Chapter Text
The payload groaned as it rolled out from the checkpoint, six attackers moving with it through a street already scarred black by blast marks and old firefights.
D.Va’s mech took point near the front corner of the cart, armor flashing as she absorbed incoming fire. Ana held a careful angle from the backline, rifle steady and unhurried, while Moira drifted in and out of cover like a dark silhouette, biotic energy flickering in her hands. Cassidy paced the right flank with the casual confidence of someone who’d been in too many fights to rush any of them.
And at the center of it all, half on the payload and half daring the enemy to do something about it, stood Hazard.
He was impossible to miss.
Two meters of muscle, metal, and swagger, broad enough that the payload looked almost small behind him. His cropped jacket and exposed cybernetics caught the light in sharp flashes of violet and blue, and every movement he made had that same dangerous ease—like violence came as naturally to him as breathing.
Ahead, Reinhardt planted himself in the street like a wall in armor, shield raised. Zarya hovered close at his side, particle cannon glowing hot. High on a balcony, Widowmaker’s scope flashed once in the sunlight.
Hazard grinned like he’d just been handed a gift.
“Och, now this is a welcome,” he said, rolling one shoulder. “A giant, a bodybuilder, and a creepy lassie on watch. Ye really shouldn’t have.”
A blue-white shot cracked past him, clean and precise, forcing Widowmaker to pull back from the ledge.
Hazard glanced sideways.
There he was.
Emre moved into place beside the payload with quiet efficiency, rifle braced against his shoulder, stance balanced and exact. He was shorter than Hazard, but not by much—still tall, leaner through the waist and legs, all controlled strength and deliberate lines. His armor hugged close to his frame, sleek and engineered, and in the middle of all this noise and fire he somehow looked composed.
Too composed, really.
Hazard’s smile sharpened. “Well, well,” he said. “So the stories were true.”
Emre kept his eyes on the balcony as he adjusted his aim. “That depends which stories you heard.”
“That ye’re real, for one.” Hazard hopped down from the payload with a heavy metallic thud. “That ye’re dangerous, for two.”
Emre fired again. Widowmaker vanished from sight. “And for three?” he asked.
Hazard gave him a blatant once-over, from the clean cut of his armor down to the long line of his legs and back up again. “That ye clean up nicely for a man with that much trouble following him.”
That got Emre’s attention.
He turned his head just enough to look at Hazard properly for the first time.
Cool eyes. Controlled expression. The faintest hint of amusement already threatening the corners of his mouth.
“You always do this?” Emre asked.
“Do what?”
“Meet someone for the first time and talk like you’re already trying to get under their skin.”
Hazard barked out a laugh. “Only when I like what I see.”
Before Emre could answer, Reinhardt charged.
The warning came from Cassidy first. “Big fella movin’!”
Hazard didn’t move back.
Of course he didn’t.
Instead, he launched forward to meet the charge head-on, boots grinding sparks from the pavement as he slammed into Reinhardt with a crash that rattled the payload rails. The impact was vicious, loud enough that even D.Va’s mech swiveled toward it. Zarya instantly threw a projected barrier over Reinhardt, pink energy flaring around him.
“Aye, there it is,” Hazard growled. “Knew ye’d need help.”
“Hazard, left!” Ana called.
Widowmaker had reappeared. Emre was faster. He stepped in close, not rushed, not panicked, and angled a shot upward that clipped the sniper’s position hard enough to force her off the sightline again. Then he pivoted smoothly and fired into Zarya’s barrier the second it faded, punishing the timing with ruthless precision.
Hazard glanced over his shoulder at him, breathing hard and grinning. “Careful,” he called. “Keep covering me like that and I’ll start thinking ye care.”
“I care about the objective,” Emre replied.
“Och, that’s nearly the same thing.”
Moira’s voice cut in, dry as ever. “Would the two of you like a room, or shall we continue pushing?”
Cassidy snorted from the flank. “Don’t encourage him, Doc.”
“Too late,” Hazard said brightly.
The payload rolled another few meters.
Wuyang appeared near the foundry gate, throwing water projectiles into the lane to slow the push, while Mercy swept down behind Reinhardt in a stream of gold, staff beam locking onto him the moment his shield dipped.
Hazard saw the beam and clicked his tongue. “Now that’s just rude.”
“Mercy first,” Emre said.
“Bossy.” Hazard flashed him a grin. “I like that.”
He hit the frontline again in a blur of mass and momentum, not graceful exactly, but terrifyingly fast for someone built like a wrecking ram. He crashed into Reinhardt’s space, forcing the armored giant to turn, and that single moment of pressure was all Emre needed. Emre slid left, found the angle, and put a burst toward Mercy that forced her to break line and disengage.
Cassidy followed with a clean shot from the right. D.Va surged forward, boosters flaring, and the whole enemy formation staggered.
The payload lurched ahead.
For one bright, perfect stretch of seconds, everything clicked.
Hazard created chaos.
Emre made it useful.
Hazard broke lines, drew attention, made people panic. Emre turned every mistake into damage, every opening into pressure, every exposed flank into a lost duel. Beside them, Ana anchored the backline with calm authority while Moira threaded through the fight, alternating irritation and life-saving in what seemed to be equal measure.
They were still in the middle of the brawl when Hazard found himself circling back toward the payload, and there was Emre again—one hand braced against the cart as it rolled, shoulders squared, rifle steady, frame twisting just enough to track a target near the side alley.
Hazard looked.
Then looked again.
And because he had never once in his life respected the idea of keeping a thought to himself, he let out a low whistle.
Emre didn’t turn. “What?”
Hazard stepped up beside him, still grinning. “Just admiring the view.”
“The battlefield?” Emre asked, tone perfectly neutral.
Hazard’s gaze dipped in an entirely deliberate line before returning to Emre’s face. “Among other things.”
That earned him a sidelong glance.
Quick. Dry. Far too knowing.
“In the middle of a payload push?” Emre said.
“In the middle of a payload push,” Hazard said cheerfully. Then, lowering his voice just enough to make it intimate: “And for the record, handsome, that is a very fine arse ye’ve brought to the mission.”
Emre actually faltered for half a second. Just enough to miss a shot on Wuyang. He exhaled through his nose, somewhere between resignation and amusement. “You are unbelievable.”
“Aye,” Hazard said. “But I’m not wrong.”
Moira drifted past them, not even trying to hide her disdain. “I regret having ears.”
“Funny,” Hazard called after her, “I was just thinking the same about your attitude.”
The enemy regrouped at the final bend.
Reinhardt took the center lane again, hammer ready. Zarya moved with him shoulder-to-shoulder, bubbles primed. Mercy hovered just behind cover, waiting to commit, while Widowmaker searched for another angle from the upper catwalk.
Overtime alarms began to pulse.
Red light washed over the cart.
D.Va raised her mech between the payload and incoming fire. Ana called targets from the backline, Cassidy rotated left to pressure Mercy’s escape route, and Emre stepped up on Hazard’s right, calm as if this were the opening minute instead of the last desperate fight.
Hazard rolled his neck, cybernetics humming.
“Well then,” he said softly, eyes bright. “Let’s finish this.”
“Try not to throw yourself in alone,” Emre said.
Hazard looked at him, delighted. “Worried about me?”
“I’m worried about the push.”
“That’s close enough for a first date.”
This time, Emre did laugh—brief and quiet, but real.
Then he nodded toward the choke. “Reinhardt’s yours. I’ll pressure Mercy and Widowmaker.”
“Och, listen to ye.” Hazard stepped in closer for just a second, broad and warm and dangerous, a grin pulling at his mouth. “Keep talking like that and I’ll start taking orders.”
Emre met his gaze without blinking. “Focus.”
“Aye, sir.”
Then they moved.
Hazard hit Reinhardt like a demolition charge, driving him backward with sheer brutal force. Zarya tried to peel, but D.Va crashed into her at the same moment, boosters howling. Cassidy found Mercy as she broke cover, forcing her off-angle, and Ana landed a shot that made the whole enemy line hesitate.
Emre took that hesitation and carved it open. A burst toward Widowmaker’s perch. A pivot. Another shot into Mercy’s retreat path. A smooth reposition onto the payload’s edge, composed even with the cart jolting under his boots.
Hazard saw him there—tall, balanced, backlit by muzzle flash and warning lights, impossibly calm in the middle of the collapse he was helping create—and felt something hot and immediate curl low in his chest.
Not just interest.
Not just attraction.
Recognition.
The kind that arrived fast and landed hard.
Victory came in a rush after that.
Reinhardt fell back. Zarya overextended and got punished for it. Mercy lost line of sight at the worst possible second, and Widowmaker never found another clean shot. The payload slammed into its endpoint with a heavy metallic boom that echoed through the street.
The match ended in a wash of gold light and relieved noise.
For a second, everything stilled.
Then Hazard hopped up onto the payload rail, towering over most of the team even at rest, chest rising and falling, eyes fixed on Emre with open satisfaction.
“Well,” he said, voice warm with mischief, “I’d heard things.”
Emre lowered his weapon and looked up at him. “Good things, I hope.”
“A dangerous man. Polite manners. Face like trouble.” Hazard tilted his head. “No one mentioned the rest.”
“The rest?”
Hazard smiled slowly. “That fighting beside ye would be this much fun.”
Emre held his gaze, unreadable for a beat. Then, very gently, “You flirt like you’re trying to start another round.”
Hazard leaned one elbow on the payload, huge and easy and entirely too pleased with himself. “Who says I’m talking about the round?”
That finally drew a proper smile from Emre. Small. Real. Worth the effort.
Hazard’s expression softened for half a heartbeat before his grin returned in full. “Aye,” he said quietly. “There ye are.” Then he jerked his chin toward the route ahead and flashed Emre one last wicked look. “Next match, handsome?”
Emre stepped past him, calm as ever, though the answer came without hesitation. “Try to keep up.”
Hazard laughed and dropped down beside him. “Och,” he said, falling into step at Emre’s shoulder, “that was definitely flirting.”