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The medic seemed to be the only protector of any note today.
She was the only one Widowmaker recognized, in any case. Overwatch proper had not deigned to step in to protect this particular payload, but it seemed Mercy had volunteered her services to the local military to help them escort it through regardless. How sweet, Widowmaker thought, sneering as she followed the valkyrie through her scope.
She supposed she shouldn't judge. Talon themselves had only provided cannon fodder to defend the payload, with Widowmaker and a few of the less-deadly snipers appointed to rain death from on high and keep the military in disarray. And for the most part, they did precisely that, picking off soldiers here and there just to sow panic in their ranks. A dull, boring mission in all honesty.
Widowmaker, though, was having fun for a change: Mercy was in top form today. She darted here and there through the ranks, staff alit nearly constantly, wings flared as she glided from injury to injury, flashes of gold blasting from her fingertips as she raised the slain behind her... Widowmaker wasn't sure she'd seen the medic's heeled boots touch the ground once yet. And their little cat-and-mouse game was more entertaining than Widowmaker recalled a mission being... well, ever.
The cybernetic wings Mercy bore on her back were surprisingly speedy for steel and hardlight, and her erratic, impulsive movements made it nigh impossible to get a bead on her. Not to say that Widowmaker couldn't have nailed a clean shot right between the medic's pretty blue eyes. But she wasn't interested in taking the little valkyrie out. She hadn't been asked to.
So she entertained herself by taking near-miss shots to keep Mercy on her toes.
The concrete just below her feet would suddenly explode in a spray of gravel. The store window might shatter just behind her right ear. There might be a gust of wind just in front of her as a bullet scarcely avoided her by an inch. Enough that Mercy was well aware she was being toyed with. Widowmaker could see her face redden with anger with every intentional near-hit, jaw tightening and lips twisting into a scowl. Each time, Mercy would draw her pistol and fire off a quick spray in Widowmaker's general direction, but then someone else would require her attention and she'd be forced to give it. And, after a moment, Widowmaker would take another shot just past the medic, and the game resumed.
Another shot: the bullet scarcely grazed the very tip of Mercy's ponytail, and she was furious now. Widowmaker actually had to crouch below the windowsill that time to avoid a lucky few shots through the glass.
Widowmaker actually chuckled as she set up in the window again. "Oh, temper, temper , chérie," she whispered. "That will get you in trouble one day." She settled her eye back to her scope. Now to pick her out again.
Except she was gone.
A small frown tugged at cyanotic lips for a second before Widowmaker shook her head and activated her visor, the device working immediately to help track her prey. Her frown deepened when the medic was not immediately visible once more. "Allez," she murmured to herself, "montre-toi." No, no... there. The visor slid back and Widowmaker's smirk returned in an instant. "Et voilà."
Mercy, evidently sick of their little game, had moved up to higher ground, working her medicinal magic from on high on the cliff that ran alongside the road. Widowmaker chuckled: as though she couldn't take shots at the rocky terrain surrounding the medic as easily as she'd fired on her through the town.
"No one hides from my sights, chérie," she whispered, lining up a shot at the rock face beside her. Then Mercy's wings flared and she sought to "fly" to the cliff opposite, aimed for a handful of injured soldiers.
With Widowmaker's eye on her through the scope, she saw everything. But she heard it first.
A dull roar, the sound of thunder, echoing on the steep canyon walls: sniper fire. Not hers. It had been aimed at Mercy's temple, Widowmaker felt sure, but the sniper was an amateur and didn't take into account her speed. The bullet tore through the cybernetic workings of Mercy's wings, exposing sparks and wires and what looked like blood. Hardlight feathers flickered and died. Mercy's eyes went wide, pupils constricted to pinpoints, face ashen, mouth agape in what looked to be unparalleled agony—
She dropped from the sky.
Widowmaker scarcely had time to do the calculations. But she had to move.
Cable around the ankle—grappling hook into the rock face—auto-reel—release—dive—catch—
Mercy didn't weigh much, hadn't ever weighed much, and Widowmaker clasped the medic tight to her shoulder, keeping her neck steady as the line went taut. They snapped back up to the cliff face, Mercy limp in her arms still, and in another fluid motion Widowmaker had grappled them into the cramped sniper nest occupied by a lone petrified Talon sniper who found himself at the business end of Widow's Kiss.
" What, " Widowmaker hissed through her teeth, slowly lowering Mercy's unresponsive body to the floor, "do you think you are doing?"
"I—" The man swallowed hard, the barrel of the gun pressed to the underside of his jaw. Widowmaker could see his pulse hammering in his throat—the bead of sweat slip down his neck. "I-it looked like you were having trouble, so I thought I'd—"
"Look at me," she ordered harshly. He looked up, fear in his dark brown gaze. She pressed the gun harder against him, gagging him. "I do not 'have trouble' with my targets. If I have not hit them it because I have not tried to. Are we clear?"
"Crystal," he croaked out. Widowmaker shoved him to the ground, digging her heel into his gut.
" Furthermore, " Widowmaker went on, ice and venom on her tongue, "the doctor is my kill alone. If you take that from me—" She dragged her rifle up, letting the edge rest between his eyes "—not only will I personally kill you, I will ensure that it hurts the entire time you're dying. "
He simply nodded rapidly, too afraid to speak.
"I'm glad we had this conversation," she said smoothly, finally letting the man up. She turned to tend to the doctor again.
"So why don't you kill her?"
She paused. Looked over her shoulder sharply. " Quoi? "
He still looked fearful, but more confused than anything now. "I-I respect that she's your kill, but..." He gestured helplessly in Mercy's direction where she still laid motionless on the floor of the boarded-up building, wings sparking and trembling feebly at her back. "I just... I didn't kill her, and she's right there, and you're here, so I just..."
Widowmaker's lips thinned in distaste. "Absolutely not."
His brow furrowed in confusion, his bewilderment overcoming his fear. "But—"
She tutted. "You have no sense of sport," she said. "I will not kill her like this. There is no art in it."
"But you—!"
A sound of thunder. He slumped against the wall, eyes wide, a single shot through the center of his forehead.
Widowmaker's voice was soft: "Don't question me."
She would've left him there without further concern, but she did require additional ammunition... and if he still had some first aid supplies, that might help too. Not in the mood to manhandle a dead man for longer than necessary, however, she simply removed the man's jacket and took what she needed.
When she went back to Mercy's side, the doctor still had not moved. Widowmaker frowned and knelt at her side, pressing two fingers to Mercy's throat. Her consternation deepened. Hm. Rapid, but weak.
"Shock, then," she sighed, tugging the doctor deeper into the condemned building and into her lap, out of sight of the fighting below. "You have rapidly gone from an entertainment to a nuisance, docteur ." Mercy remained unresponsive.
It'd been some time since Widowmaker had had any need of her rudimentary first aid knowledge, but she supposed it came in handy now. Elevate the legs, keep the head turned... The doctor's breaths came quick and shallow, hot on Widowmaker's stomach, more distracting than she cared to admit. Mercy's wings quivered under her, red liquid still dripping from shattered mechanics and inner tubing.
Widowmaker hesitated for a moment with her hand lingering over the doctor's chest. One was, technically, intended to loosen restrictive clothing when recovering from shock, but it seemed... improper, with Mercy not wholly conscious. At length she sighed and turned her head, sliding her hand under Mercy's shirt to fumble blindly with the zipper of the inner flightsuit. She was annoyed to feel her own steady pulse hastening. Oh, stop that. This is medical, not anything else. Still, she pulled the jacket she'd stolen from the ex-sniper over her to protect Mercy's modesty, if nothing else—though she did seem to recall it recommended to keep shock victims warm, anyway.
"Pull through for me, chérie," Widowmaker murmured absently, fingers brushing against her cheek. She picked up her rifle again. "I will be extraordinarily disappointed if that was all it took to put you down." She put her eye back to the scope, finger on the trigger guard, ensuring that no soldiers from either side strayed too close.
She wasn't sure how much time had passed—having one's physiology so dramatically altered tended to ruin any semblance of an internal clock—but after some time she finally felt Mercy stirring in her lap, breath stuttering to a normal rate, slender form shifting against her thighs, and Widowmaker sucked in a slow, deep breath to shut her pounding heart up again.
She knew Mercy was finally awake and coherent when she gasped sharply.
Widowmaker glanced down and cocked her head to give her a wicked grin. " Salut, docteur. " Mercy tried to jerk back from her—hissed in pain at the overexertion, and Widowmaker clicked her tongue. "Calm down, chérie, you are injured. If I wanted you dead you would not be here."
She still regarded Widowmaker with some trepidation— smart girl, Widowmaker thought with a smirk—but slowly moved to sit up again. Mercy gasped a second time, face going red, as her unzipped flightsuit caught her attention, and she hastily grabbed the abandoned jacket to cover herself. Widowmaker politely averted her gaze to allow her the chance to fix her clothing.
"What did you do? " Mercy hissed, mortified.
Widowmaker tutted again. "Mon ange, you wound me. I am many things but I am not what you seem to be implying." The jacket fell back to the floor, so Widowmaker looked back over, correctly presuming it meant Mercy was decent again. "You were in shock. It is procedural to loosen restricting clothing while treating shock patients, is it not?"
Mercy pressed her lips into a thin line, but nodded after a moment. "...It is. Fine. Very well." Her wings shifted involuntarily and she choked on her breath in anguish. Widowmaker simply watched her, head cocked.
"Are you alright?" Widowmaker finally asked. She immediately hated the tenderness that'd edged the words. Mercy looked curiously at her and Widowmaker gestured towards her damaged wings—made to stroke her fingers along the delicate hardlight feathering—thought better of it—drew back again. "I know they are..." She struggled for a term. " Sensitive. "
Those soft blue eyes pinned on her immediately, and Widowmaker couldn't for the life of her figure out the look in them. Something approaching awe, perhaps. Something approaching sorrow. Something like desperation. The vagueness bothered her, but she didn't know why. Finally Mercy took in a ragged breath. "...I never told you that," she whispered. "How did you know?"
Widowmaker frowned. Of course Mercy had never told her that. To tell an enemy of such a weakness would be foolish. She'd found out another way, of course. "I—" The words died on her tongue. Where had she learned that? "It was..." A flicker of a memory: hazy, ethereal. Dreamlike. Bare skin, blazing—sweat slicked down pale shoulders—fingers tangled in scorching feathers—lips brushing steel and skin—promises in the dark—searing gold—trembling—trembling—
She blinked twice, realizing that she was still staring at Angela, whose desperation now was clear in her eyes. "I do not know," Widowmaker admitted finally.
Mercy swallowed hard, wilting, not meeting Widowmaker's gaze. "Well, I... suppose I must thank you, then. For your assistance." She finally looked up, and her soft blue eyes narrowed a hair. "Though I don't know why you did... unless you're looking for a favor."
Widowmaker actually laughed at that. Smart as a whip, Angela. "As much as I would love to have you indebted to me—" Mercy's cheeks went a light pink again; Widowmaker made a mental note of that "— non, I was not seeking anything out."
The doctor's brow furrowed. "So why—"
Widowmaker caught her by the chin, tugging her close. "As I told the snake that fired on you," she purred, lips a scant centimeter from Mercy's, "you are my prey, chérie. I will be the one to hunt you down, and I will be the one, in the end, to watch you breathe your last." Mercy shuddered; there was something close to ecstasy in her voice: "And I will make it a beautiful death. Until then..." Her lips curled into a smile. Feral. Predatory. "Well. C'est la vie, as they say."
Mercy's breath stuttered. It didn't seem to be from pain this time. "Infatuation is an unexpected look on you," she husked out.
She leered. "Please. You are mine. " The kiss was in no way romantic. It was rough; and it was a power struggle; and the two were gasping for breath by the end of it. " Mine, " Widowmaker hissed again, snarling the word against her mouth.
" Never, " Mercy breathed, dragging her back in.