Widowmaker

Waiting for Lena outside of the medical ward with a disgruntled cowboy staring her down wasn't precisely the way Widow wanted to spend her time upon returning to Overwatch Gibraltar. She leaned against a wall, covering herself in shadows, and prayed Lena wouldn't take too long, although based on the circumstances, she doubted her prayers would be answered.

McCree seemed content enough smoking his cigarette, and Widow hated the way he sucked in the filth and blew it out so methodically. It brought her an irritating sense of nostalgia. She didn't want to look, but caught herself sneaking glances of the man, her memories flickering back to a simpler time. Perhaps not as happy, but certainly more manageable emotionally. It was difficult to discern which life she desired more now. It should have been a simple answer, but Widow found her heart wrenched, and time to consider her current place in life, like this very moment, was dangerous at best, because she found herself becoming selfish…

'You gettin' along real good with Lena there these days, huh?' McCree, inevitably, started talking. He was quick to get to the point, at least, for Widow had little patience for humouring social etiquette currently.

'…Yes.' Widow answered, considering ignoring the man, but knowing she couldn't.

Surprisingly, and perhaps it was a testament to the gunslinger's confidence in his skill, he stepped in next to Widow, lowering his voice so their conversation remained private. He reeked of smoke, but it wasn't entirely unpleasant annoyingly.

'You in love with her?' He muttered quietly, catching Widow off guard and making her nearly flinch.

'I fail to see how that's any of your business.'

'Already. Damn. Girl could teach me a thing or two.'

'I didn't say I was.'

'Didn't hafta.' McCree chuckled deeply. 'Been around a while. Gotta be pretty quick with readin' people in my line of work. You play a hard hand, but ain't nothin' I haven't seen before. She softened you up good.'

Widow grit her teeth.

'She helped me find myself again. That is all.'

'Amelie Lacroix.'

She didn't feel the need to answer him.

'Gerard's girl. Heard enough about you. Guy liked to brag.'

'…He could sometimes, yes.'

'Oh? Somethin' sour happen between you two?'

It was like talking to Emily, although she was notably more frightening to handle. McCree bluffed left and right, and that's likely how he got the information he wanted. The casual tone, the way he stood, the way he acted; all tools to extract data. He was calculating despite his demeanor. A powerful, dangerous man. A small wonder he was a Grandmaster.

'Again, none of your business.'

McCree took another draft, looking out into the distance.

'Reckon someone takin' out a friend is my business.'

'Then take it up with Widowmaker.'

'Heh.' He adjusted his hat, tapping at his gun holstered to his obnoxious belt. 'Not a bad idea.'

Widow raised a brow, eyeing McCree openly now.

'…What?'

'Unfinished business and all that. Sides, big mission comin' up. Wouldn't mind a challenge fer once. Ana ain't bad, but I'm wonderin' if you can give me a run fer my money.'

Did he want to duel her or something equally ludicrous? While Angela remained in such a dire state? No. Gerard was like this, too. Men were strange creatures at times. The way they handled stress and anxiety perplexed the fairer sex, generally. Widow considered her need to dance when particularly burdened with undesirable thoughts, such as the strange dissatisfaction she encountered in her past life, wasn't altogether different, however.

'What are you suggesting?'

'A little game. Round two. Target practise down in the pits where ol' Torbjorn likes to play. I win, you don't get in on any more missions until Angela gets you fixed up proper. You win…well, I don't give a damn. What do ya want?'

'You are presuming I will humour your little whim?'

'Don't hafta, true.' McCree laughed. 'But it's a might bit better way to kill the time than standin' out here waitin' for your girlfriend.'

'We are not together.'

'Right. Lena's back with that pretty little redhead again. Makes things complicated a touch, don't it?'

Widow hated the pinch in her chest at the statement. The last thing she wanted was to think about that. She was immediately irritated for too many reasons to consider, and since dancing wasn't an option, she glared at McCree, noting the way he found joy in her sudden assertiveness.

'So be it. I'll play your little game. As you said, it's far better than spending another moment conversing with a ruffian such as yourself.'

'Heh. I'll take that as a compliment, m'am.'

Overwatch's facility wasn't a virtual reality setup, like Talon's, but it was still fairly unique in the way it presented itself, nonetheless. Torbjorn begrudgingly granted McCree and Widow access, claiming he was busy enough as it was, and when the cowboy and sniper stepped into the facility, Widow could comprehend how the place worked well enough. Still, McCree explained with his trademark nonchalance.

'The targets pop up and are randomized. Headshots are worth more points and put em' down right away. Anything else needs a couple of hits. Blowin' the brains out is always best, right?'

'…Indeed. I recall.'

'Yeah. But you were pretty messed up last time, right? Just makin' sure.' McCree shrugged. 'You gotta reload every twelve shots by shooting at the ground like them old arcade games.'

'So odd.'

'A little, but whatever. Targets don't got a set route. Civilians show up here and there, too. Bet Talon don't have that kinda feature, huh?'

'No.'

'Figures.'

Widow huffed, looking over the equipment and getting a feel for how much space she had to work with. The area was built to look like an old factory, but she could see where targets could potentially pop up. Her brain processed it all at lightning speed, feeding her every angle and position available with but a glance. She didn't even realize her eyes were flickering within her sockets, analyzing all the measurements required to use her abilities at their maximum potential.

'You understand I was brainwashed, correct?' She finally said clearly, causing McCree to blow a deep billow of smoke, chewing on his cigarette.

'That's what I'm told.'

'Then why harass me as such?'

'Don't trust you. Simple.'

'After all I've done?'

'Gerard trusted you. Look where that got him.'

'Imbecile.'

'Yeah. Whatever name you called me don't matter. I ain't giving you an inch so long as I'm around.'

Widow cracked her shoulders and then worked any remaining kinks out of her neck. She wouldn't get mad. She would simply get even. If Lena were to say such things, perhaps she would be bothered further, but Jesse McCree meant nothing to her. Nothing whatsoever.

'If I win,' She started, testing the weight of her fake gun. It was a little lighter than her Widow's Kiss, but fairly manageable. 'You will allow me to see Dr. Ziegler immediately thereafter.'

'No dice.' McCree shook his head. 'Not until she's feelin' a bit better.'

Widow didn't see why that mattered, but she changed her request easily enough.

'So be it. In that case, I will ask that you treat me with the respect I deserve moving forward. Do we have a deal?'

McCree filtered through the possibilities in his brain, but then extended his cybernetic arm, gripping Widow's hand with an iron hold.

'Got yourself a deal, missy. Decent stakes. This should be fun.'

The man went to a small terminal and punched in the necessary information, the beeping of his commands initiating the course. Soft humming began around the two individuals, and McCree rotated one of his arms in preparation, spacing his feet apart just right and navigating the cigarette in his mouth to the side in a natural motion. Widow hated how he reminded her of Gerard. His confidence. His natural, bizarre charm despite the way he talked to her. He was a man's man, likely loved by his fellow male agents. There wasn't a sense of longing within Widow, however, to her slight dismay. Just sadness. A sadness that was deeper than before. A sadness she didn't quite understand nor felt she wanted to.

'I'll go first. Give you a little show'

'So be it.'

'Ain't gonna hold back now like before, you hear? Usually treat the ladies with a special sort of consideration, but for you, I'll make an exception.'

'I would want it no other way.'

A glimmer passed over McCree's eye then, and he turned to the course, stepping into it and hearing the buzzer sound, Athena's recorded voice announcing the beginning of the drill.

Targets began appearing almost immediately thereafter, and McCree was so quick on the draw Widow could just barely follow his hand's movements. He was a minimalist, scarcely flicking his wrist as sounds exploded about him, the imaginary bullets hitting through the holographic target's brains, a satisfying "ping" indicating his critical hit success. Civilian's were blue, and enemies were red. Yellow showcased where the hit was made. The longer the course went on, the more difficult it became, with multiple enemies beginning to appear simultaneously, seemingly holding hostages much of the time, even going so far as to using the innocent holograms as shields, providing but the smallest of targets to hit. The improvements made to the training course from before were impressive.

By the end, McCree was showcasing just how much of a monster he had become. Widow, admittedly, was impressed. No one in Talon but her had this kind of skill, and when the man was surrounded by no less than six enemies, three of which held civilians in front of him, Widow thought perhaps he would finally slip up, as the course was likely nearing its end.

'Heh. Guess it's high noon…' The man uttered, and Widow could only hear him because of her heightened senses.

A millisecond later, almost all at once, the enemies were "dead", only one of them not suffering from a headshot and requiring a singular finishing shot to end the mission and display a barrage of numbers over the main terminal to indicate McCree's score. That same score fed into another screen where other Overwatch agents could be seen. McCree held first place, with Ana in second, Jack third, and Lena in fourth. The girl's name sent a wave of panic through Widow's veins, and she turned away from the four letters, closing her eyes to better focus on what she would do next.

'Not bad.' McCree adjusted his hat. 'Only reason I can beat out Ana is because this here is close quarter combat kinda. When it comes to sniping, she's got me, hands down. Woman is somethin' else. You got a hit in, I'm guessin', cause yer face through her off. That's it.'

'Perhaps.' Widow would admit. 'But on the battlefield, the reason doesn't matter. Whomever wins, walks away alive.'

'Tch.' McCree relented. 'Can't argue with that.'

"Player two, please ready yourself. Course commencing in 5…4…3…2…"

'Good luck.' The cowboy sighed.

'Keep your luck. I don't miss.'

The buzzer went off, and Widow was back in Talon's training course, Moira sickeningly evaluating her condition and skills. The genetically enhanced woman had to forcibly shrug off the memories, such thoughts bothering her more than she cared to admit. Automatically, her body moved, easily keeping pace with McCree's numbers, the head being the only part of any hologram that turned yellow. Beeping pulsated all around her of every variety, and she grimaced inwardly, a cloud of haze filling her mind and vision. She killed and killed and killed, yet unlike in her past, she felt nothing.

It wasn't like before. Killing could only scratch the surface of her desires. So, what did she want – need – now? The answer was simple enough, she knew, for recent memories showcased feelings she thought would remain dormant forever. Feelings she hadn't fully realized she was even capable of. Feelings her late husband hadn't even stirred in her. Feelings she at once hated and cherished in a madness of consideration.

She hated it.

Thus, she killed. Killed. Killed. Killed. Killed. Muffle the emotions. Silence the wishes. Turn away from a future that was once more repulsive than the idea of denying a hit.

Widow's body tensed, but the constant sounds went on. Only when the course ended with a particularly loud buzzer did she see through the darkness, her eyes returning to a semblance of normality, and her muscles relaxing slightly. She looked at her score, squinting through her adjusting normality, and wondered how it appeared to be so much lower than McCree's. She was hitting the targets. All of them. Every single one with perfect accuracy. She had given herself over to Widowmaker completely, and she didn't miss. What had happened?

'Wow.' McCree whistled, shutting down the program as Widow's score crumbled far down on the list. 'How yer still allowed to walk around without a tighter leash is beyond me, let me tell ya.'

The understanding hit Widow before McCree said it, a sinking in her heart causing her to drop the gun in hand and swallow in frustration.

'Congrats. You hit anything that moved; including civilians. But they don't matter to Talon, so, guess I shouldn't be surprised, huh? Negative points for every innocent down. We do things different over here in Overwatch, remember? I ain't got no perfect track record either, but at least I ain't no mass murderer. Yer not ready to go on another mission till Angela says so. Hell no.'

Widow grabbed at her arm, hoping McCree couldn't see her trembling. The medicine…was becoming weaker than she could imagine. Widowmaker was coming back, and Amelie didn't even realize it until now. If she wasn't careful, she could hurt someone; perhaps even…!

'You're…correct.' Widow managed, her voice a touch higher than she wanted it to be.

'Huh?'

'I lost myself. I couldn't…think clearly. This was…terribly enlightening.'

McCree scratched the back of his head, groaning in frustration but then sauntering over to Widow, shutting down the terminal and course as he did so.

'Listen,' He started, his gruffness softening as Gerard's could. 'I don't hate you. Hell, I feel bad fer you, alright? Just got a chip on my shoulder that won't get on sometimes. Maybe cause I see a lot of what I used to be in you, I don't know. That might be it.'

'Oh? You were manipulated into killing your spouse and then made into a murdering machine at the whim of a madwoman?'

'…No.'

'An outlaw by choice, then?'

'Somethin' like that.'

'Then don't you think,' Widow grasped onto this rare moment of clarity. 'I deserve a little more than chivalric condolence at the sight of my seldomly displayed vulnerability?'

McCree twisted the cigarette in his mouth and nodded slowly but in seeming understanding.

'Yeah. Maybe.'

'…Thank-you.' Widow muttered.

Before the man could say anything further, however, Lena barrelled into the training facility, and she gasped at the sight, blinking over to Widow and grabbing at her shoulders.

'You better not be bullying her, McCree! You okay, Amelie? You look a might shaken.'

Widow flinched out of Lena's grasp, her touch electrifying.

'Fine. I'm fine.'

'Just playin' a little game is all. Wanted to see what the lady could do down here.' McCree's mannerisms had changed dramatically all of a sudden. He rubbed his neck, almost sheepish as he waited for Lena's response.

'Are you daft? Can't just put a gun in her hand willy-nilly! Amelie is having a rough go of it lately, okay? Leave her alone, McCree.'

'Gotcha. Gotcha. My bad.' The cowboy raised his hands in surrender. 'How's our angel and Ana's little girl anyway?'

'Not sure. When I didn't see either of you I rushed about until I heard someone catching you both coming down here.'

'Huh. That so?' McCree adjusted his belt, tossing his cigarette into the trash. 'Widow here wants to have a chat with Angela. Think she can manage that?'

Widow blinked, turning to the man with surprise.

'Oi. Didn't think you'd be okay with that, mister.'

'…Changed my mind.'

'Well, it doesn't matter anyway. Ange gave the okay. That's why I wanted to find you, Amelie.'

Widow gave McCree a lingering gaze, but then nodded to Lena, her heart still hammering at her chest.

'So be it. Lead the way.'

The lab Angela and Fareeha were currently residing in was a little crowded, but Widow could understand why. This doctor truly had a place in many a person's heart. Even Widow valued her beyond belief due to her abilities. How many individuals relied on this singular woman? What kind of pressure did that entail? The thought held weight, and Widow was almost thankful she gained quite the attention when she first entered the room to distract her.

'Be nice!' Lena warned Jack primarily, getting a small chuckle out of Winston.

Zenyatta gave Widow a small, almost knowing nod, and Ana met the other sniper's eye for a moment, a mutual respect exchanged with a dash of venomous rivalry.

'I'm…sorry to interrupt.' Widow said aloud, and there was an immediate shift in the room's mood, as if everyone collectively realized Talon's toy was certainly far more than a tool for destruction now.

'How do you feel, Amelie?' Angela asked with obvious pain, and she continued to hide her innate disdain for the "killer" of Fareeha's mother at bay.

'My state is irrelevant at the moment. How are you, Dr. Ziegler?' Widow countered, seeing how decrepit Angela appeared the more her vision analyzed her.

'I've been better…'

'What happened?'

'It doesn't matter. She's hurt, and that's all you need to know.' Jack was being defensive, and that was fine, but Angela shook her head, meeting Widow's gaze with a resolve the sniper wasn't aware existed.

'This is the result…' She breathed out slowly, touching her chest in pain, a warm, golden hue encircling her thanks to Zenyatta nearby. '…of bringing Fareeha back from the dead.'

A heavy, powerful silence followed the doctor's statement, and when nobody laughed, Widow knew her to be speaking the hard, unrelenting, intense truth. She didn't have a response to such a claim. How could she? It was an impossibility. Ever since humans existed, they had sought ways to avoid death, yet that was life's one true certainty. However, now this doctor – this intangible genius – had dealt a blow to even that? Moira saw Angela Ziegler as a rival. Widow now knew for certain there was no comparison whatsoever.

'I see…' Widow responded, and again, the room's reaction to her leveled answer seemed unified in its satisfaction. 'I will assume this feat was accomplished due to your…feelings for her?' She indicated Fareeha, the young woman utterly still, the machinery attached to her picking at old scabs in the depths of Widow's mind.

'They were certainly…inspiring.' Angela admitted, a small grin making an appearance on her face.

'Will she make it?' Widow went on, practically choking on the words.

'That is yet to be seen.'

'Fareeha's a tough girl! I know she'll be okay!' Lena's optimism was nice, but clearly fantastical. Widow could tell this was no simple matter. For so many elite Overwatch members to be present, Widow understood just how dire the situation was.

'Did you need to ask Dr. Ziegler something, Widowmaker?' Jack questioned, and Widow knew he was annoyed with her presence. He was lashing out, and she was the obvious target to the outburst. That was fine.

'I simply wished to check on her. That is all.'

Angela closed her eyes before meeting Widow's again.

'Once I've recovered adequately, we will plan another attempt at your condition.'

'That wasn't…' Widow glanced away. Naturally, part of her did want to know if her only hope for living a normal life again would be alright, but it wasn't her entire reason for visiting…was it?

'Feel better.' Widow muttered almost defiantly, turning and leaving the room. She heard Lena say something quirky herself, and then the girl was hot on Widow's heel, as usual.

'You good, Luv?'

'Yes.' Widow lied, striding through Overwatch Gibraltar's base in frustration. Alone with Lena. Perfect. 'However, I want a moment to myself. Do you mind?'

Lena zipped out and around Widow, standing in front of her and squinting in earnest confusion.

'What's goin' on, Luv? You've been weird since this morning.'

'Oh? Perhaps I'm still recovering from that ridiculous orgy.' She shoved past Lena, screaming at herself for being so cross with the girl who had done nothing wrong.

'Whoa! Wait a minute! Now you're having regrets?'

'…Perhaps.' Widow lied again, not wanting to see Lena anymore.

'Bloody hell! Why do ya gotta be so confusing? I think I know what's up and you start on like this!?'

'Being involved with me in any capacity at this point only guarantees confusion and heartache. That's what you get when dealing with a broken woman such as myself. I thought you were aware.'

Lena sighed, shaking her head in honest irritation.

'I think you need your nap, young lady.' She quipped, and for some reason, Widow didn't mind being babied in that moment.

'I agree…' She submitted, and Lena gave her a wink, which was so hated yet loved at the same time.

The two women made it back to Lena's room, and the younger girl flicked on the television, muting it but navigating to Widow's favourite channel without a second thought. She only lit the place up dimly, knowing how her guest liked it, and then put on some hot water for Widow to have some tea.

It was agonizing to watch.

'I'm gonna leave you alone for a bit, okay? That's what you want, innit?'

Widow clawed at her own throat inwardly. This was for the best. She knew it. So, why couldn't Widow be content? Why did it hurt so much more than she expected? This woman had flipped her life upside down. She owed her everything. Was that why she felt such things? No. Not quite. The basis of their relationship could have been cordial at best if Lena wasn't so damn loving and considerate. She constantly exemplified what kind of person she was, and after persistent hints at wanting something more, a piece in Widow she didn't think she could ever possess shifted, not perceiving such a connection as completely outrageous.

She allowed Lena into her heart, and her heart welcomed what it meant to be utterly loved. Not quite the same love that Angela and Fareeha possessed. It was a different shape of the thing, but a love nonetheless, and a love Widow struggled against even now. For she watched Lena move about the area and discovered the comfort in it all. It was similar to the notions of vulnerability Widow had experienced at Emily's apartment; the exposing nature of that evening leading to an event Widow wouldn't soon forget nor would ever want to.

However, she liked Emily. Quite a bit. Respected her immensely. At first, she thought this was a good thing. But now, watching Lena bring tea over to her, the girl smiling earnestly and looking at Widow – at the woman for what she was completely – Widow knew this all would have been so much simpler if she thought Emily wasn't worthy of her hero.

'Thank-you…' Widow accepted the hot drink.

'You can't leave my place though, okay? I'm technically not allowed to have you all by yourself.'

'I'll be fine.'

'I know, Luv. You got this.'

It hurt because the words meant so much. She trusted her. She had faith in her. Widow wanted to reach out and touch her…but she wouldn't. She couldn't. She had made her choice. Emily didn't deserve that. Confusing Lena now wouldn't be fair to any of them.

'Thanks.' For everything. For always being there since the second she could. For blinking into her life and asking, "Psst. What you lookin' at?". For taking hold of Widow – of Amelie's – hand and never letting go. For showing Widow what warmth was again. "Thanks" didn't seem like enough, but it was all Widow could manage. All she trusted herself saying.

'Catch you later?' She was being considerate. Lena wasn't the type to leave someone alone, Widow knew, but they knew each other so much better now. Lena knew how to handle Widow's irritating temper.

'Inevitably.' Widow looked about, shrugging a touch, this natural interaction further pushing her into madness.

'Alrighty. Take it easy, Amelie. Seeya!'

'Goodbye, Lena…' And the door slid shut, leaving Widow alone to release the knot in her throat and soul. '…I love you.'