Angela Ziegler - Tumblr Posts - Page 3

Next..The Return of the Witch☾

first post! This was supposed to be a whole motorcycle scene, but my brain just kinda moved on to other things.

💚💛

the wedding formal skins are so cute... [source]

sketch by me!

when the genji that spammed “i need healing” at 199/200 hp is suddenly at critical health

Witch Mercy

This too, was a commission on Twitter. <3

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

Breaking [My Heart]: Act I Capturing

"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!

There’s no pain that I won’t go through, Even if I have to die for you. - Die for You [Starset]

Angela idly ran her fingers along a familiar storage container as she moved to her closet. It had been a long time since she had opened it to don her Valkyrie suit and carry her Caduceus staff, since she had been Mercy – and she wasn’t changing that today. Instead, she tugged on a mismatched set of scrubs, a pair of boots, and her medical coat. Angela pulled her hair up off her neck into a tight bun before slathering herself with sunscreen. Her pale skin would turn red and blistered if she didn’t take the precaution; she didn’t particularly want to be more miserable than she already was here. With a long-suffering sigh, she left her small apartment and stepped into the heat of the day. She missed Switzerland; it was so hot here in Cairo compared to her cooler homeland. But her comfort didn’t matter – no, what mattered were that people were suffering here. They may scoff and scowl at her, growl that she was not welcome, but that didn’t matter either. What mattered was that she could help these people, regardless of what they thought, and that was what she would do. Immediately, sweat prickled along her skin, but she ignored it. She pulled out a tablet instead, swiping through the information there to determine how her day would pass. There were many patients to check in on, either to look over their bandages or to provide medication. She had a surgery planned for later in the day – some poor man was losing his arm. All of this assumed that nothing happened to upset the delicate balance. No new attacks – terrorist or gang, it all ended the same for her – or significant accidents that left everything spinning out of control. Not that she would utter one word of complaint; these people deserved the best she could provide after all they had been through. It wasn’t their fault that the world had fallen to pieces. No, that burden fell across her shoulders and all those who had been with Overwatch when it had collapsed. They had done much good, but they had also been the cause for so much horror as well. Now, Winston was trying to resurrect the organization, to pull Overwatch back from the ashes. Her communicator – a relic from her past that she couldn’t seem to let go of – had been blinking when she had returned home two days ago. In a different, better, lifetime, Angela would have carried it with her everywhere she went; now, it was an awkward paperweight on her kitchen counter that she sometimes remembered to pocket on the chance that one of her friends would call. She had been curious – who wouldn’t be? – so she had watched his video message. Once it was over, Angela had sat back with her arms crossed, teeth worrying at her lower lip. Did she want to go back? Her life had been so much different since the fall. All her life’s work had been taken from her by the UN and WHO to be distributed among others after Overwatch had fallen. She had become a pariah where once she had been much sought after for her prowess in both the research labs and operating rooms. Now, she faced scorn everywhere she went. She had been the last defender of Overwatch, after all. Angela had been one of the most visible members of Overwatch – her wings had made that almost a foregone conclusion, even if they weren’t excellent PR material – and thus many recognized her, even outside of her Valkyrie suit. In the aftermath of the fall, Angela had stood in the spotlight to try to appease the masses. Did she want to pick up the pieces and start over again? All she had ever wanted to do was help people. Mostly, she had succeeded at that in Overwatch. Angela had helped minimize – and mitigate – civilian loss, both in the planning and execution phases of strike missions. As often as she was able, she had served on the front lines to help defend not only the agents of Overwatch, but the innocents caught in the middle. She had spearheaded innovative research that was, even now, being expanded upon to better the world. Could she do it all again? She wasn’t sure her heart could survive a second round. It had nearly killed her the first time to bury the victims and support the survivors. Angela didn’t even know where most of her friends were on most days. Genji had gone to Nepal and, as far as she was aware, hadn’t left. Similarly, Winston had holed up at Watchpoint: Gibraltar to safeguard Athena and what files remained of Overwatch. But the rest? Last she had heard, Lena was prowling around England, and Cassidy had racked up an enormous bounty in North America. Reinhardt had convinced Torbjörn’s daughter, Brigitte, to follow him across Europe as he continued to protect the weak. Torbjörn had told her about it a few months ago, grumpy in his worry for the two. Two of her medics, Remington and Daigneau, crossed her path occasionally. They had followed in her footsteps – or steps just like them – and had joined the Doctors Without Borders. Angela wondered which, if any, of them would answer the call Angela wasn’t sure she would. This wasn’t a decision she could make lightly. One would make her a criminal – Overwatch was disbanded and forced into inaction by the PETRAS act. The other would make her – what? A coward? She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that if she didn’t answer, her life would continue as normal. It wasn’t glamorous – quite the opposite, in fact. It was hard and dirty, but she would be helping people. If she answered, her life would change again. And this time, there were no guarantees – Overwatch was rising, starting from nothing to try to safeguard the world once more. Angela wasn’t sure what the right path was – so she left the blinking “Y // N” unanswered.

---

For once, her day went mostly as planned. Usually, some sort of emergency occurred, throwing off her day and putting her timetable into disarray. She thrived in the chaos: hurriedly reprioritizing patients and rushing around, trying to keep everyone alive and comfortable, made it easy to forget the nightmares and the heartbreak that was her life. Not that her day wasn’t busy, even without interruptions or surprises – it just was orderly. She opened the door to her apartment with a sigh, rubbing at her back with a free hand. Maybe she would take a bath tonight and try to force her body into some semblance of relaxation. Angela locked the door before flipping the lights on and striding further into the small space she currently called home – and then froze, eyes widening. It was only her years of combat experience that kept the keys within her suddenly numb fingers. The Reaper was here. He was settled on her only couch, lazily reclined as if this was his home and not hers. His face, hidden by a bone white skull mask, had turned to regard her. Despite his casual pose, his very presence was menacing – and that was before she took in the shotgun on the cushion next to him. She wasn’t fooled; Angela was confident he could have it in his hands and fired before she could reach the door. Her hand dropped to her waist automatically, where her blaster used to sit – but she hadn’t carried the weapon in years. Angela knew that she should have started carrying it again after the cryptic phone call she had received a week ago. It had been a warning of impending danger and that she should leave Cairo to find help before it was too late. The caller had had enough information about her to make her nervous, but she hadn’t been willing to allow it to drive her away. Danger? Ever since she had joined Overwatch, that had been her life. Angela had served as the Medical Director, a powerful position made even stronger by her will and sheer genius; there were very few Overwatch operatives that were more valuable than she was. Then, she had enlisted as a combat medic and protected their strike teams – and she had the scars to prove it. Now, her life wasn’t much different from that of her time in the field; uncomfortable lodgings, dangerous surroundings, long work hours, and generally ungrateful patients that laid the blame for their troubles at her feet. She should have taken precautions when she had stayed. Angela should have called one of her friends – her protectors – about the warning, but she hadn’t wanted to get them worked up over what was probably nothing. She should have carried her weapon, but she had worried that it would bother her patients – and she already had enough trouble with that. She could have even moved to make it a little harder for an enemy to find her, but she barely had time to eat most days. Besides, she had believed that it was probably little more than a prank. Even now, years after the fall, people still grumbled about Overwatch. She’d had her fair share of curses thrown her way, and, in the early days, she had received plenty of prank calls that varied in nature. There was little to make her believe this was more than that. Angela had been safe – from terrorists, anyway – for years; there was no reason to think that had changed. Angela cursed her pride. She had become complacent, thinking she knew best. Now, she would pay the price for her hubris. “Well, well,” the man growled, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, clawed fingers steepled before him, “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come home, Mercy.” Angela grimaced. She hadn’t answered to that name for years; it was a callsign that was as dead as the organization that had coined it. “That is not my name anymore.” Angela corrected automatically; it was a habit so ingrained she couldn’t stop the words from falling from her lips. She kept herself from wincing at the foolish declaration and instead donned an air of cool detachment. Her pride demanded that she keep her fear hidden from him, that she could show no weakness before her obvious predator. And he was a predator. The Reaper was well known for his violence; terrible, mutilated bodies were left in his wake wherever he went. More than one ex-Overwatch member had been his victim. That he would appear here, before Overwatch’s guardian angel – their Mercy – meant she was in his sights now. She wondered what it was he wanted from her – and if she would give it. The doctor was fairly sure that he wasn’t here for her blood. After all, why speak to her if all he wanted was to kill her? “That’s too bad.” He rose, grabbed the shotgun, and aimed it at her in one singular, fluid motion. “It’s Mercy I am looking for.” It had been a long time since she had stared down a barrel of a gun; she had forgotten just how terrifying it was. Angela forced herself to stiffen her spine and raise her chin slightly in defiance. If she were going to die, it would not be cowering. “What do you want from me?” She demanded, somehow managing to keep the words steady. That he hadn’t pulled the trigger meant that he was willing to overlook her verbal misstep earlier. It meant that whatever he wanted was more important than spilling her blood – right now. “Information, of course.” The gun remained trained on her, but Angela forced her eyes to move past it to his body. Hopefully, should he decide to pull the trigger, she would see it telegraphed in his body language and escape. It was a dubious hope, considering his kill sheet, but it was all she had to hold on to now. “I haven’t been active in years,” the doctor deflected. “I could not possibly have any information you need.” Angela knew it was a lie even as the words fell from her lips. She had information that would be valuable to the wrong organizations. Locations of prominent members – such as Genji, who had, for all appearances, fallen off the map – was only the tip of the iceberg. While she had been removed from research by the UN and WHO, she still was one of the greatest medical minds of their time. Under her guidance, medicine had improved by leaps and bounds; it was a pity she no longer could continue such works. They had relegated her to the sidelines, only contacted for advice or ideas. Reaper clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “And here I heard you were a genius.” Nothing could have kept her still when he started stalking across the room towards her. She backed away, keys dropping to the floor, until there was nowhere left to go – and then he was barely an arm’s length away from her. “You expect me to believe that Overwatch is on the rise, and no one told you?” “Overwatch is dead and gone.” The words did not tug at her heart, did not cause any emotional response at all. She had long since come to terms with the closure of that chapter of her life. Angela would not acknowledge the call that had been put out, would not confirm or deny that Overwatch was trying to reform. While she had not decided if she would return, she would not risk the safety of those who answered. “That’s not what I’ve heard.” Resolution filled her. This man, monster, wanted information on her friends; she would not – could not – give it to him. Even if it killed her, she would protect them. They were still hers to shield, whether she was with them or apart. That was her last, final burden from her days with her Overwatch, and it would be hers to carry until she died. “Then you clearly know more than I do.” Angela lied easily. It surprised her that Talon already knew of the recall. They must have intercepted the transmission; the idea of any prior member of Overwatch turning to Talon was a hard pill to swallow, even considering how the organization had fallen. “Lying will only make this worse for you, Mercy.” Her callsign was a taunt, bait that she refused to take a second time. Pure terror had flooded her veins; it was only an act of sheer willpower that had kept her knees from giving out underneath her. This was the worst she had faced yet, but she would face it standing. “It is not a lie,” Angela insisted. “Overwatch is dead.” Even if she rejoined under Winston’s banner, she was certain that she would always consider Overwatch – or at least, her Overwatch – dead. How could it exist in a place that her friends, her family, did not? “Last chance.” He warned; it surprised her that he gave her one at all. Even so, Angela did not consider, not even for one moment, to provide him with the information he wanted to protect herself. In defense of others, she was at her most stubborn and determined. That cost had come to her in the form of bullet wounds and nightmares when she was with Overwatch; here, that cost would – hopefully – be her demise. She was all too aware that there were many things worse than death. Angela remained silent, her eyes staring a challenge at the slits where she knew the Reaper’s eyes peered from. If he would not accept her lie the first two times, it would be pointless to voice it again. After a long moment, the man let the gun drop so he could crowd her against the door. One clawed hand rose to grip her throat, tilting her chin to look up towards the mask that hovered above her. “Just remember, you brought this on yourself.” He growled, rebuke and glee twisted around the words. He increased the pressure, cutting off the blood flow to her brain; despite the futility of the action, Angela’s hands raised to try to pry his fingers away. Her vision swam as she desperately clung to consciousness. It was a useless effort; within moments, she was unconscious.

The Reaper watched as Angela regained consciousness through the single window into the concrete room that was now her home. She looked insubstantial, almost ethereal, under the lights meant to keep her blind to her surroundings. The woman was hanging from chains in the precise center of the room. She barely had enough slack to rest her weight on her feet properly. While she had been unconscious, her wrists and shoulders had held that weight entirely in a way that was designed to be painful. Gabriel watched through the Reapers’ eyes as she pulled against the chains that held her. Saw the confusion play across her face as she heard the faint clanking, which turned to pain as she realized the stress her wrists and shoulders had been placed under. Then, her eyes fluttered open, blinking painfully in the too-bright light, before futilely trying to look up at the chains. He saw the curious detachment turn to stark panic before smoothing away into a neutral façade. He was unsurprised that she didn’t test the bonds further, that she didn’t call out, and kept her noise to a minimum. While Angela hadn’t had any special training in this aspect of their lives – they had never expected anyone to actually succeed in capturing her, not with the number of people willing to lay down their own lives for hers – she was a smart woman. Angela knew the grim reality she now faced. She had to know that the chains were the least of what she would meet in that room of gray and white. The Reaper supposed he should alert someone that she was, finally, conscious. Still, he lingered for a few minutes longer, relishing in her helplessness. After so long, he was going to see her pay for what she had done. The Reaper had fantasized about this day for years. Slowly, agonizingly, they would exact his revenge upon her flesh. He would drink down her pain and agony until, finally, the angel before him was no more. He had been tempted to be the one to break her – to split her flesh and flay her heart. It would be the least that she – that he – deserved after the pain she had inflicted. The council had even offered it to him, knowing the history that lay between the two. It surprised Gabriel that they hadn’t ordered him to do it, to prove his loyalties yet again to the terrorist organization that he had once fought against. He wasn’t sure if he felt rage or relief that they had not taken that choice away from him. Instead, Gabriel had found the strength to decline. The Reaper, usually the stronger of the two after so long, had been forced to accept his decision. They would observe, either from this little room or through the security feeds, whenever their other duties allowed. The Reaper, the dark, violent portion of his soul given life, would like nothing more than to tear apart, piece by piece, the woman who had turned him – them – into this. He would revel in the blood and agony, far more than any other member of Talon would. It was only fair, after all. Knowingly or not, she had condemned Gabriel to an existence that was the antithesis of everything he had once stood for. Everything she stood for. Gabriel wanted her to hurt, to feel what she had done to him – but he couldn’t be the one to do it. He knew that, should he go in there and break her, he would also break himself. The last, tenuous grasp he had on his humanity, on Gabriel and not the Reaper, lay within the blonde doctor trapped in the room before him. She had grounded him, had reminded him of his purpose, even while she was completely unaware of the shadow that stalked her. Even now, after everything, there was a part of Gabriel that loved her. There was a part that still remembered the promises he had made her – that they had made each other. He had given his heart to her, long ago in a place that he had destroyed, and she had never returned it. Instead, she had ripped her own from his grasp and left him with nothing but darkness and pain. All that remained was a monster that consumed the living with a terrible hunger that was never sated. On that dark day in Zürich over five years ago, Gabriel had destroyed her world. On that same day, Angela had forced the shadows upon him and shattered his psyche. He wondered if it had been a purposeful act, a punishment for the pain he had wrought, or a mere accident of science. That she hadn’t sought him out, had said nothing about the Reaper and who he might be, made him believe it was the latter. That Moira, a geneticist who – within her specialized field of study – could outsmart even Overwatch’s miracle worker, could not replicate it only reaffirmed that belief. That did not slake his anger in the slightest. The Reaper turned and stalked out of the small observation room, eager for them to begin his revenge. He was ready to drown in her blood and pain. The Reaper’s only hope was that she put on a good show before she eventually broke.

Angela wondered, vaguely, how long it would take for people to realize she was gone. Then, once her absence was noted, how long would it take before they realized it was by force rather than by choice? How long would it take for someone – anyone – to come looking for her? And, when they did, would they even be able to find her before it was too late? She tried to recall the last time she had spoken to any of her friends. There was no set schedule – sometimes she could go months without hearing from one or more of them, leaving her to worry that perhaps this time they had actually died and she would never hear from them again. Had she spoken to anyone recently? Stressed as she was, Angela couldn’t remember. She knew these thoughts were just a byproduct of her fear, but that did nothing to stop them – or to keep them from affecting her. There was nothing but pain and terror for her now. Either she could imagine the horrors that would be inflicted upon her in this room, or she could worry about the rescue that would never come. Angela was a firm optimist when it came to everyone but herself. She could hold on to hope that she could save others, but she did not believe anyone would save her. How could they? Angela was going to die in agony in their defense – and they would, probably, never know it. Or, perhaps, Talon would take pity on them. Maybe they would dump her mangled body for some poor soul to stumble upon. The media would go crazy – the last of the old guard, Overwatch’s angel, had perished – and her friends would mourn, but there would be closure. It wouldn’t be a mystery, whose answer had only been assumed after so many years of silence, like the deaths of their Commanders. Her friends. Her family. Despite her determination to show no fear for as long as she was capable, the door slamming open made her jump. The motion made her sway unsteadily on her feet, her shoulders complaining at the movement. Angela would welcome the distraction from her thoughts if it weren’t for the fact that it heralded far worse than what her mind could conjure. The blinding lights, shining hot and bright from the ceiling somewhere above, kept her from seeing her captors as they entered the room. There were at least two – perhaps three – sets of footsteps before the door slammed shut again. Suitably warned of her audience, though she was confident that someone was watching her even when she was alone, she kept her chin up and her face schooled in a calm veneer. It was a well-used expression that came easily to her after so many years of practice. Silence. Angela wondered if they expected her to break it, to demand answers that she would never receive. Perhaps, were she standing on her own ground, she would challenge them, but here? She was positive that she had never been more aware of her fragility. Of her mortality. She didn’t know what game they were playing, what tactics they were using. It didn’t particularly matter; Angela had plenty of patience. While she wasn’t certain her silence would bring a better or worse outcome – she wasn’t versed in interrogation (her mind skittered away from the more horrible word that applied to her situation) techniques – she would remain silent, regardless. Angela wasn’t under any illusions that she would escape this unscathed. She didn’t even believe she would escape at all. Still, her pride demanded that she make whatever stand she could. She was Dr. Angela Ziegler. She was the last bastion of Overwatch, their Mercy. Angela could – would – rise to the challenge and don the mantle of a hero one last time. A hand yanked her head back by her hair suddenly, turning her vision a blinding white before she could screw her eyes shut against the light and pain. That was when the demands began. Where were the prior members of Overwatch? Who would answer the call of reformation? Where would they make their home base? They enumerated names – Cole Cassidy, Howard Remington, Wilhelm Reinhardt – throughout, asking for specific information on every person she might still be in communication with. There were questions about her medical research, words awkwardly shaped by mouths that didn’t understand what they were asking. Angela refused to answer. Every time a question was met with silence, they would strike a blow. On her chest, just below her collarbone; her back, mere inches above her kidneys; her stomach, choking her as she gasped for air and swallowed back bile. She had never experienced violence, not personally, without her Valkyrie suit. She lamented its absence, wishing for the pain relief it brought. Instead, she had to grit her teeth and bear it. She reminded herself firmly that she had suffered before. Angela had been shot multiple times on varying occasions, had a building collapse on her, had darted through flames – but she’d had the Valkyrie suit to support her through it. Without it, those experiences were minimal compared to all that would come in this room. Her head bowed, hairs that had come loose from the bun she had tied just this morning – was it still the same day? She didn’t know – fanning around her face, and her eyes closed as she forced herself to do nothing more than grunt in pain. As they methodically dealt blows to her, she could feel the nanites within her body, putting her back together. They were her miracle, her salvation, her devastation. Angela’s body would heal much quicker than any human could naturally heal – though not anywhere near instantaneous – and prolong her agony in this terrible place. If they waited long enough, her body would be just as whole as it was when they brought her here; they wouldn’t have to lift a finger in her care. Angela didn’t know how long they stayed in the room with her. With her medical prowess and combat experience, she knew that they had done no lasting harm in this opening act. There were bruises, but they had broken nothing. They had taken care to avoid her kidneys and spine when they struck her back – and they hadn’t once touched her head at all after they released her hair at the very beginning. They were only warming up. The men – she assumed they were all men, as the lights had been far too bright for her to make out any of their features – had filed out as quietly as they had come. Angela did not hear it lock, but why would it? She wasn’t a flight risk; she couldn’t even protect herself, much less stage an escape from these chains. The lights remained on as she stood, swaying slightly on her feet, in her cage. Her head remained bowed, and her breathing was coming in ragged gasps through bruised ribs. Angela had told herself to be brave, to protect her friends and family unto death itself – but that was a simple decision when it was calm and still. It was so much harder when the pain was real, not imagined, and death was approaching one slow, agonizing inch at a time. Each blow that struck her body had also struck her resolution, battering against the walls she had erected around her heart and soul so she could be this last, final defense. She could only hope that she could hold her conviction close in the coming days when things would be even more desolate. Somehow, despite it all, she must survive.

The Reaper had watched, arms crossed and face impassive behind his mask, as the doctor was beaten. Gabriel wasn’t sure what he had expected to feel, watching her bite back sounds of pain and struggle to keep herself hidden away behind her aloof mask. The Reaper had no such qualms. He held a vicious glee, born from the sight of her dangling helplessly from her chains. It wasn’t quite the same as the euphoria he had felt when he had held her helpless form in his hands, but it had a terrible similarity. Her invisible flesh, hidden behind the scrubs she had been wearing when he had captured her, tempered the emotion. Though he was familiar enough with her body to imagine the mottled purple-black that would decorate her skin, it wasn’t quite the same. Indeed, he felt rage and resentment, ever-present whenever the Reaper looked upon the woman that had cursed them. It had grown, bottled up inside his dark heart, and was now finding some release as he took in her battered form. The relief was minor; without her blood, her bruised flesh, her screams, it was barely worth the effort of watching this first session. Angela had taken many painfully calculated blows, but it had been gentle compared to the misery he knew those men were capable of. He wasn’t sure if they had underestimated the doctor, as he had, or if they were just testing the waters. Gabriel had known that she would take blows – she was far too stubborn for her own good, just like another specter from his past. What he hadn’t expected was that she would remain silent the entire time. The Reaper felt robbed, somehow. Cheated. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. She was supposed to break, to scream, cry, beg, do something other than hang there in near-perfect silence. Angela had never had the highest pain tolerance, relying heavily on the Valkyrie suit to ignore injuries, and yet she had endured with barely a sound. Even now, she was collecting herself, her labored pants turning to soft breaths as she hung there with her head bowed. But maybe he was the fool. It had been years since he had experienced the power that was Dr. Angela Ziegler. He had forgotten how fiercely protective she was. Had forgotten that she forced her way onto battlefields to defend what was hers, because that was her duty. Had forgotten the iron steel that surrounded her heart, that she had to have to carry the burdens she so willingly shouldered. Had forgotten that she never showed weakness before anyone, that she always hid it away to deal with in private. Gabriel had only forgotten because, at one time, he had been the only exception to her rule. He had been the one she had turned to when everything – the research, missions, surgeries, nightmares, deaths – became too hard to carry alone. While Gabriel had never succeeded in taking the weight from her shoulders, it had been his honor to support her while she recovered. He had been the only one to see how terribly affected she was by everything. When she graced everyone else with steely eyes and gentle smiles, she had allowed him to see her nagging self-doubt and endless guilt. He had seen her, all of her. From grief-stricken after Ana’s death to worry when Jack had been airlifted back to Zürich. Her incandescent rage when Gabriel had demanded she stay out of the field to pure terror after he had taken a bullet for her. The stark relief when he returned home after a dangerous mission to mindless bliss within the safety of their bed. Everything that she was, he had seen – and could still see, even now. Gabriel could read her better than anyone in the world. He knew the little signs, the tells that gave her away to him; even after all this time, she was still the same. Angela had a tight grip on her emotions – always had – but Gabriel could see the terror that she had masked behind the stone wall of her face. Others might miss it, think she was just as unfeeling as her reputation had claimed, but he knew better. She felt more intensely and more purely than any other person he’d ever known. But, to survive as a child prodigy, as a medical genius ten years younger than her peers, she had to become more. As a girl and then a woman, Angela learned that the world would use her emotions as a weapon against her – so she had hidden them from sight. Even among friends – even alone with him – she’d had a hard time dropping those walls. Here, those walls would be put to the ultimate test. The Reaper intended to see them fall, brick by brick, until there was nothing left but a quivering human in the place of the angel. And then, once she had been brought back to Earth, he would kill her like the mortal she was.

Cole frowned down at the communicator in his hand. He had called to check in on Angela the afternoon before, but he hadn’t heard from her. That was unlike her; since the fall of Overwatch, she had always answered – or called back if she truly was incapable of answering – when they called. He knew she worried about them, the family that she had been the heart of, even now – perhaps especially now – when they were no longer her responsibility. Angela would drop nearly everything to go to one of them if they called, no matter how far the distance. Cole knew that he – and many, if not all – of the others would do the same for her. She was theirs just as much as they were hers. The cowboy wondered if it was Winston’s message, sent four nights ago, that was keeping her silent. Perhaps she thought one of them would try to talk her into – or out of – recreating the organization that had brought them together. That didn’t sound like the Angela he knew, though. Cole thought she might be more likely to receive a call right now. She wasn’t one to avoid a conversation just because it might be uncomfortable. It was that knowledge that had him dialing another number. “Hi there, Cassidy,” Winston’s voice filled his ear. At least he knew it wasn’t technical difficulties keeping him from hearing from their doctor. “I wasn’t sure I would hear from you.” If Angela hadn’t gone dark, Cole wouldn’t have called in at all – not yet, at least. He hadn’t decided if he wanted to go back, to try again after everything that had happened. “Hey there, big guy.” He and Winston weren’t close – their paths hadn’t crossed much during their time with Overwatch, given that Winston wasn’t exactly stealthy – but they were amicable enough. “I’m not callin’ ‘bout Overwatch, not right now, anyway.” He admitted, quickly changing the subject. “Have ya heard from Ange in the last coupla days? I can’t seem t’get ahold’a her.” “Dr. Ziegler?” Cole rolled his eyes. Angela had been Winston’s first friend and champion – had gotten into quite a bit of trouble over the gorilla, in fact, if he recalled correctly – and Winston still didn’t call her by name. “I haven’t heard from her since I sent the recall out. Athena,” Winston turned his attention away from Cole for a moment, “did Dr. Ziegler view the recall?” “My files indicate that she viewed your message one hour and thirty-seven minutes after you sent it.” A digitized feminine voice replied after a moment. It had been a long time since he’d heard Athena’s voice. She was an AI that his friend, Dr. Liao, had created, and now served as Winston’s assistant and advisor after Overwatch had disbanded. She was amazingly smart and had been a great asset for all of them – just as Dr. Liao had once been. “So, she got th’ message,” Cole mused. “Wonder why she ain’t answerin’ then.” Clearly, it wasn’t a problem of technology. She simply wasn’t answering or returning calls – at least, not his calls. Just because Winston hadn’t heard from her didn’t mean she wasn’t calling people. “Can Athena tell if she’s talked t’anyone?” Winston relayed the question. “I do not show that Dr. Ziegler has made any calls since Winston sent out the recall. I show that she has received three calls – two from Cole Cassidy and one from Lena Oxton. None were accepted.” The amount of information Athena could access was terrifying. All their electrical equipment – communicators, comm systems, probably Angela’s staff for all he knew – were connected to Athena since before Overwatch fell. Most had left those systems alone, though he was pretty sure some people had disabled it. “That ain’ like her.” Now Cole was even more worried. He had hoped it was just him – either she was avoiding talking to him for some reason, or their communicators were just busted – but she wasn’t talking to anyone. Before the fall, he could maybe see Angela getting distracted enough to forget to return a call or two, but now? Since the fall – since they’d lost so much – she had always answered and made time for them. “No, it isn’t.” Winston agreed gravely. There wasn’t much either of them could do about it, though. Cole was hunkered down in an abandoned house in the middle of Arkansas, trying to let the heat die down. His bounty, somewhere in the ballpark of seventy million the last time he’d checked, made it hard for him to get around sometimes. Likewise, Winston was stuck in Watchpoint: Gibraltar – though he might be moving since Talon was aware of his location and he was trying to raise Overwatch back from the dead. “Her communicator is still at her last known address. The Valkyrie and Caduceus systems are down.” Athena added helpfully as the two tried to figure out what to do. “Last known location is also her last known address.” That wasn’t like her. Angela didn’t go off the grid – she was the goddamned grid. Everywhere she went, she made waves, whether she wanted to or not. “Lemme make a call, see if I can’t get someone to go look in on her.” Cole only knew of one person in that part of the world. Hopefully, she’d be willing and able to get away long enough to help them out. He disconnected and dialed a second number. “C’mon, pick up already.” He grumbled under his breath as it rang and rang. “You have reached Captain Fareeha Amari of Helix Security International.” Of course he’d be sent to voicemail; that was just his luck. “Please leave your number and a detailed message, and I will get back to you as soon as I can.” There was a brief pause, and then a beep indicated that it was his turn to speak. “Hey there, Fareeha, it’s Cole.” He worried about leaving his name on her voicemail – he didn’t want her to get in trouble for associating with a criminal. “Y’might not remember me, but I used t’work with your mom. Couldja call me back, soon as ya get this? It’s real important.” He left his number and hung up, hoping he hadn’t made a mistake. Now came the waiting.

---

“‘lo?” He answered groggily, shoving his hat back into place and rubbing at his face with his free hand. It had been hours since he had left the voicemail; he wasn’t sure if he would even get a response today – or ever. “Cole?” Fareeha’s voice was quiet, like she was trying not to be overheard. That was fair – he was a criminal with an enormous bounty on his head. Someone like her – a Captain, taking after her mother – shouldn’t be seen interacting with someone like him. If it hadn’t been for Angela, he never would have called at all. “Yeah – yeah, it’s me.” He sat up, more alert now. Cole had forgotten what a pain time zones were; he’d probably called her in the middle of the night, just like she had. At least he had woken up. “Sorry for callin’ outta th’ blue like this. Doubt ya even remember me.” He’d spoken to her a few times before everything came crashing down, but Ana had tried to keep Fareeha separate from Overwatch as much as possible. “You let me wear your hat, once.” Her voice was wistful, reminiscent of her younger days. “My mother took a picture; I have it somewhere.” Huh. So she remembered him, after all. Now he felt a little guilty, not calling and checking on the younger Amari. Ana would have wanted him to do that. Angela had, he knew – but she checked on everyone. “What’s happened?” God, she sounded so much like her mother. Ana always cut to the heart of the matter, too, rarely tolerating idle chit-chat when there were things to be done. “It’s Ange. Uh,” she probably didn’t know Angela by that name, “I mean, Angela. Dr. Ziegler – Mercy.” The names tumbled over each other awkwardly; it had been a long time since he had used any of them. “We can’t seem t’get ahold’a her. I was wonderin’ if you could maybe go check in on her?” It was a long shot, but it was the only shot he had. If he had to go, it would be days before he reached Cairo. “I don’t know if I can get away,” Fareeha said after a moment of consideration. Cole relaxed a little; she wasn’t going to blow him off. “Where is she? If it’s close, maybe I won’t have to ask.” Cole pulled up the address and read it off to her. “Hmm, too far.” Fareeha sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.” It wasn’t much, but it was better than ‘no’ at least. “I really appreciate it, Fareeha. Really.” He tried to pump as much sincerity into the words. Fareeha didn’t have to do this for a stranger from her mothers’ past, but she was willing to try, anyway. “She’s my friend, too.” She hung up before he could respond. That blade of guilt twisted in his heart again. He was an ass. If they were both alive at the end of this, Cole would make up for it. Do what Ana would have done for them, what Angela did for them. He looked at his silent communicator, blinking the time – it was just a little past three in the morning. With a sigh, he set it back onto the floor next to him. Cole leaned back against the wall and pulled his hat down over his face once more. Maybe they were all overreacting. Maybe something had kept Angela busy these past days, so busy she came home too exhausted to do more than crawl into bed. That was something he could see her doing – she was notorious for it – but wouldn’t she call back in the morning? It just didn’t sit right with him. Cole closed his eyes and tried to get comfortable on the hard floor so he could get some rest. He had a feeling he was going to need it.

Here you are down on your knees again, Trying to find air to breathe again; And only surrender will help you now. - Again [Flyleaf]

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

Breaking [My Heart]: Act II Exposing

"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 the second part of 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 want someone to hurt Like the way I hurt It’s sick but it makes me feel better - Sometimes [Skillet]

“How’s our doctora?” Gabriel didn’t react to the woman that was suddenly at his shoulder. One of her favorite ‘pranks’ was to sneak up on various agents to try to startle them. Instead, he suppressed a long-suffering sigh and glanced towards her briefly – not that she could see, with his eyes hidden behind the mask – before turning his attention back to Angela and her interrogators. “See for yourself.” The Reaper gestured towards the window with one clawed hand. He knew that Sombra knew how Angela was; there were two cameras inside that chamber. If anyone thought for a single second that Sombra couldn’t access every electronic in this base, then they were an idiot. She had come down here to needle him, as she was wont to do. The Mexican woman hummed, leaning forward to press both forearms against the small desk that sat against the wall directly under the glass that showcased the woman in question. The space was meant for someone to take notes, but with the cameras it was made pointless. Instead, it was used to set down whatever the observer didn’t want to hold while watching; perhaps a file folder, maybe a drink – it varied depending on the person. Right now, the desk was completely empty. Angela was still hanging from the chains with her head bowed as she fought for silence, her breaths coming in heavy, desperate pants. They had sliced her top clean through along her spine, leaving it to hang limply from her shoulders. If her arms weren’t chained above her head, the cloth – and the doctor – would undoubtedly be on the floor. There were three men in the room. One stood before her, barking questions. They were all a variation of the questions they had asked her the day before: prior Overwatch members, how Overwatch would reform, questions on her medical research and the nanites within her. Every time Angela refused to answer, he would nod at one of the other two men in the room. One would land a punishing blow somewhere on her body – sometimes with a fist, occasionally open-handed, but all calculated to inflict the most pain. The other would strike with a whip across her back. While it was impossible to see her back from here, Gabriel knew that they hadn’t started breaking skin until a few questions ago. Now, dots of red were speckling the ground at her feet. Still, the only sounds Angela made were soft grunts of pain and heavy breaths. Every strike left her off balance; the chains forced her to remain in one place, but there was no way to brace against any blow. Without the slack necessary to stagger and redistribute her weight, she would lose balance and hang painfully against her wrists and shoulders before forcing her shaking legs beneath her once more. Most of her face was hidden, but he could see how her jaw locked and her throat bobbed as she swallowed back screams. After Gabriel had considered it yesterday, he wasn’t surprised at her silence. Angela had been all too ready to bleed – to die – for those she protected when she worked with Overwatch. It was such a fundamental part of the woman; how could he have expected it to change, even after all these years? “Didn’t know the chica had it in her,” Sombra commented after a moment. She rose and crossed her arms, weight shifting so that she leaned to one side as she glanced sidelong at him. She waited for a few seconds as if expecting him to add to the conversation. When he didn’t, Gabriel could practically feel her eyes roll. “Didn’t know you had it in you, either.” The Reaper turned towards her then, but she was still looking at the bloody blonde who was fighting to remain quiet. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He demanded after it was clear that she wasn’t going to elaborate – that she was going to make him work for it. Sombra glanced over towards him, only the vaguest hint of her typical mischief shining in her currently blue eyes. She changed eye color as often as she changed her clothes, but he suspected their actual color was brown. “Didn’t think you’d be the one to bring her in, that’s all.” She turned her back to the glass and lifted herself to sit atop the desk, feet dangling as she regarded him. It was unsurprising that she would be unfazed by the scene behind her; he imagined she had dug up far worse throughout her life in her search for the perfect blackmail material. No one in Talon was innocent. “You have a history with her.” Sombra shrugged, a lazy motion as if it didn’t matter – but Sombra never did anything without a purpose. It hadn’t been a secret that he had been a part of Overwatch, but they had left out his exact role. Only a handful of people in Talon knew who truly lay beneath his mask – and what the woman in chains had once meant to him. The council, of course: they would never allow him to sit at their table without knowing who he was. Sombra, because she knew everything about everyone – and if she didn’t know it, it wasn’t worth knowing. Widowmaker possibly knew who he was as well, but he wasn’t sure how much the brainwashing had erased. They had known each other – had been friends, even – before she had become Talon’s mindless assassin and he had become the Reaper. A whimper drew the attention of both. Sombra shifted to glance back over one shoulder. It was a quiet, strained sound that had escaped from Angela’s throat. Gabriel wondered what expression had crossed her face, but it was shielded from his sight by her loose hair and bowed head. Her interrogator, much closer and with a better angle, probably could see whatever emotion had crossed her face – if she had allowed any to show at all. Another question. Another stroke across the back. No sound. He knew her, so he knew she hated that small break in her armor, that she had shown them any weakness at all. The Reaper could practically hear her teeth grind in protest. Just as they were determined to rip anything from her throat, she was determined to remain silent. A slap, directly across the welts and gashes in her back, elicited another strangled sound of pain. Finally, finally, she was beginning to break. His mouth twisted into a malicious grin. It was a minor victory in the ongoing war being waged in that room – he knew she was too stubborn to be defeated so soon, but they had dragged sound from the mute doctor. Soon enough, it would be words – begs, pleas. Then, finally, she would break entirely to give them what they wanted. “It will only get worse,” Sombra remarked casually, as if commenting on the weather. She had turned away from the glass once more, eying her nails critically. She didn’t react to the slaps of leather-on-flesh or the demanded questions that were sometimes answered with a whimper but were usually followed by silence. “This is the least of what she deserves.” The Reaper growled, harsh even to his ears. But there was truth – his truth, if nothing else – in the words. He had lived in torment, forced to feed on the life force of other humans or live in excruciating pain, because of her. She deserved everything they would give her and more. “Huh.” Sombra slid off the desk and turned towards the door. “And here I thought you were just pretending to be a cold bastard.” There was a hint of disapproval in her voice, but Gabriel wasn’t sure what, exactly, she was disapproving of. His words? Angela’s captivity? He watched her leave without a backward glance, the door shutting silently behind her, before turning his attention back to the doctor so that he could revel in Angela’s pain.

She hurt. Pain was an old bedfellow, but that didn’t make its presence any less unwelcome. Every breath hurt; her back was a mess of pain and blood that shifted every time she inhaled. Her wrists felt raw – probably were raw – from her trying to brace against the swaying and staggering during her latest interrogation. And it was only going to get worse. Her nanites were working diligently, but she had no way to direct them. Whatever was determined to be the worst, the most life-threatening, would be what they targeted – which was precisely how she had programmed them. Angela simply had to hold on while they relieved her pain and extended her miserable existence in this chamber. She hated that one of her greatest creations was being used against her in such a macabre way, even as she desperately longed for the relief it would bring. Angela was strong – but hers was not a physical strength. She could cow people with a look, take command of a room just with her presence. It was that strength that had allowed her, at the tender age of twenty-two, to take and hold the position of Medical Director for Overwatch. Her strength wasn’t meant for blood and chains. The doctor did not look up when the door opened again. There was no point – the lights made it impossible to see. Instead, she left her head bowed and eyes closed. Only one person this time. Their footsteps were heavier than the men who had come before. Mentally she tracked them as they circled her slowly, as they paused to take in her bloody back, before coming to a stop in front of her. If she weren’t shackled, Angela was certain she could reach out and touch them. “And here stands the famous Dr. Ziegler.” The Reaper somehow made her name sound like an insult. Her eyes flew open as if she could see him – as if seeing him would somehow make her less helpless than she was right now. Angela forced them closed again, forced herself to appear unperturbed by her current situation, mentally berating herself for showing any reaction. “Nothing to say?” He growled. “No pleas for Mercy?” Again, her name twisted into something bitter and hateful. Her entire body was tense, screaming as the half-healed lashes broke open and blood rolled sluggishly down her back, as she waited for whatever new injury was coming. She maintained her stony silence and listened as he paced before her. “You brought this upon yourself, you know.” He growled from somewhere to her left. His statement had so many layers of truth, more than the man knew. From the day her parents had died, she’d walked a path that would inevitably lead her to this room – or another very like it. It was only a surprise that she had not been taken sooner; her medical genius under the thumb of Talon – or another terrorist organization – could turn the tides heavily in their favor. Her knowledge of Overwatch – the protocols, the backdoors, the agents, everything – would only be a bonus. “You’re too stubborn for your own good – you always have been.” The words were rushed as if he needed to get them out now before it was too late. Angela’s mind whirled as she tried to make sense of his angry words. How could this monster know what she had ‘always been’? “You never knew when to quit, never.” Now he was snarling as his footsteps stormed closer once more. Only the chains kept her in place as she instinctively tried to back away from the obvious threat. There weren’t many people that she had been close to during her time with Overwatch. Not well enough that they could know what she ‘never’ would do, at least. The words revealed more than she thought he wanted; she knew the man under the mask, even if she didn’t recognize him. “If you did, we wouldn’t be here right now.” One clawed hand was suddenly around her throat, yanking her head up from its bowed position as her eyes blindly flew open once more. It was firm enough to terrify her, but it didn’t hamper her in any other way. Angela was sure he wouldn’t kill her – she hadn’t uttered a single word since he had taken her from her apartment in Cairo. Why go through all this trouble if he was just going to rip her throat out now? That didn’t lessen her terror in the slightest, no matter how logical the conclusion was. “Dr. Ziegler, Mercy, an angel, a God.” He squeezed slightly, voice mocking, before releasing the pressure. “I thought you doctors weren’t supposed to play God – but that didn’t stop you, did it?” Angela had no idea what he was talking about; she didn’t play God. Like every other doctor, she used every tool available to preserve the broken lives that came before her. She had just created better tools during her time with Overwatch. Overwatch. “I told you to let go, to let me die – and you didn’t.” Now his mask was in her face, impossible to miss even with the lights, his grip a vice that didn’t allow her to lean away. “Instead, you turned me into this.” Angela went cold, her mind stuttering to a brief stop as she took in his declaration. If he was to be believed, she had created the murderous monster that had stalked the world since the fall of Overwatch. The Reaper had appeared only a few months after the fall. “You didn’t listen because you thought you knew best.” His breathing was ragged, as if he had run a marathon. She could feel it, hot and heavy on her face, as he glared down at her. Who had she healed, despite their – apparent – request for death? Genji had hated her for what she had done. That thought whisked away as quickly as it had come: this wasn’t Genji. He had wanted to survive, but he hadn’t realized what it would cost him. Genji had been angry, bitter at his loss, and it had been a nearly insurmountable rift between the two of them. They had worked together when needed, but Genji had made his opinions of her – and what she had done to him – very clear. Neither man nor machine, he believed she had taken away his humanity; she had thought he would never forgive her. It was only recently that he had come to terms with himself with the Shambali monks in Nepal. Someone who wanted to die – who she had decided to save anyway. “You always thought you knew best.” He scoffed, his claws digging into the delicate flesh of her throat, just enough to draw blood that slid in thin rivers towards her collarbone. She tried not to flinch – what was one more injury after what she had already endured? – but her face must have given something away. He chuckled, a low humorless sound that made her hair stand up. There was no one – no one – that she had saved that had wanted to die. “Oh, you should have let me go, Angela, mi corazón. ” He had leaned in closer, the words whispered into her ear for only her to hear. Her heart seized, and now she was sucking in desperate breaths. No one living knew of that endearment. “Now, we both pay the price for your pride.” He had died – he had died – there was no way that it was -- “Ga-Gabriel?” Her voice was rough with disuse, tentative and weak. It was the first word she had spoken in what had felt like an eternity, forced past his hand at her throat and through numb lips. It couldn’t be him. She had buried him – mourned him, despite his betrayal. He was dead. His head yanked back from her, quick as a striking snake. “That isn’t my name.” His grip tightened, claws digging further into her skin as the pads of his fingertips cut off all air. “I haven’t been Gabriel for a very long time.” Her hands twisted futilely in their bonds, trying desperately to reach down and tear his hand away. Just before she lost consciousness, he relaxed his grip enough for her to gulp down air in small, wheezing gasps. “Everything I am, everything I’ve done – that’s on you, because you didn’t listen to me.” The whisper seemed to echo in the room, the accusation striking deep in her heart. Then the air was gone again, but this time he didn’t let go until she was unconscious.

It was supposed to make him feel better. He hadn’t said everything he wanted to – Gabriel could still feel cruel words festering in his heart and soul – but he had said enough. Gabriel would have said more, would have yelled and screamed until his throat was hoarse, but then the Reaper had dug those claws into her throat. The Reaper wanted to ruin her, hurt her as he had hurt for all those years – but Gabriel couldn’t do it. He’d had to force himself out of the room before the Reaper did something Gabriel would regret. It should have been a relief to finally tell her exactly what she had done, but all that was left was a hollow emptiness. It had started perfectly. Angela was helpless in chains, at his mercy instead of the other way around. Her terror had been such a sweet nectar, a prize worth waiting all those years for. Then, his simmering rage had bubbled over until his claws were red with her blood, until the brutal truth came out. Then it all turned sour. That look on her face. That fucking look. The Reaper wanted to claw it off, rip her eyes out so she couldn’t look at him like that again. All it took was two little words, and she was completely undone. Her walls had come down in a way only he could manage and allowed him to see what lay beneath. He had watched the emotions that had flown through her with breakneck speed. Terror of being in the Reaper’s grasp had turned into shock at his name for her, his heart. A brief flash of love for the man she remembered, the man he no longer was, the man she had buried despite the lack of body. Hope, flickering and fleeting, that he might help her – before she remembered that it was he who had brought her here. Sorrow for her loss and the monster he had become had followed closely afterward. Gabriel had waited for the anger that would come next. He had shattered her world in so many ways and then left her to try to pick up the pieces that cut and sliced as she grasped at them. Gabriel had forced her to bury him, to mourn him, despite his betrayal. Then, he had turned into the monster that stalked the night and murdered the agents she had sworn to protect. He had shackled her and let her be tortured without lifting a finger to stop it. It should disgust her at what he had become and all he had done. Instead, the sorrow had remained, and she had called his name. She shouldn’t be sad. She should be horrified, enraged. He wanted her anger. Needed it. But Angela just looked up at him with those blue eyes that pierced through the Reaper and straight into Gabriel. He’d had to pull away, to escape those eyes that saw far too much. But there was no escaping them. Even here, in the hallway with a door between them and Angela left unconscious, he could feel them. It should have been sweet, this victory – it had been sweet – but all he could taste as he stalked through the hallways was ash. He gathered his guns and various supplies from the armory before leaving the Oasis base altogether. The Reaper told himself it was to hunt, to take the edge off the pain that was always hovering over him. Gabriel knew it was to bloody their hands in a way they couldn’t – wouldn’t – with the caged angel of his past.

Angela woke all at once, her body screaming in pain. Every part of her hurt, even with the help of her nanites. She shifted, taking the weight off her shoulders, and felt another of the lashes on her back reopen. Angela hurriedly turned a whimper of pain into a hiss of air through clenched teeth; there was no telling who was watching, and she wanted to give as little of a reaction as possible. It was only after she trusted herself to keep her face blank and impassive that she allowed herself to consider the Reaper. Gabriel. And it was Gabriel. The two of them were the only people who knew of that endearment, whispered in quiet moments in the privacy of her – their – bedroom. They had never spoken it where anyone else could overhear and possibly report it back to their enemies. Not even in front of their friends – their family – did they use those endearments. No, that one had been for her ears alone. Mi corazón. Mein herz. It was the closest thing to wedding vows that they would ever take, but that had suited them just fine. The two of them were prominent members of their organizations – her as Mercy and the Medical Director of Overwatch, him as the Commander of Blackwatch. It wasn’t safe for people like them, with such responsibility and power, to foster relationships. People in their positions couldn’t afford such luxuries – such weaknesses. Amélie and Gérard had been a horrible reminder of that lesson. Amélie had come from a family that had once been influential but had been in decline long before she was born. Between the slight influence of her name and her fame as a talented ballerina, she had experienced some power. Amélie had had a taste of what she needed to be to stand at Gérard’s side. Gérard was a power far more influential and dangerous than what Amélie had ever held. Gérard had been their expert on Talon. He had commanded agents, ordered life and death, and was one of the largest targets in the entire organization due to his vast knowledge. In Overwatch, only the Strike Commander and his Captain – Jack and Ana – were more valuable. Amélie hadn’t been ready for that burden, the weight that marrying Gérard carried. The ballerina had thought she understood the risks, the danger. It was understandable, really. No one could understand, not without actually experiencing it. Angela had acclimatized with relative ease – as a doctor, she had always carried around the burdens of life and death. Amélie had never needed to worry about her words, worry about her next breath, not as she had once she was Gérard’s wife. Oh, they had tried to help her. Angela had befriended her in a way she had never attempted before. All her friends had been fostered through her work, through medicine or missions. Amélie wasn’t even a part of Overwatch – but Gérard was. They needed Gérard, and so Angela tried her best to help him and his new, beautiful wife. It had been an awkward, stumbling start, but somehow they had become friends. Angela had helped Amélie learn to shoulder the constant threat and fear, something Angela had long since come to terms with. Angela had been there when Amélie couldn’t sleep, terrified that Gérard was going to die while out on a mission. She had soothed the ballerina when Gérard was recovering from the bomb that had nearly killed him, even though Angela herself had almost lost Gabriel in that same explosion. Angela had become for Amélie what Gabriel was for her. Angela always made time to search out the woman, to give her counsel or just a shoulder to cry on. They talked about many things – from Angela’s research to Amélie’s hopes for the future. Eventually, Amélie took up ballet again and started living the life she had put on hold while she got her bearings. They had let their guard down after her being safe for so long – and that had been their undoing. Talon had kidnapped Amélie, just as they had abducted Angela now. Unlike Angela, they had returned the ballerina – not that Overwatch had realized she was being returned at the time. Amélie was recovered, almost no worse for her two weeks in Talon’s clutches, and life went back to normal. That is, until Amélie assassinated Gérard. It had been a horrible discovery. Somehow, the sweet woman had been brainwashed into murdering the husband she had once loved. No one saw it coming – not even Angela, who had looked her over and had spoken to her every day. It was all normal – until it wasn’t. Amélie had returned to Talon before they could stop her and was now one of their best assassins: the formidable Widowmaker. Gabriel and Angela hadn’t wanted to follow in their footsteps, to risk one of them being used against the other. They kept their relationship private – only their closest friends and a few UN members knew about them – to protect themselves and each other. Neither had been willing to endanger the other for something so trivial as a wedding or a ring. They didn’t need material proof of the love between them. That had been a source of grief after the fall. Nothing material meant there was nothing to hold on to after he was gone and buried, besides her memories and what few photographs she could salvage from the wreckage of her personal effects. Gabriel had thoroughly shattered her life, her world, when he had destroyed the Zürich base that had been her home. She had found him that day, broken and dying in the rubble, when she had gone searching for Jack - her Commander, her friend, her brother. Angela hadn’t known of Gabriel’s betrayal then, hadn’t known that he had caused the wanton destruction that surrounded them – but knowing wouldn’t have changed the outcome. She would have still tried to save him because that was who she was and what she did. Angela had been forced to abandon him before stabilizing him due to the building crashing down around them. She had barely escaped with her life. After seeing his injuries, she didn’t believe for a single moment that he had survived the collapse; even when his body hadn’t been recovered, she didn’t think he survived. Angela was certain he had died, believed it enough to mourn and bury him. Angela had given him a grave when the UN had refused: even traitors deserved a place to rest and be remembered. Graves were for the living. She had been the one to give aid to what was left of his family after they had denied his death benefits; his family had done nothing wrong, after all. They had simply had the misfortune of being related to him. She had mourned him most, over all the others who died, despite his betrayal – especially because of the betrayal. Because she had loved him, fiercely and desperately. It hadn’t been easy, loving Gabriel. Sometimes it was hard and painful, like hugging a porcupine, when he was at his most difficult. Sometimes it had been nearly impossible, faced with his position as the Blackwatch Commander and all that entailed. But it had been worth it, all of it, including the end. He had been her first real friend, the first person who saw her for Angela and not just Dr. Ziegler – or, later, Mercy. Gabriel was her confidant, the one she turned to when the weight of the world was too much to bear, who soothed her after she woke up screaming and stayed up the rest of the night so she wouldn’t be alone. A piece of her had died with him in the rubble of the Zürich base. She wrestled with herself for a moment, forcing down tears and choking back a sob. Gabriel’s death had been a wound to her heart that she had thought was healed. The revelation of the Reaper’s real name had ripped through the scar tissue and split her open more viciously than her back had been. Angela had known she would face pain here, trapped in a torture chamber deep inside the black heart of Talon, but she hadn’t expected it to be this kind of pain. He had died. Angela had buried him, just like she had buried the other members of their family by choice – Ana, the mother; Jack, the brother. Just like Gabriel, their bodies hadn’t been recovered either. She had taken flowers to his grave twice a year: once for his birthday in May and again for his death day in August – the anniversary of the day she had lost everything – the only personal time she ever took for herself. The only time she allowed herself to remember, to be anything but numb. Despite all that, he was alive. He was alive, and now she was his hated enemy instead of friend and lover. He was the Reaper, a dark and deadly serial killer that had rarely left survivors. He was with Talon, an organization he had once dedicated his life to stopping. He had brought her here, condemned her to be tortured and broken before being tossed away. He had gloated over her capture. It was that fact, more than anything else, that made her believe the Reaper. He wasn’t Gabriel – not her Gabriel, at least. Her Gabriel would never have put her in danger; he had been nearly smothering in his protection. That Gabriel would have yanked her down out of these chains and whisked her away or died trying. No, her Gabriel was dead, and a monster had taken his place. Angela couldn’t stop a few stray tears from streaking down her cheeks as she mourned his loss all over again.

The only person from Overwatch Fareeha had spoken to since her mothers’ death years ago had been Dr. Ziegler – Angela. The doctor kept in touch throughout the years – even after the collapse – checking in periodically and remembering to call on holidays and her birthday. So, when she awoke to a voicemail – left at 1:37 AM – from Cole, she had been surprised. Fareeha remembered the man; between his drawling accent and the cowboy outfit, he was very unforgettable. It also helped that her mother had taken a picture of the two of them, helpfully labeled ‘Cole and Fareeha, 2062’. He wanted her to check on Angela. If it had been anyone else, Fareeha might have said no. Even if she had known Cole nearly a decade ago – or more, actually, but she wasn’t entirely sure – that didn’t mean she owed him anything now. But Angela was an entirely different matter. The doctor was her friend after so many years. Clearly, she was Cole’s too – why else would he reach out after all this time? His urgency had driven her to request a few personal days off – something she rarely did - and then she had traveled out to the address in Cairo he had provided her. “Angela?” She had called, knocking at the door. There was no answer, but Fareeha wasn’t sure that was unusual. She knew that her doctor friend could keep long hours, so perhaps she was already out – or still asleep. Fareeha stood at the door for several minutes, considering what her next steps should be. The woman pulled out her communicator and called Angela, as she had done – twice – on the way here. Faintly, Fareeha could hear the sound of Angela’s communicator inside the apartment. Was that normal? Did she usually leave it behind? “Angela?” Fareeha had called again, pocketing the communicator. This time, she jiggled the knob – and was surprised to find the door unlocked. That was unusual, Fareeha knew. Angela wouldn’t leave her home unlocked, not with the equipment she hauled around. Cautiously, the Egyptian pushed the door open and sidled in, regretting that she hadn’t brought a weapon with her. Fortunately, there was no need for a weapon. Unfortunately, the apartment was empty of the doctor. Fareeha found a set of keys on the ground, which only proved her belief of foul play. She scooped them up and tested them on the door; they were an exact match, which meant that Angela probably hadn’t left the apartment willingly. She poked around, but nothing else jumped out at her as out of order– just the keys and the unlocked door. She left everything as it was and locked up the apartment. There was a medical camp nearby; she would investigate there next. Hopefully, they had better news than the apartment did.

---

Fareeha waited until 5:00 PM to call Cole back. It had felt like an eternity, but their radically different time zones necessitated the wait. “Fareeha? What’d ya find?” He sounded alert; perhaps she could have called him earlier. It didn’t matter. Quickly, she relayed what she had found: the open door, the keys on the ground, and her absence at the medical camp for the past three days. “She’s not here, Cole.” Fareeha had been worried before, but now she was terrified. There was no sign of the doctor anywhere, though there was ample enough proof that she had been here. Her absence meant nothing good. “Did it look like there was a struggle, back at her place?” The cowboy had asked after a long, considering moment. “Besides the keys on the ground? No. It all looks… normal.” Fareeha glanced around the apartment she had been searching while she had watched the clock. “It’s kind of empty – but that’s normal, right?” Cole made an affirmative noise; the past apartment Fareeha had visited had felt a lot like this one, too. “There’s no food out. The bed looked slept in.” Fareeha stalked through the small apartment, glancing around for anything she could relay to the cowboy. “Her equipment cases – you know, the ones that carry the suit and staff?” Fareeha had once convinced Angela to pull it all out so she could look at it. Of course, she had seen pictures, but that was nothing compared to having it right in front of her. The pictures didn’t capture the faint scratches and dents in the armor, proving how dangerous the doctor’s life had been before the fall. “Yeah, I know ‘em. They still there?” There was some hope in his voice; if they left the equipment behind, her captors probably weren’t exceedingly dangerous. But- “No. They took those, too.” Fareeha sat gingerly on the couch, bracing her head against her free hand. “What do we do now?” She was a fighter, the one you called when you wanted things killed – she had no idea where to begin searching for a missing person. “I’ll put some feelers out, call in some favors.” The cowboy seemed distracted, probably planning the next steps. She remembered a little about him: he was a cowboy, he was a great shot, and he had been part of Blackwatch – the covert intelligence division of Overwatch. Not that she had known at the time. She hadn’t known what the skull insignia had meant until long after Blackwatch had been revealed to the public, and everything came crashing down. “Call me if there is anything I can do.” Fareeha insisted. Helix would let her go if he called – and if they didn’t, then they weren’t worth staying with. Angela Ziegler was too crucial to the world to let a job stand in the way. “‘course I will.” He paused, considering briefly, before continuing. “Actually, can ya get her pictures and stuff, keep ‘em safe ‘til one a’us can come an’ get them?” It wasn’t what she was expecting to be asked to do, but if Cole thought it was important enough to be mentioned, she could do it. “I can do that. Let me know if you need anything else.” They said their goodbyes and disconnected. Fareeha swept her eyes around the apartment, suddenly grateful the doctor traveled light.

Your touch used to be so kind, Your touch used to give me life. I've waited all this time, I've wasted so much time. - Falling Inside the Black [Skillet]

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

Martyr

I'm strong on the surface, Not all the way through. I've never been perfect, But neither have you. - Leave Out All the Rest [Linkin Park] Febuwhump Day 13: "Hidden Injury" | Fandom: Overwatch (Pre-Fall) | Angela / Gabriel

AO3 | FF.net | Works

“Mercy, come in.” Angela blinked, glancing around. What—? She found herself draped uncomfortably over broken concrete and wood; it appeared she had landed on what remained of a wall or building - but why would she be in any such place? Right. She was in Germany, with a strike team. There had been an explosion that had taken them all unaware. Just like that, she was moving. There would be injured to tend to - both on her strike team and for any innocents caught in the crossfire of this terrorist attack. She felt the Valkyrie suit humming, warm against her skin; distantly, Angela knew that meant she was injured - but, since she couldn’t see any blood, Angela dismissed it as unimportant. “Mercy! Do you copy?” The voice called again, this time more worried. She was unsurprised at the worry; she was the medic and the Medical Director, after all. “I copy,” she replied, one hand lifting to her ear while the other gripped her staff firmly. Angela moved her hand, flipping a small switch on the halo that would engage her HUD. It sparked to life, allowing her to see through the hazy dust that floated around her. Without hesitation, she moved towards the first individual she could see. She found the man, blood pouring from a gash in his side, and pointed her staff. After a moment, Angela realized that the staff wasn’t operating properly - it must have been broken in the explosion. She set the staff aside with a disgusted sigh before kneeling in the ruins to manually care for him.

---

Though she had been home for nearly an hour, had been out of the rubble for longer, she still wore the Valkyrie suit breastplate. Angela’s wings and halo, more of a hindrance than anything within the carrier's tight quarters, had long since been stripped away. After that, there had been no time – and no reason – to remove the breastplate. After clearing the site of all injured, her team had rushed to their carrier - one of their own was severely injured, far worse than what Angela could repair manually in the field. She’d kept him alive on the carrier and had followed him all the way into the operating room to finish the job. About three-quarters of the way through the surgery, her Valkyrie suit had powered down; the wave of agony had caused her hands to momentarily pause, but before anyone could notice or comment, she had shoved it away. There would be time for that later, once her agent wasn’t bleeding out. Now, her agent was resting in a private room; she had left the operating room with murmured excuses of changing and making her reports. Then, Angela went to her office, not allowing a single sign of her pain to show on her face or in her stride. It was only once she was hidden away inside, door locked behind her, that Angela allowed herself to let down her protective walls. It was stupid; she knew that. All she had to do was say something to one of her staff and they would have helped her - but she loathed appearing weak, even after all these years. She knew there was no reason for it, knew no one would think poorly of her, and yet she had hidden herself away anyway. Angela stripped off the breastplate with shaking hands before setting it aside on her couch, not bothering to walk the additional ten feet to its normal stand. Her boots were kicked off, landing haphazardly on the surrounding floor. Then, she was contorting herself as she reached for the zipper on the catsuit; it hurt, making her gasp and bringing tears to her eyes, but she managed it. Panting, she stripped it off wearily before looking herself over. There were no lacerations or gashes, which she already knew. Instead, she found herself mottled with purple-black bruises; from what Angela could tell, it was worse on her back - but she had no mirror, so it was hard to compare the bruising on her front to what was on her back. Later, once the infirmary was - mostly - empty and no one else was around, she would sneak - as if she weren’t the Director or the one who had developed it, personally - a healing stream away to take care of herself. It would only be a few hours; she could manage a few bruises that long. Angela had just finished pulling a set of scrubs - she always had an extra set in her office, just in case - when the doorknob rattled. “Angela?” Her heart tripped; she hadn’t expected to see him today. He was supposed to be in Rome like he usually was. Angela briefly considered pretending she wasn’t in her office, that she was somewhere else in the building - but she already didn’t get to see him as often as she’d like. As she made her way back across the office, she shored up her walls to hide her pain. “Gabriel,” Angela greeted warmly as she opened the door. “I heard about the explosion,” he said, brushing against her as he made his way inside the office. “Are you alright?” Angela shut the door, hiding them away from prying eyes, before turning to look up at him. “Of course I am,” Angela assured him; a few bruises weren’t life-threatening, after all. She knew that he would disagree with her assessment - but he was rather biased when it came to her health. Angela was certain he would consider a paper cut to be too much injury for her; the mottled black spread across her back would definitely worry him, even if there was no reason for his concern. Gabriel closed the distance between them then, wrapping her in a warm embrace that normally was comforting but currently was agonizing. Angela forced herself to relax into him anyway, forced her arms not to tremble as they lifted to wrap around his waist - but he must have noticed something was amiss, because he pulled back to look down at her. “What’s wrong?” Angela shook her head, frowning slightly when the motion made her dizzy. “I am just sore, that’s all.” It wasn’t a lie; her body ached fiercely, but it was nothing to be concerned about - though the dizziness wasn’t the greatest of signs. “Angela,” he rumbled, clearly not believing her, “you’re hurt, aren’t you?” She worried her lip and glanced down with a resigned nod. “Let me see.” Angela hesitated; even with him - especially with him - she wanted to appear strong, capable. He already worried enough about her as it was. Sighing, Angela reached for the hem of her top. Her body rebelled, aching and angry, as she moved to pull it up for him to see the bruising. Gabriel clearly noticed the pain she was in, because before she’d even managed to get it halfway up, his hands were there and taking over for her. Then she was standing there, stripped to the waist aside from her bra, arms crossed and face downcast as he looked her over. “Angela,” he sighed, disappointment and worry coloring his voice; despite the pain, her shoulders hunched and she ducked her head. Angela hated that she had let him down again. He moved, stepping around her to look at her back; his sharp intake of breath confirmed that it was worse there than on her front. “This isn’t - Angela, this isn’t okay.” He wasn’t shouting at her, but the words echoed in her ears as if he had. She jumped, wincing, as he lightly touched her back; the touch disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, and then he was standing in front of her again. Angela didn’t need to look up to know that Gabriel was frowning down at her, worry in his eyes as he tried to figure out what to do with her, again. “I was going to take care of it in a few hours,” she murmured to the floor. “I didn’t want to worry you.” She hadn’t expected him to be here to worry about her. Angela could have easily hidden this from him over their communicators, and no one else would have gotten close enough to notice her discomfort. “I know,” Gabriel sighed. And he did know - she had practically bared her soul to him, after all. He knew her flaws and had seen all of her ugly, weak parts and still found her worthy of his attention. Even if she did make him worry like he was now. “Come on; let’s get you dressed, and we’ll take care of it.” She didn’t particularly want to do that - but Angela knew that he would just carry her to the infirmary if she refused. Instead, she allowed him to help her back into her shirt and followed him out of the office. In the hall, she forced herself to walk normally again - no one, except perhaps Gabriel, would notice there was anything amiss. Halfway to the infirmary, she paused, one hand grabbing at his bicep as she steadied herself. “Angela?” Gabriel’s voice echoed strangely in her ears again, and she closed herself as her vision swam. Angela took a deep breath and opened her eyes, releasing his arm. “Sorry. I am alright.” It was obvious to her that he was completely unconvinced, but he didn’t press the issue; instead, he kept pace next to her as they went to the infirmary. Once inside, he called Gloria - the only doctor whose name he knew beside Angela’s - as he bullied Angela onto one of the triage beds. “She’s hurt,” Gabriel explained to the redheaded doctor. “I’d appreciate it if you’d look her over.” Gloria nodded before shooing him away and pulling the curtains closed. Once Angela was stripped again, Gloria tsk’d. “You should have said something, doctor.” Gloria chided. “I will be right back with the healing stream, and then you will be as good as new.”

---

It was almost thirty minutes later when she walked out of the infirmary, feeling a million times better. That it had taken so long meant that the damage had been worse than some bruising - which Gabriel had been quick to point out as they entered the elevator that would take them up to her rooms. “It was foolish, I know.” Angela agreed, though they both knew it wouldn’t change how she would act in the future. Her pain was secondary compared to everything else - to include her pride. If she wasn’t so worried about appearances, about being strong, she wouldn’t have left her wounds untended. “Reckless, you mean.” Gabriel corrected as they stepped out of the elevator. It wasn’t long before they were in her rooms and his arms were around her, holding her tightly as he pressed his face into her hair. “I wish you would take better care of yourself, cariño.” He murmured. “You’re not invincible, even if that suit of yours makes you feel that way.” Angela pressed herself against him, apologizing wordlessly because she couldn’t say the words aloud; apologizing for something she would continue to do in the future felt too much like a lie. “I will try to do better,” Angela said instead, which really meant nothing at all and they both knew it – but it was the best she could offer. She would continue to throw herself into harm's way, to ignore her wounds, because that was who she was and what she did. Angela was nothing if not reckless when it came to the safety and protection of their agents. He sighed, a big heaving motion that told her he was unhappy but resigned to the fact that there was nothing to be done about it; they had gone through this song and dance far too many times, after all. Instead, he pulled back to look down at her; in his eyes, she could see his worry and love - but no disappointment, for which she was grateful. The worry she could handle, but his disappointment was always crushing. Then, his hand was cupping her chin, tilting her head back as he captured her lips with his own - and then there was no need for words at all.

I'm trying out this prompt thing. I know, I know, I should be working on Forged - it'll be done [eventually] but my brain just doesn't want to write it.

Protector

I was broken you made me whole again The only one I trusted more than myself -What I Believe [Skillet] Febuwhump Day 14: "I didn't mean it." | Fandom: Overwatch (Pre-Fall) | Angela & Gabriel

AO3 | FF.net | Works

"Did you know that my parents died in the war?" She asked, the sudden change of topic making him blink with surprise. "Angela, what--" He started, but she spoke over him. "They died, leaving me an orphan with my grandparents. Already an outsider – the girl without parents – I buried myself in my academics because I had a burning need to prove myself worthy. So, I flew through school – all the way through university and medical school." Angela didn't know where the words were coming from, only that she needed to say them and he needed to hear them. "Then, my grandparents died - and I was truly an orphan then, with no one at all to turn to." She sighed as her eyes dropped to her lap. "I didn't have any friends, because who wanted to be friends with a child that was smarter than them? It was incredibly lonely, with teachers that had no time and peers that avoided me, so I drowned myself in my studies and ignored the looks and the whispers." Angela shrugged as if to say it happens sometimes, that it didn't matter - though clearly it did, considering she was recounting it to him now. "It was no different at the hospital; I excelled, moved up the ranks, and my peers hated me even as they respected me. I had no friends – not someone I'd gossip with or laugh with, though I admit I throw myself into my work so deeply that I have little time for such things, as you know." She smiled derisively, as if it didn't bother her – though if it hadn't, she wouldn't be talking about it, forcing the words out for him to hear. "Then you and Jack showed up, and I decided to join Overwatch – even with my misgivings. I expected it to be much the same, especially with my less-than-stellar opinions." She took a breath, having almost forgotten how to breathe in her need to speak. "But it wasn't. I have friends here – honest friends, not the ones that wait for you to stumble so they can pull the rug out from under you." Angela glanced up and saw that Gabriel was listening intently, still curious as to what – exactly – her point was. "You, Gabriel, you were my first friend – and I doubt you even knew it, because you're good with people in a way that I'm not. You and Jack and Ana, you were my first friends, ever since I was a small girl that still had parents." She took a shuddering breath and gripped her legs with fingers that trembled. "So believe me, Gabriel, when I say that I can't lose you – any of you. I have lost too much." Angela let out a breath that sounded like a sob. "But you go, all three of you - and you take risks, and you save people, and you get shot - and I am left behind to wait, hands wringing, praying that this time won't be the last time, that you will return home whole or on a gurney for me to put back together and not in a body bag for me to bury." Her words were heated with anger and terror and anxiety: because they made her stay behind, because they didn't trust her to survive on a battlefield, to watch their backs like they watched each other. She let the anger fuel her because anything else would lead to tears, and she just couldn't. Jack had led the team that flushed out the enemy, making sure the way was clear so she could move unhindered. Ana had watched out for her, making sure that they knew there was an enemy behind them so that she wouldn't be hurt. Gabriel had stayed at her side the entire time, and, when it came down to it, he jumped in front of a shooter for her. "So instead of letting me learn how to be useful, you three protect me like a delicate china doll. You shoved me aside to take a bullet. You gave me a concussion, but I still dutifully stopped your bleeding and even pulled a bullet out of you, because you're important and I didn't have time to take care of myself without endangering you." She practically growled the words. "Wait- you had a concussion and you performed surgery on me?" Gabriel's voice was indignant, and she rolled her eyes; he had, of course, missed the point entirely. "You're fine. All your pieces are in the right spots." She snapped back. "A concussion?" He repeated. "Yes. Blow to the head, causes dizziness, nausea? Stop me if any of this sounds familiar." Angela retorted dryly. "I know what a concussion is, Angela. Why were you doing anything with a concussion?" He demanded. "There you go again, coddling me! You had four bullets in you, and you still did your job – you," she hesitated only briefly, "killed the man that would have killed me. I get slammed into a wall – your fault, by the way – and you act like it's the end of the world!" She yelled, fury rising. "My fault? Excuse me for saving your life!" He yelled back, his own temper fraying. "But that doesn't give you any right—" Angela started yelling right back. "I'm the doctor; I have every right." Her words battled with his to be loudest. "—to perform surgery on anyone with a concussion." His eyes were blazing just as much as hers were. "You're the doctor; you should know better." "Are you dead? Dying? Missing pieces?" Angela demanded. "No, because I did my job. You. Are. Fine." The door opened, and both turned to glare at the intruders. Jack stood in the doorway, Ana a step behind him, both looking rather surprised to find the two of them at each other's throats. "My, someone's in a mood today," Ana remarked blithely, recovering first. "You must be feeling better, Gabe." She pushed Jack inside and closed the door behind her. "Now, what's got you both so riled up?" Angela crossed her arms and glared at Gabriel. "He doesn't think I'm capable of being a professional." She accused. "She had a concussion and was operating on me; I'm pretty sure I'm allowed to be pissed about that!" He met her glare with one of his own. Ana clicked her tongue and shook her head. "Simmer down, children." They both turned their glare on the older woman, who just laughed. "You're both right, though you're too angry to see it. Angela, darling, you shouldn't have been doing anything in your state – but in her defense, she was very protective of you, Gabriel." She winked jovially, and Angela found herself blushing despite herself. "Despite her injury, she still performed admirably, and had she been anyone else, you'd probably be praising them." Ana glanced at Jack, and he nodded in agreement. "Now, apologize so we can talk," Ana said, hands on her hips as she waited for them to get on with it already. "I'm sorry I yelled at you, Gabriel." Angela murmured, eyes downcast and genuinely contrite; now that the wind was out of her sails, she felt extremely remorseful. "Yeah, I know, doc. I shouldn't have yelled either." Gabriel sighed. "I didn't mean it." "Good. Now that that's done, Angela should have a report for us." The blonde doctor made a face as the other two found seats, but she sat up straighter and pushed her hair behind her ears dutifully.

So, like, 99.99% of this has been written for over a year (or three). This was originally going to be a scene in my long fic "Forging" (it would have been part of / the end of the second scene of the 8th chapter "Determination"). But, it got scrapped and put into my giant pile of 'stuff I eventually want to post somewhere' and now, well, here we are!

Self-Sacrifice

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

AO3 | FF.net | Works

---

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

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

One | Two | Three | Four | Five

An Angel’s Ransom

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

AO3 | FF.net | Works

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

---

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

---

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

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

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

---

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

---

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

---

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

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

---

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

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

One | Two | Three | Four | Five

Broken Chains

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

AO3 | FF.net | Works

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

---

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

---

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

One | Two | Three | Four | Five

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

Breaking [My Heart]: Act III Crushing

"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 the third part of 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!

You can't fix your broken promise Our ties have come undone I will not be used to be battered and abused It's the reason why I choose to cut my losses - White Rabbit [Egypt Central]

Whenever they removed the shackles, Angela would collapse into a heap on the ground, legs too shaky and weak to suddenly accept the full burden of her weight. Depending on how healed they were, her wounds might burst open once more and spatter crimson drops along the concrete. Still, she would grit her teeth and force herself to sit up, to be strong in a way that she wasn’t. Then they would put food and water before her. If she ignored them, they would force it upon her. She had tried twice, in a vain attempt to take back some control of her life, but now she always quickly ate and drank what was before her. It was always too little, always left her hungry and wanting, but it was better than nothing. Once she finished, they would leave her to her own devices for a time; Angela would take this time to curl up in a corner of the room to try to rest. Sometimes, it was too much effort to stand, so she would crawl instead of walk. The small comfort of two sides being protected by the walls was worth the humiliation of crawling across the too-bright room. There, she would press as close to the two walls as her wounds allowed, clutching the torn shirt around her ragged body. Angela would bury her face into her knees, hugged as close as she could manage to her bruised chest, to try to block out the blinding lights so she could attempt to sleep. What little rest she was able to get was always disturbed by nightmares. Angela was used to nightmares – she had devoted her entire life to ridding herself of them, after all. She would fail a patient, and they would haunt her, so she would become better and create better tools to ensure that she wouldn’t fail another person in the same way. Before her capture, Angela rarely slept without nightmares. Occasionally she had managed to exhaust herself so completely that not even the horrific images could keep her away. Those nightmares were daydreams compared to the ones she now experienced. Even in her dreams, her interrogators hurt her, demanded from her. They ripped into her in a way they had not in her reality, in a way they would if she continued along this path of silence. Piece by piece, she would be taken apart until she woke, screaming with tears on her cheeks. Sometimes she would see Gabriel as he was before the fall, and then he twisted into the Reaper to rip into her, too, until there was nothing left. Those nightmares were the worst, leaving her trembling and weeping as she mourned his loss all over again. The time on the ground was always short-lived and never enough. Eventually, her captors would barge into the room, toss her shirt aside, and string her up in the chains once more. Sometimes the questions came immediately. Other times, they’d leave her hanging for what felt like an eternity before eventually coming to question her with their tools and her blood. Angela forced herself to accept the abuse and humiliation. She needed to suffer as silently as possible, because once she allowed herself to make noise – to speak – it would only become harder to maintain that vow. Angela was realistic. She knew that, eventually, she would break her silence and that they would force her to beg. She only hoped that she could hold out, keep the information from them until they broke her beyond all repair. Because there were still so, so many ways they could hurt her. So many ways they would hurt her, when her silence continued.

---

Time had lost all meaning, precisely as they had intended it to. Angela wasn’t sure if she was released from her bonds on a regular basis or if they kept it purposefully irregular to throw her off. She certainly knew the torture – no longer did she hide behind such gentle words as ‘interrogation’ – sessions came irregularly. On one occasion, the blood had barely dried before they had come in for another round. Angela had been released from her chains four times but had been tortured at least nine times – possibly more or less, because they blurred together after a while. Between the two intermittent events that now made up the sum of her life, the perpetual blindness, and exhaustion, she was completely unaware of how long she had been here. On the worst side of the spectrum, Angela thought she had been here for ten days. On the best, it could be as little as three – but she highly doubted that. However long it was, her friends had to have noticed she was missing by now, right? If nothing else, the medical camp in Cairo would have noted her absence. Eventually, they would have sent someone to check on her and discovered she was missing. Angela couldn’t help the desperate hope that someone – anyone – would find her, even as she knew that it would never happen. That hope had remained, flickering dimly in her heart as she hung from her chains. But she doubted the Reaper – Gabriel – would have been so careless as to leave behind a clue pointing towards Talon as her kidnappers. In fact, she wouldn’t put it past him to have laid false trails – he had been the Commander of Blackwatch for years, after all. Angela wasn’t sure if it was a relief that she hadn’t seen the man since their last, earthshaking encounter. She knew that, were he the one barking questions and splitting her flesh, she would break, and nothing would be able to put her back together. Whether he was her Gabriel or the Reaper didn’t matter, not for this. Just the thought was enough to make her nauseous, and she had to convulsively swallow to keep from vomiting up what little sustenance they had allowed her. He could tear her apart with a few well-placed words – and yet, he had been curiously absent. Angela wondered if, when they broke her spirit, they would break her mind, too. Certainly Gabriel – the Reaper – was capable of both, simultaneously crushing her heart while he was at it. They could save so much time by sending him into this room with her, but they had not. This, too, fed the weak spark of hope that sheltered inside her. She teetered between being glad for his absence and hoping that she might see him again. Angela knew that, should he appear again, it would only herald her end – in one way or another. All it had taken was two words to break her the last time; she wasn’t so sure, even strengthened with knowledge, that she wouldn’t shatter just upon seeing him. And yet, she still wished she could see him. How many times had she begged for one last time? Angela knew something of Gabriel was still within him. He had memories from before the fall, from before she had – apparently – turned him into the Reaper. Whether he would admit it or not, there was a part of him that still held her Gabriel; it was that part, no matter how infinitesimally small, that she wanted to see one more time. The door opened again, and she barely suppressed the shudder of fear. Angela blanked her face and shored up her defenses. Each time, it was just a little bit harder.

---

She knew time was not on her side. The longer she stayed imprisoned, the more likely she was to break – or die. Angela knew she couldn’t rely on a rescue, so she had to try to take matters into her own hands. It didn’t matter that she had no idea where she was or where an exit was. It didn’t matter that the beatings and the lack of nourishment had weakened her. It didn’t matter that, should she fail, it would become so much worse for her. It didn’t matter that her chance of success was probably a negative number. She had to try. For the ones she protected, for her pride, she could do no less. It had been difficult to piece together some semblance of a plan. It was hard to keep her thoughts focused, even after such a short time in their care. They were constantly hurting her, affecting her, whether they were in the room or not. The blinding lights gave her horrific headaches and made it nearly impossible to get any rest – she might be known for rarely sleeping, but she still needed it. They only gave her enough food and water to stay alive, and her body was already wasting away. Added to that was the stress of hanging from those despicable chains for hours on end and the drain from the nanites piecing her back together after each visit. And then there was the fear of failure, despite her resolve. She knew that it would get worse, whether or not she tried to escape. That didn’t make the decision any easier – but she had never been one to take the easy path if it was the wrong one. In this act – perhaps, hopefully, her final one – she could be no less. Angela would become Mercy one last time. She would charge into the battlefield, regardless of her safety and health, to protect those under her care. They may no longer be Overwatch, but she had sworn an oath forged in the fire of the ruins of the Zürich base and tempered with the blood of the fallen. No matter where they went, they were hers – until her death, or theirs. So she had planned, as quickly as she was able. The hardest part was the waiting. They had to let their guard down around her – as if that were a difficult feat to accomplish. Why would they think her a flight risk? She was a doctor, a pacifist, the healer; the thought of her being any kind of threat to anyone was laughable at best. Her captors already didn’t take her seriously; whenever Angela was chained, they left the door tauntingly unlocked. The only time she had ever heard it lock was when they left her sprawled on the floor. That would be the time to strike – when they dropped her from the chains, but before they left. Already they were only sending one guard in – it didn’t take two people to release her from the chains, after all. So, when the guard unceremoniously dropped her to the ground for the fifth time, she was – more or less – ready. Angela scooted away – just a little, in an effort to conserve what little energy she had – from the offerings that they laid before her, face turned up and away, watching the guard from the corner of her eye. It took him a moment to realize that she hadn’t fallen upon her food like she had the last two times – after the lesson of the first two meals, she hadn’t given them any excuse to hurt her more. The man made an annoyed sound; clearly, he had places to be, and she was hampering those plans. Angela watched as he stalked closer, let him snatch her hair into a tight grip that brought him within her meager reach. Her hands flew up to grab his, as he expected – it was a natural response that they had yet to beat out of her. What he hadn’t expected was for those hands to release and reach further. Angela had considered trying to strike, to hit, but realized she would never be able to put enough momentum or strength behind the action to be useful. Instead, her hands reached for his pelvic area, grateful that her guard was a man – was always a man. Before he could react to her surprising action, Angela had his genitals in her grip. Before he could yank her away, she twisted and pulled as savagely as she was able. He made a strangled noise and dropped like a rock to his knees. That brought his head – more or less – within her reach as well, as she had intended. Her head smashed into the bridge of his nose, fully incapacitating the man and temporarily stunning her as her headache flared to life once more. Angela was almost sure she had hit him correctly, that she hadn’t concussed herself, but she was in no place to diagnose herself. As quickly as she was able, Angela patted at his hips and pockets for whatever access key or card he had; while she had no idea where she was, she knew it had to be at least somewhat secure. She also knew it was only a matter of minutes before they raised the alarm, either from whoever was behind the cameras or the other guards realizing something was amiss. Before that point, she had to find a way out – whatever that way might be. Angela left her shirt behind; trying to clutch it to her body would only hamper her movements and take up precious time and energy. Instead, she staggered out of her cell, half-naked and barefoot with a black keycard in one hand. The other hand pressed against the wall, helping her stay upright as her legs trembled. Here was another part of her plan that had relied on luck: there weren’t any guards within sight of her door. She went right – as good a direction as any, especially since she couldn’t hear any signs of people. Angela was grateful that the nanites had managed to at least seal the gashes that streaked across her body; it would be utterly pointless if she left a trail of blood behind her. As she shuffled along, her eyes searched her surroundings for something, anything, that could help her. There was nothing. Of course, there would be nothing in the halls lined with torture chambers; if a prisoner escaped, as she had, they wouldn’t want them to be able to arm themselves. Once, Angela had to crouch low in the shadow of a counter – the only cover she had, but absolutely useless considering how her pale skin stood out. It was only because someone called the guard away, back down the path he’d come, that she had been spared. She had waited for a single, precious minute before somehow climbing back to her feet to press on. Angela managed to find a stairwell. There had been an elevator, somewhere along the hall behind her, which had been tempting – but taking that would have been foolish. Better to suffer through the stairs than be trapped inside the metal box, practically gift-wrapped for her captors. She had checked the markings on the wall, just inside the stairwell before mounting them: Floor B1. How ironic that her ‘home’ with Talon would match where she had practically lived in the Zürich base. Angela shoved the keycard between her teeth so she could cling to the railing with both hands before painstakingly climbing the single flight to the ground floor. This was the part where she was most likely to fail, and the thought made Angela shake even more than she already was. But she had already started; no matter what, she had to see it through. Angela cautiously pushed open the door and found the coast was clear. It was only after she stepped out, carefully ensuring the door closed with as little sound as possible, that a siren pierced the air. Angela highly doubted she was lucky enough that something – anything – else had caused that siren to go off. They were actively hunting her now, and here she was frozen in plain sight against one wall. Voices clamored down the hallway towards her, so she shuffled in the opposite direction. There was a door on her right – she pushed through it blindly, hoping to hide until the voices had passed her by. The door opened into an armory, very similar to the ones she had geared up in when Overwatch had still existed. Guns, ammo, and any other weapons-related supplies lined the walls and filled shelves. It was precisely the worst hiding place because she was almost certain those voices were heading this way – as if they needed a gun to catch her. It was also the worst because someone was already inside the room. Angela had barely registered the other person in the room, aside from that they were there, before she was turning towards the nearest gun rack. Whether she would use the gun on the other person or herself was anyone’s guess, but she knew her best chance at escape now relied on her getting one of those weapons. Her fingers just brushed the grip of a gun when rough hands grabbed both of her arms, yanking her away from the rack with contemptuous ease. Her captor ignored her frustrated cry and slammed her against one wall painfully, driving all breath out of her and making her head swim with pain. “Did you really think you could get away?” Angela went cold, and if it weren’t for the punishing grip on her arms, she would be on the floor. Of course she would have been caught by the one person she had most wanted to avoid – and, paradoxically, had most wanted to see. Everything she had considered saying to him when she saw him again flew out of her head as she peered up at his mask. There were so many things she should say. Something proud and defiant that showed she hadn’t been cowed or broken by her time in that horrible room – as if her escape attempt didn’t prove precisely that. Perhaps a demand, not a plea or beg, for her release. A threat, as useless as one would be, possibly. Something that showed she wasn’t afraid, even though she was absolutely petrified. “I’m so sorry, Gabriel.” She whispered instead. It should be censure and anger, but all she could manage was a heartfelt apology that was years too late to bridge the chasm between them. Limpid eyes tried to see past the mask to the man beneath, even while knowing it was impossible. Angela felt him stiffen, his grip turning painful as the claws on each finger dug savagely into her biceps and made her bleed. “I don’t blame you,” the words came tumbling out, unbidden, surprising them both. “I don’t blame you for hating me.” With what little she knew of how Gabriel had come to be the Reaper, she understood. It was similar to what had happened with Genji – it hadn’t been until recent years that he had come to terms with himself and forgiven her. Unlike Genji, she hadn’t been present in the aftermath of her bloody work on Gabriel – and now they all suffered for it. Before he could react, say something scathing to slap her back down and grind her heart beneath his heel, the door was tossed open carelessly as the guards she had been fleeing entered. They were chattering, amicable voices stuttering to a stop when they took in the sight before them: a demon and the broken angel within his grasp. The Reaper turned, forcing her to move as she dangled from his hands, and practically threw her at them as if he could no longer stand to touch her. A man caught her, hands just as rough and uncaring as the ones that had thrown her. “Take her back to her cell.” The Reaper commanded from the space behind her. He said something else, but there was a ringing in her ears that his voice could not break. Nausea rose and she screwed her eyes shut as she forced herself not to be sick all over the guard and herself. Gabriel had given her to them again. He had seen what they had done to her, how low she had fallen, and he had carelessly tossed her back to the wolves. As they hauled her limp body away, despair crashed over her. She had failed. Failed to get out, failed to end it all, failed. The hope that had been flickering in her heart stuttered – and died.

It wasn’t until he had ripped into the third person that he realized they were all young, blonde women. It was then that the Reaper had become furious with himself. He was the Reaper; people cowered in fear when he appeared, worried that those blood-soaked hands would dig into them next. He was the Reaper, and he had fled the Oasis base like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs, running from the chained angel with those damned eyes that saw too much. Instead of watching the doctor get torn into pieces by the hands of others, he had come to hunt her likeness and was left desperately wanting. These replacements – for that was what they were, he’d come to realize – were nothing like the real thing. Wrapping his hand around their throats didn’t bring that same sense of power that holding Dr. Angela Ziegler in his grasp had evoked. The eyes he had clawed out weren’t the same expressive, knowing eyes that he was trying to escape. There was no fight or steely determination, merely whimpers and broken pleas for their lives. He’d been off-center ever since he had carried her limp form into that cell. She was the bitch that had cursed him to this half-life of misery and called it ‘love.’ She was the angel that he had, in another lifetime, sworn to protect against all harm. She was nothing. She was everything. With a snarl, the Reaper left Baghdad to return to the Oasis base. He would dump the guns and gear that he hadn’t even bothered to use before looking in on the doctor. He’d find out if she had broken during the days he was away, if she had given up anything besides the occasional pained whimper. The Reaper had just put his unused guns away when the siren went off. It was the call of an escaped prisoner, alerting everyone to search for their missing prey. Of all the things – of course she would run. Of course she wasn’t broken. Who had he been kidding? Stubborn to the core, of course that damned woman would somehow manage to break free of her chains and get away. He briefly considered grabbing his shotguns again but decided against it. The only weapon he needed for her was his claws. The door opened – of course, others would think they needed a weapon to capture an angel. Let the fools arm themselves; he would find her and rip the wings from her back, shatter the halo into a million pieces that not even she could piece back together. The Reaper turned, ready to stalk out and hunt her – only to discover that his prey had found him. Angela looked so small, so frail, standing half-naked in the doorway with one hand pressed to the wall. She looked thinner than she had been when he’d brought her in, but Gabriel couldn’t be sure. Bruises, ranging from fresh dark-purple black to almost healed yellow-green, coated her skin like a blanket. What little unmarred skin was left was pale – paler than her norm, which was really pale, considering she barely went out into the sun even before capture. There were strips of wounded flesh, barely scabbed over, cutting haphazard tracks across her stomach and breasts. When Angela turned, staggering in weakness and terror, he could see the tracks were worse on her back. The healing was more complete there, the nanites having focused on the significant bleeding that would have been present from all those stripes. It was a wonder she was on her feet at all, but Angela was nothing if not stubborn. Even though there was nearly an entire room between the two of them, the Reaper still reached her before she crossed the few feet that stood between her and the weapon she was desperately seeking. He yanked her back – yes, she had lost weight – and slammed her against the wall. Pain flashed across her face, and she gasped desperately for breath in shallow pants. “Did you really think you could get away?” He growled, glaring down at her from behind his mask. She felt fragile, like spun glass that would shatter if held too tightly. That was wrong. This woman, even after the abuse thrown at her, had broken free of her bonds in a desperate bid for freedom. That took strength, more like a steel wall than the glass she appeared to be. The woman sagged in his grip, leaving him to support her weight – trusting Gabriel to hold her up, as she had always trusted him, as she shouldn’t trust him. Her hands didn’t fly up to grasp at his arms; she didn’t struggle to try to get out of his grip – they both knew it would be futile. Instead, she stared up at him with those sad eyes. Damn her eyes; they should be terrified, angry – and still, they were sad. “I’m so sorry, Gabriel.” Her whisper was hoarse from disuse and dry from too little water. Did she think an apology would save her? That her apology, no matter how sincere, would change anything? The Reaper tightened his fingers on those fragile arms, digging the claws in deep until she bled, and pain erased the sorrow in the eyes that still peered up at him. Finally, finally, there was something in those eyes that he wanted to see. “I don’t blame you.” A pause, surprise coloring her face briefly, and then, “I don’t blame you for hating me.” Her absolution, her forgiveness, was so quiet that he could barely hear it. For a moment, all he could hear was the rush of his blood and her panting breaths. She didn’t blame him? Did she think he needed her forgiveness, that he wanted it? His mouth opened, a verbal lash ready to strike her where it would hurt the most, when the door opened. The Reaper snapped his mouth shut and turned, dragging the doctor with him. There stood a small group of Talon agents, who had been talking so casually that he knew they hadn’t been taking the search seriously. None of them were taking this doctor seriously; that was why she had escaped. That was why she hadn’t been broken. She was formidable in her own way, a quiet power that rarely made itself known, and they all had underestimated her. No more. He threw her body at the closest man, who barely managed to catch her before she hit the ground. Gabriel ignored her pale back and the tracks along it. Ignored the panting, desperate breaths and the way she hung limply in the guards’ arms. “Take her back to her cell.” The Reaper’s voice was a sharp command, filled with authority and censure. “See that she can’t get out.” The Reaper glanced across the group. “Make sure this doesn’t happen again.” He would have words with her interrogators, with the guards that were supposed to keep this from happening, with anyone who could be at fault.

They had left her to hang in silence for what seemed like an eternity after her failed escape attempt. Her mouth was dry – Angela hadn’t had a chance to eat or drink the offerings from her most recent release – and her mind was clouded. All she could see, over and over, were those last moments in the armory. The apology that had been waiting for far too long, that was branded so deep into her arms that she was certain it would scar. The forgiveness she offered, unbidden and undemanded – a last goodbye to the man she loved, despite his betraying her twice. The way he had tossed her aside as if she were nothing – how he had ordered her back to this with such indifference. Gabriel was gone, lost to her. What was left haunted her in the most horrific of ways. When the door opened to her cell, she wasn’t ready. She would never be ready. It would become worse, so much worse. The only way to stop it would be to break – and Angela would never betray her friends in such a way. She would die before she broke. There were no words spoken, no demands made. Just footsteps echoing around her as they took in her battered body and decided how to start. Then there were rough hands and a sharp blade at her left hip. Carelessly the blade drug down her leg, shearing through the cloth and, occasionally, her skin. The right leg followed, and then she hung there naked and helpless, blood dripping from her legs where they had broken skin. Her face burned with embarrassment, at this humiliating intimacy they forced upon her. Still, they made no demands; this was a punishment for her escape, not an information gathering session. Not yet, at any rate – Angela doubted they would leave without at least making a token attempt to get information. A rough hand pressed against her left heel and the front of her thigh, forcing her left leg straight. Before she could consider what they were doing, a foot slammed into her knee. The pain was so sudden and horrific that she didn’t have enough time to scream before she blacked out. It was a short-lived relief. They tossed cold water on her, pulling her back to consciousness in a series of sputters and gasps. Automatically, Angela shifted to rest her weight on both legs; her left leg gave out underneath her, and she made a low, pained noise as she nearly passed out again. As quickly as she could, she pulled all her weight into her arms and right leg, leaving her left to dangle uselessly. She shivered from the cold, her mind sluggishly trying to keep up with what was happening. Suddenly, her head was yanked back by the hair. “It seems we’ve been too gentle with you, princess.” The man rasped. He nudged her left leg with one of his feet, sending another wave of nauseating pain through her. A whine forced its way out of her throat and through her clenched teeth. “Didn’t know you liked it rough, but don’t you worry.” Wide-eyed, Angela tried to catch her breath and ride through the agony. He chuckled, a menacing sound, as he pressed his body against her back, free arm wrapping around her bare torso, just under her breasts. “We’ll take good care of you, you’ll see.” Her shivers were no longer fueled by the cold but instead terror of what was to come. She closed her eyes, wishing she were anywhere – truly anywhere – but here. Away from the pain that was a constant companion, away from the grief, away from everything that this room and her chains represented. All she knew was pain and stubborn silence, no matter what horrors they inflicted upon her. The man pulled away, releasing her hair and chest all at once. Angela sagged against her chains, desperately trying to keep weight off her injured leg. Her breathing was shallow, and her every thought was focused on silence while the cloud of pain threatened to overwhelm everything. It was then that the questions came. Demands that Angela couldn’t answer, because to reply would betray everything she stood for, everything she was. If she answered, everything she had suffered would be for nothing – so she stayed silent. The whip that crashed down upon her wasn’t the same as the one they used previously; this one had multiple, sharp ends that bit into her flesh and tore open the barely healed skin. Again and again, it crashed down. Their tools – the whips, their hands, the knives – were used everywhere. They gouged painful lines into her arms and legs while the whip made tracks along her stomach and back. Angela bit back the pained sounds that wanted to tear from her throat. She forced back the tears of pain and anguish, physical and mental, as they continued to abuse her body. Her shoulders and arms ached from supporting most of her weight, but she couldn’t help it as she staggered from every blow. Every motion was agony – from her raw wrists to her chest as she panted, and then further still to her left knee that was pulsing in time with her heartbeat. And the questions kept coming. It went on for hours – or at least, it felt like hours. At some point, her silence broke, whimpers tearing from her throat despite her best efforts. Tears streamed from her eyes, and still, they struck. If she passed out from the pain, they would throw more icy water over her until she returned to life with moans of protest. It was an eternity before they filed out. Angela hung limply from the chains, unable to make the effort to stand on her good leg – even if it would give some meager relief. Blood was oozing down her everything, dripping and pooling beneath her. Angela’s cheek was bruised, her lips bloody from where her teeth had caught the delicate skin inside her mouth. One eye was swollen and probably black – not that she could tell without a mirror. Her hair hung loosely in damp clumps around her bowed face, hiding the tears that she couldn’t hold back. Her body shivered with cold and shuddered in pain as she tried to find the resolve to stay strong.

---

Eventually, they had let her down, as they always did. Angela had dropped painfully onto her left leg with an agonized cry, the pain making her vision go grey and fuzzy. She gasped, one hand trying to reach for the knee as if grabbing for it would make anything better, before one of her guards – there were two this time – made a move for her. As quickly as she was able, she fell upon the rations before her with shaking hands. Though she had missed her last meal, the portion had not changed – not that she had honestly expected it to. Gone too quick, they soon left, leaving her alone with her misery. Angela didn’t drag herself to the corner – it would be too painful with her broken leg. She wasn’t even sure she had the energy to make it that far. Instead, she tried to make herself as comfortable as possible in the pool of congealing blood and icy water. As soon as the physical torture had ended, they had begun playing a grinding, static-filled noise that set her teeth on edge. Between the noise and the lights, it was nearly impossible to get any kind of rest – but her body was desperate. Unfortunately, her captors had other plans. Periodically, someone would come in and toss icy water over her form until she was shaking and wide awake. Each time, she expected to be strung up, but they just stomped back out and left her in a puddle. At least the water washed away most of the blood. She wasn’t sure how long she had been lying on the ground when she heard it. “Angela.” The familiar voice that she couldn’t quite place came from somewhere behind her, deeper inside the cell instead of near the door. It baffled her. She was almost certain no one was in the cell with her, that the men had left her alone again. Still, the curiosity had her bracing her torso up on her elbows to look over one shoulder. Nothing. But she had sworn she had heard someone whisper her name. Angela stared for a long moment before allowing herself to drop back down to the floor again, unwilling to expend the energy. More whispers came and went, voices scattered and selected at random from her memory. Sometimes it was Cassidy’s drawl, and other times it was a disapproving doctor from Cairo. Once, she heard what she thought was her grandmother, but it had been so long since she had heard her voice to know for sure. What they said varied. Sometimes it was just her name – Angela, Ange, Dr. Ziegler, Mercy. Other times it was full sentences and phrases. Some were lauding her strength, for lasting so long. Others criticized her for allowing herself to be put into this situation. A minority told her that she was going to break, and it would all be for nothing. They came to Angela at any and all times. They would tear her down with her tormentors and try to lift her spirits when she was sobbing brokenly from her chains. After the first few times, Angela had given up on searching for the speaker. Her heart couldn’t take any further defeat, couldn’t handle the crushing despair that she was alone, and that wouldn’t change. Sometimes she would twitch, glancing towards the murmur despite her resolve. A distant part of her knew that the voices meant nothing good for her. The majority was just grateful for the company – especially when the words were kind. It had been so long since she had experienced anything that wasn’t pain or agony. Angela found herself looking forward to the voices, to hearing them even if she couldn’t see them. Angela didn’t know how many times her captors had dropped her from the chains before she spotted a figure in one corner of the room. Cole, the rugged cowboy with his stupid hat and horrible belt bucket, leaning casually against one wall. A cigar was in one hand, and she could smell the pungent smoke of his terrible habit. And he was just standing there. Doing nothing but staring. She had blinked, trying to force back the tears of betrayal – and he was gone. No cowboy. No smoke. Her captor had snapped at her, bringing her back to reality and prompting her to choke down the meager offerings. When he was gone – when they were all gone, when she was alone – she stared at that corner. Angela knew she should be resting, but he had been here. She had seen him, had smelled the smoke. If she waited, if she watched, he had to come back. And he would, along with others, to offer her encouragement and kindness that she would never receive from her captors. Cole would appear in that corner, leaned up and chewing on his smelly cigar – but it was okay; she wouldn’t scold him for it because he was here and she wasn’t alone anymore. “Just hang in there, darlin’.” He urged her in that familiar southern drawl. “We’re lookin’ all over for ya.” Of course they were; how could she ever think they would abandon her? “Please, Cole,” Angela begged, desperate eyes staring up at him, “please hurry.” Sometimes it was Jack, blonde hair mussed over his big blue coat, sitting across from her. “You can do this, Angela,” he’d say, leaning forward intently. “You can’t fail them now.” Her head would bow, drowning under the weight of the responsibility that he had left her when he had died. “I can’t,” she’d whisper back. “It’s too much.” She had barely kept it together when she was just responsible for putting their bodies back together and reading the KIA reports. Angela was never meant to be their physical shield, too. “You can.” He’d insist. “If anyone can, it’s you.” She didn’t know how anyone could have such faith in her. Angela knew she was stubborn, knew she was being stubborn, but even she had a limit. Once, Ana had laid out on her back next to her, head tilted towards Angela with her small, gentle smile. Her eyes crinkled, dark hair fanned out around her as she ignored the puddle of water and blood around her. “You’ll be alright, ḥabībti.” Angela had closed her eyes, tears dripping down her cheeks. She could swear that she felt Ana’s hand stroke her hair soothingly but, when she opened her eyes, the woman was just looking at her warmly. Ana had stayed with her until they had dragged her back into the chains, murmuring kind words until there was nothing but pain. Sometimes they would remain when her captors came back to her, whispering encouragement. Despite the blinding white lights, Angela could still see them, and she was grateful for the kind faces in the sea of agony. Other times they would disappear, but she knew one of them would come back. The worst was Gabriel, her Gabriel. He had only appeared before her once. She had been curled up on the floor, shaking from the water they had just thrown on her to force her back to consciousness. It felt like it had been an eternity since she had slept – Angela was so tired. Her eyes, heavy and aching, opened – and there he was, half crouched before her. He wasn’t dressed as the Reaper. No, he looked the way he always did in her memories: scarred cheeks with a hint of stubble, a black beanie pulled over his close-shaven hair and tucked under the gray hood of his jacket. His warm brown eyes looked down at her with such love and anguish that it hurt. “You’re strong, cariño.” One of his hands reached down to touch her cheek gently, careful not to disturb the bruises and cuts there; his touch could have been red hot, and she still would have craved it, so desperate was she for affection and kindness. Her eyes stung with tears and exhaustion, but she refused to close her eyes – if she did that, he would be gone, she knew it. “You’re the strongest person I know.” This was her Gabriel, the man she had loved and mourned, who she had buried. His voice was smooth and rich instead of a harsh growl. “I-” Angela had nearly forgotten how to speak, how to do anything but whimper or scream. “I miss you.” The words were broken, so soft that she wasn’t sure she actually spoke them aloud. But he had smiled, a mirthless, sad expression that told her he had heard her regardless. “I know. Mi corazón, I’m so sorry.” Her eyes had closed then, unable to support themselves any longer. Angela jolted them open again, hoping against hope that he had stayed – but of course, he was gone. How could she expect anything less? He was the one that had put her here. She had curled in on herself, sobs shaking her broken body as grief and pain coursed through her again. It was only after, in a brief moment of lucidity, that Angela wondered if they hadn’t broken her already.

“What are you doing?” The voice, usually gentle but currently horrified, made his hands pause in their bloody work. Gabriel doesn’t turn to look at her, doesn’t look up from the man he is slowly taking apart – piece by piece because that’s what he does. He rips and tears, cuts and slashes, until the blood runs in rivers and the answers he seeks are whimpered out through bloody teeth. This is the thing that Overwatch had turned him into when they had sent him away to the shadows. It’s what they shaped him into when he became the Commander of Blackwatch. He had learned those horrible acts that must be committed to get what was necessary, whatever it takes, to protect innocents from terrorists. Robbery. Blackmail. Extortion. Assassination. Torture. He had hated it, once. Hated the monster he had needed to become to survive his new calling. But he was the Commander, and he could not be seen to be weak, to be incapable. He was a fast learner, and soon he was capable of all sorts of horrors that would make any agent of Overwatch blanch – that he had never thought himself capable of. He had learned to be hard and unfeeling, had learned to wall off his heart because there was no place for mercy here. Finally, Gabriel turned to look at the angel that stood in the doorway, one hand clutching the knob in a white-knuckled grasp. The other hovered uselessly over her mouth, as if to hide the stricken look. Her eyes – those eyes – were filled with horror as she took in the bloody tableau. Angela Ziegler, Mercy, had no place here in this room of pain. Gabriel turned and ushered her out of the room; this was not a conversation for a torture chamber. He wiped his bloody hands on his black pants – it was what they were there for, after all – and closed the door. “What are you doing here?” He demanded, ignoring her question. It was obvious what he had been doing to the shackled man. What wasn’t obvious was why she was here in the dark heart of Blackwatch. She was Overwatch, through and through, the light to his darkness. The only time she ever visited this base was to rush into the infirmary – which was nowhere near the interrogation rooms – and try to bring one of his agents back from the edge of death. She didn’t belong with him here in the shadows. “Looking for you, of course.” Angela reached up with one shaking hand to wipe at a streak of blood on his cheek. He knew it wasn’t the blood that bothered her – she was a doctor, for God’s sake – but how it had gotten there. “What-” the question died on her lips, changing to a different one. “Why are you doing this?” He laughed mirthlessly. “I told you, cariño.” Gabriel stepped away from her, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I told you that Blackwatch was ugly and dark. That it would change me. What did you expect?” Her faith in him was a gift, but not even she could protect him from the horrors found here. “This is what we do.” What he does. “I do not understand.” He rolled his eyes; of course she understood. She was the smartest person he knew – and he knew a lot of people. She was just refusing to accept the reality of his station, of their situation. It was surprising, really; it wasn’t often that she allowed her opinion of what should be to affect the reality of what actually was. But Angela had put him on some sort of pedestal – just as he had for her, he realized suddenly – and had ignored the horrors that surrounded him. She believed there was good in him, that he still deserved to stand up next to her in the light. She only allowed herself to see him as Gabriel, not as Blackwatch Commander Reyes. What she wanted, Gabriel couldn’t give. “I can’t change this, Angela.” He glared down at the ground because he didn’t want to glare at her, to see that look of horror on her face as she finally saw him. “I’m the Commander of Blackwatch. It’s my duty.” Gabriel knew that she understood duty – she was the one that had preached about it when he had been assigned this horrible position. “You are meant to protect people, liebling.” Her hands wrapped around his forearm, a gentle grip that he could easily break. “Come back with me; we will speak to Jack and fix this.” Gabriel scoffed; she had far too much faith in Jack, the brother neither of them had as children. Jack couldn’t fix this. The only way he could get out was to resign or to die. He wasn’t one for quitting. “This is who I am now, Angela.” He turned, pulling his arm out of her grip to face her fully. “You can’t change that, just like I can’t change you. I’m Commander Reyes, and you’re Mercy.” Angela crossed her arms, teeth worrying her lip. “This is who we are.” The silence between them was deafening as she stepped into him, her arms wrapping around his waist as she buried her face in his chest, heedless of the blood that still clung to him. He hesitated for a brief moment before wrapping his arms around her, pressing his face to her hair so he could let her scent wash away the gore and terror of the interrogation room. It was the sterile smell of a hospital mixed with sunshine and oranges that was wholly Angela. “Why does it have to be this way?” The words were small, sad. For all the ferocity in her heart, she was still far too gentle for this life they led. “I don’t know, mi corazón.” He sighed, one hand lifting to stroke her hair gently. “Our choices led us here, and our pride forces us to continue.” That was the best answer he could think of. “It’s who we are.” He would not be Gabriel Reyes if he had not also joined the soldier program, had not become a Commander. She would not be Angela Ziegler if she had not become a doctor ten years earlier than any of her peers, had not become Mercy. Silence again as she soaked in his answer, before she heaved a world-weary sigh. “I wish it wasn’t like this.” She pulled away, turned to walk up the hall that would lead her to the exit. Angela glanced back, just once. “I still love you, Gabriel.” Before he could answer in kind, before he could question her word choice, she was gone. Gone to her world of light and mercy, leaving him once more to the dark and agony. He opened the door to return to his work – and froze. Instead of the man he had left behind, Angela hung from the chains. Her skin was loose, and her eyes were hollow. What little flesh that wasn’t torn to shreds was an ugly purple. One leg was broken, and her wrists were raw. She looked at him with such sorrow, such agony. “Why does it have to be this way?” The words were disjointed, forced through a broken mouth and a throat raw from screaming. Suddenly, his body wasn’t his own. He was stalking forward towards the woman who still wasn’t quite broken after all the abuse she had suffered. There were gloves on his hands, tipped with claws, that he dug into her sides savagely until she cried out and bled. The sound was music to his ears – it nauseated him – it wasn’t enough, would never be enough. The Reaper turned to the tray of tools at his side. He used knives to part her once cream-colored skin. Pliers ripped nails and teeth from their homes. He flayed the skin from her back and burned the skin from the bottoms of her feet. Despite the continued torment, she refused to say anything else. All he earned was broken whimpers, shrill screams, and tears. When he finally turned to leave the room, unsatisfied despite all his efforts, she allowed herself to break her vow of silence once more. “I forgive you.” It was so quiet that he could barely hear it. His steps faltered briefly, but he continued out of the room. Before the door shut, faintly: “I still love you, Gabriel.”

---

The Reaper sat up in bed, sheets tangled around him, panting. One hand ran over his short hair, trying to chase away the remnants of what could only be a dream – nightmare? both? – fueled from the parts of him that were still Gabriel. With a frustrated growl, the Reaper rose from his bed. He wouldn’t get any sleep, not after that, so he may as well find something useful to do with his time.

“No? Nothin’ at all?” Cole let out a frustrated sigh. “Alrigh’, thanks anyway.” He disconnected and tossed the communicator into his hat on the table next to him. Another fruitless call that had ended in disappointment. He took another drag of his cigarette. He needed to remember to get another pack; he’d been blowing through them more quickly than usual since Angela’s disappearance. She would be so upset to know that she – or her absence, at least – was the reason he was smoking more heavily lately. Cole frowned; now why’d he have to go and think something so depressing like that? There was no way he could finish the cigarette after that thought, so he stubbed it out. He had spent the last two weeks calling anyone and everyone he knew to try and get any kind of lead on Angela’s whereabouts. Some of his contacts were dead, others in prison; the rest he’d had to do some searching – and was, in some cases, still searching – but he was barely making headway. Whoever had Angela either had it wrapped down tight or was so powerful that people were just afraid to talk, or perhaps both. However you went about it, it ended with the same result: nothing. Lena – Tracer to the rest of the world – had gone public on Angela’s behalf. From what he had been told, news agencies across the globe reported the story, and the UN had taken a special interest in the case. Of course they would: Angela had once been a symbol of peace, healing, and hope. While she wasn’t always happily greeted these days, she was still a notable figure. Her absence had people speculating all sorts of things. He had heard on the radio that there was a rumor of Angela having gotten pregnant and was trying to hide it. Cole had scoffed at the idea; Angela was incapable of hiding – or stopping – when there was work to be done. She would never let something so small as a scandal keep her from doing her duty. Other rumors stated that she was being held for ransom. Cole wished it were that simple. He’d turn himself in for the bounty on his head, if only to pay for her safe return. The darkest of all had her dead already, and they were only chasing a ghost. Cole had been in a foul mood after hearing that particular rumor. While he had been chasing up old contacts, the UN had created a public, international hotline for people to call in with information on Angela’s whereabouts. Most of the calls were useless, along the lines of ‘I saw a blonde woman once about a week ago.’ The rest, the more promising leads, were investigated with ruthless single-mindedness. They gave some to various agencies across the globe – Cole didn’t like the thought of Angela being in anyone’s care but theirs, Overwatch’s, but he was realistic enough to understand that they couldn’t be everywhere. He couldn’t help but think that if Overwatch hadn’t fallen, they could be. That this would never have happened in the first place because she would have been safe. They were certainly trying their best to do just that, however. The rallying cry had been answered by many prior agents, scattered around the globe. Reinhardt and his pupil – squire, he called her – Brigitte were in northern Europe; they sent any tips that led to that part of the world their way. Genji was in Nepal, and Fareeha was in Egypt. Lena held western Europe and Torbjörn was in the east. Cole was holding the Americas as best he could, with a few other agents who had answered when they had been called. Winston, working on rebuilding Overwatch so that they could have a proper team and headquarters to base themselves out of, had kept to the shadows. He was capable of multitasking, however, so he was helping to coordinate their efforts. Athena was doing her best to investigate through electronic means – but that was a big world and, while Athena was quite remarkable, it was a near-impossible task. Still, between the tips, Athena, and Cole’s contacts, they should have found some kind of lead. Something that at least pointed in her general direction, to give them some hope instead of crushing disappointment. Every tip they had received turned out to be false. Some were just ‘harmless’ pranks by stupid punks that didn’t realize how serious the situation was. Others had been people trying to con their way into receiving the reward Lena was offering towards Angela’s recovery. Cole was convinced that a few were from terrorist cells or similar groups trying to make trouble. Every day that passed, hope diminished. By this point, Angela had been in their hands – whoever they were – for almost three weeks. If they wanted money, they would have put a ransom demand out by now: either immediately, to one of the prior Overwatch agents, or shortly after the UN had started their hotline. If they wanted her dead, her body should have been discovered by now. That they had neither only reaffirmed Cole’s belief that she was being held captive somewhere. At the very best, she was being held by some gang leader or drug lord and was being forced to care for their injured. Such captivity would come with relative safety and comfort – once she was convinced to cooperate, that is. He was more realistic; if she were going to be taken for such a thing, she would have been taken long ago. No, he was sure that her kidnapping and Winston’s recall were linked. That put his focus primarily on Talon and Null Sector as the most likely culprits. Of all the terrorist groups, those two stood to gain the most should Overwatch stay dead. Others on his radar were Los Muertos and the Shimada Clan. He had already personally investigated the Deadlock Gang and was almost positive that they weren’t responsible. Still, that left four potential suspects. That was three too many. Cole wasn’t above trying to break into any of their bases to try and find a lead. He had been talked out of that – mostly because it was suicidal at best – but he still toyed with the thought in his darker moments. All they had was the hope that they could find Angela before it was too late – and that hope was steadily dying.

Let the streets run red with my revenge You can’t fake apologies for everything you do - Ghost Town [Egypt Central]

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

To Love and To Cherish

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

AO3 | FF.net | Works

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

---

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

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

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

Breaking [My Heart]: Act IV Shattering

"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 the third part of 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!

You feel them drinking in your pain to kill the memories So close your eyes and let it hurt The voice inside begins to stir Are you reminded of all you used to be - Lie to Me (Denial) [Red]

Angela wasn’t due to be worked on for another hour, but Gabriel still found himself on the opposite side of the glass, watching her. He had looked in on her progress intermittently - sometimes in person, other times by patching into the security cameras in her cell. It wasn’t the same as experiencing it live, but he had made his choice. Having given up the honor of taking her apart himself, he had other work to do that kept him busy. Paperwork - because of course he couldn’t escape paperwork, not even here - and planning for his latest op. He’d be leaving later today, so this would be his last chance to see her until he returned in about a week. Angela was curled up on the ground, directly under the manacles that she was so often attached to. She had stopped spending the energy to crawl to a corner, clearly too exhausted from everything she was experiencing to try and make an attempt. Instead, she was curled up as small as she could stand with her back to the glass. Her hands were pressed to her ears, trying to escape the grinding noise that they were pumping into the room, while her eyes were shut tight against the still-bright light of the room. Gabriel could almost see her misery rising off her body, nearly taste the agony that came off her in waves. Her body had been pushed to its limits since her escape attempt two weeks ago, and she still had managed to refuse to answer them. Even from where he stood, he could see her ribs and each individual knob of her spine. It was a little difficult, considering the split skin and black bruises that nearly hid her pasty white skin entirely and made her skin swell, but not impossible. He knew, from experience, that her eyes would be sunken and her skin would hang loosely where muscle had once been but hadn’t yet tightened. Along with the sound, they had lowered the temperature in the room. He could see her shiver intermittently as her body tried in vain to keep her warm. Even when they weren’t planning on a session, they would douse her with water semi-regularly to keep her both awake and miserable. Between the light, sound, freezing temperatures, and nightmares that woke her screaming, he doubted she got much sleep. Somehow, though, he was almost certain she had managed to fall asleep despite all that. Gabriel remembered having to practically carry the woman out of her labs, making her rest after an eighteen-hour day; now they were forcing her to stay awake for thirty or more hours at a time, perhaps broken up by a quick nap here or there before they dragged her back to consciousness. It wasn’t surprising that her body was shutting down as often as it was able, despite the hurdles thrown in its way. Still, knowing her the way he did - the way he had, rather - he hadn’t expected her to last this long, not since they had increased the intensity of her torture. After all that time, they had only managed to pry a few scattered, breathy pleas from her mouth: ‘stop’ and ‘please’ being her most common choices. Otherwise, the only sounds she made were those of pain: broken whimpers and shrill screams that were followed by silent sobs once they had finished a session. Angela had stopped being silent the first time they had broken her knee. The nanites in her body had healed it quickly enough that they had broken it once more six days ago; it surprised him that it healed at all, considering the rest of the trauma across her body. That was when she had started giving them her words, one strained plea at a time. It had also been when she had stopped holding back the tears of pain during her sessions. But, the further they progressed with Angela, the more often she got that far away, distant look that was so common among their prisoners as they got closer and closer to their breaking point. Sometimes they could pull Angela back down to Earth, to the agony that was her reality, with ice water - either splashed upon her naked, broken body or dumped down her mouth and nose, so she thought she was drowning - or with white-hot irons pressed to the sensitive skin of her feet or inner thighs. Other times they would be forced to stop in the middle of the session, toeing that fine line between forcing her to bend to their will and breaking her altogether. Angela would hang there, face slack as she escaped from the cell that contained her mortal form. Sometimes she wouldn’t come back for hours. But, eventually, her face would fill with pain and knowing, and that would be the signal to continue where they had left off. Gabriel had no idea how long he stood there, watching her spine rise and fall shakily with her shallow breaths, before Sombra cleared her throat to get his attention. The Reaper turned his head just enough to acknowledge her, but his eyes were only for the angel that was almost mortal. Nearly there, so close that the Reaper hated - hated - leaving and possibly missing it. “What?” The Reaper demanded finally, when it was obvious she wasn’t going to say anything. She could be so infuriating at times. He hadn’t called her, hadn’t asked for her presence; she had imposed on him, had initiated their interaction. He didn’t even know how long she had been standing in the room with him. Were it anyone but Sombra, that would concern him - but the hacker was exceptionally sneaky, especially with her cloaking technology. Even he had a hard time noticing her when she wanted to go unseen - and that was when he was actively searching. “Just looking in on the doctora.” The woman kept her distance, leaning against the wall by the door as her ultraviolet eyes - she wasn’t even trying to pretend that her eye color was natural today - took in the broken blonde in the other room. Gabriel made a disbelieving noise as he returned his attention to the woman he had come to see. Perhaps, when they were done, he would go in to speak to her, see if she would still offer forgiveness after all that she had experienced. “What?” Sombra asked, almost defensively. “You’re not the only one who’s watching her progress, Gabe.” His previous name, a taunt designed specifically to get a rise out of him. She was the only one who got away with it - mostly because, no matter what he had done to try and dissuade her, she just kept doing it. The Reaper could only hope that ignoring it would make her stop. At least she usually only said it in private. “I’m surprised you don’t just use your toys.” He grumbled in return. The Reaper knew why he didn’t use the cameras - they were far too impersonal for his tastes. It wasn’t enough, not really, standing in this room and watching instead of doing. His fingers itched to bury themselves inside her flesh, to bleed her himself. Unfortunately, now more than ever, Gabriel knew that he couldn’t do it and survive the experience. Silence fell between them as they watched Angela’s labored breathing. It stayed as her interrogators stomped into the room; not even that noise roused her from whatever slumber, or perhaps catatonia, she was in. They yanked her up off the ground impersonally, hooked her raw - and possibly scarred, he couldn’t tell under the bruising - wrists into the manacles. Once she was in place, they threw a bucket of water over her. It sent her gasping, sputtering, her body’s shivers doubling as it tried to fend off the chill. Her eyes were unseeing for so long that he thought they would have to get another bucket, or perhaps one of the irons - and then suddenly the blue became focused. The angel was with them again. “No.” The word was a broken, breathy sound, a prayer and a plea wrapped together as she tried desperately to stop what she knew was coming. They met her beg with a demand for answers, the questions unchanged from that first day she had hung from those chains. Still, she refused to answer. They shifted her broken leg, making her lose consciousness and forcing them to bring her screaming back to life with hot irons. They grabbed her breasts, between her legs, pressing against her in a violent threat that sent Angela gasping and heaving in pure terror and disgust at the implication. Her head was yanked back, cloth forced over her face, before ice water was dumped over and into her. They used the knives to split her flesh and carve uncaring lines into her skin before using pliers to rip out a nail or two. “It’s hard to remember that she’s a person,” Sombra murmured finally, after a particularly shrill scream, “when she’s on the other side of a screen.” Gabriel had forgotten she was standing there; Sombra had been so still and quiet. When he glanced towards the hacker, he could see that her usually warm skin was ashen. “If she doesn’t bend soon,” the Reaper rumbled in return, “she will break.” The man turned to look at Angela once more. Something akin to pity rose in him before he shook it off. “And if she breaks, well,” he didn’t know whether to sigh in disgust or relief, “she won’t be a person anymore.” Sombra sucked in a breath, probably sharper than she had intended considering the way she quickly turned away completely to hide her expression. Without a word, she stalked out of the room. The Reaper didn’t watch her go.

Her body was numb. Angela wasn’t sure what the exact cause was. It could be the cold, from the chilled room and the freezing water; it might be the blood loss, from the wounds that were still weeping as her nanites struggled to heal her. Maybe her mind was putting up a wall, trying to protect her from what it could. Perhaps it was the shock, finally, blessedly settling in. That meant her end was, hopefully, nearing. It couldn’t come soon enough. Angela opened her eyes, fully expecting to be blinded by the ever-present lights. Though they kept her from being able to see her assailants, they hadn’t stopped her from seeing her friends. Despite the pain the lights brought, she couldn’t help herself; it was the only solace she had. To her surprise, Angela found herself sprawled out on the cold concrete. She was so distant, so numb, that she hadn’t even realized she wasn’t hanging from the chains. Instead, she was lying in a puddle of water, tinted red with her blood. Angela knew the water was at least cold - probably freezing - but she couldn’t feel it. She should be in agony, but, laying there in the puddle - motionless except for her faint breaths - she felt nothing. It should concern her, but it was such bliss that the implications didn’t matter anymore. Angela didn’t know how she got there. No, that wasn’t right. Angela knew exactly how she got there; the process was the same every single time. She didn’t remember getting there. The last thing she remembered was a barked question about Cassidy - where was he, where would he go - and her bitter, pitiful no. She didn’t remember the pain that had come next, that she knew had come next because her refusal always came with pain. Angela didn’t remember any other questions or being dropped from these chains to land heavily and painfully on the cool concrete. This wasn’t the first time she had lost time, but it was the first time she had started in one place and ended in another. Usually, she would be in the middle of a cry of pain or listening to a question she wouldn’t answer - then suddenly the men were gone, and she was all alone. It wouldn’t be long before they realized she was awake and came stomping back in, ready to resume her agony. It was hard to bring herself to care about the memory loss when she compared it to the memories she was already trying to hide from. Why would she want to remember anything else when she had already endured so much? Her eyes swept the room, as was her habit now, searching for a friendly face. Instead, she found the Reaper. His arms crossed as he gazed down at where she lay on the cool ground, heedless of the water and blood he stood in. Her eyes widened and she tried to scramble back, causing a scream of pain to erupt from her throat. In her terror, Angela had forgotten - she had been so numb - that her body was broken. The movement destroyed the thin barrier her mind had erected between her consciousness and the agony, and now everything was screaming just like she was. Angela didn’t know how long it took to come back down, to push the agony down to something tolerable. Once she was coherent, she took precious, agonizing moments to shift and rearrange herself into a position that provided minimal pain. It was impossible to find a position that didn’t hurt. Then, her eyes scanned the room - what parts she could see, anyway - for Jack or Ana or anyone to help her. Her eyes found the Reaper again, still glowering a few feet away, the entire reason she had moved in the first place. How had she allowed herself to be distracted from the man, the monster, that had put her in here? “Gab-” Angela couldn’t help herself from starting the name, but she managed to bite it off. She cowered back, whimpering as the movement sent a fresh wave of pain through her. Her shoulders hunched and her head ducked down low, waiting for him to strike her for the misstep. The last two times had ended poorly for her; how could she expect this one to end any better, especially considering how much worse it had become since the last time she had seen him? Silence. He terrified Angela; her body was so tense that it was shaking. This was the Reaper, not Gabriel - he had told her that, sometime in her painful, foggy past. He had punished her the last time she had made the mistake; how could it be any different now, when her torture was much worse than before? When he had been the one that had put her in this position in the first place? She tried to listen for any movement, any sign at all that he was approaching. Angela knew it was a futile effort - the grinding noise they were playing made it impossible to hear how her captors moved around her, finding the best place to strike. “You’ve seen better days.” Angela would have scoffed, had she the energy or the breath. Of course she had seen better days; not even when she had been rescued from a collapsed building had Angela been this hurt - but she’d had armor, then. Now, she was nothing but naked flesh and bones, a ghost of the woman she had once been. “What, nothing to say today?” He taunted, sounding no closer than he had before. Hesitantly, Angela raised her head a little, just enough that she could see the gleaming white of his mask. He was no longer standing - at some point he had crouched, bracing his forearms against his knees; it was a familiar position, one Gabriel had adopted countless times. Gabriel - the Reaper, she corrected herself fiercely - had been the only one she had spoken to until now. He was the only one who had received more than one-word denials and pleas. He hadn’t asked for information in the two previous encounters - he hadn’t asked for anything at all. Because of that, she had blindly offered herself to him, allowing him inside her walls like she always did and giving him the forgiveness he hadn’t even demanded. Like her, he was too proud to ask for such things. “Wh-” She cleared her throat and tried again. “What is there to say?” It came out rough and weak, not nearly as defiant as she wished it to be. The only defiance she had left was her prayer for silence, repeated in her mind with a fierce devotion that could put any priest to shame as they beat and bled her. It had been a challenge, but Angela found she would do much worse for her friends. Her friends, who sometimes visited her but would never save her. They would keep her company as she died in this room, one inch at a time. Their whispered kindnesses and gentle touches were still Heaven compared to the Hell she lived in, and she reveled in their presence. Her eyes swept the room again, but she was still alone. “Ah, not so forgiving anymore, are we?” Angela’s eyes snapped back to his mask, reminded once more of his presence. Then, his words registered, and she shuddered at the reminder of their last encounter when he had viciously returned her forgiveness before casually returning her to this cage that was her death sentence. Angela knew she shouldn’t play into his game. She should keep her mouth shut, refuse to make a sound that wasn’t forced out of her with their tools. The Reaper was just chipping at her walls, trying to make her break and betray everyone she loved, just as he had so long ago. He knew the secret paths that let him get behind her walls because he had been the one to create them. He was the only one who had gotten close, had seen all of her - the good and the bad. Gabriel was her deadly weakness, here in this place of blood. Angela hated that Gabriel was still her weakness, the chink in her armor, even after all this time - after everything he had done. She hated that she still loved him, that her love made it possible to look past his transgressions - all of them. “I have always forgiven Gabriel.” Angela corrected, voice raspy and breathless. She wanted to hate Gabriel, should hate him. He had done so much to ruin her life. Gabriel had destroyed her home and the life he’d gifted her. He had killed her friends and family along with hundreds of people who had been hers – theirs - to protect. He had ripped away everything that had been hers and shattered it into tiny pieces. And yet, she still couldn’t bring herself to hate him. She had spent far too many years loving and forgiving him to stop now. It was one of her many faults, but never had it been one of her regrets - not even after discovering what she had turned him into. She had forgiven him for the destruction of Zürich - her home and her life - long before she had discovered he was alive. Angela knew it was irrational, that if it had been anyone else, she would have held onto the grudge until her last breath, but it was Gabriel. She had been willing to follow him to the gates of Hell itself - what was forgiveness compared to that? She had done so much worse for him, after all. “I will always forgive Gabriel.” Long ago, before Overwatch had fallen, she had chosen Gabriel - and everything that it meant. He was Blackwatch, the shadowy partner to Overwatch that committed horrible acts that Angela could never condone. But to choose Gabriel was to accept that he was the one who ordered those atrocities - sometimes took part and stained his hands red. Somehow, she had accepted him - and forgiven him. Love had made it so easy. That love had stuck with her all these years, long after she had moved past the destruction and betrayal. It was with her even now, broken and bloody on the ground. Angela had believed she had moved on from him, from all of them, but she had always been good at lying to herself. She had just avoided the feeling, burying it deep under her work until she was numb and could forget. Forget the grief. Forget the love. Forget everything. The only time Angela had allowed herself to feel, to remember, was when she stood before his grave with a bundle of flowers that always seemed so inadequate. Then she would be back to work. Her emotions were bottled back again, hidden alongside the parts that were Angela so that she was only Dr. Ziegler. She worked sixteen-hour days minimum, even on holidays, doing her best to work until she crawled into bed with exhaustion. Angela did anything she could to keep from remembering how her world had collapsed around the one man who, even now, held her heart within an iron cage. The man that she had forgiven for everything. Angela had even forgiven him for her original capture and those first days in this chamber, when she had thought it was Gabriel that had put her there. She had hurt him, as he had hurt her. But, unlike her, he had been unable to move past that anger, and it had festered for all these years into hatred. She could forgive him for giving in to that darker, human emotion - despite the pain she had experienced. “But you,” her voice caught in her throat, thick with emotion, “you aren’t him anymore, are you?” Angela’s head bowed again, stringy hair falling around her face as she tried to collect herself. Her Gabriel was dead, and in his place was the monster that had sent her into this room. The Reaper had been the one to throw her back into this horrible room, had ordered her torture to become so much worse. Gabriel could have never ordered such agony for her. He could not have come to her afterward and gloated as he was doing now. He was the Reaper, not Gabriel. While she could always forgive Gabriel, she would never forgive the Reaper. The Reaper had been the one that had thrown her into this horrific room. The Reaper had been the one to take over Gabriel’s body and memories, had become the psychopath that crouched before her. He could never earn her forgiveness. Once more in control of her emotions, Angela lifted her head again. Her eyes caught the bone-white of his mask before scanning the room. She could never go more than a few minutes without glancing around the room, searching to see if one of her friends had appeared. A flash of gold over the Reaper’s black shoulder signaled that Jack had returned to her. His blue coat was a stark contrast to the black and grey that made up this room. He gave the Reaper a withering look before he turned to Angela, face rearranging to something more sympathetic. She couldn’t look away, not even for the lover-turned-monster that was barely five feet away. She greedily drank in Jacks’ presence, his kindness, like a flower soaks up sunshine. “Don’t give in, Angela.” She couldn’t tell if he was ordering her or begging her. Was he speaking as her Commander or her brother? “You know it isn’t him.” Angela knew it, she did. She had learned that lesson the hard way, through blood and pain, but she had learned. “Gabriel is dead. Don’t let this monster trick you.” Angela wouldn’t fall for the same trick twice. She had let her guard down, had thought that there was some hope after he called her mi corazón, but that hope was a terrible lie. Angela would never allow herself to trust the monster before her. But it was hard. It was hard knowing that, under the mask, it was Gabriel’s body. Somewhere, underneath the murderous Reaper, were Gabriel’s memories. He was so very close and yet terribly far away. A sharp shake sent a wave of agony through her. The worst was her broken knee, scraping against the ground where she had settled it. She choked on a pained whine, eyes closing as she tried to ride the waves that were now so horribly familiar. Eventually, her watery eyes opened and glanced quickly to where Jack had been - but he was gone. Her attention slid back to the Reaper when his claws tightened on her arms, terrified that he might shake her again. The Reaper was kneeling in the water before her, heedless of the liquid that was soaking into his clothes. The skull mask was so close to her that she could feel his breath on her face, hot against her freezing skin. His clawed hands were wrapped around her arms in the exact place he had buried her forgiveness in that armory. She wasn’t sure when, exactly, he had gotten so close - how had she missed his movement? “Are you still with me?” The growled phrase was a knife in her heart. When her nightmares became too much, when she was lost in her memories, Gabriel would pull her back down to Earth with those words. She hated that they were being used to bring her back to this place. Still. “I - I am.” The broken words were familiar, well-rehearsed - and wrong for this place. “For now.” The assurance, which used to be a gentle reminder of her mortality, was now bitter and desperate. Hopeful, even, for the sweet embrace of death and the relief it would bring to her. His claws bit into her skin, angry at the reminder of his past life - the script that he had started, this man who swore he wasn’t Gabriel. She had merely followed his lead and finished the scene. Angela had known she shouldn’t, that she should deviate and say anything else - or better yet, say nothing at all - but she couldn’t help herself. He wasn’t Gabriel, and yet he was. She knew she should fight, should struggle, try to escape the grip he had on his arms - but even at her best she could never have escaped his hold. Even if she had, where would she go? Her knee was broken, incapable of holding her weight for any amount of time. It was impossible to crawl away to safety. Instead, she let the Reaper hold her trembling body upright, hands limp at her sides. “How did it come to this, liebling?” She whispered, voice breaking, before allowing her head to fall forward and press against the hovering mask. Angela knew the question, the action, would only bring pain - but she found it hard to care. Her entire life was pain; what was a little more? The Reaper stiffened, probably in surprise at her audacity, and his claws dug in as his fists clenched. A heartbeat passed, and then another. Now it was her turn to be surprised - she hadn’t expected him to allow her to remain pressed against him so intimately. It was only a few moments - far too long yet never enough - before he shoved her away, releasing her arms so she collapsed on her back. As she tried to recover from the shock, the Reaper rose and stalked out of the room. Angela refused to allow herself to foster hope. It would only lead to more heartbreak in the end.

Gabriel had gone into that too bright room with its grating noise and lowered the doctor from her chains - far more gently than she usually was, though she wasn’t conscious to appreciate it. Then he had waited, leaning against one wall, for the woman to come back from wherever she had escaped to. He knew it was foolish to wait, since she could be gone for hours at a time, but he had hoped that she would return before he had to leave. His patience had been rewarded less than an hour later, when the doctor began to stir. Gabriel had moved forward eagerly until he was only a few feet from Angela. Her face had clouded with confusion - but, curiously, no pain - until her eyes had found him. Then there was nothing but fear that turned into pure agony as she tried to get away from him. Gabriel had thought she would escape then, that she’d disappear before he’d even said anything. Her screams had petered off relatively quickly, but coherency didn’t return for several long minutes. It was even longer before she was looking around again; the surprise that had turned to frustration made Gabriel realize she had forgotten his presence in the face of her blinding pain. The Reaper wasn’t sure if that was concerning or not. She should be more aware, more afraid, even in the throes of agony. She hadn’t even registered him as a threat until her eyes had landed on him. Was it that her subconscious didn’t think he was a threat to her, and therefore could be ignored? Was she too close to breaking, to becoming nothing but a hollow shell that had once housed the power that was Dr. Angela Ziegler? “Gab-” Angela had cut herself off so quickly he was surprised she didn’t bite the tip of her tongue off. She had cringed back then, making herself smaller – he hadn’t thought such a feat was possible – with a small, pained sound. There should have been anger at his old name on her lips, a reminder of everything she had stolen from him. There should have been pleasure – exultation, even – at the sight of her trembling before him, terrified of what he would do next. Instead, the Reaper felt empty, devoid of anything that would have satisfied him in this moment. That made him furious. How dare this victory be nothing. This was the whole point. This was the moment he had been waiting for years. They had come full circle, the two of them. Once, it had been his turn to beg for death. Now it was hers. He should feel something that would make all these years of suffering worth it. It was supposed to make him feel better. There was supposed to be a release, the bottled-up hatred being satisfied with her ruined body. The Reaper wanted to push forward and string the doctor back up. He wanted to dig in his claws and make her choke on the pain until he felt something. Surely that was what was missing: he hadn’t personally broken her, and so the satisfaction - the victory - was out of his reach Gabriel had other ideas. There was no pleasure in seeing Angela like this. He had thought it would help, as the Reaper had - but all he felt was pity for the shaking and whimpering woman. Or was it guilt? He was the one who had put her in this room, had condemned her to this terrible fate. He couldn’t bring himself to move closer to the blonde for fear that she would panic and hurt herself again. Instead, he crouched down so that, if she looked up, it would be easier for her to see him. After a few moments, it was apparent that Angela wasn’t going to be the one to speak first. It was his turn to be on the receiving end of the silent treatment that she had offered everyone else. He didn’t blame her; they were enemies here in this room, regardless of what pity Gabriel might feel “You’ve seen better days.” He could see the woman she had once been, even now. Her skin was unblemished - ethereal, perfect - and clean of any blood and gore. Golden hair shone in the light of her wings, which spread wide behind her as she looked up at him with her usual kindness from beneath her halo. Then he blinked, and the broken woman reappeared. That perfect skin was now slashed and bruised, pulled tight over her bones into sharp edges. She trembled in a puddle of freezing water and her own fluids. Her hair was no longer lustrous but stringy with oil. The glowing wings were broken, her halo gone. It was wrong. Angela was supposed to be tall and proud, not this debased creature. “What, nothing to say today?” Gabriel wasn’t above goading her to get her to speak. He wanted to refuse to leave until she talked to him, but he knew that would be impossible. He had to leave soon, while she had the patience of a God and the stubbornness of a thousand bulls. It had worked, though. Angela had looked up at him cautiously, obviously worried about further pain. Her sunken eyes had regarded him with a mixture of fear, anger, and sorrow - but the fear was by far the strongest of the three. Still, she had swallowed and responded with her damaged voice. “Wh-What is there to say?” Of course. Why would she speak to him, the lover-turned-enemy that had condemned her to this existence of terror and pain? Why had he even come in here in the first place? Right. The Reaper had wanted to gloat, to throw her forgiveness back into her face. He had wanted to revel in the agony before they left the Oasis base. Now, standing in the room, they had discovered that it was impossible. There was nothing but hollow pity and seeds of doubt. But the Reaper had to try and get what he had come for, anyway. “Ah, not so forgiving anymore, are we?” Her eyes had been wandering, obviously searching for something instead of focusing on the threat in the room, but they snapped back as soon as he spoke. A shudder rolled through her before she stiffened and steeled herself. “I have always forgiven Gabriel.” While her voice was weak, her eyes were steely with resolution. It was a truth that Gabriel had always accepted but never understood. How could she forgive him for anything that he had done as the Blackwatch Commander? She knew the horrors he had perpetuated - especially now after experiencing it firsthand - and she was still offering absolution for his part. It absolutely rocked Gabriel. “I will always forgive Gabriel.” The blonde had continued, as firmly as her broken throat would allow. The Reaper couldn’t believe her. He had utterly destroyed whatever faith she had held for Gabriel; the Reaper had seen the defeat when the guards had dragged her away. It was impossible for her to still have hope after everything she had been through. “But you,” the words stumbled, breaking as her blue eyes became sad again, “you aren’t him anymore, are you?” There it was. Gabriel, the man she remembered, was forgiven - but the Reaper, the monster he had become, was not. It should give him relief, that forgiveness. After everything Angela had gone through - and would continue to go through - she could still find compassion and gentleness in her heart. She could find the kinder emotions that should have been destroyed after so long in this cage. Guilt washed over him. She was teetering at the edge; all it would take was one calculated shove to send her spiraling. Her head bowed again, trying to hide the emotion they both knew she felt. Angela’s spine and shoulders were pronounced as she panted, trying to pull herself together. Would it be a kindness to find the words that would break her, to shatter her in such a way that Angela would never return? Was it selfish to try and keep her here in the battered body that would only face more abuse? Should he just kill her now and guarantee her torment would end? Before he could decide, Angela composed herself. Gabriel watched as her head lifted, and her eyes raised to take him in. Then, her eyes slid away and became unfocused and glassy as her mind escaped once more. He didn’t have any of the tools that were normally used to bring her down - and Gabriel doubted he could use them even if they were here. The Reaper was disgusted at Gabriel’s weakness. “Angela!” Gabriel called, nearly a shout. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t have any effect on the woman. He rose and crossed the distance quickly, trying to figure out how to pull her back down. He’d always been able to bring her out of her memories when they became too much, but he wasn’t sure he could bring her back when reality was too much. “Angela, cariño, come back.” He crooned as he kneeled before her, not even wincing as the icy water soaked his pants. Angela’s breathing had evened, and her body had relaxed enough that she was almost falling over. Gabriel grabbed her arms, steadying and straightening her, but her eyes remained unfocused. He took a steadying breath and then shook her in a violent, whole-body movement. Gabriel knew it would be excruciating for her, should it bring her back - but it was the only recourse he had besides laying her down and walking away. He wasn’t ready to walk away from her. Angela whined, a pitiful keening noise, as she came back to life in his arms. Her eyes fluttered shut as she trembled from the pain. A minute later, Angela realized she was making the pained noise and completely suppressed it, prideful even in her pain. It wasn’t long after that her eyes opened, not even noticing the tears that escaped, and darted towards the corner that had enraptured her. He would not let her go so easily. Gabriel tightened his hands, ready to pull her down again, but her eyes flew back to his mask before he could do anything. “Are you still with me?” The words escaped him before he could stop them. This was an all too familiar scenario from a time long destroyed by his hands. He had no right to use that phrase - it was too intimate for the enemies that they were supposed to be, for the monster he was supposed to be. And yet, he couldn’t help but search her face as he always had, looking for the tells that would reveal her deepest truths. “I - I am.” Angela stumbled over the words, the response just as ingrained in her as his question was in him. “For now.” There was a plea in the final phrase, one that had never existed before this room. Until this room, ‘for now’ was the assurance that she was with him in the moment - but never promising the future. Angela was always careful with her promises, with her words. Actions may speak louder than words - but she intended for her words to match her actions as often as possible; always, if she had her way, but even she wasn’t perfect. Angela never wanted anyone to doubt her for any reason - and so she measured her words carefully to ensure she didn’t offer something she couldn’t give. Not even for him would she break that habit. Even back then, she had been too realistic - too cynical - to believe that they would have a happy ending. Now, her ‘for now’ was a hope for an end. She had lost hope for any other form of escape; they all knew no one would find her before it was too late. It was unsurprising, considering the pain she was suffering - and they both knew this could only end one way. She just wanted the ending to come now. Gabriel’s hands clenched, forgetting that his fingers were tipped with claws, at the thought of her death. He didn’t want her dead - had never wanted her dead, not even in his worst fantasies. That had always been the Reapers desire, not Gabriel’s. It had never mattered before as it did now, when he had no control over the outcome. “How did it come to this, liebling?” The words were so quiet that, had he not been so close to her, he would never have been able to hear them. Then she went limp in his grasp, allowing herself to press against him with such familiarity that the Reaper stiffened in rage, claws now digging deep enough to draw blood. Gabriel and the Reaper fought over the decision of what to do with Angela, who hadn’t moved despite the danger he knew she was aware of. After a few moments, the Reaper won and shoved the woman back in disgust. He was on his feet and rushing for the door before there could be any further debate over his - their - actions.

---

The target was high profile, which was why Talon had decided that he, Widowmaker, and Sombra would form the strike team. Their only support was the pilot flying them from Oasis, Iraq to St. Petersburg, Russia. Widowmaker was methodically taking her sniper rifle apart to polish it before she would put it all back together again, as was her routine. She had barely glanced up when he had stormed onto the plane; he wasn’t sure if it was because she didn’t care or if she didn’t want to get involved. It was always hard to tell with her. Sombra had completely ignored him. The Reaper didn’t know if it was because of the callous words said in the observation room or if it was because she was distracted with whatever - or whoever - it was she was currently researching - hacking - on her holoscreens. She had started with three, but now there were seven; her eyes darted among them as she typed and slashed her fingers across them. He had leaned back and tried to sleep, as he usually did, but all he could think about was her. Damn that woman. The Reaper hated the effect that Angela had on them. Oh, he loved the rage he had felt at the sight of her, the pleasure her pain had brought him - but that, apparently, had diminishing returns. The Reaper still hated her, loathed her for what she had done to him. But no longer did he enjoy her torment as he had in those first days. He knew that she hadn’t experienced nearly enough to atone for what she had done, but what was the point if there was no pleasure in it? Her blood, her screams, her pleas - over time, it had become nothing to him. No, it had become worse than nothing. The bleeding heart that was Gabriel was spreading, infecting him. What was once a passive observer was now an active participant once more, as it had been in the beginning. The Reaper had won then, when Gabriel had grown tired and could no longer tolerate the blood necessary to soothe his agony. Now, because of her, the balance was shifting once more. They had agreed when she had first been captured: Angela deserved pain after the years of agony she had forced upon him. More quickly than the Reaper, however, Gabriel had lost his taste for the torture of the blonde angel - had lost his hatred altogether, considering the pity and guilt he felt over her pain. It was unsurprising, really; the Reaper really should have known better. He had let his greed blind him. It hadn’t been an accident that the Reaper had avoided cities - entire countries, if possible - that Angela lived in. Media was harder to avoid, but it was made easier by the fact that she had done her best to stay out of the news whenever possible. Blood and death strengthened the Reaper. He had been born in the destruction of the Zürich base, forced into life by that caged angel they had left behind in Oasis base. He had taken in the pain and the rage, the blood and the death, and had come roaring into being. As their existence began to revolve around those things that Gabriel had once stood against, the Reaper became stronger. But Angela changed that - had always changed that. For years, all he had been was merciless rage and endless hunger, his bloodlust leaving innumerable bodies in his wake. The Reaper had fostered a deep rage for the woman that had created him. Not even the parts that were Gabriel, the parts that loved the blonde doctor, had been able to temper that fury. He had fantasized about all the ways to take apart Angela, to make her regret ever bringing him back. To make her beg for death, just as Gabriel had in the moments before the Reaper had been born. It would have been - had been - so easy to capture her; her friends - ‘protectors’ - were nowhere to be seen, and her personal defenses were laughable at best. He would have reveled in her agony and painted the walls red with her blood. He could have shown the world what happens when you create a monster. But he didn’t. Couldn’t. He had gone to find her nearly a year after the destruction. The Reaper wanted to tear out her throat, to destroy the light that had dragged him back from death. Until they had laid eyes on the blonde, Gabriel had been an apathetic partner. Upon seeing her, however, Gabriel had dug his heels in. While the Reaper knew Gabriel had felt hatred towards the doctor in the abstract, he knew that he also harbored love. She had ignored his pleas for death and left him to live in agony, and still, he wanted her - but the Reaper knew it was more than that. Even if he didn’t love her, that woman was the embodiment of Gabriel’s past life: of Overwatch and the defense of the innocent. As Mercy, with those glowing wings, she had become a symbol for the organization. The sight of her was a reminder of everything he had been, everything he should be. It was enough to drown his hatred in the guilt and blood of the innocents they had killed to stay alive. She was their corazón, their heart. For as long as she lived, so would the parts that were Gabriel. The Reaper knew that he could rid himself of Gabriel by slaying the woman. It would be a stronger blow if it were at their hands, but the Reaper was confident that just her death would be enough. Despite the strength she displayed in her cage, he knew that she was fragile - now more than ever. She would be a quick, easy kill for a murderer like him. But, all those years ago, the Reaper had let her - and Gabriel - live. He had avoided her, erased her from their life as much as possible. It was a decision that he should have questioned, yet never did. Was Gabriel, deep in their shared mind and soul, protecting her from him? Was the Reaper protecting her from himself? Was he afraid to be alone in his head, to have nothing to temper his bloodlust and rage? Did he want to keep those gentler parts that were wholly Gabriel? And if he did, what did that mean for them now that Angela was captured?

They had done just about everything imaginable to her body. At least, she thought they had. They could probably dream up a thousand more horrors to inflict upon her. Angela was never an expert in torture, even if she was an expert on the human body. She knew in excruciating detail how to put someone back together - and exactly how they were taking her apart. Still, they hadn’t gotten her to tell them anything. A few times, she had snarled, snapping and telling them exactly where they could put their questions in a variety of languages. More recently, though, they had gotten the proud, cold Dr. Angela Ziegler to beg brokenly for them to stop - and then to please, please end it. Honestly, she didn’t know why they continued to come to her for information on Overwatch. The medical research made sense - she was one of the leading scientists, after all - but surely they could find another source on Overwatch. God. Had she really wished this upon someone else? No one should experience what she had in this room. Every moment they spent with her meant that was one moment less that was being spent searching for an alternative information source. Even if the pain was horrible - and it was - and even if it was tearing her apart in every way imaginable, she should never wish this on someone else. And yet she had. Oh, how she wanted out of this room. Angela knew there was only one way for her to leave - in a body bag - but it was how she reached it that mattered. Would that last victory be hers or theirs? Would she take their information to the grave, or would they manage to pry it out of her? She was determined to win this final war. This was all she was good for anymore, after all - all she had ever been good for. It had been her duty to serve in the field, taking bullets in her Valkyrie suit so that the agents under her care would be safe and putting them back together when she failed. It had been her responsibility to guide Overwatch in its final hours, to protect what had remained from public - and political - scrutiny. It was her honor to bleed for them now. Angela was the last shield Overwatch - the true Overwatch, her Overwatch - had left. And she wanted someone else to take the burden? How could she try to pass this off to someone else? What if it wasn’t one of her agents - who were important to her, who she had mourned when the KIA reports crossed her desk - but one of her family? What if they put those irons to Lena? What if they strung up Cassidy, whipped him raw like she was? Gabriel - Reaper - knew exactly how to break her; what if he was out there, right now, hunting one of them? What would she do if they brought someone else into this bloody room? Could she sit by and watch them abuse someone else? What kind of person would that make her if she could? Could she refuse to answer, knowing they would take her denials out on someone else? If to give in was to save someone else - not her, never her, she was going to die here - in exchange for betraying everyone else under her protection? What kind of person would that make her if she couldn’t? Angela could only pray that she died before she ever had to make that impossible decision.

Jack had been in Mexico, looking into the criminal group Los Muertos, when news of Angela’s capture had been broadcast across the world over three weeks ago. He hadn’t even considered ignoring the call to arms; Angela had done too much for him - for the world - to leave missing. From what he had gathered, there were no actual suspects. Jack believed, considering the recall from Winston - that he had not planned to answer - that it was one of the terrorist organizations that Overwatch had stood against years ago. Angela would make for a great hostage to use against the rising organization, after all. Since he was already in the backyard of one of the terrorist groups, he had decided to continue his efforts against the Mexican gang. He had been picking off gang members for the past few weeks, working his way through the ranks to gather information. After his ‘research,’ Jack was nearly positive that this gang wasn’t holding Angela - and he was going to confirm it tonight. He headed towards a major operative base for Los Muertos, the address kindly provided by one of their members the night before. However, he wasn’t the only one that had this idea. Jack arrived to find Cole Cassidy in the middle of a firefight. Ten gangsters pinned down the cowboy and, while Cassidy was impressive in a fight, even he was struggling against those odds. Jack gritted his teeth; he hadn’t wanted to make contact with Overwatch like this - but he couldn’t just leave Cassidy to his fate. The old soldier dropped his visor into place and pulled out his helix rifle. He had the element of surprise, shooting from a side alley with a dumpster for cover. Jack had clipped two of them before they returned fire. The cowboy had turned slightly, eyes wide under his hat, but had accepted his help. There wasn’t time for questions when the bullets were flying, after all. Between his rifle and Cassidy’s Peacekeeper, the gangsters were soon retreating with their wounded. Of the ten that had been in their group, they had killed three. Cassidy looked around - and the blood and the bodies - and kicked at a nearby bottle. “Damn it!” Jack wondered if the cowboy had stumbled upon this location by accident and had been looking to get information from the gangsters. Cassidy turned, Peacekeeper still in hand, to regard Jack. “‘preciate th’ help,” he drawled. There was a hard wariness in his eyes, a look Jack was well familiar with. Cassidy had regarded everyone with that look when he had first come into Overwatch. Jack had thought Overwatch had cured him of it, but it seemed he was mistaken. “It’s no problem.” Jack rested the rifle over one shoulder casually, watching him just as warily through his visor. He had no intention of attacking the cowboy - they were on the same side, after all - but until he put away Peacekeeper, Jack was unwilling to part with his gun. Then again, Jack didn’t know anyone that could draw their weapon faster than Cassidy. Perhaps he should keep his rifle in hand the entire time. “Now, why’s a guy like you creepin’ round these parts?” Jack wasn’t surprised that Cassidy recognized him - or, at least, recognized the person wanted by the media. Soldier: 76 had a bounty that was slowly creeping to be as high as Cassidy’s. The soldier considered the man before him. He could make some excuse and come back on a different night, avoid the discovery altogether. But after the fight here in the alleyway - plus his systematic attacks against the gang - Los Muertos would be on high alert. Maybe teaming up, at least for the night, wasn’t the worst idea. “Probably the same reason you are.” Jack rumbled, letting his rifle drop from his shoulder to hang limply at his side. Cassidy scoffed. “Ya don’ know th’ first thing ‘bout me.” The soldier’s mouth twisted into a wry grin under the mask. If only he knew. “I know enough,” Jack responded grimly. “You’re looking for Dr. Ziegler.” Cassidy’s hand tightened on Peacekeeper, his free hand hovering near his waist where Jack knew he kept his flashbangs. “An’ jus’ what would you know ‘bout her?” If the cowboy had looked dangerous before, now he was downright murderous. It was an effort to keep from lifting his rifle defensively; with how on edge Cassidy was, Jack was sure he’d shoot first and worry about the question later. “She helped me, a long time ago.” It was more than that, of course - but he couldn’t tell Cassidy any of it without revealing who he really was. “I owe her. Trying to find her is the least I could do.” “Right.” Cassidy made a disbelieving noise. “Outta th’ goodness of your heart, o’course.” Jack had forgotten how cynical Cassidy was - how cynical they all were. It was impossible to be an optimist, a dreamer that expected the best of the world, when all you ever saw was the worst. “I said I owe her,” Jack growled back. “She’s important to a lot of people.” Cassidy made that noise again, and Jack rolled his eyes. He understood the reluctance, but there was no time for this. Jack cut his free hand through the air. “Look: there’s an operations base near here; it’s where I was going when I found you.” Jack extended the information as a peace offering, a white flag he hoped Cassidy would take. “It’s the only place left that Los Muertos could hide her.” “And I’m jus’ s’pposed t’trust you.” It wasn’t a question. “You don’t have to do anything.” Jack corrected, turning away from the cowboy and his still threatening Peacekeeper. He was confident that Cassidy wouldn’t shoot him in the back, not with that bait dangling before him. “Come or don’t, but I’m going.” Jack had made it about halfway down the alley before he heard a sigh and the clink of spurs as Cassidy followed him.

---

As Jack had expected, Angela wasn’t being held by Los Muertos - but it always paid to be certain. Now, Cassidy was tailing him doggedly through the alleyways, trying to figure out who he was - besides the notorious Soldier: 76 - and why he’d want to help Angela. “Don’t you have anything better to do?” The old soldier had growled, finally stopping behind a defunct restaurant. Now that he had accomplished his task here in Dorado, Jack was planning to leave the city. He was planning to head towards the Middle East; there was a bounty hunter he wanted to investigate and, if the information Jack had was correct, there should be a Talon base somewhere in the area that he could tear apart in the search for Angela. Despite his respect for Cassidy’s abilities, Jack had no interest in teaming up with him in the long term. He was an old soldier, bouncing from one war to the next. Cassidy was still young - even if he had been forced to grow up far too fast. There was no place for the cowboy at his side, not anymore. “Naw, not at th’ moment.” The cowboy drawled lazily, not at all phased by Jack’s tone. When he’d glanced back, he found Cassidy regarding him with hard brown eyes and one hand on his holstered Peacekeeper. Just because they’d forged a temporary truce hadn’t made them allies, after all - at least, not to Cassidy. “Why does it matter?” Jack finally growled. “You should take any help you can get.” After all, Angela had been missing for nearly a month. They shouldn’t be looking a gift horse in the mouth. “An’ what happens when ya find her?” Cassidy demanded. “Gonna ransom her yourself? Try t’ get rid o’ your bounty?” Jack couldn’t care less about the - well deserved - bounty on his head. The only difficulty it gave him was travel - but, considering the world believed him to be dead, travel had already been difficult. “I’m not doing this for money.” The soldier returned; his old self would have been offended at the idea. This new self was more pragmatic - it would be a good idea that any other criminal would jump upon. “Yeah. You’re doin’ it ‘cause you’re such an upstandin’ citizen an’ all.” Cassidy deadpanned back. He shifted his weight, his cybernetic left-hand hooking into one of his belt loops - his right was still on his gun. “Gimmie one good reason I shouldn’ put a bullet in ya.” Jack rolled his eyes behind his visor. "Because we’re on the same side.” Cole did not look convinced in the slightest; Jack wasn’t sure why he’d thought those words would work. “I told you: I owe her. She saved my life.” Cole still wasn’t budging, so Jack elaborated on that thought. “She took a bullet that was meant for me - and then patched me up as if it were nothing.” The edges of Cole’s lips twitched, as if he wanted to smile at the reminder of how Angela had been - was. “That sounds like the Ange I know.” Cole conceded. “Never could take care o’ herself when there was someone else needin’ her help.” He sighed, hand sliding off Peacekeeper. “Fine. Fine. How’re we gonna know if ya find her?” “Trust me: you’ll know.” Jack turned and walked away. This time, Cole let him.

In this life there's no surrender There's nothing left for us to do Find the strength to see this through - Soldiers [Otherwise]

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

Connection

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

AO3 | FF.net | Works

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

---

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

Connection | Recovery

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