"What would you do if.. um – hypothetically speaking – you started to find a superior or a co-worker attractive?"
Sapphire-coloured hues cut across from the records she was regarding to the lounging adult on the floating bed, lips twitching into a knowing smirk as Angela refrained from commenting, only perking a thin, manicured eyebrow at the nimble agent, who was desperately trying not to look at the doctor and entertained herself by tossing a small rounders ball into the air and catching it.
There were few patients that Mercy personally allowed to crash in her office for extended periods of time; usually she resigned to accept the more quiet ones, though she made a notable exception for Lena Oxton. After the Slipstream incident, the Swiss doctor often pushed the extra mile for her, as if to make up for the lack of ability in dealing with her unique condition.
Thank the world for Winston and his brilliance.
She could see Tracer grow increasingly embarrassed at asking such a question, lower lip drawn to be bitten and redness filling her cheeks and spread down the back of her neck like an awkward sunburn. Finally, Angela hummed, twirling the pen in her hand as she set the record down and deigned to entwine her fingers to create a bridge for her chin to rest upon.
"I don't see anything wrong with that. It is normal to find the aesthetics of a person pleasing." she said, then added rather impishly; "Of course, if I was to find sexual gratification -"
"Please!" quickly interjected Lena, the cherry pigment of her cheeks offset by the pinched, pale look that crossed her. She inwardly cursed at herself – she was not a prude person, yet she felt no more than the young teen back in her academy under the intense scrutiny of Doctor Ziegler. "Don't word it like that."
The doctor chuckled, the corners of her eyes crinkling at the motion. Angela was fairly young, but she was a kind and mirthful person, and already small little lines creasing her face for all her laughter made her all the more charming and endearing, even if she had her own little fun with cases like these.
Sobering up, Angela answered a little more seriously. "If I had these thoughts, I would ask myself if it is merely propinquity or true emotional, mental and physical attraction."
Tracer's bushy brow shot up into the untamed unknown (read: her hair) and turned her head towards the serene grace of the medic, shuffling around on the bed to have the side of her head rest in the palm of her hand, supported by her elbow. "I think you just went psychologist on me again. Propo-what?"
Mercy had the modesty to bashfully duck her head, a pink flush taking to the tip of her nose. "Propinquity. To simplify a social psychological concept; – a proximity or.. or a close kinship. Agents see each other on a daily basis.. fight together, protect their lives.. goodness, we pretty much live together, too. It is practically inevitable something like that develops."
Lena found an intense interest in picking the invisible dirt out of her short, stubby fingernails, nibbling on her middle finger's nail as she mulled the concept in her head. That would make sense in explaining a few things, though it felt.. lacklustre, or an incomplete answer. It didn't feel like it was right in her situation, but it was a small step in the right direction.
There was more than just an attraction – Gabriel had played a pretty key figure in helping her in the journey to overcome the intense feelings towards the chronal accelerator and the disassociation, even if his method of doing so amounted to tough love. It wasn't perfect, but it was his way and in small doses it was just the right kick up the arse she needed when she dangerously wallowed in too much self-pity. Other times, he was content to let her simply hold on, mumble in rare dulcet tones of a language she didn't understand. It matter little – the cadence of his voice was what she listened to, not his words.
She deducted – with mild jest that she should be called Lena Holmes – that there was more at play than the principal Mercy proposed.
And that was not even getting into the case of Jesse McCree.
With an exasperated sigh, Tracer tossed one arm dramatically over her face, covering her eyes as she tossed and flopped around on the bed, now residing on her back and away from the inquisitive piercing blue eyes of the acclaimed miracle worker.
Lena knew she tended to go a little over the top when it came to her emotions; like a tornado she encompassed; she relished in the intense joy and wallowed deeply in the pit of despair. With begrudging knowledge, it'd be only a matter of time before she worked herself sick over something so menial, or take the other approach of trying in vain to bury it down. There were few things she simply rather not deal with – it complicated matters.
The funny thing was, she suspected Gabriel to be completely unaffected by his own actions; likely the last thing that'd cross his mind unless specifically mentioned, whereas she was in Mercy's office, trying to secretly seek out advice without being too obvious.
Unfortunately, subtlety was not her strongest suit. Angela's ever present inquiring stare lanced through her the moment she breathed a bedraggled sigh.
"You are a very compassionate person, Lena." the doctor began gently. "You feel things more intensely than perhaps others do – and that is not a bad thing. It shows how much empathy you exude. But I think you just need to work on restraining such intensity at times."
"I think I showed plenty of restraint." Tracer muttered ruefully under her breath, mind set on that night of drunken haze. Then, louder, she answered. "We are talking hypothetically, right, love? Cause, I am in now way feeling any of this. Hah."
"Right," replied Angela, sounding unconvinced. The light sound of the leather ball slapping against skin sounded once more as Lena began to toss it in the air and catch it, only to spit out a short expletive when she fumbled and it smacked into her face. Mercy shook her head, neatly storing away some files and pulled out the swear jar. Immediately the agent tossed a couple of pound coins into the odd collection of growing currency, though most notably American dollars.
"This is extortion." complained Tracer.
"My office. My rules." She tucked the jar away back under her desk. "And it is not extortion."
"Same thing, I'm sure."
Timely, the emergency communication channel burst into a series of unintelligible static, red light flashing in warning and halting Mercy's reply. A flash of concern streaked across her face before taking a hold of the ear piece and microphone, all merriment dropping in her tone for a cool professionalism that made her seem twenty years older.
"What is your emergency?" A pause, likely to listen, before stress started to work it's way into her muscles, fingers curling. "I can't – you're speaking – Gabriel. Repeat, this time slower, please."
At the mention of the Blackwatch commander, Lena stared anxiously over to Angela, watching as her stern business like persona melted away into a shocked twist of grief, hand flying to her lips as her gaze briefly passed over Tracer and hurriedly tried to compose herself, if not for herself but not to alert the agent. Sadly, her mind was already going through a million thoughts.
"Mein Gott." she whispered. "The local hospital have done all they can, but he needs to be brought back here. My technology will properly be able to stabilize him for surgery – It is not their fault, Gabriel. The tissue would have likely become necrotic and began infesting his living, healthy tissue. They came to same conclusion I would have."
"Doc..?"
Her fingers tapped hastily on the keyboard, ignoring Lena. "I am sending word to prep the air ambulance as we speak. Get the tending anaesthesiologist to administer anaesthetic – I have just transferred a copy of his medical records. By the time I arrive, he should be sound asleep."
".. Ja. I will remain on the line." Mercy was quick to get to work, pulling out her Valkyrie suit as well as necessary items she believed she needed in the great medicine cabinet behind her. She did shoot an apologetic look over to Tracer's confused face, and briefly covered the microphone.
"Mein liebster, I hate to have to ask this, but I would appreciate if you returned to the clinic at a later date."
"O-Of course, love." she murmured. "Are – is everything going to be fine?"
Angela offered a strained but convincing smile. "Go on now, little love. I must be on my way."
Mutely, Tracer watched as Mercy strode out of the office, commanding the nearby medical staff in German; all of them rushing around as she headed towards the helicopter bay atop the roof. The nagging curiosity and anxiety regarding the mystery patient settled like a rock in her stomach, but nevertheless she obeyed the doctor's request and left the clinic.
They had arrived back at the base in the dead of the night, the ambulance feeling a little more cramped than usual with the addition of Gabriel's squad standing by. It was a tense ride filled with silence, shattered by the vital monitors beeping calmly. Mercy's face was haggard, a complete juxtaposition from her usual angelic aura, dainty hand slipped into Jesse's slack one as she watched him intently.
In some absurd saving grace, it would be the best sleep he had ever gotten, especially during flight. His chest steadily rose and fell with his breathing; his face was relaxed as all the pain had been sapped away by numbness. The local hospital had already stripped him of his armour and he now rested in a some basic white trousers and hospital gown, with a distinct lack of a limb filling through the left sleeve. She had autonomously checked over his body as well, and grimaced the moment she saw severe burns scorched into his left side.
Subconsciously, she squeezed his hand, head bowed. Jesse was far too young to have such injuries. It clutched at her chest and tugged at her heart.
Reyes on the other hand, remained stone-faced and brooding like a bubbling storm. From the rigid posture and contained, tranquil fury, Mercy could tell he was not happy for the situation and had taken some of his anger out in the hospital at Dorado, even if they truly did all they could.
The attending nurses were a blessing as they helped ease the floating bed out of the ambulance when it touched down and hastily steered it towards the emergency operating room where Mercy could work her miracles. She had a solution to the amputation, but she'd rather have McCree's consent before doing anything. Judging by Gabriel's recount of what he had been like at the hospital, however, he simply was not in the correct state of mind to be making any choices. The shock of what happened likely was a bit too much.
Naturally, Tracer could not stay away for long, and what felt like hours since she had heard the helicopter return back to base and Athena's confirmation, she strayed towards the doctor's domain, noting the flux of staff nurses and otherwise in a flurry of activity. The main emergency room was blocked off with bulky security guards posted at the doors, only allowing medical personnel entry.
The waiting room was open, thankfully, and she spotted the form of Gabriel Reyes hunched over the pathetic plastic chair, arms loosely thrown over his knees and a scowl burrowed deeply onto his face. She didn't want to startle him, so refrained from blinking over and instead cleared her throat to grab his attention.
His glare flickered up, though softened when it landed on the troubled youthful visage of the Overwatch agent. He eased back into his chair; only to mutter something under his breath and run a hand through tightly woven locks of hair now matted with sweat from the mission. "Oxton. What are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same question." she responded, joining him by the string of chairs. "I was relaxing in her office when Mercy got the call. Your call. What's going on?"
It was hard to bear looking at her uneasy face, innocently expressive and pleading with her liquid brown hues, and tried to force a confident smile to his lips, though the sentiment did not reach his flinty gaze. "I'm sorry, mi dulce. It's confidential. I'm sure you will find out sooner or later."
"Then you shouldn't have a problem telling me, love." rightly Tracer pointed out, then softly reached out to grip his hand, sensing just how tensely knitted his muscles were with the stress and pressure. He withheld a sigh, engulfing her slim hand with his calloused, rougher one.
"You've always told me it's better to share the burden, less to carry yourself, y'know? You can't always be the one holding the weight."
"Don't use my own advice back on me," he grumbled, but conceded at one more stolen glance of her beseeching face. "There was.. an incident during a mission. One of my men got critically injured, and Mercy refuses to let me back into the operating room to see how he is doing."
"It's probably for the best. I've tried to watch her work, but it's all German to me." the agent tried to joke very lightly, to do anything to lighten the dour mood. It didn't seem to have any effect, and the weak, encouraging smile dropped as quickly as it came.
Their moment was interrupted as the doors to the waiting room flung open and revealed a very angry looking Ana Amari. Tracer had only heard rumours – nay, legends – about the sniper's incomprehensible temper. It was a calculated, concentrated fury that burned with an intensity of a thousand suns, and it was all directed at Gabriel, the muscle in his neck twitching as he restrained himself wincing from the inevitable outburst to come.
Like she had been caught doing wrong, Tracer snapped at attention, putting as much distance between herself and Gabriel as possible, even if they were in acceptable levels of space to begin with. Her hands shamefully rested on her lap. She seemed to be invisible though as the second-in-command was entirely guided to the man.
"Debrief." she instructed. "Now."
"It can wait," the Blackwatch leader grounded out. "Mercy will be done any -"
"You are at best, five hours behind schedule due to your extended delay in the mission location, a delay that would have been cleared if you radioed in to inform us of the circumstances, which you did NOT. Overwatch has been trying to get in contact with you the second you had not returned after the first hour." she boomed, gaze unerring and powerful. "So no, it cannot wait."
Tracer felt as if she was holding her breath when her vicious steel slowly turned to her.
"And you, Agent Oxton, have little reason to be here at all. I hope I do not have to remind you that you are a part of Overwatch and within your rank should have little to no contact with Blackwatch at all." She flayed Gabriel with a heated look. "Something we will also be discussing."
Reyes bristled, and it was by the sheer presence of Lena alone that his own rage was not unleashed. But, like always, he kept it down within him to fester into hatred that eventually would manifest. For now, he stood up, stalking after Ana's form as she turned on her heel to leave for the private conference.
Tracer exhaled deeply when the two overbearing wills had left, back of her head bumping against the tiled wall as she absent-mindedly ran a hand through her messy hair. She understood why Ana was jokingly considered to be in charge between her and Jack – she acted in a way that was necessary, even if she would end up to be resented for it.
Moments later, Angela stepped out of the room, wiping her brow with a small handkerchief and offering a tired smile. "The surgery is a success, Jesse will be -" she halted when she saw only Lena expectantly looking at her.
"Oh." a pause. "Gabriel did not wish to see the results?"
"Captain Amari.. requested his appearance for a debrief." informed Tracer, the sarcasm laced in her tone regarding the 'request' obvious, but drained quickly as she looked to the double doors, now a confirmation as to who lied within. A small well of grief collected in the corners of her eyes as she mumbled ".. Can I see McCree?"
The moment hesitance became apparent on Mercy's face, Lena all but threw herself at the doctor, hands gripping her upper arms. "Love, please. I just.. I just want to see if he's all right. The past few hours have been literal hell."
It seemed Gabriel wasn't the only one that had a hard time saying no to Tracer. Mercy heaved a great sigh. "I suppose so. But be mindful, he is asleep and I would prefer he remained that way for the rest of the night."
Lena wrapped the weary doctor in a huge embrace, uttering a multitude of gratitude before blinking into the room the second the door was held open for her. As McCree had been the only critically injured patient, it didn't take long to find him snoozing in his bed donned in a plain gown and hair pulled out of his face in a surprisingly endearing ponytail, IV hooked into his fleshy arm and –
She stared at the metallic prosthetic.
It was of basic design, not sporting anything too out of the ordinary with various joints to indicate great and realistic articulation. It was a nice chrome black, though was likely unfinished given the lack of skin hiding it or anything of the sort. She supposed that would be down to choice when McCree was a little more lucid.
With tentative steps, as if the wrong move would wake him up, she approached the bedside and quietly tugged the stool over to it, unable to take her eyes off of the replacement limb. Her heart shuddered at the sight of it, voice caught in her throat like a trapped knot and a great sadness rested on her shoulders. Before she had even realised it, she had placed on hand on her chronal accelerator, her own life support.
Lena empathised with his situation, and wanted nothing more than to turn back time to stop whatever had caused it. Sadly, she only had mastery of her own time and could not do such a thing, and tried to focus on just how blissful he looked resting. A stray lock of hair fell out of place, so she reached over to tuck it neatly away.
The moment the tip of her finger graced over his forehead, his hand rose and gripped weakly at her cheek. Patting to confirm she was indeed there, McCree draped an arm around her shoulders and haphazardly pulled her close; blinking rapidly as he struggled to open his eyes, before giving up to contently keep them closed. Tracer froze completely, eyes darting every which way. She tried to pull away, but his arm was quite the dead weight.
"'lo darlin'." he drawled thickly, tiredly.
"McCree," she addressed, all still trying to very carefully manoeuvre his arm off of her and failing spectacularly whilst containing her growing emotional state. Her voice cracked. "You should go back to sleep."
Jesse slurred something that suspiciously sounded like denial, but he was already off lightly snoring as sleep captured him. With a tiny bit of force, Lena yanked herself free, tried to fix her wild hair and mustered the courage to look at him once more. God, she felt like crying, but held on just enough composure to stop herself from doing so.
Anxiously, she stood up, though lingered at his bedside, debating with herself on an action. Eventually, Tracer settled for taking up his fleshy hand, pressing a small kiss to his knuckles and letting it rest back on the bed.
"Have pleasant dreams, Tex." she murmured to his sleeping form. "I'll catch you at the bar later, yeah?"
Lena left, leaving him to have a peaceful sleep full of blissful nothingness.
Note: Seriously, kudos to everyone. Not only did Sombra's message get decoded within hours of the chapter's going up (well, lets be real, it was no salted shenanigans and Caesar ciphers are pretty easy to brute force) but we had a few that correctly guessed the direction of how the bomb explosion was going to be like.
Anyone who has also read the Gabriel related chapters of Agents of Overwatch would also have guessed Ana's appearance and the direction this is slowly going towards regarding Ana's chastise of Tracer.
Tempestuous is less frequently updated than AoO but, I felt the need to wrap up this arc since I myself hate cliffhangers
Thank you all for the continued support!
