"Why I did it? Actually, I don't think someone ever asked that. Though I think everyone will soon wonder. I guess most people would be utterly disappointed to hear my reasons. They all expect something big behind everything; some elaborate scheme or some cunning ploy. To ordinary people, everything has to be motivated by something bigger and something more important. It's pathetic, I'm telling you. That's the small mind's way of compensating with what they are. Expendable. Unimportant. They don't matter. So, they try to create a world where bigger things than themselves are caused by bigger people, bigger reasons, and bigger events. That's complete nonsense. With the right resolve, they could have gotten just as far as I did. Small minds just think in small ways. That's all there is to it. Once you realize that you can also think outside the box, the world changes and so do the rules you play by. There are no rules. To tell you the truth, I did it because I wanted to see how far I could go. It's that simple. Long ago, I tasted the wonderful taste of how good it felt to have power over someone. It was intoxicating. I wanted more. I wanted to see how far up the ladder I could climb using any means I could come up with. When I noticed that I was getting stuck in the route I chose for myself, I created my own out. The easiest way to do this is to create demand for your skills. In my case, that was mostly someone to go up against. This is one of the biggest lessons I learned. Humanity always needs an enemy. Naturally, the Omnics came to mind. Someone just had to dare to do what it took to utilize their potential. Godprograms were easy to come up with, especially with the right specialists. They were easy to abuse for my goals, but they lacked elegance and refinement. Loose cannons these Omnics, especially when one of their artificial gods spooks through their heads. But they were brutal, which was good for starters. Later, I took what was a loose idea before and officially founded Talon for this reason. To create a smoother, more elegant enemy for humanity. Something they could fear, but not hate. You can't hate what you don't see, yet you fear it all the more. And it worked like a charm. Maybe too good considering where I'm sitting now. Without Talon, I would have never been able to successfully go official. Soon running as candidate for the UN general secretary. But I'm getting off the track. Politics are the best example for what I just explained. Humanity needs an enemy. Look at all the great dictators of the world. They all shared one thing: A boiling hatred toward someone else. Hitler had the Jews, Stalin the Bourgeoisie, and Trump the Muslims. I have the Omnics. None of those people truly hated their boogieman, they just used them for their own goals and, in the end, got them almost eradicated; some more efficient than others. I'm no different in that regard. I don't hate the Omnics. In fact, I don't even mind them at all. But I won't hesitate to turn them all to scrap if it gets me somewhere. Am I ashamed to mention myself in a row of mass murdering individuals? No. Definitely not. They all were, at one point, the most powerful people on this planet. There is no shame in that. I have no ambitions to play fair in this game. That was never fun before. No. I want total control and absolute dominance over what my property is and I want it at any cost. Besides, it's not like I'm gassing people, nor do I build gulags in Siberia or nuke them out of existence. I am creating scrap metal for the most part. Nice and easy. Sure; there will be human casualties, but that's war for you. The price you pay for power, I guess. And if I fail while grasping for power, then so be it; I was too weak. But I know that I'm not weak. I would have never gotten this far if I was weak. I'm willing to do what it takes to reach my goal. And with that new face you created for me and all the spare parts, I am one step closer to getting what I want. Power for the power's sake. It's that simple. Does that answer your question, Professor?"
-Thiery Savant in conversation with the head of Talon's biotech division, hours before the entire staff along with its head was executed for "security reasons".
Watchpoint Gibraltar, three days later, 0615 hours.
The mess hall was filled with people, just like it always was no matter what time of the day. Usually, the place was well visited all around the clock, be that either because of free coffee and the opportunity to discuss things with colleagues and friends, or because of the 24-hours hot kitchen.
Right now, most guests of the mess were probably here for the coffee. It was the fuel which most of the personnel at the Watchpoint needed to function even rudimentarily normal.
This early morning was the start into the day for most of the people employed at this almost legendary place on the rough cliffs of Gibraltar, either as part of Winston's science teams or as unofficial agents and soldiers of a now illegal Overwatch. It didn't matter; they all were out to get their breakfast, a cup of strong coffee, and a little bit of chit chat to start the day properly. Usually, from the mess hall, everyone had a breathtaking view of the warm sunrise behind the ocean in the morning, the seconds when the sun decided to grace the glistering surface of the ocean with its first rays of magical light.
It was a sight to behold. Usually. But the past days this wasn't meant to be. The thunderstorm which arrived a few days prior still hadn't decided to leave Gibraltar alone again and, from the looks of things, it still wasn't planning on doing so anytime soon. Of course, that meant the view outside presented little else but a sad, indistinguishable sludge of never-ending grey colors and lots of heavy rain and clouds. Occasionally, a stray ray of lightning flickered through the thick clouds, quickly becoming an annoying throbbing pain in the corner of the eye. It was quite depressing. But that didn't do the mood of most people any harm.
What did, however, was the presence of one certain French lady.
In any environment where people were living on top of each other for longer periods of time, any kind of news usually spread like a wildfire.
The news that the Widowmaker was granted access to the Watchpoint spread even faster. It was almost faster than the speed of light. The problem was that no one really seemed to know a lot about the reasons or motivations behind it. To most of the people at the Watchpoint, Widowmaker, one of the faces of their enemy, just suddenly appeared and seemingly was meant to stay.
And that wasn't good news to most people stationed at the place. But Widowmaker had been locked up in the beginning, so it still could be reasoned she was a prisoner. That changed quickly when word got out that the very same assassin was now allowed to walk around the base. In constant company of an appointed agent, granted, but walk around nevertheless. A lot of those people were even less happy after that, if at all possible.
Some were rather vocal about their opinion…at least toward Commander Morrison when he announced his decision two days ago.
The commander told his men to suck it up and fall back in line and that they weren't here to make friends but to fight a just cause. He told the group that there was a bigger picture that not everyone might have been aware of. It seemed enough to shut most of the personnel up for the most part.
Considering how many lives Widowmaker had taken in the past, lives of Overwatch-members mostly, lives of friends and family of the people stationed here, it was hardly surprising that everyone needed to get used to the idea of the number one nemesis of Overwatch suddenly standing right in the middle of it. And no one was allowed to lay a hand on her.
Now, Amélie was sitting at a table in the corner of the mess hall together with Tracer enjoying a Croissant with some butter and a cup of black coffee. Lena was having a bowl of her usual cereal, which was disappearing at an alarming speed... and not because it was particularly tasty or Lena especially hungry. No, the truth was Tracer just tried to keep her mouth filled with something or she might have fallen into a hissy fit. There was just something about the way people were walking past them, just to stop for a second and stare at Amélie like they saw a ghost, their eyes lingering on her spider-tattoo for but an instant. Most of them just seemed to be thrown off a little bit, deciding that this obviously wasn't within their payroll, or remembering Morrison's words, but some seemed to contemplate opening their mouths. Lena couldn't help but glare daggers at those until they moved on.
It just wasn't fair. Amélie didn't deserve this. She wasn't the enemy here. None of what happened to her was because of her choosing, yet alone her fault. No one seemed to get that though. Or even bothered to think about it. To most, Widowmaker was simply evil. Easy as that.
It was exactly that kind of attitude -the habit of labeling people for someone's own convenience - that made Tracer angry. It didn't happen often that the go-lucky tomboy with the unruly brown hair got angry.
Lena could really look scary if she was angry. It was enough for everyone to decide that voicing whatever thought they had probably wasn't worth the trouble.
But the last guy apparently wasn't getting the hint to fuck off. Lena glanced over to Amélie, who was sitting in her chair, apparently not caring about anything around her other than her simple breakfast. She was playing her role as the lone wolf turned lone refugee here really well; not allowing herself to show any obvious hint that she and Lena knew each other better…let alone were an item. She just wore the same blank, emotionless and cold expression on her face which screamed 'I'm here because I want to be, not because I have to be, and I'll happily murder you in your sleep should you dare talk to me' so loud it could have been a public announcement on the news. Of course, that wasn't really helping people to get over their reservations concerning the former Talon master assassin. It was, however, enough to make most people avoid her and just give her weird looks from the she seemed to not even notice, or better yet, not care about. Of course, she noticed. Widow noticed everything going on around her.
Yet, despite doing an amazing job of pretending, Amélie's girlfriend saw right through her. Lena had little trouble figuring out just how uncomfortable the gorgeous French woman really was underneath that icy facade of infinite cold and nonexistent emotional empathy. How judged she felt whenever someone walked past with that contemptuous look on their face, the one they all had when looking at Widowmaker.
Like she didn't deserve to be here. Like she was unworthy of being accepted here.
What were they thinking? Did they not know what she had been through? No, of course they didn't. They just saw Talon's former killing machine; the one who murdered the oh, so great Gerard Lacroix in his sleep. His own wife. They only saw the years-old betrayal; how she turned to the dark side to murder and assassinate people all over the world. Comrades, friends, and even family. That's what Amélie was to everyone else but a select few at the Watchpoint.
They didn't see a human. They saw a killing machine. Maybe one with malfunctions. Something filthy, something inhuman, and maybe something dangerous.
Not a person.
It made Tracer sick how judgmental people were around here these days. No one seemed to care when Hanzo joined the team. Hell, that guy was technically a criminal no matter how smooth he talked. But everyone seemed to easily forget that he tried to murder his own brother and would have actually succeeded if not Mercy. Genji had been dead. He was just brought back. Hanzo's handiwork undone by a wave of the Swiss doctor's divine hand.
He was forgiven.
Yet, no one even bothered to think about what circumstances might have caused Widowmaker to become who she was.
Lena swallowed her cereal to give the guy wearing the uniform of the tech-department and currently staring at Amélie a piece of her mind, yet the young technician beat her to it.
"What is she doing here, Agent Oxton?" the man hissed, his voice full of spite. "Isn't she supposed to be shot on sight? She is responsible for murdering my brother. She is the reason I joined the fight. And now I'm supposed to accept that we share breakfast in the same room? I don't get it. Are we now taking in the bad guys if they are just about good looking enough? Is that it?" he growled, his voice shaking and his eyes burning into Tracer, the insult regarding her sexual preferences not going unnoticed by Lena.
Amélie didn't even raise her head as she peeled a piece off her Croissant and slowly put it into her mouth while subtly shaking her head to Tracer, telling her without words that her lover didn't need to defend her honor here. Amélie didn't expect that people would welcome her with open arms. She was tolerated and that was all Widow asked for. Everyone who mattered to her was Lena and Angela. And both of them were treating her more than kindly. Anyone else didn't matter. Amélie not only couldn't, but also really didn't, care. Then again, the guy did just insult Lena as well. And that made Amélie really, really mad internally.
Slowly, she turned her head to fix the guy with one of the deadliest stares he had ever seen in his life. Her intimidating, bright golden eyes were piercing his skin. He could almost feel the sharp sting of her dagger-like gaze tearing his flesh apart. Her features were stern and hard, her lips pressed together slightly and her eyes absolutely fixed on him like he was nothing more than her prey. He suddenly got why some people had also nicknamed her 'the Huntress', a large portion of his young being regretting that he said something. Now, it was too late. He had opened his mouth.
"What did you just dare to insinuate?" she hissed, her French accent more prominent than usually. The words rolled off her tongue like velvet, yet they neither lacked the precision of Genji's blade nor the punch of Reinhardt's hammer.
Surprisingly, the guy wasn't forfeiting just yet. He held Widowmaker's intimidating gaze, albeit not without a certain nervousness. "I suppose it was what-"
Someone cleared his throat rather loudly from behind the young technician "And I suppose that isn't really your problem here, is it, pojke?" A mechanical piece of prosthetic pushed the young man out of the way, revealing a dwarf with a long blond beard standing behind him, looking pissed. Well, at least as pissed as he usually looked. Torbjörn was always in a foul mood. "She is here because Commander Morrison granted her refugee. He explained his decision to us all as best as he could, even though he didn't have to do that. This isn't a bowl of cherries where you can pick out what you like, rookie. You'd do good to not question his judgment while I'm around. The Commander has his reasons, and you are nowhere near important enough to know them. And neither am I, for that matter. That's the military for you. Don't like it? Leave. We don't need troublemakers like you around. They get good men killed." Torbjörn pointed his prosthesis to the next emergency exit. "Now go and mind your own damn business before I have to make some improvements..." he made a dramatic pause "... to your face."
"...Sir?"
"Off you go!" Torbjörn shooed the technician away before he climbed into the chair next to Widowmaker, placing a plate with bread and some cheese in front of him. "That guy," he sighed, shaking his head slowly, "works in the development department. Has a smart head on his shoulders, but speaks before thinking... Ahh, he'll come around eventually. Still new and such." Torbjörn chuckled deeply before looking at Tracer with a shrug. His eyes wandered to Widowmaker, upon whom they came to rest. "So, isn't the doc supposed to have an eye on you? Make sure you don't go out and murder us all while singing row row row your boat?"
"Mercy wants to wake Fareeha up today." Tracer replied instead of Amélie, whose left eyelid was twitching once. "She's really busy. Apparently it's a rather complicated procedure…or soI've been told."
"Aye, I see." Trobjörn replied with another chuckle "So, the doctor decided our token dyke here should see to it that you don't get into trouble, is that right?" he said easily while chuckling "Don't see what could possibly go wrong here, considering her reputation as your copybook lady-killer."
Amélie now turned to glare at the Swedish dwarf. What was it with people here insulting Tracer's sexuality? Yet, for some strange reason, the Brit didn't seem to be the slightest bit offended by it. In fact, she was giggling.
Was he just chaffing her? God, social interactions were annoying. Widowmaker wasn't used to them…at least, not anymore. Sometimes scenes felt familiar, but she could never really recall.
"Well, at least I can look my girlfriend in the eyes without her having to kneel down, Torb." she teased, and Torbjörn joined in on her laughter. Ahh, Amélie thought, they know each other. He wasn't insulting her, it seems.
"Pah! Why would I need to see someone's eyes if I can enjoy their glorious butts!" he shot back.
Lena pointed her spoon at him, waving it up and down a little bit "True" she nodded "Though you'll never get to steal glances at someone's wonderful cleavage without standing on a stool. And that's just a little too obvious, don't you agree?"
Amélie perked up an eyebrow, looking at Tracer in all her cute 5'4" and how she was way too small to look most girls into their cleavage, too. "With your height, neither can you, chérie." she stated dryly, picking up another piece of her breakfast, while inwardly cursing herself for letting the affectionate nickname she gave Tracer slip. "Also, I usually don't sing while killing people. Gives your position away. Can't have that."
"Oho!" Torbjörn exclaimed "She talks!" he said with a gleeful smile on his lips, apparently either completely ignoring the nickname or not even noticing it. "Who would have thought?" He said, shaking his head while stroking through his, admittedly, pretty badass beard.
"Hey, Torb, be nice, ok?" Tracer said seriously.
"Ahhh, someone is being protective here" Torbjörn laughed "I see, I see" he said causing Lena to blush violently, so she quickly hid her face in her cereal bowl, muttering "like hell you see."
"But of course! I'm nice." Torbjörn waved her off "Amélie and I have talked before, haven't we? That was a long time ago, when you were still with that Gerard scumbag you just had to marry for some reason."
That Gerard scumbag. Scumbag. Amélie felt the words echoing within herself as she blinked a couple of times, a single image flashing into her mind.
Green eyes staring at her. A loud noise and an intense pain in her face. He slapped her. Hard. It wasn't the first time. It won't be the last.
"I... don't remember, I'm afraid. The woman you knew is long gone." Widowmaker said, cold as ice, subconsciously rubbing her cheek. There was no need to pretend. Despite the name she carried, she wasn't Amélie anymore. She would most likely never be again. What Talon did to her could never be undone completely. It would mark her until the end of her days. It was a burden she would never lose.
For a moment, some heavy sadness passed through Torbjörn's eyes "So, that's how it is?" he said bitterly. "Well, I suppose it's better this way." he said, turning back to his bread and suddenly taking a special interest in the cheese.
"What do you mean with that, luv?" Lena asked when Amélie just stared.
"Interesting conversation to have in this situation" Torbjörn tried to laugh to lighten the mood, but it didn't help "Well, I guess better do it now than later. What do you remember about your husband, Gerard?" he asked Widowmaker. She shivered visibly for a moment.
"Nothing, really" was the cold reply. "Fragments at best."
"And I suppose they are all very pleasant and feel really happy?" Torbjörns voice was dripping with sarcasm so heavy he could have used a bucket to collect all the irony flowing out of his mouth.
"Non."
"Didn't think so." Torbjörn replied "He was a bastard. Few people knew. Very few. But he wasn't good to you; not once. Let's just say I won't pity his death. In fact, I applaud you for drawing that line. I wish it would have ended differently, but that's not my business. I should have killed him myself long before you had to, Amélie. And everyone who knew him - really knew the guy - will tell you that. He deserved what you did to him." The dwarf said bitterly, grabbing his now empty plate "I should get back to work." He said, and left without another word.
Amélie and Lena sat in silence for a long time after Torbjörn had returned to whatever business he needed to tend to. Widowmaker was sorting through all the memories she had regained, which weren't a lot, by any stretch of the imagination, but still a fragment here and a piece there. Every time she thought about her husband, she couldn't find a single positive emotion connected to him. Not one. Even the piece she had from the day of what she supposed was her wedding felt strangely... bitter.
"Is it true?" Amélie asked silently.
"Luv, I don't know. I never knew Gerard. Maybe you should ask Angela next time?"
Amélie nodded slowly. "I wish I could remember. Some things are slowly coming back but... nothing makes any sense. It's so weird. All I know for sure and can rely on is you and the memories I have about you. Everything else is... a mess."
"Don't worry. It will come back eventually." Lena said, smiling a shaky smile at Amélie who nodded. She really wished she could help her gorgeous French lover. But Tracer couldn't. There was nothing she could do for her no matter how much she wanted to. But maybe she could show her that life wasn't only suffering. That the world had something else to offer other than pain and regret. That there were also more than enough nice things hidden in the details, the little things, maybe not visible at first glance, but even more worth discovering when one bothered to look closer for a moment. "Hey, how about we take a little trip to town today? I know the weather is crap, but whatever. Angela isn't around, so I'm basically in charge. We could go out shopping and get you some clothes," Lena beamed and let her eyes wander down Amélie's neck and into her very generous cleavage. "Not that I'm complaining about this outfit."
Amélie smirked, glad that the topic of the conversation had shifted to something more... mundane. Something further away from her past. She didn't feel ready to talk about her husband and her former self yet. Which annoyed her, because she used to be ready for everything. During her time at Talon, she didn't fear anything. But Widowmaker was smart enough to understand, without a doubt, the reasons for this. And those reasons were artificially imposed on her, enforced by chemistry and people messing with her brain. It wasn't natural. Which doesn't mean she necessarily enjoyed what was happening to her now, as she was starting to gradually get better, regaining memories and actually remembering things, events, and people. Mercy had theorized already that the effects of Talon's memory-resets might 'wash off' over time. Though how long it might take, Angela didn't know. Amélie didn't like that feeling of constant uncertainty at all. She was painfully aware of all the holes in her story, and it made her feel pathetic.
Lena's change of topic allowed Amélie to seem strong again. And she liked feeling strong. It made her feel safe. Ridiculous, considering who she was talking to here, but Widow couldn't help it. She was concerned that something between them would change when Lena found out what was done to Amélie. Or when she herself fully remembered again. The mere thought of Tracer not smiling at her the same way again was almost physically painful. That goofy, slightly silly grin she was getting now? It was so honest, so full of affection, and full of trust. It made the sunlight's warmth and brightness fade in comparison. Amélie wouldn't risk that for anything in the world.
"You really like girls, don't you?" Amélie hummed into her cup of coffee, glancing at her girlfriend over the edge of the black ceramic.
"Oh, my god!" Tracer gasped mockingly, pretending to be surprised and pressing a hand to her mouth in a ridiculously overdone fashion. "What a shocking revelation! I'm really gay? Who would have guessed...!?" Lena rolled her eyes jokingly. "C'mon! What do you say, Blueberry, just you and me? It'll be fun!"
Amélie raised an eyebrow and put her mug down again. The idea of going out with Tracer alone was great. It might have been something oddly mundane, and something most people did on an everyday basis without wasting another thought about it, but for Widowmaker this was different. It was new to her. She never went out for a normal day in town ever before. At least not that she could remember. "I'd love to" she smiled gently, causing Lena's eyes to light up like a child's on Christmas. "However, I do see two problems."
"Aww luv, don't ruin this now." Tracer pouted, but was ignored.
"First of all, am I even allowed off base? I don't want to get you into trouble." Valid point.
"Morrison never stated anything in that regard. He said you have to be accompanied at all times by an agent appointed by either him or Mercy. And since Angela appointed me for today-" Tracer stopped to mutter a quick "god bless her for being the absolute best best friend I could have asked for" before continuing. "- you have to follow me around. So... should I decide I'll have some things I want to get in town, you don't really have a choice other than coming along now, do you?"
"Mhh" Widow mused "Solid reasoning, I guess. Alright. That brings me to the second problem: We go to town, I like that idea, really. But I'm dead, remember? And you parading a blue woman with yellow eyes and purple hair around in broad daylight seems a bit... obvious? I'd rather not have Talon find out I'm still alive."
Tracer just grinned a little wickedly, most likely getting the wrong mental image out of parading Widow around, when she suddenly stood up and nodded Widow to come along "Way ahead of you there, luv. C'mon, you'll see."
-/-
Angela took a deep breath.
This was it now. Either it worked and Fareeha would wake up within a few seconds or... or she would never wake up again.
Stupid. This is so stupid. It's all my fault. She should have never come along to Zürich. None of this had to happen. But she insisted. She wanted to protect me. She had that look in her eyes; that same spark she had when Ana allowed her to visit when she was a child. She was so adorable back then. Looked at me like some kind of angel. Such a sweet child.
"Doctor?" A nurse asked carefully, pulling Angela out of her daydreaming.
"Entschuldigung" Mercy replied hastily. "Let's begin. We'll start slowly with 20 ml of nanoprobes at first and see how she reacts."
"Of course, doctor." The nurse nodded and turned to retrieve the said amount of nanoprobes from Mercy's staff. It was safely stored away inside a machine designed for exactly that purpose. During battle, Mercy could use her staff as a form of beam weapon to keep her comrades safe. For that reason, the nanoprobes were programmed to repair physical damage in the field and would safely self-destruct after they had done their job. A body which wasn't genetically altered to produce its own nanoprobes, like Angela had altered her own body, would suffer grave consequences if it couldn't get rid of the probes. Hence, the self-destruct.
Angela knew that she had two options if she went ahead with her plan of injecting re-programmed nanoprobes into Fareeha. The one she hoped for was that the probes would serve as a bridge between the severed nerves in Pharah's neck, allowing her to wake up again. If everything went according to plan, the nanoprobes would help the nerves to slowly grow back together, something which was usually impossible. Should that happen, Angela could slowly decrease the dose of nanoporbes she would have to give to Fareeha in periodic time intervals.
However, if that didn't happen, then Angela had only one other option: And that was Fareeha becoming dependent on nanoprobes for the rest of her life. She would have to decide if she wanted to receive them from Angela every few weeks, or if she wanted her own body altered to produce them.
The decision may seem simple. Never get sick, heal from any damage the own body suffers, and never age. As much as a miracle of medicine it was, it had its down sides, too.
Only years after Angela had tested her technology on herself did she realize that people around her were getting older. The people she had fought with for long years were slowly starting to age and, eventually, it dawned on Angela that one day she would be alone. She and Jack Morrison were the same age when they joined Overwatch. And now he looked like he could be her father. Reinhardt was no different, and neither was Torbjörn. Her friends were growing old and she wasn't. Mercy was stuck in time. Well, not really in time; she wasn't Tracer, but Angela's clock had just stopped ticking. A part of her always hoped that she just stopped aging and would still die eventually, but the rational part of herself knew this wasn't the case. The nanoprobes were keeping her body alive for as long as she didn't shut them off.
And that was something not everyone necessarily wanted. Imposing it on someone felt like the wrong thing to do.
So, Mercy decided to treat Fareeha with reprogrammed probes first, wake her up, and then ask which way the muscular Egyptian preferred.
"The probes are ready, doctor." The nurse said, handing Angela a standard syringe with a glowing yellow liquid inside. It was almost hilarious how stupidly simple it was to apply nanoprobes. A syringe. One of the oldest pieces of medical equipment she could think of. And it contained the most advanced creation modern medicine could come up with. Ironic, wasn't it?
"Please turn her around" Angela demanded. Another nurse sprang into action, pressing a couple of buttons on the side of the bed Fareeha was placed in. A moment later, the patient was lifted into the air with a soft hum of the bed, levitating above it like she was held by invisible strings. Naturally, that wasn't the case. Any modern ICU sickbed had top notch repulsor-technology installed so patients could be positioned ideally in cases of emergency without causing them any discomfort.
Fareeha, wearing nothing but the plain white tunic any hospital was giving its patients, was turned to her stomach, her back facing upward.
Angela stepped up to the Egyptian and carefully brushed away her thick, black hair. It was surprisingly heavy, Mercy noticed, in the back of her head. She lined up the sharp end of the syringe with Pharah's neck.
"I'll go slow, so please keep her vitals in check."
"Yes, doctor."
Angela inhaled sharply before she slowly pressed the glowing yellow liquid into Fareeha's neck.
"May I ask a question, doctor?" one of the nurses spoke up.
"Go ahead" Angela replied, still slowly pressing the nanoprobes into Fareeha.
"You can resurrect the dead, can't you? And it completely undoes any damage people suffered before they died, doesn't it?"
"Yes, and yes." Mercy nodded, frowning slightly before realizing what the nurse was getting at "No. No, no. God, no. That would be…No. I mean. I can't kill her just to resurrect her now, can I?"
"I was just asking doctor, since you seem to be concerned about the side effects of your nanoprobes."
"I... the possibility never crossed my mind, to be honest" Angela admitted, carefully removing the now empty syringe from Fareeha's light chocolate skin.
"I guess it would be wrong for a doctor to kill someone on purpose, too." The nurse said supportively.
"And you'd be completely beside the point" Angela sighed. "Turn her back around please"
"Doctor?"
"You heard me" Angela replied, waiting for the nurse to let Fareeha glide back into the bed again. This might take a minute or two. Angela mused, watching the sleeping Egyptian closely. So much work went into such a simple procedure. The tricky part wasn't applying the probes; anyone could have done that. No, the tricky part was setting them up correctly.
"How can you say it's alright for a doctor to kill?"
"Listen, it's the duty of any respectful physician to help people. And there are two ways of doing it. Either by helping those in need, or removing those who do evil. Both helps."
"How can you say something like that, doctor?" the other nurse gasped.
"Have you been to war before, Schwester?"
"N-No."
"Well, I have. And let me tell you, the atrocities some people are willing to commit during war are beyond what you could imagine if you haven't seen it with your own eyes. We're talking poisoned water supplies, contaminated first aid kits, toys for kids…which have a tendency to explode. You can't help every one of these victims. But you can find and kill the one responsible for everything. Then, you helped."
"So, you are saying the ends always justify the means?"
"No. I am saying that helping people can be achieved in various ways. You can't look at a statue from one angle and claim to have understood it wholly. You need to walk around it at least once and-"
Mercy didn't finish her thought as she caught Fareeha's eyelids twitching before she slowly opened them a little bit. The light inside the ICU must have been blinding, because the Egyptian blinked a couple of times, trying to readjust her eyes to the new brightness.
Angela basically teleported to Pharah's side faster than anyone could have imagined. "Fareeha? Can you hear me? How do you feel?" she asked softly, but Fareeha only groaned "Are you in pain?" Mercy wanted to know before quickly looking up to one of the nurses. "Give me her vitals; hurry!"
"Heart rate at 53 bpm, blood pressure is 130 to 85 mmHg, ECG and EEG are unobtrusive." One of the nurses replied almost instantly, reading the numbers off a holographic chart. Everything sounded good so far; especially for a woman with Pharah's fitness, so no need for concern.
"A-Angela…is that you?" Pharah asked, her voice sore and small. She sounded like speaking was extremely taxing to her. "Where am I?"
Mercy couldn't help but smile a little bit just because Pharah had finally dropped the 'Dr. Ziegler' she would usually use to address her.
"Yes, it's me, Fareeha. Don't worry; you are at the Watchpoint in Gibraltar. Everything is going to be fine soon. I need you to tell me how you feel." Angela's voice was little more than a whisper as she crouched down beside Fareeha. She couldn't even begin to describe how relieved she felt that her Egyptian bodyguard woke up again. Mercy had no idea what she would have done if things had backfired.
A part of her needed to cure Fareeha to be able to go on. The mere thought of someone being hurt because of her was horrible for Mercy. And not just someone. Fareeha Amari was not just anyone. She was not just the woman the little girl Angela showed around the watchpoint all those years ago had grown into, and not just the only living descendant of Ana Amari. Fareeha was a good girl... a good woman. Serious most of the time, but Angela saw she had a lot of potential for being silly behind all that seriousness. The time they spent in Zürich before everything went to hell was actually a great time for Mercy. She enjoyed the company. It was relaxing. Fun. Something she hadn't experienced in a long time. She couldn't place it, nor did she really think about it. All Angela knew was that, ever since Widowmaker saved her from Talon and literally carried her to safety, she yearned for that feeling again. Being around Fareeha was nice. Relaxing. Angela felt like she could be completely herself. A feeling she usually only had around Tracer, whom she knew for years. Yet it was also completely different.
"Fareeha?" Mercy repeated, worried when the Egyptian didn't speak up again.
"I can't feel my hands or my legs. I can't move either" Fareeha said. The way she put it, as a completely dry and rational observation, made the statement even more cruel. "Far be it from me to do your job, Dr. Ziegler, but I think I might be paralyzed."
Mercy caught her breath, trying to not let the disappointment show on her face. Right. She could move from here. Something like that was to be expected. Baby steps. Take it easy. You can do it. Fareeha will be her old self again soon enough.
She took a pen out of her white coat and carefully poked Fareeha in her finger. "Can you feel that?" she asked, and Pharah shook her head. Mercy moved the pen upward "That?" Again, Fareeha shook her head. Angela's lips curled in disappointment. "Here?" Again, the answer was "no". The doctor tried a couple more spots, but the answer was always the same. Fareeha was indeed paralyzed from the neck downward.
"Sorry." the Egyptian said after Mercy put her pen back into the pocket of the white coat.
"Absolutely not your fault." Angela replied, sounding a little defeated. Rationally, she knew this was a possibility. But emotionally, she still felt like a failure as a doctor. "Do experience any pain?"
"My neck tingles strangely, but it isn't painful"
"Good. That's the nanoprobes I gave you. Listen, Fareeha; don't worry. You were shot in the head and were in a coma for a couple of weeks. It would be unrealistic to expect you to hop out of bed like nothing happened. That said, I guarantee you that, when I am done, you won't notice anything ever happened. That is a promise." Mercy said with determination.
Fareeha smiled brightly, almost like a child. For a moment there, Angela couldn't help but see a seven or something year old little Fareeha standing in front of her, gawking at the smallest things at the Watchpoint like they were miracles. She wore the exact same smile back then.
"I know you will. Don't worry about me, doctor."
Mercy frowned slightly "You are taking this very well." she noted, a little surprised. Mercy had been there before; telling a patient that they were paralyzed. Most soldiers didn't take kindly to the idea that they wouldn't be able to rejoin the fight anytime soon…if at all.
"The best doctor the world has ever seen is patching me up. I'm confident I'll be putting my legs to good use soon enough. Until then, bitching and moaning won't get me out of this bed any faster, right?"
"It won't" Mercy cracked a smile. "I'll work something out for you, alright?"
"Sure" Fareeha nodded, watching Mercy turn to leave the ICU. She had other duties to tend to and, at the moment, there was nothing she could do for Pahrah. "Dr. Ziegler?"
"Yes?" Mercy stopped at the door and turned back. Freeha had a silly smile on her face, her eyes were glistering. Had Angela checked Pharah's vitals in that moment, she would have noticed her pulse increasing by a significant margin.
"When I can walk again, I think I owe you dinner. Well, actually, I owe you a lot more, but I'll start repaying my debt with dinner, if that's ok with you. So, would you let me treat you to a nice place?"
For some reason, Angela blushed fiercely. She had no idea why. This wasn't the first dinner invitation she had gotten. It wasn't the first time a patient of hers was thankful.
But it was the first time her heart skipped a beat for some reason she couldn't comprehend.
It was the first time she accepted.
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A/N:
So, that's it for chapter 27.
Next time I guess we'll be taking Widow and Tracer shopping. Why? Because they deserve some quality girl time with just the two of them and some peace.
Also, we might want to check out what Reaper is up to these days.
Mhh, was there anything else I wanted to tell you? No, I don't think so.
Thank you all so much for reading! I'm super happy that you all apparently enjoy what I'm doing! Don't hesitate to share your thoughts with me, I'm always happy to read your opinions! So, yeah, thanks for all the love! It really means a lot to me, you probably can't imagine how much, really. Cause it's all I really have.
Special thanks, just as always, to the three angels, EhMattissimo my most trusted beta-reader, River Rhyme and of course the one and only Azuki Rose!
I'll see you lot in the next one
o7
E82
-/-
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translations:
pojke (Swedish) = Boy.