Chapter 8
Expectations and other delusions
Up until now it was quite the productive day, all things considered. The paramedics that patched him up earlier had wanted for him to go to the hospital, but Nathaniel reassured them that such a measure would not be necessary. Dealing with some headaches was the least of his worries. After all, he couldn't possibly go on sick leave when they were down a woman, following such an eventful night.
"Speaking of reliability, what devil rode me to make Anderson the vice editor-in-chief again?"
Nathaniel Bernstein grumbled. Another reason why he was still leafing through articles instead of resting in a hospital bed right now. The London riots were too important of a topic for the Evening Standard to leave in somebody else's hands. Even Martha couldn't sway him with all the guilty conscience that old woman could inflict. And boy did she try.
Alas, the day was almost done. His clock displayed the time as 6 pm. A bit late for printing day, but such was the life of a journalist. Soon he would go home, drink a cup of earl grey and finish solving the Sudoku puzzle he started this morning. He sighed.
"A day like every other in the end."
Nathaniel was content, even if his headache told him otherwise. He was about to lay the pen down, when he heard a commotion outside… which was highly unusual, since his room dampened sound. Whatever it was, the source came rapidly closer.
His door was abruptly kicked in. Splinters flew across the room. Nathaniel blinked a few times, since one particularly large piece of wood narrowly missed his head.
"Bernstein?!"
A comparably young woman with orange spandex pants, a flight jacket, spiky brown hair and a light blue, spinning contraption on her chest was standing amidst his ruined doorway.
"You can't go in there Missh! Oh no, the good door…"
Martha was pacing around behind the intruder, not sure what to do about this unusual situation. That she had in common with Nathaniel. He decided to go with a practiced, welcoming smile in the end. The editor-in-chief had a visitor, after all.
"That would be me. Good evening, Miss Oxton."
"Don't gimme that crap!"
Feisty.
Unforeseen situations always managed to irritate him greatly. At least he was good at keeping his outside composure.
"I do not intend to offend. How can I help you?"
"You fired Emily this morning because of me! I want you to give her job back, or I'll wreck your shit!"
A fuming Tracer approached the desk to slam her hands on it for added effect. Nathaniel blinked a few times at the brutish way he was confronted with. In the meanwhile, Martha was picking up pieces from the smashed door off the floor and the other office inhabitants slowly came around to see what all the commotion was about.
"I can assure you, Miss Emily was not fired."
Now it was on Tracer to blink in confusion behind her orange-tinted pilot goggles.
"But… she said you let her go!"
"That I did. I gave her time off for the day."
Tracer was looking at him, struggling to keep being angry at something.
"Well, she was crying because you sent her home! You should apologize to her!"
His nasty headache was making things harder, but keeping his cool was key right now. Somebody tried to get through the small crowd of journalists. Nathaniel raised an eyebrow and looked past Tracer to get a better look. It was Miss Emily, looking like she just finished running a marathon. She wore snug jeans and a white T-Shirt with an Overwatch motive. Her socks weren't matching. That was about the entire context Nathaniel needed.
"Miss Emily? Could you enter my office, please?"
Emily and Lena flinched in unison.
"A-At once Mister Bernstein!"
The red-haired and red-faced reporter carefully stepped through the doorway, past a scrambling Martha who was still lamenting about the poor door.
"I am s-so sorry Mister Bernstein! This is a misunder-oh god, what happened to you, sir?!"
She was doubtlessly speaking of the bandages around his head and nose. Nathaniel knew that he must have been looking horrible, with hair sticking out between the fabric and several bruises showing around the edges. He didn't mind so much. On the contrary, he was pleasantly surprised to be treated with respect by at least one person in the office today. He could always count on Emily for that.
"A certain individual called 'Widowmaker' came in here to ask for your whereabouts. She wasn't amused by my attempts to resist."
He could watch their faces fall. It was a delightful sight.
"Mister Bernstein, I'm so-"
Nathaniel held up a hand to interrupt Emily.
"No need to grovel for something you had no control over. I am just relieved that no ill fate has befallen my most creative reporter. Still, Miss Oxton was so kind to inform me that my decision this morning put you under emotional strain. I feel compelled to apologize profoundly."
Both women seemed to be stunned by the turn of events. Nathaniel took a tiny bit of pleasure in that.
"G-Great! There, you see: No need to worry anymore, Emi, haha! We should go home now. Thank you, Mister Bernstein!"
Tracer suddenly looked very uncomfortable and tried to usher a uselessly stammering Emily out of his office. That, of course, wouldn't do. Nathaniel had already decided to use this situation.
"One moment please."
Tracer froze.
"There is still the matter… of the door."
The remains of said piece of wood were dangling pathetically from one hinge to the side of the hero.
"O-Oh, yeah, that one… sorry about that! I'll pay for it. Can't be more than a couple hundred quid, right?"
Nathaniel smiled with mild bemusement.
"That was exotic wood from the sequoia tree, hand-carved and imported out of North America. My late father bought it back in the day for the small sum of 2300 US dollars."
The color drained from both of them. Martha's lamentations made a whole lot of sense now.
"That's… a lot of dosh."
He gave them a moment for the situation to sink in.
"I am sure we can come to an understanding."
Nathaniel took Lena Oxton for the kind of person that wouldn't have any significant amount of money liquid at any given time. Judging by her reaction, that impression seemed to be about right. A predatory smile, common to executives of his kind, found its way on his lips. Only Emily seemed to notice his sinister intent, but didn't dare to intervene.
"We can?"
Tracer looked towards him with a faint sense of hope. Nathaniel loved these games sometimes.
"Of course. We would be very interested in an exclusive interview with you."
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Lena closed the crumbling door as best as she could behind her. Mister Bernstein still wanted to talk to Emily, so she was stuck here.
Of course, Lena had agreed to the bargain. She wasn't very good with money and that door would plummet her into debt for a few months. It was not like her meager pay would get her out of this. She didn't even have savings!
Angela is going to kill me…
Giving an interview was a gamble. The modified Petras Act did allow Overwatch to operate in a constrained environment, with the express permission of local governments, but any misstep in the public eye could be fatal.
It's not like I can get out of this cock up any other way. Juuust brilliant.
It was at this point that Lena noticed all the people staring at her. There was a small crowd of seven journalists who survived this late into the evening. For people who photographed celebrities for a living, they looked weirdly star-struck.
"Uhh, hi?"
A tall, ridiculously handsome person cleared his throat in response.
"Come on guys; let's not make the lady uncomfortable. Back to your offices now."
The crowd dispersed with hesitation, until only mister handsome was left. There was the old lady, too, since her workplace was just there behind an old-fashioned counter. Mister handsome approached to shake hands.
"Sorry about the tumult. Name's Thorvald Anderson"
Lena took the hand. Thorvald seemed friendly enough.
"Are you Scandinavian? That's an awesome name if I ever heard one!"
"My mother thought so, too. She's from Norway, my father was a Scot."
"Colorful heritage! I guess you know who I am?"
"That much is obvious, heh."
"So… you sent your co-workers away just to talk to me?"
Thorvald took a second before he understood. His face slowly lit up.
Not the brightest tool in the shed.
"Oh, it's not like that! I'm Nathan's substitute"
"Nathan?"
"The workaholic you just talked to."
Lena half-nodded in recognition.
"Oh. Yeah, what's up with that guy?"
"He's just in love with the newspaper. Okay guy once you get past his stuck-up attitude."
Martha cackled in the background while Thorvald continued.
"And while he's busy, I guess celebrities like you are my responsibility or something like that. Want some coffee while you wait for your girlfriend?"
"Why not, I'm kinda wasted after that one… with milk and sugar, please."
"Sure thing."
Anderson led a visibly tired Lena down the hall to the office kitchen. She leant against the counter in there and waited for mister handsome to operate the coffee machine. Then she finally noticed something about their conversation.
"Wait, what did ya say?"
"Uh, sure thing?"
"No, before that!"
"Want a coffee while you wait for Emi?"
Somehow, she was insanely jealous to hear that nickname spoken by someone else.
"No! No. You said girlfriend."
Thorvald finished her coffee and handed it over with a sly grin.
"It's kinda obvious the way she came in after you. Even if it wasn't in the news all over the internet."
"Wait... all over..."
"Yeah, practically every outlet has a story going."
Lena's jaw dropped. She had expected something like this, but not so soon.
"What the fuck?!"
At roughly the same time, somewhere in England, in a ventilation shaft.
The screen in front of her showed an article featured on a gossip news site. The title was glaring at her in bold letters.
"Overwatch mascot Tracer caught being intimate with hot redhead reporter girl after London riots!"
The article went on to comment on several angles of camera shots. Some of them showed Emily crying and Tracer trying to console her. Most however focused on them laughing and hugging.
"Just a friendly reminder that our favorite heroine is actually a lesbian! Here the two lovebirds enter Tracer's London apartment. We can all guess what's going on in there! Sorry girls, but it seems this one is taken."
If Sombra wasn't furious before, this was it. She was balling her hand laden with hacking hardware to a fist.
"How did they get that footage?!"
Her eyes scanned over the page extensively, trying to think of a way in which this footage could've gotten out.
"Shhh! They'll hear us, stupid human!"
Sombra tore at her hair in frustration. Hammond looked at her like she lost her mind. They were traveling through a ventilation system for some time now and Sombra's hissing was going on his nerves. He had a point, too, unbeknownst to the two of them.
Simon was doing the usual rounds. He hated his job. Nothing ever happened anyway and his uniform was itching today. As he was scratching one of those itches, patrolling down the corridors of the mansion, he heard something.
"What... you… care?!"
"…fuckin' humans… irritating!"
The voices and something sounding like shuffling seemed to be coming from above. He scratched his head and looked at the ceiling. There was some metal stuff up there. Simon never quite understood what that was for.
"Is someone in there?"
All the weird sounds abruptly stopped.
"Hello?"
"Great! …heard us!"
"Sounds… an idiot… if… ask me."
Simon blinked a few times. The voices were actually insulting him!
"Hey! I'm not an idiot! Come down here or I'll-"
The floor of the ventilation shaft was re-purposed as a projectile, that battered the guard below to death with the added weight of two Talon agents. A small dust cloud erupted from the impact.
"Jesus Hammond, you didn't need to do that… Yuck, I think you flattened him dead."
"He wanted for us to come down!"
"The noise was loud enough to wake Reaper during siesta..."
"I guess our cover is blown then, heh."
Sombra rolled her eyes.
"Don't try to be funny, it's not working. Seriously though, we could've interrogated that guy."
Frantic footsteps could be heard to either side of the corridor. Soon enough, they were confronted by armed guards on each side.
"We got you surrounded!"
Hammond laughed hysterically.
"Yeah, you poor basterds! We got yous right where we want ya!"
Sombra sighed while disabling the safety on her sub-machine gun.
"Great… Remember to leave one alive this time, Hammond. We have to ask nicely where they hid their precious prince."
It turned dark outside. Angela was cooking in the kitchen, wearing a loose, white T-Shirt with one shoulder popping out and comfy-looking blue pants. The doorbell rang, like it always did at this time of day. At least on days without any missions.
She turned to open the door. Unsurprisingly, Fareeha was standing beyond. She wore the usual: A black, skintight shirt with a bit of belly exposure and dark blue jeans. The Egyptian girl had a yellow rose in hand. Angela's favorite. The doctor flashed a loving smile, went in for a small kiss and relieved Fareeha of the flower. Then she turned back to her cooking. No time to admire her young lover's awestruck expression today.
"You got a key, Süßes. You could use it, you know?"
"I-I wouldn't want to intrude."
Angela put the rose into the vase with the others and rolled her sky-blue eyes. The door closed in the meanwhile.
"You are not intruding. We're doing this for three months now."
Fareeha seemed to have no answer for that. Angela grabbed a saltshaker to start flavoring, when she felt a pair of hands around her waist. A trained body leaned in against her back.
"Oho, are we eager today?"
"Maybe… ever since you left me in that elevator. I couldn't think of anything but you…"
There was a smirk on the doctor's lips.
Still got it.
It did wonders for her self-esteem to be fawned over by such a young bombshell. She felt Fareeha's face buried against her neck, showering it with kisses.
"You're so sweet."
It wasn't forceful in the least, but still diverted attention away from her cooking. The Swiss woman wriggled her way around and involved her lover in a slightly longer kiss to satisfy some of those urges she must've evoked today. Fareeha's hands slid under her shirt in the meanwhile and caressed her back. If there weren't a set of hotplates behind the doctor, she would've totally lifted her on top, too.
Instead, Angela firmly put a stop to their fraternizing.
"That's enough for now. You'll have to wait for your dessert."
Her eager lover bit her lower lip, having trouble letting go, but finally did so. Angela was still smirking, throwing a wink and turned back around to make sure that dinner was turning out right.
"What are you making today?"
"Some saffron risotto. Can you pour some red wine for us? There's an open bottle in the fridge."
"Sure!"
Some time passed before dinner was ready. Angela found that she couldn't get rid of her smirk.
She's always so eager… I feel like a princess.
The taste test was positive, maybe a bit too much salt, but that only meant that the cook was in love if you believed old German proverbs. Angela turned around with two plates in her hand to find Fareeha browsing on her phone.
"Anything interesting on there?"
"Angie, there's… articles about Lena all over the place."
"Well, that's nothing new. What do they say?"
"It says: 'London hero Tracer caught making out with reporter.' There's a lot of pictures of her and that Emily girl you told me about yesterday."
One blond eyebrow was lifted as high up as possible. Angela leaned over to look at the pictures in the article. All of them seemed to be shot from a peculiar distance. The doctor was in disbelief.
"She didn't…"
"I guess Lena did. That girl looks really pretty."
Fareeha realized too late that she had fucked up. Angela gave her the death stare.
"N-Not in any way as pretty as you are, my angel!"
The doctor rolled with her sky-blue eyes. Instead of dignifying Fareeha with an answer, she leant over to press a button on the smartphone.
"How can I help, captain Amari?"
"ATHENA, analyze photos in the article. Find out what took them."
"At once, doctor Ziegler. Analyzing."
Fareeha looked at her with a puzzled expression.
"What for…?"
Angela sighed and deigned to answer her confused girl.
"Emily is a reporter for the Evening Standard. She has a camera bot. Back then she didn't seem like the type, but in theory she could've sold those pictures to the tabloids for a nice profit."
The thought made Fareeha grimace a bit, even if she didn't care that much.
"If that's true, that's kind of a dick move."
"Analysis complete. Pictures taken by CA1 unit 00005869A, made by Volskaya Industries Consumer Electronics."
"Who owns that unit, ATHENA?"
"Registered owner: Emily [REDACTED]."
For a moment, there was a heavy silence in the room. Angela's lips grew dangerously thin before she burst into a tirade.
"Did you hear that? How can she do that to sweet Lena?! I want to track that treacherous, lying broad down and slap some sense into her!"
It was obvious to Fareeha that her girlfriend was on the edge. Everyone in Overwatch knew that a fuming Mercy was about the worst thing that could happen to your day.
For Fareeha in particular, since she was about to miss out on dessert. She grimaced.
"Yeah that's… horrible."
Emily tried to steady herself. The world was reeling around her, still.
"Sit down, Miss Emily."
Since that would certainly help, she did. Her cheeks were still burning from having all the attention of her co-workers during that ridiculous scene. Being stuck in these mismatched clothes and being out of breath from running all the way here didn't help.
"I'm… sorry about Widowmaker, Mister Bernstein. I think I drew her ire by helping Lena."
"Everything is perfectly fine, given that you managed to lure Tracer here. Well done."
Emily blinked a few times to make sure she understood him correctly.
"I didn't-"
"Of course you didn't."
Mister Bernstein had a certain aura about him that made it more than clear when a topic was over.
"You will conduct the interview with Tracer at your leisure. That much you earned. I trust you will not disappoint me in this?"
Emily went as straight as a candle, thoroughly surprised yet professional as can be.
"No sir!"
"Good. If you stay true to your word, we may discuss your next raise earlier than anticipated."
Emily was practically beaming like a small sun from that. She could finally show Mister Bernstein just how serious she was about working at the Evening Standard.
"Thank you for this opportunity!"
"Now, may you explain to me why you sold picture evidence of your new relationship to corporate tabloids?"
"I did what?"
Her eyes widened at the accusation. She didn't really understand at first, but then he showed her, on one of his holo screens behind his back. Emily instantly cringed. It was an article from 'The Sun', best known for their shit journalism.
'Shocking! Evening Standard reporter seduces beloved hero!'
That needed to sink in for a moment. There were pictures below of Lena and her in compromising situations.
"We all know that this is the least of reputable sources, but they're one of the outlets running this story. It doesn't exactly reflect well on us."
"Sir, I didn't take those photos!"
"You didn't, Cassie did."
"What? How?!"
Emily was at a loss for words.
"I was under the impression that you orchestrated this. Apparently, I was wrong."
She stared at him for half an eternity. Her little camera bot was 'sleeping' in Lena's apartment right now, plugged into one of the living room power outlets. She frantically tried to think of who could've done this.
Then she knew.
"Sir, Widowmaker destroyed my smartphone. I need to call someone."
She couldn't think of a better way to advance the plot.
"I still got your work phone. You never wanted the ones we give out to our employees."
"I despise Apple products, sir."
They made a strategic pause for effect.
"Careful Miss Emily, you're making a lot of enemies with statements like that."
Bernstein reached into one of his desk drawers and handed her a white piece of overpriced garbage.
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"What is this crap?"
Lena stared at a headline displayed on Thorvald's smartphone.
"Overwatch hero spends London riots fooling around with reporter girl!"
There were rather intimate pictures beneath the headline. The author seemed to have a fun time writing the article, alluring as to what Emily and Tracer might have done afterwards.
"As I said, it's all over the internet. I thought you knew, to be honest."
He was looking at her with an apologetic smile as Lena tried to sort things out in her mind. One of her hands was frantically rubbing her forehead.
"All over… god, my colleagues will tease me to no end! Wait, how should I know?"
"The boss told me that the shots came from Emi's camera robot. Hasn't she told – oh."
Thorvald abruptly stopped talking as he realized his faux pas. Somehow, he tried to smile it away, to no avail. Lena already felt deeply disturbed. She heard Angela's voice in her mind.
I warned you this might happen.
Lena quickly shook her head.
"No no no, this can't be. It has to be a mistake. Emily wouldn't do that!"
Thorvald seemed to agree at least, scratching the back of his head all the while.
"She sure never seemed to be the type to pull something like that. However, the data is quite precise on that part. Cassy is the culprit."
"Cassy?"
"Oh, that's the name of Emi's camera bot."
Lena was overwhelmed by a fuzzy smile.
"That's adorable!"
"Heh, yeah, just a bit creepy always making faces on that little screen. Still, that thing is kinda responsible."
Her smile slowly downgraded to a frown. Lena leant back on the kitchen counter, put some sugar into her coffee and began stirring.
"Maybe… it got hacked?"
Thorvald shook his handsome head, holding back a yawn.
"Unlikely, I think. Volskaya tends to fight AI, so they're big into intrusion prevention."
"Huh… and how did she get it? Maybe someone tampered with Cassy."
The vice editor-in-chief had to think for a moment there, as if he was trying to avoid a certain topic. In the end, he chose his words very carefully after sipping on his own coffee for a while.
"Cassy was a present from her family. They gave it to her when she started to work here. They're trustworthy people, normally."
Lena's frown deepened. She didn't want to come to this conclusion, but it seemed inevitable. Every option seemed unlikely…
…apart from Emily being responsible.
They stood there in silence for a moment. While sipping on her coffee, Lena kept mulling all of this around in her head. It was annoying. Everything was annoying! She wanted to be done with this topic, to confront Emily and have her put that annoying, doubt-ridden mind at ease.
"So, uh..."
Just as Thorvald tried to start a conversation again, Lena heard Emily down the corridor. Without hesitation, the poor guy was left hanging. Lena quickly put her coffee on the counter and hurried towards the noise.
Emily seemed to be talking through one of those devices that people bought when they suffered from too many insecurities and clearly needed to compensate.
"…had a hand in this, didn't you?"
She only saw her girlfriend from the side. As she approached, Lena had a hard time keeping a sudden rush of anger down. The hunch of being betrayed frustrated her enough to want to throw accusations around.
"Emily!"
Garnering her attention, their gazes met, with the redhead still listening to the phone. Lena all of the sudden stopped in her tracks, almost taking a step back as her fleeting anger evaporated.
She… she's seething!
Emily had one fist balled as if she barely had herself under control. Her face was practically screaming 'This isn't fair!' Emily even bit her lower lip so hard, it might almost break a tiny bit of skin.
"You know exactly what I mean, auntie!"
Her voice was so high, nobody possibly could've taken her seriously. Lena blushed furiously as she listened to her girlfriends livid squeaking.
How does she manage to look this cute while being angry?!
Auntie was apparently doing the talking in another long pause.
"Emi, Is this about the pictures…?"
The angry redhead just glared at Lena and took that shitty phone from her ear to push a button. A pompous, feminine voice erupted from the loudspeakers.
"…only the best for you! I can almost imagine how glad your father must be right now."
"Don't you dare to bring father into this! Did you use Cassy or not?"
"Why, how could I possibly let such a prime opportunity pass? Look at you, catching such a juicy fish!"
"But why would you do that?!"
"It always was our intention to give you a little push back into the spotlight, silly. It's no good that you are wasting away in that newspaper office of yours."
They were staring at each other. Lena felt awake and sober all of the sudden. She was feeling really, really bad to have doubted Emily for even a second.
"I can do without, auntie Charlotte. I'm happy the way it is! Stop interfering in my life!"
"Don't be like that, sweetie. The earlier you recognize your duties, the better for all of-"
Emily hung up the call with as much force as her index finger could muster. Her anger kind of reminded Lena of a baby elephant having a tantrum, but that was fleeting. The little reporter kind of fell in on herself, shoulders dropping from exhaustion.
Lena felt compelled to step in and hold Emily tight, pulling her into a hug. The exhausted girl just accepted the gesture and buried her head against Lena's neck.
A great oak double-winged door barred their way. Illustrations of chivalrous heroism's featuring kings and their armies were masterfully carved into the wood.
"That it?"
Hammond had been dragging a badly bruised guard along. He was missing several teeth and his face was already swollen so much, that the poor guy could barely see. He nodded eagerly.
"Alright. Pleasure doing business, pal."
With a casual swing, he threw the guard along the corridor.
"Mierda santa. I think I've never seen a fancier door in my life."
"What's with humans and stupidly expensive doors? It's just a damn swinging piece o' wood."
Sombra waited for Hammond to open the door for her. That thing looked heavy, and she brought him as her muscle anyway. The grumbling gorilla laid hands on both handles at the same time and pushed them open. The dimly lit corridor was brightly illuminated all of the sudden. Both of them tried to shield their eyes with their arms from a pair of floodlights, aimed directly at them.
¡Maldita sea!
A silhouette stood between the sources of light, making a distinctive pose. Sombra recognized it, even though her eyes were plagued by colorful dots from being blinded.
"It's a trap!"
She grabbed one of her translocators and threw it high into the air as fast as she could.
"DRAW!"
Milliseconds before the bullet would've pierced her skull, Sombra vanished from her original position. Hammond didn't have that luxury. Prompted by her partners cry, the great ape shielded himself with the doomfist, absorbing a bullet that would've splattered his brains into the corridor. Hammond almost lost his balance.
The silhouette wouldn't let up.
Whoever it was continuously shot at Hammond while advancing, keeping him on the defense, each bullet forcing him back a bit further into the corridor. After four shots, the aggressor engaged closer with a combat roll and unloaded a completely new magazine up close, aimed at the body of the gorilla. Hammond had a hard time keeping up, grunting as he shielded himself.
A cybernetic fist exploited the opening forced by the barrage of bullets, slamming into the great apes face with a sickening crunch. Hammond reeled back into the corridor, colliding with the wall and ultimately collapsing.
With the gorilla out cold, McCree turned around. The floodlights had mysteriously stopped working in between all of that, leaving the fancy tearoom in the dim light of a cloudy, autumn evening outside.
"I know you're here, darlin'."
There was no need to rush anymore. McCree slowly entered the room again under the clinking of the spurs on his boots and reloaded his revolver.
"Neat setup, really... who told you we were coming?"
The cowboy rolled the cigarette around in his mouth. He whirled around to the direction of her voice, but there was nothing but large bookcases and a corner to sit for a leisurely game of chess.
"Don't make this harder than it needs to be, lass."´
Suddenly, he felt something cold against the side of his head. He could see Sombra materializing to his left, with her colorful sub-machine gun pressed to his temple.
Aww, dang it.
"A lady asked you a question. You won't just ignore her, right? Who told you we were coming?"
McCree rolled the cigar with his mouth again.
"Had a hunch."
Sombra looked at him for a moment there, severely unimpressed.
"I should shoot you for that answer alone, Jesse."
"You know I still owe you a drink though, Sommy."
"Would be a real shame, I agree. Enough small talk now, we're both on the job. Drop it already."
The cowboy chuckled.
"Sorry lass. You're not my type."
"I'm not talking about your pants, zopenco."
Satisfied with the little quip, he went down to drop his revolver, then back up. Jesse wasn't some idiot who would throw a loaded weapon only for it to accidentally go off.
Then Sombra used her submachine gun to vigorously hit him in the head.
"OW! What was that for?"
"You tried to put a bullet in my head, damnit!"
She hit him again.
"Jesus-OW! Well, yeah, the hell do I know who comes through that door?!"
"Maybe check next time who you're attempting to kill! You owe me a whole lotta drinks now, cabrón!"
With him sufficiently unconscious aided by a few more hits to the head, Sombra started to tie Jesse's arms behind his back as tight as possible. Then she sat him down against one of the bookcases.
She looked around, dusting herself off from the brief action. Another fancy door was leading to a backroom.
There's my prize.
No further time would be wasted. She pushed the doors open and stepped into a similarly furnished room to the last. A lot of bookcases with ancient looking tomes, vitrines with antiquities and in the middle of it all a fine mahogany desk. The room was partly lit by electric light, as opposed to the last.
A man in his late sixties was sitting at the desk in an elaborate chair. He had a grey, well-maintained full beard and wore a black suit with a white shirt, unbuttoned at the top.
Sombra approached the desk, making a mock bow.
"Your majesty. Thank you for the hospitality."
The man behind the desk wasn't impressed. His voice resounded in a deep baritone.
"If you have come to kill me, be done with it."
Recovering from her mock bow, Sombra flashed him a teasing smirk.
"Oh, no, no. No such brutality. I prefer to establish… connections. Provided that you're willing to parlay?"
"Seeing as you criminals took out my household guard, I don't seem to have much of a choice."
She stepped towards the desk and began encircling it.
"No, you really don't. And what I have to offer is much, much more preferable to being killed."
"What exactly does Talon want?"
Sombra stopped to the side of the man and leant on the elaborate chair he was sitting on. He observed her through the corner of his eyes.
"You see, George, it's just a small favor I desire. In exchange…"
She conjured a holo-screen in front of the man. He soon realized how ruthless and inhumane Sombra could be, if it came to achieving her goals.
"How did you..."
"…I won't share this internet history of yours with your wife. There are some interesting fetishes in there. You didn't think incognito mode would help against professionals like me, did you?"
His face changed to an expression of grave seriousness.
"Only a true monster would do this to a man."
George thought about it for a moment, then he relented. Too much was at stake.
"Tell me of this favor you need."
They made their way home walking side by side. Both of them were exhausted from the events of the evening, mentally and physically. They hadn't talked since Emily hung up on the phone. Just a few more blocks to get home. Lena couldn't really find the right moment, but the silence bothered her too much at some point, so she just started talking.
"Emi, uh... I'm... sorry that I just kinda took off earlier."
Lena rubbed the back of her head and kept a straight gaze ahead. She could see her girlfriend skulking along her side. It didn't look like the redhead intended to answer.
"I hope that your boss wasn't too hard on you after that, haha…hah…"
She kept looking over to Emily, who was nothing short of depressed.
"He wasn't… it's okay."
"Great! So... don't worry about those articles! We would've been found out eventually, haha!"
Emil's mood didn't change. She just bit her lower lip in shame on top of the depression from before.
Bollocks, didn't work.
"Come on, please don't stay like that… Why... why are you so sad?"
Emily tried to gather her thoughts, looking away. The weather was fitting her mood pretty well, being all grey and gloomy.
"I'm just… sorry that I've got you involved in my family mess."
"That's perfectly fine, Emi. No harm, no foul, promise. Maybe I can talk to your aunt about-"
"No!"
Lena was startled by the sudden interruption. Emily's light brown eyes were staring at her with a mix of repulsion and pleading.
"I want nothing to do with my family! Please don't… please let's just not talk about it."
They had stopped on the roadside in the meanwhile. Luckily, not a lot of people were populating the streets right now. Lena opened her mouth and closed it again like some kind of goldfish. Finally, she nodded, came a bit closer and took Emily by the waist with one arm.
"If you don't want to, we don't need to, luv."
Emily was visibly relieved to hear those words. Lena gave her a little tug and Emily obeyed, leaning in against her girlfriend.
"Thank you. Let's... just go home."
"Great idea! Little Emi must be tired as all heck."
Lena squeezed her girlfriend's waist as they started to walk down the avenue again. She giggled a little and Emily almost smiled.
"You're way more tired than I am, aren't you? Tracer has just gotten really good at hiding it, being a hero and all."
Lena stiffened a bit.
How does she…?!
Emily giggled and took that as confirmation.
Several blocks later, they finally turned the last corner to Lena's apartment. A brown-skinned girl was standing right there, looking in the same direction.
"Pharah! What are ya doing here?"
The Egyptian didn't turn to them. Instead, she was almost apathetically standing there, as if she wasn't really sure what she was supposed to do.
"I wanted to make sure that Angie doesn't do anything stupid, but… I kinda failed."
"Mum is here?"
Fareeha nodded ahead. The two of them joined her in being astonished what Mercy had accomplished.
It looked like a bloodbath. Broken devices and fizzling robots were strewn about the place. There was a mountain of beaten up journalists and paparazzi's, with Mercy standing on top of them, heaving and seething with anger. They must've been lurking in front of Lena's apartment before they arrived.
"She looks livid!"
"That's an understatement."
"So… she beat up a bunch of civilians?"
"I tried to stop her, but then she just decked me, too."
"Ouch."
The goddess of hatred and anger finally turned around to see the newcomers. All of their neck hairs stood up simultaneously.
"YOU!"
The second it took Lena to figure out what was going on, Emily went pale and squeaked like a startled mouse. As that holy avatar of vengeance was rapidly advancing towards them, Emily desperately tried to hide behind her girlfriend.
"How could you betray us?!"
Emily squeaked louder. They were both trembling.
"P-Please calm down, Mom!"
"I will never forgive-"
"It was her aunt! Her aunt!"
Lena was squeaking, too, now. In fact, they were both kinda trying to hide each other? Angela blinked as she towered over them.
"Oh. Uh. Okay then."
Angela seemed to come back to her senses. She looked around, seeing the battlefield and scratched the back of her head.
"Meine Güte. War ich das?"
Her gaze continued to wander.
"Oh my, were you hit by someone Liebling?"
„I tried to stop you, but that didn't work out too well."
The doctor blinked a few times, as if she could barely believe that.
"I'll… have to look at that later. Shall we go up for a drink? I could really use a drink."
Notes:
Süßes ~ Sweetie
cabrón ~ dumbass
Liebling ~ darling
zopenco ~ dunce
Maldita sea ~ damnit
Mierda santa ~ Holy shit
Meine Güte. War ich das? ~ Oh my. Was that me?
No Widowmaker this chapter, but she'll return in the next one. Promise!
I'm publishing this chapter at 2 am in the night, laboring hard to bring this to you, dearest reader!
Now I'm tired. I'll go to sleep and hope to wake up to some neat comments in the morning. Good night. (´ڡ`)