Before joining Talon, Reaper had known Sombra only tangentially. Thanks to the sheer amount of frustration her handiwork had brought him, the mental picture he'd formed of the illusive hacker had been less-than-pleasant, so you could only imagine his surprise when he witnessed her skills for himself, and recognized the signature style. He hadn't mentioned anything at the time. Certain she'd tipped him off knowingly, he hadn't even graced the revelation with a reaction beyond adding the new information to his mental tally of why the hacker was a royal pain in the ass.
After months of working together, he still couldn't admit to knowing much about her family or her motives, but he did know her habits, her tells, and in their line of work, that was enough.
So when a glance at the latest recruit tore her attention away from the wall of security feeds she was gleefully wrecking havoc on during her report, when her jaw dropped in muted astonishment, before snapping shut with her teeth digging into her lower lip, he'd quickly guessed that Moira had brought trouble with her. And he'd been right.
Because standing on the threshold was Jesse McCree, looking all of seventeen again with his beard shaved and his Stetson strangely absent. Yet, those spurs remained on his boots which, along with a cocky smirk, stood out as enduring testaments to the roguish cowboy image he'd conjured up when he was a kid, long before he'd joined a gang or taken up a career in covert ops.
Seeing McCree standing there so calmly, acting like he wasn't trapped in a nest of vipers, Reaper wasn't sure if he wanted to kill the kid or shake him. Inside, a quiet part of him despaired - Why couldn't he have just let his dreams die like the rest of them?
At Sombra's subtle movement, Moira's cool gaze turned sharply on her, analyzing and dissecting. Sensing the danger, Sombra rested the back of her hand against her mouth and faked a cough with a weak chuckle. "Sorry," she winked, "guess I'm allergic to dorks dressed like Spaghetti Western rejects."
McCree's eyes widened a fraction as he took that in, having apparently not expected the ribbing to start quite so soon, yet he visibly mastered himself, placing the grin back in place with practiced ease as he hooked his thumbs in his pockets and leaned back on his heels. "Didn't realize this Halloween party had standards." Pointing at the tips of his boots, he unwittingly risked his life by asking Moira with a teasing lilt, "Be honest with me, doc, am I overdressed?"
Moira looked down her nose at him with a sneer. "Even the miracles of medicine and ingenuity are limited," she told them, with a pointed glance at Jesse's choice of footwear, "but… I think you'll find that the benefits far outweigh the drawbacks of accepting this one into your ranks. He's learned from the best, after all."
It was that condescending attitude that nearly broke his self-control. He could feel his nanites starting to respond to the rage and disgust churning within him, marking the beginnings of a frenzy that would subsequently weaken his already unstable corporeal form, which was the last thing he needed right now. A spreading numbness in his limbs suggested that he was already partially intangible, but since every inch of him was covered in black, it was impossible to notice the slip.
Though Sombra may have made a habit of giving him flack for the dramatics, they more than served their purpose. Sometimes, the flashier you are, the less people see.
His self-evaluation was interrupted, however, by an exaggerated drawl. "Ah ma'am," it seemed Jesse had perfected his ingratiatingly sincere act over the years, though it didn't quite manage to fool current company, "you're making me blush." But if he kept poking the beehive like this, he wasn't going to like what came out. This wasn't some undercover mission or stealth operation. This was walking onto a battlefield with a target on your back.
Before Moira could do more than smile, Reaper interrupted whatever she'd planned to say with a snarled, "Shut up your mouth, ingrate."
McCree's eyebrows shot up his forehead. He rocked forward until his feet were firmly planted, all the while complaining, "Ingrate? I haven't even done anything yet!"
Reaper shoved past him. "Moira. You. Me. Outside. Now." And though she stared after him with a frigid expression for longer than anyone was comfortable, the doctor eventually moved to follow, her long, curved fingernails hooking the fabric of Jesse's sleeve as she did so in an act of silent challenge. Refusing to rise to the bait, Reaper ignored her. "Sombra, don't let him touch anything while I'm gone."
The hacker twisted in her rolling leather seat with a quick salute, "I hear ya loud and clear, boss." The wraith offered her a slight nod before leaving the room with a flourish of billowing fabric, taking with him the quiet, almost imperceptible buzz of milling machinery.
When the doctor stepped into the hallway, however, McCree took it into his head to call out, "Hey, doc, before you go, any chance of me gettin' my hat back?" Without a word, Moira stalked out, allowing the door to slam shut behind her. For the most part, Jesse shrugged it off. "No? 'kay, good talk."
Once they were both gone and Jesse was certain they were out of earshot, he loudly complained to the hacker with the luminous circuits strapped over the shaved side of her head, "Care to tell me what's got the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come so riled up?"
Though her fingers, already back on the keyboard, didn't pause, Sombra couldn't help snorting at the comparison. A single glance was all she needed to see that try as he might to hide it, the cowboy was genuinely bothered by the chilly reception.
"Don't worry about it too much, Jessito." She tried, doing her best to sound comforting when sincerity no longer came naturally. "He's like that with everyone he meets."
Unexpectedly, the gunslinger's lips quirked into a rueful smile. "And here I thought I was special."
Once he had her somewhere private, in an alcove shielded from the surveillance cameras, Reaper waited exactly the span of a breath before gripping her by her scrawny pale neck and slamming her against the wall. The thud, though gratifying, was undoubtedly loud enough to attract unwanted attention. Unfortunately, the wraith had reached his limit. "What did you do to him?" It came out snarled and gravelly, nearly incomprehensible thanks to his vocal cords collapsing and regenerating with the rest of him.
Tilting her head with that infuriating smirk of hers, Moira stated, "Merely made some improvements. I take it you're not a fan?"
One by one, he dug his metal claws into her flesh, pressing the surface until beads of crimson welled beneath their points. "This isn't the time to play games." There was a click, a whir, and all at once he began to feel dizzy, weak. Against his will and better judgment, the grip on her throat slackened, and she easily broke free of his hold. Hunching in an effort to keep himself from falling apart, Reaper registered the band of black energy connecting them, and watched with impotent fury as the pinprick holes he'd created in her skin closed without so much as a scar, nothing except an unusual hint of pink that would fade in minutes.
With his body and concentration failing him, Reaper could do little more than hover threateningly in the space while she brushed herself off, "You were always such a volatile experiment, Reyes." If he were more stable, he would have wrapped his fingers around her neck again, would have squeezed until she could never again speak that name, but he was expanding, gaseous and menacing as an oversaturated cloud. There was no gleam of fear amidst the unmistakable triumph in her eyes when she simply walked away. "There is a difference between those strapped to the table and those standing above them with the scalpel. Try not to forget that in the future."
