worked well together, that’s all Hanzo had ever been concerned about when it came to McCree.
The reckless sharpshooter not only seemed to always know where to be so that Hanzo could cover him, but he also seemed to know in the fray of battle just where Hanzo’s arrows would be. More than once he’d stood absolutely still in a hail of scatter arrows, unscathed. More than once he’d lured an enemy from a blind spot, right into the path of an arrow.
It wasn’t just the uncanny way that McCree was aware of every shot that made Hanzo more than willing to always accompany him on missions. The scruffy cowboy had saved his skin on a few occasions, in the early missions together when Hanzo was still trying to figure out just how McCree could know that enemies were around the corner and be ready to fire before they were even in hearing range, let alone sight. Hanzo would get stuck on figuring it out, trying desperately to reason exactly how McCree was doing these feats, it would distract him, and next thing he’d know, the sharpshooter would aim over his shoulder and a body would drop behind him. There was never any taunting about it, just a chuckle and a far off hat tip. Hanzo had long since stopped trying to figure out what gave McCree his edge.
He’d be hard pressed to admit that every once in a great while, he would let his would-be killers get close, just to see that uncanny aim.
Back to back in close combat quarters was something else entirely.
McCree fought like a man possessed, firing shots with deadly accuracy, pistol-whipping anyone who strayed too close. He wouldn’t even flinch when Hanzo would fire arrows in close vicinity, once again sure of their path, that or he was just that trusting in the archer’s aim. He knew just when to duck, just when to lean, and just when to cover Hanzo’s back.
Before Hanzo had officially joined the recalled members of Overwatch, he occasionally accompanied them on missions that required far off and discrete cover. All of those missions had involved the gruff southern man.
After his official membership into the under-the-radar operation, he’d been sent on missions with others. He had observed them enough while working with McCree that he was aware of when to fire and when to hold his bow steady and wait, but none of them could ever match his arrows quite as well as McCree. He had to take care not to hit his comrades, only firing to cover. Not like with McCree, who set up opportunity after opportunity for Hanzo to show his skills, keep them honed out in the field.
It’d been brought up to him discretely by Winston after a close shave to his fur from an arrow. It was a kill Winston clearly had under control, but Hanzo was so used to McCree lining them up for him.
He wasn’t blood thirsty, but he felt rather useless when all he did was sit on a perch with his bow idle. When he’d explained to Winston that he was used to McCree’s style of combat, that it was common of him to fire in such close proximity to the cowboy, he’d been reprimanded. “This is a team game, Mr. Shimada. Unnecessary risks could mean a loss.”
Yet, when he’d stepped up and decided to speak to McCree about it, telling him he’d no longer be risking the cowboy with his arrows, he’d received a confused look and a shrug. “I ain’t never felt at risk. You were jus’ doin’ your job coverin’ me. I’ll settle for a few close shaves with those arrows of yours if’n it means I get to shave my beard another day.”
He would never be clear on the details, but after that chat, he was always paired with McCree on missions.
-
Their current mission had them stationed in Numbani. It wasn’t the most pleasant of cities for Hanzo, he was getting better about his prejudice against machines, they all slowly were as the wounds of war scarred and faded. But that wasn’t his only problem with the city.
Towers of slick glass and metal, winding streets, and a clutter of cars. He was an expert archer and climber, but all of the balconies he could get to were wide open and in a firefight, he’d be easily spotted and likely chased off. Prideful as he was, strong-willed as he was, he knew when to retreat and find other cover.
Thankfully, his perch on the balcony was less mission oriented. They were holed up in a small apartment that had been rented out under a pseudonym, one of the less luxurious and spacious buildings, but with their covert operations and limited funds, they couldn’t afford to be picky about location.
But Hanzo could afford to be picky about how much time he spent inside. He was slowly warming up to the other members of Overwatch, but it was a slow process and he’d rather not test his patience with them and wind up destroying some of those bridges his teammates had built with him. They’d given him anything he needed: space, silent companionship (even the chatty ones had quieted when he needed it), or just a friendly smile on a rough day. He couldn’t begrudge them for trying, despite believing himself unsuitable for such friend