Chapter Text
She understood. She understood perfectly as she walked back to her room and glanced behind her before closing the door and sliding the lock. She understood as she hauled a backpack from under her bed and stuffed dollar bills into the front pocket. She understood as she dug through the bottom drawers of a cabinet pushed against the wall; Winston had given her the first prototypes of her pistols as a friendly gesture after the real things were finished. Tracer tossed a spare clip of bullets (only one necessary, when she could just rewind time back to a full set of ammo) after them, onto her bed.
The most important question had been if she was going to have to wear a tracker. Tracer had already decided what she wanted to do before walking into that room. Carrying it out would but the difficult, but it wouldn’t be the most difficult thing she’d had to do.
She understood that she would most likely not be able to return to Overwatch if she was successful, and even if she wasn’t. She was fully aware that she did not understand why Amelie had run.
She understood that it didn’t matter, really, and that once she found Amelie, she could ask for herself.
Widowmaker couldn’t tell whether it was night or day on the train; only the omnics switching out every few hours marked that time was passing at all. She’d yet to find out where they were going, or how long it would be until they got there. The manacles driven into the wall were just as tight now as they had been days ago.
Sometimes she could feel the train turn. Her chains would swing slightly too far left, or the train would creak as the omnics adjusted their footing. This didn’t help her figure out where they were geographically, but she did know that the train had been creeping up an incline since the last omnic shift.
Food and water came intermittently, and she was only allowed bathroom breaks (via bucket, in the corner of the train, with one omnic behind her and another by the door) after she complained.
She slept fitfully, chains too short to let her lie down.
The next time she woke, she could immediately tell that something was different. Though omnics didn’t always express emotions the way that humans did, they reacted to instructions and stimuli just the same.
There were three guards today, and they spoke in low tones to each other while Widowmaker watched with cracked eyes. The language wasn’t one she could interpret. It was a cousin of the bastion’s low beeps and drones, just peppered with more high-pitched popping and squeaking. An omnic language.
“I did not know omnics liked to gossip,” she said, and all three straightened.
“It is not of your concern,” the nearest one rasped before beeeep-ing to its neighbor.
“Then why make sure I cannot hear?” She replied.
The omnics resumed whispering to each other. Widowmaker rolled her eyes and shifted back to facing the opposite end of the train car.
There was an abrupt, awful, scream of metal as the door she faced punched open and air burst into the train car. She slid across the floor, hissing under her breath as her hair lashed across her face. The omnics screeched to each other, guns clicking into place. Something blurred through the hole – something too fast for Widowmaker to see clearly.
A glow of blue. A blink of orange. But it couldn’t be. Even Widowmaker, who knew impossibilities only because she naturally defied them so often, knew this was an impossibility.
Nonetheless, one of the omnic’s guns sprayed bullets towards the opposite end of the car. Widowmaker pressed herself against the wall, but it didn’t matter anyway – the omnic was already a smoking metallic mass. Its partner whipped around, but before it could complete the motion, it developed three holes in its forehead and slumped to the ground.
There was just no way.
But there she was, a neon disaster, grinning as she crossed the car to kneel next to Widowmaker. Their lips connected and separated (the thrill gone before it could be processed, her eyes still wide).
“Cheers, love!” Tracer chirped. Before Widowmaker could respond, a finger mushed against her mouth. “Not yet. They’ll have figured out I’m here by now. Get away from the wall.”
Widowmaker’s eyebrows drew together. “You do not order me-“There was a pop and a rush of heat, and one arm came free from the chains. The links hummed red and orange, and Widowmaker reluctantly lifted her other hand so Tracer could get a clearer shot.
“Give me a warning next time,” she muttered, but Tracer only giggled.
“I think telling you to get away from the wall qualifies.”
Widowmaker stood shakily, rubbing the scarlet bands around her wrists. “What plan do you have for getting off this train?”
Tracer’s smile had an inverse relationship with Widowmaker’s scowl – one grew while the other deepened. “We’re going to need to time travel. Don’t let go.” She looped one arm around Widowmaker’s waist and pulled her closer. Widowmaker was a good deal taller, so when she looked down, Tracer’s face was just a few inches away. Warmth flooded her cheeks. Tracer’s hair was completely scuffed by the wind, her goggles tangled haphazardly, her chest rising and falling while she still fought to catch her breath. Widowmaker shrugged her arms around Tracer’s shoulders.
“Will it hurt?” She asked.
“I’ve never tried it with another person,” Tracer replied, and then they were torn from time and space.