***I'm alive! Here's the next chapter. Things will pick up a bit moving forward in terms of major Overwatch milestones. As always, don't hesitate to reach out to me with questions or comments.***

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Ziegler!"

Mei had pulled Angela aside the moment the meeting ended to express her excitement at being at Overwatch HQ and with another science-oriented mind like Ziegler's. Angela sighed internally as she watched Jack leave out of the corner of her eye. She'd meant to catch him, but couldn't exactly excuse herself from a conversation that had only just started.

Gabriel had walked out of the meeting half-way through. He'd never looked in her direction. Not once.

Her chest felt tight. Emotions fought beneath her breast - anger, guilt, uncertainty, embarrassment, frustration - at herself, Jack and Gabriel. Why couldn't someone else have found her outside, why couldn't no one have found her? Why did it have to be Gabriel? Why did she entrust in him so easily the demons lurking in her dreams? It made her exceedingly uncomfortable. Angela liked to be in control, and she most certainly was not in control right now. She refused to consult with any of the medical staff or Jack because of her pride, yet was ok confessing her struggles to Gabriel Reyes of all people?

Oh, and then fucked him. Because why not top off the shitty decisions cake with some shittier decisions frosting. Now all she needed was some shittiest decisions candles.

Not only were both Jack and Gabriel her superiors, they were her patients. This was ridiculous, the whole thing, and Angela knew the only person she had to blame was herself. She was wronging both of them on levels deeper than hurt feelings. It was time to do her job and act like an adult.

"-nd I am hoping that you would be interested in observing data I have collected on cryostasis."

It took her a second to realize Mei was expecting an answer to something Angela had hardly processed. "Yes," she smiled as enthusiastically as she could muster. "I would be happy to look over whatever research you send my way."

"Wonderful! I am honored to have the assistance of your knowledge."

"I'm sorry to cut this short," Angela caught Ana's eye over Mei's shoulder. "I'd love to show you around the medical facilities later if you have time?"

Mei nodded as Angela made her way over to Ana. Thankfully, she didn't have to feel too bad for being abrupt, Winston immediately took her place to pick Mei's brain.

She hesitated for a fraction of a second, her anxiety getting the better of her. "Ana, do you know where Jack was headed?"

The sniper's eyes wandered up and down her person. "You look tired."

Angela resisted the urge to bolt. There was no way Ana knew anything. "It was a long night." Ana jerked her finger over her shoulder. "I think he headed to his office. You'll probably find him there."

Walking to Jack's office felt like an eternity. Every step brought her closer to a conversation she was dreading. She tried to remind herself that this was no where near the worst message she'd delivered in her life - informing families of lost loved ones, patients flatlining, sick children - compared to those, this was a walk in the park. And yet the sounds of her feet, left right left right, echoed in her ears.

The door to his office was shut, which meant he was there. "Time to man up," Angela sucked in a breath. "Time to be a doctor."

A "come in" greeted her after she rapped her knuckles on the door. Stepping inside, she noticed Jack quickly suppress a look of surprise before gesturing for her to take a seat.

"Angela," eyes covered by a cool exterior searched her own. "I wasn't expecting you."

She folded her hands in her lap, pushed her fears aside and gave him a professional smile. "I wanted to apologize for my unprofessional outburst. I understand you were expressing concern on both a professional and personal level, to which I responded inappropriately. If you think it is best I return to active duty I will take the necessary steps to facilitate that request."

The truth Angela had so desperately avoided clung to the back of her threat, unwilling to escape her mouth. But this was reality, and it wasn't fair of her to expect others to face hard facts while she ignored her own. Her voice came out succinct, almost detached. It was easier to say if she imagined she was talking about a patient.

"Based on prior experiences and symptoms, I believe I am suffering from PTSD in relation to the Italian search and rescue mission. I intend to follow protocol and have Dr. Schmidt do any tests required to confirm my diagnosis. Once confirmed, I will follow best practices for mental recuperation. I do not think any of this will take an exorbitant amount of time before I can be declared field-ready. I apologize for any inefficiency my negligence has incurred."

Ang standing in the doorway of his office brought back a memory he'd long forgotten about: Once upon a time, their positions had been reversed. Jack was the one hesitating at the doorway of her office in preparation to ask her to join Overwatch. He pushed the happier memory aside, it was clear Angela wasn't here to reminisce.

Their last interaction ended on frigid ground.

He listened patiently while she explained quite matter-of-factly what they both already knew: PTSD symptoms. He'd only heard her talk like this one other time, after she'd finished operating on Gabe. Jack wasn't sure what had pushed her to acknowledge it, and could tell she'd tucked her normally vibrant personality away, but he was happy. Ang hadn't, to his knowledge, admitted what they'd all been suspecting out loud. It was a step in the right direction, and he'd take whatever he could get.

They sat in silence for a moment after she finished. The air didn't feel as tense, though it was clear she was acting overly cautious.

Jack sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. "Apology accepted on the condition that you accept my own," he offered her a lopsided grin. "I'm sorry that my worry got the better of me. I've said this before, and I can't exactly quantify it, but Overwatch has a tendency to feel more like a family at times than a military operation. Perhaps it's the amount of time together. Perhaps it's the closeness we develop putting our lives in each others' hands every day. Regardless of the reasons, a side effect is that emotions," he sighed and looked up, more than a few memories floating across his brain, "can get the better of us.

"Just know that we've all been there, Ang."

It was like someone had opened a pressurized door and all the tense air was sucked out of the room in that instant. He watched her walls slip away, and soon they were chatting with an ease they hadn't shared in some time.

Mending was important, he knew. Not that that made emotions a strength of his - none of Overwatch's men were particularly in-tune with their feelings, except perhaps Winston - yet as a leader part of his job was to also keep tabs of the emotional stability of teammates, no matter how awkward it made him feel.

The chimes of his phone paused their conversation, and the name of the caller killed it entirely. Fuck.

"Ang, I need to take this."

The doctor tossed him a smile and slipped out without saying a word.

This call was not going to be easy.

Ok. One down, one to never deal with because fuck that.

Her brain fought with itself between finding Simon or Gabriel.

Neither option was particularly enticing: Officially acknowledge her mental state or make it worse.

She eventually settled on the one that didn't involve sex.

"Simon!"

He started at the sudden noise, but seemed happy to see her.

Before he had a chance to reply she jumped right into it. "As I'm sure you already put together, I'm fairly positive I'm suffering from symptoms of PTSD. I'd like to move forward with an official evaluation and begin best treatment options as soon as possible."

Angela ignored his staring by busying herself filling out paperwork, glancing up only once before he hastily started gathering what he needed to assess her.

"What is your primary symptom?"

"Nightmares."

Simon's mouth twitched downward, as if he were recalling all the times she'd looked exhausted and withdrawn and only now was able to fit the puzzle pieces together. "If you are able, please describe these nightmares in as much detail as you can."

Emotions. Box. Tucked away. She was sure Simon caught her pause. "The nightmares are an almost nightly occurrence that have been going on since the incident. They typically repeat in the same fashion. I am back in the same place, the man I killed comes back to life and attempts to attack me and the girl screams until my physical panic wakes me up."

She looked away, refused to witness his pity. "I manage about two to three hours of sleep a night."

"Have you found anything that has helped?"

Angela's eyes snapped to his. "No."

By the end of the evaluation he'd diagnosed her with what they both already knew. He filed the paperwork for official documentation and wrote her a prescription for an antidepressant and sleep aid.

She'd tried to apologize to him but he'd refused to accept, insisting he would have reacted the same way she had. "We're doctors," he'd said before she'd departed. "Our job is to fix other people, not ourselves."

He was more right than he knew. Neglecting her mental and physical well being had become part and parcel of being a doctor. Her chosen purpose in life was to serve and help anyone in need; time Angela spent patching herself up was time she couldn't give to those in worse situations than her.

However, there was always a time to say when, and she wasn't stubborn enough to ignore it. The entire reason she had agreed to join Overwatch was to better the world - an impossible task when she was falling asleep with her eyes open.

Two down. One to go.

"You could just ignore the situation forever," an evil voice whispered in her mind. Such a tantalizing thought, too bad Angela preferred to perch herself atop the moral high ground, and that meant not wussing out of awkward situations.

It dawned on her that she actually had no idea where to find Gabriel during the day. Most of her encounters with him took place at night - a thought that brought a flush of red to her cheeks - and Overwatch wasn't a small facility. That meant she'd have to send him a message if she didn't want to wander aimlessly. She chewed on the inside of her lip for a moment before shooting off a message:

"Where are you?"

It wasn't a long wait before her phone buzzed. "Hello to you too."

She could hardly help her eyes rolling or the little flip her stomach did, an odd combination of irritation and interest. Again, Angela tried her best to take those pesky emotions and shove them back in their box for a bit longer.

"I'd appreciate a moment of your time. It will be brief."

"Right. I'll send you my apartment number."

He had to be joking. "That won't be necessary, I can meet you wherever you are now?"

"I don't bite, doc."

First, false. Second, she didn't have time for this. He was too good at unraveling her. Last night to his snub at the meeting to his teasing now made it nearly impossible for her to find her footing. She perpetually felt off-balance, like Gabriel was a step ahead of her at all times and throwing her off-kilter for his own personal amusement.

"-and I'm sitting on my balcony and don't plan on moving. The door's unlocked."

Fuck.

She'd walked right into that one. How was she supposed to back out without looking like a complete fool? And why was she already so certain any attempt at professionalism would fail before she'd even tried?

Because Angela had never met anyone like Gabriel Reyes before. He was the virus her immune system had never encountered. For the first time in a long time, she was acutely aware of how little control she had over her own emotions.

So, naturally, she found herself taking the elevator to the lion's den.

"Two down and one to go. You can do this."

No one in the hallway. Angela stared at his door, feet unwilling to move her through the threshold. She'd never seen his place before and couldn't help wondering what his taste in decoration was like. Pictures? War trophies? Family memorabilia? Minimalist or bold and bright? Cluttered or neat? Everything about him was mysterious; this was an opportunity to learn more about him, perhaps find something to gain the upper hand.

Angela steadied herself and then walked in.

All of the prior moment's musings were washed away as she took in the space around her. It was fairly stereotypically male: Gabriel hadn't done any major changes and there was no artwork or pictures immediately visible. The empty coffee cup she passed on her way to the balcony was the only indication anyone really lived there at all.

She found him whiskey in hand, hunched over what looked to be a holographic projection of some sort of battlefield.

Curiosity offered her an escape from starting the real conversation, at least for a moment. "What's that?"

He barely glanced, instead motioning at the floating blue and red lights.

"Where we believe Talon's headquarters are located. It would be a suicide mission trying to get in there, but brass wants us looking at all options for Amelie's retrieval."

Gabriel took a sip to ease the tension in his jaw, "if there's even anything to retrieve. This is really just an exercise in placating Gerard."

Angela flinched back at the coldness in his words. "She could still be alive, Gabriel."

"Sure."

"Have you and Gerard been fighting?"

His eyes finally met hers. Dark, restrained, volatile. Everything about his body language gave her goosebumps. He flicked the projection off and settled back into his chair. "To what do I owe the pleasure, doc?"

Pushing him on the question probably wasn't the best approach to take so she let it slide. Angela wasn't even sure where she wanted to start, how she wanted to articulate all of her frazzled emotions into a coherent string of thought. Maybe she should have waited to do this.

He pounced on her hesitation, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "Back for more already?"

"Do you always avoid talking about problems with crude jokes?"

"Cariño," his eyes twinkled devilishly. "That wasn't a joke."

Her mouth snapped shut. She could feel the blush creeping up her neck. Memories flashed vividly behind her eyes: tangled sheets, cries of passion, pleasure so intense she'd felt like she was suffocating.

Did he know what she was thinking? Of course he did. She wondered if he was thinking about the same thing.

"Get it together! You've been here less than five minutes and so far all you've managed to do was flirt with him."

"Sheisse," Angela pinched the bridge of her nose and let out an exasperated huff. "Stop it. I didn't come here to ... to ..." She didn't even know what she was trying to say, barreling on anyway lest he crush her defenses any further.

"I thought you would want to know that I did a full evaluation with Dr. Schmidt as first steps toward dealing with what is most likely PTSD. You're ... help was important in getting me to act on it. For that, thank you. I plan to resume combat operations once symptoms are more under control. As for what happened last night, I think it would be best if we limited personal contact and kept communication to strictly professional business. It has become clear to me that I was not setting firm enough boundaries, a mistake I don't intend to make a second time."

"You decided to tell me we shouldn't be alone together by coming into my apartment to be alone with me?" Gabriel finished off the whiskey and pondered the light reflecting through the empty glass. "Whatever makes you feel better about yourself."

He stood up without another word and disappeared into the apartment.

That stung. He was so good at making her feel foolish. She hadn't come up here for herself, dammit, she'd come up here to let him know under no uncertain terms that their relationship was to stay professional.

...

Right?

And yet, now she was second guessing herself. Had she actually come up here in an attempt to make herself feel better?

"How..." Angela sputtered, embarrassment and anger flashing hot and fast through her nerves. She followed him back inside as her voice pitched upward. "How are you capable of being so kind one second and a complete jackass the next?!"

"It's a Hispanic thing," he replied dismissively. "Look, it's good you'll be back in the field, just don't pretend you came up here to change my mind about anything. I don't feel guilty about last night, I won't feel guilty next time and you sure as hell didn't look guilty when I left."

"There's not going to be a next time," she blurted out.

"Whatever makes you feel better."

The string of vile curse words that flowed from her lips in German didn't even begin to summarize how crazy this man made her. Her chest heaved at the end of it before she spun on her heel and stormed out.

It was a good thing Angela was too angry to hear his laughter or she may have attempted homicide.