Smile – Chapter 3 (Final)

itshigh-boop:

Continuation of these two pieces
You can also find this story on my AO3 

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Sombra had never been in jail.

Never once had she been apprehended for the things she’s done. It was something that she took great pride in. But she was quite certain that the past month confined to Gibraltar was the closest thing she’d ever get to actually being stuck in prison.

Thinking about the situation that led to being stuck on the island made her grit her teeth in spite. This is what happened when you decided to care about someone. Care about them living or dying, anyway, Sombra clarified to herself, letting herself nod as if having a conversation. Might as well – who else would she talk to?

The only other person she really spoke to was McCree and ever since that afternoon, she hadn’t seen him again. About a week after that day, he was shipped out on some mission to India along with the ex-Vishkar architect and Miss Orange Jumpsuit. She didn’t want to admit it to herself but she’d counted the days; it’d been about a month since the last time she saw him – even longer since she had a decent conversation.

She never considered herself a social person but even when she was growing up alone, there were always like-minded individuals over the net to anonymously chat with. Talon agents were just about as interesting as Overwatch drones, and attempting to relate to the Spider and Gabriel was like relating to a brick wall. Her standards for friendship before she met the gunslinger were downright abysmal. Getting to know him and maintaining a relationship that was more than receiving threats, blackmail, and thinly veiled insults set the bar pretty high.

And then you went and ruined it.

No, she shook her head, not ruined it. There was nothing to ruin – if anything, he ruined any friendship they might have had by refusing to leave her in peace that day. If only he hadn’t gone on that stupid-

“I really need that drink,” she muttered to herself, looking down to keep an eye on the state of the shredded tortilla pieces sizzling in the frying pan. They looked just about done. Reaching over, she grabbed the bowl of beaten eggs, pouring the bright yellow substance into the pan with a satisfying hiss. A few turns with her mixing spoon already had the eggs solidifying and turning fluffy.

The aroma that reached her nostrils had her sighing; it reminded her of being home, where there were always scents drifting through the air, whether it was the flowery soap of a mother doing laundry, the fresh bread from the bakery, or the salt from the waves of the gulf. Thinking about Mexico set a heavy sinking in her chest as she turned the eggs over in the pan.

“Smells good.”

People really had to stop sneaking up on her – that was something she was used to doing. But she had no time to stay annoyed when she realized who’d managed to catch her off guard.

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