Angela Ziegler - Tumblr Posts

Breaking [My Heart]: Act V Preserving

"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!

I have nothing left to give, I have found the perfect end. - Dear Agony [Breaking Benjamin]

A pair of boots stomped towards her. After a moment, she was dumped unceremoniously on the ground; she whimpered as her knee struck the concrete and she sprawled out. Angela looked up quickly, though, for the food and water they always placed out for her. She didn’t want them to force it upon her because she was too slow. Instead of sustenance, she was yanked up onto her knees by the man. She struggled weakly, trying to take the pressure off her broken knee, but it was a wasted effort. The constant grinding noise turned off – perhaps for their sanity because it certainly wasn’t for hers. Panting, she wondered what new hell they had in store for her. The man restraining her yanked her head back from its bowed position as two other men came into the room. There were always three when they interrogated her. The distinctive sound of a pistol slide racking filled the silent room. Finally. They were finally going to put her out of her misery. Relief filled her, chasing away the pain from her knee and the lasting agony that her body was always in. She had won. They had decided to cut their losses and get rid of her. The gunman moved forward and slammed the barrel of the pistol against her head hard. If it weren’t for the restrainer gripping her hair tightly, her head would have been shoved aside. With the brace, she imagined there would be a nasty bruise. But what did bruises matter when she would be dead soon? “This is your last chance.” The third man spoke – of the trio, he was the only one who ever spoke to her. “Answer the questions, or you will die.” He thought it was a threat, but, in reality, it was the sweetest promise she had ever heard. An escape from this? He couldn’t have better guaranteed her continued silence. “Who will answer the recall?” It always started there – with the questions he understood. While he had gotten better at asking the more technical questions, she knew he still had absolutely no idea what he was saying. “Lena Oxton?” Silence. “Victor Daigneau?” Angela focused her gaze on the pistol, on the promise. “Torbjörn Lindholm?” The names brought a flicker of something – guilt? Shame? Grief? – she wasn’t sure. If she died here, what would happen to the ones she left behind? What would happen when they found her broken body wherever Talon dumped her – if Talon dumped her? But they hadn’t found her, hadn’t saved her from this room. All she wanted was out. The pistol was removed, and she nearly cried for the loss of that gift. Then it was slamming back into her, startling a cry out of her. Blood filled her mouth as her teeth tore into her lip. “Where will they go, now that they have cleared out Watchpoint: Gibraltar?” She kept silent. Angela hadn’t even known they had left that Watchpoint until he told her just now. How would she know where they went? She had loved it when she visited that Watchpoint. Oh, her purpose was nearly always for something horrible – usually an emergency surgery or a response to a strike injury – but those brief periods before she left? It was beautiful there; it was unfortunate that Overwatch – this new, rough version of it – had given it up. Angela wished she had gone out to visit Winston more, regretted that she hadn’t seen it in years. She’d always thought there was more time. More time to create and heal, to fix the broken of the world. More time to see her friends; there was always next year, after all – until next year didn’t come. Angela really should have known better. “Perhaps, Dr. Ziegler, you do not believe we will kill you.” Oh, no – quite the opposite. She was praying for it. Even with the misgivings that were rising, tickling at the back of her mind, she wanted it. Death was the only escape left for her. The gun was pulled away again as the gunman pointed it towards the far wall. The gunshot was far too loud for the space, leaving her ears ringing and her eyes watering. She had dealt with death all her life. First, her parents had died in the Omnic Crisis. Next, she had chosen her path as a doctor – before, during, and after Overwatch. Then again, when she had served in the field as a combat medic. Finally, when she had been locked into this room. She had faced her mortality often with Overwatch, and less so since the fall. Angela had been forced to realize it again upon her capture: now, death was a certainty instead of a distant possibility. She wasn’t afraid to die; she had come to terms with that days – weeks? Time was a blur here – ago. Death was easy – but living? Living was hard, especially here. Faintly, she heard the slide being racked again before the warm barrel was pressed against her temple again. Angela heard the speaker demand something, but she couldn’t understand the words over the ringing of the gunshot and the rushing of her blood. The barrel dug into her temple harder; the question repeated as she tried to focus. “Last chance, doctor.” The speaker growled. “Explain how your nanites give you the ability to replicate the DNA and RNA in others.” It had been her crowning achievement: unlike Jack and Gabriel, whose bodies had been modified to regenerate from most wounds slowly, her nanites also allowed her to heal the bodies of others if she chose. Apparently, it was also part of how Gabriel was still alive. Angela gritted her teeth. She would stay silent; it was all she had left. Her chin lifted defiantly. She didn’t know if it was resolution or defeat that fueled her as she stared defiantly up at the speaker. All she knew was that this was the last stand for Mercy, her final act. The speaker nodded at the gunman. The barrel pressed into her temple painfully, and then the trigger was pulled. Click. Angela sucked in a shaky breath as her heart skipped a beat before pounding painfully, head dropping limply as her restrainer released her head. She should be dead. They were going to kill her – there was a bullet in there; they proved it – she had made her peace – they put a gun to her head – she was supposed to be dead. Hard, cruel hands grabbed her face, fingers pressing too hard on her cheeks and forcing her head back until it was painful. “Did you honestly think we would let you go so easily?” The taunting whisper wrapped around her heart and squeezed until she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. She was supposed to be free. Free of the pain and anguish that had been her life since she had been taken from Cairo. It was supposed to be an escape, a relief – and now it was more agonizing than her shattered knee. They were supposed to kill her. She had been ready, more than ready – she had given up entirely, was prepared to abandon her cause and all those she protected. And they let her live. How was she supposed to continue living after that? How could she live with herself? Angela was breathing too fast, her eyes unseeing as she stared up at nothing. She barely felt it when both men released her, allowing her to slump sideways to the floor into the ever-present puddle. For once, they didn’t douse her with water before they left – not that she was in any state to have noticed one way or the other.

---

She had no idea how long she had laid there. They hadn’t brought her food, nor had they thrown water on her. Angela had just sprawled there, body aching from the awkward, twisted position she had fallen in – but she couldn’t seem to muster the energy to move. To do anything more than breathe. Angela wished her one of her friends would come to her, would tell her she would be alright – that she was strong – but none had appeared. Why would they? They had abandoned her as she had abandoned them; she couldn’t blame them for that. Without a thought for the consequences, she had prayed for death. All she wanted was for the pain – all-encompassing and ever-present – to stop. Angela wasn’t strong like this, didn’t want to be strong like this. She wasn’t Jack or Cole or Reinhardt. She wasn’t Ana. She was just Angela. Wait. When had she stopped being Dr. Ziegler – being Mercy? When had she become ‘just’ Angela? Did it matter when Dr. Ziegler was dead, and all that was left behind was the soft, emotional parts that were Angela? ‘Easy’ wasn’t in Dr. Ziegler’s vocabulary. She had never backed down from a fight, never given an inch when she knew she was in the right – no matter how hard, Dr. Ziegler did what she believed was best. Just because it was easy didn’t make it right; that had been one of her favorite quotes. But easy, oh – ‘easy’ was in Angela’s vocabulary. Easy was what Angela was good at. She was all too willing to let her emotions overwhelm her, to let her feelings blind her. She felt too much, remembered too much, and shook from the weight of it all. If it hadn’t been for the cold, hard parts that were Dr. Ziegler, Angela never could have survived Ana’s death, Jack’s death, Gabr- She couldn’t finish that line of thought, not here and now. It was Angela who was left quivering in this room; Dr. Ziegler was killed when they pulled that trigger. With her had gone her support – because they didn’t support Angela. She was useless, nothing – it should have been Angela that had died instead of Dr. Ziegler. Angela wept, curled there on the ground. Grieved for everything she had lost – her dignity, her strength, her self, but not her life. Sobbed for those she had betrayed and abandoned, for whom she bled in this bright, loud room. Without the strength of Dr. Ziegler and the resolve of Mercy, without the support of her friends, Angela didn’t know how she would survive the next time those men came to her. She didn’t know if she could take their abuse and remain silent, to keep the oath that had been sworn by someone stronger, better.

The mission had been an utter failure. Gabriel didn’t care about how the mission went, though it frustrated him that it had been a waste of his time. Time away from the base, from watching Angela and trying to figure out what – if anything – he would do. Once they landed, he had stalked through the base until he was looking in on Angela, drawn like a moth to a flame. She looked hollow – like a shell of herself. Angela wasn’t being worked on right now, wasn’t even hanging from the chains. She was limp, staring blankly up at the ceiling. She didn’t seem to care that the way she was lying left most of her body on display to the window he was looking through. Before he had left, she had been willing to spend the energy to turn her back; now, she was no longer willing – or able – to make such an effort. What had been done to her that had destroyed that? Gabriel was familiar with torture; he knew there was plenty that would make her look and act like this. He had known it was only a matter of time before they broke her, shattered like a glass thrown to the floor. But after her stubborn refusal to bend, her defiance despite the excruciating pain she was experiencing, he had thought she wouldn’t break. Had thought she could pull off one last miracle. Foolish. The Reaper was a walking testament to the curse that was Angela’s ‘miracles.’ Disgusted, Gabriel spun away and went to his office. He would see what they had done, how she had been broken. He would read the reports and see what her progress was – and what was still yet to come.

---

“Yeah, boss?” He hated the thought of asking anyone for help, but there was no way around it. Sombra was the electronic security in this base; if he wanted to get out, he needed her on his side. He was taking a risk by coming to her, but she had seemed sympathetic towards the doctor the last time they had been in the observation room. “We need to talk.” The woman was practically hanging on her doorknob, hazel eyes peering up at him as she kept her body – and the door – between him and her sanctum. Frustration crossed her face as she stepped out fully, arms crossing. “Is it about the mission? ’Cause, seriously, I’ve only apologized like – a thousand times. I scr-” Gabriel held up a clawed hand, trying to stop her before she started into an unstoppable tirade. “Here.” He offered her a page. Scrawled on it was a request for a secure space to speak – he knew she had to have a place where no one could watch what she got into. He was pretty sure it was behind that door, but he’d been wrong before. Sombra read the paper, taking far too long for the handful of words that had been written there, before looking up at him with one eyebrow raised. He crossed his arms in return, glaring down at her from behind his mask. “Fine.” Sombra sighed, making a big show of rolling her eyes and tossing her arms dramatically. “No es como si tuviera algo mejor que hacer, 1” she muttered irritably as she turned back into her room. Gabriel followed, closing the door behind them. He had never seen this room, but he honestly couldn’t say he was surprised by most of what was in here. Tucked in a corner was an untidy bed with what looked like a handheld computer – or maybe a video game device – left carelessly on top of a pillow and a stuffed animal peeking out from under the blanket. One door, farther in, was left slightly ajar to show a closet filled with clothes of all colors: for a woman built around stealth, she certainly had a vibrant selection. Most of the room, however, was taken up by screens of all sizes. There were news stations from across the world, what looked like the stock market, the security feeds for the base, and screens of various lines of text that Gabriel couldn’t discern in the few seconds he could see them. Sombra hit a few buttons, darkening all of the screens, before turning to lean against her impressively large desk. “So.” Sombra gestured vaguely with one hand. “You wanted to talk.” She fixed him with a look. “Talk.” Gabriel stepped farther into the room, worried about someone overhearing from the hall. “It’s secure?” He growled. He hadn’t seen her do anything, but maybe she always hid what she was doing in this room. There weren’t cameras, of course, but he was almost positive that every room was littered with microphones to catch precisely the kind of thing he was trying to talk about. “Of course it’s secure.” She rolled her eyes before turning to drop into a rolling chair. One leg hooked over the other as she leaned back with her arms crossed once more. “Who do you take me for?” Gabriel sighed. “Fine.” Here it was, his last chance to back out. The opportunity to stop before this foolhardy plan got him – or her – killed. Did he really want to do this? Risk his life for the woman that he had condemned? Who feared him? Who might not even be alive – not in the way it mattered – anymore? Gabriel wanted it; guilt and shame for the promises he had broken and the pain Angela had experienced drove him to save whatever was left of her. He couldn’t make it right – nothing could ever make what he had done right – but he could try to make it better. The Reaper thought it was foolish; they were burning bridges over the woman that had cursed them? She didn’t deserve rescue after everything she had done to them. But, he had come to realize, there was no pleasure in her torture – there was nothing but apathy and a growing stress from the parts that were Gabriel. Gabriel was as important, as intrinsic, to their consciousness as the Reaper was. His cool head tempered the hazy bloodlust; Gabriel was the tactician, and the Reaper was the soldier. They were a team – for better or for worse. To keep Gabriel, Angela had to be saved – so that was what they would do. “I want to get Angela out.” There was no going back now; the words couldn’t be unsaid. Sombra made an incredulous noise. “What happened to ‘she deserves it’?” Sombra lowered her voice on the quote in a mockery of his own. “What happened to the cold-hearted bastard that put her in there, twice?” He crossed the space to thrust another set of papers at her. “This.” Sombra took the papers. She read through them far more quickly than she had his one-line note – she never missed a chance to let a person squirm. Sombra flipped through them, paling slightly once she got to the last page. When she looked back up at him, however, she was completely cool again. “When is this supposed to happen?” She gestured down at the final page. The first pages had been what Angela had been through in the past week, culminating with the threat of her execution yesterday. They’d been in once since then, but she had been so unresponsive that they had spent barely any time with her. However, that final page detailed the tentative timeline of interrogation and the tools and methods to be used in each session. The next few days were littered with what had become her usual – drowning and whipping and burning – assuming that they would find her responsive. There was a note, ended with a question mark, about using a gun again; that, it seemed, was still undecided. If it were anyone else, Gabriel would have told them to use it. He knew that they, too, would come to that conclusion in time – when it came to their trade, they were experts after all. Towards the middle of the following week, they planned to escalate again if she still refused to break. They hadn’t decided which method they would go to next: rape or dismemberment. Either was horrific – would be just as devastating as the mock execution she had experienced. He didn’t think Angela would survive either of them. Gabriel wasn’t sure she had survived the last one. “Wednesday. Thursday, at the latest – as long as they keep to that schedule.” Sometimes plans were moved up – or pushed back. These reports weren’t set in stone by any means; they were more like a guide and a way to cover their asses should an interrogation end badly. Sombra read over the page again, as if a closer look would change the text. Then, she looked up at him once more. “You sure you want to do this?” Gabriel had seen the look on her face before she had hidden it away; Sombra wanted Angela out, too. This woman, who had seen the worst that humanity had to offer to use as blackmail, didn’t want Angela to die, either. “I’m sure.” If he – they – didn’t act now, there would be nothing left of Angela to save. “Alright then.” Sombra nodded after a moment, offering the papers back to him. “Take this,” she held out a comm unit, “and get out. I need to get some things together.” Gabriel hesitated for only a moment before accepting the papers and comm; there was no going back now. He had preparations of his own that needed to be made. At least, with Sombra on his side, he didn’t have to worry as much about being watched.

---

With the little comm unit she had given him – plus some help from her while she was invisible – she had walked Gabriel through the setup of what would ‘disable’ the cameras and hide their escape for as long as possible. Honestly, it would be Sombra that would take care of the security, but – since she wasn’t quite ready to leave Talon – they had to make it look like it was all him. Most of it was familiar – he’d run plenty of covert ops both with Blackwatch and Talon – but having Sombra tell him where everything was made things run more smoothly. He’d gone into the city of Oasis itself to steal supplies. They were mostly medical in nature, since stealing from the infirmary would be nearly impossible, but he had also gathered some food and clothing. They’d need more, but they would at least have something for the immediate days after the escape. Sombra told him she was trying to find them a secure place for Angela to recover until Overwatch could be reached, but she wasn’t sure she could arrange it before he escaped with the doctor. Gabriel had to plan to steal a form of transportation – he couldn’t exactly sneak onto a bus or get a taxi with a bloody woman, after all – and figure out where to lay low. Talon would come after him, after her. Angela was marked for death, had been marked since he had placed her in that cell. Once he took her, he would become a target, too. Gabriel wasn’t sure he could be killed, but he knew Talon would try. With Moira to help them, perhaps they would even be successful. “Here you go, boss.” Sombra had appeared in the door of his office, a stack of papers in her hands. “I know, I know; I should have had this done days ago.” She offered them over. He reached out and found something hard underneath the paper; carefully, he accepted it all, mindful of the security he was trying to avoid. “See ya later.” Sombra had wiggled her fingers at him and strutted out the door, giving no sign that she was up to anything. He palmed the item and tucked it into a pocket without looking at it; if Sombra thought it should be hidden, he’d keep it that way. The second page of her report had been a scrawled explanation. The comm unit would only work while he was in the base – once they were out, she wouldn’t be able to use that to reach him without the frequency being compromised. Instead, Sombra had procured a burner phone. He needed to always keep it on; once she had a safe house, she could call him with further instructions. She also wrote that he owed her, big, for the risks she was taking for him. He had known there would be a price for her help – blackmail and extortion was what she was known for, after all. Gabriel didn’t care. He’d pay whatever price it was that Sombra demanded of him if it would get Angela out of this base. But he knew that his debt wasn’t her real goal: no, that was just a bonus. She wanted Angela out, too. He had seen her face when she’d watched the interrogation and after she had read the reports; she was doing this for Angela. It made no sense. Sombra had never met Angela, had never even seen her until the doctor was bound in chains. Sombra always twisted a situation to benefit herself – it was how she had bounced from Los Muertos to Talon, after all – with minimal, if any, regards to others. Despite those facts, Sombra was willing to risk her position here with Talon to help the doctor escape. Gabriel had a hard time believing that Sombra was doing this purely out of the goodness of her heart. Perhaps she wanted the doctor in her debt – having a world-renowned doctor in her corner was nothing to sneeze at. And, even now, with the shadow of Overwatch dogging her heels and making her life difficult, Angela was still one of the best doctors in the world. When she couldn’t continue her research, when working in a hospital was not enough, she had returned to her calling as a combat medic and emergency responder. Angela had waded into war-torn countries and disaster zones without regard for her own safety, healing anything she could. It hadn’t mattered what side the injured was on; she simply put them back together because that was what she did best. It had been that altruism, mixed with her prodigal skills and sterling reputation, that had kept her safe until now. Yes, a debt from Dr. Angela Ziegler, the woman who could actually defy death, would be no small thing. Even knowing that Sombra was on their side – for whatever reasons – he hesitated to let her dictate where they went. Gabriel wasn’t sure that he had much choice in the matter, though. His nearest safe house was in Turkey, almost a thousand miles away. The Oasis base had been his safe house for this country – one of many things that would change in the coming days. And it wasn’t like he could just book a hotel room or take Angela into a hospital. They had to find a place to lie low, where Talon couldn’t find them, while Gabriel found a way to contact Overwatch. He had a few ideas of where they may have gone, but that would take far more travel than Angela could take. She was too injured – too traumatized, broken – to be dragged across the globe on an international goose chase by the monstrous Reaper. Instead, he’d have to contact them and arrange a meeting to return her to them for safekeeping. Until that time, he’d be forced to keep them on the move – somehow – while he tried to keep her alive. Gabriel wasn’t sure if he’d ever been given a more impossible task.

---

Now that he had decided, he was impatient for action. He’d gone to the nearby airport and had stolen a car from the long-term parking lot. With Sombra’s help, he hadn’t even needed to break anything; he simply used the little gadget she had provided, and the locks just popped open. Then he had gathered and packed supplies, tucking them in the stolen vehicle. He’d filled and repacked a small bag of absolute essentials – this would be the pack he carried with him through the entire escape. If, for whatever reason, he couldn’t reach the stolen car, they would still have some supplies. They had decided that Sunday – today – would be the day he would break her out. A strike team was leaving this afternoon, and Angela would be worked on in the early evening. While Gabriel hated the thought of her experiencing more torture, he had to wait until shortly after they finished with her. By waiting until after they were done, he reduced the chances of her absence being immediately noticed – and with the strike team reducing the number of staff wandering around, it further reduced those chances. Gabriel only hoped it wouldn’t be too late. The comm unit was in place, hidden by the hood and mask he always wore. He had nowhere on his person to conceal the small pack of supplies, so he was putting off heading towards the armory – and his weapons, which would be necessary – until the last possible moment. Then, it was time. Equipped with his shotguns, ammo tucked in the various pockets and pouches built for that express purpose, Gabriel strode through the halls of the Oasis base for what would probably be the last time. With Sombra whispering in his ear, it hadn’t been hard to avoid detection – especially when he used the same stairwell that Angela had used in her failed escape attempt. This was when the challenge would truly begin. He had a device in his pocket, one fashioned by Sombra, that was supposed to ‘affect’ the cameras and keep him from being seen by whoever else was monitoring the security feeds. Sombra had assured him that she would take care of that – but he only had her word that they would be taken care of. It could be an elaborate setup. Alone, the Reaper would be hard to capture – but carrying Angela? Gabriel wouldn’t be able to use his shadow form to escape bullets and travel through small spaces. This would be the best chance at neutralizing him unless he chose to drop and abandon her. He had already done that once. Gabriel wasn’t planning to do it again. Squaring his shoulders, he let himself into her cell. For better or for worse, he had made his choice.

Footsteps. One pair. The last time there had been one pair of footsteps, they had killed her – yet left her breathing, hollow. She couldn’t, she couldn’t, do that again. She was barely hanging on as it was; that would break her, she knew it. Hadn’t they hurt her enough for one day? She was still dripping with blood and water from their treatment. They had broken her knee again, and the agony was still making her nauseous. She hadn’t been given enough time to recover – which, Angela dimly realized, was precisely the point. She couldn’t break. That was a promise made by the woman they had killed. It was an impossibly heavy burden, dropped upon her because there was no one left, and Angela was left staggering and stumbling under its weight. They deserved better than her, but she was all that remained. It had taken every ragged piece of her to keep from cracking. Oh, she wanted to break – to spill every secret and truth that they wanted. It would be so easy. Angela wanted easy, craved easy. And yet, every time the words were on the tip of her tongue, she somehow managed to swallow them down. Now they were back. Maybe this time, they would kill her, just as they had killed Dr. Ziegler. Her body might remain, but everything they ever wanted would be out of their reach for good. She would be out of their reach for good. The chains rattled. Just before the release that always dropped her painfully to the ground, an arm wrapped around her torso. It pulled her close and supported her weight, disregarding the blood that streaked her skin. The intimacy – and pain – made her shudder. This had never happened before – it wasn’t efficient, nor did it further their goal of making her miserable. “I’ve got you, cariño.” Her breath caught, chest seizing painfully as her entire body tensed. They had sent the Reaper to hurt her, to try to rip the answers from her throat. There was no way – none – that she could hold her ground, not when it was against him. Even knowing that he wasn’t Gabriel, it would still utterly destroy her. He was going to break her. She was going to fail. The Reaper released the chains and her body slumped, utterly reliant on his strength to hold her upright. With it went her tension: now Angela was shaking again, terrified of what he was going to do with her. She couldn’t catch her breath – why was it suddenly so hard to breathe? – as he held her confidently with one arm. “It’s alright, Angela,” he shushed her, trying and failing to sound reassuring, before carefully lowering her to the ground away from the puddle of blood and water at their feet. Crouching, he supported her weight against his chest – the familiarity of it made her eyes well up with tears. She looked around the room, searching for something – anything. A friendly face that would help her get through whatever this was. One of her interrogators, the ones who had taken such pleasure in her pain. Any kind of explanation for what was happening. All she found were the mocking blank walls of her cage, blurred by the water in her eyes. He shook out some dark cloth – his jacket, the one that she had always seen the Reaper wearing – before gently pulling it onto her naked flesh. It was still warm and had a smoky musk that almost hid the familiar scent of leather and sandalwood. The Reaper was careful of his claws as he tugged the jacket over her shaking, uncooperative arms. “I’m getting you out of here.” The Reaper murmured. Angela choked; there was no way she could believe that. She refused to believe it. After everything that had happened to her – after he had put her here – Angela couldn’t dare to. How could she believe that he was Gabriel, that he wasn’t the Reaper? How could she believe that he’d had a change of heart? This was cruel, even for him. “This will hurt, cariño,” he rumbled, one clawed hand hovering over her destroyed knee in explanation. Of course it would hurt. His very presence hurt. Knowing that Gabriel was so close, yet so terribly far away, was almost physically painful. Then he was hoisting her up, one arm hooked under her knees and the other at her shoulders just under her arms. It hurt – oh, it hurt – and she couldn’t help the agonized whimper that escaped. “I know, I know.” The Reaper made the low, shushing noise again as he rose, shifting her so that her head rested against his body armor instead of hanging loosely off to the side. “I’m sorry, Angela. Hold on for me.” Confidently, he carried her straight out of the room and into the hallway she had seen only once. There was no one out here, just like the time she had escaped. Maybe that wasn’t unusual? Perhaps it was just her down here, so they weren’t worried about an escape – after all, how could she go anywhere with her knee broken as it was? Who would ever expect one of their own – the Reaper, of all people – to rescue her? No. Impossible. There was no way this was real; this was a dream – a dream – and any moment, her captors would throw that horribly cold water over her and yank it away. They never let her sleep for long, denying her even that small escape. But if she was asleep, why did it hurt? Her shattered knee was screaming, her bloody and torn back was aching, and her heart was breaking – if this were a dream, surely she wouldn’t feel this way. How could a dream be so painful? “Status?” The Reaper murmured, pulling her out of her distracted thoughts. Angela glanced up towards his mask in confusion – what in the world was he asking for? Before she could decide if she would break her silence and ask, he turned to the left. “The stairs, then.” His steps were measured as he kept his arms steady, trying to minimize the jostling of her body. It didn’t stop the tears from springing and rolling down her cheeks to dampen his armor and the jacket he’d so gently wrapped her in. She stared at the ceiling, letting it blur as he carried her along. Angela didn’t believe this was a rescue. Couldn’t – because if she did, and it was a lie, she would shatter into a million pieces. Hope no longer existed in her world: all that was left was pure cynicism and despair. He was taking her somewhere else; that much was true. She was sure the next place he put her would be much worse – somehow – than the room he had just pulled her from. The thought made her trembling begin again – or maybe she hadn’t stopped. Angela wasn’t sure. So much was happening that it was hard to keep track. Perhaps it was just worse now, because even her teeth were chattering now from the terror. “Angela.” They had stopped. When had he stopped moving? His mask was canted down towards her. “Angela, I know it’s a lot – but I need you to be quiet now. Just for a few minutes.” Quiet? She wasn’t – suddenly she was aware of the soft keening noise coming from her throat, the sound a mixture of her terror and pain. Angela had no idea how long she had been making the noise, but now that she was aware, she did her best to silence it. Angela didn’t know why she had obeyed the order. He was her enemy, no matter what he might say. This wasn’t an escape – it was a trick – and she was just playing into his game. And yet, she had choked the sound off as quickly as he had pointed it out; was it from pride? Or did some small part of her believe this lie? “Yes, just like that, cariño.” The endearment ripped at her heart. He must have seen the pain that flashed across her face – he knew her far too well – because his grip tightened slightly as he looked away. “We’ll be out soon.” They were still motionless, waiting in the stairwell. Why weren’t they moving? Did it matter? The longer they were here in this stairwell, the less time she would spend in whatever new hell they had created. Angela greatly preferred being in his arms – being held with a terrible gentleness, as if he were afraid his touch would break her further – than being strung up in chains. At some point, she had relaxed, her traitorous body leaning into his familiar warmth. It was hard to remember he was her enemy when she was pressed against him like this. And he was her enemy, she reminded herself sternly. He was just taking her somewhere else to be hurt. Dressing it up as an escape would make it hurt that much more when this trip ended in chains once more. Despite knowing all of this, Angela knew that the betrayal – was it a betrayal if he was her enemy? – would rip her to pieces again. She didn’t know if her heart, her soul, could survive a third time. Suddenly, they were moving again. The Reaper pushed the door open, and then they were hurrying down the hallway – in the opposite direction that she had chosen during her escape attempt. Angela wasn’t sure where they had to go, but they hadn’t gotten far before the Reaper tensed. Then, ahead, a door opened for a pair of two men. Angela tensed, too – this must be where he was taking her. That hadn’t taken long at all. She didn’t recognize the men, but that didn’t matter. Anyone in this place was her enemy and would hurt her. The Reaper hesitated for a brief moment – Angela couldn’t understand why. After all, this was what his plan was the whole time. Make her think she was safe only to rip it away once more. It would hurt, but why did that matter? That was the point. Pain was the only constant in her life anymore. Squaring his shoulders, fingers tight on her flesh, the Reaper kept walking as he shushed her under his breath. The men were chatting amicably until they realized there was someone else in the hall; when they saw the Reaper’s mask, they paled. If even his own men were terrified of him, how could she be safe in his arms? Then, they noticed her, bundled up in his grasp. They glanced at each other before one seemed to gather some sort of courage. “What’s going on?” So this was the game. They were going to play along, make her think this was real. Angela wouldn’t let herself fall for it. She would remain silent – she had to give him the same treatment she had given her previous interrogators. She couldn’t give him a single word. If she did, he would break her, and Angela would fail her friends. “The council is not pleased with the lack of results.” The Reaper growled. Angela tried to shrink, make herself smaller and hide in the fabric, as if it would help protect her from what would come next. Just because she expected pain didn’t mean she wanted it. All it did was make her body ache more, and she choked on a groan. His fingers squeezed briefly – in what, comfort? – as he continued speaking to the guards. “We are moving her to a different base, to more... capable hands.” “I – I didn’t hear about a transfer.” The guard blustered. Her eyes, strained as they were from the blinding lights, couldn’t tell that they were acting. Their reactions were good – but she knew better. Her eyes skimmed away again, searching as they always did for a friend, but they were still avoiding her. “I didn’t realize the council answered to you.” Angela snapped back to the conversation as the guard flushed. “Now, get out of my way.” After another moment of hesitation, the guards stepped aside and watched them pass. Angela stared past the bone-white mask to the ceiling above once more, trying to forget who was carrying her – and where she was surely going to end up. “Can you stop it?” The Reaper demanded suddenly, startling Angela, and she tensed again as her eyes went wide. Stop what? What was she doing? “Not you, Angela,” he murmured before his attention was drawn elsewhere. “Fuck!” The angry curse had her curling into herself again, and he shook his head. “Fine.” Angela had lost track of where they were, of how many turns and doors they had gone through. It all blurred, white walls and white ceilings, until suddenly there was wind on her face and stars in the sky. It was so dark. She couldn’t see anything. How could the Reaper keep walking so confidently? Angela shrank into him, eyes wide as she tried to make out their surroundings. It was impossible. It sounded like they were outside, but she couldn’t see – could they simulate the outdoors in a room? Probably. It was dark, dark, dark – how would she see her friends, see anything in this darkness? “Shh, cariño, not yet.” The Reaper said absently, drawing her attention back down to herself. The darkness had evoked terrified whimpers, and she tried to choke them off now. It was hard when she was so afraid, when it was so dark – but she tried. Angela turned and pressed her face against his body armor in an attempt to stifle the sounds. Angela had mostly gotten control of herself when an alarm began blaring. “Mierda.” The Reaper muttered, breaking into a run. He had just ducked around a corner when a gunshot pierced the night, startling a strangled scream from her throat. That had sounded close. The Reaper shushed her as he kept moving. “Sombra?” His voice was tight with stress. Angela had no idea what a ‘Sombra’ was, so all she could do was press her face against his chest, eyes squeezed tight. Angela shouldn’t feel such desperate hope – she wanted this to be real – but it was there, flickering in her heart again. Suddenly he lunged into a doorway as a second gunshot echoed around them. Angela was wide-eyed and shaking, fingers curled in the cloth so tightly that they were going numb. Those shots sounded real, even if she knew they were fake – just like the bullet meant for her had been fake. The Reaper held her tighter; while the claws didn’t pierce her skin, she was confident there would be bruises left behind – though she doubted they would be discernable through all the rest. Then he was moving them again, muttering about a spider as they went. The escape became disjointed for a short time – she couldn’t see anything except in short bursts when light appeared. All she could do was listen to his panting breaths and pounding heart as he carried her through the night. They darted along, rarely pausing or slowing as he took her away. Eventually, they reached an area with more light, though he kept them in the shadows still. The sounds of people surrounded them, and she tensed. Who were they? Were these the people that had been chasing them, shooting at them? Was it time for the lie to end? The Reaper didn’t stop, didn’t bother to attempt to silence her terrified noises any longer; either it didn’t matter, or he was giving up on the effort. Lights pierced and passed by her eyes occasionally, until she finally gave up on looking around and just pressed her face against the Reaper and squeezed her eyes shut. She hated how familiar this felt. It wasn’t much longer after that that the Reaper was laying her down on something soft. Her eyes opened again, confused. There was a little light so that she could make out her space. This was a vehicle – he was putting her in a car. Why were they in a car? He arranged her limbs so that she was tucked in fully before slinging something into the foot space next to her. Then he leaned in and grabbed a strap. “I’m not going to hurt you, Angela.” He soothed when she tried to scramble back, whimpering and shaking in terror and pain. Here it was; this was where it would start. “It’s to keep you safe while I drive.” No, that was not what those were for. Restraints held you in place, kept you weak and trapped while others hurt you. He didn’t give her much choice, though – of course he wouldn’t – as he clipped her into place. “It’ll be alright, cariño, you’ll see.” Then he was pulling away, slamming something – a door, the car door – that made everything jostle and shake briefly. After a few moments, where he muttered to himself where she couldn’t hear, he climbed into the seat before her. Wordlessly, he shifted the rearview mirror to see her before turning the vehicle on and driving off into the night. If this was a dream, Angela hoped she never woke up.

Gabriel glanced up at the mirror again at Angela, checking to make sure she was alright – or, rather, as alright as she could be. He needed to find a place to pull over and dress her wounds, but putting distance between them and Talon was a higher priority. Sombra had run interference as much as possible, but unless she had wanted to give herself away – which she did not – she’d had to cooperate with them as they had searched. If it hadn’t been for Sombra, though, he’d have been shot by Widowmaker before they had escaped the base. He had destroyed the earpiece before climbing into the vehicle. The only electronic he’d brought along was the phone Sombra had given him. Gabriel had asked Sombra to check him for any tracking devices, anything at all that might lead them to wherever it was they escaped to; surprisingly, there were none – or she was lying. Either way, they were as safe as possible at the moment. They had been on the road for maybe fifteen minutes. Angela had managed to fall into some semblance of sleep a few minutes back. A sharp blade of guilt twisted in Gabriel’s heart as he realized that the warmth of the car, the relative softness of the seat beneath her, and his jacket wrapped carefully around her, she was the most comfortable she’d been in the past month. Gabriel kept glancing in the side mirrors, worried that they might be being followed and keeping an eye out for any low-flying aircraft. The car hit something – a pothole, probably – that rattled the vehicle with a loud thunk. It was then that Angela came shrieking back to life, startling him badly enough that he almost wrecked the vehicle. He forced his eyes to remain on the road as he pulled over. Then, after they were safely stopped, he allowed himself to turn and look at the broken angel in the backseat. “Angela,” he crooned, making no move to reach out and touch her – even though he wanted to. No, Angela wouldn’t welcome the Reaper’s touch. “Angela, you’re alright. Come back, cariño.” He knew the bump couldn’t have been pleasant on her wounds, and the sound would have been jarring, but he hadn’t expected her to lose it like this. Then again, she had been tortured for over a month; he shouldn’t expect anything. She had probably been in the middle of a nightmare – if he coupled that with new, terrifying sensations and the Reaper hovering over her, he couldn’t really be surprised. Her screams had died out relatively quickly, for which he was grateful; it was far too loud for the confined space. Her eyes, however, were still glazed and unseeing. It took several precious minutes before she pulled herself back from wherever she had gone. He knew he shouldn’t have waited – Talon was searching – but he wanted to make sure she was alright before they continued along the road. “Are you still with me?” He asked once her eyes came into focus. Angela glanced around the car with confusion, as if she had forgotten where she was. Her gaze cut across him as she investigated the space before jolting back to his mask, eyes wary and body tense. “Are you still with me?” Gabriel repeated patiently. She worried at her lip, clearly considering something, before finally taking a steadying breath. “I am.” Her voice was rough and quiet, even for how close they were. “For now.” The response gave him a small amount of hope. Maybe he hadn’t broken her completely beyond repair. His eyes swept over her one more time before nodding and turning back to the steering wheel. “Good.” Gabriel pulled back onto the road. “I’ll find somewhere for us to hide soon; just hang in there a little longer for me, alright?” He wasn’t exactly sure where this hiding spot would be, but he knew that he had to find something soon. Angela needed to be taken care of before he could try to get them to any of his hiding spots. He had a safe house in Medina, but that would be nearly a full day of travel – not possible for them right now. So, he had followed a more reasonable path and drove them south towards Hillah, hoping to throw off their searchers. North held the relative anonymity of Baghdad and the remnants of Overwatch; hopefully, that was the direction Talon had headed in their search. Eventually, he would have to take them north towards Europe, but it was safer to travel south for now. Between his need to keep from drawing any attention to them and Angela’s fitful sleeping, it took nearly an hour to reach the city. It had left her bleeding longer than he had liked, but there wasn’t anything he could do for it. At least his jacket – and the car seat – would help staunch some of the bleeding. After a little searching, Gabriel found a rundown office building, clearly closed based on the plywood over the windows and chains on the door. He circled the building and parked behind it in an alley in an effort to keep them hidden. As soon as the car stopped moving, Angela’s eyes flew open again. At least this time, she wasn’t yelling. “Angela?” Gabriel asked cautiously, trying to gauge her stability. He needed her relatively cooperative to take care of her; this area wasn’t so deserted that her screams would go unnoticed, but it was the best he could find on short notice. She blinked before turning to look at him, some life in her eyes. “Are you with me?” Angela looked around the vehicle, searching as she often did, before returning to him. Hesitantly, she licked her lips and ducked her head. “I am.” He wondered if it was a mechanical response, one so ingrained that she couldn’t help the answer, or a chosen one. “For now.” She shivered despite the heaters he had turned on, tucking herself further into his jacket. Gabriel frowned behind the mask; she shouldn’t be cold. “I’ll be right back.” He promised her before slipping out of the car. Gabriel wasn’t terribly worried about her managing an escape, not now; she was too tired and they had just shattered her knee again hours previously; he hated that his waiting had let her be hurt so badly again. In a week – if they were still together in a week – he would have his hands full in keeping her from running. Instead, he turned his attention to the building. Gabriel made quick work of the door, breaking the chain and busting the lock to let himself in. It wasn’t the best space – dust and dead bugs littered the floor – but they only needed it for a few hours. At least the single bathroom had running water, which was more than the car had. Satisfied, Gabriel returned to the vehicle, briefly pausing at the driver’s door to turn it off and glance at the woman in the backseat. Angela hadn’t moved from her prone position on the seat; he wondered if she had tried to move at all or if she had just remained lifeless the entire time. With a sigh, he opened the back door. The broken woman jumped, blank eyes focusing on him. As he leaned in to release the seat belts that held her in place, she made a small noise of fear and cringed again. “It’s alright, Angela.” Gabriel wondered how many times he would say that phrase – and if she would ever believe it. “I’ve found us a place to hide for a few hours.” Ignoring the way she recoiled from him, he carefully removed the straps and grabbed the pack he’d slung into the foot space. It had everything he needed for her immediate treatment. “I’m going to pick you up – it will hurt your knee.” Gabriel didn’t know how much she was comprehending at this moment, but hopefully, by explaining himself, she wouldn’t begin screaming again. The Reaper thought it was foolish; just get the task done already because they were wasting time. Then, he leaned in and carefully levered her out of the space. Fortunately, she didn’t scream, but she did whimper lowly as he led them away from the car. Once inside, he hauled her into the bathroom and set her upright on the small counter inside. He left his hands hovering around her, worried she would slump and fall off it entirely. After everything she had been through and the wounds still on her body, he wouldn’t blame her for being weak. He was surprised she was staying upright at all. There had been stains on the seat where she had lain, proving that she had at least bled enough to seep through the thick cloth of his jacket. While it wasn’t completely worrying – she had her nanites and had experienced worse, after all – he still wanted to treat them. It would, at the very least, make them both more comfortable. “Will you let me look at your back?” Angela tensed at the request, pulling the jacket tighter around her. “Look,” he opened the pack to show her the gauze and ointment within, “it’s not a trick.” He held it within her reach, so she could poke through it and see it was just standard medical supplies – items she was familiar with – but she simply looked down at the bag with hollow eyes. “Mi corazón, please.” It was a low blow. He knew it even as the endearment passed his lips. The Reaper was taut with impatience, itching to tear it from her so they could keep moving, but Gabriel refused; as much as possible, he wanted her willing. They had taken too much from her already. Angela shivered and looked away, staring at the far wall instead of towards him or the supplies. After a long silence, one that Gabriel worried he would have to break again, she finally sighed and let the jacket go in submission. Angela had a resigned, faraway look as she stared at anything but him. It wasn’t the best response, but at least it was something, right? Gabriel carefully tugged his gloves off – the claws would do him no good here – to reveal his scarred, ashen hands. Angela didn’t look down as he carefully peeled the jacket from her body, doing his best to keep from hurting her as it stuck to the open wounds. He let the cloth pool at her hips as he assessed her back. There was so much damage that he wasn’t sure where to start – he wasn’t the doctor in this room. Then again, at this moment, neither was she. Still, he had made his choice; he would be whatever Angela needed him to be. Gabriel grabbed some gauze and wet it so he could clean the wounds as best he could. She shuddered and shivered at the cool cloth, wincing and flinching away when Gabriel touched a particularly sensitive spot, but she remained silent. A quick look showed that her face was deathly pale, defeated eyes staring straight ahead as she bit her lip so hard, he worried she would bite through; based on the blood and scabs at her mouth, she’d already done so at least once in the recent past. He wanted to say something to fill the silence, but what was there to say? That he was sorry? That he shouldn’t have broken the only promise that had ever truly mattered? That he should never have taken her, should never have put her in that room? There were no comforting things he could say to her, nothing he could say to her after everything she had gone through because of him. It was clear, by the way she shrank away and couldn’t bear to even look at him, that she wanted nothing to do with him – and he couldn’t blame her. But he was all she had. It took time and a lot of water to clean the gore from her body. The front had been the hardest. He had moved to stand before her, gauze damp with water and blood in his hand, and she had flinched away so hard he’d had to catch her before she completely fell off the counter. While one hand braced her, the other had carefully swabbed at her stomach and breasts. Every flinch and shudder was a dagger in his heart, but he welcomed the pain – he deserved this and more. Finally, he practically bathed her in the ointment that – according to the packaging – was supposed to help fight infection and reduce pain and inflammation. He doubted that it would do much good for her, considering all the open flesh, but it couldn’t hurt, could it? The Reaper thought it was a wasted effort; her nanites were going to heal her anyway, so what was the point? Angela had stopped flinching by then; the far away, glazed look was back. Gabriel hated that look, hated that she felt the need for escape, but it was a welcome respite as he wiped the ointment across her wounds and wrapped the bandages around her. By the time he was done, her entire torso from breasts to hips was wrapped in layers of gauze. He’d run out of bandages then – he’d underestimated the amount he’d need – and was forced to leave her bloody and burned legs unwrapped. At least he had been able to clean them, and they were beginning to scab over; hopefully, after a few days of rest, most of them would be healed enough that movement wouldn’t break them open again. If she were lucky, these, at least, wouldn’t join the scars that were already scattered across her body. “Angela?” Gabriel asked quietly as he packed away what little was left. He had wanted to feed her as well, but he’d worried she would choke herself out of terror while he was working. Now, with her gone for however long she chose, it would have to wait. She’d spent plenty of time hungry, but he had hoped to end that now. Instead, he tugged out a new set of fabric – a green, button-up dress that he had snagged from some store. It wasn’t much, but it would cover her and probably give her some sense of security. It was uncomfortable, dressing her when she was staring vacantly at nothing, but he slid her limp arms into the sleeves and made quick work of the buttons. Work complete, he slung the pack over his shoulder and lifted Angela up once more. He watched her face, wondering if the pain from this movement would bring her back, but she was still gone. Shaking his head, he carried her back out into the night. This time, he set her in the passenger seat – reclined slightly so she could lay more comfortably – and buckled her in. Out of the pack came a protein bar and a water bottle, which he set in the center console for whenever she returned. They had a long drive ahead of them; hopefully, they could make it before Talon found them.

---

Angela returned hours later, long after the sun had peaked over the horizon. She had shifted, the movement pulling his attention from the road momentarily, before looking around the car with that same curious look she’d had before. He kept quiet, letting her get her bearings in peace. Finally, once Angela went still again, hands twisted in the soft, green cloth, he reached for the protein bar between them. She flinched, proving that – even though her eyes were downcast and her face was angled away – she was intensely focused on him. It was an effort to keep driving safely while ripping the package open – he should have opened it before driving – but he managed. “Here,” he offered, extending the opened package towards her. “I know you’re hungry.” It wasn’t much, but it wasn’t like they had a lot of options. “You’ll want to eat it slowly; there’s water, too.” Angela stared at the food for a long, considering moment before reaching out with a trembling hand. Once she had it, she fell onto it ravenously – unsurprising, despite his warning. He should have known better: they had trained her to eat quickly or suffer consequences. “Slowly, Angela.” He snapped in hopes that she would slow down; no such luck there. The bar was gone in less than a minute, leaving her picking at the crumbs on the dress and inside the packaging. Hopefully, she wouldn’t be sick. Gabriel left the water bottle, also unopened, where it sat. He doubted she had the strength to open it as she was now, and he wanted to let her stomach settle before adding anything else to it. Angela didn’t seem to notice the water right now, though he’d mentioned it, which made the denial that much easier. Once she was finished getting every bit of sustenance from the package, she crumpled it in her hand. She turned her attention to the window, watching the trees pass by; Gabriel got the impression that she was more trying to not look at him than to look at the scenery. Her entire body was tense, hands balled into fists in her lap and jaw clenched. That was fine, he told himself. They didn’t have to talk, didn’t have to say anything except for what was necessary to keep her safe and – relatively – healthy.

“Yeah, Sombra?” He demanded, angry. Baptiste hadn’t expected to hear from her, not after his request for a favor had gone south. Despite trying to warn Dr. Ziegler, she had still been captured. He was positive it was Talon that had taken her; he had just found proof that she was a target only a week before she had been kidnapped. He had called Sombra when the news had broke, but she had ignored him. That had solidified his beliefs; why would his friend – and they were friends – ignore him unless she had information she didn’t want to share? She was prideful, after all. To have been beaten to the punch must have stung. With his knowledge, he had gone to the Rialto base to stake it out and search for clues. Baptiste would have shared the information, but he wasn’t sure who to trust. There were so many organizations trying to find the doctor – but he knew that Talon had eyes and ears everywhere. He didn’t want the doctor to be put into more danger than necessary – nor did he want a target on his back while he searched. “Hey, mijo,” Sombra’s typically boisterous voice was subdued, as if she were trying not to be overheard. “So, about that favor...” Baptiste rolled his eyes, ducking back and away from where his stakeout position. He wouldn’t be able to focus on the task while talking to her. “I thought you were going to warn her.” Baptiste accused. “I know Talon has her.” He just hadn’t figured out where they had her. There were so many bases scattered across the globe; Rialto just happened to be the one closest to him. He’d hoped to pull the information from one of the higher-ranking agents, but he’d had no luck there – and now Talon was aware of his presence. “I tried, mijo, honestly.” She defended, indignant. “It’s not my fault the doctora didn’t take my warning seriously.” Baptiste knew that Sombra was a liar – one of the best, really – but he didn’t think she was lying to him now. He sighed, deflating. “Do you know where she is, then?” Baptiste barely knew the doctor – they had only worked together the one time in Venezuela – but he knew she was a good person that deserved saving. She was the type of person the world needed: a brilliant doctor with a literal healing touch. If he could, he would help her. “Even better,” Sombra confided, voice now sly, “I know where she’s going.” Baptiste knew, then, that she had helped the doctor escape; despite failing the first time, Sombra had tried to fulfill her promise differently. It seemed she had been successful. “Currently, she’s heading out to Medina, Iraq.” “Currently?” Baptiste echoed. “Yeah – the Reaper has a hiding spot out there; I doubt he knows I know about it.” Of course, she knew about it; Sombra found out everything about everyone. It was what made her so scary – and why he had asked her to warn Dr. Ziegler. If anyone could have found and reached her, it would have been Sombra. But – “The Reaper?” Absolutely no way. That man was death. He didn’t take prisoners, didn’t take anything except blood. He was one of the most – if not the most – dangerous men in Talon – and Sombra wanted him to believe that he had broken Dr. Ziegler out? “I know, right?” She chuckled. “But yeah, he’s got her. Talon’s not happy; they’re looking all over for them. I doubt he’ll stay in Medina long – he’ll probably try to reach out to Overwatch here soon – but... the doctora was in pretty bad shape.” Unsurprising, but chilling nonetheless. He’d never seen the results of torture personally, but he’d done some digging about it during his medical career in preparation for the potential inevitability. “I’ll help her. Medina, you said?” Baptiste was already trying to figure out how he was going to get to Iraq with any kind of swiftness. “I said Medina, currently.” Sombra corrected. “I’m calling in some favors; they’ll be in Numbani before the end of the day.” She sounded very confident – she must have excellent intelligence on whoever she was calling. Not only to complete a transport within the next – he glanced at his watch – sixteen hours, but to also keep quiet about who they were transporting. “Get to the airport; I’ve got transportation for you, too.” Baptiste scoffed. “You could have just led with that, you know.” He told her, moving to pack up his survey site. He’d go back to his tiny hotel room and pack. When he arrived in Numbani, he’d get supplies to treat the doctor. “Where’s the fun in that?” Sombra asked, and he chuckled. “I won’t make them wait too long.” The doctor needed him, after all. If he didn’t need to erase his presence in Rialto, to keep Talon from finding out it was him, he’d just leave his luggage behind. “Take care, mijo.” “Yeah, you too.”

---

Sombra took hiding in plain sight to a whole different level. It was eight stories off the ground and required a passcode to enter, which had surprised him considering most bolt holes were hidden. Baptiste shook his head and began setting up the apartment for the injured doctor. Foolishly, he hadn’t asked Sombra about Dr. Ziegler’s wounds, so he’d had to guess at what he would need. Mostly, Baptiste had gotten a lot of gauze with a sprinkling of other items. He’d have to get more supplies after he assessed his patient. Maybe, if he were lucky, the Reaper would be cooperative and get the supplies for him while he worked. It would be the most efficient use of their time – but cooperative wasn’t a word generally associated with the Reaper. Then again, this entire situation wasn’t something that would be associated with the Reaper – unless, of course, the Reaper was the one doing the hunting. Baptiste was pulled out of his musing by the Reaper storming into the small apartment with Dr. Ziegler cradled carefully in his arms. The sight was absolutely disconcerting and left him staring. “Well?” The Reaper demanded impatiently. Baptiste shook off the feeling; he could be weirded out by the Reaper’s apparent change – discovery? – of heart later. Right now, there was the injured doctor to tend to. He cleared his throat. “You can put her on the bed,” he explained, gesturing towards the appropriate door. The Reaper turned and stalked through it, leaving Baptiste to trail behind him. Baptiste watched as the Reaper gently laid out the doctor, taking special care with her left knee; Baptiste eyed it critically. It was black and terribly swollen – considering where she had been, it was probably broken. As the Reaper stepped away to loom against the far wall with his arms crossed, Baptiste took his place at Dr. Ziegler’s side. “Dr. Ziegler?” Baptiste asked, trying to catch her gaze. It was impossible – she was staring blankly up at the ceiling; Baptiste couldn’t even tell if she’d heard him. He glanced back towards the Reaper. “Is this normal?” Did she have a head wound, or was this psychological? There were bruises and cuts on her face, so it could be either. “Yes.” The Reaper bit out. That wasn’t a good sign, but he wasn’t sure there was anything he could do about that. He checked her head over but couldn’t find any external sign of major trauma. She had a bruised cheek, and her lip was scarred and bloody where she had bitten through it, but there was nothing that would explain the doctor’s current mental absence. He’d tried to shoo the Reaper out then, for Dr. Ziegler’s propriety, but the man had just growled at him. Baptiste, realizing it was a fight he wouldn’t win, turned back to his task. It wasn’t long before he had set her green dress aside and cut the gauze away. Baptiste inhaled sharply, horrified at the sight. “Do you know what they did?” He asked, barely keeping his voice steady as he carefully began cleaning out the wounds. Baptiste hadn’t realized how emaciated she was when she’d been bundled up in the Reaper’s arms, but laid out like this, it was obvious. He could make out her ribs under the cuts and bruises, her cheeks hollow, and eyes sunken. They’d starved her, probably dehydrated her too – he would have to figure out a way to combat those safely. Across her thin form were relatively fresh black-purple bruises mixed with healing yellow-green scattered across her body. There were gashes torn haphazardly across her flesh with no apparent pattern or reason. He hoped the majority – all, really, but he wasn’t that lucky – of her wounds were external, because he had no way to assess internal trauma here. “The better question is: what didn’t they do.” The man replied after a long moment. Baptiste’s hands paused then, just for a moment, as he looked down at the poor, broken woman on the bed. “I got her out before they could rape her,” the Reaper continued, voice deadly and cold, “but she suffered plenty of other abuse.” What a horrible silver lining, Baptiste thought. It didn’t take long to clean the wounds – surprisingly, the Reaper had done a decent job there. Baptiste followed the lines of red to her legs, finding burns among the gashes. He frowned; that would make wrapping the cuts harder since the burns needed to breathe. Some looked old and scarred, but a few were fresh and bubbling with blisters. Still, he worked his way down – and looked at the bottoms of her feet when prompted by the Reaper. He hadn’t realized that would be a target, too. The burns there were all old, but he noted them – he would need to get burn cream for all these wounds. Then Baptiste shifted her so he could see her back. Or rather, couldn’t. “What...” It seemed that her body was healing faster, here – but the wounds were still terrible. Strips of dead flesh hung raggedly along the streaks of red scabs; some were bleeding from his jostling. “I told you: she suffered.” The Reaper growled. Baptiste nodded jerkily; he had been warned, but nothing could have prepared him for this. Baptiste supported the woman carefully, considering how to best treat her back. He worried about damaging her knee further Baptiste wasn’t a doctor that knew how to put such delicate parts back together. Hell, he wasn’t a doctor at all – he was a combat medic. Still, he had a job to do. After a moment, Baptiste rolled her onto her stomach so that he could see her back entirely. The Reaper had cleaned these wounds, too. All he needed to do was remove the dead skin. Then, he was propping her up so he could slather ointment across her chest and back before wrapping her back up with gauze. The entire time, Baptiste could feel the heavy gaze of the Reaper, watching to make sure he didn’t hurt the doctor any further. It was one of the most stressful treatments he had ever administered – and he had worked in war zones. “There,” he said, sitting back with a stretch. He had treated Dr. Ziegler to the best of his ability with what supplies he had, and she was now bandaged and dressed once more. Having seen her, he had a better idea of what other things they would need. She had remained still and vacant the entire time; it was only her shallow breaths and faint pulse that had convinced Baptiste she was still alive at times. He wasn’t a psychologist of any kind, but he knew that this couldn’t be good. “How is she?” The Reaper demanded, moving away from the wall to hover over the bed on the opposite side. If Baptiste didn’t know better – and hell, apparently he didn’t considering the situation – he’d say the man looked worried, which was impossible because he was wearing a mask and body armor. “Physically?” Baptiste gestured broadly towards Dr. Ziegler’s body. “She’s healing – she’s gonna be fine. I don’t know about her knee – she needs a real doctor for that, but I’ll get a brace or something for it – but everything else?” He sighed. “Dr. Ziegler will have scars, but the gashes should be healed by the end of the week.” Baptiste had once been envious of her nanite technology and her accelerated healing, but now – seeing this – he wasn’t jealous at all. Those nanites had kept her alive, but at what cost? “Mentally? I don’t know, man.” Baptiste sighed. “I don’t know if it’s a head wound or if it’s something else; I don’t deal with that kind of stuff.” He was used to gunshot wounds and field amputations – torture was a little out of his depth. Generally, he was only with his patients for a short time, then he never saw them again; long-term care wasn’t exactly his forte. “It’s not a head wound.” The Reaper informed him. Baptiste glanced up at him curiously, but if anyone would know, it would be him. “Then I really can’t help with that.” The Reaper turned his gaze onto him then, and Baptiste could feel the baleful glare coming from behind the mask. “Man, don’t give me that look,” he said, holding his hands up defensively. “If I could help her, I would. I need more supplies to help get her physically healthy, but I can’t do anything about her mind.” The Reaper huffed. “Go get whatever she needs.” The Reaper ordered eventually. Baptiste turned away to hide his eye roll. He wandered off to the bathroom to wash his hands and then headed towards the exit, leaving the supplies strewn about – he’d need them soon enough. “No, no, don’t thank me,” he muttered as he closed the front door behind him, not daring to say anything where the Reaper could hear him. “It’s not like I flew halfway across the world or anything.” He’d have come to help Dr. Ziegler anyway, but the Reaper could be a little more grateful, couldn’t he? Then again, he was the Reaper.

All I have is one last chance, I won't turn my back on you. Take my hand, drag me down; If you fall then I will too. And I can't save what's left of you. - Without You [Breaking Benjamin]

1It’s not like I have anything better to do.

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

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.

AO3 | FF.net | Works | Pandora Playlist

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!

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I’m afraid I’m gonna die down here I can’t save, I can’t save myself Get me out, get me out of Hell I’m suffocating waiting for you - Out of Hell [Skillet] Summer of Whump 10: Trapped | Fandom: Overwatch (Pre-Fall) | Angela / Gabriel TW: Injury, Child Death

AO3 | FF.net | Works

Angela woke to pain and screaming. Blearily, she tried to figure out what was happening. Something was screaming, a discordant, high pitched noise that made her head pound and stab with pain. Then there was a man yelling, possibly words, but she couldn’t quite focus on the sound to determine what he was saying over the wailing. There was a weight, just shy of painful in places, all over and around her body. Her whole body hurt, and for some reason that struck her as wrong. She shouldn’t hurt. Angela tried to move her arms, to push herself up so she could properly look at the children – why were there children? She didn’t have children – and found she was unable to. Angela was trapped under rubble, braced on arms and knees. She was surrounded, physically incapable of moving. There was pain – why was there pain? And then – why would pain be surprising? While her body was frozen, tightly cocooned by the debris surrounding her, she found her head could move, but only a little. The debris around her made it difficult to do anything, and when she did move her head, it sent spikes of pain and waves of dizziness through her. The feeling was temporary but disconcerting all the same. Steeling herself, Angela shifted her head so she could look around at the claustrophobic space. A faint glow from above her provided enough illumination to see the blood splattered and oozing around her. It made sense that there would be blood, considering how horrible she was feeling. With some straining, she could just peer down at the children that were underneath her. There was a red faced, wailing toddler and a silent baby in a bag. That the baby was silent wasn’t right, but she wasn’t sure why at this moment. Maybe if everything would just be quiet, she could get her thoughts in order. The most pressing of the noise was the child, whose shrieks were only worsening the pain in her head. Angela tried to smile down at the toddler, but her mouth didn’t feel right. She probed at the inside of her mouth and found it swollen; that would make her task all that more difficult. “It – It’s alright.” Angela murmured brokenly down to the girl. She wasn’t sure if it was intelligible through the swelling, but the tone was right at least. “Doc!” The man was back, his voice a shout in her ear. She winced at the sudden noise. “Ya with me, doc?” Angela wasn’t sure how to answer that question, so she settled for an affirmative noise. She smiled down at the child, trying to get her to stop crying - to get the noise to stop. “We’re lookin’ for ya right now, don’t you worry. We’ll have you out fast as lightnin’, you’ll see.” She hoped that meant quickly, because she had a sinking feeling that time was not on her side in this hole. “Wha–” Angela coughed, wincing at the flare of pain the action sent through her. “What happened?” There was a moment of silence on the other side, and Angela wasn’t sure if it was out of surprise or if it was because the man was trying to figure out how to explain her situation. She took that time to coo down at the child, ignoring the rasp of her throat as she tried to soothe the girl. Something must have worked, because the toddlers’ cries slowed before stopping altogether. “You were up in a buildin’, lookin’ for people. It came down, and you were inside o’ it.” Right. Italy. It was coming back, slowly. Leaving Zürich the day before, climbing through buildings, operating through the night. “Must’ve hit your head pretty bad there, doc.” It would explain the headache she was nursing and how off she was feeling. “It’s bad.” Angela agreed. It took her a few tries to get the words out coherently; something must have hit her face when she fell – no, landed. Nothing had hit her when she was falling. She closed her eyes and tried to remember what had happened. The man tried to speak, but she silenced him with a noise; she needed to gather herself before she could give him anything. She just had to think for a minute.

---

Angela blinked. There were people above her. She could hear voices, swearing and yelling at each other in various languages. What– Right. Italy. Collapsed building. They were working on getting her out; if she could just hold on, it would be alright. “Cas – Cassidy?” She coughed out, forgetting that her mouth was swollen and words were hard to form. It didn’t matter if the name was understandable or not, though; her voice had gained her instant attention from the cowboy. “Welcome back, doc.” There was relief in his voice. “Ya with me this time?” What an odd turn of phrase. “Yes?” Angela managed to make the word a question; talking was hard enough as it was. If she could avoid the extra effort of elaborating, she was going to. “Y’been in and out for a while.” That wasn’t a terribly good sign, even if it was an expected one. She had fallen eight stories. Cassidy continued when it was obvious that she wasn’t going to say anything. “Lieutenants’ here, helpin’ us dig. Captain sent us a guy t’fix ya, a Rem-somethin’?” Remington. Good. There was no one else she could think of that had more experience at triage care than he was. If anyone could get her extracted, it would be him. “How’s it lookin’ down there?” Now that he had mentioned it, there was quite a bit of blood shining in the glow of her wings. Angela had noticed it before, but now it had more meaning. Some was dripping from her chin, while more had oozed from the rubble pinning her left arm. Angela craned her neck down, as much as she was able anyway, to see if there was any problems she might be able to spot. She couldn’t see much of her body, but there was blood there, between the children’s feet and where she knew her knees were. The suit was doing an excellent job of keeping her coherent, even if she was still dazed, but it did nothing to help her determine where or to what extent she was hurt. The pain was deep, throbbing and stabbing. It was like – Angela’s eyes widened briefly before she blew out a shuddering breath. It was like Venezuela, right before Gabriel had stripped her suit from her. Not quite the same, but bad enough to terrify her. At least in Venezuela she was easily accessible – once the shooters were down, of course. Here, it could be hours before she was fully freed. “That bad, huh?” It was either the prolonged silence or he had heard her ragged breathing as she tried to keep herself from hyperventilating. Passing out would do her absolutely no good and would not change the situation. “Y – Yes.” Angela tried not to sound panicked, but she was buried in rubble and, quite probably, actively dying. There was nothing any of them could do until they could get her body freed and allow Remington to do what he did best. “It’ll be okay. We can see bits of ya, so it won’ be much longer, alright?” Angela’s lips twitched slightly in humor; how kind of him to try to console her. Then again, he was rather trapped in listening to her – maybe he just didn’t want to listen to her break down. Not that she particularly wanted to break down; there were far too many people above. Even now, with her body shattered and blood splattered, she stubbornly was trying to keep face.

---

Remington hadn’t been able to do much triage on her, trapped as she was, but he had brought a surprise: Ana had told him to locate and bring her healing stream along. Once he was able, he had used the tool on her head. While the tool wouldn’t be helpful for many of her wounds – it wasn’t powerful enough, for one thing – it at least gave her a clear head and made her capable of communicating clearly. They were still excavating her legs under Remington’s watchful eyes. Angela wasn’t sure how long they had been digging, but it felt like an eternity. The toddler below her had fallen asleep at some point, and not even the noise above had woken her. Worried, Angela had reached out to check that she was breathing. As far as she could tell – which wasn’t very – the toddler was fine, just asleep. Now that her head was healed, Angela was deciding whether to call home or not. It felt selfish – was selfish – to pull them away from their considerable duties to be given information they could, mostly, see with their own eyes. But trapped here, watching her blood slowly ooze closer to the child beneath her, she wasn’t certain she would survive. Angela knew that a persons’ will could play a part in their survival, and no one was more stubborn than she was – but no amount of will could counter blood loss. Finally, she allowed herself to fish the communicator out of the pouch – hoping it wasn’t broken. It was selfish, this was selfish, but she settled the communicator on the ground before her anyway. Angela hesitated over Gabriel’s name, but eventually passed him. As much as she wanted, needed, to talk to him, she could not afford it. He could shatter what little control she had left, and right now she could not give in. Instead, she selected Ana’s name. “Captain Amari.” Angela’s lips quirked up briefly with faint humor. One of these days they – to include her if, no when, she got out of this – would check the communicator before answering, instead of just providing their name and rank. “Ana.” Nothing in the world could have kept the exhaustion from her voice; Angela hoped that it masked the undercurrent of fear. Normally, with Jack and Ana, she would try to avoid allowing her emotions to seep into her voice – no need to let them think she was completely unprofessional, considering her relationship with Gabriel. But this time, she would allow it – mostly because she didn’t have a choice. “Angela!” There was a mixture of worry, joy, and relief in the snipers’ voice. Then, a brief commotion in the background – she could hear Jack and Gabriel, though she couldn’t make out what was being said. “How b–” The voices were growing louder, but she still couldn’t determine what was being said. “You may speak with her when I am finished.” Ana’s voice was muffled, as if she had covered the communicator, but nothing could hide the sharpness of her words; the men quieted down as Ana turned her attention back to the doctor. “I’m sorry about that, Angela. How bad is it?” Unsurprising that Ana would skip asking if she had been found; with the number of cameras at her disposal she wouldn’t be surprised if Ana could tell her exactly how much debris had been removed and how much remained. Instead, she had cut to the heart of the matter: survival. “Terrible.” What a small, insignificant word to describe it. “Lost a lot… of blood.” Angela wasn’t sure if it was a significant amount, considering she had no idea if her legs had been damaged, or a whole host of other information. There was a strangled sound from the background – she was pretty sure that was Gabriel. Apparently, Ana had put her on speaker. Angela wasn’t sure how she felt about that, but it was too late now. “It is not – not critical. Yet.” As ever, she was trying to soothe others, even when she could be dying. “It hurts.” She added, almost as an afterthought. “I know, dear.” Ana soothed gently, and Angela realized her voice was much weaker than she had intended it to be. “Do you have your staff?” Angela glanced down to where she had tried to shelter the tool. The parts that she had managed to cover were fine, but she wasn’t sure how bad the damage was. “Yes, but… it is probably broken.” Angela forced down the spike of anxiety. While the loss of the staff was a tragedy, both for herself and any others she could have applied it to, it could be fixed. Ana clicked her tongue sympathetically, and Angela could imagine the sniper shaking her head. “Remington will take good care of you. He has your healing stream, and from what I recall he is one of your favorite medics.” Angela was grateful that she had decided to send one of her most experienced combat medics on this relief. She didn’t know what to say in the silence – she had made her report, which had been the only unselfish task she had been able to think of to justify a call. “You will come home.” Ana ordered firmly into the void, realizing the doctor wasn’t going to speak. Home. If only she hadn’t left, she wouldn’t be in this mess. She should have just gone back to bed and let someone else do the work for once. But the exact reason she had gone was what had made her who she was. It was her duty to care for others, whatever the cost. Staying home when she could make a difference was not who she was – even if the good she had done here could not outweigh the good she had yet to do. It was catch twenty-two between her conscience and what she saw as her duty, in which either choice would cause her to win – and lose. “I – I don’t–” know if I will make it. The words died in her throat, choked by a sob that she had tried to swallow. “I just–” want to go home. Angela drew in a deep, ragged breath – she could not give in to the emotion. It could hover around her, but she could not let it loose. That had to wait until she was safe, until she was home – oh, she wanted to go home. Until then, she had to be Dr. Ziegler – because in her world there was no place for emotions. “Breathe, Angela.” Her eyes darted up towards the communicator, as if she could see him. “You’re gonna be okay. Just breathe for me.” Angela was surprised at how calm he sounded, when she knew he was just as terrified as she was. He had never taken her injuries well, and she had expected this to be no different. Perhaps because he couldn’t actually see her – there was no way the cameras could see her in this hole – made the difference. Angela didn’t know what to say, so she closed her eyes and tried to breathe, to collect herself, like he had asked. She didn’t know if she could say anything, not here and now. Gabriel was the only one she allowed to see her at her worst – and if he was here, now, she might break in front of everyone. He was a huge comfort to her, but he was also a liability to the control she was barely clinging to. “Are you still with me?” He asked, and she had a sudden memory of the two of them on her couch as she relived Venezuela. How appropriate, considering her body felt just as battered as it had back then. It was an image she doubted Gabriel would appreciate, so she’d keep that to herself. “For now.” Angela replied hoarsely, as truthful as she could be in this situation. Who knew how long that would last? Gabriel made a strangled sound before going silent. She could imagine him running his hands over his face, the top of his head, trying to compose himself in the face of her injuries – and him, stuck miles away with no way to help. Maybe he wasn’t holding it together as well as she had thought. She didn’t know how to make this better – couldn’t make this better. She was trapped, miles and miles away from home, and she hurt. Even if she wanted to be some form of comfort, Angela couldn’t find the words. “Gabriel, I – I have to go.” Calling had been a mistake, a selfish action that had resulted in nothing but more pain. She had enough pain for three people – or, rather, she would, if she weren’t wearing the Valkyrie suit. “Angela, don–” He tried to stop her, but her trembling fingers had already made their way to the communicator to end the conversation. Before she could stop herself, to give into temptation, she turned it off. Angela was in no position to be answering questions from anyone and she knew Gabriel would call her back immediately on his own communicator. Then she scrubbed angrily at her face, wiping away the proof of her terror and smudging blood across her cheek and chin.

---

She could have cried with relief when they removed the last bits from her back and head. Considering how much time she had lost, going in and out of consciousness, she had no idea how long it had taken. Her legs, wings, and left arm were still trapped but the pressure had been reduced. She was able to relax her muscles from the position she’d locked herself in – but only a little, considering the children beneath her. Angela realized that, with the release in pressure, she could move her right arm; when she had pulled the toddler closer it had managed to be sheltered by the wings. Unfortunate that her left arm, flung out haphazardly to keep her upright, did not share the same fate. She shifted her weight to the left and onto the wings so that she could lift her right arm. Angela frowned at the blood that began dripping down her arm, but there was nothing she could do about the gash in her bicep or scratches along the arm right now. She wouldn’t have made the effort if it weren’t for the children below her. Angela had noticed something odd when she had first awoken. Dimly, she knew what she had seen – but she had to be certain. Carefully she shifted and gently stroked the infants’ cheek – noting absently that one of her fingers was broken. Though she had known what to expect, it did nothing to change the horror she felt when her fingers met cool flesh. Angela knew the child had been alive on the eighth floor, so it had been under her care that it had died. That it would not have survived the fall without her was of no comfort at all; she should have done better. Angela had landed so hard she would have bruises, at the very least, on her knees and had been thrown forward violently enough to break fingers. The child hanging at her stomach would have hit the ground with considerable force, with nothing but a flimsy bag to protect it – which was no protection at all. “What’s wrong?” Cassidy asked urgently. She must have made some distressed noise without realizing. “I–” What could she say? Words could not convey the despair she felt in this moment – and even if they could, she would not say them here. She had killed an infant. Could it get worse than that? Angela cleared her throat uncomfortably, but it still took two tries before she could say anything. “Nothing.” The word was notably unsteady. “Doc.” It was surprising how much reproach he could stuff into the three letters. Still, Angela was nothing if not stubborn. If she could avoid it, she would hide her despair from everyone. This was a sin blacker – redder – than the ones she had carried previously. This infant would join all the ones she had failed previously. “Don’t.” The word was so soft she wasn’t sure the microphone picked it up. Don’t push. Don’t ask. Don’t try to make her talk about it. Don’t break her more than she already was. She was far too vulnerable to be pressed on such a subject, with her blood spilled across the rocks and her heart slashed to ribbons for the child she had failed. Even now Angela was scrambling to push the ragged pieces of herself down and away to that place she could deal with later. It was hard to keep it locked away – emotions and thoughts that could not be afforded kept slipping out of that deep place in her soul – but it was necessary. “I am fine.” She had to work to enunciate the words clearly enough for him to understand. Although there was nothing reassuring about her tone, he stopped pressing anyway. With one hand – that had a broken middle finger – it was rather difficult, but she managed to fasten the bag around the infant shut – if only so she would stop staring at the poor child. Its eyes had been closed, but she could feel the accusatory glare even through the cloth. The toddler was easier, in that she was still alive, and harder because she was awake and uncooperative with her probing. Angela knew the child would need to be thoroughly examined – the landing had to have damaged her in some way. Aside from a few scratches and some bruising where smaller chunks of debris had slipped past her wings to strike the girl, there was nothing serious that she could see. Children were, usually, resilient and could bounce back from a lot, but she was doubtful the girl would come away completely unscathed. It was a tragedy that the same could not be said for the girls’ sibling.

So this set is literally why it took me so long to get Chapter 17 done; my brain just would not release the idea of “she should fall and get extra hurt”. Unfortunately, her recovery time (for bones and such) just didn’t work well with my plans - and that doesn’t even begin to cover the damage to her hands and how bad that would actually be. Still, I think it’s pretty great so I didn’t want to scrap it - now here we are. Of course, I’m a few days late (story of my life) - but better late than never

Recovery

Please don’t get me wrong Because I’ll never let this go But I can’t find the words to tell you I don’t want to be alone -Never Let This Go [Paramore] Soulmate AU Prompt 7 | Fandom: Overwatch (Pre-Fall) | Angela / McCree

AO3 | FF.net | Works

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UPDATED!

Okay, I finally got Cole’s name updated in all of my fics here on Tumblr [... at least I’m pretty sure I did]. I still need to update AO3 and FF.net [slow going, but it’s gonna get done].

I have absolutely no idea what the new tag for mercy x cassidy is, so that’s the tag I’m using for them right now. If anyone knows the new tag, I am all ears!

Overwatch Mercy. 

I like the art style of Overwatch. The vibrant color and character designs. Having a lot of fun to play it every day. 

I want to draw Angela with an Angelic feeling. And I tried to add some light effects.

:) Hope you will like it.

you don’t get it i love them so much🥺 they have yoinked my heart

unnecessary crossovers: Moicy x GoodOmens 

petition to make mercy’s next winter skin a biblical angle just for funnies

support universal health care

Mercy & Moira ✧ “This was the expected conclusion.”

ATLANTIC MERCY

"Did someone call a doctor? I'll send you my consultation fee!" -------Mercy, Overwatch------- I'm so proud of this picture. So proud. Mercy and Ana are my go to healers when my team needs them, and drawing Mercy was a blast. Enjoy! Reblogs really help out the artists! So if you could, it'd be appreciated! Please give credit as well if reposting somewhere else!

“Hades hath no fury like his queen- Persephone!” January 28th, 2017 VS October 22nd, 2017- A redraw of my Persephone! Skin concept for Mercy. I hope you all enjoy- and in the mean time; Care for a pomegranate? (Reblogs help a lot!)

I feel you, Genji. I feel….

Does mercy like the genyatta baby?

She love him! 🥰

I would do the same as Ramattra, rubs Zenny's bald head 🥺💖

I think Aurora would look at Ram disapprovingly for bullying the resident cyborg ninja

(Finally watched barbenheimer) Below are the 🔞stuff, all images on poipiku

❤️‍🩹

Now this looks interesting

New Pregame Interactions Masterpost

Anniversary added a bunch of new ones and I’m trying to find them all. I know If there are any others I’m missing, let me know! I’ll update this. Also a lot of these are from @agenthill or sent to me by @kinaesthetiq– thanks you two <3

Moira: Your condition seems relatively stable.

Reaper: No one’s accused me of that in a long time.

Soldier: 76: You were a disgrace to Overwatch. If I had known what Reyes had been planning, I would never have allowed it.

Moira: It seems to me that it was convenient for you not to look too closely into Gabriel’s business.

Moira: Well i won’t have to worry about my safety while the brave agents of Helix are with us.

Fareeha: Don’t be so sure about that!

Ana: Ahh, youth truly is wasted on the young.

Lúcio: Ana, have you SEEN my schedule?

or

D.va: Aw, come on, Ana! I bet you got up to all sorts of trouble when you were my age.

Mercy: Lúcio, I never realized your father was the one who invented Vishkar’s sonic technology.

Lúcio: The cortex was his life’s work, owned and patented by Vishkar… but it’s mine now.

Pharah: Helix should keep the peace in Vishkar developments.

Symmetra: We do not need an army to keep the peace– we prefer our own.

Moira: Dr. Zhou. I’m interested in your colleague’s research into the long term effects of cryogenic freezing.

Mei: Well.. yes… sure… maybe… *soft crying*

Mercy: Describing your work as unethical would be a kindness.

Moira: But the true question is whether or not you can deny my discoveries. No. I didn’t think so.

Moira: Our courageous cowboy. The years haven’t changed you much, have they, Jesse?

McCree: They certainly haven’t changed my feelings about working with you.

Beret gals