Chapter Text
As the sun falls below the city's horizon, Widowmaker barely feels the temperature drop.
She scans the street below slowly through her scope, wondering if their mark will show today. Most likely, they won't.
"I wonder, once again, why am I here?" The figure beside her says. Widowmaker isn't even sure they're talking to her.
"To heal me," Widowmaker responds simply, and the doctor laughs dryly.
"You must be a terrible shot if you bring such attention to yourself. Do you get shot at often due to missed shots?"
Widowmaker feels a prick of annoyance up her spine, and the need to defend herself rises in her chest.
"I never miss."
"If you say so."
Widowmaker finally lowers her scope, relaxing her tense shoulders. She must have been sitting for hours, still as a statue.
Still, if the mark hasn't shown up by now, they probably aren't showing up at all. Bad intel.
She hears the doctor sigh. She turns to look at her, catching her swiping a hand along the beak of her plague doctor-esque visor. The city lights below illuminate her, the dark colors of the mask contrast with the deep red of the cybernetic wings on her back.
Widowmaker squints, scrutinizing the doctor's mask. She can barely see the doctor's eyes from behind the deep red of the visor's sockets, similar in color to her own visor.
It's ugly, Widowmaker thinks suddenly, and the thought surprises her. Why did she think that?
"Why are you staring at me," the doctor asks, barely turning to look to Widowmaker. Widowmaker doesn't falter as she responds, "I hate your mask."
The doctor seems to chuckle at that. She raises her hands to the back of her head, unclipping the bindings that hold the mask in place. She grabs hold of both sides of the mask, tugging it off.
The doctor blinks, once, twice, then looks to Widowmaker again. Widowmaker finds herself studying the doctor's features. Funny, she thinks, she hasn't been this close to the doctor without her mask on.
Her eyes are the color of cold steel, but it doesn't seem right. Then again, nothing about the doctor seems right.
"Forgive me. I'm hard of sight without my visor," the doctor says.
"Are you," Widowmaker responds quietly, reaching out to the doctor's face. True to her words, the doctor's eyes don't follow her hand at all.
"You're blind."
"In a manner of speaking."
No, that's not right- somewhere, deep in her memories, Widowmaker remembers deep blue eyes. Ones that saw the scope of everything- patients, their health, the world-
She winces as a pain runs through her skull, forcing her to look away.
Silence falls between them. The doctor moves to put the visor back on, but Widowmaker stops her.
"Leave it off."
"I can't see."
"You don't need to-"
I'll watch over you, Widowmaker thinks, and the thought repulses her.
"The mark isn't coming. It's been six hours."
"Oh, joy- I love wasting precious time," she sighs, stretching. She shudders, and the wings embedded in her shoulders rattle.
"Be silent."
"No one is showing up anyway. You said so yourself."
Widowmaker huffs, the headache ebbing off bit by bit. Well, she had a point.
No one was coming, that's for sure.
***
They don't cross paths again for days. It's at a mission briefing the next time Widowmaker spots her, hovering by the doorway to the briefing hall.
Its jarring when the doctor passes her, concealed behind that ghastly mask. She takes a seat, and Widowmaker notices the step back everyone seems to take.
She's terrifying, no doubt about it.
Regardless, Widowmaker takes a seat beside her. She'd like to imagine everyone taking another step back, but something tells her that her cold attitude can't come close to matching the outward appearance of the doctor.
She peers at Widowmaker from behind her visor for a long minute, and it makes Widowmaker shift in her seat. The deep red of the mask's eyes bore into her.
Finally, the doctor chuckles, perhaps at Widowmaker's apparent discomfort.
"Widowmaker."
"Doctor."
***
Widowmaker sees the doctor's true power during their next mission. It was supposed to be a simple infiltration to gain some of Overwatch's lost secrets at the abandoned Watchpoint in Gibraltar, but It had gone south. Someone must have tipped Overwatch off to the heist. Now, the previously vacant watchpoint was filled with talon and overwatch operatives, gunning each other down without mercy.
As Widowmaker silently shoots down countless soldiers from a spot on a rooftop, she catches a glimpse of the doctor in her scope.
Lowering her rifle in confusion, she watches as the doctor steps through the fighting, around bodies and bullets.
It's a single, curt word that strikes absolute terror into allies and enemies alike.
"Rise," the doctor utters, raising her left hand. In an instant, the dead rise- whatever uniform they wore meant nothing now. They belong to the doctor.
She points at living overwatch agents, who freeze upon seeing their risen comrades move. Thy don't stare for long. Bullets fall from the risen's guns, killing indiscriminately.
Widowmaker feels something, akin to disgust- but some intrigue underneath it all.
The doctor stands in the fighting still, barely moving. The living Overwatch agents turn tail and bolt, terror licking their heels.
Widowmaker freezes when she sees the doctor's head turn, the disgusting red eye of the mask meeting hers.
"Merde," Widowmaker curses, tearing her gaze away from the doctor to fire a few last shots at the fleeing Overwatch agents.
The doctor was a disgusting creature.