Chapter 2

Amelie LaCroix - Widowmaker

Waking this time was slow, treacle thick resistance to her consciousness. Awareness was an effort for Amelie. The void released her reluctantly, every shred of coherent thought pulled from a sticky prison. The taste of medicine, sour on her tongue, caused an involuntary grimace. Drugged. The ropes had been replaced with hospital grade restraints at both wrists and ankles, anchoring her to the four corners of the narrow, mobile bed. Amelie recognized it's gurney style, often found in hospitals and asylums. She cursed softly, the words a soft growl as she took in her new position, loosely held spread eagle, and feeling uncomfortably vulnerable.

Someone having stripped her of the casual street clothes that she had been wearing wasn't helping. She was laid out totally bare beneath a paper thin sheet that did little to preserve modesty. Somehow she doubted that she was even in Morocco anymore. The unlit gloom of the room did not disguise how barren it was. Either Overwatch was on hard times or the whole setting was meant to be psychologically intimidating.

Imbéciles. All of them. Herself most of all.

Widowmaker remembered the healer, Mercy. The golden haired medic had taken Amelie out with that witch's staff of hers. putain Ah well… C'est La Vie . Objective, evading capture by Overwatch, défaite . Objective nouveau , escape Overwatch captivity - By any means necessary.

Angela Ziegler - Mercy

Mercy went to check on the new guest with mixed feelings, and a simmering sense of annoyance. The whole Overwatch team had barely avoided being hauled into a Marrakech prison, by the shady means of paying off the right officials, and pandering to certain affluent patrons. McCree had the contacts among the persons of power locally, and Angela personally had the right kind of bank to smooth ruffled feathers of the legal authorities.

As Dr Ziegler, her personal reputation was impeccable, her fame as a pioneer and innovator in Biotic Healing had garnered her world wide goodwill, and considerable personal wealth. Both had finessed the acquisition of Amelie LaCroix, Widowmaker… wife and murderer of Gerard LaCroix, agent of the terrorist organization Talon. Widowmaker was an untapped asset of incalculable value. What they could learn about Talon's current operations, assets, leaders… Overwatch couldn't afford to squander the opportunity that was Amelie LaCroix. Wasting even a moment of the time the assassin was in their tender care would be criminal.

Mercy bit her lower lip as she reached the spartan room they were keeping Widowmaker... contained. It was not her preferred method of holding a prisoner, but there were no proper cells to be accessed. It galled that Overwatch once had the most state of the art facilities and over-flowing resources but was now reduced to this . Sad scrabbling amid half abandoned sites. Mostly stripped to the bare minimum of viability by the very governments that had once supported them. How quickly those same supporters had turned on them en masse. Overwatch was now not even a fraction of their former strength. Not in materials, or in numbers. But what they had would have to do. Winston's call had awakened hope in her chest that had faded in the years since Overwatch had first disbanded. She would not fail the ideal of OverWatch, or what it represented. Not even if she had to use means that were of a slightly… dubious in nature .

For now though, Mercy could play the Good Cop. Since McCree and Reinhardt had already taken the roles of the heavy hitting Bad Cops, they could be used as a threat. The carrot and the stick was an age old strategy. Angela could be an excellent carrot if she had to be… Wait . That didn't sound quite right in her head. An uncomfortable image of Widowmaker snapping a carrot stick with a tiny halo and wings with her strong, sharp, pearly whites passed through Angela's mind. Nein , that wasn't what Angela had been aiming for. If either of them was going to be eating the other, she was the one who would do the eating!

Nooooo... that wasn't quite right either. Mercy felt flushed, and quickly shut down an entirely inappropriate line of thought that had somehow snuck through her normal good intentions.

The whole disorderly situation was putting her off kilter. She needed the balance of regulation. Structure. Chaos was the medium to tame, not become part of. Smoothing back her blonde hair in an unconscious effort to tame her own rather unruly curls, Angela strode into the room. The lights were keyed to her presence and the room flooded with illumination. She stopped short, blinking rapidly in surprise with an unplanned blush staining her cheeks. Obviously, Widowmaker had tried to escape her restraints. The struggle though futile, had dislodged the sheet Angela had covered Widowmaker with, leaving the Talon agent naked and clearly disgruntled. Höll, Amelie LaCroix looked totally pissed off. An annoyed, finely arched brow spoke volumes even as the Widowmaker's lips pressed silently together in a moue of displeasure.

"Enjoying the view?" McCree's nonchalant drawl startled Mercy as the Cowboy sauntered in, running an appreciative eye over Amelie's state of au naturel .

"I know I am."

Mercy's eyes couldn't help but take in the image that had McCree chuckling as he leaned against a wall, tipping his ever present, western style hat back. The medic had no qualms in admitting that Widowmaker was a well formed female. Amelie glared at her audience of two, the slight increase in her breathing brought attention to teardrop breasts, azure perfection tipped with dark, velvety looking nipples. She still had a dancer's sleekly muscled body, with long, smooth toned limbs. Amelie had changed little since her prime ballerina days, save perhaps for having more lushly curved hips. The shadowed vee between her thighs echoed the softly silken blue black hair that now lay long and loose over her shoulders. When stripping her of her clothes, Mercy had taken even the sniper's hair band in case it might hold some hidden tool or tech device.

Quickly gathering her decorum, Mercy bent to retrieve the fallen sheet and snapped it out, letting it settle over the Talon agent once more. Amelie's glare moved over the sheet as if it offended her. A sneer settled on her lips as she finally spoke.

"A thin pretense. How appropo of OverWatch."

Angela fought back a wince. The French woman's damning tone was not out of place. More a drop cloth than anything else, the cheap material was all that had been on hand. In their rush to depart Morocco, there had been little time to do more than arrange to have absolutely necessary equipment and supplies brought with them to their current safe house. None of them had deemed a change of clothes for the Talon operative had been necessary . That had been short sighted of them. Perhaps they had already been subconsciously trying to punish Widowmaker for the many crimes she had committed against untold victims. Again, Angela worried at her bottom lip for a moment before she realized what she was doing, and then smoothed her countenance to her normal serene visage.

It shouldn't matter to her, a medical doctor, if the thin cloth hid little more than the blue tint to Amelie's skin where it lay. Though clinically clean and bleached to an almost glaring whiteness in the stark light of the room, obvious years of use had worn it in places that were practically sheer. It's drape was more cling than coverage, following dips and curves of the Talon agent with almost intentional seductiveness. If she didn't know that Widowmaker couldn't possibly influence how the sheet covered her, Mercy would swear she'd somehow finessed the material. Himmel, the barely there leotard that the assassin normally wore as work clothes was bad enough. Talon's exhibitionistic little death dealer seemed able to turn a stripped bare med bay into the set of an adult film.

Mercy studiously kept the frown she felt from showing on her face. All the scenario lacked was some awful techno music track with a throbbing bass beat to wank to. Not that she watched a lot of adult vids. She had better things to do with her time. Normally.

Widowmaker kicked one foot, tugging at one of the cuffs around a delicate ankle. The movement both somehow sulky and spoiled. Blatantly inviting the instinct to set the Talon agent over one's knee, and smack the defiance out of her with a firm series of swats to the plump roundness … Mercy bit the inside of her cheek, her outside smile beginning to look strained.

The sheet had responded to even this small action by sliding half off again.

"You might as well just have me naked."

The Talon agent's tone was casually indifferent, but the wording was rife with double entendre. Mercy saw the taunting glint in the assassin's amber gold gaze. A low growling laugh barked out of McCree, nearly causing Angela to jump. Somehow she'd forgotten he was there, inappropriately grinning at the whole situation.

"Is that an invitation , little lady?"

Amelie's golden eyes widened in a studied mockery of surprise.

"Do you needan invitation? You could take whatever you want." She tugged her wrists in their cuffs, demonstrating her utter, helpless, confinement.

Her voice was low, almost a lullaby in it's hypnotic, purring tones. "I could not stop you, even if I wanted to. You could do anythingto me, couldn't you?"

McCree's gaze held darkly heated amusement.

"Reckon I could at that."

Angela face palmed. This was not happening. Especially it was not happening right in front of her as if she didn't exist!

"Achtung! Perhaps we could move our conversation to more appropriate topics!"

Two sets of eyes locked on the flushed faced doctor. The intense perusal was eerily predatory, from both McCree and Widowmaker, for a moment they could have been two wolves of the same pack, staring down at the same delicious prey animal, tender in it's uncertainty. A sudden sense of dangerous heat pervaded the room. Angela swallowed uneasily. Was it suddenly too hot in this room? Sweat prickled at the nape of her neck, and her breath hitched in her throat.

"McCree." Mercy's voice was firm authority. "Go to Reinhardt and tell him we'll begin interrogation in an hour. I want to give Widowmaker an exam, and it's inappropriate for you to be here right now."

For a moment, it looked like McCree was going to argue. However to Angela's relief the cowboy seemed to shake off whatever strange mood that had settled on him. A crooked grin and a sly smirk on his lips, McCree tipped his hat to Mercy. Then threw a last side glance to Amelie.

"Later, Darlin. We'll pick up where we left off."

"Is that a threat, desperado ?" Amelie's voice was low, taunting as she flipped her loose hair back with a challenging toss of her head.

"Oh, it's a promise darlin. And a man keeps his promises."

McCree sauntered out of the room as he'd come in, like an old west movie. The scent of leather and gunpowder following him like ghosts.

The golden haired medic finally showed her frown as she pushed Amelie's shoulders so that the other woman was pushed firmly on her back, pinned and helpless.

To be continued.