Chapter Text
This was a job, there was no time to be anything but resilient. One minute you had your crosshairs set on that British gadfly sitting her fat backside on the Control Point, the next minute you were held at gun point with your arm twisted ruthlessly behind you. Strapped for time but only watched as you found your duties out of reach. Most days you hadn't the slightest hesitation when it came to shooting down annoying guests who thought they were twice as sly as they truly were by going rogue. The nose of your weapon drops out of the perfect position to drive a bullet through Tracer's thick skull. To wipe that self-congratulating grin off her face with one shot would be beyond satisfactory. It was torture to let the opportunity pass by in a matter of seconds.
You ground your teeth but the voice coming out from the corner of your back remained as soft as cotton. "Why must we rain on her parade? Let her take the objective." A chuckle was tagged along with her whisper.
Tracer threw a fist in the air after she outlast the time limit; once reunited with her teammates, they hiked over to Control Point B. You knew that eventually you could receive some heat from the rest of your own team Talon for your serious lack of diligence. Dare you try to explain what happened, they will laugh at you for letting a healer of all things take advantage of you. The pressure of her pistol against your brow was too tangible to be a nightmare, even more tangible was the way she buried her nose in your hair. She inhaled you quietly, you almost did not notice but snipers are observant people. Morbid confusion fogged your head by the inconsistent ways she was touching you. It did not go away after she freed you from her hold.
You had to keep checking the space around you to remind yourself of Mercy's disappearance. She was gliding off to tend to her previously abandoned teammates who most of which were in poor condition from combat. There was the suspicion that she was tempting you to shoot her down like a hunted bird only to trap you in another predicament where you were helpless. And so you did not bother.
Ice-cold water soaked the washcloth bathing at the bottom of the sink; you had to wring it a few times to expell the constant dripping that would make a mess or get on your clothes. It felt refreshing plastered to your bruised arm covered with nail-marks. The team will being recruiting a medical specialist shortly before the next mission, which was desperately needed. The last new member was yet another offense geared companion that had shady affiliations. You personally were lukewarm about Sombra but she seemed nice enough besides all the infiltrating she was involved in. She offered to take you out on a date raiding the personal belongings of Overwatch at their headquarters in Watchpoint, it seemed like a gateway to something deeper than seeing what each hero had stuffed in their lockers.
"What did it take to find the code number to Tracer's padlock?" you asked, faintly curious of any details about that girl who snatched your control point.
"Nada. It is Tracer's locker after all." Sombra could tell you did not understand what she implied, so she demonstrated. The rhythmical Spanish accent impressively morphed into an ungraceful British drawl that bordered on offensive. Her fingers twisted the lock as she counted, mocking the owner who set the code, "one, two, threeeee...duhhhhh..."
The locker's door came swinging open, Sombra ended her impression and smirked at her effortless success. "Four."
You leaned against the wall in a casual fashion while she had her fun. The thrill had a short life span when the content of Tracer's possessions proved itself disappointing. Sombra had to dig through a dozen pairs of sunglasses, bags of salty snacks and ugly sneakers to find anything remotely interesting. You could not believe this simpleton was the one who took you by surprise. The harsh memory inspired you to tell Sombra to spill details on Mercy; Overwatch's best medic and, in your experience, an unexpected threat. Her face nuzzled in your hair was a feeling burned into your body - the weak smile she had as her shotgun dug into your head was an image burned into your retina.
Your pondering was disrupted by a piercing screech filling the air. Within milliseconds, you withdrew your gun and searched the area for the source. Being out on the field conditioned you to respond with this particular reaction. The scope of your rifle was empty of any nearby enemies on your tail.
Sombra burst into laughter and held up an item from arms' length. Yet another set of unattractive footwear came into view. "No way, this bitch actually wears Birkenstocks! Whatadyke! Eh, no offense, amiga."
"None ta—" You went silent before you could finish. Then your voice went dark as you said, "what's that supposed to mean?"
Sombra sucked together her lips as to hinder further comment, catching herself in the act. It was apparent she knew some facts about her Team Talon friends as well. She reassured you that she has not told anyone about your sexuality... yet. You felt hypocritical for feeling violated by Sombra's knowledge about your secrets, seeing as how you were joining her venturing through other people's things. It bears reflection, how did she discover the truth; It could have been something you submitted or browsed on the Internet. Maybe it was because you were found reading self-insert fictional stories created by fans.
Everything removed from Tracer's locker was returned to their exact shelf and location. The most brilliant private eye would not suspect a difference prior to raiding. You slid into the seating booth at the round table which budges by the shift in weight. It was a wide but lonely area now that Sombra disappeared from your sight. She materialized by your side in the form of purple ripples almost immediately after you turn your head.
"So which girl do you like; it's me, right? I wouldn't blame you," Sombra cooed with a wink. You affectionately rolled your eyes, still withholding the honest answer. You found a number of the Overwatch women appealing to the eye, despite being your enemies, but you did not love any of them. Come to think of it, you probably have never been in love before. Being a sniper made your heart as cold as a minibar. Romance was a game at this point and there was no time for games.
Everyone wanted to be your exception. Men gravitated towards you because you have never been in love with a man before. Women gravitated towards you because you have never been in love - period. You thought this business of murderous artistry would allow you to escape your issues with intimacy. There remained at least one person striving for your eyes regardless of your creed. The gut within your core let you know who exactly it was this time around.
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Another day, another assignment. Someone must have put a spell on you because it was the second time in a row you messed up. One misfired piece of lead out of place and your all your enemies were facing your direction. Voices crowing "sniper!" insulated you into paralyzed submission. You hoped that you were not subconsciously making a habit of being a doe standing in the glare of a car's headlight. If that was the case, you resisted. All you had to do was take a step back from your hiding spot and flee through the prepared escape route like you rehearsed.
It had been so long since you were stricken with pain that you forgot it was even possible for you to be in pain. The blood on your fingers after you touch your wounded should nearly sent you in a hemophobic rage. It took so long for you to realize the assault was coming from behind - again. The face of your attacker was unknown to you because before you could turn your back, they put you on the ground. It was as if they were perpetually killing you in vicinity of your blind spot. Your riffle was snatched from your loosening grip and the mysterious enemy fills your body with more of their projectiles. The earpiece stuck inside you demanded to know your situation in the form of a gravely demonic voice. In marginally better times, you would retort back to Reaper and tell him to assist you instead of yammering. Your earpiece was also separated from your person during your beating along with your weapon.
In your fleeting consciousnesses, you yank a projectile from your flesh. It had multiple razor points spread from the center like a metal star. "Genji," you croaked, blood spilled out of your mouth with the mere mention of his name. Before you know it, he was gone without a trace. The payload rolled on into the fading sunset with his silhouette tagging behind it; stance keen and ready for upcoming hidden threats to his teams such as yourself.
The stinging pain exhausted you from following them. You felt incompetent, careless. A fool who had the chance to pick off your targets one by one but squandered it. If you were to die that afternoon, in the approaching twilight sky, you would not mind it so bad. Anything to take away the chagrin from your failures. The serious agony you were made to feel only briefly beforehand was the first thing to be lifted off you. Your gaping cuts sealed away into little paper cuts, it would take weeks for them to heal on their own but your body regenerated tenfold that time. Opening your eyes, you realize it was not because your soul is leaving for the afterlife. The vision of an angel in the breaking twilight that made heaven look like a place on earth had you fooled for a little bit.
"My apologies, I wanted to tell Genji not to be so rough with you." The angel pulled away her Caduceus Staff that she used to tend to your injuries. Your head way spinning from the oddity of the sight, a member of your rival team was caring for you as if you were one of her own. This made you wary but you thanked Mercy nonetheless.
She smiles gently and says, "you're quite welcome, (first name)". Her otherwise regal accent butchered her "w" to sound like a "v". The observation was an afterthought now that you heard her speak your real name and not your Talon name, (code nickname). Your request for an explanation was ignored as Mercy wanted to talk about other things. Watching her interact with you in comparison to everyone else was like watching Jekyll and Hyde in action. With teammates, she was a motherly guardian spreading herself out for their expenses. With you, there was something off about her behavior. Her dry yet unnerving smile seemed exclusively for you to see.
"(First name)," Mercy repeats. "You don't have to keep doing this anymore. You think you're heartless, but I know better." You scoff and turn your head, Mercy had to take your face in her hands to force you look her in the eyes. It was impossible how blue they were. The petals of the flower she broke off from its stem was just as blue. She tucked the Morning Glory in your (straight/wavy/curly/etc) hair as you were passively still on your knees. Mercy was more than happy to join you on the flower-covered ground to be close to your level.
"Why are you here?" you mumbled. Mercy frowned. "Oh? I saved your life and you give me that attitude?"
She smiles once more when taking in your beauty, especially with the blue flower in your hair that complemented you nicely. "Schöön," she says under her breath but you can hear every bit of love in one syllable. You would feel much more at ease if you were armed but Genji parted your gun from you previously. It was clear to see Mercy did not want to fight rather than exchange one-sided conversation.
"You're just a sad girl; starved for the love you refuse to admit you need and the affect is absolutely Freudian." She's lecturing you, on the outside, your eyes were doing summersaults to express dismissal. On the inside, you were devastated that she knew the truth about you. "That's none of your business!" you tried to sneer but your voice is teetering slightly. Mercy nodded and responded with "you're right. It isn't. However, I'm glad I know so I can save you, my poor child."
An already flabbergasting scenario took an insane turn when Mercy takes your hand in hers. A pleading stare never left your face as she silently prepared to say more statements from the dark corners of her savior mentality. You did not know exactly how bad it actually was going to get. "(First name) (last name), why don't you come with me and let me show you love. I promise that if you do, everyday would be joyful and you'll never be lonely again. Let me make an honest woman out of you. It would be doing everyone a favor, would it not?"
Most would laugh but you did not find it very funny at the time being, you found it extremely creepy. This woman you barely knew, outside of shooting bullets through her friends' heads, is proposing to you. Mercy wanted to domestic a dangerous sniper into her personal housewife. Reiterating that thought made you feel ill instantly; if you ate anything recently, you would have to regurgitate it right away. Her intention bears further explanation but you were not wrong with your interpretation. She was in fact asking for you to marry her with complete seriousness. You pry your hand from her hold and turned down her offer, passionately not interested in consenting to it.
Mercy was not surprised you said no but the pain caused by your reaction struck her ruthlessly. Her expression did not change besides a unnoticeable drop of her mouth corners and other muscles in her face becoming less tense along with her fading smile. It was not obvious that she was fighting back tears because it was a skill all doctors needed to learn. Mercy's earpiece was blaring with noises of a man bombarded her with questions of "where are you?", which reminded you of Reaper from earlier. Morrison, as she calls him, was dissmissed with an unenthusiastic promise that the healer will come for him. Mercy discards the earpiece like a pesky bug that was buzzing in her ear.
A weapon is thrusted towards you; you were expected her gun but was relieved when you saw it was her medical staff. A tool that could not possibly be a tool for violence... until Mercy adjusted a switch on the head. There were three settings: one for healing, another for damage boosts, the purpose of the last one was beyond your knowledge. No one knew there was even a third one. The color of the beam that ejected from the end was as carmine as fire, neither yellow or blue. It streamed in your direction and overcame your senses with a sudden burst of stimuli. The shock was mild but gave you an alien sensation that made you feel like your body was placed inside a jar of jelly.
"My team needs me," Mercy says with a suspicious shift in mood. Now seeming more upbeat after cutting off the red beam to free you from its mysterious effects. "Auf Wiedersehen, meine engel."
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Recovering from your encounter with Mercy after your failed mission was harder than anticipated. It caused you to be downright neurotic, the discomfort you were made to feel was never really put into remission. Reaper nagged and nagged but his words fly past you like a flimsy breeze. You spent the rest of the day in a comatose state as you sat alone trying to rekindle your senses. It took hearing Sombra talk too loudly in the other room that snapped you back to reality.
Following her voice, you found she was speaking to a person over her smartphone. It was held between her cheek and shoulder so her hands were allowed access to the summoned purple pads that were afloat in the air. Sombra tapped away at the holographic board and argued passive-aggressively with the person; she did not notice you marching towards her with riffle in hold.
"...And make the crust doughy. You give us any of that nasty burnt, thin crust and your boss is going to find out about your little Facebook page 'dedicated' to him. Don't think incognito mode hides that shit, bro." Sombra's eyes widened as you became too close for comfort. She hung up on the poor pizza joint employee but nearly drops the phone after you stick the cannon of your gun under her chin. Prepping to shoot her in the throat.
"¡Estas loco!" she squeaked in terror. You refused to hold back your vindication. "Why did you tell her my name— Why did you tell her everything?"
It needed to be clarified that it was Mercy whom you were referencing. Sombra remained clueless. "The angel-doctor girl? Why on earth would I ever tell someone from Overwatch a thing about you?"
The gun was gradually slipping out from underneath Sombra's chin. It was uncanny that something other than her distributing the fruits of her infiltrations is to blame. Even though she had a reputation as a good liar, nothing indicated that she was lying to you. Nothing indicated she had any reason to spill classified information about you to Overwatch.
As predicted, you were not going to sleep well that night. Tomorrow morning was going to be so busy that you needed every hour of slumber required. Resting easy was anything but when the thought that you weren't so anonymous after all made you shudder. If you had a single hint to what or who was behind this realization, it would be less infuriating. You were afraid of what dreams you would have when your eyes finally shut. One positive upside to not sleeping would be that you will not have the chance to dream about Mercy.
You got out of bed exhausted in the morning, yawning every other moment. Your eyes are heavy and close to closing but you shake the "tired" off your appearance to avoid confrontation from your allies. Standing erect, no one notices a difference because you always did look a bit tired anyway. You hoped that it would not tamper with your precise aim; you will never know for sure because you'll find that something else takes your ennui's place as your main impairment. Out of enemy eyes you discovered that with every raise of your gun, the movement triggers a debilitating frenzy from within you. A single shot was not launched out of your cannon because you experienced seizures so bad that you dropped to the floor on each occasion.
The timing of these seizures was too convenient to be a simple health issue - Team Talon set you up with a doctor right away. Moira, a tall Irishwoman with a metal plate sticking to her face, is a medic with connections to Talon and Blackwatch. Despite Reaper not being too fond of her for some unspoken reason. You trusted her since she was your best and only option, going as far as allowing her to film the inner workings of your guts. After exploring your physical design with her equipment, Moira designated the video projected on a big screen to zoom in on your bloodstream. She asked you if you noticed anything unusual about it and your guess matched what she was referring to. As soon as you saw the little black disks swimming inside of you, you jumped to the conclusion that it was the doing of the red beam that Mercy shot you with.
"You're saying Dr. Angela Ziegler did this to you? This biotech is abhorrent, even for me. It's incredible," Moira muses as she examines the unwanted addition to your bloodstream. Among your blood cells were tiny coin-like robots, there must have been a million of them just spinning around inside you. You ask her, half disgusted, "what's incredible?"
Moira's eyes roll to the side to look at you. "That you're alive," she says coolly. She built a syringe seemingly from scratch as she took an empty vile and needle from her tool draw. After assembled together to create a usable syringe, she pricks the fatty skin of your shoulder to draw enough blood to reach the "8" number. The sample was run through a minor test that Moira left you in the dark about.
"These are nanobots," Moira blurts out after returning from the testing. "Special kind of nanobots called M.I.T.E.S. And there are approximately two million and six-hundred thousand of them within you. When a portion of them are activated, the host will suffer through spasms that momentarily cripple them without serious harm to the body. If all of them are activated at once... you will die a slow, excruciatingly painful death."
You cringed, wishing to be purged of these nasty parasites that flooded you in the form of a colony. It was hard to believe that a stream of massless light transmitted them to you, even an injection felt too small to impact your fluids like this. No matter how much Moira doubted that it was Mercy's doing, you swore that it was. Your doctor sits by your side, even in a chair she towered over you (unless you are over 6'6). Moira planned her final words carefully before departing from your appointment. She cared more about helping you be objective about your diagnosis than comforting you about your concerns.
"I assume since you're not dead yet, Dr. Ziegler wants something from you and is using M.I.T.E.S to keep you in check as we speak. Any ideas of what it is she desires?"
The answer was clear but you were too embarrassed to say it out loud. Moira was helpful but even she would laugh at you if you told her about Mercy's intentions. You merely thanked the scientist and listened to whatever last bit of advice she offered; you used your time alone to reflect of the reality of your predicament once she left with Sombra. They tried to collaborate their talents to find a solution for you but Sombra's hacking abilities fell short when she was limited to stabilizing only ten out of the thousands of M.I.T.E.S in your blood sample. At best, she was able to make your seizures more bearable by a very small margin. She would be helpless when the time came when Mercy chooses for you to drop dead.
Their efforts weren't a total waste of time since they were easily able to build an electronic compass with the viable function of tracking Mercy. Apparently the mini robots in your bloodstream binds you to the technology in her Caduceus Staff; You were instructed to use it as a tool to avoid Mercy rather than confront her, however. You were treading water...you needed to go out and walk for a while. The compass was in your clutch and you studied it every step of the way. The risks were life-threatening in a literal way but the tiny map indicated that she also was out for a walk in a park near you. It was late in the evening, making it a suitable time for a carefully planned murder. Everything around you was encouraging you to track her down from the air your breathing to the heart that pumps inside you.
You took a break from the miles you walked by slumping against the rails of a bridge. The sweat off your bare skin dropping into the water below was an image so tangible but unrealistic. If you were to cry, taking advantage of the solitude of an obscure park on a weekday night, your tears would take care fufiling that image for you. It was okay to break down but you preferred to save those tears for the pillow.
A sound you never heard before startles you and renders the opportunity for deep thoughts wasted.The custom-made compass sits on your hand with nagging beeps assualting your ears. A warning is written along the bottom of the small glass screen in digital letters spelling "SUBJECT IS APPROACHING". But you stopped moving. You were on break, and you were barely in the same city as Mercy in the first place. Without another moment of rest, you began to take out your rifle from the bag you carried with you. Before you can touch the zipper - it was too late.
Dr. Ziegler is standing at one end of the bridge staring directly at you. Her expression is unexpecting at first but her blue eyes were keen and she quickly flashes a smile at you. As much as you would like to jump to the conclusion that she was hunting you down, the professional white coat she was wearing suggested that she was simply leaving a private appointment with a patient. Moira wore a similar coat when she took care of you after all.
Wardrobe change and loose blonde hair made Mercy unrecognizable to you momentarily but you regretted noticing that perky lipped glance she gave you, and you alone. "(Name), what a pleasant surprise. I never took you as someone who enjoys nighttime strolls."
You abandon your bag on the floor, leaving your gun zipped away. You barked, "what did you do to me?" Mercy pulled out her staff from behind her back in a way that seemed like magic. "You like my gift to you? I installed it to be my ace in the hole against enduring, bigger opponents and break them down from inside out. Just think about the damage it can do to snipers with pretty faces such as yourself."
She may look like an angel, she may sound like an angel, she may have saved hundreds of human lives. But she was the Devil's own the entire time. If doctors were natural sadists who are pleased by the pain of others, then Dr. Ziegler was enforcing that stereotype strongly. You had to admire her creativity that sets her apart from being a passive healer - instead you decided to reach for your bag and send her back to hell. Mercy predicted you would do that and shot you a warning glare, finger hovering over a button on her staff near its head. From your angle it was difficult to see it but you knew it was there. You could make an educated guess of what its purpose was.
"Thirty seconds," Mercy threatens with faux kindness, "that is how long I have to hold this button down. Trust me when I say - it will feel much longer than that."
Your head swells with depression after she confirms your presumption. There were limited to no options to counter your fate; laying a finger on the bag will result in the M.I.T.E.S being detonated and in your experience, fighting to use your gun under their influence was impossible. By the time you could pray to land an accurate shot, once finished struggling to position yourself appropriately, you would drop like a fly.
Mercy did not continue to speak until you gave up on your gun and backed away from it. She said, "my friends probably want you to be put down like a dog for the trouble you caused us. It is my obligation to do so unless you are willing to reform."
Deep down, you knew she wanted you to do more than reform. You were just dreaded for her to spit out the demands of her own self-interest. Inevitablely, she did. "Let me be your guardian angel, let me set you free... if you give me your love in return, I will not touch this button. Refuse... and I will make your last night on earth painful. I'm sure you'll make the right decision, liebchen."
There are times where people swear that they would play the hero in a fixed situation. Some say they would face death if it meant to sacrifice themselves for an important means. Maybe you would rather die than sell your life to a witch of a medic. Regardless, you submitted to her demands. Death scared you, especially one caused by something so unnaturally grotesque as being turned into a time bomb by nanobots. You bow your head and promised to follow Mercy's orders, her reaction was too giddy considering the environment she shared with you.
Laughing into her muzzling hand, eyes growing wet, it was the first time where you could catch her off guard because she wasn't looking as you were crouching down for your bag. Her finger drifted away from the button that would end you with a single press. You never unzipped a zipper so slowly; any faster than the speed you were going and the sound would give you away. The tension drove you to a numbness that would not faulter until the deed was done. The zipper was riding towards the midpoint of your bag where it comes to a stop.
You were pinned against the ground with one half of your body on a paved road and the other half on the grass. Your wrists were wrung in the tight hands of another, making the side of you that was lying on the pavement sore. A dark sky was all you could see with no trace of the face above you. Her weight grinding your hips in the ground let you know that she was still there.
Mercy's voice is a lot more distant than expected, as if she was still standing. "Lena!" she cried through a gasp. You turned your head to the side and were facing her heels. Her being the culprit was an obvious choice even though that was not the case. Instead you were underneath another girl with shorter brown hair and youthful features. A scowl so uncharacteristically hateful scorned her face.
Mercy requested she free you in a tone suggesting they were familiar with each other. It was no surprise as to why as soon as the girl opened her mouth to reveal a thick British accent. "I forgot to pay for my appointment so I went after you and—"
Tracer, as much as you and Sombra liked to turn her into the butt of a joke, was the only person who was fast enough to knock you down in a heartbeat. Mercy wishes she had that speed. The whiplash of the mood had a greater effect on you than her; your angel of death had a swift recovery from her manic glee and is inconspicuously composed on the outside. Albeit a tad irritated by Lena's interference. Even the evil gleam in her eye is unnoticeable when she realizes she could use it to her advantage.
"(Code name)?!" Tracer shrieked. You attempted to shush her but your efforts fell flat. Mercy chuckled warmly, nodded and whispered, "yes it is her. Now please keep it down, she's trying to keep a low profile."
"She tried to kill me... many times! Have you gone mad?!" she goes quiet at last when Mercy tugs at your hand affectionately. Tracer watched her ally on the battlefield turn to you, mouth agape in disbelief. Her mouth hung wider open when Mercy descends down on one knee. You did not blame her for that reaction at all and found yourself mirroring it. Just when you thought there was a way out, Mercy was one step ahead of you. Whatever ideas you conjured up for an escape are tossed away thanks to this occurrence.
"(First name) (last name), why don't you come with me and let me show you love. I promise that if you do, everyday would be joyful and you'll never be lonely again. Let me make an honest woman out of you. It would be doing everyone a favor, would it not?"
Your weeping can be misread as happy tears, that was what Tracer read them as. The color of your red-hot face can be misunderstood as a lovestruck blush. You did not look very different from the average woman being proposed to by the one she wanted to be with forever. Nobody liked to cry this hard in front of other people, especially when you were not comfortable with either of their presence.
"Yes, I accept." Tracer was confused, Mercy was ecstatic, you were in pieces.