Commission for @krenee1drful. Thanks so much!!!
Hanzo
took the news well, all things considered. Or, at least, well by
their ill-conceived metrics.
There
was no screaming, no threats or denials, just a quiet acceptance,
when they expected the message to be received with Hanzo’s infamous
ire.
But
Hanzo’s grief was private – a quiet storm. One that demanded no
witnesses.
It
wasn’t as though the others were blind to this, however. They
surmised what was happening behind closed doors by the way he carried
himself, by the way he undertook his training with a renewed
ferocity, by the vanishing bottles of alcohol from the Watchpoint
kitchen. At any questioning, he asserted he was alright, that loss
was an expected outcome in such an undertaking and in spite of all
things, he would not admit out loud that he missed you.
Missed
you so deeply that his chest ached, hollow, in the space that you
once occupied.
But
he would suffer in silence. As he was meant to.
He
was a cursed man, and what little happiness he had found with you was
never meant to last, though he never thought that it would end with
your untimely demise. He hadn’t even found out until a week
afterward, due to being on his own mission, and the risks that such
news would potentially cause. He remembered with painful fondness the
way you wished him well before your tandem departure to opposite
sides of the globe, the subtle swell of excitement on the return trip
at the thought of seeing you and –
It
didn’t matter. Not anymore, at least.
Whatever
had been would exist only in his memories, remnants of what he should
never have allowed himself to have.
It
was only when his so-called well wishers became more insistent did he
lash out.
Genji
offered, not for the first time, for him to sit in on a meditation
session with him and his Omnic master, to help him come to terms with
your loss. The screaming match with his brother – that he belatedly
realized may have been one sided – escalated into a meeting with
Winston in his office, barring him from missions for the indefinite
future. He stormed off to his quarters after leaving a sizable dent
in the wall.
What
did they want from him? Was he not permitted to grieve in his own
manner?
It
was insulting, the way he was treated like something damaged. It
wasn’t as though he were performing less than expected. By Athena’s
data, his scores in training simulations were up to par, if not
better than usual, and the few missions he had been sent on in recent
months were successes. He did team exercises, assisted others with
their training, showed up to dinner and “team bonding” nights at
regular intervals. And if he was quieter than normal, it shouldn’t
have mattered when he was a man of few words in the first place.
He
was fine. And the sooner the others would come to understand
it, the sooner they could all move forward.
In
the dark of his room, he took another long pull from the neck of the
bottle and coughed – it was likely some swill of McCree’s, but he
wasn’t picky given that the next supply run wasn’t for another
week. Barred from missions and training, there wasn’t much else to
do on base late at night but languish, and restlessness churned under
his skin.
His
door slid open suddenly, causing him to nearly choke on another
mouthful of liquor. He snarled at the intruder, words that almost
sounded like Get out if it weren’t for the burning of his
throat from the pilfered alcohol. But they were not deterred, and
stepped into the room without flicking on his light, hardly more than
a shadow. He opened his mouth again, to tell them off more soundly,
when they bodily fell into him with a murmur of his name.
He
shouted for Athena to turn the lights on, heart pounding.
The
bandages covering you barely registered over the visceral sensation
of holding you in his arms. He didn’t even realize he was shaking
until you were soothing him, hands smoothing over his back in long,
repetitive strokes. He could only hold you tighter in response,
desperate to believe that it wasn’t the product of wishful thinking
and long-suffering despair. He must have said as much out loud, or
something of the like, based on the words that finally became clear
to him.
“I’m
here,” you murmured hoarsely. “I’m home. I’m home.”
His
eyes stung, but he did not cry, only buried his face into your
shoulder to muffle his relieved sob.
“You’re
home.”
demialwrites 