Desperation
"Alright, doc, let's wrap it up." Angela glanced up at the clock to find it was midnight already. She glanced back at Gabriel before turning her attention to her work before her.
"Just a sec, Gabriel. Give me a few minutes." It was the same line she fed each of them whenever they came down to her lab to drag her away. As always, he sighed and sat in a nearby chair, spinning idly as he waited for her to finish and put her tools away.
They'd finalized the healing stream upgrades just the other day; it could heal wounds faster, but they hadn't managed to get it to cooperate with removing anything larger than a .30 round – which was, admittedly, better but still wouldn't help for a large portion of injuries. The only downside was the amount of power required; that forced them to be used in the bases and not on the field, which was the whole point.
She was heading up a solo project, trying to make it work on the battlefield, while her team returned to forcing the technology to work on multiple people. She was getting in their way and had been considering for some time moving into her office – or setting up another one for her to research in privately – to make it easier on everyone. It would also help her with a project she wanted to work on without the others noticing – or knowing.
Around two months ago, Ana had said she wasn't capable of keeping up, and that was completely true. She simply didn't have the time to dedicate to maintain the level of fitness required like the rest of her combat medics, not with her responsibilities to every infirmary under the Overwatch umbrella as well as all the medical researchers – plus there was her travel when things got dicey.
That didn't mean she couldn't make something that could give her an edge. Technology was amazing and could create limbs out of metal and knit flesh with light; if she put her mind to it, she could make it happen. But if her friends – her superiors – found out what she was doing, they'd pull the plug faster than her head could spin. It had to be done in secret, at least until she could prove that she was capable.
"I'm thinking of moving into my office to research from now on." She said idly, standing up with a stretch. "Not to do anything dangerous – that requires the lab still, of course – but to do everything that comes before."
"Really? What brought this on?" He asked, returning to his feet and leading her towards the door.
"I'm still working on fine tuning the healing stream, but all the other researchers have been assigned other projects. We're getting under each other's feet and it's really frustrating on all sides." She sighed. "I just wanted to let you know, so that if you can't find me that's probably where I'll be."
"Thanks for the heads up. I'll let the others know." Angela nodded. She knew he would; he was the one who had convinced the other two that she needed baby sitters. It was annoying, since the whole reason she was throwing herself headlong into her research was to try to avoid the pain of more deaths and the nightmares that came with them, and they were stopping her from achieving her goal. Still, she knew they were coming from a good place – so she didn't complain too much.
Angela stepped into the elevator and braced herself on the wall, closing her eyes. Today had been long, but not long enough. She could feel it. She heard the doors shut and the elevator began to hum and vibrate slightly as it lifted them up the nine floors. They traveled in silence – which wasn't too uncommon – with her lost in thought.
"Angela?" Her eyes slid open, mildly startled – she hadn't noticed the elevator come to a stop. The doors were open and Gabriel was halfway out, his frame blocking the door from shutting. "You alright?"
"Yeah, sorry Gabriel." She muttered, rolling her neck and stepping out of the elevator after him.
"Are you sure?" He asked, glancing down at her as they moved down the hall. She worried her lip, and with a sigh shook her head. "Want to talk about it?
Did she want to talk, really? No. She kept her feelings close to her chest and suffered the nightmares alone. She never let it affect her work – in fact, it spurred her to work harder, to do better, so that maybe more people could be saved. She was almost always the first to work and the last to leave, working long hours with less rest and food than those around her.
It had been a little over six months since she had joined Overwatch. Six months of reading about dead agents that she had failed, of not enough sleep and too many nightmares, of failures in the research division and the operating room. Six months, and she felt she had not done her part, held up her end of the bargain – and so people, innocents and agents alike, were suffering for it.
Maybe if she opened up a bit – about her nightmares, Naples, and the KIA reports she endured – she might get them to back off and let her work unhindered if he understood exactly why she threw herself into her work with no regard for herself or the time. It wasn't just because she had a strong work ethic – though she did possess one of those as well. It was her responsibility – her duty – to complete her tasks as quickly as possible, and that required sacrifices on her part.
If she was lucky, maybe the nightmares would let up, just a little. She knew the bags under her eyes were from more than just long nights and early days – and she was pretty sure Gabriel did too.
Besides, she was just so damn tired. It wasn't just a physical exhaustion, but also a mental one. She kept everything so close to her chest, and there was no escaping it here. She literally lived it, all day every day, and each day found her with more reasons to be guilty and more reasons to berate herself. Like he had said, she really should talk to someone. He was right about that – and he'd cared enough to offer at the beginning, before he even knew her – and he was still offering, months later.
Still, she wasn't one to burden another unnecessarily – especially for something so personal.
"It's late, and I know we're both busy." She deflected. "You need sleep, not to listen to my problems." She was babbling, she knew it. "I can figure it on my own. Don't wo–"
"Angela." Gabriel's voice silenced her abruptly, and she flushed. "It's fine. I've got time." He assured her. "Do you want to talk?" She nodded, a jerky motion of her head, worrying her lip, before striding off to her room. Maybe she'd feel better once it was done, if only for a night. Maybe she'd just feel worse.
She wasn't sure she wanted to talk within the confines of her room – or his – at midnight; it felt too much like an invasion of privacy, too intimate for friends, but they were already up here. Still, she had brought this upon herself; if she'd brought it up in the basement they could have gone to her office or literally anywhere else, but she hadn't and now she was stuck with this. They could sit in the living area that still wasn't quite put together after all this time, that would be fine, right? She swiped her card to let them in and flipped on the light.
"Go ahead and sit anywhere, make yourself at home." This wasn't awkward, it wasn't. Gabriel was completely cool and she was acting like an idiot, but all she could think about was what others would think if they saw Gabriel leaving her rooms after midnight – though why anyone else would be up was beyond her. They were friends, but even attempting to insist that was all it was would just get her knowing, sidelong looks and gossip as she walked past. She already put to bed Gloria's outrageous insinuations that she had slept with one – or both, possibly at the same time – of the Commanders to get her position and she didn't want to revisit it, even if she'd already proven herself more than capable.
She crossed the room to grab a bottle of water. She probably could do with something stronger, especially given the rats nest she just decided to dive into, but it was what she had.
"Want one?" She offered, and then grabbed another when he nodded yes. He'd sat on the end of one of her couches, and, after giving him his water, she curled up on the loveseat across from it. She took a long swig.
"I want to talk about Naples." He looked surprised; it was obvious he hadn't expected her to say that. It had hung over them, between them; an unspoken question, for far too long, and she was willing to bet he'd expected to never get an answer. Then again, it had been months since that incident; maybe he didn't expect it to bother her anymore.
It was hard to be unbothered when you dream of their deaths – of their blood on her hands.
"So. Naples?" Gabriel replied, when it was obvious she was at a loss for words or was just hesitant to continue.
"Right. Naples." If she closed her eyes, she could probably see the operating rooms again – she decided to keep them open. "It goes back a bit farther than Naples." She admitted with a sigh. He stayed quiet, letting her pick her own way through what she wanted to say. Angela worried about saying too much, to say something that should never be said – not to him, not so long as he was Overwatch, was Commander – but forced the thought away. She was here now.
"I don't play God – at least I don't think I do – not like other doctors or surgeons might." She knew she was more skilled than others here – than others at previous hospitals, even – but she tried to stay humble as much as possible. She was open to suggestions and to critique, as long as it was constructive. She pulled rank when it was necessary and did her best to give all of her patients – across the globe, now – the best care possible. She trusted her staff to do their jobs, that she wasn't the only one that was capable of seeing patients.
"I give my all to my patients; they're all that matters, you know? They need to get better, and I can do that – whether it's with stitches or with the healing stream, I can do that. I can put the pieces back together." She closed her eyes – not for too long, but there was the blood on linoleum floor – and opened them again before the patient could come into view.
"But when a patient dies? When my best, when my all, isn't good enough and their lives slip through my fingers? It is the worst feeling in the entire world. That life is gone, and I didn't save it." She blew out a shaky breath, eyes focused on the floor so that he couldn't see the emotions swimming in them. She didn't need to see his face, his body language; she just needed someone that would listen to words that had never seen – could never see – the light of day. She needed to pretend that there wasn't water on her cheeks for another to see, that her shame wasn't visible to prying eyes.
"When they're gone, a weight settles on my shoulders, around my neck, my throat, and it's everything I can do sometimes to keep breathing." Her hands fluttered uselessly around her neck, trying to explain the feeling and failing. "It's like a scarf of guilt and sorrow and shame, all rolled into one." These were feelings that she had carried since the beginning of her medical career, and yet she kept at it. The chain of guilt dragged at her, but she forced herself to carry the weight upon her shoulders, her heart, her soul; and yet, as it depressed her it was her strength to work her long hours and continue facing death.
"That's normal, Angela." He broke in, but she didn't glance up. "You're human; you're gonna feel guilty about their deaths." She smiled, a thin, brittle gesture, and shook her head bitterly.
"That scarf never gets smaller; it just keeps getting bigger. The guilt never leaves me." Her expression turned remorseful. "I can still remember the first patient that died under my care – I'd tell you about her if it wasn't against all kinds of laws – when I first started my residency years ago. I remember the latest agent – Alfonso Rodriguez in Brazil, who I didn't travel to see because we're too far away to make a damn bit of good for him, who died after seven hours on the operating table from six gunshot wounds: four to the chest, one to the leg, and a graze across the temple. I can remember the rest in between." Of course she remembered them. They haunt her nightmares, waiting for the right time to pounce. Her latest hell was the KIA reports, which came with graphic pictures – and then it was all too easy to imagine operating on them, and failing them, herself.
She was imaginative like that.
"They haunt my dreams – my nightmares. All the patients that I've had die under my watch – my patients in the hospital, my agents in the field." She whispered, probably barely loud enough for him to hear but it was enough for her.
"Like in Naples." Gabriel said, and she nodded.
"Like in Naples." Angela confirmed. "Though Naples was its own special kind of terrible." Before Naples – and since – she'd never dreamed of a patient that survived. Now, when she dreamed of Huang and Burroughs, she'd sometimes see Jack – and he'd die. She could never save him in her dreams, because to see him meant she'd saved one – or both – of the other two. She was certain that it was the guilt of the other two that she'd put off that had triggered it, but it was still disconcerting. Some mornings she found herself needing to double check that he was alive – that it was a dream, not real – and she'd check the patient logs and reassure herself that there was no entry on the "date of death" line.
"But I still dream of them – Huang and Burroughs. Not as often as when it first happened, but they show up with the others of my past." She wrung her hands, pressing too tightly but it helped ground her and make her force the words out – she'd done this to herself and she'd see it through. "But sometimes," voice choked, she finally looked up to Gabriel, who was watching her intently with no sign of judgement, not yet, but she had to see his response, "sometimes, I see Jack, too."
Gabriel didn't disappoint. He looked shocked, and he ran a hand over his closely shaved head, at a loss for words. He looked away from her gaze, before returning to hers with clenched hands, his expression still shocked, but also filled with fierce determination and anger.
"Jack didn't die, Angela. He's a few doors down right now." He said, voice low and full of danger. "Is there something you left out in your reports?" He suddenly stood, as if he couldn't have this conversation sitting down. She shook her head quickly. Of course that was his first concern: the Commander, his best friend, who could have been damaged under her hands – the hands that let two others die that day to save him. "Did he die on your table?" Did you bring him back? rang unspoken in the room.
"No! He never coded, not under my hands nor under any others. He didn't die, I swear it." Angela insisted, her hands fisting in her lap, nails biting into her palms hard enough to draw blood. That he'd think she'd blatantly lie was absurdly offensive. Regardless of her failures – many of which she'd enumerated here tonight – she was a professional, first and foremost.
"If he didn't die, then why is he in your dreams, Angela?" He practically growled. This wasn't how she imagined this conversation; she'd never imagined he'd get so worked up. "You said it yourself: you dream of those who died." She flinched, the words stinging like knives.
"Because, Gabriel," she forced herself to keep her eyes on his face, "I could have saved them, but not if I saved Jack." The words were bitter and ugly and all kinds of wrong, but they were a truth she had worn on her heart since that day. Even as she worried that she shouldn't have said it, that it would come back to bite her, she felt a little relieved.
She'd never truly had to pick between patients before, not on this level. Patient surgeries would be moved around, reprioritized – no, that benign tumor removal wasn't as urgent as the appendectomy, which wasn't more important than the man with half of his stomach outside of his body – but they would all be seen. For the first time, she was responsible for choosing who was most important, and putting someone ahead without regard to injury but with complete regards to who they were had never been a possibility on her radar until long after she'd made the decision. It had been so right, felt so right, that she hadn't questioned it, because Jack was the Commander, and without the Commander Overwatch would be compromised, would be less, and how did that help the world – or the countless under his protection?
"What the hell does that even mean?" Gabriel snapped after a moment, and she sighed again, delving into the memories and the nightmares.
"Ana had called, letting us know you were only a few minutes away. Then she told me that Jack was hurt and coming to Naples. Without seeing the patients that were coming in, without any other knowledge, I made Jack my priority. He was to be seen by me, only me, the rest be damned. I can't say if my choice was good or bad, right or wrong. Neither can you." She threw her hand up when he opened his mouth to speak; she wasn't done. She couldn't stop, wouldn't stop, until the words came out – she wasn't sure she could stop even if he begged her to.
"What I can say is that two people died that day. If I had waited and looked the three over, maybe there would have been more survivors. Maybe Jack would have died." She drew in a ragged breath.
"Instead, I chose Jack." Her voice broke, forcing her to pause and collect herself for only a brief moment. She felt the tears on her face, but ignored them – if she acknowledged them she would be incapable of speech. "I chose Jack, and I'm glad he lived. I don't regret it." And she didn't. Jack was important and he made a lot of difference in the world at the head of Overwatch; many who lived were saved due to his judgment or action in the field. Two agents were nothing compared to that, as much as it twisted and pained her heart, as terrible and awful as it made her feel as a person, she could not change that truth.
She was capable of weighing life against life and picking who was most worthy. It made her heart hurt, her soul ache, but she could – and would – make those choices and allow some to die so others would live. That was the person she was becoming, the person she had to become to be worthy of the position she held, and she didn't know if she could face herself in the mirror. Overwatch was changing her, and she didn't know if she liked this person she was becoming.
"But two people died, and maybe one more could have lived if I let Jack wait just a little while or if I'd let someone else take point on his surgery." Her voice turned bitter and the words came faster, as if a small leak had suddenly turned into a flood. "But it's my duty to do the most good, and Jack was the most good – even if his life came at the cost of two others." She scrubbed at her eyes, her cheeks, embarrassed at the emotion.
"That, Gabriel, is why I dream of Jack. Because my duty to him, to you, to Overwatch, forced me to choose him over more critical patients, patients that bled out under my hands, and I don't regret it." Her voice broke again, hands rising to her lips as if it would hide the sound. She tilted her head down, loose strands of hair fanning around her face, waiting for him to yell at her – tell her that her thoughts were wrong, she was wrong, that this entire conversation was wrong.
The words that should never have been said, not to anyone – especially not to one of the Commanders of Overwatch, Jacks best friend, of all people – had been said. She couldn't take it back, there was no turning back – but she couldn't go on like this. These words, these feelings, had been weighing on her for far too long.
"I choose." Angela whispered, voice thick, the silence roaring in her ears. "I choose who lives and who dies." She buried her face in her hands, shaking with emotion even as she tried to pull herself back together.
She felt the cushions of the couch shift under her as his weight settled on the couch next to her. Their shoulders brushed as he got comfortable. When he relaxed against the back of the couch, they weren't touching, but it was a very near thing; the couch wasn't that spacious and he wasn't exactly a small man. She didn't, couldn't, wouldn't look at him – but whether it was from shame or fear she couldn't tell. They sat in silence, him waiting while she regained her composure, her waiting for him to speak.
"Angela." His voice was still rough, but much calmer than it was before he'd set her off. She hunched her shoulders as if she could make herself smaller, waiting for the reprimand that was sure to come. He sighed. "Angela, I'm sorry I yelled at you. I shouldn't have."
Of all the things for him to say, an apology was nowhere on the list of things she'd expected.
"It's okay." She muttered, wiping at overfull eyes in a vain attempt to exert some control over herself, she was an adult, there was nothing to cry about. A little while later, when she managed to get the waterworks to go away and had taken a swig of water, Gabriel spoke again.
"Are you sure you want this? Overwatch?" A jolt of fear surged through her; the absolute last thing she needed was to make him, the others, doubt her ability to perform her duties.
"Yes!" She replied fiercely, glaring up at him with slightly-red eyes. "I need Overwatch as much as it needs me; I was foolish not to see it before." And it was true. She needed the ability Overwatch gave her to make a difference, to help people, and being taken from it would be somewhat akin to cutting her arm off. Her duty, her calling, was to helping others – even with the guilt and shame that came with it. Even if she didn't like this person she was becoming, she could see the good in it. Gabriel put his hands up defensively.
"Just checking." He ran a hand over his head and leaned back into the couch. "If you ever change your mind, if it ever gets to be too much, you don't have to stay." He told her sincerely, though his gaze was fastened to the wall. "I won't – we won't – force you to stay. Not if this is the cost."
"Nobody is forcing me, Commander." She retorted, the title pulling his gaze back to her. Her voice softened. "Gabriel. I won't run and hide; my guilt and my shame guides me and strengthens me – even as it tears me down. I bury myself in my work – not only to forget and exhaust myself, but to remember and do better for the next patient down the line. I work and work, so I can get better – become better – because that's what I have to do. My burden, my honor, is in building the tools that will save lives." She could do no less.
"As long as you're sure." She nodded, shoulders relaxing back into the couch next to him.
After another long silence, but one not filled with tears, he rose from the couch.
"Do you still need me, doc?" He asked gently. She shook her head. It was late and she'd said all she needed. The darkness could hold her for the rest. "Then I'm going to head to bed. You should do the same."
"I will, Gabriel." The blonde rose from the couch with a small stretch. "Thank you for listening."
"Anytime, Angela." She shifted awkwardly on her feet as he headed to the door. He'd just pulled the door open when she blurted out, "Please don't tell them about tonight." They both knew she meant Jack and Ana; she couldn't stand it if all three of them knew her thoughts, her shame. Ana would just try to coddle her more and Jack might just fire her if she got any more difficult.
"Your secrets' safe with me, doc. Don't worry." He stepped into the hall and let the door shut behind him. She turned away, preparing for sleep. When she finally crawled into her bed, there weren't any tears.
But when she opened them, she was in the operating room.
The next day she shifted her research base to her office, where she was more productive in all aspects. Reports were easily dealt with as her hands scribbled notes and ideas; her mind was in a hundred different places, from mission rosters to research and back to reports from different watchpoints and bases across the globe.
She thought it would be awkward with Gabriel, that he'd treat her differently after practically crying into his shoulder for most of the night, but she was wrong. He treated her the same way he always did. From what she could tell the others didn't know, he had kept his promise to her, and that made her even more grateful.
Nearly three weeks later she had finalized the design for both of her research projects – both the secretive one as well as the much more public one. She started the creation process, putting life to her work, carefully ensuring that her secret project was kept from prying, caring eyes. Even though she knew she was disobeying orders, that it would just cause her more heartbreak, she had to go into the field. She had to.
She hadn't finished the prototypes when her phone lit up, the ringing interrupting her concentration. She rolled backwards to grab the phone, resting it between her shoulder and ear carefully, and began working again.
"Dr. Ziegler." She acknowledged.
"Angela, we need you in the command center right away." Jack's voice ordered.
"Verstanden. I will be up in five minutes." She hurried to put her tools away and hide away the suit she had been building. Once it was created she would have to show them, there was no way to hide the testing, but she was hoping that by then they'd at least give her a chance. After everything was in its proper place, she grabbed her white lab coat and left the room quickly.
The elevator was far too slow for her liking, but she made it to the fifth floor without any issues. She moved towards the control room at a quick trot, darting past a handful of people that were going about their business, before knocking sharply on the door.
Ana pulled the door open and ushered her inside quickly.
"There's been an attack." She murmured to the doctor as they strode towards the men standing at the far side. The whole room was a technological marvel, with many screens on the far wall showing off what looked to be the result of an explosion. Normally it could show cameras from anywhere in the world, or various drones that were sent out for reconnaissance. Her eyes locked on the screens, which showed people moving throughout the rubble and looking for survivors.
"This is Vaduz, Liechtenstein. A Blackwatch team was sent here early yesterday morning. Thirty minutes ago, this building, thought to contain that team, was bombed by Talon." Jack explained as she watched the screens.
"What do you need from me?" She asked breathlessly, tearing her eyes away from the rubble to glance at the blonde man next to her.
"We need a medic. Blackwatch Commander Stefano Bianchi was on that team." Angela turned to the table in the center of the room. It was just as technologically inclined as the wall behind her, and she used it to access her personnel files. She could send Lambert – no, he was in Egypt, she forgot; Daigneau had broken his collarbone in the field last mission and was still out; Remington was with another team; she flipped through her combat medics, but found all of them out in the field, too far away, or out of commission, either through illness, injury, or vacation. She closed her eyes.
"I don't have a medic, Commander." She whispered, the title slipping past her lips to emphasize just how serious her statement was.
"What do you mean, you don't have a medic? There should be someone." Jack retorted, coming to stand at her shoulder to look at the files with her.
"Look." She told him, pointing at the names. "These are injured – and only time can heal bones. Those two are on vacation. That section is in the field. Those are available, but they are much too far away to do any good." She reported, the words coming easily as she gave him bad news. Situation didn't change facts. "I hadn't realized there were none left in Zürich." There were plenty of medics, but they were too many hours away from the explosion in their backyard.
"God damnit!" Jack yelled, turning away from the table. Angela flinched and bowed her head, knowing the blame was on her. If she hadn't been so distracted with her research, with going behind their backs, she would have noticed and this entire situation could have been avoided. Still, they needed someone – and there was only one choice.
"I'll go." Angela whispered.
"What was that?" Ana asked from her place near the televisions, where she was monitoring the situation. Angela wasn't fooled; the sniper had heard her just fine. Still, she would play her game.
"I'll go." She raised her voice, squaring her shoulders against the three in the room. Jack whipped around to stare at her, mouth moving without words.
"Absolutely not. We've already discussed this; you aren't going into the field." Gabriel supplied for him, arms crossed as he glared from across the table. She met his gaze with steely determination.
"Are the three of you going to whip a medic out of the air, then? Did one of you get a medical degree when I wasn't looking?" She looked between the three of them, crossing her arms and shifting her weight to one side to hide her growing nervousness. "There is no one left in Zürich. That is due to my carelessness and I will face the consequences of my actions later – but Commander Bianchi doesn't have a later."
"I'm the only option you've got." Her voice trembled slightly, but she clenched her jaw resolutely, hoping they couldn't hear her nerves. She only hoped she was up to the task. She hadn't managed to complete the tools she needed to be more successful, she hadn't convinced them to let her train, but she would have to make due. They had to. There were no other options.
Jack ran his fingers through his hair, cursing under his breath. Angela watched him, trying to keep her eagerness – and nerves and terror – hidden behind a calm, serene façade developed from years in the medical field. She doubted she was successful.
"Fine, damn you, Angela." He finally said, knowing a decision needed to be made quickly. "You will stay with Gabriel or me at all times, do you understand me?" He rounded on her, pointing one finger at her face. "You will come back in one piece." Jack turned to Ana. "Get her equipped. We leave as soon as she's ready."
"Yes, Jack. Come on, Angela, we need to move." Ana replied, all business. The two women left at a brisk pace, leaving the men to turn to look at the televisions once more.
"Are you not going?" Angela asked the woman when they came to a stop in a room two floors down. It was filled with all kinds of guns and packs. This was clearly the armory, a place that she'd never once needed to set foot in.
"Why wouldn't I be going?" Ana replied, glancing through the armory and grabbing various items.
"Because Jack told me to stick with him and Gabriel." She replied, watching the woman raid the room. She never asked what their skills were – it didn't matter, since she didn't pick who went for their skills but for their health – so aside from occasionally spotting them with their guns and helping patch them up, she had no idea what they did.
"Of course he did." Ana agreed congenially. "I'm a sniper, Angela. I'll be watching over you from afar." Ana smiled reassuringly over her shoulder at the blonde doctor. "Don't worry too much. I'll bring us home safely." Angela smiled back, a little nervously, and nodded.
When she and Ana boarded the helicopter fifteen minutes later, she was overflowing with supplies. Gone was her medical coat and heels; in their place was a blue-and-white medic's uniform. Around her waist was a clever belt that allowed her to hang most of her tools – scalpel, pliers, and the like – and some supplies. At her right hip was also a small pistol that Ana had insisted she take, just in case. Angela doubted she would even figure out how to take the safety off – wait, was there a safety? – but there was no time to argue about it. Instead, it hung heavily at her side and she tried to ignore it. On her back was a pack filled with the rest of her tools – including one of the original healing stream wands repurposed for the battlefield, since the newer ones were for operating room use.
She fumbled with the unfamiliar straps, usually taking a separate direct transport whenever she had to fly, and Ana leaned over to help fasten her in. Angela blushed, embarrassed and feeling like a child, and mumbled her thanks.
They were the last to board, and the helicopter started moving before Ana managed to get herself strapped in. Across from them, Jack and Gabriel were talking in low voices, impossible to decipher over the noise of their transport. There were several other agents on the helicopter, including a man decked out in metal armor of all things. Ana leaned over to Angela so she could be heard.
"We should arrive in thirty minutes; be prepared."