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McCree took the cigar out of his pocket as he stepped onto the balcony. The sun was setting, which meant at this time of year the normally warm winds of Gibraltar were starting to turn brisk. He pulled his poncho a little tighter around his flesh arm as he turned the corner.
Fareeha was standing there, leaning over the railing.
McCree fumbled his cigar, stammering out an apology. “Beg your pardon, I didn’t know this spot was occupied.”
“They don’t trust us,” Fareeha mumbled, ignoring the apology. McCree was taken aback by the bitterness seething from her usually calm and collected voice. She was looking downwards at something on the track below.
McCree’s curiosity won over, and he joined her leaning on the railing. He immediately saw what she was looking at.
Ana Amari and Jack, standing in the middle of the track. Neither of them cared that others could see them. They were standing there so they wouldn’t be overheard by someone around a corner, and they could see anyone that wanted to approach. McCree frowned, glancing at Fareeha as he did so.
Bitter disappointment marred her usually competent face. McCree felt that feeling slide into him, like a virus taking over against his will. Even if Fareeha had forgiven her mother for disappearing (which it was clear she hadn’t), McCree couldn’t deny the Old Guard getting a little more exclusive lately. Even Winston, who was in a way, unofficially in charge of this whole operation, wasn’t often in their presence.
“They at least should be talking to you,” Fareeha continued, not looking at him. “You’re as experienced as the rest of them at this point. Maybe even more so.”
“I don’t want that kind of responsibility,” McCree mumbled, bringing out his lighter. He clicked it once, the flame popping to life, and leaned forward to light the tip of his cigar. He breathed in deeply, the woody flavor filling up his lungs and instantly filling him with a sense of calm and familiarity.
Fareeha gave him a sideways glance, one that he instantly recognized as sizing him up. “You know more about Talon than probably anyone here.”
McCree exhaled the smoke through his nose, long and slow. He didn’t disagree with her and that feeling of calmness he had had only moments before was starting to be pecked away at the edges by uncertainty.
“I never got along all that well with Jack,” he said quietly. Both of them knew what he really meant. Jack had never trusted him as a Blackwatch member, and now that his mentor was actually alive and working against them, it was a real possibility that wasn't a fence Jack was looking to mend.
“My mother always liked you, but she just does whatever Jack tells her.” Fareeha started flicking the tips of her fingers against each other, a nervous habit that was a little more intimidating when she was wearing metal armor. Now it just made her seem young.
Mccree wasn't going to tell her to make up with her mother. She wasn't ready to listen. She had been hurt too deeply.
All of the ones with connections to the old Overwatch had. Fareeha had been initially thrilled when she was asked to join, had thrown herself at Jesse and wrapped her arms around his neck when she saw him. She had instantly fallen into a leadership role on the team, often leading the younger, newer members to success. Stalwart and strong, she was a grounding presence for the rest of them.
That had all changed when the old guard had started rising from the dead, and Fareeha had melted into the shadows.
Jesse had always been shadows kind of guy, but he hated having Fareeha there with him.
Both of their communicators beeped. McCree glanced quickly at his, noting the meeting information. Far below him, he saw Ana and Jack do the same.
Fareeha noticed and turned on her heel, saying nothing.
Talon was moving old omnic motherboards through an outlying town on the Russian-Polish border. Reinhardt was brought in to be point, with Pharah and Soldier 76 watching his flanks. Ana would be covering them all and McCree was going to be the Talon playroom expert, as well as be extra support when needed.
They had taken a transport, landing it far away from the town so as not to attract notice. Fareeha had been icy, to say the least. She put all her effort into lubricating the joints of her armor on the way. Ana had tried to approach her a few times, but Fareeha had ignored her almost completely, or just grunted a response. The third time it happened, McCree watched as she gave forlorn look towards her daughter and went back over to Jack. Jack squeezed her shoulder reassuringly and they both turned away from the rest of the group.
To Reinhard’s credit, he gave Fareeha a few minutes before he quietly sat down and rumbled something quietly to Fareeha. She gave a small smile, and he kept talking.
McCree found himself smiling as well.
It was too that the train reached its destination. Reinhardt’s massive paw gave Fareeha’s shoulder a squeeze, thought McCree doubted she could feel it through the armor that now encompassed her body.
“Right, let’s move out,” Soldier 76’s voice growled.
Fareeha turned away, lowering her visor over her eyes. She hefted her rocket launcher as she settled into her armor. McCree gave Peacemaker an experimental spin, as Reinhardt hefted his hammer. Ana pulled her hood up over her white hair, her braid poking out. She moved to the door of the transport, pulling the release that would open the hatch. She would be first out, allowing time to reposition and cover the others. She turned to her daughter as the door lowered.
She took one hesitant step, raising her arm slightly before lowering it back over the scope of her gun. She said something in Arabic, something that didn’t stop the heartbreak and longing from translating to McCree.
Fareeha hefted her rocket launcher again. “I didn’t need you to do that before, I won’t need it now.”
Ana hesitated, but then turned and left the transport, head held high.
She was a professional, afterall.
McCree’s thoughts about the state of the Amari family were interrupted by a visored visage firmly planting itself into his line of sight.
“Should I anticipate any...issues?” growled Morrison, more than a little condescendingly.
McCree grit his teeth, irritation and anger bubbling up to the surface.
“None here, but I guess I wouldn’t tell you that if I were a Talon agent,” he snapped.
Reinhardt, either totally oblivious to the undercurrent of emotions or in true Reinhardt fashion just choosing to wade through it anyway, dropped his hammer loudly on the ground. “Hey! If you can’t get along, take it elsewhere. We have a job to do here. And I, for one, would like to finish it tonight, because I’m already starving.” He reached down, picked up his helmet, and pulled it over his head. The visor shifted intimidatingly to Morrison then McCree, as Reinhardt picked up his hammer again.
The radios crackled to life with Ana’s quiet, professional voice. “I am in position.”
Pharah stepped out of the transport and took two steps on the cobblestone street. Her metal boots echoed loudly against the small and cluttered houses around them. A few lights shone dimly through the windows, but the curtains had been pulled or the shutters closed. These people probably hadn’t been on the streets after dark in a little while.
McCree spotted movement from a second floor window. He automatically swung his gun up, but lowered it immediately when he saw a small face peering out, full of curiosity. A larger hand instantly landed on the child’s shoulder, pulling them away from the window. The curtain swung back into place.
“If you have to, take the fighting to the town square. Less likely to be people around there,” McCree muttered. He received a few grunts of acknowledgement.
In front of him, Pharah turned quickly from side to side, a grimace marring her features. McCree could dimly see something light up on the HUD of her visor. “I need to reposition, cover us from above. We’re all an easy target down here.”
Jack made as if to stop her, but her boosters were already spreading. She squatted down, and with a dull roar leapt into the air. McCree squinted his eyes against the harsh glare as she sailed over a rooftop and out of sight.
Jack growled and spoke into the comms. “Pharah, you’re going to be an easy target with how bright those jets are. Get back here!”
“Negative, I have the tactical advantage up here,” she replied cooly. “My rockets are more likely to hurt you at close range anyway.”
“You’ve-”
“I got her, Jack,” Ana cut him off.
Jack hefted his gun, but didn’t reply. Reinhardt just sighed loudly and continued to move forward. “Let’s just find the payload,” he said, subdued.
A loud crack echoed through the street. “You’ve got five headed towards you on your right flank,” Ana reported. A moment later, another crack. “Four.”
McCree felt his heart rate speed up. “Cover our six, McCree,” Jack told him. “Reinhardt, shield.”
Neither of them questioned him, because even though he didn’t really like Morrison, he had commanding experience. And McCree was enough of a veteran to know arguing in a firefight got you killed. McCree barely flinched when Jack’s gun started going off in rapid fire, his own eyes scanning the alleyways behind them. Distantly, he heard the sound of a rocket demolishing something. The sound of return fire splattering against Reinhardt’s shield was loud in his ears now, and he fought the urge to turn around.
“Stay sharp, they’ll probably try to pincer us, pull us away from the pay-” a flash caught his eye and he rolled, pulling Jack with him. The other man grunted, fumbling with his gun, but there was another sharp crack through the air. The ground burst where they had been moments before.
“Sniper!” McCree shouted. “Cover!”
Jack was already on it, the range on his rifle much better than Peacemaker. He lay down covering fire as all three of them backed into an alley, Reinhardt still covering their front from the other Talon agents. “Ana! We have a sniper!”
“It’s her, Jack. She moved too fast for me to get, but it’s her.”
McCree, suddenly angry, grabbed the front of Jack’s coat. “What is she talking about?” he growled. His calmness had vanished and he was becoming downright vindictive. “I don’t like all the secrets around here, especially under fire!”
Jack swatted his hand away. “No time.”
“Listen here, you yellow-bellied-”
“I can’t hold this forever, and I’d really like it if you two stopped arguing and shot something!” Reinhardt snapped. His heels dug into the ground as the shield took increasing fire from the front. The Talon agents were getting closer.
McCree swung his gun around and was rewarded with a cry of pain when he shot one that got too close to the shield.
“Thank you,” mumbled Reinhardt.
“I can’t see any of you. I have to reposition,” Ana reported.
McCree cursed, knowing the playbook was to get the group out of range of their cover. And they’d walked right into it.
He looked up, knowing where the sniper would most likely be moving behind them. Saw already that he was too far away to either shoot them, and too far away to tackle Jack to the ground again. McCree was half-hidden under a store sign but Jack was wide-open.
He lunged anyway, knowing it was futile.
There was one last crack through the air, but a blue set of armor plummeted through the air like a wrecking ball, and landed in front of Jack.
Pharah took a step back, but otherwise seemed unharmed by the bullet meant for Jack.
She turned around and McCree barely dodged out of the way as he saw her lift her rocket launcher. A rocket screamed by his ears, exploding into where the remaining agents were. The force of the explosion was so close, his ears were ringing slightly and he stumbled a few steps forward. Reinhardt, even wearing his armor, disabled his shield and stumbled similarly.
“I’m going after her,” Pharah said.
Jack tried to leap in front of her, but her wings were already flaring outward. She squatted and lept into the air, graceful despite wearing pounds of extra metal.
“Dammit,” Jack growled.
“We need to keep moving,” Reinhardt pushed. He moved back into the main street, clearly fed up and not waiting to see if McCree or Jack were following.
McCree shot a glance at Jack, who was unreadable under the mask. Jack shouldered past McCree instead. “You heard the man.”
They moved back into the main street, but held closer to the wall. “Pharah, what is your location?” Jack asked.
“In pursuit,” she answered succinctly.
“Ana, do you have eyes on her?”
“Yes, but I don’t have eyes on you. I’m sorry, but I need to-”
“You need to stay on task and protect the group! I have an advantage over her, I-”
“ENOUGH!” McCree shouted, voice echoing down the street. “Pharah, get back here. They’re trying to seperate us on purpose, Ana at least get to the payload, we need advance-”
McCree felt a cold sensation creep over his spine, and he cut himself off, spinning. Of course he’d be here, of course he would. “Jack,” he warned.
But there was a grunt behind him and the sound of Jack’s gun smashing to the street. McCree whirled, grabbing a stun grenade as he did so. He threw it at the dark form that had claws wrapped around Morrison’s throat. The form misted, dodging the stun grenade and allowing Jack to drop to the ground, gasping. Reinhardt roared and swung his hammer, but the form was too quick in these close quarters. The mist seemed to swirl over the hammer and the muzzle of a shotgun appeared. It went off in Reinhardt’s face.
Reinhardt shouted and dropped his hammer, stumbling back and clawing at his helmet. McCree fired, but his bullets whizzed harmless through smoke. Then the form was upon him.
A knee, surprisingly solid, hit him in the gut, followed by the butt of a shotgun to the back of his neck. McCree collapsed, his vision going white for a moment. He sputtered, sucking in air and trying to bring his pistol to bear. He hadn’t dropped it, but his moment of triumph was smashed quickly as a steel-toed boot kicked his gun aside.
“Jesse. Jack. Two of my favorite people,” the Reaper hissed. His voice was grating on McCree’s ears, sounding partly robotic, partly like it was being torn from a destroyed throat that had never been healed. Which probably wasn’t far from the truth. Clawed hands grabbed McCree’s hair, pulling him up from the ground. McCree felt something warm trickle down the side of his face. Blood, he belatedly realized. Now that he thought about it, that ugly mask was swimming in and out of focus a lot. Even for a wraith.
“You...traitor!” Reaper turned his mask to look at Reinhardt, McCree’s eyes trying to follow. Reinhardt had gotten to one knee and was leaning on his hammer heavily. His helmet was off, but blood covered his face. As McCree watched, he surged to both feet with a shout and charged Reaper again.
McCree felt himself boldly lifted, his scalp on fire, and then he was suddenly weightless. The feeling didn’t last long as he felt a cold bar and then cold steel slam into his back. His breath left him for the second time, and he and Reinhardt crashed to the ground.
McCree’s vision positively swirled now, and he was having trouble knowing which way was up. His flesh hand fumbled blindly for his gun, a mostly fruitless gesture. Under him, he could feel Reinhardt’s armor shifting but the man was old and his armor was heavy and McCree knew he wouldn’t be fast enough.
More gunfire punched through the air, making McCree flinch because he couldn’t figure out where it was coming from. But there was a scratchy cry of pain that McCree recognized as the Reaper’s.
“That’s enough, Reyes,” Jack growled, pained but determined.
McCree pulled himself to his knees just as Reaper swirled back into mist. The smoke shot down the street and Jack followed.
“Jack,” McCree coughed. He touched his earpiece to unmute it, remembering he had one. “Jack, don’t…”
But Morrison didn’t answer. McCree cursed again, pulling himself to his feet.
“Jesse, you have more Talon agents heading your direction. I’m repositioning.” Ana was trying to be effective, but he knew she wouldn’t let her daughter out of her sight. Not with a sniper and Reyes there. McCree cursed again, leaning heavily on a wall.
“Abort,” he panted. “Abort the mission.”
Reinhardt, who had gotten to one knee again, looked at him in surprise and alarm. “Are you sure?”
“We’re all gonna die here unless we move. Abort the mission, acknowledge!”
“Acknowledged,” Reinhardt said succinctly, getting to his feet.
“Understood,” Ana’s voice was next but slightly more subdued than Reinhardt’s had been.
McCree waited for a second, but neither Pharah nor Soldier:76 replied. McCree wasn’t waiting anymore.
“Ana, do you have eyes on either Pharah or Soldier?”
“I just saw Jack,” she reported.
“Cover him. Reinhardt, make your way back to the transport and cover our exit. I’m going to get Pharah.”
“...thank you, Jesse.”
“Don’t thank me until we’re all outta here,” McCree grumbled. He was more than a little peeved at the other members of his team. At least Ana still had a clear enough head to follow instructions. He almost expected this from Jack, but Fareeha…
She was usually the best of them.
He loped off in the direction he had heard rocket fire coming from, his vision still spinning slightly. Not enough to stop him, but enough to slow him. He ducked around corners and paused as he leaned against walls. He didn’t run across any other Talon agents. Bitterly, he surmised they were all probably sitting on those Omnic parts by now, having a roarin good time watching the new Overwatch fall apart.
He swore under his breath.
He wanted to go after Reyes. He had to stop him. Jack may have been able to, but after years in Blackwatch no one knew his playbook more intimately than McCree. Jack was out for revenge. McCree just wanted to put down the thing Reyes had become, out of respect for his former mentor.
Just another thing that kept him and Jack at odds.
But Fareeha wasn’t thinking straight, and he owed it to her as her friend, almost her brother, to help her. Family first.
A rocket scream pierced the sky like an eagle’s cry, and before he even thought about it he dove for cover behind a nearby dumpster. The street exploded around him, his ears ringing for the second time that night. He sat up and drew his gun, speaking into his radio as he did so.
“Damn it Pharah, I dunno if you have your comm on, but it’s me! Stop firing!”
There was a roar of jets, and he peeked around the dumpster.
Pharah landed gracefully, first touching down one boot and then the other. She met his eyes briefly before looking down guiltily.
For a moment, she was that ten year old girl again.
The moment passed as she surged forward, pulling him into the shelter of another alleyway.
“Easy,” he growled. “Just got almost blown up for the second time. I’m a might ticked.”
“Sorry.” She shoved him behind her, as she peered out into the alley again.
“Sorry? You ignored commands, went off on your own, almost blew me up, and all you can say is ‘sorry’?” We’re leaving,” he snapped.
She swung around to face him, an intimidating move in her full armor. She suddenly looked furious. “I’m not leaving. This woman is a killer. She has to be stopped. She…” Pharah’s face quivered for a moment before settling back into her normal mask of calm.
“I know,” McCree said quietly. He knew what Fareeha was really thinking. This woman had to be blamed for Ana leaving her because the only alternative was Ana herself. “But this mission is fubar. Someone’s gonna get killed.” He reached up and put his hands on her shoulders. “I’d rather it not be you.”
He could briefly see the wetness forming at the corners of her eyes, and felt a little prickle in his too. She took a deep breath, composing herself. “Jesse, I-JESSE!”
McCree felt himself being engulfed in metal arms and swung around to the ground. It was forceful. Machine gun fire erupted around them, and he heard it pinging off Pharah’s shield like heavy rain. He glanced up, but only saw her teeth gritted and her eyes narrowed in concentration as she took the brunt of the hits.
He readied his gun. The shots suddenly stopped, so he leaned around Fareeha and shot his gun in the direction of the gunfire, not waiting. He shot his whole clip, not hitting anything. But it was enough to make the ambusher dive for cover. “Move!”
Pharah didn’t need to be told twice. He clung to her as she squatted down again, ready to take off.
Her jets sputtered once and died.
Not missing a beat, she pulled the surprised McCree to a stairwell and yanked him down. McCree’s stomach instinctively dropped at being trapped in the low ground, but cover was cover.
“She must have hit something vital,” Pharah mumbled nervously.
“Are you alright?” McCree panted.
“Affirmative,” she said pointing her rocket launcher up the stairs. She glanced back at him, and he saw the concern in his eyes. “You?”
“Thanks to you, I still got all my limbs.” He hefted his prosthesis. “Well, as many as I started the day with, anyway.” He gave her a lopsided grin and for a moment, her fond smile was back. The smile that reminded him of his favorite kid-sister, the only person who had never once treated him with suspicion.
“Stay behind me, and you can keep them.” She moved forward, leveling her launcher. “Get ready to run.”
She bumped into him slightly when the rocket flew forward, screaming. It blasted a wall apart in a shower of bricks and dust. Without waiting to see if the hit was successful, she ran with McCree on her heels.
“Pharah and McCree on the move, possible hostiles, comin’ in hot,” he reported into his mic.
“Roger that, Reinhardt and I are covering the escape route.” Ana sounded relieved.
McCree bent over slightly reaching into his belt for flash grenades and felt a bullet whiz by his head a moment before he heard it. “Shit!” He dodged behind Pharah’s armor again. “Sniper’s still on us!”
There was a sound of rapid gunfire, but for once it wasn’t pointed at them. There was an echo of flesh hitting stone, followed by a clattering of a weapon hitting the ground. Pharah and McCree paused, waiting. A moment later, Soldier:76 stepped out of the shadows with his gun slung over one shoulder.
“Little help?”
“Where’s Reyes?” McCree spat. He didn’t have time for Jack’s games.
“Taken care of,” the other man answered cryptically.
McCree didn’t believe it, not for a second. Reyes was too good. “Mind elaboratin’?”
As an answer, Morrison just turned around. “Pharah, help me with Widowmaker. I know the UN would very much like to speak with her, as would I.”
Pharah dutifully moved forward and McCree didn’t stop her. She leaned down into the shadows, lifting someone up. McCree didn’t have too much personal experience with Widowmaker, besides knowing she was dangerous, she’d killed her own husband, and she’d taken out Ana’s eye. He also didn’t miss the way Pharah roughly manhandled her onto her shoulder, making sure to bump her head and limbs around.
Pharah couldn’t take her anger out on her own mother, so Jack had given her the perfect target.
McCree rushed forward and grabbed Pharah’s wrist. “Fareeha, listen-”
“We’re leaving, Jesse.” Her eyes were cold again.
“Actually, there’s one last chance to get some intel here. Pharah, take her back to the transport.”
McCree surged forward into Jack’s face, anger and frustration making him jumpy. “Absolutely not! The mission is aborted! We’re leaving, while everyone’s still alive without you running off on your own damned crusade!”
Jack regarded him for a moment from behind his visor, then calmly stepped around him.
McCree rarely saw red, but he was seeing it now. His jaw ached with the force of his gritted teeth. “Shit, Jack, this isn’t about you!”
Jack ignored him, continuing to walk down the empty street.
McCree was breathing like he’d just run a marathon. He had to holster his pistol because his hands were clenching so violently. He hadn’t lost control like this in a long time. He’d forgotten what it felt like.
Suddenly there was a calm presence behind him and a hand lowered itself onto his shoulder.
“We’ll go with him. We’re not leaving anyone, even him.”
McCree closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, nodding. He felt her hand slide off his shoulder as she moved past him. The Widowmaker was sling over her shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Pharah held onto her with her free hand, keeping her rocket launcher ready.
Her eyes were closed, but her visor gave the impression he was being watched all the same.
“Soldier:76 may be able to recover some intel. We’re following him,” Pharah reported to the others.
“Wait! Jack-Fareeha!”
McCree didn’t know what to say to Ana so he just...didn’t. Pharah and Morrison weren’t going to chime in either. A pang of regret quickly passed through him.
They didn’t have to go far. Jack led them to what seemed like an empty van. He shot the locks on the back door, yanking them open. Pharah watched passively while McCree scanned the surrounding buildings. Jack got into the van and Pharah moved closer. McCree glanced inside as well, seeing some computers set up not unlike a surveillance van.
McCree could feel his irritation levels rising again. “What makes you think Talon’s gonna give their vitals to their lackeys in a surveillance van?”
Jack didn’t answer. He fished a USB drive out of his pocket and put it into the computer.
McCree sighed, and turns to Pharah. “Am I speaking to myself? Cause it sure does feel like it.”
Pharh also didn’t answer, instead turning away from him.
Lying against her back, Widowmaker’s eyes were open.
“FAREEHA!”
The sniper slapped something on the middle of Pharah’s back while simultaneously sliding almost effortlessly out of the other woman’s grip. McCree lept forward and wrapped his fingers around the wallet-sized object, wrestling with it. After a moment it came free and McCree stumbled backwards. Pharah was shouting something and Jack was running past him. But Fareeha was looking at him and her eyes were wide with fear.
The thing in his hands exploded a second later not in a ball of fire but in a cloud of smog. It blinded him immediately, making his eyes sting and his mouth and nose burn. He coughed, trying to expel the poison, but he could feel it making its way down his throat in a trail of fire. His body was spasming now, and he fell to his knees. He looked up, coughs still tearing from his throat, as a black smoke trailed in front of his eyes. It was surrounding Fareeha’s face, and he could hear her struggling to breath, taking in huge gasps.
He tried to reach for his gun, but he couldn’t even feel his fingers. His stomach clenched painfully and he could feel a cold sweat break out on his back. Fareeha was momentarily forgotten as bile added fire to his already painful throat, and he vomited something green and dark red all over the street.
His arms gave out, and he managed to twist slightly so he wouldn’t land in his own sick. He wasn’t sure if he entirely succeeded. Something wet was falling down his chin into his beard, and he could vaguely taste not only the rancid taste of bile but also the coppery tang of blood. Distantly, he was aware that was a bad sign, but in front of him all he could see was Fareeha fall to her knees, surrounded by black smoke.
He tried crawl forward, but his vision was starting to fade. His stomach clenched painfully again. He knew what was coming, tried to lean up and didn’t quite make it. Bile spat forward out of his mouth, choking him. He gasped for air, but his throat felt like there were still saw blades running through it.
A boot filled his vision, rifle fire lighting up the air. The smoke cried out, dissipating. Fareeha fell over, her armor clattering loudly on the street. McCree’s vision was too blurry to be able to tell if she was breathing or not. His body spasmed again and he groaned, but there was nothing else to bring up. He choked again, his clenched muscles making it impossible to breathe. Someone was speaking, but he couldn’t make out the words. His muscles let up for a second, and he sucked in air. Even the soft light now was sending sharp bolts of pain through his already throbbing head. He jammed his eyes shut, trying to roll onto his back, but not being very successful.
Time seemed to slow down and speed up all at once. His body kept spasming, but there was nothing left. He was just left sweating and choking. At some point he felt hands lift him up and put him down, and then he felt movement underneath him. He thought he may have been whimpering at that point, but he couldn’t be sure. It could have been someone else.
He was being moved again, more voices talking. They may have been angry, or irritated.
Something sharp was jammed in his flesh arm, and the pain instantly lessened. Not totally, but enough he could open his eyes. His head still throbbed, his muscles positively wrung out from the spasming. His stomach was still clenching uncomfortably, and he jammed his teeth together in a futile effort to keep from spitting up any more bile.
Ana’s concerned face swum into his vision.
“It’s not enough, we have to get him to Angela.”
Behind her was the emotionless visor of Jack Morrison, arms crossed over his chest. He remained silent.
McCree tried to turn his head, catching a glimpse of Reinhardt’s towering form. He tried to speak, but his voice came out as a rasping cough. It started a series of violent spasms again, and McCree curled in on himself. He felt something pull in his leg, and moaned in pain again. His other limbs felt on the verge of pulling as well, they were stretching to breaking points like rubber bands.
There was a cool hand on his head, the only comforting thing he could feel. “I’m sorry, Jesse,” Ana’s voice sounded shaken. “I’m so sorry.”
McCree’s sense of time continued to drift in and out. Vaguely he wondered why they didn’t just knock him out. But every couple of minutes it feel like, his body tried to expel more poison. Most of the time nothing had come up, but the last few times he thought he’d tasted blood.
All he could do was lie there and moan. Occasionally, someone wiped his face off, but the relief was always short lived. He tried to open his eyes when the lighting changed, tried to look for Fareeha. But when he did manage to open his eyes, Angela, Ana and surprisingly Winston were gathered around him while walls rushed by. He whimpered again, closing his eyes. He distantly felt another needle go into his flesh arm, making everything fade to black.
He became aware of his body again, slowly but insistently. It felt like he had been run over by a train, everything stretched and squashed like a toy that had been pulled at too many times. He didn’t open his eyes but he thought he heard someone shouting. There was an answer, calm and gravely, but he decided it wasn’t his problem and drifted off to sleep again.
The next time he came to, his body didn’t feel much different, except for the crustiness around his eyes. He forced them open.
He was in the infirmary at Gibraltar, the late afternoon sunlight filtering in through the window. Someone was at the foot of his bed, sitting next to the window. The sunlight spilled across her dark hair, making it shine.
He tried to say her name, but his voice came out as a crack. The small sound was enough to make her whip her head around in surprise. Relief flooded her unguarded face, and McCree realized with a pang of sadness it was the most open he’d seen her in months.
“Jesse,” she whispered.
He grinned easily back at her, and fell into a comfortable sleep.
The venom mine had almost killed him. It had taken him six days to recover. Even after Angela had let him leave, he was still unsteady on his feet, and wasn’t able to keep much down. Fareeha was constantly at his side, helping him. She had passed out after Reaper had cut off her air supply, but woke up again in the transport.
She didn’t say anything else about it, other than she was alright, and Torbjorn was repairing her armor.
She didn’t talk about how Jack had put them into this situation, but when McCree began to stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time, it was all he could think about.
Ana, for her part, seemed apologetic. She was no longer trying to avoid Fareeha or McCree, making sure to check in on him almost as much as her daughter. Fareeha was still slightly cold to her, but at least they were talking even if only casually. It was a start.
As soon as McCree felt good enough to stand and not fall over, he confronted Jack.
“If you’re gonna be part of a team, you have to know when to follow directions.” McCree had waited until Jack was alone in the workout room.
“I’m sorry you got hurt,” Jack said, lowering the bar he had been using for deadlifts.
“No you’re not,” he scoffed.
Jack stilled. “You’re right. I’m not. But that’s the price we pay.”
McCree’s flesh hand clenched, but he stayed where he was, maintaining the rest of his composure.
“There’s a difference between willingly paying a price, and keeping secrets to further your own vendetta. We signed up to make the world a better place, which sometimes involves retreat. You owe it to all of us to either get on board, or go solo.”
Even though he was wearing that stupid visor, McCree could practically hear the smile on his lips. “You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, Jesse?”
McCree grit his teeth. “You’re right. I would. Cause I’ve lived the other way. And I care too much about everyone else here to let them fall into your stupid traps.”
He did move then, getting right up into Jack’s face. Jack didn’t flinch. “I’m not gonna let anything jeopardize what they have here. Even you. So either you get on board,” he leaned in very close. “...or it’s your funeral.”
He turned away, not waiting for Jack’s reaction.
Outside the gym, Fareeha was leaning casually against the wall. She smiled as he walked up. “Let him have it, huh?”
McCree growled. “Hopefully he’ll take it to heart. I tell ya, even those junkers don’t give me half as much pause as he does.”
McCree started as Fareeha giggled .
“What? It’s true. Besides…” he trailed off as they walked, unsure of how to continue.
“Besides what?” Fareeha pressed after a minute.
He sighed heavily. “I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if something happened to you because of him.” For a moment, all he saw was black smoke engulfing Fareeha’s face.
He felt a hand on his shoulder bringing him out of his reverie. “Thanks for having my back. As I’ll always have yours.”
He turned, seeing her warm smile.
He had almost forgotten what having a family felt like.
Almost.