An hour had passed since Reaper had extracted the bullet from Mercy's stomach. While she hadn't expressed her full gratitude, she wasn't sure if she could right now. She was knitting over her anxiety of how he knew her name. Just what sort of intelligence did Talon have on the Overwatch operatives? Would they know of Watchpoint: Gibraltar being their new base of operations as well? The thought left her feeling sick. It didn't help the bitter taste of tequila lingered on her tongue. Mercy would have found a cup of water to nurse, but she resigned to resting on a nearby couch. She was able to move enough after a steady stream from her Caduceus Staff, but the wounds were still fresh. No one else could use her gear, not that it should be used for such prolonged periods of time regardless. If there was a faulty piece in the Valkyrie suit or her weapons, she'd have a hard time repairing them without the proper tools. At least only one hole in the armor was all that blemished her armor so far.

Somehow, Mercy managed to slip out of her damaged under suit that was heavy with the metallic scent of blood. She didn't know whose home this was—as it certainly couldn't be Reaper's—and she'd hate to ruin the upholstery. She had decided to borrow an outfit from a nearby dresser, an oversized black short sleeved shirt with a pair of almost knee-length shorts in a similar dark shade. She had little choice in the matter, and it looked comfortable enough. It admittedly felt strange to be in someone else's clothes, within their home, without a sign of the previous tenants in sight.

These were some of the thoughts that passed through her mind as she rested and avoided thinking of the skulking gunslinger that helped save her life. Would he be coming back to check up on her? Maybe he'd return to undo his handiwork and silence her before word of his soft side could get out. Then came the matter of thanking him for bothering with pulling the bullet out at all. He had every intention of placing a few in her himself, so what stopped him? She had just nailed him with the blunt force of her staff, he was motivated enough to attack her. None of this had made sense, but at least the creak of the front door meant she could leave these thoughts be for now.

Mercy opened her mouth to welcome the man back, but then again, this wasn't her home. She had no reason to act so hospitable, especially to him. The woman rose to her elbows, leaning up to watch the tall, brooding form of the man enter the room. He almost seemed like he was avoiding her. That'd be difficult to do, considering they were the only two in the room.

"Where did you go to?" She asked quietly, though the hint of curiosity could be hear from a mile away. Clearly not energetic enough to entertain her, Reaper remained silent as he cleaned off the table, his back to the blonde woman. This rubbed Mercy the wrong way for some reason. Now he decided to give her the silent treatment? Then she'd have to try to instigate the problem in order to address it in the open.

"Angela Ziegler…that's my name…and this is the first time I've told you it."

"I know that's your name."

"How?" Mercy shot back with amicable concern, tilting her head as she watched his form still at the table. She noted how his hands—gauntlets and claws back on—clutched the oak table, as if partially leaning onto it for support as he mused his answer. There was a long, drawn out silence that was unsettling for the doctor. Fortunately, Reaper didn't leave her waiting for too much longer, though he held a question for her in response.

"Do you know me? Do you know who I am?"

"…you are international terroristic threat only known as Reaper; a man who associates himself with Talon, who ruthlessly kills everything in sight in ways that are even beyond my skill of saving, and hunter of ex-Overwatch operatives."

"That's information you can get on the news channel." He quickly whipped his body around and paced forward, standing stoic and tall before Mercy who still rested on her propped elbows. For once, she felt a bit intimidated by him. He had just saved her life, and here she was, berating him for information he clearly could not give, not willingly. He then spoke up again, giving her another spark of hope.

"I asked you if you knew who I am, not what I am."

"…I don't know…do I?"

"That's not the right answer."

"The corpses you leave behind have such intense degradation, they can barely be labeled as human...as if their life had been sucked dry. I can barely grasp the logic to the technology, and I am the forerunner of nanobiology to date."

"Do you really plan on fishing for answers the whole night, Doc?"

"It's Angela, remember?"

This caused Reaper to pause in thought and stare down at the doctor. While she couldn't see behind his visage, she could tell he was seething a bit by her defiant remark. It certainly struck enough of a cord to make him grow silent. She'd take the small victories where she could, given the situation. She was a stubborn thing, and it seemed like he was too. Yet, the one advantage she had on him was patience. Being a doctor meant having a wellspring of patience, which was something he certainly lacked. With that in mind, she hoped to spur his ire enough to gain some more insight. Before she could put that plan into action, he turned his back to her and appeared ready to walk off again.

"Rest up. Even with that staff of yours, you still need to replenish the blood you lost."

"Excuse me?" Mercy proclaimed indignantly, finally pushing up and sitting properly on the couch with her legs off the edge of the cushion. "You wanted to kill me a few hours ago. A hunter of ex-Overwatch agents, that's what I said you are. So, what has changed between then and now where you're not as eager to tap my body dry like the other victims?"

"Don't test my patience, woman."

"Am I not worthy of being a target?"

"Doctor." Reaper spoke in a tone that was seeped with contempt, her plan clearly working.

"Angela." She corrected him once more, gaining an over the shoulder sneer from the man. He was getting his buttons pushed by her, and for some reason he couldn't help but fall prey to it. Part of her was amused by it, but she knew this man was still lethal. There was a line she needed to tiptoe on, one that she needed to make certain she didn't fall off of.

"Go. To. Fuckin'. Sleep." Reaper said again with the same finality as he had when she was shot, giving her a one-sided ultimatum. A moment of silence formed between them in that otherwise vacant room and Mercy had to consider what she wanted to do next. That's when the distinct hiss of pain could be heard coming from the blonde doctor's lips, as well as the shifting of fabric. Reaper had stolen another side glance and could see that she was attempting to stand.

"Sit down. Now."

"No, no, it's quite alright. I can manage with this on my own. You've been a great help, but you might switch on me again and I'd rather not stick around until then."

"I said sit down!" Reaper's voice rang a higher octave than usual, the distortion in his voice more obvious at this volume. When Mercy showed no sign of abiding to his wishes, the looming dark man spun around and gazed down at her. With a measured step, he entered the space she was attempting to stand up in. Her mouth hung open, words desperately trying to escape but fated to remain inside her mouth. That's when he brought both clawed hands to her shoulders and pressed her back down into the seated position on the couch. It wasn't rough nor did he expel his strength to do so. Because of that, she was able to push against his hold and attempt to stand once more. It was then that he decided to toss patience away as he forcefully grabbed her arms and slammed back, pinning her against the back cushion of the couch. He towered over her, his body arching as he now found himself partially on the couch in hopes of keeping her cemented against the cushions with his own presence. A haze of smoke began to form around Reaper, perhaps signifying his rage to the situation. Mercy stared up at him, a bit timid now that she had irked him to this point. Although she had been certain about her actions, she wasn't so confident any longer. Judging by the wavering grasp on her arms, it seemed he was questioning himself as well.

"What does Talon know about me and the other operatives?"

"Talon doesn't know shit."

"…then how can you—"

"If you won't shut up, I'll kill you myself."

"No, you won't."

At this, Reaper shifted his hold on her, his hands now ringing around her wrists and pinning them against the wall the couch laid against. He was able to pin both dainty wrists in one of his larger hands, the other now manifesting a gun from the shadows. Mercy didn't seem to flinch an inch, not even when he aimed it toward the bandages and gauze.

"If I shoot here, you'll die. There won't be any time for your Caduceus Staff to repair you. If you lose a single drop more of blood, you'll need a transfusion."

"Then it's a good thing you won't do it."

"And why is that, Doc?" Reaper called out bitterly, his head tilting in an ominous fashion that sent a chill down the blonde woman's spine.

"Because you don't want to, otherwise you would have disposed of me long before this point. You had me under the knife. I know the sort of damage one can do to the human body if they are not careful. While your methods are not ethical…you had been dutiful in removing the bullet all the same with minimal pain for me. You wouldn't work so hard for me to not suffer only to kill me now. I'm simply snagged up on the reasoning."

Her word hung in the dense air, as if the sound of her voice was enough to bring the house down. They remained in that position, Mercy writhing idly into the pillows while Reaper dominantly held her down. Their eyes were locked in a stare down, or at least she assumed they were since she could not properly see where his eyes were resting. A moment more of this stalemate and Reaper carelessly released the gun in his free hand.

"You're right, I wanted you to survive."

"Wha—" Mercy mouthed wordlessly but she was quickly silenced by that metallic hand against her throat.

"I want you to get back to full health so that I may take my time breaking you down, piece by piece, until you are nothing more than a husk. If you were to have died, it would not have been by my hand, and you will die by my hand." Reaper's voice was picking up volume as he spoke, a snowball effect evident as his emotions began to rise along with the billowing smoke which surrounded him. "You say I'm a monster? You created this monster, Doc."

While his hand hadn't been pressing hard enough to constrict air flow, Mercy had been wincing in pain the entire time. Reaper didn't seem fazed by this until a gentle whimper finally broke from her pressed lips. Almost instantly he released both his hands and remained frozen above her body, as still as a statue. She rubbed at her wrists and neck tenderly, eyeing him with incertitude.

"…I…created you?" She asked meekly, eyes enlarged due to the new fear gripping her mind.

"…go to sleep, Doc." The distorted voice replied, his tone almost tired and wary. What did he mean by those words? Knowing now that she might be responsible for the catastrophe that is the assassin Reaper, a knot formed in the depths of Mercy's heart, weighing down her spirit like an anchor.

"…who are you, Reaper?" Mercy spoke gently, her words just barely above a whisper. Brilliant blue orbs continued to gaze into the cowl of his hood, as if the mask might give way to emotions, to expression. Without her consent, a lithe hand rose up, hoping to cradle the cheek of the man who both saved her life and vowed to destroy it. He remained still, and she could tell he was holding his breath in anticipation to the touch. Just as the pads to her fingertips graced the harsh white of his mask, he pulled back entirely and began to retreat further into the house, leaving Mercy alone with her thoughts.