The tears streamed down her face as she let her harsh, lifeless eyes fall on him. Before the tears could roll from her jaw and make the leap toward the earth below, they'd evaporate for the heat on her cheeks was hot enough to burn.
She was pissed. And she had every right to be.
For the past few years, he'd keep out of sight, out of mind. He wanted the world to think him dead. He wanted the people to believe their beloved hero had fallen. That he'd died fighting the good fight. That he died to end the corruption. That he died a hero.
But he didn't die. He crawled out from that rubble, laced with battle scars. With a heavy heart. With a decision.
Every ounce of his being wanted to reach out to her. To tell her that he was alive. But he never did. He never made that call. He never wrote that note. He never did anything.
He liked the concept of being dead. It gave him an edge he never had before. As Strike-Commander, as the face of Overwatch, he had to play by the rule book. He had to uphold the law and look just before all the eyes of the world. But deep down, he knew laws were meant to be broken. He knew that safety came before rules. That laws could be drafted by the corrupt and damned. That to truly be a hero, you had to step over lines that others would not. And do so without losing oneself to the power.
He would never injure the innocent. He would always stand to protect the weak, the oppressed. But when things got dirty, he know had the ability to be just as dirty. He didn't need licensed weapons. He didn't need to heed the curfew put in place. He didn't need to look gorgeous and fit to fight. There was no one to get hurt. It was just him and his gun. His mission. He just needed his leather jacket, his tactical visor, and a shit-ton of ammo.
Rules were meant to be broken. Broken when lives were at stake. And lives? Boy, were they ever at stake. Now more than ever.
It took sixteen months to get over her. To suppress the urges. The desires. The need to find her. To protect her. To love her.
But he did it. He hardened himself. He made himself invincible. Without weakness. Without vulnerably. A key feat that would allow him to never succumb to the enemy. He had nothing to lose so they could take nothing from him.
He'd moved on.
He'd forgotten.
Or at least that's what he told himself.
But now, as he stared at her enraged face, he knew he was wrong. That it was all a big lie. He'd never burned the memories. He never erased her.
He kept her locked up in the depth of his mind. Kept her out of sight. But he kept her. And that, that was his undoing.
"You think I can't see through your lies!" Her words like venom as she spat him him. "You think I can't see what lies beneath that red mask!"
With each step she took toward him, he could feel his core breaking. He told himself he didn't need her. But, truth be told, he needed her now more than ever. But she was rejecting him. Denying him. Lying to him.
"You and I," she went on, the saliva coating her lips like a rabid beast, "we've been done! Done since the day you left me!"
Her exaggerated gestures seemed so off point. This wasn't the Angela he remembered. The woman he remembered was sweet, passionate, kind. Yes, dramatic at times, but always in the giddy, goofy good way.
But this Angela? This woman before him? She was a devil.
Her sharp nails curled around the collar of his jacket. She tugged him in and stared him down.
"I DON'T LOVE YOU," she ripped into him. The heat from her tongue steaming up the visor that shielded his eyes from her spraying. "I NEVER HAVE!"
Shoving him, he fumbled into the dirt. The taste of blood became familiar to his lips. He was bleeding. He'd bit his lip with that forceful shove.
Immobile and clinging to what pleasant memories he could find, Jack just stared up at the fuming woman. She was a monster. A mess. Completely consumed by anger and hatred.
Yes, yes it was wrong to lie. Yes it was wrong not to tell her. But he had his reasons. He had to protect her. But even as he confessed this, she didn't seem to care.
Had she... had she moved on?
Hissing, she spat at him again.
"You hear me, Jack Morrison, you're nothing to me!" Teeth grit, her cold stare tortured him. Kicking up the reddened earth, she layered her vulnerable form with dust. "NOTHING!"
She clenched her jaw. She fought with every ounce of her being. She was losing control. Becoming the woman she feared most.
Screaming, her hellfire eyes fell back on him. "NOTHING!" She shouted. Repeated. Again and again. As if she were trying to convince herself. Trying to tell herself that she didn't need him. That she had and could move on.
And yet, from the way the tears cascaded down her cheek, he knew that she hadn't. That she was lying. That she was denying what she felt inside. She was keeping her inner secrets at bay. She was trying to kill the memories but the voice within her couldn't stop reminding her of those erotic times.
"I," her trembling hands tore into her hairline. "I hate you."
The words so hollow and cold, they left a numbness. A cold feeling that Jack had only felt once before-the day he was left to die in that explosion. The day he felt like a failure. He never had a chance to come clean. Express the things that he kept within. That he was sorry he took the role Strike-Commander; that he didn't deserve it. That he loved her. Oh god did he love her. That he was going to ask to be reassigned; to be a board member and no longer a soldier so he could forever be with her.
So many things. So many feelings left within. So many dreams dead.
Lie to me. He blinked the tears from his eyes. Pulling off the mask, he antagonized her further. If she was truly going to kill what they had, she'd have to face him. Face him face-to-face. No mask.
Watch me bleed. He found the will to stand. Pulling from the rusty desert sand, his tormented stare fell on her astonished, agonized face.
She could taste his blood. She could swallow his fear. And yet, she never gave in.
"I hate you," she groaned again, as if she needed to reinforce the concept of leaving him.
Angela, I'll still be here when you see you're not alone. You don't have to run. I'm here. I'm here just like I've always been.
Oh did he ever want to tell her everything. Tell her that it was okay. That he was there. There for her. That he'd never leave her again. That he'd make it all up to her.
But... but she was pulling away. Leaving him behind. Leaving him in the dust.
He outstretched a hand, pleading for her return.
"Don't," her warning tone caused the hairs on the back of his neck to raise. "Don't you ever speak to me. Don't you ever find me. Don't you ever try to save me."
Her facade was cracking. She was crumbling before his eyes, yet she fought to stand tall. To stand proud. As if she needed to do this. As if she needed to end everything. "I," her nose wrinkled as a distorted, disgusted expression plagued her face, "I don't need you."
Without uttering a single word, Jack just stood there. He watched as she turned on her heel. As she ran. As she became nothing but a blur on the horizon. As she left his life.
"Tell yourself it's over now," he spoke in monotone. "Try to kill a broken vow. To kill what love we shared before."
Shame kept his head down but the urge to see her leave told him to look up. To continue to watch her, even if it pained him. "If only you could find the strength to kill the memories... To make the pain feel real."
He swallowed hard. His eyes unable to see for they were blinded with tears and memories.
Dropping to his knees, he caved. Heavy, ragging sobbing. That's all he knew how to do.
She was gone. Gone. And it was all his fault.
Hand trembling, he thumbed the smooth curve of the trigger. Maybe... maybe he was better off.
"Jack?" Her face was pure as winter snow. "Promise me you'll never hurt yourself for me."
"Hurt myself? For you?" He laughed. "Why would you say that?"
"Because you're my hero and I know you'd give everything just to see me smile. So," she bashfully looked away, "promise me that no matter how dark and cold the world may seem, that you'll always fight. That you won't give in. That even if I die, you'll continue forward. That you'll stay the hero I've always known you to be."
Memories flooded him. Drew forth conversations that spoke a softer, sweeter tune.
Putting down the gun, he patted away the tears that left visible marks on his chapped cheeks.
Composure hitting him, Jack turned his head to the large burning ball above the clouds.
"Can you really just turn away and let me go?" He felt his emotions swell within. His heart ached as it became painfully evident that he couldn't breath. "Can you really just walk away from this? From us?" Jack blinked in a failed attempt to suppress the tears that refused to dry.
He swallowed the lump in his throat.
"Can you really just turn away and let me go?" He looked toward her fading form.
Hand gripping the fabric above his heart, he gave it a good tug. God, god did it hurt. But, but if this is what she wanted, he'd support it. Or do his damn best to support it.
Exhaling, he rose.
"Walk away, Angel. You can learn to love again." He yearned for her. "You'll find your strength. Your compassion. You'll become the angel I once knew..."
Grabbing his gun, he applied the visor to his face again. It was time to leave. To move on.
Tucking his chin to neck, he saluted the woman that once faithfully stood beside him. "Leave me in denial."