Life and Time

Chapter 2

Tracer surprised even herself when she angrily slammed her bedroom door shut. She slid down the oak surface and put her face in her hands. How dare that assassin escape. Again. For some reason this second failure to take down the seductive spider bothered her to a point she wanted to tear something apart.

This feeling was something so unfamiliar to her that she was scared. It was wrong. She had never been this angry at someone before--not like this.
What was it about the spider queen who put the ass and sin in assassin?
She shook her head. Why the hell was she thinking a heartless killer was attractive? She fell for Emily, a sweet redhead who was a calming force to counter Tracer's battleworn days. Her ex-girlfriend was the exact opposite of the blue skinned succubus who killed for pleasure in a terrorist organization.
She took a deep, shaky breath. This was a learning experience. Third time's the charm, right?

She shot up to her feet and steeled herself to go train harder; she was not going to get beaten another time.
With that thought in her mind, she went to the training rooms.
*
"Heya, darlin'" McCree's Southern accent drawled. He was leaning against the target range gates.

"What's up, Jesse?" Tracer said, forcing herself to smile and be happy.

He looked at her intently. She suddenly felt like she was being put under a magnifying glass and was getting dissected by the gunslinger. He finally responded.

"Heard what happened. Figured ya'd turn up here eventually. And I'm the resident gun expert so..." He trailed off with a shrug.

"I don't need help." Tracer huffed, dropping her facade and bumping past him.

"That don't mean we're not gonna try to help ya. Yer around a bunch of stubborn, compassionate asses who are battleworn but rely on each other. And I can't believe I just said that out loud." McCree ended with a fake gag but outstretched a bent arm.

Tracer couldn't help but let out a genuine giggle, latching her own arm through McCree's. The two walked into the range, both feeling a sense of relief at being able to drown out their tsunami of emotions towards people they shouldn't harbor except for hatred and anger. That unspoken sense of almost kinship kept them distracted as they laughed all the while peppering holes into practice bots.
***
"What the hell was that, Amelie?" Reaper roared.

The mission had ended unsuccessfully and the Board was furious and concerned that one of their most powerful weapons had defected. The thought of being sent to reprogramming almost made her puke--but she would have puked after killing two children.

"What was what, La Morte?" Widow responded, forcing as much ice as she could in her tone. She raised a perfectly arched brow and didn't flinch even as the wraith slammed the wall above her head.

"You didn't shoot the damned British girl. You could have. But you did not. You are a fucking assassin for Talon! You don't miss. Yet, you manage to miss the shot that would mean the most. Taking down Tracer would have hurt the morale of the Recalled Overwatch agents. Now more are going to rally together and come after us." Reaper sounded on the verge of yelling.
The mercenary never yelled. He growled. He screamed. He laughed, albeit darkly. He fought with no mercy. But he never once raised his voice. She had never heard him yell in a rant or emotional outburst.

What had hit a nerve?

After a split second of indecisiveness, the French woman found herself speaking.

"You're worried about Morrison." She stated.

Suddenly, she felt the cold muzzle of a gun press against her forehead. She could easily escape but she found herself not wanting to. A seed of pity planted in her chest for the man standing in front of her. She forced a smug smile to grace her face.