Chapter 10: One Hundred Degrees, Celsius

Genji hadn't been this amused since the time a squirrel stole his master's prayer orbs. He'd nearly forgotten how much Hanzo muttered to himself, and how absolutely nonsensical and ridiculous his older brother could be.

Genji wouldn't be much of a pesky younger brother if he didn't know Hanzo had gone to Jesse's room after the meeting and had stay far longer than necessary. The next morning, Winston had asked for volunteers for a recruitment mission of all things, and Jesse had jumped at it. Genji could easily guess why: keep busy enough and it's easier to ignore whatever you're avoiding. And if that really was Gabriel Reyes working for Talon… than Jesse probably had a whole lot he wanted to avoid.

But apparently so did Hanzo.

He refused to say anything about what had happened. When Genji pointed out that returning a hat didn't need to take nearly an hour, Hanzo had called him a foolish youth. Now his older brother was pacing the training room muttering in Japanese, firing arrows with way more anger than necessary.

"…not know?" Hanzo muttered. "Or…recognize…"

Who doesn't know what? Genji wondered. Odds were that Hanzo was muttering about Jesse (because really, Hanzo was not as mysterious as he thought he was), but what did Jesse not know? Besides, you know, the obvious.

"Idiot…if he doesn't…"

Genji grinned. Was Hanzo worried? Oh, this was priceless.

Genji leapt down from his perch above the training dummies. Despite his silent landing, Hanzo whirled on him, arrow notched. "Careful with that," Genji teased.

Hanzo glared, lowering the bow before turning back around.

"Why so worried, brother?" Genji asked, leaning against the wall. "Jesse can handle himself, you know."

An arrow flew in a perfect arch, still piercing straight through the dummies head. "Why do you insist on pointing out the obvious?" Hanzo replied.

"I felt a responsibility to try and save the training machines from your anger."

"I am not angry."

"So it is worry, then."

"Absurd," Hanzo scoffed. "I do not worry for grown men."

Genji was glad he was wearing his mask, because the grin on his face would've gotten him an arrow to the gut. "Perhaps not for grown men, but for a certain man."

Hanzo let go of the bowstring too early and the arrow whirled off path, collapsing to the ground far too soon. His face twitched, briefly collapsing into unobscured worry before switching back to cold anger. "One should not distract oneself with work, as McCree is doing."

"Why, brother, I never took you for a hypocrite."

A sonic arrow—non-lethal but painful—struck the wall two inches from Genji's head. He broke into laughter.

"Leave me be, fool," Hanzo hissed.

Genji threw his hands in the air in surrender, barely containing his laughter. Before another arrow could fly at him, he sprinted out of the training room.

Holy shit, he was definitely telling Jesse about this when he got back.

McCree had always known he was a chatterbox; he'd certainly been told as much. Over time, he'd learned to take some pride in his ability to keep a conversation going way past its death. He could wear down wills of steel by sheer force of annoyance.

But this guy.

This kid was a whole new level.

Lúcio Correia dos Santos could not shut the hell up.

He talked the whole flight back, alternating between sitting and skating around (which Winston did not appreciate). He talked about how cool it was when Tracer first contacted him, expressing her admiration for his actions and music. He chatted about how crazy it was to meet all of them in person, and that Overwatch was back together. He worried aloud if his explanation for his absence would work or not.

And he kept calling McCree Eastwood.

"Not my name, kid," McCree told him for the millionth time. But Lúcio was an unstoppable force.

"—really hope we can all get along because I'm so excited to join you guys and I want it to work out because I think I can help you and you can help me and WOW is that Spain already?"

Finally, some punctuation. Taking the slight pause in the kid's prattling as an escape, McCree slipped away to the front of the ship.

"How much longer 'till touchdown?" he asked Tracer.

She smiled at him. "Getting an earful back there, dear?"

McCree sighed. "Makes me feel guilty for all the times I've done that to anyone else."

"At least he has enthusiasm," Tracer said. "Now get back to your seat, we're descending."

With a groan, McCree returned to his seat. Someone had managed to get Lúcio to sit down, too, though his legs bounced and he was humming an incomprehensible tune. McCree's teeth itched for a cigar to chew. He settled for his lip.

Shit. Now that the kid had finally shut up, McCree wished he would keep chattering. With the relative silence and inactivity, there was nothing left to think about other than yesterday. Reyes, of course, was haunting the back of his mind. But more prominent than him was Hanzo Shimada's sudden display of compassion.

McCree had nearly thought the man was avoiding him. He was polite enough when they had to interact, but was a needle in a haystack otherwise. Genji said it was just the way Hanzo was, aloof and distant, but that hadn't assuaged McCree's worry that he'd forever fucked up any potential friendship with the archer by hunting him down in Japan.

God, McCree really was just an impulsive kid himself, wasn't he? He was in no place to call Lúcio one. McCree had grown too used to doing everything on his own terms, which meant getting out and seeing things with his own two his eyes, dealing with the world with his own two hands and gun. It had been a damn blessing he'd been recruited for Blackwatch and not Overwatch, because he'd've been kicked out within the month. Blackwatch was stricter than anyone else when it got down to the dirty details, and if you ever disobeyed a direct order, there were consequences that would make anyone think twice. But in the end, it let Reyes and his soldiers handle things outside of Overwatch's public image, and that meant that people like McCree could do what they do best — shoot first, ask questions later. So that's what he'd gone and done.

McCree sighed. It was a terrible habit he'd need to outgrow. It'd kept him alive when he was on the run, but if he was going to be working with the science monkey and the good doctor, he'd need to be a bit more kosher. Ask questions first, shoot second.

Which he'd really failed at doing in the case of Hanzo.

The ship's touchdown was smooth as butter. Nothing less from Lena Oxton. Mercy directed Lúcio off the ship with a patient smile, followed by Winston, who was clearly itching to explain what joining Overwatch would really mean, but the kid kept talking over him.

Tracer found McCree still in his seat. "Didn't get much sleep?" she asked.

"Suppose," McCree said.

Tracer's soft smile turned into a smirk. "Care to tell me why?"

McCree narrowed his eyes. "What's that smug look about?"

Her hands flew up in mock innocence. "Why, I have no idea what you mean, Jesse. This is just my face."

"Right, I forgot what a little shit you are," he said. She scoffed good-heartedly at his jab. He pushed himself up with a yawn and a stretch, bones popping with age he didn't want to admit. "Hey, Lena…" McCree said.

Tracer froze instantly at hearing her real name from McCree. The smirk disappeared and she pushed her goggles up.

But he'd already lost the nerve to talk to her about Reyes. "…nevermind," he finished.

Her expression dropped into a pout. "Don't leave a gal hanging!" she complained. "Seriously, Jesse McCree, what's going on? If something's wrong, you can tell me, you know? I'm your friend."

Her big doe eyes dripped with sincerity. McCree smiled at her. "Ain't nothin', sweet stuff. My mind was just wanderin'."

"In that case, I do hope you find it soon."

"Don't sass me."

She gave a true smile, more calm than her regular, gleeful ones. Then she was gone, blinking off the ship to catch up with the Lúcio tour group. McCree's own smile fell in her absence. The distraction of the mission could only last so long, and now, empty and alone on the ship, McCree couldn't draw it out any longer.

Not that it had been much of a distraction anyways. Who was he kidding? His mind was a boiling pot of a thousand screaming thoughts, and he couldn't make head or tail of any of them. At least during a mission he had some objective, something that had to be done and could be done and would get done, all quick and distinct and black and white. Sometimes what you thought was black ends up actually white and vice versa, but that was the only confusion out there.

Back at Gibraltar, on the other hand, his head felt like it would boil over.

Back here, there was space for memories to come back.

Back here, there was a certain someone he didn't know what to think of.

Dammit, he really needed his cigars.

Did he hate McCree? Was he indifferent? Did he like him at all, or was it just cordial professionalism? McCree usually didn't care if people liked him or not, even if he had to work with them, so long as they would keep to the job. But for some reason, he wanted Hanzo to like him.

McCree disembarked the ship slowly, letting his spurs clink in a steady rhythm. He could hear the voices of Tracer and Lúcio and Winston coming from the mess hall, and turned in the opposite direction. He was exhausted, and wanted nothing more than to stare at his ceiling, wrapped in the heavy smoke of one of his last cigars. Maybe then he'd have the energy to go to the practice range or something. He felt like he shouldn't be lying around listlessly.

He nearly walked straight into Zenyatta, who side-stepped (or side-hovered?) out of the way at the last minute. One of the pray orbs smacked McCree in the nose and he cursed.

"Sorry there, Zen," he said, holding his nose gingerly. "I'm so tired my eyes just glazed over."

The monk looked at him, and McCree wished that he had any expression, any at all. But of course the metal didn't move. "It is alright," Zenyatta said. "But is your nose hurt?"

McCree waved his free hand dismissively. "S'fine."

"In that case, may I point you in the direction of Genji? He seemed excited to tell you something upon your return."

Well, he had no idea what that could be about. "If our little cyborg wanted to talk to me so bad, why didn't he just wait around the hanger?"

Zenyatta shrugged. "Perhaps he guessed that you might not be in the mood to talk to him directly after a mission. But if you are, he should be on the roof."

McCree nodded, and Zenyatta gave one of his spiritual greetings, and floated on. His nose pulsed with dull pain, but the curiosity of what Genji wanted to say was stronger than his desire to sleep. Making a pit stop at his room to pick up his last box of cigars, he headed to the roof.

Genji sat on the edge of the roof, helmet completely off, exposing spiked black hair tipped with lime green that ruffled with the sea breeze. His legs were crossed in a knot, and his hands were resting lightly on his knees. As soon as McCree took a step towards him, the hands flipped, and Genji turned to McCree with a half-robotic smile.

"How was the mission?" Genji asked.

McCree sighed over dramatically, taking out a cigar and lighting it. The smoke filled him with warmth and haze. "That kid, Lúcio Something-a-rather, is like a five year old at Disneyland."

"Now you know how the rest of us feel," Genji said.

"Give me some credit. I haven't been that chatty in ages," McCree said. He strolled up to the edge of the roof and sat, one knee bent up to support his metal arm, the other dangling off. He lit a cigar with a flick of his old lighter. "Zen kindly informed me you had something you wanted to tell me."

Genji's dark eyes flashed with glee, and his smile immediately turned mischievous. "Tell me, Jesse McCree, what do you think of my brother?"

That was definitely… not where McCree had expected this conversation to go. "Uh, well, he's a lot quieter than you, for sure," McCree started. "Not particularly friendly, neither, but frankly I'm just glad he's not tryin' to kill me. I'd probably deserve it, considerin' how I first treated him."

"Ah, right, when you went to 'have a little talk with him.'"

"Yup. He accepted my apology though, so hopefully I'm not going wake up one mornin' with an arrow to my neck."

There was a moment of silence as McCree drew a long breath around his cigar. Genji nudged him with his elbow. "You definitely won't," he said. McCree gave him a questioning look, and Genji joyfully continued: "While you were off on the mission, I came across my brother in the training room. By itself, that is not abnormal, as he has always been a perfectionist. But he was muttering to himself, something he only does when he is, er, anxious."

"So your brother has anxiety. We're all some level of messed up 'round here," McCree said. He himself certainly was all kinds of messed up.

Genji held up a shushing finger. "Not so fast, cowboy. It's what he was muttering about that's important." The shit-eating smile broke into a grin, the kind of grin that only a younger sibling can properly do. "He was worrying about you."

McCree froze, hand stopping mid air on its way to his cigar. Quickly, he recovered from the shock and pulled the cigar out.

"So," Genji continued, "I ask you, McCree, why would my brother be worrying about you?"

"Well…" McCree started. He stopped. What should he say? Did he know why Hanzo did anything? "'Suppose it's 'cause I… I told him all about Reyes."

The grin fell to a small smile.

McCree continued. "I spilled a little more than a meant to. I was just going to say somethin' simple about how Reyes gave me a chance to be something good, and I kinda gave him the whole story about how I got to Overwatch. Hanzo was a good listener, so maybe that's why. Didn't say much at the time, so I figured… I don't know, that he was just bein' polite. Didn't think he'd worry 'bout me."

Genji sighed. "When we were children and we still got along, I used to tell Hanzo everything. In part because he was my older brother, but also because he's always been a good listener. But he would never tell me anything. He'd just try to solve all my problems on top of his own, without anyone's help. I found it infuriating." Genji grabbed his mask from beside him and pulled it over his green and black hair. The visor clipped into place and the green V softly glowed. "Time has not done well for my brother. While it healed me, it festered his guilt into his very soul. I hope it would not be too presumptuous of me to ask if you could keep help me make sure he does not… risk himself."

McCree wanted to point out that just being in Overwatch was a risk to all of them. But he knew that wasn't what Genji meant, so he just nodded. Genji bowed in that strange monk way, and walked silently off the roof, leaving McCree with a cloud of cigar smoke and thoughts.

Something unnatural was up with the old Blackwatch commander, that much was obvious. But did Angela have to call a secret meeting over it?

Genji lounged in his seat, feet propped up on the large table. Hanzo sat across from him, occasionally giving Genji's posture a stiff look. Still so prim and proper. Genji purposefully made his posture worse.

"I know I'm not an expert in this stuff," Angela said. "Even knowing about you two, and having a Genius, I have practically no experience with the magical world. That's why I asked to speak to you two."

Hanzo's eyes narrowed. Surely Angela's Genius wasn't a surprise to him. Genji could sense it from across the compound, and he'd always had a weaker connection to their inherent magic than his brother.

"I don't know anything about smoke people things," Genji said. "But I never really paid attention to the non-dragon stuff."

"Of course you didn't," Hanzo muttered.

Angela clicked her tongue. She still didn't like Hanzo. "Well?" she said, crossing her arms. "Do you know what is going on with Gabriel Reyes?"

Hanzo's eyes closed as he turned to his memories. It was a habit he'd had since they were kids; said it helped him recall the memory easier. "Shusa," he said. "An aberration." He opened his eyes slowly and turned to Genji. "They are like us, but their shift becomes involuntary, and sometimes permanent."

"No, if Reyes had been like us, I would've know. Angela would've known. He was a normal person," Genji said.

"I did not say I knew if he was an aberration. But it is the only possibility I know of," Hanzo said.

Angela glanced at the space above her right shoulder, where, Genji knew, her Genius usually sat. "Is it not possible for him to have been… made into whatever he is? Artificially?"

Both the brothers stared at her in surprise.

"No—"

"It's not possible—"

"That would require technology… power… that would be—"

"Impossible!"

Angela frowned at them. "Impossible like how it was impossible for you to be saved, Genji?"

Oh. Okay, she had a point there. Hanzo stiffened at the mention of Genji's near death, but his arguments died, too.

"If there's one thing I've learned since this little bird found me," Angela continued, "it's that the impossible is rarely that. You say his condition matches the definition of an aberration." She pulled out her chair and sat down, leaning forward with a grave face. "Tell me everything you know about them."