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Mccree’s arm twinges again. The place where the metal prosthetic connects to his nerves has been in knots all day due to the intense training simulations the team have been doing. They’ve just finished their last simulated operation, and everyone is covered in sweat and exhausted. Even Angela’s pseudo-wings are whirring and clicking, in need of maintenance.
As soon as Winston gives them a quick ‘Thanks’ for the work they’re doing everyone breaks off for the showers, or the kitchen in the case of the Junkers who seem unperturbed by the sweat and grime coating them. McCree doesn’t understand it and heads to the showers.
Everyone is loud…well…Reinhardt is loud as he sits on the bench of the men’s locker room, his hearty voice discussing the failed covert operation simulation. Torbjorn remarks that it’s because of Reinhardt calling, “Come out you bastards, I’ll fight the lot of you!” to the simulated soldiers that they failed. Reinhardt just laughs in response and McCree laughs with him until his arm twinges again.
He stifles a pained grunt before drying off, dressing and making his way to the nearest door to the Gibraltar air hoping a cigarillo will relax his muscles, still too amped up from the simulations to bother taking it easy and massaging the cramped muscle.
As soon as he makes it outside he sighs in relief and pulls out his lighter, snapping it open as he digs in his pockets for a cigarillo. He pats his thighs, searching the generic Overwatch sweats he put on, and then it dawns on him that he smoked his last one after breakfast. He groans before kicking a rock, attempting to knock it off the cliff and at least get some relief from the tension hanging in his shoulders.
The only problem is, McCree was never any good at soccer and the rock goes askew as it arcs into the air before it lands on the other side of the wall to Torbjorn’s garden. It’s landing is accompanied by a synthetic ‘Ow!’ and McCree’s body instinctively moves to run back into the base, years of pulling pranks on Gabriel with Genji ingraining his body with the instinct to run. But Zenyatta’s shiny head pops over the wall before McCree can get a foot in the doorway and the cheery omnic voice stills him as he turns, trying to look as not-guilty as possible.
“Oh, McCree!” There’s a smile in the voice and McCree didn’t think there was a sole on the team that disliked Zenyatta. Well…Junkrat and Roadhog did try to scrap him. And Zarya never shields him. At least Torbjorn has begun getting along with the monk, bonding over the vegetable garden. McCree shoves his hands in his pocket, fiddling with the lighter absent mindedly.
“Ah Zen, didn’t see ye there!” He rubs the back of the neck, briefly hoping the Omnic thinks a bird dropped it or something. Then he sees the monk lift up the rock, so McCree can see it over the wall, tilting his head in what everyone understood as a smile.
“I believe you dropped something.”
God McCree hoped the cliff collapsed and the sea swallowed him whole.
“Yeah sorry about that, don’t think I’ll make the major leagues.” He chuckles and Zenyatta moves around the edge of the wooden wall.
“Kicking rocks isn’t great for your feet, Jesse.” McCree gives a weak smile. “You also seem very tense. Is there anything I can do to help?” McCree waves his hand.
“Nah, don’t worry about it, just amped up from the training. Might just go to the gym till it’s out of my system.” His arm twinges as if to contradict him.
“More exertion will only make you tenser Jesse. Come.” And Zenyatta turns, waving a hand for McCree to follow him and McCree does, any plan of escaping and working out till midnight in the gym gone.
He rounds the corner of the garden wall and sees Zenyatta hovering about the carrot leaves and cabbages. Their rows marked by the seed packets on a stick. That was D.Va’s doing. McCree stands awkwardly next to the vegetable patch before Zenyatta seems to remember McCree can’t just levitate and that his steps aren’t as light as Genji’s.
“Apologies.” He says brightly as he hovers back next to McCree, between the cliff’s edge and the upturned soil of the garden. McCree can see the small scratches and dents that mar Zenyatta’s shiny exterior. He imagines one of the dents to have been caused by the rock he kicked, and he pointedly stares out at the relatively calm sea. He acted like a kid having a tantrum.
“You are being very hard on yourself.” The synthetic voice cuts across his thoughts and he blinks down at where Zenyatta hovers next to him, focusing on the slits on his face as the blue dots flicker on Zenyatta’s head. The monk tilts his head again in a smile.
“I am not reading your thoughts Jesse, do not worry. You are simply very easy to read when you are upset.” McCree’s cheeks burn and he feels even more childish, that earns a bright laugh from Zenyatta.
“My apologies again. I did not mean to offend. Genji is just as easy to read, even with his mask, do not think you are alone in that matter.” McCree wishes he had his hat to pull down to hide his face.
“How’re we making me less tense, Zen?” McCree changes the subject from himself, looking at the garden while Zenyatta continues to stare up at him.
“Ah! We are going to do some calming stretches and meditation.” Zenyatta clasps his metal hands together. They clack quietly as the orbs orbiting his neck quickly cycle around his neck and relax again. McCree just stares at Zenyatta. When the omnic just stares back McCree rubs his neck again.
“Ah sorry Boss, not sure how you managed to get Genji to get into mediation and slow down but I ain’t one for just sitting around and doin’ nothin’ for a few hours.” McCree turns to head back to his original plan of the gym, his arm wound tight and sore when Zenyatta reaches out to his wrist, his slender, metal fingers firmly restraining McCree’s human hand.
“Then we will simply do some stretches. I do believe this will benefit you Jesse. Your late nights at the gym have become somewhat disruptive to the other members of Overwatch and I’d like to help.” That’s news to McCree and now he’s embarrassed that his inability to just turn off and relax is something of an unkept secret. He wasn’t even like this in Blackwatch.
“Alright, but if I end up pullin’ somethin’ you have to answer to Angela.” The laugh that peels out of Zenyatta has him gripping his sides and kicking his feet and McCree’s face feels hot again so he pretends to scratch his face to hide his red cheeks.
“I will take full responsibility!” Zenyatta then plants his feet on the ground and stands. McCree suddenly feels very uncomfortable because it’s his first time seeing Zenyatta standing and he’s only a couple of inches shorter than McCree and just looks like an average omnic dude when he isn’t floating around shooting steel balls at people’s head at 130mph. The monk then moves to McCree, pulling and prodding and guiding until he has McCree in a grounded, wide stance.
“You should remove your prosthetic for now.” McCree hesitates a moment, unconsciously checking their surroundings. ‘We’re safe. We’re at the base,’ he thinks before beginning to undo the straps attaching the prosthetic to what is left of his left arm. The nerve-connectors come off easy enough, but McCree’s arm is still cramped so his face twinges as he moves his stump.
Zenyatta’s cold, slender hands come up and he talks McCree through some simple stretches. They’re familiar to McCree from when he first lost his arm and soon they fall into a rhythm. Zenyatta begins mirroring McCree’s poses as they stretch out all of his muscles. McCree remarks about why Zenyatta needs to stretch and he replies by “Would you rather I simply sit and stare at you?” McCree chuckles before flexing and mimicking Zarya’s voice as he says her favourite line when the team get into show-off competitions, “Velcome to ze gunshow!” Zenyatta breaks from his elegant, balanced pose where his orbs had fanned out around them, doubling over and gripping his non-existent stomach and kicking his feet in the air as he laughs again. It’s a very pretty noise, his laugh.
McCree starts to imitate Reinhardt, still flexing but more ostentatiously and soon they begin imitating other members, Zenyatta often incorporating his transcendent arms, his imitation of Genji having McCree doubled over laughing. Zenyatta gives a transcendent arm a fist bump at getting McCree laughing hard enough to hack up a lung. McCree coughs and straightens up and their laughter trails off, McCree’s hand now on Zenyatta’s shoulder after using him for support when he was bowled over by his laugh. They’re very close and McCree thinks he can see his reflection in Zenyatta’s face but he’s busy looking at his eyes. Zenyatta’s head tilts slightly and McCree opens his mouth to say something but they’re both interrupted by a heavy Russian voice.
“Dinners ready.” McCree straightens up and Zenyatta leans sideways to poke his head around McCree to see Zarya standing at the edge of the garden, by the wall. Her muscular arms are crossed in front of her chest and there’s the possibility she heard their little improv. McCree’s busy willing himself to turn into a tree so Zenyatta replies, “We’ll be right there Aleksandra, thank you for coming out to tell us.” He tilts his head in a smile but Zarya simply points two fingers at her eyes and back at him before unfolding her arms and heading back inside.
McCree breathes out a sigh of relief as he hears the door close.
“She’s definitely going to forget to shield me in the next simulation.” He pouts for a moment before realising how relaxed he feels, all tension out of his body. He tests his left arm and there’s no responding twinge. He smiles and looks to Zenyatta who’s head is tilted back at him. McCree blushes.
“Uh,” he rubs the back of his neck as he reaches for his prosthetic where he set it on the ground, “Thanks a lot for helpin’ me out. I needed that.” His body feels comfortably exhausted as Zenyatta rests his hands on his lap while he hovers close to McCree.
“If you ever need help doing stretches again, I’m happy to help. Laughter is also a great stress reliever and I would like to thank you for helping me. I have been somewhat tense myself since Genji and I arrived. I feel a little out of my depth.” The confession has McCree almost a little glad for kicking a rock at Zenyatta and keeping the omnic company because of it. He hopes they can do it again…maybe without the rock next time.
“Anytime partner. C’mon, let’s get some grub!” He slaps a hand on Zenyatta’s back and Zenyatta doesn’t protest when it rests there through the trek to the canteen. In turn, McCree doesn’t notice the whirring of Zenyatta’s internal fans as they speed up ever so slightly.