"My, my, Mr. Reyes. You are a fascinating human being." She held Reyes' blood up to the light, admiring the deep ruby coloration it acquired when held to a light source. "I suppose the question is why you didn't tell me this several days ago."
Reyes was out on mission, leaving her to make what she could of the blood samples she'd taken from him. Already her analyses had told her much more about Reyes than the cagey Blackwatch commander would admit. As she expected, his condition did not have particular physical manifestations; after all, the genetic problem he'd so vaguely brought up affected his mind, not his body. At least that's what his genes told her, and genetics didn't lie. His genes had been damaged by a rather unique environmental factor that she had seen just twice before, and his record confirmed the source of the damage; the godforsaken, badly-tested, hastily-utilized SEP serum, that, while greatly enhancing the body in the short-term, had devastating effects in the long-term. Ironically enough, though, it was a sample of this very same serum that she needed to continue making progress. She needed to know how, exactly, the serum worked on DNA before she could reverse its effects.
Which left her at a current impasse in her work.
She sighed and put the sample back in the cooler, mulling over the data she'd already gathered. The problem sequences had been identified, the possible side-effects stemming from the genetic damage documented. But she needed more. The SEP program had probably run their candidates through a genetic screening process and taken sequences before and after administering the serum to show the progress they'd made. The lack of said records and the commander's unwillingness to share frustrated her. She combed her fingers through her hair and leaned back, forcibly blowing out a breath. She'd have to talk to him when he returned and make sure they were on the same page as far as the data she needed.
A knock at the door startled her, and she sat upright.
"Doctor? There's a package for you," a muffled voice called from the other side of the door. "Commander Reyes says your uniform's come in."
Moira stood up and opened the door. One of the base's lackeys stood outside, a large box cradled against his chest, his Overwatch ID clipped to his pocket.
"Thank you. Put it there." She pointed to her cleared lab table.
"The commander also said that he ordered you some lab equipment and other things that should be coming in soon," the young man said.
"I see." She analyzed the deliveryman. He really was a young thing, more a boy than a man, a feeling only accentuated by the baseball cap emblazoned with the Overwatch logo perched on his messy hair.
"If anything doesn't fit, the commander said to let him know." He added, his eyes darting around her lab.
"Is that all?"
He shifted underneath her stare. "Uh, yes ma'am." He tipped the brim of his baseball cap. "I can see you're busy so I'll…" He jabbed a thumb towards the door.
She nodded once and retrieved a pair of scissors, slicing the tape sealing the package with a few quick, precise strokes. A note sat on the folded square of black inside. She picked it up and read it. The first half was just a repetition of the severity of her contract, but thin, messy handwriting covered the bottom half of the paper.
Doc,
Ordered these special for you. There should be some more supplies for your lab on the way as well, along with a new exam table.
She smirked at that. Poor Gabriel. He really was uncomfortable with her, wasn't he? He had to be, especially if he was complaining about things as basic as the lab table.
Strike Commander Morrison would like to see how you are settling in. If I am on mission when you receive this note, I will be returning with him. He will expect a full report on planned advancements and squad integration, so be ready to give it. Make sure your uniform is washed and fits correctly as well. Familiarize yourself with the details of your cover and get used to using it. I don't want to wind up looking like an idiot because you didn't do your homework.
Commander Reyes
P.S: The Hippocratic oath may not apply to you, but keep my treatment confidential. I do not want anyone knowing about our…arrangement… unless it's necessary.
She scoffed at this last line (of course she would keep his medical file confidential), put the note aside and extracted her new uniform. Dark, tight-fitting shirt, white pants, some lightweight, short-sleeved clothing clearly intended as exercise wear. She put a pressed jacket complete with Blackwatch patches and beret aside, revealing a folded square of white at the bottom. Intrigued, she picked it up, and her smile broadened as she beheld the object.
A brand-new lab coat unfolded before her eyes, once again bearing the animal-skull ID patch. Admittedly, the matching red-and-black accents didn't look as suave as the royal purple on her old coat, but, personal preferences aside, the coat itself was clearly high-quality and probably fairly expensive, tailored to her tall, thin form. She carefully took her old coat off and folded it, draping it over a chair before trying on her new coat. To her utter lack of surprise, it fit perfectly. She fastened the clasps, still smiling, and pulled her new ID out of the breast pocket, glancing over the details of her cover identity. Oh yes. She tucked her ID back into her pocket, then touched the emblem on her shoulder fondly. Finallyshe was getting some well-deserved respect.
Just like her new lab coat, this position at Blackwatch would fit her perfectly.
VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV
A distinctive laugh echoed from the mess hall as Reyes entered. Jesse sat at a table with Tracer and Reinhardt, his feet up on the table, an unlighted cigar between his fingers, a grin plastered across his face. The cards on the table between the three lay forgotten beside plates of half-finished chicken and rice. Ana watched from another table, conversing quietly with Angela's right-hand man, Dr. Rosenberg. Her eyes flicked to him as he entered and tracked him across the floor as he retrieved his own plate of food.
"Come join us, Reyes!" Reinhardt bellowed jovially, his whitening facial hair not entirely hiding his ruddy cheeks. Reyes sat beside McCree, who scrutinized him from beneath the brim of his hat.
"Deal ya in, boss?" McCree asked him.
"No, I'm all right."
"I haven't seen you in a while, Gabriel," Tracer said. She always reminded Reyes of a small, brightly-colored bird, agile and attentive, her high voice almost like chirps. "How have you been?"
Reyes smiled tiredly at her. "I'm all right, Oxton. You?"
"Never been better." She elbowed Reinhardt. "Tell Reyes your joke. Go on!"
Reinhardt chuckled and repeated the joke, and amid gales of fresh laughter from Tracer, he noticed Jesse was still staring at him, chewing pensively on his unlit cigar.
"Stop staring. It's suspicious," he hissed at the cowboy, who shot him a scowl.
"What's that, luv?" Tracer asked breathlessly, wiping tears from her eyes.
"Personal stuff, Lena. Don't worry about it," Reyes told her.
McCree grumbled darkly. Tracer's attention swiveled to him. "Honestly, what is going on with you two?"
"Bit of an argument. Nothin' more." Jesse said, waving the comment away as though it was cigar smoke.
Tracer shrugged. "If you say so." She slouched and picked up her cards. "Let's finish this game sometime in the next year, yeah?" She winked at McCree.
Reyes watched them laugh and shout and bicker over their hands. Reinhardt claimed to have seen her slip a card up her sleeve or back into the deck, which Tracer adamantly denied, though her mischievous smirk gave her away. Reyes listened and watched as the card game wore on, soaking it in as he ate. It was so refreshing to be away from the sterile med-bay and stuffy labs, to just forget his own troubles for a little while. Even his concerned and grumpy subordinate seemed to forget he was there, joining in Reinhardt's accusations of Lena's quick-fingered cheating.
The game ended with Tracer finally admitting to rigging the game by using her abilities to swap out cards she didn't want. Reyes quietly picked up his plate in the commotion and went to the sink to wash it. Ana approached, also carrying her own dish.
"Gabriel," she acknowledged.
"Ana."
"Dr. Ziegler was looking for you." The sniper said gently. "She said you've been avoiding her."
Reyes almost heard the sound of his bubble of normality pop. His soapy fork slipped from his loose fingers and fell into the metal basin with a clang.
"I recommend speaking with her, if only to hear what she has to say. It seemed…rather important." She put a hand on Reyes' shoulder comfortingly.
He sighed irritably. "Fine, I'll speak to her."
"She's in her office."
He reached back into the sink for his plate, but Ana caught his arm.
"You should go. I'll finish your dishes for you."
He numbly let her push him out of the way, wiped his hands on the dish towel, and left. Ana was simply one of those people it was nearly impossible to argue with; she always acted so collected and calm, especially when dealing with stressed-out individuals. Angela had to have told her at least something, damn her. But Ana kept her secrets, and he could trust her to keep quiet about other people's affairs. The fewer people in Overwatch knew, the better. They didn't need the distraction.
He made his way to Ziegler's office. The door sat cracked open, and he heard fevered murmuring coming from inside. He pushed the door aside to reveal a ruffled-looking Angela sitting at her computer chewing on a pen, paperwork piled nearly a foot high over every inch of her desk. Strands of her hair had escaped her tight ponytail and curled around her face, an untouched plate of food laying ignored by her elbow.
"Angela."
She started and scrambled to her feet.
"You know pens aren't edible, right?"
She took the pen out of her mouth and tucked it in a pocket. "Oh, yes. Do come in, Gabriel," she said distractedly, smoothing back her frizzing hair. She hastened to remove another stack of papers from a chair and motioned to it.
Reyes sat. "How much did you tell Amari?"
Her eyes narrowed, her lips thinning at the accusation. "Just that I wanted to talk to you. I wouldn't violate patient confidentiality. You know that."
He glanced away. "Fine. What do you want, then?"
Angela's face softened. "I didn't want to leave you upset a couple days ago, but I couldn't get ahold of you. Are you doing all right?"
He sighed and leaned back. "As well as I can, all things considered." His gaze traveled to one of her little cartoon angel statuettes that Overwatch members insisted on bringing her. It had an oversized head and smile, painted blushing cheeks, squinty eyes and tiny wings. It held a heart between its tiny mitten-like hands. Angela suddenly gasped.
"Gabriel, what happened to your arms?"
He straightened and tried to cover the fading bruises. "Nothing."
She got up and picked up his arm, peering at the healing injuries. "That's not nothing, Gabriel. How old are those?"
He sighed irritably. "Look, I'm getting some other medical help. It's not a big deal, Angela. Really."
She looked up at him, pinning him with the full force of her calculating stare "Who?"
"A genetics specialist. They're just not as skilled as you are with needles." He said, tugging his arm away. He suspected that Moira was as skilled as Angela and the Irish woman just didn't care all that much about being careful, but he would try to deflect Angela's questions and worries as much as possible. There was no way he would willingly tell Angela that Moira O'Deorain was his consult. The knowledge would give the Swiss doctor an aneurysm.
"Be careful, Gabriel. I'm glad you're getting outside help, but altering genetics is a dangerous business," Angela said, concern lacing her voice.
"You worry too much," Reyes countered.
"And you don't worry enough. Besides, that's what I get paid to do." She sat back down. "I've been doing some research for you."
Reyes looked around at the stacks of papers, astonishment washing over him. "All of this?"
She laughed. "Don't flatter yourself, Gabriel. It's not all yours."
He knew what she was implying. Not all, but most of it."Thanks, Doc. I. appreciate it. I really do." He rubbed his forehead. "Look, I'm sorry if I was short with you, but between Torbjorn's threats to leave, Reinhardt's retirement and this," he gestured to the papers, "I…just have a lot on my mind."
"Of course you do. We all do."
"I'm amazed you can concentrate. You're bloody incredible, as Tracer might say."
She shrugged and smiled modestly at the floor. "I just do what keeps me occupied."
"Research. Right." He got to his feet. "Well, keep up the good work. We couldn't do it without you."
"Let me know if you need any information. I'd be glad to give it to you. Get some rest before the mission." She turned back to her computer and put her abused pen back in her mouth, smiling around the plastic.
He snorted "You too. And for gods' sakes, eat something that's actually food!"
VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV
A/N: Yay! Another chapter, and a more lighthearted one at that. See, I can write feel-good stuff. It's just wrapped in and fed by angst.
Also: Holy F**K was it hard to compile a timeline for Overwatch. I looked at multiple character profiles, organization pages, and events to try to accurately put this together, and I don't know how well I did, considering I don't actually own a copy of the game and don't know if there's hidden stuff I'm missing. I did my best, but if you happen to notice any discrepancies please kindly point them out.