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From all the places they could’ve shipped him to, it had to be Russia. And of course it was the middle of December. McCree hadn’t experienced cold like this in years.

It wasn’t even two weeks after he’d responded to the Recall. Winston had immediately placed him on a mission in Siberia, paired up with one of their new recruits: Aleksandra Zaryanova (“Call me Zarya”) because she needed his experience with missions and he needed her ability to speak Russian. When they got here, however, it turned out that Zarya didn’t need his help at all; she had simply told him to stay here and start cleaning up the old Watchpoint while she went into the village to speak to the locals.

Their mission was simple: find out if the rumors about the nearby omnic factory being put into function again were true. Yet, how simple as it had seemed at first, their mission would take at least a few weeks to fully complete. Because as it turned out, the villagers only spoke Russian, rendering McCree pretty much useless, and they weren’t exactly happy to help either. They had been here for four days and the only thing Zarya had managed to find out so far was that yes, there was an old omnic factory nearby, and yes, some people had seen active omnics again, but no, they did not want to show the Overwatch agents where the factory was exactly located or where the robots had been spotted.
The original plan was to go to the factory, of course, but now they had no clue where it was and no villagers willing to help them. This mission was about to get a lot longer than at first expected. Winston had reacted almost frustrated when Zarya had briefed him on the situation. The connection had been a bit fuzzy, but McCree thought he’d heard the gorilla mutter something about “sending backup” before the tablet’s internet connection had given up. Point was, he was still here in the middle of Russia, all on his own for the better part of the day and it was freezing.

His cigarillo wouldn’t even light properly. McCree softly cursed as the little flame of his lighter sputtered and disappeared. Why did this have to be his first mission in the newly established Overwatch? Were there no other things available? But there had been, he remembered. Winston had sent two of the new recruits, Lúcio - a DJ turned freedom fighter - and the stranger only known as Soldier: 76 to the Mexican city of Dorado alongside Reinhardt. The German had been very happy to go to the sunny place (“I need to work on my tan!”) and Lúcio had been chosen because he spoke reasonable Spanish. 76 would be the guy that did damage to the bad guys.

Other than McCree, Winston and Reinhardt, there had been disappointingly few agents that had responded to the recall. Tracer, of course, had been the first to reply and Torbjörn, Mercy and, surprisingly, Mei had joined shortly after one another. McCree himself was fairly late; he’d lost a lot of time trying to find a ship that would take him to Europe or at least Africa. He’d been in the States and finding a way to Gibraltar while being one of the most wanted criminals in the world had been pretty hard.

But he’d made it, and now here he was. Hopefully the U.N. would remove or at least lower the bounty on his head when -if- he did something that was right in their eyes. Winston had sent him to Russia because it was wise for the cowboy to lay low for a while and the people in this remote village had never heard of him or his bounty.

There were rumors of Ana’s daughter Fareeha joining the crew too and there were a lot of new recruits. Besides Zarya, Lúcio and 76 there were D.Va, a gaming personality, Symmetra, a Vishkar agent, Sombra, a successful hacker, and Junkrat and Roadhog, two wanted criminals.

Still, no matter how many people joined their roster, McCree couldn’t help but wish for one more agent to respond to the call…

He pushed the thought away and returned to the mess room, giving up on his smoke. The harsh weather wasn’t even willing to let him have his cigarillo – how was he supposed to survive here?

Well, at least he’d made the base livable. He’d cleaned up the kitchen, two of the bedrooms and the mess hall and cleared the hangar in the last four days. Not like he had anything else to occupy himself with. This was such a small Watchpoint, it didn’t even have a shooting range. It did possess a small gym, though, to which Zarya had replied with much enthusiasm.

McCree was startled from his thoughts when he heard the roaring sound of an engine above his head. He made sure his Peacekeeper was safely strapped to his hip before he hurried outside, grabbing his hat and tilting it a little over his eyes to shield those from the sun before he went out the door.
Above him was, to his surprise, the jet Tracer had happily reclaimed when she returned to Gibraltar. She’d used it to drop him and Zarya off here in Russia and supposedly to do the same for Lúcio, 76 and Reinhardt in Dorado.

The jet carefully landed in the hangar and McCree followed behind, confused as to why no one had contacted him to warn Lena was coming or why she was here in the first place. Well, best to just see and find out, he thought.

Lena jumped out of the cockpit with her trademark enthusiasm and quickly ran towards him.
‘Jesse! Good to see you, luv!’
He chuckled. ‘Didn’t we see each other like, four days ago?’
Lena rolled her eyes. ‘So? It’s not like we haven’t been separated for five years until Winston was smart enough to reunite us.’
McCree shrugged. ‘Fair enough.’
‘Anyway, I’m just here to deliver your backup.’ Lena suddenly frowned. ‘You did get that message, right? Winston said he wasn’t sure if the connection was good enough…’
‘So that’s what he said. Well, nah, didn’t know about it, but I ain’t gonna complain. Who do you have for me?’
A shit-eating grin appeared on Lena’s face. ‘Oh, you’re absolutely gonna love it. I’ll just leave you alone with ‘em.’
She blinked back to her jet and yelled something inside that McCree didn’t understand. She then proceeded inside and someone else pushed the door open.

Jesse wasn’t sure he could believe his eyes at first, because that simply wasn’t possible. They had said goodbye years ago and he hadn’t thought to see him again anytime in his life.
But here he was, and he came walking towards McCree.
‘Hello, McCree.’
‘Jesus Genji, are you gonna be like that the whole time?’ was the first thing he could get out of his throat.

Because it was Genji, Genji Shimada, the young cyborg that was also a ninja with family issues. He was standing straight in front of the cowboy, the green lights on his body pulsing softly along with his heartbeat. He hadn’t changed a bit, at least not on the outside: his body was still made of dark gray fibers covered with shiny steel armor on the important places like his chest, thighs and upper arms. His right lower arm and feet were completely prosthetic, Jesse knew. The left arm was intact and covered with a black dragon tattoo that circled over the pale skin and all the way over his shoulder.

Genji tilted his head a little and the green glow of his visor was so familiar that Jesse almost wanted to scream out. ‘Is this how you’re treating your old friend?’ The grin was almost visible through the mask.

He sounded different, calmer, more peaceful. Now that Jesse thought about it, so was the way he was standing. There was no tension in his shoulders, no feet braced to leap away at the smallest disturbance. He looked… at peace with himself.

‘What happened to you, sparrow?’
Genji’s lights flickered up at the old nickname. ‘I found forgiveness,’ he answered. ‘I now know who I am, and what my place is in this world. I found peace, Jesse. And now that I’ve found you as well, I’m finally whole again.’