A/N: Before we start I'd like to give a huge thanks to everyone who reads, and a extra huge thanks for anyone who goes outta their way to leave a review. Y'all are da best! :D Please remember all reviews are appreciated!

Ch. 11

Present Day

Jesse McCree

The address Sombra had given them led to an old apartment building. It was one of those old brick complexes that had been built some century ago and left unchanging among the other architecture in London that had blossomed to fit the modern times. Years ago it had been an apartment complex for omnics. However, after the null sector incident it had been purged, and was left vacant ever since. Just outside the walls Overwatch had pushed to remove the extremist threat and bring peace to King's Row. Though, the mission had been successful peace had never come.

McCree had seen the conflict first hand. He'd been an ever-present scout for Reyes during the campaign, providing shadow support for the main strike group below. He and Genji had actually camped out in that building a night or two during the whole fiasco.

Now he was standing before it once more with another Shimada. Sombra had most certainly chosen it on purpose. Perhaps, it was to evoke an emotional response from him.

Nothing was ever a coincidence with Sombra.

"You sure bout this?" he asked his companions, looking at Hanzo's stern and unreadable face. "We can still turn back." Hanzo's dark eyes met McCree's. He shook his head.

"I think we shall be fine," he replied. "I believe we should have some sort of tactic, however. Perhaps you should meet with this… Sombra. I will sneak in and scout out the upper floors."

"She knows we're here together though. She'll be wondering where you're at."

"Does she truly expect us to just stroll in without taking precautions, then? She will understand and if it's a trap then the element of surprise has already been defeated." Hanzo's sharp features glistened in the moonlight; his serious expression and hard eyes giving confidence to his words.

"Alright. If that's what ya think is best. I'll be fine on my own just… be careful…" Hanzo smirked.

"I always am." He turned to move to the alley next to the building, but paused. He turned back to McCree. "Promise me you will not be reckless." McCree smiled, feeling a little like he cared… just a little.

"I've kept myself alive this long." Hanzo snickered, turning his head to the side to hide the genuine smile.

"Sheer luck, I assure you."

"You sayin' I should be dead?" Hanzo backed towards the alley.

"You survived me." With that ominous semi-threat, he vanished into the darkness of the silent street. McCree had to take a minute to steady himself. That man was a confusing one.

He turned back towards the building, approaching it with caution. He listened in, trying to detect if he could hear anyone on the inside. It was quiet. McCree would never be able to get used to how still it was in King's Row at night. The last time he'd seen it, it was a war zone. Now, it seemed like the war had been lost and the area held only ghosts who'd been caught in the crossfire. The further away one would go from where the omnics stayed the livelier it would become. Otherwise it was as if no sentient life existed at all.

The inside of the old building was no different. The former apartment complex was falling apart on the inside. The walls were still stable, but bullet holes ripped them apart. He could see into the next room. It was empty besides tattered furniture and stripped wires. He wondered how man omnics had died inside those brick walls. Too many, was the answer to whatever statistic that could have been given to him.

The first floor was empty, so he decided to venture up to the second. He was a tad afraid that the stairs might collapse under his weight as he carefully clinked upwards. Each step offering harmonies of wooden squeaks and jingles from his spurs. Sneaking wasn't exactly an option for him. They'd certainly hear him coming from a mile away. Reyes had always bitched at him for wearing those spurs.

"Blackwatch is a super-secret section of Overwatch whose goal is to infiltrate, sabotage, and silently destroy, but you, McCree, walk around in big jingly boots and a hat the fucking size of Texas. You stand out like Reinhardt in a super market."

McCree had just laughed at his boss's attempted insult. He could only imagine seven-foot-tall Reinhardt dressed in full armor standing with a tiny little shopping cart picking out a box of Lucky Charms with Ana.

He moved through the hallway, peaking through every creaky old door for any sign of Talon or Sombra. It was vacant, however, housing nothing but dust and darkness.

McCree, finding nothing on the second floor, moved up to the third. That floor was familiar to him. It had been the one he and Genji had stayed at back during the Null Sector Uprising. He still remembered the very room the two had camped out in. With this in mind, he skipped past all the other apartments, focusing on the last door on the left. Slipping inside, he shut the door behind him and moved to the large window that overlooked the street below. Bright orange tattered curtains hung on either side of the glass pane. He rubbed the cloth between his fingers. It hadn't changed in all those years. Outside he could see a single light moving down the street. A motorcycle slowed down, parking towards the end of the road. A young human woman with a red bob got off, placing a pink helmet down on the seat. McCree would have been alarmed if it hadn't been for the cute pink sweater and flowing green scarf wrapped around her neck. She didn't seem like a Talon assassin, at least, though, he'd learned well enough that looks were most certainly deceiving. She crossed the street, moving without bothering to check for other traffic. She stepped into an alleyway, presumably heading underground to meet with an omnic friend or something of the sort. McCree turned away from the now silent street view, forgetting about the girl, and examined the bed. Back then they had chosen that room specifically because it had a bed. They hadn't quite understood exactly why it had, but they hypothesized that the omnic living there had been in a relationship with a human and that the bed was specifically there for him or her. Last he'd seen it, the white sheets had been ruffled from sleeping bodies and tossed back in disorganization. Now, the yellowing cotton was folded tightly against the bed, straight and wrinkle-free, the edge turned back and perfect. The rest of the building he had seen had been left in the disarray of evacuation. This one… had been tampered with.

In the very center of the bed sat a small white and brown feather. He plucked it from the sheet, holding it up to his eyes to examine it. It was soft and the color pattern was a gentle gradient flowing from one end to the other. He'd seen one of those before. He couldn't quite place where, though, or what type of bird it was from. It had been left for him to find.

"You remembered, Señor McCree," a feisty Mexican accent snapped his attention. He spun around, still holding the feather.

"Sombra," he twanged, raising an eyebrow. She grinned.

"I'd hoped you know to come here. Took you a little longer than expected, but at least ya figured it out." McCree sighed.

"How did you know bout this place?" She shrugged, pacing around the room and running her fingers against everything.

"I dug up an old Blackwatch report of yours. No big deal." McCree growled.

"What's yer obsession with me?" Sombra chuckled.

"No obsession, mi amigo. You're just a convenient piece of the whole puzzle. You'll see in time. Trust me."

"I don't trust you as far as I can throw you, trust me." She sat on the bed and crossed her legs, leaning against the headboard casually.

"I don't know. You're a pretty strong man. You may be able to throw a small woman like myself fairly far," she teased. "So where's your boyfriend?" McCree stared down at her in disapproval. He didn't answer. "Ah, the sneaky route. No, that's ok, I understand. I'm Talon and all, ya gotta take all the precautions possible." She shrugged. "I'm glad though, honestly. It means I can get you all to myself," she squealed the line almost seductively. "No jealous boyfriends aloud." Her tone switched back to the common playfulness that saturated every conversation the two ever had. "Speaking of," she plucked the feather from McCree's grasp. "Nice feather." She stood, pacing cautiously around the cowboy. Pausing, she looked up at him, and slipped it under the band of his hat. She grinned up at him, admiring her work.

"What are you doing?"

"Accessorizing you." McCree took a couple steps away.

"Stop it. You asked me here to 'help' me. So what information do you have?" Sombra tsked, shaking her head.

"So serious… you never want to just talk anymore." He lowered his eyes in disapproval.

"Because I don't like you, Sombra." She huffed, shaking her head. She tapped her long, metallic, purple nail against her lip.

"You're breaking my heart, Señor McCree," she joked. Sombra flopped back on the bed, crossing her right leg dramatically over her left. She patted the spot beside her. "Sit, sit, and let me enlighten you."

McCree huffed and grumbled sarcastically, "I'm sure you will." He plopped down on the bed as far from her as possible. She scooted closer to him though, causing him to growl in irritation. She giggled. "So go ahead," he urged.

"Alright, alright, sheesh, so pushy." She held out her right hand, making a slight gesture that caused a floating, bright, holo-screen to appear above her palm. It held a picture of the warehouse that he and Hanzo had investigated. "You were wondering what we did here, right?"

"That would be the question."

"Well," she swiped her left finger causing the picture to move on to a crate, "it was raided to steal components to make," she paused for dramatic effect, "a bomb."

"A bomb?" McCree repeated. He wasn't really shocked, but for some reason that wasn't what he was expecting. "A bomb… meant for what?" She swiped, switching to an image of a large white city building surrounded by other white buildings. It looked like it was made out of strange material that McCree couldn't quite place, though he'd definitely seen it before.

"This."

"Which is?" She giggled.

"The Vishkar HQ in Utopaea, India."

"Wait, I hearda them. They make those buildings outta light or something, right?"

"Mhm."

"And Talon wants to blow them up?"

"Yep."

"Why?"

"Why do they want to do anything?" McCree sighed.

"Honestly, Sombra, I don't really know what the hell Talon does anything. They're terrorists – they – y'all like the destruction." Sombra snorted, she closed her hand causing the holo-screen to vanish. She stood, spinning dramatically and cocking her head to the side.

"You have no idea, Señor McCree… truly no idea. Let's just say that they have something we want and taking them out from the root… well, it'll halt their opposition." She moved back a ways, towards the door. McCree sprung up, following after her.

"Why're you tellin' me this?" he questioned. She paused, grinning with satisfaction like she had been waiting for him to ask her that question.

"You make the game fun. It's a little more interesting with you as a player." She winked and strolled out the door. McCree chased after her.

"Sombra, what the hell does that mean? Stop bein' so cryptic…" he called after her as she moved down the hall. "Sombra, dammit." He was still chasing her when he heard the gunshot popping off like thunder rumbling in a cloudless sky. It was a loud combustion of explosive metal ringing through the silent apartment complex. The quiet had settled around them and the loud, sudden, and unknown fire had startled him. Though it exploded through the whole area loudly, McCree could definitely tell it was coming from the upper floors where… "Hanzo!" he yelled realizing that his partner was most likely in serious danger. He shoved past Sombra, rushing up the stairs as fast as his clinking boots would carry him. His cheeks burned and stomach knotted in panic at the face of the sheer unknown. In the moment, he could only imagine the worst case scenario. It wasn't an image he wanted to visualize. Worse it wasn't a reality that he wanted to face.

The top floor of the building had been hit by a mortar shot back during the Null Sector uprising. It had actually been targeted at McCree and Genji themselves, but had failed extravagantly. Due to the damage, however, the top floor had been cleared of apartments. The omnics had repaired most of the damage before they were forcibly removed from it.

When McCree reached that floor, he drew his revolver before he could even evaluate the whole scene. He aimed it, ready to pull the trigger at whatever he needed to.

Standing in the center of the large near empty room was a man somewhat akin to a shadow. McCree could see only his broad back cloaked in all black, but it took only that to fill him with a sense of trepidation. McCree moved forward, his loud spurs jingling and ruining any chance of a sneak attack instantly. The man cocked his head to the side, turning somewhat towards the sound. A low rumble emanated from him it seemed almost pleasurable.

"McCree… McCree… your aesthetic giving you away once more," he growled in a deep absolutely menacing voice. He couldn't quite place it, but McCree knew that voice. He held his left hand in the air and twitched a shiny metal talon in a beckoning motion. "Come a little closer."

And slowly, for some reason, he complied, moving gradually towards the shadow hovering in the center of the room over something or someone. McCree wasn't even sure if the man's feet touched the floor or if he had any. He seemed to float in his location like a sentient fog incasing its victim. McCree could feel only muted and aching fear. Before he could even see his face he knew one thing: this man – this creature – was dread personified. As McCree neared he floated in a circle, revealing what his cloak had been guarding before.

Hanzo was crumpled on the ground, hanging his head. He sat, propping himself up on his hands with a look of exhaustion. His black hair was hanging loose around his face, covering his expression. Though, knowing Hanzo, it was of shame for his defeat at the hands of this… thing. His pants were torn on his right leg revealing a red and bleeding wound where buckshot had grazed him. He was holding his side like it caused him pain, but McCree couldn't, luckily, see that he'd been dealt any trauma there.

"Hanzo!" McCree yelled in worry. He looked up at him, pain clear on his face.

"Jesse," he huffed. His dark eyes were wide with near concern. It was almost flattering. "You must leave." McCree's heart ached. He hated seeing him like that. He felt guilty. He hadn't protected him well enough, and now he was hurt.

"I'm not leavin' you." He looked back up at the shadow.

Looking at his face enforced the aura of fear that emanated from him. He wore a white mask shaped simultaneously like a skull and an owls face. He wore a black hood, pulled up over it, and held a large black shotgun in one hand. It was pointed at Hanzo's face.

"Such dedication," he growled, looking between the two men. His gaze focused on McCree.

"You must be Reaper," McCree said, trying to stay cool in the moment. A deep, menacing laugh rumbled from his chest.

"Did the monkey tell you about me? He likes to talk, it seems."

"Uh," McCree scratched the back of his head with his left hand, "he's a gorilla, notta monkey." Reaper snorted.

"Whatever you say…"

"What is this?!" Hanzo demanded. Reaper looked down at him. He pressed the barrel of his shotgun against his cheek.

"This is you being bait," he growled. "Successfully." Hanzo's eyebrows knitted in anger. He jerked away from the shotgun. Reaper looked back up at McCree.

"This is for me?" he twanged. He held his elbow a little straighter, pointing his revolver right at Reaper's head.

"Don't flatter yourself." McCree pushed back his hat a little, and twitched his neck to the side. Reaper chuckled. "You still look ridiculous. Haven't grown out of the cowboy thing yet, huh? Hm, well… I guess I'm not one to talk."

"What're you talkin' about?" he demanded, confused as to why he was speaking as if he knew him. Deep in the pit of his stomach the dread that had been building spread. Something was very very wrong here, with this, with him.

"You were always so ungrateful." Reaper pointed his shotgun at him. "You never did see the bigger picture."

"What…?" McCree glanced down, noticing as Hanzo shifted. He slid away, dragging his body from under Reaper's towering shadow. In the distance, McCree noticed Hanoz's bow lying on the ground. "Why you keep acting like you know me?" He asked, trying to distract their enemy while he got to his weapon.

"You haven't figured it out, yet?" He shook his head. "You of all people I…" He paused, cocking his head to the side. "Trying to escape so soon, Shimada?" A dark black tendril of smoke stretched out from Reaper's body. It slid across the floor like a black cobra going in for a strike, and wrapped around Hanzo's ankle. It yanked him back towards Reaper and McCree. He yelled out, tumbling with momentum into Reaper's leg. Hanzo grunted, pushing himself up from the ground. His back was to McCree and he could see a bleeding scratch where the jagged wood had cut into his back.

"Hanzo," McCree called out in concern.

Reaper grabbed a handful of Hanzo's long midnight hair and yanked him up from the ground. He pulled his head back, exposing his throat and pushed the barrel of his gun up against it. Smoke and shadow seemed to lap around the two of them in what seemed like an attempt to absorb Hanzo into it. Hanzo grabbed Reaper's arm, trying to hold the shotgun away, but he didn't budge.

"Let him go," McCree demanded.

"Messy work being an assassin," Reaper growled into Hanzo's ear. "Isn't it, Shimada? Tell me about your greatest hit," he paused, taking in the pain on Hanzo's face, "that of your brother. How did it feel committing fratricide? Killing your own flesh and blood for your glory!?" Hanzo growled in frustration.

"You do not know me," he hissed. He pulled a dagger from somewhere on Reaper's belt, and spun, shoving the blade into his shoulder. Hanzo dodged under the shotgun and shoved himself back away from Reaper. Reaper reacted, moving the gun's aim to Hanzo's new position. McCree could see the madman's finger twitch.

"No!" he yelled, firing his own weapon.

For a few heartbeats McCree couldn't really register as to what had happened. He'd heard the gun shot. He'd felt the kickback in his hand, but Reaper didn't fall or even yell out in reaction to the attack. Instead, he just turned his head slowly to look at the cowboy. He glanced back over his shoulder at the adjacent wall, examining the bullet hole. McCree had missed. He felt his heart skip a beat. Reaper chuckled another threatening chuckle.

"Your aim has gone, I see," he teased.

Across the room, Hanzo was darting towards his bow. Reaper spun, aiming his shotgun at him.

"Enough!" he demanded. Hanzo glanced at him, but he kept moving. Reaper recalculated, changing his aim to McCree who was standing still with a look of shock on his face. He felt numb. "I said enough! One more step and I'll kill him."

'That's not ganna work,' McCree wanted to say, but to his surprise Hanzo froze. He looked longingly at his bow then at Reaper and McCree. Their eyes met and McCree's heart swelled. Reaper looked at the two men. He obviously noticed the exchange. He groaned.

"Ahh, love… so sickening…"

"I do not l…" Hanzo started to say, but Reaper shook his head.

"You can tell yourself that all you want." He looked back at McCree. "I remember what it felt like… to die for someone I loved. I would have given an arm… or a leg… for the people I cared most about… Until they turned their backs on me. You understand, McCree, don't you?" He looked at Hanzo. "What it's like to be abandoned by everyone you cared about. Be it by choice." His mask turned towards the cowboy. "Or by death." His deep voice drew the word 'death' out. He said it with near adoration. It was as if he was far more familiar with it than any living person should be.

Suddenly it all seemed to click into place for McCree. Every sign his gut had screamed out about, every word Reaper had said with a sense of familiarity: it all fit like a perfect puzzle that made up a picture of torture, pain, and death. He realized the truth, and it wasn't something he wanted to accept.

"R-Reyes?" he practically squeaked. The name came out so breathily and pained, McCree could barely recognize his own voice. As the name left his lips Reaper took pause, lowering his weapon. His mask was blank, but the gesture he made spoke a thousand words. He lowered his head.

"Yes," he said, almost void of all emotion or life in a voice so much like Reyes's but torn with agony and rage. Tears welled in McCree's eyes.

"How?!" he demanded in a weak voice. Reaper shook his head.

"Overwatch… Jack… they turned their backs on me. They left me to become… this…" Smoke whipped around him in a cloak of wispy darkness.

"Why Talon… after all you've done to fight them why would you join them?!" McCree had lowered his weapon and he was just waving it to emphasize his anger.

"They give me what I need to reach my end goal… I work for them in return."

"End goal of what?" Reaper paused.

"Vengeance."

"For who? For you?"

"For us... all of us… everyone Overwatch has harmed. Tell me you haven't forgotten, McCree. You live everyday with the consequences of their greed. And yet you've returned to them…"

"I get by knowin' I'm doin' good! That's somethin' you taught me. Don't you remember?" Hot tears were streaming down his face now. His whole world was being turned upside down.

"I remember everything!" Reaper screamed. It was almost unearthly – as if he was morphing into some sort of demon. "You. Genji. Ana. Jack," his deep voice broke at the last name. "And you all abandoned me."

"I didn't! You know that. Reyes, dammit… You – you died… God… dammit." He squished the metal palm of his left hand into his eye, trying to squeeze some sense into his brain. He paced off towards the wall, stomping, spinning around and paced back. He threw his hands into the air. "You were dead, Reyes… You were… You…" he paused, looking off. His brain was running a mile a minute, processing all the information, running over every interaction they ever had, and trying to make sense of it all. "You really did blow up the HQ, didn't you?" He looked at the masked man he'd once looked up to in desperation. There was silence. Reaper didn't answer. He seemed to become transparent.

McCree was trying to decide if he was talking to some deranged spirit, or a real living person. Was this creature in front of him really Gabriel Reyes, the man he'd considered a father? Or was he just claiming so to tug at his emotions. Maybe he was just going crazy. He almost whished he was.

"Yes," he finally answered. McCree shook his head.

"I can't believe you… Jack… Jack was your husband and you… you killed him, Reyes! You were goin' on all about Hanzo," McCree motioned to where Hanzo had been standing, "killin' Genji, but you killed your husband!"

"Jack isn't dead either, you fool," Reaper hissed. "He escaped his retribution. He broke his vow." McCree wasn't sure how to absorb that info. He didn't know if he could. It was all too much at once. He'd have to think it over later.

"It don't matter. You tired to – you wanted to."

"I never wanted to." Reaper shook his head, chuckling. "Just to add on to the trend of old soldiers dying hard, I'll just give you the news now that Ana is still alive as well." McCree blinked, still trying to reason.

"That it? Is Fareeha's goldfish I forgot to feed still floating around somewhere a zombie, too?" Reaper didn't seem to find that too amusing. Admittedly, neither did McCree. He had just blurted it.

"It's possible," he replied. McCree shook his head.

"What do you want from me, Reyes? You wanna haunt me? Make me pay for cutting out before the whole fall? Not being there to blow up when everyone else did? What?" McCree holstered his gun. "Go ahead… do what you want." Reaper moved in on him, floating rather than walking. He leaned close towards McCree, his taloned fingers snaking up and grasping his shoulder. The barrel of his shotgun pressed into his gut. McCree knew at that range with that strength of shotgun his body armor would be utterly useless.

"I lured you here to offer you a proposition," he growled, emotionless like he was conducting a business deal. "Join Talon… join me… or be killed like the rest of Overwatch." McCree shook his head, his heart thumped hard in his chest.

"I'd never join Talon. Y'all're worse than the Deadlocks, and I will never be a criminal again."

"So be it." He pressed the shotgun harder into McCree. "Any last words?" McCree sighed. He looked hard at the mask that expressed only hate.

"I loved you, Reyes," he said. "You were the only father I ever had…" McCree closed his eyes, hanging his head. "Just do it. I just hope it makes you feel better." Silence befell them and he expected his death to come in a few heartbeats, but it never did. The shotgun's barrel was still pressing into him stomach. McCree's brown eyes darted over to Reaper's mask. Black hollowness emanated from the eyeholes, but he could still feel that there was eye contact. He had hesitated. There was a chance and with it…

"McCree! Get down!" It was Hanzo's voice and the demand was one that McCree would never deny. McCree knocked Reaper's gun away, the yell having caught him off guard. He dropped to the ground, falling down at the man's feet and grabbing his hat so that he didn't lose it. He glanced up watching as an arrow was forced out Reaper's chest. The tip was coated in dark black blood that dripped down on McCree's face. Reaper spun, barely fazed by the arrow that was impaling him. He raised his shotgun at Hanzo who was drawing another arrow from his quiver.

"No!" McCree yelled. He pointed the revolved up at Reaper, and even though he hated the idea of shooting Reyes. It was him or Hanzo, and well, Hanzo wasn't with the bad guys. He fired, blasting a bullet up through his back and out his shoulder. Reaper spun back around, looking at McCree. He cocked his head as if to show a sense of betrayal. "I'm sorry Reyes," McCree said as a second arrow tore through his torso. He pushed back from underneath him, moving away from a shotgun blast that tore through the floor. Shadow and smoke whipped around him, forming a second shotgun in Reaper's free hand. He rotated, pointing one at each man. McCree rolled under a shot from one while Hanzo jumped away from another. They moved towards each other, crashing together in the center of the room. Both shotguns trained on them. McCree grabbed Hanzo by the shoulders and rotated him, turning him towards the back wall so that McCree's back was facing Reaper. A shot rang off, firing from the gun and embedding into McCree's body armor, protecting him and the archer from the gun fire. He could feel the force from it sting against his back, knocking the wind out of him. A second shot from Reaper's shotguns hit the metal protection.

"What are you doing?" Hanzo gasped, caught up in the moment.

"Savin' your ass, darlin'." Over Hanzo's shoulder, McCree could see a hole leading to the outside. It had been some of the unfinished construction that was meant to repair the building from the mortar damage. It had most likely been how Hanzo had gotten in, and it was their way out. McCree shoved his revolver into Hanzo's right hand. In one swift motion he swept his right arm under his legs and plucked him up off the ground. Hanzo blinked at him in confusion.

"What?"

"Your leg's hurt - just hang on and shoot!" McCree replied. Cradling, Hanzo against his chest and rushed towards the hole. Hanzo, going with the flow, wrapped his left arm around McCree's neck and pointed McCree's peacekeeper at Reaper. Another shotgun blast hit McCree in the back, but he kept running. Hanzo fired, missing the first shot and the second. The final two, however, hit Reaper in the shoulder and lower abdomen respectively. Having been pegged with so many shots he finally seemed to buckle under the pain. He collapsed to his knees, shotguns vanishing.

"Get them!" McCree heard Reaper yell as he lept through the hole onto the ledge below. Hanzo held on tight, clambering to keep a grasp on both his bow and McCree's gun.

"Careful," he growled in McCree's ear as he was jostled around.

McCree sprinted as quickly and as carefully across the ledge as he could manage. He held Hanzo close, and tight, not risking him slipping.

"How d'we get down?" he asked urgently. Hanzo looked around, turning his head to examine their options. He pointed down across to the other building. The apartment complex was connected to it, but they'd be open to gunfire.

"We can jump down onto that balcony," he said. The small landing was a floor down, but it was open to a third floor lobby for a hotel or something. They could run to the ground floor from in there. He continued forward, racing along the edge. "If you drop me, Jesse McCree, my spirit will assure you do not have one second of rest," he threatened, holding on tight once more.

"If I dropped you, buttercup, I promise I'd dive off after ya," McCree replied almost grimly.

When they reached the ledge above the balcony Hanzo said, "Put me down." McCree looked at him in question. "If you try to jump whilst holding me you will hurt us both. Put me down." McCree gently placed Hanzo down on his own two feet. Hanzo carefully leapt from the ledge down onto the floor below. Even with a hurt leg he made the landing look deft and effortless. McCree followed him down, stumbling as he landed.

"Can you walk?" he asked. Hanzo nodded, limping forward and flinching in pain. "Hanzo…"

"I am fine," he insisted. McCree touched his shoulder.

"Hold onto me, I'll support you." Cautiously, Hanzo leaned into McCree. He wrapped his arm around the cowboy's waist. McCree gripped him close, supporting his weight as he started down the stairs.

Once outside they paused. McCree could see shuffling coming from inside and around the building they had been in; Talon troops reacting to Reaper's orders. A few had followed out onto the ledge. Others were flocking to windows while some rushed from the building into the barren street.

"Shit, Han, what're we gonna do?" McCree asked, holding Hanzo tighter against his side.

"They are surrounding us."

"Yeah, I can see that. We gotta move. There ain't no way we're taking them all on."

"Agreed. We need a route of escape."

McCree glanced around, taking in his surroundings. Talon was blocking them all around. He wasn't sure where all the troopers had come from. It'd been deserted before and now they'd all just appeared. There was at least a dozen of them. There was no way they'd kept quiet during the whole escapade.

"C'mon. We gotta keep moving." McCree lifted Hanzo slightly, heaving him forward down the street in front of them. There was no way that they would get out on foot with him being injured. Gun fire began popping off in the distance behind them, coming from the apartment complex. McCree dodged, pushing Hanzo towards the building they were walking by. They ducked down, pressing against the wall. He wrapped his arm around him, holding his own body around Hanzo's head to protect him. A bullet shattered glass as they passed it, causing McCree to move the archer forward faster. One bullet shot past them, hitting the girls motorcycle who had come earlier. "Wait, that bike. We can take it."

"Can you ride one of those… things," he said as if the right word wasn't coming to his mind.

"Well, I… never rode one of the hoverin' ones, but I have drove one of the ole timey wheely ones around!"

"I do not believe that they are quite the same." Hanzo shook his head in protest. "Genji almost killed me on one of those once. I do not hold the slightest amount of confidence that you are any better of a driver." McCree had to shake the images of Hanzo and Genji riding around Hanamura on one of those motorcycles. He could only picture Genji mischievously sticking his tongue out, his green hair pushed back straight by the force of the wind while Hanzo clutched to him with the most terrified look on his face. For some reason Genji had a pachimari under his arm. McCree didn't know why, but he didn't usually have answers for his strange imagination anyway.

"How'd Genji convince you on the back of one of those?" A bullet whizzed past his head, nearly skimming the edge of hat. He blinked in shock.

"Does it matter when we are about to be killed?" McCree shrugged, pausing beside the motorcycle. He let Hanzo free.

"Guess not," he said, looking it over. "Damn. No key. I think I may be able to hotwire it. Just… keep them from shootin' me, please, Hanzo." Hanzo nodded. He pulled an arrow from his quiver, and drew it against his bow. The Talon agents were closing in, still firing on the duo. Hanzo released the arrow, shooting one of them in the stomach.

A few dead Talon's and several dodged bullets later, McCree had managed to figure it out. It made a silent purr of life, and he jumped up.

"C'mon, Han, let's go." Hanzo lowered his bow. McCree swung his leg over the side and sat in the front seat. He picked the pink helmet up off the back. He handed it to Hanzo. "Put this on."

"You are kidding me?" he said. "This is no time for jokes!" A bullet shred past them.

"Just put on the damn helmet and get on!" A bullet pinging into the rear of the motorcycle spurred him to listen. He snatched the dreaded helmet from the cowboy's hand and clumsily placed it on his flattened black hair. McCree had never seen anyone scowl quite as well as Hanzo did. It was always impressive. Hanzo drew the string on his bow once more. He was quite the sight. A bleeding, tired man wearing a pink helmet that was too small for his head aiming a weapon with such ferocity and anger. He released the arrow, hitting the closest Talon agent in shoulder. "Han!" McCree called urgently. He spun, hopping on the backseat of the motorcycle.

"Go!" the archer demanded. McCree threw it into drive and began speeding down the street that led towards the more populated parts of King's Row. On the back, Hanzo pivoted in his seat. He aimed his weapon at the rapidly distancing talon agents and released one last split arrow. It hit the ground between two of them, taking both of them out. McCree glanced over his shoulder, watching them fall.

"Holy shit! You are amazin'." Hanzo just shook his head.

"Watch the road and get us out of here," he said, ignoring the compliment. He slipped his bow over his head, and silently snaked his arms around McCree's waist as they accelerated out of the area. He held on tight, clearly not comfortable on the vehicle. Normally McCree would bask in the contact, but as the wind whipped through his hair the only thing he could think about was Reyes and what he'd become.


"Are you going to be ok, McCree?" Hanzo's soothing voice called gently. He'd been very careful around him since they'd returned to the safety of the safe house. It was almost relaxing, in a way. However, it concerned him more than anything. Hanzo's sweet demeanor made everything seem all too real.

He wanted nothing more than for all of it to just be some terrible nightmare. He just wished to wake up back in his room at the Overwatch HQ. Reyes and Morrison were still leading the whole operation. Blackwatch wasn't on shutdown. He wished that'd he'd open his eyes to see Genji perched on his bed across their room reading a book with the scowl that'd been ever-present back then. He'd grumble and insult him for sleeping in so late, but McCree would just laugh it all off as he always did with his friend's bad attitude. Everything was so much simpler then. Reyes was still Reyes and not… Reaper.

"Yeah," McCree replied to the elder Shimada in present time. He sat on the couch, his hat beside him, and his head in his hands.

"I meant your back. You were struck quite a many times by those shotguns." Hanzo was on the bed, doctoring his gunshot wound on his leg with some of the advanced medical supplies Mercy had stocked them with. There was a sigh in his voice as he spoke to the cowboy with exasperation.

"My armor…"

"Can only do so much. I know it hurt you. I saw you flinch. Just let me check." Hanzo stood and moved towards McCree. He limped slightly, but it was obvious he was trying to ignore it and compensate for the weakness. He reached out towards him. McCree slid away from Hanzo, however. He never thought he'd ever reject a request to let him take off his shirt, but he wasn't in the mood. He wasn't in the mood for romance and he wasn't in the mood to be babied.

"Hanzo, please. Don't. I'm fine." Hanzo crossed his arms in irritation, his faux patience slipping in favor of his stock anger.

"Why do you not stop being so stubborn?!" he demanded. McCree stood, shaking his head.

"Oh, I'm the stubborn one?"

"You are right now!" He turned away. "Continue to be a fool. I will not bother with you anymore then." He moved back over to the bed, sitting on the other side with his back to McCree and continuing to work on healing his leg.

"I just need time," McCree whispered, looking down. Normally he would be amused by how much they argued like an old married couple. He would have taken pleasure in that observation. Any joy was lost to him on that day. "I'm sorry." McCree put his hat back on his head and took a few steps towards the door. "I'm goin' to take the bike and try to get out of the dead zone so I can call Winston and tell him about the bomb they're planning to set at the Fishcar place. Dunno if it's true er not, but it's worth keeping an eye out on either way. Can't take any chances." Hanzo did not reply to him, not even to correct him on his improper pronunciation. "I'll be back soon."

He placed his peacekeeper in its holster, and opened the front door. For a moment, he lingered a bit longer, waiting to see if Hanzo would say anything or continue to give him the cold shoulder. When he chose not to reply, he stepped into the hall. As he closed the door the archer's voice quietly whispered, "Be cautious."


Hanzo Shimada

Hanzo had fallen asleep waiting for McCree to return. He wasn't sure what had woken him at ten till two A.M., but he rejected the idea that it was the lack of McCree's noisy snores. The apartment was vacant. McCree had yet to return even though he'd been gone for near over two hours. It shouldn't have taken him so long to reach the radius edge of Talon's jammer. Untangling himself from the covers he hadn't remembered climbing under, he investigated McCree's couch. His serape was still there, sitting in a messy pile with a white piece of paper lying on top. Suspiciously, Hanzo plucked it from its red nest and opened it up.

Written in messy penmanship the letter read, "Hanzo, in case you wake up before I get back, I went out to get a drink. I didn't want you (though I know you're definitely not) worrying about me missing and all. I just don't want to be sober right now. I can't think about Reyes anymore, and I need to forget about this shit. I'll be back in a bit. If I can still find my way, that is. Get some rest. You look tired and cold. Lo," was written, but quickly aborted and scribbled out. "McCree," it ended.

Hanzo sighed.

"Idiotic man," he muttered to himself, wadding the paper and tossing it onto the ground. He sat on the sofa breathing. McCree was probably out there making a drunken ass out of himself, and with his big mouth attracting Talon at the same time. There was no way that this wasn't a recipe for disaster. "I'm going to have to fix another diplomatic incident because he insults their beer." He shook his head, pulling on his boots and jacket, and wrapping his hair into a bun with a ribbon. It was almost a robotic movement of second nature. He didn't even have to rethink it as he strolled out the door to go rescue McCree from his demons.

Exiting the building Hanzo could see that McCree hadn't taken the motorbike to whatever bar he had went to for it was sitting down the alleyway between their apartment and the one next door. He could vaguely remember McCree pointing one out on their way up there. Something like, "Hey, Han, we should go check that out when we're not, ya know, savin' England." Hanzo hadn't answered him then, but now it was obvious to him that it was really the only option. Other than McCree's interest it was the only bar that could be in walking distance.

He arrived at the small brick building that was nestled between a closed flower shop and some office building. It smelt strongly like alcohol just from the outside. On the inside the scent was much more potent. Hanzo figured it would be rowdy as he found most Western bars to be, but this one was rather silent at the moment. There were a couple men spotted around the small establishment, sitting in chairs and sadly nursing their beers. It had to be near time for it to close, and most of the party drinkers had most likely already retired for the night. Behind were left only the sad drunks that clung to their alcohol as long as possible with hope that they could forget their woes.

McCree was sitting in the center of the bar, no one nearby but the bartender who was wiping down the space next to him. His hat was tilted forward on his hanging head as he nursed a bottle of whiskey between his hands.

"McCree," Hanzo said, approaching the cowboy. He placed his hand gently on his shoulder. "It is time to go home." McCree looked over at him with bloodshot eyes. He shook his head.

"Not ready yet," he grumbled in slurred speech.

"You are drunk enough. Let us go." He pulled at him, but McCree wouldn't budge from his seat. He pulled from Hanzo's grasp.

"Why don't ya sit? Have a drink with me… dunno if they have sake, but…"

"I do not want a drink…" But McCree pulled him onto a stool, anyway. McCree shifted. He poured a shot of whiskey in a glass that'd been sitting off to the side. He shoved it towards Hanzo, and it skidded on the polished wood, only stopping when he grabbed it reflexively. He held it, but did not take a drink. McCree swigged from the bottle.

"Hey you," an English voice called them. Hanzo looked up to see the bartender approaching. "You come to take your boyfriend off my hands? He's been causing a ruckus all night." Hanzo shook his head.

"He is not my – ugh – yes."

"Good. Damned Americans. Don't understand the fine intricacies of alcohol. You got an accent. You from one of them Asian countries?" Hanzo sighed, narrowing his eyes at the bartender.

"Japan."

"Then you understand my irritation. Your damn American here spat the beer out."

"It was warm," McCree grumbled distantly.

"Yeah, mate, it's good that way. What you think over there, Japan?" Hanzo shook his head, crinkling his nose is disgust.

"I find it repulsive either way," he answered.

The bartender seemed almost flabbergasted. He was apparently so shocked that he decided that Hanzo didn't even deserve a reply. He spun around, instead, mumbling, "Foreigners… all of em don't know good alcohol when they see it, I swear to ya," to himself.

"Can we go now, McCree. I am positive the bartender would allow you to take the bottle home with you. If we could just leave." Hanzo touched his arm and waved towards the front door behind them. McCree looked at him and then over at the bartender who had started cleaning glasses.

"We're about to close!" he announced, eavesdropping on their conversation.

"Do you mind?!" Hanzo snapped, scowling at him. The man shrugged, keeping his eyes on his work. He leaned over McCree, speaking quieter and just to him, "It is dangerous here out in the open. Talon could be combing the city for us. This is not a defensible position and neither of us have our weapons." McCree's glassy eyes attempted to focus on Hanzo, but he seemed to zone out. "Please, McCree, come." He nodded.

"Fine, fine, if you insist, darlin'." He swung around on the stool, wobbling slightly. He slipped his butt off the stool and tried his best to stand on his feet, though he swayed. Hanzo looped his arm with McCree's and led him to the door. He let McCree lean on him for balance in comparison to how McCree had done the same for him when his leg was wounded.

"Hey, hey," the bartender called after them before they could escape out the large oaken doors. Hanzo paused. "Ya friend here didn't pay, mate." He sighed, shaking his head and shoving McCree out the door.

"Wait for me," he ordered. McCree surprisingly obeyed, stumbling outside and allowing the door to shut behind him. Hanzo backtracked, paying off whatever charges his partner had racked up – which were a lot.

When he finally slipped from the musty den of alcohol and cigarettes he found McCree sitting in the alley between the pub and the flower shop. Hanzo stood before him, looking down in exhaustion. He offered his hand.

"Why you doin' this, Han – takin' care of me like I'm some baby?" he slurred, slouching. Hanzo sighed. He sat on the hard cement ground beside the cowboy.

"Instincts, I suppose," he answered.

"Huh?" McCree murmured like he didn't understand.

"I spent my youth babying my little brother as well as a very interesting span of time where I was constantly keeping you from getting thrown in jail and paying for things that you lacked the money for."

"Right… much obliged."

"No obligation required. Right now, this is all part of my penance."

"I'm sorry. I know Imma mess. Reyes used to think so too. You'were right… I dunno how I'm not dead at this rate." Hanzo felt bad for the cowboy. He understood what it was like to feel like a disappointment.

"You need not worry, Jesse," he said with near adoration even using his first name. "I am right here. I will take care of you." He stood, heaving himself from the ground with a huff. He offered McCree his hand once more. "Now, come, cowboy. Let us go home where it will be easier for me to shield you from danger."


McCree crashed on his sofa when the duo returned home. He crumpled like a pile of lifeless western themed laundry nursing the neck of a bottle of whiskey to his lips. He moaned, curling up with the bottle like a child hugging a teddy bear.

Hanzo felt badly for him. He'd been so wrapped up in his own head and with his own problems he had never been faced with an issue where he would need to consider another person's feelings. McCree was devastated, though, and it was obvious. Hanzo sympathized with that sort of absolute pain. He'd felt the same when he'd lost his brother to his own hand. McCree was discovering everything in his life was not as it seemed and, despite the wall that he'd wanted to keep between the two of them, Hanzo couldn't leave him in such a state. He was with Overwatch to make amends with his past sins. One way he could do such was offering the comfort that McCree so desperately needed. After all, the cowboy would most likely not remember any conversation they would have. He could be as gentle as was required and McCree would remember only that his mind had somehow been eased.

"Can I sit with you?" Hanzo asked the cowboy softly. He moaned, nodding sluggishly and shifting so Hanzo could take a seat on the couch. Cautiously he placed his head down slowly on the upper part of Hanzo's leg. He cuddled closer to the bottle. Hanzo brushed McCree's hair gently, combing the pads of his fingers lightly over the top of his slightly greasy brown hair. He chuckled. "You need a shower." McCree hummed what sounded like was supposed to be a laugh of his own.

"That an o-offer?" he answered, the slur in his voice taking any charismatic edge that could have been in the flirt. McCree grinned to himself like he didn't recognize that he was pretty much the opposite of smooth in his drunken state. Hanzo couldn't help but smile, more amused by his poor attempt at a come on than the come on itself.

He ignored it. Instead deciding to shift the conversation back to a more serious tone. McCree would never be able to heal if he didn't talk about the sadness that plagued him. Letting that kind of devastation stew in one's psyche was more harmful than blubbering like a baby. He just needed someone to talk to.

"Do you want to talk about what happened?" He asked. McCree moaned, turning his face into Hanzo's pants like he was trying to shake his head 'no.' "You are hurting, McCree. If you wish to speak I am here to listen. If not then we can sit in silence." And they did sit in silence for minutes on end. Hanzo hadn't seen McCree be so mute before in the time of their acquaintance. However, he knew McCree, and he knew that he was an emotional man. Eventually he would speak up and speak out about his feelings.

Hanzo was correct because eventually McCree said, "I wish I could understand this all."

"I can relate to the shock of finding out someone believed to be dead was still alive. In my case, however, it was a happy discovery."

"How could I've not know Reyes was alive? I mean… Han… I saw his body in the coffin. He was…" he trailed off, leaving Hanzo to wonder what horrors the man's remains had been left in. An explosion can be quite damaging, after all. "He was dead. Gone and not coming back. I-I touched him. Skin was like ice, stiff and cold as cold can be." The cowboy was clenching his jaw. His reddened eyes were getting watery. "I cried over that bastard's body. I bawled over his grave. And… and he was alive all this time?"

"Perhaps there are things that happened that we cannot begin to understand?" Hanzo suggested. McCree shrugged as best he could in his position.

"Maybe," he grumbled. "Maybe. But if that's true then-then what happened to 'em. What did those sick fuckers do to him – whoever they are?" McCree dug his flat nails into Hanzo's leg. He buried his face further into Hanzo's pants, squeezing his eyes shut tight. Hanzo did not press him. He sat silently, continuing to lightly brush his hair.

Moonlight from the window behind them cascaded in, lighting the darkened room with a silver hue. The beams glinted off small tears that ran down McCree's right cheek, spilling across his tan face and disappearing somewhere Hanzo couldn't see. He had only seen McCree cry once before, and that one time he'd been glad to see the tears. He had been so angry with McCree that he believed he deserved all the pain in the world. That time was long past, however, and it was hard seeing a man who'd always been so carefree and lighthearted broken. It flipped his perspective around. He could always count on McCree being upbeat and confident. Seeing him like that he lost some of his sense of security.

McCree was clearly trying to hold himself together. Wrinkled lines highlighted his closed eyes, showing the effort to which he was going to try and keep the tears from coming out. Hanzo felt as if he was intruding watching him struggle. He turned his head, glancing out the widow that sat just above the sofa. He looked at the tall building that sat across the street. It made him nervous. Someone on the roof could see right into their apartment – they without blinds – it was a hazard.

"How could he join Talon?" McCree finally said after a moment. Hanzo's attention returned to the sobbing cowboy. He sniffled. "Talon was behind the deaths of two of his friends. He… he would've never… Reyes wouldn't have." McCree sighed, turning face up so he could look Hanzo in the eyes. Tears ran from both corners as his brown eyes glistened with sadness. "I don't understand, Hanzo," he admittedly, sadly.

"I do not either, Jesse. He said he wanted revenge."

"He should be wantin' revenge on Talon not Overwatch." He paused, holding his metal arm in the air and staring at it like it held the answers to his mentor's madness. He sighed, dropping his arm over his stomach and looking at Hanzo once more. "I feel like my knowledge of right and wrong has just been flip-flopped around. When-when he asked me to join Talon – to join him… for a split second I thought bout it, Hanzo. I thought 'yeah, if Reyes thinks it's the place to be maybe it is.'" He shook his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his right hand. "I thought being under his command again made sense. It's familiar… But there ain't no justice in that terrorism. He's lost his way." He flipped, turning back on his side. He didn't say anything for a few minutes. Then he whispered, "I miss him, Hanzo. I miss Reyes. I was better off thinkin' he was dead. At least he had some honor in death, but now – now he's a low down no good fucking murderer. I don't know how to live with that knowledge."

"I understand. I felt the same way when Genji came to me. I was faced once more with all that I have done to shame myself. But my brother is alive, and I have a chance to repair what I have broken."

"You sayin' I should… try an' fix him?"

"I am saying that that whatever your commander is now he was once a good man – as I remember. Perhaps, you may be able to guide him back on the path of righteousness… as my brother," he paused, adding silently, "and you… are doing with me." McCree tossed back partially on his back so he could look Hanzo once more in the eyes. He smiled. It was very much welcomed by the archer. McCree was not a man meant for frowning.

"Aw shucks, darlin', gonna make me blush." Hanzo shook his head.

"Do not push it." McCree chuckled causing Hanzo to smile at him. After a second the moment faded, and both men returned to their grave attitudes. McCree looked away, but stayed laying with his head in Hanzo's lap.

"Han," he whispered, "you ever wonder what life'd be like if we'd stayed together back then? If I'd actually ditched Blackwatch and you'd told your dad to fuck off. If we'd just… left everything behind. You think things'd be better? Be normal like… all domestic and stuff? You ever imagine what'd it be like?" Hanzo looked down. It was a question he'd never answer to a sober McCree, but he knew that the cowboy would most likely never remember what he was about to say. He might as well get the truth off his chest even if it was just going to be lost to the wind.

"Every day," he whispered. McCree blinked in surprise.

"Yeah?" he gasped. Hanzo nodded.

"Yes."

"Whattaya see when you think bout it?" When Hanzo refused to indulge McCree in his romantic fantasies the cowboy went on, "Well, I think we'd be married. Dunno where'd we be livin'. Prolly back in 'merica. Somewhere in the south. Like… Texas or somethin'. I'd've given up the gang life – pick up something more practical than sharpshootin'. Think I'd like to be a mechanic or somethin' – have my own little shop near our house."

"I could imagine that fitting you well." Hanzo shrugged, pulling his fingers through McCree's brown hair dramatically. "You could change the oil in a car with the grease in your hair – at the very least." He chuckled at his own joke while McCree howled like it was the greatest thing he'd ever heard. Once he'd settled down Hanzo decided to indulge his delusion, "Tell me, what would I be in your little fantasy?" McCree chuckled.

"Well, my stay at home husband, of course."

"Would you like me to commit mariticide whilst you were sleeping?" he asked jokingly. "That seems what would likely happen if you wished to keep me cooped up in some suburban home." McCree laughed.

"Just kiddin' darlin'. Nah, you'd be something real smart ya know… like a… high school English teacher or somethin'." He smiled.

"English is not even my first language." McCree laughed.

"And ya still speak better than me. Nah, that's definitely why you'd be an English teacher. I can just imagine you in a tight white button up shirt tucked into gray slacks, wearing thin framed glasses… You'd have all the girls and boys droolin' over ya, you know? The whole school's GPA would drop just cause none of the kids could focus on their work cause their too busy staring at you." Hanzo chuckled lightly.

"In that case: I do not believe I would be a very acceptable teacher."

"Sure ya would… the best." McCree's eyes probed his face, drawing in Hanzo to meet his gaze though he knew it wasn't such a good idea. Their dark stares lingered on each other. McCree slowly lifted his hand, cautiously caressing one finger over Hanzo's sharp cheekbone. Hanzo fought his urge to simultaneously pull away and lean into the touch. Instead, he closed his eyes, surrendering to the moment. "We'd have a kid in my lil' day dreams," McCree said after a moment. Hanzo looked at him.

"Yes?" McCree nodded.

"Yeah… a little girl we adopted. Real small and cute. You always did her hair in little pigtails." He smiled to himself, his gaze looking off blissfully. "You were the disciplinarian most of the time setting rules and stuff, but were never the one who'd actually get onto her. I'd yell at her if she did bad and she'd run to you crying and hug you. You'd just smirk all knowin', and pat her back. Then tell her it was okay and say not to do it again. I loved it so much." Suddenly, tears were leaking from his eyes once more.

"Jesse, please," Hanzo whispered.

"I messed everything up, Hanzo. Every possibility for it to come true. My life… has been a mess. First you, then Reyes… I've been alone for so long… it was just better that way. I've lived my whole life watching people I love leave me and fucking things up… Couldn't go through it again… I couldn't…."

He was mumbling, drunkenly repeating his sorrows over and over as he cried. Hanzo wasn't sure what to say. He didn't know if anything he could say would help. He would not tell McCree lies – that things would be ok. He did not know if things would work out in the end. The only thing he could do was pat his back and gently hum. Hanzo wasn't much for singing or expressing himself musically in anyway. The song, however, had stuck with him. He would hum it to himself in his darkest moments, using the tune of a good memory to calm himself. He knew that it would relax McCree too.

Quietly, McCree stopped muttering nonsense. He quieted, turning his mouth into Hanzo's pant leg. He said in a muffled voice, "I love that song…" almost distantly as if he wasn't sure where it was coming from. Hanzo's brushed McCree's hair back gently.

"I know, Jesse. Go to sleep, now. You should feel better in the morning… once your inebriation has worn off."

"I wouldn't think you'd know a song like that… hmm… where'd you hear it?" He asked, liked he'd forgotten.

"From you, Jesse." He moaned.

"I love you, Hanzo," his voice was distant, near sleep. Still, Hanzo's heart skipped a beat. He would have replied, said something, but he thought his voice may fail him. Instead, he stayed quiet, frozen in place like a statue chiseled from perfect ivory.

Somehow, he'd always known McCree still felt that way. He had hoped so deeply that he'd moved on – that this would not ever come up. Having hear him actually say it, though, it'd put so much in perspective. It was very likely that McCree would not remember anything that transpired when he awoke in the morning. Hanzo would remember, though. He would never forget, and that… gave him a lot to consider.

He'd always considered what he'd had with McCree to be like lighting he'd just managed to catch a glimpse of. It was hot, burning, and intense. However, short lived, leaving only a trace of light scarring on his vision – unable to unsee. He had never felt or wanted to feel that sort of wild phenomenon again. Was it right to want it to strike him twice? Or better yet… was is natural to attempt to capture the striking beauty in a bottle? Especially when shock could set him off course from his destination like a sailor turning towards a siren. If he gave into the song… he may never reach the shore and restore the honor he'd surrendered long ago.


A/N: This chapter is probably my favorite one yet. So much emotion. So many reveals. My eyes watered while writing this. It is the longest chapter yet. 10,000+ words. Not only is this the longest chapter for the this fic, but it's the longest chapter I've EVER written. Next chapter may cause the rating to be bumped up - just a warning - it WILL contain a bit of smut. However, I am unsure as to how much detail it will go into.

Again I would like to thank my wonderful "BETA" reader that always helps me with anything I need!