Emily sits in the waiting room of the Watchpoint flipping through the pages of her novel burning time until Lena lands.
The waiting rooms were created back in '56 when Overwatch was beginning to hit its stride. A Bigwig wanted to make the demigods more accessible to the public so construction was started at all Watchpoints to create waiting rooms. They were areas where friends and family could meet their loved ones after missions without compromising the base's security. Shots of children jumping up from the same type of chairs Emily sits in now and running into their father's arms were quite popular in the old Overwatch adverts.
The rooms are all the same, the huge Overwatch logo at the focal point, the walls painted in particular trademarked blue, the furniture 20 years out of fashion and in that weird style of what the military thinks is homey. Emily crosses her legs and shifts in her chair trying to ignore the springs pushing through the thin padding.
Lena would be returning from a month long excursion today and Emily wanted to be sure to meet her as soon as she could. The sight of Lena's face lighting up when she sees her always made the drive, the terrible seating, and the last few hours of nerve-wracking boredom worth it.
"Excuse me," a voice with a French accent says.
Emily looks up from her novel to see a tall woman with ridiculously long hair dressed in slacks and a professional blouse. She also has lilac skin and her eyes remind Emily of a shark, dull but dangerous. The blue skin throws her for a loop for only a second. Lena's best friend is a talking hyper intelligent gorilla after all. And Overwatch had always consisted of oddities and specialists.
"Are you Emily Hayes?" the woman asks.
"In the flesh." Emily smiles and holds out her hand.
The woman does not return her smile but grasps her hand firmly in a clear show of restrained power. So it's going to be like that is it?
Emily continues to smile politely and looks the woman straight in the eye. She deals with juvenile delinquents all day; both the type that think they are hot stuff and the ones that are actually dangerous. She's been stabbed before. She's been targeted for her support of omnic's rights. She's dating Tracer of all people. She's not going to let some disgruntled ex-Overwatch employee scare her into submission.
"Are you some sort of work associate of Lena's?" Emily asks.
This causes the woman's gold, definitely artificial eyes, to glint in a smug sort of way for a split second.
"Most people call me Widowmaker but you probably know me better as Widow-wanker or Spiderbitch," she says.
Her tone is even and posture is relaxed despite the harsh words.
"Oh," is all Emily can say.
So this is Ms. Indigo.
Lena didn't talk about work or her adventures in public out of a sense of self-preservation. Once they started dating Lena spoke about her job in a sort of code to give Emily plausible deniability in court. Lena pretended that she worked at a normal office with normal hang-ups. It was a kind of joke between them.
If Lena came home with a thousand emails and pages of battle plans to read through she'd say The bosses are updating the safety contracts. The bastards. If Lena came back battered but in high spirits she'd say I had to fight Ms. Indigo for the last good stapler. Poor lady never stood a chance. If Lena showed up clutching her kit too tightly looking shaken and exhausted she'd say Power outage at the office.
"Ms. Indigo" was a character that showed up in Lena's stories regularly. Lena and her coworkers beat the evil HR lady more often than not. But after Mondatta's assassination Ms. Indigo became simply 'Wanker' or 'that Bitch'.
"You killed Mondatta," Emily says. Surprise and fury battle for superiority in her gut.
"That is correct." The corner of Widowmaker's mouth twitches up for a moment.
"You threw Lena off a building," Emily accuses leaning forward.
"She was in my way," Widowmaker says nonchalantly.
"You're a Talon agent. You've attempted to kill Lena multiple times."
"Ex-Talon operative." Widowmaker's eyes narrow on the emphases. "And the key word in your statement is attempted to kill. You know as well as I that Tracer is walking around in excellent health."
Emily frowns. A fair point. Lena did normally come over bruised but not broken after a clash with Widowmaker. The assassin is choosing to be very transparent with her. She could have said anything when she asked who she was and, Heaven help her, she wants to see where this goes.
"Very well. I assume you sought me out for a reason," Emily says putting her away her novel addressing Widowmaker directly.
This gives Widowmaker a pause. She has the look of a woman who was use to being seen as far more intimidating and wasn't quite sure why it wasn't working.
"I have something I'd like to discuss with you. May I sit?" Widowmaker asks.
Emily nods and Widowmaker takes the seat next to her. She makes a face and shift around in her chair before choosing a spot. Widowmaker turns to face her.
"I trust you are aware of Tracer's... unique taste in clothing?" her voice clearly says that unique is not the first word that came to mind.
Lena's collection of neon tights and authentic punk apparel with authentic punk smells springs to mind.
"Yes..." Emily says not quite sure where this conversation is going.
"Then you have seen those things she calls shoes," Widowmaker says wrinkling her nose in disgust.
"Uh"
"The hideous green plastic ones?"
"Yes?"
Widowmaker glares off into the distance. Her fingers dig into the chair arm.
"There are many, many things I am willing put up with during my time at Overwatch." Widowmaker starts, "Hazing, insults, dish duty, the excess of orange. But I draw the line at foam clogs that spit in face of fashion make me want to tear my eyes out."
Widowmaker pauses and seems to recollect herself. She draws a breath and continues.
"The Crocs must die."
Emily almost losses her composure right then.
She looks at the woman, the professional assassin, the undead nightmare used to threaten mob families, next to her. Widowmaker's posture is picture perfect. Her expression is as still as stone, there are wrinkles of disgust next to her eyes, and her fingers are still digging into the chair.
She is completely serious.
Emily takes back any complaint she's ever had against Lena's job. This is the greatest conversation she's had in her life. She fights to keep a smile off her face.
"While I agree that there are certainly cuter shoes Lena could wear I don't quite understand -" Emily says.
"For a while I simply made the abominations disappear but Tracer just assumed she'd misplaced them and bought a new pair. After a week or so of that I staked a pair to her door as a warning." Widowmaker scowls. "She took it as a challenge."
Emily stifles a snort. Of course Lena did.
"Have you tried talking about this with Lena?" Emily ventures even though she can guess what the answer will be.
Widowmaker scowls deepens and her shoulder hunch up.
"I did start mutilating them and leaving them for her to find, which was far more satisfying, however that did not change the end result." Widowmaker's nose scrunches up again. "She use to just wear them once and while but now... But now they are everywhere."
Emily bites the inside of her cheeks, suppressing a smile.
So Widowmaker has backed herself into a corner and now her pride is involved. Emily knows that this will eventually snowball into something not so harmless but Lena can handle herself.
Widowmaker relaxes her shoulders and straightens her neck.
"By my calculations Tracer has spent over three hundred euros replacing the destroyed shoes," Widowmaker continues.
Emily covers the growing smile on her face with hand. Well this explained a few things, like why Lena had mass ordered almost fifty pairs of Crocs and couldn't defend why without dissolving into a fit of giggles.
"I can think of a few thousand ways she could have better spent that money. Can't you?" Widowmaker asks raising an eyebrow and giving Emily a look.
Emily just grins. It's Lena's money. She can do whatever she wants with it. And, oh god, this is hilarious. Go Lena go.
"I'm sorry," Emily says with a shake of her head, "but I still don't understand how this involves me."
"She's dating you," Widowmaker says simply as if this gave her some great power over Lena Oxton, human whirlwind.
"And you think I can somehow make the Crocs disappear?"
Widowmaker returns to staring off into the distance.
"I think you are the reason Tracer now shows a minuscule amount of restraint in the field as apposed to none."
"Well, as interesting as your predicament is I don't see any reason to support your side of this ridiculous war. As you pointed out Lena is my girlfriend."
Emily smirks and reopens her novel.
"A girlfriend who is frequently called away by work interrupting your dates and leaving you alone with a house to clean, bills to pay, and neighbors who are starting to whisper behind your back," Widowmaker says knowingly.
Emily's eyes flash in warning. She sits up straighter and glares at Widowmaker who is focused on the opposite wall, her eyes slightly unfocused.
"We both understood the impact Lena's job would have on our personal lives," She snaps.
"Yes, yes." Widowmaker waves her defense away. "Your loyalty is adorable. I'm not accusing Tracer of any shortcoming. It's just the way things are."
Widowmaker turns to face her and threads her fingers together.
"But I could arrange for Tracer to, hmmm, be forced to take some sick leave in the future."
Emily blinks.
"You are offering to break my girlfriend's legs so that I will get Lena to stop wearing Crocs?" she asks incredulous.
Widowmaker scoffs.
"Nothing so dramatic. A sprained ankle, some jammed fingers, or perhaps the sudden onset of the flu. And she doesn't have to stop wearing the foam atrocities, I don't think that's possible. I just never want to see them on the base ever again."
Emily presses her lips into a line and leans back in her chair. She's not actually considering it. She not. It's just it wouldn't take that much to get Lena to forget about this and well it really would be nice to have Lena home for a week or two straight.
Widowmaker stands.
"I don't need an answer right away. I'll give you time to think it over. My card." A piece of black plastic extends from blue fingers.
"I haven't accepted," Emily protests keeping her hands where they are.
"You haven't refused," Widowmaker replies.
Widowmaker places the card on the arm of Emily's chair and walks away. She stops in the door way and looks back over her shoulder.
"A word of advice Madame Hayes, the new reports like to say that Tracer is a hero, a star, yes? I assure they are incorrect. Tracer is an idiot." She gives Emily a melancholy smile. "But those are really the only ones worth keeping."
Widowmaker walks off.
Emily waits until the last echo of the assassin's heels fade and then picks up the card. She turns it over examining both sides. The black plastic is smooth and uniform. She spins it between her fingers letting it catch the light while her thoughts spin round and round.
Two weeks later Tracer switches to wearing flip-flops around the Watchpoint.
Three and half weeks later Emily meets Lena with a wrist brace. Tracer is temporarily suspended from active duty until her sprain heals.