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“Are you kidding me!?” shouted Hanzo. “We’re not fine!”
“It’s just what you say!” said McCree, indignant despite the bigger problems they had.
They were up to their knees in cold, roaring water. It was rising by the second, threatening to either fill up the room and drown them or freeze them to death. The clatter as it smashed down from the grate in the ceiling was deafening and echoed on the metal walls.
The smooth, escape-route-less metal walls.
The mission had been going so well, too; Hanzo had eliminated the target precisely and efficiently. McCree had provided cover. They'd crept out, clinging to shadows, as the alarms went off. It had looked like home free, and then they'd entered what McCree decided to affectionately dub “the death death die hallway”.
He'd should have seen it coming, really. Two weird arches? With keypads? Just in the middle of a long corridor?
Pity to get stuck in a death trap as they fled, but McCree honestly couldn't say they didn't deserve it.
He tried to guess the code for the door, again, with no more success than before. He glanced back to find Hanzo glaring at the hole in the ceiling, as though he could somehow shame it into ceasing its torrent.
“Oookay,” said McCree, clenching his teeth together as the screen flashed red with failure once more. “Any ideas?”
“Be very lucky,” said Hanzo.
McCree chuckled. He looked over his shoulder to smile at Hanzo and found that Hanzo hadn't been joking. “Shit,” he murmured.
The water was mid-thigh now for him, and almost at Hanzo’s hips.
He tried another code; it wouldn’t be long now until the water was over the pad. Another failure. Another. Another.
McCree couldn't even try to call in backup (something he loathed to do, but definitely would’ve in this situation). They were too far underground for the communicators to work.
Hanzo waded to his side, arrow in hand. He looked for all the world rather unperturbed by the situation. “I’m going to try and pry the door open,” he said.
“Sure,” said McCree.
“Try to keep dry,” said Hanzo, before plunging under the bubbling water. Yeah he'd just do that then. Stay dry. In the drowny-murder chamber. Full of water. Sure thing, Hanzo.
McCree kept entering codes, keeping one eye on his partner. He couldn’t make out what the archer was doing with the water breaking the image.
Hanzo reappeared with a gasp. He stood, shivering violently. “Not happening,” he said. McCree tugged off his serape and passed it to Hanzo, careful to keep it out of the water. Hanzo took it gratefully, wrapping it around his shoulders. “Cold.”
“No kidding,” said McCree. His toes were numb and the feeling was slowly working its way up his legs. He kept inputting codes; there really wasn’t anything else to be done.
The realization that he was probably about to die came as a shock.
He’d been “probably about to die” a dozen times before, but he’d always been able to fight back somehow. He’d been able to talk or shoot or run his way out of trouble: wits and aim had always been able to save him in the end.
This time, he was blindly entering four-digit passcodes with shaking hands, hoping he somehow guessed the right four digit combination.
What floored him more than the realization that he was about to die was the overwhelming sense of sadness that enveloped him. Suddenly, all of the things he had been planning to do “someday” weighed on his soul.
It seemed unfair to leave the party so early. He has so much unfinished business.
Hanzo leaned against the wall, water up to his waist, entire body soaked, serape wrapped tightly around his shoulders by white-knuckled hands. His eyes were closed. Jesse wondered if he was praying. Now seemed about a good time for that. Or maybe he had hypothermia. That was another solid explanation.
He went back to the keypad and felt disbelief as water rose over it. “Huh,” he said. That seemed inadequate for the emotional cocktail buzzing through his mind, but he was at a loss for how to properly describe and process the terror of oblivion combined with sadness for those he would leave behind and utter disbelief he had somehow lasted this long in a world with too many bullets only to die because of one stupid mistake.
“W-we— ” said Hanzo, dropping his quiver into the water “—are f-f-fucked.”
Frustration made McCree want to cry. He nodded slowly. “That we are, partner.”
Hanzo wriggled Stormbow off his back and let it sink, before quickly folding his arms back over his chest.
Something awful burned in McCree’s stomach as he pulled his hand away from the keypad. There was no use. They hadn’t gotten lucky. They were going to die, and there was nothing either of them could do to stop it.
McCree felt helpless, and angry at himself for all the mistakes he'd made when he was young and dumb. He was mad at the world for forcing him into a life he hadn’t chosen and then taking away everything that had made it still worthwhile. Rage boiled in his cheeks. He'd finally, finally made a life worth living for himself again, and it was all going to be over just like that.
His heart twisted when he thought of Ana and Fareeha. He knew they would be devastated; how they had reacted upon Jack and Gabe’s deaths numbed him deeper than any cold ever could.
He would give anything to see his sister again. For a moment, he considered asking any kindly god who was listening, then quickly decided his guardian angel had probably given up on him long ago.
“Jesse,” said Hanzo. His voice was rough. McCree startled. The water was at his elbows, but on Hanzo, it was creeping over his chest towards his neck.
He waded the two steps, fighting against soggy pants and waterlogged boots, and lifted Hanzo up. Supported by the water, it was nearly effortless. Hanzo breathed a relieved sigh as he escaped some of the frigid drink. Jesse pressed Hanzo’s hips against his body, flesh arm around Hanzo’s waist and prosthetic balancing them against the door. Hanzo stiffly unwrapped his arms to loosely drape them over McCree’s shoulders.
“You okay?” said McCree. The foggy distance in Hanzo’s eyes worried him.
Hanzo huffed a laugh. The corner of McCree's mouth twitched up.
“Yeah, that's fair,” said McCree, appreciating the humour of the question.
Hanzo leaned in and kissed his forehead with lips colder than McCree was used to. “I love you,” said Hanzo.
McCree bit his tongue. “Aw hell sunshine, I love you too.”
Hanzo blushed and McCree despaired at the tears welling in his eyes. “I love you,” repeated Hanzo.
McCree laughed ruefully as Hanzo started to cry silently. He found himself crying right along with him. “I know, I know.”
“It is important that you know,” said Hanzo.
“I do, sweetheart.”
McCree hefted Hanzo higher and Hanzo wrapped his legs around McCree's waist. The water was up to McCree's arms now.
“No one I'd rather spend the rest of my life with,” said McCree.
Hanzo laughed through his tears and leaned down to press their foreheads together.
“You are beautiful,” said Hanzo. His voice was soft with reverence, and McCree had to strain to hear it over the downpour.
McCree hummed and pushed his forehead up into Hanzo’s. Hanzo gripped the back of his shirt tightly.
Maybe the worst part of it all was that Hanzo was going to die too, and it was all gonna be his fault.
Suddenly, the door shot up. McCree's prosthetic scrapped against it and he was thrown off balance, still holding tightly to Hanzo, as water rushed to fill the empty space behind it.
McCree held Hanzo with both arms and Hanzo buried his face in his neck. They were washed down the hallway by the wave; in seconds, it was over.
McCree lay on his back, with Hanzo on top of him. Hanzo pushed himself up with shaky arms and McCree loosened his grip to let him move.
The water was running benignly down the hallway now, pooling into a drain. McCree shivered in the air conditioned air.
Hanzo blinked slowly, watching with mouth agape. “My idea worked,” he said. The two of them locked eyes and exchanged a long moment of awe before scrambling to their feet.
“We have to move,” said McCree. As fast as they could with numb hands and even number toes, they grabbed Stormbow and the quiver and ran.
Who knew why or how they'd gotten out of there, but McCree wasn't gonna look a gift horse in the mouth. They'd gotten lucky; holy fuck they'd gotten lucky. A dizzying euphoria enveloped him. Hanzo got the bow settled in his hand and McCree passed him an arrow.
“Can you shoot?” he asked. Hanzo’s hands were still quaking, and his balance was much poorer than usual. McCree occasionally found himself reaching out to offer a marginally steadier hand.
Hanzo puffed. “I guess we'll find out.”
Surprisingly, they made it through the rest of the compound without incident; perhaps they were assumed dead in the Titanic-finale-reenactment chamber.
As soon as they were on ground level McCree called for extraction. Lena quipped something, but he honestly didn’t care enough to listen.
They raced out a back door, across the water-parched lawn, through a gate (McCree shot the lock open) and then into the woods surrounding the outer wall. Two minutes later and the transport was in sight.
Lena took off the second they were up the ramp. It rattled and shook, throwing them to the ground, as she rocketed them off.
“You two are late!” she shouted from the open cockpit.
“We were picking up a story!” said McCree.
“Yes,” said Hanzo, matter-of-factly. “We almost died.”
Lena grumbled something they couldn't hear.
Hanzo rolled onto his back, apparently completely against the idea of getting up off the floor. He heaved breaths and rubbed his hands over his eyes.
McCree grabbed blankets and towels from one of the compartments and tossed them over. Hanzo gratefully bundled up.
McCree sat beside him, wrapping a blanket around both of their shoulders. Hanzo reached out and twined their fingers together.
“I should come up with the plan more often.”
McCree laughed, then leaned over to kiss his cheek. “Not a chance in hell, sweetheart.”