"I wish I could tell you everything was going to be fine..."
Dying starters;
It finally happened. She had gotten too cocky with an expermient, too confident in her abilities, and a miscalculation had occurred. At last, she was dying.
The blackness shot up her arm, every vein bulging like lightening until it scattered over her neck. Her lips were black, black, black, tainted with regret and altered blood.
She reached for cold flesh, nails digging into the other's arm, "It is fine, my pet-" she chokes out, "It's happening-"
With a final haggard breath, her grip on the other releases, and her eyes fall dull, vacant red and blue droning lifelessly into her companion's eyes.
They’re in the heat of battle when the melody starts its cruel song. It starts quiet. It always starts quiet. Almost...Beautiful, like when he first heard it. Piano keys, wafting notes. Something he might enjoy listening to, if in the right mood....
But like a cancer it grows.
Like a wave in a great black ocean it crescendos and swallows him whole. Over the bullets, over the explosion. It screams in his head and all he can do is scream back. He barely registers falling to his knees, barely registers the blood on his fingers as he claws at his ears.
“Get up.”
Like a bullet through the skull it cuts through the noise, leaves him gasping. The bullets have returned, as have the explosions. He’s on the ground, when did he get on the ground?
“Did you hear me? Get. Up.”
He does. Shaking hands and shaking knees, slowly, he stands. Wide golden eyes catch his own. It would almost be comical, the way they then fell into an annoyed expression. Sadly, he was not aware enough to find it funny at the moment.
“You are uninjured?”
He’s silent for what feels like an eternity before he realizes that she had asked the question.
“I am.”
“Then keep fighting. Survive this battle and you survive the day, oui?”
He stares. He doesn’t want to survive this. Does he? Perhaps the melody would stop if he would.
“And if I don’t want to survive?”
The words come out before he can stop them, and her reaction is nearly as involuntary. Those eyes widen once more, before pulling him behind cover, a miracle he hadn’t been shot.
“You must. If you do not survive…. They will force you to.”
He didn’t know what she meant by theat. Who were they? Force him to? He didn’t like that idea.
It wasn’t until months later that he was able to repay her.
Doctor O’Deorain had added something to his suit since then. A little something to quiet the music when it got too loud, she had chirped.
He roamed often now. No destination in mind, no thoughts in his head. Just the music and his own footsteps. His eyes would glaze over as he stared at the ground and walked. Slow steps, like sleepwalking. Not daydreaming, that implied that this was something pleasant. No, these were nightmares.
The hallways were cold. They were always cold. It made him rub his arms and shiver. And they echoed like nothing he’d ever heard before. Every step amplified.
Which is why he was so surprised to see her shoes pass him.
He actually jolted as she did so. Even in heels The Widowmaker moved like a spider. Silent. She could have killed him right then and there and he never would have realized he was dead. He shuddered to think of it. There was a reason why she was the best assassin here.
He watched her back. Her shoulders hunched; fists clenched. She was scared.
And once again he couldn’t stop the words before they came out.
“Are...Are you alright?”
She stopped, and he swore that he heard a sob. He walked closer, slow steps.
“Miss…? Are you-“
And the spider pounced.
No.
She was no spider; she was just a woman. And right now, she had thrown herself into his arms. He could barely decipher her apologies and pleas between tears as she broke down. He exhaled in a sharp action, not realizing that he had been holding his breathe since she had grabbed a hold of him. His own arms lowered, slowly coming around to hold her in an awkward hug.
He glanced around. The hallway was empty except for the two of them. He guided her into one of the empty rooms and helped her sit. The moment he joined her, she was there, crying into his shoulder once more. He learned many things, just from listening. He learned about Gerard. He learned about Amélie . He learned she used to be a ballerina. He learned she used to be her own person. His eye twitched as he listened. There was an awful snake of feeling coiling in his gut. The protector in him rearing it’s head in anger.
Their little acts of rebellion were bound to get noticed.
The music was loud again. Despite Doctor O’Deorain’s device, it had come back. It always would, he knew.
When he had called her name, her true name she hadn’t responded, only turning around to the call of Widowmaker. They had done something to her, something bad. They had taken Amélie away again, AGAIN.
Reconditioning, O’Deorain had said when he asked. She had to visit her doctors every so often to tighten her leash, so to speak. He had stormed out of her office, set on finding her, when the good doctor had rushed out and grabbed his arm. She cooed that it was inevitable. Good for the goals of Talon. Taken his weakening resolve and manipulated it. He didn’t struggle as she took his hand, saying her sweet words and promising to quiet the music again. He had one more lucid thought as she fiddled with the device at his neck.
It wasn’t her fault and if she ever wanted, Sigma would help Amélie escape.
chronalized/amesyeuxrien is such a delightful presence on my dash. she’s hilarious, and excellent artist, and is such a skilled performing artist. also irl tracer. i love her so very much and i’m happy to call her my friend.
“Madame, people will talk-“ he begins, settling to caress her features with his digits.
She gives a sad smile and a shake of her head, strands of hair falling over her eyes which he catches and quickly brushes away with a thumb.
“Let them.”
He sighs, an action entirely useless and stares into her eyes. It’s almost time again. She’s lasted longer this time, giving him a useless bit of hope, that perhaps Amelie would be gone for good- but it was not to be.
A kiss is placed on her forehead as he pulls her close, then under his chin to press her head against his chest. He feels her breathing even out and knows that sleep has retaken her once more.
Curled around her like this, he barely hopes to protect her. From the world. From Talon. From himself. His shield is meager, fragile as glass, and yet the action is done anyway. Perhaps if he kept hoping, kept wishing on stars, kept gambling, that she would stay here like this. Perfect. Pristine. He wanted to remember her in these moments. Her hair slightly disheveled, frizzy, short, but oh so nice to run his fingers through. Her lips, just barely parted.
Her when she was with him.
But there was no such thing as luck.
It made his core ache, a buzzing electrifying and incredibly painful feeling in his chest. He felt like he might die any moment there, his arms still coddled around her form. Another victim claimed by The Widowmaker. Omnics did not ache, this was what was believed, but he knew the truth.
A heart, a core, love could make either ache just as easily as the other.
rad you're like my favorite artist/author tbh, your art inspired me to work on my own drawings and i can't thank you enough for keeping my favorite ship afloat :')
:OOOOOOOOOOO alksjdflskdjfslkdfjsldkf i love me some wt that’s for super sure,
