A.n: Hey guys! It's your favorite Wolfe! Back with another speed write attempt!

"Tiens, tiens."

I hear her voice, coated in that lyrical French accent, before I even see her.

"Looks like we'll be working together, chérie." Widowmaker is saying as she walks up to me - hips swaying, rifle in hand and the slightest ghost of a smirk drawing across her lips.

"Welps," I turn to face her, slowly. "Don't think I'm too happy 'bout that!" I proceed to show her the sickest, widest grin ever to crack my face in half.

Widowmaker falters in her movements then, her face looking clearly affected.

"What is-" she blinks rapidly at me. "What are you…" she tries to recover – fails badly; settles for muttering under her breath: "Something horribly wrong with you."

I throw back my head, laugh, squeeze two rounds of my pulse pistol into the night air -

- Bang, bang.

"I'm as right as they come, Neytiri," I'm still grinning at her, all pearly-white teeth and yellow-tinted winky eyes.

"Neytiri?" Widowmaker asks.

"Yeah, from that classic Avatar movie, you watch?"

Widowmaker doesn't reply me. Probably doesn't even know what Avatar is – the philistine.

"I watched the movie just last night," I'm telling her. "You definitely remind me of Neytiri - this primal alien who crouches down on all fours; scales walls; blue all over… hey, speakin' of blue, don't you feel cold in just that?"

"Don't I feel cold in what?" Widowmaker asks me, frigidly.

"In that lil purple clingwrap of a suit you wearin' love!"

I'm honestly not sure how Widowmaker ain't shivering her ass off or suffering from hypothermia right now. It's rightly snowing where we stand.

"I'm not cold." Widowmaker says as she turns up her nose. "And you can stop talking to me now chérie-"

"How are you not cold?" I cut her off, frowning. "It's just not possible. Could it be you have some kind of hidden hand warmer tucked underneath that suit?"

Curiosity piqued, I blink towards her.

"What'dyou have under these?" I demand. "Spill!"

I'm standing right behind her now, my hands wound tightly around the pvc-like material of her catsuit. The snow is falling all around us in white little flurries and - what can she possibly have underneath this catsuit? - as though in a trance, I find myself peeling back the low-cut collar of her costume and then I'm…

"Oh my god," I exhale loudly before quickly pulling Widowmaker's catsuit back in place to protect her modesty. "Oh my god, Widowmaker, you ain't… you ain't wearin' nythin' under these?!" I'm whispering fiercely into her ear, thoroughly shocked.

Widowmaker's back has started to stiffen; I hardly notice because I'm... just so shocked!

She's not wearing anythin' under her catsuit! Widowmaker ain't! No support whatsoever!

"Oh my god," I repeat, absolutely horrified. "Widowmaker I must tell you, I always, always wear a well-fittin' sports bra whenever I'm out runnin' or out on missions… cause y'know it's important to have adequate support so as to prevent early onset ptosis... but… jesus christ, look at you! You ain't even wearin' anything! All these runnin' around rooftops and scaling up and down the walls, I'm so surprised your boobs ain't saggin' to the knees or anythin' like that!"

Thoroughly intrigued by this phenomenon, I blink forward until I'm standing right in front of her now, my eyes fixated on her chest, studying the anatomy intently.

They really ain't saggin'!

You can tell they ain't because (and Angela taught me this) her nipples (they've stiffened significantly from their brief exposure to the chilly air and if I stare just hard enough, I can just about see their shapes poking from beneath the material of her suit) are perfectly positioned on the breast line. Perfectly positioned a la magical horizontal.

"Real miracle these ain't draggin' thru the mud innit? All that runnin' you do without support!" I exclaim in genuine wonderment. "Does… does Talon has an in-house plastic surgeon to nip-tuck these puppies or whut?"

Right now, I'm kind of wishing I have one of those metallic clip-clip things Winston always likes to play around with in his office.

What are they called? V… V somethin'… V... ah! Got it! Vernier calipers!

Yes! I wish I had a vernier caliper right now so I could rightly measure Widowmaker's chest; they seem too perfectly symmetrical to not have any work done.

I had measured pre-Widowmaker Amelie's chest before (with her hearty blessing and encouragement, of course) and I know her measurements by heart. Though her breasts weren't sagging per se, they definitely weren't quite this pert before.

Not that they weren't something to marvel at - they were. It's perfectly natural, too, for breasts to start losing a little bit of their perkiness by mid-20s. Perfectly natural and a perfectly beautiful thing, this natural sag is (now that I'm recalling, I would say that Amelie's beautiful breasts could be - according to the chart hanging on Angela's office wall - classified as semi-supported, whereby she has a clear breast crease line running along the bottom of her breasts where they meet up with the chest wall).

I don't know why Talon had felt the need to enhance this aspect of Amelie - it's wholly unnecessary - but I need to be sure on this. If I had a vernier caliper, I could very well compare the sizes before and after, and confirm whether Talon really did do a number on Amelie's chest, and how much they'd lifted the sag by. Having this information could provide much relevant insight into the way Talon thinks and the way they operate.

"Hey, Widowmaker," I'm asking, my brows furrowed in deep thought. "Do you know if Talon ever-" I look up at Widowmaker then, and the question dies on my lips.

The shade of her face is no longer blue, it's become a somewhat ashen sort of black as though someone had rubbed the evening newspaper all over her face, and her eyes are turning a little red as she blinks rapidly while her nostrils flare out like searchlights.

Uh oh.

I know that look. I know Widowmaker very well. Know her so well in fact, I can read the signs before she executes her moves.

I've already blinked out of the way before she even raises her rifle, proceeding to sweep through the entire area with a blanket of bullets.

"Bloody tic tacs," I'm shouting as I try to dance my way out of her assault. "Have you gone nuts! We are working the same team here love!"

Widowmaker doesn't seem to care.

She's still shooting at me even when the mission has ended.