Time was a fluid thing, and Lena Oxton could swim through it in whichever direction she chose, as long as her harness functioned well. Just far back enough (or forward) to give her that instant advantage in a fight. More than once she'd been a split second away from one of Widowmaker's bullets in her forehead. That was a game they played, a deadly flirtation that would likely end with one or both of them in early graves.
Lena shot a barrage at Reaper, then blinked past him. Behind him now, she emptied the clip on her pistol, but before he could return fire, she'd dashed into a tunnel to give her harness time to recharge. She zipped through the tunnel, stepping from darkness and into light, blinking forward again to the sound of thunder cracking. The impact sent her spinning into a confectioner's cart. Dazed, she tried to pick herself up. Blood stained her jacket, pouring out of a wound in her chest. She sucked in a breath, dazed.
A flash of sun on glass brought her attention to the sniper on a rooftop. Widowmaker had lifted her head from her scope and was staring at her. She was too far away to read her expression, but the fact that there had been only one shot told Lena than her foe hadn't expected to actually hit her.
She lifted her hand to wave, before falling back to her knees. Footsteps approached her from behind, but she didn't have the energy to look. A barrel pressed against the back of her head, and a gravelly voice growled, "Finally."
She could get out of this. It would be easy. She just needed a few more seconds for her harness to charge back up and to not bleed out or something. Problem was, it was two seconds longer than she had.
Blood sprayed above her head, the boom of Widowmaker's rifle following close behind. Lena fell forward, landing on her side, staring at where Reaper's body lay, foot twitching. Blood oozed out of a hole in his left temple the size of a two-pence coin.
A purple boot stepped between her and the dead man, and she tilted her head to stare up Widowmaker's long, shapely legs. Out of breath, and with her vision starting to blur, she couldn't help the words that came out of her mouth. "Ya know, luv, I've been wondering, but do ya paint that outfit on every morning and would ya like some help to get out of it?"
Widowmaker kneeled, grabbing Tracer by the chin and forcing her to look up again. Her tone was accusing. "You were too slow today."
"Shite luck, I guess?"
With a heavy sigh, Widowmaker bundled Lena in her arms and stood. The Brit mumbled something like 'oh nice, that'll do,' which Widowmaker ignored. If asked, she couldn't say what had possessed her to do any of this. The consequences were stark on her mind. If she was lucky, she was a dead woman. If she was unlucky, they were going to rip her mind to shreds and make her a blank slate. And Widowmaker didn't want to be a blank slate again. She had remembered who Amélie was, even if she didn't want to be her any longer.
(Loosely based on two anon prompts. (Tracer takes a bullet for Widowmaker, and Tracer's harness needs to recharge at precisely the worst possible moment). And well... Lena did take a bullet for Widowmaker. Technically.
Ongoing.)