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If anyone had dared to tell Hanzo even so much as a year ago that he would be working in his father’s old office, he would have flensed them with a glare.
Yet, here he sat behind his deceased father’s low desk (the man never had been a fan of modernization or westernization in any of their forms), the lacquered surface neatly spread with papers. He poured over the latest mission brief from Gibraltar HQ written neatly in Winston’s boxy hand before setting it to the side, reaching for the next in the pile. He sighed over the expense reports, sinking into the numbers and becoming lost in the moment. He tuned out the gentle dig of the woven mats against the finely tuned sensors in his legs, barely felt the fragrant breeze drifting in past the open shoji.
He never even noticed Jesse slipping up to the door from across the wide veranda, his accursed boots left elsewhere in deference to Hanzo’s ancestral home. The assassin tuned him out as neatly as the drifting sakura in the garden, didn’t see him lean one shoulder against the doorway to watch him with one of his unfathomably fond smiles.
They’d come back here together.
In the early days of the Recall, no one had ever really considered that they would ever be granted an opportunity to expand outwards. They were a misbegotten passel of renegade half-beens existing on a dream and whatever funds they could scrape together from their more affluent members. Most of them hadn’t even dreamed of a day past tomorrow in those wild early times. They counted the passing time in skirmishes survived and Talon bodies left in their wake as they cleared the underbrush that had grown up around the dark edges of the world in Overwatch’s absence. They documented days in stolen moments of peace, dreamless nights, infirmary visits and close calls.
Their names spread. New recruits found them. Public opinion swelled.
Hanzo and McCree had been there for every single one of those violent, slapdash, skin-of-the-teeth years. They’d sat at each other’s bedsides and prayed through sleepless nights with only the impersonal chime of heart monitors for company. All of that, every moment of raw reality, and still it had come as a shock when the UN had finally been forced to acknowledge their existence anew...and accept it (though grudgingly). They’d had too much of the world on their side by that point.
The decision had been made to revive old Watchpoints then and to reinstate new ones to usher in a new era. It had been Genji’s idea to come here, to return to Shimada Castle. It had been his decision to finish things, to clear away the last of the serpents hiding in the dragons’ nest and bring their home into the light with the rest of the world. The real surprise had been when Hanzo had agreed. They would reclaim Shimada Castle, establish it as a new Watchpoint, and (as veteran members) be granted command of it should they succeed.
No one had even bothered discussing that Jesse McCree would end up anywhere other than here.
The cowboy took a deep breath of the late spring breeze when it threaded through his long hair, felt the velvet of fallen cherry blossoms under his heels as he observed the elder Shimada. Stress had shot more silver through the inky fall of his hair than when they first met and still quite a bit for a man in his early forties. He wore it loose around his shoulders today, letting it drape over the deep blue of the haori he’d chosen to wear. His kyudo gear had been forsaken entirely for a light yukata, the neat V of the neckline exposing the elegant, winging arches of his collarbones and the slightest curl of tattoo.
There were still days when it took Jesse by surprise to see his lover outside of his combat regalia, but there was no real call for it when Hanzo was completely forbidden from active field work. Genji had insisted.
Jesse’s coffee-hull eyes drifted down slightly to where he could just make up the soft swell of Hanzo’s belly and smiled to himself, thanked the fates for having someone around more bull-headed than the eldest dragon. Such late pregnancies were rare in men and delicate besides. They could be dangerous when not properly cared for.
It had been an unholy fight to convince the commander of Watchpoint: Hanamura to relieve himself from combat duty, the stubborn bastard.
They’d made it though by some miracle and now here they were, Hanzo toiling dutifully over what was no doubt the weapon requisition Jesse was meant to have done two weeks ago (he made a note to apologize later) while his free hand absently rested over the rise of his stomach. A stray breeze from the doorway ruffled a few stray strands of hair by his face, making the faintest susurrus against the elegant bridge of his nose. Burnished rays of afternoon sunshine cast shadows against the sculpted apples of his cheeks, starkly contrasted the sable fans of his eyelashes where they’d fallen to half mast, lulled by cicada song.
His hand slid in a lazy arc across his belly and Jesse swore his heart existed in the space between those powerful fingers.
The cowboy looked up from his reverie when sparrow-soft footsteps tapped up the veranda to his side, Genji’s polite way of letting Jesse know he was there. A long-fingered cyborg hand touched down on the ball of his shoulder a few seconds later and he turned to regard his other lover.
Time had touched Genji in less visible ways than himself and Hanzo, but it showed in the burgeoning, gentle grace of his movements. Over the years, he’d moved less and less like a lightning strike, swift and harsh against the sky. He continued to be a point of vibrant light, but something more constant, more kind...like a lantern in darkness. Zenyatta had been good for him.
Genji inclined his chin towards where Hanzo sat quietly as if to ask how long his brother had been there.
It drew a bemused, fond look from Jesse and a small shake of his head. Knowing the assassin? He’d been there since dawn thwarting his own health and the sanity of the dedicated physicians he was supposed to be paying better attention to.
He watched from his spot at the door as Genji slipped past to go to Hanzo’s side, kneeling silently next to him. Slowly, as if trying not to startle a bird, he reached out with both hands, placing one over where his brother’s rested on his pregnant belly and the other on the back of his neck. He rubbed widdershins against his neck and leaned in to murmur softly in Japanese to the man who had managed to fall asleep between one heartbeat and the next at his desk. Everything about the cybernetic ninja’s posture was intimate, protective.
Hanzo came awake with a start, a short, sharp sound sneaking out. It was somewhere between a cough and a purr and it had scared the blazes out of Jesse the first time he’d heard it. He’d never experienced the like before. His confusion and concern had only doubled when Hanzo had blushed redder than the devil and his brother had promptly burst into merry, electronic laughter. The younger had been delighted to explain the concept of a ‘chuff’, a sound typical of their kind when they were deeply contented.
Naturally, it was one of McCree’s favourite things these days.
Jesse stepped fully inside and slipped the shoji shut behind him to give them some privacy while Genji slowly coaxed his brother back awake, ‘nosing’ softly at his temple and giving his own broken version of a chuff.
Genji stroked a thumb over where Hanzo’s baby was growing and Jesse felt himself suffused with warmth as he walked over.
To be honest?
None of them rightly knew if Genji or Jesse was the father. As far as any of them could tell, Hanzo had conceived four months gone. Genji had just returned from a reconnaissance mission in Jakarta and hadn’t been back on the roster for a few weeks after, while Jesse hadn’t been due to deploy on a goodwill trip to DC for another month at least. It had been a rare occasion to have all three of them in the castle for an extended period of time. They had spent as much time as was allowable and professional with one another before having to part ways again. When they’d finally been forced to separate again, none of the three of them knew there was a child in the works or which one of them had been the ‘responsible’ party.
No one knew, Jesse thought as he settled on Hanzo’s other side and settled the assassin’s head on his broad shoulder, and no one cared.
Jesse pulled off one of his heavy leather gloves and settled the nude fingers over Genji’s (now warmed by Hanzo’s) where they rested on top of their kiddo. It would be at least another five months before they got to meet their little one and Hanzo was fighting them every step of the way, but the aging cowboy couldn’t help the overwhelming rush of tenderness he felt looking over his two lovers while the three of them curled like puppies on the floor.
“Darlin’,” he said in his whiskey-husk voice, smoothing his other hand over the silken fall of the eldest Shimada’s hair, “You two need real rest. Your doc’s gonna have a fit if you keep runnin’ yourself into the ground like this. You gonna fight us if me’n Genji take you to bed? After all, you ain’t no spring chicken anymore.”
He smirked as the last quip earned him a solid pinch on the leg and a sharp glare from Hanzo.
Genji’s hand did something downright magic on the back of the irate dragon’s neck and he murmured, “Anija….”
The caustic expression softened into something far more mellow, more yielding as fatigue and affection won out over Hanzo’s natural-bred ornery nature, “...Only if you two do not accompany me.”
A wide smile split McCree’s face, deepening the laugh lines where they’d long ago cut grooves of joy all around his eyes, “It’s a deal, darlin’.”
Author's Notes
- This fic is my Christmas present to my Suzume, my Sparrow. Whenever I cosplay Hanzo, they've been my Genji. Their request was "McShimada" for the pairing and "fluff/Mpreg" for the trope.
- A 'shoji' is a sliding door in traditional Japanese architecture.
- Sakura season lasts different lengths of time in different parts of Japan. Where I grew up, it was typically lasted until late spring.
- I love this particular canon and maybe someday I'll go into how the UN approved Overwatch again and how Hanzo can get pregnant, but for now I'm going disco-quick for a friend's Christmas present. To the former we'll just say 'eh' and to the latter we say 'because dragons'.
- In this story, Hanzo is about 42 or 43.
- No, I have not forgotten about Guardian Angel. I'm so sorry to my loyal readers, but life got crazy. My family ended up adopting my cousin's 15 year old daughter when she died and we're all trying very hard to settle. It put a hard stop on my more involved plotlines. I am trying hard to get back though.
- As always, to my readers both vocal and silent, I love you all and only hope I can bring you something that you enjoy. Happy holidays, no matter which one you celebrate. May they be full of light.