Ow.
A foggy blanket of sleep scattered her thoughts.
OW.
Dull pain was slowly blowing the fog away like a soft breeze; Angela fought against it, subconsciously clinging to sleep. But the ache and light streaming through the window were winning the war, and soon she blearily opened her eyes, flinching when she again moved her legs under the cool sheets.
Angela wasn't much of a mover when she slept, that's why her half-awake mind found it odd that the pillows were disturbed next to her. A lot of things seemed odd, in fact.
"Why are my clothes all over the place?"
"Why is my bedroom door open?"
"Why are my thighs so -"
"Ach du großer Gott!" Angela sat up in bed fast enough to make her head spin. Unfortunately for her, that only lasted a second; memories started crashing down around her in a horrifying play-by-play of the night.
Nightmare. Wine. Snow. Crying. Gabriel.
Gabriel.
"What have I done?" she whispered. Silence was her only answer. Now she knew why her body ached, why her thighs were sore.
The shout erupted from her mouth before she could stop it.
"ANGELA!"
Never in her life had she done something that reckless, that stupid. Sex with, for all intents and purposes, her boss. And on top of that, not using protection?!
She flopped backwards, messy hair splayed across the pillow. "Have I gone mad?"
Somewhere in the back of her mind she was cringing at the fact that he'd obviously left at some point during the night. But would she have preferred waking up next to him? What would she have said? What was she going to say?
The worst part? Angela remembered in vivid detail how fantastic the sex was.
A blush crept over her cheeks as she recalled how she'd cried out, begged him for more, been the one to invite HIM to stay. Dark parts of her even wanted more.
"No. Nope. Negative," Angela muttered to herself and got out of bed. A shower was what she needed, if anything to get the smell of sex off her skin. The force of the hangover hit her in that moment, and she stumbled over to the bathroom just in time to puke into the toilet.
This was now officially the worst day ever.
Once she rid herself of the contents of her stomach, she turned the shower on as hot as it would go and let herself slide down the wall until she was sitting on the tiles under the water. Angela sat there for awhile in silence, eyes closed. She wished the water could wash away her actions and their memories. She wished she knew what happened to her sterling ethics. She wished the sex hadn't been so damn good.
"I am logical. I am smart. I can figure this out," she said to herself. "Mistakes happen to everyone. I will inform him that that will never happen again, and to please forgive my out-of-line behavior."
Except she'd told herself that previously when it came to Gabriel, and yet here she was.
She didn't even know what her schedule was for the day. Her pager was somewhere in the apartment - the coffee table, probably. At least no one had knocked on her door. Well, how would she know? Drunk sleep wasn't light sleep. Presumably, if it had been important enough someone would have made sure she'd woken up.
Sleep.
The word danced around her head, as if carrying some amount of importance she hadn't clicked in to yet.
And then it came to her: Despite the hangover, she'd slept through the entire night without a single nightmare. No half-dead demon dragging itself toward her, no screams, no explosions, no bullets, just the sweet blanket of unconsciousness through the whole night. She didn't feel well not because she didn't get a full night of sleep, but because of all the alcohol she drank.
"Let's hope one stupid decision was enough to stop the nightmares," she mumbled. The last thing she needed was the knowledge that the only thing that had managed to put her to sleep was Gabriel.
The doctor sat in the shower until the water ran cold. Dehydration made her feel like she was moving through molasses once she finally got out.
In that instant, dripping and swaying in the bathroom, Angela had the only intelligent thought of the morning. Fumbling with the towel, she dried herself off as quickly as she could and trudged her way over to the storage closet. Inside was the Holy Grail: IV saline drip bags. Five minutes later she was back in bed with a needle in her arm on her way to sweet, sweet relief.
Eyes closed, her mind wandered where it chose, which honestly wasn't anywhere at all. After the throbbing in her temples subsided and she didn't feel nauseous when vertical, Angela had to swing by the infirmary and grab a packet of morning-after pills. That realization dragged her mood impossibly lower that it already was. First, she slept with her boss. Second, she had to steal pills because she couldn't risk anyone asking any questions.
"I've become a degenerate," she moaned pitifully.
At this rate, Gabriel Reyes was going to be the death of her.
...
An hour later, Dr. Angela Ziegler felt like a new woman. Nothing beat a saline drip when it came to defeating a hangover - something she'd learned after celebrating her finals in medical school.
She brushed her hair out, threw on slacks and a sweater, put her phone in her pocket and started on her way to the next important destination: the medical supply room.
It was silly, Angela knew, yet she felt like every person who looked at her could see the guilt dripping off her skin. Each smile, "Hello" and "How are you?" left her fumbling for a response that usually ended up coming out as a mix between "Hi" and "Fine."
Slipping into the medical ward, Angela gave an authoritative nod to the clerk at the front desk of the supply room. It wasn't uncommon to see a doctors going in and out - much less Angela - thought it ate at her. She absolutely should not be abusing her privileges as a doctor, but she also couldn't exactly sign out the medication she needed without raising some serious eyebrows.
A couple rows down she found what she was looking for. Safely tucked in her pocket, Angela b-lined it to her office, shut the door and flopped into her chair. She quietly opened the box and delicately placed the small blue pill on her desk.
Staring at it swept all of the prior evening's mishaps back. She stole. Dr. Angela Ziegler stole medicine because she was too damn stupid to wear a condom while she was drunkenly having sex with her commander.
And this, this tiny little pill, was going to make sure there were no more mistakes.
Ringing pulled her out of her self-pitying musings. She picked up her phone while standing up to grab a bottle of water, "Dr. Ziegler speaking."
"Ang, we need you in conference room 5 for a briefing. Are you busy?"
Her eyes trained to the pill again, "Hi Jack, no I'm not. I'll see you there in 10."
"Roger."
"Get your head in the game, doctor," Angela chided herself. The real world was not going to wait for her to fret over her mistakes, and Overwatch needed her. With one swig of water, she washed down the pill, pushed the box into the trash and headed out the door.
Dawn dragged Gabriel into consciousness. He squinted, confused, until he glanced over at the splash of blonde on the pillow next to him.
Easing himself out of bed, Gabriel gathered his clothes, which, he held back a chuckle, had been quite literally thrown around the room.
One set of toes stuck out of the sheets that were barely covering the naked body underneath. Gabriel lingered for a moment to soak in the sight, and was half-tempted to wake her up for round two.
Angela looked more relaxed than he'd seen since that mission that inspired her impromptu field hiatus.
He hesitated at the door, checked to make sure no one was in the hallway and called an elevator.
Thirty minutes later, Overwatch's commander sent a flurry of punches into a bag in the gym. He always forgot what it was like to get a full night's sleep, and usually ended up with a lot of pent up energy by the time he did wake up. This time, though, it wasn't only the sleep. He felt good. His whole body felt rejuvenated and relaxed. His mind even seemed quelled.
He knew what it was, of course. Getting your rocks off does tend to calm a man down. Sweat trickled down his temples with each punch. He planned on a long shower after this, a beer and breakfast.
Gerard was surprised to see someone else in the gym that early. With Amelie missing, he'd been going to the gym earlier and earlier every morning to be alone and work out his stress. Who really knew how much it helped, Overwatch was stilling babysitting him like he was a damn flight risk.
"The fuck are you doing up this early?"
The men appraised each other for a moment, neither willing to admit why they were actually down there.
Gabriel wiped the sweat from his face and gave Gerard a shrug, "Couldn't sleep."
"Is there any new information from Dunst?"
"Fuck me," Gabriel's jaw tensed. "Don't start this shit with me right now."
"No," he focused his attention back on the bag.
"Why not?"
"Fucking Christ..."
"What do you want me to do, cut his fucking fingers off?" Gabriel growled. "Talon wasn't going to give that sack of shit any information that would be useful to us."
Gerard's brows furrowed. The man was clearly unhappy with the response, but Gabriel didn't give a damn. He stopped hitting the bag and turned around to face him. "What are you expecting me to do, huh? I can't read minds, and your incessant bitching isn't helping."
"She's my wife!" Gerard's voice pitched upward. His hands curled into fists. "What the hell would you know about that, anyway? I've seen how you treat women, and I sure as hell am not surprised none of them stuck around."
"Unlike you," Gabriel growled, "I don't need an emotional crutch."
The room filled with an oppressive, tense silence.
Just as the tension felt like it was going to burst, Jesse threw open the door and sauntered in.
"Woah there," he glanced back and forth between the two men. "I reckon I came in at a bad time?"
Gabriel snarled, threw the punching gloves at Gerard's feet and shoved past Jesse.
"So..." Jesse scratched the back of his head uncomfortably. "Feel like sparrin'?"
Gerard left the room without answering.
Jesse glanced between both doors with a cocked eyebrow, "Well mornin' to you too."
...
Something was missing in his mission packets. Gabriel wasn't sure what it was, but he could sense it. They were usually thicker than this, had more intelligence. Overwatch had a series of international missions it was sending troops on, and he couldn't imagine the missions were suddenly simple enough to warrant the discrepancy.
The remainder of the morning was uneventful aside from his run-in with Gerard. Overwatch wanted to send a small contingency of men to check in on the Shimada Clan in Japan. They''d been a little too active of late, and there were whispers of a growing animosity between the leader's two sons.
He had to figure out who he wanted to take. It wasn't going to be anything overly dangerous, the Shimadas knew better than to pick direct fights with Overwatch, but that didn't mean he was going to take any green recruits.
The Clan might not mess with Gabriel or Jack, though they'd sure as hell kill someone lesser to send a message.
Blackwatch had been sending him regular intelligence which seemed to confirm Sojiro's declining health. It was more intel than Overwatch ever seemed to get its hands on, Gabriel snorted, at least half of the show knew how to get shit done.
It would be best if he stayed away from Gerard for now. There was no doubt in his mind that Amelie was dead, and he wasn't one to be a shoulder to cry on or endless fountain of sympathy and pats on the shoulder. Overwatch needed a teammate in top shape to deal with Talon more than ever, and if Gerard could no longer be that person, they'd have to find someone else.
Gabriel envied Talon at points. They were terrorists, sure, but they had no higher moral ethics weighing them down. Being able to do what had to be done to complete a mission - freedom to ensure success - was not a luxury Overwatch granted. It wasn't morals that were the biggest problem. Bureaucracy, politicians and international politics constantly caused problems for him and his team. He wished he could shove a gun up their asses and tell them all to fuck off to hell on a slip 'n slide of bullets.
And then there was Jack, always playing hero like the world was some sort of movie.
"Son of a bitch," Gabriel grunted. Speak of the devil, his phone was flashing Jack's name. "Hello golden boy."
"Funny Gabriel. We need you in conference room 5 asap."
A frown tugged down Gabriel's lips. Since when did Jack tell him about meetings? "Some reason why I didn't know about this, Jack?"
He could hear the irritated clicking of teeth on the other end, and then Jack replied, "10 minutes tops, confere-."
The phone crunched into the holder with the force of a man perturbed. First Gerard, now this? What the fuck happened to his relaxed morning?
"I think it's potassium chloride poisoning, Angela."
"Winston," Angela bit her cheek to contain her smile. "You'd need to eat a lot of bananas for that to be a problem. I mean, a LOT."
The two sat toward the back of the table in conference room 5, in which was gathered Ana, Jack, an unsurprisingly annoyed looking Torbjorn, Jesse and a woman she had yet to meet.
"I do tend to overindulge," Winston looked away sheepishly. "I seem to have a bad stomach ache. I was looking up online the potassium chloride to weight ratio necessary to induce fatal levels of poisoning and I would appreciate a medical expert's, like yourself, professional opinion on the dietary restrictions I should work toward. That, and I may have a slight peanut butter problem."
Angela was about to reply when Jack cleared his throat. She watched him glance toward the door before he caught her eye; they stared at each other for a tense second until he looked away. It hurt her to see him look at her like that. They'd need to talk about their fight.
Patting Winston's hand to let him know she'd heard him, Angela promised herself she'd pull Jack aside the moment this meeting was done.
Ana and Jack stood up and motioned over the woman who seemed to be dressed oddly warm for being inside. "She probably just arrived," Angela thought to herself. Dark hair, glasses, Asian - she bet the woman was most likely from China based on facial structure. She seemed shy next to the pair, shifting nervously and offering faint smiles while fiddling with her hands.
"Thank you for coming, everyone," Ana started. "We've got a few things to discuss, but first would like to introduce a member of Overwatch many of you have not had the pleasure of meeting. Please meet Mei-Ling Zhou. She heads our watchpoint in Antarctica and is a pioneer in the climatology and climate research fields."
Mei cracked a big smiled and bowed, "It is a pleasure to meet you all."
"I ain't never met an Eskimo 'efore," Angela heard Jesse mutter.
Before they had a chance to introduce themselves, Gabriel swung the door open, saw Mei, and immediately barked out a laugh. "What are we panicking about this time, the Earth turning into an icicle, or spontaneously bursting into flames?"
He didn't wait for an answer, instead flipping a chair around and taking a seat, eyes fixed on Jack. "Well don't let me interrupt."
"Sheisse."
Panic coursed through her veins, sending a shiver down her spine that left her short of breath. He'd been in her bed not 12 hours before, he'd been doing things to her not 12 hours before, and here Gabriel was without even a glance in her direction. Was this how it was going to be? Maybe he was acting like it never happened. That wouldn't be so bad, right? That's what she wanted, wasn't it?
Too bad she couldn't deny the little ache in her chest at his subtle dismissal.
If Angela got to choose between reverting back to her vomiting hangover or being stuck in a room with one man who she was fighting with, another she'd just slept with and a gorilla asking for peanut butter advice ... She'd take the puking.
A cleared throat brought everyone's attention back to Jack, who'd set up a hologram of various watchpoints around the world. "Now that everyone's here, we've got a lot to discuss."
This was, decidedly, the worst day ever.