guardian angel.

           “no.”

           her disagreement comes quick, &. it comes sharp. even with her wings laid flat against her back, the arizona streets reduced to cracked asphalt &. smoke around her, she doesn’t just see bad people getting what they deserve. she sees innocents— people uninvolved in the war effort, displaced by it. people that were dealt a bad hand. victims. not sinners.

  Even when question is turned to her optics remain settled on Angela unwavering. It dawns on Echo that she should feel slightly abashed or at least be in the slightest apologetic, but those draw up empty.      “Yes.” Comes immediate admittance. She’s doing it now, even as they speak. Analytics silently scanning and reading every micro-expression, subtle shift, and vocal inflection of Angela’s and turning it all into data woven into her code. It’s an internal program she could turn off but it wouldn’t stop her from thinking. Since Echo’s awakening she has had an insatiable need to seeks experiences and understand. The part of her that is entirely analytical tells her to move on, there is nothing left to learn, but through experience she knows there’s more reasons to linger. 

   “Why?” Echo ponders aloud, the same curious inflection reflected. Fingers lace together, palms held to her chest. She has run the same scans on the Doctor even in the few times the robot had been allowed to accompany the Strike team. Then, for tactical purposes, stopped only when she were put to rest, and now– an easy answer, especially while she was looking at her. 

    “You’re the answer, Dr. Ziegler.” Factual and bluntly honest while genuine all the same. Echo’s usual face is reconstructed, projected only so lips could pull into a lopsided  smile. “Always happy to spend some time with a good friend.”

         echo was... a curious creation. it felt like every time she’s grown to expect something out of the omnic, she did something completely different— something she hadn’t even considered.

         there’s something uncomfortable about the possibility of candid scans. angela supposes she understands the reason behind the omnic’s secrecy— before long, expectation &. knowledge would render echo’s scans unreliable, projecting only what they had wanted echo to see, instead of what was true. it’s a theory that mostly helps quell angela’s discomfort— but only mostly.

         but it unsettles her, the way that echo ensures she is the answer to her own question. the confident smile doesn’t feel like it belongs— it feels unearned.

         “I agree, though.. it puzzles me that you miss my inputs. do you miss me?”

         a pause.

he always knows where and when to find her (really, she is so predictable in that regard), especially when the bed is empty and the base asleep. as a shimada, he is no stranger to strong work ethic and a lack of rest because of it, but nobody worked themselves to the bone quite like angela ziegler did, and it was a small source of distress for him. she spent so often taking care of all of them (him in particular), but who took care of overwatch’s guardian angel when she went just a little too hard on the coffee and research and ended up going without sleep for nearly 36 hours?

                                   he did, of course. 

a lifetime of training has him eternally silent when he finds her, and genji cannot help but take a moment to admire his tired doctor from his perch in her lab, drinking in the way that even without her valkyrie suit, she glowed like a true angel upon earth. perhaps he was simply biased, but for him there were no faults in angela ziegler, only the softest and sweetest perfections… that he had taken for granted for far too long. if genji had any regrets when it came to her… it was simply how long it had taken him to realize how much she truly mattered, how her healing him had gone so far beyond just his body… but his mind and soul too. 

unable to resist the urge any longer, he sidles up behind her, eternally gentle with his fingers and the touch of his warm frame. it’s perhaps amusing, the way he gets excited in her presence, as if he turns into a very large, very lethal cat at her beck and call. without his visor and face plate, he can feel the softness of her skin against his own scarred cheek, feel the warmth she radiates and basks in the tender gestures. his hands move downwards, rubbing gently at her arms, while his nose traverses her head, nuzzling lightly at her jaw, her ear, until he buries his face in her hair and inhales… the scent calms him, and he seems to purr even louder. 

his voice, unencumbered by his plate comes out that clear, silken husk… like bonfire smoke and honey near her ear. “ well, that is what i came here for. ” he muses, and presses sweet lips over the crown of her head. “ come to bed, angela. ” her name is said like a prayer, one he adores uttering. “ the world can wait to be saved for a few hours. ”

             there’s beauty in the sensation of his hands on her skin, an embrace she’s missed for far too long— she still remembers the first time she felt his arms around her, how safe it’d made her feel... &. inevitably, how temporary it’d been all those years ago. in spite of the stress, the drama, his embrace was the only place that had felt okay. he carried with him the feeling of home that had long since been bled from overwatch. &. though he was different now, calmer— he was familiar in all of the ways that mattered.

             god, did she miss the way he made her feel.

             her head lingers against him, a shiver running down her spine at the sensation of his breath on her neck, the inhale of her scent. she’s reveling in it— the smile light on her lips as she hums, her study forgotten, replaced only by the thought of his presence. all of those years ago, she was afraid to attach herself to him; she’d never seen a case that was as difficult— or daunting— as his. a thousand things could’ve happened, &. no one could’ve known. genji shimada was a miracle unlike any other.

             “you’re making me want to,” she admits, though she wishes he had kept talking— there was no sound as comforting as that of his voice. she swivels some in her chair, placing delicate, tired kisses along his jawline. every scar was beautiful to her; reminders not of what he’d been through, but reminders that he had survived. she’s not sure she would’ve been as brave.

             “if I do.. will you stay, genji? ... for a little while, at least.”

       “clearly!”

       the older of the shimada brothers joining overwatch had been a divisive decision. meeting the cause of the former blackwatch agent’s hatred &. anger had brought out the worst in many, communicated only within their own circles, entrusted to none.

       she’s not sure about much of the older shimada. she’d never asked— it was too sore, she knows that. it was a line she would never want crossed, &. one she’d never expect, never want to be the exception to.

       she never even asked how their reunion had gone.

       “I have never seen someone be left as angry as he had been after you. maybe it felt like nothing and meant nothing to you, but it meant everything to him. maybe if you—”

       she stops. she takes a deep breath. she can’t afford to be close-minded— she doesn’t know the whole story, &. above all else, she needs to remember that genji was his brother. she can’t afford to pick sides. her tone is morose when she continues, the liveliness of her anger dissipated.

         her heart aches in response— she knows life’s been rough on him. his position at overwatch came with its faults, &. each of them rested upon jack’s shoulders. whenever overwatch came under scrutiny, so too did morrison. his views for a better world were questionable, at best— but angela believes in them. for all of his faults, jack morrison was a man that wanted the best for everyone. what did he get out of it?

         he got accusations. he got hate. he got distrust.

         some of it was among his own ranks. people sworn to fight &. die by his side, questioning his morals &. his endgames. whether he even had them.

         even reyes.

         god, her empathy will kill her one day.

         “you’ve been under a lot of stress lately, jack. with the media coverage on the venice incident—” she pauses, the big, bold letters reading overwatch: friend or foe? still fresh in her mind, images of the blackwatch team fighting talon soldiers on the now blood-streaked streets of italy. the casualties must’ve been in the hundreds— this wasn’t how things were supposed to go.

         “you need some rest, some time away from all of this. we’ll have another chance at talon, but we won’t do it while sacrificing you. we can’t.” another pause, this one not as long. “we won’t leave— I won’t leave. you’re our friend as much as you are our leader.”

          that much is plain to see, she considers commenting— his remarks, his attitude was often times unwanted, though offered anyways. his temper, as he puts it, was frustratingly invasive, exhaustive in nature &. abrasive on her nerves.

          sometimes it felt like the only time he didn’t have something smart to say was when he was drinking pressurized cardiac arrest in a can.

          angela laughs at the message. it’s so dorky in a way that’s just so lena— questionably charming, so much so that one would be justified to doubt it, play it off as a joke.