27 years ago. Annecy, France.
Little Amélie's radiant eyes looked at the chateau in awe from the backseat of a cruise ship. It was beautiful and rustic, with grey bricks and tall columns. The chateau was surrounded by a deep lake. A maid grabbed little Amélie's tender hand. Amélie clutched her satin sweater with her other hand.
"Dis bonjour à ton papa," the maid said, guiding Amélie off the ship.
A man Widowmaker couldn't remember for the life of her smiled warmly at little Amélie, hugging her ever so tightly.
"Why do you never call mama?" she asked sweetly, looking past her father's distraught glances.
"I'm too sick, mon petite fille. Come, Amélie, let's explore the home."
Her father carried Amélie to a large room, which had lavish windows providing a viewpoint of the coast. They sat in a vacant armchair.
"Chateau Guillard. When you get older, you will one day inherit this beauty. It may look a little beaten now, but once you fix it up a bit, you will restore it back to its formal glory," her father said, more to himself than to his daughter.
Amélie's father held Amélie in his arms for an hour silently, staring out into the vast lake. Little Amélie didn't mind. She felt safe wrapped up in her father's arms.
"Amélie, I have to tell you something," Mr. Guillard said, wiping Amélie's sleek black hair out of her eyes. "Do you remember me telling you that I have cancer? That I am sick?"
"Oui, papa."
"I'm not in the best health. I have been going to a treatment, but it is not working. Soon, I won't be around anymore. I will die."
"Die?"
"Sleep forever and ever," Monsieur Guillard continued, wiping tears out of his eyes.
"When will I see you, papa?"
"Not for a long time."
Amélie started crying, not comprehending everything her father said.
"Mon petite fille. No need to cry," he reassured, adjusting the little girl on his lap. "I will always be here for you. Always."
Amélie continued to sob, burying her face in her father's coat.
"How about this? Whenever you miss me, look up at the moon. I will be staring at the moon back, and you will know that I am there with you, up in the sky. Does that sound good, Amélie?"
"Oui, papa."
Amélie's father died three weeks later.
Two months ago. Annecy, France.
Widowmaker stepped off the small boat, clutching her handbags and belongings. She found her heart racing.
The full moon cascaded down Widowmaker's back, her blue skin giving off an eerie midnight glow.
The chateau. The one she hadn't seen in years.
Widow unloaded her belongings and turned over her passport. She was working under the alias Danielle Guillard. Widowmaker grabbed a bottle of Chardonnay and poured herself a glass, leaning over the balcony and watching the dark water slosh.
She swished the glass in her hands delicately before downing the wine.
She walked into the first room she could find. A library.
Hesitant, Widow searched her bags for her hidden item. Talon would surely wipe her if they found out about the photo in her possession.
Her wedding picture. Widow held the memory in her hand, running her fingers over the woman's alien face. She couldn't tell if she missed it. Her past life. She placed it on the shelf quietly, before diverting her attention towards her wine.
A beep from her laptop sounded faintly. An email from an unknown source.
"Lacroix. It's time."
Widowmaker readjusted her dress and set the wineglass down on the floor.
She had a mission to go to.
Widowmaker couldn't sleep, nor did she want to. She simply curled up in the corner of the spare bed and stared blankly at the mahogany walls and popcorn ceiling.
In the other room, Tracer couldn't sleep, mainly because she was monitoring a certain someone from a camera. Tracer couldn't get over the stern and concentrated look on Widowmaker's face.
Tracer didn't know exactly when she fell asleep. But, when she woke up, she immediately ran into the guest room Widowmaker was in.
Widowmaker stopped dead in her tracks when Lena walked into the room. Widowmaker had managed to slip out of the zip ties and proceeded to use them to attempt to saw the chain off the handcuffs that bound her legs to the bed.
Lena sighed. She was still there. "Plus three points for creativity, Widow. But, that won't work."
Lena proceeded to grab the zip ties out of Widowmaker's firm grasp.
"I came to check up on you," Lena groaned, a large headache erupting on her temples.
Widowmaker glared at Lena, shooting sharp daggers straight into Lena's soul.
Tracer wasn't entirely sure yet if she regretted not alerting authorities about Widowmaker's presence. She reminded herself repeatedly that she was doing this for Overwatch, for the eventual greater good.
"Just out of pure curiousity, why haven't you killed me yet? You've had plenty of opportunities to do so," Lena said.
"Funny," Widowmaker said, in a much lighter tone than usual. "I was thinking the same thing."
"Are you hungry?" Lena asked, ignoring Widow's looks of distaste.
"Non."
"Thirsty? Comfortable? If you want, I can change the room temperature."
"Hm. Benevolence. How foolish."
"You should try it sometime."
"Just to make this one hundred percent clear: I can't stand you. And I won't," Widowmaker hissed, pure venom spewing out with every word she spoke.
"Glad the feeling is mutual," Tracer replied, turning around to leave.
Lena pondered over what to do. No active Overwatch agents were present in Europe, other than Winston at the watchpoint in Gibraltar. Lena could single handedly smuggle Widowmaker into the watchpoint and lock her up in a temporary cell. How would she drag out the intel from Widow? Surely Widowmaker wouldn't just give up the information Tracer sought. Torture was definitely out of the question. Overwatch is a peacekeeping organization. They wouldn't stoop down to Talon's size.
A certain incident came into mind, and Tracer wanted to get to the bottom of it. The incident kept burning in her mind, and each minute the excruciatingly painful burn kept getting hotter. She needed to know. A numbing pain tickled the back of Tracer's throat.
"Widow... I've been meaning to receive an answer for a question I've asked before."
Widowmaker looked up at Tracer, confused. What question?
"Why did you kill the Mondatta that night in King's Row?"
The answer should've been simple.
"I was ordered to," was Widowmaker's self explanatory response. She proceeded to look at her nails in vain, uninterested.
Tracer wasn't pleased.
"But why would you, you personally, carry out such a horrific crime?"
No answer.
"You were ordered to. Hm," Lena said, walking back and forth in the room. "Do you know how many tensions have risen due to your assassination? Do you know how horrible I feel, how I wish I never turned back time to save myself? I used to wish you killed me that night. I felt responsible for Mondatta's death. I still feel responsible for his death."
Widowmaker didn't know what to say to that. She didn't necessarily feel horrible for putting Tracer in that situation. Yet, what Tracer just said bugged her, like a pesky gnat. Naturally, Widow ran on autopilot. "The enemies of Talon need to be eliminated. Instructions that are not fulfilled will be met with consequences."
A shiver ran through Tracer's spine. How could she look Tracer right in the eyes and say that?
"Do you even care about the repercussions of your fucking actions?" Lena yelled, unable to contain herself. "Do you even realize how many people have been hurt by you, physically and emotionally? Do you even care? You're a selfish, cold, cruel bitch who only seeks blood-"
"Since when do you know anything about my intentions?" Widowmaker interrupted, sharply sitting up from the bed.
Widowmaker's mind was breaking all over again. The red pills, which were supposed to give Widowmaker a clean and obedient state of mind, seemingly failed to work properly. And now, due to sloppiness, she would be imprisoned until she was dead.
At least she would be with her Gérard.
"Yes, I love the feeling of killing. Watching the eyes of my victim dilate. Watching their limp bodies crash onto the floor. They were nothing before, and they are nothing after. They never mattered. The rush! The adrenaline, the excitement- oh, the blood," Widowmaker continued, her voice inappropriately sensual.
Tracer wanted to bolt for the door. This was heading towards a direction she didn't intend to cross.
"You... you monster," Tracer whispered.
Widowmaker's anger had boiled up inside her. It was slowly seeping out, like a faulty leak coming out of a rusted pipe.
It took years, but Widowmaker saw herself slowly loathing Talon, loathing what they'd done to her. The catalyst? The moment Widow placed a single rose on her husband's grave. It was then that she realized just how much she had lost. Widowmaker used to feel disgusted with herself for feeling hateful towards Talon. But her subtle discontent with Talon was there, alive and breathing. It had always been there, deep down inside.
And here was Tracer, giving her unsolicited input on something she knew nothing about.
You monster.
"Ask me what Talon had done to make me love that feeling. I've been broken, turned into some sadistic murderer. Ask me what Talon would do to me if I failed to comply with them, if I dared to disobey them. They would break me even more, turn me into an even more fucked up version of myself."
Tracer widened her eyes. Widowmaker started choking. "Everyone I had ever loved or had ever come close to loving has either died, turned against me, or pretended I had never existed. Do you know, Tracer, how it feels? To be forcibly dragged out of your life, to be played with like a deck of cards? Everything was taken from me- my husband, my sense of self-"
At this point, Widowmaker's face was covered with tears and she was visibly shaking. She cursed herself for spilling her heart out to, of all people in the world, Tracer. But, she said it. And it wouldn't be a lie if she said that she would die satisfied in this exact moment.
"To answer your initial question, Tracer, I committed the act because I believed Talon was doing something for a bigger and greater purpose. That Talon wanted me to assassinate that omnic for an ulterior motive," Widowmaker laughed coolly. "I realize that I've known better. You're right. I am selfish. Cold. Cruel. A monster."
"Widow, I'm," Lena began to stammer.
"You have no idea! You have no right to-"
Widowmaker buried her face in her own legs and continued to cry. Widowmaker tried composing herself. She hadn't cried in years. Yet, no matter how much Widowmaker wanted to stop crying, the tears kept on flowing, like a flimsy log being tossed around at the edge of a waterfall.
Tracer didn't know how to handle the situation. She backed out of the room.
Emily?" Tracer quietly said over the phone, hoping Emily actually picked up.
"Hey! This is Emily G. I'm sorry! I'm not available right now. If you would like to get in contact with me, please leave a-"
"Damn it," Lena murmured underneath her breath.
She might as well check up on Widowmaker for the thirteenth time. That woman made Lena anxious.
Before Lena turned, she looked though her belongings for a flash drive Winston had given her. The flash drive containing all the remaining intel Overwatch had. After the Petras Act, which prevented Overwatch from operating, every piece of intel was seized by the United Nations. Or so the United Nations thought.
Tracer had promised Winston that she wouldn't look through the flash drive due to confidentiality.
"Sorry, big guy," Tracer said, plugging the flash drive into the laptop.
Tracer scanned over the contents of the flash drive for half an hour, finding nothing on Widowmaker.
She finally came across a page, seemingly vacant.
Widowmaker. Description: blue hair and skin. 5'9. Affiliation: Talon. Marked as highly dangerous.
Teacher frowned. Was this all the information Overwatch had on Widowmaker?
Who was she?
Widowmaker was bored out of her mind sitting in the guest bedroom. She was playing with the end of the nightgown Tracer gave her nights before.
Lena walked into the room, hoping Widowmaker wouldn't notice. Widowmaker was facing the opposite direction of Lena, staring at the floral curtains that concealed Widowmaker's view of the outside world.
"I figured that, one day, I would be apprehended for my actions. Talon will kill me before I spill any of their secrets to the world. In fact, they're probably looking for me right now. It's all over. I'm a tool. I have served my purpose, and it's time for me to be thrown away," Widowmaker contemplated.
"Widow, you're not an object. You're a human being," Tracer said, feeling obligated to do so.
Widowmaker fell silent. She picked up a strawberry off the fruit platter Lena left earlier and nervously nibbled on it.
"You know, Widow, you have a lot of nervous ticks," Lena added.
"Do I now?" Widowmaker vocalized, facing Tracer.
"You bite your nails and bottom lip. You don't look at me in the eyes when you're uncomfortable. You play with your fingers and hair. You fidget-"
"I never viewed you as the observant type," Widowmaker harshly replied, still nibbling on the strawberry.
"You also insult people when you feel attacked."
Widowmaker fell silent once more. She was contemplating something, choosing her next words wisely. She was dumbfounded. Nobody had ever noticed, nor cared enough, to pick up on her subtle mannerisms. Yet here was Tracer, reading Widowmaker as if she were a three part novel.
Leann jumped as the lights in the room flickered. A huge crackle boomed the sky, and the downpour of heavy rain splattered the window.
Lena walked over towards the window and peeled the curtains out of the way, setting them on the ground.
"Amélie," Widowmaker whispered in a hush.
"Excuse me?"
"Amélie. My name was Amélie."
Dis bonjour à ton papa. Say hello to your father.
A/N:Thank you so much for reading so far! I really appreciate you all (: I can't wait for more!