There, standing before her ever-widening eyes was the face of a man she buried nearly three years ago. In the flesh. Alive.
Every wave of emotion coursed through her veins. Sheer shock. Complete bliss. Irrevocable fear, the fear of losing him again. And, of course, the complete disarray of seeing him as he was. It tore right into her heart. Made her bleed, crumble. She felt weak. Pathetic. Broken.
He was scarred, grizzled. His hair had lost its golden luster, falling a soft white color instead. The color of snow on a moonless night. The three scars across his face, where did he get them from? She couldn't help but wonder if they were the constant reminder of the night Overwatch fell apart. The night of the explosions. The night of his should-be death.
He looked weathered. Worn. On the verge of collapse. Like he'd been running from that horrific incident all this time. Like he hadn't had a peaceful night's sleep since the last time she mounted him into oblivion. Since she last made sweet, sweet love to him.
Hand trembling, she forced it forward. She wanted to touch him. See if he was really there. If he was truly Jack Morrison and not some ghost her mind created to fill the void of romance, companionship.
But she couldn't. Try as hard as she might, her hand refused to move. She was immobilized. Fear plain as day across her paling face. Her brows, laced with perspiration, continued to flood like a desert just receiving its first rain for the year. No matter what she didn't, she couldn't break from his stare. She couldn't shake the feelings that overwhelmed her.
If this was anyone else, McCree, Winston, Lena... whoever, they would have presumed him to be a fake. A copy. Someone mimicking a hero of old. They all watched her bury Jack. They all watched her grieve. They were there, in their own ways, helping her sift through the soot and debris that filled the crater where the Overwatch Swiss Headquarters once stood. That lovely, looming, state-of-the-art facility that was supposed to save lives, inspire heroism. Instead, it bred terrorism. Corruption. Damnation. The death of beautifully planned out futures and happy dreams.
Using her other hand to steady her quaking one, she turned her equally blue eyes off his form. Angela fought with herself for a moment. Was she absolutely, wholeheartedly certain this was Jack.
Eyes panning up, she beheld him. Drank in those large, lovely baby blues. The same blues she would get lost in for hours. The ones she would call home, safe.
She... she knew. You don't forget those eyes. Oh how could she forget those crystalline blue orbs of his? Always full of fight, always full of life, always full of compassion, compassion for her.
He was real. This was no dream. Even pitching herself proved this much.
Then she caught it. It was faint and fleeting, but she saw it. And it sent her stomach into upset. The lithe smile the seized the corner of his lips caused her to grimace.
Why... why was he smiling.
Did he really think this, being alive all this time without telling her, would be okay? That she would just welcome him back with open arms.
Head turning curtly to the side, her nose twisted toward the air. A defiant hmmpft followed.
"Why," her voice dry and cold, as if she were a trained assassin who held no emotions or qualms whatsoever. "Why now."
"I'm tried of running." His voice was just as she remembered.
No, no it wasn't. It was painfully tired. Sloppy. Overworked. Overburdened. Just how many lives had he put in an early grave to get to this point? This point of feeling safe enough to confess the truth? How many sleepless nights? How many hours of watching her grieve annually over his tombstone?
How many?
He drew closer, which made her step away. Hands rising, she created a barrier between them, as if it would help.
"Stop," she plead. "Just stop."
He stopped. Jack knew full-well that what he was doing was going to be hard on her. On them. But he was certain she could endure. If he didn't, he never would have shown her his face. Come clean. Become... exposed.
"Why," she shook her head. This time, visible tears splashed against the ground she stood on. "Why?" The antagonizing look on her face was enough to kill. It tore right into Jack's heart. Made him question everything. Maybe telling her, showing her wasn't the brightest of ideas.
"I miss you."
The words fell on her ears like the flash before the explosion. A deaf, droning numbness pulsed within her. It broke every inch of her will. Dropping to the floor, she landed with a harsh thud on her knees.
"Three years," there was no emotion to her voice, it was just a hollow, lifeless ton, "three years." Slowly, her head lifted to meet his azure stare. "Three...years...Jack."
"I," he fumbled, forcing himself to look away. Seeing her like this, god it killed him. "I know."
"You had three fucking years," a rush of emotion poured into her tortured cry. "THREE FUCKING YEARS!" Hands sprawling out across her chest, she screamed into him. "THREE YEARS, JACK!"
"I know," he muttered. "I know." A twinge of annoyance flickered over his brows. "I KNOW, GODDAMMIT!"
Dropping to his knees, he skidded into the earth just before her. "I know, I fucking know!" Much like her, he lost his ability to control himself. The words just poured out, laced with frustration. For years, for three years, he wanted to come running home to her. But he couldn't for he knew he shouldn't. And yet, there he was , going against everything he believed in. Just for her. Because, despite as hard as he tried, he couldn't stop loving her. Thinking of her. Needing to be with her.
Her open palm flew across his face.
"Fuck you," she spat.
Again, her hand closed around his face. Another smack!
"Fuck you," her growl just as harsh as her open-handed attacks.
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
It didn't matter how much she hit him, it just didn't do it. No matter how much she whaled into him, she couldn't shake the fear within her bones. The fear that he did all of this to protect her. That his keeping out of sight was for her own good. Because... because...
He seized her hand. Firmly, he wrapped his fingers around her small wrist. He was sick of getting beat, kicked down. It was finally his turn to talk.
Jack kept her open hand sprawled out across his painfully red yet now numb cheek. Holding her there, he broke his hard gaze from the floor. Allowing himself the luxury (or perhaps pain?) of seeing her, he let his eyes behold his beloved angel.
"I love you," he cooed while his voice cracked after what was likely years of hidden guilt.
Giving her hand a good jerk, she broke it free. Resting it against her own face, she trembled. She felt her whole world come crashing down.
Three years. Three years of trying to move on. Three years of trying to bury the past. Three years of wanting to learn to love someone else. And...
There he was.
Before her. Whole yet in broken pieces.
Jack's hand reached out to console her, but she didn't want to talk. She twisted her head away and scooted back away from him. Far enough away that he couldn't touch her but close enough that she could still absorb his warmth through the ground in which that sat upon.
"Three years." Her voice completely weak at this point. The desire to fight, to care completely drained from her.
"I know," he murmured. "I know."
Silence washed over them like the ocean on a still beach just before a storm.
There were no fireworks. There was no mad passion. There was no happy fairy-tale ending.
There was just...silence.
Finally, after what was likely an hour, she stirred.
Bones stiff from sitting there, Angela pulled herself from the floor. Dusting off whatever dirt clung to her, she brushed away her sorrows. It was time she move on. Look past this and keep going forward.
Jack rose, mimicking her. "Angel," he could see the distant look in her eyes. "Please," his hand reached out. She dodged it. "Please talk to me. I... I-I need to know if what I did was the right thing."
Stopping dead in her tracks, Angela sucked in a dry breath of air. Calmly, she exhaled before turning to face her past lover.
"You tell me, Jack." The angst in her eyes hot enough it stung him.
Her bloodshot eyes, red from both pain and sorrow, were the first sign of what she truly felt. The trembling grimace on her lips, likely permanent due to the fact that wrinkles now formed at all her edges, the next sign. Her skin, no longer glowing and soft, was sickly. Pale. The third sign.
He was wrong. All wrong.
"Angel," his hand reached for her again. Maybe he could make this right. Save the day, just like he always used to. This time, their tips brushed. "Please talk to me!"
He couldn't go on like this. He had to know. Was confessing, coming clean worth it? Was it worth exposing himself? Letting her know the truth. That he was indeed alive. And that he still loved her, even after all these years apart.
"What's there to talk about, Jack?" Her words were like venom on the edge of a blade. They ripped right into him, as did her ruthless blue gazed stare. "How you left me? How you let me bury you? Grieve, weep, and cry for you? How I would lay awake at night praying to the God I don't believe in to make you come back to me? How I would purposely work battlefields with the hopes that maybe, just maybe, I'd see your body fall into one of my med bays? How I tried for so long to stay strong? To survive?"
His face cracked. Shattered. He fell to his knees.
He was wrong. This was a mistake. He should have stayed hidden. Ana was right. She was already right.
"So you tell me, Jack. Was this the right move? To not tell me, the woman you claim to love, that you've been alive this whole time?" Her hands went into her hair. Jerking forcefully, a few blonde strands ripped from their seams. "You tell me!"
But he couldn't speak. Apologize. Explain himself. But he wanted too so he dared to open his lips.
"No you shut up," she stormed toward him. "You shut up!" She wouldn't take any of his shit. The fury in her eyes, on her face made him known to back down. This was a fight he couldn't win. He'd just have to wait it out, like the tides.
"I have always kept your secrets. I have always watched over you. I have always protected you. Kept you safe. Alive. Well. Happy! I would fly to your aid. I would spend sleepless hours putting you back together. I would..." her lips contorted, twisted to cast perhaps the most disgusting look on her usually angelic face. Frankly, she was ugly. Absolutely ugly like this. "I would have fucking died for you, Jack!"
Again, her hands ripped into her hair. More blonde locks fell loosely to the ground.
She paced back and forth, a frustrated grunt coming from her puffed cheeks each time she'd turn around. She was beyond irritated. She was livid.
And then, just as soon as the whole firestorm started, it stopped.
Instantly the temperature in the room dropped. And at least by ten degrees, if not more.
A chill ran down his spine.
"You... tell... me." Her words were ice. Ice cold.
Head turning to look over her shoulder, down at him, her icy blue gaze bore into his soul. "Was it worth it, Jack Morrison."
Hand peeling off the glove that veiled her left hand, she stared down at the golden ring that wrapped around her finger. It was nothing overly fancy, but it was still absolutely breathtaking. It sparkled even in the faintest of light.
Twisting it around her wrinkling flesh, she pulled it off. There, clear as day on the inside, read the words, "Together we'll find our tomorrow."
Holding that golden engagement ring in her hands, she felt a quiver of anger pulse within her swelling blue orbs.
Teeth grit, she did what she had to.
A good jerk sent it flying across the open space. Landing, crashing, colliding into the ground before Jack.
Tink, tink, t-tink.
It dropped lifeless. Still.
"You tell me," her words still hollow and cold.
Fixated on the ring, he caught the golden glow of her Valkyrie suit cast its light on the now dimming room that seemed to swallow him whole.
This was...
He felt...
So...
Exposed.
And very much alone.