moved

dans ma ligne de mire.

[viseurouge-archive]

i actually have so much inspo to write here lately and nobody to write with so i think it's about time i archive/remake

[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."

[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."

[viseurouge-archive]

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? “ 

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.”

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CHRONOS:

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.

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.”

[viseurouge-archive]

CHRONOS:

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.

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.

[viseurouge-archive]

CHRONOS:

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.

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.

[viseurouge-archive]

CHRONOS:

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. “

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.”

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CHRONOS:

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. 

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.

[viseurouge-archive]

CHRONOS:

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. “

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..  “

[viseurouge-archive]

CHRONOS:

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…

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.”

[viseurouge-archive]

CHRONOS:

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- “

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. “

[viseurouge-archive]

CHRONOS:

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.

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.

[viseurouge-archive]

CHRONOS:

she should feel something as she looks down at the body of the young nurse, but numbness stretches into infinity within her chest. as deep and endless as the pit of her accelerator. 

angela looks at her with pain and grief, but any surprise has already faded; even if her survival is news to the woman- it’s clear she’s pieced together the events that lead to this moment. 

already recognized, already having failed, chronos reaches up and pulls away the mask that covers her nose and mouth. all her features are on display and still her expression offers no emotion. 

despite her anger at overwatch, she believes her. still, it does nothing to lessen her hatred of jack and the organization she’d once worshipped. 

for the first time, she speaks. voice flat- so very opposite the bright and cheerful kid angela had once known. even with the mask off she’s nearly unrecognizable; hair long and neat, all childish roundness and warmth now stripped from her face, neck bound in thick black lines of talon’s ink. 

“ let me guess. overwatch refused to waste the resources. “ 

meanwhile talon sunk every coin they could drag out of their patrons into making her theirs. 

the regret in the woman’s eyes offers no comfort, only pain. it’d be easier to resent her, but instead the emotion clawing at her is that of a deep, terrible sense of loss. to know someone tried. someone wanted her. and still her life became this. 

the offer of help is deeply sincere, but it brings anger burning into her chest. not because she doesn’t want it, but because she so terribly does.

“ commander morrison is dead. “ 

she isn’t sure why she says it; surely angela already knows. the whole world knows. but part of her wants the woman to know it was her hand that took his life. not to make her afraid- it doesn’t seem anything would do that now- but maybe to make her see. make her understand that the girl she knew is really gone. 

better to kill hope in infancy than let it grow and watch it cut down before you. 

not just angela’s, but her own… 

she can’t let herself think for even a moment that help could be found. 

“ the council wants your head next, doc. “ 

doc. so impersonal. she was always “ange” to her, and yet even the formality of her full name is too far out of reach now. for years everyone has been their titles- extreme punishment awaiting any failure to comply- and that conditioning clings to her even here. she isn’t sure the last time she even attempted to break that rule.

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.”

[viseurouge-archive]

CHRONOS:

there’s no immediate recognition in those eyes. not that she expected any… there’s just something surreal in standing so close, in holding her gaze, and being a stranger. 

all that concern and kindness she knows so well is directed to the woman in her arms, not her. of course not her.

for just a moment, chronos feels a passing shiver of regret before it falls out of her reach again. 

she offers no response, but she does lower the woman to the ground with an odd gentleness. almost an apology. or, at the very least, a show that she didn’t kill her out of malice. even after all these years, even as an unknown figure, she still cares what angela thinks of her. 

by all reason the job should already be finished and she should be on her way back to her handler’s side, and yet she finds herself frozen. staring down a memory. 

her gaze follows angela’s as it flicks to the overturned photo, and she watches the moment of realization. it shouldn’t come as a surprise; she knows how smart the woman is. still, it feels wrong. 

with jack she’d wanted him to recognize her- had some sad and misplaced hope that once he realized who she was he’d try to save her. and when he finally had, all she’d been left with was anger. 

here, though… now… 

all chronos feels is a growing icy dread as angela makes the connection. 

fear made heavy by shame. 

lena… 

how can a name feel like hands around her throat? how can a name strike like a dagger? how can a name crack the numbness that protects her? 

how can a name drag her back to the scared child that woke up in a cold, unfamiliar lab?

chronos takes a step back and, despite herself, she looks away- gaze on the floor. it’s only for a moment but it’s enough to erase any uncertainty along with the remnants of her carefully crafted armor. 

all she can do is shake her head, knowing her eyes now betray the pain she’s been carrying all these years. 

lena -- or this pained young woman talon has forced her to become -- gently lowers the lifeless body of her colleague to the ground, allowing angela to inspect the damage sustained to the cervical spine. the amount of force exerted, irreparable, is almost impossible.

angela remains on her knees, the young nurse’s body limp in her arms, yet her heart mourns for not one, but for two.  for the girl she thought of as family, as a sister -- the girl she tried so hard to protect from the world, from the organization that she saw overwatch becoming.

she failed her. they all did.

she’s heard the whispers of the horrific experiments conducted in talon’s laboratories, enacted by moira’s hand she is certain. one glance at her reveals only the surface of what she imagines has been done: limbs that are no longer flesh and blood, superhuman speed and strength miles beyond any of overwatch’s capabilities.

when angela looks at her, she feels only an overwhelming sadness. “ winston and i ... we never stopped looking for you, hoping you were alive. i am sorry we could not get to you fast enough. i am so sorry.”

the rest of overwatch believed her to be dead. after all these years, angela didn’t want to believe it was possible.

there had been some news, she knows, of a new talon agent rumored to be incredibly agile and strong. high profile cases, activity across the globe seemed to be increasing. still, she couldn’t have imagined .....

cannot even now.

and regardless of what talon sent her here to do, angela does not fear her. in her body language, her features, that much is clear -- she feels only grief.

she doesn’t know what to say, what to ask her. whatever she has been sent here to do, she clearly has been given no choice. not at the risk of inciting the wrath of whoever is responsible for what has been done to her in the first place.

“ maybe there is something i can still do to help, lena. i don’t know... i don’t know what exactly they’ve done to our technology, but i could do some research.”

it’s not at all a plea for her life, but rather a genuine, sincere offer of help.  angela does not believe talon would come for her life -- not with moira on the council. 

[viseurouge-archive]

CHRONOS:

there is no sleep, of course. not a moment of rest in the seemingly endless night. she should be exhausted, but instead her body buzzes, mind racing, as the eventual knock comes at her door. 

always she knows who waits at the other side when those soft taps echo in her room; the only person here to ever offer her some kind of humanity. she stands to attention, already in uniform, and pulls her mask into place. the literal one now. 

the form of it over her nose and mouth offers a sense of detachment- even less of a person beneath its dark fabric. maybe today it’ll make it easier to be what she has to be. 

when the door opens, there is no lingering, no extended moment in the doorway as they steal a second outside prying eyes. there is no meeting of gazes or soft words exchanged. chronos simply falls into line and follows amélie into the hall and along the labyrinthine route to the hangar. 

it’s reflexive, the way her brain instantly rattles off the names of the crafts they pass. all the way up to the sleek black jet waiting with its ramp extended. she’s flown this one before- years ago. remembers how fast it was. how smooth. 

it’ll get them to the mission in no time. 

she curses it for that. 

in flight, amélie once again briefs her, but the words don’t quite reach. it’s as though her body sits on board but her mind has been left behind on that landing strip. if only it could stay that way… but as they touch down, she’s dragged right back to herself. suffocated in the balmy night as they step out onto the tarmac. 

numbness chokes her as they climb into a nondescript car- cheap and worn down for talon’s tastes, but necessary to blend in along the rural roads. 

they are dropped at the tallest remaining buildings in the war torn town and, silently, they part ways. the hospital is obvious from here; the only place lit with electricity beyond the rubble and dust. she knows her handler will find the best perch and, as for her, the distance is swallowed quickly by her accelerator. nothing more than a flash of red in the night. 

it’s late. quiet. there are only a few guards out front of the building and it’s obvious even from a distance that they’re nothing more than armed civilians still clinging to the only home they’ve ever known. they can’t be any older than her. 

another quick flash and she’s on the roof, searching out an entry point. a locked door wouldn’t be a problem, but she need not even try; a hole filled only with blue tarp sits only a few feet away. 

she’s silent as she drops down into the dark, unused room and makes her way into the dimly lit hall beyond. 

talon’s order of minimal fallout sits in the back of her mind as she makes her way through the building, avoiding cameras and blinking out of existence at any passing nurse. it’s for their own sakes they do not see her. 

even empty, chronos knows angela’s office as soon as she finds it; organized but clearly inhabited by someone busy and exhausted. on the desk sits an old framed photo of a few overwatch members smiling and huddled close. it’s one she knows well. 

after all, she’s right there at the edge, grinning brightly; her first mission flight. angela had dragged her into the frame, insisting she was just as much a part as all the others… 

briefly, her fingers trail across it. a moment of pain before she’s tilting it forward and hiding the familiar smiles. 

behind her, the door opens, catching her by surprise in her moment of distraction. she turns quickly, expecting angela, but instead is faced with some young nurse with an anxious face. 

their eyes lock and time ticks to nearly a halt as realization and horror begin to dawn across beautiful features. the woman has barely managed to turn back to the hall, mouth open to scream, by the time chronos has reached her. 

it’s unfortunate. 

that’s all she can think as the woman’s neck cracks within her grasp and the beginning of a cry leaves her as nothing more than a choked breath. 

her body is still within her arms as the door is flung open yet again. this time her eyes meet familiar blue- tired and wrinkled at the edges, but unmistakably belonging to a memory. 

angela.

had this been any other target, amélie's confidence in chronos would be unshakable. yet tonight she watches, helplessly, as her subordinate must part from her side and slip away, lingering only as a trace of red light where she once stood.

there is nothing to be done now but wait. apprehension pulls at every step she takes, weighing down the rifle in her hands -- a reminder of what exactly she cannot and must not do -- as she settles into position on a distant rooftop. one finger lifts to her temple, and all four lenses of her visor lower over her eyes, drenching the buildings around her in red light.

it is clear rather quickly that much of the building and its surroundings have been emptied of people at this hour of night. there’s a few that remain: the young guards who stand watch outside, and a handful of night shift nurses within the small, dimly lit hospital. sick patients, much of them bedridden, pose no immediate threat to the mission.

among those thermal bodies, one burns brighter and redder than the others. this is chronos, feverishly hot, moving quickly and silently through the halls, out of sight. like a ghost.

she watches her through her scope, breath hitched in her lungs as chronos slips into a room she knows is the doctor’s office. it’s empty, but it is evident that whoever was here has not yet left for the night. a handbag on the chair, scattered papers, a white coat hung by the door -- 

there’s a photograph on the desk, one she can identify as several overwatch members, some of whom she recognizes as her husband’s former colleagues, angela included. gérard, however, is not in the picture. but to her surprise, chronos has hesitated upon it, tracing briefly the outline of the frame. and in that moment amélie realizes that the unfamiliar face on the far left -- the one she did not recognize --must have once been her.

the one standing next to angela. not only were they close, they must have been very close.

her stomach sinks, accepting the very real -- now imminent -- possibility of failure.

a young woman enters, a nurse, and chronos has disposed of her quicker than she has time to line up her sights.

but the next time the door opens, it is a very familiar face. aged, a bit more than before -- amélie cannot even remember the last time she saw her, but the years have taken their toll.  unarmed, helpless. an easy, quick job for anyone except the agent they sent out tonight.

her finger lingers on the trigger, aligning angela within her crosshair. it would be so easy.....

but she does not do it. cannot. just watches, helplessly, as the reunion unfolds before her.

-- 

the unmistakable seal of talon’s insignia marks the uniform of her intruder, who holds the lifeless body of a good, innocent woman within her arms. still warm, killed only seconds prior -- mere seconds of time that she could have interfered and possibly saved her.

it’s clear who talon has come for. they’ve been looking for her, she knows, for a long time. and she thought she covered her tracks well enough....

without her armored suit, her weapons, she has nothing. any fool would run, but angela is smart enough to know that’s not an option.

she looks into the stranger’s eyes, dark, unwavering, unable to immediately place why they make her feel so uneasy. they’re familiar, unreadable, but hold a certain heaviness in them she’s somehow always known. a heaviness that has haunted her for many years -- 

“ whatever it is you want, i promise i will give it to you if nobody else is harmed. i know you have come for me --  so please, just let go of her body.”

angela’s voice remains calm, steady, even. she doesn’t know if there’s anything she can do for her colleague at this point, but she has to at least try.

she glances back up at her intruder, both hands raised above her head, back to the woman’s body, to her eyes, to the photograph she realizes has been toppled face down on her desk.

no. it cannot be.

the mix of emotions she feels is indescribable. horror at what has been done, anguish, guilt, sadness, shame. not among them, however, is fear.

she lowers her hands, slowly, over her mouth, shaking her head, unable to fathom or process the fact it could be true. when she and winston had lost her all those years ago.... talon must’ve taken her. it would make perfect sense, except where did they obtain the technology....

she stops her mind from racing. it is not the time for questions.

“ lena.... “

she chokes out her name, one she hasn’t spoken in so long. one she believed dead.

“ lena, i am sorry. oh god, i am so sorry..... i didn’t know.  if i knew -- “

lena is almost unrecognizable -- talon has done to her as they had to amélie before her. broken down, surgically altered, and tortured, she imagines, beyond anything time or trust, friendship, could heal.

she hopes, only, that she could forgive her. she wishes, only, that she could help. if there was anything that could be done ---

[viseurouge-archive]

CHRONOS:

it’s as though her mind is split in two- memory and lingering remnants of the girl talon killed, and the coldness of the weapon they expect her to be. a mask to protect herself now more than ever. it’s so much easier to compartmentalize and hold this mission as a list of actions to perform and not what it truly is. 

does angela even know she’s alive? 

no matter the surprise or fear the woman might feel upon seeing her, chronos knows amélie is right. she’d never fight her. not like jack. maybe she could simply take the woman by surprise and end it before she knows what’s happening. a quick strike and chronos would never have to see the look in those familiar eyes as she sees what she’s become…

“ but she won’t expect one of us. “ 

for the first time, chronos’ eyes lift and lock onto amélie’s. one of us… so quickly brushed over but impossible to ignore the only meaning those words could hold;  amélie knew angela too. for one long, still moment, she searches her as though the explanation or connection might present itself for her to see, but her handler gives nothing away. 

a breath later and her gaze is locked forward again, her head moving in a mechanical nod. 

“ minimal fallout. understood. “ 

the implication is clear- angela’s assassination must be executed and staged in a way to strike as much fear as possible. no quick end or dignity as she’s left to be found. a message as clear as halls lined with bodies, but announced through only one death. 

“ no further questions, ma’am. “ 

chronos doesn’t want to so much as think about it again for the night, and her silence reflects it; not another word in the following hours, not another breach of protocol. not even as amélie deposits her back at her quarters. 

desperately, she wishes for one of those little pills. not for physical pain this time but to help her sleep, help her forget, help her wipe the last image of angela from her mind- a smiling but worried face disappearing beyond the cockpit of the slipstream. 

instead, she lays on her back and stares at the ceiling, for once wanting a mission to come sooner, wanting to be commanded and watched so she might slip into autopilot. so she might turn off her mind and dampen the agony overtaking her.

there’s nothing more to be said in the time they have left together. and should she dare to try, she knows any words of comfort would only reflect right off of her subordinate’s carefully placed shield. 

there’s no amount of sympathy she can give here that can quell the pain of what talon has asked her to do. nor is there any use in mounting any more pressure upon chronos’s already heavy shoulders -- even as much as she wishes to warn her what could happen if angela lives tomorrow night.

the loss of everything is at stake. yet amélie cannot bring herself to even speak the possibility aloud, in fear of confirming its truth.

so she simply sits back in silence, closing the dossier gently and rising from her desk to escort her subordinate from the room and back to her own. protocol commands every inch of her, from her rigid posture to those beautiful features, distant and empty. 

though even such practiced apathy cannot ever hide the sadness that seems to perpetually linger in her eyes.

chronos cannot look at her, not anymore, not in these hallways that strip their personhood bare, back to nothing. but if she could, perhaps she could see she truly is sorry. perhaps it is what she wants her to someday be able to see.

amélie cannot sleep that night -- never could before missions. but this night is spent in uncertainty, deliberation. dread for the unknown.

by three in the morning, she is sat before her mirror, watching the true, sickly pallor of her skin disappear once more beneath a layer of concealer, as it does every morning. blush, dotted high upon the apples of her cheeks, breathes an illusion of life into a body that shouldn’t be.

she waits, counting the hours and minutes that remain in agony, thin hands weaving her hair in a tight braid away from her face. 

by a quarter to five, she can finally retrieve her. in full tactical uniform, she knocks on the door, three times, always unwilling to enter until given the consent to do so.

“ it is me, chronos.”

[viseurouge-archive]

CHRONOS:

amélie quickly returns to protocol as chronos desperately clings to it, unable to face whatever emotions wait in authenticity. in her mind she tries to erase angela from the image- let it be just any other mission. 

she’s taken so many lives now that regret and grief have slipped beyond her grasp. killing is nothing anymore. truly, if she’s honest, it’s one of the few things that can make her feel alive… 

so this pain and hesitancy drags her back to the early days in a way that’s dizzying. 

18 and scared… in so much agony and having to learn not only this new, strange disconnection from time, but new limbs. still waiting for overwatch to save her. still crying every night. 

that first life she took had her hyperventilating. shaking and sobbing as she stared at the endless red that bled into the light of her accelerator until she couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. 

amélie’s voice draws her back to the present, and chronos swallows hard. blinks harder. 

this is just another mission. just another life. she doesn’t even know angela anymore, and the woman certainly doesn’t know her. it’ll be muscle memory and it’ll be over and she’ll never have to think about her again. 

“ minimal security makes it easier, but she’s smart. i wonder how much she’s prepared for circumstances like these. not that it matters- there’s little that can get in my way. “ 

not said with pride or even confidence; just a statement of fact. a statement she wishes weren’t true. 

“ are they looking for more casualties, or minimal damage? “ 

chronos knows how much talon loves a bloodbath, but she doesn’t know what to expect in a situation like this. punishment for everyone who’s worked with the doctor? or just the removal of their strongest support and their hope along with her… it all depends on what message they want to send. 

amélie cannot think of anything she can do to dull the pain of this mission to chronos -- not when she refuses to let anyone in like this. those impenetrable walls are only as strong as any lingering affection she may still hold for angela. and when she sees her again for the first time in years, in just a matter of hours ...

it may very well be their last mission together if everything falls apart.

jack had been chronos’s very first mission. the stakes had been high then, but now they are even higher, much higher. now, she and chronos have proven their success and efficiency to the council a thousand times over. and should angela ziegler - an easy, defenseless target of utmpost importance - slip through their grasp, there will be no forgiveness. no second chances.

“ yes, she may be smart, but i do not believe she’ll engage you.”

or even run....

she pauses, considering her next words. she once knew angela, and if it is true that angela once knew chronos, she likely will not engage her in a fight back, even in defense. she was different than jack in that way.

“ she could expect talon, but she won’t expect one of us. there’s no preparation to be had for that.”

one of us. it’s unspoken, the true meaning of these words, but the implication is clear. angela will not be caught off guard by the ambush itself, but rather by the identities of those who’ve been sent to find her. and if it is true that angela once knew chronos, she will not expect to see her like this. nor working alongside amélie lacroix.

she remembers, years ago, the first time they had all saw her after what she had done. after who she had become. they blame her, still, for her husband’s death. she knows it -- remembers the horror and fear in ana’s eyes right before she took one of them from her forever.

angela was different. she had asked her to forgive her, offered to try and do everything she could to save her from the incurable, progressive illness slowly killing her body. still, amélie couldn’t forgive. nor will she ever.

but maybe chronos can... and that’s what amélie fears the most.

“ they’ve asked us to keep additional casualties to a minimum. we shouldn’t be taking anyone else out unless they’re an active threat to the mission. talon doesn’t want or need this to be a spectacle -- angela’s death will speak for itself once discovered.”

even though she’s wanted her dead for a long time, she cannot help but find the council’s request somewhat ridiculous. it is almost as though they’ve lost sight of what truly matters to them. from a logical standpoint, shouldn’t they want them to take her alive? isn’t she more useful that way? all of the research she’s done.... 

still, it’s not amélie’s job to question orders. especially not when it concerns something she’s wanted done for a long time. “ any other questions?"