Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Jesse could hear the sound of gunfire pelting the cobblestone behind his heels as he ducked behind a corner. He dashed between the towering buildings of King’s Row, scanning the alleyway for somewhere high enough for him to quickly escape from his pursuer. The Overwatch agents that had been dispatched with him to this location were nowhere in sight - they’d been scattered from one another in an ambush. He’d felt it down to his bones, but the moment the warning left his lips they’d fallen under a rain of bullets and were forced to take cover.

He thought he’d seen Doctor Ziegler break a man’s jaw with the heel of her boot, right before Fareeha shielded her and rocketed them both away, launching a few rockets to cover the rest of the team’s escapes. Lena had dashed away in the blink of an eye. Being faster and smarter than any of the goons chasing them certainly helped, especially when she knew the labyrinthine streets of King’s Row better than anyone. As for Reinhardt… Well, he wasn’t worried about Reinhardt. Once upon a time he’d seen the man take multiple concussive forces to the head and then laugh , all whilst joyfully swinging around his massive hammer like he was in a goddamn piñata shop. Only instead of candy there was blood. Lots of blood.

He made the mental count in his head - there was one that was missing, someone he hadn’t seen escape the mayhem. Jesse chewed the end of his cigar anxiously, knowing better than to let himself worry about Hanzo.

He’s a grown adult and a bonafide killing machine, Jesse, get your head on straight.

It didn’t help.

The sound of footsteps behind him halted suddenly, followed by a whistling through the air, and a thud of something heavy hitting the ground. Jesse rounded another corner, and was greeted with the sight of a gun skidding across the pavement in the clearing ahead. Peacekeeper drawn, he rounded the corner carefully but quickly, only to find Hanzo pulling an arrow from the skull of a very incredibly dead person in black.

The archer cast him a look, eyes not lingering a second longer before he turned, and notched the arrow into his bow.

“She was flanking you.” Hanzo said, his tone sharp as his eyes widened suddenly and he whirled around. Jesse reacted as quickly as he could when he was half-focused on the other’s words, his finger already squeezing the trigger as he turned. Hanzo’s arrow was faster, hitting the poor soul between the eyes and pinning him to the wall.

Hanzo snorted derisively, holding his chin high as he notched another arrow into his bow and took off. Jesse didn’t wait around this time, falling into step beside the man. He felt a faint burning across his cheekbone, and bringing his fingers to his face he felt something wet. Blood, he confirmed when he drew his fingers back. He’d felt Hanzo’s arrow whoosh past only a hair’s breadth from his face, but one of the razor edges must have caught him.

Jesse swallowed deeply, but resisted the urge to glance at the archer.

Instead, he focused his eyes forward as they rounded the corner. Fan the hammer, roll, fan the hammer. Two dead.

An arrow scattered and was followed by the sound of two bodies hitting the ground somewhere off to his right, and a satisfied huff.

Four dead , Jesse mentally amended, as he quickly reloaded Peacekeeper and aimed for the man who was scrambling away desperately, something clutched in his hand. Jesse’s bullet flew through his skull as the same moment an arrow caught him at the base of his spine. Jesse almost winced when the man crumpled onto the pavement in a gruesome heap.

“I am surprised you are able to match my pace.” Hanzo called to him, his eyes challenging when he cast a look over his shoulder at Jesse. He was smiling, something Jesse still hadn’t grown entirely used to. He knew two things that made Hanzo smile: sake and a good fight.

Jesse gave the man a lazy smile of his own. “I’ll do more than match it, partner.” He taunted as he came up behind Hanzo. He patted the man on the shoulder, his fingers lingering for just a moment.

Hanzo responded with a snort when he pulled his arrow free, still standing with one foot atop the fallen man’s corpse as he peered at Jesse questioningly. “You think you can do better than me?” Hanzo said, his eyes flicking from the hand on his shoulder back to Jesse’s face.

“I figure you’re someone worth impressin’.” Jesse winked and quickly removed his hand, using it instead to tip his hat slightly. He bit the end of his cigar lightly and took off, his spurs jingling with every step he took across the cobblestone.

Hanzo stood stunned for just a moment, before he padded silently across the empty street, making a point to take the lead for the two of them. Jesse’s brow twitched in slight annoyance - he liked the languid pace his long legs could carry him at much more than he liked sprinting, but he couldn’t go slacking now that he’d run his mouth off like that.  

Static crackled in Jesse’s ear, as a familiar voice sounded over his communicator. “Tracer here, and stuck with a twisted ankle. You lads’ll have to finish this one without me.” There was a tinge of disappointment in her voice as the communicator buzzed once more when another transmission came through.

“Put out a distress signal. Pharah and I will pick you up. Reinhardt, McCree, Hanzo, how is it goin-?” Angela’s voice was drowned out by an overly-enthusiastic and heavily-accented “ALL IS WELL, DOCTOR!”, followed by the grisly sound of crunching bones. Jesse smirked when he felt the ground tremble beneath his feet for just a moment.

Suddenly, Hanzo took a sharp left, and immediately began scaling the side of the building. Jesse knew he couldn’t keep pace with the archer’s nimble feet, and so he continued on, taking the long way instead.

“I am closing in on the target.” Hanzo’s voice was loud and clear through the communicator. Jesse doubled his pace, ducking into the nearby building and making his way through it. He emerged just in time to see Hanzo yanking an arrow from a corpse, along with the retreating back of a man who fit the description of their target.

Jesse braced Peacekeeper against his metal forearm to steady his shot, closing one eye and letting loose a single bullet. It caught the man in the thigh, making him lurch forward and cry out. Before Jesse could fire another shot, however, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and by the grace of sheer instinct, he turned his gaze.

Well, fuck.

A colossal bronze statue towered high above them, with explosives strung along the backside like Christmas lights. His eyes followed the trail and saw that it led into the building directly behind him. He’d bet his money that the whole area was rigged, just like the first one, and that any moment it would be crashing down on top of them.

He heard the familiar, shrill beep of the bombs being activated, followed by a violent tremor as the statue tipped over with the deafening sound of crumbling stone and metal.

One glance to his side was enough to confirm that Hanzo was too focused on the escaping target to care about the immediate danger. His bowstring was pulled taut, the shadow of the bronze statue engulfing him and the sound of explosives ringing all around. His eyes read of nothing but sharp, intense focus, mind set solely on going in for the kill.

Hanzo was a good agent - a proper agent. He was doing what a good agent did, which was ensuring the success of the mission, even at the expense of his own life.

Jesse was trying his best to be a good agent, like Hanzo, like the rest of his team. Yet something beneath his feet carried him forward like a man possessed, as he tackled Hanzo. He heard the arrow lodge itself into the ground a few feet away, several dozen feet from their target. With a cry of surprise from Hanzo, they tumbled right out from beneath the statue as it crashed into the ground, and right into a small alleyway. The buildings on either side shuddered on their foundations, crumbling and collapsing around the pair.

A sudden flash momentarily stunned and blinded him - one of Jesse’s bombs gone astray, he recognized immediately. His head reeled as he heard nothing but the sound of destruction all around him. Something struck him in the back of the head, and he felt his consciousness being dragged from him all at once. There was the fleeting sensation of breathing from the body below him, and his head lolled forward limply.

The last thought on Jesse’s mind as he blacked out was that he could settle for being a terrible agent this time around.

- 

Jesse didn’t know how long he’d been out when he awoke to the sound of debris settling above him. He groaned aloud as he tried to roll over, but found himself caught on something. His serape had been wedged between two large bits of stone, pulling tight around his throat whenever he shifted against it.

“Damn - fuckin’ hell.” Jesse cursed, giving one final tug and grunting in defeat. When his gaze turned forward he was met with the sight of Hanzo lying on his back and sprawled out beneath him. He could feel the man’s chest rising and falling steadily beneath him.

Glancing around, it seemed that the buildings had collapsed against each other, trapping them but thankfully not crushing them. He also checked to make sure he still possessed all of his limbs, robotic and all.

When he deemed himself to be all in one piece, Jesse relaxed back against the form trapped beneath him, resisting the urge to look down as he brought his metal arm forward and attempted to access his communicator. The mechanism around his wrist looked fractured and, well, very broken. The only grace was the faintly flickering white light beside the transmitter.  

“This is McCree. Anybody listenin’?” He tried hopefully, despite the heavy crackle and hiss of static that greeted him. Nothing but white noise seemed to be transmitting, and he grumbled beneath his breath as he fumbled with the device for a moment. He fiddled with the distress signal function, and for a moment he thought he’d only made it worse when the light sputtered out completely. A string of curses were on the tip of Jesse’s tongue, but all of a sudden there was a high-pitched beep followed by the light turning red. It pulsed softly, the glow reflecting off the debris and rubble around him. McCree smirked in satisfaction. So maybe it wasn’t entirely broken.

Jesse’s eyes flicked back ahead and scanned the man’s profile. He lingered for a long moment on the gently parted lips, and the subtle movements as breath passed over them steadily. The gentle red light flared up, casting it’s light into the contours of Hanzo’s face before dying down once again. The process repeated, and after a moment Jesse gulped, feeling a bit creepy for ogling like he was. He was just checking to see if the man was still alive, he told himself, as he indulged for a few more seconds..

Ssshk!

A sudden garbled, electric sound startled him, forcing him back into focus and away from his thoughts. It wasn’t coming from his own communicator, and in the dimly illuminated crevice he caught sight of Hanzo’s.

He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it before -

You know why, you dumb, red-blooded cowboy.

He broke from his self-chastisement to reach for Hanzo’s wrist. Seizing it, he balanced it in his hand so he could properly access the communicator. “Gimme a hand, amigo?” Jesse said with a snort, cracking a smile at his own joke as he moved his face closer to the transmitter.

“Please tell me this thing is workin’.” Jesse kneaded his brows with his fingers slowly, keeping the grip of his mechanical arm on Hanzo loose. There was an extended silence, and Jesse could feel his nerves growing. He really didn’t want to die down here. It would be an unspectacular ending to a life that he believed wasn’t done yet.

“We hear you loud and clear, McCree.” The voice of Angela Ziegler came through, and he’d be damned if it didn’t live up to her name. While he briefly considered becoming religious, before immediately discarding the idea, the voice sounded again. “There was an explosion. We feared for the worst, but your distress signal came through just in time. Is Hanzo with you?”

“Hanzo’s with me. Lights out, but he’s breathin’. I reckon he’ll be right as rain once we’re not buried under two building’s worth of stone and steel.” He let his head fall slack against his hand, his eyes once more drifting across Hanzo’s face. A certain guilt twisted up like something in his throat, but he swallowed it down. “Oh, and Doc’, you think you could bring some whiskey with you?”

“You will receive proper medical attention once you’re back aboard the carrier,” She stated simply, before adding, “...but I will see what I can do.”

“You’re a goddamn angel.”

“I am just a doctor. Make sure your distress signal stays on, so we can pinpoint your location.” McCree glanced at his own communicator, and sure enough this red light was still on. He let out a low, gravelly exhale, as Angela’s final words came through like a beacon. “Hang in there. Help is coming.”  

A warmth spread through McCree’s stomach, squashing out the feelings of guilt that lingered there. He heard the click of the transmission ending, and he found his gaze drawn to Hanzo for what felt like the hundredth time.

“Good to know we’re both above snakes, partner. We’re gonna be just fine.” Jesse murmured, bringing his mechanical hand up to wipe a bit of smudged dirt and blood from the man’s brow.  Right on cue Hanzo awoke with a start and Jesse’s fingers shied away, recoiling back to his side.

“ Nan-...” Hanzo rasped out, his eyes flicking around to quickly gauge the situation. He was wide-eyed but he did not seem to be panicking, and when his gaze fell on Jesse, they narrowed venomously.

“Mornin’, darlin’.” Jesse came with a crooked grin, hand moving to tip his hat. His fingers met only air, but before he could worry about his missing hat, an icy voice stopped him.

“You,” Hanzo began, spitting the word like a bitter taste on his tongue. “You should not have interfered.”

Jesse winced inwardly, but pursed his lips and retaliated with a stern look of his own. “Look...” He began, his voice showing considerably less confidence than he’d intended. He knew he’d messed up - knew that he’d broken rule numero uno of each and every gang and group that put themselves in harm’s way on a daily basis. But for some reason, it didn’t feel like a screw up in his book. He straightened himself up as much as he could, brows knitting as a bit of indignance welled up in his chest. “I did what my gut - ” 

“You did as you pleased!” Hanzo cut him off with a growl. “You lack the discipline to risk your life for the mission!” His sentence was punctuated harshly, syllables hissed between his teeth and cutting deep. He shook his head, before trying to wrest himself from beneath Jesse. With an incredulous snort he cursed in Japanese, something Jesse couldn’t translate. Hanzo’s eyes stared darkly at the slab of concrete above him, then cut his eyes back at the other man. “You saved not only yourself, but the life of our target as well.”

Hanzo’s eyes narrowed calmly, rage draining from his expression as he added, “Is that really worth the hundreds of lives that could be affected by his continued survival?”

Ouch, that stung.

Jesse inhaled deeply through his nose, wishing he had a cigar to chew on instead of his lower lip as he considered his words.

“Wasn’t my hide I was thinkin’ ‘bout,” Jesse said finally, watching the way Hanzo’s eyes peered at him searchingly. He seemed almost surprised, if not confused, like there was something his mind wasn’t fully processing. “Wasn’t anyone out there’s, either.” He admitted, with enough sense to sound regretful about it.

In truth, he should have felt regretful about it, and maybe a part of him did. Maybe it was somewhere deep down, buried beneath all the relief he felt instead.  

Hanzo’s eyelids dropped and he looked away, his lips pressing into a thin line. It was his turn to contemplate his words, and the look of extreme conflict that played across his features was not unnoticed by Jesse. After an extended and heavy silence, Hanzo finally spoke.

“Why is my life of any concern to you?” No anger, no accusations. It seemed for all the world like a genuine inquiry, one which Jesse loathed to answer truthfully.

“It’s just - It’s just like you said. Because I lack the discipline to know better.” Jesse answered, unsure of whether that was a shitty lie or a cleverly-veiled truth made out to look like a shitty lie. Either way, it seemed a sufficient enough answer for the man beneath him, who fell silent for another long while.

A long, awkward while.

Long enough for Jesse to become even more uncomfortably aware of how close they were.

He tried for a second to shift, to get the feeling of pins and needles to cease in his legs, but quickly found that was an awful idea. His groin pressed firmly into the other man’s thigh, and Jesse tried to conceal his grunt as being the result of frustration rather than friction.

If Hanzo noticed, he was good at not showing it. Perspiration was beading on his forehead, and as Jesse watched it drip over the other man’s brow, he noticed for the first time how sweltering it was in the confined space.

“We need to get out of here.” Hanzo finally broke the silence, trying to move his weight to one side and pull his other arm from where it was wedged beneath Jesse. The moment he did, the sound of debris shifting and resettling above them was enough to make their blood run cold. Blood pounded in Jesse’s ears as he realized just how easily they could be crushed to death, and how stupid he’d feel if the both of them just died anyway.

He couldn’t be embarrassed if he was dead, though - it was a peculiar brand of reassurance, Jesse supposed.

The sound ceased, and the two breathed out in quiet relief.

“Help is coming. I got a hold of the team and they’re going to come by and pick us up.” Jesse reassured him with a grin, blinking a bit in surprise when he heard Hanzo scoff bitterly.

“You make it sound so casual.” Hanzo said, or rather criticized . Jesse once again let his chin rest in the palm of his hand, as things between them fell quiet. The wheels in Jesse’s mind were turning, hard. He knew why Hanzo was upset, and of course he’d anticipated the man would be screaming mad about the whole ordeal - but he couldn’t for the life of him understand why Hanzo wasn’t the least bit thankful to be alive. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but it seemed to be something that ran deeper than cultural differences or personal integrity.

When it hit him, Jesse realized he understood all too well why a man might not value his life as being one worth saving.  

When he spoke again, he didn’t look at Hanzo immediately. Instead he focused on something, anything else. “Y’know, this is one hell of an unsatisfactory situation - ” He started slowly, before continuing, “ - and you’re right.”

He heard Hanzo exhale quickly through his nostrils, but he knew he had the other man’s attention.

“But don’t you feel like maybe there’s somethin’ you still have to do?” Jesse tried, his gaze meandering languidly, before finally falling across Hanzo’s. Their eyes locked, the other man’s unshakeable and his expression unreadable. Jesse gulped around the sudden lump in his throat, his mouth feeling dry while he sought out the right words. “Like… somethin’ you’re lookin’ for, but haven’t found yet.” He finished vaguely, hoping the man would understand and not think he was some loon. Maybe it was impulsive or overly-hopeful for Jesse to believe he could sympathize, but sense be damned.

Nothing ever got done by sitting around, biting your tongue and waiting for things to happen.   

It seemed to have struck a chord with Hanzo, who remained silent, his eyes peering at Jesse searchingly for a long moment. Jesse saw the man’s tongue run over his lower lip, and he forced his mind to register it as an involuntary action, not an invitation. Standing his ground, Jesse held Hanzo’s eyes with an equal sternness, until the latter broke the exchange.

“You’re bleeding.” Hanzo muttered, gaze fixed on Jesse’s cheek.

With a smile, Jesse’ brushed the tips of his fingers against the shallow slice across his cheek from where Hanzo’s arrow had grazed him. He realized for the first time that it was stinging faintly, probably a result of sweat washing away the dried blood. When he drew his fingers back there was just a bit of fresh blood. He wasn’t worried.

He pushed the way Hanzo had blatantly ignored his question to the back of his mind. It had been rhetorical, anyway. The way the other man had softened was response enough.

“You’re a damn good shot.” Jesse said, his face warming up fondly. Alright, quit flirtin’, Jesse. He chastised after spending a moment too long staring with a big, dumb smile on his face. He forced himself to look away to find something else to occupy his mind. He was getting a bit too comfy between Hanzo’s legs, and every time the man breathed, he felt the slight pressure against his lower half.

So Jesse would admit that he might have a thing for Hanzo Shimada.

Hanzo cleared his throat, the sound tapering off into a low, rumbling breath as the man also searched around for something to occupy him. “Your gun is digging into my thigh.” He said, never making eye contact.

“Yeah, sorry about that.” Jesse came calmly, coolly, never betraying his composure as he felt for Peacekeeper and found it holstered securely to his hip. It wasn’t even touching Hanzo.  

Jesse suddenly wished Hanzo was still shouting at him, if only so that he would use up all the oxygen, thus expediting Jesse’s own death. It would save him from a more cruel death by embarrassment, because he was as excited as a lucky backseat prom date, and twice as uncomfortable.

He definitely had a thing for Hanzo Shimada, but he did not have a thing for getting buried alive beneath several tons of rock and metal.

Jesse thought on that prospect for a while, burying his face in the palm of his hand and rubbing his brow. With a bit of solid concentration, Jesse was able to get himself under control.

It was exhausting enough being trapped in the increasingly humid space, slowly running out of air while simultaneously suffering from multiple levels of shame. Hell, he had the biggest crick in his neck from his serape pulling taut against his throat, keeping him from relaxing fully forward.

Hanzo seemed to share in his discomfort, his breathing slowly picking up pace. The man was good at hiding it, but Jesse could feel the shallow movements of the body beneath him. He could tell Hanzo was suffering, and there was a familiar itch of panic that made the hairs on the back of his neck raise.

“You look uncomfortable, more so than I.” Hanzo brought a hand up, fingers running over the heavy material of Jesse’s worn serape where it was all pulled tight around his neck. Jesse flashed a rakish smile, lids drooping.

“Not at all, darlin’. Last time I felt this good I was smokin’ somethin’ on a beach in Baja California.” Jesse came sarcastically, only grinning wider as Hanzo narrowed his eyes at him. “Though it is a lil’ stuffy in here.” He chuckled.

“I think your blanket is cutting off the oxygen to your brain.” Hanzo responded dryly, tilting Jesse’s chin up. Jesse tried pretend he didn’t notice a sudden lightheadedness, instead focusing on the vague feeling of the other man’s hands on him. It cut through the haze for just a moment, but soon enough the sensation was obscured by the encroaching dizziness.

“‘It’ssa serape .” Jesse corrected, words melting together carelessly in his mouth. He felt his head droop forward, serape once again pulling taut against his throat. He swallowed thickly, finding himself struggling to do so. Jesse felt heavy, heavy like the marrow in his bones had been replaced with lead, or like gravity was trying to pull him through the ground.  

“McCree.” A voice came harshly, and he felt hands grip the sides of his face and jerk his head back up. Jesse’s eyes fluttered open, locking on Hanzo’s for just a second. They looked wide, vaguely panicked - only a little, of course.

They sure are pretty , Jesse added mentally, unable to register the dumb grin spread across his face as his eyes slipped shut. He thought he heard his name called once more, louder, by someone who was far away. It didn’t matter anymore - it went black.

-

McCree.

The voice came again. It was still far away, like someone standing across an ocean and calling out to him.

“McCree.”

It was closer now. It wasn’t the same voice, but it was still familiar.

“Jesse, it’s time to stop being dramatic.” Angela came again, her tone soft and sharp like honey and razorblades.

Jesse opened his eyes, pupils immediately shrinking to shield out the unforgiving light of the carrier’s medical bay. He gave a soft groan, feeling the body-numbing sensation of heavy painkillers in his system.

“Jus’ takin’ a nap, doc’.” Jesse brought a hand up to scratch his chest, which felt light in the absence of his breastplate. “Can’t a man lose consciousness in peace?”

“Not on my watch.” She said, turning on her heel. Something was cradled in the crook of her arm, and she poked at it with a small handheld laser. He recognized it as being his own mechanical arm, and instinctively looked down.

So that’s what the painkillers were for.

His eyes lingered on the empty space beside him where his arm would’ve been, before they travelled up. He was met with the sight of Hanzo, laying stretched out along the cot across the room. He seemed to be staring at the ceiling, only blinking every so often.

Jesse suddenly felt a bit self-conscious. Now that they’d made it out, he didn’t know if the other man would harbor any antagonism towards him. Would he report it to Jack? Had he already done so? His reasons were justified, but were they enough to justify essentially sabotaging a mission?

Jesse supposed he’d be getting chewed out by Jack either way. He breathed in deeply. The best he could do was grin and bear it. All his life he’d been a problem agent, and he didn’t see that changing in the nearby future.

He looked away quickly when he realized he’d been staring, and for the first time he opted for silence when the urge to say something to the other man struck him. He didn’t know what he’d say, anyway, and that annoyed Jesse to no end. He wasn’t a man with a tongue that was easily tied, but here he was staring into the harsh florescent lights without a single clue of what to say.

Angela’s heels clicked against the metal floors as her feet brought her to Jesse’s bedside. She was still working on his arm, and upon closer inspection it seemed like she was welding together a small fissure.

“You’re lucky we arrived when we did. Your breathing was very shallow after you lost consciousness. I don’t know how much longer you would have lasted.” She came gravely, peering at Jesse briefly before focusing again on repairing the prosthetic.

“Well I’ll be,” Jesse drawled out, cocking a brow as he glanced from Angela to Hanzo, who was now looking back at him. “So, you sayin’ one of you lucky ducks got to give me mouth-to-mouth?” He chuckled out, winking slyly at Hanzo, who let out a dissatisfied snort and turned away.

Jesse balked momentarily at the negative response, before settling back down in his cot and mentally punishing himself. Real smooth, Jesse. Piss ‘im off more. He didn’t see the sympathetic look Angela flashed his way.

“That practice is as outdated as your ridiculous get-up.” She responded, smirking slightly at the offended look Jesse sent her way. Angela switched the laser off with a satisfied huff, placing it in her coat pocket as she pushed Jesse back down into a relaxed position.

“That’s cruel. Aren’t you supposed to be an angel or something?” Jesse quipped as he went slack against the cot, head sinking back into the pillows.

“I’m going to spank you with your own arm.” Angela snorted back, a hint of a smile on her features.

“That a threat or a promise, sugar?” Jesse turned his head toward her, briefly stealing a glance at Hanzo before Angela stepped closer, brandishing his mechanical arm menacingly. Swallowing around the sudden thickness in his throat, Jesse let out a chuckle that tapered off into a surprised grunt when Angela began attaching his mechanical arm. He winced not so much from pain but from the odd feeling of something inorganic being fastened into place beside his flesh in a flurry of metallic whirring and clicking.

When it had made all the familiar sounds of mechanisms sliding into place and locking, Jesse lifted his arm and turned it a couple times, running his fingers across the spot Angela had repaired.

“How does it feel? Are you experiencing any discomfort?” Angela came, her gloved fingers seizing his arm gently as she gave it her own once-over. Jesse could feel Hanzo’s eyes on them, and he felt the same uneasiness in his stomach as he shook his head. He quickly drew his arm back, not looking the woman in the eyes as he forced a slight grin.

“Not a thing, doc’. Fits like a glove.” He responded, clenching and unclenching his fist a few times. The sound of someone clearing their throat made Jesse turn to the side, where Hanzo had sat up, his legs dangling over the side of the cot.

“Doctor Ziegler, I do not sense any problems with my own health. There is no reason for me to stay.” He said, articulating his words as properly and politely as he could manage. It came off a bit gruff, but Jesse chalked that up to the fact that they'd been close to suffocating only an hour ago. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Hanzo was eager to leave. Jesse suspected with a tightness in his chest that it was because of him.

“I’m sorry, Hanzo, but I cannot let you leave until I have surveyed the damage for myself.” She made her way over to Hanzo, who reluctantly laid back down and let the ceiling occupy his gaze once more. “McCree, however, is free to leave.” She glanced over her shoulder, waving him off with a little flourish of her fingers.

Jesse pushed his way off the cot slowly, stretching out his legs and feeling the static in his limbs fade away. “Alright, alright. I’m leavin’.” He came, tugging on his boots before striding past the two. He made an effort not to glance at them, but failed spectacularly when he whirled around to give a small salute. “Thank you kindly, doc’.” He came, ignoring the tinge of jealousy that came from Angela’s hands moving meticulously over the man’s legs.

Jesse gave a nod, exhaling heavily through his nose before ducking off, heading up the small staircase that led to the main chamber of the carrier. His boots thudded against the metallic floors, the mood that hung over him like a dark cloud placing a certain heaviness in his steps.

He entered the main chamber in a manner uncharacteristically quiet, glancing around. The first thing he saw was the hulking form of Reinhardt, armored from the waist down and conked out on the couch. Fareeha was leaning casually against the table beside him, a deck of cards stacked neatly beside her. She seemed to be balancing the cards atop the old man’s forehead, where they swayed precariously with his breathing but miraculously never seemed to topple over.

Jesse chuckled from the doorway, taking a few steps further as Fareeha’s hand froze and she turned her head quickly, a bit of red tinting her cheeks from being caught in the act. “Didn’t take you for a prankster.” Jesse said, striding past her and stopping in front of the coffeemaker nestled on the shelf behind the couch.

“It was hard to resist.” Fareeha replied, her face stone-cold and serious. She cleared her throat, glancing back to the small tower of cards just in time to see it topple down. Jesse could swear he saw a slight pout on her lips, as she gently gathered up the cards once more, taking care not to wake Reinhardt. Her hands stilled when the man turned over in his sleep, curling the palm that was previously splayed across his chest beneath his head as he snuggled against the couch.

“ Dummkopf . . .German engineering. . .is the best in the world. . .” He muttered through the haze of sleep. There was a small string of slurred-together German that followed, along with a low snore as the man drifted back into a relatively quiet rest.

Jesse shook his head, chuckling once more. He could feel his mood lightening already, but his stubbornness forced the the laughter to taper off into a drawn out sigh. He poured a spoonful of coffee grinds into the machine. “You want a cup?” He asked, speaking over his shoulder without actually looking at the woman.

“You shouldn’t drink coffee past 17:00, McCree. A good night’s sleep is crucial to performance out on the field.” She came, snorting when Jesse turned to face her with one eyebrow cocked, and pressed the button anyway. The sound of water filling the machine came and went, followed by the hissing of steam and a steady drip as it began to percolate. “Think you been spendin’ too much time with the doctor, Jets.” Jesse came with a wink, pouring a packet of dried creamer into the bottom of a mug, before grabbing a handful of sugar packets and taking a seat at the table.

Fareeha sighed, laying the deck of cards on the tabletop and turning to Jesse with a solemn look on her face. She was obviously ignoring his statement as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Morrison wants us to report to him when we touchdown in Wales.” She waited for a response from Jesse but it never came. She dipped her head down, trying to grab his attention. “He wants us to report to him immediately. ” Fareeha stressed, placing her palms calmly on the table.

Fareeha watched Jesse carefully as he poured packet after packet of the brown crystalline substance into his mug, her eyebrows furrowing. “That’s a lot of sugar.” She commented quietly, her voice more matter-of-fact than criticizing.

“Old habit, I guess.” Jesse responded cryptically, sounding far away for a moment before the beep of the coffeemaker brought him back and rooted him in reality. He reached behind him to grab the pot of coffee, sloshing the mixture around to check for grinds. He almost looked disappointed when he found none, but emptied the coffee into his mug and stirred it slowly. “The old diner back at Route 66, that coffee was like drinkin’ gravel and mud. But burnt.” He drew the cup to his lips, taking a small sip.

“Enjoy your coffee now. Morrison wants to speak with you specifically.” Fareeha began, crossing her arms once more and gazing out through the carrier window. Jesse followed her eyes, watching as they glided across a blanket of clouds. The sky was dark and grey, inky black in the direction that they were headed. Behind them, there was a faint hint of orange in the distance from the setting sun. “Oh, and Jesse. I won’t make any assumptions, but. . .”

“Look, I appreciate it, but I don’t need another person tellin’ me I screwed up.” Jesse forced, rubbing his brow in slow circles. “Especially if Jack’s gonna be on my ass about it for the next century.”

Fareeha pursed her lips into what he supposed was a sympathetic look. She never looked at Jesse, but cast her eyes down to the ground pensively. “What I’m trying to say is, no one blames you. It wasn’t sabotage. You saved an agent’s life. An agent who is highly capable of continuing to do good work for Overwatch.”

The words were nice enough to hear, but it was clear that none of them really knew just why Jesse had done it. He hadn’t saved an agent’s life, and he damn sure hadn’t done it for Overwatch. He had done it because he was selfish and impulsive and sweet on the worst possible romantic choice he could’ve scrounged up.

God help him, Hanzo was as aloof and solitary as they come. He was the most gorgeous thing Jesse had ever seen, sharper than his arrows and more fluid than the silks he wore. He was as elegant and ruthless and unobtainable as a cold moon, and it drove Jesse wild. That’s what he’d been thinking about.

Jesse squashed the butterflies in his stomach and forced himself out of his sorry state of pining. He’d proved his point to himself well enough, a point that he’d keep tucked away. He wasn’t one to throw away a ‘get out of jail’ card, and he was no pessimist. If this was the good to be found in this situation, he take it and run with it until he was scot-free.

Jesse smiled behind his mug before taking a sip, letting the overly-sweet liquid roll over his tongue. He glanced over at the woman, who looked back with a kind-hearted smile that was subtle on her features. A half-empty mug thunked down on the tabletop as Jesse relaxed back against the couch, throwing his arms across the top of it and avoiding the curled-up Reinhardt who was still sleeping soundly. “You know Jack isn’t going to see it like that.” He said, scratching his chin.

“You know how he is.” She countered quickly.

“Y’know, I reckon somethin’ was buried down in his grave at Arlington.” Jesse quipped, rubbing his face and grinning. Fareeha furrowed her brows, deciding to entertain Jesse by letting him continue. “It was his damn sense of humor.” Jesse finished, giving an affirming nod. He turned to the woman with an even wider smile when he heard her stifle a snort.

“He can certainly be a hard-ass.” She agreed, much to Jesse’s amusement.

“I’m tellin’.”  He threatened.

“No, you’re not.” Fareeha pushed herself away from the table, striding towards the cockpit. She turned and gave Jesse a harsh look, the severity of which was utterly ruined by her own smile as she ground her knuckles into her palm. Jesse threw his free hand up in defense, bringing his mug to his lips with the other once more as the woman turned to leave.

Fareeha stopped, facing forward so that Jesse could not see her expression.

“You’re a good agent, McCree. We trust you, and Jack trusts you. Do not dwell on it.”

Jesse watched as she disappeared into the cockpit, the heavy door sliding shut behind her. He took a long sip of his coffee, draining the last of it. It was thicker and sweeter from the undissolved sugar, but it tasted somewhat bitter on his tongue as he let his head fall back against the couch. “Hope you’re right.” He muttered beneath his breath.

Jesse stared out the window for a long while, watching the clouds roll by like a dark ocean. Once or twice he glanced over at Reinhardt when the man stirred, wishing that he would be so lucky as to fall asleep. Maybe the coffee hadn’t been the best idea, after all. He didn’t know how else to pass the time. He wasn’t allowed to smoke on the carrier, and the itch he had for one was making him a bit antsy.

Arbitrarily he reached forward, taking in his hands the deck of cards Fareeha had been using earlier. He shuffled them once or twice, spilling a few of them once and letting out a slight grunt as he set the deck down and went to swipe the stray cards off the ground. He grinned when an idea came to mind, and he leaned over Reinhardt, trying to balance two cards against one another atop his hulking shoulder. He did it once, twice, and as he went to place another card gently across the two towers, the cards folded and spilled over the other man’s sleeping face.

“You. . .you can’t stop me,” Reinhardt began, a hand coming up to swat away the ace caught in his beard, “. . .I am the Übermensch . . .ha-ha!” The old man barked a laugh in his sleep before he fell quiet once more.

“You sure are, big guy.” Jesse snorted, placing the cards back in the deck and putting them back inside the box. He gave one fond look to Reinhardt before deciding he should go annoy Fareeha and Lena in the cockpit.

Jesse was halfway up from his seat when a voice sounded over the intercom.

“This is your captain speaking,” The voice - Lena’s - began, sounding overly official as she enunciated her words theatrically. She followed with a small burst of laughter before she continued in a more normal tone, “We’ll be arriving at the Welsh base here right quick, lads. Buckle up, it’s a bit foggy but I’ll try and keep the landing tight.”

She didn’t seem to be kidding about the ‘right quick’ part, Jesse thought when the carrier suddenly, but smoothly, took a dip. Jesse briefly lamented the lack of actual security belts on the carrier, as well as the popping of his eardrums as they made their descent. It seemed to be enough to shake Reinhardt from his sleep, the man yawning and stretching his arms above his head.

“Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey.” Jesse greeted the man with a lazy salute as he kicked his boots up onto the table, getting comfortable now that the slight turbulence had subsided.

Reinhardt’s hands came down on the table in a manner that was probably “gentle” for the large man, but in reality made Jesse’s empty mug fall over onto its side. He seemed to be quite groggy still, a certain haze hanging in his eyes as he rubbed the side of his face.

“I was having the best dream.” Reinhardt muttered, reaching for the overturned coffee mug and bringing it to his lips. He seemed a bit confused to find it empty, and Jesse couldn’t help but let out a low chuckle at that.

“One time when I was younger, I had a dream I was stark-naked as the day I was born, standing in front of everyone I’d ever fancied or glanced at twice.” Jesse started, shaking his head slowly as Reinhardt’s laughter rumbled. “It was humiliating,” He continued, “Woke up sweatin’ so hard my momma thought I had a fever.” Jesse unfolded his arms from behind his head, one hand coming to scratch his chin thoughtfully. “Though I don’t think I’d be quite as perturbed by that prospect nowadays.”

“By what prospect?” Someone came from the doorway, making Jesse jump slightly in his seat. If he hadn’t already recognized from the voice, he would’ve known it was Hanzo from the virtually silent entry he made. Jesse wasn’t a jumpy person, but Hanzo always managed to catch him with his guard down.

“Gettin’ naked with a certain person.” Jesse said, a bit boldly considering the way he still felt a sinking in his gut when he looked at the other man. Hanzo shot him a nasty look, one that made Jesse’s confidence wither on the inside. He didn’t think anyone would realize just how nervous he got around Hanzo, and hell, he didn’t quite realize the extent of it himself until now. The man was downright intimidating, with a glare that could melt the steel right off Jesse’s body. Still, Jesse was no shy flower, and so he folded his arms behind his head, undeterred.

Hanzo made his way to other side of the room, taking a seat atop a metal crate that was bolted to floor. It didn’t seem comfortable, not to Jesse’s tastes, but the way the man placed himself atop it was graceful as he peered out the window. His back was partially to Jesse, shoulder resting against the wall and with his opposite hand slung across his propped-up knee.

Before Jesse knew it he was resituating and leaning against the tabletop, face in his hands as he indulged in the sight of the other man. Off to his side, he heard Reinhardt talking about his dream, something about an ‘alien vanguard from space’ that sounded vaguely interesting before Jesse’s mind tuned the old man out.

The way Hanzo was staring out the window and out over the dark blanket of clouds made Jesse think of how the man would look standing beside the sea. He imagined hair and silk whipping in the briny wind, as a storm brewed in the distance and drew closer. Oceans, rain, lightning - Jesse thought those things suited Hanzo, and a second later he was burying his face in his hands, thinking he was either delusional or hopeless.

“ - I brought down my hammer on the emperor and POW!” Reinhardt brought down his fist, scaring Jesse half to death and tearing him away from his ruminating with the violent vibrations of the table beneath him. “Green goo everywhere. Just like the putty that makes the funny noises.” The old man finished, crossing his arms across his chest which was puffed proudly. It was almost like he was proud of himself for eliminating the fictitious alien invaders.   

“Sounds like one hell of a rodeo.” Jesse said, patting Reinhardt’s shoulder as the other man settled back down into his seat.

“It was no rodeo - only glorious battle.” He came matter of factly, his eyelids falling shut and a satisfactory hum slipping from his lips. When it tapered off into silence, Jesse thought he was sleeping again after a few seconds, until the man jolted up again. “Are we there yet? I am starving.”

“I’m achin’ for a smoke myself.” Jesse said when he fixed his eyes back on Hanzo, kicking his feet back up on the table. When he sank back against the couch he saw the other man’s head turn just slightly toward him, Hanzo glancing at him from the corner of his eye. Jesse suddenly realized he’d been staring a little too hard, and quickly reached up to tip his hat down low on his brow - only to find that it was absent.

There was a slight annoyance as his fingers twitched at the empty space and recoiled, draping across his kneeguard in defeat. Jesse turned to face to his side, pointedly looking away from Hanzo until something outside the window caught his attention.

The fog was thin enough closer to the ground that he could see the rapidly approaching battlements, crenellated stone teeth that lined walls between massive turrets. It looked for all the world like sixteenth century castle, a hulking seaside fortress that sat atop the low rocky cliffs.

Jesse let out a low whistle. “One hell of set-up we got here,” He said, still staring out the window as the carrier made its way to the rear of the base, touching down onto the landing pad at the end of the jetty. The hum of the engines died down, and there was a sudden lurch as the conveyor began guiding the carrier into the main fortress.

The sound of the cockpit doors sliding open forced Jesse to whirl back around, as Fareeha descended into the main chamber, her helmet held in the crook of her arm. Lena followed close behind, a small brace fastened around her sprained ankle.

“Don’t get too comfortable. We convene with Morrison in five.” Fareeha said, glancing to the side as Angela appeared around the corner to join the rest of them.

Reinhardt furrowed his brow as he slid out from behind the table. “We must speak with Jack before dinner?” He complained.

Jesse’s boots tapped against the ground as he rose to his feet, hanging a good ways behind the rest of them as he produced a cigar from the pouch on his belt. “I agree with Reinhardt. Makin’ us go on empty bellies like this.” He smirked, his fingers searching his pocket for a lighter. “I’ll have to start a union.”  

Pharah rolled her eyes and stood before the carrier door as the conveyor came to halt. There was a slight hiss as the door unsealed and lowered. They filed out quickly, Lena spouting off a few facts about the unsurprisingly high-tech interior of the Welsh base. Jesse didn’t pay it much mind as he lit up his cigar, until Lena paused and gave him an apologetic grin.

“The big guy also wanted me to tell you all that this is a non-smoking establishment.” She said, cocking her head to the side as she added, “Sorry, Jesse.”

Jesse’s face deadpanned as he flipped the top of his lighter closed, taking a small puff of his cigar and blowing the smoke out slowly. “Not a problem, missy.” He quickly stubbed the cigar out on his metal arm and put it away. “I might seriously have to look into startin’ a union, though.” Jesse grumbled under his breath, hanging behind the group and moving at his own languid pace as they made their way to the teleconference room.

Just as Fareeha had said, within five minutes the team was spread out across the room as the projected image of the former strike commander materialized before them.

“Glad to see you’re all alive and in one piece.” Morrison came, arms crossed over his chest as he looked out across them. Jesse wondered briefly what it looked like from the other side, and if Jack could really see him lounging in the back of the dimly lit room, chewing on the end of an unlit cigar. As if to test it, Jesse kicked his boots up on the coffee table. The flickering blue face of Morrison remained unphased.

Fareeha was the first to begin delivering the report, her explanations clear and concise and to the point. Jesse always appreciated the woman’s directness - she kept things short and simple. Still, he didn’t pay much attention to her words. He instead glanced around the room, eyes passing over Lena, who was flopped across a beanbag with her head in her hands, and Reinhardt, who looked downright miserable. He couldn’t blame the guy - he was getting hungry himself.

Last he looked to Hanzo, their eyes catching for a brief moment that ended when Hanzo furrowed his brow and turned away, pointedly not looking in Jesse’s direction again. Jesse’s shoulders rose and fell with a heavy sigh that he tried to conceal behind his hand. His attention was pulled forward once more when he heard Fareeha's words trail off.

She glanced behind herself to the others grimly.

“As for the official status of this mission,” She turned back to Morrison, her expression stone-cool, “ - failed. The attempts to eliminate the target and retrieve contraband were unsuccessful. I suspect a follow-up mission is in order.”

Morrison gave a gruff sigh, his arms dropping to his sides. “Hold on that, Agent Amari. I’ll let you know if you’re going to be reassigned. Otherwise, just stay put.” He finished, before turning to Angela, who was seated off to the side with a tablet in her hands that she was typing away on.  

“Ziegler, I need you to send me the medical reports for -” Morrison began, before he was cut off.

“I am sending them as we speak.” Angela chimed in, before standing and tucking the device away in her lab coat. Morrison smiled, giving her a firm nod.

“You’re dismissed, then.” The words had barely left Morrison’s mouth before Jesse was jumping up to leave with everyone else. He just had to make it a few feet and he’d be scot-free -

“Except for you, McCree.”

Damn it.

Jesse hummed lightly as he dropped back down into his seat, kicking his boots back up onto the table. The projected Morrison took a step closer, and Jesse gulped when he heard the door shut.

“Get your boots off the table, boy.” Morrison bit out, and Jesse couldn’t help the small snort that escaped as he sat up straight, feet planted firmly on the floor.

“Yessir.” Jesse retorted as he settled back, meeting Morrison’s gaze boldly. “How can I help you today?” He said with a hint of sarcasm, pulling his lighter from his pocket.

“You’ve got a failed mission on your hands.” Morrison said firmly, his face stern and unmoving.

“Who doesn’t have a few blunders on their record?” Jesse brought the flame to the end of his cigar, lighting it and inhaling slowly. “I ain’t worried about it.” He said, blowing out a puff of smoke as he pocketed his lighter.

“Not everyone has a count of agent interference amongst those blunders.” Morrison countered, watching closely as Jesse pulled the cigar off his lips, smoke wafting from his open mouth as he gave the older man an incredulous look.

“Agent interference? That’s a good fuckin’ joke.” Jesse responded as anger flared up inside him, and he leaned forward, gesturing to Morrison with his free hand. “I interfered and saved myself and a fellow agent from being crushed to death beneath two tons of reinforced steel and concrete.”

“You screwed up an entire goddamn mission is what you did!” Morrison snapped, his own temper rising to meet that of the other man.

Jesse barked out a bitter laugh, running a metal hand through his hair as he tried to calm himself down. “Have I done enough to warrant a suspension, Jack?” He asked after a moment, brows furrowed. Morrison narrowed his eyes at Jesse’s use of his name, but otherwise ignored it as he crossed his arms.

“No, but you’ve done enough to warrant me being pissed the hell off.” Morrison brought his hands down on whatever was in front of him, a desk mostly likely, hunching over it and glaring at the other man harshly. Jesse inhaled deeply through his nose, ashing his cigar off to the side.      

“That mission report woulda’ been a whole lot more depressin’ if it included the deaths of two of your finest agents.” He added, his tone much lower than it had been.

Morrison was quiet for a long while, his expression unreadable as he watched Jesse. Jesse opened his mouth several times, itching to say more but holding his tongue every time. After a heavy silence and a few puffs of his cigar soothed Jesse’s temper just a bit, Morrison spoke.

“It’s not like I want you dead, Jesse. If anything, I’m relieved every time I hear you haven’t gotten your ass killed just yet.” He began slowly, walking off to the side and leaning against something Jesse couldn’t see. He wasn’t looking at Jesse anymore, his eyes downcast. “ - and it wasn’t what you did. It was why.”

Jesse was silent.

“I caught wind of some rumors, the implications of which were alarming.” Morrison continued vaguely, though Jesse could infer an awful a lot about the direction he was going. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He didn’t like the idea of everyone’s noses being in his personal business, even if he wasn’t the most subtle about his romantic persuasions.

“Whatever your relationship is with Agent Shimada -” Jesse suppressed the sudden embarrassment that came with the mention of the other man’s name, keeping his poker face intact as Morrison continued. “- it cannot be a priority.”

Jesse pursed his lips, looking off to the side as he tapped his cigar, a bit of ash falling onto the table. “You ever thought of checkin’ those sources of yours?” Jesse bluffed, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “ Agent Shimada and I don’t have a damn thing to do with one another.”

As hard as it was to admit, it was still, for the most part, true. It frustrated Jesse, but he didn’t know much about the man aside from a handful of brief and forced late-night conversations in the moonlight, and a few cases of lingering eye contact. Jesse was the only one Hanzo would drink with, and once they’d even played a game of Koi-Koi together (which Jesse had been terrible at) - but most of those exchanges were conducted in silence.

“Angela was very convinced that was not the case.” Morrison countered, one brow arching.

Jesse grunted lightly, smoke drifting from his nostrils as he sank back into the cushions looking a bit indignant. “Was she now.” He muttered beneath his breath, before taking another long drag and blowing it out slowly.

Morrison looked up from the floor, and kept his eyes trained on Jesse for a long while. Jesse didn’t know if it was just the oddness of the projection, but the man didn’t even seem to be looking at him, but rather through him. Like a faintly flickering ghost Morrison stood there for a long time, until his expression hardened.

“I’m not Gabriel, Jesse, and neither are you. We can’t tolerate self-interest -”

Jesse quickly cut him off, nearly bending the cigar between metal fingers as he jerked forward.

“You can’t go comparin’ me to him, Jack.” Jesse insisted, ignoring the slight tug in his chest at the mention of Gabriel. “So the man pulled me by my bootstraps out of the Deadlocks, and taught me a few fancy parlor tricks. You afraid I’m gonna start dressin’ in black leather and blowin’ shit up?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Morrison shook his head. “Just - it won’t be tolerated. You’ve seen what it’s done to us.” His voice was grave and his words struck a rather solemn note between the both of them. Jesse visibly relaxed, the anger draining from his expression.

“I know.” He murmured, putting his cigar out once more and rising to his feet before adding, “We done?” There wasn’t any hostility in his voice, but Jesse was eager to leave.

“You’re dismissed.” Morrison said with a nod. Jesse breathed out heavily, moving to the front of the room to cut off the transmission. His finger was lingering over the button when Morrison’s voice called out once more.

“I’m glad you made it out of there okay, Jesse.” The older man came, giving him a salute as a fond smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Jesse nodded, responding with a lazy salute of his own before pressing the button. The projection cut off immediately with a hiss of static, and the room was empty once more.  

Jesse managed to find his way to the mess hall and scrounge up enough leftovers for a halfway decent meal, but if he were honest, he didn’t have much of an appetite left. He wasn’t angry, but he was dealing with the emotional cocktail from hell and the resulting headache that the day’s events had produced.

He sauntered through the halls, making a note of where everything was in the small fortress. By the time he found his room (or the room he assumed was his because of his leather suitcase being propped up against the door), he was antsy.

His mind was buzzing, uncomfortable as he looked at the bed. He wasn’t tired. Instinctively he reached for a cigar, but the second it touched his lips he decided it wasn’t that, either. He placed it aside on the bedside table, and began stripping down. The small bathroom looked promising, and Jesse reckoned he didn’t smell too nice after what he’d been through today. A hot shower would be nice. Jesse made his way to the shower, turning the knob and letting the water heat up for a moment.

“Boy, you look like hell.” He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror, bringing a hand up to the gash along his cheek. It was a perfect slice, thin and dark red from the scabbing. He let his fingertips graze over it for the umpteenth time that day, remembering just how he’d gotten it.

He recalled the look of fierce concentration on Hanzo’s face, the way his muscles pulled taut as he notched an arrow into his bow and let it loose. The man was so agile, his body moving beneath a yukata that was all but falling off of him, clothing Jesse was dying to pull off to see what else that body could do. It was a dangerous line of thought Jesse was chasing, but the heat was already pooling in his belly as his lower half took interest.

By the time he fell under the hot water Jesse’s mind was far gone, wrapped up in thoughts of the other man as his hands found their way down between his thighs. He stroked himself to full hardness, imagining himself kissing up the bare expanse of Hanzo’s chest and sinking his teeth into the curve of his neck. He wondered if Hanzo would moan out, or if he’d bite his lip to stay quiet.

Jesse’s back pressed against the tiled shower wall, his skin slick from the steam and his cock slicker from the precum that dripped across his fingers. He couldn’t even focus on one specific thing as he jacked himself off, his mind a haze drunk on the thought of being between Hanzo’s thighs, using hands, mouth, cock, anything to coax the moans out of the other man. He wanted to see his strong back forming a gorgeous arc as he groaned Jesse’s name over and over, to see his chest heaving while Jesse fucked him into the mattress hard .

Jesse’s fist moved over his length faster now, pressure building in his groin. It felt wrong, but the image of Hanzo’s face twisting in ecstasy with eyes alight as he came undone beneath him, on top of him, wherever - it was overwhelming. With a bit-off grunt hissed between clenched teeth, Jesse spent himself over his fist.

When the stream of hot water washed the stickiness away down the drain, the only evidence of what had just transpired was Jesse’s reeling head and pounding heart, along with the fucked-up mess of guilt and satisfaction that twisted in his gut.

He sighed, long and drawn-out as he rolled his head forward, letting the hot water soak through his hair and down to his scalp. His mind was spinning and he didn’t open his eyes for a long while, rubbing his face idly until he no longer felt the build-up of grease and grit on his flesh. The water felt good, better than anything else had all day.

Well, almost anything, he thought none too innocently.

When he finally opened his eyes and slicked his hair back, staring into the too-bright lights of the shower, he felt the same sinking feeling in his chest. Like static under his skin he felt restless, and he quickly soaped up his hair.

He finished up in the shower quickly, emerging from the bathroom in a cloud of steam and smelling faintly of pine and cedar. Jesse wasn’t entirely fond of that, and he made a note to bring his own toiletries next time. He didn’t fancy smelling like a damn lumberjack.

While Jesse towel-dried his hair he gave another long glance towards the bed and its neatly made sheets and fluffed pillows. He furrowed his brows as he tossed the towel aside and began rummaging through his suitcase. Despite everything that had happened, sleep was the last thing on his mind. His fingers hesitated over the plain t-shirt he slept in, and when his mechanical hand carded through his wet locks, something dawned on him.

Like an epiphany Jesse grinned, tugging out a fresh button-up and a pair of slacks. He dressed himself quickly, fastening his breastplate and tugging on his boots last. He grabbed the cigar from the bedside table and placed it between his teeth, and went on his way.

It took him a bit of searching around the base, but Jesse quickly found what he was looking for. With a press of his thumb to the biometric reader the metal doors slid back. Athena’s voice greeted him with the familiar, ‘ Welcome, Agent McCree’ , that made him feel all fancy and official each time it happened.

Jesse’s boots clicked against the polished floors of the garage as he strolled past the standard-issue vehicles they were provided on every mission. Amongst the couple of cars, a van, and a powder blue motor scooter with racing stripes that undoubtedly belonged to Lena, if the stickers decorating it were anything to go by, was exactly what Jesse was looking for.

A few floors up, Hanzo inhaled deeply through his nose. He stood outside of Jesse’s closed door, a bottle of whiskey clutched in his hand. He knocked once on the door, and when there was no answer, he tried again.

“McCree.” The man called, his voice gruff. “I brought something you requested and -” Hanzo paused, the words clinging to his tongue stubbornly. He swallowed his pride, forcing them out quickly and all at once. “ - and I wanted to apologize for my earlier. . .”

Hanzo narrowed his eyes as his voice tapered off, his fingers lingering on the doorknob before he threw the door open. His face fell when he was met with the sight of Jesse’s untouched bed. He gritted his teeth, grunting and pulling the door shut harshly. He knew Jesse was undoubtedly in someone’s bed, if his behavior in the medbay that day was anything to go by.

As Hanzo stalked through the halls and back to his own room, the anger in him flooded out until he was left with only a sinking feeling in his chest. When he reached his door he entered quickly and shut it quickly behind him, tossing the bottle of whiskey onto his bed, purposefully forgotten.   

Outside, Jesse smoothed his hands across sleek black metal and paint, smirking in satisfaction as he nudged the motorcycle’s kickstand back with his boot, and powered it up. When he tested it out and the engine revved smoothly, Jesse let out a low whistle. He smoothed his hair back, fitting the helmet over his head and pushing the tinted visor down.

“Alrighty, how ‘bout you take me back to King’s Row?” Jesse muttered, when the screen in front of him lit up briefly with the Overwatch symbol. It faded, and Jesse found his way to the GPS and punched in the coordinates.

The static feeling beneath his skin was replaced by an entirely different fire as he pulled out of the garage. With one last glance at the base he set off for the main highway, tearing through the countryside in a streak of dust and jet black metal, with the clear night sky stretching above him.

.

.

.