Chapter 2

Going Wild Eyed

Jamison Fawkes and Mako Rutledge were somewhat preoccupied.

Jamison more so than Mako. They stood in front of a giant metal vault door and Jamison, also known as Junkrat, tinkered happily on a network of explosives. All of them had lovely little smileys drawn on them in the colors that Jamison liked most: Yellow, orange and red.

"Y'know Roadhog, I 'ave ma doubts sometimes. With other jobs, y'know?"

"Hmm."

Junkrat stepped back. He was proud of what he saw and gaped at his creation with his mouth wide open. To some he may have looked like a child on Christmas Eve. Others might have wondered why the Australian arranged his explosives to look like a Christmas tree.

"But just look at this beaut! Brings a tear to ma eyes. She'll be apples!"

"Hmm."

"Yeah, you're righ'. Could use some more on the left side."

That's how their conversations always went. Mako didn't talk very much. He just looked over his shoulder once towards Jamison, nodded and then resumed keeping an eye on the entrance. A surprise waited for him.

"Intruder."

"Cheers luv!"

The most awkward silence took hold of the room, occasionally disrupted with mad screams of joy by the master demolitionist at the vault door. Tracer cocked her head to the side. When Jamison had distracted Mako to look away just now, this flimsy girl must've somehow slipped through the door. Now she was standing right in front of him.

"Hi."

"Yes, hi there! You were Roadhog, right? That's Junkrat over there?"

The large Australian with the pigface mask nodded. He seemed pretty calm for someone with a butchers hook and scrap shot gun ready in hand. Lena needed to focus though. The huge drawing of a pig face around Roadhog's belly button threatened to hypnotize her.

"Well, look luv, you know, I didn't want to keep y'all away from your… stuff that you do, but I wondered if you could spare a moment?"

"Hmm."

"Is that a yes?"

"Hmm."

"I take that as a yes!"

She blinked a few times at the mute guy. He was indeed strange.

Nothing I can't work with! It's basically like rolling with Bastion.

Lena took a step to the side to look at Junkrat was doing there with his smiling Christmas tree.

"Huuuuh, that's really pretty!"

"I KNOW RIGH?! It's time mates! Time for the big KABOOM! Kihihihihi!"

Junkrat immediately jumped with joy as he found someone that appreciated his work. He ran a few steps back, giggling and tip toeing on the spot. On the ground in front of him was an almost comically looking trigger for the bomb prepared in advance. It was one of those where you fixate a box between your legs and just need to push down a bar. Junkrat did just that. Then the skinny Aussie squatted down in preparation of the blast, plopping both fingers in his ears, giddy with excitement.

"Issat safe..?"

"Hm-Hm."

Mako grumbled slightly in response behind his mask and gently pushed the awe-struck Tracer about three inches to the side.

The boom came and went, tossing Lena's hair around and licking at her clothes. A warm wave washed over her and she was quite happy that she still wore her aviators to watch the spectacle. Jamison on the other hand was catapulted in a rush of hot air, cheerfully laughing and screaming with record speed narrowly passing between the two. He was finally stopped by a solid metal wall, colliding with a dull 'Thump'.

Tracer was almost compelled to go help the poor little guy. A big, gentle hand held her back.

"Shouldn't we help him?"

"Hm-Hm."

A burned figure shakily arose from the smoke of the impact. The wall looked quite dented.

"FUCK ME SIDE WAYS!"

Junkrat looked anything but pleased and he announced as much in a tirade of Australian swears. Lena didn't even knew some of those existed. It took her a few more seconds to realize what made the skinny Aussie so angry.

Lena looked over her shoulder, where the vault door still stood strong.

"So wha izzit you want missy?"

Several moments later, the three of them were casually fleeing the federal bank of Chile amidst several alarms and sirens. While Tracer ran along, Junkrat had to be carried because he broke his makeshift leg in the explosion. While being carried, he lobbed smiling grenades here and there as they were jogging towards the exit, creating a debatably lovely atmosphere.

"Do you remember last time when we worked together, Junkrat? I said 'Over my dead body' speakin' 'bout giving you one of my Pulse Bombs, yeah?"

Tracer tried to ignore the occasional screaming vault guard. That was kinda easy since Junkrat broke out into merry laughter every time he more or less accidentally hit one.

"Yeah, sure thing! Told ya that's arrangable."

"Well, you're fresh in luck! I'm willing to trade, luv!"

Junkrat had a glint in his eyes when he thought about the shiny, sticky bombs that Tracer carried around. He liked shiny things the most, but most explosives sadly weren't shiny.

"Why'z that all of'a sudden, if ya don't mind a bloke askin'?"

"Let's just say I need to go crazy!"

And if she didn't, Tracer thought, she'd probably lose her mind instead.

"She's where meeting who?!"

Angela had a tight grip on the cowboys ear, who had to angle his head sideways, lest he'd lose it.

"Ow Angie! Chile! The note said Chile and Junkrat! I'm SORRY!"

She knew that it had been a mistake to use Jesse as the guard. He had this irritating habit of holding siestas during work hours. Today was supposed to be Lena's last ward round before she got discharged from hospital, but apparently something more important came up.

"You better be sorry Jesse, because you're going to be the one who finds her!"

Jesse knew better than to argue. He just threw her a bewildered look and rubbed his abused ear before heading off, his boots clinking softly into the high noon.

Once he was gone, Angela deflated and gave way for a wave of insecurity. She stared into the now former hospital room of her charge. Doubts clouded her mind, reminded her of her past failures concerning Tracer's arch nemesis.

"Lena, why on earth would you want to meet with a notorious criminal?"

It's only logical.

Isn't it?

Lena shivered. Nobody else would've provided the help she needed, and she knew how to pull Junkrats strings. There was no room for doubt anymore, anyway. Every time she did doubt herself, a gorgeous and crazy French person clawed at the edges of her mind, taunting her past and future failures. Winston had opened her eyes. She needed to hurry ahead and change, never doubt, never look back.

Surpass all expectations! Laugh in the face of death itself!

Lena laughed out loud at the thought, full of energy.

The other passengers on the plane would've declared any normal person in her seat insane on the spot. Instead, they long since recognized her for the energetic hero that she was. They chuckled and smiled alongside her cheerful laughter. Many considered themselves fortunate for this moment! Maybe not so much if they had known what Tracer managed to smuggle aboard with the help of her newest business partners.

She grinned with wide eyes. Whatever plan she had was going splendidly.

Three weeks earlier, in the skies above London.

She was exhausted. And it felt good.

For the first time in years she felt a painful strain in her limbs. Widow's Kiss weighed heavier than usual in her hands. The assassin put her head back to her neck and closed her eyes while standing inside the aircraft that transported her out of King's Row.

It was exhilarating, the thrill of the hunt still coursing through her. She tried to savor her duel with Tracer for as long as she could, reenacting the fight inside her head on repeat. The successful elimination was just the icing on the cake that was her monumental triumph over that sweet, foolish girl.

Never had she been closer to finally breaking this pesky girls spirit, who constantly picked fights with her. With her, the Widowmaker! She had high hopes that this mission would've done it, but the results vastly exceeded her expectations.

She allowed herself to laugh just as she did earlier into the face of her prey. It was almost comical how good she was at the stereotypically evil, French laughter.

"What's so funny?"

Widowmaker stopped dead in her tracks. She wasn't alone anymore. The raspy voice came from the cargo door. Black mist seeped in between cracks until a black-clad man called Reaper stood before her.

"Nothing. Other than your ridiculous entrance, monsieur ombre."

Widow only had biting remarks for her superior. She didn't trust this man that hid behind a skull mask. But Reaper was reliable in the sense that he was nothing but determined. There was no telling what he would do if he found out that Talons favorite pet laid off on her emotion numbing medicine. It wasn't her fault that Talon conditioned her to enjoy a kill. She wanted more, or boredom would threaten to kill her. She couldn't have that. A little mockery should serve to throw him off the trail, she thought.

They glared at each until Reaper finally broke the tension.

"Good kill."

Widow was slightly thrown off by the compliment. A long silence followed these words like a thick layer of fog, only disturbed by the engine sounds. Apparently Reaper had been watching her performance. Normally the only reason Reaper sought her out after a mission was to berate her. She wrecked her brain to think if there were any implications, but couldn't find a single reason why he would have cause to complain.

Slowly, Widow raised one cautious, blue eyebrow.

"Thanks."

"You let her live."

Her surprise was palpable. She was so wrapped up in breaking Tracer, Widow couldn't even comprehend that not killing her could be conceived as failure. Of course, Reaper wanted all of Overwatch dead for his own reasons. She steeled herself and hid her emotions.

"I did."

Because I wanted to.

"Why."

"She wasn't the target."

Only I decide when she dies.

"Tracer is an Overwatch agent."

"She is. I found it more efficient to set an example."

She's mine, not yours.

"Why not leave a dead body?"

"Breaking her spirit crushes morale like nothing else. She's their mascot."

I'll enjoy watching her break. Don't you dare take this away from me!

The quickfire exchange between the two made her feel sickened. He regarded her silently, watching for signs. They were close range. If Reaper felt like it, she would be ripped apart in a single clip of his Hellfire shotguns.

"Don't disappoint, Widowmaker."

Reaper visibly disintegrated in front of her, returning to a form of black mist. He disappeared the way he came. The tension in the cargo hold was slowly letting up.

A few more moment passed. Ever since Widow's emotions began to return, she rediscovered what it's like to just feel like laughing. This one urge was still the most curious of all to her.

Widow allowed herself a mischievous giggle, staring triumphantly at the cargo door.

Notes:

I rushed the second part, so you guys could have a better idea of what this story is supposed to tell. This is going to be a wild story. I can't guarantee for anyone's safety~
No worries for Widowtracer, they will meet again in the next chapter.
This is by the way my first story and not my first language, so apologies if something is not to your satisfaction dearest reader. Feedback is very appreciated!