収束ゾーンでのライフ: Life in the Convergence Zone

This is the eighth story of the It's Not Easy To Explain, She Said collection of short stories. It starts immediately after the the third story (It's really not easy to explain, said Emily Oxton).

I'm surprised too. I've had the first chunk of this for a while, but I'd kind of given up on it going anywhere, but... well... here we are!

Also, once again, I'm first to an AO3 relationship tag - Fareeha "Pharah" Amari & Emily (Overwatch). Go me. [AO3 link]

---

Angela Ziegler cut the connection, looking at her phone with a deeply bemused expression on her face, as she heard her wife walk in the front door. "You're not going to believe this," she called to Fareeha, as the Helix security chief threw her keys onto the table by the door and sat down on the couch in the living room.

She looked up at her wife as she walked out of her office, and the falcon's face showed a little embarrassment, and a little bit of a cringe, as she replied immediately, "Emily Oxton flew into combat today and now they want her properly trained up for it."

Angela dropped the phone. "...you just got home. How?"

"It's... not easy to explain," said the rocketeer. "Do I have to?"

"Yes," the doctor said, picking up the phone from the floor. "You most certainly do."

"I tried to talk her out of it, I swear. But she would not listen."

"Oh no." The doctor ran through schedules in her head from the last couple of days. "...that emergency security meeting early this morning?"

Fareeha nodded. "I was on her personal comms, watching through her heads-up display, talking her through it."

Angela tsked, walked over to the couch, and sat next to her wife. "That does not sound like trying to talk her out of it."

"Again, I swear, I tried. This was my backup plan. I was keeping her from getting herself killed." She took a drink from glass of water on the table next to the end of the couch, and put it back down. "Feet?"

The doctor snorted, scooted down, let the rocketeer put her feet into her lap, and started to rub around her soles and arches. "Did she listen to you?"

"Oooooooooooh, thank you." She dropped her head back against the side of the couch, and melted. "Mostly."

"Well," said the doctor, after a couple of minutes of massage, "...is she any good?"

"Hm?" replied the half-dozing rocketeer.

"Is she any good?"

"Mm." She looked up, raising her head off the pillow and armrest at the end of the couch. "Surprisingly, I think so. I suspect they talked about a particularly effective dive manoeuvre..."

"No," Angela replied, shifting to her wife's toes. "Athena didn't get specific about how the fight went, other than to assure me Emily was fine, and that Winston wants a consultation as soon as we can both get to Gibraltar."

"Well," said the flying officer, shifting to her side. "They will talk about it, and it was all her. She saw an opportunity I did not, and took it immediately." The rocketeer raised her head and blinked a few times, more awake again. "Good reaction time. She has potential I did not expect out of an engineer."

Angela gave her wife a pointedly prim look.

"Yes, like you."

Angela let herself be smug for just a moment. "But why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't think she'd actually do it, not even after she called me. Emily's the sort of person to get excited about scarves and wind resistance and lift ratios. I thought as soon as she got close to actual fighting, she'd come to her senses."

"Ah. But instead, she dove in. Kestrel is an appropriate name, it seems."

"Yes. Also, she promised me licensing on her new anti-grav foils. You'll want to update your suit around them. Perhaps a whole new design."

"I will?" asked the combat medic, tilting her head. "They're that good?"

"You won't need to be linked to me to get up to full speed anymore."

"Then I won't have them," she said, primly.

"Yes, you will - because I'm not always there. Also, if you have the new foils, I'll be able to fly with you, when I'm out of fuel."

"My dear," the Swiss woman smiled, "if we weren't already married, I'd say that sounded like a proposal."

"Habibti, if we weren't - it would be."

-----

"It's not easy to explain," said Kestrel. Or, now, back down on the ground, Emily. But she responded to both, these days. "It's not like airplane flying. Not at all."

Lena bit on her lip as she listened. It didn't feel like her type of flying. No roar, no rush of engine noise, no leaping off the ground heading for mach 3. She'd tried one of the flight suits, once, with Emily remote-piloting, and it just didn't make sense to her. It felt - if anything - more like floating than flying, and she'd had more than enough floating in the Slipstream for an entire life.

"Ethereal." Fareeha picked up her cup, taking a sip from it, keeping it in her hands. "That's not a bad way to put it," she agreed. "It is in some ways kind of ethereal. And strangely arbitrary in how it handles. You either get it, or you do not."

She leaned back, breathing in the scent of her strong Arabic coffee. "Angela understands it. Lena does not, I don't think..."

"Got that right."

"Whereas Emily, here" - she pointed at Overwatch's newest flying agent - "does."

Widowmaker contemplated the description, and the technology. She had no interest in flying, and her chain handled every kind of up she might ever need - but... "Perhaps something that could... control one's rate of fall... might be useful? Or something to allow me to launch myself further up? Obviously, I have no fear of injury" - the structural enhancements Talon had made to her body had taken care of that - "but I could see certain advantages. A grapple is not a universal solution to problems of altitude."

"Yeh!" Lena grinned. "Like when we were tryin' to work out gettin' under that set of bridges in Germany. Remember that?"

"All too well." Fareeha responded first, shaking her head. "Being a tether point was not a highlight of my career."

"Désolée." Widowmaker shrugged. She could work with Fareeha - they had come to a sort of cordiality, within an Overwatch context - but neither one of them particularly enjoyed it.

"Hey, it got the job done," Emily insisted, and Widowmaker nodded as she sipped from her espresso. "I'll think on it, see what comes to mind."

"Regardless," Fareeha continued, picking up the previous thread of the conversation, "Ethereal or not, it's still effective, and I think Emily can be cleared for mission work in a few more weeks."

Emily beamed, entirely pleased with herself. "Perfect scores just good enough, then?"

"Flight tests are one thing. Tactical training is another. Milk runs first, until you have more field awareness."

"Still counts!" Kestrel said, proudly.

"It does," Fareeha agreed. "You're learning quickly."

"I think I've just about got the next-generation gravity blade worked out," Emily started to say before the four agents bounced a little into the air as Winston bounded over to their table, surprising them all. Emily shrieked, momentarily, but it didn't cover the actual surprise felt by Widowmaker, any more than her attempt to hide her reaction in a glare did.

"Hi there!" Winston said, smugly.

"You are a monster," Widowmaker replied, having barely avoided spilling her drink, as Lena giggled and giggled and giggled. "That would not have worked if the canteen were not so busy."

"But it did," he said, satisfaction clear in his voice. "And you're starting to let your guard down."

"That's part of the point, isn't it?"

Lena looked around the busy room as Winston and Widowmaker exchanged friendly barbs, taking it all in, realising exactly how busy Gibraltar had become. Overwatch wouldn't ever be the size it had been, of course - it didn't even want to be. But as negotiations over the PETRAS act picked up steam, more of the crew had started making their way back, and with almost sixty people on site at the Watchpoint - mostly desperately-needed support staff - the old base had become downright lively.

"Ree - I've got some news for Widowmaker, and a couple of questions. Do you mind...?"

"Not at all - I was finished anyway." Fareeha glanced over to the blue sniper, and nodded to her, once, before picking up her tray and leaving the table.

"The UN has made an offer," Winston said, as the flying agent walked away. He handed the sniper a PADD. "It's not a final disposition, but... I think it's a pretty good deal."

Widowmaker's eyes widened, as she grabbed the tablet. "What is it?"

Emily hopped behind Widowmaker, reading over her shoulder. It was in French, but she'd always been good at languages. "détaché travaillant avec la DGSE..."

She blinked, and read it again, before looking up at Winston.

"Well, that's creative," Lena said, skimming along as well. "Special forces detached duty, then?"

"That's what they're willing to offer," Winston said, nodding. "Attached to us, but officially DGSE. Most importantly, you'd be legal. You'd also be authorised to use deadly force in specific circumstances with Overwatch, particularly in dynamic situations where enemy fire has already been engaged."

"Unless," Widowmaker asked, pointedly, "DGSE call me in for something they want done. Then I would be theirs. Am I correct?"

She did not think much of DGSE's assassins. "Pathetic," she'd said, once, when asked.

"No," Winston stressed, as she raised an eyebrow in surprise. "They asked for that first, and we pushed back - as I think they expected." He took off his glasses, cleaning them a bit as she continued down the file. "I'm fairly pleased with our compromise. Keep reading."

"...will not be deployed" - she bristled a little at the word, even though it was completely correct - "for assassination missions except for operations against Talon, where..." She looked up. "According to this, DGSE would use me only..."

"Against high-level Talon, explicitly as part of Overwatch operations - and in that context, you'd have a free hand. That's what they actually want."

She blinked. "They want me to take apart Talon?"

"They want us to."

"Good." Widowmaker narrowed her eyes, her mind permuting possibilities, and reasons. "They did something new, did they not? Talon. Something... worse than what they did to Amélie."

Winston nodded. "The French haven't said that, but," he grimaced, "it doesn't take a lot of reading between the lines to think so."

"Bloody demons," Lena muttered, not far under her breath.

"Of course they did." Emily shook her head in disgust.

The Widowmaker leaned back against her chair, hiding behind impassive coolness. "And so, they want me to tear Talon into tiny and preferably dead pieces in response. Yes?"

"We're... Overwatch is less interested specifically in the dead part, even if there are times when it's unavoidable." He bobbed his head back and forth a little. "I prefer to hand people over for trial. But basically, yes. It's not official yet, but unless something changes dramatically, we're going to get official dispensation again from the UN, specifically so we can go after Talon."

Widowmaker nodded, sharply. once, pushing the PADD back across the table. "Then tell them the terms are acceptable to me. I will do my service with Overwatch, and the DGSE if necessary, against my creators - for as long as Overwatch is permitted to operate, and no longer." She paused for a moment. "...add that my acceptance is conditional, pending review of final language."

"But if nothing changes?"

"Then we have, I believe you say, a deal."

"Good," Winston said, picking up the PADD and typing in a paraphrase of her response, before turning the screen back to the sniper. "Thumbprint here, to verify?"

Widowmaker hesitated, thinking it through one last time, before confirming.

Winston grinned, as the message went out. "I think we've just about cracked this. We could be legal again in a month."

"Y'think?" Lena asked, perking up. "That'd be great!"

"I do."

"I wouldn't mind not having to worry about my security clearances anymore," Emily admitted, as the PADD chirped again, and Winston read something on the screen. "I've been nervous about losing work."

"Ha!" Winston exclaimed.

"What, luv?"

Winston took in a big breath, then huffed it back out. "Okay! While it's still considered provisional..." he said, his smile growing larger, "now that you have provisionally accepted that... I have now received approval to do hand you this."

He pulled out a brand new EU passport from his pocket, and handed it to the Widowmaker.

Widowmaker stared for a moment, and then another, and then carefully took the small booklet from Winston's hand, handling it as though it were the thinnest glass, as if it would shatter if handled too roughly. She turned backwards through the pages, slowly, checking each one, confirming each was what it seemed to be, until she reached the front, with her name. Her name.

The name she had chosen.

"I..." she breathed, "...exist. Officially, I mean. I am... French. I..." She blinked, confused by the emotions whirling around inside her. "I did not think I would care." A small huff of a laugh. "But... apparently, I do."

"I felt the same way when I got my documentation," Winston confided.

The sniper nodded, as Lena walked around behind her, and gave her a hug. "It's a pretty good photo, luv," she said, as Emily got up to help.

"It's nice, isn't it?" Winston said, as the Widowmaker nodded. "When other people decide you're..."

Winston, who had - like her - once been an asset, thought about it for a moment.

"...when they finally admit that you're a person. That you're real."

Windowmaker reached across the table, suddenly, grabbing Winston's hand, tears suddenly in her eyes - a rarity, still, for her, but no longer unknown.

Winston, understanding, gently squeezed her hand.

"Welcome to Gibraltar... Minjonet Guillard."

-----

"So she's legal now?" Angela asked, putting down the diagnostics PADD she'd been studying as she relaxed on the couch at home.

Fareeha nodded, sitting down beside her wife. "Scoot over," she said, really meaning "turn around and put your head in my lap," and Angela did exactly that.

"Yes," Fareeha answered, once they'd both settled in.

She started massaging Angela's scalp.

"Oh, that feels good."

"I know."

They lay together, wordless and relaxed, for a few minutes.

"A pardon, too?" Angela asked, eventually, eyes half-closed.

"Mmm? Oh," Fareeha said, reminded of the questions. "Yes. It's conditional, in exchange for her list of Talon embedded agents, agreement to work with Overwatch and the DGSE against Talon, and... general good behaviour."

"Good behaviour."

"Yes. She's going to have to walk a very narrow line for a while, but I think she'll do it."

"Mmm." Angela said. "And how do you feel about that?"

Fareeha thought for a moment, and then another. "I can live with it."

"Can you?" Angela rolled over and looked up at her handsome wife, who - she felt - sometimes kept too much inside, even for them.

"She's basically taking Gérard Lacroix's old job," Fareeha breezed. "I can appreciate the irony in that."

Angela swatted at Ree. "Be serious. This hasn't been easy for either of us."

"No, it hasn't," Fareeha agreed, looking down at her wife again. "But if it means we're going to gear up to take Talon apart? Tear them completely down and burn the remains for all they have done? Then yes. I promise you. I can live with it. I will manage just fine."

She allowed herself a little bit of a chuckle.

"I might even learn to enjoy it."

Widowmaker brought herself in from the cold, one day, exchanging a list of Talon agents for sanctuary, and at first couldn't or wouldn't say why. Her first breakthrough in explaining herself came in a talk with Lena Oxton, who then helped her break through Angela Ziegler's insistence that Widowmaker was not really a person, and that Amélie Lacroix could yet be recovered. But despite that truth, sometimes, some of Amélie's last memories - mostly but not always tightly compartmentalised away - trouble the spider, and this is one of those times.

This is the sixth in a series of stories set in the It is Not Easy to Explain, She Said continuity, a timeline largely compliant with known canon as of July 2017 (pre-Doomfist/Masquerade), which is when I wrote and posted the first story. It is not part of the on overcoming the fear of spiders AU.

This story follows "It's not easy to explain, said Lena Oxton" in chronological sequence. [AO3 link]

---

"Do you remember what it was like?"

Lena held Widowmaker's hand, gently, as they sat together, otherwise alone, mid-afternoon, in the smaller canteen at Gibraltar. She drank tea, cream, two sugars. Her counterpart drank obscenely hot coffee, unsweetened, strong, and dark.

For the most part, Amélie's memories stayed safely in their place, out of Widowmaker's way, but there were a few, occasionally, at the border between her birth and the previous woman's death, that picked at her, at times. Dr. Ziegler suggested that was because of the emotions around them - emotions could, perhaps, last long enough, even if the thoughts themselves didn't, to become Widowmaker's emotions as well.

"A little," said the former Talon assassin, after some delay. "Not very much, thankfully. I do not think she was making new memories very well, by then. But there are some."

Lena shuddered a little. "I can't even imagine it."

Widowmaker shook her head. "For her, it was not even the fear of it happening. It was..." She pondered a moment. "It is not easy to explain."

"I can't imagine it would be."

"She would feel, and think, one way, one thing, and then, she would find herself thinking another way, a different thing, a thing like I would think, sometimes, but she would be thinking it, and not me. And sometimes it would be something neither of us would think, but something they very much wanted her to think. And she would believe what she thought, and what she felt, but she would know, she would remember, moments before, thinking very differently about the same thing."

"And she'd fight it," assumed Tracer, "and that would hurt."

"No - but yes? Both would feel like it was her. There was nothing for her to fight. But the difference in the two... that, she found horrifying."

Lena let out a long breathy hoo sound, and took another sip of her tea, before continuing. "So they were making her think... their thoughts, then."

"My thoughts, at least, at times." She leaned her elbows against the table. "Or, to be more correct, the kind of thoughts they wanted me to think. About... how lovely, how beautiful, how perfect it would be when they put her back, and she killed Gérard. And she would believe it, because she could already feel it." The assassin smiled. "As I do, when I kill."

Tracer shuddered. She knew, she knew that the assassin enjoyed her kills - that for a long time, it had been all she lived for. But making Amélie feel that, and Amélie knowing they made her feel that... "Was it you, then? When they did it?" she asked, hoping for an unlikely yes.

The blue assassin laughed, a sound that still made Lena's heart ring every time it happened, no matter the context. "No. I could hardly have imitated Amélie so well for so long. I'd've been discovered, almost immediately. No - it was still her." She took a sip of her coffee. It had cooled a bit, but remained hot enough for her tastes. "That's why it took her two weeks to strike."

"So in the end..." the teleporter said, voice distant in her own ears, "Amélie killed Gérard. And enjoyed it."

Widowmaker nodded. "In a way. They were never above to achieve everything they wanted with her, but they were able to recondition her enough to kill - at least, for a time. And so, she assassinated Gérard, but being torn between the grief and the guilt and the ecstasy..." She shook her head. "That all but shattered her. When she returned, as programmed, they took her apart completely. And built me."

"But you feel some of her... emotions, from then? Her conflict?"

"I do," she said, a tinge of sadness in her voice. She put down her cup. "It was the only death about which I felt conflicted, until Mondatta, and the fight with you."

Lena put a third sugar in her tea. She needed something sweet right then. "D'ya ever wonder," she said, as she refilled her cup from the teapot, "if they'd done a better job sealing her off, if you might not've started to, y'know, think on your own?"

"Internal conflict as the source of self-awareness? Dr. Ziegler has suggested that idea as well." She shrugged. "I do not know. But let's say it's true - in which case, Talon did me yet another favour. They..." she picked her cup back up, sipped at the coffee, and put it back down, "left me open, on accident, to you." And she smiled again, just a little, at the side of her mouth.

The Overwatch teleporter let out her breath, and her eyes softened just a bit, as she looked into those metallic eyes. "Aw, luv. That's..."

"May I kiss you?"

Lena blinked, putting down her tea. "...you... care about..." She shook her head, just a little. "...things like that?"

"I don't know." The spider shrugged again, this time with something artificial in the nonchalance. "But I am finding I... may. At least, with you. Shall we find out?"

Lena wasn't sure what she expected. Would she be cold? Would she feel wrong, would she feel like some dead - and then no, she did not, she was not, she was none of those things, she was cool, yes, but not cold, cool like the first breezes of autumn, like the first hints of snow off the mountains, not chilling, but invigorating, and Lena returned the kiss, almost involuntarily, herself warm, no, hot, like summer sun, like the last day at a Spanish beach before the turning of the weather, and Widowmaker was just as surprised, finding herself melting just a little bit more, and she gasped, pulling away, panting, looking down at her coffee, thinking, How can she be so warm?, before looking back up at the one who had reached past her eyes of molten gold, and finding she had no words then at all.

"Blimey, luv..." managed Lena, after a moment. "You're... only the second woman ever to make me feel like that with a kiss."

"For me, you," breathed Widowmaker, eyes wide, "...are the first."

"I hope it don't make you feel like killin' someone," Lena half-laughed, half-serious, half-joking, a lot nervous and a little afraid, and if that made more than a whole, so be it. "Chiefly, me."

"Never." Widowmaker reached across the table, grabbing Lena's hands with both of her own. "Do you understand? Never. I could not."

She pulled Lena forward, close, quickly, knocking the teacup across the table, shattering it on the floor, and the smaller woman gasped, startled, but did not flee.

"I do not know why, and I do not know how, but..." The spider kissed the teleporter, again, the meeting short but intense, "...I have found someone I could never kill."

Hooooooo, thought a part of the teleporter, unexpected emotions swirling around her mind, throwing her into responding before she even knew she was doing it. This is not gonna be easy to explain, to... to anybody.