Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Amélie hated parties. Up until recently, she used to love them - there was nothing more intimate than a crowd. She loved the chance to talk to her friends and relax instead of stressing about whatever needed to be done. This time, though, an anxious worm had been burrowing in her chest, growing bigger and bigger as the minutes wore on and the time for the party crept closer.

She’d called it a work party before, but it wasn't quite. Overwatch was far too big for a huge gathering, so it was more of a small group of friends than an actual party. Ana was hosting it this time, while Fareeha was visiting her dad. Her home was shockingly large, on the outskirts of the city where it had just made the transition to suburbia. She and Gérard greeted Ana warmly at the door, all smiles and politeness - “Happy holidays!” - and Amélie quietly slipped away. She’d only promised Gérard an hour before she wanted to go home.

She needed to find Gabe. Sombra had disappeared once again, radio silence, and the knowledge of what was happening to Sotelo was eating her alive.

Her nightmares were getting worse, too. Gérard had been spared, but now she was infected - waking up in a cold sweat at least three times during the night, struggling to get back to sleep, memories of drowning taunting her from the edges of her subconscious. She couldn't ever breathe . She almost faked sick just to keep from coming to the party. But she needed to know. And he was willing to tell her, wasn't he? He’d promised her over a week ago.

She made idle conversation for a while, glancing over shoulders for him, growing more nervous and impatient the longer she waited. She’d explode if she had to wait any longer.

At last, she caught a glimpse of him - it took a minute for her to tell, but the beanie gave it away - between Jack and Gérard, with a big fat smile on his face. He caught her eye, the smile sliding off his face for just a moment. He excused himself from his conversation, then wandered over towards her, near the back of the room.

“Evening,” he said, awkwardly.

She pursed her lips, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. “Get me a drink and then we’ll talk.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “We’re on the same page, here, right-?”

She snorted. “Don't flatter yourself. Meet me outside for a smoke break.”

She could her him laughing to himself as he slid into the kitchen, and she rolled her eyes as she made her way to the back patio. The door gently clicked shut, and she leaned against the wall next to it, breathing in the cold, fresh air. This was already a mistake.

No. She’d come too far to turn back now. He would help.

Minutes later, the door opened again, and Gabe handed her a red plastic cup.

She wrinkled her nose, eyeing the dark liquid. “What’s this?”

“Beer.” He swirled his in his own cup, then gulped at least half of it down. “How much do you know?”

She didn't make eye contact with him, staring out into the dark. The weather had jumped between rain and snow all day, a slick coating of ice on most everything and a spattering of snow on the ground, like powdered sugar on a glaze. “More than I’m supposed to.”

“Figured.”

She took a long drink, grimacing at the taste. “How much are you willing to tell me?”

“More than I’m supposed to,” he echoed.

She took a deep breath and sipped the bitter drink. “Is he the same?”

“Elaborate.”

She rubbed her face. “Is he hiding some big terrible secret from me? Is he a sadistic murderer? Does he drink the blood of virgins? Does he transform into a wolf when he sees the full moon?”

Gabe choked on his drink, a laugh bubbling out of his throat. “Jesus. No, he's not. As far as I know.”

“Comforting,” she muttered into her drink.

“You shouldn't..” He blew out a breath. “It's not something you should worry about.”

“What, the human rights violations or the lack of oversight?”

Any remaining light-heartedness was sucked out of him at her words. “I’m sorry?”

She lowered her drink, turning to look him in the eye. God, she was so tired of hiding. Walking on eggshells, trying not to let on just how much she knew. “I've seen just what Blackwatch does, Gabe. I know you're Blackwatch Commander. I've seen the aftermath of the ‘interrogations’. I know the deal you offered Genji Shimada. I know exactly what I shouldn't worry about. ”

He gaped at her, the concern in his face warped to panic. “You're kidding me. ”

She turned away from him again, sourly draining the rest of her shit drink. “How much were you planning on telling me, again?”

“Amé,” he started.

“How much of that was your idea? How much shit did you pull? How many people did you torture, or force to join, or assassinate? This isn't a fucking peacekeeping organization, it's a prettier version of Talon.” She shot a glare at him.

“How did you even find out about this shit?” His eyes locked onto her, pinning her in place. “It's important.”

She sighed quietly, some of her weeks old anger fading. “His computer. I guessed the password. I got access.”

“Amé, that's- that’s not good.”

“I know.”

He leaned in closer, nearly hissing the words: “They're already fucking investigating you, Amé. They know.”

That familiar knot of anxiety in her chest twisted tighter around her lungs, forcing her heart to beat quicker. “What?”

“You’re accused of stealing files.”

She shook her head slightly, eyes wide. “No, no, I - I turned off the keylogger, there's no way they could know.”

He turned away, rubbing his face. “Fucking shit, Amé. You knew about it?”

“I-”

“Turning it off is one of the most suspicious things you can do!”

They know. They saw her trying to get Sombra’s attention, they knew each time she’d used his computer, seen the files - they might even know about Sombra. Fuck, they have the missing camera footage from her breaking into Jack’s office.

“What do I do?” She whispered.

He turned back to her, real pain in his face. “I - Shit. You have to get out of here.”

“And go home?” She was panicking. It was spreading from her chest; her hands shook as she squeezed the plastic cup.

“You have to go on the run, unless you're going to stand trial for this.” Gabe ran his hand through his hair, pushing the beanie back on his head. “Why did you do this?”

She opened her mouth to speak, trying to think up an excuse, sifting through the panic in her head, and finding nothing. Why?

“Go home. Now. Get out of here, head to - to - the U.K. They don't want Overwatch operating there, you'll be okay for a while.”

“And after that?” She raked her fingers through her hair, her breathing shaky.

He was quiet for a long, long moment. “I don't know. I’ll.. I’ll work on things over here. Try to.. clear your name. But you need to get out of here.”

She stared at him, eyes wide, still shaking terribly. “Okay. Okay. I’ll go home. And, and when he’s asleep, I’ll-”

“Get out of here.” Unexpectedly, he pulled her into a hug, and she felt his heart beating just as hard as her own. “Be safe, okay?”

She nodded absently, pulling away from him and moving to the door. Fuck. She’d ruined everything. Her only chance at helping - she couldn't even warn Sombra now, until she gave the signal. It was all fucked.

Amélie looked around for Gérard, feeling the nausea billow in her chest once again as she did. There.

He stood by the wall, talking and laughing with someone - Ana?

She took a deep breath, then interrupted him. “Gérard, mon cher,” she whispered.

He paused, glancing at Ana, whose expression had turn concerned, and turned to her. “Is everything alright?”

Quickly, she shook her head. “Can we go home, now?”

“It's barely been-”

“ Please.”

He hesitated, looking from her to the room, then bit his lip. “Okay. Let's go.”

Gérard made his excuses to his friends, and they slipped out to the car, the sun having set while they were visiting. A thin sheet of ice had collected on the car - they had to crack it to pull open the doors.

The drive home was quiet, though Amélie’s mind was racing. She had to run. There was no other choice - if she’d gone about this herself, without Sombra’s help, maybe she would be okay, but giving away files to a soon-to-be whistleblower? She’d fucked up so badly.

She wanted to throw up.

How could she tell him? How could she say that she’d looked through his things and found out his secrets, and now she had to run away from the consequences?

She just had to hide until Sombra leaked the files. That couldn't be too long. A month at most.

Once they got home, she played sick, dropping her coat over a chair and falling onto the couch, acting as though she were exhausted. She just needed him to go to bed. Then she could - she could -

Never see him again.

Would he be held responsible? Would he be thrown in prison?

What do you do in a situation like this?

It didn't feel real. She’d backed herself into a corner and she couldn't convince herself it was real, that she had to run or end up like Lily Sotelo, starving to death in a cold little cell. She couldn't do that. She wouldn't.

Again, it struck her: Overwatch was no better than Talon. That’s what she told Gabe, and that’s what she’d thought. If they were willing to do what they did, and have a clean conscience, then what was the difference? There was no winning this war.

She feigned sleep on the couch, waiting to hear the sound of Gérard making his way upstairs. When her phone buzzed.

It sounded like a car engine to her, amplified louder in the silent apartment, and she waited for Gérard to walk over to her, pick up the phone, and -

She waited.

And waited.

And waited.

At last, Gérard’s soft footsteps went up the stairs, and the door opened, but didn't click shut.

She held her breath, listening for more. Not a sound.

Slowly, carefully, she slid her phone from her pocket, the glowing screen hurting her eyes.

RECEIVED AT 10:03 PM

Call. Now.

Her hands shaking, Amélie stared at the screen, dread in her throat and a snake in her chest.

She tapped Call.

The phone rang for a long moment, agonizingly long, drawn out for what felt like hours.

“Hey.”

Sombra’s voice - sweet, soft - brought a wave of relief crashing down, and tears pricked at her eyes. “Hey. I, um, fucked up a little bit.”

“What happened?”

“I..” She hesitated. “I talked to.. An Overwatch agent. And.. they know. That I’ve been in the computer.” She rubbed her face, willing the tears to dry. “And I’m probably going to be arrested soon, so I need to.. go.”

A soft breath. “Damn.”

She laughed weakly. “Yeah. Yeah, I know. I’m.. leaving tonight, I guess.”

“Are you sure?”

“I don't know if I have a choice.” The tears were falling now. They streamed down her face and she wiped at them angrily, sniffling.

If Sombra heard it, she didn't mention it, thankfully. “I’m sorry.”

“It's not your fault, it was me-”

“Amélie.” Her voice was almost resigned, now. To what?

“I’ll figure something out. I'll be okay. Promise.”

“Amélie.” She said this again, more urgently.

Amélie leaned back on the couch, sighing softly. “Yeah?”

“I’m.. sorry.” Her voice was so sweet. Regretful. Maybe it was partly her fault, but she’d been the one to-

“Step into my parlor, said the spider to the fly.”