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.
