The Armourer and the Living Weapon, Chapter 23: against your first and better judgement
I remind everyone - for the final time - that the AO3 archive warnings and tags are there for a reason. Please consider them appropriately before continuing. [View warnings and tags]
As these final chapters form the climax of the story, they will all be placed below cuts. This does not indicate anything about whether they are worksafe, though some will not be.
This chapter is worksafe. [AO3 link]
Tracer geared up for battle, the last one, the big one, where - all goes well - Doomfist and Reaper both go down. No more double-agent I've-still-been-Blackwatch-all-along lies from Gabriel, no more let's-start-a-war from Akande, no more of... all this madness, none of which could end a moment too soon. She shook out her arms, then flipped out her pistols, which felt so nice in her hands, and flipped them back, perfectly, flawlessly, soothed.
She didn't love the kill, not like Oilliphéist did, and she didn't get the rush from it, like Widowmwaker, but she didn't mind it, either. Particularly not at this point, with so very many kills under her belt. Particularly not here, knowing who, and what, and why.
She smiled to herself, as she thought, Today... we prevent the Second Omnic Crisis.
"You seem cheerful, ma chérie," said Widowmaker, gearing up beside her. Oilliphéist flashed a smile, too, as she checked her rifle.
"Yeah," said Tracer, a bit of calm happiness in her expression, as she flipped her pistols in and out of their holsters. "A few days not bein' poked at makes all the difference in the world. And today, we wrap this up - as long as Moira doesn't bring in some stupid bloody last-minute change of plans, anyway." She grimaced, grunting a small noise of frustration. "I've got used t'her, I guess - but buggery hell, she still annoys me."
Widowmaker laughed, the sound delightful in her ears. "I know, she does. But it is amusing."
"What?" asked Tracer, half-grin all akimber across her face. "Me bein' all irritated makes you giggle? S'that what did it? Didn't even think you could giggle, six months ago..."
The blue assassin smirked. "No. It's that you always say that, and that you don't trust her, or her ideas, ever, and even with what we know, you always end up following her plans against your first judgement. That is funny."
Tracer smirked right back. "I do not."
Oilliphéist shook her head. "You do, though. Every time."
Tracer laughed, and popped her pistols into their holsters again. "Huh, yeah, I guess I..." She stopped. She tilted her head, and blinked, slowly. "I..."
The tangerine-clad assassin looked down, at her hands. They were shaking. They never shook. Not ever. They couldn't. "I..."
"Lena?" asked the Widowmaker, worried, Oilliphéist looking back up as well. "What's wrong?"
"I..." she shuddered, time after time after time flipping through her head, all at once.
Tea? No. ... Huh. A bit light for my tastes, but not bad.
This is a terrible idea. ... but... I guess so.
No. Sick a'bein' prodded. ... Fine. This work?
I'll never trust my quickness again. ... This is, this is wizard.
You call this nothing?! ... I like my eyes, doc. You got a problem with that?
I don't believe you, mate, - somethin' else is goin' on. ... I guess we're in. We're doin' this.
Her hands stopped shaking, and finally, she knew. "Bloody hell," she whispered. "...what have I done?"
"Lena?" Widowmaker stepped over, and took her hands in her own. "Talk to me, cherie?"
"I..." She braced herself, taking a deep breath. "I'm..." She looked up. "Do you love me?"
Widowmaker blinked, golden eyes reflecting her own confusion. "Of course... of course I do, you know that."
She looked over to Oilliphéist. "Do you trust me."
"Implicitly," replied the newer assassin.
Tracer bit her lip, hard. "I... I think I just figured somethin' out. Trust me, today. Follow my lead. And if y'can't follow - then just trust me and stay out of my way. Can you do that?"
"This is not the plan we've already had," her lover said, "is it."
"No. Wrong or right, that's still on. But if I'm right... we'll need to make some changes."
The senior assassin's eyes narrowed, as she considered what that meant, and widened again, as she reached the same conclusion Tracer had reached moments earlier. "...I will follow you."
Oilliphéist's mind ran much along the same path, the once-ginger thinking, Is that it? Is that... of course. Brilliant. "Tracer?" she said, firmly, gesturing to Widowmaker with a nod of her head, "I'm with her - but I'm also with you. Do you understand?"
The teleporter gave her counterpart, a long, desperate look. "...I think I do."
"Don't forget that."
Lena Oxton breathed out a heavy breath, and nodded. "I won't."
-----
"We have to rely on the fact that Lena's memories and base personality - I am now reasonably certain - were not modified. But she is changing, as she adopts to her body's new preferences. The positive reinforcement she is receiving for violence in particular is almost certainly quite strong. How quickly that's reshaping her, we cannot know."
"Even worse," Dr. Zhou pointed out, "they've been unmonitored for five days. Who even knows what O'Deorain has been doing to her - and to Danielle?"
"It is something we must keep in mind," Dr. Ziegler agreed. "But they must be ready to move at any time, and there has been no sign of any of them in Oasis, and my people have been watching O'Deorain's primary facilities quite closely. I doubt there has been opportunity for too much to be done."
"Maybe, maybe not," the Soldier said. "If she wanted to subdue them, haul them off somewhere... her niece managed it just fine before."
"That's the second time you've called Emily O'Deorain's niece," the double-agent in Blackwatch armour said. "What are you talking about?"
"Emily's her niece," Fareeha replied. "They both said so."
Reyes squinted, or, at least, looked like he was, despite the low knit cap. "No, she's not. Moira's an only child. Emily's a war orphan. Her parents were Welsh and English, not Irish."
"Seriously?" Hana waved her hands around in frustration. "Seriously?!" She went head-down on the tabletop, and screamed a little. "Of course she's not."
"Sorry - I'm Talon's chief of security, believe me, I'm sure." He scratched behind his left ear, looking down at the table. "Must be some part of keeping her compliant." He looked back up. "Gardner was," he laughed a little, "difficult to keep on a leash. Brilliant - maybe the best weapons engineer I've ever seen, but... well, we had a dedicated squadron of guards assigned to her. There were reasons."
"Before being transformed?" Winston asked, a little bit incredulously.
"Yep. Two fireteams, on alternating duty. Killed every one of 'em on the way out, too. And her psychologist. And a few other people."
Angela looked to the former Blackwatch commnder. "That... does not fit well with the person I have met."
"I agree," Mei-Ling said. "She is very strange, but she is also very nice."
He shrugged. "She could act like a normal person, when she wanted to - until you set her off. Then you needed a fireteam. Or two."
The doctor gave Reyes a considering look. "We might be able to use the changes to her memory," the doctor said. "If it isn't just an act, and if Emily is truly unaware of the changes. It might provide a wedge..."
"Stop - if she's not Moira's niece, why hasn't Widowmaker said anything?" Amari demanded. "Is she in on it?"
Reyes shrugged. "Amélie's memories got pretty hashed up. Widowmaker makes new memories reasonably well, but..." he tapped the tabletop with his fingers. "It's not hard to put one over on her if it involves the past. She just doesn't care."
"I see," Morrison said. "We haven't understood anything that's been going on this entire time, have we?"
"No," said Dr. Zhou, sadly. "We have not"
Reyes shook his head, slowly. "Neither have we. She's been outplaying me for months and I never knew."
"Winston, a sensor has been tripped," Athena said, with a chime. "Tracer has activated her Overwatch PADD. It appears to be active somewhere in Edinburgh, Scotland."
She's made a mistake, he thought, as everyone in the room reacted, sitting slightly taller. Or sent up a flare. "Thank you, Athena. Try to pin that down," he replied, before looking over at Reyes, asking, "Where's Ogundimu?"
"Moving between safehouses. I don't know which."
"Gabriel..."
He put his hands up, palms towards the ceiling. "I don't. He's taken over his own security arrangements. Given everything, I don't blame him - I would too."
"Winston," Athena broke in, "Tracer has contacted me by voice, asking that I record a message for you. She requested not to be connected."
"PUT HER ON LIVE, RIGHT NOW! TRACER, CAN YOU HEAR ME?"
Tracer's voice appeared over the conference room speakers. "...follow us, or try to intervene, right? Please? Just let us finish this."
"Tracer, this is Winston, can you hear me?"
"We've got our own plans, for after, once everyone calms down," she continued, not pausing. "Just... stay out of the way. Please. Things are strange, I'd explain, but we're in a rush, but we know, all right? We know."
"Tracer, please, talk to me!"
"Once we've got this sorted - and we will get this sorted - I'll be back in touch. Just... stay clear 'till then. Tracer out."
"Lena, no!"
"Connection broken at her end, Winston. I'm sorry," Athena said, with a hint of regret. "The first part of the message indicates they are moving out for the final phase of the operation."
"Were you able to pin down the PADD's location?"
"Old Town section of Edinburgh, Scotland - near the Royal Mile."
"Of course it is," Hana snorted. "Shoulda known."
"Fine. Athena, please prep the Sparrowhawk for launch." The scientist turned to the rest of the assembled Overwatch. "I'm going to Edinburgh, I'm going to find her, and I'm going to talk Lena into coming home."
Hana shook her head. "She will not come back without Widowmaker and Oilliphéist. She will not split the party. I'm telling you now."
"Maybe not. But if I approach her myself, alone, I'm certain she'll listen to me."
"You are not approaching her alone," Fareeha insisted.
"Lena would never..."
"Oilliphéist would," Morrison interrupted. "And you know it."
Reyes nodded. "Given what she was like before... if she decides you're trying to take Lena away from her? You'll be dead before you know she's there."
"Winston," Athena broke in, again. "I have a keepalive signal from the PADD. It is moving."
"...she didn't cut the battery?" Fareeha said, surprised.
"She is highly stressed," Angela said, "and said she was in a rush..."
"Athena, complete silence to her PADD. Treat it like it's off. If she doesn't notice what she did..."
Hana Song grinned, for the first time in five days. "Then we have a tracker."
Winston grinned back. "Okay! Amari, Ziegler, Morrison - be my backup? And I do mean way back. Hana, we can't take the mech on the Sparrowhawk - stay here, run tactical?"
She frowned. "I'd rather be on site, but..." She thought it over. "Yeah. It'll work."
"I should go, too," Mei-Ling said. "My data is what convinced..." she swallowed, "I convinced everyone to go along with this. I have a duty to her."
"Absolutely not, Doctor," Morrison said. "This could go well - or it could go very badly."
Dr. Ziegler nodded. "Someone needs to shepherd your data through peer review. It's too important - the future of the world literally depends upon it. You must stay here."
"McCree," he tabbed comms. "You've been listening in?"
"Yup," he said, from the observation tower. "Y'want me here on watch?"
"Please. And when Lúcio checks back in, have him get here if he can, as medical backup."
"Can do. Good luck out there."
"Thanks. Hopefully we won't need it."
-----
Reyes ghosted his way down the cliffside, solidifying at the ledge below base grounds, next to his flyer. Sitting at the controls, he punched a long sequence of codes into his comms panel, and a network of relays and anonymising nodes came online.
"Doomfist, Reaper here."
Aboard a stealth flyer somewhere across the world, a large ring on a large hand tapped its wearer, and that wearer tapped back, raising it to his face. "Hello, Reaper. Your update?"
"Overwatch is activated, on our side. They have tracking on Tracer, and they're going to try to pull her out of the game for us. Get out of the UK."
"Where is she?"
"Edinburgh, at the moment. But she's on the move, presumably with O'Deorain and her other toys."
"I am not the sort of man who runs from a fight, Gabriel."
Don't do this now, Reyes thought, tiredly. I need you alive. "We can recover Widowmaker later. Get out of the UK."
"I think not. I am done with this. O'Deorain wants a fight? Fine. If she's on the move, she knows where I am, and I know she is coming. She will get that fight."
"Akande, I am over five hours away," he lied, punching up his flyer's engines and checking tracking on the Sparrowhawk, finding the signal clear and strong. Heh, he smirked, behind his mask. Thank you, Winston. Predictable as always. Please, lead me straight to O'Deorain. To Akande, he said, "At least stay low 'til I get there."
"Do not tell me how to handle myself, Reyes. I cannot lose the respect of the board by backing down." There was a pause, for a moment, Akande presumably considering his options. "But I will take the travel time from Oasis under consideration. Keep me updated on Overwatch. I'll need to know if the teleporter is still involved."
The double-agent cut mic as his rage spiked, closed his eyes, let himself snarl over Ogundimu's bullheadedness, and then, contained it, as he knew he must. "Acknowledged," he said, thumbing his microphone with a smokey hand. "Reaper out."
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