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Hanzo loathed Valentine’s Day, and he swore it wasn't just because he was single. Desperately single, as his younger brother pointed out. Depressingly single. Despairingly single. He preferred to think of his situation as more of a last-stand against the crass consumerism and societal pressures of pairing up in a marketable, heteronormative environment. Genji said he wasn’t fooling anyone; he wasn't aromantic like Satya, and everyone could see he was jealous and lonely.
Regardless of his relationships, lack thereof, and the impact they had on his mood, Hanzo hated the holiday and everything remotely connected to it.
This got exceptionally awkward for a man whose business tripled in the lead up to February 14th.
There was still some confusion as to exactly how he became the owner and business manager for Bullseye Courier Services, even years after the acquisition. Hanzo suspected it involved Genji, one or more of Genji’s friends, and a bottle of something stronger than Hanzo’s usual sake . That tended to be the recipe by which his life took unexpected turns, like leaving Japan and the family’s old business, or getting an undercut to hide the premature greys he got from looking after Genji. Really, it was the only reasonable explanation for how he went from working middle-but-rising management in an accounting office to being the sole voice of reason and practicality in a small delivery business that would have bankrupted years ago if not for his refusal to allow anything associated with him to fail.
Hanzo sighed and glared at the calendar on his desk in hopes that it would spontaneously combust and drop him into the middle of March. No such luck. He un-muted the phone to interrupt the rambling instructions of the client on the other end.
“No, Mr. Fawkes,” he said, “we cannot provide or transport any incendiary or inflammable materials with your delivery.For one thing, this company is not licensed to do so. For another, I would not endanger my employees in such a way.” Frankly, given the speed at which Lena drove, it was an accident waiting --impatiently -- to happen.
“Well, what good are you, then? It’s only a few sparklers!”
Hanzo, unfortunately, knew that Jamison Fawkes’ idea of “a few” was rather mathematically unsound, and that “sparklers” was probably another understatement. Previous interactions quantified “a few” roses as “three”, “a few” broken bones as “fifteen”, and “a few” dollars as “four grand”. If he hadn’t been such an oddly profitable customer, Hanzo would have blacklisted him long ago. As it stood, the strange man paid in full, on time, and, for all his complaining, left surprisingly good reviews on social media.
“I am sorry, but the decision stands.” Hanzo held the phone away until the annoyed muttering died down. “If you want, I will connect you to the florist, and you can discuss alternative displays.” He transferred the call, dropped the phone back into its cradle, and put his head down on his desk. No sooner had his forehead touched the surface than Lena appeared at the door to his office.
“What is it, Miss Oxton?” He sighed.
Lena pouted.
“You can call me Tracer, you know. Everyone else does.”
“As I said the last time you insisted, Miss Oxton , that is neither professional nor appropriate. You are Genji’s friend; you are my employee. Besides, your nickname makes no sense.”
“It’s a nickname! Who says it has to make sense?”
Hanzo sat up enough to rub at the budding pain behind his eyelids where the stress headache threatened to return.
“Do you have a reason to come back here, Miss Oxton, or do you just want to waste your break eavesdropping on the Fawkes account again?”
“Sorry, boss,” she huffed. “But I got a weird one for you.”
“You are going to have to deliver a less-than-happy message someday.”
She fidgeted.
“This is a little more than less-than happy. Actually, I’m not really sure it’s not hate mail.”
Hanzo quirked an eyebrow and held out his hand.
“How can you not be sure?”
“See for yourself.”
She handed him a handwritten letter, and he skimmed the open, looping lines quickly.
Dear Gabe,
I hope you’re having a wretched day. I’m doing fine and don’t miss your ugly mug at all. I’m glad you’re not here, because the gladiolus are doing much better without you threatening them into growing. The scones at the bakery are sweeter without your sour face across the table. Please go away and stay there forever.
Much Loathing,
Jack
PS - Tell the mutt I don’t miss him either, and that he better be late for our Tuesday meeting.
Hanzo scowled.
“You see? For as mean as it looks, it’s awfully…”
“Cordial.”
“Yeah, that.”
“What can you tell me about the sender?”
“Him? Older man, dressed kind of like “Dad’s midlife biker crisis.” Kind of grumpy, but in a friendly way.”
“How is one ‘grumpy but in a friendly way’?”
“It’s… the opposite of you, really.”
Hanzo’s scowl turned into a glare.
“You’re blaming Genji for getting you into this again, aren’t you.”
He cleared his expression of detectable emotion.
“No.”
“You were! That’s another one for the board!” Lena beamed and darted back to the break room of the small office. “Four more this month means he owes me lunch!”
He sighed and looked back at the letter, trying to balance the tone and the text.
“Do you have the recipient’s address?” He stood up, retrieved his jacket, and tucked the letter in his inner pocket. Lena immediately reappeared with the delivery slip and an arrangement of flowers with the iris logo of Zenyatta’s florist-yoga studio-counseling center on the ground floor below them. He sighed and wished for employment less symbiotic to his brother’s boyfriend’s shop.
“Gladiolus and red roses. Someone’s feeling spikey.”
“But not cheap.”
“Lot of effort to go for hate mail.”
“I will deliver the arrangement and alert the recipient of the message’s… tenor. They can decide if they wish to accept that and, if not, we will blacklist the sender.”
“Better you than me, boss.” Lena said with as much admiration as appreciation. Her sincerity, though perfect for congratulatory or affectionate messages, only made Hanzo groan and head for his car.
He detoured just long enough to catch Genji’s eye through the window of Zenyatta’s shop. Genji gave him a winning smile mid-Sun Salutation, and Hanzo held up four fingers to let him know how many tallies he had left before dropping three of them to convey a completely different message. Genji rolled his eyes, and Hanzo left it at that.
Climate change deniers would have had a hard time explaining the unseasonably warm weather; even for southern California, the bright sunshine brought temperatures higher than some summer days Hanzo remembered in Hanamura. He set the GPS, rolled his window down, and spent half the trip trying to find a radio station that wasn’t playing back to back love songs.
Eventually, he gave up and just shut the radio off entirely.
The GPS directed him to a suburb just on the edge of Bullseye’s delivery radius where the houses had the cookie-cutter architecture of a planned development and just enough lawn to give a semblance of privacy without actually providing enough space for any useful or particularly interesting landscape. In either an attempt to distinguish themselves from their neighbors or a sublime lack of concern for timeliness, the homeowner had left both Halloween decorations and winter holiday lights on their property. There was a plastic jack-o-lantern sitting on a porch swing, and it grinned at Hanzo as he parked behind an old truck.
While first impressions were not always accurate, Hanzo liked to think he was fairly competent at cold-reading people. The mismatched decor and the dirt on the vehicle gave a certain impression. In the case of Gabriel Reyes, however, that impression was completely incorrect, namely because the strange cowboy who opened Gabriel Reyes’ door was not Gabriel Reyes. Not just the watered-down modern type of cowboy, either, with boots still polish-bright, but a dusty denim, worn leathers vision who smelled like smoke and sunshine and wore a hat so battered it had to be genuine.
“Can I help you?” The cowboy stared back at Hanzo, though his eyes kept flickering to the flowers.
“I have a delivery,” Hanzo said. “With an accompanying message.”
The cowboy’s face lit up.
“Hot damn, I made it here before they started! I didn’t think I’d make it before you got here.”
“I must warn you, the letter is rather inflammatory.”
“I’ll bet it is.”
“Mr. Reyes--”
“Pops has been looking forward to this all year.”
“You don’t seem to under-- I’m sorry, who is what?”
Instead of answering, the cowboy held up a hand in the ‘wait’ gesture.
“Pops!” he bellowed into the house.
Moments later an older man with darker, scarred skin stomped up.
“What have I told you about yelling in the house?” He growled. The younger man grinned unrepentantly.
“Your Valentine’s Day delivery is here.”
Hanzo blinked, startled.
“About damn time,” the older man scowled, but the corners of his mouth pulled upwards as he signed for the flowers. “If it were my turn I’d have started mid-January.”
“Mr. Reyes, there is a letter--” Hanzo reached into his jacket and pulled it out, only for Reyes to instantly snatch it. “Sir, it is quite inflammatory--”
“Good,” said Reyes. He spun around and disappeared down the hall again, leaving Hanzo holding the flowers and looking to the other man for some kind of explanation.
“You guys do responses, right?” The cowboy asked. Hanzo nodded mutely. “All right. Why don’t you bring those inside and help me find a place to put them while Pops does his thing?”
“It is against company policy to enter the home of a client or recipient,” Hanzo said. The cowboy’s smile faded.
“The little bastard paid off the house, so technically it’s his, not mine.” Reyes yelled from deeper inside.
“Hypocrite!” The cowboy shouted back. He turned an embarrassed smile to Hanzo and gestured to the porch swing. “You don’t gotta come in if that’s gonna mess with your policy. Just, from the look on your face, I thought you wanted to know what was up with…” he waved a hand in the direction Reyes went.
“I will admit some concerns. Bullseye is not in the habit of delivering messages that contain such… negative… content, but…”
“It had a bit of a different feel to it, didn’t it?” They walked over to the swing and sat down. “Yeah, it’s a long and complicated story. Short version is this: Jack and Pops go way back to a time when they couldn’t tell each other what they felt in plain speak. So they decided that they’d say the opposite of what they meant rather than let people keep them from saying anything at all.”
Hanzo took a moment to re-write the letter in his head.
“Oh,” he said.
“Pops puts up a tough front, but he’s a big softy deep down at heart.”
A window opened, and Reyes stuck his head out to glower at them.
“That is a damn dirty lie,” he snarled, and slammed the window shut again.
“Way deep down,” the cowboy assured him.
“Your… father… has very good hearing.” Hanzo marveled.
“Yeah, you can’t get away with anything around here. Nearly frightened me to outta my skin back in the early days, right after he adopted me. I’d try sneaking out, but he was always right there waiting.” He shook his head and offered his hand. “I’m Jesse, by the way. Jesse McCree.”
“Hanzo Shimada.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“And you as well, Mr. McCree.”
The cowboy made a face so painfully offended that Hanzo had to stifle a laugh.
“Just Jesse, if you please,” he said, “or McCree if you feel the need to be formal about things. Mr. McCree sounds like a cartoon character.”
“As you wish,” Hanzo said.
“So I gotta ask…” said McCree. “Aren’t you dressed a little fancy for dropping off flowers and a letter? Or do all your people wear stuff this fine?”
“I am the manager. I only step in for deliveries when a situation requires delicate handling.”
“Ain’t nothing delicate about those two,” McCree snorted.
“I heard that, ingrate!”
“You were meant to, you old badger!”
“And what is it that you do, sir, dressed like this?” Hanzo asked.
“‘Sir’? That’s almost as bad as Mr. McCree,” McCree wrinkled his nose. “And can’t you tell? I’m a cowboy.”
“On screen?”
McCree laughed.
“Naw, not really. I’m an animal handler. I specialize in domestic animals that go on screen though, and sometimes someone’ll put me in the background just to make sure everything’s running smooth, but that’s all.”
“Ah.”
“It pays the bills. I don’t need much; mostly, I want to pay Pops back for looking after me back when he and Jack were still having a rough time of it. Valentine’s is real special to them, you know? They get to celebrate being in love like other couples do, just… in their own weird way.”
Hanzo didn’t get a chance to reply before Reyes came storming back out to the porch with a reply letter and two hundred-dollar bills, both of which he thrust into Hanzo’s hands.
“Reply letter for Jack Morrison,” he said, “And a tip.”
“Mr. Reyes, I cannot--”
“Too much?”
“I’m a manager. I cannot accept tips, let alone one of this size--”
Reyes rolled his eyes.
“You’re putting up with our ‘game’, but fine, take whatever’s left after the delivery fee and throw in some flowers or something. Next time I’ll be better prepared.” And he promptly went back into the house, slamming the door behind him.
“Sorry about that,” McCree sighed. “He’s a stubborn old cuss, real set in his ways. Part of why he and Jack don’t actually live together now.”
The window opened again, and Reyes leaned out.
“Quit telling tales,” he growled. “And Jack says not to be late again on Tuesday.” The window shut.
McCree gave Hanzo a hangdog smile and a shrug.
“Well, it was nice to meet you, Hanzo. I’d be glad to see you again if those two don’t scare you off like they scared off every other courier service in the area, but I’ll understand if you don’t come ‘round. Busy manager like yourself probably has lots to do.”
He tipped his hat and went inside.
Not for the first time that day, Hanzo was left speechless for the strangeness of his life.
Rush hour traffic meant it was past closing when Hanzo got back to the office, but he went in anyway to finish out the Morrison transaction and open a new one for Reyes. Remembering Jesse’s explanation of their ‘code’ but also the gruff, almost aggressive manners Reyes displayed, Hanzo decided to check the new letter as well. He laid it out on the desk and scanned Gabriel Reyes’ sharp, slanted handwriting.
Jack-off,
Your stupid flowers arrived and are absolutely fucking hideous. You’d think after all these years you’d develop a sense of taste. I tossed them in the trash as soon as I saw them.
If you think the bakery is better without me, you should see the Italian place on 3rd without you. It’s a completely different experience -- changed my opinion on pasta forever. Being alone with a dozen couples around me is infinitely better than being with you. Thursday nights are the loudest, especially around 8 p.m., so don’t go unless you want to lose the little hearing you have left.
I’ll see you never,
Gabe
PS - Message delivered. It’s out of my hands.
PPS - You’re still as subtle as a brick to the face. It’s a wonder no one caught on years ago, you obvious fuck.
Even with the knowledge that the sentiments of the letter were supposed to be reversed, Gabriel’s message was harder to read as ‘secretly romantic’ than Jack’s. No wonder Jesse said they had gone through a number of agencies. If Hanzo had seen Reyes’ letter first, he never would have let the contract stand.
He sank into his chair. Nearly silent footsteps on the stair made him wish the upholstery would swallow him up. The chair, unhelpfully, did no such thing.
“You know that is not good for your back,” Genji said from the office door.
“My back is the least of my worries.” Hanzo growled.
“Is Mr. Fawkes trying to send fireworks again?”
“Yes, but I told him no.”
“Because that’s stopped him before.”
“Did you come here to ask me about Mr. Fawkes, or was that simply the most convenient way for you to aggravate me?” Hanzo forced himself to sit up. Genji perched on the desk, reading Reyes’ letter. “Put that down. It is not for you.”
“Rather bitter, don’t you think?” Genji asked, holding it out of reach. Hanzo resisted the urge to flip the desk -- it wouldn’t be worth cleaning up later, and his brother would probably still land on his feet.
“It is none of your business,” he snapped. “Quite literally, since you are not employed here.”
“You would fire your own brother?”
“I fired you years ago. You simply never paid attention.”
“Brother, you wound me.”
“Brother, I certainly will if you do not get off my desk and put that letter down.”
Genji heaved a melodramatic sigh and made a show of putting the letter back where he found it.
“Off. The. Desk.”
“Picky, picky. Hey, is this from Gladiolus-and-Roses?”
“That is none of your--”
“--business, except yes it is, because if he wants to send flowers, Zenyatta will have some that will be perfect.” Genji smirked. “I work with him now, since my cold-hearted brother fired me.”
“It is unethical to sleep with your boss.”
“It is not unethical to work with your partner .”
Hanzo dropped his head into his hands.
“And what does your partner recommend?”
“Come down and ask him yourself.”
“Genji--”
“And maybe join us for evening meditation?”
“ Genji-- ”
“You drove in rush hour today, and you look like you could use a break.” Genji pouted, an expression that had been much more effective in their youth. “Just ten minutes, and I’m sure you’ll feel worlds better.”
“The only thing that will make me feel better is leaving this miserable mess of a business and going back to a more legitimate enterprise where I do not have to spend every day arguing about explosions and potential hate mail.”
“Explosions and hate mail sounds pretty average for corporate work, if you ask me. Why must you be so uncompromising?”
“I am willing to compromise with a bottle of sake and eight uninterrupted hours of sleep. You are the one asking the unreasonable.”
“Hanzo.” Genji broke out his secret weapon. “Please?”
Hanzo held out an impressive thirty-two seconds.
“Fine. But only ten minutes.”
Ten minutes of meditation did, in fact, improve Hanzo’s mood, though those who didn’t know him well enough might find it hard to tell. By the end of it he was even able to look at his brother’s partner without screaming in disbelief that such a person existed.
Zenyatta was proof that some divine entity was a fucking overachiever. Hanzo was certain it was impossible to be a licensed therapist, a popular yoga instructor, and a successful florist while still having the energy to date Genji. In his less charitable moments, Hanzo thought Zenyatta might be a robot.
Unintentionally adding fuel to the fire, Zenyatta unfolded himself from a complicated pose without even a twitch of discomfort across his serene face. He seemed above the petty troubles of flesh-and-blood mortals, things like leg cramps and joint pain and feeling tired.
“How wonderful that you could join us today,” he said with genuine sincerity that made Hanzo feel guilty for all his unkind thoughts. “Genji has informed me of how important your work is to you. Thank you for sharing your time with us.”
“Yes, well.” Hanzo stretched and tried to feel less like a heel. “One of my clients is looking for an arrangement to send his… I presume his partner. Their relationship is hard to describe.”
Zenyatta hummed thoughtfully.
“Tell me of your clients?”
Hanzo considered the little he knew of Reyes, and of Morrison.
“They do not say what they mean. Even when they know what they want to say, they speak around it.”
Genji choked on a laugh.
“Sorry, sorry. It just sounded familiar-- never mind.”
Hanzo glared at him more for the failed attempt to cover up his subtle jab than the jab itself. Zenyatta tilted his head and carefully looked over his stock.
“And what is it they feel?”
Hanzo hesitated.
“Love, I think.”
“You are unsure?”
“Whatever lies between them is either love, or hate, or some bastard mix between the two.” Hanzo said. “Their son is convinced it is very romantic.”
“Ah,” said Zenyatta. Hanzo waited for him to elaborate, but Zenyatta glided to the back room of his shop and came back with roses: tiny white rosebuds, barely bloomed, which he tucked under fuller red roses with bright, heavy petals, and a trio of blue roses with long stems that twined together in a helix. The white and red roses formed a sort of base, making the blue roses look like fireworks rising above them.
“I did not think you dyed your roses.” Hanzo raised an eyebrow at the intensity of the blue.
“I do not. These are a special breed developed by a friend of mine.” Zenyatta smiled. “They do not always bloom, so I do not use them often, but today is a special occasion.”
“The client paid cash--”
“It is of no matter.” Zenyatta waved him off. “Consider this to be my offering on the altar of healthy communication.”
Hanzo narrowed his eyes, trying to glare business disapproval through the florist’s benign disposition, then eventually gave up and looked over at Genji instead.
“I’ll send an invoice,” his brother mouthed behind Zenyatta’s back.
“You will do no such thing,” Zenyatta said without turning around. “The spirit of the holiday should be encouraged to bloom like a flower.”
Hanzo and Genji both stared at him, one sourly and the other with a mix of admiration and exasperation.
“I will deliver these tomorrow,” Hanzo said. He took the arrangement back to the storage area in the office, then promptly wrote up an invoice on Zenyatta’s behalf and forwarded it to Genji with appropriate transaction number for the funds he transferred. Zenyatta may have had no concern for the base commercialization of their jobs, but Hanzo always paid his debts, and he wasn’t about to let the man’s business suffer.
Besides. The tranquil bastard made Genji happy.
Jack Morrison lived far enough outside the city that Hanzo was surprised he came all the way to Bullseye in person for a delivery service. Then again, from what Jesse described, perhaps he and Reyes had run out of other options.
He had aged less gracefully than Reyes, but no less powerfully, and he carried the same perennially grumpy air about him.
“I have a delivery for Mr. Jack Morrison,” Hanzo said, just in case. It wouldn’t do to make the same mistake twice.
Immediately the old man’s disposition brightened.
“Blue roses.” He chuckled. “Gabe, you sap.”
Hanzo cleared his throat.
“Sir, there is an accompanying letter, but the contents--”
“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine.” Morrison grabbed for the letter and read it with a warm smile. Hanzo shifted uncomfortably, trying to decide if he should just leave. The saccharine displays the rest of the not-single world indulged in during this time of the year left him constantly wrong-footed and keenly aware of the loneliness that gnawed at him; despite that, he couldn’t dampen the electric feeling behind his neck to witness the awkward yet earnest courtship in front of him.
“Do you… have a reply?” He asked after a moment.
Morrison looked up, startled. He looked at the logo on the bouquet.
“Most companies don’t put up with us,” he said. “Don’t like the way we talk to each other.”
“Mr. Reyes’ son explained the situation to me.”
“You met Jesse?” A strongly calculating look came over the old man’s weathered face.
“He was with Mr. Reyes when I delivered your arrangement.”
“You’re not the girl I spoke with when I came in.”
“No, I am the manager. She expressed concern over the contents of the message, so I investigated.”
“And?”
“As I said, McCree explained the situation to me.”
Morrison nodded absently.
“All right then. I’ve got a reply. You can deliver other things too, right? Not just flowers?”
“The florist is affiliated, but not actually a part of Bullseye, sir. We are primarily a courier service. As long as it is safe and legal, we will deliver it.”
“Great. Can you wait a minute? I’ll just grab it.”
Which was how Hanzo found himself back on the Reyes front porch, holding a box of chocolates shaped like bullets. Allegedly, one was supposed to be chili-infused chocolate. He couldn’t say he saw the appeal, but then again, it was Reyes who had to like them.
“Well, what do you know? Look who’s back!” Jesse McCree opened the door with a grin. “They didn’t manage to scare you away, huh?”
“I had concerns, but they are settled.” Hanzo shrugged. “Your father and his correspondent are no more frightening than the rest of our clientele.”
Jesse whistled, impressed.
“Don’t tell Pops that, he’ll think he’s losing his edge. What kind of deliveries are you making that compares to what these two old bastards put out?”
“Valentine’s Day is a busy season.” The appraising look he received for his simple statement sent a warm flutter through his chest and down to his abdomen. He wrote it off as the novelty of being seen; so much of his work happened behind the scenes, after all.
“Well, we thank you kindly for your dedication.” He tipped his hat, cutting off the warmth of that look. Hanzo refused to feel bereft. “Pops! Got a surprise for you!”
Reyes came to the door. If he was surprised, it didn’t show. He took the chocolate with a scoff and a smirk, and he read the letter with a softer smile.
Hanzo, being an attentive businessman and not a nosy busybody no matter what Genji said, knew the letter’s contents to be more of the same cautious double speak. He watched intently to see if he had correctly decoded the nuances of their written tones. By the subtle rosiness under Reyes’ dark cheeks, Hanzo scored himself a 7/10, erring on the conservative side.
“Can you take a reply?” Reyes asked. Hanzo found himself nodding despite himself, and the older man disappeared back into the house.
“It’s really good of you to do this for them.” McCree said, sending little bits of electricity up Hanzo’s spine again.
“It is my job.”
“No literally yours though, right? You got people for that, don’t you?”
“There are others. Love declarations traditionally fall under a different agent, but…”
“Couldn’t get enough of their sweet, sweet romance, huh?”
“I would say it was more salty than sweet. Like salted caramel,” Hanzo muttered, and then realized he’d said it outloud. Fortunately, McCree just laughed.
“Salted caramel, huh?” He grinned, and Hanzo felt his cheeks and ears burn.
“Forgive me, that was unprofessional--”
“Hey now, no need for that.” McCree nudged him companionably. “That was one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said about Pops and Jack. A lot of people just think they’re crazy old men.”
Hanzo bit his tongue to keep from saying anything further, but the twinkle in McCree’s eyes said he’d heard it all the same. Apparently, so had Reyes.
“We are crazy old men!” He yelled down the hall.
McCree rolled his eyes.
“Crazy old men in love !” he shouted back, dragging out the “o” in “love” like a grade-schooler on the playground. Hanzo tried to keep a straight face and more or less succeeded.
“You are a very supportive son,” he said, and then instantly wished he hadn’t. But McCree’s sunny smile kept shining, despite diffusion by the same kind of self-doubt Hanzo used to see in the mirror before he learned how to shave without looking too closely at his reflection.
“I try,” McCree said. “Goodness knows Pops had his hands full when he took me in. Bet you wouldn’t know it to look at me now, but I was a bit of a wild thing back then.”
Hanzo gave an extremely critical look to the man beside him, analyzing the wear of his clothes and the tan lines too burned into place to fade. He hummed noncommittally and forced his eyes over the swell of muscles beneath flannel and denim, across the constellations of freckles where the sun kissed his skin, through the shadows of his hat to the dancing eyes beneath.
“I can see it,” he said.
McCree actually pouted. Hanzo found it to be more effective than Genji’s pout.
“What about you, then? I’ll bet you weren’t any trouble at all, Mr. Suit-And-Tie.”
“Sometimes,” Hanzo admitted. Old guilt chafed under the armor of passed time, and he hurried to bury it under more words before silence could rub it raw. “I often was exactly what my family demanded of me. It caused friction between my brother and I, and on those occasions, I was quite troublesome.” He tried to keep his tone light, to steer the conversation away, but McCree had sharp eyes.
“Things turned out all right, did they?”
Hanzo straightened up.
“Who can say? I suppose so. No one died, at least, and my brother remains as annoying in adulthood as he was in our youth.”
McCree gave him a sad smile, and then Reyes was back with a sealed glass bottle full of deep amber whiskey and another letter full of theatrical vitriol.
Day after day passed, and Hanzo found himself driving back and forth between the Morrison house, his office, and the house Reyes kept swearing belonged to McCree. Each time, he found himself dragged into short discussions with his clients, conversations that had nothing to do with what he was delivering and everything to do with to whom it was being delivered.
Morrison reminisced out loud over every gift Reyes sent him, which, excluding the initial bouquet, turned out to be a series of in-jokes and references to memorable events in their shared history. The whiskey was the brand served at the first bar they went to together; three strangers tried to buy him a drink, and Reyes drank them all in a fit of jealousy. There was a rubber dog toy shaped vaguely like a cowboy from the miscommunication where Reyes ended up taking in McCree, but Morrison thought he’d adopted a dog. There was even, to Hanzo’s immense embarrassment, a box of salted caramels, because Reyes had called Morrison to tell him what he’d overheard.
Reyes gave no explanation of Jack’s gifts, but McCree was more than happy to keep Hanzo occupied while he waited for the reply. Their conversations were often nearly as much arguments as Morrison and Reyes’, though with less covering animosity and more good-natured debate as to the superiority of different films, food, and recreational activities. Hanzo found himself thinking of the man less as “McCree” and more “Jesse”. McCree was related to a client; Jesse was the one who knew he liked green tea despite the bitterness but preferred any other drink with at least two spoonfuls of sweetener. Jesse was the one who spent two hours debating with him about the similarities between old samurai films and Western flicks. Jesse was the one who told him outrageous stories of youthful adventures that resulted in Reyes climbing fire escapes at three in the morning to get Jesse down after he got stuck on a rooftop. Jesse was the one who made him feel like a real person, not a cog in a machine or a fixer of other people’s problems.
But such a feeling came at a cost. The constant trips kept him out of the office, and Hanzo found himself forced to sacrifice one part of the job for the other. For the first time in Bullseye history, Hanzo began to delegate. Client negotiations went to Lúcio. Route management went to Lena. Satya got the budget. Hanzo shot down their confused concern with a testy reply.
“Did you all not wish for more autonomy? For more input into your workplace? Here is your chance. Take it or leave it.”
Wisely, they jumped on the opportunity, allowing Hanzo to make his deliveries, day after day. Even on weekends.
“Are you working today, brother?” Genji asked, though he sounded unsurprised. “It is the weekend, you know.”
Hanzo refused to flinch and instead focused on the package of vinyl records Morrison had put together for Reyes.
“It is a very important delivery,” he said. And it was. Just like the last one. And the one before that. And the one before that.
“All work and no play,” Genji chided. Hanzo thought of the porch at Jesse’s house, the swing, and the increasingly lengthy conversations they had while Reyes struggled to come up with sappier letters to send back to Morrison. Warmth started to creep up the back of his neck. He ignored it.
“It is called “work ethic”,” he retorted. “One of us needs to have some. And why do you not torment Zenyatta his way? He has three jobs.”
“He knows how to take a break.”
“It is the busy season. I will take a break after the 14th.”
“Did you not say that about the winter holidays?”
“There was an emergency contract. Do you not have somewhere else to be?”
“No place more important than making sure my only older brother does not work himself to death.”
“Yes, yes. Then where would you mooch while your miracle man is busy saving the world?” Hanzo stood up. “I am going to make this delivery.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“Over my dead body.”
“That is what I am afraid of, brother.” Genji nodded, attempting to look sagely like his partner but mostly looking sleepy.
“Genji, no.”
“Genji, yes.”
The argument devolved from there, but like so many of their disagreements, it ended with Genji getting his way. Hanzo wondered idly what his life would be like if he were more assertive to his brother. Then again, considering how bad their fights were now, he wasn’t sure he wanted to follow that thought to its potential outcome.
Genji hummed along with the radio as they drove.
“Please be on your best behavior,” Hanzo sighed.
“Of course.”
“They have been very good clients.”
“They must be, for you to not pass them off to Tracer at the first opportunity.”
“I am putting another tally on the board when we get back. You owe Lena lunch.”
“Oh, so it’s Lena now, is it?” Genji beamed. Fortunately, they were on a straight away, so Hanzo’s momentary mental short circuit didn’t cause an accident.
“It’s shorter.”
“As you say, brother.”
“Genji--”
“I will be on my best behavior and not ruin your lucrative contract. I promise.”
Hanzo grunted, but his concerns were rapidly running in the other direction. Genji was the more personable brother. The friendly one. People liked Genji…
Frequently, they liked Genji a lot more than they liked Hanzo. It sent a roil of hot acid through Hanzo’s gut to think that Jesse might like Genji more than him.
“Hmm,” said Genji, and Hanzo found himself to be under his brother’s rare but intense scrutiny.
“What?”
“Nothing.” This answer did little to put Hanzo at ease. “”Nothing yet. Just a thought. I will let you know if it comes to anything.”
“That will be a day to mark on the calendar.”
Jesse was on the porch swing when they pulled up, seemingly enjoying the late afternoon sunshine with a jug of sweet tea and two glasses. He visibly perked up when he saw Hanzo’s car, but paused as Genji climbed out of the passenger side.
“Well, howdy?” He said, looking back and forth for some kind of explanation.
“Jesse McCree, this is my useless brother, Genji.” Hanzo said, ignoring said brother’s squawk of protest. “You have heard me complain of him before. He insisted on making a nuisance of himself today. Genji, this is Jesse McCree, Mr. Reyes’ son.”
“Ah, Genji! Hanzo’s told me so much about you. Good things, I promise.” Jesse stepped forward and offered his hand, which Genji shook enthusiastically.
“Unfortunately, my brother has been a greedy dragon and kept all news of meeting a cowboy to himself!” He laughed. To Hanzo’s despair, so did Jesse.
“Well, pull up some porch swing and sit a spell. I’ll go get another glass and let Pops know his delivery is here.” Jesse leaned in conspiratorially. “Don’t let his gruff act put you off. He’s really a big softy.”
Genji had the audacity to give Hanzo a telling look.
“I believe I know the type.”
“In the meantime, Hanzo, it’s your turn.” McCree poured tea into the two glasses already out. “Genuine southern-style sweet tea. I did two cups of that bitter matcha you brought, so that ought to be good for one whole glass of sweet tea. Genji, you make sure he doesn’t dump it out while I’m gone, okay?”
Hanzo sputtered.
“I would never back out on a deal like that!”
“Yeah, but you sat back and watched while Pops dragged me into that chocolate roulette death match, and you just laughed when I got the chili one.”
“That was different. Your father is a client. It would have been inappropriate for me to participate.”
Jesse’s expression indicated that Hanzo had made his point for him, though Hanzo still didn’t see how the two were connected. The cowboy disappeared into the house, and Genji turned on his brother with a grin.
“Hanzo,” he said, looking like a kid in a candy store with a hundred dollars worth of birthday money and no parental supervision.
“Shut up,” hissed Hanzo. “This family has very good hearing!”
By some divine mercy, Genji just decided to smile wider and kicked his heels as he settled into the corner of the porch swing. Hanzo sat down on the other side and pressed himself up against the armrest. Jesse came back with Reyes in tow, and he poured himself a glass of tea and squeezed in between the two Shimada brothers. Hanzo felt the heat of the man’s body like a brand as their thighs pressed together.
Reyes leaned against the railing and opened his present.
“Oh, Jack.” He murmured fondly.
“Did he get you something good?” Jesse asked with the studied inattention of someone trying to appear innocent.
“How many hipster open-air markets did you have to take him to to find these?”
“That’s for me to know, and you to never find out.”
Reyes rolled his eyes and glanced at Hanzo.
“You sticking around long enough for me to do a return again?”
“I have so far.”
“Who’s your sidekick?”
Genji snickered despite the slight.
“I came to make sure my workaholic brother did not run himself into the ground over the weekend,” he said, and smiled into his sweet tea. “I can see, however, that he is in good hands. Your son is a gracious host. Very keen. The ice had not even melted in the cups when we arrived.”
“Yeah, your brother’s pretty scheduled.” Reyes chuckled. “And Jesse’s got a dog’s instincts for when someone he wants to see is coming.”
Both Jesse and Hanzo went red.
“Pops!”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be right back, Mr. Bullseye. Don’t let my son choke on his tea.” He swept back inside.
“See if I visit you on my next vacation. Maybe I’ll visit Jack instead!”
“You are only here on vacation?” Hanzo asked.
“Well, yeah, I mean, usually I’d be working during the weekdays too.” Jesse admitted. “I just take off ‘round this time of year ‘cause Pops and Jack end up with collateral damage if they try to make Valentine’s plans without help. I mean. You saw how they’ve been this far, darlin’, and they’ve been on their good behavior with you since you’ve been so accommodating.”
Hanzo could practically hear Genji vibrating with excitement.
“That is very helpful of you,” he said, ignoring his brother and sipping his tea. “... This tastes strange.”
“Compared to your matcha, I’d imagine so! But I added a bit of mint, too. Thought you might appreciate the kick.”
Hanzo hummed and tried to keep his gaze on his glass so he didn’t have to see Jesse’s smile slowly fade to uneasy concern. Genji made a face indicating that, were it not for Jesse sitting between them, he would have subjected Hanzo to the full artillery of younger-sibling style torments to try and get more of a reaction out of him.
“It was very kind of you to make tea for my brother,” he said instead, aiming for another tactic.
“T’weren’t nothing.” Jesse waved it off. “We were just talking about beverages of choice, after Jack sent Pops some kind of fancy coffee--”
“ El Injerto !” Reyes yelled from inside. Jesse rolled his eyes.
“--and your brother said he was always more of a tea person, and well, we got into a bit of a debate as to the best kind of tea.”
Hanzo kept drinking so he didn’t have to answer.
“My brother has very refined tastes,” Genji said. “He must either really like this sweet tea--” Jesse brightened a little.
“Yeah?”
“--or he thinks very highly of you to try it without further questioning.”
Hanzo put his cup down and swiftly reached behind Jesse to pinch a nerve in Genji’s shoulder. It took less than a second, and the immediate spasm of muscle that followed disguised the sway of the swing.
Reyes stepped back onto the porch as Genji fell off.
“Is your sidekick okay?” He asked skeptically as Hanzo stood up.
“He probably just had tea down the wrong pipe,” Hanzo muttered. Reyes raised an eyebrow but didn’t stop him as he collected the package and his brother.
“Hanzo--” Jesse started to say.
“Thank you very much for the tea. I must return my brother to his partner before he damages himself further. Please excuse me. Your delivery will be made posthaste. Thank you for using Bullseye Courier Services.” All this came out in one swift breath. He manhandled Genji into the car, peeled out of the driveway, and headed back to the office with a deathgrip on the wheel, his pulse still hammering in his head.
“Hanzo--” Genji said.
“Not a word,” Hanzo growled back, “or I will relive being an only child.”
Genji wisely fell silent and stayed so for the remainder of the trip, at least until Hanzo made it to his office.
“I really do think he likes you, brother,” he said softly. “Your cowboy.”
“He is not ‘my’ anything.” Hanzo snarled, but without the energy of his earlier rage.
“But he could be,” said Genji, “if you let him.”
Hanzo’s shoulders slumped. He glared weakly at his brother, who gave him such a hopeful, encouraging look that he couldn’t help but forgive him.
Mostly.
He still went over to the white board, wiped off the current tally total, and wrote: GENJI OWES TRACER DINNER AND DESSERT FOR GETTING HANZO INTO THIS MESS.
He could afford to be just a little petty about it.
Morrison was waiting for him when Hanzo arrived to drop off Reyes’ package. Genji, once more returned to Zenyatta’s company, did not accompany him.
“Gabe called,” said Morrison. “Said Jesse was worried he might have scared you off.”
Hanzo didn’t answer directly, but simply handed him the letter and parcel. Morrison blinked at the brown wrapping paper and tore it open. Hanzo caught a glimpse of what looked like blue silk before Morrison choked and hastily rewrapped it, face flushed.
“Um. Yeah.” He mumbled, cramming it under his arm. “I told the boy, if you’re still delivering for us after almost two weeks, there’s nothing he can do that’s going to turn you off. You don’t look like the flighty type.”
“I fulfill my contracts.”
“That’s not all this is to you.” Morrison said. “If it were just a contract, you wouldn’t have kept making these deliveries yourself. We’re not that good customer, and you don’t need us that badly.”
Hanzo said nothing.
“I used to worry about him, you know.” Morrison heaved a sigh. “Growing up and listening to me and Gabe, I didn’t know if he’d figure out how to actually talk to people.”
“He certainly seems friendly enough,” Hanzo said, and he hoped he wasn’t blushing.
“Oh, he’s a charmer all right, but that’s not the same. Gabe and I, we know how to talk to each other. It took us a long time to get here. I just don’t want to see him get to be our age and not have someone who knows how to listen to him.”
“It’s not…” Words stuck like ice in his throat; he couldn’t breathe around them, couldn’t figure out how to cough them up or swallow them properly.
As far as timely interruptions went, a truck careening down the road and screeching to a halt in front of the house left something to be desired in terms of class and flash, but it made up for it in raw effectiveness. Hanzo watched Jesse practically throw himself out of the vehicle at Morrison.
“Whatever Jack said, don’t pay him any mind!” Jesse pleaded, attempting to shove Morrison back into the house.
“I’m having a conversation here, boy, don’t interrupt your elders!”
“Pops let it slip he called you. I know what you were talking about!”
“That’s none of your business--”
“The hell it ain’t! Hanzo, don’t you listen to this crazy old bastard, he will spin lies and deceit--”
“I’m telling Gabe you said that.”
“You go right on ahead, it ain’t like he can ground me!”
Hanzo couldn’t help but laugh, and both Morrison and Jesse paused in their argument.
“I am sorry,” he gasped. “I just -- I can see the family resemblance.”
Morrison and Jesse made identical faces of outrage and simultaneously snapped, “I am nothing like him!” and then glared at each other. Their glares quickly dissolved into more laughter, and Hanzo felt some of the cold discomfort in his throat begin to thaw.
“You two have a chat, I’ll be right back.” Morrison shook his head and went inside.
“I’m really sorry about Jack,” Jesse said. “He just gets ideas into his head, thinks he’s gotta be all parental to everyone.”
“I am very sorry about Genji,” Hanzo replied. “He also gets ideas into his head. His are mostly ways to embarrass me.”
“Family, huh?” Jesse smiled lopsidedly. “Can’t live with ‘em, can’t shoot ‘em.”
“Not legally and without a lot of later guilt, no.” Hanzo chuckled. “Shall we pretend none of this happened?”
“Now wait just a minute, that’d mean you didn’t try the sweet tea.” Jesse protested.
“What an ordeal. We would have to try again another day.”
“Well.” Jesse’s grin stretched wider, evening out. “I think that could be arranged.”
The last few days leading up to Valentine’s Day were usually a nightmare rush for Bullseye, but that year things moved surprisingly smoothly.
“It is because you delegated,” Genji said.
“A burden shared is a burden lightened,” Zenyatta added.
“It’s the feedback effect,” said Lúcio, who was good enough at managing customers that Hanzo was giving serious consideration to rearranging the departments and duties. “You got stressed and lonely by V-Day, and that made you cranky. You being cranky was stress on us, and that made us cranky back, and more likely to mess up. Which inevitably made your mood worse. So it all looped around.”
“It’s all right, though, because you’re always so easy around the other holidays, we give you a pass.” Lena said.
“It evens out,” said Satya with the unconvincingly flat tone of someone who’s dissenting opinion was overruled for group cohesiveness.
“Brother, go make your deliveries. Cupid must hit his mark!”
With this ridiculous advice in his ear, Hanzo headed for the Reyes house to deliver the last of Morrison’s packages. It would be foolish to think that the two old men would continue to need Bullseye’s services after their holiday tradition finished. It would be even more foolish to think about seeing Jesse again. Their paths had never crossed before, and likely would not again. Even if Morrison and Reyes came back the next year, there was no reason why he should be the one to handle their account. After everything he told Lena, she would be more than comfortable handling the deliveries.
Hanzo managed to talk himself out of the blush of his excitement before he even got to Reyes’ street. Still, his heart skipped a beat when he saw Jesse pacing the length of the porch. More unusually, Reyes sat on the swing, staring out into the distance with a terrifyingly blank expression.
“Hanzo! Thank fuck, someone with a level head on his shoulders. C’mere and tell Pops he’s going about it all wrong.” Jesse veered off the porch and immediately swept Hanzo up the stairs. The warmth of his hand seared through the suit jacket and shirt, and Hanzo felt his breath hitch.
“What is he doing that you feel is incorrect?” He handed Reyes the box and letter from Morrison. Reyes opened them dreamily. His calloused hands delicately turned the pages of the photo album Morrison assembled, skimming over glossy pictures with reverence.
“He wants to send the ring.”
“A ring?”
“ The ring.” Jesse growled. “Pops wants to pop the question, but he wants you to deliver the ring.”
“I feel like that would send the wrong message?” Hanzo said. “Sending another man to propose for you?”
“That’s what I said!” Jesse threw his hands into the air.
“But it’s got to be now,” Reyes shook his head. “Valentine’s is our day, and this year has been the best year we’ve had in ages. It’s a sign. I gotta do it now.”
“Pops, I get it, I do, but you can’t ask Hanzo to do that. Just get in my truck. I’ll drive you down--”
“It’s gotta be delivery. That’s how it works-- that’s how we could keep it together when everything else went to shit.”
“You kept it together because you were trying to make it work and you fucking communicated with each other.”
“Through the damn deliveries -- and watch your fucking mouth!”
“If I may make a suggestion...” Hanzo said, and both men snapped their attention to him. He paused a moment under the intensity of their stares, steeled himself, and gestured to Reyes. “I could make a different kind of delivery.”
Reyes grinned, a nearly feral stretch of teeth.
Jesse had a briefer smile, which collapsed into concern.
“Ain’t that against your regulations or something? I know you like your business to run smoothly.”
Hanzo waved it off with ease that surprised even himself.
“If you were clients, yes, but this is a favor. For-- for a friend. Not a business transaction.”
Jesse’s face lit up like a Fourth of July firework finale.
“Thanks, kid.” Reyes -- Gabriel, he had better think of him by name since he wasn’t a client -- said. “You’re all right.”
“I have one stipulation.” Hanzo said. “If we do this, we do it in style.”
Jesse, Gabriel, and Hanzo quickly stopped by the office, dragging in Zenyatta, Genji, and Lúcio. The impromptu planners packed, prepped, and perfected the small delivery van Bullseye shared with Zenyatta while Hanzo made arrangements with Morrison -- Jack -- to make one more delivery.
“There is an issue with the vehicle availability.” Hanzo cited as the cause. “Due to the holiday. Mr. Reyes’ gift does not travel well in my car.”
“Trust Gabe to make it complicated at the last minute,” Jack sighed with no small amount of fondness. “I’m here whenever. Go ahead and drop it off.”
Hanzo gave him an ETA, hung up, and took a moment to feel viciously satisfied with the way the plan was going. So few things worked so perfectly. He was terrified of jinxing it, but at the same time, the excitement was too much to quell.
He looked over the set up, smiled, and nodded.
“Jack’s going to shit a brick.” Jesse said. “This is perfect. Thanks, Hanzo. Can’t think of what we’d’ve done without you.”
“I am sure you would have managed,” Hanzo demurred, but Jesse wasn’t having any it.
“Not without a fight we wouldn’t. You’re a miracle worker, sugar. I honestly can’t thank you enough.”
Hanzo blushed and ducked away before Jesse could notice.
When they pulled into Jack’s driveway, Hanzo had to fight to school his expression back into ‘overworked businessman’. It was harder than he expected; the excitement skittered across his nerves like static build-up.
“So what the hell has Gabe got us into now?” Jack called out as he approached. “Please tell me he didn’t send me a tacky bed frame or something.” Hanzo hoped he didn’t hear the muffled sound from the back of the van and instead handed Jack the fake form for proof of receipt, which, as usual, he signed without reading.
“I suppose you could call it an antique,” Hanzo replied, and then had to clear his throat to cover the barely-stifled laugh from the van. “Dust,” he explained quickly. Jack’s expression wavered between skeptical and sympathetic. “Come this way, Mr. Morrison. Once you see your delivery, you can tell me where you want it.”
Hanzo opened the back doors and stepped aside. Jack looked inside and froze.
The back of the van was full of flowers. Almost full, rather. What wasn’t taken up by a veritable forest was occupied by Gabriel on one knee with a small box in his hand, and by Jesse, crammed into a corner with Lúcio’s sound equipment and a camera. Jesse shuffled a bit, and remixed classical music filtered between the flowers.
Gabriel cleared his throat.
“Hey, Jack-off,” he said with the same gruff affection as filled every inch of his letters. “Special delivery.”
“You asshole,” Jack choked. Hanzo thought he might be tearing up. Gabriel opened the box, showing a solid, sturdy-looking ring. Jack gave a hiccuping laugh. Hanzo slipped away and ended up leaning against the front grill of the van, listening to the muted mix of cursing and laughter inside… just not very carefully.
Eventually, Jesse managed to climb out through the passenger side.
“Remember you two, this is a borrowed van!” He chided before slamming the door. “Sorry about that, darlin’. You’d think they hadn’t seen each other in ages, the way they carry on.”
“They just got engaged.” Hanzo shrugged. “I am willing to overlook it this once.”
Jesse came over to stand beside him, a little closer than was strictly friendly.
“Thanks again for all this.”
“I have been thanked at least three times already.”
“Not just the proposal help. I mean, yeah, this is so much better than anything Pops and I would have come up with, but you stuck with us through all the crazy lead up, too.”
“You have already thanked me for that, as well.”
“It bears repeating.” The fondness in Jesse’s dark eyes sent a flash of heat down Hanzo’s breastbone to settle below his stomach, and he had to swallow to try and keep from breathing fire. “You’re really something, you know?”
“You are rather something yourself. I have… I have enjoyed meeting you, Jesse McCree.”
“That sounds an awful lot like a goodbye, sugar.”
“Is that not what happens next? The romance story ends when the lovers reach happily ever after. Other characters do not need or receive such resolution.” Hanzo tilted his head to watch the sunset and the encroaching stars. The unseasonable warmth of the February thaw faded and the chill of winter crept back in with the darkness to remind the world what season was still in charge. It seemed like one more piece of evidence that things were ending.
Jesse didn’t say anything for a long minute, and their silence suffocated the sounds from the van.
“Awfully cynical way of looking at it, I guess.” He exhaled. “I always liked to think I was the leading man in my own life.”
Hanzo felt his his heart clench.
“You’re a cowboy,” he said. “Cowboys, like samurai, walk off alone at the end of the movie.”
“Not always,” Jesse protested, but not very hard. Hanzo stole a glance and saw the man’s dejected mien harden to something enduring and resigned. “All right. I better get them outta there before they mess up your van. That ain’t no way to repay you for your kindness.” He pushed away from the vehicle and moved to the back before Hanzo could make sense of his tone. “C’mon, Pops! C’mon, Step-Pops-To-Be! Quit actin’ like horny teenagers and give Hanzo back the company car.”
Jack and Gabriel spilled out of the back. Jack managed to keep his balance and some semblance of dignity, but Gabriel stumbled, and Jesse caught him. Gabriel took that as a challenge, and he promptly threw the cowboy over his shoulder like a small child.
“I’m getting married, kiddo!” He roared. “I’m getting married!”
“Yeah, you are,” Jesse patted him awkwardly on the back as he struggled for leverage. “I’ll wrangle these two, Hanzo. Jack can drive us back in the morning. Or the afternoon, the way they’re going. Thanks again.”
Hanzo found his voice deserted him as Jesse’s eyes slipped back to his family, and he quickly turned away as he heard them begin to bicker. Truly, they were people who knew how to talk to each other, even if no one else understood them.
He looked back once, in the mirror, and the sight of Jesse McCree’s dark eyes watching him haunted him all the way back to the office, where the entire staff of Bullseye and Iris were waiting for him.
“Well?” Lúcio asked and bounced with excitement.
“Well, what?” Hanzo frowned. “Why are you all out here in the cold?”
“How did it go , man? How did it go ?”
“Did he say yes? Did Mr. Morrison cry? Did Mr. Reyes?” Lena demanded.
“What did Jesse do?” Genji asked a little more pointedly.
So Hanzo told them.
There were cheers. There were tears. There was even some laughter.
There was dead silence as Hanzo finished. Every person stared at him as if he’d suddenly ended the story with the death of a beloved family pet or something equally horrible and unexpected.
“And then I drove up here, and you were all loitering outside,” he said.
None of them moved, but Hanzo had the oppressive, suffocating feeling of being judged.
“Brother,” said Genji at last, “you are an idiot.”
Hanzo bristled.
“I do not sleep with clients!” he growled.
“But you will do everything else, including fall in love with him.” Genji snapped back. “Besides, he is not even a client! Morrison was, and so was Reyes, but never their son!”
“Man, you just did them a pretty big favor off the books.” Lúcio added. “Doesn’t that tell you something?”
“And you were so happy!” Lena pouted. “You perked up every time you went out to the Reyes place.”
There was a brief pause, and Lúcio elbowed Satya for her input.
“I am in agreement with Mr. Shimada,” she said. “One must not engage in intercourse with the clientele.” Lúcio groaned, but Satya continued. “That being said, as Mr. McCree has not formally engaged the services of the company, I do not see why our supervisor should not, as you say, ‘get some’.” She allowed Lúcio the tiniest of high fives; it was probably more of a medium three, but he still took it.
Hanzo looked up at the heavens and silently asked for some divine entity to take mercy on him.
“His decisions are his own,” said Zenyatta, scion of the fucking overachiever. “Now, who wants to help me clean up?” The serenity of his voice did not hide the steel of his suggestion, and Hanzo’s employees and sibling reluctantly scurried to comply. Zenyatta waited until they had taken the first batch of flowers back into the shop before he placed a comforting hand on Hanzo’s shoulder.
“I missed the moment,” Hanzo admitted, as much to himself as to Zenyatta. “He asked, but it was in the indirect way of his family, and I did not realize until it was too late.”
“Life is full of moments,” Zenyatta said. “You can wait for an opportune one… or you can make your own.” He gave Hanzo’s shoulder a squeeze and then whisked a pot of flowers inside.
Hanzo leaned back against the van. He looked up at the stars, and he thought of sunsets.
“Make my own moment…”
Valentine’s Day dawned cold enough for frost, and busy enough that Hanzo didn’t have any time to think about moments at all.
It didn’t stop him from doing it anyway. The thoughts accumulated in the back of his head like water droplets condensing into clouds, hanging heavy but never precipitating. They fogged the hours and numbed his bones, but he soldiered through it anyway because there was work to be done, and he had let his focus wander for long enough.
By three, he was exhausted and aching on more than a physical level. His head hurt. His heart hurt. He wanted more than anything to sit on that porch swing in the warm sunshine and hear Jesse spin a story of horses on the set of a movie Hanzo had never seen, but would stream as soon as he got home.
“Why don’t you clock out for the day, boss?” Lena asked as she popped in between deliveries. “You look worn to the bone.”
“It’s too early,” he protested.
“Yeah, but you spend so much time here as is, I’m sure you’re due a short shift. Lúcio and I have the deliveries covered. We got this, boss, and… you could, you know.” She gave him a hopeful smile.
And it struck Hanzo, like a bolt of lightning, that he could .
He absolutely, really and truly, could.
He stood up fast enough that his chair tipped over backwards. He didn’t bother to right it properly, he just dragged his jacket out from under it.
“All right,” he said, fishing for his keys.
“All right?” She blinked. She caught on quickly, though, and delight gave her a second wind. “All right! Just leave it to us, boss! We’ll take care of everything!”
“I know you will,” he said, surprising himself with how much he believed it. “Thank you, Lena.”
Lena beamed.
“Next you’ll be calling me Tracer, too!”
“One step at a time.” He smiled back and headed downstairs to Zenyatta’s shop. He did not make it three steps in the door before Zenyatta was in front of him, holding a pair of entwined roses. One blossom was impossibly blue, the other deep red, and the thorny stems were held together with a gold ribbon.
“To help you make your moment,” Zenyatta said, “as you have helped so many others make theirs.”
Hanzo swallowed the emotion caught in his throat and dipped into a bow instead.
“Thank you.”
Doubts crept back into his mind as he drove.
What if he had read the situation incorrectly?
What if Jesse changed his mind?
What if Jesse had left and gone back to wherever it was he lived when he wasn’t visiting his father?
What if, what if, what if…
What if Hanzo missed his chance?
It chilled him to the core to think that might be the case. He tried to burn the doubts away with the memory of the heat between them, but all that did was choke him on indecisive smoke.
Jesse’s truck was still in Gabriel’s driveway, but the porch was empty and dark. Hanzo felt his resolve crumbling around the edges as he walked up to the door. The jack-o-lantern leered mockingly from the porch railing. The thorns of the roses dug into his hand.
He knocked.
Waited.
Breathed out.
Some knot of tension abruptly unraveled into nauseating relief that there would be no discussion, no confession, even if it meant disappointment. Another pulled taut for the same reason.
Hanzo’s shoulders slumped as he walked back to his car, pausing to leave the roses under the truck’s windshield wiper. That would be as close to a conversation as he could get.
The front door opened.
Hanzo’s heart stopped.
“That better not be from Jack,” Gabriel said. “‘Cause he can’t outdo what we did for him yesterday.”
Hanzo’s heart started beating again, but his voice decided to continue its impromptu and inconvenient leave of absence.
“Hang on a minute. The boy’s upstairs.” Gabriel turned slightly and bellowed into the house. “Hey, kiddo! You’ve got mail!”
Hanzo could hear heavy footsteps.
“Damn it, old man, you always yell at me for shouting in the damn halls-- Hanzo?”
Hanzo nearly swallowed his tongue.
He was used to seeing Jesse in casual clothes, weathered jeans and battered flannels, but apparently it was laundry day, because the day’s jeans were worn threadbare and stretched to the curves of his thighs. His tee shirt had not survived quite as well against the test of time, and the frayed hem was now short enough that it gave tantalizing peeps of his stomach as he straightened up.
And the expression on his face…
It was just as well Hanzo’s voice had gone AWOL - he didn’t have words to describe the beatific smile that crossed Jesse’s face. As attractive as he found the man, he wanted to take that smile and fold it up into his heart like a locket, to take it out again for sunshine on rainy days, to warm him and bring color back when everything felt cold and grey. He wanted to see that smile every day, the way he’d seen it nearly every day for the last two weeks.
“Well, howdy, darlin’. Wasn’t expecting to see you again.”
Hanzo dragged his voice back with the same raw willpower that originally hauled Bullseye out of the red.
“I have one more delivery,” he managed to say.
Jesse’s smile faded a little as he glanced to Gabriel, but Gabriel just crossed his arms and stepped back.
Hanzo swiped the roses back from the windshield and walked up the stairs to hold them out to Jesse.
“Hello, cowboy,” he said. “Special delivery.”
END