Chapter Text
It was strange having a clear view of the Mediterranean from the control center. Normally, the nearby towers and bridge obstructed the sea beyond, but now Angela could see for miles without them in the way.
The machinery and crews rebuilding the base provided a welcome distraction from the situation unfolding beside her.
Hours had passed listening to Morrison and Sojourn lean over the table, point fingers at one another, and argue loud enough to rattle the room.
Lena had already joked that if there were any Talon operatives within earshot, they likely knew Overwatch’s entire strategy by now.
It did lighten the tension for just a moment before the pair continued their arguments.
Angela’s gaze drifted between Morrison and Sojourn like a tennis match.
Morrison insisted on a "striking while the iron was hot" approach, whereas Sojourn insisted upon a more calculated, strategic move.
She was too slow.
He was too reckless.
Tension sat in Angela's shoulders, and she could not bring herself to resolve their argument for them. Not today.
The past twenty-four hours had been maddening.
Gibraltar burned.
People she loved bled protecting it.
And somewhere beneath all of that sat the impossible truth:
Angela had saved Moira O'Deorain.
Then held her.
Then kissed her.
Was intimate with her.
If you require this to have meant something, ensure it does.
She cut the thought off. It could not mean anything.
In her peripheral vision, Angela saw Lena’s eyes watching her closely, as if she knew Angela was somewhere else entirely.
Finally, dragging her attention back to the meeting, she let out a quiet sigh.
This had gone on long enough. Apparently, she was going to have to intervene after all.
“You’re both right,” she said at last.
The room went quiet.
Angela felt the shift immediately – attention turning toward her all at once.
Her stomach dropped. She was not present enough to sound as eloquent as usual.
"We must act now to show our strength –"
Sojourn let out a sound of protest, and Angela held up a finger.
"And approach this with tact if we intend to survive. I propose a swift reply on a critical Talon operations hub to slow them down, while planning and executing covert missions to disable their ability to escalate. We don't need to choose between the strategies."
Angela glanced at Lena, who grinned in approval. Morrison and Sojourn exchanged a glance at the front of the table before agreeing begrudgingly.
It was decided. Strike now. And follow up with more precision.
The others started to stand, and a couple of mouthed "thank yous" were muttered in her direction.
"There is still the matter of a high-ranking Talon member being present during yesterday's attack," Sojourn stated firmly, eyeing each standing team member until they sank back down in their seats.
Angela froze.
"We have heard from several officers anecdotally, but we combed through the images and video taken prior to the cameras being compromised."
Sojourn picked up the remote on the table and pressed play.
"In case any of you need a reminder, that is Doctor Moira O’Deorain. It is unusual for her, given her role within Talon, to be on the front lines. The motive for her involvement is unclear."
Angela focused her expression, the paranoia of her decision crawling beneath her skin.
The video tracked several Talon soldiers and Moira to the base of the bridge. Toward the end of the video, Moira was ducked behind cover, speaking into a radio.
Something in Moira’s expression – a flicker too brief for anyone else to notice – made Angela’s jaw tighten.
The split second where Moira looked… human. Afraid.
"We have reason to believe that she was critically injured or KIA during the blast on the bridge. Until we find evidence otherwise, it should be presumed she's alive."
Angela kept her expression still by force.
"Doctor Ziegler."
Scheiße.
She turned her head to face Morrison.
“You know her best of those at the table.”
Her hand tightened against her pant leg, the pang in her chest threatening to betray her composure.
Part of her wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it. She did indeed know her best, the sound of Moira’s pleasure echoing through her mind for a split second before shutting down the thought.
Part of her wanted to cry. Moira left her aware of every breath she took. Every movement that might betray her. All to keep her promise.
She could not tell anyone.
“If she survived, where would she go?”
The silence stretched longer than she intended as she ran through the options.
Angela swallowed hard and arranged her expression into uncertainty.
Lena’s eyes narrowed slightly, listening intently.
"I… don't know. Given the force of that blast, consciousness would be a medical anomaly. If she is alive, she was likely stabilized by Talon field medics during evacuation.”
The words tasted wrong the moment they left her mouth.
Morrison's expression did not change, as if waiting for more information.
Angela did not provide any.
After an excruciating moment, Morrison simply nodded.
Lena wasn’t as easily convinced. Despite that, her expression softened, and she leaned back in her chair.
Morrison turned his attention back to his plan to strike in the next twenty-four hours, and Angela said a silent prayer that she had escaped the conversation for now.
Moira flicked on the overhead lights and sighed quietly as she stepped into her lab. She leaned into her cane, closed her eyes, and paused to appreciate the utter silence of the clinic.
Finding an intact transmission device in one of the untouched southern towers had been pure luck. And being back in her sanctuary was a fortune of its own.
She had heard enough noise from the soldiers who met at the rendezvous she arranged after carefully escaping Gibraltar.
Too much cross-talk about how the operation was a success.
Too many questions, probing her for survival tactics.
Too many thoughts about whether Angela confessed to her leadership.
Too much noise.
She could hardly stand the clicking of her cane – a necessity, given the damage to her leg, whether she liked it or not – beside her as she worked her way to the desk.
Moira sank into her chair and spun toward the interrupted protein sequence research waiting in front of her. She shoved the dull aching of her leg into the back of her mind and began skimming the notes in front of her.
And reread them.
And tried again.
It didn't matter how many times she tried.
I understand you more than you think.
Somehow, that was the thought her mind kept returning to. Not Talon’s politics, not her near-death in Gibraltar.
Angela.
Moira was a woman of practicality. Intelligence. Not sentiment.
In a surge of frustration, she swept the papers off the desk, sending them skittering across the floor in a scattered, uneven fan. Her head fell into her hands, jaw clenched shut, and she allowed the silence to soothe her again.
Pathetic.
"Doctor O’Deorain, your presence –"
The young soldier who walked in without knocking froze as Moira's gaze snapped up toward him. He glanced down, noticing the scattered papers across the gray tile.
He smiled slightly, nervously, before straightening himself.
Moira did not blink, piercing into the boy as he struggled to assert his command.
"Doctor … your presence is required in the conference room."
"And what do they want?"
"They wish to speak to you… about Gibraltar."
"Tell them I'm not interested in discussing it," Moira said, turning her gaze back down to her desk. "I've got work to do."
"Vendetta said you'd say that…" the soldier said, clearing his throat. "She said if you stayed in this lab, she would drag you from here and hand you to Overwatch herself."
Moira scoffed, forcing a sarcastic smile into place.
"Well, why didn't you just say so?"
Her hand clenched tightly on her cane as she moved to stand. She clenched her jaw, making her way over to the soldier, standing a few inches above him.
Looking down her nose, she muttered, "Your authority needs work."
Together, they walked to the elevator. The lab, much to Moira's preference, was on the lowest level. Unfortunately for her, the conference room was at the top of the tower, making the ride up with the boy especially irritating.
He shuffled whenever she looked at him. She gritted her teeth against the pain, refusing to let him see her in distress.
When the elevator doors parted, the boy moved to step ahead of her as they approached the meeting room, clearly intending to lead her the remaining distance.
Moira stopped walking, just long enough that the absence of her footsteps forced him to notice.
He turned immediately, uncertainty flickering across his face.
Moira lifted her brows slightly. “I am aware of where the door is.”
Color rose faintly into his cheeks as he stepped aside again.
Petty and pointless.
But the small jab soothed something sharp and defensive inside her all the same. If she was going to be dragged toward another conversation designed to remind her exactly how conditional her value was, then she would at least arrive under her own power.
Only then did she continue forward, the uneven click of her cane echoing softly against the marble as the soldier hurried to fall back into place beside her.
As they stepped toward the grand, ornate doors, the soldier stopped and said, "I appreciate your cooperation, Doctor."
"Cooperation implies choice," she shot over her shoulder before pushing the doors open.
Marzia turned toward the sound immediately, and the rest of the room followed a heartbeat later, attention snapping toward Moira. Chairs shifted, posture straightened, and conversation died mid-breath.
Down among the lower ranks, the silence fractured into uneasy murmurs – soft, fragmented reactions that spread carefully, as though no one wanted to be the first to speak too loudly.
Moira's expression remained unchanged as she took careful steps forward.
"So the rumors are true," Maximilien said earnestly. "Doctor Moira O’Deorain came back from the dead."
"Hardly," Moira said sternly.
Her gaze found Marzia's, and the room fell silent as they watched the pair closely.
Marzia did not respond immediately. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, fingers steepled beneath her chin.
“And yet,” she said smoothly, “reports from Gibraltar suggested otherwise.”
Moira planted the cane beside her with a sharp click against the floor.
“Then your reports were inaccurate.”
A faint smile tugged at the corner of Marzia’s mouth.
“So I see.”
The room stilled around them. Several operatives avoided looking directly at Moira, while others stared too openly, curiosity poorly concealed.
Maximilien adjusted his cuffs delicately. “You understand, Doctor, your disappearance created… complications.”
“How unfortunate for you.”
A few quiet laughs broke the tension before dying just as quickly under Marzia’s gaze.
“You were abandoned during an operation,” Marzia said plainly. “That tends to invite questions.”
Moira’s expression did not shift.
“Yes,” she replied coolly. “I noticed."
Silence stretched briefly before Moira continued.
“Whose decision was that?”
A few operatives shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Maximilien’s expression flickered with interest, though he wisely remained silent.
Marzia did not drop her gaze from Moira for a long moment before gesturing toward the empty chair across from her.
“Sit, Doctor. You are more useful when you are not standing.”
Moira’s grip on her cane tightened.
For a brief moment, Moira considered refusing.
Then, with reluctance, she lowered herself into the chair.
Marzia continued before she could respond.
“The Gibraltar operation achieved its primary objective despite complications. Overwatch is destabilized, reconstruction efforts are draining resources, and Morrison is already positioning for retaliation.”
She folded her hands atop the table.
“Doctor. Update us on your progress.”
Moira considered being spiteful. Some exhausted part of her wanted to ask how exactly she was expected to continue research while bleeding out beneath Gibraltar.
But she decided against it. She had already pushed her luck enough for one evening.
“Trial Twelve of the vector failed. Without the protein –”
Marzia held up a hand.
“I don’t need an explanation. It failed. And the antidote research?”
The spite tugged at Moira’s mind again, but she shut it down.
“Under development.”
“I expected more,” Marzia sighed.
She slowly rose from her chair and scanned the room.
“If we intend to reach our potential, I need more. From all of you.”
Marzia’s eyes hovered on Moira for an extra moment.
She laid her palms flat on the table, leaning forward.
“So be ready. We are now entering the next phase.”