[BOLOGNA, ITALY – BOLOGNA CENTRALE – 11:02]
The police are waiting for them in Bologna as Tracer's fight had gone viral in 192 seconds. Unfortunately, Tracer doubted the hoodlums would stay in police custody for long. Mei Ling-Zhou, truly a gift from above, retrieved Tanaka from the train station without incident while the journalists and interview drones flocked around Tracer.
She gives the press a little show, posing for pictures and using the Accelerator for hat tricks. Her official statement is that she was in Italy for a mini-vacation between adventures when the thugs attacked her. Not an outright lie.
Eventually, the media disperses and commuters of varying ages and nationalities swarm the ex-Overwatch Agent.
"T-R-A-C-E-R. Done. Here you go luv," Tracer says handing the fan back his marker. The teen whips out his phone and checks out the signature on his forehead.
"Awesome. Thank you so much," he says with a wide grin. He turns around and yells at a group of similarly dressed lads, "See, I told you she'd do it!"
Tracer laughs as he runs away. Teens. She takes a pen and guidebook from the next tourist.
"Do you want this addressed to anyone?" she asks.
"Overwatch was a bully and a sham of a peacekeeping organization!" calls out an elderly voice on the edges of the crowd, "We're lucky it got shut down before it got even more out of control!"
Tracer ignores the critic and hands back the signed guidebook with a smile.
The one thing she learned from Jack was responding to a heckler was the worst thing to do. It was better to speak over them or let them run out of steam. And if a person thought yelling at her in public would change anything, there wasn't much she could do that would change their mind.
"Criminals like her should be in jail! Not being treated like a celebrity!"
There's a general chorus of Shut up and Overwatch hater.
"Hey show some respect for a decorated officer!" a man yells.
"Yeah!" shouts the teen with a freshly signed forehead, "Tracer risked her life fighting the Null Sector! She's a hero! They're all heroes!"
There's a roar of approval from the crowd.
"Alright. Alright!" Tracer shouts motioning for quiet. "Thank you for the support, but I would like to speak now. Ma'am, you have every right to be upset-"
"Overwatch Agents are heroes?" Another voice drowns out her own, "Tell that to Russia. To Venice. To Paris! Overwatch only stepped in when it suited them."
"Venice was Blackwatch's fault."
"Don't go using Blackwatch as a scapegoat!" protest someone in the crowd.
"Some of Overwatch went, bad but Tracer wasn't a part of that."
The mention of Blackwatch sparks microarguments within the crowd of fans. The noise draws more tourists over who either watch or take sides. The crowd is starting to block the entrance of the train station. She needs to stop this before someone gets physical.
"If I could have your attention!" Tracer shouts.
"-billions misplaced-"
"Medical sector made hundreds of advances,"
"-human experimentation-"
"Los Protectors son heroes! Blackwatch era los villanos!"
"-fought and died-"
"-only to have the super freaks take over!"
"-bloccando l'ingresso!"
A shrill whistle followed by the blast of a bullhorn cuts through the growing noise. A Poliza Municipale Officer stands on the steps of the Central Station. He sounds the bullhorn one more time before bringing it to his lips.
"Signore e signori si calmi. Si prega di lasciare questa zona," echoes over the piazza.
Police from the photo op are making their way to the crowd calmly asking people to move along.
"Ladies and Gentlemen," he repeats in English, "I'm going to ask you to disperse quickly and quietly."
Someone grabs Tracer's shoulder causing her to jump. She turns to see a Municipale standing beside her.
"Thank you, eh," the officer says in accented English. He motions back to the car that holds the arrested operatives from the train. "Thank you, but you should go now."
The crowd is mostly gone aside from the odd hothead or two. The regular flow of foot traffic in and out of the train station is resuming. The sight of a uniformed officer of the law is usually enough to shock people out of their self-righteous fury.
"Right, right." Lena watches the police officer clip his bullhorn to his belt, no longer needing it.
The Municipale pats her arm and gives her a sympathetic look before walking off to join the rest of his squad.
Lena turns her back on the piazza. She pulls her ball cap low hiding her face. Weaving back into the crowd she slides on her bomber jacket and zips it up despite the heat.
[ROME - DELI – PRESENT – 12:32]
By the time Lena finally makes it back to Rome she's seriously considering leaving Widowmaker in the meat locker. Considerations only intensify when she finds some bullets lodged in several cheese wheels.
Lena walks to the front of the deli to a full scope of the place. Standing at the entrance, she can see the entire shop. Directly in front of her is the dining area of the deli. It's a medium-sized room that could seat twenty. Separating the kitchen and dining area is the display counter, which is the same length as the back wall. Beyond the display counter is the kitchen and back door where she came in. On the left wall of the kitchen are the doors to the pantry and walk-in-freezer.
The front looks the same as when she left it aside from the faint smell of gunpowder. It's cute; she decides now that she has the time to take in the rustic brickwork, wooden tables, and rows of handmade spices. It has the same cozy feel that her favorite pubs do. The space would be a lot warmer with the lights on and people in it though.
Her shoes make soft pads on the floor as she returns to the kitchen. Lena takes a moment to steal a few pieces of bread from a cutting board. She can't think straight on an empty stomach and she'll pay them back. Beyond a few ricochet marks in the floor things don't look too bad until she reaches the freezer door.
The door has several holes in the shape of a square, like perforations, on level with the door's handle. The square is only half completed with the holes becoming smaller and more uneven before they disappeared completely.
Lena frowns. Well, at least she knows Widowmaker is still inside. Probably best not to provoke the assassin until she knows what state physically and mentally Widow is in. Lena sighs. This mission looked so much easier on paper. She unlocks the door and throws it open. As a blast of cold air hits her in the face, she realizes she has no idea what to say.
"So um, I'm back!" she shouts.
Tracer waits for a barrage of bullets or French insults, but nothing comes.
"I know you're in there. There's no point in hiding."
Silence answers.
"If you come out we can get a hot beverage of your choosing," she bribes stepping into the freezer.
The light of the Accelerator bathes ice-covered meats and shelves in a glittering glistening blue. Some open packages are piled near the front for easy access. A plastic tarp lies off in the corner. On the floor, a looping path through the shelves has been cut into the ice by a pair of high heels.
Tracer doesn't see Widowmaker anywhere. The Smurf is probably hiding further back in the waiting to ambush her or something. Or she could be a Widow-sickle.
Tracer shakes her head and starts moving deeper into the shelves. Positive thoughts, Trace, positive thoughts.
There's a twang like a guitar string being plucked and one of Tracer's leg is pulled out from under her. She lands hard on her hands and knees. She looks back and sees a thin wire taunt under one ankle. A metallic groan fills the freezer. Tracer's eyes follow the trip wire to a metal shelf stuffed to the gills looming over her. Bollocks.
Top of the self is six-ish meters. Less than 0.6 seconds to crash. No time to stand up. Recall.
Tracer recalls out of the freezer as the shelf crashes to the ground. So much for minimal collateral damage, she muses as a cloud of dust and ice rises into the air.
Suddenly, a stone cold fist smashes into her jaw. Tracer blinks away on instinct. She is not getting jumped again today.
As the blur of the Slipstream fades a smear of purple sharpens in her peripheral vision. Tracer turns to see her attacker, Widowmaker (surprise!), who tackles her with a screech. The moment before impact Tracer decides to do the natural thing when faced with 65 kilos of rage-filled assassin. Run.
Tracer goes limp and rolls with the attack. Letting their momentum take them to the ground she brings her knees to her chest. When her back hits the floor she slams her feet into Widowmaker's midsection. Widowmaker makes a lovely "huherf" and goes flying that-a-way deeper into the kitchen. Tracer lands with her head and shoulders on the floor like a bad breakdancing move.
Tracer scrambles to her feet. She slides her backpack around in front of her. If she can just get to her pistols, then she can... what? Have a Mexican standoff? That won't solve anything. As she fumbles with the zipper an icy hand grabs her ankle. Tracer teleports away, but Widowmaker's grip throws off her blink. Tracer's hands slam into the rim of the industrial sink stopping her face inches away from a number of very sharp and very clean knives. The sound of metal scraping against tile with low swears alerts Tracer to Widowmaker's attempt to get up off the floor. Tracer glances around at the cut-y and stab-y things around her. She does not want to be in this part of the deli.
She pushes off the sink and sprints across the width of the kitchen. Widowmaker whips around to follow. But instead continues sliding in the same direction. Between the tile floor and the slush packed in its treads, her boots can't get enough traction. Widowmaker crashes into the sink shaking all the dishes inside. Tracer vaults over the display counter leaving a streak of blue behind.
Widowmaker pulls herself back up using the sink. Breathing hard Widowmaker surges forward following Tracer's path. The assassin makes it over the counter a split second later. She lands within arms reach of Tracer. Widowmaker reaches for the Accelerator's straps knowing Tracer will be running out of juice soon. But this time Tracer is ready. Tracer whips off her backpack and clocks Widowmaker upside the head.
Widowmaker stumbles back into a display counter. Hitting the glass cover must throw her off balance because her legs slide out from under her and then Widowmaker is sitting on the floor. Widowmaker shakes her head and looks up at Tracer with a curious expression. Tracer waits for her to do something. Her backpack is mostly empty. While getting hit with it might hurt there's no way it could have caused an injury.
"Are you done?" Tracer asks.
Widowmaker lets out a Heh between gasps. She nods and then leans her head back.
Tracer eases out of her combat stance. Widowmaker stays slumped on the floor breathing hard. Looks like Widowmaker exhausted herself. Just like a toddler. Tracer reshoulders her backpack and glances around. Well, now that's taken care of she has actual work to do.
A few minutes later, Tracer wearily eyes Widowmaker as she uses Google Translate to scratch out a quick note apologizing to the owner for the damages and warning about the freezer door.
Widowmaker now stands propped up between a bookshelf covered in display cheeses and a stack barrels rubbing her arms and muttering to herself. Now that she's not trying to kill her Widowmaker seems... fine? Incredibly pissed off but nothing like back on the freeway where she was just gone. Tracer notes with some satisfaction that she did, in fact, zip-up her catsuit. But Widowmaker is purple again. And it's a deep shade of violet that Tracer has never seen before. That in itself is alarming enough to make her swallow her pride and recognize she needs to fix this.
Tracer finishes counting out a stack of notes that should more than cover the damages and sets them on top of the memo. She walks over to Widowmaker making sure the assassin has plenty of time to notice her approach. As she gets closer, she can hear Widowmaker mumbling that she's off the damn list, whatever that means, and that she would like to strangle Tracer with her own eye stocks. Real encouraging stuff.
"Hey," Tracer says gently reaching out. "We need to go. Get you warmed up and update HQ."
Widowmaker's eyes snap open. Her normal predatory gaze is replaced with one of murderous intent. Tracer has a brief flashback to the one and only time she stole Commander Reyes' lunch.
"No." Widowmaker slaps her hand away. "Oh, no, no, no. Non. You do not get to lock me in a freezer and then think playing nice will just make that all okay!"
Tracer flinches because while neither of them are in body casts right now, she has to admit this has gotten out of hand.
The truth of the matter is she tried to play nice. Sure, she's been obnoxious and dense and generally as annoying as hell, which probably wasn't very safe, but it was the only thing Widowmaker responded too. She kicked her off a building once, and the sniper just looked mildly perturbed for god's sakes. And Tracer wanted a reaction this time. A real show of emotion. Not just a smirk or a sarcastic remark. A proper, actual response.
And she can't say she didn't get one.
"Well I'm sorry, but I only locked you in the icebox because you nearly chucked Tanaka out of the bleedin' cab! You know, the bloke we were supposed to protect? Your job?"
The thing about Widowmaker was she came with rules. Unlike Reaper or Junkrat she didn't randomly slaughter bystanders or destroy buildings. She only cared about her target, and she only injured people if they got in her way. On top of that, they had an agreement. Well, not really an agreement because they never talked about it, but an understanding. Tracer got right up in Widowmaker's face and no one else got hurt. They both treated their fights a bit like a game. It was a game. Until Mondatta died.
"I promised you wouldn't hurt 'im. Because you don't do that. Why did you do that?"
At this Widowmaker has the decency to look ashamed.
"Was the-" Widowmaker starts.
"He's fine by the way. No thanks to you," Tracer says with a wave. And then stops as she realizes Widowmaker's question hadn't been about a who but a what.
"I" Widowmaker pauses and seems to collect herself, straightening her hunched posture and dropping her arms. "My actions were rash and shortsighted. I take full responsibility. It will not happen again."
Tracer is running on way too little sleep for this.
Tracer sucks in air around her teeth and smiles at Widowmaker. "Wow. I mean wow. I get that you think I'm some child but do you really, really think I'm going to swallow that?"
"What are you going on about."
"It was like you were reading a teleprompter. That wasn't an apology. That was the terms and conditions for almost murdering someone."
"So that was not good enough for you?"
"You didn't even say 'I'm sorry!'"
"Pour l'amour de Dieu. I'm sorry for endangering the mission. Better?"
Tracer gapes at her before asking, "Is that really all you care about? He's not even a person to you is he?"
Widowmaker scows at her. "Fine. I give up! What do you want from me?"
"I want you to act like a human being for more than five seconds!" Tracer shouts.
Widowmaker's shoulders drop, and she looks surprised. For point two seconds before her face returns to a purple neutral. How did one person have so many blank faces?
"Je n'ai pas à prendre ça," Widowmaker says turning away.
"Don't you walk away from me!"
Tracer stomps forward as Widowmaker retreats. She feels the Accelerator winding up as its vibrations increase, and in the way space-time gets squishier. Widowmaker must sense the change because she stops and turns and that's when Tracer sees it. As the world begins to slow, Widowmaker takes a step, stumbles, and recovers. But the action is stiff and awkward. In fact, none of Widowmaker's movements have had their usual grace. That's when Tracer realizes if she continues this they'll actually fight. And this time she'll win.
And she wants that. No matter how many times she's tried telling herself different over the past year and a half she still wants to beat Mondatta's killer black and blue.
But she's realized what she wants more is to grab Widowmaker's shoulders and shake and scream at her until she understands what she did and who it effects. How her actions hurt people, who are just trying to live their lives. How she killed a person, who had never done anything to the assassin or the people she worked for other than creating hope for a better tomorrow. Tracer wants her to understand because she doesn't seem to care. And Widowmaker can't understand jack shit if she's in a medically induced coma.
Tracer stops.
"Shite," she says and then turns around.
She tilts her head back and counts the wooden support beams above letting the adrenaline drain out of her system. She then counts them again as the Accelerator shifts back into standby mode. Her hands still sting from the impact against the frozen concrete. Her jaw throbs were Widowmaker clocked her. Behind her Widowmaker's footsteps stop.
She's an Agent of Overwatch. A role model. A hero. And heroes do not bitch slap the snot out of someone who at a clear disadvantage. Especially, when some of the giant mess they're in is their fault.
Tracer drops her head and turns back to face Widowmaker who has her rifle slung across her front and is watching her cautiously.
"Okay. I don't like you, and you don't like me-"
"Quelle révélation. "
"-but I need food and a nap, and you need warm clothes. So if you don't kill me, I'll shut up for the entire ride back to the hotel."
"Vous racontez des conneries. Mais que vais-je faire? Voler un Jacuzzi?" Widowmaker sighs."Merde. J'accepte."
Tracer nods in response to I accept and elects to ignore everything else. They've fought enough times that she knows when she's being insulted but now is not the time to focus on that.
Widowmaker pushes off the wall she was leaning on and begins walking towards the back of the Deli. Tracer goes ahead of her and opens the swinging half door. Widowmaker seems to be putting a lot of effort into making her feet go where she wants them too now that she's not filled with unbridled rage. Tracer wonders exactly how much of her legs the assassin can feel.
If on cue, Widowmaker slips again this time falling only a few inches away from Tracer. Tracer reflexively grabs Widowmaker's arm. Widowmaker feels like a block of ice and smells like fake cigarette smoke.
"Ne me touchez pas," Widowmaker hisses.
Tracer lets go and steps back holding her hands up and away. Widowmaker stays in her weird crouched pose for a moment then inhales sharply. She pushes off the counter dragging herself back into an upright position. Widowmaker wobbles a bit the before resuming walking towards the back door.
Tracer turns and looks over the Deli. Ice that was tracked out of the freezer is now water smeared across the floor, pieces of ceramic have been fished out of the sink, the ruined food has been gathered up and tossed, the freezer door is marred by bullet holes. The stack of notes left for the owners seems to be an underwhelming compensation.
Tracer sighs and walks out the back door.
Translations
Pour l'amour de Dieu– for the love of God
Je n'ai pas à prendre ça,– I don't have to take this
Quelle révélation – what a revelation
Vous racontez des conneries. Mais que vais-je faire? Voler un Jacuzzi? Merde. J'accepte. - You are speaking bullshit. But what am I going to do? Steal a hot tub? Fuck. I accept.
Ne me touchez pas – do not touch me
/Closest thing you'll see to a title drop.
Remember when I said "I will attempt to follow canon as closely as possible"? with the introduction of Moira that's no longer possible. You see I plotted out this entire work beginning to end before the release of Doomfist. That's right, Doomfist who was added to the roster in July 27th.
I'm lazy. The story is staying as is. But I'm not throwing the new canon out the window. I just can't guarantee how much of it will show up.
A big thank you to everyone who commented!/
Edited 3/3/18