This Is Something Like What I Imagine Angelas Outfit To Look Like In My Most Recent Story, Memories On

This is something like what I imagine Angela’s outfit to look like in my most recent story, “Memories” on AO3 and FF.net.

adulthood is just a constant struggle of, “man, i want cookies for breakfast, but I also recognize this is a bad nutritional decision.  On the other hand, the only one who can stop me is me.  i know that fucker’s weaknesses.  i could totally take me in a fight.”

To Love and To Cherish

All of the things that I want to say Just aren’t coming out right I’m tripping on words You got my head spinning - You and Me [Lifehouse] Fandom: Overwatch (Pre-Fall) | Angela / Gabriel

AO3 | FF.net | Works

“We’ll never have what they have, you know.” Angela glanced up at Gabriel. Her fingers, which had been idly tracing the scars on his chest, stilled. He wasn’t looking at her; instead, his hands were folded behind his head while he stared up at the ceiling as if it held the answers to the universe. “What who has?” She asked, once it was obvious he wasn’t planning to elaborate - as if, without any context, she could contribute to the conversation. “Gérard and Amélie,” he sighed. Understanding flooded Angela. While she wasn’t exactly certain where the conversation was going, she knew where it stemmed from. After all, the wedding had just been earlier today; the dress she’d worn to it was in a heap on the floor in the other room, forgotten after Gabriel had stripped her some time ago. “I know that,” Angela agreed, moving so that she was sitting up in the bed with her back pressed to the headboard. Absently, she reached one hand behind her to shift a pillow so that she was more comfortable as she looked down at his face. “And that doesn’t bother you?” He turned to look up at her; his eyes were stormy with emotion and she couldn’t tell what he was thinking - not exactly unusual, but frustrating all the same. “No?” Unsure of how he wanted her to respond, her definitive answer had become a question. Was it supposed to bother her? She’d never considered it - not seriously, anyway - before. Her life, even before Overwatch, hadn’t exactly been conducive to such things. “It doesn’t?” His voice took on a tone of disbelief as he shifted, propping himself up on one side. “It doesn’t bother you that I’ll never get down on one knee and propose? That you won’t wear a wedding ring or take my name?” Angela pulled her knees up to her bare chest, suddenly self-conscious and uncomfortable. “I—” Her shoulders hunched and she tilted her head, just enough that her hair fell in a curtain between them, shielding her face from his view in an attempt to hide at least some of her discomfort and uncertainty. She tried her best not to lie to him, so she couldn’t tell him that it bothered her. It did bother her that it didn’t bother her - that it bothered him - which only added to her discomfort. Was it weird that she had never considered marriage, not even after all this time with Gabriel? “I’m sorry?” She whispered instead, because what else could she do? Angela couldn’t change how she felt: marriage just wasn’t that important to her. That wasn’t to say Gabriel wasn’t important to her - no, there wasn’t much she wouldn’t do for him; a ring wouldn’t change that. She wrapped her arms around her knees, hugging them close as she glanced away from the man in her bed. “Dammit,” Gabriel sighed. Angela tensed as the bed shifted with his movements, but she didn’t look at him to determine what he was doing. “Come here.” He pulled her rigid body into an awkward embrace that she refused to relax into. “Mi corazon, I’m sorry,” he murmured, shifting so that his chin was resting on her shoulder. “I shouldn’t have said it like that.” He sighed. “I’m saying it all wrong.” “What are you trying to say, then?” Angela whispered. She was mollified that he took the time to think about his words, to properly express whatever this was instead of jumping down her throat again. “I’m trying to say that you deserve better than what I can offer you,” he confessed eventually. His arms tightened, holding her in place so that she couldn’t turn to look at him. “You deserve someone that can give you flowers or take you out to dinner - not this sneaking around that we do.” Angela scoffed. “What makes you think I want that?” Honestly. While the sentiment was sweet, it was like he had forgotten who he was speaking to. “Since when do I even want to eat dinner?” Considering that time of day was when her best work was accomplished, a dinner date would be close to a nightmare. “You’re missing the point.” He retorted. “You deserve to be with someone you can be seen with. You don’t deserve this,” Gabriel’s hand lifted, waving in an absent gesture that she assumed was meant to encompass their relationship. “Do you—” Angela hesitated, taking a breath before trying again. “Do you… not want this? To be with me?” She was so tense her body was trembling, her chest heavy as she tried to remember how to breathe; this was not how she had pictured this evening going. “What?” Gabriel demanded after a moment of stunned silence. “Angela, that’s not what I’m saying at all!” And just like that, her tension melted away and she could breathe again; she could work with this - whatever this was. This time, when she pulled against his hands, he let her turn so that they could both look at each other. “Then why are you trying to convince me to leave?” The words were shaky with the remnants of her stress, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. “Because it’s true - you do deserve better than this, Angela.” His fingers reached out to stroke her cheek gently, and she smiled. “It doesn’t matter what I ‘deserve’,” Angela told him gently. “Because I don’t want that; I want you.” His eyes lit up as he leaned down to kiss her.

---

“Hey, Gabriel?” Angela set her pen aside as she glanced towards her communicator. Gabriel had returned to Rome the day after Gérard’s wedding over a week ago; while they hadn’t seen each other since, they often spoke on their communicators - either verbally or through text. Usually it was late in the evening, like it was now. “Yeah? What’s up?” Angela shifted uncomfortably, grateful that he couldn’t see her. She’d been thinking about this ever since his outburst in their bed; like a sore tooth, she couldn’t stop poking at it. Angela had never considered marriage - not until he had brought it up. They’d never discussed such things before then and, considering their respective positions, Angela had assumed they never would. It was just something that was; they could be together, but the rest of the world couldn’t know. It was too dangerous. But, after that night, she had allowed herself to wonder what it would be like. To wonder how it would feel to be openly together, to be seen on Gabriel’s arm. To wonder what it would be like to arrive together at events instead of separately and, for all appearances, alone. Angela had allowed herself, for only a moment, to be jealous of Amélie and Gérard’s happiness. Had let herself wish that she would wear a beautiful gown and walk down the aisle. Had let herself want to be the kind of woman who would do those things - or that she was with the kind of man that could do those things. Then, the moment had passed. It was a nice daydream - an idea that might have become reality if they held different positions - but that was all it was: a dream, and not even one she wanted, not really, even after a week of consideration. “I was wondering…” Angela paused, mustering up her courage. She’d been trying to build up the nerve to bring up this topic for the last few days. Before she could change her mind, she forced the words out in a rush. “I was wondering if you wanted to get married?” Gabriel made a choked sound of surprise, and she could imagine what his face looked like: wide eyed, mouth slightly open, staring at the communicator since she wasn’t there for him to gape at instead. Now that it was out, her doubts surged again. Would he read too much into it? That he needed to worry about her wanting a ring or a dress? Or, worse, would he say no? It wasn’t that she wanted to get married - it didn’t matter either way to her, because she would love him whether they were married or not - but it would still hurt if he said no. “Ang— what?” He stammered, shocked. “You know we can’t.” And she did know that - if they couldn’t even date openly they could never marry. There could be no paperwork, could be no rings or other tangible proof of their relationship. The texts and the calls were pushing it as it were; anyone that managed to break the security - which, in fairness, was quite strong – could potentially find their conversations - or, worse, the footage of him entering her rooms in Zürich - and piece everything together. “Yes,” Angela agreed, forcing herself to speak instead of allowing herself to lose her nerve and change the topic - or just disconnect the call. “I know we can’t, but — well, I just—” She sighed, exasperated with herself. “If we could, would you want to?” “Of course I want to marry you,” Gabriel insisted indignantly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “If I didn’t have so many enemies - if it weren’t too dangerous - I would marry you in a heartbeat.” It made her smile despite herself. After a moment, Gabriel broke the silence with the question she expected. “Would you marry me?” He asked, intense in a way that made her heart pound. “If you asked me, I would say yes,” Angela told him - because, if that were what he wanted, she would marry him. In a different life, Angela knew that she would happily wear his ring, because she loved him. “Well, you don’t have to sound so excited about it,” Gabriel said dryly, causing her to laugh. “I don’t need a ring to prove I love you,” Angela assured him. “But I would wear one, if it was what you wanted.”

What? It's not something cruel or horrible? I don't know either, man. I'm just going wherever my brain takes me. Check out @promptsforbrighteye. and let me know if there’s something you’d like to see! Let me know if I didn't do this tag / reblog thing right and I'll get it fixed straightaway. Still learning the ropes of all this.

"i dont have a speech prepared and i'm not going down on one knee"

An Angel’s Ransom

You just refuse to bend So I keep bending ‘til I break - Right Here [Staind] Febuwhump Day 21: “Torture” | Fandom: Overwatch (Pre-Fall) | Angela / Gabriel

AO3 | FF.net | Works

They had blindfolded her and half–carried her along; she wasn’t sure, but she thought that they had taken her underground. A door opened, the sound echoing hollowly. Before she could consider her location too much, Angela was shoved unceremoniously to her knees; if it weren’t for the Valkyrie suit they hadn’t stripped from her, she knew it would have been painful. “What are you doing?” Angela demanded breathlessly, as if she were in any kind of position to demand anything. She was ignored as they yanked roughly at her arms. Her wrists were handcuffed, the metal biting deep enough into her wrists that – even through the Valkyrie suit – she could feel it, above her head on either side of her. They were pulled back slightly, just enough to strain at her shoulders no matter how she shifted. Angela didn’t particularly want to be cooperative in her capture, but she didn’t struggle – she didn’t think anything good could come of her resistance. Then again, nothing good had come from her capitulation, either. Brusquely, they moved to chain her ankles together, pressing them so tightly together that Angela doubted even a hair could fit between them. It left her kneeling uncomfortably on the ground, forced to hold her weight either in her thighs or to rest awkwardly on her ankles as she was pulled ever so slightly backwards. It was then that they removed the blindfold. Blinking, Angela took in her surroundings. The floor was hard–packed dirt that was nearly as unyielding as concrete. Tarp and plastic covered the walls; what wasn’t covered looked to be the same material as the floor beneath her. The space was lit by two bare bulbs, hanging loose on their wires that drooped haphazardly from the ceiling. The man left the room, slamming the door – metal instead of wood, surprisingly – behind him. Before the echo could fade away, Angela was pulling against the chains that bound her. It was a fruitless venture that didn’t last very long – the chains were too strong to pull away from the wall or apart from itself, and they were too tight against her flesh to allow her to do anything more than flay her skin. Angela worried at her lip briefly, considering her situation – which was rather grim, all–in–all. She had no idea where she was. They hadn’t used an aircraft to take her away – probably because Overwatch would have noticed such a thing – so Angela knew she couldn’t be too far away from where she had been captured. Still, that left a lot of places to hide. Based on the room she was in – and the stairs she was pretty sure they’d carried her down – it could be an unfinished construction site or even the beginnings of a basement addition to an existing building. She didn’t know who had captured her. She did know they were vicious and ruthless – there had been no reason to kill those civilians, except for the fact that that room had seen the three men who had taken Angela. They also had left her staff behind; that was a marvel of medical engineering that many would kill to get their hands on. Briefly, Angela hoped that the staff made it back to Overwatch instead of enemy hands. She didn’t even know what they wanted from her. No one had spoken to her after that man’s declaration: ‘I lied.’ That Angela was chained away in this room told her that she wasn’t wanted for her medical expertise – if they had, wouldn’t they have just taken her to whatever room or ward their injured or sick were within? But, she did know some things. There was no end to the knowledge they might want to pull from her, whether it was Overwatch or medical in nature. She was a valuable asset, even if she weren’t a soldier or military leader. She knew her position as Chief of Medicine was a dangerous one – though, of course, not nearly as dangerous as the roles Jack or Gabriel held. That she went into the field as a combat medic only added to that fact. She was the innovative, ground–breaking medical researcher that had developed nanotechnology that had revolutionized the world. Based on limited conversations and stupid movies that Gabriel had picked for them to watch, Angela also knew that her chances for survival were low. They hadn’t hidden their faces from her, and they had killed all witnesses to her capture, after all. She shifted again, doing her best to find a comfortable position even as she knew it was impossible, and tried to stave off her terror and grief.

---

Angela hated sitting idle, alone with nothing but her thoughts to occupy her. She had already exhausted her worry for what might happen to her here at the hands of these men. From the absolute best–case scenario – where the chains were all she faced – to the worst–case scenario – where she was brutalized and left to bleed out slowly: Angela had tormented herself through them all. Considering her medical expertise and history with traumatic injuries, it wasn’t hard to imagine all sorts of horrors happening to her here. Now she was stewing in guilt. Angela had caused the deaths of – at least – twenty men, women, and children. While she may not have pulled the trigger herself, they had only died because Angela had come to them. They may not have survived – probably would not have survived – without medical attention; where typically her presence guaranteed survival, this time it had guaranteed nothing but death. It was agony, despair eating at her from the inside. Angela was no stranger to death and the guilt that it brought – but this? The screams still echoed in her ears, hours later. Angela knew they would haunt her nightmares for years to come, just as surely as whatever she would face in this room would – assuming she ever left it. Her cool, calm facade – the outward face of Dr. Ziegler that everyone saw, that caused people to whisper that she was ‘cold’ and ‘unfeeling’ – was normally summoned and held with barely a thought. Here in this room, where the fear of the unknown and her hopeless thoughts ran free, she found herself struggling to hold onto it. But her pride demanded that she not give these men – these monsters – anything that they did not drag out of her.

---

She was exhausted. Angela, per her usual, had only slept a fitful six–or–so hours before waking up on this horrible day. It had been only a handful of hours later that she had left Zürich in her Valkyrie suit. Angela had no way of telling how long she had been held here in this room of dirt, but she knew it had been hours. The adrenaline had worn off long ago, leaving only nervous anxiety and nauseating terror. Fear was exhausting. The chains, forcing her to hold the uncomfortable positioning, were exhausting. Her whole body tensed when the door opened again, head jerking up to watch three men enter the room; none were familiar to her, though one, surprisingly, had his face covered. One busied himself against the wall directly across from her; she ignored him in favor of the two approaching her. “I trust you have found your accommodations acceptable, Dr. Ziegler.” The one directly before her remarked cheerfully as the third man – the one whose face she couldn’t see – peeled away to stand somewhere behind her. It was an act of will to not crane her neck to see where he went; instead, she fixed her eyes on the speaker. “Your bedside manner is lacking,” Angela responded acerbically. She knew she shouldn’t push – this wasn’t her home, where it was safe to say such things – but fear made her tongue looser than it should be. “I would be more than happy to give you some lessons.” Surprisingly, the man threw his head back and laughed – and then struck her face, hard and fast. Angela’s teeth caught the inside of her cheek, and she could taste blood as her head turned with the force of the blow. The pain was sharp but brief as the Valkyrie suit wicked it away. The surprise – and the visceral fear – was, unfortunately, left behind. “You will watch how you speak to me, doctor,” he growled. As her tongue probed the inside of her mouth, assessing the damage, the man stepped back. “Now,” his voice was bright again, showing none of the malice from his previous words, “we have much to do.” His eyes moved past her form towards the man behind her. “Proceed.” Rough hands landed upon her suit, wrenching at her right–wing in a manner that was wholly ineffective at removing it from her back. Instead, they cracked it and ripped some of the ‘feathers’ away to scatter around her before leaving it to droop limply. It brushed against her leg, though she wasn’t exactly how bad the damage was. “Perfect,” the speaker announced eventually. The hands pulled away. “It’s all about appearances,” the speaker explained as if imparting some great life advice while the man behind her moved into her line of sight. “I’m sure you, of all people, understand that, Dr. Ziegler.” While Angela was definitely one for keeping up the appearance of professionalism, she had no idea what the man meant in this context. “Now, for the doctor herself.” Before Angela could realize what his words meant, the breath was knocked from her as she was punched in the stomach. The Valkyrie suit may be able to remove pain, but it couldn’t fix her retching and desperate gasps as she tried to regain her breath. Before she fully recovered, Angela took another blow to the chest and a third to the back. “Wait.” The speaker demanded after the fourth blow – a kick to her bound legs. Hard fingers gripped her chin and tipped her head back, the man staring down at her contemplatively. “How interesting,” he remarked after a moment. “I had heard you were emotionless – and that was clearly an exaggeration.” Angela had tried to wall away her terror and mounting horror, but, clearly, her aloof facade was breaking down. “But I didn’t hear that you couldn’t feel pain.” The speaker must have signaled the masked man, because another blow landed heavily against her shoulder blades. “How disappointing,” he sighed. “I hate settling, but we have a timetable to follow.” He released her, stepping back once more. “Rough her face up a bit; at least she can look beaten even if she doesn’t feel it.” He ordered over one shoulder as he went to speak quietly to the third – mostly forgotten – man against the far wall.

It had taken Gabriel almost no time at all to reach the war room. He had only remained in Rome long enough to bark orders and delegate his duties, then he had made his way to Zürich. He had just landed when a grim–faced Jack had met him, urging Gabriel to follow the blonde. It was only the two of them, standing because neither could bear to handle this sitting down, when they watched the recording. It started with proof of life. A device showing four clocks bearing different time–zones was held before the screen in an attempt to prove that this video had been taken less than an hour ago. Gabriel knew there were ways to fake such things, but he held on to the hope that it was true regardless. Then, the device fell away to reveal Angela. She was still in her Valkyrie suit and Overwatch blues. One wing had been damaged and was dangling behind her; Gabriel doubted the damage was done during Angela’s capture, considering the ‘feathers’ scattered around her. No, that had been done deliberately to make her appear more fragile and broken – though Gabriel hoped, prayed, that they would recover her before that truly occurred. Her head was bowed, hair hanging limply to block her face as her shoulders rose and fell in short, panicked breaths. He ground his teeth as he took in the chains that bound her. Gabriel recognized the stress position for what it was; he had too much experience with Blackwatch interrogation not to. He couldn’t tell from the camera’s position how tight they were, but he doubted it was anything comfortable. Then, a man strode into the frame then. In one smooth motion that told Gabriel that this wasn’t the first time that man had done something like this, the man in the video grabbed Angela’s hair and yanked her head back. Gabriel shifted uncomfortably, hands bunching into fists, as he took in Angela’s face. Her eyes were bright and watering. Gabriel wasn’t sure if it was from terror, pain, or just an uncontrollable physical reaction – but it didn’t matter. Already, her face was swelling with the beginnings of bruises and there was blood on her lips. They had gagged her; with what, he wasn’t exactly sure, but it was held in place by a black cord. It was far too tight – he could see where it bit into her cheeks. After a long pause, the man released her hair. Angela allowed her head to drop forward, hiding her face from the camera once more. Gabriel wasn’t sure if it was from exhaustion or some attempt to protect them – him, Jack, anyone else that saw this video – from the sight of her battered face. The man began speaking, listing his demands. First, he wanted the release of five men and two women. Gabriel recognized the names as some of the captives within Blackwatch interrogation cells – and from the way Jack stiffened, Gabriel assumed some of those people were being held by Overwatch. Second, he wanted the Watchpoints in Tashkent, Uzbekistan and Karagandy, Kazakhstan to be dismantled. Finally, he wanted Strike Commander Morrison to be stripped of his position and removed from Overwatch entirely. Were the situation less horrific – if it weren't Angela being held hostage – Gabriel might have made a quip about that last demand. Gabriel's eyes bounced between the speaker and Angela as he spoke. He noticed Angela tense before slumping in resignation at the demands they all knew could never be fulfilled. Not even for the prodigal doctor, their Mercy, could even one of those terms be fulfilled. Once the demands were laid out, the man turned slightly to regard Angela with cold eyes before looking back to the camera. “You have one day to comply with these demands. If, by tomorrow at this time, you have not complied – well.” He looked at Angela again. “Your angel here will bear the weight of your failure.” The video cut out then. “Play it again,” Gabriel demanded; he had to figure out where she was – now that he had heard the message, perhaps there was something in the video that could help find her. After a second viewing, Gabriel sank down into one of the many chairs within the war room to think. “You know we can’t give them what they want.” Jack choked out. Gabriel tensed at the reminder; his people had nothing to go on and hadn’t had luck in finding her yet – there was no way to save her from whatever they had in mind for her tomorrow. “Send the footage to my analyst; maybe he can figure out where it came from,” Gabriel ordered, completely ignoring the blonde's words – as if that were enough to protect Angela. “Cassidy and Genji are out in the field now, searching. I’ll—” “We need you here, Gabe,” Jack interrupted. Gabriel knew, rationally, that he had a responsibility to Blackwatch – and Overwatch. He knew that he couldn't just go off into the field – but it was Angela. “I need to be out there,” he snapped back, even though he knew it was wrong. He knew Angela wouldn’t want him to abandon his duty – his responsibilities – for her sake, but that didn’t matter either. “It could be a trap, Gabe.” Jack reasoned. “They could be using her as bait for either one of us.” While the relationship between Angela and Gabriel was a tightly held secret, the friendship between the three was well known. Jack’s shoulders dropped. “You know she wouldn’t – doesn’t – want us to go after her without a plan.” No, she wouldn’t want them to go after her at all if it meant one of them – one of those she did her best to protect and put back together – would be hurt. “They will break her, Jack.” He whispered finally, one hand over his face as he slumped back in his seat. “Angela is strong,” Jack replied, though Gabriel wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince. They both knew that she was strong – but this required a different kind of strength, a type that Gabriel wasn’t sure Angela had. “We have to find her, Jack.” Gabriel rose; there was far too little time, and there was too much to do – too much to say. God, how he hated Jack at this moment. They had been at odds for the last year, but he hadn’t hated the blonde man until now. Gabriel knew it was irrational – knew Jack wouldn’t risk Angela unnecessarily or without care – but it didn’t matter. “Meet back here in a few hours?” He ground out; there would be time for arguing – time for laying the blame and vengeance – once Angela was recovered. Jack nodded his understanding as Gabriel turned away. Gabriel strode away, heading for the room that had once been his office – and still was, for all intents and purposes.

“It really is too bad that the suit was in the way,” the speaker remarked, one hand running along the Valkyrie suit. They had torn it from her body, destroying some of the buckles and further damaging the wings with their rough handling, before tossing it onto a table they had dragged in – apparently for that express purpose. “A chained angel? What a perfect visual,” the man sighed. “But, I must uphold my end of the bargain since your friends,” he dragged the word out mockingly, “have decided to not to uphold theirs.” Angela had known, even before the terms had been laid out, that Jack – Gabriel – would not have given in. Not even for her could Overwatch capitulate – not without setting a far too dangerous precedent. “Shall we begin, then?” He asked, as if it were really up to her. They struck her from behind this time, eliciting a cry from her; without the Valkyrie suit, Angela was vulnerable to the pain. The blows rained down, battering and bruising her. Mostly she grunted and groaned, though some left her gasping, and once or twice she let out a sharp cry. “That's enough for now.” The speaker announced finally in a bored voice. As she gasped and shook, tears streaking her cheeks, the man continued speaking. “You know my demands. For each day you do not comply, her,” Angela assumed he gestured towards her, “punishment shall only get worse.” Before Angela could get the breath to say anything, to try to yell out something to her friends that would surely see this video, it was too late. What would she say, even if she could? She couldn't tell them it was okay, that she would be fine – not with the bruises peppering her skin and the blood in her mouth. But could she really beg them not to give in, knowing how bad she already hurt and, as the speaker said, that it would only get worse? Angela knew she couldn't beg them to find her, to end this before it went too far. She couldn’t lay that burden on them, not when it was her stubbornness and insistence that had led her to this room. Not when this had always been a possibility every time she went into the field. Not when she knew they were probably half–killing themselves as they searched and drowned in guilt and rage. No, there was nothing – nothing – she could say. One would be a lie, and one would hurt them even more than they already were.

---

The next day, they removed her chains and forced Angela to her feet. Her muscles protested and rebelled, but her captors didn't particularly care about her body’s limitations. They pressed her, chest first, against the wall and chained her arms above her head. She could taste the dirt of the wall with every breath, but that was the least of her problems. It wasn’t long before she discovered her newest punishment: whipping. There was something sharp at the tip that sheared through her thin catsuit and into her back. Angela couldn’t see it, but she knew that there were trails of blood slicking down her back with every stroke. Angela swallowed some of her screams, trying to hold to the knowledge that her friends – that Gabriel – would be seeing this. Still, some burst free along with the tears she tried to keep hidden. Once it was over, they pulled her down from the wall. Instead of chaining her back to the floor, they threw a hood over her head before carrying her bodily out of the room. She didn’t know where they were taking her – or why. Angela briefly entertained the hope that her friends were closing in, so they had to move before they were caught – but she wasn’t convinced. No, the more likely reason was that it was safer now to move her than it had been when they’d initially captured her. Hours later – this time they flew somewhere – she was chained back into the awful, familiar position. This time, the room was drywall and stained concrete; Angela didn’t look too closely at the stains. She tried to force back the despair, but it was hard. Even if her friends had been closing in on her location, she was long gone now – how would they ever find her? Angela knew they couldn’t give in to the demands, wouldn’t give up searching for her – but she didn’t know how long she could hold out.

---

On the fourth day of her capture, they whipped her again. Angela wasn’t sure if she should be grateful that they hadn’t escalated as much as they had promised or not – and then felt disgusted at the very thought. Before they began on the fifth day, the speaker approached her again. The last two days – videos – he had simply been a silent herald of her pain. “It seems you aren’t as valuable as the world has been made to believe, doctor.” He twisted the title into an insult. “It’s terribly disappointing – for you, most of all, I'm sure.” His voice was full of false sympathy – as if he weren’t the one that was orchestrating it all. The man paused, giving her time to reply – but what was there to say? Her pride would not allow her to beg – not yet, anyway – and Angela would not engage him in conversation as if she weren’t his prisoner. “Nothing to say?” He shrugged, a loose, uncaring motion that didn’t match his hard gaze. “That’s alright. You’ll speak soon enough.” With that cryptic remark, he waved at one of his men. They hadn't moved her to the wall – she was still in her uncomfortable, bordering painful, position on the ground – so Angela knew that this had to be an escalation of some sort. They pressed something to the open flesh on her back, just below Angela’s right shoulder blade. Then, her whole body was seizing; her back arched as her legs locked up, her mouth opened in a silent scream as her vision went white. What felt like an eternity later, her vision cleared and she panted, slumping heavily against the chains that held her arms up. “Again.” The speaker ordered; it was all the warning Angela got – but how do you prepare yourself for an electric shock? Her trembling body seized again, and this time a scream – sharp and shrill – managed to burst past her lips before her throat locked up as well. They repeated the cycle – blinding, screaming pain into shaking, gasping recovery – five times before the speaker was satisfied. As they filed out, despair truly overwhelmed her. Knowing there was nothing she could do – nothing anyone could do – to free her. In theory, Angela knew that Overwatch could capitulate, but she knew better. Her only escape would be rescue – or death.

---

Angela counted the days based on their visits; once a day, as the speaker promised, they punished her for the inaction of Overwatch. Sometimes the speaker would taunt her, but she bit her tongue and bowed her head; begging would get her nothing and nowhere. It had been two weeks of absolute hell. On the fifth day, when they fed her, they had tended to her wounds. They wouldn't want her to die too quickly, after all – though by now it should be obvious that her pain wasn’t going to break Overwatch, even if it was eventually going to break her. The seventh day had been mock–drowning; a rag was thrown over her face as her head was yanked back by her hair and held there roughly. Then, the water came down; rounds and rounds they went, agonizing and terrifying, before they’d left her there, soaked and shivering. They mixed it up the next few days; sometimes, she would be whipped and drowned; other times, she was electrocuted and beaten. And still, Overwatch refused to bend to the will of her captors – whoever they were. On that fourteenth day of her capture, they dragged in a table; it was placed with exceeding care before the camera. Dimly, Angela wondered what new horror they were going to inflict upon her.

It had been two weeks since Angela had been captured. They’d almost caught the bastards; they’d found the building they’d been holed up in, but by then, it had been two days too late. His analysts couldn’t pinpoint where the videos were originating, and the man in the videos was an unfamiliar enemy. The people he had demanded had been from three different groups – which narrowed it down slightly, but not enough. The Watchpoints affected two of those groups, which narrowed it down farther: so, they focused their gaze on them. It was all they had, and it was nowhere near enough. He and Jack were in the war room again; another video had been delivered. Gabriel was pacing, restless and terrified of what they were going to see this time. Gabriel could barely stand to be in the same room as Jack anymore – and when he did, he spoke in short, clipped sentences. Each day Angela was missing drove a wedge further and further between them. Every video, every wound, every scream was etched into his mind and soul – and Gabriel blamed Jack for each and every one. He was pretty sure Jack blamed himself, too. As always, they were alone for the first viewing. This was an unspoken agreement between the two; they would leave their animosity at the door for those horrific minutes that the video was playing. The emotions were too heavy, too raw, to watch the videos with anyone else, despite their growing rift. The videos were too horrible to watch with an enemy. Instead, they leaned on each other as they hadn’t since he had taken up the mantle of Blackwatch Commander. They suffered together through Angela’s torture. Jack’s grief and horror were equal to Gabriels’, his shame and guilt surpassing anything Gabriel could feel. These were laid bare, uncensored and unashamed, as they forced themselves to shoulder the weight of Angela’s pain. “You don’t have to watch this,” Jack said, as he had before every video. Gabriel shook his head; Jack was wrong. Gabriel had to watch them, had to see exactly what their failure was costing the one person he’d sworn to protect over all others. With a resigned sigh, Jack turned it on. A table came into view. The camera was angled so that it looked down slightly so that they would have a perfect view of whatever they were going to do to Angela this time. On the far side of it was Angela, still chained and bloody. “We’re going to try something different today,” the speaker announced cheerfully as he entered the room. Angela tensed but didn’t look up from the ground – not even when they began to unchain her. Gabriel wondered if she had struggled before – where they couldn’t see, when they were positioning her off–camera. Had they beaten it out of her, or had she realized the futility and, therefore, didn’t waste the energy? They half–carried, half–dragged her to the table; it was only once they forced her to bend over it, her hands chained to the far side, that he realized the nature of this particular horror. “Stop it,” he whispered hoarsely; Jack was quick to oblige. They might be at each other’s throats most days, but Gabriel knew that Jack didn’t want him to hurt – even though this whole thing, the loss of Angela, hurt. Gabriel took several deep breaths, one hand running over his head. “Do you know what they’re about to do?” He asked, low and solemn as he stared at Angela’s face. He could see it there – a new fear – but she hadn’t yet figured out what was coming. Jack let out a heavy breath. “Yes.” The answer was so quick that Gabriel wondered if Jack watched it before him – but if Jack had, Gabriel knew the blonde would have been far more desperate in his request for Gabriel not to watch. “You don’t—” “Yes, I do,” Gabriel growled, cutting him off. “You shouldn’t—” “It’s my burden, too.” This time it was Jack’s turn to cut him off, his quiet voice resigned but firm. Gabriel didn’t want Jack to see Angela like this – but, selfishly, he didn’t want to be alone to watch Angela suffer in this way – as if Angela wasn’t sitting somewhere, right now, suffering in the aftermath. He ran his hand over his head again before nodding sharply. “Start it.” It was once they started ripping and cutting away her catsuit that Angela realized what was happening – but, by then, it was far too late. Angela was bound, wrist and ankle, to the table. She thrashed and writhed then, trying to stave off what Gabriel knew was inevitable, to no avail. “Please,” she begged – and she never begged, not for anything or anyone, “please, don’t do this!” The words fell on deaf ears as they continued to restrain her. They forced her to look towards the camera with one heavy hand; her eyes were squeezed tight, but Gabriel didn’t have to see them to see her despair. “No!” She screamed when he entered her, eyes flying open to stare blankly as she struggled to escape again. The man pushed her head down harder with one hand, the other holding her hips in place. “Stop,” the word was a broken sound as the man pushed into her again with a groan. “Please.” Gabriel could barely hear the word for how soft it was. “Please.” The man ignored her pleas and continued thrusting. Slowly, her struggles became weaker and more feeble – and then she wasn’t struggling at all; Gabriel wasn’t sure if it was from pain or resignation. Instead, her hands were balled into tight fists and she trembled as the man continued to use and abuse her body. Around the same time, Angela had stopped begging; now, she was crying soundlessly in a way that tore at Gabriel’s heart. The minutes he spent watching that video were the longest and hardest minutes he’d ever endured – and he knew it had been infinitely worse for Angela. When her rapist finished, he was buried deep inside her. Angela sobbed then, a heartbreaking sound, as the man pulled away. “You know how to stop this,” the speaker said over Angela’s heavy, desperate breathing and pitiful cries. “Until tomorrow.” The video cut out, and for a moment, neither man could move. “No one else sees this,” Gabriel growled. It was bad enough that Jack had seen her in such a position; no one else has to see it. “I mean it, Jack – no one.” Numbly, Jack nodded. Before Gabriel could say – or do – something he would regret, he stormed out of the room.

---

Gabriel splashed cold water over his face with shaking hands. He was seething, absolutely enraged at what he had just watched – at what had happened to Angela. She never should have been in a position to be taken; she should have been protected, she should be safe. Jack should never have allowed her to be in the field without backup – no matter how much experience she had, she wasn’t a soldier and never would be. He wanted to tear into Jack, rip him apart for how he had failed Angela – but now wasn’t the time. Angela needed them, both of them, no matter how angry he was at Jack; until she was recovered, his rage would simmer until he could finally make it known. What parts of Gabriel that wasn’t enraged was sickened with guilt, with shame, with the terrible knowledge of what had happened to Angela. It had taken them too long; they hadn’t done enough – and she was the one paying for it. He wanted to be out there, searching and tearing the world apart until they found her – but instead, he was forced to remain here, in Zürich, trying to coordinate everyone. It felt like he was doing nothing – nothing except bear witness to the horrors that Angela was forced to carry on their behalf. When they found Angela – and they would, because they had to, because no other outcome was acceptable – he would kill every last one of them. Even if they hadn’t touched her, they had been a part of that, and he would not stand for her captors – her rapist – to continue breathing. But right now, he needed to find some semblance of balance. His rage was not helping Angela – this inactivity, here in her rooms that he had taken over during the search, was not helping her. His guilt, his shame, was not helping Angela – but that didn’t stop him from rounding her – their – bed to sit on her side of it. It had been so long that Angela’s pillow barely smelled of her anymore, but that didn’t stop Gabriel from pressing it to his face anyway. He sat there, simply breathing, as he tried to pull himself back together. He would put aside his rage, his shame, his everything, because Angela deserved nothing less. She deserved to be here, in their bed and safe – and he would make it so.

“I told you that you’d speak eventually,” the speaker whispered tauntingly as they stripped her bare. They chained her limp, naked body to the floor again and left her there, shaking and dripping. In that moment, she hated it – hated Overwatch – hated her position that had led to this room. Hated what these men were doing to her body, hated that she was being used as a – ineffective – weapon against everyone she loved. Hated everyone – these men for hurting her and her friends, even Gabriel, for not finding her and releasing her from this hell. All she wanted to do was curl up into a ball and cry – but she couldn’t even do that. Instead, she slumped heavily against the chains and let her head droop. Distantly, she felt the bite in her wrists and the ache in her arms, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

One | Two | Three | Four | Five

Pretty sure every artist has the mutual understanding that if someone hasn’t made art or written in a while it’s because their struggling with mental health, don’t have the time to make stuff, burnout, or for other completely valid reasons.

People do care, just not in a way that they think you’re lazy

Connection

As time began to blur Like a startling sign That fate had finally found me And your voice was all I heard - New Divide [Linkin Park] Soulmate AU Prompt 7 | Fandom: Overwatch (Pre-Fall) | Angela / Cassidy

AO3 | FF.net | Works

"I do not see why I have to be here," Angela grumbled, even as she continued jotting notes down on her clipboard. "I could have sent any of my medical staff." They'd pulled her away from her research to watch the intake of prisoners, recently captured by Blackwatch Commander Reyes. "You could have," Ana agreed from her right. Angela glanced towards her for a moment before turning her gaze back to the room before her. They - Jack, Ana, and herself - stood behind a one-way mirror, while Commander Reyes sat on the other side as he spoke to the prisoners. For the most part, she had tuned out their words - all she saw was the various injuries that she was now responsible for. "This capture is… different. It's confidential." Jack added - as if the presence of Blackwatch hadn't made that obvious. "You were the best choice." Angela had known that, too; it didn't make her any happier. She'd been busy. "I know," she said with a sigh as the prisoner on the other side of the glass rose. He was the fifth they'd watched. "How many more are there?" If they had told her earlier, she had long since forgotten. "Maybe three or four," Ana assured her as the next one - a woman, this time - shuffled in. "Gabriel's going pretty quickly; he doesn't seem to be very impressed." Angela turned to look at her friend with a questioning look. "This is how some of the Blackwatch agents are recruited, Angela," Ana explained gently. "Seriously?" She'd worked with some Blackwatch agents; while she'd never felt unsafe in their presence, they definitely were different from Overwatch agents. This was probably why. "They can't get, you know, normal people?" "'Normal' people don't generally join Blackwatch, Angela," Jack replied dryly. "They've already got the skills we need; all that's left is their temperament. Gabe's good at sizing people up." Angela turned back to the mirror. The woman was already rising again and she hadn't taken any notes. Quickly, she jotted down a few words before the prisoner disappeared from sight. "I suppose you are right," Angela agreed, once she finished her notes. "It's just…" Angela struggled to find the right words. "It's not what you're used to," Jack finished. "This isn't how Overwatch does things." She nodded as the next man entered and sat in the empty chair. As the prisoner leaned back, Commander Reyes began speaking - the same questions he'd asked all the others. Angela let his words slip past her as she looked over the ragged man for any injuries. From what she could tell - between her eyes and the reports she'd read - he didn't seem to be hurt. "I ain't talkin'," the man replied, and Angela tensed. Her eyes flew up to the mans' face, as if that would help her better understand. She'd always known this would happen, but she'd never expected it to be like this. Shortly after she had turned eighteen, Angela had known his voice as well as she knew her own. She just hadn't expected him to be a criminal. But - he couldn't be that bad, not if he was hers. Fate wouldn't be that cruel, would it? "Work with me," Commander Reyes replied, his voice taking on the familiar croon that it had with the last six prisoners. "Right now, you're facing a death sentence. If you give me something - anything - I might be able to work something out." "You might kill me, but at least it'll be quick - th' Gang'll drag it out slow-like." The man insisted; Angela got the sense that, had he not been chained, he'd have crossed his arms. "Angela?" Ana asked, noting the doctors' distress. "What's wrong?" She had hoped that she had been mistaken, that maybe she had misheard, but she hadn't. Angela took a shaky breath and released the death grip on her clipboard. Commander Reyes was finishing his interview. Angela had never met this man before, but she couldn't help but want to keep him alive. The thought of him dying made her chest hurt and it was unbearable. He was hers. Her eyes were wide and her breathing ragged as the man - her soulmate - rose. If he went out that door, it would be over before it ever began; he would die. Before she could stop herself, Angela darted forward to press a small button on the wall. "Tell him what he wants to know." The words were strangled, forced through a too-tight throat, but she had to say them. "Please." Jack yanked her away from the microphone then, disengaging it before she could say anything else. "What the hell are you doing?" Jack demanded. She ignored the way his fingers dug into her shoulders as she leaned around him to look through the mirror once more. Commander Reyes was glaring at the mirror - she knew he, too, would reprimand her after he was done - but the prisoner was staring at it with confusion and wonder, just like she was. "Angela! " Jack shook her slightly, pulling her attention back to him. "What were you thinking?" He snapped, once he realized he had her attention once more. "I—" Angela swallowed, trying to bring moisture back to her suddenly dry throat. She was an infinitely private person, but she had to explain herself, had to try - even if it made her uncomfortable. "He's my soulmate, Jack," Angela whispered. Jack tensed, his head whipping around to look at the prisoner again. "Are you certain, Angela?" Ana's voice broke the tense silence. "He's…" Ana was kind enough not to enumerate all the horrible things Angela was already thinking. Angela nodded jerkily, her gaze already moving back to the prisoner - her soulmate. He was still standing, halfway between the chair and the door. "Well?" Commander Reyes demanded, trying to take control of the room once more. "What's it going to be?" After another long, considering moment, the prisoner sat back down in the chair. "Ask away, then." Angela sagged in Jack's grip as relief coursed through her. He was going to cooperate. He would live. She hadn't made a fool of herself for no reason. "I have to go," she gasped out after a moment. Angela needed to get away from it all - from her friends concerned gazes and that damning voice that had changed everything and nothing. She had done what she could here; she didn't have to watch this interrogation that she had provoked.

---

Instead of the expected reprimands - from either Jack or Commander Reyes - she got Cole Cassidy. Despite all her arguments against it, the man sat on one of her infirmary beds. Though he was her soulmate, Angela wasn't sure if she had even wanted to see him again - he was a criminal, whose crimes were, apparently, bad enough to warrant a death sentence. And yet there he sat. Neither had said a word yet. He was eying her warily, as if she were going to attack him with a scalpel. Angela didn't think he knew who she was, which was why she hadn't broken the silence yet. Unfortunately, she couldn't exactly run a physical without speaking. "Your name is Cole Cassidy?" Angela asked, trying to keep her voice neutral and failing spectacularly. His brown eyes snapped up to hers, widening in shock; as she'd thought, no one had told her who she was. "It's you?" Angela nodded sharply; if she hadn't been holding a clipboard, she'd have crossed her arms. "Well then," he drawled thoughtfully, "'s a pleasure, then." Angela sighed. "Is Cole Cassidy your name?" Angela repeated, sticking to the script she knew. She didn't know how to do this - whatever this was. "Yes, that's my name," Cole replied after a moment, before smirking up at her, "but you, darlin', can call me whatever you like." Angela turned her attention to the chart in her hand, as if she didn't have the entire thing memorized, to escape his eerily knowing gaze. "And what should I call you, then?" He probed. "You got a name, or should I just keep callin' you 'darlin''?" Her eyes snapped back up to his laughing ones; he was teasing her, and she wasn't certain how she felt about that. "I am Dr. Angela Ziegler," she replied after a moment. "And you are my patient, Agent Cassidy." Angela knew they were soulmates, but she couldn't help but try to hold him at arms length. She didn't let people close to her - and he was a criminal. "Whatever the lady says," Cole said, hands held up in surrender. Even though he'd been captured and interrogated, he was now free of his chains. To spare his life, Commander Reyes had recruited him - though Angela wasn't sure if it was because Cole would be a good agent or if it was because Jack had asked him to on her behalf. Thus, the physical. Angela began running through the questions on her list. She was trying to build a medical history on him from scratch - and he wasn't much help. "Didn' have much to do with doctors - no offense, meant," he told her when she had asked about his previous caregiver. It had been a long shot, but it would have helped. Angela sighed and nodded before continuing along to his family history. "I couldn' tell ya," Cole replied. "I don' know who m' dad is, and mom died when was I young." He said the words flippantly, but his hunched shoulders and darting eyes - which had, until this point, fixed her with a bright, teasing gaze - told a different story. "I am sorry," Angela murmured as she jotted down her notes. "I lost my parents when I was young, too." She paused there, fingers tightening on her pen; she never spoke about her parents. If anyone knew, it was because they had read her personnel file. Awkwardly, Angela cleared her throat as she quickly changed the subject. "Do you drink?" Angela asked, hovering over the last few questions. Then, it would be on to the more physical aspect of this examination - and she wasn't sure how she'd deal with it, not when it was him. "Sure," he replied after a moment, his easy drawl back in place. Angela found that interesting, despite herself. She wondered if this was something common he did, hiding himself away as she did, or if it was just a response to the hard topic. "Whiskey, if I get a choice," Cole continued, eyes lifting to hers again. "What about you, doc?" He was teasing her again; she frowned. "I do not often have time to drink," Angela replied finally; this wasn't her physical, but she still felt compelled to answer - as if they were getting to know each other, rather than him being evaluated for field work. Her heart clenched at the reminder; she was prepping her soulmate for battle - and death. Angela had saved him from a death sentence, but that didn't mean he still wouldn't die. She didn't know if she could bear that eventuality. "Darlin'?" His voice pulled her out of her thoughts as she looked up. He was leaning forward, eyes intense in a way that made her shiver. "You alright?" Angela forced herself to nod, because she wasn't willing to voice her fears - not to this man she didn't know, soulmate or not. "I apologize; I was just… lost in thought." Angela demurred once she could trust her voice to remain steady. "Where were we?" She asked, eyes skimming the page before pausing on the next question. "Ah, here we are. Do you smoke?" Her eyes lifted back up to look at him. "Yes." Angela must have made a face because he continued. "What? D'ya got a problem with smokin', doc?" She glanced up to find him fiddling idly with the edge of his shirt. "Smoking is terrible for your health - not to mention those around you." Angela replied coolly after a moment. She didn't tell him that she found the habit disgusting; it felt too much like a personal attack. "I see," Cole nodded slightly. Angela quickly changed the topic to the final question - illegal drugs. Not that it went any better. "That what you think of me, then?" Cole asked lowly. "I've done some stuff, so I must do drugs, too?" Angela rocked back, clipboard held between them as if it would be any kind of protection - as if she needed protection from him. "It is just a question," Angela hurried to assure him. "We ask everyone; it isn't about you or your… history." She looked down to mark 'no' next to the question before looking up to meet his eyes once more. "I did not mean to upset you," she murmured. "I am sorry." After a long moment, Cole nodded. "I don' do anythin' like that, doc. Smokin' might be bad, but — that stuff is way worse." Angela nodded in agreement; if she had to pick, she'd rather he be a smoker, too. With a sigh, she rose from her stool to grab a small tray of instruments. Now she had to get up close with him. "What's all that for, then?" Cole asked as she settled it on the bed next to him. Despite his criminal background, she wasn't worried that he would hurt her; if she had been, she'd never have allowed herself to be left alone with him. "I have to examine you," Angela explained briefly. That brought the smirk back to his face as he spread his arms in an obvious invitation. "By all means, doc - examine away." Angela rolled her eyes and grabbed a penlight, stepping to the side slightly. "Please hold still," she asked as he turned to watch her, "I am trying to look at your ears." Angela had performed countless physicals, but she had never been more aware of how short the distance between them was as she leaned in close enough to do her work. Things were quiet between them until she moved to his other side. "I never expected t' meet you, ya know?" He said quietly. Angela hesitated before leaning in again. "Why is that?" She asked, curious despite herself. Angela had always expected to meet her soulmate; to her, it had only been a matter of time. Though she was all too aware of how fleeting time was, she'd never sought him out. She had been confident that their paths would cross, eventually. "Life wasn' easy, darlin'; I didn' even expect to make it past twenty, t' tell the truth." Angela glanced at his face sharply, but his eyes were fixed on his hands. "You were nothin' but a fairytale t' me." He shrugged as if it didn't matter - but she knew it did. She'd seen it on his face. Angela finished her exam in silence before leaning back to make some notes. "Look up, please; I need to check your eyes." When he tilted his head back, his brown eyes meeting her blue ones, she lifted the penlight again. "I always believed I would meet you," Angela told him softly. "I just…" She trailed off as she switched eyes. "Didn' expect it to be someone like me," he finished dryly. Angela's lips twisted into a wry smile. "Well, yes," she agreed - because he was right. She was a prestigious doctor, and he was a gangster. Angela would never have pegged her soulmate to be someone like him. "I ain't all bad," Cole assured her, once she'd finished her next set of notes. "If I had thought you were," Angela replied, cool eyes meeting his bright ones, "I never would have spoken to you." She didn't know if that was exactly true - all Angela had known was that his voice was the one that had filled her head for the last four years. She hadn't known his crimes - hadn't even stayed to listen to them - but she had known that couldn't let him die. Still, she wasn't going to tell him that. Angela made her way through the next exams, fielding whatever questions he threw her way. None were too personal, too revealing - such as her favorite color, which was green - so she allowed them if it made the exam run smoothly. "Alright," Angela turned away, tray of instruments in hand. "I am going to step out for a moment so that you can change into a hospital gown." Before she had set the tray down, she heard him shifting on the table and the distinct sound of clothing rustling. "You were supp—" The words died on her lips as she watched him shrug off his shirt. "What happened to you?" Fresh black and blue bruises dotted his ribs and stomach, which made little sense. Any injury he had should have been at least a day or two old. "Well, the others got wind that I'd talked," Cole said with a shrug that had to be painful, even if he didn't show it. "They weren't too pleased about it." He had been beaten while in their custody, under their - her - protection. "Why didn't you say anything?" Angela gripped the edge of the counter to steady herself. They were just bruises; he wasn't dying. It was nothing like her near-panic in the observation room when his death had hung over her, but it still made her far more uncomfortable than she was used to. Angela hated the lack of control. "It's just some bruises," Cole replied carelessly, and she could tell he truly meant them. "I've dealt with worse." Angela clenched her jaw before turning away to try to compose herself. She'd been revolutionizing medicine while he had been suffering. Angela knew it was stupid to feel bad about it - they hadn't even known one another - but she did. "Hey," his voice was too close, and then his hand touched her shoulder. Angela tensed to keep herself from leaning into it. "It's alright, darlin'," Cole soothed gently. "You don' have to get all worked up on my account." She shrugged off his hand before turning to face him fully, her cool mask firmly in place once more. "And how would you feel," Angela replied quietly, "if it were me covered in bruises?" Now it was his turn to tense, hands balling into fists briefly, before he relaxed again. Then, he was smirking down at her - because of course he was taller than her, even with her heels. "And here I thought you didn' care," Cole murmured. One of his hands lifted as if to touch her and she sidestepped out of his reach. She couldn't bear his touch again, not while she was feeling so raw. "It is my job to care," Angela replied, but she wasn't fooling him - or herself. She straightened her coat to give her hands something to do. "I am going to step out now." Angela fixed him with a look. "Please wait until I have left to finish changing. I will bring back something for your bruises." Before he could say anything, she grabbed the blood samples she had taken and practically rushed the door. It was ten minutes before she returned to the room containing Cole, healing stream in hand. Cole was lounged out on the bed on one side, but as she walked in, he pushed himself upright again. The gown looked absolutely ridiculous on him - but then again, they weren't really flattering on anyone. "Thought you'd gone and forgotten me," he said by way of greeting. Angela raised one eyebrow as she crossed the room; as if she could ever forget him. "I did not mean to take so long," Angela apologized. She had only meant to be gone for a minute or two, but a nurse had waylaid her on the way back. "One of my staff needed assistance." Now it was his turn to raise an eyebrow. "You have staff?" Angela shifted uncomfortably, feeling oddly ashamed despite the fact that she had earned her position here. But, standing before Cole - a man to whom life had not been kind - it seemed wrong. "I am the Director of Medicine for Overwatch," Angela explained after a moment. "So, yes, I have staff." Hundreds, really, but now probably wasn't the best time to get into that. She drew closer to him so that she could begin healing his bruises. "The Director?" Angela really wished he'd stop using that tone. "I know you can' be that much older than I am," he continued once she'd nodded. "An' I'll admit, I don' know much about a lot of things, but aren't you - ya know - a little young?" Angela worried her at her lip. "I…" She didn't know how to explain without sounding like she was bragging. "I do not know how much you know about me," Angela finally said with a sigh. "I completed my PhD and was a full doctor by the time I was nineteen." She ignored his surprised look and continued. "I was the surgical director for my hospital when I invented this," she lifted the healing stream slightly, "at twenty-one. That was when Overwatch recruited me." "So," Cole said once she finished. "You're some kinda genius, then." Angela nodded. "In the medical field, at least," she explained. "I am not… very good at many other things." Like dealing with him. Angela shifted uncomfortably again - but she was a doctor and he was her patient so she could do this. "I need to see your chest again, please." Angela could feel the heat on her cheeks, as if she weren't a medical professional. "All ya ever gotta do is ask, darlin'," he said as he shifted the gown to bare his bruised flesh again. She bit her lip and focused on the tool in her hand instead of Cole's posturing. "What does it do?" Cole asked as she engaged it, bathing him in yellow light. Instead of explaining - and probably boring him to tears, because she could talk about it for hours - she simply settled for: "Just watch." Slowly, his skin shifted from the mottled black-and-blue of bruising to a healthy tan that matched the rest of his skin. Angela circled him, eying the work critically while ignoring Cole's gaze. "Does anything hurt?" Angela asked when she switched it off and moved back to the counter. She already knew the answer, but it filled the silence as she set the tool aside and grabbed a pair of gloves. "No," he said after a moment. "I feel good as new." She glanced back to see him gazing down at his skin in amazement. Before he could look up and catch her staring, she looked away again. "I appreciate it, darlin'. Really." He sounded so sincere and it upset her all over again; this was nothing to her - an everyday task, almost - and yet it was something to him. "You are welcome." Angela said finally, turning back with gloves in place. "But, I would ask that you try not to make a habit of this." She moved closer. "I'll try t'take better care of myself." He agreed, before looking at the gloves. "Are those really necessary? Y'know, considerin' everything." If it didn't pertain to her, she might have found the way they both danced around their relationship - that they were soulmates - funny. Neither had used the word, even though they were both firmly aware of the fact. "Yes," Angela replied firmly. Normally, these next few tests were done with the patient fully covered with the gown, but his bruises had skipped them ahead a little. "Please lay down on your back," she asked. She expected him to make another quip, but he just gave her an amused look as he lay back. "Let me know if anything hurts," Angela ordered before reaching out to press lightly - and then with increasing pressure on his sides, her eyes fixed on his face to spot any sign of discomfort. Satisfied, her hands slid closer together to press on his abdomen. "Good," she said, withdrawing to make her notes. "You can sit up now." Her eyes flicked over his ski appraisingly. "How did you get that scar?" She asked, gesturing towards his chest. "Oh, that?" Cole asked after glancing down at it. "I, uh, might've got caught cheatin' at cards." He explained sheepishly. "They didn' take too kindly to that; one of 'em got me good with his knife." Angela sighed. "Cheating at cards?" It was her turn to echo his words. "Hey now, it's only cheatin' if ya get caught." Cole defended indignantly. "Besides, they could afford to lose a little." Angela shook her head and walked around the table to look at his back. "I'm going to press on your back, now." She told him, setting the chart down at his hip. It didn't take long to finish those checks and then she was standing before him again, shifting nervously. "You, uhm," she cleared her throat, "you may wish to have another doctor perform the next examinations." Angela told him. "And why's that?" He asked, reminding Angela that he'd probably never had a physical - at least, not a proper one - before. "Because the next examinations are of your genitals and prostate," she explained awkwardly. He looked at her for a moment before chuckling. "I ain't got any problems with you examinin' me, darlin'," he told her. Cole's eyes ran over her once, taking in her discomfort. "But if you do, I won' mind someone else." Angela couldn't smother her surprise quickly enough for him to miss it. "What?" He demanded. "Yeah, I might make some jokes an' all, but I don' want you t' do anything ya ain't alright with." Cole frowned at her, crossing his arms. "I ain't like that." Shame swept through her. "I'm sorry," Angela whispered, eyes dropping to the floor. She's almost certain she's apologized more to him than she had anyone else - and she'd spoken to him for less than an hour. "I am usually better than this." Normally she wasn't so off balance. Cole sighed. "Just forget about it," he told her. She nodded, even though she knew she wouldn't. "How're we doin' this?" Angela sighed. "Let's just get this over with." She said. It was expected of her and it was necessary. He was quietly cooperative during the extremely personal examinations, which made it that much easier. It wasn't until she stepped back and pulled the gloves off that he spoke again. "I gotta admit, darlin': that wasn' the way I expected my first time naked with you to go." Angela glared at him over her shoulder, ignoring her red cheeks, and he laughed. At least he had kept that quip to himself until after she was done. "There is a bathroom there," Angela pointed, ignoring his previous words completely. "Inside, there is a specimen cup on the counter. Please fill it with urine and then redress." Then they would be done, and he would be Blackwatch. She kept her back to him as he slid off the bed and made his way to the bathroom, but she couldn't help but look at him once his back was to her. Angela wasn't sure what she was going to do. It didn't take long before he was done and the sample was on the counter next to his chart. "That's it, then?" Cole asked heavily, and Angela knew he wasn't just talking about the medical exam. But she didn't know what to say, didn't know how to be this person. "The exam is done," she told him instead, because she knew that they were far from over. "Once the lab results come back, you'll be an official Blackwatch agent." The words weighed heavily on her heart. "Does Overwatch and Blackwatch work together often?" Angela shook her head slightly, understanding the question for what it really was. "Blackwatch provides the information that Overwatch acts on, so we rarely go on missions together - though it does happen, from time to time." Angela hesitated, but continued. "Sometimes, Blackwatch leans on our medical division - especially in emergencies." She had personally operated on at least a dozen Blackwatch agents in the past year alone. "Occasionally, we have Blackwatch agents in the base, but I don't keep track of when they're here or why." Angela shrugged. She didn't concern herself with much that existed above her infirmary, though she was keenly aware that that was going to change. "I see." Angela nodded, giving him a tight smile. "I won't take up any more of your time, then." On that note, he turned to leave. Angelas' hand snapped out and grabbed his arm, surprising them both. "Please, Cole," Angela said quietly, looking at anything but him as her fingers tightened briefly, "stay safe." His hand closed over hers, squeezing gently. "Don't you worry, Angela," he assured her. "This ain't the last you've seen of me." Her lips twitched in a slight smile, and then he was gone.

Connection | Recovery

Surprise! I ship McMercy too. I'm planning to add to this, similar to the Angel's Ransom series [but with less torture probably], so for any that ship these two there's more to come. Seriously, I have like 15+ documents of random stories and prompts that have just captured me. I write what my brain lets me, so I give them to you as my muse allows. I hope you enjoy them as much as I enjoy writing them. Thanks to @ausforsoulmates for putting together such a great prompt list; I'll probably pull more from it because apparently this is where I am now.