A/N:
A quick note to all of you who liked Mercy and Pharah's interactions in the previous chapters. You may want to grab some of Tracer's fine scotch and pour yourself a glass.
You also may want to read the A/N at the end, AFTER reading this chapter.
If you want to support me before you notice that I am a cruel bastard, do it here:
tipeee com slash e82s-fanfiction
-/-
Congress of medical affairs, Zürich.
"Where did they come from?!" Mercy asked as she ducked back behind the cover right next to Fareeha. She had just risked a quick peek out of their hiding spot behind the stage while bullets darting over her head like there was no tomorrow. There was an entire army storming the event-hall, and Pharah's mind was running at full speed trying to come up with a way out of this situation; preferably one which didn't involve her and Angela being carried out of the building in a body bag.
"I have no idea" the Egyptian replied, which was, apart from the obvious entrance through the glass wall, the complete truth. Quickly leaning out of cover Fareeha fired off two rounds, before ducking back into cover. Her handgun was given to her by Torbjörn before their departure in a rather strange and unspectacular moment, where the tiny Swede took Pharah to the side and just pressed the gun into her hands mumbling something about how she might need it, before he was gone again. Social interaction apparently was not one of his strong traits.
The pistol, however, was one of Overwatch's best gunsmith's ingenious ideas. Though it relied on physical ammunition, the pistol fired high energy rifle-rounds through an unusually long barrel. The recoil was substantial, but luckily Pharah was good in shape, so controlling the gun was not too tricky. "There are too many of them!" She said, quickly looking around and searching for an emergency exit while she let an empty magazine glide out of her pistol and fed another one into the grip. The slide clicked back forward with a loud metallic sound.
She spotted the green glowing sign of an exit right behind the huge black rock of the fountain. Mercy was, in the meantime, shuffling though her small silver colored purse, searching for something, before retrieving a little plasma-blaster. Fareeha looked at the pea-shooter, raising an eyebrow.
"I didn't know you carried a gun" she stated as she watched the doctor shrug it off, like it was no big deal.
"Old habits die hard" Mercy replied, quickly peeking out of cover and firing a couple of shots at the large force of well-equipped assailants who were quickly closing in on their position. Some of them started to grab certain guests who were being held down by other people and attended the convention as well. This apparently had been a very well planned mission.
Angela wasn't one for violence. She resented conflict most of the time and tried to achieve a diplomatic solution to problems, yet Mercy was also hardly afraid to make good use of violence, should worst comes to worst. When she got to that point in her philosopy, things usually weren't pretty anymore. Right now seemed like a good time to stop talking and start shooting. Or running. Or both. "So, Ms. Amari, what is the escape plan? I guess we don't want to hang around to see how the party ends?"
"Do you see the emergency exit behind the fountain?" Fareeha asked, shooting three approaching soldiers in their faces in rapid succession, their heads exploding from the impact of the large rounds, splattering a mix of dark blood and pink-ish brain goo all over the place. The shriek of a woman covered in that nasty fluid was luckily drowned in the almost deafening noise of this spontaneous battlefield.
It was total chaos.
People were screaming and trying to run away just to be shot by the enemy forces, while the remnants of the event security were still trying to drive the enemy away. Gunfire was rattling through the large hall like explosions while soldiers were carrying out their orders. The attack was apparently rather ambitious, as the assailants seemed to abduct certain people, handcuffing them and dragging them back to the SUVs.
"I do." Mercy replied, quickly glancing over to the spot Fareeha mentioned. There was an unremarkable door in the color of the wall right behind the fountain. It would most likely lead them to an uncertain safety.
At least they hoped it would. Still, uncertain safety by running was way better than certain death by staying.
"On my mark we will make a run for it. Whatever you do, don't stop; just run and shoot." Pharah instructed, peeking out of cover to watch for the perfect opportunity for their escape.
"Ready" Angela said, preparing her body for jumping up and making a beeline toward the exit, her eyes fixed on Fareeha the entire time. The Egyptian had a hand risen, signaling Mercy to wait for her sign.
And as if God himself had answered to their prayers, a guest jumped up from a hiding spot and tried to run away. A large portion of the soldiers' attention was diverted to that point and Pharah seized the opportunity.
"Now! Run! Go!" she ordered. Fareeha and Angela shot up from their cover and darted to the exit, barely dodging the bullets shot in their direction, while blindly firing back in an attempt to force their enemies into cover.
Angela crashed against the metal door, kicking it open and waiting for Fareeha to run past it, before she immediately closed the door again, searching for something to block it from opening another time.
"Leave it!" Pharah shouted, grabbing Mercy at her arm and dragging her along. The corridor they were in was long and only sparsely lit, but there was a glowing 'Exit' sign on the far end of it. Fareeha didn't hesitate and dragged Angela with her as fast as possible.
"Who are they?" Mercy asked, despite knowing the answer already. The black uniforms with the red glowing visors on the helmets were dead giveaways.
"Talon, of course" Pharah replied, not stopping, while she readjusted her grip on Angela's arm. The doctor started to slow down all of a sudden, and Fareeha was really not happy about that. Not at all. They needed to get their ass in gear, not waste time with stupid questions, this was-
"You are bleeding" Mercy stated flatly, staring at her protector's hand, blood dripping off it. Mercy instantly grabbed her small purse again, shuffling through it. "I have an injector of nanoprobes here. Hang on" she said, but was yet again dragged along with Pharah. The doctor was stumbling forward while she was trying to find what she was looking for inside the chaos of her purse. God, there weren't so many things in there, yet how hard could it be to find a little glowing yellow tube shrink wrapped in a clear foil-paper hybrid.
"We need to get you out of here. I have a car parked in front of the back exit." Well, that wasn't strictly speaking the truth, but Fareeha didn't have time for long explanations.
"Why?" Angela asked.
"Just in case. Come on now; we need to hurry up. I have some friends from Helix a little bit out of town. I am sure we can go there. You can look at that scratch in the car. Come on!" Fareeha pushed through a couple of doors before she dragged Mercy outside of the building. They were greeted by the cold night air of Zürich in a dark back alley behind the event hall. "This way" Pharah urged, running toward an old black sedan parked to the side of the street right next to a wall. It was in no way her car, and she hadn't parked it there either, but explaining this to Mercy seemed too complicated for now. Thus, Pharah just said she had parked the sedan here.
She tried the door-handle, but it was locked, obviously. Letting an annoyed grunt escape from her lips, Pharah slammed her elbow into the glass, smashing it loudly.
"I thought you parked the car here?" Mercy inquired, looking suspiciously at Fareeha opening the car from the inside, surprised that the alarm didn't go off.
"I saw there was one parked here, ok? We need to-" Pharah was cut off by a faint sizzling sound which rapidly closed in on their position.
Suddenly, Mercy pushed her harshly out of the way, pressing her forward a couple of meters, stumbling but, by some sort of cosmic wonder, not falling to the ground. Fareeha barely had enough time to catch a glimpse of a glowing light rush past her, followed by a trail of heat, before she saw that the car she had been trying to procure exploded in a huge ball of fire, hit by an incoming RPG.
The explosion sent both Mercy and Pharah flying, slamming them into the next wall like they were dolls. Pharah's entire chest hurt like it was hit by Reinhardt's hammer while she tried to pick herself up from the ground. Her limbs were shaking, and her bones were aching, but Fareeha knew that she needed to get moving again. She had to get up, grab Mercy, and start running. Fast and as far away as humanly possible. There was no way the Egyptian would allow these evil pests to get their hands on Dr. Angela Ziegler. Fareeha would die before she allowed that to happen.
The sounds of heavy boots running toward them urged to Pharah's ears over the painfully ringing sound she was constantly hearing since the explosion. Now she was even more sure that they needed to bail right fucking now.
"Dr. Ziegler! Get up! Hurry!" Pharah shouted, reaching out for Angela who was lying on the floor next to her, unmoving. An invisible string was tightening around Fareeha's throat. This was not the way this was supposed to be! If anything she was the one who should lie on the ground after pushing Angela out of danger; not the other way around!
Luckily, the doctor seemed to react to her touch as she tried to lift her body up with a heavy groan. There was not a single fiber left in her which didn't feel like someone set it on fire. Moving felt like swimming through a pool of razor blades, yet her brain was yelling at her to get her ass into gear.
But it was too late.
Two strong, gloved hands grabbed Mercy roughly at her shoulders and violently yanked her up to her knees while her hands were cuffed together behind her back. Her purse fell to the ground, the contents rolling onto the dirty street.
"Target secured" an artificially distorted voice stated while Pharah felt two more hands harshly take hold of her as well. She tried to resist as someone grabbed her hands and brought them behind her back, but she didn't stand a chance.
"Sir, what do we do with the extra?" another voice, yet very similar to the one before asked.
"Angela, look at me!" Pharah said, the doctor blinking confused, her head falling from one shoulder to the other like she was not all quite here. There was a fine line of blood running down from the corner of Mercy's mouth. "Angela!"
"Fareeha?" the doctor whispered. Everything she saw was blurry and her head hurt like never before, but she could make out that her bodyguard was kneeling on the floor with two soldiers standing right behind her, one of them holding her pressed to the ground. "What's going on? I-"
"The boss didn't say anything about an extra" a third distorted voice said. "Just kill her."
"Sir?"
"Are you deaf? We have orders to bring Dr. Ziegler in; not some random bitch. Erschießen!"
"Sir, yes, Sir!" Angela's eyes opened wide as the meaning of the words spoken seeped into her mind. She tried to break free of her captors, but was firmly held in place as she leaned forward as much as possible.
"No! Fareeha!" Mercy shouted as she saw one of the soldiers press a pistol to the back of Pharah's head. "Don't do that! Please! Leave her alone! You have what you want, so just leave her be!"
"I'm sorry" the Egyptian whispered with a sad smile on her lips. She knew Mercy's begging wouldn't change a thing. Fareeha had failed. She had dishonored her name, her purpose and the woman she swore to protect. When she thought that she would die for her, she hadn't actually meant today. Someday, maybe, in a heroic act of self sacrifice. Not here, on her first mission with Overwatch, in a dirty alley after having failed the person she never wanted to fail.
The metallic rattling of someone cocking a pistol informed Fareeha of what would come before a loud bang echoed through the dark alley, ripping through the night like lightning through the cloudy skies.
Mercy stared blankly as Pharah's dead body slumped down on the cold tarmac, a dark puddle of glistering black liquid forming around her.
Before she could understand what was going on, someone pressed an electro-shocker to her neck and pulled the trigger.
Her world turned dark while her defenseless body was dragged off into the night. No one paid any attention to Fareeha, who was lying face first in her own blood, a dull expression in her eyes. The red puddle forming around her head was spreading, lowly seeping into the paper backside of a tiny, yellow glowing tube.
-/-
Dorado rooftops, 2204 hours, secret meeting place
Jack Morrison looked down on the dark street below, where a little girl, maybe ten years of age, was carrying a bag of flour and a poster into a rustic bakery, stumbling in her steps and clearly excited. He could hear how her mother was scolding her for taking so long, but nothing could dampen the young child's euphoria.
Soldier 76 sighed heavily. A part of him knew that it didn't matter how many good things he would do, there was no way God would forgive him of the sins he had to commit or those which were still to come. There was just no way. At some point the end did not justify the means anymore.
But that point lay long behind him.
Years ago he swore that he'd see this through to the end and that no matter what happened, he'd succeed. Or better yet, 'they'. They would succeed; the only two people who knew of this little plan. This top-secret operation.
It had to be done. Someone had to do it. Even if it meant sacrificing good men, and even if it meant lying to those he considered his family and leading them astray. They all trusted him, and Morrison abused that trust.
But what other way was there?
It had to be done. Morrison had no idea how many times he had told himself this sentence, over and over again to justify his own sins... at least for himself. Because he was sure that no one would understand. Not his friends, not his brothers and sisters in arms, and not God. No one.
In the end he was a traitor, destined to go to hell. It was a price Morrison was willing to pay if it meant achieving his goal.
Once they were heroes; now they were no more.
It was what he told the little girl when he saved her from Los Muertos. Looking in those young, brown eyes full of hope and admiration was the most painful thing he had to do in a long time. She looked at him, and Morrison was reminded of the days when he truly had been a hero. But that was in the past now.
Still, the girl didn't believe a word he said, and if he could, he would have told her how many cruelties he had to commit in the name of a goal which he had no idea was even achievable.
"Still playing hero, I see" A deep voice growled, and Morrison turned around to see a man in long black robes step out of a purplish, dark grey cloud of smoke. "What's the point?" Reaper asked as he walked up to Soldier 76.
"I doubt you would understand, brother" Morrison replied calmly, turning back to watch over the tiny bakery where the little girl had run into. It would have been such a peaceful setting, if not for all the violence and destruction surrounding it.
Reaper chuckled, standing next to Morrison and crossing his arms over his chest. "You can't buy your soul back with good deeds, friend. Neither of us can. We are meant to follow orders, not question what these orders do to us; never forget that. We do what needs to be done, because no one else can. Apart from that, we aren't important. Our souls don't matter. We are expendable at the end of the day no matter how important we may be. You and I, brother, are nothing but pawns in a game way larger than us. Or our souls, for that matter."
"Is that what you tell yourself before you go and murder the people you called friends once?" Jack asked bitterly.
"Sometimes" Reyes replied with a careless shrug. "It was either you or me. And ever since Zürich and what Ziegler did to me, I was the one more cut out for this side. It's that simple, really."
Morrison laughed sadly into the night, his voice carried away by a cool breeze of wind blowing from the salty ocean deep down below a cliff to their right. The night smelled peaceful. It was at ease, almost welcoming, but definitely heavy. It must have been the salt-breeze. "Ever since you first wore that cloak you were always so dark. I miss the fun Gabriel at times" Morrison stated, sucking in a deep breath of the pleasantly chilly, but not downright cold, night air as he took a second to listen to the waves loudly crashing ashore in the distance.
"And I miss the times when the world was threatened by a clear enemy you could shoot in the face and not some kind of ghost. Yet here we are." Reaper grumbled, well aware that here one ghost complained about the existence of other ghosts. He didn't care. All he wanted was to get this all over with. It had been too long and too much for too many reasons. It was enough.
"Here we are" Jack agreed, a long moment of silence spreading between the two old friends, while the peaceful sounds of the ocean seemed to become more apparent. They rarely saw each other in person ever since Overwatch was shut down. Ever since Gabriel Reyes attacked the Swiss headquarter in Zürich, killing hundreds of agents and apparently also murdering Jack Morrison. It had been the beginning of the end. The first masterfully played ruse which started all of this.
"Was she worth it?" Reaper asked suddenly and painfully out of context. But Jack understood perfectly what his brother from another mother was talking about. They knew each other since they first joined the military more than 40 years ago.
"She was a little girl" Morrsion shrugged nonchalantly. For him this question was a no-brainer. But then again, Reyes had always had his problems with moral integrity. Following this, Reaper's reply should have hardly been surprising.
"That answered a lot of questions I didn't ask" he returned calmly, shaking his masked head. There were more pressing concerns than their old banter over saving people who couldn't protect themselves. Reyes was tired of this topic, and he really didn't want to dwell on it further. "But let's get down to business, shall we? I am on a schedule"
"So am I. Business it is. You wanted us to meet up, so you better start talking."
"I take it the mission in Numbani was a success?" Reaper inquired. He hadn't heard any reports yet, so chances were it at least wasn't a massive failure.
"Yes. I blew the stage up. Thank you for the care-package, by the way" Jack replied, a part of him feeling bad for what he had to do. But Morrison grew used to the necessity of such cruelties. At least to a degree where he could look at himself in the mirror again.
"Good to know. So the spider was interrupted, I guess?"
"Tracer. Exactly according to plan. At least the bigger one, not the Numbani one... Whatever. It worked."
Reaper made a noise under his mask which could have been an expression of surprise. "I would have bet you anything that this would never work the way you promised." Reyes grumbled.
"But it did. Better than your idea with the Talon-guard" Morrison couldn't suppress a chuckle. "Didn't she snap his neck or something?"
"Don't remind me. I had to clean up that mess for her." Reaper replied with some frustration in his voice. One thing about Widowmaker was that she was always causing him trouble. No matter what she did in some way she crossed his plans. Either unintentionally, which was bad enough, or just to fuck him over, which was even worse. Reaper knew that Widow didn't particularly like him, and a part of him always whispered that she might be suspecting something. Luckily the French master assassin had no way of knowing what was really going on.
"See, we just needed someone with the right arguments" Jack said, laughing lightly, causing Reaper to turn toward him.
"I swear to God, brother, if you are going to say tits now, I will shoot you." Reyes threatened, while Morrison was just shaking his head in amusement.
"Tracer is a womanizer. The girl who can withstand her charm has yet to be born. Lock her in a room with four perfectly straight girls and an hour later you will have five dykes. It's her secret super-power." Morrison chuckled. That was greatly exaggerated, but Lena had a reputation of making smart girls silly just by hanging around them. And that was exactly what Morrison had reckoned with when he first made Winston send Tracer to a mission, where she'd most likely run into Widowmaker. That, and some highly interesting things hidden in her psychological evaluation.
Reaper said he needed the otherwise completely loyal and unwavering assassin to mistrust her creators, and to doubt Talon and their motives, to a point that she wanted to leave the organization. Morrison merely acted on that, sending Tracer to do what she does best. Not that he had ever told the Overwatch-ray-of-sun anything about the real goal of her missions. He knew his plan would work better if the bubbly Brit didn't know anything. She just needed to be there, and the rest would happen on its own. Tracer wouldn't disappoint; Morrison just knew. And when he had found her in the Overwatch-bar a couple of weeks ago, drinking by herself and coming up with ridiculous excuses for doing so, he was sure.
Tracer was playing right into their hands without even realizing it.
Reyes didn't comment on Jack's jesting "As long as it worked out in the end."
"For Numbani it did. And for the rest, only time will tell."
"Alright" Reaper nodded, before deciding it was about time for a change of topic. He did squeeze this meeting with Morrison into his schedule after all, and there were other things to take care of. "There is something else"
"Figures" Morrison shrugged, looking at Gabriel as he let a dossier appear in his hand before passing it to his old friend. His supernatural abilities were something Morrison would most likely never grow used to despite knowing how useful they were for the job Reaper was doing. The soldier took the file and flipped the cover open, taking a quick peek inside while Reyes was explaining:
"I found the security issue, thanks to the data I managed to steal from Athena."
Jack looked at the picture of an Asian woman with glasses, quickly skimming over the report written on the paper it was pinned to. "Are you sure? She was..."
"A long time member, I am aware. But the timeline is too perfect to be coincidence, and besides..." Reaper reached over to Soldier and flipped some papers of the report "There is this"
Morrison was reading for a moment, before nodding "Well, that certainly explains why she didn't respond to the recall" he shook his head in disbelieve. Morrison would have never suspected that someone like her could have pulled off such a risky stunt. "I'll dispose of her" he said, turning to leave.
"One more thing, Jack" Reaper said, raising a hand to stop Morrison.
"Mh?"
"I have been investigating for our other little venture." Reaper said, adjusting his hood a bit.
"And?"
"Athena's files are useful, and I have some theories, but the documents I have keep referencing a secret file in the archive which I didn't download. The file has the designation 1-AV-OC1, and should be in the Overwatch archives, but access is restricted to a delta level clearance."
Jack chuckled as he quickly wrote the name of the file his friend was looking for down in his phone. "And you don't have that anymore"
"Obviously not. I need that file."
"No problem. I'll send it to you once I am back at HQ" Jack promised with a nod. Whatever gets the job done, he would do it.
"Good. I should come up with something then." Reaper almost sighed. It was a strange sound.
"What do our next steps look like?" Morrison wanted to know.
"The usual." Reaper shrugged. "You keep a low profile. I will contact you if I need something"
"Alright. Let's get going then. It was good to see you again, brother" Jack nodded, turning to Reyes. "It was, brother" Gabriel agreed as they shared a quick brotherly hug, patting their backs before separating again.
"I guess I will take care of our treacherous little environmentalist then" Morrison said as he turned to leave before his phone rang. He was already off of the rooftop, and Reaper long gone, when he picked up.
"Sir, there has been an incident" Winston's voice reported.
-/-
Numbani, safehouse at an unknown location, early morning, 0352 hours
Widowmaker tossed and turned in her bed; the same one she shared with Lena Oxton. Luckily, the Brit was fast asleep and didn't wake up from the frantic stirring of her restless lover.
Amélie was used to nightmares. They had been haunting her nights for as long as she remembered. Seeing crazy visions of laboratories, painful experiments using horrible machines, and laughing scientists was normal. Sometimes, on rare occasions, she had nightmares about lying in a dark room and feeling the hands of a guy roaming over her cold body, his repulsive scent heavy in her nose. Widowmaker didn't want that to happen. She wanted to get away from him, to stop him, and to fight him off, but her body was limp, and her muscles lax. In Widowmaker's dream she had been drugged, her mind conscious, but her body asleep. Thus, she couldn't stop him while he roughly groped her breasts, painfully twisting her nipples, before she felt his unpleasant body press against her back. Even though it was only a dream, or rather a nightmare, Widow felt the painful scratching of his thick chest hair against her soft skin while he had his way with Amélie.
That dream would go on for hours while the stranger violently raped her over and over again. Over time her body felt like the effects of the drug were wearing off, and the numb feeling in her legs and arms was slowly fading away. Just in the moment when Widow was finally able to turn around and see who was soiling her honor like this, she would wake up, her crotch hurting and her body sweaty. She felt disgusting afterwards; like it really happened.
Tonight, however, the dream Amélie was having was very different from those she was used to. Usually her dreams were hazy and vague, with no real feeling for time, and she always was kind of disorientated.
But not tonight.
The images she saw were as clear as the full moon night, and where she normally was in a constant state of panic and fear, her mind was more hyper attentive this time, adrenaline rushing through Widow's veins like barbed wire. Her heart was beating faster than usual, and every silent sound felt like thunder. In her dream, Amélie was walking down a long room with a fireplace on the left wall and large windows on the right. It was night, and the moonlight shimmering through the windows was not enough to illuminate the large oil paintings hanging above the fireplace, so they stayed a spooky shadow. In the dark room, the fire burning in its place to the left was casting dancing shadows on the furniture, flickering in cold the silver moonlight. Some dark brown lounge chairs surrounding a flat table, an old and rather large pendulum clock, which was ticking loudly despite the crackling fire, and two sets of knight's armor to the right and the left of the door on the far side of the room.
Otherwise, the room was as silent as a graveyard.
Amélie didn't know where she was, but she kept walking toward the door, magically drawn to do so. Her path was determined as there were-dark clad soldiers standing to her left and right, forming a corridor inside the room, which she could not escape. They all were watching her walk with an eerie red glow where their eyes should have been, and Widow wondered how she didn't notice the soldiers sooner. She could have sworn they weren't there a second ago.
Walking toward the door, which seemed darker than anything else in the room, Amélie felt her hand was reaching for the golden knob completely on its own. Her pale blue fingers clasped the cold metal, and suddenly, Amélie was sucked into the door.
For a moment, she felt like falling before she emerged on what supposedly was the other side of the door. The floor there was covered with a heavy, dark red carpet, and there was a desk a few steps in front of her. A large, hefty wooden desk made from expensive wood, obviously hundreds of years old.
A man was towering behind the desk. Standing in front of an enormously high window, the moon shining through the thin glass, his face was cast in shadows. As Widow was walking up to him, she felt the temperature of the room drop with every step, her insides twisting uncomfortably, as if someone was forcing her hand. The man was growing larger and larger the closer Amélie got, and by the time she was standing in front of the desk, the French assassin felt tiny. Piercing, evil eyes were glaring down at her with malevolent intent. Widow couldn't see them, but she could definitely feel their intensity on her skin.
"She will make you miserable" his voice said without any emotion, cold as the room itself. Each word he spoke echoed in Amélie's head a couple of times, before it slowly faded away. "She is your prey. Not your friend and most certainly not your lover. You don't get involved with prey." His voice was searing through her mind like fire, each word he spoke more convincing than the first. Was this really a dream? It felt so real, like Amélie was really there. It was even more real than her dreams about the other man violating her. Confusion building up inside her, she was left with no other option than to listen to what the stranger had to say, his convincing words waking strange desires in Amélie.
Murderous desires.
The warm feeling of taking a life away. Relishing in the moment when the last delicious drop of life seeps out of their body and into a dark red puddle of blood.
The beautiful reward her body always received after she hurt others. It was exciting.
It was satisf-
'Non!'
Widow squeezed her eyes shut to escape these intimidating, blazing orbs which were gazing into her soul, twisting her newly found beliefs into an abomination.
This was not real. It was an illusion. She was not-
"Look at that idiot" The voice whispered, and Widowmaker had no other choice than to open her eyes again.
She saw Lena in a bed.
It was her... or better yet their bed in Numbani. Tracer was lying underneath her, while Amélie straddled her lap. The Brit was warm, and Widow could feel that calming heat on her cold thighs. But this was not real. It could not be real. Yet why did it feel so real? Was she awake? Or asleep?
That voice was confusing.
"She is taking your joy away. You liked killing. You are good at it. She will destroy who you are. You got so far, worked so hard. Don't risk your life over prey" the voice whispered, and Widowmaker felt her arms moving on their own as she reached out for Tracer's throat. "She is only using you; manipulating you. You are a weapon, not a human. Why would she want to be with you, if not for her own advantage? Only lies and manipulation. She has secrets! You don't want to be near her!" the voice kept whispering, each word pulling at Widow's mind with a painful tug.
"You did that before!" the voice of the man in the room told her "Cut the ties and you can go back to the life you know best. End it now; just like before. Like an emotionless Black Widow. Do it!"
Widowmaker saw now a spider crawling out from underneath Lena's pillow, a small, black spider with slender legs and a red mark on her oversized back. Her long, bony legs were moving carefully on the soft pillow and without any sound toward Lena, the sharp ends of her eight predatory legs sinking into the linen. While the spider kept getting closer to the Brit, Widowmaker's hands were too.
A tired, silent groan made Amélie's hands stop immediately while the Black Widow froze in the same instant. Lena was tiredly shifting underneath her "...Amélie?"
A whisper.
But it felt like the foghorn of a ship in Widowmaker's ears.
'It's too late.' She thought.
"It is not too late. Kill her!" the voice ordered insistently, the former emotionless and steady tone gone. Widowmaker felt someone pulling her forward, someone was forcing her hand, manipulating her into doing something she didn't want. She remembered feeling like that long ago.
The voice in her head was too convincing while her hands moved further.
'It's too late.'
'Lena Oxton.' Widowmaker looked at the girl underneath her, the dangerous spider persevering right next to her face for her deadly strike, looking up to Amélie and waiting for her to go ahead. But Amélie could only concentrate on the lovely Brit as she considered all of their encounters and everything Lena had done for her.
For her.
Not to her.
'Lena Oxton. Your incomparable kindness. Your endless confidence. Your annoying warm body temperature. The tears you shed for my sake.
It's now my everything.
If I lose you...
...How could I possibly endure it?'
"She wants to destroy you, she-"
'She gets to do to me whatever she damn pleases! I will not listen to your manipulations! Casse-toi!'
Widowmaker yelled in her mind, shaking off the weight of the voice in her head as she smashed the spider next to Lena's face in between her fingers.
Suddenly, the voice was gone. As was the Black Widow. The strange feeling in her head was no more. Widowmaker didn't feel like someone was forcing her to walk into a certain direction.
Whoever was manipulating her was gone now. There was only Lena and herself in the bedroom.
And the former was starting to fully wake up, her beautiful, warm brown eyes glowing peacefully in the moonlight, peering gently into Amélie's soul and filling it with tranquility.
Then Lena realized that Amélie was straddling her, the blanket gone, and her bare upper body completely exposed to her lover.
She shrieked silently, but didn't make a move to cover her perfect breasts. "Amélie?! What are you doing?" she whispered, placing her hands on Widow's knees.
"Be quiet. I was getting a bug" Widowmaker replied and, strictly speaking, not lying.
Lena furrowed a brow "A bug? Other than that, why are you awake at this hour?"
"Because of your snoring" Amélie replied quickly, not wanting to tell Lena that she had almost murdered her in her sleep; much like she did with Gerard.
Lena was silent for a moment, looking deeply into her lover's eyes as she sat up, gently moving her hands from Amélie's knees to her shoulders, gently brushing over her skin in the process. Lena leaned close to Amélie and the French beauty feared that Tracer had sussed her even before she tried to distract. A part of her didn't want to tell Tracer. She was afraid of how the Brit would react.
"You know I don't snore" Lena said with a gentle, reassuring smile, trying to convey a feeling of safety to Amélie as best as she could. The brunette could feel the stiffness of Widow's body, how her lean muscles were tense and shimmered under the pale moonlight, and how her thighs gripped tighly, almost painfully, around Lena's hip. Amélie's beautifully golden eyes were wide open and Tracer was growing more and more worried. Something had startled her lover. Something bad enough for Widow to breathe heavily, almost exhausted. Lena knew she needed to say something which would take the poor girls mind off whatever happened, calm her down before she would broach the matter again. Lena's reassuring smile spread a little wider, encouraged by the way Widow's body started to slowly relax. At least a bit. "Or could it be that our Amélie got heated up in the middle of the night and decided to straddle me... again?" she teased.
"Shut your mouth" Amélie insisted a moment before Lena's warm lips found her own, pressing a gentle kiss to her mouth. Yet this was not like any of the other kisses they shared before. It was careful and especially easy, while Lena's hands were placed on Amélie's shoulders. Her touch soft like a feather, reassuring the French beauty that there was someone ready to hold her if need be, but also making sure she wouldn't feel restrained.
The kiss almost screamed Its going to be okay, and Amélie knew from that moment on that there was no point in hiding it from Lena. The Brit could see right through her. Amélie didn't fear Lena's reaction anymore. The Brit was there for her, like she had been before.
Tracer held Widow for a while, until she felt the cold and stiff body in her arms relax. "You had a nightmare, didn't you?" It wasn't a question. It was a statement, and Tracer placed it with seriousness. Amélie stared at her lover for a moment, seeing the concern in her eyes almost overflowing. Lena Oxton was the only person in this world, who was ever genuinely concerned for Widowmaker. Or Amélie for that matter.
The French assassin nodded feebly and Tracer lips perked up for a second, her head slightly tilted as she leaned closer to Widowmaker. The faint moonlight was bathing the entire scene in a cold grey light, making the white blankets glow like they were water in the moonshine. A fresh breeze from the open window brushed over Amélie's and Lena's skin while the city outside was strangely silent. There was only Lena's silent voice with her heavy British accent, which whispered into Amélie's ear.
"Don't be afraid. You are safe with me. I would never hurt you" Lena murmured, holding her French lover tenderly, while Tracer pulled them back down into the bed, readjusting the blanked. Being held in Lena's arms felt better than anything else in this moment could, Amélie felt safe and secure in Tracer's warm embrace, feeling her soft breath brush over her neck and her strong arms holding her close. Their legs entwined in a comfortable manner and Lena knew that Amélie was able to relax again, but she could still feel some of her lover's tension.
"You know that, right, luv?" she asked.
"I do." Amélie sighed sadly "That's not what I am worried about."
"Then what are you worried about? Talk to me" Lena said, and noticed how Amélie started shaking and shivering in her arms. "Hey, hey. What's wrong?" she asked gently, carefully turning Widow around in her arms. Lena thought it was just a nightmare, just temporary distress, something which would go away soon enough. But apparently there was more to it. Way more.
Amélie looked horrified.
And that sent Tracer's guts into a painful twist.
"I'm sorry, chérie." she pressed out, her voice bitter "I'm sorry!" Amélie didn't immediately realize what had happened. How close she was to actually killing her Lena. How she would have followed the voice's orders, if not:
"If you wouldn't have woken up, I'd... I'd... There was a voice, and a spider, and the voice kept whispering. He was so convincing" she stammered confused. She didn't notice that there was a single tear running down her cheek before Lena carefully wiped it away from Amélie's cold face, listening and allowing her to continue. "I would have killed you. I almost strangled you. And I couldn't stop myself."
"It's okay" Lena replied calmly. There was no way she would freak out now. Everyone else most likely would have made a beeline for the door, but not Tracer. She would not abandon Widow because things were difficult. Tracer was aware that things would be difficult from the first second she acknowledged certain feelings towards Widowmaker. Some minor setbacks or other obstacles had never stopped the great Lena Oxton from doing something before and she would not start now.
"It's not okay! Don't you understand? I will be the one who hurts you!" Widow hissed, struggling in Lena's arms.
"You won't" Tracer said firmly, not allowing Amélie to get away from her. At least not now. "I know." she added sincerely.
"But I..."
"No. That was Talon and what they did to you." Lena's voice was soft and calming and Widow realized that she couldn't realy escape the Brit's embrace. Neither did she want to anymore. She was feeling so warm and safe in Lena's arms. Lena continued after a moment in which she allowed Widow to adjust her position in her arms "You are different. What they did to you will go away over time; I am sure of it"
"How can you-"
"Hush" Lena shut Widow up with her lips. "Don't think about that now. Nothing happened. I am fine. You are fine. You won't hurt me, okay?"
"I trust you" Amélie replied, cuddling closer to Tracer. It sounded an awful lot like I love you.
A beaming smile spread over Tracer's face and her heart might have skipped a beat or two.
"So do I." Lena answered back, pulling the other girl closer to her and drawing soothing circles on her back. It didn't take long for Widow's breathing to grow slow and steady again while Tracer held her through the rest of the night.
-/-
A/N:
(I knew you would jump down here before reading the chapter... Go back up!)
[If you didn't do that, you da real MVP! :D]
Alright, so much for today.
Now, before all you Pharmercy fans out there head over to the darknet and search for construction plans on letter bombs you could send to me, let me tell you something... and spoiler you.
Fareeha isn't dead.
Relax, there is a plan behind it. While I do have a habit to kill of quite a few characters in my stories, I usually don't kill the ones I like. And I like Pharah. I also like Mercy, Tracer, Widow and Dva. *wink* Just so you know who is on my good side. Now that doesn't mean I am nice to the characters I like. I just don't kill them off (without a fight). The Mercy fans might want to keep that scotch around for a little longer in the future chapters... I certainly needed quite a lot of it.
Now, that said, I wanted to thank each and every one of you for your absolutely A-MEI-ZING support, especially after I felt so insecure about the lemon. You guys are the best, keep the reviews and favs coming!
Special thanks to Azuki Rose for the epic reviews in epic length, detail, and awesomeness and of course even more thanks to the one and only EhMattissimo, my best pal on this site, most trusted advisor and loyal beta-minion. ^^
As usual, review-box is right down below, so use it! :D
I will see you in the next one
o7
E82
Translations:
Erschießen! (German) Shoot her!
Edit:
for some weird reason the site deletes the correct way to write Dva with a "." in the middle. No idea why. Thanks Obama.