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It is not unusual to find spiders at heights.
From the vantage of a loft, a ceiling or branch, the spider's jeweled eyes take in a world in faceted miniature, a diorama of angles and shapes. Stalking above, they spot their hapless prey, and build the perfect trap, waiting silently, until hopeless, it is caught in their snare.
At heights, all is below, and nothing sits atop them to obscure the link between earth and sky, and the twinkling of the faint, cold stars.
It was not unusual to find the Widowmaker at such heights, where she could bathe below those obscured constellations as she observed the world beneath, the chilled wind her breath, and the heavens her sanctuary.
Beyond the occasional crackle of a comm link, her self-made world was silent, the sounds of the people and vehicles and all else so far away as to be nothing to her, an atmosphere of artificial ocean waves and gulls' cries. It was lonesome. She preferred it that way. There was nothing to spark her so desperately buried thoughts. When she was wanted again, they would call her, and then she would act, but this time was her own, and hers alone.
This was her solace, frequently and by force sought, so it would bring her great displeasure for any soul to dare and break into her routine.
And so, it was very displeasing, indeed, to hear the soft scraping of feet on the gravel that littered the rooftop to which she had laid claim.
She breathed, body stock still. There was nothing in the peripheral reflectors of her visor. The footsteps thought they were clever. She knew of only one insolent fly who always thought that same thing of themselves.
"That device masks only your visibility," she said, "not your presence."
Her words were weary, but still heavy with threat.
Nonetheless, a laugh echoed. A weight pressed against her back.
"I guess nothing gets past you, araña."
Widowmaker grimaced. Behind her was the faint neon flickering of a cloaking device dropping.
"What are you doing here, fantôme?" she hissed.
"I just wanted to see what you were doing up here. What does the Widowmaker find so interesting up in the night sky?"
Something like irritation bubbled in Widow's chest. It was a foreign sensation.
"So you are here just to torment me again? Do you not grow tired of meddling in everyone's business?"
"Information is my business."
The hacker chuckled, and the assassin could feel her movement. A stiff back touched her own. A sweep of coloured hair grazed across the crest of her neck. She should have shuddered, but her reflexes provided no feedback. It was no different when Sombra pulled away to perch on a ledge in front of her, legs crossed. Even in half-darkness, the exposed cybernetics let off a faint glow.
Widow watched, but her face did not change. There was not the slightest quirk of the lips to match the terse anger within her voice.
"Don't play games with me, little girl," she hissed. "What is it you really want?"
Sombra crossed her arms. She cocked her head, expression bemused, but equally impenetrable.
"I wanted to talk to you. Alone."
"For what purpose?"
"Because." She smirked. "I want to know more about you."
A sharp grin finally cracked the assassin's blank face. A hollow laugh rang.
"As if there is anything you do not know about any of us. Do you really think they are not aware that you have accessed all of Talon's databases?" She shook her head dismissively. "You have been a risk from the beginning."
"Well then," Sombra crooned, "I'm sure that you have a good idea of what things I do know. But sometimes? There are stories that even the files can't tell me. Lately, I've been turning up some very juicy details, but a lot was still missing. So I thought, why not just go to the source?"
She slid off of the ledge and padded closer, step by sultry step, a calm and stalking panther, until she was so close Widow could hear her breathe. Sombra raised a hand.
"Tell me, Widow," she murmured, as her gloved fingers pressed gently to a frigid cheek, "Who was Amélie?"
In an instant, she was on the ground, with the Frenchwoman's weight on top of her and a slender hand clutched around her throat. In the same instant her own hand had moved from cheek to seize the neck of the same unearthly hue. They stared in deadlock.
"I could kill you right now," Widow spat. "I am sure everyone would appreciate it."
Sombra chuckled, straining. "Then why don't you?"
"I am trying to think of a reason I should not."
"Why not? You love to kill, don't you? Or at least, Widowmaker does... But, what I want to know is, what did Amélie enjoy?"
"That woman never existed. Or did your research not tell you that?"
"It seems there were some contradictions. Besides, I know a thing or two about ceasing to exist. Do you really think my mother gave me this name?"
"Say that other name again and you will stop existing permanently."
The hacker grinned.
"Amélie."
Widow's hand swung back for her weapon, and in a blink, she was left clutching only the ground. A growl slid from the pit of her throat, and she stood slowly as the flash blindness faded, teeth clenched. She surveyed the rooftop. By vision only, she was alone again.
Yet, surely, she was not.
"Don't think that I don't know you are still here," she spoke to the void. "Montre-toi."
The void did not cooperate. The stillness was unchanged, but yet untrusted. She lifted her hand to pull the jewel-eyed visor down in front of her face. It clicked, and a red silhouette came immediately into view—a body propped against the wall of an access door, some 20 metres away.
"Got you."
The phantom groaned, and flung up its hands.
"You're no fun," Sombra whined, coming back into normal view. "What made you so sure I didn't leave?"
Widow lifted her visor to study the woman, easier now from afar. For reasons she could not discern, the urge to kill her suddenly waned. She would not call the feeling "relaxed," either, but the anger was dwindling. She tilted her head, eyes narrow.
"The hungry wren would not give up the chance to dine on the spider. And you appear to be starving."
"'Dine'?" Sombra's brows shot to the top of her forehead. "Is that an invitation~?"
"...It is a conundrum," Widow said, reaching for her piece again. "How you live through so often pressing your luck."
"Okay, okay~" Sombra waved her hands in defeat. She laughed, and muttered half to herself, "You think they would have programmed you a sense of humour."
The Widowmaker did not respond.
The wind picked up again, as if to remind them of the elevation they stood at. A precipice, sixty stories up, under a navy blue sky that made the prickpoints of the stars appear to shudder and swim over their heads beside a half-moon hidden in the city's many lights. If it was frigid Sombra did not seem to care. She took a few more steps, then sat back against a plumbing stack.
The Widowmaker did not move.
Sombra looked up at her, said nothing, searching those hardened eyes for a clue that she apparently could not uncover, for some glimpse of meaning to the riddle.
The Widowmaker did not reveal.
Sombra sighed.
"You know," she said, finally looking at anything but her. Her voice was vague, and quiet. "I heard that Amélie—whoever she was—she wanted to be a dancer."
The Widowmaker flinched.
"Where did you hear something stupid like that?"
Sombra shrugged. "Who knows? But that's a fascinating story, isn't it? The beautiful young wife of an important man, and her dreams of the stage. It's a shame she never got the chance."
"Yes…" Widow said softly. "A pity."
"I know that you don't know this woman," Sombra lilted. "Maybe she never existed at all. But…"
Her eyes narrowed, twinkling.
"Let's suppose if you were a person like that. Would you dance for me?"
Gloved fingers twitched.
"You are pressing your luck again, little girl."
"We are nearly the same age, amiga."
"Yet all I see before me is a spoiled child."
"Fine," said Sombra. "But if you won't dance for me… Would you ever dance with me?"
The assassin stopped in her tracks. Her brain spun on wheels, on wild gears that caught on their own teeth. Something rose up inside, and fell just as quickly. Sincerity was a measure she contained no metric for; even if she did, the evaluation of this question would surely be inconclusive. She stared at the hacker and found she held no logic that would direct a response, or even a guess at her meaning or intentions.
The Widowmaker, again, said nothing.
Yet, finally...
"Why?"
"I don't know," the hacker replied, and it sounded as though she meant it. "I got curious. I thought it could be fun."
"Why are you so interested in me?"
"I don't know."
That sounded less truthful.
"But I guess…" A different edge crept into her voice. "If you aren't going to dance with me, I will just dance by myself. Ballet can't be so hard, can it?"
She took a small bow, then stretched her arms wide and stood on a tiptoe, leg lifted high, pulled it inward and gave a spin, kicked out again. She laughed, and fumbled more, aimless.
Widow hissed.
"Atroce."
Sombra stopped mid-spin, grinning. "Come again?"
"...Your form is a disaster."
The assassin stomped across the rooftop, her heels clacking loudly.
"Put your arms down," she barked. "And straighten your back. How is your posture so hideous?"
"Look who's interested all of a sudden," Sombra teased, but she complied. "And then?"
"Legs together, and point out your feet. Wider. Hands at your thighs. No, not like that."
She halted in front of the hacker and seized her arms, pulling them out and shaping them into a gentle curve, guiding her hands to hover softly by her hips.
"Regardez," she said, "Remember this."
Sombra glanced down to the hand still touching her wrist, then followed the arm back up slowly, across the barely hidden chest up to the pursed lips and hard eyes. She smiled.
"Yes, Mistress."
Widow snapped her arm away with a snarl.
"You truly cannot take anything seriously. I don't know why we even bother with you."
Sombra followed her, laughing, and took her hand. "Lo siento. It's just, you were so serious about it. Don't you know how to have fun?"
No response.
"Look," said Sombra.
She pulled closer, cautious, in case the other might flee again. She leaned in, until their bodies were near touching, breath mingling with cold breath.
"I want to know more." And the words sounded as though there were far more behind them. "Do you think you could teach me later?"
The Widowmaker looked at her. Her mind churned, quietly. Something she could not identify wound its way through her chest, through the pit of her stomach and between her ears. No sense or logic was to be found, no signpost to lead her anywhere.
It was painful.
She tried to speak, but nothing came out. When finally she managed, it was a rough whisper.
"...Leave me alone."
The hacker paused, then looked away, then let go of her hand.
"...Está bien," she said. Her voice was flat. "You have fun up here."
She pulled away. Nothing else said, she retreated toward the stairwell that she had apparently emerged from. She tossed up a hand in parting, but did not look back.
"I'll see you later... Amélie."
With a step, she fizzled from view. The door opened, and clicked shut.
Silence.
After a heavy pause, the Widowmaker flipped down her visor again, but she already knew that she would not read a soul, not anymore. She stopped and waited, breath held. There was only more silence in reply.
As she had wanted, she was, once again, alone.
She paced back to where she had been standing before the interruption, to the spot that gave her the greatest vantage over the city skyline, across the ant-like people and vehicles and movement. They were all unaware of the solitary figure who could end their small lives at any moment. She was as distant to them as the stars were to her. She looked upon them just as coldly. She was far, far away from everything, and no one could touch her.
Yet... Was that what she really wanted?
Unwitting, she thought of the hacker and her nauseating, neon glow, her pursed, painted lips, and her cruel laughter.
She thought of the warmth, and the solidness, of that body against hers, of the hand against her face.
…No.
She was the Widowmaker, and she needed no one.
…If only Amélie felt the same way.