#owfic

It’s an old argument, one never truly left behind but no longer as relevant; Amélie doesn’t bother starting it up again, her expression impassive. “I do not want to think about it,” she admits softly instead. She drops the shoes, twin patters on the hardwood floor.

To the surprise of both operatives, Sombra kicks them into the fireplace just a moment after. They stink of burning fabric and something like melted rubber, fire even licking its way up the age-stiffened ribbons caught on the metal grating. “So don’t think about it,” she says dismissively, sounding more like herself. She unravels her arms and bends them out at her sides, shrugging for emphasis. “Whatever happened before, you can’t change it. Let it go, keep moving.”

Amélie’s eyes linger on the fire for a long moment. “You are a hypocrite,” she murmurs, but there’s less malice in her voice than there could be.  

“Maybe,” Olivia chuckles, cocking her head, “But at least I’m not standing in the living room in the dark, staring at a smelly old pair of shoes when I could be tracking down the bastards that messed me up in the first place.”

Widowmaker’s lips curl. “Nn.”

“So let’s go!” Olivia shouts, abruptly enthusiastic and impatient, “Let’s get moving. We’ve been playing house for too long anyway – I almost wanted to go curtain shopping.”

“As though I would let you pick the curtains,” Amélie sneers, moving to collect her gear from the hallway closet. It’s ridiculous, setting out in the middle of the night without a plan, but the feeling hot in her chest won’t let her rest anyway; better to use the jittering, insect-like need to fly for something more than torturing herself. There are other, better targets.

It takes ten minutes to gather their things; it takes only seconds to abandon their luxurious penthouse apartment and slip into the night. A spider’s home is a fleeting thing, never meant to last.