Archive of Our Own

It was Hana who found him. Which made sense, really: MEKA had a small internal heating unit that melted the snow on her windshield, and she was the only one of them who could see farther than two feet in front of her.

The wind whipped icy snow into Hanzo's face. Beyond the anemic circles of their flashlights, the darkness was absolute. Even his sonic arrows didn't help much. His earpiece emitted only static.

"—here! Over here!" Hana yelled. Her voice cracked from the strain of shouting over the howling wind. "I've got him! Help!"

Up ahead, the thrusters on her mech glowed, lighting up the flurry of snowflakes that battered them. From the corner of his eye, Hanzo saw Genji's running lights turn into streaks of green.

Every breath was like the plunge of a small knife into his lungs. Still Hanzo ran, nearly tripping into a snow drift. Hot flashes chased the shivers across his skin. All through their search, he'd grimly held on to his composure, but now his heart was racing, pounding in his belly and palms, and he tore through the snow like a man possessed.

He ran headfirst into MEKA's windshield, misjudging the distance. It wasn't his finest moment. Hana's thrusters winked out and left blinding afterimages in his eyes. The yellow position lights illuminated her pale, scared face. Something soaked and half-frozen flopped into Hanzo's hands: McCree's hat.

McCree himself hung limply in Hana's precarious hold. She'd stuck one arm out of MEKA's protective shell to wrap it around his middle, steering the mech with her other hand and half-carried, half-dragged McCree through the snow as her thrusters fired erratically.

Hanzo's heart stopped. It just stopped. A high ringing filled his ears, drowning out the roar of the wind.

He could only watch as his own arms reached out, seized hold of McCree around the chest. The cowboy's head lolled sickeningly; under the wet matted hair, his eyes were closed, face slack and gray. Icicles had formed in his beard.

"No— no. Jesse," Hanzo whispered, or maybe he screamed it and just couldn't hear his own voice over the wind. His throat hurt, a terrible molten pain stabbing right down into his core. "Jesse, no..."

Hana's mouth was moving. All he heard was a distant warble. The blue lights on McCree's body armor had gone out, the battery drained by the cold. Snow was fairly caked on his metal arm. Clear ice glittered between the joints.

His brother was speaking. The visor amplified his voice, with that familiar mechanical edge that Hanzo had found so hard to get used to, months ago when he'd first joined Overwatch. Hana sounded nearly hysterical: Hanzo caught something about wind chill, then suddenly Genji's voice broke through the merciless static in his ears.

"He's breathing!" Genji shouted through the howling storm. He shook Hanzo's shoulder again. "Hanzo, he's alive! Hana, go back and tell Zenyatta...," the rest of his words were torn from his mouth by the wind.

Again, Hanzo's hands moved on their own. He touched McCree's face with fingers that were frozen stiff and dug around under his jaw. He was so cold, so pale, and Hanzo's fingers left white-pink indents in his skin. At last, in McCree's half-frozen beard, Hanzo found a sluggish pulse.

It took one more vigorous shake by Genji's hard, chilly hand. Then Hanzo’s consciousness ricocheted back into himself, like a rubber band recoiling just when it'd been about to snap.

He took a breath into constricting lungs. The stinging cold roused him further. He nodded at Genji and took hold of McCree's shoulders.

Genji led the way, his lights bobbing as they waded through the snow. He'd taken hold of McCree's legs just under his knees. A blue glow filtered out of the slit of Genji's mask; he'd turned on his visor’s night vision enhancement.

On every second step, the ends of Genji's scarf slapped Hanzo in the face, wet and cold against his cheeks. The cold fabric jarred his tilting thoughts, anchoring the panic that'd dogged his heels all night.

Breathing, each slap seemed to say, the echo of his brother's voice that'd rooted itself in his ears, Jesse is breathing—back to the cabin, he's still breathing--get him warm—he's breathing...

It was the storm that had separated them. Warnings had come in all day, increasingly fuzzing into electronic rustles as their comms went down and their phones lost reception.

It'd been somewhat humbling, Hanzo had thought, trekking alone through the ankle-deep snow: this high up in the mountains, the agents of Overwatch were as much at the mercy of the weather as anyone else.

The blizzard did not care that they were coming back from a mission, that they'd uprooted a terrorist cell rumored to be connected to Talon. It tore across the mountainside anyway, blotting out the fading twilight with roaring winds and thick, merciless sheets of snow.

He'd been the last to make it back to the cabin, chilled to the bone, but in one piece. The first thing he'd seen, other than the splint that Zenyatta had been tying gently around Hana's sprained ankle, had been McCree's absence.

"Where's McCree?" he'd asked, teeth chattering, and his blood had frozen completely in his veins when Genji said, "We thought he was with you."

MEKA was parked in front of the cabin. Its pink hull was already covered in snow. The door burst open for them and warm light spilled out, then Hana was beckoning them inside, talking over Genji in a high-pitched voice as he said something to her about blankets—

His prosthetics felt like chunks of ice sticking out of his thighs. Hanzo tripped over the threshold, nearly dropping his precious cargo, and kicked the door shut behind himself. An orb whizzed past Genji's head, trailing a streak of light and connecting itself to McCree's shoulder with a golden tether.

Zenyatta's voice rang out loudest, commanding but with unshakeable calm. "We need to remove his wet clothing. —Careful," he said to Hanzo, more sharply, when Hanzo's legs gave out for good and he fell to his knees with a crash of metal on wood.

It felt a bit like losing his limbs all over again. The merciless cold had run his prosthetics almost dry, and the circuitry was shutting down. Weak feedback scraped against the nerves in his stumps.

Hanzo bared his teeth at Zenyatta in a snarl. Perhaps he'd feel bad about that later, much later, when Jesse was not lying boneless and cold in his arms. "Don't tell me what to—"

Zenyatta's faceplate was serene as always. He said only, "Nepal has seen its fair share of humans who've gotten caught in snow storms."

Hanzo swallowed down the acidic retort and set McCree's dead weight down, lowering his head carefully.

A fire roared in the old-fashioned fireplace by the far wall. Even the old radiator gurgled busily. The storm had taken out the mountain's power grid. Gas lamps filled the cabin with cool light.

Warmth flowed over him, near-liquid and prickling, but Hanzo barely felt it: as he was placed on the floor, Jesse's eyelids fluttered once, and he let out a hoarse groan.

Hanzo's breath stuttered painfully in his chest. He leaned over McCree, near-choking on a hot surge of fear. His hands got to work automatically, pulling at the body armor's leather straps—they'd frozen around the buckles, stinging his fingers with cold.

A familiar metallic click of Genji unsheathing his wakizashi, and Hanzo looked over just in time to see him slice open the sodden leg of Jesse's jeans, baring a pale damp thigh.

The snow on Genji's visor was melting fast. He'd raised his head, looking at Hanzo, and Hanzo realized he was crouched protectively over McCree's prone form, balancing on his numb knees, one hand clamped so hard around Genji's wrist that the synthetic segments shifted under his palm.

Genji didn't fight his grip. "We must not move him too much, brother," he said in urgent, lilting Japanese. "I will not hurt him. Trust me."

Hanzo swallowed hard and unclenched his fingers and swallowed hard. Even after everything, he couldn't not have trusted his brother if he'd tried.

Genji cut Jesse's shirt off him with remarkable speed. The prosthetic arm was thawing, the metal ticking as it adjusted to the warmer cabin, curls of condensation wafting off the fogged surface.

Touching it was like sticking his fingers into an electric socket, a searing sting of cold. Hanzo hissed and pulled his hand back, yanking off Jesse's left boot with the other. He let the shoes and socks fall to the floor, and then he had a lapful of pale, clammy feet.

Hanzo ran his thumb over the surprisingly slender bones of McCree's ankle. The high ringing was back in his ears. His every nerve sang and vibrated with tension. He felt like a plucked string and yet his thoughts churned in slow motion, and he could only stare as his other hand went white and numb with cold on McCree's metal forearm.

"—Anija," Genji snapped, with an air of someone repeating himself. Water dripped off his visor. With an impatient huff he groped at the back of his head for the release mechanism and barely waited for the click-hiss of the airlock disengaging before yanking the whole thing off and flinging it aside.

The thick scar tissue on his face was flushed blotchily with cold. But his eyes were warm and brown and familiar. Still in Japanese, Genji said urgently, "I said, do you know how to take off his arm?"

A question. One Hanzo could answer. He nodded dumbly. His heart had lodged itself in his throat: his pulse hammered right up against his jaw.

"Then do so, please," Genji said, with a glance over Hanzo's shoulder; Zenyatta nodded his approval. "The metal is leeching away his remaining body heat."

Hanzo's head bobbed again, like a puppeteer was pulling his strings. He pressed his fingernails hard into the seal where the socket met flesh, going automatically through the motions of gently untwisting the metal elbow joint.

Inside, his thin veneer of calm cracked, bleeding the prickle of petty irritation. It was acidic and shameful—was he going to sulk like a child because his brother and the Omnic monk knew more about how to help McCree now than he did?

This, he knew: the humiliating weight of being useless while somebody he loved needed help. It seared the stunted ends of his thoughts and woke him up.

By the fireplace, Hana had dumped a pile of bedding and blankets on the floor. It was there that they placed McCree, settling him gently. Genji cut off his underwear with a swift flash of his blade and spread a blanket over him.

Hanzo shrugged off his padded kimono, yanking impatiently on the obi until the seams creaked in protest. He glanced at Hana, but her worried gaze was fixed on Zenyatta, who approached with a number of warm compresses from the first aid kit.

He dropped gracelessly to sit on the floor. Genji, who wrapped one compress in a wrinkled tea towel and placed it carefully under McCree's armpit, against his ribcage, said to him, "You'll want to take off your—"

"Yes," Hanzo snapped, more sharply than he'd meant to. He reached for the seams of his prosthetics. He felt a distant, momentary satisfaction that he was at least this one small step ahead of his brother and his master.

If Hana happened to look his way now, at least she made no comment about his sudden nudity. The pile of his cold, sodden clothes was dropped carelessly onto his discarded legs. He kept his boxers on and slid under the blanket that Genji obligingly held up for him.

Then, finally, he had Jesse in his arms.

He was cold and limp. Hanzo hissed in a breath through his teeth; the touch of Jesse's skin was so cold that his own flesh prickled into goosebumps and he had to fight his body's impulse to jerk away.

But the relief of holding him, after their frantic search, was so strong it stung his eyes. He embraced Jesse as firmly as he dared, with both hands spread protectively on his back.

His vision blurred. He cursed his weakness, swallowing hard to loosen the painful knot in his throat. But nobody seemed to notice the tremble in his jaw, or if they did, they were kind enough not to comment on it.

More blankets landed on them. They smelled musty with age and disuse. Scratchy woolen fabric rubbed against Hanzo's cheek. "Here," Hana said and wobbled closer on her sore ankle, her arms filled with a thick bulky duvet.

Genji grabbed the other end. Hana didn't flinch, though she did get that wide-eyed look: she'd seen Genji without his visor only a handful of times, and was not yet accustomed to the sight of the scars. The duvet settled with a reassuring heaviness, rustling and lumpy but warm.

It was a small comfort that McCree was not completely still in Hanzo's hold. The stump of his left arm, the scar tissue slick and cold, kept twitching where Hanzo had wedged it under his armpit. Deep lines of tension dug between McCree's eyebrows and around the unhappy twist of his mouth.

His breaths were still too shallow. He squirmed weakly, gritted his teeth though he didn't start to shake yet. In the woodsy, overheated air of the cabin, his hair was drying, and he seemed to be trying to scoot away from the wet spot it'd left.

Hanzo untangled one hand from their cocoon, just long enough to brush some damp strands away from McCree's forehead. The cooler air was a relief: Jesse was so very cold against him, and yet Hanzo had long since begun to sweat. It was a disorienting mix of sensations: his chest felt chilled, but thick droplets of sweat beaded uncomfortably on his back and under his arms.

It got worse when Genji handed him another compress. Hanzo tucked it where Zenyatta showed him, right up against McCree's ribs, and hissed quietly through his teeth as the sensitive naked skin on his pectoral stung from the warmth.

"Jesse?" he said, close to his ear. But McCree just murmured unintelligibly.

Hanzo's stomach lurched. How long had McCree been lying unconscious in the snow drift where Hana had found him? The last thing Hanzo had seen of Jesse had been his flying serape as he'd chased a number of Talon agents into the snow-covered trees.

Zenyatta and Genji were talking in low murmurs but Hanzo paid them no heed. He felt around in Jesse's hair The damp cold strands clung to is fingers. He found a sizeable lump towards the back of his head. It was hot and tender, but he felt no blood. Perhaps one of the thugs had gotten the drop on him in the raging storm.

Right there in his tattooed wrist, his dragons roared, close to the surface. Straining as one towards where they sensed Jesse's weak pulse in his jugular vein, clawing at their confines and roaring their helplessness into Hanzo's bones.

The world narrowed to their makeshift bed, to Jesse's weight slumped against him and his breath puffing against Hanzo's face. Hanzo wedged his thigh between McCree's knees and silently cursed his missing legs--if he'd had calves of flesh and blood, he could've trapped Jesse's feet between them, warmed them further. He dug up McCree's single hand, touched the calluses that were softened from the snow—

The calluses from handling Peacekeeper. None of them had thought to make sure it was safe. A small stab of guilt landed between Hanzo's ribs. He of all people should've known to check upon McCree's beloved revolver. If it'd been his bow potentially lost out in the storm...

It was the first thing that Hanzo would say to him once he woke up: informing him that he'd forgotten all about Peacekeeper. That would get Jesse's blood pressure up real fast. Then they'd send Genji to look for the gun, and Hanzo would hold McCree down to keep him from charging out the door, and gladly endure his griping if only it meant some color would rush back into his cheeks.

McCree's nails were blueish with cold. Hanzo squeezed the disturbingly limp wrist and rubbed and kneaded the pale fingers between his own.

A metal hand touched his wrist. "Don't do that," Zenyatta warned. "He might have frost bite. It is safest to just hold him."

The dragons hissed and growled, writhing in their confines. "I am," Hanzo forced out, unable to keep from snapping. He relinquished McCree's hand and breathed deeply through his nose, but under his skin the dragons still gnawed on his self-control, whetting their claws.

It was a relief when Jesse finally started shivering. Hanzo was no expert, but he did know that much: as soon as the human body fought the cold anew, the worst of the danger had passed.

His tremors rattled both of them. It was a shaking unlike any Hanzo had ever seen before, wracking his whole body and clicking his teeth together, almost like a seizure. Hanzo fastened his arms securely around Jesse's back and held him, because there was nothing else he could do besides wait it out.

Jesse murmured something. He wasn't fully awake, but his eyes moved under their closed lids. The shudders shook him so hard he could barely move, but he still struggled to get closer and bury his face in Hanzo's warm shoulder, straining towards his body heat even in unconsciousness.

Hanzo let him, spread his hands across the broad, bowed expanse of Jesse's back. He winced when a cold nose touched his collarbone, but then Jesse came back up snorting for air, teeth chattering harder. His face was twisted into a grimace, the tendons in his neck straining against tanned skin, his every muscle occupied with the hard task of shivering himself warm again.

Words swelled up in Hanzo's throat. He wanted to talk to McCree, smooth his hair out of his face, tell him it was going to be okay—platitudes that he knew would've made Jesse smile wryly and tip his hat if he'd been awake. (Or perhaps Hanzo might've whispered to him, voice harsh and shaking against his ear, about that moment in the cabin when it'd hit him that McCree had not reached the safehouse with the others and was still out there in the howling storm—)

But they were not alone. He was sure that Genji at least would've nobly held off from teasing him until much later, when they were back home. It wasn't like Hana and Zenyatta didn't know about their relationship. And yet—

"Jesse, you are safe," Hanzo tried. He cleared his throat. He had to force himself to look only at the pale face before him. "We are back at the cabin, all of us."

And yet it was abominably hard for him, this kind of tenderness that came naturally to so many—to Jesse himself—but for him it was like trying to draw water from stone. It just... it had not been done, in the high, echoing halls of his childhood home, where his hours had been stuffed mercilessly full of rigorous lessons and business meetings, an hour or two with his sulking brother in the evening if he was lucky.

Hanzo ran his fingers through McCree's hair, loosening the damp clumps. He could feel the others looking at him—not maliciously, certainly, not snickering behind their hands, but he nonetheless felt their gazes like hot brands on his back.

"I know you feel cold," he said. He had to cough again. Why was it so hard to squeeze words through his vocal chords? "But you will be fine. You've been out in the storm for too long..."

He trailed off, the well run dry. It wasn't unlike trying to speak through a straw. Frustrated, Hanzo released a huffed breath. He ran his palm down Jesse's goosepimpled back, counting the knobs of his spine.

A pitter-patter of tiny claws traveled across the blankets. The duvet sank under a slight weight. Hanzo spotted a blue glow and groaned, dropping his head heavily into the blankets.

Hana, who had perched on the cushion-less couch and elevated her ankle, gasped aloud. Her eyes were wide and delighted, reflecting the firelight.

"Wow," she breathed, leaning in uncomfortably close, her loose hair hanging low enough to brush Hanzo's cheek. "Are they--?"

"Yes," Hanzo said tersely. "Do not touch them."

Hana obediently folded her hands and scooted back onto the couch, but she kept staring. Hanzo couldn't blame her. The two little dragons, glowing unmistakably silver-blue and measuring each about the length of Hanzo's forearm, were a sight to behold.

Zenyatta made a soft chuckling noise. Hana hid her smile behind her drawn-up knee. For a moment Hanzo closed his eyes. This was it, then, the turning point: he would never, ever again be taken seriously.

A Shimada's dignity was a prickly, volatile thing. Genji's had smoothed over the years like a storm-whipped sea, gentled by meditation and Zenyatta's steady, unassuming guidance in the Nepalese mountains.

It was true that Hanzo's pride was not quite the thorned, wounded thing it'd once been. But its roots were still gnarled, hardened by time. He trusted the others with his life, but not yet with that snarling fragile creature in him, whose hackles were always raised and which found itself curiously soothed only by Jesse's lopsided smile.

Of course, the dragons understood none of that. Hanzo rolled one shoulder, struggling to shed the crawling tension. The silly beasts didn't care that Hana cooed at them, her nimble fingers itching for her camera phone.

Of course they had slipped past the confines of Hanzo's legendary control. McCree's shivering had drawn them out like the moon commanded the tide: their beloved was in distress, their master couldn't even muster up the words to comfort him, so they had come out. To them, it was that simple.

Soba, ever the bolder one, poked his little head over the duvet. His mane was standing on end. The long whiskers undulated in agitation. He wasted no time at all flinging himself at McCree's face, chirping loudly with possessive concern.

Udon was more cautious. His ears rested flat against his head, little nostrils flaring as he inhaled McCree's sharp smell of snow and too-cold blood. The dragons were passed down through the Shimada generations, and McCree had once theorized that Udon had "seen some shit" centuries ago, probably at the same occasion where he'd chipped his left horn, and was now warier of the world.

The blue glow cast a sickly pallor onto McCree's frowning face. Soba curled himself atop his head like an odd wig and breathed gentle steam onto his bruised scalp and his hair, claws fastening in the mussed strands.

"Not too hot, Soba," Genji spoke up suddenly, in soft Japanese. Hanzo glanced over at him where he sat cross-legged by their feet. For once, his little brother was making a mostly successful effort to conceal his smile. "Lukewarm only, or you'll hurt him."

Soba lifted his head and bared his teeth. Genji chuckled, but turned it into a cough. "Alright, alright," he said mildly, holding up a hand in surrender. "You knew that."

The silver eyes narrowed, whiskers waving slowly, considering. Then Soba seemed satisfied, having made his point, and settled back down.

Udon clambered over Hanzo's shoulder. Small claws dug into his chin, scales snagging in his beard. He took to the air and circled Zenyatta's orb, which was still feeding golden light into McCree's shoulder.

He blew a small cloud of smoke at it. His claws tapped a scratchy rhythm against the metal surface. But the orb passed muster: Udon sank back down, and draped himself across McCree's side, not quite sprawling like Soba had, his head still up and the tip of his tail flicking nervously.

Little by little, Jesse's harsh shivering eased. Hanzo was really sweating now, their skin sticking wetly together. Perspiration beaded on his brow and in his armpits. The compress was a painful furnace against his chest, but he dared not move away, not even to put even an inch of cooler air between them. If he felt like he was shut up in a relentlessly hot woollen cave, it had to be helping tp raise McCree's temperature.

The fire was burning low when Jesse finally woke up. He didn't rouse fully, but his eyelids opened just enough for Hanzo to see his unfocused gaze.

He wriggled a bit, but was too weak to do more than shift his weight. Hanzo's arm slid along McCree's biceps, slick with sweat and uncomfortably hot, though goosebumps still prickled on Jesse's skin. Udon squeaked in alarm, his ears flat again as his tongue flicked out once, twice, tasting the air McCree breathed out. His claws dug deep into the blankets, like he could keep his patient in place with his slight weight alone.

"Fuck," Jesse slurred. Tremors still rattled through him from time to time. "'s too warm."

Hanzo's heart squeezed painfully. "You are freezing," he corrected. He tightened his hold, wincing when he was jabbed in the ribs by a confused elbow. "Don't move."

"Warm," McCree protested. But his squirming subsided.

He calmed, just like that--because Hanzo had told him to. It was humbling. Hanzo breathed deeply around a surge of helpless affection. McCree had seen so much, been through so much, disoriented by the hypothermia, and yet a few stilted words from Hanzo were enough to steady him.

His eyes were slits of confused brown. He didn't seem to track anything. He stared at Hanzo's face for a while, blinking slowly, and Hanzo almost thought he'd fallen back asleep with his eyes open, but then he mumbled, "'nzo?"

"Yes," Hanzo said. He ran his fingers down the edge of Jesse's shoulder blade, where all the shivering had knotted the muscles.

"Good," McCree sighed. He relaxed fully, his weight growing heavy and limp with relief.

Later, Hanzo thought it must've been the suffocating warmth that made him drowsy. Hanzo was so hot that he felt his heart pounding, pushing blood into expanding veins with unhurried beats that reverberated into his fingertips. At least the compress had cooled a little, no longer stinging his chest with heat. McCree's breathing was slow and even. His cheeks had gained some color.

The couch creaked under Hana's weight; he felt a brief pang for her, sitting on the bare frame. The cushions had gone into building their nest. Murmurs of the others' voices fuzzed in and out in his ears. At some point he heard the near-muted sound of Genji's light tread across the hardwood floor.

Zenyatta's orb bobbed gently in some unseen breeze. Its markings grew blurry and indistinct in Hanzo's vision until all that was left was a darkening shade of gold...

He was roused by a hand on his arm, green at the corner of his eye: his brother, patting his blanket-covered shoulder. With him came the faint grassy scent of tea.

"—not too hot, of course," Zenyatta was saying to Hana, clearly in teaching mode. Hana nodded along, attentive and eager to improve her first-aid skills. "But something warm in the stomach, like tea or broth, helps stabilize the core temperature..."

By Jesse's head, Soba was asleep. He'd slipped down into the crook of his neck. Jesse's hair was dry now, standing up in odd tufts. Soba's chin rested against his neck, right where his pulse beat in his jugular.

Hanzo took the cup from Genji, propping himself up on his elbows. A rush of cooler air hit his sweat-slick skin and he sighed in relief. Genji sat back on his haunches, shuffling back over to the foot of their makeshift bed. On McCree's flank Udon uncoiled again, his lip relaxing to cover his silent warning snarl.

Hanzo met his brother's eyes, nodded his thanks for Genji's foresight: if it'd been Hana or Zenyatta leaning over them, they would've found themselves with a jumpy little dragon's teeth embedded in their wrist.

"Jesse," Hanzo said, and prodded him. His voice was very soft, not nearly as commanding as he'd meant to speak. "Jesse, wake up."

McCree's eyes slitted open. A little more awareness had returned to his gaze. Hanzo all but felt the moment when he realized he was naked, his thighs tensing as he looked around in sluggish alarm.

He breathed out when he saw Hanzo. At some point he'd slung his arm around Hanzo's waist and now squeezed his hip in greeting. "Hey," he mumbled.

The vibration of his voice woke Soba, who snorted and blinked blearily into the firelight. "You should drink this," Hanzo said, holding up the mug for McCree to see. He hesitated, worried about his still-slurred speech. "Do you think you can swallow?"

Jesse blinked slowly, then gave him a dazed and rather sweet smile. His eyes crinkled at the corners. "For you, darlin', any time."

Zenyatta's voice box emitted a soft coughing noise. Genji's eyebrows had never fully grown back, but they still rose up to his hairline as his eyes widened. The warped, hardened skin bunched into thick wrinkles.

"Oh no! Anija!" he moaned in their mother tongue, flapping a hand wildly in their direction. "Why! I did not ever want to know that!"

Apparently Hana was the only one mature enough to ignore the innuendo. She leaned over them, smiling when Soba tried to snatch the trailing strands of her hair, and said primly, "McCree, I brought Peacekeeper along in MEKA's compartments. It's thawing by the fire. I don't think it took any damage in the cold."

Jesse's dried hair was very soft against Hanzo's palm as he held his head up. Helping him drink felt oddly private, far more intimate than lying with their limbs entwined. McCree drank greedily, shivering anew as the tea begun warming him from within.

And he was was watching him, Hanzo realized as he put the tea aside. His gaze was fixed on Hanzo's face, intent and searching. "What?" McCree whispered, and reached out with his good hand; it took him a moment, but he managed to squeeze Hanzo's thigh.

Hanzo's throat closed again. The ordeal must have cast some mark on him—a frown or a tightness in his jaw that left him hollow-eyed in the wake of his shock. Of course Jesse saw, even in his half-awake state, and touched him in comfort even though it had not been Hanzo who'd almost frozen to death.

Hanzo took a deep breath. "Sleep," he said. "You will feel better tomorrow," and tucked the blankets tighter around McCree's neck.

Soba snapped half-heartedly at his fingers as he was dislodged. He uncurled, scales glittering, and propped his snout on top of McCree's head. His warm belly covered the cold-reddened skin of Jesse's right ear.

"M'kay," McCree mumbled, uncharacteristically docile in his exhaustion. His eyes were already falling shut again.

Hanzo slipped back into their nest. The warmth was a shock, stickier and more suffocating after his brief reprieve. But he still gathered McCree close again and slid his arms around his big frame. He would gladly suffer the heat if it meant Jesse was recovering.

Tiredness descended on him again. Hanzo studied McCree's face, the chaotic tangle of his dried beard, the lines in his suntanned features. The frozen sallowness was gone. His cheeks and nose were flushed from their combined body heat. There was still a small frown pinching his eyebrows, but his eyes were motionless under his lids, his long blond-tipped eyelashes brushing his cheeks.

At last, Hanzo breathed out. Jesse was safe.

Small fits of shivers still wracked him from time to time, and there was that bruise on his head... but Soba was taking care of that, exhaling gentle clouds of steam into McCree's hair that would help it heal. And he had a belly full of tea that'd help his body warm up as he slept.

Hanzo tucked his leg between McCree's thighs again and found no goosebumps. Perspiration slicked the fine hairs by his temple and nape. Curled up on McCree's hip, Udon had relaxed enough to rest his chin on the blankets, but his ears were perked up and alert, listening.

Ticklish wetness stuck his arms to McCree's skin. Hanzo entwined his fingers behind McCree's back, ensuring he wouldn't let go even once unconsciousness took him, and closed his eyes. He had Jesse in his arms, and Udon kept watch. Now he could sleep.

A quiet chirruping noise, followed by Hana's giggles. The creak of aged hardwood as someone tiptoed past their pile of bedding...

Hanzo came awake by slow degrees. In his sleep, Jesse had turned to lie on his back and had pulled Hanzo with him, steadying him with one possessive hand on his hip. Under Hanzo's cheek, McCree's chest rose and fell with deep sleeping breaths. His heart was a drum beat in Hanzo's ears, thudding loud and healthy against his ribcage.

Jesse would be delighted, Hanzo mused sleepily, at his slow rousing. If they'd been alone, Hanzo would already have found himself hugged close, with McCree's voice murmuring husky praise into his ear. Conditioned by years of nightmares, Hanzo was used to waking fully and instantly, like being kicked awake. This was more like drifting up from the bottom of a lake as lazy glimmers of sunlight beckoned from above.

He opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was Soba, slipping across the floor like an overgrown lizard, his claws skittering against the hardwood.

Hana giggled again. She sat by the small dining table, comfortably cross-legged, her ankle no longer splinted. Soba came back to her, a flash of glowing blue, darting once around Genji's foot—Genji, who stood by the window and talked quietly into his comm.

Something small and hard poked Hanzo in the chin: Udon was curled up in the crook of McCree's neck, greeting his master with a bump of his mismatched horns. Hanzo extricated one hand from their sweaty tangle of limbs and ran his fingers firmly down Udon's back. Freshly scent-marked, the little dragon laid his head back down, whiskers drooping.

Soba dropped something small and pink in Hana's palm. "Good boy!" Hana whispered, smiling, and carefully rubbed the scales just behind Soba's ear. He squeaked in delight and pressed his head into her touch like a cat.

Hanzo sighed to himself. Soba was such a brat. He preened under attention and showed off his horns and mane to anyone who'd look. Of course Hana would encourage him—she tossed her keychain again, grinning as Soba ran after it, unaware that she was playing fetch with a noble and honorable beast that was older than all of them combined.

Hanzo pushed the blankets away from his face, and cooler air brought instant relief, though he itched all over with dried sweat. He slipped off McCree's chest into the crook of his arm—there was no need to scandalize his younger teammates.

McCree snorted and woke. His arm went tight around Hanzo, his flank growing rigid, but the tension left him as soon as it'd come as he realized where he was. He turned his head and pressed a beard-bristly kiss to Hanzo's forehead, then squinted at the dragon that was eagerly poking its snout into his face.

"Hey," he croaked, voice gravelly with sleep. "Udon?"

Udon chirped, delighted that McCree recognized him, and licked his beard. McCree laughed, a soft rumble that shivered pleasantly down Hanzo's spine.

"Well, now you've gone and ruined my beard," he teased. It took some squirming, but he too managed to work his one hand out of the blankets to rub his thumb gently between Udon's horns. "D'you have any idea how much work it takes to look this good?"

A flash of blue, then Soba floated over, his game with Hana forgotten now that he saw his twin being pampered. He took his time sniffing around in McCree's hair, then pressed his snout to his throat to check his pulse, his slim form undulating gently.

Hanzo sat up. It was old habit, drawn out by the gentle lingering cobwebs of sleep, that made him look around for Ramen. But of course, Genji's green companion was nowhere to be seen.

Something clenched a little in his chest. The absence was disheartening, but he was not surprised: these beasts were ancient as stone. It'd take more than a snowy morning and his human master's forgiveness for Ramen to forget how he'd been torn apart by Hanzo's blue twins.

Udon licked McCree's chin some more. McCree snorted and laughed, tilting his head up to give Udon better access. "Well, if you're gonna fix it you're forgiven," he told the little dragon. "I can't stay mad at that face."

His eyes found Hanzo's. They were very warm and dark, still heavy-lidded with sleep. McCree said, "Got a question for you."

Hanzo's damnable heart skipped a few beats. They were not alone, and the gunslinger's hair was a mess, his beard was starting to clump together with dragon spit. But the low rumble of McCree's voice still made him feel like a bell being struck, a deep vibration.

"That being?" he said, a bit more briskly than he'd meant to.

McCree licked his lips. Under the blankets, he nudged at Hanzo's knee. "Why are we naked?"

His stump slid up Hanzo's thigh, rasping against the fine hairs and dried sweat, and found the hem of his boxers. "I'm not," Hanzo said pointedly. He leaned closer--to examine Jesse's eyes for any lingering signs of head trauma, of course, not because of the warm coil in his belly. "You do not remember?"

"Not particularly?" McCree said, more of a question than a statement. He sat up and winced hard, rolling his shoulders.

"It is only to be expected," said Zenyatta suddenly, from right behind Hanzo, "that you are sore from the shivering. Oh-- my apologies."

At Hanzo's flinch, Udon had bristled too. His mane ruffled up, teeth bared in an audible growl as he was suddenly up in the air, ears flat against his head as his tail whipped around in agitation.

Zenyatta backed away. Udon's narrowed eyes followed him, and he spat a half-hearted cloud of steam at the Omnic, one that glanced off Hanzo's cheekbone. "Thank you for that," Hanzo said, annoyed, and wiped his now-damp bangs away from his forehead.

"I remember Talon," McCree mused. He ran his fingers gently through Udon's mane, rubbing behind his chipped horn until the dragon relaxed. "And the storm. I was tracking those thugs, downed two of them... the last one threw a grenade at me. I got him, but the shockwave blasted me off a hill..."

"You had a mild concussion," Zenyatta supplied. "In addition to being severely hypothermic when we found you. My harmony orb and the little ones took care of it."

Soba tumbled onto McCree's lap and raised his head proudly. McCree smiled at the two dragons and helped Soba untangle a claw from the scratchy blankets. His hand was big and callused, with its broad veined back and the short fingernails. But he handled Udon and Soba with infinite care, keeping an eye on their ears, ready to withdraw the moment they flattened back in alarm or discontent.

Compared to the hulking, roaring shape they took in battle, these forms were dainty and small. But their jaws were strong, equipped with sharp teeth. They could've snapped his fingers off. Still McCree gave them his lopsided smile and stroked their manes, scratched under their chins and let them climb all over him.

"'m damn lucky you guys already like me," he said to them. Udon licked his fingers. "Can't believe your Hanzo's sweetheart got his ass handed to him by some snow."

Sweetheart. Hanzo didn't think he'd ever get used to that. McCree tossed pet names around with easy affection. But there was something so special about how he said them to Hanzo, small treasures offered up with a hint of shyness that no one else ever got to see.

His chest felt all fluttery and warm, like the skin was suddenly too tight to contain his beating heart. Maybe he'd suffered some superficial burns from the heat pack.

"It was a blizzard," Hanzo corrected gruffly. "Anyone would've-- would have..."

Caught a chill, he'd meant to say. But it struck him again just how much worse it'd really been. A chill indeed--another half-hour lying unfound in the cold and he would have died of hypothermia. Hanzo would never forget how limp and cold Jesse had been in his arms. The searing sting of touching his prosthetic, the flash of Genji's knife cutting away sodden clothing, McCree's damp hair sticking wetly to his pale cheeks...

McCree looked at him. Perhaps he saw something in Hanzo's eyes, Hanzo would never understand how McCree could read him so easily, with a single sweep of searching eyes. Under the blankets he pressed his foot to Hanzo's thigh, a reassuring warmth.

"And now he's defending my warrior's honor," he said softly. "He's real nice to me, your master, you know that?"

He poked Hanzo's thigh with his big toe, silently soothing. Udon and Soba chirped in unison as though they couldn't have agreed more. Feeling decidedly hot in the face, Hanzo cleared his throat and looked away.

Genji came to his rescue. A laugh hid in his scratchy voice but at least he was nobly throwing itself into the breach to distract from Hanzo's undignified red cheeks. "The power went back up an hour ago. We've reached Winston and he'll send a jet to pick us up at the rendezvous point. Your prosthetics should finish charging soon."

Hanzo followed his gesture to an amusing, though somewhat morbid line up. His legs and McCree's arm were resting side by side, plugged into an extension cord, the running lights pulsing in soft blue. After its ordeal in the snow, McCree's arm looked none the worse for wear. It'd already been scuffed and scratched from years of fighting. It gleamed brightly where the snow and ice had melted off overnight, reflecting the morning light.

McCree was still watching Hanzo, more urgently now, an intent study that swept up and down his naked chest. "You okay, darlin'?," he said. "They didn't get you?"

"Obviously not," Hanzo pointed out, huffing slightly under Jesse's concern even as it warmed him. Couldn't McCree see that Hana was watching them, her chin propped up in one hand? He did not seem to care about the indignity of a nineteen-year-old girl giving them a wistful smiling sigh. "I am fine."

Jesse exhaled, deflating, and leaned close to squeeze Hanzo's shoulder. His palm was a warm callused press just beside his neck, right where the tattoo began. "Can't blame a guy for worrying, now can ya?"

Hanzo cocked his head. "I am not the one who was defeated by snow."

Despite his comments to the dragons, Jesse laughed. With some amazement, Hanzo watched him chuckle. Was that what it felt like to trust somebody with your dignity as easy as breathing? Fond, honest mirth gleamed in McCree's eyes, welcoming the teasing from Hanzo's mouth.

Zenyatta made a soft electronic sound, almost like the clearing of a human throat, to draw their attention: he'd backed off towards the table, no longer hovering so close. "Are you experiencing any lingering dizziness?" he asked. "Do you feel disoriented or ill?"

McCree considered that, scratching absently at his chest. "Not really," he said. The tilt of his lips turned rueful. "I'm sore as hell though."

Zenyatta nodded, satisfied, and said again, "That is to be expected." He turned to the others. "Hana, I would like to look at your ankle again. And Genji, we should see about preparing breakfast."

The three of them retreated into the kitchen. One orb trailed further behind Zenyatta, nudging the door until it was almost shut to give them at least a small amount of privacy.

Hanzo stared as the orb slipped discreetly through the gap to rejoin its master, baffled by such consideration from an omnic.

McCree's hand touched his cheek, "Hanzo," he said, more urgent now that they were alone. "You're looking a bit spooked there. Talk to me?"

Hanzo shook his head--he was fine, he was not the one who'd nearly died last night. Under that searching look, though, he had to fight the urge to squirm.

"It is nothing," Hanzo muttered. Soba growled quietly at the lie. He opened his mouth to tell McCree to stop fussing. But somehow, what came out was, "Only-- it was close, last night."

McCree watched him, silently thoughtful. The electric lights glanced off his eyes, brightening them to dark amber. Hanzo stared down at his hands in his lap. He had no wish to find out what Jesse saw in his face, what shadow the gut-wrenching panic had left.

The hand on his cheek shifted. "Hey," Jesse murmured. His broad fingers framed the curve of Hanzo's jaw. His thumb rasped gently through his mussed beard.

Hanzo sucked in a sharp breath. He shivered hard--he couldn't help it--and it'd used to make him so angry, how something in him sang like a plucked string when Jesse touched him. A friendly clap on the shoulder after a mission, and his body would betray him with a wave of goosebumps, loosening his spine and weakening his knees.

"I'm alright," McCree said. He'd noticed, Hanzo knew, how strongly he reacted to even the gentlest of touches, his nerves basking in every brush of his mismatched hands, gorging themselves on Jesse's easy affection. But he'd never said anything about it. "Healthy and hale, thanks to you."

Hanzo held his breath, then let it out in a long sigh. A great weariness opened up in him, a jagged crater that wouldn't be soothed by sleep alone.

And what was the point of resisting? There was no one else to see him yield. He let himself lean his cheek into Jesse's palm. "It was Hana who found you," he said.

"But it's you who shared my bed last night and kept my toes from freezing off."

Hanzo huffed. He felt the illogical urge to protest--if Hana hadn't found him, if Genji and Zenyatta hadn't been there to help... his pride chafed to think of it, but Hanzo had been numb and useless then.

But that wasn't what McCree meant. It was easier by daylight, with none to overhear and with Jesse awake and healthy, to find words for the vast tide of feeling that pushed and pulled in him.

"I only acted in my own best interest," Hanzo said carefully. He fastened his palm around McCree's hand, holding it in place against his cheek. "You see, I happen to be quite fond of you. I will not have bits falling off on my watch."

It took Jesse a moment to catch on. Or perhaps he was just overwhelmed by the vast array of dirty jokes that opened before him. Then his eyes went wide with delight. He pulled Hanzo closer, and his mussed bangs brushed Hanzo's forehead.

"Well," he said. He was grinning, but softness lingered in his eyes. "I can imagine there's some parts of me that you'd mourn more than others."

McCree kissed him. A close-mouthed brush, just a long, slow touch, far from the clashes of tongues and teeth they shared in bed. His knuckles brushed gently down his cheek, like Hanzo was something infinitely precious and fragile.

Against Hanzo's mouth, he let out a small satisfied breath, a sound of settling. His lips were chapped and dry from the cold.

Hanzo surged forward. He cupped his hands around McCree's cheeks. Jesse's mouth opened for him with a surprised little gasp, and the sound zinged through Hanzo's bones like an electric jolt.

If he'd worn his prosthetics, he might have climbed into Jesse's lap. He seized a loose handful of his hair instead, cupped his fingers around the back of his skull and kissed him firm and deep, sucking hard on his lower lip and soothing the sensitive skin with his tongue, scratching his mouth raw on his stubble.

Jesse tasted sour and metallic from morning breath. Hanzo was sure that he tasted little better himself, but he didn't care. Distantly, he heard his dragons' indignant hisses, claws digging into Hanzo's stomach as they wrestled themselves free of the humans and their strange behavior.

McCree's flesh hand clutched at his shoulder. His chest heaved from the force of his breathing as Hanzo plundered his mouth. His touch was like a magnetic pull. The nerve endings all down Hanzo's arm seemed to strain towards the hot weight of Jesse's palm.

Hanzo released McCree's lips with a wet smack. He pressed their foreheads together. "Don't do that again," he said, his voice little more than a gravelly rasp.

"Sweetheart," Jesse husked out, breathless. "If it makes you kiss me like that--hell, I'll go take a swim in that frozen river--"

"Don't joke," Hanzo said. But it came out breathy because McCree's hand had slid around to his neck. He wormed his fingers into the sweat-sticky hair at his nape and dug gentle pressure into the tense muscles.

"Bossy," Jesse said. He smiled, lopsided and warm. "I like it."

Hanzo rolled his eyes. "You--," he started, but couldn't think of a good comeback--not with Jesse this close, with the cradle of his palm around the back of Hanzo's head.

Something poked him, digging into a ticklish spot. Hanzo twitched, startled: Soba had butted his head against his hip. A flurry of shining scales and fast claws snagging on blankets, then Soba had curled himself into Hanzo's lap. He leveled the humans with a proud, disdainful look, daring them to carry on with their inexplicable behavior under his watchful, judgmental eyes.

Jesse helped Udon climb up too, disentangling claws from their sheets but never lifting him--Udon hated that. The little dragon was stiff and nervous, but perched on Jesse's thigh readily enough. His tail lashed in agitation. It was unclear who first started hissing--perhaps Soba, disgruntled that his twin was encroaching on the warm safe space between humans' bodies.

"Hey, now," McCree chided gently. Soba quieted under Hanzo's hands, rubbing behind his horns where his mane had fluffed up. "There's enough of us to go around."

Udon blinked at him, wary, but allowed McCree's fingers to sneak under his chin, just by his fleshy curling whiskers. Udon leaned into the touch, the flare of his nostrils still vaguely disgruntled, like he'd wanted to sulk but Jesse's touch disarmed him.

Hanzo felt his face grow warm. He smiled quietly to himself, then sucked on his lip to suppress it: he knew that feeling.

"--should be fine," Zenyatta's voice floated over from the kitchen. Dishes clanked. A green glowing hand nudged the door open. "Just be careful for a few days."

"Okay," Hana said happily. "Thanks, it feels so much better already!"

Genji inched his foot out into the hall with exaggerated slowness. A stack of bowls emerged next, sent into the fray to test the waters. Then he dared a peek around the corner. His scarred face was already screwed up into an exaggerated grimace of distaste. When he saw them just sitting there, each with a lapful of dragon, he relaxed, lowering his makeshift shield.

"Oh, good," he drawled, passing a slow look over both of them. "You're decent."

Hanzo scowled at him. Genji knew very well that they wouldn't be getting up to anything with the others this close. That one time at the Watchpoint when his little brother had gotten an unfortunate eyeful--well, that'd been an accident, and the sooner he stopped complaining about it, the better.

"Of course," McCree said, wide-eyed and visibly wounded, holding his one hand protectively to his chest. "What kind of scoundrel do you take me for?"

"The kind that'd hide out in the comm tower at night," Genji said darkly, "and go to his knees behind a--"

"Hold this," Hana said, shouldering her way into Genji's space, and all but thrust a steaming pot at him that smelled faintly of cinnamon and honey.

Genji had no choice but to take it or end up wearing the oatmeal that they'd prepared. The bowls landed on the couch. Hana turned to Hanzo, producing a small plate from somewhere and holding it out to him.

"I didn't know what they like," she explained. An assortment of what looked like dried fruits and nuts had been arranged into neat little piles. "But I found some beef jerky and stuff, so I thought maybe..."

Soba was already stretching up, half a moment away from floating, his nostrils flaring to twice their normal size as he took in the smell of food. Hanzo stared at Hana even as he took the plate. He gave her a nod--a poor show of gratitude, but all he could muster at that moment. He hadn't thought that anyone would even think of the dragons.

Hana smiled, satisfied. "Thanks," she said to Genji--she met his eyes head on now, no longer skittish at the sight of his scars--and patted his arm. She looked around for Zenyatta and gestured him closer. "Over here?"

They ended up sitting around the pot as though it were a campfire, in a lopsided circle on the floor. Wearing his legs again after they'd sent such icy feedback stabbing through his thighs was-- strange. Hanzo kept shifting, first kneeling, then folding his legs under him. If he'd had the choice, he might've preferred to keep them off for another few hours. He hated the defenseless, stranded feeling of being without his prosthetics, but the stumps felt raw and twitchy from last night.

The oatmeal was somewhat stale, the milk powder and oats having sat in the cabin's cupboards for so long. But they'd added enough spices to make it palatable. McCree was shoveling it into his mouth like he'd never tasted anything better. His metal arm, freshly reattached, moved as smoothly as ever. It didn't seem to have taken damage in the cold.

"Don't think I don't know what you are doing," Hanzo said to Soba, who was crunching noisily on some nuts. Udon sniffed at a piece of jerky. "You do not even require sustenance, you just like being pampered."

"Well, they did help warm Agent McCree up last night," Zenyatta pointed out. His immovable metal faceplate bore no particular expression, but he radiated a quiet contentment--glad, perhaps, that although he did not need to eat, he'd helped provide his organic teammates with sustenance. "I would say they deserve some attention."

Hanzo stared at Zenyatta, baffled. If anything, he would have expected Genji to make a comment like that. It took him a moment to realize he'd actually been speaking English.

McCree was obviously hiding a smile in his bowl. He knocked his flesh elbow companionably against Hanzo's arm. But he just said to Zenyatta, "Seriously, how many times-- you can call me Jesse, you know."

The tilt of Zenyatta's head seemed thoughtful. "Perhaps I am misunderstanding human customs again," he said. Genji snorted. "But it was my understanding that addressing someone by their title and surname indicates respect."

Jesse blinked. The spoon paused halfway to his mouth. "You knew your body armor's insulation was no match for the cold," Zenyatta said. "And yet you chased a group of Talon operatives into a blizzard."

Some would call that foolish, Hanzo thought, but didn't say. It was just like Zenyatta to somehow pick up on the self-deprecating comments McCree had made earlier, though he hadn't even been in the room to hear them.

"Well, that's--," McCree said, dumbfounded and awkward in the face of praise. "That's my job, ain't it? It's what y'all keep me around for."

He gave an expressive half-shrug, but on his lips, Hanzo could see a small, shy smile just begin to form. His heart swelled with a surge of affection. He touched his metal toes to Jesse's thigh and said, "Not just for that part."

Jesse fixed him with a disbelieving stare. A few seconds ticked past, as he contemplated the wide, welcoming opening Hanzo had just made for him. Then his eyes sparked with mischief, all his laugh lines crinkling. It was the type of unguarded, gleeful grin that Hanzo treasured more than any number of his smirks.

Genji looked between them, then hid his face behind his bowl with a grunt of discomfort. Mouth full, he mumbled, "I'm too young to hear this."

Hana laughed, sputtering into her breakfast. McCree paused, mouth already open to tell the others just which ones of his parts Hanzo had kept warm last night.

"Don't," Hanzo advised him, quietly. By his estimation, Genji was already planning to spend the next few years complaining about the comm tower incident; he did not need more ammunition. "We would never live it down."

Jesse's smile softened, became that warm, lopsided, affectionate thing that still raised the hair on Hanzo's arms into goosebumps. He tipped his bowl in a wry salute. He said, "Sure thing, sweetheart."

--And Hanzo really had to learn not to jump out of his skin at every one of those damn pet names. It wasn't just the steam rising from his breakfast that made Hanzo's face heat up. He busied himself with his spoon, shoveling more oatmeal into his mouth, well aware that the tips of his ears were turning red.

Hana smiled at both of them. For a second Hanzo feared she'd make some comment, but then she just turned to Zenyatta and said, all business, "I wonder how MEKA's doing, after all this cold--your harmony orb will still work on him, right?"

Hanzo let out his breath. Genji was still giving him that look but it had softened considerably, and McCree had scooted closer to him, their thighs touching in a patch of warmth.

"Of course," Zenyatta replied, and gracefully launched into an explanation of how the Iris' healing power could be harnessed to help regenerate not only organic tissue, but circuits and metal as well.

McCree leaned against his shoulder. "Easy there," he said, too low for anyone but Hanzo to hear. His breath puffed warmly against Hanzo's ear. "They don't mean anything by it."

He felt his shoulders droop--he hadn't even noticed the accumulating tension. "I know," he murmured back.

Watching Jesse scrape his bowl clean of oatmeal, he realized with some surprise that actually, he did.

This kind of banter--the innuendo, the others' knowing smiles--would never come naturally to him. The twisted roots of his pride reached too deep for that. But even that raw, wary part of him that bristled at the slightest hint of mockery could see no malice in this. It was almost... familial.

He shook his head at himself, pushing his bowl away. Here he was, getting maudlin over a serving of stale oatmeal the morning after his teammate, his partner, had almost frozen to death. Surely the lingering shock was to blame.

Udon and Soba, bellies filled with food, watched them sleepily. They hadn't hissed at anybody either, though Hanzo knew they'd felt his discomfort. If the ancient beasts sensed no infringement on his honor from the mild teasing of his brother's friends, perhaps there really was none.

Hana and Zenyatta were talking; Genji stood, reaching for his comm again. Unobserved, Hanzo allowed himself to lean into McCree's side and soak up the reassuring solidness of his presence for a moment longer.

With a little luck, and time on their side, he might even eventually get used to this.