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Widowmaker creeped up to the window of Tracer's apartment. She had heard that her girlfriend, Emily, had been gone to her parents' for the weekend, so this would be the perfect chance to take out the rat in their little game of cat and mouse.
It took very little time to unlock and unlatch the window. The light of the moon silhouetted her form as she gazed at her prey on the couch. Her accelerator was on its charging dock and she was in her pajamas: a tank top and short running shorts. Her freckled thighs were bare, and Widow caught herself staring for a bit too long. She rolled her eyes at herself and shut the window behind her.
"Ah... my beautiful butterfly," she purred as she stepped closer, "Finally, I can wrap you up and feast."
Tracer didn't budge, not hearing the intruder over her own soft snores. Widow went through Tracer's information in her head for the upteenth time: a young woman who was thrown out of reality and lost somewhere between the thin line between space and time for months.
A girl who was wronged by the "heroes" she vowed herself to protect.
A girl who had her own unnending kindness spat back into her face.
Widowmaker crouched next to the couch and admired Tracer as she slept. Her brown hair was naturally wavy when not soaked in gels and products.
This young lady was so promising before Gerard got his eye on her. Ace pilot, very respectful, contagious optimism. But then she was chosen to be the pilot of the Slipstream, a rushed, unfinished experiment that was not even close to ready for lift off. And all of the scientists let Amelie's husband know that, but he was too excited to show Overwatch's enemies the kind of progress they were making.
It used to break her heart when Widow wasn't riddled with apathy. Gerard was her husband, yes, but she was simply arm candy and she had no say in his work. If she did, she would've stopped him from experimenting on such a lovely, naive young girl and stranding her in a hell as a living ghost, leaving her with emotional scars and consistent dissociation episodes.
She stroked Tracer's cheek gently, then smiled as she nuzzled her hand without waking. Yes, her husband was a disgusting man and was better off dead.
She wondered if Amelie had Widowmaker inside her somewhere and Dr. O'Deorain simply let her free- if Amelie eventually would have killed Gerard herself.
She doubted it.
Tracer shifted again, this time onto her back on the couch. Widow couldn't help but gaze down her slender form. Her body would've been perfect for a dancer; lean, slim, and muscular. She was short and agile, too, and flexibility was a necessity for ballerinas.
Widow's eyes settled on Tracer's chest. She had been wondering what was under that jacket and bulky device, and to see at most a B-cup was... endearing.
Tracer sighed in her sleep, bringing Widow's attention back to her objective and the life she finally had in her grasp.
But, for some reason Widow couldn't quite place, she couldn't bring herself to do it. She had her gun under her arm, loaded for a close shot to make sure there was no chance of her escaping, but she was unable.
Perhaps it was because Tracer was asleep. Too easy, maybe.
That must be it. That's the only reason Widowmaker could think of for her hesitation. Sleeping prey is no fun for anyone. If the butterfly does not struggle in the web, what sense of excitement is there for for the spider?
She wants her little butterfly to see her, to panic, to know that she was never safe no matter where she went.
She ran her hand down Tracer's cheek once again, then leaned in her ear:
"Wake up, mon ami."
Tracer jumped up, yelling and flailing her arms (in a very adorable way, if Widow had to say). "Wot?! Who?!"
After a moment, she finally stilled, sitting up on the couch now, and looked down at the crouching Widow. Instead of panicking further and screaming angrily, she smiled warmly.
"Oh, Amelie! It's been a while, luv, how've ya been?"
Widow was stunned for just a moment.
"Fine, I suppose."
"Lovely!" Tracer rocked side to side on her cushion. "What're ya doin' here though? Does your hubs know you're visitin' me?"
Oh.
Widowmaker tensed up further. She had hoped when she recieved this mission that Tracer's consciousness would be in the right time period and NOT dissociated from her body, but unfortunately that didn't seem so. Part of her hoped this was not a normal thing for Emily to face.
Maybe it was just the darkness of the room, Tracer couldn't make out her alterations. Maybe light would bring her to her senses.
"No, cheri, Gerard does not know," she slowly reached up to the lamp on the stand next to the couch, "and I trust you will not tell him."
"Course not, luv! I barely ever talk to the man, myself. I'm never really worth his time, I guess."
"He was a foolish man. He wasn't worth your time."
She flipped the light on and Tracer flinched. After blinking to adjust her eyes, she looked back at the very purple woman who was now leaning halfway onto the couch next to her. Realization set in, though too late. "Widowmaker-"
Widow was immediately on top of her, gripping her wrists above her head with one hand, straddling her thin hips.
"I'm glad you recognize me now, my sweet butterfly."
Tracer thrashed against the grip, but between being taken offguard and also only having just woken up, there wasn't enough strength in her to offset the larger woman. "What do you want?!"
"To finally end our little game." Widowmaker smiled down at her, using her free hand to place the tip of the barrel of her gun right under Tracer's chin.
Any second now and Tracer would be sobbing and begging her to let her go, that she'd do anything to live another day. An attempt to pull at dead, shrivelled heart strings. It was going to taste so good.
"Do it."
Another surprise, catching Widow off guard once more. "What?"
"Pull the trigger, then. Go on."
They stayed there, staring at each other in silence. Widowmaker felt a heavy weight in her chest, like Amelie clawing to come out again, begging to be freed and to feel.
That was Widowmaker's least favorite thing about Tracer: she was always able to trigger that gasping, writhing bitch that Dr. O'Deorain said she erased. That stupid sincerity.
Waking her may not have been the best idea, and now Widowmaker was considering retreat. How could she have blown this easy mission so badly? Dr. O'Deorain would obviously now know her treatment was unstable, and she would be sent back for further experimentation-
"You look scared. Or d'ya remember me now?"
Widow's head panged and she fell backwards slightly, her grip faltering. Tracer did not lurch forwards at the chance, though, staying where she was.
"I never forgot about you, girl."
"It seems like maybe ya did, Wid. Forgot about all the fun we had."
Widow's vision began going blurry. She tried to think it through: this had to be something faulty with Dr. O'Deorain's work. Perhaps pretending to continue being emotionless to avoid 'maintenance injections' was a bad choice, and when Dr. O'Deorain said it was something that needed to be continuously touched up, she was serious.
Was she losing her touch? Was Widowmaker faltering?
Tracer realized Widow was having a moment and broke her grip, reaching up to brush her cheek. As she drew her hand back again, it was wet.
Widowmaker was crying.
"I did not forget, you brat. Those memories... simply mean nothing to me anymore."
"Have you ever thought 'bout leavin' Talon, luv? Gettin' away from those asshats hurtin' you?"
"I cannot leave. It is the only place I feel at peace with what my hands have done."
"Your hands haven't done anythin', Amelie. It's Talon pullin' puppetry strings makin' the kills. Think about it for a moment."
Widowmaker froze up once again. In what world did she deserve this kind of kindness? Forgiveness was not on her radar whatsoever. Tracer ran her hand through Widow's hair.
The odd, foreign feeling forced Widow to stand up again, stiff.
"Stay with me, Amelie."
"You will turn me in as soon as daylight comes. I am not stupid."
"No I won't."
"Your girlfriend will, then."
Lena grabbed
[No. Don't even start with calling her that, you draining, overwhelmingly sad husk of a woman. Don't claw your way out. Stay down.]
Tracer grabbed Widow's hand.
"She won't either. I promise you that. She knows everythin', too. I've told her everythin'. Emily knows you aren't dangerous without Talon. We can help."
"Awfully kind to the monster who killed Mondatta and pinned it on you, aren't you, cheri?"
Tracer did not have a witty, quick response to that one.
"You are still looking for a woman to save, foolish girl. There is none left. Give up."
"I don't believe that."
How annoying.
"Before Talon got their hands on you, luv, you were kind and polite to everyone around you. You were lit'rally my crush. Amelie wouldn't kill Mondatta. You didn't kill Mondatta-"
"The Amelie you want back allowed her husband to throw you away, cheri."
Silence.
"...wot?"
"The Slipstream was not ready for launch, but Amelie did not stop Gerard from shipping you off in an incomplete plane, even knowing the risks. The launch should have been postponed by weeks but he was impatient."
The look of horror on Tracer's face should've been delicious. It should've been so satisfying to see the tears welling up in the girl's eyes, to see the heart break in her face as all of the pieces finally came together in her brain.
It wasn't.
As Tracer broke eye contact and looked down, tears spilt and Widow couldn't hear breathing except for a ragged, shallow gasp every few seconds. It didn't fill Widow with vindication or satisfaction, but instead the claws in her throat dug deeper and she felt the abandoned, unneccesary wretch coming towards the surface.
It scared her.
She quickly recoiled out of Tracer's grip and stepped back, glaring down at the broken girl in disgust.
"Amelie let Gerard do that to you because she was a coward and did not stand up to him. She deserves death just as much as he. Stop trying to find her."
She turned back towards the open window and got ready to use her grappling hook and retreat, but before she could, a flash of blue zipped past her periphery. Looking again, the window was shut.
With a sigh, Widow turned back to the couch once more to see Tracer standing before her.
As soon as she opened her mouth, however, Widow found herself in an embrace. She recoiled again and tried prying Tracer's arms off, but the smaller girl wouldn't budge.
Amel- Widow began getting desperate, pulling and squirming and getting nowhere while Lena- Tracer- Lena held on tight. Her head rested up perfectly on Amelie's chest.
"I'm not givin' up! Already told you that!"
Widow cried out as she fell backwards onto the floor, gun clattering a few feet away. Lena still held on tight, now on top of her, getting tears onto Amelie's top.
"Stop! Stupid, useless brat! Let go of me!"
"I'm not gonna!"
Lena outlasted Amelie's fighting, linking her fingers between her back and the floor. "Let me hold you! Just for a sec!"
At that point, Widow was losing it. She needed to retreat at any cost. She raised one knee sharply and, after hearing a pained gasp, lifted her chin and then slammed it down squarely into the top of Tracer's head.
Tracer pulled back and grabbed her head, wincing. She was now seated right over Widowmaker's knee. Perfect.
Widow bent her leg, sending the shockingly-light girl forward and off of her. She jumped up onto her feet quickly and almost fell over from the migraine Tracer caused.
Tracer was groaning as Widow turned to her. She was getting onto her hands and knees and while Widow would usually love to mess with her in such an... exposed position, she could feel the bitch close to breaking her shell and that was a level of vulnerability she would never show in front of this child again.
So she was leaving. She would take the slack at Talon for failing the world's simplest mission, go through more of Dr. O'Deorain's painful work, and then come back and get revenge.
Widowmaker backed up towards the window instead of turning her back on Tracer.
"We will see each other again, cheri. This is not the end."
Tracer looked up at her with a bloody nose, no doubt from being thrown face-first off of Widow.
"Can you be honest with me, Widdy?"
"I suppose. That's a terrible nickname, by the way."
"Are you fuckin' wif me, or did Gerard actually... do that?"
Widowmaker paused.
"He did. Desolé."
"Did Dr. Ziegler and Jack know?"
Widow was unsure how to respond, but Tracer did not like her pause.
"Be honest. Please. Did they know the plane wasn't ready when they signed off on the flight?"
"Yes."
Tracer's head dropped again and Widowmaker could hear more sniffling. Widow reached the wall, turned, and opened the window.
"We will meet again, Tracer. You know that."
"...yeah. I know."
And with a 'prrr', Widow's grappling hook shot out and she was gone.
That went awfully. Terribly. Honestly, the worst it probably ever could. She was now going to have to explain to Akande why her simple in-and-out execution was a blatant failure, and she was going to be forced to sit at Dr. O'Deorain's hands for hours having acid shot through her veins.
She deserved it, however. That performance was pathetic. She could've sworn she could hear booing.
This definitely was not the end.