Hello and welcome.
Well, there isn't really a whole lot to say about this one. Naturally I played Overwatch like a complete madman and I just love it. Sooo, knowing it was futile supressing that urge for long, I wrote this story.
It just had to be Tracer x Widowmaker. Those two just had a cool chemistry in the cinematics and I felt like the pairing had a lot of potential.
Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy, let me know what you think!
Watchpoint Gibraltar: Overwatch headquarters, approximately 2030 hours
Lena Oxton, or better known under her call sign 'Tracer' had seen better days in her life. And that did mean a lot, considering what she had been through in those short 26 years she had been alive. Her accident during the test flight with the slipstream prototype was one of those events, followed by all those months in which her physical body dissolved and she was lost in time, not really here, but not really gone either. Drifting in and out of reality like a ghost felt horrible, completely disconnected from anything and anyone, no one realized she was even there, no matter how loud Lena screamed at them or how hard she tried to kick their butts.
Yet Lena didn't feel as bad back then as she did now. And the worst thing about it was, Lena wasn't even in any kind of immediate danger, her body was anchored in the presence and she was currently living in the safest place on all earth. There was nothing dangerous about her situation. Not at all. Well, at least nothing which would cause her any permanent harm or nothing a few aspirin tomorrow couldn't fix.
Oxton was sitting in the small but welcoming bar of the Overwatch headquarters. And she was doing so alone, leaning over the counter, staring into a clear crystal-glass filled with a tangy dark -almost like a football- brown liquid. A single large cube of rough ice was swimming inside as Lena gently swung the glass around, causing a tinkling noise from the cube of ice softly touching the expensive glass. Right next to her, also on the counter was a half empty bottle of Aberlour A'bun Batch 47, an okay-ish scotch, which Lena had picked from the massive orange backlit glass shelf behind the counter. It filled the entire wall of the bar and offered basically everything the spoilt palatal could possibly desire.
Lena had a rudimentary understanding of good Whiskey, her father used to drink the finer drops on a more regular basis. He also used to tell his only daughter what made a good whiskey good. Even though young Lena might not always have listened whole-heartedly to her father's lessons in choosing exquisite Scotch, she did remember one or two things. All of which she had already forgotten by the time of her second glass.
And now the bottle was half way gone.
Oxton wasn't usually one for heavy drinking, but today was different. She needed to shut her hyperactive brain up. Ever since she had returned from her last mission Lena was confused, stupid thoughts were crossing her mind, pictures of someone she didn't want to think about at all, small details and little hints, which made Lena lose her mind. The flight back to the headquarters had been the worst kind of torture, not because the mission in London had been an utter disaster -Tekhartha Mondatta was dead, Tracer couldn't save him- no it was because of the woman who killed him.
'au revoir, ma chérie'
Widowmakers voice was stuck in Lena's head, still ringing in her ears as if the woman with the unnatural blue skin was in the same room, whispering these words into Lena's ear over and over again. The assassins face appeared in front of her again, those cold, golden eyes, which she couldn't help but think held a cruel sadness in them, stared back at her. Every detail of Widowmaker's face was right there, Lena could almost feel her breath on her own skin.
She rubbed over her eyes with her left hand in a futile attempt to get rid of the mental image of Widowmaker, while she reached for the whiskey with the other hand. Tracer felt like flying off the handle. It wasn't the first time she had encountered the cold-blooded assassin in battle and each time they met each other on the battlefield they engaged in a strange kind of fight, something Tracer was sure meant more than fighting each other, yet she had no idea what it was supposed to mean otherwise. She just knew there had to be more to it. Their dance was always was the same, they started out rather aggressive and violent, only to lose ferocity throughout their fighting. It was almost as if Widowmaker always remembered something important but long forgotten right in the middle of the action, which forced her to go easy on Tracer.
It always had the same outcome. In the end, the two enemies split with a really weird goodbye, leaving the bubbly Overwatch-agent at a loss for words and completely confused.
The first time it happened, Lena just waved it off as her wild imagination, reducing her confusion to the fact that she might have been caught off guard by Widowmaker's exotic beauty and her graceful, sublime way to glide over the battlefield.
The second time Oxton was starting to seriously think about her encounter with the enthralling assassin, wondering if there might be a deeper meaning to things than the naked eye would let on.
The third time she had fought Widowmaker drove Tracer so crazy, she grabbed a bottle of scotch in Overwatch's bar, trying to numb the confusion concerning someone, who should have been her mortal enemy. Unfortunately the desired effect of forgetting had yet to set in and Lena couldn't help but wonder, why she felt that overwhelming urge to get to know the dangerous golden eyed killer. Who was she behind those sad eyes of hers? Tracer didn't have the first idea why, but she somehow suspected Widowmaker might be a lot more complicated than anyone would think. She also knew it was complete madness to think that, but Oxton couldn't help it, the thought just mercilessly kept popping up in her head. Unfortunately the booze wasn't helping with that the way she would have liked. Damn that increased metabolism, stupid time accelerator, I can't even get properly drunk.
Lena noticed a hand, which wasn't hers, reaching past her and lifting the bottle of Scotch on its neck, checking the filling level.
"Oxton, aren't we a little small for half a bottle of Bourbon?" a deep voice asked with a dry humor underneath it, before the acrylic transparent barstool next to the nimble warrior was pulled away and someone seated himself right next to Lena.
"Morrison, luv this ain't none of ya cheap American Bourbon. This is real, true Scottish Whiskey. Real Scotch" Lena replied with a teasing smile on her lips, looking up at Jack Morrison, also better known as Soldier: 76, who was now sitting right next to her with a one sided smile, shaking his head.
"What are you doing here all by yourself?" he asked.
"Enjoying a drink" Lena replied gesturing towards the bottle as if it was totally obvious. Morrison wasn't a friend of hers. He was more of a colleague, maybe a comrade, or a brother in arms, someone Lena trusted with her life. But right now she was just glad that someone was there to drown the confusing whispering voice of Widowmaker in her head.
"You are the only one I have ever seen in this bar, legitimately drinking" he stated coolly, yet he sounded like asking what's wrong? It was strange, he had never seen Tracer with alcohol before. True, they weren't close or anything and Jack didn't have the first idea what Lena usually did in her free time, but somehow he didn't take her for one who would drink alone, or drink at all for that matter. And he usually was rather good with people. Also, Lena was slender built and not taller than maybe 5' 4'', he wouldn't dare to guess her weight, simply because you don't guess the weight of a lady, but he was sure that half a bottle of Whiskey for her weight should have been enough to knock her dead off the barstool. Yet she was still sitting there, not even slurring.
Lena might have been tipsy -scratch that- drunk, but she still understood what Morrison was talking about. Still, she chose to expertly ignore it. "That ain't true, innit? Reinhardt comes down here a lot!" she replied.
Morrison laughed "Oxton, Reinhardt is German, coming from a place where beer is considered food not an alcoholic beverage, he doesn't count. I have never seen a German drunk because of beer; it's like water for them. Surely it comes out of their supply system instead of it as well"
"Pff" Oxton huffed, slouching her shoulders. "Fine. What about Genji and Hanzo? They are here sometimes?"
"Once a year to celebrate something, they drink one Masu of Sake each. You are through half a bottle of Bourbon-"
"Scotch, luv. It's Scotch" Lena interrupted, rising her glass as if it would demonstrate the difference, before emptying the last belt of the expensive alcohol.
"-Scotch, all by yourself."
Lena rolled her eyes, leaning over the counter, grabbing another fine crystal glass from behind it, before tossing a cube of ice into the glass and filling it with an adequate amount of Whiskey, just barely enough to make the large chunk of frozen water float. With a smooth move of her hand, she let the glass slide over the brushed metal surface of the counter right into Morrison's hand.
"Now I ain't drinking alone anymore, innit right?" she asked, filling her own glass again. "Drink up, luv so you learn how real, proper Whiskey is supposed to taste like" Tracer clinked her glass against Morrison's, who rolled his eyes, but did as he was told, chugging the Whiskey down in one gulp. There was a moment of silence before the storm, in which Lena looked at him as if she waited for something. Then, from one second to the next, his face convulsed heavily, causing Lena to laugh whole-heartedly. She didn't expect the battle proven warrior to react like that when drinking some booze.
"To strong for ya, luv?" she asked with a happy, yet definitely teasing smile on her lips.
"How the fuck are you still standing!?" Morrison coughed as an alarming heat was spreading down his throat and into his stomach. How much percent had that hellish Bourb- Scotch? He reached for the bottle to check, but it was taken from his hands by Oxton, who refilled his glass.
"My father would kill you for drinking it like a shot" she laughed. "You Americans have no class, have ya?" Tracer teased.
"Very funny, British girl. You know I'd be mad at anyone for saying that, except for you."
"That's because you know who it's coming from, luv, innit?" she smiled widely at Morrison, who could not help but chuckle. Oxton was a good girl. A great fighter, an awesome warrior and also an outstanding person. She was always so lively, happy, outgoing and heartfelt, it was hard not liking her and even harder being mad at her. True, sometimes her personality was on the verge of being annoying, but Tracer usually made up for it by her unwavering desire to help people. No matter in which troubles it got her, she stood up for those, who needed it the most.
"Now that you have successfully procured a booze buddy, mind telling him what's bothering you, Oxton?"
"Nuttin, luv" Tracer replied way too quickly to not be suspicious. Morrison rose an eyebrow, so Lena hastily continued "Do I need a reason?" she asked, not wanting to think about the real reason why she was filling her head with alcohol at all. The image of the blue woman in her skin tight bodysuit reappeared in front of Tracer for a moment, replacing the Soldier for but an instant.
Suddenly Lena saw Widowmaker right next to her, gracefully leaning over the counter her delicious curves teasing the eye with that skin tight bodysuit and the way she saucily pushed her hip out, while holding the glass of Whiskey and smiling boldly, which sent a cruelly warm shiver up and down Tracer's spine. She felt her mouth open, only for her to close it immediately.
Lena quickly blinked the illusion away, she didn't want to think about her anymore. She couldn't anymore, the expression Widowmaker had on her face when Tracer asked her about her reason why she killed Tekhartha, it made the Brit lose her mind. She couldn't figure it out, she didn't understand why she felt something different than hostility and she also didn't understand what it was that she felt instead. All she knew was, that it wasn't normal, not the way it was supposed to be and that it needed to go away as soon as possible.
"Well, I don't suppose so" Morrison replied carefully.
"Excellent. Drink up then, you have to catch up."
A short chapter to get into the story. Tell me if you guys want to have more. There are some more chapters already up and waiting, so we'll see how it goes.
I'd be very happy to get some feedback.
See you guys in the next one
Since this story got so immensly popular, a lot of you guys and girls out there asked me if I accept donations. And for two years now, I said that I didn't. I never liked the model of monthly contributions and rewards and all that. I write because I enjoy doing it and I enjoy sharing it even more.
But I got convinced that I should at least offer the option. Which I do now. If you want to support me by funding my coffee, you can do that now:
tipeee com slash e82s-fanfiction. Or go to Tipee com and search for E82. Or you use the link on my profile
I chose tipeee over because tipeee allows you to only donate once. You can, but you don't have to spend money on me every month.
Also, and this is very important to me: I don't want anyone to feel like they have to tip. Do it only if you think it's absolutely worth it. I don't expect anyone to tip. I write because it's my greatest pleasure and it gives me so much joy. When I started this, I never expected to get anything in return except for maybe some feedback. Nothing has changed.
Of course that doesn't mean a donation won't make me happy, because oh boy it would. But it's more the fact that someone was willing to actually spend some money on the crap I come up with and not the amount you choose to donate.
Anyway, I hope you get my point.
I'll just leave the Tipeee link at the bottom of each chapter until chapter 39, because I am adding the link at a later point in time until that chapter.