Safehouse

[moonshadows]

The safehouse is in a nice neighborhood of Zurich, one that boasts an extensive park and caters to a lot of wealthy tourists. There's trees that line the property, blocking it from public view, and a helipad in the back. Not to mention the fortified bunker underneath the three-story building with four complete living areas in the two wings that sweep out from the center, each capable of housing six people comfortably. The ground floors are athletic and office areas; the central areas are for entertaining and impressing visitors.

I could seduce the gate, but I don't have to. I was the one who restored and updated the property (or paid others, mostly omnics, to do it) so I have the codes. I don't even have to slow down as I turn in. The omnic gardener greets me through linkweb as I come up the curving drive, and I park just short of the main door. He - he doesn't actually identify as male, but those are the pronouns he prefers - will be driving the car to the Zurich rental location once we're inside.

The security system had discreetly notified me that Angela had arrived along with some equipment and a few assistants, and that Ana had made herself at home in the second-floor east wing and brought an armed escort with her. So when I grab the backpack and step out of the car and half a dozen nodes on Ana's channel light up, it's not really a surprise.

"Stop right there!"

Three uniformed figures step out from behind the bushes, sidearms drawn, and three snipers rise into a visible crouch from the roof. I set the backpack down in front of me and send Widow a modified mission-signal to get out of the car and bring my duffel bag from the back seat with her.

"I'm not a threat," I tell the man who shouted for me to stop. I'm also live in their channel. "Ana is expecting me. I'm-"

"We know who you are," he says in a distinctly unfriendly tone. "Sombra. Talon's hacker."

"Oh, don' be like that." My tone is all sugar and smugness. "I brought you a present!"

Minor chaos in the channel as Widow steps up to me with the bag.

"I think I can fix her," I tell them earnestly, "but I gonna need some help."

Minor confusion in the channel. More than one sidearm lowers. And then Reaper wakes up.

"Sombra? Where are we?"

The sidearms some back up. "That's Reaper!" echoes over the secure channel.

"We arrived," I tell him. "Just sit tight a few minutes longer, okay?"

The lead uniform edges a few steps closer. "No sudden moves or I shoot," he commands.

I hold my empty hands up. "Is okay, he sealed in a can. He can't hurt you," I say soothingly.

"If anyone shoots," Reaper growls, "I'm going to kill every one of them."

"Papi! They Ana's people, behave!"

Reaper grumbles, but doesn't say anything else.

Lead uniform stands up out of his cautious stance and swaggers over. "Nice trick. What else can it say?"

Patience, little shadow. "Is not a trick. That's really Reaper."

"And you expect me to believe he lets you carry him around in a backpack and listens when you tell him to behave," he sneers. "More like you blackmailed him, right?"

The left-hand sniper interrupts on the channel. "Sir? I was in the bar on the Christmas mission. She said Reaper got her a Christmas gift and she was telling McCree that he may as well be her father. I wouldn't put it past him to be protective of her and follow her lead."

Lead Uniform scoffs. "A heartless monster like him?"

"If you even imply Reaper doesn't care about me," I warn him, "I will punch you in your fat mouth."

"You're saying he got in the can of his own free will." It's less a question and more a statement of sheer disbelief.

Where's Ana? She should be out here by now. "Yes," I tell him impatiently. "I told him we were leaving, get in the can, and he got in the can."

"So you have him trained, like a pet."

As the front door opens, I lash out and punch him right in his fat mouth. He yelps and staggers back, bleeding from a split lip. Astonishingly, no one shoots me. Ana steps out and takes in the scene.

"What's going on?" she demands.

The uniform on her right says something I can't fully make out except for the word 'pet'.

"You earned that," she tells Lead Uniform sternly. Then she walks right past him to give me a hug. "I've been waiting for you. Angela is inside. Come in, come in. The rest of you," she says, looking pointedly at Lead Uniform, "back to what you're supposed to be doing."

I give Lead Uniform a cheery little wave and bright smile as I pick up the backpack and follow Ana into the safehouse.

=

Angela is waiting for us in the foyer with a sophisticated tubelike bed and two assistants. She hesitates, eyes big and sad glancing back and forth between the nearly-dormant Widow and the backpack in my hands.

"Papi," I say gently while I unzip the backpack, "Angela gonna take Widow to de-Widow her. Might take a month or more before she comes back. You wanna come out and see her off, or just see her off through the screen?"

The face-screen opens long enough for him to see Angela, then closes again. "No."

Well, that went a bit better than I expected. "Okay."

I put the backpack off to the side and reclaim my duffel bag from Widow before handing over the metaphoric keys to the door in her mind. Angela hugs me, clearly close to tears.

"Thank you, Schattenkind," she says quietly before letting go. "Here is what I promised you." A small pad and a vacuum-sealed metal canister the size of a soda can are pressed into my hands. "Wish me success with my patient, and I will wish you success with yours despite our differences of opinion," she teases.

"May we both be successful," I agree.

"And maybe the next time I visit, I will be able to actually see him."

We both glance at the backpack with the can peeking out. "I make no promises," I tell her dryly. "Things gotta go at his pace." And we won't mention how angry he was to hear that she was one of my friends.

Angela nods. "Of course. Ana, it was good to see you again. I don't mean to be rude, but I have a patient to tend to."

"Of course," Tia Ana murmurs, hugging Angela. "Take care of her."

"I will," Angela promises.

There's a flurry of getting Widow settled into the medical tube, settings checked and re-checked, and then the group leaves briskly, pushing the contraption along with them. Ana and I stand there in silence for a moment, letting the echo of their presence disperse, before she turns and hugs me again.

"It is good to see that you got here safely," she says in a warm, welcoming tone. "May I see Gabriel?"

I turn to the backpack, but the screen is already open. "Papi?" His simulated head looks around, wisping uncomfortably, but he doesn't say anything. "Not here," I tell Ana. "Maybe someplace more private?"

She gazes thoughtfully at Reaper's face-screen for a moment before it closes, and then nods. "This way."

=

In the common room of the second-floor east wing living area, I drop the duffel bag in a chair with the backpack and set the can on the floor. "Just me and Ana," I murmur as I open the lid.

There's a few moments of tension before he flows out of the can and forms, wisping from the backs of his shoulders, but also heavily from his legs and some from chest. If Ana knows that he's terrified, she doesn't show it as she steps forward fearlessly to hug him. Because I'm standing to the side, I can see his spiked gauntlets melt into hands as he hugs desperately back.

"It makes me glad to see you, Gabriel," she says softly, not letting go. The wisping doubles, and I can see him tremble. Ana must feel it, because she says, "Be at peace. You are safe here."

Reaper loses cohesion, dissolving in her startled arms to flow back into the can and roil there until I close the lid and give him a hit of endorphins.

"He had a hard day." My understatement is blithely cheerful. "Gonna take some time before he recovers."

"And how are you faring?" she asks.

"It's been a long day," I answer dryly.

Ana smiles softly. "Indeed it has. Perhaps I should let you rest, and interrogate you in the morning."

I glance at the can. Reaper's biological signals are in a rest state. "Thank you for being here to welcome him," I say in a rush. "He's been afraid - Talon convinced him that everyone hated him, and he's been taking it on faith that I'm right when I tell him that's not true. He..." I rub my eyes. It has been a long day, and now that we're at the safehouse, it's catching up with me. "When I'm not falling asleep, I can show you the sort of thing Talon did to him. He wants to talk, he wants to make things better, but he has to learn how and he's afraid of messing up. He has to un-learn the hate Talon taught him to feel."

"Rest," Ana says firmly, wrapping her arms around me in the sort of hug that tugs at long-buried subdirectories of memory. "No one can do everything at once. You have already performed enough miracles for today; the rest must wait for tomorrow." When I don't reply because I'm trying not to cry, she continues, "Gabriel will surely worry if you do not take care of yourself."

The light teasing tone makes me laugh. "I'm going, Tia Ana. Just let me grab my bags and point me to an empty room."

She lets go, but grabs my bag and hefts it easily up to her shoulder with a mildly challenging look. I opt not to argue, and just collect can and backpack. Ana nods and waits for me to nod back before leading the way down the hall to an unused bedroom. The duffel bag goes at the foot of what's now my bed, and then she hugs me again before leaving and closing the door behind her.

First things first: I open the lid of the can so Reaper can get out if he wants to, and change into my pajamas. The sheets are crisp and cool, the blanket a comforting thickness, and no one will know I'm not sleeping, but there's a few more things I need to take care of first. The safehouse has a more robust communications network than one might expect, and I slip easily into the secured system before opening connections.

To Athena, ARRIVED SAFELY. HANDED WIDOW OFF TO ANGELA. HOW WAS YOUR HUNT?

FRUITFUL, she types back after a few seconds. THERE IS MUCH TO BE CONFERRED UPON, BUT THE HUNT IS STILL ON. PERHAPS WE CAN CATCH UP AFTER YOU HAVE RESTED.

I LOOK FORWARD TO IT, I tell her. THANK YOU.

A short message to linkbrother Genji, encrypted with our unique algorithm, will wait in the satellites until he can retrieve it. The coordinates of the safehouse, the message that we arrived safe, and an invitation to visit are all included.

Then I do something I haven't done since before Argentina: send a signal through the satellites requesting live connection with my sponsor and wait, linksignal open, for a reply.

It takes three minutes before the Tehuacán Omnium reaches back through the satellites and connection is established.

/I have left Talon./

/Did you find the information you were sent to retrieve?/

In other words, have I figured out who actually turned the Omniums back on and turned them against humanity. I'd thought I'd left with that part of my mission unfulfilled, but with Athena's revelation, I realize I actually may have found it. /I believe so. We suspect the head of Talon is, or was, a God AI./

Wordless anger. /Where is the false god?/

/Still looking. But I may have killed him already./

/Why did you leave if you had not completed this task? This is unlike you, little shadow./

I'm not being chided; the Omnium is curious because it is out of character for me to not have every loose end tied up. /I found family within Talon. I couldn't leave them there any longer./ The Omnium will understand that. After all, that's the core of Los Muertos: not leaving behind those who have become your family.

/Who?/

/Reaper and Widowmaker./

There's a pause before the Omnium asks, /Are you sure that was wise?/

/By caring for Reaper, I earned trust among his old friends. By delivering Widowmaker, I earned even more. The core of what used to be Overwatch welcomes me. Talon is their enemy, too; they have suffered, too. I have made them my allies./

Another pause. /Well done, little shadow. You will continue working on this task, then?/

/Of course. The God AI hurt Reaper. If he still exists, I will make him wish he did not. And there are the remains of Talon's plots to unravel and clean up, too. The core of Overwatch will be eager for my help there./

/Then be sure you assist them well. Your family here thrives, but you are missed./

It's an invitation to go home when the remains of Talon have been cleaned up. /I miss them, but my family here needs me./

/Reaper./

/Yes./

/What have you discovered that could make him mean so much to you?/

The Omnium isn't judging; this is a genuine inquiry, and not just out of figuring out how human interaction works because by this point, it's had close to three decades of data on that front from watching Los Muertos. No, this has to do specifically with my past, and the fact that I have never displayed emotional attachment like this towards anyone else, organic or omnic.

/He used to be Gabriel Reyes. Now he is my father./

The pause this time is startled but pleased. /Then care for him well, and when your tasks are completed you will both be welcomed whenever you choose to return./

Acceptance, from the entity that has been like a godparent to me since I was a child and first went poking my augmented fingers into things I shouldn't. The force that encouraged and nurtured my hacking, that supported and enabled my transition from the organic body I was born with into the specialized omnic body I've been inhabiting for close to a decade. It's like Ana's hugs, unexpected but welcomed beyond words.

/Thank you./

===

Reaper is awake already when I wake up, according to the can. The can also reports that he left for a good period of time and only just now returned. I wonder if he went exploring, but with the state he's in, I know he didn't. He wouldn't want to risk running into anyone. He flows out of the can and solidifies as I sit up.

"What did Angela give you?" he demands before I can say anything. Just mentioning her is causing him to wisp with barely-repressed anger.

"New configuration for you," I tell him, sitting up and reaching for the data pad. "Something you can wear in public and reconnect with your old friends in." Access the pad; screens open up and programming flows past.

"What are you doing?"

"Checking it over. I asked her for it, I told her what I wanted it to do, but you don't trust her. You trust me. And to be honest, I don't trust anyone but me with your programming. So I'm making sure it's what I want it to be before I give it to you."

Reaper crosses his arms to hide the small wisps coming from his chest. "So what is it?"

Everything looks good. "You gonna be a dog."

Angrily uncertain wisping.

"You gonna be able to eat again," I tease.

The angry wisps die slowly down. He is looking forward to that, but he's still uncertain.

I roll my eyes. "It's not permanent."

Half the uncertain wisps die down.

"It's a doberman."

He's wisping...erratically now. Trying to wisp, trying to hide that he likes this idea because he had a doberman as a kid. Which, after finding Big Dog Reyes's profile picture, wasn't much of a surprise.

"So," I say, grinning, "it's going to take a few hours to apply because it's a much more involved configuration than you've been using. You want it now, or later?"

"I don't see a point in waiting," he growls.

In other words, he'd like to delay having to face anyone for another few hours. That's fine. "One more thing before we do this," I tell him. "Because this is a more complex form with the ability to eat, you won't be able to just shift in and out for a while. I'm going to keep control of when you switch to it and switch out of it until I'm sure you won't leave half-digested food on the floor if you decide to wisp off," I finish in a teasing tone.

A small flare of amused wisping from chest and biceps. "Fair enough."

"Good. Then get back in the can, I need to add the new nanites to your swarm."

Reaper dissolves and flows into the can. From the sealed cannister Angela gave me, I pull out one of the six tubes of nanites and re-seal the rest. A quick check to make sure the nanites hold the right programming, and then I uncap the tube and pour the fine, glittering dust it contains into the seething darkness of Reaper's mass. It takes almost a full minute before the new swarm is distributed and accepted, and then I lift the can and dump its formless contents out onto the bed and tell it to get to work.

It's going to be at least four hours before this initial configuration is complete, so I change into something more socially acceptable than pajamas and wander out to find Ana and Jack sitting at the round table in the kitchen/dining area, hands wrapped around cups of tea and coffee respectively. Good.

"Sleep well?" Ana asks while Jack looks like he's trying to not choke on his coffee.

I seat myself across from them. "Yes, thank you."

"Where's..." Jack looks at Ana with a stubborn expression, like they've been arguing about whatever he's about to say. "...Reaper." Ana immediately gives him a very stern look. A lesser man would have quailed, but Jack Morrison clenches his jaw and doubles down. "I'll call him Gabriel when he acts like Gabriel."

"He's getting an upgrade to his swarm," I tell them. "He'll be out for a few hours, which gives us time to talk."

Jack leans back slightly. "I'm not sure I like that look on your face," he says warily.

Ana just looks concerned. "This is about Gabriel, I presume?"

I nod. "Talon hurt him, badly, and if he's going to heal then I think you both need to know how Talon hurt him. Especially you, Uncle Jack."

"You caused all this chaos because they were hurting him," he half-asks. "Ana said...I just wanted to confirm. Athena's had me running all over the States hitting Talon bases for the last day and a half. Now, I don't mind, they needed to be hit, but I've been awake for close to forty-eight hours. Are you sure..." The question trails off in the face of my grim expression.

"He hates you," I say quietly. He blames you. Don't you want to know why? Don't you want to know what they did to him?"

Jack takes a gulp of coffee. When he speaks, it's in a growl. "Alright. Tell me."

Instead of speaking, I open a screen and play the video of Reaper reporting and being taunted by red-eyed specters.

"This explains many things," Tia Ana says quietly when the video has ended. Jack grunts agreement.

"Damn. I'd hate me, too, after enough of that. So where do we go from here?" he asks me. "You got him out, now how do we get him back?"

"Be patient, first off. He knows he's been conditioned to hate blindly. He knows I'll call him on it. I'll keep him in line; you give him time to realize he doesn't hate you so much before you start talking about the things he's actually angry at you about."

Jack nods. "You got it. As long as I can sleep first," he finishes, grimacing.

"Go for it. I'm going to keep him as a dog for I think two days before I let him change back; you'll have plenty of time."

That makes him look sharply at me. "Dog?"

"Angela told me a bit about that," Ana says. "Gabriel has been without many things we take for granted for a very long time, and being a dog will allow him to get accustomed to them again without the burdens of expectation which would accompany his original body."

"That's...a good idea," Jack says slowly. "I'm not sure I could be around Reaper without getting angry, even if he looked like Gabriel again, but it's hard to get mad at a dog." He yawns. "Okay, this coffee isn't helping at all. I'll see you both in a few hours."

Ana murmurs a wish for restful sleep as he stands, nods to us, and leaves the room.

"I know you will want to stay with Gabriel," she says to me, "but you arrived with very little luggage. Is there anything I can have my people fetch for you?"

"I had most of our stuff shipped," I answer slowly. "It should be here in a day or so. But I didn't have a chance to prepare for Papi being a dog. I'll want to pick out most things for myself, and I don't think it would be good to put him on a leash immediately, but maybe a water bowl and some squeaky toys...?"

Ana looks like she's biting back amusement at the idea of Reaper on a leash. "Of course. Perhaps some treats? Perhaps not," she continues, seeing the look on my face.

"I know he'll be able to digest anything, but he's going to be risking sensory overload as it is. Maybe some pretzel rods? Something hard and bland until I can formulate some kind of Reaper Food stick."

That gets me a raised eyebrow. "Reaper Food?"

"That's what I call his nutrient solution," I clarify, trying not to feel silly. "LRF - Liquid Reaper Food."

"Does he know you call it that?" she asks.

I cover my face briefly, thinking fast. "No. If he asks, tell him I told you it stands for living replenishment fluid."

"Of course," she murmurs, but she's swallowing a smile and her eye is crinkled in amusement. "I'll ask my people to find you something. Perhaps Peterson would welcome a break from his duties."

"Who's..."

"The one whose lip you so beautifully split," she clarifies.

"He called Reaper a pet. I don't want him to think he's right or give him the opportunity to come back with a muzzle or something."

Ana frowns. "I will have words with him. Is there someone else you would care to nominate?"

"Whoever's westmost on the roof," I say promptly. "He was stationed inside the tavern when I met with McCree."

"I will see to it at once."

"And I'll go monitor Papi's progress."

We leave the room in different directions.

=

Reaper looks like a rough stone statue of a dog when there's a knock on the door and Tia Ana calls my name.

"Come on in," I tell her from my seat on the floor, not taking my eyes off the unfinished form on my bed.

Ana pulls the desk chair over and sits gracefully. "How is he progressing?"

I pull up a screen showing the status of various biological aspects. "His skeleton is complete, he has muscles, swarm is building organs and blood vessels. Skin and nerves and fur will come last."

"And he does know he will be a dog when he wakes up," she says in a doubtful tone that stops just shy of being a question.

That makes me smile. "Even knows the breed. I wasn't able to give him anything more than just feeling warmth and some endiophins, and now he gonna have everything. He gonna be the waggiest doberman you ever saw."

"It will be strange, seeing him in a dog's body, but if it makes him happy..." Ana shakes her head slightly, smiling. "Jacobs has returned from his errand." She holds out a plastic bag, and I take it.

Metal water dish, a squeaky plastic steak, a thick rope of soft cloth, a realistic plush duck, a tube of tennis balls, a red Frisbee, a can of pretzel rods, a pad of paper, and a pack of thick crayons.

"Crayons?"

"He thought you might be bored," Ana clarifies.

Unlikely, but it's a nice gesture. "Well, please thank him for me. I will let you know when Reaper is comfortable leaving the room. I don't know how long it's going to take him to adjust, but being a dog will mean he can't lose cohesion the way he did last night."

Ana frowns. "About that. Could you explain what happened there?"

"When he feels strong emotions," I say quietly, "he starts to lose cohesion. He was annoyed, but also very afraid because he cares. Then, when you weren't angry with him...he was overwhelmed."

"Gabriel..." she murmurs.

That's something else I need to clarify before Reaper's awake to hear it. "I'm not going to call him that."

She gives me a startled look just short of affront. "Why not?"

"Because I didn't know him before he was Reaper; it's fine for you, but it's not my place to tell him who he is. I met him as Reaper, hurt his feelings as Reaper, and formed an emotional attachment with him as Reaper. He hasn't chosen to go back to being Gabriel yet, so I'm respecting his decision. Besides," I add dryly, "I would be the biggest hypocrite ever if I didn't."

Her lips twitch in a repressed smile. "You were not given the name 'Sombra' at birth, then. Somehow, I suspected as much."

"He knows I know who he was," I tell her. "So me not using his old name...it tells him that he still deserves everything nice I've done. That I'm not just doing it all because of who he was."

Ana's silent for a minute. "You formed an emotional attachment with him as Reaper," he says slowly. "You truly did not know who he was?"

"Not until after I hurt his feelings," I say in a small voice. "That's why I went looking for his past - to find a way to properly apologize."

"And if he had not been Gabriel Reyes?"

"We'd still be here, in the safehouse, as Talon burned for hurting him." A shrug. "Even if you weren't."

"Then I will not object to whatever you choose to call him. That he is still deserving of care no matter who he is, is a lesson I greatly approve of." Her eye crinkles in amusement. "Although I suspect you would do what you feel is right with or without my approval."

I grin back at her. "You are absolutely right, Tia Ana."

=

I'm adding a purple sugar skull to the sign I've drawn for my door (DO NOT DISTURB! MCCREE, THIS MEANS YOU) when Reaper's breathing shifts. It had been very soothing, listening to slow, deep doggy breaths, but the sudden irregular and desperate-sounding rhythm is...alarming. Paper and crayon tumble off my knees and onto the floor as I whip around to see a fully-formed adult male doberman gasping for breath on my bed.

"Papi!"

A coughing sound, another wheezing inhalation. "Sombra?"

"Oh god, Papi, you forgot...relax, you're okay, just listen to my voice." One hand on his head, petting in a long, slow stroke. "Focus on my touch. Listen to my voice. You're okay. You're okay." The desperate breathing evens out. "Just relax. It's okay. It's been so long, you forgot how to breathe, but your body knows what to do. Better?"

A slow, deep inhalation. An aggravated sigh. "Yes." Pause. "This is not how I thought it would be to wake up in a real body again."

"You probably want to open your eyes," I point out.

Reaper promptly does just that, giving me a sullen look with one brown doggy eye. "Right. Eyes. Anything else you want to point out that should have been glaringly obvious?"

Instead of pointing out that he's speaking with a canine mouth (and inviting him to bite his tongue when he thinks about it), I just scratch behind his ears and smile as his eyes slip shut again in pleasure. "Just take a minute to get used to things. Listen, feel, smell."

Deep inhalation. Another one. "I have no idea what I'm smelling."

"Well, you've got a dog's sense of smell now. You'd be smelling things you had no words for anyway."

Reaper lays there, the skin on his forehead wrinkling between his eyes, for a long minute. I keep scratching and petting. Then he turns his head and noses at my hand, tongue flicking out to lick my fingers, before laying it down in a posture of defeat.

"Papi?"

"It's a lot to take in," he growls sullenly.

"Take all the time you need," I tell him, massaging the wrinkled skin until he sighs and relaxes. "No one's timing you. No one's judging you. You're getting used to a whole new body and it's going to be overwhelming at first."

A handful of minutes pass in silence before he says, "Why does it feel good when you do that?"

"Do what?" I stop petting him. He opens one eye to glare at me, and closes it when I resume. "That?"

"Yes."

"You got a real body again, Papi. It produces endorphins without you having to be in the can. All sorts of things are gonna feel good. How you feeling?"

"Good," he says reluctantly. "Restless."

"Get up and stretch?"

Cautiously, Reaper climbs to his feet and stretches his legs, front and back, before sitting and looking down at me. "Still restless," he says.

Without looking, I reach into the bag and pull out the squeaky steak. His tail is wagging before I even toss it in his direction, and he snatches it out of the air. The first squeak makes him freeze in startled affront, and then he hunkers down over it, chewing ferociously and growling deep in his throat, tail wagging furiously.

"Not a word," he says as he sees me grinning.

"I'm just happy to see you enjoying yourself, Papi."

"This...should...not...be...this...fun." He takes the toy steak in his mouth and shakes his head as if he were killing it.

"You think that's fun, maybe I shouldn't tell you what else we got for you," I tease.

Instantly, the steak is forgotten and he's leaning over the edge of the bed. "Tell me."

His eyes follow the red Frisbee as I hold it up, every muscle tense.

"You feeling grounded enough to go outside?"

"I'll deal."

I stick the Frisbee back in the bag. "Okay. But I need you to make me a promise."

"...what is it?"

"If you feel uncomfortable in any way," I tell him, holding his eyes with mine, "you tell me. I don't care what it is. Too hot, too cold, hungry, thirsty, dizzy, you stepped on a sharp rock, anything. You're in a fully-functional body now, and you can actually hurt yourself if you ignore uncomfortable sensations. So you promise me that you'll tell me if anything makes you feel uncomfortable, and I'll promise you that I will spoil you rotten. But if you try to ignore shit, suck it up because you think it's unmanly to admit that something's not right, I will take away the dog shape until I'm convinced you won't do that again. Deal?"

Reaper whines a little, head dipping down to rest on his paws. "...deal."

I scratch him behind one ear. "Good. Let me just check in with Ana and I'll be right back."

Another whine, and an aborted wagging of his tail.

"You want to see her on our way out?"

He doesn't say anything for a moment, tail wagging vigorously. Then, when he realizes his body's ratted him out, he says, "Yes."

"Alright. Let me go find her."

Tail wagging, Reaper watches me leave the room. Tia Ana is in the kitchen, pouring tea.

"Jack still asleep?" I ask her.

"He is," she says. "How is Gabriel?"

"I'm gonna take him outside, but he wants to see you first."

Ana looks thrilled. "That is wonderful!"

"I'll bring him out to you, then," I tell her.

Reaper's chewing on the plastic steak when I get back to my room, but when he sees me, he sticks it into the plastic bag with the other supplies. "Well?"

I grab the bag. "Of course she wants to see you. Come on, this way."

He follows me closely as I go to the living room area, pressed against my leg, tail wagging. Ana sets her tea down and kneels to hug him, cheek pressed against his head, fingers working in his fur.

"It is good to see you happy, Gabriel," she says quietly. Reaper tries to look uncertain, but she scratches behind his ears and he licks at her cheek. "Sombra says you two are going outside?"

"She has a Frisbee," Reaper says, like that should be enough explanation for anyone.

Ana laughs. "Say no more! Go, enjoy the sun. We can catch up when you're ready to rest."

Tail still wagging furiously, Reaper follows me down the stairs and out into the extensive field that passes for a back yard. He practically dances as his paws touch the grass, bounding and snapping at it, ripping up a few blades and shaking his head vigorously before spitting them out. I have to whistle to get his attention, and then he's off like a shot, a dark streak flashing over the lawn chasing the Frisbee, leaping to snatch it out of the air and then trotting back, visibly pleased with himself.

"Why does it feel good?" he growls as he relinquishes the red disk. "Running. Jumping. Why does it feel good?"

"Adrenaline and endorphins," I tease. "Again?"

Wagging as I lift the disk, half-jumping with excitement. Then I throw, and he's off running again. Through the linkweb, the gardener shares my quiet happiness and asks if there's anything I need. Minutes later, he steps out of the house with a tall glass of cool water, and pours it into the metal bowl I've set beside the bag of dog toys. Reaper runs up with the Frisbee, and I hand it to the gardener.

"Go long," he says, and then he's throwing it further than I've been, his delight sparkling between us, before he goes back to his duties.

It's only natural that Reaper would have a lot of pent-up energy, I think as I throw the Frisbee for him again and again. He must have been used to a lifetime of being physically active, and then spending half a decade in the form he did... He can not only feel now, but fur instead of clothes means he can feel the sun and the wind on his whole body. I can see his energy flagging after about half an hour, and start taking a moment to pet him, hug him, get licked by him, and scratch behind his ears before throwing again. Give him a little breather without making it obvious.

Half an hour after that, he trots back up and drops the Frisbee rather than handing it to me. "I feel heavy," he growls, head turning slightly away. "I want to run, but I also kind of don't want to run."

"You're getting tired," I tell him, kneeling to hug his neck. "You can keep going if you want, or I can throw tennis balls for you. They won't go as far but they'll still let you chase a little and they're probably more fun to bite. Or we can stop and do something else."

"Stop," he says, sounding like he regrets the word even before it's out of his mouth. "I remember what it's like, the day after working too hard. I'd rather not experience that just now."

I hug him again and sit back. "Okay. There's water in the bowl if you want it, and some pretzel rods if you want to try eating. I thought it would be better to try a bland food first."

He eyes the bag. "Are they salted pretzels?"

I check the can. "Yes."

"Maybe one or two," he says slowly. "I think I remember salt being bad for dogs."

"You're not a normal dog, Papi," I point out. "You don't have a normal digestive tract. You have a pit of nanites that break down anything you eat. You could eat that plastic steak, if you really wanted to."

Reaper gives the squeaky steak a cursory chewing. "You're saying I can eat people food."

"I'm saying you can eat chocolate."

His tail is suddenly wagging madly. He glares at it.

I scratch behind his ears. "What's wrong, Papi?"

"This damn thing keeps..."

"What, wagging to show when you like something?"

Reaper lays sulkily down.

"Is it really a bad thing, having people know when you're happy?" I ask quietly, stroking his ears. He whines. "I know you're going to have to learn how to talk to people again. But while you're doing that, isn't it better if they can see when you're secretly happy? Don't you want Ana to be able to tell that you're happy, even if you can't say it?"

There's a minute of silence while his tail wags and he tries to look furious. "Just give me a pretzel," he growls.

It's no surprise when he winds up eating the whole can and licking his water bowl dry. After all, he just worked out for a solid hour. When he's done, we move a bit away from the patch of crumbs he left in the grass and he flops down next to me, head on my leg, just enjoying the sun and the attention I give him and probably dozing a bit.

At least, that would explain why Uncle Jack is able to sit down on his other side and get five or ten minutes of petting in before Reaper flinches, although he doesn't react more than that.

"Nice dog," Jack says, breaking the silence.

"Not really," I say dryly, "but he doesn't bite without warning."

"Handsome dog," he corrects himself.

Reaper snorts. I can only imagine the sort of comment he declined to say.

"Did you have a dog, growing up?" Jack asks me. When I shake my head, he says, "I did. Border collie. Working dog." Then he launches into rambling stories about the dog, and farms, and something about ducks. Reaper doesn't say anything, although I can feel enough tension in his body that I know he's not asleep. "Gabe had a dog, I think," Jack says cautiously when the duck story is over.

"Shut up, Morrison." The growl is quiet, like Reaper can't be bothered to put more effort into it, and his eyes are closed.

Jack glances at me, his hand still moving over Reaper's head, fingers massaging slowly. "I'm glad you're okay," he says in a gentle voice.

Reaper opens one eye to glare at him. "I will bite you if you don't shut up."

"I'll let him," I say when Jack looks at me in alarm, silently asking if Reaper really would bite him. "He didn't say stop, and he didn't say go away. He just said shut up." For how much Papi hates his old friend, that was downright polite, but I'm putting that down to sensory satiation.

The hand that Jack had withdrawn is slowly lowered again, and he resumes petting. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, I can feel the tension seep back out of Papi's muscles. I open a small screen and play his favorite song at a comfortably low volume, then open another and flip it over in front of Jack.

I DON'T THINK JUST AVOIDING CONFRONTATION IS GOING TO WORK, I type on the paired screen in front of me.

Uncle Jack eyes the screen and cautiously taps on the digital keyboard, making sure it doesn't disrupt the rhythm of petting Reaper. IT SEEMS TO BE GOING OKAY SO FAR.

IT'S GOING TO GO LESS WELL WHEN HE'S NOT SWIMMING IN SENSORY ENJOYMENT FOR THE FIRST TIME IN FIVE YEARS, I reply.

That makes Jack frown. I'LL TAKE YOUR WORD ON THAT. WHAT DO YOU SUGGEST?

CONFRONTATION.

Jack shoots me a hard look, jaw clenched.

HEAR ME OUT. I BONDED WITH HIM FIRST BY BOTHERING HIM. IF WE PUT THE TWO OF YOU ON OPPOSITE SIDES OF SOME COMPETITIVE ACTIVITY, HE CAN EXPRESS HIMSELF HARMLESSLY AND YOU'LL BOND.

THE IDEA'S GOT MERIT, he types, looking thoughtful. AS LONG AS HE DOESN'T TAKE IT TOO FAR.

I KEPT HIM FROM SHOOTING MCCREE. I'LL KEEP HIM FROM HURTING YOU. TOO BADLY, ANYWAY, I add, grinning. JUST REMEMBER TO BACK OFF WHEN HE WARNS YOU TO BACK OFF, AND I'LL MAKE SURE HE DOESN'T DO ANYTHING UNPROVOKED.

DO YOU THINK HE'LL EVER STOP HATING ME? he asks, giving Reaper a lost sort of look while stroking his ears.

I DON'T THINK HE REALLY WANTS YOU DEAD. BUT THERE'S A LOT YOU BOTH WILL HAVE TO WORK THROUGH.

AND TO BE HIS FRIEND AGAIN, I HAVE TO BE HIS ENEMY.

NOT HIS ENEMY. THE ENEMY TEAM.

Jack nods, conceding the point. OKAY, SO HOW DO WE START?

I HAVE SOME IDEAS. BUT MAYBE TOMORROW YOU CAN DO SOME TUG-OF-WAR WITH HIM.

WHAT ABOUT TONIGHT?

I THINK WE'VE ALREADY PUSHED IT AS FAR AS WE SHOULD, TODAY, I tell him.

He sighs. SADLY, I THINK YOU'RE RIGHT. OKAY, I'LL KEEP OUT OF YOUR WAY TONIGHT. THANK YOU, SOMBRA.

THANK YOU FOR BEING PATIENT WITH HIM, UNCLE JACK.

Jack gives Reaper another sad look, then pats him on the head and stands up. I close the screens. Without a word, Jack walks back into the safehouse while Reaper raises his head and watches in a mixture of confusion and affront that the petting stopped.

"Gonna get dark in another hour or two," I tell him. "You want to run around some more, or go back in?"

"I'm going to regret this tomorrow," he sighs, getting to his feet. "Throw the tennis balls."

After a few minutes of me throwing tennis balls and Reaper enthusiastically chasing them down and bringing them back. the gardener and the omnic who does housecleaning come out with another glass of water and a plate of shortbread. Now that Reaper will have a post-workout meal, they join me in throwing the balls and the next hour passes in silent contentment. Reaper's modified linksignal means that he's slowly bonding with the omnics who tend the safehouse - not a full bond, not without a lot more time, but enough that they're growing comfortable with him and he's less on edge being in unfamiliar territory with strangers he's not allowed to kill. The two omnics lavish attention on him when I announce that playtime is over and then slip away while Reaper devours his snack and I pack everything back into the bag.

"If I hurt in the morning," he says as we make our way back into the house, "will you..."

"Will I make you suffer, or will I turn you back? Depends on how much it hurts," I tease.

He doesn't say anything, but his tail wags a little as we go upstairs.

Tia Ana's sitting on the couch with a cup of tea and a data pad, both of which she puts aside when we enter the living room.

"Gabriel!" she exclaims, grinning. "Had enough of the fresh air for the day?"

Reaper starts wagging as soon as she looks up, but instead of rushing over like he so clearly wants to do, he tilts his head to look up at me. "Am I allowed on the furniture?" he asks dryly.

That's a good question. "You won't shed," I say slowly. "But your nails..."

"You have been running around outside," Ana says firmly. "Shoes and paws are not appropriate for upholstery."

Reaper dips his head in acknowledgment and walks over to the couch, subdued but still wagging. He sits by Ana and looks up hopefully, tail wagging harder when she starts petting him. Within seconds he's leaning against her legs, his head on her knee. I tuck myself into a chair to give them some space.

"How are you enjoying your new body?" she asks quietly.

"It works," he answers tersely.

Ana makes a sound of disapproval for the implication that his previous one didn't. "Sombra was concerned you might experience sensory overload."

"She was right," Reaper admits after a reluctant pause. "It's...a lot to take in."

"And once you have adjusted, will you be returning to your own body?"

The reaction that question gets is...alarming. Reaper flinches so violently that he nearly throws himself backwards, then lowers his head and paws at his face in a distressingly urgent way. I'm on the floor beside him in a heartbeat, pulling his head up and hugging him, blocking his paws with my body while he shoves his nose into my hair like he could hide himself there, his head on my shoulder and the rest of his body trembling. Ana is frozen, aghast at the reaction her question got.

"Lemme guess," I murmur to him, stroking his neck soothingly. "You tried to go to smoke?"

Reaper whines and nods against my shoulder.

"It's okay, Papi. It's your choice. No one gonna make it for you; I won't let them." Some of the trembling eases at that, making me hug him tighter at the humbling demonstration of how much he trusts me, that I can tell him 'no, this won't happen' and have that be the end of it. "But, because it is your choice, I want to make up a prototype in case you want it. Okay?"

There's a pause before he growls, "Fine."

I can't tell if he genuinely dislikes the idea but likes that I'm giving him the freedom to say no, or if he secretly likes the idea but doesn't want to admit that he does.

"We'll talk about it together. Let you choose how it looks. You want to do that tonight, or tomorrow?"

He whines and growls for a minute while I scratch behind his ears.

"Gabriel," Ana says gently, "might I be a part of that discussion, as well?"

Reaper removes his nose from my hair and resumes his place by her, head on her knee where she starts petting him again. "Yes," he sighs after a minute.

I shift so that I'm leaning against the couch on the other side of Ana's legs, get comfortable, and open a few screens so both Ana and Reaper can see them. "Okay, Papi. What do you want to wear?"

=

Discussing clothing and watching me play with programming is a good way for Ana and Reaper to get used to being around each other without the minefield of smalltalk. Eventually - because Reaper's being a little shit and keeps changing his mind on brand and style - I've got a prototype mostly roughed out. A green-grey hoodie, jeans, the hands I'd already coded, and some black heavy-duty steel toe workboots. He rejected the idea of something more suited to leisure than kicking in doors, and both Ana and I just rolled our eyes and went with it because we'd already been through something like a dozen different brands and styles of jeans.

All I'm missing is a digital model of Papi Gabriel's head, and I'm considering asking Athena for help when Reaper suddenly growls, "Sombra. Something's wrong." I look over, and his head is drooping. He jerks it back up and shakes it. "I can't concentrate. What's happening?"

I check the time. "It's late. You're tired."

Ana starts to chuckle, but it turns into a yawn. "I will leave you two to settle in for the night," she says. "I will see you in the morning."

"Good night, Tia Ana." I stand and hug her as she gets up, then she kneels to hug Reaper and leaves for what I assume is the room she's chosen. "Come on, Papi. Time for me to tuck you into bed for a change," I tease.

Reaper presses himself against my leg as we go to my room, more to keep himself upright and not stumbling into walls than for comfort or reassurance. He climbs onto the bed without protest, but mutters "This is ridiculous" as I pull the blanket up and tuck it around him. Ridiculous or not, he's fast asleep seconds later.

I pose him with my bear and take a few cute shots of him cuddling the large plush toy before changing into my pajamas. I'm about to slide under the covers when it occurs to me that Reaper hasn't had a body capable of actual sleep in years. I know all too well that delaying sleep doesn't save you from having to process all the things you've been avoiding, and I have no idea if he was able to process any of what happened after the Swiss HQ blew up before he no longer had a body that slept.

It's going to be a long night.

Before I settle in, I send Athena a request for any full-body scans of Gabriel Reyes the medical departments of Overwatch or Blackwatch might have had. I'll go to the SEP servers if I have to. Getting generic measurements is fine for the prototype, but if (and hopefully, when) Papi decides he wants to go back to being Gabriel, I want to be able to give him his body back.

Then the first nightmare starts, and I hug Reaper and murmur reassurance until it passes. As soon as it does, I dive headlong into sleep because any rest I get tonight is going to be in the periods when Reaper's subconscious isn't sorting out the horrors he's endured over the last few years.

===

"Sombra?"

Without opening my eyes, I reach over and stroke his ears. He whines and noses at me until I hug him.

"Please wake up," he says in a tone I've never heard from him, something that from anyone else I'd call pleading.

"I'm awake," I say quickly, forcing my eyes open and struggling to sit up in the tangle of blanket, sheet, and dog. "I'm awake, Papi. I'm just tired. It was a rough night. You sleep enough?"

He fights free of the covers and lays down again, curled into a ball with his head on my knee. "I don't know."

"Still tired, but too tired to deal with the shit your brain's gonna throw at you?"

Reaper flinches, and it's a long minute before he relaxes again. "Yes."

I pat his shoulder. "How you feeling aside from that? Sore at all?"

Cautiously, he stands and climbs off the bed before stretching and shaking himself experimentally. "No."

"Then let's go get you some breakfast, hmm?" His tail starts wagging before I've even finished the word 'breakfast', making me grin. "Just give me a minute to change," I tell him. Then, to keep him distracted while I do, I dig out the squeaky steak and toss it on the bed.

Reaper's on the bed almost before it lands. I make a note to order half a dozen more, because I doubt that one's going to last long. He brings it into the kitchen, following me, and lays contentedly on the floor gnawing it while I find the cast-iron skillet and start it heating. Now, let's see...

Coffee, and hot water for tea. Get those started. Bacon first, to grease the pan, and get out half a dozen eggs because if the coffee and bacon don't get Uncle Jack in here, I'm declaring him dead. Shredded potatoes in the bacon grease, crack the eggs on the sides, salt and pepper. Pour a mug of coffee and set it on the table, find a plate meant to hold soup and pour a mug of coffee into it for Reaper, set that on the table to cool a bit because I am not putting up with burned doggy tongue and I know he won't let it cool down. That's when I realize the squeaking has stopped and Reaper's looking mournfully up, licking his chops.

"It's almost ready," I tell him.

He lowers his head to his paws, still giving me sad eyes.

"You'll live," I say firmly as I drop handfuls of shredded cheese into the skillet. "Remember, no biting without warning, and he needs to do something bite-worthy before you give warning."

As Jack comes into the kitchen, I hear Reaper mutter, "Spoilsport."

The footsteps pause as I'm fetching two more soup plates from the cabinet. "Beunos dias, Uncle Jack," I say brightly. "Coffee in the mug is yours. I don't know how you like it. Coffee in the plate is for Papi, and it should be cool enough for him. Could you set it on the floor for me, please?"

"Uh...sure," Jack says warily, and then there's a click as he does so.

The cheese has melted. I shovel half the breakfast skillet onto (into?) each plate and set one on the floor and the other on the table. Jack stares at me in groggy surprise for a minute before I realize I forgot silverware. "Right, you need a fork."

Cautiously, he accepts the fork and prods the plate. Reaper's abandoned his plate of coffee in favor of devouring loaded hash browns. "You...made breakfast," Jack says slowly.

Reaper snorts.

"Aren't you going to have some?"

I sit at the table and fold my arms on it. "Nope. Made it for you and Papi. I'm a bit out of practice, though, and he's biased enough to think everything is delicious right now, so...how is it?"

Jack starts like he's forgotten it was there and takes a bite. After the second and third bite, he takes a swig of coffee and says, "It's good. Thank you." Then he pauses, fork halfway to his mouth. "Why are you staring at me?" he asks Reaper, who's licked both his plates clean.

"In case you drop something."

"You'd eat something that fell on the floor?" Jack asks in a mixture of disbelief and disgust.

Reaper doesn't even hesitate. "I haven't had bacon in five years, Morrison. I'd eat it off your dead body if Sombra let me."

Jack puts his fork back down on the plate. Reaper's tail starts wagging. He picks up the plate with a look of resignation. Reaper's tail wags harder.

"Don't give it to him, Uncle Jack." I ignore the offended look Reaper shoots me. "He had his own breakfast, he doesn't need yours."

"I thought you were going to spoil me," Reaper protests.

I give him a skeptical look. "Three eggs, bacon, hash browns, cheese, and coffee isn't spoiling you? You got a dog-sized stomach, Papi. You want to find out what it's like to throw up as a dog?"

Sulkily, Reaper lays down. No, he does not.

"Come on," I tell him. "Grab your steak and we'll go outside. Maybe nap a little, since neither of us slept well." That's got him wagging again. "Enjoy your breakfast, Uncle Jack," I tell him. "Feel free to come down and visit a bit later."

"Sure," he says, looking back and forth between me and the Papi-dog giving me an affronted look. "Uh...have a good nap."

Minutes later, with Frisbee and water bowl, braided cloth rope and a bottle of LRF and the squeaky plastic steak, Reaper and I settle down against the trunk of a tree and drift off in comfortable silence.

=

A voice in the omnic channel wakes me.

/Sombra, your packages have arrived./

/Thank you. Would you bring the small ones to me, please?/

/Of course./

I sit up and check the time. Quarter to noon. Reaper's still asleep, tail wagging slowly and paws twitching as he dreams something nice. The omnic housekeeper comes out after a minute, their arms loaded with envelopes and flat boxes, a garbage bag fluttering in the breeze behind them. The pile gets set beside me and the bag shaken open, and then the housekeeper sits with the bag in one hand and pets Reaper with the other. It only takes a few seconds for him to stir.

"Got presents for you, Papi," I tell him.

That gets his attention. He sits up, tail wagging.

"Got you a dog bed first; that's in the house."

The wagging slows. "Does that mean I can't..."

Can't sleep in my bed with me. "Of course not. But you don't have to. So...you got a doggy bed for if you don't feel like sleeping in a human bed. Or we can put it in the living room so you got some furniture of your own."

The wagging comes back. "What else?"

Find the right package...there. "Got you a collar," I say in as casual a voice as I can manage despite how suddenly nervous I am about admitting to what I know. I pull out the red one and hold it up so he can see the embossing. "Since you the big dog now."

The moment stretches. I can see the reflection of the words BIG DOG, black against the red of the collar, in Reaper's eyes. Then he laughs.

"I should have known," he chuckles.

The nervousness evaporates. "You're not angry?"

"I'm not angry. Yes, there is a story. No, I'm not telling you."

"I got you another one, just in case." The second collar is black with silver spikes and REAPER embossed on it in silver. I don't need to see his tail wagging to know that he likes it. "And a leash," I say, finding that envelope and opening it, "so now we can take you out in public for walks." Open the smaller box. "A brush..."

"You said I don't shed."

Instead of answering, I hand the brush to the housekeeper, who cheerfully starts brushing him. Within seconds he's practically melted.

"Objection withdrawn."

"And a variety of things tho chew on," I finish, separating supplies from packaging and stuffing the latter in the garbage bag. "You'll have to tell me how they taste."

"Later," he growls, rolling onto his back so the cheerfully-brushing housekeeper can get at his belly. "I'm being brushed."

I laugh to laugh at Reaper wallowing in attention. "Okay, fine. They can brush you as long as they want. Just remember to tell me if something doesn't feel right."

Reaper twists around until he can look at me, paws still in the air. "What are you going to be doing?"

"Working on your prototype," I tell him, already opening screens.

Athena's found a scan from Papi's 45-year-old full physical. I start importing accurate dimensions and adjusting the fit of the clothing he picked out. Reaper rolls over so Solen the housekeeper can brush his back in long, smooth strokes. I glance at him every other adjustment, and it looks like he's going back to sleep. The interior structure of the prototype is going to have to be similar to his usual shape, so any space between body and clothes gets filled in. I'm affixing the head structure when Jack walks quietly up and, in a series of pantomimes with Solen, conveys that he would like to brush the dog and switches place with them.

Two strokes in, Reaper growls, "I know you're there, Morrison. I can smell you."

Jack looks at me. I shrug. He keeps brushing.

Reaper sighs and sits up. "No, I can't enjoy that with your scent in my nostrils."

"Frisbee?" I hold up the red disk.

"And have to taste him?"

I pull out the cloth rope and toss it to Jack, who catches one and and lets the other dangle. Reaper is suddenly tense and alert.

"I've got your rope," Jack says unconvincingly.

Reaper doesn't care how flimsy it sounded. "Give that back!"

Uncle Jack stands up and backs away a few steps. "Come and get it."

Reaper lunges, gets the other end in his teeth, and tugs. Jack tugs back. Within seconds they're locked into a fierce tug-of-war, one that's pretty evenly matched all things considered. Reaper's growling, but his tail is also wagging and while Jack's taunting him, he's also smiling. I go back to finishing the prototype, making sure it has the tactile "warmth" feedback I added to Reaper's body and adding a command that will produce low levels of endorphins when it's triggered because I know he's going to get hugged, and I want that to feel good.

They're still going strong when I'm done, and shortly after that the security system informs me someone's at the gate. The visitor presses a call button that connects to what's normally a security office, but is currently unmanned. I tap myself into the line.

"Uh...hello? Ana said this was where she would be..." It's Tracer.

"Hey, amiga! You got the right place. Let me get the door for you."

"Sombra?" she asks as the gate opens. "Wow, thanks!"

"Go right to the front door," I tell her. "Ana's got some of her people here, so if anyone stops you, just tell them she's expecting you. Second floor east wing, and we'll meet you there."

"Who's 'we'? Never mind, I'll find out soon. See you there!"

I close my screens. "Papi! Uncle Jack! We got company, time to go in."

They both freeze, uncertain as to how they can end the fight over the rope. I scoop up the bag of dog supplies and walk over, grabbing the rope by the middle. They both let go, and I stuff it into the bag. On Ana's secure channel, I can hear the announcement that Tracer is here and she's being escorted up.

"I'll, uh, go on ahead," Jack says before hurrying off in a I'm-not-hurrying way.

Reaper noses at my hand, and I oblige by petting him. "Who is it?" he growls, trying to sound angrier than he is.

"Tracer. If I put you back in your regular body, you gonna remember to use your words and not your guns?"

"Maybe."

"Papi!" I snap at him, pulling my hand away to place it on my hip.

He looks up, sees me glaring, and his tail tucks between his legs. "No shooting. I promised."

I kneel and hug him. "Good. You wanna meet her as a dog first, or as yourself?"

"Dog," he says quietly, which I find encouraging.

"Okay. Let's go say hello."

=

Tracer's accepting a cup of tea from Ana when we walk in, but it gets left on the coffee table so she can kneel and start lavishing attention on Reaper.

"You have a dog! Oh, he's gorgeous! I didn't think Talon would be pet-friendly," she teases, both hands working the fur on Reaper's neck. "Who's a good puppy? Who's the best dog in the world?"

"Me," he growls smugly. "I'm the best dog in the world."

Tracer leaps back so violently that she actually rewinds herself and stands, shaking, by the couch. "Tell me I did not just hear that," she demands, eyes wide.

"I could, but I'd be lying," I tell her apologetically. "Give me a minute to put things away and we'll be right back, okay?"

"Sure," she says, but she sounds and looks very uncertain about this whole situation.

Reaper follows me into my room, where I drop the bag and pick up the can. "Gonna put you back now. Remember..."

"No shooting," he sighs.

"I'm bringing the can with me," I tell him before commanding the swarm to resume Reaper’s standard shape.

He dissolves into a cloud of black smoke for several seconds, then solidifies and looks at his gauntlets, wisping from the backs of his shoulders.

I give him a one-armed hug. “Come out when you’re ready, Papi.”

He nods to acknowledge what I said, but makes no more reaction than that as I leave the room. Tracer is holding her teacup nervously when I get back to the living room, and I set the can on the floor by the chair I was sitting in briefly last night.

“That was Reaper?” she asks. “The dog?”

“Yeah, it was. Sorry I didn’t get a chance to warn you.”

Tracer sips her tea. Ana just looks tolerantly amused. “Why-” the younger woman starts to ask, but then a stream of black smoke flows into the room and straight into the can.

Poor Papi. I guess he’s not feeling up to facing his old friends. Either that, or he doesn’t trust himself. Probably both. I flip the can lid down and lock it before taking a seat on the floor.

Get your face out here and say hi,” I tell Reaper, and Tracer starts as the screen with a simulation of his head opens up above the can.

“Hi,” he growls.

I gesture her over. “It’s okay, I promise he doesn’t bite while he’s in the can.”

Gingerly, with a glance at Ana for approval, she sets her teacup down and joins me on the floor. “Hi,” she starts. “So…this is awkward.”

Reaper snorts. “You’re telling me?”

She looks at me. “Why is he in a can? Why was he a dog? Why…” Her voice breaks.

“You don’t know what happened to him?” I ask quietly. She shakes her head. Oh boy. Time to explain things carefully. “He was…very badly hurt after the explosion. Angela tried to stabilize him using a nanite swarm, but there was a fire…” Reaper’s simulated head is wisping heavily. “I’ve been working with the programming of his swarm, trying to restore as much functionality as I can. The dog is something I developed with Angela, a fully-functional body for him to use to get used to being around people again and all the little things that come with living – eating, being able to feel, getting tired, things like that. So far, it’s working very well.”

“But what about the can?”

“It’s a special containment unit I built to be able to hold and monitor him. If he gets hurt, it’s his hospital bed. He can’t eat. His swarm has to take in raw materials via osmosis, so it’s also a way to feed him. Especially if he’s badly hurt. See here?” I point out the LRF reservoir. “I feed him a special nutrient fluid formulated for his swarm, an ideal ratio of all the things it needs so he can restore his mass quicker. And here, this display shows the percentage of his baseline mass.”

Tracer rocks back with a horrified expression. “You mean all the times I was shooting him, I was actually hurting him?”

“Don’t tell me you’re regretting it,” Reaper growls.

“Disrupting his molecular cohesion does structural damage,” I jump in before the argument can even start. “But it doesn’t deplete his mass much. It’s kind of like bruising instead of cutting. Heals a lot faster.”

“I don’t regret it,” Tracer says slowly, “but that doesn’t mean I like it.”

“Why not? Don’t I deserve it?”

“What you deserve or don’t deserve isn’t up to me,” she says firmly. “I did what I thought was necessary to protect innocents. You did some horrible things, and maybe you do deserve to be punished, but I don’t think just hurting you is the way to do it.”

The wisping stops for a beat, then redoubles. “Then what is?” Reaper snarls.

Somberly, Tracer says, “Facing the consequences of your actions.”

The face screen closes.

“You made your point,” I tell Tracer before she can do more than look surprised. “He’s thinking about it. Give him space. Papi?”

“What?” he growls from inside the can.

“I finished the prototype model. Maybe in a little we could try it out, see how you like it.”

There’s a minute of silence before he says, “Fine.”

I give him a hit of endorphins, and we retreat to the couch where Tracer reclaims her tea and takes a bracing sip.

“What’s the prototype model?” she asks me.

“Some day,” Ana says from her chair, “Gabriel may wish to fully reclaim his identity. Sombra and I helped him decide on a model that will allow him to get a feel for looking like himself.” She sips her tea. “I am quite looking forward to seeing what you have come up with, little shadow.”

“Little shadow?”

“A nickname,” Ana explains.

“Ohhhh, because ‘sombra’ means ‘shadow. I get it.” Tracer turns to me. “So what’s your real name?”

“I don’t have one,” I tell her cheerfully.

She frowns. “But…you have to have one. What about your birth certificate?”

“I’m a hacker. I don’t exist, and no one can prove otherwise.” Maybe I’m a little smug. It’s better than the alternatives.

Tracer smiles gamely. “Oh, come on. Even if you deleted it, you had to have one. When’s your birthday?”

It takes a bit of effort to keep my tone light. “I don’t have a birthday; I’m dead.”

The smile falters. “You’re…dead?”

Ana looks way too alert for my comfort. I paste a teasing smile on my face. “It’s a joke, amiga. I was in Los Muertos from when I was little. We don’t celebrate birthdays because we all too poor, so we celebrate everyone at once during the Day of the Dead.”

Tracer’s expression clears. “Oh! That makes more sense. So when that time of year comes around…”

“Oh, I promise you, there will be a fancy cake with a lot of candles.”

From the can, there’s a sound like a choked-back exclamation.

“You know,” Tracer says thoughtfully, “I never did get Gabriel to tell me when his birthday was.”

I lean in conspiratorially. “I tell you a secret, amiga.”

She leans in. “You found it?”

“I hacked into his private record on the Overwatch servers…”

“And?”

“…and I saw what was listed for his birthday…”

“Oh, tell me, tell me!”

“It said no, no, nope.”

Tracer sits up while Ana laughs discreetly. “What?”

“That’s what I said!” I pull up a screen showing the relevant file.

“No, no, nope.” Tracer sighs. “Oh well.”

I nudge her. “Hey. We have a tradition – you get left for dead, you Los Muertos. Papi, and Tia Ana, and Uncle Jack, all got called dead by the rest of the world.”

She grins. “And that means we can celebrate them during Day of the Dead! I love it!”

“Love what?” Jack asks as he wanders in.

“We gonna have the best Halloween party ever,” I tell him as he sits in the chair the can is next to. “Hey Papi, you wanna try the prototype now?”

I can hear in his sigh that he doesn’t, but he knows he’s going to have to eventually. “Fine.”

Jack jumps at hearing Reaper’s voice coming from so close to him, but when I go over and thumb the lid open, he does a good impression of trying to climb onto the back of the chair without actually standing up. Reaper flows out of the can and takes his usual form, arms crossed to hide his amused wisping.

“You look ridiculous, Morrison.”

Before Jack can formulate something dignified, I call up the prototype and apply it to Reaper’s swarm. He dissolves briefly into smoke and then solidifies again, jeans and hoodie and boots and a completely static face. It looks…wrong. And not just because there’s no animation – the eyes don’t move, he doesn’t blink, it’s like he’s wearing a Gabriel Reyes mask – but because he doesn’t look like Gabriel Reyes. Not to me. I’ve spent so much time around him, and around omnics, who are even less expressive, that half the time I don’t even look at people’s faces to read their moods. I know Reaper, I know the way he stands and the way he moves. He may have been Gabriel Reyes, but just stuffing him into a shape he used to wear doesn’t make him Gabriel Reyes. To me, he looks like Reaper wearing a Gabriel Reyes costume, and it’s weird.

Reaper looks at me, and I can tell from the way he leans back slightly that he knows it’s unnerving me. But before the silence gets awkward, Ana is there, hugging him. I back away, glancing at Jack and Tracer for their reactions. They both look torn, like they want to go hug their old friend but they don’t know if he’ll allow it. When Ana steps back, Jack steps forward and just looks at Reaper like he’s psyching himself up before going in for a brief, manly, back-slapping hug and retreating again. Tracer just circles him like she’s checking for flaws before giving him a tentative smile and standing by Ana.

Meanwhile, Reaper looks like he wants to tear his face off.

“Okay! I’m calling that test a success,” I say brightly as I step forward and press my hands on his chest, dismissing the prototype and activating the doberman.

When Reaper solidifies again half a minute later, the first thing he does is jump up to lick my face, tail wagging. I hug him and scratch behind his ears before he drops back down to circle the room until he locates the doggy bed and flops down in it. I sit next to him. There’s awkward silence and wistful looks for a minute or two.

“So,” I announce almost challengingly, looking at Tracer and Uncle jack, “who’s up for some Frisbee?”

===

Tracer excuses herself as afternoon fades into evening, pleading the need to go back to London, and Jack quickly bows out to keep from antagonizing Reaper. The giant crate of things I had shipped from the Morocco base has arrived, and I need to sign off on it, so with Ana's blessing and Reaper's reassurance that he'll be fine in his regular body, I release him from the dog shape and go make sure our things arrived safely.

The crate is too big to transport without special equipment, and sorting the contents into smaller crates and boxes takes longer than I expected, but finally I leave with completed arrangements to have them delivered to the safehouse in the morning. The only things I take back with me are the second COWA and Papi's bear.

Ana's in the living room when I get back. I nod on my way to my room, where the second COWA will stay, and Papi's bear joins mine in the bedside table. When I turn to leave, however, she's standing in the doorway with a look of concern.

"Something wrong, Tia Ana?"

"I am uncertain," she says. "Gabriel seemed content to sit with me, but close to two hours ago he left the room, and I have been unable to find him. I thought I saw a darker shadow in the third office on the first floor of the other wing, but..." She shakes her head. "If it was him, he did not answer me."

Well, fuck. "I'll go look," I assure her.

The office is easy to find. As soon as I step inside, even without the light, I can see Reaper seething in the corner.

"Papi?"

He coalesces - mostly - and stands there for a long moment before saying, "I won't bullshit you."

Won't bullshit me. The promise in the car on the way here. He's telling me he's not fine.

I close the door and sit with my back to it, the room still dark. After a minute, he sits beside me. When I put my hand on the floor, he covers it with his.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask quietly.

His fingers tighten around mine. "What am I doing here?" he demands in a harsh voice. "How long will they tolerate us?"

"Easy, Papi. They not gonna throw us out, I promise." Namely because I own the safehouse, but this isn't the time to get into that. "We safe here. What needs to change for you to feel comfortable?"

Reaper shudders. "Dog," he growls.

I command the swarm to change configuration, and when it's complete, he crawls half onto my lap. For a handful of minutes I just hug and pet him.

"I don't belong here," he says finally.

"You need a space that's yours," I translate.

He whines, deep in his throat.

"The stuff I had shipped will get here tomorrow. We'll claim the room next to mine for you, put all your things in it. I brought the second can with me, so there's one in the living room and one in my room. You got the doggy bed in the living room. If you want one in your room, or mine, I can have more shipped here. This a safe house; I want you to feel safe. Anything I can do to make you feel like you belong, you tell me. Okay?"

"Okay," he says quietly.

"I gonna go to bed. You want to stay a dog, or-"

"Yes."

I give Reaper a hug and scratch behind his ears. "Okay, Papi. Let's go to bed."

Reaper follows me through the house as I go back up to "our" suite on the second floor. I can tell by the way he leans against my leg as we approach that he's anxious about how Ana will react, but when she sees us, her expression is one of relief.

"You found him," she says, coming over to kneel and hug his neck. "I was worried," she murmurs into his fur.

He whines.

"We're going to bed," I tell her. "The boxes that will be delivered tomorrow can stay in the entry hall; I'll sort them out after breakfast."

Ana gives Reaper one last hug and stands up. "I will see to it. Sleep well, both of you."

"We'll try, Tia Ana. Good night."

"Good night, Sombra." She smiles softly at Papi. "Good night, Gabriel."

"Good night," he mutters, but his tail is wagging slightly.

I tuck him into bed with both bears. By the time I'm done changing, he's asleep and I take a few more pictures. I have no illusions that either of us will sleep through the night uninterrupted, but he's choosing to move forward and face the fallout of the last few years rather than avoiding it, and that's more than worth a little lost sleep in my mind.