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Cole knew the light was where he would never stand. He was an outlaw, a criminal, even if Overwatch had recruited him. He belonged in Blackwatch, not Overwatch. His place was in the shadows, taking missions no one else would take, committing acts no one else would for the sake of the greater good.
Overwatch was where people like Emre Sarioglu belonged, with the spotlight shining on him with all its glory. His light was dazzling, so blinding that it drew all to him, Cole included. But Cole always made sure to remain on the sidelines, never getting too close for fear of corrupting that light.
He always watched from afar, wondering what it was like to stare into the twin pools of brown, to feel Sarioglu's uplifting presence, to breathe the same air as someone like him, but he never dared to hope for anything. He knew his place, he wasn't about to overstep his boundaries. So he kept his head low, averted his gaze from the blinding light that was Emre Sarioglu.
Then one day, he feels it. A soft gaze filled with curiosity resting on his back. The skin on the back of his neck prickles and he feels his shoulders tensing up. A quick glance in the direction of the gaze reveals Emre Sarioglu himself, holding a tray of cafeteria food and staring right at him. Cole speeds up his pace, tugging the brim of his hat lower and leaves the cafeteria, but the burning sensation in the tips of his ears follows him out.
The next time he feels that same gaze on him is at the shooting range. Peacekeeper sits comfortably in his hand, the weapon made just for him, and he fires a round of bullets. Every single one hits their mark, or at least they should have, but his last shot is off by an inch, and it coincides with when he felt those eyes on him.
Clicking his tongue, he holsters Peacekeeper and leaves the range, not even bothering to collect the spent shells. He can't bring himself to stay any longer, that gaze is too piercing, and so he continues to keep his head low around the bright light that is Emre Sarioglu, avoiding any eye contact with the help of his hat.
Something coils within him the next time he sees the boy scout of Overwatch. Jealousy, perhaps, that he was allowed to smile in front of cameras, speak in front of crowds who looked up at him with adoration, all the while Cole pulled off thankless job after thankless job. But that was his role, a silent shadow who put bullets into enemies Overwatch didn't want to think about.
Still, a small part of him hates how easy Sarioglu makes it look to stand in the spotlight, perfect and unblemished, free of stain and corruption. He can never be that, such an image is out of his reach, and he doubts anyone will ever look to him the same way crowds do to Sarioglu. They shouldn't. He makes for a really shitty role model. The boy scout, on the other hand makes for a great one, one who is easily marketable, a poster child even.
So he turns away every time Sarioglu so much as glances in his direction, refusing to look him in the eye. They belong in two different worlds, even if those twin pools of brown captivate him and set his heart racing every time he sees them. He's longing for something he can't have, something he shouldn't have, so he distances himself. It's easier to just run away from the problem than confront it, especially if it's a matter of the heart. It's even easier to laugh it off, so Cole chooses to hide behind a perfectly crafted facade of easygoing smiles and smooth talk. He almost forgets about the boy scout who can't stop haunting him, but fate seems to have it out for him because it keeps pulling them together.
He can't stop running into Sarioglu, whether it's at the cafeteria, the shooting range or in a random hallway. Then he gets assigned to a mission that takes place in the same location as Sarioglu's, and he has to tolerate an entire car ride with the boy scout. Sarioglu initiates a conversation and Cole finds himself withdrawing behind his facade, putting as much distance between his real self and the one who causes his stomach to flip.
He doesn't quite understand what happens after that, but he somehow becomes a part of the 'original members of Overwatch'. He's asked to take a picture with the rest, and he chooses to stand on the other end of the photograph, as far away as possible from the man known as Emre Sarioglu. He reminds himself he isn't a true member of Overwatch; he's a member of Blackwatch — the darker side of the organisation that doesn't care for red tapes and bureaucracy. He rights injustices from the shadows so that the others can stand in the light, blameless and pure before the world. Sarioglu is one of those people.
He watches as Sarioglu gets accolade after accolade, basking in the praises of the world, and hates how easy he makes it look to be a good person. He watches as Sarioglu runs his fingers through his mohawk, grinning widely as he effortlessly wins people over with his charms, his looks, his charisma, and feels something uneasy stir within him.
What he doesn't know is that Emre Sarioglu feels the exact same way about him.
Emre has been fascinated by the black ops cowboy ever since the first time he had set eyes upon said cowboy. He sees the overflowing confidence in the young man's hard brown eyes, the arrogant smirk that dares the world to challenge him, and wonders how he can do it all with such ease when the world is so harsh.
The drawl in the cowboy's voice always lights something within Emre and puts him at ease, no matter the situation. The way Cassidy effortlessly takes down the enemy, smoothly pulling the trigger at the right times and hitting his targets makes Emre jealous. How can there be someone so perfect, blessed with a silver tongue and rugged handsomeness that draws people in?
Emre tries to reach out to the black ops cowboy, but he won't even meet his gaze. Cassidy becomes an elusive shadow, slipping away just before Emre can reach him, turning the chase into a dance. He can see something in the hard brown eyes, a look of longing, or a sparkle of hope before it quickly fades away, and that only sucks him in deeper. He finds himself thinking in between missions about the man called Cole Cassidy, the cowboy from Blackwatch whom Reyes personally recruited for his talents, and wonders what drives each pull of the trigger. He wants to know more about the former leader of the Deadlock Gang, about the quiet flame that burns within him, about what makes him look differently at the golden boy called Emre Sarioglu.
The world looks at Emre with awe and scrutiny, waiting with bated breath for him to screw up, for Overwatch to screw up. They sing praises about him, but behind every compliment is a hidden knife waiting for him to fall upon it. Only Cassidy ever turns away from him, retreating into the darkness every time Emre tries to meet his eyes. It's as if Cassidy is trying to run away from him, and Emre hates how it makes him feel. The spotlight washes him in golden light but he wants nothing more than to reach out to the shadows and grasp the cowboy who has him enthralled.
His heart soars when Cassidy is assigned to a classified mission in the same area as him. It's a chance to talk to him, and the cowboy can't run away anymore. Cassidy does participate in the conversation, but Emre can tell that the Cassidy he's speaking to is nothing more than a facade.
Why does Cassidy keep running away from him?
What did he do wrong?
Is it he himself who is the problem?
The next time they meet is for a photo-taking session upon Amari's request. It doesn't escape Emre's notice how Cassidy immediately slots himself into the position furthest from him, and Emre feels his heart plummet. They don't exchange a word, despite having just been on a harrowing mission together, and go their separate ways — one into the spotlight and the other into the darkness.
Then Blackwatch falls apart, followed by Overwatch itself.
Emre leaves to work for Global Security, and Cole disappears underground. They both vanish from the world, resurfacing only years later. Emre comes back as a Talon agent, and Cole an Overwatch agent. One still stands in the light, the other in the shadows, but their positions are reversed now.
Cole sucks in a sharp breath when he sees Emre standing amidst Talon soldiers, giving them orders, and wonders how someone like him could have fallen so low. He feels his chest tighten as he raises Peacekeeper, pointing its muzzle straight at the former boy scout of Overwatch.
"Sarioglu." The word clogs up his throat.
"Cassidy." Emre's voice is soft. "I don't want to hurt you. Please, get out of the way."
"You know I can't, golden boy."
Cole watches as Emre lifts his rifle, pointing it at him.
"Please." Emre pleads once again. Cole doesn't move.
Both their fingers curl around the trigger.
"Was a little jealous of you back in the day, you know. Always made everything look so easy." Cole swallows hard.
"That's funny. I felt the same way about you." Emre replies.
Cole can't help but laugh. Oh, the irony of it all.
"I don't buy that for a minute."
"Coming from the black ops cowboy? Yeah, right."
Neither say a word after that. They both simply stand there, weapons raised.
Bang.