This chapter contains descriptions of animal testing. Just a heads-up.

VVVVVVVVVV

Battered, bruised, and still aching from the fighting, Gabriel lifted the mug of D-grade instant coffee to his lips, grimacing as the taste of the brew hit his tongue. Gym socks, Jack had suggested when Gabriel and he had shared a mug of the stuff together one late, late night while waiting for Angela. They use gym socks as the filter. Gabe took another pull of the liquid and grimaced his agreement with this past assessment. All this futuristic technology, from flying cars to flying people (like Angela), and they still couldn't make instant coffee taste any good. Or maybe Overwatch was just skimping on the coffee budget.

Either way, the flavor of the day might be gym-sock-filtered ditch-water, but he needed the caffeine.

He had to know Reinhardt was going to make it.

Angela had been in surgery with the enormous man for the past six hours, not able to share a peep with any of the rest of Overwatch. He scowled into his mug. Goddamned Talon… The automated Bastion shell (probably a stripped unit from the war) had caught them completely off-guard, ripping Reinhardt almost in half and catching himself in the side, tearing a hole in his gut. Compared to Reinhardt, though, he'd gotten off lucky.

He glanced up from his coffee at Torbjorn, the short, stocky man silently glaring into his own mug as though he wished he could drown himself in the bitter drink. Probably blamed himself for the incident. Pity jabbed at him, but Torbjorn was best left alone when he was like this. Gabriel could relate. He wouldn't want his squad-mates reminding him of what had happened so soon, his fault or not.

"How's he doin'?"

Gabriel looked over his shoulder. Jesse had wandered in, pulling his hat off in respect. He shook his head at the cowboy.

"How about you? How are you doin', boss?"

"Don't worry about me. I'll survive."

"Get you a coffee?" Jesse asked, nodding at his nearly-empty mug.

Gabriel grimaced. "Thanks, but no thanks. It sucks. Just warning you."

Jesse shrugged and pulled a mug out of the cabinets. For a long moment there was just the sound of Jesse pouring coffee, punctuated by the sound of the door sliding back. Torbjorn got to his feet, staring at a spot behind Gabriel, who turned and scrambled to his feet.

"Angela."

She leaned heavily on the door-frame. Her hair was spiky and frizzed with static, the circles under her eyes so pronounced it looked like she had gotten punched in both eyes, her white coat rumpled and half-buttoned.

"He'll make it. He's resting now. Rosenberg is looking after him." She staggered into the mess hall and collapsed at a table. She pinched the bridge of her nose, her head drooping inches from the metal surface. Gabriel got up and took a seat next to her.

"Everything all right?"

She shook her head, staring dully at the table. "They're going to force him into retirement. I couldn't stop it. And after all he's done…" Her chin nodded like a bobblehead's. "Gott sei verdammnt…"

Ceramic shattered, and Torbjorn stormed past a second later, his fists clenched. A moment of silence fell over the cafeteria. Jesse approached and placed a steaming mug by her elbow.

"When did you get the message?" Gabriel asked.

"It was just sitting there in my inbox when I got out of surgery. They didn't even wait a day.I know he's getting old," Angela gestured helplessly, "but this is unreasonable. After all he's done for Overwatch and they just want him gone like that…"

"I agree, but maybe you should get some rest, Doc. You've had a hellish sixteen hours," Reyes suggested.

"The understatement of the century," she said with a short, bitter laugh. "And so should the pair of you if you're leaving tomorrow." Her face fell. "I am sorry that I couldn't do more for you, Gabriel. It bothers me sending you off half-healed."

He chuckled. "Don't worry about me. Blackwatch has its own doctors, and I've been cleared by you. So I should be fine." He patted her on the back. "Besides, I'm more worried about you."

"I suppose it is neglectful of myself if I have my own patients worrying about me…" she murmured, her voice thick with exhaustion. Her eyelids drooped.

"Damn right. Now get to bed." He helped her to her feet, gritting his teeth as pain tore through his half-healed side. He winced, but the exhausted doctor didn't notice. He escorted her to the sleeping quarters and wished her good night before finding his own empty bunk and crashing, but couldn't find sleep, thanks to his aching side. He tossed and turned, wondering if he should get his wound checked out, but the image of the critically wounded Reinhardt came swimming into his head, watched over by an equally-exhausted Rosenberg. Let them rest, he figured. They've had a hard day.

The alarm woke him from a half-doze, and he rose, weary and unrested.

VVVVVVVVVVVV

"Commander, you're back. I didn't expect you to return so soon."

"Well, what did you expect?" He asked as Moira returned her attention to the small, fluffy mammal trembling on her lab table.

"Something less expedient, given your injury report. A lacerated small intestine and colon is by no means a minor injury. I would imagine you'd be still in hospital."

"Got lucky. Doc Ziegler got me into surgery early. My injuries were less widespread than Reinhardt's but more severe. He's still recovering, though. Angela spent six and a half hours picking shells out of his gut."

"Indeed," she mused. "I suppose the former is easier to treat, provided the patient gets proper attention." She looked up from the rabbit, which stayed frozen in place, quaking. "You have gotten adequate treatment, haven't you?"

"Yeah, 'course. Why?"

Her mouth and eyebrows twitched in an irritated expression. "Mr. Reyes, I am a doctor. It seems very odd to me how easy it is for you to forget that."

He presented his hands, palms facing her. "Hey, sorry. I guess I just don't connect the two yet. You seem preoccupied with other sciencey stuff."

She leveled a cool, flat look at him. "Considering it's your 'sciencey stuff' I'm working on, I would think you'd have a bit more respect for my projects."

"Speaking of which, how is progress?"

The irritation vanished from her face, replaced by a thin smile. "I was hoping you'd ask, actually." She picked the animal up and carefully stowed it back in its cage, then beckoned him over. "The samples that Overwatch acquired for me were crucial to my work. Now that I have them, I have made swift progress. I've synthesized a cure that might work, but it still needs refinement as of yet. The test subjects show less than nominal responses after treatment, though the SEP serum's damage appears repaired. Replacing one damage with another does you no good, so…," she shrugged, "….testing continues. But I'm getting close."

"Question, Doc."

"Go ahead."

"What's the difference between your methods and the SEP program's?"

She tilted her head, her eyes gleaming. "I knew you were smarter than your compatriots. A very good question to ask." She sat and crossed her legs, looking no less diminished by the action. "If your question was motivated by fear, I'd take offense. But you are very right in asking, and there is a difference, and a rather sizable difference at that." She turned to her computer and pulled up his files. "You received more injections at the SEP program than at any point in your life, including childhood, and not all of those injections were the SEP vector. They threw a huge amount of different enhancement cocktails into the mix, which I imagine is why different candidates had different reactions. No control group, no isolated variables, just varying doses of the SEP vector inflamed by the enhancement injections." She shook her head. "All they needed was an elite fighting force, and they did away with standard testing procedures in the process. Understandable in the moment, but utterly flawed. It's a wonder more of their candidates weren't killed. You and Commander Morrison got very lucky, and we both understand the result of your 'good luck'." She glanced at him. "I, on the other hand, make it a point to understand every variable in my work and how that might affect the outcome. That is why I dare to push the speed of my progress. There may be a lot of moving pieces in my projects, but I know how and why they move on a molecular level. And I use that knowledge."

Gabriel blinked, taken aback. "You read the records?"

"Of course I did."

He gaped at her. "But there was…I don't know, a couple dictionaries' worth of information in there, and I wasn't gone on mission that long."

"I read enough to get some idea of what was going on inside your body and why you are feeling sick, and as I have previously mentioned, I'm making progress on a cure."

One of the machines chimed, prompting Moira to stand. He watched her pop open the top of a centrifuge and pull out slim vial after slim vial of a cloudy substance.

"How long, do you think?"

"Until the cure is ready?" She hummed thoughtfully. "I cannot say with any certainty. But, if you help me with these tests, it will save me time."

He snorted, tossing up his hands defensively. "You might want to find someone else then, Doc. I don't know the first thing about any of your high-level science stuff."

"And you don't have to. All I need is an extra pair of hands for a few minutes."

"Sounds like you need an assistant," he suggested, watching her as she loaded one of the vials into a syringe gun with a ringing snap.

"Don't be skittish, Commander. I function better when I work alone most of the time, and it's only rarely I require a little extra help. I could do this myself, but tasks like this simply go faster when you have two people."

He sighed. "Fine, but this is the weirdest thing that anyone on base has ever asked me for."

"I'm not surprised." She gestured to the sink, and he washed his hands as she crossed to the cage and pulled out a rabbit. She showed him how to hold the animal, then passed it across to him. Its warm, soft weight pressed against his hands, its nose wiggling a bit. It shifted a little in his arms, its legs pressing against him, erasing any notion that this was simply a hyper-realistic animatronic. He ran a hand through its silky-soft fur.

She bent over the animal, pinching a roll of fur on its leg with one hand and leveling the needle to its hide with the other. The rabbit suddenly kicked in his arms as Moira injected it, squirming in discomfort.

"Next," Moira announced without preamble. He sighed, looked down at the little animal, and returned it to its cage before picking up the next one, which was spotted like a dairy cow. It swiveled its ears as he picked it up, turning its head curiously.

"You're kinda cute, aren't you?" He told the rabbit.

"Do not name the lab animals, Reyes." Moira's voice snapped across the lab, her tone deadly serious.

"Why? Worried you might get attached?" He asked, nestling the animal securely on the table.

"I'm concerned about yougetting attached. I wouldn't want you to feel guilty about any casualties," she told him. "I know how some people get, particularly people like you. So attached to their pets…" She shook her head, deftly administering the serum. Fur shifted beneath his fingers as the rabbit squirmed. He stroked it, trying to comfort it, and returned it to its cage before picking up a slightly smaller third rabbit. It struggled in his arms.

"They're getting nervous. The smell of blood riles them up. Hold them tightly," Moira advised, reloading her syringe gun. He looked down at the little furball in his arms, feeling like he should apologize as he placed it on the table, trying not to crush it.

"Ouch!"

He flinched at the sudden pain in his hand, and the rabbit wriggled free, bounding across the table. He leaped forward, trying to wrangle the animal, and his wounded side caught the corner of the table.

Blinding pain shot through him, and he crumpled with a strangled groan. He heard Moira scrambling around nearby, then she was suddenly there again, bending over him, peeling back his shirt. She tsked when she saw the bandages and stood up. He curled around himself, watching through a haze as she washed and gloved her hands, then returned to his side.

"You could have told me you were still healing," she scolded.

"Wasn't important," he grunted, cradling his wound.

"Do you still feel that way?" she asked, her tone mocking. He didn't respond. "Stubborn man. I take it Angela released you only half-healed? That seems exceptionally neglectful of her."

"She was busy. Told her it was fine." The pain was receding, but the injury still hurt fiercely.

"You should have come to me the second you got back. I can heal this. Can you stand?"

"Yeah."

She helped him off the floor and onto the padded table.

"Didn't want to bother you. Didn't think it was worth it," he mumbled.

"You shouldn't have to live in pain, Commander. Let me fix it," she offered.

He sighed and nodded, his heart pattering against his ribs. He wasn't entirely sure if he wanted her treatment, but he supposed it would be a good test of her actual doctor skills…

She helped him pull his shirt off, then peeled back the wad of gauze covering the wound. The line of half-healed raw flesh wept small ruby tears.

"Shouldn't I get this checked out up in med-bay if you're worried about it?" He asked.

"If your inner stitches had split, Commander, you'd know. Given you're not in that much pain and you aren't bleeding that badly, I think it's safe to say I can fix this without having to reopen the wound." She pulled a few small vials full of golden liquid and a clean syringe from a cabinet. "This will sting, but only for a moment."

"That's the same stuff Angela uses," Reyes noted, the concerned tension in his muscles dissipating. He knew what this stuff did, and it was damn effective.

"Dr. Ziegler uses the same nanobiotics I do," the Irish woman corrected, measuring a syringe full. Warmth crept into his cheeks. Right. Ziegler's first-response tech was actually inspired by Moira's work, not the other way around.

She pushed him flat on the table and swabbed a spot just to the left of his injury. "Try to relax. You may want to hold onto something."

He looked up at the ceiling and gritted his teeth as Moira's needle pierced his belly. His insides seemed to fill with live ants as she pushed the biotic solution into his wound, and his fingers clenched around the sides of the table. He grunted and writhed, fighting every instinct to scratch. After an endless moment, though, the feeling that his insides had become home to a nest of fire ants lessened, and his breathing eased. He craned his head to look at his abdomen. The bleeding was already slowing, the redness fading along with the pain. He let out a breath as Moira inspected her work, gave the wound a quick cleaning with an alcohol wipe, then slapped a new bandage on.

"The rabbit bit you, didn't it? That is why you jumped?" She asked, turning her attention to his bleeding hand.

"Yeah."

"I told you to hold…nevermind." She waved the comment away. "Let me see."

"It's fine, Doc."

"You haven't worked in pathology. Let me see," she insisted.

He allowed her to clean and bandage his finger as well, feeling embarrassment burn through him. The last time he'd gotten treated like this, he was maybe eleven, and his mother was fussing about a deep scratch he'd gotten from the cat.

"Tell me if you develop a fever," Moira told him, handing back his shirt.

He grimaced. "I could have caught something from your rabbits?"

"It's a possibility," she said nonchalantly, stripping off her gloves. "I haven't been researching anything particularly dangerous, but I'm not exactly sure what the live SEP vector transferred from rabbit to human will do."

"Did you catch your rabbit, then?" He asked, glancing at the apparently-full cages across the room.

"Yes, it's contained. And I'll want samples from you tomorrow because of this incident. It may complicate my work."

He slipped his shirt back on with a sigh, his gaze flickering back over the rabbits. "Should I stay and help?"

"I think you've 'helped' quite enough already," Moira said, one eyebrow rising in a disdainful expression. "I'm perfectly capable of doing the rest on my own."

"I mean, don't they get a treat or something for what they put up with?"

She pinched the bridge of her nose, her expression annoyed. "You may come back tomorrow and give them a treat if I cannot dissuade you. If I fed them a carrot a piece for every round of injections I gave them, they would be morbidly obese."

He winced at the thought of how many times the animals found themselves on the wrong end of Moira's tests. "Fair enough." He got off the table, secretly glad of the opportunity to escape the onerous duty of being Moira's lab assistant.

"Get some rest, Commander. Doctor's orders."

As the door whispered closed behind him, he thought he heard the geneticist mutter the word children under her breath.

VVVVVVVVVVVVV

A/N: This was a fun chapter. Can't say I expected to publish again so soon, but hopefully you guys enjoyed it.

Until next time! (though it may be a while)

SB