Had he mentioned how much he hated the balconies of Numbani? Because Hanzo really hated them. He hated them on good days, good evenings, and even good mornings.
This was not a good morning, not by a long shot.. What was he thinking last night? ‘ The hangover, if any, would be slight.’ Hanzo had never been more wrong in his life.
He wasn’t completely dead to the world, but he must have drank more than he thought because his head felt like it was slowly expanding and when he would close his eyes, the pressure would lessen. He’d woken up next to a still passed out McCree, snorted at the man’s sloppy sleeping habits – drool on the pillow, one leg off the bed, and his flesh hand curled awkwardly under his body – and slinked back out to the balcony before he could be accosted by any of his teammates.
Hanzo had laboriously cleaned up the aftermath of their tipsy, although he now suspected it might have been more drunken, accident. Chairs righted, burnt out smokes tossed, and empty bottle hidden away. He stood at the rusty railing of the balcony, elbows leaning on the questionable barrier with a cigarette between his fingers. An awful habit that he’d been chided for a few times, not that he paid any mind to it, he had to relax somehow and this was one of his methods.
He chuckled as he heard the loud booming voice of Reinhardt followed by the excited chattering of Hana and Lena, no doubt in awe of something the knight was doing. He counted down the seconds: three, two, one. On cue, McCree opened the glass door, oozing out onto the balcony. He didn’t seem the least bit hungover and Hanzo scowled at him, the damn bastard had drank far more than him. That just didn’t seem right at all.
The cowboy rolled up his sleeves that had slipped down through the night, copying Hanzo’s lean on the railing. The object gave a shriek of protest and for a split moment Hanzo thought it would topple and have both of them falling four floors to the ground, but it held with a shudder.
“Mornin’, Robin Hood.” He drawled, hand coming up to scratch at his scruffy chin.
Hanzo grunted in reply, not fully up to speaking yet.
A deep chuckle sounded next to him, drawing another glare. “You sure drank an awful lot last night,” McCree commented.
It took him a moment, his mind trying to catch up through the swelling feeling. “Says the man who passed out on top of me last night.” He snapped, trying to fuel as much annoyance into as possible. He just wanted quiet, even more than he had last night.
“You ain’t soundin’ too upset about it,”
“Keep it in your pants, cowboy.” He hissed, at the demands of his throbbing head, but it was normal. This conversation between them was normal for mornings after a few shots. Flirtation and rejection, a pleasant and comfortable dance that was always the same.
It was always the same, so why did Hanzo suddenly feel like it was all very different?
-
The mission was supposed to be simple. They’d been hired out as a bodyguard service- enough of their faces weren’t associated with the old Overwatch to even cause a blip on that radar. When questioned by their employers about Tracer and Reinhardt, they had been able to play it off as old friends who worked well together, staying in business together. Not like the employer had any room to argue otherwise with the armed men and mech standing with the two ‘former’ Overwatch agents.
They had to escort a relatively well known diplomat to a summit meeting. Winston had seen it as a chance for them to make a good impression on a potential ally, someone high up who could vouch for the good intent of the new Overwatch whenever their cover got blown. It also paid really well.
There was fanfare for the diplomat, it seemed that many people were happy to see someone who was both addressing the pains of the Omnic Crisis but also trying to help people move forward and heal. People gathered, and it had made their job that much harder. D.Va was waiting at the drop point, Reinhardt, Lucio, and Tracer were escorting, and McCree was trailing beside the crowd, sharp eyes looking for any hints of trouble.
Hanzo of course, had found a wretched balcony where he could stand in the back and be hidden in the shadows. It was the best vantage point for the entire escort so that he didn’t draw attention to himself by jumping down and climbing up to another or by running across. He could stay here and remain hidden.
Or so he had hoped.
Had he mentioned how much he hated the balconies of Numbani? Because Hanzo really hated them. He hated them on good days, good evenings, and even good mornings.This was not a good morning, not by a long shot.. What was he thinking last night? ‘ The hangover, if any, would be slight.’ Hanzo had never been more wrong in his life.He wasn’t completely dead to the world, but he must have drank more than he thought because his head felt like it was slowly expanding and when he would close his eyes, the pressure would lessen. He’d woken up next to a still passed out McCree, snorted at the man’s sloppy sleeping habits – drool on the pillow, one leg off the bed, and his flesh hand curled awkwardly under his body – and slinked back out to the balcony before he could be accosted by any of his teammates.Hanzo had laboriously cleaned up the aftermath of their tipsy, although he now suspected it might have been more drunken, accident. Chairs righted, burnt out smokes tossed, and empty bottle hidden away. He stood at the rusty railing of the balcony, elbows leaning on the questionable barrier with a cigarette between his fingers. An awful habit that he’d been chided for a few times, not that he paid any mind to it, he had to relax somehow and this was one of his methods.He chuckled as he heard the loud booming voice of Reinhardt followed by the excited chattering of Hana and Lena, no doubt in awe of something the knight was doing. He counted down the seconds: three, two, one. On cue, McCree opened the glass door, oozing out onto the balcony. He didn’t seem the least bit hungover and Hanzo scowled at him, the damn bastard had drank far more than him. That just didn’t seem right at all.The cowboy rolled up his sleeves that had slipped down through the night, copying Hanzo’s lean on the railing. The object gave a shriek of protest and for a split moment Hanzo thought it would topple and have both of them falling four floors to the ground, but it held with a shudder.“Mornin’, Robin Hood.” He drawled, hand coming up to scratch at his scruffy chin.Hanzo grunted in reply, not fully up to speaking yet.A deep chuckle sounded next to him, drawing another glare. “You sure drank an awful lot last night,” McCree commented.It took him a moment, his mind trying to catch up through the swelling feeling. “Says the man who passed out on top of me last night.” He snapped, trying to fuel as much annoyance into as possible. He just wanted quiet, even more than he had last night.“You ain’t soundin’ too upset about it,”“Keep it in your pants, cowboy.” He hissed, at the demands of his throbbing head, but it was normal. This conversation between them was normal for mornings after a few shots. Flirtation and rejection, a pleasant and comfortable dance that was always the same.It was always the same, so why did Hanzo suddenly feel like it was all very different?-The mission was supposed to be simple. They’d been hired out as a bodyguard service- enough of their faces weren’t associated with the old Overwatch to even cause a blip on that radar. When questioned by their employers about Tracer and Reinhardt, they had been able to play it off as old friends who worked well together, staying in business together. Not like the employer had any room to argue otherwise with the armed men and mech standing with the two ‘former’ Overwatch agents.They had to escort a relatively well known diplomat to a summit meeting. Winston had seen it as a chance for them to make a good impression on a potential ally, someone high up who could vouch for the good intent of the new Overwatch whenever their cover got blown. It also paid really well.There was fanfare for the diplomat, it seemed that many people were happy to see someone who was both addressing the pains of the Omnic Crisis but also trying to help people move forward and heal. People gathered, and it had made their job that much harder. D.Va was waiting at the drop point, Reinhardt, Lucio, and Tracer were escorting, and McCree was trailing beside the crowd, sharp eyes looking for any hints of trouble.Hanzo of course, had found a wretched balcony where he could stand in the back and be hidden in the shadows. It was the best vantage point for the entire escort so that he didn’t draw attention to himself by jumping down and climbing up to another or by running across. He could stay here and remain hidden.Or so he had hoped.
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