Moonshadows (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
moonshadows) wrote2013-01-20 08:40 am
moonshadows) wrote2013-01-20 08:40 am
Idle hands
There's an old saying: "Idle hands are the Devil's playground." It gets used to tell kids playing that they should stop playing and do their chores, but that's not what it means. Kids playing? That's not idle hands, they're playing. Idle hands is when there's no work to do and you're tired of playing and you're just so bored that you go looking for trouble.
I'm bored.
Being as young as I was when I was first augmented, going snooping through locked electronic doors is second nature to me, and has been my go-to when I'm bored with all the other things I do to keep myself out of more trouble than I'm already involved in. Since I've been with Talon, my boredom has resulted in things like the virus that creeps through the internet deleting the stories people wrote about Gabriel Reyes and Jack Morrison and the other members of Overwatch having the author's wish-fulfillment sex. And also the week I ran Reaper's name through the Los Angeles systems and cross-checked with newspapers and pieced together enough of his childhood and teenage years that I spent the whole week practically in his personal space because all I wanted to do was hug my poor Papi, but I knew he wouldn't tolerate it. He'd asked me, after a few days of uncharacteristic quiet and closeness, if there was someone he needed to kill. Just out of the blue: "Do I need to kill someone?"
I thought that was incredibly sweet, that he'd see me obviously upset and offer to murder whoever was responsible, but it's not exactly the kind of thing I could quote to Tante Angela or Winston as evidence that he's more than just Talon's assassin. Uncle Jack might approve, but getting messages to his visor is less secure than passing information to Tia Ana, so chitchat is out of the question. And aside from that, mentioning Papi's readiness to murder whoever made me upset would open the subject of why I was upset, and given how hard it was to follow the crumbs that led me to what I'd found, it's a safe bet none of them know exactly how long Gabriel Reyes had been shaving his head, or when he got the scars on his face, much less the stories behind them. Maybe he told them at some point. They did know him for years, after all. But if they knew him for that long and he didn't share, well, I'm not going to risk being the one to spill all his secrets.
Reaper was remarkably thorough in erasing the digital evidence of his past. The Overwatch and Blackwatch records, of course, were destroyed at the source or missing entirely. The Soldier Enhancement Program records were similarly trashed, but significant snooping led me through an email trail to dusty back-ups. Now I'm searching the remains of social media accounts thirty years old because naturally Reaper nuked his, but I doubt he remembered all the other people that had been in SEP with him after all that time, especially the ones who didn't survive the Omnic Crisis.
Once I'm in and sifting through things, it only takes a few minutes before I realize there's a possible treasure trove here buried in the muck of "likes" and "reblogs" because in order to separate himself from all the other people named Gabriel Reyes, he went by Big Dog Reyes and I have one hand clapped over my mouth to keep the giggles inside. Naturally, Reaper's looking at me like he's deciding if this is one of those situations where ignorance is bliss.
"Sombra?"
Juan Santos likes Big Dog Reyes's profile pic. And it's an anthropomorphic doberman with exaggerated muscles and a fierce scowl. Reaper can't see what I'm looking at, but I flip a screen his way that just says DON'T ASK and he turns back to stare firmly at the news while I laugh silently until tears would be streaming down my cheeks if I produced them.
It's not that I think the nickname is silly or that I'm mocking the picture. It's just that the contrast between Reaper and a younger Gabriel who was confident and secure enough to pull off an otherwise-ridiculous nickname is sort of a logic fail. There's delight that he was that happy with himself, once upon a time, but also the traditional secondhand I can't believe you did that embarrassment of knowing that the man credited with ending the Omnic Crisis, the internationally feared Reaper, once went by Big Dog and had a ridiculously ripped doberman as his profile picture.
The worst part is that there's no one I can share this with. I don't even know yet if Uncle Jack was aware at the time, if they talked on social media or if Gabriel used that nickname in person. I sure as hell can't ask Reaper, or even mention this to him. He'd be on edge for the next two weeks if he knew what I'd found, even with me having a record of not exploiting his vulnerabilities. I'm half surprised he hasn't holed up in his room just from how much I was laughing.
Okay, time to dig in and see what Big Dog - nope, giggling again. Time to see what my Papi was up to before the Overwatch Strike Force was assembled. There's a lot of random pictures and some witty comments in response to dumb things other people posted, and for a while I just lose myself in the comfort of observing a man most of the world has forgotten, the man I know Reaper doesn't think he can ever be again. Then I find a private video that someone named Carlos recorded with a comment of "Talent show - did not think he would do it but boy were we wrong!"
The thumbnail shows Gabriel in a pose that looks vaguely like ballet, with black gloves that go up past his elbows and sleek boots that hug his calves all the way up to his knees. He's wearing what looks like black tights, or maybe a unitard, and a...fancy black overcoat? It looks like some cross between a tuxedo jacket and a dress, going down past his knees, with a rounded bottom meant to flare when he turns and gauzy bits serving as short, loose sleeves. But at the same time, it buttons smartly up his torso. There's white piping along the edge, or maybe a white layer in the middle, it's hard to see from the still shot. It's elegant without being ridiculous, strong and powerful while still being graceful. Even the full-length gloves don't make him look feminine. He looks good, and he knows it, and he'll kick the ass of anyone who makes the mistake of thinking that looking good means he's an easy target.
I don't think Reaper would actually kill me, but I still feel like I'm taking my life into my hands as I download the video and run a few clean-up programs to compensate for the archaic technology used to record it. While my prize is being polished, I wonder what Gabriel Reyes would have done with his life if the Omnic Crisis hadn't interfered. Would models be wearing his clothes as they walked down the runway? God knows I feel like a badass model half the time in my mission outfit, and I can see enough similarities to that and to Reaper's outfit to know that he designed and made what he's wearing in this video. In another world, a peaceful world, he could be famous for his clothing line and live a life of luxury.
Nah. I know my Papi; he would have gotten bored within a year and started trouble one way or another.
When the video starts, there's a bit of camera-shake and chatter while Gabriel stands, back to the audience, his left hand out to the side in a gesture halfway between "come here" and "are you kidding me?" and the right one on his hip. His left leg is cocked, and his head is turned slightly to the left. Once the chatter of the other guys present dies down, the music starts playing and I'm glad I have it routed straight to me because I'm sure Reaper would judge me for listening to electronic pop from his youth, if not earlier, even if he didn't recognize the song and figure out what I was watching. In the video, he holds the pose for a count of eight and then shifts to a "hey there sailor" pose with a beat of "blowing a sexy kiss" in the middle that gets scattered catcalls. After a few beats, he starts moving in time with the music, shoulders and hips, and then launches into some sort of reeling/flexing motion, hips rolling, turning slightly until after the fourth motion he's facing away again, only to immediately turn back around. A few steps that look like killing time or repositioning, and then the Japanese lyrics - female, mild voice modulation - begin, and he starts dancing in earnest.
It's clearly a dance routine designed for a woman, or more likely a teenage girl, the motions alternating "cute" and "sexy", and the unseen audience drowns out the lyrics with a surge of mocking cheers and more catcalls. Gabriel dances with a strict poker face, stoically ignoring the catcalls and my smothered, hysterical laughter. I'm peripherally aware of Reaper, on the couch, wisping in uneasy alarm. But as the song moves into its chorus, something happens. The catcalls and my giggles start faltering. Gabriel's face starts taking on a that's right, bitches expression because he's really good. It's a dance meant to be performed by a sex object, and a muscled Latino with a shaved head and facial scars wouldn't usually qualify, but the fluidity of his motions and especially his hips make him a sex object. He flaunts his body with supreme confidence, the slant of his eyebrows and set of his shoulders announcing his amusement at the audience's growing silence, and every time he wiggles his hips, I can't look away. The next time I focus on his face, he's wearing a blatant smirk and all I can think is that it's entirely deserved - I have no doubt that he's a better dancer than anyone else watching, because I'm pretty certain he's better than me.
By the time the song ends, and Gabriel passes his hand in front of his turned-away face like that old saying "talk to the hand, 'cuz the face ain't listening", the only coherent thought in my head is GO PAPI! and I feel like I've just had a religious experience. The unseen audience apparently agrees, because three beats after the music ends, they erupt into applause and rough, wordless roars of support. There's a moment where Gabriel smirks at the camera - Big Dog proving that he's the leader of the pack - before the video ends.
For a very long minute, all I can do is stare at nothing in complete awe. I had no idea that Reaper could move like that, even when he was Gabriel Reyes.
"Sombra!" Reaper snaps, and I realize he's been calling my name for several seconds.
"Si!" I reply, responding to the 'angry father' tone while still lost in the memory of the video I've just watched. Gabriel's smirk fades into Reaper's mask, and I realize I've been directing that look of awe straight at him, but I still can't scrape my mind together enough to do anything else because holy shit, Papi can move!
"Why are you looking at me like that?" he demands after another minute of me staring.
All the things I can't say scroll past and what comes out is, "Because you just that good."
"Sombra," he growls in warning, but I shake my head.
"No teasing, Papi. Not this time. I not gonna say anything else, so don't ask."
That surprises him, I can tell from the wisps and the way his torso stiffens just slightly. "I don't know what you think you found..." he starts, but the threat implied by his tone never materializes.
"I found you being amazing."
The wisps start pouring from the back of his head and his shoulders. "That wasn't me. That man is dead."
"And that why you still answer when I say his name?" I snap, suddenly as furious as he is and realizing too late that this is not something I should pick a fight on. "Some day," I tell him in a hard voice before he can put together a retort, "I gonna tell you a story about a dead girl named Alessandra, and it gonna make you reconsider how dead that man really is."
Before he can react, I drop stealth over myself and retreat to my room because with both of us angry, things could get real ugly real quick and I don't know whether he's ready to have those wounds re-opened, but I absolutely am not. To make sure there's no further conversation, I put on some heavy, angry music and turn it up loud enough that he would have to yell to be heard over it. When I check the cameras, though, he's left the main room and I'm too angry to check and see where he's gone.
===
My anger burns out first. Given all the shit that happened to Reaper, I can see where he'd try to separate himself from who he used to be and I know he feels like he doesn't deserve the respect and adoration Gabriel Reyes got. I just don't know how to tell him that I'm not doing this because of who he used to be, that I'd still be doing this even if he was some random guy I'd never heard of. The hours pass, and now I'm worried that he thinks I'm trying to force him to be Gabriel Reyes, when what I'm trying to express is that he doesn't have to not be Gabriel Reyes. In a fit of frustration, I flop back onto my bed and cover my face with both hands. Why do these things have to be so confusing?
=
When Reaper finally comes back into our suite, I'm dozing on the stairs leading to his room. The door wakes me and I jerk away from the wall propping me up, which in turn attracts his attention.
"Sombra?"
He sounds confused, but I'm still half asleep myself, so I guess that makes us even.
"I'm sorry for yelling at you," I tell him in a small voice. "You don't have to be who you were, and I wasn't trying to force you to be, but you don't have to only be who you are now, either." Pause. "Did that make sense?"
"Sombra..."
"You don't have to be Gabriel but it's okay if you are?"
There's no response for a long minute and I sigh before struggling to stand without falling over. A pair of strong hands help me keep my balance until I'm standing on the floor again, but they don't let go. Confused, I look up into Reaper's mask.
"I upset you," he says quietly. "I'm sorry. Now go to bed, Sombra."
It has to be a by-product of me being half asleep, but his voice sounded warm. Affectionate. Lightly teasing. Exactly the way I used to daydream Gabriel Reyes would sound if he were my father. "Okay," I say, feeling and sounding like a little girl again, and I lean in to give him a long, warm hug.
Those strong hands hold me close and I'd swear there was a gentle kiss laid on the top of my head but Reaper doesn't have lips, he has a mask, so it's probably just me imagining it. Then the hug ends and he turns me towards my room and I go, slowly, one hand trailing along the wall to keep me oriented. My bed is cool and soft and sleep is warm and dark.
=
Morning comes late, unsurprisingly, and I spend several minutes sorting through last night's memories. Did I really hug Reaper? Yes, yes I did, and furthermore he didn't just allow it, he reciprocated. And he apologized. That stuns me for another handful of minutes. I want to tell Ana, Angela, Athena - why are there so many A-names in the ranks of formerly-Overwatch? - that Reaper cares about me so much that he apologized for upsetting me. But telling them would require explaining why I was upset, and those are questions I don't want to answer yet. Besides, sharing this sparkling little secret would be a violation of Reaper's trust, and it would be stupid to endanger the fruits of my labor when the blossoms are still on the branch.
So, to further that trust, I'm going to pretend the entirety of yesterday didn't happen. Don't call attention to the apologies or the reason for the apologies. Give Papi the emotional space to chew on the idea that he doesn't have to lock himself out of everything that Gabriel Reyes was...and that it would be hypocritical of him to try, considering that he still answers to that name and I'm pretty sure fatherly hugs go against what Talon wants Reaper to be.
I'm winning. I'm stealing Talon's weapon of mass destruction away from them. They may have poisoned Overwatch, they may have broken Gabriel Reyes, but in starving Reaper, they made a fatal mistake. Big Dog still has teeth, I just have to make him see that he doesn't have to stay with Talon. Hmm, but to advance that goal, maybe I should tell at least Tia Ana about the night's developments.
Open connection. How to phrase this?
WE ALMOST HAD A FIGHT LAST NIGHT. WE'RE OKAY, I add before she can worry.
Her response comes back faster than I expected. WHAT HAPPENED?
I HIT A NERVE. HE HIT A NERVE. I YELLED AT HIM A LITTLE AND LEFT. HE LEFT. WE BOTH APOLOGIZED WHEN HE CAME BACK.
There's a few minutes before she types, WHAT WAS THE FIGHT ABOUT?
How to phrase this? WHETHER OR NOT GABRIEL REYES IS DEAD.
WHATEVER YOU SAID, I HAVE NO DOUBT HE NEEDED TO HEAR IT. THANK YOU FOR BEING THE FRIEND HE NEEDS. There's a pause, and then she types, YOU SAID HE APOLOGIZED?
FOR UPSETTING ME. I APOLOGIZED FOR YELLING AT HIM.
I THINK YOU HAVE SUCCESSFULLY WON YOUR FIRST ARGUMENT WITH GABRIEL.
OH, I DID THAT THE FIRST TIME HE GOT SHOT. I TOLD HIM TO GET IN THE CAN, HE SAID NO, AND I YELLED AT HIM UNTIL HE DID.
STILL, Tia Ana types, HE APOLOGIZED FOR HITTING A NERVE. EVEN BEFORE EVERYTHING, THIS WOULD NOT HAVE BEEN A COMMON OCCURRENCE. I COMMEND YOU FOR EVERYTHING YOU HAVE DONE ALREADY, AND LOOK FORWARD TO SHARING STORIES WITH YOU IN PERSON.
That makes me grin. AND SEEING ME YELL AT HIM IN PERSON?
THAT, TOO. I'm sure she's grinning back.
Hmm. Reaper still hasn't left his room. TIME TO GO BOTHER HIM LOVINGLY. I'LL KEEP IN TOUCH.
The connection closes. I roll out of bed and make my way to the kitchen to start the coffee. While it's brewing, I find the WORLD'S GREATEST DAD mug and put it out for him in case he comes down while I'm getting dressed, and then it's back to my room to change. He still hasn't emerged by the time the coffee is done, so I pour it into his mug and climb the stairs to his room.
Knock, knock, knock, pause.
"What?" comes the angrily-growled reply. Well, a reply is a good sign.
"Just making sure you're okay in there. I brought you coffee."
A few moments later, the door opens and Reaper wisps at me, back of the head but also biceps. Another good sign. I hold out the mug and he stares for a few seconds before reaching out with one hand to take it.
"So you can have your coffee but not come out if you don't want to," I tell him lightly.
Then, before he can really wrestle with whether or not he should or can bring himself to say 'thank you', I stealth away and re-appear in my usual chair, opening half a dozen screens and to all appearances ignoring him completely. He stares at me for a minute before retreating into his room. It'll probably be a few hours before he comes out again, but whatever he's brooding about, he has a reminder that I still care.
I'm bored.
Being as young as I was when I was first augmented, going snooping through locked electronic doors is second nature to me, and has been my go-to when I'm bored with all the other things I do to keep myself out of more trouble than I'm already involved in. Since I've been with Talon, my boredom has resulted in things like the virus that creeps through the internet deleting the stories people wrote about Gabriel Reyes and Jack Morrison and the other members of Overwatch having the author's wish-fulfillment sex. And also the week I ran Reaper's name through the Los Angeles systems and cross-checked with newspapers and pieced together enough of his childhood and teenage years that I spent the whole week practically in his personal space because all I wanted to do was hug my poor Papi, but I knew he wouldn't tolerate it. He'd asked me, after a few days of uncharacteristic quiet and closeness, if there was someone he needed to kill. Just out of the blue: "Do I need to kill someone?"
I thought that was incredibly sweet, that he'd see me obviously upset and offer to murder whoever was responsible, but it's not exactly the kind of thing I could quote to Tante Angela or Winston as evidence that he's more than just Talon's assassin. Uncle Jack might approve, but getting messages to his visor is less secure than passing information to Tia Ana, so chitchat is out of the question. And aside from that, mentioning Papi's readiness to murder whoever made me upset would open the subject of why I was upset, and given how hard it was to follow the crumbs that led me to what I'd found, it's a safe bet none of them know exactly how long Gabriel Reyes had been shaving his head, or when he got the scars on his face, much less the stories behind them. Maybe he told them at some point. They did know him for years, after all. But if they knew him for that long and he didn't share, well, I'm not going to risk being the one to spill all his secrets.
Reaper was remarkably thorough in erasing the digital evidence of his past. The Overwatch and Blackwatch records, of course, were destroyed at the source or missing entirely. The Soldier Enhancement Program records were similarly trashed, but significant snooping led me through an email trail to dusty back-ups. Now I'm searching the remains of social media accounts thirty years old because naturally Reaper nuked his, but I doubt he remembered all the other people that had been in SEP with him after all that time, especially the ones who didn't survive the Omnic Crisis.
Once I'm in and sifting through things, it only takes a few minutes before I realize there's a possible treasure trove here buried in the muck of "likes" and "reblogs" because in order to separate himself from all the other people named Gabriel Reyes, he went by Big Dog Reyes and I have one hand clapped over my mouth to keep the giggles inside. Naturally, Reaper's looking at me like he's deciding if this is one of those situations where ignorance is bliss.
"Sombra?"
Juan Santos likes Big Dog Reyes's profile pic. And it's an anthropomorphic doberman with exaggerated muscles and a fierce scowl. Reaper can't see what I'm looking at, but I flip a screen his way that just says DON'T ASK and he turns back to stare firmly at the news while I laugh silently until tears would be streaming down my cheeks if I produced them.
It's not that I think the nickname is silly or that I'm mocking the picture. It's just that the contrast between Reaper and a younger Gabriel who was confident and secure enough to pull off an otherwise-ridiculous nickname is sort of a logic fail. There's delight that he was that happy with himself, once upon a time, but also the traditional secondhand I can't believe you did that embarrassment of knowing that the man credited with ending the Omnic Crisis, the internationally feared Reaper, once went by Big Dog and had a ridiculously ripped doberman as his profile picture.
The worst part is that there's no one I can share this with. I don't even know yet if Uncle Jack was aware at the time, if they talked on social media or if Gabriel used that nickname in person. I sure as hell can't ask Reaper, or even mention this to him. He'd be on edge for the next two weeks if he knew what I'd found, even with me having a record of not exploiting his vulnerabilities. I'm half surprised he hasn't holed up in his room just from how much I was laughing.
Okay, time to dig in and see what Big Dog - nope, giggling again. Time to see what my Papi was up to before the Overwatch Strike Force was assembled. There's a lot of random pictures and some witty comments in response to dumb things other people posted, and for a while I just lose myself in the comfort of observing a man most of the world has forgotten, the man I know Reaper doesn't think he can ever be again. Then I find a private video that someone named Carlos recorded with a comment of "Talent show - did not think he would do it but boy were we wrong!"
The thumbnail shows Gabriel in a pose that looks vaguely like ballet, with black gloves that go up past his elbows and sleek boots that hug his calves all the way up to his knees. He's wearing what looks like black tights, or maybe a unitard, and a...fancy black overcoat? It looks like some cross between a tuxedo jacket and a dress, going down past his knees, with a rounded bottom meant to flare when he turns and gauzy bits serving as short, loose sleeves. But at the same time, it buttons smartly up his torso. There's white piping along the edge, or maybe a white layer in the middle, it's hard to see from the still shot. It's elegant without being ridiculous, strong and powerful while still being graceful. Even the full-length gloves don't make him look feminine. He looks good, and he knows it, and he'll kick the ass of anyone who makes the mistake of thinking that looking good means he's an easy target.
I don't think Reaper would actually kill me, but I still feel like I'm taking my life into my hands as I download the video and run a few clean-up programs to compensate for the archaic technology used to record it. While my prize is being polished, I wonder what Gabriel Reyes would have done with his life if the Omnic Crisis hadn't interfered. Would models be wearing his clothes as they walked down the runway? God knows I feel like a badass model half the time in my mission outfit, and I can see enough similarities to that and to Reaper's outfit to know that he designed and made what he's wearing in this video. In another world, a peaceful world, he could be famous for his clothing line and live a life of luxury.
Nah. I know my Papi; he would have gotten bored within a year and started trouble one way or another.
When the video starts, there's a bit of camera-shake and chatter while Gabriel stands, back to the audience, his left hand out to the side in a gesture halfway between "come here" and "are you kidding me?" and the right one on his hip. His left leg is cocked, and his head is turned slightly to the left. Once the chatter of the other guys present dies down, the music starts playing and I'm glad I have it routed straight to me because I'm sure Reaper would judge me for listening to electronic pop from his youth, if not earlier, even if he didn't recognize the song and figure out what I was watching. In the video, he holds the pose for a count of eight and then shifts to a "hey there sailor" pose with a beat of "blowing a sexy kiss" in the middle that gets scattered catcalls. After a few beats, he starts moving in time with the music, shoulders and hips, and then launches into some sort of reeling/flexing motion, hips rolling, turning slightly until after the fourth motion he's facing away again, only to immediately turn back around. A few steps that look like killing time or repositioning, and then the Japanese lyrics - female, mild voice modulation - begin, and he starts dancing in earnest.
It's clearly a dance routine designed for a woman, or more likely a teenage girl, the motions alternating "cute" and "sexy", and the unseen audience drowns out the lyrics with a surge of mocking cheers and more catcalls. Gabriel dances with a strict poker face, stoically ignoring the catcalls and my smothered, hysterical laughter. I'm peripherally aware of Reaper, on the couch, wisping in uneasy alarm. But as the song moves into its chorus, something happens. The catcalls and my giggles start faltering. Gabriel's face starts taking on a that's right, bitches expression because he's really good. It's a dance meant to be performed by a sex object, and a muscled Latino with a shaved head and facial scars wouldn't usually qualify, but the fluidity of his motions and especially his hips make him a sex object. He flaunts his body with supreme confidence, the slant of his eyebrows and set of his shoulders announcing his amusement at the audience's growing silence, and every time he wiggles his hips, I can't look away. The next time I focus on his face, he's wearing a blatant smirk and all I can think is that it's entirely deserved - I have no doubt that he's a better dancer than anyone else watching, because I'm pretty certain he's better than me.
By the time the song ends, and Gabriel passes his hand in front of his turned-away face like that old saying "talk to the hand, 'cuz the face ain't listening", the only coherent thought in my head is GO PAPI! and I feel like I've just had a religious experience. The unseen audience apparently agrees, because three beats after the music ends, they erupt into applause and rough, wordless roars of support. There's a moment where Gabriel smirks at the camera - Big Dog proving that he's the leader of the pack - before the video ends.
For a very long minute, all I can do is stare at nothing in complete awe. I had no idea that Reaper could move like that, even when he was Gabriel Reyes.
"Sombra!" Reaper snaps, and I realize he's been calling my name for several seconds.
"Si!" I reply, responding to the 'angry father' tone while still lost in the memory of the video I've just watched. Gabriel's smirk fades into Reaper's mask, and I realize I've been directing that look of awe straight at him, but I still can't scrape my mind together enough to do anything else because holy shit, Papi can move!
"Why are you looking at me like that?" he demands after another minute of me staring.
All the things I can't say scroll past and what comes out is, "Because you just that good."
"Sombra," he growls in warning, but I shake my head.
"No teasing, Papi. Not this time. I not gonna say anything else, so don't ask."
That surprises him, I can tell from the wisps and the way his torso stiffens just slightly. "I don't know what you think you found..." he starts, but the threat implied by his tone never materializes.
"I found you being amazing."
The wisps start pouring from the back of his head and his shoulders. "That wasn't me. That man is dead."
"And that why you still answer when I say his name?" I snap, suddenly as furious as he is and realizing too late that this is not something I should pick a fight on. "Some day," I tell him in a hard voice before he can put together a retort, "I gonna tell you a story about a dead girl named Alessandra, and it gonna make you reconsider how dead that man really is."
Before he can react, I drop stealth over myself and retreat to my room because with both of us angry, things could get real ugly real quick and I don't know whether he's ready to have those wounds re-opened, but I absolutely am not. To make sure there's no further conversation, I put on some heavy, angry music and turn it up loud enough that he would have to yell to be heard over it. When I check the cameras, though, he's left the main room and I'm too angry to check and see where he's gone.
===
My anger burns out first. Given all the shit that happened to Reaper, I can see where he'd try to separate himself from who he used to be and I know he feels like he doesn't deserve the respect and adoration Gabriel Reyes got. I just don't know how to tell him that I'm not doing this because of who he used to be, that I'd still be doing this even if he was some random guy I'd never heard of. The hours pass, and now I'm worried that he thinks I'm trying to force him to be Gabriel Reyes, when what I'm trying to express is that he doesn't have to not be Gabriel Reyes. In a fit of frustration, I flop back onto my bed and cover my face with both hands. Why do these things have to be so confusing?
=
When Reaper finally comes back into our suite, I'm dozing on the stairs leading to his room. The door wakes me and I jerk away from the wall propping me up, which in turn attracts his attention.
"Sombra?"
He sounds confused, but I'm still half asleep myself, so I guess that makes us even.
"I'm sorry for yelling at you," I tell him in a small voice. "You don't have to be who you were, and I wasn't trying to force you to be, but you don't have to only be who you are now, either." Pause. "Did that make sense?"
"Sombra..."
"You don't have to be Gabriel but it's okay if you are?"
There's no response for a long minute and I sigh before struggling to stand without falling over. A pair of strong hands help me keep my balance until I'm standing on the floor again, but they don't let go. Confused, I look up into Reaper's mask.
"I upset you," he says quietly. "I'm sorry. Now go to bed, Sombra."
It has to be a by-product of me being half asleep, but his voice sounded warm. Affectionate. Lightly teasing. Exactly the way I used to daydream Gabriel Reyes would sound if he were my father. "Okay," I say, feeling and sounding like a little girl again, and I lean in to give him a long, warm hug.
Those strong hands hold me close and I'd swear there was a gentle kiss laid on the top of my head but Reaper doesn't have lips, he has a mask, so it's probably just me imagining it. Then the hug ends and he turns me towards my room and I go, slowly, one hand trailing along the wall to keep me oriented. My bed is cool and soft and sleep is warm and dark.
=
Morning comes late, unsurprisingly, and I spend several minutes sorting through last night's memories. Did I really hug Reaper? Yes, yes I did, and furthermore he didn't just allow it, he reciprocated. And he apologized. That stuns me for another handful of minutes. I want to tell Ana, Angela, Athena - why are there so many A-names in the ranks of formerly-Overwatch? - that Reaper cares about me so much that he apologized for upsetting me. But telling them would require explaining why I was upset, and those are questions I don't want to answer yet. Besides, sharing this sparkling little secret would be a violation of Reaper's trust, and it would be stupid to endanger the fruits of my labor when the blossoms are still on the branch.
So, to further that trust, I'm going to pretend the entirety of yesterday didn't happen. Don't call attention to the apologies or the reason for the apologies. Give Papi the emotional space to chew on the idea that he doesn't have to lock himself out of everything that Gabriel Reyes was...and that it would be hypocritical of him to try, considering that he still answers to that name and I'm pretty sure fatherly hugs go against what Talon wants Reaper to be.
I'm winning. I'm stealing Talon's weapon of mass destruction away from them. They may have poisoned Overwatch, they may have broken Gabriel Reyes, but in starving Reaper, they made a fatal mistake. Big Dog still has teeth, I just have to make him see that he doesn't have to stay with Talon. Hmm, but to advance that goal, maybe I should tell at least Tia Ana about the night's developments.
Open connection. How to phrase this?
WE ALMOST HAD A FIGHT LAST NIGHT. WE'RE OKAY, I add before she can worry.
Her response comes back faster than I expected. WHAT HAPPENED?
I HIT A NERVE. HE HIT A NERVE. I YELLED AT HIM A LITTLE AND LEFT. HE LEFT. WE BOTH APOLOGIZED WHEN HE CAME BACK.
There's a few minutes before she types, WHAT WAS THE FIGHT ABOUT?
How to phrase this? WHETHER OR NOT GABRIEL REYES IS DEAD.
WHATEVER YOU SAID, I HAVE NO DOUBT HE NEEDED TO HEAR IT. THANK YOU FOR BEING THE FRIEND HE NEEDS. There's a pause, and then she types, YOU SAID HE APOLOGIZED?
FOR UPSETTING ME. I APOLOGIZED FOR YELLING AT HIM.
I THINK YOU HAVE SUCCESSFULLY WON YOUR FIRST ARGUMENT WITH GABRIEL.
OH, I DID THAT THE FIRST TIME HE GOT SHOT. I TOLD HIM TO GET IN THE CAN, HE SAID NO, AND I YELLED AT HIM UNTIL HE DID.
STILL, Tia Ana types, HE APOLOGIZED FOR HITTING A NERVE. EVEN BEFORE EVERYTHING, THIS WOULD NOT HAVE BEEN A COMMON OCCURRENCE. I COMMEND YOU FOR EVERYTHING YOU HAVE DONE ALREADY, AND LOOK FORWARD TO SHARING STORIES WITH YOU IN PERSON.
That makes me grin. AND SEEING ME YELL AT HIM IN PERSON?
THAT, TOO. I'm sure she's grinning back.
Hmm. Reaper still hasn't left his room. TIME TO GO BOTHER HIM LOVINGLY. I'LL KEEP IN TOUCH.
The connection closes. I roll out of bed and make my way to the kitchen to start the coffee. While it's brewing, I find the WORLD'S GREATEST DAD mug and put it out for him in case he comes down while I'm getting dressed, and then it's back to my room to change. He still hasn't emerged by the time the coffee is done, so I pour it into his mug and climb the stairs to his room.
Knock, knock, knock, pause.
"What?" comes the angrily-growled reply. Well, a reply is a good sign.
"Just making sure you're okay in there. I brought you coffee."
A few moments later, the door opens and Reaper wisps at me, back of the head but also biceps. Another good sign. I hold out the mug and he stares for a few seconds before reaching out with one hand to take it.
"So you can have your coffee but not come out if you don't want to," I tell him lightly.
Then, before he can really wrestle with whether or not he should or can bring himself to say 'thank you', I stealth away and re-appear in my usual chair, opening half a dozen screens and to all appearances ignoring him completely. He stares at me for a minute before retreating into his room. It'll probably be a few hours before he comes out again, but whatever he's brooding about, he has a reminder that I still care.