#hes under observation and getting images repeated...which is costing an arm and a leg | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

unlockthelore · 4 years

Text

Influence

Considering Tsuchigomori was being stingy with the exam answers, there’s only one recourse — studying. Thankfully, Hanako can help Yashiro with that. Right?

Part 1 of the Rumors of Kamome series. For more updates, follow the rumors of kamome tag on this blog.

It was uncommon for Tsuchigomori to see the 7th School Mystery alone as of late. At least during the day. With his newfound assistant and “overseer”, Hanako was almost always surrounded by others rather than aimlessly filling his day with his duties and distant observation of the students coming and going.

Overall, it wasn’t a terrible change of pace.

Tsuchigomori enjoyed watching the trio blunder through one mystery after the other. Their squabbling often leading to another embarrassing secret or special moment in their books, entertaining him when the weight of everything felt too heavy.

Yako took pleasure in knowing what the group she dubbed the “Toilet Trio” were up to. The two of them taking to talking about it in their spare time, carefully avoiding any mention of the moments none of them wanted to remember.

Ones bathed in sadness and drenched with ill feeling, a look-alike to the ghost they called their leader, pain twisting a young boy’s resolve of peace to revenge, and the impending loss of a tiny light — too bright and too good to go out so soon.

It was easier to pretend that these lazy days would go on forever and nothing would change. But, like all dreams, Tsuchigomori knew it would end one day. For now, living in the present was bittersweet. Ignoring what was to come and making every moment count.

Poetic as it sounded, Tsuchigomori couldn’t help but notice the irony. He was a supernatural and yet he wanted to ignore the future, bask in the present, and move on from the past — just like a mortal. Even his books weren’t as comforting as they’d been before.

Knowing how things ended didn’t give him any sort of satisfaction as it used to.

But if fate could be changed once, he hoped it would be again, just so these children could find a happy ending in a world where there were few.

─── 地縛少年花子くん

The afternoon school bell rang and as the students left one by one, Tsuchigomori bid them farewell with a slight nod of the head or a wave. It took some cajoling to get Minamoto Kou through the doorway, Yokoo and Satou leading him out with one pushing at his back while the other grasped his hands. Kou sputtering about seeing something and trying to call over his shoulder with both boys telling him nothing was there. Tsuchigomori waved when the blond looked at him helplessly, sighing once the door slid shut and the room was quiet aside from the buzz in the halls.

“Honorable Number Seven, don’t you think this an abuse of your power?” Tsuchigomori asked with a tired sigh, glancing up from the doorway to the ghost lazily floating through the air.

Without even a hint of repentance, Hanako floated over with his legs crossed and hands rested on his knees. “Ehhh~?” He drawled in a light-hearted tone, tipping his head to one side, his hat slipping over his eyes for a moment. “Whatever do you mean, Tsuchigomori-sensei?”

Throughout the entire class, strange things had been happening. The students were wise enough not to interrupt Tsuchigomori’s lecture but seeing as he could pinpoint the source of the disturbance — he couldn’t be upset with them if they had. Hanako floated from one corner of the room to another.

Giving students cold chills, messing with books, poking erasers until they tumbled to the floor and adjusting small things. It was enough to be noticeable but not enough for the students to panic. All aside from Minamoto-kun.

The poor boy was close to breaking his glasses with how tightly he clenched them. Having gotten fed up with Hanako poking at the temple earpieces tomato them lift then fall over and over.

Tsuchigomori took some pity on him with answering questions but tried not to let it show. Hanako was doing a stellar job of getting under the blond’s skin, an unwise decision considering the boy’s older brother was still out for the 7th Mystery.

Still, this was the thirty-sixth class in a row the 7th Mystery had disturbed even in his own way. Eventually, the students would start catching on and although he knew Hanako took his duties seriously — he didn’t need to deal with their murmuring and rumor spreading this close to exams.

Gathering his class roster and the stack of papers he would have to grade, Tsuchigomori kept his voice low when a group of students passed by. “I know that you want to help Yashiro with her exams, but there’s other ways to go about it then interrupting my classes.”

Hanako hummed, pressing his finger to the underside of his chin, his head tipping to the other side and hat following suit. “It would be easier if you gave me the answers,” he suggested cheerfully, as if it were the easiest solution to come to. His hands clasping together with a bright smile. “And then I could give them to Yashiro to study.”

Tsuchigomori blinked slowly, then narrowed his eyes. “Absolutely not.”

“Ehhh~?” Hanako sighed, floating over as Tsuchigomori started patting down everything to see if he had all he needed. “Why not?” Eyes narrowing, Hanako studied him critically then gasped. “Don’t tell me, you have an honor code as a teacher?”

Out of all the things he could have come up with. An honor code, really? Tsuchigomori sighed, really wishing he could smoke now but with most of his co-workers nearby and the students it would really hurt his image.

“No,” Tsuchigomori groused, tucking the materials under his arm and leveling Hanako with a flat stare. “There’s nothing in it for me.”

Hanako blinked at him a few times then rolled his eyes, folding his arms across his chest and floating backward. A few of the Mokke beginning to make their way through the classroom through one of the openings in the wall. “Stingy,” Hanako sighed, and the Mokke repeated the word enthusiastically, hopping up and down.

Tsuchigomori narrowed his eyes at them. “I’m not above letting Yako eat one of you, she would enjoy a snack and I could go for a few minutes of peace and quiet.”

Immediately, the chanting stopped and Tsuchigomori pressed his fingers to his temple. There had to be a way to help Hanako understand the importance of this. Although, Tsuchigomori couldn’t deny the curl of pride he felt with how fiercely the 7th Mystery went at this. He truly wanted to help his “assistant” even if it meant spending his free time pestering him.

No, was that pride or annoyance?

Ah, he couldn’t tell now.

“Think about it, Honorable Number Seven,” Tsuchigomori began, setting one hand on his hip. “Yashiro Nene isn’t long for this world — right?”

The Mokke which gathered near Hanako as he floated to the ground, immediately went rigid. With his back turned to him, the ember sun rays outlining his translucent form, Tsuchigomori felt a thin trail of regret. Especially when Hanako didn’t reply right away. The knife he often used wasn’t summoned to his hand but his hands fell to his side, palms open and shoulders loosened.

They didn’t speak of the Picture Perfect world or the promise he must have made to Yashiro Nene there. He and Yako were aware of Number Four’s doings but the curiosity in the 7th Mystery’s lack of an attempt to stay her hand was what puzzled him. Whatever conclusion Hanako came to must’ve been for Yashiro’s sake but at what cost —

“Studying can be taxing on a student’s health, both mental and physical, if she’s procrastinating then she may be stressing herself with how the results will turn out…”

It was a deplorable truth. Students were meant to take tests on subjects which might not have had much bearing in their futures but decided their future. He wasn’t fond of the process even now with how much it’d changed over the decades. But he could only lighten their burdens so much.

In spite of Hanako’s silence, Tsuchigomori continued on with his preparations to leave. Thumbing through the books despite knowing all he had was there in his arm, trying to buy time for the words to sink in.

“If she’s studying too hard, then it may have the same effect,” Tsuchigomori continued, ignoring the tension in Hanako’s shoulders. “Instead of pestering about the answers, why not be her solution?”

The Mokke gathered around cast him venomous looks but they dispersed from Hanako’s side, quickly leaving the classroom like rats jumping over a ship’s side. Hanako’s shoulders slowly rose and held before lowering with a shuddering sigh.

“Tsuchigomori…” He muttered, his voice hollow and softer than a whisper on the wind. A silent declaration for him to get on with it.

Quietness aside, Hanako had seemed different ever since he returned. Whether for the better or worst, Tsuchigomori wasn’t sure but there was a way to lighten his burden even indirectly.

“She isn’t long for this world, and I knew that…” Tsuchigomori acquiesced, remembering their earlier argument when Yashiro glimpsed her book and he hadn’t stopped her beforehand despite knowing she had stepped foot in his Boundary. “But she wants to live a normal life, doesn’t she?”

Hanako turned his head slightly, the corner of his mouth visible, downturned into a sullen frown.

“This is part of it. Studying for exams, spending the days wondering what comes next —“ Walking to the door, Tsuchigomori placed his hand on the handle and stared down at his feet. “Waiting on friends.”

His own shadow wasn’t what it appeared to be but those who weren’t aware of the supernatural wouldn’t see. Hanako on the other hand —

“There are better ways to spend your time, Honorable Number Seven.”

A long moment of silence passed between them and not once did it cross his mind that keeping his back to Hanako may have been dangerous. Counting backward from ten in his head, Tsuchigomori nodded and opened the door, feeling a light brush against his back.

“Thanks for the advice, Tsuchigomori-sensei…”

Turning around sharply, the empty classroom awaited him without a hint that the 7th Mystery had even been there.

─── 地縛少年花子くん

Hanako’s fingers twitched as he walked. Seconds from summoning his knife to hand, he had to remind himself there was no point. Tsuchigomori might not have been the best at fighting but he also wasn’t wrong. There was no sense in being angry. Even this — lingering around trying to garner the answers for an exam — was a distraction. He wasn’t sure what they were all doing half the time. Simply trying to wish away a problem and hope that nothing else would go wrong. Attempting to smile when they knew it would end in heartbreak.

He wanted to laugh bitterly. God, that “arbitrary” being who gave him this solemn duty, did he know that someone like her would cross his path? Someone who he would be willing to give up everything to save. Did he put this time limit on Yashiro’s soul to punish him? Sending a tiny light to save him from despair only to let it flicker out the moment his hands touched it?

Fists curled, he couldn’t even feel the press of his nails against the palm of his hand. Searing pain was no longer something he knew well. But he was learning again. Learning what it felt like to be torn from the inside out by the world around him. Clinging to one person to try and find comfort in the twist and turns of fate.

Taking a deep breath, he tipped his head back and stared up at the ceiling of the hallway in the old building’s third floor. Tsuchigomori. Would he be able to find it in himself to forgive him even when it was no one’s fault in the bitter end?

Even he knew Yashiro wasn’t long for this world but he didn’t know how he would feel for her. Couldn’t Tsuchigomori have warned him of that? So he wouldn’t have felt this pain.

Did he want him to?

Hanako sighed, opening his hands and dropping his head, the brim of his hat covering his eyes. Two students walking down the hall from the opposite end were talking warmly. Passing by him without even a backward glance and he was grateful. Like this, he didn’t want to be seen. He wasn’t sure if he could put on a smile even if it was mocking. As they walked home, talking about their plans and the homework they had, supernaturals watched them — kept only at bay by the presence of the 7th Mystery who promised a swift punishment if either of their souls were touched.

The pair exited the building slowly and Hanako watched from the window, pressing his hand to the glass. Warmed from the sunlight, it chased away the chill in his “skin” but only for so long.

“What am I doing?” He sighed, clapping his hands together as he rocked back on his heel. “It’s about that time, I should start heading back, huh?”

Turning on his heel, he clasped his hands behind his back and walked with a hum. Perhaps Yashiro would be there, he thought with a smile. Or maybe she was preparing a way to tell him that she had to head home.

「 Studying can be taxing on a student’s health, both mental and physical. 」

Hanako’s smile fell gradually.

「 If she’s studying too hard, then it may have the same effect. 」

Would it be better if she went home for the day? What if she worked herself too hard? There was nothing he could do from here.

「 Instead of pestering about the answers, why not be her solution? 」

Standing outside of the bathroom door, Hanako’s hand hovered over the handle and he hesitated. If she was there then what would he say to her? If she wasn’t there, then what would he say the next time he saw her? He’d been spending all of his time trying to help by gaining the answers for her that —

He brought his hand to his mouth, pressing his fingers to his skin then pulling them away, grabbing the door’s handle. He would look after her. One way or another, he would do his best to look after her.

“Yashiro!” Hanako called, cupping his hand around the side of his mouth as he opened the door. “Y—“

He sniffed, glancing down and his eyes widened. Curled up on the floor with her head resting against the wall and an open textbook propped up on bent knees, her ashen-teal hair slipping over folded arms was Yashiro. In the shade of the bathroom sinks, her skin seemed much paler and he couldn’t see the rise and fall of her shoulders very well. Alarm rose in his chest and in an instant, he was at her side, reaching for her shoulder.

Wake up, Yashiro. You’re just sleeping, right?

The cold brush of his fingers against her skin elicited a low grumble and he’d never been happier to hear that sound. Her brows furrowing and twitching as she fought likely to remain in the last vestiges of sleep. Slowly, her eyes opened. Hazy ruby a blessed sight and Hanako felt the tension dissipate, his hand resting on her arm. It took a few minutes for Yashiro to wake and he glanced down at her notebook in the meantime. It was outlined with notes in the margins, doodles of the Mokke, and other things.

He squinted slightly when he saw something written with ‘H’, trying to peer closer when her hand obscured it. A yawn parting her lips as she rubbed her eyes, undeniably cute with the little pout to her lips.

As if registering him being there for the first time, she smiled sheepishly. “Hanako-kun, sorry… I was trying to study a bit before I started cleaning.”

Studying… and cleaning?

He wanted to ask if that was too much. Surely, she could just go home and get some rest. But she came here to clean. Hanako reached out for the book, brushing her hands aside despite her protests.

With a cheery smile, he said, “Nope!” and shut it.

“Eh…?” Yashiro stared up at him as he rose to his feet with the book in hand. “H-Hanako-kun!”

“Noooope~!” He waved the book back and forth, tapping her lightly on the head, a smile curving his lips despite the ache in his core. “That’s enough studying, Ya-shi-ro~.”

A soft pink blossomed across her cheeks and her breath hitched. Two things he adored greatly, though his mind traitorously mentioned it would be two things he missed sorely. Yashiro’s voice cut through his thoughts and he stepped aside when she stood, reaching for the book. “I already told you what’ll happen if I don’t pass, right?”

As if he would forget. Still, he wouldn’t let Yashiro put herself hard to see him only to make herself feel worse.

Wait, she could just be trying to avoid supplementary classes so she doesn’t have to take them. It’s not necessarily for me, is it?

“Hanako-kun!”

Oh right, she was waiting for her book.

Tossing it up and down, he smiled back at her. “Mhm. And you’ve been working hard,” he turned back to face her, hiding it behind his back. “Which is why today, we’re going to take a break.” Spying the Mokke peeking out from behind one of the sinks, he let one part of the notebook show as Yashiro tried to process his words. Strolling past, he turned on his heel when Yashiro glanced back at him suspiciously, reaching out for the book and narrowly missing.

“What do you mean we are going to take a break?” Yashiro huffed, folding her arms across her chest, her cheeks puffing.

Hanako almost dropped the book in his shock. Why was she this cute? With his hands freed, he stepped toward her and the pout fell as he leant closer. His reflection in her eyes the closer they got and he grinned.

“I mean we,” he said, spinning past her then reaching out to lift her up in his arms.

The sudden movement had her sputtering and she wiggled in his grasp. Narrowly avoiding having his hat knocked off with one outward strike of her arm. Really, she was getting good at that.

“W-W-Wait a minute, Hanako-kun!”

Hanako adjusted his hold on her, smiling softly. “You’re tired, right?” He asked, tilting his head, fondness easing where doubt had been when she stopped flailing and stared up at him with wonder. “Don’t worry, I’ll carry you.”

There wouldn’t be anyone by this time and he didn’t have to worry about the Minamoto brothers either. Carrying her out of the bathroom, Yashiro’s arms wrapped around his neck and her fingers curled in his uniform jacket. Having her so close to him was a little distracting but he tried to keep his steps as light as possible and his face from reddening.

“But I’m—“

“You’re not heavy,” Hanako interrupted, giving her a side-long glance when her lips parted again. “And you’re not a burden.”

He hated that look on Yashiro’s face. A flicker of pain, hurt, regret — she always spoke of him saving her and looking after her. Granting her wishes. Didn’t she know that she granted all of his? That she was what he wished for.

No.

Perhaps she didn’t.

And maybe it was his fault for not letting it be known. Her head tucked against his shoulder and he glanced down at her, his eyes softening and cheek pressing to the top of her head. Another moment neither of them would speak of.

So close and yet so far.

Opening the door to the rooftop, Hanako grinned. “And here we are!”

He turned to look down at Yashiro and tease her for being so quiet when he heard the quiet breaths.

“Yashiro?”

Her hold on him was loose, one of her hands curled up at his chest, a grip on the front of his uniform while the other was draped over his shoulder. Listening to her breathing and the gentle cadence of her heart was better than any song.

“…. You were that tired, huh?” Hanako muttered, walking to the edge of the roof and sitting down with Yashiro in his lap, his head resting atop of hers. “An hour or two is fine, the sun won’t go down til then…”

He looked up at the sky, watching a pair of birds soar on the wind currents and disappear into the honey-gold sky. Yashiro sighed and pressed her cheek against his shoulder, drawing his attention back to her.

Maybe their story wouldn’t end like her fairy tales. And he wasn’t the type to kiss someone when they weren’t awake to tell him if he could. But he held her as close to him as possible as if he could protect her from anything and everything — even time itself.

“Sleep well, Yashiro.”

For now though? He would guard her dreams.

#jibaku shounen hanako kun #toilet bound hanako kun #hananene #yugi amane #yashiro nene #tsuchigomori #fanfiction #my fanfiction #rumors of kamome

75 notes · View notes

ghostmartyr · 7 years

Text

Fic: Finer Than Frog Hair Split in Half [1/2]

Fandom: Overwatch Title: Finer Than Frog Hair Split in Half Author: Immi Rating: PGish Summary: The new Overwatch lassos another straggler. Notes: Part of the series that shall henceforth be tagged with, “pharah and genji are bffs now.”

I II

Fareeha had accumulated a fair share of experience with budget complications over the years. The Egyptian Armed Forces asked for her opinion on their distribution of funds less often than they listened to it. Helix, juggernaut of experimental military tech, last line of defense against everything that the world used to have Overwatch for, had happily ignored her repeated reports on the flaws in the security plan for Anubis until the day she and her squad were firing off rockets in the heart of the facility.

Hearing that the new Overwatch had a funding problem wasn’t a shock. She’d come into this operation knowing full well what she was getting. This was a mission built on heart, not money. They were doing an international job they legally weren’t allowed to do, using a base they weren’t supposed to be occupying, and equipment they weren’t supposed to have. Problems were to be expected.

Another way to put it, which she preferred, was that problems were why Overwatch existed. They were in the business of solutions. Whether it was interrupting a terrorist attack or figuring out how their agents were going to feed themselves, they would supply an answer.

And Fareeha happened to like the answer to this problem. Very much.

Nine times out of ten.

At the present moment, closed off from the rest of the world in a tiny motel room with unforgiving desert heat seeping in through the shaded windows, Saleh was appropriately sweating bullets, Tariq was scrambling to bandage his leg before the floor was irredeemably covered in blood, and Fareeha had lost all feeling in her hand from Saleh’s grip on it.

“A cowboy,” Saleh hissed, “shot me in the leg.”

Bounty hunting for fun and profit. With the fun part officially over, and the profit part looking more unlikely by the minute.

“You’re in shock, Saleh.”

The soothing tone Tariq had picked up from one of their first-aid seminars didn’t have the desired effect on their injured squadmate. He grit his teeth, making eye contact with Fareeha so fiercely that some of the pressure was taken off her hand.

“He thought I was the mark,” he said, biting out his words. “Shot me in the leg before he saw my face. Apologized. Told me to mind myself after. Left to track the target.” He blinked back a few pained tears. “I’ve seen him before.”

Fareeha didn’t bother with soothing. “Do you know where?”

“Wanted list. I think.”

Leaving them with two outlaws to track down in the same city. If they didn’t have to scrub. Someone had probably seen Tariq carrying Saleh back to the motel, and it would be a while before he was back on his feet. Two on two with an unestablished wild card could turn bad fast.

Fareeha dug out the holo-app they’d picked up with their last bounty and held it above Saleh’s face anyway, setting the feed to an automatic scroll. Every single person with a bounty out on them was logged in it, though for the time being it was set only to browse North America’s selection. It shouldn’t have cost as much as it did, but bounty hunting had gotten competitive enough in recent years that half the work came from finding someone to hunt down in the first place. Something to do with global security being docked a few major programs.

When it wasn’t getting her men shot, Fareeha found it exhilarating. Chasing down shadows into the unknown and throwing them back to the righteous light suited her. The added tension of her livelihood and their entire operation being dependent on success only completed the feeling. Her mother would have a hypocritical fit.

“There,” Saleh said. “Him. Cowboy.”

The scrolling stopped.

Nostalgia knocked.

Fareeha took a long look at the face sporting the sixty-million dollar bounty. Longer than she needed to. Longer than she should have, with the stack of problems starting to topple over on her squad.

Jesse McCree, in all his brazen cowboy glory, looked back, sporting the exact same hat he used to squash over her eyes when they sat next to each other in the mess hall. Or when he caught her during hide-and-seek.

To the side of the image, the words, “Dead or Alive,” pulsed benignly in red.

“Tariq,” she heard herself say, “you have Saleh’s leg handled?”

“Yes, Captain.”

She squeezed Saleh’s hand and extracted herself. She didn’t think he noticed. He would be okay with Tariq. They did have medpacks, even if they weren’t supposed to use them outside of life-threatening injuries. He’d be fine. Not fine enough for what was coming next, but that was her job to work around, not his.

Shutting the door carefully, she dunked her head in the sink of their cramped bathroom. She gave herself one short breath of absence in dusting the droplets off, and brought up Gibraltar on her communicator, going with the standard channel after a moment’s thought. The situation counted as an emergency, but her mother had promised to actively monitor that one. If she could avoid adding further complications before the end of the hour, they’d all be better off.

Her call was answered at the first tone, and a holographic Genji took her place in the mirror above the sink.

“Captain Amari,” he greeted.

“Genji.” Another time, she’d ask him how he ended up on monitor duty when they had Athena and he preferred to avoid the central hubs of Gibraltar, but her gratitude would have to play second fiddle to urgency. “We’ve run into a complication.”

“Of what nature?”

“McCree showed up and shot Saleh in the leg.”

His head reared back. She wasn’t good enough to guess at what expression that would match up to yet, but imagination filled the gap readily. Old friends crashing back to Overwatch was becoming a theme. “Do you require medical assistance?”

“He’ll be fine.” The muscles lining Fareeha’s spine tensed, and she could hear her tone clipping. “Did Winston hear anything back from McCree when he sent out the recall?”

Genji didn’t move, and he didn’t repeat the question to Athena. “He declined to respond.”

That had been her memory. Not a surprise. McCree had left before Overwatch first disbanded, and the only people who had responded to the recall were Tracer, Reinhardt, and Torbjörn. Everyone else had waltzed through the front door at their own convenience. Fareeha had technically done so uninvited.

She and Genji shared the moment of silence backing up both their sides of the world. She knew what she was inclined to do, and he probably did as well. Genji was good at predicting people, and he was developing a seventh sense for predicting her. The only question was how dangerous it would be. She knew the boy with the fantastic belt buckle, not the man accused of hijacking trains.

He still had the belt buckle.

Fareeha sighed. “Genji, when he left—”

“Fareeha, you’ve run into trouble?”

A stubborn sort that seemed not to have an interest in stopping.

Her mother’s voice, joined swiftly by her mother, stepped into the monitor room. If the tails of her coat happened to catch the air dramatically as she marched in, well, Fareeha couldn’t say it wasn’t appropriate.

Genji was shoved to the side of the feed by the implacable presence that was Ana Amari, his open posture still directed at the camera, but cut in half by the tense look of disapproval and worry that had become the standard for Fareeha’s interactions with her beloved mother. Any bother he felt at the sudden interruption was covered by his visor and years of meditation. Fareeha wasted a heartbeat on envy and collected herself, abandoning the sliver of ease that had tried to set in.

“We’ve made contact with McCree,” she said. “He downed Saleh chasing after our prospective bounty. I called to check on his recall status.”

Fareeha could see Ana’s hands typing under her amused huff. Doubtless exploring Overwatch’s history of what McCree was up to these days. It would probably be more extensive than an enormous amount of money followed by the enormous string of grievances provoking the number. Athena had kept up a surprisingly thorough record of what all former agents were up to, whether or not they wanted to bring their shared history into the present.

She glanced at Genji.

Ana shook her head and tutted. “That boy has built up quite the resume since I’ve been away.” Her eye swiveled back to Fareeha. “How wounded is your man?”

“Imminently stable, but not up for a chase unless we use a medpack.” Fareeha didn’t want to admit the next part, but she didn’t have much choice. “Competing with McCree isn’t likely to end in our favor.”

A spark of approval lit in Ana’s face, and Fareeha’s heart swelled. “Of course.” Her chin found a place on her fist, and she observed her daughter in silent judgment. Neutrally for once. A commander inspecting her unit and considering how best to make use of them.

Fareeha had spent all of her adult life chasing after these moments.

Abruptly, Ana pulled away. “Bring him back with you, Fareeha,” she said. “If he insists on being an outlaw, he might as well have company.”

Permission granted, she passed out of the room as theatrically as she’d entered. Never mind how often she rolled her eyes at Jack marching the exact same path when they were all younger. The haze of the empty doorway gave way to Fareeha’s reflection, both eyes wary and alert with the tattooed promise she’d taken up.

She ignored it and turned back to Genji. He had not stopped watching her, and made no move to turn off the feed. He had, however, slid his chair back to its exact position prior to Ana’s entrance. There probably wasn’t a pixel of difference. Fareeha, more than sympathetic to feeling like a breathing lamp around her mother, elected not to comment.

“He’s her favorite,” she told him conversationally.

“McCree?”

“Taught him to shoot and everything,” Fareeha said. And didn’t immediately charter a plane to go out and maim the man for living irresponsibly. “He always beat me at darts.”

Saleh was quieting down. There was a good chance Tariq had been made. The bounty was still out on their initial target, but McCree had—according to his rap sheet—been doing this for much longer than the new Overwatch. He could nab the guy and be out of the city before the end of the day. Since he’d already shot a bystander, he would be looking for a fast, clean getaway.

She didn’t have her suit. On the ground, she had a rough guess of where their skill levels fell, and it was not complimentary. She would need to follow him, avoid getting shot, wait to catch him off-guard, and continue to avoid getting shot until she could convince him to come back with her.

Their mission kit, regretfully, did not come with tranq darts.

“Our father favored Hanzo.” Genji had stopped sitting up so rigidly straight. Certain parts of him refused to bend, but stress was clearly staying in her hemisphere. “He taught him everything he knew while letting me do whatever I pleased.”

His visor glinted upwards. “I did still learn enough to beat McCree at darts.”

“I,” Fareeha said, “was twelve.” The first time. Looking back, she’d spent a disproportionate amount of her time at Overwatch facilities getting trounced at barroom games. The career agents understandably had a lot of practice.

“So you’ll have no interest in watching when I challenge him upon your return?”

Fareeha eyed Genji. “I didn’t say that.”

Genji nodded so respectfully that she had never been more sure she was being made fun of. Fareeha ran a tired, bloody, hand through her hair, shaking her head. And smiling. She hadn’t realized that was possible so soon after exchanging words with her mother. Let alone in the middle of a mission to track down her felonious babysitter.

The question she’d started earlier came back to her. “Do you think he’ll want to return?”

Genji’s neck pulled back in the same motion it had when she first mentioned McCree. Surprise, maybe. With a dash of consideration from the extra horizontal tilt. He didn’t speak for several moments. A long time, considering the circumstances.

“I believe,” Genji said slowly, “he left to pursue his own view of justice. As it was becoming, Overwatch could not support him in his path.” The chair he was sitting on eased forward. “He is not lost to our cause.”

Fareeha’s smile turned rueful. “I’m hearing a ‘no.’”

“That is the standard for most recruitment missions.”

It was the answer he kept receiving from his brother, he didn’t say. She wasn’t sure how pleased he would be that she knew that. Genji’s participation in the new Overwatch did not stop him from striking out on his own at regular intervals. His privacy had been an illusion since joining them at Gibraltar, but it was one they all partook in. Respecting it was the least they could do for each other.

Fareeha took in her final deep breath before the plunge, holding it carefully before release. She couldn’t hear any activity outside the bathroom anymore. That would change quickly when they heard their new mission parameters. She looked Genji in the visor. The washed-out blue of the hologram didn’t do him any favors. She’d have to think about changing her color settings when she got back.

“Then we’ll have to spur him to action ourselves.”

His head tilted up again. A smile. Definitely a smile.

Fareeha caught her reflection’s eye. That made two of them.

What she had learned fastest in the new Overwatch was that part of old friends coming back was giving older pettiness a jumpstart. Torbjörn and Reinhardt would never find themselves using the same hammer. Jack and chain of command were on speaking terms maybe once a month. Her mother was unparalleled and best unthought of on the score of her memories of every single one of their comrades.

Fareeha could leave the darts to Genji’s capable hands for now.

In the meantime, she had a game of hide-and-seek to repay.

#Overwatch #Fareeha Amari #Pharah #fic #mine #pharah and genji are bffs now

1 note · View note