criminal joy . jessie/tracer | blitz

I got boots that jangle jangle jangle; I gotta admit, I have been a little pinch happier since getting out. 

Walking with a pep in my step, dancing around in my hotel room at night, it's just easier, ya feel me partner? Flashy lights instead of septic ones, everything's cozier up here, just a place between myself and my soul to relax and get work done. I think about that dinner a lot, between Mercy and I; it was nice. Sharing drinks with such a pretty lady, she's always been there for me and helped me settle back into regular livin'.

Silver on my skin, a simple modification of a peacekeeper's weapon and it comes with a sense of homesickness, chewing on gum -- I miss it. In a way I miss talon, deadlock, whatever name they pinning to that donkey now, I miss the west. My own peacekeeper, buried, and I shudder. For a second I breathe, tilt my head back.

"Hello Jessie!" what

"Bye Jessie!"

"Huh-" a quick flash of silver, what, her eyes locked with mine, upside down with my mouth open, I reckon I looked like a fool; look like a fool, I look down. Nothin', "the fuck-?"  An empty table, empty nest, "TRACER-" I just got robbed, I-

What do I do? 

Instinct, I throw something, a screwdriver or something aimed for her legs and it clatters against the wall, I can't do that parkour nonsense, I'm just a cowboy! I trek beneath her, "where do you think you're GOIN LADY," stammering every few steps, boot bells jingling with every step.

Swingers, grabbing onto any wire in sight -- shit, "fuck-" how do I follow on foot. Scanning the terrain but my cowboy ass can't do that, slamming against the stairway door, "FUCK-"

The one time I'm actually doin something, huh?

"Catch me if you can, McCree!"

There's a wheezing in my chest, coughing half way up the stairs -- my cardio ain't exactly what it used to be, rotting in a cell for three years does that, my boots jangling behind me en tempo. My mind skipping from Tracer to the gun to what I'm even gonna do when I get up there: I can tell you what I'mma do, partner, throwing one little Lena Oxton of the damn roof. 

I stop for a second to breathe, tucking my shirt back into and opening the door hastily, "ooooooooh Lena-" sing songy, finger gun at the ready, I haven't had a good fight in a while and I don't plan on any shoot outs here. She sits criss-crossed, one leg over the other, smiling cheek to cheek, sky light in place; "where the hell is it," walking towards her. No piece of silver in her hand, the table empty and her jacket pressed clean, "come on, lil lady."

Cocky, I like her. 

She smiles in my face, ballsy and cute and I'm gonna kill her anyways but this one's fun at least. 

"HA!" fuck "You won't get off the hook like that, Jessie!" I hunch over, exhaling in one harsh sigh, "of course," that's her style I reckon, crazed and fresh meat, "How about this: let's play a game!"

"I'm guessin' you takin' this whole new freedom to a new level, huh partner," she grins. I'm not thinkin I'm gonna be getting used to this

If I you win, you get your gun back, but if I win —"

"no"

"— it becomes my new toy!" 

Interesting. 

I stroke chin hairs, "you don't even know how to shoot, do ya partner?" A hearty laugh, fuckin' hell -- what's going on. "YAY!" I swear to god, I'll throw myself off this tower, "doesn't it sound fun, Jessie?" 

Exhale, smoke and cloud in the air, "well," rubbing my eyebrows with one hand, a smile growing underneath.

"I reckon." 

"You reckon, huh-?"

"Oh yea, I reckon, little lady," arrogant and light hearted, mimicking that outskirts accent that I never cared for, I cross my arms, smiling at Tracer -- it's nice to see some humor around these parts. "So the game we're going to play is called hug, marry, kill-"

"Ah,"

"-I'm sure you know how to play!"

Rooftop breezes, my gun's scattered around these parts, silver in my scent; "I reckon," a grumble. I mean, I'd be a lie to say I haven't thought of any of these kids, leaning on my hip with my arms crossed, "okay, so go!" She stares at me and I fake noncompliance, it's nice for a break. 

"Choose three different trainees-" I lift a finger with a smirk, 
"besides yourself," fuck off, "for each of the categories: hug, marry and kill."

More games, so far that's all overwatch seems to be but I'm not complaining; shit ton's better than being stuck in jail. I put my hands on my hips, trying to pin point these kids -- "aight, killing Widowmaker."

Before she kills me first.

"Hmm," tossing two names, I stare Lena down; "I hope you know you're followin' me up," paired with a smile. "Fucking Hanzo Shimada, marrying Mercy."

"It's hug, not fuck, this is my version of the game.

"it's Hanzo, a hug just doesn't do it justice, darlin'," an ugly laugh and I snort, a chortle; I'd be happy with a hug at this point. And she furrows his eyebrows, I didn't expect Lena to be such a sweet thing, from the few things I have heard about her. Why Widowmaker? Oh honey, "she's so pretty!"

And she laughs like she knows who that is, the girl she's trying to reference. "You shouldn't judge people you don't know well, McCree!" I roll my eyes, pushing my weight on one leg, we're two of the same - Widow and I. Amelia, now that's a dead name. "She's probably nice, just a bit cold on the outside."

"She-" a murderer, I catch myself, undocumented firearms. There's a story for another day, I can't believe Tracer'd give a killer a near loaded gun; "I don't have the greatest of feelings about her." A whisper, under my breath and I know I shouldn't slander her. I shouldn't blame a felon in a room full of them but it's different when you know them personally; she could say the same of me. 

I don't know if I can distance myself from it, huh.

She carries on, "okay! My turn, uhhh," I tap my fingers on my other arm, skin on skin -- "Hug Widowmaker, marry Mercy, and kill no one." 

"Hug all you want, it's not gonna work-" I guess us murderers can't be redeemed. "Now cough up the gun, darlin'." I smile, placing one hand on my hip and outreaching the other, "please?"

I've finally got my lungs back, after all this chit chatting my heart rate's near flat lined, come on Tracer. Games are over, I close my eyes for a second and get ready for cool silver to touch my hand again, it's not even a good gun. A working gun; the thing is broke as shit.

"Oh, darlin', weren't you listening?" I open my eyes, face drooping like an old dog, don't- "you can't win hug marry kill!"

And I shake, first a look of confusion and then settling disappointment, back to confusion, "no one gets the gun, because nobody could win!" I- "what" I don't "what in damnation-" I don't completely understand until it clicks, like the trigger of that goddamn pistol and I feel the shoot, "what do you mean-" I think I'm slowly picking up on Tracer. 

Scratching my forehead with one hand, staring her with utter confusion, "where is the gun, Tracer."

Hands firm on my hips, leanin on one side, come on Lena. 

I ain't much of hot head but I'm towin this line pretty soon -- it ain't even a good gun! I reckon I wouldn't be wearin this thin if it were somethin of any type of value, but it's practically a little less than scrap metal, ain't no point in all this roundabout work for somethin for burnin. 

"Oh, please, it's not going to be that easy."

"Figures, huh?" I try 'n blow hair off my forehead, eyebrows furred. Hurry up and shoot me or somethin', "Ain't realize it was game night."

"C'mon, Jessie! Be more fun — why don't you go look for it?" I stare her down, good ole disappointing father style. "Mmm okay, how about a compromise-

"That's my girl."

Corner of my lip curls, one huff of a laugh, "I'll give you a hint: it's somewhere on this roof. That's all you're getting from me."

"Guess I better pony up, huh," my fingers diggin into the inside of my belt, this whole damn roof. Huh. "Any place I should start lookin' through first," leanin for a second to eye level.

"Sweetheart?"