It had been far too easy. And yet...

"WHY? WHY would you do this?"

Lena's voice rang through her mind as she sat perched upon a building outcropping, her fingers as still as the void itself as she followed her target.

Her memory fell back to that moment again, and she remembered the way the joker's mask had fallen away to reveal a desperate and vulnerable girl, pinning her to the ground and begging with her eyes for an answer. Those hazel irises pierced through her and into her and in the briefest of seconds she felt the most bizarre pang rip through her gut.

All before the veneer of Widowmaker fell back into place and she returned to the efficient killing machine that Talon had born.

Yet, though she would brush it off as her task being complete, there was a part inside of her that gnawed at the back of her skull; a voice that kept insisting that there was a reason she had left the petite Brit alive rather than ripping out her throat when she could have so easily.

Oh how her overseers at Talon had praised her work, and she had accepted their praise as she always did, but as she returned to her quarters there was a part of her that screamed at her for not finishing the job on little miss Lena Oxford.

And so, here she was. Tracking her target's movement, following and stalking her prey like a jaguar just waiting for the right moment to pounce. She took it slow. To her the hunt itself was just as thrilling as landing the kill, watching her prey, ingraining her every movement into her brain and taking in every detail- no matter how small- into her memory.

Like how many freckles she had. Roughly 34, visible. Splattered around her nose and cheekbones. How her frame moved as she pushed through crowds, a gait uniquely her that made it easy to identify her even in the busiest of locations.

Lowering her brows and squinting to sharpen her vision, she tucked her sniper rifle more snugly against her collarbone, watching as a brief wash of neon orange slipped behind the surrounding people flowing in the opposite direction. Tensing the tip of her finger against the trigger, she adjusted her aim and awaited for the wily Brit to appear in an opening a few feet ahead.

As expected, Lena appeared in her scope. She wasn't however expecting for Lena to stop her direction of travel completely, turning her head to look up and towards her as if she was peering right back at Widowmaker through her scope.

Inquisitive hazel eyes sparkled like they had that night, a fleeting question that was never spoken. Such raw emotion behind flickering pupils that it caught the sniper off guard, a sharp pang squeezing and constricting her chest. Her finger trembled ever so slightly on the trigger, but it was enough to throw off her concentration.

Kill her, kill her, take her out, do it, kill her! The voices slithered and hissed behind her skull like a foul snake, whispering to her, forcing her hand.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she pulled her vision away from the sight, inhaling slowly through her nostrils until her chest was filled to the brim. As she began to exhale, her finger steadied and she returned her eye to the scope, ready once more to take out her target.

Her brow furrowed and her lips pursed as she searched the area, her target vanished and her opportunity missed. She internally scolded herself for being foolish enough to allow herself to become so distracted, and by nothing more than a pathetic gaze from a childish woman who would be dead and buried soon enough.

"Lookin' for me, luv?"

The musical sound of that bright, British accent stabbed through her chest, the sensation not so dissimilar to someone holding her tightly by the throat and crushing; crushing until there was nothing left. She knew the second she tried to retaliate the girl would be waiting for her, but she was nothing if not perseverant and deadly in all forms of combat.

Rolling over from her prone position, she used the muscles rippling across her upper back to swing her rifle in the direction of Tracer's voice, the heavy gun only making her movements sluggish and far too easy for the woman to appear beside her and kick her rifle from her fingers.

It was the move that she had been awaiting, thus Widowmaker flicked her legs up and outwards as Tracer's momentum threw her over her, kicking the woman harshly in her rib cage and knocking her back onto the solid roof top.

She whipped out her grapple, extending it and latching it onto a rooftop air exhaust vent behind Tracer, making sure it was securely latched before using it to propel herself towards where the woman was just beginning to pull herself up off the ground. She was visibly winded, her eyes only just making contact with her assaulter as the blue skinned woman came crashing down on top of her.

In the blink of an eye, Widowmaker had slipped her fingers into her right boot, producing a razor sharp karambit that she wielded with deadly efficiency. She had Tracer pinned beneath her, the brunette girl's eyes widening in a moment of fear as the sharp edge of the blade pressed itself against her neck.

Tracer's hands flew up, wrapping around the cool wrist holding the weapon, and Widowmaker noted just how warm the woman's skin was as it held her in a deathly grip.

Kill her, kill her, you're a killer! No emotions, no care, trained efficiency, our greatest tool yet!

Her fingers trembled yet again, her forehead crinkling and the corners of her lip turning to a sneer as she leant the weight of her body into the karambit, pressing her face within centimetres of Tracer's until she could very well taste the girl's breath.

"Looks like ya' got me, luv."

A soft huff erupted unexpectedly from her throat, and she loosened the pressure she was applying to the knife.

"You could easily phase and escape me in this very instant, and yet you don't. Why?"

There was a moment of silence, just the ragged breath that at first she thought belonged to the prey below her, the sound of the captured woman's blood thundering through her veins. It wasn't until Tracer's lips twitched into a cheeky, albeit weak smile, that she realised it was her own.

"Maybe, it's the same reason you 'aint put that blade through me neck yet, innit?"

She drew back, just enough to allow her more room to search the features on the brunette's face. She took another few seconds, recounting each one of those visible freckles, recalculating her behaviour pattern by following the way her pupils had become dilated and the hazel colour began to turn to a darker shade of ebony.

Tracer's fingers loosened their grip on her wrists, travelling down them painfully slow as though she were afraid of scaring the woman like she were a deer caught in head lights. They curled around her hands, grazing over her knuckles and tracing along the spaces between her fingers. It seemed almost too long before the Brit managed to pry Widowmaker's deathly grip from the knife, pulling it away from her and dropping it to the side.

As though realising and finally snapping out of her trance, Widowmaker let out a high pitched grunt, swinging an arm downwards with as much force as she could muster. Tracer closed her eyes, squinting them shut and inching to the side as to try her best to weather the blow, but it never came.

Instead the woman shouted out again in pain as her knuckles impacted the cement beside Tracer's head, a loud 'crack' ringing out through the air and she wasn't entirely sure if it was the sound of the concrete breaking or the bones in her hand. The throbbing sensation that coursed up her forearm was a clue, splotches of red on the ground dribbling from her knuckles and forming a small patch of blood.

She couldn't even bring herself to face Tracer, welding her eyes shut instead and holding herself up above the woman despite her trembling limbs and a ringing in her head that threatened to unfurl everything.

Kill her, kill her! You're pathetic, a pathetic excuse for a killer. Whatever will we do with you?

The hissing voices returned, incessant, scratching at the walls of her skull and trying to claw their way out. Visions- she wasn't sure if they were implanted or otherwise- of Tracer laying beneath her. Several bullet wounds to the chest and bleeding out as she gasped out her final breath. A feeling of satisfaction in a job well done, at hunting her prey.

She screamed internally as she felt something sharp tearing at her ribcage, slicing her open and digging in deep to the tender flesh beneath. She could see her own blood spilling down her abdomen and covering her finger tips, and she could see another man standing before her. Perhaps another Talon assassin?

Everything turned white and cold, the visions shifting once again and she still wasn't sure if she was dreaming, hallucinating, or maybe even being wiped by Talon again for failing what she was programmed to do.

There she was, standing before her. Smile as big as anything, and eyes glinting in the sunlight as she extended a hand. Widowmaker looked down and realised it was her own hand, reaching out and wrapping her fingers around Tracer's.

Kill. Kiss. Kiss her. Why, why do you want to kiss her?

She could feel a crooked smile etching its way onto her own face as Lena tugged her towards her, the two falling into a slow spin together until the young Brit was pinned to the trunk of a cherry blossom tree. The mild impact caused a good handful of the blossoms to shake loose from above, falling down onto them, a stray petal also making its way down and sticking to the tip of Lena's button nose.

A very English giggle erupted from her throat, and Widowmaker found herself reaching forwards to brush the offending petal away with her fingers.

"Careful luv, you'll bring this whole tree down on top of us if ya' keep being cheeky."

Kiss her, kiss her.

She leant forwards, capturing those sweet lips with her own, revelling in just how soft they were pressed against hers; she never thought it would be possible for someone to be just this delicious.

As she pulled away from the kiss, the usually exuberant Brit had turned to putty in her hands, soft and docile. Her eyes were lidded as she looked up at her, uttering something so softly she almost missed it.

"Amélie."

"Amélie?"

Tracer's voice was soft but urgent, and the assassin found herself jolting as though she had just been abruptly awoken from a deep slumber, and was as shocked as one such as herself could be to be curled into a foetal ball while being held firmly in Lena's lap. Her mind still swam with remnants of her visions, and she could barely focus on anything around her.

The one thing that came clearly into focus though was Lena's eyes, yet again. Looking down at her with such concern she didn't appear to be the same person that she duelled with on a regular basis, teasing her and taunting her.

She moved her lips, trying to find her voice and she found her lips dry. Lena raised a single eyebrow, patiently waiting as the assassin inhaled sharply and tried again.

"What have you done to me?"

As though confused, Lena just sat there for several moments, before shaking her head from side to side. Her choppy brunette hair swished across her face with the movement, and a hint of humour edged back into her voice as she reached up to brush the strands away.

"Nuttin'. Why, there somethin' you want me to do to ya'?"

Widowmaker grunted, but it was barely that, the sound brushing against her lips as she shoved herself away from the woman holding her against her so tightly. Your warmth. So vibrant, so overwhelming...

"You are nothing, if not insufferable," Widowmaker scoffed, finding her footing and managing to stand on her own two feet. Lena watched over her, standing and offering her space but also staying close enough that she could assist her should her legs give out.

They were a little weak, but the strength returned before long, and she took several purposeful strides over to where her rifle lay against the cold, hard cement. She picked it up, stroking her fingers along its length, the sensation of cool metal against her bare fingertips calming.

There were some scratches from where it had skittered across the rough surface, but nothing that couldn't be worked out with some TLC. Clicking her tongue, she rolled it over, checked the lenses in her scope for cracks. Satisfied that it wasn't damaged, she rolled her shoulders once and let the weapon fall to her side.

She could feel a scratching sensation at her skull once again, her eyelids scrunching up and her lips pursing as she tried to retain any sense of self. The sensation of hatred beginning to overcome her once again, the acidic whispers coursing just behind her ears.

Then, a sensation that shot up her spine and sent sparks through her skin.

Fingertips. Gentle, inquisitive. They traced up the length of her forearm until they came to rest at her shoulder blade. Her keen senses began to kick in and she could smell the scent of sweat and a faint hint of lavender and rose wafting off of Tracer's skin and clothes. She knew the woman was right behind her, and as such she grit her teeth and resisted the urge to spin on her heels on her here and now.

If she sensed this imminent danger she made no visible acknowledgement of it. Lena took a step closer, the heat of her body radiating off of her and just barely touching the surface of her own, blue body.

"You alright then, luv'?"

Her hand tightened around her rifle, knuckles paling and joints shivering with restraint. "Go."

Hesitating, Lena squeezed her shoulder. The increased pressure only made this harder.

Kiss. Kill. Kill.

"Amélie?"

"I said GO!" She turned her head so that her piercing eyes met once again with vibrant hazel, and in that moment she saw something behind Lena's pupils that was absolutely terrifying. It was something that made her chest sting and her mind scream at her. She couldn't describe it and it only infuriated her even more that the feeling became more overwhelming the more she lay eyes on the petite woman.

Spinning back around, she slammed her eyes shut and refused to open them again until the offending person had left.

She was sure she heard a soft "righto," before the gentle sound of shoes against the rooftop and the whipping of Tracer slipping through the time stream met her ears.

Securing her rifle, she didn't allow herself time to mull over the thoughts that sped through her mind. Lena Oxton might have gotten the best of her this time, but she would make sure that it wouldn't happen again.


AN: I apologise for my long hiatus from writing, life has been very hectic in the last year. My girlfriend's mother passed away, we are trying to have a child together, buying a house and dealing with depression on top of all that has made it hard to put pen to paper.

I'm a little rusty, so forgive any errors or crappy writing. Also, I absolutely love the WidowTracer ship. I'm so fucking stoked for this game (and maybe more shorts featuring the two women . don't judge me).