Updates 1: Hey this is Alec. We wanted to give a friendly update on our summer posting schedule. We just attended San Diego Comic Con, where I got to finally cosplay Tracer and we had a lot of fun. We will be taking a 3 week road trip visiting 15 states with 75 hours of driving. During this time we plan to release 1 more chapters, before summer ends (September 3rd..ish). During this road trip we decided to take pictures and start a twitter called PSH_Stories.
Update 2: Alec still. We want to announce that we have started a new story for the summer. TracerxWidow. It's just a fun story of two people falling in love after a tragedy and a long cab drive. We will be writing this on the weeks before and during the road trip. The first chapter will be up before the 14th. The title will be 'A Night's Ride'.
Disclaimer: No soy dueño de Overwatch, pero a quién le importa. Continuemos con la historia.
Author's (Alec) Note: Sorry this is so short and took soon long. This chapter was twice the length and we cut it, and will probably never use it. It hard to see so much work disappear, but at least we are back.
Chapter 11: La recherche de la vérité
Heavy lids parted open, exposing sensitive eyes to the streams of morning light that leaked in from the nearby window, parting through the heavy and giant curtains that stretched across the wall-sized pane of glass. Layered in the touch of a heavy white bedspread and with the press of a cushy pillow to her cheek which partially obscured her view that still was coming into focus, Lena blinked a few times, clearing the grim and blur of slumber as more of the room came to her. As she glanced around, nothing seemed to spark her memory from last night as the area seemed more and more foreign. Her eyes ran across the nightstand next to her before skipping across the room as she pushed herself up into more of a sitting position, allowing herself to take in more. Across the way, an armchair stood only paces from the end of the bed, its seat pointed inward as a small plant and hardcover took residence on the small glass side table. At the end of the room, just near the door, sat a large dresser, above of which hung a long rectangular mirror which housed her current image and highlighted the large, wild spikes of her sleep tousled hair. With each feature now bathed in the morning light, the room seemed strikingly different than it had last night; the clear reality of it all washing over the original, intimidating view of the room as it was presented all dark and angular.
Next to her, the form of Amélie lay at rest, pale eyelids closed as dark eyelashes fanned out across her cheek, her bow-shaped lips parted slightly as her breath came by way of a slow and steady rhythm. Around her, the silky locks of her black hair ran like ink, pooling and circling around the woman in a fluid, yet kept nature.
She told the truth. Was the first thing that came to the brunette's mind as the events came to her as the last bit of hazy sleepiness escaped. The cooking, the dinner, the small breakdown, all of which led up to those spindly fingers fanned across Lena's inner thigh. But that was the closest that she had come. Nothing but a suggestive touch before the manager's focus had shifted and her presence raised from leg to arm as she assisted the waitress up the stairs and into the bedroom. After handing her the sleep shirt she was currently wearing, few words were shared between the two as she was ushered into the king sized bed and encouraged to sleep. Despite the few and weak protests from Lena, dormancy washed over her in a matter of moments.
She pulled the heavy comforter off of her before swinging her legs over the side, taking her time to slowly get up as to not wake up Amélie with neither the noise nor the sudden change in presence. Her feet reached the cushy material of the rug underneath as she got up, making short order of the space between her and the dresser. With her clothes from the night before in a nice folded pile, Lena began ridding herself of the borrowed shirt as she pulled it up and over her head, letting the soft white fabric of it drape over the dresser's wooden finish.
Lena put her arms through the sleeves of her shirt after shrugging on her bra, allowing the fabric of the white button up shirt to lay over her chest as she began working the plastic buttons into the proper slots. As her fingers made their way down the line, the sudden sound of creaking wood caught her attention, making the waitress jump nearly out of her skin, hands flying around the exposed part of her chest as she pulled the fabric together that hadn't been buttoned yet. With only a shirt half on and her white and pink polka dot underwear poking out from underneath the blouse's tails, the younger woman turned around to see Amélie sitting up in bed, gaze fixed on the waitress.
Dark eyes noticeably ran over the stretch and subtle curves of the brunette's figure before settling on the growing redness of the other's cheeks. "Sorry," she said, a small, amused smile tugging at her lips as she shifted her head to the side, facing the view out and below the window. "I'll give you your privacy."
With prickling heat coloring her face, Lena turned away despite how clearly this uncharacteristic action took her by surprise. "Thank you." Her voice was light in the air as she got back to work, shrugging on the remaining bits of her clothing. With the ends of her white shirt remaining untucked from her slacks and crinkled, unrolled sleeves trailing down a bit over her palms, the brunette soon dropped to the floor, pulling on her shoes.
As the rustling of fabric had come to an end, white sheets were pulled off of and away from the manager as she got up, her toes touching the soft rug beneath as she ran her hands from the tops of her thighs downward, straightening the formfitting skirt of her black silk nightgown. "Would you like some breakfast before you go?"
"No thank you." Lena responded plainly, focused on the task of tying her laces. "I should get going, anyway."
"At least let me drive you home." The offer was given as Amélie made short order of the space between the bed and the closet, the door soon being pulled open as an arrangement of clothes was presented to her. Selection took little time as a hanger was removed from its rack sporting an outfit of little variation from her typical attire.
"It's fine. I'm going to see Angela about my arm today." With both laces tied firmly, the waitress stood back up, fully ready despite the disheveled look that hung over her.
"How do you plan to get there?" The arch of her eyebrow raised.
"Walk." She stated simply, attempting to avoid Amélie's prodding.
Her frown noticeably deepened at this. "Let me take you. Angela wouldn't like hearing that you walked to the warehouse in your condition."
A sense of defeat fell over the brunette as a short breath was let out. "Alright," she said slowly. "If you insist."
Her gaze happened to connect with the taller woman in front of her just as the silky fabric was pulled up and over her head, the manager ridding herself of the material as the bare alabaster expanse of her naked form became apparent. Lena couldn't look away fast enough.
The curve and swell of her breasts, the stretch of taut skin over her stomach and hips; despite contact being quickly broken, the images still played in Lena's mind as she shamefully looked over to the door. "Sorry, love. I'll wait for you downstairs."
"No bother," Amélie began, her voice laced with the smugness of a smirk. "It's nothing you haven't seen before."
Any intention to move quickly died in Lena's limbs as she became almost frozen in place, the other's words taking her back to the reality of it all. Of what situation she was in. She let out a quiet, nervous laugh as she tried to force those thoughts back out of her mind, leading focus to the task at hand as her limbs found mobility again, pushing through the door as she headed downstairs without another word.
With the sound of clicking heels announcing her descent down the stairs only a few minutes later, Amélie walked past Lena, grabbing her purse and keys where they had been left the night before.
Amélie appeared a few minutes later.
The drive to the warehouse was relatively short, lengthened purely by the lack of conversation as both driver and passenger sat in silence. As they had before, Lena's gaze drifted out the window, watching as they went down street after sidestreet, looking at the buildings as they went past. With this silence came an air of relief to the brunette, the embarrassment from before still cycling through her as the other's words remain ever present in her mind. Despite this solace, an underwhelming of disappointment came forth as well. As they passed by businesses and pedestrians, Lena couldn't help but feel at loss not only with Amélie, but with herself.
As they approached the brick building of the warehouse, Amélie pulled over to the side of the street. With her gaze fixed on the stretch of road ahead of her, the older woman's typical manner of presentation took over once again as she Wordlessly, Lena reached for the metal handle, grasping it as the door unlocked and she let herself out. Only a few seconds later did the car pull away, leaving Lena alone at the base of the building.
Nearby, the door opened up for the brunette, Angela's face peering through the crack. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she opened it up a bit more, allowing the other to come inside. She wordlessly looked over the other's old and disheveled clothing that had clearly been worn yesterday, trying to push away creeping thoughts of what could have happened from her mind after catching brief sight of Amélie's car. Taking the brunette down a row of assorted boxes and crates, she held open a stretch of sheet towards the back wall, allowing the other inside.
Entering a mock examination room, the doctor pulled out a chair for the brunette, allowing her some form of comfort as she closed the blue curtain that wrapped around the space. "Lena," she began, soon taking the seat across from her. "Did you spend the night at Amélie's?"
The waitress's answer came out short and choppy, the delivery almost forced and awkward in nature. "Yea, but nothing happened. She just made me dinner."
Angela's eyes subtly ran over Lena, seeking signs before presenting the follow up question. "Did you have anything to drink?"
The anxiety within her arose as her lips struggled to put words together, mind racing with possibility, doubt, and reasoning regarding the fact that nothing came out of last night. "No, I mean yes, but only a little. And nothing happened."
A slight sigh was released from the doctor, the other's fear clearly painted on her face. "Alright, I believe you." She got up, rolling the sleeves of her coat back. "I'll run some tests anyway to make sure you're healing up nicely."
Tenseness in Lena's form relaxed as the questioning had come to an end, instead finding something oddly soothing about Angela's presence so close to her as the white sleeve of her shirt was rolled up, exposing the wound in question. Buried underneath layers of bandages, gauze, and tape, the flesh met the air once again as careful eyes ran over it.
The brunette looked away during the process, instead focusing on the pale blue of the curtain that surrounded any opening to the rest of the warehouse. As she spaced out in the moments of quiet, her mind ran. "What do you know about Gérard?" She asked, voice cutting through the silence.
Concentration was broken the moment that name was mentioned as Angela paused, momentarily lost in thought. "Amélie's husband?" Her voice seemed far away as her eyes remained fixed on the wound in front of her. "Why do you want to know about him?"
"What happened to him?" She asked, dodging the other's question.
A slow sigh was released through the doctor's slightly parted lips, knowing fully and exhibiting no enjoyment with where this conversation was going. "Gérard died three years ago."
A wave of pain shot through Lena at this. She couldn't help but think back to last night when he was mentioned, the sight of Amélie's half-lidded eyes and downturned lips filling her head as an overwhelming sense of guilt and regret filled her. Maybe bringing it up wasn't the best idea… "How did he die?"
Being in front of Lena brought the doctor a real sense of the situation that she was in. Young, naïve, innocent. It wasn't too long ago that she herself was in this very position. Just learning what this life entailed. A tinge of guilt tugged at her as the necessity to be honest became apparent. "I'm not too sure. According to what I read, it was another gang, but according to a few others, they said that they saw Amélie do it."
Lena's eyes widened as she looked up at the doctor's face, looking over her expression to see that her hope of it being a joke lived and died in very brief duration. "Why would she do that? The way she was talking about him..I thought she really loved him."
The older woman gave a slight shrug. "Who knows? I wouldn't think too much about it."
Flashback: The Widow's Kiss
With the front of the restaurant locked from the outside world for at least a few more hours, Amélie found herself parting through the back door near the loading dock. Each passing step produced a slight click of her heeled shoes as they made contact with the hard floor beneath. Given the relative emptiness of the immaculate setup, this rang out through the dimmed lights and narrowed halls as she traced her way to the manager's office. Her usual knock was pushed away and forgotten as her fingers wrapped around the knob, pulling it open in one swift motion that exposed the inside outward. Sitting behind the wooden desk, partially hidden by the screen of the computer, sat the familiar scarred face.
Partially propping his head up with the sprawled fingers of his hand around the skin of his forehead, Gabriel sat slumped over, eyes glued to the screen beside him. His eyes were half lidded, producing the air of tiredness that clung to his body like an odor, the crinkles around his forehead and eyes giving sight to the stress that had built up in him over time. Despite full knowledge of the woman being there, his gaze didn't part from the screen.
"Gabriel," she began, voice soft and uneasy with a growing anxiety. "Is something wrong? Gérard hasn't called me back."
The thick, callused skin of his fingertips met his forehead, slow, soft circles rubbing just above his brow ridge as though the action could target and kill stress on sight. His mind raced a as words he wished not to speak formed and died in formation. As hard as he could try, there would never be an easy way around it. "I think they got him, Amélie" he began, voice further back in his throat than it normally was, words lacking their usual underly of confidence. "I'm sorry."
Her heart pounded heavily in her chest as words she never wanted to hear were processed over and over. "What happened?" she asked almost in a whisper, wanting to believe she did not hear him correctly.
"He went into the warehouse to 'take care' of Akinjide." Despite emphasis being made around the suggested words, nothing in its nature was of any amusement regarding the mistake. "I haven't seen him since.
Thoughts raced through her head as a growing pressure developed in the younger woman's chest, her upper body alight with the fire of anxiety that plagued her as she struggled to formulate what could possibly be done in such a foreign situation. "I need to go help him."
Gabriel put an arm out, halting the woman in her tracks. "I can't let you do that." Despite some form of action needing to be taken, there was no way in his mind that he could allow the very man's wife to be the one. He didn't want both of their fates to result similarly.
"I need to, Gérard.." She couldn't let herself think like that "I'll be safe. Gérard taught me how to use a sniper. I'll just climb the building across from the warehouse and see if he is okay."
The block halting her movement slowly dropped as Gabriel allowed his arm to fall back to his side, silently and slowly giving in to the other. "Alright, but don't do anything too hasty. I'll get some backup before going in."
Amélie gave a nod both of agreement and understanding before she slipped past the space that had been impassable only moments before. With hurried steps, she took down the hall, soon finding herself in front of a door. It was pulled open with haste, exposing the open floor space of the dimly lit showcase.
Three of the walls stood stretched almost floor to ceiling with pegboard, each smaller space holding shelves and clasps to keep the aide assortment of weapons that had been stockpiled over time due to necessity and preference. The black haired woman's eyes ran across the lain out and assorted stock, soon falling on what she had been looking for: the SR-25 sniper rifle. Her slender fingers found their way around the groves as they naturally fell into position, lifting the firearm off from its peg. Thrusting it into the long black carrying case, a few boxes of ammo were tossed in before being zipped closed and the strap was thrown over her shoulder.
Getting to where she needed to be was a blur created by the rush of adrenaline and the anxiety the situation held. Her driving was the direct representation of it, the short trek full of sharp turns and swerves, the gas pedal being pressed harsher than usual as she sped through the streets, eventually parking haphazardly in a nearby sideline close enough to where she knew he would be.
It was in a matter of moments that she found herself at the top of the building, the nearby fire escape proving its unconventional use. Amélie set the black bag down on the rooftop, her fingers fumbling with the zipper as she pulled it open, exposing the weapon inside. With haste, it was pulled out, its prop set firmly as she lain herself down onto her stomach, laying flat against the ground.
She took a moment to adjust herself, wrapping her fingers around the riffle as she had been shown how. The cold metal of the scope pressed to her eye as she held the weapon firmly to herself, changing the position slowly and slightly as she gazed across the sidestreet. Soon, just as she had expected, the target was seen, his back turned to the sniper as he presumably dealt with the very business that required her expertise. With the reticle positioned squarely over the space of his bald head, Amélie let out a slow, deep breath through parted lips, her index finger soon squeezing the trigger.
Immediate relief was brought to her as the body tumbled to the ground, sight of him leaving the scope as the kingpin was toppled from his throne. A smile tugged at the woman's lips just for a moment before her eye caught sight of a detail she hadn't noticed before: the view of a shadowed figure slumped in a nearby chair.
Getting out of position, Amélie took little time climbing down the escape, a new speed in her steps as she ran over to where her scope had been viewing just moments before. Across the tiled floor, the large form of his body lain collapsed, the kingpin's arms loosely at his side as he lain face first into the hard ground. Around him, a thin layer of crimson blood pooled, slowly spreading outwards as more of the fluid left the fresh wound, something Amélie tried hard to not think about as she made her way around it. She only had one mission on her mind.
In a matter of seconds, her steps halted, completely unable to progress further as every attempt of a movement died. Her heart nearly stopped, freezing in her chest as she took in the sight in front of her. Gérard's form remain partially in shadow, his body propped and firmly tied to a metal folding chair with coils of thick rope. His mouth rested partially open, pencil mustache following the downturned curve of his upper lip. Eyes having drifted close, his long black eyelashes lay in shadow across his cheeks, exposing the deep veins of his upper lids. His normally styled hair now fell forward following his downturned head, cowlicks falling away and fanning across his forehead. Almost perfectly dead in the center of his forehead was a telltale bullet hole that allowed streams of dark crimson to travel down the center of his face like sick waterfalls as the liquid pooled and clotted in the curves of his features and stain him.
Amélie's body betrayed her, legs buckling out from underneath as her lower half gave way, sending the woman tumbling to the floor just feet away from him. As the reality of the situation adamantly washed over every blurred thought her mind struggled to conjure, the rims of her eyes began to fill with stinging tears. She was too late.
The spindly lengths of her fingers slowly extended, trembling as she tried to reach for him, her body seemingly unable to formulate any other movement. "Gérard." The shakiness of her voice called out in vain, tone wavering at the turn of each syllable.
The thundering sound of rushing footsteps tore her away from the thoughts that plagued her mind, thrusting her back into reality with little warning and preparation. Progressively getting louder, each stride brought a relative anxiety that soon heightened in her. Panicking, she reached over to the kingpin's fallen form, grasping for the pistol kept holstered at his side. The cold metal stung the strangely hot skin of her palms as she cradled it, readying herself for whatever came through the door.
Almost the second the strange, foreign faces of the pin's men appeared, it took little to no time for the sights to line up, a slender finger dictating the two shots that would put a halt to their lives permanently. Shakily, the gun was lowered, her grip on it releasing as the clatter to the floor echoed throughout the room. Her stomach twisted sickeningly as her view caught the sight of those three men whose lives she had taken so easily, so quickly and without thought. Glancing across the floor, she wondered truly what she had become. What life up to this point had turned her into.
Slowly, her gaze shifted back onto the slumped form of the man she had once known. Her words came out softly, scarcely spoken above a whisper. "Je suis, et pour toujours, je serai, désolé mon amour, j'étais trop tard."
Another pair of footsteps soon rang through the walls of the building, hard rubber soles scuffing their way across the tile floor. At this point, there was nothing left Amélie could do. Nothing to mend, nothing to edit. This mark on her life would be ever present like a too-deep scar only noticeable to others when shown off, but forever burned into the mind of its owner. Her reactions were slow and weak as she kept her arms firmly around the form of the man she had once been married to. Even in his dying, his warmth was still there, providing the newfound widow little comfort as she lain her head in his lap, her eyes closed firmly. She was too drained to fight anymore.
Soon, the footsteps stopped, a large, firm hand landing on the material of her shoulder. The heat of its palm radiated through the thin layer of the clothing, searing the skin underneath. When had she gotten so cold? Slowly, she lifted her head up, her gaze falling over her shoulder and onto the scarred face she had seen only half an hour ago. His dark eyes remain locked on her, his view refusing to shift even slightly to the sight a little above her. Gabriel knelt down, the worn fabric of his jeans bending around the knees as he put his arms around Amélie's trembling form, pulling the woman close in such an uncharacteristic moment of compassion.
In a moment, everything broke down around her. Hot tears began pooling at her lids as the overwhelming gravity came to her, the woman's emotions having built up enough to crumble under its tremendous weight. They sat in silence between the two fallen bodies, one a long-time enemy, the other a friend, a partner, a husband. In the still air, Gabriel's arms tightened around her, his hand smoothing over her hair as the sound of her sobs were lightly muffled by his chest. As he sat there, holding Amélie close to her, he wished that there were some words of comfort that he could speak that would bring anything to her, but at this point in time, not even an attempt could be genuinely made.
Author's (Kate) Note: In all honesty, this chapter has been one of the hardest to write. This is definitely frustrating since it also happens to be the one I have been looking forward to the most. Writing the last section proved to be emotionally and mentally draining as I had to really put myself in the scenario. The saddest part is that imagining this wasn't a difficult task, coming almost sickeningly easy to me. Ever since the release of Gérard's image, I could not help but place real and true emotion onto him with what happened to him. To transform this emotion into a more realistic and modern day interpretation proved to be even more heavy-hitting. Here is just hoping that I communicated it correctly.
Just wanted to take time very quickly to thank everyone reading. This entire process has been long and difficult, but all of it is rewarding once we hear back from you guys. I love reading over reviews and seeing what everyone thinks of a certain piece that took a number of hours to properly word out. From goofy to sincere, I love every bit of it. [Even when I'm called sadistic]. Thank you all.