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At least in the cold they noticed his cough less.
Hanzo had vowed, in what could be the last weeks of his life, to be grateful for the small mercies. Volskaya was a miserable place, but they’d been here a week and everyone was at least a little sick, so if he coughed into a tissue and tossed the contents, no one was the wiser.
And Zenyatta was their medic, so he was spared from the endless speeches about his “options.” The omnic knew, in his capacity as acting healer he needed to, but he could reach out and feel the torn edges of Hanzo’s heart. He understood. He let it be.
Some people could, early in the progression and under certain circumstances, confess to alleviate the symptoms. Mercy harped on and on, but Zenyatta and Hanzo understood what she didn’t. The emotional block, the closing off of a heart that choked it with roots. It wasn’t always a wall that could be broken down. Zenyatta knew, and Hanzo could guess, what would happen if he were rejected. His heart would close afresh, a love denied even to himself would grow into the cavities of his chest and strangle him, buried in deeper than it ever had before. If removed, Hanzo would never feel anything again.
And the monk had confessed, he wanted Hanzo to be happy. Even if he could not live, he could spend his last days in the company of the man he loved, laughing together, none the wiser.
It couldn’t be much longer now. There was the tiniest flecks of blood coming up with the petals, jeweled flecks on the white waxy flowers. Deep roots and long leaves in the scans of his chest that had Mercy looking more grave every day. There hadn’t been any guessing who it was he’d fallen for when Genji had finally hauled him to the clinic. Yucca. The state flower of New Mexico. A hardy, beautiful thing.
Fitting.
Another thing to be grateful for, Genji was back at the base with a malfunctioning extremities system, and Mercy grounded with him. Even if backup was called- which wasn’t looking likely- Hanzo would be spared pitying looks and tirades about “options”.
And another thing....
McCree huffed, shuffling to retrieve another cigar.
“Cold as a witch’s tit out here.”
Hanzo raised an eyebrow, trying to smother a smile.
“What a colorful expression. I wonder how you’d confirm such a thing.”
McCree wagged the cigar at him.
“Hey now. Don’t be coy, you’ve asked me about that one before.”
Hanzo shrugged.
“It must not have seemed important at the time.”
McCree dramatically clutched his chest, grinning.
“Harsh, darlin’.”
The back of Hanzo’s throat tickled. He swallowed, his fingers tensing around his bow.
McCree caught the gesture and frowned.
“Your fingers are turnin’ pink.”
“What of it?”
“You’re gonna get frostbite if you keep on. C’Mere.” McCree held out an arm, extending his serape in invitation. Hanzo raised an eyebrow. Jesse just grinned wider, keeping his arm up. A momentary standoff. Hanzo’s throat ached with the effort not to cough, but he managed a sigh and ducked under McCree’s arm.
Jesse pulled him in close to his side, and Hanzo retrieved his tissues as the cough forced its way out. McCree rubbed slow circles on his back as he coughed into the tissue, and Hanzo gave in and leaned into his shoulder.
“You know, you should tell em.”
Hanzo froze, the tissue still pressed to his mouth. He looked down, trying to figure out if he’d dropped a petal, and then back to McCree.
McCree smiled again, but he looked a little sad.
“You haven’t slipped up, darlin’. But Genji’s never been much of an actor, and between the cough and his frettin’, it’s either Hanahaki or Tuberculosis, and Mercy only gets pissy about one of those.”
Carefully, Hanzo lowered the tissue, folding it in his hands. Pinpricks of red bled through the paper. He took a moment to choose his words carefully. No point in denial.
“It would not help.”
“I know.”
Hanzo looked up, startled, and McCree reached out to wipe the corner of Hanzo’s mouth, his hand coming back bloody.
“I know you, darlin’. I know your heart’s locked tight and the lucky fool who managed to work their way in has got you too deep to just sing kumbaya and take whatever comes. I’m not sayin confess for the sake of it. I’m sayin that they might just feel the same.”
McCree’s expression made Hanzo’s heart ache. It was a profound loss. McCree was a man who could never have Hanahaki, who allowed himself every feeling he had. And...
...and he thought that Hanzo was in love with someone else. And that hurt him.
Maybe McCree was right.
But was he willing to risk it?
“What if you’re wrong.” Hanzo managed, unable to tear his eyes away.
“What if he doesn’t.”
If McCree was startled by the pronoun he didn’t show it. He shrugged.
“They’d be a damn fool. But know that I’ll be here as a shoulder to cry on if you need. I’m with ya no matter what.”
Hanzo’s heart clenched in his chest, but for once the great swell of affection didn’t hurt his lungs, didn’t close his throat. He forced his hands to relax, looking down and delicately unfolding the tissue. McCree was a solid weight as his side, and his fingers didn’t shake. McCree looked down at the open tissue in confusion, but as Hanzo looked back up again his eyes were widening in realization.
Jesse reached down, carefully picking up a petal between his fingers. It looked tiny in his palm, and McCree’s expression was a sight to behold- warmth and fear and hope, all at once. Hanzo’s chest twisted. He breathed, clearer then he had in months.
“Is this Yucca?” McCree sounded like he hardly dared to hope, his tone guarded.
Hanzo let another wash of cold wind blow over him, not daring to move any closer to McCree. He just nodded.
McCree closed the distance himself, pressing himself to Hanzo’s side as he took the tissue from Hanzo’s hands, running his fingertip over the petals.
“...these mostly grow in the states, don’t they?”
Hanzo smiled, despite himself.
“You are stalling.”
McCree chuckled, finally looking up to meet Hanzo’s eyes again.
“Hey now. Can’t blame a man for hedging around a heavy question.”
Hanzo rolled his eyes.
“Ask, Jesse.”
McCree took his time, but somehow Hanzo didn’t realize what was happening until McCree’s hands cupping his face, the warmth of his palms in his skin.
“If you’re in love with Jack or something, now’d be the time to tell-”
Hanzo closed the distance, pressing his lips to McCree’s. McCree surged forward, like a dam breaking, throwing his arms around Hanzo and pulling him close. Hanzo tangled his fingers in McCree’s hair, breathing him in, only the slightest ruffle in his lungs as he felt his heart open again, affection pouring out in a wave that wiped out everything else. And even as he drowned in it, drowned in McCree’s lips and the scent and feel of him, Hanzo could finally breathe.