#if you get too normal you end up inside a target searching for decorative napkins

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i don't even know what i stayed up all night reading about, but now i'm texting my military sister about packs of army robot dogs fighting in the coming war with china, and this is why she thinks i have the mental illness

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[26] Glitch in the System - Off to the Races

By E. A boat happens. _  “You look nice,” Widowmaker said, stepping into her room unannounced and leaning up against the dresser as Sombra tucked a black and gold plug into the lobe of her right ear. She’d dragged one of the few formal outfits she owned from her closet for the evening: skinny black slacks and a black blazer, with a bright purple shirt peeking out from below her collarbone. She kept her shoes simple, opting for flats over heels, just in case they encountered a situation that required an expedient escape. Widow had called this a “date,” but Widow also referred to strike missions and sanctioned murder as “going out on the town,” so she wanted to make sure she was prepared for anything.

Smoothing back her hair, she turned to look at the sniper, draped lithely over the dark wood dressed in a long black dress, thin straps coming to a V at her chest and a slit running from her ankle to mid-thigh. With the casual grace of a killer on vacation, she effortlessly exuded an aura of sex and death as she waited for the hacker to finish getting ready. Sombra’s fingers fumbled and she nearly dropped the second plug.

“We can stay here if you want,” she blurted, finally getting the jewelry into place and picking up a thin golden pendant. “Or you can just stand there for a really long time and distract me. Or do whatever else you want to distract me.”

Widowmaker’s smile grew coy. “I am taking you out, but the flattery is acceptable.” Pushing off from the dresser, she walked over to where Sombra was now struggling with the clasp on her necklace. “Let me,” she said, taking the ends from Sombra’s hands and hooking them together. The golden chain fell against her chest, and Widowmaker looked at her over her shoulder in the mirror.

Sombra could feel the spider’s breath warm on her neck as she stood, not touching, but close enough that it was almost more distracting than if she had been. She shook her head and turned around, gently shooing Widowmaker from her and out of the room. “Dios, arana, tienes que irte or we’re going nowhere.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Widow replied, her smile still teasing.

“Mierda. Out,” Sombra said, pushing her out the door with a grin. “I’ll come find you when I’m ready.”

They walked together down the narrow Venetian streets, taking their time on the way to dinner to enjoy the sights. It was a lovely evening - chilly to be sure, but Venice was decorated for the impending holiday season, and the lights were phenomenal to behold.

“So what’s the occasion, anyway?” Sombra asked, gripping Widowmaker’s arm snugly in both of hers as they walked. She nodded at passersby; happy residents filled with a festive spirit, utterly unaware they were sharing their evening with two of Talon’s finest killers.

“A return to normalcy,” she said, staring ahead of them, avoiding eye contact with the rows of hawking vendors as they navigated the Venetian Christmas Markets. “Or, I suppose, defining normalcy.”

“Tall order for gals like us, spider.”

Widowmaker shrugged, giving the hacker’s fingers a squeeze where they were pressed against her bicep. “It is worth a try, no?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” Sombra agreed, smiling.

After a fifteen minute walk in which Widowmaker did her absolute best to ignore the well-wishes of those they passed on the street, they reached the restaurant. The front windows were lavishly decorated with white lights blinking along the sills. There was a small hiccup to start when they entered and their reservation had been misplaced, but after some scrambling in the face of Widowmaker’s polite verbal daggers at the host, they’d been seated at a small table on the covered balcony overlooking the Venetian lagoon. The waiter took their order promptly and left them with a pitcher of water and a small plate of appetizers.

Sombra popped an h'orderves into her mouth and leaned back in her chair, eyeing the sniper across from her where she was meticulously arranging her pristine cloth napkin across her lap. She looked uncomfortable and out of place in the gentle lighting, and despite her efforts at hiding it, Sombra could see her eyes darting around in search of threats. Or maybe targets. It was hard to tell where the sniper was concerned.

“This place must cost a fortune,” she said in an effort to bring the sniper’s attention to the situation at hand, looking around at the decor and caliber of patron dining alongside them.

Widow’s gaze settling on Sombra, the sides of her mouth turned upward ever so slightly, affirming the hacker’s suspicions. “It was not cheap,” she replied. The candle in front of them flickered.

“Do I need to hack the credit reader?”

“We will be fine,” Widow replied cryptically, and Sombra remembered that the spider was unreasonably well-off. “My treat.”

Sombra smiled, blowing her a kiss across the table.

“Filet mignon?” the waiter announced, appearing with their dinners in hand and smiling brightly at the both of them.

“Si,” Sombra replied, and he set the sizzling plate before her.

“Scallop piccata?” he gestured at Widowmaker, and the sniper pushed her water glass out of the way so he could place it before her.

“Buon appetito!” he announced cheerfully, gesturing at them to eat. Widowmaker raised an eyebrow and the waiter left hastily.

Sombra, more hungry than she’d realized, dug into her meal without any of the grace of her companion. “Well, it’s as far from rare as can be, but it’s good,” she commented at the well done steak, chewing it readily regardless of its overcooked nature.

“It is overcooked?” Widowmaker asked, fork hovering halfway between her plate and mouth as she eyed the steak threateningly.

“It’s not rare,” Sombra shrugged. “But it’s very good.”

“We can send it back,” Widow said, her voice deadly as she chewed her piccata with a menacing slowness.

“It’s fine, I promise,” Sombra replied, smiling and shoving another bite into her face. “I’m really not picky.”

“You may not be,” was Widow’s response, and the hacker pitied their waiter when he showed up fifteen minutes later to check on them.

“The steak is overcooked,” the sniper said, voice deadly calm.

“Mi dispiace,” he replied sincerely. “Would you like me to return it?”

“It’s no big deal,” Sombra answered, not feeling like rescuing yet another hapless victim from Widowmaker’s vengeance. “Clearly not overdone enough to stop me from finishing it,” she said, looking down at her empty plate.

“I, too, am finished,” was the spider’s icy follow-up, and Sombra watched as the waiter’s face paled three shades before them. Widowmaker stared him down like he was her next target, gripping her fork like she were about to stab him in the back of the hand.

As hilarious as that would have been, Sombra rather liked their continued ability to walk down the street unrecognized.

“Ready?” the hacker asked, pushing her chair out and quickly standing.

“Yes,” Widowmaker replied, holding out her card with the deepest disdain for the waiter. He dropped it not once, but twice, before finally handing it back and waving at them.

“Gratuito,” he said. Widowmaker raised an eyebrow and Sombra didn’t argue as she took her arm, sending daggers from her eyes at the terrified boy as they passed.

“Your treat, hm?” Sombra smirked.

Widowmaker kept her eyes fixed on the exit as Sombra gripped the sniper’s hand on her arm to keep her close and they navigated their way back out to the street.

“I am sorry about that,” Widowmaker apologized as they made their way, bellies full despite the drama of the evening, along the well-lit street. “I am a wretch in public.”

“You’re a wretch in private too,” Sombra murmured into her shoulder as they walked.

Widowmaker huffed slightly in something Sombra couldn’t identify as a laugh or disdain. “I am not good with people,” she said. “I am barely good with you.”

“You’re doing fine,” Sombra assured her. When she didn’t respond, Sombra tugged her to a stop, forcing her to a halt next to a jewelry store that had just begun closing for the evening. “What’s really bothering you?”

Widowmaker didn’t speak right away, her eyes searching the darkness of the alley beside them for an answer to respond with. “I am sorry to be difficult,” she said finally.

“Difficult?”

“Yes. Outside of missions; outside of us, it’s difficult to adjust. I still don’t understand,” she looked around the city, at the people milling about, doing their holiday shopping, laughing easily with friends, “any of this. The real world, it...confuses me.”

Sombra shrugged. “We hardly live in the real world, araña. You’re fine. Really,” she assured her, lifting one cold hand to her lips to place a kiss along her knuckles.

“I do not know that I can be normal, Sombra,” Widowmaker said, looking tired in a way Sombra hadn’t seen in months.. “And I don’t think that I will ever be particularly nice.”

Sombra laughed, and Widowmaker frowned at her response. “Mi cielita, we aren’t normal, and ‘nice’ is relative.”

“What do you mean?” the spider asked, suspicion and intrigue creeping into her voice as she followed Sombra now tugging her gently down the Venetian streets.

“What I mean is the night is young and I have an idea.”

Their first stop was the liquor store. Pushing the small door open and walking inside, Sombra wasted no time in getting down to business, casually reaching a hand out as she passed the omnic shopkeep and hacked him into obliviousness before he could even say “Benvenuto.”

“Petty theft, Sombra?” Widowmaker commented, less in derision and more in amusement. “If I had known this was your idea of a nice date we could have picked somewhere a bit more prestigious.”

“This is just a means to an ends, spider; now let’s pick out something nice.”

“There is no wine here.”

Sombra rolled her eyes. “I’m going to need you to branch out once in awhile.”

Widowmaker frowned, disappearing down the aisle in search of a beverage as Sombra sat idly by the door, making sure no other patrons decided to come in for their alcohol fix. Humming to herself, she casually hacked into the store’s computer system and frowned at the general lack of taste its patrons seemed to have.

“Ici,” Widowmaker said, setting a bottle of Louis XIII cognac on the table before them. “This should do it.”

Sombra looked down at the overpriced, ostentatious liquor and frowned. “That’s just distilled wine.”

“Oui.”

“Well, at least you’re predictable.” Gesturing for Widow to exit before her, she swiped two shot glasses from the counter and left the omnic with a parting boop on the nose, releasing it from the hack she’d disabled it with.

“Benvenuto!” it announced cheerfully to a now-empty store, looking around in confusion as the door closed with the chime of a bell behind the departing duo.

“That one,” Sombra said, pointing at a sleek red and black gondola docked by the walkway they were crossing.

“An excellent choice,” Widowmaker agreed, fingers twined between the hacker’s as they commenced on their reinvigorated date. Sombra started for the gondolier, but Widowmaker held her back, brushing a stray hair from the hacker’s forehead.

“Allow me, cherie,” she purred, releasing Sombra’s hand and walking over to the man as he leaned idly against the pier. Sombra watched from a distance as, at first, the sniper smiled and batted her lashes at the man, convincing him to give her the boat for her own use. He laughed, swayed by her attention but unwilling to relinquish his boat.

With an affected laugh and a languid move of her arm, Widowmaker gave up on charisma and hit the man square in his face, dropping him to the ground.

“Araña, you’re going to have to warn me before you do that sort of thing,” Sombra said as she joined her, stepping over the unconscious gondolier’s body and sidling up close to the spider. “I wasn’t prepared for these feelings.”

Widowmaker’s smile was subtle, but satisfied. “I got you a boat,” she said, gesturing at the gondola.

“You’re so good to me.”

Helping each other in, Sombra traced her fingers over the boat’s computer, using the hacked console to push them off into the middle of the lagoon. They continued until they were far enough from the bank to be unnoticed by passersby before she disengaged and joined Widowmaker where she was seated, two glasses of cognac poured for them.

Sombra sat down between her outstretched legs and leaned back, body flush against the lean length of the spider’s, and raised her glass. “Cheers,” she said contentedly, nestled comfortably in her arms.

“Cheers indeed,” Widowmaker replied, resting one hand against the hacker’s hip as she raised her other into the air, connecting their glasses in a satisfying ring. Sipping their cognac, they let the gentle wafting of the Venetian lagoon carry their gondola slowly under the night sky and enjoyed the fruits of their labor and relaxed in each other’s imperfect company.

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