A piece of Overwatch died that Halloween.
It was too close. Too violating. They were supposed to be the best of the best. If they couldn't protect themselves, how could they be trusted to protect the world?
Five teams of Overwatch's best were dispatched within 30 minutes of the abduction. They searched through the night for any trail, intelligence or chatter that could lead them in the right direction. There was nothing to find.
Signature markings pointed at Talon being the perpetrator, but that was all there was. The kidnapping must have been planned meticulously for Talon agents to get so close to Overwatch on such a secure night.
To be expected, Gerard was distraught at Amelie's abduction. Overwatch officials wouldn't let him help in the search effort because of his compromised emotional state, to which he responded by punching one in the face and being placed on probation and confined to his quarters in the worry there was a second hit placed on him. The chances of that were slim, though. Talon wasn't stupid: If it couldn't get to Gerard, it would go after the next best thing.
A depressed mood tainted the air in Overwatch. Amelie's absence permeated every room, every hallway and every building. Never in its years of service had Overwatch been so thoroughly beaten so close to home.
They kept a lid on the abduction as best they could; leaks still managed to find their way to the media.
"OVERWATCH SENIOR AGENT KIDNAPPED!"
"OVERSERVED OVERWATCH CAN'T PROTECT ITSELF"
"DRUNK ON THE JOB? OVERWATCH AGENT ABDUCTED"
"DRUNKWATCH DUPED BY TERRORISTS?"
The headlines went on and on. Criticism descended like an angry storm for a lack of security, lack of protocol, accusations of wasted international funding on parties, tribunals to oversee Overwatch operations - it was endless.
As the days neared almost two weeks, the number of search teams dwindled to one dedicated team. Others were returned to their regular duties, even if nothing was normal anymore. Paranoia made the weak-willed particularly finicky, and so additional security measures were put in place that only succeeded in making people feel better while in practice bogging down the efficiency of the system.
Amelie's kidnapping wasn't the only thing that night that sent their world spinning off-kilter: McCree and Ana had quite publicly made out at The Bandit, something neither of them were going to live down anytime soon (not that McCree was embarrassed, on the contrary, he was rather pleased with himself).
Their public encounter helped steer gossip away from the poor job Gabriel and Angela did of sneaking back to her room, especially when the sneaking only consisted of walking into Overwatch five minutes apart and using different elevators.
Angela didn't exactly regret it, but she was shocked at her drunken disregard for safety. No condom? What the hell was she thinking? She didn't know if he was clean and she wasn't on another form of birth control. In the moment, though, she hadn't cared. Not one damn bit. She would have let Gabriel do whatever he wanted and enjoyed it. They'd leaped so far over the professional line she could hardly see it anymore. How were they supposed to act normal around each other? She could take Ana's route and be so frosty you'd think McCree had murdered someone she cared about. No, that wouldn't work. Angela didn't possess the snappy spirit Ana did.
The even bigger problem? She wanted him more than ever. It was like Angela became an addict overnight - she'd had one little taste, and now all she could think about was getting more.
It felt wrong spending time agonizing about her problems when Amelie was somewhere out there in Talon's clutches. No ransom, exchange for Talon operatives or other form of communication had been received.
On the R&D side, Torbjorn was putting the final touches on the prototype rifle for Ana. Winston was working on something he'd only refer to as a "Barrier Projector," and seemed very enthusiastic about it. That enthusiasm, Lena had explained, translated into an unhealthy uptick in peanut butter intake, so much so that an additional shipment had to be put in just for him.
She glanced at her phone for what felt like the 60th time in a minute, willing the screen to light up with some sort of response. She'd sent a text to Gabriel a few minutes prior asking if they could talk. Their situation needed to be resolved amicably, the stodgier part of her brain reasoned, with a professional talk about boundaries and space. Angela acknowledged her attraction to him, but she wasn't an animal, dammit. She wasn't dictated entirely by her instinctual wants.
"Ok."
The two words glowed bright on her phone screen. Her palms started to sweat. What if this was a bad idea? He wasn't much of a talker and she didn't want to pick a fight. Shit.
"Thanks. Are you here? Can you come by my place?" It appeared to be the best location, at least it was the most private place she could think of.
"Ok."
Her brows furrowed. The blunt replies annoyed her. Ok? That's it?
She padded to her bedroom and threw on a sweater. The neatly made bed gave her pause. Images flashed through her mind: a witch's hat tossed haphazardly onto the floor, the jingle of a belt being undone, her moans at his ministrations.
Maybe asking him to talk in her apartment was a bad idea.
No. Don't be ridiculous. Angela shook her head and sighed. "I am a grown woman," she muttered to herself. "I am perfectly capable of having a civilized conversation in my own home."
The nagging feeling that she'd futilely tried to reassure herself like that before tugged at her confidence.
Her doorbell's ring dropped a heavy weight in her gut. Anxiety flapped its ugly wings as she unlocked the door. "That was fast."
"Hi to you too," Gabriel stared down at her before nodding at the door. "Are you going to let me in, or are we having this conversation in the doorway?"
"Right," she stepped aside to let him in, mug of tea held protectively against her chest. "Thanks for coming."
"I wasn't going to turn down an invitation into your apartment," he walked past her. "It smells like Christmas in here."
"Oh, it's getting close to December, I like to have candles lit in the winter." Angela shut the door and tucked her phone in her pocket.
Gabriel paused for a moment prior to taking a seat on her couch; she wondered if he was thinking about the last time he'd been here. He pulled his beanie off, tossed it on the coffee table and sank into the couch, rubbing his face with his thumbs as he sank into the cushion.
"Can I get you anything?" Angela asked.
"No."
She hesitated, "Are you upset?"
He let out a grunt. "Angela, I'm busy. What do you want to talk about?"
"I just thought we should talk about what happened on Halloween," her voice sounded about as confident as she felt. "I think there's some unfinished business."
His eyes opened to look at her, "I'd agree with that."
"Come on Ziegler, say what you have to say," she gritted her teeth. "It would be best, in my opinion, if we found a way to put the whole thing behind us. It's been an unwanted distraction for me that I would like to solve."
Gabriel almost laughed after he realized she was being serious. "Cariño, there's only one way to fix our, as you imply, 'problem.'"
"Oh?" Angela took a sip of her tea. "If you have a solution I'm all ears."
His eyes held her eyes until he turned to her bedroom door. "We have sex." He did laugh when she choked on her tea. Her face was so expressive, he never had trouble figuring out what she was thinking. It was actually pretty damn cute.
Angela was speechless. She stared at him for a couple seconds, after which her brain reminded her eyelids to blink. "Excuse me?"
"You know," his eyes twinkled at her discomfort. "Relieve the tension. That doesn't go away on its own. Personally, I'm willing to volunteer as many times as necessary."
"What?!" Angela's face tinged a deeper shade of red. "Wha- I don't even, that's not even remotely a possibility. How on earth do you think that would solve anything?"
"For a doctor you're pretty stupid sometimes," Gabriel said as he stood up. "See," he walked around the coffee table, pried the mug out of her hands and set it down. "People don't stop wanting each other just because the rule book says it's not allowed." His hand wove around her neck to tug playfully at her ponytail. "We're not walking backward after that night. If Amelie hadn't been kidnapped, we would have had sex, Angela. So, you see," his voice had dropped to just above a whisper. "We're either going to get it out of the way early, or fester around each other until we can't take it anymore. Personally, I don't like waiting."
Angela's heart felt like it was going to burst out of her chest. "If Amelie hadn't been kidnapped? Don't make it sound like an inconvenience!"
He scoffed and walked away from her, crossing his arms over his chest. "What am I going to do? Sit around all day looking sad?" He pushed back. "That's not going to do shit. We're all busting our asses to find her, Angela. I'm only stating facts, and the fact is that if Talon hadn't taken her, we would have had sex, and you would have loved every second of it."
This had obviously been a terrible idea. Angela frowned and gestured at the door, regretting immensely the last five minutes. "You can go."
"You're the one who asked me to come up here for a private chat," Gabriel snapped. "And now you're mad because you got exactly what you asked for? Don't forget that you are the one that kissed me, you are the one that invited me back and you are the one that said you wanted to fuck. Don't project your guilt onto me like I did something wrong."
He was right, and she knew it. It wasn't fair of her to pin her actions on him, as much as she loathed to admit it. "I don't regret it, I just, I'm sorry. I don't know why I thought talking would be a good idea. This was a waste of time."
Gabriel had never had so much trouble getting a girl to sleep with him, or maybe he'd never stayed interested for this long. And yet here she was, unsure, flighty, frustrating and sexy as hell. Striding back to her, he grabbed her face and pulled her into a kiss.
His lips were warm on hers; before she knew it her hands were tugging him forward.
Angela didn't bother pulling away because honestly? This is what she wanted. Her bravado was a farce to make herself feel like she had even one ounce of self-control around him. She was powerless against her desire, utterly defeated by one of life's most basic needs.
A hand on her lower back urged their bodies closer as she lost herself in the breathy kiss. She wanted more, always more, and that scared her. This was all wrong, finding comfort in the arms of a teammate while others were frantically searching for another, but it was pointless to try and fight it. The addiction permeated her body and poisoned her brain. It demanded more, always more, and what little willpower she had left was being overrun.
She moaned when he slipped a hand under her sweatshirt to feel her warm skin and trace a finger along the underwire of her bra. They stumbled and the backs of his knees hit the couch, sending them tumbling onto the cushions in a heady storm of impulse.
Angela pressed herself into to him, fingers intoxicated by the curves of his arms and shoulders. "How many muscles do you have?" She said, temporarily distracted by his biceps.
"Shh, less talking," Gabriel mumbled, far too occupied carving a path of kisses across her collarbone to care. His body felt like a spring wound so tight it could explode at any moment. He ground his hips into hers to the sound of her delighted humming, relishing in the way her body responded to his.
"Fuck," he thought to himself. "I have to go." What a cruel joke the world was playing on him: a hot woman straddling him and he had to go save the world or some bullshit. If there was a God, he was a real piece of shit.
"Angela," he said breathlessly. "As much as I would love to stay longer and work out our issues, there's shit to do."
Clarity washed over her like a cold bucket of water. How'd she go from putting her foot down to humping him like a 15 year old? "I, uh, yes of course," she stammered.
They detangled themselves and Gabriel took a moment to adjust himself before walking to the door. "When are you coming back to active duty?"
Active duty meant guns. She didn't feel comfortable telling him she wasn't able to sleep through the night because of nightmares. "Soon I'm sure," she said dismissively. "I'm needed in the labs."
"Ahuh," he smirked as he opened the door. "Don't you worry about condoms, by the way, I'll make sure to bring some next time you want to talk."
The door swung shut to her shocked expression; she heard him laughing down the hallway like some kind of maniac.
Searingly bright lights blinded her eyes.
She was cold. So cold. Her mind was heavy, like someone was smothering it with a blanket.
"Where am I?"
Her body hurt. It hurt in her bones, in her marrow and tendons.
Why was she having so much trouble remembering what happened? And there was this horrible metallic taste in her mouth, what was that? Every thought she had felt like it was being absorbed into a formless mass of confusion taking over her brain; the harder she tried to focus, the foggier her thoughts became.
Amelie heard a sound, a door maybe? She attempted to turn toward the noise, and realized her head was restrained.
A body moved over her and obscured part of the lights. "Who are you?" came out as a hoarse croak and got no reply from the person.
She winced when something pinched her arm.
Darkness enveloped her.