#Mcsombra dialogue is so fun to write because it's like 'Utter devotion... but make it belligerent and sarcastic as hell'

[nitewrighter]

62 McSombra

62. Lazy Morning Kisses Before They’ve Even Opened Their Eyes, Still Mumbling Half-Incoherently, Not Wanting To Wake Up

----

She seems so small in the crook of his arm that he can almost forget what an asshole she can be when she’s awake, the way her words can fill a room, fill his head, turn his world upside-down. The reason computer viruses are called viruses, she’s explained to him, is because organic viruses themselves are little more than lines of code, genetic code, but code, designed to take root and rewrite and destroy the pre-existing functions of a system. He can feel a small portion of her own logic has wormed its way into his own mind--he was always the wary sort, but her paranoia and the solid intelligence it stems from is another thing entirely. And she’s one more voice in his head--not Reyes calling him an ingrate when he fucks up, but questioning, questioning, questioning goddamn everything. It’s exhausting, but it’s gotten him out of binds. And gotten him into binds. That’s just how she’s like.

Her nostrils flare and her brow furrows slightly and he wonders what she dreams about. She’s scared, he knows that. He knows she’s a lot more scared than she’s willing to let on--she can’t let on how scared she is, she’s built up too much of herself, clawed through too much shit to let the fear consume her now, but there is a fear in her that scares him, because so much of it is beyond his ken and yet none of it is unfounded. He wonders if he knows the the things she knows, if he would just shut down. He studies her expressions as she sleeps. a tug at the corner of her mouth, the twitch of an inner corner of one eyebrow, the brightness of the neural implants scoring her scalp, glowing and fading with her breath.

He’s not sure if it’s that same wariness, that same fear that makes her eyes open. There’s an easiness in the motion, the slow sliding of her eyelids paired with another, calmer, soft inhale through the nostrils. Her eyes are half-lidded at him, and he can’t seem to summon the sleepiness back to his own expression to offset the sharpness of his own eye contact with her.

“What are you staring at?” Of course she manages to be a little shit first thing in the morning.

“You,” his answer is unconscious, automatic, he likes annoying her with obvious answers, “You’re nice to look at.”

“I know,” she says, closing her eyes again with a smug smirk before snuggling against his shoulder.

A short breath puffs out of him. She runs warmer than most on account of her modifications, and he can feel the gossamer layer of semi-dried sweat that envelops his skin just from having her in his arms all night. He stares at the ceiling for a few seconds.

“This is nice,” he says quietly.

“Mm-hmm,” she nuzzles at the point where his neck meets his shoulder.

“Wouldn’t mind doing this for a while...” he muses, “Not having the ol’ internal clock eternally fucked by orca-lag.”

“...is this going to turn into another ‘Sombra, I don’t want to watch you die for that highfalutin eye conspiracy of yours, run away with me and I’ll dick you down forever’ talks?’”

“No,” his voice is thick with defensiveness.

“Yes it is.”

“When the hell have I ever used the words, ‘Dick down?’” 

“I love how you can’t argue with the ‘highfalutin’ part.”

He scoffs and brings his arm in, pulling her tight against his side, still staring at the ceiling. 

“So you are thinking about it,” she says softly, trailing her fingers over his collarbone.

“Hard not to.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

“That’s what scares me.” 

She hefts her upper torso up onto his chest, forcing a short breath out of him with the weight. Those purple eyes are staring into him.

“I’m just saying, you... You don’t... have to do this,” he says, unable to make eye contact.

She trails a hand down the side of his face before kissing him, gentle, then deep, the taste of her tongue sour from sleep and lovemaking. “I don’t think I’d be the person you love if I stopped now,” she says as she pulls away.

A new alertness floods into him. “I don’t love you because you’re on a gotdang death drive to bring these eye fuckers down!” he huffs, “And for the record, I’m sick of you acting like people are idiots for giving a shit about you! You’re worth giving a shit about, Olivia!”

He can feel every muscle in her body tense against him at the use of her real name. “I--” he sighs, “Look--”

“...I don’t think I’m going to die going against them,” Sombra says quietly.

“What?” McCree’s mouth twists with confusion, “But you’re always goin’ on about how dangerous these guys are, and how they can come at any time, and....”

“They are dangerous,” Sombra says quietly, “But...” she smooths his hair back tentatively, “I’ve got you.”

He blinks a few times. “...thought you said I was a liability.”

“You are a liability,” Sombra isn’t making eye contact, “You just... also... happen to be a contingency.”

“I’m a contingency?” There’s a chuckle in his voice.

“Don’t get smug about it,” she says, laying her cheek against his chest, “I just know what you can do. I know you can watch my back. I know you can survive when shit hits the fan.” 

 “...can the contingency ask you to... not do the scary pursuit of the evil murder-y eye guys so you can run away together and he can dick you down forever?” 

She lifts her head to give him a very weary look.

“Worth a shot,” McCree manages to shrug with her weight on his chest.

“Don’t say ‘dick down,” says Sombra, laying her head down and closing her eyes again.

“You said ‘dick down’ first,” mutters McCree, wrapping his arms around her.