By Request - SmutWithPlot - Overwatch (Video Game) [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

Chapter 1: Night Guard

Chapter Text

"This one's for all you late nighters, workin' the graveyards for those of us still up at this godforsaken hour. Huntin' down bad guys and keepin' the streets safe. Cheers."

It isn't a new line, nor one that is rare, and yet Hanzo has a little 'heh' to himself as he cheers his own cup of coffee to the air. He is perched on a rooftop, obscured from most in dark clothes and his own Shimada-trained quiet. The voice in his ear gives way to a warm and rich guitar and another man's voice.

"Forty-four's no age to start again... But the bulls were gettin' tough and he was never free of pain..."

This particular DJ has a taste for acoustics, not consistently country enough to be considered country, but enough to get a hint of it. Hanzo wonders if the old fool wears cowboy hats and boots and spurs when he isn't staying up all night playing oldies and crooners. This one was a song he'd never heard before.

"Where others blew their money getting tanked, most of his got banked to save up for the farm..."

Hanzo was not exactly a... police officer, exactly. In any city, especially as big a one as Los Angeles, there was always that taint of corruption that was a given, and he didn't want to have his hands tied that way. He'd grown up outside of the law... But this time he was on the other side of it. This time, he was not doing business with the scum of underworld, collecting their dirty money and answering to fat-fingered elders who reeked of cigars and incense and blood on someone else's hands. Usually his. The bloodlust he'd never managed to get rid of, but the distaste of hierarchy had become problematic.

Now, he hunted alone. Taking his vengeance out on the same kinds of people who used to make his very cushy livelihood. How he despised them.

"...And here will be the end to this tonight. Cos all the proof he needs is lying steady in his sights..."

As he moves to watch his target through his binoculars, the words of the singer catch him by surprise and he stops, listening.

"It may be just the worst thing he could do, but he squeezes off a few and makes his call to town. He was star of all the rodeos, and now they rob him blind. It took 18 years of riding bulls and life on the line. To get this spread and a decent herd, and now he's doing time pulling night guard..."

He frowns, chewing on the words, listening to the electric guitar flourish to an end, a live audience applauding the tune, and Hanzo watches his targets below as the song transitions into another guitar -- always acoustic with this fellow -- something a little more cheery, and it's soothing.

"I lit up from Reno, I was trailed by twenty hounds. Didn't get out to sleep that night 'til the mornin' came around. Set out runnin', better take my time. A friend of the devil is a friend of mine. If I get home before daylight I just might get some sleep tonight..."

He looks back into his binoculars, making note of the dealer making a sale, and snaps a picture, evidence for his capture. When possible, he can snatch these bastards up with picture evidence and send them to the cops, lock them away for a while. It's tedious, but it amuses him to watch them get all twitchy and nervous and move not realizing where the surveillance photos are coming from. It's more sporting if he has to make chase, honestly. He had been picking away at the little fish at first, just because he was bored and had a need to break something that screamed. Now they were trying to figure out who was doing this and sending out bruisers to do the sales, and it would likely progress until he locked the whole lot of them or they started shooting out for no god damn reason. It was a game of finesse until then...

...And the guitar and crooning honestly helped him stay awake and at ease, instead of tied up in anxiety and worry about missing his marks.

"...Second one is prison, baby, the sheriff's on my tail. If he catches up with me, I'll spend my life in jail."

An interesting mix tonight. Not quite cops... More vigilantes. It struck him as curious. As the chorus petered out, he listened, wondering what the next song would be. The twitchy stooge selling crack on the corner was hardly going anywhere.

Grungy guitar this time. "...Girl. I want. To be with you all of the time. The only time I feel alright is by your side... Girl, I want to be with you all of the time. All day. And all of the night. All day. And all of the night..."

He smirked. It was almost as if the DJ had just been wanting to catch his attention... A silly thing to consider, and yet it seemed that way.

As the guitar riff faded out, that rich voice of the host came through again. "This is for you night riders -- Some Stan Rogers, Live In Halifax. Whole damn album is lovely if you ever get a chance to listen to it. I'll have to put on "Barrett's Privateers" sometime when we're in a pirate mood. Some Jerry Garcia and the Grateful Dead of course, "Friend of the Devil." That would be me, I suppose. But am I the friend or the devil? Heh. And some Kinks, keepin' it rock & roll in here. I'm gonna put on a word from our sponsors, and in the meantime, our lines are open, if any of you are out there in need of some company. You're listenin' to Midnight McCree on KLPX."

Commercials begin, and as Hanzo watches the drug dealer move deeper into the alley to sit and smoke his own stash (idiot... He snaps a picture) he can't help but feel something tugging at him. Call it a wild hair... A siren song.

He reached for his phone, and looked up the number for the station.

xxx

A sigh as McCree listened to the playback of the commercial spots, the morning show that would be on in a few hours, arrive here in a couple. A local festival. Car commercial. Something about geriatrics. The nice thing about having no one here was they couldn't fuss if he vaped. It wasn't the same as the click of a lighter and the hot burn of a cigarette or the lingering decadence of a cigar, but it was better than the nicotine patches that didn't f*cking work. He looked over his queue -- Jimmy Buffett. The Doors. Troggs... He made a last minute decision and traded the Troggs behind Jimmy. Two Jimmys next to each other was bad form. Hell, delete it...

Another drag of his e-cigarette as he moved up the Duran Duran, looking absently to his phone line and--

He had to do a double take. There was a caller on the line.

"The fresh f*ck?" he muttered to himself, taking the vape from his lips and setting it aside, answering the phone. "KLPX, you're talking to Midnight McCree."

"Yes. I was wondering if I might make a request of you."

"Of course, darlin'," he answered. Even though it was a male voice, he was still a bit stunned that someone would actually call in at -- just past midnight. "What can I do ya for?"

"How about some Beatles? Late 60s, when they were getting good. Not that weirdness Lennon did in the 70s."

He blinked. "Uhh..." He did a quick search... Revolver, Rubber Soul. His eyebrows shot up. "Absolutely. Did you have a track in mind specifically?"

"Surprise me."

A crooked grin. "Alright... What's your name, darlin'? I can give you a shout out." He watched as the spots ended, more guitar, and the gentle drum of island music.

"Drink it up... This one's for you..."

"No name. Just want to see what you'll pick."

...Interesting.

"...I'm sorry it's ending. It's sad, but it's true. It's been a lovely cruise..."

"I will do my best to satisfy," he answered, smiling. "Thanks for callin'."

His eyes slide over the list, moving over to Rubber Soul, debating.

"Hnn. I enjoy the music. Thank you for keeping me company."

...No, he did notblush. That would be stupid. Same for the big grin on his face. "Well, it's what I'm here for, honey." He had a lovely voice. Wow, how lonely are you, Jesse? "I'll get you somethin' good, alright?"

"I would be most appreciative."

"I'll add you to the mix. You take care out there, alright?" he added, assuming the caller was a cop or something, probably tired and listening on his beat.

"I will. Thank you, radio man."

He chuckled. "I do what I can. You keep doin' what you do, alright?"

There's an awkward goodbye (when was the last time he got a caller?!) and he listens to Jimmy's music continue on in the back as he sweeps over the list... "Norwegian Wood"? Hmm. "Eleanor Rigby" was a classic, but that felt too easy.

The guitar starts up with a long note, and then the riff. "Wild thang... You make my heart sing... You make everything groovy..."

As he tooled over the options and finally came to a decision, the next song was already playing, a synthesizer bringing them back to the 80s, a low bass groove before the echoing vocals of Simon Le Bon.

"You saw me standing by the wall, corner of a main street. And the lights are flashing on your window sill..."

A mellow, lonely song, but one he had put up to compliment the nostalgia for Jimmy's cruise and "Wild Thing".

"Don't say a prayer for me now, save it 'til the morning after. No, don't say a prayer for me now. Save it 'til the morning after..."

Something for the lovers out there. Wish he was one of them. He queued up the track, juggling the ones behind it a bit, to give them a flow that made a kind of sense with the way the conversation was going. He tried to keep a narrative of a sort with his song choice.

"Don't ask me why. I'll keep my promise, melt the ice..."

The line made him smirk. Do my best to satisfy.

He set up a live feed, arranging the track on hand, hand on the dial as he listened to the harmonic voices and repeated bassline... Damn, he loved Duran Duran. Great band. Great sound. They just didn't make music like that anymore. And the Beatles, too. As the last echoes began, he grabbed his vape for another long drag, feeling a little ridiculous that he had butterfliesover this, but it was so rare that he got feedback from his audience... He felt often like he was broadcasting to a void. But at least he would enjoy it, if no one else. Didn't stop him from trying.

He faded it out and leaned into the mic. "Howdy, folks. Glad to know you're still listenin'. Hope you're safe, wherever you are. Or if you aren't, I hope you're havin' fun." A chuckle. "Have a little fun on my behalf, will ya? This next track is an oldie but goodie, but when aren't they on this show? This next one is actually a request! If you like Duran Duran's vocal harmonies and delicious bass grooves, you'd be remiss if you didn't listen to the classics, the brave pioneers of pop and rock before them. That's right, I'm talkin' the Fab Four, Beatles themselves. Lot of folks love the late 70's psychedelia, Sgt. Pepper and all that, but I always had a soft spot for the 60's stuff, myself. Rubber Soul in specific is my very favorite album. Nothin' but good stuff all over it. And here's one for you, darlin'. Hope it scratches the itch."

He flips on the track, and there's a moment of nothing but voice at first.

"Is there anybody going to listen to my story? All about the girl who came to stay..."

Behind it, guitar and old, simple percussion, and then that sweet, wonderful and warm harmony of the four of them, and that signature hiss of sucking teeth. Satisfied with his pick, he takes a sip of his own coffee, a smile on his lips, and then a drag of his vape, wondering how he did...

Was the first time in a long time someone had given him a decent challenge. Damn good song and album, too.

"Well, she was told when she was young that pain would lead to pleasure. Did she understand it when they said that a man must break his back to earn his day of leisure? Will she still believe it when he's dead?"

"Don't work too hard out there," he muttered to his coffee mug, working the transition in with the fade out.

Stronger guitar work, something in the same era. Another classic, everyone knows this one.

"There is a house in New Orleans they call the Rising Sun..."

...And he added the Doors back to his list. Can't go wrong with Jimmy.

xxx

Tracklist:
Stan Rogers - Night Guard (1982)
The Grateful Dead - Friend of the Devil (1970)
The Kinks - All Day And All of the Night (1965)
Jimmy Buffett - It's Been A Lovely Cruise (1977)
The Troggs - Wild Thing (1966)
Duran Duran - Save A Prayer (1982)
The Beatles - Girl (1965)
The Animals - The House of the Rising Sun (1964)
The Doors - Love Her Madly (1971)

Chapter 2: Surfin' USA

Chapter Text

"Sooooo... What's her name?"

McCree looked up from where he was going through his diagnostics, a co*cked brow at the admittedly cute, but also verymischievous intern. "What's whose name?"

"Your new girlfriend," Hana answered, leaning over the boards, careful not to put weight on anything expensive. "I was listening last night! You put up a request to a 'darlin', and I wanna know who she is."

"Oh..." He chuckled. "No no, I don't have a girlfriend, but it's sweet that you think I have any time to go out and have a social life doing thisfive nights a week..." He wasn't bitter. Maybe a tiny bit. But this was only a phase of life. It wouldn't last forever. He was determined to enjoy it while it lasts. "No, that was a caller."

Her jaw dropped. "You called a caller 'darling' on air?" She scoffed. "Be lucky she wasn't one of those feminist types, she'd string you up good."

"I'll have you know it was a male caller, actually," he purred, amused by her assumption, finishing up his checks and setting up the queue. He had a list of things to start off with tonight, and he started lining them up."

"You called a malecaller 'darling' on air?" she echoed again, a hushed awe in her voice.

A raised eyebrow. "Yeah. I did. Why? Did he call back and complain?"

She pouted. "...No."

"Well, then let's worry about it when it happens. I'm an old dog, and I got old ways. Some people like it, some people don't. But I been this way my whole life and generally people thank me for the sweet talk more than be offended. Anyone who gets offended by me being nice has a serious problem, and we'll cross that bridge when we come to it." As if this wasn't something he'd heard a million times before. Some people just didn't appreciate Southern hospitality. Blew his mind.

Hana grumped a little, but conceded his point. She leaned over, trying to sneak a peek at his mix and he slid it out of her view. Her pout deepened. "Just curious is all. Some of the stuff you play is so... Well, depressing."

"It's art, Hana," he answered. "It's born of pain and misery, usually. Especially the good stuff." ...He added a track to the list. Putting a star on it. "They say write what you know. Well, I play what I feel. And most times it's a lot of sad, sappy sh*t from days when I used to be happy." He tucked the list higher against the machine and started typing away. "Be lucky I'm not broadcasting "Coast of Marseilles" three times a week."

She wrinkled her nose. "That's the one where the guy goes on holiday and doesn't get over her, right?"

"Yep."

"I've heard you play that one like seven times."

"Jimmy Buffett is one of my favorites." He hesitated as he realized he was track number four and gave himself a wry smile skipping over it. "Sometimes he has happy music."

"The ones where he's sleeping with someone else's wife or when he's drunk and horny?"

They both looked up as one of the managers stepped into his booth and he chuckled. "Mornin', Amari."

"Morning..." she growled. "It's after dinner time. Where on earth do you eat breakfast?"

"There's a diner on 3rd that does breakfast all day," he answered smoothly, leaning into the kiss she gives his cheek. "Jack in the Box when I'm in a rush."

"That sh*t is so bad for you..." she crooned. "Ibn. I have a request for you."

"For lil' ol' me?" he cooed, looking up at her. "Do tell."

"Angel of the Morning," she said with a pleased hum.

He laughed. "You want me to sing it for ya or put it in the mix?" he teased.

"Either or..."

Hana shook her head. "Jesse, I think she's plotting to keep you here forever."

"Very likely."

"I would do no such thing!" she protested. But her hands are squeezing at his shoulders and he's grinning. "I am a married woman, how dare you."

"Work wife," Jesse added with a wink, a hand reaching up to squeeze at hers. Ana Amari had been an old friend for a long time, and in his younger days, he'd had a crush. Still kind of did. But she was married and had a kid that was practically his little sister now, and now she was also his boss. Kind of made things complicated. But boy howdy was it fun to have someone telling him sweet things like that, even if it would never go anywhere. "What time did you want your serenade, gorgeous?"

"Around 11:45, midnight-ish. I am going out for drinks with Fifi tonight, and I want to hear it on my way home."

He made a note, circling it, and looks up at her. "Will do, boss."

She scowled. "You ruin it," she grumped, pressing a kiss to his hair, and he giggled.

"Just remindin' you so as you don't end up in one of them workplace harassment cases..."

"I won't get charged if you don't report me, ibn. You wound me."

But he just looked up at Hana with that big grin and she rolled her eyes. This was commonplace.

"Fine! Get yourbeautifulself ready for work. Lucio is finishing up his mix, I think he might even be able to leave early, and then the night is yours."

"Did you come down here just to croon at me and ask for a song?" he teased. "Gee, Ana, folks might think I'm yer favorite."

"Don't let them lie to you, ibn," she answered from the door and gave him a wink. "You aremy favorite. Have fun tonight. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah. You got it." He waved, and she blew him a kiss as she rolled out the door. He just shook his head, chuckling under his breath. "That woman is a mess."

"I don't know what she sees in you," Hana admitted.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Well, thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Just keeping your ego in check, cowboy." And then she went to the door frame and made a mockery of Ana's farewell kiss that had him howling.

These girls were a trip.

xxx

"I'm a renegade survivor... A new age warrior... And I'm travelin' the universe searchin' for da future..."

Jesse had his booth ready and waiting, his e-vape already filling the booth with sweet, spicy vapors and it was good... He was grinning, nodded along with the reggae beat looking through the glass at Lucio, who was shaking his head, a laugh on his own lips at his ridiculous co-worker as the music faded out.

"You're crazy, McCree," he called, turning off his own "ON AIR" sign as McCree's switched on.

"Well, howdy, y'all..." he crooned, leaning into the mic. "A fiiiine send-off from my compatriot, he knows I love me some reggae. Gonna have to put some Bob Marley on later in this mix just for that. But I'm feelin' a bit like a party tonight. Hope y'all don't mind." Banjo, vocal noises and a little jug band nonsense...

"In the summertime when the weather is hot, you can stretch right up and touch the sky. When the weather's fine, you got women, you got women on your mind. Have a drink, have a jive, go out and see what you can find..."

Lucio gave him heart hands through the glass and Jesse answered him with a wink and finger gun. He grooved in his own seat, ready for a night of jammin'. He sips his coffee, lip-synching along with the words, fingers playing mock keyboards on the counter as he listens, a special kind of high, a mix of good music, nicotine, sleep deprivation and performance anxiety... But he loves it. Loves every moment of it. Knows his ass is going to hate him for sitting all night all the time, and his body is not too fond of the nocturnal habits, but his soul is in love with this job.

"Sing along with us, dee dee dee-dee dee. Da-da da da da, yeah, we're hap-happy..."

It fades out, and the guitar begins again, some grungy, some acoustic, a descending rhythm, keeping that groove.

"The taxman's taken all my dough and left me in my stately hole, lazin' on a sunny afternoon. And I can't sail my yacht. He'staken everything I've got, all I've got's this sunny afternoon..."

He headbangs with the riff, synching, 'Save me, save me, save me from this squeeeeeeeze...'

"And I love to live so pleasantly. Live this life of luxury! Lazin' on a sunny afternooooooooooon... In the summertime..."

...Well done, Jesse. Keepin' that theme. Beautiful. And then it bleeds right into the Beach Boys because of course it does.

"If everybody had an ocean across the USA, then everybody'd be surfin' like Cali-for-ni-a..."

He croons along, "Surfin' USA..." A sip of coffee, and as the song fades out, the cackle and "WIPEOUT!" before the guitar kicks in, and he grins to himself.

Did he go surfing today? No, no way. What would make you think that? Ridiculous. He only lives in Los Angeles.

As the admittedly short song fades out, he raises up his mic and chuckles into it. "Evenin', folks. How's your summertime goin'? Hopefully, you've been out on the waves, grabbin' a burger by the pier with some friends, putting off the bedtime for work in the morning. Can't say as I blame you. I had to go partake in some Santa Monica sunshine myself this mornin' before all them damn tourists showed up. Love you guys. You keep the economy going. But nothin' quite like surfin' with the dawn, if you know what I mean. It's said that Adam West went surfing every single mornin'. Man was a beast. Can't help but admire that. And that's why he's Batman. That was the Wailing Souls at the end of my friend's mix, and I responded with some Mungo Jerry, "In the Summertime", the Kinks with "Sunny Afternoon" and, of course, some of the Beach Boys, "Surfin' USA." If I don't add in "Wipeout" after, I'm just not doin' my job, am I? Although it feels like a classic, believe it or not, the Surfaris didn't release that one until 1988! Making it the youngest song in my mix so far, with the Beach Boys ranking in as the elders at 1963." He flips a switch, another winding guitar descending, and then tambourines. "But now it's time for some ladies. The beautiful and lovely Nancy Sinatra for you in her breakout hit, separating herself from her father's legacy with a song she was told 'wasn't for girls'. Well. She proved him wrong, didn't she?"

"You keep sayin' you got somethin' for me. Somethin' you call love, but confess..."

He grooved in his chair, an air guitar playing along with her, nodding to the bass groove.

"One of these days these boots are gonna walk all over you..."

xxx

"Imagine me and you. I do. I think about you day and night. It's only right, to think about the girl you love, and hold her tight, so happy together..."

Another night on patrol. He'd already beaten the sh*t out of a would-be mugger, although the person he'd saved seemed far more interested in running away than gratitude. Meant Hanzo could feed his need for screams and break a couple fingers as punishment. Crime doesn't pay. Which makes it almost absurd when he settles himself up on the rooftops again and tucks his headphones into his ears to hear psychedelia. It makes him smile for the ridiculousness of it, especially as the vocals sigh out, and that voice he comes back for calls out to him like a siren.

"So happy together," he echoes, but there's a trace of envy in that beautiful voice. "That's the Turtles, 1967. If you got any business to do today, you best be quick, because that clock is gonna switch over to midnight here soon. Speakin' of which, I got a very special request from one of my favorite people, Ana. My own "Angel of the Morning." This one's for you, honey. Sleep well. I'm watchin' over ya."

Brass and guitar come on as he finishes talking before the vocals come in.

"There'll be no strings to bind your hands, not if my love can't bind your heart..."

Hanzo found himself swaying to the words ("Just touch my cheek before you leave me, baby...") and listening. It struck him as familiar after his "Save A Prayer" from yesterday... A desperate cry out for a touch. As if trying to remember what love was like. Poetic. Beautiful And... sad.

...A man could fall in love with something so pretty.

Piano this time, with a little distorted guitar accenting the percussion, but simple. The vocals that hit were soulful, heavy and full of longing.

"Where did you go when things went wrong, baby? Who did you run to and find a shoulder to lay your head upon? Baby, wasn't I there? Didn't I take good care of you? No, no! I can't believe you're leaving me..." A crescendo of music as the chorus kicked in, a drowning, swelling sound that took over the quiet of the night as he listened, tucked in a corner of roof tile and wall. "Stay with me, baby... Please stay with me, baby... I can't go on..."

...He had the strangest thought. Who were McCree's faithful listeners, exactly? 10p-4a wasn't a popular time block. Most of the town was asleep this time of night.

"Stay with me, baby..."

A desperate cry. Hnn. A curious thought.

xxx

In his booth, Jesse swayed, head shaking as he listened, letting the music swell, a fist knocking quietly with the beat on the table, knowing this feeling too damn well, and hoping that somewhere out there, Ana was smiling and hopefully laughing at his ridiculous, over-the-top foolishness. As the song faded, he let it peter out, finishing the thought, before a more jammy guitar came in, something to bring the mood back up.

"Down around the corner, about half a mile from here, you see them long train's runnin' and you watch 'em disappear... Without love, where would you be now?"

Which is when he spotted his lines live and rolled his eyes, sure it was going to be Amari as he answered the line off-air.

"KLPX, you're talking to Midnight McCree."

"Jesse, you are a sap," she growled.

And he laughed. "You said you wanted a serenade, sweetheart."

"Next time, you put on something sexy I can f*ck my husband to, you bastard. I am weepingover here."

He snigg*red. "I'm sorry," he teased, not sorry at all.

"You are a devil. But I love you. You got your coffee, ibn?"

"Of course, boss."

"Without looooooooooove..."

"Doobie Brothers. I hate you, Jesse. I feel you laughing at me."

"I think you can hearme laughin' at you, darlin'."

"I'd fire you, but then we wouldn't be able to have these sweet chats where I berate you for being wonderful..."

"Mm-hmm. You'd have to do it over drinks when your husband doesn't notice," he answered, sipping his coffee.

"As if he doesn't notice, ibn! Bless you, for thinking of my forsaken marriage, though. It's not right, you being so handsome. You bring me to sinful thoughts."

"I'm real flattered, boss."

"Boss, aahhhh... I hate you."

Another snicker. "You're not talking to me while you're driving are you?"

"No, I'm in my car in my driveway cursing at you while I wipe away my tears. I have to explain myself. Look what you've done."

He blew a kiss. "Love you too, boss."

"Terrible child. I should spank you. But you might enjoy it."

"Youmight enjoy it," he answered, grinning. "I do have work to do..."

"Bah. Sensible man. I hate it. Go on then! Keep serenading me! I live for it."

Brass and bass groove... "Do you remember the 21st night of September? Love was changing the minds of pretenders while chasing the clouds away..."

"Night, Ana..."

"Good night, Jesse. Sleep well when you get there."

He hung up, shaking his head and grinning -- she was a glutton for punishment. Ridiculous woman --

And he blinked at the machine that still had a red light on. He answered immediately, switching over the next line. "KLPX, Midnight McCree speaking."

"Hello again, McCree," the voice crooned.

...Holy sh*t. It's that guy from last night. He sat a little straighter. "Hey, stranger. How'd you like that pick last night?"

"Is there anybody out there going to listen to my story?" he echoed. "One might think you don't get a lot of callers."

Guilty as charged. Nice thing about radio, no one can see his sheepish smile. "Not a lot of people up this time of night, be honest." He made sure the mix was going smoothly and turned down the playback a bit. "But I do appreciate requests. Especially open-ended ones like that. Give me a chance to use my noodle once in a while, keeps me awake."

"Hnn. Then perhaps another puzzle for you. There is a song called "Tunnel To Heaven" by the Dynamites. I doubt it's in your mix, but if you could find a copy, I would be most obliged."

"Um... Sure. I'll see what I can do for ya."

"Thank you. I am most appreciative."

The music faded as another groovy beat kicks in, electric guitar and bass and there's another awkward, "Thanks fer callin'," as he hangs up, typing furiously for who the hell the Dynamites are...

And he finds them. A Japanese 60s GS band, the pop culture backlash of Beatlemania.

"Oh, woah, wow. He's the greatest dancer! Oh, woah, wow. That I've ever seen..."

"What the hell is this?" he thought to himself, chuckling. But he has his ways. He pointedly looks about to make sure no one is watching as he looks for a copy online. He separates the audio and hooks up a set of headphones to give this a taste before he puts it on air...

It definitely has a classic Beatles, "Hard Day's Night" kind of feel to it, but the lyrics are in Japanese... And he laughs. It's a little ridiculous, but he likes it. Kind of hard to verify there isn't any cursing without speaking Japanese, and it's a risk, but... Well, he doesn't really have the best followership. Who would notice?

"Alright, stranger. Here we go." He slips it into the queue.

He waits for the Sisters Sledge to finish up, and he puts on the mic. "Hey, everypony, welcome back. That was a request for Ana, who then called me up to fuss at me for makin' her cry by following her "Angel of the Morning" by Merrilee Rush and the Turnabouts with Lorraine Ellison's heart-wrenching "Stay With Me (Baby)". Sorry, not sorry. After that, we had the Doobie Brothers with their long-running "I don't know what song this is, but I like playing it, so let's keep on 'til we figure it out" classic, "Long Train Running". Took almost a decade for them to commit to a title and some lyrics on an album. Then some disco with Earth, Wind & Fire, their best-loved "September", and Sister Sledge to follow with "He's the Greatest Dancer". Gotta wonder what this guy does for a living that he has brand name stuff like that. Model, maybe? Who knows. But I got another call from my friend from last night, this time he's gonna educate you folks on some world history. The sixties were a big time for rock and roll -- between the Beatles and the Stones, the Mamas and the Papas, the Turtles and the Monkees, was a lot of good stuff goin' around. We had the British Invasion in American in 1964, but when the Beatles toured East in 1966, there was what you might call a pop culture upset. Big ol' mess of people that wanted more of this psychedelic goodness, and if they couldn't get it imported, they'd make their own. Here's a Japanese group called the Dynamites with their hit "Tunnel of Heaven", sung in the native Japanese. Bet you ain't heard this one before."

He cued up the drums, and then after it, the shouting hype vocals of what does genuinely sound like a Beatles song, but isn't. Especially when they start singing in Japanese. He flags the whole album and puts in an order to get the play rights to air this song -- odds were slim someone would hear this randomly and they'd be sued for it, but these things needed to be done.

"Have at thee," he muttered to himself with a grin. A long drag of his vape, sliding on the next track.

xxx

In the dark, Hanzo listened, a warm smile on his face, forsaking his task for now to listen to the sounds of home. As lovely as it was to hear that beautiful voice, it was a different kind of wonderful to hear his mother tongue once again. It wrapped around him like a kotatsu, that taste of a lost world easing his troubles.

He likes this DJ. Heappreciates a challenge, and heindulges his silly requests. He listens as the song ends and is followed up by a proper Beatles song -- "Hard Day's Night" -- and the similarity in sound is unmistakable. And he grins, knowing that he has altered the entire fabric of the mix for his little request, and he bites his lip, liking to know that there is a ripple of reaction to such a selfish little indulgence.

"...But when I get home to you, I find the things that you do make me feel alright..."

xxx

Tracklist:
Wailing Souls - Renegade Survivor (2000)
Mungo Jerry - In the Summertime (1970)
The Kinks - Sunny Afternoon (1966)
The Beach Boys - Surfin' USA (1963)
The Sufaris - Wipeout (1988)
Nancy Sinatra - These Boots Are Made For Walking (1965)
The Turtles - Happy Together (1967)
Merrilee Rush & the Turnabouts - Angel of the Morning (1968)
Lorraine Ellison - Stay With Me (Baby) (1966)
The Doobie Brothers - Long Train Running (1973)
Earth, Wind & Fire - September (1978)
Sister Sledge - He's the Greatest Dancer (1979)
The Dynamites - Tunnel To Heaven
The Beatles - Hard Day's Night (1964)

Chapter 3: Birthday

Chapter Text

Groovy, sticky bass. Thrashy electric guitar, and the unmistakable organ of 70s psychadelia.

"In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida, honey. Don't you know that I'm loving you? In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida, baby. Don't you know that I'll always be true?"

It's like hot sake in the cold night, a little sour, a little jarring, but in a way that warms your soul. For weeks now, Hanzo has been listening to this show, the host simply named Midnight McCree, or the Midnight Cowboy, further cementing his belief that this fool wears cowboy boots and a stetson, but sometimes the leather is black instead of brown. And that richness...

He wonders what he drinks. Or smokes. Or both. Because such richness is from culture, he knows from experience. It's why his own has the husky sound to it, from lots of sake and pipes back home. He's tempted to get a pack of smokes, but he still has no idea what to do with the mess of variety here in America. He'd be stuck smoking the harsh Marlboro reds from the movies, and yet the thought is so cliche, he can't bring himself to buy them.

But as the song fades, he unknowingly leans forward in his perch, a forgotten bench on a rooftop, the dead remains of a sun-baked garden littered beside him. He doubts the tenant who tended the garden even lives here anymore.

"...Fun fact. That song started as an 80-second long country ballad. True story. After three months on tour, they ended up with the 17-minute monstrosity you find on their album. The single version that most people know and love was... Actually a mic check." That warm, rich laugh. "Crazy story, right?"

He has experimented -- the show ends at 4a and starts at 10p. Roughly. Sundays through Thursdays, Midnight McCree reigns during these hours, but on Fridays and Saturdays, there is someone else entirely who comes in for contemporary indie rock, and the whole station is not 'classic rock', but boasts a bit of everything -- even McCree is not technically an oldies show, it just seems to be his taste. Just last week he had played a cover of Black Keys' "Gold On the Ceiling" by a new British rock band called the Struts that were really good. "Very Stones", he'd said, and Hanzo could not disagree. There was even an acoustic, almost bluegrass style song one night that Hanzo was surprised was by Panic! at the Disco, mixed in with Aerosmith and Rush and the Beatles and Johnny Cash and Queen and more.

"That was Iron Butterfly's "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida," 1968. And And before that, we had "Dreams" by Fleetwood Mac, and right now I gotta interrupt you, because someone has given me a VERY stern warning that at 11:58... Which is about now, I am to put on a specific set of words from our sponsors, so... Here goes."

Hanzo co*cked a brow in the dark, intrigued. The usual spot spilled out of his headphones.

"You're listening to KLPX! The best variety of the old favorites--"

"Pour some sugar on me!"

"--vintage deep cuts--"

"Don't you want somebody to love?"

"--and contemporary rock--"

"The animal I have become!"

"--with a healthy mix in between!"

"My favorite radio--"

"Favorite radio--"

"--Favorite radio station."

"Kay. El. Pee. Ex!"

The mix transitioned into a commercial spot, voiced by another DJ in the station, but half-way through the recording, he's cut off by the sound of a knocking at the door. Having heard this spot before, Hanzo frowns, not sure what's going on here.

"What in the hell? I'M RECORDING HERE!" he barks, unamused. The sound of a door opening.

"Yes, hello!" a voice calls, and it sounds... Middle Eastern? But a woman. "Sorry, ibn, but it's about that time."

"OH. Well, why didn't you say so?!"

Another DJ. This time, it's the guy who comes on right before McCree. "Hey, cats and dogs! Ladies, gentlemen and more! We hate to interrupt the show, but you might not know what today is!"

"What day is it, Lu?" asks another voice, this one a younger woman.

"Why, if my clock is right, it's just September the 5th now!"

"And that means it's someone's birthday today..." said that earlier woman. "But since it's the middle of the night and we're not going to go and harass him in person, we decided to embarrass him on the air instead."

There's a loud hullabaloo -- dozens of people, at the very least, all of them shouting, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MCCREE!!!"

There is cheering, and behind it, the drums and and guitar of a song, and as the cheering dies down, "They say it's your birthday! Well, it's my birthday, too, yeah! They say it's your birthday! We're gonna have a good time! I'm glad it's your birthday! Happy birthday to you!"

There's a drum solo, a mix of overcut random voices wishing the DJ birthday wishes ("I would like you to dance! (Birthday!) Take a cha-cha-cha-chance! (Birthday!) Daaaaaance!"), and this continues for quite some time. Hanzo is surprised, grinning wildly, looking at his watch as the minutes pass... Wondering what the radio man is thinking in his booth.

As the playback fades out... McCree leans into the mic. There's an inhale, and then a loud exhale. A chuckle. The guitar starts up behind his words. "You know what, Ana? I got one thing to say to that." Cowbell comes in behind that, and then the words.

"All our times have come... Here but now they're gone... Seasons don't fear the reaper... Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain..."

Hanzo laughs as the la-la-las come in, and he pulls out his phone to add to the birthday wishes, smirking as he hits a busy tone, and he waits.

xxx

"Romeo and Juliet are together in eternity..."

"See, now I gotta go and rearrange everything for you sappy sons of bitches," he muttered to himself, electronic cigarette dangling from his lips as he typed furiously, adjusting his mix, but he's grinning. So much so, he doesn't realize that the line is lit up at first -- okay, that's a lie. He saw it. He's avoiding it -- and lines up his own self-deprecation. After "the Reaper" fades off, there is the death knell of more gallows humor, and he's pretty satisfied with himself by the time the guitar riff comes up behind. It grows richer with the rhythm and drums, adding on that bass beat and a grungy under current, all swelling and deepening before it actually hits the full groove. He's head banging in his seat before he actually turns to the phone.

"Midnight McCree on KLPX," he drawls.

"I'm a rolling thunder, a pouring rain... I'm comin' on like a hurricane..."

"Happy birthday, Jesse..." Ana purred back.

"You are a god damn mess, you know that?"

"Hell's bells!"

"Whaaaaat, you don't like very public displays of affection?"

"Yeah, thanks. Everyone will be jumpin' me for attention."

"I'll give you them sensations up and down your spine..."

"Oh? Who is jumping you, Jesse? I will beat them. You are a DJ, who knows what you look like, exactly?"

"That's hardly the point..." Is he whining? Maybe a little, but he's teasing, grinning.

"Oh, hell's bells... You got me ringin' hell's bells!"

"You are welcome, you buffoon. I love you dearly. I know that if Reyes were here, he'd do something way worse, so be grateful."

He chuckled. "That much is true..." He looked to his line, and there was still lights. "As it is. I got other people callin' to embarass me. I should answer."

"You should put them on the air, ibn! Encourage people to call in, make you feel special! I bet it will do wonders for the ratings."

He gasped dramatically. "Are you whoring me out for ratings, woman?"

"Of course! Jesse, I would not waste your pretty face on radio if your voice wasn't just as sexy and sellable. Let's be realistic, now."

"I'm tellin' yer husband you called me sexy and sellable."

"Oh, he knows, ibn, he knows. Trust me."

He chuckled. "Well, alright, honey. I gotta go. But... Thanks."

"Of course, Jess. Get some coffee, okay?"

"You got it, Boss."

"...I'm serious, though. Put some on the air."

He laughed. "I will, I will."

"Good. Happy birthdaaay!" He can practically hear her wave as she hangs up, and he switches over to the next line.

"Midnight McCree speaking, you've reached KLPX."

"Hey, McCree!" It's Lucio. "How was it? Good mix?"

"Lu, it was beautiful, thank you."

As the rock ended, a sticky, groovy bassline kicked in.

"By the way -- "Hells Bells", nice pick."

"Oh, I got a bunch of dead man songs lined up thanks to you assholes, thanks for throwing off my mix."

He laughed, a merry sound. "Well... I know you, cowboy. You're..."

"And another one gone, and another one gone, another one bites the dust..."

He sputtered in laughter. "Is that Queen?!"

McCree had to hold back a cackle. "It might be..."

"Dio mio... You are something else, Jess."

"Hey, boss said I should put some of these on air. You wanna start over?"

"Oh, hell no -- I snuck out in the middle of a gig, I gotta get back on stage. But I wanted to make sure I called in. You have a good night, okay? Or... Morning, I guess."

"Yeah, you too. Be careful out there, alright?"

"Yeah, same to you. Oh and ah... If you get a break, there's something in your locker for you."

McCree's eyes automatically glanced to where his things would be hiding in his locker, intrigued. "Oh... Thanks, Lu."

"Ah, don't mention it." And a beat. "No really. Don't mention it. Amari would kill me."

"Noted." He mimes zipping his lips shut. "And thanks."

The bass groove stops, and a meandering acoustic guitar starts up...

"Sure. Happy birthday, Jess."

"Thanks, Lu."

He hangs up, listening to the swelling flute on top of the guitar... It's almost peaceful compared to the sassy punk, but it still fits the theme.

"There's a lady who's sure all that glitters is gold, and she's buying a stairway to heaven..."

He's tempted to go and see what Lu got him... But as he hangs up, there's another red dot.

"This is KLPX. Midnight McCree speaking."

"Happy birthday, radio man."

His eyes widen, and he... Definitely blushed. "Heeey, stranger," he said quietly. "Say, you mind if I put you on the air? Boss wants any calls from listeners to go out, would you mind?"

There's a hesitation... "Sure," he decides. "For the occasion."

"Awesome." He turns down the playback, keeping a quiet feedback of what's live in his other ear.

"And it's whispered that soon, if we all call the tune, then the piper will lead us to reason..."

He starts a new track, finger on the recorder, and he snaps it. "Hey, folks. McCree here. Bit of a lovely surprise there from my family here at KLPX..." As the first part of the song starts to morph, he smiles to himself. "And I have on the air... A familiar friend. Welcome back."

"Thank you, McCree."

"Gee... I wonder what you're callin' for. More Beatles?"

"Haha... You just had some, did you not?"

"And as we wind on down the road... Our shadows taller than our soul..."

"True... True, I did. But to be fair, I didn't pick that. Someone else did. Threw off my mix actually."

"Ahhh... But I know you can improvise if need be."

"Too right..." He nods, transitioning the song to pick up the track he's on now. The're on a good 12-second delay. "For those of y'all who don't know, this is my friend from a couple weeks ago, put in a special request for some sixties Beatles, and then that taste of Japanese psychedlia the next night." He tilted his head to the side. "Honestly, I don't get a lot of callers, so twice in a week was real exciting for me. Nice to know you're still listening."

"Oh, I listen every night," that voice answered. There's a thickness to it, rich and wonderful. Probably not young, but not old, either. Maybe middle age, or on the higher end of it. A little drink, a little smoke. And yet, it's easy, like he's not shy to be on the air like this. "Don't always have a request for you. But your mix always intrigues me."

"Well, thank you. I do my best to be obliging, but also to do the work for ya. If you were makin' yer own mixes, you wouldn't need me, right?"

"Well. I don't think that Alexa or Siri have quite so handsome a voice as you do, McCree." A beat. "If I may say so."

Deeeeefinitely blushing. And biting his lip, tapping fingers on the table. "Well, that's... Awful kind of you to say."

"Unless there's an update that they really aren't marketing properly."

A warm laugh. "I heard that." He took a quick puff of his e-cig. "I should go and call 'em up. See if we can't get a contract or somethin' set up. Midnight McCree on your GPS."

"Mmm... Directions from the Midnight Cowboy. That might be something I would buy."

He might be biting his lip. "Well... I just want you to know that you're welcome to call anytime. I meant what I said -- I'm here to keep you fine folks company. However that is."

As soon as it's out of his mouth, he makes a face. Taking that "Midnight Cowboy" thing a little too literally, aren't you? Damn.

...But when the man croons like that, could you blame him?

"I shall keep that in mind," he answers, the voice amused, a purr to it that suggested he caught the subtext, but was not dissuaded. "But I'm sure you have other callers. I merely wanted to add my well wishes to this auspicious day."

"Well, I thank you kindly," McCree said. "It is mightily appreciated. I'm sure my boss will be happy to hear I got such a loyal listener out there."

There's an awkward moment of silence that feels like an eternity -- damn, always so awkward, why?! -- and he decides to take the hint. He turns off the recording, marking it visually, watching the output. "Your cooperation is much appreciated, darlin'. Hope to hear back from you soon."

"...Hanzo."

"Beg pardon?"

"My name. Call me Hanzo. It... Seems unfair that I know your name and you do not know mine."

...Is that a touch of nervousness? Intriguing.

He writes that down quickly, messily, trying to watch the time as well, and flips the switch his last line and starts up the next track he had planned BEFORE that interruption. Vintage brass, then the drums and chimes. The goodbye is awkward as ever, and he sets the phone back on the receiver.

"You're just too good to be true... Can't take my eyes off of you..."

He moves to save the track for cleaning and use later, even if he feels a shiver down his spine.

Hanzo.

He looks down at the hastily scratched name and rewrites it in a more legible fashion, the brass swelling behind him...

"I love you, baby! And if it's quite alright, I need you, baby..."

He thinks about it and saves a copy of it for himself. Not just for work. To listen to at home... Damn. When was the last time anyone talked to him like that?

It's pathetic, but he's lonely, and damn it, it's his birthday. It ought to be a sin to waste such a beautiful voice.

And what he don't know can't hurt him.

"Let me love you, baby, let me love you..."

xxx

Fleetwood Mac - Dreams (1977)
Iron Butterfly - In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida (1968)
The Struts - Gold On the Ceiling (2012)
Panic! at the Disco - Folkin' Around (2008)
Def Leppard - Pour Some Sugar On Me (1987)
Jefferson Airplane - Don't You Want Somebody To Love (1967)
Three Days Grace - Animal I Have Become (2006)
The Beatles - Birthday Song (1968)
Blue Oyster Cult - Don't Fear The Reaper (1976)
AC/DC - Hells Bells (1980)
Queen - Another One Bites the Dust (1980)
Led Zeppelin - Stairway To Heaven (1971)
Frankie Valli and the 4 Seasons - Can't Take My Eyes Off Of You (1967)

Chapter 4: Fire

Chapter Text

You'll never know how much I really love you...

Out of his headphones was one thing, but Hanzo was surprised to hear the echo of the Beatles from down below. It hung from his own earbuds as well, and there was just enough of a delay that he took a moment to unplug them to not be distracted by the incongruity as he worked.

You'll never know how much I really care...

The fact that they were listening to Midnight McCree... Well. It was almost enough to make him have mercy on them.

Listen.

Almost.

Do you want to know a secret?

He dropped down, silent in the night, and brought himself to the edge of a window, the muffled voice of the radio seeping through the glass, opened at the tops to let in the autumn's cool evening air. Inside, he counted seven: five in this room, another moving through the hall, and the last deeper in. He slipped to the front door, testing it, and rolled his eyes as he realized it was unlocked. He carefully turned the knob, listening to the footsteps in the hall moving away, talking to the last person.

Do you promise not to tell?

He crept in without a sound, shutting it behind him, and pulls out a mirror to gauge the activity in the room. Most of them are too busy with their card game, and he waits for the one facing him to peer down at his hand, muttering some bluff to himself (he saw the hand already, he has nothing) in preparation of his turn, paper ghosts taped across the entryway.

Woah-oh-oh... Closer.

He knocks an arrow, a triple scatter array, and launches it into the room, which immediately breaks out into chaos. There's cursing and sounds of pain as he turns the bow in his hand, ready for the footman to come around the corner to investigate, a barked order from the boss unseen, and it takes almost nothing to hook him in the bow and bring his face down to meet Hanzo's knee with another pained cry.

Let me whisper in your ear.

He whips around into the room, expecting the gun, but rolling forward as the bullet goes off. The kickback has him momentarily occupied, the sheer unexpected appearance enough to startle anyone.

Say the words you long to hear...

The boss tries to strike, and Hanzo deftly dodges, grabbing his fist and pulling, taking him off balance, and then a blow to the back of his head with his bow, a nasty CRACK! In the next room, a pair of surviving bastards are running to help, and he nocks his arrow to prepare for them.

I'm in love with you.

He takes out the one without a problem, the other letting out a sound of surprise and horror as his partner is suddenly pinned to the wall with an arrow sticking out of one eye. That distraction is enough for Hanzo to nock another and take out the last when he finally comes around the corner.

Ooh-ooh-ooh-- Listen.

And he does, listening for more feet, and there are some upstairs, but not down here. Three... Four. Two are lumbering down the steps, and he nocks a scatter arrow, aiming it for the hall, and specifically where the staircase spills out, ready to release as soon as they come into view, to ensure they get the full effect.

Do you want to know a secret?

They take it hard, and the first one is knocked down the stairs in a mess of limbs and pain, but judging by the sound of his head hitting the edge of the stair, he's already dead. The second cries out in pain, clutching a leg, and Hanzo comes around the corner with another arrow prepared for him and finishes him off easily.

Do you promise not to tell? Woah-oo-ohh-ohh, closer.

He climbs over them, another scattershot ready, and he can hear the other two panicked fools running about, and it sounds like they're planning to climb out the window and run across the rooftops... That would be fairly entertaining. And short-lived.

Let me whisper in your ear. Say the words you long to hear...

One of them fires at him, but he ducks behind a doorframe, and it whizzes down the hall. He spins about and shoots, the spell he has been holding on to releasing with his triumphant cry, the massive dragons bursting forth like Tokyo neon, roaring and swirling and they consume these two fools without a thought, and Hanzo relishes that power and freedom as they are unleashed into the night...

I've known a secret for a week or two...

xx

...Nobody knows, just we two.

Meanwhile, in another part of town, McCree was finishing up a string of songs. He'd managed to get himself a sandwich for lunch and a cup of coffee made up with still another 19 minutes shy of his namesake hour. It wasn't anything impressive, a from-the-bag tuna sandwich that no one could bitch at him about turning into a melt if they weren't here to see him do it. It wasn't fish tacos, but he'd also not really had the time to cook like he'd intended to, and he was down to the cheap and easy meals, or else cold fast-food. And he really needed to not eat so much trash all the time. This one was half-way decent, with deli swiss and the last remnants of his spring mix (he needs to do another grocery run...) and his brew of black gold. He crammed down a couple of huge bites before the song faded off to the end, and he turned his mic up just so carefully.

"And that was the Beatles on this fine, fine evening with their "Do You Want To Know A Secret?" off their debut studio album, Please, Please Me, released in 1963. It's said that most of the album was recorded in one day at the legendary Abbey Road Studios, and it went on to top the charts for a whopping 30 weeks -- quickly cementing them as a hot favorite in the world of what we now know as pop music. Some other hits of that year were numbers like "Surfin' USA" by the Beach Boys, Martha and the Vandellas' "Heat Wave," Peter, Paul & Mary's "Puff, the Magic Dragon" and... This little number by a feller you might've heard of."

Tiny brass and vintage, twangy guitar melt into the speakers as he lifts the volume for the playback.

Love... Is a burning thing.

He sits back to sip his coffee and continues his meal as that low, rugged croon rings out -- one of his favorites.

Bound by wild desire... I fell into a ring of fire.

He can't help himself, so he sings along, his range matching Johnny Cash perfectly. "I fell into a burnin' ring of fire... I went down, down, down and the flames went higher. And it burns, burns, burns..."

He needs to shut up and eat, though. He's been running all day long and hadn't really sat down before work, so he relaxes a bit while listening to the man who was as much a voice of his childhood as Elvis and Dolly Parton.

The taste of love is sweet... When hearts like ours meet...

He manages to finish the first sandwich and is halfway through the second one by the time the Man In Black's voice fades out, and the whine of distortion and guitar noise mixes in with it--

I like to dream... Yes, yes, right between the summer sheets.

He nods along as the 70s organ kicks in with the jammy guitar, rough vocals beckoning. His boots tap along with the drumbeat, remembering cool summer nights on the playa, long long ago.

Why don't you tell your dreams to me? Fantasy will set you free... Close your eyes, girl. Look inside, girl. Let the sound take you away...

There are even chips -- Doritos. As if he was fancy enough to actually plan a meal, and just hadn't grabbed whatever junk food had been left in his locker while he was scrounging for his meal. He was even debating switching out the coffee for a co*ke, but he hadn't gotten that desperate yet. He probably should have picked a longer song to buy himself time. Maybe Pink Floyd's "Shine On" or the live "Hotel California". But that would require him being smart.

The song transitions to a more jaunty piano, a lighter guitar, something a little more upbeat. He polishes off the second sandwich, hoping it'll shut his stomach up a bit.

I saw a werewolf with a Chinese menu in his hand... Walkin' through the streets of SoHo in the rain. He was lookin' for the place called Li Ho Flux... For to get a big dish of beef chow mein.

He can't help but howl along. "Ah-hoooooo, werewolves of London. Ah-hoooooooo..."

The fact that it's nearing midnight and his (ahem) regular caller was overdue to make contact definitely had nothing to do with it. Was he putting on 60s Beatles in an attempt to catch lightning twice? Of course not. That would be ridiculous.

Unless it worked. If it did, then people were going to have to get used to some Beatles a bit more often.

You better stay away from him... He'll rip your lungs out, Jim! HA. I'd like to meet his tailor...

It fades out to a tinkling honkytonk, the quiet twang of an electric guitar setting the stage before ol' Dolly herself begins to croon.

As I sit here tonight, the jukebox playin'... The tune about the wild side of life...

His fingers playfully do an air piano along with the song, remembering when his fingers used to be able to do that.

It wasn't God who made honky-tonk angels... His face twists as he closes his eyes, grooving along with the old classic, feeding that lonely, nostalgic part of him that makes him feel like a stranger in this town at times. A displaced cowboy in the city of angels. Too many times married men think they're still single... That has caused many a good girl to go wrong...

A woman who dreamt of being trash. Such an odd story, Dolly Parton. And yet, everyone knows the name. His mother used to treat her like a guilty pleasure, maybe not bringing her out at Sunday dinner or birthday parties, but on quiet Saturday mornings when she was cleaning the house and his Pa was away, she had a couple of favorite albums she'd put on.

That has caused many a good girl to go wrong...

When the song shifts again, he smirks to himself.

Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys.

The music shifts to something a little bit darker, less sweet, and a little more of a warning. It's simpler, just the thrum of the guitar at first, none of the organs.

Cowboys ain't easy to love, and they're harder to hold... They'd rather give you a song than diamonds or gold...

He wonders if he's telling on himself a bit with that one. An eye peels to check the lines, but so far his light hasn't gone off yet.

Yet.

Mama, don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys... He rocks in his seat, nodding along, his own cowboy hat tugged tight over his brow. Don't let 'em pick guitars or drive big, ol' trucks. Let 'em be doctors and lawyers and such. Mama, don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys... They'll never stay home, and they're always alone, even with someone they love...

By the time the song tunes down again, he adjusts the volume to lean in to the mic once more. "Well... Little late for me, I s'pose," he purred into the mic. "Can't say what cowboy don't like the classics. That was Johnny Cash, the Man in Black, with his "Ring of Fire," followed by Steppenwolf's "Magic Carpet Ride" and "Werewolves of London" by the late, great Warren Zevon. I should put on his "Lawyers, Guns & Money" next time my boss goes on about sponsors, I think... Then the lovely lady was the one and only Dolly Parton, an old favorite of my mama, with "It Wasn't God Who Made Honky Tonk Angels," and rounded off with Willie Nelson's "Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys." Mouthful titles, I know." And as he is going to take another breath, that damned light goes on, and he can't help his own grin. "And... It looks like we have us a caller. Gee. I wonder who it could be. Let's go to commercial, and we'll find out when we get back..."

That's cruel, yes. But boy howdy, is it great for the ratings. He clicks over the commercial spot and gets it spun up before he taps the line with the professionalscript.

"KLPX, this is Midnight McCree speaking."

There is that breathy chuckle on the other end of the radio. "Hey there, cowboy. If I may call you that."

"You absolutely may," he answered, leaning back into his chair, getting comfortable, an eye on the ticker. He keeps a hand on his mouse, ready for whatever request Hanzo might have this time. "What can I do for you this time, sugar?"

"Well, given all the music you've already done... I suppose the only one left to request is Elvis."

...Could I love this man anymore? he thinks to himself, before chiding himself for using such a loaded verb for someone he's never met. "I have to agree with you. Any song in particular?"

There's a pause as if he considers it... And then a wry, "I trust your taste, cowboy."

He shuffles his face. He's pretty sure "Fools Rush In" is going to be just a BIT too on the nose, but... "I think I got somethin' for ya, stranger," he answered. He goes to add it to the queue. "You doin' alright out there?"

"I am. I even caught someone else listening in to your show. Was nice to hear you in stereo."

...Definitely blushing. f*ck. The spot cuts out, and it's answered with a bit of guitar, and then piano, and then some drum, picking up a quick and rockin' beat that is pretty irresistible to groove to, but he's a little distracted at the moment. "That's... Real nice to hear." What do you say to that?

Girl, girl, girl, girl... You gonna set me on fire.

"By the way, you're going to be at that Halloween thing, right?"

...He was referring to a Halloween press event that was coming up in a few weeks, a little early holiday party that was going to be hosted by a number of DJs, and everyone was going to be doing themed playlists the day-of. In fact, it was up for debate if he was going to have the night off. "O-of course."

Your kisses lift me higher... Like the sweet song of the fire...

"Good. Because I will be going as well."

"..O-oh?"

Ooh-ooh-ooh! I feel my temperature rising...

"It is open to the public, yes?"

"Yeah. Of course." Holy sh*t. He hadn't even thought about it like that. He'd just been thinking of it as work.

...You light my mornin' sky, burnin' love.

"Well, I imagine you will be there as a cowboy, yes?"

"Um... Yeah. Yeah, usually."

"Then you should be easy to find. I imagine you will know it is me when I do."

My chest is a-heavin'... Lord have mercy, I'm burnin' a hole where I lay.

"I... Look forward to it."

A hunk-a hunk-a burnin' love.

"As do I, cowboy."

...Crap. CRAP crap crap crap-- He scrambles, adding another song behind it at the last second, realizing the track is going to end, and he puts on some Doors as a last reach, keeping the fire motif just so he doesn't look like a completely incompetent idiot.

"Until then?" Christ, does he have to sound so desperate?

"Until then, cowboy. Sayonara."

"Yeah, night." The King fades out, and some more 70s organs and drum come on, and he is kind of... Staring at his set for a minute as the voice of Jim Morrison comes on over the speakers. Belatedly. He could have really f*cked that up.

You know that it would be untrue... You know that I would be a liar.

He absently mouths the words, his brain not working anymore. If I was to say to you... Girl, we couldn't get much higher...

Christ. He is in trouble. He pulls off his hat and sighs, running his good hand through his hair, pulling on it a bit, trying to ground himself.

The time to hesitate is through... No time to wallow in the mire.

He's definitely screwed. The groove of the organs floods his ears as he tries not to panic about the idea of finally meeting his midnight angel, and suddenly snarfing down those sandwiches wasn't such a good idea. He presses a fist to his lips, willing it to stay down as the nerves make a mess of his stomach, and he tries to get himself back on task to continue his broadcast, sewing his present theme with the playlist he'd been crafting earlier that day, needing to make the ends meet...

Trying not to think about a Cinderella-style blind date with his regular caller. Amari and Song were going to have a field day with this one.

xxx

Tonight's Track List:

The Beatles - Do You Want To Know A Secret
Johnny Cash - Ring of Fire
Steppenwolf - Magic Carpet Ride
Warren Zevon - Werewolves of London
Dolly Parton - It Wasn't God Who Made Honky Tonk Angels
Willie Nelson - Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys
Elvis Presley - Burning Love
The Doors - Light My Fire