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Sombra knew Cole very well, if she did say so herself.
She knew that he had a bleeding heart that he tried to hide, she knew that he was a firm believer in justice, and she knew he was unbelievably stubborn when he wanted to be.
She also knew that those three things were very dangerous when combined. After all, Cole was always getting into fights because of it. Like when he saw some men try to mug a woman, so he tried to save her, despite the fact that he was outnumbered five-to-one. Like when he heard some Los Muertos members cursing Sombra out and had to defend her. Like when he went to Omnic Right marches, despite the violence of the people who objected to the cause.
And as much as Sombra wished his constant fighting annoyed her, it really didn’t. After all, Cole’s tendency to stand up for what he believed in, even when it got him hurt, is one of the things she fell in love with.
So when he showed up to her door in the middle of the night, covered in bruises and cuts, clothing ripped, but with a triumphant smile, all Sombra could do was roll her eyes and usher him inside.
“Who did you piss off this time?” she asked, rifling through her kitchen drawers and getting out the first aid kit that she had been using a lot recently. Cole chuckled half-heartedly, hopping up to sit on her kitchen counter like a degenerate who didn’t know how to use chairs.
“Oh, y’know, the usual.” When Sombra shot him a small glare at his elusive answer, he sighed. “Some Los Muertos members were tryin’ to recruit a kid. Couldn’t be older than 15.” The expression on his face had turned pinched.
Sombra paused, stomach dropping as memories of her childhood flashed in her head. “Oh.”
“Yeah,” Cole agreed, sharing the faraway look in her eyes.
There was silence for a few minutes as Sombra poured some rubbing alcohol on a cotton pad before delicately pressing it to the worst of the cuts on Cole’s forehead, needing to reach up to do so. He didn’t flinch at the pain.
“Was the kid okay?” Sombra finally asked, voice quiet.
“Yeah. A bit shaken, but not hurt. I took her to the shelter, got her a bed.”
Sombra felt a tiny weight lift off her shoulders “Good.” She finished sanitizing the cuts and was beginning to gently apply bandages.
Something weighed down the air of the room. The story of a helpless kid being forcefully recruited into a gang hit a little too close to home for both of them.
“Take off your shirt,” Sombra demanded after she finished his face. Usually, Cole would make a flirtatious joke and waggle his eyebrows, but neither of them were in a mood for that. Instead, he silently began to unbutton his flannel top, revealing his bruised chest. It didn’t look too bad, but looks could be deceiving.
Sombra wasted no time in checking for cracked ribs, sighing in relief when she found none. Still, there were a few scrapes that she had to clean.
“How old were you? When you joined Los Muertos?” Cole asked as she turned away to grab more bandages. The question caused her to freeze, muscles going rigid as soon as she heard the words.
Until then, there had been an unspoken boundary. Neither of them would talk about their past, and they definitely wouldn’t ask.
That said, Cole’s question didn’t exactly come as a surprise . Sombra knew he’d been wanting to cross that line for a while. He wasn’t exactly subtle with his longing stares and gentle touches.
Cole wanted to take things to the next level and Sombra didn’t know what to do with that. She liked Cole, even loved him. But there was a part of her that was still skittish, not knowing how to handle the developing relationship.
Still, Sombra knew she had to make an effort if she wanted this to work. So, keeping her eyes away from Cole’s, she said, “Well, I started helping them when I was… 10-ish, I think? But I only officially joined when I was 15.” The admission was heavy on her tongue. “How about you?”
“Me and Ashe met when I was 14, and formed Deadlock when we were 16,” he said, fingers tapping the countertop.
A small laugh found its way out of Sombra’s mouth. It’s a little amused and a lot bitter. “What a pair we make.”
Cole smiled a bit. “What a pair,” he agreed.
The silence once again hung over them as Sombra finished with his chest and arms. It was less heavy, though, a bit more comfort seeping into the air. “All done,” Sombra said once she patched up his last scrape.
“I think you’re forgettin’ something,” Cole objected, a small grin taking over his face.
Sombra snorted. She knew exactly where it was going, but decided to play along, as she always did. “And what’s that?”
“I need a get-well-soon kiss.” It was more of a demand than a request, and Sombra couldn’t help but laugh.
“Oh, how could I ever forget?” she asked, leaning in to peck his cheek. “Is that better?”
Frowning, Cole said, “No. I want a real kiss.”
Giggling, Sombra pulled him in, gently wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing their lips together. Cole sighed, his entire body sagging as he relaxed into her, wrapping an arm around her waist.
When she finally pulled away, Sombra was grinning. “How’s that?”
“Much better,” Cole purred, still holding her close. They stay like that for a few seconds before Sombra pulls away, chuckling at Cole’s upset whine.
“Relax, Vaquero , I just think we’d be more comfortable on the couch. Plus, you need a shirt.” Cole sighed at the logic in her statement.
“Fine,” he grumbled, hopping off the counter to follow Sombra into the living room.
The night would find them curled up together on the couch well into the morning, Cole in a sweatshirt that Sombra kept at her house. They would talk and laugh and, somehow, fall even more in love with each other than they already were.