#shattered runephoenix6769

[runephoenix6769]

Shattered Part 5

Widowmaker attempts to break free from Talon.

( From all povs.. Lena is not overly friendly to begin with. I shall be uploading here, continoulsy editing and eventually when I’m far enough ahead on Ao3.) 

You can find Parts 1 - 4 under the shattered runephoenix6769 tag. If not i can just reupload. Enjoy.) 

                                        Shattered Part 5

Pushing open the door that would lead to the female communal showers, the ex RAF pilot was greeted by a wall of steam and the heady aroma of cleanliness and wafts of feminine scented shampoos.  It was a reprieve from the stench that still lingered in her nostrils and Lena was convinced had got into the lining of her clothes and hair.

Dumping her wash bag onto the bench,  she swiftly removed the chronal accelerator with practiced ease, stashing it into the specifically created water proof charging dock before the fine mist of minuscule droplets could play havoc with the inner electronics, safe in the notion that Winston would have considered such an eventually especially with her penchant for traipsing the streets of an usually over cast London and taken steps to incorporate it into the design of the life grounding  equipment’s design, it still paid to be cautious.

With a shaky breath, she checked the connection to ensure it was charging correctly and that the seals hadn’t corroded in the often damp atmosphere before punching in her personal code to insure its security.

Her personal locker not more than a few feet away, was sandwiched between Zarya’s and Mei’s, whose remained empty. Lena ran her finger over the piece of scotch tape with her name written in sharpie checking the adhesive. It has been left in the hope of the off chance that the Eco Point operative would change her mind and return to the fold. Peeling at the edges, it would need replacing soon. Lena noticed DVa Nano cola stickers had been added to the collection of pink butterflies and decals of Lucio’s frog, a sign that not only she missed the climatologist’s chipper demeanour.

Letting out a small sigh, she turned the dial of the locker giving it an extra wiggle when it stuck on the number 7 as it always did.  It’s not like she didn’t understand Mei’s trepidation at answering the recall, being left out in the cold by the International organisation was something they both had in common but the glaring difference, Lena had Winston who had worked tirelessly in his own time, risking court martial in a bid to bring her home safely, Mei on the other hand had woken up to the realisation that Eco Point and their team had been forgotten entirely in the fall. Lena couldn’t imagine what it must have been like waking up to find her team mates dead, trapped and with no hope of escape as they suffocated in their pods.

Similar to a cockpit.  Tight. Sucking in oxygen from the tank. Enclosed and inescapable    

Hands fading in and out of existence as fingers tried to grasp the eject button, gasping for air, fists banging on the cockpit’s encasing . Lena’s hand instinctively lashed connecting with the bottom left hand corner of the locker door. Dented from the repeated action of over the years, it popped open.

“Are you ok my little peroskie” came the low toned voice.

Lena blinked, quickly flicking a bright smile on her face to look at the towering form of the Russian Weightlifter; Lena barely came up to her chest.

“Sorry, didn’t hear you come in there.”

Zarya deadpanned, in broken English,

“In Mother Russia, the element of surprise is needed to hunt Omenics. All Russians are silent. We don’t cry when we come out of mother’s womb!”

Lena scanned the Russian’s face for a hint of a lie, finding none, she breathed in wonderment,

“Cor, blimey. Really?”

Zarya broke out into a booming laugh that echoed with the acoustics of the locker room,

“No!” a bear sized hand landed on the pilot’s shoulder causing the much smaller woman to slightly buckle under the weight.  Zarya shook her head, “British so gullible.”

Water trickled in divlets along the grooves of the sculptured muscles, from Zarya’s neck, glistening on their journey along her bicep before dripping from her elbow and splashing with a little plink on the tiles. Zarya quirked an eyebrow and gave a polite cough. A flush of heat rose to Lena’s cheeks.

“Im .. Im .sorry.” her fingers reaching out, “Your biceps are the size of my thighs!”

Zarya’s grin widened and she flexed her biceps for show, nodding in permission for the younger woman to touch them. Lena tried to circle both hands round the bulging muscle and found her fingers too short.  The Russian began to flex in body builder poses, turning this way and that. She turned to show off her back muscles only for the towel to slip down completely. Unashamed, Zarya turned giving Lena a full frontal eyeful. The pilot threw up her hands and closed her eyes, squealing,

“Jesus Christ!”

Zarya stood hands on her hips, revealing in her glory and teasing Lena’s reaction.

“Do you not like the female form? “ She theatrically boomed.

“Yes! Yes!” Lena hurriedly replied whilst trying not to laugh at the ridiculousness. “Just put something on!”

The Athlete let out another rolling jovial laugh as she retrieved her towel and wrapped  it back around herself.

“You feel better now?”

Lena returned it with a genuine smile and a nod,

“Thanks.”

The two women settled into a comfortable silence as they got changed, Lena stripping down to her underwear and stuffing her clothes unceremoniously in to her locker. Retrieving her wash bag, she felt Zarya ruffle her hair as she passed.

“Come, find me when finished reports. Help me take Cowboy’s money in card game, da?”

Once more Lena gave the chornal accelerator dock the once over, testing the handle and double checking that the line of code continued to play in a loop flashing on the interface.

“Yeah, as long as you promise to challenge Reinhardt to an arm wrestle.”

“Done. German knight no match for Russian Bear!”

With a grin Lena slipped into the shower room to the sounds of another booming laugh.

  Making quick work of her shower and dropping off her dirty uniform on the way, Lena was finally able to relax in the safety of her room. The life grounding piece of equipment, once again, was safely stashed in its charging dock not a few feet from where she sat at her desk in her shorts and baggy hoodie.

“Athena, be a luv and turn on the holopad.”

“Of course Lena.”

Whilst she waited for her holopad to come to life she stretched out from her seat yanking on a mini fridge door, blindly searching  it’s depths until her fingertips grazed the familiar shaped neck of a bottle. Balancing precariously she continued to struggle to find purchase, cursing under her breath as she heard the glass bottle tip over rattling against the tray. Slowly she teased it forward by her finger nail in the bottle lid, finally coaxing it into a position whereby she could grasp it.  Happy she pushed the fridge door closed with a foot whilst simultaneously unscrewing the cap off the large bottle of Bishop’s Finger.

Taking a huge gulp of the cool bubbly liquid she praised good old fashioned home brewed British red ale. Resting one foot on the edge of the chair, she relaxed back rubbing out the kinks in her neck. After all these years she thought she would be used to the extra added weight of the accelerator and she was, until she took it off and realised just how much lighter she felt, sometimes swinging round and continuing on an often unexpected trajectory .

“May I enquire as to the mission? All went well?” Asked the A.I.

“Yeah, after a fashion I suppose.”

Stretching up until her breast bone cracked and the muscles in her shoulders gave the tell tall sound of grating together, Lena made a mental note to ask Zarya who her competition masseuse was as she was in dire need of the kinks to be worked out. The last time she had ignored it had been at her own peril, not wishing a repeat of a trapped nerve resulting in sleepless nights, handfuls of painkillers and anti-inflammatories and being bumped off the roster until Angie gave her the all clear.

The tinkling music of the holopad coming to life almost caused her to startle.

“Athena. Can you pull up a report form?”

Taking another much needed sip, her eyes danced across the light screen.  In a strip across the bottom international news headlines played in a loop. The top left hand corner the roster played over as to personnel   away on mission, who was on active on base, who was on downtime. The little icon next to Lena winked green, DVa’s and Zarya’s green with a line through.  Lucio’s red with a line through. Mei’s remained dormant, permanently grey.  Lena had witnessed it flicker green once with an X through it meaning the climatologist had been using the system somewhere in the world and had no wish to be disturbed.

The report template appeared on the screen as Lena took another gulp of beer. Swiftly her fingers tap danced across the keyboard filling in relevant information such as mission code, clicking a drop down menu adding the names of the operatives in attendance, fuel and equipment used.  Her fingers paused in mid-air when she came to equipment collected.

Her eyes flittered round the room before coming to rest on the gun case haphazardly tossed on the spare bed Lena often used as a wash basket and extra storage, a room to herself one of the many perks of being a Specialist Agent.

Under ‘Retrieval’, she began to type only to furiously hit the back space button.  Sitting back again, she absently mindedly took a sip as her eyes focused intently on the gleaming state of the art case.  

Overwatch headquarters having a state of art damping field for any such beacon or tracking device, she had in her haste to get out of her sweaty and stinking uniform put no thought to the weapon she had so excitedly retrieved.  

It couldn’t hurt to look, could it?

Better to be sure that Talon hadn’t somehow found cutting edge technology that could circumvent Athena’s protocols. By all means that pesky Talon hacker Sombra could have found a way.

It was her duty to check wasn’t it? Just in case.

Leaving the bottle on the table, she used her toes to scoot the chair over, the wheels spinning and threatening to go in any direction.  

Pulling the case closer, she turned it over this way before examining the clasps and giving them a quick flick to reveal its treasures within.

Nestled beside Widowmaker’s famous grappling hook gauntlet, the gun gleamed.

Widow’s Kiss.

She doubted is was named that out of any sort of sentimentality on Widowmaker’s part, more than likely some sort of dark gallows humour, if the woman was capable of such things.

Reaching out, she hesitated, her hands hovering over the sleek weapon. The light playing over the hues of black and intermingled purple coating the metal gave it the quality of a living breathing thing.

How would she feel if someone got their grubby little hands on her trusty twin pulse pistols?

Her excitement getting the best of her, she unhooked the straps that kept it in place before teasing it out of its nest.  It was deceptively light, given the information Overwatch had gleaned that it also housed a sniper rifle barrel somewhere in its mechanics.

Fitting it snug under her arm, she gave it a few experimental swings.  Suddenly she jumped up, enjoying the feeling of the weight, hefting it until she found a comfortable way to cradle it. Getting a good grip on the stock and holding it firm against her shoulder, she peered down the sights and the barrel.

She had been on the end of that muzzle intent on snuffing her out of existence plenty of times. And once in Numbani she had held it in her hands, firing it and instantly regretting the recoil, but in the heat of the skirmish she hadn’t had the time to admire the craftsmanship, only wonder how someone who looked so statuesque yet frail could expertly wield such a thing.

Turning she caught her reflection in the long mirror on her wardrobe door. Correcting her stance she admired her reflection, attempting to sound seductive and intimidating in a mock French accent,

“Foolish girrrrl.”

She stepped to one side, only to jump back in front of the mirror,

“Mwaa ha, ha, baguette, hon, hon, croissant!”

She let out a snort of laughter at herself in her tiny shorts, oversized hoodie with one of the most feared weapons in the world in her tiny hands and against her slender frame.

In heady excitement her finger tips began to feel out all the tiny nodges, searching for the trigger mechanism that would open up Widow’s Kiss in all its beauty.  Noting the difference, she was sure she had found the culprit. To press it was so tempting but she would look like a daft bint if once she had the sniper rifle unfolded she wouldn’t be able to get it back in. Who knew what protocols would be in place? For all she knew it might self-destruct reducing her and Watchpoint Gibraltor to nothing more than a crater. Thinking better of it she carefully placed it on the bed, making sure the muzzle was pointed at the wall.

Instead she turned her attentions to the piece of equipment that made the Talon assassin glide through the air and cut soldiers in half. If Widow’s Kiss was sleek and sophisticated, the grappling gauntlet came off as industrial by comparison.  Positioned in the all at once soft but solid packing foam, it looked to Lena that to remove it one had to slip the arm into the gauntlet’s wrist hold and pull.  It’s dull grey exterior belied its predatory allure as Lena slipped her forearm into the wrist hold. Fastening it as tight as it would go she found the interior against her skin surprisingly soft and snug. The pilot gave it an experimental tug only for the full case to follow her and hang uselessly.  Holding it steady with her other hand, she tugged again only for this time the foam came slightly loose from its corners.

A tiny piece of white caught Lena’s eye. Peeking out from one of sides, caught between foam and steel of the guncase was the small edge of something . Taking off the gauntlet, Lena used her thumb and forefinger to fish out the curious object. Finally working it loose and pulling it from its hide out, she let out a small gasp.

Only the old fashioned and rich used film stock, everyone else preferring digitalised photo frames that played a number of images on a loop or the more modern holo frames that played snippets of video that back in the ancient internet days were referred to as gifs.

Turning it over in her hands, her eyes roved the image.  Recognising Gérard, she dropped it as if burned. Never taking her eyes of the photograph, she slumped in the chair.

The last time she had seen him had been just before the Slipstream test flight. Being a mentor and a friend, he had drawn her into a one armed hug, telling her how proud he was of her, that she had this in the bag. That he had been rooting for her to be the one picked out of all the hopefuls from the start and no other pilot had been more deserving. That morning something in her gut had told her something was off and she parted her pre-flight jitters he had reassured her, steadying her by giving her a quick nip of schnapps out of a hip flask he called Dutch courage and she had joked that was it because the French didn’t have a word for courage? He had given her a playful cuff over the ear and with one arm slung over her shoulders  walked beside her as the tannoy called out that the test was about to start.  As she had settled herself in the cockpit she had flashed him a quick thumbs up before he had turned walking back into the darkness of the flight hanger, neither knowing it would be the last time they saw each other.

By the time Lena had returned, Gerard Lacroix was dead, said to be killed in the line of duty.  

Gerad’s death wasn’t something that was discussed much and if it was it was done in hushed tones. Rumours had flown rife at the cadets canteena . A Talon operative had snuck like a viper into his home, murdering him and his Prima ballerina wife in their sleep. Eventually as Lena had worked her way up the ranks and her clearance had been changed accordingly, the story had taken a different twist.  

One that the Londoner wasnt entirely privy to.

With shaky fingers and heart pounding in her chest she retrieved the photograph. Treating it with care and reverence she re-examined the image. A happy husband and wife on their wedding day, Gerad looking dashing and handsome in his tuxedo smiling down at a stunningly beautiful woman nestled into him, proudly showing off her wedding ring. Lena recognised the elegant and fine features. She had been up close and personal enough, usually trading blows and those pouty lips pulled back in a sneer ridiculing her.

There`was no mistaking it, the woman in the photograph was Widowmaker.  

She had heard snippets of the sad tale of caution.  She was aware that Anglea and Gerard’s wife had been close. That’s for years they had assumed his wife dead. That Widowmaker had been responsible for the ‘death’ of Ana Amari. Beyond that it was a relative wall of silence shrouded in mystery.

Scooting back across the floor, Lena reached for the bottle of beer taking a sip.

“Athena.”

“Yes Lena.”

“Pull up everything you have on Gerad Lacroix, namely to do with Talon Operative Widowmaker.”

Her thumb lightly brushed over the face of the blushing bride in thought.  Why would Talon’s top assassin keep this? This physical form of a happy memory?  A tangible part of her past?

“Sorry luv, could you add anything to do with Amelie Lacroix to the search?”

“That could take some time Lena.”

Clearing a space on her magnetic organiser she trapped the photograph to the board with a Beefeater fridge magnet.

“Don’t worry luv, I’ve got plenty of time.”

A chatbox pinged in the top left hand corner.

~~ She-Bear~ @FlyBoi  “Weak Cowboy man dare me to a wrestle with mechanical arm. Come watch Russian Muscle crush robot reliance.”

~~DVaInternational~~ @FlyBoi. Lena where are you? McCree is in as idiot. Im gonna live stream it~~

Lena grinned at the invitation, typing out a hasty reply.

~~FlyBoi~~ @She-Bear @DvaInternational. Lemme  finish this an I’ll be over. Don’t start without me!~~

Quickly her fingers flew over the keypad, noting time and date. Describing the mission, she left out the parts about Fareeha and Angela butting heads. She catalogued the guncase and gauntlet and left out the hidden memento. Satisfied she hit copy, save and send taking pains to make sure she had one copy in her personal folder and all T’s were crossed and I’s dotted.

Quickly she got changed, swapping out her shorts for comfy pants, and slipping into her chronal accelerator before secreting it under an oversized zip up hoodie.  Tugging on a pair of ked’s she checked Athena’s progress and setting her own chatbox icon to green with a line through indicating she was available but off duty. Carefully she returned the Talon operatives gun back to the gun case, checking it was secure. One last look at Athena’s progress she grabbed the case before flicking off the light and dashing out the door.

Eriey light bathed Lena’s messy room in its glow. In the top left hand corner the personal roster continued to update. Mei’s grey notification flickered in quick succession coming alight in bright green,  X flashing before  disappearing and turning into a line.

[formerlyrunephoenix6769]

Willow Schnee Theory

from my old blog RunePhoenix6769

I managed to save this partially. h/c

One thing that I have not seen discussed much is why Willow has given up. 

Why didnt she rage, why didnt she tell Jacques to knock it the fxxk off? 

 Its stands to reason that she is quite proficient in the use of her Hereditary semblance if she is in fact the person Winter learned from.  

We have seen the Schnee women in action and damn do they have quite the temper under that frosty veneer. Why didnt Willow just swish, flick SPLAT Jacques? 

But think about it. 

She had been a care free young woman, beautiful, educated and from one of the wealthiest families in the whole of Remnant, she had been seen as and treated like royalty by everyone she had ever come in contact with. She had been willful, wild and happy, her Father’s pride and joy.

She had many suitors, ranging from tribal Princes in the South, beautiful boys with more money than sense, poets who had written sonnets from a far, second sons of businessmen who wished to merge with the mind to force her to relinquish control, wild Huntsmen who looked to tame the heiress not understanding that like the season of creation, she could not be so easily corralled.

They had come with their gifts, their gentle words, their reverence. They had peered at her as if she was a deer on the tundra who would startle at a moments notice. Not one had seen beyond the image crafted by the press or the idea they had created in their heads. Handled with kid gloves, some sought to wrap her in fine furs and silks like fine Mistrali porcelain.

Those suitors she took great pleasure in breaking, watching as their hearts shattered in the face of the icy wilds.

Southern Princes made soft from cavorting within their Vacuon walls, jewels and metals dripping from their pudgy hands, wishing only for a piece of Winter to gaze upon in the gilded cage they would keep her, in the lands of the never dying sun.

Beautiful boys, spoilt by their mothers, never having been beyond their societal circles thinking of themselves as her equal, a playmate of sorts who would willingly accompany them on their never ending whirlwind of dinners and balls and cater to their every churlish whim.

Second sons, hellbent on carving out a place for themselves from under their Father's and older brother's shadow, a prize to be bickered over or dragged into the fold, where she would be an adornment for their arms. A symbol of status and prestige.

Poets and Artisans who lingered on her beauty, describing her as one of the Maidens of the fairy tales of old, returned. Claims of madness that she wrought upon them with her cool indifference, they wallowed in a sickness of the heart helped by their dependence on crystal dust and their tenuous grasp upon reality.

But there is one, one who is different.

He is slightly older, dashing , charming and speaks to her in a way that no one else ever has. He is responsible, steadfast, intelligent, and understand’s her Father’s business.

He courts her, slow and steady. She learns that he is from Vale, the second son of a vineyard owner yet she finds he is unlike the other second sons of the captains of industry she is used to. He has no interest in staking his claim, has no looming father figure he must get from underneath. He is simply happy to be by her side.

As they grow closer, he shows her things she never seen. She tells him of her insecurity that she wont be able to live up to her Father's legacy. He assures her that she shall and he will be there beside her to help her, to share the burden of the company she will one day inherit.

Her Father likes him, her mother does not, her grandmother says Willow could trust a Vacuoan Faunus vagabond more than she can trust him. 

Nobody who loses that consistently at cards can be trusted.

 Willow brushes it off as snobbery.

He suggests marriage. Her Mother disapproves. Her Father is wary that she is rushing into things.

She assures him, this is the man she loves, she wants no other…

How can a Father deny his only child?

Nicholas Schnee reluctantly agrees and assurances are made, he agrees to give up his name of Gele and take hers on their wedding day.

The first few years are blissful, they are learning the ropes at her Father's side. Her husband is eager to start a family and is ecstatic when he learns that Willow has fallen pregnant.

It is not the easiest of pregnancies and her tender caring husband suggests she takes it easy, that there is no need for her to come to the office, he’ll deal with everything.

Don't worry or stress out the baby.

She gives birth to a beautiful baby girl, keeping the W tradition, she names her Winter.. Her husband lavishes gifts on his daughter but the affection isn't quite there. He explains its the office and hes tired.

The proud grandparents dote on their grandchild, catering to Winters every whim. 

As the years pass, she loses her grandmother, swiftly followed by her mother.. Her Father is over come with grief, he isn't as strong as he used to be… Her husband graciously offers to step up to the plate, carry the load, in her stead, of course, just whilst her Father gets back on his feet…

He never does..

The only light in her Father's life is Winter, who he begins to train with mock wooden swords, her delighted squeals of joy echoing through the house as he chases her through the cavernous halls. Willow trains her a bit more seriously, encouraging ballet, gymnastics, and horse riding to help with her foot work and balance.. at her husbands request

Nicholas gently chides her,

“Allow her to be a child”

Willow takes to caring for him as he ails, and he is over joyed when he hears shes expecting a second child.

Whilst her movement is limited, she begins to teach Winter the fundamentals of glyph usage and explains the Schnee semblance

She is so grateful to her husband, for being such a good man, understanding that her Father needs her, for taking care of the business.

Everyone is over joyed at the arrival of Weiss, a middle name belonging to her late mother. She is small and frail but alert. This time, Jacques is much more receptive and affectionate with the new arrival.

And business is booming. Willow hears silly rumours on the social circuit but dismisses them as idle gossip among elitist assholes. The upper echelons of society had never quite accepted him as one of their own. Jealousy at his success when other company’s were flailing.

Her Father’s mind begins to deteriorate until he is the shadow of a man.

When he passes, Willow is at a loss…..

She begins to notice small differences. Her husband's long hours at the office, he's cold, distant.. distracted. He rarely sees his daughters, he loses his temper easily..

When Winter loses her first fencing bout at the tender age of 10, he snaps, Winter cries..

 Jacques apologies and claims its stress, that the pressure of holding up the business after the passing of the great Nicholas Schnee is taking it's toll.

He continues to favour little Weiss over her sister, instead he begins pushing Winter in all her training and academics.

Willow confronts him…

He says he wants what is best for her… That maybe it is Willow who isnt good enough to train her.. He hires Winter the best sword master in the land and demands progress reports.

What has happened to the man she loved?

His cruel words, what has she done wrong?

Maybe another baby might bring them closer?

When Whitley is born, Jacques is ecstatic…. A son!

A son he spoils and lavishes with praise.

For a time they return to their blissful days, but it is far too short before his cold indifference returns.

He almost immediately forgets how he favoured Weiss, choosing instead to treat her like her older sister, constantly applying pressure. Pushing her to her limits with classes and recitals, organizing concerts.

She is a prodigy and must reach her full potential.

Willow can see the seething sibling rivalry brewing, vying for his attention, the jealousy. The competitiveness between the girls. Which her husband encourages, claiming it is healthy for them.

They are Schnee’s after all with an image an to up hold.

They should be the best at everything they do.

The rumours about the company become too dark to ignore, the collapsed mines, the trapped Faunus.. The threat of the White Fang..

Suddenly, Willow's home becomes her prison.. Security ramped up… She always had security but not like this, Board Members go missing.. Family and friends murdered.

Jacques treats her with barely concealed contempt, belittling every thing she attempts to do in the capacity of the SDC.

She decides something needs to be done.. She sweeps into the head quarters.. She goes through the files… She is disgusted..

Who is this man and what has he done with her husband?

She brings it up at the dinner table, she wants the company to reverse its policies.

He laughs at her.

“Willow, “I am the head of the SDC.”

He informs her that she is powerless, only a figure head as she no longer holds any sway over the remaining board members … He has taken strides to ensure that the company is under his control.. Sure she can leave with her money but the company is essentially his.

She threatens to oppose him, he threatens the children's future and thinly veiled, their very lives.

She asks him… “ Did you ever love me?”

He looks at her with a stare as cold as an Atleasian winter..

“No. I only married you for the company”

In that moment she realises that she has been played.. the longest con.. Her mother and grand mother were right…

It all begins to dawn on her..

Willow no longer has anyone to turn to… Any board member she was close to has conveniently disappeared or died.

she meant nothing…. It was all an elaborate charade.

She was a means to an end.

He is a repulsive monster!!

And now her children’s futures are at stake..

Her children… HIS children..

Winter looks stricken. Weiss bottom lip is trembling..

The candles on her birthday cake flicker and die

Willow has never noticed how much of him is in them…

 The set to Winter’s shoulders. The way Weiss scowls at a particularly difficult problem….

And Whitley……. So much like his Father..

[ao3feed-widowtracer]

Fairytale in Gibraltar

Read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/2UIOc6O

by RunePhoenix6769

Inspired by @erollazureus.tumblr Elf Lena Oxton gif/art.

Part of the ongoing SHATTERED.

SET DURING 'SHATTERED'.

Head on over to formerlyrunephoenix6769.tumblr.com to see full post with visuals

Watchpoint Gibraltar has been left in the hands of Tracer over the holidays.

The skeleton crew made up of volunteers and those that have no where to go.

xxx

please feel free to like and comment.. Feedback is always appreciated

Happy Holidays, folks,

Lena takes a moment to reflect on the last year before ultimately spreading some christmas cheer.

Words: 4231, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Overwatch (Video Game)

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/F, Gen

Characters: Lena "Tracer" Oxton, Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix, Emily (Overwatch), Jesse McCree, Jesse McCree (mentioned) - Character, Winston (Overwatch), Winston (mentioned)

Relationships: Lena "Tracer" Oxton/Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix, Emily/Lena "Tracer" Oxton

Additional Tags: Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Fluff

Read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/2UIOc6O

[ao3feed-pharmercy]

Shattered.

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2NvMxg8

by RunePhoenix6769

Told from 4 POV's

  Amelie/Widowmaker attempts to break free only to find people in her past unwilling to let her be.

A Doctor hellbent on correcting her mistakes.

A Security Officer left out of the loop.

And a Pilot left with more questions than answers.

Is the paragon of virtue, what it seems?

REFLECTIONS IS A PREQUEL. RECOMMENDED READING TO GET A FEEL OF AMELIE/WIDOWMAKER'S HEADSPACE AND PSYCHE.

(Tracer isnt overly friendly at first. Slow burn)

Words: 852, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Overwatch (Video Game)

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/F

Characters: Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix, Lena "Tracer" Oxton, Angela "Mercy" Ziegler, Fareeha "Pharah" Amari, Genji Shimada, Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison, Jesse McCree (mentioned) - Character, Aleksandra "Zarya" Zaryanova, other characters will make an appearance will tag accordingly

Relationships: Lena "Tracer" Oxton/Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix, Fareeha "Pharah" Amari/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler, Amelie Lacroix / Angela Ziegler friendship

Additional Tags: Slow Build, Drama, Eventual Romance, Thriller, spy shit, Morally Grey

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2NvMxg8

[runephoenix6769]

Shattered. Part 3B

Widowmaker attempts to break free from Talon.

(one shots culminating in a collection of short fics, From all povs.. Lena is not overly friendly to begin with)

Ill be constantly editing before putting it to ao3 and ff.

Thankyou @call-signtracer for the title and first read

Part 3 is super long so not wanting to jam up your feed, Im going to split it into Part A and Part B.

                                     Shattered. Part 3B

Holstering her gun, the athletic woman turned, disappearing back down the hallway. Alone, Angela tenderly drew a strand of damp hair out of her former friend’s face.

Amelie, what have you gotten yourself into this time?

It was all too reminiscent.

A bright spring morning, Angela had been attending a conference in Paris when the call had come through requesting that she attend the townhouse Gerard Lacroix and his wife shared in the city as disturbing reports of an incident had come through. Information had been sparse, an phone call to the base in Switzerland from the Overwatch agent’s hysterical wife, barely discernible, was all they had to go on.

Morrison had assured her that he was on his way that it was probably nothing to worry about, it being more than likely linked to Amelie’s recent return from Talon’s clutches. Time was of the essence, keep the local authorities at arm’s length if need be. If that couldn’t be avoided, her orders were was to subdue the wife whilst Gerard secured all documents. Keep it contained.They couldn't afford another PR incident, not so closely on the heels of the unmitigated disaster of the Slipstream accident. Gerard knew the drill.

The press being held back by Officers had been the first indication that something was very wrong. Hover cars blue lights flashing, an Omenic police officer had let her though after inspecting her credentials.

The blue and white ticker tape fluttering in the spring morning zephyr had looked out of place on the idyllic cobblestoned drive way flanked by blooming cherry blossoms, twinkling in rays of the mid morning sun. The apprehensive knot as she walked up that drive way sometimes still, years later, gripped her in the darkest hours of the night. To this day she still recalled the sombre faces of the local officers, some refusing her gaze, others looking at her in pity. One officer had approached her,

“We secured the area, we didn’t want to go in until one of your lot came, but we had no choice.”

White knuckled, she had enquired,

“Where’s the patient?”

He had blinked,

“I’m sorry to say Ma’am, there isn’t one.”

Entering that townhouse, a place usually so full of love and life that had now been replaced with a heavy stillness, had taken all her courage.  Her feet had felt like lead as she followed the officer up the winding staircase that would lead to the bedrooms. She had paused, stock still in the doorway of the master suite.  The curtains had shifted in the double bay doors that she had known lead out onto a south facing balcony, the view into the garden had been Amelie’s favourite place, the breeze disturbing soft duck feathers that littered the French polished floor boards as the waft of cherry blossoms intermingled with the metallic tang of blood.  

The officer had stood to one side, remaining by the door as Angela had approached the bed, a lump covered over, one white hand limply dangling down the side, the other flopped on the mattress uselessly curled beside a revolver. Peeling back Egyptian cotton sheets had revealed a pillow placed over the face, duck down feathers mottled through the hole and dark maroon spittles.  She had steeled herself to remove the pillow to stare at Gerard’s once handsome face, marred by a bullet hole, unseeing eyes and lips blue from lack of oxygen.  

She had collapsed into a nearby chair and wept.

“We think there was in intruder. Someone he brushed up the wrong way. Bound to happen in his line of work.”

She had ignored his incompetence at the glaring facts. Better the locals think it was an intruder, rather than the dark suspicions that had grown in Angela’s mind.

“Where’s Amelie?”

“Who?”

“His wife!”

“We didn’t know she was meant to be here.”

“Find her!”

With a crackle of comms and urgent whispers in French, she had been left alone. And that is how the Overwatch leader had found her, in that room that stank of death failure and regret, beside the body of their friend. Morrison had drawn her into a hug as she had sobbed over and over,

“I was wrong Jack. I was wrong!”

Suddenly Tracer’s usual chipper voice replaced with gentle reproach, brought her back to the present.

“Are you ok there Angie?”

Cupboards banging echoed through the apartment. Looking up into Lena’s expressive face, Mercy gave the concerned young woman a small smile,

“I’m fine.”

“We’re gonna help her, right?” Holding up a surveillance sweeper, Tracer began scanning the walls, “I don’t wanna but it’s the right thing to do, init?”

The plucky pilot had been still been classed as MIA when the Lacroix incident had occurred and probably only knew Amelie as the Talon codename of Widowmaker. God only knows, she had every right to hate her; Angela had patched the youngster up plenty enough times after she had come worse off grappling on roof tops with the assassin, and how crushed she had been after the murder of Mondatta, yet the girl’s understanding and good nature gave Angela some hope.

“You’re a good kid, Lena.”

Lena let out a puff of air as she tossed her head in attempt to remove a lock of her unruly hair from her face, a habit she had and a tell-tale sign she was nervous at accepting the compliment.

The Lieutenant returned, holding out a threadbare bed sheet,

“This is all I could find.”

“It will do.”

Tracer continued to check the walls and surroundings as the two other women struggled to manoeuvre the Talon operative onto the sheet. Each taking two corners of the makeshift sling, they grunted under the weight as they shuffled out into the sitting room. Angela worked quickly and with a practised ease as she firmly but gently pressed a stethoscope to a blue breast bone causing Widow’s skin to give an involuntary shudder. Holding her breath, the Doctor listened intently for tell-tale signs of the heart.

Ba dum.  There it was, weak but there none the less. She counted out the seconds. Ba dum. slow, far too slow than was humanly possible. A number of medical situations ran through her head.

Hypothermia. Was it even possible for Widow to suffer from hypothermia?

Flipping the stethoscope over neck, she fished out a small flashlight and began to lift up Amelie’s eyelids to reveal sclera littered with purple dots similar to petechial haemorrhaging.

“She looks like a djinn.” Came the soldier’s brusque tone.

Rifling through her bag, Angela realised she was woefully unprepared for the situation. The last time she had attempted to administer aid to one of Moira’s experiments it had resulted in dire consequences from which no amount of science could return. She was damned if she was going to run the risk of another Reaper happening by her hand.

“We need to bring her to my lab.”

Momentarily, Tracer paused what she was doing,

“Ange, are you barmy? We can’t just waltz into Watchpoint with one of the enemy’s top agents. Its espionage 101, that is!”

From her vantage point, leaning against the wall, Fareeha added,

“Thank you for being the voice of reason.”

“I can’t treat her here, I don’t have what I need.”

“Can’t you just zap her with your staff?”

“It doesn’t work like that Lena. Her physiology is beyond field medicine. One wrong move and she could die, or worse.”

“What could possibly be worse?” Fareeha muttered, darkly.

Lena cocked her hip, the beeping of the sweeper forgotten,

“Look I’m not saying that we’re gonna,”She stressed the words, “Or that we should, but if we were, how the hell we supposed to get her out of here? Its not like we can just mosey on down the stairs and hang a right at the elevator.”

The two older women glared at each other.

“In a body bag.”

“Fareeha, you’re not helping.”

Before another argument could ensue, Lena butted in.

“No she’s right!  Think about it.” Lena began to pace, “We pop her in a body bag and Bob’s your Uncle if there’s anyone watching they won’t know who we have and they will assume whoever it is dead!” Tracer vibrated with excitement, “Its genius!”  

Anglea added, thoughtfully,

“We do have one in the hovercraft. Its standard issue.”

Fareeha rubbed her temples, staring at Mercy. After a long moment she let out a deep sigh,

“I want it on record that I think this is reckless and I’m against it!”

“Mint!” the Brit almost squealed before there was a pop and she zipped out of the door in a flash of light.

Putting her hand to her ear, Angela activated her comm,

“Genji, I need you to contact the base and tell them to prep the secure lab. Protocol 1426, contingency WhiskeyMikeAlphaLima.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“I have a duty of care.” Angela replied, softly.

“Are you sure that is what this is?”

Angela studied the woman across from her. She sometimes forgot just how astute she was and how well over the last few years she had come to know her. Fareeha had been far too young to remember what had happened but it was common knowledge to her mother and the other senior members of Overwatch that Angela had taken to personally shouldering most of the blame. She and Amelie had been close at one point, not being part of the gung-ho commandoes; they had found an appreciation in other things such as the arts and a mutual respect had blossomed into a firm and fast friendship.

“I failed her once, I won’t fail her again.”

Fareeha’s features softened, as she quietly replied,

“Alright.”

Tracer popped, breathlessly back into room, triumphantly holding up the bag,

“I got it.”

Taking the bag from the girl’s unresisting grip, Angela unfolded it, hating the sound of the heavy duty rubber. Too many times she had need of such a thing, she had always loathed the feel of it.  The Egyptian soldier reached out to help her, taking a corner to unfurl it next to the comatose assassin.

“Gather everything. And I mean everything. Not a single trace she was here. Understand?”

Lena buzzed about in a blue blur grabbing everything she could find, only pausing to flick the locks on an expensive state of the art guncase to find Widows Kiss safely cloistered within.

“Score!”

The two women lifted Amelie into the bag, careful not to zip it up all the way. All three Overwatch agents looked at each other.

“Now what?” Asked the Brit.

The lieutenant shook her head,

“I can’t believe I’m asking this. How close can you get to the building?”

“How close you want it?”

Mercy’s head snapped between the young women,

“What are you thinking?”

“We go out of the window onto the balcony.”

Lena grinned,

“I like your style!”

Fareeha pressed.

“Can you do it?”

Lena struck a cocky pose, breathing on her nails, and making a show of dusting then against her shoulder,

“They don’t call me an Ace for nothing.”

“Are you both nuts?”

“What other option do we have?” Fareeha asked, “Do want to risk dragging her ass through a civilian housing hub. All it takes is one idiot with a holocam and we’re all over the news. Puft, so much for a clandestine mission.”

“Can I do it, Mom?” Lena asked with an enthusiasm that belied the gravity of the situation.

Blinking in disbelief, Angela waved her off.  Tracer clapped her hands excitedly before, once again, the young pilot disappeared in a haze of blue light, casting after images of where she once stood, leaving the two women alone.

“Thankyou.”

“Don’t thank me yet. When it goes wrong and it will, you can be the one to explain it to my mother.”

The low thrum of the hover craft, heralded its arrival. Through the window Angela could see Genji hanging casually in the aircraft doorway.  A gust of wind entered, as Angela opened the door as Fareeha , with Widow’s limp body unceremoniously slung over her shoulder, took Genji’s outstretched hand, the cyborg making ease of pulling her into the awaiting craft.

Once there precious cargo was inside, Genji began collecting the remnants of Widow’s belongings.

With one last sweep of the bathroom, Angela spied a small bottle. Picking it up, she gave it shake, the sound of pills rattling within. Slipping it into her pocket, she quickly grabbed her med bag.

“Are we ready Dr Zielger?”

Anglea nodded.

Stepping into the hovercraft, she gave one last glance as the bay doors closed behind her, Lena’s chipper voice coming over the comms,

“Welcome to flight Tracer. Keep all seat backs and tray tables in the upright and locked position. Please be aware of the overhead compartments as things may shift in transit and knock you the fuck out. Our ETA is two hours. Sit back and enjoy the ride!”

[runephoenix6769]

Shattered! Part 2

     (Second instalment.  Widowmaker Tracer fic. Lena is not overly friendly at first.  Will be a collection of one shots gathered together. Multiple POV’s.

Will be edited over time before maybe loading on ao3 and ff)

@call-signtracer                                                           

                                                    ‘Shattered!’

(Part 2. )

 When a call for help had reached Overwatch via ancient back channels Winston had long thought defunct, the Senior officers had cloistered themselves in the main office.

Tracer scuffing the tips of her toes underneath her chair observed the various other members of the team that had gathered for the last hour in the nearby cafeteria, each pretending like they weren’t waiting to find out why the sudden clandestine meeting had been called.  McCree lounged on the battered sofa, arms casually crossed and his perpetually dusty cowboy boots propped on a nearby chair. Genji, head bowed concentrating on sharpening his sword as D-Va tapped away furiously on her hand held console, the cable of her earphones unconnected and dangling uselessly.  Everyone refused to acknowledge each other as view-able through the sheet glass wall behind them, the body language of a heated argument played out.  

The palpable silence was suddenly broken as Fareeha, features contorted in rage, exited the room, slamming the door with a bang leaving a string of expletives in a mixture of English and Arabic in her wake as she stormed down the corridor back into the depths of the compound.  The sound of whet stone on tempered steel stopped, D-Va immediately collected her things, scuttling in the opposite direction of the irate soldier.

“Wonder what that was about?” Tracer asked in a bid to break the tension.

McCree peered at her from under the wide brim of his cowboy hat, the cigar caught between his lips momentarily pausing before it continued to roll on its journey to the other side of his mouth. He gave the young agent a non- committal shrug.

The Senior officers began to filter out of the room, each going in their own direction. Morrison leaned through the door into the corridor,

“Oxton!” He barked, causing Lena to flinch in her seat,

“Cap?”

“With Angela and Fareeha. Now!”  The grizzled super soldier’s gaze briefly paused on the battered cowboy before growling, almost as an afterthought, “Take Genji with you.”

Jumping out of her chair, the Londoner snapped off a salute,

“Yes, Sir!”

Genji sheathed his sword, slowly unfurling as he muttered in his soft voice,

“I would only be happy to assist.”

  The small hovercraft landed in the wide plaza of what had once been an Omenic housing facility. Now it had given way to a decrepit slum. Peering out of the window into the darkest recesses of the square, Lena could make out humans and Omenic alike huddled round burning oil barrels in an attempt to stave off the savage winter that had gripped Europe in its unforgiving clutches. Testing the straps of her chronal accelerator and checking her pistols for the second time, Tracer enquired,

“What are we doing here?”

Fareeha grunted in reply as she tightened her flak jacket over her solid athletic frame and slid a knife into its holster.  Head bowed and continuing to go through her away mission med kit, Angela answered,

“We have been asked to assist in securing a Talon operative.”

“Who?”

“We don’t know.”

The Egyptian solider ripped open the armoury locker,

“I want it stated for the record, I did not agree to this.”

“Fareeha!”  Mercy began softly.

Fareeha forcefully cut her off, shaking her head as she selected a pulse pistol and a number of flash grenades.  “Don’t Angela. Just don’t!”

In an attempt to avoid the brewing argument, Lena once more tried to glean any information on the forth coming mission,

“What is the back up from the local authorities? Police? ” No, she thought, by the looks of this place local police wouldn't frequent here unless forced, “Private security?”

Fareeha unceremoniously shoved the pistol in her gun holster,

“You are the backup!”

Lena blinked in surprise, exclaiming,

“What?”  Looking between all three of her team mates she took a moment before continuing, “Wait a sodding minute,” She gestured with her hands for emphasis, “Is this even sanctioned?”

The Egyptian soldier cocked her head slightly and quirked her eyebrows as the medic remained mute avoiding eye contact. Tracer began to pace along the galley, shaking her head before whirling round,

“Let me get this straight.” She stabbed the palm of her left hand with her finger, “We are here in a civilian hub to retrieve a Talon operative! ” Her voice angrily raised an octave, “Completely unsanctioned?”

Silence was her reply. Cupping her nose and her mouth in her hands, Lena took a deep breath attempting to stem the bubbling anger.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me!” She screamed,“Isnt this what got us into trouble in the first place, under cover ops?”

“Exactly my point” The brawny woman replied.

Lena rubbed her face with her hands, sinking into her seat. What was Morrison thinking, sending them in here without authority to apprehend who knows what?

“At least tell me the intel is solid!”

Angela’s eyebrows knitted together as she zipped up her bag, a steely edge to her voice,

“Winston assured us that it came from a reputable source.”

Genji sagely stated,

“There is no such thing as a reputable source where Talon is concerned.”

The Swiss Doctor suddenly snapped in frustration,

“Would you all kindly shut up!” She haughtily pulled on the lapels of her medical jacket “Let’s focus on the objective we came here to do!”

Bristling Fareeha turned about, hand slamming the button for the bay doors to open.

“Genji, reconnoitre the surroundings, eliminate all and any threats.” The cyborg ninja swiftly took off, disappearing under the weak street lights into the shadows.  The lieutenant motioned to Tracer, “You take point, Dr Ziegler in the middle and I’ll bring up the rear.”

They moved as a well-oiled unit, ignoring the suspicious stares from the residents they passed. They must have looked out of place in this ramshackle high rise, Fareeha in her imposing black combat gear, Lena in her unmarked blue Overwatch uniform and Angela, a large medical bag embossed with a Red Cross and Caduceus symbol slung over her shoulder.  

Concentrating on the mission at hand, they cautiously made their way down a paint peeled hallway, checking every flickering digital number projected from over the doors. The whole place smelt of stale smoke and boiled cabbage over laying others it didn’t bear thinking about. Somewhere a child gave a colically cry.

From behind every door came the sounds of people eking through on the fringes of life, only the poorest of the poor, the forgotten and those that didn’t wish to be found lived here. It reminded Lena of the old high rises that once over had dotted the London skyline.  In his last days, her grandfather had lived in one of them, his RAF pension just about covering the basics as rent prices had sky rocketed along with pound signs in the eyes of the slum lords. It had been a sad end for a life lived with honour in service of his country.

How in this modern day with all of the world’s new technology and wealth could people still be living like this?  It rankled the young agent’s already fragile nerves.

Stepping over the prone form of a passed out man, Lena whispered,

“What number was it again?”

Bending to check the vitals of the misfortune, Mercy replied,

“215.”

“Righty o, see you in a jiffy.” She blinked forward, Fareeha’s warning falling on deaf ears.

Speeding up small flights of stairs and past mismatched doors, she caught the numbers 210, 211, 212 213 214 216 217, before screeching to a halt. Retracing her steps, she crouched low her pistols in hand as she once again checked, her eyes alighting on the numbers 521 sporadically flickering in no discernible pattern over a non-descript brown door.  Light of foot she crept closer checking her surroundings as she reached out with one leather clad hand to warily test the digital keypad only to find it locked shut. She didn’t have long to wait before she was joined by the other two operatives.

Mercy stood back, as the ex-Helix security lieutenant attached a small EMP to the keypad, mutely signing the plan, Tracer nodded in understanding,  her muscles bunched and heart thundering in her chest. Fareeha pressed the button sending a small charge into the lock which fizzled and sputtered before clicking undone.  Hoping for the element of surprise, the young woman bounded into the apartment pistols raised, closely followed by her teammate. Both women gasped for air and immediately regretted it as the sour stench assaulted their nostrils causing their to eyes water. As they moved further into the apartment, clearing it room by room, the smell became overpowering. 

The muffled sound of a shower running caught the ex-pilots attention.

Tracer cocked her head, motioning for the other soldier to follow as she made her way down the hallway towards the noise. A sickly glow reflected off the water pooling against the bowed carpet runner separating the bathroom from the hallway. Cautiously they approached, carpet squelching underfoot as they crept closer. The sound of water drumming a staccato on plastic rang out, no other sounds giving any indication of any occupation.

With Fareeha on the left and Tracer on the right of the doorway, they exchanged a look. Lena nodded to indicate she was ready. Fareeha crouched, back against the wall as she reached out with two fingers pushing the unresisting door open and in one smooth movement Tracer crowded in.

Aghast at the site that greeted her, Lena pin wheeled, her shoes slipping on slick tiles as she tried to retreat, catching Fareeha’s surprised gasp of “Allah be merciful!”  before the world took on a blue hue, all movements outside of the slipstream turning to treacle. The ex-pilot passed Fareeha, witnessed the good Doctor entering the apartment and she was pretty sure she saw the back of her own head before hurtling, pale faced into a rickity chair,

From down the hall, she heard Fareeha’s surprise gasp repeated 

“Allah be merciful!”

“Don’t!” Lena cried out.

Alarmed, Angela demanded,

“What’s wrong?”

And for the first time the ever talkative Lena couldn’t find her words.

“Lena!” the Doctor touched her shoulders, “Are you ok? Is Fareeha ok?”

Haunted brown eyes looked out of ghost white cheeks as she stammered,

“Bloody hell Ange!” A shaky breathe escaping, “Bloody hell!”

Leaving the young agent alone, Dr Ziegler went to investigate only to rush back, ashen faced to collect her medical supplies. 

[runephoenix6769]

Shattered! Part 1

Widowmaker attempts to break free from Talon.

(one shots culminating in a collection of short fics, From all povs.. Lena is not overly friendly to begin with)

Ill be constantly editing before putting it to ao3 and ff.

Thankyou @call-signtracer for the title and first read

                                                      ‘Shattered’

 Widow dragged herself across the worn creaking floorboards; each inch gained a laborious effort, as she attempted to ignore the excruciating stomach cramps instead trying to focus on her destination.  

Not for a second had she thought starting on the path to freedom would be easy, and she had taken great care to make preparations for her final flight knowing withdrawals would be one of many side effects, but she hadn’t expected this.

  This was the tenth day past calling in and she had ran out of pills days ago.  

“Get up!” Amelie scolded, “You were a prima ballerina for God’s sake.”

But this wasn’t like Amelie peeling off her dead toe nails after hours of ballet practice; this was Widow’s every synapse aching yet at the same time static. This wasn’t like the hangovers Amelie used to suffer from drinking expensive wines and champagne, this was Widow’s skin rippling and all at once shrinking. This wasn’t like food poisoning Amelie and her husband, Gerard, had once suffered after eating seafood on a cruise ship, this was Widow’s insides contracting until she thought her bones would break.

Here on the floor of a dingy apartment in the worst part of town, Widow lay curled in on herself clutching a hand gun in a vice like grip drenched in her own sweat, hearing the voices of ghosts long past and seeing flickers of shadows on the walls.

It hadn’t seemed so bad at first, the shakes, shivers and slight muscle cramps she had experienced before when on deep cover missions that had unexpectedly gone over mission perimeters and she had run out of medication. It was usually rectified by an injection Moira prescribed that was only for emergencies.

She had been unable to obtain one, the Talon Doctor keeping everything under fingerprinted lock and key. The French sniper had been forced to come up with an alternative, commissioning a contact of Sombra’s to synthesise an imitation of her usual medication. How could she have been so foolish to believe that a gang banging back street pharmacist would be capable of reverse engineering medication created by a brilliant physician?

With an agonised moan, Widow rolled onto her back. The off yellow artificial light overhead stung her eyes only adding to the dull throbbing headache. Squinting from this vantage point Amelie noticed the bulging wallpaper, stippled with black dots of mould. The floorboards vibrated with a thumping bass line jostling her already taunt muscles, cars honked and revved in the street below assaulting her ears. Widow could hear feet shuffling as people passed in the hallways, scratching of creatures burrowed in the walls. Out of the corner of her eye a cockroach scuttled too close for Amelie’s comfort but Widow couldn’t find it in her to care.

“Get up!” Amelie screamed again in frustration, echoing in Widow’s head causing her teeth to rattle to their very core.

A non-existent breeze goose bumped her skin, raking across her flesh like glass; the waft of fetid air permeated her nostrils, the sweet smell of decay. Maybe an old woman long forgotten, being devoured by her cats.  

Widow’s stomach lurched.

With the last ounce of Amelie’s strength Widow crawled on her hands and knees to the tiny bathroom, willing herself forward as she crawled into the bottom of the shower. Violently she retched, back bowing and hands struggling to find purchase on the cheap plastic as she expelled black viscous liquid. It dangled from her lips in ropy globs, pooling in the basin, its purple hue mocking her as it merged with her wild unkempt hair.

Recoiling in disgust, her tenuous grip gave way pitching her forward painfully into the bottom of the shower and into her own vomit, listlessly Amelie flailed until coming in contact with the shower tap.

Freezing cold water battered her tender skin as she rested in her underwear, breath coming in short staccatos. The thrumming of the water couldn’t drown out the sounds of the blood sluggishly pumping through her veins. Instantly the needle like pains in her chest became ice picks, biting into her hand she let out a pained shriek.

A thought like a jolt of lightening,

“We are going to die here!”

This was not the way she was going out, not like this, sobbing on the bathroom floor like a 1950’s housewife. Gripping the shower curtain only served to rip it from its rings. Instead Amelie stretched as Widow hooked her foot through the strap of her bag, pulling it off the sink scattering the contents all over the tiles.

The phone case shot out of her slippery hands and she scrabbled forward depositing herself half in the shower and half on the tiled floor. Struggling to focus as the individual letters swam on the screen almost refusing to be pinned down, Widow typed out a message begging her only friend to reach out to the one Doctor in the world who might be able to understand her physiology.

Message sent, she listlessly slumped forward, slipping into the world of stage lights and surgeon lamps.

[runephoenix6769]

Here’s my fanfics in ‘SHATTERED’ universe

REFLECTIONS ---- Prequel to SHATTERED , set some point after ‘Alive’ short.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15192530

SHATTERED --- (WIP)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16245743/chapters/37980377

A HERO’S WELCOME. --- Set during ‘Shattered’ timeline

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16276430

[runephoenix6769]

I know I haven't posted much original Overwatch content over the last few weeks, or updated Shattered.

Been snowed under with repeats n essays.

Still figuring out that fic and the Emerald/Ilia rwby fic.

[runephoenix6769]

Shattered! Part 3 A

Widowmaker attempts to break free from Talon.

(one shots culminating in a collection of short fics, From all povs.. Lena is not overly friendly to begin with)

Ill be constantly editing before putting it to ao3 and ff.

Thankyou @call-signtracer for the title and first read

Part 3 is super long so not wanting to jam up your feed, Im going to split it into Part A and Part B.. 

                                           “Shattered” Part 3A

Leaving a visibly shaken Tracer behind in the living space of the ramshackle apartment, Angela rushed head long down the hallway. The carpet mulch underfoot and the smell of damp intermingled with something that the Doctor was altogether too familiar with.

“Stay back!” Fareeha warned, her face a grim mask as she kept her pistol trained through the doorway.

“Lieutenant, what is it?”

“Just a minute.” The ex-Helix security operative moved out of sight followed by the sound of the shower turning off, before quickly coming back into view, gun still held in a steady two handed grip never taking her eyes off whatever lay beyond. Satisfied she motioned to the Doctor “Have a look, but don’t get too close.”

Angela cautiously approached using the collar of her jacket to cover her nose to protect herself from the overpowering stench made worse by the heat from an overhead fan. Fareeha used her body to block the entrance, shifting slightly so the Swiss woman could peer over her shoulder into the room.

Angela gasped. The minuscule room was in disarray, walls lined with smudged handprints in a dark substance the Doctor at this juncture couldn’t identify. The floor swimming with off colour, fetid water, in which lay the shape of a person, the destroyed shower curtain obscuring from view the face and much of the body. One cyan hand and mop of dark purple hair poked out from beneath.

Fareeha used the toe of her black heavy duty combat boot to lift up the shower curtain, giving it a quick flick to reveal the grisly apparition underneath. With a shocked intake of breath, she jumped back,

“Is that who I think it is?”

Without replying, Angela retrieved her med bag only to come upon the solid frame of the Lieutenant, blocking her entrance,

“What are you doing?”

“She needs our help!”

“What if it’s a trap?”

“Then it’s a trap Fareeha!”

“We should leave, now!”

“We can’t leave her like this!” The Doctor argued, gesturing to the prone unconscious woman.

“Yes we can!”

“Either help me or get out of my way.”

For a moment the Doctor and the lieutenant were locked in a battle of wills glaring at each other. Fareeha’s gaze faltered and her shoulders dropped slightly. “If she so much as twitches I won’t hesitate to redecorate this shit hole with her grey matter.”

Angela gave her a wry smile as she squeezed through the miniscule gap afforded her,

“Understood!”

Crouching down she opened her med kit. The only sound in the room the Doctor’s heavy breathing and the snap of rubber as she worked her hands into surgical gloves. She felt Fareeha move beside her in this already claustrophobic space, the muzzle of the pulse pistol in her peripheral vision pointed at Widowmaker’s head.

Hesitantly, the Doctor reached out, trying not to flinch when ice cold seeped through the protective layer of latex. With two fingers she began to gently probe the slender neck, searching for a pulse. Unable to find one, she reminded herself that this was one of Moira’s playthings, the usual rules wouldn’t apply.

In an attempt to clear her mind, she closed her eyes, calming her own breathing, trying not to allow the grotesque shape in which her former friend lay take over.  Rolling Widow in to her side, Mercy forced herself to remain professional as she tried to ignore the sight of long ago crusted dark streams that led from the Talon sniper’s nose, down her chin n parted ways at her neck. Globs of viscous liquid escaped her lips. Taking a med wipe, the doctor quickly cleared as much as she could until she was quite sure her patient’s air way was clear.

Beside her, she heard Fareeha murmur something in Arabic,

The Doctor attempted to push Widow over by her shoulder to give herself more room only to meet resistance in the cramped quarters. Eyes roving over the contorted limbs, Angela announced,

“I need a bed sheet.” She was met with stony silence. Sitting back on her haunches, she looked up at the stern, Egyptian soldier, “We need to move her.” The lieutenant remained steadfast. “I can’t examine her properly.” Angela pressed, “Not like this.”

“I’m not comfortable with that.”

Tossing the med wipe on the floor with force, she said

“What could she possibly do? Look at her, she’s unconscious!”

“Your safety is my main priority.” Came the stilted reply.

“Please!”

“Fine!”

Holstering her gun, the athletic woman turned, disappearing back down the hallway. Alone, Angela tenderly drew a strand of damp hair out of her former friend’s face.

[runephoenix6769]

Chapters: 9/? Fandom: Overwatch (Video Game) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Lena "Tracer" Oxton/Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix, Fareeha "Pharah" Amari/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler, Amelie Lacroix / Angela Ziegler friendship, Widowtracer - Relationship, Tracemaker - Relationship, Pharmercy - Relationship Characters: Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix, Lena "Tracer" Oxton, Angela "Mercy" Ziegler, Fareeha "Pharah" Amari, Genji Shimada, Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison, Jesse McCree (mentioned) - Character, Aleksandra "Zarya" Zaryanova, other characters will make an appearance will tag accordingly, Widowtracer - Character, Tracemaker - Character, Pharmercy - Character, Gérard Lacroix (Mentioned) Additional Tags: Slow Build, Drama, Eventual Romance, Thriller, spy shit, Morally Grey, Widowtracer, tracemaker, Pharmercy, Heavy Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort Series: Part 3 of SHATTERED Summary:

Told from 4 POV's

 Amelie/Widowmaker attempts to break free only to find people in her past unwilling to let her be.

A Doctor hellbent on correcting her mistakes.

A Security Officer left out of the loop.

And a Pilot left with more questions than answers.

Is the paragon of virtue, what it seems?

REFLECTIONS IS A PREQUEL. RECOMMENDED READING TO GET A FEEL OF AMELIE/WIDOWMAKER'S HEADSPACE AND PSYCHE.

(Tracer isnt overly friendly at first. Slow burn)

[runephoenix6769]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Overwatch (Video Game) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Lena "Tracer" Oxton/Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix, Emily/Lena "Tracer" Oxton Characters: Lena "Tracer" Oxton, Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix, Emily (Overwatch), Jesse McCree, Jesse McCree (mentioned) - Character, Winston (Overwatch), Winston (mentioned) Additional Tags: Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Fluff Series: Part 4 of SHATTERED Summary:

Inspired by @erollazureus.tumblr Elf Lena Oxton gif/art.

Part of the ongoing SHATTERED.

SET DURING 'SHATTERED'.

Head on over to formerlyrunephoenix6769.tumblr.com to see full post with visuals

Watchpoint Gibraltar has been left in the hands of Tracer over the holidays.

The skeleton crew made up of volunteers and those that have no where to go.

xxx

please feel free to like and comment.. Feedback is always appreciated

Happy Holidays, folks,

Lena takes a moment to reflect on the last year before ultimately spreading some christmas cheer.

[runephoenix6769]

Yes folks, I’ll still be posting and reblogging OW/RWBY etc

And no I havent forgotten my OW fic “Shattered.”

I’m just taking Nov for NaNoWriMo  and concentrating on “Winter Solstice.”

[runephoenix6769]

Adam Taurus: Collected Villain or Whiny Possessive Ex?

(Long post Vol 5 spoilers. )

Off the back of the excitement of the announcement, at RTX Austin 18, of an Adam Taurus character short it got me thinking. 

Adam is not a character I have commented on before so here we go, if i miss anything or misquote or you wish to add or debate feel free to do so.

From the very beginning we are introduced to Adam as being a deeply entwined part of Blake’s dark past, someone who she had more than a platonic relationship with, that has helped shape her into the character we are first introduced to. 

In Vol1 -3 Adam’s motivations are quite clear, He is hellbent on the destruction of Human’s due to their mistreatment of the Faunus. 

“We’re better than Humans. We have everything humans have and more. Humans shouldnt just fear the Faunus, they should serve the Faunus.”

-- Adam,

He has risen through the ranks of the White Fang, whose actions over the years have gone from peaceful, progressing into terrorist organisation territory. His lack of regard for life, increasingly violent tactics and blood thirst culminated in Blake making the decision to leave  run away  from him.

Witnessing the progression of Adam’s monstrous behaviour has deeply affected Blake to the point that when faced with what seems on the surface to be someone else she cares about showing a similar progression, she reacts with mistrust ultimately rocking the foundations of their partnership and team RWBY. 

  Blake is fearful of him and for good reason. Initially he is set up as Blake’s antagonist. In Vol 1 - 3 he is a great villain, he is a psychopath willing to follow through on his convictions, focused on achieving his goals, so far in fact that Salem states he is loyal to their cause, though he begrudgingly accepts Cinder’s offer of an alliance. 

As a villain, he is on par with Cinder. 

In the Fall of Beacon episode, he comes across as a cool customer, ruthless and in control, willing to destroy anything in his path. 

He shows how vindictive, vengeful and ruthless he can be, going so far as to taunt Blake by calling her ‘my darling’ and ‘my love’, threatening to take everything from Blake. 

Some people have stated that Adam’s change in character is vol 4 -5 is down to ‘bad writing’ and that he is no longer a strong villian, that he lacks his previous focus and conviction. I disagree. 

 In Vol 4-5 Adam exhibits violent and possessive behaviour, willing to deliver on his earlier threat by attempting to kill Blake’s parents Ghira and Kali, even though he is aware that to do so will lose the support of the residents of Menagerie.

He is willing to risk it. 

That sounds to me like some one who is still following through on their threats but that is not to say that he is not confused by other aspects .

In Vol 4-5 he becomes increasingly emotional, almost focusing solely on Blake and her perceived slight and betrayal.  Fennic Albain goes so far to point out that his behaviour has become increasingly impulsive and unstable with his obsession to punish Blake.

He begins to behave as if he has only just realised Blake has broken up with him. He` yo-yo’s between demanding that Blake be captured and brought to him alive whilst simultaneously attempting to kill her at the same time.

This all makes sense

I think it stems from this, 

Blake defies him. Blake puts herself in between him and Yang. She draws a line in the sand that shows him who she deems as more important. In Adam’s mind, Blake has aligned herself with the humans, turning her back on her own kind, turning her back on him. 

Up until this point, as far as we know, Adam only knows that she left him and the White Fang, not the motivations behind it. For someone who is so possessive and arrogant, it makes sense that seeing this protection, this willingness to but herself in harms way, something that once over may have only been reserved for him, is a kick in the balls and a direct affront to his ego. 

Over the course of the Vol 5, Adam’s behaviour seems to take on almost a petulant child having a tantrum. He begins to take risks, alienating his subordinates and allies. 

This devolution from cold collected psychopath to angry emo ex boyfriend all makes sense when being looked at from a different perspective. 

Maybe he HAS just realised that Blake has broken up with him, for real. That she didnt just run off for some time alone to gain perspective

His own personality coming to the fore that the fact he cannot have his own way and realising that he is no longer number 1 in Blake’s eyes, shattering his fragile ego where she is concerned.  

( it could also very well be the writers intention for the benefit of Blake’s character arc...... See the companion piece, Blake and Adam Analysis.’

https://www.tumblr.com/blog/runephoenix6769/activity ) 

 Vol 4-5 seems to be have a theme of hubris where villains are concerned. 

Cinder and the collection of relic, she shows her arrogance, ego and lack of fore site where Raven is concerned and ultimately she suffers for it.  

Both Adam and Cinder are young, esp in comparison to Salem, in Vol 5 both have shown their lack of ability and execution of wielding power. They have both shown that they are not ready.   

“There is no victory in strength.”  - Salem

As Adam is still at large at the end of Vol 5 and Cinder is MIA, it gives plenty of scope for character development in the next Volumes. For them to lick their wounds and evolve into increasingly dangerous antagonists hellbent on revenge.  

I cant wait to see what direction they take him in. 

(Some people have pointed out that if he really wanted to make good on his offer and maintain on being the villain we initially met he should have gone after Sun and Ilia, my argument is he was unaware if Ilia’s betrayal till the last minute and Sun isnt even on his radar due Adam’s own ego.*I am in no way saying Blake does not care for Sun*. I just dont think that was Adam’s intended character arc, to comtinue being that Vol 1-3 villain. )

[runephoenix6769]

Shattered Part 6 A

Here in Switzerland at Schwerin Castle, one of the few left standing in its entirety after the first Omnic uprising, a global gathering was taking place.  A celebration of a huge scientific breakthrough, where technology met humanitarian needs. A break through that would secure the future of humankind.

Hosted by Overwatch and the United Nations, important officials from across the globe were in attendance. Amelie Lacroix recognised the President of the United Secular States and her husband, the President of the People’s Republic of the Former United States and his husband.  The delegates from the rather peaceful Congo Federation and she was pretty certain that the King of Britain had strolled past at some point, but she couldn’t be entirely certain as there was some sort of dispute going on to do with the line of succession.  Something to do with a rather vocal Princess/ official heir to the throne, breaking the Magna Carta by getting involved with politics, namely to do with being seen as coming down on the side of the Omnics by speaking out about their treatment.

Here in this castle, where no expense had been spared, was where palms were greased and backs were slapped. Where CEO’s, Military contractors and Government officials rubbed shoulders with the super stars and pledged their allegiance in the form of funding.   As Gérard often told her, it was here that real change was enacted.  

It was similar to the soirees she was expected to attend as the Prima Ballerina for the Parisian ballet, looking pretty and being engaging if only to secure generous donations and funding for future productions but without the glassy smiles, vapid conversations and  coquettish tittering.  

The men and the women in this room dealt in espionage and held the future of the world in the palms of their hands.

Amelie, a renowned dancer who had performed the world over, was here in name to support her husband, but to be honest to keep the company of her friend Angela.  The pair of them observed the decked out ballroom. Men and women of numerous importance milled about. The awkward sit down masquerading as a banquet long ago forgotten as people moved about freely.

Reinhardt’s rambunctious laugh, loud enough to drown out the classical band, drew her attention. Amelie watched a young woman seemingly at ease as she regaled a small crowd, in her stiff shiny new dress uniform and far from regulation fly away hair.

Finishing her flute of champagne, she gestured,

“Whose that?”

Beside her, her friend struggled to fix her fine blonde hair, mumbling through a mouth of hair pins,

“Lena Oxton, the pilot chosen to fly the Slipstream prototype.”

Offering to take the pins from Anglea , Amelie gave the Doctor her empty flute and began fixing her friends hair, catching the wisps that threatened to escape. Realisation and wonderment dawned on Amelie,

“Oh..  Is that her?” She carefully pushed a pin into Angela’s bun,  “Gérard seems quite taken with her; it’s all he talks about of late.”

Angela stood stock still, so as not to disrupt the much needed hair fixing,

“Have you not been introduced?

The ballerina concentrated on her work,

“No, I haven’t had the chance.” Satisfied, she gave the upstyle an experimental pat, “There.”

Flashing her friend an appreciative smile, Angela replied,

“Oh, I think you would like her.  She is an absolute delight.”

Amelie watched as the young woman animatedly made gestures that would turn a nun blue.  Tipping her head and shooting her friend a sly smirk, laced with good natured sarcasm,

“Is that so?”

Angela countered,

“She’s a regular ray of sunshine,” Watching the young woman continue her display only for the wife of the Numbani Attache to look aghast, she laughed, adding, “If a little uncouth.”

Gesturing to a passing waiter, partially distracted by the group of, what the French woman had come to think of as gung ho commandoes.

“She’s rather young looking, isn’t she?”

Angela placed to the two empty flutes on the tray, giving the waiter a small nod in thanks before he disappeared back into the throng of people.

“The youngest ever recruited to the ranks of Overwatch.”

Amelie reached to fix Angela’s necklace, the jewel lying slightly askew,

“How old is she?”

Angela chuckled,

“The ripe old age of 19!”

Amelie gasped,

“Surely not?  It takes a number of years to learn how to be a pilot.”

“She was recruited at into the RAF at 16. Showed a considerable talent for it, I believe. Graduated the top of her class. It’s what caught the eye of Overwatch”

“She was just a child!”

“Desperate times called for desperate measures, liebling .”

Side by side, the two friends settled into a silence as the classical band continued to play, each woman taking thought to the nature of the last few years.  They shared a barely contained laugh as the self-professed ‘German Shield’ gave the tiny pilot a hefty back slap nearly sending her flying across the floor.

A tall androgynous woman, wearing a form fitted fashionable three piece suit and slicked back, flame red hair, approached the pair carrying two flutes of champagne.  

“Dr Ziegler.” The russet haired woman inclined her head, her voice a lilting enticement. “It is always a pleasure to see you.”

Angela seemed taken by surprise,

“Dr O’Deorain. The Doctor offered Angela a flute of champagne. Angela took it graciously, continuing, “This isn’t your usual sort of thing.”

Dr O’ Deorain scanned the room, letting out a laugh as she turned her attentions to her counterpart,

“Not all of us are lucky enough to invent ground breaking technology. Some of us need to go that extra mile to secure funding for our research.”

Angela took a sip of her champagne,

“I was sorry to hear that your funding fell through.”

The Irish Doctor let out a small whimsical sigh,

“Regrettable, but such is the nature of progress and those that lack the understanding.”

Her gaze landed on Amelie as if seeing her for the first time,

“So sorry, how rude of me.” She offered the other flute of champagne, “Who is your lovely companion?”

The ballerina’s eyes roved over the intricate stitching of the woman’s green waistcoat, topped off with the hanging delicate chain of a pocket watch. It was difficult to gauge her age with her flawless pale skin.  Intrigued, she stepped forward taking the offered glass. Before Angela could speak for her, Amelie replied,

“Amelie Lacroix.”  Amelie extended her hand in greeting.  The Irish scientist stared at the offereing, leaving her hand hanging in mid-air. Wondering if she had somehow offended the scientist, she added, “Gerard Lacroix’s wife.”

The Doctor looked her up and down, giving Amelie feeling that she was being thoughtfully appraised, like a piece of art or a sculpture. Seemingly coming to a decision, the Doctor stepped forward with a sharp toothy grin and took Amelie’s hand, shaking it with a surprisingly firm grip.

“Charmed.” The Doctor lilted in that liquid accent that Amelie was certain could give French a run for its money. “Moira. Doctor Moira O’ Deorain” She stressed the word Doctor.

This close Amelie could make out Moira’s mismatched coloured eyes. The intensity making the ballerina take in a small gasp of air.

“Amelie Lacroix?  The Prima for the Parisian Ballet?”

Amelie nodded, about to reply. Moira cut her off,

“I was lucky enough to see you perform in Swan Lake a few months ago, it was simply breath-taking. You moved as if you truly understood Odette and Odile. Your forward movement with arms extended behind really gave the impression of swift forward motion” She turned to Angela, “So many people these days just don’t seem to catch the verve of the characters/classics.”

Angela’s eyebrows knitted together,

“Really?”

Moira laughed once again, it sounded like whiskey and chocolate,

“My dear Angela, even Scientists such as ourselves need to get out of the laboratory on occasion.” She raked a hand through her hair, “Would you be so kind as to allow me to borrow Dr Ziegler for a moment. I wish to ask a few questions about her fascinating discoveries.”

The Swiss Doctor began to voice her protest as Amelie gave an encouraging push, shooting the Irish woman a smile,

“Of course. What are these clandestine gatherings for if not for sharing ideas for the betterment of our future?”

Dr O’Deorian inclined her head in agreement,

“Exactly.” As she began to lead away Amelie’s only comfort in this place, she countered. “With sentiments such as that, I have a feeling that we shall meet again soon, Mrs Lacroix.”

Amelie tipped her glass in acknowledgement as Angela threw her a pointed glare, signing that a huge betrayal had occurred.  With a wide mouth goofy grin, she took few steps back, retreating in a bid to give the two scientists a modicum of privacy.

Watching from her private vantage point the parade of opulently dressed wives on the arms of their husbands decked out in military regalia, she cast her eyes across the ballroom finally landing on her husband as he chaperoned his new charge from group to group, proudly making introductions.

A teenager, Amelie thought, flying through the skies. Stability having only come in the last few years, the ‘child’ had more than likely proved herself in the wake of war. What would possess a youngster to commit such feats? A teenager talented and respected enough to be announced as the pilot for one of the most highly anticipated pieces of technology, deemed the weapon that would change the tide of any future wars.

Taking another sip of her drink, Amelie observed the ballroom. She spied Jack Morrison looking stiff and ill at ease,  pulling at the collar of his shirt, the look of a man far more comfortable hunkered down whilst bullets and missiles whizzed overhead,  only to be drawn into a conversation with the Amabassdor from Nairobi at the behest of a dazzling Ana Amari.

Ana Amari, a woman who by all accounts was one of, if not the, best sniper in the world.  She glanced at her friend  Angela Zielger ,talking animatedly with Dr O’ Deorain, so accomplished at such a young age, a brilliant surgeon and equally brilliant inventor, solely responsible for creating medicinal nanobot technology.

One could not help feeling woefully inadequate.

What was she doing? Standing here on the sidelines, what was she offering towards the betterment of the world?

The world Gerard, Angela and Ana inhabited, shrouded in secrecy and mystery, was a far cry from her own. Often, in her day to day life she fended off over enthusiastic questions from her ballet troupe knowing her husband was part of Overwatch. She bristled as men and women alike lovingly  sighed at the thought of being married to a man of mystery, wrongfully but also rightfully assuming her husband was the epitome of the Mid 20th Century classical movie spy, James Bond, idealising in their heads what her life might be like. Not knowing that it culminated in long stints of lonely nights. Even when her loving husband was home it always felt as if he was somewhere else.  

To be the wife or husband of an Overwatch agent was a life of worry and sacrifice, knowing that it was ultimately all for the greater good.

As her ballet partners practised over and over the same dance steps that many of them should have known from early on in their careers, if they were any good, Amelie in her head practised the self-defence moves and ways to break out of holds her husband had taught her in case the need ever arose.  

She had taken a few classes, at her husband’s encouragement, of more aggressive forms of martial arts based in attack rather than defence. Her tutors had assured her that she showed considerable progression.

Having no wish to waste the hours she spent apart from him on a whirlwind of wine tasting and dinner parties with the same people who gave uninformed critiques of the nature of the on-going crisis, whilst drunkenly gaffawing over how Yaden Smyth was a trailblazer winning his Omnic Mondatta award for best human in an Omnic production, she instead spent them pouring over the many books taken from her ancestral home library.  

When she claimed that she wished to train her ballet pieces alone, she frequented her local holo gun range. A place Gerard had brought her as a jape for her birthday. He had laughed, commenting on her scary natural talent, pulling her into a kiss before twirling her around in a waltz in front of the half frozen fountain, depicting the Maid of Orleans, as the first snowflakes of winter began to litter the plaza.  

Dipping her, he had hovered millimetres from her lips, and with that darling, roguish smile reminding her why she had fallen for him, he had murmured,

“Madam Lacroix, after today’s performance, do remind me to stay on your good side.”

His cradling arm had pulled her closer still. Amelie’s own lips breaking into an uncontrollable cat like grin. His gaze had lingered, his hair dark in contrast to the bright light reflected off the snow. With a puff of ghostly air, he broke the tension “Would not want to make a widow of you over something as silly as leaving my socks out of the hamper!”

Diving in for a quick kiss, he had spun away gleefully laughing before Amelie could cuff him over the ear.  

In mirth, Amelie had scoffed,

“I would do it for much less, Monsieur!”

He had scooped a bunch of flakes flinging them at her, only to slip on the cobblestones. She reached out, catching him by the lapels. As he hung precariously in the balance, between gravity and the lip of the freezing water in the fountain, he had looked up,

“It would seem that I am in need of assistance.”

Giving a cheeky test, she had quickly let loose her grip only to tighten it just as swift, dropping him an inch,

“If I was to let you perish, Monsieur Lacroix, whatever would I do with my time?”

“Miss me and mourn me till the end of your days?”

As she pulled him upright, he had cheekily announced,

“I am saved! Oh kind and benevolent goddess.”

She’d rolled her eyes in mirth, pulling him upright only to be enveloped in his warmth. His deer skin leather clad fingers had trailed along her face before she pulled him into a breathless kiss.

His nose brushing hers, he had breathed,

“Happy Birthday.”

They had stayed in each other’s warms before Gérard stamped his feet..

“Its freezing, lets get home!”

The next day, in the weak mid-afternoon as she sat on the sun terrace overlooking the garden watching the robins flit to and fro, trying her best to swallow the creeping resentment  as Gerard gathered his things for yet another away mission, she broached the subject,

“We have a performance of Giselle ending in Zurich, perhaps I could continue on to Watchpoint?”

He had plucked the buttery croissant off the plate,

“Sorry, dear.”

She had lovingly wiped the creamy butter out of his trimmed moustache,

“I was thinking that I would maybe take lodgings, like the other husbands and wives.”

“There isn’t many there.” He had disappeared back into the bedroom, calling out, “You’ll find it rather boring.”

Breaking off bits of the flaky pastry, she coaxed a brazen robin forward.

“It’s just on the off season.”

He had come back out , leaving his bag half in half out the room, taking her hand as he took the chair beside her,

“I’m sorry. I know how you hate when I go away for so long with no idea when I’ll come back.”

She gently turned his palm out,

“No.. no “ Every syllable betraying her as her fingertip mapped the deep lines and callouses .. “This is what you …” Her fingertip faltered on the callous on inside of his forefinger,   “What we ….Signed up for…” She squeezed his hand. “I just feel there is more that I could do. A better way to spend my time?”

He had studied her,

“Maybe I could arrange it? “

A` small smile broke across her face,

“Maybe, I could take up a little more training?”  

“Mon amour, how can I refuse, Ill set it up. “ Leaning over he kissed her on the lips “I’m sure the all famous Mercy could do with a few more helpers.”

“Mercy?”

“Your best buddy!”

“Angela?”

Gerad had laughed as he shimmied backwards into the bedroom singing an golden oldie..

“I’m begging you for mercy.. why don’t you believe me..”

“Gerad! No! Just no!”

His thumbs in the waistband of his jocks,

“Im begging you pleeeeasese ,”

“Don’t do it.. “ she begged, laughing.

“Don’t do what?” as he pushed the waistband down. “This?”

He wiggled his eyebrows..

Getting up from the chair, she tossed the last piece of pastry out into the garden, as she stated,

“You’re an idiot.”

“But you love me!”

“Yes I do.” As she walked towards him, she had opened her robe. “What was that about begging?”

rest of the chapter and full fic is here, 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16245743/chapters/37980377

@ourcrazym