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The moment the doors slide open to announce the new agent’s appearance, McCree is on his feet the same way Genji is already taking a step forward.
They’re the only ones here. McCree doesn’t know how it happened, doesn’t know how he’s managed to wake up as early as Genji and just in time for Hanzo’s arrival, but either way they’re the only ones currently at base. Missions had been coming in as fast as McCree’s own bullets, and Winston had barely agreed to letting McCree tag along with Hanzo for the arrival of his brother. (“After that, though, there will be a mission for the three of you to embark on. Treat it as a welcome party. Or something like that.”)
McCree doesn’t know what to expect at first. He’s listened to stories from Genji, detailing the pink sakura petals in Hanamura and the brown of the wooden boards his brother and him played together around in, the wall climbing along the main entrance and seeing who can reach a certain point first. He’s heard of Hanzo’s pitch black hair and pitch black eyes, with a new addition being grey swept along the sides of the dark strands the last time Genji has seen him. He’s been told of a regal bow only fitting of the elder Shimada brother’s hands, falling into place with ease between calloused fingertips, pursed lips from an almost ever-present concentration that Genji claims Hanzo to have. A dignified scowl, lithe movements, a wary stride.
McCree just feels that he’s too afraid of messing it up to come up with an appearance.
Athena is present in the monitors, the glow of her bright blue and splattering over McCree’s body. Genji steps out of it, barely, the hallway’s light washing out the shades of blue as Hanzo enters. It takes the hallway doors to close with a soft whirring for McCree to shift his attention over to Hanzo, the swallow working his throat something he can’t decide to be on purpose or on instinct.
“Brother,” Genji is saying immediately. The green of his mask is washed over by Athena’s blue glow again. “It is good to see you. I am happy that you have made the decision to join us.”
“Do not be fooled,” Hanzo begins, and McCree’s gaze falls over the familiar wrinkles of age he hasn’t seen but has been described to before, the sharpness even in the downward curve of chapped lips, practiced. Hanzo’s voice is a rough thing, like shattered glass. “You have started me on the path of redemption, but I will be the one who decides how, in the end.”
“Still, you are here,” Genji points out. “and I mean what I say. It is very good to see you here.”
Hanzo opens his mouth, and there is silence for a second before he meets McCree’s gaze. McCree doesn’t anticipate it, doesn’t even know it’s coming until it’s happened, and then Hanzo tilts his head to the side by a small fraction, expression still stoic and firm. He looks unflinchingly into McCree’s eyes, but this time McCree catches the softness hurriedly trickling away from Hanzo’s stare, something he has yet to say replaced in favour—or convenience—in noticing McCree.
Still, McCree moves.
“Howdy,” he says. “Nice to meet ya. I can see that Genji wasn’t lyin’ much about the robin hood getup.”
“Speak for yourself, Cowboy. Genji, who is he? A member of Overwatch?”
“Woah there, I’m right here,” McCree cuts in, before Genji can speak. “Could always ask me directly if you wanna know about me. I know, I know, not the best first impression of an Overwatch agent, ‘specially if you’re lookin’ for something more… professional. But I try, yeah?”
“He Is McCree,” Genji answers, gesturing. “Do not get offended by what he said, brother, he was merely trying to lighten the mood. And come, we have to sign you up officially as agent.”
“I am not offended,” is all Hanzo states, following behind Genji as they begin to walk over to McCree.
“Wait, that’s it? C’mon, Genji, you know I’m more than just McCree,” McCree protests. There’s silence for a long moment, as Genji steps aside to let Hanzo and McCree look at each other and for the introductions to go on. McCree blinks the glow of Genji’s green visor out of his eyes, and faces forward with his heart beating in his chest. It wasn’t supposed to go like this, but no one’s interrupted him. He continues. “Like I was saying,” McCree coughs, clears his throat and pushes back the swallow trying to pull the lump in his throat down into his stomach, “nice to meet ya, Hanzo.”
“…This is a waste of time,” Hanzo declares, steps forward. There’s a crease forming at Hanzo’s eyebrows, confusion finally fleshed out over his features as McCree forces his gaze to stay on Hanzo even when the other looks away.
“Naw,” McCree almost hisses, hastily stumbling over his disagreement, “I reckon it ain’t a waste of time gettin’ to know your teammates.”
“Hm,” Hanzo grunts in return, narrowing his eyes. “Then… let us be done with it. I am sure Overwatch does not only consist of a cowboy and my brother.”
“Right, right,” McCree responds, extending a hand. He’s not certain if Hanzo will take it, if he’ll be left standing there like a fool when Genji continues to usher his brother over to the computer behind him, but hope is tugging at the back of his head with as much force as a pulled rope stretched to its limits, and he lets his hand stay in the distance between Hanzo and him anyway. “Name’s Jesse McCree. Lookin’ forward to working with ya, partner.”
Hanzo rolls his eyes, but McCree can see the hints of amusement—syrupy sweet, at that—trickling over into the other’s lessening scowl, tell-tale hints of mutual feelings curling as a glint into Hanzo’s eyes.
“…Shima—Hanzo. Hanzo Shimada.”
McCree has a good feeling about the mission Winston has for them.