Guilt and Redeption

Guilt and Redemption - an Overwatch Widowmaker/Tracer story

by Asylumchild

Overwatch, and all characters affiliated, are copyrights of Blizzard Entertainment. No copyright infringement is intended for this story. It is strictly fan-fiction and meant for entertainment purposes only. All rights belong to Blizzard Entertainment.

1

"Why?!" Tracer demanded as she held Widowmaker down. "Why would you do this?"

Her face was contorted in confusion and anger but, most of all, pain flickered in those stupid puppy eyes of hers. Widowmaker had long been a rival of Tracer and, after many failed missions at the hands of the young, annoying hero, she had finally succeeded in hurting her. No snappy comeback, no mocking laughter as she zoomed in and out of space and time to avoid bullets this time. No, Widowmaker thought, this time, I have hit her where it hurts. The thought first made her feel triumphant. She had finally won. But that feeling of triumph melted away at the pure look of hurt and sadness that filled Tracer's eyes. Suddenly, Widowmaker felt horrible. A pain of her own spread through her chest and she felt that pain reflected back from those eyes a hundred fold. The feeling was new and terrible. It caught her off guard and she was reeling. The smile faded from her lips as she really saw and felt Tracer's torment.

She didn't laugh this time. She reached up and touched Tracer's face. "I..." she began but didn't know what to say. Tracer's eyes were so full of agony, it tore her apart inside. That isn't supposed to happen, Widowmaker thought.

Amélie Lacroix gasped as she sat up in her bed. The ache was still present in her chest and she struggled to steady her breathing. The same dream again. She had been experiencing this particular nightmare for months after her successful assassination mission that faithful night when Tracer had failed to stop her. She remembered laughing at the woman's stupid questions and look of confusion and betrayal on her face. She had laughed because she had finally paid Tracer back for all the mocking laughter, hoots of joy as she avoided attack after attack, and annoying little taunts the Brit threw her way with that equally annoying smile of hers. She remembered gloating as she had swung her into the adjoining wall of a nearby building and looked upon the helpless still form of her greatest rival laying unconscious on that rooftop as she escaped in the transport. She made sure to keep her eyes on that little annoyance until the doors shut. But, later, after she had debriefed and went to her chambers, she felt something deep in her chest that she hadn't felt in a long time. She, the cruel and cold Widowmaker, assassin of Talon, felt remorse. And it hurt. It kept her from sleeping well over the next few nights. She kept seeing Tracer's eyes, large, luminous, and full of so much pain. She couldn't understand it. It angered her and confused her. She had killed many people. She had caused grief to many with the business end of Widow's Kiss, her submachine gun sniper rifle weapon of choice. She had always reveled in the misery and agony her killing caused. It was what got her off. What made her feel truly alive. That is, until now.

Why did that annoying little twerp of a woman get to her so badly? She ran her hands over her face in an attempt to erase the dream still fresh in her mind but it did no good. No matter what she did, that face haunted her. Those eyes bored into her soul and she couldn't, for the life of her, figure out why.

She climbed out of the bed tossing the covers aside with an angry grunt as she padded to the bathroom in one of her many safe houses. Being an assassin meant she was a wanted woman by many and it never hurt to keep them guessing at her whereabouts. Flipping on the light, she ran the water in the sink and washed her face before looking in the mirror. It had remained relatively unchanged to the experiments and genetic engineering Talon had done to her. Her skin, however, was a sickly shade of blue. It was a side effect of them slowing her heart rate. She had become cold as a dead woman to reflect the lifeless lack of emotions she normally had. As she looked into her own golden eyes, sharp as a predator and far-seeing, she self reflected. She didn't normally do this as principle, but lately, she found herself doing it more and more especially after the dream. That same damn dream.