AN: only about half done with the next hunter chapter, so I wrote this up to tide ya'll over. It's kind of a last minute idea, so it's not my best in my opinion, but I think it's a good one still. Hope ya'll enjoy.

Dancing

Jack woke up on a kitchen table feeling like he'd just survived a nuclear blast. He had no idea how he'd gotten there, but he immediately realized he wasn't alone. Turning his head as much as he was able to in his current state, he saw Angela, passed out with her head on the table. Frowning, he tried to recall what it was he'd done to wind up injured and unconscious on her kitchen table, but he couldn't remember anything past rushing the boy to the hospital. Forcing his protesting body to work, he sat up and swung his legs over the table, being careful not to scratch the table with his prosthetic. It had been a gift from her grandmother if Jack recalled correctly. Sighing as he stretched out his muscles, he stood and made his painful way over to where he saw his shredded gear. The jacket was ruined, the body armor had multiple holes, and his visor was cracked. Even his undershirt was ruined, leaving him in just his combat boots and tactical pants.

"Well, I guess I'm not going anywhere." He muttered to himself. Glancing back to where Angela slept, he couldn't help but notice she looked uncomfortable. Before he completely registered what he was doing, he had picked her up. His breath froze when she stirred in his arms. As tough as he was, he didn't know if he would survive Angela's wrath if she found him holding her when he knew he didn't have the right. But she simply muttered incoherently and snuggled closer to him, burying her face in his neck and breathing softly against him as he carried her over to the couch. She'd obviously saved his life again, he rationalized, it was only fair he help her out with something so simple. Laying her down gently despite the burning in his still recovering muscles, he covered her as best he could with the throw blanket draped over the back and, with nothing else to do until she woke and no willpower to wake her even if he knew he was being stupid, he started wandering around the apartment, missing cracked blue eye watching him as he moved around the apartment.

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Angela woke immediately when she felt someone wrap their arms around her, her combat instincts kicking into overdrive, but she paused when she felt the distinctly warm metal of an integrated prosthetic and the unique smell that was constantly invading her dreams enveloped her. She thought about telling the Vigilante off, telling him to put her down this instant and how dare he, but she couldn't find the will. It had been so long since she'd felt this, so she simply pretended to be asleep and enjoy being close to him while she could, burying her nose into his neck and breathing against him as he carried over and gently laid her down. She couldn't help but crack an eye then, watching as he wandered aimlessly around the apartment, she couldn't help but feel he looked lost. Something in the way he carried his weight, as if he was weighed down by something. He paused in front of the old record player she kept on the mantle, and simply stared at it for a while. Finally, Angela decided she couldn't keep quiet. She had sworn to cut him out of her life, but she supposed she just didn't have it in her. She took a deep breath.

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"You should really be resting, 76," the voice snapped Jack out of his thoughts and brought him back to reality. Shame, it had been a good daydream.

"Your awake," He muttered, turning around to face the beautiful doctor, trying his best to make his face impassive. " I appreciate the patch up. If you happen to have a shirt and something to cover my face up, I'll leave."

"No."

There it was again. Just like the last time he'd talked to her, just one word that seemed to hold so much. He responded the only way he felt he could.

"No?"

She nodded and stood up, walking past him, turning on the record player and letting soft music fill the room.

"No. I think that after all I've done for you, the least you can do is actually listen to what I have to say for once." She paused and smirked at him just a little, "Plus, it's not every day I get to say I trapped the great 76."

Jack raised a brow at her. What kind of game was she playing? Well, he supposed he would find out. After all she was right, he was trapped.

"Alright. Talk."

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"Alright," He said, watching her the whole while like a dangerous animal, "Talk."

Angela suppressed a sigh at his tone of voice: guarded, apprehensive. She almost preferred the reckless self loathing. Almost. Getting through to him with words would be nigh impossible, but what else did she have? Glancing over at the record machine still playing soft music, a crazy idea entered her head. It was almost sure to fail, but almost was better than certain in her book. She walked up to Jack, making sure to invade his personal space just a little, as she'd learned that the only way to confront the man about anything was directly and to the point.

"Dance with me." she said, looking into his eyes and nearly laughing at the genuine shock there. This was clearly not what he'd been expecting.

"I don't dance Zeigler." He said, and this time she did grin at him.

"You said the same thing in Numbani all those years ago, Morrison," She placed her hands on his shoulders and leaned into him, forcing him to take a step to support her weight. " but I remember you actually being quite good."

She felt the sigh heave through his bare chest as he reluctantly placed his hands on her hips and started swaying back and forth to the music, his movements so miniscule that if she didn't feel the gentle pressure and he lead her around her living room floor she wouldn't have believed they were moving. She looked up at him with a frown.

"No need to be so dramatic about it 76, I doubt dancing with me is the least pleasant thing you've gone through." She waited for a response, but when she got none she simply laid her head back against his shoulder and allowed herself a few moments of indulging in the feeling, false though it was, of having her lover back. She got so lost that when he did speak, she nearly missed it.

"Please don't call me that Angela."

His voice was quiet, pensive, and it had lost nearly all of the rough edge he normally spoke with. Still, more surprising was what he'd said.

"Why not?" She asked. She made sure to watch him carefully as she continued, "that's who you are now isn't it? You said so yourself."

"Not to you."

The response was so immediate and so vehement that she didn't have time to respond before he continued.

"I'm not ashamed of what I'm doing, its the only way to get justice for everyone that was wronged when Overwatch fell," He said it confidently, and she couldn't help but admire that. But then, she'd fallen for him because of his stubborn will in the first place. "But… I don't want you to see me as a soldier, or a hero, or a charity case or anything else. I just want to be Jack to you, or even just Morrison. I know I don't have any right to ask you for anything, but could you do me that one favor?"

He finished as rapidly as he began, and now seemed to be anxiously awaiting a response as he continued to hold her and sway to the music.

"Oh Jack," she muttered softly, crushing herself closer to him and feeling his heartbeat against her," of course. It's not a favor. You're my friend, I just want you to be happy."

He sighed.

"I can't be Angela. Not while the people who tore my family apart are still out there. You make me a better person, and I think…" she felt him take a deep breath, "I think if I were to stay with you, I could be happy with myself. But the world doesn't need me to be a good man. It needs a soldier, and soldiers do what needs doing."

She felt her heart sink as he let her go. She looked up into his eyes. He was gone again. She held back her tears as best she could.

"I'll be needing a shirt if you have one Angela. And something to cover my face."

He said it with that same gruff, impassive voice that she now identified as him hiding. She sighed.

"Dresser on the second floor, they're already waiting for you."

He nodded, and she knew he wouldn't come back down the stairs. And so she curled up on the cold, empty couch, and cried for the man she lost all those years ago.