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The intention to visit his grave was insignificant. It was polite, it was tradition, it was expected of her. She was a widow after all, she had made herself become one by her own volition. No one was going to take that away from her; not even the voice that fought with her.
You loved him.
Maybe at one point, but if I can’t remember, then how truthful was it?
He loved you.
Of course. He would have been a fool otherwise.
You dream of him.
Past life flashbacks are common. It means nothing. I did the right thing.
He meant everything to you.
Without thinking, she placed the rose down on his grave and stepped back. Without thinking, she tried to feel something, anything, other than robotic and empty, but couldn’t find much to go on. Would probably never feel much again, ever. What was she even doing here? Someone might recognize her, but who would be out here keeping tabs on visitors. This was a mistake. It was always a mistake, yet she did it every year on the same day.
“Ah, Gérard,” she whispered, and closed her eyes. She could still picture his face, his voice, his laugh, his scent. It actually...sickened her.
Made her clench her teeth in determination and stare at the grave in defiance.
He meant everything, that was true. His death meant her success and her future, nothing more. She turned on the balls of her feet and left, hearing a song from her ballet days play in the back of her mind. She focused on it, made a mental note to perhaps work on past choreography. It helped keep her fit and nimble, making her an effective agent by being able to get into spaces and positions others couldn’t.
By the time she had left the cemetery gates, she was already preparing for her next mission, whatever it might be, the act of leaving a rose for her late husband complete.
___________________
I’m ready to kill.
It’s a thought that crosses her mind often, the saying a permanent reminder of what she was, what she had turned into: a heartless monster. Maybe she had been the entire time and just never realized her own potential. Talon had though. She was lucky they saw her hidden talent and skills as a living weapon, she was indebted to them forever. Without this opportunity, she would have never known herself as she did now, never known her own strength.
Sometimes, however. Sometimes she fought with herself. An intrusive, annoying and naïve voice would pop up, telling her to stop and actually think about her current situation. She had a life before this, a life that she had loved dearly. A husband she had loved dearly. That train of thought would only lead to one thing: he had been an agent of Overwatch, and Overwatch was never meant to be trusted. In fact, if it hadn’t been for him, she would have never been kidnapped and tortured to her breaking point, and so she had done the right thing by killing him. Spare him-no. She did not need any sort of distractions in her life now. Her goals had changed from becoming the dominant principle dancer of her company, to maintaining order for her organization through any means necessary, although hunting targets down were her main thrill. It was the only thing that made her feel anything other than used.
Used...No, she was useful for sure, but being used was not associated with her.
Captain Amari, however, seemed to know better.
The next time Widowmaker met Ana again after their first encounter post Talon induction, their exchange had not gone well, and she regretted, no, was disappointed or indifferent to find out she had not offed the other woman. It only told her that she had been careless by not checking after taking that shot so long ago, and thus had failed that part of her mission.
In the middle of an assignment, she had been hit with a dart that made her drowsy and soon she lost consciousness. The last thing she remembered was dropping to the floor, panic starting to build up as she noticed she was not alone, yet no matter how hard she tried to will her body to react, it didn’t. The person knelt down, shadows obscuring their face, and they put a finger to their lips. How had they gotten past her poison mines? How had she not seen them on her visor?
When she woke up, she was pinned to the ground by debris digging into her wrists and ankles, and her gun was too far from her to reach even if she freed herself. As she tried to move, the figure hunched over her and she faced her captor, snarling.
“One day you’re going to regret joining Talon, Lacroix.”
She recognized the voice, but just barely. It was the eyepatch on a familiar face gave it away. “I see you have no intention of killing me then, Amari.”
“Believe me, you wouldn’t have woken up if that had been the case. No, I have different orders.”
“To keep me occupied while you escape with my targets? Pity it won’t be all of them, I killed the main one before you shot me.” She tried again to loosen herself, but kept it subtle. Two could play this game.
“You wanted him dead, but you wanted to show him mercy. That’s why you killed him in his sleep. You had the choice otherwise. We thought you to be lost again until you reappeared.”
The change of topic to one she wasn’t ready for almost threw her off, but she realized what the woman meant before long. “You’re a fool if you believe it was a mercy killing. He meant nothing to me.” Lies, lies, lies. But it was the truth; it had to be.
“Then Gérard was a fool for loving someone like you” Ana’s face hardened. She had been meaning to confront her about this for some time then. They must have been close...how close?
“You didn’t know him like I did,” she hissed, a wound she thought she had covered split open again. He betrayed me. He was supposed to keep me safe and look what happened. Look at me! The voice was screaming at her, but she refused to say anything more. This woman didn’t need to know. She had no right to her life. Widowmaker hissed again as she twisted her wrist, the exposed skin grating against sharp edges. Just a little more.
“They say you feel nothing, but you defend your decision to kill him so easily. You’re still human. You can still redeem yourself.”
Widowmaker said nothing, only struggled to reach for her gun. If she could press the grapple hook button, there was a chance she could drag herself to it. In her desperate attempt to break free, she read the inscription of her tattoo again. Araignée du soir, cauchemar. That’s who she is. She’s a living nightmare intent on bettering the world with Talon, and she’s the best of the best, unlike this second rate shell of a woman before her.
“You might think you don’t have a heart, but it’s there. It’s what keeps you alive. It’s what gives you satisfaction in killing. It still beats, faint as it might be,” Ana’s voice became softer. “You might have a chance at recovery after all, Amélie. You don’t belong to Talon.”
“There is no need for redemption or to recover, I am where I need to be. All enemies of Talon shall be eliminated, including you,” There. She finally freed her arm completely and with a flick of her wrist, she had her gun back in no time. It was just enough of a chance however, for Ana to retreat, and by the time Widowmaker had aimed down her sights and took a shot, all she hit was the fabric of the woman’s cloak.
“Damn!”
She chased her for as long as she could, but Ana had disappeared and not long after, she heard the sound of one of Overwatch’s jets rise from one of the buildings and with a heavy feeling of dissatisfaction, watched it zoom away.
“Merde.”
She had almost forgotten about her earpiece until it fizzled to life, Reaper’s low, gravely voice piercing the air. “Widowmaker, report.”
“Our main target has been neutralized, but Overwatch agents, including Amari, got away with the others.”
“Ana?” Reaper sounded surprised and she almost rolled her eyes. Knowing the history between them made her wish she had been able to kill her this time. It would have only made him hurt more and she needed something to give her satisfaction again. The thrill of the hunt was wearing off too quickly for her liking. “Not our priority, but not ideal. Return to base, we’ve got some new information from Sombra about a potential uprising that might need an additional spark.”
Oh. That might do it.
“On my way.”