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pengychan · 4 years ago

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[Good Omens] Winging It - Matthew 16:19

Summary: Shockingly, attempting to destroy an angel without consulting God first comes with consequences. There is more than one way to fall, and a thousand more ways to inconvenience an angel and a demon who just wanted to be left in peace. Characters: Gabriel, Crowley, Aziraphale, Beelzebub, Michael, Uriel, Sandalphon Rating: T

Prologue and all chapters are tagged as ‘winging it’ on my blog.

A/N: Someone's having second thoughts..

***

Like every demon - or angel, for that matter - Beelzebub, Prince of Hell and Lord of the Flies, did not require sleep.

Last time they had slept had been sometime in the early 1300s, when some Italian scribbler who was very much alive had inexplicably gained access to Hell and proceeded to take a tour. He’d been found rather quickly and escorted to Beelzebub’s office while Dagon tried to find out how in Heaven had a living mortal gained access.

They never did find out - the explanation that he ‘got lost in a forest’ was of amazingly little use - and for the entire time he was there, the mortal did nothing but ramble about his political enemies back in Florence. In rhyme, which was perplexing but hadn’t done much to make up for the sheer boredom of the entire tirade.

In the end, Beelzebub had just fallen asleep; when they woke up again, the mortal had been thrown back up on Earth. Theoretically the decision should have been theirs, but truth be told it had been a relief and Beelzebub had been rather glad someone else had gotten that windbag out of their hair.

The mortal had proceeded to write about his short visit to Hell but, when they got their hands on a copy of their account - all in rhyme, of course - the Lord of the Flies hadn’t been too surprised to find that the account mostly consisted of entirely made-up fantasies.

Plenty of revenge fantasies, which they could respect, but fantasies nonetheless. Beelzebub had later found out the man had claimed to have visited Heaven too, which Gabriel firmly denied during a meeting - rather annoyed by the implication he would break out in song about the holiness of Maryam for no apparent reason other than putting up a show for a mortal.

“No mortal was ever here before death,” he had said rather stiffly. “Clearly, our security is not the one that needs improvement.”

Neither of them had the foggiest idea what that ‘Purgatory’ nonsense was all about, and it was eye-wateringly boring to read, so they had just let the matter drop.

Anyway. To cut a very long story short, Beelzebub did not require sleep.

Gabriel did, on the other hand, and it hadn’t taken all that long for him to fall asleep, snoring… not loudly, but just enough to grate the nerves of anyone who didn’t happen to be a Prince of Hell with rather hellish tastes over what was a soothing sound and what was not. So in the end they had stayed exactly where they were, and elected to follow his example by falling asleep as well, not least because it meant it would allow them to put off actually thinking about what had just happened for a few more hours.

They hadn’t counted on waking up with the distinct feeling of being in the grip of a kraken because Gabriel had apparently decided to cling to them with all limbs. With a roll of their eyes, Beelzebub changed form into that of a fly to escape it and re-transformed a few feet away from the bed, eyeing in silence at the still sleeping form that occupied it.

Gabriel was laying on his side, and Beelzebub could distinctly see the ragged scars on his shoulder blades, where the wings had been cut away. Or rather, torn; Michael’s sword may have helped cut them away, yes, but they figured the last part would need to be done by hand, ripping the stumps right out of his flesh so that nothing remained.

They could imagine the scene quite well, the dripping blood and the wet ripping sound; all quite familiar in Hell, all things they were rather indifferent to. Not that time, though. Now, the more they stared, the angrier they got.

How dare they damage him, they thought. I ought to have enveloped Michael in Hellfire when she stepped in my throne room with that useless pitcher of holy water, they thought.

Except that they knew that would have hurt Gabriel more than even having his wings torn out had. Despite everything, despite his old friends’ choice to carry out his sentence rather than rebelling on his behalf, Gabriel still claimed he understood their choice.

“We don’t question God,” he had told them last time they had brought up the subject, his voice somewhat sorrowful. “I would have done the same in their place, if I was the one ordered to cast out any of them. I don’t think I would now, but I would have then.”

But when he had a chance to strike Ba’al down, so very long ago, he had not. He had tried to reach out. He had tried to keep them there.

Ba’al.

Looking silently at Gabriel’s back, which rose and fell with each breath - with each snore - Beelzebub could admit to themselves that in a corner of their mind, throughout the night before, they had feared to hear that name again. They had feared it would leave Gabriel’s lips while he gasped in the dark, holding onto them, looking up at them in the faint light coming from the streetlight outside the window. They had feared it would all turn out to be about who they had been, and could never be again.

But that name hadn’t been uttered, not even once. Gabriel was not longing for someone long gone: he knew exactly who he’d chosen to spend the night with regardless of any possible consequences. When the sickly-sweet, cloying sense of love which had almost choked them when they first remembered what had been returned, Beelzebub knew it was for them. For the Prince of Hell and Lord of the Flies, as they were, right there and then.

It was worrying. It was a relief. It was doubly worrying that it was a relief. Beelzebub, who pointed out often and gladly how Gabriel was never the sharpest knife in the drawer, began to belatedly realize they’d been hoisted by their own petard. And as soon as they did, they found themselves doing the only thing they could think of: find something else to keep themselves occupied with, anything to turn their musings away from the thing churning in their chest.

And at the moment there didn’t seem to be a lot to do other than making coffee, so they went with that. By the time they poured the hot water from the cheap electric kettle into a mug filled halfway with soluble coffee, Gabriel was beginning to stir.

Two thoughts hit Beelzebub at the same time: the first was that they were still unclothed, which was not proper, and the second that they really didn’t much care what was proper and what was not. As they did their best to regain composure, bringing the mug to their lips, Gabriel turned on his back and then yawned, which made his face look really stupid. Beelzebub gave him an unimpressed glance over the rim of their mug.

Then Gabriel sat up on the bed and stretched. Beelzebub's glance was... a little less unimpressed. At least for a few seconds, until the second Gabriel turned to look at them; when he did, their expression was unimpressed as ever. Clearly unbothered by that fact, he smiled.

“Good morning,” he said.

Beezelbub scoffed. “I cannot imagine what could possibly be so good about mornings.”

“Well, last night was--” he paused, searching for a word. “Pleasant. No?”

There was the slightest, barely detectable trace of hesitation in his voice. It told Beelzebub two things, in no uncertain terms: that he certainly found it pleasant, and that being told the Lord of the Flies hadn’t would probably wound his pride… or perhaps even cut a bit deeper than that.

And Beelzebub was not generally in the habit of lying. Looking at Gabriel now did not really bring forth any urges, regardless how annoyingly good looking he was, but the act itself had been pleasant and they saw no point in denying it. There was a great deal they were currently denying - well, delaying having to reflect upon - but the pleasure they took was not it.

“It was,” they conceded, and the hesitation on Gabriel’s face disappeared almost instantly. “But it was last night. I asked what is so good about this morning.”

A shrug. “You made coffee,” Gabriel said, standing up. Beelzebub scoffed.

“For myself. You can make your own,” the Lord of the Flies replied, and brought the mug up to their lips - only for it to be taken away in a quick, annoyingly smooth motion.

“Thank you.”

“I said it’s for myself.”

“I only need a couple of sips.”

“No,” Beelzebub snapped, and reached to take the mug again, only for Gabriel to lift it up above his head… and well above their reach. They glared up at him with enough intensity to melt metal. Figuratively, of course, or else Gabriel would have indeed begun melting or burst into flames, which would have been well-deserved but rather unpleasant. Instead he stood there, alive and well and with that dumb smile still on his face. Ugh, the idiot.

Beelzebub crossed their arms. “Are you this stupidly tall with the only purpose of annoying me?”

“Well, I do appreciate the looks of my current form, but it was not my decision. You should take your complaint to God.”

“Believe me, I will once the War happens--”

“If the War happens…”

“-- And we tear down the gates to Heaven to conquer it.”

“Of course.” Gabriel chuckled and brought the steaming mug to his mouth and took a gulp - only to immediately spit it back in the mug with a hawking noise. Beelzebub made a face.

“... Come to think of it, you can keep it.”

“Agh! Did you--how much powder-- is there any sugar…?” he choked. Beelzebub’s lips twitched. “Are you familiar, even in passing, with the expression ‘bitter as Hell’?”

“Ugh!” Gabriel made a face, putting the mug of coffee down and rubbing his lips with the back of his hand. “Is this why you didn’t stop me?”

Truth be told Beelzebub hadn’t thought for a moment he may not appreciate highly concentrated soluble coffee without any sweetener to speak of, but they immediately decided to stick with that version. It sounded quite a bit better than ‘I forgot I could have forced you to give it back with a mere fraction of the power in my left hand’s little finger’.

So in the end they said, “This ought to teach you not to cross the Lord of the Flies.”

Gabriel wrinkled his nose. “Evil,” he muttered, but his lips were curling in a smile again. Beelzebub had been called evil plenty of times - occasionally as an insult, more often as a neutral and objective descriptor and several times with well-deserved reverence - but they couldn’t remember any other time there’d been such obvious fondness attached to it.

He is an idiot, they thought, and I am twice the idiot he is for falling right in my own trap.

“You may apologize by making more coffee,” they muttered, and he did, not really bothering to cover himself in any way. Not that Beelzebub had expected him to show embarrassment over his nakedness - they hadn’t bothered to put anything on yet either, that sort of shame was entirely too human for them and they suspected they were well past that phase either way - but what made them pause was the realization that Gabriel no longer attempted to conceal the scars where his wings had been from their gaze.

***

“... And then I suggest we put together a task force to put some order in the Earth observation files. I suppose a lot of issues could have been avoided if we’d kept a closer eye on those in the past few millennia.”

Uriel nodded at Micheal’s words, writing something down. “Yes, it makes sense. I will make a list of viable names for it.”

A nod. “Good. Anything else? Sandalphon?” she called out… getting no answer. “Sandalphon.”

Michael’s tone grew just a little sharper, but it was enough to make Sandalphon recoil. He cleared his throat, looking up. “Yes, yes. I agree.”

Michael stared. “Agree to what, specifically?”

“To the-- the thing with the-- and that other-- thing, with...” Sandalphon searched for the next word for a few moments, gave up, and let out a sigh, dropping his shoulders. “My apologies. I got distracted. But I am sure I agree with whatever you just said.”

Michael let out a sigh, gathering the papers. “And what is it that had you so distracted?”

Sandalphon hesitated a moment, acutely aware of Uriel’s gaze on him. “I was thinking about Gabriel,” he began, causing Michael to lift her gaze from the sheets and look at him.

“What of him? Is he all right?” she asked, frowning. She’d seen Gabriel a couple of weeks earlier, but as she had taken on the lion’s share of what had been Gabriel’s role on top of her own - Sandalphon wondered, not for the first time, if it was her way to make up for the fact she had been the one to cut off his wings - there had been no time for her to pay him another visit.

“No, no, he’s fine,” Sandalphon said quickly. “Called him a couple of days ago. He was on his way back from Devon, from a visit to that Brown fellow’s brother. He asked to confirm if all dogs do indeed go to Heaven, no idea why, but I checked for him. They do, by the way. No exceptions. Cats as well - most animals, really. The only exception to the rule are geese.”

Michael’s lips curled in a smile. “That’s good to know. What’s on your mind about Gabriel, then?”

“Well…” Sandalphon looked at the pen in his hands, fidgeting with it. “You know how we… reversed that entire thing with forgetting about him? By accepting we had to remember what we didn’t want to think about, and not just what we wished to remember?”

“Of course we do,” Uriel said, and something in her tone caused Sandalphon to look up. One glance, and he instinctively knew. “... You’re wondering if it would be the same for the others.”

Sandalphon nodded. Michael frowned in confusion , gaze shifting between the two of them.

“Others? What are you two talking about?”

Uriel looked at her in the eye. “The other ones that Fell. Long ago,” she said, and Michael’s posture stiffened, her hands gripping the sheets just a little tighter.

“... We have no reason to wish to remember them. They’re gone. What is left are enemies, and-”

“And enemies are easier to fight if you can't recall them being anything else,” Uriel finished.

Sandalphon suspected that was not how Michael had meant her sentence to go, but she did not argue against her statement. It was true; they all knew that. Michael was silent for a few moments, and finally stood. “There’s your answer. We may remember them if we try, I suppose, the same way we did with Gabriel. But ask yourselves if you really think we should,” she said, her voice quiet, and left the meeting room without another word.

Sandalphon let out a long breath just as Uriel turned to look at him. She seemed calm, her voice quiet when she spoke. “What do you think, then? Should we?”

Until not too long ago, Sandalphon knew, the answer would have been a resounding no. Things were easier, then. Now, he sighed. “I don’t know,” he murmured. “I really don’t know.”

***

When a look at Gabriel’s folder revealed no new sins, Beelzebub was… not precisely surprised. They were not disappointed, either, which was rather more surprising than the blank bottom half of the sheet they were currently glaring at. They scoffed and closed the folder, letting it drop on the floor by their throne.

Well, there was the answer - carnal acts with a demon did not count as a grievous sin, or any kind of sin at all. Beelzebub now felt doubly foolish for telling Gabriel there was even a risk, if anything because it gave him a chance to show off how sickeningly sappy he could get.

“I figured,” the idiot had said. “I think I’ll take the chance.”

It would have been reassuring to think he had taken the chance out of lust, succumbing to it as many humans do, but it was clear the previous evening that was not the case. They both had taken pleasure in the act, and did plan to do so again in the future, but Beelzebub doubted Gabriel lusted any more than they did. The absolute bellend was willing to risk damnation, or a significant tilt of the scale towards it, not for lust - but for them.

He wouldn’t have been willing to risk so much before. He was not, not even for Ba’al.

“We are not the beings we were then,” he had said, and he was right. Beelzebub was no longer the being that Archangel Gabriel had loved at the dawn of existence, before the War, before the Fall. They both had known that. Beelzebub hadn’t counted on the fact the utter imbecile would fall, figuratively, for the being they were now. Their plan had worked, only for them to realize they had never paused to wonder what they would do if it worked too well.

Beelzebub groaned, pressing a hand against their eyes and leaning back their head against the throne’s headrest with a thunk. The most frustrating part was that they knew they were supposed to be very much pleased with that turn of events. Of course, something as undignified as falling in love was very much beneath a Prince of Hell and would make them a laughing stock if word came out, though very few would dare laugh to their face - but no one would need to know that sappy detail. They could very well pass it off as lust.

No one would bat an eye if Beelzebub claimed Gabriel’s soul after successfully winning it for Hell, made him a demon, and kept him by their side; the Prince of Hell took what they wanted without question, and wouldn’t be the first to keep close a mortal they were particularly proud of winning over for their cause. A former archangel, too - no one would question for a moment it was merely a matter of keeping a trophy. They’d be none the wiser; it could work out perfectly.

Except that there was a part of Beelzebub, the one that had forced them to pause the previous evening to warn Gabriel that what they were doing may count as a sin, that knew it would not. For all the chances Gabriel may be willing to take for them, up to and including eternal damnation, the Lord of the Flies knew with utmost certainty he would never be happy in Hell.

“Ridiculous,” they snapped at the empty room. “No one is happy in Hell. No one is meant to be. That is the point, that is… that…”

“Why rebel to the absolute authority of God to pass absolute the absolute authority of Satan?”

Gabriel’s question echoed in their mind, causing Beelzebub to scowl. What an idiotic question - what choice did they have? After God threw them in Hell for wanting a choice, they… they…

No. God cast us out, decreed we were not to return to Heaven; never that we were to stay here.

The thought hit them like a blow, and the faint buzzing of the flies around them was silenced abruptly. It was true - how had they not seen it before? They were cast out of Heaven as humanity would later be cast out of Eden, but nothing else, despite the nonsense in the Bible about being committed to chains of gloomy darkness, whatever that was supposed to mean.

There was a universe out there they may have roamed as humanity roamed Earth, but they had not. Satan chose where to dwell, and they all had followed - the fallen angels who had rebelled to stop being followers. They had been divided up in ranks, they who had grown to resent the ranks among God’s angels, and when humanity was created they were ordered to corrupt them. They had obeyed, accepted that was to be their lot in existence until they gambled everything, again, to try and conquer the one place in all Creation they had been shut out of.

They had made themselves into the opposite of all that God and his angels were, in all but one thing: after the Fall, after receiving new orders, they had not questioned again, either.

“It was God’s Great Plan you were fulfilling,” Gabriel had said, and it was with utter annoyance and a fair dose of dread that Beelzebub admitted to themself that the idiot… had a point. Was Hell, all of what surrounded them now - the realm they were Prince of - anything like what they had thought their existence outside the suffocating order created by God would be? They had a far higher rank in it than they did in Heaven, but… that was the only difference.

And if the War never happens, what then? No resolution, an eternity of corrupting mortal souls because we were told to six thousand years ago, according to a Plan we rebelled against in the first place? A Plan none of us really knows? Is that it, an eternity of this?

The questions circled in Beelzebub’s mind as many moths unable to find light, and in the stillness and silence of their throne room, there was no answer.

Amongst the cracked certainties, however, there was one that did not waver: willing to risk his soul for them or not, disillusioned with Heaven or not and regardless of the high position Beelzebub could get him, Gabriel would be desperately miserable in Hell.

And Beelzebub, Prince of Hell and Lord of the Flies, found that was not something they would be able to handle.

***

“Well well well, look who’s in here. The supervisor.”

“The supervisor who’s been avoiding us the whole morning.”

“Clearly to avoid telling us how the evening went.”

With a chuckle, Gabriel looked up from his checklist to see Łukasz and Fabrizio standing at the door of the small room service as the supervisor’s office. Blocking the door, more accurately. “I have been busy, is all. I was avoiding no one.”

“Uh-huh. So, what’s the word?”

Gabriel’s smile widened. “It-- went quite well,” he said, and nearly dropped the clipboard when both of them released high, unholy screeches. Humans certainly did seem to express their approval in a very different way from the polite applause that was the norm in Haven.

“So, did you--”

“I will not get into details, if you don’t mind,” Gabriel cut Fabrizio off, leaning back against the seat. “But let’s say that this morning we have… parted in more amicable terms than last time.”

“Good! You owe us a pint each, then.”

“What? I cannot recall agreeing to--” Gabriel began, but they were both already gone, and he could hear their snickers as they walked back to their work stations. He rolled his eyes, still smiling, and focused on his work again. In the back of his mind there was a nagging question - did it count as a sin? Did it tip the scales? Where did his soul stand between Heaven and Hell? - but he decided that, if Beelzebub did not volunteer that information, he would not ask.

Mortals didn’t get the luxury of always knowing which way their actions would tip the scales in the end, after all, and Gabriel felt more and more like he could handle that.

***

“You know what book you should have loaned him? The Malleus Maleficarum.”

Aziraphale - who had been trying rather hard to scrub all memory of the encounter from his brain - raised an eyebrow, took the cup of candied peanuts from the vendor and thanked her before he followed Crowley a few steps away down the sidewalk. “I believe you may be getting confused, dear. The Malleus Maleficarum is most certainly not a pornography book. Peanut?”

“I’m aware,” Crowley pointed out, and did take a candied peanut. He threw it up in the air and opened his mouth to catch it, only for it to bounce off his forehead and on the ground. Aziraphale politely pretended not to have noticed and just casually put the cup within Crowley’s reach again as they walked down the street towards the bookstore.

“Then why should I have loaned him that specific book?”

“It does contain descriptions of what to expect from carnal relations with demons.”

This time, Aziraphale eyed him with mild concern. He’d admittedly always skimmed over that part, but he recalled quite sordid details that simply could not be true… right? “Surely, all of that is nonsense,” he declared. To his relief, Crowley shrugged.

“Of course it’s nonsense, I was blind drunk when Kramer interviewed me, he asked the weirdest questions - I had to come up with something. No one can say I’m not at my most creative when drunk. And that guy and his friend took everything so seriously, I would say it’s on him. ”

… Wait a moment. “You-- you mean to tell me, you were one of their sources to write the Malleus Maleficarum?”

“Purely by accident, I assure you - never thought it was going to be for a witch hunting manual - but yes. Would you like me to sign your copy?”

“It is a first edition. You may most certainly not sign it,” Aziraphale said over a mouthful of candied peanuts, still rather relieved to know everything in that book was, after all, nonsensical rubbish. “I suspect that had I given Gabriel that, he may have reconsidered his… plans.”

“For the sake of my sanity, I want to tell myself he did reconsider anyway.”

“So will I. Peanut?” he offered, holding out the cup again.

This time, Crowley managed to catch it in mid-air.

***

Gabriel was still trying to catch his breath when he noticed Aziraphale’s book on his nightstand.

He ought to return it, he thought distantly, only to be immediately distracted when Beelzebub settled across his back, chin pressed against the back of his shoulder. “I hope this will teach you not to steal my coffee in the future,” they said, and Gabriel let out a breathless laugh.

“If this is what happens when I take your coffee, I’ll do it more often,” he said, cheek pressed against the pillow; he was going to feel that in the morning, but didn’t mind at all. He waited for a retort, but there was only a hum, quiet breathing against his neck. “... Are you all right?”

“Of course I am.”

“Something’s on your mind.”

“There’s always something on my mind,” Beelzebub muttered, and tapped Gabriel’s head with a finger. “Unlike yours.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes, too lost in the afterglow to realize Beelzebub had dodged the question. They didn't seem to be in a talkative mood that evening. Or rather, even less of a talkative mood than usual. “I do have something on my mind.”

“Oh? And what is it?”

I need to return that book, for one.

“Well,” he said instead. “Would you join me in London this weekend?”

***

“An answering machine, really who has those anymore-- hey, Brother Francis, it’s Warlock. Guess the store is closed? I tried looking up the opening times but it’s got no website or Facebook or whatever. It’s probably the only one left in the world without those. You should get a mobile phone too. Anyway, uh, I’ve got nothing to do this Sunday, so I was thinking I could hang in London. If you and Nann-- shit, I didn’t mean to say that.” A pause. “Yeah, uh, sorry I said shit. I mean, if Crowley is there too, uh, guess it wouldn’t suck to meet up. Or something. Just a thought. Whatever. I’ll call back.”

There was a click when the answering machine finished playing the message. Aziraphale glanced over at Crowley. “Well, what does Nanny Crowley think?”

“Nanny Crowley has no objections. What does Brother Aziraphale think?”

“Brother Aziraphale thinks the boy is up for a serious talk about his language this Sunday, and that Nanny Crowley will not interfere,” Aziraphale informed him. Crowley just grinned before snatching the last candied peanut from the cup he’d left on the table.

“I’ll do my best.”

***

“I will give you the keys of the kingdom of Heaven, and whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in Heaven, and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in Heaven.” -- Matthew 16:19

***

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#good omens #ineffable bureaucracy #ineffable husbands #archangel gabriel #beelzebub #crowley #aziraphale #warlock dowling #winging it

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adrift-in-writing · 8 years ago

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Little Death: Chapter 3 - Safe

Read on AO3

May contain the sads. Also a bit longer than the previous two.

_________________________

Miss a part? Click to be redirected.

Part 1 - Alone | Part 2 - Together

Snow fell down a lot harder when the evening came along. Both Lena and Amélie were tasked with collecting Emily from her apartment all the way in the Croydon district, which was only approximately 30 minutes away on a slow night. Tonight however, due to inclement weather, Lena had decided to drive a little slower. The heat inside the car was on and Amélie was a little bit preoccupied with looking out the window. Though the hovercar itself had capabilities of auto-piloting, Lena still had to look out for any potential mishaps and other nonsensical drivers.

It was about 7:50 P.M. when the two girls departed from their Westminster loft, but right now it was 8:10 P.M., and they were stuck in traffic for a bit. Old records dating back 60 years ago were playing, namely The 1975's cover of Sade's "By Your Side". The ride was silent in terms of social interactions, so Lena had decided to spice things up a bit.

"So...whatcha wanna do tonight?" Lena had softly asked out of Amélie.

The woman peered over and hummed a little. "I...don't particularly know. Perhaps sleep early, prepare for tomorrow."

Lena had come up with her own suggestion. "Play the piano maybe? Ya can't just sleep an' leave her and I to figure out what to do for the rest of the night!"

Amélie smiled and lifted her head from her hand. "Okay. Maybe a composition or two, but no more."

The adventurer smiled and then nodded in approval, softly whispering 'Yes!' to herself. Amélie took a deep breath and began admiring the staggering skyscrapers around the city, rather than get lost in her own thoughts. Feeling a bit parched, she lifted up her water bottle and took a quick sip. The heavy snowfall didn't seem like it would stop any time soon, so they had best hurry things up if possible. The cars began moving again after Lena had bypassed all the clogging, and things went a lot more smoothly from that point on. When they had entered into the Croydon district, it was a fairly vivid lightshow in comparison to the posh and ultra-modern stylism of Westminster. Given of course, Croydon still to this day was the center of arts and culture, it made sense that the general themes and aesthetics in the buildings reflected it as such.

Roads only got smoother from here on out. The GPS had successfully mapped out Emily's apartment in the shortest time possible, and it took a few minutes before the two finally found, descended, and parked just outside. Lena was the first to prop open the car door, and she dashed over to the front gates of the apartment complex. Amélie had just gotten out, and the adventurer didn't want to continue on without her. Together, they walked in and were greeted by a row of abstract art mounted on the wall, and people sitting in the lobby chairs talking softly. One included what brand of chocolate was better, be it Toblerone or Cadbury, while another was about two inexperienced writers exchanging creative ideas for their story drafts.

The young girl scanned the list of people living on what floor, and almost immediately she spotted Emily's name. "Floor 25, Room 4!" She called out, and then marched towards the elevator doors. She pushed the elevator's up button, and the elevator doors slid open as a group of people who looked like they were about to go caroling out emerged. The two girls swapped positions with them, and Amélie held down the close door button and pressed 25 on the dial. With a small ding, the elevator doors closed, and then gradually ascended. The view of the borough's dizzying skyscrapers filled their eyesights. The young girl slid her hand over to Amélie's, gently interlocking their fingers together. She gave a gentle squeeze and giggled, wondering what the woman before her thought of all this.

Ding. The elevator doors opened up once more to a rather spacious hallway with additional chairs and a recreation of medieval armor sitting behind a display case. Room 4 was at the very end of the hallway with a holographic display signifying that Emily was residing here. A green light emitted near the door panel to indicate she was indeed inside, and with a quick buzz, she was notified that she was to have guests. The door unlocked and opened by itself. Emily was not there to greet them, but rather she was spending time in her creative zone doodling away. "'Ellooooooo? Emmy? You in here?" Lena had called out.

The freckled girl lifted her head out of her drafting station and swung her head to check the time. Her eyes widened and then she quickly stood up. She had packed her bags already, but she hadn't realized she shirked on her duties to get the rest of her necessities in the luggage. "Coming!" She had said, and then rushed into the main living room. "Hey! Um gimme just a few minutes here..." The redheaded girl then brushed her bangs behind her ears and then gestured that they wait a moment, and ran off to go grab more things.

Lena sat down on a white sofa and patiently waited for Emily to finish up packing. The cold woman on the other hand was observing the apartment with piqued curiosity. For a moment though, she glanced over to Lena and noticed she was preoccupied slightly with tapping her hands on her lap and bopping her head whilst humming some song Amélie wasn't too familiar with. It was something to do, at least, so the woman kept on going. The only sounds to be heard were the shuffles of Amélie around the apartment floor, Lena's humming, and Emily stuffing her bag full of things in the background.

It then came to Amélie had diverted her attention towards a rather unique drawing that was framed on the wall. Something about it seemed...off, yet in a good way. Regardless, it entertained the woman for some few moments before she went to go sit down next to Lena. They didn't have a chance to talk as Emily had dressed herself up and strolled out with one large luggage bag filled with all the necessities. A bit overkill, perhaps, but she liked having more than enough even if it meant she'd only stay for 3 days. Above all else, she brought her portable drawing station with her so she could doodle on the go. The device itself was strapped on her thigh for safekeeping, and with a soft smile, she nervously scratched her head. "Sorry it took so long. Let's go."

Fast-forward another half hour later, the three arrived back in the loft. Lights inside the building turned themselves on as they entered in, and the quiet and snow-covered view of Paris transitioned into the wintery night of London. Amélie began taking off her scarf first and wrapped it around the coat hangar, then she took off her coal-colored overcoat blazer. The other two Brits soon followed, and the spider beckoned Emily to come with.

"As we agreed. You take my room, Winston takes the guest room, I share a room with Lena." She moved her hand towards the door leading to her own room and nodded. "Please do not touch anything you aren't supposed to."

"Aha, okay." Emily chuckled as she moved her luggage inside. She nodded in a little, mostly in approval about the minimalistic approach Amélie took to the pad. Then, Emily shut the door behind her and got to work unwinding. This left the two girls alone, with Lena getting her chronal accelerator off and placed in the charging station. Wiping her hands, the young adventurer propped herself right down on the sofa and loudly sighed a breath of relief.

"Nice to take that bloody thing off now. Felt too iffy with the last one I had." For a moment though, Lena reflected back to it and nervously scratched her head. "The uh...the one ya kicked in."

Raising her hand, Amélie brushed off the notion. She didn't like to be reminded of her past actions and preferred to keep those memories stored elsewhere. She too took a seat down on the sofa. She pondered about the conversations they had in the car, specifically one where Emily was still a student in an artistic school. Strange as it was, Emily preferred to practice hand-drawing. It was an ancient technique, especially in this day and age where all the artwork of the world turned to digital and simulated reality bending.

Just then, Lena nestled up to Amélie while she was still contemplating, and softly giggled when she caught the woman off-guard. "C'mere, you~" She wrapped her arms around the cold woman's waist and began teasing her. This had caused Amélie to laugh a bit and she didn't try to resist, knowing well enough that it'd be a little pointless. After a while, the two settled down and chuckled before kissing each other tenderly, just before the spider closed her eyes. She was suddenly a little tired out from tonight's ride back and forth. Then, Lena pressed her head on Amélie's chest, and she could hear a very consistent heartbeat that the woman seemed unaware of.

"Hey. Amélie." Lena whispered, and Amélie hummed, wondering what her love could want right now. "Your heart."

Blinking, the woman rose up slightly and looked down. "What about it?" She felt confused, but then the young girl moved her hands towards her heart. It was thumping at a regular, human rate - something Amélie hadn't felt in almost a decade. How odd, Amélie thought to herself. There was no chest pain to associate the accelerated heartrate, but she did feel...genuinely alive. In that moment, she warmly smiled and chuckled, a little astounded by what was happening.

But then her heart beat a lot slower, and it reverted back to abnormal palpitations. Clutching her chest, Amélie gasped in pain and almost fainted. The young girl rose up from her cuddling position and became a little alarmed. "Amélie!"

The woman remained still for a moment before inhaling a deep breath. "Agh...merde (Damn)." She slowly rose up from the couch and almost stumbled trying to even stand up. When Amélie steadied her balance, she ensured that things would be perfectly okay, but Lena wouldn't have any of it. The adventurer helped escort Amélie to somewhere she could properly rest.

Once the cold woman got her feet into bed, she had undressed to wear only a white t-shirt and panties, while the rest of her clothes were on the floor. Before long though, Amélie quietly requested she just get some sleep and turn in early tonight. Perhaps tomorrow, she was hoping to play the piano just for the pleasure of seeing Emily and Winston's reaction to it. A little light peered out at the door sill as Lena exited the room.

She didn't know how many hours passed as she fell asleep. Amélie could vaguely smell the scent of food and hear the two Brits laughing during the night, but after that...it was just silent. Eerily silent. She dreamed, and it was the first time this month she dreamed.

She dreaded it, mostly because her dreams quickly turned into nightmares of her past. It started off always in her old house - the Estate in Annecy, with her husband. Sometimes it would change to end with her killing Gérard, or sometimes it'd deviate and she'd end up doing something else. This one was different, and it was different because it didn't start off in Annecy, and it started in a lab.

Amélie was strapped in a chair and she was unable to move. There were people cruelly laughing despite nobody else being present in the room. A mechanical contraption loomed over her head, and she dreaded looking at it. This was the machine she feared and the one that kept her in her place. The dream was beyond distorted shortly after, and flashes of memories bled in-between like a sadistic montage of violent assassinations she committed.

In the real world, Lena had been sleeping right next to Amélie and had slid her arms around the woman's waist to keep her company. She was awoken by the sense that something was very wrong, and it became more obvious when she could feel Amélie shaking and muttering to stop. There were occasional gasps and whimpers, and this was something that had alarmed Lena the most. She didn't think it would happen again - and not in such a short amount of time. The last one was a couple of weeks ago.

The young girl rose up and tried to get Amélie to wake up. She softly whispered her name, and pursed her lips. "Amélie..." It was getting a bit more frantic as the few moments passed by. How bad was it this time? The memories kept flashing ever so faster. It fast forwarded almost a decade of horrible deaths, and then it slowed down.

It was still. The weather felt warm, and the night lit up. Amélie was on her back staring up at the night sky, with the cold concrete roof the only thing she could feel. A lot of commotion was coming from several stories below. She rose up and had found herself in King's Row again, the night she assassinated Mondatta.

Except it played out differently. There were no guards, for they were all incapacitated, and the crowd turned from some thousand people to almost a million in the streets. She had no control over her body, and before she knew it, she was coiling her grappling hook on her feet to position herself to kill the omnic again. Nobody was there to stop her, and not even Tracer had showed up. The moment was just perfect, she wasted no more time dawdling about.

Bang. Her Widow's Kiss fired off a single bullet, and in her sights was Mondatta. She looked down her scope just to confirm the kill, but the Omnic was still standing. She was now looking at Lena, who, in a split-second decision, body-blocked the shot. The bullet had penetrated through her accelerator core and splurted out blood that stained the podium and caused her to slump over. Her immediate bleed-out shocked the entire crowd. It was then Amélie had just realized she had shot Lena and she was too far away to save her from dying. A few seconds passed in the dream, and only then did it allow her to move freely now. She dropped her gun, and tried yelling out. She couldn't hear anything anymore, and her grappling hook detached to make her fall.

That was when Amélie woke from her nightmare and screamed out. It took a few moments to register it all, and she was panting heavily. She could feel beads of sweat fall down onto her face. "No. No...!" Her breathing was shaky, and her first instinct was to check on Lena. The woman's head turned to face the left-side of the bed, and she could see that the young girl was up, frowning slightly.

She stifled. Then she could feel tears roll down her cheeks, and Amélie's lips quivered. By instinct, she came over and swung her arms around Lena into a hug. She refused to be silent about it, visibly sobbing. Her grip tightened around Lena's body as her nightmares still swirled around in her mind. "It's very cold, Lena..." Her head was now buried on the side of Lena's neck.

All the young girl simply did was put her hand behind the nape of Amélie's neck and softly stroked up and down. "I'm here." She had softly whispered into the woman's ear repeatedly. It was hard for her to hold back her own tears, and she could feel them escape the more Amélie cried. "It's just a dream. You're safe."

Whatever happened must've been truly terrible, Lena had thought to herself. She didn't want to speak about it because it'd be painful for the both of them. Rather than do so, she consoled the spider and nuzzled her, trying to make sure she was okay. But the truth of the matter is...things were not okay. She knew damn well that things wouldn't be okay this early into Amélie's freedom.

"...Do you hate me?" The woman spoke through her sobs. "Because of what I've done...?"

"No, luv. That wasn't you." The young girl had replied back in a soothing voice. "That was never you."

The crying subsided after a while, and there were only sniffles to be heard. Amélie's tears had soaked through Lena's shirt as she backed away to look at her. "I..."

She didn't want to hear it. Lena placed her index finger to silence Amélie, and she sighed. "Please, don't do this to yourself..." Her tears were still going, but she wiped them away on her own and exhaled. "I love you. I love you so much, and that's all you need to hear tonight." Then, she caressed the spider's cheek. "Just look at me. Focus on me." With a small smile, Lena tilted her head to the left and let the small, intimate moments between them pass. She leaned in and then gave Amélie a deep kiss, right on her lips. It was sloppy and a little wet, but Lena could feel the other woman tense up and relax as she did so. As Lena pulled away, Amélie pulled her back in for an embrace. She closed her eyes and softly whimpered, sniffling every now and then.

That night, she didn't get very much sleep. Lena spent most of her night trying to ease and lull Amélie, and eventually she did. It perhaps 2:00 A.M. in the morning before Amélie had calmed down enough to go rest without anymore disturbances. The snow outside had lightened up, but it was still going and it had covered the windows with ice, thus the simulation of France was a bit muddled compared to the one for London. When it was time for Lena to lay down as well, she curled up with her love and then held her tight.

#Widowtracer #Overwatch #Overwatch fanfic #Widowmaker #Tracer #Emily Overwatch #Character: Emily #Character: Tracer #Character: Widowmaker

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