Switched

Chapter One: Evil

They were kneeling.

Their eyes were strange. Different to how they should have been. They did not light up at the challenge, were not fierce with determination. Different to all else she had ever seen them as.

Their hands were tied. Bright blue cord that tightened the more you struggled. Their ankles - those who could still walk - were similarly restrained.

This was Overwatch.

Defeated.

And it was delicious.

She dropped to one knee in front of him - the one who had towered over her, who had always seemed strong as a mountain, now kneeling before her. His eyes were pleading, broken - like he knew there was no way out. No possible way for her to come back to him. She reveled in his fear as she carefully took his chin in her fingers, lifting those broken eyes to hers.

"Stay still," she whispered, and the terror on his face burst its banks, tears threatening to fill his eyes. He was terrified, absolutely petrified of her. There was no way he could touch her and there was no way he would. She was fear, she was horror, and she was going to break him in two.

She carefully slipped the two halves of the collar around his neck. She felt a shiver go down her spine, like she knew exactly how it felt - the cool, hard stone brushing against the skin of his neck, the deadliness it crowed from the battlements, making the fear explode.

Unable to move, caught in her spider's web of a gaze. He was powerless to resist as she carefully reached back to click the pieces into place.

"I thought you were stronger than this," he whispered, his voice hoarse as he attempted not to let the tears fall.

She smiled at him. A beautiful, clear, knowing smile, which normally would have made him light up and laugh.

Today it chilled him to the bone.

She leaned forwards, putting her mouth right next to his ear, and whispered back, "I'm not."

And she clicked the pieces into place.

She laughed as he got to his feet. She danced around him, stroked a finger across his back, as he turned to look at her. His eyes were devoid of tears, devoid of the brokenness he had displayed seconds ago. He was completely under her control.

These thoughts weren't hers.

At least...

They weren't hers until now.

"Isabell!"

They were all hers now. She was the fear, she was the evil--

"Isabell!"

She made them scream and she made them cry--

"Isabell!"

Isabell sucked in a breath sitting bolt upright, startled from the nightmare that had held her, frozen, in place. She blinked, swallowing, and realized that her mouth had been open. She'd been screaming again.

She looked around her room. The double-bed's sheets were strewn everywhere, one of the lamps from the bedside table was on the floor and the curtains were billowing around the windows, letting in some of the red desert sand onto the floor. Her fingers were sore and stiff from being clenched in fists for hours on end and she was taking in deep, heaving breaths - like she'd been drowning and finally, she had air.

The man in front of her was two inches from her face, his left arm around her neck as if steadying her. His right arm was made of mechanical pieces - bits and bobs of car parts and radio stems. He was missing the usual sling of grenades around his shoulders, and he was wearing his usual cameo shorts, his blonde hair blown back in stiff locks as if they had been blasted back with the force of an explosion. His eyes were concerned - he was worried about her.

She stared at him, swallowing again. "I'm sorry, Jamie."

"Jesus Christ, Isa," Jamie growled. "Don't be sorry to me. Are you okay?"

Isabell paused and deflected the question. "What time is it?"

"Five."

She groaned. "But we have Bug's party on tonight. I can't function on two hours of sleep!"

He rolled his eyes, lying down next to her. "You're the one who insisted on going on that mission when you knew this would happen. You're being a dipstick."

Isabell threw a pillow at him.

She rolled over so that her eyes wouldn't betray her. Wouldn't tell him everything she'd just relived - and everything she'd just been through, all over again. So that he wouldn't know that her nightmares weren't nightmares. That she didn't scream because she was scared - but because she knew that the thoughts, the things that went through her head while torturing herself and her friends, they were Moira's thoughts.

Didn't dare tell him that Moira still haunted her in every possible way.

And that she had in no way moved on.

"Well, since you're awake..." Jamie slid his hand around her waist.

Isabell jerked back like she'd been shot, stumbling out of her bed and clutching her side as if it had been burned. Her breathing came hard and fast, her eyes wide with fear, staring at him. Every inch of her screamed defense, her back slightly arched, her hands in fists.

She shook her head, taking two steps back, towards her walk-in closet. "I'm sorry," she said again, her voice quavering slightly. "I'm sorry. I... I should get ready. I'm supposed to help Bug set up."

"But it's--"

"I know," she said too quickly, turning away, her eyes burning with tears. "I'm sorry."

"Does this have anything to do with Talon?" he asked gently, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"No," she snapped.

Yes.

"It was a year ago, Isabell. I know it's never gonna leave you, but--"

"I said no!" Isabell shouted, louder than she had meant. She blinked back tears and closed the door of her closet behind her. "...I'll make some breakfast when I'm done."

After a few moments with her ear pressed to the door, Isabell heard the bump, bump of Jamie's peg leg as he walked away, and closed the door behind him.

Isabell slid down the door, pulling her knees up to her chest and burying her face in them. She clutched her legs to her as tightly as possible to stop herself from shaking. Why did she keep doing this? She loved him with all her shattered, broken heart, and yet she kept turning him down. But she was lying to herself - she knew exactly why she kept doing it.

Because he didn't deserve someone like her. He didn't deserve someone so broken, so completely and utterly shattered.

But it was a lie within a lie - she knew that too.

She was too scared of facing the truth to find out how deep the lies ran.

So she pulled on a shirt and shorts, some sunglasses despite the hour of the morning and a cap, before walking out of her room and downstairs to the kitchen.

Time to face the music.