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"You’re late, Cole," Hanzo said, his voice devoid of its usual sharp affection.
"Well, you know how it is. Map was upside down," Cassidy joked, though the humor died when he saw Hanzo’s packed rucksack on the cot. "Going somewhere, darlin'?"
Hanzo finally turned. His expression was a mask of cold stone. "I am leaving. And we are finished."
The silence that followed was deafening. Cassidy’s hand hovered near his belt, not for his gun, but out of a sudden, desperate need to steady himself. "Beg your pardon? If this is about the mess in the kitchen-"
"It is not about the kitchen," Hanzo snapped. "It is about us. I have realized that I no longer feel for you what I once did. The spark has simply... extinguished. I do not love you anymore, Cole."
Cassidy flinched as if he’d been struck, but then his eyes narrowed. He stepped into the light, searching Hanzo’s face with the intensity of a man tracking a target through a sandstorm. He saw the way Hanzo’s jaw was clamped tight, the way his fingers twitched toward the sleeve of his gi.
"You’re a terrible liar, Hanzo Shimada," Cassidy said softly. "I’ve seen you look at me when you think I’m sleepin’. I’ve felt you pull me closer in the middle of the night. You’re many things, but a cold-hearted quitter ain't one of 'em."
"I am telling you the truth," Hanzo hissed, though his voice wavered. "Move aside."
Cassidy stepped directly into Hanzo’s path, crossing his arms over his chest. "No. You wanna walk out that door? You’re gonna have to look me in the eye and tell me what’s really goin' on. Because 'falling out of love' doesn't happen between Tuesday and Thursday."
"Move," Hanzo growled, his hand tightening on the strap of his bag. He couldn't tell him. He couldn't tell him about the whispered threats from the remnants of the Hashimoto, or the price they had put on the head of anyone he held dear. Every moment he stayed was a target painted on Jesse’s back.
"Make me," Cassidy challenged. "I ain't letting you throw away what we got because you’re scared of something you won't name."
Hanzo’s resolve fractured into a desperate, dangerous idea. He dropped his bag. "Fine. If words will not suffice, then perhaps tradition will. You believe you know my heart better than I do? Then prove your worth."
He walked past Cassidy toward the training grounds, the cool night air biting at his skin.
"A duel," Hanzo stated, stopping in the center of the sparring ring. "If you win, I will stay. But if I win... you let me walk out that gate, and you never follow. You give up on me, Cole. Completely."
Cassidy looked at the man he loved—the man currently holding a bow as if it were a barrier between their souls. He adjusted his hat, his expression turning grim and determined.
"I never was much for following rules," Cassidy said, his hand resting on the grip of Peacekeeper. "But if this is the only way to keep you from running into the dark alone? Then draw, Hanzo."
The training yard was bathed in the harsh, artificial glow of the floodlights, casting long, jagged shadows against the concrete. They stood twenty paces apart—a distance that felt like a canyon.
Hanzo didn’t use his bow; this was too close, too personal. He drew a training blade, the dull metal gleaming under the lights. Cassidy didn't draw Peacekeeper. Instead, he shucked his serape, letting the heavy fabric fall to the dust, revealing the flash of his mechanical arm.
"I ain't losing you Hanzo," Cassidy growled, stepping into a low crouch.
Hanzo lunged. He was a whirlwind of precision, his strikes aimed at pressure points and joints, designed to end the fight quickly without permanent damage. But Cassidy was a brawler who had learned to dance. He parried a strike with his metal forearm—the clink of steel on steel echoing through the yard—and surged forward, using his weight to throw Hanzo off balance.
"Tell me!" Cassidy roared, swinging a heavy fist that Hanzo barely ducked. "Tell me who's got you so spooked that you’d lie to my face!"
"There is nothing to tell!" Hanzo countered, spinning and landing a kick to Cassidy’s ribs.
The duel was desperate. It wasn't about technique anymore; it was a collision of two stubborn wills. Hanzo was faster, but Cassidy was relentless. Every time Hanzo thought he had found an opening to end it, Cassidy was there, absorbing the blow and pushing back.
The turning point came when Hanzo overextended, driven by a flicker of panic as he realized he couldn't shake the cowboy. He stepped through a strike, but his heel caught on the edge of the sparring mat. It was a millisecond of vulnerability.
Cassidy didn't hesitate. He tackled Hanzo, his cybernetic strength pinning Hanzo’s wrists to the ground before the archer could recover. They tumbled, breathless and bruised, until Cassidy ended up on top, chest heaving, staring down at Hanzo with a look of fierce, heartbroken conviction.
"Gotcha," Cassidy wheezed. "And I win. Now... talk."
For a moment, Hanzo’s face remained a mask of defiance. Then, the adrenaline spiked into sheer terror. He bucked under Cassidy, trying to heave him off. "Let me go! You do not understand—if they see us together, if they know you are my weakness-"
"Who are they?!"
"Let go!" Hanzo screamed, his voice cracking. He managed to wrench one hand free, shoving hard against Cassidy’s chest, and scrambled backward. He didn't look back; he bolted toward the perimeter fence, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
He reached the shadow of the hangar, almost at the gate, when a heavy weight slammed into his back. Cassidy had launched himself in a desperate dive. They went down together in a tangle of limbs and gravel.
Cassidy didn't let go this time. He wrapped his arms around Hanzo from behind in a crushing bear hug, pinning Hanzo’s arms to his sides and burying his face against the nape of Hanzo’s neck.
"Stop. Just stop," Cassidy choked out, his voice muffled by Hanzo's gi. "I’m a dead man anyway if I’m not with you, Hanzo. You think I’m safer alone? You think I’m gonna sit in a bar somewhere and just... forget you? I’ll spend every damn day lookin' over my shoulder for you. That's a hell of a lot more dangerous than facing whatever's coming together."
Hanzo stopped struggling. The tension bled out of him all at once, replaced by a devastating sob he couldn't suppress. He slumped back against Cassidy’s chest, his head falling back onto the man's shoulder.
"The Hashimoto," Hanzo whispered, his voice trembling. "They sent a message. They described you, Cole. They described the way you smile. They said they would carve that smile off your face if I did not return to answer for my 'betrayal' of the clan."
Cassidy squeezed him tighter, his mechanical hand warm even through the cold metal. "Let 'em try. I’ve faced worse than some Yakuza ghosts. But I ain't doing it without my partner."
The silence that followed was no longer heavy with the threat of a storm, but with the exhausted weight of a shared secret. Hanzo let his forehead rest against Cassidy’s collarbone, his breath hitching as the adrenaline finally ebbed away, leaving only a raw, stinging vulnerability.
"They will not stop," Hanzo murmured into the leather of Cassidy's vest. "To them, I am a loose thread that must be burned. And now... I have woven you into that thread."
Cassidy didn't let go. He shifted, pulling Hanzo closer until they were both sitting on the cold gravel of the hangar shadow, tucked away from the prying eyes of the security cameras. He hooked a finger under Hanzo’s chin, forcing the archer to look at him.
"Then let 'em burn the whole damn tapestry," Cassidy said, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly register that usually meant he was about to do something incredibly reckless or incredibly loyal. "I’ve spent half my life running from ghosts, Hanzo. Blackwatch, Deadlock... I'm an expert at being a moving target. But I’m done running from things. If I’m gonna fight, I’m doing it standing right next to you."
Hanzo searched his eyes, looking for the flicker of fear he felt in his own chest, but he found only a stubborn, iron-clad resolve. Slowly, tentatively, Hanzo reached up, his fingers trembling as they traced the brim of Cassidy's hat before settling against his jaw.
"You truly believe we can withstand them? The Hashimoto are not like the gangs you have faced. They are patient. They are cruel."
"And they ain't never met a Shimada and a cowboy with nothing left to lose," Cassidy countered with a faint, lopsided smirk. He grabbed Hanzo’s hand, pressing a rough kiss to the knuckles. "We go to Winston. We tell the team. No more solo missions, no more midnight flits. We turn this around on them."
Hanzo closed his eyes, the image of the threatening letter—the precise description of Cole’s smile—flashing behind his lids. He took a shuddering breath and finally nodded. The "stone mask" had completely shattered, leaving only the man underneath.
"Very well," Hanzo whispered. "But if they so much as scratch you, Cole... I will personally ensure there is nothing left of them to bury."
"That’s the spirit, darlin'," Cassidy huffed a laugh, helping Hanzo to his feet. He didn't let go of his hand, even as they began the long walk back toward the main barracks. "Now, let's go get your rucksack. I think we both need a drink—and maybe some actual sleep."
---
The walk back to the barracks was slow, the silence between them now humming with a weary sort of relief. Inside the dim light of Hanzo’s quarters, the discarded rucksack sat like a ghost on the cot.
Cassidy didn't say a word as he nudged Hanzo toward the edge of the bed. He disappeared into the small ensuite bathroom, returning a moment later with a first-aid kit and a basin of warm water. He sat on a low stool between Hanzo’s knees, his movements methodical and practiced—the hands of a man who had patched up a thousand scrapes in a thousand dusty corners of the world.
"Hold still," Cole murmured, dipping a cloth into the water.
He started with Hanzo’s face, gently dabbing at a blooming bruise on his cheekbone where his own heavy fist had grazed him during the struggle. Hanzo winced, not from the sting, but from the tenderness in Cole’s touch. The cowboy’s brow was furrowed in concentration, his mechanical hand steady as he moved to a shallow cut on Hanzo’s temple.
"Cole," Hanzo started, his voice barely a rasp.
"Shh. I'm workin' here, darlin'."
"I am sorry."
The cloth stopped moving. Cassidy looked up, the brim of his hat casting a shadow over his eyes, but the golden light of the bedside lamp caught the stubborn set of his jaw.
"I lied to you," Hanzo continued, his gaze dropping to his own hands, which were still stained with the dust of the training yard. "I told you I did not love you. I tried to... to sever what is between us with a blade I knew would cut deep. It was a coward’s way out."
Cassidy sighed, a long, heavy sound that seemed to deflate his shoulders. He set the cloth aside and reached for a tube of antiseptic. "You weren't bein' a coward, Hanzo. You were tryin' to be a martyr. There’s a difference, though both usually end up with someone bleedin' out in the dirt for no good reason."
He squeezed a bit of ointment onto his finger and applied it to the cut. "Don't do it again. Don't ever think that lyin' to me is gonna keep me safer than the truth. I'd rather take a bullet to the chest knowin' where we stand than walk around whole and heartbroke because you thought I couldn't handle the heat."
Hanzo reached out, taking the antiseptic from Cole’s hand. "And you? You are bruised as well."
He leaned forward, his fingers trembling slightly as he tilted Cole’s chin up. There was a dark smudge along his jawline and a scrape on his shoulder where Hanzo’s training blade had caught the skin through his shirt. Hanzo worked in silence for a moment, cleaning the wounds with a precision that bordered on reverence.
"I truly believed I was saving you," Hanzo whispered, his thumb lingering near the corner of Cole’s mouth—the very smile the Hashimoto had threatened to steal. "I could not bear the thought of you paying for my sins."
"Well, lucky for you, I've got a tab a mile long myself," Cassidy said, his voice softening. He leaned into the touch, closing his eyes. "We pay 'em together, Hanzo. Or we don't pay 'em at all. That’s the deal."
Hanzo let out a breath he felt he’d been holding since the first threat arrived. He leaned down, pressing his forehead against Cole’s, the scent of gunpowder, cigarillo smoke, and antiseptic surrounding them both.
"Ok," Hanzo agreed. "No more lies."