tagCelebrities & Fan FictionGuilt and Redemption

Guilt and Redemption

byDDWArd©

Overwatch, and all characters affiliated, are copyrights of Blizzard Entertainment. No copyright infringement is intended for this story. It is strictly fan-fiction and meant for entertainment purposes only. All rights belong to Blizzard Entertainment.

*****

1

"Why?!" Tracer demanded as she held Widowmaker down. "Why would you do this?"

Her face was contorted in confusion and anger but, most of all, pain flickered in those stupid puppy eyes of hers. Widowmaker had long been a rival of Tracer and, after many failed missions at the hands of the young, annoying hero, she had finally succeeded in hurting her. No snappy comeback, no mocking laughter as she zoomed in and out of space and time to avoid bullets this time. No, Widowmaker thought, this time, I have hit her where it hurts. The thought first made her feel triumphant. She had finally won. But that feeling of triumph melted away at the pure look of hurt and sadness that filled Tracer's eyes. Suddenly, Widowmaker felt horrible. A pain of her own spread through her chest and she felt that pain reflected back from those eyes a hundred fold. The feeling was new and terrible. It caught her off guard and she was reeling. The smile faded from her lips as she really saw and felt Tracer's torment.

She didn't laugh this time. She reached up and touched Tracer's face. "I..." she began but didn't know what to say. Tracer's eyes were so full of agony, it tore her apart inside. That isn't supposed to happen, Widowmaker thought.

Amélie Lacroix gasped as she sat up in her bed. The ache was still present in her chest and she struggled to steady her breathing. The same dream again. She had been experiencing this particular nightmare for months after her successful assassination mission that faithful night when Tracer had failed to stop her. She remembered laughing at the woman's stupid questions and look of confusion and betrayal on her face. She had laughed because she had finally paid Tracer back for all the mocking laughter, hoots of joy as she avoided attack after attack, and annoying little taunts the Brit threw her way with that equally annoying smile of hers. She remembered gloating as she had swung her into the adjoining wall of a nearby building and looked upon the helpless still form of her greatest rival laying unconsious on that rooftop as she escaped in the transport. She made sure to keep her eyes on that little annoyance until the doors shut. But, later, after she had debriefed and went to her chambers, she felt something deep in her chest that she hadn't felt in a long time. She, the cruel and cold Widowmaker, assassin of Talon, felt remorse. And it hurt. It kept her from sleeping well over the next few nights. She kept seeing Tracer's eyes, large, luminous, and full of so much pain. She couldn't understand it. It angered her and confused her. She had killed many people. She had caused grief to many with the business end of Widow's Kiss, her submachine gun sniper rifle weapon of choice. She had always reveled in the misery and agony her killing caused. It was what got her off. What made her feel truly alive. That is, until now.

Why did that annoying little twerp of a woman get to her so badly? She ran her hands over her face in an attempt to erase the dream still fresh in her mind but it did no good. No matter what she did, that face haunted her. Those eyes bored into her soul and she couldn't, for the life of her, figure out why.

She climbed out of the bed tossing the covers aside with an angry grunt as she padded to the bathroom in one of her many safe houses. Being an assassin meant she was a wanted woman by many and it never hurt to keep them guessing at her whereabouts. Flipping on the light, she ran the water in the sink and washed her face before looking in the mirror. It had remained relatively unchanged to the experiments and genetic engineering Talon had done to her. Her skin, however, was a sickly shade of blue. It was a side effect of them slowing her heart rate. She had become cold as a dead woman to reflect the lifeless lack of emotions she normally had. As she looked into her own golden eyes, sharp as a predator and far-seeing, she self reflected. She didn't normally do this as principle, but lately, she found herself doing it more and more especially after the dream. That same damn dream.

"Merde," she cursed with a grimace as she turned away from her reflection. Why couldn't she get Tracer out of her head? What hold did that woman have on her that she was soul searching and feeling things that she hadn't known were even still present?

She couldn't tell Talon, of course. If the terrorist organization ever caught wind that she, their most valuable weapon, was compromised, they would retrain her. The thought of retraining made her feel even colder and she shuddered. No, she would never go through that again.

Making her way back to bed, she lay on the mattress and looked up at the ceiling. She had to face this. This was making her weak and she was never weak. As she thought about the circumstances and weighed her options, her thoughts went back to Tracer. Her youthful face smiling and taunting her, that sing-song laughter she found goaded her into being sloppy, drove her to be reckless. Why hadn't she killed her right then and there? She had opportunity. The woman was helpless, unconscious, merely a few yards away. A single shot would have ended her and the rivalry right then and there. Why hadn't she taken the shot?

Because she knew, with that feeling of triumph she had felt, that something was better than killing her. If she killed her, she couldn't enjoy breaking her. As she thought on this, those eyes came back to the forefront of her mind and she shut her own as the familiar pain came back to her chest. It was torture. She curled up on her side and concentrated on the torment she felt.

What the hell was this? Had this been more than a simple rivalry? Now that she had finally succeeded in crushing her, she didn't feel elated at all. She felt horrible. She was a monster. All this time, she had wanted to wipe that smile off of Tracer's face and when she finally did so, it was not the sweet feeling of success she had hoped for. It was like she had betrayed herself.

A plan formed in Amélie's mind. She would face her. One on one. She would face her rival and end this, all of this, once and for all. As she made her plans she thought of Tracer and wondered what made her so obsessed with her. She had to find out. She had to face her doubts and find out what was so special about this one woman that made it nearly impossible to sleep night after night and consume her every thought.

2

Lena Oxton walked along the streets of her hometown with a smile on her face. It was a beautiful morning and she had just had coffee at a cute little cafe she had always wanted to try. It was delicious and they even had the best pastries. Some recognized her on the street and smiled, pointed, and even waved. She smiled and waved back. It was nice to be recognized as a hero. With her signature chronal accelerator, it was hard not to be recognized. People didn't really go out of their way nor did they make a big fuss over her. After all, the Overwatch project had been shut down officially and any and all Overwatch activity was really seen as vigilantism by most authorities. She also couldn't help who she was and the authorities knew that. As long as she wasn't flying around with guns blazing, well, they couldn't really accuse her of anything, right?

She hummed a tune as she walked feeling the small nip of cool air. Yep, it was a beautiful day.

Her walk took a small hiccup as she felt it: that feeling of something wrong. Tracer always prided herself on her sixth sense. It had kept her out of more than one bad situation that could have been worse if she hadn't listened to that inner voice.

She continued to hum as she slowed her step and casually looked around. Everything looked normal. No one suspicious. No shadows, no followers. She glanced at the looming rooftops and awnings but saw no threat there either. Still, the feeling lingered.

She made a spit decision to duck into an alley mid hum and teleported a short distance away from the entrance. She then looked up and around and jogged around another corner before flattening herself against the wall. She counted to ten before looking around the corner. Nothing but rubbish and quiet. She looked above and around but came to the same result. That feeling did not leave. She silently cursed herself for not carrying at least one of her guns concealed under her jacket. If anything, she could still hand-to-hand, but she preferred her guns.

She kept her breathing steady and counted another ten seconds. No one jumped at her or made their presence known. Another ten seconds went by. Nothing happened. She sighed and stepped around the corner.

Her movement stopped cold as she saw the familiar figure standing perfectly still no more than two meters from the corner she just turned. Tracer exploded into action dropping into a defensive stance and teleporting the short distance behind the stalker. Her fist was blocked by a well placed arm as was the followup punch. She saw golden eyes widen as she dropped low and tried to sweep her leg. The woman jumped a short distance over Tracer's kick and landed with a dancer's grace.

Tracer didn't even slow her momentum as she teleported again and tackled the retreating figure from behind. Widowmaker went down hard with a grunt as Tracer grabbed her shoulder and forced one arm behind her back.

"Thought you'd be sneaky and take a pot shot at me, huh?" Tracer taunted as Widowmaker squirmed to relieve the pressure of the hold.

"No," Widowmaker grunted, "I was only watching you. I didn't come to attack you. I swear."

Tracer sneered and was about to say something snide when she noticed that Widowmaker wasn't wearing her usual uniform. She wore what looked to be normal civilian clothing. Her hair was in a low braid unlike the high ponytail she normally wore and her infrasight visor was not on her head. A quick look around showed her that Widowmaker didn't even seem to be armed. Her Widow's Kiss hadn't been knocked aside or was even in sight. That made Tracer pause but she kept a tight grip on the assassin.

"Watch me?" Lena asked with a derisive snort. "Well, I hope you got a good look before I knock your lights out!"

Widowmaker squirmed and bucked. "No, please, I swear, I am not here to attack you."

Lena said nothing, only held on and watched Widowmaker for any signs of backup or attack. They stayed like that for a few moments. There didn't seem to be any trick or ambush. That's weird, Lena thought.

Widowmaker turned her head as far as she could and gave Tracer a sidelong look. "Will you let me up?" she said through gritted teeth. "This isn't very comfortable, you know, and I think you've pushed me into something unpleasant in this alley."

"Aw, poor baby," Tracer said coldly. "Wouldn't want to mess up that pretty face now would we, Love?"

Widowmaker glared at her and Lena glared right back.

Finally, Lena had had enough. "I'm going to let you up, but if you so much as jump in my direction, I will lay you out like a flapjack and leave you here to be carried off by the rats. Nod if you understand."

Widowmaker nodded as best she could and Tracer leapt off of her and took a more defensive position near her. Widowmaker groaned slightly as she turned slowly and sat on the concrete. She adjusted her braid and wiped her face off where it had been pushed into the ground, her gold eyes glaring at Tracer. Tracer could give two shits if she had actually hurt her, but she doubted she really had. After all they had been through, Lena was pretty sure Widowmaker was a pretty tough bird.

"You had better start talking, Lacroix," Tracer said fiercely as Widowmaker staggered to her feet and brushed off her coat. "What's your game this time? You trying to catch me off guard so Reaper can have a shot at me?"

"For the last time, I'm not here to hurt you! Mon dieu!" Amélie spat back. "You and I both know that if I had wanted you dead, I could have done it a million times over by now! I could have killed you at 300 meters in that cafe you were in."

Lena turned cold at the thought of being killed in public like that. She raged at herself for not being more careful and alert. She hid her fears by crossing her arms and glaring at Amélie. "So, again, what are you up to?"

Amélie only looked at her as if deciding what to say. This only served to make Tracer angrier and she was just about to save Widowmaker the trouble of making up some spur-of-the-moment lie when she spoke.

"I had to see you, alright?" Amélie seemed distraught at this declaration and even looked away while rubbing her forehead in frustration. "I ... I don't even know how to explain it. This was all I could think of but just seeing you doesn't make it better."

Tracer only stood with her arms crossed. She resisted the urge to tap her foot. Amélie looked unsure and oddly unsettled. It was hard to tell with the blue skin but she looked pale and there was darker shades of purple under her eyes. This was really starting to be bizarre. She didn't really know the assassin personally, but what she did know of her didn't seem to match up with the woman she was facing now.

"After my last assassination, I ..." she hesitated as if weighing her words.

Lena felt her temper boil. She knew well what assassination mission Widowmaker spoke of. She should have taken the bullet meant for Tekhartha Modatta but she had only acted in the moment of self preservation and it caused the death of one of the most influential figures in history. She had been so stricken with grief and anger at her failure that the mere mention of it set her off.

Before she could get her thoughts straight or even see what was happening, Amélie found herself slammed into the nearest wall with a very angry Lena's hands around her slim neck. The pain was sudden but paled in comparison to the pain in those eyes. Those damn eyes, the same ones that haunted her every sleepless night, were no more than inches from hers and she felt them pierce through any and all her defenses. Widowmaker had never seen Tracer like this. She was like an animal. A predator lunging in for the kill with eyes that promised a slow agonizing death as she was going to eat her prey alive. Amélie felt her eyes widen at the shock of this.

"I know what you did, you heartless bitch!" Lena snarled. "If you are here to remind me of how I failed to protect one of the greatest beings from you, then I'll snap your slim perfect neck right here and be done with the whole thing!"

She meant it, Amélie realized. The sweet, vibrant foolish girl who laughed and taunted her actually had her in a death grip and was more than intent on killing her. She had no idea she had pushed her that far. No idea that this was the consequence of her actions. It shouldn't even matter to me, Amélie thought. What do I care if I killed someone she cared about? I've killed before. I killed my own husband because Talon wanted him dead. Why does the pain and anger of this stupid fool affect me like this?

She didn't have any answers. The only thing she knew was, for whatever reason, they did matter this time. As those brown eyes, so dark with anger, bored into hers, she felt that pain in her chest more than she ever had. It was agonizing. She choked as Lena's hands gripped tighter and she found it harder to breathe. She felt her heart beat. It was slow as usual, but stronger. With each beat, she felt her resolve crumble. She let her eyes slip closed in resignation.

"Do it," Amélie gasped out. "Kill me. I'm a monster. They made me a monster and I deserve this. End it."

She felt the grip tighten slightly but didn't open her eyes. "You can do it," she said softly. "All you have to do is squeeze until I stop breathing. Do it, Lena."

Amélie waited. She concentrated on the pain that radiated from her chest and waited for the killing stroke to end it forever. She let out her breath slowly intending for it to be her last.

But the grip didn't tighten further. Amélie waited, feeling that pain pulse with her slow heartbeat. Then, the grip loosened and she was forced to take a breath and then, another. She opened her eyes slowly and nearly choked on what she saw. That same look was still in those brown eyes once more but, this time, they were brimmed with tears. Amélie blinked. She had never seen Tracer cry, not even once. How many tears had she cried after the assassination?

"You," Lena said in a harsh whisper. "You stupid, stupid bitch! You think I would stoop to your level? Is that what you want? You want me to kill you so I can be no better than you? Well, fuck you, you cruel, cold ... heartless BITCH!"

Lena let Amélie go, leaving her to slump on the ground. She paced in front of her running her fingers through her spiky hair.

"How dare you?" Lena said through clenched teeth. "How dare you come to me and want me to do something like that?"

Amélie gasped as Lena grabbed her by the coat collar and hauled her up to her seething face. Tears now flowed freely down her round cheeks.

"Do you know how I would feel if I did that? Do you?" Lena was screaming in her face now. "When we learned that Talon had kidnapped you those many years ago, Gérard begged us to find you! 'Please,' he had said, 'I'll do anything! Just please bring my beautiful Amélie back to me.' He was desperate! He didn't sleep, he didn't eat, he was worried they had killed you! Then, we found you and two weeks later, Gérard was dead and you became this ... this THING!"

Amélie gulped and flinched. She had never once felt the conviction of this. Talon had told her Gérard was a threat. They told her that if she wanted to be free and stop the pain and fear, she would obey. She would be cold, unfeeling, and capable of killing on command without remorse or emotion. The pain in her chest made it hard for her to breathe. They lied to her. Her thoughts whirled in confusion. It hurt. God, did it hurt.

"I actually felt sorry for you," Lena said, her words no more than a painful whisper between sobs. "I thought, if I pushed you hard enough, maybe just maybe, all that teasing and mocking would have snapped something inside that cold, dead heart of yours and the Amélie Lacroix we all knew from Gérard would find her way out of all that horrible brainwashing Talon did! But it's all for nothing! You aren't her anymore! All you are is 'Widowmaker', the fucking tool of a terrorist organization who is so fucked up, she actually ENJOYS killing people ... INNOCENT PEOPLE!"

Lena gasped and sobbed against Amélie's coat, no longer in control of her emotions. She didn't care that she held her enemy or that she wept into her chest. Amélie's cold, beating heart broke. This wasn't like the pleasure she took in taking a life, snuffing it out forever. She felt no joy in this. Suddenly, it was too much. The pain was like a dam that opened and the guilt, confusion, and conviction all flood in and overwhelmed her.

Lena gasped as the unthinkable happened. Cold arms encircled her and she looked up to see tears in Amélie's eyes. Tracer was in such shock, her own tears stopped as the cruel assassin suddenly became a crying scared woman pressed up against an alley wall. The tears were slow at first and, before her own eyes, Widowmaker, feared assassin of Talon, was crying deep heartfelt sobs. Her lips quivered and her breath was uneven as the tears fell over her cheeks in rivers. Years of terror and personal torment crashed over her in grief that had been held back and thought to be conditioned out.

Amélie's knees gave out and she slumped in Lena's grip. Without any thought to it, Lena threw her arms around Amélie and let the tormented woman weep. She was beside herself. This wasn't what she had expected at all.

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