31st Batch Of Fics: 9th Fill
McHanzo â cont B30F2 â mention of subdrop/domdrop; still no happy end yet â McCree needs time. Hanzo is desperate.
McCree has been avoiding Hanzo. There was no other word for it. Since their little⌠thing⌠the other day, Hanzo hadnât seen the stupid cowboy anywhere on base, even though it wasnât the biggest operation point.
Small enough at the least that while he hadnât been able to see him, he sure as well had been able to smell him.
The smoke of his cigar was unmistakable of course. It had a habit of curling through every little nook and cranny and stay for a while even if McCree himself had fled some few minutes ago. No, what disturbed Hanzo more was the fact that he could recognize the odor of his McCreeâs body.
He couldnât put his finger onto it, but it was there; musky and warm; sometimes salty with sweat, sometimes not.
McCree, occupying space and leaving it as soon as he becomes aware of Hanzo approaching. However the bumbling fool managed that feat.
He isnât answering any of Hanzoâs texts or calls. He fucked Hanzo, rolled over and left, and has been silent ever since.
It is infuriating⌠and concerning. Hanzo has been squirming around the issue, trying to tell himself that he wasnât bothered by McCreeâs sudden departure, but the hollowness it has left behind has hit him unexpectedly and hard.
The hours after McCree left had been some of the worst in his life. Intellectually, he had understood that heâs been dropping, but knowing something on a purely scientific level did not help to overcome it when it was actually happening.
Fretting over how McCree had been doing during the time had only sent him into more of a spiral, and it had taken hours of sitting under the warm spray of his shower, washing away clammy sweat and trembling to pull himself back together.
Honestly, McCree isnât worth all the effort. Heâs a drunk fool of a man that still needs to consciously think about personal hygiene so he wouldnât attract any fleas â and quite frankly he was beneath Hanzo.
Still, Hanzo did have that hat, and he couldnât very well keep it. It didnât belong to him, and he was no thief. And⌠if someone came into his rooms and saw it lying there prominently on his desk because he liked to torture himself by staring at it⌠even though nobody ever came to his roomsâŚ
Itâs almost a week after that fateful night when Hanzo prowls the hallways of the base like an unfixed cat, McCreeâs hat clutched in his hand.
He doesnât ask Athena for his whereabouts; he refuses to this time. He has his pride. He also has the feeling that Athena is relaying Hanzo asking for McCree to the man himself.
He is walking at random, taking turns and twists, trying to find a whiff of McCreeâs cologne, and simultaneously avoiding any Overwatch members along the way. He doesnât want them to see his shame. He doesnât want to be known as the guy that is unable to just let go.
(He doesnât notice Hana peeking back around the corner, or Soldier shaking his head and rolling his eyes.)
Eventually the seemingly impossible happens, and Hanzo finds McCree behind the base, sitting on a tree stump and smoking one of his cigars, if the smoke lazily curling up was any indication.
Hanzo canât see his face. Heâs turned away, staring into the forest as it becomes darker and darker, night setting in fast in these parts, and swallowing everything up without a sound.
Hanzo is moving soundlessly, but McCree turns towards him even so before he can make it close enough to grab him. Thereâs a spasm in his chest where he wants to lunge forward and grab him by the shoulders, fearing he might just stand and run like a frightened deer, but nothing of the sort happens.
McCree sighs deeply. Heâs wearing another hat, Hanzo realizes, but that one looks just⌠weird and out of place on him.
McCree pushes the brim up with a gloved finger and squints at Hanzoâs face in the darkness surrounding them.
âYeâre pretty persistent,â he says eventually. Hanzoâs brows lower. He grunts and steps close enough so he can thrust McCreeâs hat at his chest. McCree takes it with a surprised little sound, a cloud of smoke accompanying the sound.
âSo you admit that you have been avoiding me,â Hanzo says unimpressed. Heâs been expecting McCree to try and deny anything the moment Hanzo could corner him, and his easy acceptance somehow infuriates him more than a denial would have.
McCree just shrugs his shoulders. He reaches up and pulls the wrong hat off to put the right one back in place.
âWasnât difficult to figure that one out, was it, Sherlock?â he drawls, his answer unexpectedly vicious.
âIâve been searching for you for a while,â he says, ignoring McCreeâs murmured: âBeen aware oâ thatâŚâ and continues: âI demand you come with me. I want to talk to you.â
He holds his breath, waiting for McCree to tell him heâs a âcrazy bitchâ, but he doesnât. He also doesnât get up with a grumble and a sigh to follow Hanzoâs orders like he usually would.
He lifts his hand and rubs at his eyes and the back of his nose.
âListen, HanzoâŚâ he starts, then seems to think better of it and goes quiet once more. He pulls his cigar from his mouth and looks down on it as he lets it dance across his fingers. Hanzo stands next to him like a little schoolboy, just staring and waiting while he feels like a big pit is opening up beneath his feet, ready to swallow him whole.
âI need some time. Anâ I think you do, too.â
âDonât tell me what I need or donât need,â Hanzo hisses immediately. He feels desperate, and he thinks he might sound it, too, because the look Jesse throws him is dangerously close to pity.
Jesse shakes his head and stubs his cigar against the stump heâs sitting on until he can slip it into his breast pocket and stand.
âAlright. Listen. Somethin ainât right about this,â heâs gesturing briefly between the two of them. âAnâ I need tâ figure some shit out.â He opens his mouth again like he wants to say more. An ugly little expression in his eyes that goes as fast as it had come before he closes his mouth again and reaches out, clasping Hanzoâs shoulder and giving it a squeeze.
âThank ya kindly for the hat. I been missinâ it.â He starts to move past Hanzo who feels like his limbs are leaden, his head just an empty void.
âIâll contact ya when Iâm ready, buddy. Take it easy.â
He gives Hanzo one last little clap, then keeps moving until Hanzo canât hear his footsteps anymore.
