Tracer looked away from the gun pressed against her forehead, casually slouching in her seat.
"Sorry, love, launch sequence is on autopilot until we reach the tip top," she quipped with a small yawn, "Think you'll be able to fly her by yourself after that?"
Widowmaker's eyes flickered towards the sea of buttons on the control panel.
The younger woman lazily titled her head before airily asking, "They taught you how to pilot at assassin school, right?"
Their gazes locked. Even the mistress of time was painfully aware of the seconds ticking by while she waited to see the result of her gamble.
She swore she saw the Talon agent's body deflate ever so slightly.
The gun was lowered, and Widowmaker turned towards the other empty seat of the cockpit. Meeting Tracer's eyes once more, she slowly lowered herself down into the chair, buckled in, and smoothly crossed her long legs. She quirked an eyebrow.
Even when she was acquiescing, she was immensely intimidating. Nevertheless, the pilot assumed her terms had been accepted. For now.
Yikes.
Tracer had been avoiding having any type of internal dialogue about the woman now sitting beside her. Keeping busy and speeding to the next thing was easier than contemplating the massive paradox that was Widowmaker. She teased, they fought, and neither killed the other despite their warring organizations. Was the woman who had once been one of the good guys still in there? She had so easily taken down Mondatta, exterminated someone who wanted nothing but peace, and did so in the name of an organization that seemingly did not inspire passion nor demanded her allegiance. When asked why, she had laughed.
But then how could a supposedly emotionless murderess have laughed at her? How could those eyes be so alive and vibrant if there was nothing secretly driving the woman forward?
How was the little game they played supposed to end?
The ship entered the mass of clouds that lined the sky, powering continuously upwards. Grey, foggy, and uncertain. Tracer sighed; sometimes it would be nice to just fast-forward to the happy ending, save the day, and take a nap. Not blow up a base and have an impromptu work trip to space.
However, when they finally broke through, an ocean of stars lay before them, twinkling fiercely, she couldn't help but marvel at the little miracles her life allowed her to witness.
"Wow, that's something, innit?"
A glance to her right told confirmed that the other woman remained expressionless, offering no reaction to the view or her comment. Tracer didn't bother prodding her for one; at least the universe had decided to keep things peaceful for five minutes. She smiled as she gently grabbed the yoke, the autopilot program slipping away from the display screens, and vessel almost happily responded to her.
She loved flying. It was like making love—the tentative first touches, the building confidence, the igniting passions, the freedom, the soaring, the falling.
Their dance began easily enough, and they were soon smoothly swimming amongst the stars at a steady pace to the coordinates of the station. A display lightly beeped, and Tracer lowered their speed. She proceeded to make quick work of inputting passcodes to begin the landing sequence. The view outside the window was nothing but the vastness of space and stars.
Widowmarker intoned, "Empty. The cloaking device is strong."
"The ship is sending out Overwatch docking codes. Should lift the cloaking on the station so we can land," Tracer replied with a smirk and a wink, "But good catch."
She heard a small huff, and she struggled to hide her smile as she plugged in the final digits of the last code while the vessel inched forward.
The space before them turned hazy, like silver fabric rippling in the wind. The veil materialized and lifted, the sleek, dark grey of the station emerging from thin air. The sphere-like base was large; Tracer once heard it rivaled the size of the Horizon Lunar Colony's station before the start of the Omnis Crisis. Solar panels gleamed at opposite poles, and the antennae and technology that decorated the sides of the base were impressive to witness, even at their far range.
The blast doors slowly rolled opened, and the interior of the station shined a bright white in contrast the black sky of space. Tracer began her approach gently and carefully towards them. The station grew bigger and bigger as they neared.
"Those turrets are moving," stated Widowmaker resolutely, tightening her grip on the gun sitting in her lap.
A line of guns lining the horizontal axis of the station followed their movements.
Tracer shrugged, unalarmed, switching on the stabilizers. "Probably a security protocol, no one's there to actually-"
The ship violently jerked and a panicked beeping issued from the control panel.
Widowmaker deadpanned, "Those turrets are firing."
"Blimey, I can't win today!" Tracer shouted over the alerts and blasts of impact.
Screw this. She was gunning it.
Slamming the thrusters forward and aggressively turning the yoke, the ship took a massive dip at high speed, spinning to evade the wave of lasers that shot at them. She continued plunging, hoping to best the range and movement of the turrets. Another shudder rippled through the cockpit, alerting them to another direct hit on their rear. Readings started dropping, and they were quickly losing fuel. Pushing further downwards, they lost sight of the bay doors, dipping under the station.
Overwatch build. Older. Automated. Following a protocol. Limited to forward range.
Tracer flipped switches as quickly as her racing thoughts, diverting the remaining power to keeping them moving, but it was draining fast. She firmly grabbed the yoke and kept them on a straightforward path, beginning to bend the ship to follow the circumference of the station above them, pushing the ship dangerously close to the surface. Faster and faster she pushed along the direct trajectory, readying for when they came full circle. As they completed the orbit, hugging the station, the turrets only triggered as she fully twisted upwards to the shining white light of the open bay doors.
Then she immediately jerked back, redirected the thrusters, and held her breath. The ship dropped, smashing against the floors of the open wing, grinding the ship to pieces as it flew forward. Tracer turned hard, sending them drifting, and she prayed they would stop in time before they hit the interior walls. Her body fought against the straps that buckled her in as the ship continued turning, her arm shooting in pain from exertion. The vessel shivered as the wing clipped the wall, and they finally halted.
Time stopped.
A distant noise buzzed in the background, but the cockpit was terribly still. Tracer slowly released her death grip from the yoke and stared out the window for a moment at the large, bright hanger now decorated with a black trail of wreckage.
"Totally nailed it!"
Widowmaker issued no response, and while she had remained silent through the entire ordeal, she was currently staring daggers at the pilot who was excitedly unbuckling her seatbelt.
The ship was a disaster, to say the least. The closer they walked to the exit, the sharper the buzzing noise rang.
Tracer hit the release panel to open the main door, but nothing happened. She pried open the panel and began inspecting the wiring, but she sighed in defeat. It could be one of a dozen things after a crash like that. Time was not her ally right now. She stepped away, glancing around the rest of the ship, pondering a secondary solution to escape it.
Widowmaker fired her gun at the control panel, sending sparks in every direction, and the door immediately released, opening into the hanger.
Tracer shot her a look. "That really necessary? Damage the already damaged ship?"
"Oui," she stated simply, walking down the ramp into the grand room. The younger woman quickly followed with a sigh.
Stepping into the massive transport wing brought good and bad news to the duo. The good news was that the blast doors had shut following their stunning entrance, and they could properly breathe in the enclosed area without any trouble from the vacuum of space. The bad news was the buzzing from inside the ship was in fact a cacophonous screeching sound that projected throughout the entire transport wing, deafening both women.
A robotic woman's voice blared throughout the large hanger, "SECURITY BREACH. SECURITY BREACH."
"Bloody hell!" Tracer tried to yell over the blaring alarm, hands flying to her ears, as they ran to the only door on an adjacent wall. A small screen beside the door flashed with the word 'warning.'
"SECURITY BREACH. SECURITY BREACH."
"Stop it, you!"
The noise immediately stopped. Athena's familiar logo appeared on the screen, and the door swiftly slid open to reveal hallways with walls as white as the hanger.
"Identity Confirmed. Codename: Tracer. Clearance Level Four granted."
The Overwatch agent wiggled her eyebrows at her companion. "Not too bad, eh?"
Widowmaker looked as if she was doing everything in her power not to roll her eyes.
"Indeed."
"Identity Confirmed. Amélie Lacroix. Guest Clearance granted."
An awkward pause followed the computer's announcement.
"Have you been here before?" Tracer asked. She received a glare.
"Right. Well, me either. Maybe it just chats with the other watchpoints and remembers us from there."
An overly sweet voice questioned, "And where would these other watchpoints be, cherie?"
"Nice try, love. The real question is why the system thought we were friendly enough to land but bad enough to fire at us," Tracer stated with a devious smirk, turning to the newly opened door, "Not proper manners, that."
Widowmaker's visor clicked into place, and Tracer swiftly withdrew one of her pistols; she wasn't trying to lift her injured arm more than she had to, especially after that wild ride.
With a glance behind them, she noticed there were no other methods of transport in the bay; a hanger that size could have easily fit ten ships the size of the one they had flown. With a frown, she turned and led the way through the door and down the initial hall, gun pointed forward. She had expected the base to be empty, but that was before it had shot at her.
Even more terrifying than the thought of one of their own bases attacking them was the fact her and Widowmaker worked terribly well together. They switched positions with ease, checking corners and covering the other as they navigated the hall. Communication occurred with a simple look or gesture.
They trusted each other to watch the other's back. That was a thought for later.
Every corner they inspected and every hallway they checked was empty. The handful of rooms they inspected in what appeared to be a type of dormitory or barracks were void of any life. When they entered a crossway, they turned towards what looked like a large, open room at the end of the chosen hall.
They had reached the central control room, the cockpit of the entire station. While some screens presented Athena's logo and others displayed the Overwatch symbol mingled with graphs and numbers, the space itself was devoid of any sign of life to monitor them.
Tracer walked up to a line of surveillance screens, returning her gun to its holster. Half of them appeared to be blacked out, but those that were on presented empty room upon empty room. She blew her hair out of her face.
"Suppose Winston was right about it being abandoned."
With a turn, she walked closer to the largest screen in the front of the room.
"'Ello, computer. Status report."
The screen switched from the standard logo to a 3D model of the base.
"Overwatch Watchpoint Space Station operating at sixty percent capacity. Sectors Five, Seven, and Eight remain on lockdown. Sectors Six and Nine are offline.
"Huh? Why is almost half the base locked or offline?"
"Access Denied. Higher clearance required."
Tracer frowned. Even Winston didn't have a higher clearance at the other watchpoints, and he was senior management at the moment.
"Remove all sectors from lockdown and provide entry."
"Access Denied. Higher clearance required." Something was wrong.
"Provide date of last synchronization with home base."
"Last synchronization with Watchpoint Headquarters was completed at 13:03 CDT on the 1st of May, Year 2067."
Her and the other woman shared a look. That was almost ten years ago.
"Few years before the Petras Act. Odd," she murmured before glancing to the other woman, "Would explain why you're still in the system."
"Your technology is shabby, no?"
Tracer chuckled, "A bit dodgy. Just needs an update, which is why we're here."
She took another step until she was within arm's reach of the master screen.
"Map, please."
The grids and outlines of the facility populated on the display. She heard Widowmaker's visor lift with a click as she analyzed the image before her.
"Looks like the entire North half of the base is where the problem is," she mumbled before issuing another command, "Computer, show me my access."
The two south quadrants lit up in green, as well the central room Tracer assumed they were in now. The color continued down the main hall until it reached the entry point to the north corridors, a barrier of red.
"So that's our door."
"And what if it does not open?" the other icily questioned.
"It will. But there might be something waiting on the other side. I should probably fix our ride before we go poking around. Abandoned watchpoints tend to have surprises, like Talon agents, or spiders, or both," she surmised, giving the other woman a pointed look.
Widowmaker crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes.
"What makes you think I will assist you in this endeavor?"
"I'm not forcing you to help. You always have a choice. But I do expect you not to cause trouble," she said, putting her hand on her hip, "I'm the only one that can repair and fly your ticket out of here. You might have noticed there weren't too many other ships out there."
Yet again, their gazes were in a deadlock. Tracer's fingers itched for her pistol at the sight of Widowmaker's tight grip on her weapon, but her gut told her to hold steady. Without her, the other was stuck. She would honor a stalemate to guarantee their safe return before they went back to their separate lots in life.
Her voice softened when she said, "I'll get you back. You'll be free to go."
Without each other, they would fail. Those golden eyes shimmered.
The taller of the two lifted her weapon and rested it on her shoulder before stating, "Overriding your security could take days. Weeks."
Tracer took her statement as a sign of truce and impishly countered, "Got plenty of time. Worried, love?"
With an empty scoff, Widowmaker practically whispered, "Perhaps you should be."
Tracer leaned against one of the dashboards housing numerous controls lining the walls near the screen, choosing to ignore the negative comment, turning optimistically to the map.
"Engineering wing is behind that door. That's where we'll need to fix the communication grid to get the station talking to her friends again. Probably a good idea to figure out why the blasted defense system fired at us too. Medical, Research, and Armory wings are all blocked too. So that leaves us with the Main Control room we're in now, Transport, the Galley, and the Barracks. I'll even let you pick your own room," she finished with a playful smirk, preferring to deal with Widowmaker's annoyed glares than her distant, cold glances.
She pushed up from where she leaned on the table and immediately felt woozy. They made it, and they were relatively safe—now she needed to find a corner to lick her wounds and rest.
Tracer forced a smile and cheerfully tilted her head towards the hallway, "Now let's see what stores are like in the galley. I'm peckish." She received no response and assumed she was taking the trip on her own.
Hero or not, she was nervous as she walked down the hall. The presence of any food in the kitchens was going to seriously determine how much fun their little vacation was going to be.
Immediate entry indicated the galley was well supplied with pots and pans among an assortment of other items used for cooking. She glanced around until she found another door, and held her breath as she opened the storage room.
Oh, brill. There was enough food to feed an entire space station full of people; the two of them would have meals to last them until the mission was complete. Admittedly, there was little besides rows upon rows of canned goods, but a few packages of snack bars and freeze-dried meals added some character. Either way, bland or not, they had food. Maybe Tracer's luck was on the upswing.
But she was so tired.
Glancing out the corner of her eye, she realized Widowmaker had actually followed her.
"What a poor date I am. Next time, somewhere with only the freshest ingredients," she teased, but it lacked its usual luster. She grabbed a granola bar from a box, ripping it open with her teeth. Her left arm was aching; the adrenaline was gone, and she didn't want Widowmaker to see her struggle to open a plastic wrapper.
Then she shoved the whole thing in her mouth.
"You do eat, yeah?" she questioned with her mouth still full.
"Besides drinking the blood of those I kill?" Widowmaker sarcastically drawled.
Tracer huffed, "No need to get your knickers in a twist."
Once she swallowed the necessary food, she turned back towards the hallway.
"I'm going to kip down for a bit," she stated casually, trying to keep her posture and walk as normal as possible, "If you wander, behave."
If there was a response, she shuffled out before she could hear it. She navigated down the hall, swaying slightly, following a mental map towards the barracks with a grimace on her face.
Picking the first room she came to, she walked towards the bed and promptly collapsed.
A/N: I know this a bit slow moving, but I promise there's more fun stuff ahead for these two. Please let me know what you think - I listen and take your reviews very seriously whenever I sit to write. Thanks for reading!