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

[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.]