legionworld | How much tequila did we drink, exactly?

We need to talk.

[ Relatively chill, all things considered. ]

I'll bring beer.

You know where to find me.

[Same place, same spot - it doesn't occur to her until after she's sent it (distracted as she is) that that might've been in poor taste.

Oh well. It's Taylor. If anyone out there is suited to deal with it, she figures he is.]

[ It's...different than the last time. He's him, no chance of a younger shade of himself slipping out save in the mild insecurity ticking away in the back of his head. Sombra. Who is she, what is she really like-

And did anything of what they might've shared by way of...anything really matter? It's an unsettling place to find himself after he'd taken such pains to make this beach, this person, somewhere to ground himself. A place for life to be real. At least this is uncomfortable enough to feel real to him. No hazy edges of perfection at hand.

He wanders up, barefoot and in denim, sixpack in hand as he settles a respectful distance away, beer set between them like an offering- or a shield. ]

So. Sombra.

Told you I didn't wear purple anymore.

[Now, at least, she is again: circuitry across her skull exposed, violet hair let down rather than tied back in a braid— he gets to see her now without a facade in the way.

Only beer.

Which she plucks up between her fingers, waving away her array of digital HUDs with her opposite hand as she turns to face him.] Guess this makes me a liar.

[Consider that a joke, Taylor. She was always a liar.]

Told you it suited you. [ It does. Vibrant and regal and neon viciousness that he remembers distantly- things that did and did not fit. Little tells here and there he didn't put together because...

Maybe he didn't want to. Maybe believing the lie was easier- or maybe he wanted her to come clean on her own. Whether or not she'd ever trust him without outside intervention's a moot point. ] Sam knows?

[ Of course Sam knows but that's a whole other bucket of worms he's trying not to look at too closely. ]

Mmhmm.

[It might hurt his feelings to hear it, but it's the truth at least - and she likes to think he's grown enough to take it on the chin without flinching. Because regardless of what he knows or doesn't, he's been let in closer than he might realize. Closer than what's smart or safe.]

Has for a while now.

[The bottletop's popped, a sip pulled before she changes the subject before he has a chance to press it.]

What'd you really come here to talk about?

[ It doesn't sting like it should. Of the two of them Sam's got more to lose from falling in with someone that kind of dishonest- a history of it. It eases him a little to know that, with Sam? She's been more honest. With him? Well...Taylor gets it. He's so damn desperate for this good guy schtick to stick that if he were in her place? He wouldn't tell himself either. ]

Good to know.

[ He snags his own beer, eyes on the horizon. Easier than looking at her, too many variables rattling around the back of his head. ] Condensed version? What are we. I know- I knew what I was to Azucar. Not quite sure what I am with a feral neon sand gremlin.

Depends on you, hermano. [It's not an offhanded comment: where he looks away, she's looking at him when she drinks, unfazed. He's unmoored.

So is she.]

I wasn't somebody else to screw with you. My interests don't run that small.

But I'm not Azúcar. I'm not Sombra, either— [Whatever sincerity she used to have before the need to hide became a full-time part of her life is gone. Surfaces in little glimpses only when her guard is down— when she's careless or off-guard— scarce enough that only the other members of Talon might recognize it.]

I know you. Me gustas. But you won't ever really know me.

[This time, when she pauses for a drink, it's longer: attention slipping off to match his distant focal point.]

Wouldn't blame you if that's not enough.

Masks and shit. I remember. [ When he told her his name and didn't push for hers. After seeing who she was, remembering who she'd been, looking at who she is? Too many variables. Too few constants.

How do you depend on someone you can't ever really know? There's an allowable range but; gauging that? It'll take time he's not all that certain he's gonna get. ] Kinda all comes down to one thing, really.

[ Delta saw- didn't peek, didn't pry, that hadn't been the point of their contact and conversation. A surface level interaction more than anything else. This, now...he sets his beer aside to try and catch her gauze. Gauging. ]

Am I gonna be a friend cuz you like me or cuz I'm useful or convenient to have around?

[ She can probably lie and he wouldn't call her on it. Might not even catch her at it and damn if that's not a little unsettling. At least the undertone here isn't anger or frustration or even disappointment-

It's resignation. This is how this shit works for him. Something is good until he looks at it too close and here he is, leaning in for a good squint. ]

[It's a serious moment— a somber one, even— but there's a low scoff that's the start of a laugh at his question, her reply coming all too quickly.] Convenient?

You have no idea what I had to go through just to stay in contact with you.

[Quiet deals with Washington in secret, trading a promise that she wouldn't compromise either Sam or Taylor in exchange for her own security. A promise she'd technically broken that night on the beach— not that it really matters anymore.]

And I can hack circles around you, vato. Easy.

[It's Delta that she'd be hard-pressed to match...though she doesn't include that detail in her mild little joke.]

...Oh thank god, you're an asshole.

[ It's as much a relief as her reassurances come by way of mild insult- it's closer to the cut of his usual friendships that he can accept this change from sweet and friendly to slightly more honest and fangy without batting an eye. He's neither useful nor convenient- therefore:

She likes him.

Wait why does she like him? ]

So what did you have to go through to hang with me? Cuz normally I don't exactly come with a price of admission.

[With a wink and a tip of her bottle, his comment about her is acknowledged in full: yes, Taylor. Yes, she is an asshole. From there she pulls a long drink, shoulders rounding out, hair tucked behind her ear on the right side to expose just a little more of that brilliant circuitry.

Amélie was right. It's better when it isn't hidden.]

Washington realized I was working with Talon early on— back when 76 was still around, chasing shadows. [A threat in more ways than one— people like him were the reason she'd fled to Talon in the first place, back home. Puppets for something bigger than themselves. Easy to sic on some unsuspecting hacker in Dorado.] I tried to make a deal with him. Make sure he didn't tell anyone about me.

If Overwatch found out who I was...

[Her lips thin out; she shrugs the subject off.]

You and Sam were off limits.

[ It's almost easy, now, to close some of the distance. Scoot till there's less space between them, sixpack still resting in the sand. He hadn't expected an honest answer- and there's not enough flippancy to what she's saying for it to feel anything less than true. Hiding her cover, okay-

But he and Sam being off limits? That's...something else entirely. ]

This does explain his reaction to my asking him for help with our friend date awhile ago.

[ The sheer incredulity, the 'oh god why', the 'she'll eat you alive'. Wash knew and...let him go on. Same as he had for Sam. It's not all that surprising. ]

Also explains your need to have an exit strategy ready pretty well.

[It doesn't surprise her. She's trouble— he'd known it— if he was hesitant or against the idea of them having a date, he'd have been right.

Sombra leans back into the sand, resting her weight against her elbow, expression distant and entirely serious. There are still plans kept close to her chest, and there's a reason why she's been in hiding ever since the timeline reversed itself.]

Taylor, I've had an exit strategy since before that idiot vata you met changed her name.

[She shouldn't be telling him, but she shouldn't have told Sam, either. And maybe after ten years— coupled with a few recent disappearances that could already spell disaster for her if they somehow made their way back home— she's tired of burying the truth rather than dragging it to the surface.]

The things I know? People kill for it. People do worse for it.

[Her stare turns to meet his. Direct. Solemn in a way that's so uncharacteristic to her.]

Even here.

Edited 2017-07-29 07:57 (UTC)

[ It's a somber moment- and they've been having those more and more often now, haven't they? Friendship level up! Now you get the serious shit. The distressing, depressing shit. Another layer of suck that reasserts that this is, in fact, reality. Fantasy friendships are never this honest and raw and uncomfortable at times because-

He's been there. He was there. He bailed, locked himself away till he got too stupid to not, and died.

Making light is...disrespectful at this point, Delta points out, but Taylor tips his head to the side, eye clear and unwavering on hers. ]

You've got a preprogrammed protocol in your implants to hard wipe everything on your death. People don't do that unless they've got dirt on powerful people and are paranoid enough to need to cover their ass. And you're talking to a guy that went from 'Awol' to 'shoot to kill' when they clocked on to what I figured out before bailing.

[ But that's just death. That's not...

That's not worse. ]

...I get it. Just- remember to say goodbye when it comes to it. I'll do what I can from this end to keep you clear. [ And isn't that a declaration of it's own? Him comfortable with the idea of, and offering, to fuck over some part of this organization that's become so dear to his reason for living in this world. ]

I'm not ending up mindless, mijo. ['Not like Widowmaker' is what she almost says, but those secrets are hers to keep, not to spill: for now, her resolution remains as vague as it is hard— determined and bitter, capped off with a too-long pull from the bottle in front of her.

It's a sure sign that she's restless, nearing the end of here rope; they wouldn't be having a conversation this openly otherwise.]

And when the time comes? You and Delta should stay out of it.

I get told I 'should' do or not do a lot of shit. [ He quirks a brow, leaning over enough to bump their shoulders together. The situation with Sam is complicated. Sombra is...also complicated but in a flavor he thinks he knows how to handle. There's no bleeding heart here waiting for him to get his head out of his ass, no sad eyes haunting his memory.

A clever mind and a wicked smile and too many shades of grey to count. This? This he can handle.

He thinks. ]

So. Should, maybe. Will? Probably not. What can I say? I get stupid around a pretty woman that can hack circles around me.

Maybe it's a good thing you're getting rid of me, then.

[It's a joke....mostly. As much as it is and it isn't: she's spent so many years running now that it's hard not to get tired of the idea. In place of something tangible, she'll have memories. In place of his company, secrets— filed away next to everything else. Over and over and over again.

She lifts the bottle to her lips, measures the horizon in front of them both despite knowing that none of it's real.]

I don't want you to go. [ Just- laying that out there. Not to manipulate or twist shit around, not an attempt to guilt her into staying. ] But I get why you wanna.

[ It doesn't fit for her, does it? The work she wants to do. The life she wants to lead. The way the Legion works. Tentative (cuz he's not sure he's allowed anymore, if he's burnt that bridge) he loops an arm around her shoulders. Leans a little. ] I'll worry about you.

You don't need to.

[She's done the math: staying here makes her more of a target than roaming the universe as a free agent with Gabriel and Amélie at her side. There are risks involved in it, there's no telling whether or not Amélie's protocols will tolerate Sombra's ultimate agenda of never going back— or how those security measures will pan out if they do kick in; the enemies she's made with the Legion might not disappear, either.

But things on Legion World keep getting worse, not better.]

You're the hero, remember?

[She leans into his arm, curling against the warmth of his chest. Hand in her lap relaxed around the lip of her drink when she turns her profile towards his, gentle and patient and...earnest. There's no rush or thrill involved, it's not the alcohol in her veins pressing her in when she sets her mouth against his, eyes shut.]

I worry about people I care about. I know we would sit and hang and not talk about shit unless we were both pretty damn rattled but- I do care about you.

[ But he's used to people he cares about walking away. Resigned to it and- he could fight this somehow maybe. Could argue, could plead, could make a case for remaining. But she wouldn't want that- would she? He has no idea. All he can do is talk. And hold her when she lets him, but not so tightly that she'd feel held down. It's been a delicate balance but now?

Now he's very aware of how she's slipping past his fingers and he's not sure if she'd appreciate him trying to hold on on. And here she is making it harder to let go. Everything's cool and calm and somber and her lips are warm and he shouldn't- his head and heart are still something of a mess...but he leans into it. Cradles her jaw with a hand and kisses back softly, sweetly. None of the tequila or hunger. ]

[She doesn't chase it, doesn't break the moment by bothering to vocalize a reply or take advantage of his sincerity. The kiss is held a few beats longer— and when she withdraws it's not to put distance between them. Her nose scuffed across his own, across his cheek and down to bury her face against his jawline, warm and...familiar. A scent that's all his own.

The little things so firmly grounded in memory she's certain she won't need to file it away to keep herself from forgetting.]

Might need a second opinion on that one. [Gentle. Teasing. The palest little deflection she's ever managed.]

Delta, what do you think? Is he telling the truth?

[ He holds her there for as long as she wants, fingers curled in her hair like he's got some kind of permission, like this is how the could be, might be, if she stuck around. Trying to make a compelling argument without...the actual arguing. Much as he might care, much as he might need her-

She needs free more. And it sucks. ]

Of Course. He is not alone in that sentiment. [ Delta's voice is cool and calm and...sad. He doesn't care for the idea of losing Sombra as an ally, as a friend. As a confident as she has become to him. ]

Good to know.

[Quiet, exhaled like a bittersweet joke that she doesn't quite have the capacity to process. It's easy to predict, from there, what she'll do— what she does.

Pulls away from the hold he has on her, putting distance between them as she takes a long drink from the bottle in her hands, finishing it off. Drops it down into the sand when she stands, her back kept towards him like they're already done. A map of cybernetic hardware glowing softly in the dark.

Only at the point where she should leave— just before she does, she adds, soberly:]

Porque los amo a ambos.

Que? [ What?

What.

WHAT?

This is- he's been all for letting he walk away- as intense as things have become tangled up with Locus, with Sam- they've never said the words. Taylor's been so careful not to even think the words. That she's the first to say it, that the one least connected to the very idea of it just-

And on her way out. ]

Okay, no, fuck this- [ He shoves himself out of the sand, staggering after her, hand catching at her shoulder to pull her in. Fuck letting her walk away. Fuck losing this because he can't-

Things with Sam are complicated. Things with her are complicated, but he can't. Not again, not without trying. ] You can't say that and walk away.

You were the one that wanted to know the truth.

[She'd have been content to keep it buried for his sake if he wasn't so intent on confessing how much he cares— or how much it supposedly matters.

Now he's drawn close again and it feels like a lifeline between them. She doesn't shrug it off. There's a roughness to his fingertips from callouses or sand— and she's not sure which, but it's comforting enough to be familiar, that weight on her shoulder. Another risk tallied onto the rest.]

And now I want you to stay.

[ One step to meet her- another to press against her back. Wrap his arms around her as tight as she'll let him, face pressed against violently violet cybernetics he can all but feel buzzing against his skin. This is her. Another shade, another layer-

And he needs to hold on this time. ]

I always wanted you to stay.

[It prompts a too-sharp exhale, eyes lidding against the pressure across her cybernetics, fingers sinking into the fabric of his shirt along the contours of his spine. For a little while, she says nothing.

For a little while, there's nothing she wants to confess. Only what she has to.]

Reaper is leaving. [Left already by now, gone to scout out a path ahead— ensure a safe departure for the three of them. A plan she'd not only agreed to, but laid the groundwork for in the first place nearly a year ago.] My team is leaving.

They're going to expect me to go with them, mijo.

[And once Gabriel gets back, she'll be out of excuses...]

Do you want to go- or do you need to go. Because Sam and me- [ He can't speak for Locus, never could- but this? This he knows deep as the wires sutured into his brain. Knows in his bones. Even if he can't put it in words and he's always been so damn good at saying nothing.

Why now, when it matters, can he not get the damn words out? ]

We'll do anything to help. You know that. Help you go if you want to go- or help you stay. I know I'd rather you stayed. You could build something here that no one else could. [ No one as quick and clever and quietly vicious. No one that's as careful or as playful would ever be able to come up with the same intricate lines of code- the same sideways sly way of planning. ]

[Yes. No.

She wants to go because she's restless when she's shackled to ideals and expectations, can't shake the feeling she's operating under someone else's agenda despite being told it's supposedly her choice, the weight of their hands across her shoulders. She wants to stay because it's been—

No, it's never been like this. Not for her. Stalled out of necessity, human contact was always a means to an end: as much as she invests in Gabriel and Amélie, they were her shield first, then her friends. Her family, strange as they are. And now they're slipping from her grasp. Hers. She always imagined there was nothing she couldn't track down...but the universe is so much larger than she'd initially thought almost a year ago.

She sinks her profile into his shoulder. Breathes out tension along her mechanical spine that doesn't seem to dissipate aside from how she melts into his contours.]

I know you would.

[She needs to think. She needs to plan...something. There's got to be a way to make this work— if anyone is capable of it, Sombra should be.]

Stay. Please. [ Live here with them, work with them, keep the UP accountable. Cut the legs out from under worse people, save lives- just. Put down roots, even when she isn't someone to do that. Be sincere when that's not something that she does beyond odd offhand moments of vulnerability. Allow herself to be reliable, to trust others to do the same when she's always been independent.

There's no lift, there's no antigrav, there's no lighter. But this feels painfully familiar. Like she's about to slip away for good and then he'll be left with not even an echo of a memory.

Maybe a few photos. A holographic flower crown. A clever line of code. ]

[She tips her chin up across his shoulder. Kisses his cheek and holds the contact for too long to be devoid of affection. There's longing in it, some tangled, mutual anchor point keeping her tethered in this moment when she does— genuinely— know better.

When she doesn't care.

She kisses him again, closer to his lips. And then again. And again. Less chaste— less restrained.

How can she be anymore?]

[ This isn't stepping off a ledge with Sam. It's running full tilt for the edge of a roof and leaping- but he's done that before without a chute, without a way to fight gravity and keep from crashing. Maybe they'll fly, maybe they'll fail but-

He can't think about that right now.

Not with her in his hands like this. Kissing him like she wants to stay. Like she wants him with her. Half a thought is given to Locus but Sombra's the thread that's knotted about both their throats, both their hearts.

Sam's just as gone. That takes care of the guilt in tipping her chin back and kissing a little harder, in tangling his fingers in her hair and holding on like she'll let him. ]

[This time, she does let him. This time, and the next, and the next...

A promise to herself or to him, it doesn't much matter. He and Locus might think she's the one with them wound around her fingers, but she's tangled in them just as much— little moments of quiet conversations and bandaged wounds, times where she had the opportunity to betray them and embrace her own self-imposed nature.

But she never did.

Not for Felix, not for Heralds that welcomed her with open arms or promises of power. If she looks back on all of it, it seems painfully clear: this was the only outcome she was meant to reach.]

[ Pulling back to breathe is like coming up for air, shuddery and half startled that he'd done it aware that he needed to and still pulled inward by the gravity that is Sombra. This neon vicious intelligence, this clever subtle sweetness tempered by fangs and intent and a keen sense for survival.

Forehead to forehead he breathes for the moment, fingers smoothing through her hair, tracing the pattern of circuitry at her back. ]

Te Amo. [ It's easier in spanish, for some reason. No less true, no less sincere, but without the damning weight of past experience cutting the words to tangled mess. ]

How much tequila did we drink, exactly?

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tags that my inbox ate the movie the musical the life

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