Chapter Text
You are running, in the streets of Mexico, trying to lose whoever or whatever was chasing you, Turing every sharp corner, alley way to alley way hoping to lose them.
Working for an illegal Anti-terrorist group back in the day can kinda get you a lot of enemies around the world... even ones you don't know exist.
"fuck fuck fuck. I'm almost home. just keep running" you whisper to yourself. You were an ex-assassin, travelling the world, killing those who were corrupt, took away from the poor, killed innocents- since the government never seemed to be doing much about them. killing was murder, you knew this, it was illegal no matter how much good it did, but it wasn't about that, it was about your own morals, and what you believed what was right- it was never personal. Soon your actions caught the attention of the Military and Overwatch, who was 'angered' by our "immaturity" they called it, at handling these situations, and that we should "stay out of it, and leave it in the hands of professionals- what a joke that is.</p>
You didn't have a home to return to, you were raised by military, forced to walk straight like a good solider only by the age of 2. you were raised in a underground project to raise super soldiers, the younger they were the easier it was to manipulate minds; indoctrinated from a young age to ensure you would never break, to make sure the only purpose in your life would be the next command they would give. The masters, you would call them, didn't treat you as human, you were their subordinate, nothing more. they pretended you didn't have feelings. To them, you were a program, they would set the command and let you do the rest of the work and for years you had become a personal assassin, informant and hacker.
There was one flaw in you however, that the masters never picked up on. it only took one moment of realisation and one trigger from pistol, that allowed you to finally flee from the only life you had known up until then. taking a fake identity and past, you joined the American Army the only place where you could hone your skills, there you created new weapons for the army hoping that your skills do some good for the world, finally working your way up as apart of a black ops team, going on missions to Iraq, Libya, Afghanistan- One day you broke command. You and your team were supposed to capture a long time terrorist chief who had used Women and children as slaves, the thought left you repulsed, so you shot him instead, and it felt good, you strongly felt that you had brought true justice. during your time in Iraq you didn't stop killing terrorists until you were reported. To your own demise, this led the army into an investigation of you and your past, it did not take them long to discover who you were, but they kept quiet when they realised the underground program you were raised in was an American government led program, they could not allow society to erupt on the government, in turn of keeping your secret silent they offered you immunity, and to work for the army as a 'secret executioner', with a pay rise of course.
secret executioner? this was no different to when you were treated as a program. So, when you had the chance made a run for it, now you worked on your own terms, travelling the world being hired for jobs only you felt, brought true justice. that was only a few years ago, you were tired. now, you found a living in selling your own weapon designs for cheap, to the poor, so they could defend themselves.
Every day was unpredictable, you never knew if tomorrow you would be on the run from old enemies or the day after trying to escape old acquaintances hunting you or whether you were going to have to move countries again, and today, you certainly didn't expect stopped outside your apartment building, by a cowboy, no less, who proceeded to flash an Overwatch badge alongside a badge you didn’t recognise. The way he did it made you think he’d probably been rehearsing this for a while. Or he’d faked it a lot in the past. it made you cringe...
Before you could say anything, he stepped closer as if to establish some kind of authority... “I’ve got orders t’ arrange a meeting with my superiors,” He drawled in a southern accent that had almost a little too much oomph to it. You arched a brow, crossing your arms over your chest trying your best not to cringe. He was a fair bit taller than you were, but you did your best to look intimidating all the same. Even if you knew it had no effect on him.
“Yeah, right. Overwatch is going to send an Old Western cosplayer to my apartment to set up a meeting? And here I thought they were a professional organization" You chuckled and spoke in a rather scathing tone, the cowboy laughed, tipping his dark hat up to look you over for a moment.
“Yeah, you’re right, they are. But technically speaking, Overwatch didn’t send me anywhere. Not on paper anyway. They don’t have a lot of use for hackers. Like you said, they’re a professional organisation.” Clearly Overwatch didn't know about your past with the anti-terrorist group- seems they had only known about your time as a hacker during your time in the military...
You bristled at him, your eyes narrowing, picking absently at a spot on your wrist; a nervous habit you hadn’t quite gotten out of.
“I’m not a hacker,” You argued, knowing full well that was a lie. “I’m an information specialist.” The cowboy snorted in laughter, shaking his head in amusement.
“Right, and that’s just a fancy-pants way of sayin’ yer a hacker.” He was prodding you now, and you glared at him. He shrugged his shoulders loosely. "Darlin’, if you really don’t wanna be a part of Overwatch that’s fine by me.” He started to walk away, before deciding to add one more comment.
"Good luck trying to get a gig this good with your track record, though.”
"Shit, Wait" you scream at yourself in your head "track record?!" you thought the government you had erased every document or mention about yourself, you quietly panic. You spun around on him, fuming; you knew you shouldn’t respond. He was only trying to goad you on.. you calm yourself down, the cowboy looks down at you with his arched brow and his hat falling forward- it wasn’t like he knew anything, right? All your records were confidential, especially in the military. You shouldn’t have responded, but your defensiveness was never too rational.
"The hell is that supposed to mean, ‘my track record’?"
You snapped, and when he stopped and looked over his shoulder at you, the brim of his hat didn’t hide a smug smirk. He turned back around, slowly, the spurs on his boots tinkling, and stepped closer. And kept coming closer. You felt your heart trip up a little bit, as he kept walking towards you, getting close enough that you had to take a step back, and another, until he’d cornered you up against the brick of your apartment building. He leaned in, his voice too low to be overheard.
“Lets see, ya’ve got about a few countless counts of disorderly conduct, 12 counts of criminal theft not related to the military, and a pretty little laundry list of Assassinated victims during your time in ther army” As he spoke, he placed the flat of his palm against the wall above and beside your head, leaning in over you just a little closer, emphasising the height difference.
"Those 'victims' were not good people" you tried to speak as confidently as you could as u struggled to lookin the cowboys. you hate to admit You felt trapped and you were painfully aware of just how warm the air was with him so close.
“I'd hate ta' disagree with ya, 'but that's still murder Darlin', besides the only reason they kept you on was ‘cause ya were good at what ya did and could provide early-development weapons mods from the enemies. Don’t think we’ve got time t’go over the colourful list of other things that got ya' discharged. Your talents are gonna go t’waste, no one in their right mind would hire ya on after that record with the army”
“And Overwatch would?” You replied sharply, still trying to keep up your tough-guy act; your voice betrayed you with a waver. You were currently cornered in your apartments shady lobby, with a man who knew far too much about you to be faking it all but pinning you against a wall. He laughed, tipping his head down a little; the brim of his hat hid your eyes from people who were chasing you earlier, the cowboy seemed to have noticed your defences flare up as the men rush past the apartment.
"trouble in Mexico?" he chuckles at you, you turn to him realising you let down your tough-act and trying to recover by staring him down, watching him grin with a smile that made you nervous
You hated to admit he had an extremely attractive smile- though it didn’t change the fact that he was way too close! knew way too much! and was making your heart hammer out of your damn chest. You glared back weakly into his smug expression and he shrugged one shoulder, still not giving you any space.
"well.. I wouldn' say we hire ya' officially... s'not exactly our plan ta have the public know you’re part of the team and on the payroll, Leave the theatrics to Morrison, right?” even the way he spoke of Overwatch’s poster boy, Jack Morrison, made you just a little uncomfortable. As if there was some kind of familiarity there. Overwatch would have access to your army files, considering the level they were on, and if this guy was serious, you really would be passing up what was easily the best offer you’d ever get, and possibly get your life back on track- you'd only Really have to live with the possible risk of overwatch discovering your work post-military work... and sending you straight to a cell.
You struggled to respond, you couldn't look directly at the cowboy's face anymore he had gotten so close that if you were to look up, you would practically kiss,
Someone called for you. “Everything okay Angel?” the cowboy finally he let you duck under his arm just enough to look at the questioner; your landlord, a kindly older gentleman who had taken a bit of a shine to you, he called you Angel- although you were a bit opposed to the name, you accepted it because you liked the gentleman, You smiled weakly at him; while it was unfortunate that your cheeks had turned a dark shade of red knowing that this man knew so much about you, it at least served to make this look like something far different.
“Everything’s fine, Earl. thank you.” You replied, a little breathlessly, Earl eyed you uncertainly for a moment, then nodded his head and went up the steps and inside. The cowboy dipped his head and let out a low chuckle and looked at you, "Angel' huh?" his words rumbled through your chest from his proximity. His breath was warm against your shoulder and it was enough to distract you, and keep up a small facade at the same time.
"yeah, I'm not particularly a big fan of the nickname..." the cowboy arches his brow at you.
trying not to forget the topic you were speaking on You took a moment to collect yourself and pressed back against the wall so you could look up at him without your faces so close to each other. Still glaring, but this time there was definitely a twinge of curiosity in your eyes. “So what you’re saying is, Overwatch would hire me under the table to work for them, and just ignore my entire history?”
“I’m sayin’ no such thing, Angel’....,” he exaggerated the nickname-he laughed, he was trying to play with now and you hated it but you couldn't start a fight, not unarmed - your eyes linger around the gun in his holster. His eyes glittered with playful mischief. “All I’m sayin’ is, my superiors want a word with ya, and you’d be silly t’pass up the opportunity.”
You looked away from him, wishing he would take a step back or so, give you a little bit of breathing room so you could think. He seemed to be enjoying how much this shook you far too much to step away. You crossed your arms as if to put a barrier between you and let out a low, frustrated huff.
“Fine. Where do I need to go? and don't. call me. Angel, cowboy.” You looked back up at him, and finally he stepped away, smiling triumphantly. He’d done his job. you almost wanted to smack him for feeling proud of himself.
"Got much up there you need?” He asked instead of giving an answer, nodding to the building behind you. You blinked at him a few times, before looking back to the staircase which lead up to your floor.
“oh I don't know, Just my whole life!” You answered after a few moments of thinking. You could probably leave a lot of it behind, if you had to, but you didn’t want to. Even with the stained record, you had too much invested in everything you owned to just up and leave it. He chuckled softly and started for the staircase.
“Well, we’d best get packing then.”
“Now hol-hold on a minute,” You gave him a look and he stopped, looking mildly exasperated, and turned to look down the stairs at you. “I never said I was going anywhere with you, and I definitely didn’t say I was going to pack up and move without sorting things out. I just asked where I’m meant to meet you.” He sighed, and crossed his arms with a shake of his head.
“My orders are t’ get a meeting arranged, and deliver ya to my boss so he can get the paperwork all figured out and get ya settled in. Not tell ya were to go. That’d be too much of a risk. Yer not exactly a sparkling example for trustworthiness, darlin’.” he glances at you from top to bottom-he was right, you supposed, your your record, you were exactly what one would call trustworthy.
Again you just glared at him, tempted to tell him just where he could shove those orders, and he seemed to finally be losing patience with his little game. He descended the stairs at an alarming rate and was in your space again in a few seconds, making your breath catch in your throat. You started to back away, but his hand caught your arm and kept you close. “Look, missy. I ain’t got all day, and Blackwatch ain’t gonna beg ya for shit. You want this gig, you’re gonna pack up your life and bring it with us; you don’t, and ye’ve wasted my time and yours and I need to get back to base to tell the boss.”
Your heart was racing, and his touch felt scalding. His demeanor had changed so quickly, from playful and smug to impatience and pure intimidation, and despite the work you’d done in the military, despite dealing with hardass officers all the time, despite staring down their spitting rage when they found out what you’d done without batting an eye, something about the switch made your defenses shrink in on themselves. Those men were typically just bravado, dangerous only to the people on the field.
You were scared to think about what overwatch would do or poster boy Morrison would do to you if they somehow discovered your post-military life - the military was hard on you for the Assassinations, but This man, however, radiated pure, true danger, so, you couldn't even imagine what overwatch would do to you if they found out you continued that work...you couldn't imagine anything worse...
You got the feeling military wasn’t the cowboy's background... you were nervous..
You bit back a whimper that threatened to expose just how much that frightened you, tried to jerk your arm free only for him to hold on tighter, and then looked away from the hard stare he’d leveled you with.
“Fine, fine, christ just let me go. I’ll come with you.” You muttered, and his fingers loosened on your arm. You could’ve told him to fuck off; withdrawn any desire you had to join Overwatch. But you knew his words earlier were right. This was probably your last ditch effort to make a use of your talents anymore. No one else would dream of hiring you when you had a list of crimes a mile and a half long.
He stepped back and again started for the staircase to your floor. Looking over his shoulder, that tense impatience seemed to have melted away again, though his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes this time.
“Name’s Jesse, by the way. Jesse McCree.”
You almost scoffed.