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They go to a parcel of land in the gentler foothills of the French Alps, and shoot at a steel target with a bolt-action rifle that’s older than either of them. The mechanism is well-worn and efficient. It closes with a smooth click. Amélie is lying prone on an old, patched quilt, rifle set on a bipod and pulled tight against her shoulder by her left hand. Her right is curled around the grip, finger resting lightly on the trigger. Just like she's been learning over the past few months. The wood of the stock is soft against her cheek, and her target rests neatly within the crosshairs, five-hundred meters away.
Inhale, measured exhale, fire. A crack like thunder rips through the morning stillness, resounding echo chasing the liminal fog that clings to the soft green slopes. Metallic, sulphurous gunsmoke hangs nearly invisible in the air, and Amélie breathes it in. A satisfying ping rings in the distance.
"Low left." Ana Amari's tinny voice filters through Amélie's earplugs as she opens the bolt, ejecting the spent casing.
"Adjust for wind," she advises.
Captain Amari is on Amélie's left, peering through a pair of binoculars. She lies on the quilt as well, both of them dressed for the chill of an early autumn morning. Amélie closes the bolt, sizes up her next shot. Inhale. Exhale.
Ping.
"Much better."
Ana reaches over Amélie and tugs her shooting elbow down a fraction. At first she frowns, she didn't think her form was off. When Amari's hand trails up the back of Amélie's arm and down her side, she realizes it's not about form correction. Even over her jacket it causes a line of goosebumps on the back of Amélie's neck. Amélie breathes out while working the bolt, wills her heart to steady, and prepares to fire again.
Inhale. Exhale.
Ping.
"Right," Ana informs her. Amélie grits her teeth, shoves her elbow back to where it was.
The next shot is dead center, and Amélie doesn't need Ana's confirmation. She can feel the shot fly true as soon as she depresses the trigger. She takes a moment to revel in satisfaction before raising her head from behind the scope to reload.
"You’re improving, Miss Lacroix," Ana's voice is distorted and electronic, but the warm breath that curls over the back of Amélie's neck, behind her ear is all too real.
"But why don't we make this more interesting?"
Amélie breathes, presses the final round into the magazine through the breech.
"Oui,"
Amélie closes the bolt. She never was one to back down from a challenge.
Ana's hand starts at the backs of Amélie's knees, trailing slowly up her thigh. Amélie settles back into position, resting her cheek against the rifle's stock and pulling it snug. Acquires her target, tries not to think about Ana's hand making a deliberate path along the bottom of her ass. Inhale.
Exhale. Ping.
As Amélie loads her next shot, Ana begins to work in earnest.
"Center hit. But in combat," Ana gives Amélie's ass a firm squeeze, Amélie's inhale is stunted.
Ana's hand stays where it is, "Conditions can be," the next word is accompanied by a hot exhale right against Amélie's ear, "adverse."
Amélie is forced to take her finger off the trigger as the hand on her ass tightens again, this time almost painful. Ana switches to caressing instead, and Amélie steadies herself on target. Resets her breathing.
Cold fingers slip under the edge of her windbreaker, underneath her shirt and slide over her back. Amélie bites her lip. Chilly air nips at the sliver of exposed skin between her pants and jacket. She can feel the roughness of Ana's thumb as it brushes over her skin, making a meandering path towards her right side. Ana shifts beside her, sidling closer so she can reach all the way around Amélie's body. It doesn't help Amélie's concentration at all, but she has to steel herself, shut out the feeling of Ana's body heat slowly spreading through their contact. Inhale.
Exhale.
Ping.
Ana's chuckle is dark and Amélie can feel it vibrate through them both. Ana's hand finds the dip of Amélie's hipbone, teases at the slight gap between Amélie's body and her pants. One finger slides past her waistband, then another. Then Ana pulls her hand from beneath Amélie's clothes entirely, and returns to the back of Amélie's thigh. Amélie doesn't whine at the loss of contact but she does clench her jaw. Fucking tease- until the hand slides up her thigh and presses firmly between her legs.
Oh.
Amélie raises her hips slightly, worsening her stability but bettering Ana's access. Ana gives her what she wants, snaking her arm back around Amélie's torso and reaching for the button of her pants. She pops it easily, has Amélie's zipper undone in almost the same motion and slides her hand into Amélie's underwear without further preamble. The first touch of her fingers has Amélie gasping, dragging slickness from her center to her clit. She bows her head slightly, swallowing a groan, but Ana still notices.
"Eyes on target," Ana growls.
Then begins to move her fingers in slow circles over Amélie's clit.
It takes a few breaths for Amélie to regain herself, draw her focus back into the scope, narrowing her world to a singular point between the crosshairs.
Inhale. Exhale.
Ping.
Ana begins to speed up, and Amélie can feel herself breaking. She's barely focused enough to pull the bolt back while rolling her hips towards Ana's hand. With considerable effort, she drives the last round home, locking it in with a flick of her wrist while fighting to keep her aim steady. It feels like an exercise in futility.
"Take the shot,"
She does her best to still completely, but Ana's got her shaking on her fingertips. As Amélie comes undone, her last shot goes wide.
"Merde," she pants against the rifle's stock. The world is coming back to her, including the silence from downrange.
"Not bad," Ana says, and Amélie fights the urge to roll her eyes, "Though you might have some casualties if that was actual combat."
"And how many of your enemies have tried to pleasure you instead of kill you?" Amélie replies sarcastically, falling gracelessly onto her side and regarding Ana with a slight glare.
Ana wipes her hand unceremoniously on the quilt. Takes a moment to reply,
"Omnics are not so creative."
There's a pause after that. The reality of their war is suddenly encroaching on this small reprieve. Amélie sits up and adjusts her ponytail, watching Ana stare out into the range. She extends an arm towards Ana, beckoning her back from wherever her mind had wandered. Ana blinks, leans in and kisses her, long and languid like nothing happened. Amélie tugs at the waistband of her pants to pull her closer. It works, and Ana presses forwards until Amélie's back is flat against the ground.
Amélie takes Ana's lip between her teeth, threads fingers through her hair and scrapes her nails over her scalp. Nudges a kiss under the collar of Ana's shirt, against her collarbone, while dragging out undoing the button-fly of Ana's service pants. Ana makes a noise of discontent.
Patience in all things, wasn't it Ana that told her that while teaching her the basics of how to kill?
She slides her hand into Ana's pants and palms at the heat between her legs, over her underwear. She can feel dampness through the cloth, and she presses harder. She feels Ana shift, but also grin against her lips.
"I have a better idea," she says, infuriatingly smug, "Same drill. Shooting under adverse conditions."
Amélie smiles at adverse.
It's hardly fair because Ana Amari has fired her rifle under a litany of worse impediments, such as returning fire. Ana Amari has taken a shot to the shoulder and shrapnel to the spine and kept on target. Amélie heard the stories long before she pressed her lips to the puckered scars, marveling at how a few centimeters of luck kept the world’s greatest sniper from being paralyzed from the waist down, and deeply appreciative.
But it doesn't mean Amélie won't try her damndest to make the legendary Captain Amari miss.
Ana shucks her pants, completely unperturbed by being nearly half naked in the middle of nowhere.
"Ready to try your best?" she asks. Amélie can only nod in response.
Ana's smirk is wicked, "Good."
She sits, legs spread, with the butt of the rifle resting on her thigh as she loads it. Amélie lies before her, propped up on her elbows and watching the fluidity of Ana's practiced motions.
She hefts the rifle, bipod and all, effortlessly into position. Her elbows rest slightly ahead of her knees. The sling is wrapped around her supporting arm, drawn tight. After a quick glance through the scope, she gestures towards Amélie, who slides between her legs and under the shadow of the gun. She slides one arm underneath and around Ana's thigh. With her other arm she waits, running a thumb along the edge of Ana's underwear.
Ana snaps the bolt closed with finality, and Amélie takes that as her cue.
She tugs Ana's underwear to the side, and drags her tongue over her folds. Ana takes her first shot, the sound making Amélie jolt slightly as the muzzle blast brushes over her.
Ping.
Ana cycles the bolt before the bullet even connects, remaining staunchly immobile besides the movement of her hand and arm. Amélie presses her tongue into Ana, savoring the taste though she knows it won't do much to actually get her off. Sucks at her folds and laps at them. She thinks she feels Ana tense slightly.
Bang.
Ping.
Now she focuses on her clit, giving it broad strokes at first before changing to smaller movements, flicking her tongue in a way she knows makes Ana Amari weak and keen. She can feel Ana take a fortifying breath.
Bang.
Ping.
Her hips give the slightest twitch as Amélie continues teasing at her clit.
The sharp inhale above her tells her that Ana is coming, as well as the shaking of her lower half. Amélie works to draw her orgasm out.
Bang.
For a second, Amélie thinks that Ana Amari has actually missed.
Ping.
The 750 meter target.
Ana is breathing hard, but not hard enough to prevent her from giving Amélie an insufferable grin.
"Admirable work, Lacroix," she says. There is a dangerous warmth and affection there. Amélie sits up from between Ana's legs, and kisses her.
"You’re arrogant," she murmurs against Ana's lips. Ana laughs, and it's a pleasant, throaty sound.
---
They sit on the quilt, sharing chamomile from a thermos, Amélie's head resting in Ana's lap. The sun is warm as it climbs, chasing away the last remnants of the morning chill, though a gentle breeze persists.
"You did well today, Amélie. Try for seven-fifty tomorrow?" Ana Amari's praise is rare, and Amélie drinks it in, stows it away inside herself like something to be coveted. She responds with an affirmative hum, enjoying the rays of sun on her face, eyes closed. The air around them is quiet, save for birdsong that has returned in the absence of gunfire. She can pretend that this is another lifetime, away from war, a life where time with Ana doesn't bear the bitter weight of deceit. Where their circumstances wouldn't keep Ana achingly distant, even as the woman in question runs her thumbs gently over Amélie's temples.
Amélie opens her eyes as a shadow falls over her, looking up at Ana's sharp ones as they hover over her, studying Amélie's face. Dark hair falls from her head like a curtain. Reaching up, Amélie tugs at Ana's jaw, and Ana obliges. She leans down and presses her lips to Amélie's, as uncharacteristically soft as the praise from earlier. It is a moment of stillness the both of them will cherish.
"We should head back and check up on the troops," she murmurs, still close. Amélie nods, enjoying the feel of Ana's hands framing her face. They languish for a little while longer, before packing up their gear. Ana shoulders the rifle while Amélie tosses stray casings onto the blanket before folding the whole thing up. Good brass is getting more expensive by the week as the conflict drags on.
The two begin the trek back to the farmhouse where the rest of their Overwatch team is likely just starting to wake up.
---
They walk into the cottage and it smells and sounds like breakfast coming together.
Gérard is saying something to her as he moves away from the stove to give her a hug, but all Amélie can hear is Jack and Ana's conversation.
"How was she?" asks Jack, turning the rifle over in his hands, checking the chamber is empty out of habit more than anything else.
"Wonderful," Ana replies warmly.
Amélie knows she isn't talking about the rifle.