Genji has not been in Gibraltar very long.
That isn’t to say, of course, that he’s not settled into a routine; with the amount of time he had spent travelling it had become necessary to get himself used to whatever the environment he settled into for the evening-- week-- however long he was staying in the first place-- and he has the benefit, now, of already knowing the layout of the base like the back of his hand. The vents, more specifically, and whatever dark places he could hide himself into if he had any reason to avoid one person or another. Avoid another test or upgrade. Avoid like he had been particularly good at back in those days. While he knows the hallways of Gibraltar well, he’s more accustomed to the empty spaces where not another soul travels, because that is the easiest place to rest and shut down for a while when his usual spots would be found.
He has been fixed up since his arrival. Five years without proper maintenance (and he will not say that he had been avoiding doing that, too) had meant that his prosthesis were in the process of deteriorating when he had arrived, and Genji had submitted to a proper examination and repair courtesy of Doctor Ziegler despite how much he wished otherwise. They could color it as a “physical” all they wanted to; it is not quite, and he will not pretend otherwise. He has been fixed up, but the awkwardness in his upper thigh where flesh and metal meet is still there, as is the strange clicks in his fingers. Doctor Ziegler had said there was nothing wrong with them, and suggested that perhaps he was still just unused to himself-- Genji had not answered, and had retreated to one of his empty spaces, making himself comfortable to meditate in the quiet and dark.
“Agent Shimada,” chimes a gentle voice. “A visitor has arrived.”
Genji tilts his head up towards the ceiling at the sound of Athena, and sighs through his nose-- answers in affirmative in Japanese. He does not know who it will be, but there has been a steady trickle of former agents and those wishing to join the new Overwatch for days now. He was not the first to arrive, nor was he alone when he did, and he expects Winston will be glad to see the potential the new organization was in the process of building. Athena calls upon him because it is a former agent he worked with, he expects, and near everyone deserves a familiar face to greet them back home--
The thought gives him pause. Home.
He dismisses it, rising to his feet.
The winding hallways are empty, but carry conversation; he can hear a few people settling in, asking direction from the older group, Athena’s gentle instructions and a repeated message from Winston. Gibraltar is not empty, but it is more reminiscent of a nest of mice, small creatures scurrying their way through the hallways and rooms to set themselves up and establish their own routines and comfortable habits. Athena had pointed him towards one of the meeting rooms, an old one that had been cleared out and made more or less into a sitting room to gather up the newcomers for Winston’s greeting and what was to be sort-of an orientation; Genji had not sat through it because Winston had simply said hello, Welcome to Overwatch, you will not have to work under Blackwatch operations anymore, told him Doctor Ziegler would want to see him for a physical and let him pick where he wanted to sleep. When he opens the door, he expects a former Blackwatch agent-- perhaps a pilot wanting still to do good, a remorseful field agent after redemption, one of those starry-eyed monsters that Gabriel was particularly good at making effective weapons out of--
What he gets is Jesse McCree. Remorseful (?) field agent it is.
Genji stands before him, armored but (at least visibly) unarmed, his arms crossed in front of his chest, his head canting slightly to one side as the red behind the soft green glow of his visor fixates upon the scruffy looking cowboy. Something rises in his chest. Gathers at his lips. Feeling, he thinks. Old feeling. There’s a wooden box in his room filled up with all of that.
“McCree.” The mechanical sound of his voice is low. “I did not think you were coming.”
