a mutual mistake
Or That One Time Jesse And Sombra Fucked
based on this beautiful post and set around the time of the Retribution event
Staring down the barrel of a gun typically didn’t make for titillating small talk. Of that, both Sombra and McCree were in agreement. They were also in agreement that they were both too goddamn tired to deal with a mexican standoff, and both were in accord that one would be doing the other a huge favor if they just dropped dead.
“So why don’t you go first?” Sombra said, tipping her pistol down for half a second to gesture to the ground in invitation.
Jesse McCree tipped his hat without taking his eyes or his gun off her. “Naw, pardner, I was raised to be a gentlemen. Ladies first, I insist.”
“Ay, un caballero! Be still my beating heart!”
“On your orders, ma’am,” he said obediently, finger moving off the trigger guard. But Sombra mirrored the move and clicked her tongue.
“You know,” she said conversationally, “It’s not really an authentic mexican standoff if only one of us is Mexican.”
Around them the sounds of fighting were muffled- perks of a covert mission. Sombra had deactivated the Blackwatch operative’s coms when he came into range, and Sombra’s own people were too busy getting slaughtered to come to her aid. It was only them, and this odd rapport they shared.
He felt familiar. Sombra knew and thanked la virgen for never facing off with the killer in front of her before today, but still- somehow- he felt familiar.
“Who said I ain’t?” he said, and Sombra snapped out of it. She grinned.
“So you are?”
McCree shrugged. “I’ve been to, and that’s about as much as you’re gonna get outta me.”
“That’s no fun.” She pouted. That same uneasy sense of familiarity prickled at the back of her neck. She couldn’t pinpoint it exactly, but…
“Now you… you look familiar. Ain’t I killed you before?” But apparently it wasn't only her. Jesse was looking closely at her, no doubt wracking his memory just as she was wracking hers. He’d been to Mexico before, but she was Talon and he was Blackwatch. Covert chance encounters weren’t limited to one continent, let alone country.
“I’m not exactly in the habit of being threatened by vaqueros, vaquero. The ones I meet back home are actual gentlemen, not po-”
She cut herself off abruptly, closing her mouth so that her teeth made an audible clack even from over a meter away. Jesse stared at her, then he squinted. Something about the way she said ‘vaquero’ nagged at his memory. Sombra’s grip on her gun went a little lax, and it wouldn’t take much for him to shoot it out of her hand and take her alive, but the look on her face stopped him.
Recognition.
He felt cold wash over him on the otherwise warm Venetian night. What would it be? A random job? His childhood? Deadlock?
“Po-?” he repeated in question.
“Posers.” Sombra gasped. Her shoulders shook, and then she was laughing, head thrown back and throat bared, loud and unattractive but honest. She lowered her gun and holstered it, using her freed hands to wrap around her stomach to try and control the heaving. “Oh my god, it’s you!”
Jesse put his gun away too, but kept his hand on his hip. “It’s me?”
She pointed at him and gleefully explained: “Calaveras! Calaveras en Diciembre del ‘68. Y no te hagas el bobo que no me entiende, cabron, que ya se de donde te conozco, Jaime Marquez!”
Ah. J.M. initials. One of his pseudonyms. Made sense, and Dorado was a common pitstop in his intel runs. Sombra was gathering herself, and Jesse was racing to place her. Her hair- short, cropped, brown- didn’t ring any bells for any of his informants that night. Unless she wasn’t an informant.
Unless…
Purple dress, purple eyes. A cybernetically enhanced spine that glowed beneath his fingertips. A harsh laugh too amused to try to sound pretty, and a tongue sharper than his, even on a good day.
“Aw hell.” He took a step back. Sombra took one look at his dumbfounded wide-eyed expression and winked, knowing he knew that they both knew intimately how they’d first met.
“You didn’t even get my name, vaquero.” She was enjoying watching his already dark complexion go ruddy with embarrassment. Flustered, he was almost adorable.
“I-” He gaped at her, and that little helpless look was reminiscent to a look he gave her on a night several years ago. “I was a little busy.”
“Oh I know.” Sombra took a few steps forward and simpered up at him. “You’ve got good hands, Jaime, try not to lose them.”
“I cannot believe-” He took just as many steps back. “I- you- that we-”
“-fucked?”
He sputtered. “That you’re Talon. That I fucked a- Not even for a honeypot job-! Did you-?”
“Know? No. Honestly I was just out to have fun. I saw you across the bar talking to that omnic and your accent was so awful I thought to myself, ‘Mujer, no puedes no follarte a ese’!”
His shoulders straightened and he loomed over her, voice incredulous. “The accent is what did it for you?”
She shrugged, unruffled. “It was so bad it was good.”
He leaned back. “Fuck you.”
“You already did.”
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