Chapter Text
It’s past midnight by the time the party eventually peters out. Mei is the first to take her leave. Hanzo and Genji follow shortly after. There’s a moment of regret when Jesse notices the brothers get up, of having missed his chance to strike up another conversation with Hanzo, maybe even take if further than that. But then, after having bid his goodnights to the rest of the team, Hanzo meets his eye with a small bow of his head, and the feeling dissipates into thin air. Hanzo’s expression is nothing but open and confident, the subtle nod an assurance that there are plenty more opportunities to come.
One by one, the others filter out of the kitchen to find their way back to their dorms until only Fareeha, Jesse and Jack are left.
“You don’t have to do this.” Fareeha hides a yawn behind her hand.
Jesse smiles as he picks up a few more empty glasses from the coffee table and carries them back to the kitchen counter where stacks of dirty dishes are already waiting. It’s an old argument, and an old tradition, one that Jesse hasn’t held up for years but plans to stick to tonight. They have high-tech dishwashers and sanitizers with inbuilt drying functions that take less than ten minutes to deal with far bigger mountains of greasy pots and pans, but Jesse has always liked the homeliness of doing the dishes the old-fashioned way. It gives his hands something to do at the end of the night while his mind has a chance to cool down from the emotional high that comes with having a good time with people who genuinely care about each other. And it’s far more sensible than going for a smoke with that nice bottle of whiskey still waiting for him next to the case of cigars on the table.
“I know I don’t,” he says. “Still doing it.” He is quick to take another stack of plates from her when she sways sleep-drunkenly towards him. “It’s been a good night. Thanks for this ‘lil shindig.”
“Don’t thank me,” she says around another yawn. “’t was Jack’s idea, not mine.”
“Pardon?” Jesse raises an eyebrow and throws a glance at Jack.
Jack still sits where he sat all night, and Jesse has a hard time remembering if the man has moved at all. From behind his visor, because the bastard still can’t see shit without the damn thing despite Angela’s best efforts, Jack is looking right back at him, as stone-cold sober as he was at the start of the evening.
A tired but honest smile appears on Jack’s face as he pushes himself up from his chair. “I’ll help Jesse finish up. Go to bed, Reeha.”
“Only if you two promise not to fight,” Fareeha says. Before Jesse can get over his surprise to hear Jack call her by the name usually only used by himself or her mother, she has skillfully relieved him of his gun once more.
“Hey.” Jesse tries to catch her, but she dances away from him, a lot more deftly than she ought to in her state.
She winks at him, grinning just like old times. “I’ll take good care of her, I promise.” She clutches Peacekeeper to her chest like a cat that got the candy and backs away towards the door. “She’ll be in your room waiting for you. Goodnight, Gentlemen.”
“Night kid,” Jack says, much too fondly. He picks up the last couple of plates from the table and makes his way over to Jesse. “You okay doing the washing up?” He slips the plates into the sink and pulls a towel from the cupboard.
Jesse stares at him, not quite open-mouthed, but it’s close enough. Jack fucking Morrison, who has perhaps felt just as raw and vulnerable as Jesse did over the past few weeks and hasn’t even as much as looked at him for the last few days, is offering to do the dishes with him. Has organized a damn party for him. If Jesse didn’t know any better, he could even be fooled into believing that Jack actually cares.
He stops himself. He does know better. It’s been a damn long time since he’s seen this side of Jack, but he does know it’s there. It’s a rare thing, one that not many know about and even fewer have ever witnessed. Jesse has. He has also been at the receiving end of it once before, the night after the complete clusterfuck that was Rialto. The situation might have been different, but Jesse reckons their emotions must have been much the same. Both of them questioning the actions of the one person they thought they knew. Both of them conflicted between what their heads are telling them and what their hearts want to believe.
Jack clears his throat and nods towards the sink, and Jesse remembers himself.
“Yeah, sure.” He tucks a few unruly strands of hair behind his ear and takes the sponge and fishes the first plate out of the soapy dishwater. He quickly washes it off before handing it over to Jack. “Uhm. And thank you for arranging all this tonight. I had a great time.”
Jack chuckles as he takes the plate, the wrinkles around his eyes peeking out from behind the edges of his visor. “It sure looked like it.”
Jesse huffs. Of course, Jack’s thinking of Jesse’s little display with Hanzo. And who can blame him? It’s been on Jesse’s mind, too, and will most likely make for a few more whispered conversations among the other agents for a good few days. He can’t say he minds. He doesn’t regret a thing. If anything, Hanzo’s kiss probably taught him a thing or two about what he really wants to happen between the two of them.
This thing between him and Jack, though, he’s not so sure about. They have a lot more in common these days, be it having their faces printed on a most-wanted poster, appreciating the luxury of having Angela on base to tend to all their countless battle scars, or their shared anger at Gabe. It still hasn’t turned them into friends, and Jesse doubts it ever will.
They fall into an easy rhythm. Jesse washes and rinses, Jack dries up and puts everything where it belongs. It’s an odd quid pro quo that feels familiar and strange at the same time. Falling back into military mode when tasked with something mundanely repetitive, they make quick work of the mountain of dishes, and Jesse feels a hint of disappointment. Jack’s presence isn’t unpleasant, but the sooner they finish up, the sooner Jesse will have to return to his room, and he isn’t quite ready to let go of the blissful afterglow he’s been bathing in since Hanzo climbed off his lap earlier.
“Why the party, Jack?” The question is out before his mind can even consider vetoing it.
Jack keeps his eyes on the cutlery he’s drying, one piece at a time, before dropping them into the drawer. “You needed a little pick-me-up after that stunt Gabe pulled. So did I.”
“You could say that,” Jesse grumbles and grabs the last plate, scrubbing it with more rigor than strictly necessary. He tries not to let the admission affect his mood, but to no avail. With a sigh, he lets the plate slide back into the water where it hits the bottom of the sink with a muted clunk. “Why?” He braces himself against the counter. Between them, they could probably spend hours speculating about Reaper’s intention and what Gabe has turned into, but Jesse’s not one to gossip, and neither is Jack. Nor are they particularly good at talking to each other, so even to start a conversation, let alone one like this, doesn’t come easily. “What’s he got to gain?”
Jack steps closer than he has dared to for years but doesn’t look at him. Instead, he reaches past Jesse’s arm and pulls the abandoned plate from the soapy water. “I don’t know.” He sounds resigned but not angry as he continues his tasks of drying up with the same determination with which he tackles everything else he does. “I haven’t exactly the best track record understanding what goes on in that man’s head.” His hands still. He turns and frowns at Jesse. “Not everything we do for someone else has to have a gain. You know that, right?”
Jesse swallows. Of course, he does. But when has that ever applied to him? To them? They’re here to do a job; their relationships exist because people with an even worse résumé than theirs will always thrive for more money, more weapons, more power to control them all. He can be charming all right, but ultimately, Jesse’s here because of his skills with a gun. That’s why Gabe picked him all those years ago.
“Jesse.” Jack puts down the plate and reaches out to squeeze his shoulder. “You know that, right?”
Jesse is glad he can’t see Jack’s eyes. He’s even more grateful when the sound of the kitchen door opening stops his train of thought and with it whatever painful revelation was just about to break his measly brain, and possibly his heart. They both turn to look at the new arrival.
Hanzo stops just inside the door, narrowing his eyes as they flicker from Jack to Jesse and back to Jack. His hair is tied up, and he’s still wearing the same white t-shirt from earlier, only having swapped his jeans for a pair of sweatpants. Jesse smiles when he notices the pair of flip-flops Hanzo’s wearing.
Jack’s face hardens, but he gives Jesse’s shoulder another light squeeze before he drops his hand. “I’ll leave you to it.” He folds his towel into a precise square and places it on the counter before making his way over to the table to pick up his tablet.
Hanzo meets him as they both round the end of the table, and Jack stops him with a hand on his chest. Hanzo looks down at Jack’s hand with such disgust it almost rivals his outrage at Lena asking him to eat one of her marmite sandwiches.
“Fraternizing with your fellow teammates is against the rules, Agent Shimada,” Jack says, voice low. “I would’ve thought you, of all people, would be a stickler for those rules.”
Hanzo slowly lifts his head and raises that unimpressed eyebrow Jesse has become very fond of over the last few months. No matter how much he respects Jack for what he’s done for him tonight, he can’t help but enjoy Hanzo’s petulance and the disdain with which he looks at the old commander.
“It may have been in the rulebook when you were in charge, Agent Morrison,” Hanzo says. “But I can assure you, it is not in the rulebook Winston transmitted to my device when I joined this organization.”
Jesse smirks. If Jack wants to get a rise out of Hanzo, he clearly needs to try harder.
Jack stares at Hanzo, then removes his hand from Hanzo’s chest with an exaggerated sigh. “Pot, meet kettle. Insufferable, the both of you.” With a last shake of his head, he steps around Hanzo and walks out of the room.
Hanzo watches him until the door has firmly shut behind him before he turns back towards Jesse. “I was hoping you would still be here.” He seems cautious when he approaches, but there’s a small quirk at the corner of his mouth. “I am glad you are.”
“So am I.” Jesse grins and pulls the plug from the sink to let the water drain. “What do I owe the pleasure to?”
“Genji, as a matter of fact.” Hanzo stops a few feet away from him, close enough for them to reach out and touch, if they were so inclined, but far enough to show he won’t invade Jesse’s space without being invited in.
“Genji?” Jesse frowns. He busies himself with wiping down the counter and hopes, for his own good, that Genji hasn’t spilled more about how rocky their relationship once was during Genji’s earlier days with Blackwatch.
Hanzo doesn’t reply straight away. He looks away, eyes lingering on the chair Jesse’s been sitting on all evening, and Jesse mentally prepares himself for whatever will get thrown his way next. He doesn’t have to wait for long, as Hanzo smiles and meets his gaze. “He is of the opinion that some things should not be left hanging. Those are his words, not mine.”
Jesse barks a laugh. “I bet they are.”
“And I agree with him.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Jesse chuckles, relieved. “But since when do you take advice from your brother? Did something happen?” He nudges Hanzo playfully with his elbow, determined to make clear that he means no malice.
Thankfully, Hanzo is still smiling. He studies his feet, then Jack’s neatly folded towel left behind on the counter. He appears somewhat lost in his thoughts when he reaches for the towel and wipes over a spot Jesse has missed. “I am trying to trust his wisdom. He has always been far better at seeing things for what they are instead of what we make them seem to be.”
Jesse watches as Hanzo unfolds and refolds the towel before placing it back on the counter. He doesn’t seem quite finished yet, so Jesse waits him out.
“Genji has always been wise beyond his years,” Hanzo continues. “It was me who took a long time to see it.” When he looks back at Jesse, his expression is sincere but untroubled. “It is not always easy, but I am glad he has forgiven me.”
“Me too,” Jesse says quietly. Jack’s words from earlier echo through his head. He wonders if he’ll ever be able to forgive Gabe. Genji makes it look easy, but Jesse isn’t Genji.
“Apologies, I did not come here to bring down the mood,” Hanzo says.
Jesse’s grateful for the diversion. As much as he wants to hear Hanzo’s side of the story, and maybe share some of his own past with him, he feels a little out of his depth after the evening they’ve had. He’s delighted when he notices a hint of a smile play on Hanzo’s lips.
“I came to ask if you would care to join me in the practice range tomorrow morning?” Hanzo asks.
Jesse can’t stop the grin spreading over his own face. “I’d love to.”
“Very well.” Hanzo nods. He clears his throat and steps forward, and Jesse turns naturally, more than happy to have Hanzo so close once more. They’re definitely close enough to touch now, and Jesse knows what’s coming when Hanzo lifts one hand. He hesitates, and Jesse holds his breath. “May I?”
“You most certainly may,” Jesse says. He gently tugs at Hanzo’s shirt and pulls him in.
Hanzo comes willingly. He leans up and finishes the aborted movement to cup Jesse’s cheek, fingertips running through Jesse’s beard before they settle in the soft hair at the nape of his neck. The kiss is chaste, a simple press of Hanzo’s lips against his own, but the promise for more is there all the same. Jesse pulls Hanzo against his chest, and Hanzo doesn’t pull away. It feels almost too innocent for two guys like them, but also so damn right in the way they come together so easily. Who would’ve thought?
It’s Hanzo who eventually breaks the kiss, who lets his hand glide down Jesse’s neck, and then his arm, before it falls away. “Goodnight, Jesse McCree,” he says, and Jesse can’t quite take his eyes of the small upward curve on Hanzo’s lips.
“Goodnight, darlin’.”
Hanzo huffs a quiet laugh, and Jesse almost stops him when he turns to leave but restrains himself. There’s no rush. They have time. No need to force it.
“I will be at the range at seven hundred sharp tomorrow morning.” Hanzo smirks at him over his shoulder.
“Wait, what? Are you serious? I can’t be going shooting that early. I’ll still be half-hangover.”
Hanzo chuckles. “Punishment for shooting at my brother that ‘one time’. And I have seen you shoot Torbjörn’s bots with considerably more alcohol in your blood than you have now. Don’t be late, cowboy.”
“Huh.” It’s all Jesse’s mind comes up with as he tries to figure out where Hanzo might have hidden when he was wreaking havoc amongst the bots. He draws a blank and runs out of time to come up with another excuse when the door slides shut behind Hanzo. “Well, he ain’t wrong there,” he says to himself. And truth be told, who’d want to find an excuse after an invitation like that. Certainly not him.
It’s six months later when Jesse learns the dragons’ names.
It’s a straight-forward recon mission. One of Winston’s contacts has been reporting an increase of activity at Shanghai’s old Pudong Airport. It’s been over three decades since any flights have landed or taken off from its runways, its counters and gates long lost to vegetation and decay ever since the Omnics overran the airport during the Crisis. Fallen and rusting bastion units litter the baggage halls and walkways, and other than a few security guards employed by the Chinese government to keep watch over the place, no one ever really shows up there anymore. Or at least didn’t until recently.
They take Bastion, because for some reason he knows the nearby nature reserve like the back of his hand. Ana and Hanzo are drafted in for long-range surveillance, while Jesse and Lena make up the ground force.
With Bastion’s help they find easy cover in concealed passages and gangways to sniff out the old terminals without being discovered themselves. It doesn’t take them long to figure out what’s happening when the first black Talon dropship lands only a day into their mission, and then every day after.
What they don’t expect is the chaos that breaks out on the fourth day. At first it looks like the Chinese security guards are at the receiving end of some kind of deal, unloading pallet after pallet of cylinders and unmarked tanks, storing them diligently in one of the hangars. At the end of each exchange, a large envelope is handed to one of the Talon men, and then the dropship is off again, disappearing as swiftly as it arrived. Only on the fourth day, there is no envelope, and an argument ensues. Shots are fire, and then the first cylinder blows up. Then another and with it the rest of the building.
The shockwave rips Jesse off his feet and swallows his voice and his cry for Hanzo. Hanzo’s on the roof, and as Jesse hits the ground, he can only watch Hanzo losing his foothold, arms flailing through the air, as the building crumbles underneath him. Then Hanzo disappears into a cloud of rubble and smoke, a flash of blue lightning the last thing Jesse sees before the air around him turns into dust as well.
A current of heat shoots through him, his arms burning as if he’s touched a live wire. All care to remain undiscovered is forgotten. He’s back on his feet and racing towards the hangar. He barks Hanzo’s name into the comm, and so does Ana from somewhere else, but no one replies. The silence on the other side is deafening, no crackling, no interference. Just the numbing muteness that comes with the pressure of a blast. Or a blown-up comm. Hell, Jesse hopes it’s the former.
“Agent Shimada is alive,” Athena suddenly announces, and the air rushes back into Jesse’s lungs.
He rounds a pile of rubble that’s still shifting, and there Hanzo is, surrounded by concrete and pieces of corrugated roof. One of his legs is trapped up to his thigh, but his attempt to pull himself free is futile. He twists this way and that way, sluggish and disoriented. Jesse’s never seen him so out of it, and he’s not sure Hanzo recognizes him when Jesse grabs him by his shoulders.
“Stop moving,” Jesse growls and takes Hanzo’s face between his hands, forcing him to look at him. “You’ll lose your leg if you don’t stop.” There’s no way on earth they’ll get out of this without help.
Hanzo stills, eyes wide but unfocused. They flicker away, then back to Jesse and away again. There’s blood oozing from a cut in Hanzo’s hairline and a streak of scrapes across the left side of his face. His jacket is shredded in places, but the armor underneath seems to have prevented the worst. Hanzo sways. His eyelids flutter.
“Hey, hey.” Jesse tightens his hold and gives him a little shake. “Look at me, darlin’. You have to stay awake, okay? Stay with me.” He quickly taps his earpiece. “Ana, I’ve got him. Might need a strong hand to get us outta here, but he’s breathing.” Hanzo scrunches his nose at him, dark eyebrows drawing together. “And grumpy.”
Another tank explodes, and Jesse throws himself over Hanzo, trying to protect him from the shower of debris that rains down on them. He winces when a large stone crunches against his shoulder while Hanzo pushes and kicks underneath him.
“We’ve got visual.” Ana’s voice comes through the comm. “Bastion’s on his way.”
The dust settles, and Jesse looks up. They’re no worse off than before. Hanzo’s leg is still trapped and there’s some shooting and shouting going on somewhere to their left, but at least with the extra rubble surrounding them, they’ve gained some cover. He steadies Hanzo with one hand and readies Peacekeeper with the other. He just hopes that Bastion gets to them sooner rather than later.
It’s then, on that woeful pile of rubble at the corner of the hangar, with Hanzo on the verge of passing out, that the spirits emerge from Hanzo’s arm and whisper their names into Jesse’s consciousness.
It’s like nothing Jesse has ever experienced, a forceful sensation that tingles on his skin and rings in his ears. And even though Jesse wouldn’t have a clue how to repeat the string of sounds he has just heard, he knows immediately that he won’t ever have to. He’s been entrusted with something that resides beyond the realms of the living, something that doesn’t need words to be spoken out loud to make him understand. An emotion that, once known, cannot be forgotten. A secret only entrusted to the ones Hanzo is willing to give his heart to.
Jesse hangs on to that as his own heart thumps hard against his ribcage. He grips Hanzo tight while Peacekeeper and the two shimmering spirits stand guard over them. It doesn’t take Bastion long to find them, but Jesse thinks he might have just lived through the longest few minutes of his life.
Hours later, on their way back to Gibraltar, Jesse also learns that Hanzo takes to being strapped to a medical bed just as well as he does to being trapped under a concrete boulder. Which is to say, even under the influence of pain medication and sedatives, the bastard is still strong enough to give Jesse a black eye for his efforts to calm him down. But he also discovers that all it takes to stop Hanzo’s rant and resistance is three words. Three words that have been sitting heavy on Jesse’s mind for weeks and finally roll of his tongue as if they were always meant to.
The End