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No one had warned him.
No one had warned him of the new addition to their team. No one had warned him of the angel that would be descending from the heavens, his one and only mission being to torture a young man named Jesse McCree. Maybe if someone had decided to give the poor little cowboy the memo, he wouldn’t be in such a humiliating position. Parted lips, wide eyes, a heat growing on his cheeks, and words missing- no, stolen- taken from him by the stark beauty of this new recruit.
Everything was fine and dandy in the world of McCree a mere five minutes before. He sat sprawled out on a couch in the main break room, socked feet resting on the table in front of him and hat resting on the back of the couch. He was comfortable in his everyday clothes, today a simple tan button-up and blue jeans. He tenderly cleaned the exterior of his revolver with a white cloth as he listened to the happenings around him. Jack was passed out in the recliner, snoring quietly, blond locks splayed across the black leather of the chair. Reinhardt, Torbjörn, and Ana were playing pinochle very loudly. (McCree couldn't understand how their commander could sleep through the commotion. Maybe Ana had sleep-darted him.) Faint conversation came from the next room over. The gunslinger could make out the voices of Angela, Lena, Genji, and occasionally a voice that sounded a lot like Genji’s, but a hint deeper. Angela and Lena laughed frequently, so McCree assumed Genji was just messing around, throwing his voice in an attempt to mock someone, possibly Jack. He smiled to himself and puffed on his cigar. He really had grown fond of this bunch of misfits.
Occasionally the organization frustrated him, with the, in his opinion, sometimes useless missions, formal meetings, and constant recruiting, but the people who had been there a while, the ones he’d gotten to know, made it worth it. Not all of them would be considered “good” by the general public, but they had good intentions and a good sense of justice. McCree could appreciate that.
The sudden absence of a overly enthusiastic card game brought the cowboy out of his thoughts. He looked around the room to see that everyone had left, including the sleepy commander. The number of voices in the other room had more than doubled. Everyone but him seemed to be in there, judging by the loud chatter. He heard Winston’s words boom over the other’s, asking for quiet. A small part of McCree felt like he should join them, but the rest of him was perfectly fine with holding his spot on the couch. He’d sunk into the cushions by now, and he did not feel like putting in the effort it would take to haul himself up. If the commotion was something that required him, someone would have to come get him.
Winston’s request had been mostly followed, and there was only one voice- the soft, deep one, the one that McCree initially thought was an altered version of Genji’s. But when the voice finished, and everyone whooped and cheered and applauded, the cowboy realized that it was probably not the Shimada he knew. The voice probably belonged to another new recruit.
McCree sighed and turned his attention back to his revolver, muttering about how “the whole world’s gonna be a part uh Overwatch if this keeps up.” When he started hearing his name and people asking where he was, he groaned. He quickly made a decision that no newbie could make him leave this couch. His ass had been planted for hours, and it would be for hours more.
“We can just go to him!” he heard Angela exclaim, her voice much closer than it was before. McCree cursed under his breath. They were at the doorway to the break room now, at least a few of them were. He sensed two people in the room with him, and one or two more in the doorway, all behind him.
“Jesse, what are you doing in here?” Angela questioned. She was a few steps behind the couch.
“Sprucin’ up.” He waved his shiny revolver in the air without bothering to turn his head to look back at her. “Smokin’ up.” He did the same with his cigar.
Angela clicked her tongue. “You didn't notice everyone left?” Her voice was a mix of scolding and disbelief.
“Oh, I noticed, I’m just busy here.”
“Jesse McCree,” she threatened. He didn't have to see her to know that she’d put her hands on her hips. The people hovering in the doorway slowly left, presumably Gabe, Genji, and Lena by the sound of their retreating footsteps. Apparently no one wanted to witness the slaughtering of a cowboy. “Do you require an invitation? Do you believe yourself so important that one of us had to come personally escort you?”
“No one exactly informed me uh this lil' get together by the back entrance-”
“I guess we were mistaken to think you were smart enough to figure it out on your own?”
McCree frowned and lifted his head up a bit, looking at the opposite wall instead of his Peacekeeper. “Angela, sweet-”
“You're a wonderful man, Jesse, but I’m disappointed that you would be so rude to our newest member, so much so that you refuse to even acknowledge his arrival.”
“Who is it this time?” Jesse grumbled, and he knew he was being rude, he damn knew it, but it was always the same with the newbies lately. A flurry of introductions, and then they were never to be seen again, gone off to their departments at various bases and watchpoints. McCree didn’t understand why it was required to treat every new recruit like they were another one of God’s gifts to mankind, when they were just going to be sent to somewhere like Colorado or, God forbid, Antarctica. They were never “special” enough to stay with Commander Morrison and the crew. It was pointless to try to get to know them.
Angela didn’t bother with any more chastising, instead settling for a simple sigh. “This is Hanzo Shimada,” she started, her tone unusually soft. “Ex-heir to the Shimada clan and Genji’s brother. You’ll be seeing him around quite often from now on, so I suggest that you- how would you say it?” McCree could hear the smirk in her voice when she said, “Whip yourself into shape.”
Nearly every word the doctor uttered caught the cowboy’s attention. Shimada. Ex-heir. Genji’s brother. You’ll be seeing him… McCree twisted his head slightly to get a view of Angela and this new crew member out of the corner of his eye. He was soon turning around completely, grabbing for his hat (and missing multiple times), stomping his cigar out on the table, and stumbling off the couch. He stood up straight and tall, facing the two angels, but focused entirely on one.
While Angela was an angel on the battlefield, Hanzo Shimada, ex-heir to the Shimada clan and Genji’s brother, was one off of it, McCree was sure. The long waves of inky black hair, half tied up and half down, hanging in front of his face. The sad eyes and pouty lips. The smooth skin. The solid build and chiseled figure of a warrior. When Hanzo glanced up at him, those deep, dark eyes seemed to engulf the cowboy’s soul. His knees felt weak. He managed to totter around the couch to stand in front of the man, but then just stood there, staring in awe. Parted lips, wide eyes, a heat growing on his cheeks, and words missing- no, stolen- taken from him by the stark beauty of this new recruit. He didn't even notice when Angela patted him on the shoulder and walked off with a chuckle. He was hopelessly lost.
For a few moments, Hanzo looked back at McCree, studying his face with those irises of rich honey fluttering around. He eventually had to look away, an almost undetectable redness growing on his cheeks and neck. The word “adorable” filled the gunslinger’s mind. He held his hand out to the cowboy, offering up his name again. His voice was just as bold as his eyes, as every part of him, and McCree wondered how he could've ever mistaken it for Genji’s. Later, he also wondered how he could’ve forgotten what a handshake was, since Hanzo had to do it for him.
The archer wrapped the fingers of his free hand around McCree’s wrist. His fingers were rough and calloused from years of training, and they brushed against the sensitive skin below the cowboy’s palm. His heart jumped to his throat. Hanzo moved his hand so it was in his own and shook it, doing both sides of the handshake on his own. There was the smallest hint of an smirk on his lips, and a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. It started McCree up.
The cowboy let his hat fall from his grip to the ground. He shooed Hanzo’s fingers off of his wrist and grabbed his other ones, enclosing the Shimada’s hand in both of his own. He brought it up to his lips and hummed against his knuckles, “Hanzo Shimada.” Hanzo Shimada’s eyes grew wide when McCree’s lips pressed against the backs of his fingers. McCree smiled down at the now noticeably blushing man. “It is a pleasure t’meet’cha, darlin’.”