Watchpoint: Gibraltar, the next day, 0932 hours
When Tracer opened her eyes, her lids felt heavy, resisting her orders to open and the world which presented itself to her blank mind was one indistinguishable blur. Her tongue was completely dry, stuck to her palate, she had a rotten taste in her mouth and Lena felt an uncomfortable lump in her throat. While some uncomfortable moments of semi-consciousness passed, Lena realized that her head was hurting like it was run over by a car, while the feedback from her stomach concluded it must have been filled with rotten eggs for at least two weeks in a row. Which obviously wasn't the case. As if that wasn't enough already, her limbs felt as if they were made from solid concrete, making movement basically impossible.
Long story short, Lena had the hangover of the century. Trying to at least get her vision to sharpen up a little bit, she blinked a couple of times.
And while the real world was starting to take shape again, in the back of her head the last remaining memories of a really strange dream she just had faded away into oblivion. It was almost like the one couldn't exist while the other was alive, the more the real world filtered down to her mind, the more her dream was forgotten. Lena tried to not let the images in her head go, but it was too late already, the last thing Tracer recalled were cold golden eyes and a welcome, peacefully warm feeling in her chest.
Oxton groaned a rather unladylike groan, as she stretched her sore body in her bed. It was only then that she noticed her hand, which was firmly grasping one of her breasts, while the other one was buried in her lap. Rolling her eyes, she flipped her sheets back to see that her pajama-pants were completely soaked, sticking to her womanhood like it was a wallpaper.
Great Lena huffed, so it was one of those dreams, I see. She really didn't need a lot more to count two and two together than what she saw now, as well as who she remembered dreaming about. This was going too far, now she was having fantasies about Widowmaker. Fantasies, which made her completely wet. Like she didn't have enough trouble already. Maybe emptying the bottle of Scotch yesterday with Morrison wasn't the brightest idea Lena ever had.
Gosh, she felt so disgustingly dirty at the moment, like she spent the last year in the gutter. Annoyed at herself for multiple reasons of stupidity she withdrew her hand from both her breast as well as her soaked nether regions to clumsily and with quite a bit of effort sit up in her bed.
That had been a mistake. The whole small room she had occupied at the watchpoint started to spin violently at Tracer's sudden movement of sitting up. Damn, she still was completely plastered. And here she was, thinking she couldn't get drunk. Way to go, Tracer, you only get drunk way too late. Time was a bitch.
Oxton rubbed over her face, before she paused. Something didn't feel quite right.
"Oh, fuck me!" Lena groaned, realizing that she just smeared her own juices sticking to her hand right into her face. Damn it! She convulsed her face, coming to terms with the fact that today would be a really shitty day. Quickly stripping out of her wet pajama-pants she wiped her face on one dry leg of the pants, before drying her hands with it and tossing the cloth over a chair in front of her desk right opposite to her bed.
Making her way to the small bathroom, Lena planned what she'd do next. Obviously she'd wash her face, or even better take a shower, before she'd get dressed and would then head out to the infirmary, where she'd hope to procure some hangover-pills from Dr. Ziegler. She really hoped that would help, because right now the only thing which seemed to be able to take care of that hammering pain tormenting her brain was a bullet to the head.
Lena turned on the shower, pulled the loose old air-force t-shirt she used as pajama-top off her body and tossed it to the floor, before stepping into the shower. Letting the steaming hot water patter down onto her tired and unhealthily pale skin seemed to revive Lena's spirits well enough for her brain to come out of its emergency-shutdown.
The completely hung-over Brit wondered why she had wasted a completely good bottle of fine Scotch in the first place. All she wanted to do was stop her thoughts about someone she couldn't have thoughts about, but all it did was give her a horrible headache, a foul taste in her mouth and -oh who would have thought- even more thoughts about said forbidden fruit. Plus a nice wet dream extra on the top.
Just.
Great.
Why exactly was it that the first person Oxton found interesting in literally years just so happened to be the bad guy? It wasn't like that kind of girl was her thing either, so why her of all people?
Lena still had no answer to that question, no idea why the dangerous assassin was stuck in her mind. Well, there were a couple of reasons which Lena acknowledged, but they were rather superficial ones. Still, they were reasons.
For instance, Widowmaker was stupidly beautiful, which was nothing Oxton would -or could- deny. That drop dead gorgeous body squeezed into that ridiculously tight spandex suit left very little to the imagination, yet ignited the wildest fantasies of what may be underneath. Then there was her thick, long deep purple hair which made Tracer want to run her fingers through it all day. She imagined it would feel like dipping her hands into liquid silk.
And of course Widowmaker's eyes. Her cold, piercing golden eyes, which were probably her most striking feature. Lena had never seen eyes like that ever before, they conveyed so many things if you bothered to look past the apparent apathy and made an effort to see how infinite pain, cruel confusion and sheer cold panic laid underneath all that affected indifference. Widowmaker's eyes told a cruel story, one which Oxton tried to figure out.
Lena rubbed over her face, attempting to get rid of these thoughts, but it didn't help one bit. Instead she had nothing better to do than suddenly imagine how Widowmaker's perfectly shaped butt would feel in her hands. The thought alone sent a spark of anticipation down into her groin. Thank you for that, brain, I really needed that, Lena huffed.
Maybe she'd just needed to get laid again. It had been a while, now that she thought about it, even if there had been a lot for meaningless flirts. But they were exactly that: Meaningless. Lena was very, very picky when it came to potential bed-partners, she didn't sleep with just anyone. Unfortunately for her, there weren't an awful lot of people fitting what she imagined. Which was why the last time she got laid was years ago. It was one of her co-pilots back in the day, when she was still a test-pilot. That had been even before the slipstream-project, in what felt a long, long time ago. And the girl had been a fantastic lay, but she simply wasn't a good idea for Tracer. She had been Tracer's wingman, it would have never worked past a few mind-blowing quickies in the changing room. Or in between the two vertical tails of her jet, right there on the taxiway one late evening. Damn, that had been hot, thinking back now. Hot and ridiculously stupid, they could have been busted any second. Oh well, being horny made you do stupid shit. It had been worth it, though. Best fuck of her life so far.
Lena laughed to herself under the calming hot shower, which miraculously made her brain function again. At least Tracer could admit to herself that she would definitely not push Widowmaker out of her bed, if she'd -by some sort of cosmic wonder- suddenly show up there. To put it plainly, Oxton was well aware of her own particular sexual preferences. Which was great, because Lena could definitely live without having to rack her brain over the question why she found another woman desirable and if she could possibly, maybe, eventually be interested in other women?
Luckily for her, Lena didn't have to wonder about that particular problem anymore, she had an answer to that question at the time she was 12 years old. She had accepted that specific side of herself ever since, it's simply a part of who Lena Oxton was and she made no big secret about it either. There were no maybes with Tracer concerning other women.
The bubbly Brit was so incredibly fucking gay, it would have been enough for an entire girl's boarding school. So there was that.
Giving the faucet a push, Lena reached for a fresh towel and started to rub her now hot skin dry before she stepped out of the shower. Wrapping the white cotton towel around her slender body she started brushing her teeth to get rid of that foul taste in her mouth. While she was absent minded scrubbing the brush back and forth, she was yet again catching herself thinking about Widowmaker.
Dammit, that woman would be the death of her, one way or the other. Either because she'd distract Tracer in all the wrong moments, causing her to blink face first into a driving car or because she'd be her literal death, the one shooting her. Either way, by the time Oxton had rinsed her mouth, put on some casual clothes and walked out of her barrack room, she came to terms with the obsession she had with Widowmaker. She realized that trying to forget about her simply wouldn't work and decided that she'd do some research on who that mysterious killer really was. Winston surely could help her with that. If she couldn't forget her, she needed to confront her, no matter how bad an idea that seemed to be. That meant she would try and talk to Widowmaker the next time they would run into each other on the battlefield. Lena was aware that this particular endeavor would most likely be the cause of some severe bruises, but it needed to be done for the sake of her peace of mind.
But first, Tracer would go and see Dr. Ziegler, because that headache she had still felt like Reinhardt slammed his crusader-hammer straight into her face. Twice. At least Lena imagined it would feel similar, not that she actually knew how that'd feel. Maybe that was the cause of her stupid ideas today, who knew? Maybe she'd reconsider everything once her brain didn't feel like someone detonated a nuke inside her skull.
Making her way through a bright, sun-flooded hallway, Lena headed straight for the infirmary. The right side of the corridor was completely made from glass, giving a breathtaking view over the strait leading into the mediterranean sea, the warm orange morning sun shimmered in the blue ocean, making the waves sparkle like fairy-dust. It was a quiet, peaceful day, the only noise were Tracer's steps on the light grey concrete floor.
From where she was now, it wasn't far to the infirmary anymore. Just a few turns and some stairs and she was there. The white metal bulkheads serving as doors everywhere inside Watchpoint Gibraltar slid out of Lena's way once she approached them. Without hesitation Tracer stepped inside the kingdom of her best friend, which was more commonly known as the infirmary under the supervision of Dr. Ziegler.
The beautiful doctor was currently sitting behind her white marble desk, her thick blonde mane hanging down in front of her face. She tried to hold the flood of hair upwards with one hand so she could see, while the other one scribbled something down on a piece of paper with an expensive looking black pen. Some fashionable black framed reading glasses were sitting on her nose. Dr. Angela Ziegler, most people knew her better as Mercy, was wearing a simple white blouse and a knee length skirt with black tights and subdued heels. She had one of her long legs elegantly crossed over the other, her foot swinging to the beat of some internal melody.
Over her informal clothes, she was wearing the typical doctor's white coat with some more pens stuck into the breast-pocket, just like you'd imagine a doctor. The only thing missing from the doctor-cliché was a stethoscope hanging around her neck. She obviously had one, made from gold, sitting in a small showcase behind her desk among other memorabilia. Tracer had gotten the fine piece of antique medical equipment for Angela on her birthday the first year Mercy had joined Overwatch. In a time where modern technology rendered these ancient instruments abundant, it was still her favorite piece.
Mercy's desk was placed almost directly in front of the door, left and right of it were a row of three sickbeds, all of which currently empty. There wasn't a lot to do since Overwatch had officially been shut down.
Just like the corridor, the infirmary had one wall, the left one to be precise, made entirely from semipermeable glass, allowing a wonderful view over the ocean, while showing the outside nothing but a golden mirror.
"I wondered when you'd show up, Lena" Mercy said dryly, looking up from her paperwork, while setting her glasses aside. She looked at Tracer, who was all pale, her hair was a complete mess (even worse than usual) and she had dark circles around her tired eyes. The pair of old jeans and the shirt which she wore inside out didn't do much to help her appearance.
"Uh?" Tracer was slightly taken aback. "What you mean, luv?"
Mercy smiled at her, opening a drawer in her desk, retrieving an orange tube with a white cap. "Süße, you look like shit. No offense" Dr. Ziegler said warmly, gesturing her friend to come closer.
"Yeah, luv, I know, thank you for reminding me" Oxton replied with a sigh, wiping that one bunch of hair constantly hanging into her face out of the way, as she walked up to Mercy's desk. In that light, how the orange of the sun plaid with that warm gold of her hair, Mercy indeed did look like an angel, Lena thought, as she caught herself staring at the doctor, who just happened to be her best friend.
"Your shirt is inside out" Mercy stated, causing Lena to look down on her body only to notice that, yes, indeed her shirt was the wrong way. She blushed heavily, uttering a quick thanks before cheekily taking her shirt off to turn it around. Angela inhaled sharply, Lena had a desirable body, so much was sure. Mercy had to look at a lot more unpleasant things in her career than Tracer's perfectly shaped upper body, but the doctor still wished her best friend would at least know a little sense of shame. Tracer was the only woman she knew who'd just blatantly take off her shirt in front of someone, while not wearing anything underneath other than her time-harness. Which didn't cover jack shit.
Somehow Mercy suspected Lena sometimes did things like that on purpose, only to mess with her, being like see, that's what you are missing out on, luv! That would have been one hundred percent Lena Oxton.
"Is it true you drank almost an entire bottle of Whiskey yesterday?" Angela asked, standing up from her hyper modern white executive chair, the backrest seemed to adapt to the form of the spine.
"How did you know, luv?" Lena wanted to know, admittedly rather confused.
Mercy merely giggled, tossing Lena the small orange tube, filled with tiny white pills, which she had picked up from the drawer of her desk. "Your liver called, asking for a replacement. You want me to take you liver function reading? If there is still a function left I can read."
"Very funny, Angela. Very funny" Tracer rolled her eyes with a bemused smile on her lips, catching the orange tube with surprising ease. "No seriously, how did you know?"
"Morrison was here about an hour ago." Overwatch's doctor explained, shaking her head, while she walked around her desk. The Soldier had been a walking corpse this morning "He was so hung over, doing as much as walking straight was difficult for him. He told me he had been drinking with you and he also told me that you can't be human to survive so much booze. I figured you'd show up sooner or later"
Lena shook her head in amusement, opening the tube Mercy gave her and tossing two pills in her mouth "If I knew he couldn't stomach it, I wouldn't have invited him to drink with me. For such a big guy he is quite the wuss" she laughed.
"You are the one who stomachs that stuff far too well." Mercy countered, leaning to the front of her desk, while looking at Tracer. She wondered what made her best friend drink in the first place, she usually didn't do that unless something major was bothering her. The last time was when Overwatch was dissolved and Tracer had lost all sense of purpose in her life yet again. Though Angela doubted Tracer even realized she did that. As long as it wasn't a frequent occurrence, there were no objections from a medical point of view either.
"You can blame my father for that" Tracer laughed, walking over to Mercy and leaning to her desk right beside her, crossing her arms over her chest. A long, but comfortable silence spread between the two women, in which Tracer let her head glide down to Mercy's shoulder, where she let it rest. Her unruly hair was tickling Angela's neck, but she ignored it.
"Drinking with Morrison doesn't quite look like you, oder?" Angela asked after a while, in which she mustered Lena thoroughly. Something was bothering her friend, she could tell.
"What, because I'm gay?" Tracer giggled, causing the blonde doctor to roll her eyes.
"Not what I meant, Süße. Why had you been drinking?" she wanted to know.
Lena inhaled sharply, somehow she hoped she could avoid that particular topic. But who was she kidding here, she was talking to her best friend. Of course Mercy would ask that. Also if she couldn't tell Angela at least the most basic aspect of her problem, she couldn't tell anyone.
Though she would have to very carefully choose her words, Lena couldn't just blurt out that she had very sexual fantasies involving a certain Talon-assassin. That she couldn't even tell her best friend. Well, technically she could, but it would be utterly retarded never the less.
Widowmaker was marked as shoot on sight. Not only did Tracer want to avoid the gigantic lecture Angela would undoubtedly give her, she also wanted to avoid any complications for her friend. There were rules after all, and Mercy usually complied with rules. If Tracer told her now, that Widowmaker was the woman causing her sleepless nights, Mercy would be compelled to mention it in a report. Now, Tracer knew that her best friend probably wouldn't do something like that, simply to keep Lena out of trouble, but Mercy definitely wouldn't like it one bit. She would get worked up over the whole matter, would try to talk Lena out of it and would probably blab in front of the wrong person, probably Winston, sooner than later. The problems this would cause for both Mercy and Tracer weren't worth the revelation of her secret crush. A crush, am I that far already? Well, there isn't really a point denying it, is there?
"I tried to forget someone" Lena replied, deciding to avoid names and hints, which could lead to an identity.
"Oh Gott," Mercy said in good spirits "Who is she?" she asked curiously.
"Not you, unfortunately" Tracer replied teasingly, not taking her head off Mercy's shoulder. She loved pushing that particular button on her best friend.
"Süße, you know I'm-"
"Not into girls, don't worry, luv, I'm well aware," Tracer giggled. But if Mercy would have been playing in the same team, oh damn Lena would have done anything to get the gorgeous blonde into bed. Preferably in the one in Lena's London apartment, and even more preferably naked.
"You know what, let's get breakfast. Kaffee is on me. And while you sip on the caffeine I pay for, you tell me everything about that girl and what she did to get you so worked up. I want to know everything. Sounds good, ja?" Mercy suggested.
"I have to disappoint you, luv, there isn't a lot I can tell you"
Angela laughed happily "Oh nein, I won't let you off the hook that easily. There has to be something, which sparked your interest. Spill it! Doctors orders!" she laughed, ruffling playfully through Lena's hair on her shoulder.
Tracer huffed, giving up. "Well, she is breathtakingly beautiful, moves like from a different planet, so graceful and elegant like nothing I ever saw before and she has a fascinating mystery shrouding her. But I don't even know her real name" Lena replied flatly, letting out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. It sounded really stupid now that she said it aloud.
"Ohh Süße, that sounds like from a novel!" Mercy squealed excited. "C'mon let's go!" she said, getting up while pulling Tracer along with her. "You can start by telling me where you met your mysterious new crush!" she demanded, while she dragged Lena out of the infirmary.
Tracer almost instinctively replied with London, but she stopped her hasty mouth in the last second. That would have been a too big hint for Mercy not to miss, basically on the same level with telling her skin-color was blue. Who could she possibly have met in London, which worked her up so badly that she needed to drown her thoughts in Scotch? And that right after the day she returned from exactly that city, other than maybe the one woman, who showed up in Tracer's report everywhere? Talk about broad hints. "Back at home" Lena replied instead.
"Is it something serious?" Mercy asked innocently. She obviously had no idea who she was just discussing, but that didn't stop her from drilling holes into her best friend.
"I haven't even talked to her yet" Lena replied sheepishly, causing Angela to laugh loudly.
"Oh my, she must have been something very special if you didn't have the guts to talk to her. Otherwise you hit on anything with tits and legs." she laughed again. "And here I am thinking your appreciation of her agility originated in the sheets"
Tracer turned as red as a tomato. Yes, she was a flirt, that she couldn't deny, but in all seriousness, she was very careful when it came to selecting girls she'd share a bed with. Mercy knew that full well. So why was she constantly teasing her about it?
"No, I just saw her-" ...fight... "- dance"
"Oh, you met her at a party then?" Mercy asked.
"something..." Lena hesitated. A party, that's what Widowmaker had called their last encounter as well. Gaahh, why is everything reminding me of her? Tracer felt like pulling her hair out "...like that, yes."
"Oh Gott, I haven't seen you like that ever before" Dr. Ziegler said happily walking up to the front door of the cafeteria. The white metal wall slid out of the way and the blonde angel of healing let her gaze glide over the rather crowded cafeteria. After a moment she spotted an empty table near the window which seemed like a pretty nice place.
While Overwatch was still officially disabled, Winston employed everyone as members of a scientific research team, who indeed did do completely legal, authorized scientific work at this place. The agents of Overwatch hid among the legitimate employees. "You should definitely talk to her!" Angela said to Lena as the two of them sat down on the empty table.
It didn't take a moment before a waitress was at their side "Ah, Frau Doktor, good to see you again" the woman of middle age, who wasn't straight forward fat, but definitely had a few pounds too much on her hips said friendly "What can I get for you?" she wanted to know.
"Two large coffees, please. One black, one with extra milk and sugar" The black one was for herself, she needed her caffeine as pure and unfiltered as possible, so it still had an effect, the one with milk and sugar was for Lena, who just had a sweet tooth.
"Coming right up!" the waitress exclaimed happily, before she vanished as fast as she appeared.
"As I said, you should talk to her, Süße. Otherwise you'll brood over it forever"
Lena shook her head, relieved that her headache was starting to slowly fade away. "Yeah, I know, luv, no reason to tell me. It was on my list for the next time I see her."
Mercy smirked at her, her deep blue eyes betraying her no good intentions "And maybe you should do that sober and properly dressed. It works miracles, you know?" she teased.
"Yeah, yeah, I look like shit, I get it, luv. There's no need to remind me, innit?" she replied with a suppressed giggle. Mercy always cheered her up, no matter what.
"Aww, you so cute when you are like that" Angela teased.
"Don't play with my feelings like that, that's just cruel" Lena pouted, causing a bright smile on Angela's lips. She was dead curious who that nameless girl was. Because one thing was sure, she had to be quite amazing to make the great Tracer drink to forget her. Mercy imagined it normally was just the other way round.
Her best friend was a dangerous predator, a weapon built to seduce other women. A ladykiller, if ever there was one. Normally Lena knew that and usually used this particular set of skills a lot, even if it was just to stay in shape for those she considered worthy. Not that there were a lot of people she'd consider worthy, Mercy was well aware of that. Be that as it may, going out with Lena Oxton always was an adventure, even if it was only for all the heads she turned. An amusing show to watch, with the positive side-effect of all the male interested parties being directly referred to Angela. She didn't even have to work for it, not that Mercy normally had trouble with that sort of thing. She was beautiful and interesting enough, so much was certain.
But seriously, who was it, who made Tracer insecure? The bubbly Brit had so much self confidence, sometimes it was hard for even Mercy to resist her advances and she wasn't into girls in the first place.
Angela suspected it had to be Tracer's natural good looks for the most part, together with her super-fit, attractive body and her kind personality, which was enough to leave any remotely girl-interested woman chanceless. And if that wasn't enough, Lena's irresistible British charm and dialect was what finished them off.
Mercy didn't even want to know how many women Lena had turned full lesbian in the matter of two sentences, only to leave them standing where she found them.
In that aspect, her best friend was brutally cruel.
Yet not once did Tracer meet someone she wouldn't openly approach. At least not that Angela knew of such a person up until now. So who was that other nameless woman? Curiosity didn't even begin to describe what Angela felt, as she saw her best friend squirm in front of her eyes. In a very twisted way, this was hilarious.
-/-
That's it for todays ladies and gentlemen. Hope you all enjoyed it.
Oh yes, two things I need to mention, which I forgot before.
In case you didn't suspect it, I do not own Overwatch... ya no shit sherlock, who would have guessed that. Trust me that game would have a single player story based campaign. It definitely would. And there would be Tracer x Widowmaker stuff in it... aaanyway, I am starting to miss the point :D
The second thing concerns the story. One thing you need to know about me is that I am no native English-speaker, so if the spelling sometimes a little bit off or the grammar not spot on, please forgive me. I am trying my best, but mistakes are just bound to happen. Feel free to point out if something major is out of place.
should you still want to actually spend some money on me and my story, you can!
go to Tipee com and search for E82. Or you use the link on my profile
That's it from me for today :)
As I said, I hope you liked the chapter! Now, I am not saying it would make me happy if you'd review or anything, but... hold on, that is exactly what I am saying. It would make me very happy. So why don't use that convenient little box right down below?
Thanks!