She'd been quiet for so long.
Her hand remained wrapped around that limp forearm. No matter what she did, nothing would come of it. She wasn't a miracle worker. She couldn't bring back the long dead.
Her crestfallen expression remained frozen on her face. Although her tears had long dried, the scars left behind were a permanent reminder of what was lost.
According to stories, there was once a time in Angela's life where she saw no light. She lost everything she ever had and was cast into darkness. She fell down into the pit of despair and, at one point, contemplated taking it all away. Putting an end to the pain, the misery, the loneliness. There was nothing left for her in this life. Fate's cruel ways had purged her of what light and happiness she had.
She was a mess. And she had decided that no one deserved to pick up her broken pieces.
But that was not for her to decide. And as such, someone took a chance on her. Someone found the girl and showed her compassion. Showed her what it was like to rebuild and bring anew. She filled her mind with fairy tales and spoke of creatures that could be reborn from their ashes. She spoke of the phoenix.
It was a symbol Angela had come to love and adore. She decided that to truly embrace the phoenix, she would need to learn medicine and practice it. If she wanted to bring back her own life, she had to learn what life was and what it entailed.
And so, her caretaker worked twice as hard to help fund the girl so she could go to a top university.
A group even noted her skills and capabilities and dangled a carrot before her. If she graduated top of her class, they would hire her and help her create Project Phoenix.
Angela was brilliant and within no time grew in both confidence and skill. When she graduated, the entire world wanted her but she didn't want them. She wanted to pursue her own strengths and skills. She wanted to save, to revive. To protect.
For a while, she felt out of place but then, one day, that promised letter arrived at her mailbox. It was an open invitation to join an organization built on ideals, hopes, and dreams for a brighter, safer future. A future where war ceased to exist and both man and omnic lived in harmony and peace.
She didn't question it. She just accepted it. She knew exactly who they were and what they stood for. And she wanted in.
Sometimes, to fight violence, you had to join the violence.
To combat training she went and for a solid 6-months, she grew stronger. She grew more capable. But that never stopped her from reaching out to the woman that helped raise her.
She'd write her letters and beg for more stories about the phoenix. But stories of the phoenix never came. It was always something different, something new. Harpies, mermaids, dragons, dullahan - you name it, she learned it.
Within a few years, Angela landed a role as the head of the medical facility. She had total control over initiatives and research funding. And so, she began what she called her dream - Project Phoenix. It would be the rebirth she had always wanted. That she had always hoped for.
Tomorrow, at 09:00, she was supposed to unveil her project. She was supposed to show the world that she couldn't die and that she and an elite group of soldiers trained in the Phoenix Suits could save the world. The suits would literally resurrect their decided pilots, or so that's what they were supposed to do.
But that world came crashing down around her.
One plane ride.
One nasty storm over the Atlantic.
One phone call...
His arm squeezed her shoulder. "Angela," his voice so tender and soft.
"J-just five more minutes," she pleaded. She couldn't bear the thought of leaving her like this. Her body cold, lifeless. Her body completely saturated with water. Her eyes were almost fish-like in appearance. Hands purple from hypothermia - the cruelness of the ocean's bitter cold temperatures. It was all... it was all just so much to take in.
Taking a seat behind Angela, Jack just watched as the woman broke into soft sobs again. He couldn't imagine what he must have been like. At a young age, her parents were taken by the hostilities of war. And now, at twenty-four, she had lost her only family yet again. This time not to war but to Mother Nature.
Sizing the lifeless hand before her, Angela buried her head into the corpse's chest. As graphic and gross as it might have looked to the world, Jack knew the truth and was moved by the child-like behavior he witnessed. This wasn't someone losing a friend. This was someone losing their mother, again.
As she nuzzled the breathless chest, she whispered her beloved friend goodbye. At this, Jack rose to retrieve the items found on her person. "They said you could have these as you're next of kin."
She paid the bag no attention. She didn't want anything. She wanted to be alone to wallow in misery.
"Looks like there's a book?" He tugged it out of the Ziploc back. It was completely dry, as if she knew that the book would get water damage. "It has a note on it. 'To my dearest Angel, I saved the best for last. I know you love your phoenix but, to me, you'll always be a Valkyrie."
Head swiveling, her wide-eyed stare met Jack's. Innocently, she reached for his hand and pulled herself up into his chest.
He was warm, soft. Everything she needed. With silent, teary eyes, she looked at him before turning her face away. She forced away the tears and swallowed hard. She didn't want this. She hated attachments. She needed to be free to move on. "Leave it. I-I don't want it. Let's go."
Before she could flee, his arm reached out and jerked her back by his side.
"For once, stop pretending you're okay!" He tossed the book on the nearby bench before dropping his heavy hands on her shoulders. "Just talk to me!"
She couldn't look up. Or rather, she didn't want to. She hated for others to see her like this. And Jack, Jack Morrison the Strike-Commander of Overwatch, was the very last person in the world she wanted to see her like this. Ever since she was 17, she'd had a crush on the man. And when he volunteered to flight to New York to retrieve the body, she had half-hoped that he liked to her too.
But she didn't want him to see her like this. She wanted to be strong, sexy. The kind of woman he'd like to have and to call his own. No one wanted a broken, teary-eyed girl with a sob story. No one wanted a depressed, detached mess.
She tried to pull away, but his hands rooted her.
Finally, she looked up with those blood-stained eyes of hers. And, as she did, she finally noticed it.
He was crying. He was upset. He was grieving.
But why? He didn't know this woman? He shouldn't care about some soggy, old hag that died due to turbulence. He owed her nothing. And yet, there he was, sad as could be.
She flung her hand forward to press it against his chest. Maybe if she got the right angle, she could pop free. But, as her hand landed against the soft cloth of his shirt, she felt much more than a grieving heart.
No, there was more at stake here than a dead body and a broken-faced girl.
Recoiling her hand, she gasped before cracking. Lunging forward, she fell into him and let her teary eyes smear across his chest. She let her wet nose penetrate his shirt and wet the flesh beneath. She trembled and quaked but knew that he was still there.
He wanted her to stop pretending! So she stopped pretending to be okay. She broke into a million pieces and let every ugly inch of her destroy her perfection image. She wasn't sexy. She wasn't confident. She wasn't flawless. She was a mess, a disaster.
Angela felt his grip tighten as his hands moved to her shoulder blades. She felt him jerk her in more. She felt his wet breath against her hair.
She sobbed, great raspy tears. She broke, falling victim to death's desires.
"I can't do this!" she screamed into his chest. "I'm alone! I can't go on! My heart can't take this!"
His fingers burrowed into her flesh, causing a slight bit of discomfort. But the pain was welcomed for it was better to feel pain than nothing at all.
"I can't do this," she belted out again. "I can't endure another second. Just," she bit her lip, "just kill me now. Make this suffering stop."
She forced her head up. He was a military man. If she asked, he would pull the trigger. "Please," she pleaded. "I can't-"
The way his lip quivered. The way his eyes shattered. The way his body caved.
It clicked.
It finally clicked.
He was grieving because he knew she wanted to die. He was grieving because, because-
Because he loves me.
Angela melted into his soft touch. The tender way his palm brushed loosely against her cheek. It caused her to swoon and fall into him.
She liked the way he felt. The way he made her feel. With his endearing touch and fractured stare, she was finally free of this pain. She didn't have to hide her darkest fears. She didn't have to lie to herself. She could let it all out. And as dark and dim as it may seem, she knew he'd endure it. She knew he'd endure it for her, for them.
Dropping to her knees, she prayed before him. "Jack," her voice was but a whisper in the silent cyan-colored room. "Please don't leave me."
He feel to his knees too and coddled her head between his hands. His thumb wiped away the tear that managed to squeak out from between her wide-eyed stare.
When he didn't say a word, her heart sank. She was ready to run again. Ready to take all this pain and throw it and herself away. Maybe he didn't love her. Maybe she was just a fool.
Blinking the tears from her eyes, she counted down to one. She'd run. She was done.
But before she could get to one, a warmth pooled against her forehead. It caused her eyes to flicker open and seek out this foreign sensation.
When she finally realized what it was, the will to take flight died. He was all she needed, this much she was sure. There was no doubt, no hesitation that the bond between them was something pure.
His arms wrapped around her, pulling her chest even closer to his. She could feel his heart thunder within his chest. He was both nervous and worried, as he should be.
"I won't go," she whispered.
"I won't let you go," his lips brushed against her forehead.
Her head fell against his beating heart; the soft rhythm soothed her. If only they could stay like this forever.
"Like a Valkyrie, I'd decide who would live and who should die. And so long as I'm with you and by your side, I will fight to keep you from falling." His words were so poetic and smooth, it caused her throat to swell, but in the good way.
Laying there against his chest, she found and wore a smile. "Th-thank you."
"Just," he fought to pick the right words, "just talk to me. I'm here for you. I always will be."