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To say Hanzo was nervous would be an understatement. Being on the run from gangs and bounty hunters for so long could do that to you, he supposed. Genji however, had somehow convinced him --between their fighting and making up and Hanzo’s own inner turmoil -- to join the (illegal) organization Overwatch. And today was his first day.
Upon arrival to Watchpoint: Gibraltar, he expected his brother to greet him, not a welcoming party. Hanzo stepped out of the dropship, his bag slung over his shoulder, bow in his hands, and eyes greeting the small crowd in front of him. His feet barely skimmed the ground when a flash of blue came from his right and a young woman appeared at his side. Her brown hair was windswept like she had just driven on the interstate with all of the windows down. By the way she rocked on the balls of her feet and fidgeted with her hands, Hanzo had a feeling she was a bit to excitable for his tastes.
“Cheers love!” She chirped, “Welcome to Overwatch. Genji told us so much about--” her eyes fell on Hanzo’s tattoo, wide with wonder. “Woah, that’s wicked! I didn’t know you had a tattoo!”
Another flash of blue and she was close enough to radiate heat, her hands hovering over the archer’s skin but not touching.
“Tracer, dear. We don’t want to frighten our new addition.”
Hanzo looked up to see an older woman in blue, her gray hair braided and placed over one shoulder. She held a to-go coffee cup in her hands and smiled disarmingly at him as she approached.
Tracer blinked, “Right. Sorry love!”
Hanzo stumbled over his words for a moment, eyeing the rest of the mismatched group in front of him. There was a very large older man who hadn’t ceased smiling since the archer landed, a buff woman standing to the right of him with her arms crossed. Her face kind and she sported a shock of dyed pink hair on her head. There was a gruff old man with receding white hair and a fine looking leather jacket, a dwarfish man with the longest beard Hanzo had seen, and even a monkey. But Genji was nowhere in sight. The archer felt his chest tighten.
“Where is my brother?”
The older woman handed him the to-go cup. It smelled familiarly bitter and warm. Tea. “He was called for an emergency mission before you arrived. He looked quite disappointed but we all promised to give you a warm welcome.” She said, a gentle smile on her lips.
Hanzo curled his hand tight around the cup, letting the warmth from inside spread through his fingers. He bowed his head at her and the rest of the group behind her. “You honor me.”
She waved him off, laughing under her breath. “Just keeping a promise, dear. Now, let’s get you settled in.”
***
Hanzo learned all of their names while nursing the hot tea Ana gave him on the tour of the base. It overwhelmed him at first, especially when Reinhardt spoke to him in such a loud, booming voice. But as Hanzo unpacked his things in his new bedroom, he felt at peace. It was nearly dinnertime and the sun was preparing to set by the time he finished. The perfect time for Hanzo to meditate (to quell his nerves) before he met the rest of the heroes of Overwatch.
Soon he found himself on top of one of the higher buildings, watching the orange of the setting sun reflect off of the snow. Hanzo had little trouble slipping into a meditative state. Focus on your breathing, he thought. Focus on the warmth of the sun and the cold in the air. He didn’t have much time to himself before he was interrupted by heavy, jangling footsteps.
Hanzo tensed, turning around, half expecting to see an assassin. Instead his eyes fell on the most ridiculous (and beautiful) man he had ever seen. He looked casual, wearing jeans and a plaid button up that fit him better than the archer cared to admit. But it was the hat and the cowboy boots with real spurs that threw him off.
The man smiled, left hand reaching up to take the cigar from between his lips. With a jolt, Hanzo realized he had a prosthetic arm. It glittered in the evening sun, the metal beat up and crusted with dirt.
“Howdy. Ana told me you might be out here.” He tipped his hat, “The name’s Jesse McCree.”
Hanzo narrowed his eyes. “Did you require something of me?” He scowled at his own words, at how cold he sounded, but if the cowboy was in any way offended he didn’t show it.
Jesse kept his smile up, tapping a metal finger on his cigar to force the ash on its tip to flutter down onto the rooftop. “Just wanted to say hello ‘s all. Not often we get a newcomer with such a pretty face.”
The world around Hanzo paused for a moment as he processed the word ,i>pretty. It rang in his ears over and over and he tasted the letters on his tongue. He was many things but he had never considered himself <>pretty. Hanzo stared up at McCree, who simply puffed on his cigar as if nothing was said. As if such casual flirting was something normal. The archer opened and closed his mouth, the skin on his neck turning a soft red.
McCree chuckled, “Don’t worry, sugar. I was just messin’ with ya. Came to tell ya dinner’s about ready.” He dropped the cigar and crushed it with the toe of his boot and winked. “You bein’ pretty ‘s just a bonus.”
Hanzo stuttered, looked at the way the light hit the cowboy’s face, made his brown eyes glitter with the colors of the sunset, at the way the colors ricocheted off of his metal arm. He was speaking before he could stop himself. “If you think I am so pretty, why don’t you accompany me to dinner, cowboy.”
McCree grinned, holding out a hand to help Hanzo up from his kneeling position, “Don’t mind if I do, darlin.’”