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To say it had been a long day would be an understatement. McCree wasn't superstitious by any means, but at this point, he was sure that today had just been one of those days where the universe tried to rid you of all the bad luck you had accumulated all at once.
Exhibit A: McCree had ended up rushing to get ready for a briefing and in doing so, he ripped a pair of his jeans with his prosthetic after pulling at them too hard. Nevermind the fact the pants were fairly new.
Exhibit B: the sweet life nectar known as coffee that the cowboy needed just to function had, unfortunately, run out by the time he reached the mess hall. Someone had miscalculated how much coffee to make which left McCree with none and no time to make another pot. He instead got some scrambled eggs, put them between toast slices that were surprisingly not burnt (but close), and hurried to meet with Winston and the others.
Exhibit C: Hanzo wasn't going on the recon mission he was assigned and that meant McCree would be away from his boyfriend for a day. This normally wouldn't be an issue, but the archer had just returned last night from a two week mission in China that had required almost absolute radio silence. One night was far from being enough to sustain McCree and his Hanzo fix. A few hours of cuddling wasn't nearly enough, especially not after two weeks apart.
After that, it was a continued downward spiral of bad luck. The eggs from this morning had begun to mess with his stomach, the gunslinger never did get any coffee, at some point Peacekeeper had jammed and needed to be fixed, and don't even get him started on that old woman McCree accidentally bumped into when he decided to look away for a moment. She could put Jack to shame with all her bickering and nitpicking, calling the cowboy all kinds of things until she was finally out of breath. McCree's southern gentleman charm refused to let him be rude to the woman and tell her to shut her trap or just walk away and see if she followed, so he stood there and took it until she decided to end it.
All of that, as well as a few more mishaps following the old woman, is what led McCree to one of the bars in Gibraltar to sit and see if he could drown his bad luck with alcohol. A bad plan in hindsight, but this was his only solution. The gunslinger didn't want to subject anyone to any of his current mood, especially Hanzo, so he figured he'd let the bartender deal with his less than ideal attitude.
Of course, McCree's ideas tend to get away from him, and before he knew it, the man was tipsy and having to deal with his swimming vision. He figured he should stop at this point before the cowboy found himself blackout drunk with a hangover and an angry boyfriend, but apparently someone decided against it.
And by someone, McCree meant the young woman who had just sat next to him at the bar and is not-so-subtly giving him bedroom eyes. She doesn't even give him a chance to say or do anything before she begins chatting him up.
“Gotta say, you're looking quite lonely. Anything on your mind?” McCree knows what she's trying to do since he's done the same thing multiple times while on the run. Go into a bar, locate the saddest person who somewhat meets your standards, and offer them company for a night. McCree can't remember how many times he's done that very thing, allowed himself to drop into bed with some stranger willing to give him a night of human interaction that doesn't end in death or imprisonment, but he knows it's been a while.
And the reason for that is probably waiting in their shared room back at base. Just remembering Hanzo is enough to get McCree's brain in gear, so he begins his response with a small shrug.
“Not really. Just been a long day.” He doesn't really want to outright tell this stranger he's seeing someone (there's the black ops training), so the gunslinger settles for a roundabout way of getting her to give up on him. The woman nods like she understands and takes a sip from the drink McCree never saw her order before she speaks again.
“I know how that feels. I also know know that it isn't nothing a little fun can't fix.” The hint underlying her words isn't lost on the cowboy, but he figures playing dumb might get her to try her luck with someone else, a tactic that's even worked during missions.
“Oh yea? What might that be?” McCree's lack of enthusiasm to figure out her motives might be what makes the woman raise an eyebrow, but the smile she's been wearing the entire time to appear seductive and witty never falls.
“Well, we could go somewhere else. There's plenty of places that can provide a nice distraction. Plenty of people too.” She then crosses her legs at the thighs, her red dress riding a little higher. It's most likely on purpose, a tact to lure McCree in so he'll be curious to see the rest of the body those legs are connected to, but it only succeeds in making the man compare her to Hanzo. She definitely has curves, he'll give her that, but the archer has rippling muscles practically everywhere that pair well with his trim waist.
And McCree has always been a sucker for men who hold so much power, yet treat him with the most delicate touches imaginable just to assure him that they care. This stranger doesn't look like she does delicate and whether it's what McCree wants or not at the moment, those nails of hers might hurt a tad too much.
Welts he can deal with, but the cowboy would rather not take care of bleeding wounds right now.
“Mighty fine offer, but I've been here a little too long. ‘Bout time I start headin’ back home.” McCree catches her quick eye-roll in his peripheral and almost feels sorry for the next man she tries going after if he manages to get away scott-free. If he's getting attitude to this extent while he can still think for himself then he pities the poor sap who gets so drunk he'll do whatever she wants without question.
“Why? Someone waiting at home?” There's the barest hint of venom lacing the woman's words and at this point, McCree couldn't care less if she finds out he's in a relationship. He just wants her gone.
“You could say that.” The gunslinger finishes off his glass before setting a credit chip on the counter for the bartender to take for a moment. He'll unfortunately have to wait a bit as the money to pay for his drinks is removed and that allows the stranger to speak a little more.
“Then why are you here in a bar? She doesn't treat you well?” At this point, McCree can't help his small sigh, and he keeps his lips sealed tight until the bartender returns his chip. The cowboy stands, and figuring he has nothing to lose, gives the woman a slow, smug smile.
“Far from it. He treats me like a king.” And with that, McCree walks out of the bar, not bothering to see the results the impact of his words no doubt had. He just wants to get back to Hanzo who is probably beyond worried at this point and will most likely let McCree know in every possible way he can. The elder Shimada also knows that his boyfriend will take it all with a small smile and adoring stare, getting one back once Hanzo realizes he can't stay mad at the other.
The walk back to the watchpoint takes some time, but eventually, McCree finds himself in front of what used to be just his room. He puts in the code and the door opens to reveal a sight the gunslinger will never tire of. Hanzo with his hair down, wearing nothing but boxer briefs and one of McCree's flannel shirts as he scrolls through something on his tablet. The assassin's attention quickly shifts to the door though, once he hears it open, and his face morphs into a look that somehow conveys both relief and anger. Thankfully, Hanzo doesn't start yelling as he stands, simply places the tablet on the nightstand before walking over to McCree. The older man doesn't hesitate to begin helping remove clothing, both the Stetson and serape being placed on one of the hooks on the rack by their door. Next to go is the armor and gun-belt, followed by McCree's chaps and shirt. The cowboy is left to take his pants off himself, but that's only because Hanzo went to retrieve a pair of sweatpants for the other to sleep in. Once that's done and McCree is comfortable, the archer lets his boyfriend have a moment in the bathroom so he can go to bed fresher than when he arrived. Now with mint tinted breath and an empty bladder, McCree slumps onto the bed where he immediately lays his head on Hanzo's chest and holds him close as if he'll slip away. The elder Shimada doesn't protest the contact, just lets one hand run mindless patterns on McCree's back while the other plays with his hair. Of course, that doesn't mean he'll stay silent.
“Is everything alright, Jesse? Ana told me that you had gone into town after returning from the mission and that she was worried.” The information that he upset the person who is basically like a mother to him makes the younger man feel bad, but he just minutely shakes his head against Hanzo's chest.
“I'm alright, darlin’. Just been a long day, ya know?” The archer hums in acknowledgement and places a soft kiss to the top of McCree's head.
“So long as you are safe. Goodnight, Jesse.” Said man smiles and places his own kiss on Hanzo's shirt covered chest.
“Goodnight, honeybee.” They both settle under the covers and, before sleep takes him, McCree has a thought that coming home to his sweetheart is so much better than one night with some random woman he met in a bar.