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.
"You know nothing of what happened." The wraith snarled in her face.
A sliver of something she had not tasted in a while blossomed inside her--fear. She now understood what made Reaper so scary. It wasn't his appearance or his abilities. It was the raw emotion that he emanated in close quarters. There was pain in him, a pain that was nearly impossible to heal except by the one who created it. Yet to Reaper, his wounds were inflicted by himself. By becoming what he believed to be a monster. He never would allow for Morrison to take the blame.
His reaction confirmed what she had been suspecting--he was Gabriel Reyes.
"I know that you are a broken ghost of a man. That you don't know what to do with the feelings that you hold for him--ones you never acknowledged, ones that made you push him away. Now you are in an eternal battle with him, Soldier: 76 and The Reaper, soldiers of an unending war of emotions." She stared into the dark pits where Reaper's eyes would have been, unblinking.
They looked at each other for what may have been a minute or an hour, an unspoken conversation flowing between them.
Reaper finally lowered the shotguns and took a step back. Then he exploded into black smoke. Widowmaker moved only after she was certain the shadow walker was gone. She was sure Sombra knew what she had just learned. Amelie just prayed to whatever deity might listen to a monster with an overflow of red in her ledger that the rest of Talon did not learn of Reaper's weakness. Or the fact he was at the very least bisexual; she would never wish what would happen if the Board found out on anyone.
*
"What is this?" A voice said in a way that left what should have been a question, rhetorical.
"I'm not sure. We were reprogramming and we found this picture."
"Scrap the fucking thing. That's disgusting. Unless Doctor O'Deorain can work a miracle." Another voice said, disgust dripping with each word.
"We have no use of a creature that is weakened by attraction to two genders."
Amelie couldn't pay attention to anything else but heard a scream from a source of warmth next to her. She prayed to God that her kidnappers never learned about her own past.
*
Her skin crawled at the memory. To this day she had no idea who the poor soul was and she almost did not want to know. Thank God for some operatives thinking that she was straight because she had married and loved a man.
They had removed her attraction to men to make sure sexual desires would not influence her pulling the trigger; they did not realize she liked women as well as men, leaving her vulnerable to sexual desire towards other women. It was one thing that she never mentioned, something exclusive to her. It was the one remnant of Amelie that she kept close to her and that she would not want to give up; in a twisted way, it was the only thing that kept her human and she hated it but she loved that she was not just a mindless weapon that Talon wanted her to be. It was her own way of protesting against what they had done to her.
She wandered the halls looking for something to distract herself with and smirked when she saw Sombra; maybe today would be fun.
"Hola, amiga," called out the Mexican hacker.
Sombra was perched on the staircase banister in the Talon base, her trademark smug smile plastered on her face.
"Look what we have here; an annoyance. What drives you to pester me today?" Widow asked, faking an exasperated sigh.
"You wound me, Mela." Sombra said, exaggeratingly leaning back, clutching her chest.
Widowmaker walked past her, pretending that she did not want Sombra to follow her. She had a feeling the hacker knew that she was lonely and bugged her in order to give the French woman a social outlet.
"Anyways, I heard how the mission went; I know--" Sombra said while sliding off the railing.
Amelie swivelled to face the hacker.
"You know nothing, Sombra." she snarled, reacting without even thinking.
"Whoa. Easy there, amiga. You're starting to sound like Gabe. That poor man can't even decide what he is feeling or what to do with that ball of emotions inside him. Pobrecito." Sombra, said shaking her head with a sad look on her face.
"You think he has more than a single emotion? Something other than pure, unadulterated rage?" Amelie asked, a single eyebrow raised in doubt.
Sombra let out a small laugh.
"Oh, he has quite the opposite problem, Mela. He has so much emotion; confusion and fear are what make him into a monster. The poor man can't catch a break. He did what he had to do and now he is in pain, suffering the consequences of his choices." The Mexican hacker's voice trailed off, eyes becoming distant.
"You almost sound like you speak from experience." Widowmaker replied, uncomfortable with the raw emotions. She tried to do what she was used to; be cold. It worked.
Sombra's brows flinched the tiniest bit and though you could tell it was masking something, her smile was bulletproof.
"Amelie Lacroix, if anyone can understand him it is you." And with that, the other woman disappeared with a smirk and a wave of her hand.
Amelie let out a deep sigh and tried to push away the words that resonated within her. She stalked down the corridor and found herself in the practice range.
She haunted this place like it was her second home. Aside from her room, she spent a majority of her time in the range, clearing her mind with every shot.
Lining up the crosshairs on the first bot, she blinked slowly and pulled the trigger. The satisfying metallic ring of the collapsed target was reassuring. When all else failed, the cold assassin could rely on her aim and ability to get the mission done.
But could she get the mission done?
She tried to shake the thought from her mind, focusing on a new target and shooting again. Then, she launched herself onto the nearest ledge and crouched there, aiming again.
How can I keep being confident in my abilities if I show weakness?
She found herself almost hesitating but shook her head and took the shot. The sounds of the gun going off ricocheted against the blank, sterile walls.
Well how ironic; the practice is clean and sterile but it never prepares you for the blood spray, the weight that is supposed to sit on your shoulders, or the acknowledgement of the fact a living person died.
Again, she changed position, hanging upside down, echoing the position she had been in before her shot was delayed by the young girl with spiky brown hair and innocent brown eyes. She lined up another shot and kept shooting in that position until she felt that she could land another hit in the same way.
"At this rate, we'll run out of bots." A deep voice boomed from below.
Upon catching sight of the man, Widow's eyes widened and she immediately droppers down, sticking the landing before righting herself. She inclined her head in greeting, showing respect.
"I trust you have reflected on your shortcomings?" The tall, imposing Nigerian man asked, a brow raised and eyes sharp.
"Yes, sir. I do not know what came over me. I realize I have failed Talon. Are you here to remove me from your service?" Widow already knew the answer but she craved the opposite to what she knew the response would be.
"Despite your recent lapse in achievement, the council and I have decided that you will remain. Ms. Lacroix, you are the best sniper on the planet. I do believe that you need to submit yourself to more reprogramming. That was the one thing that was decided upon." Akande said stoically.
"And if I don't?" The words slipped out of her mouth before she could stop them. Her eyes widened in horror.
What the hell? Why? How did I even...What?
Thoughts raced through her mind and she realized she was actually...afraid.
Doomfistlooked down at her blankly and apologies flooded from her mouth.
"I am sorry sir! I will go to Dr. O'Deorain immediately!"
Suddenly, a rumbling laugh escaped the towering man. Amelie braced herself, ready for the worst; but it never came. The man just kept laughing. Eventually, his episode halted and he fixed her with a scrutinizing stare.
"I'll tell them that you went through reprogramming. The doctor seems to want to see just where this little crack in programming takes you. She'll let it slide. But next time, you will go through with it. Understand?"
"Yes, sir."
He began to walk away. He called over his shoulder.
"You have another assignment coming up. I suggest you prepare for it. You'll need to wear a dress."
The doors slammed closed as he finished his statement.
The spider stood there, dumbfounded. What had just transpired?
***
"Auditing?!" Tracer exclaimed, annoyed at the order she had just been given.
"Yes. Are you contesting an order from your commander?" The raspy voice of Jack Morrison demanded from behind his visor. He leaned forward instinctively, ready to hop into battle.
"Bloody hell yes I am!" Tracer shouted, pacing angrily in front of him.
"Whoa, darlin'. Calm down. Ain't nothin' gonna come good of this protestin'." McCree stuck his hand out, gently grasping Lena's upper arm. She pulled away roughly but visibly lost tension.
"Why can't I be an active agent in this case?" Tracer asked as calmly as she could.
Remember; people are more likely to treat you with more respect, the voice of her mother said in her head.
With that thought in mind, she stopped pacing and stood in front of Soldier's desk.
"You could have taken out one of Talon's best operatives; the Widowmaker. Aptly named may I mention. Instead, you missed plenty of shots your training allowed you to hit at long distance and you prioritized to fans rather than staying focused on her and the other operative. Either you hold personal feelings here that see interfering with your abilities or you are forgetting your training. I am not sending an unprepared soldier into the field. Understand?"
"You keep always address her as Widowmaker and the other guy as an operative when you know just as well as I do that he goes by Reaper. Why don't you call him by his name, Jack? Or are you an unprepared soldier, too?" Tracer bit out viciously, rage reignited at the insult.
The room was dead quiet. Tracer pulled back, slightly confused. Tensions in the room were high and Tracer shifted a bit, almost nervous. The red glow of Jack's visor was becoming more intimidating with every passing second.
"Get out. You're off this mission and the next one." Jack said deadly calm in a quiet voice.
"But-" Tracer started to protest.
"Now!" Soldier: 76 screamed.
Tracer fled the room, genuinely afraid of her superior officer; even McCree took off running out of the room, closing the door behind him.
"What the hell was his deal?" Lena asked her cowboy companion, brow furrowed.
McCree was quiet for a second.
"Jesse?" Lena asked hesitantly.
"Ever heard of...Gabriel Reyes?" McCree responded.
"Yeah. Wasn't he the guy who turned on Overwatch because he was power hungry or something?" The young woman replied.
"Or something..." he shook his head."Nah. Reyes was my commander. Head of Blackwatch, a secret operation agency. He was one of the best men I've ever met and almost a father figure. He was the glue. He got through to a recently traumatized and furious Genji and was able to talk some sense into my thick head. I don't know what happened but somethin' big went down between Reyes and Morrison. The HQ was blown ta hell and he ghosted. And, well, ya know everythin' else. It's just...something else happened between Reyes and Morrison. But I don't know what. Gabe was always tight-lipped, ya know? Never once heard him speak 'bout his personal life except the fact he had a dog named Cat. He mentioned it one time when we were out partying after a mission gone good. For some reason that night, he went out with us. He never really did before. But that night he got drunk. And he told me all about how Morrison saved a cat one time but thought it was a puppy because it was so dirty and that the ex-farmer boy was an idiot. So he named his Dog to joke with Jack."
"Okay...but how does that tie in with Reaper?"
McCree let out a deep sigh.
"Reaper? Well, he's Gabriel Reyes. Or at least the shell of Gabriel Reyes. The Gabe I knew would never pull the kinda fuckery that this shitwad has. Yeah, he could be an impulsive dumbass but Reyes was a good guy. Not a monster. The commanders were close. Went through the same super soldier program--always was a runnin' joke that Morrison's Captain America-lookin' ass was because he was Cap incarnate."
"So Reaper equals Gabe and Gabe equals close friend to Morrison and that equals me being...Oh. Oh! Now I feel like a piece of shit. Why didn't someone say something?"
"I tried to!" McCree said, throwing his hands in the air, exasperated.
"When?!" Lena asked confused.
"I tried to prompt you! And I couldn't give you the information because it wasn't revealed to anyone else yet! Hell, I only found out by accident!"
"I just feel really bad now. Maybe I should go back and apologize?" Tracer glanced at the corridor behind her.
McCree steered her away and pushed her forwards.
"Nope. Nada. Ya' ain't goin' back there right now, darlin'. He ain't gonna be in a great mood and so it'll go ta shit and I don't wanna be in that mess. Again."
"So where are we going?"
"Food. Sustenance. Anywhere but Morrison's office."
Upon reaching the cafeteria, the duo grabbed a tray of junk food and plopped down on the comfy couch lined up against the wall. Tracer propped her feet up on McCree's lap and dropped a Cheeto in her mouth.
"So...you wanna talk about the mood swing?" McCree asked hesitantly, obviously uncomfortable.
"Nope." Tracer cut in quickly.
"Okay."
The silence in the room was simultaneously awkward and comforting. And so they sat, eating chips and pondering about the true story of Morrison and Reyes.