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He was never in her dreams. Never a thought or even a want, but when he came, she saw all of him. The ridiculous hat, the serape. Boots and all, jangling spurs doing little to hide his presence. He was ridiculous, and just another easy target. Another ex-member of Overwatch that Talon wanted to take care of.
But he surprised her.
She had searched and found him in a bar, drunk. Whiskey still in his glass even though he slumps against the table.
Too easy, she had thought. But it wasn’t.
She questioned him, knowing the way around a drunk mind just as easily as walking in the park. He had nothing really useful, but Reaper seemed to be attached to him. A sort of misfit adoptive son. She couldn’t see it now, but maybe when he was younger McCree was easier seen as a child needing guidance.
Slipping her drink away, but never letting it touch her tongue, she deemed the reconnaissance of very little value. Leaving bills on the table next to her glass, she stood up.
“Feliz Navidad,” She spoke in passing, but he stirred. Still somehow conscious and turning on the bar stool to call after her.
“Wait.” His words slurred and barely meaningful, but she paused. Only glancing over her shoulder at his crooked hat and twisted up serape. “Partner, anyone who’s in a bar on Christmas Eve rightly doesn’t have anythin’ else planned for the night.”
So he wasn’t completely trashed, or at least, good at acting like he isn’t. The holiday wasn’t important to her, her focus set on bigger things. Though she can’t deny his words, not to herself anyways.
Turning on her heels, she holds a smirk on her lips.
“Like you,” she agreed, stepping to a chair closer to his side. Settling down next to him, she waved the bartender over, requesting two cokes.
He watched through half closed eyelids while she holds herself high. Meeting his hazy gaze with one raised eyebrow.
“Gracias,” She spoke as she accepts the two glass bottles. Already open and fizzing with carbonation.
“Partner?” He murmured, nearly bowed over the table as she reached for his whiskey. “Hey!”
He made a grab for her arm, starling quick for the state of his intoxication, but she has the rim pressed to her lips in just a moment. Gulping the last mouthful of alcohol, it burns her throat going down. Sharp and biting.
“That’s my whiskey,” he grumbled like a child, brow narrowed.
“Not anymore, partner,” she said, settling the glass on the counter and reaching for a coke bottle. “If you want my company, you’re going to be awake to appreciate it.”
Slowly, the expression of annoyance shifts to half aware confusion. His eyes settled on the motion of the falling soda into the cup that once held liquor. Now full of a less toxic drink, Sombra passed the glass to him. Metallic fingers overlaps her for just a moment. Her skin warms at the touch.
Glancing over the coke, as if unsure if she poisoned him, he takes a sip. Breathing out after lowering the glass back to the table. Sombra reached for the remaining one, but drinks from the bottle. The surgery taste waking up her tongue as bubbles settle over it.
McCree pulled in a long breath, a sigh full of emotions that isn’t interesting enough to dissect at the moment.
“What I plain just don’t get,” He started, attempting to fix his hat with his free hand, “Is why someone like you is here all alone tonight.”
This caught her attention briefly, her eyebrow raising as she gives him a sideway glance. Taking a sip of coke, she takes her time to swallow and let it settle.
“Someone like me?” Her tongue morphed the sentence to sound pretty, maybe even flirty. It’s time she had a little fun. His phrasing is too general anyways, or perhaps he’s too drunk to even understand what he’s trying to say.
His prosthetic hand tightens around the glass, his hat nearly falling off before he finally fixed it in place. “A beautiful women like you. You ain’t afraid neither.” Tipping his head back, he took a big gulp. Downing half the soda before slamming the glass back down. Rattling the table for just a moment.
With her lips pursed in thought, she ran one hand over her hair. Brushing it back just slightly as she adjusted her body to face him.
“Why would I be afraid?” She asked, much too intrigued for her liking in this drunk cowboy. Maybe it’s what they call the southern charm working against her, but the charade should be easy for her to pick apart. Especially since the target is barely clinging to this plane of waking existence.
“Oh, partner,” he drawled out, low and cynical as he slumped forward against the bar. “There’s plenty to be afraid of in this world.”
Swirling the coke in the glass for a moment, he watched the liquid bubble and fizz before pressing the glass to his lips. Slowly taking a sip and perhaps even noticing the sweet taste of the soda this time.
The night became even more puzzling, something Sombra didn’t even consider happening with McCree. His words hold more meaning then he’s telling with his drunken body language. All slurred and blurred together into a messy canvas that she can’t see as anything other than that; a mess.
At least he’s not blind to the truth Sombra figured out at a very young age. He knows that the world is cruel and terrifying. The world doesn’t care for her or him or anyone. It keeps on spinning, people keep on dying, and that’s that.
Yet, he’s still doing good. Not too long again she dug up files of a train robbery, only to have it stop by the cowboy.
How can someone so lost still look for the justice in this world?
Droning a bubbly gulp from the bottle, she carefully sets it back on the table. Her gaze slated on his form as she breathes in for a moment.
“Are you afraid?” Her voice carried lightly but hiding her genuine interest is second nature. He wouldn’t notice it anyways.
“Me? Naw.” Looking up at her from under his hat, a grin spreads. Full and strong, as if stone cold sober and knowing exactly who he’s dazzling with his white teeth. The right canine in his mouth peeks sharply at her. The whiskers of his beard decorating his jawline roughly but without a doubt in a ruggedly handsome way.
She doesn’t blink, shifting her gaze easily to his irises as if she never was distracted in the first place. He doesn’t notice, still tugging the corner of his lips.
“But I do love danger,” he drawled, the rumbling and southern voice making her spine shiver. Never faltering, he held her securely in his eyes. “Especially the kind that looks like you.”
Breaking away, a silver laugh slipped out from between her teeth. Light and breathy as she looked at the bottle of coke sitting in front of her. Her mind too focused on the way his tongue rolled out that sentence. Sure and directed entirely at her.
He surprised her. Caught off guard and taking advantage of it, he took her down. All in one breath.
But she laughed again, facing his fading grin with her own smile. Small but radiating determination and all the secrets he will never know. The lies and deceit and the things she is capable of is only seen on her skin. Her skills and demands are lethal, and all consuming. He calls her dangerous, but his eyes only scratch the surface of her being.
He doesn’t know the half of it.
“Careful, partner.” She spoke in a pretty tone, her accent highlighting her words. “Danger holds no love for the weak hearted.”
His eyes flashed with something wild. Bright and suddenly closer as he leans forward. The brim of his hat hiding his face for just a moment until locking gaze with her. The red serape falls over his body. The scent of smoke invades her, but lying underneath is wood. Steady and strong as his presence is close enough to warrant a glance at his lips.
“I’d say this heart has beat this long for a reason,” a growing grin shaped his lips, a soft light overtook his eyes, “and it’s strong enough for one more dance.”
A gloved hand shifted underneath the serape, appearing in front of her. Fingers sprayed and waiting patiently as she refuses to look away. The only thing left between them, and now tempting her.
Her hand slipped forward, all warning signs thrown out the window as she found that danger can thrive in others as well. He’s taken the jump, and she has braved far worst then this. His fingers curled gently around hers. Warm and holding a thousand promises, but she fought the thoughts of it being all for her.
It’s nice… holding someone’s hand. Maybe even his hand, but she can’t afford this kind of weakness.
“Lo siento, partner.” She breathed out yet refused to let go of the cowboy’s tight grip. Not yet. “You’ll have to plan that another night.”
His smile held, but its strength diminished. The light seeping away from his irises as he duck his head. The brim hiding him away as he let air out of his longs in a drawn out sigh. That same air seemed to press against her skin, her cheeks. Pressed against the inside of her ribcage like an unforeseen embrace lost to shadow.
“I reckon I ought to leave ya with this then,” he spoke.
With a lifted eyebrow, she waited for his move. Anticipating the questions or call for a real drink but not that.
A slow gentle movement lifted her hand to his mouth. Her muscles stilling as to let him easily tug her fingers closer. Bowing his head, the hat hiding him completely, his lips pressed softly against her knuckles. Warm and surreal against her skin. The carefully held way of his fingers around her palm, steady and secure.
A flash of thought, a lightning strike. Of what that kiss would taste like against her, making her lips part.
He straightened up, standing off the bar stool but facing her carefully masked face.
“Goodnight, darlin’,” he murmured. Slurred and genuine and raising bumps against her dark skin as he turned on the heels of his boots. Her eyes only watched the serape disappear through the door before it slammed shut.
He surprised her. Caught off guard and taking advantage of it, he took her down. All in one breath.
All in one kiss.
Raising her kissed knuckles, she brushed the fingers against the glowing parts of her skull before calling the bartender to get her a shot of whiskey.