Chapter 1: Prologue: They Say You Die Twice
Chapter Text
“They say you die twice. One time when you stop breathing and a second time, a bit later on, when somebody says your name for the last time.”
It felt like years that she’d been drifting.
Lena Oxton, whether she was truly dead, or simply in some sort of limbo, was beginning to get desperate.
At first she had been subject to glimpses of her own life, a million different versions of it, a million what if’s, and a million different lives she could have led...if only. That was the worst of it; not the constant pain (which, by now had faded to a dull ache that still seemed to permeate her entire being), not even the loneliness -- the worst was knowing that none of those possible futures, those hundreds upon hundreds of lives that she got to witness in flashes, could ever come to be. Not the good, not the bad. She had no future, not anymore.
As she continued to drift, though, it wasn’t only her own life -- or lives? -- that she saw. Time wore on, and as though the powers that be had decided that watching herself wasn’t quite painful enough, Lena began to experience flashes of the lives of the people that she’d loved. The people that she’d lost. Winston, Ana, Jack… everyone back at Overwatch. She’d see them, only in glimpses, and each time it tore her heart in two.
How long had she been gone? It seemed like centuries to her, but how long had truly passed?
Each time she found herself in Winston’s lab, watching her furry best friend, it seemed to last a bit longer. Each time, her heart ached a bit more. She’d tried to call out to him, to reach for him, a hundred times...but it was like she was a ghost. She couldn’t move, frozen in place.
No matter how much she called, cried, screamed , he never once looked her way.
If this was hell, it was certainly living up to its reputation.
And then one day, something changed .
Lena had almost grown accustomed to her own personal hell, to watching the people that she loved, the people she’d thought had loved her, go on with their lives without her. She tried, god she tried so hard, not to be bitter about it -- about the fact that they got to live while she was lost, a spectre doomed to this lonely existence of seeing but never being seen -- of never being heard, or touched, never being acknowledged, never being known . She tried...but it was hard.
She never even heard her name brought up, anymore.
It was almost as though she had never existed.
She wanted to scream.
She did scream. Over and over, she would scream at anyone who happened to pass by, desperate to be heard, to be seen, to be real again… but no one ever heard her.
No one looked her way.
Lena Oxton was well and truly dead.
Chapter 2: like a waking dream
Summary:
A ghost no more, Lena has been found.
Chapter Text
“---na, Le ------ na, Agen---- on, Agent Oxton, can you hear me?”
Those were the first words that floated through her consciousness after the unsettling feeling of being ripped unwilling from one place to another. Or maybe she’d gone nowhere at all. She could hardly tell up from down; asking anything more of her would be futile.
“Win...ston…?” she forced out, her voice thin and quiet, even to her own ears. “That you love?” she questioned, trying to force heavy eyelids open. Of course it was Winston, though, she chided herself. If anyone could save her...it was him. “Took your bloody time, mate,” she started to complain, “thought you’d all forg...ot….” she trailed off as she took her first glance around, eyes open as her energy slowly returned to her.
This wasn’t Winston’s lab.
“No, Agent Oxton,” a gentle voice from behind her replied. “I’m afraid that “Winston” has nothing to do with this procedure.”
Confusion marred her features as her brows knit, and her mouth opened and closed. If not Winston, then, “who…?” she voiced her confusion as her gaze swept the room. Clean and sterile, everything was shiny and cold, stainless steel. “Where’m I?” she continued, refusing to allow any of the dread that had sent chills up her spine at the use of the word ‘ procedure ’ to show. “What’s...all this?” she gestured around, before freezing at the sight of her own hand.
It was transparent.
A strangled sound of distress fought to free itself from her throat as she stared in horror, holding her hand up to her face. “Am… I’m dead, then, aren’t I?” she finally asked, forcing a sense of calm she couldn’t properly reach into her words. What she wanted to do was panic, to wail and cry, and despair for her lost life, and all those beautiful possibilities she’d been taunted with for ages . She wanted to close her eyes, and wish this all away; wanted to wake up safe and sound in her bunk at the watchpoint, and find that this had all been some sort of horrific nightmare. She wanted to be home , safe and sound, and alive , surrounded by the people she loved.
The voice chuckled. Another chill ran through her.
“Fortunately not,” it answered her.
She tried to turn to face whomever she was speaking to...but anything more than basic movements felt like she was drowning in molasses, like her body weighed a ton and she found herself unable to do so. “Then…” Lena trailed off. She didn’t know where to begin asking.
“It seems the experimental aircraft you were piloting had an...unfortunate impact upon you when it malfunctioned.” The voice was female, she realized now, deep and commanding...and somehow still...almost gentle. Lena opened her mouth to protest, but was cut off. “The Slipstream has yet to be located, much less recovered, but the site of its disappearance showed evidence of multiple temporal anomalies, all converging on one point.” She paused, and Lena could hear her footsteps, straining to turn and follow their source. Finally, finally , the woman entered her line of sight.
Dark hair and skin, a stark contrast to the white labcoat, and surprisingly warm eyes. Not blue, like the doc’s had been back on base, but a sort of hazel color. It was easier to focus on little things, inane details, rather than face the reality of her situation.
“Temporal anomalies…” she repeated, brows furrowed, even as her gaze remained locked upon the other woman. “The Slipstream jumped through time, too? Not just space?” Her jaw dropped at the realization, and she couldn’t help but wonder if this had anything to do with the visions she’d been haunted by. “I travelled through time??”
The woman shook her head, and if Lena wasn’t completely mad, she had the audacity to look amused. “Not quite. Our working theory is that, well, the aircraft was thrown into the timestream during teleportation, and it and its pilot were torn apart, existing everywhere in the flow of time simultaneously...while also not existing anywhere at all.”
Lena looked aghast at that. “But I’m its pilot!”
“We’re well aware of that, Agent Oxton,” the woman replied. Her tone, which Lena had thought was gentle at first was beginning to sound more and more patronizing to the pilot. “That’s what necessitates this special chamber,” she continued. “Using data collected at the site of your disappearance, we were able to form a sort of...containment chamber. As long as you’re within these walls, you will remain anchored in the present moment.” She paused her explanation, catching the way Lena looked down at -- or through -- her hands. “It’s not a permanent solution, but our scientists are working towards one as we speak.”
She nodded at the woman, trying to take that in, staring down at her own translucent form. Was this really any better than being where she had been before? Of course it was, she chided herself. At least now, here, she could be seen, heard. Here, she was real, not just a ghost -- even if she happened to look like one. She nodded once more, before she opened her mouth again, carefully giving voice to the question that had been nagging at her since the woman had turned up. “Are you… are you with Overwatch?” How else could she have known so much about the Slipstream? It seemed obvious...but something about the whole situation…
The woman’s expression turned sad, right before Lena’s eyes. “I had hoped you wouldn’t ask just yet,” she admitted, painted lips pulling into a frown that mirrored Lena’s own. She wanted to ask why, but she didn’t have a chance before the woman continued. “I’m not. Overwatch concluded their investigation into the Slipstream incident several weeks ago.” She paused, seeming to consider her next words carefully. “I’m sorry, Lena -- they gave up on you.”
“That’s a lie!” she immediately snapped, without so much as a moment’s thought. “They would never --- we don’t just give up on each other!”
The woman shook her head. “I didn’t want to tell you -- not until you’d had time to recover -- but it’s true. The official report is that they couldn’t continue to justify the expenditure,” she explained. “For what it’s worth...I’m sorry.”
Lena didn’t respond. She couldn’t. All she could focus on were those words, repeating, over and over in her mind; they gave up on you . They gave up on you. They gave up on you.
The woman lingered another moment, before she turned, her sad expression hidden from view. “I’ll...give you some time. Just call if you need anything,” she offered, before exiting the room through heavy double doors that whooshed as they closed. Lena hardly noticed her departure. She was still haunted by that single phrase, feeling her heart break all over again.
They gave up on you.
As the woman exited the containment chamber, her expression shifted from melancholy to one of satisfaction. Scrawling a quick note on her clipboard, she made her way through the labyrinthine halls, on her way to report in.
Subject ready to begin reconditioning.