After Cole sends her off to Overwatch, Echo tries to contact him a few times, but she’s easy to put off. She’s too literal to fully process a lie by omission until it’s too late. Angela’s harder, but she also doesn’t put her heart into pressuring him. She’s as ambivalent about the job as she’s ever been; her best arguments for dragging him back into that mess are those that will remind her she’s probably the one making the mistake. Winston asks him personally once, and Cole says no, and that’s that. 

Genji asks him to join up right after the Recall. It’s funny that between the two of them, Genji turned out to be the one most loyal to the organization. After Cole declines, he thinks Genji drops the subject like Winston did, but three months later, there’s his name lighting up the phone screen again. It shows up sporadically after that. A few times, Genji tries to dig for clues to Cole’s whereabouts, but he’s not as subtle as he thinks he is. 

Reinhardt tries to call him. Torbjörn tries it too. It doesn’t matter. 

Cole toppled a government or two, caused a few explosions, murdered more bad guys than he can count and probably a few innocents too. He caused more collateral damage — ruined more lives — than he’ll ever account for, and the world didn’t change a bit. He did his time, and he’s not going back. 

A few months post-Recall, Cole’s started to see Overwatch in the news again. There’s Paris first, then Rio. He doesn’t know where they’ll wind up next, but the cat’s out of the bag. There were rumbles underground well before now, but he’s more interested in what they get up to in the public eye. That’s the stuff he has to figure out how to spin, after all. 

He blogs a lot and freelances a little, and most of his time online is devoted to persuading folks that, whatever his personal baggage may say about the rest, Overwatch is here to help. Between writing gigs, he does the job he’s always done: hunting down the kind of criminals who make the world a more dangerous place. He can’t change much on the large scale, but there are plenty of folks out there whose day-to-day lives are a little better because of him. It counts for more than he ever realized it could. 

He stays on the move both for the job and to keep folks off his back — the authorities, the enemies he’s collected over time, and lately, his well-meaning friends. It’s a lot harder to come calling if they don’t know where he is. Genji’s the one most likely to hunt him down, and Cole hasn’t caught wind of more than his hopeless prying over the phone, so he figures he’s doing something right. 

He’s working out of a hotel in Phoenix at the seven-month mark. He has a half-finished article in front of him, and his eyelids are starting to droop. The hotel lobby has a coffee shop attached, so he pulls his hair back, puts on his fake glasses and makes his way down to the ground floor. It’s not much of a disguise, but it’s amazing how closely most folks aren’t looking. He wears the cowboy duds because he likes them, but they have the added benefit of rendering him functionally invisible in civilian clothes. 

He gets friendly with the barista and tips generously, then he heads back to the room. Just outside, there’s a swoop in his gut, but he doesn’t register it until he opens the door. He’s got his gun out from under his jacket in a flash. His latte splashes his jeans on the way down and pools at his feet, but he doesn’t take his eyes or gun off the intruder. 

The stranger’s sitting at the table Cole’s using for a desk, and in most other circumstances he would have Cole’s full attention for entirely different reasons. Even now there’s a sick part of him that gets a kick out of the challenging look in those dark eyes and the faint hint of a smirk. 

“I am not here to hurt you,” the stranger says in a gravelly voice and a thick accent. There’s a compound bow leaning against his chair and a gun in his hand, though, so Cole’s not sure he buys it. “We have mutual friends.” He pushes something along the desk, and Cole sees the Overwatch logo on an official comm device — much shinier than his half-busted old one, but familiar nonetheless. 

“Lot of ways you could’ve gotten your hands on that.” Cole doesn’t lower his gun, but he does step over his fallen coffee cup and let the door swing shut behind him. 

The stranger sighs. He broadcasts every movement as he slowly reaches out to tap the device a couple times. 

“Cassidy!” It’s Genji’s voice, ringing out cheerfully from the comm. “If you’re listening to this, that means my— friend found you.” There’s the slightest hesitation before friend, and Cole doesn’t try to pretend he didn’t notice. From the sardonic twist of the stranger’s mouth, he heard it too. “Japanese guy, big nose, black hair, undercut, it’s probably tied up, stupid piercings. Big blue dragon tattoo. I will vouch for him. Please don’t try to kill him.”

Cole chuckles at that, then at the stranger’s raised eyebrow. He’s still not putting his gun down though. “Confirm the tattoo.” 

The guy seems torn for a second, clearly trying to figure out how to hang onto his gun and take off his clothes too. He settles for shifting the gun to his left hand and using the right to shove the sleeve of his jacket up to the elbow, revealing a densely muscled forearm. The whiskered face of a blue dragon snarls amid roiling clouds. It’s an elaborate piece, and part of Cole wants to know just how far it extends. That part isn’t helped when the man asks, “Is that enough, or shall I strip for you?”

It’s only sarcastic, not said like the man has some idea of what’s rolling around in Cole’s idiot hindbrain, but Cole still wants to know how he’ll react when he says, “Maybe later.” Disappointingly, he doesn’t have much reaction at all beyond mild surprise. “Put the weapon down.” Cole times his movements to match the stranger’s speed, but eventually his gun comes to rest on the nightstand. “Now. What are you doing here?”

“You have been avoiding Overwatch. They would prefer that you did not.” 

“No shit. What do they want?”

“I don’t know everything. I only came to collect you.”

“By force?” 

“I would like to remain civil,” he smirks, and Cole’s pulse jumps, “but yes, if necessary.”

Cole barks out a rough laugh. “Sure.” 

The grilling continues: Overwatch wants him, thinks Talon might be after him, has work that he’s best suited for, but if he still says no, could he at least please look into this one little thing, as a favor for his old friends? He knows how that goes. One little thing leads to another and another, and then he’ll be de facto Overwatch even if he keeps pretending he’s not. The writing gig and keeping an eye on Talon movements are already more support than he intended to give.

The stranger answers his questions freely, although he seems bored by the proceedings until Cole asks, “And how do you fit into all this?”

“I belong to Overwatch now.”

“New recruit, huh? And you’re Genji’s friend.”

“More or less.”

Cole snorts at the evasion, but he doesn’t miss the dark look that passes briefly over the stranger’s face. There’s some kind of history there — has to be, if the guy’s sporting yakuza ink. “Didn’t think Genji had friends like you.”

“He keeps stranger company, I assure you.”

“And what is it you do, Mister…?”

“Prior to my training as a field agent, I worked primarily as an assassin. Sometimes a bounty hunter. Other times private security.”

It makes sense then, why they’d send this guy. It means he’s good at finding folks who don’t want to be found; Cole sure as hell didn’t see him coming. He can ignore the lack of name for now. “Outta curiosity, how long did it take you to track me?”

“Nearly a month.” 

Cole reflects the stranger’s tiny smile with a wide, proud grin of his own. “Not bad for a man who doesn’t know he’s bein’ followed.”

The other man laughs, only a quick puff of air. “No. Not bad.”

“They tell you what they wanted or just put you on my trail?”

That earns a small shrug. “It seems they worry about you, and that you have a set of skills most of the others don’t.”

Cole doesn’t feel like getting into all of that. Instead he relaxes, face and body both, until the stranger loosens up too. “Skills that apparently don’t include holding coffee and a gun at the same time,” he jokes. “I lost a perfectly good latte because of you. Boots are all sticky too.”

That catches the man off guard, but he seems amused. “I can buy you another.” 

“Here’s the deal then: you bring me that coffee, I’ll get cleaned up then you tell me about this job they want me to do.” 

He gets a suspicious look for that, but he keeps his smile light. “So be it. If this is a trick...”

“Ah, you figured me out. It’s a trick to get a handsome man to buy me coffee.” The stranger doesn’t seem to fully trust the arrangement — smart, really — but he eventually concedes. “Two percent milk if you don’t mind. Double espresso. Get ’em to add some vanilla syrup.” 

Cole plops down on the bed to yank his boots off, and the stranger tucks his gun away, collapses the bow and shoves it in a bland looking case, then leaves him with a sigh and another warning look. The moment his footsteps are out of earshot, Cole forces his boots back on and starts packing. 

Less than a week later, Cole’s in Reno in a rat trap motel, second guessing his choices because just looking at the bedspread is making his skin itch. He hasn’t even unpacked yet, and there’s a polite knock at the door. He peeks through the peephole and suppresses a laugh. 

On the other side stands Genji’s friend, whose glare has probably turned somebody to stone at least once. Cole smiles back. He didn’t realize before that this guy only comes up to his chin. Now that he’s noticed, he’s sort of impressed by how much intimidation he can radiate if it took Cole this long to realize they’re not of a height. Not that Cole’s intimidated, but he suspects most people would be. 

“Fancy seein’ you here.”

“You lied to me.” He says it weirdly like he feels betrayed, as if Cole owes some stranger a damn thing. He must see Cole’s confusion, because he volunteers, “I was told you were a man of honor.”

That gets under Cole’s skin more than he likes. “Whoever told you that, I haven’t seen ’em in years. People change.”

If the stranger has thoughts about his tone, they don’t show on his face. “They also said you’d be stubborn. So some of the rest must still be true.”

“You’re right, I’m stubborn. And I’m not goin’ back. You’re wasting your time.” 

“And if I remind you that you may be in danger?” 

Cole sighs. “Then it’s just another day ending in Y. Why do you care?”

“Because the job I have been given requires it.” The set of his jaw says he might be as stubborn as Cole is, but then it goes suddenly softer, and Cole can’t look away. “And because if you are at all as honorable as I have been told, the world may be slightly better off with you in it than not.” 

It comes out so sincere that it resonates in the hollowed out space in Cole’s chest. He grits his teeth against the feeling, mounts whatever defenses he can find. He knows exactly how mean he sounds when he says, “You don’t know me.”

“True, but—”

“And if you’re gonna offer to get to know me, there’s only one way I’m interested in doin’ that.” He lets himself leer. It’s easy to do. It’s hot outside, and the stranger’s in a t-shirt that strains across his chest and around his biceps, bare arms corded with thick muscle. Cole wouldn’t mind tracing that tattoo with his tongue, and he lets it all show on his face, as crude about it as he knows how to be. 

The stranger’s cheeks redden, but he looks annoyed enough that it might only be anger. “Being insufferable will not put me off my mission.” 

“Fine.” Cole shuts the door in his face, locks it, then does one of the things he hates most: he calls the cops. Tells them there’s a shady looking guy selling drugs out of the motel and harassing other guests. He sort of figures, given the man’s line of work, that he’s about as interested as engaging with the authorities as Cole is. 

It works, or at least it sends him into hiding long enough that there’s a tiny window of time between the cops leaving and the stranger returning. Cole’s ready the moment it comes. He’s already pulling out of the parking lot by the time the guy makes it back to his door.

Cole manages to outmaneuver him for two and a half weeks this time. He’s in a good mood and proud of himself, even if the only thing he has to go on is the stranger’s word that he’s as good as he says he is. Thinking of him as the stranger or Genji’s friend is getting old, but he’s too annoyed with Genji to ask him about it, and the guy himself was evasive the last time Cole pried. 

He catches wind of possible Talon activities out near St. Louis, so he’s on the lookout for trouble, armed with a variety of tools for the job. He still doesn’t see his tracker coming until he’s only a few yards away, doing nothing more ominous than walking briskly along the sidewalk. They make eye contact, and Cole really can’t afford to make a scene in public, so he pauses to let the stranger catch up to him. 

“Good afternoon,” Cole says with a smile like this meetup was planned all along. “Fine weather we’re havin’.”

It’s overcast and drizzling, colder than it ought to be this time of year. One thick black eyebrow arches, unimpressed. “You think you’re very clever, don’t you?”

“Been giving you trouble, haven’t I?”

“Only because I previously believed you might be an honest man. I was clearly misinformed. Now that I know to approach as if you are a common criminal, this will be much easier.”

Cole gasps and claps a hand over his heart. “Ouch.”

“You are a criminal.”

“But common? You wound me.”

The stranger’s lips twitch, and this line appears next to his mouth that’s more intriguing than it has any right to be. Then it’s immediately back to the resting bitch face, like it never happened at all. “I assume you intend to run again rather than hear what our mutual friends have to say.”

Cole’s about to cheerfully agree with him when he realizes what sort of building they’re approaching and he gets a wild hair. “Maybe, but you know what I just remembered?”

“What’s that?”

“You still owe me a coffee.” The guy makes a noise like he’s going to protest, so against all good reason, Cole grabs him by the arm and pulls him toward the coffee shop. “C’mon, you want me to talk, you know what you have to do.”

He scowls the whole way, but he also lets Cole drag him along. At least, Cole assumes he’s letting it happen. He definitely doesn’t look like the sort who could be pushed around otherwise. Cole imagines that someone, somewhere, has lost a hand trying to do the same thing he’s getting away with. Some of the non-reaction might be due to surprise though, because Cole’s pretty surprised with himself too. But it’s the first halfway normal, face-to-face human interaction he’s had in two weeks, and this game is growing on him, and maybe, so is this grouchy stranger.

Genji’s buddy reveals his sweet tooth when he gets a banana nut muffin and a chai latte, shoulders hunched around himself like it’s a secret Cole’s not supposed to hear. A tiny thrill runs through him at the realization that the guy’s going to have to give his name; the excitement sputters out just as fast when Cole tells the barista his name is Sam. There’s no telling if the name on the stranger’s cup is real or not, but Cole doesn’t think he looks like a Ken. He glances again at the decidedly-white barista and figures there’s a high chance the man just picked something that was easy to spell. 

Without having to say anything, they agree to take their drinks outside. Talking and walking is a lot easier than sitting in one place to try discussing anything potentially sensitive. Cole picks the direction and the pace. He takes deliberately long strides so the other man has to walk at a speed inconveniently quick for trying to sip and stroll. The stranger starts to open his mouth, so Cole speaks first. “That your real name?”

“No.”

“What is, then?”

“You have not earned the right to that information,” he says haughtily, but there’s this curve to his mouth that says he might be teasing. Not for the first time, Cole catches himself watching him for reasons totally unrelated to his impending escape. 

“And what’s a guy gotta do to earn that privilege?” Cole smiles very slowly, the way he does when he’s angling to get in somebody’s pants. He’s not convinced it’s going to have any effect, but then he watches the stranger’s gaze dart from Cole’s mouth to his body and back, and he thinks that’s the most useful information he’s gotten out of this guy so far. 

Not-Ken looks away for a second, then he seems to make up his mind about something. Instead of the rebuke Cole’s expecting, the guy turns that smirk on him. “I will let you know if you agree to return with me.”

“Let me know your name?”

“No, what you have to do to earn it.”

It catches Cole off guard enough that he lets out a low laugh. He might be blushing. “That’s a high price you’re askin’ just for a name.”

“I’m sure the payment will be enjoyable too.”

Now he knows he’s blushing. People don’t usually turn his bullshit back around on him, and he certainly wasn’t expecting it to work this time. Struggling to present himself as teasing and totally-not-flustered, he asks, “And how do I know you won’t go back on your word?”

That gets him another raised eyebrow. “Unlike you, I am not a liar.”

“Seems like that’d be a detriment in your line of work.”

“Not as much as you’d think,” he says with a quiet laugh. Then his face grows more serious again. Cole already sort of misses the flirting. “Since I assume you are going to try to get away again, you should know that you may be being hunted outright.” He pauses. “By someone other than me.”

Cole snorts. “If you couldn’t tell, I’m not too concerned.”

“You should be.”

“Aww, honey, you’re worried for me! Not gettin’ attached, are you?”

The look the stranger gives him would chill a lesser man down to the bone. “There is someone killing former Overwatch agents,” he says in a hiss barely louder than a whisper. “Some of whom weren’t even officially acknowledged beneath a certain level of security clearance. Everyone killed so far was alone when they died. Most of them were alone far more often than that. Easy targets.”

“Might’ve noticed I’m not an easy target.”

“You might have noticed that you are not completely untraceable, either.”

Cole doesn’t want to admit to the chill that settles in at the base of his spine, or to the whisper at the back of his mind telling him he could find out who it is. He could stop them. It pricks a hole through his good mood, and once again he mutters, “What do you care?”

“This mercenary, Reaper. He does not deserve to win.” He takes a deep breath through his nose, as if he’s bracing for something. “And I promised my— Genji that I would not let you get hurt.”

Cole chews on that, wondering again who this guy is to Genji. The tattoo would suggest family, maybe, but Genji made it clear long ago that whatever family wasn’t actually deceased was figuratively dead to him. The loyalty could be romantic, but Cole’s not getting that vibe, and besides, he doesn’t seem like the type to flirt if he’s a taken man. Doesn’t fit with the honor and honesty shtick. Cole thinks all these things, but what he asks is, “You always this stubborn about keepin’ your promises?”

“Yes. For the right people, especially.” 

“And Genji wants you this far up my ass?”

“Probably not literally.” The tension breaks again with another of Cole’s flustered laughs. The stranger clears his throat, though his mouth stays curved in that too-appealing hint of a smile. “Not only Genji. They all want you to be safe.”

“You’re talkin’ about a group of people I haven’t seen in years, and they’re suddenly all concerned for my wellbeing?” 

There’s a sneer in his voice that he knows should be off-putting, but the other man only shrugs. “I don’t know your personal histories with them. I only know they were concerned, and Genji asked, and now I am here.” 

Cole huffs and walks in silence. They make it to a small park, where Cole sags down onto one of the benches, worn out by the conversation. “And you’re not gonna leave me alone if I just… promise to keep an eye out?”

“No.” 

“Quit hoverin’.” Cole pats the seat beside him. “C’mon, I don’t bite.” The stranger sits. He’s warm in contrast with the cold metal bench. He digs his muffin out of its paper bag, elbow nudging at Cole in a way that should be annoying but isn’t. He scowls even while he eats it, which Cole finds pretty damn amusing, and even more so when the scowl deepens and turns on him. 

It is weirdly cute, although Cole thinks somebody’d have to be as screwed up as he is to think so. It almost makes Cole feel bad for what he’s planning. He’s not sure he’s going to pull it off, because he suspects not-Ken is not the type of man most people can fuck with. But Cole’s spent years dealing with all manner of scary people, and he even came prepared to deal with some of those folks this time. Plus he at least trusts that this one won’t retaliate in a way that will lead to any major injuries. It’s not in Overwatch’s best interests.

He waits until the man is staring off into the distance, muffin up to his face for another bite, then Cole moves as fast as he knows how. He grips the closest wrist in his metal hand, and the stranger’s already starting to move, quick and strong, but Cole has surprise on his side. He zip ties the guy’s wrist to the back of the bench. He’s on his feet a moment later, backing away quickly. 

Genji’s buddy looks like he can’t decide whether to be surprised or furious or begrudgingly amused, but either way, Cole doesn’t expect it to hold him for long once the shock wears off. He grins, waves, then breaks into a run. Good thing their stroll brought him within a block of where he parked. 

Three days is all he gets. This time, he’s in Oklahoma City. He steps out of the bathroom, hair still dripping and a towel around his waist, and there’s his new best friend, sitting beside Cole’s open laptop. He’s reading the screen. Doesn’t even have the decency to pretend he’s not. 

Cole strides across the room to snap the thing shut with as much force as he dares. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all.” He’s shameless about looking his fill, gaze sweeping down Cole’s naked torso. The look he gives when he’s finished is a challenge if Cole’s ever seen one, and it lingers until even Cole’s ears feel hot. He would say something to protest being treated like a piece of meat, but he sort of started it, and anyway his tongue’s stuck to the roof of his mouth. 

Then the man’s face changes, back to business, and the moment is gone. Cole doesn’t know if he’s relieved or disappointed. 

“You should get dressed,” the stranger says. “Unless you would like to be hauled into the parking lot naked.” Cole thinks about arguing, but then he thinks that having clothes on will make his getaway easier, so he does as he’s told. In the meantime, the stranger politely averts his gaze and taps one finger against Cole’s laptop. “I never would have expected this from you.”

“What?” Cole huffs as he yanks an undershirt over his head. 

“The writing.” Cole doesn’t answer, only glares at him, trying to look as mean as possible while fiddling with the buttons of his plaid shirt. “I read a dossier on you before I came looking. I insisted on it. And I interviewed your colleagues—”

“Former colleagues.”

“Nobody mentioned it. I’m surprised.”

Cole doesn’t try to pretend it’s not his. There aren’t many reasons most folks would have an open word processor file if it’s not their own writing. “A man’s gotta have hobbies,” Cole finally mutters. 

“You’re not bad.”

“That’s a surprise too, huh?”

“It is. Not many marks surprise me.”

Cole snorts. “If you’re so good at your job, how come they got you wastin’ all your time sniffing after me? Gotta be a better use of your talents.”

“If you have opinions, you could always contribute to our strategy meetings.”

“Very cute.” Cole pauses, only now realizing that there are two to-go cups on the table. He points to the nearest. “What’s that?”

“A latte? Two percent milk, double espresso, vanilla syrup.” 

“So it’s for me.”

“Of course. You did not get to finish either of the others I bought you.”

Cole doesn’t know what to say to that. He doesn’t know if he should be flattered. Probably makes sense that someone like this guy has a good memory for detail. Cole doesn’t think he should drink it though. Who knows what the guy did to it, especially if he’s threatening to drag Cole out of here by force. 

“Thanks, Akihito, but I’m cutting back on caffeine.” The stranger’s brow wrinkles in confusion. He starts to repeat the name slowly, so Cole figures that one is wrong. “Akira? Aoki?” Cole picks up his phone from the nightstand and pulls up the webpage he bookmarked three days ago. “Arata? Asahi?” 

None of the names get the reaction he’s looking for. Instead he gets a bemused smile. “Ah. I see.”

“Asuka, Atsushi, Ayumu…”

“If this is your method, it will take you a while.”

“Not an A-name, then. Great. One letter down, twenty-five to go. Or you could tell me.”

“I told you that if—”

“Botan?”

“—if you—” 

“Bunta?” 

“—if you return with me—”

“Chihiro?”

He watches as the stranger clamps his jaw shut and his face grows increasingly exasperated. Cole makes it all the way to Daiki when the man finally rises to his feet and snaps, “I have a name for you.”

He draws closer, and Cole would be lying if he said it doesn’t send something hot spiking through him. “Lay it on me,” Cole says with a grin he kind of hopes will get more of whatever this is. 

“Gabriel Reyes.”

Everything, even inside Cole’s head, comes to a screeching halt. “What about him?”

“Your superior officer, right? Former superior officer.” He says this with a trace of a sneer, and Cole briefly considers hitting him. “Yesterday we confirmed that he is the mercenary known as Reaper.”

“Gabe’s dead. He died in Geneva.”

“He is alive, and he is hunting former agents.”

“He was a good man.”

“Apparently not.” There’s a barb in every syllable. He’s pushing Cole’s buttons now that he’s finally got the upper hand.

“You’re full of it,” Cole says, exhaustion hitting him hard and sudden. His eyes and throat are both burning.

“I have not lied to you yet.” He’s terse about it, but he watches Cole’s face and his own grows softer. He has to know that this hit below the belt, and now he might be regretting it. “You are a likely target,” he says more gently, but what’s done is done.

“Get out.”

“If you need a moment—”

“No. Get out.”

This time, the stranger leaves on his own.