almightythirst | Open Post

It's just long enough of a pause to be slightly awkward, and he can feel the woman at the register's eyes move between the two of them. "Two," he replies, before the instinct to bristle up entirely takes hold, staring back at the woman intently.

But this is not the strangest exchange she's ever seen in her nights working here, clearly. Her curiosity is short-lived, and she hands over a key before going back to whatever television show she'd been watching prior to their arrival. Hanzo takes the key, scowling still, and leads the way to their modest accommodations.

When he opens the door, however, the room clearly has only one bed, and a hand lifts to rub at the bridge of his nose in irritation.

Jesse follows Hanzo’s lead, ignoring the complicated mess of emotions that little exchange had dredged up. But it’s silly, and he knows it, which is why he’s going to refuse to acknowledge it. What does this even matter in the grand scheme of things? They have bigger things to worry about then beds and romantic attachments that may or may not last through a trip to Hanamura.

When the door opens to reveal just one bed though, Jesse can’t help the quiet chuckle that slips out.

“Maybe she didn’t hear you right,” he suggests, knowing damn well otherwise. But he’s carefully not looking at Hanzo as he sets his things down.

“I can go ask for a cot, if you want to take the bed.”

"No. The more we speak to them, the more likely they are to remember us." One hand lifts, waving dismissively, before he enters the room. It is a large bed, anyway. They could have room enough to their own sides easily enough.

It would be a little harder to default to that, though. Something he'd wanted to avoid, but clearly not something fate was willing to let him ignore so easily.

"It is only for a night."

Only for a night.

Jesse pauses, waiting for the door to close behind Hanzo before he turns to face him again. There’s a frown on his face that isn’t so much upset as it is almost contemplative. He won’t go as far as concern just yet, not unless he has something he needs to be concerned about. But that’s the thing with Hanzo: he’s so hard to read that it’s hard to tell what he should or shouldn’t worry about.

“Just for one night?” he asks again, watching Hanzo closely. Even a man like him has to have tells.

He's in the process of removing his jacket when the question comes, and he pauses. Looks towards Jesse and that curious frown of his. His own lips tighten, and he finishes slipping out of the jacket, hanging it with care over the back of one of the chairs.

"Clearly you have something on your mind."

As though he didn't. As if he wasn't playing the events of last night through his head whenever the opportunity struck. Couldn't he appreciate how difficult it was to maintain focus with that running through his head all night long?

And that was the problem. Focus too closely on personal pleasure, lose sight of the goal. Grow soft, careless. No, not him. Not ever.

Clearly. Jesse’s frown deepens, but he tries not to let the stab of unpleasant feeling get in the way of what he wants to discuss. It’s important, even if Hanzo seems determined to pretend it hadn’t happened. Which is part of what has Jesse worried, in any case.

Might as well just jump right into it then.

“Last night-“

He pauses, gaze shifting elsewhere in the room before locking with renewed purpose on Hanzo.

“Did I overstep? Do somethin’ you didn’t like?”

Oh.

Is...that what he thinks this is for?

The icy facade seems to crack open for a moment at that realization, and he curses himself inwardly before shaking his head. "No. Nothing like that. I..."

Liked it very much? Gods, what does one even say after a night like that, without sounding miserably awkward about the entire thing? Hanzo pauses, licking his lips briefly.

"...I don't wish for us to become distracted from the task at hand. That is all." Which seems to him a perfectly reasonable response. Something that could shift everything around, turn so much on its head, and they simply can't right now. There's too much to contend with as it is.

The tension visibly drains from Jesse’s posture at the answer, a look of relief following in its wake. Sure, there were plenty of reasons Hanzo wouldn’t have lingered in bed. And why he kept his distance through the night, same as the nights before, even after everything.

But between this all being so new, and Jesse being completely out of practice with regards to just about any kind of personal relationship, and… well, Hanzo being Hanzo… it had been better not to assume.

“Good… that’s good.” He rubs at the back of his neck and looks away again. “Glad it’s not that.” Awkward indeed.

The actual explanation leaves plenty to be desired, but at least it makes sense. It’s just the sort of frustrating logic he’d expect from the ever-practical archer.

“Y’know, we can share a bed without gettin’ carried away like that again.” There’s still something on the edge of uncertain in his features when he glances back at Hanzo, but his smile doesn’t waver. “Unless I’m really that distractin’ for you.”

And at that, the elder vampire lets out a quiet sigh. For a creature that didn't need to breathe at all, it seems a very practiced sound.

"You have no idea," he murmurs, before his brow creases and his dark eyes lift once more towards his fledgling. Does he not understand how completely he could dominate Hanzo's thoughts, without trying? Have the last few weeks taught him nothing at all?

"Here we have been, acting foolishly all this time, and it very nearly cost you your life. That cannot happen again."

The unfair thing is, Hanzo probably has no idea of the effect that single, quiet utterance has on him. He’d meant it as a joke— a flirty one, but still. The confirmation had been unexpected, and it takes Jesse a beat too long to gather his thoughts, leaving him more than little dumbfounded in the interim.

That last bit is like a shock of cold water, for better or worse.

“Now hold on just a second.” He steps forward, closing some of the distance between them.

“I almost got myself killed. Pretty big difference there.”

"Throwing yourself into your work as you might not have done, if not for...this." He nods to the space between them, even as it shrinks by small degrees. "You admitted as much."

And maybe, if Hanzo had swallowed his pride and spoken sooner, that would have resolved differently. It's a matter he thinks on, now. He has to. If his actions are enough to spur a decision like that on Jesse's part, or if the reverse were also proven to be true...

It makes them vulnerable. As he feared might well become the case.

The thing is, Hanzo isn’t wrong. Jesse stops close enough to touch, his arms crossed over his chest, a now familiar mix of frustration and fondness warring within.

“Sure. This changes things. But you’re assumin’ I wouldn’t make dumbass decisions if you weren’t here?” He’s a proud man, but he’s also practical enough to know that he’d acted rashly. And he knows himself well enough to think he might do it again eventually.

Might be less likely to now, given this reaction from Hanzo. It’s a strange feeling, thinking he has someone else’s feelings to take into account.

Dark eyes narrow. "Of course not. I know better than that."

Jesse had been reckless enough to chase him for as long as he had, and if Hanzo hadn't felt compelled to curse him with this unlife they both shared, he would have died months ago. Perhaps sooner, if he'd been less inclined to suffer the chase. He knows his fledgling's reckless actions.

But there's no need to add fuel to that fire.

That's the realization they're both coming to, isn't it? It's no longer 'my' business and 'yours'. The decisions one made would affect the other. They were too entangled now for that not to be the case. After living alone for so long, the idea of sharing that much with someone was terrifying.

Hanzo would strike down any man who called him coward, but that's the word for it.

And that’s the thing, isn’t it? To Jesse, the worst has already happened. He hadn’t even just died, but come back as one of the things he’d been trained to despise. What more does he have to fear for himself?

(Maybe not the healthiest thing to think of yourself. Especially in his line of work.)

“So what I’m hearin’ here is, ‘damned if we do, damned if we don’t.’ That right?”

The urge to reach out and touch Hanzo in some way is strong, but he tightens his fingers’ hold on his own arm instead.

“We don’t have to figure it all out right now, just… I’m tired of actin’ like whatever is here ain’t here.”

It’s exhausting. Distracting, more so perhaps than just acknowledging it would be.

That...is not unreasonable, as requests go.

It is not how he would have chosen to handle things, but it is 'them' now, and not 'him.' Having that realization sinking in stills whatever response the vampire might have made, dead in his throat. Instead his eyes cast elsewhere in the room, scowl deepening in thought.

The alternative, he supposes, is letting this be whatever it is. Dealing with the repercussions of that as they come. Accepting that whatever they were before, they are more now. More than partners, more than sire and fledgling.

But he doesn't know what to do with any of it. After living this long, it's startling to come across something he doesn't already have a wealth of experience in, and yet here it is. Standing in a modest motel room and waiting for him to say something.

Jesse’s smile is a small, fleeting thing. He could keep pushing, but what right does he have? Knowing what he knows, what he’s leading Hanzo into in Hanamura…

Maybe this is better. In case it all goes wrong. Keeping the pressure on now would be a selfish act at best.

“Just think on it,” he says, moving around Hanzo to walk past him. His hand rests on the archer’s shoulder on the way, squeezing gently before letting go. “I’ll get us a flight booked out for tomorrow. We should be fine on time if we drive out first thing after sundown.”

"Mm."

He lifts a hand, and one dismissive wave later he's moving towards the table to sit. There was little to distract from this evening, or what remained of, beyond securing passage back home. The flight was likely to be an ordeal all its own, especially considering the length of time it would take.

But, carefully timed, it could be done.

Meanwhile, he was going to do his dead level best not to stare at Jesse like some moon-eyed idiot, considering instead what the plan would be once they arrived. What safehouse they would need to secure.

Details. Busy work. Something to distract.

Jesse sets up his computer across the table from Hanzo, though there’s little conversation between them. He’s done this before, last time he tracked the vampire to Hanamura, so he’s at least familiar with which airport to look for and what transport they might need from there. His questions for Hanzo along the way are cursory.

Somehow, he’d found a way to make an already tense situation worse. Hanzo is busy not looking at him, he’s busy not looking at Hanzo, and it remains more or less like that until shortly before dawn.

Jesse finally leans back and away from his computer, hand idly rubbing at a vague ache in his chest. There’s a chill there that lingers from the night before which has yet to dissipate. The rest of him is already colder than he had been in life, but in the place where Reaper’s claws sank in, an especially icy spot remains. Will probably wear off in a day or two, he figures.

“Think we should call it a night?”

There's a noncommittal noise as Hanzo rises from his seat, pausing when he sees they way Jesse rubs at that spot. The way he'd been torn open...it was unlike anything he'd seen before. The Reaper had managed to wound more than just his body, and too readily he remembers the cold spike of fear as Jesse had collapsed, unresponsive.

Never again. That possessive coil slithers and tightens in his chest as the memory is stored away.

"Does it still pain you?" he murmurs, before moving a step closer.

Jesse looks up, the hand on his chest going still. He hadn’t fully realized he was worrying at it.

“Doesn’t hurt,” he says, almost thoughtfully. It hadn’t been so long ago that he’d been human. The occasional ache or pain doesn’t strike him as strange, though it would be more so for a vampire.

“It’s just cold. When he…”

He trails off, expression going tight.

Remember how this feels, ingrate.

It had sounded too much like Reyes had in life. It… wasn’t supposed to do that. Reaper and Reyes have their respective boxes in Jesse’s mind, nice and compartmentalized. But that attack hadn’t been the efficient distraction of a trained merc. It had been personal. Reaper had spent longer that necessary there, his talons drawing blood, drawing the warmth Jesse hadn't even thought he had anymore...

He shakes the memory off with a shake of his head and lets his hand drop.

“It’ll pass.”

Of course, it would be there. Center of his chest, where he'd struck him that night.

Perhaps McCree should work harder to protect his chest. It did seem to be proving something of a weak point.

Rather than chide him for it, however, Hanzo simply observed the drop of his hand. Then, after a moment that seemed to stretch indefinitely, he extended a hand. Pressed first with his fingers, then his palm, covering where that wound had been the night before.

Perhaps simply to reassure himself that Jesse was, in fact, still here and whole. But that was terribly sentimental, wasn't it?

Jesse is almost perfectly still as Hanzo reaches out to touch him, the only movement being his eyes as they widen a fraction.

Oh. He hadn’t even thought about the fact that Hanzo had seen it for himself. It had healed significantly by then, but still— he’d been a bloody mess when he’d gotten back. There’s that reminder again: if he gets hurt now, he’s not the only one affected. Physically. Emotionally. It’s a bittersweet feeling, bordering more on sweet the longer the moment lasts.

Even with the strange, lingering chill and their mutual lack of body heat, the place where the hand meets his chest feels warm.

Jesse just takes in that wordless affection for another long moment before reaching up, his hand pressing against the back of the one on his chest. His fingers curl in, slipping between Hanzo’s to clasp the hand in his own.

“I’m fine.”

He doesn’t know why he says it so softly, like anything louder might cause the moment to fall apart.

It might just. Just this, the simple act of a hand holding his, is foreign. His family had never been the affectionate sort, even when they were still on good terms. Even those members that he loved -- respected, more than anything -- would have seen this as grossly intimate.

Yet it's grounding in ways he cannot explain.

"...I know."

Just as quiet, dismissing the attempt to do exactly as he would have done, and put on a brave face. Yes, of course he's fine, that we can pretend doesn't exist just fine and go on about our business, right Jesse?

But it does make it a little easier to bear in the moment, perhaps.

Hanzo is silent for a time after, utterly still without the need for breath. Then, finally, he speaks again in that same hushed tone. "I have...many regrets. Anyone who lives as long as we do could say the same, but. Last night was not one of them."

If he could change things, maybe he wouldn't feel as he does. Maybe he would have kept his distance. Maybe he would have done the smart thing and let the hunter die. But everything culminating as it has, perhaps last night was an inevitability. If it must be this way, it is perhaps one of the few good things to happen in a long, long time.

Be careful what you wish for, right? Jesse had wanted to know what was going on in Hanzo’s head; and now that he has that honesty, it’s almost too much. He knows it’s no small thing, Hanzo saying that aloud.

His hand tightens on his sire’s— the man who killed him, who saved him, who has drawn him in despite how hard they both fought against it. Whatever missteps they’ve made along the way, however they miscalculated, Jesse can’t say he’s not glad to be just where he’s at. With the man he’s with.

Even if it doesn’t last through what’s coming, they had this.

Jesse moves his seat back just far enough to allow him to stand, putting them on eye-level. His one hand doesn’t release Hanzo’s as the other reaches out, brushing some of the longer strands of his hair behind his ears. Jesse’s home life had been much different, but it also hadn’t been full of physical affection, from the old farmhouse to Deadlock to the life of a hunter. Unused to it as he is, it’s hard not to crave it now.

“Would it be pushin’ my luck to kiss you?” he asks, still in the same tone, this time with a small smile he can’t quite suppress.

One imagines that becoming undead means you lose your soul. Your heart. You turn black and dead inside, feeling nothing. The hunters thought as much, though perhaps only because it weighed less on their conscience to kill something so far removed from human.

If anything, Jesse knows by now, a vampire feels more acutely than any human could. Their kind know hunger so vast it consumes all thought and reason. They know love to exclusion of all else, rage that can level towns and sorrow that can leave them dormant for centuries. Every sense heightened, even the simple brush of a hand beside his face digs into his chest and tugs like hooks. He has endured loneliness for so long every new touch feels hot as a branding iron, cutting through the decades-long numb.

Jesse smiles that little half-smile, and Hanzo is utterly aware of just how fucked he is.

"Of course it would." It's almost deadpan, but not quite. There's too much bright in his eyes to hide, particularly from one who knows him so well already. "When has that ever stopped you before?"

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