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thelonelylakemore guilt on my hands overwatch, ana/widowmaker. amélie, in the time before it all went even more wrong. 250w, rated t. for a prompt at sapphic summer 2024.
The beach house's bed isn't large, but Amélie is small and paper-thin in the centre, fingers twisting in the sheets. Ana had taken her out of the Watchpoint and into La Línea in hopes that the markets and open air might revitalise her after her captivity, but Amélie had trailed through the streets as silent as the grave Overwatch had retrieved her from.
"Do you want—" Ana starts, but Amélie's head jerks up, the flat, dazed look in her eyes putting an end to whatever else Ana might have said.
Sometimes she thinks it's not Amélie behind those eyes at all, despite Angela's medical clearance, but those words, too, are stopped before she can form the shape of them.
"Come here," Amélie says, voice wavering on something that isn't really a question, because she knows Ana will never do anything else. It's almost understandable, now. Almost like they aren't betraying Gerard, who didn't even notice his wife stolen from their bed.
Now, Ana wraps Amélie in her arms and tells herself Amélie's heartbeat can't be as slow as the cathedral bells tolling outside. Opens her mouth for Amélie's kiss and tastes only the sweet remnants of the apricots they'd bought in the morning. Amélie had eaten one by the harbour wall, and Ana had been so happy she was eating at all she hadn't asked what she was staring at, some fixed point beyond the horizon.
Because it's Amélie, safe and healing, and Ana believes that for far too long.
The beach house's bed isn't large, but Amélie is small and paper-thin in the centre, fingers twisting in the sheets. Ana had taken her out of the Watchpoint and into La Línea in hopes that the markets and open air might revitalise her after her captivity, but Amélie had trailed through the streets as silent as the grave Overwatch had retrieved her from.
"Do you want—" Ana starts, but Amélie's head jerks up, the flat, dazed look in her eyes putting an end to whatever else Ana might have said.
Sometimes she thinks it's not Amélie behind those eyes at all, despite Angela's medical clearance, but those words, too, are stopped before she can form the shape of them.
"Come here," Amélie says, voice wavering on something that isn't really a question, because she knows Ana will never do anything else. It's almost understandable, now. Almost like they aren't betraying Gerard, who didn't even notice his wife stolen from their bed.
Now, Ana wraps Amélie in her arms and tells herself Amélie's heartbeat can't be as slow as the cathedral bells tolling outside. Opens her mouth for Amélie's kiss and tastes only the sweet remnants of the apricots they'd bought in the morning. Amélie had eaten one by the harbour wall, and Ana had been so happy she was eating at all she hadn't asked what she was staring at, some fixed point beyond the horizon.
Because it's Amélie, safe and healing, and Ana believes that for far too long.
