کھوئی ہوئی

𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘪'𝘮 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦

[latrotoxine]

" keep taking care of it for me. the next time i see you, i trust you'll remember."

through it, she is bound to her . an excuse to see her again, and again, and again, and again. should lena ever wish it.

lena moves effortlessly amidst the spray of her gunfire, light on her feet, graceful -- almost like a dancer.

two halves of one whole. with incredible synchrony, she mirrors her own movements, breathing new life into a beloved, cherished art form long stolen from her.

the rush that floods her veins is electric. each and every nerve in her body fires as one, propelling her body forward across the rooftops with a newfound, thrilling fervor.

it is intoxicating enough to almost forget, for just a moment, why exactly she's come. why they've both come. if not for eachother.

it is the earpiece she wears that serves as a ceaseless reminder of duty, and the consequences should she return in failure. a bullet nearly kisses her cheek -- another deadly demonstration of her opponent's markmanship prowess, yet amélie makes no point, no effort, to adjust any movements, knowing well her shots will never land completely.

still, lena is anything but predictable. another flash of blue, and to her surprise she finds herself completely cornered, standstill, trapped between the edge of a building and the ventilation unit beside them.

breathless, she meets her gaze unflinchingly. blue eyes are wide, amused, slightly wrinkled at their corners -- a smile as true and as playful as the one that tugs at the corners of her lips.

" we can play dirty, if that's what you want."

at such a range, she has no realistic path forward: only down. down, back up, and around - through another set of rooftops, ones that are likely crawling with more of mondatta's security team.

yet in doing so, she can simultaneously get herself even closer to her target. the clock is ticking, and there is no time to waste. she needs to think quickly, on her feet.

so, she prepares to dive, readying her grapple.

" come and get me, lena. je t'attendrai."

[superluminas]

" you asking me to return it? awful bold. "

it's said with a grin, a laugh, an indication that she, too, is thinking of how this rifle has given them reason to meet on the field again. an unstated invitation that will last as long as lena refuses to bring it to her.

they move across the rooftops with an elegant ease as though they've done this dance a thousand times before. as though this is not a new stage, but one their steps have graced every night for years.

despite the sudden repositioning, there is no hesitation from lena, no faltering in her movements. jumping through time has long since ceased to be jarring, though the reaction of the other woman is still as entertaining as ever.

her own smile mirrors widowmaker's and she can't quite help the way her gaze, for only a moment, falls to the woman's lips. the curve of them. the paint across them as though she were dressed for a date rather than an assassination.

" oh? were we not already? "

a clear invitation to push this fight further. to push each other further.

lena does not stop her from diving from the edge, giving her one... two... three seconds before her accelerator flashes to life and she is darting to the rooftops widowmaker would be aiming for. not the only path that would take her closer to mondatta, but one that would lead to the best shot.

her prediction is right; the woman comes into view yet again, long legs carrying her through the shadows. it takes no time to catch up and yet, once more, lena makes no effort to overtake her.

" come on. at least give me a challenge! "

within the taunt is a request; an urging to give everything she has, to hurt her and make her work.

[latrotoxine]

vulnerably exposed and suddenly engaged, amélie is left with no choice but to release her sights on the target. this mission may very well become impossible to salvage if the eruption of gunfire spooks the crowd - or the security - below them.

the last mission that tracer intercepted ended in complete disaster. she returned to her superiors empty handed, bearing serious wounds from the very gauntlet she had been ordered - and failed - to retrieve. worse, inflicted by a child no older than ten. worse still, her own weapon, the widow's kiss, expensive as it is dangerous, taken by tracer in the midst of her own confusion and desperation to escape.

yet where frustration and animosity should linger, there is only respect.

lena's reputation precedes her: agile, precise, and competent. yet similarly to their last encounter at the museum only months prior, amélie notes rather quickly that she cannot seem to land a single shot on her, despite the fact she cannot outmaneuver her. rather she knows her marksmanship is more precise than ever -- tracer aims, yet she aims purposefully to miss.

to do so is a demonstration of profound skill and utmost control. one that only a fool would mistake for her ineptitude.

by allowing her these shots, lena has instead extended an invitation to dance - as if to say, catch me, and we'll see if you can succeed this time. unspoken in all except the eyes. a challenge she welcomes.

upside down, amélie greets her with a smile, before pulling herself upright and opening fire of her own.

she makes no effort to truly miss her -- she knows by now that tracer will dodge semi-automatic fire rather effortlessly.

" what a lovely surprise. i was hoping i'd see you tonight...."

a gentle laugh passes her lips, inaudible over the piercing staccato of gunfire. it's an invitation for lena to follow her, up the stairs and onto a nearby rooftop, barely besting her speed only by the help of her grapple.

" you know, we should really stop meeting like this...."

breathless already, her heart blossoms to life beneath her ribs, invigorated, resurrected, by this little game.

" i believe you have something of mine. have you come to return it to me?"

[superluminas]

there is some relief as the rifle's scope shifts off of mondatta, but even greater is her excitement. shots spray around her, and blue light swallows the darkness of the night, effortlessly dodging every bullet. she can tell that widowmaker is aiming to hit. to kill. and yet, in the woman's eyes, lena can see the same fire. the same anticipation to draw this out.

only one fight and already they know each other's capabilities well enough to choose when to hold back or let all out.

lena can't stop the smile that spreads across her face as she slips into the flow of time, rushing up the stairs to meet widowmaker on the roof.

up above the city and the crowd below, the gunfire breaks for a moment. just a moment.

" you say that, but you seem awful happy to see me. "

and then she's blinking forward again, guns raised, legs pumping and carrying her easily through the momentum. a bullet wreathed in blue wizzes just past widowmaker's cheekbone. another careful show of her precise aim to miss.

lena laughs, positioning her pistols in a mockery of holding a rifle.

" still in a twist 'bout that one? don't worry- taking great care of it. looks nice over my fireplace. "

she keeps pace with widowmaker's long strides, never overtaking her despite easily being able to. not until just the right moment as the woman turns a corner around a ventilation unit. then she's meeting her in her step- a flash of light and a sudden block to her path. a challenge; react or find another way before the bullets land.

[latrotoxine]

@superluminas -- 💋

the incredible gravity of her task tonight was clear from the moment it was placed into her hands, and hers alone. success is expected, yet perfection is demanded.

tekharta mondatta's assassination, more than any other, must be nothing short of perfect. anything less will be considered a failure. patience, discretion. infesting london's rooftops, the very men hired to keep him safe begin to drop like little flies, one by one, until she has lost count of how many obstacles have been cleared from her path. clean and bloodless, strangled by the cable retracted from her wrist.

she enjoys watching them writhe beneath her hands, floundering and helpless as the color fades from their lips -- such breathlessness is a feeling she knows so very intimately. as she lowers them to the ground, silent and gentle, the last thing they see is a direct reflection of their own impending demise. dying eyes and a cadaverous complexion, the quickness of her own breaths seeming to mirror their own.

the men fall, and an unobstructed line of sight to mondatta unravels with all of the ease of a red carpet. it would almost be laughable, if not for the fact that it bores her. not even a single drop of blood taints the leather of her gloves, nor has a hair fallen out of place from her braid.

and yet she knows her time here grows ever shorter. there remains only minutes before a guard on the ground notices something is amiss, and the city and its perimeter enter a full lockdown.

but mondatta is not to be killed so hastily. this must be done right. in a public display, at the right moment, encircled by a frantic throng of his horrified followers.

complete disorder, bedlam, and outrage. if she fires too early or too late, the display will be forfeit and the mission will fail. it is a delicate, precarious task, one that requires a patient executioner.

the cable of her grapple, twisted around her thigh, becomes her anchor as she descends from the roof of an old hotel, and mondatta's skull is brought into perfect, unobstructed focus.

unobstructed, almost -- were it not for the sharp flash of blue that suddenly lights her periphery.

[superluminas]

lena has never been particularly religious, but mondatta's words- his talk of the iris- it's given her something to hold onto. without overwatch, she's had to find her own convictions and goals. the fight against omnics has long since turned into a desire to protect, to maintain peace at every turn.

she steps forward into the crowd, getting closer but remaining carefully away from the stage; lena knows better than to become to visible. too public. after all, on top of the personal security, there are cops lining the perimeter, and whatever respect and celebrity she once had as protection is gone. now 'tracer' is nothing more than a terrorist.

but in the crowd, even the people that recognize her make no move to reveal her. not in this crowd of omnics and humans alike- all seeking peace and change.

she smiles to herself as she glances around at the faces. the bright eyes all watching mondatta.

and then her heart drops.

it's a feeling at first; instinct striking before her thoughts can follow up, but it's only a second before it clicks. the guard just behind mondatta is nervous, hand to his ear. something is wrong.

her gaze follows his to the roofs and, carefully, she pushes through the crowd and into the darkness. who knows how long she has before whatever threat this is reaches mondatta. there's no room for a mistep or error, no time to look each rooftop over, no time to pinpoint based on sight alone.

so she calculates; what angles have a clear view? what building has a direct shot?

there. a gap in the architecture that shows clear through to the buildings behind it and the night sky beyond. there's no time to doubt, all she can do is hope she's right as her accelerator flashes to life and carries her higher.

in an instant she knows she calculated right, because there hangs talon's sniper, scope locked right on mondatta. the feeling in her stomach could easily be fear if she didn't know it so intimately.

excitement.

the rush of a fight about to start.

she gives no warning before her guns light up the same blue as her accelerator, raining down shots around widowmaker. and yet not a single one hits. sloppy enough that, if the woman is paying attention, could be pinned as purposeful.

" guess you ain't quite fast enough. "

[viseurouge-archive]

for some odd reason, she finds herself almost ashamed to sit across from her subordinate in such a condition. as though she fears that the severity of her illness, now almost completely unearthed, could have shaken chronos’s faith in her as not only a handler, but as a protector.

she wonders if she finally sees what the council has always seen – someone unable, incapable - physically and emotionally - of fulfilling her duty, her promise to her.

her handler is ill - terminally - and perhaps moira has already told her. perhaps she has shared every last detail - down to the exact number of years she has left to live. or, perhaps she has not, choosing to tear away all hope the moment it feels most secure – once, if, chronos is ever freed from this base. her heart breaks for her, to be able to see the scars those claws have left. only just beginning to loosen, after so many years.

“ oh, chronos, no…. no, no. of course not.” what other lies - or worse, truths - have moira planted, in a desperate attempt to regain the power that has begun to slip through her fingers?

“ i promise, i will do everything i can to ensure you stay under my handlership. there is nothing that could ever happen to make me reconsider. ”

weakly she smiles again, but still, as she speaks, amélie struggles to bring herself to look directly into her eyes. a bit fearful, perhaps, that she may lift her gaze to find disappointment there, frustration at the state of her weakness.

far more terrifying, is the thought of being greeted instead with concern, compassion.

so she keeps her eyes trained downwards, to the neatly bound file atop her desk, pulling her glasses back onto the bridge of her nose as she begins to read. she’s still breathless as she speaks, each labored word a reminder of her sickness, a weight that continues to pull the scale down in favor of yet another failure.

their final one.

“ confidential financial documents, which include the full names of every member of the italian parliament linked to talon funds and operations, are at risk of becoming public knowledge. talon cannot afford to lose its influence in the parliament, nor its power in its primary country of operations.”

she inhales again, sharply, leaning forward in her seat across from her.

“ carla trapani - the target - is a prominent italian politician who has gathered enough evidence to damage the chances of re-election for nearly any candidate with past or present talon affiliation. i anticipate she is well aware of the threat, and has already taken a number of heavy security precautions that will be difficult for only two people to surmount.”

perhaps chronos will manage to neutralize the target and any additional security on the ground, but if her own condition does not begin to improve soon –

“ there is a demonstration in florence where trapani is expected to speak. i will be directly assisting you on this mission – even talon cannot expect either one of us to single handedly manage such a heavy security presence.”

[superluminas]

moira lied. it isn't a revelation, or world-shattering information; it's not as though she is incapable, and chronos had hoped that amélie's abandonment wasn't true. still, it leaves a discomfort crawling along her skin. it's as though she can feel those claws digging into her shoulder, feel moira's breath against her ear as she whispers not to trust her handler.

but chronos watches the way the woman before her labors through every breath and clutches the file in her hands like a lifeline. either amélie is the greatest actress the world has ever seen, or she is genuinely what she appears to be. chronos just wishes what she appeared to be wasn't so deeply ill...

she pushes the growing worry from her mind, and focuses instead on her handler's words. if she thinks too hard about the strained breath and blue lips, she may just crumble. something she cannot afford, given what hangs on the line.

the description of the documents, the evidence, leaves her numb. perhaps years ago it would have sparked some amount of hope or satisfaction, but she's long beyond the naive belief something so flimsy could bring down an organization like talon. and, even it stood a chance of successfully setting them alight, it would change nothing other than leaving a bitter taste on her tongue as she completed the mission.

carla trapani. it's a name she's never heard, even as this woman has threatened to shake talon's hold on the italian government. it has her thinking, for a moment, about the world beyond the walls of the facility. her last understanding of politics and power is from years ago. before overwatch fell, before talon was so embedded, before who knows what else.

chronos just nods as she calculates the potential security someone like trapani might employ under these circumstances. the largest threat isn't that they might hurt her, but that they might slow her down enough for trapani to slip away. certainly the woman has means of escape given the inevitable reality of talon's interference.

that alone should be her only concern and yet her gaze keeps returning to amélie's trembling hands and her sunken eyes. she may not be a doctor, but she's not an idiot. this woman is barely surviving sitting here, and she's expected to accompany chronos on a mission that would be suicide for anyone but her.

" you'll be positioned at a distance? "

not a question so much as a request for confirmation. despite the formality of the words, though, she can't quite hide the concern that rises beneath her ribs like water in her lungs.

[viseurouge-archive]

for some odd reason, she finds herself almost ashamed to sit across from her subordinate in such a condition. as though she fears that the severity of her illness, now almost completely unearthed, could have shaken chronos’s faith in her as not only a handler, but as a protector.

she wonders if she finally sees what the council has always seen – someone unable, incapable - physically and emotionally - of fulfilling her duty, her promise to her.

her handler is ill - terminally - and perhaps moira has already told her. perhaps she has shared every last detail - down to the exact number of years she has left to live. or, perhaps she has not, choosing to tear away all hope the moment it feels most secure – once, if, chronos is ever freed from this base. her heart breaks for her, to be able to see the scars those claws have left. only just beginning to loosen, after so many years.

“ oh, chronos, no…. no, no. of course not.” what other lies - or worse, truths - have moira planted, in a desperate attempt to regain the power that has begun to slip through her fingers?

“ i promise, i will do everything i can to ensure you stay under my handlership. there is nothing that could ever happen to make me reconsider. ”

weakly she smiles again, but still, as she speaks, amélie struggles to bring herself to look directly into her eyes. a bit fearful, perhaps, that she may lift her gaze to find disappointment there, frustration at the state of her weakness.

far more terrifying, is the thought of being greeted instead with concern, compassion.

so she keeps her eyes trained downwards, to the neatly bound file atop her desk, pulling her glasses back onto the bridge of her nose as she begins to read. she’s still breathless as she speaks, each labored word a reminder of her sickness, a weight that continues to pull the scale down in favor of yet another failure.

their final one.

“ confidential financial documents, which include the full names of every member of the italian parliament linked to talon funds and operations, are at risk of becoming public knowledge. talon cannot afford to lose its influence in the parliament, nor its power in its primary country of operations.”

she inhales again, sharply, leaning forward in her seat across from her.

“ carla trapani - the target - is a prominent italian politician who has gathered enough evidence to damage the chances of re-election for nearly any candidate with past or present talon affiliation. i anticipate she is well aware of the threat, and has already taken a number of heavy security precautions that will be difficult for only two people to surmount.”

perhaps chronos will manage to neutralize the target and any additional security on the ground, but if her own condition does not begin to improve soon –

“ there is a demonstration in florence where trapani is expected to speak. i will be directly assisting you on this mission – even talon cannot expect either one of us to single handedly manage such a heavy security presence.”

[superluminas]

the woman's presence has, in itself, reassured her that amélie isn't reassigning her. isn't leaving her like moira kept insisting. still, the actual words from her handler help loosen the last knots of fear from within her chest.

chronos has endured endless torment and pain in the years talon has had her, and always she has come out of it with her mind in tact- never giving up completely. the idea, though, of being given this new hope in the form of a kindness she'd nearly forgotten only to have it ripped away... she isn't sure she'd be able to keep standing after that.

" thank you, ma'am. "

though it is rare for emotion to alter the inflection of chronos' voice, and though this is not one of those times, the subtleties are becoming more apparent after their time together; the indications of genuine feeling now noticeable amongst the perfect neutrality.

as long as she has amélie in her life, she thinks she'll be able to keep going.

all the more reason to succeed at whatever task they've devised.

the initial lead up- the relevance of incriminating documentation- is no surprise to chronos. it is a common occurrence for them to be sent after political rivals to talon's little pawns. if anything, chronos is always just surprised to know there are people still attempting to do good and root out corruption. the exact kind of fool she used to be.

and look where it got her.

chronos doesn't speak, but just waits for her handler to continue with the briefing. this is obviously just the tip of the iceberg; a politician with security is nothing new and no real challenge. they've yet to be sent after a mark with defenses that can even slow her down.

it's the mention of the demonstration that makes it fall into place. an incredibly public venue and, while it might expose her more than her own home, it will involve far more precautions including, potentially, bullet proof glass. worse, still, is that there's no doubt the roofs will be heavily manned.

and that's her handler's domain. her handler that seemed out of breath just reaching her desk, and whose hands shake lightly as she holds the folder.

for a moment chronos is silent, then she gently takes the folder from amélie and turns it so she can scan over the details herself and embed them in her brain. finally, she closes it and looks up at her handler.

" then we clear the roofs first, ma'am. quietly. once you're positioned with a clear view of the target, i'll make my way into the crowd. if they somehow manage to spot me, they won't risk open fire into the general public. "

the only thing the document doesn't say, is how blatant this assassination is meant to be.

" since it's at a demonstration, i'm assuming they want it as public as possible, but do they want it neat and fast, or messy? "

[superluminas]

MA’AM

cyanosis has bloomed across her complexion, draining her face of any of its typically warmer tones – red lips have faded to blue, pink cheeks to a lifeless, sickly grey.

the council knew well that if she were to code on this mission, then her clear ineptitude as chronos’s handler would be proven – no contest. how fitting, then, to punish her fragile body to extremes they knew could not be sustained. until she was gasping for air, pleading, unable to do so much as even beg for her miserable life.

and now, this mission – tucked away in a small manila folder beneath her fingertips, as though refusing to open it could stop time - is certain, she fears, to be their last.

this final failure will be her fault, not chronos’s. never chronos’s.

she does not need to apologize to her.

“ oh, chronos…. “

immediately, vigorously, amélie shakes her head, forcing down the emotion that has begun to constrict her throat yet again. there’s almost a staccato to her pattern of speech, each string of words interrupted by shallow, quick breaths and suppressed tears. her voice, soft, barely above the volume of a whisper despite the privacy of the room.

“ this was not your fault. please don’t be sorry….”

she tries to offer her a smile - broken as it is, weak, yet genuine. it reaches even the furthest corner of her eyes, skin wrinkling ever so slightly at the edges.

this smile on her lips remains at the next question - although blankly, like a mannequin’s - yet fades very quickly and suddenly from the eyes.

she doesn’t know what to say. the question, so simple, completely takes her aback. and she realizes, in a panicked attempt to retrieve an answer for her, that she cannot remember the last time she’s been asked this question.

if, for that matter, she has ever been asked this question at all.

“ oh, i - “

she struggles, unable to answer truthfully but also unable to lie, all combinations of words lost on her tongue. the answer that comes instead is a bizarre mix of both, simultaneously unnatural yet truthful, yet also failing to answer the question correctly - in the way chronos intended.

truthfully, physically, she is unwell. has been for many years - worse with each passing. and today, most certainly. yet it is something she never wishes for her to know. not when she needs her to be strong - not when she needs her for this mission.

“ well, yes… i am good, chronos. grateful to be given this chance.”

another smile, saddened, before she continues, breathlessly:

“ i am just happy you are alright.”

chronos is no doctor- her area of expertise was always physics and engineering not the human body, but it doesn’t take professional training to recognize the blueish hue of something insidious. a lack of oxygen, of blood flow, though the reason remains unknown. 

is this new? is this the consequences of her failure written in greyish tones across her handler’s beautiful features? she’s noticed the hint of it in the tips of the woman’s fingers before, but this... 

at the emotion in amélie’s voice, the quickness with which she dismisses chronos’ responsibility for this, there’s an irrational urge that overcomes her to reach out and squeeze those cold, thin hands. as though hers- mechanical as they are- might offer any sort of warmth. as though they are capable of anything but violence at talon’s design. 

the softness of the smile twists something in her, though not as sharply as the sudden loss of it. the sudden distance in those wide blue eyes. she isn’t surprised to be told amélie is fine, to be given a positive answer, but the words are a simple veil pulled over a much deeper truth visible not only in the woman’s physical state, but the way she holds herself. 

still, chronos does not push for more. after all, it’s the same lie she’s telling. 

and yet those next words from her handler reflect the same truth she is holding; just glad she’s here, alive and okay. chronos wasn’t alright, but she is now. even the ache in her bones feels softened by being here in this room again and looking into those kind eyes. 

“ i wasn’t sure- dr. o’deorain told me you were reconsidering your position as my handler. “ 

it was something she’d believed with every inch of herself. right up to the moment she saw amélie again and those whispers at her ear finally faded away. it feels stupid now; believing that after having her handler fight so hard to get them both another chance. still, she wouldn’t have blamed her. 

“ i won’t fail again, ma’am. “ 

her gaze drops once more to the folder positioned between them. without a doubt in her mind, she is certain it will not be an easy mission, but she knows she will not let them win. whatever sick test sits within the sleek black binding, she will complete it. 

[superluminas]

MA’AM

the walk back to her office is short - only six or seven minutes - yet she arrives at the foot of the door with trembling hands, dizzy, forcefully attempting to slow and control the rate of her breaths from such a short exertion.

over many years, concealing the symptoms of her illness - no matter the severity - became essential to ensure her survival here. to gain the respect of not only those within, but outside - investors, benefactors, the people whose money kept talon operations afloat. for all they knew, she was healthy; at least enough for them to do as they pleased with her. to keep the money flowing right into the council’s pockets.

so too is her health concealed from chronos, but it is much different. if only to prove to her she is still strong enough to protect her. to prove to her that if she needs support, that she won’t shatter the moment she tries to lean on her for it.

she will not fulfill the words of what the council has made her to be in that room: too weak, too fragile, too damaged to remain her handler.

the door closes, leaving them alone - truly alone - for the first time since their mission. she is almost too quick to sit at her desk, forcing her muscles to use every last bit of strength to pull her body upright in that chair. how badly she wishes she could collapse as soon as her skin touches the leather.

still, she greets her with a small smile. weak, saddened, but nonetheless retaining all of the warmth her subordinate has come to know in her. her hands, much paler and cyanotic than the last time they spoke, fold delicately on the desk that separates them, almost as if to seek a disguise in one another. her posture, leaned forward, almost in a tripod-like stance for easier breathing.

“  hi, chronos…. please…  take a seat. it is okay. ” three words, but simple enough meaning: protocol can be dropped.

she almost wishes to ask her how she is, out of habit or politeness, but it almost seems silly - not after what she has just endured. they both would know the answer.

amélie speaks in short sentences, careful not to reveal any indications of weakness or distress.

“ it is good to see you again.” unspoken, but there in her eyes: i feared i wouldn’t.

the mission file is there on the desk, but amélie does not initially move to open it. first and foremost, the conversation between them is human to human only. not superior to subordinate.

“ the council has given us another mission. but i wanted to check in and see if you are okay, chronos.”

even knowing what she does, even though nothing seems to have changed from their usual routine, chronos still feels a flood of relief as the formalities break and amélie offers her a seat with a small reassurance. finally, her gaze lifts to the other woman’s, her own eyes ringed darkly. 

the short walk to the woman’s office was difficult for her as well- not for lack of breath or strength, but because of the nearly overpowering, bone deep ache at the points where her flesh meets metal. her entire body throbs still, uncertain if it’s been hours or days since they returned her to her room. 

still, her steps are steady as she closes the distance and drops into the chair. 

with a deep breath, she finds her voice again after so long without using it other than to scream silently into the suspension of time. 

“ it’s good to see you too ma’am. “ 

the same weight and silent fear hang off her words. the uncertainty and detachment from time had left her wondering if she would ever see amélie again, or if things would have changed too irreparably by the point she was returned to the present. 

even gaunt and paler than usual, the woman’s face is the greatest sight she’s ever been granted. the most beautiful sight. 

“ i’m sorry. “ 

her voice is steady, but emotion punctuates it. it’s impossible to know what her handler endured in retaliation for her own failure, but her own experiences and the woman’s sickly appearance tell at least fragments of a story. enough that she feels ill knowing it was her fault. and yet, still, amélie doesn’t seem to blame her. 

her eyes flicker to the folder sitting between them on the heavy wood desk. she doesn’t need to read it to know it will be one they believe is impossible; it was clear enough from their last debriefing that they want their assignment together to fail. not to mention everything she’s had whispered in her ear by moira in recent days. 

but she allows that inevitability to be put off, looking back up at her handler. she manages a small smile, though it does not reach her eyes. 

“ i’m alright. not much more they can do, right? “ 

her brows crease, concern darkening her deep brown eyes. 

“ are you, ma’am? “ 

[superluminas]

MA’AM

the days spent in talon’s custody persist now only as a dull, lingering ache – blurred, broken images, faded and incomplete when she tries to put them together. but the visible strain on her body eats away at her beauty, casting a worsened, sickly pallor over her complexion, stark white, darkened only by the shadows that have deepened beneath by her eyes.

she had begged talon to stop when she began to feel unwell. they listened – only when her vitals began to destabilize.

she’s been very careful since chronos came under her handlership. for the first time in her life here, she listened to talon’s doctors: no strenuous physical activity, very little stimulant use – flushed her cocaine, tried to smoke less. even coffee she drank decaffeinated.  the result: many months without a code.

but this week, she’s spent days without sleep, without food, marred by torture so inhuman, so horrific, she struggles to even remember it. the worst it has been in a long time.

the weight of chronos’s future rests atop her shoulders, crushing her – and now it’s condensed into a single tiny file that she holds in her hands, standing outside her quarters.

the doors open, and she sees her for the first time since the council’s ruling. that same, horrible wave of consumptive guilt nearly swallows her whole. she knows, without a single word to be spoken, that they’ve hurt her just as terribly. worse, even.

she’s quiet when she addresses her, voice hoarse.

“ good morning, chronos. ”

before their cameras, she’s rigid, tense, as though every gentle, sloping curve of her body straightens into harsh, clinical lines under protocol. the same soft body becomes something sharp. bones strain against her skin, protruding, cutting into places they shouldn’t be.

angular,  unwelcoming – the opposite of the woman beneath the façade.

“ talon has entrusted me the details of our next mission. if you are ready, we will debrief together in my office.”

the only place they can speak and act freely in this horrible place.

the door opens and, despite the undeniable knowledge it will be amélie on the other side, some part of her still doubts. as though the woman is simply a fairy tale. a fabricated comfort.

but there she is. sickly and pale- thinner even than the last time she saw her- but there. it is clear her handler has been punished just as severely as she has. the final nail in the coffin solidifying the truth of her presence here; just as unwilling as chronos.

as they are once again face to face, chronos wants nothing more than to take her in. to absorb her features until all those little gaps and blurry memories are filled in once more and she can see those kind eyes even when she closes her own. but protocol keeps her gaze locked past the woman and her expression devoid of any of the relief that floods her.

instead, her hollow and haunted face remains still and passive, betraying nothing but the burden of torture that ended only hours before.

chronos gives no response to the words spoken, just follows as her handler turns to lead her from her quarters. the halls seem endless as they make their way to the only room in this building they can interact unobserved.

finally- finally- they slip inside and the door closes behind them, cutting the camera’s access to them for the first time in what, to chronos and her distorted and altered time, feels like years.

still, even as they are left without talon’s eyes on them, she does not break protocol. not yet. not without a sign that it’s okay. after all, who knows what has changed in the time they’ve been apart. chronos would not blame amélie for adhering strictly to what had previously been ignored. not when all of this is her fault; the consequences of her own inability to follow orders. not when moira has told her just how much amélie must hate her.

[superluminas]

MA’AM

in that moment, amélie wishes that she could fall to her knees in immense gratitude, hands clasped, head bowed – deeply, terribly indebted. a silent prayer, recited within her heart, for the unfathomable miracle of being given a second chance to protect her.

but instead she stands just as she had prior: poised, elegant, with folded hands and straightened muscles that do not dare to move even an inch from her designated stance. silent, obedient, and stripped clean of any emotion that is already threatening to claw its way up her throat and leak from her eyes.

proof, should it ever escape, that she has grown much too protective of her subordinate. sensitive. unfit for the job.

yet she is perfect when she parrots back the fabricated response she rehearsed over and over in that plane. monotonous, robotic.

“ understood. i will ensure this does not happen again.”

it is the first punishment in a very long time that amélie can do absolutely nothing to save her from, despite claiming responsibility for the disaster. the severity, she has gathered, is likely of a very high caliber.

she only hopes, as she is escorted away to her re-correction, that she bears the worst of it. 

it is a familiar procedure, one that used to be so common that she learned, with time and experience, how to remove her mind from the inhabited body for its duration.

talon does not call it by its true name of punishment or torture; rather, it is what they call a behavioral correction, a “fixing” of unwanted or undesirable results. through pain or adversity, the belief is they are meant to become stronger. less likely to repeat their mistakes, and less likely to challenge direct orders and authority. 

upon initiation, amélie learned quickly that to reject her orders and to reject protocol – in other words, to resist in any way – incurred harsher and much more violent punishments than a simple mission failure would have. in order to survive, she assimilated. learned to adopt a perfect mask to convince them their punishments were working – just so it would stop.

it never did, eight years later. but it did become less frequent.

physical correction was common, alongside psychological. one was expected to endure excruciating, unspeakable torture with no display of emotion: no screaming, no crying, no begging for mercy. and should any perception of weakness, however small, become apparent, the torture would recommence. over and over and over.

several times, it would persist so long that her heart could no longer endure it, and she nearly died. ironic, talon’s very own design flaw, unable to withstand their methods of maintaining obedience.

and after many years, there is no place they’ve not touched. from her body to her mind, not a single inch is left unscathed, replaced only by scar tissue. she can no longer feel the punishments they mandate; existing only as a ghost, a silent observer, to her own body beside her. unable to react, to scream, to cry to anything inflicted upon her.

she does not even remember it once it is over. it exists only as a gap in her perception, her mind’s way of shutting the doors, closing the blinds, protecting her. it helped her to survive.

but chronos, she knows, is cursed with a terrible abnormality. she can be taken to extremes not possible within her own torture – because it can simply be undone. she is stronger, she can withstand it longer. and worst of all, she will not know how much time has passed.

and by the time they are allowed to meet again, no time is to be wasted; she has already been given the details of the mission they must complete successfully to prove her worth as handler. and it is no easy assignment: a well-known, outspoken politician who has been actively - and vocally - exposing those within the italian parliament whose pockets are lined with talon’s money.

if any of these legislators within the government pull their funding or their political support out of fear of re-election, talon stands to lose tremendous influence in its primary country of operations.

unlike their last mission, security is expected to be a tremendous obstacle; it is well known what happens to outspoken critics of talon, so amélie is certain that the politician has already taken measures to expand their personal protection.

she must brief chronos on the mission, and she will do so the way she always has: a knock on her door to collect her from her quarters, and then back to her office so they can speak freely.

the promise of a second chance is a miracle in its own right. one she clings to with a desperate and frantic focus as they are separated and she is led back to moira’s labs. 

whatever is to come in the following days, weeks, even months- she can endure it. because she knows that, when it ends, amélie will be at her door once again; a spark of kindness in this cold, cruel, unfeeling place. 

it should make it easier. knowing she’ll be free from it again. yet, somehow, it makes the torture all the more impossible to face as time is ripped away from her; moments repeated until she’s begging for it to end. until she’s sobbing in moira’s arms, the woman hushing her gently like she cares. like she wasn’t the one just pushing her beyond the limit any human could withstand. 

to have known safety and humanity for the past months, only to be returned to this... it’s a reminder of what she has to lose. a reminder of how she nearly destroyed everything good she’d inexplicably found. 

chronos has no idea how much time is passing around her. there are seconds that last for hours, and days that pound out like her heartbeat while the rest of the world remains stagnant. the pain is one thing- something she’s grown so used to that it cannot tear her soul open again. but moira knows this. they all know this. and so pain is merely a tool in their arsenal as they break her over and over. 

at first she can picture amélie’s face and remind herself of the eventual relief from all of this suffering. but that image grows blurrier and fainter with each agonizing moment spent with the people that “created” her and she starts to wonder if that promise will ever truly be realized. have they changed their mind about a second chance? 

until one day, limbs dead as she’s dragged down the halls, she is returned to the prison cell that passes for her quarters. and hope returns like a ghost to haunt her. 

consciousness drifts in and out- her world still not solid after so long held at arms length from reality. then everything snaps into place with the simple sound of a knock on her door. 

her head is still spinning, but there is no hesitation in her return to protocol and routine she swears she’d nearly forgotten, relief buried beneath the careful detachment of talon’s perfect tool. just waiting for that door to open and for her to be reminded of the face that shimmers uncertainly in her memory.

[superluminas]

MA’AM

each and every time she must enter this room, strangled by failure, there is always some small part of her – foolishly – that prays perhaps he will take pity on her this once. just this once.

he never does. he’s always the first one to remind her what will come later.

it is something so desperate, pathetic, humiliating. to surrender, to supplicate – to stand there in silence and allow their words to deface and smear her credibility.

weak, incapable, sick.

amélie keeps her eyes straight ahead, fixed on the wall, nails carving deep, violently, into her palms behind her back.

“ yes. i understand.”

her diaphragm suffocates each breath to maintain a flawed picture of stability – square and level shoulders, a steady ribcage that doesn’t retract into herself with each inhalation.

she knows that the less she speaks, the better. the less she speaks, the less evidence they have to wield against them later. the less she speaks, the less risk she has of entangling herself – and chronos, helpless and forced silent behind her – in a web of her unconvincing lies.

so she keeps her explanation short.

“ agent chronos was only following my orders. i failed to assess and survey the possibility of other routes ziegler could have fled from – it is an oversight that i will not allow to happen again.”

there’s a delicate, dangerous line to tread before them, in both accepting responsibility for this without showing them how deeply protective she is of her subordinate. if she could, if it were possible, she’d give herself over to them a thousand times to ensure chronos’s innocence in this matter, now and forever.

but before she can incriminate herself further, the tides begin to shift from an unexpected source, changing the dynamic of the table and the direction of the conversation.

moira, professing the value of angela’s mind left intact. it almost makes perfect sense. so much sense that she isn’t sure why she hadn’t thought to angle her argument that way in the first place.

amélie tries to hide her surprise, keeping her limbs tight and frozen in place beside her, but she feels as though her eyes might leap from her skull. paralyzed, her heart pounds out from her chest and begins to crawl up her throat.

several others begin to contribute, and the conversation becomes dizzying, so much so that she can barely process the words being spoken. she’s beside herself.

“ perhaps dr. o’deorain makes a fair point. ziegler continues to develop new research and technology that could be of interest to us. all of it would have been rendered useless if agent chronos succeeded in taking her life tonight.”

“ but agent chronos and agent lacroix still failed their duties. they had their orders.”

“ yes. but if we can take another approach towards capturing her alive, they may have just given us the opportunity to gain something far more valuable than just a life.”

“ this is a waste of time. we’ve already spent far too many of our resources tracking ziegler down this time. why try again if they’ve already proven they cannot do it? ”

amélie did not expect this failure to be a discussion –  let alone a debate between the inner circle – at all.

“ we need to re-evaluate their efficacy together in the field. perhaps another mission is needed before we reach a final decision.”

chronos is a silent observer to a conversation dictating her fate and, while  amélie is able to speak and answer questions, it’s clear she has no more control over the results here than she does. 

and, of course, her handler takes the responsibility upon her own shoulders even after chronos asked her not to. it’s what she expected, a realization that- in itself- is shocking after all these years alone. shocking and heartbreaking; just another reminder of what she’s about to lose. 

the best she can hope for is to be returned to moira. not selfless or kind or gentle like amélie, but at least she cares for her in her own twisted way. this should be their doom and, yet, the conversation begins to turn.

while she knows moira never wanted angela dead, chronos never expected that the doctor would defend them. 

she swallows any reaction, but her blood is humming with adrenaline. 

“ indeed- we need more evidence to form a decision. it appears this mission is inadmissible. though the failure still requires... correction. “ 

“ what could they possibly do to prove lacroix capable of wielding a weapon like this? chronos has been too unpredictable for anyone else to manage, and agent widowmaker is not as strong willed as some of her past handlers. “ 

“ they did successfully target and neutralize jack morrison- “ 

the back and forth continues as chronos can do nothing but wait, staring straight ahead, only able to see the slightest glimpse of amélie from the corner of her eye. in this moment she feels the most dangerous emotion of all; hope. 

finally it quiets. it’s akande that speaks up, voice steady with the clarity of a decision. 

“ project chronos will be returned to the labs for the time being. agent lacroix- we will deal with you separately. after the severity of your failure has been made clear to you, we will give you one more opportunity to handle chronos. one. is that understood? “ 

the rush of relief that overwhelms her is so powerful it makes her dizzy, but her demeanor remains perfectly poised. this decision carries horror for them both, but it is not a finality. it is not a goodbye. no part of her expected them to offer another chance and chronos knows- no matter what it is- she’ll succeed this time. the thought of losing her only point of safety and kindness is too terrifying to face again.

[superluminas]

MA’AM

how horrible it is, to sit across from her now and know how deeply, terribly she failed her. how horrible it is to accept defeat – to acknowledge she will never be able to give her a better life as she deserves. as she fought for her.

a life beyond these sterile, white prison walls. to a place where the sun shines all year, glistening above a crystal blue sea that stretches as far as the eye can see. to wake each morning to the sound of birds, cicadas. an endless summer.

she watches the image of it fall to pieces in her mind, slipping further and further away with each moment the craft makes its approach to venice. and despite the dread that weighs like a sickness in her stomach, amélie feels otherwise numb.  almost as though her body is already preparing itself for what it already knows will follow, fortifying her defenses to withstand a punishment she expects to be severe.

“ thank you, chronos. thank you – for trusting me.”

amélie knows, more than anyone, how difficult it is to trust someone in this place. once, to hear these words would have made her smile. now, in the face of imminent separation, it is only a reminder of what they will lose.

life will return as it once was for amélie.  directionless, empty, lonely. surrounded by a home and a fortune – even all of her clothes, shoes, and belongings – that she sold her body and soul to afford. a price she pays for daily.

becoming handler to chronos gave her a purpose. that maybe – just maybe – she could intercept and change the natural trajectory of the life of any unwilling woman forcefully weaponized by this organization.

the craft lands in venice, and her mask settles into place like armor, protecting the delicate, powerful emotions that twist in her heart beneath. she stands, posture rigid and shoulders square, set back, leading the way down the ramp of the vessel. it feels like their execution.

her limbs move robotically, as though controlled by an external force – as though she has no control, no power, over the direction and fate they lead her to.

to the council, always. that fate rests in their hands now.

the doors to the boardroom are heavy and wooden, dark, embellished with the same insignia that marks their bodies and their clothing.  within, several pairs of eyes just waiting to tear her open. to dissect every movement should it fall short of perfection, from her walk to her gaze to the very tension she holds in her limbs, spine, and shoulders.

she presents herself before their table, head dipping for just a moment before her gaze straightens – straight ahead, focused on the same invisible point at the very back wall. past every cruel pair of eyes.

she is certain, with no doubt, that they already know.

there’s so much more to be said and yet nothing specific- just a life time of untold words now left permanently silent. it’s not only their conversation cut short by their arrival back at base, but their time together as handler and subordinate. whatever kindness and humanity she found with amélie is now at an end.

both of them slip their masks back into place- perfect protocol for all watching eyes. the pilot gives no indication of having overheard them as they disembark, but it’s a small relief; the real slight against talon is certainly already well known.

chronos cannot so much as look up at her ma’am in their last few minutes together as they make their way through the halls. they step into the council conference room and chronos settles into the appropriate spot three feet behind to amélie’s left, gaze locked on the far wall. she can feel every set of eyes boring into her and she knows they’re already fully aware of her failure.

it’s silent for a long moment before, finally, someone speaks. maximilien.

“ we entrusted you with perhaps one of our most vital missions, and you failed. “

even without seeing them, chronos can tell they aren’t speaking to her.

“ we entrusted you with our greatest weapon, agent lacroix. we extended a certain amount of faith and what have you to show for it? truly i am disappointed. “

yet his voice conveys anything but; this was clearly expected and he sounds satisfied at the outcome, as though proven right. as though he’s gotten exactly what he wants. she wonders how many of them counted on their failure.

more of them chime in.

reaper’s gruff voice- “ ziegler should have been easy work after morrison. seems like agent chronos just couldn’t cut it. “

akande- “ this was their opportunity to truly show what they are capable of. we have all doubted lacroix’s strength and she has simply proven us right. she is not worthy of wielding a weapon like chronos. “

moira, her voice already sending chronos’ stomach plummeting- “ mm. perhaps there is another factor to consider. “

confusion blossoms beneath her breast as the doctor doesn’t immediately condemn them. chronos was certain she’d be elated; after all, she would likely have her back in her custody until a new handler could be found. they couldn’t exactly send her to her most recent after his mysterious disappearance.

“ i have been saying for years that angela is so much more useful to us alive. her mind is one of a kind after all... “

chronos can hear the smile in her voice and it makes her stomach turn. she remembers every word moira has ever uttered about angela, no matter how much she wishes otherwise.

“ chronos is my creation. and i believe she’s delivered the- mmm... preferred results. “

[pyreshe]

@superluminas - ❛ despite everything, i believe that people are really good at heart. ❜

livvy huffs a bit at lena's sentiment even as she leans to situate her head against the older woman's arm. the sun beginning to slip below the distant horizon and the evening breeze is leaching the warmth from the air, but livvy isn't cold. she's never cold. livvy sometimes wonders if lena has a similarly interesting relationship with temperature after… everything. she never asks, though; lena will volunteer that information if she wants.

" my dad used to think the same thing, " livvy admits tentatively, near reluctantly. ( look where that got him? a vicious and sharp part of her brain hisses furiously. she tries to push that thought far, far away. it's not doing her any good, ) " i don't know if either of you are right, though. " a pause, and she's glancing up, " is that bad? "

[superluminas]

LIVVY

@superluminas - ❛ despite everything, i believe that people are really good at heart. ❜

livvy huffs a bit at lena’s sentiment even as she leans to situate her head against the older woman’s arm. the sun beginning to slip below the distant horizon and the evening breeze is leaching the warmth from the air, but livvy isn’t cold. she’s never cold. livvy sometimes wonders if lena has a similarly interesting relationship with temperature after… everything. she never asks, though; lena will volunteer that information if she wants.

“ my dad used to think the same thing, ” livvy admits tentatively, near reluctantly. ( look where that got him? a vicious and sharp part of her brain hisses furiously. she tries to push that thought far, far away. it’s not doing her any good, ) “ i don’t know if either of you are right, though. ” a pause, and she’s glancing up, “ is that bad? ”

soft hair against her shoulder. lena smiles to herself and lifts an arm, wrapping it around livvy. dully, distantly, she can feel the heat of the girl’s skin- like a fire burning just inches away. it’s grounding, just like the cool breeze that plucks at her curls. 

she stiffens just slightly at the mention of livvy’s father; a topic rarely broached and one she’s learned better than to push for. it’s not that she minds- it just makes her heart ache. the understanding of a grief too deep for anyone, let alone someone so young. 

the question has her frowning softly and she pulls back enough that she can look her in the eye, gaze unwavering and warm. 

“ no. no, love, it ain’t bad. you don’t owe nobody belief in their goodness. especially not when they’ve hurt you, yeah? “ 

lena honestly isn’t certain why she still believes what she does. why still, every time she faces widowmaker, she gives her a chance. expects her to make different choices. to do the right thing. or why she still pleads with reaper- gabe- every time she crosses him in the field. 

she swallows down her serious thoughts, summoning back her smile as she squeezes livvy tight. 

“ what i do know, though, is you’re good. “

[superluminas]

MA’AM

to hear spoken aloud what she has long feared to be true – that chronos was taken here very young, too young – produces a visceral, horrified reaction in her body, so strong that she nearly feels compelled to reach across and apologize not with words, but through a simple, instinctive touch. to place her hand upon her forearm, for only just a moment, and tell her how deeply she understands. how deeply she is sorry.

yet no matter what little remains of protocol after tonight, she cannot bring herself to break it any further and make such an unforgivable breach. her hands, restless in her lap, instead find their way to her own chest, palms splayed across her heart as she gathers the words to say.

eighteen…

“ it isn’t right, chronos. i am sorry. ”

her hands fall back to her lap, to the visor, yet her gaze remains locked within hers, apologetic, pained. after all of the women who perished from the same experimental changes made to her own body – the same ones she barely survived, a failure – she had hoped and prayed there would never be another project.

it was a naive wish, but she had to hold out hope in something back then. what happened to chronos is unforgivable. and there’s so much she wishes she could share with her now, but with such little time left, she wouldn’t even know where to begin.

she realizes, devastatingly, that chronos barely knows her.  they will never see each other again, and they’ve so rarely gotten the chance to speak freely like this.

“ none of this – or anything i ever did  – was a waste of my time, chronos. to try, no matter the results, has been the single most meaningful thing i’ve done in all of the years i’ve been here. the odds were against us from the beginning – i did not expect to keep my position as your handler longer than a week, a month… “

the fact that she has even gotten this far is astounding, bittersweet. even if chronos had completed her mission today, who is to say that the council wouldn’t have found another reason to end this charade? in a week from now, a month?

amélie only pauses, shaking her head, a sad smile touching the corners of her lips.

“ if she was good to you, you made the right choice tonight. i will not allow you to take fault.”

the council will blame the both of them, she already knows, no matter what excuse she concocts, no matter its believability.

“ please trust me, chronos. i will deliver the briefing to the council. if they hear you speak, it will only make things worse..  “

amélie’s reaction, her horror, twists something inside chronos. as though she herself has never really sat and looked at the fact deeply enough. this has simply been her reality- her entire adulthood- and her anger has been all encompassing and then nothing more than a dull roar. to see two people so devastated for her in such a short span of time feels surreal. uncomfortable. it forces a certain amount of reality onto her; they did all of this to a kid. 

but she’s not that kid anymore. 

chronos doesn’t know how much time has passed, but she knows it’s been many years. it crosses her mind to ask amélie what year it currently is. to get some idea of how old she is now. to find out how much of her life talon has stolen. instead she lets it go like she has so much- what good would the information even do her? 

“ none of this is right. “ 

it’s a dangerous thing to say. more dangerous than any word that has been exchanged so far; if talon were to know she’d spoken in this way it wouldn’t be about punishing her, it’d be about fixing her. but she needs amélie to know that she sees her. sees that mirrored pain that hangs between them. and she’s sorry too. 

there was a time that lena believed in the deep, inherent good of people, but chronos feels as though she’s forgotten good people even exist. so much so that the woman’s words have her at a loss. to have done so much with no chance of gain and with the constant expectation of failure... 

their time together has been so brief, but chronos knows it’s changed something in her. recovered something suffocated by talon. she’s certain it’ll be taken away again once they’re separated and this window of kindness, of humanity, disappears with amélie. still, she’s grateful. 

if only she could repay her. even just by taking the blame for all of this and leaving her handler innocent. 

but amélie is right. 

chronos’ jaw clenches, brows creasing as she nods. if she opens her mouth it’ll make everything so much worse. when the briefing happens, chronos will be quiet and three feet back just as she always is, while everything is determined by everyone but her. 

it’ll end better for them both if amélie throws her under the bus, but chronos can tell it won’t happen. she can tell that amélie is incapable of such cruelty, no matter how necessary it may be. 

“ i trust you. “ 

chronos is surprised to find that she actually means it. 

[superluminas]

MA’AM

upon accepting the role as her handler, the dossier that fell into her hands was really quite sparse – omitting many important details about who exactly chronos was and what she did before. anything that implied even the slightest that she was human, gone.

instead, those pages spoke much about her physiology and capabilities, as well as warnings. as though chronos was some kind of caged and dangerous, volatile animal – expected to lash out at any of her captors at any moment.

she knew a few things about her, of course. gathered from bits of conversation with others, context clues. but she hadn’t known she was a pilot. initiated into an organization like that so young, sixteen…

her heart aches deeply for her. 

it’s too young. too young to be alone, without family, in a strange new place. without someone - anyone - to look out for her. she almost relates, in a strange way, to just how young she was when she married her husband, subsequently losing everything she ever had: her family, her friends, and all of her support systems.

“ i am very sorry, chronos. i didn’t know. ”

she pauses, unsure of what else to say. a distinct heaviness sits on her tongue, pulling the corners of her lips downward into the slightest of frowns.

“ i knew her once as well, a long time ago. “

amélie isn’t really sure why she brings it up. the last memories she has of her could not be more different, opposite, from the ones chronos has. so regretful is she that she said anything at all, that she’s immediately moving to rescind it –

“ a little bit. but it was mostly through my husband. “ may he never rest in peace.

the lie is laughable, really. ironic, isn’t it, that angela was one of the last faces both of them saw before talon. for amélie, the last one to send her directly back into her husband’s arms.

she may as well have gift wrapped her and delivered her to talon herself.

“ i used to pray, every night, that there may never be another person brought to this place unwillingly. as your handler, it meant the world to me that i was even given the chance to try and help. chronos, i am so, so sorry that i – that there was nothing i could do.”

it’s a goodbye, without having to say the words themselves. this is her own failure. it is catastrophic.

she keeps her head straight, chin up and forward, fearing the emotions that rise in her throat, flowing in tears that begin to sting at the corners of her eyes. she blinks them away, rapidly.

“ i wanted to do more. i wanted to do so much more.”

chronos can see the surprise in her handler’s face and she knows with certainty her file never let on about who she was before. her humanity was erased the moment they got their hands on her. 

a strange, choked laugh finds its way out of her throat. 

“ talon got me when i was eighteen. “ 

she sounds almost amused, though inside she feels nothing. her anger has eaten away at her until only the numbness of fact remains. and the absolute absurdity of the knowledge that angela last saw her as a child.

her gaze lifts as amélie admits a connection to angela that chronos had only guessed before this moment. she waits for more, for an explanation, but none comes. instead a rushed lie that chronos makes no effort to pull apart. 

yet, even in her avoidance of the truth, the woman gives her another piece of information about herself. 

husband. 

she wants to ask- to learn more- but no question comes to her lips; this is a moment in which she has chosen to offer her own history as some attempt to explain why she’s fucked them both. amélie owes her nothing. 

her handler paints a vague and terrible picture with her words, but fills in no details. just the information she was married and she came here unwillingly- something she’d already implied but has finally confirmed. 

chronos simply shakes her head, unwilling to allow amélie to blame herself. 

“ i’m sorry, ma’am. whatever you’ve done, and whatever you’ve planned, i’m sorry you wasted your time. “ 

it’s a genuine apology and one that carries the heaviness of grief and it’s inevitable result; acceptance. all she can hope for now is that her handler won’t take blame for her immeasurable error. yet something tells her amélie will attempt to do just that. 

as fruitless as it might be, chronos lifts her gaze and holds the woman’s pained eyes. 

“ i will make sure they understand the failure was mine, ma’am. there was nothing you could have done. you won’t be the first handler that’s failed to control me. “

[superluminas]

MA’AM

talon’s aircraft will return them back to base within a matter of a few short hours – the only time remaining, amélie is certain, that she’ll ever have with chronos again. word of their failure has likely already reached her superiors back in venice, who will show none of the mercy chronos just did to her intended target.

aboard the jet, there’s not much to say. she could warn her what awaits them, but chronos already knows that.  in these last moments of peace, solitude, her mind deserves to be elsewhere. what’s done has been done – nothing to change that now other than a miracle.

amélie removes her headpiece, strands of dark hair stuck to the sides of her face, loose from the long braid that tumbles over one shoulder. the visor is set in her lap, gentle, long nails nervously and subconsciously drumming on the metal as she sits there in silence.

chronos is the first to break it, and amélie’s eyes widen, darting around the cabin, to the cockpit – sectioned off, but still too close for comfort – and back to her subordinate’s gaze. her lips pull ever so slightly downward, a manifestation of apprehension.

a reminder they’re not alone. at this point, perhaps chronos is right: that there is nothing left to lose. yet amélie still hopes for some chance of salvation. that there remains some chance her excuse will buy them more time – even if that hope is delusional or realistic.

every subsequent mistake is a tip on the scale against her favor.

“ chronos, i don’t think — “

she pauses, cautiously. her eyes meet chronos’s, gentle, forgiving. when she chooses to speak again, her voice is soft, barely above a whisper, hoping the hum of the engine will do well to cover their conversation.

“ i understand, chronos. there is nothing that you have to explain to me.”

she, too, has been asked to kill those she once cherished and cared for deeply. the conflict between doing what is right or fulfilling orders only to avoid punishment is one she knows intimately.

how can she fault her for being human?

“ i promise. “

there’s no freedom in the open air and expanding emptiness of the desert around them, and yet still the jet feels like a cage in comparison. a sentence. a step closer to the inevitable consequence of her absolute failure. 

every second that passes is one last spent with amélie; chronos knows there is no way she will be left with a gentle handler after going so unforgivably against orders. 

perhaps she’ll be punished more for talking out of turn, or maybe she’s already invoked the greatest anger they’re capable of. either way, chronos doesn’t care anymore. not here. not with so little time left in the company of the only erson to treat her with humanity. 

“ i know. “ 

a soft and understanding statement; she can tell that, despite it all, her handler is not angry and demands no explanation. still, she wants to give her one. amélie has a neat little document of her history, but there is so much left out. so much that doesn’t matter to an organization like talon. 

“ i was sixteen when i joined overwatch. “ 

she doubts that is in her file. wonders if they even bother mentioning that she was a pilot. 

“ i flew for them. crafts like this- “ 

she gestures subtly and vaguely to the space around them. 

“ a- angela “ 

even without the woman stood before her, it is a struggle to say her name and not hide behind the formality of a title after so many years of conditioning. 

“ she welcomed me from the start. she was kind. “ 

there is no emotion in her voice, her gaze remaining forward as she speaks. the memories threaten to drag her in, but she refuses to let them; it’s too painful to allow space for the girl that used to be. 

“ she was like family. “ 

detail is left unfilled, but implied- there was no family before angela. no one else to care and protect her before she was recruited. and certainly no one else to protect her from the manipulations of the organization. 

“ she was the last person i saw before i woke up here. “ 

it’s a fact that isn’t necessary to the explanation, and yet she feels compelled to share it. something truly personal. truly meaningful. something emotional...

[superluminas]

MA’AM

it isn’t your fault.

for all of these years she’s been gone, she has never believed it to be true. lena’s death – or her disappearance, rather – was her responsibility alone, her greatest failure in all of the years she’s practiced medicine. to hear this from her now, from someone who has lost absolutely everything – her entire life, her personhood, her autonomy – these are words she never, ever anticipated.

so much so she cannot find the words on her tongue to even begin to respond. what can she say? her throat feels dry, thick, yet most emotion remains buried in favor of objectivity.

“ i wish i could’ve done more, lena. but now that i know you’re alive, perhaps there is some research that can be done. i’m going to look into it for you.”

somehow she’s always known that chronos will not be the one to take her life. it’s the good in her that will always remain. it’s why she knew better than to run.

she looks back at her, only to see her old friend suddenly straightening and pulling the mask back over her nose, almost as though she is preparing to depart – as though something or someone prompted her haste. they’re running out of time. she knows that.

watching her is bittersweet. she wants to be thankful she is alive, relieved, but to be alive and in a pain like this may be far worse than death.

“ you have nothing to be sorry for. thank you – thank you for everything. i will make sure you know where to find me if you ever need me.” —

as amélie feared, chronos does not kill angela – abandoning the mission in its entirety, an infraction far worse than attempt and failure. instead she simply leaves her there. unharmed, alive, and free to vanish once more from talon’s sights for several more years. wasting talon’s precious resources…. and their time.

there are no words to describe the severity of the punishments that await them both, but especially chronos. it will extend beyond just reassignment. beyond the physical. amélie feels the weight of her rifle sink deeper into her hands, nauseous, no longer able to think or process anything other than the pathetic excuses she will attempt to feed the council.

her sweet words are useless if she cannot sell them. how much more must she pay?

she rehearses the possibilities in her head, over and over, descending from the rooftop almost mechanically. her limbs move without thought, independent of her racing mind, and she doesn’t even know where they’re carrying her.

she escaped. we arrived, and she had already gone. someone must have informed her of our arrival. the only nurse we questioned disclosed no details as to where she left to.

none of it sounds convincing. her heart quickens, crawling up her throat and draining the blood and the color from her face.

she climbs into the car and she’s silent – all words lost on her tongue as she struggles to gather her thoughts. the heat is suffocating, even in the night, traces of sweat dancing across her skin.

“ i’m sorry, chronos.” her voice cuts through the silence, still guarding her apathy.

it must’ve been difficult, to see her again. amélie cannot fault her for her decision. how could she? 

the apology is for everything. for failing to get her out of here as she’d hoped, for taking so long, critically long, to convince the council she could.

in her heart she knows there is nothing left of her work to be salvaged. once they board that aircraft, only a few hours remain until they part ways indefinitely.

but she isn’t ready to say goodbye.

there’s a part of her that remembers those early days at talon- young, alone, in pain and terrified- and it rises like a lump in her throat after her interaction with angela. talked to like that kid again. not condescendingly, but with genuine worry and an affection for someone who no longer exists. 

if they had longer, she’d explain there’s nothing left to save. that, if angela were to put in any effort to find a solution,  for her to find a way to help her die. when she’d known her, all she’d dreamed of was being a hero. helping people. instead, she’s come to make the world worse by being part of it. 

all she can offer before disappearing in a nauseating flash of red, is a shake of her head. a simple gesture to convey the gravity of consequences to angela giving her her location. 

then she’s gone and the first glimpse of family she’s had in years vanishes like it had never been. 

she’s back at amélie’s side before the trail of red has even faded from the hospital window. her face is masked, posture straight, but her eyes meet her handler’s. she is not hiding what just happened; there’s no point. if anything,  amélie is the one person who might offer leniency in the face of such a grievous disregard for orders. 

she can see it in the woman’s face that she, just like chronos, knows what this will mean. 

reassignment will be the mildest they can expect.

while she doesn’t expect punishment from her handler, she certainly doesn’t expect an apology. 

the second woman in just a short few minutes to apologize for something that is in no way her fault... 

chronos wants to explain, but this has already taken too long- a slight on its own even without considering her undeniable failure. this is their last chance to be alone, to talk without others listening, but they’re out of time. 

not another word is exchanged as they return to the waiting car. chronos is all too aware of how badly she’s fucked up, and yet it doesn’t feel quite real. it doesn’t set in completely until they’re on the jet and she’s once again wishing she could explain. 

it hits like a punch to the gut; this will be her last chance if she ever wants to give amélie a reason. she doubts she’ll even be given a moment upon return to meet her eyes one last time. 

so, with so much protocol already broken and so much already lost, she makes a decision. 

her gaze lifts. jaw set as she once again removes her mask. 

“ i’m sorry, ma’am. for failing. you deserve to know why- “

[superluminas]

MA’AM . DOC

chronos lifts the mask from her features, revealing the sheer extent to which her time in talon’s custody has stolen her warmth, her youth. gone is the familiar, contagious smile of the girl she once knew – nothingness has taken its place, apathy, an emptiness that embraces every word she speaks.

so much has changed. and yet angela still knows that the good in lena survives somewhere. even if she is trapped, suffocated, beneath layers upon layers of defenses that she needed just to be able to survive. a shield against unspeakable, unimaginable horrors.

so she cannot blame her for any resentment she retains. towards herself or anyone else, especially in overwatch. indeed, overwatch should be the one to blame, responsible for everything – angela is never one to deny it.

“ you guess correct. winston and i largely had to secure the resources through our own means. between just the two of us, it wasn’t enough. we didn’t have the team – the numbers – behind us that talon did.”

pain, now freshly unearthed, marrs her voice, yet angela speaks to her as calmly and level as she always has. treating her no different as she would anyone.

once lena vanished from the time stream, overwatch no longer wished to expend any more time into looking for someone they believed dead. within a few days, the organization lena once considered family had already given up on her.

all except a few – and commander morrison was not one of them. chronos must have learned that.

“ yes, i heard. ” she can connect the association rather quickly.

he suffered a very public, high profile death in hamburg some time ago – talon claimed responsibility for it rather quickly. the identity of the killer had been unknown at the time, but they were accompanied by a sniper who worked as a red herring to distract morrison from what would be the true threat. engaging him in gunfire above a public square bustling with people.

if a sniper could weave through morrison’s marksmanship unscathed, chronos was likely only accompanied by one sniper in particular. is she here now, too?

morrison’s death had been violent, bloody, merciless. and it is then that she truly understands why chronos was sent here – not for her research, not to take her back with her, but to kill her like she did morrison before her.

something chronos confirms with certainty in her next words, spoken so impersonally, no longer bearing the affection of the familial “ange”. the order actually surprises her, given moira’s seat on the council. what use is she to steal from if she’s dead?

“ i am not going to run from you, lena. i’m unarmed. all i can ask is for you to forgive me.”

—

everything that unravels through her scope is the culmination of everything amélie had deeply feared. every tentative promise she made with her superiors – they all teeter unforgivingly on the success of this mission. every hope of her retention, of freedom beyond this facility, of any kind of protection at all.

she watches it all fall apart, back into nothing.  helpless, armed only with a rifle she was ordered strictly not to use.

through her sights, she watches as the mask falls next – strictly forbidden for reasons of international security  – and she allows herself to abandon any hope that chronos may yet choose to salvage the mission.

if she could not take her life under the guise of relative anonymity – so that she would not have to see the recognition in angela’s eyes – she most definitely will not do so now. fully exposed. no barrier, physical or figurative, to protect her from her guilt.

amélie lifts one finger to her ear, five minutes too late. every second remaining they have is precious. angela should have been reported to her as dead by now.

when she speaks it is direct, level, reflecting none of their impending loss and failure.

“ chronos, requesting your status on the target.”

she pauses, inhaling gently -

“ we do not have much longer until we are expected at the extraction point.”

each word feels like a blow to her stomach- the warm embrace of being cared about twisted inextricably with the knowledge that they failed because she wasn’t valuable enough. if overwatch still existed, she knows they’d be kicking themselves now. 

after all, look at what talon got from her retrieval. 

maybe not everything they wanted, though; their special weapon stood here against one of their greatest obstacles and not lifting a finger to end her life. the council will be furious. 

well, everyone but moira. 

she isn’t sure what she wants or expects for angela to say, but the plea for forgiveness catches her off guard. enough that a slight creases reaches her brow. 

“ forgive you? this ain’t your fault- “ 

chronos has always known exactly who to blame. it’s why her hand remains by her side and not plunged through angela’s chest. 

her mouth opens again, words hanging on her tongue, when the little piece in her ear crackles to life. 

her handler’s voice hits her like ice water shaking her from sleep. her spine straightens, her hand immediately lifting her mask back into place, and her eyes going cold. 

it’s been too long. much too long. 

for the briefest moment chronos considers lying to her- angela escaped, or never showed, or... but she knows amélie has been watching from the moment she reached this building. knows she’s seen everything. and knows she will not be the one to punish her for it. 

even if she didn’t understand that much simply from knowing her, she understands it implicitly from the tone of the woman’s voice as she speaks in her ear. 

all chronos can say is, 

“ i’m sorry. “ 

unclear which of them it’s directed towards. 

there’s only one brief, silent moment in which her gaze holds angela’s before she’s disappearing in a flash of red, leaving the doctor with a dead innocent and nothing more.