Built of Metal

by SuperCeia

The London-based Overwatch team acquire three new agents on the cusp of an emerging omnic threat, and Angela feels like she's the only one giving Junkrat a chance.

9. Chapter 9

There's a small window in the door, and Angela is apprehensive when she peers through it. She holds her breath, as she has done every other time she's come to check on him, only to release it with a smile.

Zenyatta is sitting upright in his bed. The lights on his face are as bright and blue as they were when she visited him this morning, and even though there are a dozen different wires plugged into his hands they're folded serenely in his lap. Genji is in a chair beside him, leaning over slightly and talking enthusiastically despite the bags under his eyes. Angela knocks twice before entering, not wanting to barge in unannounced. Both of them turn to face her, and her shoulders soften at the smile she gets from Genji. Up until yesterday her visits usually meant further cause for concern, but now he seems comforted by her presence, pleased to see her rather than afraid.

"How's everyone doing?" she asks quietly.

"Very well, thank you," Zen says. Angela steps up to his bedside, needing to ensure that the wires are adequately connected to him. He reaches out easily when she goes to take his hands.

"Any further symptoms at all?" she asks, realigning a couple that've gone slightly loose.

"None whatsoever," he tells her. This correlates with the steady stream of numbers Angela's been watching on her tablet all day, and she sighs, a relieved and tired sound.

"Thank goodness."

After six long days and six even longer nights, Angela's hard work finally paid off in the early hours of yesterday morning. She was able to extract the mutated virus from Zenyatta's code and bring him out of his induced coma, and she's been very pleased to report to Winston that, so far, all signs point to this extraction being a resounding success. They're not out of the woods just yet, but Zenyatta is conscious and well, and at the moment this is enough to maintain Angela's sanity after a truly horrendous week.

"How long has he been out for?" she asks, nodding over to Jesse. He's in the chair next to Genji, fast asleep with his arms folded and his mouth hanging open. Genji glances across at him and chuckles.

"Maybe… forty minutes? I'm not sure," he says. "Oi."

He shakes Jesse's shoulder, who snorts out an alarmed sound but doesn't wake up, just sort of jolts and shifts in his chair. Genji grins at him, and Angela is surprised to see that his hand lingers on Jesse's shoulder a little longer than she was expecting.

"He's okay," Genji says, pulling away but still looking at him. "Heavy sleeper, I think."

"I expect he needs the rest," Angela says. Every time she's seen Genji this week, pacing the corridors of the medical department or here in Zenyatta's wardroom, Jesse has been with him. She hadn't given it much thought - was simply happy to see that he was being taken care of - but she can't remember them being this close while they were Japan.

"Are you alright?" Zenyatta asks her suddenly, bringing her out of thought.

Angela laughs. It's a loaded question, and one she can't provide an honest answer to right now.

"Yes, thank you. I'll be even better when I've found a solution to all of this, though." She smiles at Zenyatta, something not entirely forced but not entirely natural either. "In the meantime, I'm just happy to see that you're recovering."

Angela conducts her usual tests and leaves once she's satisfied with the results, though not before reminding Genji that he needs to get some decent rest as well. He's probably slept even less than she has this past week.

The relief of Zenyatta's continued recovery is potent, a burst of joy that spreads out of her chest and has her smiling on her way out of the ward. Unfortunately, it's also a very brief feeling. The worst may be over but now her real work begins - decoding the virus, patching it, and preventing any other omnics from being infected by it again. She spent all of yesterday monitoring Zenyatta, so now that she's checked in on him for the second time today her plan is to get right back to work.

Angela is exhausted. Knackered, according to Lena, who brought up her lunch earlier today. She's emotionally drained from carrying the dead weight of Zenyatta's coma around with her all week, and physically drained from so many sleepless nights with the shadow of jetlag hanging over her. But she's grateful to have something else to throw herself into, distractions in the form of reports to write and research to conduct. Anything that might take her mind off the other dead weight that's been sitting in her stomach. Anything, anything at all, that isn't thinking about him.

She stops when she comes to her office. After being shackled to her desk for the last six days, Angela isn't sure that she can face spending any more time caged up in there. She nips inside to exchange her tablet for her laptop, and then she's leaving the medical department for the first time all week, bypassing the elevators and heading straight through to engineering instead. Not only is it a much bigger space than her office, the shared research area is also far more comfortable, with a couple of couches in one corner to counteract all the desktop computers and office tables filling the rest of it. While it isn't windowed, Angela needs to sit somewhere that isn't clinical. She's been too busy staring at a multitude of screens to look out of the windows in Zenyatta's room and her own office anyway.

Hopefully the research area will be unoccupied this evening. It usually is. The engineering grads tend to use their personal laptops rather than the site-based desktops, and they spend most of their time in the workshop anyway – the workshop Angela's gone out of her way to avoid, that she's only just realised she has to walk past, now.

Shit. She hesitates, standing at the foot of the corridor that leads down to the research area. It seems like a frighteningly long distance because the workshop walls are comprised of huge glass panels, allowing anyone passing by to see everything and everyone working inside. Angela has totally avoided this place for the last week because she knows that he'll probably be in there, that he might see her walking past if he so happens to be looking up. But she really, really needs a change of scenery – and there's this tiny, awful part of her that almost wants him to see her, too.

Angela takes a steadying breath and walks forward. She holds herself upright, resisting the temptation to look across by focusing instead on the health and safety poster at the end of the corridor, by the entrance to the workshop itself. The clacking of her heels is uncomfortably loud despite the noise coming from inside, and she feels exposed, certain that there are eyes on her as she walks past the workshop. She doesn't know if they're his, but her heart is thumping, and Angela walks quickly because she's afraid of inadvertently making eye contact or, worse still, bumping into him.

Thankfully she doesn't bump into anyone on her way, and when she turns the corridor it's an enormous relief to see that the research area is unoccupied after all. It's wonderful to be sitting on something soft when she drops down onto one of the couches, but she needs to start working, a distraction from the thoughts looming over her. She opens the laptop to find the screen black. Pushing the power button yields nothing – must've run out of power. Shit, she thinks again, instantly mad with herself. Forgot to grab the charger as well.

Angela stares at her reflection. The darkness of it is flattering, which is both depressing and hilarious because the woman reflected back at her looks absolutely dreadful. It doesn't matter though, not really. Tonight she can start catching up on sleep again - can finally go home and put some decent clothing on, peel off the unwashed slacks she's been living in all week.

Closing the laptop, she crosses her arms over it and leaves it in her lap. A physical dead weight, this time. She can't face going back for the charger. Should've thought to bring it with her, but forgetting it like this is just another symptom of her tiredness. So many people have told her to go home this week that she can accept she's probably overdone it, but it's so easy for them when they're not doctors – when they don't have patients lying unconscious under their care.

The only other piece of tech she has to hand is her phone, which is good for checking work emails and little else. Angela's barely touched it. No point really - she hasn't had any time to text anyone, though she supposes she does now.

No. She stuffs it back in her pocket. Frustrated, she tilts her head back and winces at the way her neck clicks, how stiff her shoulders feel from her inability to unwind. Her face creases up even more then, and suddenly the sob she's been holding in all day bubbles into the back of her throat. Don't, she tells herself, squeezing her eyes shut. Don't you dare.

The feeling ebbs after a moment, blunted again where it was sharp. Only a few more hours at work and she can go home. Angela tries to relax into the couch, keep her eyes closed and embrace the quietness of the room. Now that she's sitting down she's too exhausted to think, much less cry. Probably best to have a little nap, perhaps half an hour or so. Then she could go and get the charger. Start working again. Keep busy.

"Angie?"

It's a deep voice coming from somewhere beside her. There's a hand on her shoulder with a comforting weight to it that makes Angela stir, and she smiles, warmed all over by it.

"Angela? Come on now, lass, wake up."

Her eyes crack open. Angela's heart sinks when she realises she misheard – that the voice belongs to Torbjörn, who pats her shoulder as her head lifts up.

"That's it, attagirl," he says. He's leaning over her, wearing his coat like he's about to leave.

"Sorry," she says, croaky. "Must've dozed off."

Torbjörn makes a disapproving sound. "Think you've been in here almost four hours now."

"What?" she asks, panicked. "What time is it?"

"Coming up to nine o'clock," Torbjörn tells her, nodding his head over at the clock hanging on the wall.

Four hours? Angela grimaces. Not again, she thinks, joints clicking as she gradually pulls herself up. Admittedly the only proper rest she's had all week has been through passing out like this, but it's disheartening to realise that taking what was supposed to be a brief nap means she's wasted four hours of potential progress. Well, at least she won't have any keyboard indents on her face this time, and the couch is certifiably more comfortable than her desk.

"What're you doing here so late?" she asks him, rubbing her eyes. "Shouldn't you be home by now?"

"I could ask you the same thing!" Torbjörn huffs. "Had some work that needed doing. Good thing I saw you, was about to lock you in here for the rest of the night."

"Wouldn't have been such a bad thing," Angela says, managing a smile at him. "I was actually planning on going home but now it doesn't seem worth it, seeing as I've managed to waste so much time."

Her head feels swampy from napping for too long. Angela glances around for her laptop only to curse when she notices it on the floor, disappointed that the clatter it would've made when it fell clearly wasn't enough to wake her up. She darts down to grab it, dizzy from the quick movement when she pulls it into her lap. Torbjörn scowls at her, folding his arms.

"I thought Zenyatta was all better now," he says.

"He is, but I need to find a patch so it won't happen again."

Torbjörn is so short that he's about level with her eyes where she's sitting on the couch. Angela offers him another smile, something brighter as she's slightly more awake, and his scowl eases off.

"Hmm. Well, seeing as you're here, how about a nice cup of cocoa, eh? I'm more than happy to make you one before I go, wouldn't mind one m'self."

"I should really get back to work," she says, shaking her head. This is one of the more polite attempts to get her to have a break, but it's still second nature to decline it. She wilts when Torbjörn's scowl returns.

"Sorry, Angela, but that doesn't wash with me." He leans in to pat her shoulder again, harder this time, encouraging her to move. "Come on, a cuppa cocoa'll do ya the world of good."

She doesn't have the energy to fight him on this. Could probably use a drink, anyway.

"Well… alright," she says, pushing up onto her feet. Torbjörn turns to leave but when she goes to move with him Angela freezes. The kitchen is back towards the landing area where engineering meets medical, meaning they'll have to go past the workshop again.

"Wait," she says. "Is the - have you locked the workshop, too?"

Torbjörn arches an eyebrow at her.

"Not just yet, no. Still being used."

"I didn't realise the graduates stayed this late," she says, walking with him.

"Don't be silly, they leave at the same time as everyone else!" he laughs, locking the door behind them. "There's only one other person daft enough to pull the same late nights as you."

Oh. When she was in Japan she always assumed his late nights were because he simply preferred staying up, not because he was at headquarters working all evening. If she'd known – if he'd told her – she would've worried, told him not to work so late.

"I see," she says, quietly.

Torbjörn leads them down the corridor. Dread fills her stomach, and Angela hugs her laptop to her chest as they walk together, feeling him there in the corner of her eye, the only person left in the workshop. Before she can stop herself she looks over, just a quick glance, wanting to see him, wanting to know he's there.

Jamie is there. He's on his own. All of the lights are off except for the one above his bench, and he's holding one of his grenades, squinting at it with a soldering iron in hand. There are dark circles under his eyes and his hair is limp, like he hasn't bothered washing it in a while. He's in that orange hoodie again, the one from Japan, but it's much dirtier than the last time she saw him wearing it. Angela is about to look away the moment Jamie glances up, and her heart stops when their eyes meet, when he straightens up and just – looks at her.

It hurts that it's been a week since he slammed the door shut. It hurts that she hasn't known what to say to him, that they haven't texted, haven't smiled, haven't acknowledged each other. It hurts that he looks so tired, that she can't just walk in there and wipe his face, pull him close. That she still wants to, even now, even after all those awful things he said.

What hurts most of all, though, is when Jamie is the first to break their gaze and scowl back down at what he was doing, almost like he'd never seen her at all.

She's trembling when they come to the kitchen, grateful to be sitting down again while Torbjörn busies himself pouring out their cocoa. The sob is back at the base of her throat, and when Torbjörn puts their mugs down her eyes prickle with the threat of tears.

"Thank you," she says, before drowning the need to cry with a generous gulp of cocoa. It's thick and sweet, a reminder of the hot chocolate her father used to make when she was a child. She doesn't drink sweet things like this very often, but it's nice every now and again, a rare and comforting treat.

Torbjörn plonks himself down in the seat next to her.

"You've been sleeping in that bloody ward all week, haven't you," he says, more of a statement than a question. Angela nods, cupping the mug in both hands. She hasn't left headquarters at all since Zenyatta was admitted.

"Sort of," she says. "It's been easier to sleep at my desk, to be honest."

"Knew you've been overdoing it," Torbjörn mutters, shaking his head.

"Of course I have," she says, almost laughing. "Everyone's been telling me to go home, to – I don't know, take breaks and get more rest. I don't think they understand that I have a duty of care to uphold."

"Aye, that's true," Torbjörn says. "But you've got a duty of care to y'self as well, which you seem to have forgotten."

Angela opens her mouth to object to this, but stops, knowing that unfortunately he's right.

"The most important thing has been getting Zenyatta well again," she says instead. Torbjörn hmms sceptically.

"Then why are you still like this even though he's alright?"

Angela is beginning to feel uncomfortable. "I told you already, it's not over yet."

"The worst of it is," he counters, easily. "C'mon, Angela, how long've we known each other now? Ten, eleven years?"

She shifts in her seat, having an idea of where this is going. Angela tries to ignore Torbjörn's knowing look by staring down at the swirled liquid in her mug.

"Twelve," she says, reluctantly.

"Right. Think I can tell when there's something wrong," he says. Angela bristles, feeling his eyes on her like a spotlight. "Now then, are you going to tell me what's really been getting you down, or do I have to guess? Because I've got a pretty good idea already, seeing as the other half of your problem has been such a bloody nightmare all week."

Angela glances up at him, worry knifing her stomach.

"You mean - Jamie?" she says, before she can stop herself. Torbjörn's eyebrows lift up.

"Oh, he's Jamie now, is he?" he asks, grinning.

Being teased stirs something unbearable inside her, making her grimace. Angela looks down again. She thought she'd done a good job of hiding all of this, and has no idea what to say to him. She doesn't want to say anything – doesn't want anyone to know about her crush, not really - but by the sound of it she doesn't have to. This exhausting week and the kind offer of cocoa have weakened her enough for Torbjörn to see right through her, apparently.

"Anyway, yes, Jamie or Junkrat, whichever," he says. "Have you two had a falling out?"

Looks like she has to bite the bullet on this one. Angela sighs. "I suppose you could say that," she says, sounding as fragile as she feels to finally be discussing this. "We haven't spoken all week."

"Ah," Torbjörn says. "I know he's been looking forward to seeing you again. What happened?"

She must be even more of a fool than she thought to feel guilty, hearing this.

"I was looking forward to seeing him, too. We'd made - plans, outside of work, but then Zenyatta was admitted, and…" Angela frowns. "He said some truly terrible things about him."

Remembering this almost makes her grateful for the anger it induces, as it immediately dissolves her guilt. She hasn't devoted any time to processing her argument with Jamie, having used every distraction possible to avoid it, but now that she's thinking about what he said the anger is boiling at the surface, a powerful reminder of why they're not talking.

"I see." Torbjörn takes a sip of cocoa. "I expect he was worried about you working y'self to death trying to get him fixed."

"It- I know that," she says. "But he should've understood that medical emergencies take priority, regardless of who is involved. Nor does it excuse what he said."

"Well, I don't know what he said," Torbjörn sighs, "but you have to understand where he's coming from."

"I do understand," Angela says, frowning at him now, hands gripped into fists either side of her mug. "I know he's gone through a lot, I understand why he feels the way he does, but that's no excuse for him to have said such awful things about Zenyatta. About one of our own!"

"With all due respect, Angela, I don't think you do understand," Torbjörn says, reaching out to put his hand over hers. "For you, what happened in Australia was something to read about in the news. That was his home. His life."

Angela takes a breath, thinking she has something to say to this, but – she doesn't. Torbjörn looks at her evenly.

"You've had very different upbringings, come from very different backgrounds. I know you've lost plenty in your time, but so has he. Think what you will, but of course he's going to have reservations about 'em. Even with our Zen being the best example of their goodness."

In all the time she's known Jamie, Angela doesn't think she's ever given their differences any thought. It's just felt natural for him to be part of the team, to be someone she's connected with regardless of where he's come from, what he's done. In the beginning she remembers her concern about his lack of family history – remembers that it was something she wanted to discuss – but obviously that never happened. She was so pleased with herself for being able to look past the things that turned Lena off Jamie so quickly, but suddenly Angela feels like a wall is crumbling, a wall she hadn't even realised was there.

"But… he said – he called him scrap metal," she says, trying to reason, trying to justify herself. "That he didn't care if he was in a coma."

Angela's breathing is shallow. Don't cry, she tells herself when Torbjörn squeezes her hand. If you start now, you'll never stop.

"Aye, I'm sure he did. Sounds like the sort of thing I've said many a time m'self," he says. "Surely you haven't forgotten the arguments we used to have back when you first joined, have you? When you made it your bloody mission to stop my turrets?"

She puffs out a laugh. "That feels like a very long time ago."

"That's because it was, but also because y'don't have to agree on everything with everyone you meet. We're still friends despite all that, aren't we?"

"Of course we are," she says softly, having to reach up and wipe the corner of her eyes. Torbjörn squeezes her hand again.

"Been married to Ingrid for more than thirty years now, Angela. She feels the same way as you. Drives me nuts, having her fawn over those bloody things!" he huffs, shaking his head. "We still have fallings out over it even now, would you believe!"

Angela's eyes widen. She's known Torbjörn's wife almost as long as she's known him, having visited his family in Sweden multiple times over the years, but she never imagined them arguing about such a divisive topic.

"Really?"

"Really," he says, grinning at her. "But I don't love her any less for it. And she doesn't love me any less, either. It's all part of caring about someone, having your disagreements and accepting one another despite 'em."

He releases her hand to take another sip of cocoa from his WORLD'S NO.1 DAD mug. Angela sits quietly, a cold and heavy weight pooling in her stomach. It may have been wrong for Jamie to say what he said, but it's frightening to think that she could've been this blinded by her ignorance - that she hasn't actually been nearly as understanding and accepting of him as she thought.

"At the end of the day, yes, he should've understood that you've got certain obligations," Torbjörn says, putting his mug down again. "But he's also not going to get over a lifetime of fear in the blink of an eye, no matter how highly he thinks of you. 'Cause he does, y'know."

"I doubt he does now," Angela says, too wracked with guilt to be happy that Jamie apparently likes her enough for Torbjörn to have noticed. "I told him I didn't want to see him anymore."

"And he said some nasty stuff about our Zen, so it works both ways, doesn't it? He might be… a bit of a handful, at times, but he's a good lad. And I know where he's coming from. Judging by how miserable he's been all week I'd say it's bothering him as much as it's bothering you."

This makes her feel even worse. Angela sighs, a shuddering sound as she wonders how on earth she's going to go about fixing this.

"Is… has he been alright?" she asks, quietly. Torbjörn blows out a long breath and leans back in his chair.

"Oh aye, prior to all this he's been grand! Had a few blips here and there but that Junkrat's got a good head on his shoulders when he can focus."

Angela almost smiles. It's comforting to know that her recommendation wasn't in vain, at least.

"What, um. What's he been working on?" she asks hesitantly, wanting to ask so much more than this. God, she's been such a fool.

"Oh, this n'that. Seems to enjoy himself most of all when he's playing around with those mines of his," Torbjörn says. "Took his upgraded versions over to Japan with him. Sounds like they served their purpose well, too!"

"They – yes, they did indeed." It doesn't seem real that he rescued her. Seems more like it was Junkrat saving Mercy, her other, better self – the one who hadn't managed to spectacularly hurt his feelings. She grips her mug, swallowing against the tide of sadness creeping up her throat.

"After you lot came back he was keen as mustard, asking me about your Valkyrie suit of all things," Torbjörn says. Angela blinks at him, stunned.

"My suit?"

"Aye. He asked on his first day back, said he wanted to have a look at the wings. Had you told him about that research you'd started?"

"I – no, I don't believe so." Angela was researching wing fortification back in July, based on the notion of giving herself a little more autonomy with the power of flight. She hadn't looked into it much before all her time was taken up with the new recruits. Jamie didn't mention anything like this to her, though she supposes he didn't really have an opportunity to do so, seeing as she ignored all of his texts last Monday and Tuesday. Another wonderful move on her part.

"I got one of your spare suits out ready for him but come Wednesday he wasn't having any of it." Torbjörn groans, dragging his hand over his face. "My god he's been hard work. Storming off, throwing things about the place. Didn't want to know when I tried giving him things to do. Nightmare!"

"That's my fault," Angela says, smiling sadly. Torbjörn grabs her hand again, giving it a shake.

"Nonsense, this is a two way street! I've seen for m'self what he's like! You've been under a heck of a lotta stress and that temper of his is the last thing you needed!"

The tears are welling up again, more this time, too many to contain. Angela is proud of herself for not sobbing but when a few tears spill over her face creases up. Torbjörn gets out of his chair and tugs her against him, his long beard soft against her cheek.

"Ohhh, come on, Angela, don't be upset," he says softly, patting her head. "I'm sorry for sticking my nose in. We're all worried about you. Don't like seeing you like this. And I know for a fact he cares about you."

Angela's shoulders heave from the effort it takes to restrain herself. She does, though, gripping his arms where he's holding her and just quietly allowing some tears to fall. Torbjörn lets go of her when she's a little more composed, and he dashes over to the counter to grab a square of kitchen towel.

"Come now, dry those tears," he says kindly, offering it to her.

"Thank you," she whispers, dabbing her eyes with a weak smile.

"Listen, go home and get yourself some rest. You know you can come in whenever, no need to clock in early. Think you've probably earned yourself a week off after all this."

"Really, thank you," she says again, louder and with a firmer smile. "It's – I really appreciate it."

"I know you do, lass. Sometimes it's best to get these things out," he says, squeezing her shoulder. "We'll see you right."

Torbjörn rubs her back, a comforting and fatherly motion that eases some of her sadness. She walks with him to the elevators to bid him goodnight, and when Angela returns to her office she's very grateful to have found a family here despite having no blood relatives left. There's no replacement for her father, but with someone like Torbjörn looking out for her the gap that's left doesn't feel quite so big - nor so painful, either.

A storm of indescribable emotion crashes inside her as she grabs her house keys. There's a temptation to see Jamie tonight, right now, but she needs time to reflect before she can risk talking to him again. Angela tugs the belt on her coat tight around her when she exits headquarters, tilting her head upwards as a cold rush of November air hits her for the first time this year. It's refreshing, but she wants to get home now, back to the comfort of her own bed. She doesn't feel the need to cry anymore, thankfully. She's probably cried enough throughout the week, lying in that damned ward bed thinking of Jamie's stricken face whenever she's tried to sleep.

The carriage lights in the train are harsh, too similar to the ones in the medical department. Angela has a headache when she's home, the house chilled from the autumnal temperature drop, and she takes a shower, keeping the en-suite lights off and enjoying the hot water in darkness while she scrubs off a week's worth of stress. It's midnight when she's in bed, but her sleeping schedule is ruined thanks to all the overtime she's done so it doesn't feel particularly late. Angela really needs to rest, though, and with the house being so cold she doesn't feel like staying awake to agonise over what she should and shouldn't have said. That's a job for tomorrow, when the guilt will hopefully have settled into something constructive.

She shivers, pulling the covers around her. It's only when she turns to switch the bedside lamp off that her attention is drawn to the aircon unit. Ah, yes. She wasn't even able to use it due to the suddenness of her deployment, but there it is, patched up with green tape and adorned with that scary smiley face, the one she missed so much while she was in Japan. It's the same smiley face that was sewn over the shoulder on Jamie's hoodie, in fact, when they were on that crowded train together. When he'd held her against him, kissed her hair.

Angela stares at it. Those units should be capable of outputting heated air, too. She takes the remote to switch it on and adjust the settings and sure enough the bedroom warms up in minutes. It's whirring a little louder than it should but blowing out a steady stream of warmth.

Even now, she thinks, hand pressed to her chest as she sits up in bed. Even now Jamie's doing something for her without even knowing it. The whirring, the stickers – they're all permanent reminders even while she's here at home of how much he cared. Cares, if everything Torbjörn told her is true. She just can't believe that so much time has passed between then and now and while so much has changed it feels like nothing has at all.

Angela grabs her phone. She takes a picture of the unit, making sure the sticker is clearly visible, and opens up her texts with Jamie for the first time in days. She attaches the photo and quickly types out a caption beneath it.

I came home and the house was freezing. Of course, I've only just realised that it can be used for heating as well as cooling. I'm so happy that you put the sticker on it after all, because now I can look at it every night as a reminder of when you came to visit me and how much fun I had that day.

Thank you x

While she's writing Angela worries if it's too much, if it's not enough. But the need to send it is overwhelming, so she does, immediately, no hesitation. He doesn't reply, but Jamie looks at it instantly according to the read receipt, and that's enough for her, tonight. Angela puts her phone down and resolves to figure out how she's going to approach this in the morning. She's sure it's salvageable. She just needs a little bit of time to get there, that's all.

Her senior position in Overwatch allows her to work flexible hours, but it feels strange to come in at lunchtime the next day - stranger still to be running on a solid eight hours of sleep. She's amazed how a single night of rest can have such an instant and uplifting effect, though. The dead weight in her stomach is lighter today than it has been all week.

Angela kept an eye on her phone throughout the morning, sort of wondering if she might've heard back from Jamie. Nothing has come through yet, but her emotions from yesterday – from the entire week, really – are still quite raw. Hopefully Jamie will reply in his own time, but she isn't in the right frame of mind to approach him just yet anyway

Attending Zen is her first job of the day. Genji is disappointed to hear that he will remain ward-bound until there is an adequate fix for the virus, but Zen accepts this news graciously. Angela has a brief chat with Jesse as well, catching him on his way up from lunch. He's carrying two takeout boxes with him. Angela isn't hungry herself, appetite still diminished from everything that's happened, but she'll get something substantial later on once she's made a start on work. There are plenty of grads in the workshop, but Jamie isn't in there when she walks past. He's probably having lunch.

The research area is empty once again today, and with her laptop and charger in tow she settles on the same couch, ready to immerse herself in deconstructing the virus. Although she finds it much easier to focus on work she ends up napping again after a few hours, so comfortable that she just curls up on the couch. She's groggy when she wakes up, but she hasn't napped for as long this time and apparently she had the foresight to lock and close her laptop, leave it beside her rather than let it clatter on the floor. She's hungry, too, a good sign that her body is gradually getting back to normal after being deprived of adequate rest and fuel.

Angela stands and stretches. She's wondering what to eat when she notices a brown paper bag and a tall takeout coffee cup on one of the desks. There's no sign of anyone else having come in here, no other belongings in sight, and an inexplicable warmth bursts inside her when she walks over to take a look.

There's no note, no receipt. The cup is branded – it's a store bought coffee from Lena's favourite chain, the shop across the road from headquarters. Angela smiles, thinking it's from her, but when she peeks inside the paper bag there's a pastry inside that makes her double-take.

It's an apple turnover. Angela's favourite, her secret indulgence, and it's been bought from her favourite bakery here in the city. There's only one person she's ever told about this and even then it was a text sent late at night while she was in Japan, a passing mention of a home comfort she'd been craving all day.

The inexplicable warmth blossoms, and she grabs the coffee cup. When Angela turns it and finds a scary smiley face drawn on the side with a marker pen she breathes out a laugh. The coffee is milky and sweet, sweeter than what she'd usually buy for herself, and it's tepid, so he must've left it here some time ago. Angela downs it anyway because she needs the sugar, the sweetness of this impossibly thoughtful gesture. The bite she takes from the turnover afterwards is all rich pastry, fresh cream and tart apple, and it's even tastier knowing he went out of his way to get it. Heaven on her empty stomach and a painful squeeze on her heart at the same time.

Angela needs a few minutes when she's polished off the turnover, mostly to let it go down but also to contain the overwhelming swell of – of everything she's feeling right now. There're no messages from him when she checks her phone, but this is far better than any text he could send. After she's collected herself she rushes outside to find him, wanting to see if he's in the workshop. There's still no sign of him, sadly. All of the workshop lights are off, just a few grads lingering by the door in their coats.

"Hi, Miss Ziegler!" one of them says when Angela approaches, a young woman with bobbed hair and glasses. The young men she's standing with look a bit awestruck, though they offer a greeting when she smiles.

"Hello," she says, looking between them. "I don't suppose any of you know where, ah, Mr. Fawkes is, do you?"

Angela doesn't think she's ever referred to him as Mr. Fawkes before. It's apparently odd for the grads to hear this, too, as it takes them a moment to remember who he is.

"Oh, yes!" says the girl. "Sorry, we're so used to calling him Junkrat. I think he's gone home early today. Torby – er, Mr. Lindholm will be locking up soon."

The disappointment from hearing this is quickly outweighed by relief. Hopefully he's left early to compensate for all these late nights he's supposedly been doing.

"Then, in that case, would you possibly mind directing me to his workstation?" Angela asks.

"He tends to grab any free bench but his actual desk area is that one over in the corner," says one of the boys, pointing over to it.

She thanks them and heads inside, switching on the lights. There's a bench towards the back that's a real mess, littered in all manner of materials. Even the laptop here is covered in stickers, a new model that he's already managed to scuff. This is definitely Jamie's workstation, Angela thinks, grinning as she looks it over. A pile of stickynotes are next to a discarded grenade shell, so she plucks one off and grabs the marker from the pen pot, the one he must've used for her coffee. She writes a little Thank you x and attempts to draw one of his smiley faces, though it doesn't look quite as menacing as his, and just before she leaves she gives it a halo, too, so he'll know with certainty who it's from.

Angela is giddy when she's back in front of her laptop. While she's keen to bridge the gap between them, however, she can't forget about work, and she stays at HQ for a couple more hours before heading home again. It's probably for the best that she didn't get to see him today - she still isn't quite ready to actually speak to him, but she has an inkling that he might not be ready either, judging by his painfully sweet gesture. It's a promising start, though.

She arrives a little earlier the next day, in time to catch the lunch hour rush from the cafeteria. The elevator is crammed with women from accounting when she steps in from reception, and a couple of other grads from engineering shift to let her in. They're too busy talking to notice her.

"I know, I don't get him at all!" one of them says. "Suddenly he's right as rain again. I thought his girlfriend dumped him or something!"

"Mate, you must be joking! Of course he doesn't have a girlfriend, you only need to look at how filthy he is all the time to see that," says the other. They laugh.

"Dunno, some girls go for that sort of look. Oh well, at least he's feeling better!"

"I mean, I'm glad he's alright, but he's so annoying when he's all… stupidly happy like this."

"Okay, but would you rather see him stupidly happy, or stupidly depressed?"

"Augh, yeah, fair point."

Angela is grinning when she steps out of the elevator, turning left when the grads turn right. As usual, she checks on Zenyatta before heading over to engineering. They still haven't texted one another, but by now Jamie will hopefully have seen her stickynote. She walks confidently past the workshop. Sure enough he's in there, standing by his bench, holding up a blade of translucent gold-coloured material. He's in a yellow hoodie today that's bigger and cleaner than the orange one, but it hurts to see that Jamie still looks tired, that there are still dark circles under his eyes. His hair is back to form, at least, all wild blonde flames on his head.

Seeing him makes Angela smile instantly. She isn't expecting him to catch her eye. When he does – when Jamie notices her and grins right back at her from across the workshop – Angela's stomach flips. She's almost tempted to wave at him, but she doesn't want to attract too much attention to herself and honestly, she's simply delighted to have finally shared a smile with him again, something as simple as this reassuringly exhilarating.

There's no coffee waiting her when she comes into the research area. Instead, Jamie appears to have returned her stickynote. Angela sets her laptop down and peels it off the desk, biting her lip around another smile. He's added surprisingly detailed wings to her smiley face, and there's an x next to her own, almost like he's saying thank you and kissing her back.

Angela draws over it again, giving the smiley face eyelashes and adding another x. She has a lot of work to do first, but she's going to try and put it back on his desk when he pops out again, see if perhaps this is going to become their new version of texting in this tentative no man's land between them.

It does. By the end of the week Jamie has tacked on three additional stickynotes and they've given the smiley face elegant legs, muscly arms and an array of accessories. There are so many kisses that the original note is full, and come Friday morning Angela is excited on her way to headquarters, because she's finally going to talk to him in person. Last night she carefully planned everything she wants to say, and has an elaborate plot ready to get him out of the workshop so they can have a proper talk. Angela is sweating a little when she arrives in reception, but she's standing by her decision to approach him, and arrived early today so she can make a good start on work before putting her meticulous plan into motion.

Naturally, this plan completely falls apart when the elevator doors open up to reveal Jamie stood inside on his own.

They blink at one another.

"Hi," Angela breathes, smiling nervously.

"G'day," Jamie says, smiling back.

There's a long pause. The doors start to close but his metal hand shoots out to push them open again, making Angela jolt back.

"You, er. Coming in?" he asks, half laughing while he holds the door.

"Yes, sorry," she says, half laughing too as she darts inside. Now she's standing in front of him, one arm gripping her tablet tight against her chest. They smile awkwardly at each other.

"Thank you," she says, sure her face is on fire. Jamie scratches his cheek.

"S'alright," he says. "So, er, how's it—"

"Wait!"

A handful of people rush in just as the doors start to close again. They all need different floors, of course. Angela has to move back until they're standing side by side, tensed up in this enclosed space. When the doors close she keeps her eyes forward, locked on the backs of the people standing in front of her.

Shit. The first time they've properly acknowledged one another in person all week, and it's in – in an elevator of all places! What's she supposed to do here? Should she – say something? Ask how his day's going? Act like this isn't happening and just suffer through this excruciating ride up in silence? Doesn't help that he's wearing that damned orange hoodie again, that she's standing so close to him she can practically feel its soft warmth from here. Fuck!

Angela jolts from the touch of cool metal against her hand, only to look down and see that Jamie's holding it, lacing their fingers together. He tugs, gently, and even though her eyes are stuck on the floor she can feel a sudden warmth against her ear, smell the diesel on his skin.

"M'sorry, Angie," he says, just above a whisper. "Been a right idiot."

Angela's breath catches. The warmth goes away. He hasn't let go of her hand, but when she glances up at him he's looking away from her, over at the wall. His face is red.

The elevator stops and two people leave. She squeezes his hand. Jamie hesitantly looks back to her, but Angela's already up on her toes, trying to reach his ear. He leans down for her, eyes wide, anxious.

"I'm sorry, too," she whispers. "For what I said. I never wanted to hurt you."

His metal grip tightens around her hand, cold but firm. Angela comes down from her toes and looks forward. There's so much more that she wants to say, but she can't, not here.

"I know y'didn't," Jamie murmurs back, against her ear again. She shivers. "Didn't mean to hurt you, either."

Another stop. Both of them are staring straight ahead as two more leave. There's just one person left aside from them, Dan from legal. Angela doesn't think she's seen him since their night out at the Prince Regent. He seems nervous as well, fidgeting in front of them, though she doubts he's sweating like she is. Thankfully he hasn't turned around.

"I've, uh. Been having a look at your suit," Jamie says, louder, conversationally. She should be sad that the moment is officially over with this, but he's still holding her hand.

"Oh?"

"Yeah."

Dan from legal coughs. Angela glares at the back of his head, wishing she had the power to fire him for daring to share this space with them right now.

"Been sorta thinking about your dependency on those wings and all that," Jamie says, scratching his human hand through his hair. He's frowning, looks thoughtful. "Not sure I'll be able to do anything about it, 'course, but… s'no harm in trying, right?"

He finally meets her eyes, offering a hopeful smile that warms her all over despite his cold grip. If he's saying what she thinks he's saying, Angela has no reason to be afraid anymore.

"No, of course not," she says, softly. She squeezes his hand once more. "I'm – thrilled you want to try at all, actually."

Dan gets off. It's just one floor up now, the next stop for their departments. Angela gazes up at him, into the clear amber of his eyes. Jamie looks tired. There's something different about him now, though, his shoulders soft where they were tense. His hopeful smile pulls a bit wider.

"Think I'd be a bloody great fool not to," he says, as the elevator comes to a stop.

The doors open. Angela lets go of his hand and leaves first, stopping just outside it when Jamie steps out behind her.

"I'd, um." She hesitates, tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "I'd better go and check on Zen."

Jamie's eyebrows lift up a little. "Oh right," he says, before grinning. "I'll look forward to your postit then, shall I?"

Angela laughs, partly from thinking of their stickynote but mostly from the relief of his reaction.

"Yes, please do," she says. "It's my turn, isn't it?"

Jamie's grin sharpens, baring his teeth. "Too right it is," he says, putting his hands on his hips. "If there ain't at least five kisses on there, Miss Mercy, I'll be having some strong words with you!"

She must have forgotten how easily he makes her laugh, because when she does again the sound seems foreign. He's never acknowledged their kisses before. She supposes she hasn't, either, but she's elated by the unexpected mention of them now.

"Understood," she says, smiling at him. "I'll see you later, Jamie."

She feels his eyes linger on her as she walks past. Angela can't stop smiling even when she's outside Zenyatta's room. She can't believe that after all of her careful planning, all the worrying she's done, they've just… apologised, so easily. So quickly. Just like that.

Before she goes to open Zen's door she looks down at her palm. There are slight indents left in her skin from the metal, where his grip was firm and comforting despite being cold. As she opens the door, the dead weight in Angela's stomach that she's carried with her since their argument finally evaporates, dissolved by the warm exhilaration of her rejuvenated crush.

Friday seems to fly past and suddenly they're into mid-November. Unfortunately her reignited feelings don't change the amount of work she needs to get through, and Angela flits between working in the research area, making conference calls with the team in Japan, and performing daily check-ups in the ward. She's too busy to see much of Jamie in person, but during their time apart not only does Angela make significant progress, they start texting one another again too. Just little things - how's your day and thought you'd like this video - hesitant ice-breakers as they ease back into contact. But it's enough for her to know that the spark is still there, a candle that was flickering now a fire stoked by the sweet dreams x she reads before she goes to sleep each night.

There's a general sense around headquarters of winding down for the festive period, but Jack and the others have been tying up Null Sector's loose ends, meaning they're based at HQ but drowning in meetings and paperwork. Angela makes time to see Lena at the weekend, whose work is over for the year – a fact that's made even better now that she's got "no more irritatingly energetic Junkrat to deal with", apparently. They're having lunch together, wrapped up warm in a café overlooking Leicester Square, and it's the first time Angela's properly been out since coming back from Japan. It's invigorating to be dressed in her boots and winter coat, makeup on and hair down for a change. Her phone has vibrated occasionally throughout their catch-up, but when it vibrates three times in quick succession it's enough for Lena to notice.

"Bloody hell, someone's popular!" she giggles. "Don't tell me you got a new man while you were in Japan!"

"Oh, no, it's just - someone I reconnected with recently," Angela says. She smiles as she looks down at her home screen where it's hidden beneath the table. Jamie's messaged her, of course.

"Ohhh, an old flame?" Lena leans across the table. "That's even MORE exciting!"

Angela chuckles. If only she knew. "I suppose you could say that."

"Well come on, don't leave a girl hanging! Have you got any dates planned?"

"That's… a good question, actually," Angela says, putting her phone away again. She cups her coffee in both hands and looks down at the busy street below. They haven't made any plans, let alone mention the d-word just yet. Angela can't really commit to anything until the virus is fixed, but with their resurging closeness it's something she'd like to bring back to the table. She probably needs to spend a little more time with Jamie before she can ask about it again – has sort of assumed he wants to take things slow, gradually rebuild until they're back to where they were before everything fell apart. It's just impossible to find the time when she's still got so much work to do.

"Perhaps Christmas is an ideal time for it," she says, more to herself than to Lena. "We'll see."

It's a thought she carries with her until she's back at HQ. Angela is back in the research area this week, busy as ever. According to his texts the engineering department is slowing down ready for the upcoming winter break, but Jamie is still in the workshop daily and both of them seem to be running on similar shifts – 12pm through 8pm. At the back of her mind while getting on with her work, Angela's been stewing over how they can spend more time together while this unsolved virus is still hanging over her. At a little after 2pm, she thinks she might have something.

Jamie jolts back in shock when he notices her beside his workstation, straightening up where he was bent over it. He was in the middle of drawing something, a massive sheet of paper spread over his desk.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," Angela says.

"Oh, sure," he says, squinting down at her. He's smirking. "I don't believe that for a minute. Everything alright?"

"Yes thanks. I, um. Have something for you."

Jamie's eyebrows lift up.

"Oh yeah?" he says. She looks over him fondly, his dirty face, yellow hoodie. The pencil tucked behind his ear. Gosh, he's cute.

"Nothing too exciting," she says, fishing in the pocket of her labcoat. Angela procures a small data stick and presses it into his palm, gently cupping her fingers over his.

"All of the research I conducted over the summer is on that drive," she says. Jamie's looking at her with wide eyes. His hand is warm beneath hers, skin rather than metal. "Wing fortification, mostly, but some other Valkyrie improvements I was contemplating as well."

"You'd been looking into it already?" he asks. Angela nods.

"Before you came along and took up all of my time."

"Hah!" he says, chuffed. "Hope you ain't tryin'a call me an attention seeker!"

"Oh, never," Angela chuckles. She pulls her hand away. "Anyway, just thought it might be of use."

Jamie's face softens, grip tightening around the drive. "Cheers, An- er, doc."

"My pleasure." Angela goes to leave, only to pause and frown. "Oh, damn."

"What?" he says, in slight but immediate concern.

"I've just remembered. A lot of it might be in German," she says, giving him a pointed look.

"Oh. That's… a shame," Jamie says. His eyes are narrowed, already piecing together what she's implying.

"Yes. Well, if you need me to translate anything for you, I'll be down the corridor for the rest of the week." Angela turns, looking at him over her shoulder with a coy smile. "Stop by anytime, won't you?"

She doesn't think she's ever seen anyone's face brighten quite as much as Jamie's does right then.

"R- Right! Yeah! Gotcha!" he says, a picture of disbelief with his metal hand on his hip and the other scratching through his hair. "Sure, I'll uh – do that, then!"

She's smirking on her way out of the workshop. There's only one document on the entire drive that's in German, but it's more than enough. Angela settles back down on the couch, feeling accomplished. Now that she's sewn the seed, she's hoping he might stop by sometime during the week and join her while she's in here, even if it's not for very long.

Angela carries on with her work, reabsorbed in moments. About twenty minutes later there's a sudden clatter on one of the desks. She glances up from her laptop and jumps.

"Oh!"

"Sorry," Jamie says, smirking over at her. "Didn't mean to startle ya."

He's putting his laptop down on one of the desks, having brought along his pen pot and the big sheet of paper he was drawing on. Angela stares across at him, setting her laptop aside.

"You – don't tell me you've found it already!" she says. Oh, shit. Give it away, why don't you!

"Nah, haven't looked through any of it yet. Suit's on the backburner for a bit, Torb's tasked me with drawing out some schematics for his turret upgrades." Jamie busies himself rolling out the wall of paper across the desk. "Thought it was probably best to come in here anyway, y'know. Ready for when I do need to run something past ya."

Angela tries to pretend she isn't absolutely thrilled from hearing this.

"I've – I don't know how much I'll be able to chat," she says, a panicked disclaimer to cover herself. Jamie waves his hand dismissively at her.

"S'alright, I know you're busy doing all that. Can't hurt to have a bit of company though, right?"

Angela stares back at him when Jamie meets her eyes from across the room. He looks very pleased with himself.

"Think you've been on your pat long enough," he says, quietly. Angela smiles at him, almost feeling shy, caught red-handed in her ploy to see more of him.

"Thank you," she says.

He sits in with her for the rest of the afternoon. Angela's concentration isn't as impeded as she was expecting, and actually, she ends up having a more productive day than usual – probably because she isn't spending as much time checking her phone. No need to now that he's sitting in the same room as her, a few steps away and visible over the top of her laptop.

She tells herself not to hope for more than this – for one afternoon – but apparently Jamie has other ideas. A few days later, Angela arrives at HQ and is surprised to see that a massive Christmas tree has been brought into reception. It's already fully decorated, and on her way to the research area there's tinsel and fairy lights adorning the workshop windows. Festivity has hit Overwatch like a truck, judging by this and the top two emails in her inbox when she turns on her laptop.

Subject: Secret Santa – Agent Allocations

Subject: FW: Seasonal Party – Save the Date!

"G'day!" comes a chipper voice. Angela jumps when she looks up and sees Jamie grinning, leaning against the doorway. She hasn't been in here long.

"Oh, hello! What're you doing here?"

He's holding that big sheet of paper again, curled under his metal arm. "Thought I'd come join ya, got some schematics to finish. That alright with you?"

"Of - of course it is!" she says, delighted. Jamie comes inside, and Angela's heart thumps at the idea of spending another day with him. "If you don't mind me being quiet, like before."

"S'alright, I'm gonna be busy m'self." He's logging into his laptop, setting up so he's facing her from across the room. "May as well be busy together though, right?"

Angela smiles, touched by this. She carries on looking through the rest of her emails.

"We may as well indeed," she says. "Did you see, by the way? It looks like we've got a Christmas party after all!"

"Yeah, saw it on my phone earlier. You going?"

Angela peers over her laptop. "Are you going?"

"'Course I'm bloody going!" he laughs. "It's a party, ain't it? Free booze, free food. What's not to love?"

"I don't know, the theme this year is a bit…" Angela makes a face. With the overspill of work left from the Null Sector attacks, Winston hasn't been able to arrange a private party for the agents, so their only seasonal event this year is the corporate one. Its suitably underwhelming theme is "festive jumpers". Angela was really looking forward to getting all dressed up for something fancier.

"I dunno, pretty excited for it m'self." Jamie stands now that he's all set up, ready to spend his shift working here with her again. "S'not like we get to wear Christmas jumpers in 'Straya!"

"I suppose that's true," she says. Having Christmas during summertime is one of the most jarring things Angela can think of.

"Anyway, wanna grab a coffee before you drown y'self in work?" he asks, looking at her hopefully.

"Oh," Angela says. It's not a date, but it may as well be for how excited she feels. "Yes, alright!"

He's too busy with his own projects to join her like this often, but when he can they make a little habit out of doing this - grabbing a coffee from the kitchen before getting started on work. While Angela stays curled up on the couch, a nesting hen focused entirely on deconstructing the virus, Jamie comes and joins her when he has reports to read or sketching to do. Sometimes he'll sit there for hours, chin in his palm while he digests whatever he's reading, and other times he won't sit down at all, moving around the desk while sketching, lining, thinking. He's always vocal, thoughtful murmurs and frustrated cusses peppering the quietness of their shared space, and even when he's sitting down he can't seem to stop moving, bouncing his human leg on the ball of his foot at a jittery pace.

It's so different to Angela's style of working that she can't help peeking over her laptop every now and then just to watch him. As if she couldn't be any more enamoured of him, there's something intensely endearing about his focused energy while he's working - the way he'll mutter to himself, all his funny expressions. Angela has never seen this methodical side to him before, so used to his bravado in training and his flirty sweetness through text. Somehow she doubts Lena has ever seen Jamie like this. Perhaps the grads haven't, either. She has a feeling the Jamie who sometimes sits with her in here isn't quite the same as the Junkrat causing chaos in the workshop.

Even though they're working on separate things, Angela attributes his comforting presence to her increased productivity - the smiles they share in the brief moments of downtime to her permanently elevated mood, too. She doesn't think she's ever stopped crushing on him, not really, even when they weren't speaking. But she's sort of finding him – finding Jamie – even more captivating than Junkrat. She can feel that they're close to where they need to be – can feel it brimming beneath the surface, the growing heat of infatuation suppressed under her workload - but she can't commit any time to him while she's still got this virus weighing down on her and Zenyatta awaiting discharge in the ward. She wishes she could. She wishes they could simply return to that closeness from their last day in Tokyo, that she could commit to a date, to just – getting everything out in the open. But she can't. Not with so much to do still, and not when she isn't absolutely certain that Jamie is ready, either. He's busy, too, it seems, never leaving before she does even when they're not working together.

One evening in December when they are in the research area, Angela finds herself stuck on part of the patch she's building. She's been so wrapped up in it that she's barely spoken to Jamie, answering his attempts at conversation with rather more closed off responses than usual. He's been relatively quiet himself though, seems to have spent most of today scowling at his screen reading some of her research.

"I'll go and grab some food for us," she says, frustrated as she locks her laptop.

"See ya in a bit," he mumbles, still reading when she walks past.

The cafeteria closes after 6pm as the majority of HQ's staff work core business hours. It's quiet when Angela queues for their food, but on her way back she bumps into Jesse. He's waiting by the elevator.

"Evening, doc. Got yourself quite an appetite there I see," he says, nodding at her two takeout boxes.

"Looks like you do, too," she says, gesturing right back at his. Jesse laughs.

"I'm sure you know who it's for," he says. "No idea on yours, though."

They step into the elevator together. Angela regards him with a sceptical look.

"Really?" she asks. It feels so obvious that she's been spending all of her time with Jamie lately, but then again, it's come as a surprise to her that Jesse and Genji have become so close. In retrospect, if it happened while she was in Japan, she was probably too engrossed in her own crush to have taken any real notice of how much time they were spending together.

"Honestly, doc, I've got no idea. Been a little preoccupied these last few weeks," he says, leaning back against the wall. The crowsfeet around his eyes are slightly more pronounced under the harsh light of the elevator.

"Have you been getting enough sleep? Napping in a chair beside Zenyatta doesn't count, before you say otherwise."

"I sure have," Jesse sighs, meaning he probably hasn't. Angela leans back next to him, looking down at the takeout boxes in her hands.

"Is he alright? Genji, I mean," she says.

"He will be. Just wants to see Zen outta that ward, I think. He knows you're doing your best, before you go worrying yourself about him as well." He gives her shoulder an affectionate shake with his cybernetic hand, a little more cumbersome than the metal touch she's grown accustomed to. "That's my job."

"Are you alright?" Angela asks, looking up at him. Jesse meets her eyes easily, wearing the same relaxed smile as ever.

"Never better," he says. Something about the way he says it makes her think he does mean it, this time.

"What about your work? Haven't you had things to do?"

"Some things are more important than work, doc," he tells her, looking away again.

She assumes he's just talking in general, but it strikes a little too close to home. An uncomfortable feeling stirs in Angela's throat, something she wants to swallow, stifle. The gentle whirr of the elevator's ascent seems very loud around them.

"Any plans for the holidays?" she asks, forcing a smile.

"Whatever he's doing, I guess," Jesse says, shrugging. Angela's eyes widen. She hadn't thought they were close enough for Jesse to plan Christmas around him, and something that feels a little like envy pinches slightly at her heart. "What about you?"

She laughs. Thinking of Christmas hasn't been a priority this year. "I'm not sure, to be honest. Lena asked if I wanted to spend Christmas day with her and Winston. And Emily, of course."

"Then why don't ya?"

"I probably will," she says, as the elevator opens up. It's not like she's made any other plans.

"Well, good. You take care now, doc. See you later," Jesse says, giving her shoulder another shake. He winks at her before turning left down the corridor, Angela turning right, back to see Jamie. She feels a little shaky heading back in there, thinking about the date that's been left unmade in all the time they've been together, the excuses she's used to explain their lack of progression. Her fear of committing to anything that isn't work, frankly. It's gnawing at her a bit too much to ignore this time.

"Do you have any plans for Christmas?" she asks, setting down his takeout box. She pulls up a seat beside him in an unusually bold move, and Jamie blinks at her, smiling like this is a pleasant surprise for him, too. Normally she keeps a safe distance between them.

"Nothing much," Jamie says, leaning away from his laptop. "We've got a whole week off, haven't we?"

"We have indeed," Angela says. One of the few benefits to being Overwatch Incorporated is the annual leave provided. The agents will need to be on-call in the event of an emergency, but nobody is expected to actually work over the Christmas week, an old English tradition that's somehow carried through to modern day.

"Phew, that's good then. Don't think I've ever spent Christmas day outside 'Straya before," Jamie says.

"What would you normally do there?"

"Depends really." He shrugs. "Rob a bank, have a pissup on the beach. Weather's much better out there this time of year. Christmas don't feel right without sunshine."

Angela looks at him. He's in the orange hoodie today. It really, really needs a wash, but it's Angela's favourite thing to see him in, conjures nothing but good memories. He's got the sleeves pulled down, toying with the cuffs.

"What're you doing this year?" she asks, trying not to sound too hopeful.

"Going to New Zealand." Jamie picks at the fraying edges. "Probably flying out the day before Christmas Eve, haven't booked it yet."

Angela frowns. "New Zealand?"

"Yeah," Jamie sighs. "Roadie's gonna see his mum, wants to drag me along with him. Looking forward to getting some sunny weather to be honest. Probably visit Aus too, make the most of being out there."

Angela laughs away her immense disappointment. It was probably stupid of her to think he'd be here for the holidays. "I'm sure it'll be much better than here," she says, glancing down at her lap. Jamie bunts his shoulder against hers suddenly, making her look back up at him. He's grinning.

"What about you? Seeing anyone special this year?"

She bunts him back, pleased that he's still interested enough to quiz her on this.

"You know I'm not," Angela tells him, returning his grin. "Can't really do anything with – all this hanging over me," she says, gesturing at the room, at her work. At the air around them, so full of everything that's not being said.

"Think you need a break, Angie," he says, quietly. "Aren't you tired of all this?"

"Very," she sighs. "But the sooner it's done, the sooner I can go back to focusing on other things."

She smiles at him. Jamie smiles back, something soft and open about it that leaves her yearning. Angela takes a breath, thinking she's got the courage to finally say it, ask him right here and now. Let's go on that damn date.

Jamie reaches out, patting her shoulder gently with his metal hand. "You'll be alright," he tells her, confidently. "I know y'gotta get through it."

Well. She tried, at least. Angela feels slightly alleviated when she's sitting in front of her laptop again, the gnawing sensation eased somewhat from speaking to him. She even manages to get a decent amount of work done, satisfied by the time she's packing her things away.

"I'd better get going," Angela says, walking over to his desk. "I hope I can crack this thing before Christmas."

Jamie grins up at her, sitting back in his chair. Angela's eyes flick to the screen. He's still on the same page as earlier, halfway through one of the reports she sent.

"You and me both. Think you're any closer?" he asks, eyebrows lifting hopefully. For a second she isn't sure what he's asking her.

"I think so." Angela frowns, looking over his face. It's been much cleaner ever since he started joining her in here, but Jamie's eyes are tired as ever. "You're not staying late again, are you?"

He waves her off. "Eh, maybe. Dunno yet, not in any rush to get home. Don't lemme keep ya, though."

Angela sighs. He turns back to his laptop, anyway.

"Give us a text when you're home, yeah?" he calls out, as usual, just as she reaches the doorway. She smiles.

"Will do."

Angela still doesn't actually know when he leaves headquarters in the evening. It worries her that he's still looking so tired after all this time, ever since their argument. It was understandable back then, but she doesn't quite know what's going on that's still giving him those dark circles, making him look so worn out in the evenings when she's saying goodbye. He's gotten very good at deflecting her questions about it, at any rate. Angela sort of assumes it's something Torbjörn has tasked him with, a new project he can't tell anyone about. She's a little sad he hasn't told her if that's what it is, but it's good, too – means he's working hard at following the rules.

She resigns herself to not getting the virus resolved before the party, and spends the last couple of days beforehand mindlessly tweaking the patch she's built. Headquarters is quiet now, everyone gearing up for the event and the annual leave that'll follow. She's booked off an extended period for herself, mostly because she feels like she should rather than through actually wanting to. Torbjörn usually invites her to Sweden for the holidays, but that hasn't happened this year, so she's planned to spend Christmas day with Lena.

Of course, the talk she's wanted to have with Jamie hasn't happened, either. It hurts that soon they'll both be away from headquarters, that it's another problem she hasn't managed to resolve. What can she do, though, when Zenyatta is still sitting in the ward? It seems selfish to even consider arranging any dates with Jamie. And anyway, she hasn't been prioritising work so much that she hasn't spoken to him – and there has been progress, lots of it. Just not quite the progress she was hoping for, by now.

It happens, suddenly, on the Thursday afternoon before the event. Angela emailed out the latest patch to the Japanese team yesterday evening for testing, and she's spent today catching up on some of her emails from the last month or so. Jamie hasn't joined her but he offered to pick up a late lunch for her, and he's bringing it in when Angela's laptop pings with an email. It's a reply from the Japanese team, a pop-up in the corner of her laptop with a simple message:

Success! :) The patch worked. Virus is officially dead!

Angela leans forward. She opens up the email and reads through the attached reports. The following realisation of all the possibilities this opens up is so sudden that she snaps her laptop shut and gets abruptly to her feet.

"Woah, what's up?" Jamie asks, glancing at her as he sets the takeout box down.

"I- " Angela starts, freezing up. Jamie straightens immediately, eyes wide, panicked.

"What's wrong?" He scowls, stepping over to her. "What's happened?"

"I'm- I've done it," Angela says. Her hands are clenched into fists, held up tightly by her chest in her struggle to contain her excitement. "The virus. My patch worked! I've done it!"

A huge smile breaks out over his face.

"Holy shit!"

"I – oh my god, Jamie, I'm finished!"

Angela's arms fly out. Jamie grabs her and hugs her in such a strong and swooping motion that it lifts her right off her feet, and she squeals, a sound of intense delight pulled involuntarily from her throat. Their first hug, first embrace in so long and it's – oh, it's heaven, being in his arms again and knowing that she's done!

"You fucking did it!" Jamie brings her back down so her feet touch the floor again but he keeps her against him, cuddling her close. "I bloody knew you would!"

"I did!" she says, arms clutched around his back, fingers gripped in his hoodie. "I – finally, oh, finally!"

When Jamie lets her go they grasp each other's arms, the elation she's feeling written all over his face.

"All your hard work's paid off!" he gushes. Jamie's eyes light up as though he's just realised what exactly this means for her – for them – and he moves his hands up to cup her face.

"After all this time," she breathes, reaching up to put her hands over his.

They gaze at one another. Angela's belly coils unbearably, because right here, right now in this moment, after all this time, all these stops, all this work that's kept them apart, she thinks they might actually kiss.

"Think it's time we celebrated," Jamie says, voice a touch deeper like he's thinking exactly the same thing. His expression sharpens into something so confident and determined that Angela almost leans in herself – but she hesitates, realising what else this wonderful news means.

"Absolutely, I just - I need to get Zenyatta discharged and round everything off, before I can do anything," she says, cursing herself for having to put yet another stop between them. They're close, so close it's excruciating, but she can't – can't do it, not quite, not yet.

Jamie pulls back slightly, that sharpened look dissolving in surprise. He seems to pause, and in the second it takes him to speak Angela's entire body tenses up in fear of his reaction.

"Right!" he says, letting go of her but still beaming. He laughs nervously. "You, uh – you go do what you need to do. I've got some shit I'd better get on with anyway."

All at once, Angela exhales her fear and tugs Jamie against her. The little yelp he gives like he wasn't expecting this is so utterly sweet that she squeezes him even tighter, and then his arms come around her waist too, squeezing back.

"Thank you," she breathes over his shoulder, overwhelmed with gratitude for his understanding. "I absolutely want to do something with you to celebrate, right now, immediately, but – I just need to finish everything off first."

"Don't you worry, Angie, I know," he tells her, breath warm against her neck, and Angela can't put her relief into words. She allows herself to enjoy this for longer than she probably should before eventually pulling back. His face is adorably flushed, but there's this slight disappointment in the smile Jamie gives her that tugs painfully at her heart.

"I'll be as quick as I can," she tells him. "Shall we – back here?"

"You, uh – you sure you don't wanna just – tomorrow, instead?" he asks, scratching his cheek.

"No, no. Tonight," she says, insistently. "I'll text you when I'm coming back. Okay?"

Jamie laughs. The smile is bashful now. "Gotcha," he says. "I'll see you later!"

Angela leaves her laptop and grabs her tablet instead, rushing over to medical while forwarding on the email to Winston and his superiors. She's buzzing, desperate to wrap this up as efficiently as possible and get back to him, pick up right where they left off. Please, oh, please let this be the last stop, she thinks, the last thing that's keeping us apart!

Genji and Jesse are on their way out of the ward when Angela catches them. The look on her face is apparently enough for them to know, and she pulls them into Zenyatta's room to impart the good news to all three of them. She runs through the regular tests just to be absolutely sure, though Zenyatta's been well for weeks now, and then she's unplugging the cables, freeing Zenyatta from his monitoring.

"Seems like Christmas came early this year," Jesse says. He nudges her while Genji helps Zen down from the bed, all careful excitement as he checks him over.

"You're telling me," Angela says, grinning at him. "I just need to run through a few things with him and then we'll get him officially discharged."

Zenyatta's discharge takes longer than she anticipated, and Winston whisks her away into a couple of meeting rooms so she can talk through what's happened with his bosses. The afternoon passes in a whirlwind, and it's far later than she was hoping by the time she's rushing back into the research area, texting Jamie on her way to let him know she's coming back.

Just nipped out, he replies quickly, had to get something lol don't worry I'm coming back!

Angela drops down heavily onto the couch, happy just to be sitting, resting after an exhaustingly wonderful day. She sets her tablet aside and leans back against the couch, thinking she'll grab a couple of minutes rest while she waits for him to come back. She may be tired, but Jamie was willing to wait for her earlier and she really, really doesn't want to let him down again, so all she needs is just – a minute, to recuperate. He might even come back before then. God, she hopes he will.

It's been a long time since she fell asleep in here, though she doesn't remember it being quite this comfortable before. She shifts, sitting up from where she'd curled up over the couch, and finds a blanket falling down from her shoulders. Angela pulls it off her, recognising it as the quilted throw that usually covers one of the other couches, and looks around.

Still no sign of Jamie. She fishes urgently in her pocket for her phone, dread filling her stomach like concrete. He'd sent her a text earlier. It's 8pm now, the end of her shift.

Haha I'm back and you're asleep. I'll be in the workshop :P come see me when you're awake

Okay. There's still a very good chance he's here. Angela bundles the quilt up in her arms and heads out to the workshop. He's in there, at least, all the lights off aside from the one over his desk. She heads inside cautiously, her heart sinking when she approaches his desk.

Jamie is sleeping. Drooling, actually, lips parted and cheek flat against the desk. Angela chews her lip, beside herself with frustration. He must've covered her with the quilt when he came back, a thought immeasurably more comforting than the blanket itself.

"Mmh," he mumbles, stirring without waking.

She wishes she could just appreciate how adorable he is right now. Because he is, he's exceptionally adorable, drool and all. But looking over him like this fills Angela with such an acute sadness she grimaces.

Jamie waited for her for so long he fell asleep. Even if she were to wake him up, the moment has well and truly passed. She couldn't even allow herself that. One moment, one kiss. A single sign that she's been wanting him for the last however many months, that she's been desperate for something more than the friendship that's blossomed between them.

She leans over to pluck a stickynote from the pile and writes him a message.

Really sorry, wish you'd woken me up! Don't stay too late x

She sticks it in front of him, on the laptop that's open even though the screen is dark from idling out. She delicately wraps the blanket over his shoulders, and Jamie stirs again, blond eyelashes fluttering. He still doesn't open his eyes, though. He must be conked out. She doesn't know how he can be comfortable enough to sleep bent over like this, but she doesn't really want to disturb him anymore than she has already.

Angela leaves the workshop to grab her belongings from the research area. She's been so afraid of committing to anything that isn't work, but how can she? Even today, even with how sweet and understanding he's been, she still wasn't able to actually do anything with him. No wonder he was so upset with her before. She's upset with herself, mad for once again being incapable of putting anything else before her damned job. How many times is this going to keep happening? How many times is she going to hurt him, hurt them like this?

"Angela!"

It's Torbjörn. He's coming out of the workshop, a gift-wrapped box tucked under his arm.

"Good evening," she says, smiling sadly down at him. "What're you still doing here?"

"Ahhh, some of us are still working, even if all those youngsters think they can clock out early!" Torbjörn chuckles. "Anyway, how's it going? I see you've been spending a lotta time together."

Angela laughs nervously. "Yes, we have. It's been – nice, seeing so much of him again."

Torbjörn grins. "He told me the good news about your patch earlier, too. Dead excited for you, he was."

"He was?" she asks, eyes widening.

"Said he wanted to celebrate with ya, but he knew you'd be busy," Torbjörn says. "I'm surprised you didn't wanna wake him up."

"Oh, no," Angela says, looking through the window at Jamie. He's still bent over his desk. "He's looked so tired these last few weeks, I couldn't bring myself to."

"Aye, he's been working hard on something," Torbjörn says. "Little project I tasked him with."

Ah. She thought so. Some of her sadness lifts hearing this, but not much.

"I take it you're going to the party?" Torbjörn asks her.

"Yes," she says, nodding. "Looking forward to it."

Suddenly he offers her the box. Angela blinks, taking it cautiously.

"This is—for me?"

"Just a little helping hand for tomorrow," he says, patting her arm with a huge grin. "Well, I'll see you there then, Angela. And don't go worrying, alright?"

"Thank you," she says, and her smile is a little less sad when she bids him goodnight.

Angela doesn't open it up until she's on her train home, lifting the lid and peeling back the layer of foam on top. It's her headpiece – her halo. At least, it's the same mold, but the material looks plastic and the ring itself is slightly translucent. There's a red button on the side of it, and when Angela presses it, a line of multi-coloured fairylights twinkle from inside the ring. She lifts it up to have a proper look at it, only to see something tucked away into the tissue paper at the bottom of the box.

Angela smiles, cringing. Torbjörn's given her a sprig of mistletoe and a ribbon, presumably to tie onto it. What a kind gesture, she thinks, about to tie it on when her phone buzzes in her pocket.

Hey! Sorry went and fell asleep didn't I lol aaagghhh shoulda woke me up!

And now Jamie's awake. Angela exhales a breath she didn't realise she'd been holding, putting the headpiece aside to reply.

I mean, the exact same thing happened to me, so it's not so bad. :) I wish you'd woken me up, though.

Yeah but you looked so cozy there I couldn't lol

Same to you. I'm just so sorry we didn't get to do anything tonight after all. I really wanted to.

Lol yeah I sorta knew it wouldn't happen, I know how busy you've been with it all haha it's fine :P
Was maaaaaaybe hoping we could celebrate tomorrow though. You're definitely going to the party right?

Oh, thank god. She was afraid his first text meant he was angry after all, but nope, Jamie has surprised her once again with the second. How has it been months and he's still surpassing her expectations like this? Angela shakes her head, disappointed in herself. She should really know him better by now.

Definitely, she writes back. I'll be there from 2pm, when it starts. Looking forward to finally celebrating :)

Lol me too! You on the train now btw?

Yes, I'll be home shortly. You're not staying late, are you?

Nah not tonight. Gotta look good for tomorrow. Got my sunnies ready and everything ;)

Angela immediately wonders what he'll be wearing, how cute he might look in a Christmas jumper.

I'm sure you'll look handsome as ever. Make sure you get some sleep, won't you?

Lol yes dear ;) anything you say x

Oh no, Angela thinks, unable to stop the smile from spreading over her face. There it is. That warm rush spreading out from her chest, the infatuation that persists regardless of her prioritisation of work and all these wretched stops she's kept putting between them.

It's frightening that she doesn't have the wall of work to hide behind now – terrifying, in fact, the prospect of actually getting how she feels out in the open. But maybe… maybe she could allow herself just one kiss, tomorrow, after all. Even if it's through an artificially constructed moment, it would be a moment nonetheless. A way of celebrating, of finally letting him know how much he means to her. How desperately she's wanted to close the space between them in all this time.

After everything she's put him through Jamie might not even want to. But if she can show him how she feels, just once, maybe it'll be enough for her. She'll just have to see.