The tube was just a bit crowded when you and the cowboy stepped on, each of you wearing coats to hide the blood staining your clothes. McCree had taken care of the blood on your face, trying his best not to mess up your makeup, and you'll admit he did a pretty good job of it, only managing to wipe off the light layer of foundation and bits of your lipstick (you weren't sure how you felt about the intimacy of his fingers brushing against your lips). Thankfully, though, you'd brought some items to touch it up just in case something happened, because, with you, something always did.

"Pardon us," McCree murmured, offering an old lady a charming smile as he pulled you through the crowd to the other side of the compartment. His warm hand encased yours, gently tugging your uninjured arm, making sure you were close to him when he was satisfied with the spot he had chosen.

"Ooh, my pleasure," the woman said, giggling softly as she very obviously checked him out. "Say, it's been a while since I've heard a Southern Colonial accent! Where are you from, young man? And what brought you to Walworth?" Her old green eyes twinkled with interest as she turned to face him, hardly glancing over at you.

'Good,' you thought, shifting your stance a bit to make yourself feel more invisible, nearly tucked away behind McCree's larger frame. 'Just how I like it. Let McCree's natural beauty hide you.'

McCree chuckled, brushing a hand through his bangs. "Santa Fe, New Mexico, born 'n' raised, ma'am," he said, stepping closer to you with a smile, a hand dropping to wrap loosely around your waist. "My partner and I are just here on some business."

"Really, is that so? And where are you from, dear?" she asked, seeming to eye you a bit.

'Of course she had to ask me one of the only questions I can't answer!' You shifted a bit awkwardly under her gaze, the adrenaline beginning to fade and leaving you feeling jittery and slightly nauseous. "I, um, Ireland," 'I think,' you murmured softly, avoiding eye contact with the woman; her eyes reminded you too much of the young woman's from earlier.

The lady sniffed a bit, waiting for more information, but didn't press when you said nothing else. Instead, she went back to talking jovially with McCree, their conversation fading in your ears as your heartbeat outbid it for your attention and your vision began to fade to black.

Two people. You'd killed two people without hesitating. What if they had families, people, pets waiting for them at home? What if they had kids? They had been people too, living, breathing human beings with emotions and thoughts all their own, too complex for you to have ever understood, and you had obliterated them, struck them down without mercy, erased them off the face of the earth. That man had just been doing his job, and the woman? Perhaps they had been lovers, maybe she was just trying to defend her boss. Whatever it was, whoever they were, you had killed them. You.

Your chest squeezed as you started to hyperventilate, your stomach doing flips, making you feel as if you were going to be sick right then and there. Everything was muted, the chatter of the tube was gone, replaced by a dull, buzzing hum, the world in front of your eyes dark enough that you could hardly make out your shaking hands as you held one out in front of you.

McCree's voice was nothing but a louder buzz, but you recognised it, recognised the lilting southern cadence and felt the way his hand rubbed your side, catching your attention. You looked up to see his worried face, eyes searching and confused as you struggled to breathe, your entire body shaking.

"Are you alright, sweetpea?" You read the words on his lips, beginning to sway on your feet. A whimper broke through your lips in response and your knees buckled underneath you, bringing you quickly down to the ground, the world suddenly snapping back into focus.

"Whoa, hey now," he said, quickly moving to catch you before you hit the floor. His arms wrapped around your small frame, pulling you into his chest.

Suddenly, all eyes were on you and you panicked again, nausea rising in your chest. People began to whisper, watching you carefully. Judging you. Talking. They knew.

You were a murderer.

You clung to him as he pulled you up to stand, still gasping for air, and hid your face in his chest, not wanting to look at anyone. What were they saying? What did they think of you now? You weren't worth it, you weren't. They knew who you were, knew your face, knew what happened. They knew you had killed someone. What else would explain your odd behaviour? Now they were going to call the cops and you were going to have to spend the rest of your life in prison. But what about McCree? You were clinging to him like a child, would he have compassion and stay with you, or abandon you? Would he get caught as well?

"Oh dear, is she alright?" You could hear the voice of the old woman inquiring about your health, but the words didn't quite sink in. You'd killed them. Murderer. Murderer. Murderer! You squeezed your eyes closed, trying to block out the thoughts screaming at you from inside your head.

McCree hesitated before nodding decisively. "Yeah, she'll be fine. Is there any space she could sit?"

"Right here! Mack, get your lazy arse up, the lady's havin' a cow!" came the voice of a young man from behind you.

You felt McCree nod, and were grateful for his steadying hand on your lower back as he guided you over to the seat. "First time?" he asked next to your ear, crouching down in front of you when you sat. His hands enveloped yours, thumbs rubbing at the tops of your smaller hands.

You nodded, trying to regain your breath and block out the murmuring of everyone else. Was this how he'd felt the first time? "They know," your voice squeaked without you meaning it to, weak and soft, like a scared child, breath becoming increasingly hard to hold onto.

"No, no, no, deep breath, darlin'," he murmured, shaking his head and squeezing your hands, his brows furrowing with concern. "They don't know a thing, sweetheart, just listen to me, ok? Everything's gonna be ok, you did what you needed to. They weren't good people, Missm Marsh," he paused, pursing his lips together. He moved both of your hands into one of his, wrapped an arm gently around your shoulders, and sat down next to you, pulling you against his side.

His warmth and scent were comforting, lulling you into a sense of security. You jumped at the feel of his fingers brushing against your cheek, and turned to see that they were wet where they had touched your skin; you were crying.

"Think of it this way," he leaned over, letting a bit of his weight act as a security blanket, calming you a bit more, "you saved more people than you killed today. Roy Adams was far from a good man. You did the world a favour, Miss Marsh."

"I did?" you breathed, squeezing his metal fingers.

He chuckled, the vibrations rolling from his chest to yours. "That you did, darlin'."

His words brought you comfort and you nodded, sniffing lightly. You could still feel eyes on you, however, and it made you uncomfortable. "Is this how you greet all your new employees?" you joked, trying to distract him from your moral plight.

He laughed, shifting and making you wince as pain rippled through your right arm. "Sorry," he murmured, shaking his head. "And no, it ain't, but it sure as hell makes you look a much better candidate for the position."

You sat in comfortable quiet the rest of the trip to London, not wanting to discuss things in more detail in case someone was listening in. By the time the tube had come to a stop, you had regained your breathing and could stand on your own. You were still upset about having killed two people, but the knowledge that you had saved more gave you a sense of solace. You clung to that.

McCree led you through the streets, keeping you pressed close to his side so he wouldn't lose you in the crowd, until he came to a small building down in the back of an empty alleyway. He knocked twice on the rusty door and it swung inward, revealing a surprisingly clean interior.

"Ladies first," he said with a smile, gesturing into the hallway, following you in. "Evenin', Doc!" He called jovially, beginning to take his jacket off after closing the door behind him. "I brought home a stray. Can we keep her?"

You glared back at him, waiting for him to walk ahead of you so you could follow quietly behind him. 'A stray? Really? How demeaning…' You scoffed softly, turning your gaze away to observe the interior of this little hidden lair.

It was surprisingly clean for a building tucked away far into a dirty alleyway; white tiled floors and bare grey walls, it resembled an office building more than anything. The hall you walked down led to what appeared to be a small set of offices. A few tables sat in the middle of the open space supporting an array of computers and monitors, at which sat a small handful of people you didn't recognise past their Overwatch uniforms. They were busy typing away, each seeming to be writing up a report from what you could see on their monitors. On a few of the screens not taken up by white backgrounds with pages of words, you could see video footage of the inside of Lucky's, some a replay of your escapade, others showcasing the present; it was filled with police officers.

You watched as one of the bobbies picked up the semiautomatic you'd used to take down Adams and his henchwoman, then looked down at your bare, uncovered hands. They had your fingerprint, and, with the knife the woman had sliced your shoulder open with, your blood type and DNA. Just to top it all off, if Overwatch had access to the surveillance, so too did the police, which meant they could link both your fingerprint and your DNA to your face.

"Well now," you breathed, a certain cold fear settling in your stomach. "Guess I'm a wanted woman now. Today has been one giant walk in the park."

"Now, now, don't worry, Miss Marsh," a sweet German voice said as a familiar blonde woman came sweeping into the room, casting worried blue eyes over the arm you were unconsciously cradling. "We have contingency plans in place."

Your eyes widened and your voice caught in your throat. Before you stood the Angela Ziegler, the esteemed doctor who had saved countless lives on and off the field, basically revolutionised modern medicine, and saved your life all those years ago. She looked even better in person, standing almost half a foot taller than you in her signature lab coat and messy ponytail, practically a Swiss goddess with a stethoscope.

You were literally face to face with your hero.

"Jesse, is that your blood?" she asked, turning shining cerulean pools onto him as he set his jacket down on one of the few empty chairs.

Jesse shook his head. "I ain't the one you need to be fussin' over, Doc. Miss Marsh caught a bullet and had an encounter with the business edge of a blade on the same arm. I wrapped her up best I could, but I ain't no doctor, thought I'd leave it to the professional." He tipped his head with a friendly smile, reaching for the cowboy hat he'd left on the table and placing it on his head.

She pursed her lips, giving him a slight nod before coming over to help you out of your jacket. The makeshift bandages of your wounds were soaked through with blood and you hissed as she began to pull them back to assess the damage. To your surprise, the wounds had already begun to heal.

"Wha-"

"Jesse must have dipped his shirt in the fluid from my caduceus," Dr. Ziegler said quickly, shaking her head. "Come with me, Miss Marsh. Let's get the bullet out of your arm and the wounds sewn up. How are you with pain?"

"Um… I mean, I made it through the tube and London crowds without crying out, so, pretty good, I guess?" you said, furrowing your brow as you looked up at the doctor.

She smiled and nodded. "Then we can hold the interview while I get you patched up. Winston is very eager to speak with you. You've made quite the impression on all of us."

Your brain whirling, you followed her quietly to one of the back offices, sitting down on the table when she pointed you to. They were still going to hold the interview? The Winston, super smart gorilla scientist who'd created a fucking chronal accelerator by himself, wanted to speak with you, an average, wandering fangirl? And what did Dr. Ziegler mean, you'd made an impression on them? Had they been watching you? And who was "them"?

You looked down at your feet as you tried to get a handle on your thoughts, listening to Dr. Ziegler tap away at her keyboard, trying to think of something to say. You had so many questions and the person who had saved your life was literally standing before you, and yet, the only words you could formulate were;

"Dr. Ziegler?"

She glanced back at you, raising an eyebrow with a smile. "Just Angela, please."

You blushed a bit, clearing your throat. "R-Right. A-A-Angela, um, thank you for, you know, saving my life and all that. I, uh, I know I must not have been a good person, but, um, you still went out of your way to, you know, help me and I-I really appreciate it."

Dr. Zie- Angela stiffened a bit, glancing back over at you with a nervous smile. "Well, I was glad to do so. I couldn't leave you to die. But, what makes you think you were a bad person, Miss Marsh?"

You gave her a one-shoulder shrug, trying to keep your wounded arm still. "Well, no one came to claim me. I sat in that hospital for months and no one came in to do so much as to simply give my name. So, I have to assume I was a bad person, right?"

Her smile softened into something sadder, and she finished up at the computer before coming over. She laid a warm hand on your shoulder as the holoprojector came to life, displaying the monitor on the screen opposite you. Angela was calling Winston.

"You were not a bad person, Miss Marsh, just… Misguided."

Your eyes widened and you looked up at her, nearly gaping. "Did… Did you know me?"

She hesitated again, refusing to meet your gaze. "I'd… Heard of you, yes. But let's not dwell on the past right now. Ah, Winston! Perfect timing!" she said, looking up as the gorilla's face appeared on the screen.

Winston grinned widely, his large teeth gleaming in the light shining on his face. "Ah, there she is! The lady of the hour!" he said, eyes on you. "How are you holding up, Miss Marsh?"

"Well, I think I'm ok. I mean I've got the Angela Ziegler taking care of me, I killed two people, which I'm still struggling to fully come to terms with, overpowered a woman nearly twice my size muscle-wise, and now I'm a wanted woman, so…" You shrugged, instantly regretting the action as it sent pain ripping through your right side.

Winston laughed when you hissed in pain, his amber eyes bright with mirth. "Still going strong after everything? You're made of tougher material than your file insinuated! Definitely Overwatch material, if I do say so myself."

You flinched slightly when Angela applied some disinfectant to your gunshot wound and quickly began working to get the bullet out, but kept as straight a face as you could. 'Don't blow this for yourself, Bri. This is still an interview.' You managed a smile, keeping your gaze away from what Angela was doing. "You flatter me, sir, but I'm not that tough."

He laughed again and shook his head. "Nonsense! Don't doubt yourself. Anyway, don't worry about the "wanted" stuff, we have contingency plans in place, which give you a variety of options, but we'll get to those later. Before we get on to the interview, allow me to formally apologise for everything that happened this afternoon, on behalf of the whole of Overwatch. We in no way intended on putting you in danger or in Arachnid's line of fire, it just so happened that the information regarding your interview was somehow leaked to some of Arachnid's higher-ups and they decided to take action.

"Originally, you were not to know that you were being interviewed for a position in Overwatch, we had one of our engineering interns ready to hold it for you, but once we caught word that Arachnid knew… We had to make some hasty decisions." He paused and scratched at his head, looking a bit deadly serious before the expression melted into another jovial smile. "But, perhaps, this was a blessing in disguise."

You flinched as Angela pulled away, the bullet gripped between the tips of a pair of forceps. Strangely enough, the bullet was entirely flattened and bent in an arch, almost as if it had hit the bone straight on and begun to mold around it from the impact alone. But, that couldn't be possible, right? If the bullet had hit the bone of your upper arm, it would have shattered it. At least, as far as you knew.

"A blessing in disguise?" you asked, furrowing your brows as you looked up to Angela, but she gave no indication of whether this was normal or not, just turned around to dispose of the bullet into a nearby tray before picking up her needle and thread to sew up the wound.

"Well, yes. While the questions I had formulated would have given us an accurate profile of your character, this let us see you acting naturally. Not only that, but it allowed us a very in-depth look at your moral values, mental state, and your defensive skills. Miss Marsh, I must say, you would fit right in amongst our agents here," Winston said, pushing his glasses up.

You sat quietly for a few seconds, watching Angela finish up with the gunshot wound and move onto the gash in your shoulder. You could hardly feel the needle as it pushed through your skin, more a testament to Angela's skills as a doctor than your pain tolerance. "I don't have much of a choice, do I?" you asked, turning your gaze back up to the projected image of the gorilla. "Those contingency plans, what did they entail?"

Winston's smile faded as he watched your gaze, faltering. Clearing his throat, he nodded. "Straight to the point, I see. A valuable characteristic in an assistant. Well, Miss Marsh, after this whole event, you really only have two choices. Not only do you know of the silent recall of Overwatch, but you've also become a target to Arachnid, so we really can't let you go on as you are. We have a separate identity set up and ready for you and a few professional stylists at your location if you so choose, but, even with that, we can't guarantee that you'll be completely safe. It is with this in mind, that I greatly urge you to accept this position. It would benefit both of us, you would be safe within the headquarters compound, and we would receive one hell of an assistant."

Angela finished your shoulder with a flourish, wiping down the area and giving your uninjured shoulder a pat. "You should be fine now, but I would recommend keeping a biotic emitter running in your room for the next week or so to help speed up the healing and reduce scarring. I will make sure to give you a few before you leave today."

"Thank you, Dr. Ziegler," you murmured, flexing the muscles of your arm a bit and flinching. 'Bad idea, Bri. Why did you think that was going to work out well for you?... I'm not too keen on the idea of starting fresh, and I'd rather not have to start going by a whole new name…' "Well, then, when do I start?"