Know what’s on the menu?
Hanzo squints down at the words scrawled across his coffee cup’s sleeve.
He was in a rush this morning.
He had an important meeting with Winston – namely, a video call about escorting a payload with “crucial resources for Overwatch’s mission.”
Hanzo is a new – and, admittedly, slightly reluctant – member, but he is already beginning to wonder why so many payloads are so very crucial to their mission.
That aside, he ordered a cup of coffee – black, to go. He paid for it (because, apparently, working undercover in a coffee shop doesn’t entitle you to free coffee) and left, wearing a dark, hooded jacket as to not stand out. His Storm Bow was concealed in a case meant for a large instrument.
The coffee shop they established was popular in the area. Their sole competitor (a run-down diner that Hanzo has yet to visit in a non-combat-related situation) is miles away and infamous for having coffee that tastes akin to watered dirt. Since Overwatch could easily import ingredients from other the other bases, their coffee was far better (albeit still sub-par), and, thusly, people flocked to them. The store was always busy, which somehow made it easier to stay incognito.
No one suspected that the new café was actually an undercover base for an international task force.
Still, the popularity did come with a price. Hanzo despises crowds. He, naturally, kept his head low all morning.
This is what makes the message on his now-empty cup all the more puzzling.
He has no idea who wrote it. He cannot remember who handed it to him.
“Hanzo?” A small voice calls out. It’s the scientist with the mysterious blaster – the one that shoots pure ice. Mei, Hanzo’s recalls.
At least he knows who she is. Hanzo mentally curses himself for floundering with names and faces while on the line of duty. Newness be damned, he should be paying better attention to his surroundings.
He has just been preoccupied by… Things. Many things.
He catches himself before he gets completely lost in thought.
“Yes?” His voice comes out strained, dry.
Mei blinks up at him, curiously, but he ignores her.
Her drone beeps, as if to chastise him. He ignores it, too.
“The car over there in that warehouse is the payload,” Mei says instead of pressing him for details. “I think it’s quiet enough, but… Do you think we need backup?”
“Hm.” Hanzo throws the coffee cup into a nearby garbage can, trying to make the motion look as normal as possible. “...A moment.”
He is no longer in his jacket, and his bow and arrows are out of their case. He may be floundering in his social endeavours, but he can handle missions.
After all, they are the means by which he will prove himself.
He dashes up a small cliff then quickly gets into position, aiming a Sonic Arrow at the warehouse that the payload is currently stationed in. The building seems abandoned – the car as innocuous as any of the other abandoned wrecks sited there.
He has to give credit to Overwatch. Their ability to remain under the radar – yet still, somehow, stay effective – is impressive. Such is the power of networking. As he lets his arrow fly, he wonders if he will ever be stationed in Hanamura.
But there is no time to dwell on such things.
The arrow hits the wall at the back of the warehouse, its tracking device activating. Hanzo scans the area for any movement.
Satisfied, he quickly slides down the cliff, back to Mei. “Backup will not be necessary,” he says.
“Wonderful!” Mei exclaims, a wide grin spreading across her face. “Winston did say that this would be a quiet mission. Well then, let’s get going!”
She takes off running to the payload, blaster still in hand.
Hanzo’s thoughts drift back to the coffee cup with the strange message on it.
“Ridiculous,” he mutters, and he follows Mei.
Been thinking about you a latte.
“What the fuck,” Hanzo says, monotonously.
He is back in his quarters and covered in sweat – the Deadlock Gang showed up after a while. Luckily, they were simply a few stragglers. Mei’s Blizzard paired with his Dragonstrike made short work of them.
The payload was safely delivered to its destination. He and Mei managed to sneak back into the coffee shop base through a side-entrance known only to the operatives.
The mission was smooth and simple, but it still got his mind off the strange message on his coffee cup this morning.
Surely enough, the universe decided that a reminder was in order… Namely, a cup of coffee (which he did not buy) sitting atop his dresser.
He takes the lid of the coffee cup off, peering inside. He sees the same beverage he had this morning – black coffee.
“This is not even a latte,” Hanzo grumbles. He’s alone in his room – which is sparsely furnished with basic necessities – but the sheer absurdity of the situation is taking its toll on him.
Coffee cup in hand, he quickly walks to the agents’ shared bathroom. He then empties the contents of the cup down the sink’s drain. He’d never drink some strange substance left alone for who-knows-how-long.
The bathroom door then opens, and Hanzo can hear the clinking of spurs.
“Shit!” A voice exclaims. “Oh. Didn’t see you there, Hanzo. Nearly gave me a dang heart attack.”
Hanzo looks up to see another agent. The man laughs, loud and booming, and Hanzo eyes him. He can’t remember his name, but he has seen this man before, around their home base… They have never actually worked together. He wears a cowboy hat and always seems be smoking cheap cigars.
Today, he is not wearing the hat. However, he is wearing one of the uniforms that Overwatch provided each them for the recon mission: A simple, long-sleeved black shirt with black pants and a light-brown apron tied around his waist. He is also wearing black gloves, likely to conceal his prosthetic arm. His hair is tied back messily.
The man catches sight of the coffee cup and his laughter falters. “What in the name of… Are you throwin’ away your coffee?”
Hanzo glances down at the coffee cup. Luckily, the side of the cup with the horrifying joke is not visible from where the other man is standing.
“I did not want it,” Hanzo replies, simply, hoping that he does not look as embarrassed as he feels. It’s a foolish prank, nothing to be embarrassed over, and yet…
“Ah,” the other man says, nodding slowly. “Yeah, it’s a weird time to be drinkin’ that, now that you’re mentionin’ it.”
“Yes,” Hanzo says, suddenly feeling extremely awkward.
A silence settles between them, and the other man will not stop staring at him.
“Don’t you have a shift to attend to?” Hanzo asks, sounding only slightly more hostile than he’s feeling.
“Whuh?” The man blinks a few times, as if brought out of a trance. “Oh. Kinda. Reinhardt’s got it covered. Some shit ‘bout it being the most glorious task, preppin’ more coffee all at once than any other mortal. I don’t know. He started playin’ Hasselhoff and I had to get away.”
“I see,” Hanzo says.
“Yeah, he’s quite a guy,” the man continues. “Not complainin’, though. Feels like a vacation, almost. The Deadlock Gang ain’t nearly as active down here, and trashin’ coffee places ain’t exactly on their agenda. I would know.”
The man’s chatty. Hanzo feels completely out of his element.
What is his name?!
The name tag pinned to his chest says “Bob,” but Hanzo knows that’s simply his undercover persona.
He is not truly Bob.
“Who’d wanna waste good coffee?” The man prattles on. “Besides you, I mean.”
For a second, Hanzo doesn’t understand what he’s implying, but then he remembers that he just emptied an entire cup’s worth of “coffee” down the drain.
“There is a time and place for everything.” Hanzo throws the coffee cup into the garbage receptacle that is set up next to the sink.
“Woah there, don’t get all philosophical on me,” the man says, still grinning. “You’re soundin’ like that one guy. Zenyatta.”
Hearing that name makes Hanzo feel like he’s been hit with a wave of ice-cold water.
Zenyatta. His brother is close to Zenyatta. He is the omnic who helped Genji. The one who taught him how to forgive Hanzo…
As if he deserves anything of the sort.
Hanzo’s rigid and the other man seems to pick up on it instantly. “Sorry,” he says, looking very sheepish. “Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m just –”
“I must go,” Hanzo says, quickly. He slides past the other man before he can get another word in, quickly heading down the hallway and back to his quarters. He locks the door behind him.
He is not suited for such strange encounters, particularly when these encounters bring up thoughts he’d rather not deal with yet.
…Or ever, truly.
Hanzo is not ignorant. He has barely seen Genji since he joined Overwatch. Hanzo is grateful for that small mercy, at least. His brother is in some other country, taking part in his own undercover missions.
Far away from Hanzo. As it should be.
He sits on his bed, staring at the wall in front of him. The paint is faded, green and peeling.
He is aware that he is in desperate need of a shower, but he does not want to risk running into that strange man again.
He has spent many years avoiding these… Connections. They seem overly troublesome.
Missions are important. Honour is important. Redemption is important.
Everything else is secondary.
I must be hunting for treasure,
‘cause I’m digging your chest.
“Not again.” Hanzo glares down at the coffee cup in front of him.
“Why do we get so many people coming in here?!” D.Va exclaims, oblivious to the repulsive words that Hanzo was just forced to read. “Why couldn’t our undercover base be something quiet?!”
Hanzo picks the coffee up, still glaring at it. He is on coffee duty with D.Va, now. They just dealt with a rush of customers and, thankfully, the shop is now empty.
“Like a library!” D.Va rants. “Or a – a game store! Actually, scratch that. I’d be recognized instantly, even if I had a disguise.”
Hunting for treasure.
“Being a celebrity can really take its toll on you, you know,” D.Va continues. “My fans are getting antsy. I haven’t streamed anything for them in forever. Some of them think I’m dead. Yeah, right!”
Digging your chest.
D.Va groans. “Being undercover sucks.”
“Did you write this?” Hanzo blurts out, holding up the coffee cup.
Confused, D.Va leans forward, reading the words scrawled on it.
And, of course, she bursts into uncontrollable laughter.
“What the hell?!” She’s laughing so hard, she has to grasp at the counter. “That’s one of the worst lines I have ever seen in my entire life! Of course I didn’t write it!”
Hanzo furrows his brow, opening the lid. Black coffee. Again.
He doesn’t even like black coffee that much. He just needed the caffeine boost for the mission.
“You’re like, a hundred years old, too,” D.Va says. “I have standards, you know.”
“Good to know.” Hanzo sighs. “Who is doing this?”
“Doing?!” D.Va gasps. “You mean, this has happened before?!”
Hanzo craves the sweet embrace of death.
“It totally has!” D.Va clasps her hands together. “Do you have a secret admirer?! That’s so cute, I could just scream!”
“Don’t,” Hanzo says, trying to sound threatening. Instead, he just sounds tired.
“Brb!” D.Va dashes away from the counter. “I’ve gotta text Lúcio about this!”
Hanzo doesn’t know what “brb” means. Whatever it is, he does not like it. Not one bit.
He watches D.Va as she scrambles away, then looks back at the coffee cup. Scornfully.
He doesn’t even know how this got here. Hanzo simply turned to inspect the counter, after the final customer left, and the cup of coffee was just… There.
Perhaps it was meant for D.Va, he thinks. She does have a lot of fans.
That doesn’t explain the one that was in his quarters, though.
That one was clearly for him.
He can feel a headache coming on.
The “coffee” is still hot.
Hanzo remembers the man from yesterday, poking fun at him for wasting his drink. He entertains the thought of drinking this one but then catches himself.
Drinking some suspicious substance that was just left for him on a counter, after rush-hour at a coffee shop? It already sounds like a disaster waiting to happen.
Of course, the fact that the entirety of Hanzo’s crime syndicate family wants him dead (with the alleged exception of his brother, who, for all intents and purposes, is the one who should feel that way the most) only adds fuel to that particular fire.
Hanzo pours it down the coffee bar’s sink and quietly hopes that this nonsense will end soon.
“Any news on your secret admirer, Hanzo?” D.Va calls out to him that night, after dinner. He winces.
“Secret admirer?” Mei echoes.
“You are mistaken,” Hanzo says. All of the stationed agents are in the kitchen, cleaning up after the day. A tower of dirty dishes accumulated, but they have mostly dealt with it. “It was merely… A joke. That’s all.”
“No way,” D.Va says deviously. “Someone’s been leaving Hanzo love letters.”
“Hardly,” Hanzo grumbles.
“Ah.” Reinhardt nods, very sagely. “Youth. I miss my days of mysterious paramours and trysts.”
“I am not young,” Hanzo snaps as he starts washing a dish with fervour. His hair keeps falling in front of his eyes – as if he needs any more annoyances.
“You are young enough!” Reinhardt announces, placing a plate on the dish rack with such force, Hanzo’s surprised when it doesn’t crack. “Isn’t that right, McCree?”
“’Course. No one’s too old for some fine-ass poetry.”
McCree. That’s the man’s name.
McCree is wearing his full ensemble today, including his hat. His gun is also still in his holster… Hanzo vaguely wonders why the man is still armed. He returned from his mission hours ago.
D.Va makes a small, disapproving noise. “That stuff isn’t poetry. It’s just bad.”
“How can a pick-up line be bad?” McCree asks, and Hanzo just sighs.
“Are you going to help with the cleaning?” Hanzo asks him. “Or are you simply here to discuss that which does not require discussion?”
“The second one,” McCree replies, taking a seat at the table. “Also, to look real pretty.”
Hanzo frowns and D.Va giggles.
“Be careful, McCree,” D.Va says. “You don’t want to end up with an arrow in your head.”
Hanzo smirks at that.
“What’s this about arrows?” Mercy walks into the kitchen, wearing a crisp, white suit. “I was in a call with Fareeha. Please don’t tell me you started inflicting bodily harm on each other while I was away.”
“Not yet,” Hanzo replies, wiping the now-clean plate dry before placing it on the dish rack.
“Excellent,” Mercy replies with a smile.
“How’s everyone doin’ over in King’s Row?” McCree asks, changing the subject – much to Hanzo’s relief.
“They are fine,” Mercy replies. “They’re mostly doing escort work. Nothing too fancy.”
“There, too?” McCree whistles. “Looks like it’s quiet time for Overwatch.”
“Which means that something big is coming soon,” Reinhardt says. “Be ever-vigilant!”
“Yeah, yeah,” McCree says, waving a hand dismissively. “I know.”
Hanzo surveys the kitchen. It appears to be sufficiently clean.
“You have a mission tomorrow, right, McCree?” Mei asks. “Hanzo, too.”
“Yup.” McCree stretches. “We do.”
“But you had one today, McCree!” D.Va exclaims. “Are you trying to impress someone?”
“Yeah, right. These are nothin’,” McCree says. “S’Like shootin’ fish in a barrel.”
“Hubris,” Reinhardt warns.
“Like you’re one to talk,” McCree retorts, rolling his eyes.
Hanzo feels a certain warmth in his chest. Whatever it is, he quashes it immediately. He wipes his hands dry and then walks out of the kitchen. He has no time for this – he must rest for the mission tomorrow.
“Hey! Hanzo!” McCree follows him out. “Hold up. I need to talk to you. Won’t be long.”
He puts his hand on Hanzo’s exposed shoulder, as if to physically restrain him. Hanzo shrugs it off and turns to face the other man.
“What?” He doesn’t know why he sounds so irritated.
“Dang.” McCree takes his hat off. “Looks like someone hates my guts.”
Hanzo frowns. “I do not, but I do hate when people waste my time.”
“Fine, fine.” McCree shrugs. “It can wait.”
“What can wait?”
“What I wanted to tell ya, obviously.” McCree looks like he’s trying not to laugh.
“You can’t just tell me now? Quickly?”
“Then why did you stop me?”
“Can’t a guy change his mind?” McCree ask. “If you keep scowlin’ like that, your pretty face’ll stick.”
Hanzo’s scowl deepens, and McCree finally barks out a laugh. Something about that laugh is infectious, Hanzo realizes. It almost makes him want to laugh, too.
“You’re very strange,” Hanzo says as he turns back around.
“I get that a lot,” McCree replies. “Let’s make it a good one tomorrow.”
Hanzo walks back to his quarters, feeling that strange warmth in his chest again.
He isn’t as quick to push it away.
This coffee might be hot, but you’re way hoter.
“Got another one?” McCree asks, clearly catching the unamused expression on Hanzo’s face as he walks out of the base. Like Hanzo, he is in casual, dark clothes, as to not attract attention to himself. His weapon is concealed, too – but his hat rests proudly on his head.
“Yes,” Hanzo says. “It was outside my room. It has a… Spelling error.”
“No way!” McCree, who is leaning against a tree, pushes off it and walks quickly over to Hanzo.
They have some time before they must set off for their mission, so Hanzo is slightly more willing to show McCree the downright offensive coffee cup.
McCree inspects it. “…There’s somethin’ spelt wrong? What’s spelt wrong, here?”
“Hotter,” Hanzo deadpans. “It’s supposed to have two ‘t’s.”
McCree blinks. “Seriously?”
“Yes.” Hanzo eyes him. “Did you not know that?”
“I ain’t the only one!” McCree exclaims, pointing at the cup.
Hanzo just rolls his eyes.
“Anyways,” McCree says. “You’re good at English, aren’tcha? Correcting people’s spelling and all.”
“I learnt the language as a boy,” Hanzo replies, though he’s wondering how correcting one word out of the entirety of the English language makes him good at English. “My family insisted.”
“Oh, yeah, that makes sense,” McCree says, nodding. “Genji said the same thing, too.”
“He took his studies far less seriously than I,” Hanzo replies. He almost smiles at the memories. Almost.
When they were young, Genji would regularly sneak them out of the Shimada family’s estate. They’d go to the local arcade – sometimes stopping by the local food stands. They were no strangers to the ramen shopkeeper and would sometimes even get free meals.
Of course, as they grew older, such expeditions grew more difficult to execute. Hanzo would refuse out of fear of angering the clan – of bringing dishonour to their name – while Genji would brush it off and leave, anyway.
Still, the memories of the days they did go off together… They were good ones. Cherished ones.
McCree snorts. “Like you didn’t go playin’ hooky sometimes, too.”
Hanzo blinks; McCree brought him out of his thoughts. “What do you mean?”
“I know things!” McCree announces, smirking. “Nah, but seriously. Genji talks ‘bout you all the time.”
Hanzo can’t hide his surprise. “Does he?”
“Yep. Granted, his tone’s changed over the years,” McCree stretches. “Still. He’d never shut up. I’m glad I can finally work alongside the infamous Hanzo Shimada.”
Hanzo can’t tell if he’s being serious or not, so he doesn’t reply.
“Anyways, all that aside…” McCree leans in closer to him. “I can one-up you en Español.”
“Are you forgetting that I am fluent in Japanese?” Hanzo retorts, and McCree laughs.
“Okay, fine, you win,” he says.
Such a strange man. Hanzo moves to throw the coffee away – again – and McCree immediately starts spluttering.
“Woah, woah! You’re still throwin’ those away?!”
Not this again. “Of course,” Hanzo says. “I’m not about to drink some unknown substance.”
“Hanzo, it’s just coffee,” McCree states.
“It may appear to be coffee, but it could have poison in it,” Hanzo retorts. “Many people want me dead, McCree.”
“We’re fuckin’ incognito! People can’t even find you!” McCree grabs the coffee cup. “Here. Bottoms up.”
Before Hanzo can stop him, McCree gulps down a huge sip.
“Mc –” Hanzo’s about to yell, but a metal hand is suddenly covering his mouth, suppressing the sound.
“Like I said,” McCree says, close enough to Hanzo that he can smell the coffee on his breath, “we’re incognito.”
Damn. Hanzo almost blew their cover completely. Shouting names of “wanted criminals” is not the best way of blending in, especially given their surroundings.
McCree should not have done that.
“You should not have done that,” Hanzo says, pulling away from McCree.
“Dang right I shouldn’t’ve.” McCree makes a disgusted face. “Black coffee’s nasty.”
“I will be sure to let my admirer know that you prefer yours with cream and sugar,” Hanzo sneers.
“Much obliged.” McCree smiles as he hands the cup back to Hanzo. It’s almost empty. “Alright, I need to grab some cigs. I’ll see ya at the point.”
“You don’t have them on you?” Hanzo asks, as McCree jogs off, back into the coffee shop.
“Nope! Forgot ‘em!” He calls back. There’s a small pause as he turns around, still jogging, albeit backwards. “You want one?”
“Mc – Ah – Just… Hurry up!”
McCree chuckles and shrugs. “Suit yourself.”
Hanzo watches the other agent duck back into the coffee shop, blending in with the crowd.
He then looks down at the coffee cup in his hands.
It’s going to be a long day, he thinks as he leaves to get rid of it.
Hanzo begins scouting the moment he arrives at the designated point – an abandoned diner, reduced to ruins during the Omnic Crisis.
According to Winston, this was another low-risk, high-reward mission. The Deadlock Gang gained access to some elite weaponry. McCree and Hanzo are to intercept its transport and, ultimately, claim these weapons for Overwatch.
It’s early in the day but the sun is blazing down on him. Walking over from their base was not exactly a pleasant stroll, but it went well enough. Still, relief washes over Hanzo as he takes his jacket off, tying his hair up and adjusting his combat outfit. He then quickly pulls his Storm Bow out of its casing, strapping his quiver onto his back and readying a Sonic Arrow.
He’s grown accustomed to working alone. In many ways, he favours it. He was trained as an assassin, after all – and he relied on himself for a significant portion of his life. This type of work comes easily to him.
He scouts their point, first – making sure that no spies or bystanders are around. It happens more often than one would think. Finding the area clear, he quickly climbs up to the second level of the diner, examining the surrounding area through a gash in the wall.
Everything is still. The general inactivity of the route definitely accommodates the passage of contraband.
Hanzo draws his bow again, aiming another Sonic Arrow through the space in the wall, when…
There is movement.
He whips away from the wall, keeping his bowstring pulled back.
Slowly, he edges towards the staircase, arrow pointing downwards, towards the door –
Only to see McCree.
The man is standing in the doorway, looking very puzzled.
“Hanzo?” He calls out.
“Yes?” Hanzo is quick to reply – McCree jolts up in shock.
A small laugh escapes from Hanzo. “What’s wrong?”
“You – you scared me! Shit!” McCree unzips his own jacket, revealing his normal clothes underneath – serape and all. “What’re you doing, wanderin’ around all quiet-like with your weapon drawn?”
“Recon work,” Hanzo says as he lowers his bow. McCree’s bright red – likely because of the sun. He must be burning up. “I can’t believe that you were wearing that under your jacket.”
“Yeah, well, you can’t be lookin’ this good without some sacrifices,” McCree states as he gets his revolver out of his bag. “Sun’s bitin’ down today, though. Makes me wanna bribe the higher-ups to schedule us over at Ilios, next time.”
“Good luck with that.”
McCree sets himself up – he brought an assortment of grenades and ammo. He’s surprisingly efficient, Hanzo realizes, as the other agent walks over to one of the shattered windows and keeps his own eye on the horizon.
Hanzo heads back up to the second floor, shooting off Sonic Arrows every once in a while.
The surrounding area remains quiet.
Time drips by.
Hanzo does not let his concentration break. He focuses on his breathing, keeping it steady despite the heat. Then he identifies alternate vantage points, should his current position become compromised during the attack.
He’s completely alert and in sync with his environment – until there’s a loud shout from downstairs.
Hanzo dashes downstairs, expecting the worst, only to see McCree leaning out the window – practically dangling there. A cigar is perched between his lips.
They stare at each other for a moment.
“Listen,” McCree says, after a while. “I’m bored as balls.”
“Is… This,” Hanzo gestures at the McCree’s general entity, “…Helping?”
“No,” McCree says. “That’s why I was yellin’.”
“It’s been forever and there’s nothin’!” McCree straightens himself. “C’mon, let’s get outta here, Hanzo.”
Something about McCree is making Hanzo feel unsettled, though not necessarily in a bad way.
“The time Winston gave us was an estimation,” Hanzo replies, trying to appear normal. Focus on the mission. “I am not going anywhere.”
“Then say hello to our new house!” McCree announces, opening his arms wide. “’Cause we’re bound to be here for the rest of our livin’ days.”
Hanzo smirks. “It wouldn’t make a bad one. It just needs some fixing up.”
“Duly noted.” McCree says, letting his hands drop. “But, seriously. Stay down here. You’ll make this whole day less hell-like.”
Hanzo glances back up the stairs. Relocating here could compromise his line of sight. But… There’s a high chance that McCree will just start slacking off and complaining loudly again. That would definitely compromise their entire mission.
Hanzo sighs. He’ll just run up there when the payload arrives.
“I thought you were accustomed to working on your own,” Hanzo says. A few days after he joined Overwatch, he saw McCree telling the younger agents stories about his “vigilante days.”
“I am.” McCree takes his cigar out of his mouth, exhaling smoke. “Thing is, if I was workin’ this job on my own, I would’ve left this ghost town ages ago.”
“How very honourable,” Hanzo says dryly as he positions himself at the other window, getting another Sonic Arrow ready.
“You have enough honour for the both of us,” McCree says, putting his cigar back in his mouth.
Hanzo lowers his bow, glaring at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?!”
McCree sighs. “Nothin’ bad.”
Hanzo has a sudden urge to snipe that cigar right out of McCree’s mouth.
Instead, he sends the Sonic Arrow off to its original target – another ruined building far down the street, marking the point where the road forks.
“Just sayin’, you’re on a big quest for redemption and all,” McCree continues. “I feel that and I –”
McCree turns to Hanzo.
Hanzo points in the direction of his arrow – McCree follows his gaze.
The tracking device in the Sonic Arrow is showing them a lot of body heat.
A lot of people.
“No fuckin’ way,” McCree breathes. “How many are they?”
“At least a dozen,” Hanzo says. “We… Might need backup.”
McCree chuckles. “Us? Needin’ backup against the Deadlock Gang? Very funny.”
“You want to fight them? Just the two of us?” Hanzo scowls. “Are you delusional?!”
“Naw, I’m just sayin’,” McCree walks over to Hanzo, smiling. “I think we can take ‘em.”
“And if we can’t?”
“Ain’t no can’t.”
“I don’t understand you.”
“Hanzo, I’ve watched you fight,” McCree says. “You’re a demon with that bow, not to mention that big-ass dragon thing. And I don’t have a bounty of $60,000,000 on me for nothin’. Me and Peacekeeper here,” he pats his holster, “we can take out those goons.”
Hanzo eyes him skeptically.
“I know how they fight,” McCree insists. “Trust me. I was one of ‘em. We got this. Plus, aren’t you bored as hell, doin’ these low-level jobs? Servin’ coffee on the side?”
…That is true.
Hanzo is not fond of undercover work, nor his undercover persona.
He glares at his nametag every time he puts on his uniform.
(He is the Ryan to McCree’s Bob.)
“C’mon,” McCree’s still trying to tempt him. “Live a little.”
This is foolish. Hanzo knows it is foolish.
“Fine,” he says. “If we die, it will be your fault.”
McCree lets out a loud whoop and Hanzo jabs him with the top of his bow.
“At the very least, please do not immediately reveal our position,” he says.
“Fair enough,” McCree says, pulling his revolver out of its holster. “Now… Let’s have some fun.”
“…And that’s why we didn’t call for backup,” McCree says.
Hanzo, meanwhile, is pointedly looking away from the laptop in front of them.
“So, let me get this straight,” Soldier: 76 says, from the video call’s window. “You risked losing the payload, possibly losing your lives and the overall success of Overwatch’s mission… Because it sounded fun.”
“Yeah. That’s right.”
Hanzo has no idea how McCree can say that with a straight face.
76 lets out a very deep sigh. “Jesse, you had one job.”
“And I did it!” McCree announces. “Payload made it, all safe-like. Not one Deadlock made it outta there alive. It was a damn good time for us, too! Everyone wins.”
“I don’t,” 76 snaps. “You both disobeyed direct orders from Winston. From me. This isn’t Blackwatch.”
McCree growls. “Look, I–”
“You aren’t participating in missions for the next week,” 76 states, unperturbed by McCree’s apparent anger. “That goes for you, too, Hanzo. I am very disappointed.”
Hanzo nods, saying nothing, while McCree makes a loud noise of protest.
“The fuck, Jack?!” McCree exclaims. “You’re disappointed? You ain’t my damn dad!”
“I wouldn’t have to act like your father if you stopped being such a child, Jesse,” Jack replies calmly. “I’ll be updating Mercy on your temporary suspension. Enjoy coffee duty.”
“Understood,” Hanzo replies, despite the twist in his stomach.
McCree groans as the video call screen goes black.
“Well, this is a goddamn bitch of an unsatisfactory situation,” he states.
“Agreed,” Hanzo says, standing up so he can grab his Storm Bow and quiver.
“I don’t get it!” McCree exclaims as he stands up, too. They walk out of the conference room together. “We did our job! Why does it matter if we didn’t go callin’ for backup? Is it wrong to have faith in your damn abilities, now?”
“It’s just protocol,” Hanzo says. “Besides, you were the one who boasted about it the second we got back.”
It’s true. The moment they walked through the side-entrance, McCree started yelling about how he “took down four guys at once.”
Naturally, Mercy overheard. Some questions were asked, and then…
Then she had to report to 76 immediately.
“Angela’s a damn snitch,” McCree says.
“Mercy was doing her job, McCree,” Hanzo says. “This is our fault.”
McCree lights another cigar, putting it between his lips. They’re both still in their battle clothes, covered in sand, blood, and sweat. They’re approaching Hanzo’s quarters – McCree’s room is still further down the hall – and Hanzo can’t wait to take a shower and put on a change of clothes.
“Y’know,” McCree says as they walk, “you’re awfully calm ‘bout all this. Thought you’d be yellin’ my head off right about now.”
Hanzo flushes and looks away from the other man.
He is right. Hanzo should be a lot angrier than he actually is.
“I would not,” Hanzo lies.
“Don’t even try that, Hanzo Shimada,” McCree croons, removing the cigar from his lips and exhaling smoke. Hanzo rolls his eyes.
“Fine.” Hanzo looks back up at McCree. “I had fun.”
“Ha!” McCree barks, pointing at Hanzo, accusingly, with his free hand. “I fuckin’ knew it! You pretend to be all by-the-book but you’re just as –”
Hanzo stops walking – they’re standing in front of his room – and puts a finger over McCree’s lips. “Be quiet.”
Surprisingly, McCree does stop talking – even after Hanzo lets his hand drop back to his side.
“Good,” Hanzo says, overly sweet.
McCree goes red instantly. “You really are a –”
“– Highly skilled agent? Absolutely, Jesse,” Hanzo says, remembering 76 using the other man’s first name during their conference.
McCree grins wide, putting the cigar back between his two lips. “Yep. Exactly.”
“And you are very skilled, too,” Hanzo says. “Now, if you’ll excuse me...”
He opens the door to his room, turning to face McCree before he closes the door in.
The other agent is still grinning. “See ya later, partner.” He tips his hat slightly and Hanzo snorts.
“You look ridiculous.”
McCree closes Hanzo’s door for him, and Hanzo can’t help but grin.
“So that’s one latte for you, miss?”
The woman McCree is talking to giggles as she nods.
“Comin’ right up,” he says, and she giggles even more.
Hanzo rolls his eyes as he pours steamed milk into the drink he’s mixing. It’s meant to be a cappuccino, though Hanzo can’t imagine that he’s doing a good job at making it.
“Lookin’ mighty sour, there, Ryan,” McCree says, brushing past him.
“It is just your imagination, Bob,” Hanzo retorts, shoving him slightly with his shoulder.
McCree laughs as Hanzo hands the cappuccino to another customer.
Hanzo goes to the cashier and braces himself for another order of another drink that he does not know the technicalities of mixing. The agents stationed there had a meeting before opening the coffee shop, during which they all supposedly learnt how to mix basic beverages, but…
Well, the small cheat-sheet that D.Va stuck behind the bar gets a lot of use. Hanzo has even seen Mercy reading it from time-to-time.
Luckily, the customer orders a simple iced coffee. Hanzo gets to work on it, glancing over at McCree while he does.
The man is fumbling about the coffee bar, making an incredible amount of mess… But he’s good-natured about it. Hanzo recalls their mission yesterday – the way McCree moved on the battlefield, slow and deliberate. His precise aim, his use of his grenades (which he, apparently, makes himself), the way he fanned the hammer of his revolver…
He has a tendency to bait his enemies, too.
While it irritated Hanzo at first, he soon realized that it was McCree’s way of diverting their attention away from him – the sniper. It made Hanzo’s performance far more efficient. An unsuspecting target is the best kind.
Still, it was foolish of McCree to smoke while in combat, that much is certain.
Foolish, yet… Somehow endearing.
Hanzo is clearly becoming foolish, himself.
“Comin’ through!” McCree announces, stomping past Hanzo and spilling some of the customer’s latte onto the floor. “Here ya go.”
The customer accepts the latte, apparently oblivious to the spill. She is still very flustered.
“You should stop teasing the customers,” Hanzo mutters as he delivers the iced coffee to his own customer. “You’ll attract unwanted attention.”
“Why? You jealous?” McCree winks at him.
“Clearly,” Hanzo replies, sarcastically. McCree chuckles, seeing to the next customer while Hanzo wipes latte off the floor. He’s not sure why he bothers; McCree ends up spilling chai tea on the floor mere minutes later.
Still, they get through the morning rush.
Being on coffee shifts is generally unpleasant, and Hanzo is most definitely counting down the days until they “mysteriously” go out of business, but…
With McCree, the whole thing is slightly less insufferable.
It’s a strange realization, but not exactly unwelcome.
Something should brew between us.
“Ah. They’ve returned.”
D.Va drops her small, pink gaming device onto the table, practically clambering over the booth she was previously sprawled out on.
“What does this one say? What does it say?!”
Hanzo shows her the cup and she eyes it appraisingly.
“Better,” she says. “Definitely better.” She takes her phone out of her pocket – she’s wearing casual clothes; denim shorts and a Pikachu shirt (yes, Hanzo recognizes Pikachu… He played all of the Pokémon games with Genji when they were younger) – quickly taking a photo.
Hanzo scowls and pulls away from her, clearly betrayed.
“Don’t you wanna figure out the culprit, Hanzo?” She stuffs her phone back into her pants’ pocket. “I mean, they obviously want you to find them.”
“If they wish to talk to me, they can do it to my face,” Hanzo says, calmly, disposing the coffee cup quickly.
D.Va leans on the counter, pouting. “But it’s so obvious if you just think about it a little.”
Hanzo glances up at her.
D.Va catches on to his interest and she smirks. Such a conniving girl. “Look, it’s definitely a member of our little crew, for starters.”
“I am not taking part in this conversation,” Hanzo says, busying himself with wiping the counter down.
“It’s not me, and it’s not Angela, since she’s taken,” D.Va drawls, “so that leaves –”
“Holy hell, my feet’ve gone all numb.” McCree walks in, through the door leading to the private portion of their base. “I’ve killed a crapload of people and taken part in all sortsa sketchy shit over the years, but this undercover coffee crap is a whole new level of bull. And I’ve raided trains before, y'all. Trains.”
Hanzo glances at the front door warily. No one is in the shop right now, but…
“Listen, makin’ us work all these shifts has to be some kinda ethics violation.” McCree is clearly not as concerned.
“Perhaps we should form a union,” Hanzo says, dryly.
“That is a fuckin’ million dollar idea right there,” McCree says, nodding enthusiastically as he ties his hair back up. It makes Hanzo want to put his up, too – but he must keep it down while taking care of the shop. It’s part of his so-called disguise.
“I’m enjoying my time off, thank you very much!” D.Va says, sniffing indignantly. “I’ve had so much to do. It’s nice to be able to breathe a little.”
“You’ve been eatin’ rice crackers and playin’ your dang video games for the past seven hours, missy,” McCree says.
“Exactly! It’s only been seven hours!” D.Va throws her hands in the air. It’s very dramatic. “I’m so far behind in everything. If I’m rusty when I start streaming again, I’ll kill someone.”
“Once it ain’t me,” McCree replies, leaning against the counter, right next to them. “So, what were y'all talkin’ about while I snuck off for a smoke?”
“You were smoking while I dealt with customers?!” Hanzo whacks McCree on the shoulder; McCree just laughs.
“It was nothing,” D.Va says, sweetly. “Actually, I should go call Tracer. She has to fill me in on some stuff. Oh, but Hanzo?”
She leans over the counter, putting her hands on his shoulders.
“Just think about it, old man.”
“That’s enough,” Hanzo says, stepping away from her. D.Va cackles and dashes away to gather up her things from the booth.
“Think about what?” McCree asks.
Hanzo glances at him, then looks away.
“You do not want to know.”
The rest of their day proceeds relatively smoothly… That is, until it’s time to close.
Jesse McCree hates cleaning.
That’s what Hanzo thinks, anyway. The man starts making incoherent grumbling noises once they start. He also gets into a heated argument with a blender. Hanzo has to intervene before McCree throws it onto the floor.
Luckily, Mei has the decency to check in on them and readily lends a hand. With her assistance, they are able to close the shop without any kitchenware disasters.
“I was jokin’ about the union thing before,” McCree says, giving the doors one last tug to check if they’re properly locked, “but now I’m kinda convinced. It needs to happen. Right now.”
“I agree,” Hanzo grumbles. His head aches and his apron is covered in coffee stains.
“I can’t believe we gotta repeat all this tomorrow.” McCree pulls his hair tie off. His hair sticks out and Hanzo has to resist an urge to burst out laughing.
“You two! It’s because…” Mei holds up a bag of coffee grounds. “You’ve been grounded.”
McCree and Hanzo both groan as she giggles wildly.
“I must shower,” Hanzo grumbles as he takes off his apron, looking down at it disdainfully. “McCree is a careless oaf.”
“Am not!” McCree protests, but he’s covered in coffee stains, too.
“You’ll miss dinner, Hanzo!” Mei adds. “It’s taco night.”
Hanzo’s need to be clean far outweighs his need to eat. In fact, inhaling various coffee aromas all day has just about made him averse to ever eating again.
“I will prepare something afterwards,” he says as he leaves the store, heading back into the private portion of their base.
Hanzo sighs with relief as he flops down onto his bed. He’s wearing his kimono jacket and loose, long pants – a welcome change from the grimy, coffee-stained attire he was in all day. He fastened his prosthetic legs on and tied his hair up and he knows he should start looking for food, but…
Fuck, he’s tired.
He groans, closing his eyes. 76 is merciless. The punishment seemed so innocuous at first, too. Annoying, but innocuous.
The worst part of this whole situation? Hanzo regrets absolutely nothing. He felt alive, fighting alongside McCree. He felt good about beating the odds with the other man.
He… Would probably do it again, should the opportunity present itself.
He groans again. He’s already becoming a problem agent.
Genji would be proud, a small corner of Hanzo’s mind says.
It makes his chest sting.
There’s suddenly knocking at his door.
A lot of knocking.
“Are you trying to break it down?!” Hanzo yells, sitting up from his bed.
The door creaks open – of course, McCree is standing there. He’s wearing a white shirt and jeans; his tacky belt buckle and hat are on, too.
“Hey,” he says.
Hanzo wants to greet him.
However, his mouth has gone completely dry.
The other man’s hair is wet, and it’s sticking to his neck, and his beard is…
“Gotcha somethin’,” McCree says, stomping over to him. “C’mon!”
Hanzo’s raises his eyebrows. “Wh –”
“Just c’mon.” McCree walks over to Hanzo’s bed, grabbing Hanzo by the arm. Hanzo lets the other man pull him up; he’s still unable to form complete words.
Hanzo assumes that McCree is taking him to the Mess Hall – that is, until he’s dragged past it. He catches sight of Reinhardt and D.Va, getting ready to arm wrestle, while Mei holds her phone up as if to record it.
“Yeah, I have no idea,” McCree says, before Hanzo can ask.
They end up going outside – through the side-door.
There’s a table set up. It’s dingy and old, illuminated by a small lantern resting on its surface. Two metal chairs are pulled up on either side of it.
Upon closer inspection, two bowls are also on the table, along with two small cups, and…
“Saké?” Hanzo walks closer to the table, reaching out for the bottle so he can inspect the label. “Where did you get this?”
Hanzo looks up from the bottle, giving McCree a look.
“Fine, fine.” McCree pouts. “Genji heard ‘bout our little tussle with the Deadlocks. He wanted to, uh, congratulate us.”
Hanzo rolls his eyes, but he smiles.
I knew he would be proud, he thinks.
“What a fool,” he says, instead.
“He made me promise not to tell ya,” McCree says, taking a seat. “Fucked up, right?”
Hanzo says nothing. He puts the saké back down on the table.
“Y'all need to fix yourselves.”
Hanzo sits down, too. “It is not that simple.”
“I know,” McCree says. “But that ain’t the point. The point is…” He gestures at the bowls. “I’ve prepped some fine cuisine for your exquisite palate.”
Hanzo looks inside one of the bowls. Ramen is inside.
Instant ramen, to be precise.
Hanzo can tell.
He grimaces and McCree cracks up. His laughter is as loud and infectious as ever.
“Now, listen here,” McCree wheezes. “I took my sweet time preparin’ this feast for us. You should be thankin’ me.”
The table is set rather nicely. McCree moved Hanzo’s chopsticks outside, too…
And it’s a very nice night.
“Of course,” Hanzo says. “Thank you for the food, and the ten minutes you sacrificed to microwave it.”
McCree feigns offense as he pours saké into their cups. “I used the stove for you!”
“Oh, right,” Hanzo says, picking up his chopsticks and poking at the ramen noodles. “That changes everything.”
McCree’s crooked grin has the strangest effect on him. It makes him feel… Uncomfortable, but in a pleasing way.
McCree starts lamenting about being under-appreciated – while stabbing at his ramen with a fork, of all things – when Hanzo realizes it.
He has formed a connection.
He… Enjoys spending time with this odd man. He enjoys it a lot.
He has not particularly enjoyed spending time with anyone. Not for years upon years.
His surprise must be physically apparent, because McCree stops talking.
“What’s up?” He asks. “Is instant ramen real offensive or somethin’? ‘Cause I can bribe Angela to make us extra tacos. I mean, Fareeha might throttle me when we see her next ‘cause it’s their Special-Video-Call-Time or whatever, but –”
“It’s nothing,” Hanzo blurts out. He starts shovelling ramen into his mouth. It tastes strangely elastic, but… It’s still good.
Nothing compared to the ramen back in Hanamura, of course, but…
“Okay, if you say so,” McCree says, though he does not sound very convinced.
As they eat, McCree keeps talking – about all sorts of things.
About how Tracer – the woman with the chronal accelerator – has a habit of leaving silly drawings around the home base; slipping them into important operation documents (“If you throw of them drawings away, Winston’ll kick your ass, I swear. Happened to me, once.”).
About how Lúcio keeps inviting him to concerts, but he’s not entirely sure how to dress for them or if it’s strange to attend one on his own (“I don’t wanna be the creepy old guy. I mean, I ain’t that old, right? Stop smirkin’ at me like that!”).
Also, apparently, D.Va challenged him to some sort of dance game once they’re back at their home base, and he’s slightly apprehensive about it.
Hanzo isn’t very good with talking. He’s always been more of a listener – not to mention that fact that he didn’t do much talking during his years on the run. Even on missions, he’d rather keep social banter to a minimum, focusing purely on the task at hand.
Still, McCree gets very excited when Hanzo tells him that the game is called Dance Dance Revolution, and that he used to play it very often as a young boy (“No, I will not give you pointers.”).
They keep talking, long after they finish their ramen. They move on to drinking the saké together. It tastes cheap but it still feels like home. Hanzo wonders where Genji bought it.
He means to ask McCree, truly, but –
“Why did you do this?”
He can’t meet McCree’s gaze. He stares down at the empty bowl in front of him, instead.
“’Cause I figured you wouldn’t wanna eat after you changed,” McCree answers. He speaks slowly, deliberately – it’s easy to pick up on, since the man is usually so reckless with his words. “And I wanted you to make sure that you’re doin’ okay.”
“You have been with me all day.”
“That ain’t what I meant and you know it.”
A silence settles between the two men. Eventually, Hanzo hears McCree lighting up a cigar.
“…Before I joined Overwatch, I was an absolute shitstain,” McCree says, finally. “In a different way from how I am now, anyway. The bad way.”
He exhales and Hanzo smells the smoke on his breath.
“Y’know how I was a member of the Deadlock Gang? They were bigger, back then.” He sighs. “You don’t wanna know the crap I did.”
Hanzo doesn’t know how to reply. He still can’t look up.
“Trading weapons ‘n shit, it comes with so much more bullshit than you’d think,” McCree continues. “I hurt people. A lot of fuckin’ people. I was forced into Overwatch ‘cause the alternative was rottin’ behind bars for the rest of my days.”
“You were still given a choice,” Hanzo says, quietly.
“Yeah. I was.” McCree sighs. “I was a coward, back then. I wanted to join and get the fuck outta there the second no one was watchin’. But Reyes – he was my mentor, back then – he knew my type. He knew what it’d take to get in my head, what kinda environment I needed to be of any dang use. When I joined Blackwatch, I started seein’ it.”
Hanzo braces himself for it.
The whole speech about how Overwatch changes lives, how Hanzo is surely in the right place. Validations that mean nothing to him.
“I ended up beggin’ him to just throw me behind bars.”
Oh. Hanzo was not expecting that.
“I heard ‘bout the shit the Deadlocks did – and not from some big person in a fancy suit. From people. Actual, innocent people. What we – y’know. We ruined their lives for the cash.” McCree sighs. “And I thought, fuck. No way in hell am I meant to be here. Fightin’ for the same people I’d threaten and steal from just a few weeks before, without a dang thought… It fucked me up. Made no sense. I didn’t think I deserved a place alongside these people. The good guys. ‘Cause I was a bad guy.”
Hanzo’s throat tightens. “You’re not,” he croaks.
“Heh. Thanks.” McCree puts his hat on the table – Hanzo stares at it. “’Course, Reyes refused to throw me in the slammer. So… I thought ‘bout it more. I decided I’d fight to amend my own sins, and that’s what’s kept me goin’ ever since.”
Hanzo finally looks up, at McCree. The other man is looking right at him.
“So, yeah,” McCree says. “I guess you could say that I’m, uh… I feel somethin’ for you. ‘Cause I know that what you’re goin’ through is… Shit. Especially since your past is right at your back. I mean, he’s a fellow fuckin’ agent.”
Hanzo grabs his cup and downs the rest of the saké in it.
“I don’t like talking about him,” he admits, quietly.
“I know, yeah,” McCree says. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry ‘bout how I keep bringin’ up shit you don’t wanna talk about.”
“It is fine,” Hanzo says. “It is better than nervous glances and gossip.”
McCree chuckles. “Ain’t that the truth.”
Hanzo pours some more saké in his cup. He never thought very deeply about McCree’s past. It’s no wonder that they tend to… Get along. Perhaps Hanzo knew about it subconsciously – through the way McCree carries himself.
McCree understands him, and Hanzo, somehow, feels safe around him.
He takes a deep breath.
“As their rightful heir, the Shimada family trained me,” he says, keeping his voice firm. “Though I never did field work, I took my studies very seriously. I envied Genji for his free spirit. I envied his courage – being able to rise above the demands of those people.”
It feels wrong to call those people – the Shimadas – their family.
It was all only in name, anyway.
“I was a fool,” Hanzo continues. “I only knew how to walk the path they set me upon. When they told me to make him obey, I tried. I wanted… I wanted him to be safe from them. From me. My fondest memories are ones with my younger brother. It was always us against them. Yet when they told me to kill him, I…”
He can’t bring himself to say it.
McCree already knows.
Hanzo inhales. Exhales.
“They had to tear me away from his body,” he says. “It was over so quickly. He did not fight against my Dragonstrike. I did not want to live after that day. I had nightmares – I saw his face, heard his screams. I figured I would follow him. I was fully prepared to, but, at the last moment, I could not.” He scowls. “I kept thinking that Genji would not want me dead. Despite it all, I knew that he would never stoop to the level I was at. Even now…”
He shakes his head.
“I have not used a sword since. I simply ran. For so many years, I did nothing but… Run.”
“You went back, though,” McCree murmurs. “Genji told us. You went back to his shrine every year.”
Hanzo huffs. “How very like him, telling everyone my private business.”
McCree laughs. It’s a kind laugh. Hanzo smiles sadly.
“For what it’s worth, I’m damn glad you did,” McCree says. “’Cause we couldn’t track you down otherwise. You were damn good at stayin’ under the radar.”
Hanzo shrugs. “Such was my life.”
McCree leans back in his chair.
“Hanzo, look,” he says. “I know everyone keeps tellin’ ya to forgive yourself and move right along, but I’d be the biggest fuckin’ hypocrite if I said that. Shit ain’t nearly that easy. Hope you’ll get the chance to sort somethin’ out, though. He loves you.”
“I am unworthy of that love,” Hanzo says. “I do not know him anymore. He does not know me anymore.”
“Still,” McCree says. “You can get to know him again, yeah?”
“Plus, I’m no stranger to quests for redemption,” McCree continues. “I’d be happy to help.”
“Thank you,” Hanzo says, quietly. He’s not sure if he can say anything else.
“No problem,” McCree replies. “You’re a good guy. You’re loyal as hell and I’m feelin’ mighty lucky to be on the same side as ya.”
That warm, tight feeling is back in Hanzo’s chest.
Those are words he would never associate with himself. Not after all he’s done.
And yet, when McCree calls him these things…
A part of Hanzo wants to believe him.
“I… Me too,” he says. “Um. About you, I mean. I am also fortunate to… Work with you.”
“Nice,” McCree says, clearly pleased. “Anyways, that got deep. Think I’m in the mood to get absolutely wrecked now.”
“Wrecked?” Hanzo asks.
McCree gestures at the saké bottle.
“Oh.” Hanzo should have known. “It won’t be enough – not unless you’re a lightweight.”
“I’m offended that you’re even considerin’ that as possibility,” McCree states. “Also, I have whiskey. ‘S in my room, but I can get it later.”
“Saké and whiskey?” Hanzo smirks. “What a combination.”
“Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you try it.”
McCree smiles at him. Hanzo catches himself smiling right back.
Connections are definitely troublesome, but with McCree... It might not be that bad.
In fact, for the first time in a long time, Hanzo thinks that things might just work out.
Hold the sugar, please.
You’re sweet enough for me.
Hanzo frowns at the cup. The shop isn’t open yet.
This confirms D.Va’s hypothesis, he thinks. It’s definitely another agent. Their security is top-tier – no outsider could possibly sneak in.
Hanzo’s head aches from the copious amount of drinking he did, last night. He most definitely did not get enough sleep, though he did have a good time with McCree…
He swallows thickly.
He knows it is not D.Va.
It is not Mercy. Mercy has Pharah, and they barely ever talked to Hanzo, anyway.
That leaves… Mei, Reinhardt, and McCree.
Hanzo leans against the counter, burying his face in his hands.
McCree is as loud as ever. Hanzo groans.
“Would ya look at that,” the man continues. “The great Hanzo Shimada, rendered helpless by some casual drinkin’.”
“McCree, I am going to pour hot coffee on you if you don’t stop.”
“Is that a promise, darlin’?”
McCree laughs more as he ties his hair up, effectively donning his “disguise” – the ever-charming Bob. He then heads to the front entrance, getting ready to unlock the shop.
Hanzo stares after him.
Jesse McCree is attractive, there’s no doubt about it. His shoulders are broad… His hair is perpetually messy. Customers hit on him very frequently and Hanzo is fairly certain that a fan club is developing over in town.
Because if people observe him too closely, we’ll surely be found out, Hanzo thinks to himself. That’s it. That’s why.
“Lord, Hanzo. You’re makin’ one terrifying face.”
Hanzo curses lightly under his breath.
He is hung over, so he’s not as skilled at… Subtlety.
“Sorry,” he grumbles.
“I keep tellin’ ya!” McCree turns back to the door, finally opening it. “If you keep makin’ these expressions, your face’ll stick.”
“And to think we had a major heart-to-heart last night,” Hanzo grumbles.
McCree turns back around. “You regrettin’ it?”
“Absolutely not,” Hanzo replies, quickly. “Sorry, I’m just.” He sighs. He doesn’t have the energy to make excuses. “I am hung over as fuck.”
“Aw, poor Ryan.”
Hanzo snorts. “Much appreciated, Bob.”
Hanzo glances back at the coffee cup in front of him. McCree didn’t comment on it. Does that mean he isn’t the one leaving them…?
He knocks the drink back, chugging the coffee. It’s black, of course.
“Oh, hey!” McCree pipes up. “You done with your weird coffee boycott? Convinced no one’s tryin’ to poison you?”
Hanzo lowers the coffee. “I will take my chances.”
Hanzo speed-walks into the Mess Hall.
Mei is sitting there, typing away on her laptop. She’s surrounded by thick books and papers.
Hanzo puts the empty coffee cup on the table in front of her. She looks at it, then up at him with a very confused expression.
“Are you the one behind these?” Hanzo turns the cup so the pickup line is facing her.
Mei gasps. “Is this one of the messages that D.Va was talking about?!”
It’s not her.
“No,” Hanzo lies. They stare at each other. “…I have to go.”
He picks up the coffee cup and leaves as quickly as he can.
As Hanzo stares across the room, at Reinhardt, he weighs his options.
How likely is it that the sixty-something-year-old man is hitting on Hanzo through horrible pick-up lines scrawled on coffee cups?
The alternative makes Hanzo want to spontaneously combust, however.
“Reinhardt,” Hanzo calls out, his voice very strained. “Did –”
“Hanzo!” Reinhardt hollers. “Join me!”
“Uh, I am fine,” Hanzo says, eyeing Reinhardt’s current activity. Namely, he’s painting a still life of his helmet on top of a pile of sand, likely brought in from outside.
“If you say so!” Reinhardt’s art looks more like a mass of neutral-coloured blobs, but Hanzo isn’t about to point that out.
Also, his break-time is almost up.
He clears his throat. “Have you been leaving me messages?”
“Yes.” This has the potential to get very awkward, very quickly.
“Like a code?” Reinhardt asks. “A secret code?”
“Oh, no,” Reinhardt says. “I am more of an up-front sort of man! Not very fond of the secret codes.”
“Okay,” Hanzo says. He’s not entirely sure if Reinhardt understands the situation.
He also has the coffee cup hidden behind his back.
“Why? Did something happen? You can report any strange activities to me!” Reinhardt gestures at himself, paintbrush still in hand. “Reinhardt is forever at your service!”
“Ah. No. I’m…” Hanzo blinks. “I was just wondering.”
Hanzo clears his throat again. “I have to go now.”
“Alright!” Reinhardt waves at him. “Take care!”
Hanzo practically sprints out of Reinhardt’s room.
He’s not sure if he should feel relieved or not, because there is one person left to ask. Just one.
That alone confirms that it is, indeed, him.
Hanzo has no idea how to even begin to approach him.
It does not help that he has to spend the rest of the day working by his side.
He stops walking and looks down at the coffee cup. It’s still clenched tightly in his hand, and is now slightly more worn-down.
You’re sweet enough for me.
Something horrifying happens as he reads those words again. His face gets warm. Hot, even.
It is too much.
Hanzo wants to crush the cup into a small ball. He wants to tear it apart and throw it away.
Instead, he stops by his room and carefully places it on his dresser.
He has spent hours staring at McCree.
He is doing his work, too, of course. It is just that McCree is also working in the same general space, so that makes it incredibly hard to not stare. The other man seems to be aware of Hanzo’s gaze, because he is even more messy than usual.
Despite being clumsy with the drinks, gruff and unsociable, he remains very popular amongst the customers. Hanzo is still annoyed by this, of course.
There is nothing meticulous about Jesse McCree. He’s just… A rough person.
“’Scuse me,” he murmurs as he steps around Hanzo, trying to reach a jar filled with coffee grounds. He rests his hand against Hanzo’s shoulder, very briefly, yet it’s enough for Hanzo to become visibly flustered.
“You’re excused,” Hanzo snaps. He does not know how to deal with this. He feels hyperaware of the other man’s presence, and with that hyperawareness comes a strange sensitivity.
He has virtually never had to deal with something like this before.
McCree raises an eyebrow at him – yet he seems amused.
Hanzo is incredibly annoyed.
“Get to work,” Hanzo says, finally looking away.
“Yes, sir,” McCree dutifully replies.
Did he truly write those messages? Hanzo wonders as he hands a black coffee to a customer. He knows he should simply ask, but it is… Impossible. Asking Mei and Reinhardt was easy – albeit awkward. Awkward in the sense that Hanzo knew it was not either of them, deep down.
But… With McCree?
There is a possibility.
The pick-up lines are so bad, there is definitely a possibility.
The worst part of this whole situation is that Hanzo is hoping for something. He is not sure what he is hoping for, but… It is something.
Introspection is foolish, he thinks as he goes to deal with another customer. Focus. You are on the job now. McCree can be dealt with, later.
At that very moment, McCree drops an entire glass of iced tea on the floor with a loud whoops.
Hanzo grimaces. Keeping his mind off the other man would be quite a challenge, indeed.
“Hanzo! Angela wants you!”
It is closing time, and Hanzo is just about at his wit’s end.
He is getting increasingly annoyed with the world. He was very snippy with customers, but, in his defense, no one should be so fussy about their coffee. None of said customers called him out, though. It was a good thing, too, because Hanzo could not remember the last time he felt so frustrated and he did not know his… Capabilities.
McCree also kept his distance. He seemed to make an extra effort to not be a complete disaster. Still, the man was covered in coffee stains… Even more than yesterday.
As McCree wiped down the counter, Mei called him “Mess-e McCree” – a pun on his full name.
Said pun did not help with easing Hanzo’s frustrations.
So, when the woman tells Hanzo that Mercy wants to see him, he instantly expects the worst: A lecture about being personable, not standing out too much.
He’s walking to Mercy’s quarters and can practically hear her – “Hanzo, we do not growl at customers. Growling is what animals do. You are not an animal. You are an undercover agent of a very important organization. Also, I have added another week to your coffee confinement. Goodbye.”
He toys with the idea of just going back to his room, but Mercy can be quite terrifying when she is angry, especially since she is the one who is technically in-charge, here. Rather than digging himself into a deeper mess, he goes straight to her room. The door opens as soon as he knocks – she was definitely expecting him. Her hair is in a tight bun and she’s wearing a casual white dress with a floral pattern on it.
She smiles when she sees him. “Hanzo! How was your day?”
“Fine,” Hanzo replies, gruffer than he intends to be. His hair is still down, he’s still in his uniform, his nametag is still on him. He wants to tear it off and –
“It must be difficult, having such a tedious shift,” Mercy says, closing the door behind him. “I apologize. 76 came up with the idea. While I was obligated to report that mission, I thought he would just give you one of his stern talks.”
“It is fine,” Hanzo replies. The punishment is the least of his current concerns.
“He frets over McCree constantly, it is quite amusing,” Mercy continues. “Of course, McCree is the only one who would pull a stunt on a mission like that. It was quite surprising when you went along with it.”
Hanzo has to hold back a groan. He knew he’d become a ‘problem agent’ the second he decided to join Overwatch. He did not know it would become common knowledge virtually a month into his membership.
“Regardless, I wanted to ask if you were doing well,” Mercy says. “Working undercover can be quite jarring, particularly for new agents.”
“I am fine,” Hanzo says. He then realizes that he keeps saying the same thing to her. Damn. “I… Am used to keeping my head low. Doing it for Overwatch is a welcome change.”
“Right, that makes sense.” Mercy seems to be closely observing him. “Anyway, please, feel free to take a seat.”
Being the leader of the current mission, Mercy’s quarters are slightly bigger than everyone else’s. She has used the space to set up a small meeting area – namely, a table surrounded by four chairs. It’s slightly less worn-down when compared to the rest of the furniture here.
Hanzo obeys her, sitting down while she takes a seat on the opposite side. A notebook is resting on the table, between them. A pen is on it, and its pages are covered in notes and diagrams – Hanzo assumes they are relevant to their current mission.
“The Deadlock Gang’s behaviour is… Of concern,” Mercy says. “Winston’s initial estimates about their activity in this area turned out to be completely inaccurate. They cover far more ground and have more manpower than we ever expected. To put it simply, we may have to regroup back at the home base, soon.”
Hanzo nods. “I see.”
Why is there a sinking feeling in his stomach?
“Yes. As such, I need you to recall as many details as you can, concerning the mission you underwent with McCree.” Mercy picks up the pen. “I will record the details and relay it to Winston, later tonight, during our video conference.”
Hanzo furrows his brow. “Is McCree going to report, too?”
Mercy seems surprised for a moment, but she regains her composure almost instantly. “We… Assumed he’d be reluctant to. He has been avoiding me since last time, and…”
Something about this annoys Hanzo. “He was there, too. He should be here to report along with me.”
Mercy bites her lower lip.
Hanzo braces himself for Angry-Mercy – namely, the scolding of his life – when she grins wide.
“It’s very nice to see that you care about him so much,” she says.
Hanzo splutters. “I simply – he was with me. I –”
“I know, I know,” Mercy says, waving her hand dismissively. “McCree was very vocal about your excellent performance during the mission. Of course, this was before I informed him that I had to report to 76. Then he decided to be very mature by giving me the silent treatment. I tried to seek him out on multiple occasions to amend our friendship, but he was always with you.”
“We are being forced to work together.”
“You’ve been doing far more than simply working together, Hanzo,” Mercy says. “I’ve seen you two during your off-hours, and…”
Hanzo genuinely wants to leave this meeting.
“…You both seem to be doing better, lately,” she says. “Call it a doctor’s intuition, perhaps, but I can clearly see that your companionship has a very positive influence on Jesse McCree. I cannot help but assume that he affects you similarly.”
Hanzo does not know what to say. His face feels uncomfortably warm once more.
Mercy lets out a tired little sigh. “Of course, it likely means more trouble in Overwatch’s future. But, then again…” She smiles mischievously – it’s an expression Hanzo has never seen on her before. “This type of trouble can be… Fun. Very fun. I would know.”
Hanzo frowns slightly. He feels like Mercy knows too much, somehow.
“All of that aside, McCree should be here,” he says quietly.
Mercy laughs. “Fine. Go bring him, by all means. I am sure he will listen to you.”
Hanzo truly does not like what she is implying. Still, he stands up, walking back to the door. He will just go get McCree so they can get this meeting over with (gathering accurate information, in the process), and then…
“Hanzo?” Mercy calls out.
He turns to face her.
“I am not just teasing you,” she says. “You two make a wonderful duo. I am in full support of you.”
She definitely knows too much.
Hanzo mumbles out some form of thanks.
He doesn’t quite manage coherency.
“…And that is the closest estimate we will get,” Hanzo says.
“Wait! Wait!” McCree exclaims. “Didja count that one guy – uh, he had this tacky bandana. And the moustache. Tacky-Bandana-Moustache Man.”
“The fourth man you shot at point-blank range?” Hanzo asks. “I did.”
McCree nods. “Right. Yeah. Then that should be it.”
“That’s sixteen people,” Mercy says. “Guarding one payload.” She chews on the top of her pen, then starts scribbling more notes. “Okay… That definitely means we should prioritize this route… Ugh, but Los Muertos is becoming more of a threat, and this might stretch resources…”
“Well, you let us know what y'all decide,” McCree says. “Me and Hanzo, here, we can take on anythin’. Right?” McCree nudges Hanzo’s shoulder, and Hanzo…
Hanzo has lost the ability to say words.
This keeps happening.
“Good to know,” Mercy replies smoothly. “…I have kept you two here long enough. You have my apologies. I will keep you updated on the situation, but… I cannot see us staying here much longer, sadly.”
“The locals’ll be heartbroken,” McCree says as he stands up. Hanzo follows suit. “Havin’ to go back to that swill they call coffee in that one diner and all.”
“Perhaps another business will open,” Mercy says. “Though I cannot see them being as successful as us.”
“That’s ‘cause we cheat,” McCree says with a wink. “Anyways… Night, Angela.”
“Good night, Jesse, Hanzo,” Mercy says.
Apparently, the two made their amends. McCree was compliant when Hanzo asked him to attend the meeting… He required no persuasion. If Mercy had not told him that McCree was giving her the cold shoulder, Hanzo would have been none the wiser. Hanzo can’t help but wonder if it truly is because he asked McCree to talk to her.
“Good night,” he mutters, as he leaves the room with McCree.
They are both still in their uniforms.
Hanzo feels less angry… But he is also far more frustrated.
McCree is prattling about some inane subject or the other – something about Reinhardt and a large pile of sand. Hanzo cannot concentrate on what he is saying.
He knows he must bring up the cups with McCree. He knows he must ask his questions soon, especially since their mission could end at any given moment.
It is not as if he is guaranteed a spot at Jesse McCree’s side every time they have an assignment. They might be in different countries, soon. Also, he isn’t as close to McCree as, say, Mercy is to that Egyptian woman – Pharah. As things are, personal calls may not even be an option.
It’s only as Hanzo finishes that thought that he realizes it.
Why is he comparing his relationship with McCree to theirs, which is clearly romantic in nature?!
He growls, and McCree stops talking.
“Hanzo, you –”
“It is nothing.”
McCree nods slowly. “Uh, well, as I was sayin’, I wanna head outside for a smoke, so –”
“Be quiet,” Hanzo snaps. “I will come with you.”
“Just come on,” Hanzo says, grabbing onto McCree’s wrist. He walks out of the base with the other man, who is clearly very confused.
“You wanna smoke? I only have one ci –”
“I do not.”
“Then do you wanna take a shower and maybe get din–”
“Didn’t I tell you to be quiet?”
“I’m just confused, is all!”
Now that they are outside together, Hanzo lets go of McCree’s wrist. The sun is setting – the sky is coloured gold, and the desert around them is starting to become chilly.
He turns to face McCree.
His messy hair, long enough to touch the back of his neck.
His unkempt beard.
His shirt, covered in coffee stains and… Sand, too, upon closer inspection.
Still, Hanzo looks up at him, right into his dark eyes.
McCree isn’t saying anything. He is finally quiet and seems to be observing Hanzo just as much.
Hanzo takes a deep breath.
“Are you the one responsible for the coffee?”
“You’ll have to be more specific, there,” McCree replies, quickly.
“You know what I mean,” Hanzo says. He can already feel the heat returning to his face and he desperately wants to quash it. “If it is not you then just say so, because I –”
“I mean, we’re both workin’ the coffee bar,” McCree says. “So, in a way, yeah, I am the one responsible for the coffee.”
Hanzo’s heart sinks.
It is not him.
It is not McCree.
Was it actually Reinhardt? He was kind of vague when he asked Reinhardt.
But Hanzo does not like Reinhardt.
He likes McCree.
He likes McCree.
“…But, see, if you’re referrin’ to the poetry I’ve been leavin’ on drinks I bought for ya, then, yeah,” McCree says. “Yeah. That was all me.”
“So it was you,” he says warily.
“Yup. Surprised it took you so long to figure out.” McCree chuckles nervously. “I swore D.Va to secrecy and all. She worked it out the same damn day you showed her one.”
“Uh, so, are you pissed?” McCree asks. ‘Cause if you’re not into, y’know, me, I can just –”
“I am very pissed,” Hanzo says. “I have felt so…”
His face is getting warm again. Damn.
“Look, ‘M not about to apologize for how I feel ‘bout you, but if I made you uncomf –”
Hanzo grabs the front of McCree’s shirt.
He then pulls McCree’s down to his level and presses his lips against the other man’s. McCree grunts, clearly surprised, but Hanzo is determined to do this. He is determined to do it right.
McCree tastes like cigars; all spices and cedar and smoke. His lips are rough and warm – so very warm. His prosthetic arm presses against the back of Hanzo’s shirt – the cool metal making him shiver, holding him closer.
Hanzo closes his eyes, letting his tongue press into McCree’s mouth, needing to feel more of the heat between them. He’s still holding onto McCree’s shirt, tightly, and, fuck, what is he doing, what is he doing –
McCree pulls away from the kiss and Hanzo opens his eyes to see the other man running a hand through his hair.
“Shit, Hanzo,” McCree says, his voice low and husky, like a growl. Their faces are still so very close. “You scared me, there. Thought you –”
Hanzo leans forward, pressing their lips together once more. He has come to the realization that, yes, he does enjoy kissing McCree – quite a lot, in fact. McCree grins into the kiss, then pulls away, keeping their foreheads pressed together. “You gotta stop interruptin’ me, darlin’.”
Hanzo flushes. “My apologies.”
McCree laughs. Hanzo’s hands are still pressed against his chest and he can feel the man’s laughter. It is strangely intimate, and it embarrasses him even further. Still, McCree is also red. Very red. Possibly even more red than Hanzo.
“’S’all good,” McCree murmurs, leaning down to Hanzo’s shoulder. Hanzo can feel the man gently pressing his lips against his skin. His chest tightens, and he holds back a gasp as McCree continues to trail kisses along his neck, his jaw. The man’s beard is scratching against his skin and it makes it very hard to stay quiet – finally, his lips find Hanzo’s.
Hanzo is not sure how long they stay out there. Time seems to be still, and he’s almost certain that this scenario is too good to be true. There is no way that someone like him could be experiencing something like this.
He breaks away from their kiss and McCree smiles lazily.
“You are a dang treat, Hanzo Shimada,” he says, his voice still thick and warm. “I’m real glad something’s brewin’ between us.”
Hanzo scowls. “Are you serious?”
“As serious as the dead, sweetpea.”
Hanzo startles slightly at the nickname. Sweetpea. “You… Are ruining the mood.”
“Am not!” McCree presses his forehead against Hanzo’s again. “You love my lines.”
“I do not.”
“But they worked, didn’t they?”
“Ha! You can’t go sayin’ that they didn’t!”
“You are such an insufferable man.”
“An insufferable man who’ll be gettin’ to kiss you more, yeah?” McCree licks his lips.
“Naturally,” Hanzo says. “…If that is what you want.”
McCree laughs. “’Course I do. I want that more than anythin’.”
The tips of his ears are red. It’s… Cute. Hanzo wonders if that is a strange thing to think.
This entire situation is just too surreal.
Hanzo is not sure what to do.
He just wants to kiss McCree again. To be even closer to him.
There are so many… Emotions. How does one deal with this?
“Anyway, I’m thinkin’ that you’re dyin’ to get outta those clothes –”
Hanzo glares at McCree and the other man bursts into laughter.
“Fuck! Fuck, no, I didn’t mean it like that. I ain’t that sleazy, fuck.” McCree covers his face with hands, his shoulders still shaking with laughter. “I mean… You don’t like stayin’ in your work clothes, right? We should go get cleaned up.”
That’s right. Hanzo forgot that they were in their work uniforms. The other man is still covered in coffee.
“Yes. That’s… That is a good idea.” Hanzo smoothens his hair. It’s still untied. “I…”
“We can grab dinner after,” McCree blurts out, letting his hands fall back to his sides. “Together. If you want. If you’re too tired or somethin’, that’s fine too, I just… Y’know, I’d like to eat with you. If you want.”
Hanzo can’t fight off his smile. “I would enjoy that.”
“Great,” McCree says, also smiling. “Sounds like a damn good plan.”
“Jesse. We have to go.”
McCree’s arm loops around Hanzo, pulling him closer. Hanzo sighs.
He put his prosthetic legs on a while ago, but...
He needs clothes. Right now.
McCree is incredibly clingy, however. So, unless Hanzo can wake him, clothes will not be in his immediate future.
He gently flicks the man’s forehead and McCree makes a dissatisfied grunt, rubbing his beard against Hanzo’s waist.
It tickles. Hanzo squirms around and, finally, is free from the other man’s clutches. McCree makes more dissatisfied grunts as he rolls over, flat, onto his stomach.
“Lazy,” Hanzo mutters as he crawls off the bed. “If we are late, it will be your fault. You cannot say I did not try.”
He gets no response.
Hanzo rolls his eyes, but his heart does tug at the sight of Jesse McCree dozing in his bed.
They have been together for weeks. Initially, they tried to keep this development a secret, but McCree could not resist openly flirting with Hanzo (and Hanzo did not want him to stop... He was just as guilty).
Naturally, D.Va grew suspicious. She captained a stake-out with Reinhardt which, for all intents and purposes, should have ended in failure.
In true testimony as to how McCree cannot keep his hands off Hanzo (again, Hanzo is no better), they caught the two in a very compromising situation.
To make a long story short, the entirety of Overwatch is now aware of their relationship.
Hanzo does not know how to deal with that knowledge.
He takes his usual approach and simply represses it.
He steps lightly around the room, grabbing his clothes. Their days of coffee shifts were long over – today, they are travelling back to Gibraltar to regroup with everyone else. It is already dark outside; he was taking an afternoon nap with McCree… Though they did not get much sleep.
Hanzo feels like he is too old for such mischief, but… He is enjoying himself. That much is certain.
He does not appreciate the sly looks that Mercy occasionally casts his way, however. He also does not appreciate seeing McCree high-fiving her.
Hanzo sighs softly, tying his sash in place. He examines himself in the mirror, making sure that he looks put-together.
“That’s a real nice mug you got there,” McCree grumbles from bed.
“Forget I said that,” McCree continues. “Gotta… Use it again when you’re drinkin’ somethin’ outta some mug…” He sits up, clearly groggy. “Wait. Why’re you wearin’ clothes?”
Hanzo glares at him. “We have to go, McCree. Gibraltar, remember?”
McCree lets out a very dramatic yell, flopping onto his back. “Don’t wanna.”
“Put your arm on and get dressed,” Hanzo says, tying his hair up.
“It’ll take one second!” McCree whines. “Let’s use our time for some other activities.”
He wiggles his eyebrows at Hanzo mischievously.
“You look ridiculous,” Hanzo says bluntly. “Come on. We do not need more rumours to spread about us.”
“76 already thinks that we are a problem couple,” Hanzo points out. “We cannot have even more ammunition against us.”
There was no guarantee that they would be stationed together, next time. Of course, this was mostly due to the little stunt they pulled on their mission together, but being romantically involved might also pose a new set of scheduling problems... Especially if 76 does not approve of their relationship.
The thought of being separated from McCree admittedly made Hanzo feel… Queasy. Embarrassingly enough, he is already used to sleeping beside the other man. Sleeping on his own would feel strange, now – even though McCree an alarmingly clingy sleeper. He also steals all of the blankets.
“Naw. You keep me in line,” McCree states. “Jesse’ll act out if we separate him from his darlin’. We gotta be schedulin’ ‘em together, always. That’s what he’ll say.”
“That was an atrocious Soldier: 76 impression.”
“I got that timbre right and you know it.”
Hanzo laughs, shaking his head.
McCree grins. “Love it when you laugh.”
“Do not even try that, Jesse,” Hanzo says, gathering their weapons together. “I will not get back in that bed.”
Hanzo sighs. He will throw McCree a bone, but only one.
“You are the only one who can make me laugh,” Hanzo says. “Now get a move on.”
It is incredible how quickly McCree can go from sulking to being comically self-assured over a compliment.
Still. Flattery or not, it was the truth.
McCree puts on his arm, whistling the tune to some country song that Hanzo does not know. “Hey, you nervous ‘bout seein’ 76 and the gang, back at the home base?”
Hanzo shrugs. “In some ways.”
He tries to play it off, but… In reality, he is downright petrified. McCree is one of Overwatch’s most cherished agents. Meanwhile, interpretations of Hanzo tend to vary... Rightfully so.
“Don’t be,” McCree says, pulling his pants on. “Seriously.”
“I am still not sure what I did to –” Hanzo catches the look that McCree is casting his way. “…Sorry.”
“Yeah, you know I don’t like that kinda talk,” McCree says, walking over to him. “’Cos I don’t know what I did to deserve you, either. But it don’t matter, ‘cause we’re together. Right?”
“No runnin’ away.”
McCree grins again. Hanzo leans forward, kissing him gently.
“Anyways, I’m scared shitless of seein’ Genji,” McCree says as they part. “He’s gonna be watchin’ me like a dang hawk.”
“Please,” Hanzo scoffs as he wraps his arms around McCree, hugging him.
“I ain’t kidding! It’s time to start securin’ my worldly possessions,” McCree grumbles. “I’m already lookin’ over my shoulder. The guy’s just gonna appear. Mark my words. I’m gonna get one of ‘em shuriken pelted at my face, one of these days.”
“So dramatic,” Hanzo murmurs against his chest. “Genji would never – Wait. What am I – you need to put on a shirt. Right now.”
He pushes McCree off him, and McCree barks out a laugh.
“You were the one huggin’ me, Hanzo, but if you insist.”
McCree gets ready relatively quickly. They have a slight scare, during which McCree could not find his belt buckle (which has graduated from “the tackiest thing Hanzo has ever seen” to “the most ridiculous thing Hanzo has ever seen” – he recently found out what “BAMF” stands for), but they ended up finding it under the bed.
They do a final sweep of the room together, making sure that they have packed everything. Finding it free of all personal belongings, they finally leave.
“Y’know, I’m real glad I decided to buy you all that coffee, even if you didn’t go drinkin’ most of it,” McCree says as Hanzo closes the door behind them. “And I’m also real glad I wrote all that poetry on the cups.”
“You keep calling those pick-up lines poetry,” Hanzo says. “Those were not poetry.”
“They worked, alright?” McCree laughs.
“Partially,” Hanzo says. “I fell for you because I enjoy spending time with you.”
McCree goes red instantly. Hanzo feels quite proud of himself.
“Lucky me,” McCree says, slipping his hand into Hanzo’s. “That means you’ll be spendin’ lots more time by my side.”
“Naturally,” Hanzo says, letting their fingers intertwine.
They walk out of the base, through the side door.
It’s a very dark night. Hanzo can see Reinhardt, sitting in the driver’s seat of a rented minivan. He’s enthusiastically talking to Mercy. Mei and D.Va are taking a photo together, their now-former base in the background.
Hanzo feels… Strange.
Before, when he left places behind, he would feel nothing but contempt. The event would be unpleasant, a rush; a reminder that he is a wanted man – the Shimada clan’s spies were highly trained, and they would rather kill him than have him wander the world, regarding the family as nothing but a dark stain on his past.
This time, he feels different. He is almost sad to leave the dingy coffee shop behind.
McCree runs his thumb over Hanzo’s knuckles. “You alright?”
“Yes,” Hanzo replies. “I am fine.”
McCree holds his hand a little bit tighter.
D.Va calls something out – something along the lines of old men being sappy again – and McCree roars with laughter.
As he hollers a retort – “For the hundredth dang time, I ain’t that old! Save that shit for Reinhardt, you brat!” – Hanzo grins.
He is still a relatively new member of Overwatch. The future is daunting. He still must atone for many of his past mistakes.
However, with Jesse McCree at his side…
There is hope.