Deuxieme
“Darlin’ please, ‘m sorry” Jesse said, head low, clutching a pillow to his chest as Gabe whirled on his toes, disappointment and agitation in his expression. His voice was quiet, but not soft. He retained a gritty, low murmur to his words as he planted his hands on the arms of the chair on either side of McCree.
“Why would you do that to me?” Gabriel growled, face solemn. “I told you I didn't like that boy.”
“Gabe, we didn't do nothin’, darlin’-”
“Cut the shit, Jesse!” Gabriel shouted, swiping his hand. Jesse flinched, but all that came was the deafening shatter of glass. Jesse opened his eyes to see the fragments of a whiskey glass littering the carpet. He stared up into his lover’s dark eyes, wondering what he had done. What could he do to fix it, to please Gabriel and make him smile again like he used to before something went wrong and Jesse fucked something up.
“I saw you with him, Jess. Saw you flirting. Don't I love you even when you fuck everything up for me? Isn’t that enough for you anymore?”
“Of course, Gabe,” McCree said, his sheepish grin long gone. “I'm sorry. I'm real sorry, there ain’t nothin between me and him. I promise I'll quit talkin’ to him, for real this time.”
Jesse felt his heart try to shred itself, torn between submission and defiance, but it had no time to make any decisions. Strong hands cupped his cheeks in a merciless, tense grip and pulled him into a harsh kiss full of hunger and passion. Gabriel’s lips were like fire. They were always like fire, half the time gentle and warm, the other half blazing and greedy. His stubble raked over Jesse's skin, leaving trails of raw feeling when he tilted his head to get a better fit, and the younger man felt his resolve melt under Gabe's commanding grip. His fingernails dug in like he was afraid that if he let go, Jesse would be getting off easy. So Jesse let himself be pulled in and ravished like a warm meal by a starving man, his heart aching for him to steal as much as he could before Gabe changed his mind and left him like a fresh cut, open and bleeding and demanding attention. He tried so hard to make it last, but Gabe pulled away quickly. “You know I love you, don't you?”
“Yeah, Darlin’, I know.”
Gabriel purred, deep and throaty, and stroked the stubble on Jesse’s chin. He leaned in, his breath warm and gentle compared to everything else, a guilty bliss on the cold skin of McCree's neck.
"Good. You're all mine, Jesse." His fingers loosened a bit only to grasp his chin possessively. "You'll always be mine."
And just like that, he was gone, leaving McCree shivering in the aftermath. Like a ghost, Gabriel disappeared into the dark, off to his own dorm for the night. Taking what he wanted in a brief, intense flurry and then leaving Jesse to stare after him, needy and angry at himself for wanting- needing Gabe to come back and assure him that he wasn't still angry.
McCree stayed in his chair for a long few minutes, aching like a fresh wound before he stood up and lit a cigar, kicking the shards of glass into the corner with the rest to either be dealt with by someone else or to remain there until the building crumbled under the weight of time. There was a time when Gabe was like his father. Jesse had no fucking clue what happened, but man was it fucked up. Gabe had always been rough around the edges, but there came a point in time when he really got bad. His temper was getting worse and he was becoming less and less sociable. Jesse was the only one he was ever willing to talk to anymore, and even he couldn't get far. Gabe was getting possessive, and not only was it bizarre and ugly, but it was downright scary at times.
Deep down, Jesse knew that there was something about their relationship that was deeply wrong, but he would do anything to have the old Gabe back. He wanted it to be like it used to. He wanted Gabe to smile for once in a way that didn't look like the devil himself watching some poor soul sign a contract. Jesse wanted him to be fucking happy again, in that distant, grouchy way that he used to.
If this was the only way, so be it. It was fucked up, but it was all he had to work with.
It wasn't all bad, either. Gabe had changed so much that it was easy to pretend that Jesse wasn't even with him, but some crazy bastard he had met a year or so ago when he started to really disappoint his commander. They had never even gone further than a kiss.
The persistent, mechanical white noise of his arm murmuring kept him awake into the small hours of night no matter how hard he focused on sleep. There was a new agent coming to Overwatch tomorrow and besides the inevitable excitement, it meant that someone was getting a roommate.
Not every dorm had survived the years of neglect that Base Gibraltar had seen, so many agents already shared their quarters. Genji and Zenyatta shared a dorm, as did Ana with her daughter, and of course Junkrat with Roadhog. Winston had been gracious enough to listen to McCree when he insisted on bunking alone.
McCree hoped to God that trend would continue. Giving him a roommate would give Gabriel a thousand different reasons to be mad at him, and even worse, the new agent was supposed to be Genji’s brother.
Gabe didn't like Genji. He didn't like his arrogance, he didn't like his shit-eating humor, he didn't like his omnic friend and he especially didn't like his influence on McCree. And he was right in that. How many times had Genji tried to convince McCree to give up Gabe? Even Zenyatta would give him a disapproving little quirk of his head and a whirr when he talked about his boyfriend. Well, it was actually hard to tell if it was disapproval. It might have just been curiosity or intrigue or any number of things, but by the way Zenyatta would hum and ask him to put Gabe off his mind for a while made Jesse think otherwise.
His heart was in the right place though, and Jesse could appreciate that even if Gabe didn't.
It's not like he had never considered breaking it off with Gabe, but that was a normal thing. Every couple had fights and he knew for a fact that everyone had considered at some point, no matter how good the relationship, leaving their partner for one reason or another. But Gabe loved him, and as long as he could believe that, he would let that love like a drug lull him to sleep every night.
He pushed his thoughts aside and pulled his covers up, but they persisted into his sleep long after he elected to ignore them. Maybe Gabe didn't still love him.
Maybe he hadn't in a long time.
A tall, bulky beast of a man with thinning brunette hair and a perpetual beer in his hand rose from the sunken, abused cushion of his armchair. His arms were like tree trunks, his legs like logs. He stomped towards a petite woman with dark skin and silky black hair that bore premature grey stripes at the temple. It was tied in a bun that bobbed loosely when she turned her head away from the orc. A loud noise boomed out of his chest. He was saying something, but the meaning was lost on the deaf ears of the bystander who watched, too small, too dumb to understand.
A quiet murmur from the lady, impossibly melodic even though it was full of fear. She was begging for something. She motioned towards Jesse and the orc roared angrily, snatching her hands and pinning her to the wall.
Jesse shouted some meaningless noise at him and charged, unused to being so short and clumsy, but full of fury. He balled his fists and hammered them down on the orc's legs despite the lady's screaming for him to stop. A colossal hand pulled back and swung, and Jesse could swear that the orc was no longer there, and it was Gabriel in front of him. Lightning struck suddenly as Jesse felt the blow land, setting the dim house ablaze in a blinding wash of white light, everything tangible suddenly decimated in the explosion.
Jesse gulped in a breathe of air as he snapped up out of bed, his skin damp and cold while his muscles burned. His mechanical hand was clamped instinctively over his heart, the sensors popping almost silently as they detected his heartbeat. It was rapid firing in his chest like Junkrat if anyone ever gave him an automatic. McCree let his breath began to slow, gradually coming back down to normal from within the shaking. He ran a hand over his forehead, which was slick with sweat.
He looked at his wrist. 3:46 A.M.
McCree sighed slowly and pulled his knees to his chest. Four hours of sleep was enough for the night.
~
Hanzo stepped over the threshold of the dorm, nose wrinkling as his eyes wandered around his new home. It smelled like cigars and blood, and the many stains proved that it was a hard-earned stench. The main room had plain white walls and carpet that might have been a similar color at one time, but had seen a few too many years of honest-to-god battle to uphold any shininess. There was almost no furniture- just a single creaky wooden kitchen chair, a microwave on a fold-out table, and a monitor in one corner of the room. He leaned forward to see the only other room- not much more than a walk-in closet with one cot in use and the other folded against the wall. Next to said cot stood his roommate, who frowned at him from under, god help him, a real life cowboy hat.
He was a handsome man with bright, tawny eyes that almost shone like gold from beneath the shade on his face. His pink lips were puckered a little bit in a natural pout, but they were outlined by a rugged carpet of hair that was intentionally styled to look shabby. He leaned against the wall, tipping his hat grimly to Hanzo, who tilted his head. The man- McCree, as he'd been informed- was wary of him. Hanzo walked and McCree idly wandered a few steps away. Hanzo tried to strike up a conversation and McCree frowned at him like he just insulted him. Hanzo had made the mistake of sneezing in the hallway and brushing up against him, causing his hand to snap to his gun.
He had seen many news stories about the famed McCree, but skittish was not that first word that came to mind when thinking of that fabled vigilante.
Hanzo didn't want to try and ask him any questions, especially not now that they were alone and the cowboy seemed to loom from the shadows like a wolf near a campfire. Even with his ridiculous cowboy hat and serape, his presence was formidable.
"So... ye can have the bedroom, if ye'd like."
"No, thank you."
"Take it," McCree insisted immediately. It was a demand, not an offer. Hanzo scowled, his stubbornness getting the best of him.
"No."
"Take it."
Hanzo folded his arms and scowled deeper, an obvious no. McCree narrowed his eyes, taking a long, long drawl from his spicy-smelling cigar and blowing the smoke straight into Hanzo's face. He was unfortunate enough to be breathing in just then, so the fumes singed his throat and pulled his vocal chords tight for a few seconds until he coughed it out, vigorously swatting the remained of the cloud away from him. When he regained himself, he stood up straight and had to sink his fingernails into the skin on his palm to keep him from taking a swing at the prick.
"Asshole," he settled for a deep hiss, dragons absolutely fucking livid within him/
"Fine," McCree drawled deeply, and took the folded cot out into the living room, presumably to set it up for Hanzo.
Hanzo took a step towards the door to follow McCree, only to be met with a rush of air as it was slammed shut. His hand was on the knob just as he heard the distinctive click of a lock. He stopped for a second. Jiggled the doorknob, tried to turn it, jiggled it again.
"Open the door," Hanzo growled from between clenched teeth.
"Yer takin the room."
"McCree."
"Hanzo."
"It's Hanzo."
"'S what I said."
"No," Hanzo fumed," you said Hand-zo."
"Same thing."
Hanzo threw his head into the door, which rattled loosely in response.
"I will take the bedroom. Jesse McCree, open the door."
The doorknob clicked immediately, and Hanzo opened the door, his fists rising to fight before he realized McCree was glaring at him rather than shining him a shitty grin. He stared at Hanzo like he didn't trust him to hold up his end of the bargain. Like he might set something on fire at any moment, or worse, refuse to take the bedroom.
"Do you trust all strangers so easily?" Hanzo asked, tone sleek but biting, like a carving knife. "Or am I special?"
"Yer a kin-killer," Jesse replied, taking another drawl. "Ye killer yer brother."
"So are you, Cowboy," Hanzo sliced back, going straight to katana. "At least I had the decency to fail."
The change in McCree was almost immediate, from brooding to rabid. His metal hand clamped around the wrist of his other as if to hold it back as he advanced towards Hanzo, who kept his head high, staring intensely into those tawny eyes. Sparks jumped from McCree's metal arm.
"Weren't none a those bastards my family," he seethed, "Not a single miserable soul."
Hanzo stared at him, unmoved by the screaming, but now rather intrigued. Public word was that the Deadlock Gang had been like family to him, and besides that, he shot his own father.
"You shot your father."
"I shot the man that gave me life."
"Yes. Your father."
McCree put his cigar out on his metal shoulder, letting the last bit of smoke pool out of his mouth as he slumped into the only chair in the room. It groaned unhappily beneath him and he sighed in defeat.
"Yea. M' father."
Hanzo watched him stomp on the cot's frame from his chair to straighten it on on the main room floor, palming his eyelids. Hanzo returned into the bedroom and did the same, folding his hands in front of his mouth.
Jesse McCree was... probably a madman. So goes that saying. Don't meet your heroes.
That made Hanzo laugh. Heroes. McCree wished.
He laid back on the open cot with his arms behind his head and closed his eyes, remembering a day a long time ago when he first heard the name Jesse McCree.
Hanzo threw himself onto his bed and groaned into a pillow, a hoard of rats chewing at his ribs in guilt.
There was a young mother out in the courtroom right now. Her children were huddled obediently behind her, staring around in fear at the looming figures of the Shimada clan that supervised the court like vultures, watching, waiting for another's fate to devour so that they could reap the misfortune. She had tears in her eyes, but stood tall and proud when she looked into Otosan's eyes and asked him to give her more time on her debt. Hanzo had been there for that, but his father had dismissed him now because he insisted on showing mercy. He was sitting in his room pouting like a child in time out, and he threw his pillow at his door with a frustrated grunt to further prove that.
There was an American woman on his television chattering about crime, and he turned to look at the screen, unsurprised to see the American News network his father paid to have. He had at least one for every country, with more than three for places like America, Russia, and China.
There was a video of a man with an honest-to-god cowboy hat and Mexican cape thingy that Hanzo didn't know the name of, with the headline at the top of the screen reading "Deadeye McCree strikes again!"
He huffed angrily and folded his arms, begrudgingly intrigued.
"Video evidence shows that the alleged rapist was standing outside of a coffee shop, appearing to be waiting for someone when out of nowhere, a bullet hits him right in the middle of the forehead and kills him instantly. This appears to be the work of the infamous Jesse 'Deadeye' McCree, who has evaded local law enforcement for over four months. Rob, thoughts?"
The screen switched to a man in a collared shirt with messy hair.
"Jessica, if the eyewitnesses are right and there's some sixteen year old kid out there with a gun who does a better job than our police departments, then we need to stop looking at his record and start looking to law enforcement. Why are we wasting all this man power in the police department to track down one kid with a pistol when crime rates are the highest they've ever been recorded in America?"
Hanzo stared at the tiny pixelated cowboy, his interest piqued.
Here was this boy his age, and he was breaking rules- not just breaking rules, but important rules, ones with dire consequences, and he didn't do it for money or respect or even love. He did it because he thought it was the right thing to do.
Hanzo blinked, dragged back to reality by the sound of the door closing as McCree left the dorm.
That woman might still be alive today, he realized, if he had ever been so brave.