Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

 Dear Lena,

 I miss you, and I apologize for everything. I wish I could make it up to you but now all I can do is write and regret, though you’ll never see this. Angela said that writing to you might help with my grief. I’m positive that it won’t, but it’s comforting being able to at least pretend that I’m talking to you.

 The new recruit is arriving today, and Reyes, Morrison, Angela, Genji, Fareeha, Mei and I are all supposed to greet him. I’ve decided I’m not going; I’ve barely been out of our room since you left. The past two weeks have been hard, but it’s something I must face alone. I mustn’t show weakness… am I weak for not going? I don’t think Fareeha is greeting the recruit either.

 We can’t complete our missions when one of us has been dead for a couple weeks and two of us might as well be. Genji’s trying his best with me, but I don’t deserve to move on. It’s my fault you’re not here; I don’t get to forget that.

 I’ll write to you again, so until next time,

  “Hanzo,” I sign. I trace the scaled dragon on the leather cover of the journal, a gift from a friend not forgotten. Another ocean of guilt begins to wash over me, no, drown me, and I wonder if this will be the one that finally kills me. There’s a knock on my door, and while not totally unexpected, it still startles me out of my regret. I silently scold myself for my weakness. A man shouldn't be acting this way.

  “Enter,” my voice no louder than a whisper. I’ve barely used my voice for anything but sobbing since Lena died. Looking up, my expression turns defensive at the sight of my brother. “I’m not goi-“ “You’re going to be late for the recruit’s welcome,” he interrupts. “I’m not going Genji,” I reply sternly, meaning to end the conversation abruptly. Of course I’m not. If two out of the five of us don’t show, it’s not a big deal. Though, it's quite disrespectful and possibly offensive to our recruit...

  Genji’s expression softens, though remains sincere. “I understand you’re mourning. We all are, and we know that the newbie will never replace her, but it’s unfair to him if half of his team doesn’t greet him upon arrival. If he doesn’t know us, how will he ever trust us, right?” the green haired man smiles. I listen to his obviously rehearsed speech, but that’s not what gets me up off my bed. I mustn’t be selfish. I need to pull myself together. I give him a short nod after a second’s hesitation. Wordlessly, Genji exits my room, presumably to grab Angela. I still feel foggy, too caught in my thoughts. I pinch my arms to bring me back to reality, not even wincing at the bruises I’ve become so accustomed to. If I’m to be seen, I need to shower.

  I step into the scalding water. If it hurts, it might distract me. Lathering shampoo into my hair followed by conditioner, I just need to soap up and I’m done. Of course I’ve run out, so I awkwardly rummage through my sink’s cabinet for a new bottle. The humid air begins to suffocate me as I realize what I’m holding in my hand. The pineapple shaped bottle of soap is Lena’s. It’s all hers. She lived here, of course it was. I wouldn’t mind, if only I could see her again to return it. If only she were here. I shakily open the bottle; the heavily fragranced soap smells exactly how she used to. My eyes sting, my hands shake, and I slam the bottle down harder than I mean to. I’ll deal with this later. I can’t waste any more time.

  Pulling a hoodie over my undershirt, I inhale. Buttoning up the closest pair of jeans I could find, I exhale. Now standing before my mirror, I am disgusted by the person staring back at me. The dark circles under my bloodshot eyes contrast the rest of my pale face. Tying my hair back, my door opens for a second time this morning. I glance at the entrance through the reflection. “It’s nice to see you, Angela,” I greet with little energy I have. “Thank you Hanzo… how’ve you been?” she asks, barely concealing her concern. I know she has my best interests at heart, but it still feels like she’s examining me. I turn to face her and she gives me a sad smile. Before approaching me, the talented doctor glances outside the door. “Can I do something?” Angela asks softly. I furrow my brow at the shorter woman. She patiently awaits permission, and adds, “It won’t hurt, I promise. And it’s not a medical thing either.” I nod slowly. “Alright, go ahead.”

 Angela instructs me to sit on the stool beside my mirror and I obey. Quickly, she pulls a smaller bag out of her purse. Rummaging through, she grabs what looks like two types of concealer and some sort of powder. “Angela, I’m not wearing makeup,” I roll my sore eyes. “Give me a chance, macho man. I won’t make you look like a drag queen.” Not five minutes later, she instructs me to look in the mirror. I muster something close to a smile. She made me look okay; I guess she really is an angel. “Thank you,” I tell with the most energy I can gather. “Don’t mention it. If we want to be early we must leave now though!” she exclaims while reading her watch. If only she knew how much I’ll hate myself for this later. “You ready?” she asks seriously. “Let’s just go,” I breathe.

  I lead her out of my unit to where Genji is waiting down the corridor. I steady myself on the blue handrails that line the hall, when did I become this weak? “That shower sure freshened you up! Come on,” Genji compliments and Angela smirks from behind him. I sit on the four seater couch in the common room. Our mission coordinators, Morrison and Reyes, sit beside me. “Good morning,” I greet, trying hard to ignore the fact that I’ve only come down here in the past two weeks for food, drinks, toilet paper, and tissues. “Good morning, Shimada. What’s new?” Morrison continues the small talk. “Oh, life’s got me busy, you know?” I chuckle, painfully. “I certainly do,” he replies. “Jack, would you mind if he and I talked in private for a bit?” Reyes asked his equal. “Absolutely, I need to confirm something with Ziegler anyway.” And with that, he walked away from us.

 “Shimada, what’s the deal? You’re the most level headed of all of us.” “It’s just Lena, sir,” I sigh. Reyes lowers his voice, “Were you two… involved?” I chuckle, but with no hint of happiness. “No sir, she had Emily and I had never thought of her like that.” “I see… so just close friends?” he questions. “Yes sir. Quite close,” I admit. “I apologise for prying,” he starts, “but take care of yourself. We start training again in a few days with McCree,” he warns. I shoot him a questioning look. “The new recruit? Shimada, please don’t isolate yourself like this again. Your job is to kill, and usually, our enemies put up a fight. Keep that in mind, okay?” he instructs me. He’s right.

  The clock reads 11:00. Genji and Angela sit next to me and the coordinators discuss arrangements surrounding McCree. Mei clunks down the staircase, seemingly dragging Fareeha along with her. Before Mei, Lena was her roommate, so her death has been taking its toll on Fareeha too. Mei had only known Lena for a couple years, while we had known her for more than a decade. Fareeha nearly collapses onto the cushion beside me and tries to stifle a sob. “Me too,” I murmur. “What if next time, it’s Genji or Mei,” she whispers, “or one of us?” “There won’t be a next time,” I assure her. There’s no way to know, but I desperately hope I’m right. She whimpers, now crying onto my shoulder. “I should have knocked on your door, Fareeha. I apologize.” With that, she sniffs her nose and hugs me.

  We stay on the couch for 20 minutes, my arm around her shoulder and my head resting on hers. “I’ll be back,” I whisper to Fareeha. She doesn’t respond, because I know she hasn’t slept well since Lena died. Going from slouched to my usual posture, I sit around the kitchen table with everyone else. “So, Talon has stolen information we didn’t know existed,” Morrison started, “information that could help us." When we’re given last-minute missions, it’s always like this. My heart sinks less than I had expected, and I guess I understand why. I’ve stared down my guilt, is it time to ignore it? Once we’ve been assigned our positions, we all return to the common area, where Fareeha still lays. I look down at her and give her a bittersweet smile.

  I wish I could rewind time, but only one of us could do that.

Chapter Text

“I was her first kiss,” Lena had winked at me, referring to Fareeha. At the time I was taken aback. Having few friends prior to Overwatch, I wasn’t used to being confided in, let alone this bluntly and nonchalantly. “You shouldn’t kiss and tell,” I had jokingly warned. “She said it was preparation for a boy!” she giggled. “Could’ve prepared with me,” I thought. Surprised by my mind’s immediate response, a blush dusts my cheeks pink. Lena noticed. “I knew it!” she giggles.

  15 years ago, Fareeha, Lena, and I had been recruited, all within a week of each other. Fareeha and Lena immediately became friends, but I was untrusting. After their unrelenting pestering, telling me to “open up” and to “just trust us!”, I had accepted that I hadn’t really a choice. By the next year, we knew everything about each other, and we were just as good teammates as we were friends.

  Genji and I had just escaped Japan, but he didn’t join Overwatch until much later. Looking back, I realise that I rarely saw him and while I was living at the base, he was god knows where. I still feel guilty about it, but I know that we would have starved if I hadn’t agreed to join. If I hadn’t joined, I have no doubts that I’d be dead by my own hand. “The goings were going badly,” as Morrison would say.

 “You knew? I mean, I don’t,” I retort. “You guys would be cute together!” she insists, still laughing. I feel almost queasy. “How unprofessional, Hanzo,” I think. “Swallow your feelings, you’ve finally made friends. You can’t ruin this.” Lena must have seen how uncomfortable I was. “Is this your first crush, Hanzo?” she suddenly wonders. “I know; I’m broken. What kind of fifteen year old hasn’t even had thoughts about anyone like that?” I want to say. Instead I nod my head, face hot. If she was weirded out, she didn’t show it. “Really? I’ll see what I can do then!” she replies. I’ve never shaken my head as hard as I had then.

 Replaying these memories makes the grief even worse. Leaning against an awake but silent Fareeha, I barely even feel the tears leaving my eyes and only notice them drizzling my pant legs. She traces circles on my back, an odd but soothing gesture. Remorse envelops me. I could have saved her. I should have saved her, but I didn’t.

  Reyes enters the common room from the kitchen. “McCree will be arriving any time now. Best behaviour, all of you,” he orders, eyeing Genji in particular. I quickly wipe the tears from my cheeks before Reyes can notice. “Weakness,” my mind nearly taunts at this point.

  A few minutes later, the grandfather clock that stands by the door chimes noon. A motorcycle is loudly parked in the garage, and a ring from the doorbell chimes throughout the common room. Morrison swings the door open.

 “Howdy,” the man behind me greets. He sounds gruff, but friendly. If I’m the make a first impression, it will be a good one. Another swipe at the tears no longer falling, I stand to face our newcomer. His eyes flick from each of us as Morrison welcomes him in. I’m last, so I admire him for the extra few seconds it gives me. The tall man has relaxed brown eyes and a polite grin. His boots reach mid shin to be met by the worn denim the covers his lower half. His red plaid shirt matches his… um, blanket? “Ask him later, it’ll give you an excuse to speak to him,” I think, shortly followed by, “Why do I need an excuse to talk to him, is being teammates not enough?” I question.

  When he looks at me, I give him I slight smile (that in hindsight probably looked l was in excruciating pain). He doesn’t seem to mind, and lets his grin broaden. Not, um, bad looking per se. Why am I suppressing a giggle?

 Everyone greets him politely, and Morrison escorts him upstairs to his room. I notice how little luggage he has.

  “You seem chipper,” Mei comments in regards to me. Fareeha replies before I open my mouth to respond. “He’s allowed to be happy,” she reminds both her and I. “She wasn’t there,” my mind nags, “if she knew how horribly I had let down Lena and myself, she’d hate me. Happiness is for those who deserve it.”

Not 10 minutes later, Morrison and McCree return from the dwelling area. “So who wants to introduce themselves first?” Reyes asks. No one volunteers, so he goes first. “I’m Gabriel Reyes, I’m a veteran and a planner for this team, which apparently is shyer than a new kid in grade school,” he complains, rolling his eyes. “It’s a pleasure t’ meet cha,” the cowboy smiles, now joining us in the circle of chairs around the coffee table.

  “Well?” Reyes looks to his right. “I’m next, then. My name is Genji Shimada, I’ve been here for nearly 10 years, and my favourite food is Fareeha’s curry,” he ends with a grin. McCree nods. “Angela Ziegler, medic, and I like to dance,” she lists, and the cowboy chuckles. “I’m Mei-Ling Zhou and winter is my favourite season,” she giggles at her reference. Our newcomer smiles, though it’s obvious he’s not sure what she found funny.

  “Can’t wait to mess this up,” sighing internally. I clear my throat. “I’m Hanzo. Genji is my younger brother,” my voice is raspy at best. “And I have a bit of a cold,” I lie.

  “Get well soon, Hanzo,” he says furrowing his brow. Though taken aback, I maintain my composure. “I’ll try.”

  Fareeha seems content. “I’m Fareeha, and I enjoy cooking,” she introduces herself. Again, McCree nods and smiles. 

  The next couple hours pass along fine, with the others cracking jokes and Fareeha, McCree and I half-heartedly laughing along. Lena’s death seems all the more real to me now that her spot on the team has been replaced, and I’m sure to Fareeha too. McCree though, perhaps he’s homesick?

 I begin to tire as afternoon turns to evening. Thankfully, Genji had talked Fareeha into making supper nearly an hour ago, so I can eat and call it an early night. McCree is fitting in well with everyone, but he speaks to me differently. Not patronizingly, but gentler. Perhaps Morrison had told him about Lena, though I was hoping he wouldn’t.

 Before I know it, a spicy smelling food is on my place mat. McCree, or, Jesse, as he told me to call him, is sat beside me. He’s close enough that I can smell his cologne, or maybe it’s his natural scent? My mind begins to wander. “No,” I tell myself to stop the thoughts before they start.

  A bottle of wine is passed around the table, and Jesse pours both of our glasses. “To McCree,” Reyes toasts. “To McCree,” everyone repeats. “To Jesse,” I mutter under my breath. The bearded man turns to me and grins.

  Fareeha never fails to impress when it comes to her cooking. Her meals keep us healthy and satisfied, and any of us would take the chance to try her food for the first time again in a heartbeat. Perhaps that’s why I’m watching Jesse eat so carefully, or that’s what I’m telling myself. He hasn’t noticed, so I’m sure nobody else has.

 “The meal was delicious, Fareeha, thank you,” I bow, “I’ll be excusing myself now, goodnight everyone.” Scattered goodnights followed me. “Er, thanks very much Fareeha ma’am, it was divine. I’ll be excusin’ myself too if y’ don’t mind,” Jesse tells Fareeha, and she nods. “Goodnight, you two,” she calls. We both file up the stairs and down the corridor to the dwelling area.

  “Well,” the taller man started, “this’s my stop. Rest well, Hanzo,” he says as he fishes for the key fob that unlocks his door. I swear I can see his cheeks deepen a shade. “Thank you, and to you,” I bid farewell. Just a door down is my unit. I let myself in while simultaneously pulling the ribbon from my hair. What an exhausting day. I undress and leave myself only in my boxers. Crawling into bed, I wonder what horror my mind will create as a nightmare tonight.

Chapter Text

Enemies surrounded us. “Are we just going to shoot our way out of this, or are we going to give these people something to remember?” Lena asked us. “Guess,” Fareeha replied, before grabbing the both of us, blasting upwards, and dropping us on either side of the mob. When she suddenly dropped from the air, Lena and I thought she had been shot.

 “Armour’s malfunctioning!” she screamed into her headset. Each millisecond she fell increased her chance of death. We needed to act fast. Desperately spraying shots into the seemingly multiplying crowd, Lena cried, “The damned bomb isn’t ready yet!”

 My panic-stricken heart was beating out of my chest, so quickly that I felt seconds away from death but never more alive in my life. Nausea winded me, a sharp stab of pain flew through my head, and my arms felt as if they were being electrocuted. I screamed louder than I thought a 17 year old possible and shot my arrow.

 Two spiralling dragons I had only seen in dreams shot through the pack, leaving no survivors. There was no time for celebration though, as we rushed over to Fareeha to see if she had injured herself while falling.

 “I’m good, you guys,” she reassured us, using my hand to pull herself up. “That was incredible Hanzo, you saved our asses just then,” Lena laughed. “But I didn’t,” I chuckle. “What do yo-,“ she started. She was interrupted by my arrow cleanly sinking between her eyes. 

 “NO!” I cry into my dark sleeping quarters. Tears begin to well up yet again and stream down my face. “No… no… that’s not what happened… no…” I gasp in between sobs. I wish I could silence my mind. I wish I could stop feeling this pain, this weakness, and just live again. I wish I could sleep without my subconscious taking every happy thought that’s ghosted my mind and twisting it.

 I wish I could die, and I wish I were more surprised by that.

 I realise how stuffy the air in this room is. Before I register that I’m even up, I’m walking towards the kitchen with tied hair and pyjamas. “Can’t even sleep through the night, like an infant!” the nasty voice in my head complains.

 At least nobody could have heard me. The dwellings are set up so the men are separate from the women, and the planners are separate from everyone. Genji usually spends his time in Angela’s room, so that counts him out, and aside from him, I’m the only man.

 Wait, no I’m not.

 Jesse McCree, our relatively friendly newcomer. Perhaps I hadn’t woken him? Though who am I kidding, of course I had.

 As I shakily pour myself a glass of water, someone enters from the dining room. The oven’s clock reads 4:00.

 “I apologise for waking you,” I say, turning to face Jesse. He somehow looks better than he did earlier, bunny slippers resting below flannel pyjama pants and a large button up to cover his torso.

 “Don’ worry about it. Y’ want t' tell me what happened?” he offers with a sympathetic smile. I sigh. I don’t want him to think I’m a basket case by our second day of knowing each other. “You do not wish to know, and you must rest,” I assure the persistent cowboy.

 “I wouldn’t be able ta sleep ‘nyways,” he admits. I glance at him, wishing I didn’t look so fragile. “We can talk about somethin’ else then. Whatever y’ fancy.”

 I nod my head and sip my water slowly. “Whatever you wish,” I tell him. The cowboy grins. “Let’s chat in the livin’ room then, shall we?” he suggests.

 I’m not entirely sure why I’m going along with this. Usually, if this were to happen with anyone other than Lena or Fareeha, I usually would have excused myself to “try to get back to sleep”. But something’s different about this man, and I’m not sure I like it.

 He seems nice enough and brings happiness when we talk (or at least distracts me from sorrow), but I feel weak around him. He isn’t imposing or controlling; I feel as though I’m trusting too fast. I haven’t felt this this open for a long time.

 I follow him to the living room and I sit down on the couch and he makes himself comfortable just inches from my side. Usually my brain wouldn’t bother noting this, but this is Jesse McCree, and everything’s different when it comes to Jesse McCree.

 We start off talking about the team; their strengths, weaknesses, abilities. Jesse seems to enjoy letting me talk, so I try not to let silence impose on our conversation. Slowly, he starts gearing the subject toward me. Not just my fighting techniques, he’s really interested in my opinions, likes and dislikes.

 I horrible thought surfaces. “What if he’s just here to gain information?”

 “So what about you, Jesse?” I quickly ask. “What do you do in your spare time?” “Me? I haven’t had spare time in a long while, but if I did I’d spend ev’ry las’ minute with my friends,” he admits. “He’s not a double agent, Hanzo, Overwatch’s background checks are nothing to underestimate,” I reason with myself.

 After nearly three hours of talking, I’m curled up on the couch while Jesse’s lying on his back, facing me. It’s as if I’m talking to an old friend, and it’s quite comforting.

“Then I got became nauseous and dizzy, out of the blue there’s dragons flying from my arrow!” I exclaim. “Really? Tha’s a lot cooler than mine! I jus’ pass out for a couple o’ seconds, yell somethin’ ‘bout the time, and shoot a bunch,” he laughs.

 Perhaps it’s the lack of sleep, I haven’t felt this carefree in a long while.

“What happened afterwards?” he asked, captivated. I pause, my nightmare still fresh in my mind. “Lena sure was impressed,” I chuckle after a moment’s hesitation. Jesse knows by now that once I mention her, it’s time to change the subject.

“So, any lucky woman?” he casually slips in, though I can’t help but feel as though this isn’t an empty question. “I haven’t thought about women in a long while,” I admit. “Any… man?” he questions. “Not currently,” I chuckle softly. Is this flirting?

 He smiles and looks at his hands. “Whoever y’ end up with should be pretty darn special,” noticeably blushing. I wonder if he’s delusional.

 “Perhaps you should rest Jesse; your compliments may go to my head.” I warn. “Maybe,” he chuckles.

 We sit in a comfortable silence for a couple minutes, probably caused by our mutual lack of sleep more than anything. Footsteps resonate from the stairway. I wonder who it could be, it’s still relatively early.

To my surprise, Jack Morrison emerges. “Bright and early, you two?” he asks, quite… panicked? “Morning person to the bone, sir,” Jesse replies, ignoring is frantic expression.

 “Good to hear, McCree. Dorado’s being bombed. Best get out there and do our jobs,” He informs us. “Wake the others while I prepare the carrier,” he orders. Jesse glances at me in confusion.

 “Welcome to the job, cowboy,” I sputter.

 The both of us rush to the elevator. Panicked, I punch the ‘up’ button harder than necessary.  This our first mission since Lena died, meaning we haven’t trained at all. We need a miracle.

 We don’t get one, though. The elevator dings, indicating we’re safely on the top level. The door doesn’t open.

 “You’ve got to be kidding!” I exclaim, more to myself than to my companion. “What is it?” he asks nervously, though I’m sure he’s already answered his own question.

 I wait a few seconds.  “We’re stopped. Let me page Morrison,” I inform him quickly. I raise my wrist and tap a few buttons on my watch’s screen. Well, now we’re stuck here in this small, tiny, cramped room.

Oh dear.

 “Hanzo?” Jesse speaks up, tone just as concerned as before. I mean to grumble, but I’m sure it sounds like more of a squeak than anything. “Enclosed spaces… are not my favourite,” I simply state. Weakness.

 “Ah, me neither,” he replies, slightly uncomfortable. He pauses. “You okay with this?” Jesse’s hand hovers above my own, awaiting permission. I give him a slightly quizzical look.

 “Touch helps, like an anchor,” he explains with a bit of embarrassment. I catch his hand. He’s right; the room doesn’t seem to be spinning as quickly as before.

 “Thank you,” I smile. Jesse grins.

 For at least ten minutes we stood silent, awaiting Morrison’s response. The man beside me has been relatively quiet save for a couple sighs here and there. I notice how tough his hands are compared to mine, mine slender and porcelain and his large and very tanned, though still gentle.

 My eyes move up his arm. His muscles are visible even through the fabric of his shirt, of which the top couple buttons have undone themselves to reveal more of his skin. He has a calm expression on his face, though I’m sure it’s merely a façade.

 “Like what y’ see?” Jesse chuckles, snapping me from my thoughts. “You’re not too bad,” I state.

 Why did I say that? He doesn’t seem bothered, though. “Thank y’ kindly, sugar.” If he had a hat, he'd be tipping it. I blush.

Without warning, the doors of the elevator are pulled apart by none other than Fareeha. I yelp and lean on to Jesse, still holding his hand.

 “Awwh,” the heavily armoured woman chuckles. “Cute. Now get ready, five minutes until takeoff,” she orders. “We’re not-“I start. “No time, Hanzo,” Jesse interrupts, dragging me towards our units.

 “Okay, uh, lemme jus’-y’ probably want yer hand, eh? Sorry,” he apologises and lets go. A voice in the back of head protests, but it’s shut down immediately. I rush across the hall to my room. We have work to do.

Chapter Text

 I groan loudly, stretching the sleep out of my body, and immediately curl back up. The worst migraine of my life pounds my skull from the inside out. My alarm reads 10:00- wait, 10:00? That’s… early, considering the previous night’s activities.

 Giggling echoes from Lena’s room. “No! Lena, you little shit!” I can hear Fareeha whisper-yell, followed by Lena’s loud, contagious cackling. How are they not hungover? My God. I smirk to myself. My first full day of adulthood, now that’s a miracle. My father used to tease that I’ve been an adult since birth, “considering the permanent stick up my ass”. My expression turns sour. I wonder if he’s been thinking about his favourite disappointment lately.

  I check to see the state of our living unit. Surprisingly, not much has changed in the past 24 hours. My headache spikes as a chipper voice startles me from behind. “The Han of the hour is up!” Lena exclaims as she walks into our small living room. “Han of the hour?” I question, raising a brow. “I think it’ll stick,” she smiles.

 “How’s your damage?” Fareeha calls from behind. “Keep your voice down,” I scold tiredly. “Can’t be that bad, you’re just a drama queen,” she giggles. I chuckle. “Perhaps." Lena smirks and wiggles her eyebrows, and I silently question her. She gives me a look as if to say, “Hold on”.

 “Argh, I should take a shower. Thanks for the drinks, guys,” Fareeha laughs before letting herself out the door.

 “You would not believe what happened with you two last night!” Lena informs me in a hushed voice. “Do I want to know?” I ask, only half-jokingly. “Uh, yeah! Buckle up Hanzo,” she prepares. I begin to get nervous. “You two flirted!” she almost yells with joy. “Are you serious? Lena, you made me think we got married or something,” I reply, bemused. Her grin turns to a more serious look. “Really though, Hanzo. This is your third year of crushing, and our line of work is one where our time is limited. Maybe consider telling her.”

 How I miss that. Not only Lena, but being young, carefree kids. I feel especially sentimental now that I’m standing lined up, awaiting orders outside Dorado limits. Thundering booms echo from the city, and raging fire glows for miles. It’s strange, I feel relatively numb to it all.

 “We get in, we retrieve the survivors, and we get out. Got it?” Commander Morrison orders. We all indicate that we understand. “Fareeha, Genji, and Angela, we need you to locate where the planes dropping the bombs are, Mei, fall back behind McCree and Hanzo. You two, go directly to the Elizabeth/Oxford St. intersection, there’s an underground shelter located approximately 20 meters away. Now go!” he finishes.

  “C’mon Hanzo,” Jesse calls. “I guess we’re pardners,” he adds. I’m not sure why, but something about the way he said it made me almost forget to internally complain about the fact the Reyes thinks I need to be babysat. Argh.

  We jog through the streets of the Mexican city, the noise becoming increasingly loud. “Tha’s it, Elizabeth Street,” the cowboy suddenly announces. He’s pointing to the green street sign to our right. “If we proceed down this road, it should lead us to the Oxford intersection,” I mumble to myself. “Athena, how far away is Oxford Street?” I ask my seemingly normal wristwatch. “The Oxford Elizabeth intersection is approximately 2.4 kilometers from your area,” the program says smoothly.

  “Tha’s some watch of yours, Hanzo. 2 an’ a half clicks ain’t too bad,” the cowboy shrugs. Hiding my bewilderment, an idea wanders through my brain. “Jesse, are you capable of climbing walls?”

 15 minutes later, I help Jesse over the last row of houses to our shortcut, opening up the view of the fight. “Jesus Hanzo… holy shit,” heaved the startled man. The scene before us was terrifying. Fire engulfed most of the demolished buildings' remains. People fleeing the streets, running for their lives. Lifeless bodies littered about.

  Taking us by surprise, an enormous aircraft appears over the chaos. Bold letters that read “TALON” marked the sides. They seemingly drop another wave of bombs, but instead the capsules burst open into large mechanical… things. An army of robots begin terrorising and slaughtering.

  “Requesting backup,” I say into my watch, knowing that my teammates can hear from theirs. “We’re going in, Jesse,” I inform him. We both jump down from our perch and open fire. I can see just as many enemies reappearing as I am killing. The quick, methodical movement of grabbing an arrow and watching it fly into the head of these robots satisfy me, is some sick, twisted way that I can’t begin to explain.

  I look over to my side to observe Jesse. I’m sure that I’ve never seen anyone as precise as him. His focus seems unbreakable, or, nearly. “Jesse! Hanzo!” a somewhat disturbingly sweet voice calls from behind. “Mei?” Jesse questions, still killing with every shot. “I’m your backup! I need you to set off your special ability soon!” she practically screams while freezing a group of bots.

 “Deadeye’s ready” the cowboy yells. “In that case… Freeze! Don’t move!” the small woman instructs while unleashing a blizzard onto the entire army. “Are they actually…?” Jesse raises his eyebrows. He shakes his head and takes a breath.

  “Step right up…”

  There must have been 100 bots instantly killed. Needless to say, that bought us some time, but the fight isn’t over yet. Mei and I's watches light up. “Nice work. Next Talon airship is arriving in approximately 15 minutes. Hurry up and find the shelter!” Morrison orders. He’s obviously watching us through the security cameras.

 “We didn’t see any shelter entrances on the way,” Jesse informs Mei. She bites the inside of her check. “Me neither. What do we do?” she asks. I’m starting to get nervous.

  Hurry up, we don’t have all day, look for clues, like a sign or- A sign. “Look at the graffiti,” I suddenly voice. I’m met with confused stares from both of my teammates. “The graffiti, read it. I bet it’ll tell us where to find the shelter.” Both nod. “Good thinkin’. Let’s go,” Jesse responds. We start towards a nearby supermarket. “Los Muertos… I wonder if they have anything to do with what’s happening this morning,” Mei wonders, reading the messy spray paint that covers the wall.

  I scan the various sprays with my watch, immediately translating them to English. It all seems to be useless. Many “______ was here” and “______+______= forever” riddle the wall, and I wonder how many “forevers” last forever. “Does this seem out of place to you?” Mei asks, furrowing her brow. “When red rains down, we hide underground,” Athena reads. “Did we not already know that?” I question. “I know, but wait. There’s something written underneath it,” she holds. A few seconds later, Athena adds, “And it stinks.”

 Jesse’s face immediately lights up. “They in the sewers?” he suggests. We have little time to disagree. “We have to go find the nearest manhole.”

 With that, we run.

Chapter Text

Dorado’s cries of thanks see us off as we board onto the helicarrier. We accept them as gratefully as we can, but we’re all thinking the same thing; “Why the hell was Talon bombing Dorado?”. All I can think about is the needless loss of life that we just witnessed. Of course, I’m no stranger to taking life, but the act of bombing a city full of innocent civilians is much different from what I’ve had to do during my involvement in Overwatch. It makes me wonder if not all is fair in love and war.

These are definitely not the kind of thoughts someone in my line of work should be having. Once you set a boundary for someone else, you’re bound to break it yourself. The snake-like, perpetually angry voice in my head hisses even more abuse, this time about my inability to control my mind.

Jesus, I’m tired.

I’m exhausted, actually, and I can tell everyone else is too. Even Genji’s hyperactive personality is nonexistent right now, and Mei can’t bring herself to summon an optimistic outlook on what we just experienced. I know the full extent of this morning’s trauma will catch up to me once I sleep—God, I haven’t slept in so long. I glance at Jesse, who I had neglected sleep for the previous night, and he looks similar to how I’m feeling. He’s sitting directly across from me with his eyebrows are deeply furrowed. He doesn’t look angry, just that he doesn’t have the energy to lift them. He’s also tending to a wound he obtained during our time in the sewers, which he turned out to be right about.

Once we had found the civilians, we began transferring them from the bunkers to the safehouses. It was during that process we realized that the bombs (that had ceased raining down long before we resurfaced) were still a threat. The casing from the bombs had a delayed explosion. One of the casings blew inside the nearby remnants of a destroyed building, sending glass right into Jesse’s arm.

I watch as the cowboy cleans the laceration the glass left. Thankfully, it didn’t puncture too deeply, so he was able to remove the shard with relative ease. Angela watches Jesse carefully. She’s suggested stitches at least five times in two minutes. When she hesitantly opens her mouth again, Jesse cuts her off before she even makes a sound.

“Miss Ziegler ma’am, I’m fine, really! The worry is appreciated but if I need ‘nything I’ll ask, mkay?” Jesse whispers, since the majority of our crew is either sleeping or deeply lost in thought. Angela’s expression softens and she nods. She returns to her previous preoccupation—running her hands through Genji’s hair, who’s apparently nodded off as quickly as Mei, Fareeha, and Reyes.

I scan everyone seated on the aircraft. Mei’s head rests on Fareeha’s lap, both of them asleep. Fareeha looks incredibly similar to how she did when we were teenagers. I inwardly chuckle at myself; when we were that age, I scanned over her like this almost daily. Of course, now it’s out of concern instead of longing. I haven’t seen her look this peaceful since, well… since Lena was here.

Uncomfortable from the thought, I quickly avert my eyes to Mei. Curiously, she looks quite sad while she sleeps. Perhaps her seemingly never-ending positivity doesn’t come as naturally as I had originally thought. Morrison is furiously scribbling a mission report, Reyes is snoring lightly beside him with his hat covering his face.

Angela is still stroking Genji’s hair when I look at them. I’m relieved that the two coupled up; she knocked some common sense into my brother. How lucky he is that Angela smartened him up before I did. Genji used to be so reckless, so careless when it came to his actions. Our upbringing taught us that if you are to act stupidly, make sure the consequences only effect you. I think Genji took that to mean he could do whatever the hell he wanted without hurting anyone else—although he was hurting me without realising it. I wonder what would have happened if his path of self-destruction continued. Nothing good.

Finally, my eyes catch the eyes of our new recruit. He hurriedly flits his gaze elsewhere once he realizes I’m looking at him. “Why would he do that?” The paranoid thought of him being a spy crosses my mind again, and I physically shake the thought from my head. “Jesse McCree is not a spy, Hanzo,” I tell myself. How ridiculous.

It’s odd, but I can’t help but want to see his eyes on me again. While mine are dark, both in shade and aura, his are a golden honey colour that crinkle at the corners when he smiles. “Why do you know that? You’ve known him for little more than a day!” I don’t really know how to answer myself, so I make a conscious effort to think about something else.

I pull a ribbon from my tunic pocket. It’s one that Angela gifted me countless Christmases ago—or was it for my birthday? I wrap the red and gold silk around my fingers. Whenever I got it, it’s just as luxurious as it was then. Under closer inspection, you can make out an intricate pattern of two dragons curling around each other; reminding me of the tales that the Shimada Clan valued so dearly. The figures of strength and power are the one thing I kept even after Genji and I fled Japan. Not that we had much choice, considering that they inhabit us during our strongest moments.

I lean forward in my seat, unrestrained by a seatbelt since the Overwatch carrier is probably even safer than walking. I untangle the large knots in my hair with my fingers. When I am satisfied, the ribbon twirls around the hair and into an imperfect ponytail. It looks… questionable, but I’ll be sleeping on it anyway. Brushing the small wispy hairs that my ribbon didn’t catch away from my face, I lay down on the benchseat I was previously sitting on. I quickly drift into rest.

Chapter Text

Dear Lena,

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about your replacement, Jesse McCree. He makes me act quite strange, even vulnerable. Since you know me so well, I’m sure you know how I feel about that; completely and utterly violated. I can just hear your giggle right now, telling me that I’m head over heels with this man, but it’s not like that. How could I possibly be anything other than miserable without you here? That being said, if you were, you’d have probably already asked him and I out for a double date with you and Emily.

She misses you terribly, Lena, but she’s a lot better at hiding it than Fareeha and I are. You’ll be happy to know that she’s still using that air freshener that you like and she hates—she told me so herself in the last letter she sent me. I am finding it difficult to respond to her. Maybe she sees writing to me the same way I see writing to you; an attempt at closure. As much as I hate to admit it, maybe Angela was right about writing these letters… don’t tell her, okay? Har har har.

I know you can’t read this letter, but perhaps you can feel it? You can’t touch this sheet of paper, but I hope that somehow, you can hear what I’m saying. I love you, Lena. I hope that I didn’t depress you too much with this one.

The Han of the Hour.

I frown at my sign-off. My letters have somehow morphed from tearstained ramblings to a semi-bittersweet recounting of the past couple day’s events, and it just doesn’t feel right. Since Dorado, since getting out of my chambers and training again, living again, it somehow hurts less. Well, not less, but Lena’s death is not the only thing on my mind anymore. What gives me the right to live when she can't?

Dorado was two weeks ago, but I can hardly stop thinking about it. What the hell was Talon doing? What the hell does Dorado have to do with it? The only good thing to come out of this is that I’m not so miserable, and even then, I’m still miserable. Miserable with a purpose.

My alarm clock’s electronic tone cuts through the otherwise silent room. I sigh, wondering why I even bother to set it in the first place—I’ve been basically hardwired to wake up at 5:00am since birth, after all. I rise from my desk, place the dragon-embellished journal in my nightstand and flick the alarm’s switch to “off”. It’s 6:00am on a Tuesday morning and our group training session is in an hour and a half. I’ve actually gotten myself ready today. Before I can let another sea of emotions make an appearance, I should migrate downstairs.

I am greeted by the unique smell of Fareeha’s omelettes as I enter the kitchen. She looks up and gives me a half-smile in greeting. My eyes wander toward the countertop where, to no surprise, I am met with enough omelettes to feed an army (or at least a squadron).

“How long have you been up?” I ask Fareeha. To look at her, you’d think she had just rolled out of bed. Her long, slick hair is only partially contained in yesterday’s bun as she stands hunched over a bowl filled with even more eggs. Her t-shirt is stained with paprika and egg whites.

“No more than an hour,” Fareeha states after glancing at the oven’s clock. She then gestures toward the pile of omelettes on the kitchen island. “Eat something Habibi, it’s getting cold. I’ll join you after this batch.”

I sure hope so. I collect everything I need for my breakfast and sit down in the common area. Black and white photographs of the former members of Overwatch adorn the walls, some of which retired, others lost in battle. It really is a nice area; it’s large enough for all of us to meet in, be it for mission updates, for a game of cards, or sometimes just to chat. I sit on the same four-seater couch that Jesse and I relaxed on during his first night here. As the sun rises, it’s light floods the room from the window behind me. With the sunlight, the wood of the bookshelves looks richer and the pictures seem to gain some colour. Lena’s picture should be hung up any day, now.

Fareeha’s cooking has never disappointed, and today is no different. Just as I finish my plate, the self-trained chef drags her feet into the room and sits beside me.

“How are you, Fareeha?” I ask. It’s been a while since we shared a conversation without one or both of us being totally distraught.

Fareeha gives me a sad smile. “It’s getting easier to handle now that we’re back in training again,” she replies, “but it’s hard to keep distracted for all 24 hours in a day.” I nod my head and a few beats of silence follows.

“How are you doing, Hanzo?” she asks, neglecting her meal to face me on the couch. I don’t know how I’m doing.

I consider her question. “I’m finding it easier now that we’re back to our normal schedules, too… but I feel conflicted. I feel like everyone except us has forgotten about her already,” I finish. It’s strange to be talking about Lena without immediately feeling the pressure of tears welling up in my eyes.

Fareeha gives me a stern look. “Now Hanzo, how do you think anyone could possibly forget her? She’s probably laughing, wherever she is, over you saying that!” Fareeha’s face softens. “No one could forget her, even if they tried. I promise you that, Hanzo.”

My mouth curls upwards and I look down at the empty plate in my lap. She’s right, Lena was one of a kind.

“You don’t still blame yourself, do you?”

By the time my eyes find hers, my face has returned to a neutral expression. “Why shouldn’t I?” I reply.

Fareeha’s sad and tired eyes are framed by the chunks of hair that have broken free of her bun. She sighs and responds, “Because she wanted to go alone, Hanzo. She had years of training telling her to stick with you and she still went into the ship alone.”

The looming black body of the Talon ship is still fresh in my mind, in part because it makes an appearance in every one of my nightmares. Lena and I were doing surveillance on that particular ship because it was rumoured to be carrying Amélie Lacroix—an Overwatch agent’s brainwashed wife. The hot sun beat down that day in the outskirts of Dorado, and we thought we had seen some movement in the seemingly empty ship. Lena wanted to get a closer look and insisted that if anything went awry, she could simply recall back out of harms way. Before I could effectively protest, she zipped away.

And then, sound of a sniper rifle’s shot echoed through the desert, and Lena was gone.

Chapter Text

“You’ve done some good work today. Go have some lunch and meet back here at 14:00,” Morrison tells us, scanning his eyes over the members of his squadron. He makes eye contact with me last. “Shimada, wait up a bit,” he orders.

I’m not surprised that he’s giving me detention. Today’s morning training session was fantastic, but I know I didn’t work too well with the rest of the team. Fareeha and I’s conversation lingered in my brain and I reverted back to my “lone assassin” tendencies. Perhaps I should consider that line of work again.

The rest of my teammates shuffled out quickly, with Angela giving me a concerned—no—pitiful look as she left. I step up to Morrison, awaiting whatever verbal abuse is coming my way.  His blue collar is turned away from me as he speaks.

“Separate your work from your relationships. I can’t believe I have to remind you of this after 15 years, Shimada.”

I know. He shouldn’t have to. Keeping my face emotionless, I reply:

“I apologize. I will do better.”

Morrison turns to look me up and down, eyes catching on the faint bruises on my arms. He knows that I know he noticed them. I also know that he won’t comment on them, though.

Morrison sighs after a few moments of silence. “Dismissed.”

And on my merry way I go back to the housing center, just a 10 minute stroll from the training facility. Most of the squadron takes the shuttle bus back, too exhausted to bother, but I prefer to walk. It’s easier than having to make small talk with Angela or Fareeha and I enjoy the solitude anyway. At least, I thought that I would.

“Hanzo,” a familiar deep voice greets me as I push the door open. There stands Jesse, wearing his ever-present cowboy hat and denim jeans. He’s leaning against the brick wall of the training facility while stamping out a cigarette with his signature boots. “You walkin’?” he asks.

Strange—he normally rides back with the rest of the team. “Yes, Jesse, you know me well. What are you doing here? The bus has left,” I reply.

Jesse stands up straight and puts his hands in his pockets. “Oh, I figured I’d wait up for ya. I didn’t want ya walkin’ home alone in case Morrison gave you a hard time,” he states. I can’t help but wonder if Angela put him up to this, but he seems quite genuine.

“That is kind of you, Jesse. Thank you,” I mutter. What else can I say? I begin to wrack my mind for a way to tell him I can be trusted to make it back to the housing centre.

As we set off toward our residence, I think of it. “You do not need to look out for me. I appreciate your concern, but I am surprised that you don’t know by now that I’m content with being an outsider,” I tell him.

The cowboy smiles, adjusting his hat to block the sun from his eyes. “To tell ya the truth, I’m a bit of an outsider myself. I’ve never laid down my roots anywhere. That’s why I feel a bit drawn to ya, I think.” He looks at me through the side of his eyes. He gives me a charming grin and—wait, did he just say he was drawn to me?

He probably didn’t mean it in the way it came across as. I’ll choose to ignore that.

“No roots? What about your hometown?” I ask.

“Well, I guess I did once. There was a girl an’ we were young, set on getting’ married,” he sighs. He seems to be okay to talk about this, but I have a feeling that it’s not something he speaks about often. I give him an attentive look, waiting for him to continue.

“Now one night, her brother, Frank, got piss drunk and I was to walk him home from the bar. As we were walking up the driveway to his farmhouse, we saw that the lights were still on. As we got closer, we heard some commotion. When we opened the door, we saw Frank’s wife and their neighbor making that commotion on their living room sofa.” He says this in an almost joking manner, as if this wasn’t so bad.

“Hanzo, there are two things you gotta know about old Frank; he’s got a temper when he’s drunk, and he was under the impression that he was only one makin’ a commotion with his missus,” he continues. Again, the way he speaks is leading me to believe that this story is about to get a lot more serious.

“Actually, there’s a third thing. He carried a loaded .38 Special everywhere he went, so when Frank killed his neighbour, it wasn’t much surprise.”

There it is. Before I can respond, he begins speaking once more.

“I knew that Frank’s wife would say whatever Frank wanted her to out of fear of what he’d do to her if she didn’t, so I left that little farm town that night and I never looked back. Last I heard, the story was that Frank, his wife, the neighbour and I were playing poker and I suspected him of cheating, so I killed him. My lady married some city boy, and the sheriff still asks folks if they’ve seen me. Like I said, I’ve never put down roots,” he finishes.

I’m not quite sure what to say. I wonder if there’s anything I can say. I decide that there aren’t many words of comfort available to me.

“Did you come to Overwatch for some consistency in your life?” I ask after a pause.

“Yeah, I did. I used to be an outlaw—a real cowboy—but not much of that matters,” he responds. I get it. Not even Lena got the full story of why Genji and I fled Japan.

“I understand. None of us really speak about our pasts here. Genji knows the most about mine out of anyone here, and that is simply because he was there for the majority of it,” I reassure him.

Jesse nods. “I haven’t told anyone about that for a long while,” he says with a chuckle. “You’re easy to talk to, Hanzo.” I smile at the taller man. The sunlight hits his brown eyes in a way that almost makes them look golden.

“Not many people would agree with you, Jesse,” I admit. “Perhaps you feel this way because, as you said, you are drawn to me,” I quip with a slight smirk.

“Hey now, ya can’t blame a guy fer havin’ a big heart!” he exclaims. He laughs loudly, and I can’t help but wonder if it is the sunlight, the laughter, or something else that is dusting his cheeks a light shade of pink. I chuckle along.

We arrive at the training facility soon after, still laughing about our conversation. We make ourselves some lunch—turkey sandwiches—and sit down in the common area. Genji and Angela are sharing a recliner meant for one person, and for some reason, I can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. Jesse and I’s conversation on the walk home must have shifted something in me. It’s probably just loneliness.

The grandfather clock that stands in the corner of the room reads 12:30pm. It’s strange to have free time and not be spending it with Fareeha and Lena. Genji and Jesse chat about training as we eat our sandwiches. My mind begins to wander back to what if would be like to have a partner; someone to share a life with.

Then, my mind wanders toward Jesse. “What are you, some kind of queer?” an awful voice hisses in my head. It is the voice of my father. “Maybe,” I think to myself. It’s difficult to admit that. The only people who’d ever heard me say that I like men are Lena and Fareeha, and that was years ago. I outwardly sigh.

“I’m going to go have a nap. I will see you at training,” I tell Jesse, Genji and Angela as I rise from the couch. Three "okay"s follow me out of the room as I head to the kitchen and put my plate in the sink, then ride the now-fixed elevator up to my quarters.

Chapter Text

I lay awake and stare at the ceiling above my bed. I run my hand up and down my stomach absentmindedly, trying to think about anything or anyone other than Jesse McCree as a potential partner. It’s hard not to; I’m 30 years old and the last time I had sex was during our Christmas break almost 8 months ago. It’s easy to meet a woman at a bar and take her back to a hotel room. It’s difficult to meet a woman—or a man, I guess—when your permanent residence is a government run base that no civilians know the location of.

I need to pull myself together; I have to be back at the training facility in just over an hour, for God’s sake! Not only that, I’ve hardly known Jesse for two weeks. Loneliness is one hell of a drug, I guess.

Ah, great. The once very familiar feeling of arousal is present now, too. Would it hurt to… handle it? It’s been a pretty long while since I’ve taken matters into my own hands; almost a month, in fact. I lift my head from my pillow to check the time. 12:48. I do have time…

The hand that was once tracing up and down my torso moves further south, still over the track pants that I wore to training. I guess it’s comforting that my sex drive simply took a vacation instead of retiring. I grab myself through the soft fabric, noting the warmth I feel. Lifting my hips, I hook my thumbs around the waistband of my pants and pull them down to my knees; kicking them off from there. The bulge in my plain, black boxer-briefs is noticeable to say the least. The feeling of pressure building up in my lower stomach is becoming hard to ignore, so I waste no time in discarding of them, too.

I finally grab my half-hard shaft and begin to stroke it, thinking of the woman I hooked up with during my Christmas holidays. She was stunning; she had these enticing brown eyes that were had to look away from. She wore a white camisole and a short red skirt that hugged her in all the right places and when I took her back to the hotel room, she pretty much tackled me onto the bed.

In my imagination, I’m sitting on the edge of the hotel bed while she straddles me. I kiss up her jawline and stop at the hollow part, just in front of her ear, to give extra attention. She tugs my length through the fly of my jeans as she ruts herself against my leg, her skirt lifted slightly by her position. She moans into my ear as I lift her hips up and move her panties aside to rub her clit. The woman begins to buck into my hand slightly as I run my fingers through her folds, still keeping pressure on her clit with my thumb.

Her breathing becomes heavier and she moans my name when I enter her with my middle finger. I begin moving it in and out and when I feel she’s wet enough, I add another. The woman takes her free hand and begins rubbing her clit, allowing me to focus on fingering her. Her hips are basically riding my hand and as she inches closer to orgasm, her moans become louder. The rhythm she strokes me at becomes inconsistent and soon, the woman cums with a buck of her hips as she cries out into my neck. She rides out her euphoria and lowers her hips back to my leg. She looks down, almost surprised to see that I didn’t cum. She pulls away from me silently and stands up.

The woman takes off her clothes and motions for me to take off my jeans. I comply, removing my underwear and the button-up shirt I’m wearing as well. She saunters over to me and trails her hands down my torso, following the lines of my muscles. I lean back on my hands, waiting for her to assume her prior position. Instead, she squats down; eye level with my member and resumes stroking it from there. When she is satisfied, she lifts it up and licks the underside slowly; starting at the base and ending at the head.  She swirls her tongue around the tip a few times and looks back up at me.

“I’m not going to last very long if you keep that up,” I breathe.

“Good,” she says with a smirk, “We have all night.”

The woman resumes, this time taking my whole member in her mouth. She uses her hands to help her reach the bottom and I can’t help but buck my hips up. She hums in surprise, and the vibration sends shockwaves straight to the burning knot in the pit of my stomach. My breath hitches, signifying how incredibly close to orgasm I am. My head falls back in pleasure, letting out a moan I didn’t know I was holding in.

“I’m really close,” I warn the woman.

She hums again, this time deeper. I look down at her and Jesse McCree looks back at me.

“What the FUCK,” is what I mean to yelp, but it quickly turns into a drawn-out moan as I cum hard into the palm of my hand. I hardly notice the endorphin high of the last few tugs before I jump out of bed and grab a tissue. My knees feel too weak to even stand, yet I somehow sprint to the bathroom to look myself in the mirror.

“What the fuck was that?” I ask my reflection. The reflection stares back at me, still in shock. My face is still painted a deep pink from my arousal and the blush extends down my neck. I wipe the mess off my hands with a tissue and scrub them thoroughly in the sink, as if that would reverse the image my mind created. I peek my head around the corner of the bathroom doorway to check the time. 1:03. Thank God I have some time for a fucking shower.