Chapter Text
The destruction was almost unbearable. Angela called Gibraltar home for much of her professional life, and seeing her peers – friends, even, in some cases – hurt and heartbroken, shattered her. All she ever wanted was to know peace.
The red alert chimed relentlessly, smoke burning her lungs… but it was the warped bridge metal screaming in the wind that made her flinch.
As she looked around to process today's events, Angela saw Lena wave and make her way over.
Angela did not want to speak to anyone right now, but she quickly wiped away a single tear forming in the corner of her eye.
"Alright there, Doc?" Lena said, with a hint of caution in her voice. Angela took inventory of the damage to her friend. Fortunately, nothing a cleaning and a bandage couldn't solve.
Angela's face eased slightly as she said, "Better now. Have you made your rounds already? Everyone okay?"
"As okay as we can be," Lena said, gesturing to Brigitte and Ana tending to the injured. She then placed a hand softly on Angela's shoulder and said, "I think they've got it if you need some time."
Angela began to dismiss this kindness, but she was tired.
Exhausted, actually.
Though she dedicated her life to treating those on the front lines, today's attack felt personal. She nodded and smiled softly at Lena before walking toward her lab to clear her head.
After making her way through the wreckage, Angela reached the entrance to her lab. Fortunately, the building had been designed as a shelter in the event of an attack. The door stood slightly ajar, which Angela assumed had been forced open by the shockwaves from missiles striking the nearby bridge.
She pushed the door open wider and stepped into the dark lab.
Angela felt the weight of today hit her. Her eyes welled, and a suffocating tightness filled her chest. A soft sob echoed in the room as she stood, head in hands. Years of her life dedicated to Overwatch, and so quickly had they been defeated today.
Her breath hitched for a moment, and she could not find it again as she gasped in panic. Her body trembled violently, needing to brace the wall as she tried to regulate her breathing.
Eventually, Angela regained her breath and slowly straightened out.
There was too much to do.
She flicked the light switch on and startled.
Blood trailed along the tile, and with her eyes, she followed the line until they stopped at a slim, bloodied figure leaning against one of the cots on the right side of the lab.
"Hello, Doctor Ziegler," a quiet, hoarse voice rang out.
Angela's jaw dropped slightly, seeing Moira O’Deorain in such a grim state.
As she tentatively stepped closer, she heard an uneven, sickening wheeze in Moira’s breath. Her gaze fell to Moira’s leg, where she noticed a completely soaked-through tourniquet.
"What are you–"
"Apologies… for the mess," Moira said, speech slurring, "though… I could use a doctor... And you're the best one here… Well. Second best."
Moira let out a soft heh as her head began to slump before Angela could retort. Though Angela hesitated for a moment, Doctor Ziegler took over.
But not the version of Doctor Ziegler that would have called this in.
She quickly crossed the room and began taking detailed notes of the patient’s condition. Without any further hesitation, Angela rushed to her supplies, gathered the necessary items onto a tray, and returned to her patient to get to work.
"Do not mistake my generosity as weakness, Doctor O’Deorain. You must earn your keep, as everyone does," Vendetta drawled. "I want you to accompany the attack squad. Simply put, I need you to create chaos on the ground while the team disables Overwatch's ability to retaliate."
Moira curtly nodded before turning. Chaos was her area of expertise, though she'd rather not be found on the front lines of battle. She much preferred the sanctity of her lab, but she was in no position to argue against Marzia's mandate.
Moira needed funding to continue her research, and other unconventional sources had dried up with the rise of Talon.
It was clear from Marzia’s uprising that Talon had become less of an organization and more of a collective of individuals who happened to share an agenda at the time.
This was particularly evident during the mission.
"Are you senseless?" Moira shouted over the radio, ducked behind cover as bullets flew overhead. A Talon soldier next to her peeked over the barrier and fired a few shots. "If you shoot, that could kill us all."
The radio went silent, and the airship circled again.
Moira's eyes widened as missiles propelled forward into the watchpoint bridge. The sound of the explosion had barely reached her ears before darkness took over.
Moira groaned as she came to. She quickly assessed the situation – the metallic taste in her mouth, the burning hot sensation radiating from her leg, and the sound of boots approaching her. Pain struck, and she squeezed her eyes shut.
Talon soldiers stood above her, one leaning down to shake her by the shoulders. She yelped as the other soldier tugged on her, trying to help free her legs from under a sheet of metal.
The very same commander who had disregarded her warning loomed over her and spoke into the radio on his shoulder, "Doctor O’Deorain is critically injured and 2 men KIA. Please advise."
"Leave them. We don't have time to collect our casualties. We must regroup and move on to the next phase."
Moira’s eyes widened in uncharacteristic panic at the cold words over the radio.
"Don't leave me, I'm fine. Help me up," she rasped.
A group of soldiers lifted the metal sheet, and Moira mustered the strength to sit up. A wave of dizziness crashed into her, but she gave it her all to keep herself upright. She went pale as she looked down to find a substantial gash in her thigh.
The pool of blood beneath her was a sign she was anything but fine.
The commander scoffed, glancing down at her as if weighing the inconvenience, then remarked, “I suppose we’ll have to leave you here after all, Doctor. Say hello to Commander Morrison for us.”
Moira’s breath involuntarily hitched.
“Wait,” she grunted. “I can get up–”
She tried to push herself upright again, forcing strength into limbs that refused to cooperate.
“I can still move,” she said again, but it came out less convincing this time.
The commander had already turned away.
“No time,” he called over his shoulder, motioning the soldiers to follow. “We’ll be back to pick you up at some point.”
Her mind struggled to catch up with the order to leave her. Only the heavy insistence of pain kept her from losing control.
Moira wasn’t sure whether bleeding out here or being found by Overwatch would be worse, but she was unwilling to find out.
She forced herself into motion, and adrenaline did most of the work. She tore strips from her uniform with unsteady hands and wrapped them tight around her thigh.
With what remained of her willpower, she tried to stand.
The moment weight shifted onto her leg, her vision blurred at the edges. She applied pressure anyway, teeth clenched against the surge of pain.
Where could she go? She recalled from the mission brief that there were storage facilities within walking distance – if she could manage it. Dr. Ziegler’s lab was much closer, and the path seemed mostly clear. She gritted her teeth as she stumbled forward, her leg quivering with the effort. Closer was better.
Pain shot through her like fire as she took another step, and she bit back a yelp before pushing onward.
She moved automatically, following the carefully memorized blueprint of the compound in her mind with each step. Each movement burned, but she carried on, counting each breath.
Reaching the lab door, she shoved it open with her shoulder. The moment it gave, so did she. She pitched forward, hands striking the cold tile as her balance collapsed beneath her. Agony tore through her, stealing the breath from her lungs.
She dragged herself onto all fours, crawling now. Each inch was a fight against exhaustion and blood loss. If she made it out alive, she swore she would uncover how to harness the power of adrenaline and turn survival itself into a weapon.
The nausea was twofold. Yes, her physical state, but she was also sickened by Talon. The number of lives she'd saved and time she'd given to those people, just to be left to die on this godforsaken peninsula or worse, given over to the enemies like she was worth nothing.
Moira worked her way to the cots and rested her head against a mattress. The plan was to reach the supplies, patch herself up just enough, and send communications to any nearby Talon airships to get her out of there.
The last thing she needed was Doctor Ziegler to find her in this state. Moira was certain she would be handed over to Commander Morrison, and she would prefer to bleed out here than allow Angela to win like that.
Weakness took over, and Moira was certain she'd get her wish. She could not gather enough strength to move, and the supplies were out of reach. She felt herself going faint, and breathing became more labored.
"Well played, Marzia," Moira muttered to herself before feeling her vision go black.
A creaking door hinge pulled her back. Doctor Ziegler.
Moira tried to move to avoid being seen, but could not. She instead focused her remaining energy on watching Angela's movements.
A deep sigh echoed in the lab, and Moira saw Angela's shoulders slump in the dim lighting before hearing a soft sob ring through the room.
There was a part of her heart that yanked at the sound. Despite the clear differences in their approaches to medicine, Moira could find some shred of respect for Angela, and the events that unfolded today cracked the doctor's ironclad will.
The faintness returned, and this time, it was unavoidable.
How unfortunate, Moira thought, that dying here might be the best part of her day.
When Moira came to, she found herself lying on a cot in Doctor Ziegler's lab. A pillow was nestled under her head, and a stack of pillows was under her left leg. She slowly scanned the room to find no Angela. Fluids ran through an IV in her arm, and her pain was surprisingly manageable.
It was as if she were any normal patient, and not Doctor Ziegler's rival.
At least for a moment.
The door to the adjoining room creaked open, and Angela stepped into the lab. Their eyes met, and the air felt dense between them before Angela cleared her throat.
Moira attempted to prop herself up on her elbows, but her strength failed. She lay back down in defeat and studied the doctor with quiet skepticism.
"Glad to see you pulled through," Angela said, adjusting her white coat collar and rolling her sleeves as she made her way toward the cot.
"I was just about to change your bandages. Care to explain how you found yourself here?"
Angela began working on her patient, and Moira couldn't help but let a self-satisfied smile slip.
"What excellent bedside manner you have, Doctor Ziegler. How lucky am I to be in the angel's care?"
Angela was familiar with Doctor O’Deorain's games after spending many years together in the same academic spaces. Moira had a talent for getting under her skin, and this was no exception.
"Don't make me regret helping you. I swore the Hippocratic Oath, Doctor, and I’ve held up my end of the bargain tonight and at no small cost to my reputation. Now, please explain," Angela said without looking at Moira, continuing to redress the wound.
"I think you know the answer to why I was here, Doctor. Unfortunately for me, Talon does not abide by the 'no one gets left behind' policy, and given the state I was in, well… I imagine you can come to the correct conclusion," Moira huffed.
Angela turned her head away as anger rose to the surface. She struggled to suppress the emotion and focus on her duty as a doctor, her hands fumbling with the bandage.
"How cruel they are to leave me here, of all places," Moira retorted.
Her simmering anger turned to a boil, and Angela spat, "You want me to feel sorry for you? You led them here, you let them destroy my home, and you want me to feel sorry that they left you behind after everything you've done?"
Angela wound the bandage around Moira's leg, continuing, "I should turn you in to Commander Morrison now. And all of this for what? Money? How selfish can you–"
By the end, Moira winced, and Angela turned red in embarrassment, realizing how tight the bandage had become for her patient. She began to loosen the bandage, and Moira cautiously placed a hand on one of Angela's and whispered, "For what it's worth... I am thankful for your help."
Angela shot a look at Moira, eyebrows furrowed, surprised by the sincerity. She pulled away from the touch, but guilt flooded in as she finished covering the wound.
"You'll need to stay here overnight," Angela said stoically, moving to the sink to wash her hands.
Moira gave a knowing look and opened her mouth to comment, but Angela held up a hand and said, "I don't want to hear it. I'll be back in an hour to check on you."
Moira watched as the door to Angela's adjoining room shut and let out a sigh, allowing her exhaustion to drift her into sleep.
Moira quietly observed the doctor as she gazed up at her.
She did not like being in anyone’s debt. Especially not Angela Zielger.
Even through the haze of pain, her mind refused to settle entirely into silence. It latched onto the careful way Angela avoided meeting her eyes, but her focus fractured whenever she tried to hold onto it.
“You’re conflicted,” Moira murmured. “How predictable.”
Her breath caught slightly on the last word. She adjusted, but not quickly enough to hide the strain.
On one hand, she was grateful Angela was here. She put on a brave face when it came to her own mortality in the name of science, and she did not have to come to terms with her death tonight after all.
On the other hand, there was still the familiar urge to test the edges of Angela Ziegler’s restraint. To see what it would take to make her break.
Even if Moira herself was not in any condition to enjoy the outcome.
"Have you decided whether you'll be telling the others I'm here?" Moira asked, choosing logic over curiosity.
"No," Angela said sternly, still not meeting her eyes, "And you better get started on convincing me why I shouldn't. We meet in the morning."
"An ultimatum, Doctor Ziegler?" Moira's lips twitched faintly, "And here I thought we were turning a new page."
Angela scoffed, turning away from Moira and heading back toward her room.
"Wait – wait."
Doctor Ziegler turned slowly and finally met Moira’s eyes.
They were glazed over. Angela hesitated.
Moira noticed it, but it took her a moment longer than it should have to register. The room felt too warm.
“Will you…” She blinked slowly, as if recalibrating. “Will you stay here?”
Years of knowing this woman, and never once has there been a semblance of anything beyond coldness. It pulled at Angela's heartstrings, and maybe that was Moira's game.
Angela turned pink and began to protest, but Moira’s voice softened.
“Please.”
There was a brief pause before Angela let out a defeated sigh.
She pulled a chair up to the cot and looked at Moira with curiosity. Her patient looked uncomfortable, twisting slightly to face her and grimacing in pain.
"I'm going to compliment you… and you can choose to believe it or not," Moira said as she shut her eyes.
"I respect you, Doctor Ziegler. In a way."
Angela cocked her head to the side, noticing a soft flush meeting Moira's cheekbones.
What is she doing? Angela thought.
"I can say… that after observing your work more closely… your patients are… fortunate to have you."
Angela blinked hard and replied, "Thank you, Doctor. Though I'm not sure flattery will convince me that you are not dangerous."
Moira cracked a smirk and let out a soft, breathy chuckle.
“I can’t promise that, my dear,” she slurred. “Though I would hope… That deep down… You can find respect for me, too.”
Angela raised an eyebrow. This was unusually honest of the doctor, and the air held still for a moment. In the silence, Angela became aware of the pace of Moira's breathing and the flush burning hotter.
She shot up from her chair and pressed a hand to Moira’s forehead.
Scheiße.
Moira groaned and leaned into Angela's touch. Angela withdrew her hand, ignoring the reaction, and got to work.
Angela leaned over Moira, her hand resting again on her forehead, and she let out a sigh.
The fever finally broke.
It had been a long evening for the two, and Angela was exhausted. It was in the early hours, and she desperately wanted to get some sleep.
Moira groaned softly, stirring at the touch, and her eyes opened. She seemed surprised by Angela's proximity, and her cheeks flushed slightly.
Angela knew that wasn't from the fever. She didn’t move.
Neither did Moira.
The space between them suddenly felt smaller, heavy with a tension that Angela could barely stand.
They held each other’s gaze. Seconds stretched, as if neither of them was willing to be the first to break whatever this was. Moira's expression shifted, a hint of curiosity pulling at her lips.
Slowly, she raised a hand toward Angela's face and brushed her thumb against Angela's cheek lightly, almost questioning her interpretation.
Doctor Ziegler's eyebrows furrowed for a moment, but she still did not move.
Moira's hand traveled to the back of Angela's head and hesitated for a moment before letting her fingers rest delicately in Angela's hair.
Eye contact finally broke as Moira glanced down at Angela's lips.
Angela's heart skipped, her stomach twisting, but she didn’t pull away as Moira drew her in, their lips brushing together.
The kiss was gentle and tentative, catching Angela off guard. She did not anticipate something so soft from her rival.
With the light touch of the hand in her hair, it was clear Moira was offering her an out. And there was a screaming part of her that wanted to take it.
Angela hesitated, hovering inches from Moira's lips. She questioned the motive behind such a display of affection, but the sensation of Moira's breath against her skin drove her mad.
Years of hatred could not be dismissed with one kiss.
Despite that, Angela leaned in and responded with another unsure kiss.
Moira's fingers curled in her hair, taking that as permission to tighten the hold. Angela tried to bite back a groan, but failed, moaning softly against Moira's lips.
Lips that curved up into a sinister grin in reply.
"My, Doctor Zieg—," Moira began, but Angela shut it down quickly with another kiss.
The complexity of her relationship with the woman swirled around her head, but Angela's body betrayed her. She increased the pace and placed her hands on the sides of Moira's face.
Moira responded in kind, closing the distance further. A brush of her tongue against Angela’s lower lip drew a brief pause.
Then Angela parted her lips, allowing her in, the last of her hesitation giving way to instinct.
The two exchanged in motion, with Moira calling and Angela responding.
Moira's hand finally released her hair, slowly exploring downward. She gently dragged a nail along the length of Angela's neck, sending a hot wave through her body.
Angela let herself be pulled in until her hip struck the edge of the metal cot.
The impact was sharp. A hollow clang rang through the lab, too loud in the quiet.
Angela froze.
The sound lingered, echoing off tile, metal, and glass.
Somewhere to her left, a monitor stuttered its steady beep back into her awareness.
Moira’s hand was still creeping lower from her neck.
The smell of antiseptic cut through everything.
Angela pulled back abruptly.
She caught Moira’s wrist and forced it down against the cot, harder than intended. The other woman hissed, and whatever had been building between them collapsed.
"This can't go any further, Doctor O’Deorain. We are peers, and you are my patient." Angela says sternly, standing upright. "I'm glad you're feeling better, but please get some rest."
Moira attempted to reach for Angela's hand, but was swatted away. She turned her head away in reply.
"Very well, Doctor. I… Hope you get some rest, too."
Angela turns and enters her room, closing the door behind her. She leaned into the door, staring up at the ceiling as her heart pounded in her chest.
She shook her head and whispered, "Moira O’Deorain, you will undo me."
Angela rolled to her other side and scoffed. She knew better.
This crossed boundaries and made her feel twisted, and yet, she wanted more. She could still feel Moira's fingertips sliding down her neck, sending shivers through her.
Between missions and tending to casualties between fights, she did not have time for romance.
Nor did anyone else make her feel as powerless as Moira did.
Their relationship had always been professional, but Angela thought about whether Moira’s cheeky, cool demeanor masked a fondness for her that went beyond mere rivalry.
Angela sighed and rolled onto her back.
Her body continued to betray her, even as the night was coming to an end.
She still craved Moira’s lips against hers, her touch lingering on her skin.
Angela closed her eyes, letting her own hand travel to her breast, massaging gently as she wondered just how far Moira was willing to go.
Her imagination ran wild with the question, and her hand mimicked her thoughts.
Maybe Moira was satisfied with just watching her melt as her hands ran down her hips and brushed against her thighs. Angela wouldn't put it past the woman to simply test the waters without ever getting in them to expose her.
Or, was it impossible to imagine she'd go through with it?
Fingers rested atop her underwear. Angela scoffed and withdrew.
"Ridiculous," Angela muttered, closing her eyes.
Minutes go by, and Angela's eyes met the ceiling of the dark room. She couldn't stop thinking about what it'd be like for Moira to unravel her.
Her hand drifted down again, and this time she did not withdraw.
Her fingers circled her clit, eliciting waves of guilt, disgust, and sheer bliss. She picked up the pace, and so did her breath.
And what of Moira's long, slender fingers?
Could she last, with how desperate she was to know what they felt like?
Angela slid her hand lower, hesitating for a moment at the entrance, pressing lightly. She knew Moira would make her plead before complying. She stifled a quiet moan with her other hand.
She slipped two fingers inside, moving them methodically in a slow rhythm, as if to torture herself in Moira's stead. The sensation clouded her mind as she slid in, then out again.
Her hips responded to the motion, bucking upward, encouraging her fingers deeper.
The idea of Moira's warmth against her was too much, and she felt herself climbing.
She could picture the triumphant look on Moira’s face, and wondered if she'd even be allowed to finish so soon.
Luckily for Angela, this was no concern tonight.
Increasing the speed, her fingers glided deeper. Her face contorted, mouth open, chest heaving.
Angela's breath hitched, and she choked out a "fuck, Moira!"
Pleasure flooded her, her peak pulsing through her as she rode it out.
"Scheiße," she exhaled, brushing her hair off her face.
With cheeks flushed, Angela quietly rose to her feet. She subtly peeked through the blinds overlooking the infirmary. Relief washed over her at the sight of Moira's back turned to her, but she hesitated, waiting to see if Moira stirred.
After a few moments, she sighed, grateful to find Moira asleep. She could escape the situation without offering… additional explanation.
For a brief second, she winced at what she had done, recalling the words she said after pulling away from their kiss earlier that evening.
This must not go any further.
She tiptoed back to bed and slid under the covers. The lingering warmth of her pleasure settled over her, slowly drawing her toward sleep.
Watching Angela turn and close the door without another word disappointed Moira. Not because of the rather rude ending to their moment of intimacy. Because it left her alone in enemy territory.
She was amused that Angela went along with the kiss. It affirmed Moira's theory that under the morality – and petulance – Angela was drawn to her. And it consumed her thoughts.
She replayed the moment where Angela eased into their embrace, filling Moira with an unexpected ache. Her breath held for a moment as the wave of yearning rose and passed.
No, Angela simply made an error.
Annoyed, Moira gingerly turned onto her side, back toward the door separating them. She forced a partition in her mind, sealing the thought away. She exhaled and concentrated.
She needed a way out.
Perhaps Angela — no. Perhaps Doctor Ziegler could be trusted to assist, but she could not depend on it.
Moira let her eyes drift over the dim lab once more. Supplies were scattered, neatly stored, yet tantalizingly out of reach from where she rested. A tray of instruments gleamed under the faint overhead light. Each one was a tool.
She flexed her fingers, testing her strength. The pain in her leg was dull but insistent, a reminder that her escape would not be effortless.
Her mind began to trace routes through the facility, recalling where agents patrolled. She considered every exit she’d memorized during briefings.
Moira’s eyes flicked down at the cot where she was resting. Soft blankets and pillows weren’t just comfort; they were a mark of Angela’s meticulous care. A small, begrudging acknowledgment of gratitude flickered, quickly smothered by her need to focus.
She closed her eyes and continued working through her options.
Outside the lab, silence pressed in, punctuated by the distant thud of settling rock and the faint creak of strained metal. Moira’s chest tightened in anticipation.
She would leave without alerting anyone. She would disappear.
And when she returned to her research, no one would know she had been here.
Except Angela.
Moira pressed her lips into a thin line.
Inconvenient.
She forced her muscles to loosen, inch by inch, ignoring the dull throb in her leg. Rest was a necessity, or she would fail before trying.
Her breathing steadied, shallow but controlled. The silence pressed in again, heavier now.
But a muffled moan cut through the quiet.
Moira’s eyes opened, and she turned her head slightly, listening more intently. Silence still, besides the low hum of machinery kicking on. She lifted a hand to her forehead, as if to test whether the sound had been nothing more than fevered delirium.
She frowned, letting her eyes fall shut again.
But this time, she was certain it was not her imagination.
"Fuck, Moira!"
A quiet, breathy laugh slipped from her, edged with disbelief. Moira stilled, fighting to rein herself in as heat spread through her. Her thoughts threatening to wander somewhere far less… disciplined.
She did not dare to move, though her pulse quickened, making it difficult to keep her breathing steady.
Fatigue still weighed on her body, but a new alertness stirred within her, laced with temptation. A slight grin crept across her face.
Perhaps she would discover what would make Dr. Ziegler break after all.