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McCree slipped into a narrow alleyway to take a hard breath and reload. Maybe a little more than a breath wouldn't hurt. He found himself lingering, back pressed to the almost softer, cooler wood in the shaded sliver outside of the heat of a rush. Back up was supposed to be rolling in at any minute. He could hardly stand to wait around for the help and yet he hated to admit he was pretty pinned down here. Everyone managed to underestimate the level of trouble level of this little hide away Genji had sniffed out. Where he was and why he wasn't on this mission too left McCree feeling like a fool. Usually his information was more solid. Had something changed this seriously in a couple days?
His hand fished into his inner pocket, fingers selecting another cigar. He started to draw it from his cigar case before stalling. This wasn't the time to smoke himself out into the open. He slid the cigar back in and pocketed the case again. If it was going to go wrong and worse, it would soon. He could almost smell it in the air—right between that lingering sharp burning and gunmetal mixture. At this point he tasted it in the back of his throat. A gentle breeze carried a few loose petals into his hiding place, brushing with it a softer smell.
He ran a check of his phone and communications. Things were still transmitting poorly out here—something to do with the defense systems in place. He knew his back-up call went out—he'd placed it further out and got a reply. An affirmative—no idea who it might be. If they were looking for him now they might not have any luck. He swore under his breath. He had nothing but apologies for the incoming agent. If they even made it this far. That thought soured his mood and spurred him together. No way in hell was he going to be caught standing around waiting for rescue when he wasn't done yet. Not by a long shot.
Boots firmly to the ground, he held himself up stronger at the spine, taking his weight off the newer building behind him.
“Break's over,” he muttered for his own sake, hand clasping his weapon more firmly. It always did seem a tiny bit heavier after a few battles in a row. He wasn't sure if he was getting out of shape or it was some trick of the mind. Maybe both.
One more deep breath. A long exhale. A few fluttering petals. Afternoon filtered through the rooftops and tree branches. It was a good a time as any.
On his own internal mark McCree charged off at a run around the corner—automated lasers firing paths in arcs across the ground close at his tail. They'd already slightly singed the grass minimally in places—that gave him a good guide of where to avoid since it likely hit the hardest there. Likely, the burns' selected patterns were caused by earlier testing of the systems. Maybe all this was added in just recently. Whatever the hell waited at the bottom of this, it had to be valuable. Why it was squirreled away on some strange estate in Japan, he couldn't even begin to guess. He didn't feel like he knew why he himself was there at that moment.
Why did he volunteer for this one? Why did he do it again?
The mechanical hiss of lasers heating up and firing made him panic—his speed growing a little more frantic. If he could get through the doorway into the main house of the estate maybe he could catch a break. While running he took quick aim—shooting out two more lasers near the front door. He found no problem kicking the damn doors down—wood splintered from the force. The hall immediately split into a left and right with a wall front of his face. Without thinking he let his legs carry him to the left, turning at the bend as soon as that hall finished. Narrows halls pitched under low ceilings ended in a deep discomfort. At this point he would have to keep pushing forward. If he could find a way to disarm the defense system that would be a good place to start.
A clatter and beat that came with footsteps thundered down the hall behind and ahead of him. Either way he was going to be fighting this out. He charges onward—cautious of the ninety degree angled turns and this echoing sense of the steps coming from every angle. He couldn't afford to see if he'd meet his new enemies all at the same time. Getting trapped in this tiny space was the last thing he needed.
As he turned a corner some of these new enemies did the same. They snapped to fire on him, leaving him to jolt back behind the wall he'd come from—the sounds of gunfire spattering against the wall where he'd just stood. Any slower and he'd have been full of most of those. Close shaves were part of the business, but they never seemed to get any easier. By force, he dealt with it. Part of the job. But he could just feel his luck saving him by the skin of his teeth every damn time.
At a break in fire as the group started to converge forward toward him, McCree peeked around the corner and pulled the trigger. His eyes took quick account. Four of them. He had a round for each of them—each dropping fast after the other as he fired. Bodies hit the wooden floors with a weighty thud, one after another in a quick succession. McCree didn't linger; he rushed over the bodies and threw himself into a sprint. He had to be getting closer at this point. He ran and reloaded together.
These halls curved in and out—twisting in perfectly angular turns. He knew he wasn't going in circles and couldn't avoid the feeling. That sound of footfalls behind him coaxed his heart rate up. They were going to catch up eventually and like this he had so few options for cover. Someone or something could be coming from ahead too; he could hear that too. For the first time in his trek through this building he saw a door and immediately kicked it down to flee through. What awaited him wasn't another path. Behind the doorway was an opening out into a large garden in the middle of the estate—one absolutely flooded with armed guards.
His heart wretched and twisted in his chest, throat tight. Every drop of blood drained right out of his body, pooling around his boots. His bones might as well have crumpled on the spot.
In a second every gun in the sea of guards fixed on his figure. The running behind him never did stop. The smallest jingle of spur was the loudest sound as he took the first step back, body twisting to start to run back. If he could just funnel them into the smaller halls he might be able to gun all of them down. Provided the ones behind didn't get him in the process.
Softer steps fell down the hall behind him. A single subject, one he'd be facing soon—in that half a second lasting a lifetime. With everything slowed down he thought he might be able to turn and get the drop on the follower. Instead something gusted by—like he'd just stood in the eye of a tornado, the world going to hell around his peripheral. He'd started to turn his head as it rushed by. A feeling gripped his body as his eyes registered it: this cyclone storm, ghostly blue, scaled, twisting and turning in twin tandem at either shoulder. All he could do was watch these two spectral dragons tearing through the garden in front of him—armed guards thrown left and right in their wake. The pair roared through the square, clearing it of standing enemies before simply scattering into the wind it rode in on.
A heavy hand clasped his shoulder. He finally tore his eyes away long enough to see Hanzo stepping up to his side.
“It seems my timing was a bit close,” Hanzo commented at first. Between words a smirk edged at the corners of his lips. His timing couldn't have been even a second closer.
Language fell out of McCree for a moment, tongue heavy in his mouth. Had Hanzo really done all of that? The feeling of his hand on his shoulder stirred him out of it just long enough to say something. “I dunno what jus' happened.”
Some tiny piece of him thought something smoother was going to come out. Hanzo didn't expect that either as he only chuckled at first. That look in his eyes left McCree's face feeling warmer than it needed to.
“I answered your call for back up. The technique was mine. It's cleared the area and we can now carry on.”
Hanzo's hand finally slipped off his shoulder and the archer led the way forward through the garden. How could he be so casual about something so incredible?
* * *
The mission went well with help. Overwatch dismantled the weapons systems and whatever dangerous goods were below, they were out of Jesse's hands now and that's all he wanted. Something told him to wipe his hands clean of the whole deal and move on—just like any other mission, but something lingered. Trapped, a part of his mind replayed the feeling of that spectral scene playing out around him—the feeling of the wind whipping wild and encircling his figure but safely somehow. He saw it tear through enemies right in front of him and yet he remained unscathed. Hairs stood on end and a chill ran up his spine.
Flirting with death again. And it felt so right.
Thoughts felt disordered as the two made their way into a safehouse and finished up reports. Law enforcement left them to a quick escape—Hanzo leading the way into this spot with a certain confidence. It probably felt good to be the one to rush in and save the day after all. Something about his mannerisms after the ordeal told McCree he didn't mind playing the part. Admittedly, it could be satisfying on the right note. Of the many number of times he'd worked with Hanzo he got a little sense of that out of him. He was a bit on the quiet side, but when he did crack open a tiny peek he was more fun. Histories never got between them. Still Jesse could sense something hanging over him. None of his business, of course, and yet he couldn't help thinking about it and more deeply on Hanzo himself as it was just the two of them hiding out that night. That it was really them alone kept his wheels spinning.
The settling stages of camaraderie weeded out the awkwardness they'd started out with. Tentatively, McCree labeled that start a friendship of sorts. It wasn't like they saw each other all the time, but much more often now. Missions just seemed to align more and more. When they did cross they could trade smiles easily. Hanzo might make fun of him, but that took comfort too. He teased, he meant well, McCree had no questions about that attitude of his beyond, asking what would come next.
It was exactly what Jesse needed the most as he made his way through the office of the hidden bunker. No visitors passed through in some time, but all was in working order. With law enforcement in mind, this was going to be the safest place to get some rest before moving on. He knew better than to squander the opportunity. The space had a few rooms, storage, a couple offices. Everything you'd need to coordinate an effort if you were inclined that way. All he really wanted to do at that moment was get in a quick cup of coffee and lay out somewhere. He'd taken the time to strip down from the heavier parts of his outfit, so relaxation surely wasn't far away. In the middle of the sputtering of the coffee machine, he realized he'd not had much down time like this with Hanzo around. They were usually on their way to one place or another at best. And yet here they were—no where to rush to.
Briefly he considered he'd accepted this job with the slight hope they might cross again. Hanzo had said he would be working in Japan for awhile. Jesse stared harder at the coffee pot, willing it to be full faster. His focus snapped as he heard the door open behind him. He froze. He could not be thinking about this with Hanzo right behind him.
“Hey...how's it goin'?” he found himself asking anyway, glancing over his shoulder. Hanzo waited in the doorway before taking casual strides his direction.
“Fine. I was considering doing this myself,” Hanzo admitted. His gaze seemed difficult to catch. The coffee machine was interesting, but maybe not as much as another person. This awkwardness worked out earlier, didn't it? His own thought must have soured it. Jesse pushed it back out of the way. Focus on the moment. Focus on anything. Focus on the drip of the coffee going far too slow.
“I made enough to share. Yer in luck,” McCree got out after a second of intense quiet.
The coffee pot filled. Slowly slowly slowly. For some reason it seemed entrancing. Or maybe better, a distraction from discomfort.
“Perfect...I'll see to cups then,” Hanzo said with measured words, taking steps around behind McCree to reach his other side, fishing in cabinets for a clean pair of mugs. In his hands, one of the stainless steel mugs briefly reflected a smudged expression on Hanzo's face—knitted brows, lips a thin frown.
It started as a rumble, but soon turned to a laugh from Jesse's throat. Somehow it all tumbled out, his head tipped back slightly, hand gripped at his side. Hanzo only did him the favor of looking confused.
“Did I say something strange?” Hanzo asked while looking deeply concerned. Was his face a little pink? Surely not.
Jesse settled back, looking far more at ease. He took a short breath. “Naw, yer fine. It's me. Don' worry. I was jus' thinkin' I didn't want to make somethin' this normal weird, but thinkin' too hard made it weird.”
Hanzo only stared for a moment at him—like he'd been struck across the face with this reply. “You are a strange man as it is, McCree.”
“Not gonna deny that,” Jesse started to answer, taking one mug at a time to fill from the fresh pot of coffee. That distraction dried up as the mugs filled. He had no excuses anymore anyway. “But you were somethin' else today. I dunno what to do with myself.” Right as he was speaking it struck him. He turned Hanzo's way with a more excited look. Of course! That was what was off. “Thas' right! Thank you!”
The confused expression on Hanzo's face turned only more muddled. “Have I missed something?”
McCree let himself laugh before holding out a full mug toward Hanzo's hands. He took it, mostly because he had no room to budge on it—it was almost wedged between his hands before he knew it. “I didn' thank you fer savin' my tail earlier. So I'm sayin' thanks now.”
“I need no thanks. I made a somewhat risky maneuver. We are lucky it worked out.”
“The...risky manueuver bein' that dragon thing right? I mean, I heard about it, but seein' it....Thas' somethin' else. Blew me right away.”
Hanzo's fingers weaved around his mug more naturally, puffs of hot steam trailing vaguely from the lip of the cup. He held it a little closer to his body, eyes on the dark liquid within. “There was a chance you might have truly been blown away by it...so we are lucky this is metaphorical.”
“Metaphorically speakin', I'm blown away. Ain't seen nothin' like it. An' that timin' you had was amazin' too. You might jus' be my new hero, Hanzo,” Jesse replied with a crooked grin.
Hanzo half rolled his eyes. “Please. I am no hero.”
“Yer my hero still! You swooped right in fer the rescue. An' ya' did it with so much style. At this rate yer gonna steal my heart too,” McCree half-joked back at him, leaning back against the counter with his own coffee in hand. It took a matter of two seconds for him to realize what he said.
Rather than jamming an arrow in his face (which Jesse braced for) Hanzo's confused look turned almost embarrassed. Not as angry as expected. “You are going far over what is necessary to say.”
“Fer some reason I get that a lot.” Which undoubtedly would ended in hell fire at this rate. Then again, maybe it would be alright. Hanzo was level headed enough—at least in that moment.
“I can see why. But...as for your thanks, all of that is not needed. You would do the same, would you not?”
Their eyes met at that question. The quiet lived only a brief second, but some understanding filled it's place.
“No, I getcha. Yer right. I think yer a good friend. I wouldn't leave ya' ta' bite the dust. I got yer back.”
Any coldness in Hanzo's look shifted slightly as a very small smile made its way onto his face. His shoulders relaxed slightly as he took a drink. “A good friend...Comrade does not have the right feeling, I suppose.”
“I don' think so. Not that it ain't true, but you know. I like workin' with ya'. An' I'm glad it was you who came along an' saved my ass.”
“You do not wish for another hero?”
McCree and Hanzo traded looks—barely masked grins at one another. “Jus' the one. Yer pretty good,” Jesse answered, eyes narrowed. Somewhere in the middle of this he found himself painting new targets on the conversation. On this friendship. Danger already kicked up. In that second of shared glances he could feel something brewing. He didn't want to call it a game—that felt cheap. But play edged every word—each exchange a dance. That tightrope, topsy-turvy feeling sent his heart soaring. Was this room always so warm?
Metallic fingers curled a little tighter around the handle of his coffee. He drank more but the robotic arm only seemed to sink—like more weight filled the cup. Thoughts swam through hot brew. How good would it feel to be two inches closer?
“Perhaps I will come to your aid again someday,” Hanzo answered, still grinning. Eyes remained locked—that flare of intensity flickering between them. He couldn't read Hanzo's moves well. He came out of nowhere with his best comebacks; always with charming wit and a look that possessed his thoughts at times. That face was probably on his mind as he ran head first into this mission like a big fool.
Jesse winked Hanzo's way. “You come save me any day now. I'm not turnin' you away.”
Hanzo's mug found the counter, his hands both now free. His expression shifted—a little harder to read. At some point had they gotten an inch closer?
“I will not turn away from you then,” Hanzo said, his voice tipping lower, almost teasing. “But perhaps you should not get yourself into so much trouble.”
“I might fer another rescue,” McCree replied. He could tease back easily enough—however long they could stand playing this game.
That answer struck a strange cord. Play fell in favor of a more honest display. “You do not need to risk danger to have my attention. You have it now. You may again.”
He wasn't entirely sure if the room were spinning or not. That sounded like invitation enough. It sounded like invitation aplenty. McCree could hardly wrap his head around it. All he could do was look at frankness over Hanzo's face played over all those other looks he so enjoyed. It all spun around in a cloud in his head. He could say ten thousand things right then. If he could fit the meaning into ten words or less somehow, it would all spill out of his mouth. No coffee-flavored wisdom poured out of him—fate would not allow it. Something else spewed out instead.
“Hanzo...! Let me get yer number!”
All that lovely sincerity flushed right out of Hanzo's features. His shoulders tensed and he gave McCree a look like he were completely out of his mind. The only plus was the red now seeping over his face. “I give you a moment and this is what you say?!”
“I got a moment?! And only one shot?!”
Panic filled the both of them—wide eyed looks of chaos shared in the way only two people in worst stage of a flirt gone wrong could partake. Either were red enough challenge a tomato in color and neither even knew what language to communicate in anymore. It was bad enough to turn Hanzo to muttering some curse in his native language—either would have probably gone over McCree's head at this point anyway.
“It is done. It cannot be helped,” Hanzo got out after sorting himself out. He held his hand out expectantly.
McCree reached forward and grasped Hanzo's hand, shaking firmly. “My apologies, partner. Didn' mean to ruin yer mood.”
Hanzo grasped McCree's hand and dropped it heavily out of his grip. “Your phone! Give me your phone...!” he only started to shout before stopping himself.
Jesse could feel himself turning to sludge right then. He still fished out his phone, unlocked it, and obediently put it in Hanzo's hand, newly upturned to take it. “My bad...” It took a second before he realized how ridiculous this got and started laughing softly.
“Very much your bad. But this will do too,” Hanzo said, only glancing up for a moment before tapping away on the phone and handing it back.
Unexpectedly, there Hanzo's personal information was, programmed properly into his phone. He looked between that number and Hanzo himself a few times. “What exactly was I 'sposed ta' ask fer right then?”
“I would have accepted nearly anything else,” Hanzo admitted, shifting in place to rest one hand at his hip. He at least didn't seem mad about that anymore.
“Can I get an example?” McCree pressed, mostly out of curiosity. He had ideas. Plenty of ideas. But hearing some sounded kind of good. Just in case they were not on the same page; although, he doubted that greatly.
Hanzo's gaze turned to the side briefly. A few small strides brought the smaller man up close in McCree's face. He knew he shouldn't have been surprised. They'd been playing this little game too close for what felt like ages. And yet every shock shook him and a chill shivered down his spine.
The touch was a light one—short lived and soft. A fleeting passing, like a warm strike of inspiration, their lips met. The room spun around him, but that single embrace stayed a steady concrete. It was the only thing Jesse could say he knew for certain: Hanzo made the first move and he tasted momentarily of strong coffee.
Hanzo stepped back and picked his cup off the counter. Unexpectedly he turned toward the door. “Thank you for the coffee. Do rest well,” he said, sounding as calm and collected as ever. It seemed like his nerves worked when it suited him. Meanwhile Jesse thought he might have lost contact with gravity and the planet for a second.
“Uh...yeah. 'Course,” he said through a growing smile. Hanzo passed him a look over his shoulder so he fortunately did not miss it; although, McCree felt certain he looked his most foolish right then. That sensation of his kiss still lingered on his lips. He got the feeling that one would stay for awhile too.
Somewhere “goodnights” were shared between them and Hanzo left; McCree standing at the coffee maker. His mind flopped between head over heels and digging into the bowels of the silliest parts of his own awkwardness there. He did end up with double of what he expected—a pretty damn good gamble in the end.
He really didn't need to march all the way to trouble in Japan to pick up a number.