InsaneJournal

Widowmaker’s first widow had been herself. She still remembered Gerard, even if the feelings for him were detached. She’d even loved him, before Talon had captured her and twisted her mind into their perfect killer puppet.

That she didn’t feel anything was a lie she told even herself. For several months she’d started to question things in her head. She hid secrets from Talon, things she could use if she ever thought she needed to escape. That she needed to escape was a recent nagging thought too.

Now that she was here, she wasn’t sure that was what she wanted. Her skin itched, her fingers and toes alternated between buzzing and numbness, and it was always too warm. She didn’t like the feeling of her heart beating in her chest. And always, always a feeling like grinding glass in her head whenever she tried to dig too deep into her memory.

This Black Widow had hit on too many things too close to home, so Widowmaker did what she’d been doing for weeks. She took a bottle of wine and found a quiet place on the ship to drink.

It hadn’t been overly difficult to find this Widowmaker, and Natasha had managed to settle into a very casual tailing of the woman. She was curious, of course, and a few of the things the assassin had said had left her wondering just what kind of state she was in right now, which eventually led Natasha to tracking her down on the catwalk of the Cargo Bay.

Though dressed in black jeans and boots and a grey tank with a dark red leather jacket over it, Natasha’s steps were silent as she made her way over, but she stopped several feet away to give both of them any space that might be needed - and because it was never wise to sneak up on an assassin; however, Nat had a feeling she hadn’t snuck up on the woman really, and thus she waited patiently for acknowledgement.

She hadn't even bothered with a glass this time, drinking directly from the bottle as she let Natasha stand there for a few moments longer. Her feet dangled over the edge of the catwalk and she was leaning against the lower railing. It wouldn't be hard to just drop off. The fall probably wouldn't even kill her - her training would kick in.

Her accent placed her as French, the Annecy region specifically. She'd never bothered to train herself out of it, and Talon hadn't cared enough to force her. Maybe they thought it gave her a long enough leash. "You are persistant. Like some people I know. But at least you are not annoying."

Once Widowmaker spoke, Nat’s lips quirked in a faint smirk. “Persistence generally pays off,” she said dryly. Her own voice was devoid of any accent, despite her Russian heritage. Walking closer, Natasha gripped the railing and shifted so that she was sitting only a couple feet away from the other woman, giving her the opportunity to study her from the corner of her eye as her own gaze rested on the Cargo Bay below.

“Are you going to share that wine?”

She'd noted that Natasha's name was Russian, though anglicized. Widowmaker had studied it in preparation for their failed mission to assassinate Volskaya. She nodded an acknowledgement and offered the bottle. "Did you know that black widows are not as venomous as they seem? Is that true for you, I wonder?"

Natasha took the bottle and studied it briefly, then took a sip before passing it back again. “I do know that,” she replied, and her lips quirked again. “There are a large number of people who would tell you ‘no,’ I’m sure.”

"What they say does not matter." She took another sip, then set the bottle to the side. "People will call me many things too. Some of them are even true. Though there are those so blinded by their hopes that they do not see the spider for the web."

“I was trained not to care what others think of me,” Natasha said, looking over at her. “It’s served me pretty well.” Until Clint, at least. And Fury. A lot of that part had unraveled over recent years. “How long have you been on this ship?”

"Three weeks. Maybe four." She liked to pretend she didn't track the time, but she tracked the time, almost religiously. It was one of the things that she could have control over, as ironic as that was. "They conditioned me not to care, or feel. I suppose that is the same thing."

“Not quite, but I can see where the similarities fall.” Natasha absently leaned against the railing, her face perfectly calm and serene, showing nothing of her thoughts or emotions. She knew she should probably be trying to reach out to Steve or finding out why Tony didn’t want to speak to her, but overall she just wanted a break from all of that. They were the closest thing she had to friends, and Clint was family, but recent events had caused a rift that Natasha wasn’t sure how to close.

“Are there any threats in particular here I should know about?”

“There are threats from something called Klingons. And Romulans.” Her face contorted into a sneer at the ridiculous words. “And space disasters. They ran into something a few months ago according to the records.”

There was a lot that was classified, and Widowmaker didn’t have Sombra to rely on to hack the systems, so she could only do so much with what was available. “But threats on board, besides ourselves? The other travelers, I would assume. Information on them is classified.”

It would require old fashioned surveillance to learn about the other people on board. Widowmaker had patience. But then she’d always had patience, even as Amelie Lacroix, prima ballerina.

“What do you know about the others?” She wondered just what she might have to look out for herself - aside from Widowmaker, because honestly even though there was a sense of solidarity between the two assassins, they were extreme threats to one another. “Who in particular should I be paying attention to?”

"The ones calling themselves Jedi and Sith. They control some kind of power. Can move things with their minds. One claims to generate lightning, and to have had an entire fleet." She picked up the bottle again for another swig. "And this other girl. Anyone who can walk through walls can be a problem. She works in Engineering"

She thought about some of the others. "There's are some people very strong. A superman and a wonder woman. Two women who can control ice and cold. A half-dozen witches. A man claiming to be the Devil. Another man with a living suit with a mind of it's own, and a man who calls himself Spider-man."

Widowmaker thought there was something odd about the one called Rogue, but she hadn't been able to discern what. "A god of thunder..." And she went through the people Natasha already knew, though she didn't know that. "Some children claiming to be demigods. Many scientists, who are always threats. Generals and pilots. A young woman with PTSD and raw combat skill. And supposed vampires. There was also a man claiming to be a rabbit, but he is gone now."

“That’s a lot of people to keep track of,” Nat said absently. She’d noted a few descriptions that were familiar, but overall she was concerned about just how many people there were who were of interest. “I’m going to see about a position in security,” she said absently. That would give her a chance to stay updated about movements on the ship, and she would also know if there was something to be aware of, hopefully.

“Do you have a job on the ship?”

"I have my methods." She suddenly wished she had more to do with her hands and lips than the wine bottle, and she'd never been a smoker. Bad for the career. But she felt fidgety. And she hated that feeling. At least hate was something she knew the emotion for.

"That is smart. I do not." Widowmaker did better with structure, but she was also experiencing a kind of freedom for the first time in over a decade, so she was conflicted.

The redhead looked over, studying her for a moment. “You might want to look into it.” Natasha always had a desire to know things. She didn’t like being in the dark, though it had happened enough times over the decades. But here, she could move into a position to find out information ahead of time, if she could, and she was certainly going to take it.

“Do you remember your name before they started calling you Widowmaker?”

"I will consider it." Widowmaker fell silent until Natasha asked her that next question. Her eyes darkened and something that might have been an emotion crossed her face.

"Her name was Amelie Lacroix. ne Guillard." She spoke like she was reading from a file. "Married to Gerard Lacroix, high ranking scientist with the anti-terrorist organization known as Overwatch. Most famous for her roles as Odette and Odile in an award winning production of Swan Lake."

“It seems ballerinas make for good assassins,” Natasha said dryly. She’d been through that training herself.

She was quiet for a few minutes, and also fully aware of all she’d been told by Widowmaker. Amelie. As a result, she decided to give a tiny piece of something back. “So they took you when you were older. I was a child.”

“I suppose so. We have a... “ She waved her hand. “ A way of moving.” She hadn’t gone through any forms in over a year. The last time she’d tried, she’d almost felt sad. “They wanted my husband dead. They got to him through me.”

Widowmaker turned her head to Natasha, surprised at that admission. “A child?”

So there were things that were even too far for her.

Nat nodded, her own gaze on the cardio bay below. “I think I was six. Maybe seven, at the most. I don’t know how old I was when I made my first kill in training.” One shoulder lifted and fell in a shrug, and she glanced over, meeting Widowmaker’s eyes.

“That surprises you.”

"Talon is many things, but we do not target children." There was doubt in Widowmaker's eyes, for just the briefest moment. Memories she couldn't quite remember, images that made no sense. But it was gone in an instant. "Not deliberately, at any rate."

“That’s very different from where I came from, then.” It didn’t surprise her. The Red Room, the KGB - they didn’t consider things like that. “The younger we were, the fewer connections we had, and the fewer bad habits that needed to be broken.”

"... let us not give Talon any ideas." She was loyal. Very loyal. Loyal to Talon and its mission, whatever mission they gave her. She repeated that in her head like it was a mantra.

"Gerard was my first kill. And there have been many since. I have few links left to that old life." Amari had been a friend, as had Ziegler. She'd known Morrison. And Oxton had seen her perform, she remembered. The only one from those Overwatch days she still talked to was Reyes, and that was only because he was with Talon now too.

“Are you the only member here?” Nat looked away again, not willing to tell her anything more right now. Already, that was more than a lot of people knew about Natasha. Her SHIELD file had had some information from her time before SHIELD, but not everything. Even her records indicated a much younger birthday than her actual one.

"Oui," she replied. "I am the only one from my world. None of the annoying gnats from Overwatch, or my compatriots in Talon are here." As much as Sombra could be irritating, she wouldn't mind seeing her, or Akande. She respected Akande. Reyes was too edgy for her sometimes.

And if Tracer showed up, she might just put a bullet in her own head. Or Tracer's. Maybe both. The Enterprise didn't need that level of cheerfulness.

“I haven’t heard of Talon or Overwatch,” Natasha admitted, but she filed away the names for the future. “If they arrive, I’d like to meet them sometime.” Standing slowly, Natasha leaned lightly against the top rail and looked down at Widowmaker. “Anytime you want to spar, let me know.”

Widowmaker could give Nat a list of who was annoying, from most to least, but she thought that maybe she could find out on her own. Though for a crack shot who professed to hate certain annoying gnats she tended to miss Tracer quite a bit. It was almost like a game between them. A ballet of violence.

"Are you sure you want the punishment?"

“I can handle it if you can,” Natasha said smoothly, and gave her a small smile. “See you around.” On that note, she turned and walked back down the catwalk the way she’d come to check out more of the ship.

Widowmaker cocked her finger and pointed it at Natasha's back. "Bang." Then she laid on the catwalk, cradling her bottle against her side and stared at the ceiling.