Chapter 1

Une...

Footsteps clattered on the stone floor outside the steel cell bars. A ray of light stretched across the cracked floor of the jail-like room, dust drifted through the air at the speed of anything but swift, and a faucet dripped and dropped somewhere in the distance of the building. No words were spoken at all.

Eyes hued with the color of a yellowish-gold slowly opened to a dull ceiling. The simple pattern of rock squares scattered across. A rather cold breath hit the air as the golden orbs blinked in the shadowed room. The owner's legs stirred as her feet planted on the bed, holding her knees up as she ran her fingers through her silky, dark hair that had been trailing off the bed in messy strands.

This female was the Talon assassin, sniper supreme, and emotionless fighter Widowmaker. A cold-hearted killer with a bite of a spider, and a kiss so poisonous but so tempting. As the rumors said of course. Though, the French had no idea whatsoever what she was at this point. Sitting under the floor and between the walls of her long rivaled enemies, and no, she had not been captured…

-The Past Week-

Widowmaker speedily walked down a narrow hallway, her heels clicking on the floor as she did. Her eyes shot to a door, turning into the room. The French female swiftly tugged the door shut behind herself, turning around to be greeted doctor's tools and screens. Scalpels, scissors, needles, and more of all sorts and sizes. With narrowed eyes, Widow quickly walked to and sat in a chair accompanied by a computer, scrolling through files until she saw one labeled "A. Lacroix." She ran a cursor over the file, clicking down on it as it opened, images and documents for all her eyes to see. Opening each and every of them, with a feeling like a stone in her gut, until she found the destined document.

Widowmaker felt slightly anxious pulling up the image of her arm's implants, and knowing she had felt this, sighing to herself. The images had shown more 'additions' added to her body then she could possibly count, flicking the mouse so that the arm image would be shown on a large screen she had turned on.

Those bright eyes of hers went to a nearby clock, and she hurriedly grabbed a scalpel. "Thirty minutes…" She muttered to herself, bringing the tip of the blade to her shoulder and piercing the flesh quickly. Of course her heart was slowed, meaning that her blood flow was as well. Blood budded sure, but not nearly enough to startle or endanger the 'emotionless' Frenchie. Metal peeked out from underneath the torn flesh, leaving Widowmaker to dig the scalpel under the petit, silver object until it popped out. It toppled into her palm, leaving a tiny, red splotch on to the hand's blue skin.

Widow pulled the shoulder of her jumpsuit back up, and placed her shoulder pad adorned with the Talon symbol on top. She felt the blood flatten again her skin and sink into the fabric a bit, but she knew very well that she had no time to stitch it back up.

Leaning over, she stopped the image from displaying on the screen above, and closed down the file. Along with knowing she couldn't sew her wound shut, she knew she had little to no time to find a hard drive and save 'her' files to it. Looking back at the clock, she had concluded she successfully had not wasted very much times on tearing out the tracker put in her shoulder. With final final nod to no one in particular, Widowmaker walked out of the room.

As soon as she stepped out, her life was ultimately in danger. Though it was in the room as well, out in these halls she would have very little places to hide in, so she lifted her chest and threw on a plain expression. Her bright eyes slowly scanned over the area as she walked along. At this point, Widow was luckily left with a few options after she had.. well faked her death. She knew that most of her agency had been sent on missions, fighting back an Overwatch operation to take over their Numbani base. This left her with some free space as she knew no one could question what she was doing with incriminating proof.

As she passed into the aircraft space door, she was stopped by a slightly shaken voice. "Uhm.. Ma'am.. I can't recall hearing that you were supposed to be in this area at this time-"

Those shaken words were treated to the pause of the sniper. Her head turned toward him, but the rest of her stayed still, her golden eyes narrowing as she shot him a glare like sharpened knives. "You believe you are smarter then me then? Zhat I do not know my own way?" Her words were laced with venom as the young recruit opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted. "You know nothing of me child, so hold your tongue before you splay words of lunacy. Zhat idiocy gets you nowhere in Talon."

The recruit let out a sigh and frowned, his head lowering. "Sorry, Ma'am. Proceed through…" His eyes never met the stone cold watch of Widowmaker as she stepped through. 'I almost pity him…' Her mind whispered. 'Young, the newest member of Talon if I recall. Who would possibly put him on any form of guard duty?'

Finding it really wasn't important at all, Amélie drew herself forth, her steps quick in pace but not dramatic enough to give her true motives away. She felt her breath hitch in her throat as she neared a plane. She put her hand to the metal, a feeling of exhilaration as she neared the door. Waiting a second. Then, flames grew in the air as a loud 'boom' emitted. Smoke trailing into the sky.

Widowmaker was torn from her thoughts as metal creaked and her cell door was lurched open. She would watch the ceiling a few moments longer before sitting herself up and locking eyes with eyes blue like a calm pond. The killer couldn't help but grin as the doctor stared at her, not quite sure whether to be suspicious, angry, or something else entirely.

Amélie did not know what to say really. "Hi, I killed a lot of people, but I want your help. What do you say?" Yeah. She doubted that was a full proof plan, so she bit her tongue until Mercy seemed mentally sustained enough to comprehend the situation and deal with it. Her first words the snappy and straightforward question of "Why are you here?"

Widowmaker seemed taken aback as Angela was.. Well. Suspicious of her actions and had not really soaked in why she was here. She paused for words, "Honestly? I do not know. What I assumed..?" She looked down. "For.. Help. I guess."

Angela removed her right hand from her clipboard held in her hands, and brought it to her chest. Like her heart had started hurting, and she closed her eyes. She seemed to be in pain, standing there, and Widow gulped, not knowing one bit what to do. The silence stayed prolonged for a while, leaving Widowmaker to lower her head in confusion until a soft, mumbled word was spoke.

".. Am.. Amélie…"

"Tu… you would still call me that? After everything…?"

"Amélie…"

"Non. I want her back.. But I am not her… I could never be her after everything. Angela you know this..!"

"Amé…"

"Stop! I killed Gerard, and many followed. My bullets have shed so much blood, and that name.. Is the name of someone completely different… I… am not her. I may never be her, and you saying that is putting your hope into something that may not be-"

"Amélie, stop. You are putting too much pressure on yourse- your… body." Widow looked up, her body streaming with chills as temperature lapped over temperatures. The Doctor was eyeing her, worried but stern as she watched and stepped forward. An exhausted sigh parted her lips, "I will try."

Golden eyes darted to those tense, blue eyes above her, and she was at a loss of words. "Uhm… Well thank you then. I know it will take a lot of your time, and speaking of it may even not work out-"

"It will." Mercy declared stubbornly, and Amélie confided in her confusion as to why she had freaked out like that. The back of her head ached, a low strike of pain in her skull as she sat, lips parted, not quite sure how to answer that. The dark lips opened for a simple question. "Now.. Where do we begin, Doctor Ziegler?"

Angela turned to the two guards at each of her sides. "Firstly, you will eat since you haven't been treated very fairly by your watchers it would seem." She flicked her wrists and motioned both away. "I can handle myself with her both of you." Both seemed prepared to protest the idea of leaving the "fragile" doctor with the vicious killer, but were interrupted by a steady glare from her.

They stepped away, boots heavy while they made their distance from the two, and Angela turned her gaze to Amélie. Soon, the assassin-gone-rogue found herself being ordered to stand, and led up the stairs.

When Widow had trailed behind the Doctor, she realized that It was getting brighter, causing her to rub her eyes a bit. A tiny side effect of being stowed away in a dark cell for so long. Her eyes adjusted as the pain was a minimum and far from unbearable. Feet were guided to an office, lit up at the moment as the blinds were up, and the sun left shining in. In this room was a desk, couch in the middle, and papers scattered everywhere. Expected when it came to Angela really.

Angela placed a hand on the killer's shoulder and showed her to the desk chair. "Now, sit. I will go get you food and bring it here considering the others probably won't fancy meeting you. They… probably don't know you are here in base."

Amélie bobbed her head up and down a bit to signal her a nod of understanding, and sat at the desk, crossing her legs as she watched Ziegler plainly. Those bright eyes, laced with the simplest tendency to kill, brought to view of those caring, but stern blue eyes. Two completely different colors, so connected due to fate.

Dark lips were parted slightly in thought as Angela felt her cheek heated with a single powder of red, Amélie, caught staring at her so intuitively. Her gut weighed down by some truly unknown and foreign force. 'Que- what are you doing..? Stop. She is here to cure you, or try to that is.. And here you are, drooling over the very person..'

Quickly, Amélie snapped out of it, and the flustered Angela quickly straightened herself up before inhaling a slightly nervous breathe and holding that doctor clipboard so close to herself. "Now, I will be back in a bit.. Please do not prove me wrong by.. Well.. Putting yourself in situations that could be deemed at treason."

Swiftly, Widow found herself nodding and eyeing Angela as she quickly exited the room, her movements so lithe as the door opened and closed in a matter of seconds, leaving Amélie to that savory, yet chilling, sound of silence. Eyes grazing each detail of the surrounding area, Amélie found herself standing up to survey the room.

After a few glances, she had mostly seen medical paperwork, photos of old and new Overwatch, along with several other random objects and medical instruments. Even though this was the supplies expected of the dearest Doctor, one thing caught her eye, causing her to step over and pick up a folder. This file doned red wording the said "Amélie Lacroix", and that was all the 'tourist' of the room needed to see before opening it, breath struggling to release in her throat.

'... Gerard Lacroix found drowned in his blood… No sign of who could commit the homicide beside a missing wife (Amélie Lacroix) who is presumed kidnapped by the organization Talon…'

'... Gerard Lacroix presumably is on a mental "edge" due to his wife being missing, and is putting all his energy into rescuing the missing woman…'

'... Amélie Lacroix is under the suspicion of being a new Talon associate and hitman for the organization… Many physical alterations and seemingly no memory of past events, along with no remorse considering she has killed many so far… This list including… Mondatta…Many Overwatch affiliates… Etc…'

Those curious eyes left the assassin gaping at what was wrote about her, and stunned as she stood in utter shock. Her heel dug into the carpet below her feet, twisting as a seemingly relief of the confusion. For a long while she just stood there, eyeing the inked words as time ticked by, until the moment she saw the door creak open and a blonde woman enter.

Angela watched Amélie, and it took the doctor a mere second to realize what was happening.

Still watching the blue woman ever so carefully, she stepped to her own desk and placed the bowl of Luci-ohs, down, then made her way over to the dreadfully still Amélie Lacroix. Her feet neared and she slowly lifted her hands, grabbing those cold blue ones. This made her shiver, but not steer away from her objective.

Those steady doctor hands held her blue ones as a way to comfort the shaken Widow before her, and she removed one of those hands to take away the papers. Still holding a hand, she knelt herself downward and put them on the floor, standing herself with a positioning to look Amélie straight in the eyes.

"I have been trying.. To.. Find a way.. A way zhat would save you from those cruelties you did not deserve. Forced on to you. I have wanted to help but there was so little information… I gathered what I could-"

Her lips were metaphorically sewn as a cold blue finger pushed on them. Shutting off the proceeding words. As those words were cut short, new began to fall from Amélie's mouth as you could swear she was closer than before, cold breath trickling across the Doctor's bright and beautiful skin.

"Je connais- I know Angela. That is why I came to you of all people… You truly expected me to be thrown into this base by my own doing, thinking I would get thrown out and killed no matter what I did..? Non. I.. part of me was.. Willing to trust that in some way you would have my back-" she paused in thought before blabbing an excuse. "-since of course I am a medical phenomenon."

The Swiss felt her heart lurch, and gut swerve at that freezing, but in a way warm, touch that occurred. The French accent filling her ears as she listened to Amélie say that she… trusted her? Suddenly, she gave a hard blink as the Widow interrupted herself, a bit flustered and embarrassed as she tried to bite back what she had said.

They both took a few steps to part from each other, almost synchronized as they stood, Angela erect while Amélie slumped a bit. The Doctor held her arm for a bit, eyeing the floor until that quietude became unbearable and she commented. "Your food- it is over there on my desk. It was not that hard, but only proposed a small challenge considering zis… Situation we have found ourselves in."

"Ah.. Merci. It has been quite a while since I have had food I would not mind on my tongue…" Amélie muttered, walking over and grabbing the bowl as she began scooping bits into her mouth.

"Oh, ja. Es tut mir leid- I am sorry. Sure, confining you seems… Logical… But in no way should they have kept you under such circumstances and expected it to be deemed 'alright' in my book. How long were you there if I may ask?"

"Voyons voir… I am not really sure. I would guess a week, or around a week. Anyways, I knew they would take their time contacting you considering I had probably run a bullet through one of their friends or family. I was expected, but here I am." She stopped speaking the savour the taste on her tongue due to it having been trained to eat the same meals or no meal, along with being fed the scraps providing by the Overwatch Agents holding her in a cell.

Angela Ziegler stood in a phase of shock, her mouth open as she watched Amélie dismiss the fact that she had been locked in that dark, cold, basement-like-room for so long. The Widow had no endeavor to make the situation a big idea as she slowly ate her cereal. Angela tilted her head and gaped at her, "You do realize they told me yesterday? That is absolutely ridiculous. Do you need anything? I could provide you with a shower, and new clothes, and anything else needs really…" She rambled on and Amélie finally glanced up. "A… Shower? Well. That sounds… decent."

The doctor nodded slowly, turning around to find the belongings she needed before walking to a dresser and grabbing a long shirt, and a pair of cloth shirts. She turned to face Amélie and nodded, "Follow me."

Angela turned and Amélie followed as they made their way to a bathroom, inside Ziegler opened a cabinet and pulled out a towel, then turned to lean into the shower. Turning the knob with lithe fingers as the water came pouring out. Amélie watched her each moment, until Angela rose and peered at her. "Alright, you can step in… turn the knobs…-" she went on to discuss how to change the heat, but Amélie was stuck watching those cerulean eyes of hers.

"Got it?"

The Widow glanced up, "Oh, Oui." Her cimmerian hair was let loose of it's ponytail and draped over her shoulders as she pulled off her clothes quickly and inveterately. As if trained every moment of her life to complete that action. The catch was Angela hadn't really had time to leave the premises, and sat there in hysteria as again, Widowmaker habitually went through her typical routine.

Dr. Ziegler let out a cough and looked at the floor, "Amélie... You are… Uhm… Bare." This caused Amélie to peek upward with those resplendent eyes of hers. "Oh… I forget… I hope I have not… Disturbed you." She muttered, wrapping her azure skin with the towel. Giving an embarrassed flick of the eyes as Mercy stood still in the corner. Finally, she shook out her nerves and pushed her way out of the bathroom after sputtered out, "Nein, nein, nein. It is all right… I will just… Auf Wiedersehen."

Lacroix went a bit wide-eyed at how fast Angela evacuated the area, watching the blushing blonde crawled out of the bathroom stiffly. The door shutting loudly. Leaving Amélie without words as she watched the door, and listened as everything went quiet except for the pouring of the water in the shower. Reminding Amélie that she was not really here to gawk at the situation.

Tossing the towel aside, Amé stepped into the warm water, and let out a gasp at the temperature. With her skin being freezing cold, the warmth was a bit of a shock, and slightly painful, though pain wasn't something Widow dealt with per diem. She leaned down a bit to turn the knob, sighing as the now cold water washed over her. She took the shower quickly, hopping out onto the cold floor and drying herself off.

Whilst drying off, she managed to take a glance at the mirror, looking into it. Wet strands of hair sticking to her skin, a slightly open-lipped frown on her face. Bewilderment took over her expression as she looked at the skin, her mind being claimed by thoughts now uncontrollable by her own hand.

'That… is you.' Her mind whispered as she watched herself in the mirror, golden eyes glazed over. "That… Was not you… Last time.. You.." Her thoughts came to life in the forms of verbalisation as she mumbled the words. Lip quivering slightly as she spoke and looked away from the mirror. Facial expression blank, but laced with that faintest hurt. That was enough hurt to shock the self-made widow.

The thoughts were pitched from Amélie's head as a reticent knock echoed into the bathroom from the wooden door. A luscious voice queried from the other side, "Amélie? Are you alright in zhere? I heard you mumbling to yourself. Amélie?-"

The bittersweet matron quickly stepped her way to the door and opened it, holding her towel to herself with a hand as she inspected Angela. Hand clasping the door knob tightly, and her foot's heel digging into the damp, tiled floor.

"Oui?- I uh, I am alright. Just was thinking out loud. Happens at times… You know?" Amélie answered in a staggered manor as her eyes flickered to the side. Letting out a sigh as she turned and grabbed the clothes that had been so generously given to her. Lifting them up for Ziegler to view. "I am going to get dressed really quickly… I will be out in a second."

"Oh, ja. You do that. I will be waiting outside…" The door closed as Angela's shoes made her noises as she exited awkwardly, but a bit suspicious of the answer she was given. Amélie turned back to the mirror a moment, letting out a slight hack of air and closing her eyes, turning away.

She eyed the clothes placed down for her, and grabbed the shirt first, pulling the overly-long clothing piece over her head, looking down at it and seeing it cover down a third of her thighs. Then she bent down and pulled on a very petite pair of cloth shorts, not daring to eye her appearance in the reflecting device offered as she opened the door to exit.

Cold air hit her skin, but of course she should not really notice. Right? Well false, being in such a steamed area gave her body a bit of reaction to the air conditioned room she entered. Her dazzling eyes meeting with those vibrant eyes of the Doctor. She stood still a moment as she eyed Angela who was sitting on a couch near her. She stood up and tilted her head a bit.

"When I um… went to check in on you, I swear zhere was a large gash on her shoulder, and I would prefer if you would let me fix it up?"

Amélie let her lips part a bit at the fact that she had noticed, but closed them to reply with a nod and a nod only. She saw that Angela had already gotten out needed supplies. Alcohol, needles, and other medical supplies. The French woman made her way over to Angela, sitting on the couch with her left shoulder to the Swiss, feeling the clothing peel downward to bare the large gash in her arm.

Angela eyed it, a low exhale escaping her lips as she leaned downward to grab a bottle of liquid, and a small towel. She held said towel below the wound and poured a bit of the liquid onto the gash, watching a white foam fizz from the would. Amélie winced a bit at the sharp, small, bite-like pain that was given to her, and peeked at Angela as she wiped the excess away.

Amélie gave a soft glance at Angela, watching the Blonde focus so deeply on the gash before her, taking a needle-like instrument and beginning to weave a wire-like string through the skin, leaving Amélie to let out a soft exhalation each time the needle holed through the flesh. Bleeding a little bit, but not very much at all.

Those lithe fingers weaved so perfectly but quickly, trained and trained to sew the flesh torn that met her eyes. That inborn, needed doctor instinct in Angela. It really brought Amélie to think. Think about all she has tried to save, but possibly failed. To question how she was she possibly holding on so strongly, seeing so many come and go.

Was Amélie… One of the takers?...

Those luminescent eyes closed slowly as the weakest slither of breath escaped her mouth in defeat to her own mind, brought to the conclusion she really shouldn't have come here, and the returning confusion of why Angela would help her if she took so many away from her peaceful, caring fingertips. Maybe in a sense, she didn't want to lose Amélie as well.

Why wouldn't she? Considering many would give for Widowmaker to have her head chopped off and corpse burnt, this left Amélie speechless, unaware to the fact that the stitches had been tied but and finished, and that those azure eyes were watching each movement of Amélie's saddened expression with as much confusion, and sorrow as Amélie.

Hell reigned a while inside Amélie as memories pooled in and out of her head frantically, coming out in scraps. Painful scraps that hurt her head like a bomb had been let off, and those little hints were the leftover shrapnel digging into her head with such fierceness. Bombs let off for a desperation of something, but that something not quite decided of. Waiting to be in long, impatient waves of desire.

Suddenly, a calm and collected hand found it's way to her shoulder, a slight jerk of shock as a reaction to such a foreign touch. One of sentiment, one of an urge to help, one of an urge to… Actually make contact to the inwardly dead assassin. Now, here Amélie was, eyes opening slowly and turning to Angela's. Silky strands of bangs falling in front of her eyes as those two completely opposite orbs locked, staring into one another with a knowing. A needed silence between the two as they sat there calmly until words escaped the Doctor's sweet, cherry lips.

"You are here now, Amélie. No matter what, I am not going to let them take you, and I promise… I can be the first one to be zhere for you in a long, long time. In a needed amount of time. I will do vhatever it takes, even if you end up trying to stop me…" Her words softened to avoid hurt of the Widow, "-... Or if Widow… T-tries to stop me."

A bittersweet tear strolled down from an ocean-like eye. Down that bright skin until it was wiped away by a thumb discolored by force. The blue thumb tore it from the warm skin so gently for such a harsh person. From that person, their own tears wanted to fall, but were lodged away, forced away behind a blank expression. By a fear of what would come from opening up an form of her former being. So they sat there behind those beautiful, lulling, golden eyes. Blinked away and kept from escaping.

Such a tiring act, to hide such emotion from someone so willing to accept it. Maybe even someone to hold you close, assure you that… In a sense things could get better. Things would get better now. That lingering sensation of hope was very little in a very long amount of time, and even the tiniest chance was enough for Amélie. Leaving her desperate to be saved from the horror of not knowing anything but the command that led each step of your life. If gallowing jerk of the finger. Each bullet, and each heart forced to a stop by said metallic weapon.

The weariness had Amélie leaning, and leaning. Eyelids drooping as her head stooped down onto a willing shoulder of Dr. Ziegler. Resting softly against the lab coat shoulder, foreign to her numbed skin. Her lips opened in the slightest to allow the rarely needed oxygen into the slow going lungs of Amélie Lacroix. Her body loosened, becoming tired and still as she drifted into a sleep needed after all the stress, all the emotion she had not dared to feel in so long. So petite an amount was so colossal in her mind. Consciousness drifted away like a feather in the wind. Quick but softly, and the killer was surrounded by the dark walls of her mind. Weary and tired, almost non existent conscious.

Angela slowly reached and held Amélie, lowering her still body onto the comfort of the couch while she watched the extraordinarily slow rise and fall of her chest, hair drifting in messy strands across her expressionless face. That numbed persona even more dreadful in the Widow's sleep.

The ever so quiet drifting and noises of fabric neared her, and a sudden warmth covered the emotionless French below. A soft fabric resting on her stilled body. A… Blanket. An offer to keep Amélie, well, ironically warm in her rest. Then the slight itch of hair on her face was stopped as that soft hair was softly nudged behind the ears of the sniper. Though of course, Amélie would notice none of these sweet actions considering she was passed out after an aching moment if blistering emotion in which Amélie was taught made her weak. Made her useless and delayed all of her purely important actions. These actions, in the eyes of Talon, the murders she was told to commit to better their cause.

Soft footsteps stepped away, and the bowl of Lucio-ohs was picked up by two slightly shaken hands, placing one hand on the knob of the door as Angela Ziegler left the room. The door closing so weakly as to not disturb the sleeping Amélie, covered and buried so sweetly in those covers. The doorknob gave off a low click as Ziegler locked the door, which in all honestly, was the best idea as none of Overwatch knew of the Lacroix presence.

Amélie sunk into the cushion, laid across it in a rest needed for so long… darkness consuming each and every view in a dream…

Or nightmare..