The rooftops were lonely and abandoned, just like always. Widowmaker was so used to travelling through a city like this she did it without a second thought. True, it hardly was considered a normal means of transportation, but she didn't care.
The rooftops allowed her to run a straight beeline toward Tracer. She hadn't thought this through at all. Amélie literally just jumped up and left the hideout. She didn't prepare anything. She was still wearing her skin tight bodysuit, not having bothered with changing into something more... adequate.
Rooftops not only provided a tactical advantage and the possibility of moving unnoticed, they also provided an inexplicable feeling of safety for Widow; which was most likely because she always had the rooftops for herself.
Down on the crowded streets of London she was exposed to the prying eyes and impertinent stares of all those around her. Widowmaker understood; they all had never seen someone with blue skin, purple hair, and golden eyes. She was something exotic; something foreign. Most of the gawkers thought she was even some kind of freak. Rationally, Widowmaker understood that. But it still bothered her. It wasn't like she cared what others thought about her, quite the contrary, she literally could not care less about it.
It was more the staring itself, and the attention which came along with it, which unnerved her so much. Attention meant someone saw her. Someone seeing her meant a witness, and witnesses were always a bad idea in her line of work. Especially when carrying a huge, conspicuous sniper-rifle around for all the world to see. If Widowmaker wouldn't be required to be an unseen shadow in the night, she would have walked down any street without any hesitation. She didn't give a fuck who thought what about her and what opinions other people had. Right now there was only one person whose opinion wasn't irrelevant.
Tracer would be the only one looking at her today, and no matter how annoyed Amélie usually was when people stared at her, the thought of Tracer doing just that made excitement boil up in her heart. Not that Widowmaker understood the appealing aspects of her own body. She never got why people always looked at her with lecherous eyes. Her body was a weapon, honed to complete one task perfectly.
And that task was plain and brutal killing, simple as that. Widowmaker's body wasn't meant to look good, it wasn't built to draw attention and it sure as fuck wasn't designed to seduce. But when she thought back to the way Tracer looked at her, the glistering in her eyes as if she had found the most beautiful treasure in the world, Widow couldn't help and think that maybe there was something worthy of the word beauty to her body. At least Tracer seemed to think so. And as long as she did, everyone else could go to hell.
She would only allow Tracer to look at her like that; like she was human, worthy of being desired. To everyone else, she was a weapon, and she would not hesitate to remind them of this fact.
The gaps between the different apartment blocks were easily overcome with the help of Widowmaker's grappling-hook as she raced towards her destination. It wasn't far anymore; just a couple of blocks and some streets, no big deal. Widowmaker remembered perfectly where she needed to go to find Lena's place. Her memory was impeccable, even if she had only been there once before. It didn't matter.
A few minutes later, Amélie rappelled down the house opposite of Tracer's apartment. Crossing the street with fast steps she was standing in front of a heavy wooden door. The old gate painted in a dark shade of green, a golden panel on the wall next to it, containing multiple different doorbells with name tags right next to it.
Amélie hesitated as she noticed something crucial. She didn't know Tracer's real name. All she had was that stupid call sign of hers, written on those impossibly tight leggings. Up until now it had been enough for Widowmaker. That did change rather quickly when Amélie wanted to ring a doorbell.
But which one?
Where exactly was she supposed to ring? Only one of those countless doorbells incorporated in their golden housing would lead Amélie to the person she wanted to see right now.
The French assassin wasted a quick thought. Why hadn't she asked Tracer for her real name? There wasn't really a moment in which it seemed appropriate to do so. Amélie wrote it down on her mental list of things she had to do.
Still, the problem was the same. She didn't know where to ring. And Widowmaker really didn't want to try out her luck, starting somewhere and working her way through. It would have worked, sure, but it still seemed like an extra stupid thing to do. Talk about witnesses. Catching herself thinking about this like it was an assassination, Widowmaker squeezed her eyes shut and inhaled deeply. This was no mission; it wouldn't matter if people knew she was here. Or would it? Was there a better way?
Sighing, she stepped away from the door. Well, there really was only one option left for her if she didn't want to ring at every door. Reaching for her grappling-hook Widowmaker aimed for the little balcony in front of Tracer's flat before she fired the rope toward the stone railing. Testing the strength of the connection and being content with it, Amélie lifted herself into the air, upwards toward Tracer's balcony. It fitted her style as a stealthy assassin better anyway.
Gracefully pulling her flexible body over the railing, Widowmaker silently arrived on the outside of the place Tracer lived in most of the time. With undeniable excitement, Amélie peered through the large glass double door into what had to be Tracer's living-room. There was a comfortable couch with the back toward the window and a television in front of it. To its right there was a door leading to a different room and a bookshelf filled to the brim with various different editions of just as many oeuvres covering the entire wall next to the door. Opposite to the shelf was a wooden desk with a standard console-interface on top of it and a leather office chair a little displaced in front of it. Both the desk as well as the bookshelf weren't exactly neatly cleaned up. The desk had paperwork and different files scattered all over it, while the bookshelf was basically overflowing with books and magazines.
Widowmaker of course wasn't the least bit interested in the furniture, her eyes were fixed to the person sitting on Tracer's couch. That chocolate brown, unruly hair, which could only belong to one person. Even seeing her from the back made Amélie shiver in excitement. She swallowed heavily, extending her hand to knock on the glass door so she could catch Tracer's attention. But in the very same moment when her knuckles were about to touch the glass, the door inside the room opened unexpectedly. She quickly jerked her hand back, tensely staring inside. With eyes open wide and her slow heart beating almost painfully hard in her chest, Widowmaker could only wait and watch.
Tracer wasn't alone?
The tension building up inside Widowmaker's fragile soul was starting to slowly tear it apart as she had to witness a drop-dead gorgeous blonde with eyes as blue as arctic ice and legs longer than the golden gate bridge walk into Tracer's living room. The stranger was wearing an old shirt with a washed out imprint of the royal air-force on it. The aged fabric seemed to be a little too small for her ample breasts as it hugged her pale skin tightly and didn't cover her slender stomach completely. A blind man could have seen that this wasn't the blonde's shirt, but very much Tracer's.
A moment of silent confusion passed before realization dawned on Amélie.
Widowmaker felt like someone stabbed her through her heart from the back with a dagger dipped in acid as she witnessed how that unknown blonde walked over to the couch, carrying two glasses of wine, and sat down next to Tracer, handing one glass over. That alone wasn't the worst part; what really made Amélie feel like someone violently grabbed what was left of her soul and ripped into shreds was how Tracer didn't hesitate to slide closer to the other woman. She shamelessly rested her head on the blonde's shoulder like she had done it a thousand times, cuddling closer to the other woman while the blonde ruffled through Tracer's thick brown air with an affectionate smile on her lips.
That was...
They are... I'm... I... Why?
Widowmaker was left speechless, staring blankly through the window, unable to understand what was going on.
The first and only person Widowmaker grew not only to desire beyond imagination, but also to trust more than anyone else was now cuddling with another girl, destroying so much hope inside Widow's heart.
Amélie's eyes burnt from looking. She felt so used. So worthless all of a sudden. How could Tracer!? She trusted her! She had honestly thought that maybe, just maybe the bubbly Brit could be worth the trouble; that she could really be the one who would eventually help her. Really help her, not just pretend to do so.
Tracer had been the only person Widowmaker considered opening up to. Someone she really wanted to be closer to. Someone who resurrected her desire for a normal life; for a life outside Talon.
And now Widowmaker felt exactly like that foolish little girl she promised to never be again. Betrayed, used, and walked all over one more time. It hurt so bad she had a hard time breathing as an invisible cord strangled her throat without any mercy. Looking through that window was more painful than anything Talon ever did to her. Her hopes and dreams were violently crushed, the fragile young little red rose which was her desire for freedom and happiness, trampled to death by a huge boot. She felt like worthless dirt.
Amélie's lips trembled as she bit down on her tongue as hard as possible just to stop herself from crying out loud. If she had brought along her rifle, she would have shot someone. Most likely herself.
She was such an idiot.
How could she assume anything else would happen? Why did she get her hopes up? It was stupid.
Tracer was an attractive woman, outgoing, smart, and very desirable. How could Widowmaker think she'd wait for someone like her? A broken toy, an emotionless weapon, someone who would need lots of repairing before she could function rudimentarily normal. Who was willing to choose someone like her, when they had options like... like the blonde currently enjoying Tracers attention?
That... that traitorous dyke! Widow wanted to hiss internally, but no matter how much she wanted to curse Tracer in that moment, she found herself unable to do so.
She really couldn't. The more Widowmaker thought about it, the more everything made sense. Why would Tracer legitimately want to be with someone like her? On a whim, understandably, maybe in the heat of the moment. But rationally? Actually being with someone as in serious relationship?
Hell, she wouldn't want to be with herself if she'd have the choice. So, there really was no point in expecting this from someone else. Widowmaker knew she meant nothing but trouble; especially to date her.
Besides, it had been her who left Tracer in that belfry all on her own, telling her it was better this way. Widowmaker realized how stupid she had been as she turned around on the balcony.
She needed to get out of here.
Apparently her way of life truly had been better in the past. The loneliness really was her friend. There was no point in wanting someone to walk that path down together with her. It would only mean pain and misery for them. Widowmaker wasn't made to live a normal life like Amélie could have. Widow's fate was sealed to the shadows; it always had been, and it always would be. She just had forgotten about it.
Amélie didn't hate Tracer for what she saw. It was a valuable lesson.
But the pain the Brit left in Widowmaker's chest was too much for her to bear. Maybe it was her own fault? Maybe she shouldn't have left Tracer alone in that belfry the other day? Maybe she should have made her interest in the Brit clear from the beginning? Maybe she...
Widowmaker stopped herself. This didn't lead anywhere. She didn't do any of those things. And now she had obviously lost the one thing she remembered ever desiring. Tracer.
Looking back over her shoulder one more time, Amélie convinced herself that the Brit she cared for so much seemed happy.
She did.
The closeness she seemed to share with the blonde would be something Tracer and Widow would have never achieved. That blonde girl, whoever she was, would take good care of Tracer.
Widowmaker hoped she would.
It was only a poor consolation for the all numbing pain in her chest and for the feeling of betrayal and loneliness spreading through her soul like an ice cold wind once again. She felt dead inside; more than ever before.
Widowmaker reached for the rope on the balcony and dropped down towards the street, her limbs heavy and her mind occupied by sad thoughts. She knew that she lacked the concentration to jump rooftops right now.
So, she chose the streets, not bothering with the other pedestrians. They all were irrelevant. As fast as her dull world turned into the brightest colors with Tracer suddenly appearing, it turned back to black and white with her leaving again. Nothing really seemed to be of importance. Nothing was meaningful enough to care about.
Disconnected from reality, Widowmaker's numb and heavy legs carried her through the crowded streets of London, almost on their own, while her mind was spinning around the events she had witnessed.
Tracer on her couch.
The blonde beauty coming in, wearing Tracer's shirt.
Tracer cuddling closer to her.
Amélie squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, to force those images out of her head.
One thing was sure. There was no way she would want to walk around with memories about this day for even a minute longer than strictly necessary. What was the point in that? She had seen it, and no matter how painful, it was over before it even started.
It tore her apart piece by piece. All the excitement, the affection, desire of the last two weeks, and especially the fond memories of the day before turned into pain and suffering, a sweet fruit suddenly turning sour. Widowmaker didn't want to remember any of this anymore. It hurt so bad she could barely breath. How was she supposed to do her job properly now? How? She wanted to forget so badly. She wanted to undo all those feelings of hope which foolishly started to grow in her heart and had turned into sharp thorns tormenting it now.
Amélie had no experience with these kind of feelings; at least none she remembered. The only person capable of balancing her soul was also the one who threw it into turmoil. And now she was gone. It would have been better if Tracer never stepped into her life, it would have been better if she never allowed herself to indulge in herself in that fugacious feeling of happiness Tracer brought her.
There really was no point remembering the bubbly Brit who came so close to Amélie's heart any longer. It would only hurt Widowmaker further.
It was the first time that the assassin was glad she had options to forget.
Tracer would most likely have forgotten about Widow soon enough, but the assassin was sure that she would never be able to truly forget the enchanting girl. Not on her own, at least. She reached for the communicator hidden inside her wristband, pressing a speed-dial button.
It didn't take long for someone on the other end of the line to pick up.
"Job is done. Target dead. Requesting pickup" Widowmaker said, steadying her voice to the best of her ability "There were some complications. I need an appointment with the doctor. Guess my last memory- reset didn't work properly."
"Understood. Pickup at RV blue in two hours. Your appointment will be arranged" the just as emotionless as bodiless voice said before the line was dead again.
Amélie sighed heavily, noticing just now how many people were looking at her as she walked past them. A part of her regretted that she didn't bother changing into something more presentable than her skin tight bodysuit before she left the safe house. Or not having brought her rifle, which was probably the reason people dared to stare blankly at the pale-blue skinned woman walking down the street with such unparalleled grace, carrying her body like only a ballet-dancer should be able to.
The assassin ignored the people looking at her, like she was some kind of circus attraction. There were more important matters on her mind right now for this to bother her. If they wanted to look, so be it. The opinion of all those people meant nothing to Amélie. She didn't care what they thought, she didn't care what they whispered in each other's ears, she didn't care that they covered the eyes of their children with their hands.
There was only one thing in Widowmaker's mind right now, and that was getting away from Tracer's apartment. Nothing else mattered. And then, hopefully, she would be allowed to forget about the only person whose opinion had mattered to Widow. Who she wanted stare at her with that lively spark in her brown eyes, filled with desire.
It wasn't meant to be.
Thinking about what she'd do for the next two hours until someone from Talon would pick her up, Widowmaker stopped at a red light and waited for it to turn again, just like everybody else at the street corner.
At first she didn't notice the middle aged man in a dark business suit standing next to her and perving on her like she was a piece of willing young flesh. Widowmaker ignored it for a moment. Then for another one and one more, hoping the pedestrian lights would turn green soon. But they didn't, and so Widwomaker just boiled over.
"Can I help you?" she hissed with venom dripping from her voice as she shot the man a deadly glance. It should have been a good hint to get lost, but the world was full of idiots.
"How much?" he asked with a disgusting smile, shooting her with a finger-pistol "For the night?"
Widowmaker inhaled sharply, deeply regretting not having brought her rifle right about now. "Casse-toi, enfoiré!" She spat in her native language, giving him the ultimate glare of death. Even if this random idiot didn't speak French, which he most likely didn't, Widowmaker's words were understood never the less.
God, she had that incredible desire to kill somebody, and that moron would have done nicely if not for all those annoying little witnesses around her. Lucky him.
"Well, that is a rather rude thing to say to a customer" the creep laughed, his eyes running all over Widowmaker's body.
She hissed air through her teeth and glanced around her surroundings. There weren't a lot of people on the street-corner. An elderly gentleman, way past his nineties with coat and bowler hat and a mother with two children, a boy and a girl, both not older than maybe ten. All three looked at Widowmaker and the guy talking to her. The pensioner seemed like he was about to say something while the mother was trying to divert her children's attention from what was going on.
The business-man didn't notice either one of those things, his lecherous eyes were glued to Amélie.
"C'mon don't be like that, love. I pay good money" he said, reaching out for Widow's face.
Love. Lov... Luv. Tracer. How dared he say the words she used?!
How dared she to say these words and not mean them.
Amélie's iris narrowed tightly, as she slapped the man's hand out of the air before it could even come close to her face. Still agitated more than enough from what Widowmaker had seen at Tracer's apartment, this fool trying to get in her pants managed to choose the completely wrong wording.
For a moment Widowmaker pondered her options. She could really use something to make her feel better right now. So why not?
"Ts, ts, ts" Widowmaker shook her head with a dangerous smile on her lips. "No money, no touching, petit chou" she purred with an expertly faked sultry voice.
The expression of slight confusion changing to a anticipating, wide smile on his lips was enough for Widowmaker to know that she had him on the hook. From there on it would be a piece of cake.
"Follow me, tigre" Widowmaker murmured, using her index-finger in a sultry way to beckon the business man to come with her, while she walked a few steps into the direction she came from. The unsuspecting flyfollowed the spider willingly into her deadly web, not knowing what Widowmaker would really do to him.
Definitely not what he was expecting her to do.
A few short minutes later the assassin had lured her prey to the location she had in mind for this. It was a sparsely lit, narrow alley in between two old buildings. The asphalt was totally askew and made up of dozens badly fixed holes in the ground, some of them collecting a badly smelling mixture of different fluids, the origin of which was better left unknown. There was a large metal dumpster right at the entry into the otherwise sordid street, making the entire length of the alley barely visible.
Widowmaker didn't hesitate and reached for the business man's dark blue tie, seductively wrapping it around her hand while leading him into the alley and behind the dumpster. With one of her delicate fingers pressed to his chest in a teasing way she pushed him a few steps back into the wall, her hips swinging temptingly. Her clueless prey didn't suspect a thing as his back made contact with the slightly moist wall and Widowmaker's quick hands slid up his chest and down his arms just for her to grab him at his wrists and raise his arms upwards over his head, pinning them to the wall.
"Now, petit chou, what do you want me to do to you?" Amélie hummed with a heavy French accent, her eyes glowing in the dim light of the alley and her body pressed onto the business man. Playing with her prey was always what Widowmaker enjoyed the most. And this fool had no idea what was really going on.
What a moron.
"Here?" he asked under his breath, quickly looking around the rather disgusting alley. It was hardly a place he really wanted to get naked at. And neither did Widowmaker. But the difference was, where the horny guy was so focused on getting it on with that fascinating, beautiful pale blue woman that he was more than willing to overlook the dirty location, said woman didn't have getting naked in mind for today anyway. Her idea of fun didn't involve undressing; at least not for today.
"Oui," Widow replied teasingly pressing herself closer to him, already feeling the growing bump in his pants. "Why not?" she asked, internally forcing herself to continue her act for just a little bit longer. She really wanted to get to it already, but knew that the game would only become more fun the longer it was allowed to run.
"It's a little... dirty, don't you think?" he replied, causing Widow to giggle softly. His attention was back to her person immediately.
"Oh this is parfaitement, trust me" she reassured him.
Smiling like a kid at Christmas, the man nodded enthusiastically. If he had known what Widowmaker had truly planned to make him pay for what he said, he would not have been so very excited. But the prey was already very excited. And so was Widowmaker, yet for completely different reasons.
"What do I owe you afterwards, love?" he asked with a priggish smile.
There it was again.
Love.
He pronounced it differently, but that didn't matter to Amélie. She would not allow him to speak that word to her. Widowmaker swallowed her rising impatience down. Only a few more moments until she could spring the trap.
"Mhh" Widow hummed leaning forward, carefully brushing her cheek over his in a way that she barely touched his skin. Her mouth was mere millimeters away from his ears before she purred "Your life" in a whisper, waiting a short moment to let her words sink in, in which she leaned back a little bit. Still holding on to his arms and having them pinned over his head Widowmaker suppressed a giggle as she saw the confused look on his face.
"W-Wha..." he started, but was violently interrupted by Widowmaker suddenly bringing her leg up in a swift motion and letting her knee crash into the man's crotch at full speed. There might have been the sound of a nut bursting.
Quickly Widowmaker let go of the hands and took a step back, while her victim sank to his knees, bending over and trying to shield his now completely crushed balls. He was as pale as a piece of paper and surprisingly didn't make a sound. The pain must have been unbearable.
Widowmaker felt little to no pity with that fool, as she kicked him hard across his face with one of her armored heels. The force of the impact spun him around, letting him crash to the filthy floor with his back in a puddle of unpleasant grease. His nose was broken and bleeding badly, and Widowmaker suspected the moron would have given up by now. But to his credit the little fly tried to escape the spider's web, ignoring the horrible pain in his abdomen and face as he turned around and wanted to crawl away.
Naturally he didn't get very far, before he saw Widowmaker's feet right in front of him. With a satisfied laugh she kicked him into the corner between the wall and the dumpster, slowly coming closer to him. She looked just as deadly as she was sexy, when she gracefully crouched down to his side, grabbing his head with two hands in a gentle yet determined way. She made clear by the way she touched his neck that it would cost her absolutely no effort whatsoever to just snap his neck right here.
"There is only one person in this entire world, who is allowed to call me luv" she hissed, her eyes glowing with murderous intent and a evil one sided smirk creeping over Widowmaker's lips.
She slowly tightened her grip around his neck, feeling that wonderful sensation of being alive while another person would soon not be anymore. For a moment Amélie managed to suppress her lively memories of Tracer in her mind and replace them with a swift impression of how she felt when the bubbly Brit was still a foreigner.
She was no longer. And now this man had to pay because Widow couldn't stand being called luv by anyone else than the woman she could not be with. Because she needed to fill that hole Tracer left in her soul.
Spiders were lonely creatures, weren't they?
All they did all day was lurking in the shadows, waiting for their prey. Alone and hidden in the dark, waiting for their moment to strike. Just like Amélie did. Just like she was taught to do.
And when the fly strayed into the spider's web...
The widow's deadly kiss.
-/-
A little earlier in Lena's apartment, she was sitting on her couch, alone and waiting. There was an embarrassed blush on her cheeks when the door opened and Mercy came into her living-room wearing one of Tracer's shirts and carrying two glasses of wine.
"Sorry..." Lena squeaked with an apologetic smile as Angela shook her head sitting down next to her best friend. She handed her one glass of wine before both were placed on the little table in front of them.
"Don't worry, just don't spill wine all over me again, Süße" Mercy replied with a giggle while Tracer scooted closer to her, the Brit's unruly hair once again tickling her neck when she rested her head on Angela's shoulder.
"You do look very cute in my stuff though, luv" Lena said cheekily.
Angela sighed, ruffling through Tracer's hair while looking in those large brown puppy eyes. Why did she know exactly what was going on inside her best friend's head? "If you dare to word your thoughts, I will never cook dinner for you again" Mercy threatened jestingly.
"Oy, you don't know what I thought!" Lena complained.
"You thought your shirt on me would mark your territory, didn't you?" Angela said like she knew it already. And she did. It wasn't the first time she borrowed a shirt or something from Tracer. And it wouldn't have been the first time Lena commented on it either.
The light rose color on Lena's cheeks got a shade darker. "Maybe I thought that. Maybe I didn't? Who will ever know?" she said with a smirk. Of course Lena thought that. Her stuff on other girls always got her excited. It made her feel like hoisting a flag on something she conquered. Lena, of course, knew that Mercy wearing one of her old air-force shirts didn't mean anything even close to those lines.
Angela was her best friend after all.
But Tracer couldn't help and think about how one of her shirts would look on the pale blue skin of Widowmaker, marking the gorgeous assassin as Lena's territory.
The thought alone got Tracer all flustered.
"You are thinking about her right now, aren't you?" Angela asked suddenly, still looking at Tracer whose eyes lost focus and stared blankly right through Mercy and at the wall behind her.
Lena blinked, shifting her attention back to reality. "Luv, can you read thought? Honestly, you start to scare me."
Angela giggled cutely. "You are an open book to me, Süße. You always were. Don't worry about your girl, ok? I am sure everything will work out in the end. You just need to be patient."
-/-
Widowmaker stepped out of the alley, looking relieved.
She was alone.
And while she walked away, Widowmaker noticed a short, one sided smirk flashing over her face, before it vanished again.
Today had been the worst day of her life... at least of the life she still remembered. But soon enough it would be forgotten, gone with the wind and vanished into nothingness.
All thanks to Talon's chemical trickery.
-/-
A/N:
If you want to support me and my story, you can do so here:
tipeee com slash e82s-fanfiction
-/-
Alrighty boys and girls. That's it for today. I wanted to say a HUGE thank you to all of you for your amazing support! You are reviewing like crazy, so please keep it up! It means so much to me, you have no idea how cool this is.
The scene with Widow in the alley was re-written like a bazillion times. I had her just ignore the guy, I had her beat the guy up right at the corner, I had her beat him up in the alley, I had her kill him at the corner, I had the version you just read, I left it all to the reader's imagination. I didn't like any of those options. So, in the end I threw a dice. Hope you like the decision fate imposed on me... yeah... fate... anyway, where were we?
Ah yes, for all those worried about the progress in this story. Don't be. Next chapter we will have fine Widowtracer fun time and I'll try to not separate them for too long from that point forward. We all want to see their relationship, don't we? I do.
Beta, as usual EhMattissimo, just as awesome as he always is! Thank you, my friend :)
Tell me what you think! Review-box is right down below! :D
o7
Some translations:
"Casse-toi, enfoiré" : Fuck off, asshole.
"parfaitement": perfect
"petit chou" : snookums
"tigre" : tiger