It was ever so subtle, but it was there. A spring in his step. Of all people, the fact that he, Hanzo Shimada, should have reason to be in a good mood was still a wonder. But then again, why shouldn't he feel this way? He was repairing his relationship with Genji. He had found purpose in his work with the newly recalled Overwatch. And he was on his way to see another new agent. One of particular significance to him.
Hanzo looked down at the small drive in his hand. Inside the device were files upon files of intel for some future mission. He had almost literally jumped at the opportunity when Winston asked for a volunteer to run it over to Amelie's quarters. He had tried to play it off casually, but he suspected that he had failed. He couldn't help it. He wanted to take any opportunity to see her.
Normally he wouldn't have seen her at all today. Whenever she had a treatment day, Amelie kept mostly to herself. He had offered to stop by before to cook and maybe watch a movie with her, but she had insisted that what she really needed was rest. The infusions she took on these days really tired her out.
Hanzo checked his phone for the 4th time since he started his trek from the command center. Still no response to his text. Strange. Even if she had been napping, she was normally a light sleeper.
The phone buzzed just as he approached her quarters. No words, no assurance it was fine to stop by. Just numbers. Four digits. The code to her room.
Interesting. It was the Watchpoint equivalent of making him a spare key. They hadn't spoken much about their relationship since it began. They both knew that they needed to take things extremely slow. They hadn't even been on a real date yet. But they knew there was something special between them. Something fragile and beautiful that neither of them wanted to ruin. So the door code was...odd.
It wasn't until the door unlatched that he realized he hadn't fully expected it to work – surely those numbers were a mistype, or they meant something else entirely. But the door softly whooshed open, revealing the dim room beyond.
His eyes went directly to the bed, but as he adjusted to the light, he realized she was not there. Just rumpled blankets and pillows.
Adrenaline kicked in. “Amelie?” he called, quickly shifting into fight mode. Who would have -
“...Hanzo?” came the weak reply.
He rushed to where she lay on the floor.
“Amelie,” he said her name urgently, willing this all to be a bad dream. “What happened?”
“I...” she said, struggling. “I wanted some water.”
What? He looked to the counter, then around on the floor. He saw the glass, resting upright on the floor, half full. Not spilled. As if it was carefully set down...
“I couldn't make it back,” she whispered. He followed her eyes to the bed.
Hanzo snapped into action, gathering her in his arms. He began to carry her to the door.
“Where...?” she asked weakly.
“To Medical. You're having a bad reaction to your treatment.”
“No.”
Hanzo stopped at the force of her tone. It was the most like her she had sounded since he arrived.
“This...this is normal.” She squeezed her eyes shut.
Hanzo couldn't move. She had been suffering like this every time, and he hadn't had a clue. “Why didn't you tell me?” The words were out before he could check them.
“I...burden...” she pressed her head to his chest, too tired to go on.
He moved towards the bed and slowly lowered her onto the mattress. He touched the side of her face to get her attention. When her yellow eyes were on him, he started again.
“You are not, nor will you ever be, a burden.”
She placed a hand over his. The faintest smile tried to peek through. He retrieved the glass of water and brought it to her, placing it on the side table while he helped her sit up. She took a long drink. How had she survived the other days without help? Some reasonable part of his brain, part that suspiciously had Zenyatta's voice, told him it wasn't his fault for not knowing her struggle before. He wasn't sure about that, but he agreed with the next thought wholeheartedly. Now that he knew, she would not have to face this alone.
“Are you hungry?”
“A little,” she said, nodding slightly.
He stood up. “Will you be okay while I go to the mess hall to get us food?”
“Hanzo, you don't have to-”
“I know. I want to, I-”
“You aren't...you aren't honor bound to me.”she said.
He sat down on the edge of the bed slowly, gauging his next words.
“What if I want to be?” It was like exposing a raw nerve. But he wanted to. He didn't want to be the oblivious person he was a few minutes ago, separate from Amelie's inner world and struggles.
She squeezed his hand, and he thought he detected some moisture in her lovely eyes. It was all the answer he needed. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
“Rest now. I'll be back soon.”
He exited her quarters, releasing a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. And started off toward the mess hall, hope and determination in his gait.
A Widowhanzo Christmas comic based on my first fanart or comic for these two.
Note that the reason why Hanzo is worried at Widowmaker is because she pull that trick with some of her targets during her assassin missions so he was worried that she will do the same with him by punching him but he was wrong.
I was thinking about this but maybe a story where after she marry Hanzo, Amélie got herself a dragon tattoo similar to Hanzo but purple since she now join the shimada family along with Genji.
The first couple times, they didn’t know if it was real.
It was only a few days into their honeymoon before Amelie first dreamed of the dragon. She had mentioned it casually, lazily while they were still in bed. She thought it was just a coincidence to share, but Hanzo immediately grew serious. It might just be a coincidence, he said, but it could also be something more.
After another dream, they both tried to hide their excitement. The third time the dragon visited her, they knew for sure. Amelie had a spirit dragon.
Hanzo was glad he had already made the necessary inquiries. All that was left to do after the third dreams was finalize the arrangements and pack their bags.
The artist who crafted his and Genji’s tattoos had been an apprentice when Sojiro took on the symbol. He was still alive, living out his twilight years in a remote village in Japan, far away from any echoes of the fearsome clan he had once served.
Hanzo hadn’t seen the artist since the day Genji was inked nearly thirty years prior. When he and Amelie entered the cottage, Hanzo was hit with a tempest of emotions he did not expect. This was the closest he had been to his past in a long time. The tattoo artist was aged, but his eyes were the same. And so were the eyes of the young man standing beside him. His grandson and apprentice.
The process took several hours, but Amelie took it all in stride. Hanzo sat beside her all the while, holding her right hand while the young artist worked on her left. When the work was complete, Hanzo wished they could accept the old man’s invite to stay another day. But they both knew it was a bad idea. They had already risked much to complete this rite.
A couple of weeks later, it was time. Amelie had been sleeping fitfully, tossing and turning. Only when he saw the soft purple glow begin did he wake her up. It took her a moment to get her bearings, but when she did, she went on high alert. Worried eyes snapped to Hanzo.
“I think its time to meet the latest member of the family,” he said.
“What…what if it doesn’t work?” she whispered reverently.
“Just try. Like I told you.”
Amelie closed her eyes. The glow coming off her tattoo intensified, spreading up along her shoulder and neck. When she opened her eyes, the yellow glow had been replaced by purple.
The energy moved outward and away, toward an open spot on the floor beside the bed. And there she stood. As beautiful and deadly as her mistress.
Slowly, Amelie swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood. She walked towards the creature, slowly extending a hand in its direction. The dragon closed the remaining gap, solemnly placing her head under Amelie’s palm. Then suddenly she was moving again, spiraling up and around Amelie like a ribbon on the wind. The surprise and wonder in Amelie’s expression was positively childlike. Hanzo chuckled.
“Are you laughing at me?” Amelie asked, pretending disdain.
“No, my love,” he said. “I’m laughing at myself for missing something so obvious.”
“And that is…?”
Hanzo jerked his chin toward the dragon, who had curled itself around her mistress, her head beside her hip. Amelie was already stroking her scales absentmindedly.
“She’s a dancer,” he said, and smiled. “Of course she would be a dancer.”
