Disclaimer: Overwatch and all characters associated belong to Blizzard Entertainment. GrimGrave doesn't own anything and does not make money from writing fiction.
Thanks to MajorMikePowell III for proof-reading.
Reasons which Reason knows Nothing of
It was raining over London this night; not much different than any other time, as England tends to see rain more often than not, though it still was unwelcome. As if the night was not dark enough, the blackened clouds covered the sky and blocked out even the moon's radiant light.
Not that it mattered when streetlights provided ample enough vision. The young brunette sighed as she stared out the window, her expression somber as she absentmindedly and aimlessly peered out at the city view before her, lost in thought. Whether it started out as a single question of if it was worth getting an umbrella for a quick run to a nearby convenience store or something deeper about life itself, the girl's mind always found a way back to a certain woman.
A woman once known as Amélie Lacroix; the brunette had done a little investigation to find that out.
The brunette's heart fluttered at the thought of her, like it always did. Emotions are treacherous at times, but the young woman couldn't help it, it seemed. Not when the stunning, dark lilac-haired woman was so… well, stunning. And breathtakingly so.
Honestly, how could someone as deadly as her be so drop-dead gorgeous as well? Even with sickly, cold-blue skin she was easy on the eyes and the brunette let a pleased sigh escape her lips. She frowned. While this woman was attractive, she was a killer – and not a "lady-killer" or something like that, but an actual assassin.
An assassin. Her rival. And this rivalry was certainly not something silly about the past feud between England and France but a life-or-death rivalry between the two of them. The memories of this woman were bittersweet; they had met many times, always trading blows but exchanged little to no words. And yet they had this link – a connection, a tie that bound them, and whenever they met, she felt it. And the brunette was certain Amélie felt the same.
Why else would they always exchange subtle looks when no-one was watching? Why else was there a pause – a hint of hesitation – before they fought and bullets rained?
The young girl watched a single bolt of lightning roll through the skies. The last time they had met, it had been truly bitter; the assassination of Tekhartha Mondatta had been successful for Amélie and left the brunette filled with guilt, sorrow, and resentment.
And yet, she couldn't wait to see her again.
x.x.x.x
´She´s staring absentmindedly again,´ a lilac-haired woman noted. She watched patiently through her recon visor a few blocks away from the apartment where a certain brunette – known as Lena Oxton – lived. The visor zoomed in, perfectly framing her target's face within the infra-sight circle, and the older woman cracked a small, devious smile.
She kept watching from the shadows, sheltered from the downpour. This was not the first time, nor would it be the last, that she spied on the brunette. It was important to keep track of what her rival was up to, certainly, but she didn't know as to why she hadn't taken the opportunity to kill her off. One single shot, clean through the temple, and she'd be free of the constant thorn in her side.
Like every time before, the older woman contemplated why, and like every time before, she would not do it. Instead, she kept watching Lena. Like always.
It was weird, yet fascinating. It was not above the assassin to play with her targets, but this was a first. She couldn't understand why she stopped by from time to time spy on the brunette, especially when said girl was a pain in her side she rather get out of the way.
Lena was annoying in oh so many ways.
/ "Psst! Hey, watcha lookin´at?"
She spun around, annoyance rather than surprise etched across her face as she took aim – point-blank, upper body – and released a burst of bullets, only to find her target not only gone but reappeared elsewhere, mocking her.
The assassin glowered at her enemy who stood a few yards away, and aimed again. Lena was swift, certainly, but bullets fly faster.
No target escaped her./
Her expression darkened. Why was she letting this slip of a girl live?
Her recon visor zoomed in even more, the infrared allowing her sight behind the walls of Lena's apartment. The younger female had left her seat in front of the window and appeared to be undressing.
´She's showering the same time as yesterday. And the day before that,´ the assassin mused.
That was perhaps one of the reasons. Possibly. That, and the occasional glimpses of Tracer's shapely rear her pants insisted on hugging so… bien.
…
The cold-blooded assassin followed her prey's movements, imagining the brunette before her in the flesh – and flesh only – as she let hot water cascade down that slim body of hers. A tingle of heat spread across her cheeks and trickled down to between her legs.
…
This wouldn't do. What was she thinking?!
…Then again, she had asked herself the same question many a times prior to tonight, yet to find a satisfactory answer.
Blaise Pascal once wrote that "The heart has its reasons which reason knows nothing of." The Talon agent found it vexing that she did not understand the reason she was here, almost every night.
Her eyes narrowed. Perchance it was time to dig a little deeper for that answer.
x.x.x.x
Lena ran a hand through her moist tresses, soaking in the stream of hot water. Luckily, Winston had made sure her chronal accelerator was water-proof, or else she'd fade in and out of existence whenever she showered.
She mulled things over as she was prone to do in moments like this. Her mind returned to the Frenchwoman: her long lilac hair, exotic skin colour ochre-pupiled eyes, and French accent really did it for the former pilot, and shamelessly so. The brunette couldn't help but wonder what Amélie looked like before Talon got to her…
…Before Talon made her what she was; a cold-hearted murderer.
If Amélie hadn't been turned into an assassin, would the two of them even have met? She'd still be married, though. But if the two had met under different circumstances, perhaps they would have become friends?
A girl could dream.
The trickled sound of water hitting tiles rang in Lena's ears until, when she was in the process of turning off the shower; a faint ´click´ noise caught her attention. It was followed by a low groan akin to hinges in need of a good oiling.
Her heart skipped an alarming beat. She grabbed her white towel and wrapped it around her body as she dashed out of the bathroom and into –
"…!"
"…"
"You…!"
"Bonsoir, Tracer." The chrome-eyed killer gave the brunette a curt nod. "Am I interrupting something?"
The adventurer's heart throbbed with elation and shock, but those emotions were quickly making way for spite.
She leapt back in time out of pure reflex; back in her bathroom, Lena now dashed again, but this time she didn't stop – couldn't stop – and blinked in order to tackle her intruder to the floor.
The sniper rifle clattered against the floor a few feet away and the assassin was knocked onto the floor. As Lena pinned her down, a feeling of déjà vu came to mind.
/The crowd below at King's Row screams. Security Guards rush over to the Omnic in vain.
"Looks like the party is over."
Tracer, realizing what her rival is implying, hurried over to the edge of the rooftop. Her heart sank with disbelief.
Tekhartha Mondatta is dead.
"No… No, no, no, no, no, no!" Overcome with rage, she blinks over to the assassin, tackling her with enough force to send them both rolling to the other end of the rooftop's edge, saved only by Amélie's grappling hook.
"Why?!" she cried out, pinning the lilac-haired woman. "Why would you do this?!" It took everything in Lena to not punch the older woman right then and there, despite how much she wanted to. Their eyes met and for but a fleeting moment, the animosity between them ceased and instead of punching, the brunette wanted to caress that cold-blue cheek.
Her heart was beating rapidly, the pumping of blood ringing in her ears.
And then Widowmaker smiled, and laughed. Grabbing the younger woman by the collar, the ex-pilot foolishly thought something else would happen when her rival pulled her close to kissable lips.
"Adieu, chérie." /
Lena's pulse quickened. It was just like back then. Hazel pools stared right into ochre ones, struggling with the desire to both attack and caress the woman beneath her.
"What's the matter, girl?" the assassin taunted. "Afraid of spiders?"
Tracer gritted her teeth. "…Why are you here, Widowmaker? Wasn't Mondatta enough?!"
"Oh, chérie," the lilac-haired woman said. "If I wanted you dead, we wouldn't be here right now."
Why did this interaction both excite and enrage Tracer like it did? "Why are you here?!"
"An excellent question," Widowmaker replied. "It is my best of interest to find that out myself."
Was this some kind of twisted joke on her part? The brunette narrowed her eyes and scowled. "You… I don't believe you! Why on earth would you show up –!"
A solid headbutt had the ex-pilot floored and groaning in pain. She glimpsed at the Talon agent making a dash for her rifle and so did she for her Pulse Pistols – blinking ahead to save time, Lena flung open the wardrobe frames – a weapon rack for her pistols hidden behind her clothes – and grabbed her guns before taking aim at –
The assassin was already aiming at her, recon visor adjusted.
They were in a stalemate.
Lena breathed heavily, heart pounding frantically beneath her breast. She knew this feeling: the rush, the excitement, the sheer elation in her chest and the guilty pleasure-heat which spread through her whenever their eyes met…
It only happened whenever Lena faced off with her rival – the Frenchwoman with whom she shared this unspoken bond.
Did Amélie feel the same way?
The assassin's recon visor retracted and ochre twin pools stared puzzlingly – then amusedly – at the brunette. Her full, pale-pink lips curved into a sexy smirk as she chuckled. "Perhaps you should be a bit more worried about wardrobe malfunctions, girl."
The adventurer threw a questioning look at her intruder, only for her gaze to wander down to the floor – her white towel sprawled over the carpet – and then down at her body –
´Oh no!´
The redness on Lena's cheeks darkened with shame and she shrieked before firing at the Talon agent.
Widowmaker merely laughed and vaulted to the side, firing a few rounds as she did. Bullets rained across the room and embedded themselves in the walls, missing the shooters as both women attempted to disarm the each other.
…That's right. This was part of their bond between them. Neither shot to kill. Only to make the other unable to fight. If the women had aimed for death, there would've been a victor long ago.
The Talon agent fired her grappling hook into the wall and ran forward– a few shots preventing her prey from moving away from her spot – and slammed the butt of her rifle right into the ex-pilot's chronal accelerator.
Lena yelped and was slammed into the wall, the accelerator crackling with energy. She gasped, desperate to breath from having the wind knocked out of her. Her vision was blurry but the heeled footwear of her rival made it clear that Widowmaker stood over her, the maw of her rifle aimed at the brunette.
"Such a shame; that body of yours will definitely see a few bruises after that," the older woman commented.
´Bugger all…!` "W-Well? What are you waiting for, love?"
Lena glanced up at the assassin, who eyed her expressionlessly. What was going on inside her head?
The Frenchwoman eyed her prey. Spiders, when they move in for the kill, feel the most alive at that very moment.
The Talon agent had come here for answers. Right now, she didn't feel alive at all. She felt nothing. Wasn't that how it usually was? Widowmaker felt nothing. So why had she not pulled the trigger?
"…"
"W-Well, love?" Lena queried, her voice weak.
"…"
The British woman was a thorn in her side. But those thorns protected the stem of a beautiful rose.
Ochre eyes widened with uncharacteristic shock for a brief moment and she lowered her weapon. The brunette looked up at her, just as surprised as the assassin.
"Widowmaker?"
"…I believe I've found my answer." The lilac-haired woman turned on her heel and headed towards the window.
"W-Wait!" Lena yelled. What had Widowmaker meant by that? Did the Frenchwoman feel something like she did? "Wait, Amélie!"
The older woman stopped in her tracks and glanced over her shoulder, her expression almost frightened. It passed as quickly as it came, however, and the Talon agent looked grimly back. "…Perhaps next time, Lena, Mon amour."
Amélie Lacroix leapt out of the window, her grappling hook ensuring a safe fall as she disappeared into the night.
Tracer sat there for a moment, taken aback. A sudden shiver snapped her out of her puzzlement as she hurriedly grabbed a set of clothes.
´Bugger me sideways…!´ she thought and looked out the window. ´Did she call me…?´
x.x.x.x
Elsewhere in London, Widowmaker met up with the plane belonging to the Talon organisation. She stepped on-board the bay, a hand resting above her chest.
"The heart has its reasons which reason knows nothing of..."
Her eyes widened and her lips parted as the bay door closed behind her.
´C'est impossible!´
"We know the truth not only by the reason, but by the heart." - Blaise Pascal"