3. Not the Only One, part 1

Tracer finds out she's not the only one. [Part 1 of 2]

Post-reform Widowmaker (set 3 years in the future).
Supercrack. Also contains pairings of Wm with other girls. If that isn't your deal, might want to avoid this one.


Tracer exhaled a sigh, one palm pressed against her forehead.

She didn't want to be here. Not at all, no.

What she wanted to do was spend a quiet night curled up beneath the sheets as she waited for her girlfriend to call back to base safe and sound but—"It'll be fun!" Angela had told her. "Three is a crowd, four is a party," Fareeha had recited almost robotically, and "please don't leave me alone with those two…" was what Hana had fervently whispered to her in private.

So eventually, Tracer caved.

She caved in to all the pleading and the adjuring and allowed herself to be dragged down—limply—to the mess hall for girl's night, and as she sat now, surrounded by an impressive array of vodka, rum and other assorted spirits, the Brit found herself already starting on the path of regret.

For the uninitiated, girls' night was pretty much synonymous with getting plain drunk. Always, the evening would devolve into its usual bout of mindless drinking games, and it just so happened the women had chosen to play a particularly immature one tonight. One that left Tracer wondering if two of them were in fact, truly years past their thirties.

•••

"Never have I ever waited till I was 24 to lose my virginity," Angela said this with a deceptively innocent smile.

Tracer drank.

"Never have I ever served in the British Air Force," came Fareeha's turn next.

Tracer drank.

"Never have I ever traveled back in time to prolong an orgasm," Hana chimed in, slyly.

And Tracer drank.

Having sensed her reluctance in being here, it would appear the other women—no doubt, following Angela's lead—had made it their mission to get Tracer stinking sloshed in an effort to loosen her up.

As such, the next ten rounds pretty much unfolded in a similar manner, with Tracer drinking shots after shots, until the little Brit girl—face flushed, vision blurring and about ten centiliters shy of acute alcohol poisoning—finally exploded.

"Bollocks!" She shouted, loud enough to trigger Winston's vibration sensors littered through the base.

"Enough is enough!" She waggled her index in each of the women's faces. "I'm halfway mullered here and y'all are jus straight-faced gigglin' over there. That ain't fair!"

Then, thoroughly indignant and landing on the first thought that sprung to mind, she slurred, "Never have I ever not gotten 'round to kissin' Widowmaker. Aha. Now you guys all get to drink—"

"—Go on, drink!"

Only, nobody did.

To Fareeha's credit, she did make a show of taking a pretend sip, but once she glanced around and realized she wasn't quite the only one on the boat, she slowly inched her glass back down.

"Why are you guys not drinkin'?"

Silence, saved for the sound of Fareeha's nail-biting.

"Really?" Tracer's voice was more akin to a screech. "Are you guys for real? Even Hana?—Hana! Aren't you like ten or something?"

The Korean girl rolled her eyes. "Twenty-two. Old enough to kiseu your blue girl."

"Seriously now?" Tracer's face blanched and her gaze darted wildly around the room. "Please don't tease me like this guys, please don't do that. Have you all really made out with my girlfriend before?"

"I… wouldn't say made out… it was more like a small peck…"

"Yeah, I so did. It was hot…"

"We kind of more than just made out…"

Came the simultaneous responses from the three women.

Had Tracer's senses not been dulled by the night's fill of drinks, she might have done something she would have truly regretted.

"How come I'm only hearing about this now?" She cried. "Did any of you even plan on telling me before?"

"I guess it never had the opportunity to come up," Angela said. "Besides, it all happened before you guys even started dating."

A chorus of assenting murmurs filled the room.

"Well, it's come up now! And if something had gone down between y'all and my girl, you bet I'm gon'a to be needin' explanations, details—all of it!"

"Maybe you should just let it go," Fareeha coughed, somehow managing to look the most guilty out of the bunch. "It's just never good to dig around the dirt about your girlfriend."

"Not knowing is even worse! I'm forever gon'a be wondering what you guys did with her and it's forever gon'a kill me! I rather know the truth than let my imagination run wild!" Pausing, Tracer takes a large, voluntary swig of her vodka before sputtering: "I mean it guys. I want to hear it. I want to hear all of it—startin' right from the one with the peck!"

For a moment, nobody looked at the Brit, and the silent fiddling of cups and straws ensued.

"Well?" Tracer demanded.