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Nights used to be full dark, Jesse remembered. When he was younger, before Blackwatch, before Deadlock, back on the ranch with his family, the night had been so dark that looking up felt like falling. The stars had depth then. Night time didn’t look like that now. Maybe it was nostalgia, or the city lights, or just how much damn junk they’d shot up into the sky, but nights just didn’t seem dark enough for him anymore. Everything faded with time he mused as he swirled around the whiskey in the bottle and took another sip.
“Gettin’ old, McCree, you’re starting to sound like yer daddy,” he chuckled to himself. A sharp snort behind him startled him out of his stupor but recognition kicked in before he pulled Peacekeeper. “You and yer damn brother, gotta put bells on ya both before ya send me to an early grave,” he said as he turned, taking in Hanzo’s form silhouetted against the light of the building behind them. He was in street clothes again, what had once been a rarity becoming more common since he’d come back from the holidays with a crisp haircut and new piercings.
Hanzo’s mouth twitched slightly in what for him was a smile before he leaned against the railing maybe a foot away from Jesse.
“Perhaps you should pay more attention to your surroundings and less to your drinks,” Hanzo said dryly before taking a swig from his own gourd.
“I was payin’ plenty of attention,” Jesse replied. “Was just looking at the sky, thinking it’s too damn bright for nighttime.” He gestured up at the sky with an open hand and shamelessly stared at the way the scant moonlight made Hanzo’s eyes glint as he tracked the motion. “Was actually thinking of taking the bike out for a spin, go find some finer stargazin’ patch.”
The invitation in his voice was implicit, but Hanzo shot a skeptical look at the mostly-empty whiskey bottle dangling between Jesse’s fingers. “Should you be driving, cowman?” he asked archly.
Jesse laughed. “Y’see that’s where you come in,” he drawled, putting as much charm behind his words as he could. “I know ya can ride, and there’s nobody else I’d trust with my baby.” When Hanzo remained unmoved, Jesse pulled out one more stop. “And I just so happen to have acquired a bottle of Hanyu that I could be persuaded to part with if someone were to drink with me.”
At that, Hanzo’s eyes lit up. “I am not so weak to bribes, McCree,” the archer said, but Jesse just waited and smirked. After a moment, Hanzo sighed. “But someone who can hold their drink should go with you.”
“Bold words from a man who damn near fell off a cliff the last time we went shot for shot,” Jesse teased, knowing full good and well that he had Hanzo hooked. The other man pointedly refused to respond, and instead plucked the much cheaper whiskey from Jesse’s fingers and took a pull before ushering him inside and towards the garage.
They made a quick stop at Jesse’s quarters for him to dart in and grab the Hanyu and an old blanket, both shoved into a backpack alongside a fresh bottle of Jesse’s own whiskey in case he didn’t like the Hanyu. From there it wasn’t far to the garage where Jesse stored the hoverbike. He whipped the canvas cover off of it and gave it a quick once-over, just to make sure it was gonna run smooth. Hanzo quirked an eyebrow at him, questioning Jesse's sobriety again, but Jesse was honest to God sober as a judge. The bottle’d been mostly empty when he’d started, not that he was gonna admit to that. It’d get rid of his excuse to bring Hanzo with, and then where would he be?
Hanzo quickly straddled the hoverbike, and Jesse gave himself permission to let out a long whistle at the picture he painted, all compact power hunched over the cherry red paint that Jesse’d meticulously touched up a few weeks earlier. He rolled his eyes in response to the cowboy, and patted the seat behind him to prompt Jesse to hop on.
Jesse followed the instructions, but he paused just before settling in to wrap his serape around Hanzo’s torso. “You feel the cold more’n me,” he said, “keep yerself warm while we ride.”
To his surprise, Hanzo didn’t argue, just tucked the serape more firmly about him before kicking the hoverbike into gear and roaring out of the garage.
It didn’t take long with how Hanzo drove to get them away from Gibraltar. Hanzo was taking them along the backroads, inland away from the coast and the salty breeze that threatened to freeze Jesse if he felt it for too long. They blew through the city proper and into the more remote parts of the land until finally Hanzo decided on a place to pull over.
The road they’d finally ended on was more of a path than anything else, no sign of any vehicles having passed through for ages before them, and no sign of any coming for a long time after them. Jesse slid off the motorbike on legs that shook more from being pressed so close to Hanzo than from the rough ride on the backroads. He swung his pack down and pulled the blanket out and spread it in the center of the path that had once been a road, back before the Crisis. There was still a vague impression of a curb, and some bits of tar-flecked concrete with some paint still lying around, and Jesse did his best to smooth it out from where he’d put the blanket.
Once the blanket - an old, threadbare thing that Jesse had hung onto because he liked the colors even as they faded - was looking comfortable, Hanzo sat down and sprawled his legs out like a king waiting to be served. Jesse reached into his pack again, and pulled the Hanyu out and tossed it Hanzo’s way. Without even looking up the sonuvabitch caught it. Jesse rolled his eyes and pulled the pack closer to the blanket and laid back alongside Hanzo. The blanket was just narrow enough that their shoulders brushed as Hanzo opened the bottle and offered Jesse the first taste.
“Nah, darlin’, yer the one who wouldn’t shut up about it, you try it first,” he refused with a wave. Hanzo didn’t protest, just flashed that hint of a smile with no heed for how it made Jesse’s heart speed up. He took a sip and let out a small sigh and the sound kicked Jesse in the chest. This time, when Hanzo offered him the bottle, he took it with a smile and tasted. The whisky sure was something, and he couldn’t help but whistle a bit when he finished.
“I told you it would be worth it,” Hanzo said smugly and Jesse couldn’t help but laugh. “This is honestly too fine to be drinking like this,” the archer added. “It should be saved for a special occasion.”
Jesse leaned back on his hands and shrugged. “Dunno, sweetheart, with lives like ours, every day is a pretty special occasion if ya ask me. What’s the point in delaying somethin’ that could bring ya joy?” he asked, deliberately looking up into the sky so Hanzo wouldn’t see the longing in his gaze. He could hear Hanzo thinking, though, and the contemplative hum he made when he reached some conclusion.
“There are times, McCree, where you almost seem wise,” Hanzo finally allowed, and he passed the bottle once more to Jesse. They sat in that silence for a while, passing the bottle back and forth and savoring a whisky that would’ve been far too expensive if Jesse had actually bought it. Hanzo finally spoke up to press for the story of its acquisition, and Jesse launched into it with glee.
“And then this bastard looks at me and says ‘what’re you gonna do? Shoot me?’” Jesse paused to let Hanzo step in if he wanted to, but the other man seemed content to let Jesse deliver the punchline. “So o’course I did, and I swear t’ya he looked surprised!” Hanzo snorted indelicately while Jesse laughed at the memory.
The cowboy flopped onto his back, head pillowed on his prosthetic arm as he stared at the sky. “Prolly not what odub expected out o’ me, but it was damn entertainin’.”
Hanzo laid down beside him, significantly more elegant despite being drunker than McCree. “I doubt anything you do is expected, Jesse,” he said softly. His tone, and the use of Jesse’s first name, shifted what normally would’ve been a playful bit of banter between them to something sweeter. It caught Jesse off-guard, made his heart leap like an overexcited colt.
“What about you?” Jesse asked, desperately trying to cover up for what he was sure was a painfully visible blush. “Overwatch living up to your expectations?”
The archer hummed softly as he thought. “It is good to spend time with Genji again,” he began. “But I fear he is more idealistic than I am. He believes this is the path to redemption, and I believe it is as close as I am likely to get. I am not the sort of man to whom that comes easily, and I admit to sometimes feeling as though Overwatch’s promises are a bit hollow.”
Jesse nodded. “It’s a damn sight better than it was, but I understand that feelin’. Feels like Overwatch is a little too lofty for a man like me, but I’m happy to do the dirty work and make sure it doesn’t go like last time.” His thoughts paused as he accepted another drink from Hanzo. “I’m a man o’ the dirt, when it comes down to it. Got no business looking for glory that ain’t mine.”
Hanzo’s face pinched a bit at Jesse’s words, and of course the man instantly had to argue. “You are a better man than you give yourself credit for, Jesse. Perhaps not as gilded as others, but you are a good man at your core.” Jesse knew trying to argue this with him was pointless, about as pointless as trying to flip it back on Hanzo himself.
Didn’t mean he wasn’t gonna try.
“Just ‘cuz you ain’t as hopeful as yer brother doesn’t mean ya can’t do good, Han. If ya want me to believe ya about me, ya gotta believe it about yerself,” he countered.
The archer scoffed, but that small smile was playing at the corner of his mouth again. “We can agree to disagree on that topic,” Hanzo allowed, and it was as good as Jesse was likely to get tonight.
“Eh, what do either of us know,” Jesse groaned, moving the subject just enough that neither of them would spook. “I dunno ‘bout you, but I know jack shit about all that moral and ethics shit. I’m just gonna keep goin’ as best as I can, and take my chances that counts for somethin’.” Hanzo actually did smile at that, just a flash, but it struck straight to Jesse’s core all the same.
“I do not mind taking those chances myself,” Hanzo agreed, and then he stopped Jesse’s brain dead in its tracks. Lying beside each other, Jesse to the left and Hanzo to the right, the archer moved his hand just enough that their fingers brushed. When Jesse froze but didn’t pull away, Hanzo seemed to grow bolder, and threaded their fingers together easily.
Jesse was pretty certain his heart had finally stopped, but he could hear the blood rushing in his ears so something was still pumping. His lungs sure weren’t working, they had drawn a breath in a hot minute, and the air whooshed out of him in surprise when Hanzo gently squeezed his hand. He hurried to squeeze back, probably a bit too hard, but Hanzo didn’t seem to mind. When he finally found the courage to look over at Hanzo, the man was staring right back. Jesse offered a smile, and Hanzo returned it with a small one of his own, and Jesse’s grew even larger to compensate. He settled back to stare at the stars and relish in the feeling of Hanzo’s hand in his, cooler than his own with thick fingers and a sturdy, wide palm.
Hang glory, this was plenty more than Jesse deserved already.