AN: For those who are returning after my hiatus, please reread at least chapter 9. It is mostly the same as my original posting, up until chapter 9. I have cleaned up some conversations throughout the chapters to make things flow better, and overall hopefully make the story read more clearly.

Sorrow

She hated time constrictions.

There was too much to do in the day. First there was the administrative duties, reviewing any concerns for pending teams as well as reading over KIA reports and status updates from her researchers. Then she had to check in with Gloria, to make sure nothing in the infirmary needed her attention. That took up at least an hour of her day – maybe two if she was unlucky and there was more paperwork than normal – and she could feel every second as it passed.

Then there were command meetings if she was even more unlucky. While she didn't always sit in on the meetings – she certainly didn't understand enough of military strategy to be helpful for at least half of them – she was now present for many. It was expected that she would continue her duties – all of her duties – during her punishment, so it wasn't like she could just skip a meeting or two. Then again, she probably couldn't skip them anyway – one didn't just skip meetings with the Commanders and Captain.

Fortunately for her, her first true day of punishment held minimal reports and no meetings to speak of. That didn't mean something couldn't come up later – though she hoped no emergencies came up, as always – but for now it meant she had the maximum amount of time in her lab.

She'd asked Winston to stay in his room – cage, if she were being honest, even if Ana was not – for the day.

"It's not that I don't trust you, or that you're being punished," she explained. "It's just – yesterday was stressful, and not just for you and me. I have to make sure all of my staff are taken care of." If any of them were concerned or nervous, she'd have to reassign them to a different lab – hopefully temporarily, but possibly permanently.

"I understand, doctor." She was unsurprised at how agreeable he was being. He knew how bad it could have been yesterday – how bad it still was; one day in this room wouldn't be a hardship. Still, she was grateful that he was understanding.

"I will be back for you tomorrow." She promised before she left for her labs. The guards remained behind, but she was certain that someone would make sure she left on time, even if they weren't able to watch her. Angela wasn't planning to press her luck on the curfew, though. She'd set an alarm – three, actually – to ensure she left timely. She wouldn't give them any excuse to claim she wasn't following orders, not that she thought they were looking for any. The punishment wasn't for show – if it was, they would have given her one that would have seemed more appropriate to the masses – and she would treat it as seriously as she had treated the situation the day before.

When she entered her lab, she expected to discover people missing – not that she would blame them. She did not expect any of them to remain in a place where they felt threatened, and the previous afternoon had been very threatening. To her surprise, there wasn't a single person absent.

"I appreciate that all of you have returned today." Angela said to the room. She'd have felt bad for interrupting their work – but they had paused when she walked in, as if they had expected her to speak. She hated public speaking. Oh, giving orders and directions was fine, but put her in front of a group to talk? No, thank you. Still, it was her duty.

"What happened yesterday was… unfortunate." She couldn't use the adjectives she wanted to use. Angela wouldn't disparage the agents in front of her staff for fear that those words could be construed to be undermining their leaders. She felt limited in what she could say, but she had to say something.

"Considering the events of yesterday, I understand if any of you are uncomfortable working in my lab while Winston is present. Although he is not here today so that I could speak to you, he will be returning in the morning with a new set of guards." She looked around at the researchers around her, hating that it had come to this. "If you wish to be reassigned to a different lab – either here in Zürich or elsewhere – please do not hesitate to tell me. I will completely understand." For each one that left, she would have to find a replacement – if a replacement could be found. Word would spread of what had happened yesterday, and that would make it harder to find someone willing to work with her.

"I appreciate your time. Please do not let me keep you from your work." She had resigned herself to getting little done, expecting her researchers to want to leave. Still, she crossed the room to her designated space as if it were any other day. Slowly, she heard the staff behind her begin to work on their various projects.

It wasn't until lunchtime that one of her staff approached her. As was her usual, she was staying in her labs to work while the rest went to their meals. She was grateful that none of her friends had come to try to take her to lunch – she'd have dug her heels in, and that might cause a fight she couldn't afford.

"Yes, Sierra?" Angela asked when she noticed the woman hovering at her side. She was already trying to think of who could replace her, since that was the only reason anyone would be pulling her aside today. It had been an unusually quiet morning for her; normally she could expect to be asked questions and for advice or feedback from those around her, and yet they had all carefully not pulled her attention. She wasn't sure if that was a good sign or not.

"About yesterday," the woman began, pausing as if unsure of how to continue.

"I can reassign you, if that's what you want." Angela assured her gently, allowing none of her misgivings at losing a staff member to color her voice. "I don't want you to feel uncomfortable or unsafe."

"No, no, that's not it." Sierra shook her head, which left Angela confused. If she wasn't looking for a reassignment, why would she be bringing up the day before? "I just wanted to thank you, Dr. Ziegler."

"Ah, you're welcome?" She wasn't sure why any of her staff would be thanking her, aside from Winston. In fact, she'd expect the opposite. She was the one who insisted on allowing Winston in the labs so he didn't have to stay in his rooms, which had necessitated the guards that had pulled their guns the day before.

"I know, I know, you were protecting Winston," the scientist hurried to continue, "but I work right behind where he fell. If–" The woman licked her lips nervously. "If the agents had shot at him, I was worried I might – well, you know. So, I really appreciate what you did." Angela looked around the room briefly, noting the approximate placements of everything during what had happened yesterday. She didn't think Sierra had been in any danger – the agents had been aiming towards Winston, who had been on the ground, even if they'd left the guns trained on her when she moved between them – but she understood that the stress of the situation may have made it seem that way. Maybe ricochet could have hit her, but she wasn't convinced. Regardless, Angela nodded.

"While I do not believe that what happened yesterday will happen again, I do want to remind you that there will be two new armed guards in here tomorrow." Angela was sure that these guards had been spoken to about drawing their weapons without true cause. Holding Dr. Ziegler at gun point in her own lab, regardless of what was behind her, was sure to have upset the leadership core no matter what they had said to her.

"If you're worried about getting hurt, I can temporarily transfer you somewhere else." Sierra shook her head again.

"Alright, if you're sure." Angela wasn't going to make her leave if she didn't want to – she was certain she'd be finding enough replacements without forcing one. Sierra turned to leave, but Angela stopped her with a hand on her elbow. She wanted to assure the woman that it would be safe, that she wouldn't let anyone hurt her staff – that she would take, had taken, bullets to protect those who were hers – but the words died on her lips. Those were sentiments she could not express, not with the Commanders' judgement so fresh.

"If you change your mind, at any time, please don't hesitate to tell me. I want all of you to be happy and to feel safe." She offered kindly instead.

"Thank you, doctor. I – I should let you get back to work."

The rest of the day went by slowly, which was only made worse by the feeling of eyes on her every time her back was turned. She had been approached by three of her researchers – four, if she counted Sierra – by the time she left her labs at eight. She had assured them of placements in another Zürich lab by noon the next day; she would have to do the paperwork in the morning when she was permitted work once more. Considering the turnout, Angela wondered if her labs would be empty – except for Sierra, who had assured her she hadn't wanted a reassignment – when she returned in the morning. It would be a real challenge to replace all of them on short notice, but she'd make it happen if it was necessary.

Angela didn't see any sign of a guard, or really anyone else that would report her, but she knew that if she had pushed it there would have been consequences. So, she took the elevator to the canteen. One of the few good things out of this punishment was that she would eat somewhat properly, at least.

There were a handful of unfamiliar people milling about today, but considering the only people she normally ate with were still holed up in the command center – or wherever else they were when they weren't getting shot at – she sat down at a table separate from the others. She was surprised when a plate was set down across from her a short time later – but was less surprised to see it was McCree; he had been the only person who had approached her casually outside of her three friends.

In fairness, she probably wasn't very approachable, but that just made his behavior more unusual.

"Good evening, McCree." Angela wasn't sure what he was here for, but she could be polite couldn't she? A quick glance proved that he was no longer under guard; not that she felt threatened by the man, but she hoped it was a good frame of reference for Winston – unless the actions of yesterday reset all the progress that had been made.

"Evenin', doc." He tugged at the edge of his hat in what she assumed was a gesture of respect – she wasn't very familiar with the customs of people who wore cowboy hats – as he settled in the chair across from her. "Heard y'got ya hands slapped." Despite herself she huffed a laugh at his description.

"Something like that, yes." Angela agreed as she took a bite of her salad. Before either of them could say more, three men approached their table with a confident swagger. She had no idea why she was so popular today; she'd never had so many people approach her table. Then again, she normally ate with the Commanders and Captain – that could be a more than a little intimidating. Absently she noticed McCree tense, but most of her attention was on the newcomers.

"Is he bothering you, ma'am?" The man in the middle asked, tone respectful as he addressed her, though his attention was completely on the man across from her. The tone, however, couldn't hide the dangerous look in his eyes – in all three of their eyes, in fact – that had her paying close attention to them. They weren't quite crowding her, but they were looming over the table in a way she didn't like.

"No, he certainly is not bothering me." Angela replied, voice cool but still polite as she set her fork down. Clearly the three were not expecting that answer, which gave them pause. She was Dr. Ziegler; she'd faced down guns yesterday, went toe-to-toe with the Commanders on a daily basis, and these men thought they could intimidate her?

"Are you sure, ma'am? We don't mind helping him along." The one on the leaders right, the one closest to her, was now looming over her directly instead of the table as he delivered the words. She saw McCree shift in his seat from the corner of her eye, as if he would do or say something; it was clear that he didn't like the way the man had turned his ungentle gaze on her. As if she needed protection from them. Before he could decide what to do, she filled the silence once more.

"It is quite obvious that the three of you do not know who I am." She was willing to bet they'd watched McCree sit down across from her and decided to make trouble without ever recognizing her. How would they? Most agents didn't actually meet her – she was just a name, just like most of the agents were just a name to her. After all, not even she could be everywhere at once.

"So, let me rectify that." Her voice was perfectly pleasant as she rose, forcing the man to take a step back as she crowded him in return and held out her hand. Her heels barely put her at the same height as the shortest of the three men, but that didn't deter her. "I am Dr. Angela Ziegler." Their startled looks and wide eyes proved that they had not realized who she was – fair enough, it was a large organization – but it was unfortunate that it took a power play to make them back off. "What are your names?"

She knew – oh did she know after yesterday – the limitations of her authority. She could do just about anything in this base, so long as she didn't countermand the Commanders. In public, where other agents would see, at any rate. Despite their clash yesterday, she was still a power in Overwatch, regardless of if she wielded it – as she was now. Reprimanding agents? She wasn't certain she could get away with that, considering it wasn't medically related – even if they started it – especially since she had just gotten into trouble yesterday. But getting their names so the Commanders could deal with them? Absolutely within her power.

Regardless of how they butted heads – in public or private – she knew her friends would take issue with how these men were behaving – even if it wasn't her that was on the receiving end. These were supposed to be men of Overwatch, after all.

Angela heard a chair screech behind her as McCree rose to his feet; for what purpose she wasn't sure, considering the men were no longer any kind of threat, though she knew it was in some misguided attempt to assist her. She half turned, eyes cold and finger pointed in silent command.

While he had been the reason they had come over, they had pulled her into their little power play and tried to intimidate her; she was going to deal with it. Angela was certain that they had been bothering her to get a rise out of him – they hadn't crowded him, hadn't even spoken to him, even though that was where their attention had laid – so his continued inaction would help this situation end more quickly. Once he was seated again, Angela turned her cold gaze back to the mute men.

"Your names?" She prompted, voice now icy. The three stammered out their names, one at a time. She pointedly shook their hands, as if they were meeting for an interview instead of whatever this was.

"It was a pleasure to meet you three." Her voice, her entire demeanor, was warm and pleasant again, as if she hadn't just intimidated them into giving her their names. "I won't keep you from your meals any longer." The three saluted her and promptly left the table. She watched them go for a long moment before returning to her seat.

"You–" Angela held up one hand to silence the cowboy as the other fished through the pockets of her coat – she always had a pen, where was it? Once it was in her hand, she grabbed a napkin and wrote out their three names before carefully folding it and placing it into the more secure inner pocket of her coat. It was only then that she turned her attention back to regard McCree, one eyebrow raised.

"You're scary, y'know that?" Her lips twitched into a small smile, despite her remaining agitation at the whole situation. "Them eyes a'yours felt like a bucket of ice was dumped on me; the hell was that?"

"That?" Angela waved a hand absently towards the space the three agents had vacated. "You think I don't run into men like them any time I walk into my infirmary?" She had heard it all: no, it's not so bad; I'm fine, it's just a small scratch; you've got to let me go; and on and on, hoping to convince, intimidate, or bribe her into giving a clean bill of health. At least here, in Overwatch, the agents couldn't check themselves out against medical advice. She shrugged casually. "I make them listen – just like I made you listen." If she could bully Commanders into listening to her, what were a couple of agents? Nothing.

Angela was still looking over McCree appraisingly, mind only half on the conversation as she thought. Those men had thought they could chase her – or him, she wasn't certain if it mattered which – off. Clearly, they had a problem with McCree, but she wasn't sure what it was. She had noticed – on the few occasions before now that she had taken her meals – that McCree always sat alone, aside from the guard that was no longer present. She wondered how much of it had been because of men like these three. That led into the many questions she'd formulated about McCree, but only one was important now that she'd been summarily dragged into the middle of it.

"So. Care to explain what all that was sabout?" It was obvious that whatever was going on wasn't a secret, even if Jack and Gabriel had chosen not to enlighten her, considering the three men that she'd just scared off.

"Seriously? Y'mean you don't know?" His voice was incredulous. Angela could easily determine that he had thought, because of her connections, she had more information than she actually had. Which was a fair assumption, considering it appeared other agents were aware.

"I do not usually trouble myself with matters outside of the medical division." She said in way of explanation, as if she hadn't read every report – which weren't many – she had access to about the cowboy in front of her. He gave her an appraising look as he leaned back in his chair and considered her. Angela took another bite of her meal, content to wait out his silence. If he didn't tell her she was certain she could get Jack to. McCree sighed, a resigned sound that told her she wouldn't be going to Jack.

"Tell ya what: we'll eat up an' then we'll talk about that somewhere else. Alright?" Angela had a limited knowledge of the man before her, but she wasn't at all worried to agree to a more private setting for what was clearly going to be a talk.

'Somewhere else' turned out to be a green roof on the fifth floor. She didn't even know it existed, but to be fair she didn't know a lot about the above-ground levels of the Zürich base. Angela followed him along a path until they came to a bench. He gestured to it, a clear invitation if she ever saw one, as he stood a few feet away.

"D'ya mind if I smoke, doc?" Angela thought it was a filthy habit, but she wouldn't stop him – or even make a comment, this time – because she was certain he needed his vice to tell her whatever it was he was planning to tell her.

"By all means." She agreed as she settled on the bench; it wasn't long before he was taking a long drag off a cigarette – and politely blowing the smoke away from her general direction. It was clear he was trying to figure out how to start, so instead she leaned back to look up at the stars while she waited.

It had been a long, long time since she'd just looked at stars. Since she'd been outside, really, now that she thought about it.

"I've done some bad things, doc." McCree said finally, drawing her attention back down to him. The cigarette was mostly gone, but she was sure he had more. Smokers usually did.

"I had gathered, considering the handcuff. And the guards." Angela agreed dryly; he huffed out a chuckle, as she'd intended. Something about the way he was standing told her he didn't want sympathy or anything similar, not that she was sure she had any for a known criminal.

"So, you've done bad things." She prompted when it was clear he wasn't going to continue. He took a final drag before tossing the cigarette down and crushing it with his boot – seriously, he had spurs on his boots? Angela raised an eyebrow and stared at him until he bent down and picked it back up.

"Yeah. I've done some things." He said finally, taking a seat in the grass across from her, knees up and arms braced loosely on top of them. Angela waited. She could be patient when she wanted to be; after all, some things had to happen in their own time. As a doctor she knew all about that.

"Y'ever hear of the Deadlock Gang?" It was vaguely familiar. Considering she generally didn't follow the terroristic threats – they were less important than the agent names in the reports she read, at least to her – she didn't really have any knowledge of them, which she was forced to admit.

"Huh. Well." He seemed somewhat surprised but brushed past it. "I was one of the first members, a boss. Petty stuff at first, but then… well, we wanted t'be a gang, y'know?" She didn't, but she nodded anyway since he seemed to expect some sort of response. "So the bad – the killin' – started." A pause, and then, "I got a lotta blood on these hands." His head bowed slightly, hat shadowing most of his face, as he considered his hands, the way she sometimes did after a particularly rough set of nightmares.

"I have blood on my hands, too." She offered when the silence became unbearable. The sound he made was equal parts humor, derision, and disbelief.

"Not like me, y'don't." His voice was dark and rough in a way that made him dangerous, sending a brief flash of fear through her. She had plenty of practice of hiding her feelings behind a calm mask, so she knew it didn't reach her face or body language. It helped that he hadn't done anything to her, even when he had opportunity to, and she doubted he would in the heart of Overwatch. He was just sitting there, watching her with a heavy gaze. Whatever he was looking for, she didn't think he found it.

"Anyway." He said, clearing his throat after a long moment, voice once again casual. "Me'n the boys, we'd steal an' kill and a whole number of other things." He leaned forward so his face was no longer hidden by the shadows, suddenly intense as he looked up at her. "But we didn' allow no rape, doc; we weren't – I ain't – like that." Angela nodded.

"I believe you, McCree." And she did, despite his earlier confessions of terrible crimes. It was impossible to believe he was capable of doing something so atrociously vile. Then again, it was hard enough to imagine him as a cold-blooded murderer, so she could be wrong. Still, she knew Gabriel would never have brought him to Overwatch – left him alone with her, even, guard or not – if there was even a thought that he'd had those kinds of inclinations.

"Good, 'cause it's true. Done a lotta bad, but not that." He paused to light up another cigarette, but he allowed it to dangle carelessly between his fingers instead of bringing it to his lips.

"We drew the wrong kinda attention from other gangs. Got bloodier an' bloodier, 'til we called a truce after a coupla years." Angela didn't think the man before her was old enough to have been in a gang war for a couple years, but she kept the opinion to herself. He took a drag, then sighed. "Started some smugglin'. Weapons, parts, hardware – you name it, we prob'ly could get it. Was good, for awhile." He chuckled, a short, derisive noise. "'til Overwatch showed up, anyway." Ah, this was where Gabriel's strike team came in, she assumed.

"Brought some weapons, stuff we weren't supposed t'have, an' instead of a buyer we had Overwatch." His eyes met hers in a hard, uncomfortable stare. "I'm a real good shot, doc. Real good. So, when th' bullets started flyin', well," his voice was dark and rough again, menacing even, "I shot back." And just as suddenly as his voice had turned, she knew what was coming, didn't know why she hadn't seen it coming before, but now it was – he was – staring her right in the face. "Hit some of your people. I reckon one died, at least. Not sure 'bout the others."

It had been willful blindness, of that she was certain. She knew that killers didn't wear it on their faces and sleeves, that they looked like everyday people. She talked to Jack and Ana and Gabriel nearly every day, and they were killers one and all. She knew that McCree had been brought back from a mission that had left three dead and more injured, and yet she foolishly – blindly – didn't put the pieces together, since Gabriel had insisted he wasn't a threat. She had focused on the files of Jesse McCree, when she should have looked at the ones that had surrounded him for answers. She'd had all the pieces, and yet she hadn't realized the picture they created. McCree nodded.

"There it is, that's th' look." He stubbed out his cigarette and climbed to his feet. "Almos' everyone here's been lookin' at me, jus' like that. I killed one o' y'alls own, maybe more, and they won' forget." He glanced over his shoulder at her. "You won't forget." She nodded. He was right, she wouldn't. After a moment, he touched the edge of his hat once more.

"Have a good evenin', doctor."

She stayed out in the air for a while more. It wasn't like she had anywhere else to go, after all. No work, no hobbies. Her friends would probably work late into the night – not as late as she preferred, but still late. There was nothing waiting for her inside, so she stayed out in the dark, considering the words of Jesse McCree.

What do you do when the truth of a person doesn't match the picture you'd painted of them?

All three of them had kept this from her – even Jack, who, from what she could tell, had had it out for McCree from the start. They'd known, of course. Everyone had known. It was only because she was so far removed from others, from those that weren't the leaders that governed them all, that she hadn't known, too.

She just didn't know why. Was it so she wouldn't feel threatened in her home – like that hadn't just happened yesterday? Because they didn't actually expect it to matter, since she wouldn't – shouldn't – be around him, considering she practically lived on basement floor one? Because after everything she'd done to prove herself, they still saw her as something too fragile and in need of protection?

She still didn't have answers when she walked back inside. Her watch said it was just past eleven thirty. She supposed she should go upstairs and pretend like she was going to sleep instead of stare at the ceiling for hours.

Angela glanced at the command room door as she walked by, but there was no telling if they were still in there or not. The heavy door was built purposefully to keep that room private from all prying eyes and ears – and not even her ID would let her in, though she was permitted inside for meetings.

It didn't take long to get from the command room to her own floor; not many people were using the elevators this late at night, even if it was still early for her. As she made her way down the hall to her room, she saw a familiar figure ahead of her walking in the same direction.

"Good evening, Gabriel." Her voice was quiet enough to be respectful of the hour while also carrying forward to the man who was even now turning towards her.

"I thought you were asleep." She noted he was just past her door, just as he noticed she was too far down the hall to have emerged from her rooms. "Where were you?" Angela heard the question he had carefully skirted: had she been disobeying their orders? She pretended like she didn't hear the unspoken words.

"I was out on that green roof on the fifth floor. McCree and I were talking." Her words were too casual for the talk they'd had.

"He told you, then." It must have shown on her face – that look McCree had mentioned just a few hours ago, apparently. She nodded. "And?" He prompted as he closed the distance between the two of them.

"Why didn't you tell me?" The words were accusatory, hurt. Of all the revelations of the night, that was the only one that mattered to her in this moment. He had known that the cowboy had hurt, possibly killed, their agents – the agents she practically killed herself to protect, whose deaths she held too close to her heart, who she sent into the field just as much as he did – and he hadn't told her. It should have been him and not some stranger that had picked up those pieces and put them into place.

"Because you already suffer enough, Angela. You wake up crying, sometimes screaming, about people you've never even operated on, people you haven't even met, because you think you failed them." His gaze was piercing, because he knew like no one else did about the despair she carried like a coat. He reached up to cup her cheek gently. "I didn't want you to know that he was responsible for some of your nightmares, that a man who had hurt what was yours was walking these halls."

"Oh." Because really, what was there to say? He had been protecting her, just like he would always protect her if he could – if she'd let him. He'd known she'd have nightmares, she always did, but he'd tried to mitigate them and give her some peace in the only way he could. She wasn't sure how she felt about that, considering that her ignorance had allowed her to let the cowboy get close. Angela knew, though, that it had come from a good place – as so many of his attempt to protect her did, even if he did frustrate her with his methods. After a long moment he nodded, his hand pulling away as he tucked both into his pockets.

"Can we talk?" He'd never pushed her to talk about anything – at least, not anything that didn't directly correlate to her position in and responsibilities to Overwatch – had always let her take the time she needed, even if she could stubbornly hold out for weeks or months on end. He just waited, patient, until she came to him willingly. That led her to believe that this wasn't about her and whatever pain and misery she carried on her shoulders and in her heart or the cowboy they had just been speaking of. Angela flashed back to the night before, of his distraction. She imagined that – whatever that was – was what this was about.

"Of course we can. Whatever you need." Her response was near automatic, her upset about McCree falling to the wayside in the face of someone else's needs. Angela wasn't sure where he wanted to speak, her rooms or his own, so she waited for him to choose. It was a matter of moments before he was turning toward his own rooms, her following closely behind. She settled on his couch, legs tucked up and turned slightly so that she could watch him as he paced the floor of his room. The silence grew long enough to worry her.

"What happened?" It was the only thing she could think of. Something had happened. Her only certainty was that no one was hurt, but it was still bad enough that he wanted to talk about it. It wasn't often he got like this and each time she felt like she was walking through a minefield with a blindfold.

"Angela–" He paused, midstride, and blew out a breath. "I–" She wanted to help him, but she had no idea where to start – no idea where this started. Should she reach out – verbally, physically – or should she stay where she was? He cleared his throat and turned, just enough to look at her.

"They've selected a Commander for Blackwatch." Of all the topics for him to be stressed about, this wasn't one she had considered. Blackwatch wasn't hers, wasn't theirs, not like Overwatch was, even if she could see their medical records as permitted. Rarely did she get to peek at the shadowy agents, though the late Commander Bianchi had – on very few occasions – asked for her assistance or advice on specific cases; she wasn't sure if it was out of stubbornness or a lack of need that had made those requests so infrequent. Their medical division was not as large as Overwatch's, so on occasion the covert ops needed to lean on their more public half.

She hadn't expected to be told of the new Blackwatch Commander at all. That organization wasn't hers, and the promotion and demotion of individuals within its ranks wasn't something she ever intended to follow. She barely followed the ranks within Overwatch as it was – and that was only for the top three, her superiors, who to her were practically interchangeable in authority. She had expected that, in one far away day, a file would cross her desk and show her who the Blackwatch Commander was.

That Gabriel was bringing it up now, after he had politely told her it wasn't her business only a few nights ago, told her she knew who it was – and there were only two people she knew that would be considered. That Gabriel was so stressed about it told her it was him.

"You're the new Commander." The statement was quiet – and though she knew she was right, she hoped he would tell her she was wrong. If he was the Blackwatch Commander, that meant he was leaving for Rome – indefinitely. But even as she thought it, she knew it was selfish and shoved it away. Blackwatch needed a new Commander, and Gabriel was perfect for the job. He and Jack were best friends, like brothers even; having the two working as the heads of both organizations could only make things go more smoothly.

"I'm the new Commander." He confirmed, unsurprised that she made the leap in logic.

"Congratulations, Gabriel." The words were warm. While a small, selfish part of her wanted him to stay, she would never allow him to see it; that was one secret she would keep from him, because he didn't deserve to carry that weight. Angela could see that he was already stressed about this new position – she wouldn't make that any harder than it had to be. He scoffed, a low and angry sound that she'd never heard him make before.

"Congratulations." The word was so bitter she could almost taste it. "I didn't ask for this. Didn't want this." She isn't surprised at the words, but she is surprised by how angry he is.

Carefully, she rose and approached him – as one would a frightened animal – before wrapping her arms around him from behind. He stiffened, and she worried he would pull away from her. "People like us do not get to choose, Gabriel." Angela whispered gently. "We do what is best for others, regardless of what it costs us." She, of all people, knew of self-sacrifice – she had forced herself into a militarized organization that she had, at one time, openly criticized; earned her combat clearance, and had taken bullets;and worked long, sleepless hours, just so that others would benefit and be safer.

"You don't know what Blackwatch is – what it will make me become, what it will cost me, to lead them. Overwatch is the light, and Blackwatch is the dark – and that's where they're putting me." He turned, easily breaking her hold as he faced her. "You and Jack and Ana – you'll all be here, with Overwatch and doing good. And I'll be alone, doing the ugly work that Blackwatch does."

"Or maybe," she reached up to touch his cheek gently, "maybe you will make Blackwatch better." He made a noise that was pure derision.

"Blackwatch can't be better.It does what it must – no matter what, regardless of how dirty, whatever it takes – to get the job done." She had never considered what Blackwatch did; oh, she knew they got intelligence, but she never considered the how. Quickly she shoved the thought away, as she still didn't want to think of it even now. "I will be part of that. I will be in the dark and it will change me." He reached up, hands grasping her shoulders almost tight enough to bruise.

"I'm losing everything, Angela." The words were quiet and mournful. "Overwatch. My home. My family. You." She knew that going to Blackwatch would cost him – would cost them all, in some way or another – but that he thought that he would lose them? As if they were so easily tossed aside. She smiled tenderly up at him.

"Why do you have to lose those things? The only thing that changes is that you will wear black instead of blue. Your family will still be your family – will still love you. We will still be together." She pressed up close to him, forcing him to release her shoulders or truly hurt her, pulling her hand away to wrap around his waist. "You will always have a home here. We aren't so easy to get rid of, Gabriel."

"I hope you're right." She had never heard him so defeated. She didn't know how to fix this. The anger was gone, but in its place was a resigned despair that Angela didn't know how to penetrate. He had rarely asked her for anything and she was failing him when it mattered most.

"I know I am." Angela turned her head, cheek pressed to his chest. His only response was to wrap his arms around her, face buried in her hair as he just breathed. "I've got you, Gabriel. I'm with you." This she could do – she could stand here until hell itself froze over if need be – but she couldn't find the words to make it unnecessary.

She couldn't say how long they stood there in the middle of his living area, but eventually Gabriel pulled away and turned away to a small refrigerator she hadn't noticed the night before. He pulled out a beer, half turning and offering her one wordlessly.

"No, thank you." Angela shook her head; she had never developed a taste for beer, preferring wine on the rare occasion she had a drink. He nodded, closing the refrigerator again and stalking back across the room as he opened it and dropped unceremoniously onto the couch. After a moment, she settled on the couch next to him.

"When do you leave?" The question was soft, asked after he'd taken a long pull from the bottle. It would be soon, she knew. The organization couldn't be left without a leader for too long. Despite his misgivings, she knew he would go and do his duty. Just like her, he could do no less.

"The end of the month." If he had told her that two days ago, she would struggle to figure out how far away that was. When she was really in her work, she would be hard pressed to provide the date or even the day of the week. But, with her punishment looming over her, she had hung a calendar up in her office to track the days until it was over. Angela knew that the end of the month was just a little over a week away. She nodded, worrying her lip with her teeth.

"Is it alright if I stay?" She felt his eyes on her, as if surprised. Then again, after making an absolute fool of herself last night she couldn't blame him for that reaction. Still, Angela was aware of a ticking clock in the back of her mind – and then he would be gone, off to Rome and Blackwatch.

"Yeah, of course it is."