(For ladyilena on tumblr. A similar prompt was also sent by an anon. Thanks to Cosmodicy for looking this one over! Lena's chest device malfunctions and puts her existence into danger, which causes Amélie's emotional turmoil.)

I can't say why I stayed. Maybe I don't want to say it. It takes so much effort to stay. To get out of bed in the morning and face the reality that I don't know who I am and not lose it completely. I try to piece the mask together but I can't make it fit. It's all shards and cracks.

You can't tell me who I am. And you try. You only ever call me Amélie. Never Widowmaker, the name forced on me. But Widowmaker is still here. I am still here. I know how you move, I sense when you come, and though I could snuff you out faster than anyone can stop me, I bide my time, I hold back. I remember...I remember. The warmth of your skin reminds me of a time when I understood what happiness was.

The Ape tries to help. Mercy too. They prod and they poke and they argue with me when I tell them to restrain me. Only after I break a nurse's arm do they listen. "I am still Widowmaker" I tell them. "Protect yourselves from me."

You're the one to calm me down. You talk me out of my tree, you say. I don't understand the reference. I only know that you're the reason I haven't left. You're the one killing Widowmaker, bit by bit and piece by piece.

We pick up a habit. It starts in the spring. There are gardens here, and you walk with me. At first we don't talk. Then some days you talk. Other days, you listen. I don't always have anything worth saying, but you listen anyway. And I pay attention. There's something wrong, but you never tell me what it is, and you never share. So I wait. By summer's end, the heat doesn't bother me as much and the chill of winter bothers me more. And still I wait.

You tell me that that's good, as we walk through that garden. That the cold bothers me. Maybe it means I'm a little closer to being fixed. I didn't ask be to fixed, and I can never fully be whole. But you make me want it. The snow crunches beneath our feet and I cling to you like some kind of needy child. You kiss me. It's the first time in months. I've craved it, this contact. I need it, I need you and I shake as I kiss you back, I shake in the snow and you hold me when I can't stop the shaking.

When I clutch at your arm, you're gone. You were here, and now you're not and it's like you rip my heart out of my chest. I sink into the snow, digging my fingers into it. I'm trying to be cold again. I don't want to feel. I can't feel. I've seen her talking to Mercy, I've seen Winston tinkering with her chest. I've known something is wrong and I've been so intentionally blind to it that I feel like a fool.

You flicker back into being next to me. I sweep your feet out from under you and pin you to the ground. You stare up at me, then smile weakly, and pat my cheek. "I just 'ad a blip, that's all. Lost synch with time. It 'appens sometimes. I just need to get Winston to take a look at my 'arness, luv."

You're lying. You're lying to my face. Don't you know how easily I can read you now? I know when you lie, I know when you're trying to make me 'feel better.' There's a quiver in your voice. Fear. You're too pale. I needed you to tell me the truth and I can't even explain why, but you didn't. I push off of the ground and walk away. I don't look back, and you don't follow. I start to walk faster, and faster, and then I run, my feet kicking up snow behind me. The cold burns at my face and freezes the tears to my cheeks. I can't see for how hard it starts to come down and I lay on the ground and wait for the ice to take me.

"You should have told her!"

"I didn't want to worry 'er."

Mercy..Angela's voice hardens. I'm in the infirmary. I open my eyes to watch the argument. "Everything with this woman depends on trust! Her trusting you, her trusting us, and you trusting her! If you want to help her, this is the only way we can!"

I sit up. You've noticed I'm awake and so has she. I start to shake again, and I hate it. "Will you tell me, now?"

You sit on the infirmary bed next to me, and take my hand. You don't look into my eyes, instead staring at my hand and stroking my knuckles with your fingers. "It's borked. My 'arness."

I lift my hand to touch it. It hums restlessly. "How."

"Probably a fight. Nothin' you did. Winston is still tryin' to figure out what's wrong. But it's not… keepin' me 'ere like it used to."

It's a hard thing to hear. Even now, next to me, I can see you flickering. Your skin too transparent in places, your body appearing across the room and then next to me, and sometimes in both places at once.

Smiling, you try to put me at ease. But how can I relax? Everything holding me here, everything that makes me human again is wrapped up in your lazy smile. You'd tell me that was nonsense. That what makes me human is what's within. I don't think you understand that I thawed because of you. I put myself through this agony because of you and you're not allowed to leave!

"I love you." The words are meaningless (but they mean everything). Your eyes widen and for once you're speechless. I can't hold your gaze, so I look at the floor. Love isn't worth it. It hurts so much (but it feels so good). I've thought about it, tried to reason my way out of it, but my feelings crystallized that day in the snow, when you kissed me like everything was going to be all right.

Your finger touches my cheek, and turns my face away from the floor. Your wide brown eyes are watery, but you're smiling. "Is this Amélie?"

Amélie is dead and buried. There's a cracking sound in my head.

"Yes," I whisper. It feels like the bed disappears out from underneath me. I fall through a long, dark tunnel. You catch me in your arms.

No one greets me when I wake again. I sit up. I can see Angela in the next room, standing next to a tall, dark woman. Pharah. Fareeha and I have fought on the same side before, and against each other once or twice. Angela is buttoning her top and her face is reddened. Fareeha's hair is messed up. I lay back down when Angela stands on her toes to kiss the other woman. It's not as though I care.

Mercy comes in, and stands over me. Her blue eyes are filled with concern, a clipboard tightly gripped in her hands. "Welcome back to the world. How are you feeling?" She sits on the bed near my feet and pats my leg as I sit up.

Mouth try, I ask. "Lena?"

Even with the flush that still lingers on her cheeks, she's a professional. She could hesitate, or lie. She doesn't. "She's been gone for hours now. Winston has been working on her harness ever since. We'll be ready when she is back."

If you come back. I feel that gaping chasm beneath me, but Angela squeezes my leg. "Hold in there. She will be back, and you'll want to be there, ja?"

Do I? I do. I do. Unable to make my voice work, I just nod my head.

"I know she means a lot to you, but listen to me."

Focusing on her voice, I nod again. I feel so detached from everything. My limbs are cold and my head spins.

"Are you listening?"

"Yes."

"You cannot rely on her all of the time. You must find something that's for you and you alone." There's so much earnestness in her voice that it grounds me." Can you remember what you used to do? What are the things that you loved to do?"

I look down at my hands. My fingers remember the positions, memories from another life. Angela's eyes follow my hands as they move.

"What did you play?"

I remember the bow, and the mournful sounds of my cello floating through the quiet of the study. I close my eyes and play a song that only I can hear. It's so far away and my hands remember better than do.

There's a package waiting for me when she finally lets me out of the infirmary. It's long and rectangular. I think I know what it is. I open it with shaking hands, then run my fingers across the wood. The grain brings back other memories. Older memories. There's a nick on one side, a scar in the wood from when I was younger, more careless. I very nearly break down, and my skin buzzes and burns.

I'd never been meant for greatness. I was steady (that steadiness works well at more deadly pursuits). I was good. With more time I could have mastered it, but now all I have are what my muscles remember, and the ache in my heart when I stroke the wood. The bow is familiar in my hands, yet still feels alien. The first sound I draw from the instrument is erratic, and off key, but the action and the movement does to me what only you have been able to. There is a healing power in music, and in remembering what once gave me joy. At first, I play for you, but before long, I play for me. When I finally look up from the cello, it's evening. You're still not here.

I put the cello into it's case, and leave my room with it. There are cameras, and a guard down the hallway. I am not truly free. I accept his fact. You asked me once why it did not bother me. You insist I am not a prisoner, that I can leave whenever I wish. But as long as the Widowmaker remains, I am a danger to everyone, including myself. All it might take is the wrong word. A trigger. And all your work could come undone.

If you never return, all your work could come undone.

My feet take me to the garden where we would take our walks. You're not here, and I am alone in the snow. I clear a seat on a bench, and then I play.

A week passes. And then another. December and it's silly holidays are gone, the snow grows deeper, but every day, I play. I relearn the songs I can remember. I learn a song Angela shares with me, one that she says you like. Once or twice, I see you fade in only to disappear like smoke. More than anything, that gives me hope.

At night, I lay awake, sometimes. Wallowing in self pity. Remembering your lips and fingers on my back. Alone in the silence I whisper your name. You don't answer.

Three months, then four. March comes in like the lion in the old saying. Rain lashes against the window and when the lightning flashes I see my reflection. I don't recognize myself. My skin is warmer. There is still a blue tint. Angela and Winston tell me that this will always be the case, but I look more alive than I thought was possible.

I wish you could see me. Widowmaker is still there, like a sleeping tiger. Ready to strip me of my humanity if I ever let her, but the mask is gone. There are still cracks. But it's gone. I have learned I can live without you, but I don't wish to.

The lightning flashes again, and I see your face. When I turn, you are gone again. I fall to the ground. This is something I can't shoot, something I can't fight, and I hate it. You aren't even here to hold me when I cry. I feel. You made me feel when I'd been dead inside for so long. You pushed me and pushed me until the mask shattered and Amélie Lacroix saw the sun again. And I had to push myself the rest of the way without you, with just my cello, Angela, and that damned ape to keep me sane.

He's a fan of my music. You'd like that.

Morning comes, and I hold the cello in my hands. Something comes over me. Despair or anger or something that I can't contain. It overwhelms me like a tidal wave and I nearly smash the cello against the wall. What is the point?! Of music, of emotion, of staying here in this place!? But something stops me. I think about you listening to me play and I put the cello safely away.

I destroy my room, shatter the mirror, snap the table in two and nearly break my hand by beating it on the wall. I don't stop until someone grabs me and pulls me away from the hole I'm making. I turn and lash out. It's you.

You, with your shiny new harness, and your arm up to block my fist and the smile I've come to love and hate.

"Come now, luv. What's with the mess?"

"Lena." I hate the way my voice sounds. I say your name like I'm begging, but for what?

"Didja miss me, Amélie?" Your tone is light, but your eyes speak volumes. I could drown in them, but I need you to say it. I need to know that all this suffering is worth it.

I pin you to the wall. "What do you think."

"I love it when you're angry."

"Is that all?"

Goosebumps rise on my skin, where your finger traces the words on my arm. "What do you want me to say?"

Damn it "You asked me if I was Amélie! But they you were gone. Why? Why did you ask that?"

"Cause I'm in love with Amélie." You kiss me, and the world falls out from under me, only this time you're there to catch us, and I am not letting go.

When I can breath again, your lips whisper in my ear. I love you, Amélie. If four words can make me break, it would be those. But I have endured so much, and I think Mercy was right that I needed to find a way to heal for myself and not just you.

"There is something I want you to hear." There are many songs I would play for you, but there is one that I must play first. I take your hand, and I make you sit, and I play the song I was told you'd like.