Overwatch, and all characters affiliated, are copyrights of Blizzard Entertainment. No copyright infringement is intended for this story. It is strictly fan-fiction and meant for entertainment purposes only. All rights belong to Blizzard Entertainment.
*****
1
"Why?!" Tracer demanded as she held Widowmaker down. "Why would you do this?"
Her face was contorted in confusion and anger but, most of all, pain flickered in those stupid puppy eyes of hers. Widowmaker had long been a rival of Tracer and, after many failed missions at the hands of the young, annoying hero, she had finally succeeded in hurting her. No snappy comeback, no mocking laughter as she zoomed in and out of space and time to avoid bullets this time. No, Widowmaker thought, this time, I have hit her where it hurts. The thought first made her feel triumphant. She had finally won. But that feeling of triumph melted away at the pure look of hurt and sadness that filled Tracer's eyes. Suddenly, Widowmaker felt horrible. A pain of her own spread through her chest and she felt that pain reflected back from those eyes a hundred fold. The feeling was new and terrible. It caught her off guard and she was reeling. The smile faded from her lips as she really saw and felt Tracer's torment.
She didn't laugh this time. She reached up and touched Tracer's face. "I..." she began but didn't know what to say. Tracer's eyes were so full of agony, it tore her apart inside. That isn't supposed to happen, Widowmaker thought.
Amélie Lacroix gasped as she sat up in her bed. The ache was still present in her chest and she struggled to steady her breathing. The same dream again. She had been experiencing this particular nightmare for months after her successful assassination mission that faithful night when Tracer had failed to stop her. She remembered laughing at the woman's stupid questions and look of confusion and betrayal on her face. She had laughed because she had finally paid Tracer back for all the mocking laughter, hoots of joy as she avoided attack after attack, and annoying little taunts the Brit threw her way with that equally annoying smile of hers. She remembered gloating as she had swung her into the adjoining wall of a nearby building and looked upon the helpless still form of her greatest rival laying unconsious on that rooftop as she escaped in the transport. She made sure to keep her eyes on that little annoyance until the doors shut. But, later, after she had debriefed and went to her chambers, she felt something deep in her chest that she hadn't felt in a long time. She, the cruel and cold Widowmaker, assassin of Talon, felt remorse. And it hurt. It kept her from sleeping well over the next few nights. She kept seeing Tracer's eyes, large, luminous, and full of so much pain. She couldn't understand it. It angered her and confused her. She had killed many people. She had caused grief to many with the business end of Widow's Kiss, her submachine gun sniper rifle weapon of choice. She had always reveled in the misery and agony her killing caused. It was what got her off. What made her feel truly alive. That is, until now.
Why did that annoying little twerp of a woman get to her so badly? She ran her hands over her face in an attempt to erase the dream still fresh in her mind but it did no good. No matter what she did, that face haunted her. Those eyes bored into her soul and she couldn't, for the life of her, figure out why.
She climbed out of the bed tossing the covers aside with an angry grunt as she padded to the bathroom in one of her many safe houses. Being an assassin meant she was a wanted woman by many and it never hurt to keep them guessing at her whereabouts. Flipping on the light, she ran the water in the sink and washed her face before looking in the mirror. It had remained relatively unchanged to the experiments and genetic engineering Talon had done to her. Her skin, however, was a sickly shade of blue. It was a side effect of them slowing her heart rate. She had become cold as a dead woman to reflect the lifeless lack of emotions she normally had. As she looked into her own golden eyes, sharp as a predator and far-seeing, she self reflected. She didn't normally do this as principle, but lately, she found herself doing it more and more especially after the dream. That same damn dream.
"Merde," she cursed with a grimace as she turned away from her reflection. Why couldn't she get Tracer out of her head? What hold did that woman have on her that she was soul searching and feeling things that she hadn't known were even still present?
She couldn't tell Talon, of course. If the terrorist organization ever caught wind that she, their most valuable weapon, was compromised, they would retrain her. The thought of retraining made her feel even colder and she shuddered. No, she would never go through that again.
Making her way back to bed, she lay on the mattress and looked up at the ceiling. She had to face this. This was making her weak and she was never weak. As she thought about the circumstances and weighed her options, her thoughts went back to Tracer. Her youthful face smiling and taunting her, that sing-song laughter she found goaded her into being sloppy, drove her to be reckless. Why hadn't she killed her right then and there? She had opportunity. The woman was helpless, unconscious, merely a few yards away. A single shot would have ended her and the rivalry right then and there. Why hadn't she taken the shot?
Because she knew, with that feeling of triumph she had felt, that something was better than killing her. If she killed her, she couldn't enjoy breaking her. As she thought on this, those eyes came back to the forefront of her mind and she shut her own as the familiar pain came back to her chest. It was torture. She curled up on her side and concentrated on the torment she felt.
What the hell was this? Had this been more than a simple rivalry? Now that she had finally succeeded in crushing her, she didn't feel elated at all. She felt horrible. She was a monster. All this time, she had wanted to wipe that smile off of Tracer's face and when she finally did so, it was not the sweet feeling of success she had hoped for. It was like she had betrayed herself.
A plan formed in Amélie's mind. She would face her. One on one. She would face her rival and end this, all of this, once and for all. As she made her plans she thought of Tracer and wondered what made her so obsessed with her. She had to find out. She had to face her doubts and find out what was so special about this one woman that made it nearly impossible to sleep night after night and consume her every thought.
2
Lena Oxton walked along the streets of her hometown with a smile on her face. It was a beautiful morning and she had just had coffee at a cute little cafe she had always wanted to try. It was delicious and they even had the best pastries. Some recognized her on the street and smiled, pointed, and even waved. She smiled and waved back. It was nice to be recognized as a hero. With her signature chronal accelerator, it was hard not to be recognized. People didn't really go out of their way nor did they make a big fuss over her. After all, the Overwatch project had been shut down officially and any and all Overwatch activity was really seen as vigilantism by most authorities. She also couldn't help who she was and the authorities knew that. As long as she wasn't flying around with guns blazing, well, they couldn't really accuse her of anything, right?
She hummed a tune as she walked feeling the small nip of cool air. Yep, it was a beautiful day.
Her walk took a small hiccup as she felt it: that feeling of something wrong. Tracer always prided herself on her sixth sense. It had kept her out of more than one bad situation that could have been worse if she hadn't listened to that inner voice.
She continued to hum as she slowed her step and casually looked around. Everything looked normal. No one suspicious. No shadows, no followers. She glanced at the looming rooftops and awnings but saw no threat there either. Still, the feeling lingered.
She made a spit decision to duck into an alley mid hum and teleported a short distance away from the entrance. She then looked up and around and jogged around another corner before flattening herself against the wall. She counted to ten before looking around the corner. Nothing but rubbish and quiet. She looked above and around but came to the same result. That feeling did not leave. She silently cursed herself for not carrying at least one of her guns concealed under her jacket. If anything, she could still hand-to-hand, but she preferred her guns.
She kept her breathing steady and counted another ten seconds. No one jumped at her or made their presence known. Another ten seconds went by. Nothing happened. She sighed and stepped around the corner.
Her movement stopped cold as she saw the familiar figure standing perfectly still no more than two meters from the corner she just turned. Tracer exploded into action dropping into a defensive stance and teleporting the short distance behind the stalker. Her fist was blocked by a well placed arm as was the followup punch. She saw golden eyes widen as she dropped low and tried to sweep her leg. The woman jumped a short distance over Tracer's kick and landed with a dancer's grace.
Tracer didn't even slow her momentum as she teleported again and tackled the retreating figure from behind. Widowmaker went down hard with a grunt as Tracer grabbed her shoulder and forced one arm behind her back.
"Thought you'd be sneaky and take a pot shot at me, huh?" Tracer taunted as Widowmaker squirmed to relieve the pressure of the hold.
"No," Widowmaker grunted, "I was only watching you. I didn't come to attack you. I swear."
Tracer sneered and was about to say something snide when she noticed that Widowmaker wasn't wearing her usual uniform. She wore what looked to be normal civilian clothing. Her hair was in a low braid unlike the high ponytail she normally wore and her infrasight visor was not on her head. A quick look around showed her that Widowmaker didn't even seem to be armed. Her Widow's Kiss hadn't been knocked aside or was even in sight. That made Tracer pause but she kept a tight grip on the assassin.
"Watch me?" Lena asked with a derisive snort. "Well, I hope you got a good look before I knock your lights out!"
Widowmaker squirmed and bucked. "No, please, I swear, I am not here to attack you."
Lena said nothing, only held on and watched Widowmaker for any signs of backup or attack. They stayed like that for a few moments. There didn't seem to be any trick or ambush. That's weird, Lena thought.
