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There is a wrapped package on his bed.
Jesse lets the door slide shut behind him as he stands stock still, not daring to move. His eyes dart around the room looking for something, anything, anyone that might linger, but no one is there. Everything is as he left it not three hours ago, not a single thing out of place. Except that package.
Setting aside his gym bag and toeing out of his trainers, Jesse walks further into the room with caution and a trained eye. He never thought he would be using his Blackwatch skills to analyze his own room, but here he is, testing the lock on the window, inspecting the dust on the sill for disturbance, kneeling to check under his bed for...who knows what, at this point. A paranoid little voice inside his head that sounds a lot like Gabe reminds him that checking for explosives is just a smart move no matter the circumstances.
That thought knocks some sense into him. “You’re losin’ it, McCree,” Jesse mutters to himself, shaking his head.
The gifts started a month and a half ago. He had come back from a stint at the practice range to find a small box on his bed wrapped in brown paper tied with simple twine. The box had been unremarkable but for the fact it was on his bed. Curious, Jesse had unwrapped it to find a bottle of gun oil. He just ran out two days ago and had yet to find the time to get to town or order more. Perhaps Winston got some in the last shipment and just forgot to pass it along? That didn’t explain the odd presentation, but Jesse made a point to thank him next time he saw him. Only when he did the next day, Winston just blinked at Jesse with confusion and reminded him that if he needs supplies to fill out an order form so everything is delivered together.
A second gift showed up after a rough mission where a lot of things went wrong. Not so bad that they lost any teammates, but bad enough that it was a close call. It was the sort of mission that left you rethinking each and every decision wondering if you made the right call, if you would have done that one thing differently, would things have turned out better?
Alcohol might not have been the healthy, responsible option to deal with a bad mission, but damn if Jesse had not been touched to find the bottle on his bed, a red bow stuck to the neck. Not only was it whiskey, it was his favorite brand, and a seasonal edition to boot. There was no note, so Jesse did not know who to thank. When he shared the bottle with the others on the mission that night, no one fessed up. He enjoyed it all the same.
The first time Jesse started thinking there might be something more than friendship behind the gifts was when he found the cigars. Fine quality, top-of-the-line, ten cigars in parallel lines smelling of sweet tobacco in a mahogany case, they were no ordinary gift. Someone spent a good deal of money on them; no one picked up something like that on a whim.
His first instinct was to suspect someone was buttering him up to ask a favor, but why the secrecy? And everyone knows that if they need something from him, all they need do is ask. Then, maybe they were softening the blow for bad news? Preparing him for disappointment? Again, it made no sense.
It took an embarrassingly long time for him to think he had an admirer, and dismissed the possibility immediately. Romance? Towards him? The thought made him laugh.
Until the flowers showed up.
That time, Jesse had someone with him when he opened the door to his room, so Genji had the privilege of witnessing a rare moment of speechlessness. Jesse quickly kicked Genji out, his face bright red at the teasing comments Genji shot his way. Alone, he admired the bouquet of calycina heather and roses painted in dusty shades of orange and pink and cream. He enjoyed the scent of sage and lavender from the hidden sprigs mixed in with the greenery. And, as he ran the pad of his thumb over one delicate bud on the verge of bloom, he forced himself to reassess the situation. Someone clearly viewed him as something more than a teammate, someone worth flowers of all things. But who?
He knew who he wanted it to be, but entertaining that thought was the quick way to crazytown, population Jesse McCree. Still, a tiny, hopeful part of his heart hooked onto the thought, and he wondered.
The bouquet found a place of prominence on the windowsill by his bed, in a vase he borrowed from Ana who simply raised an eyebrow at the odd request and smiled like she found him amusing. Before they wilted too far, Jesse picked a few of the best blooms and pressed them in one of his old journals. He may not have known who gave him the gift—and no one was talking—but he wanted to remember the first time someone gave him flowers.
Candy would probably be considered a downgrade from the previous gifts, not useful or expensive or particularly romantic. Except the squat, red box topped with yellow ribbons contained a very specific candy that actually made Jesse let out a startled shout of joy when he pulled the tissue paper away. It had been years, decades, since he’d last had horehound candies. As a child, he would get them from the old man that ran the roadside market a mile from his house. They reminded him of running barefoot up the dirt road, the sun on his shoulders, and the wind in his hair. Jesse had the package ripped open in seconds.
He offered some of the other agents a taste later that day. Most declined. Hana made an awful face, exclaiming that it tasted like medicine. Lena wrinkled her nose. Hanzo accepted one and teased him for having the tastes of an old man. That suited Jesse just fine; it means there is more left for him. And still, no one fessed up.
This time the gift is thin and flat, wrapped with white paper decorated with dancing green cacti in a cute pattern that makes him laugh. A simple gold ribbon is wrapped around its width and easily slides off at Jesse’s gentle tugs. He assumes it’s a book based on its shape, but when he unwraps the gift his heart speeds up. The journal is bound in thick, soft leather, worked by an artisan’s hand and treated with care, held closed with a buckle and strap. Beautiful script of Jesse’s initials are embossed in the lower corner of the cover.
Few people know that he keeps a journal. Even less know why he keeps one, or of his passion for writing. Whoever gave him this knows him well. They pay attention. They’re interested in more than just what he shows on the surface. This is thoughtful. Personal.
That little hopeful part of his heart isn’t so little anymore. But how could it be possible? They were just working out together in the gym. There’s no way he could have placed the gift in Jesse’s room without Jesse catching him.
He has to know.
---
Jesse makes his move when Winston is nice and distracted by a convenient scientific discussion that starts in Torbjörn’s workshop—and he will really have to find a way to thank Jamison for roping Satya into the conversation because that buys him an extra hour at least. The only other person that gives the Watchpoint’s security system a second thought is Morrison, and he is out on mission himself. That means he has all the time in the world.
“Mornin’, Athena,” he greets as he slips into Winston’s seat in the surveillance room. “How are you this fine day?”
“Greetings, Agent McCree. There have been no accidental explosions or HR incidents in the past twenty-four hours, so I would say today is fine. Should I be concerned that the day is about to be not fine?”
“Nothin’ devious, I promise. Just need to review some security footage.”
Athena’s logo flicks off the screen to show a listing of locations on the Watchpoint with subcategories for each camera. “What locations do you require?”
“Room 2806.”
“Agent’s personal quarters are not monitored per privacy restrictions on—”
Jesse waves her off. “Yeah, right, sorry, my mistake. The hallway outside Room 2806, past three hours.”
There is a pointed silence where Athena does not comply, one in which Jesse has the distinct sensation of being judged. When the feed does pop up, Jesse can clearly see the hall outside his rooms and himself leaving, gym bag over his shoulder. Athena sounds reluctant when she states, “Camera 379B, Hallway D, Barracks. Timestamp today, 10:28:44.”
“Play at five times speed,” Jesse says.
He doesn’t have to wait long before a flicker catches his attention and he has Athena pausing the video. “Go back, and play at regular speed.”
The feed slows to normal speed, the time running in the corner, just ten minutes after he left that morning. Two figures come into view at the end of the hall, but there is nothing human about them. They bound down the hallway side-by-side, fast as lightning, a gift wrapped in decorative cactus paper clutched in one of their mouths. The other one scampers up the wall so it can tap the door code into the console (and how does it even know his security code?) then they both disappear into his room. They are missing just a minute before they exit and leave the way they came.
Jesse would recognize those dragons anywhere. “Thanks Athena,” he says, sitting back in the chair and staring at the empty space at the end of the hall. “Let’s keep this between us.”
“Of course, Agent McCree. Can I help you with anything else?”
“As a matter of fact, you can.”
---
“Thank you again for all your help,” Mei says. “It would have taken all day to unload all those boxes on my own!”
“It was no trouble,” Hanzo insists for the tenth time that day. It really was no trouble at all; Hanzo likes to make himself useful around the Watchpoint as a way to show his appreciation for taking him in, and Mei is always a delight to work with. And a little manual labor never hurt anyone.
He just wishes Mei didn’t feel like she was burdening him. “Well, I’m just glad you were around to help! McCree owes me for next time.”
“McCree?” Hanzo asks, pausing by her door.
“He was supposed to help me but said something came up. It must have been important; he never cancels like that.” She taps in the code and shoots him a sweet smile. “Thanks again! See you at dinner!”
Something about her smile and tone seemed...off, but Hanzo is hard-pressed to say how. He walks the rest of the distance and lets himself into his own room, trying to figure out where the conversation took a turn. Or maybe it was just his imagination. They had a fun afternoon working in her lab; maybe his mind is playing tricks on him, so used to assuming the worst out of situations.
His thoughts derail when he looks at his bed, where Soba and Udon lay curled around a wrapped parcel.
Hanzo seizes up tight as a wire. “What is that?” he asks, nearly whispering, like the bundle nestled in his dragon’s coils has ears of its own.
Udon raises his head, tail flicking against the bedspread. We found this on the cowboy’s bed where we always leave the offerings.
There was also a note. Soba nudges at a folded paper with his snout, both dragons looking at Hanzo expectantly.
Oh. Oh no. Jesse knows. Jesse knows. Queasy panic roils up inside. How? How? Hanzo was so careful! He made sure that Jesse was always occupied, that he would never stumble upon the dragons when they were delivering the gifts. He even made sure to be with Jesse on several occasions so he wouldn’t get suspicious!
Dread brings him over to the bed. The note has his name scrawled on the front in familiar handwriting, which confirms this nightmare is real. He expects the wrapped present to be his own gift returned unopened, but the paper is different, a shiny blue with a silver bow on top. The shape is different as well.
He ignores the note for now and picks up the gift. It’s lightweight, barely anything to it at all. His fear is no match for his curiosity; he pulls the paper apart at the ends, carefully tugging the tape free. Within an inner wrapping of tissue paper he finds a folded length of silk. It spills open and Hanzo gasps. A hair ribbon, a soft, dusty orange, with white and violet wildflowers trailing down its length. Hanzo cannot find his words as he holds it up to the afternoon sunlight streaming through the window.
How pretty! Soba exclaims, raising up to see better.
The cowboy reciprocates your offerings, Udon murmurs. Perhaps he will mate with you, after all.
“Udon, we have discussed that word,” Hanzo chastises, cheeks staining pink. The dragon merely ripples his body in a version of a shrug, and Hanzo feels Udon’s exasperation at humans and their odd customs.
They can rehash that old argument later; there is still the note to deal with. Hanzo is ashamed to see his hand tremble slightly when he opens the folded paper.
Hanzo,
If you have something to ask me, just ask me. How about you give your dragons the night off?
-Jesse
Hanzo swallows. His heart is going to pound out of his chest. “Athena? Do you know where — ”
“South skybridge, overlooking the cliff face.” He shoots an accusatory squint up toward the speaker built into the ceiling. “And good luck, Agent Shimada.”
---
Jesse checks his pocket watch again just for the novelty of checking it. He has always wanted a nice pocket watch; they may be obsolete technology by more than a century, but there is something absolutely charming about having a timepiece tucked under his serape on a nice chain. This one is brand new, a gorgeous rose gold with delicate filigree on the case and a blue face with white numerals. He was just talking about them the other week when he saw one in a western he was watching with a certain archer. Funny how one just shows up.
He hears footfalls on the stairs behind him and turns just as Hanzo reaches the top. His hair is tied up with his new ribbon, and he looks somewhere between determined and terrified.
“Howdy,” Jesse greets. He glances down at the pocket watch in his hand, flicking the lid closed. “I got your gift.”
Hanzo’s shoulders rise and fall with a fortifying breath, then he walks forward. “I got yours as well,” he replies.
“Wasn’t sure if you’d like the color,” Jesse says, admiring the way the soft ribbon contrasts with his midnight hair, how it brings out the softness in Hanzo’s face. “It looks good on you.”
“Thank you.” Hanzo joins Jesse by the railing. “Is the watch satisfactory?”
Jesse nods, turning it over in his hand. “Of course. Thing’a beauty. You’ve got good taste.”
“How did you know?” Hanzo blurts, one of his hands snagging hold of the rail as if he may leap over the edge to escape if things do not go his way. Or maybe he’s holding on to keep himself from fleeing. “How did you figure it out?”
“Ah. Well,” Jesse shrugs, tucking the watch away and moving to mirror Hanzo’s stance at the rail. “I might’ve broke a few rules and checked out the security footage.” Hanzo winces, which just makes Jesse chuckle. “To be fair, you had me real confused for a bit. Why all the mystery?”
Hanzo’s gaze drops to the floor, to the side, anywhere that is not Jesse’s face. “I am not good at...any of this. It was safer. This was safer than risking...what we had…” He sighs. “I did not know how to say what I want to say.”
Jesse takes half a step closer and captures Hanzo’s hand with his own, startling Hanzo into looking at him. “What do you want to say?”
Eyes flick from Jesse’s eyes to his mouth and back again. Hanzo swallows. He squares his shoulders, fingers tightening in Jesse’s hold. “Jesse,” he starts, then breaks out into a smile when the implications finally set in. Jesse grins right back. Confidence settles in them both. “Jesse,” Hanzo tries again. “I would like there to be more between us. If you will have me.”
The hope that had been building up in Jesse’s heart overflows. “I’d like that, darlin’.”
Luckily for Jesse, Hanzo doesn’t wait nearly as long for a first kiss.