyourservice.jpg at 07.41]

D.Va
trust me just open it
Seen at 07.41

[Lúcio!!! has opened your file: jessemccreeatyourservice.jpg at 07.42]

Sent at 07.42
Lúcio!!!
puta merda.
does he talk like a cowboy? that’s the real question.

D.Va
YES IT IS THE BEST THING
Seen at 07.42

Sent at 07.42
Lúcio!!!
is it though.
is it actually.

D.Va
ok maybe not
but it is still funny sometimes!
he insists on calling me ‘darling’ except he drops the ‘g’
hm maybe it is actually a little bit annoying
Seen at 07.42

Sent at 07.42
Lúcio!!!
aww. that’s kinda cute actually.

D.Va
he is older than me!! it is a little weird!!
Seen at 07.42

Sent at 07.43
Lúcio!!!
lmao you have a point.

D.Va
but yeah everyone here is super nice
i wish you could meet them
Seen at 07.43

Sent at 07.43
Lúcio!!!
uh yeah. about that.
actually i have a favor to ask.
from your friends and stuff.

D.Va
us?? i do not think we could do much to help
Seen at 07.43

Sent at 07.43
Lúcio!!!
you’re all soldiers right? so you can help me out.
because i need soldiers and fighters right about now.

D.Va
???? you are making me worried
Seen at 07.43

Sent at 07.43
Lúcio!!!
so you know that i’m famous because of what happened here in rio de janeiro right?
with vishkar and all that.
and you know that vishkar wasn’t happy with what happened.

D.Va
of course! it was all over the news
are you in trouble?? is vishkar going after you??
Seen at 07.43

Sent at 07.44
Lúcio!!!
yep. beat me to the punch!
they’re being subtle about it. i’ve almost been jumped two times this past week but managed to escape with a speed boost.
i need someone to get me out of here and possibly keep vishkar from destroying any part of the city.
kind of a tall order, but maybe you and your friends can help out?

D.Va
that’s terrible!!
i will ask right now
Seen at 07.44

“Winston?”

The table goes quiet at the sound of Hana’s voice - not soft or hesitant this time, but strong, full-bodied. This is D.Va speaking, somehow, even though Hana still feels the wobbliness in her being that tells her she’s not D.Va right now, and she swallows hard and takes some reassurance when 76 nudges his arm against his shoulder. Maybe she should’ve waited until after breakfast to ask Winston anything.

“Yes, D.Va?” Winston says, tilting his head at her.

“You know about Lúcio - er, Lúcio Correia dos Santos, right? In Rio de Janeiro.”

“I have heard of him,” Winston says, pushing his glasses up. “He made quite a stir when he and Vishkar went head-to-head.”

“Yes.” She gathers her thoughts for a few moments before deciding to just go for it. “I have been speaking with him recently through social media. He has just requested that we help him escape Brazil, as Vishkar has begun efforts to remove him.”

Winston considers this for a few moments. The whole table does, in fact, and Hana tries not to show her nerves.

“Interesting that you should say that,” he says at last. “Vishkar Corp. has been lobbying to renew construction around that area. Lúcio must be countering it.”

“Does he know you are part of Overwatch?” Torbjörn asks.

“I am not entirely tactless; I have not told him.” Though he’s beginning to guess, she’s sure. She’s been careful to only talk about Blackwatch members, as the world knows very little about them - if she’d given him a picture of Reinhardt, her cover would have been blown just like that.

“This might be an opportunity for us,” Dr. Ziegler interjects, food briefly forgotten. “I have been interested in investigating Vishkar for some time. There are rumors of human rights violations.”

“I’ve always wanted to go to Rio,” Tracer adds, grinning.

“Well, it’s unexpected, but no other agents who answered the recall have had any problems.” Winston gives a decisive nod. “I don’t see why we shouldn’t. If nothing else, Lúcio has some very interesting information about Vishkar and their sound tech.”

There are general noises of agreement, and Hana’s about to return to her phone when 76 says, another surprise, “Some of us should stay back. Never know, something could go wrong.”

“Besides Winston, you mean,” McCree says, and 76 nods. “I agree. I’m willin’ to hang around here, ‘less you think ya need me out there.”

People stack their empty plates as they talk and it’s eventually decided: Hana, with Tracer, Torbjörn, 76, Zenyatta and Genji, will go to Rio de Janeiro, with McCree, Dr. Zeigler, Reinhardt and Winston staying behind. “Unfortunately, your team is stacked with more offense-oriented members,” the gorilla says, contemplative, “But it also leaves us well-balanced back here. Hana, Zenyatta, you’ll have your work cut out for you.”

“Lúcio, once we find him, can heal us through ambient sound,” Hana says, glancing over at the omnic. “Hopefully, it will make your job a bit easier.”

“I look forward to meeting him,” Zenyatta answers.

“Then it’s settled,” Winston says. “I suppose we’re on a bit of a time squeeze here, so I’ll have Athena set up a plane for you to leave in, let’s say, an hour?”

D.Va
we are moving out in an hour
that soon enough for you?? >:3c
Seen at 12.56

Sent at 12.56
Lúcio!!!
you have no idea how much relief hit me just now.
you’re a lifesaver, d.va.

D.Va
see you soon!!
and you better have that autograph ready!!
Seen at 12.56

Sent at 12.56
Lúcio!!!
honestly, i’d give you your own private concert for this.
thanks so much.

Chapter Text

“So,” 76 says flatly to the group at large as they sit in the plane, Tracer at the helm, the rest scattered about in the cargo bay. The old soldier is on his feet; Hana is seated in the spot next to him, Genji on her left, Zenyatta floating around the cabin in a seemingly aimless manner, Torbjörn across from her. “Few things to address before we arrive in Rio.”


“76 will be in charge of the operation,” Winston says in the conference room; he’d called a meeting thirty minutes before they left, just to go over what details he’d been able to dig up while those leaving prepared for departure. “He’s had the most experience with this kind of thing, and though some of us have been here for a long time, we've had little practice being in command. 76 has shown exceptional leadership skills; I trust him to lead the team well.”

No one voices a word in complaint, but Hana would have to be a fool to miss the uneasy tension that fills the room after Winston finishes speaking. It’s clear that while many agree with Winston’s observations, there’s still a feeling of uncertainty in having a newcomer in command, especially one that is strangely good at it.


“Torbjörn,” 76 says, as if calling upon a random student in a classroom, and the Swede grunts in acknowledgement. “Are you going to be a problem going in?”

Torbjörn looks up from where he’s tinkering with his gun, again, and the pause that follows is, for lack of a better word, loaded.

“Meanin’?” Torbjörn answers at last. It comes out as a growl.


“This is going to be fast - in and out. The primary goal is to extract Lúcio; secondary is to figure out why Vishkar is back in Rio and, if possible, the tertiary goal is to drive them away. Angela and Athena have been digging through everything they could find and there’s a reasonable amount of suspicion surrounding Vishkar movements, so any information you can find can help in that regard.”

“What kind of suspicion?” Reinhardt asks.

“Human rights violations, corporate espionage, destruction of public and private property,” Dr. Zielger says, listing them off by counting on her fingers, “Among others. What concerns me the most are the human rights violations; let's just say Vishkar has developed some very interesting sound-based technology.”

“If that’s the case, shouldn’t Angel be goin’ with them, not stayin’ here?” McCree asks.

“No,” Dr. Ziegler says. She smiles a pretty little smile and says, “I’m not the one with a built-in computer.”


“Cut the crap,” 76 says harshly. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“’Fraid I don’t,” Torbjörn says coolly. Hana shifts in her seat but doesn't say a peep when 76 shoots her a warning look over his shoulder; this is not her fight, and Genji places a hand on her shoulder as a silent reminder of that when her hands fist in her lap.

“Will you or will you not be a problem going in?”


“Genji will be placing a bug to help Athena enter Vishkar’s network whenever and wherever possible.”

“How?” Genji says, poised delicately on his chair, in a way that makes Hana think of cobras coiled up before a strike. Zenyatta is in the room but is exploring the place instead of sitting at the table; currently, he is tilting his head at the equations scribbled all over a chalkboard.

“It will be a simple process,” Winston assures him. “D.Va was able to get me in touch with Lúcio and he’s already developed a program to do what we need. All you need to do is upload it into any servers you can find. Communicators, tablets, computers, anything you find will suffice, and the more, the better.”

“Understood. Please send the program to me as soon as possible.”


Torbjörn leans his elbows forward on his knees. He’s so short that he had to jump onto the chair and his legs dangle quite some distance over the ground, and Hana watches his face as his expression changes, considering all available answers.

“As long as they stay out of the way, I don’t care,” Torbjörn says at last, careless and short. Neither Zenyatta nor Genji show any outward reaction to the bite of his words.

“Zenyatta is our healer, Torbjörn, once we get into the thick of things,” 76 says. “If you’re going to have issues with this we have to address it now, before we get there.”

“I swear Angela stayed back to spite me,” Torbjörn grumbles.

“This isn’t about Mercy, it’s about the mission,” 76 says. There’s an edge to his voice; he’s losing his patience as he repeats once again, “Will there or will there not be a problem?”


“Keep in mind that conflict is inevitable, so be wary,” Winston says. “You’ll be moving out in two groups of three. 76 will lead group one with Torbjörn and Tracer; Genji, you’re in charge of group two, with Hana and Zenyatta. Group one will leave five minutes before group two.”

“Why the staggering?” Tracer asks, frowning.

“More mobility,” 76 answers before Winston can. “We’ll be in contact with Lúcio to determine his location. That will allow Torbjörn to set up in a place that will give you guys an advantage when you follow.”

“Hm.” Tracer leans back in her chair. “Guess I’m just used to going in guns blazing, but I trust your judgment, big guy.”


“I’ll be keepin’ my eye on that one,” Torbjörn mutters. No one has to ask who ‘that one’ is.

“So this won’t be a problem,” 76 says. Torbjörn shoots him a dirty look, but 76 merely shrugs slightly and says, “Asking for clarification. That’s all.”

“It won’t be a problem,” Torbjörn bites out. Finally.

“Good,” 76 replies.


“Vishkar is an extremely powerful enemy,” Winston says. “Their weapons have been meticulously designed for maximum efficiency. I’ve seen some schematics; you’ll have to be especially careful of photon projectors - ” and here he brings up an image of the weapon - “Though from what I understand, they are only given to the most skilled of architechs.

“In addition,” Winston goes on, “Many architechs are able to weave shields around their associates. If you find yourself in battle with many of them, keep in mind that they are highly durable. It’s best to make your escape than to attempt to take them down.”

“Are you sure six of us will be enough to complete this mission?” Zenyatta asks, suddenly. He’s since floated to the other side of the conference room, seemingly observing some papers left on a desk.

“I’m sure of it,” Winston says firmly. “The team is adaptable and, more importantly, quick. There’s no way we can take all enemies down, nor do we want to; we just want to get Lúcio out and, if we’re lucky, some dirt on Vishkar.”


76 sits down heavily, pulse rifle finding its way into his lap. Torbjörn resumes tinkering with his own weapon, and Hana glances between all the members on the plane before settling on the one right next to her.

“Genji?” Genji hums acknowledgement, keeping his voice low in imitation of hers. “Do you consider yourself omnic?”

“It is one half of me, just as I am also human, so - yes, I do.” Hana looks over at Torbjörn, just a brief flicker of her eyes, but Genji follows her gaze nonetheless. He lets out a wry chuckle. “Do not worry, D.Va. Torbjörn may be biased, but he is a soldier like us, and I have worked with him before. He will not cause problems if he says he will not.”

76 is close enough to hear their conversation and he nods in agreement. Hana lets it go with a sigh.


Hana’s painting her battle stripes as the briefing comes to a close. They’ve gone over how the operation will proceed, their enemies, everything that’s relevant to her as a foot soldier. She’s not paying attention anymore, knowing that 76 will get her up to speed if necessary; for the moment she holds a compact mirror out in front of her as she delicately dabs the pink lines onto her cheeks.

“ - the world is not yet aware that Overwatch has been reformed, so it may be good to have D.Va stream the battle, if she’s willing.”

“Streaming?” she says, sitting up in her chair, shutting her mirror with a flex of her fingers, all interest focused in. She can’t keep the eagerness off of her face even as she cautions, “Are you sure that is wise?”

“Provided this mission is a success,” Winston says, “People should know that they won’t have to stand for injustices anymore.”

“What about the Petras Act?” Dr. Ziegler asks, brow furrowing.


“We’ll be touching down in a couple minutes, loves!” Tracer’s voice comes over intercom. “Make sure you’ve got your gear and all that, wouldn’t be good if we went in flatfooted!”

Hana gets up and makes her way over to her mech as everyone else in the plane immediately begins last-minute checks on their weapons. She’s already run complete diagnostics on it and fixed what she could, so she doesn’t bother checking it over as she powers it up. It’s reliable, if nothing else; she trusts her MEKA more than she trusts her handgun.

“Torbjörn, Tracer, with me, as soon as you can manage,” 76 says. “Genji, you know when to move?”

“Yes. We will be on your six, Commander.”

“Not your commander,” 76 says flippantly, causing Genji to chuckle and Hana to stare at him, unsure of what to think.


“We all knew this would be illegal as all get out when we joined up,” Reinhardt points out. “If they try to stop you, you will simply have to force your way through.”

“Joy,” 76 deadpans, earning him some surprised looks. It’s the first sarcastic quip he’s made that isn’t exclusively for Hana’s ears, and she wants to applaud him for finally branching out a little bit. She resists, of course.

“Besides, Rio de Janeiro is the best place to try and get something, anything on Vishkar,” Winston says. “They’re the only ones who resisted redevelopment successfully.”

“I will stream it,” Hana says before they can debate it further. “Piece of cake.”


“D.Va online,” she chirps into her mech’s microphone, waving cheekily to the camera as she finalizes her stream. “Hello, everyone! It has been a while since I have streamed. Hopefully you will be able to join me in this fight!”

“It will be interesting to be moderating in the middle of battle,” Genji muses, just as Tracer shouts that she’s set them down and the cargo doors open. Moments later 76 and Torbjörn hop out and Tracer soon joins them with a few blinks from her accelerator, and then it's just her and Zenyatta waiting behind the cyborg in front of them.

“Do your best,” D.Va tells him, grinning.

“It won’t be the first time,” he says with a shake of his head, twisting the fingers of his right hand. Round, sharpened shurikens soon slot between his fingers.

“Do not get too distracted,” D.Va teases, to which he laughs, and then she flicks her eyes over and sees the chatbox in the corner of her eye fill up with text, “Yes, that was Tracer, from Overwatch. You have been wondering where I have been, no?”


“Although you should keep in mind that streaming will alert local authorities,” Hana says, after a moment’s thought. “My fans are from all over the world. My victory in the Starcraft championships once cause such an upset in France that they had to shut down a whole city.”

“No more hiding,” Winston says decisively. “If nothing else, Overwatch will make people pause. Should they strike, make sure you use non-lethal takedowns only. In fact, try to minimize casualties, if possible.”

“And if it’s not possible?” Tracer asks.

“You already know the answer to that,” Winston says with a tired chuckle.


“Good news and bad news,” D.Va says as the allotted time passes and Genji hops down from the plane. She and Zenyatta follow after him. “Good: I am safe and alive and I am a member of Overwatch. Bad - ”

She cracks her knuckles when the telltale gunfire from 76’s plasma rifle echoes in her ears -

“Vishkar Corporation is going to have a bad day today.”

Chapter Text

Tracer had put them down maybe a half-kilometer out of town, and their advance was timed so that D.Va, Genji and Zenyatta would begin moving just as 76, Torbjörn, and Tracer reached the city limits. It takes them a bit to realize that Zenyatta can’t possibly keep up with Hana’s rocket boosters - nor can Genji, not for long periods of time - so in the end it devolves into having Genji secured to her back while Zenyatta is carefully tucked under one of D.Va’s fusion cannons. Needless to say, traffic slows down as they race towards Rio, and the viewers of D.Va’s stream are filling the chatbox with repeated exclamations of ‘I can’t believe this is happening’ and ‘You’re in Overwatch?’.

All in all, it’s rather fun. She can’t stop the occasional bouts of giggling at the setup, but it’s fun nonetheless.

Sitrep,” 76 barks over comm. It occurs to D.Va a moment later that she’s not actually close enough to hear his pulse rifle; she’s just hearing it over the channel.

“No resistance on the advance,” Genji reports. The city’s skyline looms higher and higher the closer they get. “I assume you took care of them for us.”

Afraid we’re gonna have the subtlety of a brick,” 76 confirms. “Vishkar’s dug in. They weren’t expecting us, but they can make cover wherever they want.

“Where is Lúcio located?”

He’s in Vishkar custody. He only managed to tell me that much before they confiscated his comm, so unless you have another method of communicating with him, we’re gonna have to search the old-fashioned way.

Hold on,” Winston says out of nowhere, and D.Va remembers belatedly that he’s watching their mission unfold from the safety of Gibraltar, “I should be able to find Lúcio’s general location by tracking his seized comm. Just a moment.

“Also, I think I may be able to get in touch with him, but I will not be able to move while doing so,” D.Va says, bringing up the messenger application on her mech’s hub. Lúcio is online, unsurprisingly, probably digging through all available options to get help, and - yep, the app informs her she has unread messages. “He is trying to contact me as we speak.”

Acknowledged. Rendezvous with Torbjörn first before talking to him.

“Understood. Where is he?”

Here,” Winston says, a red dot appearing on her mini-map. She’s quick to plot a course towards it as the gorilla goes on, “I’ve managed to track the communicator as well - it’s here.” Another dot appears, this time a bright green. It’s several blocks away from where Torbjörn is stationed with his turret.

Tracer, close in on that location. Scout only. Do not engage.

Copy that, Commander!

Not your commander,” 76 grumbles, before more gunfire fills the air.

By this point they’ve passed the limits and are in the city proper. D.Va deactivates her rocket boosters just long enough to change her direction before shooting off again, and very quickly she sees where Torbjörn has set himself up: second floor of a perfect, glassy building, window shattered to allow his turret full access to the swarming enemies below. At the very least it’s driven the Vishkar agents behind cover, strange white plastic constructs.

I’ll cover you!” Torbjörn hollers in the comm over the firing of his turret, and D.Va takes that as her cue to rocket boost up to him. Vishkar opens fire; Genji does something with his sword that causes a number of agents to drop, and none of the bullets so much as clip the exterior of her mech. “Glad you could make it,” Torbjörn says with a huff, addressing D.Va alone before eyeing Zenyatta and Genji in silence as they clamber down from D.Va’s MEKA.

“Where would you like us, Commander?” Genji asks, and now D.Va’s sure he and Tracer are using the title just to annoy 76.

Not your commander,” 76 says on cue before ordering, “Genji, get behind enemy lines, wreak some havoc, but stay out of sight as much as possible. We need to break through to allow Torbjörn to advance. Zenyatta, do you need to be close to provide support?

“Negative, Commander. I can both heal and sabotage from a distance.”

Not your - forget it,” 76 grumbles, and D.Va can hear Tracer tittering into the comm. “Zenyatta, keep an eye and help us out if we need it.

“Yes, Commander.”

I’ll be flanking them from the left. Genji, tell me when you’re in position.

“Affirmative.” Genji’s off in a flash of light green.

D.Va, get in touch with Lúcio. Once you’ve confirmed his location and status, join the battle. We won’t be able to advance far without a tank to absorb some of the shots.

“Understood,” D.Va says, and with that she takes her hands off of the triggers and calls up her keyboard on the hub.

Sent at 15.22
Lúcio!!!
oh thank god you’re here.
they took away the comm i filched from one of them earlier, so i’m stuck with just this.
luckily they don’t know my turntables can double as a communicator.
hello?
it says you’re online, don’t leave me hanging.
c’mon, d.va, this is seriously not the time!!

D.Va
sorry!! i was in the middle of getting to my commander’s checkpoint
we are attempting to get through a bottleneck and advance towards your location
or at least the location of your comm
do you know where you are??
Seen at 15.31

Sent at 15.31
Lúcio!!!
here, let me send you the coordinates.

[Lúcio!!! has sent file: coordinates.txt at 15.31]

[You have opened Lúcio!!!’s file: coordinates.txt at 15.31]

D.Va quickly plugs the coordinates into her mech and discovers that Vishkar had moved Lúcio’s comm into another building; Lúcio himself was being kept about two blocks east. “Are you getting this, Winston?” she asks over the gunfire.

Yes. I'm updating everyone’s information as we speak.

D.Va
ok!!
i will have to go offline to rejoin the fight
is there anything i should know before i go?
can you walk?
Seen at 15.32

Sent at 15.32
Lúcio!!!
yep, all limbs intact.
they took my weapons, though.
think they’re being kept in the room over.
if you grab them on your way in, i can help you out!

D.Va
will do!
see you soon!
Seen at 15.32

“Seventy-six, Lúcio’s weapons are being kept near him, as far as he knows, and he is in good health.”

Good job,” 76 says. “Get down here so we can push. Once you land, continue advancing and lay down cover fire. Torbjörn, follow her once we deal with all of the hostiles.

“Understood,” Torbjörn says behind her, and she echoes him a moment later.

Master,” and that’s Genji, “If you could place an orb of discord of the sharpshooter at the left corner of the building in front of you.

Zenyatta moves his hands together before he shoots out a purple-hued orb, one that sticks to the sharpshooter in question and remains floating near her. Genji’s there and gone in an instant, and D.Va swallows hard when she sees the woman fall, eyes rolling towards the back of her head.

Still, she can’t hesitate: she jumps down, safe with the turret’s covering fire, and activates her defense matrix as she storms towards the Vishkar agents in front. She quickly redirects the incoming bullets almost absently, flicking the lasers to and from to keep them from hitting her, but as she draws closer those further to the sides manage to get a few glancing shots - only for a moment, though, before Genji and 76 rush in and mow down person after person.

(D.Va smiles in victory as her stream goes nuts. Hana, on the inside, quakes.)

Tracer, how’s it look?” 76 asks, still too far away for D.Va to make out what he’s saying without the comm.

Lots of security. I’ve managed to take down all visible snipers, though, and there are a number of entrances to choose from!

“Tracer,” 76 growls, and D.Va is now close enough to hear him, “I told you not to engage.”

Oops!

“This is why you were in Blackwatch,” 76 says exasperatedly, and by now Torbjörn, Genji and Zenyatta have gathered around. “Find us and join up ASAP.”

You got it, Commander!

“Not your commander,” 76 drones before waving a hand and saying, “Let’s move. Genji, take point; Zenyatta, Torbjörn, stay behind D.Va.”

Everyone falls into place as Genji zooms ahead, climbing up one of the buildings and jumping from roof-to-roof as he goes; 76, thankfully, moves forward at a steady trot rather than a full-out sprint, allowing Zenyatta and Torbjörn to keep pace, while D.Va keeps a back camera activated to keep an eye on Torbjörn, just in case, and chatters to her stream quietly as they go. Tracer soon blinks in and stays at the back of the group, but besides that, they meet no resistance as they close in on the designated building.

Strange, D.Va thinks, and she’s sure everyone else thinks so too.

Vishkar has discovered their dead snipers,” Genji says after some time. “They have abandoned the building with his comm and are instead swarming the building where Lúcio is being kept.

“Great,” 76 says with a sigh. Tracer, instead of being even the tiniest bit apologetic, just giggles. “What’s the least-guarded entrance?”

It is a small ventilation system on the west side of the building. It appears to be large enough to fit some of us.

“Who can’t fit?”

You, Master Zenyatta, and D.Va, if she stays in her mech.”

76 ponders this for half a second before saying, “Tracer, Genji, use it to get in on my order. Find Lúcio, find his weapons, get him out. Do not engage. We’ll create a distraction at the back of the building.”

Understood. Lena, I will wait for you at the top of the building.”

“You got it!” One blink later and the woman’s gone.

“Let’s move,” 76 says again, and everyone follows behind him as they take a wide path around the building in question to stay out of sight.

It’s a few minutes later when they find a good place to set up behind the building; D.Va places herself in the center of the street with Zenyatta further back and 76 a bit to the side and behind her. At his signal she steps out into the open and begins firing on the agents guarding the door, while Torbjörn takes advantage of the agents' distraction and puts up his turret near the corner of the sidewalk, allowing him enough cover to repair the thing should it ever need it, and then 76 snaps, “Genji, Tracer - now.”

Affirmative.

Goin’ in!

And then D.Va’s fusion cannon jams. Not just one, but both, and a quick glance shows that there is some kind of white and blue plastic thing covering the entire arms of her mech. Architechs, D.Va grumbles inwardly, and then she shouts, “I cannot fire!”

(D.Va seethes with anger. Inside, Hana quakes.)

“Use your matrix for now,” 76 barks, pulse rifle ra-ta-ta-ing beside her. “We’ll use your self-destruct sequence at the next break in fire. Zenyatta, Torbjörn, be ready to find cover.”

A purple orb flies past D.Va’s shoulder and hovers over one of the women at the back - the one who’d jammed D.Va’s guns, it looks like, given the blue light she’s weaving in her palm. “Understood, Commander,” Zenyatta says, as orbs fly out and, despite his best intentions, continue to miss the architech.

“My turret,” Torbjörn moans, which is as much acknowledgement as anything.

It’s only heartbeats later that the chance arises - 76 shouts something D.Va doesn’t quite pick up as she activates her rocket boosters, slams the self-destruct button, and ejects, all the while babbling apologies to her viewers as she sprints and ducks behind a building for cover. Torbjörn and 76 are quick to join her, with Zenyatta already waiting and throwing an orb of harmony at her, and its glow eases D.Va’s nerves a bit as the explosion rocks the world nearby. 76 doesn’t remove his steadying arm around her shoulders even as he peers around the building to assess the damage, but at his sharp intake of breath D.Va knows something is wrong, especially when 76 goes out with his pulse rifle firing. D.Va recalls her mech and clambers into it before following.

Standing at the back entrance of the building, the only one entirely unharmed while the rest of her team is downed and dead, is the same architech from before. Her face is steely and beautiful and sharp, but the stance of her body screams danger and D.Va instantly recognizes the photon projector at her hip. Her arms move rhythmically, as if in a dance, and D.Va feels her stomach tighten with dread: she’s going to jam her mech’s cannons again.

Got Lúcio!” Tracer shouts over comm.

“Stay back,” 76 snarls in tandem when D.Va takes a step forward, “You need to stay out of range of her hard-light abilities. Tracer, Genji, grab his weapons and get out of there now.”

Understood, Commander. Lena, let's go.

“The true enemy of humanity is disorder,” the architech says in response, somehow audible over 76’s incessant fire, soon joined by the constant harmony of Torbjörn’s turret, and with a flourish there is something blue and glowing beside her. D.Va watches with growing horror as agents begin to pour through: it’s a teleporter. The architech’s eyes are intent on 76’s as she drones, “You would do well to remember that,” and just like that, it’s game on, like nothing’s even changed.

(Hana, curled up inside, quakes, as D.Va lets out a feral scream.)

Chapter Text

Okay, just got a hit on her - her name is Symmetra. She’s one of Vishkar’s most talented architechs to date,” Winston says. “There’s not much on her file, but Genji’s already planted some bugs and Athena’s digging through what she can find. We’ll get back to you.

“Acknowledged,” 76 says, ducking behind D.Va briefly as he reloads. D.Va hits her defense matrix as she weaves in and out of Symmetra’s range; so far, she’s managed to keep her fusion cannons operational, but given Symmetra’s furrowed brow, she’s beginning to think it’s only a matter of time before she has to self-destruct again. “Genji, Tracer, where are you?”

Lúcio can’t fit through the ventilation system through which we entered,” Genji reports. “However, he is proving to be a significant threat to Vishkar forces when we have no choice but to confront them. We are moving towards the back entrance of the building with his help.

“Whoo!” D.Va cheers. Her stream’s chatbox, having since rebooted itself proceeding her mech’s self-destruct, blows up with Lúcio’s name; they’re still coming to terms with the fact that their celebrity gamer is friends with a celebrity DJ, and it thankfully interrupts the debate between the pro-Vishkar supporters and those against the corporation.

“Be careful,” 76 orders. “You heard the bit about Symmetra?”

Affirmative. Lúcio says he has dealt with her before, so it will not be a problem.” There’s a metallic sound as Genji’s sword whispers out of its sheath, then another as it goes back in. He sounds satisfied with himself as he adds, “Lena and I will make sure this is true.

“Good. As soon as we’ve got him, we’re leaving.” 76 downs a Vishkar agent with helix rockets, shooting another as they dive out of the way to dodge. At this point, only D.Va is attempting to hit Symmetra; the woman seems to dance out of the way, and any bullets to do hit ricochet off a glowing blue shield, one that she refreshes exactly every minute. D.Va knows - she’s been counting the seconds because it seemed oddly regular.

Unfortunately, for every agent who goes down, another two pop through the teleporter, and Symmetra and other agents have built constructs to protect it from being shot and destroyed. Without Tracer and Genji’s mobility, the likelihood that it will go down is minimal, and D.Va and crew can only hope that their lost cavalry arrive soon. At this point, all they are doing are just holding position. Which is the point, she guesses, since they’re the distraction, but still.

Incoming!” Tracer exclaims, and that’s all the warning everyone gets before the doors blow open, quite literally, sending shards of glass flying at the Vishkar agents. Most escape unscathed due to the blue, rippling shields, but some are not so fortunate as Tracer and Genji rush out and are on the move. “Now this is a right - oh, a teleporter! I wonder where it goes.

“Tracer - ”

Just kiddin’ around, Commander,” Tracer says with a giggle as she presumably shoots the thing, Genji at her back with his sword flying about in the air wildly. He’s deflecting bullets, D.Va realizes dimly, and then her breath catches with excitement when Lúcio himself skates out into the open, grin wide on his face, hair flying in all directions as he hockey-stops and aims, quick and easy, at Symmetra in the same breath.

“Push off, Vaswani,” he spits, and then his gun makes some weird sound and Symmetra goes flying into the air, though she turns it into a flip and lands in a roll some distance away. It’s the coolest thing D.Va’s seen for a while, and she lets out a little cheer before she can stop herself.

There’s still a mess of Vishkar agents to deal with, though, and D.Va’s quick to refocus on them when Genji shouts “Ryūjin no ken wo kurae!” and then she stops shooting in order to not hit the blur of green as it zips between Vishkar agent after Vishkar agent. He is accompanied by Tracer’s blue blinking and her chirp of “here you go!”, followed by explosions, as she dances around Genji’s attacks. It’s little wonder why 76 had paired the two together: with their combined speed and the experience of working at each other's back, soon the opponents that had them so frustrated are dead on the ground.

(Oh god, Hana thinks, oh god, oh god, oh god - )

She knows for sure that reinforcements must be on the way even without the teleporter, though, which is why she isn’t surprised when 76 calls for Tracer and Genji to join up as soon as Genji sheathes his blade; Lúcio follows them back and gives D.Va a grin when he sees her.

“Lúcio,” she says in a sing-song voice, watching the stream’s chatbox blow up again. “Hello!”

Olá, D.Va!” Lúcio answers, grinning.

“Focus, people,” 76 growls, “Fight’s not over yet.”

“This must be the seventy-six guy you keep talking about,” Lúcio says, unperturbed, as he does a neat little slide and stops behind her. The music he’s playing is soft and melodious and, somehow, makes D.Va feel like she could take on the world and win. “Also, meeting Tracer and that cyborg ninja dude? Made my day. Introduce me next time, yeah?”

“You got it,” D.Va says. “But I think formal introductions will have to wait until later.”

“Let’s move,” 76 says; “Now’s our chance to make a break for it.”

“Commander,” Zenyatta interrupts before they actually start doing anything, “Symmetra has escaped. Should we be concerned?”

“In any other circumstance, probably,” 76 says, slamming a new round into his pulse rifle before using it to gesture at them to follow him. “But we’ve gotta go. Whatever she’s doing shouldn’t affect us if we’re not here.”

“Wait, hang on a - we can’t just leave,” Lúcio argues, even as Torbjörn finishes packing up his turret and the seven of them start moving away from the building, taking a roundabout path to hopefully escape most of Vishkar’s pursuing agents. Local authorities are starting to show up; in retrospect, they probably should have attempted to keep public damages at a minimum, D.Va thinks with a wince, giving her mech a little pat. “Vishkar’s going to try to destroy my home! Look how much they’ve done already!”

He gestures wildly to the place around them. He’s not… D.Va’s not quite sure what he’s pointing out: the place is all perfect, tall, glass buildings, clean sidewalks, swept streets, greenery here and there. It seems utopian.

“We can’t drive out an entire organization,” 76 says flatly. “Seven of us, hundreds of them.”

“They’ve destroyed the culture of this place,” Lúcio snaps. “This used to be a hotbed of music and dance and food and markets! Look at it now; it’s like no one’s alive.” 76 has not stopped moving, and now Lúcio comes to a halt and yells, “I won’t let them turn all of Rio into some kind of - some kind of dead thing! Foda-se!

(Dead, Hana thinks, they had families, but now they’re all dead and it’s my fault - )

“No!” D.Va shouts when Lúcio turns around, right back whence they had come. He’s already moving faster than everyone else because of skates, and D.Va watches with a detached sense of horror as he flips through his music and boosts the volume - suddenly he’s that much faster, racing off down the street and taking the corner with a skid.

“Genji, Tracer, grab him,” 76 says without inflection. “Catch up to us.” The two spare only a nod before darting away, and finally 76 comes to a halt and rubs a knuckle against his forehead as he speaks. “Winston, your call. Should we interfere?”

This is Mercy,” Dr. Ziegler says instead of Winston. “Genji managed to upload Lúcio’s program into Symmetra’s arm - the prosthetic one. It apparently acts as a sort of memory drive for her, and while we only have preliminary sketches, Athena has managed to uncover the schematics to a weapon of great destruction.

Additionally,” Winston adds, “There is a memo archived in one of the servers Genji bugged suggesting that Vishkar Corp. blew up a building of a rivaling redeveloping company, Calado, which won them the bid to use hard-light in the slums of Rio de Janeiro.

“That’s enough to strike back?”

It is sufficient blackmail material,” Dr. Zielger confirms, “And Athena has only scratched the surface.

“Any suggestions on how to go about doing this?” By now D.Va can hear Lúcio shouting in frustration as Genji and Tracer bodily drag him back to their position, and she turns and fixes him with an apologetic look as he glares. He feels betrayed, she can see that, but she can only offer him a shrug before tuning back to 76’s conversation.

You’ve done well in taking down Vishkar agents, despite their shielding abilities,” Winston says; “I’m beginning to think only the more skilled architechs like Symmetra can produce the highly-effective shields I was concerned about.

“Lena and I avoided all confrontation when possible,” Genji interrupts before 76 can speak again. Lúcio is still dangled between him and Tracer, though he has at least ceased struggling. “The only reason she and I could take down so many at once is because I used my blade and she her bombs. I would not advise a head-on attack; though the shields might not be as effective depending on who produced it, they are still a significant factor to consider.”

(Don’t freak out, Hana thinks, now isn’t the time - )

Noted,” Winston says; “In that case, it might be better to use diplomacy. Vishkar is not yet aware of Lúcio’s program in their systems and, once they are, it will autonomously self-destruct. Before that happens, we will attempt to find as much blackmail as we can. With that kind of leverage, they won’t have any choice but to listen to us.

“Would they listen to us, though?” 76 says. “Overwatch isn’t the same kind of threat it used to be.”

“Not to interrupt, but we need to move, Commander!” Tracer chirrups. “Vishkar’s starting to regroup. They’ll be after us in a tick.”

“Acknowledged.” 76 waves his pulse rifle in that same ‘follow me’ gesture as before and everyone darts after him as he begins to move. “Tracer, you’re on point. D.Va, get Lúcio to stop whining. Winston, are you sure this is the wisest course of action?”

“Roger!” Tracer says before disappearing in a blink.

“Come up next to me, Lúcio,” D.Va says, only to giggle when Genji and by extension Lúcio merely move forward to trot alongside her. “Hello, Genji.”

“Greetings, D.Va.”

“You can’t just leave my people here,” Lúcio says instead of another salutation, and now he’s turned to D.Va with furrowed brows and an angry frown. “You can’t know what it’s like to just leave home like this - I can’t just go and leave it in ruins!”

D.Va gives Lúcio a long look. After a moment, she reaches up to press the comm in her ear, turning it off and therefore tuning out of 76’s conversation with Winston and Dr. Zielger, before she says, “You are aware I live in South Korea, yes?”

“Yes,” Lúcio says impatiently.

“Right. My home is attacked every few years by a giant omnic that lives in the sea. It learns from its mistakes and is stronger each time we battle it. Countless lives have been lost, huge swathes of land are unlivable, and we live in constant fear as we wait for it to strike again.” D.Va narrows her eyes at him. “I know exactly what it means to leave my home, even when it might be destroyed without me. I joined Overwatch because it might be my country’s only chance at survival.”

That, she thinks, and to find some actual competitors to compete against. Fortunately enough, Genji fits the bill.

(It’s an off year this year, Hana thinks dully; would I even be allowed to fight when I go back?)

He doesn't say anything for a number of seconds. When he does, it's simply “Oh.”

“We have a plan to save Rio de Janeiro, Lúcio,” she tells him. “Please work with us until then. I promise we will not leave your city to die.”

Lúcio gives a slight nod, sighing, and Genji releases his arm. He skates alongside them without a word after that, and D.Va nods in satisfaction before she reaches up and clicks her comm on again.

- group in front of you, Commander. There are eighteen in total, three armed with photon projectors. They’re setting up sentry turrets as well, so be careful not to get caught.

“Acknowledged. Continue scouting, Tracer, do not engage.”

I got it the first three times you said it, Soldier,” Tracer says with a lilting laugh.

“Can never be too careful,” 76 mutters before swinging his pulse rifle in front of him. “Police are locking down the streets, so this is our only way out. Get ready to fight, but don’t try for takedowns; just try to get through.” Various murmurs of assent travel through the group. “Lúcio, you can heal?”

“Think I’ll be more useful with a speed boost, boss,” Lúcio replies.

“Can it affect all of us at once?”

“Everyone in audible range. If you have a comm system, I can play it through that to keep Vishkar from benefiting.”

“Do it. Genji or Zenyatta - ”

“It is done,” Zenyatta says, and D.Va realizes a moment too late that 76 must have meant the comm frequency. A moment later Lúcio’s messing around with his sound-gun-fusion-thing and music begins to play in D.Va’s ear - a strong, fast bass with a bunch of other stuff she can’t even begin to recognize. It works, though, and she and 76 go first to lay down cover spray as the rest of the group sprints through Vishkar’s defenses, and though D.Va sees Symmetra attempting to do the same hard-light trick as before, Lúcio’s music helps both her and 76 rush through and even continue firing as they speed away before the architech can do anything.

I have never felt this good in my entire life,” Genji says at some point, up front with Tracer by this point, “Even when I was human.

“The power of music, baby!” Lúcio whoops as they continue at a sprint down the perfect roads.

Police have surrounded the area,” Winston warns. “Just break through the line and run for it.

“It’s like I never stopped being a vigilante,” 76 muses as they get closer and, when they show no signs of stopping, the police open fire.

“Hold up!” Lúcio shouts, which gets Genji and Tracer to hesitate for just a second, “Before you all go running off, just one last thing - break it down!

D.Va sees him slam his gun thing into the ground and suddenly her mech's informing her it's just gained a wicked amount of shields, draining fast but enough to protect them from the rain of bullets coming from law enforcement. Genji and Tracer let out identical whoops as they proceed to break a street barrier in half just by rushing into it before disappearing beyond, and Torbjörn and D.Va are quick to follow behind them with Lúcio, Zenyatta, and finally 76 bringing up the rear. “Everyone all right?” 76 calls, slightly out of breath.

(No, Hana thinks.)

Peachy!” Tracer says. Per usual, she is nowhere to be seen. “Just shot up a few mag-lev engines so they can’t chase us!

Don’t,” Torbjörn snarls, and it takes a moment for D.Va to realize it’s directed at Zenyatta, who, upon noticing that a bullet had grazed Torbjörn’s arm, had attempted to pass his orb of harmony to him. “I don’t want anything of yours on me, omnic.”

As you wish,” Zenyatta says peacefully, and Lúcio's mouth drops into a scowl - but whatever he is going to say is lost when a helicopter from above opens fire on them with what sounds like some kind of machine gun.

When the police attempt to get into their vehicles to give chase, they of course cannot in no small part due to Tracer’s foresight, and it’s soon after that they make it out of the city limits, out on one of the many roads leading out. The helicopter above is taken out with a few precise helix rockets from 76’s pulse rifle before they continue down the road, speedy and quick thanks to Lúcio’s music, and it seems like only seconds later that they find the Thunderbird again, disguised from most sensors and visibility, respectively, with some neat tech and some foliage.

“Everyone in!” Tracer says as the cargo doors open and she zips into the plane's cockpit. Her voice is muffled as she shouts, “Best we get out of here as soon as possible, yeah?”

Chapter Text

The first thing Hana does is shut down her stream with the customary farewell that gets shorter and shorter the longer the stream is up. The second thing she does is get out of her mech. She doesn’t realize how much she’s quivering until she takes her customary spot next to 76 and leans against him and his arm sweeps up around her shoulders, and he glances down at her in a motion that’s too sudden to be anything surprise.

Pull yourself together, Hana thinks fiercely, and she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath and - and that was a terrible idea because now she can feel the sting of tears and that’s really not what she needs right now. It takes her a bit, but she manages to get it under control, and then she straightens up and gives herself a little shake.

During this time Lúcio has snagged the spot next to her, while Genji and Zenyatta are seated next to still-bleeding, grumbling-under-his-breath Torbjörn. Tracer is of course flying the plane, and now that the mission is over, D.Va can see the adrenaline begin to melt away from those around her, leaving exhaustion in its wake; leaning against 76’s side means she can feel it when he sags back into his seat, though she takes a bit of comfort in the arm around her. It’s… nice. She’s never had this before.

“You said you had a plan to help Rio de Janeiro,” Lúcio prompts her, and she lets out a sigh through her nose.

“Blackmail,” she says simply, mustering up a small smile. “Thanks to your program.”

“Wait, what?” Lúcio says, frowning. “I thought your Winston guy just wanted to - merda, he used it on Vishkar? And it worked?”

“I embellished a bit of the code so it would be slightly less noticeable,” Genji says, “But other than that, yes. It did.”

“Wow,” Lúcio says, blinking. “I must be better than I thought.”

“Did you not hack into your government’s servers once?” D.Va says. She remembers hearing about that on the news at some point.

“Well, yeah, but that’s not hard. Brazil’s political system isn’t exactly the best one out there - and even though they should hire omnic cybersecurity, they don’t, let’s put it that way.” Lúcio tilts his head. “So we’re blackmailing Vishkar into leaving Rio alone?”

Exactly,” Winston says over comm, and therefore over intercom as well. “Considering how much damage we caused to redeveloped Vishkar property, and how many lethal takedowns that occurred - which I am not happy about, by the way - they’ll have no choice but to listen.

D.Va’s throat closes up and the world very carefully lilts to the side - gentle but disorienting, like if she reached out a hand the air would feel thick like molasses, like if she stood up and took a step she wouldn’t know when to stop, like if she thought about it too hard the world wouldn’t be real. This is reality, she reminds herself distantly and squeezes her fingers into the palm of her hand, hard enough that her fingernails press crescent moons into her skin.

“Is that a good idea?” Lúcio says, frowning. “If there’s anything I’ve learned from dealing with Vishkar, it’s that they can weasel their way out of anything - and they don’t pull their punches when they strike back.”

We don’t have much of a choice,” Winston says. “I thought the same thing, but if we really want them out of Rio, this is the only way. We just don’t have the manpower to drive them out ourselves.

“Oh, about that,” Lúcio says. “By ‘we’ you mean Overwatch, right? Tracer was kind of a dead giveaway, but I just wanted to check.”

He looks over at D.Va. D.Va gives him a nod, and it feels like her whole body rocks forward with the motion, and she really just wants to lie down and sleep. Lúcio seems fine - why can’t she handle it when she sees blood? Years after her first kill, why can’t she just stop?

Yes, it is,” Winston says. “You’re a welcome addition to the team, Lúcio, if you’re interested.

“If you’re going to stop Vishkar, I’ll give you all I’ve got,” Lúcio promises, and Hana heaves a soft sigh.

We will. Angela is composing a message to send to the head of Vishkar as we speak; hopefully, they will have responded by the time you seven make it back to Gibraltar.” Winston sounds mostly tired, actually, but there’s an undertone of satisfaction there, too. “Of course, now we’ll have to explain the property damage and, with D.Va’s stream, the U.N. will likely want to get involved.

“You were streaming, cara?” Lúcio’s grin is wide and happy and it takes everything D.Va has to return it. “I was on your stream? Us kicking Vishkar’s butt was on your stream?”

“Everything,” D.Va confirms, and thankfully her voice doesn’t wobble.

Lúcio throws his hands up in the air and crows, “That’s so cool.”

The Petras Act will be problematic,” Dr. Ziegler says over him. “News channels are already showing footage from the attack, and several gaming sites have already written articles about D.Va’s latest - hm, escapades. Seventy-six's presence is also problematic, it seems.

“Seventy-six?” D.Va says as Dr. Ziegler continues on about what exactly the world is saying about Overwatch's revival. 76 glances down at her, as she fingers the comm until she can pop it out and place it in a pocket. “I am going to sleep.”

He grunts acknowledgement and, thankfully, doesn’t ask questions. “You need earplugs?”

She tries to be surprised when he produces them from a pocket but really isn’t, and as soon as she tucks them into her ears she lets her head drop against his shoulder and closes her eyes. The feeling that everything isn’t quite right settles slowly, like water slowly meandering down a windshield of a car, as she focuses on her breathing and the warmth of 76 beside her; she can feel Lúcio bouncing in the seat besides her, but other than that, she eventually feels herself let go and the world fades away.

She doesn’t dream, a miracle in and of itself.

Hana wakes up when 76 shakes her. It’s starting to become a constant in her life, she thinks wryly as she sits up and takes out her earplugs, and she’s startled to see that there’s no one else in the plane; Zenyatta and Genji have just disembarked and further in the hangar she can see Lúcio chatting with Tracer while Torbjörn stomps along further ahead of them. She glances over at 76 to see him standing over her, his hand offered to her instead of around her, and she braces herself for whatever he’s going to say. Probably a lecture or something, she doesn’t know, but -

“Talk now or later?” is all he says, and the relief hits her like a punch in the gut.

“Later,” she says, looking away. “I will come find you.”

He grunts and singlehandedly hefts her to her feet. His hand slips around her shoulders, loosely holding her to him; he’s grounding her, she realizes belatedly, and she wonders when he learned how to deal with this kind of thing as they follow the rest of their team out of the hangar and towards - maybe the conference room, she’s not entirely sure.

Outside the hangar, it’s dark - 76’s visor glows bright red as it adjusts for the lack of light, and Hana reflects that it’s after midnight. If she was in Korea, she would be streaming right now, and instead of musing on that she takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. She can hear the ocean, a harsh wind blowing across rocks and the Watchpoint itself to make eerie whistling, 76’s breathing, Lúcio and Tracer’s bright laughter echoing across the smooth surfaces.

This is real, she reminds herself. She can feel 76’s arm on her shoulders and the wind brush away the warmth from her face. This is real.

It's a long time after they left the hangar that, quite suddenly, “Skip the debrief,” 76 says, halting in place. Hana flashes him a surprised look, but he is of course inscrutable with his visor; she realizes belatedly they’d stopped in front of the barracks. The main building was further ahead. “Sleep. You’re dead on your feet.”

(They’re dead. All of them. You helped.)

“I cannot sleep,” Hana says, throat raw with honesty. “I need - ”

And she stops. No. She’s not weak. She can do this on her own, she’s a soldier, she’s done this before. She doesn’t need any help. She’s young, but she’s not useless.

“Okay,” she says instead, gently shaking free of 76’s grip. “I will see you tomorrow.”

76 regards her for a long, silent moment. Hana doesn’t look up. “You want company?” he asks instead of anything else, and it’s strange that all she really wants to do is kind of… cling to him or something. Like an anchor.

She’s always been her own anchor, though. She can manage. “No.”

He hums assent. “All right. Good night, Hana.”

“Good night.”

She's not expecting the hug, when it happens - it's a gentle one, he doesn't squeeze too hard, just puts his arms around her and holds her close, and she's quick to wind her arms around him because it's nice. She can hear his heartbeat from this close and that reassures her more than anything else for some reason, and when he lets go she does so reluctantly and waves as she goes in. He's such a dad, she thinks to herself, and she's okay with that, actually.

It’s dark in the barracks, but the hallways light up dimly as she pads through them to her room, keying her room open and locking it behind her. There’s a package on the floor, a box rather; she pokes it open to discover the clothes she had ordered had already arrived, somehow, so she gets out pajamas and throws the rest back into the box before collapsing into bed. She’s not going to try to sleep; there’s no way she could, not without vicious dreams. She knows better than to try, too. She’s been in a place like this, mentally, before.

In the end, she pulls out her comm from her bodysuit and puts it in her ear, sitting on her bed with her back against the wall. If she's not going to do anything, she might as well get up to speed, a little. A bit of fiddling turns it on, and then -

- sure that’s a good idea?” That’s McCree. “I mean, not t’say I wouldn’t trust her as far as I could throw her, but, ya know.

It’s the best offer we’ve gotten so far.” Winston. “Vishkar’s even agreed to acknowledge the damage in Rio as their fault. We’re getting out this scot-free, basically.

Seems dangerous,” says 76, “Lúcio said so himself: Vishkar’s ruthless. The minute our leverage wears out, they’ll find a way to get payback.

Too late for that.” Tracer. “We have to accept the offer now, otherwise they will continue redeveloping Rio.”

Agreed. All in favor?” Presumably people raise their hands, instead of saying ‘aye’ or whatever. “All opposed?” Again with raising hands, instead of ‘nay’. Probably for the best, Hana reflects, as Winston says, “All right, we’ll accept their terms.

This is such besteira,” Lúcio grumbles. “I didn’t sign up to have Symmetra of all people come join us to represent Vishkar’s ‘best interests’. Pfeh.

Hana breathes in slowly and strains her ears, pressing down on the comm like it would help her hear better.

Symmetra is talented. We all saw that.” 76 again. “If she’s as professional as they said she is, she’ll be an asset to the team.

Doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it,” Lúcio mutters

It is either this or the end of Rio as you know it,” Zenyatta points out. “There are worse fates.

The rest of the comm chatter devolves as everyone begins talking at once, so she takes it out of her ear and places it on her bedside table. The clock reads 01.54, and with a sigh she lies down flat on her bed, folding her hands over her stomach. She wants to think about what the debrief entailed, but no matter how hard she tries to focus, it slips away from her like a ghost. Maybe she’ll get lucky and just feel numb before falling asleep.

Probably not, she thinks. Maybe she shouldn’t have refused 76’s offer for company after all.

Chapter Text

Hana ends up dozing on and off for most of the night. The nap on the Thunderbird really doesn't help, and she finally gives up and throws on some of her new cute clothes around 0713, taking a brief trip to the bathroom and putting makeup on to cover the dark circles under her eyes. Like battle paint, she thinks to herself as she looks over her handiwork, and in the end she puts her hair up, slaps some lip gloss on, and calls it good enough. Not like she’s going anywhere today - not like her handler’s going to parade her about to encourage recruitment. She’s glad those days are over, at least.

McCree is up when she gets to the mess hall. He’s drinking coffee, she thinks. Maybe. Whatever, as she goes to the kitchen and digs around for something to eat, and when she settles back out at his table, it's with rice and what she thinks is leftover chicken or something thrown in with soy sauce for taste. It’s fine, she guesses, as she takes a bite. For some reason, despite getting up and putting effort into looking nice today, despite her struggle to rest in the first place, she really just wants to go to sleep again.

“You look tired, darlin’,” McCree says after a slurp of coffee, glancing up only briefly from his datapad. She grumbles something, even she’s not sure what, and he laughs. “Take it the mission went well?”

“Not sure,” she says, taking another bite, speaking with her mouth full. She considers her words before she decides to go with a half-truth, half-lie and tells him, “I skipped the debrief.”

“I noticed. Winston wasn’t too happy ‘bout that.”

“Nah, but he shut up really quick when ol’ Soldier gave him the snake-eye,” Lúcio says from out of nowhere, causing Hana to jump and whack the table with her knee while McCree merely raises an eyebrow. He plops down next to her and offers her an apologetic smile. “Bom dia.”

Annyeong haseyo,” she replies, her voice a bit higher than usual, shoving more rice and chicken in her mouth. She’s not going to say anything else until she realizes the silence is a bit expectant, so she swallows her mouthful and asks, “Did Winston actually shut up?”

“Oh, yeah, it was a hoot,” Lúcio says with a laugh. He’s got the same thing as her; she’d left the leftovers on the island in the kitchen in case anyone wanted them, and she’s glad to see the rice and maybe-chicken won’t go to waste. “Just zeroed in on him with that visor and Winston was like ‘okay, fine, maybe she doesn’t have to be here’. Quality entertainment, ten out of ten. Is Overwatch always like this?”

“In my experience, yes,” Hana says, and it’s nice to know that conversing with Lúcio in person is just as easy as conversing with him online.

“Now that’s a harsh assessment,” McCree drawls as Lúcio cracks up.

“I am not wrong.”

“No,” McCree agrees, grinning easy and slow, “You’re not wrong.”

“I told you,” Hana says to Lúcio, lifting her chin in the air, and her friend laughs harder. She can’t help the smile that curls her lips and the heavy weight coiled in her chest loosens, at least a little bit. This is nice. She could get used to this, as she returns her attention to her meal.

“You and Soldier are pretty close,” McCree says with an absent smile as Lúcio works himself down to giggling, sipping at his coffee again. Hana watches the cowboy as she munches; he’s dangerous, she knows, he’s been watching 76 like a hawk ever since they’d come in, he's testing her reaction. “You sure you ain’t related?”

“He is Caucasian, I am Korean,” Hana says primly. “It is not rocket science.”

“Doesn’t have to be by blood,” McCree points out.

“You are stupid,” Hana informs him, a bit more acidly than she originally intended but too late now. Lúcio snickers as McCree’s eyes widen and he puts a hand to his heart, mock-offended, and Hana goes on, “Besides, the way you phrased your question implies you already know we are not related. Who exactly are you trying to convince?”

“Don’t worry about it,” McCree answers, which is weird and cryptic and somehow very McCree. “Actually, remind me t’tell you about the time I tricked Lena into believing Reyes - Gabriel Reyes, first Strike-Commander of Overwatch - into believing he and I were related.”

“What?” Lúcio laughs.

“I know, it was an outrage, lemme tell ya. No way in hell I could be related to that hardass. Only thing we had in common was that we spoke Spanish and had a mean shot - ”

76 walks in and Hana’s in flight between one breath and the next, leaving behind a startled-into-silence McCree and a Lúcio whose called “D.Va?” is forgotten as 76 stops and waits for her to close the distance between them. “Can we talk?” she asks, and it’s not until that moment that she realizes she’s still holding her breakfast, there’s rice on her face, and 76 is dressed in those ridiculous, thrice-starched pajamas. They’re both walking train wrecks, really, but she thinks they both already know that.

In any case, he nods at her and tilts his head towards the kitchen. She guesses it wouldn’t be the first time they had a soul-searching discussion in there, but it still seems kind of anti-climactic as she follows him in, feeling Lúcio and McCree’s eyes on her back right up until she turns the corner. She perches herself on the counter next to the stove, facing the door, while 76 roots around the fridge and eventually comes up with what appears to makings of an omelette. Maybe scrambled eggs. She’s not sure.

“You need me to ask questions, or you’re good with just talking?” 76 says after the silence stretches on for a few more seconds, cracking three eggs into a mug.

She opens her mouth, she’s fine with just talking, of course she is, but then she stops because - well, English isn’t her first language. She can speak it just fine, but when it comes to this kind of thing she’s always fallen back on Korean words that don’t quite translate the way she wants them to, or maybe it’s her who can’t translate them properly, she’s not sure. Where does she even start? How much does she want him to know? She knows he wouldn’t think less of her, but how can she begin to talk about something she’s hidden and buried ever since she shot a bullet that killed another human?

“Never talked about this before, huh,” 76 says, and Hana shuts her mouth. He’s put some water in the mug now and is stirring the eggs viciously with a fork. “It’s fine. I’ll ask questions, you answer if you feel like it.” He reaches up and removes his visor, his back to the door in case anyone walks in, and Jack Morrison glances over his shoulder and meets her eyes with his blue ones. “No rush, Hana.”

“Okay,” she says, because she’s not sure what else there is to say.

He looks back towards the mug and the saucepan that’s now on the stove, the one she hadn’t seen him grab, and then he pours some vegetable oil onto the pan, quickly followed by the egg-water mixture. It looks kind of disgusting, but that’s probably because Hana doesn’t like omelettes.

“Remember, don’t have to answer unless you want to,” 76 says, before he grabs a spatula and stares at the omelette like it might flip up and hit his face or something. “You ready?”

“Yes.”

There's a slight pause before he speaks again. “All right. How long have you been having episodes like this?”

Chapter Text

76’s question is a simple one. She knows the answer immediately, but she still hesitates before she says it out loud. She didn’t think talking to someone about this would be so hard, but - her brain is running at a million kilometers per hour about everything that might happen if she does. She knows that 76 wouldn’t make fun of her, she knows that she can trust him, she knows it, but somehow forcing the words out of her throat is so hard because it’s part of her she’s never once allowed to see the light of day. Why would she? No one knows her for Hana, they know her for D.Va; even Lúcio, she’ll be great friends with him, of that she has no doubt, but he only knows her by her celebrity status. Her handler called her Song, her MEKA squadmates called her D.Va, everyone around the world knows her by her winning smirk and cute wink and finger pistol combination - no one knows her for Hana but 76.

She almost wishes the room was dark so he couldn’t see her face, couldn’t see her shame. But his back is to her and he is intensely focused on the omelette and there is absolutely no way he hasn’t deal with this kind of thing before. There’s no way, not when he’s giving her privacy and patiently waiting for her to gather her thoughts, and somehow that’s enough for her to exhale hard, the words tumbling out in a rush.

“Two - three years ago. When I was sixteen.”

He nods. The muscles in his neck coil and loosen with the motion, and he flips the omelette with ease. She’s almost surprised he doesn’t put anything on it but a lot of salt. “You know what triggers it or no?”

(Blood. Killing. They’re dead because of you - )

“The first one happened after I shot a protestor,” Hana says. Her voice comes out small but matter-of-fact. “My squad leader told us to gun everyone down, so we did.”

“Killing people is the trigger?”

“Killing humans,” Hana clarifies.

“Why not omnics?”

“No blood.” This is so much easier than trying to explain it out loud, but she feels terrible because she’s making him play twenty questions when he doesn’t even know what he’s trying to guess.

“Is blood the only trigger?”

“I - ” It isn’t, she thinks. Maybe? “I am not sure.”

“Certain words?”

She feels like he knows more about her than she does. It’s… not entirely unwelcome, but it’s still weird. “Maybe.”

“Whenever someone mentions those who fell,” and what an artistic way of putting it, she thinks wryly, “You tend to shut down, just for a moment. People notice besides me.”

“What?” she says without thinking, “No, no, no,” that’s the last thing she wants, she doesn’t want people to know about this, because then they’d look at her and they’d look down on her, they would treat her like spun glass and she isn’t spun glass, and - and these feelings are so conflicting and she feels simultaneously spring-loaded and exhausted. Why can’t she just stop?

“Only if they’re looking. McCree, Genji - maybe Zenyatta. Not everyone.” The omelette slips onto a plate. He puts more salt on it, the heathen. “Do the words always trigger you?”

“No.”

“No as in they don’t, or - ”

“Not always.”

He grunts. He circles around until he can lean against the island, visor tucked under his arm as he takes a fork to his salty monstrosity. His back is to the door, still, ever-cautious and vigilant. “When do they?”

“When I can still see it in my mind,” Hana says, keeping her eyes carefully forward instead of closing them. Closing them invites darkness, invites a screen on which the montage can play. “When it is fresh.”

“This has been going on for three years?”

“Yes.”

“And you never talked about it with anyone.”

The shame hits her like a tidal wave; she’s weak and pathetic and why didn’t she talk to someone about this sooner? Because I was afraid. No, that isn’t right; because then people would think I am weak. There it is. She sets her jaw and clenches her fingers around the side of the countertop, hard enough it hurts. She’s D.Va, strong and sassy and professional at her job, laughing when her mech beeps red in her ear and effortlessly taking down her enemies as those viewing her stream clamor for bloodshed. She does not show weakness because - because people would think less of her, and -

and she is so tired of her thoughts running in circles. “No.”

He makes a sound that isn’t a grunt and isn’t a sigh, something in-between, and she braces herself: it’s pity, it has to be, as he sets his plate down on the island counter and moves until he’s standing next to her instead.

“Thank you for trusting me with this,” he says, and Hana feels something break, almost; she has to look down at her knees so he doesn’t see her face contorting to hold back tears. “You’re not alone.”

It sounds so much like Dr. Ziegler. At first it makes her angry - he must be working with the doctor to pick her apart, to see how she ticks - but seconds later, she’s just so cold and heavy and her limbs don't want to move. He wouldn’t do that; he and Dr. Ziegler rarely exchanged more than ten words at a time, directly to each other at least. Then she remembers that she’s talking to Jack Morrison, hero and commander of Overwatch, and that maybe, maybe the reason he sounds so much like Dr. Ziegler is because the doctor told him the same thing once, a long time ago. Hana will probably never know for sure.

“I am so tired,” she whispers after a few moments.

“I know.”

She’s not sure if it’s a conscious decision when she holds her arms out to him, and it’s a little awkward because she’s sitting on the counter and he’s standing, but it’s warm, and it’s familiar, and somehow it feels safe. Home away from home, or something, she’s not sure, but she just presses her face against his shoulder as he holds her to him and keeps her crying to soft little hiccups, because she’s bared enough of her soul today and she’s drawing the line at this. This is enough, she won’t ask for more, this is more than she could have ever expected and - and this is enough. She’s fine. She’s okay.

She never wants to let go.

It’s only a knock at the kitchen door that makes Hana pull away, sniffling as she wipes at her eyes. She hadn’t put mascara on but no doubt the tears ruined her makeup anyway; she takes out her compact mirror with her battle stripe paint in it to fix what she can as 76 puts his visor back on and goes over to let whoever it is inside. Not that it matters, since both he and Hana can hear McCree’s spurs jingling even before the door is fully open.

“Pardon me,” the cowboy says, and that’s it. Hana keeps herself turned away and braces for an interrogation as McCree opens the dishwasher, puts his mug inside, and closes it, and then he says, “D.Va, Soldier,” maybe tips his hat or whatever dumb thing he does when saying goodbye to people, and he’s gone.

She feels light. And crushed. And tired, and unhappy, and nervous, but - but she also feels stable. She feels like what Hana should feel, if a bit shaky. 76 said she wasn’t alone. Maybe… maybe having others know about this isn’t a bad thing. Maybe.

“Sorry,” Hana whispers, as 76 puts his plate in the sink.

“Hana,” he says, turning towards her, walking close so he can put both hands on her shoulders. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I am going to cry again,” she sniffs, and then she wipes her eyes again and continues dabbing at her face so she can look presentable enough to make a quick escape through the mess hall to her room, and then she mumbles, “Gomapseumnida.”

She can’t see him smile. But she still musters a wobbly one of her own in return, when he says in a rumble, “You’re always welcome.”

Chapter Text

Symmetra shows up without fanfare a few hours later. Hana had hidden away in her room after her conversation with 76 - to which she had apologized profusely, but he just tilted his head and told her to take all the time she needed, and it’s still strange to have someone care for her well-being so unconditionally - and that is where she stays, playing some old game in her files for kicks and giggles, when the Vishkar agent enters Gibraltar. She knows the woman’s arrived because Winston calls a meeting a few minutes later, and so she gets up with a sigh, trots to her bathroom to fix her makeup, and then exits her room and knocks on 76’s door so they walk down together.

“Do you think Lúcio will show?” Hana asks 76 as he meets her - dressed in civvies, jeans and a white shirt with his stupid jacket on top. When did he get those? Maybe he was smart and ordered clothes online, too.

“Mm-hm.” He shuts his door and they set off at a brisk walk. “Pretty sure he’s going to do something stupid. Might have to sit next to him.”

Hana thinks back at Lúcio’s adamance back in Rio and agrees, a bit uneasily, “That is probably for the best.”

The conference room is already mostly full by the time the two of them arrive. Lúcio greets her with a grin and immediately begins talking about the soundtrack of some game he’d just found as she takes the spot next to him, 76 the one next to her; he’s seemingly unaware of the purpose of this meeting, which might be good, because it’s unlikely he would have showed up otherwise, but. If he notices how 76 and Hana are both sitting close, he doesn’t comment and instead keeps chattering. Strange to think he’s seven years older than her, really, as he easily engages Reinhardt in conversation; she and he are so very different.

Then again, 76 had told her that a lot could change in a short period of time. He’s probably right.

Symmetra is the last one to come in to the room, with Tracer chattering gaily at her side. She’s smiling, too, a small thing that just barely curves her lips upward, and then she sits near the front, next to Dr. Ziegler, as Winston takes the floor and Tracer blinks over to her spot to the gorilla's left. Lúcio had fallen silent as soon as the woman walked into the room and is glaring daggers; Symmetra is systematically ignoring him.

“All right, everyone,” Winston says, eyeing Lúcio in a way that screams this probably won't end well, “I’ll let our newest addition introduce herself.”

It’s completely unnecessary, but an expectant hush falls over the group nonetheless as all eyes turn to the Vishkar agent. She takes it in stride; Hana starts counting the seconds until Lúcio blows up. “I am Symmetra. While I am not officially a part of Overwatch, I look forward to working together with you to further your and Vishkar’s mutual goals - ”

Mutual goals?” And there it is. Hana curls a hand around Lúcio’s elbow and holds him down in his seat, digging her fingers into his skin. He flashes her only a cursory, disapproving look before all attention is back on Symmetra. “Vishkar has no mutual goals with Overwatch. None.”

“We seek to create a world of order and harmony. Overwatch seeks peace. The two are not mutually exclusive,” Symmetra says coolly. She sounds completely unfazed. She also looks completely unfazed as she says, derisively, “Street rabble would like you would likely not understand.”

“Street rab - I’m the rabble?” Lúcio surges to his feet in a single, fluid motion. Hana manages, at the last second, to keep her nails from cutting through his skin; when she looks at 76, he shakes his head, so she doesn’t follow her friend up. “I’m the rabble when Vishkar destroyed my home?”

“We did not destroy anything worthwhile.” Eesh. Now Hana and McCree trade uneasy glances, as do many around the table.

“You destroyed my culture. That faleva was not yours to just - to just toy with! People lived there, people liked - ”

“People lived in squalor in that slum,” Symmetra says, flinty, unmovable. Glacial.

“It was by our own rules! We were free! You took that away from us - ”

“Freedom must be sacrificed for the greater good.”

What?”

“You do not understand our vision of the future - of the greatness that we will build for those who have yet to be born.” Symmetra stares Lúcio down. “Vishkar looks beyond for those who willfully turn a blind eye.”

“You - do you know what my people went through? Forced curfews? Violence if we resisted? People died when you built your cities from our ashes, and you did nothing to help them!”

“Our constructs allow them to live idyllic lives,” Symmetra says, and her voice is colder than ice as she, too, finally rises to her feet. That snaps Hana into action, as she jumps up and forcibly loops her arm around Lúcio’s neck, tugging him down, and though he fights her, and though he’s stronger, she’s the one with military training; she manages to wrestle him out of his seat and slowly drag him towards the door.

76 gives her a nod and a little hand gesture that roughly translated to good luck. She grimaces back and ignores how everyone in the room is looking at them - mostly her, she’s guessing. They seemed surprised that she’s not totally incompetent without her mech, if she had to put a label on everyone’s expressions.

“You used your sound technology to control us - to keep us obedient, like sheep, like - ” and here Lúcio stops to take a breath, digging his heels into the ground so Hana has to heft harder with a small grunt - “And you have the nerve to tell us our lives are idyllic‽”

“I shape order from chaos,” Symmetra says. Her luminous eyes are narrowed, but otherwise her face is perfectly expressionless. It makes it all the more unsettling when she says, deathly quiet, “Fall in line - or fall behind.”

Hana palms open the door, spares Winston the barest of nods that he returns with a pinched expression, and throws Lúcio over her hip. She follows him quickly and shuts the door behind her, and then it’s just her and him, breathing hard, her hands on her knees as Lúcio slowly gets up from the floor. She watches silently as he stands.

He’s shorter than her, but his expression is dark and angry and intimidating as he says, in a low, dangerous voice, “Move.”

She lifts her chin, straightens her spine, stares him down. “No.”

He tries to shove her aside. She grabs his arm, twists it, flips him to the floor again. It’s been a while since she’s performed the motions, but she remembers being on the mat, hitting the mat, throwing others to the mat like it was yesterday; 76 saw to that.

“D.Va,” he grits out as he climbs to his feet, and she feels a flicker of guilt at the beginnings of a bruise on his elbow, not nearly enough to overwhelm the sheer exasperation in her chest.

“Control yourself, Lúcio,” she answers, crossing her arms. She watches his fist rise and bats it away when he lets the punch fly, looping her arm around it and dropping to a seat, forcing him to sit with her. He struggles to escape her grip as she lets out a sigh. “You will only make things worse, you know,” she tells him. Lúcio gives her a dirty look, and she clarifies a bit unnecessarily, “If you yell and shout at her. She is not the entirety of Vishkar. She is a pawn.”

“She’s one of their top agents,” Lúcio spits, but at least he stops fighting her, hunching over his constricted shoulder. She doesn’t let go, not yet, even though she knows firsthand how much it must hurt. “She was directly involved in what happened in Rio. She can’t just get away with all the merda she did.”

Hana sighs. He’s angry. He’s not going to see reason anytime soon. “What makes you the best qualified to make her pay?”

I live there.”

“And she almost killed me,” Hana points out.

“She killed hundreds of my people,” Lúcio seethes. “Those who survived rallied around me. That was the only reason we were able to drive Vishkar out.”

Okay, time to change tactics. What would 76 do in this situation? Probably offer him cookies. (Maybe a bag of sliced apples.) Hana doesn’t have cookies (or apples). She’ll have to settle for something else.

“Look,” Hana says, “I understand that this is a terrible, awful situation. And I recognize that you have every right to be angry, and I know that you want to hurt her.” She holds up a hand to hold off Lúcio’s inevitable tirade, and it’s a bit of a surprise when he actually closes his mouth, especially so as she points out, “But I cannot let you harm her. The ramifications would be... very bad.”

Because Hana knows how politics work. She’s been paraded about by the South Korean army as a pretty face with a spirited personality to match. People sexualized her, people idolized her, people threatened her, they still do - but above all, she was and is a public figure. Her actions in the military were severely restricted; everything she said on stream had to be written out beforehand. She never spoke against her country. She encouraged people who had already served their required military time to reenlist. If she ever took a single step out a line, suddenly the government had to run about to keep a scandal from leaking, and suddenly her few freedoms were taken away.

She’s been famous for three years. She knows how much public opinion can sway an entire country’s fate. But Lúcio…

Lúcio’s a celebrity. So is Vishkar, in a way. Though their conflict is well-known and everyone would expect him to attack the corporation whenever possible, he is with Overwatch now - and Overwatch would be severely debilitated without Vishkar’s offer. The U.N. would only see the organization’s actions to be terroristic in nature if Overwatch had to claim responsibility for what happened in Rio de Janeiro; the Petras Act would be followed rather than struck down. However much Lúcio dislikes Vishkar for all they have done and all they stand for, Overwatch cannot afford negative public attention. And if Vishkar learned that its liaison had been harmed - well, they would strike, consequences be damned, and Hana knows firsthand what it’s like to be at the brunt of a social attack.

Lúcio’s not stupid. She can see these exact thoughts running through his mind as she stares him down, wordless, and after a few long, long seconds, he sags in her grip and she lets him go.

“Yeah,” he says, rubbing a hand against a temple. “Yeah, you’re right. I forget that... Sorry, cara.”

“I will only let you back in once you promise me you will hold your tongue and you will not strike.”

“Don't tell me shit I already - ” and he stops. Breathes. Empathy makes her lips curve downwards; she understands the struggle, she really does, and she knows that he realizes this, too. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll shut up. And tolerate her, I guess. If I have to.”

“You do,” she says, jumping to her feet. When she offers him a hand, he takes it and lets go as soon as he’s up. “Thank you, Lúcio.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says with a self-deprecating smile. “Thank me for being a big selfish idiot. You’re too cool for this world, D.Va.”

“That is one way to put it,” Hana says, and with firm nod - she’s sure he’ll behave, she can see it in his expression - she palms the door open and, together, they step inside.

Chapter Text

The room is quiet when Lúcio and Hana slip back into their seats. 76 reaches out to pat Hana’s arm as she settles in, to which she flashes him a small smile, and then Lúcio is apologizing for his outburst and Symmetra has entirely no expression on her face and it’s business as usual.

Hana, of course, doesn’t pay any attention to the meeting itself. Most of her focus on Lúcio - though, as she had previously suspected, he doesn’t do a single thing out of line except for the occasional dirty glance. Symmetra, meanwhile, ignores him steadfastly, making Hana think there was definitely some discussion about her behavior while she and Lúcio had been hashing it out outside the conference room. Good, she thinks. She can ask 76 about it later, if she remembers.

The meeting adjourns pretty quickly afterwards, likely because the tension in the room is stifling. Lúcio skitters off, first out of the room, and Hana briefly considers following him before deciding against it; she can seek him out later and he’ll probably want some alone time. Instead she stands around until McCree is about to walk past, grabbing onto his red poncho thing before he can walk out the door. He pauses when she does so, and she has to fight down the urge to flush.

“I just wanted to apologize for this morning,” she tells him, releasing her grip on his poncho thing. He raises an eyebrow; she takes that as her cue to continue. “I was not in the best place to be making conversation and I took it out on you. I am sorry.”

“No worries, darlin’,” McCree says with a smile. She figured, but McCree is so damn unreadable she'd just wanted to make sure and it's with some relief that she returns his smile. “We all have our bad days. Frankly, you were downright genial in comparison to, not namin’ any names, some others.”

He inclines his head. She follows its trajectory and finds Symmetra at the end of it, and at that she frowns but doesn’t comment as he tips his hat and continues out the conference room door. Winston, Tracer and Dr. Ziegler are conferring at the front of the room; otherwise, it’s only, 76 and Symmetra left.

“Going down to the range,” 76 says, pausing in front of her on his way out. “Feel like joining?”

“I need a bit,” she says, eyes on Symmetra, and 76, too, turns his head to spare a glance.

“Be careful,” he says, and she nods, marveling again and again how weird it is that they know each other so well they can communicate entire paragraphs with just gestures - except she still manages to startle him, as he lets out a surprised oof when she darts in for a brief hug, one he returns. Then he’s gone and Symmetra is approaching the door, heels clicking on the floor. Hana steels herself and falls into step besides her, opening her mouth to say hello as the door closes behind them.

“D.Va,” Symmetra says as a greeting before Hana can say anything. Her voice is frosty. “Come to regale me with stories of Vishkar’s misdeeds?”

“What?” Oh, Hana thinks, it looks like I am in league with Lúcio. Which isn’t wrong but is still woefully inaccurate, as it stands. “Oh. Er, no. I was just going to ask what you think of Overwatch so far.”

Symmetra stares down at her. Hana bites her lip as she returns the unwavering stare. Okay, so, the whole ‘let’s be friendly with all of my teammates’ thing is going to go out the window with this one, maybe?

“Are you trying to get to know me?” she says at last, and Hana kind of tilts her head because a) what and b) is that an actual question? A few seconds pass before Hana decides being straightforward is likely the best option here.

“Yes,” she says. “I, um, thought you would appreciate knowing that not everyone here is out for blood.”

“Ah.”

Silence. Hm. Hana flits through seven topics she could start talking about and has to dismiss all of them; Symmetra is much older than her. Well, maybe not much older. She looks to be close to Lúcio's age, actually, but she probably does not like the same things Lúcio does, so she can't talk about video games (a shame). Nor would she be interested in movies, probably. Actually, how old is Symmetra? Hana makes a mental note to read up on her file and, well, now the silence has stretched past the point of awkward.

It goes on for a while longer, too, which is enough to make Hana have to restrain her hands behind her so they don't pick at her skirt, and she’s about to say something else when Symmetra finally speaks up and says, “In that case, my name is Satya Vaswani. It is good to meet you, D.Va, though I wish it had not been in such circumstances.” She lets out an almost inaudible sigh through her nose. “I lost my composure during the meeting. I would like to apologize personally for that. It was extremely disrespectful.”

Hana blinks.

She’s not sure what she should be thinking here. It’s kind of strange, actually. It feels like Satya isn’t - trying to be rude, intentionally? It's more like she’s just not sure how to address this sort of... thing. (What is the thing, though? Now Hana's just confusing herself.) Clearly the woman had been expecting confrontation from all sides, that much had been obvious in the argument with Lúcio, but now that she’s faced with friendliness, she looks a little… lost. Hana isn’t sure to feel bad for her or not, because she knows Satya’s done some shitty things due to Lúcio’s program hacking into Vishkar archives, but at the same time - it seems unfair to judge a single person based on a whole entity like Vishkar. Like she had told Lúcio earlier, Satya is a pawn on the board, and for all that she’s cold and unmoving, everyone has feelings.

And she’s given Hana her first and last name; her real name. Now that Satya knows that not everyone is out to get her, she’s latched onto Hana’s friendliness almost - desperately, maybe. Hana feels a smile curve her lips upwards. She can be a friend. She’s good at that, all things considered.

“My name is Hana Song, not D.Va,” she says. “It is good to meet you, Satya.” Please don’t have any ulterior motives, she begs, because that would be terrible in so many ways.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Satya says. She looks distinctly uncomfortable as she looks away from Hana's face, the first time since the beginning of the conversation. “I understand if you do not accept my apology. I should… I do not usually lose control. The display was shameful.”

“Oh, no,” Hana says, “Do not worry about it. I was disoriented when I first came here as well.” She likely would’ve lashed out herself if 76 hadn’t acted as a buffer, and she gives Satya a smile. “It takes a bit of getting used to. People will be jumpy because they know you are here to monitor for Vishkar, too.”

“You are right,” Satya says, and she frowns and she murmurs, almost like it’s a confession, “I am unsure of how to interact with people here. No one seems understands Vishkar’s goals and purpose.”

“I will be honest, I do not understand them at all,” Hana says, and Satya casts her a surprised look. It’s not mean-spirited, though, more like genuine confusion, and now Hana does feel bad because how much warning did Vishkar give Satya before pushing her off to an unknown place, full of unknown people, for an unknown period of time? Given Vishkar’s penchant for absolute control, Satya has probably never had to deal with the wildcards that made up Overwatch’s roster, too. “It will take time, but I am sure people will come around.”

Satya purses her lips before nodding, once, like she’s come to a decision. “I understand.” She turns her head to look down at Hana. “Thank you, miss Song.”

“Hana,” she says. “Please.” Satya nods, looking almost as emotionless as before but, at least, a lot less lost. Hana feels better about leaving her to wander around on her own - not to say, of course, that Satya isn’t being monitored twenty-four seven by Athena, but it’s the thought that counts. “I have to go practice at the range with 76 now. I will see you at dinner?”

“I - yes,” Satya says. “I will be there.”

She returns Hana’s wave and, well, that discussion could have gotten a whole lot worse as she begins to make her way to the training ranges. Hana counts it as a win.

Chapter Text

76 isn’t the only person at the training ranges when Hana gets there. Torbjörn and Reinhardt are in range one when Hana peeks in - she thinks they’re testing out some new modifications of Reinhardt’s armor - and Tracer and Genji are in range two, locked in a simulation against numerous bots; all she can see are green and blue blurs as bots are destroyed and swept away, and while she’d like to watch, she knows she has to keep going. 76 isn’t in range three, surprisingly. Instead she sees McCree fanning the hammer on his revolver as Dr. Ziegler watches. Maybe she’s running maintenance on McCree’s arm?

It’s telling that almost all of Overwatch’s original members are training on what should be their day off. Hana muses on this as she palms into training range four of five, just as 76 raises a hand to his tactical visor and opens fire on all the hapless bots in the range. It’s over in a matter of seconds, and he straightens up and looks over to her as she enters with a wave.

“How’d it go?” he asks instead of a hello, clicking the used magazine out of his rifle and replacing it with a new one before swinging it over his shoulder and walking over.

“With Symmetra?” At his nod, she says, “She told me her real name.”

He raises his eyebrows. She shrugs, and he says, “Interesting.”

“I do not suppose someone told her to not be so argumentative while I was outside with Lúcio?”

“Me,” 76 says, and what a surprise that is. “Short and sweet. Kind of just told her to shut up unless she had something nice to say.”

“Wow,” she says, “It is little wonder that you are single.”

76 doesn’t say anything right away and Hana immediately makes a mental note not to bring it up again; somehow, somewhere, she’s hit a sore spot, though he doesn’t let it affect him for longer than a heartbeat. “Winston repeated it in prettier words,” he informs her, slightly smug. “I took initiative. If I hadn’t, I don’t think anyone would’ve said anything.”

“And for that I am very grateful,” Hana says. “The meeting might have otherwise gone much worse.”

“Still one for the books,” 76 says, and, well, he would know. “She tell you anything else during your chat?”

“Not really. I will be eating with her at dinner tonight, though. I feel bad for her, a little.”

It sounds a bit like a test when he says, “Even with the things she did?”

“Politics are complicated, but I would have to be an idiot to miss how she is just one piece in Vishkar’s chessboard,” Hana says, and she’s proud of how poetic that sounds.

He grunts. Whatever test the question had been, she had passed. She doubts that he would have done anything if she had failed, though, in all honesty. “True. Still. Stay vigilant.”

“A bit ironic, coming from you.”

“Har har. Promise you’ll be careful.”

“Yes, dad,” Hana says, rolling her eyes.

76, to his credit, doesn’t react to the name and instead pushes on. “That didn’t sound like a promise.”

She holds up a pinky. After a moment, he does as well, wrapping his around hers, and as soon as he has she says, “Pinky swear,” grinning victoriously when it makes him chuckle, just a little bit. “Relax. There are few who can out-maneuver me when it comes to mind games.”

“Even in the thick of battle?”

“That is different,” she says with a sniff, knowing very well that in a fight she focuses on the immediate rather than the long-term; that’s the whole point of being D.Va, to not dwell on what she’s doing, to not consider the consequences of her actions. Nevertheless, it earns her another chuckle, and with a flush of embarrassment she demands, “Are you going to teach me how to shoot better or no?”

“You got your gun?”

“Obviously,” she says, patting her hip. If she learned anything from her travels with 76, it’s that being unarmed can be equated with being dead.

“All right. Let’s see your form.”

It’s a compliment that 76 doesn’t offer much in advice or critique, instead watching her silently as she empties her gun, reloads, and repeats the motions again - but, as always, he occasionally reaches out to adjust her form, lifting her elbow or pushing at her shoulder or nudging his foot against hers until she shifts. She’s learned not to let it distract her, instead focusing in on emptying a clip, unloading and reloading the next, firing again. She can see why 76 once commented that this was what he did when he was tense; the pattern is relaxing, if nothing else.

“Pardon me,” someone calls after a few minutes of this. It shocks Hana out of her focus; she misses the target by a good three meters and, when she turns her head, she's a little miffed to see that it’s just McCree. He gives her an apologetic smile as he says, “Angel needs t’talk to ya, Soldier.”

“What for?” 76 asks, briefly touching Hana’s shoulder before walking over to the cowboy.

“Think she just wants to check in your leg, from back when we were gettin’ Torb outta Russia.”

“That’s unnecessary,” 76 says, which is probably true, considering how he had easily handled himself in Rio de Janeiro.

“It’s best not to cross her.”

That gets a snort out of both 76 and Hana, thought 76 recovers quickly and says, “I’ll take your word for it. You good on your own, Hana?”

“Not a child,” she choruses.

“Can’t hurt to ask.” 76 turns to McCree. “She said where to meet her?”

McCree jerks a thumb at the door. “She’s in range three.”

“Acknowledged.”

Hana returns 76's wave as he walks out of the range, and then it’s just her and McCree. She’s… she gets the sense that something is going to happen, a coil of dread knotting in her stomach, and she absently readjusts the grip on her gun as she brings it up to shoulder-height, steadying it with her left hand. It’s not that McCree would hurt her, he would never, but the way he’s striding towards her with that smile strikes her as suspicious.

“So, darlin’,” he says, flipping his hat off of his head and putting it on hers instead. She makes a wordless exclamation in protest as her next shot goes wide, pushing the hat up to glare at him accusingly. “Mind if I ask ya somethin’?”

“Depends on what it is,” she says, lining up the shot again and firing four times in succession. Each hits the target, clustered about near the top.

“Ain’t no way to ask this nicely, so, uh, don’t panic.” That’s not promising. She puts her gun down, tilts his hat so it’s not blocking her eyes, and stares at him. His smile is - different. Small, flinty, almost, and she readies herself for the worst because there’s no way this isn’t about - “76, he’s Jack, ain’t he?”

There it is, she thinks dimly, her blood chilling in her veins, even as she furrows her brow and says confusedly, “Jack Morrison?”

“That’s the one.”

“Jack Morrison is not alive,” she says, and it takes so little effort to give him a concerned look. “Are you sure you did not hit your head somewhere? Even if I knew who 76 was, it is impossible to be someone who is dead.”

“Don’t lie to me, darlin’,” McCree says, one hand on his revolver. He’s… threatening her. Maybe her previous assessment that the cowboy would never hurt her was wrong. “Interrogation was always one of my strong suits.”

“Teenagers are notorious for being rebellious,” she answers, unable to stop herself from quipping. McCree doesn’t laugh, so she sighs inwardly and decides it might be best to intersperse some truth in her words. “There is nothing to know, either way. He has two scars on his face, he is old, and his vision is not perfect - that is what the visor is for. I do not know anything else.”

“Hana,” McCree says, and his voice is very, very quiet. The revolver is still in its holster, but now his fingers are wrapped around the stock, and she watches this with a small, quivering sense of terror. “You’re foolin’ no one, you know.”

Hana stares at him. He stares back, amber eyes narrowed slightly. She notices, detached, that he’s drawn his revolver out of his holster, and that’s when Hana narrows her eyes and she will not be the underdog here if she has anything to say about it.

“I really have no idea what you are talking about, but as it appears you are about to harm me for no reason, I apologize in advance,” she says.

He blinks at her, thrown off guard, and that is when she whips her gun up and shoots his revolver.

Chapter Text

McCree’s revolver skitters away from him on the floor and Hana’s in motion, tripping over McCree’s extended foot and turning it into a roll so she reaches the revolver first. McCree’s hat drops off of her head as she looks it over; the gun’s empty, she notices, which is probably for the best as she tucks it into the waistline of her skirt. It’s not ideal that she’s wearing civvies right now, but she can make it work as she dodges around McCree’s arm and uses the momentum from her running to jump over the divider between the range and the practice space.

“Yer really not makin’ your case more convincin’ this way, ya know,” McCree shouts to her as he darts towards a side panel and types something. The arena around her shifts in place and she curses; he’s inputted a course with a ton of walls, almost like a maze. She’ll never be able to see where he’s coming from with this much cover everywhere, and so she races through towards the back to get as much distance between them as possible. “I mean, I expected denial, but this is a bit extreme, ya know what I mean?”

“Excellent,” she mutters sarcastically once she reaches the back wall, ignoring McCree completely in favor of taking out his revolver in her left hand. It’s heavier than she would have expected, solid and dependable, and it’s both lucky and terrible she has no ammo for it. She looks at it for a few moments before tucking it into a corner against the back wall, out of sight for the most part, and then she lets out a breath and takes off her shoes, leaving them behind as well.

“He won’t hurt me,” she tells herself, but it feels like she’s fighting for her life anyway, adrenaline running hot through her veins as she holds completely still and listens. She can hear his spurs clicking in the distance; why hasn’t he taken them off, she thinks, as she begins to pick her way in the opposite direction.

“Seriously,” McCree says, as if on cue, and she moves from cover to cover to stay out of his line of sight. “I’m now certain that ol’ Soldier is actually Jack.”

“You are the one who threatened to shoot me,” Hana shouts back, immediately moving because she’d just given her position away and she can hear McCree make a beeline towards her.

“I did not,” he says indignantly.

“You took your gun out of your holster and kept talking about interrogations!” The floor is smooth enough that she can slide on her socks once she builds up speed, and she uses that to whip around a corner. McCree isn’t close, but he’s near enough to make her antsy. “What was I supposed to think, hearing that from a former Blackwatch agent?”

“Okay, admittedly, not my best plan,” McCree calls back, and she huffs as she continues onward. The walls thrown up as cover form a circle of sorts, interlocking and plentiful; she dodges towards the center, knowing McCree will be making his way towards the edge. It’s only a matter of time before he finds his revolver. “How was I supposed t’know that intimidation wouldn’t scare ya, it’d make ya flip?”

“Have you read my file?”

“Yeah, but - ”

“Did you read the part where some fuckboy tried to touch me at a publicity event?”

“Wow, didn’t know you had it in ya to use such language - oh, shit. Was that the six foot four guy?”

“Obviously!”

“Ah.” Hana still remembers him - big, tall, muscular, getting in her space during a transition onstage, warning her that no one would come if she screamed. She of course ignored him, kneeing him in the crotch before making her escape, because that’s what she does when she’s threatened as Hana; she runs. As D.Va, she would have broken four of his fingers (and probably not have managed to get away, which is why D.Va isn't always her solution to things). “Okay, fine, I should’ve known better, fine. We’re gettin’ off-topic.”

“No, we are not. I will not answer your questions if you are going to shoot me!”

“Fer the last time, I wasn’t gonna shoot ya. You shot first.”

“What did you think I was going to do, talk about something that isn’t even true? I am not about to get hurt for some baseless accusation!”

“First of all, it ain’t baseless, and secondly, you really can cut the crap because I already know you’re lyin’ - ”

What is going on here.

“ - ah, hell.”

“Language.” A pause, and Hana squeaks in alarm as her cover recedes and it’s just the flat arena again. McCree is all the way across the room, and his gun is now visible in its forlorn spot on the now-empty floor, and he and Hana exchange looks that are both apologetic and hostile in the same breath. He makes his way towards it; Hana makes her way towards 76 standing near the side panels, vaulting over the divide and gratefully swooping under his arm, pressing close.

“You have ten seconds, McCree,” 76 says, rifle braced in his other hand, and Hana is suddenly struck with the thought that maybe she really should not have shot McCree's revolver.

“Okay, before you go making assumptions, it’s not completely my fault,” McCree says, holding his hands up in the air. His revolver is safely back in its holster, and Hana gives him a baleful glare. “Maybe it’s mostly my fault,” he amends, to which 76 tenses up, physically preparing for confrontation.

“I shot him first,” Hana volunteers because, despite everything, she does feel a little bad. McCree gives her a surprised look that she ignores.

There’s a pause. “I’m sure you had good reason,” 76 says.

“Oh, sure, Hana gets off the hook, but me - look, I’ll just - ah, fuck it,” McCree says with a sigh when all 76 does is glare. “Soldier, you’re Jack Morrison, ain’tcha?”

“The man’s dead and I’m not about to try and follow his act,” 76 says and Hana could weep, it sounds so convincing.

“Seriously, what is it with people playin’ dumb today?” McCree says, addressing it to the ceiling. Athena, thankfully, doesn’t respond, and he looks back at them. “Look, guy, Winston already knows. He hasn’t told any of us yet, but not all of us are completely stupid.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Winston - he freakin’ smelled ya when you first came in, Soldier. Can’t hide from a gorilla’s nose. Somethin’ about superior olfactory bulbs or whatever. ‘Sides, once Angel runs the DNA tests to get you completely registered in the system, secret’s out; might as well get it over with, you know?”

“This is what he was blabbering about while I was gone,” 76 says quietly, looking down at Hana. It doesn’t come out like a question.

“Yep,” she says anyway, popping the ‘p’.

He grunts. “Well, that’s perfect.” He raises his voice. “McCree, I’m not joking when I say I have no idea what you’re on about right now.”

“Yeah?” McCree’s close enough to hop over the divide himself, though once he does, he walks past them to retrieve his hat. He looks much more like himself when he puts it back on. “Why not take off your visor, then?”

“Only reason I can see,” 76 says.

“Hana said otherwise.” Hana mutters an apology under her breath, to which 76 sighs inaudibly; she only knows because she’s close enough to him to feel it. “Look, Jack, I’m all about keepin’ secrets and what have you, but even Hana’s reaction here was enough to tip me off - ”

“You threatened to interrogate me - ”

“He what‽

“Look, it’s not important - ”

“Oh, no, I think it’s important,” 76 says, leaving Hana behind to stalk forward. McCree raises his hands in the air in an effort to placate him, though both he and Hana know it’s in vain. “Is that why you shot him, Hana?”

“I panicked,” Hana says, a little embarrassed in retrospect. “Also, I shot his gun, not him.”

“That’s not the point!” McCree says, now waving his arms around. “Would all y’all stop pretendin’ and actually confirm what we already know?”

“There’s nothing to confirm, cowboy,” 76 growls, pulse rifle swinging off of his back so he can kind of, like, jab it in McCree’s direction. “Whose great idea was it to threaten Hana with a Blackwatch interrogation?”

“Look, pendejo, the fact you know what a Blackwatch interrogation entails is tellin' in and of itself, and y’all are not gettin’ anythin’ good out of this by shootin’ me - ”

- but then he's cut off by a furious “Was machst Du da für Scheiße‽

Chapter Text

And there she is, Hana thinks, turning on her heel towards the door: the good doctor herself. The angel. The valkyrie. Dr. Ziegler, who looks like she’s going to murder someone and she is going to scream profanity the entire time she does it.

“Guns down,” she barks, and 76 and also McCree, surprisingly - Hana hadn’t seen him draw, but that’s nothing new - drop their arms, rifle and revolver pointing towards the ground. “Of all the stupid - I leave you alone with Hana for five minutes and you still manage to make this much of a mess, Jesse. What would Gabriel say?”

“My bad, Angel,” McCree says, hand going up to the back of his neck. “Also, he’d probably say something like pinche baboso - ”

“And you, Jack, you - you’ve always been so stubborn but this - you threatened to shoot him for, what, exactly?”

“For the last time, I’m not Jack,” 76 growls, “And I’m going to kill him because he told Hana he was going to interrogate her.”

Dr. Ziegler stares at 76 for a long moment before her eyes shift to McCree, whereupon she says in a complete deadpan, “Jesse. Was zum Teufel.”

“I panicked,” McCree says which, yeah, sounds about right.

“It is fine,” Hana chimes in. “I shot him first.”

“She shot Peacekeeper, actually.”

Dr. Ziegler says something that’s probably rude in rapid-fire German, giving enough time for Hana to send McCree as apologetic a look as she can muster, one he returns it in kind; just like that, all is forgiven and they are united in their front against the wrath of the good doctor.

“Okay,” Dr. Ziegler says at last. “Hana. That was extremely dangerous. McCree’s revolver is metal and the bullet would have ricochetted off and may have hit either one of you. Next time you feel threatened, maybe don't actually hurt each other, I can't believe I have to tell you this. Please.” A conspiratorial pause. “Otherwise, shoot his hat instead.”

“Hey!” McCree protests, which only goes to show how true Dr. Ziegler’s assertion is.

“And, next,” Dr. Ziegler says, “Jack. Sorry - Seventy-six. Come over here.”

76 doesn’t move. The second Dr. Ziegler takes a step forward Hana puts herself between him and the doctor, and then McCree’s laughing, vexed, and Dr. Ziegler just looks - so tired, really. Tired of people’s shit, Hana would guess, and the gamer watches as she puts her head in her hands.

“Seventy-six, I just want you to know that you are not fooling anyone,” Dr. Ziegler says, voice muffled. She sounds simultaneously furious and exasperated, mirroring her expression as she looks up. “No one. My Caduceus staff immediately ID’d you as Jack Morrison back in Russia.”

76 grunts. No arguing that, though he doesn’t confirm it, either.

“Look,” Dr. Ziegler says, pleads, even, “Can you please just make this easier on all of us and admit that you somehow escaped death and then didn’t tell us about it.”

Hana doesn’t move from where she’s standing, watching the doctor’s face closely. Beyond the fury glimmering in her irises and the exhaustion lining her eyes, there’s - there’s genuine hurt, there, and it strikes Hana how absurd this entire situation is. She’s known 76 to be stubborn for as long as she’s known him, but this seems almost… unfair? A quick glance at McCree and she can see the hope in his small smile and soft eyes, but unlike the doctor there is temperance there, too, as if he knows 76 is Jack but also isn’t.

How long has this been building up? How many of McCree’s thoughtful stares were not of suspicion or curiosity but of certainty? Has Dr. Ziegler pretended that 76 was not Jack for the sake of her friend that she thought was dead, for the sake of respecting her friend’s wish not to reveal himself? More importantly, why is it now that the two of them thought it ideal to strike?

But they hadn’t been planning on both her and 76’s noncooperation, Hana realizes. McCree had been hoping to confirm what he had thought in a neat, roundabout way, by merely scaring the answer out of her. Meanwhile, Dr. Ziegler had likely suspected a false positive from her staff, for that could be the only reason the heroic Jack Morrison would ever hide his identity from his friends, and had wanted to double check. Instead of getting answers, Hana had struck back, protecting 76’s secret with vehemence; instead, 76 had continued to deny everything despite science telling Dr. Ziegler otherwise. Because, honestly - if 76 doesn’t want them to know, shouldn’t they respect that and let him come to them when he felt it was time?

Everything about this was poorly planned and a huge breach of privacy. Or, then again, maybe Hana’s mind is just throwing up random scenarios and she’s completely wrong. Either way, she knows what her next course of action is, and as she turns in place to face 76, she’s sure he does as well.

It’s with slow motions that she lifts her hands to either side of 76’s head - plenty of time for him to bat her away. He doesn’t, of course, merely waits as she huffs out a breath of air before touching the mechanisms that would release the visor from his face, and when she pulls it away his blue eyes are narrowed and there’s a tight frown pulling at his lips. She grimaces in response, and then it’s just her and 76 standing there and - McCree’s eyes are blown wide, Dr. Ziegler’s hands rise to cover her mouth.

“Here,” Hana says after a moment, and then she holds the visor up and 76 gingerly takes it from her, putting it back on. She lowers her voice so only he hears and says, “Are you all right?”

“Not in the least,” 76 answers. It comes out as a low growl, his pulse rifle swinging onto his back. “I’m going.”

That startles McCree out of whatever daze he was in, and he immediately begins to protest, “You can’t just - ”

Dr. Ziegler begins, “You let us think you were - ”

“Look, I’m pissed, you’re confused, let’s just table this whole discussion until later, okay,” 76 snaps, and Dr. Ziegler’s brow furrows with inward anger while McCree looks remotely taken aback. “Just… give me a few hours. Least you can do. Hana, would you - ”

Deal with this. Explain what’s going on. Keep them off my back. Buy me time. “You got it,” Hana says, stepping aside and giving him a finger pistol. He huffs in amusement but otherwise says nothing else as he makes his way to the door, and McCree and Dr. Ziegler watch in bemused silence as the glass slides open and closed behind him.

For a long few moments, no one says anything. Hana takes the time to jump back into the arena and grab her long-abandoned sneakers, put them on, and then walk back, stretching her arms above her head, handgun bouncing at her hip. Once she’s returned, McCree and Dr. Ziegler are still kind of, like - looking at each other in shock. One thing to know and another thing to know, Hana supposes, and she fixes them both with a blank smile.

“So,” she says; “What would you like to know?”

Chapter Text

In the end, Hana surprises herself with how much information she’s able to relay. Of the two, Dr. Ziegler asks most of the questions - what Jack’s been doing, why Jack was doing that, where Jack’s been, so on and so forth - and Hana manages to answer most of them, just specific enough to satiate Dr. Ziegler’s curiosity but also vague enough to give 76 some privacy. This is a little difficult to do when McCree occasionally pipes up with clarifying questions, but Hana does her best, and she knows 76 will appreciate her doing this no matter how badly she fucks it up. It’s just the way they work.

“How long have you known he was Jack?” Dr. Ziegler asks at some point.

They’ve migrated to a table in the corner of the training range by this time, Hana sitting on the table itself with Dr. Ziegler and McCree across from her in varying stages of tenseness. McCree looks relaxed, thumbs hooked into his belt loops and an unlit cigar in his mouth, looking mostly contemplative and focused on some point behind her shoulder; Dr. Ziegler is pacing in small, tight circles, hands locked behind her back and her eyes angled towards the ground.

“Ever since Winston brought up the holoprojection of Jack Morrison’s face,” Hana replies, swinging her legs. She’s bored and a little hungry; maybe dinner will be soon. She makes a mental note to carry around a phone or something so she can check the time in the future.

“And you didn’t tell anyone,” McCree muses.

Hana shrugs. “It was not my secret to share.”

“True,” McCree concedes. He mutters, almost as an afterthought, “Explains why he didn’t eat with us.”

“But why would he hide from us?” Dr. Ziegler ask, and she sounds lost - not angry, more confused, Hana would think. The woman still has that look of exasperation on her face from before, when she was pleading with 76 to stop pretending; Hana’s answering her questions, but not in the depth she would like. Which makes sense, considering Hana isn’t 76, but not that that appeases the doctor any. “We are - we were - his closest friends.”

Hana could tell her why. She briefly considers doing it, as a matter of fact, but then she thinks of how 76 had answered her in a tone that echoed like a confession. It wouldn’t be right, she decides, and she says, “You will have to ask him.”

“He didn’t tell you?” Hana shrugs again, says nothing. Dr. Zielger's expression has become increasingly pinched as the line of questioning continues. It would be amusing if the doctor wasn't so intimidating. “Or you will not tell us?”

“Not my secret to share,” Hana says after a moment, because what else was she supposed to say?

“Okay, Angel, you gotta admit, that’s cute.”

“There is nothing remotely cute about this situation,” Dr. Ziegler says, steely.

“Sure there is.” McCree gestures to Hana, who watches him carefully, unsure of his angle. He’s grinning now, though his eyes still have that low, sad look to them. “Hana’s been lookin’ after Jack, ain’t she? We ought t’trust her judgment. We asked and she answered what she could; now we just wait for Jack to quit hidin’ in his room.”

Dr. Ziegler looks like she’s about to argue - shoulders thrown back, expression fierce, mouth half-open - but then she closes her eyes and breathes in, long and slow, and opens her eyes on the exhale. It’s like a storm has passed; the ethereal calm has returned, and her smile, thought small, is thoughtful.

“There’s no other option, either way,” Dr. Ziegler says, and then she sighs and says, “Well. I don’t suppose I could somehow entice you not to talk about this to anyone, Hana.”

“About Seventy-six?” Hana says, bemused. Certainly Dr. Ziegler knows that was a given? Furthermore, why would Dr. Ziegler find that important to hide, if she herself had been so intent on getting the information out in the first place?

“No, about… my outburst. How you and Jesse got into a fight.” Dr. Ziegler sighs again and rubs at her temple with one hand. “The last thing we need is to have everyone know about internal conflicts.”

“Y’mean that the last thing we need is the U.N. breathin’ down our necks even more,” McCree muses in agreement. “We gotta present a united front if we want any chance of stayin’ active.”

“Right,” Hana says, because she gets it, and she really does.

“So if you and Jesse are going to have problems - ” Dr. Ziegler begins.

“I am not angry at McCree,” Hana says quickly with a shake of her head. “I feel bad, actually.”

“What she said,” McCree says, jerking a thumb at her, and Hana feels her lips lift upwards in response. “Also, I think you should be a bit more concerned about your reputation, Angel. What would Rein say if he’d heard you screamin’ bloody murder at us?”

“He would stay out of my way,” Dr. Ziegler says, voice flinty, but Hana can see the joke relaxes her, however slightly. “You’re right, of course. Hana, let’s keep this to ourselves.”

“About that,” Hana says, jumping down from the table and landing lightly on her feet. She crosses her arms across her chest, eyes narrowed. “I hope you will keep his identity a secret until he is ready. You have already made enough of a mess.”

McCree merely nods - Hana wouldn’t surprised if he’s already run through numerous scenarios and determined keeping quiet would be the most advantageous move in this situation - but Dr. Ziegler looks incredibly offended, for just the briefest instance. Then she looks neutral again, and then she looks a little sad as she murmurs, “I suppose you know best.”

And that’s the rub, Hana thinks; that this young gamer from South Korea now knows Jack Morrison better than his long-time best friend does. “I am glad you think so,” Hana says. “If you will excuse me, I will attempt to remove him from his room in time for dinner. I will see you both then?”

“’Course, darlin’,” McCree says with a smile. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Dr. Ziegler doesn't respond.

Hana nods firmly, then patters over to the door. She only stays just long enough to give a wave to the two in the room before palming the door shut behind her, and then she takes a deep breath, holds it for a few seconds, and lets it go.

Maybe I should bring him sliced apples, Hana thinks with a wry smile, and then she sets off at a brisk trot to 76’s room.

Chapter Text

76 is not actually in his room when Hana knocks on it and gets no answer; so Athena tells her, anyway, and Hana thanks the AI before treading towards the mess hall. If he’s not in his room, and he can’t be in a training range, then he’s probably somewhere around the barracks. If she waits long enough, he should come back, but who has time for that? Certainly not her. Dinner will probably be soon, or at least Genji should be in kitchen by now, and she’d prefer to catch 76 before rather than after. Thus, Hana moves towards the mess hall.

He’s probably in the kitchen, given how a lot of conversations between the two of them happen in there. And if he isn’t, well - she can grab him some sliced apples in an epic turnabout. Or maybe she can throw together something, if Dr. Ziegler had actually read Hana’s requested grocery list and gotten the ingredients she wanted. Or maybe, Hana thinks, it won’t matter in the least, because she almost walks into him as he turns the corner from the mess hall with what appears to be a water bottle and two granola bars.

She squints at what’s in his hands before looking up at him. He doesn’t move, but she gets the sense he’s inwardly cringing at the current state of affairs, especially when she says, “That is all you are eating for dinner?”

“Yep,” he says, chuckling when she lets out an exaggerated sigh, and when he starts to walk, she turns around and falls into step beside him. She only has to wait for maybe three seconds before he says, “Sorry for throwing you at Angela and Jesse,” as if the two were wolves rather than people.

“It was easy,” Hana says with a dismissive flap of her hand. He opens his room and she steps inside first, finding the place spartan and bare, clean to the point of loneliness. She wrinkles her nose; she’s going to have to find him some wall decorations, besides what was provided when they had first gotten here. Maybe a nice, colorful tapestry of some kind. (Maybe an American flag, she thinks, and proceeds to resist the urge to gag and laugh at the same time.) “Neither of them would hurt me and, even if they did press me for details, I had no obligation to respond.”

“So they didn’t try to… follow me out?”

“Oh.” Hana hadn’t realized that that is what he’d been concerned about. “No, they did not. They respect you that much, at least. They also agreed not to tell anyone what happened and what they know.”

76 doesn’t say anything to that, just a soft, short sigh of relief before Hana hears the telltale hiss of his visor being released from its mechanism, and when she turns 76 is cracking open his water bottle and tilting his head back to chug it. Had they still been on their way to Gibraltar, he would probably dump the rest of his head, and she laughs when he almost goes for it before remembering he’s sitting on his bed, to which he gives her a wry smile. It’s a good look on him.

“So,” she prompts.

“So,” he echoes, and doesn’t continue.

“So,” she says again, drawing the word out until he gives her a flat look, to which she grins victoriously and says, “Are you all right?”

“Peachy,” he says in response, sipping at his water bottle. His smile remains, but she can tell his heart isn’t in it.

“I have never understood that expression,” Hana says instead of pursuing the point. “Why is it not equivalent to say you are ‘fruity’?”

“English sucks,” 76 offers.

“True. Korean is much more sensical and logical.” She nods once in agreement with herself, and she grins again when she gets him to laugh because of it. Better. “How are you, really?”

He sighs, which is an answer in and of itself, especially now that she can see the resigned look on his face instead of staring at the glowing red line of his visor. She doesn’t think about it when she drops down beside him and hugs him sideways, as best she can with her smaller frame and his broad shoulders, and he grunts a laugh which tells her he appreciates it anyway.

“Wanna talk about it?” she asks, since he’s talked her through a bit her problems, or at least touched the surface of them, so it’s the least she can do.

“Mm. Not much to talk about. You were there.”

“We can talk about our feelings. It will be like a sleepover!” Not that she’s had many sleepovers, but it’s the principle of the thing. “You can be emotional instead of some grumpy old man yelling at kids who mess up your lawn.”

“Hana, what the heck,” 76 says, and he’s laughing as she lets him go and jumps to her feet. This is good. This is familiar territory, if she can keep him laughing then he won’t feel as terrible.

“We can paint your fingernails! With American flags, so it adds to your garish jacket.” She shudders.

“I wear gloves,” he points out.

“But you’ll know they’re there and you will feel awesome because of it.” She shudders again.

“I really don’t think so,” 76 says, smiling still, and then, “Thanks, though,” and Hana knows it goes for the hug and for cheering him up and for offering to paint his nails. Such as it is, she thinks with a grin, and then she remembers the important bit of this conversation.

“It is going to happen one day,” she says. “But, that notwithstanding: how do you want us to handle this?”

76 grunts, smile dropping as he takes a smaller sip from the water bottle. He doesn’t speak right away, but when he does, his voice is contemplative. “Probably should talk to Winston first. Doubt he wants the U.N. to know about me just yet, or at all.”

“The U.N. is meeting with Winston, Torbjorn, and Dr. Zielger in three days,” Hana says, thinking quickly. 76 looks remotely surprised that she remembered that detail from Symmetra’s introductory meeting, to which she smirks at him. “You should probably speak with him before that. If you are not going to dinner, I can bring it up with him, if you would like.”

“I’m not, so that’d be good,” 76 agrees.

“You sure you do not want to come? I think Genji is attempting a noodle stir-fry of some kind. He says it might be questionable due to his inability to eat, but he also assured me it would taste good a few seconds later, so I am optimistic.”

“Ha! I’m sure. If Genji cooks anything like he did before, I’m not going to risk it.”

Oof. That put a slight dampener on her hopes. She says dejectedly, “Maybe I will make my own dinner.”

“Nah, I’m sure he’s gotten better. It’s been a number of years, after all.” At her dubious glance he gives her a thumbs up, which really doesn’t mean anything. “Anyway, about Winston - just make sure you keep the details vague enough in case anyone’s listening in.”

“Obviously,” she scoffs, to which he laughs. “What else?”

“Eventually I’ll need to talk to Angela,” 76 says, and Hana doesn’t miss how he’s begun to refer to her by first name instead of call-sign. His expression drops at the mention of it, in any case. “That’ll be rough. Been a while since… well. Been a while.”

Hana graciously lets that pass without further scrutiny. “And McCree?”

“Jesse will come to me,” 76 says with certainty; “He could never figure out when to leave well enough alone. Gabe always told him that that would get him killed one day.” Hana notes the nickname but doesn’t comment, and after a few more moments of silence 76 murmurs, “As for the rest of them…”

“I would keep it from Satya and Lúcio for now,” Hana says, dropping onto the chair across the room. His desk is also empty save for the computer Winston gifted him; the computer is currently asleep, though when she accidentally knocks it with her elbow, she sees he has a chat client active but doesn't bother looking further. “Lúcio is a bit of a blabbermouth, and, as you said, we should operate with the assumption that Satya has a hidden agenda.”

“Glad to see you’re listening to me for once.”

“Hey, I knew about the U.N. meeting! Just because I look like I am not paying attention does not mean I am actually not paying attention.”

“I know,” 76 says, and he sounds unbearably fond. Hana has to duck her head to hide a flush as 76 goes on, “We’ll talk more about this later. You should probably get to dinner, and I know you’re not going to give me away.”

“You should tell me about your time in Overwatch afterwards,” Hana says, phrasing it like a demand more than a request. She’s been sitting on a lot of questions for a while; she figures she deserves at least that much, even as she relents and tacks on at the end, “Please.”

“Of course,” he says, smiling again, and even though there’s a tired crinkle to his eye, he does look a lot more cheerful than when she’d first entered the room. “Now get out. I have to finish my boring dinner and mope.”

“I will bring you something, and also I think it is more like sulking,” Hana says, and then she darts out of the room when 76 throws his now-empty water bottle at her. She manages to slam the door behind her before it hits her, laughing, and then she’s trotting towards the mess hall with a smile on her face. She knows he won't mope, or at least she hopes he won't, and that's enough for her to be content.

Besides, dinner with Satya awaits.

Chapter Text

Hana walks into the mess hall to find only a few Overwatch members milling about - notably Zenyatta and Lúcio, conversing animatedly as sizzling and bangs occasionally echo from the kitchen - Genji's doing, Hana would suspect. (Hana hopes she doesn’t get enlisted in clean-up duty. She’s found she can usually escape it by leaving early, and 76 moping around in his room gives her ample excuse to actually do it today.) Further down, Tracer and Reinhardt are engaged in what appears to be an intense game of checkers. It’s unclear who’s winning - though, based on nearby Winston’s entirely flat expression, it’s apparent the match, and the excessive shouting, has been going on for a while.

“D.Va!” Lúcio says, waving a frantic hand in the air, and Hana grins and goes over to where he is seated, remaining standing for the moment. “Did you know that Zenyatta is only twenty years old?”

“Really? That’s a year older than me!” Hana exclaims, rounding on the omnic with wide eyes. Zenyatta’s lights flicker in a way that Hana remembers equates to amusement, and she's legitimately curious as she asks, “Is that young for an omnic?”

“I suppose it depends,” Zenyatta answers, metallic but warm, somehow. He inclines his head towards the kitchen, where Genji is humming while he cooks, hopefully. “Genji is seventeen years older than me, and while it is arguable that he is not an omnic, it is nevertheless true that of the two of us, I am the teacher.”

“That is true,” Hana agrees. “I guess age really is just a number for omnics, then.”

“How does omnic romance work?” Lúcio asks. “I guess it doesn’t matter how old you are, so is it just - similar models? Or maybe not? What about interspecies romance?”

Zenyatta’s in the middle of laughing and responding when Satya walks in the room, poised and elegant, stiff in a way that can only be from nerves. Hana gives a quick farewell before jogging her way over, feeling Lúcio's eyes on her back and doing her best to ignore the prickle in her skin; this was something she promised she would do, and she knows that it's for the best.

Satya is not dressed in her architech outfits this time, no cyan blue and gold trim or glowing headset; right now, it’s a pale blue blouse with dark dress pants and flats, hair swept into a neat bun on her head. Her makeup is impeccable and she gives Hana a tentative smile when she bounces over. “You look so pretty!” Hana chirps, and Satya’s smile grows, looking away and raising a hand to push nonexistent hair behind one ear. It's cute; Hana wonders if she's ever been complimented on appearance before, as she says, “You need to teach me how you do your eyeliner.”

“It is not difficult,” Satya promises her before casting her gaze out. There are rows and rows of tables and Hana watches Satya skip over where Lúcio is seated, just a brief flick of her eyes. “We are allowed to sit anywhere?”

“Yes,” Hana says with a grin. “If you are not comfortable sitting with anyone else, we can just sit together. They will understand.”

“I… I would prefer that, yes.” She looks embarrassed now. “I am sorry. I - being crowded is overwhelming when I do not know those around me.”

“No worries. Pick a spot!”

Satya, predictably, makes a beeline for the table furthest away from Lúcio. Lúcio glares daggers at her the entire time, and then also glares at Hana until she shrugs and mouths sorry, to which he narrows his eyes and looks away. Hana grimaces and tries not to let it bother her; she doesn’t think he’s mad at her, but then again, anything is possible. Hopefully Zenyatta would be able to talk some sense into him.

“I do not see Commander 76 here,” Satya says after a moment, once they had settled in a table, Satya on one side with Hana directly across from her.

Oh man, if 76 learns that even Satya has picked up the ‘commander’ thing, he would just about die. Hana resolves to tell him at the first possible opportunity. “He is in his room,” Hana says instead. “He is not comfortable with eating in front of people, usually.”

“Ah. You two seem close.”

“We have been watching each other’s backs for a while now,” Hana says with a nod and a smile. “We are not related, however.”

Satya makes a noncommittal noise; Hana gets the sense, suddenly, that making conversation must be difficult for her, especially with someone who is an unknown variable in the world’s equation.

“Here, how about we play a game?” Hana says, suddenly remembering how 76 had dealt with her inability to form words in the kitchen just days ago.

“Like that?” Satya says, and she and Hana simultaneously turn to look at Tracer and Reinhardt screaming at each other as Reinhardt gets one of his chips to the opposite end of the board.

“No, like - like twenty questions,” Hana says. She thinks that’s what the game is called, though by Satya’s expression, the architech doesn’t recognize the name, either. “You ask me a question, I answer, and then I ask you a question and you answer. Whatever you would like to ask, and you do not have to answer if you want to. That way we can learn more about each other without fumbling through awkward small talk.”

“I suppose that would be acceptable,” Satya agrees, though she seems uneasy.

“Great! I will go first, since you have already asked me a question already.” Satya nods and Hana says, “What do you like to do for fun?”

She would ask about family - ask how Satya got her job at Vishkar in the first place. But personal history seems like a sore spot for a lot of people in Overwatch, and she’s not about to risk a social faux pas for the sake of her curiosity.

“I enjoy my work, actually,” Satya says in the meantime. She hesitates before continuing, “I find it calming to work on schematics and designs. I have always been most comfortable with a white pencil in hand.”

“That sounds really cool,” Hana says, and then winces inwardly because that sounded fake, but Satya doesn't seem to notice. “Could I see a few designs sometime?”

In response, Satya reaches her hand over to her prosthetic and moves her fingers in a gentle, rhythmic pattern. Moments later, a projection of what appears to be a proton projector floats in serene blue above her prosthetic’s palm, and she smiles with a hint of smug pride as Hana coos and carefully tracks a finger around the smooth edges of the blueprint.

“I have this memorized,” she tells Hana. “Only if I have a design imprinted in my memory can I manipulate light into being in its form.”

“Wow,” Hana breathes. Suddenly, her driving an excessively complicated mech seems so easy in comparison.

As if reading her mind, Satya says, “If I may ask a question, I am curious as to why you find it a sound battle strategy to have your mech self-destruct. Was that discovered by accident or perhaps something else?”

Hana grins widely, remembering Winston deciding to test her and 76’s abilities in what appeared to be, in retrospect, a piss-poor imitation of hazing. “It is an amusing story.”

And as she launches into how she and 76 entered a training range to test their mettle, with Satya smiling and listening in thoughtful silence, only interjecting to ask for clarification, Hana knows this dinner will go just fine.

Chapter Text

Monday.

[AA]: you knew it was only a matter of time
[JM]: That doesn’t make it any easier.
[JM]: Angela’s scheduled a ‘check-up’ for tomorrow. I think she’s going to kill me.
[AA]: i had half a mind to kill you when we ran into each other in egypt
[JM]: Yeah, but at least I know you wouldn’t.
[AA]: thems fighting words bucko
[AA]: besides angelas the only one you really need to worry about
[AA]: if i remember anything about jesse hes gonna try to chew you out and then burst into tears
[AA]: hes a good kid
[JM]: Lots of good kids in Overwatch.
[AA]: yeah?? coming from golden boy blue-eyed blond optimistic compromiser sweet-talker diplomat commander morrison youd think youre a little biased
[JM]: Just a little.
[JM]: Also, that didn’t really make sense.
[AA]: english isnt my first language asshat
[JM]: Sorry.
[JM]: But I am being serious. You’re going to like the newer members.
[AA]: are you gonna wax poetic about hana again
[AA]: listen i know youve pretty much adopted her but i do not need you fawning over her for like an hour more than once
[JM]: Like you didn’t used to do the same with Jesse?
[AA]: you wanna go
[JM]: No, you’d win.
[AA]: damn right i would
[AA]: fucker
[JM]: Such kindness.
[JM]: But actually, I meant to ask: are you any closer yet?
[JM]: Not to give you incentive, but Jesse is going to flip the fuck out when you show up.
[AA]: maybe i should sleep dart him for old times sake
[AA]: at least reinhardt would find it funny
[JM]: So would Lena and Genji.
[AA]: lena and genji are there?? damn im probably missing so much shit rn
[AA]: itll take me at least a week to get there if i rush
[JM]: Should be fine. Winston, Angela and Torbjörn will be at a U.N. meeting on Thursday, so they’ll be back by then, with any luck.
[AA]: wow those official types work fast
[AA]: then again you werent exactly subtle in rio beyond being illegal as all get out
[JM]: That was Vishkar’s doing, not ours.
[AA]: ah yes of course mea culpa
[AA]: anyway dont you dare ruin the surprise
[JM]: Don’t you think I should? You’re going to have it just as bad as me when they find out, and you don’t have a visor to hide behind.
[AA]: yeah but im not a weak little tryhard like you i can take it
[JM]: Charming.
[AA]: i know
[JM]: Let me know when you’re an hour out.
[AA]: roger that strike commander
[JM]: Shut the fuck up, Ana.
[AA]: really feeling the love here jack


Tuesday.

Jack hesitates for a long time outside the medbay doors before he actually goes inside. Hana had offered to come with as moral support, but he had declined; this is something he has to do on his own, even if he would have appreciated her smart-aleck remarks and flippant smirks. She’s the only one in the base who isn’t afraid of Angela, and he hopes that Hana doesn’t do anything to change that, at least not in the near future.

As it stands, Angela is waiting in civvies and a suspiciously blank face. “Inside,” she says shortly, gesturing to her examination room, and Jack braces himself mentally as he enters and she shuts the door behind her. It’s not a good sign that it locks behind her, too, and with an inward sigh he hefts himself onto her table, seated, as she takes the spot behind her desk.

Neither of them say anything for a while, as Angela busies herself with something at her desk and Jack watches from behind his visor. Her expression is still carefully neutral, even as she stands up and walks over to him, heels clicking on the floor, and stops before him.

“I need to enter you in the database,” she says. He can tell she’s trying to keep an handle on her anger, but he can hear the furious shaking starting to bleed into her voice, and her eyes are flashing and hard. “I will be drawing blood, taking a cheek swab, and I will need your fingerprints.”

“And an updated picture, I bet,” Jack says before he can stop himself, and he definitely deserves the punch to the kidney even as he tilts over and groans. Angela’s quivering fist is just visible in his peripheral vision, and he watches as she forcibly opens it as he slowly sits up, wincing. “Okay, yeah, that was distasteful,” he says, and then automatically brings his hands up to cover his stomach when her hand closes again.

“You are the worst,” Angela tells him, soft but iron. “Take off your goddamn visor already so I don’t have to talk to some masked vigilante.”

He does without speaking, and when she sees his face her expression crumples like paper. She’s not crying, not yet, and she traces a finger along the scars along his face, careful and gentle, before she pulls away and crosses her arms tightly over her chest.

“I’m trying not to slap you,” she explains at his raised brow. Her voice is quivering and it’s like a dark shard of ice settles in his chest, dread coiling up his spine because he is the cause of her unshed tears; he’d hidden his identity for so many reasons, but none of them mattered when he was watching one of his closest friends struggle to keep her composure. “You are so stubborn,” she continues, one hand rising to swipe carefully under her eyes, poised even when falling apart. “It would not have killed you to let us know.”

“It might have, and that wasn’t a risk I was willing to take,” Jack says. It’s not as if he hadn’t thought about telling his oldest friends about his survival, but when he had taken on his quest to find out who had been responsible for the inside attack on Overwatch, he had known it would be better to remain under the radar; less likely for his enemies to link him to who - and what - he had left behind. “It was safer this way.”

“Considering what you’ve been up to, I can’t say you’re wrong,” Angela sniffed, and when she uncrosses her arms, her hands remain open. Jack breathes a silent sigh of relief as Angela reaches up to touch his face again, this time clinical and precise, blinking rapidly as she runs her fingertips over the scars. “What in the world were you hoping to find, wandering around the world like you were?”

“The reason the Swiss base blew up.”

Short, simple, sweet. It makes Angela stiffen for just a moment before she tilts his face to the side, observing any and all damage she could find. She would eventually have to examine the rest of his body, too, but for now she seemed too overwhelmed to manage much more than a cursory overview. Jack isn’t about to push his luck.

“I went to your funeral, you know,” Angela says after a moment. “I visited your grave whenever my work brought me to the States.” Jack doesn’t say anything, keeping his eyes lowered, and after a few moments Angela sighs, moving his chin so she could see the other side of his face. “We can get rid of these scars, if you would like. I can see your eyes have sustained some damage as well.”

“I’d rather leave them,” Jack says, “And the visor helps with the eyes.”

“Stubborn,” Angela says, clicking her tongue. She wipes her eyes again, takes in a deep breath, and takes out what appears to be a small scanner from the pocket of her lab coat. “This isn’t over. I’m still angry.”

“I know,” he says, obediently staring straight ahead as she shines the light in first his right eye, then his left. She’s no optometrist, but he trusts her to know what she’s doing as she checks to see what the scanner has reported. “You have every right to be.”

“You put us all in danger with - this. If Talon had gotten a hold of you, all of us would have been compromised in some way. You know too much about us and we would have had no idea how or why Talon would know so much.”

Jack is silent. She is correct. He… hadn’t considered that. He’d considered so many things, but even that hadn’t been enough.

There’s a long pause where Angela pulls away and surveys him head to toe. Her expression is unreadable, until she declares, “You’re a jackass.”

Jack processes this for half a second before asking, hesitantly, “Is that a pun?”

Nein - yes,” she says with a sigh, cuffing him on the side of his head. She’s smiling, even though it’s wobbly. “Stubborn jackass. If I tell that to Lena, she’ll never let it go.”

“No, she wouldn’t, so please don’t.”

“I might need some incentive.”

Jack raises an eyebrow as Angela retreats with her scanner, back to her desk. Probably to enter the information into Athena’s databanks, he would expect. “Angela Ziegler, resorting to blackmail. What would Liao say?”

“Don’t tell me he’s still around too,” Angela answers, half-accusingly.

“That’d be news to me.”

She lets out a noncommittal hum, but thankfully lets it go. “I’m still telling Lena about the jackass thing, though.”

“Angela,” Jack says with a groan, and when she laughs he knows they’re going to be okay, eventually.


Wednesday.

“Hana told me you’d be willing to talk today,” Winston says.

It’s early in the morning, before breakfast; Jack had shoved a granola bar into his system before hitting the gym, putting his ass down on the elliptical and cranking up the level as high as it would go. He’d been at it for maybe a half hour before his ears had picked up on the gait that could only belong to Overwatch’s resident gorilla, and he’d paused his workout and reached for his water bottle in preparation.

“Hana also tell you to find me while I was working out?” Jack asks, pausing before he puts the water bottle to his face; he hasn’t removed his visor yet, for one thing, and for another, who knew who else could be watching.

“No,” Winston says, smiling slightly. “But I remember that our commander was always more agreeable when he was on an exercise endorphin high.”

“Sounds like a nice guy,” Jack says with half a grin, turning his head to each of the three entrances of the gym. “Anyone else in here?”

“Just me. Athena, would you mind sealing the doors?”

“Of course,” the AI says, and with that Jack pops his visor off, tucks it under his arm, and chugs his bottle. “You should know that Agent Oxton is currently inquiring about your whereabouts.”

“Tell her I will be in the mess shortly.”

“As you say, Winston.”

Jack finishes the water bottle off and sets it on the ground, where it joins another full bottle. If Winston has any thoughts on the setup, he doesn’t comment, so Jack takes that as his cue to open the proverbial floodgates. He does it by saying, “So.” He’s a master at this, clearly.

“So,” Winston echoes, and it’s so much like his discussion with Hana that Jack can’t help but smile. It must put Winston at ease, because he smiles back and says, “I’ll admit, I’m surprised you haven’t told anyone else about you.”

“Angela and Jesse strong-armed it out of me,” Jack says with a shrug. The thought of that still stings, especially when Hana had tried so hard to keep it quiet, had been so vehement about protecting his privacy; he’s angry at Angela, sure, and especially at Jesse for threatening Hana, but mostly he’s angry at himself for putting her and, as Angela had told him, everyone else in danger.

“I heard. Jesse dragged me aside at dinner a few days ago and told me the whole thing, complaining the whole time. He’ll probably come yell at you when he works up the guts to do it.”

“And then proceed to break down and cry?” Jack guesses. Ana is rarely wrong about Jesse, but he’s curious to see what Winston will think.

“Oh, yes,” Winston agrees, smiling. (Somewhere, Jack thinks, Jesse is sneezing up a storm.) “Though I have to ask, why hide it? I’ve had a lot longer to come to terms with it, but I was angry and, frankly, saddened when I recognized you. You’re lucky no one brought it up until now.”

“So I’m told,” Jack says, guilt tugging at his chest again, not enough for him to apologize. “As for why - it made things easier, considering what I was doing.”

“Thought you were coming to break into here next, actually,” Winston says, laughing quietly. “When Jesse raised me on comm to tell me he and Lena were carting you here instead of dropping you off to U.S.A. authorities, I’m pretty sure I said some things that I now regret.”

Jack studies Winston’s face; determines, “You don’t regret it.”

“Not really,” Winston says, and Jack’s forgotten the easy camaraderie that comes with old friends. It feels like nothing’s changed, almost, even though Jack knows that’s just wishful thinking. “It’s not every day you get to scold both Jesse and Lena and have them be actually apologetic about it.”

“Sight to see,” Jack says.

“Oh, yes. Lena brought me artisanal peanut butter a few days after you and Hana had settled in. Her version of an apology, I guess.” Winston’s eyes glittered behind his glasses. “Not that it mattered. As soon as you entered the conference room, I knew, and I wasn’t about to send you away.”

“So you decided to test us both.”

“Mostly D.Va,” Winston admits. “I didn’t realize you’d taken her under your wing so, uh, adamantly.” Jack doesn’t say anything, looking decidedly away from the gorilla, as Winston laughs. “I remember you doing that to another agent - can’t remember xir name.”

“It was a long time ago,” Jack says, carefully keeping his mind away from the subject.

“It was,” Winston says. He looks sheepish. “Sorry.”

“Not your fault. Not sure you need to apologize to me of all people anyway.”

“Never hurts to be empathetic,” Winston says. The look he gives Jack is unreadable. “There’s nothing to be gained by treating others like they wouldn’t understand your motives.”

For a long moment, Jack is speechless. It’s like an insane role reversal - in fact, it is an insane role reversal, with Winston leading Overwatch while Jack is just a soldier, and now, instead of Jack guiding his agents and teaching them and helping them, Winston is the one reminding Jack of the most important lessons he had once taught back when he had been Strike Commander Morrison. Wow. It’s like he’s been slapped in the face while simultaneously being told he’s been fired from his job, and the feeling is entirely unwelcome.

“Fuck,” Jack says, which is as eloquent as he can manage in present circumstances.

“Language,” Winston says, eyes flashing with amusement, and Jack shakes his head, fighting the urge to grin and scowl at the same time. The gorilla had been resting on his haunches, but now he balances and puts his weight on his arms. “We’ll talk more later, Jack. Lena probably wants to go over what we’ll be talking about in the U.N. meeting tomorrow. See you at breakfast.”

“Yeah,” Jack says, and when Winston exits the room, he gives up on the rest of his workout and goes to take a shower. He - needs to talk to Hana. He needs some normalcy after everything that’s happened in the first two hours he’s been awake.


Thursday.

It’s around five in the morning and Jack is the only person who comes to say farewell when Torbjörn, Winston and Angela set off for the U.N. meeting. He accepts a tight hug from Angela and a hearty pat on the back from Winston as Lena, who is flying them there, looks on, mystified, confused, burning with questions but holding them tight to her chest for now. Torbjörn's already in the plane, out like a light.

“You’re in charge while I’m gone,” Winston says. “Don’t burn this place down.”

“You know I could do so much worse than that,” Jack says, the first time he’s idly referenced Before with the chance that someone could overhear. It startles Winston into a surprised look, but Jack merely fixes him with a steady, glowing stare. He loves his visor sometimes. “Don’t bash any heads.”

“I plan to,” Angela mutters, cracking her knuckles one by one. She looks like a warrior about to charge into battle, which is actually not a bad comparison, all things considered. “Verbally. And yours when I get back.”

“Again?”

“I am very angry, Jack,” she informs him. “You are too stubborn for your own good.”

“Let’s go, loves!” Lena calls, evidently all of her patience used up in watching Angela and Winston confer with the quiet loner 76 in low voices. “We’ll be late otherwise!”

“Coming!” Angela answers, and then she punches Jack’s arm, hard, before settling her hand on her shoulder. “Take care of everyone. For the love of god, don’t cook anything.”

“I’ll make salt on salt,” Jack deadpans, and Angela’s laugh is small but at least it’s there. “Get us active, Angela, Winston.”

“We’ll do better than that,” Winston says, and doesn’t elaborate when Jack tilts his head at him. “See you in a few days, Seventy-six.”

He waves until the cargo doors are closed, and stays outside until the plane is just a distant memory in the sky. It’s cold this early, and the wind whips around him; it’s probably going to rain, and though he should go to the training range to do his morning workout, he mills about near the cliffs leading towards the ocean, hands folded behind his back like they’d taught him in basic. Staring out across the wide expanse of water, he realizes the view has hardly changed, even as the world whirls in motion around him.

He turns to go to the training range when the first droplet of rain hits the ground.


Friday.

Hana’s shouting something when Jack gets back to his room; he can hear her through the walls, speaking rapid-fire Korean interspersed with English and laughter, the sound light and airy despite it contradicting everything he knows about her. She always streams late into the night even when he tells her not to because it’s not healthy and he would, against all odds, like to sleep - and while she always rolls her eyes and tells him to lighten up, she does turn down the volume and stops shouting a bit after midnight.

Good kids, he thinks, even as he pounds on the wall a few times to get her to quieten down because it’s almost twenty-three hours. “You need earplugs?” Hana yells back a moment later, laughing hysterically when Jack responds with an exaggerated groan, but a few moments later she calls back, “Sorry, dad!” and he has to smile.

“Just keep it down, Hana,” he responds today, to which she giggles and says something in Korean that sounds suspiciously like a joke at his expense, and he lets it go because he can’t stay mad at her, not really.

He does end up using earplugs, though, because super-soldier hearing can be annoyingly acute, but the next morning Hana presents him with a pair of headphones decorated with American flags and racing stripes, along with “an iPod so you can put your old man music on it!”

He takes them, bemused, and says, “Where did you get these?”

“Did you not hear? Lúcio and I have just made a joint merchandise line! He rigged up these headphones for you to help you sleep. You can play any music you like and they are sound-canceling so you will not have to hear  - ”

Hana squeaks in alarm when he hugs her in thanks, though she’s quick to respond, giggling as she hugs him back. It’s nice, Jack thinks, releasing her to pat her shoulder, to know there’s someone out there who cares.


Saturday.

The knock on his door is distinctly un-Hana in nature, which means - Jack types a quick goodbye to Ana and closes the chat client before he goes to answer it, and sure enough, it’s one Jesse McCree, serape-less, wearing a blue plaid collared shirt with jeans and his BAMF belt along with mismatched socks, one pink with a bunny on the front and one green with a frog along each toe. The cowboy hat, ever-present, is perched on his head, and the look he fixes Jack is hard and dark and angry.

“Jesse,” Jack says, figuring there’s no need to bullshit anything, and he steps to the left to let the kid inside. He stalks in without a word as Jack closes the door behind him, and by the time Jesse’s turned around Jack’s already reached up and removed the visor from its mechanism.

“Jesus Christ,” Jesse says when he sees Jack’s marred face. “Looks worse when I see it again.”

“I’m old,” Jack offers. He can’t find it in him to be offended, not when Jesse seems like a puffed-up cat looking for a fight.

“Old men don’t usually have scars ‘cross their whole face, Commander.”

“We’re all soldiers now, Jesse,” Jack says, and then he gestures to the chair by the desk. “You wanna sit and scream or stand and scream?”

“Aw, shit, Commander, you’re bein’ considerate. Must’ve realized the errors of your ways in the last couple of days, huh?”

“Winston talked to me,” Jack says, and he lets a rare smile flit across his face as he says, “I got scolded.”

“You deserved it,” Jesse says instead of being amused, and Jack is suddenly struck with a juxtaposition of Jesse McCree from his memory and this new Jesse McCree, several years older, much more experienced and, apparently, much more jaded. Their lives have continued without him; with Hana, a new fresh face to Overwatch, he continues to forget that most members from Before have changed their hands and kept their new cards close to their chests. “We were a mess when you jumped the fence and left Hana to fend for herself.”

“Hana is capable of doing so,” Jack says, because he knows Hana has no hard feelings about the situation. “As for Angela, she’s already made it pretty clear how she - ”

“You don’t understand, Commander,” Jesse says, and Jack falls silent because Jesse is staring right at him, expression stiff, arms crossed over his chest, “What it’s like when someone you looked up to, someone who didn’t deserve to die, someone whose funeral you went to seemingly comes back to life.” His voice grows glacial. “How do we know we can trust you? How do we know you’re actually Jack? Why did you wait this long to come back, and why didn’t you tell us you were you?”

Jack… hadn’t thought about that, but Jesse’s right, isn’t he? Angela knows he’s Jack Morrison because she’s seen her staff ID him; Winston knows because of his superior olfactory bulbs or whatever. Jesse has nothing to go on but what he’s observed of Jack and what Angela and Winston have told him and, clearly, something in Jack’s behavior has told Jesse to remain suspicious. Thus: a kind of stalemate where Jack had no idea how to prove his identity and Jesse probably wouldn’t believe him if he did.

Except.

“Ask me a question about before, whatever you want,” Jack says, “And I’ll prove to you that I’m Jack. Something only I could know.”

“Who mentored me?” Jesse says without hesitation.

“Gabe, then Ana,” Jack replies with similar speed.

“Even that’s no guarantee,” Jesse says, amber eyes narrowed. He’s grown up so much, and Jack, even though his mind is scrambling, can’t help the small burst of pride in his chest. Ana will be so, so proud once she hears. “Who knows what Talon’s capable of these days, you know?”

He’s likely referring to Gérard and Amélie, Jack thinks, how Gabe had argued that Amélie couldn’t have just defected randomly after Talon had kidnapped her, that something must have happened to make her kill Gérard, that they should investigate - but the U.N. had said no. Jesse’s covering all of his bases, and Jack wonders what exactly the kid’s been through since they had last spoken to each other.

“You’re right,” Jack says in the meantime. “But I’ve never been captured by Talon. Hard to be, when everyone thinks you’re dead.”

“How can we know that for sure?”

“You can’t,” Jack says. “I can’t convince you just by talking. I’m confident you’ll find a way.”

Jesse fixes him with a confused look at that. Jack watches him patiently, seated on his bed, elbows on his knees and hunched over his folded hands.

“Who gave me this belt?” Jesse asks after a moment, and - and that’s a memory Talon wouldn’t have bothered with, too obscure and so scarcely mentioned it couldn't amount to any worth. It’s something Jack only knows the answer to because the one responsible once got incredibly drunk and blurted it out in the middle of a stupor.

“Ana,” Jack says, softly. “As a joke, and she’d probably laugh her ass off if she saw you wearing it right now.”

“Jesus,” Jesse says, and then a small smile breaks across his face, both relieved and happy and incredibly expressive. Kid’s always been an open book, usually, and the fact he’s so unreadable now is a sign of how much times have changed. Jack keeps forgetting, really, wonders how Jesse would look if he was as clean-shaven as he was back in the day. “I can’t be intimidatin’ for very long, as it turns out.”

“You were doing a damn good job, Jesse,” Jack says. “Gabe always thought so.”

“Did he? Never did hear him praise any of his agents.” Jesse hums noncommittally, rubbing the base of his palm against one eye, then the other, to preemptively stop any tears from spilling. “S’pose you would know.”

“Well, that, and Hana said that you told her interrogation was your strong suit.”

“You don’t got to be intimidatin’ all the time for that,” Jesse says. “The right balance of effable and fuckin’ terrifyin’ and you’ll get what you need.”

“You would know.”

“Damn right,” and there’s Ana’s influence on the kid, right up until he sniffs and shakes his head, still grinning. “I’m gonna get out before I start cryin’ all my feelings out. Thanks, Jack.”

“For what?”

“Dunno,” Jesse says, going towards the door. He hesitates before he exits. “For comin’ back, I guess.”

Jack almost doesn’t ask the question, but in the end he opens his mouth and says, “You’re not angry?”

Jesse pauses for an even longer moment before he shrugs, a ripple of muscle. He’s grown up a lot from his scrawny seventeen year-old self, broad-shouldered and muscular, mind still fast as a whip. “Eh, not really. Not anymore. Angel’s got enough for both of us.”

Those are Jesse’s parting words as the door slides shut behind him, and Jack is suddenly struck with how lucky he is that, somehow, Overwatch is full of good kids.


Sunday.

[AA]: yo jackie boy you there
[JM]: Yes, actually.
[AA]: wow what
[AA]: youre on your computer at a decent hour?? will wonders never cease
[JM]: It's barely after eight in the morning. I wake up at five, remember?
[AA]: dude whatever why are you even online
[JM]: You said it would take you at least a week if you rushed, which meant you’d be here in six days.
[JM]: We’re both old soldiers, but neither of us are forgetful.
[AA]: you know i was going to be impressed until you said that old soldiers part
[AA]: you havent changed a bit strike commander morrison
[JM]: Neither have you, Second-in-Command Amari, wouldn’t you know it.
[AA]: thats not even my real title you dingdong
[JM]: So creative! Frankly, I’m appalled you haven’t come up with something similarly clever before.
[AA]: oh my goooooddd shut upppppp
[AA]: anyway this makes things easier
[AA]: im currently aiming a sleep dart at jesse’s head from where hes sitting in the mess hall
[JM]: Ana, what the fuck.
[AA]: i need you to film this for me
[JM]: I really don’t think it’s a good idea to just pop in unannounced.
[JM]: Especially after attacking an agent. That’s going to put everyone on edge. They’ll be suspicious, if nothing else.
[JM]: Pretending you’re dead has a lot of ramifications, let’s just put it that way.
[AA]: psh im not the one who was wandering around doing vigilante things
[JM]: Um, yes, you were?
[AA]: yeah but i didnt get caught theres a big difference
[AA]: cmon jack this is a matter of international security get in the damn mess hall
[JM]: Honestly, you are more of a threat to international security at this point.
[JM]: Give me half a minute. I’ll wave at the window when I’ve started recording.
[AA]: knew i could count on you jack
[AA]: this is going to be the best thing you’ve ever seen i promise
[JM]: This is a terrible idea. If you have any sense, you won't actually shoot when I wave.
[JM]: Don't say I didn't warn you.

Chapter Text

Hana waves when 76 walks into the mess hall, and he walks a bit before he actually notices her and waves back. McCree and Lúcio are sitting across from her, McCree in the middle of explaining how it is entirely true that cats were far superior to dogs, and then suddenly she realizes 76 is remaining oddly still and that’s when a window shatters, Lúcio yelps, and McCree stops mid-sentence and slumps forward into his bowl of cereal. It’s all they’ve been able to make without an oven, stove, and microwave, courtesy of Genji, but that’s not important now as Hana drops to the floor, gun in hand, while Lúcio yells “Sniper, outside!

The response is instantaneous, since no one walks around unarmed: Zenyatta throws an orb of harmony at McCree before floating into the safety of the kitchen; Dr. Ziegler rushes towards the cowboy with Reinhardt shielding her; Genji and Tracer are gone in blurs of color, shouting at each other and at Athena as the AI checks in with her drones and updates them on the sniper’s location; Winston retreats to a corner shielded from the windows and pulling out the computer he carries with him everywhere. Hana and Lúcio remain hidden under their table until Reinhardt’s barrier shields them from incoming shots, and then Lúcio pumps up the volume on his healing beat and Hana puts herself at Reinhardt’s back, ready to cover the two healers if necessary.

“Well, I don’t know, Ana,” she hears 76 say, “I told you this wasn’t a good idea, but you didn’t listen, did you?” and he’s standing right there in the open he’s going to get shot and killed if he doesn’t move what is he doing -

“Seventy-six!” she yells, frantic, terror locking her fingers around her handgun, and he doesn’t move. “Seventy-six!

“I will be your shield, Seventy-six!” Reinhardt shouts, picking up on Hana's distress. “You will be killed if you stay out any longer!”

“D.Va!” Lúcio shouts, and that’s when Hana notices she’s shaking so badly she’s actually dropped her gun, breaking one of the first rules she ever learned in the military, but her breaths are coming out in short gasps and all she can see is 76 just standing there and he’s going to get killed and she can’t do anything about it but - “D.Va, hey, girl, hey, I need you to breathe, okay?” Lúcio’s arm is cinched tight around her shoulders; a moment too late Hana realizes that he’s the only thing keeping her upright as her vision swims and darkens in the corners, and then she’s sitting down, her face cold and pale, no doubt, as she tries to focus on anything except the pitter-patter of her heart. But then Lúcio is turning her so she can’t see 76 anymore, that is not okay, and he’s saying, “Everything’s fine, D.Va, no one’s hurt, Jesse’s just unconscious, it was only a sleep dart - ”

Reinhardt said he would be killed if he stayed out there any longer -

Dad!” she screams, and that’s when 76's head jerks up in alarm, immediately seeking her out, and suddenly the world around her snaps into focus, slow and surreal.

Everything seems to happen at once - a figure slipping through the now-broken window, sniper rifle on their back, walking with a grace that belied the gray hair peeking through the hood of her cloak. Lúcio shouting a warning, raising the volume on his speed boost. Reinhardt roaring and bracing both himself and his shield in the ground. Garbled comm chatter as Genji and Tracer race around the perimeter, checking for any other intruders even as their target enters the building proper. It’s absolute chaos and all Hana can do is clutch at her chest, trying to suck air into her lungs because suddenly it's so hard to do so.

Move,” someone says, and then Lúcio’s shoved aside and her hands scrabble and find purchase on the stupid jacket she always teases 76 about and - and then the soft warmth from 76’s biotic field infuses her body and it’s like a kick in the ribs, painful but she can breathe, shaky but sure. Lúcio is still speaking, softly, calmly, and it's a while before people can figure out that the sniper isn't attacking them and is instead standing there, arms raised in a surrender gesture, though everyone's guns remain pointed in the sniper's direction.

“Sorry,” Hana wheezes as soon as she can get enough air to talk, unable to look up at him because - this is pathetic, that’s why. Just when she thinks she can’t get even worse, she goes and has a panic attack in front of everyone and it feels like this isn't real, her head light and floaty and her bangs are stuck to her skin when she reaches a quivering hand up to wipe at her forehead -

“You have nothing to apologize for, Hana.” She hadn’t even noticed she was crying until 76’s gloved hands wipe delicately at her face, too, and she clings to him even as he twists his spine to glare at the intruder. “Ana, I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to kill you for this.”

“Language,” the sniper says mockingly, and when the hood goes down, there are a number of gasps around the room. Still, the old woman has the grace to look guilty, staring down at the shivering mess Hana is sure she looks like. “You were right. This was a terrible idea.”

“You’re in rare form today.” 76 gets up and he’s actually carrying her, curling her in so her head is pressed against his chest. “Have fun introducing yourself to everyone. I’ll be in Hana’s room if anyone needs me.”

“Make sure she drinks water,” Lúcio advises. “Come get me if there’re any problems, and - oh, uh, no offense, Dr. Ziegler. I have a lot of experience with this kind of thing.”

“Good idea,” Dr. Ziegler says, and though Hana can’t see her face, her voice sounds strangled. “Jack, care to explain some things?”

Jack?” Reinhardt echoes, his voice incredulous.

This is Symmetra, from the workshop,” Satya says through the intercom, as if there isn't enough confusion already. “If it isn’t too much trouble, mister Lindholm and I would like to ask what is going on.

“I’ll explain later,” 76 says to Reinhardt, whose face has gone ashen. “Promise. Hana, you good with moving?”

She can barely move her head in a nod, either way; she feels drained, exhausted, and thankfully 76 merely grunts in acknowledgement and then she can feel him walking away from the noise and the next thing she knows, she’s lying in her bed and 76 is sitting on the edge of it, visor in one hand, the other brushing her hair away from her face.

“I’m sorry,” Hana mumbles after a few moments, shutting her eyes again. She thinks she should be embarrassed - she had been earlier - but now she just wants to lie here for a while. Not sleep, just rest, and she almost jumps out of her skin when 76 presses a water bottle into her hand.

“No need, Hana,” 76 says, and she kind of rolls over and curls up around him, almost like a cat, as he runs his fingers through her hair. She ends up staring at the water bottle in her hands. “It - I should have warned you. I didn’t realize you were prone to panic attacks.”

“This is what happens when - ” and Hana stops, struggles with herself a bit, then decides 76 has seen so many sides of her he might as well see another - “When I do not allow myself to let D.Va through. When I... do not channel her, I guess.”

“... You are D.Va, though.”

“I am Hana. In my MEKA, I am D.Va.” Her voice, thankfully, is matter-of-fact. “There has always been a difference.”

76 thinks on this for some time. Hana opens the water bottle and sits up slightly so she can drink it, and 76 keeps a hand pressed to her upper back, careful and grounding.

“That explains a lot, actually,” he says at last.

Hana lets out a noncommittal hum before abruptly changing the subject. “So, who was that?”

76 lets out a long-suffering sigh and doesn't answer right away - when he does, his voice is quiet, layers and layers deep with feelings and emotions she can't begin to parse. “Ana Amari.” At Hana’s lack of reaction, he pauses again, and then explains, “One of the original founders of Overwatch.”

Chapter Text

By the time Hana feels steady enough to go back to the mess hall, taking tiny sips of her water bottle, the situation has mostly calmed down - ‘mostly’ being the operative word, considering Ana Amari had basically come back from the dead. For some of the members, this was also true of Jack Morrison, and they have the fortune of walking in when Dr. Ziegler is yelling incoherent German in Ana’s face with Reinhardt’s intermittent interjections of “be polite, Angela,” going completely ignored.

“Jack!” Tracer cries as soon as he enters, and 76 grunts when she blinks over and tackles him in a hug. Genji is more prudent behind her, delicately picking his way over with Zenyatta just behind him. Words tumble out of her mouth in a rush, almost like a waterfall. “You should’ve told us you were alive! I’m so mad but I’m also super happy, and it’s just not fair that I didn’t get to learn about this earlier when everyone else did! You know I went to your funeral, right? And Reinhardt had such a beautiful speech, and Angie was crying, and - ”

“Commander Morrison,” Genji says with a shallow bow, interrupting Tracer’s babbling. She lets him, too, muffling a sob as the cyborg wraps an arm around Tracer’s shoulders, and 76 is entirely unreadable with his visor but Hana knows he’s not all too thrilled with these reactions; she’ll have to talk about this with him a bit more in-depth later on. “Somehow, I am not surprised you managed to escape death. It is good to see you again.”

“If I may,” Zenyatta says before Tracer can interject again, “Are there others who are alive, despite certainty that they have since passed?”

“Ana’s the only one I know of,” 76 says, which means - Hana flashes back to the chat client she’d seen on his computer and that explains a little, at least. What about Gabriel Reyes, though - what about Reaper? “I’m still not your commander, Genji, and we’ll talk later, Lena.”

It’s a virtue of being Jack Morrison, Hana thinks, that Tracer doesn’t protest the point; just the way he says things makes them final, in a way. “As you say, Commander,” Genji says in the meantime, stepping aside to let them pass. Zenyatta is absently toying with his orb of harmony, lightly floating it from hand to hand, and Hana gives a small smile when he gently spins it over to her so it hovers near her shoulder. 76 merely forges ahead and it’s with a small wavering of hesitation that she follows after him, warmth from the orb infusing her from within.

“Jack!” Reinhardt roars as they approach, and - he does not sound happy, and a quick glance at his expression shows a mask of furious anger. That’s when Hana checks out of the conversation because of a hand tugging on her elbow; she turns to see that it’s Lúcio, and she allows herself to be pulled to the side as he sits her down at a table some distance away. Near where Ana is standing, attempting to talk Dr. Ziegler down, another shouting match ensues - this time Reinhardt railing against Jack, who takes it in stoic silence.

“You don’t strike me as the kind of person to freak out,” Lúcio says, bringing her attention back to him. He puts his sonic amplifier aside in favor of reaching a hand towards her face, pausing until she nods her permission. His hands are warm and calloused as he turns her head from left to right, has her follow his index finger with her eyes, checks her temperature and pulse. “Guess the stress gets to all of us at some point.”

“I do not know why it happened,” Hana says, eyes focused somewhere beyond his shoulder, hands clenched tight around the bench on which she sits. “I - usually I do not panic in situations such as that.”

“Yeah, well, you thought that Amari woman was going to kill your dad,” Lúcio says, flapping a dismissive hand when Hana mumbles 76 isn’t my dad. “I think it’s fair, cara.”

“It would have been more productive to act.”

“And do what? If you’d gone out into the open, maybe you’d’ve been shot instead. Wasn’t much any of us could do, if you think about it.” Hana winces and Lúcio shrugs, not about to apologize for the truth, though he softens at her expression and points out, “If there had been a Talon sniper, Seventy-six would’ve been the first person to get behind cover. You know that.”

“I know,” she says, softly.

Lúcio moves his hands away to put them on her shoulders instead. “Listen. D.Va - Hana.” Hana tentatively looks up, eyes flickering to and from his. “It’s not your fault,” he says, giving her a gentle shake. “Panic attacks happen to the best of us. You couldn’t have known that it would happen, and you couldn’t have stopped it.”

Hana thinks about correcting him - there’s a reason D.Va has such an integral part of her life, after all - but the thought of doing makes her feel faintly uneasy. She definitely knows Lúcio is a friend, something like an elder brother really, but she couldn’t form the words even if she wanted to.

“I know,” she says instead, inadequate and pathetic, and Lúcio sighs but lets it go. He pulls back and offers her his headphones, and when she slips them on he’s playing something quiet and melodic, smooth and lilting. Like most of his music, it manages to settle her nerves, slightly, and in the end he sits on the floor and resumes eating the toast he had abandoned as Hana leans back against the table, eyes half-lidded as she tries to focus on the music and nothing else.

She only startles out of her almost-doze when there’s a flash of blue in her peripheral vision; she looks up and sees Ana Amari herself staring down at her, expression unreadable, hands on her hips. A quick glance shows that 76 is still occupied with Reinhardt while Dr. Ziegler looks on, looking far more perplexed than angry, and so she sighs, takes off the headphones, and returns them to Lúcio as she meets Ana’s eyes. Eye.

“You are Hana Song, yes?” Ana says, and sweeps on before Hana can reply. “It is good to finally meet you. Jack oft spoke highly of you.”

Hana continues to stare. She feels numb and doesn’t want to put in the effort of conversing right now, especially not with the person who triggered her panic attack in the first place. After a moment, she manages a bleak, “Annyeong haseyo.”

“I am sorry our first introductions were not under the best of circumstances,” Ana says, plowing on despite Hana’s obvious distaste for the entire conversation. “If you’ll let me make it up to you, I would be grateful.”

Ne,” Hana says, and Ana nods once, with a sense of finality, before turning to Lúcio and speaking to him instead. Hana watches them for a few moments before glancing back to where 76 is standing and, seeing him still occupied with Reinhardt, casts her gaze out further until she sees Genji, Zenyatta, and Tracer crouching over a seated McCree; she gets to her feet and trots over to join them, wanting to stay as far away from Ana as possible.

“Ah, Hana,” Genji says on her approach. He sounds like he’s smiling. “You’ve come at just the right time. Jesse has just woken up.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” McCree hisses, “I ain’t some show to watch, Genji.” His head is tilted far over his eyes. “I fell in a bowl of goddamn fruit loops, give me a break.”

“How are you feeling, Hana?” Zenyatta asks, apparently disinterested in McCree’s wellbeing, and that’s when Hana notices his little orb of harmony is still following her. Combined with Lúcio’s music, she’s actually - she’s actually feeling pretty okay, all things considered.

“Physically, I feel fine,” Hana says, and she knows that’s enough when Zenyatta nods. He leaves his orb floating at her shoulder as Tracer, giggling weakly despite everything that's happened, helps a grumbling McCree to his feet. “I would worry more about McCree at this point.”

“Her sleep toxin’s definitely gotten more potent,” McCree grumbles. “Usually only knocks me out for a few seconds, not minutes.” This earns him a lot of stares, and he just kind of deadpans back at them. “Dunno how the everlovin' fuck she’s alive, but it’ll a cold day in hell when I don’t recognize Amari’s sleep dart on the spot.”

Chapter Text

some years ago

[AA]: look im just saying its a great idea
[GR]: no.
[AA]: omgggg youre such a fuckin loser
[AA]: itll be funny gabi cmon
[GR]: i’m not helping you.
[AA]: what happened to the old gabriel reyes? the one who would have jumped on an opportunity like this in the time it took jack to say ‘oh fiddlesticks’?
[GR]: he died when he was put in charge of a bunch of jackasses.
[AA]: is that any way to refer to your blackwatch agents?
[GR]: i really don’t care.
[GR]: i’m still not helping you.
[AA]: really?? fine then
[AA]: guess ill just ask dear sweet jesse
[AA]: im sorry i meant jackass mccree
[GR]: why would you do that. you know how unreliable he is.
[GR]: he can’t keep his goddamn mouth shut.
[AA]: dont even pretend you dont love jesse mccree
[AA]: although i suppose you wont have that problem huh? ;)
[GR]: it won’t even matter in the end.
[GR]: do you want the whole base to know about this shit?
[GR]: jack is going to tell everyone.
[GR]: no one will shut about it once they hear about it.
[GR]: i’m not going to run a goddamn pr operation on both jack’s and my own damn team.
[AA]: B)
[GR]: fuck you, ana. fine.
[AA]: take me out for dinner first
[GR]: shut. up.
[GR]: if i get in trouble for this i’m going to get you fired.
[AA]: gabi gabi gabi
[AA]: you know you love me
[GR]: go to hell.
[AA]: ill meet you there
[GR]: why do i even bother.


[JM]: ...
[JM]: Is there a reason for the solid block of salt on my pillow?
[AA]: SALT IS NOT A SPICE
[GR]: it really isn’t.
[JM]: Ah. I forgot how passive-aggressive Gabe is.
[GR]: it wasn’t my idea.
[AA]: yes it was
[GR]: ana. i hate you so much right now.
[JM]: I’m telling Liao, Reinhardt, and Torbjörn about this.
[AA]: omg what is this the elementary school playground?? jack u tattletale
[GR]: i fucking told you this would happen.
[AA]: oopsie doopsies :)
[GR]: jack can i kill her.
[JM]: Only if no one else beats you to it.
[AA]: IVE BEEN BETRAYED
[AA]: jack gabi i thought u were better than this
[JM]: Oopsie doopsies.
[GR]: what he said.


[TL]: where did you even get a salt plate?
[GR]: ask ana.
[AA]: ask gabe
[AA]: dammit
[Winston]: ... I'm going to leave this conversation now.
[RW]: A solid cube of salt!
[Liao]: i’ll admit i’m impressed.
[RW]: Are those not called salt licks?
[RW]: It reminds me of that comic written by Gary Larson, I believe. There were deer involved. And salt licks, too!
[TL]: great, rein. seriously, where did you get it?
[AA]: i didn't put it there!
[JM]: She stole it.
[AA]: jack i would never :(
[AA]: i wasnt the one who got the salt cube seriously
[TL]: you definitely stole it.
[RW]: She definitely stole it.
[GR]: she’s guilty.
[AA]: wow ganging up on me fine i get it
[AA]: its because im a girl isnt it
[Liao]: yes, ana, because we all know you could kick the ass of anyone in this chat.
[JM]: Unfortunately.
[TL]: where did you even get a plate this big?
[RW]: It appears to be big enough to cook things on it!
[JM]: So we can test to see if salt is a spice then, right?
[GR]: fuck, rein, you just had to say that, didn’t you.
[RW]: Can you blame me? I am genuinely curious!
[AA]: ewww whatever you cook on that is gonna get disgustingly salty
[Liao]: too much of something isn’t a good thing.
[JM]: Salt is a spice. It’s good for you.
[TL]: no.
[Liao]: no.
[AA]: no
[GR]: no.
[JM]: You are all heathens and I’m embarrassed to be your commander. Except Reinhardt.
[RW]: B)
[GR]: shut up jack.
[AA]: wheres angela when you need her


[AA]: you fuckin cheat throwing me under the bus like that
[GR]: oopsie doopsies.
[AA]: did you get that shipped overnight
[GR]: himalayan salt cubes.
[GR]: with any luck, jack won’t notice the paperwork.
[AA]: damn
[GR]: yep.
[AA]: no wonder youre leader of blackwatch
[GR]: fuck off ana.


[AZ]: Yes, I would definitely say that high of a salt content would be more detrimental to your health than not.
[AZ]: Why do you ask?
[GR]: need to prove a point.
[AA]: well get back to you
[AZ]: Okay... please be careful, whatever it is you’re doing.


[JM]: Angela, I can’t believe you’d abandon me in my time of need.
[AZ]: Jack, salt is not a spice.


[AA]: all right folks weve got to amass our army
[AA]: salt is NOT a spice type ‘aye’ if you agree
[TL]: aye.
[Liao]: aye.
[GR]: aye.
[JeM]: nay
[Liao]: o.O
[GR]: jesse, you’re fired.
[JeM]: sorry boss
[AA]: kiddo
[AA]: you cant see me right now but ive got my sniper rifle and im coming to convert you
[JeM]: fUCK
[Liao]: ha! even ana’s threats one-up yours, gabe.
[GR]: fuck off liao.


[JM]: All right, soldiers. Are you ready to do battle?
[LO]: you betcha!
[GS]: i don't want to be here
[LO]: dont be such a downer genj! this will be great!
[GS]: そうかな
[JeM]: i am riskin life and limb for this morrison
[RW]: Don’t worry, my friends. I will be your shield!
[JeM]: can you protect me from ana
[RW]: Er.
[LO]: lol what
[JM]: It was nice knowing you, Jesse.
[RW]: I will write a great eulogy for your funeral!
[JeM]: y’all’re gonna make me cry
[RW]: I most certainly will! Even though you will be dead.
[JeM]: no i meant the tears of pain as ana shoots me but i guess that too
[GS]: wwwwwwww
[LO]: relax loves! itll be fine
[JeM]: you dont even have an opinion on this whole debate lena
[LO]: yeah but id always side with jack when it comes to these things
[LO]: those other blokes dont stand a chance against him!
[JM]: Thanks... I think.
[LO]: trust me reyes is gonna put his gun up and then be like nope
[JM]: There. There aren’t going to be any guns, Lena.
[JM]: We’re having a cooking competition.
[LO]: oh
[GS]: じゃあね
[LO]: in that case cheers! ill see you when youre all carcasses from eating your own dish
[JeM]: GENJI LENA NO COME BACK
[RW]: We are screwed!
[JM]: Yeah, I think we are.


[Winston]: And this is happening right now?
[LO]: yep! everyones crowded in the kitchen though so i cant see whats happening
[GS]: it's very noisy
[Winston]: Strange. I've never once seen Commander Morrison cook anything.
[GS]: wwwww
[LO]: i have!
[Winston]: Really? What was it?
[LO]: beats me it was round and black and charred
[Winston]: Oh dear.
[GS]: dr. ziegler will have her work cut out for her
[Winston]: I'm glad I checked out of the conversation when I did.


[AA]: i
[AA]: i cant believe jack made scrambled eggs and they actually tasted okay
[AA]: and all they had was salt on them
[GR]: i’m going to go lie down for a while.
[Liao]: feeling sick?
[GR]: no.
[GR]: i need to have an existential crisis.
[GR]: they should not have tasted that good.
[Liao]: idk. they were just eggs.
[TL]: they tasted great even though they had been made on a salt plate and had nothing else on them but salt.
[TL]: i am very confused.
[AA]: gabi can we have existential crises together
[GR]: yeah.
[GR]: door’s open.
[Liao]: i really don’t get what’s so crazy about it??
[TL]: those eggs were just as good as the omelettes we made with actual spices.
[TL]: jack will never let us live this down.
[Liao]: yeah, but so what. it’s jack. you can’t be mad at him.
[GR]: clearly you haven’t tried hard enough.
[Liao]: go back to your existential crisis gabe.
[GR]: yeah ok.
[TL]: well at least we don’t have to make lunch now.
[Liao]: small mercies.


[JeM]: i cant believe we won
[JM]: I don’t think we ‘won’, per se.
[JM]: Mostly I think we surprised them.
[RW]: Those eggs were delicious!
[RW]: Where did you learn how to make them like that?
[JM]: Trick is not to use boxed eggs. Fresh ones.
[JM]: Water makes them fluffier. Milk or cream makes them creamier.
[JM]: Use lots of oil.
[JM]: Usually I’d put pepper on them, too, but I had a point to prove.
[GS]: it looked disgusting
[LO]: seconded!
[JeM]: texture was great
[JeM]: suppose that was the water
[JM]: Yep.
[RW]: I have a newfound respect for your cooking skills, Jack!
[JM]: I can’t cook anything else decently, actually, so your faith is a bit misplaced.


[AZ]: Ana, Gabriel, I just wanted to check in to see if everything is okay.
[AA]: GET OUT WHILE YOU STILL CAN ANGIE
[AA]: SAVE YOURSELF
[GR]: would it be ironic if i choked to death on jack's eggs?
[GR]: like poetic justice or something.
[GR]: do you think i would matter if it wasn't even jack's eggs i choked to death on?
[GR]: ... can you end sentences with prepositions? i don't remember. does it matter that i don't remember?
[AZ]: Mein Gott.
[AZ]: This is the reason I can never leave anyone unattended.


present

[AA]: hey jack
[JM]: What.
[AA]: i found the salt plate
[AA]: you still remember how to make those eggs
[JM]: ... I do.
[AA]: meet you in the kitchen in ten
[JM]: ...
[JM]: Don't forget the extra salt.

Chapter Text

“All right, everyone, settle down,” Winston calls from the front of the room, and Hana sits with her legs and arms crossed, leaning back far in her chair, as the gorilla waits until a relative silence falls. “Are we all ready to begin?”

“Yes,” Reinhardt says, and it’s a bit of a shock to hear his normally-jovial voice so steely and cold. “I am ready for an explanation.”

Winston nods once, glasses flashing in the light, and looks toward 76 and Ana. They are sitting near the front, where Tracer and Dr. Ziegler would normally sit, and Hana watches as they both get to their feet while Winston steps off to the side. Ana is expressionless, matching 76’s inscrutable visor, and once they are at the head of the table they both stand with their feet shoulder-length apart, hands clasped behind them. The symmetry is both eerie and familiar, and Hana looks away, attempting a smile and likely failing when Lúcio puts a hand on her shoulder.

For a long moment, it’s dead silent in the room. The newer members of Overwatch - Symmetra, Zenyatta, Lúcio, herself - are marginally less affected by the recent turn of events, but Hana has no doubt that every one of them recognizes Jack Morrison’s name. The members of Overwatch prior to its original disbandment, however, are various shades of disgruntled to furious to devastated. Tracer has been clinging to either Genji or McCree since the beginning of the debacle, while McCree looks almost annoyed and Genji is, of course, unreadable. Dr. Ziegler’s eyes are glassy and she almost seems - inattentive, perhaps, like she’s seen a ghost. (Which she had.)

It’s Torbjörn, actually, that has Hana most intrigued. Unlike Reinhardt, he seems almost calm, eyebrows steepled gently downwards, fingers clasped in front of him, as 76 begins to speak.

“So, before anything else,” 76 says, and knowing 76, he’s going to completely butcher the delivery of whatever he’s going to say, “Gabriel is also alive.”

Hana winces - yep, she definitely had called that - and the room explodes into chatter, silencing immediately when 76 raises a single hand and oh yeah, he’s a commander, isn’t he? A commander and the ghost of legend, too; even though people are angry at him, they can’t forget his accomplishments, it seems. Hana keeps her gaze trained on the table.

“You told us you didn’t know of anyone else,” Genji says, polite and somehow also cold as ice.

“Didn’t want to cause unnecessary panic,” 76 says, cutting over the quiet murmurs that spring up following the cyborg’s words. “It was already chaotic enough. Point is this - since you know about me now, you might as well know that Reaper is Gabriel Reyes.”

The room is so suddenly silent Hana immediately understands the meaning behind the English expression you could’ve heard a pin drop. The only one with no stunned reaction is, of course, Hana - along with Ana, who merely purses her lips, and, surprisingly, Dr. Ziegler, who looks down at the table where her hands are tightly clasped, her eyes closing.

“I don’t know what’s happened to him, and I don’t know how he’s survived,” 76 goes on. “What I do know is that he’s been hunting down every original Overwatch agent still alive - and as Winston probably already knows, there’s not a lot of us left.”

Hana hadn’t known that particular detail - but suddenly, Jack keeping his identity under wraps makes a whole lot more sense, and she can see it dawning on others’ faces, too. Winston lets out an uneasy sigh at the end of 76's sentences, adjusting his glasses, but doesn’t say anything. Essentially confirming 76’s words, Hana thinks with a grimace, and explaining why she had been so readily accepted into Overwatch’s ranks.

“Question,” Tracer says. She doesn’t wait for 76 to give her the go-ahead. “Does he also seem to be targeting Blackwatch?”

“Yes,” 76 says, after a slight hesitation, “But other Blackwatch agents might’ve joined up with Talon instead. Seems he’s recruiting them.”

“Bullocks,” Tracer says in a hiss. “No wonder I couldn’t reach any of ‘em.”

McCree grunts. “Poetic justice. Reyes was always goin’ on about that.”

“How is he alive?” Reinhardt asks - aghast, shocked, trembling in anger or maybe something else. This isn't the explanation he wanted, but in light of recent developments, this must be more concerning, Hana notes. “The one we saw in Russia could not have been human.”

“Temporary immunity and teleportation,” Winston rattles off, seemingly on autopilot. His eyes are wide and his mouth pulled into a tight frown. “Did Talon do that to him?”

“I don’t know,” 76 says. Dr. Ziegler stiffens briefly; Hana would bet Genji and McCree notice, but besides that, no one sees.

“What an ass,” Ana grumbles, flipping 76 off when he drones language. “Did all of those years working together mean nothing?”

McCree clears his throat, loudly, at that. Ana rounds on him with a glare that could kill, but he doesn’t so much as blink, instead crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his head slightly to the left.

“Seems like he might have a reason to hate Overwatch, if ye ask me,” the cowboy says. “Never did get any recognition for the crap he did, you know? Was always ‘Commander Morrison this’ an’ ‘Commander Morrison that’. Never any credit to us for doin’ the dirty work.” Tracer is nodding agreement here, though she doesn’t look pleased about it. “I mean, what he’s doing now is still a shitshow, but you gotta admit that there’s methods to his madness.”

“That is years in the past.” It’s Torbjörn who points this out, surprisingly, and now he merely looks perplexed. “Surely he can’t still hold a grudge.”

McCree shrugs, languid, in a way that screams I know better than you do, but have it your way. Hana privately wonders if that’s true and looks at 76, trying to guess what could be going through his head. His fingers are twitching slightly and his head is tilted slightly forward - tics she’s come to understand as displeased, perhaps a little anxious, and while part of her clamors to go up and support him somehow, the rest of her is too numb and exhausted to even consider moving an inch.

“I mean,” Tracer says after a moment, quiet. “If my body were like that too, I’d be angry. You know?”

“Gabi never did forget about every little thing that bothered him,” Ana says, almost wistful, and 76 nods his head beside her. Reinhardt closes his eyes and lets out a heaving sigh, just one grand gust of air. “Something that big - I could see how it could drive him over the edge, though… it still seems rather excessive, would you not say?”

“I gave you my two cents. Doesn’t matter in the end,” McCree says, meeting his mentor’s eyes with an unreadable expression. Tracer sets her jaw when Ana look at her, eyes narrowed in a silent challenge that Ana does not take on. “Reaper’s still Reaper.”

“And our friends are still dead,” Genji adds, undeterred when a collective wince goes around the room. “What is important now is to figure out how to stop him before - well. Before Talon finds us, I suppose. Does he know you are Jack, Commander?”

“No way we wouldn’t recognize each other,” 76 says. “Fights the same as he always did. Knew from the very first time we crossed paths. He also knows I’m with Overwatch because of our excursion in Russia.”

Djävla skit,” Torbjörn mutters, which is as close as he’ll get to an apology, Hana suspects.

“So basically, we’re fighting against some dude who knows all of your weaknesses and who is also a ghost?” Lúcio says. There’s no response from anyone beyond grim looks, and Hana startles when, instead of a reasonable reaction like anger or fear, he starts laughing instead. “Céus! I didn’t realize there’d be this much action when I joined up, but hey, I’m ready for whatever. Do we have a plan?”

The original members of Overwatch are trading uneasy glances; Blackwatch agents are watching Lúcio with varying levels of interest, Tracer smiling, McCree tilting his hat thoughtfully, Genji entirely motionless.

Maybe, Hana thinks, this is why Winston brought in fresh blood; who else could pull everyone out of the past?

Chapter Text

Hana watches from the counter as Satya straightens up from where she had been crouched, hands moving in gentle, smooth patterns, until a blue, glowing version of the last missing stove part floated in ethereal blue. A few more movements of her fingers and a white and blue piece fell into her palm, shiny and new, and she hands it to Torbjörn to insert into the proper place.

“Never thought I’d be grateful for your help, lass,” Torbjörn says, grudgingly admiring, carefully removing himself from the base of the stove-oven fusion. “All right, Winston, lower away.”

The gorilla grunts and gingerly places the oven in its place in kitchen, nestled between a countertop and the refrigerator. Beyond the fact that it is now an amusing conglomeration of blue, white, and metal, it looks exactly like the old one and, as Torbjörn quickly demonstrates as soon as it’s been secured, it functions the same way, too.

“I am glad that I was able to help,” Satya says, smiling hesitantly, hands clasped neatly in front of her. “I still believe it would have been more efficient for all parts to have been made from hard-light, but - ”

“Young people these days, no appreciate for the hard work that goes into smithing,” Torbjörn grumps before the woman can finish. Satya’s smile becomes steely and flinty; Hana exchanges glances with 76, who is leaning back on the counter next to her, arms crossed, unreadable due to his visor. Winston sighs, too, and gives both 76 and Hana a wave as he leaves the kitchen; a smart move, Hana thinks, and she hops off the counter to follow 76 out as an argument springs up behind them.

“She’s gotten more comfortable,” 76 remarks as they reenter the mess.

“She and Torbjörn will be friends, I think,” Hana says. She’s fairly sure of herself, but then again, who could know for certain. “They bonded by yelling at Genji.”

“There was no reason to use his dragonblade to open a bottle of sauce,” 76 agrees.

“Everything else was fine up until that point,” Hana says mournfully. “I cannot believe he ruined six packages of rice noodles. I was going to eat those.”

“So it’s the rice noodles that are important, not the stove, oven, and microwave?” 76 laughs when she gives him a sour look. “What, you were going to eat them all at the same time?”

“After working out with you once, I think I could,” Hana says, shuddering. Never again would she wake up that ungodly hour to go through a workout so intense she lounged in bed for the rest of the day; super-soldier genes are entirely unfair, she’s decided, as 76 lets out another laugh. “Only because I watched it happen can I believe that you can break a treadmill simply by running on it too - ”

Hana breaks off abruptly when Ana steps into the room, quiet and regal. A swipe of white hair frames her injured eye, and if she notices Hana watching her, she doesn’t react, instead making her way to the kitchen without a word. Torbjörn calls out a gruff greeting when she enters, briefly ending his and Satya’s argument, and then Hana breathes out soft sigh of relief.

“Everything all right?” 76 says, undoubtedly studying her behind his visor.

Hana shrugs, short and quick. After a moment she decides that isn't sufficient, though, and so she asks, “Is it wrong that I cannot bring myself to like her?”

“You thought she was going to kill me,” 76 points out. “I’d say it’s a reasonable reaction.”

“But she was not,” Hana replies, sitting down hard at one of the table benches, back against the flat surface with her legs just too short to reach the next table bench over and act as a footrest. “My dislike of her is - it should not be a problem. I have had reactions like when she first came here before and I have managed to overcome them within a day.” She sighs, and when 76 takes a seat beside her, she leans on his shoulder. “It has been nearly a week.”

“Healing takes time,” 76 says, nudging his elbow against her side. “Don’t push if you’re not ready.”

“But I feel like I am being unfair.”

“Just because you feel obligated to talk to her doesn’t mean you can or should.”

Hana processes this for a few seconds before she nudges him back. “For a person as inwardly chaotic as you, you can be surprisingly wise.”

“It’s what happens when you get old, as it turns out.”

The silence that follows is comfortable, filled with Torbjörn and Satya’s soft but persistent arguing, the clanks and slams from Ana looking through the cupboards, the laughter coming from the next table over as Tracer, Zenyatta, and Genji play what appears to be a lopsided game of Clue; Zenyatta has been winning consistently, it seems, given the amount of betting pieces gathered at his elbow - Hana squints and sees small candies, one poker chip, a few pens, other bits and bobs. Ana stays in the kitchen instead of coming into the mess, neatly slicing through Satya and Torbjörn’s argument, and Hana is a little grateful as she turns to 76. She doesn’t think she could handle a conversation with the woman right now.

“Hey,” Hana says, and 76 turns his head marginally in her direction. “You and Ana never did talk about how you survived. Not to everyone else, at least.”

“I haven’t told you, either,” he points out.

Hana scoffs. “You know what I mean.”

76 hums acknowledgement, doesn’t answer right away. Hana kicks her feet slightly before drawing them up to her chest, hooking her arms around them and settling more of her weight against 76’s arm, picking at the hem of her socks.

“It was messy,” he says at last. “Only things that saved me were my genes. Easy to leave behind enough to get a solid ID, then I made sure I wouldn’t be tracked, then I booked it.”

“Ew,” Hana says, making a face.

“Mm-hm,” 76 says agreeably. “Pretty lucky I made it out at all. Helped that one of my biotic fields was still intact, but I didn’t have anything to for stitches, so.”

“So, scars.”

He nods. “Didn’t deploy the field until I was an hour’s run out. From there it was place to place until my condition had stabilized a bit more.”

He'd been sprinting for a full hour after getting grievously injured? Hana shakes her head in both wonder and exasperation; just another thing that tells her what kind of person 76 is, at the end of the day.

“Why did you hide the fact that you were alive?” Hana asks, and he turns his visor on her; she gets the sense he’s about to answer and she cuts him off before he can. “I know you originally said you would not tell anyone here because you are not the same person, and I realize that if Talon had known you had been alive, you would have been their primary target. But - before all of that.” She looked directly at the glowing red line, brows furrowed. “Why keep it to yourself?”

He continues to look at her as he thinks, in that too-many-things-at-once way of his. Hana can recognize it just through body language, and she merely settles the side of her head against his shoulder and waits.

“No one knew who I was. No one knew my agenda. I was harder to stop,” he says at last, leaning back against the table. He tilts his head at her, and his voice is neutral but she can hear the steel in the undertone. “That kind of anonymity is the best way to figure out what happened in Geneva, isn’t it?”

Chapter Text

Hana is in the laundry room when Athena says from the ceiling, “Agent Song, please report to the hangar immediately.”

She freezes for a split second before shoving the rest of her clothes into the dryer, running a finger over the filter to get the lint out, throwing one of those white paper things into the dryer proper, and starting it with a few practiced jabs at the buttons. Then she’s bolting for her room, tilting her head back to direct at the ceiling, “Where’s my mech?”

“In the hangar, Agent Song.” A slight pause, as Hana slams her door open, not even waiting for it to close before she’s yanking her her sweater off to get into her bodysuit, and after a few awkward moments where the zipper gets stuck and she’s struggling with it Athena says teasingly, “Your punctuality is appreciated.”

“Thanks, Athena,” Hana says, sarcasm giving her words a bit of bite. Athena huffs out a gentle laugh but doesn’t comment, and finally the damned zipper figures its life out and behaves like the rest of her clothes and she’s able to get the bodysuit suit on and go out the door, hooking her gun to her hip as she goes. She can only hold a dead sprint for a few seconds, so it’s not long before she’s slowed down to a fast run. Hallways pass in brightly colored blurs. Outside, it’s a beautiful evening, too early for dinner still; the breeze brushing past her cheeks is warm and gentle to the touch, and the air smells refreshingly of the sea as she continues to the hangar. She’s the only one outside, it seems. In fact, she hadn’t seen anyone else during her frenzied run out here.

Odd, she thinks. What could be happening? She supposes she’ll know as she turns the corner to the hangar and pushes through the door, only to slow to a confused halt when she sees only Tracer, McCree and Lúcio standing around a quietly-humming Thunderbird. Tracer is jabbering into her comm, too quietly for Hana to hear from here, and it’s only when McCree lifts his hand in a wave that Hana comes closer.

Boa noite,” Lúcio greets her as she approaches. He looks tired, maybe even a little annoyed.

Annyeong haseyo,” she replies, casting a look to the left and seeing the pink MEKA waiting patiently in the corner, tucked behind some large storage boxes. Where it usually stays nowadays, Hana’s beginning to note. “What is going on? Is this a mission?”

“Yep,” McCree drawls, and Hana wrinkles her nose when she sees his cigarillo is actually lit. He doesn’t miss the change in her expression and makes a point of turning his head slightly so the smoke doesn’t go into her face when he exhales. He grins at her thumbs-up. “You didn’t tell anyone you came here, did ya?”

“I did not,” Hana says, giving him a bewildered look. “Is this - is this not sanctioned?”

“Nope,” McCree says. “I’ll explain more on the way, if you wanna go get your mech up in the plane there.”

Lúcio shrugs when Hana turns a beseeching glance to him; seems he doesn’t know any more than she does at the moment, and with one last, lingering look on McCree, wherein she weighs the pros and cons of listening to him before deciding fuck it, she darts over to her mech and slips inside. It presses comfortingly against her as it powers up and then she’s urging it forward into the Thunderbird, as Tracer ends her conversation on comm and blinks back to where McCree and Lúcio are waiting. Once Hana has guided her MEKA into the plane, the other two soon follow - and then Tracer’s steering the Thunderbird up and out and Gibraltar fades away in the distance.

Okay, loves, we are on our way!” Tracer says, voice crackling over intercom. “Thanks for coming on such short notice! Wasn’t sure you’d show, D.Va.

“I - you’re welcome?” Hana says, exchanging a perplexed glance with Lúcio. “What is happening?”

“Well, what we’re off to do ain’t strictly legal,” McCree says, giving them both an easy smile that completely belies his words. Though everything Overwatch does is still illegal currently, despite Winston, Torbjörn, and Dr. Ziegler meeting at least once a week with the U.N. to discuss the issue, this frank admission is enough to get Hana equal parts intrigued and anxious. She swallows the lump in her throat. “You know how Reinhardt and Genji haven’t been around base much?”

… To be completely honest, Hana had not. She figured that Genji had squirreled himself away somewhere after Torbjörn and Satya had tag-teamed to scold him, though in retrospect it's a little weird he hadn’t once emerged to play any games with her, as he tends to do when he's bored. And as for Reinhardt - yeah, she has no excuse for that. Reinhardt can be heard from pretty much anywhere no matter where you are on Gibraltar. The silence should have tipped her off, and looking at McCree's carefully neutral expression, it's clear something is wrong. Now it’s just a question of what.

“Figured as much,” McCree says, noting her guilty look. Lúcio’s, too, she’s relieved to find; at least she’s not alone in her poor observation skills. “They’ve been doing some diggin’ around in the past, y'see. Gettin’ Jack and Ana back all at once was a bit of a shock for ‘em, or for Rein at least - so he went to get some peace n'quiet.”

“Did Tracer fly them to - wherever they are?” Hana asks.

Yep!” Tracer answers. “It’s not far, don’t you worry.

“Hard not to at this point,” Lúcio mutters, just loud enough for Hana to pick up. She feels her lips twitch in the barest of wry smiles in response; whatever is going to happen probably isn’t good.

“Basically, we’re goin’ in to pick up our friends,” McCree continues on without missing a beat, rolling his serape - she’s been recently corrected that that is the correct term for his red poncho thing - between his fingers. “Thing is, they’ve found somethin’ a bit interestin’ in their little adventure outta town.”

“Something interesting as in my defense matrix is needed,” Hana guesses, because why else would they take her with if they already have Reinhardt? “Are we expecting heavy fire?”

McCree’s smile is thin. “Somethin’ like that.”

“That isn’t cryptic at all,” Lúcio says, a little sour, and Hana realizes he must have been in the middle of mixing something. Cruel and unusual punishment, Hana thinks; pulling Lúcio away from his turntables in the middle of a composition is a feat, one usually accompanied by a continually pouting and vaguely passive-aggressive Lúcio - a far cry from his typical sunny demeanor. “Just tell us what we’re going up against.”

“Apparently,” McCree says, “An omnic.”

Lúcio deadpans, “Just one omnic?”

“Not the ones you’d see on the street. This one is a Siege Automaton.”

The name triggers a whole bunch of memories at once: documentaries, textbooks, illustrations, Hana learning that Siege Automatons “Bastion” units had made up the bulk of the omnic’s army during the Omnic Crisis. They had all been dismantled or disassembled following the end of the Crisis; the fact that there is one here, in a presumably remote and unpopulated area in Germany, is very curious.

“A what now?” Lúcio asks.

“Basically a walking turret.” Mm, yep, that's an accurate description. “It’s holed up in Reinhardt’s old stomping grounds, big ol’ castle in Germany. Need to get it out of the way to go deeper inside.”

“So we’re going to fight it.”

“Seems so.”

“Why couldn’t you have grabbed Mercy for this?” Lúcio grumbles, crossing his arms. Hana gives his shoulder a few pats in solidarity, to which he flashes her a small, quick smile. “This many people seems like overkill for a single omnic - even if it's a walking turret,” he adds before McCree can point it out.

“What we need is a sniper,” McCree drawls, ever-patient and obnoxious. “Since we don’t, us on the offense need to get close to cut it up, providin' we're actually killin' the thing. You’re here t’make sure we don’t die, and Hana is gonna let us get in close in the first place.”

“Not Reinhardt?” Hana asks, curious.

“Didn’t bring his armor with him,” McCree says. “Didn’t think he’d need it for a short trip - didn’t want it, neither. S’why Genji went with him, just in case, among other things.”

“And this is unsanctioned,” Hana clarifies.

“Yep. Soon as U.N. figures out there’s a killer robot in Eichenwalde, though - that’ll cause a mass panic. Best we take it out ‘fore anything bad happens.”

“Why would Winston not send us officially, though?”

“Eh, just politicking,” McCree says, waving a hand, and Hana resolves to ask 76 about just how many laws she’s broken by going on this little escapade as soon as she gets back. “Blackwatch takes care of its own, and Genji's one of us. You know how it is. Tracer and I’ve done this before.”

“What if we are caught?”

“We won’t be caught.” A promise, and he gives her a pretty little smile. Seems odd that his teeth are white when he smokes. “We’re professionals, D.Va. There’s a reason Blackwatch was kept secret fer so long.”

Hana purses her lips, knows she’s not going to get any further with the cowboy no matter how many questions she asks. It’s time to change course, so she does. “Are we trying to kill it?”

McCree’s eyebrows rise up; whatever had been expecting hadn’t been that, though he doesn’t so much as miss a beat when he says, “Not at the moment. Genji’s been tryin’ to communicate with it, but it’s respondin’ with gibberish, accordin’ to him. He can make out a few words, but they don’t make sense on their own.”

Lúcio’s feet tap restlessly on the metal floor of the Thunderbird as he says, “Such as?”

“Er, lemme see - its coordinates, somethin’ about yellow. Believe the only word Genji actually picked out from the chatter was Ganymede, which could mean anythin’.”

“Great,” Hana says sarcastically, just as Tracer calls over intercom, “All right, loves, buckle up for landing!

Eichenwalde ends up being a village of sorts - a village long abandoned to nature, with narrow, winding roads leading up to a castle perched delicately on a hill, all of it overrun with greenery. The houses are small and compact and remind her of medieval cottages one might see in other European countries, in old towns that have preserved themselves since the Middle Ages. Though simple in design, the houses seem ornate, almost, as far as cottages go; Hana hasn’t ever studied architecture, but the style around her appeals to her visually as she, McCree, Lúcio, and Tracer silently make their way to where the castle sits.

The castle has a stately bridge leading to a wide, expansive door, and one of the doors has been opened, presumably by Reinhardt and Genji. It’s through it that Hana and her squadmates slip inside. The interior is cool and musty; dust floats in the air, visible in the evening sunlight streaking through high, narrow windows, and Hana’s mech automatically adjusts her view so she can see better. It’s quiet, save for the distant sound of gunfire, only audible if she really focuses her hearing on it and nothing else - likely from the omnic.

Hana, glad you and the others could make it,” Genji says through comm, suddenly and without warning. “I will send your mech my coordinates. Please come as soon as you are able.

“Of course,” Hana says, only slightly caught off-guard, watching her mech’s hub bring up a rudimentary map of the area and place a glowing, lime-green dot on where Genji presumably is. Nearby, a blue dot marks Reinhardt’s location; a red dot marks where the omnic is, she would assume. It looks like the omnic has set itself up in a place to block the entrance to what appears to be the throne room, and while Reinhardt can push closer, something continues to drive him behind cover.

Be wary upon approach and stay behind cover if possible. It opens fire on anything that moves, and my attempts to talk it down, so far, have been fruitless.” Genji sounds frustrated as he mutters, “Master Zenyatta would know what to do.

“Copy that,” Hana says, and then adds, “We will figure something out.”

I am loathe to kill it, Hana. Please do not attack.

“Understood.” She glances at McCree, Tracer, and Lúcio through her side cameras; they’re all listening intently, so it’s more of a precaution when she asks, “Did everyone hear that?”

“Lucky that old Torb isn't here!” Tracer says with a giggle in response, and Hana takes the lead through the castle depths.

They’d gone through a side entrance, so they merely have to circle around large, airy corridors until they are at the front of the castle. A wide, arched doorway leads to the throne room; Hana can see Genji and Reinhardt hiding out behind some pillars, the latter rumbling something to Genji, who nods, and that’s when -

D.Va slams down, hard, into place when she notices Reinhardt’s bleeding because he’s not wearing his Crusader armor right now, he really must not have been expecting any resistance, and then she’s saying, “Genji, we are here. Is there a plan?”

I am currently in communication with the omnic. Reinhardt will make his way to your location; Bastion managed to hit him several times.

Not just flesh wounds,” Reinhardt grunts, sounding far more serious in the midst of battle than D.Va is used to, and that’s when she notices one of his arms is hanging uselessly at his side.

“Bastion?” Lúcio echoes.

It is shorter to say Bastion than to say ‘SST Laboratories Siege Automaton E54’,” Genji explains. “Excuse me for a moment. I think I may have -

Genji takes one step out into the open and the omnic stops firing, the silence eerie and echoing in D.Va's ears. Reinhardt takes advantage of the distraction to scurry to the corridor where D.Va and friends are, where Lúcio pumps up his music, sets the sonic amplifier to the side, and quickly, efficiently begins to examine Reinhardt’s more grievous injuries. D.Va turns her attention back to Genji, who is creeping closer and closer to the omnic, sword still in hand but down at his side as he goes closer. McCree’s hand is tight over his revolver; Tracer is biting her lip, rocking back and forth on her heels.

The omnic itself appears to be an older unit - though it seems that its mechanisms still work perfectly fine, it has grown a layer of grass, dirt and plants all over itself, complete with wildflowers that bounce slightly as each shot fires out of its gun. The juxtaposition would be amusing in any other circumstance. Right now, it's merely ignored as D.Va watches Genji approach, silent and steady, with her breath caught in her throat.

Maybe it’s because D.Va’s read and learned so much about Bastion units. Maybe it’s because D.Va drives a mech and is used to inorganic movements. Whatever it is, she knows the instant Bastion changes its mind, and she yells, “Genji!” just as Bastion opens fires point blank and, just like that, Genji falls, visor flaring bright green once before fading to black; not dead, D.Va thinks, likely shutting down to prevent death, but she’s not taking any chances. Bastion continues to shoot wildly, aim erratic, before it trains on where they're taking cover behind a corner and pummels the thick stone wall separating them with bullet after bullet.

“I will cover you,” D.Va says after a moment's though. She’s not sure who she’s addressing; at this point, she doesn’t think it matters. “Are you ready?”

“I’ll cause a distraction,” Tracer says before anyone can confirm, and then she’s blinking around in the open area, drawing Bastion’s attention away from Genji’s prone form. There’s no laughter this time; her face is a serious, deadly mask of concentration as she dodges around bullets and shoots at the omnic between its minute breaks in fire, and D.Va turns her mech so she can see McCree, who's spinning Peacekeeper in his hands.

“After you, darlin’,” McCree says, and so D.Va hits her defense matrix and steps out into the open.

Bastion immediately ceases its attempts to go after Tracer and instead goes for her, being the larger and bulkier target; the rate of fire is faster than she’s used to, but D.Va has by far outperformed her peers when it came to actually using the MEKA’s defense matrix, and so she quickly and easily scans each bullet and flicks them out of the way with the appropriate motion of the laser, darting from cover to cover, letting her defense matrix recharge before moving closer to where Genji lay. McCree sticks close behind her as Lúcio keeps his music amped up and loud, keeping Hana’s mech from flipping out when a few stray shots hit, and soon McCree’s looped Genji over his shoulder and they’re retreating back to cover.

Except, D.Va realizes belatedly, cover is too far away for her to reach without her defense matrix shutting down, now that she's moving backwards. She’ll have almost three seconds during which Bastion will be able to shoot her. “Run for it,” she tells McCree, and then, “Tracer, please come help McCree carry Genji to safety.”

No one questions her judgment as Tracer blinks behind her and takes some of Genji’s weight off of McCree’s shoulders; and instead of going for cover, D.Va merely moves to block Bastion’s view of the three Blackwatch agents, drawing Bastion’s fire even when her defense matrix fails. She’ll just use her self-destruct mechanism, she thinks as her mech starts to flash red at her; it’ll be fine -

She shouts in alarm when she’s ejected without warning, flipping high in the air and managing to land on her feet behind her mech - and she watches with a dawning sense of horror as it breaks apart in front of her, sparking, dismantled before her eyes. Bastion is still shooting at her and the closest cover away from it is almost three meters away; D.Va hits the ground behind the ruins of her mech, her only cover for now, and presses her back against what used to be a smooth cockpit of metal and glass.

Her options are very limited. With Reinhardt out of commission, there’s no one here to shield her retreat, and so she takes a deep breath, hops up into a crouch, and waits for a break in Bastion’s almost incessant fire. It takes it almost a second to reload; she can make it three meters in a second or two if she’s sprinting, but she’ll have to start from a dead stop, which means she’ll probably be in the open for maybe half a second, probably more. That's enough to get her killed, knowing Bastion's rate of fire.

“D.Va!” someone shouts, aghast, and then the gunfire stops, and Hana surges forward. One second - two seconds - and three seconds, almost four, and by some miracle she gets behind the pillar without any problems. Bastion still hasn’t opened fire, though, and with a small sense of dread she debates whether moving toward the next pillar or waiting until Bastion starts shooting and goes through a full clip again. She can see Tracer, McCree and Lúcio talking to each other with rapid hand motions and fearful glances in her direction, but she knows she can’t rely on them: Bastion won’t aim for Tracer, not when there’s an easier target, and even if Tracer managed to whittle Bastion down, D.Va remembers that they have a self-repair mechanism.

Forward, she thinks, and with a deep breath she gets ready to push off of the pillar towards the next, a few meters in front of her -

only to stumble forward when the pillar she’d been going for crumbles in front of her, a thunderous noise screaming through the air as she automatically bolts to the left, hands over her head, to avoid falling rock. A quick glance to the side shows her that Bastion is no longer in turret form, and her heart stops when she sees that it is now in the shape of a tank.

I'm going to die.

Hana comes to terms with this in about half a second and closes her eyes; it’s D.Va who shouts at Tracer not to blink in and darts behind the next pillar, fear drumming up her heart rate and breathing and making everything around her brighter, more focused, wincing when pillar crumbles with another deafening boom as well and going towards the next bit of cover to weave in and out of Bastion’s range. The long cannon gapes at her, following her motions, and everything she’s thinking boils down to do NOT let it hit me before she hears a chirp to her left. She whips her head around to look, not because she’s curious but because it had been so damned close -

and there is a little yellow bird perched on her shoulder. It is curiously poking at her hair with its beak and, at her sudden motions, gives her a cheerful chirp that completely undermines the current situation she is in.

And then Bastion lets out a series of beeping noises and, right before her eyes, unfolds from its tank form to the standing unit that she remembers from her textbooks, red light flashing to a robin's egg blue instead.

Chapter Text

It’s a long, long moment before D.Va realizes that Bastion - who is now walking and towers over her - is actually intently watching the bird on her shoulder rather than her, though it becomes rather obvious when the bird sings a few notes at the robot, at which it responds with a few chirps of its own. The moment is surreal, the air thick like molasses and her chest heaving for air as the fear passes and the adrenaline fades from her bloodstream, and it’s with a scowl and a sharp jerk of her head that D.Va shuts down the panic attack before it can start.

The movement is enough to get the little bird to shift on her shoulder, flapping its wings a bit as it chirrups almost scoldingly at her, and then it settles again and D.Va is struck with the fact that she is staring up at a giant omnic programmed to kill and is still very much alive - staring up at a Bastion unit that is currently tilting its head at her, and she watches with equal parts trepidation and incredulity as it raises a hand and gives her a small wave.

Hesitantly, she lifts a hand and waves back.

Bastion beeps at her, once, sounding pleased, and then follows the sound with a whole bunch of other sounds that she can’t hope to translate, and then it lets out an alarmed server noise when she sinks to her knees; she hadn’t even noticed her legs beginning to bend, but everything's happening so quickly that she feels like she's getting mental whiplash. Fortunately, Bastion doesn’t try to help her up, but the little bird does hop down from her shoulder to the ground and tilts a little yellow head at her, cooing quietly as her breathing slowly evens out.

“Holy fuck,” she manages after a while, bracing her hands on the ground. It takes another moment before she’s pushing herself backwards, rocking slightly on her heels before she finds her balance. McCree, Tracer, Lúcio, and Reinhardt are still waiting in careful silence behind her, she thinks, operating on the idea that Bastion might strike if they approach, and she remains crouching, steeling her courage as she lifts a finger to the bird near the ground. It does a cute little bounce up and chirps cheerily at her as she pulls herself to her full height; hand visibly shaking, she offers the bird to Bastion.

Bastion copies her motions, a single finger extending and lining up perfectly level with hers, eerily still and motionless as it waits. The bird takes little time to jump from perch to perch, making its way up the greenery that covers Bastion from head to toe to settle on its shoulder, where - where there is a bird’s nest. D.Va decides not to question it. “Annyeong,” she tells Bastion instead, wincing when her voice audibly quivers.

There’s a moment of silence - and then Bastion beeps twice at her, imitating her tone and voice. She has to smile at that, which makes it beep and bwoop a bit more, and then it points its hand in the direction of her fellow operatives. The sound it makes is questioning, and the gun that composes its other arm is clearly ready to fire. She’s guessing what it had been asking when she says, “They won’t attack you if you don’t attack them.”

The answer seems to suffice, as the hand returns to its side and it regards her silently again, soft whirring not unlike an old computer fan echoing in the background. She wonders if it has the mental capacity to want to apologize, as she turns her head slightly, never turning her back on the omnic, and calls, “Is Genji awake?”

“Unfortunately,” Genji answers tiredly, one hand braced against the side of his head. At any other time, D.Va would have found the fact that a cyborg could have a migraine hilarious. “Are you all right?”

“I am fine, against all odds,” D.Va says, though she is shaking terribly and it’s only because of her soldier front that she isn’t having another panic attack from almost dying. “Could you - do you understand what Bastion is saying?”

“I do not understand its noises, but I can attempt to communicate with it again,” Genji says, gingerly hobbling out into the open, one of his legs almost unable to carry any weight and the other straining to keep him from falling. Bastion makes a long, low beeping sound, almost like an apology - an answer to her question, she supposes - and D.Va can hear the strained smile in Genji’s voice. “It is asking for forgiveness. It appears Ganymede is the bird that landed on your shoulder.”

“Huh,” D.Va says. Genji lets out a grunt of agreement, dragging himself closer to the omnic, and D.Va hugs her arms around herself.

After that it’s quiet, interrupted only with Genji and Bastion communicating with each other via network channels and, occasionally, garbled server noises, almost. Genji stands by leaning against one of the remains of the blasted pillars, keeping one hand pressed to his head while the other arm is curled over his stomach, parts of his armor chipped and a clear liquid dripping slowly from a joint in his knee; but D.Va isn’t surprised to hear him let out a small chuckle after a few moments despite the obvious pain. Genji can make friends with anyone, including murderous robots.

The bird - Ganymede, rather, seems to have taken an interest in her, though, rather than the conversation taking place. Instead of settling down on Bastion’s shoulder in the bird's nest, Ganymede flies over and decides that it’s much more interested in what’s on her head, picking up strands of hair and then putting them back down, and D.Va takes the time to go over to her mech and hunch over it, frowning at its remains. It’s… really, really bad that this is the state it’s in, especially since she doesn’t have the little mechanism that would cause the mech to reform. It’s probably somewhere in there, and she tsks under her breath - at least all of the MEKA parts are within a two meter radius; it would make for easy transport, at the very least.

She looks up at the sound of rapid footsteps and straightens up completely when she sees McCree and Tracer darting towards her, matching worried frowns on their faces. Behind them, Reinhardt grunts and gently shakes off Lúcio’s supporting arm and the two of them carefully walk over, healing music still flowing from Lúcio’s sonic amplifier.

“Why did you not shoot at it?” D.Va asks when the first two are close, and then she squeaks and Ganymede briefly flaps away when McCree sweeps her up in a bone-crushing hug. Tracer throws herself onto the other side, and then Reinhardt scoops them all up and D.Va is vaguely terrified but also very warm, wrapping her arms around the person closest to her - McCree in this case. It’s only when Reinhardt puts her down that McCree pulls of his serape and settles it on her that, belatedly, she realizes she’s actually gone into shock, which is probably why she’s shaking so much. “I - I understand that we did not want to kill it, but I was - ”

“We were goin’ to, actually,” Tracer says, scowling, hands on her hips. “I was ready to go out and rip it a new one so McCree could get some shots in while it was reloading, but then you moved and, because of that, it shifted to its tank formation.”

“Word of the wise, darlin’,” McCree says, and there’s something that looks like relief glimmering in his eyes, “We’ve been in this business longer than you, and trust me when I say we would’ve intervened somehow. Your mech was a much safer and sturdier cover than the pillar.” He tilted his head at her. “It ain’t your fault, promise, but we coulda avoided a situation like this if we’d all communicated with each other.”

D.Va blinks at him before realizing she hadn’t been able to hear McCree, Tracer, and Lúcio talking while she’d been trying to figure out how to survive, and a quick swipe of her ear reveals that her comm is not actually there; it’s on the floor somewhere, presumably having fallen out during her mech’s explosion. McCree notes the motion and grimaces at her wordless explanation. “It sounds like you are blaming me, nonetheless,” she says instead, the words empty instead of biting.

“We aren’t,” McCree says, firmly, and then he gives her a thin smile. “Sacrifice is necessary for all missions, o’course. Just - next time, maybe fewer heroics, yeah?”

“And you can count of us to help you,” Tracer adds, pouting, hands on her hips. “Even if it doesn’t look it. We don’t leave our own behind.”

D.Va doesn’t answer right away, instead tugging McCree’s serape more tightly around herself. It smells of smoke and it’s a little scratchy, but it is keeping her warm and the familiarity is nice, too. Slowly, she lets herself relax slightly, straightening her spine to stretch before hunching over and burrowing in on herself.

“Okay,” she says at last. There’s many complicated reasons why she had acted the way she did, but she figures there will be time to explain them later. “I am sorry.”

“No need,” Tracer says, as if that will clear all of her guilt and unease off the table, and then she turns to Reinhardt. “So, love! He still safe and sound in there?”

Ja,” Reinhardt says. He lifts his chin slightly, towards the direction of the throne room. It’s dark in there; one door is open a crack, and Hana can’t see inside. “I worry that it may not be safe for him to remain here, however, and - ah, but Genji, will Bastion be a problem?”

“It panicked,” Genji says, still motionless, leaning against the pillar. Bastion lets out a whirring sound, shortly followed by a few bweeps. It’s strangely charming. “Ganymede had disappeared for a time and Bastion had feared the worst when you and I arrived, Reinhardt. It is harmless now.”

“Harmless? It is all relative, I suppose,” Reinhardt says with a laugh, half the loudness it should be. Bastion makes a beeping sound and Reinhardt gives it a hard, cutting glance before looking towards the throne room. D.Va's not sure what beef he has with the omnic, but given that it's Reinhardt, there must be a reason for it. “Lena, would it be possible to move him?”

“There's a person in there? Who?” Lúcio demands.

“A hero!” Tracer chirps.

“Commander Balderich Von Adler,” Reinhardt clarifies. “He and his men were some of the most fearsome Crusadors in our ranks. Without them, we would not have been able to drive the omnics out of Germany.”

Lúcio glances towards the throne room, uneasy. “So he's dead and he’s been sitting here all this time?”

“Who would dare to disturb a legend?” Reinhardt says, before he repeats, “So, Lena, it is possible to move him, ja?”

“I don’t see why not,” Tracer says with a quick little nod. “I’ll run back and swing by here for a quick pickup, yeah? For your mech, too, D.Va.”

“I appreciate it,” D.Va says, and she’d forgotten that Ganymede was still on her head at this point when the little bird chirps. She would’ve thought the bird would have flown off after the chaotic group hug, but it seems pretty happy to sit and lightly tug at her hair, almost like the dark, brown strands are a toy. “It will save me quite a bit of time.” Not that she can actually do repairs, but maybe she’ll get lucky with her squadmates back in Korea if she asks for blueprints.

“Ah, one thing,” Genji says, vents on his shoulders letting out a brief puff of steam when he grunts and puts some weight on his bad leg. “We must wait for someone to arrive before we go, Lena. That is the other task I needed to do here. He has told me he will arrive in another hour.”

“An hour? Psh. In that case, it can’t hurt to look around,” Tracer says with a grin. “It’s a beautiful castle, Reinhardt!”

“A lot of death took place here,” Reinhardt says in response, stopping at where he stands in front of the throne room doors. He is no small man, but the doors are tall and wide and seem to dwarf him in size. He sounds tired, entirely out-of-character as he says, “But there is beauty in everything, if you know where to look.”

“Don’t swing your arm too much!” Lúcio yelps when Reinhardt goes to push open the door, and then he’s running over and D.Va has to smile very slightly at the sight as the two enter the poorly-lit room beyond. It’s always been interesting how a battle can go from one-hundred percent to zero in the span of seconds; Bastion is intimidating but surprisingly childlike as it chirps at Ganymede on her head, who chirps back, and overall it is calm. When she breathes out again, it’s Hana who shrugs off McCree’s serape and offers it to him.

“Nah, keep it for now, darlin’,” he says, turning to Genji. Hana folds it up and puts it on top of her mech. “You said you came ‘long for a couple of things, but I didn’t realize it was an actual person. Who’s this guest we’re expectin’?”

Genji hesitates for a long moment before replying, “Surely you already know, Jesse.”

“Reckon I might as well check, given the other unexpected surprises we’ve had today.” McCree shrugs at Genji’s prolonged look. “Can ya blame me?”

“He would feel better knowing you are not out to kill him,” Genji says, a little stiff, a little warm.

“I’m not. Can’t forgive him for what he did to you, though,” McCree says, and Hana is very aware that she had absolutely no idea what’s going on right now. “Wouldn’t feel a lick guilty if I need t’put him in his place.”

“Absolutely,” Tracer agrees, blinking over from where she had been examining a worn tapestry to prop an elbow up on McCree’s shoulder and leaning in, a small, dangerous smirk on her face. “I know it was up to you to get in touch with him, but if there’s any funny business - ”

Hana’s been digging through the wreckage of her mech at this point and finally extricates the trigger mechanism from deep inside the MEKA’s cockpit; an experimental push of the button does nothing, unfortunately, and she tucks the trigger in the only place with room: one of her shoes. Fortunately the mechanism itself is thin and flexible and she’s able to slide it under the shoe, above the sole and below her foot - really, she should’ve asked for pockets on her bodysuit, but it’s too late now - and she’s straightening up when Tracer cuts herself off and there’s a quiet, light tap behind her.

“You are early. And bleeding,” Genji says, alarmed, and Hana raises her eyebrows to herself and turns around.

Standing a few meters in front of them, having dropped from the new holes in the ceiling in part due to the collapsed pillars, clothes stained a damp red around his right shoulder, is a man with a slender grace that belies the gray at his temples. His black ebony hair is swept into a neat bun and frames sharp eyes narrowed in focus; a fearsome bow is held in his hands, his expression cold and cutting even as they sweep across the cyborg across from him. Hana recognizes him from the datapad she had seen McCree reading once.

“It is nothing. We must leave,” Hanzo Shimada says. The blue dragons of his tattoo swirl across his arm silently as he pivots in place; he nocks another arrow, muscles bunching powerfully as he pulls it back.

“You can’t just order us - ” Tracer begins, but Hanzo cuts her off.

“There is no time.” He fires the arrow. It goes through one of the high, narrow windows in the main doors, flitting through the small space and landing who knows where; his aim is incredible, Hana thinks, for the front doors are not open and the openings are hardly a few centimeters wide, but she doesn't really understand why he did it as he seemingly stares at where he had fired the arrow, then looks over his shoulder in a sharp, jerking motion. “We stay, we die. It is a seven-member team, but their sniper is dangerous.”

“But Adler’s body - ” Tracer cuts herself off this time and curses a string of English words that Hana has never heard of before. “Bollocks,” she says at last, pinwheeling her arms and cracking her neck, side-to-side. “I’ll get the plane. Sit tight, loves.”

“They followed you?” Genji asks, attempting a step forward and gasping instead when his knee gives out and he drops in a kneel as Tracer blinks away. Hanzo twitches in a way that Hana reads as concern; he might’ve gone to the cyborg, but for some reason he’s holding himself back.

“Talon followed you,” Hanzo corrects in any case, shooting a cold stare over at Hana, McCree, Bastion, the two in the throne room, and Hana’s chest constricts.

Chapter Text

Hana looks to her mech before she looks back at Hanzo, who is casting his eyes over their motley crew with something akin to exasperated despair. Reinhardt has yet to return from the depths of the throne room; presumably Lúcio is in there with him, and then a shadow flits across the evening sunlight dappling the floor from above and Hana makes a break for it, McCree and Bastion, surprisingly, covering her retreat as Hanzo barrels towards Genji, throwing his brother's arm over his shoulder and following them through the tall, narrow door.

“What is the meaning of this‽” Reinhardt shouts as Hana makes it in, pistol raised and ready to fire. McCree’s positioned just to the left of the door, inching it shut bit by bit to reduce the probability of a shot making it through, and she hears him fan the hammer of his revolver as Hanzo stumbles in, Genji awkwardly hanging from his good arm. Once he is, Bastion backs up and positions itself inside the throne room but right next the open door before shifting into turret mode; McCree slips past him and takes up a spot behind Bastion as the omnic beings firing upon the first Talon agent to drop to the floor.

“Talon. Sorry, old timer,” McCree calls back, “Didn’t mean to interrupt anythin’.”

“Talon?” Reinhardt echoes. “Here? What for?”

“Scratch one,” McCree says instead, then takes another shot. Bastion follows up with a pounding of bullets. “And two. Shimada, you got any more info on these bastards?”

“Besides the sniper, they are mostly unremarkable - well-trained black operatives,” Hanzo says, and Hana spins to see him gently lower Genji next to a fallen stone, grimacing as he pulls on his injured arm. Hana - no, D.Va watches as the archer then tears a piece from his sheer, expensive clothes and carefully brushes fabric aside from his right shoulder to reveal a spattering of small wounds along his upper arm, telltale of a shotgun blast that had just grazed him; when she circles around him and takes the strip of clothes from him, he gives her a surprised nod of thanks and observes her motions carefully as she ties off the wounds. “The other one of note is able to teleport. It is how I was injured.”

“Reaper,” McCree says, swearing softly under his breath as he takes another shot. Bastion lets out a long booping sound as it reloads; McCree covers it effortlessly.

“I don’t understand anything,” Lúcio declares, and then, “Who’s this?”

“My brother,” Genji says from the floor, his voice crackling for a split second before regaining its normal inflection.

“Hanzo,” his brother says, watching D.Va's motions, almost hawklike.

“Hanzo,” Lúcio says experimentally, the name rolling off of his tongue almost perfectly. “Okay. What’s going on?”

“Talon found us,” D.Va says, finishing off the knot with a flourish. Hanzo tests the wrap and gives her a small smile; she grins back, flashing him finger guns as she gets up and grabs her pistol again. “Reaper is here. If there is a sniper, then it is probably - I know Winston mentioned her, but I do not remember her name.”

“Widowmaker,” Reinhardt says with a sigh, and then he murmurs something, too quiet for D.Va to pick up, and when she turns she sees he had been addressing the large suit of armor sitting on the throne and that isn’t creepy at all. “I cannot believe the one time I do not bring my armor is the time when I need it most,” Reinhardt grumbles shortly thereafter, straightening his spine and cracking his neck.

“Don’t you dare think of charging,” Lúcio warns, hooking an arm around Reinhardt’s elbow when the older man takes a step towards the throne room’s doors. He has to strain to reach that far, but his voice is deadly serious as he says, “I’m a good medic, but I’m not that good. We’re better off holding our position and whittling them down from here.” Reinhardt growls under his breath, conceding the point - only for his eyes to widen seconds later as he slowly turns around to look at the lonely set of armor on the throne, and now Lúcio says, a bit nervously, mostly exasperated, “You’re really thinking about touching a dead guy’s stuff?”

“I do not want to do it, either,” Reinhardt says, more irritated than angry, “But desperate times call for desperate measures, no?”

“He’s a legend! You said so yourself!”

“Hush, boy - I will not watch my friends die when I could have been their shield,” Reinhardt snaps back. He reaches out a careful hand and lays it gently on top of a shoulder plate. “Commander Von Adler would have understood the necessary sacrifice better than anyone.”

“I just - ” Lúcio throws up his hands and sighs, backing down from confrontation. “I just want to make sure you don’t regret it later. You know. Messing with a dead dude’s stuff.

“With any luck, it will not be necessary,” Hanzo interrupts smoothly, standing and rolling his injured arm’s shoulder. The cloth bandage seems to suffice, and he gives D.Va a nod, one of respect, as he strides towards the open door. The dragons on his arm twirl and twine up and down his skin. “It would be wise for the omnic to move further back.”

Draw,” McCree says instead of responding; four shots ring out and immediately McCree stumbles back, one hand against his forehead as the migraine sets in. “Bastion, you’re gonna have to move, pal.”

Bastion bweeps as it swivels out of turret mode and takes a few steps back. Ganymede is perched on its shoulders and lets out an affirming chirp as Hanzo steps up and pulls one of the doors further closed, reducing both the odds of any of them getting shot but also impairing his own view of the situation outside. “You missed one,” Hanzo says after a moment.

“Fucker’s barely visible from here,” McCree grumbles. “It woulda been pure luck if I’d’ve hit ‘em.”

Hanzo pulls an arrow back and lets it loose. A moment later, D.Va can hear - it almost sounds like something hitting the stone again and again, in different places, as she crouches by Genji with her gun drawn and ready. McCree grimaces and glances over at the archer with an expression that is equal parts annoyance and grudging respect, and Genji lets out a hollow laugh as D.Va gingerly helps him sit up, his back leaning against a fallen stone.

“What was that?” Lúcio asks, eyebrows furrowed.

“A scatter arrow,” Hanzo explain curtly, and then reaches back into his quiver and draws a different arrow, firing it again in short succession. “And that - sonic arrow.” A brief pause. “There are more than seven agents. Reinforcements have arrived. The sniper - Widowmaker, you said? - has taken position by the main entryway on top of the castle. She does not appear to be aiming for us. The ghost is - ”

“ - from the shadows,” a disembodied voice whispers, and then McCree’s gun is up, D.Va’s gun is up, Lúcio slams the volume on his music up and Reinhardt wrenches the hammer from the armor on the throne. Reaper’s laugh is throaty and raspy as he assesses the situation around him, and he sounds overly satisfied as he coos, “It seems Overwatch is still disorganized as it used to be.”

Reinhardt roars and brings the hammer down, hard enough the stonework beneath cracks from the pressure. Reaper steps languidly away from the danger with an airy laugh, arms spread as he floats from the ground, moving gently towards cover as Bastion’s arm begins firing and Lúcio and D.Va do the same. Temporary immunity, D.Va remembers, as Reinhardt rips something else from Von Adler’s other arm; a quick shake reveals it to be a particle barrier, clearly slightly battered but fully functional, and Reinhardt sets himself up in front of Lúcio and Bastion just as Reaper attempts to fire upon both.

“Ain’t nearly as bad as you, Reyes,” McCree shoots back, pulling his hat lower over his face as he lines up a shot. Bastion sets itself up next to Genji, safely hidden behind Reinhardt’s shield, and begins to pound Reaper’s cover with a rain of bullets; D.Va begins the slow, painstaking task of pulling Genji behind the fallen stone his brother had rested him on, Lúcio quick to skate over and give her a helping hand. “Figures you ain’t dead, you piece of shit.”

“Ah, so the pupil’s grown some backbone,” Reaper replies, mocking, He briefly ducks out of cover to fire a few shots at McCree, who moves aside so that he’s blocking Hanzo from view. The archer doesn’t appear to notice his newfound human cover, too intent in destroying the enemies aiming to enter the throne room. “It’s a shame. I did teach you all you know.”

“Not everythin’,” McCree answers, and it strikes D.Va: he’s trying to buy time for Tracer, not actually provoke Reaper into coming out of the open. She finally settles Genji safely behind the rock now, out of Reaper’s line of sight, who murmurs his thanks in mumbled Japanese as Lúcio goes back into the open, music muted as it plays through their comm system instead. D.Va can’t hear it, of course, as she carefully bends Genji’s injured knee to pinch the punctured tube there shut; she’s going to have to be careful not to get hit. “Been a long time since we last met. You think I’ve learned nothin’ since then?”

“You never were a good student,” Reaper hisses, and when D.Va pops a head out of cover, she yelps and slaps her back against the rock a moment later as Reaper shoots for her, shotguns loud and booming in the small confines of the throne room. She - of course he wouldn’t aim at Bastion or Lúcio, hidden as they are behind Reinhardt’s barrier, but McCree’s standing out in the open, essentially acting as Hanzo’s cover, not to mention he’s fending off a headache, so why isn’t Reaper shooting him instead?

Unless…

“Oh, yes, the Korean girl,” Reaper says, and it comes out a purr. D.Va bites her lip, hard, and looks as far as she dares from where she’s taking cover. “Not much of anything without your little robot, hm?”

“Better than an old man with the shopping tastes of a sixteen year old boy at Hot Topic,” D.Va shoots back without thinking, flashing him her middle finger for a split second. Not her best decision, she would say, but it’s too late now to take it back.

Reaper laughs, low and rumbling, and says with a dark promise, “I’ll make you regret those words, child.”

Bastion makes a high-pitched whining noise. It’s set itself up in turret mode a bit further down, far enough to be out of range of Reaper’s shotguns even if it hadn’t still been behind Reinhardt’s shield, and it hasn’t stopped firing since; Reaper laughs and McCree grunts as he takes a couple of shots meant for Hanzo, his returning fire erratic and going wide, all while Lúcio holds a hand up to his headphone while the other dances across his virtual turntables. A quick glance shows D.Va that he’s contacting Gibraltar base while keeping his healing beat playing through comm; it’s with no hesitance at all that she yells back, “Just try it!”

“What makes you think it will be difficult?” is Reaper’s answer, and that’s when D.Va knows.

“You cannot win!” D.Va shouts, and in response Reaper shoots a couple of times at McCree, who can’t resist his honed instincts and finally rolls away to dodge; they instead hit Hanzo, who grimaces before backing up to proper cover, his ability to down the incoming enemy from outside the throne room deeply hindered from his new perch. Reaper laughs as he and McCree start exchanging bullets, and then -

“Such a shame dear old 76 isn’t here, hm?” Reaper sneers, and D.Va screeches wordlessly at him, launching to her feet and more than ready to charge him herself.

“Hana,” Genji says instead, and she jumps when his hand snakes up and closes around her wrist to pull her head close to his. The anger boils in her chest, but apparently she’s not the only one who’s realized who has realized Talon’s true goal; even though she can’t see his face, she can hear the agitation in Genji’s voice. “We must hold this position until Lena is here and retreat. Do not engage him.”

“No,” D.Va says, ice cold, tightening her grip on her handgun as she wrenches her wrists out of his grip. “I cannot stay.”

“You cannot leave,” Genji says just as sharply, hand dropping to his side with an audible thunk. “You will be defenseless on your own.”

“As soon as I am gone, they will leave the rest of you alone. If we have not made contact with the sniper, then she must be in pursuit of Tracer; there is no way she will arrive in time.”

“You have sacrificed yourself enough,” Genji says, and now his voice is unreadable. “Your selflessness is admirable, but out of place. Leaving now will only have you slaughtered.”

(Blood; dangerously still. They’re dead because of you - )

“Stop,” D.Va hisses to Hana, slamming one hand against her temple. Genji starts at the sudden motion, as she snarls, now addressing him, “I am a soldier and I know the consequences. I will go. You cannot prevent me from going.”

And he can’t, that’s the critical part, he’s incapacitated completely and is totally immobile - and because she has no comm, no one else can hear her side of the conversation, only Genji’s. They are all preoccupied in any case, even Lúcio, and so only Genji is there to shout at her to stop when she drops her gun, breathes out, and folds her hands behind her head in the air as she steps out of cover.

Reaper stops firing immediately upon seeing her. After a few moments, he starts to laugh, and that draws McCree’s, Lúcio’s, Reinhardt’s, even Hanzo’s attention to her, and whatever McCree and Lúcio might have yelled at her is lost when Reaper is suddenly right next to her and a cold, ghostly arm snatches her around the middle. She doesn’t even have time to scream before he’s moving, using her as a human shield, correctly guessing that no one would dare fire in the happenstance that they shot her instead.

Hana’s so tired of fighting. D.Va knows that fighting is pointless. So she doesn’t, and Bastion makes another distressed trill, much like the one it made before, as she’s carried out. Ganymede, on its head, imitates him, and that’s the last thing D.Va hears before she’s out of the throne room, Reaper’s hand taps her temple, and she’s out like a light.

Chapter Text

“So, to recap -

“Lena flew Reinhardt to Eichenwalde so he could pay respects to Commander Von Adler, with Genji accompanying him as an extra precaution.”

Winston’s voice is calm and collected, a stark contrast to the rest of the figures huddled about in the dim room. 76 finds the entire situation painfully reminiscent of an earlier time and has to let his mind brush over the memories; normally he would indulge them, just the tiniest bit, to remember, to lay to rest, but now isn’t the time.

“This is correct,” Reinhardt says with a subdued nod. “I have been making the pilgrimage for many years now.”

Winston grimaces. “And as such, you weren’t expecting anything out of the ordinary.”

“There have never been any problems before,” Reinhardt confirms. “I did not bring my armor or weapons out of respect. Von Adler would not have wanted to be remembered just for his deeds in war.”

“Right.” Winston pushes his glasses further up his nose and looks back down at the datapad in his hand. “This moment also served as ideal for Hanzo and Genji to meet up on neutral ground.”

“Yes,” Genji says. “I merely expected a brief visit and for us to go our separate ways afterwards.” He hesitates, briefly, likely pondering over his choice of words as he says, “Circumstances had other ideas, however.”

No one looks at 76. He resists the urge to snort and doesn’t react as Winston clears his throat.

“Very well. On your way to the throne room, you and Genji encountered an omnic - specifically an SST Laboratories Siege Automaton, edition E54.” Bastion makes a whirring sound as Genji and Reinhardt nod; those who are old enough to remember the Omnic Crisis, which is to say everyone in the room, eye it with varying degrees of distrust, but otherwise don’t say anything. “Genji, instead of attacking it, you decided to communicate with it, even though it opened fire on you as soon as you stepped into its line of sight.”

“I was curious,” Genji says. He doesn’t sound defensive; he mostly sounds exhausted, and he has every right to be, considering his condition. “A Bastion unit hasn’t been seen since the end of the Omnic Crisis. There is a reason this one has survived, and I wanted to know why.”

“However,” Winston says, with a bit of a scolding edge, “You were not able to talk it down.”

“I was not,” Genji acquiesces and, again, he doesn’t sound neither defensive nor guilty. “In the end, Bastion pinned us down in the entry hall and Reinhardt had sustained serious injuries. As a result, I called for backup.”

“And in doing so, you did not go through main channels, but rather a frequency that has since been abandoned.” The name Blackwatch goes unsaid, though Winston’s disapproval rings clearly through his words. “Through this frequency, you contacted Jesse and Lena, who agreed to help you get past the omnic and enter the throne room itself.”

“Yes,” Lena says, hunched in on herself. Her expression is haunted; she doesn’t look up from the table. “I grabbed Lúcio to be as our medic and, since Reinhardt didn’t have his armor, I pulled D.Va out to act as our tank.”

76 says nothing. His arms are tightly folded across his chest as he leans back in his chair, posture stiff and tight and furious. His fingers clench at the mention of Hana’s name, making an audible scratch against fabric that makes Lena flinch. Good, he thinks viciously, as Winston continues on.

“Once Lúcio and D.Va arrived at the hangar, all four of you went to Eichenwalde. At this point in time, it was evening, a bit before oh-six-hundred hours, correct?”

“Yep,” Lúcio says. It comes out completely flat.

“Lena’s party arrived at Eichenwalde itself shortly thereafter, entering through a side entrance and making your way to Genji and Reinhardt’s location using D.Va’s hub as guidance. When you arrived, Lúcio was able to heal most of Reinhardt’s injuries while you, Genji, attempted to further communicate with Basiton.”

“It had calmed down after I had been talking to it for quite some time,” Genji says. “A little bit more than an hour, in fact. I approached it with my weapons down to show I meant no harm while transmitting data packets asking about its concern and the reasons it was shooting us.”

“And instead, it attacked you,” Winston says. Bastion lets out a low, apologetic beep.

“The others’ appearance startled it,” Genji says, and, again, Bastion echoes the words with a swooping bwoop sound, starting high and reaching down the octave. 76 picks out the note pitches almost absently. “I immediately shut down upon sustaining that much damage in that short a period of time.”

Winston sighs. Genji shrugs, then winces at the motion, then winces at that motion and finally stops moving and causing himself unintentional pain. “After you were rendered unconscious, Lena, D.Va and Jesse went out to drag you to safety. This was done mostly by D.Va and Jesse, with D.Va’s mech shielding Jesse as you brought Genji to cover.”

“Right,” Jesse says, and for once the drawl is at a minimum and he’s leaning forward on the table, completely engaged. His eyes are shadowed and 76 can see telltale signs of a migraine just by the way he holds himself, but right now it seems Jesse is too worked up to care. “Her defense matrix saved our asses.”

“Lena, you also helped carry Genji to cover.”

“It was faster,” Lena says. “I - I wasn’t really thinking about anything except keeping Genji safe. I should have been more worried about her.”

“Perhaps,” Winston says sans inflection. “In any case, this left D.Va to fend for herself, which consequently resulted in her mech exploding and leaving her vulnerable to Bastion’s attacks.”

76 lets out a low rumble at that, almost inaudible, and clenches his hands into fists. Jesse hears it and ducks his head, while Lúcio stares blankly at the wall across from his seat; Lena has yet to look up from the table, and Genji, of course, is unreadable, even when injured. Reinhardt is too far away to pick up on it, but he still shoots 76 an apologetic glance.

“Yes,” Jesse says after a moment. Taking one for the team, 76 thinks. “That’s what happened.”

Winston doesn’t say anything for a few moments - a silent chastisement, one that 76 itches to fill with words but doesn’t - before the gorilla continues on. “D.Va took cover behind her mech as Jesse, Lena and Lúcio worked out a plan to distract Bastion so she could get back to the main group. However, before you could execute the plan, D.Va left the cover of her mech for a pillar a few meters away, during a break in Bastion’s gunfire.” A few nods, with Jesse in particular pulling his hat further down to hide his face, and Winston glances over at Bastion. “In a panic, Bastion shifted to tank mode and began firing upon her.”

Bastion doesn’t make a sound, just aims its blue headlight at Winston and holds completely still. The bird on its head copies the omnic almost exactly; it’s a little eerie to see, and it reminds 76 a little too much of the old days.

“However, before Bastion could land a hit on D.Va directly, this bird landed on her shoulder,” Winston says, gesturing to the little creature on Bastion’s head, who now lets out a single chirp. Its head moves in sudden bursts of motion as it briefly flaps its wings, and even Winston can’t help a tiny smile at its actions as he goes on, “Bastion had been looking for this bird and immediately calmed down when it came into sight.”

“Ganymede,” Genji amends, and then, “Yes.”

“From there, Bastion was cooperative and non-violent, allowing Reinhardt to pay respects as he had intended to in the first place.” Winston gazes over at Bastion again for a few moments, who lets out an acknowledging boop; it knows its place and it knows not to cause trouble. 76 is still uneasy, but every single person in this room is armed and more than ready to take a rogue Siege Automaton down. “However, while he was doing this, Talon was steadily approaching Eichenwalde itself.”

“Yes,” Hanzo says, speaking up for the first time. His voice is clipped, precise, deliberate; his expression is somber and otherwise unreadable. “I had been closing in on Eichenwalde from the north when the one you call Reaper found me. He managed to injure me with a shot before I escaped. By the time I arrived, Talon was right on my heels.”

“Right,” Winston says. “At this point, you, Genji, D.Va, Jesse, Lúcio and Reinhardt pulled back into the throne room and took up a defensive position. Lena, meanwhile, took off to get the plane in order to facilitate pickup; however, she was delayed, and Reaper teleported directly into the throne room itself in order to flush all of you out.”

“I took up a perch at the door’s entrance to prevent Talon agents from getting in,” Hanzo says. “McCree provided cover from Reaper once the ghost entered.”

“We were able to keep all agents from enterin’ for a few minutes before we were forced to move,” Jesse says.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Winston says with a brief hesitation, “But, Hanzo - I understand that you might not want to be here. Can we trust you to help us?”

“He’s a clever fella and a good shot,” Jesse says before Hanzo speak. “Might all be hangin’ if not for him.”

“I will not let you down,” Hanzo says, after flashing Jesse a fleeting, startled look at the commendation, though everyone who knows Jesse is not surprised. 76 trusts the kid’s judgment when it comes to these things, if he’s being honest; the cowboy is rarely wrong about others’ intentions, a skill that had been further honed under both Gabriel and Ana’s tutelage.

“Genji, you won’t have a problem with this?” Winston says.

“We have discussed the incident at length,” Genji replies, voice unflappable and calm. “You can trust us to cooperate.”

“Indeed,” Hanzo agrees.

“Very well,” the gorilla says with a nod, tabling the point for now. There’s no time to pursue it, in any case, and Winston resumes the debrief. “I haven’t gotten individual statements from all of you about what exactly happened in the throne room, but from I understand, it was… not at all organized. If one of you could please clarify - ”

“ - Bastion took up position in the southeast corner of the room, across from the door, and pinned Reaper in place,” Genji cuts in before anyone else, which 76 can appreciate; it’s a sign that Genji, too, is itching to go find Hana. “I was incapacitated, and D.Va pulled me behind cover so Reaper could not attack me.”

“I managed to salvage Von Adler’s hammer and barrier shield from his remains,” Reinhardt says, and the shame and fury in his voice could take down mountains. “From there, I shielded Bastion and Lúcio from harm.”

“That’s when I contacted main base,” Lúcio adds listlessly. “You heard what happened after.”

There’s a heavy silence. Winston sighs deeply before breaking it. “D.Va figured out that Reaper was after her, so she - ”

“She would not listen,” Genji interjects, and he sounds extremely frustrated, though his posture doesn’t change; he doesn’t so much as twitch, in fact, but his voice shakes despite its robotic quality as he mutters, “There was no guarantee that Reaper would not have shot her dead, and we could have survived for however long it took Lena to arrive - ”

“Widowmaker kept me occupied, love,” Lena says, eyes sliding slowly shut. “Couldn’t land even if I wanted to. Could’ve used the plane to shoot her up, but that risked collapsin’ the building on top of you. Couldn’t risk it.” She takes in a rattling breath, lets it out in one go, forcing her back straight. “Widow knew all the Thunderbird’s weak spots, kept shootin’ at them. One of you would have needed to take her out for us to be able to escape.”

“No one is blaming either of you,” Winston says wearily. “Whatever the case, it’s done and we have to move forward.”

“The more time we waste here, the more danger Hana’s in,” 76 says, speaking up at last. People have been watching him like he’s a ticking time bomb; they’re clearly not expecting him to be so soft-spoken, to sound so reasonable, even though he’s Jack and he understands why debriefings are important better than anyone. “Get on with it so we can go.”

“Right.” Winston nods, once, and looks at the datapad again. “After D.Va figured out that Reaper was after her, she willingly gave herself up. This stopped Talon’s attack and, once Reaper had secured her, Talon left. Afterwards, Lena flew all of you back here.” Winston sets the datapad down and stares at everyone at the table. “We all know this is a direct attack on Overwatch, but we also have to consider Reaper’s angle. Now that we know this is Gabriel - ”

“He’s trying to draw Jack out,” Jesse says, before 76 or anyone else can beat him to the punch.

“Which means he should stay behind,” Angela finishes. Before 76 can even open his mouth Angela goes on, “Now of course he won’t, so we’ll have to adjust for that, and quickly. Talon will stoop to any low to get an advantage.”

(No one even dares to breathes Amélie Lacroix’s name.)

“We don’t know where she is,” Winston points out. “We’ll have to determine that first. It’s my understanding that she lost her comm and she obviously doesn’t have her mech, so it will make things difficult.”

“If her mech’s destroyed, she’s got the trigger to reassemble it,” 76 says, thinking out loud. He knows Hana very well; when she’s about to self-destruct her mech, she always grabs the trigger mechanism first. Even in the happenstance that the mech did not self-destruct - that it simply gave out on her - he doubts she would fail to grab the trigger mechanism on her way out. “Can you track that?”

“Athena?” Winston says.

“It should have the same signature as her mech, especially if she is actively pressing the button,” Athena says. “If she manages to summon her mech at all, I will be able to pinpoint her location, as well. One moment.”

“In the meantime, we’ll split into three teams, with Lúcio, Zenyatta, Ana, and Mercy forming the bases,” Winston says. “We’ll want high mobility for the team that enters the base itself. - Jack, what do you think?”

76 starts at the mention of his name, glancing up when he sees everyone else turning their heads to look at him. He lets out an inaudible sigh through his nose as he points out, “I’m not in charge, Winston. I trust your judgment.”

“Forgive me for saying so, but I think you could contribute a lot to this plan, all things considered,” Winston says. “How many ops like this did you run? Tens? Hundreds?”

“Enough to know that I shouldn’t be in charge of an op wherein I will be very personally invested,” 76 replies evenly. There’s a collective holding of breath, a few winces here and there, as he leans back in his chair again, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

It’s a long few moments before Winston concedes the point and begins preliminary planning, in conjunction with Athena, other agents, and what little intelligence they know of. 76 doesn’t contribute - it’s not his place - but the lack of participation leaves him ample time to try and not to think too much about anything. It’s one thing to know that Talon has Hana; it’s quite another to know she gave herself up willingly in order to save her teammates.

More than anything else, the entire situation irks him: how could she have been South Korea’s top soldier if she has no sense of self-preservation? In the end, though, he knows it doesn’t matter what Hana is, used to be, will be, and he doesn’t care what it takes.

Reaper is as good as dead.


D.Va wakes up cold. So, so cold.

(I’ll never be warm again.)

She doesn’t know what to do now, as everything comes back to her in a rush; giving up, giving in, letting herself be taken away. She’s lying on something hard - eagle-spread. A quick tug at her wrists and ankles tells her she’s been strapped down. Fantastic.

(They’re going to kill me.)

She clenches her jaw. Nothing seems out of place… yet. There’s no numbness that indicates there’s pain that’s been taken away by drugs or something else. Her head hurts where Reaper hit her, but other than that, she seems to be in one piece - relatively uninjured at all.

(I’m going to die.)

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” D.Va mutters under her breath, a plan taking form in her mind. The trigger mechanism at her foot is a heavy weight, and she welcomes it as she opens her eyes.

Chapter Text

D.Va’s not sure how long she’s been unconscious, as she flexes her fingers experimentally and tilts her head to look around. It’s only her arms and legs that have been strapped down, it seems, thick leather looped around her wrists and ankles as if a petite teenager like her had a chance of muscling her way out of it - amusing in a morbid way, she finds - and it’s with no small sense of trepidation that she realizes she’s in some kind of cell. Maybe an interrogation room.

(It’s a torture room, Hana corrects. Soft. Afraid.)

It’s pristine and clinical; spotless. The walls are reflective; she would guess that they are one-way mirrors, and it’s with some difficulty that she locates what is probably the door, just a few indents in the sheer walls. The ceiling is a stark, painful white, and though she can’t see the floor, she’s willing to guess that it’s the same color. A little dip in one corner of the room suggests the presence of cameras which, really, is just her luck. All in all, it’s barren. She would have guessed this was some kind of examination room in a hospital wing if not for the lack of medical things in the room.

“This sucks,” she says out loud. Her voice rings out in the small space, which strikes her as odd and eerie all at once.

Still, hearing her own voice echoing in her ears helps reorient herself with her current situation. As of right now, she’s essentially doomed herself to a terrible fate - a sacrifice to save the rest of her team, something that she never would have thought she’d have the courage to do.

(Heroic, Hana thinks, almost wistful. At what cost?)

D.Va can only hope her teammates made it out safely because of this; right now she’s fighting back a panic attack, one that she can feel in the prickling in her throat, and fear alone is threatening to make her shake. She has to focus, though, focus in and focus deeply, and so she stops thinking about the what-ifs and instead focuses on the whys. In the end her thoughts turn and swirl and repeat themselves and she settles on a single question: why was Reaper so intent on capturing her, and why only her?

(Several possibilities spill out in Hana’s mind. Politically, this is scandalous; if a famous mech operator such as herself was known to be working with Talon, South Korea’s MEKA program and, possibly, the entire government would be put under scrutiny, leaving them wide open for an attack by the omnic in the sea. Hana somehow doubts that she could resist working under Talon if she tried; not much is known about the shadowy organization, but, considering her current predicament, she’s willing to bet whatever is going to happen to her won’t be pretty.)

“They could have taken Lúcio if they really wanted to make an impact,” D.Va mutters with a slight shake of her head. “He is more of a global influence than I am.”

(Perhaps it’s a direct attack on Overwatch itself, Hana considers. If an Overwatch agent was shown clearly changing sides, then - )

“Tracer would have been a more high-priority target,” D.Va points out. “She is the most well-known agent out of all of us. If she joined Talon, there would be a much bigger reaction.”

(Returning to politics, then, Hana thinks. The effects would be drastic no matter who Talom picked. The U.N. would react harshly the moment Overwatch stepped out of line; Hana reasons that even if she’s the one who is seen in Talon’s company, working for them willingly or not, it would qualify as a problem. The U.N. wouldn’t trust Overwatch at all if they could lose an agent just like that - more importantly, if they learned that Overwatch lost an agent because a few members went on an unsanctioned mission, they might shut down the organization completely. Not to mention that if the public hears about any of this, Winston can kiss the newly-recalled Overwatch goodbye.)

“So there is one reason,” D.Va says, shutting her eyes again. The ceiling’s become too painful to look at. “But that cannot be the only one.”

(It’s rather obvious that this is a plot to draw 76 out, considering their feud, Hana thinks. Why else would I have been chosen, when so many others would have a larger effect on worldwide affairs?)

“Surely he is not that petty,” D.Va scoffs at no one in particular, furrowing her brow.

(Hana doesn’t know the depth of the infighting that took place in the original Overwatch, but considering how little 76 spoke of it, it’s probably safe to assume it was kind of a Big Deal.)

“Even so,” D.Va says. “That cannot be the only thing.”

(I doubt that it is, Hana thinks. Talon’s goals generally seem to be eliminating all of Overwatch agents and, it seems, creating chaos by eliminating all possibilities of positive omnic relations. Reaper is one of Talon’s most prominent agents, so what could he gain by placing me here?)

“Drawing Overwatch out,” D.Va murmurs, now barely moving her lips. “Killing them, you think?”

(Hana reasons that it might have something to do with simply creating chaos. Talon is a terrorist organization and no one yet knows what their higher purpose is. Eliminating a MEKA soldier would certainly make waves and show that Talon is ruthless - I really don’t want to think about that - )

“If they kill me, then they will likely go on and kill everyone else, too.”

(Which would accomplish their goal of eliminating Overwatch, Hana figures. Actually killing them is probably going to be harder than just drawing them into a building to trap them or ambush them, though. Overwatch is full of very capable people; she saw that in Rio de Janeiro. Though… its members have yet to go on a sanctioned mission that didn’t involve extracting a potential team member and, if nothing else, the world knows about them yet to have much of an opinion. Even if they were all eliminated, it wouldn’t bring Talon much notoriety; the U.N. would cover it up. Though, of course, she adds, Talon would have a much better chance at wreaking havoc without us around, which is likely their goal.)

“What are the odds that Overwatch will find me here?” D.Va points out, blowing out a puff of air to move a strand of hair away from her nose. “I do not have a comm, I do not have my mech. My only chance is whether the mech - ” she cuts herself off, because who knows how much she’s being monitored, and finishes in faux-gloom, “Well, I guess there is no chance at all, then.”

(Hana presses her foot gently downwards, curving her toes until she presses the button on the trigger mechanism. She can feel the click in the bone of her heel; now it’s just a matter of waiting and hoping.)

“Wonder how long I have to talk to myself before someone comes and talks at me instead,” D.Va mutters, testing the leather binding her again. No dice, of course, and not even her smooth bodysuit allows her to slip free.

(Do you think it’s going to hurt?)

“Probably,” D.Va mutters, and then she deadpans at nothing, “Could I not at least get a TV in here? Is solitary confinement not illegal or something?”

(I hardly think they care about legalities here.)

“Ugh, not the point,” D.Va says, just as her ears pick up on what sounds like a whisper of a breeze and she opens her eyes - and then she yelps in alarm when Reaper himself appears without warning in her field of vision, ghostly mask directly above her. She can feel herself tense up as he tilts his head, baring her teeth in a silent snarl as he appraises her; the tight coil in her gut only curls more when he laughs, seemingly amused.

(He’s going to hurt me - )

“Having fun talking to yourself?” he asks after a moment, voice low and rasping and grating against her ears. It takes everything in her not to shudder.

“Immensely,” D.Va retorts.

(Don’t antagonize him, Hana thinks, voice small, he’s going to hurt me - )

“Never took you for that type,” Reaper chuckles, sweeping around her. It’s a struggle to follow him around the room given her lack of mobility, but, eyes narrowed, D.Va does her best. “Then again, you do stream and talk to yourself constantly, so I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Dahk chuh,” she snaps.

“You know I don’t speak Korean, niña,” Reaper says, still sidestepping her prone form. Circling her, like a vulture, almost, and the unease grows.

“And I do not speak edgelord, so I think we are even,” D.Va says coldly. There’s a slight hiccup in just one of his strides before he continues on - ha, she totally got him there, score - and D.Va sticks her tongue out at him as he goes, feeling utterly exposed and totally alone and she hates it.

(Stop it, Hana begs, stop it, stop it - )

“You really are Jack’s protégé,” Reaper says after a moment, and then stops moving abruptly and leans in close to her face. The sudden stillness in his posture eerie and unnatural, and if she could see his face, she’s sure he would be leering at her. “I have to ask - what exactly did you expect to gain by coming here?”

“Why should I bother answering?” D.Va snaps. She jerks her head up in an attempt to hit his forehead with hers, but he moves away with a single languid motion. Jerk. “It is not like I came here willingly, and it is not like it will matter in the end.”

“You tell me, Hana Song,” Reaper replies, terribly, awfully smug, and D.Va bites her tongue down hard, preventing herself from screaming at him. He of all people shouldn’t be allowed to say her name. “You have two options here, niña: you cooperate and work for us, and you get everything you could want. Or - ”

“ - or I do not cooperate and you hurt me until I do, or you hurt me until I think I want to,” D.Va finishes. Her eyes narrow to slits. “I am not an idiot like you, meecheenom.”

“Mm. Brave words, niña.” He tilts his head at her again, owlishly. still circling her. Prowling. She wants to kick him, but the binding is too tight. “I will rephrase. How about - some information on your little group? Your cooperation in exchange for your life.”

Jiral,” D.Va says through gritted teeth.

“Anything will do,” Reaper goes on as if she’d said nothing, hands sweeping behind his back. Something about him is just - off, D.Va can see it in the wisps leaking out from underneath his mask, black and dark and disgusting just like him. “The names of your teammates, perhaps? Or maybe a word about their respective skills.” His voice is terribly casual when he adds, “A tidbit about dear old Jack, hm?”

Toejora,” D.Va snarls.

He pauses at that. One of his gloved hands touches her throat, and she shudders when his index finger stops at her pulse. The fear, repressed, hidden, begins to snake its way upwards in her dry throat, her constricted lungs, her wide eyes, even as she glares at him.

“You are too much like Jesse for my liking,” Reaper says at last, voice dangerously soft; “He never knew when to quit while he was ahead, either.”

He lets that float in the silence for a while.

D.Va swallows hard and keeps quiet, unwilling to let him goad her into speaking - but then he laughs, and she can hear his smile as he sing-songs, “Such a pity.”

(I can’t do this - not now, not - )

“Yes, you can,” D.Va hisses, and then Reaper’s seized onto one of her hands. Even through her gloves, she can feel the cold wrongness of it, cold, sharp, unnatural, even though his grip is relatively gentle; then he pulls her glove off and takes out a paring knife, and suddenly everything is ten times, a hundred times, so much worse as he holds the blade to her pinky fingernail.

“Perhaps this will help you change your mind,” he says, “Just one little bit about Overwatch and it will end,” and D.Va clamps her teeth down hard into her lower lip, eyes slamming shut, as Hana begins to scream.


“Winston,” Athena says, “Agent Song’s mech is in motion. It seems 76’s assertion was correct.”

76 doesn’t even realize he’s on his feet until he notices everyone else is too, grouped up behind him as they shove their way out of the conference room. People peel off in different directions in the hallway - some intent on their quarters to grab their weapons and armor, others already suited up and making a beeline straight for the hangar - and 76 is grateful that he had been in the practice range when the meeting had been called; his rifle is safely swung over his back, and so, along with Jesse, Lena, Hanzo and, surprisingly, Genji, he quickly makes his way towards where the Thunderbird waits.

“I am tracking her mech,” Athena says over the pitter-patter of feet. Her voice is carefully even, almost as if she is merely listing facts and is not at all concerned with Hana’s well-being. “It is traveling fairly slowly, perhaps one-third the speed of a commercial aeroplane; Agent Oxton, you should be able to catch up and track it visually from the cockpit of the Thunderbird with ease.”

“Roger that, Athena,” Lena says, grim and focused. “But we’ll be taking the Orca this time around. Only way to fit everyone in.”

“I will pass on the message,” Athena says, and, after a thoughtful hum, “Regardless, you will be able to keep pace. It would do you well to take precautions about visibility; the evening skies are somewhat cloudy but are unfortunately relatively clear otherwise.”

“Noted. Thanks, love,” Lena says, bursting out of the building with everyone else on her heels. The twilit air is cool to the touch, but the wind is vicious and curling; fitting, 76 thinks to himself, zipping up the last quarter of his jacket and rolling his shoulders until the bones cracked in response, and then it’s a matter of hurrying up and waiting for everyone else to arrive in the hangar. He’s shifting his weight the entire time, eager to get going, knowing full well that Hana’s mech only traveled so fast and that they would catch up easily, but -

it’s almost hysterical, really. He hasn’t gotten this worked up about another person in - well, since a lifetime ago. Since Gabriel himself, perhaps. It would be horribly, amusingly ironic, if 76 wasn’t so angry, if 76 wasn’t ready to kill Reaper (again?) with his own bare hands. He knows attacking him through loved ones is a tried-and-true Blackwatch tactic, but it’s never happened to him personally and it’s… the fact it’s being done to him squelches any chance that Gabriel is still in Reaper somewhere. It’s probably for the best that he think that way, at the very least (but even that isn’t enough to squash the tiny little voice in his head that maybe he shouldn’t give up on him, not yet).

“Genji, you sure you should be out and about?” Jesse asks, glancing over at where the cyborg is swaying on one leg, leaning heavily on his brother’s shoulder.

“You think I would do nothing?” Genji says. There’s a bite to his words that speaks volumes. “I will not be able to do as much damage as I could, but Reyes should not think for a second that I will let him capture Hana and do nothing to stop it.”

“I will watch out for him,” Hanzo says, voice almost as sharp as his brother's. He doesn’t look particularly at ease; he is tense, tight and taut even as he supports Genji’s weight. “Do not underestimate us, cowman.”

“’Course you’re not incompetent, we all saw that in Germany,” Jesse drawls, and 76 knows he should probably step in because that is the tone Jesse takes when he’s about to start an argument, “But you gotta forgive me for being just a little doubtful. I mean, it ain’t like you killed our friend or anythin’.”

And there it is, 76 thinks with an audible, loud sigh. It draws everyone’s attention, but it doesn’t stop Genji from snapping, “Jesse, that was wholly unnecessary,” while Hanzo’s face schools itself into perfect neutrality.

“Hmph,” Lena says, turning to look over her shoulder from where she sits in the cockpit. “If you say so, Genj.”

“I do,” Genji says, and it’s clear he’s about to say more, but Hanzo interrupts him with low, fast-paced Japanese. Genji breaks off to respond in kind, hot and angry, and then the other Overwatch members start trickling in and wherever the exchange might have gone is lost as everyone piles into the Orca. Expressions are grim and serious; Ana returns 76’s glance with a determined nod, and even Reinhardt doesn’t say a word as Tracer guides the plane out and upwards.

“All right, everyone,” Winston says, voice heavy. Behind him, Symmetra mouths something silently, hands moving quickly and rapidly and gracefully as blue wireframes take shape between her palms; practicing, double-checking, preparing the teleporter. “Let’s make this quick.”

Chapter Text

“I’m impressed. Those twice your age would have made at least one little sound by now.”

Yut-mugguh,” D.Va spits. Her whole body is tilted as far away from him as it can get, chest angled up and away and her shoulders straining against the strap as he clamps her hand in place. The pain is indescribable and consuming and dark and red and furious, but D.Va merely grits her teeth and keeps it all in.

(Hana has yet to stop screaming.)

“Well, that was just one hand, I suppose,” Reaper says idly, rising to his full stature. He’s tall, his voice chilling and cold and so unnatural and D.Va collapses flat on the table, chest heaving with exertion and agony and effort, as he sneers, “The other is next, you know.”

Gguh-juh,” D.Va rasps, sucking in on her next breath. There’s sweat trickling down her forehead, uncomfortably cold and clammy, and she doesn’t have the courage to look at her mangled hand. “You - you will not break me.”

“Oh?” Reaper says, absently flipping the tiny little knife in his hand. It’s so sharp and it flashes in the light and it’s streaked with crimson. “Brave words, niña.”

And even though her hands are bleeding, even though she’s tied down, even though she stumbles through the lonely macabre hills of her mind - “Who,” D.Va hisses, breaths escaping in harsh gasps, “Are you calling a child?”

There’s a crash in the distance, as if on cue. Reaper stills, one hand rising up slightly as if to touch the side of his head - the motion so familiar and distinct in some way, and she squints at him a bit before it hits her: 76 does the same thing when he’s listening to a comm and that really is Gabriel Reyes, isn’t it? Hana thinks through hot, blinding pain. D.Va can only grimace in response, because if he’s listening to his comm, then that means the crash was something important, that -

(There’s a faint spark of hope in Hana’s entire being - maybe, just maybe - )

D.Va screams when something very big and very pink smashes through the ceiling, sending plaster and what looks like crumbled tile to the floor with clatters and thunks, almost like an industrial hailstorm. She doesn’t get hit, fortunately, as her mech hums quietly just a bit to her left with a hole in the ceiling just above it, and it’s with no small sense of exasperated annoyance that she sees Reaper, on her right, had avoided it entirely. He’s staring at her MEKA, she thinks, one hand still half-raised, and D.Va is both simultaneously ecstatic that the mechanism actually worked and pissed the fuck off because she can’t do anything when she’s tied up - and then she realizes Reaper is laughing. It sounds like a small animal being strangled to death. (It’s deplorable that she actually knows what that sounds like.)

“Seems you’ve not so stupid after all,” Reaper says once he's regained his composure, voice rasping and deep and icy. “How fortunate for you.”

“And you are going to tell me why it is not,” D.Va croaks, coughing slightly. The dust has just begun to settle from the hole in the ceiling and some of it is going into her mouth and nose.

“Now why would I do that?” Reaper drawls, and D.Va fights back a full-body shudder; it has the exact same inflection as McCree’s, but it’s not right at all, glacial and gross and oily. “After all, it seems Overwatch has been drawn out.”

Her heart swells at the words - they’re here, they didn’t leave her behind and it’s such a weight off of her shoulders, even as she lies there bloodied and exhausted and Hana is desperately held together by the strength of D.Va’s will because she won’t die here, not if 76 -

“I suppose you’ll be pleased to know that you have just doomed the entirety of your pitiful team, Hana Song.”

Any relief she had turns to ice and she stills, eyes wide as she watches Reaper sweep around her and stop in front of her mech, contemplative, glancing upwards to see where it had come from and clicking his tongue. It sounds distinctly humanlike; the rest of his words do not.

“This… is problematic. Sombra, inicia la operación blanca. Ellos han llegado temprano.” D.Va can’t hear the response, but she tenses up automatically when the ghost turns to her, reaching down to his waist and drawing out two shotguns from literally out of nowhere - oh god, Hana thinks - but all he says is “be a dear and don’t move” before he’s a nearly-formless drift of black wispy cloud phasing through the wall, shotguns in hand.

(It’s something out a nightmare; Hana will remember the soft, stilted brush of black coldness against her cheek for as long as she lives.)

Everything come back in a rush as soon as the last traces of cloudy, dark wispiness is gone - emotions, mostly, irateness and despair and helplessness and fear, crushing her larynx, so strong and fast D.Va almost chokes, and then she shuts her eyes tightly and carefully twitches the fingers of her injured hand. Everything reacts as they are supposed to, though it burns like fire, and she gingerly attempts to pull her hand through the straps, just once, to no avail. Well, she hadn’t been expecting much in the first place, but - jerking her other hand doesn’t do anything either, and in the end she huffs to herself and continues to lay flat on the stupid table.

(At least he did not break my fingers, Hana says softly.)

“What is the point if I cannot even reach the MEKA?” D.Va says with a scowl, flexing her foot and trying to bend her knee in an attempt to escape. No such luck, of course; her feet are just as stuck as her hands. “I do not want to just sit here and be useless while that monster is out there.”

(If these were handcuffs, I could escape by dislocating my thumbs, Hana thinks. It’s shaky when she adds, putting on a brave face, These are not handcuffs, but I could try - )

“I need my thumbs to drive the mech, and I am not putting you through anything else,” D.Va snaps, glaring at the ceiling and then glaring at the hole. Her mech continues to hum, reassuring and damnably out of reach. “There has to be something I can do.”

(Hana is silent for a few long moments.)

“There must be,” D.Va mutters, turning her head to stare at the MEKA. It’s been a few years since her basic training; who knows how many shortcuts she’s forgotten. Each mech operator develops their own independent fighting style and tinkers with their mech as necessary; if there are any shortcuts she doesn’t remember, it’s very likely she’s written them out the coding anyway. Shibal.

(Voice commands, Hana murmurs at last. In Korean. Perhaps they still work.)

“I could try,” D.Va says, thinking fast. The last time she’d actually had voice commands was - years ago, back when she’d used it to activate her defense matrix without needing to press any buttons. She’d stopped doing that the moment she realized how useless it was to have people know what you were going to do. “But then what?”

(... it could shoot the ropes off?)

“It would shoot my hands off,” D.Va says.

(It is possible I could fight with it, Hana thinks. Does the table I am on have wheels?)

In response, D.Va breathes in and jerks her entire body hard to the left, towards her injured hand so she doesn’t pull on it any more than she has to. The table does not budge.

(The wheels might be locked, Hana says, though she sounds doubtful.)

“I suppose,” D.Va says anyway, and then she sighs, and then she looks towards her mech and says in fast, fluent Korean, “Two steps forward.

Miraculously, the mech responds - how lovely it is to have voice-recognition software, she thinks dryly - and proceeds to take two steps forward. It hits the table due to the limited amount of space; the table doesn’t do much more than shake briefly, and then the mech is crowding over her and it is tantalizingly close but so, so far.

(I can’t believe that worked.)

Turn right, ninety degrees,” D.Va tries, and, once the mech has done so, she bites her lip, considers her options, and then decides, “Fire both fusion cannons for one second.

Overwhelming noise from her mech’s firearms, the sound of glass shattering, Hana screaming in D.Va’s ear - and then it stops, just like that, and the one-way mirror is now broken and reveals a bland hallway. Just in that short amount of gunfire, she’s managed to both break through the glass wall of her room and the next one over, which looks almost entirely the same save for the medical equipment she thought she had been lacking. A medbay of some kind, then; interesting that it also doubles as Talon’s interrogation rooms, and then she lets her head thunk back down onto the table and groans, long and loud.

“Now what?” she asks.

(I did not get hurt from that, did I? Hana frets.)

“No, the glass missed me.” A louder crash, as a shard of the mirror tips and falls to the floor. D.Va winces and wiggles her toes. “I’m fine.”

(Maybe you can activate the mech’s cameras?)

“What for?”

(I do not know, Hana says.)

“Might as well,” D.Va says, and then, in Korean, “Activate front-facing camera. Broadcast view to front screen.” The MEKA doesn’t respond. D.Va lets out a frustrated huff, flopping back so she’s staring at the stupid ceiling again, and says, “Any other ideas?”

(I - maybe, Hana says. You can orate responses to messages, right?)

D.Va eyes widen and she looks to the pink mech again. “You think?”

(There is nothing to lose at this point.)

Open chat client,” D.Va says, stumbling a bit over the Korean, and then grins viciously when she sees the small, white box pull up on her mech’s front view. “Message to Lúcio.

(Wow, Hana breathes.)

Text almost immediately begins to spill onto the white screen the moment she reopens her conversation with Lúcio - she can’t read it from here, but maybe - “Read messages.” The MEKA doesn’t respond, which isn’t completely surprising; it doesn’t come with its own virtual intelligence to help it along. Almost everything has to be done by the mech operator themselves, given how easily the mechs had been hacked once upon a time. D.Va grimaces; it’s unfortunate, but she can still work with this.

Message to Lúcio. I cannot read your messages right now, as I am not in my mech,” she says, switching to English, and then grins widely when she sees her own response appear on that tiny white screen. She can’t believe this is actually working. “I am in the basement of the building, I think. My mech crashed through the ceiling. I am orating this at the moment.”

She lets that sit for a bit, just to make sure it had actually gone through. Seconds later Lúcio’s typed out a response, and now she can see it because he’s made the font ginormous.

Sent at 21.32
Lúcio!!!
CAN YOU READ THIS?

D.Va cracks up at that and responds, “It is backwards but legible, yes.”

Sent at 21.32
Lúcio!!!
OK, GOOD TO KNOW.
WE’RE ON OUR WAY.
YOU’RE BEING KEPT IN A BUILDING IN EGYPT.

“You do not need to underline and italicize everything. The bolding helps.”

Sent at 21.32
Lúcio!!!
OH SORRY.
ARE YOU HURT? EVERYONE WANTS TO KNOW IF YOU’RE OK.

“I - I am fine.” D.Va hadn’t been intending to lie, but Hana clamors that she should, so she does. “Reaper was here earlier, but I am all right.” Which is funny, because it’s her left hand that’s injured, so she really is all right, and -

(Stop, Hana says sourly. D.Va does.)

Sent at 21.32
Lúcio!!!
THAT’S GOOD TO HEAR.
WE SHOULD BE THERE IN A COUPLE OF MINS.
WE’RE GONNA GET YOU OUT OF THERE.

“Be careful,” D.Va says. “Reaper knows you are coming. I think he and Talon are prepared for this.”

Sent at 21.33
Lúcio!!!
WE KNOW IT’S A TRAP, BUT IT’S NOT LIKE WE HAVE ANY CHOICE.

D.Va cooes at that. She loves Overwatch, really she does. Or at least she loves some of their members, which - reminds her - “Is 76 there? Can I talk to him?”

Sent at 21.33
Lúcio!!!
OH. YEAH, ONE SEC.
WE’RE LANDING RIGHT NOW THOUGH SO IT MIGHT BE WEIRD.
AND I CAN’T JUST GIVE HIM MY TURNTABLES.
SORRY. MAYBE IT’S NOT THE BEST IDEA.

“Oh.”

Sent at 21.33
Lúcio!!!
ALSO I’M AFRAID TO TALK TO HIM RIGHT NOW.

Oh,” D.Va says, because she gets that. “Will you stay online, at least?”

Sent at 21.33
Lúcio!!!
I’LL TRY.
I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS THING DOESN’T HAVE FACETIME OR WHATEVER.
I’M IN THE STRIKE OPS GROUP SO YOU’LL SEE US PRETTY QUICKLY.

(Strike ops? Hana thinks.)

“I do not know what you mean by that, but I hope you get here soon,” D.Va says. “If Reaper comes back - ”

She breaks off abruptly when there’s a crunch - a boot on glass, and then she lets out a string of Korean curses as she tries to pinpoint where had come from. Every single one of them gets put into the chat before she snaps, “Close chat client, aim towards location of sound.

There’s another crunch, another footstep. D.Va holds her breath, lifting her head as far as she dares, but she can’t see anyone in the hallway.

(I do not think it is Reaper, Hana says. He would have teleported in.)

“True,” D.Va mutters, still straining her neck. The footsteps come closer; just how far had the glass flown? “But who else could it be besides Talon - ”

The figure that steps before them, wide eyes settled on their prone form, is smaller. Frail, with a mop of black hair on their heads. Not at all what she would have expected from Talon, there isn’t a single weapon in sight, and it’s with a yawning sense of dread that she notes the white lab coat, the - the -

(Is that a doctor? And then, this time with Hana much more panicked: Is this an occupied hospital?)


“She’s fine! She’s - she says she’s okay!”

76 sags back against the uncomfortable chair of the Orca, looking towards the ceiling and sighing, deeply, all at once. It’s - it’s more than he could’ve asked for, knowing that Hana is fine, knowing that he wasn’t going to find a corpse, and that makes him all the more determined as he straightens up again, rolling his shoulders and trying to focus on nothing at all.

“This is excellent news!” Winston says with a delighted expression from where he stands near the center of the Orca, explanation of the plan derailed the moment Lúcio had yelled out that he had contact with Hana. “And she’s in the basement, you said?”

“Yeah. Her mech - ” and here Lúcio chuckles, a full-body motion that starts from his chest and in with his smile - “Her mech blasted a hole through the ceiling. She’s fine, though, promise,” he adds, sensing some concerned glances.

“Keep communicating with her,” Winston says. “We need to get as much information as possible about the place.”

“You got it.”

Winston nods, smiling slightly still, and then looks around the cabin. “Well, we got distracted, so let’s get back to business. Do we all remember the teams?”

“Advance team is composed of myself, Bastion, Reinhardt, Lena, and Jesse,” Ana says without missing a beat. Her voice is soft but it still carries - a reminder to 76 of how she had once been his second-in-command. “We will provide a distraction, along with the strike ops team, to allow the teleporter to be placed.”

“The team of which will be composed of myself, Zenyatta, Winston, and mister Lindholm,” Symmetra says, picking up where Ana had left off. “Knowing that there is a hole on the roof of the building is useful. It should not be difficult to sneak inside; we can likely go directly to where Hana is being kept.”

“Once the teleporter is in place, strike ops team will move in,” Winston finishes. “That will include Jack, Angela, Genji, Hanzo, and Lúcio. Remember, you are there to go in, take out as many people as you can, grab Hana, and get out; with any luck, we can eliminate all Talon personnel inside the base without any casualties.”

“We will need to move quickly,” Angela says, hands folded neatly on her lap. “It is only a matter of time before local authorities are alerted to our presence. The U.N. would not be pleased if they heard about our intervention here.”

“Right. It should also be noted that several of our members are not at full effectiveness - ” and here Winston glances at Genji, who offers a slight wave as no less than two medics put their full healing powers towards him, Zenyatta’s orb floating above his shoulder while Angela’s Caduceus staff is attached to him - and then to Jesse, who has tucked his hat over his eyes and has already asked if he could take more pain meds for his migraine - “So we’ll have to keep that in mind going in.”

“It would also be good to address the fact that Bastion is here,” Reinhardt says, a little stiffly. Bastion boops at him, and Reinhardt gives the robot a smile that looks more like a grimace. “Forgive me, my friend. It is - difficult for me to reconcile your image with what I have once fought. Torbjörn and I have many negative memories of those times.”

Bastion beeps again, a series of them that vary in pitch. 76 notes them without meaning to as Zenyatta says, “It understands your concerns, Reinhardt. It will do its utmost not to cause you any panic.” A slight pause, as Bastion bweeps. “And you as well, Torbjörn.”

Torbjörn grunts. He hasn’t said much since he’s gotten on the Orca; 76 is decidedly ignoring that fact for now, as he has greater concerns than an old friend’s biases.

I still don’t like the fact that we’re letting Hanzo traipse in like he owns the place,” Lena’s voice comes over intercom. The reactions are mixed - some agree with her, but most are with 76, exchanging exasperating looks or rolling their eyes. “I don’t like the idea of him bein’ - we don’t know the first thing about him, Winston.”

“I will sit this mission out if it would make you feel better,” Hanzo says before anyone else can speak. His voice is entirely neutral even when he points out, “But I have a feeling my skills would be of use to you.”

“I trust him,” Genji adds, and then, more coldly, “That should be enough for you, Lena.”

76 feels like this is a moment where Jesse might interject with something, but the cowboy is silent. It’s a bit understandable; the kid really does understand that Hanzo’s talented, even though he might hold a grudge against him for what happened to Genji. 76 is sure he’ll figure it out, though he also knows Jesse holds grudges for a long time, possibly years. It will be fun to watch, and that’s when 76 finishes that train of thought and has to go back to blocking out every imaginable thing that could be happening to Hana right now as they made their way to her location.

“Ah, which reminds me,” Winston says; “There’s a very good chance that Widowmaker will be there. We need a countermeasure for her if she is.”

“She will likely cause problems for the advance team, as it would be a waste of her talents to have her inside,” Ana says, being the resident sniper and therefore the expert. “If we can determine her location, I should be able to maneuver and take her out. I - would prefer not to, though.”

“Use a sleep dart,” Jesse says, and when Ana flashes him an amused glance, he grins under the brim of his hat and says, “They’ve gotten stronger of the years. Reckon it should keep her under for at least a coupla minutes at a time, enough that Lena can approach and do some damage.”

Cheers to that,” Lena says in response.

“Fair enough,” Ana says, and then, “She will not be a problem if she appears, Winston. We will keep her occupied.”

“What about Reaper?”

It’s Lúcio who says this, but he’s looking directly at 76 while he does so. He holds himself still and pretends he doesn’t notice - but the silence is expectant, and with an inward sigh, 76 lifts his head and begins to speak.

“He’s only deadly in close quarters,” he says. “And his aim is shit. The only real problems are how he can dodge attacks and go incorporeal. Killing him won’t be easy, if it’s even possible.”

“It will be difficult,” Angela agrees, oddly enough, and 76 gives her a glance askance as she goes on, “Like I said, we do not have much time. If nothing else, we should merely grab Hana and then get out; we do not necessarily need to strike out at Talon personnel.”

They’ve been killing us, one by one,” Lena says, grim. “I dunno about you, but I’m taking as many of them out as I can.” Angela purses her lips but drops the subject; 76 makes a mental note to ask her about it later, and Lena changes the subject by announcing, “We’re almost there, loves. I hope you’re all ready for a shitshow.”

“I am ready,” Symmetra says, the wireframe of a teleporter lighting up in her palm, and then she stands from her seats and goes across to where 76 is sitting in four long strides. When she holds out her hand, 76 sees an small little thing, curled and smooth, made of blue and white hardlight material. It takes him a moment to get over his surprise and hold out his fingers as Symmetra fixes him with a steady, unreadable look.

“Give this to Hana when you find her,” she says, dropping the comm into his waiting palm. “With any luck,” and she emphasizes this with a blink, do not drop this, do not lose this, “It will be used for its intended purpose.”

Her confidence in him is sobering - and everyone is watching him now. He’s not the leader anymore, but he guesses it’ll take a while for it to sink in as he, too, gets to his feet, nodding once at the Indian woman as everyone else follows his lead. “Right,” he says, and Symmetra’s smile is small but it’s there; he’s not sure who he’s addressing as he murmurs, “The war goes on,” but given the brittle smiles on his teammates’ faces, he figures it doesn’t matter.

They’re getting her out. Everything else, at this point, is secondary.

Chapter Text

The doctor, as it turns out, doesn’t speak English. This would be fine except that D.Va doesn’t have her comm – and therefore a translator – on her person, and in order to get one, she’d need to get into her mech and activate the proper program. Naturally, that in itself is problematic, given how the doctor might then think she’s trying to kill them if she gets into her mech and also because one of her hands, while still moveable, is in such exquisite pain she doubts she’d be able to activate anything, let alone drive, with any agility.

(Hana reminds her to try the voice commands. Unfortunately, D.Va discovers it doesn’t work in this case.)

It could be worse: she babbles her gratitude in both English and Korean when the doctor loosens her bonds so she can escape, and she thinks it gets across because they give her a smile and say something in a calm, soothing voice as they gently examine her hand. Could be worse, she figures again, allowing them to flit to the other medical room and snatch some supplies so they can clean up and bandage her fingers. All Reaper had done was remove her fingernails; relatively tame, she’s willing to guess, as she flexes her newly-taped hand and smiles at the doctor in thanks.

(Could be worse, Hana echoes, and then, a mantra, could be worse, could be worse.)

They give her a brilliant smile in return before saying something in fast-paced Arabic and gesturing towards her mech. She’s not sure what they’re asking, but she points to herself and says, “Mine,” followed shortly by the same word in Korean, and fortunately it gets across because their eyes widen and they say something else. D.Va’s not sure whether it’s because she’s so young and she’s driving a MEKA, or the fact that there’s a MEKA in the first place. She doesn’t think it matters, wishing she had some painkillers as she gently cradles her injured hand and hides her grimace of pain with a smile.

“Find somewhere safe,” she tells them,but she doesn’t think they understand. A quick glance around the room tells her the hospital is high-tech, cutting-edge in some ways even, and yet how there are no devices nearby that could be used as any sort of translator. High-tech, maybe, but perhaps underfunded.

(Could be worse. Could be worse. Could be - )

( - yes, D.Va agrees, and Hana falls silent.)

Telling them about Talon is difficult. Mostly she just mimes guns shooting all around her and then points to them and to herself, drawing a finger across her neck, and it seems to get the message across. They nod when she tells them, again, to hide, and then they hook their fingers around her sleeve when she readies herself to go in the other direction. They say something else; D.Va doesn’t understand it, but she’s willing to bet it has something to do with the fact that she is running headlong into danger rather than away from it.

“My job,” she says, and then again in Korean, and she gently shakes them off, gives them a cheeky wave, and leaves them behind, feet silent and quick on the grimy tiles.

(I have no weapons or armor, Hana whispers faintly as D.Va breaks into a light jog. I have only received minimal training in stealth, and I’m wearing a bright blue suit in a white corridor.)

“Could be worse,” D.Va murmurs, continuing through the brightly-lit hallways with her injured hand cradled in her elbow, heel first then toe with her feet, her breath coming out in a soft, slow pattern. The place seems to be squarish in nature, long hallways branching off into perpendicular corridors that lead to more long hallways; finding the stairs or even an elevator quite suddenly seems like a daunting task. “I will be careful.”

It aches, a deep lull in her chest, that she has to leave her mech behind – but even though driving it would give her an incredible advantage, using it in close quarters is difficult and she couldn’t maneuver it right now even though she wants to. She’s already bleeding through the bandages and the thought of using her left hand’s fingers for anything makes her grit her teeth and narrow her eyes. No, for this – she’s on her own.

“What is the plan?” D.Va says.

(Find any member of Overwatch and tell them that this is a hospital , Hana replies, having finally regained at least a sliver of her composure. The political ramifications of this would be catastrophic. If nothing else, I only need to grab the mech, and then we can go.)

“Great,” D.Va says under her breath, sarcasm bleeding through readily enough. “Easy. Fantastic! I love my life.”

(There must be stairs somewhere. Maybe at the end of the hallway?)

“God, this sucks balls.”

(She can already hear 76’s reprimand in her mind, and it makes her smile, if just for a moment.)

Someone clears their throat behind her, and she spins in place to see it’s the same doctor again. Somehow, in her wanderings, she must have made a complete circle back to where she started, and she groans in frustration and runs her uninjured hand through her hair. The doctor points a single finger upwards, a question in the tilt of their head, and when Hana nods, they point towards the opposite end of the hallway and say something. Presumably ‘stairs’, maybe ‘elevator’, D.Va doesn’t know, and with a nod and an embarrassed smile she sets off anew, wishing for the familiar weight of her handgun at her hip. She can hear the doctor’s soft, lilting chuckle behind her, and she hopes they survive the coming storm.

(I hope they don’t get hurt for helping, Hana whispers in tandem.)

“They were not wearing any Talon paraphernalia,” D.Va says. “They will be fine.”

(I guess so , Hana says doubtfully, and then, oh, the stairs. )

D.Va takes the stairs two at a time to find that she had indeed been in a basement. The first floor looks remarkably different from it – much less glass, for one, and less shiny, reflective surfaces, for another. It’s clear the place gets a lot of traffic as she goes through, and when she opens the doors from the stairwell, she’s hit with a wall of noise.

(This is a lot of people , Hana says, voice small with worry; it is little wonder why Talon set up here.)

There’s shouting all over the place, a child crying somewhere, and D.Va dodges around a stretcher as she slips down the hallway. She stands out like a sore thumb in her blue bodysuit, her pale skin, her lighter brown hair, but she makes herself walk with purpose and people generally ignore her. A doctor in a white lab coat hurries by; on her breast pocket, the Talon symbol is emblazoned.

(That is not good, Hana whispers.)

“But why would they willingly wear the Talon emblem?” D.Va mutters, pressing herself flat against a wall as a cot wheels by, a child lying still and silent upon its surface. She’s hopelessly lost at this point, the chaos of the place around her too cluttered for her to determine where she is and where she should go. “They are a known terrorist cell. Surely they do not have that strong of a foothold here.”

(There were no translation comms available downstairs, Hana murmurs. And there were not any painkillers – or if there are, the doctor made no move to give them to me.)

“Talon is funding them?”

(It is only a guess. Who could say for sure?)

“Most of your guesses have been on for par so far,” D.Va points out. She’s ducked into another hallway at this point, less crowded than the first, and it’s with a small bit of unease that she realizes she might never actually find her way outside – and if she does, she doesn’t know what she will find there. “If they are working with Talon, then they will be eliminated.”

(And they are doctors. Killing them would be disastrous for Overwatch. The U.N. would be furious.)

“The civilian casualties alone will be staggering,” D.Va mumbles as she moves along, “Especially if Reaper deems it necessary to further ruin Overwatch’s image and attack his own.”

(We have to stop the attack before it begins.)

“Right,” D.Va says, and then she swears once, loudly in explosive Korean, enough that she draws some attention to herself as she immediately begins to walk again, hopefully in the direction whence she had come, “I should have stayed by the mech – Athena could track it and send people after me. They will check there first.”

(It is best that I left. Reaper could have come back and – hurt me, which would have defeated the purpose.)

D.Va looks over her shoulder, pivots on a heel when she notes the sign marking stairs on the opposite end of the hallway. The sole of her shoe squeaks on the tile below, and she winces as a nurse looks over, hurrying away while ducking her head. “We have to go back – ”

Well, you aren’t wrong.”

Something clamps over her injured fingers, hard enough that she can’t help the pained gasp that draws all the air from her lungs. A quick glance shows a gloved hand with sharp claws and her instinct is to pull away but she can’t, not without hurting herself even more. She doesn’t realize she’s letting out a steady stream of profanity as Reaper rumbles, “I thought I told you not to move.”

“Teenagers are known to be rebellious,” D.Va shoots back in between frenzied Korean.

At that he laughs. His grip tightens and D.Va feels the blood drain from her face at the white-hot explosion of pain, and it’s a while before her ears stop ringing and her vision clears up. He’s dragging her somewhere, presumably back down in the basement; it’s either she walks or he pulls, and it hurts so much she can’t do anything but comply. “Weren’t you the one just telling me you’re not a child?”

“What makes you think that I – ”

“You really don’t know when to shut up,” Reaper says, and D.Va snarls, wordless, tapering out with a whimper of pain as they pass by the same doctor as before. They regard the two of them with wide eyes, mouth slightly open as they stare at D.Va in particular; when she gives them a pained smile, they bolt for it, hopefully to safety, as D.Va’s ear picks up the hum of her mech drawing closer. It’s with no pity that Reaper bodily jerks her towards the table she had just left, stopping her attempt to escape with an expert twist of her arm and hands and fingers, and when the white fades from D.Va’s vision she’s flat on the table again, tears prickling hot in her eyes.

(I want to go home, Hana says faintly.)

(But where is home? D.Va answers, and neither of them know.)

“Your friends won’t know what they’re doing until it’s too late,” Reaper says, one shotgun resting over his shoulder as he looms over her. D.Va gasps for air and says nothing, dizzy from the fiery pain in her left hand. “Still, your tenacity is admirable. Perhaps you will be useful after all.”

Perhaps you can go fuck yourself,” D.Va wheezes between clenched teeth, the Korean coming out strangled.

“I’m excited to see what Overwatch will do,” Reaper goes on instead, faux-thoughtful. He puts a hand on her mech, runs it over the smooth surface; in the other he holds his gun, barrel held loosely level with her stomach. She swallows hard and chokes down a sob. “It’s a shame they will run out of time.”

For what? D.Va thinks, and then she hears a crash and she slams her eyes shut as Reaper chuckles, once, dark and with finality.


Teleporter online. The path has been opened.

“That’s our cue, team,” 76 says, waving a hand. Outside the building, the advance is well underway; Talon security forces have mobilized at the door, and while 76 can pick up heightened levels of panicked screaming from inside the building itself, he doesn’t let it distract him. “Let’s move.”

Stay safe out there,” Ana says over comm. “We’ll be watching your back.

“We’ll be careful,” Angela promises, and then, “After you, Jack,” and then he’s darted through the teleporter and ended up in what looks to be a storage room, lit by industrial lights above that buzz a bit in the quiet. Torbjörn has set up a turret that faces the door; Symmetra’s hard-light laser turrets curve around the doorframe itself, and she is seated primly on a hard-light stool, clearly of her own devising. Winston and Zenyatta are both in the corner, seated and hovering, respectively, but tense and ready to move; if Torbjörn has any unease about being so close to an omnic, he doesn’t show it.

“The hole in the ceiling is several meters to the left of this room, down three doors in the hallway,” Symmetra tells him, crisp and concise, as Angela, Genji, Hanzo, and Lúcio follow him through the teleporter. She does a fantastic job of ignoring Lúcio’s dirty look as she continues, “There are many civilians about below, from what we have overheard from their frequencies. A call went out to local police; they will arrive in less than fifteen minutes.”

“Athena has been trying to figure out what exactly this place is, but Talon has put up impressive firewalls and blocks, even when we attempted to go through public channels,” Winston explains when 76 shoots him a look. “Lúcio would likely have a better crack at it than us.”

“No time, sorry,” Lúcio says with what looks to be a forced grin. Winston grimaces in return.

“Just from looking around, I would guess that this is a medical center of some kind,” Angela says, peering at a shelf full of what appears to be bandages, chemicals in small bottles, and other assorted medical goods. “Perhaps the turrets are unnecessary. We would not want to kill an innocent.”

“I just built it,” Torbjörn complains, though Symmetra immediately sits up and begins to wave her hands in the air; dismantling her turrets, perhaps. 76 doesn’t plan to stick around long enough to know for sure.

“Now is not the time to argue,” Angela replies, not flinty but sure and steadfast. 76 had always liked that about her, and it seems time has honed that particular aspect of her personality into a sharp weapon. “Ana, did you catch that?”

I copy, Angela. We will change tactics in order not to damage the building.” A distant bang; Ana amends, “We will not damage it too much. I am looking at signage now this is definitely a hospital.

“We’ll update you as Athena learns more,” Winston assures them both. “For now, we’ll keep the teleporter here, but Symmetra has said she is able to move it if necessary.”

“Understood, but we’re wasting time here. Let’s go,” 76 says, adjusting his grip on his pulse rifle.

“Lead the way, Commander,” Genji says, and 76 grimaces at the title but complies, poking his head out the door to see if the coast was clear before continuing onward.

They appear to be on the topmost floor of the building – there does not seem to be much activity here, at least not that 76 can tell. It makes sense if this was a medical center of some kind, a health clinic or perhaps even a hospital; wheeling patients up this many floors would be inconvenient at best, a loss of life at worst. 76 follows Symmetra’s directions and enters the appropriate door to find that Hana had not exaggerated – there is indeed a gaping hole in the hospital’s floor and, peering down, 76 can see Hana’s mech at the very bottom.

“I hope it did not injure anyone on its way down,” Angela says softly, her fingers tapping lightly against the side of her Caduceus staff.

“Suppose we won’t know ‘til we follow,” 76 replies, rolling his shoulders and glancing behind him. “Genji, Hanzo, this shouldn’t be a problem for you, should it?”

“Who do you take us for, Commander?” Genji says. In any other circumstance, it might have come out amused. Hanzo just looks insulted.

“We’ll have to find stairs,” Lúcio says. “Shouldn’t be a problem, think I saw a sign at the end of the hall.”

“Don’t go until my command,” 76 tells the two brothers. “I’ll let you know when we’ve reached the basement.”

“As you say, Jack,” Angela says, stepping over to stand with the Shimadas. “We will be ready.”

“Good. Lúcio, lead on.”

“You got it.”

The stairs end up being at the end of the hallway, a simple door opening up to a stairwell that leads down, down, down. 76 takes the steps three at a time as Lúcio skids along the walls, music playing faintly in 76’s comm that somehow makes it easier to ignore the aches and move quicker and more fluidly; someday he’d ask the Brazilian about it, but not right now, as they skid to a halt at the very bottom door and 76 reaches up to touch his comm.

“We’re in the basement. Go.”

Understood,” Hanzo says, and then 76’s pushing out the door, Lúcio on his heels, and is confronted with a long, narrow hallway that gleams under bright, fluorescent lights and grimy gray tiles. He picks up on sound further down and to the left, he’d guess, taking off at a dead sprint as Lúcio skates after him. He rushes by a person in a lab coat – he’d guess they’re a doctor, maybe a nurse – and, when he skids around a corner, he sees shattered glass, crumbles of ceiling, and –

“Hana,” he breathes, just as Genji and Hanzo drop down from the ceiling and a dark figure rears away from the MEKA pilot’s prone form. The Shimada brothers’ teamwork is enough to drive Reaper back, and then 76 isn’t thinking as he charges forward, feeling rather than hearing Lúcio’s music switch to something more soothing.

For a moment, everything seems to happen at once. Reaper floats above the ground, arms splayed wide as Genji and Hanzo’s attacks pass through him harmlessly, his head turning to look at 76; Angela settles next to Hana with her staff, eyebrows drawn together and mouth slightly ajar as she takes stock; and 76 feels his jaw set, his chest constrict, fury roaring through his bloodstream as he advances, hard and sure.

“Hello, Jack,” Reaper says with a harsh laugh – a laugh that stops when 76 ignores him completely and instead goes to Hana’s side, a laugh that’s cut off when he becomes corporeal again and Genji engages him without missing a beat, slipping serpentine around Hanzo’s scatter shot, a laugh that becomes a frustrated rumble of a growl as Lúcio raises his gun and fires a burst of weaponized sound at him. Right now, 76 has bigger worries than a crazed ex-friend (and more), especially as he throws down a biotic field and watches as Hana mouths something to herself as Angela finishes undoing her straps.

He gives Hana a cursory look-over as he draws close, clenching his teeth when he sees that her face is streaked with tears; she has what appears to be the beginnings of a black eye, the remnants of a bloody nose, and other smaller, superficial cuts that have since healed thanks to Angela’s staff. Her left hand is bandaged and bloody, and it’s clear Reaper had been going for her other hand, too, because the fingernails of her pinky and ring finger are missing. It’s – not good. It’s not even a form of torture that is remotely effective if Reaper had been aiming to coax knowledge out of her at all; no, this is just a desire to cause pain, and he had done it, and Hana had taken it and she said she had been fine , but she had also given herself up and 76 would never, ever just take her word for it about this kind of thing again.

76 had thought he’d been furious before. Now, he glances sideways at where Reaper is fending off both Shimada brothers and Lúcio, and he feels nothing but black, dark hatred, breath coming out in one hard exhale as his fingers itch to just – do something, do anything, to harm the ghost who can’t leave well enough alone. But then there’s a cough; his head swivels back to Hana, whose eyes have opened slightly. He thinks he can feel his heart crack a little when she manages a tiny, pained smile, showing off a chipped tooth.

“Hi, dad,” she whispers, and it’s quiet but strong.

Chapter Text

D.Va can’t see 76’s face from her vantage point on the table, but she knows him well enough to read his stance and tense shoulders as anger, fear, worry, all at once. She feels soft and warm now, gentle yellow dancing in the corner of her eye as Dr. Ziegler murmurs softly to herself in German, and when she offers 76 a smile, she’s glad to see him slump slightly in relief.

“Hi, Hana,” he says after a few moments, gun slinging over his shoulder. Hearing his voice is enough to make her eyes sting and a tight coil to unwind in her chest, and she sniffs and then immediately coughs because blood when he smooths a hand over her forehead. “I’m glad you’re alright.”

“It’s a hospital,” D.Va tells him urgently instead of reassuring him. Her voice is thankfully clear, and it’s simple and easy for her to focus on the red line of 76’s visor. “Talon funds it, I think. Some doctors and nurses are wearing the Talon emblem. You cannot shoot them, or – ”

“We know,” 76 says, voice firm but not cutting, “Don’t worry.”

“Where is Reaper?” D.Va asks; now that she’s not dulled by constant pain, her mind is sharp and focused, honed in on every single detail as she tries to sit up. A firm hand on her shoulder keeps her down, probably Dr. Ziegler’s, D.Va would guess. “If he – he would try to kill those doctors, make it seem like – ”

“He’s occupied,” 76 says, and then, “Hold still,” and she tilts her head obediently when he gently nudges her temple. Something warm and light settles into the pinna of her ear, sturdy despite its lack of weight, and after a few moments of 76 poking around a bit, voices begin to filter through. A comm at long last, and she can’t help the giggle that bubbles out of her throat; now she could thank the doctor if she could find them.

(I hope they are still okay, Hana whispers.)

“She is going into shock,” Dr. Ziegler says; “We need to keep her temperature stable.”

The local authorities are only five minutes out,” another voice warns over comm. D.Va recognizes it as Satya’s, smooth and cool. “Speed would be optimal.

“Copy that,” 76 says, and D.Va watches him with detachment as he slips out of his coat and settles it over her body instead, gingerly slipping one arm under her back, the other under her knees and lifting her up bridal-style. Dr. Ziegler maintains the connection between her and her Caduceus staff, and that’s when D.Va finally gets a good look at the action happening outside the room. Cracked glass tinkles on the floor as Genji and Hanzo almost dance around Reaper; they’ve driven him further down the hallway, Lúcio using his sonic amplifier to keep Reaper back whenever he tried to move closer. “Any progress, Genji?”

His ability to go incorporeal can be applied to specific parts of his body,” Hanzo reports, likely because Genji is locked into some strange kind of firearm versus sword combat, a gun whip skidding off of Genji’s blade as the cyborg leaps forward and drives his sword down – and through – Reaper’s arm. “We have been unable to get a hit, though he is occupied.”

“I need to get Hana out of here. Will you – ”

“Go,” Lúcio barks, and that’s enough to get 76 to take off at a run, Dr. Ziegler behind him with wings spread. D.Va lets out the tiniest sound of discomfort when her hand gets jostled by the movement, and though 76 spares her an apologetic glance, he doesn’t slow his pace. She gets it, time is of essence, but –

“My mech,” D.Va remembers suddenly, though the moment she makes to squirm out of 76’s hold, he tightens his grip on her and shakes his head. She bites her lip but doesn’t argue; she’s not in a good mindset to do so, anyway, and the trigger mechanism is still in her shoe. With any luck, that would suffice, and then she remembers something else as she grips 76’s shirt in her relatively-uninjured right hand and she says, “Is everyone else all right, too?”

“Everyone’s fine,” 76 replies, terse. “Reinhardt, Jesse, and Bastion are outside. You saw Genji and Hanzo.”

“Try not to talk, Hana,” Dr. Ziegler says soothingly. “You’ve been through a lot.”

“I am not useless,” D.Va snaps, but she otherwise doesn’t protest because – because it’s nice knowing she doesn’t have to get up, to have 76’s jacket draped over her like a blanket, to know that she can finally just stop and know she’s safe even though there’s so much she should be, could be doing. Could be worse, could be worse, and Hana lets her head fall against 76’s shoulder and tries to steady her breathing as the panic from well before this mess starts crawling in her throat, shutting her eyes tightly as 76 darts into the stairwell and starts his ascent.

(How far? Where to? D.Va wonders.)

Athena has finished her preliminary scans,” Winston’s voice says suddenly, crackling through comm without any warning. “We have to intervene; Talon’s started to gun down medical personnel and aims to leave so the blame can be put on us.

Copy that,” Ana says, quiet but hard. “Advance team moving in. Lead on, Reinhardt.” There’s a battle cry yelled entirely in German before the transmission cuts out.

I have identified the local authorities, as well,” Athena says, voice soft and demure. “They are augmented by a Raptora team from Helix Security International. Be cautious; they typically strike from the air.

Helix?” McCree says, and then there’s a laugh and he says, “Damn, we got lucky. Give me a hot minute, Ana?

You have just the one, Jesse.

More than enough. Might want t’do something about them Talon agents inside, though.

Widow is down, so she shouldn’t be giving anyone any problems,” Tracer chimes in, deadly serious as only a Blackwatch agent can be. “I can move into the building proper if you want me there.

“Your call, Winston,” 76 reminds the gorilla into the expectant silence. He’s gone up four flights of stairs now, Hana notes with detachment, and it’s getting increasingly harder to keep her breathing regular and her heart hasn’t stopped racing since - she’s not sure, really, but she clings closer to 76 as he gets to the top to the stairwell and goes through the door. “I need to get Hana out of here.”

To Winston’s credit, he doesn’t miss a beat. “Lena, move in, but be careful. Check to make sure your targets are actually Talon before doing anything.

Roger that, big guy.

Winston makes an affirmative noise. “Genji, what’s your status?

Alive, but Reaper is moving up after you, Commander. Hanzo and I are in pursuit.

Where’s Lúcio?” Winston asks, just as 76 turns into a room and Hana’s ear picks up on a soft hum. A glance to her left reveals a glowing blue teleporter and Satya seated next to it, though the woman rises to her feet the moment 76 and Hana step inside, hands moving in a swift, graceful pattern until Hana feels something cool settle around her skin; a shield, perhaps.

Looking through their servers,” Lúcio reports. “Some doc let me at them, kept babbling about Hana and about how they don’t understand what’s going on but they want to help. The servers are clean, beyond a bit of encryption. Talon must’ve wiped them when they heard we were coming.

“You left a medic on their own?” Winston demands, followed shortly by “Lena, get to Lúcio’s position immediately,” and then 76 goes towards the blue teleporter, Hana briefly can’t breathe, and then they’re through and they’re in the Orca and it’s just her and 76 and Dr. Ziegler.

The silence is deafening. All Hana can hear is her heart pumping her blood and her lungs trying and failing to gulp in air.

“She should be fine,” Dr. Ziegler says, and the yellow glow from her Caduceus staff fades away. (Liar, D.Va snarls, but Hana says nothing.) “Will you be all right on your own? I should go bolster Ana’s presence on the advance team.”

“We’ll be okay,” 76 says. A long exhale, and then, “Thanks, Angela.”

“Of course, Jack.”

Hana feels rather than sees Dr. Ziegler’s lingering glance before the doctor turns and glides out of the VTOL. She’s not sure where the doctor goes, exactly, beyond landing next to another figure who appears to be McCree, and then Hana stops trying to hold the last of her composure and she realizes how much she’s shaking.

76 goes towards one of the chairs lining the side of the Orca’s cabin, which would be fine except then Hana would be on her own, so she keeps a hand curled in his shirt when he puts her down and moves to apparently take the spot beside her. He continues to attempt to maneuver around her for a few seconds - but in the end she’s clinging to him too tightly for him to do anything but kind of sit on the floor and tug her down with him. It’s… warm. She could get used to this, huddled up in his coat against him, minus the part where her breaths come out in ragged gasps and her vision is tunneling on the bright blue of the sleeve.

(Could be worse, D.Va whispers.)

“So, uh,” 76 says, and Hana gets the distinct sense he’s going to mess up the delivery because he always messes up the delivery, “Are you alright, Hana?”

“That is such a dumb question,” Hana manages to warble, voice unsteady and whispery, her vision blurring and going dark at the edges as she finally just lets it all go, panic and exhaustion and hysteria and terror escaping all at once. She’s hardly aware of what’s going on around her, too embroiled in the internal conflict of her mind, flashes of terrible pain and Reaper’s eerie, empty mask and the crackling of glass and the Talon symbol emblazoned on a shirt pocket, and then she just curls up tightly and tries not to make too much noise as she shuts her eyes and she feels the tears pool up behind them.

“Sorry,” 76 whispers at some point, when she’s lucid enough for just a brief moment to realize he’s just holding her to him and one of his hands is rubbing circles into her back. She’s not sure what he means, too caught up in a whirlwind of abject fear and distress to really know anything, but he hugs her to him and mumbles, “I’m sorry you got caught up in this.”

“Shut up,” she answers, maybe, hiccuping on the words, and she has a strange moment of feeling bad because she’s getting snot and tears and blood on his shirt, and then her mind reminds her that that’s probably the least of her worries but she can’t help but think about it because she’s ruining his clothes and he’s doing all these things for her and this is how she repays him? And then she chokes on air and nothing and everything is just - everything is too much.

(D.Va is silent.)

Hana’s not sure how long she sits there, hidden in the safety of 76’s jacket and curled up against his chest, shaking and crying and making as little noise as possible (which doesn’t do much in the end, she’s willing to guess), and she only notices there are other people in the Orca when she hears someone speaking and then they abruptly cut themselves off, probably when they see her. She doesn’t care, too focused on slowing the racing of her heart and her pained, shallow breaths, and a part of her wishes she could just stop but another part of her knows that it’s far too late for that.

Strap in, loves,” Tracer’s voice comes over intercom after a minute, after an eternity; “We’re off to Gibraltar.

This time Hana doesn’t fight when 76 pulls her up and puts her into a seat, settling into the spot beside her; this time she just pulls his jacket closer and over her head, hugging it closed in front of her so she doesn’t have to see everyone else watching, leaning over until her head hits 76’s side and she can just kind of sag into him. His arm loops around her shoulders and his hand settles on her arm a moment later, and then she just tries not to think too hard about bright lights and white rooms and oily laughter and takes comfort in knowing that now, at least, it’s over.

(Only half the battle, D.Va says, dark and sure, and Hana knows it.)


76 learns some of what happened in the hospital during the debrief, which basically amounts to  Winston talking everyone’s ear off about possible ramifications, extra precautions, and the fact that a number of agents would be grounded for an indefinite period of time. It’s only after the debrief, when 76 sits down with Genji, Hanzo, and Zenyatta, that he learns more details. Hana is seated by his side, small and quiet but looking much better dressed in her own pajamas and with the swelling of her blackened eye going down.

“Perhaps you should be resting,” Hanzo suggests when he sees her, expression unreadable but his voice laced with the slightest touch of concern, which isn’t a bad idea at all - but 76 somehow doubts sleep will come easy to her.

“I am not tired,” Hana replies, predictably. She’s staring down at the soup someone made for her; 76 thinks it might have been Lúcio, given the soft music emanating from the kitchen. She has yet to touch the spoon.

“We should all be resting,” 76 points out. Genji and Reinhardt had gone to Eichenwalde yesterday evening; the whole disaster at the hospital had begun and ended in a span of an sixty minutes. The part that took the longest was transport, and now it was around seven in the morning. No one had slept for at least twenty-four hours, but only a few had actually gone to their rooms as far as 76 knew. “Mind telling me what actually happened back there?”

Zenyatta spins a harmony orb until it hangs over Hana’s shoulder instead of replying. Hanzo’s lips thin just slightly as he glances towards his folded hands on the table; it’s Genji who sighs, long and slow, and actually answers, mostly uninterrupted save for slight corrections by either his brother or his mentor. What 76 gets is a strange story that’s equal parts luck, misfortune, and coincidence.

Reaper had followed 76 up the stairs, as it turns out, intent on confronting him - though neither Genji nor Hanzo were certain of his motives - and had happened upon the teleporter room. According to Zenyatta, he hadn’t been expecting four well-armed agents lying in wait and had quickly fled rather than fight all four of them at once, especially with the Shimada brothers closing in behind him; no one was sure if Reaper had actually registered the teleporter’s presence or not, as he did not try to enter it, and he had instead gone fully incorporeal and whisked himself out the door. Genji and Hanzo had followed in pursuit; once they had gotten to the roof, Reaper had teleported into a waiting Talon plane with Widowmaker and had left the scene.

Helix Security International had sent out a team of fifteen agents as well; at that point, a few of them had landed on the roof and confronted both Genji and Hanzo as the Talon plane sped away, given the first appeared to be a violent omnic and the other was wanted by numerous agencies across the world. What turned out to be their saving grace was, surprisingly, Jesse McCree - who knew the head of the Egyptian Helix Security branch was one Fareeha Amari and had gotten in touch with her.

“Fareeha?” 76 repeats, unsure if he’d misheard.

“Yes,” Genji says. “She has grown up very well, Commander. She goes by Pharah and has led Helix Security’s Egyptian branch for a number of years now.”

“Huh” is all 76 can say to that. Granted, he hasn’t taken the time to really talk to Ana much since she’d arrived beyond occasionally chatting with her with the old Overwatch chat client, but he figures it would’ve come up eventually… unless Ana herself hadn’t been aware of her daughter’s position. “Last I heard, she was in the Egyptian military.”

“That was before Overwatch was dismantled,” Genji explains. “You know how badly she wanted to join.”

“And I remember how often she and Ana argued about it,” 76 agrees. Hana has nestled into his side at this point, one of her arms looped around his and pressed close, and 76 reaches over and nudges her bowl of soup closer to her. With some reluctance, she unfolds slightly to pick up the spoon, and 76 turns back to Genji. “So how did that interaction go, then?”

Seemingly Fareeha had been willing to give Genji a chance to explain himself, though once she learned her mother was there she had hightailed it to go see what the hell was going on. Ana had probably explained the whole op, though Hanzo, Genji, or Zenyatta couldn’t know for sure, and soon Helix was investigating the hospital itself once the advance team had stopped creating a commotion out front.

“What they found was a lot of people,” Genji says, one finger tapping on the wood of the table in a regular, fast-paced pattern. “Apparently Talon had begun to get rid of liabil -  ”

Hanzo lifts a hand so that the back of his knuckles graze Genji’s helmet; his little brother stops talking, and Hanzo tilts his head slightly in Hana’s direction, eyes narrowed ever so slightly at the cyborg, and continues, “Talon had been attempting to set all of you up, so it appears. Helix was fortunately aware of Talon and knew that it was not Overwatch’s fault. For the moment, the organization will remain blameless.”

The rest goes unsaid: Talon personnel had killed a number of civilians in hopes of pinning it on Overwatch. 76 doubts Hana had missed the subtext, but she doesn’t say anything as she quietly spoons soup into her mouth, apparently entirely focused on the task.

“You’re not joining us?” 76 asks.

“It is best that I am not directly affiliated,” Hanzo explains, one eyebrow rising. “You are aware that I am a wanted man.”

“So’s Jesse, and he’s here,” 76 points out.

“He is not officially on the roster,” Hanzo says. “So he has told me, anyway. None of Blackwatch’s members have been mentioned at U.N. meetings. Neither have you, in fact.”

“You actually watch those?” Genji says, chuckling. Hanzo gives his brother a look that reads something like I cannot believe I am related to you.  “It seems you still are the most patient of the two of us, anija.”

“There is much to be learned from world politics,” Hanzo says, seemingly stern, but 76 can see the slight upward curve to his lip and wonders when, exactly, Genji and Hanzo had reconciled. Perhaps Hana would be able to learn more, seeing as both of the brothers have taken a shine to her; for now, he was willing to let sleeping dragons lie.

“So after Fareeha checked things out, we left, I’m assuming,” 76 says, returning to the subject at hand. The others refocused at his words.

“Yes. She said she would contact Winston later once she had spoken with the hospital staff and her superiors. I assume that is why Winston shuffled us out of the conference room so quickly,” Zenyatta says. He’s since changed positions to be floating just a few centimeters atop the table, head lowered and hands perched on his knees. His orbs rotate around him in a horizontal circle, occasionally bouncing and letting out a soft chiming noise; it’s soothing, and 76 knows it’s for Hana’s benefit. “We are very fortunate that Jesse was able to contact her.”

“Yes,” Hanzo agrees. “Without his intervention, we would be much worse off, I believe.”

“I remember Lúcio was going through their servers,” 76 says; “And he didn’t find anything, I’m guessing.”

“No,” Genji says with a shake of his head. He is still limping and has other superficial injuries, but he appears to be in much better shape than before, as the motion does not seemingly cause him pain. “They had nothing. Lúcio said the program used to wipe them was very simple and efficient. Given more time, he might have been able to get something, but he was doubtful.”

“Regardless, Reaper will be very disappointed his plan fell through,” Hanzo says. “It would be wise to invest in security of some kind.”

“It didn’t completely fail.”

That comes from Ana, who slips into the spot next to 76 with a teacup and saucer. For once Hana doesn’t react because of her presence; too shell-shocked, which perhaps isn’t the best sign.

“Reaper has pinpointed our weaknesses,” Ana says, continuing her train of thought. “He knows where to strike so that we will react, instantly and without much planning. Despite Fareeha’s best efforts, word will eventually trace the attack back to us eventually; we will have to work on getting a public relations unit up and running as soon as possible. Not to mention we have effectively dismantled a major hospital, given they will no longer have secure funding.”

“Our reputation is going to take a huge hit,” 76 mutters, knowing how this kind of thing worked very well, and Ana nods. She looks tired, but it doesn’t show as she lifts her teacup to her lips and takes a sip.

“The U.N. will hear of it soon enough. I believe Winston is going to try and arrange a meeting with them, along with Fareeha, as quickly as possible. The sooner we can spin the story in our favor, the less damage that will be done.” Ana sighs and sets her teacup back down on its saucer. “I will see how I can help the hospital. Lúcio said he would do what he can, which probably means something that is not entirely legal but not so illegal that he will get in trouble, so I'd best get started soon.”

76 can hear the unspoken question: was the op worth going on? As a solder, he knows the answer is no, but - just imagining the consequences of what could have happened to Hana are enough to make him glad the operation had gone as smoothly as it had. He would not let anyone down again if he could help it.

“I can help you,” Hanzo offers. “I may still have a few connections around that region.”

“Even now?” Genji asks, sounding surprised.

“Do not pretend you do not keep in touch with certain contacts, otouto.”

“Everyone thought I was dead, Hanzo,” Genji points out.

Hanzo is entirely unfazed. “That did not stop you from becoming the man you are today.”

“True, but it is difficult to have connections when you tell them you are the dead son of a former yakuza boss.”

“Children, behave,” Ana says, in a voice that reminds 76 of the old days, and he can't help but feel amused when Genji merely starts laughing and Hanzo gives a light chuckle.

Hana mumbles something, too quiet for anyone but 76 to pick up with his more sensitive hearing, and that’s when he eases himself to his feet, gently pulling Hana up with him. “Thanks,” he tells the four at the table, feeling slightly out-of-place, slightly awkward.

Ana just waves a hand, a small, sad smile on her face; it’s Zenyatta who says, “Peace be with you both,” accompanied by Genji’s nod and Hanzo’s murmured pleasantry in Japanese, and then 76 puts his arm around Hana’s shoulder and guides her out of the mess hall and towards the personal rooms.

He’s... not sure what to do. Hana’s reaction to being rescued had been confusing; she had, at first, been relatively calm and collected, but once on the plane, everything had hit her at once and 76 is more than impressed that she had managed to contain it for so long without once breaking face. He’s proud of her for that in some ways - he hasn’t heard her side of the story, but he knows that she did not give Reaper an inch - and at the same time he is extremely concerned, because she had once mentioned that she throws up the D.Va persona to protect herself. How often does she do it? How will it affect her in the future? How much will she have changed, after what Reaper did to her?

He doesn’t know how to begin to broach the subject, but he does know that Hana won’t tell anyone else about it, and if he wants to coax her into speaking, he will have to do it delicately. He’s trying to figure out when he might able to ask Angela when they’ve reached her door and Hana murmurs, “I left my clothes in the dryer.”

76 looks down at her - really looks at her this time. Her eyes are shadowed, gaze down as she huddles in on herself. She’s not short by any means, but the way she hunches in to make herself small strikes him as intimate, private; though her face doesn’t give away much, the way she worries her sleeve between two fingers and how her steps are small and shuffling is telling. She’s… not broken, but cracked at the very least, barely holding together at the edges, and he knows that she’ll internalize it and the cycle will begin anew. He can’t let that happen.

He feels another flare of anger burst up in his chest and squelches it immediately. The next time he sees Reaper, he wouldn’t let the opportunity pass him by; this time he knows it for sure. But right now he has other priorities, and one of them is helping this Korean girl who has somehow become the most important person in his life be okay.

“Let’s go get them, then,” he says, amusement unintentionally curling into his tone, and though he can tell her smile is small and maybe just a bit forced, he will take what little victories he can get.

Chapter Text

Monday.

Hana is walking down the hallway towards the medbay when it happens.

It’s so small and simple, in retrospect – she’s already very sure that going into the medbay itself is out of question, given its resemblance to the room she had been kept in during her captivity, and 76 has explicitly told her that she’s almost certainly developed PTSD along with her extreme disassociation – which is the only reason she doesn’t see it coming. She’s already braced herself for the numbness, the times when she spaces out without realizing it, the things or words that might be triggering. She’s catalogued them, with 76 and Dr. Ziegler’s help, and now she’s just going to her first actual therapy visit thing with Dr. Ziegler and she’s going to be fine. She thinks so, anyway, until sunlight from the window blinds her temporarily and –

she’s back in Eichenwalde, sunlight dappling across the old, cracked stone and carpet of the castle, halls echoing with those left behind. The dread is all-at-once everlasting and all-consuming: tragedy will happen here, she thinks feverishly, and she looks down at her hands to see a strip of clothing, and she’s staring at the blood running down an archer’s arm as she ties it up. Gunfire fills her ears, cacophonous, and then it stops and there’s a chill in her veins, a whisper, a promise –

“I suppose you’ll be pleased to know that you have just doomed the entirety of your pitiful team, Hana Song – ”

(Come back, D.Va urges, we’re not there, you’re safe, come back – )

Did the kind doctor make it out alive of the hospital? Hana never actually checked, and it makes her choke because that’s just one more life she’s chalked up to faith and hope, and how well did that work in Korea? Gunning down the protesters, staring up at the giant omnic in the sea and watching it throw Hyun’s mech into the sky until it landed in a skid on the ground, the boy unresponsive when she and her squadmates yelled for him in their comms; she’s shaking with fear when she’s sneaking through hallways with her damnably squeaky shoes, her blood chills and she’s seeing Talon’s insignia blaring in her mind’s eye, her ears fill with the sound of Reaper laughing as her heart kicks into overdrive. When has hope ever helped her? Blood, killing, they’re dead because of you.


(click here for larger size)

(Come back, D.Va says again. Hana, come back – ) and then she realizes that it’s not D.Va whispering in her ear, that there’s someone speaking to her, and with what feels like a mental snap – time resumes.

She’s standing in the hallway, the evening sun bathing her in a soft, warm glow. Her hands are twitching at her sides and with a start she realizes she’s staring right into Hanzo Shimada’s eyes; he’s crouched slightly so his gaze is at the same height as hers, and she drags in a deep breath and uses his steady stare to level herself, finding her bearings and collecting the shreds of her remaining dignity and composure.

“You are safe,” Hanzo says, and Hana’s exhale leaves her shaking. His hand hovers uncertainly over her shoulder; when she gives him a slight nod, it falls, grounding her much like 76 always makes sure to do. He lets the words settle into the silence, watching her carefully as she presses a hand against her chest and uses it to focus her breathing, not pain but pressure as if to keep everything in, and then, softly and in perfect Korean with the barest hint of a Japanese accent, “Perhaps you would like some company on your way to Dr. Ziegler.

It’s not phrased as a suggestion. Hana wouldn’t have refused it, anyway, and she hates how her voice audibly quivers as she agrees and he falls into step beside her, fingers pressing lightly into her skin as they start to walk. She focuses on the warmth and the weight and tries not to think about much of anything and maybe she fails, maybe she doesn’t, and she has to keep looking over her shoulder because what if, what if –

I am sorry,” he says eventually, still in Korean. At her quizzical look, he elaborates, “That you have to suffer through this.

It is all right,” Hana says, because even though it’s something she shouldn’t have to get used to, she’s resigned herself to it.

It’s not,” he says, surprising her with how firm and sure he sounds; still, Hana doesn’t believe him, and she stays silent. After a few moments, he goes on, “You are young. Younger than I was when I first did something that left me empty and broken.

There is nothing poetic about this,” Hana says, aiming for it to come out as a snap. It instead creeps out like a plaintive whine, likely because it’s in her mother tongue and it’s such a strange relief to be able to speak it freely with someone vis-à-vis.

I did not mean to imply as such. Forgive me.” He hesitates before venturing, “It is more that I understand. Perhaps better than most.

She turns her head to look at him. He meets her gaze steadily, even when she says, simply, “Why?

His posture changes slightly, a subtle shift that reveals more than he probably intends to. “Genji has not told you?

I have not asked,” Hana says. “What I do know are snippets. Pieces. You did something terrible, and your brother has forgiven you. That is enough for me.

You do not strike me as an individual who not would be satisfied with so little.

Do not claim to know me,” Hana says, words echoing down the hallway.

I do not,” Hanzo agrees readily. He speaks the way he moves – graceful, fluid, serpentine. If he seeks to deceive her, he is doing very well, or perhaps Hana is too tired to parse his opaqueness. “A fact I seek to rectify, if you will let me.

Why?” she asks again, less genuine and more accusatory.

She’s met with silence, and a quick glance at his face reveals a pensive expression; withdrawn, almost, forcibly neutral, a hint of something else lurking beneath.

I am reminded of my brother when I see you,” Hanzo says at last.

(Ridiculous, D.Va snorts. Genji is a puzzle who has pieced himself together.)

(There is nothing poetic about this, Hana reminds her, and D.Va lapses into silence; she’s right.)

I am not something for you to use to atone,” Hana says snappishly, connecting the dots far faster than he had expected, if the startled flash in his eyes is anything to go by.

Allow me to finish.

If you cease speaking to me as if I am a child who knows little better, I might.

“Hear me out, Hana,” he says, in English, and she does so, mulishly quiet; “I am reminded of my brother when I see you. I am reminded of myself when I see you. I am reminded of the cruelty this world often chooses to throw on those who do not deserve it.”

“You pity me, then,” Hana says in a growl.

“Quite the opposite; I admire you,” Hanzo says frankly, and – she’s not sure what to do with that, so she doesn’t say anything. Hanzo takes that as his cue to continue. “You hold a courage that I lack. You choose to fight even when the odds are impossible, and you have succeeded in life through what seems to be skill and sheer force of will. It is... commendable.”

“Commendable, he says,” Hana mutters, incredulous and yet more than sure that Hanzo is telling the truth. “I am more than a single word.”

“Indeed. It is true to say that I am not entirely sincere when I say I seek your friendship.” Hana sniffs. Hanzo merely delves onward. “I believe I can learn from you, if you would let me, and I would do what I can to teach you something as well.”

“What could you possibly offer me?”

“A peace of mind. A second ear.” A beat. “Archery lessons.”

It’s likely because Hana is in a sour mood that she wants to throw off the hand on her shoulder, but she knows that it’s better – she’s better – if it stays there; she needs something to keep her rooted, to keep her here, and then she has to refocus and she catches the last bit of what he says: “Regardless, I leave the choice to you.”

The medbay draws closer as he falls silent. What’s left in the stillness is Hana’s fluttering heartbeat, her deep, forced breaths, and a decision.

(He is approaching this as he would approach a deal, D.Va whispers; he would not go back on his terms.)

(If there are terms, I will be the one making them, Hana thinks.)

(He is nothing like his brother. He will be watching your every move. Do we need another shadow?)

(A shadow who will watch my back, Hana responds. He is concerned for my wellbeing. Isn’t it a goal to make friends with teammates?)

(Is he? D.Va says, and then, Perhaps so.)

“Archery lessons,” she says, pulling back from her mental conversation, and Hanzo twitches, almost, as his head turns to look down at her. “Teach me to use a bow, teach me to sneak and climb as you do. In return, well.” She flashes him a small, brittle smile. “Perhaps we will be good friends, in time.”

“I cannot teach you everything about stealth, as it takes years to master,” Hanzo says, “But I appreciate this chance, and I will do what I can. Wait here.”

He knows already that Hana isn’t going to set foot in the medbay, she realizes distantly; he’s swept inside before she can say anything otherwise, and she shuffles some distance away from the door so she doesn’t have to look in as she waits for him to return with Dr. Ziegler in tow. She breathes out, quietly, and her heart finally stops its upbeat pace and listens to her lungs as she steadies herself, and then she’s calm and numb and she can hear the click of Dr. Ziegler’s heels, tailed, no doubt, by Hanzo’s silent footsteps.

“Good to see you, Hana,” Dr. Ziegler says warmly, just as the door opens, and the look on her face is serene, composed – sad, almost.

Annyeong,” she answers, casting Hanzo a fleeting glance. He meets her eyes for just a moment before gesturing with his hand, a sign she recognizes as meet up later, one they taught her in the Korean military. It’s a little unnerving but ultimately reassuring, and she responds in kind before turning her full attention to the doctor, Hanzo retreating down the hallway towards destination unknown.

“Our first session will not be long,” Dr. Ziegler says; “I am not a trained psychologist, so it will be some time before I can talk to the right people to approach this correctly. As such, we will start slow. – And you can pick where you’d like us to settle and talk, of course.”

“Can I have people with me?” Hana asks, first and foremost.

“In later sessions, perhaps,” Dr. Ziegler says, which is a little disappointing but not entirely unexpected. “For this first session, at least, it will be just between us. Is there anywhere in particular you would like to talk, or shall we go to the lounge?”

Hana agrees on the latter, mostly because she would ideally have the talk in the kitchen but the kitchen is reserved for her and 76. The lounge will do in the meantime, and she swallows down the creeping sense of dread and discomfort as she follows the good doctor down the hallway whence she had come.

(Hanzo is watching our back, one way or another, D.Va reminds Hana, and for all that she knows nothing about him, the thought is a comfort.)


Tuesday.

“So,” Winston says, and the conference room is so quiet Hana doesn’t realize she’s holding her breath until her chest feels tight.

Even then, Winston lets it drag on longer and longer, fixing almost every agent in the room – Tracer, McCree, Lúcio, Genji, Hanzo, herself  – with a single, hard stare. Only 76 is excluded given he wasn’t part of the original op, and, nevertheless, Hana can’t meet the gorilla’s eyes for very long. She finds herself wishing 76 was close enough to put his hand on her shoulder; he’s seated across from her, though, and when she ducks his head she feels his boot nudge against her foot. It’s better than nothing.

“A number of things to address,” Winston says, dropping files and a few holopads onto the table. “We’ll start with breaking protocol. Jesse, Lena, Hana, Lúcio, leaving base without my or Athena’s knowledge put your lives in incredible danger and resulted in Hana being captured by Talon forces. Additionally, you organized it by using Blackwatch channels and instructed Athena not to speak about it, again using Blackwatch commands to keep her from sharing information with me.”

Tracer bites her lip but says nothing. McCree is staring at his folded hands; further down the table, Hanzo and Genji exchange swift, quiet glances. Lúcio, in the seat next to her, shifts slightly, but doesn’t drop his gaze down like the other agents do. She can understand why, and she knows defiance is as much a part of him as music is, but right now it seems misplaced and risky.

“There is a reason I have not formed a Blackwatch division,” Winston says, disapproval emanating off of him in waves. Hana hunches her shoulders and tugs her sweater more tightly around her. “And there is a reason Blackwatch frequencies should not be used. We are doing things differently now, and I expect you all to at the part.”

“I’m not technically a part of this team, big guy,” McCree says, tilting his head back. “Neither is he or his brother or Seventy-six. Can’t really be put in the public eye, neither, not with the giant bounty on my head.”

“Nice excuse,” Winston says, and then he snaps, harsh and cutting, “However, you still almost got Hana killed.”

(Blood, killing. They’re dead because of – )

(No, D.Va says forcibly, 76 knocks his foot against hers, and Hana can breathe again.)

There’s nothing McCree can say to that. His facial expression cycles through shock, anger, realization, and then settles into something neutral, his body posture relaxed even though the tension is evident in the way he tips his hat down over his face.

“We are a team,” Winston says, balanced on all four legs so he towers over everyone seated. “The lack of communication on all of your parts was not only breaking our rules – it had devastating consequences. Talon got the better of you while your guard was down, and you should all have known better than to go without a word.”

“Reinhardt went on his own – ”

“Reinhardt cleared the trip with me beforehand and had arranged discreet transportation, as well as emergency protocols - protocols that failed when McCree transferred all communication to Blackwatch channels,” Winston says, cutting Tracer off before she can finish. “He also told me when Genji chose to accompany him, though Genji should have told me himself.” Genji says something quiet and apologetic in Japanese, not interrupting Winston’s flow. “Lena, you and Jesse were the ones who came up with this plan, and though I understand your motives behind it, the way you executed it was unacceptable. Because of that, you are both grounded for the foreseeable future.”

To their credit, neither McCree nor Tracer protest beyond a harsh frown and a pout, respectively. Winston narrows his eyes at both to drive his point home before turning to other members at the table.

“Genji, this applies to you as well. Your injuries need to be tended to, and you failed to mention your secondary motive for going to Eichenwalde to both Reinhardt and myself.”

“Understood,” Genji says with a dip of his head.

“Hanzo,” Winston says, and now his voice has lost some of his flintiness, “You’ve stated that you’re willing to help us out. If so, you’re expected to follow the same directives and stipulations as everyone else, and for the meantime, I would keep you off of active duty until you’ve had some time to settle in. If this is acceptable, you are a welcome addition.”

“I understand,” Hanzo says; “You have my bow.”

“Lúcio – ”

“Yeah, I know,” Lúcio cuts Winston off. “Shouldn’t have gone. Shouldn’t have listened. Whatever. I don’t care what I have to do as long as something like this – ” and here he glances over at Hana – “doesn’t happen again.”

“My feelings precisely,” Winston says with a grave nod. “You’ll remain stationed at base for now and only take part in combat missions if Angela specifically asks for you. We’d also like you to overwrite shackles in Athena’s programming that keeps her from telling us about Blackwatch activity.”

Lúcio gives him a curt nod. “You got it.”

Winston hesitates for just a split-second before looking towards Hana. She notices it only because she’s been trying to make herself smaller and smaller and hopefully more unnoticeable; no such luck, as Winston meets her gaze squarely and she’s unable to look away, hands clenched and shaking in her lap.

“Hana,” he says, and his voice is firm but there’s concern laced in there somewhere, “You’ll be off combat missions until Angela gives us the green light.”

She exhales, slowly, and nods. Lúcio reaches over and puts his hand over one of hers, carefully manipulating her injured fingers until they rest open and relaxed across his palm, and she focuses on his warmth and her breathing as she continues to stare Winston straight in the eye.

“You’re expected daily in the medbay, though I’m sure you are already aware of that,” Winston goes on. “Dr. Ziegler will give you more instructions as time goes on, and while you also disobeyed direct orders, it would be ignorant of me to overlook your courage in Egypt. Whenever Overwatch becomes official, you’ll always be one of us.”

Hana doesn’t say anything to that, eyes dropping to the table, largely because it doesn’t feel like much of a reward. She’s already taken part in ops and she’s killed, rescued, and bled for Overwatch; she knows she has their support, but making it official seems unnecessary when she’s already put in so much. In some ways, it’s no different from the Korean military; what has Overwatch done that has helped the world?

“Does everyone understand, or should I go over it again?” Winston asks, finally shifting his gaze away from Hana’s. She flexes her fingers, squeezing Lúcio’s hand with her own as she tries to steady her breathing now that the attention’s finally off of her, and 76 gently taps her shoe with his again. “Just to be clear, this means you are not to leave base - not even to go into town. You can travel around base freely, but Athena will be monitoring closely to make sure you don’t try to do any midnight escapades.”

“It was one time,” Tracer grumbles. Winston ignores her.

“If you’re all in agreement, you’re dismissed,” Winston says; and then, more heavily as everyone rises to their feet, “Never again, that’s all I ask.”


Wednesday.

“Ah, Hana,” Genji says when she walks into the room. He and McCree appear to be locked in a game of Mario Kart, and Genji is, of course, winning by a landslide. “Good to see you.”

“Howdy, darlin’,” McCree echoes, looking over his shoulder. Genji takes the opportunity to smack the cowboy’s character off-screen, but McCree is unfazed when he looks back and sees that he’s been knocked into last place, instead dropping the controller onto the coffee table in front of him and leaning back to stretch. “Nice shirt.”

Hana looks down. She hadn’t been paying much attention to what she’d put on this morning, and with a half-hearted chuckle she realizes she’s wearing a shirt that says Up ‘Til Six, Asleep Past Noon. “It is fourteen hundred hours,” she points out.

“It’s high noon somewhere out in the world,” McCree says as if quoting an old proverb, a small grin on his face. It fades when Hana doesn’t smile back, and then he sighs and hefts himself to his feet as Genji handily speeds past the coms in the game. “Speakin’ of which, I gotta go get checked out by Angel fer using Deadeye again. Good gettin’ destroyed by you as always, Genj.”

“Don’t forget to get medication for your migraines,” Genji calls after him as Hana picks her way over and plops down in the spot McCree had just vacated. It’s still warm as McCree calls back an affirmative, and she watches with a sense of detachment as the race ends and goes to standings, then picks up McCree’s controller as Genji and Hana pick their racers. From there it’s quick navigation to the race course selection screen, and Hana shakes her head when Genji checks to see if she has a preference for a map.

“Loser steals Jesse’s hat,” Genji says as the countdown ticks down.

“Fine,” Hana agrees, almost listless, and then the race begins.

She quickly finds that it’s hard to focus. It’s not that she ever needs to look down at her fingers, or that her hand-eye coordination is off – she’s just unable to get the turns she needs in order to really win against Genji, or maybe she’s just not really interested in trying to do them, she’s not sure – but whatever the case, Genji knocks her out of first place in less than a minute, and she doesn’t miss the way he snaps a quick glance towards her when it happens. She ignores it. She keeps ignoring them right up until her red shell lets her speed past a com, and then her fingers flare up in bright, burning pain and the controller clatters to the carpeted floor as she hisses, clutching her hand to her chest.

(He’s not here, D.Va reassures, warmth suffusing the words, blanketing her. You’re safe.)

Genji pauses the game instantly and the holoprojector blinks off without him touching the remote, and then he’s taken her hand gently in his and she notes with detachment that one of her fingers is bleeding through the bandages again. She must’ve hit a scab on a joystick or something in her distraction; Dr. Ziegler’s reminder not to do so much with her hands echoes in the back of her skull, and she lets out a long sigh.

(Scatterbrained, D.Va says; not your fault. More acidly, accompanied with a forced repression of a dark, rasping laugh: His.)

“I should have been more careful,” Genji says, mostly to himself as he flips his visor up to get a closer look; frustrated, if Hana’s reading into it right. “We need to wait for your fingernails to grow more before you should do anything like this. I am sorry.”

“It is not your fault,” Hana says, twitching her fingers slightly and grimacing at the pain that accompanies the motion. Genji lets her draw her hand, eyebrows furrowed as he watches her gently tap the fingertip of her bleeding index finger. “I forgot about it.”

The cyborg tilts his head at her. It’s moments like these that he’s most humanlike, Hana notes, as he says, “You forget that easily?”

“I try not to think too much,” Hana says without thinking, and then she immediately regrets her raw honesty. Genji is not 76, a friend but not trusted the same way, and knowing he could see such a side of her – she manages to muster a small smile instead. “That must sound weird to you.”

“Not at all,” Genji says, surprisingly serious. His eyes are steady on hers, unblinking in their focus, omnic in nature yet human in how they reflect the afternoon light. “You know what happened between me and Hanzo. I understand better than most people, I think.”

Curious; Hanzo had said the same thing. Perhaps both brothers were not as different as they thought, and her expression must give it away, because Genji sits back slightly, incredulity in his voice as he says, “You do not know?”

“I have not spoken to Hanzo much,” Hana admits, deciding to omit her conversation with him on Monday. “All I know is that Tracer has yet to stop avoiding him and McCree is still very cautious.”

“Yes, that does sound like them. – Don’t be afraid to ask me of something in the future.” Genji’s smile is barely visible under the base of his mask, and he says, “Hanzo tried to kill me.”

(Blood, killing; they’re dead because of – )

(Not your fault, D.Va interrupts, again. His.)

He makes it sound like he had just made a remark about the weather. Hana stares, unable to form words for a moment before they start bubbling up in Korean and she has to swallow them down. Genji’s expression remains entirely unchanged; amused, perhaps, maybe a bit flustered and embarrassed as he ducks his head, and then she repeats, in English, “Hanzo tried to kill you.”

“He would have succeeded if not for Angela,” Genji tells her.

Hana is struck with sudden clarity about Hanzo’s talk with her earlier that week: like Genji, he thought he could understand her on a base level, more than others. It’s little wonder he sees something in her that he wants to replicate – despite all odds, she hadn’t once turned back on her ideals and morals, but Hanzo had, and he sought something in her psyche to tell him why. She isn’t sure if he would find an answer, and even more importantly, she knows he will never really discover why Genji has forgiven him. She doesn’t think she will, either, as she repeats, “He tried to kill you and yet you both act like children together anyway.”

“We are brothers,” Genji says quite plainly, which explains nothing, and he elaborates, “It was not easy, of course. When I first met him in this form, he did not believe it was me, for good reason. That was over a year ago in Hanamura.”

“Hanamura?” Hana says, a little surprised. “I was there a few months ago. That is where Seventy-six found me.”

“Really?” Genji says, eyes widening. She’s heard from both Tracer and McCree that Genji used to sleep around, before he became what he is now; she can see it in the way he looks at people, intense and as if there is no one else but them. It’s more intimidating than anything, what with the omnic augmentations in him that allow him to do so unblinkingly. “You never did tell me how the two of you met.”

“It is not a long story.”

“I wouldn’t mind hearing it.”

“Tell me about Hanzo first.”

And so Genji does.

The story is lengthy, if only because Genji first lays down the foundation for what ultimately occurred – “the day I died,” he calls it, to which Hana shudders and he backtracks immediately, sensing his mistake – and then afterwards, the bildungsroman of how he became who he is today, copious mentions of Zenyatta and finding harmony in disorder. It’s inspiring and overwhelming and peculiar and odd, at least to Hana, because Genji is so many juxtapositions at once. It’s incredible he is so functional.

“It was only after all of this that I decided to confront Hanzo personally,” Genji tells Hana eventually. “He always made the pilgrimage back to the Shimada estate once a year, on the day he... on the day I was brought to Overwatch. Burned incense and meditated. Old-school, like he always is.” He sounds fond.

“I am guessing it did not end well,” Hana says, because this is Overwatch and nothing ever ends well.

“He thought I was there to kill him,” Genji says, “Which isn’t completely surprising, considering I had been a major component in taking down our family in the first place. – Regardless, he attacked me, I defended myself, and it was when I had him at my mercy did I have an opportunity to explain. He did not believe it was me.”

“Not entirely surprising.”

“I was disappointed, to be honest,” Genji says with a laugh. “My own ignorance, of course. It is jarring to see someone you thought was dead come back to life, and my execution of reaching out to him was indelicate at best.”

The thought of Genji doing anything delicately would make Hana laugh if she hadn’t seen the way he interacted with Zenyatta. “What happened afterwards?”

Nothing much, as it turned out. Genji followed Hanzo around for a nearly a year, continually making contact, oftentimes with Zenyatta at his side. It would be months before Hanzo stopped attacking him on sight, a few more before Hanzo actually spoke with him – but then mere days, weeks, and then Genji shrugs and says, “I guess he finally decided I was his little brother after all. I suppose it isn’t hard to recognize me, though.”

She gives him a look, purposefully shifting her eyes to his omnic body before looking to his face. Genji has the grace to shift, though the grin on his face is nothing but shit-eating. “Why?”

“He tells me I have changed so much, yet very little. I am not entirely sure what he means by that,” Genji says, before saying thoughtfully, “Though he does say I have the same fighting style as I always have, complete with a twitch before I take my sword out to deflect. Something like that. He’s very cryptic, you’ll find.”

Not at all, Hana thinks; she and Genji are friends, sure, but she and Hanzo are far more similar than she had anticipated. “That is quite the tale.”

“Spanning over many years, of course,” Genji says, smile dampening into something less bright but no less happy, “And not including my time in Blackwatch. Most of those stories are not something I would share with anyone, to be honest.” He’s quiet for a few moments. Hana lets him be, watching his eyes blink slowly as he goes through his thoughts, and then he’s glancing up again with a devilish smile on what she can see of his lips. “Tell me about Jack.”

It’s strange to see Genji like this, Hana thinks; open and vulnerable, his face laced and crisscrossed with scars and marks and flecks. He’s bared his life story and his scars to her without so much as a blink out of place, and suddenly she’s struck with the idea that Genji may be just as clever as Hanzo, albeit in a different way. She would have to pay more attention to her words and actions in the future; he has likely been reading her just as closely as his brother, noting every hesitance, coaxing her out of her shell with the same amount of effort as breathing.

(They are your friends, D.Va says, you do not need to be cautious.)

(Hana can’t help it, these days. Dr. Ziegler’s told her paranoia is a symptom of PTSD, but even then, it’s no easier to keep in check.)

“We were in Hanamura partly to investigate your brother, actually,” Hana says, and then amends, “My MEKA squad and myself. Seventy-six was there because of Overwatch rumors. That is the other part we were investigating.”

“Hanzo did mention that he had extra difficulty moving through Hanamura during that time,” Genji says. “I did not realize South Korea had an interest in Japanese affairs.”

“I did not, either,” Hana says with a grimace. “I still do not know why we were there. All I know is that we were ordered to go and that we would be stationed there for some time.”

“Military,” Genji says with a shake of his head, grinning, though it fades when Hana doesn’t smile back, and he moves on quickly enough. “And, what, Jack spirited you away?”

“I was curious about Overwatch,” Hana says. “I – I think I wanted to leave parts of my history behind, too.”

She doesn’t elaborate. Thankfully, Genji doesn’t pry. “Interesting,” he says instead. “A few words from Jack and you followed him just like that. Seems he hasn’t changed much.”

“It is more complicated than that, but essentially.”

“That much is clear,” Genji agrees, and his expression is a mix between bewildered and amused as he says, almost as if it might be a secret, “He dotes on you. It’s adorable.”

“Thanks,” she grouses, because being reduced to an object in relation to someone else is always fun and happens almost constantly in her life. There’s a reason she never searches her name online, and her relationship with 76 is much more complicated and fulfilling than what Genji has effectively reduced it to.

“It’s good, really,” Genji says, half-wistful, half-serious. “I never ran into him while he was doing his vigilante thing, but – I think you are more than an integral part of Overwatch, Hana. One way or another, you are bringing us all together.”

(Do not listen to him, D.Va urges immediately.)

(What makes you think I wanted that? she thinks, small and vulnerable. She made friends in order to bond with her team, not to – not to fix cracks in friendships, not to help others cope, she has enough trouble keeping herself safe, he means well but he can’t know how much that hurts.)

“That was not the right thing to say,” Genji says, and Hana realizes with a start everything must have been showing on her face – that she’s giving him a deer-in-the-headlights look, and his expression softens. “I forget, sometimes, that I know you well through your streams – but in reality, I do not know you nearly as well as I think I do.”

“It’s okay,” she says on autopilot.

“It’s not,” Genji says, echoing Hanzo’s words, and it’s only now that she’s hearing them again that she begins to wonder if they actually do hold some weight.


Thursday.

Hello, everyone!

I’ve been getting a lot of questions of why I haven’t been streaming at all this week, and the simple answer is this!

[Uploaded [OwMyHand.png]]

[PHOTO DESCRIPTION: MY HANDS, BANDAGED. BECAUSE I GOT HURT AND IT SUCKS.]

I had a little bit of a run-in with some unpleasant people the other day, which ended up with me getting my fingers hurt. It’s not as bad as it looks, but right now, it’s very painful to play Starcraft. It actually hurts a bit to type this up! So because of those unpleasant people, I haven’t been able to play any games or do anything that involves my hands, really. Even eating with chopsticks has gotten a bit out of hand (haha, get it?).

I’m sorry I’ve been neglecting all of you lovely people, and I promise I’ll get back into the swing of things as soon as my fingers have healed up a bit more. Until then, I appreciate your patience, and thanks for supporting me even when it’s been a little chaotic on my end. Game on and talk to you all soon!

Love,
D.Va ;)


Friday.

“ – and in yet another attack made by the infamous Junker duo, priceless artifacts from the National Commission for Museums and Monuments in Lagos, Nigeria, have been stolen or destroyed. The duo is known for their indiscriminate use of explosives and complete disregard for any innocents caught in the crossfire. The full extent of damage is  still unknown and the death count continues to rise –

“Pause that,” 76 says, “Right there,” and Athena complies, freezing the frame where the earnest news anchor is staring right at his viewers, eyes wide. It’s footage from a cell phone, shaky and filled with loud noises and fire, and Hana is unable to look away from the ecstatic face of a young, lanky man, lips pulled back to show a wide smile. Behind him there is a monster, a figure of giant proportions and a jagged metal hook and a gas mask that hides his entire face. “Zoom in on the demolition expert’s harness, to the left.”

When Athena does so, they see what 76 had noticed: the Talon insignia, small and inconspicuous, neatly embroidered across the straps holding bombs close to the man’s chest.

(Demolitions expert, D.Va murmurs. Accurate, but unorthodox. Hana appreciates the distraction.)

No one says anything for a moment. When someone does speak, Hana is surprised to hear Satya’s voice, cool and even.

“His name is Jamison Fawkes,” the architech says, sweeping long hair over her shoulder. Her eyes are narrowed slightly, focused entirely on the picture projected before them. “His companion is Mako Rutledge. Vishkar has been investigating them for the past year, ever since they began their rampage across the globe.”

“That’s more intel than international authorities have,” Winston says, squinting as he surveys Satya from head to toe. “Why hasn’t Vishkar shared this knowledge?”

“I have broken several rules just by speaking of it,” Satya says, her voice temporarily losing its confidence, just for a flicker of a moment, before she goes on, “From what I understand, it is deemed an internal affair, given how they have caused damages to many areas of Vishkar redevelopment.” Lúcio scoffs, mutters serves you right; Satya ignores him. “They are mercenaries, selling their services to the highest bidder. It would be possible to ensure they do not cause us trouble if Overwatch hired them out instead.”

“That is going to be a lot of money,” Winston murmurs, though Hana can tell he’s already turning the option over in his mind. “I can’t imagine fighting them would be a walk in the park, however, otherwise Talon wouldn’t have hired them.”

Satya nods once, stiffly, and Hana watches as she folds her hands across her lap, eyes drifting down towards the surface of the table. Discussion springs up around her, but the architech apparently has nothing else to add – and Hana wonders just how much breaking Vishkar’s rules has rattled her.


Saturday.

Hana spends her entire day restless and exhausted and numb. Sessions early in the morning with Dr. Ziegler tend to leave her like that, and it was with no small sense of relief that 76 eventually finds her aimlessly wandering around and drags her outside to a quiet perch. It’s a balcony of sorts, right outside one of the training ranges, and it’s clear it is a typical spot to rest due to pillows being scattered about in the corner. 76 settles her inside a pile of them before seating himself beside her, and she curls up against him and focuses hard on her heartbeat, steady and regular, hands held loosely in front of her and aching with a dull, pulsing pain.

She should’ve asked for painkillers. In all the rush, she’d forgotten, or maybe Dr. Ziegler had offered and Hana had said no. She doesn’t remember. Or maybe she does, but she’s trying her hardest not to remember anything right now, and so she stares at the sunlight reflecting off of the ocean’s waves and nudges her mind elsewhere.

(Better check Starcraft stats, D.Va muses. Gotta make sure we’re still up top.)

Hana lets out an exhale through her nose, just a hint of a laugh, and leaves it at that. She’s not rusty, but even a few days off can be disastrous and her hands have gotten much better since her Thursday blog post. She’d stream herself tomorrow and see if some of her competitors would be willing to have a go at her. Generally, they don’t because they get crushed every time, but if she uses the ‘I haven’t played in a couple of days’ card... But her best competitors are in Korea right now, training and waiting until the giant omnic in the sea showed its head, and the timezones would be a disaster. Not to mention the ping. She couldn’t – she can’t –

Stop, she thinks.

(You’re fine, D.Va says, and no, she’s not, but D.Va knows it’s a lie so Hana doesn’t bother correcting her.)

“Hana,” 76 says, pulling her back into the present; he’s been watching her, as best as his pale blue eyes can watch her without his visor, and her eyes lift to settle on his face. He’d detected her lapse in attention, it seems, though his expression is neutral as he nudges his shoulder against her frame. “Feeling better?”

“A little,” she says honestly. She’s tired, mostly, but sleeping is out of question, not with rehashed memories so close to the surface. Instead she says, “Tell me a story.”

He acquiesces with a nod. “What kind?”

“Anything.”

For 76, this means a story about Overwatch, since he’s not a great storyteller and it’s all he’s ever known, in the end. Hana knows this. He knows this, and he lets it pass and settles back against the wall they are leaning against.

“Angela and Jesse hated each other’s guts, back in the day,” he says after a moment, clearly resisting the fond smile tugging insistently at his lips. Hana watches his face for a few moments before letting her eyes rest and drop towards the floor, clean and smooth. Athena and her bots’ handiwork, no doubt. “First time they met, Jesse said something belittling her intelligence, maybe. Angela responded about how he was a little young to be felon. Kind of snowballed from there.”

“Angela has not changed much, I am guessing,” Hana says.

“She’s much more contained nowadays. Hard to get a read on her.” 76 shrugs; that’s apparently all he has to say on the subject. “Anyway, if they were on base together, you couldn’t go an hour without one of them shouting at the other. Ana got so tired of refereeing she eventually just shot them both with a sleep dart to shut them up.”

“Is that where she picked up the habit?”

“Oh. Yeah,” 76 says, and it’s obvious he’s remembering the whole Ana reintroduction before everything in Egypt and Eichenwalde went down, given how he quickly steers the conversation away. “They grew out of it eventually, though. You’ve noticed that Jesse only ever calls her Angel, I’m sure.”

“Yes.”

“Think it came about on one of the missions they had together for some reason. She’d just begun testing her Valkyrie suit, first time she was using it in the field. Jesse got shot a few times and was bleeding out on the ground, and when she flew over to him, he was incoherent enough to think she was an angel. Hasn’t called her anything else since.”

Hana hums at that. “Dr. Ziegler probably did not like that.”

“Not at first, but she never stopped him, so I suppose it grew on her. Think it was supposed to be an inside joke at her expense, but given how many times she was saving his life, maybe it wasn’t much of an exaggeration.” The fond smile is now fully present on his face, eyes half-lidded as he stares into the horizon. “Turning point of their friendship, I think. Jesse used to complain constantly every time Angela was the one taking a look at him, mostly because she was the best and Blackwatch agents tended to get the worst injuries. After that, though, he’d ask for her specifically.”

“The old Overwatch and Blackwatch sound fun.”

“Some parts of it were,” 76 admits, and then, more quietly, “Still not entirely sure Overwatch right now is a good idea, but at least I’m here to keep an eye out.”

She huffs a laugh – that was entirely typical of 76, and of Jack, she’s beginning to learn. “And do what?”

“Grab you and run for it if everything goes wrong?” he says dryly, and then, at her chuckle, he says, “Someone’s gotta lead the combat missions, and until I can train someone, the duty falls to me. Might as well see it through.”

Hana knows it’s more than just that, but 76 has told her more than ever before and she’s not about to push. Instead she brings her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around them, shifting until her back is pressed against 76’s arm, tucking her chin between her knees and trying to imagine what Overwatch used to be like. More agents, for one; more workers to keep things running smoothly, too, though she imagines Athena is able to do the same thing using bots and parts of her processing runtimes. If Overwatch ever became legal, perhaps Hana would be able to see what history books lauded. Perhaps.

“Hana.”

“Hm.”

“Mind if I ask you something?”

Interesting that he asks permission. Even Genji went ahead and poked around until finding something he shouldn’t have touched before retreating as fast as he could. In any case, she nods, marginally. She knows he’ll feel it, and indeed he does as he presses on, “You ever regret going pro as a gamer?”

(A loaded question, D.Va murmurs.)

Hana thinks of home; of emptiness, of stillness, of cold.  (No, she whispers, it is an easy answer: it was an escape. Nothing more, nothing less.)

(As if he’d understand.)

(A crayfish sides with a crab, Hana says softly.)

(D.Va is silent for a moment. Lying is also a means, she says at last, and Hana exhales slowly.)

“It hardly matters,” Hana says after a beat; “It is done. I am here. I do what I must.”

76 sighs. Hana is immediately on edge, slightly – she’d said something wrong, or at least 76 had looked right through her. Not that that is surprising. She’s good at deceiving others, but 76 knows her tells just as she knows his.

“You enjoy video games,” he says, tilting his head back so it rests against the wall. “That much is obvious. You’re reigning champion in whatever that one game is called – ” he chuckles lightly when she mutters Starcraft under her breath – “and it’s clear you’ve put a lot of time into it. With all that in mind, I don’t see how you could regret it.” Hana furrows her brow, hearing the unspoken but, holding carefully still when he pauses; she exhales slowly when he finishes, “I’m sorry, for what it’s worth. I’m sorry for dragging you into this mess. I’m sorry you had to get involved between me and Gabe. And I’m sorry that – you got hurt because of it.”

It’s a long, long time before Hana can feel her blood rushing through her veins, reminding her that she’s alive; that she can feel her lungs compress, decompress, air whooshing in and out and keeping her heart pumping. He thinks it’s his fault, she thinks, almost dizzy, and the situation almost makes her want to laugh because he’s right, it is, but – but it also –

“I forgive you,” she says, watching his shoulders hitch at her words. “For everything. It is not your fault that I ended up this way, in the end.”

His neutral tone sounds forced as he says, “Meaning?”

She wiggles a hand free and makes a vague motion at nothing in particular. 76 waits for her to figure out what she wants to say, for her brain to translate the Korean mess that are her feelings into the language he can understand.

“Broken,” she decides on at last; “I was broken long before I met you.”

(Take the shot, her handler says, and so she does, and she sees the blood and smells something awful and take the shot, her handler says, and she does it again, and she thinks Si-yeon is retching a few feet away and take the shot, her handler says, and this time she doesn’t take her finger off of the trigger.)

(She grows numb, after a while. It’s just a game, isn’t it? Even if Hyun never did make it back home, right?)

76 lets out a low hum at that. For a moment, nothing is said, his warmth pressed against her spine, his presence more reassuring than anything else; the silence is filled with waves cresting and falling on the shore, wind slithering through her hair, her heartbeat whispering in her ears. It’s calming and infinitesimal, and she relishes the sense of peace it brings her.

“This is about D.Va, isn’t it?” he asks.

(So limited in scope, D.Va says.)

“Yes,” Hana says. Amends, “Kind of. It is – everything. You know I was underage when I was drafted.”

“I do.”

“My father pulled strings to get me in sooner,” Hana says, and the words come out matter-of-fact. “He was offered many incentives and benefits by the military. All of the MEKA operators’ parents were. Some of us were as young as thirteen, and they lied about our ages to the press or did not reveal our presence in their ranks until we turned eighteen.” If they lived to be eighteen, she adds silently, and she thinks he picks up on it.

76 says nothing. He’s grown tense, though, and Hana pretends not to notice.

“The situation was desperate, at the time,” she goes on, flipping through the facts and ignoring the memories; “Thousands dead because of the omnic in the sea, because of its control over omnics on land, because of the way it could wipe out cities in a heartbeat. Human supporters who believed the hacked omnics could be saved were slaughtered with them – the first time I really killed, I guess. I do not know. It seemed like a game at the time.” She hesitates, murmurs, “The destruction at Eichenwalde reminded me of home.”

“You’re not shitting me right now,” 76 says, a statement more than a question, and his voice is tight and taut, like a string about to snap.

She nods, and then reassures him, “D.Va has been with me far longer than you have known me. What happened with – him was your fault, but how I became the person I am today was not.”

“Hana – ”

“I forgive you, because you couldn’t have known this would have happened,” Hana says, staring down at her bandaged fingers; a reminder, a warning. “You need not apologize for what came before.”

He doesn’t say anything to that. Hana doesn’t expect him to, settling back into her balled-up form, and she rocks slightly back and forth as she lets her mind wander, away from what used to be and towards what is. She should really see if some of her MEKA squad would be willing to speak with her; if nothing else, she needs the blueprints for her mech at the most basic level, and it would do her well to play a few rounds of Starcraft with them. The distraction would be a welcome one.

(It is important to make friends and more important to keep them, D.Va agrees.)

“Your father made you enlist early?” 76 asks at last, and – and oh. She should’ve known he would focus on that, and the fact he does is, in its own inexplicable way, endlessly reassuring.

“Yes,” Hana says. “It was for the best, in his mind. I spent all of my time on Starcraft. I did not excel in school because I had no time to do homework, not when I was constantly practicing for upcoming tournaments.” She shrugs. “I would be doing good for my country while doing something I loved. At the time, I also thought it would be a good fit.”

For a long moment, 76 merely stares at her; she can feel his gaze burning a hole in the back of her skull. After a second or two of it, she turns to look at him, too, meeting his eyes and gauging his reaction.

“Do you regret going pro as a gamer?” he asks at last.

(A loaded question, D.Va whispers.)

“Yes,” Hana says; amends, “A little,” and she knows it’s the truth.


Sunday.

“All right, everyone. I know it’s rather early in the morning – ” and Winston sighs when Tracer yawns loudly and overdramatically, though the entirety of the conference room appears ready to follow her lead – “but considering she’s just arrived, we’ll make an exception. Team, this is Fareeha Amari, call sign Pharah.”

The woman who stands at the front of the room is tall, poised, beautiful. Hana watches her snap off a crisp, parade ground salute, dressed in comfy-casual clothes that allow her a wide degree of movement. Her shoulders are back, her stance wide, her chin lifted, eyes sweeping across those seated in the conference room’s table; it’s obvious she’s military, through and through, and Hana drops her eyes to her lap, reaching over to grasp 76’s jacket lightly between her fingers.

She’s not the only one intimidated. Nearby, Ana is watching her daughter with an almost hawklike look to her sharp face, as if unsure of who she is or how to approach her. Hana doesn’t spend too long looking, though, because Ana doesn’t miss much of anything and she certainly wouldn’t appreciate Hana noticing her hesitance, and that’s when 76 reaches over and covers Hana’s fingers lightly with his.

“Helix has been kind enough to grant me some leave to see what Overwatch is all about,” Pharah explains before Winston can continue his introduction. Her smile is straight and white and her eyeliner is perfectly winged. “I look forward to serving with you.”

“Fareeha’s greatest asset is her aerial mobility,” Winston says with a nod to the woman. She cedes the floor with a slight bend of her waist, and Winston goes on, “Helix has also been generous enough to grant her access to her Raptora suit, which means we’ll be able to see that benefit in the field. Additionally, Helix is grateful for the assist in rooting out a Talon cell in their own backyard, so they have pledged funding and supplies to Overwatch.”

“My superiors have also begun lobbying for the repeal of the Petras Act,” Pharah adds. “From what I understand, the U.N. is set to vote on the matter in a number of weeks. Perhaps we will be able to help sway their opinion.”

“After this, I promise we can all go and eat breakfast,” Winston says, and everyone gives him a suspicious look until he says, “And by this, I mean introductions. We’ll just go around the table, nothing fancy.”

“Name and call sign if you’ve got one at the very least,” McCree says before the anyone can start. Winston gives him a Look and McCree shrugs, unapologetic.

“Fareeha Amari, Pharah,” Pharah answers, giving McCree a close-lipped smile as if suppressing amusement. From appearances, it seems that the two know each other, especially when McCree gives the woman a cheeky wave.

“Lena Oxton, Tracer,” Tracer says, grinning as she flicks off a much more casual salute.

It goes around the table after that. Hana watches Pharah’s eyes fall upon her mother and refuse to move away when it’s Ana’s turn, and Hana gets the sense she should probably make herself scarce as soon as the meeting is adjourned; it’s likely the reunion that has been a long time coming will become rather heartfelt.

“Hana Song, D.Va,” she says dutifully when her turn comes around.

76 doesn’t say anything right away, doing the thing where he thinks about too many things at once, and Hana can visibly see when he decides fuck it and says, “Jack Morrison, Soldier: 76,” and Pharah’s head whips around so quickly Hana thinks she might have snapped her own neck. Her mouth is ajar and she casts her mother what appears to be an accusatory glance, to which Ana shrugs, and then Hanzo finishes up with his name and Winston calls for the end of the meeting and Hana gets to her feet.

“Breakfast, then practice range,” she tells 76, eyeing the way Pharah is watching 76 as Ana pats Reinhardt’s arm before she pushes past to talk to her daughter.

“Good idea,” 76 says, not at all missing what Hana is trying to accomplish, and she’s thankful for that small mercy, at least: that she and 76 can still read each other without speaking, and so she hooks her hand through his elbow and lets companionable silence fall as they begin the short trek back towards the mess hall.

Chapter Text

It’s almost certainly because of 76 that Hana has slowly become a morning person – or, at least, she isn’t grouching nearly as much as she should when someone knocks on her door at nine hundred hours. That might also have to do with her recently-developed inability to sleep for long bursts of time, but she’s not going to split hairs as she shoves her feet into her bunny slippers and pads over to the door, gently rubbing the sand from her eyes as she opens it.

Naturally, it’s 76, in full uniform. Actual uniform this time, official Overwatch wear, which means black BDUs, wide swaths of deep blue cresting over his shoulders and in straight lines down the sides of his pants, boots, gloves, all of it relatively skintight to ensure his body armor doesn’t strangle him to death. On the left shoulder is the emblem of the Overwatch of old, and Hana blinks at the whole getup for a second or two before looking up to meet his eyes.

“Are we official now?” she asks, trailing off at the end to hide a yawn behind her hand.

“Seems so,” 76 says, giving a quick glance down to the white-and-gold symbol emblazoned on his shoulder. His visor is off, so she’s able to see his lightning-quick grimace before it’s gone and he’s looking at her again. “Just wanted to drop by quickly, give you a heads-up. We’re going off to Saint Petersburg for a few days. You’ll be fine on your own?”

Hana holds his gaze, feeling the uncertainty play across her face. Once upon a time she would have scoffed and told him that she wasn’t a child, but after everything that’s happened, she’s not sure if that would be a fair and accurate response. Certainly she’s not a kid, but while she could function easily enough on her own, she knows already that doing so could jeopardize her health; whether she likes it or not, she needs to rely on others, and 76 knows that he is one of her most important anchors. The idea of being separated from him makes her stomach clench – but it would be unfair to keep back Overwatch’s only experienced combat leader because of her. She knows it, and so does he.

“I will keep myself occupied,” she replies, shrugging slightly. She’s simultaneously too tired and too awake to really think everything through. “You should focus on the mission. I will be fine.”

“Comm me if you need to. Anytime. For anything.”

And that, more than anything, feels like a sucker punch to the gut and a heavy hand on her shoulder at the same time. No one has her back like 76 is watching hers, and it hits her that not being able to find him at any point in time, even late at night, is going to be hard but she’s going to have to manage. She can manage. She managed before she met him, after all, but her reliance on him wore away at her resolve to handle things alone and only alone and she can’t even find it in herself to be ashamed of her feebleness, not when she’s felt so much more composed and calm and centered since she’s come to terms with the simple fact that needing help isn’t weak.

She holds back a waterfall of Korean by biting her lip and instead nods, once, firmly, and when she raises her arms to him he’s quick to hug her back. And if she holds on for a bit longer and a bit tighter than usual, well, no one can blame her, and it’s with a tinge of fear and much reluctance that she releases him and steps back, sniffing once as he clicks his visor into place. Separation shouldn’t affect her this much, but – she’s always been like this, really, even back in Korea. Too soft, too empathetic, her handler would tell her; let go, don’t think. It’s just a game. You show no mercy in Starcraft, do the same here, it’s the same thing, and she’s glad that she never listened.

“Come back safe,” she tells him.

“Don’t be afraid to reach out,” 76 replies, reaching over to fix her pajama shirt; the collar is half popped, half not, and he creases it until both sides match. “Angela won’t be here, but Lúcio and Genji will be. Hanzo, too.”

The fact that he’s noticed that she’s built friendships with these people is weird in the way that it’s – it’s that most authority figures in her life tend to not give a shit about what she does in her free time. He’s acting like a father would act, and the thought makes her smile despite her uneasiness. “I know. I will be... watchful, of my condition. I will comm you if it gets really bad.”

“Good.” A beat. “Take care of yourself, Hana.”

She snaps a salute off to him just for kicks and giggles, earning her a chuckle as 76 nods once at her, pivots on his heel, and walks down the length of the hallway and turn the corner. She’s not sure what could possibly be in St. Petersburg to warrant a full-blown operation with 76 at the head, but she suspects she’ll find out in due time as she closes the door to her room and resigns herself to getting dressed. Usually the act of doing so gets the ball rolling and she manages to get out and actually eat something, but then again, nothing’s ever a guarantee.

(You have to figure out what’s in Saint Petersburg, D.Va reminds her, and so Hana pulls on a pair of jeans and a bra and a shirt and brushes her hair and even applies basic makeup.)

The mess hall is relatively empty – most of the base is either already working or still sleeping at this point – but Hanzo is seated at one of the tables, silently eating the last of what appears to be some kind of soup from a bowl as McCree reclines across from him, flicking through a datapad. They appear to be ignoring each other, though she feels that that could be better accomplished if they were not sitting so close, and when she walks by, both immediately glance over as if grateful for the distraction.

“Good morning,” she says, slightly quizzical, and McCree, at least, looks slightly embarrassed. Hanzo is as inscrutable as ever, and she peeks over McCree’s shoulder to see he’s reading something related to Sydney, Australia. She assesses the situation, briefly, and decides not to address the elephant in the room. “Are there still leftover noodles in the refrigerator?”

“Yes,” Hanzo says, and then, “I will come with you,” as he gets to his feet, bowl empty. McCree murmurs what could have been a pleasantry, intent on his datapad, and together Hana and Hanzo leave him to it, her matching her steps to Hanzo so he is the first into the kitchen. She’s starting to get a sense of what the whole situation back there had been, given the slight slump of Hanzo’s shoulders as soon as he is out of McCree’s line of sight, and the thought makes her grin.

“Genji put you up to it, I am guessing,” she says, opening the fridge to fish through it. Per Hanzo’s word, there is a single bowl with noodles and veggies in a broth he and Reinhardt had thrown together at the last second the day before, and she extracts it with care to put in the pot Hanzo had fetched for her. She could microwave it, but there’s something more organic about using the stove, she’s found.

“Indeed,” Hanzo says with a weary sigh. It appears he’s been up for a while already, considering his attire is impeccably clean and his hair perfectly coiffed; he puts much value in his appearance, surprisingly enough, or perhaps that isn’t surprising at all. “I am not sure what he is expecting. McCree and Lena have made it quite clear where they stand.”

“You could have left.”

He sniffs. “It was a matter of pride.”

“Of course it was.” Hana contemplates getting a wooden spoon to stir the noodles but decides against it; that makes one more thing to wash later, so she just grabs a pair of chopsticks and uses those. “I would say you are both being ridiculous, but then again, McCree has known Genji longer than I have.”

“You would do the same for a squadmate of your own, no doubt,” Hanzo points out.

Hana pauses at that, stirring the noodles again in a contemplative silence. There had never been a situation where her squadmate had a tragic backstory – most professional gamers, after all, had financial backing that allowed them to pursue their careers without worry, to buy quality equipment and pay for travel expenses and competitions and things. If anything, the only tragedy was how young most of her compatriots were; there were certainly those above twenty, but most were her age if not younger.

“It would depend on which squadmate, I suppose,” Hana says at last, seeing the broth bubble and thus turning off the stove. Hanzo leans on the counter, arms over his chest, and watches as she carefully pours the noodles back into the bowl whence they had come, this time hot and steaming. “Most I did not know beyond their battle tags. Even within the infantry squads, I only knew Hyun and Siyeon by name because they had no tags, and neither of them lasted the first fight.”

“Odd,” Hanzo says, and Hana is grateful he doesn’t pursue the unspoken point. “I would expect the Korean government to foster friendship and camaraderie between its soldiers, especially when you are all young. They did not?”

“We did not have the luxury,” Hana says; “If you will recall, we were first brought together as the giant omnic in the sea was attacking us. We were lucky to be able to repel it at all, the first time.” She shrugs, dipping her chopsticks into the soup. “Battling to life or death has a way of bringing people together.”

Hanzo grunts, staring off into some point in space as Hana delicately places noodles in her mouth. Reinhardt had, of course, outdone himself with the broth, and since it had been Hanzo, not Genji, who had been involved in the kitchen this time around, the noodles are good and soft, not so much that they break apart but just enough to know that they are perfectly cooked. The vegetables are just an added bonus.

“I imagine you’ve heard about the mission in Russia,” Hanzo says after a moment, and, naturally, he doesn’t phrase it as a question.

“I have,” Hana says anyway, around a mouthful of noodles.

“Perhaps you are ready for a lesson, then? You did ask, and I intend to deliver.”

Hana considers it. She’d been planning on finding Lúcio, since the DJ tended to be very good at pulling her from her thoughts when they got too overwhelming, but – she expects he’ll be busy finishing up things in the medbay, given Dr. Ziegler is currently en route to Saint Petersburg. Genji is likely with Zenyatta and McCree looks to be busy with research, not that Hana would seek him out specifically for anything. Satya had mentioned the other day that she was working on a new prototype for her teleporter, so she’s probably busy.

Typically, this is when Hana would retreat to her room and flick through her games library until she found something to settle on. Unfortunately, her fingers, while no longer bleeding, are still sore, delicate, and a little puffy, so it would likely be best not to aggravate them further, especially without Dr. Ziegler’s Caduceus tech for quick healing.  Plus, she had given Hanzo her word that they would be friends, which sounds extremely weird when she parses it in her mind, but that’s the way it went so that’s how it must go.

“I cannot do any archery,” Hana says.

“That is fine,” Hanzo says. “You wanted to learn stealth as well. We will start simple.”

There isn’t much to say after that. Hana finishes her noodles and puts her bowl and chopsticks in the dishwasher, Hanzo bides his time by remaining eerily still, eyes slightly unfocused as he burns a hole in one of the cupboards, and then they’re walking out of the kitchen, McCree gives Hana another lazy wave at her called farewell, and it’s down to the training ranges.

(Stealth, D.Va echoes. That will come in handy if we ever run into him again.)

Hanzo guides her on how to walk so her footsteps are silence: ball of the foot hits the ground first, then she curves the outside of her foot to the ground, carefully pressing her weight to her heel until she can lift her other foot and repeat the process. She can’t do it very quickly – it involves so much thought, too much focus – but Hanzo demonstrates that she would eventually be able to almost sprint across battlefields in relative silence once she adjusts to the new position of her feet.

It helps to have something to put her mind to – something that’s not necessarily hard but sufficiently challenging to hold her attention. Hanzo must know it, too, because he doesn’t talk much beyond correcting her posture. It’s a relief, more than anything else, to know she can remain silent and no one will try to engage her in conversation, and once she manages to traverse the entire circumference of the training range with close to proper posture, Hanzo deems the first lesson complete and instructs her to practice as often as she can.

“Will you teach me to climb?” she asks him, since she isn’t tired, but her feet are a little sore so perhaps it isn’t one of her better ideas.

“Eventually,” he answers, “If you think you are up for it.”

She glances down at her hands and grimaces before looking up. Hanzo follows her gaze and offers her nothing but a shrug. The slight smile on his face grows incrementally when she says, “Was that a pun?”

“Of course not.” She rolls her eyes. He chuckles slightly, bending down to loop his bow across his back – he brings it with him everywhere, much like how very few Overwatch agents roamed the Gibraltar base unarmed. “Come, let us find my brother.”

“What for?”

“You will see.”

Hana raises an eyebrow at that but doesn’t question it beyond a puff of an exhale. Genji himself had said Hanzo was cryptic. Hana’s inclined to think he merely doesn’t know how to speak from the heart, however poetic that sounds; he only knows what to say to get others to do what he needs or wants them to do, and that she can understand. Speaking about oneself is difficult, as she’s discovered from her talks with 76, her visits with Dr. Ziegler, and further, she knows from her time in the spotlight that the right words can do a lot of things. Manipulation is something she’s intimately familiar with; for Hanzo, it’s the only thing he’s ever learned.

“Can I ask you a question?” she says.

“Certainly.”

“What about Genji made you certain it was him, when before you had been so doubtful?”

Hanzo’s shoulders hitch slightly, taken aback as he is, though other than that there isn’t any physical reaction. He seems to be considering his words rather carefully, though, before he says quite simply, “Genji told you, I gather.”

“He told me he had spent a year running after you.”

“He was always stubborn,” Hanzo agrees, a hint of a smirk on his face. “That was the first clue, I suppose.”

“And the others?”

“A tendency to talk when nervous. He tilts his head slightly to the left when he is about to ask a question, and though I cannot see him smile, I can hear it in his voice. When I attacked him, I would always know when he was about to deflect my arrows because of a slight tic.” Hanzo shrugs, an elegant lift of one shoulder. “In the end, I think it was merely the familiarity. It is hard not to recognize family when you grew up with them.”

Hana thinks of her own family back home and begs to differ, not that she says it out loud. “What was it like?”

“You will have to specify.”

“What was it like, knowing you had to kill him?” Hana asks, D.Va bumping her mind along as she stumbles upon the word, and if it were anyone else she might have softened her words – but Hanzo expects nothing less, and she prefers to be blunt if it will get the point across sooner.

Hanzo is silent for a few moments. They’ve left the training ranges at this point; outside, the weather is fair and the sun shines, and Hana can glimpse Lúcio perched up on the roof, headphones over his ears, bouncing slightly to the beat. He returns her wave with a call of both her name and Hanzo’s, and while she knows he could safely skate down the walls of the Gibraltar base to join them, he seems inclined to remain where he is. Hana is glad, a little, as it will allow Hanzo to respond to her query without interruption.

“It was a weakness of will on my part,” Hanzo says at last. His words are clear, not halting per se, but definitely hesitant. “My brother and I had been arguing for months by that time; my anger and pride blinded me in more ways than one. Though Genji had always had our father’s favor, that alone would not be enough to protect him, and I foolishly thought that the Shimada name was all I had when it came down to it.” He sighs. “By the time the horror set in, it was too late – for myself, for my family. And so I left.”

“And destroyed what was left of the Shimada clan.”

“Perhaps,” Hanzo says; “Mostly it was Genji’s doing, I’ve learned. A fitting end for them, I should think. Irony has always been our family’s downfall, would you not agree? – Left here.”

Hana turns left as directed – they’ve since entered the building containing the mess hall – and finds herself staring at a closed door. The name on the front reads SHIMADA GENJI and Hanzo doesn’t even knock before opening the door and pushing inside.

Anija! Right on time,” Genji says, and then, “Ah, and you brought Hana as well. Perfect.”

“Genji,” Hanzo responds in kind, dipping his head. “Zenyatta.”

“Greetings,” Zenyatta says, seated on the floor.

Genji’s room is a mix between Spartan neat and absolute disaster. The floors, walls and desk are clean and organized, and, meanwhile, the bed is a disaster of tangled covers, clothes, electronics, tools, and Hana thinks she sees what looks like a photo album full of fake IDs when Hanzo gently pushes on her shoulder, urging her to take a seat. She does so and finds herself sandwiched between both Shimada brothers, with Zenyatta across from her.

“What is happening?” she asks.

“Card games,” Genji answers, and she can hear his shit-eating grin.

“I had been planning on meditating, but Lúcio has claimed the roof for the time being,” Zenyatta explains, shooting his pupil what might’ve been an exasperated look if he could make expressions. “Genji thus decided it was of utmost importance that I learn how to play a game called Magic.”

Magic: The Gathering?” Hana asks, aghast, and at Genji’s gleeful nod she groans and flops onto her back. Hanzo is grinning mercilessly at this point when she glares at him. “I have been betrayed.”

“Would you rather we try Yu-gi-oh?” Genji asks, and Hanzo snickers at Hana’s long, crude response in Korean, being the only one who can understand it. Zenyatta as well, she realizes when the omnic chuckles too. “I’ll take that as a no. It’ll be fun, Hana, come on.”

“I only played control decks,” Hana grumbles, “And it has been years. I veto this plan. Can I meditate instead?”

“If you are interested, you are welcome to join me tomorrow,” Zenyatta says, and Hana hesitates only briefly before nodding – and then the omnic adds, mischievous, “On the condition that you play at least one round.”

I have been betrayed.

“I will not suffer through this alone,” Zenyatta intones and, well, he’s got her there.

“We can just build decks today,” Genji says, “Low stress and all that. Plus they just came out with an entire new edition of cards, and since Overwatch gives us disposable income, I might as well use it for this.”

“Unbelievable,” Hana says, staring at the ceiling, rolling her eyes to Hanzo. “Do not tell me you play, as well?”

“My brother and I picked it up when we were younger,” Hanzo says with a smirk, “Along with Pokémon and Yu-gi-oh.”

“And also that other one – Gwent, I think?” Genji says. “From an old video game.”

“Not Hearthstone?” Hana asks.

“I don’t think so,” Genji says.

Hana stares. Hanzo’s smirk widens, and that’s when she knows there is absolutely no escape as Genji says cheerfully, “So, you said you only played control decks? Want to try going aggro?”


A day passes. Hana isn’t aware she’s counting them until she wakes up and makes a mental note that 76 had said a few days and it has now been two.

Eating breakfast without him is weird. It’s not that he says much – he doesn’t, usually, if she’s being honest – or that he really adds much to the morning mix. It’s more of a presence thing, she’d say. Even before everyone figured out he was Jack Morrison, he had an air about him that made you either steer clear or stop to look, an aura that made you think twice about crossing him, and that’s always been something of a comfort for her while she’s nibbling on whatever’s available as food that morning. Today said food is leftover pancakes, courtesy Reinhardt, except he’d made them in a pot instead of a saucepan so they really are more like cakes than anything else.

Hana’s never actually had pancakes before, though, so she’s kind of puzzling at what appears to be a pastry but – isn’t, apparently, when Tracer walks in, takes a look, laughs, and says, “C’mon, I’ll show you!”

Tracer flits around the kitchen like a hummingbird, Hana would say; never staying in one place for too long, balancing two plates, a small pitcher-thing of maple syrup (real maple syrup, Tracer emphasizes), silverware, and two cups in her hands in the time it takes Hana to breathe in to protest. Then the woman’s gone in a blur of blue and Hana has no choice but to follow her out into the mess hall proper, watching with some bemusement as Tracer stacks her own plate three pancakes high. Considering they were made in a pot, it draws some significant height, and Hana watches with furrowed eyebrows as the woman dumps maple syrup over the top and grabs a fork but not a knife.

“Can I eat this with chopsticks?” Hana asks. She can use forks, but they’re a little awkward and clunky and it makes her fingers hurt more than she would like, and she’s not sure how Tracer isn’t breaking the plate when she presses down to cut the pancakes into manageable chunks.

“Follow your dreams!” Tracer responds, which Hana takes to be a yes. The moment Hana rises to fetch chopsticks from the kitchen, however, Tracer disappears and reappears with a pair and deposits them on Hana’s single pancake, grinning cheekily despite having stuffed a rather large bite of food into her mouth already. Hana’s not about to question it; instead she says a quick thank you, dabs a bit of syrup on her pancake, and takes a bite. It’s too sweet, as with most pastries, but she guesses it’s pretty tasty. It’s been an experience adjusting to culturally-different foods to begin with – complete with stomach aches – but it has been a learning one, and pancakes are filling if nothing else.

“You all right there, D.Va?” Tracer says after a few minutes of companionable silence filled only with the sounds of the two of them eating. That’s how Hana eats, most of the time; she finishes eating first before conversing with others, if only so that she has time to grab seconds while others are too busy talking to finish their firsts. “You seem a bit pensive. Is something the matter? Is it because Jack isn’t here?”

“No,” Hana says, and then she shakes her head and says, “Yes,” and then, “A little bit of both, I think?”

“Wanna talk about it?”

Not particularly, and not with you . “I am fine,” Hana replies, forcing a smile. “I would rather focus on other things, to be honest.”

“Sure,” Tracer agrees, just like that, and then, “Did you hear that Torb make some kind of remark about Symmetra’s dress, so she set up turrets around his workspace and he almost got fried the next time he went in?”

Hana’s eyes widened. She had not, and Torbjörn must have said something particularly crude to get such a response. “They did not hurt him, did they?”

“Symm says she set the charge real low, so the only thing that got a little singed was his beard.” Tracer chuckles; like all of Tracer’s laughs, it’s one from the core, and her smile is wide and genuine. “Totally deserved it, if you ask me! He hasn’t so much as stared at Symm’s legs since then.”

“Genji and Hanzo made me play Magic: The Gathering with them yesterday,” Hana blurts, because – she’s not sure why, actually, maybe because someone needs to know that the Shimada brothers are both extremely nerdy. Tracer in particular would relish knowing that fact, too, given her penchant to cause trouble.

Magic? That old card game from the nineteen-seventies or somethin’? Unbelievable,” Tracer says, now laughing outright. “Don’t tell me you play, too.”

“Used to,” Hana admits, a little bashful, and Tracer claps her hands delightedly. “Not once I got into Starcraft, though.”

“Did you beat ‘em?”

“Of course,” Hana says, because she had beaten Hanzo, by a (literal) sliver, when the brothers had forced her to play at least one round once they had finished picking out their decks. Genji had straight-up pouted when she refused to play him. And then, she remembers something, and she says, “Did Genji ever tell you about the time he and Hanzo replaced all of the sugar in their estate with salt instead?”

Tracer’s eyes grow huge, mouth slowly going ajar before her lips curl upwards in a huge grin. “No,” she says dramatically, leaning forward over her pancakes, and Hana can’t help but smile in return.

That’s how Hana’s morning goes, more or less. She’s hardly ever interacted with Tracer without Genji or McCree around, but it’s a refreshing change of pace to simply giggle and gossip about people on base rather than the constant introspection she’s gotten used to for the past couple of days. She has a tendency to try to analyze people as best as she is able when talking with them, and it’s – it’s a relief to find that with Tracer, she can find a companion who understands that she needs some simplicity and happily provides it.

Eventually, they do part ways – there’s only so many pancakes Tracer can stuff into her body, which turns out to be, quite frankly, a lot – and Hana waves her off when Tracer hesitates for just a split-second and says, “What happened back in Eichenwalde...”

“It was not your fault,” Hana says.

“Still feel bad about it, though,” Tracer says, though the way she kind of slumps over in relief belies how nervous she had been. “I’m sorry, in any case. Just thought you should know. I seemed pretty persnickety at the meeting a few days ago, so I just figured... I’m sorry.”

“It is fine.”

“It’s not,” Tracer says firmly, and it’s really amazing how many people have said that, and how Hana is starting to believe them when they do. “See you ‘round, yeah? Was great talking to you!”

And that’s that – she’s off in a blur of blue, and Hana’s left with an empty plate, a pair of chopsticks, and a lot of questions. Questions, she thinks, that will have to wait, seeing as Tracer is long gone by the time she piles her stuff into the dishwasher and checks the time.

“Athena, do you know where I could find Zenyatta?” she asks, directing her question to the ceiling.

Zenyatta is in the garden outside of the building. It appears Bastion is with him.

“Thanks,” Hana says, already making her way out of the kitchen and, from there, out of the mess hall.

My pleasure, Agent Song.

Hana’s not sure whose idea it was to have a community garden of sorts, but it’s quickly grown to become larger than envisioned. According to 76, the plan had been for it to occupy a small corner near the hangar, about a three- by four-meter plot – instead, it is at least five by six, if not larger, and is tended to almost exclusively by Bastion and Torbjörn. (The only thing those two can agree on, D.Va thinks dryly, and Hana huffs out a laugh.) Primarily it contains flowers, but Hana’s pretty sure she heard talk of tomatoes at some point, or perhaps it was potatoes. Either way, it hadn’t been there long enough to produce much of anything except the blooms that greet her as she steps through the protective wooden fence surrounding it.

Instantly, she feels more at ease; it’s quieter inside, drifting, almost, and when she spots Bastion it gives her a cheerful boop from where it’s watering a sago palm. Ganymede is ever-present on its shoulder, chirping at what appears to be a seagull on Bastion’s head, and Hana smiles at the sight as she delves further in. She can hear Zenyatta from where’s she standing - soft wind chimes and a gentle humming - and brushing past a small collection of hottentot-figs reveals the monk levitating above the ground, head bent and hands resting on his knees.

“Good morning, Hana,” he says upon her approach.

“Peace be with you,” she answers, which earns her a soft hum in response, and she smooths her skirt as she sits down across from him. The spongy grass acts as a cushion and is cool to the touch as she kicks off her shoes and socks, making a mental note to clip her toenails as she settles with her legs crossed. “I know I am a few minutes early, but I did not think you would mind.”

“Not at all,” he says, and she watches the orbs floating around him spin in a flat, circular plane and move until they delicately floated around his neck. The gentle chiming stops as he does so. “You seem at ease this morning. I am glad to see it.”

It’s only because it’s Zenyatta that she feels comfortable talking to him about this kind of thing, she thinks. He’s sat in for a few sessions with Dr. Ziegler, mostly as silent support or to toss an occasional harmony orb her way when talking about the memories became more than a little painful, and she had quickly understood why Genji held the monk in such high regard: his entire personality seems to be entirely non-confrontational, yet he is always ready to defend himself and those around him at a moment’s notice. Hana admires the well of calm that he is, and, if Genji is any representation, it isn’t easy to get there.

“I spoke with Tracer today,” Hana tells him, cupping her palms around her knees. Nearby, she hears Bastion beep a little song to Ganymede, who responds in kind. “It is something a relief to talk about things that are not at all relevant to... well, anything, I suppose.”

“Understandable. The reason we enjoy focusing on celebrities it to take our minds off of the hardships in the world, I have found.” A single orb drifts from his neck to his waiting hand, revolving in place as he twirls his fingers around it. “Would you like to begin? I understand it will be your first time doing this in a while.”

“There was never time, in the end.” (Too many distractions, D.Va corrects.)

“That is fine,” Zenyatta says, sounding – amused, maybe. “It is difficult to master when you do not have a teacher. With a mind as agitated as yours, I imagine it must have been even harder for you.”

“I would not know,” Hana says; “I have never tried.”

“We will start simple,” Zenyatta says in response, passing a harmony orb off to her so that it floats above her shoulders. She’s grown accustomed to the warmth and sense of tranquility that it brings, and she welcomes it as she straightens her back and brushes her hair over her shoulders. “Are you ready?”

“I think so,” she says, closing her eyes.

(Easy, D.Va says, and goes quiet.)

“I have learned that holding a steady breathing pattern is actually counterproductive for humans, though you will need to remain focused on your breaths.” She gives the slightest nod, and Zenyatta goes on, “Observe the way your body feels as you breathe - the way your chest, shoulders, and stomach move. Focus on that, and try not to let your mind wander. Since this is your first time, do not be surprised if you are easily distracted; a few minutes will suffice, I think.”

Hana listens, and she breathes.

It’s so much to focus on, and yet so little: she can feel her heartbeat, the way her spine holds up her head, her diaphragm expanding and contracting as her lungs fill with air and then let it out. Her stomach is settled and working away at the carbs she’d put into it this morning; her eyelids feel light and it’s hard to keep them shut. Breathing, she tells herself, and then there’s an itch in her leg and she finds she can ignore it with ease if she just thinks about the way bones sift and muscles tense and how breathing powers everything her body does.

She’s not sure how much time passes, but she does know her thoughts continuously wander if she’s not paying close attention – more than once she has to remind herself that thinking about what 76 is doing won’t change a thing, and a few times she starts going further back, and further, and further, and that’s when Zenyatta’s harmony orb (and D.Va) pull her back from the edge – and by the time she opens her eyes again, she feels drained, but in a good way, like after exercising for a long time and the endorphin high is just starting to wear off.

“It has been almost twenty-two minutes,” Zenyatta says, soft. He is watching her, she thinks, though to be honest, she can never truly tell. “I am impressed.”

“Thanks... I think.” Hana rubs at the itch on her shin, finally, and sighs in faint relief. “I can see why one would do this for hours.”

“It has many health benefits for humans,” Zenyatta says. “Genji also says that it helps when some of his software is acting up, as it allows him to isolate and fix the problem. For omnics like myself, it is simply a way to think more deeply – to think as humans would, I suppose you would say.”

Hana remains quiet. She’s not sure what to think of that, or how to respond, and it’s clear Zenyatta doesn’t expect her to. “Would you like to try again?” he asks instead, and at her nod, she watches him gently reach up and draw a single finger in an arc across his face, down and then up – a human smile. Her breath catches, just for a moment, as he asks, “Do you want me to talk you through it, or will you be fine on your own?”

Every instinct tells her to say the latter; Hana thinks it’s a sign that she’s starting to understand herself better when she says, “Please talk me through it,” and there’s an undeniable sense of peace settling her chest as he does so, careful and lilting.


A day passes. Hana has to stop herself from going over to 76’s door and asking if he wants to get breakfast with her, and she reminds herself that it’s been two days and he would be back not tomorrow but the day after. She would be able to manage that long, especially since everyone on base seems disinclined to leave her alone for long periods of time.

(You still do not know what the Saint Petersburg mission even is, D.Va points out, and that’s enough for Hana to roll her eyes but continue on to the mess hall nonetheless.)

This remains true when she arrives in the mess to find McCree and Lúcio bent over what appears to be the latter’s turntables, a small holoprojector in front of them with headphones settled over both of their heads. At their elbows lie abandoned toast, McCree’s with jam and Lúcio’s with what appears to be marmalade; papers and scribbled music notes litter the other half of the table. It’s not the first time Lúcio has brought his music compositions to someone else for critique, but Hana is absolutely certain it’s the first time McCree has been involved.

She could try saying hello, but she gets the sense they wouldn’t be able to hear her. Better to just get their attention, then, and she does so by swiping McCree’s hat from his head and placing it atop hers, pulling out her phone to take a selfie. She had made a deal with Genji the day they had played Mario Kart, after all, and she definitely would’ve lost, so it seems as good a time as any to do as she said she would.

“Photo bomb!” Lúcio shouts before she can get the shot, and she yelps as he surges up to stand beside her. She manages to snap a picture just as McCree looks over, eyebrows knit in confusion as Hana and Lúcio grin widely at the screen; she sends it off to Genji and posts it to her Instagram a moment later, tagging Lúcio and opting out of captioning it. Let fans interpret it as they would.

Annyeong,” she says to Lúcio, grinning as she tucks her phone away.

“Hello, hello,” he answers, smiling back, followed shortly by “Saw part of your stream last night. Man, you sure don’t pull the punches.”

“I am the top player for a reason,” Hana says, adding with a bit of pride, “I do not show mercy.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Lúcio says, cryptic, and then, “Hey, McCree, can I borrow your hat for a bit?”

“Only if you don’t stain it or anythin’,” McCree says. The headphones drop to go around his neck, which they can, for once, since he isn’t wearing his serape, “Howdy, darlin’.”

“Good morning, McCree,” Hana says. “If you are not eating your toast, can I have it instead?”

“Take mine,” Lúcio says, taking McCree’s hat off of her head and placing it on his. His dreads are down so it doesn’t have to perch awkwardly against his forehead to stay balanced, and Hana chuckles as he sets about taking a few selfies of his own, taking the piece of toast he hadn’t touched. “McCree was listening to one of my newer tracks - it’s one I did with Bastion the other day. Hey, did you know that our resident cowboy hates country?”

“Just because I’m a cowboy doesn’t mean I have to like country music,” McCree says, with the exhausted air of someone who has said it many times before.

“But you are a walking stereotype otherwise,” Hana points out. “You even have spurs. Why stop at the music?”

“A man has his limits,” McCree says. Now he just sounds exasperated, and he deftly changes the subject. “Lúcio, mind explainin’ what you did with the filterin’ at this section?”

“Which one?” Lúcio says, returning the hat to McCree’s head. McCree points to a certain place on the holoprojector, and Lúcio’s eyes widen in recognition. “Oh, yeah! Filtered out the higher frequency above, uh, I forget the Hertz number, and then boosted the lower ones. Gives it a bigger boom.”

“Dunno, I feel like maybe if you isolated this frequency in particular, and then – ”

Whatever that results in pleases Lúcio immediately, Hana can tell right away as she finishes off the toast; he practically shoves McCree aside to mess around with the music a bit more, crowing, “Don’t know what you did but that sounded awesome,” and then Hana looks down at the paper strewn across the table’s surface and picks one up. The title is a mess of Portuguese and it’s mostly a bunch of scribbling of what Lúcio hopes the song will sound like, from what she can tell from what little garbled English there is, but there are a few music notes on a five-bar staff as well.

“Hana, Hana, check this out,” Lúcio says, and that’s all the warning she gets before headphones are placed on her ears. She yelps and drops the paper in surprise, and then has to reach up and adjust the volume as the music starts blasting, and then she sits down at the table, leans forward, closes her eyes, and listens.

It’s... beatboxing, set to a fluid tempo and backed with the typical electronica that underlays all of Lúcio’s music. She can hear Bastion’s clicks, whirrs, and chirps interspersed throughout, sometimes pitched up to match the chord, sometimes not, and overall the effect is – interesting is the word for it. It’s not his usual style of music, she can tell, and she has an great time trying to guess where the next note will go and at what pitch, and she doesn’t realize she’s bobbing her head slightly until she has to reach up and readjust the headphones.

It has a little bit of Lúcio’s healing flair in it, too, Hana realizes about halfway through. She had smiled in greeting because that was something Americans tended to do and it made McCree more comfortable; she finds her lips curling upwards without her thinking about it and knows that Lúcio’s crafted a song that embodies the hope he brought to his people, once upon a time, and the hope that he wishes will reach others as well.

“I like it,” she says when the song finishes with one of Bastion’s long, swooping notes. “Kind of like a mix of classic EDM and early electronic music. Definitely not for everyone, but I enjoyed it.” She doesn’t mention the healing beat, but she tilts her head at Lúcio and smiles to let him know she noticed it.

Lúcio beams. “Thanks, Hana. McCree helped me a lot to figure out the background stuff, too, which is why it probably sounds a bit different.” He drums his fingers on his headphones when Hana hands them back to him, and then he turns to the cowboy and says, “Hey, maybe you can be credited on my album, get your picture on there and everything.”

“Better not,” McCree says. “I’m a wanted criminal, if you’ll recall.”

“Oh, yeah,” Lúcio says, though it doesn’t appear to have a dampener on his mood at all, giving Hana the sense that the cowboy hat selfies might have had a dual purpose. “Might not be good for my image.”

“Just a bit,” McCree agrees easily, leaning back to stretch his arms above his head. His prosthetic one clanks against the table when it comes back down again. “I’m not too good with all the new music stuff, anyway. I mean, in comparison to both of you, I’m pretty old.”

“You’re thirty-seven,” Hana says, because she’s read his file. She reaches over to snag his uneaten piece of toast, and McCree merely slides his plate over for easier access, tipping his hat at her nod of thanks.

“Ancient,” McCree intones, breaking out into laughter when she rolls her eyes. “I’m almost two decades your senior, you know?”

“Whatever,” she says, dragging out the last syllable, and then, to change the subject, “What kind of music do you like, anyway?”

“Kinda just listened to whatever was on the radio,” McCree says. “Pop, mostly, I guess is what you’d call it. News, otherwise.” He shrugs. “Picked up a few things here and there from a sound engineer I met once – he was in charge of makin’ sure our eardrums didn’t puncture or whatever, forget the terminology. He was only in Deadlock for a little bit.”

“McCree’s been super helpful,” Lúcio interrupts. “Hasn’t got the best ears because of close-range firearms, but damn if he can’t pick up on the nuances.” The Brazilian’s face falls into a contemplative look. “Now if only I could get the commander to help me out.”

“Jack?” McCree says.

“He has perfect pitch,” Hana answers before Lúcio can. McCree raises his eyebrow at her, and she amends, “Absolute pitch. He can distinguish notes and name them.”

“Wonder if that was ever useful during combat missions,” McCree muses.

“Might be,” Lúcio says. “He can probably figure out whose gun is going off based on what it sounds like. Explains how he always knows who’s at his back.”

McCree grunts at that. Hana snags his last piece of toast and makes a mental note to figure out what jam he had used. “Never thought of that. Then again, most of us have distinct-soundin’ guns.”

“I mean, if I had absolute pitch, I could definitely find a way to make it useful in combat,” Lúcio says with a shrug. “Him being Jack Morrison, I would be surprised if he hadn’t. Relative pitch is all I’ve got, though. – Hey, Hana, if you’re not busy, you mind listening to the whole album? McCree’s been at it for almost an hour and I think he’s getting a little tired.”

“Speak fer yourself,” McCree says with a snort, though he does have shadows under his eyes and Hana wonders what’s happening in Sydney, Australia.

“This is your newest one?” she says instead of interrogating McCree, reaching over to pluck the headphones from Lúcio’s hands.

“Eh, kind of. This one’s more of an... experiment. Not sure if I’m gonna release it, to be honest.”

“Fair enough,” she says, and then, “Do you want me to take notes or just listen and comment?”

“Whichever’s easier for you.”

There’s no paper around that hasn’t been covered in black ink, so she settles with musing out loud as she listens to each tune – there’s no direct train of thought and she’s not thinking about what she’s saying, not very hard anyway, and Lúcio listens to her intently, occasionally pausing the music, making an adjustment, and asking for her opinion afterwards. McCree doesn’t have nearly as much to say as she does – merely pointing out a spot where there’s clipping, for instance - but what strikes her is how Lúcio had woven his healing beat into every single song in the album, not just the one she had first listened to. If she listens closely, she can hear his speed boost there too, pumping up in the bass, and it’s amazing what he can do with just the power of music.

(He is a famous DJ for a reason, D.Va murmurs, and Hana smiles.)

“Fifteen songs is a little long,” she comments as the last tune finishes. She feels - not like she had after meditation, but there is that sense of calmness and mellowness settled loosely in her chest.

“Yeah, I’m thinking of making it the deluxe edition. Super deluxe has eighteen. Maybe nineteen, if Bastion’s up for it.”

“Can’t believe you got it to beatbox,” McCree says, shaking his head in wonderment. “Next thing you know, it’ll be singin’ to birds.”

“It already does that,” Hana says.

“Not competently,” McCree replies, which, point. Hana lets it go. “Either way, I think you’ve got a solid album here, Lúcio. You know when you’re gonna release it?”

“I had to cancel a few of my tour plans when the whole thing in Rio de Janeiro went down,” Lúcio says; “But I’ll be going to Numbani soon. Might premiere it then, or maybe just tease it. Synaesthesia Auditiva is still pretty new, so.”

“You said it took you two years to write that one,” McCree says, tapping at the holoprojector. “Meanwhile, you got all of these in, what, weeks? Might want to hold off for a bit.”

“I guess so, yeah,” Lúcio agrees, “They aren’t perfect.” He stares at the screen for a bit, rubbing at his chin with a hand; then he decides, thoughtful, “Still, I like the one I have with Bastion. Maybe I’ll put it out on YouTube just for fun.”

“Opinions on omnics vary greatly,” Hana cautions. “I would be careful if you do choose to publicize that particular work. I know that back home, at least, it might drive some of your fans away.”

“That’s the price of progress,” Lúcio says with a slight sigh and shake of his head. “Nothing’s gonna change unless we pioneer it, right? Power to the people and all that.”

“As long as you are aware of the risks,” Hana says, remembering a selfie she’d taken with an omnic fan that had gone viral and, ultimately, resulted in the omnic leaving the country. “Having such views will put you in danger, if nothing else.”

Lúcio blinks at her, briefly, before there’s a small smile on his face and he says, “Guess you’d know, huh.”

“I have been in the public eye for three years,” Hana says with a small smile of her own. “You pick up on things, over time.”

“Yeah.” At her questioning look, Lúcio elaborates, “Read your file. You know, how you learned martial arts just to defend yourself against... well. Assholes.”

She grimaces at that. “A consequence of being young, female, attractive, and having to wear a skintight bodysuit to operate my mech, unfortunately.” At Lúcio and McCree’s disgusted looks, she shrugs. “It is something I have grown accustomed to, though it is easier now that my superiors do not need to parade me around every few days.”

“Like I said,” Lúcio says, and then spits, “Assholes.”

“Sometime I can’t believe you’re only nineteen,” McCree murmurs, likely to himself, and then he snags his plate and Lúcio’s as well and gets to his feet. “Wise beyond your years.”

“What is it Seventy-six likes to say - ah, yes. We are all soldiers now,” Hana says, and it doesn’t get her any laughs but she hadn’t been expecting it to, really.

“True,” McCree concedes in any case, and then, angling his head towards the DJ, “I’m gonna get, Lúcio, gotta finish up some readin’.”

“No problem, McCree, thanks for the help. Hana, you got somewhere to be, or you wanna stick around?”

“I think I will go to the garden,” Hana says. “I am not sure yet. Thank you, though.”

“You know where to find me,” Lúcio says, giving her a wave, and Hana returns it and McCree’s called farewell as she stands up, arching her back and stretching her arms far above her head as she goes.

In truth, she’s really not sure where she wants to go. Zenyatta had given her express permission to seek him out whenever she wanted or needed to, but Lúcio’s music has left her with a serene, almost solemn state of mind. Back home, she would have seized upon the opportunity to take a nap or play through some more relaxed video games, since it was rare she felt so at peace – here, though, she’s aware that it would probably be better if she didn’t fall back to her old habits, even if talking to people tires her out. She’ll have all evening to recuperate.

(Let’s go find Satya, D.Va suggests. We haven’t seen her in a while, and Hana adjusts her path accordingly.)

Satya is only ever in three places: the workshop, the mess hall, or her room, which Hana has yet to see. Since Satya isn’t in the mess hall, it’s likely she’s in the workshop, and when Hana rounds the corner to the hallway where the workshop is stationed, she quickly hears that she is correct – Reinhardt’s boisterousness is interspersed with the quiet, dulcet tones of Satya’s voice, and when Hana gives a tentative knock on the doorframe, poking her head in reveals Satya bending light between her fingers, studying one of Reinhardt’s gauntlets intently.

“Hana!” Reinhardt booms, and he might have leapt to his feet if it wouldn’t knock over Satya’s chair. “It is good to see you!”

“Hello,” she says, taking his greeting as permission to come closer. Satya doesn’t look up, and Hana doesn’t interrupt her; the architech will speak to her once she has completed her current hard-light creation. So far, it seems Satya has built four of the five fingers of the gauntlet, as well as the parts that encase the palm of Reinhardt’s hand. “Is it okay if I watch?”

“By all means,” Reinhardt says, and then, smiling, “Lena told me you enjoyed the pancakes, yes?”

“I have never had them before,” Hana confesses. “They were delicious. A bit too sweet, though.”

“I accidentally put in extra sugar,” Reinhardt admits, smiling at Hana’s startled laugh. “Jesse and Lena always liked them better that way, so it happened automatically. I will strive not to do so next time.”

“I do not mind.”

“Ah, but I do,” Reinhardt says, and when Hana blinks at him, confused, he laughs. “Food is the best way to bring people together, no? I will try to make a dish that pleases you. Perhaps you should teach me how to make some of your foods.”

The thought of Reinhardt stir-frying with delicate finesse almost makes her laugh. “I will do my best,” Hana promises.

“Done,” Satya announces suddenly, hands settling on her lap, and the thumb portion of the gauntlet joins the other four fingers and palm on the table in front of her. She gives Hana a small, kind smile. “Greetings, Hana.”

“Hello, Satya,” Hana says with a slight nod. She glances down at the gauntlet. “Are you making Reinhardt’s armor?”

“I needed a break from researching teleporter improvements,” Satya says, though it comes out a bit like a confession. “Mister Wilhelm graciously allowed me to try my hand at recreating his armor. It seemed like a sufficient challenge.”

“It could be very useful in combat,” Reinhardt agrees. “Brigitte – ah, my mechanic – is usually not on the field with me, so even the smallest crack can be catastrophic. If Satya manages to replicate my armor, she can provide quick adjustments in the heat of battle.”

“Where is she?”

“Brigitte?” Hana nods. “She has gone back home, for now. She was to go to Eichenwalde with me, however, so I imagine she will be there for a day or two before continuing on. She will be back to learn more under Torbjörn’s tutelage.”

Satya, by now, has picked up the individual pieces she has made and is inspecting them in her hands, flipping them over and gently moving their joints in her palm. A sufficient challenge, she had said, and Hana watches the woman bend the index finger’s two joints and frown to herself. “Tensile strength may be an issue,” she explains when she sees Hana’s gaze. “Mister Wilhelm must be able to heft his hammer, and considering how much force he uses in battle, it would be unfortunate if his armor broke from the pressure or if the hammer merely fell out of his grip.”

“They don’t make Crusader armor like they used to,” Reinhardt booms, getting to his feet. The stool he had been sitting on groans in relief as he fixes Hana with a toothy grin, and though his blind eye is cloudy and unfocused, it manages to settle on her along with his good one. “How are you feeling, Hana? Jack will be back soon, I would imagine.”

Inwardly, she winces. Knowing that she is so obviously transparent doesn’t do much for her pride, and whatever relief she might feel at not having to hide so much anymore is swamped by embarrassment. “It has been a bit of an adjustment period,” Hana admits, and that’s as much as he’s going to get out of her. “But I am managing, as you can see.”

“I am glad to hear it,” Satya says. Somehow everything she does is graceful, even her smile, and it’s so hard for Hana to remember that this is a woman who dominates in the training range - not only that, but she does so by going up close and slipping in and out of blind spots, always in motion and impossible to hit. “It has been difficult to find you on base, as of late. Your schedule has changed because of the commander’s absence.”

That would be because Hana stays holed up in her room for most of the day, streaming or just messing around online. In the mornings she makes herself get up and socialize and typically in the afternoons would find her training with 76; not having those sessions is indeed changing her day-to-day activities, though she hadn’t realized to what extent until right this moment.

“I apologize. I would have comm’d you if I had known you were looking for me,” Hana says apologetically.

“I figured you would want some time alone. I understand.” Satya finally puts down the hard-light she’d been twiddling with and regards the mess of gauntlet before her, examining them intently. “Mister Wilhelm, I believe I will have to figure out how these go together before I can attempt any other part of your armor. I thank you for the opportunity to study it in more detail.”

“My pleasure,” Reinhardt says, and then, “In any case, it is time I prepare lunch! All this talk of food has made me hungry. Hana, perhaps you would care to join me?”

“I will come with you,” Satya says, glancing over at Hana briefly, and Hana tries to hide her relief by nodding at Reinhardt; being alone with the man is fun, all things considered, but his larger-than-life personality could be tiring after a while. Satya would be a welcome reprieve from the constant loudness that seemed to follow Reinhardt everywhere. “I believe we have the ingredients that will allow me to bake something.”

“A cooking party!” Reinhardt says, grinning widely, and he waits until Satya has set aside the hard-light on her workshop desk, pushed her chair back underneath it, and walked over to join them at the doorway. It’s with some difficulty that Hana keeps up with Reinhardt’s strides, but he thankfully slows down so he doesn’t leave the two women behind. “It has been a while since I have cooked with others. I tried to teach Genji once, did you know?”

“That must have been interesting,” Hana says, sharing a wide-eyed look with Satya.

“It was a disaster,” Reinhardt says, laughing. “He has not yet improved, either. I suppose if you do not need to eat, there is no need to hone such a skill!”

“His talents lie in other areas,” Satya agrees, and then, slyly, “He is remarkably adept at opening jars and bottles.”

“A worthy baking assistant,” Reinhardt says, slamming a fist into his open palm, and when Hana doesn’t say anything, Satya flashes her another quick glance and responds, and –

(There are a lot of people here who are looking out for you, D.Va whispers – )

and Hana thinks she’ll be okay, even with Reinhardt’s somewhat extreme extroversion; Satya is looking out for her, like Genji and Hanzo and Lúcio and the rest, and with that she inhales deeply, exhales slowly, and smiles when Reinhardt asks her a question.


A day passes. Hana is waiting in the hangar when the ORCA alights on the floor, not quiet but certainly not loud, and when the door opens 76 is the first one out and she’s the first one darting forward to greet them, uncaring of her surroundings as she kind of just barrels 76 over in a hug. She thinks she can hear McCree laughing at her actions, or actually, not at her but maybe with her, and then 76 is hugging her back and she can feel some of the tension in her body unwind. He’s back, he’s here, and when she pulls away she can’t disguise the smile pulling at her lips.

“Hi, Hana,” he says, and she can hear the grin in his voice.

“Hi, dad!” she chirps, and then, “You are not dead, I see.”

“And you didn’t comm me, so you must be fine,” he says, carefully detaching himself from her to rest a hand on her shoulder. Winston is already calling from the ORCA that there’ll be a debrief in two hours, and Tracer, Genji and McCree are crowded around Pharah and Ana while Torbjörn and Mercy converse with Reinhardt about – something, she’s not sure, she can’t hear it. “Nothing happened around here, right?”

“If by that, you mean did Talon come to us – no,” Hana says, shaking her head. “I think McCree and Athena were monitoring the news, though. Do you know of anything happening in Sydney, Australia?”

76 hums thoughtfully at that. They’re out of the hangar now, early morning light casting long shadows across the Gibraltar base, and after a moment he says, “Not sure. My guess is that it has something to do with the Junkers, seeing as that’s where they came from.”

“Huh,” Hana says, and then, “Why were you in Saint Petersburg, anyway?”

“Long story,” he says with a little sigh, and then, “Got a new recruit coming in soon, though. Honestly, I’m not sure how it’s going to work out, but we’ll see.” He gives her shoulder a pat and says, “So, what’ve you been up to?”

“Genji was in the kitchen again,” Hana says, and before 76 can even voice the question she adds, “Because we needed him to open a jar,” and maybe he can’t tell how relieved she is just to see him again, but knowing she doesn’t have to manage on her own anymore is so strangely relaxing that she just lets it go.

She doesn’t have to worry about monitoring what she’s thinking because he’ll be next door again if she wakes up in the middle of the night, and he’ll be there when she goes to talk with Dr. Ziegler, and he’ll be there at breakfast, and it’s pathetic how he’s become such a pillar of support in her life, but – that’s the way life goes, she supposes, as she tells him about playing Magic and eating pancakes and baking cookies and being okay at the end of the day.