Failure
Meetings were the bane of her existence, but even she could acknowledge that they had their purposes. At least she managed to keep them from running over – but only barely. She had made the decision the night before to take a week to acclimatize to her new surroundings; she would get her things unpacked and learn the layout of this enormous base if it killed her. Gloria had been running the infirmary long enough; another week wouldn't hurt anything.
She used the infirmary meeting to put names to faces and tweak the schedule, but for the most part it was to make herself known. There weren't any changes necessary – that she had observed – so she left the infirmary staff pretty much alone.
The research and development meeting was more productive, seeing how she had outlined a few research ideas the day before. There were two research teams within the Zürich base, one of which was already working on a project assigned before she arrived. That was fine; she instructed them to keep her apprised and report to her with any of their needs or concerns. The second team she directed to expand on her research that had resulted in the healing stream. Specifically, she wanted them to adapt it for battlefield triage; if it could be expanded to work on more than one target simultaneously, more lives could be saved on the front lines.
While the meetings didn't run over, she did find herself held afterwards by the second research team. They needed direction, considering the technology was so brand new. She didn't even have dossiers or the research available to them yet – it was all trapped in the boxes in her office. She had explained the concept in as much detail as she was able, but had to cut the meeting short when she saw the time: 2:48. Here she was, disobeying her order to eat before her meeting with Captain Amari, but it couldn't be helped. With promises to meet with them again as soon as possible, she excused herself from the meeting room calmly before bolting down the hallway.
She managed to get to her office with mere minutes to spare; in fact, she had just sat down in her chair when someone knocked.
"It's open." Angela called, looking up as the door swung open. A middle eastern woman was standing in her door, a small stack of files in her hands with a single sheet of paper on top. "You must be Captain Amari." The Captain smiled and approached her desk to set the files down.
"And you must be the famous Dr. Ziegler. Let me take a look at you." Angela obliged the woman by standing up again. The woman gave the doctor a once over before nodding to herself. Angela wondered what the woman was looking for, but it appeared that she was pleased by what she found. "Jack told me to brief you on the upcoming strike." The two women sat, while Ana pushed the lone piece of paper in front of her. "They are set to travel to the Chieti province of Italy."
Angela nodded and put up a finger, asking silently for a pause, as she scribbled a few notes down on the paper. Fortunately, it was relatively close to home, so there shouldn't be any need for specialized immunization shots. This was a good thing, seeing how – she glanced to the top of the paper – the team was leaving in less than a week.
"Sorry, Captain. Continue."
"Please dear, call me Ana. We're going to be working together often – you, me, and the boys." Angela grinned at her calling the Commanders boys, but nodded anyways. "Anyway, we have seven agents that we plan to send on this mission. I have put together their files – medical charts first, followed by their personnel files – for your review." Angela took the top folder and flipped it open to skim over, and paused. The file belonged to a man named John Morrison.
"Is this…?"
"The Commander? Yes. The Commanders and I are still active members, and you will see us on the field just as often as any of our agents." Ana smiled at the blonde doctor gently. "We take care of our own, no matter where they are." Angela nodded and glanced back down at the chart for a moment before looking back up at the older woman.
"I thought his name was Jack?" Ana threw her head back and laughed.
"His fathers' name is also John, so he's always been called Jack. He hates the name, so I wouldn't go about calling him that." Ana told her with a smile. Angela doubted that would happen – ever – with the way the man had directed her to use his title. Maybe once they'd worked together for some time they'd get along better; they didn't exactly have the best start, what with her summarily dismissing him and his precious organization as often as possible.
"Any other surprises in those files, Ana?" She asked wryly, closing the file. Angela wanted to get started on this – they were shipping out soon – but she didn't want to ignore the woman like she had, accidentally, Jack the night before. Ana laughed again, but shook her head.
"No, dear, that was the only 'surprise'. Do you have any questions about the strike?" Ana asked, returning to the business at hand. What Angela wanted to know was where – specifically – in Italy they were going and what they planned to do, but she knew she'd never get those answers. She still held her reservations about these strike teams, regardless of how "necessary" the others believed them to be.
"Are there medical personnel traveling with the team?" She asked instead, sticking to the realm she was permitted. If she was more familiar with the names of her staff, she could flip through the files and figure it out herself quickly, but she hadn't yet managed it.
"But of course." Ana flipped through the files quickly and pulled the one in question out and offered it to her. "We send at least one medic with all strike teams. Even for missions considered low risk, we always send someone to ensure our agents come home." Angela nodded and accepted the folder, settling it on top of Jacks' file for review. "As the head of medical, you are responsible for making sure they are properly equipped to do their job." Ana tapped the folder in question with one nail. "This one has been on a few missions before, so they can guide you should you need any assistance with the mission preparations – or you can ask one of us." Angela nodded; while she didn't want to appear incompetent, it wasn't worth risking lives if she got it wrong.
"How dangerous is this mission?" Angela asked. If it had been Jack she'd asked, he'd probably give her that look again like he had in the elevator, but Ana nodded as if it were a sensible question. Of course it was – she needed to plan their medical supplies.
"This is a medium risk mission; what that means to you is that there will definitely be armed combat, but we believe that the target is minimally armed and unprepared for a strike which reduces the risks involved." Angela scribbled notes on a separate sheet of paper as Ana continued to lecture her. This was a whole new world.
"I think I can take it from here, Ana." Angela said, thirty minutes later. Any other information she could easily request later. She imagined that these meetings would go quicker – or not occur at all if she could convince Jack that she should be in on their meetings – once she understood all their terminology.
"Very good, doctor." The two women stood – one to leave and one to be respectful to her superior. The older woman paused in the doorway to glance back at their new doctor. "If you run into trouble – with the boys or with anyone else – don't hesitate to ask for help and I will do what I can." Angela smiled and nodded in understanding.
"I appreciate that, Ana. I think I've got it under control for now, but if that changes I'll let you know."
"Good." The Captain quietly shut the door behind her and the doctor took her seat and opened a file. She didn't have a lot of time.
Angela drummed her fingers over her keyboard. She was reaching out to her three superiors on their team for the coming strike next week. It wasn't quite important enough to bother them in person about, but she was planning to deny one of their chosen agents; it appeared that they had overlooked that the man had broken his leg in a training exercise gone wrong and was unable to walk.
Commanders, Captain,
I have reviewed the files of the agents for your mission next week and have found the following:
Two need booster shots for a few vaccines, which is easily remedied.
Ahujah's shoulder needs to be looked over before she can be approved for further missions.
Díaz has a broken leg and will be unable to participate in this strike.
I have already set up appointments with the agents still in question. Please send me the file on your next choice as soon as possible, no matter the time.
Respectfully,
Dr. Angela Ziegler
She read over the email twice, to make sure there were no misspellings and that the information was correct, before sending it to the three. She imagined one of them would see the email soon enough and she'd get another file on her desk within the next day.
Then she turned her attention to the boxes in her office. While she had more boxes upstairs, these were the most important ones. All her original research was stored within them – though there were backups elsewhere in case of data corruption or an accident occurred. She needed to get everything unpacked and filed appropriately in her office, especially since her research team needed it as soon as possible.
Aside from the Díaz issue, the strike team left without any further problems. They weren't due to enter combat until three days after departure, but Angela made sure that the infirmary and operating rooms were ready at all times – just in case. The strike location was near enough that injuries might be sent their way, rather than another field hospital.
Now that she'd had time to unpack her boxes – except her kitchenware, which she shoved into a closet to deal with later – and learn her way around, she had taken over the infirmary from Gloria. She kept the woman as her second in command, as she was a great doctor in her own right, but Angela's word was law on basement floor one.
She had begun combing through the personnel files of anyone who might go on a strike mission to ensure that everyone had the proper immunizations and physicals on file. Most of the staff were up-to-date on all required immunizations – militarization, once again, at its finest – but people slipped through the cracks. She kept her infirmary busy with appointments and physicals, making sure everyone was healthy and whole.
At one PM on the day the strike team was set to attack, Ana barged into the infirmary.
"I need Dr. Ziegler." She commanded, glancing around the room for Angela.
"Here, Captain." The blonde doctor stepped out from behind a curtained-off bed. It didn't seem appropriate to call her Ana in front of so many people. "Dr. Freeman, please finish with my patient." She ordered, stripping the gloves off her hands and casually passing them to the red head as she approached Ana. "What can I do for you?"
"Come with me." Ana turned and walked out of the infirmary, a bewildered Angela hot on her heels. They ended up in Angela's office, with the door shut for privacy. "I'm going to get right to it. Our intelligence on the strike was bad. Most of the team are injured – at least two are in critical condition – and the medic is dead." Ana's eyes were bleak, but her tone was professional. "We need two medics to go with our extraction team." Angela's mind whirled as she tried to figure out who was available – and suitable – to go.
"Take Daigneau and Remington; I think they're the best medics I have right now. I'm pretty sure they've been on the battlefield a couple times too, so they aren't green." Angela said after flipping through the files in her head. "Are they being brought here?" She asked, as Ana rose. The older woman shook her head.
"We are sending the critical patients to our base in Naples." Angela nodded.
"Get me transportation to Naples, then." Angela ordered. She would be useless on the battlefield – she wasn't trained for such tasks – but she knew how to run a surgical ward under pressure, and her hands would be better placed to work there. "I'll get the medics, and myself, ready. When and where are we meeting?"
Angela followed her two medics to the helicopter hanger. In her hands was the wand-shaped tool that was used to apply the healing stream. It would be no good on the battlefield, not as it was now, but it could be used in Italy to help the injured once they arrived.
"You'd better be here to see us off, doc." Gabriel growled as she approached with her medics. She just rolled her eyes at the man and nodded.
"Of course, Commander. I'm not fit for the battlefield." She acknowledged; maybe at some point she'd get the training necessary, but for now this would have to do. "While you're out getting shot at, I'll be preparing the operating rooms at the Naples base." He nodded in understanding, since it was a good plan. She was the best doctor Overwatch had – she'd checked – and if she could be of use somewhere she would. There was no way she was going to sit around wringing her hands while there was work to be done.
"But seriously," she pointed at his chest, "keep your men – and yourself – safe. We don't need more wounded – or dead." She ordered fiercely. Angela noticed the two medics at her side wincing at her tone, or it could have been the fact that she was ordering around one of the Commanders.
"Of course, doc. Wouldn't have it any other way." He patted her shoulder before leading her medics onto the helicopter. She backed off as it, and another helicopter just like it, took off and watched them disappear into the horizon. They'd be landing in about two hours, and if things went well would be up within another.
She turned to the remaining helicopter. Her transport was a smaller helicopter, built for speed rather than carrying large loads. She climbed in without hesitation, and as soon as she was strapped in the pilot took them away.
Fortunately, the Naples base was prepared when she landed on their roof nearly three hours later. She was met at the roof by the head doctor, Dr. Thomas Russo, with a status report. The operating rooms were being prepped with various necessities – blood bags and the like – and off-duty medical staff were being brought in to prepare for the incoming injured.
Angela strode into the infirmary two steps behind Dr. Russo and glanced around as they crossed the room. Six beds, no less equipped than the Zürich base, filled the room. Two personnel – doctors, nurses, or just random people from the base – scrambled around tucking supplies by each bed for triage and less-serious injuries. He led her to their operating rooms – thankfully they had more than one – so that she could review their progress.
Everything was going well, and she left the staff to their tasks as she got out of their way. She had no idea where anything was and would only hamper them; when the injured came in she would do her part.
Almost an hour after she arrived, they were sitting around waiting for news. Everything that could be prepped was ready for their patients. She had shown one of the doctors how to use the healing stream so that it could be applied where necessary in the other OR, since she knew she'd be much too busy to apply it herself. Angela had also taken the time to eat something, since there was no telling how long it would be until her next meal – or her next rest would be. Suddenly, the phone in the infirmary rang and a nurse scrambled to grab it.
"Captain Amari for you, Dr. Ziegler." The woman called to her. Angela quickly took the phone.
"Ana, do you have an update?" She asked quietly, turning her back to the room in a fruitless attempt at privacy. The extraction team had to have been on the ground for at least forty minutes; if it was taking that long, there couldn't be any good news.
"They're in the air, ETA 10 minutes." Ana reported, and Angela released her pent-up breath; at least they were on the way. She covered the receiver with her hand.
"Helicopter is landing in 10 minutes; get those beds up there!" She uncovered the receiver and ignored the room as it burst into action. "Do you have any word on the wounded?"
"Including your medic, we've lost three. Another is in critical condition. Two more are in urgent condition. Five more are injured, but stable and headed home to Zürich. You should know that one of the urgent injuries is Jack." Angela nearly dropped the receiver in shock, but somehow managed to keep the object in her hand. Somehow she'd forgotten the possibility that he could be among the injured. He's not critical. He'll be fine; I'll make him fine. She cleared her throat uncomfortably.
"Do you know what his injuries are?" Even though he wasn't in critical condition, she knew that he would be the one under her direct care. Regardless of how well they got along, he was one of the Commanders and she had to do her best to keep him that way.
"Gabe said he was shot at least twice and there was a lot of blood." Angela nodded.
"He's AB+, right? I'll stock my OR with it right away. What's the name and blood-type of the critical patient? And the urgent patient?" She grabbed a pad of paper and scribbled her notes down. "Leave this to me, Ana. We'll pull through." Angela hung up and grabbed the nearest nurse.
"I need OR 1 stocked with AB+ and OR 2 stocked with B-. Immediately." She let the woman run off and grabbed another. "You're to direct Commander Morrison into OR 1. Jeannette Burroughs is to be put in OR 2." She could only hope that the third patient could survive without surgery until the first two were done. She pushed the man to the main doorway where the beds would come from and went to scrub up in OR 1.
She operated on Jack for over five hours. His left shoulder, left arm, and right leg had been shot. Angela set a second doctor to stitch up his leg – it was bleeding enough that she worried the femoral artery had been nicked – after she had poked around and made sure there was nothing hidden in the wound. A nurse worked on replenishing his blood levels; he was losing too much to be comfortable, but it was definitely sustainable. The shoulder was also worrying – especially since they had a hard time finding the bullet. An x-ray found the bullet lodged in the ball-joint of his shoulder. Carefully they removed and stitched him up, but she worried that he would lose mobility enough that she took her healing stream and had another doctor put it to work against his shoulder long enough that only a few stitches were necessary.
Once he was stabilized, she stripped off her gloves and ran to the other operating room, which was an absolute mess of blood and metal. Another scrub and a new set of gloves and she was squeezing up to the table. The woman was still losing blood faster than they could replenish it, even after the five hours they'd been working on her. She had been hit directly with a frag grenade that had shredded through her gear like tissue paper. They had managed to get quite a bit of the shrapnel out already, but the deepest wounds were bleeding fiercely – and many of her wounds still had metal wedged inside.
She was in that operating room for another two hours, carefully threading metal out of her wounds and trying to seal the wounds up – either with stitches or careful applications of the healing stream, which wouldn't work with debris in her body – before she lost too much blood. They had finally gotten all the shrapnel out when she coded. Their best efforts could not resuscitate her, and they were forced to admit defeat at nearly eleven pm after nearly eight hours of surgery. If Angela had the energy to spare she would have been crushed by her death – any patient under her care was to be saved, not allowed to die, and any that didn't survive weighed on her shoulders like a personal insult.
But there was no time to feel anything, not with still another patient, and she stripped off her gloves once again and went back to OR 1. Jack was no longer within, but the other urgent patient was. Compared to her last patient his case was simple – gunshot to the stomach – but it was still terribly serious. They probably hadn't realized how serious it was in the air, but open on her table it was painfully obvious. If Jack had been literally anyone else, the patient before her would have been prioritized over him for fear that the stomach or intestines were damaged, which they were.
It was another losing battle; if he had been seen as little as two hours sooner he may have survived, but the hole in his intestines was severe and had allowed bacteria to spread. He died of sepsis after a little more than four hours on the operating table.
She'd been up since eight the previous morning – it was nearing eighteen hours that she'd been awake and working – but she still had a duty. She stripped the gloves off to go into the infirmary to call Zürich. It had been over eight hours since the injured had arrived in Naples, and only one of them had survived.
"Captain Amari." The woman sounded tired, a sentiment Angela understood. At least she had the tiniest bit of good news – Jack was fine – but that was where it ended.
"It's Angela." She said, leaning against an empty infirmary bed to give her aching feet a small respite. Angela tiredly rubbed her eyes and brushed a stray lock back behind one ear.
"Is everything alright?" Concern laced her voice. Angela felt a sharp pang of guilt; she had forgotten to have someone call with an update for the woman – she was a little busy wrist deep in body cavities at the time – but it was no excuse.
"The Commander is fine. He's got a ton of stitches, and he won't be on the front lines any time soon, but he's fine." She'd decided to give the good news first, because telling Ana about him after two extremely horrible deaths on her table would be crueler than Angela could be.
"Alhamd lilah." Arabic filled Angela's ears, but Ana's tone sounded relieved, so she could imagine the sentiments. "What of the others?" Angela bit her lip and bent her head, clutching the phone like a lifeline.
"I regret to inform you that both are dead. Private Jeannette Burroughs was declared dead at 10:49pm last night and Corporal Bolin Huang was declared dead at 1:17am. She died due to blood loss and he died from sepsis." She couldn't – wouldn't – tell Ana that the Corporal may have survived had he been prioritized over their Commander. It had been her call to admit him directly without taking stock of the other wounded, which made his death solely her fault and responsibility. Ana muttered some more in Arabic before switching back to English.
"I'm sure you did everything you could for them, dear." But she hadn't, and that was the problem. She'd done everything for Jack – for the Commander of this stupid organization – but not the ones that needed her more.
"Thank you, Ana." Angela whispered thickly, unable to voice her failure without tears – and she didn't have time to cry right now. She still needed to check on Jack again before she could find her own rest.
"The other injured landed here several hours ago. All have been treated, and I'm told they're stable." Ana told her, which was some relief. At least there was no more death, not today. "Find Gabe and report to him, then get some rest. You sound exhausted." The woman ordered, not unsympathetically.
"Yes, Captain." The line went dead, but still she sat there, phone to her ear, for a few minutes more. She hadn't realized Gabriel was even here – but then again, he probably stayed due to Jack, rather than head back home – and she wasn't looking forward to making a report in person.
Still, she had a duty to perform. She found a nurse and had them take her to wherever it was they hid Jack. They'd, unsurprisingly, put him in a private room with an agent stationed outside it. Wounded and vulnerable as he was – even if no one outside the infirmary and the strike team knew – she didn't blame them for moving to protect their leader. She went to enter, but found her way blocked by the agent.
"Sorry, ma'am, but no one is allowed entry." She raised an eyebrow – she was too tired to do anything else.
"My name is Dr. Angela Ziegler, and I'm the one who spent five hours stitching him up, so you're going to move aside and let me check on my patient." The order would have sounded more impressive if her voice wasn't so weary. She offered her badge to him, proving that she was actually the person she said she was. After an inordinate amount of time scrutinizing the ID, he allowed her entry.
Inside, the only sound was the soft beeping of the EKG machine. Jack was laying in the bed asleep, while Reyes was sitting in a chair against the wall. At the sound of the door opening he rose to his feet, guns in hand and a fierce look on his face.
"It's just me." She put her hands up defensively, as if that would help her in the slightest if he accidentally shot her. He blinked and put the guns down on a nearby table. At least he had the good grace to look sheepish.
"Sorry, doc. It's been a long day and I'm a little jumpy." He took a good look at her. "You look like hell. Here I am complaining, and your day was just as long."
"Thanks; you really know how to make a girl feel good about herself." She said dryly, moving further into the room to grab Jack's chart and look him over. It had been nearly five hours since she'd last seen him – and he'd still been on the table when she left him. Carefully, she looked over the wounds and checked his chart for the medication and pain killers they'd put him on. After a few minutes of review, she nodded and turned back to Gabriel, who was sitting with a worried look.
"He's going to be fine, Reyes. I saw to that myself." She reassured him, tucking the chart back into its spot on the wall next to the bed. There was only the one chair in the room, so she leaned against the bed at Jack's feet.
"I know, doc. I don't doubt you; I'm sure he'll pull through just fine." He still looked worried, something Angela didn't know how to put to rest. They were clearly close, the two men, and sometimes the only thing that removed worry was recovery. They sat in silence for a few minutes, Angela fighting off the incoming exhaustion, before she spoke again.
"I came to check on him and to give you a report." She said, turning bleak eyes to the man on her left. He nodded for her to continue, eyes closed. "Both agents are dead." Gabriel's eyes flew open. "Private Burroughs died from blood loss due to injuries from a frag grenade, while," she took a steadying breath, she could report and be fine, "while Corporal Huang died from sepsis due to a gunshot wound to the stomach." She realized, somewhat dejectedly, that there was a lot of paperwork in her near future for their deaths. "All other wounded have been treated back in Zürich and are currently stable." She closed her eyes and leaned a little more against the bed, slumping her shoulders miserably with a bowed head.
"I'm sorry to hear that, doc." Gabriel finally said. "They were good agents." Of course they were, and she'd let them die under her care. She bit her lip to keep the words to herself – she didn't need him to witness her misery or hear her words of derision. "I know you – and the other doctors – did everything possible to save them." She nodded and stood abruptly.
"I appreciate it, Reyes." Angela turned her back to the man and made for the door, before her exhaustion allowed her sorrow to show. She had to show she was capable, professional, and getting upset over death – as a doctor of all things – wouldn't earn her any respect. It was a man's world, and there was no room for a woman's feelings in the world of medicine – or running Overwatch. "I'm exhausted. I'll be right next door if you need me for anything." She tugged the door open, surprising the agent on the other side.
"Doctor." Gabriel's voice stopped her, but she didn't turn around. "Thank you for coming out to Naples. You didn't have to – you could have stayed in Zürich – but you did. I won't forget that." She nodded silently and let herself out. Angela let herself into the room directly next door. Mercifully, it was empty. She slipped her shoes off and climbed onto the bed in the center of the room, letting the silence and darkness wash over her.
With the darkness came memory of the past eight hours. The blood and gore, the frantic suturing and desperation to try to save the person on the table. Mostly, though, she remembered all the things she did wrong. She didn't check the patients and prioritize one over another; she'd just put the Commander first over everything. They hadn't even entered her infirmary and she'd placed one over the other.
Because of her actions, Corporal Huang – at the very least – wouldn't be going home. She wondered if he had a family. Surely there were parents out there somewhere – unless he'd been an orphan like her – or maybe a wife with children? She still had his personnel file, as well as Private Burroughs'; she'd find out and see if there was anything she could do for the families left behind.
She should have seen either of them first – Burroughs with her shrapnel or Huang with his gunshot were both more serious than Jack, even with the three holes in his body, and yet she hadn't. There were many cases where there is truly nothing a doctor could have done, but she still had to wonder. If she had been with either of the deceased from the moment they arrived, would they have survived? Could there have been two, or even three, survivors of this tragedy? Were these deaths her fault?
The darkness had no answers. It merely shielded her as tears streaked silently from her eyes.