She’s holding the gun, aimed right at the woman she loves. Hands shaking as she fumbles to get her finger on the trigger. “Please, I don’t want to do this.”, her words are empty threats. They both know she can’t pull the trigger.
UNPROMPTED CORRESPONDENCE, @headlyne .
though she did not show it, could not show it, it saddened her to see her love turn on her so. there was something ... satirical about the whole situation that was almost humorous. ironic. perhaps it was only appropriate that she would suffer the same fate as her late husband did, only this time there was no outside interference. emily was never experimented on ( clearly. the grip on that handgun was pathetic. ) nor was she blackmailed to retaliate the way she did. it was all her own fault.
perhaps it was all her fault then, too, that night she held the gun in shaky hands and delivered that single bullet in poor gérard's temple. the operatives waiting for her outside may not have meant anything, after all. she could have bought time. he could have been woken up and delivered the news of his oncoming demise. they could have helped the both of them.
——who could have helped them? not overwatch. dr. o'deorain was right, after all. they would have never trusted her word after talon's involvement. contempt for her had been long held amongst her husband's colleagues, the strike commander himself targeting hushed obloquy towards her since they'd met. ( " i don't trust her. " gruff and annoyingly american. midwestern, she presumed. " something's off, lacroix. " ) amélie herself was no ray of sunshine. her interest in the organization's affairs was minimal as she found more importance within the arts. what good will did she earn among the soldiers and peacekeepers of the world? none.
her thoughts stilled into nothing. what was she even thinking about? the tightness in her chest suddenly released, her heartbeat slowing to its usual snail's pace. eyes fluttered from their subtle surprise to a despondent state. now she could hear emily's trembling voice, " please, i don't want to do this. "
and amélie could tell. she remained quiet at first, watching untrained hands fumble with the gun. she waited for her to take that shot, gave her the chance that so many would have taken in a heartbeat, but it seemed to never come. she stepped forward to place a finger beneath the barrel and tilted it upwards, giving her a clear shot. if she could hardly manage one shot, she would not be able to do two. this was a favor to the both of them.
the silence remained unfilled. a part of her was disappointed. another part was relieved. she did not know which part she should pay attention to. the hand beneath emily's firearm smoothly slid to the top of the barrel to take it from her hands. it was surprisingly gentle, surprising to even herself, and it helped that her grip was so light that it came with ease. amélie then reached to take hold of her lover with a light sigh. choking sobs came after.
" i - i can't ... i couldn't do it ... " emily cried, her voice as quiet as a mouse.
" i know, mon amour. " clawed fingers stroked her hair, soft and smelling of citrus with each pass. sharp tips scraped the skin of her scalp and neck. emily's flinching as a result had her relax her grip enough to avoid the scratching. her voice lowered to a whisper. " then why even try? you would have never forgiven yourself. i don't know if i ever did. "
