Chapter Text
“Merde!”
Reaper barely hears the swear over the mechanical whirring of the Spider’s grappling hook. At any other moment in time, he would have cocked an eyebrow and turned to look at his French partner, but right now, he’s too focused on finding the next opportune time to shadow-step them away from their problems. Stupid monkey, stupid girl, he thinks to himself, wincing at the fact that he and Widowmaker have been forced to retreat in such an embarrassing manner. This was supposed to be an easy mission, and those two ingrates had to ruin it all! Reaper lets out a sharp growl that causes Widowmaker to shudder slightly. She’s still caught off guard by her deathly partner sometimes, and she instinctively squeezes him tighter in fear that she might drop him due to the sudden surprise. This gesture is not lost on Reaper. As he feels her hold on him falter in that split second, he too grasps onto the Spider’s side even tighter, his claws digging into her blue flesh and breaking skin. Widowmaker lets out a hiss of pain and gives him a quick glare before grappling the next building; she will certainly demand an apology later.
Reaper looks back and sees that the monkey is still tailing the them, bounding from one rooftop to the next, trying to catch up. Tracer is trying to catch up as well, blinking as far as her little chrono-accelerator can taker her, but she is too far behind. Neither of them could compete with the Spider’s swift skill with her hook, and both Talon agents knew this.
“Spider, get lower. I need to get us out of sight,” Reaper half-asks, half-demands. With a huff, Widowmaker releases her hook, and the two go into a free fall. Reaper’s eyes work double time as they scan for a dark alley to seek refuge. He spots something that will suffice and with a simple “now,” he begins the shadow-step. Once again, Widow is caught off guard. With a sharp intake of breath, she feels her body disassemble and reassemble within a matter of seconds.
Cold. She is incredibly cold. She didn’t know she could feel the sensation of cold. Her entire body feels as if it is floating. A painful static tingling sensation travels all throughout her body, making her shake and grasp at herself in a desperate need to confirm that she is still there. In the quick span of a few seconds, Widowmaker’s mind races. Nothing has ever affected her like this before; she has never been through something like this before. She frantically tries to comprehend what she just experienced, and in her comprehension, she forgets to breath. Widowmaker gasps for air, sputters even, and every breath is labored, like she can’t get in enough air with each inhale. She vaguely feels a clawed hand pull her deeper into the dark alleyway. Her chest hurts, no, it burns. She’s hyperventilating, her mind is still swimming. Next things she knows, she is sitting against a wall in the dim light, her head tilted upwards, still struggling for air.
“Is this… What death feels like… What was… I- I…” Widowmaker spews out between breaths, but a hand gently covers her mouth. Surprisingly gentle. Reaper leans in close, too close, and turns his head to the direction they came in from.
“Quiet,” he whispers, “you’re fine. You will be fine. But not if they find us again.” He turns his head back to Widow. A part of Reaper does genuinely feel sorry for the woman, for he had never shadow-stepped with someone else before, but this was not the time to get sappy. Widowmaker stares into the eyes of Reaper’s mask, takes a few more shallow breaths before inhaling and exhaling deeply, and swallows hard. Her body still feels like it could fall apart at any moment, but she shakily stands up, gripping Reaper’s forearm so she does not fall, and puts on her helmet. Through her infra-sight she sees the big monkey, and that annoying girl, searching for them. They are at least a thousand feet away, but searching in the wrong direction. Widowmaker smirks.
“I can see them but they cannot find us,” she drawls, her accent heavier than it was before, excited by the prospect of a hunt, “such fools. They are going the wrong way.”
“Let’s hope it stays that way,” Reaper growls. He walks further into the alley way, and Widowmaker is quick to follow. She seems to have recovered, her body only feels a slight tingle when she moves too quickly.
“Where are you going, fant ôme ?” Her voice yielding equal parts curiosity and exasperation. Reaper stops and looks at her over his shoulder.
“You’re not much good if you don’t have your rifle,’ he replies without thinking. He knows he shouldn’t, but something is telling him to go back and retrieve her weapon. Maybe it is the way she reacted to the shadow-step… Who knows, it certainly wasn’t he. Widowmaker simply scoffs.
“Do not be un idiot, fant ôme. You know I have more just like it back at base. While it is… Unfortunate that I let myself be unarmed, it is not something we can afford to go back for.” She crosses her arms in an authoritative manner; the Spider is right and she knows it. Reaper mentally kicks himself for being so embarrassing, sighs, and fully turns to Widowmaker. He doesn’t know why, but he wants to apologize. He wants to say that the mission failed because of him, that he will take the brunt of the blame back at Talon HQ, but he can’t bring himself to get the words out. Instead he stares at Widowmaker, calculating their next move, while also studying her face. He notices the all the grazes left on her cheeks and chin from bullets getting too close for comfort, the slight burn from when that stupid kid punched her with the Doom Fist, the wound he left in her side, the confused yet ever so annoyed look in her eyes...
The next thing Reaper knows, she’s gone from his sight. With a roll of her eyes and a quick huff, Widowmaker walks deeper into the alley way. She looks back at his gaunt form and smirks to herself.
“Hurry up, fant ôme! Our safehouse is only half a mile away and those imbeciles are still too close by for my liking. I will leave you, you know.” Her tone is almost sing-song, but she can’t help but feel rattled by the way he was looking at her. Without hesitation, she picks up her pace. Reaper shakes himself out of his stupor, angry and confused at himself. Why did he do that? What even WAS that?
Whatever it was it doesn’t matter now
, he decides as he follows his French companion into the shadows,
but Dios I must have looked like a moron.