In an empty three story building nestled between a cafe and a flower shop, Angela Ziegler spent most of the day sweeping. She managed to scrub every tile and window in the place, vacuuming the carpets and sanitizing the backrooms on the first floor. When her mother had owned the place, it was a walk-in clinic that quickly became overburdened by overcrowding and New York City taxes.

A United States citizen through her mother, Angela was able to take ownership of the building once she came to adulthood. Her mother never had the heart to properly rid of the place and her father's wealth helped her purchase the property for full-ownership until Angela could use it. Though they died when she was younger than her teens, the intention was always for her to have this place for her own usage.

After their deaths, she was quickly adopted by her father's German friend Reinhardt and was able to apply for German citizenship. With her father being Swiss, that gave her a unique tri-citizenship status. She hummed along to the soft music playing from her phone, happy with how the place looked. She was finished just in time for the furniture to arrive.

Over the next few days, the street's usual happenings would be interrupted by the flow of furniture entering the room. Two teenage girls peeked their heads into the trucks curiously, gossiping about the strange equipment mixed in with the personal furniture.

Reinhardt, Torbjorn, and Brigitte flew in from their respective countries to assist her, making a family visit out of it in the process. Between those three, she had more muscle than she knew what to do with. They ordered lunch from the cafe next door while Reinhardt spent an absurd amount of time complimenting the cook, an older Egyptian woman, for her work.

The serious teenager that took their orders looked the spitting image of the cook and flitted around curiously, looking like she wanted to say something repeatedly. She'd change her mind at the last moment, peaking Angela's interest. Brigitte dug into her food, munching happily. The Swedish teen was in cahoots with Mercy to convince her father to let her to go an engineering school in New York City. Angela assured her that Torbjorn would be more likely to agree once she was actually accepted to the school. Only a matter of months and they would know.

-0-

Later, Angela would nearly collapse from exhaustion on her bed, happy to finally have something other than a mattress on the floor. She kept her bedroom on the third floor with the master bathroom and balcony. The second was reserved as an office, pull-out couches for guests, and a greenhouse area for a small flower garden. The first floor...would be the fruits of her labor.

She smiled at the ceiling, excited to finally open her clinic. She'd learned from her mother's problems with having one. Appointments only, no overburdening with clients, and no free care. As much as she wanted to provide that, her clinic would crash very quickly without steady funding. And...her clients would all be of a different nature.

After finishing her high school diploma and bachelor's in science by the time she was 17, she was stumped upon arriving to vet school. She was able to breeze through the courses, but she couldn't decide on a particular specialty. Reinhardt had raised her around his horses and the animals on his ranch in Germany and she was tempted to go that route...but she wanted to help all types. Her professors and counselors warned her that it would be harder, but it was possible and she was able to focus and study enough to specialize in all forms, from dogs to reptiles to farm animals.

Armed with her degree and a sunny demeanor, she spent the next few years working in Zurich as a general veterinarian and learning all she could in a practical manner. She worked with specialists in every area and exceeded her peers' expectations.

Moving to New York City, Brooklyn in particular, was a feat in itself and she couldn't be more grateful for her Swedish and German family for coming to help her. Reinhardt promised another visit and Brigitte once again conspired with her to get into that engineering school.

-0-

It was two nights before her official opening that the completely unexpected would happen. She was dressed for the night in a gown of soft gray and preparing her evening tea when she heard a whimpering from outside. She exited the first floor kitchen, peering around the sterile white halls of the clinic. It was rather large by New York City standards, but not large enough to effectively hide someone. Especially when the furniture she did have was sparse. Grabbing her pepper spray, she approached the front door, turning on a lamp as she went.

The whimpering wasn't her imagination. With trembling fingers, she turned on the front lights, illuminating the sidewalk in front of her clinic. She blinked in surprise when she didn't see anything. Opening the front door, she gasped slightly when she saw a man slumped against the brick wall of her building, a large dog sitting next to him. From the uniform, she could tell he was a NYPD officer and clearly hurt. The german shepherd whimpering next to him wasn't doing so well himself.

The man groaned, flinching when Angela moved to touch him. He looked up at her, leveling her with hazel eyes, "You a vet?"

She swallowed, slightly entranced by him. He was incredibly handsome, in that look-but-don't-touch way, the way Reinhardt wouldn't be happy with. Nodding, she kept a hand on his shoulder, "Yes...you are hurt."

"A German vet…" he spoke absently and she ignored the urge to correct him. Her fingers flitted across his chest, where a dark stain of blood was growing, "I'm fine. Help Reaper."

She looked at the german shepherd, noting he seemed to be sporting a stab wound, "Can either of you walk?"

"Yeah," he groaned as he stood up, brushing off her offer of help. Gingerly, he picked up the 100-pound dog, impressing Angela with his strength. She led them inside, and he set the dog down on the bed in the examination room. He slumped in the nearby chair, once again waving her off when she tried to treat him, "I got this one, doc. Focus on him."

She frowned. He was being rather commanding for stumbling upon a stranger's doorstep this late in the evening. Still, she turned to the dog, who panted in pain but laid on the bed obediently. She spoke softly to the dog named Reaper, gathering materials to sanitize and suture the wound on his side. After careful examination, it wasn't life-threatening, but he would have to keep from harsh exercise for a while.

If Angela's deductions were correct, Reaper was a K-9 dog and the man, who hadn't introduced himself yet, was his officer. She supposed that was the reason she was letting a stranger into her home when she was barely dressed in anything but a henley nightgown and rubber gloves. Reaper took to the sedative obediently, falling asleep like a puppy on his side. She rubbed his belly and scratched his ears to soothe him, smiling gently. When she was done stitching and binding the wound, she pat the dog on the head, "Good boy, Reaper."

She looked up, removing her gloves for proper disposal, and put on a new pair all while the man watched her. He raised a hand when she took a step forward, "No need, I'm alright."

"At least let me sanitize it. I can't very well let an officer leave my clinic and get an infection."

The man looked around at the bare room, "I doubt there's a single germ in here to infect me."

"I appreciate your commendation of my sanitisation skills. Now remove your shirt."

"Fancy words, doc."

"Angela Ziegler," she replied to his tone, ignoring the tease in it, "now remove your jacket."

He groaned, giving in to her nagging. He removed the NYPD winter coat, dropping it on the ground by his chair. Next he unbuttoned the shirt, leaving him in a standard-issue white t-shirt. It was stained wine red with blood on his left shoulder and along his collarbone.

She frowned as he removed the last garment, "Why didn't you go to the hospital?"

"Didn't have time, was worried about the damned dog," he cursed with affection, looking at the sleeping canine.

She began to wipe away the blood seeping down his chest, "These are stab wounds."

"Yeah, gonna have a bit of paperwork for this one."

"You often go on your own like this?"

"Nah, my partner was just chasing down the robber. Told him I'd make his sorry ass regret it if he stopped to worry about a few paper cuts on me."

She finished cleaning the wounds. They weren't bad enough to need sutures, but she warned the officer that he would need to get them checked. She wrapped his shoulder and placed a padded bandage across his collarbone. Realizing she was fretting a bit too much, her hands all over a handsome stranger's chest, she quickly backed away. He reached into his pile of clothing, where his radio, utility belt, and other effects were, and grabbed his cell phone. He gave her a quick glance before dialing a number, speaking to someone with an agitated tone, "Yeah I'm fine, Reaper is too, we're at some clinic in Brooklyn, I don't know the name I guess it's new. Saw it on a flyer at the bus stop." Angela handed him her business card, where her name, clinic address, and work phone number was printed. He read the address for the voice on the other line.

An hour later, the officer was carefully redressed in his uniform with the jacket tucked under his arm. Before he could stalk off to wait for his partner, she boldly stepped toward and tapped the nameplate pinned to his shirt, "Officer Reyes."

"Er, yeah. Guess it's rude not to give a lady your name."

She flushed, suddenly hyper aware that she was still only in her nightgown. She'd managed not to get any blood on it. A man stepping through her front door broke their eye contact.

"Reyes! What the fu- hell, shit- where were you? I thought you were dead on the street!" The voice was loud in the quiet evening air, surprising Angela. His accent was thick, likely the American south, and he wore a navy blue cowboy hat on his head that she was sure wasn't NYPD-approved. The man looked at her in surprise, confusion on his rugged features, "You went to a vet? A small-time vet?"

She bristled, "I am not small."

"A German small-time vet?"

She groaned, rubbing her face, "I am Swiss, not German. Officer Reyes, please take your dog home so he can rest in his own bed."

The cowboy snorted, "More like his own house."

Reyes glared at his partner, then turned uncomfortably to Angela, "Sorry for the…" he motioned lamely to the disheveled examination room.

"No need, I am glad you two are alright. You came to the right person," she gave him a gentle smile, knowing he probably felt like he was indebted to her. Whether he would understand or not, it was her duty and her pleasure to help others. She thrived off of it.

The cowboy tipped his hat before taking the dog into his arms. Seems his strength was close in match to Reyes's even though he struggled a little more than his partner did, "Name's McCree. We'll just be gettin' out of your hair. Have a good evening, ma'am."

She watched as the two men exited her clinic, figuring she was at the point that she might as well open today instead of her planned tomorrow.

-0-

She didn't have any local friends, and she didn't want to make a commotion of it, so her first day opened was just like any of the following would be. She put out ads in the paper and more flyers at bus and subway stations. They clarified that she was appointment only, so she knew she might be turning a portion of potential clientele off.

On her third day, she was preparing for one of her first cat appointments when a teenager entered the clinic, loudly popping gum. She had a unique undercut with braided ombre hair that complimented her olive skin and violet eyes. Her hands were shoved deeply into the pockets of her studded leather jacket. She stared Angela down, trying to read her like a book.

Luckily, Angela kept a neutral stance. Nobody could ever read her.

The stare-off continued until the teenager popped her gun again and flashed a grin, "Papa said you were real pretty."

Her eyes widened, "What?"

"You saved him and mi perrito a couple of days ago. He's been whining about the itchy bandages but he's a good patient and won't take them off. I think he needs your permission or something. How'd you do it? He wouldn't even listen to Chief Morrison if the old grump threatened him with his job."

Angela swallowed, taking in the information she was given all at once, "He should get it checked out by a doctor. My speciality isn't people."

"People and dogs are all the same when it comes to stab wounds. Only less hair. Well, maybe not on Papa…" the teenager mused, smirking when Angela flushed.

She wasn't lying, Officer Reyes had dark hair along his arms, chest, and lining down his stomach. She'd seen that up close, having to touch him quite a bit to prod the wounds. She'd been purely medical in the moment, but now…

She hated how weak her voice sounded, "Is there something you came here for, Miss Reyes?"

The girl wrinkled her nose, "Sombra. And nah, I just wanted to check this place out, check you out. Now I know why he's been non-stop talking about you." Angela blinked in surprise, taken aback considering he'd hardly been polite to her and hadn't even told her his name. She had to find it out from his nameplate. "Yeah, I was surprised too. Papa's an emotional tree stump. But...he's stubborn and you helped him in the middle of the night. So...thank you. For helping them both." Sombra flushed slightly, like she didn't say those words often. She looked a little less sure of herself as she waited for Angela's reply.

"I'm glad they are alright, Sombra. Tell your father he may come by if he would rather keep the same doctor. Though, again, I don't really have any specialty for people. So it might not work with his insurance," she grinned and Sombra shied away from her soft gaze.

"Yeah...I'll let him know. Thanks Doctor Ziegler."

"Angela. Tell him to bring Reaper, too. He tends to be better with conversation."

Sombra grinned, back to her chipper mood, "You got that right. Adios, doctor. "

She waved the teenager goodbye, finishing up with her paperwork preparation for her upcoming appointment. She was already working on the clinic computer's vet system to help implement client information and insurance. She sighed, knowing she would eventually need to hire a proper receptionist, but for now she would handle it all herself.

She dropped her pencil in surprise when the waitress from next door and another young woman came barging in, carrying three egyptian mau cats and a kitten between them, "Doctor Ziegler! We need your help!"

Angela heaved a heavy sigh before leading the girls to the back room tailored specifically for wily cats. It seems her 'appointment-only' rule was slowly going out the proverbial window.