Prisoner of Peace
An Overwatch Fan Fiction
By Mooncatx aka Bliss Crimson
The sequel to Prisoner of War
Chapter 2
Amelie LaCroix / Widowmaker
Amelie squared her shoulders and followed Mercy through the corridors of the Overwatch headquarters. Some of the hallways were still unfinished, roughly hewn stone where pathways had been hacked out with more utility than any kind of aesthetic. The facilities were less sterile than the last base, but to some degree, much more primitive. The over all feeling she got was of well dug in animal's den. A defensive shelter, ready to be defended by Overwatch's warriors, like some ancient Roman fort. They'd come in at the wolf's hour, between night and dawn, creeping in like children who'd snuck out the evening before, trying to get to their rooms before their parents caught wind of their mischief.
The former Talon assassin wondered if Angela planned it this way, so they would not have to face her Overwatch teammates en masse They met few on their way to the rooms put aside for the return of Ziegler's team. By the time the rest of Overwatch woke, her presence among them would be fait accompli. Mercy was sneaky. How odd Amelie should find that so… charmant.
Those few they did pass were amusingly confused. Double takes, outright disbelief, and no little outrage. She could live with that. Outright fear would have been better, but she doubted someone dressed solely in a man's over large undershirt inspired terror, even if she was one of the world's premiere assassins.
When they reached the team's rooms, Amelie examined Angela's personal bedchamber with curiousity. Even though the Swiss doctor was meticulously neat and orderly with her work, at heart she was a creature of chaos. Angela's bed clothes were scattered everywhere, personal belongings strewn about with careless abandon, hardcover books in teetering towers on every surface. Haphazard stacks of actual paper folders on the floor, a fire hazard and just… archaïque.
The only neat and tidy item in the entire room was the single large bed that dominated all else. Exquisite. The wooden frame was a rich dark stained black cherry, with comforters and down pillows in softer, blush colors bleeding to darker rose. There was a lush sensuality expressed in that bed. Amelie studied it in quiet contemplation.
Setting her luggage on a nearby armoire, Angela's voice was oddly low and ruff, self conscious.
"Unlike our last accomodation, we are rather crowded in the main base. It's not even a quarter the size of our original HQ. We'll be sharing quarters until our in flux of population settles and more living areas can be free'd up."
"Je vois." Amelie's voice was quiet and even.
She'd learned from her experience with McCree. Overwatch agents as a whole seemed uncomfortable with their sexuality, and using it to their advantage. Among Talon agents, trading sexual favors was not rampant, but they were not an uncommon trade good. Talon encouraged using anything and everything at your disposal to move ahead in the organization's hierarchy. Talon was extremely egalitarian that way. Man or Omnic, rich or poor, all were given the chance to excel and climb the ladder of success using any means. Power after all was it's own reward.
So she would move slowly with her petit ange. It would be challenging to tarnish that halo of hers. Amelie did so love a challenge. Angela would be claiming the spoils of their devil's pact one way or another. The good doctor had promised after all to look after Amelie's besoins de base. And certain needs were more basic than others. Since she no longer had to win her freedom, Amelie could utilize her assets for personal, rather than professional use. Angela Ziegler was a founding member of Overwatch, and held a premiere position of power within their ranks. Tying their fates together could only enhance Amelie's own status, and secure her a certain level of personal safety Two birds, one stone.
Angela Ziegler - Mercy
Personal Files of Doctor Angela Ziegler -
Patient A has shown genuine willingness to work towards her recovery. Since gaining her provisional freedom, Patient A's overt sexual provocation has lessened considerably. This supports the theory that it was mainly a tool to help effect her escape and a means of defense in a situation where her control over herself and her environment were forcefully taken away…
Angela stopped mid report to stretch and cast a glance at the subject of her writing. Amelie LaCroix was standing in the room's walk in closet, searching through Angela's clothes. A pair of black suede thigh high boots dropped into the pile of chosen items growing beside the former assassin. Reinhardt's shirt lay discarded over a nearby chair, replaced by a black lace and velvet shirt Angela had bought for a vampire costume but had never gotten to actually wear. It was richly gothic, and fell just barely below the French woman's derriere. Maybe she'd been too hasty about the degree of sexual provocation Amelie LaCroix was expressing. Considering how she dressed for the profession of assassination, maybe Angela didn't know crap about why Widowmaker dressed the way she did. She could just ask.
Amelie had slid her long dancer's legs into the boots, and Angela bit back a cry of envy. Those very boots she had thought so cute and edgy, hadn't looked half so good on herself. Plus, she had found out they were too difficult to walk in with their three inch spiked heels. On the French woman they were downright dangerous. Spiked heels and all, which considered the fluid way the former dancer moved in them, she was verdammt noch mal, sex on a fucking stick! There was no way in hell Angela was going to bring Amelie LaCroix to Jack Morrison and the others looking like an expensive call girl…
"If their minds are too stunned by my outfit, they might forget about how many people I've killed." Amelie addressed the look on the doctor's face. "Really, you would be surprised at what a little flashing of skin can accomplish."
A rap at the door, and McCree sauntered in, without waiting for an invitation, only to stop short with a sharp whistle and a slow rake of his eyes over Amelie's new outfit.
"See? All the blood rushes below the belt. It makes it difficult for them to think. And without combat and the adrenalin of firefight, boom." Amelie gestured to seemingly stricken cowboy.
"Hey now, sugar," Jesse McCree spoke defensively, "I resemble that remark! How come you look more nekkid now than when you were actually stitchless?"
Amelie pulled her still loose hair up behind her head, and managed it into a messy bun. Save for her unusual body tint, she could be any young woman ready for a night of clubbing with friends. Hell, with the current fashion of the day, even the tint would fit. He'd seen more exotic rainbow hues on people on the street. No, what made the blue violet skin stand out was not the color, but the woman who wore the color.
"Thank you McCree. I think I'm ready to face the firing squad." Amelie crossed her arms, and dared Angela to say something.
"Where is Reinhardt?" Angela asked, hoping he'd be able to interject some sanity into the mix with his solid steadfastness.
"Had to go get his squire." Jessie barely snatched back the cigarette he'd been about to light before Angela smacked him upside the head.
"Outside!" Angela barked the order like a sergeant. "God help us all. Let's go see Jack"
To be continued.