Cole Cassidy (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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aperture_high2016-07-13 03:22 am
good_bamf_ugly) wrote in aperture_high2016-07-13 03:22 am
jesse mccree meets his new dads
[Most solitary confinements, McCree imagined, would be dark isolating places. A place you were supposed to hang your head in shame, sit in a corner and think about all the bad and terrible things you've ever done. (He's done a lot, to be fair). Not Overwatch's confinement. The miniature prison was likely built by Torbjörn himself, with cell walls blue and see-through, like four of Reinhardt's shields were boxed together. They were vaguely glowing, as if the light of them was for the express purpose of ensuring he was to be maintained like an animal on display. None of the other gang members were here. Most of them didn't have the misfortune of being captured. He decided the only thing he could do was keep his head held high and wait for the consequences when he was otherwise at the lowest he's ever been.
Deadlock had been hit pretty badly by this, though he didn't think they were dead done. Not yet.
Not a damn thing he could do about it either way. Maybe it was for the best.
His hat darkly obscures much of his face. He smells like sweat, iron and regret. He's got his hands cuffed at his front and been given one piddly chair to sit in the center of his cell, which he occupies by splaying his legs wide out and taking up as much space as he can. The spurs of his boots rest his feet at a comfortable angle for it, and he didn't have to push much to slightly tip legs of his chair. It makes a satisfying clack when he bends his knees forward, loud and echoing down here. Didn't even know exactly where he was--just that he was starting to lose his patience in waiting. If they were going to kill him they would have done it already, he's sure. Clack. He's heard whispers, something about an interview. Maybe a deal, if he had to guess. Clack. Clack. He's not sure how to feel about his prospects at all. He sort of just wishes there was something more lively to look at than these walls.]
Deadlock had been hit pretty badly by this, though he didn't think they were dead done. Not yet.
Not a damn thing he could do about it either way. Maybe it was for the best.
His hat darkly obscures much of his face. He smells like sweat, iron and regret. He's got his hands cuffed at his front and been given one piddly chair to sit in the center of his cell, which he occupies by splaying his legs wide out and taking up as much space as he can. The spurs of his boots rest his feet at a comfortable angle for it, and he didn't have to push much to slightly tip legs of his chair. It makes a satisfying clack when he bends his knees forward, loud and echoing down here. Didn't even know exactly where he was--just that he was starting to lose his patience in waiting. If they were going to kill him they would have done it already, he's sure. Clack. He's heard whispers, something about an interview. Maybe a deal, if he had to guess. Clack. Clack. He's not sure how to feel about his prospects at all. He sort of just wishes there was something more lively to look at than these walls.]
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The bit where Jesse asks the question goes purposely unanswered. They're the ones asking the questions here, not you, kid. ]
You'll only wish you were just going out there and saving the world. You'll be cleaning up your own damn mess, alongside all the previous misfits that finally found some damn pride in themselves trying to keep order in this world. You'll fit in just fine, kid.
[ He unfurls his arms, trying to keep himself from blowing up at him. At least he looks rather put together on the outside if a bit shouty, but it doesn't take a genius to realize that Reyes is a bit of a hard-ass. ]
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He would rather that didn't happen.
So he's quick to step in again, this time sort of physically inserting himself between the two men, even though there's already a hard light jail cell to do that for them. Reyes might not want to dignify McCree with an answer to the question, but Jack will. He speaks calmly, deliberately. Maybe he sounds a little like a disappointed parent.]
That's not how we started out.
[Obviously. Everyone knows their story, sort of. Maybe not the more classified details of being government experiments. McCree is just trying to get under their skin.]
And this is not something we usually offer. [He'll just dispel the notion that they take in criminals on the regular right then and there. McCree is, apparently, worth the risk.] Trust me when I say the authorities would like nothing more than to see you in maximum security prison for the rest of your life.
[We're on your side, is what he's trying to say. Even though he's a criminal. Jack is willing to put in the time, effort, and resources to rehabilitate this kid. Give him another option. Let him make something of himself.]
Which is fine by us, if that's what you want. This is your choice.
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A whole lotta' nothin'.
At least he can still do something with himself, even if he suspects he's going to hate a lot of it. Jesse McCree's never been afraid of venturing into the unknown. He gives Gabe and Jack some long hard stares again. His lips pull into a frown. For a brief second he thinks about what it'd really mean to clean up after his own messes. What if he could actually do some good in the world... like a real hero? It's stupid, and he dashes whatever optimistic hope he might have tried to give himself in light of the reality of this situation.
He's got a lot of questions, most of which amount to why me but he already knows the answer. It's pointless to ask. Just as much to keep arguing. McCree half-rolls his eyes and shakes his head.]
Sure. Fine. [He raises his wrists again, metal clinking lightly together in a much more humbled offering of himself instead of in declaration to the otherwise emptiness of these cells.] Which one of you gents gets stuck babysittin' me first, huh?
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It's true, they didn't start off that way, but he knows what it was like to be a rebellious little shit and what little good that did for himself in the end. He folds his arms slowly back over his chest again, waiting silently for Jack to finish. A couple of nods thinking 'Yeah, this is a special case'. Gabe still isn't 100% sure why he'd decided to give this kid a chance, and if he had been before, he sure as hell is letting some doubts seep in now. But he's made his bed and now he's gotta lie in it, because now here comes the part where he has to assume responsibility.
He brought him here. It's only logical that he has to break Jesse in first. ]
Who do you think?
[ This could be fun, though. He's used to training young, uppity new recruits, and breaking their backs until they both hate, fear, and respect him all at once. They're from all walks of life, some probably even more troubling than Jesse (he doesn't know- he doesn't ask, that's much too personal), so this should be no different. ]
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You'll report to Commander Reyes.
[He folds his arms behind his back all officially. This is probably their last hurdle to surmount. Jesse is still stinging from going toe-to-toe with Gabriel, and he hopes that his good sense wins out over any pride. He'd considered taking on McCree himself, if only to avoid the fireworks that are definitely going to come from sticking these two personalities together, but he knows full well that the kid's talents will be more useful to Blackwatch.
It's a publicity thing, too. Jack is not at all sure how to present McCree to the public. There's going to need to be some rehabilitation, first.]
Understood?
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Sure thing, boss.
[Whether that was meant for Gabe or Jack is indeterminate. McCree's tone isn't sarcastic but too casual for it to have any serious respect behind it. So long as he's someone's dog he might start calling everyone--even the janitors--boss if it undermines his new esteemed Commanders. The least he could to is bring these assholes to his level if they were strong-arming him into this business anyway.]
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Let's see if the gunslinger that gave him such a hard time is what he's cracked up to be.
He doesn't appreciate the all-too-casual tone and the way he looks at him like he thinks he can outwit him, but Reyes can play this game. It's nothing new to him. Just gotta keep a cool head (or at least the best he can).
Turning to Jack, he makes sure his voice carries. ]
Let's see if Billy the Kid here can keep up with the rest. One thing we don't tolerate is slackers.
[ He'll throw him straight into the slammer if McCree decides to make light of his situation here. ]
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Any funny business, and the deal's off.
[This is a risk. A big one. Jack might be playing Good Cop now, but he's not going to hesitate if Jesse tries to cross them. But he thinks Reyes can make that abundantly clear. He casually punches in a few codes on the glowing blue console, and the hard light walls shut down with a ka-thunk.]
Let's go, Jesse.
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[ As Jesse languidly walks past, Reyes has half a mind to deliver a swift kick to his backside to get him moving. He refrains only because Jesse’s not a prisoner or anything like that, just an unwilling recruit. Reyes remembers when he first joined the military– he was so young, only 16 years old after dropping out of school. With so little options in his life at that point, the life of a soldier seemed like the only path for him (not to mention his family probably felt the same way).
He remembers how he felt when he arrived on base, how overwhelmed he felt, but it ended up being the place he felt most at home. It suited his aggressive and task-oriented style. He can’t see the same sort of dedication from this kid, even if he had more talent in his pinky finger than some of the adult privates back on base and even some of the people on in his own unit. The kid has a lot of potential, and while he can see him being a huge thorn in his side, he sees him as a great asset as well.
Walking alongside them, his long strides bring him side by side with Morrison quickly as Jesse walks behind them. Not wanting the kid to overhear their conversation, he keeps his tone low. ]
He’ll be a different person the next time you see him, I’ll make sure of it.