Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

She knew them to be antisocial, self-made rejects but it didn't quite surprise Sombra to find the Widowmaker and the Reaper side by side. Little in common other than the blood they couldn’t wipe away and the ache they’d been unwillingly subjected to.

Maybe that’s why she often only found them on the training deck, lining up bots in quiet competition.

“Someone’s cocky today,” he said suddenly.

Widowmaker spun her pistol around two slim fingers, quite satisfied with her quintuple headshot.

Scrap removed and replaced, the automated deck opened the shooting gate once more for the final round. Both triggers went off in succession. Their bullets were highlighted flawlessly by the system, blue tracers tracking every shot. To Sombra’s eyes, their placements looked perfectly copied and pasted—bull’s-eye. Everyone was glued to the monitor above watching, waiting, for the program’s final tally…

582.

Widowmaker was the winner.

Gabriel sighed as he rested his knuckles against the podium. “Jesus Christ, woman.”

“What did I say?” Lacroix spoke finally.

“You only won because you’re younger than me by several decades.”

A light noise arose from the assassin and Sombra had to realise that it was laughter. “Keep telling yourself that, old man.”

Chapter Text

“I just don’t understand how you’re still a shit shot after all these years. I feel like I’ve failed, as your teacher.”

God, he was chatty today. Sombra only wanted to sneak into Talon’s latest council meeting, but she should have known better than to assume that it would begin on time. Sombra and Moira were both stuck staring at the hideous vase that someone had gifted the great Doomfist. Absolutely fuck-ugly…

“I’ve failed you,” Reaper groaned again dramatically.

Moira rolled her eyes before motioning for the gun on his hip. He hesitated but handed it to her with a tilt of the head, likely a perked brow behind that mask.

Gun in hand, she slid back the chamber for a check and clicked off the safety—then with a wicked flourish of the hand, Moira spun it around her fingers before releasing the trigger.

Vase intact. Hole in wall.

Sombra had to cup her mouth to muffle the laugh.

Moira held the gun up, handle facing him, coolly. If she was worried about the berating she’d get from Akande it didn’t show.

Reaper shook his head, truly defeated. “Surgeon with no damn patience.”

“And yet, you still test me.”

Chapter Text

She’d barely slipped into the elevator in time.

Everyone always said Maximilien’s parties were exciting, but they weren’t anything to write home about in Sombra’s book. She hated the fancy, uncomfortable clothes almost as much as the meaningless conversations. Barely any good information either.

There was a groan from Moira, staring at her reflection in a compact mirror.

“Sisters, not twins,” Lacroix reminded.

Moira scoffed. “Twins often aren’t identical. Regardless, I will have my perfection.”

Despite all the fusing, her eyeliner looked amazing. Maybe Sombra should become a surgeon, too, if it granted her the make-up skills of a god.

Chapter Text

It was like a game.

Bullets missed, blood spilled, and the only weapons that remained were knuckles against skin. That’s how it was. They fought like it was to the death, but he never killed him. Never… No matter how easy.

The Reaper hated Soldier 76, but Sombra was certain that Gabriel still loved Jack. And she wasn’t the only one.

“They always do this…”

Sombra glanced at Moira, taken aback by the older woman’s drooping nature. It was as if she lost her self-reliant passion and was ready to give in to time—collapsed against the pilot chair as they watched the ugly fight using one of the ship’s smaller drones. Being Gabriel’s confidant, she’d probably seen this scene play out plenty for one lifetime.

“How much longer?” Sombra asked.

Moira’s tired eyes trailed the grappled men. “Another ten?”

Why did they do this shit? Two old men who had too much will to live. What a waste…

Eventually, Sombra had to stand up and do something, anything, else. “I’m getting a drink, you want anything?”

“Sparkling water,” Moira said dryly.

So she went and got the damn water, ignoring how much time the Reaper was stealing for himself.

Chapter Text

“It’s… a simple request,” he mused.

Sombra exhaled, nearly a laugh. What Maximilien wanted was highway robbery.

The blonde dame sitting across him huffed as she wiped away a tear that threatened to fall. “It’s never that simple. Never. All your people do is take—”

“I’ve given you a lot, Esme. I always have.”

Her hands bunched the lace of her skirt. She was a pretty thing, quite a shame she was mixed up in such a hideous underworld.

Maximilien pushed the packet further across his desk. An offering. “Take it.”

She shook her head.

“It’s for your mother, mon choue.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Perhaps not. But you will need it in the coming weeks.”

A moment stretched into eternity. Esme refused to look at him, only coming close when she glanced out the window behind him. Eventually, she relented and walked out with it.

A coin walked across his knuckles. In Sombra’s mind, it symbolised Max’s greatest gift: patience.

Sombra waited until she knew the woman wouldn’t return and then decloaked. “Max.”

He sighed. “Sombra.”

“Am I supposed to be ignoring this mess you’re in?”

“I’m your paycheck,” he reminded. “Your work with Talon means nothing without me.”

Chapter Text

Sombra

It was only her name yet the text message made her stomach do flips.

Sombra

Jefe

Sombra

Que pasa

You need to do something for me

Uhhhh

Find my albuterol and bring it to my room

This sounds like not my problem

Idgaf

I give a fuck

Didn’t ask

1:25 in Oasis—Sombra had a slim window where Moira might still be out at lunch.

Hey be honest
[scrshot28423.png]
Is this him hatching a plot to kill me?

He would find you himself if he wanted to and you wouldn’t see it coming. Believe me, this is him at his laziest.

Guau
Why am I the one he’s asking about this

Because you can find literally anything.

Moiraaaa I’m not an intern

Three minutes… no response.

MOIRAAAAAAAAA

Let me know if he needs anything else.

He can get this shit amazon delivered to his door

Deal with it.

There was no way Sombra could get this delivered by today… She needed a professional.

Amor
Mi vida

Don’t text me while I’m on vacation

Mi araña I need ur help

I can and will block you

Por favor Gabe wants his grandpa inhaler but I dunno where you all leave that shit

Airship

Airship where
Amélie?
PLEASE
He threatened to rearrange my guts in a very unsexy way :(

Airship seventy. Back left of cargo hold, top shelf. It should be in my bag

I love you ❤️

Shut up

Tell Max I said hi

I will not

Besitos

👎🏻

Door unlocked and lights off… Sombra had never actually been inside his room and she wanted so badly to keep it that way.

But he needed the help. So she helped.

“Thank you,” came a quiet grumble.

Argh, he was lucky he was old. She loved the elderly too much.

Chapter Text

Siebren startled. “Hm?”

Moira repeated herself, louder this time. “Where is Sombra? I thought she would be here.”

“I,” his eyes ghosted over where Sombra sat quietly in the corner of his room. Hidden, unnoticeable. “I’m… not sure.”

“I suppose she left then,” Moira muttered.

“I suppose,” he agreed. Though his eyes continued to peer around. Sombra watched him watch Moira unpack her equipment.

Needles, IV stands, golden containers of mysterious liquid. Another experiment. Even though she had no authority to stop her, Sombra could at least monitor the doctor’s deeds. But when another bag was laid on the bed Sombra's eyes widened.

“Oh—“ Siebren gasped. “How precious.”

A fluff ball of white and brown fur was cradled in Moira’s arms. Carefully offered to him, he was quick to settle the rabbit in his arms with guidance.

“Her name is Dawn. She’s old and lab retired, so I was hoping she’d make for a good companion.”

He smiled. “Well, I hope to be the better one! You’re sure?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t if I wasn’t.” Moira smiled too, a small thing.

Sombra sighed remorsefully. Maybe Moira wasn’t all bad… But that wouldn’t stop her from spying on the other woman.

Chapter Text

Why did Baptise have to leave him to her?

A big person with an even bigger laugh, it was almost heartbreaking how well Mauga used his charm for destruction. Everyone loved him until it was too late… and that reminded Sombra too much of herself.

“C’mon,” he whined. “We’re all friends!

“Mauga,” Sombra snapped. “I’m serious.”

His lean-in was dangerous, yet nothing about him changed. That goofy smile was still in stone, but Sombra could tell he would reach the breaking point soon.

“There are some people even I can’t find,” she said softly.

He hummed. Slow, steady. “For now.”

Chapter Text

Their mission was a success if the many injuries collected along the way were ignored.

Sombra had to wait an annoyingly long time for a random medic to check on her scrapes—Moira busy with the more unfortunate. One being Mauga. As a frontliner, he was used to taking brutal hits but that didn’t mean he was invincible.

Knowing that well, she popped in for a visit.

“How’s it hanging with you, chica?” He greeted.

“Eh, had it worse,” Sombra laughed. “You, however, look like shit.”

He only had a shrug and sly grin to say about that. Besides him, Moira frowned at the movement and bid him to sit still.

Sombra almost frowned too when she saw a scalpel splitting him apart rather than together but soon realised its purpose. Moira was reopening a few wounds he suffered because of how they ran along his tattoos. In the heat of battle, he was healed in whatever way kept his insides inside, but that left him with jagged and mismatched ink trailing across him.

They watched the doctor in her natural habitat—weaving skin together with needle and thread. Attentive, methodical. If she wasn’t so squeamish, Sombra would like to shadow the other more just to appreciate how satisfying her work was.

“How’s that?” Moira asked finally, already moving away.

Mauga flexed his arm carefully and examined the inked lines drawing out his history—faultless once again. “Beautiful as ever, doc.”

“If only you had the good sense to keep them that way,” she muttered.

“And devoid the world of this gorgeous body? That’d be criminal.”

“Oh, yes,” Moira drawled sarcastically. “Because you famously hate crime.”

But Sombra could see through her exasperation. After all, a less dedicated medic wouldn’t worry about a tattoo when there were traumas to reverse.

Chapter Text

Sombra slipped the tablet in front of her second dearest scientist—one left unused except to show off her latest blackmail to the very target to whom it may concern. Easier to leave behind and let it eat at their minds.

She was proud of herself for finding these photos. Moira was a hard woman to pin down, with excellent image management and barely a trace of socials from her youthful days. Practically a ghost, her past unseen. But after tracing her appearance in software and data mining odd ends of the internet, Sombra found a frightfully colourful display of what she came to understand as cybergoth.

But instead of looking at them with fear, hesitation, or annoyance… Sombra saw a distant memory replaying in Moira’s head. The silence was unusually heavy.

Eventually, she spoke. “Where did you find this?”

Sombra frowned, unpleased with how unthreatening all this work turned out to be. “An archive. But don’t worry, there’s plenty more where—”

“Is there?”

She paused. Moira finally pulled away from the tablet to look at Sombra again but her expression showed interest when it was supposed to be entrapment.

“What archive is this?”

“I don’t name names, you know this.”

Moira hummed like she often did: disagreeable, a disappointed mother looking down on her child. “You do for a price. Name that, at least.”

Sombra chewed on her own disappointment but she wouldn’t let it blind her to a new opportunity. “You want to see more of this?”

Moira shrugged. “There was a lot lost in the Omnic Crisis. I thought these pictures were gone forever when the servers were destroyed. If anything, I’m curious to see what you cannot find.”

“You miss the past.”

There was a small, nearly imperceptible tug on the doctor’s lips, downturned. “Who doesn’t?”

Chapter Text

“—chrome dome ass. I preferred the days when ChatGPT couldn’t speak back.”

Sombra’s jaw dropped as the ugliest cackle rang through the laboratory.

Reaper turned to the source of laughter to speak. Monotone, yet… disappointed? “That’s what got you?”

The doctor covered her face, but her laughter hadn’t stopped.

“Omnic racism broke you, Moira? Really? I thought you were better than that.”

“It was—“ God, it sounded like she was choking back actual tears. “No! It was the way you said it!”

And yet, she smiled…

“Sombra!” Reaper called out suddenly.

She nearly dropped her phone. Blood rushed to her ears as she focused on him—How did he know?

“Sombra!” He yelled again in the wrong direction. “Splice that audio and post it to Reddit.”

“Stop that.” Moira threw a pencil at him from across the room. “Are you trying to get us both cancelled?”

“Both? No one knows who the fuck I am. You, on the other hand, will find yourself in stern conflict, Minister.” Even through his mask, his eyes seemed determined. “Maximilien. 4k. This is inevitable.”

“You wouldn’t—“

“She would.”

Sombra shook her head. She had better secrets to play with than that.

“I’ll pay.”

“Gabriel!”

Chapter Text

“Wait, so you’re bald under there? Completely? Boss, I’ve been imagining you with an awesome 'stash.”

If only someone could stitch Mauga’s mouth closed, then maybe Sombra could actually work in peace for once.

“Hairless,” Reaper corrected. “That’s what happens when you die in a fiery explosion.”

A pregnant pause.

When Sombra glanced at Mauga, she could see him connecting two brain cells—a troubling thought.

Don’t say it. Please don’t say it. Don—

“When you get out of the shower,” Mauga said, rubbing an imaginary towel behind his shoulders. “Does it just sound like eh-er, eh-er, eh-er—”

Reaper growled.

Chapter Text

“We were so close! We had it right in hand, and you willingly fucked it all up?”

Sombra never thought it could come to this. Yelling at her boss, who had no reservations about killing a 'lesser' for the crime of being annoying.

“What the actual fuck is wrong with you—”

Instead of speaking—or even attempting a defence—Reaper pointed behind her.

When Sombra turned around, all she saw was Moira. An irridible asshole who looked away coyly. Knowingly.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it!”

He shrugged.

At this rate, Sombra would need dentures by forty.