look at this swiss miss


So we can all agree there’s some good stewing angst in the circumstances around Fareeha’s mother’s “death” and Widowmakers involvement right? Right! Here’s a quick “what if” off the idea that Widowmaker is staking a target, Pharah finds her, and all Hell breaks loose.


Pharah shot through the sky like a bullet from a gun. Her eyes darted from rooftop to rooftop, searching for the assassin. Static hissed in her ear, and she pulled up as much to listen as to canvas the city block beneath her.

“Winston has just narrowed down the search! North east, in quadrant 7-”

A sharp intake of breath cut off the rest of the sentence and Pharah was flying again. The dusky horizon opened before her as buildings whipped past her unseeing eyes.

“Pharah, no-! You’re- wait- I’m-!”

The radio dissolved into static as she rocketed further out of range. She shifted, completely vertical, and rose higher into the darkening sky. She reached the peak of her boost, held for a moment framed in a blazing glory by the setting sun. Then she dived. The wind screamed past her, but she heard nothing, saw nothing. Nothing but the blue skinned woman who’s face had contorted with shock and rage.

Got you.

Widowmaker managed one shot in retaliation to Pharah’s incoming attack before a metal clad fist collided with her face. Pharah grunted with satisfaction as the assassin keeled backwards. Not giving a second’s hesitation she pressed forward, raining heavy blows down upon the stunned sniper, each landing with more force than the last. Widowmaker staggered, then feinted a kick which she turned into lunging grapple. Now they were both down. Pharah counted on the protection of her armor for close range combat, but Widowmaker had already sprang back, Pharah realizing too late her mad dash to recover the fallen rifle. Widowmaker skidded and swept the weapon up, baring bloodied teeth as she aimed for Pharah’s heart.


The world exploded around them. Rubble rained and dust clouded the battle field as both fighters were thrown across the roof. Pharah was the first to rise, her suit protecting her from the worst of the event. She ached, but strode without grimace to where Widowmaker lay, bloodstained and groaning. Without ceremony she bent and with one hand around the other’s throat raised the sniper to her feet, then slammed her to the ground again. A loud cry of pain was silenced as Pharah connected a violent kick to the woman’s belly that lifted her into the air by several feet. Gasping, choking, Widowmaker lay curled around her broken ribs, unable to breath through the pain and injury.

“Not so tough without your toys are you.”

It wasn’t a question because Pharah knew it to be true. Despite her agonizing predicament Widowmaker managed a short laugh.

“I could say the same to you. Without that suit who are you? Just some worthless soldier’s-”

Pharah cut the retort with a punch that rocked Widowmaker’s head back and into the cracked and dusted concrete. Blood flowed in a lazy trickle from her broken nose and lips, while the amber eyes hazed over. Through a mist of red Pharah recognized the signs of a concussion, so kindly explained by Angela, among other symptoms and injuries. Fury boiled and flowed in her veins as the woman’s pain fed her satisfaction.

“You have no right to ever speak of her.”

Widowmaker was to busy trying to breath to reply. Pharah raised her wrist, engaging the mounted turret.

“But you can rest in Hell knowing she’s avenged.”


Pharah did not move. Her whole body remained rigid, fist clenched, back turned to the newcomer.

“Pharah, you were supposed to wait for me, you weren’t, this isn’t- I can’t-”

Mercy broke off, unable to articulate just how devastated and horrified she was. Pharah felt a distant pang of regret for causing the medic such strife, but it was stifled by the roar of her blood-lust. Mercy had moved past her and was kneeling by the prostrate Widowmaker, her mouth open in the beginning of her work.


Now it was Pharah’s turn to shout. Mercy looked up, startled, her blue eyes wide with hurt and confusion. Pharah was breathing hard, a pounding in her head adding to the crimson that stained her vision.

“You can’t heal her. You won’t heal her.”

“I’m a doctor,” Mercy said, calm and composed to Pharah’s thunder and emotion, “I cannot just let innocent people-”

“She’s not innocent!” Pharah spat, disgust curling her words, “she’s killed more people than you or I could even count! She deserves to die!”

“Pharah, while I agree with you that Widowmaker certainly hasn’t lived a good life, you know our orders are to-”

“I don’t care about our fucking orders! I don’t care about the fucking mission! I care that this woman pays for her countless atrocities! Don’t you want to see justice done?!”

Mercy was looking at her with an empty expression, and Pharah felt she may have gone too far in the doctor’s eyes. She wanted to take it back, to say something else. Before she could speak however Mercy answered her.

“I do care about justice and fairness Fareeha,” Pharah registered the use of her civilian name with a jerk, “why else would I be here?”

Pharah stared at her.

“I know what Widowmaker’s actions mean to you,” Mercy continued, ”what they did to you, and I knew from the moment you volunteered for this mission what your intent was.”

Something hot that had nothing to do with anger was rising in her. Pharah lowered her arm, a wave of fatigue and soreness washed over her. It had all seemed so simple, but now.. Now her plan for revenge felt foolish.

“I’m to save you as much as her. You’re not a killer, Fareeha. Your mother was, though she fought on our side. But you can never make that sacrifice because-”

Mercy stopped, and Pharah saw there were tears in her eyes.

“Because I won’t let you.”

Pharah felt the stinging of salt before it blurred her vision. The fury was gone, replaced by a hollow and sick feeling. She turned away before the tears could carve tracks down her dust covered cheeks.

“Do what you do best then doctor.”

“Heroes Never Die!”

Pharah waited until several minutes had passed before facing her Angel once more. Mercy had secured some very efficient restraints around Widowmaker’s dexterous limbs, and was radioing the headquarters for a retrieval team.

“So what now?”

Mercy looked at her.

“Now we hope medicine can save a life long lost.”

She hesitated, then added, “I’m sorry.”

Pharah opened her mouth to reply it was alright, to reassure Mercy of her thanks, her love. That Mercy had done the right thing; had saved her again.

“Don’t be doctor,” called a voice crinkling with age but sharp with wit, “I’d hate to think I’d be avenged when I’m not even dead yet.”

Both women stood frozen as a cloaked figure strode towards them from the shadows. She carried a rifle, not unlike Widowmaker’s, but it looked friendlier somehow, less lethal. She had a strange syringe-like attachment on her left wrist, and what Pharah recognized as special grenades lined neatly across her torso. The woman stopped a few feet from them, but her dark eyes remained fixed on Pharah’s. The swirl of her tattoo, just a Pharah remembered it, gave her an otherworldly presence. The other eye was covered with a long cloth, and in spite of the grey hair and lines Pharah knew who she was facing.

“Mother,” she whispered.


For a second Pharah had forgotten about the blonde doctor, and she turned to see the shock her own face undoubtedly mirrored. Ana Amari chuckled.

“Don’t look so surprised Swiss Miss, you know I was never one for gong down without a fight. And you…”

She was looking into Pharah’s eyes with such empathy and love that Pharah could hardly stand it.

“Look how tall you are,” she said softly, “and part of Overwatch at last, eh? How does it feel?”

At that moment the helicopter for their extraction buzzed in a crescendo as it lowered itself from overhead. Ana deftly moved between them and hefted the unconscious Widowmaker up and over her shoulder.

“Come on,” Ana called as she tossed Widowmaker into the chopper and jumped in after her, “we have a lot of catching up to do.”

Mercy looked uncertain, but a small smile had begun to play on her lips. Pharah too felt lost in a ocean of feeling and currents of uncontrollable emotion.

But she’s here. She’s alive. That’s all I need for now.

“That we do,” Pharah agreed, catching Mercy up and into her arms as she lifted them both into the waiting helicopter. Ana frowned at them.

“Angie,” her voice was slow and calculating, “I hope this isn’t what I think it is.”

Mercy’s cheeks turned a deep scarlet.

“Ana whatever it is you think-” she began.

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” Ana interrupted her, “what matters is whether you’re taking good care of my girl.”

Now it was Pharah’s turn to blush.


“And from the looks of things tonight, I’d say you’re doing a good job.”

They all sat, silent and smiling at each other.

“So,” Ana said, brisk and business like, “how soon can I expect grand-kids? I’m not getting any younger you know.”


Laughter filled the compartment as they sped away into the night.