Chapter Text
"It must be done."
Silence greets the words. A bowed head hides the face of a man who should know better.
"This cannot be tolerated any longer."
His head raises, dark strands of hair falling loose; his expression is meticulously crafted to give nothing away. Against his hakama where his hands rest, feet beneath his legs, his knuckles are bone pale. The saikō-komon do not titter. They watch with eyes of stone. The man feels the stares pinning him in place — they already know what his response will be.
"You must prove yourself more than your father before you."
He knows how it will feel before he says it — a blade between his lungs, an avalanche over his head.
"I will not falter," Hanzo Shimada promises.
A fate is sealed with the answer.
"I'm truckin', sir. The weather's mighty fine."
Jesse McCree stretches his legs out where he's comfortably planted in his chair, having no intention of moving anytime soon. Spending every night studying even the smallest, unreachable points in Hanamura has left his muscles begging mercy something awful — the architecture practically begs for people like him to crawl across rooftops. Unfortunately for him, he's never been one for climbing anything much taller than a milkcrate and has already made the mistake of telling Reyes. In return, Jesse got a rather terse reminder of how he should've kept up with cardio and strength training instead of putting all his time into weaponry, which turned into Jesse saying I didn't get t'be the best shot in your command by sittin' around liftin' weights.
Then Reyes had inevitably played the don't-talk-to-your-superior-officers-like-that-kid card and Jesse had been inevitably forced to surrender in all of his twenty-seven year old aw-c'mon-I-ain't-a-kid glory.
On the other end of the line, Jesse can hear the Blackwatch commander shuffling through something. Files, maybe, or all five of his work tablets. A moment passes and there's the distressed beeping of a datapad that's had too many buttons pressed at once; that answers that. Reyes hisses a particularly choice string of curses beneath his breath. Jesse whistles at him for it.
"Oh? Is this a good time to plan a vacation in Hanamura, then?" Reyes asks flatly once he's quieted all of his various devices.
It's both a question and a trap. Jesse chooses not to answer for fear of getting caught within the verbal confines of a net he wouldn't be able to escape without embarrassing himself.
"The Shimadas've been quiet. Nothin' on that front," Jesse reports instead. It's the right move; Reyes listens. "So, either the family's rampin' up for somethin' big that they're doin', or they're keepin' their heads down for somethin' bigger that they ain't."
"That how you feel, or is that what you know?"
"Both, sir," Jesse says. He taps metal fingers rhythmically against his thigh. "The Shimada-gumi got more in the way of organization than the Deadlocks ever had, but I know a gang when I see one. When things go quiet, it's 'cause any kinda attention's gonna be bad attention. People here know it. The Shimadas' place is right in the middle of Hanamura, and nobody wants to make the mistake of givin' it a second glance."
"Any other clans in the area?" Reyes asks. Jesse knows what he's getting at; he already looked into it himself.
"Naw. They got a tight grip here. Anybody stupid enough to challenge 'em might as well just go ahead and trip on their own fancy sword."
The comment gets a snort out of Reyes. "What about the Shimadas themselves? Anything noteworthy?"
That's Reyes' way of saying look where it matters. It's also a way of saying that he can't tolerate Jesse missing anything. Reyes knows Jesse's taking it seriously, of course he does, but he's still Jesse's boss; they'd had to fight another damn war with the brass just to get clearance to have a Blackwatch agent on the mission at all. The fact that Jesse's technically half an Overwatch agent might put him in better favor, but considering the original plan called for two agents — not three, and especially not one who's barely got anything under his Overwatch record as it is — puts them both in the hotseat.
(The best of Jesse's work is buried beneath miles of security locks and clearance levels. Jesse can't say a word about any of it, even if he wants to.)
So with everything that it's taken to get him here, Jesse doesn't like having to give Reyes bad news.
"Sorta," Jesse hedges, continuing quickly: "Genji Shimada took off almost a week ago. Saw him leave, never saw him come back. I would've noticed. Hanzo Shimada hasn't shown his face since." Jesse digs a thumb into a worn, pale spot on his jeans. "I've been all over, Reyes. I don't got a damn clue where he disappeared to. People ain't shuttin' up about it either, s'far as I can tell. Genji Shimada's a helluva public figure."
Reyes is quiet, but it's not a quiet that warns of an oncoming storm. It seems more like he's mulling over Jesse's answers. Jesse takes the chance to get to his aching feet, padding over to the fridge in search of a drink. Ninja hunting is thirsty work — so long as Jesse doesn't accidentally choke, he won't have to hear Reyes' eye-roll from almost six thousand miles away.
"The brothers didn't leave together?" Reyes says while Jesse pokes his head into the fridge, phone propped between his shoulder and ear.
"There definitely would've been some kinda mobilization if the current head of the family skipped town," says Jesse, chewing on a fingernail. He takes a bottled water, turning the cap off with a quiet pop. "The dad's been dead, what — two months by now? Hanzo Shimada leaves, everything's gonna go up in flames, poof." Jesse takes a sip.
"Thank you for the imagery." Reyes gives him that six-thousand-miles-away roll of his eyes despite all of Jesse's attempts to stave it off. He can hear the sound of it in Reyes' voice. Damn.
The conversation moves on; Reyes digs, Jesse gives him what little he can and shrugs away the rest. Overwatch already had a sizable file for the Shimada-gumi; this mission that Jesse is on is less meant as a detailed recon to provide information beyond 'they're doing illegal things.' Looking for holes to exploit in the yakuza clan is next to impossible — Jesse doesn't say as much, or else Reyes will fire back with people expect the impossible out of us every day.
It's not hard logic to follow, really. The Shimada-gumi's boss dies, his eldest son takes over as their tradition dictates, Overwatch suddenly gets interested. The Shimadas have been on the to-do list for a while now; figuring out if they can make a real push while the family's recovering from their loss and Hanzo's still finding his footing — it's a tactical decision Jesse can appreciate, even as pointless as it feels now. The op is really nothing but staying alert and sending all relevant observations back to base, but Reyes is expecting something solid, Reyes doesn't work with hypotheticals. Jesse can't bring him a maybe when Reyes wants a yes.
In the hotel room next to Jesse's, Amari is no doubt having a similar talk with Commander Morrison. Jesse can't begin to guess what Angela is up to, partially because she's leagues ahead of him as far as jargon goes and majorly because she's been holed away in her room nearly the whole visit.
Jesse's feet hurt. He frowns at them and wonders if Angela's got anything to help him out.
"I wouldn't have pushed for your involvement if I didn't think you could handle it," Reyes is saying; the serious tone he's using cuts through Jesse's aches and pains and forces him to pay attention, as if the Blackwatch Commander is standing right in front of him rather than sitting at a desk that's roughly a fifteen-hour flight away. "So don't prove me wrong. Get me anything that can justify you being there. Specifically you , not Overwatch."
Reyes' faith in him is as comforting as it is intimidating, which is nothing new. Jesse has to bite his tongue to keep himself from asking — why aren't you here?
"Gotcha, sir," Jesse says, his initial frown so small it might have been nonexistent.
"You're Blackwatch. Doesn't matter how many Overwatch ops you help out with, you'll never be anything to them but Blackwatch." Reyes is intense, critical; Jesse can picture it now, the commander leaning forward in his chair seriously, eyes dark. "This whole thing with the Shimada family, it's going to set a precedent. So set the bar as high as you goddamn can."
"I'll figure it out." Jesse moves to take a peek out of his room’s window, spying the high roof of the Shimada Castle from a distance. "If I die tryin' to get into this damn castle, you can have my share of supper."
"I'm touched," Reyes says dryly, but Jesse thinks he might hear a smile playing in it.
"Hey, if I get somethin' good outta all this, you finally gonna admit I beat your high score in the trainin' arena?"
"McCree —" One of Reyes' datapads beeps demandingly. Reyes sighs; whatever he says next will be a clear dismissal; more needful matters remain in front of him while his honorary second-in-command has been running around Japan hoping for the best for the past two weeks. "This is all you, cowboy. Get friendly with the locals, you like doing that." Jesse catches the soft sound of an intermittent, haptic keyboard buzz. Reyes has already moved on. "Make something happen."
They disconnect. Jesse thinks it all over while he leans his shoulder on the wall, biting the inside of his cheek.
Jesse's first instinct is telling him to give another go at tracking down Genji Shimada. Jesse doesn't know where the sons of yakuza bosses go to relax, but he's confident that he can figure it out fairly easily considering how well-known Genji is in the area. The other option is to storm the castle as stealthily as possible while hoping Hanzo's inexperience at running a criminal organization keeps him from slitting Jesse's throat in some dark corner or another. They need something undeniably useful; they're not going to get it while sitting around.
They'd have far more luck with Genji, Jesse already knows. Whether the youngest son is going to want to divulge the secrets of the family business or not doesn't matter. If he's cooperative, Jesse can handle it himself, report back, and they can work on mobilizing a larger group of agents to take care of whatever happens.
But if Genji decides to keep his mouth shut, it's absolutely possible Jesse is going to have to give the guy a very tense flight back to base so that Reyes can have a talk with him instead.
Jesse doesn't like either of those outcomes despite how he's already thinking through their benefits. Overwatch could provide protection to Genji if he decides to help without being under duress, but Jesse knows that the only way to keep a wild dog from biting is to take out its teeth — his family would never stop chasing him for the betrayal.
Another fault within the plan: Genji Shimada hasn't struck Jesse as the kind of man to turn on his own kin. The fact that Genji has no involvement within his family’s dealings, even going so far as to shirk all responsibilities, and yet he hasn't left Hanamura until now?
It means he has a reason to stick around, and Jesse's been paying enough attention to feel like he knows why.
What Jesse can't figure out is why Hanzo Shimada hasn't sent search parties out after his brother if they care so much about each other. Hanzo taking on their father's role should’ve put Genji in a more secure place within the grand scheme of things, not shaken him loose. Jesse's second-guessing everything thanks to Hanzo's reaction — or more accurately, his lack of one.
"If I was Hanzo Shimada, what would I do?" Jesse asks aloud, teething at the opening of his bottle, half-empty now.
It's a question he should be asking himself circa ten years ago. Jesse McCree, seventeen, sharpshooter prodigy, climbing up the Deadlock ladder too quick to know what to do about it, let alone to think twice. Jesse McCree, who would've shot Gabriel Reyes between the eyes for killing his gang; Jesse McCree, who tried to shoot Reyes anyway and ended up with his ribs broken in three places and a fractured wrist; Jesse McCree, on the ground, spitting on Reyes’ fancy military boots, taking aim again with his other hand.
That Jesse McCree would've pulled an ally close to protect them. It's the only way t'live, t'get anythin' worthwhile! Out here, we're on our own, but Deadlock's always ours.
So long as Hanzo Shimada doesn't seem to give a damn about his brother, Jesse decides that he hasn't got a chance of getting inside his head, semi-comparable life experiences or not.
The issue still remains, though. If this thing was a solo gig, Jesse would already be out the door trying to scrape up relevant information that'd make for a good game plan to take the family down — but it's not a solo gig, and Jesse has two people waiting on any scraps he can give.
Jesse sighs, already tired from the future's missed sleep. No time like the present.
Jesse opens the sliding door, toes his shoes on, and then opens the next door, wooden and strong. The hotel that they've been placed in, called a ryokan in the dossier, is a mix of traditional aesthetic and modern functionality; while each room bears the usual hinged door, there's a space between the entrance and the rest of the room to slip shoes off before opening a sliding door to reveal the rest of the living area. Hanamura is a city made up of history that borrows only bits and pieces from current times, as opposed to the other way around. Jesse, being who he is, can respect that.
Back at base, agents play with a touch panel to control the doors. Jesse figures the sliding doors they've got here aren't much different where it counts; they only require a second or two more movement to get anywhere.
He turns his head to the left — Amari's room. He turns his head to the right — Angela's room. Strictly speaking, he should speak with Amari first if he's taking seniority into the equation, but Jesse hasn't seen Angela in days outside of the occasional hello, so he turns right and moseys towards Angela's room.
Jesse raps his knuckles twice on the outer door, putting his ear up to it. "Is the doctor in?" he asks kindly through the wood.
There's a muffled oh! and the sound of papers rustling before he hears Angela's response. "One second!"
Her accent gives the words a pleasant cadence, one that Jesse is terribly familiar with after countless moments of being injured in various ways on-base and off. He isn't so much a magnet for trouble as much as he is the trouble, and it tends to bite him in the ass at the worst of times. There's been many a mission where Jesse's taken a hit for someone else or thrown himself into danger he knew he could get out of, but at a cost to his own well-being. Sometimes his impulsive resourcefulness saves a mission; sometimes it saves lives. Either way, he's made a bad habit of it.
Besides, Jesse considers most anyone who jabs him with something sharp for his own good a friend.
The door in front of him opens to reveal Angela, her golden hair loose around her shoulders. She looks a bit frazzled, eyes a tad glassy, leaning against the side of the door with a tired smile.
"Howdy. Ain't busy, are you?" Jesse asks, brows coming together. "Don't want to interrupt nothin' important."
"I am never too busy for you. Come in, come in," Angela replies, ushering him inside. Jesse takes his shoes off again and goes; she follows, her hands rubbing together. "What can I do for you, Jesse?"
There's blueprints and articles scattered across Angela's floor; it seems she's pushed the futon to the furthest corner of the space to maximize her ability to strew things every which way. Jesse can't hardly understand anything the papers have on them, not only because most of them are in languages he can't read — but also because it's all way over his head, vocabulary and content both. He gives an appreciative gesture, a point and thumbs up, much to Angela's chagrin.
"Never too busy, huh?" Jesse says dubiously to her.
"Keine sorge. It's nothing." Angela hand-waves his concerns away, walking over to her own fridge. "As I said, what can I do for you? Is your arm giving you trouble? We are at a different altitude than what you are used to, that may have some undocumented side-effects."
The mention of his arm has Jesse looking at the metal making up the lack of limb from his left elbow down. As far as he can tell, there hasn't been any issue — and besides that, he's been in worse conditions since getting it. Belarus last December had been a pain; the cold had done its damndest to lock his joint up. Reyes had nearly torn him a new one out of concern that had turned into anger. Once Jesse had explained the problem, Reyes' expression had settled on pensive worry. For a while after, it had seemed like the mechanical parts would get replaced with cybernetic ones or something that could more effectively regulate itself without outside help for fear of it complicating another op. Reyes had given Jesse the last word on the subject, so Jesse had kept the gears.
"Naw, doc, it's fine," Jesse answers then, demonstrating the full angle of movement. Angela tuts in reply, though it isn't in disapproval. He continues: "Just wanted to let you know. I'm headin' out a little further than usual tonight. Been doin' recon regularly, need to loosen the net a smidge."
Angela isn't quite quick enough to stop the curiosity from flashing in her eyes. No matter how tired she is, she's sharp.
"Commander Morrison is ordering this?" she asks. The way she says it is carefully neutral. Jesse doesn't know whether it's neutral because she wants to know the truth or if it's neutral because half the time she disagrees with Morrison on nearly everything.
Jesse tongues at one of his canine teeth.
"Classified," Jesse finally says, apologetic.
"I joined a peacekeeping organization, Jesse." The rest of what she doesn't say goes something like not a group that skulks around in the shadows threatening people so don't go skulking around in the shadows threatening people. There's an edge to Angela's words that means she's annoyed with Morrison again.
Jesse wouldn't mind seeing her rip into Reyes sometime, but that's never going to happen.
"I ain't about to go startin' nothin'," Jesse says sincerely, and he really isn't, not really, not if it goes well; he adds with a bit more certainty: "I just wanted to let you know in case somethin' starts itself."
Angela gives him a pitying look.
"What?" asks Jesse.
"You are a catalyst, Jesse McCree." Angela sighs and shakes her head. "Please, be safe. Is Ms. Amari aware of your excursion?"
"She sure will be." Jesse leans forward and kisses the top of Angela's head; she swats at him without any real hostility. When he dances backwards, carefully avoiding the papers that litter the tatami floor, he's grinning. "Thank y'kindly for your time, angel."
He pauses once he's out of Angela's room, wondering what exactly he's going to tell Amari. She's not someone from which Jesse has to keep most Blackwatch secrets, but she can't know exactly what Reyes has told him to do. If Genji Shimada really does end up willingly joining their cause, Jesse's going to be in a heap of crap from all sides. Best to let her know everything she can know, sooner rather than later. Ana Amari sees everything; Jesse would rather not be on the receiving end of her judgment.
He knocks on her door, ever a glutton for punishment.
"Heya," Jesse says when she comes into view; at the same time, Amari tells him, "Join me for tea, Jesse," in the kind of tone that means business.
Jesse can't say no. He'd lost the battle as soon as his knuckles had touched the door.
Out of politeness and a foreboding sense of Amari-is-going-to-get-onto-me, Jesse takes off his hat as he walks into Amari's room. There's not a speck of mess; her rifle and Overwatch uniform are hidden somewhere out of sight, and any hint of what she may have been up to before Jesse came in is nonexistent. Amari's space is a stark contrast to the chaos of Angela's. The good doctor and all of her notes, writings, research, and articles had made for a jungle of paperwork nearly impossible to traverse. Jesse isn't stupid by any means — if he was, he never would've made it this long — but Angela's a damn genius, and he'll give her credit where it's due: nobody else could ever do her job to the degree that she does it.
Amari motions at him to take a seat at her table. Jesse sits on his feet with his knees drawn close and respectful, his hat dropped gently on the floor next to him. Amari cracks a smile finally, dispelling some of Jesse's nerves, and sits across from him so that she can prepare their tea.
"I spoke with Jack just now," Amari begins. Jesse nods, a minute tip of his head. "He had just finished speaking with Gabriel."
Amari is more than aware of the rules that govern Blackwatch to keep the covert division safely within Overwatch's shadow. She's not trying to get anything out of him that she's not allowed to know. He still shifts, though, wishing the conversation didn't already feel like a prelude to a scolding.
If Reyes had gotten the brunt of Jesse's anger and cynicism when Jesse had first been recruited out of the Deadlocks, Amari had received the desperation and loneliness. Jesse would be hard-pressed to answer if someone asked him whether he valued one over the other; the truth of it is that he values them both the same but in very different ways. While Reyes formed Jesse into something that could survive, Amari smoothed him over into someone who could live — necessity versus ability.
Amari pours the hot water from the teapot into the pitcher, watching to be certain the water does not spill a drop.
"Gabriel requested that Jack tell me to be on standby tonight," Amari continues. She empties the now-warm teapot of water into a small pitcher and levels her gaze on Jesse. "He could not give me specifics."
"Ain't got any for you," Jesse says, sheepish. Amari just sighs before placing the loose tea leaves in their small colander. They go into the teapot. "All I know is I'm headin' out again tonight, gonna try to catch one slippery ninja. Don't think nothin'll happen, but it's better safe than sorry."
"You are your commander's most trusted agent for good reason, Jesse," Amari says, her eyes crinkling just a bit at the corners in response to Jesse's slight shift of stance, the prouder set to his shoulders. Water follows, poured into the teapot to join the leaves. "As well as one of mine. I ask only that whatever you do, take care you do not forget the possible consequences."
"I hear you." Jesse rubs at his left arm, presses fingers just above the elbow to feel the way the metal connects to the joint. "I'll be in touch, keepin' you updated. Ain't about to leave you in the dark, that'd just be cruel of me."
"Of course." Amari pours the steeped tea from the teapot into the pitcher. The heat rises, visible in the air. "Fareeha called before we left, did I tell you? She's doing well. Everyone is very impressed by her capability."
"'Course they are," Jesse says, pride evident in his tone. "Like mother, like daughter."
If I am to join Overwatch one day, Fareeha had confided in him, then I must start with something smaller. She had shifted, giving away her nerves, but her chin had remained high. I plan on enlisting in the Egyptian Army.
Goddamn, don't let your mama hear that talk, Jesse had exclaimed once he'd gotten over his surprise, and then he'd ruffled her hair fondly. Knock 'em dead, sweetpea.
Amari hums and splits the tea into two cups, sliding one closer to Jesse for him to grab. He takes a deep inhale of the aroma — not bad. Nothing that makes him think he'll need to add something. Two raised eyebrows and an appreciative nod later, and Jesse blows gently on the liquid in an attempt to cool it.
She corrects him: "Drink it hot."
Jesse does; his eyes water at the heat from the gulp he manages. Once he's coughed his tongue free of any stinging, he grimaces. "I'm thinkin' I still prefer my tea iced and sweet."
Amari laughs, clearly unimpressed with his attempt, but Jesse eventually drinks the whole cup and gives his honest thanks to her.
"Go prepare, Jesse," Amari tells him. She takes a small sip of her own remaining tea. The room smells light and fresh. "You have a late night ahead of you."