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It happens in the morning.
Jesse's in the middle of shaving. The straight razor in his hand winks in the light as he drags it up along the lines of his throat and jaw with practiced ease, pausing only to occasionally rinse away foam gathered at the edge. His reflection in the mirror proves that the bruising on his face has faded to little more than a wash beneath his eyes. He's not sure whether or not his nose looks any different, though; he'd gotten it broken more than once before he'd even started running with gangs, and can't remember a time where it was ever truly straight, but he thinks it's… almost straight, now.
Mostly?
As he finishes he begins to whistle a nameless tune, or something close to it. He turns his head to one side.
Maybe.
Then he's turning his head to the other side, then down and up, trying to find an angle where the damage is obvious and finding that he's unsure. It's only out of curiosity that he's searching so hard, trying to figure out if Genji socking him in the face has made the awry curve to it worse (or somehow better), or maybe it's whatever magic Angela worked on it that's left him with such a subtle change. Regardless, he's not so conceited that he'd beat himself up over a crooked nose, anyway.
He's moving to put his razor away when he finally catches sight of it. He raises a hand up to his head, pulls fingers through the loose strands of his hair and —
His whistling stops abruptly.
"Aw, hell," he says to the strip of gray that's peeking out on the side of his head, just behind his ear. For a while he stares at it, uncomprehending, then is stunned at himself for not noticing sooner. How tired has he been, really?
It isn't the first time Jesse's had to fight this particular battle, but it's also not the kind he can fight with a gun in his hand, which means he's not exactly over the moon about it. Moreover, it's much more gray than he's ever had before, nearly white in some spots. He mutters to himself while he grabs the offending hair, then pulls it this way and that, trying to get a better look. He realizes quickly that not only is it traitorous, it's stubborn as hell, too. No matter how he tries to smooth it down or tuck it away, it's glaring in the mass of dark brown. Thinking back, it had been quite some since he last got his hair cut.
His eyes slide over to the knife he keeps beside his bed.
In all, the impromptu attempt at cutting his own hair takes maybe five minutes. He starts with the gray hairs, which he simply slices away without a second thought. The rest he divides into sections, eyeballing with relative success. He can't quite get the knife to cut straight across, which is fine, as the length is more or less how he intends it to be until he ventures around back. He can't really see, even when he turns and cranes his neck, so he gathers up a fistfull and saws the knife through where he supposes an inch would be from the back of his head.
He stares at himself for all of twenty seconds before making a desperate call for help.
"It isn't terrible," Amari says when Jesse shows up at her quarters, hiding her mouth behind her hand.
Hatless and huffy, Jesse only scrunches up his face. "You say it like that, I ain't overly inclined to believe you."
Amari laughs and sits him down in front of her own mirror. With her tools waiting on the counter, she examines Jesse's hair and asks with an indignant, teasing edge, what in the world have you done to it? Jesse thinks about lying and saying something like the scissors he'd used hadn't been sharp enough (nope), or that he'd gotten a concussion recently and couldn't see straight when cutting it (more plausible), but finally owns up.
"Got that nice knife I keep in my drawer," he explains while she begins to run a brush through his hair, causing the rough ends to stick out every which way. "Figured I was due for a trim."
"Is that right?"
He pops the p when he replies with, "Yuuup."
The brush tugs extra hard through a knot and Jesse works his jaw, head tilting to follow it in an attempt to keep it from yanking what's left of his hair out. Amari swats at him until he quits and then plucks lightly at some strands he can't see.
"It has nothing to do with this gray streak I've found?" she says, sly.
She's not even looking at the spot that he'd found the gray earlier, which makes him frown. She holds a smaller hand mirror up to the back of his head to reveal several gray streaks that are happy, no doubt, to be unearthed by his hack job.
Jesse sighs.
"I think it looks distinguished," Amari tells him, a sparkle to her eye as she brandishes the scissors.
"That's 'cause you pull it off," he gripes.
"He isn't wrong," says neither of them.
They both glance up to the open bathroom door where Reyes is now leaning, having arrived at some point or another without announcing himself or otherwise having materialized out of thin fucking air. He waves casually then tucks his hand back into his hoodie's front pocket before pushing off from the wall to step into the bathroom proper. It's only just spacious enough for the three of them; if Amari didn't have the fancy quarters given to her for her position in Overwatch, they'd be far more cramped.
(Meanwhile, Jesse's bathroom doesn't even have a shower, though he's not about to whine about that now.)
"Here I was thinkin' your office went and ate you," Jesse says to Reyes, grinning.
"Wouldn't that be a way to go."
"With you, I would not be surprised," Amari chimes in, pointing the scissors towards the commander accusingly. "You treat that office like your own personal prison."
"The decor isn't my style," Reyes agrees without missing a beat.
She huffs, light and amused. "That it isn't."
The first few cuts made in Jesse's hair are small, but then Amari seems to find what she wants to do and snips enough off that Jesse whistles low, the sound bouncing off the walls and tile. He watches his hair flutter to the bathroom floor in chunks. He's vaguely concerned — not worried about what she'll do to his hair, but more like what she can really salvage of it. It gotten a touch more out of hand than just a simple fix for going gray at twenty-eight.
"You used to wear it shorter," Reyes says thoughtfully.
Jesse turns his head reflexively towards him to reply and gets Amari's disapproving tut in response before she forces him to look back towards the mirror, fighting a grin. "Started growin' it out more last year, I guess. Been back and forth enough lately that I never got the chance to fix it since."
"And now you're bothering the captain here for it?"
"I used to do Fareeha's hair, this is nothing," Amari says, tolerant. She narrows her eyes at Gabriel then, raising a single, sharp brow. "You are just as overdue as Jesse."
"It was a joke," Reyes grouses. He tugs the edges of his beanie more securely around his ears.
Amari finishes up, somehow managing to fix up all the rough edges of whatever awful, torturous thing Jesse had done to his hair, letting the length stay only just cropped enough not to appear overly styled. Jesse runs fingers through the front of it, not displeased.
"Hey, this ain't half bad," he decides.
Amari trades the scissors out for clippers, the ensuing buzz soft even in the relatively tiny space of the bathroom. "What were you expecting?" she asks.
"Uh." Jesse drops his hand from his hair, half-sheepish. "I dunno, really. Somethin' regulation?"
"When has anyone ever made you go by regulation?" Reyes cuts in, as if appalled at the very idea.
Jesse tries to picture himself in fatigues with his hair reduced to no more than a layer of fuzz against his head and finds the image indecipherable. He just lifts his shoulders up once and lets them drop again, hapless.
"You're welcome," Amari says to him, giving him a light pat.
She finishes off by taking the clippers to the back of his neck, then dusts away as much loose hair as she can with a clean towel.
Reyes regards him. "Looks better than it did before."
Jesse purses his lips, turning his head to the side when Amari motions for it. "That's 'cause I tried to cut it myself."
There's a pause, and then Reyes says, "Uh-huh."
It's not a question, but Jesse still feels like he needs to add more, say something else. Come up with a fake explanation, try to come up with better lies than my scissors sucked or I got a concussion.
He sinks into his seat and turns his head to the other side, side-eyeing Reyes' reflection in the mirror, then looking to Amari. Her expression isn't unkind, but even without saying anything it's clear that she's entertained.
"I got gray hair," Jesse confesses sullenly.
At first there's silence, Amari having clicked off the razor. She looks at Reyes, waiting. Jesse shifts his attention between the both of them, Reyes appearing pensive and Amari simply expectant while she pulls the towel from Jesse's shoulders.
Reyes strokes his chin, fingers roaming across the beard there. "You really that vain, McCree?"
"It ain't that!" Jesse protests.
"Sure." Reyes glances over at Amari, clearly skeptical.
Jesse's not embarrassed, exactly, but he think he's earned the right to be unhappy with the state of his hair. He considers making a hasty escape and eyes the doorway, but Reyes is still too close to it for him to slip out with a rushed goodbye. Amari flicks at hair she'd missed from his shoulders, interrupting his escape plans.
"Ah, if only gray hair was all we had to worry about," she remarks.
Reyes rolls his eyes with a long exhale. "If only."
"'Course you don't gotta worry about it," Jesse says. "Neither of y'all look bad."
"You can't even tell anymore," Amari says to him, certainly sounding as if she's trying to pacify him.
Jesse throws his hands up. "Well, good! I don't want nobody bein' able to tell. Besides, you —" and here he points with an outstretched finger at the Blackwatch commander "— have had the same amount of gray in your hair near as long as I've known you."
Reyes blinks at the finger that's inches away from his face. Jesse doesn't waver.
And finally —
"Thanks," Reyes says, entirely flat and just as dry.
Jesse drops his hand with a lackluster sense of something like a deflated balloon, rubbing at the nape of his naked neck and the trimmed hair there, trying to regain his bearings.
"You're welcome," he replies, sounding as sincere as he possibly can while being entirely taken off-guard. He allows himself another second before he clears his throat, turns his attention to Amari (who looks absolutely like she wants to laugh at the exchange). "For the record, you always do look real nice, ma'am."
He might have left his own hat in his room, but he still mimes like he's tipping one in lieu of the real thing. She smiles at the effort, which is all that really matters.
"If you're looking to pay me in compliments, I'd prefer coffee," Amari says, beginning to walk towards the door. She shuffles Reyes out with her, tossing the rest of her reply over her shoulder: "Angela has told me all about your bribery."
Dismayed, Jesse trails after them. "I ain't done nothing of the sort."
Nobody calls him on it, even though they're all well-aware that he's spouting bullshit. Jesse gives a playful salute on his way out the door.
"McCree," Reyes says.
Jesse waits, looks at him, tilts his head — wanna talk? — and Reyes nods, just once.
"I'll be outside," Jesse tells him as he passes through the threshold but leans back in enough to promise Amari, "I'll bring a coffee by next time."
She rolls her eyes but seems pleased. "I appreciate it, Jesse."
"Anytime, cap'n."