Feathers of Faith and Steel

Chapter 3 – Kindred Spirits

Watchpoint: Gibraltar

Present Day – 1952 Hours

Two hours.

Two hours, and still no word.

For Fareeha, all that time had been spent alternating between fretfully pacing around her minimal floor space, and sprawling on her bed with barely enough energy to wipe the sweat and tears from her face. Her only breaks from this cycle had been several detours to the bathroom where, despite her best efforts, she'd vomited up her lunch, what was left of her breakfast, and what felt like most of her stomach acid. The last trip had been little more than dry heaving, and it had been difficult to tell where the retching ended and the sobbing began. Now, even her tears had been exhausted, although that didn't stop her body from going through the motions of attempting to cry.

Although these past few hours had been torture, she knew that it could still be many more yet before she heard anything. She had once seen an emergency operation last almost two days, on a soldier who'd suffered third-degree burns to sixty-five percent of his body. Nearly two million dollars' worth of medical equipment, a thirty-strong medical team, and forty-five hours of intense labour, all for one patient.

And he hadn't made it.

Fareeha wanted to believe that Angela's injuries were less severe, but truthfully, she couldn't say. All she could do was take some solace in the possibility that the lack of any news so far was a good sign. It meant that there was hope; that there was something that could and was being done, other than simply trying to ease Angela's pain.

Rest was what Fareeha really required. She didn't need to be a doctor herself to recognise that fact. In the past week, she'd had less than twenty hours of sleep, and none of it good. During that time, she'd been running on pure adrenaline and determination. Gods only knew what was keeping her going at this very moment. Yet if sleep had been difficult then, now it was practically impossible. Every time she closed her eyes, even for a second, she was transported back to that room, and confronted by the horror that lay within. She could see it as clearly as the walls of her quarters; Angela's bruised, broken, and bloodied body, clad in the soiled tatters of her Valkyrie suit, ruined almost beyond recognition. There was no escaping it.

Ya hasrety. Angela…I'm so sorry for what they did to you.

Fareeha remembered how, throughout all the fighting, the other woman had barely stirred at all. She'd just hung there limply, weight supported entirely by her chains…as if every spark of life and vitality had simply been torn out. What exactly those monsters had put her through, Fareeha didn't know, and couldn't bear to speculate on. The implements on the table nearby had given her a pretty good idea, however.

The image was enough to make her sick once again.

More out of habit than actual need, Fareeha wearily clawed her way off her bed, and half-stumbled, half-crawled to the toilet. She made it just in time, before a stabbing ache in her abdomen signalled the arrival of more painful contractions, strong enough to make her whole body tremble violently. It felt like her stomach was trying to force its way out through her mouth, but no matter how much she gagged and spluttered, there was nothing left in her to expel. All she had to show for her trouble was a caustic burning sensation in the back of her throat, and a foul, acrid taste on her tongue. She couldn't even wash it away, because any liquid she tried drinking would immediately come back up.

It took several minutes for the convulsions to subside, but Fareeha remained huddled over the bowl, clinging to it for support. She could see her face reflected in the water below; the bloodshot eye of Horus staring back at her accusingly. The symbol of protection...it was like a cruel joke. How could she justify carrying that mark when she couldn't even protect the person dearest to her? She didn't deserve it.

I don't deserve anything. Especially not Angela…

After a while, Fareeha's grip on the toilet bowl lessened, and she allowed gravity and exhaustion to dump her on the floor. It was as good a place as any, and she was barely aware of the discomfort of the hard tiles over the thoughts and emotions swirling inside her head. She had no end of regrets, and the more she dwelled on the past, the longer the list got. There had been so many missed opportunities; chances for her to let Angela see even a fraction of how she really felt, but hadn't for reasons that seemed laughably trivial now. She'd kept telling herself that they had time, that she should be patient and let things develop naturally, that there was no rush because neither of them were going anywhere. Looking back, she couldn't believe how incredibly naïve she'd been. In their line of work, she should have known better.

Now those opportunities, and the possible future that came with them, were surely gone. Even if Angela recovered, Fareeha couldn't imagine she'd ever be able to look her in the eye again.

I failed her in every way possible. All her suffering is because of my mistakes.

A soft knock on the door suddenly broke Fareeha out of her self-destructive thoughts. Initially she couldn't piece together what the noise was, but then it came again, still gentle but more insistent.

Naiek. Don't they realise I want to be left alone?

Fareeha thought her actions had made that perfectly clear. Apparently she'd been mistaken, but in her weakened state, she couldn't really find the will to be angry either. With any luck, whoever was there would see what a mess she was, and get the hint.

"Yes, yes, I'm coming," she snapped as more knocks came. Sluggishly, she lumbered over to the door, leaning heavily on the open button to take some weight off her aching legs.

She hadn't paused to consider who exactly might be on the other side, but that didn't stop it from being a surprise. Rather than being greeted by an expression of meretricious sympathy, or even a look of shock at how wretched she must appear, she instead came face to face with an utterly blank, emotionless slate.

The off-white bone of Genji's visor regarded her neutrally, betraying absolutely nothing.

"Miss Amari," he greeted, voice modulating slightly as whatever software he used to process his speech adapted to the acoustics of the cramped corridor. "Would you grant me the honour of your company?"

Fareeha was momentarily at a loss for what to say. Even including missions, she could count on one hand the number of times she and the elusive cyborg had spoken. Genji tended to keep to himself, so the fact that he was now seeking her out, and at a time like this…she couldn't understand it.

Nevertheless, she was serious about her desire for solitude.

"I think I'd rather be alone right now," she replied, hoping that would be the end of it.

"In my experience, that is precisely when people should not be," Genji countered. Fareeha couldn't tell where he was looking, but she got the impression he was staring right through her. Ordinarily, her natural willpower and stubbornness would be more than a match for his impassive gaze, and she'd have stood her ground as long as was necessary to get her way. Right now though, she withered before the scrutiny, and was unable to maintain the impetus to turn him away.

Oh hell, if he came here, he must have a good reason. Maybe a distraction will help.

"Fine," she conceded, stepping out of the doorway to let him through. "But make it quick."

Watchpoint: Lyon

1 Week Ago - 1441 Hours

The moment Fareeha had been both dreading and anticipating in equal measure was finally here. She'd tried to steel herself, but she didn't know if it would be enough. Jitters were already forming in the pit of her stomach, and she was grateful that she'd mostly be expected to sit, because her legs felt uncharacteristically weak.

Deep breaths. Remember your training and you'll do fine.

"The doctor will see you now," came the voice from behind the door.

Oh gods. Just try to not be a total 'ahmaq.

Fareeha took one last, steadying breath before entering the medbay. Given the time, it was surprisingly empty and dimly lit, and it took her a moment to locate Angela. She was already positioned by one of the few beds that was still illuminated, gloves on and clipboard in hand. Catching sight of Fareeha, she looked up from her notes, and her face visibly brightened.

"Ah, good. I wasn't sure you'd actually show up. But here you are, and right on time too. Please, take a seat."

Fareeha could feel the butterflies in her stomach intensify under Angela's kind gaze, but she was determined not to let it show. She still cringed when she remembered how she'd let herself turn to putty that time the other woman had cleaned her face. Any more slip ups like that, and she risked being outed in a very embarrassing manner.

"Have I ever missed an appointment?" Fareeha asked teasingly, hoping that diving headfirst into conversation would help with getting over her awkwardness. "I like to think I'm a model patient."

"Quite true," Angela replied brightly. "You are definitely the most well-behaved soldier I've encountered. Most of them do so like to brush us doctors off when it comes to physicals."

"Yeah, well, most soldiers don't have Helix breathing down their neck."

Angela made a face.

"Yes…Helix. They have been quite, ah…specific in their requests for punctual and precise data."

Fareeha chuckled inwardly. She could only imagine how the conversation between Helix's medical team and Angela had gone. She got the feeling the other woman definitely didn't like people telling her what she should and shouldn't be doing in her lab, and if they'd gone so far as to question her efficiency…well, no doubt they'd received quite the dressing down.

"They want me to check for any early signs of muscle strain or internal trauma that could be caused by prolonged usage of the Raptora suit." Angela sighed dramatically. "I told them that I'd already run my own checks, and that there was no way I'd be letting you out in that thing if I thought it might injure you, but they remained insistent. So for now, it looks like we are obliged to continue these appointments."

"Believe me, I'm not exactly thrilled about it either," Fareeha replied, jumping up to perch on the edge of the bed. That wasn't strictly true; anything that provided an excuse to spend more time with Angela was a plus in Fareeha's book. She just wished that the circumstances were a little less…potentially compromising.

"Still, it was part of the conditions for my transfer to Overwatch," she continued. "The way I see it, for that, no price is too high."

Angela's eyes flicked up again, and her smile widened.

"I guess it's a price that I'm willing to pay as well, if it means we get to keep you."

Fareeha tried not to infer anything from that comment, but she could feel her carefully constructed composure slip slightly. The threat of a blush made itself known as a tingling warmth at the base of her neck, and, desperately, she tried to move the conversation along.

"So, uh, are there any unorthodox tests on the agenda I should be worried about?"

Angela paused, her expression suddenly turning serious.

"Hmm, there was one…" she said, turning her attention to the table at one end of the bed, where a series of medical instruments had been neatly laid out. "They gave me this probe and asked me to take some comprehensive measurements. I hope you don't mind."

She spun around again, clasping a smooth metal rod in both hands. It was just over a foot long, an inch and a half thick, and covered in contoured ribbing. Fareeha blanched at the sight, eyes widening in shock and not an insignificant amount of fear. She'd been told it was just meant to be a routine check-up and hadn't been expecting anything like this at all.

That better not be going where I think it's going…

"P-Probe?" she stammered out loud, unable to look away from the horrifying device.

Angela nodded, but it only took a few seconds for her outwardly sober expression to crack. It was replaced by a burble of lyrical laughter, although it took Fareeha a moment to realise just what was so funny.

"Amazing, I don't think I've ever seen you so pale," Angela managed between giggles. "Don't worry, it's just a massage wand for physiotherapy. Nothing to do with you. I forgot to put it away earlier."

"You…ibn el sharmouta! Kol khara," Fareeha hissed, exhaling in both relief and frustration. "You treat all your patients like this? No wonder they don't want to come, if this is what you call bedside manner."

"I've had no complaints so far," Angela replied. By now, she was leaning on the bed for support as she got her breath back.

"Then your subjects must be much better behaved than you give them credit for."

Angela burst out laughing again, and in spite of herself, Fareeha felt a little proud that this time she'd intentionally been the cause. In all honesty, seeing Angela smiling and happy was always a pleasure for her, even if she herself was the butt of the joke. Not that she'd ever admit that to the other woman.

"Come now. If we keep this up, we'll never even begin, much less finish," Angela said, in a half-hearted effort to get them back on track.

"Okay, okay, go ahea-"

Fareeha's response was abruptly cut off by a shrill whine, as the base-wide intercom switched on. Stopping in their tracks, both her and Angela looked up in unison and were greeted by the bass tones of Winston.

"All agents, please report to the ops center immediately. This is a, uh, priority five…wait, no, six! I meant six. A priority six alert. I say again; all Overwatch agents, please report to the ops center immediately. Um…thank you. Winston out."

Fareeha glanced back down at Angela, who quirked her right eyebrow with wry amusement.

"I think I might have jinxed us," she said. "Oh well, another time I guess. Let's see what the big guy wants."

The operations center was already pretty crowded by the time Angela and Fareeha arrived. Having never been intended as much more than an outpost, Watchpoint Lyon wasn't the best equipped base to deal with the large influx of members they'd experienced in the past months, and it showed in how jam-packed the room was. Carefully, they squeezed through the congregation, making their way towards the center where Winston and Soldier 76 were hunched over a holographic map table. The two of them were deep in conversation, pausing only to listen to the occasional interjection from one of the assembled group. Angela couldn't help but smile at the sight. It was nice to see Jack back in his element, and despite what he'd say if questioned on the topic, she felt certain that the restoration of Overwatch was just about the best thing that could have happened to him.

Since the recall, there had been some ambiguity as to who exactly was leading the reformed organisation. As the one who had sent the signal and hosted the first returning agents at Gibraltar, the role had initially fallen to Winston by default. It was a position he'd accepted out of necessity, and although he'd taken to it rather well, in Angela's opinion, he'd always said that he considered himself little more than a caretaker. When 76 arrived, and his true identity as Jack Morrison was revealed, everyone had assumed that he'd reprise his old title. Certainly, he didn't seem surprised when people turned to him for leadership, but in-spite of that, he'd made no official request to take over from Winston. For the time being, therefore, the two of then shared the responsibility, with 76 focussing on military operations and Winston on logistics and the training of new agents. It was an arrangement that clearly could not last indefinitely, at least, not without being formalised, but it worked well enough for now.

Secretly, Angela hoped that if some kind of council-based leadership was the future of Overwatch 2.0, that Fareeha would get a place. Not only had she inherited all the Amari pedigree that had made her mother such a strong pillar of the organisation, she was also a remarkable woman in her own right. She reminded Angela of how Jack had been at the start; an uncompromising, incorruptible paragon. Virtue clung to her as tightly as her armour, and Angela couldn't think of anyone that could pry it off without first breaking themselves.

Oh dear, I'm gushing. Focus, Angela.

They finally reached the front of the crowd and drew the attention of Winston, who looked up from what appeared to be a list of names.

"Ah, good, I think that's everyone," he rumbled, before raising his voice to address the room as a whole. "Okay, let's get started. I'm sure you're all wondering why you've been gathered here. Well, some of you already know, but for those who don't, I'll let Commander Morrison explain."

76 nodded. He was quite the impressive, enigmatic figure, face hidden behind mask and visor. The reason why he wore it almost all the time, even indoors, was a topic of hot debate in certain circles around the base, and Angela had heard all kinds of wild theories. She personally kept her mouth shut about the matter. Somehow, she got the feeling Jack might not be best pleased with her revealing the fact that it was to compensate for his long-sightedness.

"Winston and Athena have been combing the data we extracted from Blacksite: Cahors," he said, gesturing to the great ape. "And what they found was worth every rat we had to kill to get it. Talon screwed up. When they hooked up to the mainframe, they left a backdoor into their own system. We were able to pull a few files. Winston tells me it's mostly junk, but buried deep, we found this…"

He tapped a button, and the list Winston had been looking at earlier transferred to the table; projected upright and slowly rotating so everyone could see it.

"Hugo Christophe…Clara DeMont…Jean Philippe…what exactly are we looking at?" Jesse McCree leaned forward in his chair, squinting at the names. "Oh, and apologies for butchering the pronunciation."

"The names are GIGN, French special forces," 76 replied. "But the list is a Talon prisoner manifest. All of these soldiers were members of a squad conducting covert anti-terrorism operations in the Pyrenees Badlands. They went MIA three months ago, and were presumed dead, but it looks like Talon got their claws on them."

"So we're going to rescue them, right?" Lena Oxton chipped in.

"Yes…if you let me finish," 76 said gruffly, causing Tracer to sheepishly sit back down. "The manifest lists the holding area as an apartment block in the abandoned town of Tarbes, just this side of the Spanish border. It also says that the prisoners are being transferred…tomorrow. We have no leads on where they're being extracted to, so either we get them now, or not at all."

"Hands up for the 'get them now' option," McCree said. Unsurprisingly, the whole room agreed.

"I knew we could count on you all." Winston smiled proudly, "But Jack…er, Commander Morrison says we need to keep the team small and mobile, and I agree. If they see us coming, who knows what they'll do to the hostages."

"We'll have to cut off all routes of escape," 76 added. "Pharah, you'll be in the air. Mercy, you'll be on hand in case any of the prisoners need patching up. McCree and Genji will cover the ground entrances while I provide overwatch from the transport. Team two…"

Angela could feel her mind wandering now that her role had been established. There was only so much military strategy she could listen to before it all turned to white noise, and she knew that all the relevant details would be spelled out explicitly in the briefing dossier. Instead, her attention strayed to the woman by her side, and she felt the corners of her mouth quirk up when she saw how serious and attentive Fareeha's expression was. The Egyptian was a soldier through and through, and she could give Jack a run for his money when it came to stoicism. It was probably why Angela took such perverse delight in teasing her; to try and see what it took to crack that stern façade. That, and the fact that jokes provided a good smokescreen to hide the nerves that always seemed to creep up on her when Fareeha was around.

She thought back to their earlier appointment that had been interrupted. It was something she'd been apprehensive about for some time, and not because of Helix's incessant pestering. Angela knew how to deal with them, but she wasn't so confident in her ability to deal with her own emotions. Every time her and Fareeha were alone together, it took a surprising amount of effort just to remember how to act like a normal, functioning human being. She was always second guessing every word that came out of her own mouth, and always over-analysing everything Fareeha said or did. It was frankly a miracle that the other woman hadn't noticed her erratic behaviour.

Unless she has and she's too polite to say anything. Or maybe she thinks that is how I always behave and she sees me as some kind of neurotic. Or perhaps…ah, fick willen, there I go again.

Now, Angela was constantly torn between jumping at any opportunity to be in Fareeha's company, and being nervous and tongue-tied the entire time she was. It was even the case in professional settings like the upcoming mission, although at least that wouldn't be quite as…intimate, as a physical exam.

God, I've got to get it together. Being this distracted could get someone hurt, or worse.

She just had to focus on the task at hand. It was a straightforward operation; get in, get the hostages, get out. There would probably be people requiring medical attention, and as much as she hoped there would be no serious injuries, at least they were something she knew how to handle; something she had some control over.

Yes, a nice, simple mission should help clear my head. What could go wrong?

Watchpoint: Gibraltar

Present Day – 2004 Hours

"So, what do you want?" Fareeha asked, sitting down heavily on the floor with her back against the wall. She could feel a headache coming on, probably from a combination of dehydration and the prospect of having to try and negotiate a conversation in her present state.

"To talk," Genji replied. He remained standing, and it occurred to Fareeha that his robot body probably didn't experience fatigue.

"Well…I'm listening."

"Are you?" Genji sighed, a sound not dissimilar to static. "Your ears may be in this room, but your mind…that is in the operating theatre, I think. With her."

Oh gods, the last thing I need right now is some cryptic bullshit.

"Is that a fact?" Fareeha replied sarcastically. "Tell me, when did you become an expert on what I'm thinking? You barely even know me."

If Genji was perturbed by her aggressive tone, it didn't show.

"You are correct, but I know myself. My thoughts are there as well," he said, and for the first time, Fareeha thought she could detect a trace of emotion in his voice. "You are not the only one who loves her."

Fareeha paled, a gasp of surprise escaping before she could stop it. His words struck her like a one-two punch; first the realisation that someone else was aware of her most closely-guarded secret, and then the idea that she had very real, very present competition.

"H-how did you…?" she managed to garble out, not sure whether she should be feeling humiliation or rage. Genji held his hands up in a gesture of peace.

"After this week, I don't think a single person remains oblivious to how you feel about her. But do not be ashamed. Your dedication and relentlessness inspired everyone, and kept them going when they might otherwise have faltered. Without your love, Dr. Ziegler would still be lost to us."

At last, Genji sat, lowering himself into a cross-legged position opposite Fareeha.

"Do not mistake my intentions, Miss Amari. My feelings for Dr. Ziegler are not yours. I owe her my life, body and soul. For that, she has my eternal love and gratitude. But I do not seek anything more."

The confusing mess of panic, fear, and anger that had welled in Fareeha's breast slowly dissipated, and she felt her insides unwind themselves from the knot they'd tied themselves in. In a way, it was reassuring that her reaction was so strong. At least she knew now that she was still capable of emotions other than despair.

"I'm…glad to hear it," she replied, realising that after her outburst it was pointless attempting to deny what he'd said. "Why are you telling me this though?"

"Because it is true. Because I thought hearing it might help." Genji looked down at the floor. "We are bound together in our grief. Why suffer in solitude when the burden can be lightened by sharing?"

Fareeha remained silent for a few moments, pondering the meaning of Genji's words. There was truth in them, that was undeniable, but they still provided little comfort.

"I don't think I want my burden lightened," she said quietly.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because…b-because…" Fareeha faltered. She knew the reason. She'd thought of nothing else since Angela's return. But somehow voicing it out loud made it seem more real; more definite. There was a big difference between admitting it to herself and admitting it to someone else. Fareeha could feel her lips trembling, and when she next spoke, it was little more than a weak whisper.

"Because I did this. I couldn't stop them taking her, and now s-she…I deserve to feel this way."

Genji turned to face her, but she couldn't meet his gaze. She thought she'd long since run out of tears, but apparently she'd been wrong, because she could now sense fresh ones brimming along her lower lids, blurring her vision. Instinctively, she clenched her hand into a fist, trying to stop them from falling. It was a reflex many years in the making, rooted in a desire to never show weakness or vulnerability. But what good was it now? Her weakness was plain as day, tears or no tears.

"You are wrong," Genji stated.

"W-what?" Fareeha hadn't expected such a blunt response, and it momentarily threw her off.

"You are wrong," the cyborg repeated. "The blame is not yours. Did you set the trap? Did you pull the trigger? Did you beat her, or cut her, or burn her? Talon did these things, not you."

"Well, y-yeah, but...I was there. They took her, right in front of me, and I…I didn't' stop them. I should have fought harder."

"If you could transform one fish into ten thousand, you could solve all starvation. If you could cleanse infection with your touch, you could cure all disease. If you could convince the most bitter of rivals to lay down their weapons with but a word, you could prevent all war. The fact that you cannot do these things does not make all the suffering in the world your fault."

Genji reached out, resting a hand on Fareeha's shoulder. She flinched reflexively, expecting cool metal, but was surprised to find that his touch was warm and textured, not unlike any other human's.

"Of all the weapons at a warrior's disposal, love is perhaps the greatest," Genji continued. "It drives us to push beyond our limits. To protect those dear to us, we fight harder, strike faster, and where necessary, even risk our own lives. You did everything in your power to protect Dr. Ziegler, and it was you who single-handedly braved the dragon's nest to rescue her. She could not ask for a better guardian, and I know she would not want you to blame yourself for what happened."

Fareeha opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. She tried again, and this time managed to produce a dry croak, but was otherwise silent. Inside, her mind raced, trying and failing to think of a rebuttal. She was guilty, she knew it right down to her core, so why did Genji make so much sense? There had to be something he was overlooking.

It's all my fault. It's all my fault. It...it has to be, doesn't it?

Her mind spun round and round in circles, struggling to resolve the dissonance, until eventually, something just snapped. The tears Fareeha had been holding at bay finally broke free, spilling over and burning hot trails down her cheeks. Before she knew what was happening, she'd collapsed onto Genji's shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably.

The cyborg just held her.