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( closed ) we're out of practice, we're out of sight

who: jesse mccree & hanzo shimada
what: reaper has been in town for like 10 minutes and has laid the full wwe smackdown on everyone's triggers, !!THANKS DAD!! after which jesse checks in on the shimada he knows least.
when: 4-16 presumably
where: communal housing, floor 8
warnings: none!

[ nighttime again in the communal housing. jesse still can't think of ways to successfully avoid this place. lucky enough he and reaper seem to exist perennially outside of each other's orbit. the work keeps him busy too—he tells himself it's useful to have the lay of the land; truthfully he's pitifully grateful for the excuse to stay on the move. it keeps him from seeing that rotten face at night when he closes his eyes, black smoke spilling into his memories; it keeps him from remembering the newscast the day it happened, explosion in zurich, ten different broadcast languages to tell him the only man who ever believed in him was dead, and maybe he should've been caught in that rubble too.

he's in the kitchens at half three for what feels like the hundredth time but is in actuality just the fourth or fifth. the coffeemaker's feeling especially indolent today, the drip just arrhythmic enough to keep jesse from going wholly out of focus. he's in civilian wear today, or as close to it as he gets: shawl hung up by his bunk, hat too, just sweats and a tee after his late shift, his gun on the counter like reyes could change his mind in the middle of the night (when jesse, if he's honest with himself, knows he won't).

he's rubbing his face with his cold hand to wake up a little more when he hears footsteps in the hall behind him. his attention shifts just enough to realize that it's hanzo shimada. there's a split-second where he remembers genji tearing out of the room like a bat out of hell and then coming back tight in the shoulders, all closed up when he's been so careful to be open, and he remembers hanzo coming back later looking like he got hit by a freighter—and his mouth works before his brain does. ]

Hey, Hanzo. [ he's calling out into the hall, low enough not to wake anyone else up. ] You got a sec?

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[ it's one thing to have had the conversation that he did with Genji, the both of them making promises with desperate hope like two children trying to cling to each other. there are changes: Hanzo finally believes Genji's forgiveness of him, or at least he does sometimes, which is as good as it gets. and they finally seem to be at some level of mutual understanding, where before their attempts to just pick up and carry on had left things festering under the surface.

it's another thing entirely to actually live through every day after, though. on the rooftop, Genji took the option of a clean ending away from Hanzo, and Hanzo has accepted that much; but even if he won't expect Genji to kill him, he's terribly aware now of the fact that he doesn't want to be alive. it's always there, like a splinter underneath the skin, in his chest, uncomfortable and too present. there's a fear, too, that comes and goes, of the fact that Hanzo could (will) ruin all of this, the chance that he's been given by some miracle. (and there are things Genji said that night that Hanzo doesn't even want to think about because they're so awful, just shards of glass scraping against his insides every time he tries to focus on them. their father, the family; Hanzo can't agree with any of what Genji tried to argue there, can't even accept it. but he can't get it to leave him alone either.)

ultimately, even if what happened then might have been good for the both of them in the grand scheme of things — in the immediate aftermath, it only seems to have done so much worse for Hanzo. he was a quiet presence around the apartment before, but it always seemed cold and composed, deliberately ignoring the people around him; now he's withdrawn into some miserable shell, pale and worn, ghosting the shared space in a tired daze. even his time with Genji is spent in silence, the two of them sitting together like they're grieving.

the weight of it all plagues Hanzo enough at work, where he has other things to focus on; here, trying to sleep with only an often-empty bed between him and Genji, it's impossible that he could escape it. again, he finds himself giving up on rest and creeping out of the room, considering tea just to have something to do with himself while he pretends that he can go on like this.

and again, Jesse McCree is there. they're on civil enough terms, but Hanzo is still surprised that McCree actually addresses him directly just for hearing him approach. he heads straight into the kitchen, his hair loose, dressed in a plain white and blue nemaki with its dark outer jacket. even though he'd known already he wouldn't be getting any sleep, he has to keep up appearances around Genji, who seems to be worrying all the time now. ]

McCree. [ the exhaustion doesn't leave him, but his attention is focused on McCree at least, and his expression is politely neutral, if somewhat curious. ] What is it?

[ he's mildly surprised that hanzo stops at all. in the dim back lights of the kitchen he can see hanzo's hair, when down, is still sleek and clean; his clothes are both casual and too tidy. really, the only indicator that he looks like hell is all in those eyes, gaunt from sleeplessness and shuttered with misery. ]

... I see we're still a couple of night owls.

[ it's a half-assed attempt at levity, mostly because he doesn't know how to pad this, doesn't know what twists and turns a better man would take to get to the point when he knows it's none of his damn business. his metal hand, paused in the act of rubbing the frown embedded between his eyes, slides back around to scratch the back of his neck. (all these years and he still makes like the thing's got nails instead of blunt tapered fingers.) ]

You finally gonna get some sleep or you think you could sit down a minute?

[ in all their other encounters, it's stood out most prominently that McCree is laid-back in everything he does; his loose posture, the easy drawl of his voice. Hanzo may not know him well, but the awkwardness here seems out of place. it would be enough to put him on his guard, except he doesn't have the energy for that, and he can feel himself slipping into resignation instead. whatever McCree wants from him, it can't be that bad; to warn him away from Genji, maybe, seeing how Hanzo is dragging his brother down with him.

he doesn't smile, but there's good humour in his voice when he says, wry: ] I am sure that I can spare the time.

[ he isn't going back to sleep, so he'll see this out. besides, he has nothing against McCree; finds him to be good company, even, despite the cautious span of distance between them. he crosses the room leisurely and goes to pull out a chair at the dining table, apparently going without tea for now. ]

[ that's okay, because he's reaching out to test the weight of the kettle that's been left on the stovetop; once he's satisfied that there's still enough water left in there he turns the heat on himself. ]

Thanks.

[ he pulls down two mugs from the cupboards and sets them beside one another. one of them has a chip in the rim. he traces over it absently with his metal forefinger. ]

Heard y'all had a long day.

[ so it is that. for a moment, Hanzo's gaze goes sharp and wary; cuts to McCree while the rest of him stays perfectly still, like a deer hearing a twig snap and preparing to bolt. the tension holds. and then after a few seconds, he seems to cave. he slumps and drops his head in his hands, resigned or maybe just thinking better of it. it's only McCree, after all, who has been consistently calm and neutral; a strange reaction, but definitely a welcome one.

he talked about his murder of Genji directly and got a measured response. there's no reason to assume that this will be a terrible confrontation. (he's just too tired to do another one of these, after Reaper, after Genji. it's hard to tell whether he's drained empty or whether something in his chest is too full, close to breaking.) ]

More than long enough.

[ worse than either of them expected. it hit Hanzo even harder after the fact, and he suspects it was the same for Genji; realising what they had just narrowly passed by, close enough for it to graze them. the full weight of Hanzo's uselessness dragging them both down, now. ]

You were right. [ he folds his arms on the table and lifts his head. his expression has softened somewhat, although it's hard to draw the line between that and plain exhaustion. ] What you said about Reaper. "Downright unpleasant."

[ jesse laughs—the sound's a little hollow, because what seems to have become of gabe reyes isn't funny, but what is funny is hearing those words echoed back at him from that mouth. ]

I thought I was a piece of work. That fella's shootin' for a blue ribbon at the county fair.

[ the coffeemaker clicks to let him know it's done. he takes the pot, gives the finished drink a slightly suspicious sniff, and then reaches for the chipped mug. ]

He wasn't always the Reaper, [ he says mid-pour. ] Used to be different. [ bitter, sure, but not swallowed up by some unknowable fury—a man who had given jesse a choice once, and maybe it hadn't been a real choice but it became a life, somewhere down the line. nearly a decade since and his life looking shorter every day, and jesse still hasn't found anything that came close. he sets the pot back with a humming noise, considering. ] Feels like I'm sayin' that about a lot of folks lately, though.

[ he's thinking about genji, the openness in his eyes that jesse's not quite sure he can examine dead-on; gabe out there like something else has taken over his skin. jesse hasn't changed at all since then, really. hasn't become better, or stronger, or more. ]

[ one day, McCree is going to come out with an incomprehensible idiom that context can't make sense of, and Hanzo is not looking forward to that day. ]

Mm. For better and for worse, it seems. [ two ends of the scale, Genji and Reaper. he scoffs softly, a sharp exhale through his nose. more quietly, some bitter note of self-loathing creeping in: ] And somehow I have changed not at all.

[ ten years and he hasn't even managed to forge any path of his own. it's a hard thing for Hanzo to think about; he always knew it as one of his only good qualities, that he let himself be shaped so thoroughly by the clan and his father. and now, suddenly, he's regretting more and more often that he can't stray at all from what he was raised to do. can't live any other kind of life, incapable of scraping up independence from the hollow pit of himself.

he watches McCree and feels a pang of — maybe not sympathy, because he doesn't know the details of what haunts McCree, and can't entirely understand the situation with Reaper, significantly different from him and Genji despite the similarities. but he feels something sad for a man who's so clearly weighed down by his own past. Hanzo shoves his demons aside; McCree deserves his full focus in this conversation, not a disrespectful half-measure. ]

Genji said the same about Reaper. That he was a good man, once. [ there's a pause as Hanzo clearly weighs his words, and then he says with deep sincerity: ] I am sorry that both of you are faced with him as he is now.

[ he can't imagine what it's like, only see its effects. but he could never be betrayed by someone who had his loyalty, because trust has never been part of the equation for Hanzo; his father, the elders, they had his unwavering, unquestioning obedience. even the order to kill Genji hadn't been a betrayal, just a consequence of Hanzo's own inadequacy. ]

[ i have not changed at all. it's so close to the rip tide of jesse's own thoughts that his jaw clenches and his teeth grit for one vital second. he sets the pot back in the coffeemaker and pulls in another breath, like with stale air and bad coffee alone he can get rid of the sour taste the week left in his mouth. ]

Somethin' happened to him. [ up there in zurich. or maybe before then, when jesse was still working with reyes but hitting wall after wall, not having the strength or foresight to try and take it apart by the brick. ] I'd say it's none of my business, but some folks will always be your business.

[ maybe that's all family is, an itch in the back of your mind that you have to train yourself to ignore. ]

Genji came into the picture a little later. Me, I came up under him, start to finish. There were years when he seemed like the only person who knew what good was, or should've been. [ he lets out a long breath over the top of his coffee mug, almost downright amused at himself. ] But maybe that's what all dogs think when someone picks up their leash.

[ he lets the thought hang before the kettle starts to huff out steam, hum out the first throes of a whistle. he moves it off the heat straight away. ]

You take it sweet, don'tcha?

[ the question clearly throws him for a loop — even with McCree putting the kettle on to boil, Hanzo hadn't expected that he meant to actually make tea for him, and he sits upright, surprised. such manners, he thinks to himself, and then exhales a breath of tired laughter for that.]

Yes. Much to the horror of everyone that raised me.

[ while McCree goes about preparing drinks, Hanzo considers how to speak further on this subject. he drums his fingers on the tabletop neatly, precisely. none of this is his realm of experience, or frankly any of his business, but McCree had spoken with him earnestly about Genji. unless McCree tells him to back off, it's a favour he ought to return. ]

You are not the only one who believed in Reyes. [ even if his own judgement was impaired by gratitude or loyalty, there were plenty of other eyes on Reyes. ] I think that we can both trust Genji's judgement on him, better than our own.

[ of the few things Hanzo has picked up about McCree, one of them is that he's plainly self-deprecating, and another is that he's deeply cynical. and despite that, he had spoken of Genji with the same feeling that has taken seed inside of Hanzo; a belief in his brother's fervent desire to do good, to be good. there is this distance in watching someone pursue something you know that you could never achieve yourself, something that's impossible for someone like you, and Hanzo thinks that McCree shares that.

come to think of it — the bitter words about a dog and its leash had struck him in a strange, dull way at first, and the longer he thinks about it, the more it aches, drilling a hole in his chest. he's been called that before. his father's dog. the insult never bothered him in the way it was meant to, unable to find fault in obedience and loyalty. but something about it bothers him right now. he remains a dog, and he's not sure he'll ever be anything else; if it seems like a bad thing now, why was it not then?

he unfolds one of his arms to lean his cheek against his hand, and he smiles without any real mirth. ] But if you are simply a loyal dog, then we will have to add another tally to what we have in common.

[ he chuckles to himself and he can't tell to what, exactly--it all seems unlikely but far from impossible, that the man seated at the table was a boy once who needed constraints on his sweet tooth, that they really are alike in this. he pours into the unchipped mug, slings the kettle back onto the stovetop and reaches up to rifle through the cabinet. ]

Is that right.

[ he finds the small honey jar and circles back around at last, stepping over to the small table, setting everything down tidily one by one: his own coffee, the tea, the sweetener. ]

Seems to me like we're co-runnin' a pretty beat-down club then, partner.

[ his head dips forward in a bow to thank McCree as he sets their drinks out, the gesture habitual, and then opens the honey to drop spoonfuls into his tea.

he doesn't know whether it's from the show of courtesy or just that McCree's easy nature is infectious, but Hanzo feels much more relaxed than he did only a moment ago when he walked in here. (wonders, idly, if that was McCree's intention, to ply him with good manners.) it's a soothing balm to his tiredness, at least, making it hazy instead of weighted. ]

We apparently meet at three in the morning to discuss our lives over vile drinks. [ finished with the honey, he picks up his mug in both hands and takes a sip; and then he meets McCree's eye with a smile a little less bleak. ] The club was almost certainly doomed from the start.

[ he settles down in the seat opposite hanzo in a sprawl, one arm slinging its way over the back of the seat. he curves his other hand around his mug. there's an answering small smile on his own face, a twist of his mouth that's both sardonic and relenting, caving into the feeling that he's managed to carve out some kind of liminal space where he doesn't have to act relaxed. he's surprised by how easy it feels for him to push, even though by all rights it's not like he cares, not like he knows anyone these days well enough to peel back their open wounds. ]

Club ain't doomed till one of us figures out a bedtime.

[ Hanzo snorts; he's surprised, really, by how much he enjoys McCree's humour, how effortless it is to fall into step with his banter. it happened even back in the elevator, and Hanzo thinks it might be the sharp edge just beneath the surface of McCree that makes things easy just as much as the friendly charm he projects.

although — he looks over McCree, lazily draped over a chair — although, he is absurdly laid-back. it might be that everyone has this kind of rapport with him. ]

Ah. [ he leans forward onto the table, forearms braced on its surface. ] Then really, its survival is guaranteed until Genji finds out about it.

[ he's learning strange new things about this back-from-the-dead Genji all the time, and possibly one of the strangest is that he seems concerned about things like his own and others' health. Hanzo can't count the number of times he used to find Genji stumbling through the door at 3AM, 4AM, still drunk or high or bleeding — and right now he's almost sure Genji would tell him to go to sleep, if he found him out here in the kitchen at this time.

certainly now after that confrontation. now that he knows Hanzo has spent his days here waiting to die. ]

He does know how to worry, don't he. Wasn't like that when I knew him.

[ he sounds more bemused than nostalgic. he's still trying to figure out where the past ends and all of them begin, and with reaper in the picture it's easier said than done.

he's quiet for a moment, and then—yeah, okay, he can't resist. he's been careful not to pry with either brother about the past, content to let other people's bygones remain their own, but. he feels like he's in it anyway, just a little, some distant asteroid accidentally caught in a wary orbit. ]

Was he like that with you?

[ that's such a ridiculous thought to associate with Genji as he was in the clan that Hanzo actually reacts with a bark of laughter — softened by the late hour, quiet so as not to wake anyone, but definitely a surprising sound from someone who has thus far been mostly restrained. ]

When I knew him, Genji would be dragged into the house at 4AM by guards, too drunk to stand on his own feet. [ he's nonchalant about it; he dealt with Genji for long enough to say this without any solemnity. the sharp burst of humour does dull as he goes on: ] He cared nothing for others. My brother was a selfish man and a ruthless assassin.

[ he knows that's not entirely true. there were times Genji would find Hanzo fracturing under stress from their father, or from the weight of the clan's expectations, and he would drop whatever he was doing to try and pull Hanzo back from the edge. ultimately it ended in them arguing more often than not, but it was a cycle that continued in the Shimada home until the very end. and Hanzo never really forgot that Genji was the only one then who ever worried for him at all, it just... he feels more aware of it now.

Genji did care, but. there's a lot of bitterness from those years that Hanzo still has to unravel on his own time. ]

[ the laugh does take him aback, just for a second, but it's so obviously weighted that he can't quite appreciate it fully. he rests his chin on his hand instead, taking him in.

the man from hanzo's memories seems like a natural extension of the one jesse had met all those years ago: he'd seen that ruthlessness in action, at least. but if genji had seemed selfish back then too, then jesse reckoned that he had the right, the way people fold in on themselves after suffering. hanzo must have done the same; he doesn't seem all that used to company, anyway. or questions. or people like jesse who can't keep their fool mouths shut. ]

So you were the one doin' all the worryin' back then.

To call it worrying would be generous.

[ Hanzo is honest, but he always seems to be honest in the way of a man at a confessional, like everything he admits should condemn him. maybe because it's the only way he's ever talked about these things; kneeling before a shrine or a grave and imagining the dead looking down on him with disgust, the same way his errors were seen with contempt when he was the heir. his gaze drops, and then his eyes fall shut. ]

I was trying to run an empire. [ he won't let it sound as if he were any better than Genji. as a member of the family, certainly he did his duty, but as a person — on any scale, Hanzo would be worse. is still worse now, by leagues. ] The elders' expectations were that I would remove anything obstructing that. That is all I was concerned with.

[ the unspoken obvious thing being that genji had proven the ultimate obstruction—he'd said as much, in their short time together before genji had disappeared. jesse lets his head linger on his hand. his expression doesn't change but remains sedate, just curious enough to keep pushing. ]

Did he know about it? When the order came down.

[ he isn't surprised that the conversation has gone in this direction, because McCree must have called him over for a reason, surely. and like he had said: heard y'all had a long day. he knows that Hanzo and Genji had some kind of talk, and that it didn't go well. given that, it seems obvious for this to come up eventually; he's waited long enough for someone to ask him directly about it.

still, it takes him a while to get the words out. broaching this with Genji means bypassing these parts, the description and details, because they both know what happened. he swallows, mouth dry, but doesn't drink. ]

No.

[ his voice is terribly quiet, paper-thin; the only reason he doesn't go tense is because he hasn't got the energy for it. his relaxation bleeds away into exhaustion instead, the form of him sinking like something unbearable is weighing down on him. ]

He knew they were angry. [ had to have known. the entire atmosphere of the estate changed when their father was killed, and Genji no longer had anyone to defend his rebellion. but maybe because of that, he wouldn't have noticed the tension ratchet up a few notches in the days before it happened. ] But that had been the case since Father died. When I handed him a sword and he realised I was serious, he looked at me like...

[ like Hanzo had already put the blade through him, his face pale with disbelief and betrayal. but really, Hanzo hadn't expected it any more than Genji did. he thought Genji would yield as soon as he realised the gravity of the elders' disapproval; maybe, at the very most he could imagine, they would fight and then Genji would understand, surrender before it could go too far. he never went there intending for Genji to die. it hadn't even been a possibility in his mind. so what does it say about him, then, that he carried it out even so?

Hanzo passes a hand over his eyes, a fine tremor running through him, visible in the way his fingers shake. ]

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( closed ) we're out of practice, we're out of sight

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