Sanity

She was in the operating room, pliers in hand. Private Burroughs lay on the table, metal sticking out of her like a porcupine. There's blood everywhere, the patient needed more – but every time she tries to speak, nothing comes out. The other doctors and nurses work blindly next to her, across from her, not noticing or realizing that the patient is dying, that she was trying to communicate. She tried to tear herself away, get the blood herself, but she's trapped next to the body, forced to try to pull out the shrapnel as the woman just keeps bleeding. It was like bailing out a sinking boat with a cereal bowl – she was doing something but she may as well do nothing.

"Time of death, 10:49pm." I've failed her again.

She was standing over Burroughs again, scrambling to keep her alive. Pliers in hand, she carefully tugged the metal out of her body. She called for more blood, she was bleeding too fast. Angela turned to set the metal aside, and when she looked back it was lodged in her body again. No, that can't be. Angela pulled the metal out and set it aside again. And again. And again.

"Time of death, 10:49pm." Not again, I can't do this again.

She stood over Burroughs. "Time of death, 10:49pm." Please, no.

"Time of death, 10:49pm."

Once again, she was over Burroughs in a fight to keep the woman alive. Pliers carefully tug out the shrapnel, needles stitch torn flesh back together. Blood, so much blood, it's everywhere. There's too much, we need more blood. They're working nonstop, where one hand falters another picks up the slack. The bleeding has stopped, the wounds sutured shut. Finally. I've saved her.

She turns, ripping off her gloves, there's more patients that need her. The operating door flies open before her, and now she's standing over Jack. I thought I already saved him, why is he bleeding? Where are his stitches? There's no time to think about that, she must stop the bleeding. There's a scalpel in her now-gloved hand, she's trying to find a bullet. Where is it? It's in here, she knows it is. They can't heal him until it's out, his body will reject the nanobots or the nanobots will reject him, but it doesn't matter because where is this stupid bullet?! Finally, it's out, tossed aside like trash. Beam in, why is it going so slow? Nurse, hold this, keep it steady, she needs to deal with his leg.

It hasn't stopped bleeding, why is it bleeding, why wasn't this dealt with sooner? There's a needle in her hand, she's pulling his ruined flesh together. Over and over, she stitches and stitches, but it doesn't stop bleeding. Why won't he stop bleeding? Where is it coming from? Faceless nurses and doctors are standing around her, watching, why weren't they helping her?

Why is he coding? There's too much blood, he's been bleeding too long. We've run out of blood, we need more blood. He can't die, he's the Commander. Overwatch needs him. We need more blood, we need more blood, we need more blood.

"Time of death, 11:27pm." No!

"Doc! Doc, wake up!" A hand was on her shoulder, shaking her even as she tried to force herself to sit up. She was momentarily disoriented – why was someone in her room? – before recalling the events of the day before. Her vision was blurry, what was going on? She scrubbed at her face to find it wet, but that wasn't important. Her eyes found Gabriel looking concerned as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed.

"What's wrong?" She demanded, reaching up to pull her sleep-messed hair into a ponytail before standing up. She had no idea what time it was, but if Gabriel was in her room it meant that there was something going on with Jack. He didn't appear panicked, so it probably wasn't anything bad. Still, she started for the door before he could begin to speak.

"Wait, doc, stop!" He grabbed her arm before she could get more than a few paces from the bed. She turned to look at him, confused. "Jack's fine. He's still sleeping." If Jack was fine, why were they even having a conversation? If the Commander was still sleeping she should be too. Sleeping and dreaming of how he died, how they all died, how there was no more blood. She shook her head slightly, as if that could chase the thoughts and dreams away. They'd be back – they always were.

"Why did you wake me up then?" There weren't any other patients to worry about besides Jack, not anymore, and that was all she was good for – putting the broken back together so that they could break themselves some more. She'd seen the scars on Jacks' body as she was carefully stitching him back together, and she knew that there'd be more from this little adventure – and those that would come.

"You were yelling." He watched her carefully as she made a face. "Not loud enough to bother me or Jack next door, but the guard heard you." She hadn't realized she talked – or yelled, in this case – in her sleep. "He got me, and I came to investigate. You were yelling about blood." We need more blood. "I figured I should wake you."

She glanced down towards the ground. She knew she had nightmares – she always took her patient's deaths hard and this time was no different – but she hadn't realized it included shouting or crying out. Some doctors chose to drink or smoke when the stress got to be too much while others lost themselves in the touch of another; she carried the guilt on her shoulders like a scarf – or a chain – and dreamed while burying herself in work, hoping to reach a state of exhaustion that even dreams, and nightmares, couldn't penetrate. It never affected her at work – nightmares are easily hidden and what doctor doesn't look tired from time to time? – but now, well, now her work was her home.

"I appreciate it, but I'm alright. They're just dreams." Angela looked back up towards his face. "Occupational hazard, really." She tried to offer a smile, but she was still too out of sorts from her nightmares and the sudden visit for it to be effective. Angela watched Gabriel search her face, but she wasn't sure what he was looking for.

"Are you sure? I got time; we can talk about it." He said spreading his hands apart in offering. When she hesitated, he just sighed and crossed them back across his chest. "It's fine. You don't have to talk to me, but you should talk to someone. Me, Ana – hell, Jack'll even hear you out." She made a face. She highly doubted Jack would want to hear about the poor doctor having nightmares – even if he was starring in them. Gabriel made a tsking noise. "You underestimate him, doc. He's a good man; yeah, he's stubborn, but he's loyal and he'll have your back. All of us do – because we're a team." He shook his head; he'd gotten off topic.

"Anyway. Battle changes and damages each of us." She had never stepped foot onto a battlefield, so she had no idea what he was harping about. Her thoughts must have shown on her face because he continued, "If you believe for one second that you weren't fighting a battle yesterday, then you are sorely mistaken." He shrugged and slid his hands into his pockets. Angela just stared at him, nonplussed. Surgery had never been considered a battle, though she supposed it could be. A battle to keep the patient from bleeding out, where is the blood coming from, and to keep infection at bay. Still, she could never liken it to combat, where bullets were flying and maiming and killing.

"We all have our demons and nightmares to face, and there's no reason for you to deal with it alone." She couldn't imagine the three of them having nightmares; they always seemed so strong and in control, all the time. Then again, they must have seen horrors she could only dream of on the battlefield. Still, that was something she'd always thought was left behind closed doors – acknowledged but never spoken about, even in the darkness – but she was also a private person, leaving her personal troubles at the door of the infirmary.

"You go ahead and get back to bed; it's still early yet and I'm sure you're tired." He headed for the door without a second glance at her. He'd made she was okay and now he was leaving.

"I dream of the patients who die under my care." She muttered as he passed her, head averted as if it were shameful – and to her, it was. She was ashamed of her failures – and every death, every drop of blood on her hands, that was a failure. Angela heard him stop and could feel his eyes on her. "They die over and over and over, and there is nothing I can do to stop it."She shrugged helplessly before looking up at the man. "If I made better choices, those patients would be alive. But they aren't, so they continue to die in my nightmares." It was a truth, bitter and awful, but truth nonetheless.

"Jack's alive because of you." He offered into the ensuing silence, and she scoffed, a harsh, bitter sound that she hadn't realized she was capable of making.

"Jack would have been fine!" She snapped, and a tense silence filled the room, surprising both of them. It was obvious that Gabriel had no idea what to say to that statement, that he had no idea why she was so angry about it, and she didn't want him to say anything. There was nothing to say, because it was true. Any doctor in this ward could have cared for him, but she felt it was her duty to take care of him personally. She bit her tongue on the rest of what she wanted to say, how Huang would have lived, how Burroughs might have lived, if Jack had waited or even been seen by another, if she hadn't heard 'Commander' and made him the top priority. Those words weren't meant to be said aloud, couldn't be said out loud – and if they ever passed her lips it couldn't be unsaid. She'd be lucky to keep her position; you can't just say you should have put off emergency surgery on the Commander of literally every person in Overwatch for another person.

"I'm sorry." She whispered finally, breaking the oppressive silence. "I'm just stressed and exhausted and two people died literally under my hands in the last twelve hours." She was choked by her position of words she couldn't say and torn by her duties to things she just couldn't do, but she would survive. It was nothing she couldn't handle alone – because she had to. There were too many things she couldn't say to Ana or Jack or Gabriel, not without leaving behind a concern that could cost her the one thing that would give her access to helping people across the globe. In this, Gabriel was wrong; she had to shoulder this burden alone.

"It's alright, doc. We all had a hard day yesterday. But those people that died?" Angela glanced up at him, finding that her eyes had fallen to her hands – there's blood everywhere – knowing what was coming and knowing she needed to hear it from someone else, even as she didn't – wouldn't – believe it. "Their deaths aren't on you. They're on Jack and me for sending them out there, and they're on those people that shot them and left them for dead. You were just left to pick up the pieces." She appreciated the sentiment, even though he was willfully forgetting that she had sent them just as much as he did – without her okay, they'd have stayed behind. If she had done her job properly, they'd have been okay. Their blood was on her hands – literally and figuratively – just as much as his.

"Thanks, Reyes. I really appreciate it." There was nothing more to be said, not now – not as they were. As long as she worked for Overwatch, there was no one to confide in, not about this. As long as those above her were entering the battlefield, as long as they were getting hurt, there was nothing that could be said about this. Not to him, not to anyone. He must have heard the disbelief in her voice because she saw his hands clench, but he let it go.

"You should get some rest. I'll wake you for breakfast." Gabriel told her gruffly, turning to the door. "Please remember, doc, what I promised you weeks ago." He murmured in the silence. His parting words stunned her into letting him leave unhindered, leaving her to the dark once more with a soft click. So much had happened in the last few weeks, but she didn't remember a promise. In fact, she wasn't even part of Overwatch weeks ago.

Unless he was referring to the phone call? No, he couldn't. That hadn't been a promise, had it?

Still, the thought made her smile despite herself. She'd never had friends before – she was younger than all the rest in school and during her residency, and then she only had associates and surgeons who worked under her and with her. There was no comradery, merely respect and the polite aloofness that one adopts with coworkers – especially since none of them knew what to do with someone so much younger than they were. Here, though, here she might actually have a friend. It was a nice feeling, one she hadn't realized she was missing or even wanted.

"Goodnight, Reyes." She whispered, but there was no one left to hear. Instead, she climbed into her bed and closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, she was standing over Huang and there was too much blood.

Before Gabriel knocked on the door, she was already awake. Without any personal items for herself – since that hadn't been a priority the day before – she was finger combing her hair with the help of the bathroom mirror.

"It's open!" She called, sighing at her disheveled hair and tugging the messy locks into another ponytail before trying in vain to smooth the wrinkles in her clothes. "Good morning." Just one glance at him had her remembering the conversation from the night before. Already she was regretting it – she had said more than she had intended – but there was no way to take it back. She'd decided to pretend like it hadn't happened, though she knew it would be easier said – or thought – than done.

His parting words from the night before were still ringing in her ears, but she forced them away. It was a kindness she didn't deserve, one he wouldn't offer if he knew the horrible thoughts floating in her head.

"Good morning, doctor. Jack's awake." That got her attention faster than anything else could have. How long had he been conscious, and why hadn't she been called sooner?

"How long has he been up?" She asked, brushing past him and into the hallway before he could answer. She didn't stop for the agent at the door, she pushed right past him too and into the room. Without looking she knew that Gabriel was on her heels.

"Commander," she greeted the bleary-eyed man, whose sluggish reactions told her he'd been recently dosed with pain killers, "how are we feeling this morning?" She hoped it was morning, at least. Still, he was drugged up enough to not know the difference, either way.

"Ziegler." She stepped closer to the bed to make it easier for him to focus on her. "What happened?" Angela frowned slightly, but grabbed his chart to hide her expression.

"You got shot, Jack." Gabriel's voice rumbled from behind her. Angela turned slightly to glare at the man; she needed to control this conversation, and he needed to be silent.

"I was shot?" The man moved to sit up, but Angela darted forward to put a hand against his chest. Though he was stronger than her – most people in Overwatch probably were – in his drugged state he was nothing she couldn't handle.

"Yes, Commander, you were shot. You need to lie still." She turned to glare at Gabriel, because it was his fault that he was squirming under her hands. "Commander Reyes, I need the healing stream. Any of the medical personnel should be able to get it for you." The order of, go get it, was left unspoken but hung heavily in the air. While it was a ploy to get him to leave for a few minutes, it wasn't an empty request. A few hours application would see Jack back to full health. She'd have done it yesterday, but she was too busy between her other surgeries and had been too exhausted afterwards to consider it. Gabriel's eyes narrowed, whether it was at the unspoken order or the clearly sarcastic use of his title, but he huffed and strode out of the room.

"Do you remember what happened?" She asked her patient once he finally relaxed in his bed again, her tone gentle. His brows knit together in confusion.

"No, I don't, not really." That wasn't altogether unsurprising; trauma had a way of blocking itself out, and the drugs weren't helping.

"That's alright, Commander. Don't worry about it at all." She soothed. The last thing she needed was for the Commander of Overwatch to hurt himself under her care – especially since she just put him back together. "I'm sure it will come back to you, just relax." Angela allowed herself a moment to skim over the chart again. Aside from routine visits to provide antibiotics and pain killers, there was no changes.

"Do you have any water?" The man asked, and she glanced around the room. She turned to the small table, where Gabriel had left food and drink – presumably hers, since he told her he'd wake her for breakfast – but found no water for the man. There was a glass of orange juice, though. Quickly, she dumped the juice and rinsed the cup, before filling it again from the tap. There wouldn't be anything in the water that should hurt him, and if there was, well, he was being pumped with enough antibiotics that it shouldn't bother him.

"I'm going to shift the bed so you're sitting up. Don't move." She pressed the button on the bed's rail to slowly move him into an upright position. Once he was seated, she moved the cup to his lips. "Small sips, Commander." She ordered, tipping the cup slightly to allow a little water into his mouth.

She pulled the cup away before he was satisfied, but she wasn't about to let him drink himself sick. He could have some more in a little while; until then he would be alright. It was about that time that Gabriel returned, medical apparatus in hand. She smiled up at him as she pulled it from his hands.

"Thanks, Reyes." Once more she leaned against Jack's bed, but this time she was focused on the man within it, rather than the one hovering at her shoulder. "I'm going to patch you up, Commander. You'll be better in a few hours."

Things moved quickly once Jack was fully healed. While the men ate, Angela slipped out to get paperwork for the two deceased. She wasn't looking forward to filling them out, but it had to be done, and she knew they would be leaving for Zürich within the hour.

Paperwork and pen in hand, she let herself back into Jack's room. They both looked up at her, at the pinched look on her face and the paperwork in her hand, and said nothing. Gabriel wordlessly held out an orange, which she gratefully accepted since she still hadn't eaten that day.

She quietly reported to Jack what Gabriel and Ana already knew; she wasn't certain if Gabriel had told him anything, but it was her duty to give the report. Then she sat and filled out paperwork, the two men quietly speaking to each other, while they waited for the helicopter to get ready to take them home. She had no idea what they were talking about, but it was rather nice.

The helicopter trip seemed to take no time at all, and soon they were home. Paperwork finished, she submitted it and leaned back in her office chair with a sigh. But she didn't relax for long, because she had work to do.

She marched into the research department to find what the status was on the tasks she had set to them nearly two weeks ago. Her trip to Italy, and subsequent nightmares, had fueled a fire for new technology so that this never happened again.

The healing stream needed to be upgraded and mass produced. It needed to be able to recognize metal and other non-organic matter and push it out of the wound – or at least allow healing of other wounds – which would allow for battlefield medics to use the technology, even if there was a bullet or shrapnel in their wounds.

She still wanted a way to heal groups of people, but her changes were more important. If it can remove foreign matter, the mass healing would be that much more successful. She took point on the research, driven by the guilt that hung about her neck like a noose.

Every week she received reports of agents' perishing, either in the field or in the infirmary. Every week she updated the personnel files and grieved for their passing, that her research hadn't finished in time to save that person. Every week her resolve to finish this project, to save lives, grew stronger. Every week, her nightmares plagued her.

A month passed. She still had her responsibilities to the rest of Overwatch – she approved and denied strike team members for medical purposes and she still saw patients in the infirmary from time to time, and on two other notable occasions she had traveled to help patch up their agents – but her focus was in the research division. It was too important to her to leave alone, and she kept finding herself drawn to it. All too often she found herself waking early and leaving well after everyone else had gone. She skipped meals whenever she could get away with it. Her guilt and shame fueled her, drove her, to complete this task. She didn't need to eat, she didn't need to sleep; it kept the dreams at bay and got her that much closer to success. This was her secret, the reason why the healing stream came to exist as quickly as it had.

Her drive to protect people had forced her to work long hours with as few breaks as possible, to push aside anything that wasn't pressing for the task at hand. She wanted, needed, to protect those people under her care. All of these agents – including the Commanders and Ana – were hers to protect and shield, and she would be damned if she slacked on her research and lost more lives than necessary.

It had been nearly three months since she'd joined Overwatch, and she had practically ostracized herself; the infirmary was left nearly entirely to Gloria and she rarely talked to her superiors in person. She made herself meals in the kitchen off the infirmary at odd hours. She usually only saw other people while in the research lab. But she was making progress, and that was all that mattered. Still, all of her duties were completed before she lost herself in the lab. All mission requests were handled, all death reports filed; everything that the infirmary required of her, as the head, she took care of. And then she dove into her research with a single-minded devotion.

It was another day and she was alone in the research lab again. The others had left her some time ago – she wasn't really sure how long ago it had been or even what time it was – and she was still writing furiously. She was close, she could feel it. She just needed to figure out what it was – but it was there.

And then the door to the research division banged open, startling her and drawing her attention away from the task at hand. Gabriel walked across the room to stand in front of her with his arms crossed.

"I've heard rumors that you haven't been taking care of yourself, doctor." She wondered which of her research assistants had alerted him to the way she was working herself. It didn't really matter, since she wouldn't punish them for worrying, but she wondered all the same.

"I'm in perfect health, Commander. I'm also very busy." She retorted, though she was probably stretching the truth. "Was there something you needed from me?" She had just sent them a response for the recon team they were sending out a few hours ago, but as far as she knew they had no further need for her.

"Do you even know what time it is?" Angela winced, both at his tone and at the fact that she did not. Probably late if he was in here scolding her like a child sneaking out to get just one more glass of water.

"Twelve in the morning?" She hazarded; he was still awake, so there was a possibility that it was still – relatively – early. He stared at her before shaking his head in exasperation.

"It's nearly three." How had it gotten so late? And for that matter, what was he still doing up? She should wrap it up here anyways since he had interrupted her train of thought and there was no way of salvaging it.

"I must have lost track of time." Angela responded smoothly, no hint of the surprise at the time emerging from her tone. "Why are you still up?" She asked as she turned back to her table, carefully putting away her tools and equipment and shuffling her notes into a tidy pile. There was a (not-so) perfectly good reason for her being up, but she didn't think anyone else would be up just as late.

"Jack and I were caught up planning. We just called it a night." He explained, without really explaining anything. She raised an eyebrow.

"Uh-huh. And you just decided to waltz down here instead of going to your bed?" She asked, rising with a yawn. Now that she'd been made aware of it, she could feel exhaustion tugging at her. She was barely getting five hours of sleep most days, but it wasn't stopping her from keeping late nights.

"Like I said, I heard you've been working late these past few weeks. I figured I'd send you off to bed if you were still down here." He shook his head at her, but turned towards the door. "Come on, I'll walk you up."

"You just don't trust me to actually go to bed." She accused, but she followed him anyway.

"Guilty as charged, doctor." He replied, holding the door for her. They walked in an amicable silence to the elevator. Once the doors were shut, he turned to look her over. "Is there anything you want to talk about, doc?"

She knew he was referencing their conversation from Naples and the recent change in her work schedule. Angela glanced away, biting her lip and shaking her head softly. There was plenty for her to talk about – why she chose this project, why she had chosen to bury herself so soundly in her work, how she knew about every. single. death., how she needed a breakthrough to come soon or she might lose herself to her nightmares for good – but she didn't know how to breach that gap. Instead, she chose to keep herself closed away, protected by late nights, silence, and darkness. Gabriel sighed.

"Keeping that shit locked away won't help you, doc." He told her as the doors opened to the eighth floor. He walked her to her door, bid her a good night, and sought out his own bed.

She knew he was right, but what could she do? Silence and darkness had been her protector, where she could lose all of her shields and walls, even as it brought with it sleep that wreaked havoc in her mind.

That night marked a turning point. Every few days, one – or more – of the three would seek her out. Sometimes it was at lunch or dinner time, where they'd force her out of the lab for an hour to eat and relax. Other times it was later in the evening – not quite so late as that first night, but late enough – and force her to go to sleep. She had been tempted to sneak back to the lab, but she didn't want to draw their ire. They were being understanding enough. She began to bond with the other three, finding friendship that she hadn't expected to find – even from Jack.

It didn't stop her from holing herself away as often as possible for as long as possible, though. She knew they meant well, but she needed to do this. For all those people in the field, and for her sanity, she would do this.

Another month passed, and she finally found a break through – they didn't call her a medical genius for nothing. They were nearing the end of their research – at least on this topic – and Angela couldn't be more pleased. The sooner this was done, the sooner she could move on to the next research project and her next stepping stone.

The next time Gabriel sought her out – for dinner, as it were – she had a question for him. It was something she'd been considering for some time, but now with her research wrapping up she might be able to pursue it.

"Do you think I can get battlefield training?" She asked as they sat down in the canteen, trays of food before them. He choked on his water, coughing harshly and clearing his throat, before looking at her incredulously.

"Excuse me?" He placed the water carefully on the table, as if treating it gently would change her request.

"You heard me, Gabriel. I want to learn how to work in the field." More like needed to work in the field. Now that they had the new-and-improved healing stream, it needed to be out in the field and so did she. There was so much good to be done, so much death to be avoided, on the front lines.

"I don't think it's a good idea, Angela." He said finally, before taking a bite out of his meal.

"Why not? You three are always out there." She retorted, crossing her arms across her chest and leaning back in her chair. She felt like a sulky child, but it was nothing but the truth.

"Do you think it's a game? That we enjoy it?" He asked darkly, glaring at the blonde across from him. Her eyes widened. That wasn't her intent at all.

"No, not at all!" Angela insisted, shaking her head. "I want to help. I hate watching the rest of you leave, wondering if you're returning in one piece or in a body bag – or somewhere in between!"

"And you think we want you coming home in a body bag?" Angela winced. That was a very real possibility that she had entertained, but had determined to be an acceptable risk.

"I can be trained for the battlefield, Gabriel." She insisted, leaning almost across the table. "Please. I need to be out there, protecting our agents." She begged.

"Angela, we can't afford to lose you." His voice was firm. "Please, don't pursue this." She sighed, slumping her shoulders and easing back in defeat.

"Eat your dinner; you miss enough meals as it is." He stared her down until she took a grudging bite.

The rest of their meal was eaten in silence.

When Jack came to her a few days later – also to take her to dinner – she tried asking him, despite Gabriel's warning not to.

"I want to work in the field." She was almost positive Gabriel had already told the other two – mostly because she knew that he knew that she was going to be stubborn – but she still had to try. Jack glanced over at her and pressed the elevator call button.

"And why do you think we'd let you do that?" He asked, not letting on whether or not Gabriel had talked to him. She stared at him, but she couldn't come up with a good reason as to why they would let her over anyone else – but she knew why she needed it. Still, she had to try.

"So that I can heal and protect those on the front lines; to reduce the amount of deaths and career-ending injuries; so that proper prioritized care can be provided at all time, from the time of injury to the time of extraction; so that I can watch your back before you get another bullet put in it," she counted the reasons off on her fingers, "and because I can't keep watching the three of you from the sidelines anymore. I want to do something, to make a difference." Jack nodded.

"I understand, Angela, but it's not that simple. You're not a soldier. You can't even protect yourself – and I doubt you would, even if you could." She wanted to be offended at his words, but she couldn't, not when he was right. She couldn't bear to see another in pain, it went against everything she held dear. It was the main driving force for why she wanted to be on the battlefield in the first place. Hurting another with her own hands… she couldn't imagine it. "It would be too dangerous. You're better off here – or in another base, preparing for our wounded." The doors slid open.

"There are others who can take your place on the battlefield, but there is no one who can replace you here." His voice was apologetic, even as he denied her request. She bit her lip but nodded. He was right – there were other people that could take her place on the battlefield. It wasn't what they had brought her in for; she was needed for her innovative genius and skills in her infirmary.

"For what it's worth, Angela, I am sorry."

"I know, Jack. It's alright." It wasn't alright, it was the absolute opposite of alright, but there was no use arguing when his mind was made up. He was like her in that regard.

Ana was no better.

"I know what you want, Angela. You've already been told no." The older woman greeted her when Angela followed her after a meeting. Angela frowned, and sighed. At least she didn't pretend that they weren't all talking about the good doctor's latest crazy idea. That was kind of her, at least. "Even if I wanted to let you onto the field – which I don't – we need you here." Her voice was kind. "I know you don't want to stay behind and see us get hurt, but your heart is too gentle for the battlefield." And that was the sticking point; as long as she was who she was they wouldn't let her within ten miles of a battlefield – and as long as she was who she was, she wouldn't stop pursuing it.

Angela knew they were coming from a good place, that they weren't purposely trying to frustrate her – they were trying to protect her from the horror of battle and from, you know, getting hurt or killed. It didn't make it any less frustrating. She wasn't asking to be handed a gun and thrown in front of the enemy, but they were acting like the moment she was a member of a team she'd fall over dead.

"My skills would be valuable on the battlefield, Ana." She insisted as the two walked towards the elevators. "I just need a little training." Okay, maybe a lot of training – she wasn't really sure how well she would fare on a battlefield.

"Dear, you would need more than 'a little' training." Ana corrected gently, as if reading her mind. "You don't have the ability to keep up with the agents or avoid the bullets. And all the training in the world won't save you if you're hit – and there's only one of you."

"But there's only one of you – and Jack and Gabriel – but you go out on the battlefield! I put Jack back together only a few months ago!" She flushed at the whine that had crept into her voice, she didn't want to be treated like a child and sounding like one wouldn't help, but damn it they couldn't treat her like glass!

"Angela, we fought in the Omnic Crisis, long before Overwatch existed. We are more than prepared for the battlefield." You are not rang unsaid in the silence.

"We just want to keep you safe, Angela. Let us protect you." Ana told her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"But if you're protecting me, who's protecting you?"

For those interested, I've posted a standalone oneshot titled "Memories". That oneshot would, in my canon, fall between this chapter and the next one.