Chapter Text
Overwatch, an organization of heroes determined to bring justice to the world, wherever they may be needed. Composed of the best of the best, Overwatch was the binding force of the world. Paragons of virtue, paladins for the people, veritable warriors, battling for the world.
Hanzo had heard all the stories, had watched the news, had grown up around the legends. Genji had joined them first, years ago, and, now that the pair had reconciled (a bit, not yet on the terms they were as children, but enough to be able to have conversations with one another), he had managed to convince the elder Shimada to join the crew. After a bit of wheedling, bartering, and promises that Hanzo would be cashing in at some later point of time, of course. However, Hanzo could not help but feel that he would not be needed in Overwatch, seeing as he would be joining the ranks of titans, and, inside, even with his skills as an archer, he couldn’t quash the niggling feeling in the pit of his stomach, that, perhaps, he wouldn’t be good enough.
Genji assured his brother that they would need a sniper, as the opposing Talon forces had an almost unstoppable sniper within their ranks, which only served to excite Hanzo’s nerves. Multiple reassurances later (“No, Brother, I did not say that to deter you! I meant that you might be able to stop her, as your skills are unmatched!”), Hanzo agreed to join the team.
And that was what brought him to where he was now. Standing outside of the meeting room where he would introduce himself to the members of Overwatch, both old and new. His throat felt like a desert, and he felt as wound up as a taut bowstring, nerves starting to get to him now. He took a deep breath, wondering how they would receive him (with looks of haughty pride, disgust, looking down their nose at him, eyebrows cocked, snorts and laughter bubbling up in their throats, because why would they want to have someone like him within their ranks and he should really stop this thought process now, because he was a Shimada, he should have more confidence in his skills), and stepped forward to press his hand against the thermoscanner next to the door. With a soft sigh, the door opened, and revealed to him--
“C’mon, McCree, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me!”
The table was full of agents, all bickering or engrossed in one activity or another. Genji was located off to one side, seated next to an omnic (“Zenyatta is my master. He taught me forgiveness.” Hanzo remembers rolling his eyes, and he represses the urge to do so now”), and he turned his head towards Hanzo when he appeared in the doorway. A very large woman with a shock of pink hair on her head was enraptured with a smaller woman, whose hair was tied up in a loose brunette bun, and they did not look up at him when he entered the room. Two older men, one impossibly huge and the other peculiarly small, were engaged in raucous conversation, one that even the presence of a new person in the room could not interrupt. Then, dead center in the table, a group of four people were bickering, playing cards splayed out in front of them. One with long brown hair, who was furiously chomping on her bubble gum, another whose hair was pulled back into a ponytail, dreadlocks a gradient from brown to a neon green, and yet another, with hair layered and swept to the side, who had her finger pointed accusingly in the direction of the last man, whom he could not get a good look at, seeing as he was on the receiving end of what seemed like some sort of complaint. All he saw was red and black plaid, stretched across broad shoulders, a mess of brown hair, and a wide-brimmed, tan hat. And, lastly, at the front of the table, were the only four that looked up to him when he entered the room. A man with a thatch of grey hair on his head, a nasty scar across his visage, and what seemed like a permanent scowl etched into the lines of his face, seated near a woman whose looks were timeless but eyes aged, long blonde bangs swept gracefully to the side, with the rest pulled back into a ponytail. Behind her, a woman with hair black as ink, that fell like such down her shoulders, with a swirling tattoo under her right eye, and, lastly, at the head of the table, presumably the leader of the operation, was…
A real life gorilla.
Hanzo stared, feeling like he was just dragged into a circus and not a world-renown organization of heroes. The gorilla up front cleared his throat loudly, getting the attention of almost everyone in the room save for the man with the hat. As if on queue, like a child entering a classroom, all eyes and heads swiveled to stare at him, which almost caused Hanzo to step back and bolt. He wasn’t used to this (he was a sniper, damn it, he was supposed to be out of the way, out of sight, and now there were all these people staring at him.) Everyone had quieted down, conversations dying out, people shushing others, and there fell a hush throughout the room.
Or, it would be quiet, if a certain man wasn’t still speaking.
“--darlin’, now, just admit I’m better than ya at poker. I’m far more experienced, that’s fer certain, and I don’t quite appreciate yer accusation! Now, don’t get all quiet on me now, Lena, I know yer a chatterbox...”
The man with his back to Hanzo was still speaking, a twang to his voice, something Hanzo had never heard before, and he couldn’t quite describe it, though he found himself quite annoyed by it as of right now. Hanzo just wanted to get through this already, and this oblivious man was completely ignorant of the situation he was in. That is, until the man with the head of grey hair towards the front let out a long sigh through his nostrils, and slammed his fist on the table.
“Jesse McCree. For once in your life, would you kindly shut the Hell up,” he growled out, voice gravelly and commanding.
‘Jesse’, or, as Hanzo knew him, the oblivious man, sputtered and seemed like he was about to launch right back into another tirade. That is, until the woman sitting next to him, the one he had addressed as ‘Lena’, grabbed him by the shoulders and flipped him around.
At first, his expression was one part confused and three parts angry. A snarl tugged at one side of his mouth, all unbridled animosity, and it seemed permanent on his face until his eyes landed on Hanzo, who was still awkwardly standing in the doorway. All at once, the man’s expression dropped into one of sheepish embarrassment, and his cheeks seemed to flush with warmth. Hanzo watched as he sat down where he was, looking thoroughly chastised, and more than a mite ashamed. If he weren’t so annoyed, Hanzo would feel sorry for him, looking like a kicked pup. But he wasn’t in a pitying mood.
The gorilla at the front of the room nodded to Hanzo and beckoned him closer, encouraging him with a smile. Hanzo nodded and gracefully moved into the room, finally letting the door shut behind him. He still felt the cold heat of anxiety prickling his skin, but, as the seconds ticked by, he fell slowly into the businessman moniker he had had to adopt as the heir to the Shimada estate. He drew himself up, tilting his chin up and folding his arms together behind his back. The eyes locked on him followed his every move.
“Ahem, now that we have your attention,” the gorilla was speaking, Hanzo realized numbly, “I would like to introduce you all to our newest member of Overwatch. He is the brother of one of our cherished members, Genji. Now, let’s get a move on with introductions.” The gorilla sat up a little straighter, giving Hanzo a wide smile, before beginning once again.
“My name is Winston. I’m the leader and head scientist of the newly recalled Overwatch and I was the one that sent out the recall in the first place. If you have any grievances, questions, or need help with anything, do not hesitate to come find me.” The gorilla-- no, Winston, nodded his way before relaxing in his seat. Hanzo bowed at the waist a bit, acknowledging him as such. From there, introductions moved clockwise.
The blonde, ageless woman was known as Mercy on the battlefield, but referred to as Angela while off-duty. She’s the medic for the operation. Hanzo finds her quite nice, if a bit mysterious.
The woman behind her is Fareeha, or “Pharah” in the field. She was part of the offensive line, a woman of extreme strength, with an interest in the finer points of demolition, a young soldier of Egyptian heritage. Hanzo pegs her as someone to cover in the heat of battle, and he files away the way her hand rests on Angela’s shoulder as useful information.
Next is the man who succeeded in shutting the mouth of the man from earlier. He is Jack Morrison. That’s all he offers, other than a grunt of him being ‘unofficial second-in-command’, and Hanzo immediately feels intimidated. Everyone knows the stories of Jack Morrison, of the previous leader of Overwatch. He knows he doesn’t have to introduce himself, and Hanzo gives him the same acknowledgement as the others, with a slight bow.
The man with the dreads is Lucio, the one that brought about revolution against Vishkar in Rio, the woman next to him is Hana, a video game streamer from Korea. They both seem extremely young, but they look excited to be there, and they both give him matching grins, that he returns with polite bows.
Zarya is the tall woman with the pink hair, she gives him a hearty smile and flexes an arm, which Hanzo takes to mean she is one Hell of a force on the battlefield, while Mei is the short, thicker woman next to her, who introduces herself as a climatologist. Hanzo greets them both in kind.
Torbjorn is the shorter man who was engaged in raucous conversation with the other older man earlier, and he clacks his metal arm at Hanzo with a hearty laugh. Reinhardt introduces himself just as loudly, boisterous and overwhelming. Hanzo gives them the same treatment as the others.
Then, Genji, who only nods at him, which he returns just the same, and the omnic, Zenyatta, whose voice is metallic yet soothing, though Hanzo is loathe to admit the latter. Another bow for them.
Then, the ‘Lena’ woman, who eagerly tells Hanzo how excited she is to be working with him. She tells him how she’s heard much about him from Genji, and Hanzo is almost swept away by her attitude, before he catches himself and only gives her a bow, rather than a smile, as answer for her introduction.
Lastly, it was that man.
He stands from where he’s seated and turns to look at Hanzo, what looks like newfound confidence tugging at the corners of his lips. Hanzo immediately feels a sense of irritation, though he quashes it to remain civil. The man in front of him take his hat off, exposing rough and tumble layers of thick brown locks, all strewn this way and that, and watches him put his hand over his heart, a smile playing at his lips.
“My apologies for earlier, sir, didn’t mean’ta ignore ya like that,” he drawls, and Hanzo feels his eyebrow twitch involuntarily, “they call me McCree, sir, Jesse McCree.” He goes through a show of putting his hat on again, one side of his lip twitching into a smirk, and continues on with his introduction, “but you can call me anytime.” He accentuates the line with a wink and a tip of his ridiculous hat.
Hanzo feels his ears begin to burn a bit, and he’s sure he can’t hide the disgust that’s likely plastered across his face. He’s not sure how to react, and he feels like everyone in the room is waiting with bated breath. He’s pleasantly surprised when he watches Lena smack McCree over the head. Hard.
McCree lets out a loud curse and grabs at the back of his head as he goes to sit down, now being thoroughly berated by a rather irritated Lena (“Would you wait at least a week before you start flirting with the new recruits? I don’t care how long this dry spell’s been lasting, you get yourself in order, damn it, and stop being so… so….” “Thirsty.” “Yes! Thank you, Lucio, stop being so thirsty, McCree, it’s embarrassing!!”) and Hanzo feels absolutely dumbstruck, watching the team either laugh in good humor or shake their heads. He certainly wasn’t expecting any of this when he decided to join the famous Overwatch.
Winston cleared his throat and stood, quieting the whole room instantly. He nodded towards Hanzo, indicating that he could introduce himself now. The eyes all returned to him, staring, and Hanzo straightened his back even more, further giving off that air of regality. He was less nervous now, especially after taking stock of what was less of an organized team of heroes, and more of a rag-tag bunch of vigilantes. And, though he was still a mite irritated, he did feel like McCree’s attitude and horrendous pick up line might have helped minutely with calming him down.
“Greetings. My name is Hanzo Shimada. I am brother to Genji, and I am pleased to make your acquaintance. I am skilled in archery and excel as a sniper. I look forward to working with all of you. I hope we can all work together properly in the future,” Hanzo says in a measured and even tone. Hanzo uncrossed his arms, pressing them against his sides, and bent down for a low bow, properly greeting all of his new teammates.
After a beat of silence, in which Hanzo straightened up again, Lena gave a loud whoop and was suddenly in front of him with a flash of blue light. The elder man took a step back, surprise in his eyes, as Lena grabbed his shoulders, one clothed and the other barren.
“Cheers, love! I’m tickled pink at being able to finally meet you! I’m sure I speak for everyone when I say we’re pleased to have you! Welcome to the team!” Lena is all bubbly words and glowing cheeks, and Hanzo can’t help the slight smile that tugs at the sides of his lips. Affirmations spread around the room, and Hanzo feels the last of his nerves slip away at the widespread acceptance he finds greeting him. He relaxes a bit, feeling less high-strung, and watches the British woman blink back to her seat, before diverting his attention back to their leader.
Winston gives the room a smile, not bothering to hide his pride for his team. He continues the meeting for a few more minutes, describing how they would be including Hanzo in team drills the following week, giving him a few days to settle in. He gave Hanzo a tablet that was preset with meal times, a map, directions for an assault directly on the base, and various other pieces of intel. Hanzo thanks him, and Winston adjourns the meeting, directing Genji to lead his brother to his room. His new team all begin to file out of the room, giving him nods, waves, big smiles, and congratulations, as well as a hat tip and another wink (which Lena catches and promptly smacks the offender on the arm). Leaving him, his brother, and the omnic Zenyatta in the otherwise empty meeting room. Hanzo nods at the omnic, the one his brother calls “Master”, and the robot responds in kind, before floating out of the room to give the two Shimadas some privacy.
“Brother. I am happy you joined,” Genjii is speaking to him as he stands and makes his way towards the door, and Hanzo is quick to follow after him, “you will be a valuable asset in future battles. A sniper of your caliber will be able to pick off agents left and right.” Hanzo nods, thanking him gruffly, and they lapse into a comfortable silence. The weather is balmy at Watchpoint Gibraltar, with a slight breeze the gently weaves its way through the folds of Hanzo’s kyudo-gi. He finds he quite likes it, especially with the scent of sea salt weighing heavy in the air.
The walk from the meeting room to his room is short, and Hanzo finds he’s soon left to his devices in an unfamiliar room. No, in his home, and after being on the run for so long, it’s a welcome change. His bags have already been deposited, neatly placed near a small cot off to the side of the room. Other than that, there’s an en suite restroom, complete with toilet, a few cabinets, and a sink; a nightstand is next to his bed, as well as a computer desk with a chair. Lastly, a small closet and a dresser, but, otherwise, the room is vacant. Very bare bones.
Hanzo busies himself with unpacking, making his bed, hanging his bow and quiver up near the door for easy access, putting his clothes away, traditional clothing hung neatly in the closet, while normal clothes were folded and placed in the dresser. When the last piece of luggage had been emptied and put away, Hanzo heard a light rap at the door. He gave the room a once over and deemed it sufficient, before turning to answer the door. He opened it, blinking in the sudden wash of natural light, and was greeted by the sight of McCree.
He looked embarrassed and his hat was off his head, placed over his chest like earlier in the meeting room. Hanzo took the moment to drag his eyes down the other’s person, one eyebrow cocked as he took stock of him. He had an angular face, with high cheekbones, craggy nose, slightly thinner lips, and rather sharp eyes. His hair was just as haphazard as earlier, flyaway hairs near his side burns, which blended into his beard and goatee. His facial hair was rough, untrimmed, and barely styled. Hanzo raked his eyes downward, along the length of his thick neck, watching his Adam’s apple bob with a gulp; down his broad chest, partially concealed by his hat; along the muscular curves of his biceps; down his right forearm, which is all toned muscle, dusted with thick hair, and then down his left, which, Hanzo realizes, is composed of metal and wires, a prosthetic not unlike his own two legs. He wonders how he lost his arm, but files it away as something to ask about at another point in time. He resumes his visual descent down McCree’s body, finding big hands, both metal and flesh; he drags his eyes down to his belt, which is adorned with a large and gaudy buckle, emblazoned with the acronym “BAMF”; down his nicely fitted blue jeans and ending on the tips of boots peeking out from under his jeans. He looks exactly like an old Western cowboy, Hanzo realizes with an inward laugh. Hanzo nodded a bit, snapping his eyes back up to McCree’s face, who was looking a bit more red and a lot more uncomfortable.
“What can I help you with, McCree?” Hanzo asks, tone curt and to the point.
“Well, I’m here to apologize for earlier,” McCree begins after a deep breath, his eyes locked on Hanzo’s, who notices that they are quite the warm brown, “I was actin’ a right fool. Wasn’t kind of me to treat ya like that, ‘specially on yer first day on the team.” He places his hat back on his head and extends his human hand forward, that Hanzo stares at with eyebrow still arched. He hears an audible gulp from McCree, who continues blathering on in that voice of his, “I figured I’d come ta amend things and maybe offer a fresh start. So, nice t’meet’cha, they call me Jesse McCree.”
Hanzo stares at the hand in front of him, before slowly raising his eyes to look at the man in front of him. He smirks, delighting silently in the way McCree jumps a bit, and his lips twist into a nervous smile. His irritation from earlier has ebbed away, deemed as irrelevant, and the fact that this fellow went out of his way to come apologize for his behavior only served to soothe the vexed dragon. Hanzo crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe, crossing his ankles, and replies to McCree in a smooth, lightly teasing tone.
“Yes, I’m aware, and I am allowed to, what did you say? Call you anytime? Is that right, cowboy?” Hanzo smirks a bit more as he watches the way McCree’s eyes widen and his cheeks flush, and he has to hold back a snort as the other man’s jaw drops open. McCree tries to compose himself, standing up straighter, and is about to (presumably) respond in a flirtatious way, when Hanzo cuts him off.
“Well, Anytime-san, I thank you for coming by to apologize. I accept. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Hanzo fakes a long yawn, stretching his arms up into the air, “it has been quite the long day. I’m going to retire now. Have a good night, cowboy.”
Hanzo begins to close the door on McCree, who has begun sputtering (“Wa-- Wait, what, hold on a tick, darlin’, uh, I-- Shimada-san, uh-- fuck, wait--”), and he gives him a barely there grin as he shuts the door completely, leaving the other man out in the hall. He presses his ear to the door and listens to the sound of McCree, who lets out a low whistle and kicks something, if the jingle of the spurs on his boots is any indication. McCree mutters as he walks away, but all Hanzo can make out is, “damn tease”, before the voice is far enough away that he can’t hear him anymore. A smile spreads itself across his lips before he can stop himself.
Hanzo has a feeling he’ll enjoy being a part of this organization.