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The temperate autumn gave way to a mild winter, then slowly to spring. With no true cold to discern the seasons, they melded together seamlessly; even so, spring seemed to come around all too quickly. The sounds of birdsong, subdued for too long, returned to the countryside. Everywhere McCree looked, he could see colourful flowers, returning from winter, poking their heads above the soil.

He smiled to himself, as he lazily took another drag of his cigarillo. He exhaled slowly, sending a plume of grey smoke through the bedroom window, and casually draped his arm over its frame.

Finally, the mornings were bright again. No more rides in the dark, and, hopefully, longer evenings to spend with the horses.

To spend with Hanzo.

McCree's smile only grew all the more at that thought. Hanzo. He took another drag, before exhaling once more. Cigarillo now spent, he tossed it into the glass ashtray beside his bed.

He had had little nightly visits from the man - not that he was surprised - but every day spent in Hanzo's company, whether human or not, was a blessing. Despite the mostly-present species barrier, McCree couldn't deny the affection he felt for the horse. He had been taking things slowly, as the others had suggested, to gradually build up Hanzo's trust. Too slowly for his liking, if he was honest. If Ana, or Jack, or Lena or Lucio had any idea about what - who - Hanzo really was, then all the extra training would have been but superfluous.

He turned from the window with a content sigh. Still, it had not been for nothing. If anything, it had succeeded in bringing them closer. McCree moved to his bedside table, where his favourite red serape lay folded in a neat bundle. In these warmer days, the horse had little need for it. He picked up the serape, smiling as the morning sun caught its surface. Glistening against the scarlet surface were the unmistakable short, grey strands of horsehair. He lifted a hand and lightly stroked the material, causing some of the downy hairs to drift to the floor.

McCree let out a low chuckle. Hanzo, stubborn thing he was, never did settle for any of his other serapes. Not completely. More often than not, McCree found himself swapping the black one for his own - and, consequently, covering all his clothes in horsehair. Not that he minded, truthfully; if it placated Hanzo, then so be it. Hell, Hanzo had even refused the conventional horse rug he had bought especially for him. Even with half his body freshly clipped - McCree was surprised Hanzo had even let him do that - he had refused to have anything but McCree's old serape across his back, covering his exposed skin and keeping his body warm.

The cowboy gave a gentle nod, as he folded the garment and placed it back down. He'd be wrong if he said he wasn't flattered. It would seem that, whatever affection he had for the animal, Hanzo evidently felt the same way in return.

Not bothering with his slippers, McCree padded to the bathroom.

Now if only Hanzo felt that way about him in human form...

He tried to push that thought from his head. Not wasting any more time, he undressed, laid his towel within reach, and stepped into the shower.

..............................................................................

It didn't take him long to reach the paddock at the back of the property. With the cheerful twitter of birdsong filling his ears, McCree walked, a spring in his step, towards the gate. Hanzo's leather bridle - now bitless - in hand, he casually leaned an arm against the fence and looked out over the paddock.

Hanzo had only been turned out with the other horses for less than a month, but already, he was settling in nicely. He looked as if he had been there his whole life, peaceably chewing on the lush green grass like any normal horse. McCree smiled. It would be a while before the other horses accepted him, he knew; for now, they appeared to keep their distance, huddled together at the far end of the field. Not, presumably, that Hanzo minded; in fact, if McCree knew him well enough, he definitely did not.

Taking up the bridle, he wasted no time in unlocking the gate and entering the paddock.

He stopped several paces away from Hanzo, waiting to see how the horse would react. If he somehow knew he was there, he didn't show it, though a telltale ear pointed in his direction told McCree otherwise. He waited a few more moments, silently watching Hanzo's movements as he chewed away effortlessly at the grass.

He took a step forward.

A friendly whinny greeted him. McCree looked up. Hanzo's head was raised, his ears keenly pricked forward, as he looked in his direction.

McCree smiled, feeling his heart soften.

"Good morning, Hanzo."

With a gentle whicker, Hanzo walked towards him, only stopping inches from McCree. The cowboy placed his hand against the side of Hanzo's face, and lightly traced circles into its fuzzy surface. The horse closed his eyes for a moment, and lowered his head, leaning into the motion - before abruptly, he opened his eyes. Promptly, he placed his nose against McCree's pocket, intently poking at its contents.

McCree couldn't stifle the chuckle which rose within him. He'd be damned if he didn't still think that the fine whiskers, combined with the warm snuffling of Hanzo's nose against the fabric, was unbearably ticklish. Cute, too. Trying not to laugh, he gently pushed the horse's muzzle aside and fished out the packet of mints in his pocket.

"Yeah, I know. Be patient, will ya?" he teased, as he ripped the packet open. Placing a sweet into the palm of his hand, he offered it to Hanzo. With a grateful sigh, the horse lipped it off of his palm and munched contentedly.

With that done, McCree folded the packet - only for the horse to give his hand a firm nudge. His nose was practically stuck into the packet, hungry for another mint.

McCree sighed. If that wasn't endearing. Again, he opened it and pulled out another mint, giving it to Hanzo, before pocketing the packet.

Giving the mustang another stroke, he carefully brought the bridle to Hanzo's head. At least, he thought, he didn't have to struggle with the bit any longer. Instead, the noseband slid easily over his muzzle, the cheekpieces resting snugly against his face. The horse turned his head as, taking care not to hurt him, McCree pulled the headpiece over his ears and secured the throatlash beneath his chin. As McCree tossed the reins over his neck, he felt Hanzo's warm nose against his pocket as he searched for yet another mint.

This time, he couldn't hold back the laugh.

"No, no, that's it, Hanzo. No more mints." He laughed again as the horse let out a displeased snort. Even so, he pulled his head away from McCree's shirt, and stood calmly, awaiting any further action on McCree's part.

McCree smirked. Seems a couple of mints in the hand made everything easier - at least when it came to horses. Taking the reins in one hand, and steadying his other on Hanzo's neck, he pulled himself up onto the horse's back. Hanzo turned his head and looked at him, almost quizzically, before he turned away.

McCree shifted around, adjusting his seat. Hanzo's coat was warm and soft beneath him; both his back and belly just the right proportions for his rider's comfort. Without a saddle beneath him, the horse felt strong and firm against his legs. Stroking a hand along Hanzo's withers, then up to his neck, McCree simply took in the feel of Hanzo's fluffy coat against his hand, prompting a huff of contentment. His fingers then moved to Hanzo's silky mane, now just shy of halfway down his neck, where they teased their way through the dark strands. Even through his glove, they felt surprisingly similar in texture to human hair.

It was hard for McCree not to imagine his fingers running instead through Hanzo's long, dark hair in his human form.

An annoying flush of heat crept up his neck, then to his face. He rubbed his free hand furiously against his cheek, willing it away. He paused. Feeling the heat go down, he traced his right hand to the clipped underside of the horse's neck. The velvety skin, soft with new growth, was a pleasant contrast to the thick winter coat. Hanzo gave another sigh as McCree lightly massaged his fingers into his skin.

"Feels good, don' it?" he said softly. The mustang pointed an ear backwards, listening, before he gave a whicker of response.

McCree chuckled. "I'll take that as a yes."

A soft snort followed his words, confirming his reply. He smiled. Taking a deep breath, he glanced back up the hill to the house. It was still quiet, thank goodness; all the curtains still drawn and no signs of life. McCree let out his breath in a long sigh, and gave Hanzo's mane another stroke, trying to allay his fears.

He had left a note on the dining table, where the others were bound to come upon it at breakfast. It wasn't as if they had any reason to worry about him or his whereabouts, much less Hanzo's. Even so, his hands trembled, ever-so-slightly, as he took up the rein.

He took another deep breath. Hanzo, sensing his tension, turned and looked at him once more, letting out a quiet sound of surprise.

McCree sighed.

"It's alright, Hanzo." He gave a nervous smile. Satisfied, the horse turned away. "You 'n me are gonna have a bit of fun. You'll see."

Hanzo gave another snort. Pushing down the knot in his gut, McCree gave Hanzo's belly a gentle nudge with his heels.

It will be fun, he thought, as he walked Hanzo on towards the gate. Pulling back the latch, he steered the horse through the gap and firmly swung it shut behind him.

...Hopefully.

....................................................................

Leaning forward against Hanzo's withers, McCree sat tight as Hanzo crested the steep hill. Long grasses tickled his legs as they brushed past. He smiled. The feeling was not too dissimilar to that of the horse's fine whiskers against his clothes; it eased the knot of tension in his gut considerably. Still, he didn't dare look down as the mustang, moving at a sure-footed pace, swiftly took them both to the top.

McCree raised his head as Hanzo's pace evened out. He sighed quietly, raising his body and sitting upright once more. Slowing Hanzo gradually to a halt, he paused, drinking in the view.

Here they were - one of his favourite spots in the entire area. In the entire state, perhaps - maybe even the world, at a push. McCree's smile widened. The light breeze, carrying the sweet melodic tone of birdsong to his ears, ruffled his hair and tugged at the ends of his serape. He inhaled, then slowly breathed out. Raising his metal hand to his forehead, he simply took in the view below. Endless green pastures, with buildings dotted around them like a child's toy farm, rolled beneath them; if he squinted hard enough, he could see all the way to their neighbours Holt & Stansfield.

He tried not to shudder. As if he wanted to see that place again.

Blissfully, he again stroked Hanzo's neck. The mustang made a low burring sound in his throat; his nostrils twitching, his ears pricked forward. McCree heard him, too, let out a sigh, as the gentle breeze lifted his growing mane and ruffled against his coat.

He didn't blame him. Not in the slightest. For a moment longer, he simply stayed put, breathing in the air and absorbing the view. Faintly, over the breeze, he could hear the running of water across stones; the relaxing melody of the nearby creek.

Perhaps they could give it a visit when they were done. For now, there were other matters to take care of.

McCree closed his eyes, then opened them. Almost involuntarily, he squeezed his legs more firmly against Hanzo's belly, gently nudging him onward.

It was time.

He clicked his tongue.

"Come on, Hanzo," he encouraged. "Gee up there."

With an eager snort, the mustang quickened his pace and broke into a trot. Like before, his every stride was easy and elegant. Despite the inevitable bounce, it was not too uncomfortable to sit out. Now considerably more relaxed, McCree pressed his heels to Hanzo's belly. The horse's pace grew all the more brisk.

The cowboy smiled widely. Already, a feeling of elation snaked its way through his gut. With minimal effort, Hanzo only picked up the pace; the taste of long-forgotten freedom evidently too hard to resist. Clicking his tongue, McCree simply let him have it.

Almost unprompted, though with another coax from McCree, Hanzo leapt into an easy canter.

McCree had had many a rocking horse as a child, but it was safe to say that Hanzo was more comfortable than any of them. Surprisingly so, without a saddle; the horse's broad body, stocky and strong, seemed made for his comfort. He leaned into the gait, slackening the rein. Hanzo's head, gently bobbing up and down with every stride, pulled forward at McCree's signal. With another snort, he keenly picked up the pace.

McCree's heart swelled in his chest. By now, Hanzo's pace was nearing a gallop, his footfall rapidly growing in speed. McCree closed his eyes. The wind, whistling in his ears, tugged at his hair and caressed his cheeks. He could not, would not, ever tire of such a feeling. Relaxing his hand, he further slipped the rein down the horse's neck.

That was all Hanzo needed.

McCree opened his eyes, his breath appearing to leave him all at once, as he felt Hanzo rush forward. He was galloping now, the evenly-paced gait only feeding the feeling of exhilaration rising within him. McCree tilted his head back, just a little, intoxicated by the feeling of the wind rushing past. He smiled, only barely managing to hold back a whoop of joy.

He could never go back to riding another horse like this.

He let Hanzo sprint forward, his head held high, for a few more moments, before he felt the pace of his hoofbeats slow down. A palpable damp warmth beneath his seat suggested that he was tiring. Not wishing to overwork the horse, McCree gathered the rein in his hand once more, and gave it the gentlest pull.

"Whoa there, Hanzo. Easy."

With a soft huff, Hanzo obligingly transitioned downwards into a canter, then trot, then a relaxed walk. Again, McCree loosened the rein, and simply let him pick his own way onwards through the the grassy plain.

Hanzo soon halted, unprompted. McCree looked down. They had reached the small creek, the natural boundary between the open plain and the world outside. The cowboy smiled as, eagerly, the mustang lowered his head and drank from the crystal-clear waters.

He gave Hanzo's neck a gentle pat. His grey coat, warm to the touch, felt slick with sweat beneath his hand. Letting go of the rein, he swung his leg carefully over Hanzo's back and slid to the ground.

Perhaps a drink wasn't such a bad idea. Bending down, McCree placed his hands into the trickling water below, scooping out a mouthful with carefully cupped hands. He brought it to his mouth, suddenly grateful for the cool hydration it gave. Hanzo had done all the work, of course, but the combination of the horse's warmth and the overhead sun had heated him up more than he had realised. Not wishing to waste the water, he splashed the remainder over his face, sighing in relief as it drew away the sweat.

He glanced over at his equine companion. Hanzo still drank, steadily, the water sliding effortlessly down his throat. The sunlight radiated off of his sleek dappled coat and bounced off of his shiny black mane. For a moment, McCree found himself staring, transfixed, at the single lock of black hair that fell across Hanzo's forehead, just missing his right eye.

A beautiful creature, indeed.

He sighed, then rose. He walked over to the horse and softly stroked his neck, prompting a low whicker.

He waited, until, satisfied, the mustang raised his head. He turned to McCree, almost as if he was encouraging him to resume their ride.

McCree merely gave him a nod. Taking the reins in his hand, he once more pulled himself onto the horse's broad back.

Unprompted, Hanzo turned around. His nostrils twitched, breathing in the bracing spring air. McCree left him to it. They were, after all, in no rush home. He focused his gaze through Hanzo's pricked ears, out at the endless carpet of green.

In that moment, it became clear. This was where he would take Hanzo, later, once he resumed his human form. Where they could waste their time under the endless blue sky, in each other's company, without a care in the world...

McCree blinked. Where had that thought sprung from?

He shook his head. Now was not the time. The calm, ceaseless breeze continued to lightly tug at his serape and Hanzo's silky mane. His fingers twitched with the urge to once more caress the surprisingly human hair-like mass. He ignored it for now. Instead, refocusing himself, he nudged the horse's belly with his heels.

Hanzo practically jumped from halt to trot. Like before, his enthusiasm was undeniable. Again, McCree couldn't help but smile. Eagerly, the horse picked up his feet, his pace increasing steadily. In fact, with no cues from the cowboy, Hanzo soon broke unprompted into a lope.

McCree was taken aback but for a second. Instead of slowing the horse, he only smiled all the wider. Hanzo was not his to control, when all was said and done, and besides, who knew when he had last run free like this? Judging by his past mistreatment, it was far too likely he had not for several long months.

Who was he to stop him?

He took a deep breath. Before he could give it a second thought, McCree dropped the rein from his right hand, and instead placed it into the mustang's thick mane. Hanzo cantered on, heedless, though the American swore he could feel him tense slightly. McCree adjusted his seat, sitting deeper into the hollow of Hanzo's back. There was no time to be afraid. He squeezed his legs against the horse's side, silently praying for the best.

Nevertheless, as Hanzo loosened up beneath him, gratefully lengthening his stride, McCree felt his anxiety swiftly lifted off his shoulders.

In fact, as Hanzo plowed forward, the grass beneath but a green blur, McCree almost felt like cheering, like whooping in sheer joy. It took all he had in him to restrain himself. Instead, he opted for a wide smile. He closed his eyes, giving himself completely to the wind rushing through his hair and rippling through his clothes.

If there was a heaven, it would have to feel like this.

He only opened his eyes once Hanzo had slowed.

The plain was only so expansive, and sure enough, Hanzo had galloped the full way to the opposite end. McCree leaned forward as he ran up the small hill marking the boundary. He only continued to smile at his enthusiasm. As Hanzo lifted his forelegs off of the ground, standing proudly in a rear, McCree simply leaned forward.

Hanzo needed this.

Leaning almost flat against the horse's warm back, McCree simply closed his eyes, and smiled.

It was at times like these, that he realised anew - there really was no other place he'd rather be.

.........................................................

"That was... fun, at least."

Hanzo cast his gaze away from McCree, his hand curling protectively around the red serape draped over his body. McCree heard him sigh. For the briefest moment, a silence hung in the air between them. McCree swallowed slightly, feeling an all-too-familiar heat creep into his cheeks. Oh no, not now. Hesitantly, the other man turned once more to face him, their eyes locking. Involuntarily, McCree's heart jumped.

He cleared his throat. Despite his best efforts, he found his eyes wandering from Hanzo's face to his inky black hair. In the pale moonlight, it appeared almost a deep midnight blue. Now just shy of neck-length, and considerably thicker than before, it was harder than ever not to imagine his own hands running through it.

It was only when Hanzo raised an eyebrow, his mouth downturned in a frown, that McCree realised. He had been staring. Of course. He felt his face flush. Suddenly, he was thankful for the surrounding darkness.

"Well, uh... thanks, I guess?" McCree smiled nervously. Anxiously, he dragged a hand through his hair. Hanzo's face remained unreadable, though a faint smile eventually appeared on his lips.

"Hmm." The man looked down, then back to McCree. "...No. I should be thanking you."

Hanzo's brown eyes met the cowboy's once more. If they had seemed serious before, now they were practically smiling.

"Thank you, Jesse."

McCree looked away. Now he really was blushing, damn it.

"Aw, shucks." He chuckled nervously. "Was jus' tryin' to make ya feel better, 's all."

"No," Hanzo replied, quietly. He took a few steps towards McCree. The cowboy's heart raced faster. "Thank you, for everything."

There was a pause. Hanzo closed his eyes, releasing a small sigh, before once more looking to McCree.

"You've been... good to me. I had forgotten how that could feel."

McCree saw his grip on the serape tighten. Anxiously, he pulled at the fabric, adjusting its folds.

"When you took me out, it suddenly became clear. You do not intend to use me, how so many others would. And just for that... I am grateful."

McCree remained silent. In this instant, no words would suffice. Hesitantly, he reached out both hands, slowly laying them to rest upon Hanzo's shoulders. The man did not flinch.

"Hanzo," he began, in a low voice. "I'd never dream of doin' a poor horse wrong." He dropped his voice further. "'Specially not one like you."

Hanzo was silent. For a moment, the only thing audible to McCree was his own furious heartbeat, roaring in his ears like the tide. The other man's gaze remained fixed intently on his own, unceasing. Outside, an owl's lone call pierced the night.

"You're safe here, Hanzo. I promise."

"...That is good to know." Giving the most gentle shrug, displacing McCree's hands, Hanzo looked away once more. Again, his hands tightened anxiously around the fabric he gripped in his hands. If he wasn't mistaken, McCree thought he saw the slightest beginnings of tears shine in Hanzo's eyes. He blinked slowly, then closed his eyes. McCree glanced down at the man's meagre covering, then to his wardrobe, then back to Hanzo.

It wasn't cold anymore, granted. Even so, it couldn't be much fun having nothing but a tatty, old serape to throw around your bare shoulders after a long, and presumably painful, transformation...

An idea sprung to his mind.

"You don't have to go around wearin' that old thing all the time, y'know." McCree gestured to the worn red serape around Hanzo's body. "I've got spare clothes if ya ever, uh, need them. Jus' come to me and get 'em, I don't mind."

Hanzo looked back to him, a thoughtful look upon his features. A smile grew on his face. Slowly, he nodded.

"Thank you," he quietly replied.

"No problem." The cowboy ambled over to the large wardrobe, carefully easing open its doors. Thankfully, the moonlight filtering through the window was, again, sufficient as a light source. With its help, he picked out a simple black button-down shirt - barely worn - and a simple pair of denim jeans. Probably a size or two too big for his companion, he knew - but they were better than nothing. He stepped back, moving to his chest of drawers, from which he withdrew a simple leather belt. Laying everything on the bed, he paused for thought. Unfortunately, procuring a clean set of underwear seemed out of the question for now - the very thought of sharing his own enough to disgust him, and most likely Hanzo, too. He shrugged, mentally resolving to buy some tomorrow.

"Hope you're okay dressin' like a cowboy," he said to the man. He walked back to the open wardrobe, fishing out a spare pair of worn-looking boots. "'Cause it's all I got for now. Sorry to say I can't quite get you everythin' ya need right now, though - unless ya don't mind sharing underwear."

McCree saw Hanzo grimace.

"I'd rather not." Somewhat hesitantly, he joined McCree beside the bed. He stirred a hand through the pile of clothing, before picking up each garment individually and scrutinising it under the moonlight. "These will be... adequate, for now. Thank you, Jesse."

"No problem." McCree looked on as Hanzo placed the last of the clothes down, satisfied. "I'll go get a bag for these, an' you can bring 'em back to the field. Jus' make sure you stash 'em some place secure though. I don't want them gettin' lost, or anyone else stumblin' upon them."

The man nodded. "I understand."

McCree simply gave him a nod. Swiftly, he turned and made for the kitchen.

A few moments later, he returned to the bedroom, black bin sack in hand. Without another word, feeling Hanzo's eyes upon him, he opened it up and tossed in the bundle of clothes. Securing it with a knot, he lifted it. It was heavy, yes - but hopefully, it would carry the weight. He handed it to Hanzo.

"Here ya go. All yours."

Ensuring that the serape would hold in place, Hanzo pulled the garment together in one hand. Stretching out his other hand, he took the bag from McCree.

"Thank you."

Without another word, he moved to the window. He looked to the open gap, remaining still for a few more moments, as if he were pondering deeply. Almost dramatically, the light breeze ruffled his hair and rippled through the serape around his shoulders. There was silence. Save for the cowboy's heartbeat, growing increasingly louder in his ears, the night was deathly still, as if it were waiting for Hanzo's further action.

He wasted no time in deciding. As McCree looked on, he effortlessly lifted the sack of clothes in his left hand and pushed it through the window. It landed with a soft thud beneath the window sill.

He heard Hanzo sigh.

"Good night, Jesse. Sleep well."

McCree smiled. "Night, Hanzo. See ya in the morning."

The man gave a nod, before turning once more to the window. Effortlessly, he pulled himself up onto the frame with one hand and swung through the gap, dropping to his feet without the serape so much as unfolding. McCree shook his head, letting out the softest whistle. He would never quite get over that. He stood, watching silently, as Hanzo disappeared into the night, clothes sack slung over his shoulder.

At least, McCree though, the next time Hanzo showed up, he would look a little more presentable. More than presentable, even. McCree smirked to himself, an image of Hanzo in his black button-down shirt involuntarily entering his mind.

If he was being completely honest, he couldn't wait to see it.

Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

The temperate autumn gave way to a mild winter, then slowly to spring. With no true cold to discern the seasons, they melded together seamlessly; even so, spring seemed to come around all too quickly. The sounds of birdsong, subdued for too long, returned to the countryside. Everywhere McCree looked, he could see colourful flowers, returning from winter, poking their heads above the soil.

He smiled to himself, as he lazily took another drag of his cigarillo. He exhaled slowly, sending a plume of grey smoke through the bedroom window, and casually draped his arm over its frame.

Finally, the mornings were bright again. No more rides in the dark, and, hopefully, longer evenings to spend with the horses.

To spend with Hanzo.

McCree's smile only grew all the more at that thought. Hanzo. He took another drag, before exhaling once more. Cigarillo now spent, he tossed it into the glass ashtray beside his bed.

He had had little nightly visits from the man - not that he was surprised - but every day spent in Hanzo's company, whether human or not, was a blessing. Despite the mostly-present species barrier, McCree couldn't deny the affection he felt for the horse. He had been taking things slowly, as the others had suggested, to gradually build up Hanzo's trust. Too slowly for his liking, if he was honest. If Ana, or Jack, or Lena or Lucio had any idea about what - who - Hanzo really was, then all the extra training would have been but superfluous.

He turned from the window with a content sigh. Still, it had not been for nothing. If anything, it had succeeded in bringing them closer. McCree moved to his bedside table, where his favourite red serape lay folded in a neat bundle. In these warmer days, the horse had little need for it. He picked up the serape, smiling as the morning sun caught its surface. Glistening against the scarlet surface were the unmistakable short, grey strands of horsehair. He lifted a hand and lightly stroked the material, causing some of the downy hairs to drift to the floor.

McCree let out a low chuckle. Hanzo, stubborn thing he was, never did settle for any of his other serapes. Not completely. More often than not, McCree found himself swapping the black one for his own - and, consequently, covering all his clothes in horsehair. Not that he minded, truthfully; if it placated Hanzo, then so be it. Hell, Hanzo had even refused the conventional horse rug he had bought especially for him. Even with half his body freshly clipped - McCree was surprised Hanzo had even let him do that - he had refused to have anything but McCree's old serape across his back, covering his exposed skin and keeping his body warm.

The cowboy gave a gentle nod, as he folded the garment and placed it back down. He'd be wrong if he said he wasn't flattered. It would seem that, whatever affection he had for the animal, Hanzo evidently felt the same way in return.

Not bothering with his slippers, McCree padded to the bathroom.

Now if only Hanzo felt that way about him in human form...

He tried to push that thought from his head. Not wasting any more time, he undressed, laid his towel within reach, and stepped into the shower.

..............................................................................

It didn't take him long to reach the paddock at the back of the property. With the cheerful twitter of birdsong filling his ears, McCree walked, a spring in his step, towards the gate. Hanzo's leather bridle - now bitless - in hand, he casually leaned an arm against the fence and looked out over the paddock.

Hanzo had only been turned out with the other horses for less than a month, but already, he was settling in nicely. He looked as if he had been there his whole life, peaceably chewing on the lush green grass like any normal horse. McCree smiled. It would be a while before the other horses accepted him, he knew; for now, they appeared to keep their distance, huddled together at the far end of the field. Not, presumably, that Hanzo minded; in fact, if McCree knew him well enough, he definitely did not.

Taking up the bridle, he wasted no time in unlocking the gate and entering the paddock.

He stopped several paces away from Hanzo, waiting to see how the horse would react. If he somehow knew he was there, he didn't show it, though a telltale ear pointed in his direction told McCree otherwise. He waited a few more moments, silently watching Hanzo's movements as he chewed away effortlessly at the grass.

He took a step forward.

A friendly whinny greeted him. McCree looked up. Hanzo's head was raised, his ears keenly pricked forward, as he looked in his direction.

McCree smiled, feeling his heart soften.

"Good morning, Hanzo."

With a gentle whicker, Hanzo walked towards him, only stopping inches from McCree. The cowboy placed his hand against the side of Hanzo's face, and lightly traced circles into its fuzzy surface. The horse closed his eyes for a moment, and lowered his head, leaning into the motion - before abruptly, he opened his eyes. Promptly, he placed his nose against McCree's pocket, intently poking at its contents.

McCree couldn't stifle the chuckle which rose within him. He'd be damned if he didn't still think that the fine whiskers, combined with the warm snuffling of Hanzo's nose against the fabric, was unbearably ticklish. Cute, too. Trying not to laugh, he gently pushed the horse's muzzle aside and fished out the packet of mints in his pocket.

"Yeah, I know. Be patient, will ya?" he teased, as he ripped the packet open. Placing a sweet into the palm of his hand, he offered it to Hanzo. With a grateful sigh, the horse lipped it off of his palm and munched contentedly.

With that done, McCree folded the packet - only for the horse to give his hand a firm nudge. His nose was practically stuck into the packet, hungry for another mint.

McCree sighed. If that wasn't endearing. Again, he opened it and pulled out another mint, giving it to Hanzo, before pocketing the packet.

Giving the mustang another stroke, he carefully brought the bridle to Hanzo's head. At least, he thought, he didn't have to struggle with the bit any longer. Instead, the noseband slid easily over his muzzle, the cheekpieces resting snugly against his face. The horse turned his head as, taking care not to hurt him, McCree pulled the headpiece over his ears and secured the throatlash beneath his chin. As McCree tossed the reins over his neck, he felt Hanzo's warm nose against his pocket as he searched for yet another mint.

This time, he couldn't hold back the laugh.

"No, no, that's it, Hanzo. No more mints." He laughed again as the horse let out a displeased snort. Even so, he pulled his head away from McCree's shirt, and stood calmly, awaiting any further action on McCree's part.

McCree smirked. Seems a couple of mints in the hand made everything easier - at least when it came to horses. Taking the reins in one hand, and steadying his other on Hanzo's neck, he pulled himself up onto the horse's back. Hanzo turned his head and looked at him, almost quizzically, before he turned away.

McCree shifted around, adjusting his seat. Hanzo's coat was warm and soft beneath him; both his back and belly just the right proportions for his rider's comfort. Without a saddle beneath him, the horse felt strong and firm against his legs. Stroking a hand along Hanzo's withers, then up to his neck, McCree simply took in the feel of Hanzo's fluffy coat against his hand, prompting a huff of contentment. His fingers then moved to Hanzo's silky mane, now just shy of halfway down his neck, where they teased their way through the dark strands. Even through his glove, they felt surprisingly similar in texture to human hair.

It was hard for McCree not to imagine his fingers running instead through Hanzo's long, dark hair in his human form.

An annoying flush of heat crept up his neck, then to his face. He rubbed his free hand furiously against his cheek, willing it away. He paused. Feeling the heat go down, he traced his right hand to the clipped underside of the horse's neck. The velvety skin, soft with new growth, was a pleasant contrast to the thick winter coat. Hanzo gave another sigh as McCree lightly massaged his fingers into his skin.

"Feels good, don' it?" he said softly. The mustang pointed an ear backwards, listening, before he gave a whicker of response.

McCree chuckled. "I'll take that as a yes."

A soft snort followed his words, confirming his reply. He smiled. Taking a deep breath, he glanced back up the hill to the house. It was still quiet, thank goodness; all the curtains still drawn and no signs of life. McCree let out his breath in a long sigh, and gave Hanzo's mane another stroke, trying to allay his fears.

He had left a note on the dining table, where the others were bound to come upon it at breakfast. It wasn't as if they had any reason to worry about him or his whereabouts, much less Hanzo's. Even so, his hands trembled, ever-so-slightly, as he took up the rein.

He took another deep breath. Hanzo, sensing his tension, turned and looked at him once more, letting out a quiet sound of surprise.

McCree sighed.

"It's alright, Hanzo." He gave a nervous smile. Satisfied, the horse turned away. "You 'n me are gonna have a bit of fun. You'll see."

Hanzo gave another snort. Pushing down the knot in his gut, McCree gave Hanzo's belly a gentle nudge with his heels.

It will be fun, he thought, as he walked Hanzo on towards the gate. Pulling back the latch, he steered the horse through the gap and firmly swung it shut behind him.

...Hopefully.

....................................................................

Leaning forward against Hanzo's withers, McCree sat tight as Hanzo crested the steep hill. Long grasses tickled his legs as they brushed past. He smiled. The feeling was not too dissimilar to that of the horse's fine whiskers against his clothes; it eased the knot of tension in his gut considerably. Still, he didn't dare look down as the mustang, moving at a sure-footed pace, swiftly took them both to the top.

McCree raised his head as Hanzo's pace evened out. He sighed quietly, raising his body and sitting upright once more. Slowing Hanzo gradually to a halt, he paused, drinking in the view.

Here they were - one of his favourite spots in the entire area. In the entire state, perhaps - maybe even the world, at a push. McCree's smile widened. The light breeze, carrying the sweet melodic tone of birdsong to his ears, ruffled his hair and tugged at the ends of his serape. He inhaled, then slowly breathed out. Raising his metal hand to his forehead, he simply took in the view below. Endless green pastures, with buildings dotted around them like a child's toy farm, rolled beneath them; if he squinted hard enough, he could see all the way to their neighbours Holt & Stansfield.

He tried not to shudder. As if he wanted to see that place again.

Blissfully, he again stroked Hanzo's neck. The mustang made a low burring sound in his throat; his nostrils twitching, his ears pricked forward. McCree heard him, too, let out a sigh, as the gentle breeze lifted his growing mane and ruffled against his coat.

He didn't blame him. Not in the slightest. For a moment longer, he simply stayed put, breathing in the air and absorbing the view. Faintly, over the breeze, he could hear the running of water across stones; the relaxing melody of the nearby creek.

Perhaps they could give it a visit when they were done. For now, there were other matters to take care of.

McCree closed his eyes, then opened them. Almost involuntarily, he squeezed his legs more firmly against Hanzo's belly, gently nudging him onward.

It was time.

He clicked his tongue.

"Come on, Hanzo," he encouraged. "Gee up there."

With an eager snort, the mustang quickened his pace and broke into a trot. Like before, his every stride was easy and elegant. Despite the inevitable bounce, it was not too uncomfortable to sit out. Now considerably more relaxed, McCree pressed his heels to Hanzo's belly. The horse's pace grew all the more brisk.

The cowboy smiled widely. Already, a feeling of elation snaked its way through his gut. With minimal effort, Hanzo only picked up the pace; the taste of long-forgotten freedom evidently too hard to resist. Clicking his tongue, McCree simply let him have it.

Almost unprompted, though with another coax from McCree, Hanzo leapt into an easy canter.

McCree had had many a rocking horse as a child, but it was safe to say that Hanzo was more comfortable than any of them. Surprisingly so, without a saddle; the horse's broad body, stocky and strong, seemed made for his comfort. He leaned into the gait, slackening the rein. Hanzo's head, gently bobbing up and down with every stride, pulled forward at McCree's signal. With another snort, he keenly picked up the pace.

McCree's heart swelled in his chest. By now, Hanzo's pace was nearing a gallop, his footfall rapidly growing in speed. McCree closed his eyes. The wind, whistling in his ears, tugged at his hair and caressed his cheeks. He could not, would not, ever tire of such a feeling. Relaxing his hand, he further slipped the rein down the horse's neck.

That was all Hanzo needed.

McCree opened his eyes, his breath appearing to leave him all at once, as he felt Hanzo rush forward. He was galloping now, the evenly-paced gait only feeding the feeling of exhilaration rising within him. McCree tilted his head back, just a little, intoxicated by the feeling of the wind rushing past. He smiled, only barely managing to hold back a whoop of joy.

He could never go back to riding another horse like this.

He let Hanzo sprint forward, his head held high, for a few more moments, before he felt the pace of his hoofbeats slow down. A palpable damp warmth beneath his seat suggested that he was tiring. Not wishing to overwork the horse, McCree gathered the rein in his hand once more, and gave it the gentlest pull.

"Whoa there, Hanzo. Easy."

With a soft huff, Hanzo obligingly transitioned downwards into a canter, then trot, then a relaxed walk. Again, McCree loosened the rein, and simply let him pick his own way onwards through the the grassy plain.

Hanzo soon halted, unprompted. McCree looked down. They had reached the small creek, the natural boundary between the open plain and the world outside. The cowboy smiled as, eagerly, the mustang lowered his head and drank from the crystal-clear waters.

He gave Hanzo's neck a gentle pat. His grey coat, warm to the touch, felt slick with sweat beneath his hand. Letting go of the rein, he swung his leg carefully over Hanzo's back and slid to the ground.

Perhaps a drink wasn't such a bad idea. Bending down, McCree placed his hands into the trickling water below, scooping out a mouthful with carefully cupped hands. He brought it to his mouth, suddenly grateful for the cool hydration it gave. Hanzo had done all the work, of course, but the combination of the horse's warmth and the overhead sun had heated him up more than he had realised. Not wishing to waste the water, he splashed the remainder over his face, sighing in relief as it drew away the sweat.

He glanced over at his equine companion. Hanzo still drank, steadily, the water sliding effortlessly down his throat. The sunlight radiated off of his sleek dappled coat and bounced off of his shiny black mane. For a moment, McCree found himself staring, transfixed, at the single lock of black hair that fell across Hanzo's forehead, just missing his right eye.

A beautiful creature, indeed.

He sighed, then rose. He walked over to the horse and softly stroked his neck, prompting a low whicker.

He waited, until, satisfied, the mustang raised his head. He turned to McCree, almost as if he was encouraging him to resume their ride.

McCree merely gave him a nod. Taking the reins in his hand, he once more pulled himself onto the horse's broad back.

Unprompted, Hanzo turned around. His nostrils twitched, breathing in the bracing spring air. McCree left him to it. They were, after all, in no rush home. He focused his gaze through Hanzo's pricked ears, out at the endless carpet of green.

In that moment, it became clear. This was where he would take Hanzo, later, once he resumed his human form. Where they could waste their time under the endless blue sky, in each other's company, without a care in the world...

McCree blinked. Where had that thought sprung from?

He shook his head. Now was not the time. The calm, ceaseless breeze continued to lightly tug at his serape and Hanzo's silky mane. His fingers twitched with the urge to once more caress the surprisingly human hair-like mass. He ignored it for now. Instead, refocusing himself, he nudged the horse's belly with his heels.

Hanzo practically jumped from halt to trot. Like before, his enthusiasm was undeniable. Again, McCree couldn't help but smile. Eagerly, the horse picked up his feet, his pace increasing steadily. In fact, with no cues from the cowboy, Hanzo soon broke unprompted into a lope.

McCree was taken aback but for a second. Instead of slowing the horse, he only smiled all the wider. Hanzo was not his to control, when all was said and done, and besides, who knew when he had last run free like this? Judging by his past mistreatment, it was far too likely he had not for several long months.

Who was he to stop him?

He took a deep breath. Before he could give it a second thought, McCree dropped the rein from his right hand, and instead placed it into the mustang's thick mane. Hanzo cantered on, heedless, though the American swore he could feel him tense slightly. McCree adjusted his seat, sitting deeper into the hollow of Hanzo's back. There was no time to be afraid. He squeezed his legs against the horse's side, silently praying for the best.

Nevertheless, as Hanzo loosened up beneath him, gratefully lengthening his stride, McCree felt his anxiety swiftly lifted off his shoulders.

In fact, as Hanzo plowed forward, the grass beneath but a green blur, McCree almost felt like cheering, like whooping in sheer joy. It took all he had in him to restrain himself. Instead, he opted for a wide smile. He closed his eyes, giving himself completely to the wind rushing through his hair and rippling through his clothes.

If there was a heaven, it would have to feel like this.

He only opened his eyes once Hanzo had slowed.

The plain was only so expansive, and sure enough, Hanzo had galloped the full way to the opposite end. McCree leaned forward as he ran up the small hill marking the boundary. He only continued to smile at his enthusiasm. As Hanzo lifted his forelegs off of the ground, standing proudly in a rear, McCree simply leaned forward.

Hanzo needed this.

Leaning almost flat against the horse's warm back, McCree simply closed his eyes, and smiled.

It was at times like these, that he realised anew - there really was no other place he'd rather be.

.........................................................

"That was... fun, at least."

Hanzo cast his gaze away from McCree, his hand curling protectively around the red serape draped over his body. McCree heard him sigh. For the briefest moment, a silence hung in the air between them. McCree swallowed slightly, feeling an all-too-familiar heat creep into his cheeks. Oh no, not now. Hesitantly, the other man turned once more to face him, their eyes locking. Involuntarily, McCree's heart jumped.

He cleared his throat. Despite his best efforts, he found his eyes wandering from Hanzo's face to his inky black hair. In the pale moonlight, it appeared almost a deep midnight blue. Now just shy of neck-length, and considerably thicker than before, it was harder than ever not to imagine his own hands running through it.

It was only when Hanzo raised an eyebrow, his mouth downturned in a frown, that McCree realised. He had been staring. Of course. He felt his face flush. Suddenly, he was thankful for the surrounding darkness.

"Well, uh... thanks, I guess?" McCree smiled nervously. Anxiously, he dragged a hand through his hair. Hanzo's face remained unreadable, though a faint smile eventually appeared on his lips.

"Hmm." The man looked down, then back to McCree. "...No. I should be thanking you."

Hanzo's brown eyes met the cowboy's once more. If they had seemed serious before, now they were practically smiling.

"Thank you, Jesse."

McCree looked away. Now he really was blushing, damn it.

"Aw, shucks." He chuckled nervously. "Was jus' tryin' to make ya feel better, 's all."

"No," Hanzo replied, quietly. He took a few steps towards McCree. The cowboy's heart raced faster. "Thank you, for everything."

There was a pause. Hanzo closed his eyes, releasing a small sigh, before once more looking to McCree.

"You've been... good to me. I had forgotten how that could feel."

McCree saw his grip on the serape tighten. Anxiously, he pulled at the fabric, adjusting its folds.

"When you took me out, it suddenly became clear. You do not intend to use me, how so many others would. And just for that... I am grateful."

McCree remained silent. In this instant, no words would suffice. Hesitantly, he reached out both hands, slowly laying them to rest upon Hanzo's shoulders. The man did not flinch.

"Hanzo," he began, in a low voice. "I'd never dream of doin' a poor horse wrong." He dropped his voice further. "'Specially not one like you."

Hanzo was silent. For a moment, the only thing audible to McCree was his own furious heartbeat, roaring in his ears like the tide. The other man's gaze remained fixed intently on his own, unceasing. Outside, an owl's lone call pierced the night.

"You're safe here, Hanzo. I promise."

"...That is good to know." Giving the most gentle shrug, displacing McCree's hands, Hanzo looked away once more. Again, his hands tightened anxiously around the fabric he gripped in his hands. If he wasn't mistaken, McCree thought he saw the slightest beginnings of tears shine in Hanzo's eyes. He blinked slowly, then closed his eyes. McCree glanced down at the man's meagre covering, then to his wardrobe, then back to Hanzo.

It wasn't cold anymore, granted. Even so, it couldn't be much fun having nothing but a tatty, old serape to throw around your bare shoulders after a long, and presumably painful, transformation...

An idea sprung to his mind.

"You don't have to go around wearin' that old thing all the time, y'know." McCree gestured to the worn red serape around Hanzo's body. "I've got spare clothes if ya ever, uh, need them. Jus' come to me and get 'em, I don't mind."

Hanzo looked back to him, a thoughtful look upon his features. A smile grew on his face. Slowly, he nodded.

"Thank you," he quietly replied.

"No problem." The cowboy ambled over to the large wardrobe, carefully easing open its doors. Thankfully, the moonlight filtering through the window was, again, sufficient as a light source. With its help, he picked out a simple black button-down shirt - barely worn - and a simple pair of denim jeans. Probably a size or two too big for his companion, he knew - but they were better than nothing. He stepped back, moving to his chest of drawers, from which he withdrew a simple leather belt. Laying everything on the bed, he paused for thought. Unfortunately, procuring a clean set of underwear seemed out of the question for now - the very thought of sharing his own enough to disgust him, and most likely Hanzo, too. He shrugged, mentally resolving to buy some tomorrow.

"Hope you're okay dressin' like a cowboy," he said to the man. He walked back to the open wardrobe, fishing out a spare pair of worn-looking boots. "'Cause it's all I got for now. Sorry to say I can't quite get you everythin' ya need right now, though - unless ya don't mind sharing underwear."

McCree saw Hanzo grimace.

"I'd rather not." Somewhat hesitantly, he joined McCree beside the bed. He stirred a hand through the pile of clothing, before picking up each garment individually and scrutinising it under the moonlight. "These will be... adequate, for now. Thank you, Jesse."

"No problem." McCree looked on as Hanzo placed the last of the clothes down, satisfied. "I'll go get a bag for these, an' you can bring 'em back to the field. Jus' make sure you stash 'em some place secure though. I don't want them gettin' lost, or anyone else stumblin' upon them."

The man nodded. "I understand."

McCree simply gave him a nod. Swiftly, he turned and made for the kitchen.

A few moments later, he returned to the bedroom, black bin sack in hand. Without another word, feeling Hanzo's eyes upon him, he opened it up and tossed in the bundle of clothes. Securing it with a knot, he lifted it. It was heavy, yes - but hopefully, it would carry the weight. He handed it to Hanzo.

"Here ya go. All yours."

Ensuring that the serape would hold in place, Hanzo pulled the garment together in one hand. Stretching out his other hand, he took the bag from McCree.

"Thank you."

Without another word, he moved to the window. He looked to the open gap, remaining still for a few more moments, as if he were pondering deeply. Almost dramatically, the light breeze ruffled his hair and rippled through the serape around his shoulders. There was silence. Save for the cowboy's heartbeat, growing increasingly louder in his ears, the night was deathly still, as if it were waiting for Hanzo's further action.

He wasted no time in deciding. As McCree looked on, he effortlessly lifted the sack of clothes in his left hand and pushed it through the window. It landed with a soft thud beneath the window sill.

He heard Hanzo sigh.

"Good night, Jesse. Sleep well."

McCree smiled. "Night, Hanzo. See ya in the morning."

The man gave a nod, before turning once more to the window. Effortlessly, he pulled himself up onto the frame with one hand and swung through the gap, dropping to his feet without the serape so much as unfolding. McCree shook his head, letting out the softest whistle. He would never quite get over that. He stood, watching silently, as Hanzo disappeared into the night, clothes sack slung over his shoulder.

At least, McCree though, the next time Hanzo showed up, he would look a little more presentable. More than presentable, even. McCree smirked to himself, an image of Hanzo in his black button-down shirt involuntarily entering his mind.

If he was being completely honest, he couldn't wait to see it.