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Hanzo opened his eyes and stared up at the bright blue sky of the open desert. The icy grasp of night was fading very slowly under the first rays of the sun and there was sand everywhere that Hanzo didn’t want.
Nearby a fire crackled and he turned his head. “Hey,” McCree said, covered in an alarming amount of dried blood. His serape was draped over his lap, parts of it raised in stiff lumps by even more dried blood. “Whoa there,” he added quickly when he caught sight of Hanzo’s wide eyes. “Almost none of it is mine.”
Hanzo scrambled upright and grimaced when he felt his skin pull. Looking down, he found that he was similarly covered in blood. Nearby something made a sharp noise and he whirled around in alarm.
There was a tent a dozen meters away with a logo that was covered by duct tape; it was snapping and crackling in the early morning wind.
Trembling, Hanzo struggled to catch his breath. “What happened?” he croaked.
“I got some water,” McCree offered and scooted over. He winced and handed over the canteen on his hip. “We were on a mission—remember that?”
Hanzo thought as he took a cautious sip of water. He didn’t know how long he had gone without and didn’t want to shock his body. “Recon?” he guessed.
McCree snorted. “Sort of. We were gathering information from the Watchpoint in Grand Mesa. There were supplies there as well that we were supposed to get. We ran into some trouble while we were there.”
Looking around, Hanzo found the dark silhouette of the buildings in the distance. He couldn’t see any sign of the towers that would be necessary for such a base; had they fallen?
He drank from the canteen again and made note of his various aches.
And that he was naked.
He looked at McCree in askance. “Don’t look at me like that, darlin’,” he said with a laugh. “You undressed yourself .”
Hanzo swallowed hard. “So you know, then.”
“Think everybody does at this point,” McCree laughed. He pointed to the tent as it began to open; Dr. Ziegler poked her head out, her blonde hair immediately blowing up to stand on end from the wind. “That’s the closest you let anyone get.”
Sucking in a breath, Hanzo collapsed in on himself. “Who did I kill?”
“ A lot of Talon goons,” McCree said cheerfully as if unaware of his torment. “Worried them like a terrier. You bagged yourself an Assassin too, not an easy feat considering how damn fast those things are.”
Hanzo stared down at his skin. Now the blood made sense. He looked at McCree. “And how did I not kill you?”
McCree threw his head back and laughed. “Hun,” he said between great guffaws. “You were carrying me around like a mama cat and her kitten. In fact, I think it’s because of you that I wasn’t as injured as I could have been.”
For a long moment Hanzo stared at him. McCree’s face was open and honest, but he knew from a thousand poker nights spent together that he was very good at lying. “I don’t believe you.”
“‘Course not,” McCree laughed. “I almost don’t believe it, myself. But damn, sweetness, you were a sight to see.”
Hanzo scowled. “What happened? What really happened?”
The grin on McCree’s face faded slightly. “They knew we were coming. Set up shop at Grand Mesa before we got there. They let us get inside before they sprung the trap; honestly I’m surprised that none of us are dead or more injured than we are.” Hanzo nodded and a little knot in his chest uncurled, just a little.
But if they survived the initial ambush only to die by Hanzo…he tried not to think about it.
“We got split up,” McCree continued. “You and I and Ange went one way, Baptiste an’ Mei an’ D.Va went another.”
The names struck a chord. He remembered a warehouse.
He remembered the doors sliding shut.
Baptiste’s voice echoing, the sound of D.Va’s boosters; Snowball’s warble as he created an artificial blizzard in the hangar to buy them time.
A mechanical ding came from nearby and Hanzo turned. Snowball was there, the battery on its face reading full; a moment later its pixelated face appeared and it appeared to smile at Hanzo.
Hanzo remembered it flying just out of reach, a blur of blue light beyond his snapping jaws and flashing talons.
“You remembering now?” McCree asked, far kinder than Hanzo deserved.
“How are you not dead?” Hanzo demanded.
McCree laughed. “Exactly like I told you,” he said. “You picked me up and carried me away. Well, not exactly in that order, but close enough as it makes no difference.”
“Tell me the order.”
Huffing, McCree gestured for the canteen and Hanzo handed it over, watched him drink. Was this the last time he’d see McCree like this? “Shit hit the fan. Ange was with us and Baptiste was with the others so we weren’t so bad off. The other group managed to make it out but we got stuck in the hangar, had to work our way back to another entrance. Then we heard the Assassin nearby. We were running and…” here he made a face. “I tripped. You reacted.”
As soon as he heard the words Hanzo could remember that moment.
Seeing McCree fall; hearing the scrape of the Assassin as she darted right for them, her bladed arms held ready…
As McCree had said, Hanzo had reacted. He remembered forcing the shift, changing faster than he had ever changed shapes before. His heart was in his throat as he watched the Assassin creep closer as if in slow motion. Watched her prepare to leap on McCree…
Then like a heron he snapped his neck out, closed his jaws around her, and made her pay for even the thought of hurting his mate.
That would account for some of the blood on McCree.
Hanzo swallowed. “Then what happened?”
“You killed her very dead,” McCree said, sounding pleased. “There would be no salvaging her. You ran away to kill more guards and Angie tried to help me up but I twisted my ankle good. When you returned, you chased her off and picked me up.”
There was something he was leaving out. “How?” he asked instead.
“You tried to scruff me,” McCree said with a laugh. “Like a cat but obviously that wouldn’t work. Then you picked me up by my serape and it ripped. Nearly choked me, too.” He seemed to hesitate.
“You’re lying,” Hanzo said flatly.
McCree laughed. “I can see you’d think that,” He admitted. “Even though it happened to me, it still sounds absolutely ridiculous!”
“If I couldn’t pick you up, then what happened?” Hanzo demanded even as he began to remember.
Frustratingly, McCree laughed again. “You picked me up by the legs. My chaps kept me from being skewered on you teeth and Ange followed where you couldn’t reach her.”
“And Snowball?”
Hearing his name, the little droid trilled and flew over, swirling once around Hanzo’s head before flying off toward Dr. Ziegler who was slowly emerging from her tent.
“Snowball tried to goad you away from me,” McCree explained. “So Angela could heal my ankle. Think I twisted it pretty bad when I fell. But once you realized that he was luring me away from you…” he shrugged.
Hanzo looked away. “I’m…” he struggled to his knees, ignoring the bite of the gravel against his bare skin. “What about the others?”
“They’re fine on the drop ship.” Hanzo breathed a sigh of relief. “Just you, me, and Angie out here. And Snowball. They’re ready to come back and pick us up once you’re ready.”
Once Hanzo was ready.
As if he were the one they were concerned about.
Perhaps that was more true. Hanzo was the most dangerous at this moment.
He hung his head. “You may go, now,” Hanzo said quietly.
“Where the fuck am I going?” McCree demanded. Then he seemed to understand. “Oh.”
Hanzo shook his head without looking up. “Now you know what I am. You know how dangerous I can be. I highly doubt anyone wants me on the team.”
“You're an idiot, you know that?” McCree asked with a rough laugh. “You really think everyone's gonna turn you away?”
For a long moment Hanzo wasn't sure how to respond. “ I killed people. ”
McCree howled with laughter. Near the tent, Dr. Ziegler looked over at them. “We all have,” he said as he laughed. “Is that the only thing you're worried about?”
For a long moment Hanzo dealt with a bout of quiet rage. “I am a dragon .”
“You don't say?” McCree asked, sounding far too amused. More seriously he said, “You also saved my hide back there, even if you ripped my pants.”
Suddenly Hanzo understood why he was wearing his serape in his lap rather than around his neck.
“‘Sides,” McCree added a little too casually. “It's not like we all didn't already know.” He heaved himself to his feet with a grunt, carefully wrapping his serape around his waist to preserve his modesty. “I'm glad I got to meet the other you,” he told Hanzo gently. “You can let it out more often. The possessive thing really makes a man feel wanted.”
With a final wink at Hanzo, he began limping toward Dr. Ziegler's tent. It was just as well. Hanzo's face was bright red in embarrassment.