"Shattered , Chapter 3"

(MERCY)

Leaving a visibly shaken Tracer behind in the living space of the ramshackle apartment, Angela rushed head long down the hallway. The carpet mulch underfoot and the smell of damp intermingled with something that the Doctor was altogether too familiar with.

"Stay back!" Farreha warned, her face a grim mask as she kept her pistol trained through the doorway.

"Lieutenant, what is it?"

"Just a minute." The ex-Helix security operative moved out of sight followed by the sound of the shower turning off, before quickly coming back into view gun still held in a steady two handed grip never taking her eyes off whatever lay beyond. Satisfied she motioned to the Doctor

"Have a look, but don't get too close."

Angela cautiously approached using the collar of her jacket to cover her nose to protect herself from the overpowering stench made worse by the heat from an overhead fan. Fareeha used her body to block the entrance, shifting slightly so the Swiss woman could peer over her shoulder into the room.

Angela gasped. The minuscule room was in disarray, walls lined with smudged handprints in a dark substance the Doctor at this juncture couldn't identify. The floor swimming with off colour, fetid water, in which lay the shape of a person, the destroyed shower curtain obscuring from view the face and much of the body. One cyan hand and mop of dark purple hair poked out from beneath.

Fareeha used the toe of her black heavy duty combat boot to lift up the shower curtain, giving it a quick flick to reveal the grisly apparition underneath. With a shocked intake of breath, she jumped back,

"Is that who I think it is?"

Without replying, Angela retrieved her med bag only to come upon the solid frame of the Lieutenant, blocking her entrance,

"What are you doing?"

"She needs our help!"

"What if it's a trap?"

"Then it's a trap Fareeha!"

"We should leave, now!"

"We can't leave her like this!" The Doctor argued, gesturing to the prone unconscious woman.

"Yes we can!"

"Either help me or get out of my way."

For a moment the Doctor and the lieutenant were locked in a battle of wills glaring at each other. Fareeha's gaze faltered and her shoulders dropped slightly.

"If she so much as twitches I won't hesitate to redecorate this shit hole with her grey matter."

Angela gave her a wry smile as she squeezed through the miniscule gap afforded her,

"Understood!"

Crouching down she opened her med kit. The only sound in the room the Doctor's heavy breathing and the snap of rubber as she worked her hands into surgical gloves. She felt Fareeha move beside her in this already claustrophobic space, the muzzle of the pulse pistol in her peripheral vision pointed at Widowmaker's head.

Hesitantly, the Doctor reached out, trying not to flinch when ice cold seeped through the protective layer of latex. With two fingers she began to gently probe the slender neck, searching for a pulse. Unable to find one, she reminded herself that this was one of Moira's playthings, the usual rules wouldn't apply.

In an attempt to clear her mind, she closed her eyes and focused her breathing, trying not to allow the grotesque shape in which her former friend lay take over. Rolling Widow in to her side, Mercy forced herself to remain professional as she tried to ignore the sight of long ago crusted dark streams that led from the Talon sniper's nose, down her chin n parted ways at her neck. Globs of viscous liquid escaped her lips. Taking a med wipe, the doctor quickly cleared as much as she could until she was quite sure her patient's air way was clear.

Beside her, she heard Fareeha murmur something in Arabic,

The Doctor attempted to push Widow over by her shoulder to give herself more room only to meet resistance in the cramped quarters. Eyes roving over the contorted limbs, Angela announced,

"I need a bed sheet." She was met with stony silence. Sitting back on her haunches, she looked up at the stern, Egyptian soldier, "We need to move her." The lieutenant remained steadfast. "I can't examine her properly." Angela pressed, "Not like this."

"I'm not comfortable with that."

Tossing the med wipe on the floor with force, she said

"What could she possibly do? Look at her, she's unconscious!"

"Your safety is my main priority." Came the stilted reply.

"Please!"

"Fine!"

Holstering her gun, the athletic woman turned, disappearing back down the hallway. Alone, Angela tenderly drew a strand of damp hair out of her former friend's face.

Amelie, what have you gotten yourself into this time?

It was all too reminiscent.

A bright spring morning, Angela had been attending a conference in Paris when the call had come through requesting that she attend the townhouse Gerard Lacroix and his wife shared in the city as disturbing reports of an incident had come through. Information had been sparse, a barley discernible phone call to the base in Switzerland from the Overwatch agent's hysterical wife was all they had to go on.

Morrison had assured her that he was on his way that it was probably nothing to worry about, it being more than likely linked to Amelie's recent return from Talon's clutches. Time was of the essence, keep the local authorities at arm's length if need be. If that couldn't be avoided her job was to subdue the wife whilst Gerard secured all documents. Keep it contained. They couldn't afford another PR incident, not so closely on the heels of the unmitigated disaster of the Slipstream accident. Gerard knew the drill.

The press being held back by Officers had been the first indication that something was very wrong. Hover cars blue lights flashing, an Omnic police officer had let her though after inspecting her credentials.

The blue and white ticker tape fluttering in the spring morning zephyr had looked out of place on the idyllic cobblestoned drive way flanked by blooming cherry blossoms, twinkling in rays of the mid-morning sun. The apprehensive knot as she walked up that drive way sometimes still, years later, gripped her in the darkest hours of the night. To this day she still recalled the sombre faces of the local officers, some refusing her gaze, others looking at her in pity. One officer had approached her,

"We secured the area, we didn't want to go in until one of your lot came, but we had no choice."

White knuckled, she had enquired,

"Where's the patient?"

He had blinked,

"I'm sorry to say Ma'am, there isn't one."

Entering that townhouse, a place usually so full of love and life that had now been replaced with a heavy stillness, had taken all her courage. Her feet had felt like lead as she followed the officer up the winding staircase that would lead to the bedrooms. She had paused, stock still in the doorway of the master suite. The curtains had shifted in the double bay doors that she had known led out onto a south facing balcony, recalling how the view into the garden had been Amelie's favourite place. The breeze disturbing soft duck feathers that littered the French polished floor boards as the waft of cherry blossoms intermingled with the metallic tang of blood.

The officer had stood to one side remaining respectfully by the door as Angela had slowly approached the bed. Many evenings had been spent sat there in her pyjamas, watching movies, discussing literature and music and drinking wine, in a bid to keep Amelie company when her husband's long stints away on missions had sometimes become too much to bear.

Now on that bed lay a covered over lump, one white hand limply dangling down the side the other flopped on the mattress uselessly curled beside a revolver. Peeling back Egyptian cotton sheets had revealed a pillow placed over the face, duck down feathers mottled through the hole spittled in dark maroon. She had steeled herself to remove the pillow to stare at Gerard's once handsome face, marred by a bullet hole, unseeing eyes and lips blue from lack of oxygen.

She had collapsed into a nearby chair and wept.

"We think there was in intruder. Someone he brushed up the wrong way. Bound to happen in his line of work."

She had ignored his incompetence at the glaring facts. Better the locals think it was an intruder, rather than the dark suspicions that had grown in Angela's mind.

"Where's Amelie?"

"Who?"

"His wife!"

"We didn't know she was meant to be here."

"Find her!"

With a crackle of comms and urgent whispers in French she had been left alone. And that is how the Overwatch leader had found her, in that room that stank of death failure and regret, beside the body of their friend. Morrison had drawn her into a hug as she had sobbed over and over,

"I was wrong Jack. I was wrong!"

Suddenly Tracer's usual chipper voice replaced with gentle reproach, brought her back to the present.

"Are you ok there Angie?"

Cupboards banging echoed through the apartment. Looking up into Lena's expressive face, Mercy gave the concerned young woman a small smile,

"I'm fine."

"We're gonna help her, right?" Holding up a surveillance sweeper, Tracer began scanning the walls, "I don't wanna but it's the right thing to do, init?"

The plucky pilot had been still been classed as MIA when the Lacroix incident had occurred and probably only knew Amelie as the Talon codename of Widowmaker. God only knows, she had every right to hate her; Angela had patched the youngster up plenty enough times after she had come worse off grappling on roof tops with the assassin and how crushed she had been after the murder of Mondatta yet the girl's understanding and good nature gave Angela some hope.

"You're a good kid, Lena."

Lena let out a puff of air as she tossed her head in attempt to remove a lock of her unruly hair from her face, a habit she had and a tell-tale sign she was nervous at accepting the compliment.

The Lieutenant returned holding out a threadbare bed sheet,

"This is all I could find."

"It will do."

Tracer continued to check the walls and surroundings as the two other women struggled to manoeuvre the Talon operative onto the sheet. Each taking two corners of the makeshift sling they grunted under the weight as they shuffled out into the sitting room. Angela worked quickly and with a practised ease as she firmly but gently pressed a stethoscope to a blue breast bone causing Widow's skin to give an involuntary shudder. Holding her breath, the Doctor listened intently for tell-tale signs of a heartbeat.

Ba dum. There it was, weak but there none the less. She counted out the seconds. Ba dum. slow, far too slow than was humanly possible. A number of medical situations ran through her head.

Hypothermia. Was it even possible for Widow to suffer from hypothermia?

Flipping the stethoscope over neck she fished out a small flashlight and began to lift up Amelie's eyelids to reveal sclera littered with purple dots similar to petechial haemorrhaging.

"She looks like a djinn." Came the soldier's brusque tone.

Rifling through her bag Angela realised she was woefully unprepared for the situation. The last time she had attempted to administer aid to one of Moira's experiments it had resulted in dire consequences from which no amount of science could return. She was damned if she was going to run the risk of another Reaper happening by her hand.

"We need to bring her to my lab."

Momentarily, Tracer paused what she was doing,

"Ange, are you barmy? We can't just waltz into Watchpoint with one of the enemy's top agents. Its espionage 101, that is!"

From her vantage point leaning against the wall, Fareeha added,

"Thank you for being the voice of reason."

"I can't treat her here, I don't have what I need."

"Can't you just zap her with your staff?"

"It doesn't work like that Lena. Her physiology is beyond field medicine. One wrong move and she could die, or worse."

"What could possibly be worse?" Fareeha muttered, darkly.

Lena cocked her hip, the beeping of the sweeper forgotten,

"Look I'm not saying that we're gonna,"She stressed the words, "Or that we should, but if we were, how the hell we supposed to get her out of here? Its not like we can just mosey on down the stairs and hang a right at the elevator."

The two older women glared at each other.

"In a body bag."

"Fareeha, you're not helping."

Before another argument could ensue, Lena butted in.

"No she's right! Think about it." Lena began to pace, "We pop her in a body bag and Bob's your Uncle if there's anyone watching they won't know who we have and they will assume whoever it is dead!" Tracer vibrated with excitement, "Its genius!"

Anglea added, thoughtfully,

"We do have one in the hovercraft. Its standard issue."

Fareeha rubbed her temples staring at Mercy. After a long moment she let out a deep sigh,

"I want it on record that I think this is reckless and I'm against it!"

"Mint!" the Brit almost squealed before there was a pop and she zipped out of the door in a flash of light.

Putting her hand to her ear, Angela activated her comm,

"Genji, I need you to contact the base and tell them to prep the secure lab. Protocol 1426, contingency WhiskeyMikeAlphaLima."

Pushing herself off the wall, Fareeha asked,

"Why are you doing this?"

"I have a duty of care." Angela replied, softly.

"Are you sure that is what this is?"

Angela studied the woman across from her. She sometimes forgot just how astute she was and how well over the last few years she had come to know her. Fareeha had been out in the field as a member of the Egyptian Army when the 'Lacroix Incident' had occurred but it was common knowledge to her mother and the other senior members of Overwatch that Angela had taken to personally shouldering most of the blame. She and Amelie had been close, not being part of the gung-ho commandoes; they had found an appreciation in other things such as the arts and a mutual respect had blossomed into a firm and fast friendship.

"I failed her once, I won't fail her again."

Fareeha's features softened, as she quietly replied,

"Alright."

Tracer popped, breathlessly back into room, triumphantly holding up the bag,

"I got it."

Taking the bag from the girl's unresisting grip, Angela unfolded it, hating the sound of the heavy duty rubber. Too many times she had need of such a thing and she had always loathed the feel of it. The Egyptian soldier reached out to help her taking a corner to unfurl it next to the comatose assassin.

"Gather everything. And I mean everything. Not a single trace she was here. Understand?"

Lena buzzed about in a blue blur grabbing everything she could find, only pausing to flick the locks on an expensive state of the art guncase to find Widows Kiss safely cloistered within.

"Score!"

The two women lifted Amelie into the bag, careful not to zip it up all the way. All three Overwatch agents looked at each other.

"Now what?" Asked the Brit.

The lieutenant shook her head,

"I can't believe I'm asking this. How close can you get to the building?"

"How close you want it?"

Mercy's head snapped between the young women,

"What are you thinking?"

"We go out of the window onto the balcony."

Lena grinned,

"I like your style!"

Fareeha pressed.

"Can you do it?"

Lena struck a cocky pose, breathing on her nails and making a show of dusting then against her shoulder,

"They don't call me an Ace for nothing."

"Are you both crazy?"

"What other option do we have?" Fareeha asked, "Do want to risk dragging her ass through a civilian housing hub. All it takes is one idiot with a holocam and we're all over the news. Puft, so much for a clandestine mission."

"Can I do it, Mom?" Lena asked with an enthusiasm that belied the gravity of the situation.

Blinking in disbelief Angela waved her off. Tracer clapped her hands excitedly before, once again disappearing in a haze of blue light casting after images of where she once stood, leaving the two women alone.

"Thankyou."

"Don't thank me yet. When it goes wrong and it will, you can be the one to explain it to my mother."

The low thrum of the hover craft heralded its arrival. Through the window Angela could see Genji hanging casually in the aircraft doorway. A gust of wind entered as Angela opened the door as Fareeha , with Widow's limp body unceremoniously slung over her shoulder, took Genji's outstretched hand the cyborg making ease of pulling her into the awaiting craft.

Once there precious cargo was inside Genji began collecting the remnants of Widow's belongings.

With one last sweep of the bathroom, Angela spied a small bottle. Picking it up, she gave it shake, the sound of pills rattling within. Slipping it into her pocket, she quickly grabbed her med bag.

"Are we ready Dr Zielger?"

Anglea nodded.

Stepping into the hovercraft, she gave one last glance as the bay doors closed behind her, Lena's chipper voice coming over the comms,

"Welcome to flight Tracer. Keep all seat backs and tray tables in the upright and locked position. Please be aware of the overhead compartments as things may shift in transit and knock you the fuck out. Our ETA is two hours. Sit back and enjoy the ride!"

Taking a med wipe, the doctor quickly cleared as much as she could until she was quite sure her patient's air way was clear.

Angela worked quickly and with a practised ease as she firmly but gently pressed a stethoscope to a blue breast bone causing Widow's skin to give an involuntary shudder. Holding her breath, the Doctor listened intently for tell-tale signs of the heart.

Ba dum. There is was, weak but there none the less. She counted out the seconds. Ba dum. slow, far too slow than was humanly possible. A number of medical situations ran through her head.

Hypothermia. Was it even possible for Widow to suffer from hypothermia?

Flipping the stethoscope over neck, she fished out a small flashlight and began to lift up Amelie's eyelids to reveal sclera littered with purple dots similar to petechial haemorrhaging.

"She looks like a djinn."

Eyes roving over the contorted limbs, Angela announced, "I can't examine her properly. Not like this." Sitting back on her haunches, she looked up at the stern, Egyptian soldier, "I need a bedsheet."

"I'm not comfortable with that. Your safety is my main concern."

"She's unconscious and hardly in a fit state to do anything."

"Get me a beedsheet."

"She's alive, but unconscious." The doctor announced to no one in particular.

"Lena!" Mercy called.

"Amelie," she sighed to herself, "What have you gotten yourself into now?"