London suburbs, unknown location, 0034 hours

Widowmaker pushed herself forward, supporting her weight on the cold and moldy brick wall to her right. The alley was dark and reeked of a lot of disgusting things at once. Paying these details no particular mind, the assassin forced herself to move on, however slowly. Her only concern was going forward, away from where she had been.

She hadn't fucked up things this royally ever before.

The job had been easy enough, she supposed. Get in, shoot the target, get out. Nothing more to it. Or at least there seemed to be nothing more to it at first glance.

The target had been the greasy CEO of a prestigious company which produced control modules for military grade ballistic missiles among other things. Widowmaker obviously didn't ask a lot of questions, but apparently the guy wasn't too happy with the idea of selling this kind of equipment to terrorists such as Talon. So the organization brought a successor in position, ready to succeed the current CEO at a moment's notice. Just the way Talon had handled these kind of affairs so many times before. Make an offer to someone, who was willing to sell them whatever they wanted, in exchange for a bigger chair. It usually was the young and career-obsessed type who agreed to these kind of shady proposals. They obviously weren't told what would happen to the current CEO, but it only took an educated guess to figure out the truth.

The current CEO needed to go. Permanently.

Which was where Widowmaker came into the play. Obviously she was specialized in making away with people who needed to go. All Talon had to do was give her a name and a face and she would take care of the rest.

Simple as that.

The original plan Widowmaker had prepared would have the pencil pusher assassinated with a sniper-rifle from a little less than five miles away. She would strike exactly two hours after he got to work. At that time the target was usually spreading out his legs under his ridiculously large desk in his just as preposterously large office, just like he always did. At least that had been the target's routine the last few days, in which the golden eyed assassin observed him. It would be a relatively easy shot with lots of room to cancel out the wind and a head on angle from right behind the target's office. No problem for the best sniper the world had to offer.

But then the target's paranoia seemed to have kicked in all of a sudden, and he had all the windows, both at the office, as well as at his home, replaced with transparent steel-plates. Nearly 8-inch thick armor steel, which was just as see-though as your common window was. That had put a slight damper on Widowmaker's plans to use her gun for the kill. Not even her high-powered custom-built rifle -no matter how much of a punch it usually packed- was able to pierce that kind of protection.

Now she had to get up close with the target. Personal.

This wasn't how she liked to do things, but still; no problem. Two days later the assassin made her move.

Sneaking into his home was easy enough. Thanks to her reduced body-temperature, the heat sensors didn't detect the intruder at all. Making her way into the home-office was child's play as well. She found the climate control room and gracefully lifted herself into the air vent duct, from where she proceeded. Completely standard procedure; nothing to it.

Even the kill itself had been almost boringly primitive. The target was sitting on his desk, his legs flipped up on the tabletop right in between two pictures. One of him with two little girls, both not older than maybe ten, the other with him and another woman, who might have been his wife. He was idly toying with a pen while leaning back into his chair, phoning with someone.

Widowmaker had dropped down from the air vent behind the target and waited for him to hang up. While she patiently waited for her opportunity to strike, she had to admit that her target did have excellent taste in furnishing. Warm beiges and darker chocolate browns were dominant colors, creating a welcoming and comfortable environment in the brightly lit office.

Widowmaker however didn't get to marvel at the beautiful office for much longer. Her target let his legs fall off his desk, putting the phone down after saying a warm and loving goodbye to someone. The assassin patiently waiting behind him immediately put a bullet through his head with a silenced pistol, splattering dark red blood and pieces of brain all over the two pictures on his desk. The victim's head fell forward, impacting on the tabletop with a loud noise.

Normally, this was the point, where the unfeeling assassin began to experience some life returning to her soul. But just like the last time, this one short moment of happiness was absent. Widowmaker huffed in annoyance, wasting a quick thought about the woman, who caused her emotional reward of killing to disappear. She could almost hear the Brit giggle right behind her, sending a warm shiver down Widow's spine.

This wasn't the time and place to think about her now! Widowmaker shook her head and concentrated on the task at hand. Her job was done. Easy and exactly according to plan.

Not as planned however was the rattling of the target's office door. If Widowmaker wouldn't have dwelled on Tracer, she would have already been gone.

But that wasn't the case.

And now she was a little moment too slow for her escape when the door opened. The now dead target's assistant, who also served as his bodyguard, suddenly burst into the office, catching an intruder right behind the dead CEO. Under normal circumstances, the assistant would have been dead as soon as she came through the door. But Widowmaker, raising her gun did hesitate for a moment. Why in the name of god did that pute stupide have to wear an orange leggings? Why?

If not for that, Widowmaker would have shot the intruder without any hesitation. But the first impulse her brain provided her with was Tracer! For a moment she actually thought the bubbly Brit once again interrupted her work. And that was why she hesitated and why she didn't follow her first impulse to pull the trigger.

She didn't want to shoot Tracer. Well, that wasn't strictly true. Sometimes a part of her wished she'd have shot the Brit ages ago simply for all the sleepless nights Tracer was causing, but that wasn't the point right now. She didn't want to shoot Tracer at this moment.

Unfortunately, Widowmaker had been wrong. The woman coming into the target's office hadn't been Tracer.

And that was what gave the bodyguard, who really hadn't suspected to find a hitman in the office of her boss, the necessary advantage. That second or two in which Talon's master assassin hesitated was enough for the bodyguard to shake off her confusion, draw her pistol, and put a hole into Widowmaker's abdomen. Luckily, the bodyguard was a lousy shot, and the assassin was fast enough to blow imposter-Tracer's brain out before she could fire another round.

Widowmaker suppressed the pain in her stomach as she walked over to check if the intruder really was dead. Which she was, at least judging from that large hole in her head, which was spilling blood onto the fine crème-white carped. Widow took a moment to look at the dead woman for a bit longer.

Damn. Someone wearing a Tracer cosplay almost got her killed. Why was that woman wearing a freaking Tracer cosplay? The golden eyed assassin didn't even want to know. The real Tracer would never do as much as look at that moron, Widowmaker thought by herself, as the answer for her question basically forced itself in her mind. Pervert.

In disgust, Widow turned around to leave. The purple haired woman didn't bother making the scenery look like the two corpses shot each other. There was most likely one bullet too many somewhere around the office, and a third person's DNA was also all over the place. Not that it would be of much use. Widowmaker's blood rendered itself useless after it had been outside of her body for more than 10 minutes. All hail Talon's department for genetic reprogramming. Her blood would be completely indistinguishable from dirt soon enough. With an annoyed grunt, Widow left the target's home, pressing a hand to her stomach to prevent excessive blood loss.

She needed to reach the safehouse.

Which was why she now dragged herself forward, leaving a dark line of glistering purple blood on the disgustingly dirty brick wall next to her. She needed to get to safety as soon as possible. Her hideout for the mission was still rather far away, but she'd make it.

It was her only option.

Widowmaker was forcing herself forward, even if each step felt more heavy than the one before and her head was feeling light.

One step after another.

She'd make it. There had been worse situations which she escaped from. This was easy. No problem. Just keep walking and breathe deeply.

Her vision was losing focus more and more often, becoming completely blurry only to return to normal again. She was losing too much blood, yet moving was her only option. Reach the safehouse where there would be medical equipment. Widow could use it to patch herself up.

Focused solely on moving forward, Widowmaker wanted to turn the next corner, before someone walked right into her, knocking her off her feet.

She grunted in pain, as she fell to the ground together with the person who had knocked her over. Widowmaker wanted to hiss something aggressive and offensive, but then she saw it.

Brown eyes, warm as the summer sun burning into hers like a fierce fire. A foreign warmth seeping into her cold body, the pain in her abdomen forgotten.

"Oy! I'm sorry! I didn't see you there!" The other person started apologizing "Are you-" she stopped to stare.

Tracer didn't believe her eyes for one moment. The whole evening she had been racking her brain, trying to figure out how she'd approach a certain purple-haired assassin. The whole evening she didn't have the first idea and now she literally ran into her.

She looked into cold, golden eyes, so foreign to this world, yet also so very scared at the moment. Widowmaker didn't make a move. She didn't attack her.

Nothing.

Something was not right.

Maybe it was the fact that she had been wounded. Maybe it was because Widowmaker's mind wasn't wiped according to schedule, or maybe it was because the warm body of Tracer being once again on top of her felt so undeniably good that Widowmaker didn't feel any hostility. Whatever the reason, in that moment she didn't want to fight Tracer no matter how much she knew it would be what was expected of her. She simply didn't want to. And she also knew that she was in absolutely no condition to do so; but that was not the point.

"What a pleasant surprise, ma chérie" she breathed.

"What are you doing here!?" Lena cried, completely overwhelmed. Her brain was trying to figure out the reason why Amélie could possibly be in front of her, but she couldn't think of even a single legit expanation.

"You don't want to know, chérie" the assassin replied "Would you mind terribly, if we won't try to kill each other today?" she asked, hoping that maybe Tracer would just let things slide and she could be on her way to the safehouse. Her time was ticking away rapidly.

Lena might have imagined it, but was there a slight smile on Amélie's lips? Was she happy to see her? Or was Lena just seeing what she wanted to see? No. The Overwatch agent was interpreting too much into the situation. This was just a really strange coincidence; nothing more.

But this coincidence still played right into Lena's hands. If she didn't screw things up now, maybe she'd get a chance to come to talking terms with the assassin she desired so much. For that to work she would have to be very careful now and not rush things. They were still enemies. No one said anything else. But she asked for a truce today, didn't she? Maybe I should just go for it?

Tracer began by slowly sliding off Widowmaker with the intention of helping the French assassin back up. But before she could do that, Lena noticed the random jacket she grabbed before heading out to the bar felt strangely wet. She thought nothing of it and looked down on herself. A lot of things she expected, none being particularly worrisome, yet the large purple blotch slowly soaking into her jacket made her throat tighten up. Lena's eyes darted to Widowmaker's abdomen, which the assassin tried to shield with her hand. A striking pain of shock rushed through Oxton as her eyes went wide.

"You're hurt!" she exclaimed, immediately crouching back down to her rival's side. There was dark blood gushing out in between Amélie's fingers which were tightly pressed on to her wound.

"What do you care?" Widowmaker asked. Surprisingly, she didn't sound hissing, or accusing, or anything like that. Instead she sounded really surprised. Maybe it really had to do with her excessive loss of blood, but for some reason she felt safe and comfortable in Tracer's presence, which normally would have made her nervous. But not in this moment.

"I just do, luv. You need a hospital! I'll call an ambulance!" Tracer replied with some very apparent panic in her voice. She tried to turn away from Widowmaker, but was stopped by a bloody hand.

"Ma chérie, if you call an ambulance, you could just as well shoot me." she said weakly. Widowmaker was a wanted criminal, terrorist, and murderer. There was no way she could go to a hospital and walk away the next day. She would be imprisoned immediately, and that could never happen. Should Talon learn that she was caught, they'd rather eliminate her than risk her spilling any secrets.

Tracer scratched her head. For a moment she forgot who was lying on the street right in front of her and what would happen to her if she was caught. Lena obviously didn't know about the consequences beyond imprisonment, but that alone seemed good enough a reason to not want to go to a hospital.

"Right... sorry. I forgot" Lena replied, thinking hard about what she should do. Well, she should call an ambulance and arrest the assassin for all the crimes she committed. She also should contact Overwatch HQ immediately, reporting the incident. She should hand the wanted terrorist over to the authorities. It would have been the right thing to do.

But Lena didn't do the right thing... obviously.

"If you want to help me, you should leave me alone" Widowmaker said.

"No way in hell!" Lena almost yelled, the reply so immediate it brought a small frown to Amélie's face. Lena ignored it, while she quickly stripped out of her jacket, putting the still warm cloth over Widowmaker like it was a blanket. She had made her decision and knew it would either turn out to be best in her life, or the one she regretted forever. It made no difference now. Lena wouldn't let Widowmaker bleed to death in a dirty alley... or anywhere else for that matter.

"What are you-?"

"Shut up, luv, before I regret it!" Lena instructed, before adding "This is just this once, you hear me?" Tracer said, without even knowing why. Somehow she thought that keeping some distance at the moment would be good. She didn't want to make Widowmaker feel like this came with any obligations.

Tracer needed something to patch Amélie up for now. Luckily, the Brit was wearing a dark blue long-sleeved shirt underneath her jacket. This would do just nicely. Grabbing the cloth and biting down on the shoulder, she violently ripped off one of her sleeves. The sound of tearing fabric echoed through the dark and silent alley, leaving Widowmaker wondering. What was this girl doing? Why was she even here? It wasn't like they were allies or anything, so... why? This wasn't going the way she imagined at all. None of it.

Quick and skilled fingers rapped the torn off sleeve around Widowmaker's abdomen before the makeshift bandage was tied together tightly. So far that was a kind gesture from the only one Widowmaker would have ever allowed to do that. If there was a part of her, that wanted to resist, it was too weak to convince her into doing so.

However, what really shocked Widowmaker was how Lena suddenly let her arms glide under her cold body, picking her up bridal style.

"W-Woah!" Widowmaker cried out in surprise. "What the hell are you doing!?"

"You said you didn't want us to kill each other today, luv." Lena replied cheerfully. She tried to be optimistic now, because she was rather certain Widowmaker was very much aware of her serious condition. "And leaving you to bleed to death would be just like killing you, innit right?"

"That's a strange way of looking at things, ma chérie" Widowmaker replied, shaking her head. She would have never admitted it out loud, but right here in Tracer's arms, feeling her warmth and getting the opportunity of talking to her, she could have died peacefully. Which unfortunately started to seem like a not so unlikely possibility. All those advanced implants and genetic modifications aside, Widowmaker still could bleed to death.

Still, better this way than on the cold floor, she supposed. No longer having the strength to hold her head up, she let it rest on Lena's shoulder, inhaling her scent. She smelled like she had just come freshly out of a pub, smoke and alcohol were overlapping with the sweet flowery odor of Lena's perfume.

"The truce is just for today, luv," Tracer giggled cutely as she carried Widowmaker around the corner. Looks like her stroll would have to wait for another day. She really didn't mind. All that was important now was getting Amélie to safety and tending to her wounds. Easier said than done.

Her heavy head resting on Tracer's shoulder, Widowmaker watched the world around her glide past. She was carried out of the dark alley and saw an inviting looking bar, which had a really odd name. There also were two blokes passionately making out right in front of the entrance.

"Have you been to this bar?" Widowmaker wanted to know. On the one hand, because that typical pub-scent sticking to Lena made her curious. In addition the bar also didn't look like your ordinary tavern either. On the other hand, Widow was starting to feel very tired. She knew that falling asleep now was possibly fatal in her situation, so she tried to keep herself awake by talking about whatever crossed her mind.

"Sure have, luv. It's my local" Tracer replied, looking down to Amélie with a warm smile. It instantly made the injured woman feel more alive. Just why was it that the blue assassin felt so good in the company of one of her worst enemies. Was it all because she remembered more than ever before? Or was there more to it? Was there more in between them; something Widowmaker didn't understand yet? Something she didn't know, or knew once but was forced to forget?

"It's a gay-bar, isn't it?" she asked plainly.

Lena giggled again. She wasn't hiding her sexuality from anyone. The thought of starting now didn't even occur. "That's a strange thing to notice, luv" she replied in deliberately good mood. "But yes, it is."

-/-

Half an hour later, Widowmaker was lying in Tracer's bed just barely conscious, while Tracer had grabbed her headset. She was on the phone with someone, as she carried blankets and first aid kits to the bed. The assassin was too far gone to even hear the conversation Tracer had with whoever was at the other end of the line.

Back at Watchpoint Gibraltar, the phone right next to Dr. Ziegler rang so loudly, the doctor almost jumped out of her bed in surprise. With tired hands she grabbed at the device until she found the accept-button "Mhhh? Dr. Ziegler here. What is it?"

"Angela, it's me!" Tracer's loud voice almost blew Mercy's eardrum to bits "I need your help, luv!"

"Lena? Do you have any idea how late it is?" Angela murmured, holding the phone away from her ear. Damn, it was the middle of the night and she wanted to sleep!

"How do I stop excessive bleeding from a gun-wound?" There was the rattling of something metallic falling to the ground followed by some very heavy cursing. "C'mon luv, talk to me!" There was sheer panic in Lena's voice and suddenly Mercy had forgotten about her tiredness. She sat up in her bed, straight as a candle.

"Why aren't you at a hospital?" she asked in all seriousness.

"Can't. Angela, what do I do?! Help me!" Lena pleaded, her tone making it very much clear that there was no time for asking long questions.

"Alright, I'll talk you through it. Do you have a standard medical supply kit?"

"Old Overwatch stuff, yes"

"Good. First, you want to identify the wound, ballistic or plasma? You recognize this by-"

"Ballistic!" Lena's reply came immediately. She received the standard military first aid training when she still was a fighter pilot at the royal air force. Identifying the kind of gun wound was barely within her capabilities.

"Alright. Is the bullet still stuck inside?" Angela asked. Someone groaning in pain and some blankets being shifted was all she heard for a while before Lena replied.

"No; it penetrated."

"Tell me the diameters of the entrance and the exit hole." Mercy demanded, before quickly realizing that Lena would be exactly the kind of person, who would start running for a ruler now to measure the diameter. So the doctor quickly added: "Is one larger than the other?". More painful grunting and silently muttered apologies were audible at Mercy's end of the line.

"No! Approximately the same size" Lena replied.

"That's good. It's safe to assume the bullet didn't splinter then. Alright. Take the wound-foam from your medical supply kit. It's the red tube in the left compartment, right on the top."

Lena rooted through the first aid kit. "Yes, got it. What now?"

"Shake it ten times hard and pop the cap. Then press the pointy end as deep into the wound as possible and push the trigger button. Keep going until the tube is completely empty. This is important. Keep going until the unit beeps. The foam might overflow on the exit wound, but that's ok. Keep going," Angela said. "This hurts like hell, so warn your patient."

"Got it!" Lena replied, the noise of preparing the wound foam was transmitted to Angela. "Luv, Angela said this hurts, so bear with me, alright? Don't worry. It'll over soon, I promise!" Lena said silently. A sound reminiscent of spray cream being used preceded the loud scream of another woman. Angela actually cringed a little when she heard that.

"What now? She lost a lot of blood, Angela. God, please help me!" Lena sounded like she was on the verge of crying

"Calm down, Süße. Almost done." Angela said steadily. "There should be a roll of biotic patches in the kit. It's inside the blue box in the bottom right corner of the kit. Cut them into two large halves and apply to the back and front of the wound. Then we'll work on something to counter the blood loss. Do you have freezer bags?"

-/-

When Widowmaker woke up, she felt like she just had the strangest dream. She dreamt about being hurt during a mission and Tracer heroically saving her from certain death. It actually felt more like a fantasy than a dream, something she would have wanted to happen but would never actually take place in that way.

Still, the idea of spending some peaceful time with the Brit, who had occupied the most private corners of her mind, was nice. Widowmaker had given up on fighting that some time ago. To be honest, the time she started thinking more and more fondly about Tracer aligned shockingly precisely with the time her mind wasn't wiped.

Coincidence? Widowmaker didn't think so.

Looking at the ceiling of her room, Widowmaker had to notice that this in fact wasn't her room at all. The light wooden panels supported by heavy beams were completely foreign. She took a deep breath, but was stopped by a sharp stinging pain in her abdomen.

Wanting to lift the sheets off her body, she noticed an arterial infusion, which was hooked up to her right arm. Following the colorless tube from the needle inside her arm upwards, her golden eyes came to a stop at a freezer bag filled with what seemed to be saline solution. The bag was provisionally hanging from a bent metal coat hanger fixed to a floor lamp.

Carefully, Widowmaker wanted to pull the needle of the IV-bag out of her arm, but she found her hand being firmly held in place. Fearing the worst, Widowmaker looked to her left.

And what she saw felt like someone had punched her in the face... in the best way imaginable.

Sitting on an uncomfortable looking chair, Tracer had been watching over a sleeping Widowmaker for hours, until exhaustion finally proved too much for her. She fell asleep, her face on the edge of the bed, while she was still half sitting on the chair. And all the time she had been holding Amélie's left hand tightly in her own.

Widowmaker gulped heavily. So it was no dream, no fantasy, and no whatever else. It really happened. With a heavy hand, she lifted the blanket up to find a large biotic plaster on her abdomen. No dream indeed.

Widowmaker looked back at Tracer, who was snoring cutely. She seemed so peaceful, so... happy. It was such a simple gesture of kindness, the way she held Widowmaker's hand like she wanted to reassure her that she wasn't alone and that there was someone there for her. It made the hardened assassin suppress tears.

Waking up here, seeing what she saw now, being where she was and remembering what she remembered, made Widowmaker feel so many different things at once. All of which positive, and none of which were feelings she remembered having ever before.

The warm morning sun was shining through the large windows, bathing the whole bedroom in beautiful light, like god meant to tell them there was hope.

Yet, Widowmaker knew better than that. There was no hope, no matter how much she felt like this was right. Like it was supposed to be this way. No matter how much she wanted to wake Lena up and thank her for everything she did, Widowmaker knew it would have been a foolish mistake. She wasn't free to make her own choices. She wasn't free to give in to irrelevant desires. No matter how much she denied it to herself, she wasn't free at all. She was Talon's slave and nothing more. It was all she knew.

Tracer had made it clear: They were enemies.

"the truce is just for today, luv"

Amélie remembered these words very clearly. Tracer had been absolutely right; today they would be back to fighting each other. The bubbly Brit apparently had a strong sense of honor, not wanting her rival to bleed to death in a dirty alley. Apparently she wanted them to fight it out one day, and the French assassin was thankful for it.

It was better this way, Widowmaker supposed. No matter how much she wanted to get closer to Tracer, it was a stupid idea. Every aspect of it.

No.

They would fight it out one day. Widowmaker knew it just as certain as she knew the outcome of that fight. The decision was an easy one. This wasn't her world anymore, and it was not her place to live on. Not when Tracer would have to die in the dust in her stead.

Carefully retrieving her hand from Tracer's so she wouldn't wake up, the wounded assassin removed the IV from her arm, before silently getting out of bed.

-/-

A/N:

Alrighty boys and girls, that's it for today! I hope you liked it.

Want to support the story? Go to Tipee com and search for E82. Or you use the link on my profile. tipeee com slash e82s-fanfiction

You know, I really like getting feedback, positive or negative, tell me what's on your mind. That said, if you feel like criticizing my work, please elaborate your issue, so I can maybe improve it. There is nothing wrong with negative feedback (obviously I like the good ones better, who doesn't, but that's not the point) and I'm not offended by it in the slightest. You don't like my story for reason X or because of fact Y, you tell me those aspects, I'll appreciate your honesty. Also, I will try to improve the story based on your feedback however possible. No problem, we still can be best friends.

One thing I can't stomach however are rude people.

Which is why I want to address one review here, because it really bothered me.

A guest wrote: "Wow, 4 whole chapters and not even a pound of lemon yet. So this is rated what again?"

I feel like I should explain a few things here.

While I do understand the guest's opinion -he wants lemons sooner- I fail to see any logical reasoning behind his statement. Especially the connection between Lemon and Rating as well as the length of the story so far.

First of all, it is perfectly possible to write a M rated story without as much as a single hint towards a lemon in it. I'm rather good at writing torture scenes e.g. which surely are perfectly valid points for rating a story M . There also is psychological adequacy in play, which I rate not suitable for anything lower than M. Of course, if a story has steamy lemons and nothing else, it would be rated M as well, but it isn't the exclusive feature of M rated stories, is it?

That said, this story will of course have lemons. But that brings me to the second problem: Why exactly would I put them in the first four chapters? Our two main characters haven't even met yet, so how exactly would a lemon make sense? How should I have this started off? With Widow and Tracer in bed together, because screw all logic? We are looking at two enemies, who I want to pair together. I can't do that without decent character development, if I want to at least try and make it plausible. And you don't develop those characters in two chapters and get far enough for them to end up in the sheets.

That goes for the torture and blood etc as well. We are four chapters into the story. I didn't rate this M for the stuff I already published, but for the things to come. What's wrong with that exactly?

I'm not writing porn with plot, never have, never will. There are erotic scenes and displays of sexuality in my stories, of course, but it serves as support and is used where it fits. It will never carry the plot. The focus will always be on the characters, their interaction and development and not their sex life.

And now I have talked about a one line feedback for far too long, simply because I was given no explanation for this review. As I said, I am open to negative feedback, but please: Give me something I can work with. Thank you very much :)

That said, I would still love to hear what you think and hope I didn't scare anyone away.

Thank you all for your awesome attention and support, I appreciate it greatly :)

Special thanks to EhMattissimo once again, for being the best beta-reader I could have hoped for! Thanks buddy!

o7

E82