Chapter Text
Amélie Lacroix had never been a fool. She knew exactly who and what Gérard was when she married him. She knew of the weight and the violence he carried. She knew of the risk she took by marrying him. Just by knowing him. And she had accepted it. Done so with far more grace and courage than many. There were no tears shed by her for the work her husband did. She loved him in part because of those things about him, not in spite of them. There was no panic for his safety or her own. After all she was a practical woman.
And so she did as a practical woman do in this world and learned how to fight. How to shoot, how to break bone, how to cause pain. After all she had the perfect teacher.
She was the wife of an Overwatch agent. She was his partner, his other half. Why wouldn't she be fearless. Amélie was never one to play the victim.
The night had been clear as quiet water. A crisp kind of coolness in the air that was not quite unpleasant. She had opted for the nighttime ballet classes for just this reason. The darkness held a sort of surreal beauty, a peacefulness, that the day lacked. Her walk home took her into the neighborhoods onto the hills that looked over the city. Sparkling lights that didn't quite mirror the stars.
A pair of sweats hung loose on her hips. The most comfortable thing to wear post workout. Sweaty hair still pulled back away from her face. The same dark purse she always carried slung across her shoulders to rest by her thigh. Almost to elegant for the rest of her at the moment. Her pistol lay tucked carefully inside. Cared for and loaded as always. Not that she'd thought of it that night.
It was only half a kilometer from their home here. In the middle of what despite being solidly middle class was still the least expensive block on her route
The car looked as ordinary as could be. A gray streamlined thing with nothing remarkable about it. The people driving it were dressed in regular clothes. There was no dramatic screeching or sudden stops. It pulled slowed on the road beside her and the man asked. "Do you know the way to the nearest gas station?"
"Yes, I think...." her words stopped mid sentence, a sharp pain in her shoulder. Then her knees went out from under her. Blackness crushing down in a wave. She fumbled for the gun in the scattered contents of her purse. Hands hitting the pavement with a crack. Clumsily they closed around the grip and clicked the safety off. Vision failing the shots went wild. The last thing she heard was the screams of one of them. Shed hit her target. But it didn't save her.
Let it never be said that Amélie was anything less than loyal. She gave them hell. She broke fingers and arms. She screamed names her tormentors. Then when her strength failed her she pretend to cooperate. But only pretend.
They had left her uncuffed in her cell that night. As a reward for good behavior. The drugs they'd given her made it harder to think. Made everything seem to happen in a haze. As if she was watching events from behind a glass wall.
The door was opened a crack. That wasn't right was it? Had it been like that before?
She stood carefully, bracing against the wall. Concrete cool under her finger tips. They tapped on the door and it swung a few inches, not making a sound. Then a few more. The hallway beyond was empty. Stretching out in both directions.
Telling her legs to walk felt like a deliberate process. Every movement had to be thought about and planned. But not for too long lest it be forgotten. Nevertheless, she walked.
Distantly she knew she should be in pain right now. She'd been in pain before. Hadn't she? Although now she couldn't remember exactly.
The end of the hallway came and she stared at the wall for a moment. She had to pick a direction right? Why was this harder than it should have been? Why did her stomach revolt at either choice?
"Oh Widow." A voice said. "I thought this might happen. What a shame."
That wasn't her name. But.... why wouldn't it be?
"Why don't you come along with me darling. Get you back where you belong."
No. She didn't know where or what he was talking about but she was never going back with him. Amélie shook her head. The movement so small it could have been a random twitch.
"Well then.... I suspect you can't feel any pain right now so that will have to wait till later."
Then her arms were being grabbed and her feet went out from under her and she was being and dragged across the metal floors. A shout ripped itself from her throat and her legs thrashed. Nails leaving bloody scratches down the man's arms.
He cursed low under his breath and something slid into the side of her neck. There was no pain. Just a feeling of something being under her skin. Then she was being dragged again. She couldn't remember why it would matter.
Amélie was fading. She had been loyal. She had loved Gérard, loved all of them. But in the end, she was just another person. She wasn't Gérard, or Jack or Ana. She wasn't a supersoldier. Wasn't trained in how to resist torture. How to survive. How to escape. How to kill.
And in the end, Amélie Lacroix died. And something else took her place. But that thing was never without her ghost.
A ghost that over the years got louder. Whispers of Amélie making they're way into the Widowmaker. Until one way something woke up that was neither.