Jigs/Scarlet || NSFW || Overwatch Hey there! This is where I post my fics, which also have a home on AO3 here. My current ships are McHanzo and Widowtracer, with plans for R76, Mercymaker and Moicy! Feel free to send in your asks and thoughts - and if you like my work, consider supporting me below!
Title: breathe into me (fall into you)
Fandom: Overwatch
Rating: Explicit
Ship: Cole Cassidy/Gabriel Reyes
Tags: Canon Compliant, Reunion Sex, Drug Use, Drugged Sex, Masks, Monster!Gabriel Reyes, Light Pet Play Themes
WC: 3,238
Read on AO3 here
-x-
Cassidy had never given up on Gabriel being alive. Never meant he was prepared for coming face to face with the ghost of him, let alone in a backwater town in the middle of nowhere.
Luckily, the two of them are more than happy to fall into old, hedonistic vices to soothe the pains of their reunion - with a little help, of course.
Considering how many years it'd been since he’d walked through the door, it was surprising how little this backwater safe house had been touched by the passage of time. Cassidy ran a hand over the countertop; the drag marks left on the counter made the layer of dust over every surface in the room even more striking. From the tops of the cabinets bolted higglety-pigglety to the wall, to the linens left wrinkled on the beds. Just moving through the room alone had kicked up a not-insubstantial amount into the air; not for the first time tonight he was thankful for the serape around his face.
The other was right in front of him - for a man dressed in leathers slinking about like a harbinger of death, it was some sort of whiplash to see Reaper- No, Reyes leaning over one of the beds to push open the window. Realising that was the connection he’d been missing all these years was still taking it’s sweet time to sink in.
He'd thought the man dead, for fuck's sake-
(-no. No he didn't. Some sorry part of him had always stuck on the missing body after the Zurich explosion. Worried at the way things didn't add up like a hangnail as he sought out the answer in the bottom of his glass. Gabriel fucking Reyes didn't just disappear, there had to be something he was missing, there had to be, there had to be-)
"Can you think any louder, Cassidy?"
Cassidy was pretty sure he could hear the snap in the air as he came back to himself - if the tilt of Reyes head in return was anything to go by, he wasn't the only one aware of it. He shrugged it off, offering a winning grin in return.
"What can I say, boss? Thought you were dead - and gotta say, you got some real pep for a corpse." A beat of silence passed between them, ringing with all the volume of a gunshot. For anybody else it'd be understandable - for Gabe Reyes? A man who could volley banter whether it was on base on Christmas, under fire in Venice, on stakeout in the deep South? The silence now spoke volumes by comparison.
"I'm not your boss anymore, Cassidy." He said, eventually.
“Sure you are. What’s a few years, a faked death, a lost arm-“ he flopped onto one of the cots, hold up his prosthetic and wiggling his fingers to make a point “-and you tryin’ to kill me, all between pals?”
“I wasn’t trying to kill you.”
“Could’ve fooled me, partner. Or did you forget the whole point of spread shots are that they spread?-”
“Cass.”
The bite of his name on Reyes’ tongue is sharp, cutting through the rest of his train of thought. Cassidy fell silent in an instant – how could he not? Years of falling into line at his commander’s word didn’t just evaporate. Unlike then, though, Cassidy’s eyes caught more. Like how it seemed to pain the other man to raise his voice like that; how pain in general seemed to rest in his joints. Cassidy knew the feeling – whiskey was a medicine as much as an indulgence, these days – but it was more acute in Reyes body.
….Christ, he needed to change this line of thought before he got called out for thinking too damn loud again. And fast. Not like Reyes was helping with that – with that overdramatic skull-owl mask on, he could read the man even less than before.
…Though.
"Well, do I at least get to see your face?" Cassidy said, changing the angle of attack instead as Reyes settled on the other cot. “Y’know, that’s the whole thing about masks. Could be talkin’ to just about anybody right now. And I mean, it’d take a whole lotta dedication to get down the voice, and the talk about you do, and Christ, don’t get me started on the whole everything you’re wearing. But got no proof to the contrary right now. “
The way that Reyes looked him up, down, and then sighed said everything he needed to know. If he was a wise man, Cassidy would of left it there… But god, he had so many questions. And if there was any time to poke the sleeping bear, it’d be now right?
“What’re you huffing for? I’m right, ain’t I? Hell, if I remember right, that’s something you had stamped into the ol’ brain matter before I even came outta basic. Don’t trust nobody at face value – and well, if I can’t see your face? Well, that speaks for itself.”
He could see the way Reyes hissed in a breath, like he was resisting the urge to snap back. (Good.) What he wasn’t expecting though was the almost too-calm way that the man gathered himself together.
“….Fine.”
And before Cassidy could consider what the fuck this meant, Reyes was reaching up to his face. Broad fingers felt back under the hood with the dexterity of a motion done a thousand times. The hiss is more startling - was that thing mechanical? He’d hear the sound a hundred times working alongside Genji, but in the same breath as Reyes was altogether more strange. Stranger too was the there-and-gone scent of something saccharine sweet.
But everything about where they are, what’s going on? All momentarily forgotten as finally the mask is lifted up and away - and oh.
Oh.
Cassidy’s heart stuttered in his chest, forgetting it's job for a moment as he looked upon the unfamiliar, achingly knowable face of a man who’d haunted him for years. There were differences now – god, were there differences - skin gone pallid, the muscle around his mouth scarred in a Glasgow upturn. His eyes were particularly striking; gone were the warm browns like freshly made coffee, instead struck through with a red like blood. There was familiarity to be found too, though – the same cut of his jaw, the cut of his goatee. And of course because it was Gabriel Reyes, who never did anything clearcut, there was something that felt both old and new as well. Long curls fell past his face as Gabriel pulled his hood back, fingers ran carefully through them as they settled on his shoulders.
They suited him, Cassidy thought, a quiet little remark to himself alone.
"Surprise." Gabriel said, through slightly too-sharp teeth.
Now Cassidy could see his face, it was easier to see how much this affected Gabriel – the little crease in his brow, the way his gaze into Cassidy’s own was just a little too even. Gabriel didn’t do nervous – nerves got a man killed. There were few other words, though, for the emotion that twitched at the corners of the older man’s mouth. Time to break the ice, then.
"Shit, Moira really did a number on you, huh?" Cassidy cracked, eyes glinting. As he’d hoped, Gabriel snorted, shaking his head in disbelief.
"This isn't all her fault." A pointed raise of the eyebrow from Cassidy made Gabriel's lip quirk. "Alright, smart ass. More than you'd like it to be. But I'm alive."
"That you are," Cassidy replied. “It’s a good look on you.” That gets a smile that crinkles the corner of Gabriel’s eyes – and makes Cassidy’s own heart go double step.
“First time I’ve heard that one in a while.”
“Good to know the folk around you don’t have eyes. Or taste.” It’s something dangerously close to flirtation, spilling from his lips unbidden. For this, Gabriel kept a frustratingly good poker face. (Of course.)
Tearing his eyes away from Gabriel's face for the moment, his eyes settled on the damn mask instead – first as a curiosity, but then closer. From the outside it was easy to dismiss the piece as a fashion statement - this was Gabriel Reyes he was considering after all, the man who saw Halloween as a competitive sport. But being able to see the inside of the mask? It revealed the complex snaking of metal and tubes that coated the inside.
"All that ain't just for show, then?" He asked, gesturing at it. Gabriel's eyes follow Cassidy's hand, flicking over the internal components in the same way he'd once poured over mission plans. Dangerously quick, even now – he wouldn’t expect anything less from the commander.
"Well, like you said cowboy - Moira did 'a number' on me.” Gabriel made lazy bunny ears with one hand, before letting it flop to the bed again. “There's better and worse ways to deal with the pain of all this - don't get the fun side effects of these drugs, but it keeps me on my feet."
"Side effects, you say?"
He's been got hook, line and sinker, Cassidy can already tell - when Gabe's eyes flick to his they seem almost luminous in the low light, the red gleaming with a flash of teeth. Suddenly he feels ten years younger – back at a time where all it’d take was a look to have him raring to go. Even now he can feel the heat flaring in his gut like a match against a strike board.
Gabriel always was his weakness. What’s new?
"Sure. If you haven't got my metabolism, it'd only take a puff or two to get you high, guapo. Better than any weed you could get your hands on." There’re insinuations there - Cassidy knows they remember as well as each other the way work would give way to the ease of each other’s company in the wee hours of the night. A joint passed between them, the thrill of playing chicken with touches and looks. And oh, when it turned to petting? Turned to rutting slow and easy? It was electric to chase the taste of smoke on Gabriel's tongue, not being sure if it was the drugs or the other man's touch that was making his skin prickle more.
He knows he shouldn't follow this thought - he had too many questions, too much unjust anger for the disappearance of this man who was never his - and yet skin hunger has haunted him almost as long as Gabriel has.
(Cassidy is many things – but above all, he is only human.)
"That a theory, or an offer?" Cassidy drawled, eyes flicking up and down Gabriel's body in a way he never would of chanced back in Blackwatch. Instead of a reply, Gabriel picked up the mask, holding it out in front of him like a golden ticket. The way his eyes darked while doing it though? It perhaps betrayed how benevolent Gabriel was really being with all of this.
"Hold it to your face. I think you can figure it out from there, pup." Gabriel's voice was already dipping lower, scratching rough around the edges in a way that sent heat down Cassidy’s spine. He knew he should think this through more – for fuck’s sake, he didn’t know what the drug inside those pipes would do to him. It didn’t stop him though from lifting the mask to his face, peripherals going dark as it enclosed his sightlines.
Quickly he felt the mask's edges conforming to his face - nanites? Bio responsive rubber? He couldn't find it in himself to care - especially as he realised how intensely Gabriel was watching him at this moment. Red eyes, bright and so vividly hungry. It was more than enough inspiration to lock eyes with Gabriel through the mask - and take one long, deep breath.
He could hear it happen; some unseen catch clicking open, gas hissing through the pipes he’d seen only moments before, and the smoke flooding into his mouth, sweet and damning. It was quickly drawn over his tongue, down into his throat like the most wicked of nicotine – the taste of it is something he ants to chase on its’ own. There's a sweetness to it, saccharine and inviting, but something else to it too. A crispness bordering on the medicinal without going too far, almost mint-like in flavor.
It’s distracting enough he doesn’t notice the first effects straight away - his shoulders catching from around his ears, him sinking just a bit into the cot underneath him. The tension of the reunion seemed to seep out with each passing moment of this drug seeping into his veins. And oh, wasn’t this all dangerous?
Without realising it, Cassidy found himself breathing deeper, deeper, like he could get the smoke to curl around the depths of his lungs and live there. It’d be worth it to see that look perpetually live on Gabriel’s face – mouth slightly open, eyes laser focused. Gabe had always had a look that felt like it stripped him back and lay him bare. Once it'd made Cassidy nervous in a way few things could. Now it just made his legs fall open as he finally exhaled, drawing the mask off to breathe out the plume towards the ceiling.
When he tried to hand back the mask though, Gabriel's eyes seemed to pin him where he sat..
"Actually, I think you can do that again. Can't you, Cass?"
Suddenly he's oh so aware of the weight of the mask in his hand, the weight of the gaze that sat on him like it'd never left, the weight of his hardening cock against his thigh. With a mouth gone dry he couldn't help but nod.
"...Yes, sir."
"Good boy."
And oh, the praise hit him like a shot of liquor – and he could see Gabriel knew it. Cassidy couldn’t bring himself to care though - not when his world has narrowed to him, Gabe and the mask in his hand weighed like a promise. With anticipation as potent of a drug as whatever the hell Gabe was having him breathe, Cassidy lifted the mask to his face again. Once again, the rubber latched to his face, once again he breathed deep of the sweet smoke. This time, he could almost feel the way that the smoke seeped in between his muscle fibers, how it curled in his temples to make his vision swim. His exhale came alongside a soft groan, teeth dragging over his lower lip as he tried to center himself within this heady, sudden high.
"Good?" Cassidy goaded after a few moments, smile wide and cheeky. The high was intense, but pleasant. If this was any other time, any other situation, this is when he would have put down the blunt and sunk into the couch for a while to contemplate his thoughts and how they flickered individually by. Gabriel didn’t look even close to finished with him, though.
"Not yet," the older man replied - Cassidy realised with a start that Gabriel's fingers were flexing in and out of the blanket on the cot he say on, the claws of his gloves have cut neat little holes into the wool. It was as if he’d needed to cut into the blanket to stop doing the same to Cassidy – and oh, wasn’t that an intoxicating thought all on its own? He couldn't help but imagine feel the cool metal along his skin, thumbing at his lips to part them, curling around his neck to squeeze. "Go on. Another one."
Cassidy couldn't help it - he whimpered as he brought the mask up to his face once more. It felt like it wasn't even his hand moving it, anymore - like he couldn't stop himself if he tried, like it wasn’t really him who had decided to flood his lungs once more with smoke. And oh, this time he could feel how it all went straight to his cock, making it flex and ache against his zipper as the drug dragged him down, down, down. His mouth felt so unfairly empty, his pants too tight-
-Which was a problem only made worse as he felt another hand on top of his, holding the mask to his face with force. Cassidy’s sharp inhale from shock was done straight into the mask too, making his head spin all the more as time seemed to stretch and twist out before him. When had he been pushed back onto the cot? When had his shoulders hit the blankets? All that he knew for sure was that the look on Gabe's face was positively predatory.
He knew there was no way for the other man to see that shock scrawled onto his face, how it melted into helpless arousal as Gabe straddled his hips. The triumphant grin on the other man’s face though as their hard cocks pressed together through leather and denim though? Oh, that made Cassidy more than convinced that Gabriel knew exactly the effect he was having.
"Again."
With his limbs like rubber Cassidy couldn't help but obey, pulling the smoke into his lungs like it was a lifeline. The way he rutted up against Gabriel was purely instinctual at this point - though trying to stop himself from rolling his hips up over and over was as futile as trying to stop the ocean's tides. Each moan came easier than the one before as his finger buried themselves into Gabriel’s thighs. With each breath the world became a bit more liquid, time seeming to stretch and twist like taffy as his arousal swallowed any higher brain function he had left.
Cassidy wasn't sure when his pants came off. He'd felt the scratch of Gabriel's claws against his thighs - he'd taken his gloves off, right? Maybe it was the drugs, but the face in front of him seem to warp - when the mask was lifted off Cassidy's face he swore Gabriel’s had shifted, the scarring at the other man’s mouth splitting open to reveal teeth stretching impossibly back. And was that one pair of eyes or two? Maybe even three, splitting the skin of his face and nestling in his hairline?
He should have cared more, should have forced himself to care more - but all he could bring himself to care about was if Gabriel wanted this. Wanted him with all the force that Cassidy wanted him in return. And oh, did the intensity of that gaze, the hands across his body speak to that desperately. When finally those fingers wrapped around his cock he couldn’t help but keen at the sensation of it all – god, was he already that close to the edge? The strokes were slow and steady, eased by his pre-come alone. Any attempt to look at the sight for himself though failed – his eyes were too hazy to focus on anything else but the glowing red of the gaze above him.
"There you go, Cassidy," and oh, Gabriel’s voice was wrecked – low and husky, scraped through in a way that made him throb. Lisped slightly as well – in his fucked-out state Cassidy couldn’t figure out if that was because of the jagged mess of teeth, or the long tongue he could see flicking out of the other man’s mouth. Whichever it was, it wasn’t stopping the filth that tumbled out of Gabriel’s mouth unbidden, thoughts that were only drilled further into his mind by the slow rock of Gabriel’s hips against his own.
“Been waiting such a long time to see you like this again. You look so good wrecked – I wish you could see yourself. Would keep you like this for days if I could – fuck your mouth until you craved it, made sure you never forgot the shape of me inside you. Fuck. Such a good fucking boy."
Cassidy couldn't stop his orgasm from crashing over him if he tried.
-x-
My Ko-Fi!
Warnings: Canon-typical violence, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Side Characters: Ana Amari, Genji Shimada
Word count: 20k
Summary: McCree is a demon hunter, a wanderer that after the fall of Overwatch decided to follow in his former mentor's footsteps. Drawn to Japan by tall tales, he finds himself at the Shimada estate. Once a grand establishment, the former jewel in the crime empire’s crown now lies abandoned to the elements. A rotting carcass of it’s former glory, and a warning to those who aspire to the reach that the family once had.
More worrying to the inhabitants of the surrounding town though, and of more interest to McCree, are stories of a spirit's worrisome interactions with the townsfolk as cherry blossom season approaches. Furthermore, any any attempts to destroy the old estate is met with an unearthly resistance. To get rid of the unnatural presence sounds like a perfect job for McCree - but he quickly finds that there’s a lot more to it than simply an unsettled spirit...
Additional Notes: God, this work has been in WIP hell for literal years - as in, first Halloween event, 2016, 'I will totally finish this in a month or two because that new Hanzo skin is really neat'.
That... That was not what happened.
I am absolutely delighted to have participated in a McHanzo Big Bang event, finally! It feels like a big ol' tick off my metaphorical bucket list, and super satisfying getting this to see the light of day - of course, it wouldn't have been nearly as good if I hadn't been paired with Kerfuffle (CommonNonsense). The pieces they've created for the fic are incredible and they've been nothing but a delight to work with - please go give them some love as well!
Overwatch Kinktober 2018
Today’s Prompt: Deepthroating
Ship: Jesse McCree/Gabriel Reyes
Additional Warnings: PWP, Rough Sex, Face-Fucking, Dirty Talk, Power Exchange, Dom/sub, Light Pet Play Themes
WC: 1149
Read on AO3 here
-x-
Jesse doesn't have to think about anything else like this.
He doesn't have to think about the responsibilities that will befall him once he steps outside the door, has no need to think about missions and drills and the ghosts that now haunt him thanks to the kickback of a gun in his hand. God, there's always so much to think about - Deadlock at least kept him busy, kept him running and running with no time to think. He'd learned a long time ago to embrace the ways of Blackwatch - honestly he enjoyed it more with each passing day, fitted here in a way he never had with his old crew - but here he couldn't run from responsibility. Oh, in public he took it in stride, bit out remarks to those who thought the gang runt couldn't do nothin', put his head down and worked until they choked on their words but it didn't stop him from shaking apart in private.
No, he didn't have to think about anything right now because Gabriel was thinking for him instead. These four walls and the man that called them home could contain him as he fell apart - and fall apart he did. He's not sure how exactly their relationship had come to this either; the man had pulled him kicking and screaming from Texas, sure, and had always offered his support as Jesse found his feet within the ranks. He certainly didn’t understand then why he’d been so eager to help when all he wanted to do his time here and get out – hell, he still didn’t entirely understand now, and Gabriel wasn’t exactly giving the answers up freely. But somewhere along the line he went from stubbornly pushing him away to letting Reyes peak in the cracks when he was drunk and wallowing. He’d never pried more than wanted, never pressed for more than what was offered freely – which in a way only made it more baffling from an outsider that Jesse would let Gabriel take his feet out from under him and reduce his world to this and enjoy every second of it.
But that was the thing - he didn't have to be perfect here. He didn't have to hit every target, save every life, be charming and quintessentially McCree. Sure, it wasn’t like that wasn’t him – but this sexual being was just as much a part of him too. Having his world reduced to nothing but this was cathartic in a way alcohol could only hope to be. All he had to do here was be a good boy and Gabriel said that he’d yet to fail him on that front. It certainly helped that Gabriel’s favourite way of ‘checking’ though was by getting Jesse to deep throat his cock until his voice was wrecked – and that? That Jesse was delighted to do.
He moans as Gabriel’s thick cock slides back into his mouth, pre-come bitter on his tongue as the man above him rocks shallowly. Just a soft in and out, nothing like the rougher behaviour from just before. It doesn’t take much to see the evidence of the previous rutting either; Jesse's lips are already red and obscene from being stretched around Gabriel already, spittle matting his beard as the thickness of his length and the act of deepthroating makes Jesse drool. There's a reason he isn't being pushed to takes as much just yet though; Jesse shudders as another wave of pleasure rolls through him, hole clenching down on the bullets pressed deep inside. The buzzing was maddening, making his cock twitch and his hips jerk involuntarily. Pressed up so snugly against his prostate - fuck, all he needed was just a bit of friction, something, anything-
"Pup, look at me," a voice rumbles. Jesse struggles to focus his eyes in response - when had he closed them, anyway? - but when he does it's to look into Gabriel's gaze. It's caring, it's possessive, there's a hunger there that makes his body quake but also calms him in a way he can find nowhere else. He feels safe in a way that's bone deep - hopelessly aroused too, but safe first and foremost. "Just hold on a little longer and then you can come, alright? You've been good, I know you can handle the higher speed."
He whines high in his throat - no he can't, his cock don't have a ring on it anymore, if he doesn't come soon he doesn't know how he'll hold on - but that's when Gabriel starts thrusting faster, deeper into his throat, so far into Jesse's mouth that his throat convulses around the length. He can't breathe around it when Gabriel thrusts to his deepest, brain getting even more fuzzy than before. But God above does he love it - the way his eyes tear up, the gasped breathes ragged in his throat, those fingers in his hair tightening and pulling him down again and again. Jesse can feel his nails digging into his thighs but the bite of them he almost notices as an afterthought - what's most important now is staying open and pliant.
And it works, he can tell it works because Gabriel is rocking faster and more erratically now as his eyes flutter shut. The only time Gabriel lets it get away from him like this is when he's chasing his own orgasm, when he's surrendering himself to the heat of Jesse's mouth and the hum of vibration as Jesse moans around him. When he's being good, and Jesse loses himself in that, lets him be carried away until with a grunt Gabriel shoves Jesse all the way down. Jesse doesn't fight it either, just takes it as Gabriel grinds into his so deep he can't even taste the come as he swallows it. He can feel it settle deep and heavy in his stomach, heat that only adds to the aching between his legs but knowing that he's satisfied Gabriel this much? Oh, it's almost as good as an orgasm itself.
Almost.
As Gabriel pulls Jesse off his cock he strokes a hand down Jesse's chin, playing with the sex mussed hair of his beard and it's like flipping a switch - immediately he's hit with the full force of sensation; the vibrations in his ass, the dripping tip of his cock jutting against his stomach, the taste of cum in his mouth and his own involuntary sounds. His mouth falls open with a moan, head falling into Gabriel's hand as if touch alone can stop the vibrators from taking him apart. But he doesn't need to look to hear the deep set laugh from Reyes, the sound enough alone to make his cock twitch. That laugh was terrible and horrible and always meant Gabriel had a devious plan - Jesse couldn't wait to find out what it was.
"Now, let's deal with you, shall we? After all, good boys deserve a reward."
Title: A Picture In Blue
Fandom: Overwatch
Ship: Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada
Warnings: PWP, Rough Sex, Face-Fucking, Grinding, Dirty Talk, Power Exchange, Dom/sub, Suits, Light Pet Play Themes
WC: 4835
Read on AO3 here
-x-
The mission was nothing to write home about on the surface; some casino in Monaco with corrupt Talon agents and blood money on their hands. Jesse knew that they'd have to dress the part to even get in the door; nice clothes, good hair, the regular works to blend in among the rich.
But he hadn't expected this - Hanzo walking out dressed up like he owned the place, hair slicked back and suit immaculately fitted. He looked good enough for McCree to sink to his knees in awe - and with him down there, looking at Hanzo with doe eyes, both of them had some ideas for how they should spend the time before the mission...
-x-
He’s dressed to the nines, sleeves rolled and collar starched - a dream of a white collar businessman even with his bow within reach, despite Jesse knowing so well the strength of he man beneath the suit. He reeked of ostentation, of the refined nature only acquired through the filth of money. No off the rack vest fitted a man like this one did, no machine embroidery could match the level of detail of that on his sleeve. But even in their finery, the clothes didn’t wear Hanzo - no, he sat as if he were royalty, lax in an outfit that would dwarf lesser men.
Their surroundings certainly called for it; even though this was just a hotel, lodgings before the mission itself commenced, it seemed Winston had deemed it necessary for them to stay in a place as fancy as the casino they were eventually going to. At least, it was the only explanation that Jesse could come to as to why there was whiskey on the house and finery everywhere he looked. Despite his own fondness of the liquor it was Hanzo who was taking advantage of it right now, whiskey stones clinking as he took a sip of the honey coloured liquid. It was fitting, considering how he was dressed - the way he was acting blurred the lines between a persona for the job and something other . Something more primal, a someone who he had gotten to know quite well over the past few months.
It was one of many reasons that Hanzo had Jesse captivated in this moment, why that even in the comfort of their own hotel room, with seats all around them, he sat between Hanzo’s legs like an eager lap dog. Not that he was immune to Hanzo’s beauty on any other day - Hanzo could certainly attest to the plethora of sweet names he would call him at any hour - but a man in a well fitted suit? Jesse was human, damn it, and Hanzo looked good enough to eat.
“I didn’t think you would enjoy my outfit this much, Jesse,” Hanzo said, amusement tinging his voice as he looked down at the other man “if I’d known I may have worn this before now”. Jesse made a noise in his throat somewhere between a whine and a groan in reply, throwing his head back over dramatically.
“Sugar, if you dressed like this again I don’t think my poor heart could take it.”
“It may be a risk I have to take, considering your reaction” Hanzo replied with a laugh, hand returning to carding through the loose locks of Jesse’s hair. Certainly not an action Jesse was complaining about - the smooth moment was lulling in the most wonderful sense, making the world seem hazy around the edges. Here at Hanzo’s feet he could catch the musk of Hanzo’s cologne with every other breath, was aware of the strength of the thigh beneath his cheek. It took more energy than he expected to snap himself back to awareness and meet Hanzo’s eyes.
“How much time we got, Han?”
“About an hour until we meet at the casino - surely you’re not…” Hanzo’s voice trailed off as Jesse pulled back onto his haunches, smirking as he did.
“Of course I am. Did you really expect to dress up like that,” Jesse said as he pushed Hanzo’s left leg open, “pet me like a puppy” as he pushed the right leg open “and then walk out of here like you haven’t just driven me crazy? Sweetheart, I don’t think you know me all that well if you don’t know how much I want to suck your dick right now.”
He could hear the hiss of breath escape between Hanzo’s teeth but Jesse did nothing except keep level eye contact with Hanzo, waiting for the man’s verdict as he weighed up the situation. For a man usually as stoic as Hanzo it was fascinating to watch too, another glimpse of the man beneath the mask - eyes narrowing, the hand not fiddling with Jesse’s hair tapping rhythmically on his other thigh.
“Lemme suck your dick, Hanzo. I'll be real good for you, promise.” Jesse said again, voice softer, his hand edging up Hanzo’s thigh. He expected it when Hanzo cut him off at the pass, slim digits wrapping around his own and paralyzing him. He didn't expect though for Hanzo to lean down, brush his lips over the knuckles in an action so tender it made Jesse’s breath stutter in his chest.
“I cannot get these pants dirty, Jesse,” He said slowly, level in a way that was overly cautious and told him that he’d already won the man over. To keep up appearances though he flashed Hanzo a fox’s grin, leaning on his thigh with a hand under his chin as he took his hand back.
“Has swallowing ever been a problem for me?”
“Well, yes, there was that time at Illios-”
“You weren’t wearing a suit then-”
“And you weren’t being a brat then, so be quiet,” Hanzo snapped back, an authoritative tone in his voice that made Jesse’s mouth clamp up as quickly as his cock jumped in his pants. Already like two puzzle pieces he could feel their roles sliding into place, his own submission pulling him down, down into that floating place. And Hanzo…Jesse being down on his knees only emphasized the sharp edges of his jaw, the eyes that could cut right through him. Like fine clothing, Hanzo wore power gloriously and Jesse couldn't help but surrender to the lure.
“You can also take time to come down from a scene like this” Hanzo spoke again, pulling Jesse out of his own thoughts “and while I know you're able to come to quickly if needed, I do not want you going into sub drop later and not telling me. Can I trust you to communicate your needs properly after this?”
“Of course,” Jesse replied, “I don't think this mission will be anything too far outside the usual wheel house. I can manage.”
“You want to, or you’re able to? I don't want you getting hurt.” Jesse just leveled him with a look of his own.
“I'm a grown man, Hanzo. If I'm not feeling peachy, you'll be the first one to know.”
“Good then,” Hanzo said, the concern being tucked away once more. His fingers, still idly stroking through Jesse’s hair, came down to his chin instead. He felt his face pulled upwards until he could feel the slight strain, unable to look anywhere but Hanzo.
“Colour?”
“Green.”
“Shirt off then,” Hanzo said, a devilish smile playing at his lips. “And make a show of it for me, pet”.
“Yes, sir,” Jesse said in reply, eyes lidded as his fingers made his way to the collar of his shirt. Flick as the first button came undone, flick as the second did as well - he let his chest arch into the motion as his fingers spidered down, each new button undone revealing another few inches of tanned chest.
“Slower,” Hanzo purred, eyes following his every movement. It made an exhibitionist thrill surge through Jesse, made him rake open the shirt to show more skin again. Already he could feel his fingers push against old bruises against his collarbone - bruises that by the pleased grin Hanzo was wearing they both knew the source of. Jesse could still feel the bite of Hanzo’s lips against his skin if he thought about it too much - thoughts that he tried to will away as fast as possible. Already his pants were starting to feel tight and they hadn’t even gotten to the good part.
He gave Hanzo a small smile as he flicked open the last button, shrugged his shoulders back to let his plaid shirt fall back over his arms. Jesse’s toned chest was exposed in its entirety now, rope-like muscles that continued down his arms and abs that weren’t softened by age just yet. He knew he looked good, had many a pretty girl tell him so at a bar, but it paled in comparison to the wolf hungry gaze of Hanzo looking down on him. Now? He didn’t feel like the top dog - he felt small, dazed in a way that made his body throb with need. He watched as Hanzo picked up his whiskey glass again and followed the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed.
“Good, pet.” Hanzo said. Jesse shivered.
Hands in his lap, Jesse let his body still as the glass was placed back on its coaster, Hanzo making a noise as he let his legs spread again. Though the invitation was there Jesse didn’t move; he knew better than to now. This thing, this dynamic between them was a game they’d played and perfected for months and the first rule was that Jesse did not lead, only followed.
“Take my cock out,” Hanzo said, tone deceptively flat but the words direct - Jesse wasted no time in making his way between Hanzo’s legs properly, pushing them apart just a little bit more to make room for his shoulders. If Hanzo minded he didn’t say, just watched as Jesse’s nimble fingers made their way to his waistband. Usually he’d tease the skin above, skim the skin as a taster for things to come - but this time his calloused fingertips just met the crisp cotton of his shirt and he was quick to pull back. After all, Hanzo was put together just so, an oil painting layered over to achieve perfection - and if he was going to ruffle Hanzo’s perfect image, he was going to do it with his tongue, not fingers already bumbling with sex drunkenness.
Feeling daring he leaned into Hanzo’s crotch, finding the zipper of his trousers with his tongue and relishing the sharp intake of breath from above him. Good. Though submission burned bright and heavy in his gut, it didn’t twist away his mischievous nature. Riding the high he bit the zipper pull between his teeth, dragging it down. Slowly, slowly, feeling each of the teeth give way and part to expose the cotton underneath. Royal blue, just like the rest of what Hanzo wore - he should have guess his outfit was coordinated down to the last thread.
He shuffled Hanzo’s trousers down just a little more - not enough to crumple the pressed fabric just yet, but more than enough to expose a thick strip of Hanzo’s upper thigh. Most tantalising of all though was the heavy line of his cock, straining against Hanzo’s underwear and making Jesse’s mouth water in a near Pavlovian response. He couldn’t help it - he leaned forward, kissing the head through the fabric. Down here the scent of Hanzo was intensified - the smell of water and soap was strong and there was still the breath of cologne that was blink-and-you-miss-it. But beneath that was the scent of him , of salt and musk that was certainly helped along by his arousal. He pressed another wet kiss just below the first, watching as he soaked the fabric through and made it cling-
-Only for strong fingers to wind into his hair and pull . A high pitched moan was ripped out of his throat as he was wrenched back, taking a moment to focus back on Hanzo’s face as he panted in place.
“What did I tell you to do?”
“Take out your cock,” Jesse replied, taken aback momentarily by the breathlessness of his voice. It was hard to focus on that though, not when Hanzo’s lips were a straight line and he could feel disapproval rolling off him in waves.
“And what did you do?”
“Not that.” Jesse said, hanging his head. Or at least, trying to - the hand still fisted in his hair stopped him from moving anywhere, only made the pull more intense and drawing another whimper from him.
“Do what you’re told, pet. You do not want to be punished tonight,” Hanzo said, letting go of Jesse’s hair once more. “Now try again. Properly, this time.”
This time his words were not met with a charming quip or even a ‘yes sir’; Jesse’s attention was wholly turned to the sight in front of him. He was quick to pull Hanzo’s cock out from beneath the fabric, pushing his underwear down further so it didn’t cut into the shaft. He could feel how heavy it was in his hand, the tip red and wet with more than spit and he wasted no time licking a long line up the underside of it. He felt it twitch in his grasp as he did so and it made satisfaction curl in his stomach.
“That’s it, nice and slow,” Hanzo said, fingers winding back into his hair. This time it wasn’t a directive pull though - no, this was grounding, encouraging, fingers digging into his scalp in the way Hanzo knew he liked. “Not in your mouth just yet though. I want to enjoy this just as much as you. Though, I suppose that’s hard - you enjoy having a cock in your mouth more than anybody else I’ve met, don’t you?” Jesse just hummed a note of approval at the base of Hanzo’s dick, tongue running along a prominent vein back up again.
“That’s what I thought,” Hanzo purred, eyes lidded even as a flush was beginning to rise to his cheeks; the first sign of him succumbing to Jesse’s ministrations. He savored the thought triumphantly. “You didn’t even try to hide how much you wanted it tonight, pet - I think I saw your knees hit the ground as soon as I came into the room. Are you that desperate to get your lips around my cock? To serve and please a well dressed man?” Jesse just whined, looking up at Hanzo with pleading eyes. Drool slickened the corners of his mouth, lips already swollen despite not even being taken down the length yet - he looked a sight but none of it mattered, not when Hanzo was looking at him like this.
He was quickly pulled off Hanzo’s dick and he would have complained if two fingers hadn’t replaced it immediately, slid onto his spit slickened bottom lip. He didn’t even think before delivering the same treatment to them too, chasing the taste of whiskey on the pads of Hanzo’s fingers. Above him Hanzo made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a groan.
“It doesn’t even need to be a dick for you to utterly debase yourself either,” Hanzo said. Jesse could feel the fingers curl slightly in his mouth and he tried his best to pay them proper attention all the same. He didn’t even know when he started bobbing his head, a slight back and forward as he panted around the digits on his tongue. “A delightful little whore for me, ready to serve however I want you. I wish I’d brought the collar, pet - you would have looked such a pretty picture for me. Panting so on your knees, with your dick so wonderfully hard.”
He punctured the words with a press on Jesse’s crotch with his foot, an action that took Jesse so by surprise he couldn’t force back a wide mouthed groan. He tried to pull back from Hanzo’s fingers as his whole body pulsed with arousal, with need, but he was stopped by Hanzo’s other hand, forced to keep the tips of Hanzo’s fingers in his mouth as he shook with pleasure. “But I don’t even need to touch you for you to be ready and aching for me, and you don’t need a collar to know exactly who you belong to, do you?”
“No sir,” Jesse said after a moment, once he remembered how to speak again. The words were lisped around the fingers still in his mouth, pulled back once he spoke.
“Good,” Hanzo replied. He took a moment to pull a handkerchief out of his breast pocket, wiping his fingers off on the neat square of cotton. It was a careful, measured action - enough that he could see that the square when put back was not folded as neatly as it was when withdrawn. “Now, it’s time that we see your mouth put to better use. Hand on my thigh, pet.”
Jesse felt the hand tangled in his hair pull him over and he didn’t resist, relaxed into the motion as Hanzo’s cock brushed against his lips. At the same time he let his right hand come up to rest, tapping against the muscle of Hanzo’s thigh as he looked over to him for confirmation. Hanzo had been adamant that they had nonverbal safe words for situations like this - so far it hadn’t lead them astray.
“Good, pet,” Hanzo said. This time when Jesse let his lips brush over the tip of Hanzo’s cock he didn’t fall back, just let his lips blunt his teeth as he took it into his mouth. Already he could taste the salt bitter on his tongue but it wasn’t a concern for long, not when Hanzo was pulling him down further, filling his mouth entirely. Jesse wasn’t doing the work anymore; no, Hanzo was just moving him now, using his mouth, using him in a way that made his head spin. He gasped for breaths of air between each rock as Hanzo moved his head more and more drastically. Jesse let his throat lax as he felt Hanzo’s dick reach the back of his mouth, hips instinctively jack-rabbiting deeper as more slick tightness opened to him. The moan from above made Jesse squirm, all too aware of his own hardness painful and trapped against his thigh.
“Perfect for me,” Hanzo gasped out, breath a ragged staccato as he fucked into Jesse’s throat, “such a good toy, you know just what to do. Opening up so well for me, couldn’t ask for anything better. Fuck- ” he seemed to cut himself off at that, words tripping on his tongue. His thrusts were losing their rhythm now, the grip in Jesse’s hair nigh on painful. If anything else was happening Jesse couldn’t tell - his whole world had shrunk down to be pliant, be submissive, be good . Making sure his tongue stayed lax and his throat stayed open even as tears welled in his eyes and spit dribbled down his chin. He was a mess but he didn’t care - he’d come apart for Hanzo a thousand times because he knew the man would put him back together again.
Hanzo barely had the time to bite out a warning and let Jesse gasp for a final breath before he came. Jesse was pulled down to the root, lips flush to the base of Hanzo’s cock as he felt each pulse again his palate, swallowed against the sudden rush of come. Hanzo had pulled him so far down he couldn’t even taste it it as he swallowed and that thought in itself was erotic in a way that made him want to squirm. But he didn’t - mainly because he didn’t want to choke but also he was still burning for praise, praise as he got in breathless words from the man above him as the hand in his hair loosened.
A tap on the thigh had Hanzo finally drawing him off and Jesse gasped for breath as his throat was finally cleared. He tasted the last bit of come still clinging to the crown of Hanzo’s dick and usually he’d swipe it off himself with two fingers, suck them into his mouth with a wink and a devilish grin. But now, now his mind was reeling from lack of breath, from the ache in his jaw and the burning need in his gut. He was a ball of desire and need and he looked to Hanzo to plead his case for release.
For the first time since Hanzo had started fucking him Jesse could see the damage he’d done to the man’s impeccable appearance; Hanzo neatly styled hair had fallen out of place, locks falling around his eyes. Jesse wasn’t sure when Hanzo had undone the top button of his shirt but he had, pulled open his tie so it hung loose. It exposed the column of his neck, skin that was still red with sex flush and as Jesse wiped his mouth he was hit with the sudden need to get his mouth on the unmarked space. A foolish thought, to think that his oral fixation would be subdued by a face fucking and a sore jaw; or perhaps this was just his hunger for Hanzo with another name.
Fact of the matter though was that Hanzo looked well fucked, if putting himself back together now with commendable speed. He looked at Jesse with a pleased expression that made his toes curl.
“You’ve done so well for me, pet. Are you ready to come?”
“Yes, please, yes,” Jesse said, words almost coming out in an incomprehensible mess in his eagerness. Though he wore slacks he hurt from how hard he was, how much he ached for contact, any sort of friction or touch. His hips jerked minutely just at the words and for a moment he became truly aware of just how much of a sight he must look in this moment. Pupils blown, hair sticking up at all manner of angles as he knelt shirtless on the ground, unable to close his mouth as he looked up with a dazed look at his lover. It was a look that was incomparable to the usual cocky gunslinger found on base or at the local bar - but then again, Hanzo was an exception in so many things.
“Hmm, but do you deserve to come?” Hanzo said with a smile that was so quickly turning more devilish, eyes sparkling with a mirth that made fear seized in his chest. No, no he couldn’t - he’d been so good. He hadn’t touched just like Hanzo had always told him to, trained him to for so long. It’d be cruel to leave him like this, hard and aching, oh, he’d been so good!
He didnt realise he’d said every word until Hanzo smiled even wider above him, as he recognised the sound of his own voice scratched over and raspy from abuse. It was enough even in his own well fucked out state to bring an embarrassed flush to his cheeks, to look away as he felt it travel down his chest. But the laugh he heard from Hanzo in response wasn’t unkind, only endeared.
“You’ve made your case well. You may come-” Jesse’s hands immediately scrambled to his waistband, fingers so clumsy he couldn’t even find the top of his zipper on the first pass and-
“- wait.”
Jesse made a sound of confusion as his hands dropped away from the opening of his pants, flew back as if they had been burned. How the hell was he supposed to come if he couldn’t get his fucking dick out? Clearly his frustration was amusing to the other man because Hanzo made no effort at explaining right away. All he did was pull his arms up and behind him, stretching out as he shuffled back in his seat on the couch and tucked himself back into his pants. So slow, the expression on his face as pleased as a cat who’d gotten the cream - it was like he wasn’t even aware of how much of a hair’s edge Jesse was on, how much he needed to come. Hanzo even rearranged how his legs sat on the ground too, one even coming to rest right in front of him-
Oh no.
“Did I say you could use your hands?” Hanzo said, with a too-pleased smirk in his tone that made Jesse want to scream . “You know how good pets come, my love - and since I’m so kind, I’ll even let you use me to get off.”
The words shouldn’t have sent such a strong bolt of arousal down his spine - but it did , and he nearly fell over himself in his rush to clambour onto Hanzo’s leg. It would be humiliating if it didn’t turn Jesse on so much, if Hanzo didn’t know that as well. And sure, he expected it to come up in their play sometime - but not like this, not when he was half dressed and desperate and Hanzo sat above him like a king. He made a noise as his cock brushed against Hanzo’s calf, as the friction against his over sensitive dick made his gasp and jerk. Even still trapped underneath layers of fabric the muscle beneath him was strong and firm and fuck , he couldn’t help the way his hips stuttered at the contact. He ground down against it, making whimpering sounds as his hands scrambled for purchase around him.
“That’s it, earn your pleasure,” Hanzo said, leaning back into the couch as he watched Jesse falling apart beneath him, struggling even to keep a rhythm to the desperate grinding of him hips. “We both know you don’t even need my touch because that’s how badly you need this. You’ll even settle for rutting against my leg like an animal, coming in your pants like some sort of desperate teenager. And you’ll love it, too, won’t you? This gets you off and you cannot deny it. How filthy .” Jesse just moaned, unable to control the sounds coming out of his mouth anymore as he desperately chased after his release. He was barely in control of his own hips anymore - why would he try to when he was so close now, friction so good, pressure so strong. Fuck, he wasn’t going to last-
“Come for me, pet.”
Those were the only words he needed, in the end - with a shout he couldn’t have muffled if he tried he felt himself let go, hips jerking as he felt everything finally unwind and him come so hard he saw white. He couldn’t think of anything except the pleasure burning through his veins, that pulled his body taunt. So good, so good - he was pretty sure he had dug his fingers too hard into Hanzo’s thigh in the process, could feel come soak into his underwear in a way he knew would be unpleasant soon. But all of that took a back seat in the moment over the shear relief of release. He floated even as he finished coming, as he slumped to the ground utterly spent, and through it all he could feel fingers slowly stroking through his hair, words cooed to him even though he barely had the sense of mind to comprehend them.
“Good pet, good boy,” Hanzo said, words soft as his dominant persona finally slid off. “You did so well, love. So well.”
They stayed like that for a moment - somewhere in the haze of afterglow Hanzo pulled him up on the couch beside him. Jesse welcomed the action entirely - after all, it let himself slump more easily against Hanzo’s form, take a moment to steady his breathing in the crook of his lover’s neck. Distantly, he knew that they would have to get up sooner rather than later, but for now he was content to come back to himself like this.
“Feeling better now?” Hanzo asked after a few more minutes of comfortable silence. Jesse just made a noise of discomfort, finally summoning the energy to roll off Hanzo and back onto the couch.
“Listen, that was hot as shit Han’,” Jesse said, laughing as he buried his face into his hand “but jesus , my pants are uncomfortable like you wouldn’t believe.”
“You did ask for it.” Hanzo said in return, leaning over and moving some hair out of Jesse’s face. Jesse huffed as he did, but leaned into the doting touch - when Hanzo’s thumb brushed across his lip he pressed a kiss to it and the way Hanzo’s face lit up made it more than worth it.
“I wasn’t complainin’ about that part and you know it.”
“But it’s far more amusing to work you up. You look so cute when you’re stroppy” Hanzo replied, mirth sparking in his eyes. Jesse took one look at Hanzo like that, brushing a hand through his now messy hair and just groaned, getting to his feet.
“Well, if Mr. Just Wants To Work Me Up wants to know where I am, it’s gonna be having a shower and getting ready so we’re not late. Again .”
“Please. I love you dearly, but nobody wants you walking up smelling of sex,” Hanzo straightened his tie and buttoned up his shirt once more, walking past Jesse into the bathroom “and we do not have the time for me to fix myself up again if you start getting handsy.”
“Is that a challenge, sugar?”
“Jesse, if you- did you just slap my ass? ”
The two of them ended up appearing ten minutes late to the casino for the mission. For some inexplicable reason, maybe or maybe not helped along by their intertwined hands and Jesse’s shit eating grin, they weren’t asked what caused their delay.
-x-
My Ko-Fi!
Title: Warmth in Her Fingertips
Fandom: Overwatch
Ship: Widowmaker/Tracer
Warnings: Drug Use/Withdrawal, Canon Typical Violence
WC: 19357
Read on AO3 here
-x-
Widowmaker is one of the finest agents that Talon has, and the most deadly sniper known to the world. Few knew about her existence, fewer still could rival her skill with a rifle and live for more than a few days after. But her latest mission takes her back to King's Row to pace the familiar rooftops - only this time there are no shots to be fired, no goods to secure and no areas to be locked down. To complete what she has been tasked she must convince Overwatch to trust her once more, and whom better to start with than Lena Oxton, the woman who runs on hope?
After all, as long as she can ignore the warmth in her fingertips and the whispers of her life before, everything should work out just fine.
...Right?
-x-
It would be a lovely evening in King’s Row tonight if it wasn’t for the bloody Talon agents.
But she was, and as she sped through the darkened streets she could hear the sound of gunshots snapping off in the distance. She could damn near place every one with a pinpoint accuracy; her next targets the closest ones. Blinking forward, she zoomed around a corner to bury a few pulses in the back of a goon's head, dead before he hit the ground and no time to check as she let herself be flung back in time and around the corner. Blink, blink, fire, rewind. It was a mantra that had kept her safe, kept her alive for as long as the chronal accelerator had been anchoring her and it wasn't about to fail her now. She blinked away in time to see gunfire hail down where she had just been standing.
“Be careful!” A familiar voice snapped in her ear, the communicator crackling. She paused for a moment, hopping to a standstill on flighty feet.
“Do you see any holes in me, love?” Tracer replied, laughing as she reloaded her guns. “I'm fine Mercy, I’ve got everything covered. Don't get your knickers in a knot.”
“I'm not- Just at least try to stay out of trouble.” Mercy said, and Tracer could practically hear her shoulders slump. “My caduceus staff can only do so much.”
“Gotcha, love.” Tracer said, before blinking forward again, conversation already on the backburner. Two goons were in the place of their former comrade, guns raised to try and challenge their unseen assailant. But neither of them were any more prepared than the first - one was greeted with a shot in the side of the head, the other to the butt of her gun whacking him across the neck. She fired a couple of shots into them both, just to make sure, before she zipped forward and around the next corner. No gunfire followed her this time; the sounds of an incredibly angry gorilla in the distance made it quickly clear why.
“Have you got the square under control?”
“Almost.” Came the reply, panted in a breath Tracer wasn’t sure Mercy should of spared. The sound of primal roaring and gunfire spat through the microphone at random intervals.
“Almost?”
“Above.” Mercy panted, “We can't get to the snipers. Got our hands full here. There’s too many down here, we have to tank them or they’ll get into the storehouse.”
“On in. Look after yourself, alright? Nobody here’s any good at healing the healer.” Tracer replied, doubling back in a heartbeat to take a fire exit up two steps at a time. The metal rattled under her feet unconvincingly but she soldiered on, letting her body wrap around the spiral staircase until her feet landed on the concrete of the rooftop. She could see the snipers as soon as she left the stairs, tucked in and around the square Overwatch was defending so valiantly in a overhanging bridge like apartment setup. She could see the fancy dark wood behind them - it was going to be a right shame to put a bullet hole or three in it. Then again, the men that used it as cover, they had broken into those people’s houses, displacing hundreds while this battle ran it’s course; the benefits outweighed the costs.
She set off at a running pace, letting herself blink forward as soon as her feet left the ground. Despite her telltale trail it seemed like the snipers hadn't noticed her yet, their fire focused on the ground where she could see Winston and D.Va’s mech holding off the waves of men trying to get their hands on their precious ‘payload’. The familiar blue beam followed them both, focusing particularly on Winston as he slammed two Talon agents into a wall with his bare hands. She winced - human or omnic, that had to hurt and sometimes she was glad the scientist was on her side and not theirs. To be fair though, Winston (or really, any Overwatch agent) was too talented. The agents couldn't focus fire if their lives depended on it - it was like they were trying to miss!
Of course, there were some very notable exceptions to that statement - but they weren’t here. Frankly, they were the least of Tracer’s worries right now.
Seeing an opening, she swung herself through an open window into a lavish looking room. Bullet holes riddled the furniture and feathers plumed across the bed. The smell of gunpowder and smoke was heavy in the air, kicking her heart into double time. Talon agents had most certainly been through here. Barreling into the hallway, that was proven true and she quickly started firing off down the hall. Rifles weren’t made for close combat, if she could just duck in and out-
-And she yelled as one, two bullets buried themselves in her shoulder, pain blossoming dark and searing to made her grit her teeth and hold back a yell. It took her a moment to remember to rewind, rewind , that’ll help that’ll make it all better and better it did. She let herself be pulled back, feel the curious sensation of the pain concentrating on her shoulder again before lifting altogether and she was back on her feet none worse for wear. Physically, at least. Mentally her mind was still reeling, phantom pain quickly fading from where she had been injured.
Let’s try that again.
This time her bullets didn’t miss and with her initial rounds already hindering the snipers it didn’t take much more to bring them down. Bang into the chest bang bang in the kneecaps, darting through the enemy lines to shoot them in the back before they even registered she was gone. Following her when she wasn’t phasing through reality was hard enough - when her feet barely touched the ground as she let herself be pulled back and forth through the slipstream of time? Well, it was a wonder they lasted as long as they did. She kicked the bodies out the window, turning away before she could see them ragdoll to the ground.
“I’m done up here - should be no more problems, Mercy!”
“How many did you find?”
“Three, why?”
“Tracer, there were four or five, I saw some move off before you-” The communicator fizzled out before Mercy could finish, gunfire making the speaker pop painfully before it switched off. Tracer couldn't help but let out a sigh. Of course it wasn't going to be that easy - but if that was only three of them...
“ Tracer !”
She heard her name, but it was the voice that made her stop. Familiar and… Scared? She couldn't help but look back. But the face that greeted her was no civilian, not even a fellow Overwatch member. No, those were eyes the color of acid that met hers, unmistakable from their many dances together on the battlefield - but never had she even looked vaguely close to scared.
“Widowma-?!”
Before she could even get the woman’s name off her lips, bang bang! Two gunshots went off in quick succession and Widowmaker yelled as she fell to the ground at Tracer’s feet. Fingers grasped at what skin she could of her back; already Tracer could see blood spilling from between her fingers.
“Oi, what’s your problem?!” Tracer yelled, her pistols instantly pointing at the culprit, His skull like gas mask hid any clue to his identity, much like his comrades before him. However, this one could apparently aim and had Widowmaker of all people running scared. If he had an answer though he didn’t say it, only going to squeeze the trigger again.
Or at least, he would have if Tracer hadn’t zipped forward and barreled into him, sending the rifle flying just as the bullet fired. The sound of the shot right next to her ear was unpleasant - but not as unpleasant as the damage that bullet could have done if it had found it’s target true. They landed in a dog pile on the ground, Tracer’s arm digging into the man’s neck. She could feel his breath rasping through as he clawed at her. In her earlier days this would have been the split second that she paused, that she looked down at the agent and felt pity and guilt and anger all rolled into one in a special blend only a soldier truly knew. Now though she shot him in the head, leapt back as the killing wound began to smoke and the body fell back limp. These days she knew that mercy was found in a quick death… A quirk that Widowmaker seemed to share.
She was back to the fallen woman in an instant, looking over her wounds with a growing sense of horror. Widowmaker’s back was nothing but red, and it stuck to Tracer’s hands as she tried to find the wounds, the entry points. She could hear Angela’s voice in her ear, Winston’s too, that the enemy was retreating and that the warehouse goods were accounted for and safe but she wasn’t even registering the words right now. All she could focus on was the wounds. God, she couldn’t even see them through all the blood but there were definitely more than one - what the hell had caused all of this? A part of Tracer was screaming at her to stop, no, don’t, you know what will happen if you help, she’s still armed! And the thoughts made her hands unsure, her mantra returning to her blink blink fire rewind. But then Widowmaker looked up at her - how was she even still conscious? - with a face that looked pale even for her.
“ Lena. ”
That was the moment where Widowmaker too fell limp, from shock or something else Tracer didn’t know - but in that moment her mind had been made up.
“Angela?”
“Yes?”
“ I- There’s somebody here you need to see.”
-x-
“So she's going to be okay?” Lena asked, swinging her legs under the bench she was perched on as she looked over to Angela. The woman was just pulling off her gloves, disposing of them promptly as she moved around the small medical bay. Various cupboards and shelves lined the walls, all shut and locked saved for one which the doctor in question dealt with promptly, letting the latch click into place. Behind her on the bed was a motionless Widowmaker, facing towards the wall with her chest moving so slowly Lena wasn’t sure it was moving at all. She could see gause peeking over a pale shoulder, the rest of her body covered in a thin blanket.
“Assuming her body doesn't go into shock again, yes, she should be okay.” Angela replied. “Of course, considering how…. Unique her biology is now, I can't say for sure.” She said the word ‘unique’ much the same way a child would say the location of their cookie stash; begrudgingly and with loathing. “The blood tests I ran showed some unique forms of adrenaline within her bloodstream that seem to be working alongside some form of beta-blocker, but I cannot know for sure until I've further studies the samples. I would study her further, but that's a task I reserve for conscious patients.” She worried at her lip for a moment more before sitting down on a wheeled stool with a sigh. “And I'm not yet sure how cooperative a conscious Widowmaker will be.”
“Why do you think she’s going to be uncooperative, Ang?” Lena said, her brow furrowing.
“We can’t simply ignore the fact she’s a Talon agent.” Angela replied. “As much as I want to give her the benefit of the doubt we’ve suffered because of that before. We can’t let our guard down against the deadliest assassin in Talon and you know that as well as I do.”
“She came to me in the field though! She got shot right in front of me- She said my name, Ang. With me and her on the field it’s always been Tracer this, Tracer that. Not Lena. What part of that is saying ‘I am a Talon agent’ to you?” Angela shot her a look; too quickly Lena realized she had raised her voice too loud. Passionate about the subject she was, but it was the middle of the night and there was a sleeping patient. Instead of shooing Lena away though, Angela pointed to the hallway outside. Lena obediently trotted out, and turned to see the doctor following close behind. She pulled the door shut behind her, locking it. For the first time Lena could see the outline of Angela’s blaster under her heavy coat, the way her shoulders didn’t quite settle.
“Look, Lena.” Angela said, and her voice was tired in the way that failed to hide how much longer she had been on her feet compared to the rest of the team from today. “I didn’t see what went on between the two of you tonight. For all I know, she’s back,” and Angela paused awkwardly after she said that, as if willing herself to continue, be rational “but I’d rather be safe than sorry.”
“And how do you think she’s going to react to being locked up, huh?” Lena said in reply. “You think her waking up and finding herself in a tiny room is going to make her think she made the right choice?”
“This is my medical opinion Lena-”
“Screw your bloody medical opinion!” Lena bit back in reply, brown eyes livid. “She’s scared and she came to us and she deserves better than to be treated like an animal-”
“ Lena. ” Angela snapped, and the harshness of her tone made Lena’s words trip over themselves as they came to a halt. Instantly regret crashed over her; god, she had just shouted at a doctor and one that had be working tirelessly from the moment they had stepped into battle at King’s Row. Since they had gotten back to base, Lena had been able to have a shower, throw up her feet, eat a decent meal. Looking over Angela now, Lena could tell she hadn’t been able to do the same. Her hair was escaping from it’s high ponytail, her bangs shadowing most of her face. Grime clung to the corners of her features; Lena could see the faintest smudge of blood beneath her chin.
“Sorry, love.” She said. At the apology, Angela’s face softened.
“It’s okay. I know it’s not easy to be confronted like that, especially knowing she was once a former Overwatch agent.” The older woman rested a hand on Lena shoulders, and even just that touch seemed to help the stress leak out of her muscles. “And believe me Lena; I want to give her the freedom you want to, I really do. But I just can’t. That mistake been made before, I’m not making it again.”
“I get you.” Lena said. “And if she’s on her best behaviour from here on out?”
“Then I’d be happy to review her current freedoms and such.” Angela said. “Believe me when I say this isn’t entirely up to me. Winston alone has already confessed serious doubts to me regarding Widowmaker as a whole, let alone your story.”
“But you can be a right sight convincing if you want to be, huh?”
“Exactly.” Angela said, eyes twinkling. “Of course, don’t tell Winston I said that.”
“Oh, he knows already, love.” Lena said with a grin.
-x-
“You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, we’re very serious. More than that, we’re certain that you are perfect for the job.” The general leaned over the desk, fingers steepled in front of him. Guards flanked him on either side, hefty guns at ease but not out of the picture. Of course they wouldn’t be - Talon hadn’t risen to become the underground empire it was today by being the trusting sort, even of their own soldiers. Plus, Widowmaker prided herself on her reputation - and her reputation was the sort that made a man hold a gun a bit closer to his chest.
“It is a waste of my abilities. Surely you can see that I would be of much more use here.”
“Perhaps you don’t understand the situation then,” He replied. “This is a chance for us to rid ourselves of the fumbling remains of Overwatch for good.”
“I’ve already been a sleeper agent once.” Widowmaker said bluntly. “They’re not going to buy it again.”
“Which is why you’re going to make them buy it.” The general replied. “For us to use the same plan again would be foolish. But we’re not.” Cold eyes met with hers - if she had any feeling left in her veins her mouth would have gone dry, but instead she met the gaze with her own unwavering.
“Then what do you want me to do?”
“Return to Overwatch.” He replied. “Make it seem like you’ve repented. Make them believe that they’ve got their sweet Amélie back, and when you've got them under your thumb deal with them as you would any other target.”
“Reporting?”
“Will be done remotely. This will be a long time operation, Widowmaker, Don’t delude yourself on that front.”
“I wasn’t.” The general looked like he was going to push the issue further but stopped shy, mouth thinning.
“You will be required to administer your own injections.” He said, gesturing to a nondescript case on the side of his desk. “The chemical concentration has been increased so you can go an extended period of time without a dose, which should prevent . Minimise any occurrence of Talon paraphernalia on you - we don’t want them suspecting anything.”
“Yes.” Widowmaker replied simply. The urge was there to bite back, to say that she wasn’t that dumb, but it was easy to repress.
“The estimated time frame of this mission is six months, however we will be relying on your expertise to determine whether this is appropriate. As long as results are gained, we don’t mind the ends.”
“You don’t mind?”
“Do what’s required, Widowmaker. If that means we end up with dead agents or lost intel on our end we’ll accommodate. If you don’t they may terminate your mission early - and you. Your mission is high confidentiality; regular orders will be given to kill Overwatch agents on site and that should include you.” His voice was unwavering, cold - emotion was an unknown concept within these sterile walls. At the very least, it was an unknown concept to her. After all, one didn’t need to truly know anger or sadness or joy to reap the satisfaction of a kill. “Any other questions?”
“No.”
“Then clear your room. You won’t be there again until you’re finished with Overwatch.”
“As you wish.”
-x-
Consciousness was a struggle, a groggy climb that seems to throw her off more than anything else that she could remember thus far. Groggy wasn’t even a word that she could have put a feeling to until now; to Widowmaker, sleep was a non event usually but trying to wake up now was like wading through treacle. It made the pain of her back feel like an impenetrable haze, her movements as she tried pulled herself up to a sitting position feel unskilled in a way that put her on edge. Or well, would have put her on edge if she hadn’t immediate had to stifle a yell into the meat of her thumb. Blinding pain laced up her back, making her see stars as she immediately fell back unceremoniously onto her shoulder.
Fuck, that hurt; and that was over her dulled pain sensory system and heightened adrenaline. When she was back in direct contact with Talon she was going to murder whoever said they could shoot her in the back; and that wasn’t a metaphorical statement.
Though now she thought about it , it did give her a unique advantage in this situation. She was weakened and, if the absence of Widow’s Kiss was any indication, completely unarmed. Even the cabinets were carefully locked up - anything that she could use to cause some sort of damage was carefully stowed away from her. A predictable move by Overwatch, if inconvenient, but it had given her a much better leverage point in return.
After all, right now she was likely on bed rest - and what better time to start making her case than when she was weak and defenseless? Draw them in with sympathy and destroy them through the same kindness they showed her the first time. It was almost poetic how it was playing out before her eyes, and Widowmaker couldn't deny the part of her that delighted in the feeling.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the the metallic clack, clack, clack of the doors unlocking, heavy metal sliding into place and parting. Gritting her teeth, Widowmaker was able to pull herself up to a sitting position, back pounding as she pulled at the tender skin. She shouldn't have bothered though, as none other than the good doctor herself came into the room - she could immediately see Mercy’s mouth thin as she took in her position.
“Widowmaker, please lie back down on your stomach.” She said. Her tone was curiously sharp; an oddity that surely came of the way her carefully masked expression.
“Oui.” She purred, rolling onto her stomach and watching as Mercy’s brow twitched. A curious thing indeed - had she been like this last time they had sat together, doctor and patient?
“Hold out your arm, please.” She said, Widowmaker complying wordlessly. She had few memories of that first operation, the one that had ended with her former husband shot dead between the eyes and she, the huntress fully realised. Even the definitive act itself she remembered in a haze, the first time she had felt alive nothing more than the high she ever clambered after. But had Mercy been like this when they had last met like this? Clinical was understandable considering the context, but there was a certain hardness to the woman’s eyes, a fleetingness to her touch that implied distance she wanted to keep between them. And while her lab coat had emblazoned on it Dr Angela Ziegler in neat black embroidery she had made no move to introduce herself, to separate the war medic and the doctor currently looking her over.
How curious indeed.
“I’ll be removing the gauze to look at your wounds - this may hurt.” Angela said. She paused, only for a moment as she finished unlacing the top of Widowmaker’s gown, waiting for an objection that never came. When she was sure it wasn’t coming, slim fingers started to move systematically down her back, tearing away the bandages. The tension on the damaged skin was enough to make Widowmaker grit her teeth, nails digging into the thin mattress beneath her. Thankfully Mercy was nothing if not efficient, pulling away the last of it to leave it open to the air. It throbbed slowly, a steady pulse along with her heart; behind her she could hear Mercy humming as she looked over the healing skin.
“It seems you are healing at a faster than anticipated rate.” She said. As she nudged one of the more tender places Widowmaker couldn’t help but let breath hiss out from between her teeth. “It may not feel like it, but you are showing the same rate of healing in a day that would take most patients upwards of a week to experience. Though I can credit some of that to nanobiology, I suspect that some of that also comes from the chemicals that keep you… Well, like this.” Widowmaker raised an eyebrow at the ineloquent phrasing but said no more.
“There is a reason I have survived so long.” Widowmaker said.
“Among others, I’m sure”, Mercy replied. She reached over to a clipboard perched on one of the cabinets and started to scrawl, quick flicks of chicken scratch. “You will be on bed rest for the foreseeable future until your wounds have healed, regardless. After that… We shall see.”
“That is rather ominous, doctor.” Widowmaker said pointedly.
“Can you blame me for wishing to be careful?” She replied. “I do not think I need to state the obvious.”
Any further attempts to talk to her were met with… Well, not exactly hostility, but her words were short, sharp, backed by the sort of finality you couldn't argue with. Widowmaker could hear the sound of scratching away behind her as she made what sounded to be extensive notes on her form. After a few more minutes spent redressing her wound, she straightened.
“That is all I need from you today.” She said simply, meeting her eyes for what seemed like the first time since she had walked into the room. “Your vital signs have stabilized and while your heartbeat and core temperature are well below average I suspect that is less to do with your injuries and more with your… Unique biology.” She paused, tapping the end of her pen against her lip before continuing. “Is there any chance you know something about the treatments you have undergone? I will be able to more efficiently treat you if I know what I am dealing with.” Widowmaker could see the flash of something bright in her eyes. Curiosity? Hope? It was the first real sign of humanity the woman had shown since walking in the door, and it wasn’t even conscious.
“I am a soldier, not a doctor.” She said carefully - which was true. She could not formulate what was injected into her veins in a lab, nor give her a list of what exactly the concoction that made her who she was actually did to her. “A simple pawn of Talon would not be given the tools of her own success, would she? Much more convenient to keep her on a leash, able to be... Reasoned with.” Mercy did not need to know of the vials that were stashed so close by, the fact she could call in more at any moment; a lie in Widowmaker’s eyes perfectly executed and one that Mercy brought with little fight. Widowmaker even took a slight satisfaction in the way the light faded from the doctor’s eyes.
“Very well then. Are you feeling any other discomforts?”
“You would be the first to know.” Widowmaker said smoothly. She turned her head to the side and watched as the woman got up, stretched; she saw how even without her Valkyrie get-up on her weight was shifted onto her left leg. She remembered her getting the injury, watched through her sights as a Talon soldier had tried to clip her moments before Tracer had shot him in the head. Clearly it still bothered her - an exploitable difference.
“Then I shall be off.” Mercy said, hugging the clipboard to her chest. “Dinner will be provided for you later if you wish to eat - I assume you do not have any special dietary requirements? I have nothing written down...” She paused for a moment, once again waiting for an answer that never came. There was no reason for Widowmaker to speak, so why should she? It was not an answer that Mercy seemed to take well however, shifting her weight to her bad leg for just a moment before back again. Flighty. “I will make sure you are sent the same meal that is being served to the rest of the body tonight then.”
“That sounds lovely, ma cherie.” Widowmaker purred, lips curling as she watched Mercy’s grip tighten against the clipboard, her words hesitant and spoken too kindly as she said her goodbyes and the door clicking shut behind her.
Perhaps this will be more challenging than I thought.
-x-
Widowmaker life fell into a cycle after that, the days blending together into an indistinguishable haze. Meals were delivered, she’d have her checkup and she’d fall asleep once more. She knew it had barely been a week and it wasn’t really enough time to go stir crazy, but there was only so many times one could trace the edges of the room with her eyes and later her hands before she could recall them with her eyes shut. She felt like a trapped animal - and indeed, perhaps she was. A spider, caught in a jar, unable to even spin a web to catch the unsuspecting; though she supposed that the security camera none too subtly planted in one corner of the room would put any stop to web building she tried. The books left in her room after the first couple of days helped to ease her boredom; but only barely.
It wasn’t until one evening that Widowmaker was pulled out of her new routine; buried in the tales of Once A Dancer she did not expect to hear the sound of approaching footsteps, nor the rat-a-tat on the door that was most certainly not the kitchen staff - the footsteps were lighter, flightier; she could hear the stranger rocking on them as she waited for an answer.
“Yes?” She called out, curious.
“Hiya!” A cheerful voice replied. “It’s me - was wondering if you were wanting a little company.”
“...Sure.” Widowmaker replied after a moment, moving her bookmark to the current page as the door unlocked in front of her. What on earth did Tracer want with her? Sure, she had played the puppy eyes trick on her to get here in the first place, but it had been too long for this to be a post-mission ‘holy shit are you still alive’ visit. Still, she was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, and she let a pleasant smile settle on her face as a familiar brunette entered the room.
It was more of a shock than she realized it would be to see the woman out of her combat gear - she supposed it came from the fact she had never needed to think about it. Tracer was too closely watched to successfully launch an attack against in civilian wear; it would be too likely that Talon’s deep grip in the many businesses of the world would be exposed in the process, taking down the entire organisation with it. They were powerful - but unfortunately, not that powerful yet. Tracer gave a little wave.
“Hey!” She said again, peppy. A quick glance around the room had Tracer spying the chair Mercy used during their appointments. She quickly pulled it up, plopping down into it and spinning around on it with the exuberance of a woman half her age.
”Sorry I didn’t come check on you earlier; Ang’ had a bit of a stick up her ass about ‘interrupting your recovery’.”
“It is quite alright.” Widowmaker replied, quickly realising just how out of depth she was. Already her instincts were trying to kick in - Tracer and her regularly faced off on the battlefield, and she could feel her fingers twitch. She wanted to pull a trigger, throw a punch at those too-smiley cheeks; her bedsheet perhaps could make a good makeshift rope to choke the life out of her. But this wasn’t about killing her; she was supposedly redeemed , had seen the light in the middle of combat and had left that all behind. But that left her with that fact that now conversation was a thing she had to do - and that was something that left her at a blank. She fumbled for an appropriate topic. “I should thank you for not shooting me when I came to you, Tracer. I did not get the chance while we were together before-”
“Please, call me Lena.” The woman butted in, giving Widowmaker a dazzling grin. “If you’re gonna be sticking ‘round like you said, might as well get down to first name basis, yeah?”
“I suppose.” Widowmaker replied, fiddling with the edge of the bookmark. “Though my name is still Widowmaker.”
“What, the name Amélie mean nada zip to you?” Lena asked, leaning forward in her seat curiously.
“I have few memories of the time when that name meant anything to me.” She said. Said with love as a man she did not recognise and whose ring she wore ran to hold her tight. The name said over and over, cries of love and thankfulness that should have made her felt something but which fell far short. Choked out as she pointed the gun to the head of a man that would birth a legend; a spider hungered, after all, for her partner’s head. “It seems strange to use a name that was not meant for me.”
“But it is your name, love. It's no skin off my back what I call you - just weird to call you something I did when you’re tryin’ to kill me, yeah?”
But I still am, was the reply Widowmaker did not voice. She bit her tongue as she tried to flounder for another reply. There was just something that was so unnerving about just trying to…Make conversation.
“I do not feel as if my name is Amélie”, and she said the name with the sort of tiptoe respect one gives a word they’re not sure if they can say, “I have operated as Widowmaker for too long to consider myself anything else at this stage.”
“Then I shall call you that, Wido-enna!” Lena said brightly, smiling as Widowmaker’s eyes narrowed. “Winnie? Widonia? Wiggle waggle?”
“Widowmaker is perfectly acceptable.” She said cooly in reply. “And I hardly think wiggle waggle appropriate.”
“Aw, you’re no fun.” Lena said, hoisting her feet up on top of the chair to hold with two hands. She cocked her head to the side, musing for a moment. “How’s the back feeling, anyway? Still see you’re wearing the old hospital gown.”
“It is recovering.” Widowmaker replied, her arm coming up to her shoulder. The area was still tender, flushed in the places where new skin had formed. “I am not a doctor though, and there is limited exercise that I can do in here - not that Mercy is eager for me to do so.” At the name, Lena’s face immediately settled into a frown.
“For the record, I’m not exactly a fan of what she’s doing here.”
“I did not see you as the one to do such a thing,” Widowmaker replied, raising an eyebrow.
“What, question whether Overwatch is doing the right thing or not? I’d be a dipshit not to”, She said.
“That’s how it all got dragged down to the ground last time, ‘innit? Nobody looked too close until it was all over - and I’m not going to let it happen again.”
You will fall though, ma chérie, and this time you will not be able to blame it on political dealings. Last time Overwatch fell because of corruption and abuse, but this time you will look down my barrel and know it was your stupidity that was the downfall of Overwatch.
But Widowmaker did not say the words, only smiled and commented on how admirable her words were. After all; it wouldn’t matter at the end of the day how passionate Lena was - it was going to end the same way, and she was going to be the one to end it.
At least Lena made for passable conversation.
-x-
The weeks after passed too slow and too fast for Lena, business as usual and yet so distinctively not. Overwatch was getting more replies to the recall by the day, agents that had barely been heard from and scattered to the winds as mercenaries returning their calls with more and more frequency. She was pretty sure nobody had been quite ready for the way that Reinhardt and Torbjorn had burst into Gibraltar with a keg under each of their arms and booming voices - when Winston had questioned them while soothing frazzled hair back into place why he hadn’t heard something from them before their dramatic entrance Reinhardt had just bellowed “You say that like you were expecting us not to come back!”. Other responses had been less intense but equally as promising; McCree’s communicator had been the first to fire back up, and Genji’s had been right behind. Informal drills were already being scheduled into her day, when they weren’t being packed away on missions.
However, Lena couldn’t ignore how there was a difference now, and that difference was the woman with blue skin and sharp eyes in the medical bay room 2B. A woman whose existence had been narrowed to a few square metres of floor space and whom visiting felt as if she was taunting some sort of wild beast. And yet, Widowmaker had never felt so human, more than just a name, figure and a sniper rifle. Perhaps it was her good to a fault nature - and she fully admitted that was a possibility here - but there was something different in the way that Widowmaker interacted with her, seemingly so genuinely that made her want to delve deeper, push further. She had even convinced Hana to come hang out with her and Widowmaker a few times, and while the two had begrudgingly gotten along at first it had only taken a few games of Mario Kart to get the two talking… Even if it was to taunt each other and leave Lena in the dust.
But Widowmaker was human. She was awkward and her words didn’t slot together properly all the time and she seemed to get caught up in trains of thought at the drop of a hat. But she listened. She entertained Tracer’s babbling and fidgeting beyond what was necessary - and it only made the current situation all the more frustrating.
“No. I will not allow it.”
“Winston, love, please think about this-”
“If you thought I was going to take this easily you have mixed me up with the wrong scientist. I am not arming Widowmaker, in any capacity . ” Winston snapped, settling onto his hunches with his nostrils flaring. “Do you even realise what you are suggesting, Lena? This is no ordinary agent we’re dealing with here - Widowmaker is one of the most highly classed terrorists there are.”
“Yeah, so what?” Lena huffed, hands curling into fists at her hips. “You’re forgetting that we’re not exactly seen as the most legal bunch either - hell, McCree has a bloody bounty on his head and I've seen actual criminals with smaller lots on their heads that him!”
“McCree is a different case and you know it.”
“And McCree hasn't acted unfavorably in the sense of the law since Overwatch recruited him.” Angela added, sighing as she crossed her legs. “Scapegoating and actual criminal behavior are very different things.”
“Look, loves. You know I have nothing against the guy, right? But worst case scenario, McCree’s not that much bloody better than Widowmaker is. He hijacked a train!”
“When there were Talon forces about.” Angela said. “The two aren't comparable.”
“What, bounties on their heads, former Overwatch agents? Don't sound so different to me.” Winston just sighed, leaning forward on the desk in front of him.
“Lena, as much as we’d love to we just don't have the evidence that Widowmaker isn't going to revert back to a Talon agent the moment she has some wiggle room. Her medical reports are coming up with no visible improvements despite her isolation, and there's no way to test her claims of loyalty without putting a number of operatives in needless danger.”
“So what are you gonna do then? Let her rot away in there?”
“We have been considering contacting the mainland authorities-”
“- You have been”, Angela quickly corrected Winston, glaring at him. “ My plans for the foreseeable future are to assist in her immediate recovery and encourage the retention of as much muscle as possible. After that I will start further research into possible cures for her current condition - initial results are prompting for some sort of adrenaline administration, but I would not be moving forward from that until I am confident in the exact chemical makeup.”
“So you're just going to… Leave her in there?”
“We have little other choice unless she starts to show signs of improvement, and even with my medical knowledge I am unsure how long that will take. She claims to only have come here to escape Talon and ultimately join our cause, but I worry those goals are too vague to be entirely accurate.”
“But she came to us for help!”
“And it wouldn't be the last time that Overwatch was asked of something we couldn’t give.” Mercy said before sighing and rubbing her temples. “I would like nothing, nothing more than for me to be able to say that we have the old Amélie back - but the fact of the matter is that I can’t say that for sure. I’m not letting my medical opinion endanger people. Not again.”
“Ang…” Lena leaned out, tried to grab the doctor by the sleeve of her lab coat but the woman pulled away as her fingers grazed the cotton. Her face was heavy, troubled; she looked her age, something that concerned Lena more than everything else. The moment was short though, as she seemed to snap back into a focus that Lena was much more used to seeing - but it was like seeing the curtains closing over a stormy night. Out of sight, but not out of mind anymore.
“Angela and myself will talk about any further options,” Winston said, looking to Lena with soft eyes that said they too saw that pain “However, unless we have proof beyond reasonable doubt that Widowmaker will stand by us we cannot further pursue your request. You are dismissed.”
“But-”
“Dismissed.”
-x-
Lena knew something was wrong the moment the lights went out.
The sun had barely settled over the sea, the bright oranges of the late evening winking out over the water into the dark purples of the night, a slither of moon hanging in the sky. The light barely reached into her room, let alone illuminating her room in any way. She’d flicked off her main lights in favor of leaving her desk lamp illuminating her room just so - not that she needed the light all that much with the chronal accelerator strapped pretty much permanently to her chest. She let her fingers run up and down the metal, the tap of her fingers in time with the tick of her clock.
“Just sixty more.” She promised herself, even as the words rang hollow. Tap-tap-tap, tap tap tap went her fingers as they ran down the metal again. “Fifty four until I get up.” Her eyes settled on the towel hanging over the back of her chair - orange, soft, fluffy. Anybody else would be happy to wrap themselves up in it. But just at the thought she could feel her heart starting to hammer faster in her chest, her throat start to constrict, her other hand tightening around the strap around her chest. Just a few more, just a few more… Wait, what number was she at again? She tried to calm her breath and her jackrabbit heart. Time to start again.
But then the room was plunged into darkness, and suddenly showering was the last thing on her mind. Instantly the chronal accelerator hummed into full power on her chest, flooding the room with light as she grabbed her bomber jacket and pistols. Already she could tell it was bad, feel it deep in her bones - if there was going to be a power outage they would have been warned at least a few hours ago, and more concerningly the backup generators hadn’t started up yet. Just a coincidence, she tried to tell herself, but her words hung as hollow as before.
Her footsteps were too quiet in the hallway, echoing in the darkness that was illuminated perhaps too much by her chest. With a blink, blink she shot herself forward, feet barely skimming the tiles under her feel as she reached the door outside, out to the road that traced its way through the entirety of the Gibraltar base. In the still of the night, she heard the first shots ring out from the warehouse.
Shit.
She had smashed through the fire alarm glass before she had fully registered she was going for it, fingers gripping around the lever and yanking down hard . But there was no response, nothing; Lena rattled the lever a few times in it’s place, up and down a few times - surely something had to work, right? But as she looked to the screen above the emergency panel she was greeted not by the Overwatch symbol but by a dark haze over the screen. As she watch it started to settle, turn blue-red and a skull appear in the middle of the screen.
Double shit.
Abandoning the compromised emergency switch she carried herself forward as fast as she could, accelerator blazing a blue line behind her as she made a beeline for the storage facilities. Shit, they couldn’t afford for anything to be compromised in there at the moment - D.Va’s mech was in there, for one, as well as various supply caches of food, water… Petrol. God, if they shot a bullet the wrong way at one of those tanks - or worse, one of her plasma shots pierced it. She gritted her teeth - they couldn't risk losing Gibraltar right now, not with Overwatch having barely been recalled. The thought was unbelievable - and yet the sounds of battle were growing louder still.
“Lena.” A familiar voice called to her - when Tracer turned she was greeted by a familiar slit face mask, glowing green in the dark night and calming her just the slightest.
“Genji?”
“Hello.” He said, words formal but with an edge of cheekiness as he spoke. “I would love to speak more, but it seems there are more urgent matters at hand.”
“You don’t say love.” She said. “You wanna get them from above while I pop off down here and try and hit them while they're not expecting it?”
“A good idea.” Genji replied. “Winston and Angela are currently fighting at the other end of the complex.”
“Have you seen Hana?”
“The streamer? I haven't. I did not even realize she was here. I will alert you if I see her”, he tapped the side of his helmet, “you have your communicator in, correct?”
“Oh, bloody hell ”, she swore. “Barely had time to even get my jacket on, I must’ve left it sitting on my desk.”
“We’ll improvise.” Genji replied. With a nod from them both Lena watch Genji shoot his way up to the top platforms in the blink of an eye, slipping inside the top door before she too dashed forward and in and around the corner. The large main door was closed and if the dents against it said anything that was for the better; Lena pulled her guns up to her chest and felt the plasma whirr to life within.
She was on the first men before they even knew she was there, knocking one of them into a wall with her shoulder as she fired her first pulses into the chest of the second man. Flinging herself back in time to escape the retaliating shots she could hear the sound of a sword being unsheathed, sharp even over the chaos of the warehouse - the first body quickly followed.
They sliced through the intruders slowly but surely; sure, Lena’s heart was hammering in her chest and she had needed to throw herself behind crates more times than she could count ( blink, blink, fire, rewind) but they were at least making progress, shaving through the warehouse and up to the slope where Angela (Mercy? was this a time for call signs?) and Winston were trying to hold off the brunt of the attacking forces. But that was the thing that was only becoming more and more clear as she pushed forward; these weren’t regular soldiers. These were shock troops; little armour and armed to the teeth. They had been counting on surprise and had bloody well near gotten it.
She vaulted over D.Va’s abandoned mech, the metal still cold to the touch as she ran up to where Winston and Mercy were.
“Glad you could make it.” Winston said with a smile, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Lena could see how much his shoulders were heaving with exertion.
“Wouldn’t miss it.” She said, giving him a cheeky salute before blink, blink ing across the room, disrupting a small group of soldiers that had made camp to fire at Winston from an alcove. Taken by surprise they scattered, making it all the easier to pick them off. But she was getting tired, she could feel it - things that shouldn't have been close calls were getting close to becoming that, with punches being thrown that were only just not landing and shots whisking past too close for comfort. She had to whisk herself back as she felt one, two, three shots sink themselves into her leg, shattering the bone, rupturing the muscle rewind.
“Everybody stop what you’re doing!”
It was not a voice Lena recognized - that it seemed any of them recognized and as it boomed over the battlefield the world seemed to lapse into a shocked silence. It was broken by the sound of feet scuffing against the metal flooring up above - a struggle? But her initial confusion made way to horror as she saw exactly why; as she saw a gruff older man dragging in a worse for wear Hana. Lena watched her still as the gun dug further into her back, as two more masked men flanked her one to each side. The room was silent.
“What do you wa-”
“Hush, monkey.” The man sneered - Lena could hear the resulting growl of anger but Winston remained silent nonetheless. “You're all going to listen to me now or the girl gets it.” Lena saw Hana start to retaliate, eyes wide with anger, but her protests were cut off with a gasp of breath she just as much saw as she heard. Lena gulped.
“Weapons down.” Lena could feel the weights of scopes on her, could practically feel the whisper of metal in the air already. “ Now.” She placed her pistols on the floor, watched the others do the same. Even Genji placed his katana on the ground - she shot him a nervous look. He was on the other side of the upper catwalk; even with his inhuman jumping ability he wouldn’t be able to cross that gap nearly fast enough before the fatal shot was fired - and there were too many eyes on him to get any shuriken out.
She hated the look in that man’s eyes right now, as he could see his grip tighten around Hana’s hands. It was full of malice, a hard coldness only broken by the enjoyment that he seemed to extract from each wary and scared face in front of him. Jabbing the gun into Hana’s back and drinking in the way she shuddered involuntarily in his grasp.
“Now, I’m only going to say this once, so listen here-”
A gunshot fired.
-x-
He fell like anybody else.
The barrel of Widow’s Kiss smoked ever so slightly, the smell of ash hitting her as she watched the man go limp, fall backwards like she had cut his strings. Satisfaction flowed through her like a flood, like a drug thick and syrupy as the room exploded back into action. She watched as Hana sprung forward, throwing a punch to one of the two flanking men’s faces before shoving the other off the catwalk itself with a shoulder push. Down on the ground she could see the gorilla scientist (Winston, wasn’t it?) roar into action, Tesla Cannon forgotten as he slammed two guards down into the concrete hard enough for the ground to shake. The thrill of the kill made her body sing, her fingertips buzz and it directed her every shot after that.
She chased after the pleasure of a job well done until her crosshairs landed once more. Landed on a woman with a glowing chest and a glowing smile, who laughed as she zipped around the room like she knew it like the back of her hand. But of course she did - she was an Overwatch agent, this was a base for the organisation both in the old times and the new. But why did she feel like she knew this place, knew that smile when it wasn’t illuminated by blue light? Something scratched at the back of her mind, begging to be let in; the sound of laughter and the roar of jet engines and the phantom feeling of her heart beating faster in her chest-
She was delaying her shot.
Widowmaker recognised that, saw it in the way her pulls of breath didn’t match up to the rhythm of her fire, and yet it didn’t make her any less frustrated that she was doing it. One shot, one kill was her mantra and yet she found herself not wanting to take that shot.
That was surely a mistake of course - her conditioning made sure that was a impossibility and the more she looked into it logically the more reason she found for keeping Lena- Tracer alive. For one, it was far too early to kill her off. After all, one shot into her and the others would immediately realise her affiliations; as it was she knew Angela- Mercy, the doctor and the gorilla were more than suspicious of her motives. Hell, just the thought of returning to that small room with nothing to do was enough to make her let the goons get them. Almost. Perhaps the only thing saving them was the fact she needed to get further in. What good was an infiltration when ‘infiltrating’ wasn’t even achievable?
Of course, perhaps the strongest reason was the most selfish, the one she mulled over in the back of her mind the same way she did that first day Tracer visited her. She would look down her barrel and know that it was her misplaced trust that brought Overwatch to it’s knees - and she wanted to be the one to do it. She wanted to see those eyes widen, that jaw drop and her body shake. She wanted to see the emotion in her eyes.
She fired the last shot, and the final man fell.
The silence that fell over a won battlefield was always a curious creature - it was a silence, yes, and a merciful one at that, but it seemed to be seeped in the knowledge that it was forged in blood, a cruel reality that made the peace something sacred in the most unholy sense. Across the room she watched as the soldiers started to crack and humanity seeped through the holes - Winston falling back onto his hunches, Hana slumping to the ground. The dread of being a hostage like that would not be one so easily forgotten and the others seemed to recognise that; the ninja had already made his way over to support the woman, and Angela once making sure that Winston was okay was already sailing up on Valkyrie wings. Of course she was still in her armor, she never took it off. She wouldn't take it off until she had to and why did she know this. Their conversations had never strayed into such personal topics.
Her fingers buzzed, her heart pounded and her skin burned.
But all was forgotten as she saw Lena look up to her with wide eyes that only grew brighter.
“Widow!” She said, jumping up blink-blink and she was there in front of her- no, on her. She was gangly, like a puppy that hadn’t quite grown into its’ paws but her arms wound around her and it kicked her heart into double time. She smelt like static and earl grey tea and possibility, wound herself around Widowmaker like they’d done this a thousand times before. But they hadn’t. They hadn’t and the proximity seemed to short her out. She was so warm, hair so soft against her exposed skin and she wanted to relax but she couldn’t .
“I knew you’d come through.” Lena said, pulling away before starting to frown slightly. “You alright love? You look a bit out of sorts.” And she tried to respond but her tongue felt too big for her mouth, and she wasn’t sure if it was because she could feel her body shaking or because Lena was so close, so close that she could touch her. “Was it the hug? Thought it might’ve been alright but-”
“That was fine.” She managed to say.
“Oh, good” She said, brightly. “Looks like you need to lie down though.”
“That sounds- that sounds acceptable.” She finished lamely. “I appear to be a bit out of sorts.”
“What, do you need Ang’ to have a look at you?”
“No! No.” She said, flustered ( why the fuck was she flustered) “I did not expect to be interrupted tonight, that is all.”
“Yeah this… This was not quiet.” Lena replied, looking down as she scuffed her shoes along the metal floor of the catwalk. “I’ll show you back to your room.”
It was a short trip back, in all actuality - Lena one step ahead to guide her through the too dark corridors. Corridors she knew she shouldn't know and yet a part of her still whispered; spoke of a time when the paint had not been so faded and the corridors not so quiet. Amélie her mind presented and she pushed the thought down. No. Not now. She couldn't handle it now; not when her heart was too fast in her chest and where Lena held her hand burned so bright it felt like she might get blisters.
And yet… She could not justify why she did not let go.
-x-
Her rifle had been confiscated, her doors locked (manually, since the mains power had yet to come back on) and for all intents and purposes it felt like any other night. True, this night ended with Lena closing the door with a promise to try vouching for her once again, but she knew better to try and sleep after she had seen the screen glitch out the corner of her eye - and so she waited. Showered in the other room, cleaned herself up - but she waited all the same.
Just like she expected, the screen fizzled into life when she sat back down on the bed, an all too familiar ASCII symbol announcing the woman's arrival. Privately, Widowmaker thought that it was rather over dramatic - then again that would probably be the pot calling the kettle black, considering the tattoo spider webbed over her arm.
“So are you going to explain this mess to me?” She said bluntly.
“Please amiga , the day I am responsible for that sort of shit show will be my last.” Crackled the voice through the intercom. “And you know as well as I do - even if I did cause all this would I really own up to it?”
“It makes me wonder why you even agreed to work with Talon.”
“Well, I’m just a simple girl, and I’m not going turn down a friend, no? Friends help friends out - especially when friends have their weapons confiscated when they first arrive and you can unlock the room they’re in so said friend can be armed for their battle. So helpful. Something a certain friend should be thankful for.” Sombra replied with a rather pointed tone. Widowmaker just rolled her eyes as Sombra started giggling, before the woman launched into the rest of her spiel “Your mission remains the same. Infiltrate, then destroy Overwatch from the inside-”
“-And they didn't think I could do it alone?”
“Relax, it has nothing to do with you.” Sombra said. “You may be a good agent, but you’re still only a single mission. The mission that intersected with yours was a scoping mission to see if your mission was even still needed - a suicide so don’t get all big headed thinking they’re getting in your way. In fact, I think you should probably thank them - you’ve been in that cell a while, haven’t you?”
“This is a pretty comfortable cell if you wish to call it that.”
“And you’ve been out of there how many times?” She countered, sounding almost bored. “Either way, you’ve shown them you can be trusted. I assume you’ve gotten a dosage too?”
“Thankfully.” Widowmaker said, pulling out a bullet from her bra. “About time too - the withdrawal symptoms have already started.”
“According to the professionals, they’re only going to get worse if you don’t stick it in you soon.”
“Did I say I was going to wait?” Widowmaker, her tone sharpening. She could hear the woman giggling from the other side of the communicator.
“Touchy.” There was a slight lull in conversation; faintly, Widowmaker could hear the clicking of her keyboard. “Look, I’ll be keeping an eye on things through here - Talon’s been waiting to hear from you, should I say something more...palatable than you’ve done fuck all?”
“Tell them I am making progress.” Widowmaker said, playing with the bullet in her hand. As she talked she twisted at the head of the bullet until it came off with a pop - carefully extracting the stout needle from its casing. A dark purple liquid swirled inside the fragile glass, oh so familiar to her. “While it has taken a while to establish myself, potentially to the detriment of my overall fitness, it is what I expected from such a mission. This evening however has allowed me to prove my loyalty to those still doubtful - I aim to be established within the next few weeks.” The words were true but even so they sat far on her tongue, too big for her mouth - this was nothing new, so why did all of this feel so dirty?
“Aaand recorded.” Sombra replied with a grin that was audible. “Man, you made that sound a lot better than what it is.”
“I know exactly what I'm doing-”
“You have stalled on your shot for 22 minutes now.” Sombra said simply. “I suggest not trying anything.”
With a scoff and a glare into the camera she wasted no more time, plunging the needle into her arm and pressing down. That roughness proved to be her downfall though, and she gasped as she wrenched away the needle. She could feel it in her veins being pumped around by a too fast heart, and it burned. It burned more than her skin because she could feel it in her veins - she wanted to claw herself open and dig it out from her blood, spread open butterfly on an operating table like she spent so much time. She could feel fog settling over her thought, shifting disappearing leaving herb so empty, empty she didn't want to be empty-
She opened her eyes.
She took stock of herself - on the floor, on her knees, arms wrapped around herself. She blinked slowly, unwrapped her arms. The muscles ached - so tense for so long and now not. Her pants had made sure that her legs were protected but she could feel bruises forming down the front of them. Reintroduction had caused unintentional physical effects it seemed. She looked at her arm, deep nail bites in the skin oozing wetly. It looked like the wounds a captive would give it’s captor - desperate, futile, a fight in the actions that were ultimately useless.
Clearly, Widowmaker thought to herself, standing, an extended amount of time without a dosage has not only a notably negative effect on my physical and mental abilities, but had also exposed my body to… Some sort of pain? She tried to remember why she had sunk her nails into her arm in the first place, what mental reaction had caused that. Her mind was eerily quiet in return. No matter. She stood, ignoring the niggle in the back of her mind.
“Injection complete. Agent will endeavor to not let symptoms progress this far again without due reason and any negative effects will be reported if and when they arise.”
“Noted.” Came Sombra’s reply. “I’ll be here if you need me. Just listen out. I'm always keen for new friends .”
The intercom went silent, Widowmaker went to bed, and she slept a dreamless sleep.
-x-
“Hiya! Want some company, Widow?”
“I suppose you can come in for a while.”
When usually Lena would have to scan her fingerprints and input in the passcode, today she just needed to press a button as the doors slid open, and that alone made a part of her curl in satisfaction. Winston in particular was still hesitant on the newly lax rules around Widowmaker, but it hadn’t taken much to convince him that at the very least the woman needed a bit more room to breathe. Indeed, she had gotten just that; as Lena entered the room she couldn’t help a small delighted smile as she saw the more spacious area the other woman had been given. Gone were the medical cabinets and eye charts, swapped out for a deck complete with lamp and a small wardrobe. While smaller, it was similar in design to her own room - including near unlimited access to the outside world.
“You’re looking tip top, love!” She said, pulling out the desk chair and plopping herself down into it. Across from her Widowmaker thumbed at the cover of a book, Holding on to the Air etched in cursive along the spine. A few other books sat on the woman’s nightstand - Lena could pick out the titles Tippy-toe Murder and Life in Motion as well from her distance.
“It is good to see you too, chérie. ” Widowmaker replied. The reply was cool, distant - it jarred with the woman Lena had been getting to know and it made her thoughts skid to a stop. She did not sound right. She didn’t sound like her Widow - she sounded like the Widowmaker and there
“Widow? You alright?” She said the words cautiously, cradling each word like they were going to break. For a moment she was glad that the woman in front of her did not have her weapon, that even Angela had insisted on keeping it locked up. She immediately scolded herself for the thought though - if she couldn’t get past Widow’s past, who could? How could she expect everybody else to? “You know you can talk to me right? You’re being awfully quiet - Ang’ said that she had let you know of when you can run around.”
“She did, I apologize.” Widowmaker said. Lena noticed that the page the woman was thumbing was only the second page in - unusual considering the rate that the woman usually devoured books. Not only was she distracted now, but she’d been this distracted for at least the past day. “She suggested that I come out for dinner but…”
“But?” Lena pressed, concerned.
“I’m still not feeling quite right, and in addition I'm not exactly sure you realize how much of an… oddity I am.” Widowmaker said. Her words were cool, calm, in direct contrast to the worry only just able to be glimpsed behind her mask of an expression. “I have a certain reputation that makes socialization something that is unfamiliar to me.”
“You’re shy?”
“...That is not the right word.” But she couldn’t meet Lena’s eyes as she said the words.
“It is!” Lena said, bouncing up onto her feet. “I knew there was a reason you didn’t come out! Look, Lucio arrived this morning-”
“The revolutionary?”
“The DJ!” Lena said, smiling. “Well, yeah, the revolutionary too but that’s not what I was getting at. Look, he and Hana are sitting out in the lounge and Lucio’s got his speakers out - he invited me to come hang when I was going past but I was coming to see you. But if you want to get out and have a wander…”
“I’m not entirely sure I’d be a good fit.”
“And why would that be? They’re younger than you? I mean, that’s the same for me love and they seemed plenty happy for me to be there.”
“I do not share in your childlike exuberance.”
“And yet when we play Mario Kart you don’t seem to be complaining.” When Widowmaker didn’t respond she felt her expression soften. “Look, if you don’t want to go out, it’s all good love. We can take it slow, maybe go out and start having tea and coffee together in the kitchen in the mornings when everybody's still half asleep, and tonight we can just hang here like we usually do.”
“Why do you care so much?” Widowmaker asked suddenly, eyes snapping up to her. Confusion was evident and the intensity of the emotion caught her off guard.
“Because I care about you, love.” Lena said without thinking and the stunned expression that followed in the words’ wake had her scrambling for reasoning - reasoning that didn’t take into account the way her eyes were starting to hang on the curve of her lip and the angle of her jaw if she let her gaze wander too long. “It take courage to actually step up and change stuff, you know? And I want to help you with that and be you. ” She reached out, grabbing Widowmaker’s hand and pulling her to her feet. She knew that the woman could easily pull away if she wanted to but she came easily. “Come on, let’s not leave them waiting!”
And if she indulged in the feeling of slim fingers against her wrist, skin so wonderfully cool against hers, well that was neither here nor there.
-x-
When Widowmaker had been told about this mission, she knew that it would have complications - but this was one of the ones she should have seen coming.
“And you haven’t been feeling any discomfort? Anything out of the ordinary?” Angela said, circling back around to sit down in front of the woman. Her clipboard sat gingerly on her crossed knee - Widowmaker could see the chicken scratch she called writing scrawled across the paper clipped on. The vials of blood she had taken had already been squirreled away for more testing after she left, probably
Nothing you can help with was what she was wanted to say, but instead she bit her tongue and opted for a different answer.
“The skin on my upper back is still tight.” Widowmaker said, shrugging her shoulders. She could still feel the new skin pull taunt, lack of exercise meaning it had yet to be broken in. “You say that as if I should have noticed something.”
“Your vitals have been unsettled somewhat, actually.” Angela replied. “Your heart rate has slowed and your core temperature has dropped. I’ve put it down to shock, but it’s concerning considering there had been slight improvements being made over the past few months. You haven't regressed entirely, but your levels are almost back to what they were in your first reports.”
They should have regressed entirely, that means the dosage wasn’t strong enough and now who knows what the effects will be? was what she wanted to say, but instead she let her concern forge her expression and her words lie smooth overtop. “I have felt colder, but things have been unusual the past couple of days.”
“It was certainly not the way I envisioned you integrating back into Overwatch, but I will take it.” The doctor smiled as she tapped the corner of her mouth with her pen. “I wasn’t sure that recovery would come this quickly for you, but that is a medical opinion that I am happy to have proven wrong. Nevertheless, I am still interested in moving forward with trialing some possible chemical antibodies.”
That was cause for alarm. She had always been told by the Talon doctors that the chemical balance in her veins was more fragile than anything. “Is that necessary?”
“To make a full recovery? Absolutely.” Angela said, flicking back through her notes. “I am still not sure the full effects of having both such a low body temperature and heart rate - your body does have an abnormally high red blood cell count, but I am still worried the overall decreased blood circulation rate will affect you more negatively than I can currently see. Your nervous system, lungs and eyes are all particularly sensitive to blood oxygenation levels, and I fear your pain responses have already been severely affected, as well as your memory recall. However,” she stressed, waiting for Widowmaker to settle back down, her mouth to close. “I won’t be moving forward with that until I am certain that you have settled into a new routine. The last thing I want to do is unsettle you while you are still adjusting.”
“Is it really necessary though?” Widowmaker asked cautiously.
“This is not the time to go into such details.” Angela replied, waving away the thought. “I want to make sure you are recovering adequately before we introduce any anomalies into the equation. Speaking of which, are you enjoying the books?”
“They're certainly interesting. I enjoy reading them.”
“Good.” Angela said, before her expression softened. “I thought you might enjoy them - several of those books used to belong to you. You used to be so adamant that you should submerge yourself in ballet culture even if you weren’t on the stage.” The words made Widowmaker’s mouth pull into a line. Sure, it explained why she had enjoyed the books so much, but…
“I’m not your Amelie.” It seemed important, somehow, to make the specification - the name felt familiar, like a winter coat pulled out from the back of the closet. It was hers, but there were implications, expectations on it that made her uncomfortable in a way she hadn’t felt before.
“I understand.” Angela said.
But do you?
-x-
“Hey, Lena?”
“Yeah?”
“What do you remember about the old Amélie?” That certainly caught the other woman’s attention, who looked up from her DS.
“That’s an odd question coming from you, love. Thought you weren’t all that interested about that stuff.”
“My curiosity has been provoked.” Widowmaker replied, “It is not unreasonable to be curious about a woman when she's all people can think of when they look at me.”
“I suppose that's fair.” Lena said, shutting the DS with a click before spinning to face Widowmaker completely. “Lemme see, Amélie, Amélie… Late wife of Gerard, early member of Overwatch - though I'm not sure if she was ever considered a proper proper member. Think the media ended up reporting she was only considered an ‘associate’ after everything happened. Primo ballerina too, bunch of awards and star roles, I know Ang’ went to a bunch of her shows-”
“I'm not interested in that.”
“Huh?” Ignoring the way her gut clenched at the way Lena looked at her - because surely she didn't feel guilty over it, right? - she relaxed and let a smile play over her face.
“If I wanted to know such trivial information, I could just do my own research, non?” She leaned forward, clasping her hands together. “What did you know about her?” At the question Lena just laughed and looked away, clapping her hands together nervously. Widowmaker could see the tips of her ears growing pink in the way they always did when she was embarrassed; the fact she not only knew that but found the quality endearing probably should have concerned her more than it did.
“I mean, I didn’t really run in the same circles so I'm not exactly the best person to ask about that.”
“Your expression says though you still have certain thoughts, chérie .”
“Aw, sod off.” Lena replied, poking Widowmaker in the shoulder and not sounding entirely serious about the matter. “I only got to meet her a few times - I'd only just joined Overwatch and was still busy with Slipstream training, yeah? But gosh, she wasn't a face you forgot easy. High class bird, she was - came right up to me and congratulated me on being a pioneer. Made a girl feel right proud of herself.” She paused for a moment before looking down, mulling over her bottom lip in a way that made her seem far younger than she was.
“Y’know, you two speak the same but it's different. She was all poise and grace but we all knew she was only around because of Gérard and there was only so many ways she could say the same thing. Like, we loved her, it was hard not to. She had this… Air that’d make anybody go ass-over-tits for her. But she never got it, yknow? You're different to what she was like. You know what it’s like to fight.”
I’m not like you and I will never understand what it’s like Widowmaker knew should have been reaction - but it wasn’t. She was nothing more than silent, contemplative, letting the room settle back into a comfortable silence beside the tapping of Lena’s DS as she opened it once more.
“Lena, how would you react if I asked you to call me Amélie?”
“I mean, I’d be right confused no lie, especially after the whole I’m not Amélie thing you’ve had going on.” She giggled as Widowmaker raised an eyebrow at her crappy French accent. “But I’d happily do it. Whatever works for you, right?”
“No questions?”
“Well I mean of course I have questions, I always have questions. But you’ll get around to it at some point.”
“...Could you then?”
“Of course, love.” At the words she felt herself relax in a way she honestly hadn’t been expecting. After all this didn’t mean anything, right? This was just another step in the plan, didn’t have anything to do with the way she swear she could feel her heart unclench at the reassurance, the fact that Lena was okay with it.
“ Merci. ”
“Anytime, Amélie.”
-x-
.
hack initialized…
day(s) until next injection… 28
-x-
Tracer should have known that if Mario Kart was going to be competitive, table tennis was going to be even worse. After all, putting a time traveller against a woman with one of the best hand eye coordinations around? It was something she hadn’t even considered until she stood at the table, and didn’t truly understand until she stood panting and congratulating the easy victor in front of her.
Perhaps once she would have been more grumpy about that - but she looked at the pleased smile, void of malice, that had come to Amélie’s face and suddenly she didn’t mind all that much at all.
-x-
day(s) until next injection… 12
-x-
Fingers searched across Amélie’s back, testing the skin and seeing if it had broken in - Angela was a doctor, and a professional at that. It was important for her to check her physical health, even if the injury itself was now months old and rarely troubled her. But Amélie couldn’t think of injuries right now; the touch rang a bell, whispered to her of that delicate touch roaming further, pressing, teasing-
- The echo of a child-like laugh in the back of her mind, so much younger that it was now, whispered breath against her ear not too long after. “You’re gorgeous.” She says as hands skate lower over her body in pattern she’s traced so many times. Who knew a doctor could still take such delight in the human body?-
Only she didn’t know it, shouldn’t remember it because it doesn’t exist - and she jolted back from Angela with her heart in her throat and tingling in her fingertips she wasn’t sure was from the nanobots or from herself.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” She says, and the lie drips from her tongue far too easy.
-x-
day(s) until next injection… 1
-x-
Amélie could feel the warmth at her fingertips, the tip of her nose, the burn of blood running too hot in her system. In the dark of the night she turned over the needle in her hand, watched the liquid swirl inside. It would be so easy just to do it, inject it into her arm and go back to normal. She had already done it before here, it wasn’t hard. She had brought the needle to her arm two or three times, tried to will herself to just get it over and done with. It wouldn’t hurt like that first time - just a pinch and press and she would be once again back to normal, cool and collected and focused in a way she had been lacking too much over the past few months.
She slid the needle back inside the bullet, clicking the casing closed. Surely she could wait a few days, right? After all, there were strategic advantages to being more receptive emotionally to the advances of Overwatch agents - it would allow her to create more meaningful personal relationships, connect on a more personal level with targets in a way that was considerably harder in her usual condition. Especially Lena - her relationship with More to manipulate once the mission concludes, she reasoned to herself as she stashed away the bullet shell. She ignored the way the thought stuck to the room of her mouth, writhed in her gut like a snake.
And a spider is no match for a snake.
She went to bed, and dreamed in a troubled sleep.
-x-
day(s) until next injection…
-1
Warning! You are overdue!
-x-
“Lena, do you ever sit still?”
The question made the woman perk up, tilting her head in an almost owl like fashion. Outside the room it was quiet; the once busy halls outside now fell quiet as the various agents and staff of Overwatch retired for the night. It made their voices seem all the louder in the small room.
“What do you mean, love?”
“Look at you.” Amélie said, gesturing over her copy of Into the Wings towards Lena’s hand, where she was tapping a pen against her leg along to an unheard beat. “If it is not a pen it is your hands on a desk, if not that your foot tapping on the ground. It is as if you are unable to be still.”
“Well, you know me, flighty Tracer. Gotta go fast and keep ahead yeah?” Lena laughed, but she couldn’t keep the shake out of her voice. Perhaps she won’t notice she tried to reason - but somehow she seemed to forget the woman in front of her was a sniper, eyes trained to notice the smallest detail and it was foolish to think the shiver in her fingers would go unnoticed.
“You aren’t in combat anymore, are you?” Amélie said. “There is no reason to try and stay ahead when there is nothing you are trying to beat.” Lena could tell the words were not said out of any sort of malice but all the same it made her grip the fabric of her pants just a bit tighter. She took a deep breath - in, out, just like Angela had told her.
“Well, no, but old habits die hard, right?”
She did not expect Amélie to put down her things and stand up, nor walk over to her. It gave her a moment to observe the fluid grace that seemed to run through her like water, the way that she seemed to move with a purpose that seeped into her very bones. She took a seat beside her on the bed; the mattress dipped and Lena had to plant her feet to make sure that she didn’t fall into Amélie (what she wanted to do be damned). Slim fingers, calloused from years on the front lines, moved down her forearms down to her hand, plucking the pen from between her two fingers. They curled around her hands and they stilled.
“Stop moving.”
Lena couldn’t stop her leg from jiggling, didn’t even realise she was doing it until one hand came down to smooth over her thigh. She would have called the move sensual at another time, even called it a move with capital letters and a waggle of eyebrows; but she couldn’t. She literally couldn’t as she felt her heart starting to flutter in her chest, as she started to shake in a way that a hand couldn’t stop.
“I can’t.” Lena said, squeezing her eyes shut.
“You’re doing it now-” Amélie said, squeezing her hands. You’re here, you’re here, Lena repeated the words to herself but they carried no weight, they were floating she was floating she could feel herself destabilizing and the world dropping away beneath her-
“I am here, ma chérie . Can you hear me?”
It was a voice, a single voice and in the turmoil of her mind ( and her body as she tumbled through space, unattached from the ground, her friends, her family, time itself- was everybody okay was she okay make it stop- ) she clung it it like a lifeline in stormy waters.
“Don’t let me go.” She said quietly, her voice too small and her breathing shallow. “I just- I can’t-”
“I am right here.”
“I’m going to disappear.”
“No you’re not.” Amélie said. “I am here, and you are still wearing the chronal accelerator.” At that, her blurry eyes flung open - when had she started crying? - hands coming up to claw at the metal strapped around her chest. Her grip tightened on the metal, nails scratching into the felted underside. An anchor, her anchor, she wasn’t going to leave again please don’t let me leave again. “ You are here.”
Lena wasn’t sure when the panic subsided, when her fingers stopped cramping and her frame stopped shaking, when the rushing stopped in her ears and she started to just be. She was fine. The world was still quiet around them, save for Amélie above her humming a quiet song. Fingers carded softly through her hair, and slowly Lena realised that somewhere in the middle of all this Amélie had pulled her body against her side, letting her head on her shoulder. Her touch was still so cool but it was grounding in a way that she didn’t expect, pinpoints of focus she could lean into.
“Dors, ma chérie.” Amélie said, and while Lena couldn’t understand French she could understand the message that the hands that ran down her arm so slowly were trying to convey, the way her eyelids drooped as the energy finally was leached from her body. Even if she wanted to move she knew she couldn’t now.
“Thanks, love.” She murmured, and exhaustion took her before she could hear the reply.
(But if the way she woke up was any indication - tucked into a bed she hadn’t even unmade last night, with a note in looped cursive saying Amélie would be waiting for her in the kitchen for their morning tea and coffee like usual - Amélie hadn’t minded in the slightest.)
-x-
day(s) until next injection…
-3
Waring! You are overdue!
-x-
“Saw you’ve been hanging out with ol’ gloom and doom lately.”
“His name is Hanzo.” Amélie replied, not even looking up from her copy of Winter Season. “Although I would recommend that you call him Shimada until you learn some manners.”
“Aw, I was just taking the piss. No need to get all antsy about it.” Lena said with a smile on her face. “Just not often I see you actually going out of your way to talk with people, yeah?” Amelie just rolled her eyes.
“Hanzo is a respectful individual once you get him alone, and we have much in common. His skills with a bow rival that of mine with a rifle… Though I would put that down to lack of practice.” She smiled slyly, chuckling as she watched Lena cackle at her joke. She knew far too well how competitive Amélie could be. “Besides, he appreciates silence.”
“Are you taking a crack at me?!”
“Wouldn’t think of it.” Amélie replied, giggling as she saw Lena start to fume, the woman jumping to her feet and pacing over to her. The light of the chronal accelerator made the pages in her hands glow as Lena stepped closer.
“You know I can shut it if I want to! In fact we do it all the time - you sit on your bed, I sit over here and we’re happy as clams until I skive off to bed! Barely even talk when we’re sitting around like that-”
“It is so easy to catch you out.” Amélie said, a bemused smile on her face and she watched Lena’s train of thought just screech to a halt, her face slowly going from passionate anger to half wilted defeat. She poked Amélie in the centre of her chest, little bark to her bite.
“Now- Now that just ain’t fair.” She whined.
“It happens.” Amélie replied. She had meant to say more but she had lapsed into a quiet silence instead, suddenly achingly aware of the contact between her and Lena only separated by a thin piece of cotton. When she looked up too, her thoughts once again slowed, because Lena had quietened too. It was evening, near bedtime and it showed; gone was the young woman’s makeup for the day, gone was the perfect spikes to her hair. She was dressed down, imperfect, but Amélie wanted nothing more than to forget the night sky and count the constellations on Lena’s cheeks, shun the moon for the amber of Lena’s eyes. Beautiful, her subconscious offered up. She couldn’t help but agree.
“I- Oh, sorry.” Lena said suddenly, nearly tripping over her feet in her effort to get away from Amélie, back to the safely of her chair and clearly defined boundaries marked by empty space between them. But there was a blush high on her cheeks and dusting her ears and her fingers danced over her DS far too skittishly to be relaxed. Amélie couldn’t help but wonder - what had Lena been thinking of, and why did the possibilities make her heart pound faster in her chest?
-x-
day(s) until next injection…
-6
Waring! You are overdue!
-x-
Lena couldn’t find Amélie anywhere.
Her coffee had cooled to stale on the bench as Lena had waited for her in the morning, her concern amplified by the lack of warning. Amélie wasn’t the sort to just… Disappear without any sort of notice . Still, Lena had pushed the thought to the side; with the influx of Overwatch agents both new and old pouring into Gibraltar there had been an uptick in group training sessions and the last thing she needed while training with Zarya today was to be distracted. After all, even if the pulses from training bots were nonlethal they still hurt like a bitch .
But she only got more concerned as she went through her day; Lucio asking where Amélie was because he had found a French jazz artist to show her, Mercy asking for Lena to send the woman her way because she hadn’t shown up to her checkup yesterday, Hana trying to chase down the woman for their rematch in the latest Tekken game, the controllers sitting forlorn and forgotten on the couch. Even Hanzo had sidled up to her at dinner, asking in a gruff voice whether she had seen her - apparently Amélie had missed their regular meeting, which sounded like it amounted to sitting on a roof, downing sake and copious amounts of shit talking. It was a phenomenon that Lena would have found hilarious if it didn’t imply that literally nobody had seen Amélie in a good twenty four hours.
It always came back to meeting in their rooms at night, Lena thought to herself as she made her way to the woman’s room. Anybody else would look on their meetings and think that it was some sort of saucy rendez-vous - which she was pretty sure half of Overwatch thought already. She’d been teased about it by Hana too many times to count at this point. Whether she wanted to or not was besides the point; what was the point was the silence that greeted her when she knocked on the door.
“Hey love, it’s me. Are you there?” She said, tapping on the door. Once again there was no reply. “Is it okay if I come in?” Once again there was no reply - she was about to leave too when she heard a muffled whimper from behind the door, cut off far too suddenly. It was like Amélie didn’t want to be heard. “Amélie, are you okay?” She asked more persistently, gnawing at her bottom lip. She didn’t want to invade Amélie’s privacy, but she needed to make sure she was okay-
A sob sounded from the other side of the door, and Lena keyed in the override code to the room.
The doors flung open easily, sliding shut behind Lena as she stepped into the bedroom. It wasn’t hard to spot Amélie, curled into a ball on her bed and flinching away from the fleeting fluorescent light from the hallway. The top blanket from her bed had been kicked to the floor, her undersheet twisted around her body. Lena could see the sheen of sweat from where she stood, the sharp intakes of breath from between clenched teeth.
“Amélie, can you speak to me?” Lena said, and it felt like she was choking on her own breath. What was wrong? “Should I go and get Ang-”
“No.” Amélie said, voice cracking like just forcing out the words was an effort. It was followed by another whimper that was quickly snuffed out, probably muffled again the meat of the hand Lena saw her pull up to her face.
“Amélie, you look like you’re going to die.” Lena said. “You need medical attention-”
“I can’t.”
“What do you mean you can’t?” Lena said, concern making her stomach knot. “She’s probably still awake, it’s not going to be any trouble.”
“Non.” She replied quickly, pain digging into her words and making them sharp.“I cannot, I, she cannot help she won’t want to-”
“She’s a doctor, she will always want to help. She’s wanted to help since the beginning.”
“Not after what I’ve done, chérie.”
“Stop acting like such a wanker and tell me what’s wrong!” Lena snapped. Instead of saying anything though the woman just batted something into Lena’s lap. A bullet shell?
“Look.”
“I don’t understand, love.” She said, picking it up between forefinger and thumb, turning it over- and it rattled? The top of the bullet came away in her hand, and she stared in horror as a needle fell onto her palm. “You’re not saying…”
“That keeps me cold.” Amélie said, “Keeps me focused, makes me Widowmaker. Once a month, they said, it’d be fine if you take it once a month. If I did that I would be able to bring you all down.”
“You’re- you’re trying to kill us?” Lena said, feeling tears well in her eyes as she whispered the words.
“I thought it would be a piece of cake.” Amélie said, cutting herself off to gasp, to curl into herself as a shudder ran through her system. “Just had to get in, make everybody think I was one of you - but after I shot the Talon intruders you all treated me like I was a person. You enjoyed being around me even if I was not her and I did not think I would I enjoy that - I cannot kill you now, and that will only return me to my former state and stop me feeling and remembering. I cannot stand to be like that again, even if the withdrawal will kill me. I- I want to feel alive again. You make me feel alive again.”
“What?!”
“I love you, Lena-” The words were cut out with a choked off sob, Lena jumping to her feet as she backed out.
“I’m getting Ang’ and you can’t stop me. Be right back, love.” There were no protests though as she left the room (ignoring the flash of purple she swear she saw on the touchpad just within the door), rounded the corner as she brought the communicator to her ear. Somehow she managed to force out words between thoughts, between a mind on the knife’s edge between elation and breakdown - to be fair, they felt like the same thing at this point.
“Lena, what do you need this time of night to be using the emergency channel?”
“I’m coming now, it’s Amélie. I’ll explain when I get to you but I- you’ve got to see her. Please.”
“On my way.”
-x-
There was a certain amount of deja vu Amélie felt as she struggled to consciousness in a groggy climb in a way that threw her off just as much now as it had the first time around. Pain was not a factor this time around though, save for the pinch of a needle in her arm - a drip. She knew that. She’d had enough of those when she had been back at Talon, liquid seeping into her veins-
-Wrists burning as she struggled against her restraints, muscles straining against her binds as she refused to accept her fate. Her throat was raw and the gag bitter in her mouth even as she still spat insults through the rubber you can’t do this, they’ll come for me, I hate you I hate you. The place was so white, too white; Talon was black and broken and evil but this place was an evil that she couldn’t put into words in the same way. But it was there, she could sense it, she could see it in the cold eyes of the surgeons, feel it in the cold metal of the incision instruments. The purple dug into her veins as it leaked into her body and made her scream a scream that nobody could hear even as she strained and screamed help-
She shot up, clutching at her chest as her heart pounded like it was trying to break her ribs from the inside, ghosts of the past momentarily clinging to her eyes and making her blind. But nothing met her; no straps on her arms or metal on her skin; just the pull of a saline drip on the inside of her arm and the quiet hum of the medical wing machines around her.
“You’re finally awake. I was worried.”
Amélie looked up from where she sat panting to see Angela walk into the room, lab coat buttoned up and that familiar clipboard clutched to her chest. On first glance it was the same shtick she saw every time she came in for a checkup, but as Amélie looked closer it was like watching the edges of the paper curl up. Locks of hair fell out of her messy ponytail to frame her face, the bags under her eyes and her eyes tired. She looked exhausted, like her worry had chewed through her frame and making her a dead man walking.
“How long have I been out?”
“A day, with part of that being medically induced.” She said, taking out her clipboard. “I’ve never seen such violent withdrawal symptoms before; I feared that if I didn’t lengthen your time under that you may have dealt worse damage to yourself than the withdrawal itself.”
“That seems impossible.”
“You would be surprised.” The woman said, sitting down on a stool and tucking some of her hair behind her ear. “By your body’s regular standards your temperature right now is sitting well above a fever. Quite frankly, with the sort of symptoms that you have been exhibiting I am eager to start work on finding an antidote for you as soon as possible. Having a vial of it myself now will make that process much easier-”
“You want to experiment on me.” Amélie said bluntly.
“I never said that.”
“You implied it.”
“I want to cure you.” Angela said, voice hard. “And it is not unusual for a patient to trial different medications until a suitable one is found.”
“But I’m not a regular patient.” Amélie replied. “and I’m not about to let myself become a medical guinea pig.” At least, not to somebody else she thought. She had already got enough of that from being on Talon’s operating table - and she wasn’t ready to be forced onto another.
“I just want to reverse what has been done to you. You’re acting as if I want to tie you up and treat you like some sort of dog .” Angela said, anger a bite to the back of her words. But when Widowmaker went to respond, she couldn’t force a response past her lips-
- She wasn’t sure she had a voice anymore; not that it mattered. She was trapped, strapped down, helpless against the concoction sweeping through her blood. They told her that she belonged to them, and she had spat at them every heinous word she knew as they opened up her body with a medical precision she didn’t want to see but was forced to anyway. They told her she was theirs and now unable to struggle against the numbness in her limbs and the ice in her veins chilling her to the bone she couldn’t help but believe them. But still she cried out, for Gerad, for Overwatch, cried as he body and mind broke under fingers that were long gone-
“Oh, Amelie.” Angela whispered, standing up to walk over to Amélie with her voice breaking.
“ Don’t call me that.” Amélie snapped. Instantly Angela’s expression changed, like flicking a switch.
“And why not? Lena does.” She said the words in the same way a jealous child would, spat out like she didn’t like the taste.
“Lena’s different.”
“How is she different?” Angela insisted, eyes wild. “What makes her so special?”
“She isn’t in love with a woman who doesn’t exist anymore!” Amélie said. Angela just looked at her, stunned. Amélie pushed on. “Did you think I would not notice those looks you give me, like you are some sort of lovestruck puppy?”
“Don’t call me a puppy .” Angela growled. “I am merely trying to make you better and undo what Talon has done to you.”
“I am not a toy to be fixed.” Amélie said, and her fists shook against the sheets. “And even if you could undo all of this, do you really think everything would go back to normal and you’d get your sweet little Amélie back?”
“I am under no such illusion.” Angela said through gritted teeth, despite the fact her eyes shone.
“Then why the fuss? Why does it matter to you so much?”
“I’m a doctor, damnit! How is it not supposed to matter to me when you’re hurt when I can help you?” Angela said. The clipboard fell to the ground with a clatter, forgotten. “I’m supposed to heal people. I’m supposed to fix them - why would I not do that for you, after all you’ve done for me?”
“Stop talking to me like I’m her!” Amélie snapped, glowering. “The Amélie you loved died on the Talon operating table and no amount of Caduceus healing is going to bring her back. I am Amélie but I also Widowmaker now. You can’t change that.” With that, Angela was mercifully silent; when Amélie looked up she could see why. Silent tears ran down her cheeks, making her gulp in a breath of air and seeing the doctor who was always so composed break like this made her heart clench.
“Angela, please, listen.” She said, reaching out the short distance to slip her fingers under the doctor’s chin, tilt up her gaze until they saw eye to eye. “I still do not remember much, but I can say this much; I enjoyed our relationship. I enjoyed what we had. But I said I was only interested in the physical, that my heart already belonged to another, Gérard and that when he chose me I would take it. I married him, Angela, I took it - why did you hold onto this thought of me for so long?” Angela was silent in reply but Amélie knew that look on her face - the other woman did not trust herself to speak. “You wanted me, even knowing I would never see you in the same way, yet you still chase me like this. Even knowing what I’ve done, what I did to Gérard, doesn’t seem to stop you.”
“Because I love you.” Angela said weakly.
“Because you love the idea of me, chérie. ” She said, and she could feel the sharp intake of breath Angela took at the term of affection. “I have not been that Amélie in a long time, and I was never yours; at least, not in the way you so desperately wish. Perhaps in a different time, yes - but not now. Please do not do this to yourself. You deserve so much better.”
It took Angela a few moments to compose herself, but when she stood up she seemed… Stronger. Tired still, with exhaustion weighing on her shoulders, but in a better state than Amélie had ever seen her.
“Before I go.” She said, looking to Amélie. “Lena seemed very anxious to talk to you as soon as possible.” Amélie winced at the mention of her name; that was not a conversation she was looking forward to - she could barely remember what she had said in her delirium but considering what her mental state had turned into she doubted it would be kind. “Should I inform her now or-?”
“Let me be for now.” She said, cooly. “I am sure she will come by here tomorrow regardless, which would be better.” Angela nodded, starting to move off; but at the door she stalled, looked back to Amélie.
“I know that I… Have not made the best of impressions, Widowmaker.” She said quietly. “But regardless of who you used to be I would still like to get to know you better. Perhaps we can have lunch together sometime? I would like to know your opinions of some of the books I lent you at the very least.” Amélie smiled softly in reply.
“I would love that.”
-x-
“Hiya Amélie, it’s me - was wondering if you were wanting a little company?”
“I think you would come in regardless of whether I said yes or no.” Amélie replied, watching as the door to the medbay slid open and the familiar face appeared in the doorway. She was dressed down from her training session, bomber jacket slung over one shoulder and the accelerator pulsing softly on her chest. Like a second heartbeat - Amélie knew to Lena it was just as important to her as a heartbeat, if not more.
“Aw, come off it.” She said, walking over to Amélie. However, when she reached the space next to the bed, she seemed to pause. The woman had always come off sparrow like but this flitting about seemed to take that to the next level; when she finally settled she sat down on the stool, pushed closer to Amélie - but not too close, if her humming and haa-ing had anything to do with it. Distance was good, neutral; after the performance she had made she didn’t doubt that Lena wanted a little distance between them.
“Healing up all okay love? Gotta say, I was worried there you’d completely lost the plot.”
“As far as I’m aware, yes.” Amélie said. “Angela mentioned that my vitals are already evening out - she will have to keep me under watch for the next week or so in order to make sure that the withdrawal symptoms do not suddenly intensify again without her being able to immediately respond. Considering the state I think I got myself into when you found me, I think that’s preferable.”
“Wait…” Lena said, chewing on her lip. “You don’t remember what happened when I found you?”
“ Non. ” Amélie confirmed. At the confirmation it made Lena swear something filthy under her breath Amélie couldn’t quite catch.
“I- well, that makes this a lot harder.” She said. “Let’s get the easy one out of the way - you are on a mission from Talon right now, what’s the deal with all that?”
Ah. It made sense she had imparted that information in her dazed state. “You didn’t tell Angela or Winston?”
“I wanted to hear from you first, yeah? You were locked up far too long last time for basically looking at us funny - don’t want all that happening again without a bloody good reason.”
“You have a lot of faith in me, Lena.”
“Because I trust you.” Lena said, sighing. “I know I shouldn’t, after all this. After all, you’ve been working for the enemy this whole time, right? Feel wrong to just take your word for it.”
“I do not blame you.” Amélie said quietly. “But if there is anything I can say that can help you believe that, please tell me. I am tired of lying.” Lena just shifted in her seat, biding her time. Stalling, even.
“You said that you were sick of feeling cold and all that.” She said quietly, like the moment would shatter if she spoke too loud. “You were sick of all this, that you wanted to feel alive… That I made you feel alive. That you loved me.”
Shit.
Amélie could feel the flush rise on her cheeks as she heard the words, as her stomach dropped and her breath picked up. Of course she said that, after all that of course she did, and she tried to will herself to stop shaking.
“Is that true?” Lena asked, and for the first time Amélie noticed the shake in her voice. Like even Lena wasn’t entirely sure what she was asking - or if she was prepared for the answer she was going to hear. It almost comforted Amélie; despite them both being past the age where figuring out themselves was expected they could still do this - still be unsure and not suffer the consequences from each other. She swallowed her pride.
“Yes.” The word came out smaller than she expected. “I’m sorry if that makes you uncom-”
But she didn’t have time to finish the sentence because suddenly she was being pulled half out of bed, nearly losing her balance entirely and it took Amélie a moment to realise Lena Oxton was kissing her like it was the last thing that she would ever do. Their lips crashed together and slotted together; Lena’s lips were chapped and she tasted like she smelt, of Earl Grey and static and possibility, sweet sweet possibility that made Amélie heart sing. She made a breathy noise as her mind caught up to her body, fingers fisting in the fabric of Lena’s shirt because they were falling, falling and Lena knew the way. Time hung still, but who else knew time better than Lena? And when Amélie opened her eyes it was to see Lena’s looking back, the amber bright with a laughter she couldn’t yet hear.
“So you’re okay with it.” Amélie replied dumbly as Lena pulled away. She could see Lena trying not to giggle in reply and ah, yes, there was the laughter she had been waiting for. Perhaps she had always been laughing; considering her heartbeat was too loud in her chest she didn’t doubt it.
“Far from it, love.” Lena replied, and Amélie did not miss the extra note of affection on the term of endearment. It made her heart skip a beat - something that would have seriously concerned her not a few months ago but now just made her even more delighted in the moment. “I can’t tell you how much I thought I cocked up with you. Thought we couldn’t ever be together because of the whole ‘you’re recovering and need time to be you’ thing. Glad that was a load of poppycock.” Amélie couldn’t help but laugh into her palm, before her expression became more serious.
“Do you still plan on telling Overwatch about this?”
“Feel like I might cark it early if I try to nick this out from under Ang’.” Lena said. “Think they’ll loosen right up though if you tell them some nice secrets about Talon.”
“That I can do.” Amélie said. She tried to move, but suddenly winced. “I don’t mean to bother, Lena, but you’re leaning on my-”
“Your drip, shit! I’m sorry!” Lena said, scrambling to her feet. Immediately the painful pinch subsided; that and Amélie was treated to the nice sight of the woman in front of her ( her girlfriend? a part of her entertained with a thrill) mussed up from their brief makeout session. Her large bangs had fallen skew whiff in front of Lena’s face and she pushed them aside with a laugh that seemed to warm her from the inside out. “I need to get going anyway - lunch break’s almost over and drills aren’t gonna do themselves. I’ll be back later tonight though?”
“Sounds wonderful - I will see you then.” Amélie said, “I love you.” She couldn’t help but grin as Lena’s features lit up at the three words, as she pressed a kiss to her forehead with a ‘love you too, love’ and skipped out the room like something out of a morning cartoon. Still, it left Amélie basking in the post revelation discussion - that was, until she saw the skull flicker to life on the communications touchpad next to her.
Shit.
Sombra worked for Talon, surely she had seen that entire thing go down if she was able to repeatedly hack the security system in her room. Taking the device in her hands, she willed herself to calm as she read.
hack initializing….
got yourself a pretty lady there now, amiga. wouldn’t it be such a shame if somebody came along to ruin that? or tell a certain criminal organisation their pride and joy has double crossed them?
dont worry though, you’re in luck
after all, i would love a friend like you
you’ve got a good eye and better aim and you’re also a somebody within overwatch. i’ll love a friend like that
unless youve got problems with helping a friend out someday, talon’s gonna hear you’ve been neutralised. don’t worry your little head about that.
use your time wisely amelie - lena’s not going to be the only one aware of it anymore
cheers, love ;)
Amélie watched as the message flickered once, twice on the screen before switching back to the usual orange and white interface used for the Overwatch system. She knew Sombra was dangerous, and she certainly knew “owing the woman a favor” wasn’t going to be a walk in the park. And yet… She couldn’t find it within herself to care. She was free of Talon, she was back in Overwatch and she had the girl she had been dreaming of since she’d locked eyes with her on that rooftop all those months ago. Clever woman had seen something in her she hadn’t even been able to at the time - but then again, there was a reason that Amélie had fallen head over heels.
There was a reason she finally felt alive.
those ao3 “kudos” emails where someone has gone through and read pretty much all of your stories, one after the other: blessings upon you and your household
don’t authors find that weird though? i don’t do that, just because i always figured it might seem stalkery, going story by story through people’s older work (which of course i do ~all the time~ because awesome fic is addictive) if people are happy to have the kudos, i will totally start leaving them as i read
I mean, I can only speak for myself here, but no, I don’t find it creepy. Someone I’ve never met going through my old instagram selfies and systematically liking them - creepy. Someone I’ve never met obsessively reading my old fics and liking them - my favorite person of the day. Just MHO.
seeing the same person’s name on a string of kudos for your fics because they’ve obviously read through your back catalogue is one of life’s great joys
I once (back on lj) had someone comment on every single chapter of a fic I wrote in one evening. It was the most thrilling night of my fanfic career. I didn’t feel creepy in the least.
Hey, if you want, you and other people could suggest blogs to go to for anxiety or headcanons or other stuff that you currently aren't allowing? There has to be a lot of blogs that would accept stuff like that! :D
Good call.
If you love getting asks, why not reblog this and add what you’re currently down for talking about? I’ll try to reblog if i get some responses.
For more info about what each user is looking for specifically, check the notes on this post and see what they reblogged it with! All are assumed to be OK with shipping. If you’re on one list and would like to be moved to another, just let me know.
Please be sure to look at each individual blog for preferred pronouns, tag requests, NSFW/age specifications, etc before following or sending asks :)
Active AH/RT blogs who are up for anything personal or fandom related:
xbasementroyaltyx
tenlittlecock-bites
butcherface
okbutwhatabout
satansprettyprose
yesterdaydances
inspacehell
Active AH/RT blogs who are up for fandom-related asks/headcanons:
ryanthepowerbottomguy
michaelbigdickjones
If you’d like to be added to the list, reblog this and let me know what you’re up for! I will reblog it once a day all week with an updated list.
So, that one fanart anon back to haunt you! I reread your fics for maybe the eighteenth time each and whoops I am suddenly in the middle of mermaid Michael, and Barbara and Lindsay cartoons.
Basically my emotions right now. I can’t wait to see them, Anon!
Hiya! I adore your fics and I'd really love to make you some fanart but I'm not incredibly confident in my art abilities and it's a bit nervewracking to think about, you know, putting art out there. What do you think of fanart?
Only that it’s the greatest thing you could ever do.Seriously, as a writer I thrive off comments and kudos. While a lot of my urge to write is due to my drive to create I also love knowing that my writing has had an effect on somebody - whether that is to shock them, to make them laugh, cry, or just go ‘aww’. Those reactions are the absolute best.Fanart... Its another level of appreciation. That’s somebody not just liking the work, but for that work to inspire an actual artistic vision in them. It’s basically the highest compliment I can get. I’ve gotten two pieces of fanart in the past and you know what? I treasure both of them. One I still have saved in my inbox and I got that one over a year ago when I first wrote ‘Toybox’, and one I received recently for ‘Song of the Sea’ and I still remember the exact moment I got it. Between AO3 and Tumblr I think I fangirled like twice as much than was necessary. :DPutting art out there is hard, believe me, I know. I’ve done my own share of fanart for people. But I feel like its worth it. :) (Of course, I’m a little biased considering you’re thinking of making me fanart. Like dude, I’m not going to say no to that. But I regard fanart very highly, so don’t be put off by that thought. <3)
Title: Hypothetically, Of Course
Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Ship: Cullen/Inquisitor
Warnings: Sexual content, Dirty Talk
WC: 3,072
Read on AO3 here
-x-
Prompted from the Dragon Age Kink Meme: "I love dirty talk, but sometimes the way people write it is almost too much for me. The whole "Suck my cock! I'm gonna fuck you so hard!" shtick gets kind of stale.
I want to read a more "sophisticated" take on it. It doesn't always have to be degrading. Sometimes it's just telling the other person how you want to make them feel, or how you yourself feel. I don't mind a little obscene or vulgar language though."
-x-
It always felt like the days were dragging out far too long recently.
Perhaps that was just because the inquisition as a whole was caught in a lull; anticipating Corypheus' next move but just not quite having enough information to do anything more. Leliana's agents were scouring high and low for more information, creeping further into the Emerald Graves hot on the Red Templar scent and the spymaster was adamant a breakthrough was going to happen any day now. At least, Evelyn was pretty sure that was the case - while the woman wore a carefully blanked expression like a mask there was an extra determination to it these days, papers flying as much as her birds did.
Josephine was equally busy mediating the many, many relationships that the Inquisition kept and used. As Josephine had told her one afternoon over tea it was now less of a problem of getting allies (although more were always welcome and needed) but making sure they didn't turn on each other. Especially since she dealt with the sort of egos that didn't always take kindly to... 'correction'. When Evelyn commented on that though all she got was a laugh and a twinkle springing to Josephine's eye. "You must remember I've played The Game." She said. "This is as easy as breathing."
Inquisition troops were securing the Western Approach while the Inner Circle narrowed down their search for the enemy and that was why Evelyn found herself in the place she did; various soldiers standing around Cullen as he talked over their orders. His words were accompanied by gestures to the large map spread over the majority of his desk, and the Inquisitor settled against the wall as she watched the Inquisition's commander do what he did best.
In that moment Evelyn had a rush of deja vu - of a night when the candles had burned low as words had been met and swapped in stuttered truths as Cullen had finally, finally shown her just how far his attraction to her ran. And maybe that, she mused, was the reason that the days ran so long now. Because, as Sera had pointed out with a shit eating grin as they had made camp a few nights ago "you've got that look about you dontcha? Bet ya just want to be back with your Cully Wully." She had followed up the remark with a plethora of gross kissing noises that had Iron Bull and Dorian sniggering behind their hands but the point still stood.
She was on cloud nine, as far as she could afford to be into a honeymoon phase with Cullen. It was hard at points, considering the Fade was still tearing itself apart and Corypheus was a bigger threat than ever, but she was in love. She was happy, and that was a blessing from the Maker himself in times like these. War never gave people gifts; it had burdened Evelyn herself with the mark on her hand that still troubled her some days and the fate of the world where only a year ago she had been a nobody, a renegade mage on the run.
"Long day?" Cullen said, starting Evelyn out of her own thoughts. She quickly realised that they were alone in the room, Cullen having shepherded the soldiers out the door. He met her eyes as he rolled up the map in front of him; the two of them shared a smile at the thought of that fateful night, of her using those same words on him.
"You can say that again," She replied. "I don't think I'll ever get all the sand out of my boots. It might be cold here, but at least snow melts." Cullen chuckled, crossing the room. Their fingers went to lace but fumbled from lack of practice. They soon slid home though and Cullen squeezed his love's hand. Her eyes flickered up to meet his, full of warmth and adoration and she could feel her cheeks heat.
"Welcome home Evelyn." He said softly, his voice a melodic rumble. Thinking of no other way to address the words, she leaned up to press her lips against his. The kiss was soft, tender, the coming home gift Cullen had sworn to give her for as long as they still stood fighting. There was an undercurrent of heat there too, one that she wished she had time to coax out. "I wish we had time to..." Cullen started, practically reading Evelyn's mind. His words trailed off though, out of courtesy. The woman in front of him just smiled, leaned forward and pecked his lips again.
"Time to do what?" She teased, a playful lift to her smile. Cullen just shook his head, mirroring her expression.
"Maker woman, don't make me elaborate. You know I don't always have the best control over myself." He gestured back at his desk. His very sturdy desk, a fact they both knew from experience.
"We both know that if it's called for, you have the uttermost self control." She replied. Her tone was serious, letting the truth of her words settle for a moment before she stepped forward. "So. Hypothetically, if we had time, what would you want to do right now?" Her final step left them chest to chest; she could feel the feathers of Cullen's armour tickling at her skin as she lifted her head to keep their gaze locked. With her head lifted the way it was, it was almost as if she was trying to challenge him - something which would amuse the ex-templar, no doubt. As it was, she could see him trying not to grin.
"You're going to be the death of me, I swear." He replied, lifting a hand to cup her cheek. "Hypothetically, right? It would be... Rather inappropriate if I sent away the guards a second time."
"Hypothetically, of course." She replied. Cullen simply ran his fingers slowly down her jawline; he mumbled something along the lines of 'Maker have mercy' but she didn't quite catch it.
"Well, I would start by kissing you again, like we were doing before. But I wouldn't let it stop there. You've been away in the west for days, do you know how lonely it gets here without you? How much I've missed your body against mine?" His voice slipped lower at that remark, his other hand coming to rest on Evelyn's hip. She shivered. He smiled, and his expression was not unlike the the cat who caught the canary. He licked his lips, and the action was so inherently predatory it made Evelyn release a breath she didn't know she was holding. "I crave your touch. The thought of us together, it's... Overwhelming. I didn't think I could want something this badly and not curse it's influence on me. Then again, you do continue to surprise me."
He started to press her backwards; Evelyn let the older man in front of her lead her steps and was rewarded as she felt the wood of the door solid against her back. She let herself sink back against it. Cullen smiled.
"Hypothetically, I would press you up against the door - it's been so long- pin you there so you couldn't move. You're so beautiful, I want to be able to take you in. I want to see you spread out before me as I take you apart piece by piece." He took each of her hands in one of his own, pulled them up until they were restrained above her head. She had always known her hands were slender, but only when enveloped in Cullen's own did she truly realise how much so - she could feel his fingers calloused from years of being metal kissed wrapping around both her wrists and she was powerless to stop it. He leaned into her neck to press a feather light kiss at her throat, let them trail up to her ear. "I want to see every inch of you as I wreck you."
She couldn't hold back her gasp at that, her knees threatening to give way from under her. Cullen laughed again at that - always with the laughing - but this time she could feel it, feel the vibrations on her neck and in her own chest that made her heart pick up double time. "Pretty as a picture." Evelyn could feel his stubble prickle against her neck, gasped again as he lightly bit the skin. Nowhere near hard enough to bruise, but the intent was there in his darkened eyes. "I'd press kisses to your neck, get you hot under the collar for me - or would I mark it up nice and pretty instead? Purple and blue do look good on you, you know. I'd love to see you explain away that one too. Would you want to though?" He lifted his head at that, kissed Evelyn again and this time there was nothing innocent about their kiss. It was rough, invasive, Cullen's body crowding into her and her hands being pushed further up the wall. She tried to match Cullen's fire but she was being stretched thin, overwhelmed by sensation and she moaned into his mouth as he deepened the kiss.
"You'd want to explain it away and you'd hide it under those absurdly high collars you wear with your armor, but you'll enjoy it won't you? And it won't be the only marks I'll leave on you." His voice was husky with arousal now; the hand on Evelyn's hip had wormed its way under her fitted brown shirt to trace circles on the hyper sensitive skin. He was playing with her and the worst part was she didn't even care, caught up in the feeling of his touch on her skin.
"Maker, if we had the time you wouldn't be wearing these." He said, hand moving from her hip to skim over her waistband - her whole body jolted at the feeling because fuck his fingers were so close to where she wanted them and she threw her head back against the door. She didn't even try to hide how hard she was panting now. His hand traveled up her torso, fingers skimming over the swell of her breast and her body arched to meet those teasing fingers. But she was still incapacitated by that strong hand around her wrists and with this man taking her apart word by word - and this was just 'hypothetically', fuck - she had to just ride it out. It seemed that Cullen had a similar idea, a smirk crossing his features. It was the sort of smirk though that spoke of questionable things to come, of the man in front of her having just a bit too much fun. But when she opened her mouth to ask her words were cut off as his thigh slid in between her legs, rubbing against her just right and making her whine.
"Maker- Cullen, please."
"Please what, my dear Inquisitor?" Cullen murmured, “Do you want me to kiss you until you can’t see straight? Bruise your neck so that you’ll remember for days who you belong to? I didn’t even finish what I’d do to you if I had the time. Hypothetically.” Out of everything she had ever done, ‘hypothetically’ was probably one of the things that had backfired on Evelyn the most; the word had gone from a playful jab to a lust infused tease. It made Evelyn squirm - and with her pressed right up against Cullen’s thigh squirming just made her predicament even worse. Why was she wearing pants again?
“If I had the time,” he continued, hand settling back on her hip “I’d take you like we have no time at all. I’ll tear these clothes off you piece by piece, have you bare against me so I can feel every inch of your skin and that you can feel every place I touch you. Like here-” his hand skimmed over her breasts again, tweaked them through the fabric and made her breath hitch “and here-” his touch fell to her inner thigh, caressing the skin that even through fabric made her jolt and moan “and especially here.” He finished his sentence by his hand passing right over where her smallclothes lay against her, a fleeting touch but it was enough to draw the loudest sound yet out of her. His words had reduced her world to Cullen, his voice and the door behind her; she only realised now that she had been grinding against his thigh without realising and with pleasure flooding her system she couldn’t bring herself to stop. She wasn’t sure she could stop even if she wanted to.
“I’ll strip you bare and take you against this door, because Maker you have no idea how much you tempt me.” He said, and when Evelyn met his eyes she couldn’t see his irises; his pupils were blown wide with lust with her. She could feel his hardness against her own thigh and a wave of need crashed over her. She needed him to touch her, she needed him to have his wicked way with her because in this moment nothing mattered more than getting him inside her as quickly as possible. “If I could, I would spend every waking moment of the day with you. I’d map your body with my mouth, kiss every part of you until you were shaking, begging me for release. But when the Maker gives us precious little time I can’t help but be... selfish.” He purred the word like it was sin itself, his fingers spreading against her restrained wrists. “I want to be a mess for me before I even get undressed, I want you to be incoherent when I fill you because your body is so on edge and when you come for me I want it to be sudden. I want it to be raw and better than anything you’ve experienced in your life. And then,” he finished, grinning darkly. “I’m going to make you do it again.”
“Commander Cullen ser, are you there? It’s urgent!”
The sudden third voice had the two leaping apart as if they had been burned, Evelyn losing her balance and falling to the ground because honestly would have anybody stayed on her feet in her situation? Two seconds ago she had been pinned up against the door and moments from coming untouched - could it really be blamed on her if her legs had forgotten how to work for the time being? Cullen meanwhile looked like a force of nature as he all but marched over to the door, wrenching it open.
“What?”
Evelyn had never seen a man’s face pale so quickly.
“I, uh, have some reports from Sister Nightingale that she uh, requested you look over as soon as possible-”
“-which is not going to be now.” Cullen replied flatly, staring daggers into the poor man. He could have said more - Evelyn knew he could probably unleash a series of profanities right now that would make Varric blush - but the man was nothing if not appropriate and so giving the man a practically death inducing glare was the extent of what he could do right now. However, needless to say the messenger was all but tripping over himself to get away, blabbering out something to the tune of ‘I’ll come back after I’ve done some things’. Cullen shut the door behind him with a sigh, before turning to where Evelyn had pulled herself up against the wall.
“Cullen, if you need to-” she was interrupted by Cullen’s mouth against hers once more, but the fire had retreated in the meantime. It was still there, very much so, but unfortunately the moment had passed. It didn’t mean, however, that Evelyn wasn’t still very much caught up in that kiss. Quite the contrary, actually.
“We do have a bad habit of being interrupted when these things happen, don’t we?” Cullen said after they drew apart. He offered a hand to the woman in front of him; she took it without question and was pulled to her feet. Her legs were still shaky though, and she leaned against Cullen for support. Not that she minded of course; his feathery neckpiece was soft against her head and it was an excuse to take a moment to breathe in his scent. He was strong against her and it was a luxury these days, in being the leader of thousands of people, to be able to be weak. One, in this moment, she took full advantage of.
“And you have a bad habit of interrupting me when I talk.” She replied, a playful lith to her tone. Even so, Cullen’s expression quickly turned worried.
“I uh- Shit, was that okay? I know it looked like you were really enjoying it to me but I didn’t really ask if that was all alright with you a- and I don’t want you to be uncomfortable you know-”
This time it was Evelyn’s turn to interrupt Cullen, kissing him hard and when she pulled back it was with great satisfaction she saw that he was the dazed one for once. “Cullen, that was probably one of the sexiest things you’ve ever done to me. Don’t you even try to apologise about that.” The comment seemed to take the commander off guard, but it made him smile as his cheeks flushed ever so slightly.
“In that case then I take it back.” Cullen said. “Well, except the part about me not wanting you to be uncomfortable. I want you to feel good when we do things like this.”
“Well, you did leave me kind of high and dry just there.” Evelyn admitted, pouting slightly. The comment just make Cullen chuckle, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
“Unfortunately, I wasn’t kidding when I said I couldn’t turn away the soldiers a second time. The troops are awaiting their next instructions and I don’t want a good portion of our army stranded in the middle of nowhere. Not to mention I really should have a look at whatever Leliana sent me.” He added, making a face that made Evelyn giggle and bury her face into the feathers. “However, I don’t have any meetings after the meal tonight. So, you could come back and see me. We could… Take a break. Hypothetically.” He cracked a smile, one that Evelyn couldn’t help but return.
Title: Through the Looking Glass
Ship: AHOT6
Warnings: Panic attacks, mild sexual references
WC: 7,898
Read on AO3 here
Generally everything is hunky dory in the Achievement Hunter household. The six guys all have their routines, as chaotic and bizarre as they might be. In the end though, they're all together and they all love each other very much. Anything after that? Nothing really matters. But recently something just... Hasn't felt right.
One day after Michael slips and falls at the office that very thought is brought to the forefront of everybody's minds. Why is Michael acting so strange? A concussion is one thing, but this is entirely different.
And the answer? Nothing they could have ever expected.
-x-
It looked like it was going to be an off day for everybody - and it started from the moment Jack woke up.
While the older man loved nothing more than to sleep in on a normal weekday the man’s body clock always ticked true, waking the man when the sun was first beginning to kiss the horizon. It was something he always enjoyed; in a house as full as theirs moments of quiet were few and far between. Less pleasure was taken in extracting himself from the bed however as he pulled himself away from Geoff’s side, wriggling out from under Gavin’s torso before clambering out over Ray and heading to the shower. Usually he was well awake by that point, but this morning the dregs of sleep clung to his shoulders and made his feet drag - what he wouldn’t give for today to be a weekend so he could snuggle into the warmth of his boyfriends and forget about the world for a few more hours.
Alas, it was not, and so Jack had to prod himself through his normal morning routine that today felt so much more difficult. Flick on the shower to heat, brush his teeth, step into the spray and let the water work at his back as he soaped his body up. Usually, this would be when Ryan would come join him but the Gent was absent today. It was somewhat understandable considering his insomnia made even his best days of sleep temperamental at least, but it didn’t change the fact he missed the voice rough with sleep as he watched the bubbles spiral down the drain.
It wasn’t until he had wrapped a towel around himself that the aforementioned Gent made his way into the bathroom, rubbing at his eyes and blinking owlishly at the light in a way that made him look years younger than he was. Despite that he was quick to peck Jack on the lips; he pulled away moments later with his mouth puckering. A hilarious combination, considering his actions were still slowed by sleep.
“Ugh, toothpaste.”
“Morning to you too, sleepyhead.” Jack said, crow’s feet crinkling. “Missed you.”
“Sorry dear.” Ryan replied, reaching out and squeezing Jack’s hand. “I slept later than I thought I would. Forgive me? I’ll take you out to lunch, just us two.”
“There’s nothing to even forgive, don’t be ridiculous.” Jack said, squeezing back. “It's been awhile since we’ve been out for lunch together though, let’s do that. Now, you shower, I’m going to go put the coffee on.”
Turns out, even that was a difficult today; he couldn’t fuck up boiling water (if he could, he would’ve) but the filters he usually used to strain out the ground beans had decided they weren’t going to sit properly and far too much of it got into his actual drink. Even making another had him repeating the same mistake so fed up he sat down with his coffee and muesli, trying to ignore the grit in his teeth.
“Man, you look like you’re about to fuck up that bowl of cereal. What did it ever do to you?”
Jack just flashed a sleepy grin at Geoff who had made his way into the room and was fixing up his own breakfast. “I feel like breaking another bowl after what happened last night wouldn’t be a good idea.”
“Yeah, Gavin really needs to learn how the fuck to do dishes properly. I’ll need to buy more wine glasses this weekend - those were the last ones that Lindsay and Barb gave us when we first moved in here.” The gent sat down with his standard morning coffee - milky but no sugar - as he continued. “We’ll probably be able to live without getting more bowls but we’ll see.”
“Ew, you guys are so gross and domestic.” A familiar voice said, their young Puerto Rican partner plodding into the room. He had his purple Twitch sweater on today - if the way his hair still looked like a mop and his glasses sat skewiff on his nose was any indication he was just as ‘willing’ to get out of bed today as the rest of them.
“Hey, if you didn’t live with us you wouldn’t have to listen to it.” Jack replied.
“Nah, you guys feed me.” Ray said, flopping down into the seat next to the redhead. “I’m not an idiot, free food’s free food.”
“Since when did paying in blowjobs count as ‘free’?”
“Hey, now that’s just getting technical!”
Ray tapered off after that, letting the two Gents talk domestic. When Ryan walked in a few minutes after he instead settled for playing footsie with the older man - it was kind of hilarious see the man trying to look unimpressed while simultaneously trying to pin Ray’s foot under his own. It wasn’t until nearly quarter of an hour later, when Jack was onto his second cup of coffee to try and wake himself up and Ray and Ryan were munching down on toast that Gavin trapsed in, a bunch of ‘good morning’s being passed around the table as he settled down and joined in the conversation.
All eyes were on Michael when he walked in though; of course there would be considering he was the last one to arrive but he looked… Off. He’d pulled on a green t-shirt and jeans but they were rumpled and didn’t sit right. it certainly didn’t help either that there were bags under his eyes dark enough to rival Geoff’s, magnified by his glasses. The frames were an odd color but suited him well.
“You alright, buddy?” Geoff said, swinging back in his chair to pat the Lad on the back. Michael just shrugged, shaking his head.
“Nah, not really.” He replied. “Good enough though. Just a bit dizzy, I think they got the wrong prescription on my glasses when I got my new ones on Wednesday.”
“You sure? You’re pale as hell, maybe you should lie down for a bit and see if it passes.” Jack suggested.
“What do you think I’ve been doing for the past half hour?” Michael said, before shaking his head. “I would wear my other glasses but the arm is really fucked and my contacts went out of date two weeks ago. I can survive until tomorrow to take these ones in and exchange them.”
“I’ll take you first thing in the morning.” Ryan offered. “You really look like shit, I’m surprised that you’re out of bed honestly.”
“Clearly you’ve underestimated the mighty Mogar then.” The redhead joked weakly. “I’ll be fine guys, don’t worry.”
“We’re your boyfriends.”
“Good point.” Michael said, huffing before cracking into a smile. “You’re going to worry more if I say that, aren’t you?”
“Probably.” Geoff said, shrugging.
“Eh, I’ve been through worse with you shits.” Michael replied, shrugging in return. “And hey, if I’m lucky maybe it’ll wear off in the next hour or so. I shotgun the front of Ryan’s car though - I’m not dealing with that swerving shit you do today Geoff and last thing I want to do fucking upchuck all over the back of the seats.”
“Sounds good to me. Although Michael?”
“Yeah?”
“Your shirt is on backwards.”
“God fucking damnit.”
-x-
“Have you seen Michael?”
The words made Ryan and Jack stop in the middle of the door, looking at Ray with a combined look of surprise and worry. They’d been gone for the good part of an hour - when they’d left the younger man had just been editing a Rage Quit.
“No, why?”
“Nobody’s seen him since you left.” Ray said. “We’re supposed to be filming HORSE but he left to get something and he’d disappeared off the face of the earth. Probably getting head in one of the bathrooms but he’s not even replying to his phone.”
“Have you asked around the office?”
“Yeah, and nobody else has seen him either.” Ray replied. “So if you could look around for him, that’d probably be a good idea.” He tried to pass off the words as causal but the two Gents could easily see the worry behind the words. Jack passed him the paper bag he was holding.
“We grabbed some burgers on the way back, go take a load off and we’ll have a look around.” Jack said.
“You kind of look like you need it.” Ryan added. Ray just smiled weakly, before giving a little wave and moving off. Before he could though, Ryan caught his hand, pulling him in and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “It’ll be fine, okay?” He could practically feel the relief seeping into Ray’s muscles and while it didn’t disappear completely the older man felt a little better about letting him disappear into the Achievement Hunter office after that.
It turned out that wherever Michael had disappeared to, it was conveniently somewhere where nobody had no idea where the fuck the man had gone. Between the five achievement hunters they had scoured every office and hallway between the different buildings; even the toilets had been checked, with nothing to show for it. Needless to say everybody was on edge - there was a tenseness about the office that couldn’t be defused, a spring coiled, a fuse slowly ticking down. It wasn’t until Ryan on a whim checked one of the supply closets that he felt his stomach drop to his feet.
At first Ryan hadn't even seen Michael, only the various props that had collapsed from where they had fallen off the shelves. Clearly somebody had knocked them over, maybe while reaching for a higher up one and left the mess for somebody else to clean up. One of the new interns, probably, although it made Ryan fume momentarily. But then as his eyes adjusted to the light he saw a flash of auburn and heard a groan and suddenly he didn’t care about the mess, didn’t care about anything except the fact that Michael was under that fucking mess. He was shoving the shit aside, he didn’t even care if something broke and oh god he could see blood fuck fuck fuck-
Somebody else started helping him and it took Ryan a few moments to realise it was Geoff, face stony as started moving the props away from Michael’s body. Ryan shuffled over to the boy’s head, hands flighty.
“Michael, can you hear me? Michael?” Ryan said, and he didn’t even realise until he began speaking how much his voice was shaking, how he couldn’t keep still as his hands trailed over Michael’s body, unable to stop himself from touching the man in front of him but knowing he shouldn’t move him. Michael just groaned again in response, but god there wasn’t a word for the amount of relief that Ryan felt at the noise because it meant that Michael was alive, Michael was okay and he was seriously doubting that was going to be the result of all this a few minutes ago.
“Listen buddy, we’re going to get you out of here and we’re going to get you home okay?” Geoff said, going to rest a hand on Michael’s shoulder. But the younger man flinched at the touch, curling into Ryan further as his eyes squeezed shut. Ryan flashed a grimace at the shocked looking Gent. Michael’s body was shaking; Ryan could see blood on his face and his panic only subsided a bit when he realised it was a nosebleed. His red shirt fooled him for a moment that it had gotten on his clothes as well, but he thankfully realised before his panic could kick into the next gear.
“Michael?” Ryan asked, brushing his hair aside. “Babe, what happened? Do we need to call an ambulance?”
“No.” The reply was instantaneous, mumbled into the fabric of Ryan’s jeans. “I’ll be fine. Just slipped on the box.” He made a vague gesture to his side; Ryan could see one box strategically placed next to one of the shelves. Considering the fact that shelf was now empty and there was a serious looking bruise on Michael’s face underneath the blood, he could guess what had happened.
“Can you stand Michael?” Geoff asked, genuine concern in his voice. He didn’t move to put his hand on Michael again.
“I think so.” He said. He managed to pull himself into a sitting position before clutching the back of his head and groaning. “Ugh, I’m dizzy.”
“I should have taken you to get your prescription changed this morning.” Ryan muttered. Michael went to say something but. “Come on, you’re halfway there.” With the two Gents’ help they managed to get him to a standing position, Michael leaning heavily on Ryan’s side with his head buried in the crook between his shoulder and arm. They were just making their way out of the closet when Gavin appeared around the corner.
“Boi!” Gavin exclaimed, grinning. Michael just buried his face in response to the sounds, groaning loudly again.
“Not now Gavin.” Geoff said softly. He could see Jack and Ray round the corner to the hallway they were in, watching their faces contort from brief relief to fear to worry in the timespan of about three seconds. “Michael’s in shock at the moment.”
“But Michael-”
“-Has probably got a concussion and really isn’t going to appreciate you yelling at him.” Ryan interjected, giving the Brit a look. He quickly backed down after that, flashing Ryan an apologetic look. “Can you tell Burnie that we’re going to take the rest of the afternoon off?” Gavin nodded.
“Meet you at home?”
“Of course.”
“Is he going to be okay?” Ray interjected. His eyes flickered worried over the other man’s face - while it was dried, there was still a lot of blood on Michael’s face and with parts of his face already starting to bruise it really wasn’t the prettiest picture.
“Just hit my head, don’t worry.” Michael said, the words mumbled and weak. “I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll believe that when the doctor tells me that, buddy.” Geoff said, patting Michael on the shoulder. “Let’s get you in the car, okay?”
-x-
A cold press, painkillers and rest. That was what the doctor had prescribed, since thankfully the doctor had deemed Michael’s concussion mild enough to be treated at home. Not for the first time Ryan was thankful that it was a weekend the next day, although this was probably the most… Unique reason for that thought. It calmed Ryan somewhat to know that he and the others would be able to stay home and keep an eye out for Michael, even if he didn’t want to be babied.
But Ryan had never seen Michael like this, squirming in his seat as he looked out the window. The golden yellow of the sunset illuminated Michael’s face in a way that completely dashed any hope he had of hiding his anxiety, a permanent knot in his stomach that showed on the young man’s face. He squirmed in his seat in the same way one might an uncomfortable chair, hand flighty as they rested on his lap. Yet he didn’t say a word; unusual for a man that was quick to let everybody around him know exactly what he thought.
“Is something wrong Michael?” The redhead shot up like he’d been shocked, eyes locking with Ryan’s frightened before he seemed to register the words that had been asked. It didn’t make him sink any lower in his chair - if anything it seemed to make him more nervous as he mulled over the words in his mouth.
“I, uh… Aren’t we heading the wrong way to my apartment? I don’t think I have enough stuff at Geoff’s to last me the night at the moment… I am going to Geoff’s and not just home, right?” Ryan wasn’t sure whether’ Geoff’s face was more offended or confused at that comment and as he stopped at the red light he turned to face his younger boyfriend.
“Michael, we’ve been living together for a couple of months now.” Geoff said slowly, looking at the younger man’s face like if he stared hard enough he’d get an answer to the question of what was going through his head right now. “ And even if we weren’t I would never leave you alone like this. You’re a fucking mess dude and I’m not leaving you alone like this.”
“Sorry sorry sorry!” Michael spat out quickly, eyes wide. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“Michael, are you okay?” Ryan asked, genuine concern crossing his face. “You’re acting weird.”
“I’m fine, honestly!” He insisted. “Just… Shaken up a bit I guess? Like, weird memory things from my fall… Or something.” He trailed off, worrying at his lower lip as he looked back out the window. Ryan peered at him for a moment longer, eyes searching before he sighed and turned back to face the windshield. He caught Geoff’s eye as he turned and the older man gave him an equally confused look. Ryan just shrugged. Michael was probably right - it’d been a really off day for all of them after all and the pale tinge to Michael’s skin hadn’t quite faded. If they thought Michael was acting weird, he probably felt a whole lot weirder. A good night’s sleep would probably help a lot - help all of them, actually.
Michael was dead to the world the moment his head touched the pillow when he got inside; Ryan was glad he’d gotten him to shuck off his shoes at the door because otherwise it would’ve never happened. Plus, while he would’ve still done it Ryan felt a little better tucking Michael wearing socks and not shoes into the guest bed. When he walked out, Jack had already finished dinner and the other four were dishing up - Geoff didn’t cook Friday nights and it was Jack’s turn this week to take over. Ryan was somewhat thankful for that - while he didn’t mind takeaways (Ray) or a completely burnt meal that was amended for by takeaways a few hours later (Gavin) tonight he just felt like some good ol’ hearty food, to try and end the day with some resemblance of normality.
But as they sat down at the table, Ryan realised quickly this wasn’t going to be the return to normality that he was hoping for. If anything, there was a weird sort of tension that was thick over the table. It wasn’t the sort that Ryan was used to defusing either though. Sexual tension he was adept in, considering he’d basically been the one to singlehandedly get the six of them together. Anger tension was rarer but more easily sensed, and if that was the case Jack would have stepped in and calmed that before he even stepped in the room. No, this was wary, confused tension; the sort that Ryan could only compare to those first few weeks of the six of them getting together. Tentative words, worries of crossing boundaries far more extreme than what actually existed. Even then it didn’t entirely encompass the feeling as the five of them ate in silence. Finally Gavin - of course it was Gavin - spoke up.
“So, what was even going on with Michael today?” He asked. “You guys seemed all blimmin’ twitchy when we finally found you. Did he bite you or something?”
“No.” Ryan said, stirring around his pasta with his fork. He’d eaten a few spoonfuls - it was actually really delicious and no doubt he would devour it later if he couldn’t sleep - but a troubled mind made his stomach turn and the food taste unbearably bland in his mouth. “Michael was just… Weird when he was talking to us.”
“He didn’t even remember that we’d been living together for who knows how long now.” Geoff continued. “And he seemed fucking convinced I was going to drop him off at his place and jet it. I wouldn’t do that even if I wasn’t fucking him, even if I was still just dating Jack. He’s out of his fucking mind!” Geoff fumed, mouth thinning. Jack squeezed his thigh; the man slowly relaxed.
“That’s really strange.” The bearded man said calmly. “Are you sure that the doctor said nothing about memory loss or anything?”
“If anything he said that it was actually one of the more mild concussion cases he’d seen, and Michael’s dizziness was probably coming more from a bunch of other things like his glasses prescription being off, the nosebleed he had and coming out of shock. Memory loss wasn’t even mentioned once.” Ryan said.
“And he’s not even acting like himself.” Geoff continued. “Like he was quiet as dicks in the car, dude. Really jumpy too - I didn’t even know that Michael had a jumpy bone in his body.”
“Are you sure we didn’t just kidnap his identical twin?” Ray piped up.
“I don’t know, but he’s really out of it.” Geoff said. “Maybe he’ll be back to normal tomorrow?” Geoff could tell that Gavin was completely sceptical , Ray not far behind, but Jack seemed to be taking their words seriously. Albeit with a pinch of salt, but that was just a good general practice around their household in general.
“I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”
“I guess so Jack.” Ryan replied. “I guess so.”
-x-
Understandably, Michael didn't get up until quite late the next morning. Geoff and Jack had headed off to grocery shop for the week, leaving the two other lads and Ryan at home. Honestly, if he hadn't been sat at the dining table to read he was pretty sure he would have missed the redhead creeping into the kitchen.
"Morning, sleepyhead."
If he thought Michael had been twitchy yesterday, it was nothing compared to now - the man gave a yip and jumped a foot in the air, and he didn't seem to relax very much at all when he realised who had spoken. He moved lightly around the kitchen, pouring himself a half glass of orange juice and putting some bread into the toaster. He paused to read a post it note from Geoff on the fridge; telling Michael that he hoped that he felt better, and could he put out some meat to defrost for dinner tonight? His fingers thumbed over the paper, before sticking it on the metal again. His actions were neat, compact - they didn’t sit quite right on Ryan’s shoulders but he kept the thought to himself.
"Morning Ryan." He said quietly, flashing Ryan a smile. The action reminded Ryan of the way that a dog would flash it's teeth when upset and the thought did nothing to calm him, especially now with Michael’s bruises darkening.
"How are you feeling, babe? Sleep well?"
"Fine, fine."
"Was the guest bed comfortable enough for you? I know I like it when I end up passing out on it but you don’t usually use it."
"Yeah, it was comfortable enough."
"How’s the swelling? Is your face feeling okay?"
"It's alright?" Michael seemed to squirm uncomfortably under the attention - Ryan couldn't tell whether that was because he didn't want the attention, or didn't expect it. "I'm fine Ryan, you don't have to worry about me."
"Like hell that's going to happen." Ryan replied immediately. "Even if you didn't look like absolute shit you still weren't in the bed last night. At the very least, I missed you.”
“Why would you miss me out of the bed though?”
“You’re a space heater Michael; I’m pretty sure that Jack was hogging the sheets because you weren’t cuddled into him - I had to go get extra blankets out because of that!” That certainly caused Michael to look up, pure confusion written all over his face.
"If I'm sleeping with you guys don't I sleep on the end? Like, next to Ray?"
"We tried that once when you were sick." Ryan said. "Ray moved around so much that you couldn't sleep all night. You ended up fainting the next day - how do you not remember that?"
"Uh, silly me." Michael said, letting out a breathless laugh. "I think I might have some memory loss after all...?"
"We should probably get you back to a doctor pretty soon-"
"No honestly, it'll be.fine.” Michael was quick to interject. “I mean, it hasn’t even been twenty four hours yet since this happened. I’m still all achy and horrible, it's not exactly like I’ve recovered. Seriously, don’t worry. It’ll all be back to normal soon.” Ryan wasn’t sure whether Michael was trying to convince him more, or himself.
“You need to stop saying that.” Ryan replied. “I’m going to worry. That’s my job, babe.” Michael went to retaliate, but seemed to rethink that decision at the very last second to mumble a quick ‘okay’ and if anything had thrown up red flags for Ryan more than anything else it was that reaction. He stood up, slowly crossing over to where Michael was standing buttering toast with his back to him. He didn’t even seem to realise he was there anymore. Ryan put a hand on his shoulder.
“Michael?-”
“Fuck!” The redhead exclaimed, dropping the knife to the floor as he flinched back from Ryan’s hand and oh, Ryan could explain away the reason Michael had flinched away from Geoff in the closet, half conscious and injured but this? He couldn’t explain the violent reaction, the flash of something surprised and then fearful in the man’s eyes that quickly turned guilt ridden as red flushed his cheeks. Ryan couldn’t tell whether that flush was from fright or shame at his own reaction. And Ryan just couldn’t find the words to explain the shot of pure hurt that went through him at the action - what had happened? What had he done?
“I’m so sorry Ryan, fuc- I mean god I didn’t mean to- I thought...” Michael said, before shaking his head and darting out of the kitchen into the hallway to leave Ryan standing alone in the kitchen with a piece of half buttered toast and orange juice. His hands shook. He didn’t notice.
After some deliberation he left the food out on the bench, a napkin slotted underneath as he too retreated.
-x-
Michael didn’t come out of his room really for the rest of the afternoon. If he did, nobody noticed; Ryan seemed to be the only one who knew anything about it but he was tight lipped on the subject, telling Geoff when he walked in the door he’d talk to him later. That was certainly nothing new; Geoff and Ryan confided in each other a lot but the fact it was about one of their boyfriends? Unusual and worrying. Ray and Gavin had retired from their Halo escapades for the moment, Gavin having spread his Phantom equipment across the dining table as he tinkered while Ray was drinking a glass of water and peering over Gavin’s work, quizzing him on the different components. It wasn’t until the redhead walked in that Ray’s eyes flickered up.
“Hey Michael. Good day?” He asked. Michael replied with an half enthused ‘good’ adjusting his glasses before ducking into the kitchen; having lost his glasses somewhere between here and work it looked like the man had chosen to wear his old glasses instead. Going to the kitchen was a good idea, for Michael anyway. It had the least people in it by far; with Ray and Gavin at the table and the Gents spread out across the sofas in the adjacent lounge it gave Michael room to breathe - he probably wanted the space, with the injuries he got. The excuse felt bitter in Ray’s mouth though since Michael was usually even more clingy than usual when he was sick, if experience had anything to say about it. There was a reason he slept on the other side of the bed to Michael; he loved the asshole dearly but the man was like a limpet. Instead he watched Michael make himself a sandwich, wolfing it down in a couple of bites. Did he not eat the food left out on the bench for him?
“Michael, want to come sit with me?” Jack offered, patting the sofa next to him. After a moment of hesitation Michael nodded, trotting over to the seat and perching on the edge of it. That didn’t fly with Jack though; a persistent hand pulled the smaller body against his. He almost thought it a bad idea too as he felt Michael’s body lock up - had he aggravated his head? But his fears were dashed as Michael made a content sigh and snuggled into the Gent. Jack could feel the tenseness leak out of his muscles and he returned to the conversation that Geoff and Ryan were having happily.
“Look, all I’m saying is that our backyard is bare as dicks now.” Geoff said, scratching his chin as he gestured vaguely. “I know we just moved in but summer’s coming up you know! How are we going to have people over when it looks like that?”
“Well maybe we should start with planting a few more things.” Jack said, laughing. “Not putting in a fucking pizza oven.”
“Shut up, you know we’d use it.”
“We would get tired of pizzas in about two weeks.” Ryan said. “I mean hell, I’m surprised we’re not sick of your barbeque yet.”
“Excuse you Ryan-”
“Oh shut the fuck up you know I didn’t mean it like that.” Ryan replied, eyes glinting. “What I’m saying is that you shouldn’t underestimate how big they can get.”
“And look at the size of our fucking yard!” Geoff said.
“Look how many people like in this fucking house!” Ryan retaliated. “Look, maybe in a few years, but I’m not committing to a pizza oven just yet.”
“Hey, if it’s going to taste better than Papa John’s I’m down.” Ray interrupted from where he and Gavin were. Ryan rolled his eyes.
“Really not helping.”
“Well then, we should at least get something to put out there beside plants.” Geoff insisted. “Like you know Griffon does all her chainsaw carving, we could talk to her.”
“Now that’s an idea.” Jack said enthusiastically. “Her work is incredible!” Michael made a noise of approval from where he was cuddled into Jack’s side and Ryan seemed to wholeheartedly agreed as well; Geoff seemed understandably pleased by the turn in conversation.
“I can flick her a text after I’ve started on dinner to see when she’s busy if you guys want, unless we want to sit down and figure out what we want specifically… Although who the fuck am I kidding, if we tried doing that we’d be here all night and Griffon would probably still choose for us!” Geoff said, throwing back his head with a laugh that the others joined in on. Once it had tapered out though his attention was directed at Michael.
“Hey buddy, did you put out the meat to defrost like I asked?”
The change in the man was instant; Jack could feel him go from lax to stiff as a board and he looked down at Michael’s face in concern. But even that didn’t help him because the young man’s face had gone uncharacteristically, worryingly black save for his eyes which were just a bit too wide. Jack could feel his breath increasing too - what was happening?
“Michael…?” He asked, moving his hand from where it had been resting on the back of the couch to Michael’s shoulder. However the man acted as it it was an electric shock, jolting back from where the contact was made. His breaths were getting faster now, going from inaudible gulps to noisy wheezes; even Gavin had looked up from his tinkering considering how quickly the room had gone quiet.
“Michael, buddy?” Geoff said, and the confusion and hurt was evident on his face.
“I’m sorry.” Michael said, and it wasn’t a voice that any of them had heard from Michael before - it was pained and scared and so, so small; it trailed off as Michael apologised again and again over and over as the words were jumbling together. Jack looked up, made a shooing motion at the men; Michael needed space, Michael needed privacy and he wasn’t getting either right not. Geoff was about to protest too, worry on his tongue but his eyes met Jack’s and they were hurting - Geoff didn’t know what was going on but neither did Jack. Neither did Ray or Gavin or even Ryan but whatever it was it was serious but the right way to tackle this wasn’t altogether all at once. Geoff closed his mouth, nodding before moving out of the room with the others not too far behind him.
Jack hoped the action would help but it seem as if the opposite was true; Michael was visibly shaking now, shrinking back from Jack into the cushions at the other end of the couch.
“Babe, what’s wrong?”
“He’s mad at me.” Michael said quietly. He’d pulled his knees up into his chest; he stared at his jeans with unfocused eyes.
“Geoff? He’s not mad at you.” Jack reassured. “He’s just worried.”
“I didn’t get the meat out.” Michael replied, and Jack could see the man’s knuckles going white, his fingers digging into the meat of his thighs. “First I fell and hurt myself then I pissed off Ryan and then I piss off Geoff. I don’t want to hurt you too Jack, I don’t want to fucking hurt you.” After a moment his eyes widened again, before he launched back into a string of apologies punctured by ragged gasps of breath.
“Michael, Michael please you’ve got to breathe-”
“I can’t.” Michael said, and he was crying now, fat tears rolling down his face as he shook so hard it looked like he was going to fall apart.
“You got to Michael please” Jack insisted, and he didn’t know what to say anymore because fuck he was so out of depth “breath with me Michael, can you do that? In and out, nice and slow with me.” It felt so stupid to over exaggerate his breathing like this but he was grasping at straws here. But he could hear Michael’s ragged breaths starting to sync up with his, spatted with staccato breaths as he hiccuped another sob. But he was listening, that was the important part, Jack was taking his mind off whatever was going on in Michael’s head and it was working.
That was where the two of them sat for the next little while; how long exactly Jack wasn’t sure because time wasn’t as important as Michael was. Nothing but silence breached the gap between them, broken only occasionally by Jack making another statement - “Breathe in, breathe out.” “That’s it, you’re doing so well.” “Just focus on my voice.”. Slowly Michael’s arms began to unwind from around his body, slowly he inched closer to Jack until he leaned back into him of his own accord and this time he didn’t shy away as Jack’s hands came down, stroking down his side and ruffling his hair. At one point Gavin poked his head, gesturing to the kitchen with a questioning look on his face. Jack just nodded, before shooing him away again.
“How are you feeling Michael?” Jack asked quietly.
“Dizzy.” Michael replied. “Tired, Thirsty… Really thirsty.”
“We’ll get you a drink.” Jack reassured him. “Are you okay if the others come back?” That seemed to make Michael freeze up again, much less so than before though.”
“Are you sure Geoff- they aren’t mad at me?”
“Positive.” Jack said without a second thought. “We’re just worried for you, is that too hard for you to believe?” Michael went to open his mouth, however he seemed to think better of it at the last second and shut it before nodding.
“I’m sorry you had to do this.”
“It’s okay Michael. I just wasn’t expecting you to have a panic attack, but I guess its been a weird week for everybody. You don’t have to apologize.” The two of them stood up, Jack looked over Michael again. He seemed… Better, but he still carried himself awkwardly, as if he wasn’t quite comfortable in his own skin. “Would you prefer to lie down until dinner?”
“That sounds great actually Jack.” Michael replied, and it felt like for the first time there was some trace of genuine happiness in his features. “Call me when dinner’s ready?”
“Of course.”
He passed by the other five coming back into the room; Geoff was at the back of the pack. He looked worried as Michael passed, the bags under his eyes even more pronounced than normal.
“You know I’m not angry at you, right bud?” He asked, playing with his fingers.
“Yeah.” Michael replied quietly. “I’m sorry Geoff, I’m just a bit out of sorts. I’ll be back to normal in no time.”
“I hope so. Miss you in bed.” Geoff said, pausing before adding. “I love you.”
“...I love you too.” Michael said after a moment, face lighting up as he smiled. With that he turned to walk back to the guest bedroom; Geoff could hear it click shut behind him and for a moment it struck him like a blow to the gut how desperately he wanted to go after him, be with him in the room. The relationship between the two of them was one of the most tactile of the bunch, and it hadn’t even been a day but it already felt like something had been torn away from him. He craved Michael’s touch, his kiss, the way he’d call him ‘daddy’ with that shit eating grin while they went about their everyday. The pain passed but the ache remained, and he made his way into the living room where the other guys were sitting around the table.
“This feels two seconds off an intervention, jeez.” Geoff said, trying to break the tense atmosphere as he slid into his seat. It didn’t really work - in a way, he honestly wasn’t expecting it to.
“We just need to talk.” Ryan said.
“Yeah yeah, I know.” Geoff said, waving his hand. He wasn’t fooling anybody though; they could all see the worry in his ever-tired eyes. “He’s not quite right, is he?”
“Do you really have to put it like that?” Jack said, arms folded over his chest.
“Well, how else am I supposed to put it?” Geoff replied. “He’s just having a ‘bad day’? We all know that’s not true so let’s skip the crap. Michael’s not himself, fuck he’s acting like some of the guys from my army days and that’s not a good thing.”
“He’s acting like a bloody mouse, that’s what.” Gavin said. “Like if he says something wrong one of us will bite his head off - it’s ridiculous!”
“And to think Michael’s always the one biting our heads off. Who would’ve thought?” Ray said, the smile he put on quickly straining before falling away completely. “You don’t suppose this is…”
“Permanent?” Ryan asked, before sighing. “I really don’t know. Amnesia is a hard thing to place. He could be better by tomorrow or it could take weeks, months. Possibly even years; it’s too early to tell just yet. Honestly I’m surprised it’s this bad - considering how put out Michael is over this I would have thought the doctor would have noticed.”
“The whole head thing doesn’t seem to be that bad though?” Gavin said.
“And that’s what surprises me.” Ryan said. “He doesn’t seem to be that bad off physically. Mentally, however, it seems to be a different matter.”
“God damn Ryan, your technical mumbo jumbo is going to be the death of me someday.” Geoff said, before shaking his head. “Fuck guys… We’re in a really bad position. What do we do?”
“Well, it’s not like we can throw him out on the streets.” Jack said, pausing before looking at Geoff. “You aren’t honestly suggesting that, right?”
“Fuck no Jack, are you shitting me?” Geoff spluttered back. “God I love him just as much as the rest of you I’m not going to kick him out”
“Geoff’s got a point though.” Gavin added solemnly. “Michael might not be the same tosser we’ve known.”
“And we need to prepare for that.” Ryan said. “But damn, it’s still early days guys. He has heaps of time to remember before we have to seriously consider this; honestly I’m sure that we’re going to look back on this and wonder why we were taking this so seriously.”
“Oh yeah, we should have just sat on all this.” Ray replied. “Everything’s fine! Also I’m not the meme guy.”
“And we all know what happens when we sit on problems like this.” Jack concluded. Ryan merely nodded in reply; he didn’t need a recap of all the times their miscommunication had lead them to near relationship-breaking situations to realise how necessary this conversation was. However morbid the topic was, better that everybody was aware of it now than them all scrambling through alone.
Kisses were chaste as that particular conversation finally ended, Geoff finally moving off to fix themselves dinner. It felt like forever but slowly the weight lifted off the atmosphere in the room, started to return to the joy that almost always burned bright in the house. And yet when Ryan finally trailed off to bed long after the others went to sleep he couldn’t help but let his eyes wander to the closed door where Michael slept, couldn’t help the pang of dread that went through him at the thought of anything but full recovery.
He just hoped Michael would be okay.
-x-
Ryan just couldn’t go back to sleep.
He wasn’t sure why - he was comfortable, he had almost all his boys around him and he didn’t think that Michael not being there would effect him like this. But he knew that wasn’t it - problem was though, knowing that wasn’t the culprit let him stumped on whatever the hell the problem could be. He twisted and turned, tried to wiggle himself under and over his boyfriends in an attempt to sate the unrest in his bones but it was no use. His eyes remained open, his breathing not slipping into the dreamer’s rhythm as he stayed uselessly and frustratingly awake.
Finally giving up the fight for a sleep that wasn’t coming back he found himself in the kitchen not ten minutes later, brewing a cup of coffee he didn’t even remember putting on. It was still dark outside - god, he knew he was an early riser but this was just ridiculous. Street lamps were still the only light outside and beside a lone figure on the other side of the road the streets were completely empty. It was a Sunday morning and it felt like it too; laziness clung to the world like a thick blanket, slowing his mind, slowing the sun from its rising, it seemed to slow time itself as he sunk into his chair in the living room. He reached for the remote, flicking the small lounge room TV to some old rerun of a baking show he wasn’t even sure was still being produced anymore. A mindless show for a mindless man; a perfect fit really.
Ryan was so spaced out, sipping coffee and just barely concentrating on the flashing colors in front of his eyes, that he almost missed the quiet click of the front door lock turning in place. As it was, it took him a few moments to realise that he hadn’t just imagined it and by then the figure was already making his way across the room. Immediately he bolted into action, scrambling to his feet as his fingers clumsily grasped at the lamp light switch next to him. But when it finally flickered on, the light illuminated features that were all too familiar; cherubin features, cheeks flushed from the cold outside, and eyes that he would know even if he knew nothing else.
“Micahel?” Ryan exclaimed, perhaps a bit too loudly for a house filled with sleeping people. “What are you doing up so early, didn’t you go to-”
“Ryan, holy shit am I glad to see you.” Michael said, pausing before almost seeming to retract his statement. “Wait, its a Sunday, right?”
“Yeah, but aren’t you-”
“And I fell on my fucking face like a total asshole and you brought me here, back home, right?” He continued, his mouth seeming to run away on him.
“Michael, what-”
“And Geoff’s still a loveable ass who would never hurt you intentionally and Gavin’s the worst fucking human being in existence but we love him anyway, and Ray’s a meme loving fuck and you’re an awkward genius and Jack’s lovely and I’m definitely gay as fuck, right?”
“Yes Michael, but why the hell are you asking?” Ryan asked, looking more perplexed than he’d ever been in his life. But the sheer relief that seemed to sprout into Michael’s face was unlike anything else that the bearded man had seen in his life as the redhead flung himself into Ryan’s arms.
“Fuck Ryan, you would not believe the shit I’ve been through the past couple of days. I don’t even think I’d believe it if I hadn’t been there” Michael mumbled into Ryan’s shirt. Now very much woken up by the sheer strangeness of the situation, it didn’t take long for Ryan to wrap his arms right back around the shorter man. The other man just sighed happily, breathing deeply and for a while the two of them just stayed like that; tightly wrapped together, neither of them wanting to break the silence as the sun slowly, finally broke over the horizon. Jack would probably be up soon; Ryan’d probably need to go shower but the thought of leaving Michael made him feel… Uneasy. Perhaps it was the way that Michael was hugging him. Because it was just a bit too tight to be an embrace - it felt more like a grasp, clinging, like Michael was afraid he’d break or shatter if he didn’t hold on tight enough and that just didn’t sit right with him, especially with how fearful he’d been the past few days.
“Michael, I get that you’ve had a bad time but why are you out of bed so early?” He asked, finally pulling himself just a little away from the redhead. “Like, I know you went to bed early but did you go for a walk or something? I didn’t even see you leave.” The look that Michael gave him was as if he’d grown a second head.
“I… I didn’t sleep here last night Ryan.” Michael said slowly, eyeing the older man up. “I’ve been gone for almost two days.”
And Ryan wanted to protest, wanted but something about the look in Michael’s eyes as the emotion went from confusion to worry to a thinly veiled anger just left a lump in his throat he couldn’t ignore. Because, well… Michael was acting more like himself that he had in days, and he couldn’t just ignore that. Frankly, he’d be a fool not to. But at the same time, perhaps his acceptance came quicker as a figure came to a standstill in the doorway. A figure with the same cherubin features, cheeks flushed from the cold of the house compared to his bed, and eyes that he would know even if he knew nothing else.
Re logging a second time cause some mother fuckers snagged you make my heart flutter. Oh I’m fucking livid. If they grabbed my fic, yall best search your ao3 username and check if anything has been stollen!!
This is really important. One of my fics has appeared on their website and you have to pay to see it. While I’ve already taken action (there’s an easy step by step in the links and feel free to contact me if you need help) I strongly encourage you to double check that you haven’t been targeted too!
Heads up for those interested! Ray is still planned to appear in two more of my fics at the very least, and all my outstanding plots won’t be changed to exclude Ray because of him leaving. At the moment, OT5 doesn't fit quite right with me, but as we start seeing videos being released without him it’ll be easier to see where my muse will lie.
Thanks for all the support for Song of the Sea, you guys are great!
