Beach

[moonshadows]

 

"Sombra," Tia Ana says, sitting next to me on the couch so that she can pet Reaper, "might I borrow Jerome in a few days?"

"I don't own him, Ana. He works for Overwatch. As long as no one else needs him..." I shrug. 

She gives us a small smile. "Please forgive my little charade. I was unsure how well-received the news would be, and wanted to approach it obliquely. There are things I must do in another part of the world. I have already conferred with Jerome. and he is willing and able to take me, but he wishes to wait for my business to be completed so that he may spend that time on the beach."

I perk up at that, and so does Reaper.

Ana smiles again. "I take it the two of you would like to accompany Jerome?" Reaper's wagging tail answers for us. "It is as I suspected. You have been cooped up in the same town for three weeks now. I do have a request, however."

"Name it," Reaper growls almost eagerly.

"I would prefer you did nothing to call undue attention to yourself," she says firmly. "Nothing outside the range of normal behavior for a real dog. No talking in case you are overheard, no leaving this configuration, and no threatening anyone."

Reaper lowers his head to her knee. "I promise," he sighs, but his tail is still wagging.

I reach over to pet his neck. "Gonna get you a new collar, Papi. Salt water is not good for leather. Won't be able to call you that in public, either, so...you want Reaper, or Gabriel?"

He looks up at Ana, then lays his head on her knee again. "Calling me Reaper would be undue attention."

"Okay. When are we leaving, Tia Ana?" I open a few screens. "I gotta get a swimsuit."

=

When Jack enters the living room, I'm sitting next to Reaper in front of the couch, looking at an assortment of dog collars designed specifically for use in salt water.

"Hey, Sombra," he says as he sits on the couch. "What are you two up to?"

"Getting Papi a new collar," I answer.

The rest of the explanation is interrupted by Reaper growling, "Don't even think about it, Morrison."

"Think about what?" he protests.

"Don't play dumb. You had cannoli." He shoots Jack a look of sullen resentment. "You don't get to pet me with sticky fingers, especially if you didn't bring me one."

Jack reels as if mortally wounded by Papi's words. "Gabriel! I would never!" A small box comes out from behind his back. "I washed my hands, and this is for you."

Looking at collars is immediately interrupted while Reaper attacks the cardboard box of cannoli with such enthusiasm that instead of just licking it as clean as he can, he rips off pieces and chews them up until he's eaten the whole thing.

"Good bribe," he says casually as he sits beside me again. "You get fifteen minutes. Sombra, start a counter."

"Now, hold on there," Jack says as I open a screen counting down from 15:00. "I got you two cannoli, with chocolate chips, and you ate the box."

Reaper's unmoved. "Your point? Time's ticking."

"My point is that I think that bribe was worth at least twenty minutes."

They both look at me. I pause the timer.

"You're invoking me as arbiter of affection?"

Two nods.

"And you'll both abide by my decision?"

Two more nods.

"Okay." I reset the timeer from 14:37 to 15:00. "Two minutes for the chocolate chips. Three for the second cannoli. And five for being good enough to eat the box."

Jack grins as the screen goes from 15:00 to 17:00, then 20:00, and finally stops at twenty-five minutes.

"Ready?" I hold their gazes for a second, then reach out to touch the screen and start the timer. "Begin."

Head on Jack's knee, Reaper settles into being petted. "Mm. Collars?"

I move the screen where he can see it. "They got lots of designs, but if you want your name on it, we'll have to get you a tag."

"Get me a tag, then, and let me look at the patterns."

"Why the new collar?" Uncle Jack asks.

"Going to the beach in a few days while Tia Ana's dealing with something. You coming?"

"You know," he says thoughtfully, "I think I might."

Reaper says, "That one," and lifts a paw to gesture.

I check the screen. "Black with a Jolly Roger design. I should have known." Add to cart. "Oh, they have a matching leash. You getting a new leash, too, Papi." And the tag, a simple circle that dangles from the collar. Expedited shipping, aaaand...done. "Now we just wait for our new beach outfits to arrive!"

"What did you get?" Jack asks me.

"Royal purple two-piece and a white mesh tunic to go over it," I answer, pulling up screens to show them off as McCree walks in.

"You're gonna wear that?" he asks, incredulous. Reluctantly, he tears his eyes away from the glittery purple fabric. "And your Papi's gonna let you?"

"She's a grown woman," Reaper growls without lifting his head from Jack's knee. "She can wear whatever she wants."

Jesse sits in one of the chairs. "So you're gonna kill a bunch of people? Because she's gonna draw every eye on that beach."

"Ana made me promise I wouldn't," he says sulkily.

"So..." he looks at me. "You are taking the opportunity to wear that while your Papi can't do anything about it."

"She's my daughter," Reaper growls. "She should draw every eye on the beach. I'd feel like I failed somehow if she didn't."

McCree smirks. "Hey, lil' sis, do you need me to come scare off the boys for you?"

"If you're offering, I won't say no. You got a swimsuit? How's your arm with salt water?"

From his expression, he clearly didn't expect me to take him up on that. "Uh..." A nervous glance at Reaper. "I was joking? Beaches aren't...really...my thing..."

"Too bad," Reaper growls. "You offered. Sombra accepted. You don't get to bow out of your familial duties that easily."

"Besides," I interject before McCree can form a protest, "Uncle Jack's going, too. What're you going to do here all by yourself?"

He catches my eye and grimaces. We both know that being alone would drive him to drink. "Fine," he sighs. "But I'm gonna spend the day sleeping under my hat."

"Fuck no, that hat stays behind. If I can't draw undue attention to myself, then neither can you, boy."

McCree give Reaper a stubborn glare. "I'll leave this hat behind on one condition."

"Name it," Papi snaps.

"I get to call you Dad when we get back."

The challenge has been thrown down. Everyone freezes, except Jack, who keeps petting Reaper. The silence stretches.

"Deal," Reaper says reluctantly.

===

The first order of business on any beach is claiming your stretch of sand. Jerome's brought an impressively thorough assortment of beach gear, including a chair, a huge umbrella, and a cooler of non-alcoholic but still ridiculously-named fruity drinks. He points at a spot, and Jack moves in with Jesse following. Together, they unfurl an enormous beach blanket and anchor the corners with the attached stakes. The umbrella goes into a socket set in the blanket, and while Jerome gets his chair and cooler set comfortably up, the rest of us spread towels and remove outer layers of clothing.

Reaper, naturally, just watches us smugly.

McCree's about to drop his shirt on his towel when he notices me appreciating the fact that he's still in fine physical condition. He's about to say something to Reaper before he remembers that for the duration of this little excursion, the dog is to be treated as just a dog, and turns to Jack instead.

"Jaaaaack," he whines in a deliberately immature way, "Sombra's looking at meeeeee!"

Uncle Jack pauses with a handful of sunscreen in one hand and the bottle in the other. "So?"

"Make her stop," he says in a sulky pout.

Jack looks at me. He looks at Reaper, who's clearly amused. He looks at Jerome, who's smiling. Looks back at the sulky cowboy. "Why?"

Jesse shoots me a dark look and turns away, hunched over like he's trying to hide his chest, only to put the muscles of his back on full, glorious display.

"Hey, it is not my fault, amigo." I grin at Jack. "If you don't want me looking, you gonna have to stop looking so good."

"Maybe I'll just put my shirt back on," McCree grumbles.

"Your choice." I point off to the side, where a pair of identical twins are giving him the same appreciative look. "But you do that, you gonna disappoint your fans."

"My-" Jesse turns to look at me, then follows the direction I'm pointing and straightens up as an appreciative smile blooms on his face. "Well alright, then. If you'll all excuse me..."

In silence, we watch him approach the twins and apparently hit it off, because he offers one arm to each girl and they set off, arm in arm in arm, down the beach.

Jerome's the first to speak. "Miss Sombra, you are a wicked woman." He gives it a pause, then adds, "Also, that suit looks good on you. I'm not hitting on her," he continues hastily in Reaper's direction. "I'm just being appreciative."

"Thank you, Jerome." I slip off my sandals and pick up the end of Papi's leash. "I'm going to take him for a walk, see what trouble I can keep him mostly out of."

Jack chuckles. "Have fun. Just not too much fun."

=

We set off in the opposite direction from McCree, just a girl in a sexy little two-piece covered enticingly by a white mesh tunic, and her handsome doberman in his brand-new leash and collar, ID tag jingling faintly as he plays in the shallow surf. There's the usual scattering of white tourists, but they're outnumbered and a delightful number of the bronze bodies are both male, and fit enough for me to look appreciatively at. A fair number of them look appreciatively back. A few approach me, but I give them an apologetic smile and tell them I'm just looking, and that's the end of that. Very refreshing. Reaper gets more than a few girls coming up to pet him, and if he's staring more than would be polite for a human, well, he is a dog.

Even without attention from cute girls in swimsuits, Papi's having fun chasing birds, biting at the little wavelets, and digging up terrified sea life that thought the mud was safe. I turn us around before Jerome's umbrella is completely out of sight, and he splashes happily in the surf as we head back.

It's not a surprise when, inevitably, an American comes up to me. This one is blond, in his early 20s, and gives off a "spring break college boy" vibe. His legs, what I can see of them under his brightly-colored knee-length shorts, are a shade of pale I've seen plenty of times, one that speaks of very little exposure to the sun. His tee-shirt is inoffensive enough, solid grey with a faded college name, and when the wind presses it to his body I can see that he hasn't taken it off because he'd need to drop a good bit of weight to compete with the physiques I was admiring earlier.

"Hey," he says as he gets within a few feet. "I like your dog. Doberman, right?"

Well, at least he didn't start with 'you're beautiful' or 'what's your name?'. Maybe he's just interested in dogs. Please let him just be into dogs. "Si, he is a doberman."

"Is this his first trip to the beach?"

I look at Papi. Papi looks at me. I can see him smirking. "First since I've had him."

"Oh? How long have you had him?"

"About a year? He was being abused. I'm rehabilitating him."

"That's very noble of you," he says warmly. I guess he is just into dogs. "I'm Jack, by the way."

"Sombra," I say, shaking his hand briefly.

"Sombra. That's pretty. I was named after Jack Morrison," he says proudly. "I do my best to live up to his ideals. He was my hero, and I think if we all just tried to emulate him a little, the world would be a better place. A civilized society doesn't need violence."

Reaper makes an unhappy sound, sparing me from having to say something.

"I'm sorry," Jack-the-younger coos, kneeling to lavish attention on him. "I was ignoring you. You're a good dog, yes you are..." Still petting with one hand, he checks the ID tag. "...Gabriel."

"He was named after my hero," I say with just a hint of edge to the words. "Gabriel Reyes."

College-boy Jack stands up, thankfully. "Your hero was responsible for horrific civil rights violations and war crimes supposedly committed in the name of the greater good. Hardly someone worth emulating," he adds with enough derision that my hackles go up.

"My hero led the team that saved the world so that you could have the freedom to think pacifism is anything but feeling superior to those who have to fight for what they need!"

He scowls at me. Oh no, college boy is mad. I pissed off the Pillsbury Dough Boy. "Gabriel Reyes was nothing more than a thug!" he shouts. "Gabriel Reyes was a loser!"

He did not...

"What did you say about Papi Gabriel?" I shriek. "Say that to my face, muchacho! I will kick your ass right here in my sexy little two-piece!"

"Civilized men don't fight girls," he informs me in a smugly superior tone.

"Why, because you afraid someone smaller than you gonna kick your motherfucking ass?" I take one threatening step forward, and he retreats a step. "I got news for you, boy. You don't take back what you said about Papi Gabriel, you gonna learn why he better than Jack White Bread Morrison!"

Another step. He looks nervous. Good.

"You wanna spout idealism pacifist shit and think you better than me? You go right ahead. I gonna kick your ass using every dirty trick in the book just like Papi Gabriel would do!"

"I-I don't resort to uncivilized behavior," he protests, trying to sound like he's not terrified.

"That's your problem, muchacho, not mine! You gonna wish you been born a girl when I through with you, 'cuz you ego and manhood NEVER gonna recover!"

I raise the fist not holding Papi's leash, and the kid lets out a yelp before sprinting down the beach away from me. He gets three beats of surprise before I tear after him, Reaper loping happily at my side. He's a pudgy couch potato. I'm an assassin in an omnic body. He doesn't get 50 meters before I'm close enough to launch myself at his back and knock him face-first into the wet sand.

"Take it back!" I shout from my perch on his back.

"Get off of me!" He tries to lever himself up, but just gets his hands buried up to the wrist as a wave turns the sand to mud beneath them.

"Take it back!"

Reaper circles around to where the sand is drier and helpfully kicks some into the kid's face. He starts crying, then coughing as another wave comes in. I stand up so he doesn't drown, but he just crawls a few feet away from the water with his face...still practically in the sand. I shove his head down with my foot. An unlucky inhalation, and he coughs until he heaves and spits out a mouthful something only partially composed of seawater and sand. At least he has the good sense to not rub his eyes with muddy hands.

"Take it back," I threaten once he's breathing easier.

He doesn't. He suddenly launches himself away and scrambles to his feet, running all he's worth, heading straight towards the biggest, toughest-looking white man on the beach.

Uncle Jack.

"Help!" he yells, stumbling to a halt by his namesake and pointing vaguely in my direction as I follow him. "She's trying to kill me because I said Gabriel Reyes was a loser!"

Uncle Jack puts his arm around the kid's shoulders in a move that's half reassuring and half holding him in place. "Well, I got news for you, son," he says calmly. "She's not going to kill you. She's just going to beat the ever-loving crap out of you."

Pale boy gets even paler. "You're not going to help me?"

Jack grins at me. Or Reaper. It's hard to tell. "Son, let me give you a few words of advice. First, if a woman tells you to apologize, it's usually better to apologize. Second, if you can't end the fights, don't start them. And third..." The hand that had been casually on Jack-the-younger's shoulder tightens in an unmistakable threat, and his friendly-uncle voice drops into a growl. "Gabriel Reyes was my best friend and I'd kick your ass myself for what you said about him, but she's already called dibs and I'm not that stupid."

The Pillsbury Dough Douche starts crying again and doesn't fight as Jack pushes him at me. He just stumbles and winds up kneeling on the sand, blubbering.

"Take it back," I say again.

"I...I..."

One hand in his hair, make a fist, and I can tell he's never had it longer than that because he screams in pain. Wuss. "Take. It. Back."

"Ow! I take it back, I take it back!"

"Now say, Gabriel Reyes is awesome and I will never be as badass or sexy as him."

It takes a few tries for him to get it right, and then I make him say it another nine times before I let go of his hair.

"Now get out of here, muchacho, and don't you dare badmouth Papi Gabriel again, you hear me?"

Tearfully, he nods and then stumbles off back the way we came.

I turn to Jack and Reaper and take a deep breath. "...and that's how I got a week suspension in sixth grade. Only instead of sand," I say as Jack choke-laughs in surprise, "it was the toilet."

Jack looks around to see if we need to leave, but no one's in earshot. "Sombra, was it really necessary to be so hard on him?" he asks quietly.

In an equally quiet voice, Reaper growls, "Shut up, Morrison. She's perfect."

"Gabe, she shoved his face in the sand until he puked."

He sits smugly. "I know, and it was glorious."

I scratch behind his ears. "Come on, let's hit the blanket for my shoes and some money, and I'll buy you a hot dog."

Tail wagging, he follows me while Uncle Jack sighs.

=

The rest of the day passes more quietly. Jack throws the Frisbee for Reaper for a while, and when they get tired of that we all relax on Jerome's luxury blanket. McCree wanders back a few hours later, looking pleased with himself but refusing to "kiss and tell" despite everyone's teasing. Finally, Jerome tells us it's time to pack up and head back to the ship, so we do. It's a quick hop to where we're picking up Tia Ana, and when she comes aboard, she's greeted by Jack sitting in Reaper's usual place while my usual bench is occupied by a stunned cowboy petting the Reaper-dog sprawled half on his lap with his left hand, and me leaning comfortably against him on the right.

Ana sits down next to Jack and smiles at us. "Did you have fun?"

"Don't ask," Jack says in a strangled voice.

"Yes," Reaper answers, wagging madly. "Yes, we did. Best day ever. I have the best daughter in the world. She is perfect and I am so fucking proud of her."

McCree just keeps petting, like he doesn't want to know what happened because whatever it was, it's made Reaper happy enough to allow the attention.

Jack scowls. "I'm not sure that was something to be proud of."

"Shut up, Morrison. You're just jealous she wasn't defending you."

"I'm not sure I want her defending me," Jack says slowly. "She's a little..."

Reaper's wagging slows. "Yessssssss?" he asks ominously.

"...too much like you," Jack finishes.

The wagging resumes. "Like I said, she's perfect."

Ana shakes her head, but she's laughing.