You feel them drinking in your pain to kill the memories
So close your eyes and let it hurt
The voice inside begins to stir
Are you reminded of all you used to be
- Lie to Me (Denial) [Red]
Angela wasn't due to be worked on for another hour, but Gabriel still found himself on the opposite side of the glass, watching her. He had looked in on her progress intermittently - sometimes in person, other times by patching into the security cameras in her cell. It wasn't the same as experiencing it live, but he had made his choice.
Having given up the honor of taking her apart himself, he had other work to do that kept him busy. Paperwork - because of course he couldn't escape paperwork, not even here - and planning for his latest op. He'd be leaving later today, so this would be his last chance to see her until he returned in about a week.
Angela was curled up on the ground, directly under the manacles that she was so often attached to. She had stopped spending the energy to crawl to a corner, clearly too exhausted from everything she was experiencing to try and make an attempt. Instead, she was curled up as small as she could stand with her back to the glass. Her hands were pressed to her ears, trying to escape the grinding noise that they were pumping into the room, while her eyes were shut tight against the still-bright light of the room.
Gabriel could almost see her misery rising off her body, nearly taste the agony that came off her in waves. Her body had been pushed to its limits since her escape attempt two weeks ago, and she still had managed to refuse to answer them.
Even from where he stood, he could see her ribs and each individual knob of her spine. It was a little difficult, considering the split skin and black bruises that nearly hid her pasty white skin entirely and made her skin swell, but not impossible. He knew, from experience, that her eyes would be sunken and her skin would hang loosely where muscle had once been but hadn't yet tightened.
Along with the sound, they had lowered the temperature in the room. He could see her shiver intermittently as her body tried in vain to keep her warm. Even when they weren't planning on a session, they would douse her with water semi-regularly to keep her both awake and miserable.
Between the light, sound, freezing temperatures, and nightmares that woke her screaming, he doubted she got much sleep.
Somehow, though, he was almost certain she had managed to fall asleep despite all that. Gabriel remembered having to practically carry the woman out of her labs, making her rest after an eighteen-hour day; now they were forcing her to stay awake for thirty or more hours at a time, perhaps broken up by a quick nap here or there before they dragged her back to consciousness. It wasn't surprising that her body was shutting down as often as it was able, despite the hurdles thrown in its way.
Still, knowing her the way he did - the way he had, rather - he hadn't expected her to last this long, not since they had increased the intensity of her torture.
After all that time, they had only managed to pry a few scattered, breathy pleas from her mouth: 'stop' and 'please' being her most common choices. Otherwise, the only sounds she made were those of pain: broken whimpers and shrill screams that were followed by silent sobs once they had finished a session.
Angela had stopped being silent the first time they had broken her knee. The nanites in her body had healed it quickly enough that they had broken it once more six days ago; it surprised him that it healed at all, considering the rest of the trauma across her body. That was when she had started giving them her words, one strained plea at a time. It had also been when she had stopped holding back the tears of pain during her sessions.
But, the further they progressed with Angela, the more often she got that far away, distant look that was so common among their prisoners as they got closer and closer to their breaking point. Sometimes they could pull Angela back down to Earth, to the agony that was her reality, with ice water - either splashed upon her naked, broken body or dumped down her mouth and nose, so she thought she was drowning - or with white-hot irons pressed to the sensitive skin of her feet or inner thighs.
Other times they would be forced to stop in the middle of the session, toeing that fine line between forcing her to bend to their will and breaking her altogether. Angela would hang there, face slack as she escaped from the cell that contained her mortal form. Sometimes she wouldn't come back for hours. But, eventually, her face would fill with pain and knowing, and that would be the signal to continue where they had left off.
Gabriel had no idea how long he stood there, watching her spine rise and fall shakily with her shallow breaths, before Sombra cleared her throat to get his attention. The Reaper turned his head just enough to acknowledge her, but his eyes were only for the angel that was almost mortal. Nearly there, so close that the Reaper hated - hated - leaving and possibly missing it.
"What?" The Reaper demanded finally, when it was obvious she wasn't going to say anything. She could be so infuriating at times. He hadn't called her, hadn't asked for her presence; she had imposed on him, had initiated their interaction. He didn't even know how long she had been standing in the room with him.
Were it anyone but Sombra, that would concern him - but the hacker was exceptionally sneaky, especially with her cloaking technology. Even he had a hard time noticing her when she wanted to go unseen - and that was when he was actively searching.
"Just looking in on the doctora." The woman kept her distance, leaning against the wall by the door as her ultraviolet eyes - she wasn't even trying to pretend that her eye color was natural today - took in the broken blonde in the other room. Gabriel made a disbelieving noise as he returned his attention to the woman he had come to see.
Perhaps, when they were done, he would go in to speak to her, see if she would still offer forgiveness after all that she had experienced.
"What?" Sombra asked, almost defensively. "You're not the only one who's watching her progress, Gabe." His previous name, a taunt designed specifically to get a rise out of him. She was the only one who got away with it - mostly because, no matter what he had done to try and dissuade her, she just kept doing it. The Reaper could only hope that ignoring it would make her stop.
At least she usually only said it in private.
"I'm surprised you don't just use your toys." He grumbled in return. The Reaper knew why he didn't use the cameras - they were far too impersonal for his tastes. It wasn't enough, not really, standing in this room and watching instead of doing. His fingers itched to bury themselves inside her flesh, to bleed her himself. Unfortunately, now more than ever, Gabriel knew that he couldn't do it and survive the experience.
Silence fell between them as they watched Angela's labored breathing. It stayed as her interrogators stomped into the room; not even that noise roused her from whatever slumber, or perhaps catatonia, she was in. They yanked her up off the ground impersonally, hooked her raw - and possibly scarred, he couldn't tell under the bruising - wrists into the manacles.
Once she was in place, they threw a bucket of water over her. It sent her gasping, sputtering, her body's shivers doubling as it tried to fend off the chill. Her eyes were unseeing for so long that he thought they would have to get another bucket, or perhaps one of the irons - and then suddenly the blue became focused.
The angel was with them again.
"No." The word was a broken, breathy sound, a prayer and a plea wrapped together as she tried desperately to stop what she knew was coming. They met her beg with a demand for answers, the questions unchanged from that first day she had hung from those chains. Still, she refused to answer.
They shifted her broken leg, making her lose consciousness and forcing them to bring her screaming back to life with hot irons. They grabbed her breasts, between her legs, pressing against her in a violent threat that sent Angela gasping and heaving in pure terror and disgust at the implication. Her head was yanked back, cloth forced over her face, before ice water was dumped over and into her. They used the knives to split her flesh and carve uncaring lines into her skin before using pliers to rip out a nail or two.
"It's hard to remember that she's a person," Sombra murmured finally, after a particularly shrill scream, "when she's on the other side of a screen." Gabriel had forgotten she was standing there; Sombra had been so still and quiet. When he glanced towards the hacker, he could see that her usually warm skin was ashen.
"If she doesn't bend soon," the Reaper rumbled in return, "she will break." The man turned to look at Angela once more. Something akin to pity rose in him before he shook it off. "And if she breaks, well," he didn't know whether to sigh in disgust or relief, "she won't be a person anymore." Sombra sucked in a breath, probably sharper than she had intended considering the way she quickly turned away completely to hide her expression.
Without a word, she stalked out of the room. The Reaper didn't watch her go.
She came back to herself slowly.
Her body was numb. Angela wasn't sure what the exact cause was. It could be the cold, from the chilled room and the freezing water; it might be the blood loss, from the wounds that were still weeping as her nanites struggled to heal her. Maybe her mind was putting up a wall, trying to protect her from what it could. Perhaps it was the shock, finally, blessedly settling in. That meant her end was, hopefully, nearing.
It couldn't come soon enough.
Angela opened her eyes, fully expecting to be blinded by the ever-present lights. Though they kept her from being able to see her assailants, they hadn't stopped her from seeing her friends. Despite the pain the lights brought, she couldn't help herself; it was the only solace she had.
To her surprise, Angela found herself sprawled out on the cold concrete. She was so distant, so numb, that she hadn't even realized she wasn't hanging from the chains. Instead, she was lying in a puddle of water, tinted red with her blood. Angela knew the water was at least cold - probably freezing - but she couldn't feel it. She should be in agony, but, laying there in the puddle - motionless except for her faint breaths - she felt nothing. It should concern her, but it was such bliss that the implications didn't matter anymore.
Angela didn't know how she got there.
No, that wasn't right. Angela knew exactly how she got there; the process was the same every single time. She didn't remember getting there. The last thing she remembered was a barked question about McCree - where was he, where would he go - and her bitter, pitiful no. She didn't remember the pain that had come next, that she knew had come next because her refusal always came with pain. Angela didn't remember any other questions or being dropped from these chains to land heavily and painfully on the cool concrete.
This wasn't the first time she had lost time, but it was the first time she had started in one place and ended in another. Usually, she would be in the middle of a cry of pain or listening to a question she wouldn't answer - then suddenly the men were gone, and she was all alone. It wouldn't be long before they realized she was awake and came stomping back in, ready to resume her agony.
It was hard to bring herself to care about the memory loss when she compared it to the memories she was already trying to hide from. Why would she want to remember anything else when she had already endured so much?
Her eyes swept the room, as was her habit now, searching for a friendly face.
Instead, she found the Reaper. His arms crossed as he gazed down at where she lay on the cool ground, heedless of the water and blood he stood in. Her eyes widened and she tried to scramble back, causing a scream of pain to erupt from her throat. In her terror, Angela had forgotten - she had been so numb - that her body was broken. The movement destroyed the thin barrier her mind had erected between her consciousness and the agony, and now everything was screaming just like she was.
Angela didn't know how long it took to come back down, to push the agony down to something tolerable. Once she was coherent, she took precious, agonizing moments to shift and rearrange herself into a position that provided minimal pain. It was impossible to find a position that didn't hurt. Then, her eyes scanned the room - what parts she could see, anyway - for Jack or Ana or anyone to help her.
Her eyes found the Reaper again, still glowering a few feet away, the entire reason she had moved in the first place. How had she allowed herself to be distracted from the man, the monster, that had put her in here?
"Gab-" Angela couldn't help herself from starting the name, but she managed to bite it off. She cowered back, whimpering as the movement sent a fresh wave of pain through her. Her shoulders hunched and her head ducked down low, waiting for him to strike her for the misstep. The last two times had ended poorly for her; how could she expect this one to end any better, especially considering how much worse it had become since the last time she had seen him?
Silence.
He terrified Angela; her body was so tense that it was shaking. This was the Reaper, not Gabriel - he had told her that, sometime in her painful, foggy past. He had punished her the last time she had made the mistake; how could it be any different now, when her torture was much worse than before? When he had been the one that had put her in this position in the first place?
She tried to listen for any movement, any sign at all that he was approaching. Angela knew it was a futile effort - the grinding noise they were playing made it impossible to hear how her captors moved around her, finding the best place to strike.
"You've seen better days." Angela would have scoffed, had she the energy or the breath. Of course she had seen better days; not even when she had been rescued from a collapsed building had Angela been this hurt - but she'd had armor, then. Now, she was nothing but naked flesh and bones, a ghost of the woman she had once been.
"What, nothing to say today?" He taunted, sounding no closer than he had before. Hesitantly, Angela raised her head a little, just enough that she could see the gleaming white of his mask. He was no longer standing - at some point he had crouched, bracing his forearms against his knees; it was a familiar position, one Gabriel had adopted countless times.
Gabriel - the Reaper, she corrected herself fiercely - had been the only one she had spoken to until now. He was the only one who had received more than one-word denials and pleas. He hadn't asked for information in the two previous encounters - he hadn't asked for anything at all. Because of that, she had blindly offered herself to him, allowing him inside her walls like she always did and giving him the forgiveness he hadn't even demanded.
Like her, he was too proud to ask for such things.
"Wh-" She cleared her throat and tried again. "What is there to say?" It came out rough and weak, not nearly as defiant as she wished it to be. The only defiance she had left was her prayer for silence, repeated in her mind with a fierce devotion that could put any priest to shame as they beat and bled her. It had been a challenge, but Angela found she would do much worse for her friends.
Her friends, who sometimes visited her but would never save her. They would keep her company as she died in this room, one inch at a time. Their whispered kindnesses and gentle touches were still Heaven compared to the Hell she lived in, and she reveled in their presence. Her eyes swept the room again, but she was still alone.
"Ah, not so forgiving anymore, are we?" Angela's eyes snapped back to his mask, reminded once more of his presence. Then, his words registered, and she shuddered at the reminder of their last encounter when he had viciously returned her forgiveness before casually returning her to this cage that was her death sentence.
Angela knew she shouldn't play into his game. She should keep her mouth shut, refuse to make a sound that wasn't forced out of her with their tools. The Reaper was just chipping at her walls, trying to make her break and betray everyone she loved, just as he had so long ago.
He knew the secret paths that let him get behind her walls because he had been the one to create them. He was the only one who had gotten close, had seen all of her - the good and the bad. Gabriel was her deadly weakness, here in this place of blood.
Angela hated that Gabriel was still her weakness, the chink in her armor, even after all this time - after everything he had done. She hated that she still loved him, that her love made it possible to look past his transgressions - all of them.
"I have always forgiven Gabriel." Angela corrected, voice raspy and breathless. She wanted to hate Gabriel, should hate him. He had done so much to ruin her life. Gabriel had destroyed her home and the life he'd gifted her. He had killed her friends and family along with hundreds of people who had been hers – theirs - to protect. He had ripped away everything that had been hers and shattered it into tiny pieces.
And yet, she still couldn't bring herself to hate him. She had spent far too many years loving and forgiving him to stop now. It was one of her many faults, but never had it been one of her regrets - not even after discovering what she had turned him into.
She had forgiven him for the destruction of Zürich - her home and her life - long before she had discovered he was alive. Angela knew it was irrational, that if it had been anyone else, she would have held onto the grudge until her last breath, but it was Gabriel. She had been willing to follow him to the gates of Hell itself - what was forgiveness compared to that?
She had done so much worse for him, after all.
"I will always forgive Gabriel." Long ago, before Overwatch had fallen, she had chosen Gabriel - and everything that it meant. He was Blackwatch, the shadowy partner to Overwatch that committed horrible acts that Angela could never condone. But to choose Gabriel was to accept that he was the one who ordered those atrocities - sometimes took part and stained his hands red.
Somehow, she had accepted him - and forgiven him. Love had made it so easy.
That love had stuck with her all these years, long after she had moved past the destruction and betrayal. It was with her even now, broken and bloody on the ground. Angela had believed she had moved on from him, from all of them, but she had always been good at lying to herself. She had just avoided the feeling, burying it deep under her work until she was numb and could forget.
Forget the grief. Forget the love. Forget everything. The only time Angela had allowed herself to feel, to remember, was when she stood before his grave with a bundle of flowers that always seemed so inadequate.
Then she would be back to work. Her emotions were bottled back again, hidden alongside the parts that were Angela so that she was only Dr. Ziegler. She worked sixteen-hour days minimum, even on holidays, doing her best to work until she crawled into bed with exhaustion. Angela did anything she could to keep from remembering how her world had collapsed around the one man who, even now, held her heart within an iron cage.
The man that she had forgiven for everything.
Angela had even forgiven him for her original capture and those first days in this chamber, when she had thought it was Gabriel that had put her there. She had hurt him, as he had hurt her. But, unlike her, he had been unable to move past that anger, and it had festered for all these years into hatred. She could forgive him for giving in to that darker, human emotion - despite the pain she had experienced.
"But you," her voice caught in her throat, thick with emotion, "you aren't him anymore, are you?" Angela's head bowed again, stringy hair falling around her face as she tried to collect herself.
Her Gabriel was dead, and in his place was the monster that had sent her into this room. The Reaper had been the one to throw her back into this horrible room, had ordered her torture to become so much worse. Gabriel could have never ordered such agony for her. He could not have come to her afterward and gloated as he was doing now.
He was the Reaper, not Gabriel. While she could always forgive Gabriel, she would never forgive the Reaper. The Reaper had been the one that had thrown her into this horrific room. The Reaper had been the one to take over Gabriel's body and memories, had become the psychopath that crouched before her.
He could never earn her forgiveness.
Once more in control of her emotions, Angela lifted her head again. Her eyes caught the bone-white of his mask before scanning the room. She could never go more than a few minutes without glancing around the room, searching to see if one of her friends had appeared.
A flash of gold over the Reaper's black shoulder signaled that Jack had returned to her. His blue coat was a stark contrast to the black and grey that made up this room.
He gave the Reaper a withering look before he turned to Angela, face rearranging to something more sympathetic. She couldn't look away, not even for the lover-turned-monster that was barely five feet away. She greedily drank in Jacks' presence, his kindness, like a flower soaks up sunshine.
"Don't give in, Angela." She couldn't tell if he was ordering her or begging her. Was he speaking as her Commander or her brother? "You know it isn't him." Angela knew it, she did. She had learned that lesson the hard way, through blood and pain, but she had learned.
"Gabriel is dead. Don't let this monster trick you." Angela wouldn't fall for the same trick twice. She had let her guard down, had thought that there was some hope after he called her mi corazón, but that hope was a terrible lie. Angela would never allow herself to trust the monster before her.
But it was hard.
It was hard knowing that, under the mask, it was Gabriel's body. Somewhere, underneath the murderous Reaper, were Gabriel's memories. He was so very close and yet terribly far away.
A sharp shake sent a wave of agony through her. The worst was her broken knee, scraping against the ground where she had settled it. She choked on a pained whine, eyes closing as she tried to ride the waves that were now so horribly familiar. Eventually, her watery eyes opened and glanced quickly to where Jack had been - but he was gone. Her attention slid back to the Reaper when his claws tightened on her arms, terrified that he might shake her again.
The Reaper was kneeling in the water before her, heedless of the liquid that was soaking into his clothes. The skull mask was so close to her that she could feel his breath on her face, hot against her freezing skin. His clawed hands were wrapped around her arms in the exact place he had buried her forgiveness in that armory. She wasn't sure when, exactly, he had gotten so close - how had she missed his movement?
"Are you still with me?" The growled phrase was a knife in her heart. When her nightmares became too much, when she was lost in her memories, Gabriel would pull her back down to Earth with those words. She hated that they were being used to bring her back to this place.
Still.
"I - I am." The broken words were familiar, well-rehearsed - and wrong for this place. "For now." The assurance, which used to be a gentle reminder of her mortality, was now bitter and desperate. Hopeful, even, for the sweet embrace of death and the relief it would bring to her.
His claws bit into her skin, angry at the reminder of his past life - the script that he had started, this man who swore he wasn't Gabriel. She had merely followed his lead and finished the scene. Angela had known she shouldn't, that she should deviate and say anything else - or better yet, say nothing at all - but she couldn't help herself.
He wasn't Gabriel, and yet he was.
She knew she should fight, should struggle, try to escape the grip he had on his arms - but even at her best she could never have escaped his hold. Even if she had, where would she go? Her knee was broken, incapable of holding her weight for any amount of time. It was impossible to crawl away to safety. Instead, she let the Reaper hold her trembling body upright, hands limp at her sides.
"How did it come to this, liebling?" She whispered, voice breaking, before allowing her head to fall forward and press against the hovering mask. Angela knew the question, the action, would only bring pain - but she found it hard to care. Her entire life was pain; what was a little more?
The Reaper stiffened, probably in surprise at her audacity, and his claws dug in as his fists clenched. A heartbeat passed, and then another. Now it was her turn to be surprised - she hadn't expected him to allow her to remain pressed against him so intimately.
It was only a few moments - far too long yet never enough - before he shoved her away, releasing her arms so she collapsed on her back. As she tried to recover from the shock, the Reaper rose and stalked out of the room.
Angela refused to allow herself to foster hope. It would only lead to more heartbreak in the end.
Gabriel had gone into that too bright room with its grating noise and lowered the doctor from her chains - far more gently than she usually was, though she wasn't conscious to appreciate it. Then he had waited, leaning against one wall, for the woman to come back from wherever she had escaped to.
He knew it was foolish to wait, since she could be gone for hours at a time, but he had hoped that she would return before he had to leave.
His patience had been rewarded less than an hour later, when the doctor began to stir. Gabriel had moved forward eagerly until he was only a few feet from Angela. Her face had clouded with confusion - but, curiously, no pain - until her eyes had found him. Then there was nothing but fear that turned into pure agony as she tried to get away from him.
Gabriel had thought she would escape then, that she'd disappear before he'd even said anything.
Her screams had petered off relatively quickly, but coherency didn't return for several long minutes. It was even longer before she was looking around again; the surprise that had turned to frustration made Gabriel realize she had forgotten his presence in the face of her blinding pain. The Reaper wasn't sure if that was concerning or not.
She should be more aware, more afraid, even in the throes of agony. She hadn't even registered him as a threat until her eyes had landed on him. Was it that her subconscious didn't think he was a threat to her, and therefore could be ignored? Was she too close to breaking, to becoming nothing but a hollow shell that had once housed the power that was Dr. Angela Ziegler?
"Gab-" Angela had cut herself off so quickly he was surprised she didn't bite the tip of her tongue off. She had cringed back then, making herself smaller – he hadn't thought such a feat was possible – with a small, pained sound.
There should have been anger at his old name on her lips, a reminder of everything she had stolen from him. There should have been pleasure – exultation, even – at the sight of her trembling before him, terrified of what he would do next.
Instead, the Reaper felt empty, devoid of anything that would have satisfied him in this moment. That made him furious. How dare this victory be nothing. This was the whole point. This was the moment he had been waiting for years.
They had come full circle, the two of them. Once, it had been his turn to beg for death. Now it was hers.
He should feel something that would make all these years of suffering worth it. It was supposed to make him feel better. There was supposed to be a release, the bottled-up hatred being satisfied with her ruined body.
The Reaper wanted to push forward and string the doctor back up. He wanted to dig in his claws and make her choke on the pain until he felt something. Surely that was what was missing: he hadn't personally broken her, and so the satisfaction - the victory - was out of his reach
Gabriel had other ideas.
There was no pleasure in seeing Angela like this. He had thought it would help, as the Reaper had - but all he felt was pity for the shaking and whimpering woman. Or was it guilt? He was the one who had put her in this room, had condemned her to this terrible fate.
He couldn't bring himself to move closer to the blonde for fear that she would panic and hurt herself again. Instead, he crouched down so that, if she looked up, it would be easier for her to see him.
After a few moments, it was apparent that Angela wasn't going to be the one to speak first. It was his turn to be on the receiving end of the silent treatment that she had offered everyone else. He didn't blame her; they were enemies here in this room, regardless of what pity Gabriel might feel
"You've seen better days." He could see the woman she had once been, even now. Her skin was unblemished - ethereal, perfect - and clean of any blood and gore. Golden hair shone in the light of her wings, which spread wide behind her as she looked up at him with her usual kindness from beneath her halo.
Then he blinked, and the broken woman reappeared. That perfect skin was now slashed and bruised, pulled tight over her bones into sharp edges. She trembled in a puddle of freezing water and her own fluids. Her hair was no longer lustrous but stringy with oil. The glowing wings were broken, her halo gone.
It was wrong. Angela was supposed to be tall and proud, not this debased creature.
"What, nothing to say today?" Gabriel wasn't above goading her to get her to speak. He wanted to refuse to leave until she talked to him, but he knew that would be impossible. He had to leave soon, while she had the patience of a God and the stubbornness of a thousand bulls.
It had worked, though. Angela had looked up at him cautiously, obviously worried about further pain. Her sunken eyes had regarded him with a mixture of fear, anger, and sorrow - but the fear was by far the strongest of the three. Still, she had swallowed and responded with her damaged voice.
"Wh-What is there to say?" Of course. Why would she speak to him, the lover-turned-enemy that had condemned her to this existence of terror and pain? Why had he even come in here in the first place?
Right. The Reaper had wanted to gloat, to throw her forgiveness back into her face. He had wanted to revel in the agony before they left the Oasis base. Now, standing in the room, they had discovered that it was impossible. There was nothing but hollow pity and seeds of doubt.
But the Reaper had to try and get what he had come for, anyway.
"Ah, not so forgiving anymore, are we?" Her eyes had been wandering, obviously searching for something instead of focusing on the threat in the room, but they snapped back as soon as he spoke. A shudder rolled through her before she stiffened and steeled herself.
"I have always forgiven Gabriel." While her voice was weak, her eyes were steely with resolution. It was a truth that Gabriel had always accepted but never understood. How could she forgive him for anything that he had done as the Blackwatch Commander? She knew the horrors he had perpetuated - especially now after experiencing it firsthand - and she was still offering absolution for his part.
It absolutely rocked Gabriel.
"I will always forgive Gabriel." The blonde had continued, as firmly as her broken throat would allow. The Reaper couldn't believe her. He had utterly destroyed whatever faith she had held for Gabriel; the Reaper had seen the defeat when the guards had dragged her away. It was impossible for her to still have hope after everything she had been through.
"But you," the words stumbled, breaking as her blue eyes became sad again, "you aren't him anymore, are you?" There it was. Gabriel, the man she remembered, was forgiven - but the Reaper, the monster he had become, was not.
It should give him relief, that forgiveness. After everything Angela had gone through - and would continue to go through - she could still find compassion and gentleness in her heart. She could find the kinder emotions that should have been destroyed after so long in this cage.
Guilt washed over him.
She was teetering at the edge; all it would take was one calculated shove to send her spiraling. Her head bowed again, trying to hide the emotion they both knew she felt. Angela's spine and shoulders were pronounced as she panted, trying to pull herself together.
Would it be a kindness to find the words that would break her, to shatter her in such a way that Angela would never return? Was it selfish to try and keep her here in the battered body that would only face more abuse? Should he just kill her now and guarantee her torment would end?
Before he could decide, Angela composed herself. Gabriel watched as her head lifted, and her eyes raised to take him in. Then, her eyes slid away and became unfocused and glassy as her mind escaped once more. He didn't have any of the tools that were normally used to bring her down - and Gabriel doubted he could use them even if they were here.
The Reaper was disgusted at Gabriel's weakness.
"Angela!" Gabriel called, nearly a shout. Unsurprisingly, it didn't have any effect on the woman. He rose and crossed the distance quickly, trying to figure out how to pull her back down. He'd always been able to bring her out of her memories when they became too much, but he wasn't sure he could bring her back when reality was too much.
"Angela, cariño, come back." He crooned as he kneeled before her, not even wincing as the icy water soaked his pants. Angela's breathing had evened, and her body had relaxed enough that she was almost falling over. Gabriel grabbed her arms, steadying and straightening her, but her eyes remained unfocused.
He took a steadying breath and then shook her in a violent, whole-body movement. Gabriel knew it would be excruciating for her, should it bring her back - but it was the only recourse he had besides laying her down and walking away.
He wasn't ready to walk away from her.
Angela whined, a pitiful keening noise, as she came back to life in his arms. Her eyes fluttered shut as she trembled from the pain. A minute later, Angela realized she was making the pained noise and completely suppressed it, prideful even in her pain. It wasn't long after that her eyes opened, not even noticing the tears that escaped, and darted towards the corner that had enraptured her.
He would not let her go so easily. Gabriel tightened his hands, ready to pull her down again, but her eyes flew back to his mask before he could do anything.
"Are you still with me?" The words escaped him before he could stop them. This was an all too familiar scenario from a time long destroyed by his hands. He had no right to use that phrase - it was too intimate for the enemies that they were supposed to be, for the monster he was supposed to be. And yet, he couldn't help but search her face as he always had, looking for the tells that would reveal her deepest truths.
"I - I am." Angela stumbled over the words, the response just as ingrained in her as his question was in him. "For now." There was a plea in the final phrase, one that had never existed before this room. Until this room, 'for now' was the assurance that she was with him in the moment - but never promising the future.
Angela was always careful with her promises, with her words. Actions may speak louder than words - but she intended for her words to match her actions as often as possible; always, if she had her way, but even she wasn't perfect. Angela never wanted anyone to doubt her for any reason - and so she measured her words carefully to ensure she didn't offer something she couldn't give.
Not even for him would she break that habit. Even back then, she had been too realistic - too cynical - to believe that they would have a happy ending.
Now, her 'for now' was a hope for an end. She had lost hope for any other form of escape; they all knew no one would find her before it was too late. It was unsurprising, considering the pain she was suffering - and they both knew this could only end one way.
She just wanted the ending to come now.
Gabriel's hands clenched, forgetting that his fingers were tipped with claws, at the thought of her death. He didn't want her dead - had never wanted her dead, not even in his worst fantasies. That had always been the Reapers desire, not Gabriel's.
It had never mattered before as it did now, when he had no control over the outcome.
"How did it come to this, liebling?" The words were so quiet that, had he not been so close to her, he would never have been able to hear them. Then she went limp in his grasp, allowing herself to press against him with such familiarity that the Reaper stiffened in rage, claws now digging deep enough to draw blood.
Gabriel and the Reaper fought over the decision of what to do with Angela, who hadn't moved despite the danger he knew she was aware of. After a few moments, the Reaper won and shoved the woman back in disgust. He was on his feet and rushing for the door before there could be any further debate over his - their - actions.
/-\
The target was high profile, which was why Talon had decided that he, Widowmaker, and Sombra would form the strike team. Their only support was the pilot flying them from Oasis, Iraq to St. Petersburg, Russia.
Widowmaker was methodically taking her sniper rifle apart to polish it before she would put it all back together again, as was her routine. She had barely glanced up when he had stormed onto the plane; he wasn't sure if it was because she didn't care or if she didn't want to get involved. It was always hard to tell with her.
Sombra had completely ignored him. The Reaper didn't know if it was because of the callous words said in the observation room or if it was because she was distracted with whatever - or whoever - it was she was currently researching - hacking - on her holoscreens. She had started with three, but now there were seven; her eyes darted among them as she typed and slashed her fingers across them.
He had leaned back and tried to sleep, as he usually did, but all he could think about was her.
Damn that woman. The Reaper hated the effect that Angela had on them.
Oh, he loved the rage he had felt at the sight of her, the pleasure her pain had brought him - but that, apparently, had diminishing returns. The Reaper still hated her, loathed her for what she had done to him. But no longer did he enjoy her torment as he had in those first days.
He knew that she hadn't experienced nearly enough to atone for what she had done, but what was the point if there was no pleasure in it? Her blood, her screams, her pleas - over time, it had become nothing to him.
No, it had become worse than nothing.
The bleeding heart that was Gabriel was spreading, infecting him. What was once a passive observer was now an active participant once more, as it had been in the beginning. The Reaper had won then, when Gabriel had grown tired and could no longer tolerate the blood necessary to soothe his agony.
Now, because of her, the balance was shifting once more.
They had agreed when she had first been captured: Angela deserved pain after the years of agony she had forced upon him. More quickly than the Reaper, however, Gabriel had lost his taste for the torture of the blonde angel - had lost his hatred altogether, considering the pity and guilt he felt over her pain.
It was unsurprising, really; the Reaper really should have known better. He had let his greed blind him.
It hadn't been an accident that the Reaper had avoided cities - entire countries, if possible - that Angela lived in. Media was harder to avoid, but it was made easier by the fact that she had done her best to stay out of the news whenever possible.
Blood and death strengthened the Reaper. He had been born in the destruction of the Zürich base, forced into life by that caged angel they had left behind in Oasis base. He had taken in the pain and the rage, the blood and the death, and had come roaring into being. As their existence began to revolve around those things that Gabriel had once stood against, the Reaper became stronger.
But Angela changed that - had always changed that.
For years, all he had been was merciless rage and endless hunger, his bloodlust leaving innumerable bodies in his wake. The Reaper had fostered a deep rage for the woman that had created him. Not even the parts that were Gabriel, the parts that loved the blonde doctor, had been able to temper that fury.
He had fantasized about all the ways to take apart Angela, to make her regret ever bringing him back. To make her beg for death, just as Gabriel had in the moments before the Reaper had been born.
It would have been - had been - so easy to capture her; her friends - 'protectors' - were nowhere to be seen, and her personal defenses were laughable at best. He would have reveled in her agony and painted the walls red with her blood. He could have shown the world what happens when you create a monster.
But he didn't. Couldn't.
He had gone to find her nearly a year after the destruction. The Reaper wanted to tear out her throat, to destroy the light that had dragged him back from death. Until they had laid eyes on the blonde, Gabriel had been an apathetic partner. Upon seeing her, however, Gabriel had dug his heels in.
While the Reaper knew Gabriel had felt hatred towards the doctor in the abstract, he knew that he also harbored love. She had ignored his pleas for death and left him to live in agony, and still, he wanted her - but the Reaper knew it was more than that.
Even if he didn't love her, that woman was the embodiment of Gabriel's past life: of Overwatch and the defense of the innocent. As Mercy, with those glowing wings, she had become a symbol for the organization. The sight of her was a reminder of everything he had been, everything he should be. It was enough to drown his hatred in the guilt and blood of the innocents they had killed to stay alive.
She was their corazón, their heart. For as long as she lived, so would the parts that were Gabriel.
The Reaper knew that he could rid himself of Gabriel by slaying the woman. It would be a stronger blow if it were at their hands, but the Reaper was confident that just her death would be enough. Despite the strength she displayed in her cage, he knew that she was fragile - now more than ever. She would be a quick, easy kill for a murderer like him.
But, all those years ago, the Reaper had let her - and Gabriel - live. He had avoided her, erased her from their life as much as possible. It was a decision that he should have questioned, yet never did.
Was Gabriel, deep in their shared mind and soul, protecting her from him? Was the Reaper protecting her from himself? Was he afraid to be alone in his head, to have nothing to temper his bloodlust and rage?
Did he want to keep those gentler parts that were wholly Gabriel?
And if he did, what did that mean for them now that Angela was captured?
They had done just about everything imaginable to her body.
At least, she thought they had. They could probably dream up a thousand more horrors to inflict upon her. Angela was never an expert in torture, even if she was an expert on the human body. She knew in excruciating detail how to put someone back together - and exactly how they were taking her apart.
Still, they hadn't gotten her to tell them anything.
A few times, she had snarled, snapping and telling them exactly where they could put their questions in a variety of languages. More recently, though, they had gotten the proud, cold Dr. Angela Ziegler to beg brokenly for them to stop - and then to please, please end it.
Honestly, she didn't know why they continued to come to her for information on Overwatch. The medical research made sense - she was one of the leading scientists, after all - but surely they could find another source on Overwatch.
God.
Had she really wished this upon someone else? No one should experience what she had in this room. Every moment they spent with her meant that was one moment less that was being spent searching for an alternative information source. Even if the pain was horrible - and it was - and even if it was tearing her apart in every way imaginable, she should never wish this on someone else.
And yet she had. Oh, how she wanted out of this room.
Angela knew there was only one way for her to leave - in a body bag - but it was how she reached it that mattered. Would that last victory be hers or theirs? Would she take their information to the grave, or would they manage to pry it out of her?
She was determined to win this final war.
This was all she was good for anymore, after all - all she had ever been good for. It had been her duty to serve in the field, taking bullets in her Valkyrie suit so that the agents under her care would be safe and putting them back together when she failed. It had been her responsibility to guide Overwatch in its final hours, to protect what had remained from public - and political - scrutiny.
It was her honor to bleed for them now. Angela was the last shield Overwatch - the true Overwatch, her Overwatch - had left.
And she wanted someone else to take the burden?
How could she try to pass this off to someone else? What if it wasn't one of her agents - who were important to her, who she had mourned when the KIA reports crossed her desk - but one of her family?
What if they put those irons to Lena? What if they strung up McCree, whipped him raw like she was?
Gabriel - Reaper - knew exactly how to break her; what if he was out there, right now, hunting one of them? What would she do if they brought someone else into this bloody room? Could she sit by and watch them abuse someone else?
What kind of person would that make her if she could?
Could she refuse to answer, knowing they would take her denials out on someone else? If to give in was to save someone else - not her, never her, she was going to die here - in exchange for betraying everyone else under her protection?
What kind of person would that make her if she couldn't?
Angela could only pray that she died before she ever had to make that impossible decision.
Jack had been in Mexico, looking into the criminal group Los Muertos, when news of Angela's capture had been broadcast across the world over three weeks ago. He hadn't even considered ignoring the call to arms; Angela had done too much for him - for the world - to leave missing.
From what he had gathered, there were no actual suspects. Jack believed, considering the recall from Winston - that he had not planned to answer - that it was one of the terrorist organizations that Overwatch had stood against years ago.
Angela would make for a great hostage to use against the rising organization, after all.
Since he was already in the backyard of one of the terrorist groups, he had decided to continue his efforts against the Mexican gang. He had been picking off gang members for the past few weeks, working his way through the ranks to gather information.
After his 'research,' Jack was nearly positive that this gang wasn't holding Angela - and he was going to confirm it tonight. He headed towards a major operative base for Los Muertos, the address kindly provided by one of their members the night before.
However, he wasn't the only one that had this idea.
Jack arrived to find Jesse McCree in the middle of a firefight. Ten gangsters pinned down the cowboy and, while McCree was impressive in a fight, even he was struggling against those odds. Jack gritted his teeth; he hadn't wanted to make contact with Overwatch like this - but he couldn't just leave McCree to his fate.
The old soldier dropped his visor into place and pulled out his helix rifle.
He had the element of surprise, shooting from a side alley with a dumpster for cover. Jack had clipped two of them before they returned fire. The cowboy had turned slightly, eyes wide under his hat, but had accepted his help. There wasn't time for questions when the bullets were flying, after all.
Between his rifle and McCree's Peacekeeper, the gangsters were soon retreating with their wounded. Of the ten that had been in their group, they had killed three. McCree looked around - and the blood and the bodies - and kicked at a nearby bottle.
"Damn it!" Jack wondered if the cowboy had stumbled upon this location by accident and had been looking to get information from the gangsters. McCree turned, Peacekeeper still in hand, to regard Jack.
"'preciate th' help," he drawled. There was a hard wariness in his eyes, a look Jack was well familiar with. McCree had regarded everyone with that look when he had first come into Overwatch. Jack had thought Overwatch had cured him of it, but it seemed he was mistaken.
"It's no problem." Jack rested the rifle over one shoulder casually, watching him just as warily through his visor. He had no intention of attacking the cowboy - they were on the same side, after all - but until he put away Peacekeeper, Jack was unwilling to part with his gun.
Then again, Jack didn't know anyone that could draw their weapon faster than McCree. Perhaps he should keep his rifle in hand the entire time.
"Now, why's a guy like you creepin' round these parts?" Jack wasn't surprised that McCree recognized him - or, at least, recognized the person wanted by the media. Soldier: 76 had a bounty that was slowly creeping to be as high as McCree's.
The soldier considered the man before him. He could make some excuse and come back on a different night, avoid the discovery altogether. But after the fight here in the alleyway - plus his systematic attacks against the gang - Los Muertos would be on high alert. Maybe teaming up, at least for the night, wasn't the worst idea.
"Probably the same reason you are." Jack rumbled, letting his rifle drop from his shoulder to hang limply at his side. McCree scoffed.
"Ya don' know th' first thing 'bout me." The soldier's mouth twisted into a wry grin under the mask. If only he knew.
"I know enough," Jack responded grimly. "You're looking for Dr. Ziegler." McCree's hand tightened on Peacekeeper, his free hand hovering near his waist where Jack knew he kept his flashbangs.
"An' jus' what would you know 'bout her?" If the cowboy had looked dangerous before, now he was downright murderous. It was an effort to keep from lifting his rifle defensively; with how on edge McCree was, Jack was sure he'd shoot first and worry about the question later.
"She helped me, a long time ago." It was more than that, of course - but he couldn't tell McCree any of it without revealing who he really was. "I owe her. Trying to find her is the least I could do."
"Right." McCree made a disbelieving noise. "Outta th' goodness of your heart, o'course." Jack had forgotten how cynical McCree was - how cynical they all were. It was impossible to be an optimist, a dreamer that expected the best of the world, when all you ever saw was the worst.
"I said I owe her," Jack growled back. "She's important to a lot of people." McCree made that noise again, and Jack rolled his eyes. He understood the reluctance, but there was no time for this. Jack cut his free hand through the air.
"Look: there's an operations base near here; it's where I was going when I found you." Jack extended the information as a peace offering, a white flag he hoped McCree would take. "It's the only place left that Los Muertos could hide her."
"And I'm jus' s'pposed t'trust you." It wasn't a question.
"You don't have to do anything." Jack corrected, turning away from the cowboy and his still threatening Peacekeeper. He was confident that McCree wouldn't shoot him in the back, not with that bait dangling before him. "Come or don't, but I'm going."
Jack had made it about halfway down the alley before he heard a sigh and the clink of spurs as McCree followed him.
/-\
As Jack had expected, Angela wasn't being held by Los Muertos - but it always paid to be certain. Now, McCree was tailing him doggedly through the alleyways, trying to figure out who he was - besides the notorious Soldier: 76 - and why he'd want to help Angela.
"Don't you have anything better to do?" The old soldier had growled, finally stopping behind a defunct restaurant. Now that he had accomplished his task here in Dorado, Jack was planning to leave the city. He was planning to head towards the Middle East; there was a bounty hunter he wanted to investigate and, if the information Jack had was correct, there should be a Talon base somewhere in the area that he could tear apart in the search for Angela.
Despite his respect for McCree's abilities, Jack had no interest in teaming up with him in the long term. He was an old soldier, bouncing from one war to the next. McCree was still young - even if he had been forced to grow up far too fast. There was no place for the cowboy at his side, not anymore.
"Naw, not at th' moment." The cowboy drawled lazily, not at all phased by Jack's tone. When he'd glanced back, he found McCree regarding him with hard brown eyes and one hand on his holstered Peacekeeper.
Just because they'd forged a temporary truce hadn't made them allies, after all - at least, not to McCree.
"Why does it matter?" Jack finally growled. "You should take any help you can get." After all, Angela had been missing for nearly a month. They shouldn't be looking a gift horse in the mouth.
"An' what happens when ya find her?" McCree demanded. "Gonna ransom her yourself? Try t' get rid o' your bounty?" Jack couldn't care less about the - well deserved - bounty on his head. The only difficulty it gave him was travel - but, considering the world believed him to be dead, travel had already been difficult.
"I'm not doing this for money." The soldier returned; his old self would have been offended at the idea. This new self was more pragmatic - it would be a good idea that any other criminal would jump upon.
"Yeah. You're doin' it 'cause you're such an upstandin' citizen an' all." McCree deadpanned back. He shifted his weight, his cybernetic left-hand hooking into one of his belt loops - his right was still on his gun. "Gimmie one good reason I shouldn' put a bullet in ya." Jack rolled his eyes behind his visor.
"Because we're on the same side." Jesse did not look convinced in the slightest; Jack wasn't sure why he'd thought those words would work. "I told you: I owe her. She saved my life." Jesse still wasn't budging, so Jack elaborated on that thought. "She took a bullet that was meant for me - and then patched me up as if it were nothing." The edges of Jesse's lips twitched, as if he wanted to smile at the reminder of how Angela had been - was.
"That sounds like the Ange I know." Jesse conceded. "Never could take care o' herself when there was someone else needin' her help." He sighed, hand sliding off Peacekeeper. "Fine. Fine. How're we gonna know if ya find her?"
"Trust me: you'll know." Jack turned and walked away. This time, Jesse let him.
In this life there's no surrender
There's nothing left for us to do
Find the strength to see this through
- Soldiers [Otherwise]