Chapter Text
Cole sighs contently, watching as two shot glasses, a bottle of Four Roses bourbon and an ashtray are placed down on the coffee table. “Thanks, Wilson.”
“Anytime, Cole.”
Cole tips his hat, watching the old bartender hobble away. He's aged so much since Cole's last stop through six months ago, and he doesn’t look like he’ll have much longer.
“You are sure it is safe here?” Hanzo asks, voice hushed, despite being in the backroom and away from the general public.
“This little bar has been my safe house for the last five years,” Cole says, sadness tinged in his words. Soon enough he'll have to find somewhere new.
Sighing, Cole reaches inside his jacket pocket, pulling out two cigars and offering one to Hanzo.
Hanzo takes it, holding it between his fingers as he analyses the label. “Cuban,” he says, glancing at Cole.
“Only the best.”
Hanzo smiles, and Cole notes that this is the first time he looks genuinely happy. There's no snark behind the smile, no scorn, just joy.
It suits him.
Cole pulls his cigar cutter and lighter from his pocket, cutting the tip of his cigar. “Wilson won’t rat us out, don’t you worry,” he says, handing the cutter over to Hanzo.
“How do you know him?”
Cole hums, lighting the cigar, puffing to ignite the end. He closes his eyes and sits back in the armchair; there's absolutely nothing better than a good cigar after a successful mission. Exhaling and opening his eyes again, he settles on a smirking Hanzo.
“What?”
“You were going to tell me about how you met Wilson,” he says, holding his hand out again.
“Right,” Cole murmurs, handing over the lighter. “Used this as a pit stop five years back, it was after a bad hunt. Ended up with broken ribs that day…” Cole trails off, watching Hanzo light up.
Hanzo is clearly no stranger to cigars, holding it expertly between thumb and forefinger, taking quick puffs to ignite the end. But it's the way his lips wrap around the cigar that leaves Cole feeling a little hot under the collar.
When Hanzo snaps the lighter shut, Cole's freed from his stupor. He lowers his head so the brim of his hat hides his face and his bright red cheeks given how warm he feels right now. He busies himself, pouring the bourbon as slow as possible without making it look obvious that he is stalling for time.
“So you had broken ribs?” Hanzo prompts.
“Yeah,” Cole replies, setting the bottle down and looking Hanzo in the eye.
Hanzo raises an eyebrow, and Cole knows this is it, that he was caught staring and Hanzo's about to rub it in his face. “And you chose to sit at a bar nursing those injuries?”
Taking a mental sigh of relief, Cole picks up his glass and sits back in his seat. “Sitting at a bar is resting.”
“It is a miracle you are still alive,” Hanzo replies flatly.
“Count my lucky stars every damn day,” Cole says with a wink.
“So what happened?” Hanzo asks, reaching for his glass. “I assume you did not find yourself in this arrangement out of the goodness of his heart.”
“Naw," Cole says, puffing on his cigar. "It was late and a couple of kids came in. The kind of ones who you can look at and immediately tell they're trouble. They pulled a gun on Wilson, threatened to kill him if he didn't hand over all his cash.” Cole sighs, looking at the alcohol in his glass. “So I do what any good citizen would do.”
“You killed them.”
Cole frowns, meeting Hanzo’s gaze. “What? No. They were kids. Twenty years old at most.”
“Adults entered this establishment and threatened the owner at gunpoint. If I had been here they would have left in body bags.”
“You're—” Cole snaps his mouth shut when Hanzo smirks. It seems Hanzo has a dark sense of humour, and Cole loves it. “You are one sadistic son of a bitch, you know that.”
“So what did you do, Sheriff?”
“Sheriff?” Cole chuckles, grinning wide when Hanzo winks. Hanzo’s actually a funny, decent guy. A bit of a flirt, incredibly competent, has impressive skills, is handsome—Cole has to shake his head to break himself from his thoughts. “So," he says slowly, dragging out the word as he picks up his glass, "I walk up to the bar, they tell me not so nicely to mind my own business and leave. It takes me all of five seconds to disarm the both of ‘em. A couple minutes after that the cops arrive and take them away.”
“I take it back. If you could disarm two people in under five seconds with broken ribs, they must have been children.”
“Told you,” Cole says grinning. He puffs on his cigar, exhales and looks at the glowing end. “Wasn't the first time those kids took advantage of Wilson, but it sure as shit was the last. Wilson offered me free booze for life and a place to lay low if I ever needed it. I refused, of course, but he insisted, and I can tell you, the old coot doesn't take no for an answer.”
“I can hear you,” Wilson says, poking his head in. “I might be on my last legs but I ain't deaf.”
Cole huffs a laugh, raising his glass in toast before downing the lot. Wilson brushes him off with the wave of his hand before continuing on with his business.
“So,” Hanzo starts, pouring the bourbon into his glass, then in Cole's when he sets it down. “What is the chip for.”
“It’s an activation chip.” Cole places the cigar between his teeth, reaching into his pocket for the case. He places it down on the table and opens it. “Her name’s Echo. She’s been locked up in deep storage since her maker was killed in an attack to retrieve her." To this day, Cole still feels the icy cold stab of anger and sorrow that came in the aftermath of the attack. He might have been ordered to protect Echo but he was protecting Mina too and seeing her lifeless body amongst the rubble broke him.
Cole takes a deep puff of his cigar. They say time heals all wounds, but there are some that'll never close. Exhaling slowly and watching the smoke rise to the ceiling, Cole lets that anger and sorrow melt away. "Overwatch deemed Echo a liability and she was shut down after that. Despite being an Overwatch asset, Blackwatch had the means to keep that chip hidden to prevent another attack. She was never reactivated, because not long after everything fell apart.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Coming on ten years now.”
Hanzo hums, taking a sip of his bourbon. “What does she do?”
“Everything. She can teleport right into a hot zone, provide shields, administer healing and fight back all at the same time. She was adaptive, she had the ability to learn on the fly, but she was experimental. Although she never made it out on a real mission she was ready. If she’d been able to get out there, the world would be a better place.” Cole sighs heavily. “But they locked her up, and she hasn’t seen the light of day since.” He picks up his glass, downs the lot and pours himself more. “They need her. She’ll get it all up and running. She can protect them.”
Hanzo leans back in his seat, puffs on his cigar. “A noble cause.”
“Certainly is.”
“And do you have plans to follow her?”
“Naw,” Cole replies, shaking his head. He picks up his glass. “They don’t need me.”
“I would beg to differ.”
Cole pulls the glass from his mouth, his eyes snap to meet Hanzo's. He cannot help but smile. “Oh?”
“Your knowledge obtained from Blackwatch alone would be incredibly vital to them. Considering they would be acting illegally, you have the skills to ensure they are covert.”
“True,” Cole breathes. There is a truth there, but since Genji's said yes, they have that knowledge already.
More proof that they don't need him.
“What about you?” Cole asks. “You know how to run a business. I’m sure you’ve got leadership potential, too.”
Hanzo smirks dangerously, bringing his glass up to his mouth. “And be tied to a desk, instead of out here, living and breathing? I do not think so.” He downs the lot and doesn’t even wince. Seems he can hold his liquor.
Cigars, booze, looks, and a sense of humour—Hanzo’s the complete package.
Shelving his thirsty thoughts for the moment, Cole picks up the bottle of bourbon. “That’s exactly why I refused,” he says, pouring Hanzo more. “They don’t need leaders yet. They need people who can rebuild it. That ain’t me.”
“Nor I.”
Cole meets Hanzo's gaze. “So you’re not going to follow Genji, then?”
“I—” Hanzo snaps his mouth shut and sits back in his seat. “It is probably not wise that we spend too much time in the same space together,” he says quietly. “Not yet, anyway.”
Cole knows he's probably about to walk into a minefield, but he's hoping Hanzo will talk, coming off the back of playful banter. “How do you feel about him reaching out?”
Hanzo is silent for a long time, his gaze shifting from Cole to his drink on the table. His face is neutral though, there is no wrinkling of his nose, no narrowing of his eyes, and Cole can’t tell what kind of mood he’s in. When he crosses his arms, tapping a finger on his bicep, Cole can tell that he’s thinking hard, probably at war with himself and choosing his words carefully.
“It’ll stay between us,” Cole says quietly, and Hanzo looks back at him again. “If you’re worried that whatever you say about Genji or your reasons for turning him down will get back to him, don’t. I’m not a snitch.” When Hanzo frowns, Cole holds up his right hand, before pressing it to his chest. “Scout’s honour.”
“Another time, perhaps.”
Cole smiles sympathetically and nods. “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be right here. I know we didn’t exactly get off on the right foot, but know that you don’t have to face this alone.”
Hanzo’s frown darkens, and Cole can see the storm brewing behind his eyes. “You would help me, even though you are emotionally vested in Genji? You said it yourself, you saw the aftermath. You saw what I did to him first hand. Why would you help me?”
It’s just like Genji said: Cole lowered one wall and was treated to Hanzo’s playful side, and all of a sudden another is raised, completely blocking him out. Given what Cole knows about Hanzo, about how he was essentially manipulated to do harm to Genji, it makes sense for him to question help, question friendship, question genuine acts of kindness because the last time he thought someone had his best interests at heart, it got his brother killed.
Cole isn’t angered or put off by the sudden change in attitude. It makes sense, and responding with anything other than kindness would do so much more harm than good.
“‘Cause despite it all,” Cole says, smiling softly, “Genji loves you. And if I can help in any way to rebuild your relationship, I want to.”
The frown doesn’t drop from Hanzo’s face, and Cole inhales and exhales slowly.
“I get it,” Cole continues, “you don’t trust me. If the roles were reversed, I wouldn’t trust me either. But I do want to help you.”
After a long, intense stare down, Hanzo relaxes, dropping his head. “Thank you,” he says, barely a whisper, but Cole catches it.
“No problem,” Cole replies, nodding when he meets Hanzo’s gaze. Hanzo looks at his drink, picking up his glass and taking a long, slow sip.
“Besides,” Cole says jovially when Hanzo places his glass down, an attempt to clear the tense air, “since you’ve become my shadow, I’ve found I enjoy your company.”
Hanzo barks a laugh and smiles wide, and Cole knows he’ll be okay. “I am not your shadow,” he states.
“I’m convinced you've been following me since New York.”
“I told you that Jeff contacted me and sent me to Seattle. I have no idea what you did in San Antonio. Or in Europe.” Hanzo smirks dangerously, and Cole cannot help but smirk back.
“You’re a fan, huh?”
“I have been enamoured by the musings of Joel Morricone for a long time. Seeing him in person at that café in New York was exciting. Realising it was you, Cole Cassidy, with that sizable bounty on your head brazenly hiding in plain sight? I was impressed.”
“Thanks,” Cole replies confidently. He holds up his glass in toast and Hanzo clinks his against Cole’s before taking a sip. “Can’t say I’ve ever met a fan before. Didn’t think I had any, honestly.”
“You have a way with words,” Hanzo replies. “You draw people in using sounds and smells, creating more than a just mere image in one's mind.”
“Thank you,” Cole says, a little more reserved. He's sure he's blushing, no one's ever complimented him on his writing before.
Hanzo bows his head and leans back into the couch. He has that same mischievous little glint in his eye from earlier, a small upwards quirk in his lips. It really does suit him, better than that flat stare he gives. This look shows off his cheekbones which are about as sharp as his personality.
Cole's expecting Hanzo to land a backhand, and he waits in eager anticipation for it. But as the silence only grows, Hanzo just leers at him from over the top of his glass like a predator sizing up their prey, before taking another long, slow sip.
“So,” Cole says, breaking Hanzo out of whatever thoughts he was having, “there’s another part to this mission, if you’re interested.”
“Retrieving Echo?”
Cole nods. “Dangerous, too. More dangerous than we just faced.”
There’s that smirk again, and Cole already knows he’s agreed to it. “How dangerous?” Hanzo asks despite it.
“Going to con some old friends to do the dirty part, then I'll swoop in and take Echo. They’ll resist, but I’ll make it work.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Was thinking you could use those sharp eyes of yours to keep an eye on the situation from afar. This is something I need to do alone, but having you watching my back? It’ll be a load off my mind.”
Hanzo holds out his glass again, and Cole clinks his against it, finishing the lot.
“And I was thinking, after that,” Cole places his glass down, “we could work together.”
Hanzo's eyes snap to meet Cole's. “Partners?”
“Yeah. Can you imagine it? The two of us, the world’s most dangerous duo putting the scum behind bars.” Cole smiles. “I’ve been working alone for too long, and working with someone—with you—has been a nice change. You can't deny that we have synergy.” He extends his hand. “So what do you say, partner?”
Hanzo looks at Cole’s hand and takes it. His grip is strong, and his hand lingers there, longer than necessary, not that Cole is complaining. When Hanzo looks back, he is grinning from ear to ear. “Partner. Partners in crime.”
Cole chuckles. "'Partners in crime? I like that."
Hanzo finally pulls his hand away, and Cole feels a little twinge in his gut. He has an overwhelming urge to reach out and grab Hanzo's hand again, hold it in his and weave their fingers together.
Burying that thought for the moment—it's something he can think about when not sitting in the backroom of a bar with the man in question—he busies himself, reaching into his pocket and relighting his cigar, taking a deep puff.
Exhaling, he looks at Hanzo and winks. “Well then, we better go. We’ve got a plane to catch.”