In that calm before the storm

[vata]

Who| Sombra and Locus
What| post-timeskip conversations
Where| Locus' apartment
When| before everything goes to heck
Warnings/Notes| NA/ will add as necessary

[It's late when she shows up. Higher chance he'll be home, lower odds they'll be interrupted— though Sombra usually operates at night anyway. Half the time it's a wonder she gets any sleep at all.

A few knuckles at the door, waiting patiently. All that vibrant blue gone, and in its place the violet ensemble and circuitry Sombra always used to roam freely in. No presents, no warnings or apologies from the starting line: if he wants to see her— if he's willing— she wants that to be the deciding factor. Nothing else.

Part of her wonders if he'll even recognize her like this.]

Comments

[agnominal]

[ For a moment he says nothing, shifting uncomfortably on his feet for a moment. ]

We've...spoken about the possibility.

[ Here, his gaze finally breaks from hers. They've no right to ask her to do anything, much less something so contrary to her nature. They--

He knows what she wants. What she's stated a dozen times to be the case. And yet, maybe she's taught him a thing or two about being selfish every once in a while. ]

...Neither of us want you to go.

[vata]

[There's a beat there, something long and silent where she sits, saying nothing— only mulling over what he's confessed, what she knows and what she's already planned. Remembering salt, and soft words, and what it felt like the first time she'd wrapped a thick, wooly scarf around his dour silhouette.

And then she speaks up. Finally. Simply.]

So I won't.

[agnominal]

[ There. The first hint of surprise since she arrived on his doorstep. There's a slight widening to his eyes, though the rest of him remains still. Too still. Like he's waiting for the other shoe to drop before he allows himself to react.

And yet...nothing comes. ]

You won't.

[ The words are repeated softly as he stares back at her. ]

[vata]

[It makes it easier for her, at least, that little hint in his expression. Like falling back on old habits instead of stepping forward into uncharted, uneasy territory.

A twitch at the corner of her mouth when she looks at him, something that could be faintly related to a smile.]

You don't believe me?

[agnominal]

...you had plans.

[ The details of which he hadn't demanded from her at the time, but it had seemed as though she was very busily crafting something on behalf of Talon. Her teammates. Things that she was building towards, and he never would have thought that she could leave behind just like that.

Maybe it's just the shadow of past experience. ]

[vata]

And if I always stuck to the plan, I'd be dead by now, Soldado.

Or I'd be Reaper.

[Which is an oversimplified response to a question that demands more, and she knows it— leaning back on her heels to pick up the figurative thread he's left out in the open, expression evening out.]

I've reconsidered.

[agnominal]

What changed your mind?

[ That's the next big question. It could be that something else entirely has caused this shift in priorities for her, and he couldn't blame her for that.

And yet something in him wonders. That night. Her odd remarks when she first arrived her this evening, about wishing things had changed for him. Still, he tries not to hope.

Not just yet. ]

[vata]

A lot of things.

[Her attention shifts towards him, watching the look on his face with a fixed focus. Waiting just to make sure the gears are already turning in his head before she surrenders— maintaining the distance between them in spite of the way her voice lowers by careful degrees.]

Maybe a night on the beach.

[agnominal]

[ Oh.

Some of that surprise dies away on his expression, though it's hard to define what replaces it. That night changed a lot of things, even if it could be excused as simply a 'what-if' scenario. The dynamic between Taylor and him had shifted significantly, but as for Sombra...

Well. He'd always felt this way regarding her. Like Taylor, he'd resigned himself to those feelings being just that. Feelings. Nothing to be acted upon. This was what happened when you fell for very reactionary people, he supposes. ]

...when I said that night changed nothing, you do understand what I mean by that.

[ Hopefully. ]

[vata]

I think I'm starting to.

[Which, like the rest of this conversation so far, is the truth: it prompts her to press away from the furniture she'd been leaning against, arms unfolding as she closes the distance between them— clawed fingertips coming to rest against the low center of his chest, as high as she can comfortably reach from her own height.]

But I wasn't just talking about when we were young.

[A slight pause before she adds:] Taylor came to talk to me last night.

[agnominal]

Did he?

[ He hadn't said. But it's not his job to report in to him about everything he does, either. It just seems significant, the way she says it, like something about it helped change her mind as well.

There's a slight easing around the corners of his eyes as her fingertips come to rest against his chest. Most people, trusting enough to touch would be asking a great deal. Not Taylor. Not her. ]

[vata]

Mmhmm. [Her claws curl just lightly, scuffing faintly over fabric. Over the skin beneath. Like trying to coax a flame from embers, she's keeping contact for a reason— and she knows by now he won't run from it.

Locus has never run from her.]

He made a very persuasive argument.

[agnominal]

Hn. He has a certain gift with words.

[ Something he's never had, to be sure. Actions are more his forte.

Which is why, instead of pressing for what was said, he simply lifts a hand to cover hers, so small against his own. Deceptively delicate. ]

I...could understand wanting to stay for him.

[vata]

[His hand is warm. Rough. Heavy in a way that's so familiar after all this time. She— like Taylor— are creatures designed to thrive on words, but she's never been so self-absorbed that she couldn't appreciate the opposite side of the coin, the way that some people only adore their own reflections. Their world is deception, but Sam's? Sincerity. Devotion. Strength she only barely earned, and never really deserved.

Washington was never really wrong about that.]

Is that the only reason you think I'm still here?

[agnominal]

[ He would argue that fact, of course. She'd proved herself on Silent Horizon, again after his past came to light. She is a creature of deception, true, but she's been honest with him when she didn't have to be. When it benefited her not at all.

Washington was right on many counts, but not in his estimation of her. Not in his eyes. ]

I would hope not.

[ There's a pause, heavy in the air, before his free hand lifts, those broad fingers gently touching the edge of her cheek. ]

He is not the only one who cares for you.

[vata]

[Her cheek tips down against the curve of his fingers, nestling smoothly against his palm, eyes drifting shut for only a moment. Her hand slips over his, cinches tighter like she's gripping a lifeline.

Truth be told, she didn't want to forget this. What he felt like, the slow tick of his pulse beat in his veins, soft and strong in equal amounts. Like him. Some things just don't cut it when they're filed away as pure data.]

Means you're gonna have to deal with a terrorist on your doorstep.

[agnominal]

[ Even against the heat of his palm, she's warm. The corner of his mouth crooks upwards. ]

There are worse things.

[ He's done more than a few. York's got a checkered past as well. Keeping virtuous company has never been a priority before, it would hardly seem fitting to start now. ]

If you want to frighten me away, you'll have to do a better job than that.

[vata]

[Her eyes slide open, lips pressed to his hand with a steady pressure. When she speaks up again, she doesn't bother to move away.]

I steal covers, I hate flowers, I'm picky about chocolate, I don't care about anniversaries, show up whenever I feel like it...

[agnominal]

I don't care.

[ Should he let her go on? It seems clear enough by now that there's no real protest to this, nothing that says either of them will think the better of it. And yet he's already botched this once before, hasn't he?

There is that fear, however brief, that quickened rabbiting of his heart under her fingers, before he leans lower. Closer. ]

[vata]

[She considers telling him it was only a joke - all that conviction and sincerity in his voice burrowing in under her skin even before his pulse jumps. Before he leans in.

It makes her forget why she'd opened her mouth in the first place, attention tipping upwards, opposite hand sliding to his cheek. A mirror to Sam's movements, a promise she isn't about to disappear on him regardless of old instincts. Ten years she's been running.

Maybe it's time to admit how tired she is of letting everything go.]

[agnominal]

[ The gap closes.

They've shared more than this, when they were younger, and it is like that night on the beach and yet not. They'd been daring one another further, refusing to back down, not this inexorable pull against sense and reason and plans and schemes. She doesn't taste of tequila, this time.

But it is sweetly familiar all the same, as his lips crush against hers, and the hand over hers dips low to cup at her back and bring her closer.

No. No letting go, now. ]

[vata]

[His fingers sink lower, hers already gripping him fiercely— and she thinks she should have told him sooner. Thinks maybe she already did, struck by the briefest ghost of what it'd been like when they were in the nightmare together. The last time she'd held onto him so tightly. The last time she refused to leave him behind.

This time it's not about survival, not about making sure he survives. He's learned through Taylor and Washington how to stand on his own feet, no desperate urge pressing him into someone else's shadow. Little changes that have built up over time to fill in the cracks left behind by old wounds.

He doesn't really need her anymore.

Which is the best reason for her to stay.]