Breaking [My Heart]: Act VI Yielding

Breaking [My Heart]: Act VI Yielding

“There's nothing simple when it comes to you and I, Always something in this everchanging life” - Everchanging [Rise Against] Winston has issued the recall towards rebuilding Overwatch. Angela - formerly known as “Mercy” - is captured by Talon, who are searching for any information that can stop the rise before it begins.

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Trigger Warnings & General Statements This is a dark torture story. As such, there's going to be bad things happening - for the sake of not spoiling, I will not tag what, exactly will be appearing at any time. While I don't think any of the scenes are terribly graphic in nature, I do want to stress that the scenes are present and aren't for everyone. I did try to make the reactions and trauma realistic, following both real-world medicine / research and in-game universe canon (such as Angela's nanotechnology). There will be multiple POVs per chapter - two sets for both Angela and Reaper as well as a fifth from an additional character. Please, read at your own risk - and enjoy!

Here’s my chance for a new beginning I saved the best for a better ending And in the end I’ll make it up to you, you’ll see You’ll get the very best of me - One Day Too Late [Skillet]

He’d watched Baptiste go with some trepidation. What if he called Talon and told them where they were? Sure, they hadn’t been greeted by a strike team when he’d walked through the door, but that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be one sent now. But the only choices had been to send Baptiste out for the necessary supplies or go himself - and he was hesitant to leave Angela without protection, especially with someone he didn’t trust. He barely trusted Sombra, because he knew that she had her own agenda. Each person she had used to get them here was just another person that could sell them out. There were too many moving pieces that left her vulnerable. There were plenty of people - on both sides of the fence - that would love to get their hands on Angela as she was now. With that in mind, he set about securing the apartment as best as possible. He pulled the curtains closed - and then, for good measure, pinned them into place with some needles pilfered from Baptiste’s bag. It wouldn’t help against infrared sights like Widowmaker had, but it couldn’t hurt. Gabriel wanted to move the bed away from the window, make shooting Angela even more of an impossibility, but it just wasn’t possible. Perhaps he and Baptiste would be able to manage it once she was more aware. He pulled up a chair, placing it between Angela and the window so that - should there be a shot - he or Baptiste would, hopefully, take the bullet for her. Because of the angle it sat at, it was impossible to see into the next room when seated; he didn’t like that, either, but there was only so much he could do. After moving quickly through the rest of the small apartment, tugging the curtains closed as he had in the bedroom and hiding away various sharp objects, he returned into the bedroom and gently closed the door behind him. He stalked around the bed to settle on the chair, pulling out one of his shotguns and laying it on the nightstand - as far from Angela as he could - for easier access. Then he had nothing left to do but wait. He wasn’t sure what, exactly, would come first: Baptiste’s return or Angela’s awakening.

---

Angela had fallen into an uneasy sleep about fifteen minutes ago, going from lazy stillness to nervous twitching. Gabriel had called out to her softly, but she hadn’t reacted to his voice or her name. He watched her as she shifted and breathed shakily, clearly having another of her terrible dreams. Angela was no stranger to bad dreams - he had woken her from, or had been woken by, those dreams once upon a time - so he wasn’t sure if waking her would be the right call. She needed the rest - meager as it was - so Gabriel decided to leave her alone. If she started crying or screaming, he could wake her then. Two knocks at the front door had him pushing to his feet. He was standing in the bedroom doorway, shotgun in hand, as the front door opened. He kept the gun at his side - it was probably Baptiste because what kind of strike team knocked? - as he tugged the bedroom door shut behind him. Indeed, it was Baptiste; the Haitian man raised his hands slightly as if to show he wasn’t a threat. Baptiste opened his mouth, but then seemed to think better of it; instead, he turned to go into the kitchen and put away whatever it was that he had bought. Gabriel planned to watch him - as if he hadn’t left Baptiste unsupervised while he was out getting supplies - but he heard Angela make a small noise of fear. He turned away from the medic to reenter the bedroom. “Angela?” Gabriel kept his voice soft; he wasn’t sure if she was still asleep or reacting to her new surroundings. Her body tensed at his voice; she was awake, then. Gabriel was grateful for the quiet return. Talking her down from the nightmares was more challenging when he probably was her nightmare. “It’s alright, Angela,” he murmured as she opened her eyes and stopped pretending that she was sleeping. Warily, she scanned the room. “You’re safe.” Gabriel could see the doubt in her eyes and couldn’t blame her; what reason had he given her to trust him? None. He’d betrayed her at every turn - how could she believe that he was telling the truth now? Her eyes hardened as she stared at his right hand; he’d forgotten that he was holding a gun. “It’s not - I’m not going to shoot you, Angela.” Gabriel knew Angela and her moods better than anyone, and not even he could determine what flashed across her face. He could, however, tell what it wasn’t: relief. In the short time he had left Talon base for that failed mission in Russia, she had lost her fire. He had watched the recording of her ‘execution’; he’d seen the relief at the threat of the gun and the sheer despair when it was a lie. It was what kept him from setting the gun anywhere within her reach. Gabriel wasn’t sure if she’d use it against him or herself - or both. He’d gamble with his life, but he was done gambling with hers. Instead, he holstered it. He watched her face carefully, but Angela was no longer looking at him. She was looking around, searching the walls for whatever it was that helped her mind escape and generally doing anything to keep her eyes from landing on his form. He could tell, though, by the rigid way she held herself and the tightness in her eyes, that Angela was very aware of him. She would react to any movement, no matter how small. Baptiste knocked on the door frame, drawing Angela’s panicked attention as the medic paused just outside the room. He saw the recognition that changed to pain - betrayal - in her eyes as she took in the Haitian man, and then she was walled away again as she turned away to stare at the ceiling. Gabriel hadn’t realized Angela would know the man Sombra had sent. That new knowledge had him stalking across the room, forcing himself to ignore the way she flinched away and turn his back on her for a brief moment. “She knows you?” He whispered furiously, angling himself again so that he could watch her. Now that she was free, unbound, he worried about what she might do to herself. “We worked together once, about a year ago,” Baptiste replied, leaning against the door with his arms crossed as he kept his eyes fixed on him; Gabriel could understand his wariness. The Reaper was the biggest threat in the room. “Why?” The flippant tone made Gabriel want to throttle him. “Why?” Was he an idiot? “Look at her,” he ordered, one hand flying up to point in Angela’s direction. The woman flinched away - she was watching them, even when she didn’t appear to be. Baptiste frowned as he took in the broken woman again; her whole body radiated tension as she pointedly stared at the ceiling. When she thought they weren’t looking, she was stealing glances from her peripherals. Angela was still tense, trembling intermittently from the intensity, fists balled tightly; Gabriel doubted she even realized she was clenching them. “She doesn’t believe that any of this is real.” Every time she flinched and looked at him with those wounded eyes, he was reminded of it. He was the Reaper - Talon - and was not to be - could not be - trusted. Gabriel doubted she would believe it even if Cole Cassidy were to stroll in here right now and carry her away to whatever safe haven Overwatch had built. “She thinks you’re working with Talon.” It might be a misunderstanding, but right now, any misstep would further injure her. He was seething inside; she was hurt again after he had sworn she wouldn’t be. Baptiste sighed, deflating. He hadn’t been able to see what Angela was like when she was coherent - or, at least, whatever passed for coherency for her these days. “You need to get her help.” His cheerful attitude was gone, his face grave as he turned back to Gabriel. “Not this half-assed shit: real help.” Gabriel ground his teeth; what did this man think he was doing? It wasn’t like he had a lot of time - or many options. “I’m working on it.” The response was tight. If he could, he would just take her in to see a doctor. Gabriel wasn’t sure when it would ever be safe enough for her to be seen in such a manner, now that Talon had gotten its hooks in her. He wasn’t sure if she’d ever feel safe enough to leave whatever Watchpoint he’d end up delivering her to. Baptiste turned away without speaking. Gabriel wasn’t sure what he was going for, but he wasn’t going to leave Angela alone to find out. Instead, Gabriel strode back around the bed to sit in the chair at her side and pretended that she didn’t try to scoot away from him once he settled. Pretended he hadn’t heard the low, pained noise she had made when the movement hurt something - probably her knee. Pretended that she wasn’t tearing his heart out with every look and flinch.

---

Gabriel wished that he could call Sombra; that would make contacting Overwatch so much easier. Instead, he had to try and hunt them down the old fashioned way. That wasn’t - usually - a problem, but he usually didn’t have a half-dead doctor he was trying to hide. Normally he wasn’t on the run from Talon, either. If Overwatch had stayed at Watchpoint: Gibraltar, his life would have been easier - but then Talon’s task would have been, too. Now he was left trying to figure out what Watchpoint Winston might have chosen. He doubted they had moved too far, so he was pretty sure they were still somewhere in the European continent. That was still a good number of Watchpoints to look into - and all of them were on a completely different continent from him. Gabriel had briefly entertained the thought that they might create a new base, one that no one - not the UN, not the various enemies of Overwatch - knew about, but he had tossed the idea aside. The creation of a new base would take up time and resources that they just didn’t have now, especially once he considered how active many former members - like Reinhardt and Tracer - were in the search for Angela. There was the tip line that Tracer had spouted on behalf of the UN, but he was hesitant to use such a public method to reach out. There was no guarantee he would get someone he trusted to appear - and Gabriel wasn’t giving Angela to anyone he didn’t trust. Not even to Winston, though he knew Angela trusted the monkey and that she would be perfectly safe in his care. Gabriel didn’t trust it - never had and, at this point, never would - no matter how much Angela did. It had been hard enough to leave Angela in Baptiste’s care. Sombra had assured him that Baptiste only had Angela’s best interests at heart - had, in fact, tried to warn Angela that Talon was coming for her, though she had left out the part where they knew each other - but that didn’t mean Gabriel trusted him. Still, perhaps Angela would recover better without Gabriel - the Reaper - looming over her bedside. Hopefully, Angela would move past what appeared to be a betrayal by yet another person from her past. Hopefully, their shared history was positive enough to let her trust Baptiste in a way she no longer could trust Gabriel. He hated that he had broken that trust. He couldn’t change the past, though. He couldn’t take back the hateful things he did or said; all he could do now was try to make it better. That was why he was prowling in the dark, forgotten areas of the city. Even the precious “City of Harmony” couldn’t avoid crime; it was part of human nature. Instead, they pretended those places didn’t exist because they didn’t fit in the picture-perfect world they had created. Oh, the Reaper was sure that authorities tried to flush out these hot spots, but they would keep popping up. Eventually, they would give up, instead settling for knowing where the crime would be instead of trying to smother it, just like every other city in the world. Gabriel was hoping to find one of his contacts from his Blackwatch days. This contact was a shared one between many agents; Gabriel was sure that Cassidy had been one of the agents who used this particular man. If Cassidy was searching for Angela - and Gabriel knew he would be, even if he couldn’t be public about it - he’d have tapped any and all sources for help. Even if it were a tool he’d thought he’d thrown away long ago when he had left Blackwatch. Gabriel wouldn’t pass a message - no, that was too dangerous - but he might be able to get a location on the cowboy. All that would be left after that was contact and delivery; then Angela could, hopefully, be left in some semblance of peace.

Her eyes opened to blinding white lights. She became aware of her arms, straining at the shoulders from where she sagged against the chains that held her up; they shook with relief when she managed to brace her right leg on the slippery floor. Angela was dripping wet; they had just thrown the icy water over her, shocking her awake. Angela had known she would be back here. An escape had been too good to be true; Gabriel was dead and the Reaper had tricked her in such a vile way. Fingers dug into her cheeks painfully, forcing her head backward until her neck ached. “Didn’t I tell you, princess?” The Speaker was right in front of her, just out of sight due to the lights as he sneered. “We won’t let you go that easily.” He laughed, finding pleasure in her despair. Before he stopped, the strap with its many sharp edges cleaved into her back, tearing her back away one jagged gash at a time. Angela bit down on her lip, swallowing down a scream, as it all began again. She had to hold out and survive the pain and the overwhelming tide of despair. Questions. Pain. Silence. Drowning. Screaming. It felt like they had her for hours, the questions echoing and repeating around her as they hurt her. She hadn’t been able to keep back her sounds of pain, starting as whimpers and ending with throat-burning screams. It had to end soon, right? They always stopped, always gave her a short respite to recover and gather the ragged bits of herself back together. Shaking. She was shaking, a different voice calling over the Speaker. Angela blinked in confusion; no one but the Speaker talked to her during these sessions. When her eyes opened again, the blinding light and chains were gone. She was no longer hanging from chains but lying on something soft. Angela flinched back from the familiar man hovering over her, concerned as he looked down at her. Angela didn’t know how to handle such gentle emotions any longer - she didn’t believe in them enough to trust them after everything she had been through - so Angela turned her head slightly so she could stare at a wall instead. It wasn’t the same white wall she had become accustomed to. It was a beige color, textured instead of smooth concrete. “Dr. Ziegler?” Baptiste’s voice was hesitant as he removed his hand from her shoulder slowly; Angela hadn’t even realized he was touching her until the hand was removed - and wasn’t that foolish? He’d been shaking her, so of course he was touching her. She kept her eyes away from his form and instead swept them across the room, searching as she always did. Her friends had returned on the day of her ‘escape’ when the Reaper had been cleaning her body with painful gentleness. Angela vaguely remembered Baptiste. They had worked together some time ago, and he had seemed like a good man. But that he was here, in this room with her, meant that he couldn’t be trusted. This was a trap, a trick to get her to let her guard down and betray her friends - her true friends, not this one-time ally from some far off place and time. “Dr. Ziegler?” The man asked again. Angela glanced up towards him, body tensed and ready for the pain that had become expected. Her wary eyes met his concerned ones for a brief moment before glancing away again. Angela refused to speak because she knew that if she did, she might never stop. Instead, she looked around her new prison. It was a bedroom, she realized finally. She couldn’t see much from her prone position, but there were doorways and a small table - nightstand - next to the bed she laid in. The softness was alien and almost unbearable after so many days - weeks? Months? - sleeping on cold concrete or suspended by chains. “You may not remember me, doctor,” Baptiste’s voice was cheery, not at all deterred by her silence. Angela couldn’t tell if it was forced or real. “We worked together in Venezuela a year or so ago. My name is Baptiste.” He paused there, giving her time to respond if she so chose - which she did not. Once it was obvious she was planning to remain silent, Baptiste continued. “You’ve been sleeping a while, Dr. Ziegler. I’m sure you’re hungry.” At the reminder, her stomach suddenly made itself very known. Yes, she was hungry - not that she would admit it aloud. “If you’ll just wait right here, I’ll get that fixed right up. Sound good?” As if she were in any position to leave this bed. After another long moment of silence, Baptiste nodded once and left the room. Angela pressed her arms down against the mattress in an attempt to sit upright. Her body’s weakness and the pliable mattress made the attempt impossible. She wasn’t sure what she had expected; she had barely been capable of pushing herself off the hardened concrete to eat the last time they had fed her. When she finally lay still again, she was panting and shaking from the exertion. She had jostled her knee, which was now throbbing and pulsing in reprimand for her movements. But, Angela had discovered that she wasn’t restrained - except, of course, by her weak body. Her trembling hands explored the bed, marveling at the soft cloth and smooth sheets, before sliding to her body. There was some cloth covering her - a brief glance down showed some sort of green fabric. Angela marveled at that, too. It had been a long time since she had been clothed, since her naked body hadn’t been on display for everyone to see. Her fingers were playing with one of the buttons when Baptiste walked back in with a small tray. He placed the tray on a second table to her right, one that she hadn’t noticed when she was avoiding looking at him. “Now, unless you want to wear your food, you’re going to have to be sitting up.” Angela frowned; she had already tried that, which meant he would have to touch her again. As he reached out, Angela tensed. When his hands grabbed her with a careful, practiced touch, she began shaking, forcing him to pause. “It’s alright, doctor,” he soothed as he began lifting her despite her tension. “Just bear with me a little bit.” Angela stared past Baptiste towards the ceiling - and then the wall, once he had maneuvered her upright. “There we go!” Baptiste released her slowly, as if she would fall over without his support. Angela was leaning heavily against the pillows that he had propped behind her, so she was in no danger of falling. Once he was satisfied, he settled in a chair pulled up close to her bedside and grabbed a bowl from the tray he had brought in. “Now, I know, this isn’t exactly how you want to do this,” Baptiste said, scooping some broth up with a spoon and holding it up towards her face. “In a few days, you’ll be strong enough to do it yourself.” Angela didn’t want to eat, despite her hunger and weakness. Eating would prolong her existence and keep her in their clutches that much longer. But she knew what the consequences of not eating would be. Rough hands forcing her mouth open until her jaws creaked, food stuffed down her throat until she thought she would suffocate as she swallowed and swallowed to try and breathe. No, she didn’t want that. Resigned, she ate the broth he offered. The warmth soothed her throat - which she hadn’t even realized was sore - and pooled in her stomach comfortably. It tasted bitter, though; despite herself, she recoiled and glanced up at him in horror. What was in that liquid? Something to help calm her, to make her more pliable for their questions? He looked surprised, before realization crossed his face. “You probably can taste the supplements I added,” Baptiste explained hurriedly. “It’s nothing bad; just some extra protein and vitamins to help you recover.” He muttered something about the taste under his breath, but it was low enough that she didn’t catch all of it. “Seriously, look,” Baptiste ate a spoonful of the broth himself, as if to prove its safety; Angela knew that one spoonful was nothing compared to an entire bowl, but what could she do? Resigned, she went through the motions of eating as he fed her slowly - far slower than she was used to. Each time, the bitterness struck her and her anxiety spiked – but she couldn’t tell what the drug was doing to her. Perhaps he had been telling the truth, though Angela highly doubted it. Baptiste chattered brightly at her as she ate, but she wasn’t listening. Refused to listen, because Angela recognized it for the trap that it was. They had tried to break her with pain and death, but they had failed. Now, they were trying to break her with kindness and gentle hands. Angela wouldn’t allow that to happen; she had been through far too much to fail now. He was trying to befriend her, to get behind her walls to crack her open and reveal her secrets. Only one person had ever been capable of doing that - and he was dead, even though his body still roamed the Earth. Angela was surprised he wasn’t here, looming in a corner or hovering over her, trying to convince her that he was still Gabriel and not the Reaper. He’d sat with her the last time she’d woken, but, unlike Baptiste, he had barely spoken to her. He’d just sat there, brooding while she pretended he didn’t exist. She had found Ana then, perched on the dresser that was barely in her line of sight. Angela had let Ana soothe her until she could fall into an uneasy sleep - which Baptiste had helpfully woken her from. “Alright, all done.” Baptiste finally declared, setting the spoon and bowl back onto the tray. Angela’s hunger wasn’t satisfied, but that wasn’t unusual. Just like pain, hunger had become a constant companion to her these days. “Now.” Angela glanced towards him briefly - he was leaning forward slightly, looking a little uncomfortable. “Do you mind if I check your wounds and change your bandages?” She stiffened, eyes darting away to sweep the room again. No one was here - at least, not now. Perhaps they would arrive soon. “You’ve got some bad cuts there, doctor.” Baptiste continued carefully, when it was clear she wasn’t going to speak - or give any kind of permission at all. At least he was keeping his hands to himself while he was trying to convince her. “I just want to make sure they don’t get infected.” Infection was the least of her worries; in fact, if she were lucky - which she didn’t seem to be - an infection would kill her. Baptiste sighed. “Alright. It can wait a little while - but we have to check them soon.” Angela was surprised at the capitulation. She had expected him to press the matter - but that wasn’t how this worked, she realized. They wanted her comfortable, and forcing her into doing something wouldn’t meet that goal. That was why they’d brought in a familiar face to care for her, after all. They wanted her to let her guard down so that they could wean the information they wanted from her. He offered her the water, which she drank just as mechanically as she had the broth. Then, he chattered at her again, apparently unable to stand the silence. Angela tuned him out to the best of her ability as she looked around the room again. Still no one - not her friends nor the Reaper. Angela supposed the latter was a small mercy.

---

After each meal, Baptiste asked for her permission to look at her wounds. Finally, after her fourth meal – oatmeal, this time – he had pressed the matter. “I know it’s uncomfortable, Doctor,” Baptiste had said, carefully trying to pull the blanket away from her tight grip, “but your injuries need tending.” As a doctor, she knew that he was right. As a person, she didn’t care. It had taken him the better part of fifteen minutes to persuade her to let him pull away the blanket. He didn’t attempt to reach for her dress, not yet; instead, he turned his attention to her legs. Aside from the squares of gauze taped carefully to her skin, Angela’s legs were bare. Her eyes immediately fell on her knee, still a terrible purple-black and swollen even after – well, she didn’t actually know how long it had been since the Reaper had pulled her down from the chains. Baptiste noticed her attention and pulled out something. “I’ve got a brace for that,” he offered, holding up the object. “I wasn’t sure if I should put it on, considering the other wounds.” The brace would wrap and hold her knee in place, but it would also press against the half-healed burns and gashes still present. If she weren’t the patient, Angela would have put the brace on; the knee would continue to be damaged for as long as it was left free and unsupported. But, she was the patient – and she desperately wanted to die. Angela wouldn’t give him any advice towards her care, not even in this small thing that would only give her more comfort. If she broke her silence, she would be tempted again – and then they would have her. Instead, she ignored his unspoken question and let her gaze wander to the left, away from the man and his expectant gaze. Angela heard him sigh and set the brace down. She ignored the careful fingers that pulled the tape from her skin. Ignored the cool spread of ointment and the gentle, painful press where he held the gauze in place as he secured it. Once her legs were done, she tensed. Though Angela wanted to die – and, therefore, did not want medical attention – she especially didn’t want to be naked again. The dress was the only protection she had, besides her silence. It was flimsy and frail, but it was hers. Still, he persisted until the dress was unbuttoned and her bandages were bared. Angela glanced down at herself briefly – her broken skin was hidden from her by layers of gauze – before her gaze found the wall again. As Baptiste cut the gauze away, her attention was drawn towards the door; it had been left open by the man when he’d brought in her meal. Low voices, barely loud enough for Angela to hear, trickled into the room. “–ch longer—going to take?” Angela went cold. She had known that this was too good to be true. She had been trembling under Baptiste’s touch, but now she was shaking in pure fear. Until the day she died – which, hopefully, would be very soon – Angela would recognize the Speaker’s voice. “You—a month,” the Reaper growled back quietly. “Doctor?” Baptiste’s concerned voice drowned out whatever else the Reaper said to the Speaker. She couldn’t look away from the door, couldn’t stop straining to hear the words that would condemn her. She was panting heavily, eyes wide with terror as she cowered back from the door, even though it brought her closer to Baptiste. “–ot gonna–” The Speaker said, but Baptiste spoke over them again. “What is it?” He rose from his seat, the movement momentarily distracting Angela from the door and the monsters in the other room. Baptiste left everything as it was – gauze and tools laid about, her bandages partially cut away – as he grabbed a gun; she hadn’t noticed it since it had been propped up against the far side of the nightstand. Competent hands lifted the weapon as he stalked around the bed to investigate the other room. Angela wasn’t fooled; he was in on this charade. He was just acting for her benefit, to cover up the fact that this was a trick. She doubted that she was expected to hear the voices; they had been quiet and Baptiste had been distracting her with the stress of a bandage change. Her ears still strained to hear the words, but she couldn’t make any out. She could hear the voices of the Speaker and the Reaper, but their words were no longer intelligible between the roaring in her ears and their volume. Baptiste glanced into the other room cautiously before carefully exiting to ‘look’ more thoroughly. Angela looked away again; she couldn’t hear the words and she didn’t want to watch him come back in with his lies. Angela’s eyes cut across the bed towards the right side of the room – where Baptiste had just been sitting – and paused, fixated on the sheets next to her leg. He had left all of his supplies scattered around, including the bandage scissors he had been using to remove the gauze around her chest. Angela reached out for the tool with shaking fingers that steadied once she had it in hand. Relief chased away her terror, but she knew that she didn’t have a lot of time before Baptiste returned. Angela barely hesitated – she would not go back to the Speaker, to his chains and the pain. She knew that she would have to cut deep; that if she didn’t, either her nanites or Baptiste would put her back together more quickly than she could bleed out. With a steadying breath, she pressed the sharp edge of the scissors against her left forearm near her elbow before dragging down towards her wrist. It stung, but it was nothing compared to the pain she had experienced – and the pain she was trying to avoid. Switching the blade to her left hand was more of a challenge; everything was suddenly more messy, now that her blood was flowing freely. She should have used her left hand first; it was her least dominant that was now slick with blood and shaking again. “There’s nothing ou—Doctor!“ Baptiste stepped through the door as she was dragging a line through her right arm; he was across the room and yanking the scissors from her grip before she could get more than halfway down her right forearm. Swearing up a storm, he used one hand to clamp down on her left arm in an attempt to stop as much of the blood flow as possible, as his other scrambled to grab some of the loose gauze. Angela tried to struggle out from under his grip; the blood that was absolutely everywhere helped in that regard, and she managed to free her arm for a short moment – then he was upon her again. “Stay still,” Baptiste shouted, but she ignored the order and just squirmed more. Angela was surprised he didn’t call for help from the other room – or that someone didn’t rush in to try to help him. Angela knew there were at least two men out there; one was the Reaper, who could come in without ‘surprising’ her, because she’d seen him here before. In response to her squirming and attempts to escape his grasp, Baptiste moved until he was over her on the bed, pinning her down with his body weight as he focused on her arms. The positioning made her nauseous with terror, her body going cold – but perhaps that was from the blood loss. “No,” Angela whimpered plaintively as he began winding the gauze around her left forearm tightly – too tight, the medical professional in her noted but, right now, she doubted he cared. Angela twisted, trying to throw him off balance or drag herself out from underneath him. She was too weak for it to be more than a slight annoyance, and he ignored her struggles as he wrapped the gauze haphazardly around her arm. As she knew all too well, it didn’t have to look pretty to get the job done. Angela panted, terrified; though she knew it was pointless, she continued to try and escape – even as he tied off the bandage on her left arm. Already, she could see the faint pink tint staining the white gauze, but she knew that this was merely a stopgap; he had to slow her bleeding before he could properly stitch her back up. She knew she wasn’t weak enough, hadn’t bled enough, to die – but she was too weak to stop him. Tears welled; Baptiste had won. She wouldn’t get another chance – she had been lucky to get this chance. Angela was going to go back to that room, the room she desperately wanted to avoid. Her right arm went faster than the left, considering the gash was smaller than the other. He tied that off, too, before glancing around the room. Angela knew he was looking for his medical kit, which was just out of reach of the bed – on purpose, so that Angela couldn’t get her hands on anything like the bandage scissors he’d carelessly left on the bed. That forced him to leave the bed, leaving her free to writhe away and try to rip the bandages off. She had nearly thrown herself off the left side of the bed when his hand clamped down on her right arm and dragged her back. The action also pulled her hand away from the bandages, though she had managed to loosen the knot he’d quickly tied. As he turned back to his kit for a moment, her fingers lifted to yank at the knot again and began unwinding the bandages. She had nearly gotten all of them off when he clamped down on her again – this time, not to stop her actions, but to hold her still so he could inject her with something. “I’m sorry, Doctor.” His voice was distant and fuzzy as he yanked her right hand away and began undoing all her work as quickly as possible. “You left me no choice.” Her head was swimming, and she couldn’t focus – what had he given her? Hopefully, he’d given her too much, considering her malnutrition, wounds, and blood loss; if he did, she’d never wake up. Her eyes fluttered closed as he turned away once more, her arms securely wrapped in the protective gauze.

Gabriel froze when he walked into the bedroom, taking in the bloody tableau. The blankets were thrown on the floor carelessly, and sheets were stained with red. Small droplets of blood had splattered on the headboard as well as the carpet close to the bed. Angela’s arms, which had been bare when he left this morning, were now wrapped heavily with gauze. A noise pulled Gabriel’s attention away from Angela to look over at the medic. He was setting down his weapon – an impressive looking assault rifle that had, apparently, been modified for healing, though he hadn’t used any of it in this room – against the nightstand. Then, he leaned back in the chair, looking exhausted; through the whole thing, Baptiste never took his eyes off of the doctor. “What happened?” Gabriel demanded, snarling. He knew he should keep his voice down – or at least moderate it to be less vicious – for Angela’s sake, but it was hard when faced with this. “She got my scissors,” Baptiste admitted, not a single trace of his typical humor. Gabriel turned his gaze back to Angela, horrified; she was breathing steadily and – for all appearances – seemed to be sleeping peacefully. Angela didn’t sleep peacefully – not even when she was so exhausted that she forgot her nightmares in the morning. Gabriel knew that she always twitched and shifted, murmuring softly or crying out; the bedding would often be twisted when they woke, and it wasn’t from any fun nighttime activity. No, her sleeping this way was unnatural, especially after her torture from the last month. “How did you let that happen?” Gabriel growled, forcing himself to remain in the doorway. If he moved closer, he would probably rip out Baptiste’s throat – and he still needed the medic. “I managed to convince – I think, or maybe she gave up? Anyways, – her to let me change her bandages. I did her legs and was just beginning to remove the gauze around her torso when she made this quiet noise.” Baptiste paused there, appearing to be at a loss for words; Gabriel forced himself to look at the medic, because to continue looking at the bandages was infuriating him. “It made my hair stand on end, man; I couldn’t help but look up.” He rubbed at his arms absently. “She’s so amped, you know? Nervous. Always looking around, always noticing things even if she wasn’t looking.” Gabriel did know; she was hypervigilant. It wasn’t unexpected, considering everything she’d been through. “So, when I saw her staring at the door, looking so scared, I thought maybe she’d heard something I didn’t.” Baptiste gestured at his rifle. “I went to investigate, make sure we weren’t under attack. I didn’t find anyone, so I came back to finish up with her.” Baptiste took a heavy breath. “I wasn’t gone for more than two minutes, I swear.” A lot could happen in two minutes, as both men were aware. “I came back and she was cutting at one of her arms; I took the scissors away and tried to stop the bleeding.” Baptiste looked nauseous as he finally lifted his gaze from the doctor to look at the Reaper. “She fought me hard; I’ve never seen anyone so desperate to die.” His voice was bleak, face ashen. “I had to pin her down to get the first set of gauze on.” Gabriel was unsurprised at Angela’s determination, even though it saddened him. He’d seen it in the armory weeks ago, when she’d gone for the gun. That determination – despair – had only increased since then. “She nearly ripped the bandages off again before I sedated her,” Baptiste sighed. “I don’t know if the dosage was too much, considering everything. She’s been down for a few hours.” That explained the peaceful breathing, then. “I told you,” Gabriel rumbled into the silence. “I told you she thought this was a trick. I warned you that she was suicidal.” He had trusted this man with her safety – and that trust had been betrayed. The Reaper wanted to paint the walls red with Baptiste’s blood, but he couldn’t. Gabriel needed Baptiste’s medical experience, even though he’d nearly allowed Angela to die on his watch. Besides, if the Reaper decorated the room with Baptiste’s insides, Angela would be even more terrified than she already was. “Get out,” Gabriel ordered, stepping further into the room so that Baptiste could comply. He needed a few hours without seeing the medic, a few hours to watch Angela breathe and assure himself that – despite yet another injury under his care – she was alive. A few hours to berate himself for being so careless. Baptiste scrambled to his feet, somehow managing to carry a tray laden with a bowl and his gun as he made for the door. Gabriel noticed that Baptiste kept as much distance as possible between the two of them as he moved. “Call me if you need anything,” Baptiste told him quietly as he strode through the door. Gabriel stalked over to close it, barely keeping himself from slamming it. Then he made his way around the bed to take the seat Baptiste had vacated to watch Angela breathe.

---

“Hello?” Gabriel was surprised that Cassidy didn’t sound more defensive – but, then again, he’d probably scattered his contact information as widely as possible to try and find Angela. It was likely the cowboy had received several calls from unknown numbers in the past month. “Is this Cole Cassidy?” Gabriel asked, though he already knew the answer. Over familiarity at this early stage would make the man far more defensive than Angela had time for. Gabriel’s eyes darted to the woman, who was still sleeping peacefully on the bloodstained sheets. He’d sent Baptiste out for new bedding - apparently, this apartment didn’t have any. Gabriel hadn’t wanted to call Cassidy tonight – he had planned to call tomorrow when he was able to slip away from the apartment and have the conversation where Angela couldn’t possibly overhear. However, her suicide attempt required things to move even faster. Even though Gabriel wasn’t in the mood to be speaking to anyone at the moment, it was necessary for Angela’s safety – so he would force himself to remain civil for a phone conversation. “Who’s askin’?” There was the defensive note; perhaps he hadn’t given his name out with his number. That would be a wise decision, considering the incredibly high bounty Cassidy still had on his head. Gabriel couldn’t give him his name – either name – at this point, however. To tell him he was the Reaper would destroy any possibility of a somewhat peaceful delivery of Angela. To tell him he was Gabriel Reyes, his presumed-dead and traitorous ex-Commander, wouldn’t go over any better. “I’m the person who’s rescued Dr. Ziegler,” he growled instead, voice quiet in deference to the sleeping blonde. Once they had hashed everything out – like where Cassidy could come to get her – he could give the cowboy his name. Cassidy inhaled sharply. “You’ve got her?” He repeated, doubtful. “Lemme talk to her.” Gabriel looked at the doctor again. Even if she were conscious, he couldn’t have let her speak to Cassidy. She would scream about it being a trap, to stay away – and, while he didn’t believe for a second that Cassidy would listen to her warning, it would make things far more complicated than necessary. “She’s sleeping right now,” Gabriel said instead. “I can send you a picture if you’d like.” He’d have to find a blanket that didn’t have bloodstains to cover up the mess, but he could make that happen. “Right. B’cause those can’t be faked or anythin’,” Cassidy drawled, ever the cynic. Still, Gabriel could hear the faint note of hope in his voice; Gabriel doubted they’d had any good leads on finding Angela. If they had known Talon had her, there would have been a lot more violence reported in the news. “Look,” Gabriel growled, his temper too frayed to properly deal with Cassidy’s caution. Still, he had to find the words to convince the cowboy that this wasn’t a prank or a trap. “Talon is chasing us. I don’t know how long we have until they find us.” That was the complete truth. He was already considering moving them out of Numbani; he had used his outfit and reputation to bully Cassidy’s number out of the criminals here, which would eventually find its way to Talon’s ears. “You got her away from Talon?” Gabriel rolled his eyes; seriously, he could tone down the incredulity. “Is this 76?” Gabriel wasn’t surprised that Jack was out looking for Angela. She was important to him – to them both – despite everything that had happened in the past. He was surprised that Jack had contacted Overwatch, regardless of what name he had given them. “No, this isn’t 76,” he admitted; lying about it would come out wherever they met, which would only lead to further hostilities. “How’d ya get this number?” Incredulity melted into harsh suspicion, which was more along the lines of what Gabriel had expected. “Why’d ya call me instead of the tip line?” All fair questions. “You spread the word underground that you’ve been looking for information on the doctor,” Gabriel told him; he’d barely had to mention the cowboy’s name to learn that. It was almost a joke among the gangsters – a notorious criminal with an enormous bounty was searching for the doctor? There’d been some talk about trapping the cowboy, luring him in so that they could get the prize; they’d even offered to split the money with him if he helped. Considering Gabriel needed Cassidy to remain a free man, he’d declined. “An’ ya didn’ call the tip line? I ain’t got the money for the reward they’re offerin’.” The reward was pretty substantial – nowhere near the amount of Cassidy’s bounty, but still a significant amount nonetheless. “I don’t want the money,” Gabriel growled, “I just want her safe.” Even if she trusted him – wasn’t broken in a way he couldn’t fix – Angela couldn’t stay with him. Talon was coming, and he was just one man. Gabriel couldn’t protect her in the way she needed if she remained. He’d kill her enemies from the shadows before they reached her, instead. “She trusts you,” he added. Gabriel paused, and then, “I trust you.” “You tru—who is this?” Cassidy thundered. Gabriel didn’t think the cowboy believed he had Angela; without being allowed to speak and Cassidy not accepting a photograph, it would be hard to convince the cynical cowboy. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Gabriel was stalling; the Reaper was disgusted with his cowardice. Just say it and get it over with. “Try me,” the cowboy’s voice was hard. “You know me by two different names,” Gabriel started, because he’d have to give both names before the conversation was over. The first name would be the one that proved his honesty. The second name would, hopefully, keep him from being shot on sight. “I’m Gabriel Reyes.” Cassidy made a disbelieving noise. “Reyes is dead.” The words were a snarl, almost as if he were trying to convince himself. “And if he weren’t, I’d kill him myself.” Well. Cassidy hadn’t hung up yet, at least. “You call her Ange,” he said quietly. “She stayed with you for two nights straight when you lost your arm.” She had cried, too – but he was pretty sure the cowboy didn’t know that fact; the Angela from that time hadn’t been one for showing ‘weak’ emotions in public. Gabriel searched his memory for something that wouldn’t have been – relatively – widely known throughout the two organizations. Gabriel didn’t like to think of his time with the organizations he destroyed - didn’t like to remember the happiness he had tossed aside - so it took him a moment to find something to tell Cassidy. “One mission in Finland, you and I stayed up too late and drank too much tequila, which allowed our mark - Korhonen or Koskinen or some kind of nen, I don’t remember - to get away.” It had been stupid – they had been stupid – but it was something only they knew; Gabriel hadn’t even told Angela the real reason why he’d been delayed in coming home. Cassidy inhaled sharply, but Gabriel ignored it and continued. “Took three days to find him again, but we found him and brought him in.” “Th’hell you doin’ with Ange, Reyes?” Despite the anger, Gabriel was relieved; Cassidy believed him. “You shouldn’ even be alive, not after what you’ve done.” He couldn’t blame Cassidy for his ire – Gabriel deserved it and far more. “I told you: I rescued her.” Gabriel tactfully left out the part where he had been the one to kidnap her in the first place. That could come out later – when he wasn’t around to get shot, even if he deserved it. “She needs help that I can’t give her; they worked her over, and it isn’t pretty.” Angela shifted a little, drawing his attention. The sedative must be wearing off, finally. Hopefully, she would stay asleep until he finished this call – and there wasn’t a screaming nightmare to deal with. “They—she—shit!“ Gabriel didn’t believe that Cassidy thought Angela had been safe this whole time. Cassidy knew, better than most, what she had probably faced during her captivity. Still, the abstract was always more comfortable to handle than the reality; Gabriel had learned that the hard way – and the lesson had cost Angela far too much. “Angela will be better off in your – in Overwatch’s – care. I need to get her to you, now.” Gabriel explained quietly once the silence had dragged just a little too long. “I know you’re pissed at me, but don’t take it out on her.” The silence dragged on again as Cassidy wrestled with himself; Gabriel hoped he wouldn’t take too long, else Angela would awaken and he’d have to deal with her instead of the cowboy. “Damn you, Reyes,” Cassidy snarled after a moment. “Fine. I’ll get a ride; where’s the drop?” Gabriel gave him coordinates of an empty field a few miles outside of Numbani. It was utterly devoid of cover, which would hopefully prove that he – at least – wasn’t trying to trap the cowboy. “Tomorrow, then?” “Tomorrow,” Gabriel confirmed gravely as Angela began to murmur softly. Tomorrow, he would say goodbye again, this time for good. Tomorrow, he would never see her again – not even from a distance, because he doubted she would ever leave whatever base Cassidy took her to. “You said ya had two names, Reyes. What’s th’second one?” Gabriel tensed; he knew it had to come out – if Cassidy came to a field and the Reaper had Angela, they’d shoot first and ask questions later. He didn’t want to risk her taking another bullet for him. “The Reaper.” Gabriel disconnected before he could hear Cassidy’s response.

Angela jolted into sudden wakefulness when a hand closed on her shoulder. Wild-eyed, she turned to find the mask of the Reaper. “Easy, cariño. You’re alright.” Angela shivered and looked away; she knew that he meant the words to be comforting – that was the goal here, after all – but all it did was make her sad. He was pretending to be the man she had loved – still loved, if she was honest with herself. It was cruel, especially when she so badly wanted it to be true. Angela knew it was foolish, that hope which had flickered to life when he had pulled her down from the chains and carried her from that room of pain. But she had heard him with the Speaker. She had heard his betrayal, knew that it had all been a lie. It was that knowledge that gave her the strength to remain silent, to not engage with this shadow of a man. After a long moment, the Reaper sighed and released her shoulder. Despite herself, Angela glanced his way to see that he had leaned back in the chair to give her some space. “I’ve found Cassidy.” Angela froze, choking on a breath as her entire body seized with panic. No, this wasn’t supposed to happen. Talon wasn’t supposed to find any of them; she was supposed to protect them and keep them safe. It was all that was left, all she was good for – and even in that, she had failed. If they brought one of them here – she couldn’t even consider it. It would absolutely destroy her. Angela was barely holding it together now, after they had killed the parts of her that were strong – that were Dr. Ziegler, Mercy. Angela wouldn’t survive if they brought someone else in to torture in her stead. “Breathe, Angela.” Suddenly, the Reaper was in her face, fingers – not claws, she realized – gripping her shoulders as he tried to pull her back down. “No one is going to hurt him, cariño; everything is alright. Breathe.” Angela managed to suck in an unsteady breath, and he nodded encouragingly. “Yes, just like that.” Her body was still so tense that it hurt, but at least she wasn’t going to pass out. After a few breaths, the Reaper released her and leaned back again. “I won’t hurt him. No one will hurt him.” The Reaper repeated. “I’m taking you to him so that he can get you the help you need.” Angela would have scoffed, but she maintained her silence by biting her lip. ‘Help.’ As if he hadn’t been the one to put her in this position, to condemn her to be battered and broken. As if this ‘rescue’ was real. She had heard him. He didn’t want to get her help – he wanted to get her broken. They would capture Cassidy by using her as bait. They would put him before her, and then it would be his pain or her words. Would he understand if she – somehow – kept her silence? Would he forgive her? Would she forgive herself? “I know I’ve given you no reason to trust me, Angela.” The Reaper leaned forward again, and she tried to shift to put some distance between his familiar body and her own. “But please, mi corazón, please try to believe me.” Angela had never heard Gabriel beg before; that the first time would be now, when he was the Reaper and her enemy, was disconcerting. “Just hold on for one more day,” his mask dropped to regard her bandaged arms meaningfully before rising again. “If not for me or yourself, then for the others. You know what your death would do to them.” Angela shuddered, squeezing her eyes shut. “You know they want you to live.” Of course her friends wanted her to live – but they hadn’t found her. She had been abandoned in that prison – this prison – and no one had saved her. Cool fingers touched her hand cautiously, but she remained still and kept her eyes closed. Angela waited for the touch to turn into a painful grip, to dig in and to hurt. But they just curled around her fingers, holding her hand in what Angela thought might be an attempt at comfort. It was so familiar that it hurt. Despite the pain, despite the knowledge that it was wrong, Angela couldn’t force herself to pull away. She was too stubborn, though, to let her fingers tighten around his own. Instead, her hand remained limp in his grasp as she turned her gaze towards the ceiling and away from the Reaper’s mask to try to hide her conflicting emotions. Then, he ruined it. “I’m sorry, Angela.” She stiffened and would have pulled away, but his hands – both of them, now – trapped her own in a firm grip. Were she stronger, she probably could have wrenched away, but she had wasted all her strength earlier with Baptiste. “You were the one I was never supposed to hurt, who I had sworn to protect.” His voice was solemn, as if confessing – but it wasn’t a confession when the monster before her hadn’t been the one to make those oaths. It was a lie, tailored carefully to maximize the pain when they stopped pretending again. He seemed earnest, though; Angela hadn’t realized what a good actor he was. Had Gabriel acted like this when they had been together all those years ago, or was this a new skill that the Reaper had picked up along the way? Angela prayed it was the latter, because the former was far too painful to consider. “I ruined everything. I know you hate me.” Angela glanced over to find his head bowed over their clasped hands. “I know you can never trust me and that nothing I can do or say will be enough to make up for what I’ve done.” He took in a harsh breath, made louder by the mask he wore. “I don’t expect you to ever forgive me, but for everything I’ve done: I’m sorry.” The Reaper released her hand then, pulling away to rest against the back of the chair and give her space once more. A small, hopeful – traitorous – part of her heart wanted to reach out and reclaim his hand with her own, to believe his apology was real and that he was Gabriel. Fortunately, her time in that freezing room of chains and blood had hardened her, even this weak self that was merely Angela. It was what allowed her to look away again and lay her hand back down on the stained sheets. It was what gave her the strength to remain silent and to keep herself from crying – though what, exactly, she would be crying over eluded her.

---

She opened her eyes to find she was in a new place - again. The last thing she remembered was the Reaper lifting her off the bloody sheets so Baptiste could strip the bed. She had let her eyes drift to the open door - something she usually couldn’t see from the bed; Jack had been there, leaning against the doorframe to watch her with heavy eyes. She had fallen asleep as he whispered warnings of betrayal and heartbreak. He had urged her to be strong because this would take everything she had - and then some. Angela glanced around her new surroundings, trying to be surreptitious but sure she was failing. It appeared she was in a car again; if it was the same one that the Reaper had stuffed her in the first time, she wasn’t sure. He sat to her left, behind the wheel as he had the last time. Her dress was no longer green; at some point, probably when they had changed the sheets, they had put a blue dress on her. It took her a moment to realize that the vehicle wasn’t moving. They were idling with a large expanse of grass before them. Angela wasn’t sure if they were on the side of a road or not, since she wasn’t craning her neck to look behind or to the left. “It’s almost over, Angela,” the Reaper murmured once she had stilled in her seat. Angela stiffened at the reminder that she would have a companion in her captivity in less than an hour. Maybe more than one - despite all his knowledge, she didn’t think Cole knew how to pilot any form of aircraft. “After today, you’ll never see me – or Talon – again.” He promised her, once the silence between them became heavy and strained. “You’ll be safe.” She didn’t believe him, of course; Angela knew she was destined to die in a Talon interrogation cell. She kept her eyes fixed on the grass outside, searching for the troops that she knew were waiting out there somewhere. “Look,” the Reaper rumbled sometime later, one clawed hand lifting and drawing her attention away. Unable to help herself, she looked in the direction he indicated. “There they are.” Her eyes found a dark spot on the horizon: an air carrier, heading their way. Angela wished there was something - anything - she could do to stop what was to come. She didn’t have the strength to protect them, and that crushed her just as badly as the blows across Cole’s body would. “Shh, cariño,” the Reaper soothed. Angela immediately bit off the small, pitiful sounds she had been making, but it was impossible to stop her tears. She turned her head away, attempting to hide her face from his sight as she grieved. It wasn’t long before the roar of the carrier filled the air. Angela couldn’t help but watch in horror, tears streaking her cheeks, as it drew closer. The car rocking drew her attention away; she hadn’t heard him open the door, but now the Reaper was stalking around the front of the vehicle to open her door. “It’s time, Angela.” The words were practically a shout so he could be heard over the carrier. She trembled as he leaned in to unbuckle her; then, she was up in his arms and pressed against his chest once more. Her left leg - knee still shattered, as far as she could tell - only complained slightly. Angela looked at it, curious; it appeared there were at least two, maybe three, braces around the knee - it forced her leg to remain straight, even without any support from below. As he turned them, the carrier touched down. He kept them next to the vehicle until the cargo doors opened. The turbines continued to roar - Angela would have been surprised if they had stopped them, considering that this was a trap - as a familiar figure began making his way cautiously towards them. Behind him on the ramp loomed two other people - a familiar large man and a less familiar woman. When the Reaper started walking, Angela began shaking enough that her teeth chattered; this was bad, this was bad, this was bad. Any minute now, Talon forces would appear and throw the cowboy to the ground. His hat would tumble off and be left, forgotten, in the grass as he was dragged into hell with her. The Reaper tightened his grip on her, his mask tilting down to consider her briefly, but if he said anything, it was lost to the roar of the carrier. Instead, she got to watch in horror as Cole Cassidy – he was real this time, right? – drew closer. One hand was resting defensively on Peacekeeper, his sharp eyes darting around as he searched for the trap they both knew existed. She wanted to scream at him to run, but she knew her disused voice would never reach him over the roaring. The space between them narrowed until, suddenly, they were only five feet apart.

Cole drummed his fingers impatiently against his seat. He never thought he’d be sitting in an Overwatch carrier again, but he never thought Angela would be kidnapped – tortured – either. Across from him sat Reinhardt, who was leaning forward against his giant hammer with his head bowed. His enormous armor nearly hid the smaller woman at his side – Brigitte, Torbjörn’s daughter. Lena was piloting the air carrier. She had managed to pick up the three of them and was now flying them to Numbani, but they were cutting it rather close. It was only the four of them; if this turned out to be a trap, the odds were heavily out of their favor. Cynical as he was, Cole expected one. Reyes and Angela had history; that much was true. Reyes had sworn to protect Angela - they all had, in their own ways - but Cole knew that personal honor meant very little to his previous Commander. Besides, it had been five years; that was a long time, and Reyes had been staining his hands with Overwatch blood in that time. No, this was a trap and Angela was the bait. It was too perfect: she was being ‘rescued’ by the Reaper - who just happened to be Gabriel Reyes of all people? The rush for a next-day meeting, for fear of being ‘caught’? No. There was no way in hell that this was anything but a trap. “We’re on the final approach,” Lena called back. “Scanners are only picking up two people – that’s got to be them.” Cole knew there were ways to hide from scanners, so that information wasn’t as comforting as he’d like. “Alrigh’ then. Let’s put ‘er down an’ get Ange back.” Cole was impatient to get this done – one way or another. He turned towards the two across from him. “You two need t’ stay back on th’ cargo ramp. Watch my back and come down swingin’ if things go sideways.” “I do not like this.” Reinhardt boomed as the carrier began to descend. “We should go with you; it is too dangerous.” Cole understood where the warrior was coming from; his job was always to protect those around him, and this was no different. Still, that didn’t change the fact that a show of force would probably end badly. “Trust me on this one,” Jessie replied, shaking his head. “We don’ wanna risk Ange.” He doubted that Reyes had lied about Angela’s health. Cole didn’t want Angela in any more danger than necessary. It was undoubtedly a trap, so having backup was more necessary than a show of force. Besides, if Reyes really was trying to protect Angela, like he had in the past, it would be far too dangerous for them to antagonize him with a heavy presence. “Then I should go!” Reinhardt insisted, one hand raising to slap his chest plate loudly. “My armor will protect me - and the doctor - if it is a trap; you would be killed!” That was a valid point – past the cargo ramp, he doubted that there would be no cover. Still, Cole shook his head again. “He called me. It’s gotta be me.” This was either a convoluted trap to capture him, or it was a genuine request for help. Knowing Reyes as he did, Cole knew that he had to walk off that ramp alone. The carrier landed with a gentle jolt; as soon as it was steady, both men were on their feet with Brigitte not far behind. Reinhardt towered over Cole in a way that would be intimidating if Cole didn’t know the German man. “You’ve gotta wait on the ramp; stay put unless things turn sour.” Reinhardt’s shoulders slumped as he sighed. Cole took that to be agreement, so he gestured towards the cargo hold. “If things do go bad, jus’ make sure y’get Ange. She’s the priority.” He allowed Reinhardt to precede him down the ramp, his giant blue shield erupting to life from his arm. Cole paused behind the warrior to allow his eyes to adjust. Once he could see clearly, he quickly found the Reaper standing in front of a car about two hundred feet away. In his arms was a bundle of blue cloth that had Angela’s head at the top. She looked thin and fragile – words he had never used to describe her except for that period directly after the fall. Cole met Angela’s terrified eyes briefly; based on her stark terror, she believed this was a trick. Cole forced himself to look away, fingers tightening on Peacekeeper as he searched for the trap. Cautiously, Cole pushed past Reinhardt’s barrier, as he and the Reaper approached each other. Even when they were within grabbing distance, Cole kept his hand tight on his weapon. From this point forward, he would be at his most vulnerable; once he took Angela into his arms, he’d find it hard to defend himself - or his precious cargo. While Reinhardt and Brigitte were nearby, it was still a long distance for them to travel. “It’s just me,” the Reaper shouted over the turbines, voice gravely as he closed the final few steps between them. This close, Cole could see her hollow cheeks and how hard she was trembling; it hurt his heart to see how damaged Angela – normally their pillar of strength – was. They had thought she was safe, and they had been wrong. “We both know I ain’t trustin’ you,” the cowboy returned gruffly. If it weren’t for Angela, he’d have shot the Reaper when he’d stepped off the ramp. He released his gun reluctantly so he could reach out for the doctor. Carefully, with a gentleness that proved that this was Reyes, the hooded figure lowered her into Cole’s arms. “Watch her knee,” Reyes rasped, as if Cole couldn’t see the straps and splints wrapped around it. The woman was lighter than she should be and shaking so hard Cole thought she might just come apart. “I gotcha, darlin’,” he assured her, though his eyes stayed firmly on Reyes. “There’s a list in one of her pockets,” Reyes shouted with a vague hand gesture towards Angela. “Everything that’s happened to her is written there.” Cole nodded once in acknowledgment. Though he wanted to look down at the small woman in his arms, reassure her that everything would be alright, he kept his eyes on the Reaper. “If I see you again, I’ll put a bullet in you.” It was another promise, one that he would be more than happy to keep. If he were able, he’d shoot him now and be done with it - but he had his hands full. “I deserve it,” Reyes agreed with a shrug, “but not for the reasons you think.” Cole felt Angela stiffen; clearly, there was something there. Hopefully, it was on the list Reyes mentioned. He’d hate to have to ask Angela about it after everything she’d been through. Reyes stepped backward, clearly done with their interaction. Cole took a step back too – and paused when one final question popped into his head. “Why’d you save her?” He shouted. Reyes stopped, head tilting as he considered Cole and his question. “Why did she save me?” Reyes called back. With that, Reyes turned his back entirely and walked away, confident that Cole would prioritize Angela over shooting him. It was hard to reconcile the image of the Reaper with the man Cole had once known. But it was obvious some part of Reyes was still alive; after all, the Reaper would never have allowed Cole – or any of the other remnants of Overwatch behind him – to leave unscathed. Still, Cole refused to turn his back to the clearing, even though it made his return trip much harder. However, before he had made it halfway back, Reinhardt had stomped forward to cover his retreat with his shield. Around that time, Reyes reached his vehicle; instead of climbing inside, he had turned to watch as Cole carried Angela away. The entire time Angela was a silent, shaking mass in his arms. “Thought I told you t’ wait on th’ ramp,” he grumbled as he turned his back on the clearing, trusting Reinhardt to protect them. Cole could feel Reyes’ eyes on his back as they moved further and further away. He didn’t look back at the monster from his past; the angel in his arms held all of his attention. “You are both too important to lose,” Reinhardt retorted. Cole shook his head before closing the remaining distance to the carrier. “Everythin’ alright, then?” Lena called from the pilot’s chair. Already she was flipping the switches that would get them into the air, even with the carrier door still closing. “We’ve got her,” Cole answered; he couldn’t say it was alright because the trembling woman in his arms clearly wasn’t. But, they had her back – and that was something, wasn’t it? They could call in people, and then she would be better. They could fix this. They would fix this. She deserved no less.

---

“This is normal?” Lena’s voice rose, practically to a shout. “Keep your voice down,” Cole growled with a meaningful glance towards Angela; Lena looked away guiltily, gnawing on one lip nervously. He knew he shouldn’t snap because it really didn’t matter how loudly they spoke. Angela had become unresponsive shortly after they had flown away from the clearing in Numbani. Even now, hours later in Watchpoint: Warsaw, she was still staring vacantly. “Yes, this,” he gestured towards Angela, “is normal.” Cole hadn’t needed Reyes’ list to tell him that this could happen. While he hadn’t dirtied his hands with torture – ‘interrogation’ – he’d seen the aftermath. “‘s a defense mechanism; she can’ be hurt if she ain’ here.” Considering what Angela had been through, he wasn’t surprised that she was protecting herself in the only way she had left. “But, she’s with us,” Lena protested, voice markedly quieter than previously. “We’re not gonna hurt her.” Cole shook his head, smiling mirthlessly. He wished he could have the same optimistic outlook, but life had been far kinder to Lena than it had been to him - or Angela. “You and I,” his hand shifted, pointing at first her then himself, “we know that. But Ange?” He looked over at the broken doctor sadly. “She doesn’ know it. Doesn’ believe it.” Cole sighed, one hand raking through his hair in absent frustration before fixing his hat. “It’ll be a long while before she recovers.” If she recovered, but Cole wasn’t willing to voice that aloud. Cole had read the list that Reyes had scrawled out, which detailed all the atrocities that Angela had been subjected to. Some were rather obvious - her malnutrition showed in her hollow cheeks and sunken eyes, the shattered knee in the various braces. Others were easy to see, if one knew where to look - the suicide attempt in the bandages on her arms, the scar at her lip proving her stubborn defiance. The worst, however, were the invisible wounds. Reyes had written a small paragraph instead of a bulleted list at the very bottom of the note. “I was the one who kidnapped her from Cairo and put her in chains. I’m the one that captured her after she managed to escape, and put scars into her arms and her heart when I put her back. I was the one that gave the order to escalate her torture, that made her into this. Angela knows who I am and how I have betrayed her. I don’t know if there is anything left of her to save after what’s been done to her - what I’ve done to her - but I know that you’ll protect her like I should have. -R” It had taken everything in him to keep from crumpling the letter or tearing it into pieces; despite his absolute rage at what was revealed, Cole knew that the doctor - who still hadn’t arrived - would need the information within it. He hadn’t told anyone else of its existence; they didn’t need to know the particulars of what she had gone through - hell, he didn’t need to know it either. But he had read it anyway. “Hey, Cassidy?” Lena’s voice was soft, almost tremulous. He glanced towards the younger woman, who was wringing her hands and fidgeting; even now, she was unable to keep still. “She’s gonna be alright, isn’t she? We weren’t, you know, too late?” Cassidy didn’t know how to answer that question. He could be honest or he could be optimistic, but he couldn’t be both. Cole was saved from answering by Angela as she shifted and gasped softly. Before Lena could do anything, Cole’s hand flew out and clamped down hard on her wrist. That she jerked against his grasp told him he had been right to grab her; Lena turned to look at him, mouth opening either in protest or in question, and he shook his head sharply. Once he was sure Lena wasn’t going to leap out of her seat, Cole released her and fully turned his attention to the blonde. He wasn’t sure if Angela had been looking around or not - his gaze had been on Lena during those first moments instead of Angela - but now she was staring at the two of them. Usually, he couldn’t read her emotions or thoughts on her face, but Angela’s terror was obvious even to him. “You’re safe, Ange,” Cole assured her after the silence between them had grown too long. He could practically feel Lena’s explosive energy next to him, but somehow the British woman managed to keep her seat. Angela’s wary eyes darted from him to Lena and back again. “Is - Is this -” Angela’s voice was hesitant and rough from abuse. “Are you - real?” Her voice broke then; the pure desolation made his heart ache for her. “We’re real, darlin’,” Cole assured her. In the silence, he nudged Lena’s leg with one booted foot. “Wha- oh, yeah! It’s all real, love.” Lena’s voice was chipper and bright, with barely a note of hesitation to betray her worry. “You’re with Overwatch.” Angela flinched then; Cole gritted his teeth as he forced himself not to imagine what had conditioned such a reaction in her - and found it impossible, considering the note he’d read. Lena glanced towards Cole, clearly unsure of how to act in the face of Angela’s fear. “Ange.” Cole leaned forward a little, bridging that small gap between them. He was gratified to see she didn’t react negatively to the movement; instead, she looked up towards his intense face with the barest hint of hope. “If you don’ wanna be with Overwatch,” he forced himself to ignore her wince, “you jus’ say the word an’ it’s done.” Lena made a small sound of protest, but he spoke before she could say anything. “I’ll take you anywhere you wanna go, darlin’. Whatever you want.” Cole knew that Overwatch was, probably, the safest place for Angela to be while she recovered - if she could recover. He knew that any decision she made now would be impaired by her trauma. Still, he would fight everyone - Winston, Lena, the UN - to take her wherever it was she’d feel safe. Angela’s eyes darted around; Cole wasn’t sure if she was looking for something in particular or if this was curiosity. He watched as her hands fisted and twisted her blankets, waiting for her to say something - anything. “I -” She pressed back into the pillow, glancing to the side and worrying at her scarred lip. “I don’t want to go back.” Her voice, barely audible, was small and sad. Cole wasn’t sure if she was referring to Overwatch or Talon, but, in the long run, it didn’t really matter to him; whatever happened next, Cole would make sure that Angela was safe and happy. “You won’t.” Lena piped up before Cole could assure the doctor. Obviously, she had interpreted Angela’s statement to be about Talon, but Cole wasn’t completely convinced. “We won’t let them take you, Dr. Ziegler, I promise. We’ll keep you safe.” Angela’s face crumpled then; she turned her head away quickly, but not before Cole saw the tears there. Were they from relief, at being safe from her tormentors? Or was it from grief, at the reminder that they should have kept her safe - and hadn’t? Slowly, cautiously, Cole reached out to touch one of her clenched hands. Angela jumped, recoiling from his hand as if it burned. Her head turned, wild eyes wide and bright, as she stared down at his fingers as if she’d never seen them before - like she hadn’t put him back together countless times. He pulled back slightly, giving her space while remaining close enough for her to reach out if she wanted. “We - I - failed you, Angela,” Cole said, voice low. “It won’t happen again. I swear it.” He could see the hope and despair - the disbelief and desperation - that was roiling within her as she continued to stare at his hand. After what felt like an eternity, Angela’s hand rose. Trembling, she reached out towards him - before flinching back and away again. Cole didn’t move, didn’t react in any way; Lena gasped, a small sound that seemed to roar in the small space. Angela reached out again, but this time she didn’t recoil. He remained unmoving as she touched his fingers tentatively, afraid that anything would scare her off again. When her hand curled around his in a weak grasp, head bowed as she trembled and shook, he allowed himself to gently tighten his fingers around hers. Maybe there was hope for her, after all.

You led me here, Then I watched you disappear. You left this emptiness inside And I can't turn back time - Never Be the Same [Red]

Act One | Act Two | Act Three | Act Four | Act Five | Act Six

This is, unfortunately, the end of Breaking [My Heart]. I do intend to continue this story in a second installment, but I haven't quite got it put together yet. I know what I want it to look like (mostly), but apparently writing requires you to actually write, annoyingly enough. Writing has become a challenge (again, ugh) due to real life getting in the way (again). I've been stressing about the business I own (US Tax preparation) while working as a manger at my mothers' trampoline park. Long hours have left me with little time to do pretty much anything that isn't eating or sleeping, and when I do try to write I just can't seem to get the words out. I hate that I have my unfinished work (Forged) that I just can't seem to close plus the recovery arc for Breaking [My Heart]. They're mostly outlined but, like I said earlier, writing requires writing and I can't seem to get the scenes out of my head and onto paper. I do have a few pieces that are written for my one-shot sets, The Healer, which I'll post sporadically (and, which will, hopefully bridge the gap until I can properly write again). I appreciate all of you that read my work and leave comments; truly, every time I see the notification I get super excited and I love that you feel strongly enough about my writing to tell me about it. I hope that I continue to produce work that you can enjoy! Feel free to reach out to me here. Until next time, stay happy and healthy!

Broken Chains

My heart’s an endless winter filled with rage I’m looking forward to forgetting yesterday - Cold [Five Finger Death Punch] Febuwhump Day 26: Recovery | Fandom: Overwatch (Pre-Fall) | Angela / Gabriel

AO3 | FF.net | Works

Angela was nearly certain it had been a week since that horrible day that they had ‘tried something different.’ She had stopped tracking the days, stopped counting the times they hurt her, tried to forget how they were hurting her. If only she could forget how they were hurting her. That second day - the second time they had used the table, had used her - she had fought, struggled, anything to escape. It had been laughably - they had actually laughed - easy for them to chain her down. Angela would have bruises, and some of her half-healed lashes had burst open, but it hadn’t stopped them for even a moment. Instead, it had just made everything far more painful. The speaker had expressed his disappointment - as if she had spilled juice on his favorite shirt rather than fight to escape their torture - that they hadn’t captured any of it on video. The next time, they had whipped her bloody and raw - and she had hoped, prayed, that they would stop there, that it had been enough. Of course, they hadn’t; instead, they had pressed her bloody and torn back to the table before hurting her further. It was then that Angela had stopped counting the days, had started actively seeking her death. She tried to force them to hurt her more, to push too far and break something fragile within her that couldn’t be put back together. When the others - the ones who didn’t expressly hurt her, but were the ones that cleaned her wounds and fed her - came to her, she had tried to avoid eating. Starvation was a slow killer, she knew, but at least it would kill her - free her - eventually. Not that they had allowed her even that choice. Overwatch - Jack, Gabriel - hadn’t capitulated, hadn’t even given her captors an inch. Not one person released, not one agent removed from the required bases, nothing. The speaker had taken great pleasure in informing her of that as they prepared for the next round of pain and horror. Angela had known they wouldn’t, had known they couldn’t, and yet now, almost a month later - or was it longer? - she wished they would compromise just once. Surely she had done enough - given enough - for that? Instead, her captors increased the pressure on her friends - the friends that had left her here, had watched what had been done to her and had abandoned her anyway - by slowly destroying her entire being.

---

Angela barely slept anymore; her nightmares, always present even before her chains, had somehow begun eclipsing her real-life torture. Instead, too tired to remain alert and too terrified to sleep, she slumped against her chains in a half-conscious state. The doorknob rattled, drawing her from her haze and into wide-eyed terror. They had already come for her today, had already hurt her - hadn’t they? It had to be the other ones, the ones that kept her alive only to be broken further. It had to be. The door opened and she inhaled sharply, unsure if she should be relieved or terrified. Genji, the man she had saved from certain death not even a year ago - or had it been? - stood framed within the doorway. She blinked, unsure if she was hallucinating, but he was still there. It didn’t make sense. If she were hallucinating, surely she would have imagined someone more appropriate - Gabriel or Jack, or even Cassidy - but Genji? But for him to be real made just as little sense. He hated her, hated what she had done to save him, and had made that no secret. That he would appear before her now, when she was at her most vulnerable, was no comfort at all. He said something, but she couldn’t hear it over her rapid breathing and pounding heartbeat. After a long moment - was she supposed to respond? - Genji shut the door, locked it, and quickly closed the distance between them to crouch before her. Trembling, Angela shrank back as far as her chains allowed, which wasn’t far at all, as he reached out. “Don’t—” Her eyes squeezed shut as she cringed away, expecting the worst because that’s what this room was. Because Genji would never save her, not after what she had done to him. Surely he was only here to add to her misery. “I am not here to harm you, Dr. Ziegler.” His voice was harsh, making it hard to believe the words. Not when he had locked the door; not when she was at his mercy, naked and chained and bleeding. After a long silence, he sighed, and then she flinched as his cold, metal hand touched her left wrist. He drew back for just a moment, and then he was fiddling with the manacle again. It took far longer than she had become accustomed to, but he eventually opened it. Before her arm could fall lifelessly to her side, his hand - this one warm and made of flesh - was there again to lower it carefully to her lap. Then she was hanging by her right arm in a way that should hurt - did hurt, but she had been through worse, so what did it matter? Instead, she peered up at him cautiously, confusion and despair warring with the beginnings of hope. As he was working on her right wrist, a piercing wail broke the silence between them. Angela jumped, eyes wide as she searched for the source. Genji cursed, her movements having knocked his hands away and forced him to start again. Before he could get very far, the doorknob began twisting and rattling. Instantly, Genji was on his feet. As she hung there, he drew the short sword at his waist and put himself between her and the door. The speaker burst through, a gun in hand, but drew up short when his eyes landed on Genji. “Who the hell are you?” Angela shook, ducking her head as she looked away from the men before her. She’d only heard that tone a handful of times - it never meant anything good for her. Genji remained silent, with nothing but the alarms to provide an answer. “I suppose it doesn’t really matter, does it?” The speaker said acerbically, and then there was a gunshot - loud and echoing - that had her head whipping up so fast that she swung slightly. Genji was still between the two of them, but he was now closer to the speaker than before. With quick, precise movements that Angela could barely follow, Genji disarmed the speaker and had him unconscious on the ground. All she could do was stare at the growing red stain on the speaker’s shoulder. Angela hadn’t realized Genji had returned to her side until his hand touched her wrist again - and she flinched so hard that she would have completely fallen over if not for the manacle. Her eyes tore away from the speaker to find Genji, who had pulled back and had his hands held before him carefully. “I did not mean to scare you, doctor.” Genji’s hands turned, the gesture suddenly changing from one of surrender to one of supplication. “Will you let me remove the chains?” Angela’s eyes darted back towards the speaker - how was he the one with a bullet wound? - before returning to Genji. Hesitantly, she nodded. Quickly, Genji began working at the cuff; she couldn’t help but allow herself to stare at the speaker again. After everything he had done to her, she had thought she would feel some sort of relief to see him hurt - or killed, though Angela could tell he was still alive at the moment. She just felt empty. “Hold on,” Genji murmured, drawing her attention only briefly. Then, he was catching her weight as she collapsed on herself. Angela couldn’t help the broken whimper or her flinching at his touch. As soon as she was steady, he released his hold on her. Angela watched him, trembling, as he moved towards the door once more. When had the door closed? It didn’t matter because he was yanking the door open, and for a moment, Angela was terrified that he was going to just leave her here. For all that she knew he hated her, he had at least removed some of her chains - had, somehow, shot the speaker without a gun. Before she could squeak out something desperate, a second man shoved past Genji and into the room. As he drew closer, Angela couldn’t settle on one emotion. Hope: that she was finally going to escape this room - and not through death? Anger: that they had taken so long, that so much had been taken from her? Shame: that, surely, Gabriel knew - had seen - what had happened to her. “God, Angela,” Gabriel exhaled, dropping to one knee before her. “G-Gabe—?” Angela choked out, one hand rising of its own volition. Before she could pull back, Gabriel caught it with his own - warm and real. She gasped, shuddering with tension and emotion, and clung to his hand like a lifeline. “It’s me, cariño,” he murmured, voice far kinder than this room deserved. “We’re getting you out.” With his free hand, Gabriel pulled out some cloth - seemingly from thin air, but he had to have a pack that she hadn’t noticed - to drape carefully over her shoulders, the movement made awkward as he could only use one hand. “I know, I’m sorry,” Gabriel murmured as she flinched. After a moment, her free hand rose to clutch the cloth closed around her chest, despite how it dragged at the wounds on her back. Cold fingers brushed her ankle, causing her to jump with a terrified noise. “It’s just Genji, Angela,” Gabriel soothed, his thumb rubbing against the back of her hand. “You’re safe now.” Her wide-eyes found Genji, who had come to crouch behind her to unlock the chains there. The ninja had stopped again, hands hovering as he waited her out. “Sorry,” she whispered, ducking her head as her fingers tugged the cloth even tighter around herself. Angela should have known it was him - his hand, if nothing else, should have given him away - but she couldn’t help herself. “Sor— Angela, you don’t have anything to apologize for,” Gabriel insisted, incredulous. “I’m the one who should be sorry.” Angela twitched at the reminder that she had been abandoned here for so long. “I am sorry, Angela - God, there aren’t words for how sorry I am.” He sighed, and even though she wasn’t looking at him, she knew he was running one hand over his head. “Not that it means a damn bit of good.” Silence descended, broken only by her shallow breaths and the soft clank of the metal chains. Gabriel clearly didn’t know what to say - or do, based on how he was hovering around her. Angela was so raw - in more ways than one - that she didn’t trust herself to say anything, so she just kept her eyes focused on her lap as she clutched at his hand and the cloth around her. “Done.” The chains were gone from her ankles. Despite their absence, Angela made no move to change her position, to get any kind of respite from the kneeling position she had spent so much time in, or to draw closer to Gabriel. “Secure the door,” Gabriel ordered the ninja. Angela watched Genji move away from the corner of her eyes; shuriken were in one hand as he slipped into the hallway. “Angela,” Gabriel hesitated before sighing. “I have to pick you up now, cariño.” Before she could protest, Gabriel scooped her off the ground and rose. Angela whimpered and shuddered as his arms brushed against her broken and battered skin, her whole body shaking in his hold. He remained still, murmuring soft words that she didn’t really hear - but there was no time for him to delay for longer than a moment or two. Gabriel was still murmuring as they followed after Genji. When they drew closer to the speaker - Angela had forgotten he was in the room with them - Gabriel slowed. Angela pressed against his chest, trying to put distance between herself and her tormentor, as she stared at the bloody man. “Cassidy,” Gabriel growled as they stepped into the hall; Angela was unsurprised to see the cowboy guarding the door, considering the other two that were here. They were a team, after all. “Get in there and grab that bastard, will you?” Angela tensed - she knew, from horrible experience, precisely what they were going to do to that man - but remained silent. It wasn’t like she couldn’t say he deserved it; not even she was that kindhearted. Instead, she pressed her cheek against Gabriel’s body armor and let him carry her out of hell.

---

“—ob, Jack - one job,” an angry voice growled, somewhere near her. “You’re acting like I meant for this to happen,” another voice snapped back. Before she could realize it was just Jack and Gabriel, arguing like they so often did since Ana’s death, she was pressed against the back of the bed. Her feet dug into the mattress, and her legs shook as she tried to make herself as small as possible. Wide-eyed, she stared at Jack and Gabriel - who were staring right back, their argument completely derailed now that she was awake. “I—” Angela licked her lips nervously, her eyes darting between the two men. She had half-convinced herself that her rescue had been a dream and that, when she finally awoke, she’d still be in chains. Angela still didn’t entirely believe that she wouldn’t. “You’re home, Angela,” Jack told her gently, when it was obvious that she didn’t actually have anything to say. Angela let her legs relax some - just enough to stop the shaking - and moved to wrap her arms around herself. The movement was stymied by the IV in her arm; Angela frowned and forced herself not to rip it out. She was cognizant enough to realize that she was in no position to be making medical decisions for herself. Now that she wasn’t blindly trying to escape, she realized that her back - her whole body - wasn’t in agony. Nothing hurt - at least, nothing physical. Her heartbeat was announced by an EKG machine, revealing her stress to the two men. “You’re safe,” he continued, clearly trying to fill the silence. Angela tensed, her eyes dropping to stare at her knees. She wasn't sure whether to scream or cry, to be angry or relieved, so she remained silent. “Ang—” Jack started, filling the silence again. “Jack.” Gabriel’s voice cut off whatever the blonde man was going to say to Angela’s relief. “Could you give us some space?” There was no trace of the antagonism that was usually present when he spoke to Jack; instead, Gabriel just sounded tired. “Please?” Angela hunched her shoulders, curling into herself some as she felt Jack’s eyes on her. After another tense silence - shorter this time - Jack sighed. “Alright. If you need anything, call me.” Angela was sure he was speaking to her, and she bit back her response. She had needed him weeks ago; now, he was far too late. After a pause - Jack clearly had expected some sort of answer - he quietly left the hospital room, the door closing softly behind him. Angela looked up at the sound, staring hard at the door. It was just a door, one she had probably seen a thousand times - and yet, she found herself struggling for breath. Her heart began to pound, her fingers curling in the sheets that covered her. “Angela?” Gabriel’s voice pulled her attention to the right, away from the dreadful door. “How can I help?” He was leaning forward, hands on his knees as he watched her. Her body hummed with tension as her eyes darted back to the door, unable to keep her eyes away for long. “The door?” His voice offered no judgment. She found herself nodding, a quick, jerky motion. “Alright.” Gabriel rose and crossed the small room to open the door. As soon as she could see the hallway, her shoulders relaxed. Once it was fully opened and he was moving back inside, she felt like she could breathe again. “Thank you,” Angela whispered as he sat in the chair closest to her bed. “You don’t have to thank me, Angela,” he replied, voice low. “I haven’t done anything to deserve it.” The derision in his voice was almost enough to pull her from her own malaise, to distract her from her own roiling emotions - but not quite. Because Angela couldn’t find it in herself to disagree with him, she remained silent as she turned her gaze back to the open door. Silence descended once more. “Do you want me to leave?” Gabriel asked some time later, when her heartbeat slowed and her muscles had loosened. Eyes wide, her eyes flew towards him; he was carefully not looking at her, but she could see the tension in his jaw and fisted hands. “No,” the word spilled out quickly, desperately. Even though she had been silent, incapable of finding words, Angela didn’t want to be by herself. She had spent far too many hours - long, painful hours - alone. “Please,” Angela continued, as if he had already begun walking out of the door, “don’t leave me.” “Alright,” the tension was gone as he turned his gaze on her once more. “I won’t go anywhere, Angela,” Gabriel assured her. Angela knew that wasn’t, strictly, true - he was the Commander of Blackwatch, after all. He would have to leave her eventually; his duty would force him to, just as it had forced them to leave her in that room. But for the moment, it was enough.

One | Two | Three | Four | Five

Some of y’all have probably seen me accidentally posting prompts over here [I see you guys liking them]. I’m actually posting them on a sub-account [alternate account? I’m still new to this tumblr thing] @promptsforbrighteye. I’m always flipping through for inspiration; if you see one that catches your eye, feel free to send it my way and I’ll see what I can do.

Self-Sacrifice

If I gave you the truth would it keep you alive? Though I’m closer to wrong, I’m no further than right. -Truth [Seether] Febuwhump Day 18: Alternate Prompt “Hostage” | Fandom: Overwatch (Pre-Fall) | Angela / Gabriel

AO3 | FF.net | Works

---

Less than two hours later, Angela was perched on a roof, waiting for the fighting to begin. It tried her patience, sitting and waiting for it to be safe to proceed while she knew people were dying, but she forced herself to remain where she was. It would be far more dangerous to those civilians if she drew the attention of their attackers. Twenty minutes later, she was carefully swooping down, her HUD having led her to the survivors. As Angela’s eyes swept the scene, she was grateful that she had convinced Jack. These people weren’t equipped to handle this type of damage - most of the uninjured were sitting in shock; Angela didn’t blame them, but she also knew she had to rally them. “I’m in position,” Angela reported quietly into the comm unit before striding into the mess of people to bark orders. Under her cool gaze and firm declarations, she managed to push people into action; some were to find supplies in the nearby ruins while others were directed to apply pressure to open wounds that Angela could see. Once she trusted that they wouldn’t fall back into their despair, Angela turned to the worst of the injured. Blood was everywhere on the woman, but Angela couldn’t find any debris in the wounds. “You,” she pointed at a nearby man with one bloody hand, “come here, please.” The man approached unsteadily, clearly uncomfortable with the gore before him - but she didn’t have time for his, or anyone else's, squeamishness. “Take this,” Angela ordered, offering her staff. Normally, she would never part with her staff - but there wasn’t anyone else here to help her, so she needed to adapt. Angela quickly instructed him on using the staff before directing him to use it on the woman. “If the wounds aren’t healing after a few minutes, let me know,” Angela told him; that would mean something else was wrong with the woman, which would require Angela’s direct attention. Once she was sure he was using it right, she moved to a nearby man who was almost as bloody as the woman she’d just left. Angela wasn’t sure how long she had worked - between her and the man with her staff, she had helped at least four or five people - when everyone around her went silent. “Well, well, what do we have here?” Fingers, red and sticky with blood, dropped to her blaster as she turned, wings flaring in a bid to protect and shelter those now behind her. It wasn’t hard for her to find the three armed men, weapons pointed threateningly at the surrounding civilians. “Now, doctor, don’t do anything stupid,” the one in the middle said, his words almost a taunt. “We wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt or anything.” The man to the left chuckled as he nudged a woman with the tip of his gun, causing her to whimper. “No,” Angela agreed, “we would not want that.” Slowly, Angela released her blaster and raised her hand to show her surrender. Her aim wasn’t good enough to take on three of them, even if she weren’t surrounded by noncombatants. “Is there anything I can do for you? Medical assistance, perhaps?” She offered, keeping her voice cool instead of desperate. Angela could hear the strike teams buzzing in her ear - none of them knew that she was in danger, and she had no way to tell them. “You know, Dr. Ziegler,” Angela stiffened at the use of her real name, “I think there is something you can do for us,” the leader said, lifting his assault rifle to rest on one shoulder casually. “You can come with us.” Angela’s eyes flashed; she knew better than to go anywhere with an enemy. “Or,” the man continued, “we can kill everyone here and take you with us.” He shrugged as if the choice didn’t really matter to him. “It’s your decision, doctor.” The man smirked, knowing he had her. “I’ll give you a minute to think about it.” As if she needed a minute. Angela hated that their assessments had been correct - the second response had been the target. Jack had known better and hadn’t wanted to risk her, but she had pushed. Angela had been right to come - these people would have died without her aid - but she was too valuable for Overwatch to lose. But what else could she do? Angela knew that she couldn’t fight off these men, couldn’t escape them before they caught her. Even if she called for help right now, she doubted any of the teams could reach her before these men killed everyone. All her resistance would do was cause every noncombatant in this room to die. “I will go with you,” Angela said, spreading her hands before her in surrender. “There is no need for violence.” The man smiled then, a horrible thing full of teeth and malice. “I appreciate your cooperation, doctor.” He looked her over quickly. “Get rid of the gun,” he ordered. Angela complied, slowly pulling out the blaster and crouching to set it on the ground. Before he could tell her where to send it, she kicked it backward - away from anyone who might use it. “The comm unit,” he added, once she had straightened. Angela hesitated for only a moment before reaching up with careful fingers; once she had it detached from her and out of her ear, she dropped it to the ground. “Don’t!” He yelled sharply as she moved to crush it. Angela lowered her foot back down slowly; she had hoped to signal her distress by killing her feed altogether - apparently, this man was wise to the trick. “You said you would cooperate, Dr. Ziegler,” the man chided, wagging one finger at her before turning to look at the man on his right. “Show Dr. Ziegler what happens when she doesn’t keep her word.” Before Angela could do anything - say anything - the man had whipped his gun up and killed one of the cowering men. “No!” Angela shrieked, stepping forward with one hand extended - but it was too late; the man was dead. “Stop, stop, I’m cooperating!” Angela forced her horror and nausea back - God, his death was her fault, if she hadn’t tried to be clever - and made herself appear calm, despite her outburst. She was Dr. Angela Ziegler, and she would not show weakness before these monsters. “I trust I’ve made my point,” the man said, and she nodded her head in a jerky movement. She had learned her lesson: to disobey was to risk the lives of those around her, those she was here to protect and save. “Good. Come here.” Angela kept her eyes firmly on the leader as she closed the distance between them with careful steps. As soon as she was within reach, the man wrapped one hand around her bicep in a cruel grip. Angela bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out. “Finish it,” he ordered, turning to drag Angela along behind him. “Wait, you said—” Angela’s eyes widened as gunfire and screams erupted behind her. It was then she struggled: she dug in her heels and tore at his hand. When that didn’t work, she loosened her knees and let herself drop into pure deadweight; that stalled him for a moment, but then he yanked her back to her feet. “You said you’d let them live!” The words were a mixture of hysteria, grief, and terror. “I surrendered!” That had been the deal: her life, her cooperation, for their lives. The mans’ grip tightened on her - something she hadn’t thought possible, considering how hard he had originally grabbed her - as he pulled her along, away from the blood-soaked room. “I lied, doctor.” The gunfire stopped, and then there was nothing but silence as Angela was dragged away. She forced back the tears that threatened to fall; she would not cry before this man - this monster - who had ordered the deaths of innocent people for no reason.

“Strike Commander!” Jack’s hand raised automatically at the call, activating the microphone almost before he realized it. “Strike Commander here. Report.” His voice was cool as he watched the cameras before him. “It’s Mercy, sir,” the voice continued, hesitating. Jack went cold as he leaned down to brace himself against his desk. “What’s happened to her?” That was the only reason the man would be hesitant in his report; no one liked to give bad news, after all. “I - I think she was taken, sir.” At least she wasn’t dead - but that wasn’t much consolation. “We, uh, we went to find her once the fighting was done. Her comm unit led us to - well, maybe you should see for yourself, sir.” Jack swallowed hard before accessing the agents’ camera. There was blood everywhere. Arcs of it had gone up the walls and dripped from the ceiling while more had pooled on the floor. Everywhere the agent turned was a dead person - men, women, and children; none were spared. Jack couldn’t see Angela among the dead - though he imagined the agent would have reported that immediately. “As you can see, sir, everyone is dead. We’ve recovered her effects,” the camera - the agent - turned so that Jack could see them. “Her staff, gun, and comm unit, sir.” They had been piled haphazardly on the ground in one of the few places that wasn’t dripping with blood. “Make sure you bring them back with you,” Jack ordered with a heavy heart. “Comb the area to see if you can find her - or any sign of her captors.” “Yes, Strike Commander.” Jack closed the feed and sat back in his chair. God, he did not want to make this next call - but it would be so much worse if he didn’t. Jack wished Ana were still here; she had been so much better at handling these kinds of situations. Resigned, Jack scooped up his communicator and dialed a familiar number. “Yeah?” Despite the situation, Jack rolled his eyes; of course, he would be greeted with sass. “Gabe,” Jack kept his voice sober instead of rising to the bait, “are you alone?” Jack knew that Gabriel wouldn’t want witnesses for this conversation. “I don’t have time for whatever this is,” Gabriel said instead, blowing off Jack as he so often did these days. “Gabe.” Jack snapped. “Make time. It’s about Angela.” Gabriel muttered a slew of curses. Jack wasn’t sure, but it sounded like he was walking down a hallway. A door slammed, and then: “Alright, I’m alone. What’s happened to Angela?” Gabriel demanded; while the two men were often at odds these days, they could always agree upon one thing: Angela’s safety. "She’s been taken.” Jack released a pent-up breath; for better or for worse, he’d said it. “I don’t know who took her, but they left her staff.” “You don’t—” Gabriel cut himself off with a frustrated sound. “Damn it, Jack!” There was a banging sound - Jack was pretty sure that was Gabriel slamming his fist into his desk. Silence fell between the two men. Jack didn’t have any words - he was responsible for Angela’s safety and had let her down; Gabriel, Jack knew, was far too angry and worried to speak. “I’ll find her, and I’ll get her back.” Gabriel finally announced. Jack nodded as if the other man could see him. “I swear to God, Jack, if she’s hurt because of this—” Gabriel didn’t finish the threat, but Jack didn’t really need him to. “Yeah,” Jack breathed, “I know.” The line went dead, and Jack set his communicator down on the desk again. He allowed himself a moment to sit, one hand covering his face, before forcing himself to his feet. There were things he - Overwatch - could do in the search for Angela. He just hoped they could find her before it was too late.

One | Two | Three | Four | Five

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.”

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

"I wish you'd told me it had gotten this bad."

"I wish you'd told me it had gotten this bad," Ruby said softly, resting her head on Amethyst's shoulder, arms around her torso.

"I- I'm fine," Amethyst replied, but she was fooling no one with her puffy red eyes and hoarse voice.

"No, you're not." Ruby sighed, pressing her forehead against the other girl. "Please, just tell me what I can do to help."

There was a long moment of silence before Amethyst gave a small shrug. "I don't know," she whispered brokenly. "Please, just stay with me?"

"Always," Ruby answered, pressing as close as she could, determined to not let go of Amethyst for as long as she could.