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Summary
The man extended his hand down to him from the veranda.
“Name’s McCree, Jesse McCree.”
Hanzo couldn’t help but smile, and took his hand, reaching up, his skin warm, his grip firm.
“Shimada Hanzo,” he answered, voice low, “at your service.”
The man, McCree, laughed.
“Well then,” he drawled, “no sense in hanging around, you best come on in.”