[ the thing about overwatch and blackwatch is that they’re on different floors but have the same shit break room, and it’s one of the first stops that members of either group make after a hit, even when they want to be alone. jesse, you see, has it all planned out.
the hallway is empty except for where he’s been slouched against one of the open doorways for the better part of a half-hour, drumming his fingers on his folded arms, whistling a nameless tune to himself to cover for his thoughts. (people don’t tell him to shut up in passing, either because they like him too much or they can’t stand him enough to instruct him on how not to be a nuisance.)
jesse’s not loitering for any one reason, he isn’t--doesn’t mean to be. but he knows the route; he knows that the overwatch strike team with one of their newest and most interesting recruits has been due back from abroad any minute now. and he knows genji doesn’t care much for the work, that there’s a different spirit in him whose wings beat useless under all that armor, flying in the face of jack and his vigilante justice. that maybe, just maybe, he’ll need someone to talk to.
it’s not actually all that likely, but that doesn’t stop his ears pricking up at the clink of metal feet on the metal-girded floors, and all at once he’s both tensing up and forcing himself to relax. he sees genji turn the corner, straight-backed, walking in that way he always does with every step measured out beforehand, and before genji can clear him entirely he pipes up. ]
Hey, partner. [ not sweetheart or darlin’ as is jesse’s usual custom with the man. see, harmless. ] What’s your hurry?
[ The anger and frustration is beating a louder tattoo against his skull than normal, after that mission. He was reckless and went off on his own and Amari had pulled him aside and gave him a rather thorough dressing down about it. But the thing that had infuriated him the most was after her expression softened and she'd said something about how she knows it's hard for him— and the buzzing of his blood pressure rising drowned out the rest.
Genji Shimada did not need to be pitied. When she left him and he strapped himself into the ship, he was in a daze. Outside himself. ('Disassociating' is what the psychiatrists called it.) Furious at himself for drawing attention, at his unnatural body, at Overwatch, at his family, at his brother for doing this to him— He only snapped out of it when the hand hold he'd been gripping started to creak with the pressure he was putting on it.
He needed— He didn't know. Before, he'd go to the bars and pick someone up and let out some steam. Get drunk, get high. Nowadays he just practiced until his joints locked up and steam whistled from his ports, systems lighting up in warning. (Dr. Zielger said he still ran a low risk of cardiac arrest. Genji didn't much care.)
As he walks the halls some of his tension leaves him the farther away he gets from the ship— he knows that damnable cowboy will be there waiting for him outside the break room. If he didn't need to get a protein gel pack to suck down from the fridge he wouldn't even bother; the man always seemed unperturbed by his curt and rude responses. Why even talk to him? Did he just want to laugh at his miserable lot in life?
But Genji Shimada is wholly pathetic now, and there's the part of him that's still a sad and lonely little boy that almost sort of appreciates his presence. It's vastly irritating. So when he hears that ridiculous drawl as he turns the corner, he looks to him.
Hm. No ridiculous endearment this time. Interesting. Genji tilts his head slightly. ] I am in no particular hurry. [ A pause. ] But you are the one who seems to have endless time on your hands. [ He's always there. ]
[ deep down jesse is stubbornly delighted that genji acknowledges him at all--and he’s been careful to give him the choice, in the past. he peels himself away from the doorframe, but only just, leaning into their shared space conversationally and reaching up to tip his hat. ]
I do and don’t. [ have free time, that is. ] Point of black ops is you ain’t supposed to notice when I come and go, right?
[ his voice is light and level. he’s aware that the cyborg doesn’t really do small talk, with him or anyone else on base; he’s also aware that people give genji a wide berth because he radiates fuck off from every vent. but jesse is pretty sure that if folks only talked to him on the job he’d be twice as ornery, especially when people only ever bother to trace genji’s story as far back as their own two eyes can follow it: the operating room where angela had pieced him together. ]
But forget all that. Lucky you, you got back just in time for lunch.
[ That gets a snort, a strange muffled and tinny noise from behind his mask. ] I believe being predictable is usually detrimental to black ops.
[ He isn't sure what to think of the tone of his voice; he's immediately distrustful, assuming he just wants something from him. (That, he was used to. He was a Shimada, after all. People always begged him for favors before.) Genji moves to stride past him and into the kitchen when he speaks again.
He turns his head and behind the mask he can't decide between raising an eyebrow and downright sneering. Lunch? Lucky? So he is making fun of him. ] And why exactly is this important to me?
[ the profile of that mask is all straight lines and parallels, and even though jesse doesn’t know the face beneath he can only imagine, wincing, what it looks like. you don’t carry that much contempt in your voice without letting some of it live in your face, after all. he raises both hands in conversational surrender. (blackwatch boys don’t really go in for looking harmless. jesse might be the only one.) ]
You didn’t let me finish. The fridge’s been broken since last night and we were ordered to clear it by morning. I was rescuin’ taquitos and saw yer stuff. Didn’t know where to put it, no one else was touchin’ it— [ probably because they’re terrified of losing fingers ] —and I knew you wouldn’t be back till later ...
[ wow mccree this is sounding weirder and more inane by the second. maybe he didn’t actually have a plan after all.
he clears his throat. ]
So it’s in the mini-fridge in mine and Reyes’ office. If you’ve got a second we can go grab it and you can be on yer way.
[ The metaphorical wind blows out of his sails so quickly it's a wonder he doesn't collapse in on himself. His shoulders loosen and his hands unfurl themselves and just dangle at this sides.
That, of all things, had not been what he expected. Before he'd succeeded in convincing people to stay away from him, with snarls and curt words, a few people had tried to get him to 'eat' to get his mask off. Like he was some side show commodity. Let's point and laugh at the metal man.
But this was— thoughtful? The second an unfamiliar feeling settles in his gut he stomps it down. He could still want something. He might even be lying— Genji turns to look in the break room and, sure enough, the familiar fridge is nowhere to be seen.
He turns back and huffs. Okay, so this Blackwatch yokel is slightly better than most. ] I see. That is appreciated. [ But he pauses and tilts his head slightly. ] —you have an office?
[ he can see the moment genji deflates. he also knows genji’s ready to re-inflate at any second, a lit match that wants only for gasoline, and he’s determined to play keepaway with that moment as long as possible.
still, he’s a touch emboldened by his success, so he grins a lopsided grin and tilts his hat with a thumb. ]
And a lil’ name plate too.
[ he shoves his hands in his pockets and pushes away fully from the wall at last to head down the corridor, towards the stairwell. the few administrative rooms allotted to blackwatch would be downstairs, basement-level, terrible cell reception. ]
[ That gets a sarcastic snort from him, which just sounds tinny and muffled from inside his helmet. ] How long do you have to be here to get one of those, I wonder?
[ It's entirely rhetorical and facetious and he finds himself scowling at nothing when he realizes he had even said it. What was the point in casual conversation anymore? Genji clamps his mouth shut and crosses his arms and he starts to follow after him. He's never been downstairs, he realizes, no point in it. If it wasn't the medical wings or the training area, Genji didn't care much to investigate it.
Genji has another thought as they head down to the basement, that he's essentially leading him to an underground, far off place on base. He could still be plotting something. (He idly thinks that before, this is the kind of thing he would do for the clan. Be charming, invite someone somewhere private, slip a blade between their ribs when they got close.) He sucks in a breath and feels claustrophobic for a moment, stuck in the confines of his cybernetic body and helmet and everything and he damn near just runs off but—
The sound of those damn spurs brings him back to reality and he exhales shakily. No, there's not much subtle about him. And if this is Blackwatch's territory on base, then Reyes surely knows all that goes on. The man might as well have eyes in the back of his head. He doesn't really (and it makes him grate his teeth to even admit it) have any reason to think that he's (what was his name again? Joel McGhee?) in any sort of danger.
Yet. ] They spared no expense for the covert operations, I see.
Long enough that people wanna know your name so they know who to complain about.
[ he sounds mostly amused as he says it, when the truth is he's kind of in a weird spot with overwatch— overwatch, which doesn't want to let on that they pulled a kid from the desert at a skinny seventeen; which is willing to let an awful lot of things go if it means not having to reply to gabe's emails now and then.
the walls of the stairwell turn from pleasant plaster to painted concrete. at the near-bottom jesse pushes open the door to a corridor that's less bright and spangled than the upper floors, to the more nondescript hallways that mark blackwatch's few administrative spaces. ]
And, well. They're good at replenishing the tac gear and the ballpoint pens, but they ain't exactly fitting us for dress blues anytime soon.
[ and sure enough, there's the door—reyes' office, comparable in space and layout to jack's upstairs, just more sparsely decorated. there's a desk that's orderly, and one that pointedly isn't. it's obvious which one is mccree's: there are a couple of chintzy souvenirs you might find in some desert gift shop somewhere, blank postcards from each southwestern state, magnets shaped like jalapenos and sheriff badges, a small potted cactus living sedately under a desk lamp.
honestly, it's practically the desk of, like, a small-town texan banker. ]
[ Honestly it's— exactly what he expected, really. He'd watched plenty of American movies, sure, but he never thought any real person actually was like that. Apparently he was just plain wrong. (He's honestly more surprised Reyes allows it... is that a tiny pumpkin on the man's desk?)
Genji snorts. ] You should branch out on your desk decorations.
[ But wait, no, that isn't why he's here. He claimed there was a mini fridge in the office. Genji looks around the room. ] You better not have been lying about bringing the food down here.
[ he means to sound conversational, but there's a little bit of an honest question in there. it doesn't take a genius to see that genji isn't the trusting type--and truth be told, jesse's pretty sure that he'd bolt from the base first chance he could without so much as a thank you note for angela, if he could count on overwatch leaving him alone. (and jesse wouldn't count on overwatch leaving him alone.)
he's heading to the shared wall between the desks, where indeed there's a mini fridge, a little microwave, essentially a small kitchen for the kind of people who are best left alone. he juts a thumb at the fridge, trails his other hand on the desk and then leans against it. ]
[ ...well when you ask it just makes him seem foolish for even being suspicious. He's sneering a little bit behind his mask and decides not to say anything in response.
Genji slinks over to the fridge and crouches down, opening it up. Sure enough, there are his things; a few little protein and electrolyte packs with a nozzle on top for easy eating. He huffs and picks up a protein one and gets up, closing the fridge door with a foot.
He stands there a moment, eerily immobile. Genji turns to look at him and speaks like it's causing him genuine physical pain. ] Thank you.
[ he's still leaning against the desk, an easy slant, hands planted behind him. he regards genji in silence for a few more seconds. it'd be awkward if jesse knew or cared for awkward. ]
Is it hard to talk under there? [ his voice is lackadaisical. possibly he knows when he's being tactless, so there's a kind of gentle touch to it too. ] 'Cause just now you sounded like you was pullin' teeth. [ see, we can do harmless teasing in blackwatch. ]
[ Genji crinkles the plastic of the gel pack in his hands during the slightly awkward silence, just staring at him. And his shoulders raise up in a physical manifestation of his hackles raising again. ] I don't know. Is this some ploy to see my face? I heard there was a betting pool.
[ He sounds so bitter. All kindness is fake, clearly. ]
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the hallway is empty except for where he’s been slouched against one of the open doorways for the better part of a half-hour, drumming his fingers on his folded arms, whistling a nameless tune to himself to cover for his thoughts. (people don’t tell him to shut up in passing, either because they like him too much or they can’t stand him enough to instruct him on how not to be a nuisance.)
jesse’s not loitering for any one reason, he isn’t--doesn’t mean to be. but he knows the route; he knows that the overwatch strike team with one of their newest and most interesting recruits has been due back from abroad any minute now. and he knows genji doesn’t care much for the work, that there’s a different spirit in him whose wings beat useless under all that armor, flying in the face of jack and his vigilante justice. that maybe, just maybe, he’ll need someone to talk to.
it’s not actually all that likely, but that doesn’t stop his ears pricking up at the clink of metal feet on the metal-girded floors, and all at once he’s both tensing up and forcing himself to relax. he sees genji turn the corner, straight-backed, walking in that way he always does with every step measured out beforehand, and before genji can clear him entirely he pipes up. ]
Hey, partner. [ not sweetheart or darlin’ as is jesse’s usual custom with the man. see, harmless. ] What’s your hurry?
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Genji Shimada did not need to be pitied. When she left him and he strapped himself into the ship, he was in a daze. Outside himself. ('Disassociating' is what the psychiatrists called it.) Furious at himself for drawing attention, at his unnatural body, at Overwatch, at his family, at his brother for doing this to him— He only snapped out of it when the hand hold he'd been gripping started to creak with the pressure he was putting on it.
He needed— He didn't know. Before, he'd go to the bars and pick someone up and let out some steam. Get drunk, get high. Nowadays he just practiced until his joints locked up and steam whistled from his ports, systems lighting up in warning. (Dr. Zielger said he still ran a low risk of cardiac arrest. Genji didn't much care.)
As he walks the halls some of his tension leaves him the farther away he gets from the ship— he knows that damnable cowboy will be there waiting for him outside the break room. If he didn't need to get a protein gel pack to suck down from the fridge he wouldn't even bother; the man always seemed unperturbed by his curt and rude responses. Why even talk to him? Did he just want to laugh at his miserable lot in life?
But Genji Shimada is wholly pathetic now, and there's the part of him that's still a sad and lonely little boy that almost sort of appreciates his presence. It's vastly irritating. So when he hears that ridiculous drawl as he turns the corner, he looks to him.
Hm. No ridiculous endearment this time. Interesting. Genji tilts his head slightly. ] I am in no particular hurry. [ A pause. ] But you are the one who seems to have endless time on your hands. [ He's always there. ]
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I do and don’t. [ have free time, that is. ] Point of black ops is you ain’t supposed to notice when I come and go, right?
[ his voice is light and level. he’s aware that the cyborg doesn’t really do small talk, with him or anyone else on base; he’s also aware that people give genji a wide berth because he radiates fuck off from every vent. but jesse is pretty sure that if folks only talked to him on the job he’d be twice as ornery, especially when people only ever bother to trace genji’s story as far back as their own two eyes can follow it: the operating room where angela had pieced him together. ]
But forget all that. Lucky you, you got back just in time for lunch.
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[ He isn't sure what to think of the tone of his voice; he's immediately distrustful, assuming he just wants something from him. (That, he was used to. He was a Shimada, after all. People always begged him for favors before.) Genji moves to stride past him and into the kitchen when he speaks again.
He turns his head and behind the mask he can't decide between raising an eyebrow and downright sneering. Lunch? Lucky? So he is making fun of him. ] And why exactly is this important to me?
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You didn’t let me finish. The fridge’s been broken since last night and we were ordered to clear it by morning. I was rescuin’ taquitos and saw yer stuff. Didn’t know where to put it, no one else was touchin’ it— [ probably because they’re terrified of losing fingers ] —and I knew you wouldn’t be back till later ...
[ wow mccree this is sounding weirder and more inane by the second. maybe he didn’t actually have a plan after all.
he clears his throat. ]
So it’s in the mini-fridge in mine and Reyes’ office. If you’ve got a second we can go grab it and you can be on yer way.
no subject
That, of all things, had not been what he expected. Before he'd succeeded in convincing people to stay away from him, with snarls and curt words, a few people had tried to get him to 'eat' to get his mask off. Like he was some side show commodity. Let's point and laugh at the metal man.
But this was— thoughtful? The second an unfamiliar feeling settles in his gut he stomps it down. He could still want something. He might even be lying— Genji turns to look in the break room and, sure enough, the familiar fridge is nowhere to be seen.
He turns back and huffs. Okay, so this Blackwatch yokel is slightly better than most. ] I see. That is appreciated. [ But he pauses and tilts his head slightly. ] —you have an office?
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still, he’s a touch emboldened by his success, so he grins a lopsided grin and tilts his hat with a thumb. ]
And a lil’ name plate too.
[ he shoves his hands in his pockets and pushes away fully from the wall at last to head down the corridor, towards the stairwell. the few administrative rooms allotted to blackwatch would be downstairs, basement-level, terrible cell reception. ]
Come on. It’s this way.
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[ It's entirely rhetorical and facetious and he finds himself scowling at nothing when he realizes he had even said it. What was the point in casual conversation anymore? Genji clamps his mouth shut and crosses his arms and he starts to follow after him. He's never been downstairs, he realizes, no point in it. If it wasn't the medical wings or the training area, Genji didn't care much to investigate it.
Genji has another thought as they head down to the basement, that he's essentially leading him to an underground, far off place on base. He could still be plotting something. (He idly thinks that before, this is the kind of thing he would do for the clan. Be charming, invite someone somewhere private, slip a blade between their ribs when they got close.) He sucks in a breath and feels claustrophobic for a moment, stuck in the confines of his cybernetic body and helmet and everything and he damn near just runs off but—
The sound of those damn spurs brings him back to reality and he exhales shakily. No, there's not much subtle about him. And if this is Blackwatch's territory on base, then Reyes surely knows all that goes on. The man might as well have eyes in the back of his head. He doesn't really (and it makes him grate his teeth to even admit it) have any reason to think that he's (what was his name again? Joel McGhee?) in any sort of danger.
Yet. ] They spared no expense for the covert operations, I see.
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[ he sounds mostly amused as he says it, when the truth is he's kind of in a weird spot with overwatch— overwatch, which doesn't want to let on that they pulled a kid from the desert at a skinny seventeen; which is willing to let an awful lot of things go if it means not having to reply to gabe's emails now and then.
the walls of the stairwell turn from pleasant plaster to painted concrete. at the near-bottom jesse pushes open the door to a corridor that's less bright and spangled than the upper floors, to the more nondescript hallways that mark blackwatch's few administrative spaces. ]
And, well. They're good at replenishing the tac gear and the ballpoint pens, but they ain't exactly fitting us for dress blues anytime soon.
[ and sure enough, there's the door—reyes' office, comparable in space and layout to jack's upstairs, just more sparsely decorated. there's a desk that's orderly, and one that pointedly isn't. it's obvious which one is mccree's: there are a couple of chintzy souvenirs you might find in some desert gift shop somewhere, blank postcards from each southwestern state, magnets shaped like jalapenos and sheriff badges, a small potted cactus living sedately under a desk lamp.
honestly, it's practically the desk of, like, a small-town texan banker. ]
Tada.
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Genji snorts. ] You should branch out on your desk decorations.
[ But wait, no, that isn't why he's here. He claimed there was a mini fridge in the office. Genji looks around the room. ] You better not have been lying about bringing the food down here.
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[ he means to sound conversational, but there's a little bit of an honest question in there. it doesn't take a genius to see that genji isn't the trusting type--and truth be told, jesse's pretty sure that he'd bolt from the base first chance he could without so much as a thank you note for angela, if he could count on overwatch leaving him alone. (and jesse wouldn't count on overwatch leaving him alone.)
he's heading to the shared wall between the desks, where indeed there's a mini fridge, a little microwave, essentially a small kitchen for the kind of people who are best left alone. he juts a thumb at the fridge, trails his other hand on the desk and then leans against it. ]
Go on, see for yourself.
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Genji slinks over to the fridge and crouches down, opening it up. Sure enough, there are his things; a few little protein and electrolyte packs with a nozzle on top for easy eating. He huffs and picks up a protein one and gets up, closing the fridge door with a foot.
He stands there a moment, eerily immobile. Genji turns to look at him and speaks like it's causing him genuine physical pain. ] Thank you.
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Is it hard to talk under there? [ his voice is lackadaisical. possibly he knows when he's being tactless, so there's a kind of gentle touch to it too. ] 'Cause just now you sounded like you was pullin' teeth. [ see, we can do harmless teasing in blackwatch. ]
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[ He sounds so bitter. All kindness is fake, clearly. ]