A/N: Another speed prompt!


So, she thought it was all over.

She thought she could simply shoot Mondatta in front of me, kick me against a wall and then jet away on a plane like nothing even happened—mission accomplished, good job Widowmaker. Well, she was dead wrong.

Dead wrong.

If she'd thought it was over, she definitely has another think coming, because I'm onto her now. Literally. I knew she would still be in London hours after the shooting. The Talon aircraft she'd escaped on was not meant for long distance travel—which meant it was only supposed to be a quick getaway vehicle; which meant the spider was still crawling around somewhere in Greater London.

Honestly, tracking her down wasn't all that difficult to do. Wasn't all that difficult at all, considering the millions upon dozens of surveillance cams littered throughout the city. It had helped too that Widowmaker was dumb enough to turn up somewhere populated. Oxford Circus, for that matter.

But more specifically, can you guess where, exactly, I'd found Widowmaker? Seriously. Can you guess where I'd found her?


"Cheers love!" I'm screaming loudly as I whip out my holophone from my jacket's pocket. There's a flash, a snap, and I've successfully taken a thumbs-up selfie with Widowmaker caught in the background—ass sitting pretty on a red plastic chair—with her mouth wide open in the midst of biting into a Big Mac.

"I can't believe this! I've got you now!" I'm giggling as I quickly post the picture on my public InstaGrumps account for the world to see.

The caption reads: Internationally wanted assassin WIDOWMAKER caught stuffin' face at MackyD's! :P

Barely 10 seconds after the picture is posted, and I've already gotten a few thousand likes. It looks like Hana has shared the picture on her social media pages too. Maybe that's why it has blown up (I'm new to Insta, only have about 400 followers at this point).

"Look love! Look how popular you are!" I'm grinning really wide as I blink over to where Widowmaker is sitting near the back of the Mcdonald's joint, shoving my phone into her face as I show her the picture with all its likes and comments.

"Look, look! Someone just commented that you are really photogenic love!" Then, squinting, I try to make out the rest of the words in the comment. "Really photogenic… albeit a little… a little sick lookin'—welps! I think that just might be due to your unnaturally bluish skin tone, amirite? Can't quite be helped… ooh wait—look now, someone else is askin' if you've been filtered. LOL!—I should really reply to that—" I bring the phone up to my face as I start typing furiously: "Nope! Widowmaker sure ain't filtered or anythin' like that! She really is that blue! It's au naturel y'all! Her natural skin tone! As to why she is like that, well... beats me... you've gotta ask Talon for that one…;))"

Next to me, Widowmaker has slowly put down her burger (with two extra meat patties and three extra cheese, no vegetables, I notice. Must be special order) until it's now resting on the standard Mcdonald's plastic tray.

"You really shouldn't have done that." Her voice is low and quiet as she says this. Somber, almost.

"Aww cheer up, French fry! It's really not that big of a deal!"

In the television at the corner of the joint, the red glaring words 'Breaking News' flash up on the screen, alongside my blown up selfie of me giving a thumbs-up, with Widowmaker behind me eating a big mac. The screen proceeds to zoom in on her, with her mouth wide open, before subsequently panning back to the news anchors as they sit down to interview an anti-terrorist expert.

"You really shouldn't have done that chérie." Widowmaker is saying now. Her voice sounding a little choked up, a little sad. I turn around to look at her. Her face looks cramped, almost as if she's about ready to cry.

I wonder why. "Relax! It's not that bad of a picture! Besides, these things will blow over in a month…"

"You don't understand." She cuts me off, picking her burger back up with both hands as she studies it intently—glaring at it, her eyes watery.

"What don't I understand?"

"You don't understand that Talon has imposed a very strict diet regime for me. If they find out I'm here, what I've been up to in my free time…" Widowmaker's voice trails off and she noticeably stiffens. "Do you even know how deprived I've been the whole while…? If Talon finds out I've been falling off the wagon and eating fast food every opportunity I'm out on my own, it would mean compulsory sessions of reconditioning. A whole lot of reconditioning." As she says this, she bites down savagely into her beloved Big Mac—one bite. Two. Three—almost as if she's trying to stuff herself full before she no longer has the luxury to do so.

I feel a sudden rush of sympathy (and guilt) for the Talon operative.

"Well love. Um, why don't you just quit then?"

"Quit Talon? Where will I even go?"

"Overwatch?"

"Why will I do that?"

"Well. We have a Mcdonalds back at base for starters? I'm sure you can eat as much of that as you want."

Widowmaker shoves what's left of the burger into her mouth, before reaching out for the double-chocolate upsized milkshake to her left. "I vill fink abuff fis, shery." She tells me, her mouth full and chewing. "Aft weel fink fufu fis."

God, the woman has never looked or sounded more sexy.