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Jesse really hated protection missions. Sneaky ones where he was forced to play lookout even more so.
Oh, he knew he could be one sneaky S.O.B when he wanted to – Reyes had made sure of that. Undercover and stealth missions were no issue. Give him a week and he could get everything he needed to become Benny Diaz, a humble travel agent from Houston, or Neil Elliot, a freelance writer from Scottsdale. Give him a month and you’d lose all track of Jesse McCree completely.
No, he hated them for a different reason entirely. To him, these sorts of secret protection operations were just excessive. They were practically begging for something to go ass-up. Too many things that could and would go wrong, too many moving parts, too much planning, too many rules, code names, procedures, back-up plans. They were too busy in theory to ever work the way they were intended to, and it was far too easy for one well-placed enemy to come and muck up all of their hard work in one fell swoop.
Jesse shifted with his back against the cold ledge of the rooftop, watching as the archer on his right remained focused on the tall building ahead of them. It was one of those luxury hotels, full of high-end folks and other fancy-dos with far too much money in his opinion, and too few of them actually doing anything good with it. They were predictable to him. So predictable, in fact, he figured he didn’t need to turn around to see what was happening; he remembered well enough how the party looked from their angle above the penthouse balcony. The lights from inside the pool illuminated it to a bright cyan, and there were clusters of people in neon clothing dancing about in a way that made him even dizzier than he already was. He would never say out loud, but there was a reason he preferred to sticking to low ground, emphasis on ‘low’.
Besides, watching for people was the archer’s duty anyways. He was just here as backup for the guy. Functionally dead-weight until someone shoots or gets shot at.
Thumbing the side of the cheap cigarette pack he had snagged before they were stationed up on the roof in his hands, McCree grumbled as he debated storing it away for later. It had been a couple of hours since his last smoke, but he knew the moment he tried to light one up, Shimada would be on his ass in a heartbeat.
‘His name is Hanzo , he is my brother, and he’s trying. Please remember at least one of those things, McCree.’ Genji’s words echoed in his mind as he pulled out a cigarette from his pocket after all and began digging around for his lighter.
“I will not say it a third time, gunslinger.” Shimada’s voice was terse yet his eyes did not waver from the party below, shoulders and arms still firmly locked in place. Ready to shoot at a moment’s notice. “If you end up giving away our position wi-“
“Oh, would’ya get off my ass already? It’s… God,” The screen of his personal device lit up for a brief moment. 12:42 AM. “It’s almost 1 in the mornin’ an’ not a single goddamn person has shown up to ruin that there lil’ shindig, Talon or otherwise. Worst thing we’ve seen happen all night is dumb shits fallin’ into the pool ‘r puking over the side of the buildin’, an’ even then it’s ‘cause they’re drunk off their asses.”
Shimada’s brow furrowed even more. “That does not mean we are free to do as we so wish, as hard as that might be for you to understand.”
“Yeah, well, as hard as it might be for you to understand, I don’t give a shit.”
McCree placed the cigarette between his lips, ignoring the small noise of disdain the archer made as he flicked his lighter twice, a small flame igniting the end in an instant. He inhaled deeply, but was forced to sit up in an instant at the disgustingly bitter taste in his mouth and began to cough deeply a moment later. Glaring at the offending cigarette in hand, he groaned and pinched the lit end of it with his left. Stale. Fucking perfect. Just what he needed right now.
Out of the corner of his eyes, he swore he saw that man smirk at him. He shifted his glare to him in return. “Step off.”
“I didn’t said anything.” That smirk was still on his face. The familial resemblance between he and Genji at this point was uncanny.
“Don’t really matter much none when you’re thinkin’ loud enough.”
The smirk faded at that and he refocused his gaze on the party. “Focus on the mission, McCree.”
“Bite me, Shimada.”
McCree could handle bad cigarettes, the chilling heights, annoying missions he’d rather not be on, and the hard-ass beside him individually. Hell, he could probably handle two of those at the same time and walk away only mildly inconvenienced. All those things together at once, however, was a different story.
Silence fell between the two of them once more. Well, as much silence as one could muster given their current proximity to the blaring music on the rooftop below theirs. The gunslinger felt exhausted just thinking about all the younger folks down there, dancing and swimming without a care in the world. As if they didn’t have a sniper trained on them at this very moment.
“Way I see it, we either got shit intel to begin with, ‘r someone out there’s just messin’ with us.” He finally said after some time. His hat tipped down slightly as he let out a deep chuckle. “Then again, with our luck, reckon it could be a mix of both.”
The other man said nothing, but Jesse could see the grip around the bow in his hands relax slightly for the first time since they were stationed up on the roof. Quiet blanketed them once again, but it didn’t last nearly as long as before. And to this very day, Jesse McCree could not figure out for the life of him what had prompted him to say what he said next.
“Ever have a bird shit on you while you were takin’ aim?”
There was a pause, and an awkward-ass one at that. One where he wasn’t sure if the guy was done with his bullshit, or what. He also wasn’t sure which he’d prefer it to be at this point, given that the man still held his bow in hand, the arrows tucked away safely in their quiver doing nothing to settle his nerves.
“I am hesitant to even ask why you want to know.” His voice was even, surprisingly, though McCree could see the slight twitch in his brow that showed the man’s confusion, and possible interest.
“No reason. You mentioned before you were a mercenary-”
“Assassin.”
He rolled his eyes. “Same difference. Anyways, got me thinkin’ you’re used’ta sittin’ ‘round like this, like one of them gargoyle statue things. Those things see all sorts o’ bird shit. So I’mma ask you again, Shimada: you ever get shit on?”
A disgruntled sigh escaped the archer’s lips, and his eyes remained on the party, never wavering in the slightest. “No. No bird has ever shit on me while I was aiming my bow.”.
Jesse bit back a groan of annoyance, figuring that was the end of that attempt at a simple, civil interaction. Leave it to Shimada to ruin a perfectly good conversation.
"I have, however, had a dog imagine I was a poor substitute for a fire hydrant once in the past.”
“Wait… what?” The gunslinger sat up straight against the parapet of the roof at that. Had he heard right? He stared at the man intently, his eyes scanning the other’s face for any signs of bullshit. Hanzo Shimada was no fool, though, and McCree knew he had been trained to school his expressions, suppress any sort of emotions that would betray him.
That motherfucker had the biggest shit-eating smirk he had ever seen in his life.
McCree felt a bubble of laughter rise up from his chest and he leaned over to nudge the man’s leg. “You lil’ shit! An’ here I was thinkin’ the great Hanzo Shimada had no sense of humor!” He settled down back against the parapet, but the smirk on his face remained as he looked up at Shimada. “Alright, wise-ass, here’s another one for you: farthest fella you think you can hit from here?”
He watched Hanzo’s hardened eyes flicker, probably evaluating his options. “Hm. The woman to the far right near the balcony door. Obnoxious yellow dress.”
McCree craned his neck over the half-wall, fighting back a wave of vertigo at the visual reminder of how high up they were in order to see the one he was talking about. It took a few more pointers - “The one with the ponytail?” “No, behind her. She is walking towards the pool now.”- before he finally spotted the girl in the crowd. Jesse let out a low whistle in admiration. The range alone was impressive, but he was even more taken aback by the fact that the archer claimed he could even see that far without the use of any sort of fancy scopes or lenses. He didn’t doubt the man’s proficiency with his bow, but a reminder of his skills every now and again never hurt.
“That far, huh? An’ that’s without them fancy dragons of yours?”
“It is hardly a difficult shot. Her outfit alone makes her an easy target.” Shimada’s intense stare shifted for the first time that night over to look down at the man to his left, and Jesse fidgeted under his gaze. “You remarked earlier you believe we have been mislead.”
McCree laughed dryly. “Wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened. Back when Overwatch actually meant somethin’ to people, we’d get called to, well, watch over parties like this. You know how some rich folk like to show off trophies or those weird jeweled eggs, right? Well, then there’s some that like to show off all the fancy an’ important friends they have. War vets, diplomats, bankers, you name it. Former commander of mine once tol’ me it was a power-play, some kind o’ psychological bullshit.” He shrugged. “I jus’ thought they were all bein’ a bunch’a pretentious ass-clowns.”
He heard Hanzo shift in place and the sound of him setting down his bow against the parapet. “It is interesting that you say ‘we’ when referring to Overwatch. I was under the impression you had been part of another division entirely.”
There was no hint of malice in his voice, but the gunslinger still stiffened and tugged down the brim of his hat. Figured he would know about Blackwatch, seeing how he and Genji had been speaking more often lately. He held mixed feelings towards that portion of his past, the good times and the bad had become hard to distinguish between these days, and the archer’s observation only served to make his skin prickle up something fierce.
That rabbit hole was one he’d prefer not to go down at this very second.
“We’ve always been ‘we’, regardless of station.” He chewed on his next words like cud. Their turn in conversation certainly tasted the part in his mouth. “I dunno ‘bout you, archer, but think I’m done with all this mission talk. Find that it gets mighty dull if we ain’t doin’ nothin’ neither.”
Hanzo said nothing, which Jesse had come to understand that it was his way of either agreeing, or him not finding anything to disagree with in a statement.
Rubbing his chin, his lips quirked up into a half-smile. The party was beginning to die down, as evidenced by the transition from blaring techno house music to the older classic rock songs that he knew folks like Lúcio and Hana would poke fun at him for enjoying. What could he say? He was an old soul at heart, if his style said anything about himself.
By that logic, Shimada was probably in the same boat, right?
“Hey, Shimada, humor me: favorite classic rock song? An’ don’t you go ‘bout givin’ me that uppity bullshit ‘bout you not havin’ one; everyone’s got a favorite or two.”
Hanzo scoffed, though Jesse did not miss how his posture softened until he was resting his arms across the roof parapet. This was probably the most relaxed he had ever seen the man since they had met months ago, but there was still this note of stiffness, or possibly wariness, to the archer’s form that refused to go away. It reminded him of his first month or two after joining Blackwatch. He remembered sleeping with his back to a wall across from the door, and his gun in his hand, ready to shoot the first sign of a threat that walked in.
“You are quick to judge as usual, gunslinger.” The venom normally coating that ever-so-loving nickname Hanzo referred to him as was muted. Jesse swore he saw a smile on the man’s mouth for a split second. “I may have spent ten years in isolation, but I did not spend them in complete silence.”
He shrugged. “Never said you did. Just didn’t know what your taste was in music.”
“Hm.” Hanzo turned his head up in thought. “The name of the song escapes me currently; it has been some time since I last heard it. However, I can recall a few of the lyrics.”
“Well, that’s somethin’. Might be able to help you jog your memory. Two heads ‘re better than one, an’ all.” He couldn’t help but smirk. “Won’t make you sing it this time, but next time I just might.”
“I doubt there will be a need for a next time.” For a moment, though, Shimada looked as though he really was debating singing the lyrics or not. “Pink champagne on ice… I remember that line particularly well for whatever reason.”
“Wait, wait, wait, are you serious, Shimada?” McCree tilted his hat upwards to look at the man properly, a look of pure disbelief written across his face as he let out a chuckle. “You seriously tellin’ me you forgot Hotel California?”
“I thought I had made it quite clear it has been some time since I have last heard the song, McCree.”
“That ain’t no excuse for forgettin’ the Eagles! No one forgets the Eagles! ‘Least I thought so up until now, that is. You keep surprisin’ me in all the strangest ways, Shimada!”
“I am beginning to regret answering your ridiculous questions.”
McCree’s chuckles turned into a full-out laughing fit at how he could just hear embarrassment in Hanzo’s voice. That combined with the man’s reddened face and attempt at a glare had him have to take deep breaths to steady himself again. Forget being relaxed, this was the most emotions he had seen from the archer since he had arrived at Gibraltar!
“Aw, didn’t mean to ruffle your feathers there, Hanzo.” He stood and leaned against the edge next to the other, feeling his legs beginning to stiffen and ache from sitting down for too long. As silence fell over them yet again, Jesse tried his best not to focus on the height of his surroundings, instead sing-humming the aforementioned song.
“ On a dark desert highway, cool whip in my hair-”
“Wind.”
The sudden voice from his side caught him off-guard. “Come again?”
“Wind. The lyric is ‘cool wind in my hair’.”
Jesse chewed on his bottom lip. “...shit, really?”
“...Please tell me you are not about to say you genuinely thought they were singing about whipped cream in their hair.”
There was a pause that Jesse was sure said something along the lines of, ‘I genuinely thought they were singing about whipped cream on their hair’. That’s when the laughing started.
Hanzo’s hand flew up to his mouth, as if to feebly hide the smirk that was plastered to his face, but it was all in vain as he began to crack, his body shaking as he tried to contain his laughter. When it became too much to hold back, his hand dropped from his mouth to grip his stomach, his head flew back, and that’s when the real laughter began. Sure, McCree had heard the man scoff, chuckle, and even laugh heartily in the past, usually because of something Genji said to him in a hushed tone.
Nothing in the world, however, could have possibly prepared him for the little snorts that accompanied the laughter that spilled out of Hanzo. A sound he couldn’t help but find utterly endearing.
His face grew far too hot all of a sudden and he scratched at his cheek nervously. “Shucks…”
Shimada - no, Hanzo recovered from his fit after a short while, wiped a few tears from his eyes, and righted his posture, his once-jolly smile slowly but surely morphing back into his trademark stare-scowl combo, though it held a new softness to it that Jesse had not seen before.
Clearing his throat, McCree spared a glance down towards the bow that rested between the two of them, in an attempt to find something else to talk about that wouldn’t end with his own embarrassment.
“Got ‘nother one of those ridiculous questions you love so much.”
“Get on with it, cowboy.”
The gunslinger smiled. “You know, that ain’t nearly as much of an insult than you think it is, archer.”
“Referring to me merely as ‘archer’ could hardly constitute as a compliment in that same line of logic.”
“Well, then I guess we’re at an impasse there.”
Hanzo grunted. “Did you have a question or not?”
“Hm. Thought you sniper folk were supposed to be the patient type.” When the man said nothing afterwards, out of spite or otherwise, he took that as his cue to continue. “You an’ I’ve taken down a number of sorry-lookin’ folks over the years, right? An’ some of them like to eek out a few last words as they’re dyin’, kind’a like a last minute ‘fuck you, too’. What’s the dumbest thing someone’s ever said ‘fore you killed ‘em?”
“You ask the strangest questions.” Hanzo chuckled, his hand lightly resting atop the upper limb of his bow. “I was once contracted to kill someone who made himself an enemy of my clan.The task itself was child’s play, target practice at best. When I found myself face to face with the man, my arrow pointed at his throat, he looked at me and asked,” The archer looked at him with a confused look, most likely mocking the man in the story. “ Is that a bow and arrow?
McCree barked out a hearty guffaw. “I’d ask what was goin’ through his head, but I think the answer’d be ‘your arrow’.” That earned him another snicker from his companion. “Hm. Think I got a bit of a doozy of one myself.”
“Do you now?”
“Listen, I don’t think I have to tell you that I didn’t get as old as I am doin’ what I do without havin’ a few stories under my belt.” He ignored the eye roll he earned at that. “Dunno if you’ve heard this one before from your bro, so stop me if you have.”
McCree paused to think on the story, feeling strangely intent on not getting any of it wrong as he relayed it to Hanzo. “So, few years back ‘fore shit went to even more shit, I’m on a mission with Genji an’ a couple others in La Mesa. Small lil’ place in New Mexico by the border, doesn’t really see much action normally, but a few Deadlock folks decided that it was the best place to set up shop. We go in t’ do our job, smoke ‘em out, keep the peace. The usual.”
He decided not to comment on the pair of eyes he felt on him as he spoke.
“Anyways, we stop ‘em an’ we’re goin’ ‘round arrestin’ who we can, an’ killin’ the ones who fight back. ‘Bout an hour ‘r so in, Genji ‘n I find this lil’ squirrely-lookin’ fella who’s givin’ us a real run for our money. We pin ‘im down at this abandoned gas station place, an’ right then, he just gets this cocky look on his face ‘fore he looks up at me an’ says, ‘What’re you gonna do, shoot me?’”
“...So did you shoot him?”
Now it was McCree’s turn to roll his eyes. “‘Course I shot the bastard. Emptied a whole round in his sorry ass. Made sure I kicked ‘im in the nuts ‘fore I did, though.”
“Hm. I can understand your aggravation. Although, I am curious: why did you kick him?”
‘Ah, well…” McCree dropped his gaze, his hat obscuring part of his view of Hanzo. “Might’ve left out the part ‘bout him callin’ Genji a ‘bucket o’ bolts’.”
Hanzo visibly straightened up at that. “I see.” The archer’s hand around the limb of the bow tightened its grip. “Genji told me of this mission once before, but never mentioned that man. I… commend you for your loyalty in that case, as well as your restraint in the matter. It is shameful to admit, but I do not believe I would have been so kind.”
Jesse smirked. “Hell, seein’ what them there dragons y’all summon can do to a man, I don’t doubt it in the slightest, darlin’.” The pet name slipped out of his mouth before he could even process it fully, and the flush of his cheeks was certainly back again. His mind began to race a mile a minute, trying to find something to say to cover up what he had said, or anything really . But there was nothing.
And just like that, they were back to square one: the dreaded awkward silence. McCree turned to face the rooftop entrance while Hanzo turned his gaze down towards the party once more. Sparing a few glances over his shoulder, he saw there were fewer lights on in the building as a whole, and the lights in and strung up around the pool were out. Few people were still actually out on the balcony, and even fewer that were up and moving.
“If…. If you were to lose one of your senses forever, which would you choose?”
McCree turned his head slowly to the side. “...Beg your pardon?”
“Am I not allowed to ask ridiculous questions as well?” Hanzo smiled wryly. “That hardly seems fair.”
The gunslinger’s remaining embarrassment seemed to dissipate at the return of their mostly lighthearted banter. Familiarity was good. He could do ‘familiar’.
“An’ jus' when have you known me to play fair, Shimada?” He leaned his head back to look up at the deep navy sky, unsure if the twinkling of lights were actual stars, satellites, or just illusions caused by the light pollution in the city, even this late at night. “One sense to get rid of, huh? That’s an easy one: smell.”
“Smell?” Hanzo tilted his head towards him slightly. “Even knowing our sense of smell is heavily tied to our strongest memories?”
“Eeyup.” McCree enunciated, popping his lips on the ‘p’. “Take away my sight, an’ I’m out of a job for good. ‘m too handsy to wanna give up touch. Hearin’ I might be able to handle if signin’ wasn’t so goddamn hard. An’ I’ve got too many good food memories to ever consider givin’ up taste.” He kept it to himself that the biggest reason was that everything these days reeked of blood to him, and to be rid of that would be a real dream come true. Then again, judging by how Hanzo nodded and hummed in response to his reasoning, it seemed that he didn’t need to mention it after all.
The silence that sat with them this time held no awkwardness to it, instead feeling… light? Comfortable? He wasn’t sure what word he would use to describe the mood, but it wasn’t unpleasant like it had been before.
Folding his arms across his chest under his serape, he felt the need for a decent cigarette return. Hanzo must have seen him debating reaching for the stale pack in his pocket because he heard the rustling of fabric, then saw a shape being offered to him out of the corner of his eye. Rectangular. A pack of cigarettes, half-empty from what he could see, and clasped in a strong-looking hand.
McCree looked back and forth between the outstretched hand and the owner, who only raised his eyebrow at him. When he could glean nothing from the archer’s expression, or lack thereof, he decided not to look this gift horse in the mouth and tugged out a cigarette for himself, watching as Hanzo did the same as well as procure a lighter from a pouch at his side. He was further surprised when the man proceeded to hand him the lighter first.
“...Thank you kindly, partner.” Jesse tipped his hat with a half-smile, wasting no time in lighting his cigarette before he passed the lighter back. He brought the stick to his lips, breathing in deeply as smoke once again flooded his lungs and wrapped his inside in a warm blanket, exhaling with a lingering sigh. Hanzo mimicked his movements, his chest expanding as he drew in a deep breath, and nostrils flaring as smoke blew out in thick plumes.
Jus’ like a dragon, McCree mused to himself.
And as they stood at the edge of the rooftop, watching as the party came to a close, the difference between the awkward silences and the comfortable ones was forgotten as they silently agreed to just let the quiet hang above them like the smoke from their cigarettes.