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Two Shots, One Kill

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What’s said is said and what’s done is done.

And once the door slams with a force potent enough to send her back into the profound depths of the inferno itself.

What’s said is spoken and what’s done is confined.

Defined in the manner of speaking. Every moment of every instant a single word leaves and parts past the barriers of her lips is a flashing searing of regret. Fault building up with a pressure in her fist and a strain in her clenched jaw, stifled breathes let out between the yells of rage and resentment. Inevitable facts and stubborn opinions.

Unavoidable actuality and an obstinate judgment.

“Ya’ almost killed her damn it. What do you mean oops?

“You heard me well Lena. Would you like me to repeat myself?”

Words spitted and spattered across the living room, hair tangled in between fingers and pulled on in utter irritation. Why couldn’t they see identical perspectives? Why was it so difficult for them to understand the unfathomable gist of the situation? Why was she everything of the nothing of the something of each other?

“This is bullshit!” she shouted, pausing as her mind scrambled for terms that wouldn’t come. “You’re bullshit!”

“How mature.”

“Can you at least show me –hell, give me some sort’a sign that ya’ actually care? That you’re bothered at the least about nearly causing a detrimental impact on my life?”

“I said I was sorry.”

“No you little fucker, ya’ said oops!

Her words ended with a scream, an aggravation kept unspoken finally being released with the wrong phrase. Lena’s face was red, blood having risen while the veins to her neck were jutting out in an uncharacteristic manner.

To say at the least, Widowmaker was surprised.

(Flabbergasted really.)

Only shown through a slight raise of her eyebrow and, perhaps, an uncomfortable shift of her feat back. Lena, observant of any aberrant movement at the current moment, picked up on the minor move. She scoffed, disapproving apparently.

“Oh so it takes me to blow my buggers out on you to get something outta ya’?”

“I was doing my job.”

“Yeah well what’s this then huh?” She gestured with jerked movements to herself and the apartment around. “What’s this love? This just doing your job too? Letting me move in and playing temporary good-guy? You gunna shoot me next?”

“You know I wouldn’t.”

“Do I? Seems to me it only takes that boss of yours to give the sign.”

Enough, Lena.”

This only managed to infuriate Lena to a larger extent, having her march up into Widowmaker’s space and swing an index finger just underneath the tip to her scrunched nose.

“Don’t you dare tell me “enough”. I’ve got too much unfinished business with ya’ to stop now.”

“Well,” she slapped away the hand and sniffed, appearing uninterested. “I’m telling you to stop.”

“Too bad love,” said hushed, even daring to smile a fraction. “I’m getting my answers whether ya’ like it or not.”

“And just how do y-mmf--”

It was different because it was strained. Unnatural and unexpected in an extraneous position, forced altogether as saying since both pairs of eyes were open. Awkward under the expectant glare while the other found her back hitting the wall while inciting an unexpectant noise from within her throat. Here, Widowmakers gaze was closed off, and here, Lena let go.

Who are you” breathed out, breathe hitting the other woman’s lips before mashing them together. The question lingering as her hands kept still on Widowmaker’s hips, thumbs being the only excuse as they rubbed engrossing circles just underneath her shirt. “Do you care? Is just for the sex?”

It was unfamiliar. Widowmaker doesn’t back down. As if territorial, as if displaying her supremacy, Widowmaker never gives out to her obstinate view of things. She’s carefully enigmatic, a reason to all her actions planned and acted on through every circumstances.  There were just certain things that shouldn’t be said, and certain things that had to be done despite the consequences. Here and there of course, even despite being a full scaled assassin, everyone does have their bad days. But besides that point--

She doesn’t tell for a reason.

(But this woman was something else.)

“No--” and there’s a kiss to her neck cutting off her breath, doing nothing to stop her though and instead wrapping her arms around Lena’s neck and feeling her hands through silken hair. Loosely, as her head lolls back against the wall. Her eyes were still closed and her head was spinning, but the words flowed smoothly out. “Never deceive you.”

“Oh?” coming out as a puff of heated breath, trailing its way up until they were both facing each other again. “Never?”

A gold shock met brown.

“You try and seduce me, hm?”

“Depends on if it’s working.”

“It surprised me.”

“Why are you so calm about this Ameli-”

“That is not my name.”

Shattering the beginning of the moment as it came out as a hiss, skewed in her gaze with an automated defense rising to thought. It was a line, drawn dotted underneath a solid. To cross would mean a quarrel with an indefinite outcome.

Lena took the step anyway. It was hard for her to take heed at this point.

“We both know it once was.”

But while Lena took the step forward, Widowmaker took the physical step away, coming up to grasp tightly at Lena’s shoulders and push her back slowly.

“That woman isn’t here Lena,” she stated simply, raging in the mind yet calm in the flesh. “You know this already.”

“Maybe she is in there love,” saying this while backing away herself, losing the long maintained eye contact and grabbing for her jacket splayed across the couch. “Maybe she’s in there, keeping back the only thing that’s screaming at Widowmaker to kill Tracer.”

You-”

“I’ll see ya’ later.”

With the door slamming shut any other further interjections Widowmaker could even spit out.

She was quiet for the most part, not anything unusual. Her focus was on the door, intent on every detail there was to it. From the chipped painting at the bottom to the diminutive signs of rusting along the hinges. She had opened the door multiple times, each only to be greeted with one particular being she had chosen to unbolt all the multiple locks for.

There was so much regret.

She shouldn’t have opened those doors.

She should have stayed in.

Son of a god damn bitch.

Because the locks were put there for a reason, god there’s always a reason to it. There’s always a reason she maintained each one’s wellbeing and vigor, preserving each of the many golden key’s and saving them for the moment of end’s will. While Widowmaker may have been tranquil, Widowmaker was also perilously confused and baffled in a way that made her crack. Momentarily, for only a second before the crack would be sealed cleanly and quickly.

It only takes a moment for the susceptibility to seep in a bleeding mess of emotions unfamiliar and clearer, nearer to a mirror she runs and takes in the reflection of blue skin and a twisted gaze that’s wide and meager.

She isn’t Amelie, she truly isn’t Amelie. Different personalities crafted and perspectives shifted.

She is Widowmaker.

She is Widowmaker, helpless Widowmaker. Weak Widowmaker. Dependent and scared, panicking and alarmed as her breathing became hard and her chest contracted into a heavy pressure. What? Because Widowmaker wasn’t prepared. Why? Because Widowmaker wasn’t equipped.

She was breaking down into a muddle of a mess, feeble as a child would be. Stranded in her blind distress as her hand crinkles into a weapon and is thrown forward, connecting with her broken reflection and shattering the mirror.

Down came the shards.

Each one slowly falling to the ground. She looks into the cracked reflection, watching as the shard for her eye falls, then neck, next arm. Down they fell, each shattering into smaller pieces at the impact of hitting the ground. Then goes her lips, collarbones, entire body.

Until all that’s left is a glazed iris, blurred into a swirling sun which too, finally falls. Then she’s left staring at a wooden frame, a slight crack at where her fist had connected.

“Y’know, I actually like you.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. Yea it is.”

Widowmaker is careful, Widowmaker is cautious. She lets her legs brush past the mirror’s remains and be led to the bedroom, not even pausing for a second before hitting the mattress and screaming into her pillow.

She wanted to kill.

Kill time.

Kill everyone. Maybe even kill herself.

She was in love with an idling hand on her hip and a whispering sigh on her ear. She was to adore the warm body hugging at her torso or chipping out questions and confessions and declarations in the night. She was in loathing of the abandonment and misunderstanding, the wrangle that could have ended from the beginning if she hadn’t fucked up.

Widowmaker doesn’t make mistakes though.

She makes choices.

Kill the flash, or kill the medic.

She failed either way on both terms.

“Oh yeah, it was either--*cough*… either me, or you.”

“Wait, what?”

“M-hm, and of course she’d choose me. That woman is totally over her heals for you.”

“But how? Where did -”

“Leaked reports. Pharah and her --*wheeze*,” she paused, patting at her chest and frowning. “Excuse me, Pharah and her team were able to infiltrate a Talon controlled headquarter and download some useful shi- *wheeze*--scheisse[shit].

“Oh my god! I –I’ve gotta’ go Angie take carebye!

Gone out the open window in a blue flash, bringing a smile from Angela before having her break out into a coughing fit. Fareeha sighed, gently patting her back.

“I’m -*cough*, I’m sorry. I always get excited with Lena’s love life. All this angst.”

“Don’t strain yourself dear.”

Widowmaker was pouting.

Full on childlike behavior, arms crossed and laying on her side. After being emotionally shocked to a severe degree, a good hour of thinking in a mind of jumbled thoughts came up with the conclusion.

It was Lena’s fault. She didn’t let Widowmaker further explain herself, instead storming out for who knows how long. Days maybe. Even months.

Dare she say --years?

It brought a twist to her gut, causing her to bury her face deeper into the pillow and huff. This is revenge from the universe isn’t it?

“Oi, there you are!”

New sentiments bursting to colors of rainbow that fluttered their way in shocks waves all across her chest. She wanted to laugh, she wanted to smile, she wanted to sing and dance and cry all at once.

But instead, she remained still. It was Lena’s fault, remember?

“I saw the mirror,” she felt the bed lean towards the side, heard the shuffles of the sheets as someone sat onto it. “Are you alright?”

Am I alright?

“Qu'est-ce que ce putain de diable pensez-vous?” [What the fucking hell do you think?]

“You know I don’t speakFrench.”

“Bien.” [Good.]

“Sounded like you said bin.”

“Leave me alone.”

“Ah –love?” she felt the bed lean over even further, spotting in her eyes sight a peering face. “Are you pouting?”

She turned further over, taking the blanket and burrowing underneath it.

“Oh c’mon --alright alright. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

More shuffles of the blanket, a cold breeze before a heated body touched at her back. She stiffened, grumbling words, but not stopping her from wrapping her arms around her side.

“I’m sorry you had to choose,” she felt the words on her back, just between her shoulder blades. The heat was making its way to her façade, and her eyes closed to take in the new situation.

Lena was back.

Lean wasn’t leaving.

Lean didn’t leave her.

Widowmaker was composed, Widowmaker was serene.

“But what happens now that you didn’t nail Angie?” said in a small voice.

She was quiet. Of course there was an obvious answer to this obvious question.

“They’ll come for me.”

“Does this mean you’re a good guy now?”

“As if now, I no longer work for Talon.”

The arms around her tightened, and she could almost feel the smile against her skin. The contrasting chill with her beaming sunshine. To consider herself a hero would be exaggeration. There would be no way for her to cleanse herself of every sin done and magically become a “good guy”. She was simply –cavalry.

Lena’s cavalry.

Together they would get through all.

“Don’t ever leave me again.”

“I won’t.”