This is for @foolsdiamond for the @owfemslashexchange! I did deviate from your prompt at bit, but hopefully you still enjoy it. :)
Angela looked up from her work for what seemed like the thousandth time tonight. The wall clock read “TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 10, 2065. 1:57 AM” in neon red letters. Had it really only been two minutes since she last checked? She sighed, absentmindedly running a hand through her hair and gazing around her tiny, cluttered office space. She liked it well enough, but the faint buzzing of the radiator, the musty smell, and the utter lack of free space on her desk made it intensely hard to concentrate - though it have also had something to do with the six cups of coffee she’d drunk since 8:30. Regardless, something had to change if she ever hoped to get these medical reports filled out by noon tomorrow; she’d been working for hours and barely had half of them done.
Sighing again, Angela scooped up her stack of reports and, through some clever maneuvering, managed to get the door to her office open without spilling her papers everywhere. She wasn’t sure where she was going yet, but she was desperate for a change of scenery.
Overwatch’s headquarters were strikingly different at night; she’d had plenty of late nights, but all of those had been spent in her office or working with someone else, so she’d never seen the base proper at this hour. Only one in every three lights in the hallway outside her office were lit, and the clack of her heels as she walked was the only thing that broke the silence. It was… unnerving, to say the least. Angela kept expecting something to jump out at her from one of the offices. She knew logically that she may very well be the only human in this building right now, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of formless unease lodged in the pit of her stomach.
Finally, after several minutes of aimless walking, she ended up in the cafeteria. The automatic lights flickered to life, painting the giant room in cold fluorescent light. Angela rarely spent any time in here, preferring to eat in her office so she could continue to work. Occasionally, she forgot about lunch entirely and was forced to sheepishly ask the cooks for leftovers or contend with a growling stomach until she went home. Smirking at the thought, she picked a table in the center of the room and sat, spreading her massive pile of reports across its surface.
Working out here was a bit nerve-wracking, to be sure, what with vast emptiness all around her and the utter silence, broken only by the sound of her scribbling. However, after a bit of time to adjust, Angela finally relaxed and settled into the rhythm of her work. All this space… she could finally breathe.
Angela gasped and whipped around, clutching her chest. Her panic turned to relief when she saw who it was.
“Goodness, Moira, you nearly gave me a heart attack!”
Moira O’Deorain stood in front of her, clad in similar clothing to Angela, clutching several folders to her chest. She towered over Angela, smiling faintly, and said, “Apologies, Dr. Ziegler. That was not my intention. I’m surprised to find someone else still here.”
“I am too,” Angela replied, returning the smile, though she was still fighting to breathe normally again. “It was so quiet for so long, I’d just assumed that everyone left.”
“I as well,” Moira said. She glanced at the sprawl that Mercy had created, smirking. “It seems that you had the same idea I did. My office was getting rather too same-y for my taste. Do you mind if I join you?”
“Oh!” Angela hadn’t been expecting that. “I, uh…” she hesitated, then forced her face into what she hoped was a convincing casual expression. “Why, not at all. Please, sit wherever you like. As long as you allow me to finish what I need to, of course.” She finished the last sentence with a little half-grin.
“Certainly,” Moira replied, and took a seat across and a little off to the side from where Angela sat, spreading her own work out in front of her while saying, “I have plenty of work to do myself.” Unlike Angela, whose papers were crumpled and disorganized, Moira had not managed to keep every last sheet immaculate, but had organized each and every one of them into color-coded folders. Mercy smiled faintly and returned to her work, but soon found herself distracted by the woman working near her.
Moira had been a member of Overwatch for several years, over twice as long as Angela had. A fellow member of Overwatch’s science division as well as one of its most senior members, Moira specialized in genetics, while Angela’s area of expertise was applied nanobiology. Angela had read some of her papers before joining Overwatch and found her findings interesting, if somewhat unconventional, but when she had made attempts to discuss these papers with fellow scientists who were not European, very few had heard of Moira. It seemed that she was relatively unknown outside the European sphere.
Angela’s first meeting with Moira had been… awkward, to say the least. It had been her first day on the job, and she was being shown around by Winston when they had entered the lab where Moira was working. It had taken five attempts from Winston to get her to acknowledge them, after which point she whipped around and snarled a barely contained “What the hell do you want, Winston?”
Winston didn’t seem fazed, but it had taken Angela slightly aback. “Nice to see you too, Dr. O’Deorain. This,” he said, gesturing to Angela, “is Dr. Angela Ziegler. You may be familiar with her recent work in applied nanobiology. She pioneered -”
“I know who she is, Winston,” Moira said, rolling her eyes. “I’m sure the entire division knows. Command was oh so eager to let us know about her. The child prodigy, coming to lead us peons to greatness. If you’re going to interrupt my work, have it be with something worth my time.” She gave Angela a quick once-over with those piercing eyes of hers before smirking and turning back to her work, leaving Angela confused, offended, and… flustered?
Interactions between them after that point had been very limited, as they rarely worked directly together. Moira was always polite and spoke calmly, but Angela always got the feeling that Moira would rather not be speaking with her, despite not having done anything to offend her personally, as far as she knew. Nevertheless, Angela was intrigued. Casual investigation into the type of person she was led her to find out that Moira was a woman of incredible ambition, and was noticeably chafing under Overwatch’s restrictions. Several of her proposals had been rejected by the board, and she had once even gotten into a shouting match with one of the board members, calling him a short-sighted fool. She had since then mostly been a part of other people’s projects, which many people said she was dreadfully displeased with. Rumor had it that she was using what little resources she had to work on something entirely on her own, but there was not enough evidence to say anything definitively either way.
Though they rarely interacted, Angela occasionally thought herself thinking about Moira at inopportune moments or absentmindedly staring at her across the conference room. Despite everything, Moira had a certain… presence about her that Angela felt inexplicably drawn towards. Not to mention that she was quite striking…
She snapped back to reality. “Yes?”
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Moira sounded vaguely annoyed.
Angela felt her face heat up. “Oh! My apologies, Moira. I was… lost in thought.”
Moira frowned at this. “It’s Dr. O’Deorain, Dr. Ziegler. We are not friends.” She then seemed to realize what she had said, and her face softened slightly. “Er, not to be rude, of course, but I don’t feel comfortable being on a first-name basis with you, given the non-platonic nature of our relationship.”
Angela raised her eyebrow. “Not even when we’re not technically on the job? There’s no pressure here to refer to anyone by their honorifics, and we’re both doctors anyway.”
“Yes, I know, I just…” Moira struggled to find the words. “Would really prefer not to speak with you like that. It doesn’t sit right.”
“I see,” Angela said, frowning. “I’ll do my best to respect that.”
They were silent for a while. Angela struggled to return to her work, but now her concentration had been shaken. She kept glancing up at Moira, who seemed to be working as normal, and wondering why she couldn’t do the same. Their interaction had been ultimately inconsequential, and yet…
Moira shifted her gaze to briefly rest on Mercy. “I thought you said you wanted quiet, Dr. Ziegler.”
“Yes, well, you’re right, I had, but… I was wondering if you wanted to… chat.”
Moira raised her eyebrow. “And what brought about this sudden desire to chat?”
“Well, you said that you were uncomfortable using first names with me, so I thought I’d offer to make you a bit more comfortable.” Angela offered her most pleasant smile.
A trace of… something passed across Moira’s face, and she gave a small smile. That was a rare occurrence, though certainly not unwelcome. “I appreciate the offer, Dr. Ziegler, but I don’t believe we’d have much to talk about.”
“Well, I’d wholeheartedly disagree! We know very little about one another, after all. We could talk about our work, office gossip, our favorite books… anything, really.”
“Ah,” Moira said, looking lost in thought for a moment. “In that case… what is your… I don’t know, favorite type of cookie?”
That one was easy. “Double chocolate chip,” Angela replied instantly. “And you?”
Angela had to laugh for a moment. “Really? Out of all the savory, chocolate- and/or nutty pieces of heaven available out there, you choose oatmeal raisin as your favorite cookie?”
Moira seemed concerned. “I don’t see the issue with oatmeal raisin. They are utterly delectable when done right, and offer fewer calories than most any chocolate- or nut-flavored cookie.”
“I know, I know,” Angela said, still smiling. “I was only teasing. Tell me a little about yourself. What got you interested in Overwatch?”
Moira’s faced morphed into a scowl. “Incorrect assumptions about the nature of the organization,” she said, her voice laced with contempt. “I’d assumed that working for Overwatch would lend me the freedom and resources to pursue my goals, but I have been met with nothing but rejection. They’re so afraid of progress, and it’s sickening.”
Angela was slightly taken aback. She’d heard that Moira was unhappy with Overwatch’s policies, but… “Why do you say that? Seven proposals from multiple fields have been approved in just the last two months.”
“Oh, please,” Moira said, snorting. “I read some of those proposals, you know, and they’re every single one of them a waste of money. When was the last time anyone seriously cared about any of the things they approved? The forties? Unbelievable.” Moira got a strange glint in her eye, and her speech lost some of her signature detached politeness. “There is so much within our own DNA that we have left to discover, that I have left to discover, and the idiots on the board can’t see that by blocking me, by giving me scraps if anything at all, they stand in the way of true progress. If they would only listen to me-”
“Dr. O’Deorain, calm yourself!” Angela cried, slightly alarmed. “The board is full of very qualified members, and I’m sure that they’re trying very hard to allocate funds evenly for every field. I’ve personally never had trouble receiving money for any of my research-”
Moira burst out laughing at this. It would have been a beautiful sound if it weren’t so devoid of mirth. “Oh, is that right? Dr. Angela Ziegler, Overwatch’s famous wunderkind, has no issues finding funding? What a novel concept.” The smile suddenly faded from her face, replaced with a look of contempt. “You have no idea what I’ve gone through.” She looked away again.
There were a few minutes of silence as Angela processed what had just been said. Then, softly, hesitantly, she said, “You’re right. I have no idea. But… maybe you could fill me in?”
Moira shot a glance at her, still wearing that contemptuous look. Angela held her gaze, pale blue meeting deep brown. After what felt like an eternity, Moira sighed, and suddenly she looked much different than Angela had ever seen her: older, somehow, and much more tired. “I…” she sighed again. “I suppose I could.
“Dr. Ziegler, you are, what, twenty-four this year?” Angela nodded. “I’d like you to think about that, and about where you are. You are twenty-four years old. Twenty-four. Not only were you already the head of surgery at one of the most prominent hospitals in Switzerland, but you revolutionized the treatment of life-threatening injuries worldwide and are now a high-ranking member in Overwatch’s science division within two years of being taken on. I do not mean to say you didn’t earn it, because you and your work are undeniably brilliant, but…”
Moira stopped and massaged her temples for a moment, a wistful look coming over her. “You have been so incredibly fortunate. I will be thirty-five this year. I have slogged my way through countless hirings, firings, acceptances, and rejections to get where I am today. I have never been a prominent name in the global scientific community, and I’ve hardly done much better just in Europe. I finally, finally got brought onto the genetics team here, and I thought that after all this time, I’d found a place where I would be given the freedom and funding to pursue my goals. The human genome is rife with secrets for us to unlock, and I, for one, am not going to wait for someone else to figure it out, but the board-” Her face soured a moment, “The board was no different from any other. Perhaps I am incapable of writing a good proposal, perhaps they’re a bunch of close-minded fools, perhaps it’s a blend of both in equal or uneven parts.
“No matter the reason, I have been drastically underfunded for the last seven years. Every time I propose anything, it is either rejected outright or forced to be pulled drastically back in scope for it to receive funding. I can’t get anything meaningful done. I’m wallowing away in this stupid building, trying desperately to get make progress, any progress, with my limited funds, while you and others are showered with whatever resources you need, and I just…”
Moira sighed again. “Listen to me. Whining like a child. I don’t even know why I’m telling you all this.” Angela looked at Moira. Really looked. The polite, uncaring front that Moira always used when they had spoken before had completely disappeared, and with it Angela’s perception of her changed entirely. For the first time, she noticed the faint wrinkles on Moira’s face, the bags under her eyes, and the disarray her hair was in. Had she always looked like that? Angela had always seen Moira as immaculately kempt and utterly self-assured, and had even seen her as such until moments ago, but now, she just looked tired. She noticed Moira’s right hand lying on the table and had a sudden urge to hold it, but she resisted.
“Dr. O’Deorain,” she began, hesitating. “I… promise you, you do not sound like a child. You are right; I have been incredibly fortunate to have received all the opportunities I did, especially at so young an age. I’m sorry that your career has not been so kind to you. I would say I understand, but…” Angela gave a small smile,” I really don’t at all, do I?”
Moira smiled back at that, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “No. You really don’t.”
Angela’s face almost fell after that, but she managed to sustain it. “Well, I hope you’ll forgive me for this, but it seems to me that you were keeping your frustrations bottled up for a long time. You attempted to keep them hidden to maintain some sort of… front of indifference, I suppose, and now you finally had the opportunity to let it out to someone, even if it was me, so you took it, because you were so desperate to finally let it out. At least, that’s the way I see it.”
Moira fixed Angela with those beautiful eyes of hers. She seemed to be searching for something, though Angela couldn’t be certain what. Finally, she smiled, genuinely this time. “You are not incorrect. I must admit, it did feel quite excellent to talk. I don’t really have a lot of people to speak with, you see. My parents are lovely folk, but they’re in Ireland, and they’ve no head for the hard sciences, and I must admit that I… haven’t been the most social person since joining the organization.”
“Is that right?” Angela said, smirking. “I never would have guessed. Do you remember the first time we met?”
“Ah yes, on your tour with Winston,” Moira said. She chuckled at the memory. “In my defense, you two caught me at a very bad time. I was working on a personal project.”
“Oh? Might I ask what the project was, exactly? I never got a good look at what you were doing.”
At this, Moira’s eyes lit up, and her demeanor shifted yet again as she began to talk about her efforts. She was no longer a coolly polite stranger, nor a tired, dejected scientist. She was real and passionate and intense in the best way possible.
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