Chapter Text
Hanzo perched on top one of the shipping containers that littered the exposed grounds of the base. Once, long ago, the containers held equipment and resources to help the organization that housed them. Now whatever was inside was forgotten, decayed into uselessness, or, more likely, they sat hollow, memorials to obsolescence.
Hanzo felt a little kinship there; he, too, felt gutted and rusted and would have preferred to remain unremembered among the wreckage than be dragged into the gleaming present and feel like an ill fit.
The ringing clatter of spurs broke through the more organic sounds around him. Hanzo pulled back away from the sides of the container, laid out flat, and held his breath. He was high up enough that there was no chance McCree could see him from the ground, nor climb to reach him. The burn in his lungs would leave, and so would the cowboy.
The fading scarlet sunlight suddenly burned with midday intensity. Somewhere overhead a bird of prey screamed. Hanzo felt a warm, dry wind - unnatural to the seaside - caress the exposed skin of his shoulder like a exploratory kiss.
“I know you’re up there, Hanzo.” McCree said. His voice was not directly beside the shipping container. Hanzo closed his eyes and held still. “Darlin’, we’re gonna have to talk about this sometime. Might as well be now, while everyone else is occupied with Reyes and Morrison’s soap opera drama. Unless you want an audience?”
He refused to allow the cowboy to bait him into giving away his position. The heavy footsteps, however, came towards him as inexorably as the ticking of a clock.
“Hanzo,” said McCree. “Please.”
Hanzo let out his breath slowly and rolled over towards the sound. McCree stood below, head tilted towards him, the black arrow clutched in his metal fist.
“Well?” Hanzo asked. “What do you want?”
“For starters, I’d like an answer to the question I asked you earlier.” Jesse gave him a crooked smile, weighed down on one side by doubt and buoyed on the other by hope. “You wanna grab dinner when this is all done?” Hanzo hesitated, and Jesse’s smile fell. “You don’t wanna? Is it me, or is it this whole Cupid’s arrows nonsense? ‘Cause darlin’, I gotta tell you, that’s got nothing to do with this.”
“You will think differently, when Winston finds a way to undo my error.” Hanzo tried to assure him. Jesse looked pretty unassured.
“Look, I don’t know exactly when you stepped out of the big reveal back there, but I’m betting you missed some important parts.” He shifted his weight and sighed. “None of this was actually your fault. Reyes has been in love with Jack for years. All these so-called magic arrows did was give him a reason to do something about it.”
“They are not so-called magic,” Hanzo protested. “They are real--”
“And that’s a deflection.” Jesse pointed out. “Hanzo, I like you, and I’ve liked you for a while now. You can ask Fareeha and Angela; goodness knows they’ve had to listen to me yap about you for ages.”
Hanzo faltered, torn. Despair disguised as pragmatism won out as usual.
“They are your friends, they will say whatever you ask them to.”
“Whoa boy, you have not been paying attention.” Jesse whistled. “I mean, I’m grateful that you’ve managed to miss that the old guard’s favorite pastime is ‘Throw McCree Under The Bus’, but honey, no one says anything just because I asked them to. Hell, I had to badger Reyes the entire trip back just to get him to even consider explaining what the hell he’s been up to while we all thought he was dead.”
Hanzo, who clearly remembered McCree’s ‘badgering’ as being able to charm an irate Hana into forgiving him after he tripped a breaker and blew the power during one of her livestreams, remained unconvinced. It must have shown on his face, because Jesse slumped. He shook his head and unclasped his armor, dropping it to the ground beside him. Nameless dread took shape in the back of Hanzo’s head, rushing forward to overwhelm him with horrible potential futures.
“All right,” he said, holding up the black arrow. “I’ll prove it to you.” And he plunged the arrow point first into his chest.
Hanzo was on the ground and at Jesse’s side in a heartbeat.
“You idiot!” he hissed.
“Don’t worry, Reyes said it doesn’t hurt.” He winced and glanced down. Crimson spread across his shirt, the black shaft at the center of the blossom. “Huh. I guess that might have been ‘cause the old bastard’s got superpowers or something. Didn’t seem to hurt the other two you shot, though...” He gritted his teeth.
“No, don’t--” The warning came too late, and Jesse ripped the arrowhead free. His knee buckled at the fresh pain. Hanzo caught him before he collapsed and helped ease him to the ground, sparing only a glance for the arrow disappearing as it dropped from Jesse’s fingers. “These are a god’s tools! They are meant to be used a certain way!” He tried to examine the wound, but it was hard to see clearly between the blood and the fading daylight.
“Oh. Right. From--” Jesse tried to gesture like he was drawing a bow, grimaced, and dropped his arm. “Ah, crap.”
“Where is your comm?”
“Where’s yours, sunshine?”
“I left it on the ship.”
“Well, mine got busted in the fight, so this one’s on you.” The teasing tone just infuriated Hanzo more. He ripped the unused sleeve off his gi to press to the wound. McCree drew in a sharp breath through his teeth.
“You saw the holes it left in Reaper’s armor. Why would you do this?”
“Got you down here, didn’t it?” He had the audacity to smile. “Hanzo, honey, it looks worse than it is. C’mon, ease up--”
Hanzo applied more pressure, and Jesse wheezed.
“Ease up, I said!” He grabbed the hand pressing the cloth to his chest. Hanzo kept his eyes down, all his courage for the day used up. “I’ve been hurt worse than this. There’s no need for alarm.”
“You stabbed yourself with an arrow in an ill-planned attempt to make some kind of point. I think there is plenty of cause for alarm.”
“Magic arrow.” Jesse half-shrugged. “It did what it was supposed to do, even if it hurts more than I expected.”
Hanzo’s hands stilled, but his heart sank, sending a wave of ice through his nerves.
“Then… your mind is clear?”
“Clear as crystal.”
“Ah. Then… I will go find Angela--”
“ Hanzo . Will you please just look at me?”
It was the “please” that did Hanzo in, the whisper-soft, fear-thin word that sounded like it was about to break under the weight of hope. He steeled his nerves, raised his eyes, and felt his blood ignite.
Steadfast, strong, sure and sober. Jesse’s gaze settled on him like the warmth of spring sunlight.
“I still like you,” he said. “And if you want to go get your bow and do this again proper, I’ll do it again and again until you’re convinced. It wasn’t magic that made me feel this way. All that did was show me what could happen if I stopped wondering about it and started chasing it.”
Hanzo forgot to breathe. Jesse smiled. Hanzo’s heart stopped. Jesse leaned forward.
Hanzo pressed down on the makeshift bandage.
Hard.
Jesse choked on a curse and a groan.
“You are in no condition for whatever it was you thought to do,” Hanzo chided, pulling away. “I will get Angela, and she will fix you up.”
Jesse fell back, eyes closed tight. Stoicism sanded the pained lines of his face down to neutrality, wiping away the disappointment.
“I’ll be fine,” he said. “Don’t trouble yourself or Angela on my account. I can patch it up myself.”
Hanzo pulled off Jesse’s hat, hesitated, and then planted a decisive but chaste kiss to his lips. Jesse’s eyes flew open in shock.
“I will get Angela to fix you up,” he said again, “because her equipment will have you back on your feet in time for us to go to dinner.”
“You mean--” Hope lit up like stars in Jesse’s eyes.
“If you are certain, then so am I,” said Hanzo. He smiled and kissed Jesse again, this time on the end of his nose. “Wait here, and try not to move. You do not want to make it worse.”
Jesse watched Hanzo dart off towards the briefing room.
“Well,” he sighed happily. “Hot damn.”