‵ ‣ ʟᴇѕʙᴇᴀɴ.

lena often wears glasses off the battlefield; as similar to her GOGGLES, they’re rather big and share the same sort of yellow tint. during her CHRONAL DISASSOCIATION her sight was impaired. her goggles are also an aid to her sight, because a blind-ish tracer is a dead tracer. she’d blink off a frickin’ building without ‘em, probably. 

@leftraces·

❛  well i’ll be,  ❜  warmth flows heavy on his words; hot fudge poured on sweet ice cream. despite having spoken mere hours ago, he treats this encounter unexpected. not unwelcome. a rendezvous amidst london folk - getting second squeezings of holiday cheer - is far more palatable than amidst a battle.   ❛  my fav’rite brit.  ❜

standard upon seeing another, the duo exchange their SECRET SHAKE. then they hug. he claps her back three times ( good luck ) before pulling away; there’s a grin tugging along his face, loose like worn string.  ❛  you’re lookin’ gussied up. been out with the lady friend?  ❜

her responses - always streams of consciousness - so undeniably tracer, wash over him like a hot bath. contentedness made flesh. mccree’s smile doesn’t cool down one bit, and how could it, when his best buddy’s by his side?

thumbs hook behind leather belt, index’s square around golden buckle. coupled with his ever-present cowboy hat, this is what distinguishes mccree from the crowd. civilian dress is essential on these outings. moseying through town with a posse sporting angel wings, kimonos, and yellow latex pants tends to stir up trouble.

damned if the reason they wear those get-ups is to prevent it.

in turn, his poncho and serape are swapped for a scarf. blood red drapes over broad shoulders, no matter the material. a warning. he can go toe to toe in a pair of jeans without a hitch. all’s a fool with a death wish has to say is let’s dance.

maybe tonight could be peaceful. oh, but mccree scoffs at the thought - he doesn’t count on maybes.

❛  —- i saw on your… social media page, you an’ the missus had a mighty fine christmas.  ❜  head dips and rises in earnest.  ❛  i’m glad. the holidays like ta cause hiccups for our kind’a life. and visa versa.  ❜

they are dead set on hitting up tracer’s local haunt in the city; some irish pub with an o’ in the name. pub. he likes the sound of that. if plans hadn’t been interrupted by winston’s recall, they’d have made the pilgrimage to tracer’s place of drink far sooner.

rather than making too many to mccree’s watering holes in new mexico.

knees bend, back flattens, and his cybernetic arm comes out in a right angle for tracer’s accommodation. his right removes his hat, as befits a man of mccree’s gentility. saddle up is a little coarse, even for the likes of him to say. it’s… an apt description. he digs his heels in, bracing not for weight. nothing as simple as that — no, he braces for messing with the sands of time.

❛  let’s skedaddle, pardner.  ❜

BENEVOLENCE BUILDS A forest, comfy, around heart at the sight of him      all big bushes and branching trees, she’s filled to brim with a fierce type of coziness that can only be describe as friendship. unadulterated / purity, in its simplest form.

     a shadow ache low in her gut disappears thereafter, twists tight and anew into something homely, if only for a little while. it’s loneliness, probably. the one that comes easy with their work; she doesn’t dwell on it. there are gaps in life that may never be filled, but that doesn’t make her armor any smaller.

squinting           ❛  that’s OLD WEST i see, innit?  ❜   tenor trips into dangerously fond territory before eyes go comically wide, movements of step quick as they are messy. opposite of battle field stance, here her shoulders rest.   ❛  i’d say ya’ were my favorite cowgirl, but i only know one'a those, don’t i?  ❜

     a pause, the furrow breaching slope of face is contemplative / honest.   ❛  well, there was that one time down in… nevermind about tha’, he was off his bloody rocker.  ❜

(being a hero comes with some perks, and some... defects. “cosplayers” seemed to have taken a swift liking to them, even after all these years, but it was all in good fun, really. to each their own.)

     it’s as easy as breathing to lapse into their well-built companionship. tracer wastes few seconds before mimicking him, their draw and standoff causing her chest to swell dearly. stretched from ear to ear, the smile is of ivory and moon. the light in the dark. he smells like old dusty roads and it isn’t an uninvited scent.

under the waves of jesse’s gaze, questioning and stance, lena crumbles not unlike a chip between heavy hands.

     ❛  well      y'see… i may’ve been out and about. but it was innocent, i tell ya’! INNOCENT.  ❜

grin, now, borders surreptitious and a fist chances a resounding click to his shoulder. see, mccree’s all masculinity, wrapped up in a fancy scarf that flows as if it were a red sea and breathing beneath the weight of a beige cap. he can’t even feel it.

     (not that it matters to him that much, the air of masculine energy; or, well, at all. been there, had that talk.)

barely, words reach and crawl into her ear. she’s nearly on the broad expanse of his back before they even translate. to caught up in it all      their shakes, their laughs, their home      it only just falls into place. and when it does, her laughter is SPLITTING / ringing resolutely, as loud as bells would atop a church.

     ❛  we’ll talk about your social media presence at the pub, my tummy’s tickling for a chip sarnie.  ❜

the blurred movement of blue is practiced, a blink and a few seconds till their down the street outside of o'malley’s. lena breathes in the familiarity as if it were a fresh gust of wind, tipping off her “pardner” with clumsy nature that shouldn’t be hidden within the marrow of a soldier. which she is      down to her bones, just as much as she’s a pilot, even if she doesn’t do much actual flying these days.

     fixing tidbits of his scarf that scuffled through travel, her eye wanders but never falters. checking for any cut ups. it isn’t exactly ideal to race around like that, not for someone without an accelerator built to chest.

❛  y'sure do seem to fancy it, don’t ya’? blinkin’ about n’ all that.   ❜   tracer’s only being certain / friendly.   ❛  aren’t feeling any nausea, yeah? tell me if y'get sick, love.  ❜

     devilish, there’s an almost uncharacteristic smirk spilling into the freckles of cheek / two fingers, much like her salute, point behind.

     ❛  ooo! that’s a no brainer, innit? so long as they’re not a BADDIE, don’t see why not.  ❜

AND ONE… TWO, THREE    

FLANNEL FADES UNDER the weight of palms, but her grip never falters. even as good ole’ dandy readjusts between clasped thighs      she’s only left to beam, sunshine stretching through a smile. 

@leftraces·

❛  lena,  ❜  she starts, offering a sigh as punctuation.  ❛  draping yourself across my counter does nothing to sway me,  ❜  it is matter of fact, however fictional. angela doesn’t deny lena being - damn the english dictionary for this - irresistible. quite the contrary. much to the embarrassment of her friend, angela is vocal about it. very, very vocal about it.

angela tidies papers around lena, as if tidiness is her present concern. as if being as far as that goes. those familiar with the doctor are well aware - nonchalance is rare to behold.

eyes pass over lena once, then twice. angela’s clocking of lena’s pose mimics the filling out of medical charts; neat, categorical - blatant lingering on aspects of intrigue. slim, strong arms slung over the counter. fingers, ever so deft, curl and uncurl over the edge.

angela hums; tilts her head, considering lena.

          déjà vécu.

❛  …i do like you in that position.  ❜

angela comes closer, forefinger and thumb taking hold of lena’s chin. she lifts ’til eye contact is made. it’s more of a collision; she feels the effects in her chest, her stomach, her throat. hospital lights reflect off lena’s glasses so that for a moment, only that light is present.

oh. so this is what it’s like to be seen as holy. her thumb runs over lena’s bottom lip in quiet supplication. angela isn’t one to hesitate. especially in saying with all the goodness lena possesses, physical manifestations are bound to happen.

of course, that’s for dramatic effect. at heart she is a scientist. if anything was to make her wonder, anyone… perhaps. perhaps it’d be lena. her prior statement is disproven, if angela wasn’t light on her feet, she’d be swaying.

there’s creation of distance, having noted the publicness of the display. she also notes a mutual blush dappling across their faces. angela, smiling, backs up ’til she’s against her office door. coyness has yet to shake hands with the doctor; as evident in her right making a come hither motion, and her left pushing the door open.

❛  if you’ll join me, schäri.  ❜

THE CALM, ANGLED movements that pull from angela bestirs something knobby toward her throat. pyre burns as warm in chest as it does in cheek, the flames of blush doing little dousing and more rousing. a sight to behold, indeed, she isn’t even sure it escapes doc, really. it’s in the way shoulders carry, collected / calculated      tracer can tell, she must know the beauty that she bears. the world still spins.

     a doctor causing a stuttering heart, funny that.

and it’s true      position posed provides little on the front for comfort; though lena is, unsurprisingly, no stranger to it. many a time had she been strewn across counter, when quietness of facilities laid as bare as her boredom. only would she leave if told to bugger off (with enough earnest to scare a bull), or if invited into… closer quarters.

     so, the fly’s throat bobs / swallows. it is as deep as it is telling      but tracer is quick to never miss a beat.

❛  findin’ that awful hard to believe      y'know, doc, you just stared at me like i was a damn near TWISTY TREAT, didn’t ya’?  ❜

     if angela just so happens to kill her, hands will clasp in prayer; resurrection the last hope on lips      as so are fingers, apparently, delicate precision rubbing the scripture and bringing death THAT MUCH closer.

a grim reaper thrums above lena’s rib cage, weaves in and out of the marrow there. lays / waits.

     ❛  is that      oi, is that so? tell me about it, love.  ❜

heat no longer wisps beneath words, but the heart is all the more heavy. weak in attempt, it still breathes of content; roses on tracer’s tongue don’t wilt, and she stretches, spreading herself thin. careful, is the movement      angela holds her research as close to the chest as she does her patients, this hardly falls unto deaf ears.

     for that, she’s fast to seek gratefulness in the oceans of her eyes: a social cue she’d grown accustomed to receiving, one mercy was so gracious in GIVING, it developed into a not entirely... unwelcome praise. though, this time, wandering gaze it met only with the retreating of figure      angelic under the halo of the hospital glow / holy in disappearance almost like it was in it’s rise to her lips.

lena follows, dutifully, a maiden to a shrine; watchful of littered notes, limbs extricate themselves from counter with a rather eager titter. sully lift of two fingers speaks for itself.

     and, as so do words accompany this, the shrivel of doubt (however small) blinks away nearly as fast as tracer does. fragmented sapphire bleeding in her wake, it’d be hard to miss the “RACE YA’!” tossed over fleeting form.