Chapter Text
Hana insists on accompanying Lúcio on the way to the briefing. To use the word “escort” would make it sound like a mission, something formal and professional. But that isn’t what it is, and they both know that, even if it remains unspoken. Sure, Lúcio is her co-worker, and she’s almost certain that he would opt out of attending that meeting altogether if given half the chance, and the moment the rumours had been confirmed Soldier: 76 took her aside and murmured that she should keep a eye on the DJ - but it’s not like that. It’s important that Hana is by his side. She’s moral support more than anything else.
It’s strange. He’s usually such a cheerful person, the team’s firefly who’s always got the most contagious of smiles on him. But for the past few days he has been remarkably different. It started as slight tension, hidden behind jokes but so painfully obvious. By this point it has evolved into moodiness, borderline brooding. Hana glances at him as they walk together in silence and his jaw is set grimly, his gaze looking onwards, like he’s about to march into battle rather than a meeting. In fact, she’s seen him entering deadly situations with more mirth than now, and once again she questions exactly how much resentment has been brewing within him for all this time.
He must notice her watching him, because he glances over to her. Hana offers him a smile – hopeful, pleading – and although he half-heartedly returns it the tension remains thick, choking. She frowns before finally speaking.
“Please don’t –“ she pauses, at a loss as to what she can say for fear that whatever warnings might become a self-fulfilling prophecy, before speaking cautiously, “ - don’t do anything rash.”
Her best friend sighs, and the intense mask cracks to expose his weariness. Holding grudges must be so exhausting, she thinks. It makes him look far older. “I wish I could promise you that.”
Hana takes a step closer. Her arm brushes against his; a show of solidarity. “She’s only a representative.” She reminds him, quietly. He looks away from her, glaring at the plain watchpoint wall with such intensity that his gaze could bore holes in it.
“No. She’s their top agent. You know that she conveniently happened to be right by the favela when the explosion happened? You’ll never be able to convince me that she’s innocent. And here she is, in an organisation that’s meant to be filled with heroes. It’s a joke.” He almost spits out the last word, the ‘k’ sound at the end being harsh and guttural. It’s deeply unnerving.
At that point they arrive at the meeting room doors, and Hana feels cool relief wash over her. There would be no use in attempting to convince him, she knows that. They care about each other, they’re close, but there are certain topics that they both know the other could never endeavour to really understand and as such they are rarely, if ever, discussed. She’ll never know the true extent of the suffering in Rio; he’ll never have nightmares plagued by an omnic that’s so large that he can never escape its shadow even in his mind’s eye. Everyone in Overwatch has their own demons, the memories that keep them up at night.
Unlike Hana, however, Lúcio’s is not lurking beneath the sea on the other side of the world. She’s on the other side of the door.
The mech pilot enters first. They’re among the last ones to arrive, and as she opens the door the already hushed murmuring fades to near silence. There’s not a single member of Overwatch who isn’t aware of the potential for this meeting to go horrendously wrong, and the moment they notice the pair awkwardness and anticipation starts to stifle them. Only one voice continues to speak rather than whisper, and unlike usual it’s not peppy cockney. The tones are low and rich, but controlled and professional. It’s like a report, not a conversation.
“If it would not be too much trouble to have a desk of my own in the workshop, I do believe that it would be beneficial to –“
Hana follows the voice to its source. The speaker has her back to her, but she sees white and purple and does the basic maths. Lúcio seems to have reached the same conclusion, because she feels him tense up and instinctively her hand rests on his elbow as she automatically guides him to sit down, barely paying attention to anything but their new arrival. She knows there are more important characteristics to search for and analyse, but Hana can’t help but marvel at her hair. Dark, wound into a neat bun, it shines under the fluorescent meeting room lights. Hana hardly even hears what she says, but the voice draws her in.
Once the room has died down to silence, the woman turns around finally, having finished her conversation with Winston. Hana’s attention is immediately drawn to her eyes. They are molten topaz and gold; they are deep and astute and utterly engaging, and they roam over every agent sat down in the room with a keen gaze. It is obvious that she does not miss a single detail about them, that she has already read every file down to the last syllable. Yet she maintains a stony calm, even if her eyes do linger over Lúcio for a few milliseconds longer than the rest of the group and Hana sees them narrow ever so slightly. Still waters run deep, she thinks, and only from that roaming look can she tell that this woman contains oceans. Hana is so distracted by her that doesn’t even realise how much she has disconnected from the situation around her until the meeting has already begun, and it takes several blinks to return her mind to the present.
She only half-listens to Winston explaining that, as part of Vishkar’s investment in the recalled Overwatch, Symmetra will be adding her expertise in hard-light construction to their combined skillset; that she is currently on sabbatical from the company in order to make such a contribution, and is acting as a representative rather than a liaison; that she will have a section of the workshop reserved for her constructions and experiments (Torbjörn coughs blatantly at that, but everyone pretends not to notice).
Every single word that the gorilla says is cautiously chosen. Winston is a scientist, not a poet or a diplomat – he is usually to the point, concise and clear, refreshingly matter-of-fact. But his introduction is so tentative, so many phrases that sound like empty rhetoric, and everyone in the room except Symmetra seems to sense how different it is to his usual manner. As it carries on, the tension ramps up. Lúcio’s practically vibrating in his seat, and Hana prays silently for it to end before he explodes and the situation makes ugly an inadequate adjective.
Eventually, Symmetra is allowed to speak herself. She coughs, stands up, brushes hair out of her face, dusts down her Vishkar blouse. Even though every action feels uncannily like stalling and Hana desperately needs this meeting to come to an end as soon as possible, she can’t help but be drawn to each little movement this woman makes. Even in her habitual gestures, there’s a kind of elegance and control that rules her motions and make them seem so much more noteworthy.
“Greetings, agents of Overwatch.” She starts. Her hands are delicately folded in front of her, but Hana’s keen eyes (that she’s faintly aware are being far too obvious in their attentiveness) notice her nails digging crescent moons into the skin. “My name is Satya Vaswani, but you may refer to me by my professional moniker of Symmetra. I look forward to co-operating with you as an extension of the Vishkar corporation, so that we may work together for the sake of a better world.”
Hana’s hand shoots out to Lucio’s elbow, gripping it tightly just as he looks about to leap up. He has all the coiled tension of a tiger about to pounce, and although she knows that her friend is not a violent person she fears that in the heat of the moment he could easily do something he’d regret later. She turns to fix him with a stern stare – not pleading this time, but warning; his eyes are ablaze with indignation, but just then the agent sits herself down again and Winston, either noticing the silent confrontation or simply sensing the thick tension in the room, hastily dismisses the meeting, deciding to leave the three other, relatively minor, points on the agenda for a later meeting. Hana cautiously releases her grip on Lúcio and he’s up in an instant and heading for the exit barely seconds after Winston is done speaking. Hana is forced to follow him with some reluctance.
Looking over her shoulder as she goes, she notices that Symmetra is watching them, eyes intensely scrutinising every detail on offer. It would make sense with Lúcio – there’s no way that she doesn’t know who exactly who he is, what he’s done and what crimes Vishkar could have him sentenced for should they throw their entire legal weight at him – but Hana can feel herself being picked apart under the architech’s gaze. It is not an unsettling sensation, per se, but she suddenly becomes hyperaware of every single tic, every habit of her physicality that Symmetra has no doubt spotted and already analysed by now.
Unsure of what else to do, but desperate to at least come off as vaguely welcoming, she offers a weak smile and a thumbs up. The Vishkar agent’s look is perplexed, to say the least, her brows gently knit into a frown and Hana fears that is all the response she’ll receive, but eventually she nods in acknowledgement. Hana wants to wait and find out more, but by then Lúcio has already rounded the corner and released his pent-up diatribe, so she closes the door and sprints down the corridor in order to catch up with him.
She knows this woman has done some terrible things. Lúcio has described it in great detail – the enforced curfews, the armed patrols, the cramped sweatshops, the microcosm of a police state that Vishkar nearly turned the favelas of Rio de Janeiro into. Hana is an intelligent young woman. She knows that Symmetra’s skills in combat and espionage must have come from somewhere, and that her cool gaze shrouds a shrewd analytical mind. It would be foolish of Hana to dismiss the possibility that, despite the disclaimer of her sabbatical from Vishkar, she could still have an ulterior motive. The safest course of action would be to distance herself from the architech, trust her friend’s warnings and stay away from her. Hana can smell danger from a mile off.
However, she can’t help but watch her. Hana tries to tell herself that it’s exactly the same as the way Symmetra gazes at the rest of the team – she’s being wary, keeping an eye out, watching both her back and Lúcio’s. She’s had military training and knows better than to let her guard down. Best to know her enemy.
Yet all Hana seems able to notice is how her enemy’s right eyebrow arches whenever she tries to hide her amusement. How whenever she is in the same room as Lúcio she appears to chew the inside of her cheek, for it depresses slightly and shows off how elegantly angular her cheekbones are. How whenever she blinks her eyelashes seem to tap lightly against said cheekbones.
It’s frustrating, because she wants to learn facts, she wants evidence, but every tiny physical aspect of Symmetra distracts her. Hana knows she’s a danger, and she should either watch properly or look away entirely, but she just can’t stop staring at her in a way that is entirely unproductive.
It is on a mission, baking under the hot Egyptian sun, that Hana first watches Symmetra weave a turret out of thin air. Her hands dance to an unheard music; light and reality spin in the air as she conducts them, bends them to her will, forming a shining mesh between her fingertips. It’s like watching a goddess of creation at work, and Hana shifts so that her nose is almost pressing against the window of her mech, trying to see how. Symmetra’s wrists twist, further complicating the bright shape, before a flick of her hands causes a bright white turret to form on the wall in front of her. The whole process could not have taken more than a few seconds, but Hana wants to see it again and again.
“That’s rad.” She murmurs, aware of how brutish a description it is compared to the elegance that she has just witnessed. The architech hears her, glancing over her shoulder, frown lines creasing her forehead.
“That’s what?”
Hana suddenly feels very sheepish, and tries to look busy tending to something at the controls of her mech. “Rad. Like, cool. Really cool. Making stuff out of light? That’s cool. Of course it is.” She’s infinitely grateful that she’s not streaming currently, because that must have been one of the most un-D.Va sentences she has ever gabbled.
Yet when she glances up, she sees that Symmetra’s right eyebrow is quirked up, and feels a warm flush of satisfaction seep through her core. What’s more, the corner of her lip twitches into the faintest ghost of a smile, and the warmth envelops her entirety.
“In which case, your mecha is also… rad.”
The response is enough for some of D.Va’s confidence to start taking control again, and she cracks a smile as she leans forward, resting her chin in her palm. This is all for the sake of getting to survey a potential threat, she tells herself. Know thy enemy. Keep your friends close and your potential-enemies-who-happen-to-be-really-intriguing closer. That sort of thing.
“So, what do you do on your days off?”
Yes, just a normal interrogation question.
Symmetra, who seems to be just beginning to weave a second turret out of thin air, pauses in her movements to look over at Hana again. Her expression does not shift an inch as she asks, “Pardon?” and the light framework collapses into nothingness.
D.Va shrugs. “Like, what do you do on days when you’re not working? Like, I’ll game in my free time, but if I have the whole day then it’s totally worth a movie marathon. What about you?”
There is silence. It stretches out for a long time, before Symmetra turns around and once again begins to form the shape of a turret between her hands. She doesn’t speak, instead being entirely focussed on her work, and Hana wonders if she’s forgotten about the huge candy-pink death machine next to her before she spares one golden-eyed glance in her direction. “I believe that you would be most useful on the front line. Correct?”
Hana wants to ask more, wants to pry further, but she takes the not-so-subtle hint and decides that doing so would be less than wise. It's with more than a small degree of reluctance that she and her mech leave the architech to her work.