Chapter Text
Opting to wait for night to descend was a wise choice. There was an influx of tourists in Los Angeles not only for the art exhibit, but simple summer travel as well. There were beaches and national parks about twenty minutes out via the hyperexpressway, tons of local shops and markets, and a restaurant for every possible food imaginable.
McCree and Hanzo, in an attempt to kill time, had taken the liberty of venturing further into downtown LA for a bite to eat, with Allen’s direction and help, of course.
“Uh-uh, ain’t no way in hell—” McCree argued, though was abruptly cut off.
Hanzo tutted, “Did you not say to me last time we came home from traveling that, and I quote, ‘I promise I’ll try sushi next time we go somewhere, darlin’,’” Hanzo had thrown his best attempt at a southern accent, though the words sounded funny rolling off his tongue, “Or did I simply imagine it?”
“Okay, yeah, but—”
“And did you not drag me out to eat to at least three restaurants, if you could even call them that, for some of the greasiest, most Americanized food on the planet?” Hanzo added.
“You agreed to it though, so y’can’t—”
The archer cut him off again, “And did you not promise me, promise me, that I not only get to pick the restaurant, I also get to choose your cuisine for the evening?” He added while peaking over the brim of his faux eyewear.
There was no way McCree would win this.
The cowboy threw up his hands in defeat, “Alright, alright, jeez.” He sighed, “Y’drive a hard bargain, y’know that?” he couldn’t help but smile.
“I believe that is why you married me, correct?” Hanzo threw back with a little smirk.
McCree swallowed past the nervousness in his throat, “Yeah…you bet’cha, honey.”
“Allen,” Hanzo said rather gently, “Take us to Ginza Onodera, please.”
The omnic cabbie, who McCree honestly forgot was driving after Hanzo’s little remark, called over the front seat, “I can, but I believe you need to reserve a spot in advance, sir.”
“I know.” Hanzo waved the remark off with a flick of his wrist, “That is why I made reservations two weeks ago.”
The mischievous little smile he shot McCree would stick with the cowboy forever.
McCree narrowed his eyes, brows furrowing at the realization, “You’d already planned this the second y’realized we were comin’ out t’LA.”
“Perhaps…” His partner shrugged, “Perhaps not.”
The gunslinger exhaled another long, reluctant sigh, “Fine. You win. Raw fish it is.”
“I believe you heard him, Allen.” Hanzo reclined in his seat, smug smirk still plastered across his stupid, handsome face.
The omnic chuckled as he merged across a few lanes of traffic with ease, “That I did, sir.”
------
Dinner was, for lack of a better term, superb. Where McCree had gone in thinking he was either ready to hate everything or get so grossed out he couldn’t eat, he honestly could not believe how delicious everything had been. That was also probably because the chef chose their entire meal for them from the freshest fish possible.
Omakase, Hanzo explained as they were seated at the sushi bar, meant they entrusted the itamae, the chef, to pick the cuisine for their meal. It was a terrifying thought for McCree, having some guy put tons of raw fish and rice in front of you and being expected to eat it.
But man, did he eat it. All of it. Even more than Hanzo had because it was really just that good.
After the meal had concluded, the two had moved to the bar side of the restaurant. Hanzo was busy indulging on fine sake, one he encouraged McCree to try.
“Still can’t believe I ate raw fish.” McCree shook his head in disbelief as he brought the rim of his choko to his lips.
Hanzo scoffed, “I cannot believe the amount.”
The cowboy gave his stomach a gentle pat, “Man’s gotta eat!”
The archer rolled his eyes at McCree’s chuckle. Companionable silence fell between the two. McCree tried his best not to stare at the man beside him but, how could he not? All McCree had done in the past hour and forty-five minutes was replay their ruse over and over in his head. How pliant Hanzo had been pressed up against the gunslinger’s chest. How soft Hanzo’s lips were. How those lips actually kissed him back. If Hanzo would make the same noises if the cowboy were to—
McCree prayed his shudder went unnoticed, shooting back the rest of his alcohol like a man dying of thirst. He couldn’t let this get in the way of the mission. Of his friendship. What happened was simply part of their act, as much as he hated to admit it.
He turned his attention to one of the televisions nestled in the corner above the bar. The local news was on with a national ticker across the bottom. McCree read the ending details of a global manhunt of a criminal still at-large, who escaped from a federal maximum security prison in New York several months ago.
Why the fuck he and Hanzo couldn’t have got put on detail to track down that guy, he’ll never know.
Hanzo yanked him back to reality as he poured the cowboy more sake.
Hanzo leaned forward, “Do you have any suggestions about our entry tonight?”
Leave it to the assassin to kill the mood with talk of business.
McCree could only shrug, “Seein’ as yer the cool ninja guy, I’d like to think y’could uh…you know…” McCree gestured to Hanzo’s person, “Do whatever it is you an’ Genji do when y’all…you know…” he made another vague hand gesture, “Sneak around n’shit.”
“So eloquently put.” The archer deadpanned.
“Aw, c’mon sweetness. Just ‘cause I’m the lead agent fer this mission don’t mean I gotta come up with all the plans.” The gunslinger reclined against his seat, hand moving toward the comm nestled in his front pocket.
Hanzo snorted into his sake, “Of course, how could I forget?”
McCree had already pulled up an image. He zoomed in on the roof of the museum, “That’s not all that high off the ground. You’ll be able t’climb it easy, yeah?” he grunted in a low volume.
The assassin nodded once, “Effortlessly.”
“I can keep watch from a distance, cause a distraction if anything comes up.”
“It is doubtful I will need any, but your concern is touching.”
McCree rolled his eyes, “Yeah, yeah. Like I said, you and Genji are pretty good at the whole stealth thing.”
Hanzo’s eyes scanned over his partner once, “If you ceased wearing spurs for every mission, you would be as well.” He noted with chagrin.
McCree placed his hand over his heart in mock offence, “I have a look t’maintain, thank ya’ kindly. And I was in covert ops fer years, spurs n’ all.”
The archer’s lips couldn’t help but quirk at that, “Again, how could I forget?”
“That I couldn’t tell ya, sugar. S’pretty hard t’miss.” The cowboy gestured to himself, “Should’a just hung me in that museum. I’m a goddamn work of art.”
“Speaking of the museum,” Hanzo changed the subject, “Athena, have you gained any knowledge from the bug Agent McCree placed earlier?”
“Unfortunately, no.” Athena’s bright blue moniker flashed across the screen as her voice overtook their comms, “The only thing I have learned so far is how…” she paused in an attempt to find a fitting term, “…Colorful Mr. Gascoyne’s language can be when angry.”
“Figures.” McCree groused before taking another sip of sake.
“I will be sure to notify you both if anything pertinent comes to my knowledge. Oh, and Agent McCree?” the AI addressed him directly, “Try not to get caught this evening. Just because Winston is unaware of your activity does not mean that I am.” She stated crisply.
The gunslinger whined into his comm, “Aw, c’mon! I’m not gonna cause that much of a ruckus!”
“I would prefer no ruckus.” Hanzo stated flatly.
“Indeed.” Athena chimed.
McCree crossed his arms, “Why y’all gotta gang up on me?”
“Upon observation, I have concluded that when humans tease each other, it is because they are showing affection.” The AI stated nonchalantly, “Therefore, Agent Hanzo and I were merely being affectionate.”
Affectionate.
McCree risked a glance toward Hanzo who had conveniently turned away so he could take a sip of his alcohol. He smiled regardless, “S’that so?”
“Of course, Agent McCree.”
“Thanks, darlin’. We’ll be sure t’keep the chaos to a minimum.” He added.
“As expected. Good luck, agents.” The logo disappeared along with her presence.
McCree finished off his sake, twirling the choko between his fingers before adding, “Y’know, for a highly intelligent supercomputer, she’s got a lotta sass stored away.”
Hanzo palmed for his wallet as the bartender slipped a little black receipt book on the table before them, “I suppose Winston programmed a sarcasm feature to deal with people such as you.” He jested good-naturedly.
Before Hanzo could even grab the check, McCree’s lighting fast reflexes came in handy; he snatched the book from the counter and turned just enough so Hanzo couldn’t reach.
“Joel,” Hanzo hissed, “What exactly do you think you are doing?” He made a grab for the check but McCree’s wingspan gave him too much of a disadvantage.
“What’s it look like?” The gunslinger had, in the meantime, procured his credit card and slipped it in the little pocket of the book. He flagged the bartender down, “I’m payin’ fer dinner!”
“I am not letting you pay for this.” The archer growled low in his throat, “It was not only my idea but extremely expensive as well.”
McCree passed the check and card to the waiter, “Like y’said earlier honey; money ain’t a problem.”
“But—”
McCree shushed him, “What? Do ya think all those years chasin’ bounties was for fun?” his lips split in a shit-eating grin, “I got enough on that card to last me til my dyin’ day.” The waiter returned with an electronic receipt for him to sign, “Just gotta be careful when I swipe it, is all.” He initialed his alias across the line, thankful for Winston’s technological capabilities to alter data. He tipped the total of their meal, “’Sides,” he added as he passed the e-receipt to the waiter with a smile, “Pretty sure y’bought twelve bottles of the most expensive champagne on the planet two hours ago. This ain’t even come close to that.”
The archer crossed his arms; he had been beaten at his own game, “I will allow it, just this once.”
McCree snorted as he pushed himself away from the bar, “Like y’had any other choice.”
------
Allen dropped them off at their hotel and parked on the street, the two insisting they take their “leftovers,” which was actually two carry-out containers stuffed with napkins, back to their room before going out for the rest of the evening. The omnic parked the cab to wait for them.
Hanzo and McCree, on the other hand, gathered their gear; McCree tucked Peacekeeper under his shirt inside the waist of his pants and shoved the camera along with a few flashbangs into a backpack while Hanzo disassembled Storm Bow and stored the parts and a few arrows in a long, thin, tube-like satchel. They also changed clothes; basic black pants and long sleeve shirts were a must for a stealth operation. Plus, they looked like one of those overly tacky couples that tried to match when they went out; very cheesy and very touristy. They exited the hotel again, McCree offering a polite little wave to the woman at the counter who checked them in the night before.
Thankful for an abundance of activities to do in the city after night fell, the duo managed to find a strip of clubs and late night shops roughly a ten minute walk from the museum. They had Allen drop them off at the end of the street. Hanzo gave him his credit card and told him to park and let the meter run, to which Allen reluctantly agreed.
They set off on foot. The night air was balmy, almost like Gibraltar minus the sea breeze that kept the little rock cooler once the sun set. McCree kept in stride with his partner, finally seizing the chance to have a smoke after hours of nicotine withdraw. He procured a little tin he often kept in his breast pocket and pulled a cigarillo and strike matches from the contents. He pinched it between his lips and inhaled as he ignited the tip.
“Finally.” He thought, blowing a stream of smoke as he exhaled, flicking the spent match into the street. He caught movement to his right; Hanzo’s gaze was affixed to him, more so the cigar than anything. The corner of McCree’s mouth twitched up, “Care for a drag?” he teased, extending his flesh hand out toward the man, cigarillo between his pointer and middle finger.
What he hadn’t anticipated was for Hanzo’s look of contemplation before he took it from McCree’s grasp. The archer brought it to his lips, albeit hesitantly, and slowly pursed them over the end. He puffed gently, seemed to roll the smoke around in his mouth for a second, before letting it spill out of his nose.
Much like a dragon breathing fire.
McCree had to push down the rising heat that engulfed his stomach, doing his best to quash the thoughts of what else the archer could wrap his mouth around. Hanzo passed it back to McCree, “It is not the worst tobacco I have had.” He noted, “But it certainly is not the best, either.”
The cowboy rolled his eyes, “My apologies, lemme pull a Black Dragon outta my ass for ya real quick.”
“A…what?” the archer queried, clearly confused.
McCree barked a laugh, “S’just a real expensive cigar, honey.” He gently tapped his back pocket, “Ain’t got no dragons hidin’ in here, trust me. That’s yer thing.” He grinned.
“I see.” the assassin could merely utter.
McCree popped the cigarillo back between his lips as silence fell once more. They were about five minutes from the museum’s front gate. A rowdy, possibly drunken, group of twenty-somethings jostled past them. McCree slipped the backpack off his shoulders to rummage through after having it all but elbowed off his back. He pulled the camera from the pouch and fired it up.
“So I guess Winston programmed yer glasses t’sync with the camera when they’re both on.” McCree muttered evenly, turning the cameral over in his hands.
The archer nodded, “And you can also see what I see.” He removed them from his face and pressed a small button on the left temple. “I believe they have about five hours of battery life, though it will not be necessary.”
McCree checked the screen of the camera. Sure enough, the right half of his face and a portion of the glimmering LA skyline danced across the screen, “Well I’ll be damned.”
Hanzo’s gaze shifted and so did the camera’s screen. McCree locked the screen on his device and they continued forward. Up on their right began the hard-light fencing of the LACMA. Another sign caught McCree’s attention; across the street, a mere hundred or so meters, flashed a sign for the La Brea Tar Pits.
“We should head out a lil’ earlier tomorrow and make a pit stop.” The cowboy chuckled.
Hanzo sighed out of his nose, “Must you?”
“Must I what, honeybee?” McCree waggled his brows.
The archer’s eye roll did not go unnoticed, but the quirking of his lips and the playful elbow he tossed into his partner’s side meant he, too, enjoyed it, “You know exactly what you did.”
“Hmm.” The gunslinger, suddenly missing the warmth of Hanzo’s touch, sidestepped closer so their arms jostled, “Not sure whatcha mean. Care t’run it by me?”
“I am about to run the blade of my knife by you, McCree.” Hanzo quipped though there was no true threat behind it.
“Aw, why y’gotta be like that?” the gunslinger chuckled out.
“Because you,” Hanzo jabbed a finger in his face, “Treat so many serious situations like another one of your off color jokes.”
The gunslinger snorted, “Didn’t know walkin’ down the sidewalk was a serious situation.”
“We are on the way to gather valuable intel.”
“We ain’t even inside yet.”
“Someone could be following us.”
“Yeah, I’m sure Talon sent a group’a drunk kids out on the town to tail us.”
“Are you saying you would be able to know for certain we are not being tracked?”
“Are you sayin’ y’have eyes in the back of yer head and saw someone yerself?”
The duo stopped just short of the gate, locked in a stalemate between whether or not McCree was treating this mission like a casual stroll or whether Hanzo was being a fun-sucking stickler. The staring match ended when Hanzo turned toward the LACMA grounds.
“Fine. The probability that we are under surveillance is extremely low, if at all.” The archer admitted, though his pride seemed a little wounded.
McCree merely shrugged, “Didn’t have t’tell me that, but I appreciate the honesty, honey.”
Hanzo gave a little growl, one that said don’t press your luck, cowboy, before rounding the corner to the front of the museum. McCree followed in suit, smirking.
The street before them was mostly empty. Aside from a handful of cars driving down the road and two distant pedestrians a solid hundred meters out, McCree and Hanzo were basically alone. McCree leaned up against the railing and puffed on his cigar,
“Any idea what kind of security system they got coverin’ the place?”
Hanzo shook his head, “Not entirely. I assume that with the potential theft and added traffic, the museum would have had to take at least some additional preventative measures.” He also leaned up against the fence.
McCree brought up the camera, “I can’t see any guards in any’a the places we left cams. Y’think they’re riskin’ bein’ that lax for this?”
“I have my doubts.” The assassin did his best to look over his shoulder toward the grounds as discreetly as possible, “It was Los Angeles that was known for mass power outages before and during the omnic crisis, was it not?”
McCree contemplated for a second, “Uh, I believe so. Why?”
Hanzo huffed, “What are the chances the power grid for this street will fail within the next ten minutes?” he exhaled roughly, “And for it to stay off until after infiltration?”
McCree snorted, “Slim t’none, if I can be honest.” McCree’s eyes wandered the street, following the sleek metal sheen of the high capacity powerlines that dotted the street in front of the tar pit attractions, “Hang on…” the dead eye spotted a glimmering little box atop the pole just before the obnoxious holovideo sign in front of the Tar Pits, “Think I gotta idea.”
The archer quirked a brow, “And what, dare I ask, is this idea of yours?”
McCree grinned, “You’ll see.” he pulled his comm from his pocket and pressed Athena’s icon on the display. Her logo popped up on the screen.
“Good evening Agents.” Her smooth, gentle voice greeted, “Do you need my assistance?”
“Y’could say that.” The gunslinger drawled into his mic.
The AI gave pause, “I am still attempting to comprehend human interaction, but given the data from some of your past missions, I am already apprehensive.”
Beside him, Hanzo snorted into the cuff of his wrist. McCree pressed on, “Aw, c’mon! I ain’t even asked yet!”
“Yes, and that is what terrifies me.”
“Is this what’cha classify as affectionate?” The gunslinger queried.
“Hmm…” she pondered, “I suppose you could say that.”
Hanzo threw in his two cents, “If it means anything, he has not told me either.”
“And I ain’t gonna tell ya if y’all keep nitpickin’!” he proclaimed exasperatedly.
Athena chortled, “I apologize. Please, what would you like me to do?”
“First things first, are y’able to check the power relays near our location?” the gunslinger asked, glancing around to make sure the pedestrians he spotted earlier were still far out of earshot.
“Of course. Coordinates?” Athena replied.
“Uhh…” McCree tapped on his screen a few times, “Thirty-four degrees, three minutes, fifty-one-point-three seconds North, one-hundred eighteen degrees, twenty-one minutes, thirty-eight-point-oh-three seconds West.”
“A moment.” Athena requested.
“O’course.” The gunslinger chewed on his cigar and puffed on it.
Silence fell for while Athena processed the data, returning after a few seconds, “There is one relay on this street, and one on five blocks down. They control the power for an approximate one-point-five mile radius of your location.” She confirmed gently.
“Okay,” McCree blew a stream of smoke, “Are y’able remotely access ‘em?”
“The security protocols have numerous holes and the software is rather outdated. It would be simple.” She stated, clearly confident in her abilities.
The little smirk that danced across McCree’s lips could only be described as devious, “That so?”
Hanzo eyed his partner with speculation. He knew that smile. He had seen it countless times on the gunslinger when he formulated some sort outrageous plan during a mission, “McCree…” he began, the taller man glancing down after being addressed, “What exactly are you suggesting?”
“Well, if we’re bein’ technical, you were the one who suggested it.” The cowboy quipped back.
What? Hanzo hadn’t said anything about—
Oh.
Oh.
“McCree, no.” Hanzo immediately stated.
The gunslinger took another drag of his cigar, “Hey, don’t blame me.” He chuckled and let smoke seep out of his mouth and curl between them, “Shouldn’t’ve suggested it if y’didn’t want my brain t’churn this’n out.”
Athena interrupted the two, “What exactly did you suggest, Agent Hanzo?”
McCree answered for him, “A power outage.” Hanzo glared, “What? It’d be the perfect cover. If Athena can knock the power out, keep it off ‘til yer in n’ out, maybe kill that other grid t’make it look less suspicious and more like a technical glitch, it’ll make this a helluva lot easier than disabling and potentially harming the security system inna place we’re literally trying t’prevent actual theft from happening.” He insisted, one arm akimbo, other hand painting the air gossamer gray with smoke from his cigar.
Hanzo opened his mouth to argue but snapped it close. That was a very valid point. The last thing the archer wanted to do was tamper with the museum’s equipment, which he would undoubtedly have to do if he were to break in by himself. He sighed, “I suppose you are correct.”
McCree’s pursed his cigar back between his lips, “Don’t I know it, honey.” He smiled lopsidedly around it.
“Are you asking me to not only tamper with government property but to also cause a blackout across multiple grids that could affect hundreds of businesses and thousands of people?” Athena’s tone never truly changed but if an AI could sound flabbergasted, McCree could only assume it would come off like it did in that statement.
The cowboy shrugged, “Or, Hanzo could potentially damage the security system, allowin’ thieves t’run through the place all willy-nilly without anyone knowin’, potentially ruinin’ the mission.” He stubbed out his cigarillo on the wall and flicked it toward a nearby trash bin. He sunk it, dead center, “Your call there, ma’am.”
Silence stretched for a beat before the AI replied, “I will plan a controlled power outage. I will keep it off just long enough for Agent Hanzo to get in and out without being detected.” She agreed, though it sounded hesitant and reluctant, “However, I cannot guarantee I can keep it off as long as promised. If I am detected inside the grid’s system when local repairs are being made I will have to withdraw to assure Overwatch’s anonymity.”
The gunslinger waved her off, “I ain’t got no worries ‘bout Hanzo’s ability to get in and out in a timely fashion,” he assured. Hanzo cast him a glance, an eyebrow arched. McCree winked, “Hey, just givin’ credit where it’s due.”
“I will access the relay when Agent Hanzo is in position.” Athena instructed, “Please ready yourselves, agents.”
Her logo disappeared and McCree and Hanzo were truly alone. The street was still mostly empty, save for a new handful of people who turned the corner a ways ahead of them. Hanzo pushed himself off the gate and began his trek forward. McCree followed him. The two turned the corner at the front gate and stopped once more.
Hanzo took stock of his surroundings. The building they had trekked through earlier was toward the back of the campus, nestled between an outdoor display and another structure. Hanzo tutted, “It would be wiser to infiltrate from a location further down the street.” He paused in thought, expression suddenly a little angrier than it had been moments before, “We should have had Allen take us to a location that would have put us behind the museum…” he mumbled.
“Should’a, could’a, would’a.” McCree shrugged, a puff of smoke billowing from his mouth. Beside him, Hanzo was shooting him a chilly side eye. “Oh yeah, because a roundabout of museums is the biggest hot spot in LA.” He quipped.
“Come, we have little time to waste.” Hanzo insisted, picking up his pace down the walkway.
The two stalked down the street, stopping halfway when Hanzo paused well before the public transit stop. He eyed the hard light wall and beyond for a moment; this was the best he could do. When the power cuts, he could run a straight line between the buildings to the back with minimal interruption. He dropped to his knees.
“Somethin’ wrong?” McCree queried.
“This is the best point for entrance.” Hanzo replied as low as he could, pretending to tie his shoe.
The gunslinger’s brow arched, “Right here? Ya sure?” he glances around, “Well…guess we can’t use that corner ‘cause’a the bus stop…” he took the words from Hanzo’s mouth. He sighed as he pulled the camera from his backpack, “Guess we gotta make due, huh?”
“I suggest waiting until you see the bus pull up before calling,” Hanzo advised as McCree began to snap photos of the cars that whizzed by.
“Don’cha worry ‘bout that, just ready up n’ I’ll take care of the lights.” The cowboy insisted, camera still pressed to his face as he all but physically ignored Hanzo for the sake of a few photos.
Hanzo got to work. The sun had long disappeared behind the western skyscrapers. Thankful for night’s swift approach, Hanzo shrugged his case off his back and, mindful to face away from the street, assembled Storm Bow between the glow of two street apposing lights. McCree did well to keep an eye out, though there was hardly anyone remotely close.
As he rose to his feet, one of the numerous public shuttles rumbled by and rolled to a halt before the empty little stop. To his left, Hanzo heard McCree utter into his comm, “Alright Athena, shut this shit down.”
“Understood.” she replied swiftly, “Outage commencing in three…two…one…”
The bus lurching to life did well to drown out the loud pop of the electrical box’s surge as it went offline. The lights were sucked from the sources that lit the street, replaced by the glow of distant skyscrapers, of too-far-away headlights, and the screen of McCree’s comm. Though Hanzo caught his smirk before he darkened the screen.
The archer slung his bow over his shoulder and grabbed a singular sonic arrow. He could retrieve and reuse it, if the need arose. As he slipped his glasses back on, Athena chimed into his ear, “The power is off and the city has not even begun accessing the terminal yet. I will do my best to stall for time, but please make haste.”
McCree replied, “Hanzo’ll have this done lickety-split. Yer a real peach, Athena.”
As McCree’s comm’s screen dimmed, Hanzo hopped up and over the concrete base of the fence, “I will make quick work of this.”
The low glow of McCree’s comm defined the little curve of his lips, “’M sure ya will.” He agreed, slipping the strap of the camera around his neck.
Hanzo took a fraction of a second to then the glasses on, “Are they live?”
McCree peeked at the camera’s feed, “S’dark, but I can tell yer movin’. They got a night vision setting?”
“No, but I have a flashlight should the need arise.”
McCree sighed, “Guess that’ll hafta do. I’ll see if switchin’ to infrared on here will change it on yer end once you get inside. Better get a move on.” As Hanzo turned to leave, he added, “The comms are also linked to Athena in case she runs into an issue with the power grid. Gimme a holler if y’run into more than y’can handle, alright?”
Hanzo nodded, though was unsure if McCree could actually see it. Not wanting to waste any more time, he turned and high-tailed between the buildings. As his eyes acclimated to the darkness, he caught the glimmer of a faint blue glow. Winding across the ground a solid seventy-five feet out were little ribbons of light. Solar powered pathway lights, most likely, in case something like this arose.
“Well ain’t that neat.”
Hanzo doubted the little twitch his body gave in response to McCree’s outburst would relay back on the camera. How could he have forgotten his eyes were basically the gunslinger’s at this point? He growled low as he darted forward behind the cover of sculpted hedges, “Is your commentary truly necessary?”
A chuckle at the other end deepened the archer’s scowl, “Naw, but I’d like to think you’d forget what I sound like if I keep my mouth shut fer too long.”
From behind the shrubbery, Hanzo light-footed toward the massive outdoor exhibits, “Ah yes, because I encounter so many cowmen throughout the day and all of your voices have begun to blend together.” He quipped as he surveyed the building for the best place to climb.
“Darlin’, y’wound me.” McCree’s accent became a little more pronounced when he pulled stunts like this, “Meetin’ all’a them cowboys n’ not introducin’ me to a single one?” he let out an over-exaggerated sigh into the mic, “How’m I supposed t’have a good ol’ fashioned shoot-out if I can’t find another man t’have one with?”
Hanzo could actually picture McCree’s pose; hand plastered to his chest and head tilted back as he tried his best to feign hurt. It actually made him snort, “My apologies. I had no idea you would take the news this hard.” He found his mouth pulling into the shape of a grin, doing his best to remain quiet for the sheer sake of stealth. He stalked forward toward the building, forcing the smile from his face.
McCree dropped the act altogether, however, “Lights’re still out on the street. Got a few people grouped up by the bus stop with their phones out, prob’ly jus’ fer company. Guess it still happens from time to time what with how big the city is.” He stated.
Hanzo hummed in acknowledgement as he pressed his back against the concrete wall of the exhibit building between two manzanita shrubs. Though the sun had long set, the residual heat clung to the stone and enveloped the archer in almost sickly warmth.
Just how did McCree wear all that clothing wandering around a desert all those years? He wondered.
Hanzo shook himself from his thoughts and gazed upward. Static in his ear meant McCree was about to speak, “Ho ho, it does work on my end!” he stated rather vaguely.
“And what would that be?” the assassin growled, still crouched low and hidden.
“The infrared.” The gunslinger stated nonchalantly, “Wanna know how I know?” he drawled.
“Tell me, oh wise one,” Hanzo whispered, irritation rising in his voice.
McCree snorted once, “Got a guy at yer two, ‘bout thirty yards out.”
Hanzo froze. He waited for a moment before deciding to reposition himself to check and, sure enough, there was someone, a security guard by the looks of it, moving across the courtyard between two buildings. How? How had he missed them?
“T’be fair,” McCree stated, the damned mind reader, “They just left outta the side door of the exhibit building.” Over the comm, he heard the gunslinger light up another cigar. After a slow exhale, presumably after a drag of smoke, he chuckled, “So no, y’ain’t goin’ crazy.”
Hanzo gave pause before speaking, “So you can see through walls via my glasses, but I cannot?” he murmured. “How is that beneficial for me?” he groused.
“Looks like it. And it’s got some range, too.” He added, noticeably giddy. “Guess we better relay that last bit to Winston though. Does seem kinda pointless if y’can’t use the settings, too.”
The yard before him looked silent. He took the chance, “Pay attention as I climb, I want to know how many people I will have to avoid, if any.” He growled, turning to toward the concrete wall behind him. The building wasn’t that old, but it had more than enough wear for the microfibrous technology imbedded in his footwear to take hold.
He ascended.
In his ear, the cowboy offered commentary, “Still don’t know how y’all do this shit—oh, ya got one guy goin’ to the ground floor, western staircase.” He paused, “Think yer at the second now? Two guys bullshitting in what looks like a hallw—Jesus, can ya either slow down or stop turnin’ yer head so much?”
Hanzo huffed and halted his climb briefly, “I am terribly sorry, let me come back down and I will let you scale the building, McCree.”
“Hey, let’s not get hasty now,” he chuckled, “Just maybe go a hair slower? I’ll help us out in the long run, darlin’.”
There it was again. Darlin’. Sometimes replaced with sweetheart or honey, or any of the other many southern endearments Jesse McCree often peppered into his sentences. Hanzo dug his fingers into the crevice between the brick and heaved himself up with a huff.
He heard them often enough, before the two of them had become friends. Everyone, and he meant everyone, was “darlin’” to McCree. There were some exceptions, however. Dr. Ziegler was either “Angie” or “Angel” or even “doc” from time to time. Hana was christened “lil’ lady,” and Genji often went by a plethora of off-color remarks, but “green devil” or “diablo verde” seemed to be McCree’s go-to for his brother when he was up to no good.
So why did it sound different when McCree addressed him? He had been with the team for months now, been on dozens of missions, listened to countless interactions, and stored enough information about each member of Overwatch in his memory banks that, if he wanted, he could easily assassinate the entire squad by poisoning their favorite breakfast cereals.
Not that he would, but still. It was a simple matter of principle.
And then there was McCree. Whereas the rest of the team danced around him for weeks with trepidatious “hellos” and fleeting waves, the cowboy had all but violated his personal space by downright inviting himself to whatever activity Hanzo chose to participate. He had wormed his way into being a part of Hanzo’s daily routine, probably at the persistence of Genji no doubt.
But…why did it feel so—
“Third floor, I take it? Don’t see anythin’ in range.”
The sudden spike in adrenaline almost caused Hanzo to lose his footing.
Hanzo composed himself quickly, “I am almost to the roof.” He hissed as he corrected his footing.
“You alright?” McCree queried, in genuine concern.
The assassin found purchase on a window ledge and hoisted himself up further, a mere ten feet or so from his goal, “I am fine.” He assured, “The footholds are few and far between.” He traced his fingers along the window’s upper edge until he was able to find a place to grip. With a final heave, he was at the top.
Hanzo spun around to face the rest of the city. He gave pause. For a few blocks, the windows of nearby building and streetlights that lined the highways were nonexistent. Out further, backlit by the faintest glow of the set sun, the rest of the city’s lights glimmered as the people of L.A. enjoyed a peaceful summer evening, far from the blackout and even further from the thoughts of the deviousness the Overwatch agents planned to uncover.
“S’pretty, ain’t it?” McCree chimed in after a moment.
Hanzo had forgotten he was not alone for a moment.
“Yes.” He agreed. “Although…” he gazed skyward, “It is very strange that I cannot see any stars. It is almost unsettling.”
McCree let something between a sigh and a snort out, “We go to the middle-a-nowhere desert and I’ll show you all the fuckin’ stars you want, honey.”
Just like McCree. Crude. Brash. Out to ruin the moment.
But here Hanzo was, smiling like a child just given dessert before dinner.
“Ah yes. Our cacti trip.” He lowered himself to a crouch and stalked across the roof.
“Mmhmm, our cacti trip.”
Hanzo could practically feel McCree’s smile through the comm.
But now wasn’t the time to discuss it. Maybe in a few days when they were back at Gibraltar. Maybe in a few hours back in their hotel room, if Hanzo was bold enough to drink enough of the champagne with McCree.
He stamped the thought down, however. “Where is my entry point?”
“Uhhh…” McCree fumbled for a moment. “Believe you want the windows to the east. You’ll see em, they kind of stick out.”
Hanzo crept across the roof until he came to two elongated windows that looked down on a corridor. It was the hallway he and McCree had got caught becoming very well-acquainted only hours earlier. He was thankful his partner could not see the wave of heat rush across his face.
“That’s it.”
The archer dropped his voice low, “Can you see anything?”
“There are no vital signs in the hallway below.” Athena was the one to chime in this time. “I can also tell you that three people are actively attempting to restore power to the museum via back-up generator.”
“Well, fuck.” Came McCree’s swift reply.
“Not to worry agents. They have absolutely no idea how it works, judging by how many times they have struck the console. Plus, it will take some time to warm up after it is even powered on.” The A.I. assured smoothly. “I would ascertain the city will have power restored before they museum staff does.”
Hanzo pulled the collar of his turtleneck over his mouth and nose, “Can you give me a rough estimate on time?”
“I would say anywhere between seven to twelve minutes total.” Athena assessed.
The assassin snorted, “That is more than enough.”
He then ran his fingers along the seam of the window. Just as he thought; the skylights were locked via a high-powered magnetic field and with the power outage, they would open with a simple—
“I have successfully infiltrated the building.” He whispered as he barely leveraged the window upward.
“Nice goin’, pardner. I’ll keep comms silent unless I see someone comin’ yer way.” McCree stated.
Hanzo raised the window and slipped inside, dropping down between the bathroom door and main offices in deathly silence.
The hallway was dark, save the low natural light filtering in from above. He crept over to the office door and jiggled the handle. Sure enough, just like the skylight, the power outage had disabled the fingerprint locking mechanism.
He cracked the door just wide enough to slip inside.
Dr. Hamell’s office was everything you would expect from a museum curator. There was a high bookshelf that spanned the length of the wall. A bust of some unknown aristocrat sat on display on one side of his desk, a massive globe on the other. A small stand near the door housed ornate and heavy-looking metal statues.
Hanzo stalked forward. The desk before him seemed rather cluttered; paperwork was strewn across every inch and it looked like the computer atop it hadn’t been dusted or cleaned in ages. He paged through them quickly; most of them were letterheads from organizations who had donated funds, thank-yous to and from patrons about donations and upcoming projects, and the occasional newspaper or magazine article.
He pulled out a small, thin device from his back pocket, no bigger than a cell phone, and turned his attention to the PC. He unplugged the computer’s power cable and connected the black brick to it via it’s extension.
The PC whirred to life.
“Instant battery. How did y’know ya were gonna need one?” McCree asked in amusement.
Hanzo closed out the numerous error messages about not being shut down properly with a snort, “I always come prepared, McCree.”
“That ya do, I’ll give ya that.”
Hanzo was thankful that McCree had blessed him with silence, but also that Dr. Hamell’s computer was relatively fast considering other systems he had broken into. Maybe Athena’s near-immediate response time had simply spoiled him.
On screen were a few normal documents one would expect to see. A calendar with meetings and events. Pictures and an article from the paper that had done coverage on the LACMA and the events for the week. A few emails that were either opened, unread, or unfinished, in correspondence with a few other curators at neighboring (and far away) museum locations. The background photo was a picture of he, his wife, and the museum staff cutting a ribbon at what looked like a charity organization fundraiser.
Nothing truly out of the ordinary, at least at first glance.
He decided to search the documents, maybe find some kind of reasoning they were called out to the museum. He looked at tax files, balance sheets, employment records, and everything else he could access without needing a password.
From what it looked like, the museum had been doing…well…fine. There was nothing outrageous to report, at least not on the surface. In the past ten years or so, the LACMA had seen a decline in patrons, partly because a good chunk of them were retired millionaires that had taken up traveling or, sadly, passed away. However, local visitors as well as tourists over the years kept the museum well in the green, it seemed.
They also had recently hired new faces to fill in some retirees. A few security guards had left and been replaced in the past five years. A new janitor, though a bit old, replaced someone who died suddenly six months ago. Their most recent hire, a young woman named Julia Minera was also hired a few months ago as an assistant event coordinator to aid Dr. and Mrs. Hamell with the summer benefit. Nikolas Marios had become their new bookkeeper fresh out of college almost a year ago with an impressive résumé and MBA, replacing a woman named Margaret Hess who had worked for the museum for over forty years.
In truth, nothing seemed out of place.
Could the information have been a false lead?
“The city has accessed the terminal, Agent Shimada.” Athena warned.
He sighed. “Affirmative.” He plugged a USB drive into the computer and began to drag and drop as many filed as he could. “ETA until the power is back?”
“I would give it no longer than two minutes, agent.”
“Understood.”
Thankfully, the files downloaded quickly and Hanzo was able to exit the office without much of a fuss. They could go through them back at the hotel more thoroughly. Scaling the wall inside the museum proved a little more difficult, but he succeeded without making so much as a peep. He clambered out of the window and high-tailed it to the corner where he was able to hastily slide down a gutter pipe.
“Fifteen seconds, Agent Hanzo.” He was warned by the courteous A.I. during his descent
McCree chimed in, “Better make a run fer it, Han.”
And so he did. The second his feet touched the ground, Hanzo ignored all chances of being spotted merely so he could get off the grounds before the security system came back on. He briskly weaseled his way back through the gate just as the street lights sparked to life.
The people who had been out and about were none the wiser.
Hanzo felt a hand come to rest on his upper back.
“Y’alright there, pardner?” McCree was looking down on him, smirking, “Didn’t think I’d ever see you out of breath from a little sprint.”
The archer stood upright and steadied his breathing, “Let us see you climb a wall, slide down a drainage pipe, then dash across a yard for good measure.”
The gunslinger chuckled, “Hey now, I didn’t say I could do any better!” his focus shifted to make sure there was nobody around, “Y’get anything useful?”
Hanzo shrugged as he turned down the street back to their car, McCree following, “I am unsure. I took what I could from Dr. Hamell’s computer, so we can go through it together tonight.”
“Mmm, sounds like you have a whole evening planned out for us, darlin’.” McCree crooned in mock affection.
Hanzo, the bastard that he was, smiled so sickly sweet over his shoulder, “You have absolutely no idea, Jesse McCree, what I have in store for you.”
And just like that, McCree was left to watch Hanzo waltz away. He sucked in a breath, held it, and huffed it out in a long, slow sigh, “Jesus Christ, this man is gonna be the death of me.”
------
Allen pulled up to the hotel a little past midnight. McCree and Hanzo thanked the cab driver and assured they would see them again sometime tomorrow. They bid him farewell and trudged inside the Chestnut Inn.
The receptionist, whose name was apparently Gladys as told by the bejazzled nameplate partially hidden by the leaves of a dying fern, beckoned the agents over to her desk. She looks like a Gladys, McCree thought to himself, a little distraught his eagle eyes missed that obnoxious piece of office decor the other night.
The bespectacled woman turned her back to them as soon as they reached her desk. She bent down and grunted over her shoulder, “Some nice omnic fellow dropped this off for you both.” She wheezed a little as she lifted a rather large crate. It was the alcohol Hanzo had bought earlier tonight, along with their complementary flutes. The archer rushed around the counter to help the old woman.
Hanzo lifted the crate from her grasp with ease, “Do not hurt yourself. We can take them to our room.” He shifted a little, trying to slide the fragile box of glass on the top toward his chest so they didn’t fall and break.
McCree, sensing his distress, closed the distance between them and snatched the smaller box from the top, “Yeah, we got it from here.” he smiled as Hanzo bypassed him to trek the hallway.
Gladys seated herself, “It seems like the two of you had quite the evening!”
The gunslinger tucked the box under his arm, deciding that even though he was tired, he certainly wasn’t rude. Gladys was probably all by herself on the night shift. Why not humor her for a bit? “Y’could say that, ma’am.”
“Date night?” she asked, a warm smile spreading across her mouth.
If ya call breakin’-and-enterin’ a date, sure, the cowboy wanted to respond, “You bet. Had sushi fer the very first time. Only took seven years fer me t’agree to it.”
“I bet it was wonderful. Sharing an evening with someone you care about in such a big city,” she sighed, “You two just seem like the perfect couple.”
Perfect couple. If only.
“Jus’ got lucky, I guess.” He stated with a shrug, fighting to hide the massive hand of emotion tightly constricting his chest.
The receptionist sighed, “I wish I could find someone like you.” She eyed McCree dreamily, gaze sweeping over him lazily. She even had to adjust her glasses at one point, “You seem like the perfect husband.”
“Oh, uh…” McCree went with it as best he could, “Gracias, señora.” he drawled, slow, sweet, and full of charm. He wanted this conversation to end more than anything.
Gladys blushed and giggled, “You are very welcome! I hope you both have a wonderful evening!” The cowboy nodded once before starting off after the archer.
Hanzo was waiting by the elevator, call button already lit and making its way to the ground floor. He stared at McCree for a moment, analyzing, eyes refusing to leave their target. At least until McCree caught him. His focus darted to the next nearest object which happened to be a hideous fake plant atop an oddly-shaped end table.
It wasn’t like Hanzo to be so obvious.
“Somethin’ on my face, honey?” McCree queried, smug smile creeping along the corner of his mouth.
The archer turned back, paused, and raked his eyes back up and down the gunslinger once, then again for good measure. It shouldn’t have looked as hot as it did, but it was a hell of a lot sexier than the once-over Gladys had just given him.
McCree swallowed a little more audibly than he would have liked, but never broke eye contact.
“I take it we will be going through data all evening, then?” Hanzo asked neutrally.
And where was this going, exactly? The gunslinger played along, “Yeah, I reckon.” He leaned his right shoulder on the jamb where the elevator’s frame met the wall, “If we wanna find out what’s going on, we better get at it.”
“Ah, what a shame.” Hanzo tutted as the elevator doors ground open with a muted ding.
“What’s a shame?” McCree queried, following his partner into the box and pressing the button to their floor upon entrance.
Hanzo shifted his weight to lean on the wall of the elevator, “I was actually expecting you to propose we drink a bottle or two of this,” he lightly jostled the case of booze, “and go through the data a little less than sober.”
The doors creaked shut as McCree blinked, momentarily stunned. “’M sorry, did…are y’suggesting I—we get drunk and try to look at numbers, Han?”
The archer shrugged, “I thought you would be up for the invitation to drink alcohol.”
The elevator finally lurched to life as McCree let out a little chuckle, “Honestly, I didn’t take ya as bein’ someone who’d want t’risk missing something while uh…inebriated.”
It was Hanzo’s turn to stifle a laugh as the elevator slowed to a halt and the metal cried, woefully in need of grease, as they slid open, “Most nights spent going over Shimada Clan finances were done so after drinking heavily. I assure you, it will be nothing new to me.” He stated lowly despite the empty hallway.
His partner couldn’t help but grin as he tailed close behind, fishing the room card from his pocket to unlock their door, “Thank God. I knew there was a reason I kept’cha ‘round.”
McCree opened the door for Hanzo, who breezed past him to place the crate down on the little end table, not sparing a second before cracking open the lid and grabbing a bottle. He immediately popped the cork and put the bottle directly to his lips, taking two long swigs of its contents.
Hanzo then offered it to McCree, who obliged with a smile and a, “Thank ya kindly.” Before tipping the bottle back and taking a few swallows.
For a brief moment, the room was silent.
Comfortable. Companionable.
“I suppose we should start then.” Hanzo broke it.
Leave it to the ex-yakuza to want to hop straight into business.
McCree whined, “Aw, c’mon, Han! Y’just propositioned getting drunk and goin’ through everythin’!” he collapsed onto the bed to kick off his shoes, “Can’t we at least drink a lil’ more before we get into it?”
Hanzo, who had slumped in a chair near the small kitchen table, cast him a wry glance, “Considering I will probably be doing most of the research tonight, I feel like you have more to gain than I do.”
“Are y’sayin’ ya can’t do it?”
Challenge issued.
“I am saying that if we keep up with each other like we normally do, you also have to put equal effort into finding any fraudulent activity.” Hanzo retorted crisply.
“S’that a yes, then?” McCree’s smugness could not be more apparent as he put the neck of the bottle to his lips to take a pull.
“Yes.” Hanzo replied, pulling another bottle from the crate and flinging the cork into the ceiling, “It most certainly is.” He smiled, small and sly, as he took another deep drink from the bottle.
The grin the split McCree’s lips lit the room, “Well alright. Let’s get down to work!”
The USB device with the jacked information held more data than they thought; not only were there financial records for the museum’s art, but also additional expenses like cleaning supplies, maintenance, employee pay records, and the donations that came in and out. There was even information detailing items purchased and sold in the gift shop. There were also tons of emails to go through.
They set Athena to run cross references and look for names, missing items, and improperly balanced numbers, literally anything they could use to try and get a handle on the situation and how dire it really was.
Five hours of digging through dated financial records, zero hits on anything, and the case of champagne nearly dry, Hanzo and McCree felt like the only thing they had gotten from their B&E adventure was an excuse to be drunk on the job.
And they were drunk.
Very, very drunk.
McCree was trying his damnedest to read a transfer letter from four years prior between the National Archaeological Museum in Ilios and the LACMA, but he couldn’t bring his bleary eyes into focus. Flushed red and growing warmer by the second, he attempted to heave a sigh. It came out as a hiccup.
“Aw fhuck.” He uttered, running a hand over his tired eyes, “Heya Han, y’avin’ any luchk over there?” he slurred.
Hanzo, also flushed a rather lovely shade of pink, was scowling at his tablet, “I have found nothing.”
Leave it to Hanzo to be two sheets to the wind and still speak like a god damned angel.
“Sonovabish.” The archer uttered, both in anger and frustration as he tilted his head back and downed a few gulps of booze.
McCree’s eyes homed in on the hollow of Hanzo’s throat, highlighted by the glow of the tablet in his hands. He, too, reached for his drink, throat suddenly dry.
Hanzo must have felt his partner’s eyes on him, “Ish shomething the matter, McCree?” he tried his best not to sound drunk, but it was no use now.
The gunslinger swallowed a mouthful of liquor and smiled lazily in his direction, “What maksh y’ashk that, Han?”
“You were shtaring.”
Fuck.
Now, granted, McCree had been drunk around Hanzo on numerous occasions. They had been plastered together more times than he could count. After recon missions in a dive bar they would never see again, at a “Hey, we didn’t die!” party with the rest of the team, alone together on the skywalk of the Watchpoint.
But this? This felt different.
Maybe it was the alcohol; he never was much of a wine drinker. Maybe it was the fact that for the past few days he and Hanzo had been glued to each other’s side. Maybe it was tiredness setting in before the blackout.
Maybe it’s ‘cause you’re in love with him, idiot.
The little voice that liked to remain silent unless he was drunk yodeled from a mountain back in his brain. A little wave of panic set in; he absolutely could not afford to slip up and say anything on this trip. He had been pretty good aside from that little stunt in the museum.
But on-the-verge-of-blacking-out McCree was a whole different beast to contend with.
“Jesshe?”
Hanzo snapped him back to reality. It was truly a rare occurrence for the archer to use McCree’s first name. And the way it rolled off his inebriated tongue was fucking sinful.
It took McCree an extra second to realize he actually needed to respond, “Ah, shhit Han, didn’t mean t’oogle.” He lied, or at least tried to, “’M honeshtly so goddamn drunk right now, ah prolly didn’t even realize.”
“I see.” The assassin held him in regard for a moment, gaze unwavering despite hooded lids, “I feel as though no more work will be accomplished thish evening. We should retire and let Athena continue in our shtead.” Hanzo turned off his tablet and grabbed his champagne, polishing off the last of the bottle’s contents with a few short swigs. He rose to his feet and did his best to hide the drunken off-balance stumble that hit him the second he took a step toward the edge of the bed.
McCree didn’t miss it though, “How y’holdin’ up, shweetheart?” he glanced up and shot the archer a slow, lopsided wink. He, too, put his bottle to his lips and tipped his head back to finish it. This would probably put him over the edge.
Hanzo rolled his eyes and extended his hand, “I would like to say better than you.”
The bounty hunter accepted Hanzo’s extended arm and grunted as he was pulled to his feet. He gravely miscalculated the shift in momentum and all but let Hanzo pull him into his chest. McCree managed to right himself, but only by using Hanzo’s shoulders to steady himself.
“’M’shorry, Han.” He grunted, thankful his cheeks were already red so his partner couldn’t see them set aflame. He went to pull away.
Hanzo, however, refused to release McCree’s hand from his grasp. Despite the five inch height difference, the archer could still command a presence like no other. And right now, McCree was at his mercy.
The bowman slowly relaxed his grip on McCree’s hand, searching his face. He, opened his mouth to say something, closed it, swallowed, and asked, “You seem quite drunk, McCree. Would you like asshistance getting into bed?”
Huh. That question certainly didn’t warrant the nervous buildup beforehand. And McCree’s big, fat, drunk mouth was definitely going to let him know he thought that.
Hanzo backed off a ways to give McCree access to the bed, but the gunslinger never moved. He queried, “Y’shure that’s what ya were gonna ashk me?”
Even brown-out McCree was capable of catching the little jump in Hanzo’s posture as he retorted, “Of coursh. What elsh could I have ashked?” The slurring was just an added reassurance.
McCree shrugged, throwing himself off balance a little, “I dunno. That’s why I asked you, Han.”
The archer, who had been digging through his suitcase for something to sleep in, turned back to McCree. He flipped open McCree’s suitcase, grabbed the obnoxiously green cacti patterned pair of boxers from the top of it, and whipped them directly at the gunslinger’s head.
Despite the copious amount of booze in McCree’s bloodstream, he caught them with ease. He was, however, unprepared for the shirt Hanzo threw, which unfurled midflight and draped itself over his hat and face. The snort of laughter as McCree pulled it down could have been passed off as an indignant huff had it not been that Hanzo was staring at him with a shit-eating grin plastered over his face.
“Y’know, yer somethin’ elsh.” McCree chuckled, unable to bear the heat of his clothing from earlier any longer. He took off his hat then peeled off his black sweater. Honestly, he probably should have done that ages ago. He risked a haphazard glance toward Hanzo who was side-eyeing him.
The archer grabbed an armful of things from his suitcase, “I can change in here.” he motioned to the bathroom, “I will knock before I return.” The archer stated before closing the door behind him.
For a brief moment, McCree was left to stew in his own thoughts. He sighed and undid his belt to slip off his pants, followed by his briefs. He contemplated, only for a second, falling backwards naked on the bed and letting Hanzo come out to “a room with a view,” so to speak.
That thought both sobered him up and nauseated him all at once.
He hurriedly kicked off his underwear and slipped the clean pair on, followed by the faded red t-shirt. He gathered his clothing up and wobbled over to his suitcase to pile it on top.
Hanzo knocked, and with McCree’s grunt of reassurance, emerged from the bathroom.
McCree would have never guessed that when Hanzo drank his whole body flushed red, but it was easy to tell when the man was standing in front of you with nothing but a pair of tight—Jesus Christ were those tight—boxer briefs. He had let his hair down, and actually looked—
“Well I’ll be damned, Han,” McCree’s mouth just seemed to run its own marathon, “You actually make drunk look alright.”
Hanzo tilted his head and cocked an eyebrow, “Was that meant as a compliment, McCree?”
The gunslinger chuckled, “’Course.” He fidgeted for a second, “Can I uh…can I use the facilities ‘fore we hit the hay?”
Hanzo stepped to the side, “Of course. My apologies.” As quickly as he could, he stalked to the window and punched something on the little keypad. It was nice having automated blinds.
McCree stepped into the bathroom and closed the door behind him, head swimming. He ran cold water in the sink for a moment as he relieved himself, washing his flaming hands with it after and splashing it on his face for good measure. He stared at himself in the mirror, desperately trying to focus and failing miserably.
How did he always end up in situations like this? How was he supposed to keep his mouth shut when all he wanted to do right now was walk out the door and reenact the hallway scene from earlier in the day at the museum?
He cradled his face in his hands for a few moments before hearing a gentle knock at the door, “McCree? Are you alright?” Hanzo called from the other side.
The gunslinger cleared his throat, “Yeah, Han. Just a lil’ warm.”
He took a deep, shuddering breath and turned off the faucet. He dried his hands on his shirt and wobbled toward the door. He opened it slowly and found the only light in the room to be coming from the tablet in Hanzo’s hand.
Could be messages from HQ.
McCree made his way over to the bed slowly and stood alongside it, “Y’get somethin’ from Genji?”
Hanzo shook his head, “No, but I am having Athena look into a few other museums and cross reference those items and people.” He clicked a few things on the screen, “I want to see what other data says.”
McCree couldn’t help but smile as he pulled the covers back, “Now that ain’t a bad idea.”
“I know.” Hanzo primly responded, preening at the compliment.
“Knew there was a reason I married you.” McCree sighed as he sank under the covers.
He froze.
Why in the fuck did he say that?
He felt Hanzo shift next to him, eyes burning a hole in the back of his head. He wasn’t expecting the response.
“Is that the only reason? Or are there other benefits to our relationship aside from my bright ideas?” the archer mused.
McCree rolled over to see Hanzo, the ever-so-smug bastard, with a wry little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Ignoring all sense of self-preservation, McCree lost his shit. He burst into laughter, loud enough to wake the neighboring rooms should there had been anyone in them. Beside him, he heard the archer chuckle.
Staying to face him, McCree continued, “Y’know, when I first met ya, I ever expected such’a grand sense’a humor from ya, Han,” the deadeye admitted as Hanzo finally turned off his tablet and rolled to face his partner, “It’s nice t’have someone around who gets m’wit.”
“Mmm.” Hanzo hummed. “Yes, your unbelievably crude, loud, and obnoxious wit.”
“Aww, c’mon Hanzo, I was—”
Hanzo’s finger found McCree’s lip; he had shushed him, “I know. It was also a compliment, Jesse.”
McCree’s gasp couldn’t go unnoticed. Eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, McCree could make out the faint outline of Hanzo’s face, softened and lax pressed against the pillow beneath it. For a brief instance, McCree contemplated opening his mouth and wrapping his lips around Hanzo’s finger. He was thankful his near blacked-out self still had some self-restraint, however fried it was at this point.
McCree did, however, think it was a good idea to take his partner’s hand, spread it flat, and put Hanzo’s palm flat under his left cheek. He sandwiched it down between the pillow and his face, Hanzo looking taken aback momentarily.
“This alright?” McCree asked, drunken exhaustion firmly taking hold of the gunslinger.
Hanzo flexed his hand and adjusted it to his comfort, “So long as you do not salivate all over me, I suppose it will be fine.”
“No promises.” McCree grinned against his partner’s palm, uncaring if the other felt it. The inside of Hanzo’s wrist smelled like the cologne he often wore; woodsy and smoky yet spicy and flowery all at the same time. It was comforting and very much something that drew him in. He inhaled deeply, trying to burn Hanzo’s scent into his brain forever.
The two of them adjusted themselves further and sunk into the mattress, hoping to catch at least a few hours of sleep before having to report to someone back at the Watchpoint.
Silence fell briefly.
McCree, though teetering on the edge of slumber, still decided to open his big fat mouth one more time, “Heya Han?”
“Mmhmm?” the archer seemed conscious enough to form a response.
Ask now while y’still got liquid courage.
“Uh…” McCree’s inner monologue raged against his own better judgement, “I, uh…” he trailed off for a moment.
Beside him, he could see Hanzo’s eyes blearlily open, “You…?”
McCree’s fortitude vanished into thin air and was replaced by tactless word vomit, “If I accidentally koala ya tonight, y’ain’t gonna kill me, are ya?”
“If you…do what to me?” Hanzo was genuinely confused.
McCree, realizing how absolutely stupid that probably sounded, rolled with it, “Oh uh…basically it just means if y’latch on t’someone an’ don’t let go.” He shifted his legs a little, wondering why in the ever-loving fuck his dick was trying to get hard with all the booze still in his system, “Kinda like how a koala bear hugs a tree…hence the phrase.”
The assassin seemed to mull it over momentarily before responding, “I suppose I can allow it.”
The gunslinger closed his eyes, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, “I’ll ‘member that come mornin’.”
The ghost of their smiles remained as the golden glow of sunrise peeked through the cracks of their blinds.