Brighteye Writes

Bright | She / Her writes Overwatch fanfiction MercyKill | Mercy x Cassidy [idk the tag still] always accepting asks / prompt

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Invisible (Fooling Myself)

I am right here with you I couldn’t be more close Pretending that I’m in this moment, When I’m only a ghost -So Far Away [Red] Prompts 4 & 25 and Prompts 28 & 47 | Overwatch (Pre-Fall) | Angela Ziegler / Gabriel Reyes

AO3 | FF.net | Works

Cassidy watched the woman seated across from him from under the brim of his hat; for all appearances, he’d tugged his hat down over his face and fell asleep. She looked small and frail, fingers clutching tightly at the serape he’d wrapped around her hours earlier - but it was her face that truly gave her away. Pure grief clouded her eyes as she stared down at her lap. It was the saddest he’d ever seen anyone, and he had seen a lot of sad people - usually right after he’d killed someone they knew. Maybe she had known someone on that strike team? Cassidy was tempted to reach out and try to comfort her, or at least make her hands relax because they sure looked like they hurt, but he doubted she would want that from him - or from anyone, if rumors were to be believed. He’d never talked to her before, though he’d heard of her and might have passed her once or twice in a hallway. Doctor Angela Ziegler, the only person he’d ever met in over twenty years whose last name started with a ‘Z’. She was also the only person he’d ever met whose initials matched the ink on his left ankle - AZ. He wondered if she was his match in some way. Jesse was pretty sure he’d figured out one set - AA, for Ana Amari, a woman who couldn’t help but mother everyone. Jesse had wondered, when he had first met him, if GR was for Gabriel Reyes - but if it was, Jesse sure didn’t know what role he filled. They weren’t close enough to be friends, angry enough to be enemies, and Jessie didn’t swing that way so they definitely wouldn’t be lovers. But that still left three roles to fill - assuming he’d gotten the AA right. He couldn’t imagine Angela as his enemy, for a number of reasons. Hell, Cassidy doubted she was anyone’s enemy, not with her sterling reputation for saving lives both on and off the battlefield. She wore a fuckin’ halo and set of wings; her callsign was Mercy. She was probably the best goddamned person he’d ever met, and they’d barely said more than ten meaningful words to each other. He probably hadn’t even introduced himself. Not like there’d been much time for pleasantries, considering he’d just pulled her out of a strike mission gone straight to hell. No, if she was bonded to him in some way it was one of the other two - friend or lover. He knew it was always possible that she was his match - and that he wasn’t hers. Far too many people had to settle for less because theirs wasn’t a perfect match, and wouldn’t it be just his luck to be in that position? Considering who they both were, Jesse was doubtful that he could ever entice Angela into his bed - so he could only hope that she wasn’t soulmated to him in that way. Of the three options, being his closest friend was far more preferable than the heartache of the other. Not like that was any likelier. Who was he kidding? She was the fucking angel of Overwatch and he was a semi-reformed gangster that had been press-ganged into becoming a Blackwatch agent. It wasn’t like there was any reason for their paths to even cross, except in rare - and extreme - situations like this one. Angela would forget he even existed once they landed - and damn if that didn’t sting, just a little bit. It shouldn’t, since they’d barely spent three hours together and had said practically nothing to each other, but there it was. Cassidy knew better than this, he did, but the idea had taken root somehow. Like a sore tooth, he couldn’t help but fixate on the idea. He’d get over it in a day or two, after exhausting himself in training and burying himself in mission planning. He’d forget her, just like she would forget him. He’d become a footnote - if that - in her life. The carrier jolted as it landed, breaking him out of his thoughts. By the time he looked up again, he was met with cool eyes and a gentle smile. It was the exact opposite of the sorrow that he had seen on her face, to the point where he wondered if he’d imagined it all. As soon as the carrier rolled to a stop, they were both climbing to their feet. “I do not think I have thanked you,” Angela said softly as they waited for the ramp to lower. He glanced over at her in surprise; Cassidy hadn’t expected her to speak to him at all, much less to thank him. “Don’ worry about it; it was nothin’,” Cassidy said - though he was pleased at the recognition. If anything, he’d expected her to rail against him for arriving too late to save her team - but if he had known about the bomb, Cassidy doubted she would have been in the field at all. “Maybe not to you,” Angela agreed, “but you saved my life, and I am grateful.” She shrugged out of his serape and offered it back to him. “If there is anything I can ever do for you, I would be more than happy to oblige.” Cassidy blinked as he grabbed the cloth; surely he had heard her wrong. There was no way she meant that; those were just pretty words to make her feel better. Cassidy doubted she expected him to ever even attempt to collect - how could he? Okay, yeah, he was Blackwatch and he could probably find her with some digging, but not without drawing a whole lot of attention that he’d rather avoid. “Sure thing,” Cassidy agreed anyway. There was no reason to antagonize her; she was more than capable of making his life miserable, considering her rank and who she was friends with. Angela nodded once before making her way down the ramp and into the sunlight as he settled his serape back into place over his shoulders. Fuck, it smelled like her. Cassidy headed down the ramp after her, steps hesitating briefly as he saw who was waiting: the Commanders and the Captain. For a moment, he panicked - he’d never done anything to warrant a visit from more than one of them, and now all three were here - but then he realized that they were all looking at Angela. Ana drew Angela into a hug, which was unsurprising: that was what Ana did. What did surprise him was how Angela threw her arms around the woman in return. That didn’t match the cold woman of rumor or the calm one he’d just spoken to - which reaffirmed the grief he had seen on her face. As Angela pulled back, shoulders tight with the stress of the day, Cassidy realized this was a private moment, one not meant for his prying eyes. Before they could realize he was watching, he slipped away into the shadows of the carrier to find a way off the roof. Still, Cassidy couldn’t keep himself from looking back at her one last time, the AZ on his ankle practically burning, and froze. Reyes’ hand was on her cheek, his face far more gentle than Jesse had ever seen, and Angela was smiling sadly up at him. Something - jealousy? He wasn’t jealous, he couldn’t be - twisted in his gut as he forced himself to turn away before they caught him staring. He was absolutely fucked if Angela was the one who was his fated lover, because there was absolutely no way she’d ever look at him the way she looked at Reyes.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Hello again, lovelies. This is tagged as "Part One" because it comes before the other posted parts in this timeline. Also, due to the change in Cassidy's name, I want to make a note here. Based on the official release from Blizzard regarding Cole's name, he would be known by his previous name during the original Overwatch [at the very least]. I am following that canon. But, because I understand the gravity of the events surrounding the name change, I will not actually use his old name - I will either tell the story from Cole's POV [to avoid casual usage] or descriptive language. Therefore, unless otherwise shown in this story, only a small handful of people know Cole's real name [Cole] and instead know him by the [unstated] previous name. Any other story, you'll find that Cassidy's name is actively known correctly - this is because it's easier to write instead of finding ways around his old name.

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Breaking Point

You show your face, I know it well You're turning me against myself You place your hands around my neck And I now I feel you stealing every breath -Doubt [Through Fire] Whumptober Day 31| Fandom: Overwatch (Pre-Fall) | TW: Torture, Implied Rape

AO3 | FF.net | Works

Bribed. She hadn’t wanted to join Overwatch. The military – and militaristic organizations – were simply abhorrent to her. Her hands were meant to pull flesh back together, not help rend it to pieces. The bombs that leveled cities, the guns that tore apart families, the blades that stained hands red; that was not for her. She would piece back together what she could, but the cost of this ‘peace’ was too high, tainted by the blood of the innocents Overwatch was meant to save. And yet they had convinced her to give them a chance. They had offered her research opportunities she could only dream of. She allowed them to persuade her to compromise her morals, because if she could outweigh their bad with her good, it would be worth it. If she could take the opportunity and twist it to save lives across the globe, it should be worth it. Shouldn’t it? Miracles. She had to admit – even if it was only to herself – it wasn’t all bad. They were true to their words, though she didn’t think they had realized exactly what she was being promised. Under their heavy mantle, she created tools that she had only dreamed of until she had the funding of Overwatch. Nanobot research and biotic transplants, battlefield triage and surgical theaters – she improved them all in a short span of time that was nothing less than astonishing. The cost was high. Militarization – death – dragged at her, reminded her at every turn that she was a part of the organization that she had, and still did, criticize for the damage it wrought. But the rewards of her research – life – had made the cost acceptable, even if tore at her very being. She would balance the scales and then tip it, further and further, away from the bad – the pain, the death. Savior. She had balked when they had asked her to take her work onto the front lines. She was not meant for battles and bullets; she was a healer and she was meant to be in a hospital or lab. And yet, she allowed herself to be convinced again. Many agents died in the field, long before they could reach the help they had desperately needed. The cost to her – innocence – versus the reward to them – life – had made it hard to say no for long. So, she went into the field, because those people didn’t deserve to die – even if they had chosen this path. She saw horrors that she had thus far only imagined, that pictures could not truly capture, and hardened. She saw men kill and be killed; she was forced to become numb so she wouldn’t break. She stitched them back together where she could, ignoring their sobs of pain and pleas for their God or their mother or any other such thing. She went toe to toe with death on fields of bullets and blood – and did her best to deny him. Mercy. They whispered that she was an angel; she certainly looked the part with her suit of wings. She would come to the broken and put them back together, a gentle smile on her face as she took away their pain. Then she would fly away on wings of white and gold to the next poor soul that needed her care. She would flit around, protecting and healing until they could all go home again. They said she was a Goddess. She yanked men back from deaths door with seemingly less effort than it had taken to put them there. With a wave of her staff or a touch of her hands, she could practically raise the dead; those with even the worst, most horrible of wounds could be restored under its’ gentle light and her watchful gaze. She was Overwatch’s miracle, their guardian angel, their Mercy. If they called out, she would come, for she could do no less. If they called out, she would put them back together. If they called out, she would save them. Until one day, they called out – and she did not appear. Clipped. She had promised protection to those of Overwatch, to those innocents harmed in the crossfire – and they tore her away. She could heal wounds that were horrific and leave barely a scar, could bring men back from just past the brink of death. Her skills were a godsend on the field, to those she watched over as she flew high above with her wings. She had sworn to protect her agents, and Overwatch had shattered that oath as if it were spun glass. Her wings were stripped away, their warm glow changed to a blood colored haze. Her surcoat now bore skull and sword, black and red where they were once blue and gold. While she had been a benevolent angel on the field of battle, she was now to be a ruthless God in the hidden places that the light no longer reached. Once, when those around cried “Mercy” it was a beg for her to come and save them. Now, when they cried “Mercy” it was a broken plea for her to let them die. Weapon. Angela had not wanted to go to Blackwatch – still did not want to be Blackwatch. She knew what they wanted from her, what her technology could do in that shadowy organization. They wanted to weaponize the tool she had created for peace, weaponize her. But this was war. In the grand scheme of things, what she wanted did not matter. One would be sacrificed for the good of the many. If the cost was her heart and soul, then it was a small price to pay. Her sacrifice could, would, get them information that they needed. It would help protect people – innocents and agents of both the light and dark organizations. But she would be breaking people, hurting people. Oh, Angela would never inflict a wound onto their flesh. Just the opposite, in fact. She would provide a fresh, new canvas for the interrogators – a gentle word for torturers – to ply their craft. Repeatedly, until they had gotten what they wanted or needed. She would become a psychological tool; the sight of her would no longer bring relief. It would bring misery and, in some cases, insanity. While others would break the body, she would be the one shattering their minds.

---

The first time had been the worst. Angela thought she had known what to expect. She had been on blood-soaked battle fields, she had picked through the rubble after disasters, she had participated in horrific trauma surgeries. She had pieced together men, women, and children from countless horrible injuries. She had seen horrors that few others would experience. She had thought that, after her service with Overwatch – and the personal costs she had paid – had numbed her. Angela could walk a field, rife with blood and bullets; climb through the ruins in the aftermath of a hurricane; operate on those who were so badly broken that it was almost a waste. If she could do all those things – and more – why wouldn’t she assume that she could reach the proper disassociated state, hardened and numb, in these halls as well? She had assumed wrong. Those experiences were nothing compared to that bloody room, and what it meant. Angela had entered the interrogation room – torture chamber – and froze, eyes wide. There was an unconscious man, bound naked to a chair and covered in blood. She could smell it from where she stood. It permeated the walls and floor, would stain it long after this man was dragged out and replaced with another unfortunate soul. The injuries were nothing she hadn’t seen before, but this. This was a nightmare come to life. Tools lined a table that sat against the wall to her right, some still glistening red with the blood of the man before her. A drain on the floor beneath him kept the blood from pooling and creating a slipping hazard. There were eyebolts in the walls, floors, and ceilings, manacles hanging carelessly from them as they awaited their next victim. The entire room was created to be the perfect space for torture – and she was standing in it. She was prolonging this. She couldn’t possibly do this. A hand at the small of her back prodded her forward impatiently, reminding her of why she was here. She would snap at its’ owner, but she wasn’t sure she could open her mouth without crying or screaming; even now, her pride required her to remain outwardly calm even as she felt anything but. Instead, Angela took an unsteady step forward, hands clutching her staff desperately in a white knuckled grasp. The man was broken, she could see it. Burns and slashes coated his body, carelessly scattered as if the placement didn’t matter – and perhaps it did not; she knew nothing of torture. She did know wounds, though. Angela could see the painful swelling of broken bones in his feet and bruises across what little she could see of his face. Blood dripped in long streams from his mouth to his lap. Angela hadn’t taken in all of his wounds that day, as she had for so many that had followed after. She could not. It had been all she could do to stagger towards him, staff aloft, as she touched his arm with a shaking hand. Grief and rage coursed through her, but she completed her task. She put him back together, knowing that others would return to this horrible room to tear him apart once more – and they would expect her to fix him again until he was used up completely. The same rough hand – or one just like it – guided her out of the room when it became apparent that she was not going to move from where she stood, trembling fingers still pressed against the warm flesh of his bicep. She followed blindly as they led her out of the room and back down the hallway, out of the dark, hidden, horrible places and into the light. There they left her, soul battered and bruised. A piece of her had died in that room. Healing the wounded – friend and foe alike – on the battlefield, bullets flying all around and a comm unit screaming in her ear, couldn’t compare. It was one thing to fix a soldier who would go back to the front lines – they made the choice to get hurt again and again. It was another to heal a prisoner so that they could be tortured more. The only choices they had now were to surrender or to go insane; no longer could they expect death to take them before their captors broke them. Death was now a reward for good behavior, and it sickened her. Angela covered her face, wings fanned out and over herself protectively, and wept.

---

The second time they had come for her, she had refused. Refused. Short of dragging her, kicking and screaming, she was not leaving her lab to go into one of those monstrous rooms. They may have forced her to come to Blackwatch, but they couldn’t force her to do this. The agents left, but Angela knew the battle was far from over. Less than an hour later Gabriel Reyes, Commander of everything in this godforsaken place - to include her - stormed into her lab. This was the first time she had seen him since she’d been transferred to this organization nearly a week ago. He’d been there with Jack, signing papers and making everything official. He’d been the one to lead her away, one hand at her elbow as she looked back towards the blonde man that had been her Commander. The blonde had met her betrayed look with one of resignation, and then turned away. Though he was the Commander, and therefore had many duties and obligations, she was unsurprised that he was here now. The good doctor wasn’t playing nicely, so of course they would send in the big guns. With a single look he had her assistants scurrying out to go somewhere, anywhere, else. Before they had all escaped, she turned back to her work, seemingly unconcerned – a lie, because she was keenly aware of him as he stalked through the lab towards her. Angela refused to squirm under his scrutiny, refused to break the silence first. She had made him come this far; she could wait him out a little longer. Her hand kept moving, writing absolute nonsense – but it was in German and she was almost certain the man looming over her couldn’t read the language. “Heard you haven’t been doing your job.” He broke the silence as soon as he was within arms’ reach of her. Angela allowed her hand to still after a moment and set the pen aside. Tucking a stray piece of hair behind one ear she turned, crossing her legs at the knee as she regarded him with a cool gaze. “I was not aware.” She canted her head to the side. “Your agents are receiving the best care I can possibly provide. I know I have not made much progress in the labs but,” she spread her hands slightly, “I have only been here a short while.” Angela let her hands fold back into her lap again. “I know that people call me a miracle worker, but even I need time.” “We both know that isn’t why I’m here.” He crossed his arms, possibly trying to become more intimidating. If that were his intent, he was successful – though she tried not to show her discomfort. “Part of your job is to heal our prisoners.” Prisoners. What a kind word for the poor souls that were being tormented somewhere below their feet even as they spoke. “It was why you were brought to Blackwatch.” It was her turn to cross her arms, eyes flashing. “I refuse to be used in such a horrendous way.” If she were on her feet, she would be pacing – but Angela remained where she sat. “I will not go back.” She could not go back. Not to any of those blood stained rooms. Not to the people – people, not prisoners – that they wanted her to help break over and over and over again. This was not what she was meant for. “It’s your job.” Her job. As if she asked for this, applied and provided a résumé. As if she had wanted to come here. As if she’d had a choice in this. “My job is to heal people. It is not to facilitate their torture.” Now she was on her feet, hands balled into fists at her side as she glared up at him. She was not the monster they wanted her to be; she was a doctor, a healer – and they were perverting everything about it. “Your job is whatever I say it is.” Angela reared back as if she had been slapped. Yes, he was the Commander – that, unfortunately, made him her boss. But he could not force her to do this; that was beyond anyone’s power. “Then I quit. Commander.” The title was spat, an insult. She snatched the badge that hung on her chest and dropped it unceremoniously to the floor; it was quickly followed by the keys that hung at her belt. He seemed honestly surprised at her reaction, which was probably why he’d let her get a few steps away before speaking again. “Did you hear about the chemical bomb in Spain?” He challenged, and despite it all she allowed herself to pause and shake her head. She knew she should keep going, escape before he could find some way to convince her to destroy herself. “You wouldn’t have because it didn’t happen. We managed to get the information and we stopped it before it could kill hundreds of civilians.” Angela deflated slightly, but still refused to turn. “How about the trafficking ring, out in Brazil?” Angela shook her head again, and this time there was surprise in his voice. “Well, it was all over the news, about a year ago now. We managed to bust an operation out there. Saved dozens of women and children from bondage.” She knew horrible things happened all over the world, but she hadn’t realized Blackwatch’s hand in stopping it. “It is a necessary evil, Doctor.” The words were low and hard. “Those people have information, and we need it. If they die, more than just their lives are lost.” Angela finally turned, just enough to regard him. “The information we gather saves people – innocent people – Doctor.” Angela made an unhappy sound, hating how he could make torture sound noble – as if it weren’t the slow destruction and dissection of unfortunate individuals. He ran a hand over his head with a sigh. “It’s not pretty. It’s ugly and it’s horrible. But Blackwatch does whatever it takes to get the job done.” He met her desperate gaze with hard eyes. “Whatever it takes, Doctor. We get the information on assassination targets, drug rings, human traffickers – all the bad in the world – and then Overwatch fixes it.” He stopped there, letting the silence grow as he waited for her to say something, anything. All she had ever wanted was to be a doctor, to fix people that the world had left broken – and they had allowed her that. She had never been selfish with anything; she had worked long hours, had no social life, went into battle to protect their wounded. Whatever was needed, she did it. Perhaps she would balk, drag her heels, rail about how horrible their demands were – but she would do it once she understood the necessity. And she did understand the necessity of what was done here. While it might go against everything Angela believed in, she could understand why it had to be done – at least, in the abstract. She knew how important their horrendous tasks were. Oh, she wasn’t an idiot; she knew that torture was only one of many horrible acts that Blackwatch perpetrated, even if they didn’t speak of such things around her. She knew that what they did had to be done – she just didn’t want to be an active part of it. “Please do not make me go back. Please.” Angela never begged, not for anything and not to anyone. Still, the quiet words dropped unbidden from her lips as she ducked her head low, arms wrapped around her chest as if she were cold. If it were for anything else, she would feel ashamed. But for this horrific task, the terrible demands laid before her, she would allow herself to beg – just once. Anything to keep her from the rooms that would destroy her, because she knew, knew, that she would face those bloody rooms with the Commanders’ words in her mind. She would because it was needed and necessary, damned be the personal consequences. It was never about the injuries – those she could handle. She had seen people shot, blown apart by grenades, crushed by buildings, burned by raging infernos, and countless combinations of wounds scatted across men, women, and children. Angela could fix wounds, with her hands – healing or just with plain tools – or her staff. But to fix someone, specifically so that they would be destroyed again? The very thought made her nauseous. “We wouldn’t – I wouldn’t – ask you to if it weren’t necessary.” She knew it wasn’t simply a matter of technology – any idiot with a pulse could wield the staff, or a duplicate of it. The staff could only go so far; it alone could not create the miracles she had become famous for. The rest was her personal nanobots, channeled by her own will rather than the single generic path the staff could follow. It was why Angela alone, without tools or implements, could pull a person back from death. She had never wanted such power, such responsibility. It had been an accident, a research experiment gone awry. While it was nothing short of miraculous, the abilities she now held, it was also a terrible burden. It weighed upon her when she was with Overwatch, flitting and flying between her agents and the innocents trapped in the crossfire. It was even heavier here in Blackwatch, because she no longer had choice. She had instruction and duty. “I do not like this.” Once more she was being dragged past her line in the sand, the line where she was supposed to say ‘here, and no more’. Time and time again, first with Overwatch and now with Blackwatch, she would allow herself to be convinced into doing something she didn’t want – had never wanted. But she would do it because she was the only one who could, regardless of what it would cost her. “No one likes it, Doctor.” He bent down to pick up her effects before walking the few steps to offer them back to her. Finally, she turned to face him fully, her entire body slumping in defeat. “It isn’t easy. It shouldn’t be easy. But it is necessary.” Angela stared at the items in his hand. “You’re Blackwatch now. No matter the cost. Whatever it takes.” After a long, considering moment – during which the Commander did not pull away or shift impatiently, choosing instead to simply wait her out with cool eyes – Angela reached out, fingers trembling, to take back the badge and keys. She resigned herself to the death that they signified. This task here would break her, she knew that. Piece by piece they would flay away her heart and soul until there was nothing left of her but a shell of the woman she once was. Blackwatch would be her death. She pinned the badge back to her chest. “No matter the cost.” The words were a hoarse, barely audible whisper of acknowledgment, and then she was turning away. She had to change and get ready to stain her hands further.

---

Her footsteps echoed down the hallway, the folded wings on her back casting an ominous red glow behind her. Ten heavy black doors with small observation windows were evenly disbursed, breaking up the near blinding white of the walls. She was flanked by two men who were urging her along hurriedly. Angela wasn’t sure if was because they were afraid she would try to escape or if it was because the... patient was at – or past – deaths’ door. They didn’t need to fear in either case. She had long since come to terms with the fact that this was her domain now, the necessity of her presence in these blood-soaked halls. This was where she regularly denied Death himself. One agent opened the door for her, and Angela stepped inside. It was dark in here, a stark contrast to the white of the hall she had just exited; she paused, briefly, to allow her eyes to adjust. The red of her wings seemed brighter in here, and she flared them to better see – not that she wanted to see the tableau before her. She never wanted to see it, but she had to. A broken, bloody woman was hanging – dangling, more like – by her wrists in the middle of the room, back to the door. Angela didn’t know who she was, what information she might have that Blackwatch would do this. She was never told what they wanted, only that what they got was worth the fragments of her soul. She only knew that she was to fix them, and, eventually, she would never see them again – except in her memories. Angela stepped forward, eyes taking in the damage. This part was unnecessary; she didn’t have to see the wounds. But she needed to. She needed to know what she was doing, to know exactly how much red dripped from her fingers, how dark her soul was becoming. She kept her face impassive, stony, bored even. It had taken her a long time to perfect it – to hide the revulsion, horror, and grief that filled her even after all this time – but she had learned. As she moved, the woman remained still. Sometimes the injured moved, not quite broken by what had been done to them. It didn’t matter that they were completely helpless in the room; they were driven by a need to keep some semblance of control, which she could understand even as she understood the futility. Those were the ones Angela pitied the most, because she knew they would require multiple visits before Blackwatch could no longer use them. Angela had already seen this woman once before. Then she had been on a table, still moving feebly as she pulled against bonds and tried to keep track of her captors. Yet, despite her stillness, Angela’s attention was necessary – that meant she hadn’t yet broken. Angela grieved for the poor, stubborn woman – and hoped furiously that this was the last time they would summon her, that this time the woman would break. Once they were used up, she never saw them again. She knew that meant they were dead – but death had to be better than this. Anything was better than this. Angela took in her hands and wrists. Nails were missing, probably torn away viciously. There were welts and bloody lines from where the manacles had bitten deep. Her eyes followed the blood down her arms, before dropping further. They had taken strips from her back, probably with a strap. Long, bloody furrows streaked horribly across the skin. What flesh remained, tattered and torn, was bruised. Some were the fresh purple and black; between those bruises and the blood that was still oozing slowly, she knew that they had recently worked on this woman. Others were the healing yellow-green, which proved that Angela had not been in this room for some time. Angela turned to the left, heels clicking softly as she circled the woman slowly. Down again, legs now. She took in the blood between her thighs, biting the inside of her cheek hard to keep her impassive mask in place. The aftermath of rape – either by person or by object, she never knew, and would never ask – was nothing she hadn’t seen in these bloody halls. Still, of all the damages she healed, that was the one that always sickened her the most. Angela kept walking, slow and steady. Measured. Controlled. No sign of hesitation or her distress. The woman’s right knee was sitting at the wrong angle, forcing her to either rest her weight on one leg or let her shoulders and arms be wrenched painfully. Surprisingly, there were no cuts or abrasions along the legs, but she supposed there had been plenty of other damage further up. Now she was in front of the woman, eyes skimming upwards once more. Angela skipped over the bloody thighs – and stopped at her stomach. A ragged gash – freshly made based on the lack of bruises and the blood still dripping – stretched between her hips. It was a precise cut that didn’t pierce the intestines, and instead allowed them to spill out; it was a fatal blow, and the reason the agents had hurried her along. She forced her eyes to move upwards, even as her fingers twitched with her desire to fix the woman. They hadn’t just used the knife at her hips. There were random slashes all the way up from the gaping wound to just below her throat. They were spread out sporadically, all varying in depth, and yet she knew – just like with the intestines – they would not have ruptured any organs below. They had removed her nipples in what appeared to be twin savage cuts. Her breath rattled ominously, revealing some internal damage between her throat and her chest. Further up now, eyes pausing briefly on the mottled set of bruises at her face and throat – there had been several sets of hands, at different times, to create those. The swelling was bad; absently, Angela thought her cheek may be broken. Her eyes were swollen, and Angela knew if the woman were conscious she would barely be able to see the red of her wings. Angela was grateful that she was unconscious. She hated the despair in their eyes, the pleas that fell from their lips. It hurt her heart enough to be a part of this, to fix them only for them to be torn apart again in these bloody rooms, but the begging was the salt in the wound. It made her want to apologize, but she couldn’t. If she were to open her mouth to speak, she wouldn’t be able to stop apologizing until they dragged her away. So, she could not speak, could do nothing to help them – because here, in this place, she was not relief or salvation. She was pain and she was suffering. She was torment and she was despair. She was a ruthless God, one that held back the sweet relief of Death. Angela raised her staff with one hand and gently cupped her bruised cheek with the other. It was a matter of minutes before the woman was healed. She was still bloody – nothing short of bathing would remove that – but the gaping wounds in her stomach and on her back were closed. Her leg was straight, her nails restored; all the injuries that Angela would carry in her mind and on her heart were gone, though she knew that it would not last long. This was a brief and desperately unwanted respite from the torture. Angela turned, wings flaring up before settling down along her back like a bird’s. She hoped that she could escape before the woman regained consciousness, to avoid the begging that always came when they were faced with her. Unfortunately, she wasn’t fast enough. She had just reached the door when: “No, please. Mercy.” Her name, perverted here from its’ once noble cause. Angela refused to stiffen, refused to pause, refused to even glance back at the piece of her soul that she had left behind. “Mer–“ The door shut with a bang, cutting off her cries.

I've been playing with this off and on for about a year. I'd thought about making an AU series, but this is literally all I could come up with. I figure it's good enough for a stand alone.

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Joy of Being Wrong (For Once)

They keep saying time will heal But the pain just gets more real The sun comes up each day Finds me waiting, fading, hating, praying If I can keep holding on -I Will Not Say Goodbye [Danny Gokey] Whumptober Day 30| Fandom: Overwatch (Post-Fall) | TW: Major Character Death; Grief

AO3 | FF.net | Works

The last time Overwatch had called her, she had spoken to Dr. Angela Ziegler. Fareeha had been a low-ranking officer in the Egyptian army at the time, barely on anyone’s radar except as ‘Captain Amari’s daughter’. She had followed in her mothers’ footsteps - against her mothers wishes - which caused those around her to have high expectations for her. That was just fine; she had high expectations for herself, too. One day in mid-September, Fareeha had been summoned to a meeting room within the Alexandria base she was stationed at. She remembered wondering if this was about her performance on her most recent mission. There had been whispers of a promotion - or at least some form of recognition - for her latest success. Instead, she was surprised to find two Overwatch agents guarding the door. Their blue uniforms were a stark contrast to the beige and brown walls around them. Surprisingly, she saw guns on their belt; that they would be allowed weapons this deep into the base spoke volumes about who was in the room. Fareeha knew they weren’t here to recruit her. There might be whispers of a promotion, but Overwatch was never in the cards for her. Captain Amari, her esteemed mother and second in command to Overwatch, would neverallow it. Her mother didn’t want Fareeha to fight, to defend people the same way she did. It had been a few weeks since she had last heard from her mother; they’d argued, as they always did, about Fareeha’s position in the Egyptian army. It had been longer still since they had seen each other, which was what Fareeha assumed this was about. Although her mother was formidable in her own right, it was unsurprising that she would have an armed escort. Squaring her shoulders Fareeha strode through the door that had been helpfully opened by one of the agents. She searched the room briefly before her eyes landed on the only other person in the room. Suddenly, all her bravado left her in a rush. Instead of her mother, Fareeha was met with Dr. Angela Ziegler. “My mother…?” There had been such desperate hope in her voice, that she had misunderstood the doctors sudden appearance. Her mother had just stepped out and would be walking in behind her in just a moment, clicking her tongue with her disapproving ‘ḥabībti’. “I am so sorry, Fareeha.” Five words that had changed everything. Time seemed to slow as the words sunk in. Fareeha staggered, her legs giving out from beneath her. She would have hit the floor, but Angela had already been moving towards her. Warm hands had caught her and guided her gently to the floor. The doctor kneeled on the floor, Fareeha sobbing in her arms, without a single complaint of the discomfort she had surely felt. Instead, Angela had done her best to soothe Fareeha, no sign of impatience or judgment in her voice. Fareeha had no idea how long she had crouched on the floor, crying. She would never see her mother again. Their last words had been angry; Fareeha couldn’t even remember the last time she’d told her mother that she loved her. There had never been any doubt that there would be a tomorrow; her mother had been that good. And yet she was gone. “How?” Fareeha had croaked out eventually, voice muffled from where she was pressed against the doctor’s now-damp shoulder. Angela had stiffened slightly - Fareeha might not have even noticed it if she hadn’t been as close as she was - and took a slow, steadying breath. “Your mother was providing covering fire for one of our strike teams. They were extracting a team of scientists.” Angela’s voice was coolly detached, as if she were reading off of a report. “There was another sniper - a good one - that attacked and took out a few of our agents.” A sniper? Her mother was the best; there was no way another sniper would have killed her. They had to be wrong. “Once the team made it to the evac point, Ja— Commander Morrison gave the order to disengage.” Angela took another breath before continuing. “We are not sure if your mother disobeyed the order or if the sniper found her first. All we know is that she did not survive.” The doctor stopped there, clearly hesitating, before clearing her throat uncomfortably. “Her body was not recovered.” A spark of hope lit up inside Fareeha. “Is—Is it possible that maybe,” Fareeha stumbled over the words, forcing them through her hoarse throat as she finally leaned away from the doctor, “she’s alive?” If there was no body, it was impossible to say that her mother was really dead. They couldn’t prove it. “It is highly unlikely,” Angela said, stressing the word heavily. “It has been nearly a week since that mission; if she were alive, she would have contacted us by now.” Fareeha knew that was true. Her mother had made far too many sacrifices for Overwatch to just up and leave. “And no one went back for her?” Fareeha demanded, angry. Logically, strategically, Fareeha knew it was the right decision - but that was her mother. “It was too dangerous for the team to go back to recover the bo—her. The strike team had sustained heavy injuries, and there were the scientists to consider,” Angela explained, as if that made it any better. It should have, but it didn’t. It couldn’t. “I—” Fareeha shoved to her feet unsteadily, the need to do something filling her - but there was nothing to do. Angela rose just as quickly, her hand darting out to grab Fareeha’s elbow to steady her, but Fareeha jerked away. As Fareeha took a few stumbling steps backwards, searching for her balance but finding herself spiraling, Angela watched her with heavy eyes. Absurdly, it was her eyes that Fareeha remembered the most. They were a steady, bright blue. It had surprised Fareeha that there weren’t any shadows of the horrors the doctor had surely seen with Overwatch - her mothers’ certainly were. Had been. Fareeha forced herself to erase the thought as she stared at Angela, searching for something within them. Something personal, something that showed that her mother had meant something to Angela - that she wasn’t as unfeeling as all the rumors said she was. But, if Angela felt any kind of grief, Fareeha certainly couldn’t see it in that moment. Her blue eyes weren’t bloodshot or red-rimmed, as Fareeha knew hers were, to prove that Angela had felt anything at all about her mothers’ death. All that was in her eyes was concern and worry, steady strength and gentle kindness for the grief she was witnessing, but there was nothing personal there. In that moment, all Fareeha could see was an unfeeling woman - a machine - and she hated her. Hated Angela for the news she had brought. Hated her for the lack of grief, the lack of care. Her mother deserved better than this doctor standing before her. “I have to go,” Fareeha had muttered, barely keeping herself from giving in to her hatred; if she started, she wasn’t sure that she could stop herself from going too far. Instead, she ducked her head and rushed out of the room without a backwards glance. Angela didn’t call after her - not that Fareeha would have stopped or come back - but Fareeha felt her gaze all the way down the hall.

---

Fareeha hadn’t seen her again until the funeral. Angela had been standing with the two Commanders that had been Ana’s friends. She could see the evidence of their grief from the tightness around their eyes and the clenched jaws forcing tight smiles as they greeted people. There was a palpable air of sorrow surrounding the two men. And, as before, Angela showed nothing. Her shoulders were thrown back, but not tight with stress. Her eyes were gentle and calm, untainted by sorrow. Her mouth was a soft curve, an unwavering smile in a sea of grief. Fareeha hated her all over again. She dutifully went to them anyway so that she could greet the three. Thanked them for their support and for being here today. And as soon as she could, Fareeha moved away from them - from her - but couldn’t help but watch them. The two men stood closest to the door, with Angela a step behind them. She was between them and no less involved in any of the greetings, but from what Fareeha could tell, she barely spoke. No, just the opposite - she seemed to discourage speech. All three would shake hands, but the two men were the ones who spoke while Angela stood there with her small smile and soft eyes. If the greeting became prolonged, her hand would raise to touch one of the Commanders, on either the arm or shoulder, interrupting whatever was being said. She would reach out to the guest to squeeze their hand or arm before sending them on their way. Once or twice, after she had dismissed someone, Angela would briefly stand before the men, rather than behind. She would block the door with her body as she spoke to the Commanders. The men would eventually sigh and nod, and then it would start all over again. Fareeha couldn’t figure it out. What was her problem? Angela realized this was a funeral, right? People needed comfort, not whatever this was. But even more importantly: why were the Commanders allowing it? Eventually, Fareeha gritted her teeth and forced herself to stop glaring at the woman. All she was gaining was confusion and anger, which wouldn’t do anyone any good. Instead, she focused on the countless people, most that she didn’t know, who wanted to give her their condolences. Finally, after what seemed like a small eternity, it was time for the service. The trio sat on the front pew in the left row. Angela was sandwiched between the men so tightly that her shoulders brushed each of theirs. On the right side, Fareeha sat alone. Her father had been unable to make it, so it was just her there. Her and her grief - and her ever-growing resentment of the woman sitting ten feet away. Afterwards, at the wake, Fareeha couldn’t stop herself. “Why are you even here?” She had demanded of Angela, ignoring the two men flanking her. Fareeha had been louder than intended, drawing several eyes, but in that moment she didn’t care. “Fareeha, what—” Commander Morrison broke off when Angela reached out to touch his elbow, silencing him here just as she had done before the services. “Would you like to speak with me privately, Fareeha?” Angela had asked instead, unphased by Fareeha’s clear anger or the stares they were surrounded by. “No, I want you to answer the question,” Fareeha had growled back - but this time, she kept her voice down. “It’s obvious you didn’t care about my mom, so again: why are you here?” Angela’s eyes widened slightly as she stared at Fareeha. “You don’t know—” “How could you—” Both of the Commanders had started talking immediately, words rushing out of them in defense of the woman between them. Angela had sparked back to life then and stepped forward, shoulders brushing their arms as she went. They quieted at her touch, their gazes dropping to the woman that was now before them. “Your mother was one of my closest friends,” Angela had said softly. “I am here like everyone else: to honor and celebrate her life, and to mourn her death.” Fareeha scowled, arms crossing her chest. “Bullshit. I watched you.” One hand flung out to point at Angela. “You haven’t looked even a little sad. You’ve just been following these two,” her hand shifted to gesture at the two men, who were watching in silent horror, “around and interrupting them all day. I don’t know what you’re doing, but it isn’t mourning.” Angela sighed before squaring her shoulders. “I will not discuss this out here,” Angela said tightly, glancing around to take in all of the curious eyes. “Come with me.” Without looking back at any of them, Angela turned and walked towards the room that the service had been held in. Fareeha stared after her, anger and shock warring within her. She had the audacity to order her around at her mothers’ funeral after the way she acted? “You should go after her,” the blonde Commander had murmured to her, once it was obvious she wasn’t planning on following. “You probably need to hear what she has to say, Fareeha.” She scowled up at him, even though her anger was reserved for a different blonde. “Fareeha.” The other Commander rumbled, arms crossed as he stared down at her. “We get it. You’re pissed, you’re in mourning - we all are. Don’t take it out on her, especially when you don’t know a damn thing about her.” Well, when he put it that way. Fareeha grumbled the whole way, but she followed Angela into the service room. She found Angela leaning against the small stage the priest had stood upon while he had led the funeral rites. Fareeha stalked forward until she was only a few feet away from the woman, her anger making it impossible to sit. “Well? What’s so damn important that you couldn’t say it out there?” Fareeha demanded, hands fisting at her side. Angela stared at her, allowing the silence to grow for a moment, before shaking her head with a sigh. “What do you really want to say to me, Fareeha?” Angela asked instead, stunning Fareeha into a brief silence. Then, all of her fury bubbled up and words were spilling out of her mouth. Fareeha couldn’t even remember what she said, but she remembered how they felt. They had been raw and angry, sometimes even vicious and cruel. And Angela had just stood there, allowing Fareeha to yell until finally she wore out. Once Fareeha had quieted, chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath, Angela watched her for a few more moments. “Now. After all of that,” Angela waved her hand, clearly referring to Fareeha’s tirade, “how do you feel?” Fareeha opened her mouth to snap, that she was angry, that she hated Angela - which she had probably said at least once in her furious rant - but paused. She was still angry, that much was true, but it wasn’t as sharp. It wasn’t bubbling and just waiting for a chance to explode out of her. Angela nodded, as if Fareeha had spoken. “That is why I am here, Fareeha,” Angela said into the silence. “I am whatever is needed. I will be the target of your anger,” Angela gave her a pointed look, “if that is what you need me to be.” Fareeha blinked, stunned. Angela had purposefully allowed herself to be hated to help Fareeha. “But—” Fareeha stammered, trying to get her bearings. “Why? That doesn’t make any sense.” Angela didn’t even know her; how could she have known what Fareeha had needed of her? “I have seen grief, Fareeha. I knew you would be angry; once you turned on me in Alexandria, all of your anger focused on me - and that’s okay,” Angela hurried to assure her. “I understand, and I will be here if you need me - if it’s to hate me or ask for advice, or anything else.” And there was that gentle smile again, the one Fareeha hated most of all. “But what about my mom?” Her voice cracked on the word, but both women ignored it. “You aren’t even sad! She was your friend, and you’re just… emotionless.” Cold. The machine everyone whispered that she was. “Your mother was one of the best people I have had the honor to know,” Angela replied tightly. “But it is not my turn.” That made even less sense! “What does that even mean?” Fareeha growled, arms coming up to cross over her chest. “Grief, Fareeha,” Angela said, her gentle tone abandoned for something harder. “It is not my turn to grieve. It is theirs.” Angela lifted her hand to point at the door, towards the gathering of people they’d left. “You—Grief doesn’t take turns. That’s not how it works!” Her voice was rising, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. “But it has to,” Angela said with a bitter smile, the first sign of any emotion Fareeha had seen on her face. “The others - the Commanders, especially - need to lean on someone. I am their rock in the storm, or however that saying goes,” Angela flapped a hand in the air, almost carelessly. “I will pay for it later, of course,” Angela continued, voice calmer but nowhere near the gentle tones she’d used before. “It will hurt, probably worse than if I were to let myself feel it now - but it is not my turn.” Angela looked up at Fareeha then, eyes glassy with unshed tears. “Ana was your mother, but she was ours, too. All of Overwatch is struggling to cope with her loss.” Angela blinked, and the glassiness was gone, replaced with pure steel. “Until they can stand on their own, I will be their strength.” Angela shrugged, as if it didn’t matter - but it did; Fareeha had seen it in that brief moment. “As I said, I will be whatever they need - just as I will for you. I will be the shoulder they cry on, the arm they lean on, or the one who they blame.” More bitterness, but Angela was pulling herself together now. Fareeha didn’t know what to say. Just like Reyes had said, she didn’t know anything about this woman before her. She’d heard the rumors and had created a villain. Her anger was still roiling within her, but it had been soothed by Angela in more ways than one - and she didn’t know what to do now. “Unless you still need me, I must get back to the others.” Angela said gently, once the silence had grown long between them. Fareeha nodded slowly, still feeling. “If you ever need me, you can call,” Angela told her as she brushed past Fareeha. “I will always answer.”

---

Over the years, Fareeha had done just that. It had taken time to get comfortable with the woman, especially after her fiery hatred, but eventually that bled away as her grief ebbed. Angela was true to her word; any time Fareeha called, Angela made time for her. Countless hours had been spent talking to her, getting advice or just a quick check in. When Cassidy called on her to help Angela, of course she would answer. It didn’t matter that Overwatch had fallen and no one, except Angela, had kept in touch. Fareeha would do anything in her power to help Angela, just as Angela had done for her so many years ago.

This work is an extension of Breaking [My Heart]. This idea was actually a part of the original writing of B[MH], but I ended up scrapping that idea as too long / involved. But I still had a little writing done (the scene in Alexandria), so I decided to add to it. I’ll also be updating all of my postings to reflect the name change for Cassidy. I just need to find out what the ship tag is now. Credit for the title goes to @creativepromptsforwriting.

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Is This How It Ends? (Don’t Let Me Go)

You know I can’t be there each time that you call I swore not to come, but I’m here after all I know by the look that I see in your eye I won’t stand around and I won’t watch you die -Because of You [Nickelback] Soulmate AU Prompt 7 & Whumptober Alt Prompt: Trapped| Fandom: Overwatch (The Fall) | Angela / Cassidy | TW: Shooting, Death, Injury, Blood, Stitches

AO3 | FF.net | Works

Angela glanced over at her communicator and resisted the urge to call, like she did every day lately. She had given in exactly once, two days after Cole had stormed out of her office. Angela doubted he had gotten it; knowing Cole, he probably had left his communicator in Rome to keep Reyes from tracking him down. The silence was killing her. Angela knew he wouldn’t risk calling her, now that he’d defected. If Blackwatch wasn’t actively monitoring her communicator, she would be surprised - especially with how angry Reyes was about it. Anytime she saw the Commander, he made at least one jab about her soulmate ‘jumping ship.’ Jack, bless him, did his best to keep Reyes’ ire on him - not like that was much of a challenge - but it was getting ridiculous. At least it reinforced her belief that Blackwatch hadn’t captured Cole; Reyes would be far too smug if that had happened. Generally, Angela was able to ignore him, but after three weeks, it was all starting to drag at her - because it wasn’t just Reyes. Cole’s vague warning had her on edge, but it was impossible to stay on guard for so long. Jack had heard her out, but without concrete proof he wasn’t willing, or able, to take action. Those first days, she had worn the Valkyrie breastplate under her clothes in expectation of something. Her blaster was on her hip, generally hidden under her medical jacket. Reyes had spotted it right away - of course he did - and that had created even more tension between the two of them. But it had been three weeks since Cole had left Blackwatch - left her. Angela trusted Cole implicitly and believed there was a threat, but it was this looming cloud that just wasn’t going away. Her breastplate was on the desk behind her, where she’d left it over a week ago when she had last taken it off. Her only concession to the threat was the weapon on her belt; it had made some of her staff nervous when they had first noticed, but now it was the new normal. Angela sighed and scooped the communicator up off the table. She was expected in the research labs in ten minutes, which would give her just enough time to get over there and settle in. Pocketing the communicator, Angela snatched up her keys and strode to the door. Even if she was drowning in stress, there was still work to be done - and Angela was never one to shirk her duty. Before she could reach the door, everything rattled and shook. Angela frowned, hand reaching for her communicator, and then the lights went out. It was only for a moment - as the medical ward had emergency generators for their equipment - but everything was notably dimmer. Alarms began shrieking what they already knew: someone was attacking. This was what Cole had been warning about. This was it. She grabbed her breastplate off the desk as the building shook again. Angela shrugged it on over her medical jacket; when she had a moment, if she had a moment, she would readjust - but right now, she needed to move. Angela locked the door out of habit, as if the measly door would stop any determined intruder, and bolted towards the elevators as she yanked out her communicator. “Winston!” She shouted into the device, forgoing all pleasantries. “Where are you right now?” Angela scrambled to separate the elevator key from the rest of her keys; she wasn’t planning on leaving open access to everything out in the open - even if this was the basement. “I’m in the labs. Do you know what’s happening?” He replied over the panicked noises around him. Those were her people, the noncombatants under her care that were suddenly thrust into a warzone. Angela slid the elevator key into its slot and twisted it all the way to the left, locking the elevators on whatever floor they were on. Usually, she would turn it to the right, which would bring an elevator to her so that she could rush a bed up to the carrier pad on the roof - but this was anything but a normal situation. “I—No, I have not heard anything.” Cole’s warning about Blackwatch could be completely circumstantial; since she hadn’t seen any of their attackers, she didn’t need to make this situation potentially worse by pointing fingers. “Can you get the others out?” There was an exit that led up to their parking garage, for the same reason she had keys to the elevator. “I will try. Stay safe, doctor — Mercy.” Angela’s lips twisted into a grim smile as she tried to reach the command center and figure out what the hell was going on. It was probably a futile effort, but she wasn’t about to rush up the stairs to get a look when she had her own problems to deal with. Fortunately, by the time she reached the infirmary, things were mostly in hand. Gloria and Remington had corralled the medical staff; one or two looked about ready to pass out, but at least they weren’t screaming. At least, they weren’t until gunshots echoed down the hall. Angela gave up the attempt to reach the command center in the face of this new threat. Her staff are panicking, and it takes all three of them to create some semblance of sanity. Despite having zero combat experience - outside of whatever action movies they may have seen - they quickly overcome their terror. “We must remain quiet,” Angela urged in a soft voice, ushering them away from the doors that would lead to their escape - and, apparently, their deaths. Angela hoped Winston had managed to protect the researchers, but she didn’t have time to worry about them right now. “Remington, Gloria, put together a kit,” Angela ordered grimly; with gunshots on this floor, they would probably need it. “The rest of you, head to the morgue.” Angela didn’t particularly like the unintended implication, but it was the best defensible position for so many people. It only had one entrance, which could be guarded by only a few people - but that meant there was only one exit. Angela didn’t think they were in for a siege, but she asked Remington and Gloria to gather supplies from the small kitchen just in case. “We must be quick and quiet,” Angela reminded them as uneasy murmurs filled the air. “I will keep you safe,” she reassured, pulling out her blaster, “just trust me.” The doors on the other side of the room, from where the gunshots had come, burst open - and suddenly, the morgue wasn’t such a bad idea. Her medical staff bolted in the opposite direction as Angela took in the newcomers. “What happened?” Angela demanded, blaster still in hand as she crossed the room. A few people were bleeding, but overall it appeared that most of her research staff were accounted for. Winston had an unconscious man draped over one shoulder, and blood dotted the armor he always seemed to be wearing. “They’ve cut off the exit. It won’t be long until they’re sweeping the floor,” Winston said grimly. “I managed to get my dome shield down before the worst of it, but…” Angela’s eyes swept the group again. There were a few missing, and many of those who remained appeared to be in horrified shock. “We are moving to the morgue,” Angela told him, forcing down the grief for her lost staff. “Do you know how to get there?” Gloria and Remington moved among the injured, handling what they could now while excess supplies were available. Winston nodded. “Good; you lead the way, and I will cover us.” Angela had never been responsible for being the rearguard - as their medic, as Mercy, she was always in the middle. But there was no time for ‘always’ when the world was going to Hell. While Winston and the others got the stunned researchers moving, Angela quickly stripped off the breastplate and began readjusting her clothes so that it would sit properly. It wasn’t much, but it would provide some armor and pain relief should she need it. As Remington ushered the final person out of the door, Angela shrugged her coat back on and snatched up her gun. The entire way, her thoughts raced in Cole’s voice. How she should have just listened to him and left. That she had allowed herself to become careless, resulting in the deaths of her people. If she had only convinced Jack of the danger, had forced him to make plans, maybe things would be different. They arrived at the morgue quickly and slipped inside to find her medical team tending to the researchers; it seemed that having a task made it easier to keep their calm. Angela let her eyes sweep the room, counting. She didn’t think anyone was missing - at least, none that weren’t already accounted for. “Doctor,” Winston said, coming to her side at the front of the room. Angela glanced over at him briefly before turning to watch the others; Gloria was moving around the room, offering soft words of encouragement and generally keeping them quiet and calm. “Yes, Winston?” Angela prompted, once the silence had dragged on a little too long. “What do you need?” Her eyes found Remington, who was rallying a few of the more able-bodied staff into helping him barricade the door. There wasn’t much in the room that would be effective, but at least it gave them something to focus on. “I—About our attackers,” he began uncertainly, which was unusual for him. Angela turned, angling so that no one else could see her face. “They are Blackwatch.” It wasn’t a question. She may have hesitated to point fingers earlier, but his reluctance made it easier for her to make the determination. If it were any of their known terrorist groups - such as Talon or Null Sector - he would have no problem naming them. “It’s Blackwatch.” He replied firmly. “I saw the patch on at least two of them.” Angela nodded, crossing her arms as she glanced over her shoulder for a moment. The others were looking over at the two of them with curiosity, but Angela didn’t see any signs of the panic that had been present before. “What are we going to do?” Winston voiced the question she knew was on everyone's mind. What could they do against a Blackwatch tactical team? Probably next to nothing, considering there were only three people trained in combat in the room - and one of them wasn’t armed. “Whatever we can.” Angela turned, intent on helping Remington. “We do not have much time, considering what we are up against.” She looked over her shoulder as she walked away. “Get them out of the line of fire, please?” Winston nodded before turning to his own task. Angela knew it was a futile effort, like bailing a sinking ship with a spoon, but it wasn’t in her to just give up. No matter the odds, she would do her best to protect her people - even if it was against those who were once their allies.

---

They were still shuffling a few of the injured to the side of the room when the first slam of a nearby door had them all jumping. One woman made a panicked noise and uneasy murmurs began filling the air, forcing Angela and the others to shush them once more. “Listen to me,” Angela said, crouching in the middle of the room where everyone could see her. “They know we are here and that we have nowhere else to go.” Not the most comforting of words, but there wasn’t much comfort to be had, huddled on the linoleum floor of a morgue. “But we must stay quiet and hold on,” Angela urged as another door banged open; the footsteps were now barely audible as they drew closer. “Overwatch knows we are down here, too. They will send us help.” They just had to survive long enough for them to arrive. “You must stay down and do not move.” Angela put as much command into that order as possible, because it was probably the most important one she had ever issued. “Winston and I will keep you safe; trust in us.” With that, she quietly moved herself to the wall nearest the door. Their barricade was flimsy, made of rollaway beds whose wheels were locked and a single, small table that someone had found in a corner. It would not hold up against any kind of assault, but hopefully, Reyes hadn’t ordered the deaths of the noncombatants. Angela didn’t put much stock in that hope, considering her injured and dead researchers. Winston reached her side as another door - the last one between them and Blackwatch, if she remembered correctly - burst open. They had already cobbled together a semblance of a plan; all they could hope now was that it would keep them alive just long enough. “Clear,” a man said in the hallway before footsteps approached their room. Angela took a steadying breath, preparing herself for the fight to come. Something - probably a booted foot - slammed against the morgue door; a bed shifted, but the barricade held. That lulled the others into a false sense of security, but Angela knew better. Another slam, briefly pushing the door open a crack before it slid shut again. “Here they are,” someone muttered on the other side of the door; as Angela had thought, Blackwatch knew they were here because they weren’t idiots. “You may as well open up,” the same voice said, but louder. “We’re coming in, one way or another.” Someone to Angela’s left whimpered. “We are unarmed,” Angela called back after a moment to consider. “Doctors and scientists.” Hopefully, Reyes wanted them - or, at least, her - as hostages; there was no need to break the door down to achieve that. Posting agents to guard the door would have the same result. “Break it down,” the voice ordered. Angela supposed that they wanted to confirm that they really were noncombatants, even if it was wholly unnecessary. This was the medical division - unluckily, there wasn't even an agent, injured or not, on this floor. “Make ready.” The voice ordered, sending a chill down Angela's spine. Faintly, Angela could hear bullets racking into place as the Blackwatch agents prepared their weapons. That was a bad sign; she had been counting on the hostage angle, even though it had been a slim hope. Angela lifted her weapon in preparation as she met Winston’s level gaze with her own. It didn’t take long for them to force the doors open. Winston watched the breached door with careful eyes, but he was not fast enough to stop the first bullet. Fortunately, it buried itself in the far wall harmlessly, but that didn’t keep the others from screaming in fear. It was an effort, but she forced herself to tune them out - what mattered was the hallway and their enemies. He dropped his dome shield down and stepped into the doorway, Tesla Cannon at the ready. She could see blood on his armor from where he was hit, but there wasn’t much she could do about that without her staff. Instead, she leaned just enough to get her blaster into the doorway and fired a few rounds off blindly. The enemy retreated a few steps, cursing, but they would be back. Angela knew the second engagement would truly determine their survival; surprise had been on their side for the first, but now the enemy knew they had teeth. Winston tensed as the barest whisper of footsteps approached. Angela reached out once more to fire a few more shots. She didn’t think they hit, but hopefully they’d keep the agents at bay. Winston’s Tesla Cannon didn’t have enough juice for a prolonged engagement - and it was only suitable for close range. He was the last line of defense, and she was the first. The role reversal was not lost on either of them - but when in a crisis, they both knew you just had to work with the tools you had. Angela was firing off rounds intermittently, doing her best to hold them back when they charged. “Move!” Winston cried, eyes wide as he lunged from his side of the door towards her. Angela attempted to pull back into the morgue when a hand clamped down on her wrist and yanked her forward. With a sharp twist of his wrist, the man disarmed her. The blaster fell to the floor before being kicked back into the hallway. Angela writhed in his grip, one leg raising to kick at his knee or groin. With an annoyed sound, her captor forced her around until her back was to his chest. He twisted her arm up against her back; it didn’t hurt because of the Valkyrie suit, but she knew that her body was straining against the hold. “Lay down your weapons,” the man barked over her head before the barrel of a gun dug cruelly into her temple, “or the doctor dies.” Angela’s wide eyes met Winston’s as she went still. Vaguely, Angela heard the plaintive sounds of her staff, who were still cowering somewhere to her left. “Don’t!” Angela ordered Winston, trying to erase any fear from her face. It didn’t matter if he disarmed: she was going to die. She accepted that fact and forced the terror of it to the back of her mind; she didn’t have the time to process it right now. Now, her only fear was for those under her care. “Protect them!” The words were met with a punch to the gut, leaving her gasping for air, but she no longer cared about herself. If Winston laid down his weapon, everyone in that room would die. At least if he kept it, there was the possibility of their survival. “I don’t think Commander Reyes wants her dead,” Winston said slowly, clearly trying to defuse the situation. “That’s Dr. Ziegler.” He had a point: while she and Reyes weren’t friends by any means, she was a valuable hostage at the very least. The man holding her huffed out a laugh. “You think I give a damn who she is?” The gun slid down her cheek until the barrel was nestled firmly under her chin. “Our orders were to secure this floor. I'm securing it.” The man used the gun to force her to tilt her head back uncomfortably. Angela could barely see the room before her from this angle. “I’ll only say this one more time: put your goddamned weapons down, or I’m gonna blow her brains all over this room.” Angela gritted her teeth as she tried to catch Winston’s gaze - but his eyes were on her captor and the gun. Angela watched his shoulders slump in defeat, and she knew he was going to give in. “No!” She managed to force the word out, but it didn’t matter; the Tesla Cannon was on the ground. Angela knew Winston was only choosing what he thought was right, but that didn’t make it any easier. Without warning, her captor knocked her legs out from underneath her as he forced her to kneel. Angela tried to move away, to get to the relative safety of the morgue, but stilled once more when she felt the gun press to the back of her head. “I did what you asked!” Winston yelled. “Let her go!” Angela met his terrified gaze with as much calm as she could manage. “It’s alright,” Angela whispered, forcing her voice to remain steady. “Everything will be okay.” Angela kept her shoulders thrown back, forcing a proud front even in her last moments. She was terrified, but that emotion wouldn’t help anyone here. Angela closed her eyes as she heard her captor rack the bullet into place. They didn’t need to watch the life drain from her eyes; that was the only mercy she could provide them now. The gunshot echoed through the room, and then she was face down on the ground. Screams and gunshots echoed around her as pain, greater than what the Valkyrie could block, seared through her. Angela struggled to breathe past the crushing weight of her body giving out - because of course she couldn’t be granted a quick, clean death. She would be forced to suffer listening to her people dying all around her as she struggled to breathe until finally - finally - her heart stopped. After what felt like an eternity, the weight lifted off of her. “Angela?” A familiar voice cries out, panicked - but that can’t be right. “Fuck, is she hit?” Hands slide impersonally over her body, frantic fingers searching for the wound, before pressing heavily against her upper back. “Did it pass through?” A different voice asks. Her brain struggled to accept this new reality, the one where she wasn’t going to die, as rough hands pulled her off the floor and turned her over. Angela blinked to clear her blurry vision - and then blinked again, just to be sure. “Get pressure on that!” Remington ordered, and then suddenly there was a hand on her chest. Her lungs struggled to work against the pressure, on her back and now her front, as she stared dumbly up at the man cradling her. “You—You came back,” Angela croaked out quietly. She’d reach up and touch his face, to make sure this was real, but her body felt so heavy. Remington was barking out orders somewhere to her right, but she could only focus on the man hovering above her. “‘Course I came back,” Cole replied, voice thick with emotion as he looked down at her with fierce desperation. He glanced down at the mess that is her chest, regret and horror filling his gaze. “I never shoulda left your side. If I’da been here, this wouldn’ve happened.” He exhales roughly. “Fuck, Ange, darlin’, I’m sorry.” Angela tried to give him a comforting smile, but she was pretty sure she failed. “I will be… okay, liebling,” she stammers out between her desperate pants. Cole's face twists, as if he'd just sucked on a lemon, and opens his mouth to argue when Remington cuts in. “I need to get this shit off of you, doc. We’re doing this old school.” Angela frowned; why hadn’t they grabbed one of her portable healing streams on the way out? It didn’t matter now, not when she was bleeding out in Cole’s arms on the floor of a morgue, but they should have thought of it before. This wasn’t the first time Remington had stripped her of the Valkyrie suit, so he made quick work of the buckles. While the pain definitely increased, making her hiss as it registered, it was nowhere near the normal mind-numbing agony that a bullet wound usually resulted in. Remington must have given her something for the pain while she was speaking to Cole. Remington started to work without preamble, completely ignoring Cole as he cleans the wound and begins stitching. Angela barely registered the burning tug of the thread through her flesh, the pulsing ache of the gunshot overcoming anything he would do to her. The entire time, Cole hovered over her. Angela tried, and failed, to keep the agony off of her face; every wince and hiss of pain was met with whispered apologies. A bandage was taped to her chest, and then she was flipped again, Remington’s hands going to work on the much smaller entry wound there. After what felt like a small eternity, Remington wrapped her in gauze and gave Angela orders she half-listened to - as if this were her first injury. “Help me put the Valkyrie back on,” she whispered when he was finally finished. It would give her the pain relief she needed to function during this crisis. “Absolutely not,” Remington snapped back, whirling to hold one finger up at her. “That damned thing will let you tear your stitches. It's going to get you killed.” He had a point, but that didn’t mean she was going to let him stop her. “Blackwatch is attacking,” Angela replied, voice as firm as she could make it. “I need the suit if I am going to survive.” She just needed to last long enough to get back to the infirmary and get her hands on her staff or one of the portable healing streams. “She’s gettin’ the damn suit,” Cole grumbled as he helped her sit up. Angela winced, one hand raising to press against the covered wound. She had known Cole would be unable to tell her no, not when the alternative was her agony. Grumbling, Remington helped her slide the suit over her bandages. Angela sighed with relief as it engaged, the suit bringing the pain down to something far more manageable. As soon as she was on her feet, Cole yanked her into a fierce embrace. “That was too damn close,” he whispered hoarsley, burying his face into her hair as he took great, heaving breaths. “Don’ you ever scare me like that again, you hear me?” Angela’s arms rise to hold him just as tightly, ignoring the small twinge in her chest so that she could press her face into his shoulder. “I hear you,” Angela agrees, voice trembling. She had faced her mortality on several occasions, but this one was probably the worst for how drawn out it had been - and because it was in her home. “Thank you, Cole,” she murmured, the words not nearly enough for what he had done, but they were all she had. “I’d say anytime, but I never want to see you like that again.” Angela nodded. She allowed herself one last moment of weakness, to be Angela instead of Mercy, and then she straightened and pulled away. There would be time enough for that later, when they were all out of this mess. Angela turned and looked at the rest of the room. They were all carefully not staring at the two of them, which was better than screaming, she supposed. “We need to—” Before she can finish the thought, footsteps echo down the hallway again. Cole reacts instantly, all the worry and love melting away into something cold and deadly. He moves to stand between her and the doorway, Peacekeeper raised and ready to eliminate the next threat. Angela would protest, but she knows he is far more suited to defending them all than she ever would be. The doorway fills with people, guns up and ready, but Cole lets Peacekeeper go slack in his hand. After a moment, Angela registers what he had already realized: these were Overwatch agents, here to get them out. The three in the doorway don’t relax, though; in fact, all of them train their guns on Cole. “Step away from the doctor,” the one in the middle ordered. Angela’s hackles rise as Cole tenses. Ever her shield, she knew that Cole would never step aside until the guns were lowered - especially after she was just stitched up. “Stand down,” Angela orders instead, leaning just enough so that she can look at them. “He's on our side.” More like her side - but she was aligned with Overwatch, so it really was the same thing, wasn’t it? The agents don’t relax their stance, but the one in the middle looks past Cole to address her. “Our orders are to detain or suppress all Blackwatch insurrectionists.” The words are firm, and then her eyes are back on Cole. “You will step away from the doctor. Now.” Fury filled Angela; before he could react, Angela slipped around him to stand between him and the agents. To their credit, they lower their weapons immediately, but they are clearly unhappy about it. “Cole is ex-Blackwatch,” Angela snarls as Cole steps closer to her; it is an effort not to lean into his comforting heat. “He is mine, and you will not threaten him.” She glared at all three agents, who are a mixed bag of confusion and distaste - but she doesn’t care what they think, as long as they obey. “Cole saved all of our lives,” her hand flings out to gesture at her staff, who are still pressed tightly together against the wall. “If not for him, you would be walking into a room of corpses.” They blanch at that, eyes darting from her to the others in the room. After a prolonged, strained silence, Angela takes pity on them and speaks again. “Now, how are we getting them out of here?”

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

I gotta find more lyrics to pull from. Anyways, I hope you like this! Confrontation was supposed to be posted with this, similar to the way Recovery and Connection were posted, but I got too excited. I chose today to post it because, although I chose an alternate prompt, the Whumptober prompts today are about bleeding (pressure / through bandages / etc). This piece isn't really focused around the bleeding, which is why I ended up using the alternate prompt instead. Thanks to @ausforsoulmates for the prompt list and @creativepromptsforwriting for the title.

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Disavowed (Unredeemable)

There's a place so dark you can't see the end And shock that which can't defend The rain then sends dripping acidic questions Forcefully, the power of suggestion -Forgotten [Linkin Park] Prompt 30 and Whumptober Day 12 | Overwatch (Pre-Fall) | Angela Ziegler / Cole Cassidy

AO3 | FF.net | Works

She was in the middle of studying for one of her exams - collegiate biochemistry - when her sight had grown fuzzy and foggy. As Angela closed her eyes, the small sounds around her - the hum of the AC and the soft music she had been playing as background noise - faded away until she was surrounded with silence. When she opened her eyes again, she found herself, unsurprisingly, peering through her soulmates eyes. Angela had gotten used to the visions, disorienting though they were. They had begun shortly after she had turned sixteen a few months ago; roughly twice a month at seemingly random times, she’d get a peek at her soulmates life - everyday things, such as eating at a table or apparently laughing with friends around a game of cards. But nothing had prepared her for this. At first, she didn’t know what she was seeing. All she saw was an unfamiliar man standing in front of her - well, her soulmate - with wide eyes. Then, the man was dropping to his knees before slowly slumping over onto his side. It was only then that Angela registered the gun being held confidently before her, in what appeared to be her soulmates hand. Horrified, her focus shifted back to the man on the floor. Now she saw the small hole between his eyes and the red that covered the wall behind where he had just been standing. Even as she watched, blood was slowly seeping down his face - though the back had to be much worse, based on the splatter and the pool slowly forming around him. Desperate, Angela searched for a sign that this had been a kill in self-defense. There had to be a good reason for her soulmate to have killed that man; she couldn’t possibly be soulmated to a murderer. But, as she watched, a man that she recognized as one of her soulmates friends came into view. He had a shotgun braced lazily against one shoulder, but he quickly set it aside to free his hands and began rifling through the pockets of the dead man. The longer she watched, the more she saw to prove that this was not self-defense. They were looting what appeared to be a - very bloody - home methodically. Mostly, they seemed to just be pocketing small valuables, such as jewelry, and what was - to her untrained eyes - probably drugs of some sort. And, from what she could tell, they were enjoying it. Time seemed to move with agonizing slowness as she watched with mounting horror; unfortunately, Angela was unable to escape the vision. She couldn’t even turn away and look at something else - she had to see everything when he did. Until the connection between them broke, Angela would be forced to watch the despicable acts of her soulmate. The men - and one, white-blonde woman - were laughing amongst themselves, clearly joking and jesting while the body of the man they - her soulmate - had killed wasn’t even cold. Once the man with the shotgun had finished his search, her soulmate hadn’t given the dead man any further attention. Not that she could ever forget him. Her soulmate blinked, and sound returned. Before her eyes could open and refocus, Angela was pushing away from her desk frantically. Though her vision was blurry, Angela hurriedly rushed along the familiar path to her bathroom, barely able to crash down to her knees in front of the toilet before she began vomiting. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she heaved desperately. It wasn’t long before her stomach was empty, soon only producing foul bile. It was even longer before her stomach stopped heaving, though the overwhelming nausea forced her to remain on the cool tile. Flushing the toilet, Angela leaned back against the wall as the horror left her stomach and took over her mind. She tugged her knees to her chest before burying her face in them, sobbing. That was her soulmate? He was a monster.

---

It had been three years since that first horrifying vision of wanton death. After the second act of violence - what appeared to be a bar fight, but still - Angela had gotten a journal. It was a physical notebook with a small lock; it would be impossible to recover should she lose it, but there was no fear of anything being shared by mistake. Though she hated to remember the violence and death, she felt duty bound to record anything and everything she could see. Date and time of day - both hers, and what it appeared to be where her soulmate was, whenever she could see the sky. Descriptions of anyone involved - living or dead - in as much detail as possible; hair color, skin color, visible markings. Anything she saw stolen - or, later, sold. Even the visions that weren’t horrible - intimate moments with the white-blonde woman that embarrassed her, casual scenes where he was eating or drinking with others, and once with him kneeling at what appeared to be a grave - she dutifully recorded. Her first entries were short and rough. In the beginning, it was hard to focus on the details when she was faced with such horror. Unfortunately, either from seeing it so often or from her own medical studies - or both - she became able to coolly detach herself from the horror of what she was witnessing. As time moved on, her entries became more detailed - sometimes with small things that should not have stood out at the time - and clinical in her observations. It was like a macabre storybook - only the people she wrote about were real. That journal traveled with her everywhere, though she never opened it where others could see. It was her dark secret, something that she could share with no one. There was no telling where in the world this man was - until she could see him brought to justice, there was no point in trying to bring this to anyone’s attention. All it would do was hamper her life - after all, he could see through her eyes just as well as she could see through his. And there was no telling when he was watching. She had tried to figure out where he was on her own, whenever she was able. Angela had small bits to work with - the time of day was often vastly different from hers, allowing her to focus on North and South America. Whenever she saw writing, it was in English - which made it easier to further narrow it down to the United States. Based on what she saw of the seasons, he was somewhere in the southern - geographically, at least - part of the United States. But, even with those limiters, it had proved impossible. Not all - not even most - of the violence she had witnessed ended in death. No, mostly it was savage beatings, burglary and theft, and what appeared to be fencing or smuggling - she didn’t know the difference between the two, truth be told. With so little to go on, she found her hands tied. Then, Overwatch had approached her. It had been tempting to turn over what she knew to them. She had come so close as to pull the journal out, ready to hand it over to Ana - the kind woman who helped Jack convince her to join - but she hadn’t been able to do it. It wasn’t because she didn’t think they would take her seriously; it was quite the opposite, in fact. From what she had seen - little though it may be - Jack and Ana, at least, seemed to have a similar sense of justice to her own. Overwatch as a whole was dedicated to the eradication of terrorists and to create peace and stability. Her soulmate, being the antithesis of both stances, would definitely be something they were interested in hearing about. No, she feared they would take her too seriously: he could see through her eyes. Oh, everyone knew that there was the potential for a soulmate to be peering through the eyes of another - or their own. For those with top secret status, those who had to work with protected information, there was a very real chance that they could be a dangerous - unsuspecting - leak. But, as happened in most cases, they could trust a soulmate with whatever information they would see. After all, soulmates usually didn’t oppose each other on moral or ethical stances. Usually. Unfortunately for her, her soulmate was a murderous monster. While she was working primarily with medical research and medical files, there was still much he could gather from her. She had meetings to attend where, though they were mostly verbal, to avoid the very problem she faced, they couldn’t avoid all paper. Notes were taken - in German, to hopefully make it harder on him should he be watching - and dossiers were passed out. No, she was a security risk. Angela knew that - was ashamed of it - but she was hesitant to lose her position here because her soulmate might see something he shouldn’t. It was risky, but it was a small risk - one she managed to convince herself was acceptable, though the guilt weighed at her constantly. Every day she carried the journal - the second iteration, after she had filled and stored away the first - chipped away at her resolve.

---

“This is the Deadlock Gang.” Jack announced to the room as pictures filled the wall behind him. Angela inhaled sharply, eyes widening in recognition, before carefully smoothing away her roiling emotions behind her professional facade. Quickly, she flipped the paper with the meeting agenda on it - the one that said ‘Deadlock Gang’ in bold letters - and focused firmly on that. As much as possible, she would keep her eyes on the blank paper and the pen in her hand. It was probably unnecessary - the likelihood that her soulmate was watching at this exact moment was infinitesimally small - but she refused to take the chance. Angela listened to Jack explain why they had come to Overwatch’s attention: they were a weapons supplier to other, larger terrorist organizations. They were going to be stopped by a joint task force between Overwatch and Blackwatch; apparently, Overwatch had a covert ops division. This was an urgent mission, because they had a small window of opportunity to catch them and dismantle - or at least heavily disrupt - the operation. The meeting dragged on far longer than Angela had expected - and far longer than she wanted. It was hard to keep her focus on the paper without drawing the attention of others. Carefully, she let her eyes roam the room to watch others as they spoke and she took small, innocuous in German notes that would mean nothing to anyone - including herself. Finally, though, it ended. People began pushing to their feet, stacking papers and speaking amongst themselves - there was much to do and little time to do it in. Jack and Ana, as expected, were speaking softly to each other as they walked together towards the door. Angela followed them out long enough to determine that they were heading to Jack’s office - also expected. Then, she rushed to her room. The time had come to finally reveal her soulmate to her superiors - the people who had become her friends. It didn’t take long to find the first journal; Angela knew exactly where it was. The second was in the voluminous pocket of her lab coat, where she always kept it. She knew that she didn’t need to come up here to get the first one - she could always give it to them later - but she felt it was necessary anyway. Journals in hand, she made her way back down to Jack’s office. Angela hesitated, just for a moment, outside of Jack’s door. This was big - she knew this would cause trouble for her, no matter what. But it had to be done. Steeling herself, Angela rapped on the door urgently. It didn’t take long for the door to be opened by Ana; Jack was sitting at his desk with more images of the Deadlock Gang. Hurriedly, Angela shifted her gaze away from those damning pictures to focus on the floor. “Angela?” Ana asked, curiously. “What is it you need?” Angela tightened her grip on the journals, firmly keeping herself from automatically looking at the woman. It felt disrespectful, but she knew it was safer for everyone if she kept those images out of her sight. “I need to show you - both of you - something.” Angela said after a moment. “It,” she licked her lips nervously, “it is regarding the mission.” If there were any looks of surprise or any silent communication shared between her superiors, she was unable to see them. Instead, after a moment of silence, Ana let her in. “Could you hide those images, please?” Angela asked, waving her hand vaguely towards the multiple screens that took up Jack’s office. “I - I really should not look at them.” Angela knew she was acting out of character, with her stammering voice and - what probably appeared to them as - shy eyes. But even they could understand the risk she was not explaining: she feared what someone else might see. “They’re gone, Angela.” Jack said after a moment. Hesitantly, Angela raised her eyes; once she saw nothing but black screens, she relaxed slightly. “Now, do you mind telling us what this is all about?” There was some annoyance in his voice, though it was obvious he was giving her his full attention. “You need to see these.” Angela said softly, crossing the room to place both journals before him. “This one,” her fingers rested heavily on one of the well-worn covers to hide her trembling, “details what I believe is the beginning.” Jack looked up at her, making no move to grab either journal as he considered her carefully. “The beginning of what, Angela?” Ana asked from her left as she moved to Jacks’ side. Unlike the Commander, Ana had no reservations about grabbing the first journal. Angela took a small step back to ensure she couldn’t see any of the words - probably another unnecessary precaution, but one she took anyway. It wasn’t like she didn’t know what they said. “Of the Deadlock Gang.” Angela replied hoarsely as she clasped her shaking hands behind her back. Both looked at her with shock - and some alarm. Angela fidgeted slightly under the weight of their gaze before forcing herself to continue. “My soulmate is one of them.” She hadn’t known what gang he’d been a part of - she still didn’t even know what he looked like, though she could probably figure it out through the process of elimination if she’d looked at the pictures long enough. “And you’re only telling us this now?” Jack demanded with barely concealed anger. Angela ducked her head in contrition as she nodded silently. “This is absolutely unacceptable!” He growled, slamming to his feet as he pointed at her. “You should have told us from the beginning.” “Jack,” Ana murmured, clearly trying to bring his anger back down. Even now, in the face of this announcement, the Captain appeared unruffled - though Jack was angry enough for the both of them. “You are right,” Angela whispered in the following silence, forcing herself to meet Jack’s furious gaze. “I should have told you before I accepted my position.” Angela made a small noise of derision. “Honestly, I never should have accepted, all things considered.” In all actuality, it had been selfish of her to accept; she had known what could see through her eyes. “But you wanted me for medicine and for research; I did not think—” Before Angela could finish the though, Jack was interrupting. “You’re right: you didn’t think.” One hand raised to rake through his hair in aggravation. Angela bit her lip, forcing herself to remain silent; he was right, of course. “There’s no telling what he’s seen through your eyes. Hell, he might be warning them about our mission already!” Angela shook her head slightly. “Except for the first few moments, I made sure not to look at the images - or anything else that might reveal the mission.” Angela raised a hand when he moved to interject again. “I know he might have been watching during those few moments. I hope he did not, but I know you have to assume he did. But, he knows nothing except that I saw images of - probably - him and members of his gang.” She sighed, shoulders drooping. “But that is all I can guarantee.” “This— I can’t believe that you, of all people, would do this.” Jack was red in the face. “You’ve jeopardized hundreds of lives.” Angela tensed, mouth opening to defend herself, when Ana stepped in. “I’m sure Angela knows that, Jack,” she said, setting the journal back down on the desk with a soft thump. “What’s done is done. We do not have time to waste.” Jack turned away, clearly composing herself, while Ana looked past the man to look at Angela. While Ana might have stopped the lecture now, her hard gaze told Angela that this conversation was not over - it was merely tabled for a more appropriate time. “Thank you for giving us this information, Angela.” She said, once it was clear no one else was going to speak. Angela cleared her throat awkwardly. “Of course, Captain.” Ana’s title slipped off of her tongue naturally; in this conversation, using her given name felt inappropriate. “They are in German, so you will probably need a translator. I am more than willing to assist, as long as I do not see the English translation - just in case.” Ana nodded her understanding. “We will let you know if we need your help. For now, it is probably best if you work solely on medical research for now - wouldn’t you agree?” Angela nodded, surprised that they would allow her to do any work at all, given the circumstances. “I will speak to Gloria; she can take over until… everything is settled.” Angela knew that now was the time to leave, but she remained before the desk, eyes fixed on the journals that had been her secret for so long. “Yes, Angela?” Ana asked, once it was obvious Angela wasn’t going to leave or speak on her own. “I—I just want you to know: I did not give you these journals because I wanted you to know about my soulmate.” She said hesitantly, voice soft - and, inexplicably, sad. “I know that there is information in there - favored weapons, at the very least - that may be of some use to the coming mission.” Her eyes lifted to look at Ana; she would have looked at Jack, but his back was still to her. “I also do not want him to be shown any favoritism because of me.” The words were harsh now, fueled by the years of horrible visions. “He has committed terrible acts and should be held accountable.” If Ana was surprised at her vehemence, it didn’t show on her face. Instead, she nodded once. “I understand, Angela.” With that assurance, Angela turned and walked out of the office. This meeting had gone better than she had expected, truth be told. Best of all, she could feel the weight of her secret, of the guilt, lifting from her shoulders. Finally, she was free. But she was going to need a new journal.

I don't know why I keep bouncing from idea to idea, but I'm here now. If I didn't have multiple scenes actively planned out for this, it would have went into The Healer. Eventually, so help me, I will finish something - but I'd rather give you something instead of nothing.

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Barely Breathing (But Still Alive)

How many times Did I miss the signs? My stupid heart It left me blind -One Step Ahead [A Great Big World] Prompts 4 & 25, Prompts 28 & 47, and Whumptober Day 5 | Overwatch (Pre-Fall) | Angela Ziegler / Gabriel Reyes

AO3 | FF.net | Works

Angela stared out at the city below her, one hand absently rubbing her wrist. It was a pretty view, if you liked that sort of thing. The surrounding buildings created a nice vista and a canal could be seen peaking out between a few buildings before winding under a bridge and out of sight. She wasn’t here for the view. By the time she’d arrived at this hotel, filthy with gore and dust, she’d been too exhausted - mentally and emotionally - to do anything but take a hot shower and topple into bed. Her friends had taken away the choice; considering the circumstances, she wasn’t sure that she wouldn’t have made the same decision they had. Angela shouldered all kinds of burdens, that much was true, but even she wasn’t that much of a masochist. After all, the view from the other side of the hotel wasn’t nearly as beautiful. Angela had realized the next day, when they had all met up in Sojourn’s room, just how horrible the view was. Sojourn had been standing at the window, arms crossed as she stared out at the ruins of the Zurich base. At the time, smoke and dust were still tainting the air. Now, nearly a week later, the air around the once grand building was clear. Trained searchers were still looking for survivors - or, more accurately, bodies. Two bodies, specifically. Her fingers bit into her wrist, nails digging so deeply that a small trickle of blood appeared. Her nanites healed it before she could do more than glance down at the blood on her fingers and wrist, smudging and partially covering the two letters there. GR. Without intending to, her eyes flicked to her opposite wrist, where a different set of initials - JM - were branded. Two men whose lives had been irrevocably tied to her own, whose bodies were still missing even after a week of searching. Whose bodies had to be there - because they had both been in the base when everything had come crashing down. Though Angela had so many questions, so many misgivings - that was something she knew was absolutely true. Jack had been there, as he almost always was. She’d been in a meeting with him in the Command Center on the fifth floor not even an hour before it had all happened. Even if that had been in doubt - even if she hadn’t seen him - there was plenty of video footage from before the explosions that proved it. That same footage was what guaranteed Gabriel’s presence as well; it had been Gabriel that had led the attack on Zurich base. Gabriel, the traitor that none of them had seen coming. Angela had known he was unhappy, but this… This was far greater than mere unhappiness. This was malice and hate, orchestrated so well that it could only be premeditated - and over a long period of time. This was a wound that had festered so deeply that not even she, his soulmate, could stop him. Not that Angela had known, at the time, that Gabriel needed stopping. If she even could. That conversation - argument - that had happened almost two weeks ago now, had been important. Angela had known, deep in her heart, that Gabriel had been hiding something from her - but this? Even now, Angela could barely believe that Gabriel had been the one to do this. It was a tragedy, of course. So many lives were lost in the skirmish and ensuing explosions. The organization - to include Blackwatch - was in shambles; everyone was scrambling to keep things together and minimize the damage. Emergency protocols were being enacted, funerals were being planned, and survivors were left reeling with loss. But for Angela, this was deeply personal. Overwatch was her home, her life, regardless of whatever misgivings she’d had in the beginning. Her family and friends were almost exclusively within the organization. Her home had been on the eighth floor in a small suite of rooms, a place she’d finally made her own over the years. Gabriel had known all of this - had known what an attack on Overwatch in general, and Zurich base in particular, would do to her - and he had done it anyway. To her, his soulmate. His hate for the organization - for Jack, who was supposedly his fated friend, his brother - had surpassed anything Gabriel had felt for her. Angela felt guilty, as if it had been her that had failed somehow - and maybe that was true, to a degree. If she had chosen him, if she had left with him that night - would it have changed anything? Could she have saved all those lives? He had taken everything from her, from all of them, without a second thought. Angela was supposed to be the most important person to Gabriel, the one who he would love and protect, and yet somewhere along the way she had failed him - failed herself. It was that failure that had led to the deaths of so many people that had been hers to protect. Maybe, if Angela had been better - with words or people or a million other things - she could have gotten through to Gabriel and saved them all. Saved him. Instead, Angela hadn’t been enough. Not for the man whose initials she bore, whose love she had felt, whose body was now lost to the fire and ruin of a home she could no longer return to. /span>

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

The credit for the title goes to creativepromptsforwriting.

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Secrets (Just Tell Me the Truth)

No one ever said that it was easy So come out of the cold and stop your bleeding I never would of thought that things could Go this far, but please believe me -The Art of Breaking [Thousand Food Krutch] Whumptober Day 3 | Fandom: Overwatch (Pre-Fall) | Angela & Cassidy, Implied Angela / Gabriel | TW: Abuse

AO3 | FF.net | Works

Cole just wanted to get this over with so that he could go try to get himself killed on a mission. He’d thought it would be a little better with Blackwatch - a step up from Deadlock, at least - but he’d been mistaken. It was still very much ‘every man for himself’ and turning a blind eye. As long as the missions were successful and no one died in training, no one cared. Somehow, he’d gotten on the wrong side of one of the various groups of agents within Blackwatch, and now his life was more miserable than it had been with Deadlock. At least with the Gang, he’d had people he could - usually - trust to watch his back. Here, he had nothing and no one but himself. “Shirt off, please.” A blonde woman in a medical jacket bustled in, clipboard in hand. Her face was cool and impassive, just a woman here to do her job and move on. He thought doctors were supposed to be kind and wanting to help people. Smiling or something, hell he didn’t know - he’d never seen a doctor in person before. Suppressing a wince, Cole pulled off his serape and removed the shirt while the woman fiddled with something on the counter. She turned, already moving towards him before her eyes landed on his body - and then she froze. Emotions flitted across her face, far too quickly for Cole to figure out, before settling on a frown and creased eyebrows. Cole knew what he looked like. Thin enough to see a few ribs, just like he’d been with the gang. Bruises scattered across his chest and back, ranging from fresh black to healing green-yellow. A handful of fresh burns, mostly from cigarettes, dotted his abdomen. Cole was just grateful they hadn’t taken a blade to his skin; that would have been a bitch to deal with. “What happened here?” Her voice was gentler than before, but he trusted the expression more. She was some sort of unhappy, probably because his battered form was going to create more work for her. Cole shrugged, ignoring how the motion made several of his bruises complain. “Training.” A simple explanation to sweep these injuries under the rug. Cole doubted this Overwatch doctor had any idea what the Blackwatch training entailed, so there was no reason for her to question it. “Training.” She echoed, lips pursing. Her eyes ran over him carefully as she took notes on that clipboard of hers. Cole resisted the urge to shift under her heavy gaze, suddenly uncomfortable. He tensed as she drew closer, as if someone as small as her could hurt him. “Who did this to you?” She asked softly, hands clutching the clipboard to her chest. She no longer looked unhappy; no, her face held more concern and sadness than anything, which was surprising. Still, even if she was one of those do-good doctors, he was nothing to her - he wasn’t even in the same division as her. “Told you,” Cole said gruffly, looking to the side because he could no longer bear the sight of her. “Got this in training.” Just let it go, lady. His job was to take whatever was dished out and complete his missions; hers was to sign off on the stupid paperwork that let him go into the field. “Please do not treat me like an idiot,” the woman replied, exasperated. “I know, just as well as you, that you did not get these in training.” Cole crossed his arms across his chest, as if by covering some of the wounds it might make her stop asking questions. “Dunno what t’tell you then,” he said flippantly. He certainly couldn’t tell her the what really happened - but even if he did, what could she do about it? She was just some no-name doctor that drew the short straw on dealing with him today. The woman made a frustrated sound as she turned away. “The truth would be nice,” she threw over one shoulder as she went to the door. Was that really it? Were they done already? Cole shifted, getting ready to drop to his feet, when she turned back to point at him. “Do not move,” she ordered tersely, before opening the door and peering out. Clearly, she found something she liked, because she called someone over before speaking quietly to them. When they were done, she turned those intense blue eyes back on him as she stalked across the room. “Are these the extent of your… ‘training’ injuries?” The doctor asked, gesturing absently towards his body with one hand. She clearly wasn’t convinced about the training excuse, but at least she wasn’t pushing the issue anymore. “Yeah,” Cole said with a nod, this time telling the truth. They just enjoyed using him as a punching bag, literally. The woman nodded, circling the bed he sat on to take in his back, before coming to stand before him. She was scribbling notes again - probably about the mess of bruises and welts that were across his back - but she didn’t say anything else. Before the silence could drag on, a knock sounded at the door. “Dr. Ziegler?” A woman asked, pushing the door open just enough to poke her head in. The woman - Dr. Ziegler, apparently - looked up with a smile. “Ah, yes, Gloria.” She moved to the door to accept a short, metal-looking rod. Cole was immediately on edge. Was it a weapon of some kind? It didn’t look like it was very heavy, and she had seemed unhappy about his injuries, but he’d learned not to take things at face value. This Dr. Ziegler was rather small, so she would need something to help her if she wanted to do any damage to someone like him. “Thank you for fetching this for me.” Still smiling, the blonde turned back to Cole - and paused again as she looked him over. “Are you…” She stopped herself with a frown before starting over. “What is the matter?” Dr. Ziegler didn’t close the distance between them, so clearly she recognized him for the threat he was. “What’s that?” He asked, voice cold as he looked at the rod. Dr. Ziegler looked over at it with some surprise before looking back at him. “This?” She asked, as if he was unclear. “This is a portable Healing Stream.” Well, it didn’t sound particularly dangerous. “With your permission, I would like to heal you.” She wanted to heal him? That was completely unexpected, leaving him speechless. She simply stood there, waiting while he sorted himself out. “I—Yeah, I guess that’s alright,” he finally said, though he was still looking at the device warily. Dr. Ziegler smiled again as she drew closer. When she was two feet away, she did something that made the tip of it turn yellow, and Cole flinched away instinctively. The woman froze, a brief flash of fear crossing her face before she smoothed it away again. “It will not hurt,” she reassured him. When he nodded, she drew close enough that he could grab her, the rod held between them. She didn’t touch him; instead, she let the light shine on him, just close enough that he could feel its warmth. “I will never do anything that will intentionally hurt you,” she said softly, eyes fixed on the skin that was under her light. She sounded earnest, honest, but Cole had learned a long time ago not to trust so easily. This Dr. Ziegler might be offering help now, but what was the cost? Dr. Ziegler circled around to his back, taking the light with her. Cole looked down at his front cautiously, awed to find everything was gone - there weren’t even scars where the burn marks had been. When she finally came to stand before him again, the yellow light gone, he knew his back would be the same. She led him through the physical, the cool expression that she had started with back in place. Even for the most intimate - embarrassing - tasks, she was unflappable. It wasn’t until he was dressed again that the cool mask fell again, back to the kind and earnest woman that had held the rod. “Whenever you need help, you can call on me,” Dr. Ziegler told him as he shrugged his shirt back on. Cole scoffed and slid from the bed to his feet. “An’ what’s that gonna cost me?” He demanded. Her face colored with surprise before she crossed her arms across her chest, something like anger on her face. “You do not owe me anything,” she snapped. “That—I am not like that. I help because I can and because I want to.” Cole wasn’t convinced - no one was that nice - and it must have shown on his face. “Fine,” she growled, pointing at him. “If you want a price, it will be this: names.” He raised one eyebrow. “Names?” Of course, she would want him to spy for her. For someone like her, who probably could barely defend herself, information was probably her weapon of choice in this cesspit. “Names,” she agreed. “Specifically, the names of the people that injured you.” Her hand flew up to wave away his protest. “Yes, yes, you got them ‘training’, but when you decide that you are done training, I want their names.” She stepped back to open the door for him. “Until then, you can always bring your ‘training’ injuries to me at any time.” Cole stared at her, once again speechless. She was nothing that he had expected. “You really mean that, don’t you?” He finally asked, because hope was a funny thing like that. Maybe his life didn’t have to be all bad; just one nice thing couldn’t hurt, could it? “I do,” she replied firmly, eyes flashing up to his. “Ask around, if you do not believe me.” Her arms spread out slightly, a clear invitation. “You will find that I am exactly what I say I am - and more.” With that declaration, Dr. Ziegler swept out of the room. Cole wasn’t one to back down for a challenge, so he would certainly look into this doctor. He just hoped that, when he was done, he didn’t just find more disappointment.

---

“Hello?” Considering it was nearly two in the morning, Dr. Ziegler sounded way too alert. Cole had expected her to be groggy, maybe a little off her game as she shrugged off sleep, but just sounded coolly professional like she had when he’d met her in that hospital room. When she’d shown him that some people weren’t monsters. When he’d allowed himself to hope again, just for a moment. “Hello?” Now she sounded a little annoyed; of course she did. He was wasting her time, but he couldn’t seem to make himself speak. She had told him that she could call if he needed her - and damn, did he ever. But he was Cole Cassidy, and he didn’t ask for help. He didn’t know how. “I am going to hang up,” Dr. Ziegler warned. Cole was surprised she hadn’t done so already. No one called at this hour unless it was an emergency or a prank - and since he hadn’t said anything, she had no reason to believe this call was an emergency. Which it was. The line went dead as she hung up, exactly as she had warned. Cole looked down at his communicator with blurry eyes. Between the blurriness and his trembling fingers, it had been nearly impossible for him to call her the first time. Was it worth the effort to call again? Would he even say anything, if he did? His communicator lit up with an incoming call, surprising him enough that he nearly dropped it. Cole answered it without looking at the screen, groaning; not tonight. He couldn’t handle an emergency mission tonight, not like this. He could barely handle a phone call. “Yeah?” Cole grumbled, annoyed. All he wanted to do was curl up in his bed and find a position that hurt the least. He’d try to call the doctor again tomorrow, and maybe this time he’d actually say something. “Where are you?” This time, he did drop his communicator. It was her - she called back. Somehow, she had figured out it was him and she had called back. Cole fumbled for the device, fingers uncooperative between his shock and pain. “I know it is you, Agent Cassidy,” Dr. Ziegler said with a sigh. She knew his name. “H—” he cleared his throat, “HQ.” She hummed softly as she began typing. Cole wondered if she did that often, or if she was just trying to calm him down. “In your quarters?” She asked, and he made an affirmative noise. His chest hurt, making everything - to include speaking - painful and far more difficult than it should be. “It will take me a little over an hour to reach you. Will you be okay until I get there?” She sounded regretful, but they were in two different cities. Cole was fortunate she wasn’t farther away. “Y—Yeah. Think so,” he told her, because what else could he say? It wasn’t like she could get here any faster. Cole could hear her moving about as she dropped everything she was doing to fly out and see him. It was what she had promised - but he hadn’t expected it to be true, not to this degree. But thank God it was. “Do you want me to stay on the line until I get there?” She offered, another surprise. He’d expected her to hang up, now that she’d gotten what she needed from him to do her job. “Uh—” He stammered. What the fuck was he supposed to say to that? “How about this,” she said, a door closing in the background. “I will stay on the line until you hang up or I arrive, alright?” That was almost worse, but he couldn’t help but grab at the lifeline for what it was. “I—Yeah, that… that’s alright.” Cole agreed, before sprawling out on his bed and trying to get comfortable. He just had to survive an hour. He could do that, couldn’t he?

---

“You’d better have a good fucking reason for showing up at this hour,” Commander Gabriel Reyes grumbled at her as she met him on the landing pad in Rome. Angela hadn’t called him - couldn’t, because her communicator was still active with Cole’s call, though he hadn’t responded to her for nearly thirty minutes - but apparently someone had. Clearly, her arrival was Something Important, which had made someone drag the Commander out of bed. Considering the hour, she could understand his grumpiness. “One of your agents - Cole Cassidy - called me for help,” Angela replied easily as she made her way inside and towards the elevators. She was familiar enough with this base to get this far - and to the infirmary, which wasn’t her current destination. “Called you?” Gabriel replied incredulously as he joined her. “We have a medical division, you know.” He snapped before pressing the button for the fourth floor. It surprised Angela that he knew where to go without looking it up. Had Gabriel noticed something amiss with him as well? “I am well aware.” She glanced sidelong at him as she shifted the communicator from one ear to the other. “I have spent a considerable amount of time there.” He just stared at her until she sighed. “When I performed his physical last month, I told him he could call me if he needed.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “As you know, I keep my word - so when he called for me, of course I came.” Her word was her bond, unlike the darker agents of Blackwatch - though that wasn’t their fault. They had to do, and to be, whatever was necessary to get the job done. “Why would he need to call you?” Gabriel asked carefully. That was the right question, the most important question. Still, she wasn’t willing to get into that conversation - the accusation would probably lead to an argument Cole Cassidy didn’t have time for. “We are about to find out, aren’t we?” Angela replied, humorless, as she stepped out of the elevator to follow him down the hall. “Give me something, Angela,” he muttered. “What’s going on here?” Angela could understand his concern; she didn’t involve herself into Blackwatch matters lightly - and especially not without telling him. But she was skirting the fine line of patient confidentiality already. “I only have theories,” she said quietly. “Nothing that I could bring to you, not yet.” It weighed on her, the knowledge that there were people in these walls hurting people without repercussion, but Cole Cassidy had given her nothing. Nothing besides his battered body and stubborn denial. “But if I am correct - and I truly hope I am not - you will see for yourself momentarily.” From what she had seen of this Cole Cassidy, he was stubborn and reluctant to ask for help. That he’d called at all told her that his injuries had to be worse than they had been before - bad enough that he had sucked up his pride and reached out. It didn’t take long before they were standing at a door. Gabriel knocked on it once, the sound repeating faintly through the communicator. When there was no response, he pulled out a key card and let them in. “Perks to being the Commander,” he said quietly at Angela’s raised eyebrow. She shook her head before entering the room ahead of him. It was dark, so it took a moment of fumbling until she found the light switch. The lights revealed a mostly clean room and an unconscious man; the lights hadn’t bothered him. Angela frowned and hung up her communicator so that she could pocket it. Quietly, she approached the bed to look him over. His communicator was near his face, where he had no doubt placed it once he’d gotten comfortable in the bed. His breathing was labored, with flashes of pain crossing his face before it smoothed away into the peace of sleep. “Agent?” Angela asked quietly, one hand reaching down to touch his shoulder. If she had thought it through, she wouldn’t have done it - she knew that plenty of people woke violently. Gabriel made a noise, one hand raising as if he could stop her from his place at the wall, but it was too late. Fortunately, he did not attack her; unfortunately, he didn’t wake up. “Damn it, Angela,” Gabriel muttered, leaning back against the wall again. “Be more careful, would you?” Angela nodded absently, her attention fully on the man laying before her. Her lips pursed as she considered before setting her small pack down near his hip. She could just use her healing stream on him and be done. There was no requirement that she see the skin, though she preferred the confirmation. Angela dug through the bag before pulling out a set of trauma shears. “You’re not seriously about to undress him, are you?” Gabriel asked dryly from where he stood. Angela rolled her eyes, but otherwise didn’t dignify the question with a response; obviously she was going to cut the shirt away to see what she was dealing with. It was only a matter of moments before the shirt was cut away, revealing the flesh beneath. “You need to see this,” Angela said darkly, turning to dig through her bag again with jerky motions. Gabriel grumbled under his breath as he crossed the room - but he stopped complaining once he got a good look at Cole. “What the fuck is this?” He snarled, fists clenching as he took in the injuries. The bruising and swelling was worse than before, especially around his chest, which made her worry for his ribs and the organs beneath - but those could have, theoretically, come from an extreme round of actual training. The burns and gashes, however, would not. “If I had to guess,” Angela said softly, pulling on a pair of gloves, “I would say abuse.” Despite Cole’s protests, Angela had made note of it in his medical file and filled out the appropriate reports - but clearly no one had taken her findings seriously, if they had even read the reports to begin with. “Help me lift him,” she ordered. “I need to see his back.” Between the two of them, they managed to get the unresponsive agent upright. The remains of his shirt fluttered back to the bed, revealing welts and more bruising. Gabriel made an angry noise, but refrained from making any comment while she looked him over. They laid him back out, and still he didn’t respond. Retrieving a penlight, she checked his eyes. “He has a concussion, at the very least.” Angela reported. “We need to get him to the infirmary.” Gabriel turned away as he pulled out his communicator, hopefully to call a bed to this floor; there was no way they could safely transport the agent as he was now. Angela pulled her healing stream out and angled it at him; while she suspected there was more damage than it could handle, it wouldn’t hurt. “They’ll be here in five minutes.” Gabriel told her, voice quiet with carefully controlled anger. “You knew about this?” He asked, causing Angela to look at him cautiously. She knew Gabriel would never hurt her, but that was a tone that anyone with functioning brain cells would be wary of. “I guessed,” Angela replied flatly. “He was adamant that his injuries came from training.” Not that she had believed him. “You should have told me,” Gabriel growled, turning to glare at her. “He’s my fucking agent and this,” he pointed down at Cole Cassidy’s unresponsive body, “is completely unacceptable.” “Do you think I wanted to keep this from you?” Angela snapped back, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. “I reported everything correctly, but without proof, no one will take such an accusation seriously.” Angela looked back down at her patient. “Especially when the victim is a man.”

---

Cole woke up in a bed that definitely wasn’t his. He opened his eyes to find himself in a hospital room - which was made obvious by the annoying beeping machine near his right shoulder. Cole furrowed his brows; he didn’t remember going to the infirmary. The last thing he remembered was… “You are finally awake,” Dr. Ziegler greeted as she strode into the room. That’s right - he had called her last night, after the pain had gotten to be too much for him to handle. “How do you feel?” Cole took stock of himself. “Better.” He said after a moment of consideration. “Tired.” Which was annoying, considering he’d just woke up. “My chest still hurts some.” Dr. Ziegler nodded, as if she had expected that answer. That wasn’t right; she was supposed to heal him - that was what she had promised. If he was still hurt, she hadn’t kept her word. “You have three broken ribs,” she told him. “Unfortunately, the Healing Stream cannot heal bones.” She seemed genuinely apologetic; considering who she was, he was willing to believe it. Dr. Ziegler looked down at him, clearly considering something, before turning to drag one of the chairs closer to the bed. “What’re you doing?” Cole asked as she sat down, one leg crossing over the other at the knee. “Getting comfortable,” she answered easily, leaning back and crossing her arms. “We have much to discuss.” That sounded ominous. She let the silence grow for a moment before sighing. “Your injuries were extensive.” Dr. Ziegler glanced down at the clipboard in her hand, eyes skimming the text briefly, before she looked back up. “Three broken ribs, like I said before. Four lacerations that, without my technology, would have required stitches.” Her eyes fixed on his chest, where he knew the cuts had been, as if she could still see them. “Severe internal bleeding. Bruised organs, with the most damage being to your kidneys.” She wasn’t even pretending to read the paper any longer. “A head injury bad enough to keep you unconscious while I examined you. Countless bruises and welts.” She set the clipboard down on her lap. “And, finally, you’ve been unconscious for three days.” Three days? “I—” Cole began, but he didn’t really know what to say under her intense stare. She looked angry, and he didn’t have any idea what to do with that. He finally settled on: “Sorry to have been such a problem.” If Dr. Ziegler looked angry before, she was downright pissed by the time he was done speaking. “A problem?” She repeated icily. “Let us get one thing perfectly clear, Cole Cassidy: you are not a ‘problem’ unless and until I say you are.” She leaned forward to point at him. “Are we understood?” He found himself nodding in agreement. “Good.” She nodded in return and her face smoothed out as if she hadn’t been furious moments previously. “Now.” Dr. Ziegler fixed him with a stare. “I believe you owe me some names.” Cole shifted uncomfortably in the bed. He hadn’t thought she would collect the very next time he saw her; from the way she’d framed the deal, he would choose when to pay up. “Look at me,” she ordered, clearly noticing his reluctance. “I know what I said before, but things have changed.” Her face shifted to an emotion he didn’t recognize, but it was fierce. “If you had not called me, you would have died that night.” Cole stared at her, wide eyed with surprise. “I cannot, in good conscience, risk your life like that again.” He frowned. “It’s my life t’risk,” he retorted, but there wasn’t any heat behind the words. He hadn’t realized things had gotten that bad; he would have died? Or was she just trying to get what she wanted - which, really, was only to his benefit and not hers? “Yes, it is.” Dr. Ziegler agreed, leaning back again. “I cannot make you give me the names. Despite our ‘agreement’ or whatever you believe, I would never withhold medical treatment from you.” From what he had learned about her in the last month, he was willing to believe that. “But believe me when I say this: I can - and will - find the names myself.” She smiled mirthlessly. “I may be with Overwatch, but I am not without my own resources. Unfortunately, I am not very subtle: my way would draw quite a bit of attention - and I do not think you want that.” No, he didn’t want that at all. Cole looked at the doctor, really looked at her. He saw determination in her gaze, and he knew that she meant every word. She would tear through this base until she found the names she wanted. He was tempted to let her, to see what she would really do - but hadn’t she already proved she was willing to help him? She had come in the middle of the night and had stayed for days to make sure he was okay. “Why do you even care?” Cole found himself asking, because he didn’t understand. He was nobody to her, one of probably a thousand patients she had. There was no reason for her to give him special treatment, and yet there she sat. “You deserve to be safe within your home - within the walls of Blackwatch - but you are not,” the doctor explained, as if it were so simple. “It is my job to ensure my agents are healthy. I may take that to an extreme,” she admitted unapologetically, “but it is because I care. I care about everyone, and if I can help, I will.” Cole pressed back into his bed and looked away, uncomfortable. But he choked out the names she wanted, all four of them. “Thank you for trusting me with this,” she told him quietly, after she had finished writing the last name down. “I know this was not easy for you.” That was an understatement, if he ever heard one. She rose from her seat, clearly preparing to leave. “Thanks for everythin’, doc,” he muttered, eyes downcast as he fidgeted with the blanket. “You are most certainly welcome,” she assured him warmly. “But perhaps hold off on thanking me until this is all over.” Dr. Ziegler turned to glance over one shoulder; when Cole followed her gaze, he found the Commander looming in the doorway. How long had he been there? Cole broke out into a cold sweat, suddenly nervous. He had never drawn the attention of the Commander, and he wasn’t sure that now was a good time to start. “You will be okay,” Dr. Ziegler assured him from where she stood at his bedside. “Normally, he would not even be involved, despite my presence. He is only here because of the… cause of your injuries.” Cole felt betrayed; he had trusted her enough to call her and to give her the names - and she turned around and got the Commander? “I am sorry if I have made you uncomfortable by bringing Commander Reyes, but he is necessary to deal with this.” She tapped the list of names on her clipboard in emphasis. Cole hated that he could see the logic; he just wanted to be angry about it. “Whether you believe me or not,” she said unapologetically, “I am acting in your best interests.” With that, she turned and walked to the Commander, who hadn’t moved from his spot in the doorway while she had talked to him. “Fix this,” the doctor demanded, as if she wasn’t addressing the scariest motherfucker in Blackwatch. “And do not let me hear that you have treated him unkindly,” her hand flung back to point at Cole. “He has been through quite enough already.” Cole expected the Commander to tear a strip out of her; as far as he knew, no one could get away with ordering him around. He was the Commander - he was the one that told people what to do, not the other way around. Instead, the man just smirked and plucked the list from her fingers. “I’ve got this, doc,” he assured her, which surprised Cole even more. “Now, go home. Please. I don’t need Jack storming the base because of your bleeding heart.” Dr. Ziegler flushed in what appeared to be embarrassment, but that didn’t stop her from glancing over her shoulder to address Cole one last time. “While I truly hope you will never need me again, you can still call me for help - anytime.” Then she was gone, slipping past the Commander easily and closing the door quietly behind her. “So.” The Commander rumbled, crossing the room to take the seat the doctor had just vacated. “Let’s talk about these assholes.” Something in Cole loosened at the statement. Even if it was just because the doctor had asked - because clearly there was something there, considering how they spoke to each other - the Commander was willing to listen. Things were going to get better.

This work isn't linked to any others. Credit to @creativepromptsforwriting for the title.

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Warning Sign (Escape While You Can)

Life goes on, it gets so heavy The wheel breaks the butterfly - Paradise [Coldplay] Fandom: Overwatch (Post-Fall)

AO3 | FF.net | Works

“Most of you know who I am, but for those who do not: My name is Dr. Angela Ziegler - or, more commonly, Mercy.” Angela’s eyes swept the small crowd of people before her nervously; she wasn’t anywhere near fully recovered, but she had felt it was her duty to do this. They had to know. They were all so young, just like she had once been. Young and eager to throw their lives at a cause they felt was noble, no matter the cost - if they had even thought of the cost. “I have seen what the media has said about Overwatch,” Angela barely kept herself from scoffing - though whether it was about the media or about Overwatch, not even she could tell. Unlike her younger self, she was no longer blind to the many failings of both. “Years ago, Overwatch agents were lauded as heroes.” She had been one of them; her wings had made her a target for their PR, regardless of her noble intentions. “Overwatch protected the innocent from terrorists,” her eyes briefly landed on Cole, whose back was to her as he stood between her and the rest to make her feel safer, “and from ecological disasters,” her eyes landed on Mei this time, before tearing away to focus on the group once more. There were some nods of agreement, as she had expected. “You will have heard that Overwatch is a family - and this is true.” Her words were warmer now, because this she still believed to be true. Despite any other reservations, she did have a family here in what remained of her old home. “You will find friends here, ones that will understand - far more than anyone else - what Overwatch means.” Angela’s lips spread into a bitter smile. “But what you will not have heard is what Overwatch costs.” Movement caught Angela’s eye, and she glanced over to see Cole looking her over carefully. No one truly knew what she was going to speak of today, only that she had been insistent. “The cost can sometimes be cheap,” Angela said above the soft murmurs of the crowd, tearing her eyes away from Cole to watch them once more. She didn’t know their names - had kept herself apart, had avoided becoming attached - but they all had the same eager, fresh faces she was all too familiar with. “It can be simply be your blood - injuries that can be healed, again and again, when you go into the field.” Her eyes hardened, sweeping over the crowd again. “It could be more expensive: it could cost your life.” They were all young - too young - and so sure of their immortality. “Overwatch has buried many agents - young and old, new and veteran. There is no coming back from that, no matter what you may have heard about me.” Of course Angela had heard the rumors: that she could pull people back from death itself, and that simply wasn’t true. As long as they had not crossed that threshold, there was the possibility - but dead was dead. She might be a miracle worker, but no one was that good. “The highest price, however, is your mind.” They looked confused now, glancing between each other as they tried to parse her words. Of course, it only made sense; for most, death was the highest price. But there were worse things than death. “Death is final,” Angela said, voice hard as she clasped her hands behind her back. “I would even say death is the easier option, in some cases.” She was all too familiar with those dark thoughts after all she had experienced. “Living is hard.” Her eyes shifted from face to face, taking in this new generation of heroes. “Death is a part of Overwatch - and, as an agent, you will, undoubtedly, stain your hands with blood.” If she wasn’t shaking, she might have held her own hands up here as if to show her own invisible sins. “You will make hard choices that will result in death - and then you will have to suffer the consequences.” And oh, how she had suffered. “And yet, this too, is the lesser of evils - because, as an agent of Overwatch, you will become a target.” Just as she had been. Her arms crossed over her chest, as if she could hold herself together. “Many have wondered if I have returned to Overwatch,” Angela said to the room, eyes slightly unfocused. After a pause, she looked over to where Winston stood, his gaze heavy and sad as he met her own. “The answer is no, I have not - and no, I will not.” The crowd before her murmured again, and she took a moment to collect herself before looking out at them. “I no longer have the strength to serve Overwatch.” It was a bitter admission, one of weakness that the old Angela would never have shown - but that Angela was long dead in a room deep underground. “What I have experienced…” Angela cut herself off harshly, face averted as she took a shuddering breath. “Ange,” Cole murmured, closer than before, without encroaching on her space. “You’re safe, just breathe.” Angela’s hands balled into fists as she struggled to calm herself; it had happened months ago and yet she still could hardly bear to speak of it. “Do you want to go back to your rooms?” Cole offered after a moment, both of them ignoring the murmurs from the crowd behind him. “You’ve done more than enough.” Cole’s voice held no censure or judgement, though she knew he had been firmly against this gathering. “In a moment,” Angela whispered back, eyes lifting back to the worried eyes of the new guard. “I was the most protected agent of all,” Angela offered the room hoarsely, “and I still suffered the greatest price of all.” Her arms wrapped around her chest again. “I will never stop bearing the scars of Overwatch.” At that, Angela turned away from the crowd and stepped down from the improvised stage that had been put together for meetings like this. Cole fell into step behind her as Lena pushed open the door, her ever present guardians since they had brought her to this place. One day, she would make herself leave - but that day was not today.

This was somewhat inspired by Ibiki from Naruto (specifically episode 25: The Tenth Question: All or Nothing). I don't even know why, because I haven't watched Naruto in forever - but it popped into my head and now here we are. It's not my best work, by far, but I like it enough to post it here. This is part of the Breaking [My Heart] fanon, but it's not anything that will actually happen in any kind of sequel. This was just for fun.

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Past Mistakes

I can't believe I said I'd lay our love on the ground, But it doesn't matter 'cause I made it up, forgive me now Everyday I spend away, my soul's inside out, Gotta be some way that I can make it up to you now, somehow I'd Come For You [Nickelback] Angstember Day 17 | Fandom: Overwatch (Post-Fall) | Angela / Cassidy

AO3 | FF.net | Works

“Angela.” The familiar voice had her freezing in the doorway. Briefly, she entertained the thought of just turning around and walking right back out - but that wasn’t her role in this. That was his. She was the one who stayed, and he was the one who left. Instead, Angela took the last step and closed the door. It was a small space - practically a closet - but it was hers in this war-torn city, and here he was invading it. Anger lit up inside her; how dare he return after all this time? Her fingers clenched around the clipboard in her hands as she pushed it all back down beneath the calm, stony veneer that she showed everyone. “What are you doing here?” Angela demanded, voice cool as she leaned back against the doorway. Finally, her eyes rose to take in the man leaning against the far wall, as far away from her as he could manage while staying in the room. Angela wasn’t sure if that was more for her benefit or his. “I’m here to apologize,” Cole said gruffly, dark eyes searching hers for an emotion she refused to give. Angela scoffed, a harsh sound that was far too loud for the small room. “I think it is a little too late for apologies,” Angela replied, words revealing more emotion than she had intended. Her teeth dug into the side of her cheek as she tried to control herself; she just had to get him to leave and everything would go back to normal. “I’m pretty sure you told me otherwise,” he retorted, arms crossing over his chest. “Last I remember, you weren’t a liar, Angel.” The nickname rolled off his lips easily, as if there wasn’t years of separation between them. As if he hadn’t left her. “You do not get to call me that,” Angela hissed, eyes flashing as she straightened against the door. “You lost that right a long time ago.” She took a deep breath, forcing her anger and hurt back down. He wasn’t worth the emotion; he had more than proved that to her. “You’re right,” he said heavily, hands dropping until his thumbs could hook into his belt loops. Absently, she noted he still had that stupid belt buckle, but then her eyes flew back up to his. He looked ashamed, shoulders hunched as he stared down at the floor. Good. He should be ashamed. He’d disappeared without a word shortly before Commander Reyes had destroyed everything. She could forgive that - he’d been in hiding from Blackwatch and he had come back to help Overwatch in the aftermath. But then, four days after everything came crashing down, she’d woken up to a note on the pillow next to her instead of a man. He’d snuck out of her life just as easily as he’d crept in, and he’d never come back. Not until today, at least. “Is that everything, then?” Angela asked, somehow keeping her voice steady, once the silence had grown for too long. “If so, I really have work to do.” She didn’t, actually; for once, she had just been coming to collect her things to go home. Still, Angela wasn’t above faking work if it would get him to leave on her terms instead of his. “I just—” Cole broke off with a harsh sound. “Yeah, I guess. Sorry to waste your time, doctor.” She knew that he was hiding his hurt behind anger, but that didn’t make his anger any less palatable. He wasn’t the one who got to be angry in this situation. He was the one that barged in after five years without any warning, as if nothing had changed. But everything had changed. Angela nodded stiffly before stepping away from the door so that she could open it for him. He stared at her for a long moment before pushing off the wall with his shoulders and stalking towards the exit. When there was only a foot of space left between them, Cole hesitated. “I tried to forget you,” he muttered to her, so quiet that she doubted anyone else could have heard him despite the open door. Angela tried to keep the hurt of those words from her face - she could only imagine how he’d tried to forget her, and each thought was more painful than the last. “I never forgot you,” she whispered back, unable to help but respond. Angela didn’t know why she was admitting anything to him, not after he had left her - twice. But it was nothing but the truth. “I know,” he replied, causing her to avert her eyes. The words weren’t cocky or self-assured, but straight fact - and she knew he’d caught on to her closely guarded secret. Angela had watched over him from afar as he moved through North America and assisted quietly from the shadows as she could. Sometimes it was in the form of money, other times it was ensuring he got medical attention for when he inevitably found himself injured. Cole reached out with one hand to touch her cheek, and she let him. His fingers slid down to her chin so that he could make her look at him again. Angela stiffened slightly, heart pounding, as her eyes darted from his eyes to his lips and back again. She didn’t think she could endure the heartbreak again, but she found herself frozen as he leaned closer. “I ain’t gonna kiss you, Angel” he murmured, lips so close that she could feel them brush against her ear. She couldn’t find it in herself to care that he’d used the nickname she’d been so angry about earlier, not when his breath was hot against her skin. “Not yet, anyway,” he told her as he pulled back, just enough that he could look her in the eyes. “Not ‘til you ask me.” Her eyes widened; he sounded very certain of himself. “What makes you so certain I will?” Angela couldn’t help but ask, breathless. The familiar smirk that she loved - and hated - played on his lips as he leaned back. “Because I’m gonna win you back, darlin’,” he drawled, straightening. “I’ve made a lotta mistakes in my life, and leavin’ you was the worst of all.” She shivered, unable to look away. “I’m gonna fix that - just you wait an’ see.” Cole reached out to touch her one last time, a soft brush of his knuckles against her cheekbone, and then he was out the door. Angela leaned heavily against it, struggling with the emotions roiling within her. She could call him back - she didn’t actually have any work to do - but could she trust him? Angela had already been burned twice by the man; was it really smart to allow him a third try? Confused and unsure, Angela watched Cole walk away, just like he always did.

Credit to @creativepromptsforwriting for the title. She has so many good ones and I love it. This piece is not connected to any others.

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Words as Weapons

With a part of me gone And it’s hard to hold on to the person that I used to know And it kills me inside I am buried alive I am nothing but flesh over bone - The Drug [Egypt Central] Angstember Day 11 | Fandom: Overwatch (Pre-Fall) | Angela / Gabriel

AO3 | FF.net | Works

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Angela,” Dr. Port said as she rose from his couch. Angela didn’t think they had made much - if any - progress, but he didn’t seem to be concerned about it. He’d insisted on daily appointments for the foreseeable future; since this was his area of expertise, and she wasn’t really in a position to argue, Angela had agreed. “Tomorrow,” she replied quietly, before making her way out of the office. Angela stayed close to the wall as she made her way down the hallway, keeping her distance from others and ignoring their confused - or pitiful - looks. The sound of something thudding against the wall had her jumping, automatically putting some distance between herself and the noise. Quickly, she realized the sound had come from the opposite side of the wall - partially because there was nothing there, but mostly because of the raised voices she could hear. The words were muffled, but she would recognize Gabriel’s voice anywhere. He and Jack were fighting. Again. Before, she’d barge in there and do her best to mediate - or at least separate them. But, as she was now, she didn’t think she was in a position to manage either. She’d already had bad reactions to their raised voices; she didn’t particularly want to have another. But, if things were slamming into walls, she might just have to, anyway. Things had never gotten physical between the two men - at least, not to her knowledge. Oh, they could be absolutely vicious with their words sometimes, but the damage was always verbal or emotional. Angela approached the door carefully, doing her best to assess the situation before involving herself in it. As she got closer, she realized that the door wasn’t completely closed - between that small opening and how loud the men inside the office were, she could make out their conversation. “—ell me to calm down,” Gabriel’s voice snarled from the right, making her tense. That partial statement, mixed with things slamming into walls, made it easy to guess what they were arguing about. If they were fighting - physically - Angela could assume that Gabriel was the aggressor and that she - or, rather, her kidnapping - was the topic. Despite her reservations and the absolute terror it inspired in her, she knew that this couldn’t go on. The last thing she wanted was for them to fight about her capture - to allow it even more power than it already had. Angela took a deep, steadying breath; if she was going to go in there, it wouldn’t help anything if she were a wreck when she did it. “I trusted you.” His voice was still an enraged snarl, but it cracked with something sad - grief or despair, she wasn’t sure. After a moment, probably of him composing himself, Gabriel was shouting again. “You were supposed to keep her safe.” Before, Angela might have bristled at the words - she had come a long way from needing a dedicated protector, or so she had thought - but now, a small part of her couldn’t help but agree. “I should have known better,” Gabriel snapped, spurring her into action. The words were accompanied by another thud that had her wincing even as she reached out for the door. “You couldn’t even protect Ana; I never should have believed you could protect Angela.” Angela froze, eyes wide, as his words chilled even her. That was a targeted, vicious attack and a horrible insinuation. “What happened with Ana has nothing to do with this,” Jack snarled, matching Gabriel’s anger with his own. “We took every precaution with Angela. We did everything possible—” “It’s not enough. Have you seen her?” Gabriel’s voice demanded, cutting him off viciously. “No, you haven’t,” Gabriel answered his own question before Jack could even try to respond, “because she’s barely left her rooms. She’s terrified.” Angela frowned, even if she couldn’t refute the fact; she was terrified. Hands balling into fists, Angela reached for the door again - it was time to put an end to this. “They broke her,” her hands froze again as she took a shuddering breath. It was one thing to think they thought that about her, but it was another to hear it aloud - and from Gabriel no less. “There is no ‘enough.’” He’d continued, unaware that she had heard him - but his continued speech made it possible for her to move. It was fortunate that all she had to do was push the door open - Angela didn’t think her shaky hands could manage an access card or doorknob. “Get ou—” Gabriel’s voice cut off abruptly as he realized who had walked into the room; it was an act of pure will that she hadn’t ducked back out of the door, but it was a very near thing. Silence fell, thick and heavy, as she stood in the doorway - Angela had barely managed to take the two steps it had taken to get her just inside. She could feel their shocked gazes on her, though she didn’t turn to look at them. “Angela?” Jack was the one to break the silence. “Is every—” He cut himself off swiftly, changing the question. “Do you need something?” His voice was cautious and far more gentle than she’d expected him to be capable of, considering Gabriel still had him pinned to the wall. Angela balled her trembling hands into fists, trying to build up her courage to speak - and feeling foolish for it. She had been the one to force herself in here, after all. She could have left them to it; this new Angela was far more okay with avoiding conflict – with easy – than the old one. “I—” Angela swallowed, trying ineffectively to bring moisture to her dry throat. Instead of addressing the more painful words, the ones that cut just as deeply as anything her captors had done, she forced herself to focus on why she had come in here in the first place. “You need to stop.” It should have been a declaration - the old Angela could have shouted it at them, glaring with arms crossed as she dared them to argue. This new Angela could barely raise her voice louder than a whisper, incapable of looking in their direction as she gestured at the two of them with shaking hands. “Angela,” Gabriel started, voice notably softer as he addressed her. This wasn’t the first time she’d barged into one of their arguments - but she’d never been as fragile back then. That Angela could stare them down, hands on her hips, as she gave as good as she got. This Angela could barely keep from bolting out of the door at her back. “You didn’t need to come in here,” Gabriel told her carefully; he could clearly see her terror in her shaking hands and haggard breathing. Angela shook her head, a silent argument that was far less effective than her words. There were so many things she could say, but she couldn’t seem to get her voice to work. “I’m alright, Angela,” Jack offered into the silence. Angela glanced their way, eyes briefly resting on Gabriel and then Jack. Gabriel looked frazzled, but he had put some space between the two of them. Jack was straightening his shirt as if nothing had happened. “I’m not hurt.” Assured that they were both whole, Angela dropped her eyes back to the floor before her. Neither looked any worse for wear from what she could tell; hopefully, she had stepped in before any physical damage could be inflicted. Angela knew she had been far too late to defend any of them - herself included - from the psychological blows. “This fighting…” Angela started, voice quiet as she tried to figure out what she wanted to say - and what she could say. “It isn’t helping.” Angela hated to play on their pity, but she could handle it if it kept them from each others throats; the fighting was far worse and would be more than she could bear for long. Besides, it was close enough to what the Angela of before would have said - their fighting really wasn’t helping anything. All the arguing did was make it harder to work towards their common goals; their pride made them nearly impossible to work with some days. Angela wasn’t sure how Ana had managed them for so long, but it was exhausting. “Angela, you don’t understand,” Gabriel said, some of his previous anger tinting his voice. She bit the inside of her cheek and forced herself to remain still; he wasn’t yelling at her. It was fine. Instead, her eyes flashed back to his as anger filled her. “I understand what happened to me far better than you do, Gabriel.” The words were ice-cold despite the tremor in her voice. Gabriels’ jaw clenched against the reminder - as if he wasn’t the one who had started the fight in the first place. “Just,” Angela sighed heavily, the anger leaving her just as quickly as it had come, “please.” The plea in her voice had them both looking away from her shamefully. “Fighting about it will not fix anything.” Angela doubted anything could fix what had happened to her - especially if Gabriel thought she was broken. The two men were silent. Neither was willing to offer a promise of a ceasefire to her, not when they knew it would probably be broken. It was a courtesy they may not have extended to her before, but they both knew she was far too fragile to deal with broken promises on top of her wounded heart. Angela’s shoulders slumped. It had been worth a try, even if she had known it was fruitless. “If you must argue,” Angela muttered darkly as she turned towards the exit, “at least do it where no one can overhear you.” The last thing she wanted was for other people to hear those vicious words Gabriel had snarled at Jack. It was bad enough that she had heard them. “Angela,” Gabriel’s voice stopped her before she could leave the room. “What did you hear?” There was a quiet desperation in his voice. It hadn’t occurred to him until now that she might have heard what he had said. “I heard enough,” Angela replied, voice heavy with far too much emotion. Before he could offer any kind of apology or excuse, Angela stepped through the door and closed it firmly behind her.

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Scarred (Mind and Body)

You claim, “it’s fine” But the heart reveals What smiles betray Your sad sad eyes Gave you away - The Strength to Go On [Rise Against] Angstember Day 10 | Fandom: Overwatch (Pre-Fall) | Angela / Gabriel

AO3 | FF.net | Works

There were no physical wounds left from her time in that cell, though she would have to meet with Dr. Port very soon to deal with the emotional ones. Gloria had quietly confirmed that she wasn’t pregnant during a brief moment when it had just been the two of them; Angela was grateful for the information, even as the reminder made her feel nauseous. With nothing left to keep her with, Gloria had released Angela from the infirmary. Angela was under no illusions that she wouldn’t be heavily watched, to ensure she remained healthy; considering how poorly she had cared for herself before her capture, she could only imagine how much more overbearing they would all become. She could feel their eyes on her even now, as she quickly made her way out of the infirmary. A month ago, Angela would have disappeared into her office for hours until someone dragged her away from her work. The Angela of today made her way to the elevator. It had been hard to stand in the small box as it ascended; being alone, which had once allowed her to work unhindered and to great success, now rendered her breathless and anxious. She abused her position and used her override key to ensure no one joined her - while the presence of another would have relieved her anxiety, she couldn’t bear anyone else to see her so distraught. She let herself into her rooms, her chest tightening painfully as the door shut behind her. Angela knew she was safe. Here, in her rooms, nothing and no one would hurt her - Jack and Gabriel would never allow it. Angela took in a shuddering breath, arms wrapped around her chest, as she tried to calm herself down. Despite her efforts, her anxiety mounted. Even though the room looked nothing like the one she had been held in, being alone had always been the best - and the worst. Never knowing what they were going to do to her next, or even when they were going to do it, had been a hell she would never wish upon anyone. The door had to be dealt with; there was no way she could bear to feel this was for long. Everyone on this floor would have known about her capture; they would have been the ones to help plan her rescue. They also knew these were her rooms, so she wasn’t worried that one of them would wander in unannounced - or even at all, since she wasn’t one for entertaining guests in her rooms. Secure in that knowledge, she’d wedged a book into the door jamb to keep it from closing; it was an unfortunate use for the book, but it forced the door to remain open and relieved the mounting tension in her chest. Angela knew, eventually, she would have to deal with the door in a more appropriate manner, but for now she left it wide open. The sight of a ready escape helped to release the vice around her lungs. But, with the immediate stressor addressed, she discovered another: the silence. No one was on this floor at this hour, so even with the door propped wide open it was overwhelmingly silent. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine she was back in that room - though, at least, she wasn’t bound into a painful position. Without the EKG’s familiar beeping - or even a radio to play static - there was nothing to distract her mind. Angela found a compromise in her bathroom sink; the rush of water was just enough to dispel the oppressive silence that was consuming her. Now she was before her bathroom mirror, twisting to look at herself. She had stripped, her bare skin on display under the cold lights. Her wrists and ankles had matching bands from where the manacles had bit too deep for weeks. Her back was a mess of scars; some were raised flesh while others were simply white lines. The scarring could be worse - she knew that, objectively. If the wounds had been allowed to heal naturally, without the assistance of her healing technology applied by Gloria and her medical staff, her back would have more raised and ropey scars than the less horrific white lines. Angela didn’t know how long she stood there, staring in horror at the permanent reminders of her capture, before Gabriel appeared in the bathroom doorway. Her eyes widened and her arms crossed over her chest reflexively as she turned away, giving him a better view of her back than he’d had before. “Get out,” she choked out - as if he hadn’t seen every inch of her countless times before. As if he hadn’t seen exactly what had happened to her. As if he hadn’t been the one to carry her out of that room. He seemed frozen, eyes wide in surprise. “Please,” Angela whispered shakily. The desperation seemed to break through his shock and he quickly turned away, though he remained where he was in the doorway. “I’m sorry, Angela,” he said. “I thought you were sleeping - I should have let you know I was here.” Quickly, Angela pulled the scrubs that Gloria had given her earlier that day on with trembling hands. Once dressed, she regarded Gabriel’s back warily. “Will--” Angela cleared her throat. “Will you let me out?” He wasn’t quite blocking the door, but she wasn’t ready for that much body contact - didn’t know if she’d ever be ready for such a thing again. “Yes, of course. Sorry.” He took a few steps into the bedroom, standing near the bed to make space for her. The sight gave her pause; clearly he had been sleeping here, based on the rumpled sheets and scattered pillows. Before, that wouldn’t be a problem, but... “Gabriel-- I--” She shifted uncomfortably, arms wrapping around herself as she leaned against the doorframe. “You can’t sleep here.” Angela didn’t look up at him, unable to handle his emotions on top of her declaration. “That’s okay,” he assured her; absurdly, his easy surrender disappointed her. Realistically, Angela expected nothing less: he’d never pushed her before and she knew he wouldn’t now, not after what had happened. “Do you want me to sleep on the couch?” Gabriel asked. “Or do you want me somewhere else completely?” Angela opened her mouth - and then paused. He’d stayed with her last night, nearby but distant, and it had been okay. The EKG had held off the silence, and he’d made sure she wasn’t alone - something she wasn’t sure she could ever comfortably be again. “The couch? If... if that’s okay?” She asked hesitantly, then mentally berated herself; Angela hated this person she’d become. She was supposed to be - had been - a strong person, unflappable and confident. Now, fear overwhelmed her until it stripped away everything she had built over the last decade. “Of course it’s okay.” Gabriel assured her in a gentle voice. “I don’t mind.” He didn’t say he’d stay as long as she needed, because they’d both know it would be a lie. He didn’t belong in Zürich with Overwatch any longer; his duties were in Rome, to Blackwatch. Angela knew it was borrowed time and hated that what had happened to her was the cause of it all. “I...” Angela searched for something to say. She might not have started this conversation - hadn’t even expected it, didn’t really want it - but she would keep it going. It was what the old Angela would do; this new Angela would follow in her wake, to pick up the scattered pieces while pretending she wasn’t broken. She wasn’t. She wasn’t. “How long can you stay?” She settled on finally. There was nothing she could think to say that didn’t circle back to her kidnapping. The sleeping arrangements, his stay, even the small distance between them: all of it was because of the assault. Angela had nothing to say, nothing to give, that wasn’t rooted in her terror and pain - and, although she had hated them in that room, she didn’t want to burden them with that guilt, too. “A few days,” he admitted, clearly unhappy with the length of time. “Maybe a week, but then...” Angela nodded, teeth catching her lower lip as she stared at the ground between them. She found it hard to look at him. It wasn’t from her lingering anger or hatred; no, she didn’t want to see the guilt - or worse, the pity - in his eyes, in his body language. “It... It will be okay, Gabriel,” she said, saying the words that the old Angela would have said despite how they cut at her. It wouldn’t be okay - nothing would be okay ever again - but the old Angela wouldn’t have tried to hold him back or make his life any harder than it had to be. “Nothing about this is okay,” Gabriel snapped. His angry words had her retreating a few steps, back into the bathroom, before she realized she’d even moved. He swore softly under his breath. “Angela, I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to scare you.” Angela glanced towards him briefly, measuring his words against his body language without even intending to; this was Gabriel, not her captor. “I’m not going to hurt you, cariño.” He must have caught the terrified look; of course he did. He always seemed to know what she was thinking and feeling, long before she ever admitted it to him. “You’re safe here. You know that, right?” Angela nodded jerkily; she knew that, at least in the base, no one would hurt her - on purpose, at least. “I--Sorry,” Angela mumbled to the ground as she forced herself to go back to the doorway, to lean against it as she had before he’d frightened her. Gabriel made a harsh noise that had her shrinking down - but not stepping back - defensively. After a moment, which, despite staring at the floor, she knew he had spent running his hands over his head and face, Gabriel managed to compose himself. “Angela,” he started, voice low and rough with his roiling emotions. “Angela, cariño, look at me.” When she hesitated, he added a gentle, “please?” Angela forced her shoulders to relax even as her arms rose to cross over her chest, eyes raising slowly. She took in his stance - purposefully relaxed, hands tucked into his pockets - before meeting his eyes. “Don’t apologize to me, Angela,” he said firmly, once she finally raised her eyes to meet his. It was his eyes that gave him away; he might be trying to put her at ease by looking calm, but his eyes were sharp with anger - not at her, she knew, but what she had been through. “You have nothing to be sorry for, do you hear me?” Angela swallowed hard before nodding once, sharply. That was something else she knew, objectively, but it was so much harder to believe when faced with reality. Silence fell between them, broken only by the soft rush of water to her left. “I have to get back downstairs,” Gabriel said finally, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “Like I said earlier, I thought you were sleeping and was just coming to check on you.” Angela wasn’t sure if it was the truth or if he was just trying to escape the tension that was building between them. Considering it was the middle of the day, he probably did have some obligations that needed to be fulfilled. “That... I understand,” Angela nodded. She, too, had obligations downstairs - but she couldn’t bear to face them as she was now. Her medical work was what had lured her into the trap that had cost her - cost them all - far too much. Angela wouldn’t be able to withstand the sidelong looks and the whispers when she moved just out of earshot on top of it all. “I’ll come back soon,” he promised, slowly edging past the bathroom door so that he could exit the room. “I can bring you something to eat?” He offered, pausing briefly. “That would be nice,” Angela said, trying to be reassuring. She didn’t think she was successful, but he accepted the words all the same. “Alright. Call me if you need anything at all, okay?” Gabriel didn’t move until she nodded her head in silent acknowledgment, if not acceptance. Then, he was reluctantly moving through the open doorways that would lead him back to the elevators, leaving her alone once more. Angela wished he hadn’t left, despite the horrible tension that had built between them - made worse by her reaction to his angry words. Anything was better than being alone. Well, almost anything.

Self Sacrifice | An Angel's Ransom | Broken Chains | Scarrred (Mind and Body)

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Our Tattered Hearts

Another place, another time We toed the same side of the line Yeah we saw eye to eye Even then the saddest sounds Were nothing laughter could not drown But we are not laughing now - Whereabouts Unknown [Rise Against] Angstember Day 5 | Fandom: Overwatch (Post-Fall) | Angela / Gabriel

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“Are you planning on answering the recall?” Angela stiffened briefly, surprise and fear coursing through her as she realized she wasn’t alone, before relaxing. She knew that voice. It shouldn’t comfort her, knowing that it was the Reaper speaking to her. But it was Gabriel that was under that mask, and he would never hurt her. Physically, at least. He had destroyed her heart and her home nearly five years ago. He had murdered countless people, to her dismay and horror, and showed no sign of stopping. He was a monster that was wanted across the world - and yet she wasn’t worried about death at his hands. “Possibly,” Angela answered, turning to look at him. He was standing with his back pressed against the office door, ensuring no one would enter - that no one would see the prestigious Mercy was meeting with a wanted serial killer. “You shouldn’t.” He rumbled, arms crossing over his chest in a deliberate motion meant to intimidate her. Angela simply raised one eyebrow. “Why not?” Angela had been considering the idea of returning for the past few days. It wasn’t a decision to be made lightly - especially not for someone like her. She might not have ever been in the spotlight, but she had always been there on the edges. Angela was one of the last members of Overwatch that had been a power. The rest were dead, killed at the hands of the man before her - either during the rebellion in Zürich or afterwards, when he’d torn them to pieces as the Reaper. “If you join Overwatch, I’ll be your enemy.” That sent a shiver of fear down her spine, though she did her best to hide it. Angela doubted she was successful; he knew how to read her better than anyone in the world. “Aren’t we enemies already?” Angela asked, voice quiet as she stared up at the masked man. Ever since Zürich base had been destroyed, they had stood on opposite sides. These little secret meetings didn’t change that - didn’t change that he was killing ruthlessly while she was desperately trying to save lives. It didn’t change the fact that he was the Reaper - and she was Mercy. “Not like we would be.” Gabriel growled. “If you join Overwatch, I won’t show you mercy.” Her eyes widened slightly, and Angela leaned back as she took in his threat. It had been a long time since she had felt true fear, and it left her struggling to force it back down. They were friends - kind of. Angela had refused to take him back as her lover. No matter who he had once been, he was now a mass murderer; his hands were covered with too much innocent blood for her to ever be willing to climb into a bed with him. It was hard enough seeing him like this - but she couldn’t bring herself to ask him to stay away. She knew if she told somebody - Cassidy, Reinhardt, Tracer - they would find a way to put a stop to it, but she had remained silent. It was a dark secret she held away from the world, but she couldn’t help herself. It was Gabriel. Angela wasn’t sure why she let these visits continue; she knew they were wrong. Perhaps it was the remains of the love she held for the man he once was; perhaps she hoped he could be redeemed somehow. She certainly didn’t know why he kept coming back. Maybe he was hoping she would change her mind, or he just wanted someone from his past - to have something kind, good, in his life. “You would kill me?” Somehow, she managed to keep her voice steady, even if it was far too quiet for her liking. He was right - they had never been enemies like that. He wasn’t safe, but he wasn’t dangerous to her, either. At least, he hadn’t been until now. “Only if you join Overwatch.” He let that threat hang ominously. Once the silence had grown between them, his arms dropped to his sides, hands clenched into fists. “Please, Angela,” he said, turning away. “Don’t make me kill you.” Before she could say anything in response, he left in a whirl of smoke.

Credit to @creativepromptsforwriting for the title. She has so many good ones and I love it. This piece is not connected to any others, though the general fanon of Forged can be applied here.

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Confrontation

When life takes its own course Sometimes we just don’t get to choose I’d rather be there next to you - Already Home [A Great Big World] Angstember Day 3 & Soulmate AU Prompt 7 | Fandom: Overwatch (Pre-Fall) | Angela / Cassidy

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Angela’s hands stilled as the door opened. She knew the hour was late - far later than was healthy, but she couldn’t help herself - so no one should even be on this floor, much less entering her office. With Ana dead and Jack with his hands full of Overwatch and Gabriel, it was rare that anyone spared a thought to their overworked Medical Director. “Ange.” The familiar voice had her relaxing, even as confusion rushed through her. Cole was supposed to be in Rome, with Blackwatch. He’d always called ahead to make sure she was in the base before his visits. That he should appear now, in the middle of the night and without any forewarning, changed that confusion to concern. “Cole?” Angela’s greeting was more a question than anything else, empty of the normal warmth. She turned to look at him; her concern ramped up even higher when she took in his dark face and lack of uniform. Angela had seen him out of uniform - out of everything - but it was rare that he would walk the halls of Overwatch without it. “What is going on?” She asked worriedly as he let the door close behind him and crossed the room. “Is ever-- ” Before she could finish the question, his hands were cupping her cheeks and he was crashing his lips to hers in a desperate kiss. Angela staggered slightly; the only things that kept her upright were the desk at her backside and one of his hands, which shifted from her face to wrap around her waist steadyingly. When Cole finally pulled away, pressing his forehead against hers, they were both panting and breathless. While his greeting had been nice - more than nice - it hadn’t distracted her longer than the action had lasted. As she regained herself, Cole tightened his hold around her so that she couldn’t pull away. Just like the kiss, the motion was desperate, and that made her hesitate to make any attempt to move. “Cole?” Her voice was far smaller than she wanted it to be, but she had no bravado for whatever this was. “Cole, please. What is going on?” Concern was edging into panic - or, at least, as close to panic as she’d ever been outside of life-threatening circumstances. “‘m leavin’.” Cole finally says. The words stun her into complete stillness for a moment, then she’s pushing against his grip so that she can see his face. With obvious reluctance, Cole releases her enough that she can lean back - but he doesn’t let her move out of his reach. “Leaving?” Angela echoes, as if she didn’t know what the word meant. “Blackwatch?” He couldn’t mean her; they were soulmates. Leaving her - leaving him - would be like cutting off a limb. He had some experience with that, so Angela doubted he’d be ready for such a loss again. “Yeah.” The word is heavy with defeat and anger. “Blackwatch - Reyes - ain’t what it used t’be, and it hasn’ been for a long while.” Angela knew things had been getting bad - between Cole’s complaints to her in private and the very obvious dissention between Jack and Gabriel, it was hard not to know - but she hadn’t thought it would come to this. “I can’t - won’t - stay. I already did this once, with Deadlock. I ain’ doin’ it again.” That he would compare Blackwatch to his previous gang was telling; though both were unscrupulous in ways that Angela was uncomfortable with, Blackwatch at least had been working towards Overwatch’s goals. That he’d liken the two now meant they were far more similar than they should be. “Come with me.” Angela froze in surprise, heart pounding so loudly she was certain he could hear it. She should have seen this coming the moment he’d said he was leaving. Hadn’t she thought that leaving each other would be far more painful than would - should - be bearable? “You could stay,” she countered weakly, eyes dropping towards the ground. She knew he would have considered the choice already; despite popular opinion, she knew Cole was intelligent. He would never leave without weighing his options and creating a plan - it would be impossible to evade Blackwatch without one. That he hadn’t offered or asked meant he’d already tossed it aside - but she had to try anyway. “Join Overwatch instead. I know Jack would be happy to take you in.” Even if it were just to dig at Gabriel - which wouldn’t be the only, or even nearly the most important, reason - Angela knew it to be true. Cole was one of the best that Blackwatch had to offer, in more ways than one. “Ange, you don’ understand,” he retorts, voice low. His hands shifted to grab her arms in a grip just short of painful, causing her eyes to fly back up towards his face. “Reyes is about t’blow. I don’ know when - or even how - but he’s gonna snap.” The desperation that had fueled his actions now bled into his voice. “It’s gonna get real bad, darlin’. You’ve gotta get out while you still can.” Even as he asked, she could see the resignation in his face: they both knew what her answer would be, long before they’d reached this crossroad. It was what made her Dr. Ziegler, renowned across the world. It was what made her Mercy. “If this is true,” Angela countered, neatly avoiding telling him ‘no’ while she still could, “why not bring this to Jack?” She was in no position to act on this information, meager as it was; her power began and ended with medicine. Cole laughed, a cold and mirthless sound. “He ain’ listenin’ t’anyone but himself. Hasn’t since Ana died.” Angela bit back a retort; as much as she wanted to defend her friend, she couldn’t refute the truth of Cole’s words. “If he did, maybe things between him an’ Reyes might not’ve gone this bad.” Angela made to reply, but he must have seen the argument on her face because he swiftly cut her off. “I don’t got any proof, Angela - nothin’ but a bad feelin’ that’s only gettin’ worse.” His lips twisted in a grimace at the admission, but he didn’t stop. “With how bad things’ve been these days between Overwatch and Blackwatch, Jack’ll just blow it off as talk - you know he will.” The worst part was that she did know. “If danger is coming, Cole,” Angela says slowly, returning to the point of the conversation, “I cannot simply leave.” The words are heavy and painful, but she says them nonetheless. “My duty is here - I must protect my people.” She wanted to duck her head, but she forced herself to meet his eyes instead. “You’re gonna get killed!” Cole exploded, fingers tightening painfully in emphasis. Angela winced, both at the sudden volume and at the pain. He released her swiftly with a murmured apology, hands held aloft as if in surrender. Angela shook her head, brushing off the apology as unnecessary - because she knew it had been unintentional; he’d sooner jump in front of a car than see her harmed, especially by his own hand. “I could be killed on any mission; this is no different.” Her voice is quiet and shaky, a stark contrast to his shout. “I love you, Cole. You know I do.” It had taken a long time - far too long - to get to this point, of open conversation and painful honesty; he knew the truth of her words - all of them. He had known before he’d come to her tonight. She’d seen it in his face. “But I cannot go with you.” The words weighed heavily on her heart and soul as she blinked back the tears and tightness in her throat. “My duty is here, with Overwatch.” She could not leave them, not with the terrible knowledge that something horrible was on the horizon. “Haven’ you done more than enough?” Cole demanded angrily, arms crossing as he leaned away from her. She had hurt him, as she too often did - and just as always, she knew how to fix it even as she was incapable of doing so. “You’ve half killed yourself, wearin’ yourself out in the labs and on missions. Hell,” he scoffed, “you’ve saved prob’ly every Overwatch agent - and half of Blackwatch, too - at least once, either in the field or in surgery.” Though it was probably true, and admirable at that, Angela felt like he was insulting her. “When does it end?” His voice had risen throughout his tirade so that he was nearly shouting the last words. Angela took a breath, steadying herself. She knew she was shattering his heart just as she was her own - but she would never allow personal wants to come between her and the lives of others. It was the sacrifice she had made - would always make; it was her promise, her duty, her burden. She just hated that Cole was forced to bear the weight of her decisions - that her sacrifices affected him just as much as it did her. It wasn’t fair or right, but neither was the blood that stained both of their hands. “It never does.” Her voice was still a stark juxtaposition to his own. “War never ends, Cole. There will always be a need for medicine - for me, for my skills.” There was no cockiness to her words; everything she said was rooted in pure fact. Angela had changed the course of medicine in countless ways, and she was barely in her thirties. “It would be irresponsible - it would cost lives - if I were to stop.” How could she leave if it meant others would die? “You’re not a god, Angela!” He snarled, fear for her and pain at her denial twisting into anger. “You can’t save everyone!” She winced at the reminder - even though death was natural, she hated every life that she lost. “I know that,” Angela replied firmly. She had known that truth long before she had met him. “But Overwatch allows me to save the most lives possible - far more than any other hospital or organization ever could.” Angela knew she would be welcome anywhere there were medical facilities, but the facts were that Overwatch had a world-wide reach none other could match. “Please, Cole,” Angela begged, voice breaking, “try to understand.” She knew, even after all this time, he didn’t understand her overwhelming need to heal and save others. That wasn’t to say he wasn’t a good man - he did what he could to help others - but he didn’t have the same drive towards aid that she did. Angela didn’t hold it against him; very few could match her resolve in this area. “You’re gonna kill yourself, darlin’.” Cole growled after a long silence. “Assumin’ that this thing between the Commanders don’t first.” With those bleak words, he turned and stormed out of her office. Angela followed quickly, voice desperate as she called after him - but he didn’t stop. He didn’t even pause in his stride. Angela knew she could catch him; the elevator probably wasn’t on this level any longer, after all. But, as he disappeared around the corner, she realized that it wouldn’t make a difference. In the end, she would stay, and he would leave. Heartbroken, Angela staggered back into her office and struggled to collect herself. Once she was certain she could contain her tears, she pulled her communicator out of her pocket to dial a number. Despite the late hour, it only rang twice before it was answered. “Jack?” Angela’s voice was unsteady, so she cleared her throat. “I apologize for the late hour, but I really must speak with you right away.” If this was going to cost her Cole - her soulmate - the least it could cost Jack was a couple hours of sleep. “Do you want me to come up to your rooms, or would you rather come to my office?”

Connection | Recovery | Confrontation

Hello again, my darlings. I intended to post this much later, after I'd written more scenes between this and the previous one (Recovery), but the prompt for today was too perfect for this scene. I'll make my edits accordingly, as those are posted. I'll be restructuring my Works page in the next few weeks, so that it is more easy to see which stories are linked together - such as Angel's Ransom and this series (which I'm calling Voices, original I know). (Hopefully, with angstember and whumptober, I will post more organically during that time as well, but we all know how cooperative my muse has been).

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Forgive Me (I’m Unforgivable)

Of all the things we will remember The good, the bad, and all the blessings in disguise Today will stick with me forever Even if we have to say goodbye - Where Does the Time Go? [A Great Big World] Prompts 4 & 25 and Prompts 28 & 47 | Overwatch (Pre-Fall) | Angela Ziegler / Gabriel Reyes

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“We can’t keep doing this, Angela,” Gabriel snapped. Something about his tone, about the way he was pacing around the room, made Angela pay very close attention. They’d argued before - of course they had, because she had a stubborn streak a mile wide and he was more protective than a mother bear with its cubs - but this felt different. “You have to choose: Overwatch - or me.” Angela stiffened, hands curling into fists in her lap as she fought the urge to cross them defensively across her chest. They’d had this discussion - or one very similar to it - countless times before; he took great offense that she was a member of the organization that had forced him into the shadows. That she wouldn’t join him - as if she had any business in Blackwatch, gathering intelligence and doing covert ops. No, she was where she needed to be, whether he liked it or not. But this - he had never made it into an ultimatum. He had never made her choose before, between him and the organization that she’d been a part of for nearly a decade. It had never mattered so badly to him as it appeared to now - not even when they had first gotten together, had realized they were soulmates. All he had ever wanted was her: safe, whole, and under his protection in the shadows of Blackwatch. “Gabriel, please,” Angela begged. Begged out of desperation, because she knew what her answer was - knew it before the words had even left his mouth - and it was the wrong one. “Please, do not make me do this.” Because, if he forced her hand, they would be driven apart. And it would be her fault. “Choose.” He’d stopped pacing, eyes hard as he stared at her from across the room. She could tell, from the way he stood and the way he looked at her, that he knew. He already knew what choice she would make, but he was going to make her say it anyway. He was going to force her to break them. Angela looked at him, the man who was her soulmate. It had taken years for her to learn what he seemed to know instinctively, but she could read him nearly as well as he could read her. There was a deep anger there - not surprising, considering how long he’d been raging against Overwatch. But at the edges was desperation, and that was surprising. Gabriel was not a desperate man. He was confident and cocky. That he would be desperate now, when he was forcing this ultimatum upon her, told her that there was more to this. But she also knew, by the stubborn jut of his chin and his arms crossed over his chest, that he wouldn’t tell her what the real reason for this demand was. Without that answer, without that knowledge, she was left floundering in the dark. Angela considered choosing him, at least until she could figure out why this was so important - but she never purposefully lied. At least, not about anything of any consequence. And she had always known, deep down, what her choice would be. “Overwatch.” Angela made her choice reluctantly, but not uncertainly. It hadn’t taken her even a moment to choose Overwatch over Gabriel - her soulmate - and that struck her as surprising, too. Shouldn’t there have been at least a little hesitation? But no, the choice to stay with Overwatch felt right, while the thought of leaving with Blackwatch did not. It should be wrong, refusing her soulmate like this, but it wasn’t - and she didn’t know what to make of it. Gabriel clearly didn’t either. He didn’t appear surprised by her answer, though she could see the hurt easily enough. He opened his mouth as if to say something - but in the end, what was there to say? With Overwatch between them, forced there by his hand and kept there by hers, they would forever be at odds. Instead, he closed his mouth and nodded once. Then, he turned on his heel and stormed out of her rooms - and out of her life. She knew he would never forgive her for putting her duties over him, just like she would never forgive him for forcing her to choose. But one day in the future, when whatever this was had blown over, perhaps they could move past it. It had hurt her to hurt him. She had gone to bed with bitter tears and an aching heart, but her resolution never wavered. Soulmate or not, Overwatch was her home and her life. That didn’t ease the pain at all.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

As noted above, this is a soulmate AU that will, eventually, be a mixture of four different prompts. Not everything is exact, but I've got aspects of all of them planned out for these various chapters. To leave some surprise, I will be tagging as I go rather than ahead of time (similarly to how I published Breaking [My Heart]). I’ll link the posts together as they come. The credit for the title goes to creativepromptsforwriting. A lot of titles she's created have also helped inspire me, so you'll see her name pop up often in these notes as I credit her! Unlike previous stories, I'm planning on mostly posting one scene at a time rather than full chapters. This is partially because I want to post, but mostly because I really, really like the titles lol.

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Battlefield Snippet [WIP]

Meet me on the battlefield, Even on the darkest night. I will be your sword & shield, your camouflage— And you will be mine. -Battlefield [SVRCINA] Whumpas In July: Day 24 “I can’t” | Fandom: Overwatch (Pre-Fall) | Angela / Gabriel | No TW

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“I—” Angela chokes again, breaking off with a heavy, shuddering breath. Her head whips back and forth sharply, before she realizes that he can’t actually see her. “I… I can’t.” The words stumble out as she tightens her grip around her legs until she’s shaking. “Can’t?” Gabriel echoes quietly, but it sounds more like he’s speaking to himself than her, so she remains quiet. Even if he had been addressing her, she didn’t have a response for him. Angela wasn’t even sure she could have responded through the tightness in her chest. The bed shifted as he slowly made his way to her side again. His hands carefully slide along the bed to find her. When his fingers brushed against her, Angela jumped and he paused for a moment. Before she knows it, he’s moved her. He settled her between his legs, her back pressed to his chest and just holds her. After awhile, the familiar sound of his breathing and the comforting warmth of his body ease the tension enough that she’s no longer trembling. Slowly, her arms slip from her legs and they stretch out before her again. “Normally,” he murmurs softly, “you tell me you don’t want to talk. You tell me not to push, and I don’t.” He sighs, his warm breath stirring her hair slightly. “I know you’ll tell me when you’re ready; you always do.” Gabriel’s arms tighten around her. “But ‘can’t’. That’s not a word you use, not for this sort of thing.” Angela hadn’t realized he’d paid that much attention; she hadn’t, and she had been the one speaking.

This is another small bit from one of my “Battlefield” SVRCINA songfic. I’ve still not been able to figure out how to wrap this up, mostly because I’ve worked like 60 hours on my feet this week :(. Hopefully I can get some work done on something this week since I don’t have as many hours scheduled.

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Warmth

Bring me home in a blinding dream Through the secrets that I have seen Wash the sorrow from off my skin Show me how to be whole again - Castle of Glass [Linkin Park] Whumpas In July: Day 12 [Warmth] | Fandom: Overwatch (Post-Fall) | TW: Injury, Violence, Torture

AO3 | FF.net | Works

Once more, she was in that room. They’d stripped her of her clothes and bandages. Surprisingly, she found that the lack of clothing more distressing than the removal of the brace on her knee. Of course, she had expected to be returned here; it wasn’t Gabriel, but the Reaper, that had pulled her down from those chains after all. Angela just wished that she had been given more time away from this room; she didn’t think she had the strength to endure for much longer. “Well, well, look who’s here.” Three familiar sets of footsteps approached, as they always did. Angela listened as they moved to their familiar places - and frowned. The one that stood behind her, the one who normally held the whip, was farther to her right than was usual; he wasn’t even behind her. She’d had enough experience to know exactly where that position was. “Tell us about your biotic tech, doctor.” The speaker demanded, surprising her; normally the questions started at Overwatch, but he had skipped ahead. Angela remained silent as she always did; she wouldn’t give them what they wanted. Angela heard the whipper exhale in exertion, a normal sound when he was bringing the lash down hard on her back, but he was too far away to expect to hit her. Then, the sound of the whip meeting flesh - but she felt no pain. Finally, a soft grunt of pain. Ice, colder than anything they’d thrown upon her yet, filled her veins as she realized there was a second captive in the room with her. “Well, doctor?” This time the title was said mockingly. Angela’s heart wrenched; her silence was only creating wounds on the other person - whoever it was they had captured. The one sound, quiet and unexpected, had not been enough for her to determine who it was. Another lash, but this time the other captive was silent. “You’re the one in control here,” the speaker explained, as if she had any sort of control from these chains. “All you have to do is speak, and this will be over.” Angela bowed her head instead, despair filling her. A third lash was followed quickly by a fourth, eliciting another sound of pain. Angela flinched at the noise; she knew exactly what that felt like. “Come now, doctor; don’t you want to save your friend?” Angela wasn’t surprised that it was someone she knew, though a stranger would have given them similar results. She tried to ignore the speaker and the other captive, but it was impossible. “Turn off the lights,” the speaker ordered to one of the others after the tenth lash. “Let the doctor see what her silence has bought.” As the blinding lights faded away, her head was yanked back roughly. “Go ahead, doctor,” the speaker growled into her ear. “Look.” Angela couldn’t help herself; she had to look. She had to know who it was and how badly they had been hurt. She knew it would do her no good, that it would only bring her pain, but she had to know. Just as she had feared in that clearing, Cole Cassidy was strung up in the cell with her. She had been used as bait to trap the cowboy, and now they were both paying the price for her silence. Though she couldn’t see his wounds, Angela could see the blood that dotted the floor around him. “Now,” the speaker said, “about those biotics, doctor.” Shame washed through her. Angela’s eyes flew to Cole’s and was unsurprised at the harsh resolve in his eyes; he expected her silence and was already prepared to endure it. Now, she had to as well.

---

As Angela woke up again, her despair choked and overwhelmed her. Silent sobs wracked her body as she wept for all that she had endured and all that was yet to come. It took Angela several aching minutes to realize that she was no longer in chains - nor even on the hard, unrelenting concrete. She was on something soft, enveloped in what could only be blankets that did nothing to remove the icy cold of that horrible room. It took even longer to calm down enough to realize someone was talking to her in a soothing voice. Finally, once she managed to stop crying and was breathing raggedly, Angela turned to see Cole at her bedside. “There, now,” he said as her eyes filled again, “you’re safe. No one’s gonna hurt you anymore.” But her tears weren’t for her. “I-I’m sorry, Cole,” Angela choked out. “You — I should have — I didn’t — I had to,” Angela babbled, working herself up once more as he stared at her in confusion. “You don’t have anything to apologize t’me for, Angela,” Cole assured her roughly. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I shoulda found you, got you out of that place.” Now it was Angela’s turn to be confused. “But—” Her eyes searched his face, but she couldn’t see any trace of the pain that had been there the last time she’d seen him. “You—” Angela took a shuddering breath. “W-Were you—” Angela choked, shaking hands scrubbing at her face before she tried again. “Did they—” Again, words failed her as guilt knotted in her throat. Finally, she managed a strangled: “Are you okay?” Cole looked surprised. “I’m pretty sure that’s what I’m supposed to ask you, darlin’,” he said slowly, clearly confused. Still, the panic on her face was enough to goad him into answering her question. “Yeah, Ange, ‘m fine.” Angela’s eyes shifted from him briefly to take in the room around them. It was absolutely nothing like her concrete cell, nor was it the bedroom she had spent several days in. It was completely foreign to her; surely she couldn’t imagine a room she’d never seen before, right? “I-It,” she whispered, “It wasn’t—real?” Her eyes turned back to Cole, who still looked confused. “It—” Cole cut himself off with a harsh noise. “You were kidnapped, Angela.” He finally said, as if could have possibly forgotten that. “I kn-know that,” she stammered out, forcing back memories she didn’t want to relive ever again. “But — you. Were you there?” The words were barely intelligible as she forced them out, but she could tell he understood. “Oh. Oh.” Cole was quick to shake his head, hands raising slightly in negation. “No, Angela. No, I wasn’t there. Not once - never.” Angela let out a shaky breath. Relief washed away the tension in her body, leaving her trembling. It hadn’t been real; he was fine. It wasn’t until a warm cloth was draped over her that she realized her teeth were chattering. She was freezing, just as if she had just been in that cell. “I’ll be right back,” Cole said, now standing and stripped of his serape - which was what the warm cloth was, she realized. Her fingers twisted in the rough, red cloth as he turned towards the door. “I’m gonna get more blankets for you.” A strangled sound, more fear than anything else, made him pause and look over his shoulder. “Alright,” he drawled after a long moment of silence; she hadn’t been able to force a single word past her lips. “I’ll have Lena do it, instead,” Cole assured her as he settled back into the chair. It didn’t take long for Lena to arrive, arms bundled with so many blankets that it was impossible to see her head - but by then, her teeth had stopped chattering and her heart had stopped aching.

A little late for the 12th, but here it is anyways! This is set shortly after the final scene of Breaking: My Heart. I don’t know if it’ll make the actual sequel, but all I could think of when I saw the prompt was the sharp juxtaposition between the cell and her recovery bed. I almost had her have a panic attack in the shower, but I wasn’t really sure who to put with her in that scenario — so here’s the next best thing.

[brighteyewrites]

[WIP] Battlefield Snippet

Echos of the shots ring out We may be the first to fall Everything could stay the same or we could change it all Meet me on the battlefield - Battlefield [SVRCINA] Whumpas In July: Day 10 [Post a Snippet of Something You're working On] | Fandom: Overwatch (Pre-Fall) | Angela / Gabriel | TW: Injury, Violence, Death

AO3 | FF.net | Works

Time slowed as Angela realized that this was it. Angela knew her duty - she lived for her duty. With Jameson still unconscious and no one else around, his safety was her responsibility. She was the only thing left to keep Jameson alive - and for once, it wasn’t because of her medical prowess. She’d trained for this - hours and hours and hours had been spent on simulations for exactly this situation. Her hands moved of their own volition; she had to protect him, to keep him alive - that was her job. The staff was gone, dropped as if it weren’t a one-of-a-kind, expensive, tool. Angela didn’t hear the staff land over her roaring heart, but the attacker did. As she drew her blaster, hands just as steady as they were in a surgical theater, the man turned in surprise. Her finger squeezed the trigger. For a moment, she forgot. Forgot her training. Forgot that this was what she risked every time she went into the field. Forgot that she was the cold Dr. Ziegler. Forgot that she was the unflappable Mercy. Forgot her calm facade. Forgot everything as she stared at the man before her in mounting horror. In this moment, she was only Angela. Her throat was too tight, forcing her breaths to come in desperate pants despite her burning lungs. Angelas’ fingers were numb, hands empty again. Her eyes were wide with the emotion that threatened to overwhelm her. Blood was rushing in her ears, making it impossible to hear anything around her. Distantly, she thought she was shaking. Then, the man fell to his knees, and the moment passed.

I meant to post much earlier for this event, but I got busy with life :(. This is a scene from a songfic I’ve been working on as I can, based around the song Battlefield by SVRCINA. The first half is mostly finished; I’ve just got to figure out how to wrap it up. I have the major plot points of the second half noted, but I have to actually write it >>;. For a brief intro [Day One], I’m Brighteye - or Bright for short. I use she / her pronouns. Unlike many of the creators I’ve seen and that I follow, most have OC’s where I do fanfiction for Overwatch. I find it hard to create my own characters, so instead I like to explore the personalities of established characters. I find whump really interesting from a psychological point of view. I wrote my series Breaking: My Heart for the November NaNoWriMo challenge because I wanted to explore Angela’s personality pitted against torture. Honestly, I like to explore Angela’s personality in any scenario that’s particularly distressing, because that is interesting to me. Everyone reacts differently to stress and crises; I enjoy delving into the various reactions and the repercussions of them. I love seeing these various events but I never get to participate much; hopefully for this one I can be more active!