Determination

She wonders if it's fortune or bad luck that her dream isn't about surgery. It happens so rarely that she'd given up hoping for anything else. Something light, fun – innocent, even, compared to the nightmares she suffers – but rarely receiving any respite. But this time, she's outside. The wind is in her face and the sun is shining. Gabriel is in front of her, he's looking ahead at something she can't quite see. She leans around him, trying to see what's up ahead.

And then he gets shot.

Suddenly the air turns to molasses, and she's fighting, trying to get to his side. She has to put him back together, there's no one else, but she can't reach him. Why is she moving so slow, why is he bleeding out so quickly? I need to save him! Just before his eyes turn glassy and his skin pales, the air turns to normal she can kneel next to him, hands useless in the face of so much blood.

"I can fix this," she hears herself saying, even in the face of his slowing heart, "stay with me, Gabriel. I can fix this!" But it's too late, his breathing stops, and he's gone. She's at his side, his body cooling under her fingers. Footsteps echo behind her and she grabs the gun. She turns, blindly pointing the gun, finger squeezing the trigger.

"No," she breathes, and time slows all over again. Jack falls to his knees, clutching his chest. He's reaching out to her in desperation, one hand extended and bloody, the other trying to stop the bleeding. She manages two steps before she's trapped standing between the two men – one dead, one dying. I'm so sorry. She's trying, but her legs won't move, her mouth won't work, and he's begging her for help, but she watches him as he bleeds out in front of her. Her friends, bloody, broken, and dead around her, and there is nothing she can do. I did this. This is my fault.

Rewind, she's kneeling at Gabriel's side again. He's bleeding, but she's got the bandages, he'll make it. She just has to patch him up long enough to get him to the helicopter, to get to the OR, and she can fix this. He'll be fine. I can fix this. She stops the bleeding, the wounds are covered – it's not the best fix, but he'll make it. Then he starts bleeding again, where did that hole come from? She rushes to stop the bleeding, but as soon as it's stopped, a new hole appears. She's running out of bandages, but she can't stop – until his heart does.

She's standing behind him, she knows what's coming, tries to stop it, but he falls to his knees again, bleeding. Not again.

"Angela." A hand on her shoulder roughly jarred her awake.

Her eyes open and she found herself slumped over in a chair, head pillowed in arms braced against something soft. Her face is wet, which is unsurprising. She didn't remember closing her eyes, but, apparently, she'd decided not to go back to her room last night, if the voice above her and the steady beep of an EKG machine were any indication. Angela went very still, closing her eyes again. They both knew she had been having another nightmare, that the only reason he'd wake her was if she were actively in danger or crying out again – and there wasn't anything here that would endanger her.

"Gabriel?" She mumbles softly, disoriented, the dreams of his death too recent for her to handle. "This isn't a dream?" Her voice is small and broken, but she can't help the words before they escape her. She can't face another one, she can't sit up to find him bleeding again and be forced to put pieces that don't fit back together until he's dead.

"It's not a dream." He confirms, and she can feel him shifting, hesitating briefly, before a hand rests carefully on her head, stroking her hair once. "You're awake." She briefly considered keeping her head exactly where it was, but knew that was the wrong answer – she was an adult and, whether this was a dream or not, she would deal with it, just like she did every morning. This time, she just had to deal with it a little sooner – and with an audience.

Angela pushed herself up, surreptitiously wiping her eyes as she did, so she could look at Gabriel. He was in perfect health, exactly as he was when she fell asleep, and she sighed in relief after a long appraising look. She leaned back in her chair, suddenly self-conscious. She knew she must look a mess, with rumpled, blood-stained clothes and blood still in her sleep-tangled hair, and here she was disturbing his much-needed rest with her stupid nightmares.

"Sorry I woke you, Gabriel." She sighs, staring down at her hands guiltily.

"I'd say don't worry about it, but we both know you will." He told her kindly. It wasn't untrue – she worried about a lot of things – but it still made her frown a little all the same. "Want to talk about it?" He offered, like he always did – as if he hadn't just gotten shot and he wasn't laying in an infirmary bed, strapped to machines dedicated to make sure he was still among the living. She closed her eyes again, listening to the machine and his breathing again, letting it tether her to reality as she considered whether she wanted to talk or not.

"Angela?" He prompted after the silence became unbearable.

"I dreamed of you." She muttered, unthinking. The EKG betrayed Gabriel's shock, and then she turned scarlet, realizing what her words may have mistakenly implied. "I-I mean, not like that, but, you," her tongue was tripping over itself as she tried to clear up any misunderstanding, to make this any less awkward, "you were getting shot – and dying. Again." The words killed whatever humor – or embarrassment – may have been in the room.

"Like Jack?" He asked, his tone carefully neutral. She knew what he was really asking – did she feel guilty that others died for him to live?

"No. Not like Jack." She whispered through numb lips. While she did feel guilt for those that were left behind, she knew that wasn't why he featured in her dreams, not really. "You nearly died on my table – twice." Her voice, her hands, her everything, was trembling. "You were shot – you took bullets meant for me." That was the fuel behind the dreams; she'd never witnessed such violence – towards her or another – and it had shaken her to her core. She glanced towards him to find him watching her carefully. "Why?" Her voice broke on the word. He could have died.

"If those bullets had hit you, you would have died." He told her, after a long moment of silence. "You're, what, six – seven inches shorter than me?" She rolled her eyes at his use of American measurements but got the idea. "He was aiming for your head, and you would have died." Her eyes widened – she hadn't even realized. He'd saved her from death, and she hadn't even realized how close it had been. "But, even if he'd been aiming for your leg, Angela," he continued, his voice low and eyes fierce, "I wouldn't have let him shoot you."

And she knew that, even as it made her heart pound and hurt at the same time. She knew that none of them – but most especially Gabriel – would ever let her get hurt, not if they could do anything about it. They would wrap her in cotton, keep her safe, and take bullets if it meant she would be kept safe – because she was their precious doctor that should be kept secreted away in an infirmary or a lab. She loved them for their care and concern, even as she chafed under it, even as she hated being forced to continuously put them back together again.

"I know you wouldn't." She murmured quietly. "You're always looking out for me." Which was also true. He'd been the one that convinced her to give Overwatch a shot. He'd been the one to get the others to make sure she took care of herself, the one to offer her a safe place to vent if she ever needed one, the one to take an actual, literal bullet for her.

"Somebody has to." He replied dryly, and she laughed despite herself.

"Why?" She asked carefully, once the remnants of her laughter faded. He looked over at her. "Not that I'm complaining – right now, anyway – but why? And why you?"

"Because I can?" He offered, teasing. She just fixed him with a look and he sighed. His face turned serious once more as he turned his gaze to the far wall.

"Because I wanted to." He finally said. "I have Jack, and Jack has Ana, and we both know Ana doesn't need anyone at her back." He grinned at her. "But you? You were the new girl with the exceptional résumé and a dislike for violence. You'd already butted heads with Jack – so fierce and stubborn, the both of you – and you'd never even met Ana, but you needed someone, even if you didn't realize it." Gabriel shrugged. "So, I made that person me. And that's all there is to it."

Angela was pretty sure that wasn't all there was to it, but at that moment the door behind her opened. She glanced behind her to find Jack and Ana entering the room.

"Hope we're not interrupting." Ana said blithely, pushing Jack into the room and closing the door. "We were coming to check on you, Gabe, and get a report from Angela. What a happy coincidence that you're both together." She continued cheerily – and despite the fact that they had just been talking, that there was no reason to feel embarrassed, Ana's words made Angela blush. No one made any comment, and she collected herself to give a report of everything that had happened medically in the last twenty-four hours.

"Wait." Gabriel cut in, interrupting her. She glanced over to look at him with one eyebrow raised but paused obligingly. "You had your tools in my body – in my chest – while you had a concussion?" Well, when he put it that way, it did sound rather careless, didn't it? Still, she waved a hand in the air.

"You're fine. You're still breathing, aren't you?" Angela retorted. "I've pulled bullets out of you – out of the three of you – enough times to do it blindfolded." Okay, so maybe that was a slight exaggeration. "A concussion – and it wasn't even a bad one, really – is nothing." As she finished, Ana grinned conspiratorially towards Jack, before glancing back over to Gabriel.

"Ana had to practically drag her away, concussion and all." The blonde Commander told him, before laughing at the indignant, sputtering doctor. He wasn't even there! Angela huffed, knowing they were just teasing, and crossed her arms.

"She was very protective of you, Gabe." Ana teased, and Angela's colored, not expecting Ana to join in. Before she could form a coherent sentence to defend herself, Gabriel spoke.

"Is that so?" Gabriel replied, raising one eyebrow at the woman. She groaned – she never knew that having friends could suck sometimes.

"You just got shot for me. Excuse me for being worried." Angela shot back, finally finding her voice. She glared at all of them, though the effect was somewhat diminished by the redness of her face. "I'll remember this, all of you, next time you're bleeding out in front of me." She threatened, but all of them knew she didn't mean it.

After a few more light-hearted jabs, the three let Angela finish her report.

After her report, Angela examined Gabriel and discharged him before looking in on the Blackwatch Commander. She'd been warned before going in that he was a rather grumpy man – but she responded that it was probably just because he suddenly had no legs. After a rough encounter, with him complaining about anything and everything – his legs were gone, his side hurt, he was getting behind in his work – she left the infirmary for much needed food, but then she was back.

A week later, Bianchi's biotic legs were delivered to her infirmary. During that time, she kept the man comfortable and worked on her prototypes, needing them to be perfect before she brought them to her friends' attention. She hadn't pursued their long-standing argument over her serving in the field – even after actually going – because she needed them to be done first. She knew the others were waiting for her to pounce, because they knew by now that she wasn't one to let something drop – not that easily, anyway.

So, she took a break from the research to give the grumpy Commander his legs back. The procedure went smoothly, and it wasn't long before he was in his room again on medication to help his body adjust to the hardware that now made up his legs. He'd have to go through physical therapy and see a psychologist, but she had him slated for a full recovery.

Another week later saw the Commander out the door on his two new legs – and everyone in the infirmary breathed a sigh of relief. He had been cleared to return to the Blackwatch base, but was ordered to continue his sessions with the therapist and psychologist there. It was around this same time that Angela asked to meet with her three friends; her prototypes were ready to be unveiled. She carried two items into the meeting with her – one was a specialized staff and the other was body armor, tailored to fit her.

"As the three of you know, I've been working on making the newest healing stream usable on the battlefield; the only active one is currently here in the Zürich base, due to financial strain." A memory of budget meetings from before Overwatch flashed through her mind. She rested a hand on the staff, which was sitting before her on the table. "I call this the Caduceus Staff." Angela rose, lifting it into her hands.

Angela was animated as she explained the pros and cons to her newest invention, and the others looked suitably impressed. She could tell that they were already planning for its use on the field. It had a limited lifetime before needing to recharge, and there was a range limiter of ten feet, but it would be a gamechanger for their wounded. Once they had exhausted their questions for the staff in her hands, Jack turned to look at the armor on the table.

"And what about that?" Angela nodded and set the staff down, lifting the armor instead for them to look at.

"I call this the Valkyrie Suit." She turned it slowly so they could view all sides – including the rather large wings on the back.

"What's with the wings, doc?" Gabriel asked, eyebrow raised.

"I'll get to those in a moment." Instead, she explained how the reinforced plating worked, protecting vital organs and the spine, as well as portions of the legs. She continued on to describe the nanotechnology within it, which, while it couldn't heal – not yet, but she was hopeful for the future – would numb wounds so that a medic could continue their job if necessary.

"And the wings?" Gabriel prompted again, once she'd explained all the perks of the armor itself. "Are they just for show, or do they do something?" She blushed; as if she'd include something so ostentatious for no reason!

"They allow the wearer to float in air using nanotechnology, as if they had a parachute – so if they have to drop long distances they can do so safely." She pulled gently on one of the wing tips to make it extend. "They can also be used to "jump" towards anyone with an Overwatch communicator – including agents above them." Angela slid her medical coat off and carefully pulled the armor on as she spoke.

"I assume you have your communicator, right, Gabriel?" She asked, turning to look at him as she secured the armor to her body before lifting a halo-shaped headpiece and fastening it into place.

"Wait, why do I have to be the guinea pig?" He demanded, rising even as he complained. "Also, you look ridiculous. What's with the halo?" He grinned at her, moving away from the table and her. "Think you're some kind of angel?" He teased.

"Well, you were the one with all the questions." She reached up to touch the halo self-consciously, but ignored the jabs. "Simply put, it determines which agent you want to fly to, then relays the direction to the wings, which then allows me to jump to you instead of Ana or Jack." She glanced between the three of them. "It's also used to initiate the jump, as well as floating safely – but to explain the process would take much more time than we have."

"Are you ready?" She shifted her weight, focusing on Gabriel – she had to demonstrate this well so that she could segue into getting herself back onto the battlefield.

"Whenever you are, doc." Gabriel told her, standing opposite her on the other side of the room. A moment passed before the suit propelled her forwards – with a little more force than necessary. She slammed into Gabriel with considerable force instead of stopping just before him, causing him to stagger back a step and wrap an arm around her to keep her steady.

"Scheisse," she muttered, "sorry, Gabriel. Looks like the acceleration needs tweaking still." She'd hoped for a more graceful demonstration, but she'd have to take what she'd get. Carefully, Angela shifted backwards and out of Gabriel's personal space, and he released his steadying hold after a moment of resistance. "Thanks for catching me."

"Of course, Angela." She moved to the side before turning so that she wouldn't smack Gabriel with the wings.

"Aside from the acceleration being, well, off, it's expected to allow a medic to jump to a person with ease, either to avoid danger or reach an injured agent." She walked back towards the table, Gabriel a step behind; she could jump again, but she didn't fancy slamming into anyone else today.

"These are the only two projects I have to show you, but you have to agree that they're impressive." Angela said, taking a seat without stripping off the armor, leaning forward slightly so the wings wouldn't catch on the back of the chair.

"You've done a good job, Angela." Ana praised, smiling at her from across the table. Angela smiled back, taking pride in her work – even as she dreaded the argument she knew would come next.

"However, there is one last thing." Angela told the three, glancing between them carefully. "I would like to request, once again, to be cleared for mission training."

"Angela, for the last time, you are not going on missions." Jack told her thunderously, the mood changing immediately. She winced, but glared back just as fiercely.

"I helped extract Bianchi with no problem!" She shot back defiantly. She'd thought she had proved something that day. All of their arguments had been unfounded – she'd kept up, she took care of the wounded while wounded herself, and she'd even shot a gun in (unnecessary) self-defense.

"Do I need to remind you that I got shot for you on that mission?" Gabriel asked from her right, and she shook her head. He said that as if she'd shoved him before her, rather than him slamming her into a wall.

"I don't need any reminding, thank you." She replied darkly, and he had the good sense to glance away sheepishly. "With training – that all of you denied me – that situation might have been completely avoided!" She crossed her arms; she was getting cleared or she was getting fired, but she wasn't leaving this room until one or the other happened. "Besides, who cares if I get shot – the three of you get shot all the time, and you run this stupid organization!" Angela threw her hands up in exasperation.

"Angela, darling, we only want to keep you safe." Ana said gently, trying to bring the doctors' temper back down. "You've seen how it is, how things can change quickly. We don't want that for you." Angela nodded.

"That's why I've made the Valkyrie suit." She looked around at the three. "You all just agreed that it was a great idea, an amazing tool for the battlefield; I want to use it." She sucked in a breath. "I need to be out there, with the rest of you. I need to help, so that we can keep our agents – or even innocents caught in the middle – from dying senselessly. Please. Let me at least go through training."

The three looked at each other, considering and weighing Angela's words.

"Training can't hurt." Ana said eventually. "We're not agreeing to clear you for combat, but if another Bianchi situation happens again, it would be good for you to be trained." Angela nodded, a relieved smile crossing her face.

"I can work with that."

Training took more of her time, but she reorganized her schedule to make it work. She already had many of the skills necessary – managing infirmaries across the entire globe really taught prioritization under pressure, especially when she did as much as possible in person. Combat, however, was a completely different story.

She was an atrocious shot. Out of ten shots, she'd be lucky if two hit the target – and even then, she was likely to hit the edge rather than anywhere near the actual target zones. She was ordered to spend as much of her free time – like she had free time – in the shooting range to increase her accuracy. Angela was put into combat simulation after combat simulation, with radio barking in her ear and fake wounds to treat, and there was always something she did wrong, always something to improve upon.

She buried herself in the training, determined to prove that she was worthy of going into the field with the others. Academics were something she had always thrived in – and while this was, admittedly, a different kind of learning, academics were academics.

Two months passed, during which time her researchers finished their tasks. They had a portable healing stream with a limited life – but it would heal anyone within fifteen feet. It still couldn't heal anyone with debris in them, but they were still better than nothing. They were relatively cost effective, so they began seeing active use, unlike tools like the Valkyrie suit – which she worked on whenever she had a moment – that were too expensive. Agent mortality was going down, and she couldn't be happier. She directed a team to work on increasing the effectiveness of their agents – boost their speed, their reflexes, their abilities – to make them better. Her second team she directed towards other combat medicine.

She could hit the target every time – though she was still just as likely to hit the edges than she was the center. But her medical skills more than made up for her lack of shooting ability, and when she trained with her Valkyrie suit she was unparalleled, no matter the situation – as long as weapons accuracy wasn't considered.

Angela stood, hands on hips, in the command center before her three superiors.

"Well?" She demanded. They'd made her stick with it for three weeks longer than any other combat medic – she'd checked. While her fighting prowess wasn't up to par, she more than made up for it with the agility of the suit and her medical abilities. She wasn't going into the field to fight, anyway – the whole point was to heal, not damage. Angela kept her eyes on Jack – he was the one who would decide, regardless of what the others thought – even as she felt Gabriel's glare burning holes into her head.

"You're cleared, Angela." Jack said finally, sounding defeated. Angela relaxed, her hands dropping as she smiled, pleased to have finally gotten through, finally gotten their approval. "You will only go on missions with one of us, do you understand? Your shooting is terrible, and I don't trust anyone else to keep you in one piece – not even yourself." Angela didn't care what stipulations he put on her, as long as he let her go with them to help people.

"As you say, Commander." Angela replied, saluting him with a grateful smile. He rolled his eyes and waved her off.

"Now that you're done pestering us," Jack continued, and she blushed, "we have work to do; if you'll excuse us, Angela." The blonde doctor nodded and let herself out as they turned back to the table.

"I hope you're pleased with yourself." Angela hadn't turned when her office door had opened; exactly three people would enter without knocking – and she had a good idea who would be visiting today. Instead, she kept writing her lists, which helped her keep focused and properly channel her innovative genius. It would only be a matter of time before her teams needed new direction, and she had to be there to guide them.

"Of course I am, Gabriel." The doctor replied cheerily. When her words were greeted with a long silence, she sighed and spun her chair around to face him, pen in hand. As expected, he was glaring again. "If you're going to lecture me, you might as well have a seat." She offered, gesturing to the seat to his right. He huffed out a breath and sat.

"I don't want to lecture you, Angela." He told her tiredly. She smiled kindly at him.

"Then what do you want, Gabriel?" She glanced up at the clock to see it was one forty in the morning. "Seeing how you aren't dragging me up to my room and it's nearly two, you must be here for something."

"Won't you reconsider fieldwork?" He asked softly. She knew that they all opposed her going out – Gabriel being the most vocal – but Jack was willing to uses his assets, and she was definitely an asset. They wouldn't – couldn't – force her, but she was all too willing to jump into the fray with them.

"You know I can't." Angela told him gently. "I don't want to be protected; I want to save people, and that's what Overwatch does." So many agents, so many innocents, were left behind in the danger zones that terrorists like Talon and Null Sector created, and she – with her technology – might be able to make a difference in the field.

"You can't save everyone, Angela!" He snapped, leaning across the desk. "You're going into the field and you're going to get hurt – and who will put you back together?" He demanded, and under his fury she could see actual fear and worry. It was the same drive that had put him between her and a gunman, the same drive that was forcing her to go into the field.

"There are plenty of doctors, Gabriel." Angela reminded him gently. "Many of them were here long before I was." She'd only been here for, what, nine or ten months? They were acting like she was the only doctor – only researcher – that Overwatch possessed. "I'm sure one of them is up to the task of patching me up." She told him dryly.

"And if they can't put you back together?" He asked, and though his words were quiet the words rang in her ears as if he'd shouted. He was right, of course – she could get killed out there; heavens knew she'd read plenty of KIA reports, some belonging to her medics. She knew that, objectively. Angela shook her head; she couldn't think about it, couldn't consider that she was rushing to her death.

"I am taking every precaution, Gabriel." Angela said firmly, skirting the question. "Just like you." Angela fixed him with a pointed look. "Or would you rather I ask you to remain behind, for fear that you won't come home?" His fists clenched.

"It's different, Angela." She made a harsh, disbelieving sound.

"How is it possibly different? Because I am so fragile compared to you? A woman?" Her arms were crossed and her eyes were glaring daggers, and he sighed and ran a hand over his head, glancing away.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it." He retorted, but there was less heat. "I've been doing this a long time – too long. I'm a soldier. I know when to push forward and fall back. But you," he met her scathing look, "you're a doctor, a healer. You won't fall back, not if there's wounded that you might be able to save. And I might not be there next time to save you." His words, his eyes, were bleak. "Your heart is too gentle – too kind – to be on a battlefield."

Angela worried her lip. He wasn't wrong, not really. If it hadn't been for his hand on her elbow, she would have stopped many times on the Bianchi extraction. If it hadn't been for the concussion, she'd have fought harder to collect more wounded instead of fixating on the ones in her care. It was one thing to be part of training simulations, where the wounds weren't real and everyone went to their beds at the end of the day, and another thing to be on a mission where her choices could mean actual life and death – for not only her patients but those around her, and even herself.

That didn't mean that she'd stay behind though.

"I will go where I am needed." Angela told him firmly. "It is my duty." Gabriel laughed, a mirthless sound.

"Plenty of soldiers with duty died in the Omnic Crisis, Angela." He was on his feet, as if he couldn't deliver the words sitting down. "Duty won't save you. Duty will get you killed!" He pointed at her from across the desk, emphasizing his point. "You will get hurt, Angela, if you do this." His eyes, stormy with emotion, were a stark contrast to his harsh words. "Please don't do this."

"I cannot hide, Gabriel – no more than you can." There was nothing else for her to say. She would go, and no amount of begging would stop her. Her words seemed to take the fight out of him, and he slumped back into the chair he'd recently vacated, one hand covering his face. The silence grew, strained and thick, but she didn't know how to break it; she couldn't give him what he wanted, so instead she sat, waiting for him to break first.

"All that will come of this, Angela," his voice was quiet, muffled, "is heartbreak and nightmares."

"I know, Gabriel." And she did. But her life was already heartbreak and nightmares. Every time she had to read a KIA report, every time a patient bled out under her hands, she felt that pain. A battlefield would be no different. At least she could feel like she was trying, making a difference. It might ease the nightmares – but she doubted it.

"Will you walk me back?" She asked when the silence grew to be too much. It was her best attempt at a peace offering, though even she knew it wasn't a good one. He nodded and rose, with her quickly following suit, and they left the small office filled with too much emotion.

"Everything will be alright." Angela murmured as the doors slid open, allowing them entry. It wasn't until the car was moving, with her in her usual spot with her back against the right wall and him with his shoulder to the left, that he spoke.

"If you're serious about this," he began.

"I am." She insisted, and he silenced her with a look.

"If you're serious about this," he repeated, "will you at least let me watch your back?" Angela blinked, startled, and then smiled tentatively.

"I can't think of anyone else for the job." She whispered into the silence. She had just assumed he would be there, and the thought that – if he hadn't asked – he might have stayed behind was disconcerting.

"Not even Jack?" He challenged, the words heavy.

"Jack didn't take a bullet for me." She retorted, arms crossed. "But even then – no, not even Jack."

"What about Ana?" The words were teasing now, and she considered the sharpshooter.

"Well, she is a better shot that you." She decided as the doors reopened. "But no." Angela stepped out, glancing over one shoulder at the man. "If I had to pick someone to watch out for me, I'd pick you."