Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Moving to a new city always requires some time for adjusting. It takes about four days for Angela Ziegler to fully move into her new apartment and just a little longer than that to get settled into her new clinic. At the end of her first week, she is also kidnapped by a man who calls himself Doomfist and touts around a glove that looks suspiciously like a mitten bedazzled around the knuckles. She is tied to a chair while the self-proclaimed super villain uses a megaphone to outline his evil scheme, and then she is swiftly rescued by a group of self-proclaimed super heroes who call themselves Overwatch.

"You're safe now, ma'am." This first time, it is a real-life talking ape who unties her and helps her to her feet.

Angela is reasonably terrified and can only watch mutely as her kidnapper is hauled off in a blur of screaming and cursing. 

One week later, she is also terrified when she is literally swept off her feet as soon as she steps out of the clinic, into the arms of a woman with BW emblazoned across her chest (for Birdwoman, as Angela later learns through the news). Overwatch makes the next day's headlines for saving a local doctor from an evildoer who could control the city pigeons.

Angela takes up self-defense lessons after the fourth time. Fortunately, the "villains" who would pick her to be their weekly hostage are often incompetent anyway and never actually do any harm to her, and Overwatch always arrives before she's late for work and is forced to mace that week's villain so she can get to the clinic on time.

After the seventh time, Angela Ziegler resigns herself to her fate. Is there something about her that attracted masked, overzealous fools, she wonders? The media wonders the same thing.

"What is it like, Ms. Ziegler?" reporters often ask after the latest whirlwind of chaos, when Overwatch has cleared the area and there is no one else for them to hound for the salacious details. "How do you feel, being targeted so often by these heinous criminals?"

(They're more people with too much time and sewing abilities on their hands, in her opinion, but she digresses.)

"I admit I am frightened," she says every time, quashing boredom and the distinct urge to return to her work, "but I also know that Overwatch will always be there to save me."

She feels ridiculous as she says it, but she sees the way the people's eyes light up with such hope, and she decides that can't be so terrible, right?

It's after an explosive run-in with a duo who call themselves Junkrat and Roadhog that she receives a call from one Jack Morrison, an old friend who lived in the city and had apparently seen her face on the news. His first words to her are, "I'm sorry you're in this fucking city," and Angela smiles fondly because at least if she's in "this fucking city," not only is she helping people at the clinic, but she is technically taking the place of anyone else who might be kidnapped. Spending two or three hours a week as someone's "hostage" seems a small price to pay to make sure that others are safe; besides, sometimes the villains are so fixated on bringing down Overwatch that they don't notice Angela's ties are loose and she can read online scientific journals on her phone until Overwatch comes to deal with the villain.

The kidnappings stop when she moves into the new apartment. Jack lives on the floor below her, and she finds herself falling back into the old dynamics of their friendship. She continues to work at the clinic (but takes a different route to and from home), and she even gets to know her new neighbors.

After a blissfully uneventful three weeks, she regains hope that she might actually return to a normal life after all.

It’s four in the morning, and there is someone trying to break into her apartment. This is justification for why Angela finds herself inching down a dark hallway with an umbrella clutched in one hand, thumb poised over the small button that would…open the umbrella. (A pinch less exciting than the explosive umbrellas of typical spy movies, but it twirls like a baton and she knows where to strike someone at the back of the neck to safely knock them unconscious.)

The person at the door stops jangling the doorknob as soon as she steps into her living room, but she presses on anyway. The light moves under the door, two shadows undoubtedly from a pair of feet, and she can hear the faint sounds of metal-on-metal.

Then: A particularly loud bang. A groan of pain.

Angela reaches the door and holds her breath. Perhaps it isn’t a burglar—she has no experience being burgled before (only kidnapped, about a dozen times), but she feels like they wouldn’t be so reckless . Maybe another self-proclaimed super villain has finally found her out and she won't be able to pick up that extra shift at the clinic after all.

“Fuck,” she hears someone mutter—though she almost thinks it’s something first, because it doesn’t sound like a human voice, but garbled and touched by static. A voice filter, she decides. The latter theory is beginning to sound more likely.

She lines her eye with the peephole.

There is someone in a metal suit stumbling around her hallway.

Great.

With a great sigh, Angela twists the knob and swings open the door. “I'm right here,” she says with a strained patience, “could you please be q—"

Zzppp!

Her voice pitches embarrassingly high at the end of the word quiet as the person jerks around in a flash of green and silver, launching something sharp that narrowly misses her and buries itself in the doorframe. Angela does not panic, she certainly means to press the umbrella button and catch the stranger in the chest, driving them back into the door on the other side of the hall.

She's seen her fair share of ridiculous uniforms, swathes of spandex and capes in all colors of the rainbow, but none of them have looked like this.

“Miss,” she hears the same garbled voice call out to her, “please d—”

“Leave before I call the police!” she hisses—a compromise between a whisper and a yell. It’s still four in the morning, after all; it would be rude to wake anyone else up.

She shoves the person a little harder, keeping them pinned with the open umbrella. It results in another loud clang as their ridiculous metal suit knocks against the door, and Angela winces, thinking, Apologies, Mr. Shimada, but I am potentially saving our lives.

“Leave,” she repeats meaningfully, blowing a loose strand of hair away from her face. She gives the umbrella another jab.

The stranger struggles. “Miss, I cannot—”

Right.

Angela glances back, trying to estimate how long it would take to drop the umbrella, lock herself back in her apartment, and call the police. Instead, her eye catches on the object lodged in her doorframe—a shuriken? It looks properly embedded there and will probably leave a deep gouge.

Now angry, Angela frees one of her hands to tug at the weapon, but it’s fixed solidly in the plaster and she only succeeds in cutting one of her fingers. The jolt of pain is small but enough to make her drop the umbrella, and she hears more clanking as the stranger is able to squirm free.

“Don’t touch that!” says the same garbled voice.

When Angela looks up, she gets her first proper look at them: Silver suit encroaching the entirety of their body, a glowing green visor, and…a sheathed sword slung over its back? If this is an omnic, she definitely doesn't recognize them.

She decides that they’re standing a little too close for her liking.

“You tried to hurt me,” she accuses, taking half a step backwards. She gropes for the doorway with one hand, ignoring the wetness dripping down her wrist.

“I did not mean to. I apologize.” The stranger actually seems to become diffident, lowering their head slightly.

Angela bites her lip, wondering if she ought to turn and dash inside now. “Yes, well.” She huffs quietly and pushes another errant strand of hair away from her face. “It was— very dangerous.”

The stranger nods. “You took me by surprise,” they say, by way of explanation. They lift their head, and Angela waits for further recompense — there’s a shuriken stuck in her doorway, for goodness’s sake — but the stranger only continues, “It was only a human reaction, faced with a beauty such as yourself.”

There is a beat of silence.

Angela takes up the umbrella and wields it in front of her threateningly. “I am calling the police,” she declares, and if her voice wavers or if her face is a distinct shade of red called mortification, then she will blame it on Dummköpfe who wear strange armor and carry around blades in the dead of night.

When she tilts the umbrella to the side, she catches a glimpse of that very fool retreating quickly down the hall. Once he’s a good distance away, she collapses the umbrella and shutters herself back inside her apartment.

She dutifully ignores the burning in her face as she clicks a few lights on and searches for her first aid kit. The wound at least looks small and shallow. “Wo habe ich die… Ah.”

She finds the kit just as her phone buzzes on the night stand. Mindful of the blood, she uses her pinky to swipe across the screen and finds a sleep-mangled text from Lena.  

From: Lena
To: Angela
angggggiiiiiieee love ya but keep it down gotta wake up early tmrow

Before she can begin to type a response, a knock comes at her door.

Angela pretends her face doesn’t heat up again at the thought of that— that stranger and cautiously makes her way back. “Who is it?” she calls out, moving from the bedroom to the living room again.

“Ms. Ziegler? I heard a commotion. Is everything…”

Relief washes over her when she recognizes the voice, but it’s quickly followed by guilt. “I’ll be right there, Mr. Shimada.” She grabs a strip of paper towel to press to her wound for the moment.

She opens the door, ready to apologize, but the words die on her tongue when she sees Hanzo Shimada standing in front of her door, frowning down at the slightly bloody shuriken in his hand. The man has always come across as intimidating ever since she moved in across from him, but with him wearing a tied-off bathrobe that Angela can most accurately define as baby blue, he seems considerably less so.

“I have told you before to call me Hanzo. Mr. Shimada was my father.”

She sees his eyes flick downwards—she’s suddenly aware of the horrendously mismatched striped tank top and plaid pajama pants that she’s wearing, but Hanzo’s gaze is fixed on her bloody hand, apparently putting two and two together.

“Are you hurt?” His frown deepens.

“It’s a small cut, nothing to worry about." I have been held hostage on top of skyscrapers before. "I am so sorry for waking you.” Angela sneaks a glance down the hall to make sure it’s empty. “I think there was someone trying to break into my apartment, and I was afraid they would try to break into yours as well…”

“Did you see who it was?”

“Yes and no. They were…” She makes a helpless gesture up and down herself, struggling to form an explanation that doesn’t sound completely absurd. People in uniforms and capes are one thing, but robots?

“Wearing a metal suit?” Hanzo Shimada offers, to her surprise.

She blinks. “Well— Yes, actually, with a green visor…” She stops. “Do you know them?”

Hanzo pauses. “No,” he says curtly. “There have been similar sightings for the past month, but no serious harm has been done."

She must have missed that between moving in and trying to adjust to the new clinic. “I was actually just about to call the police.”

“No need. I will deal with him, Ms. Ziegler. Take care of yourself first.”

Hanzo Shimada then disappears back into his own apartment, and it isn’t until he quietly closes the door that Angela realizes he had known the stranger was a him and that he had kept the shuriken.

“It’s too early for any of this,” Angela mutters, closing her own door. If anyone comes by looking for someone to take hostage, they'll have to knock.

She cleans and bandages her cut quickly, but by then it feels impossible to go back to sleep. Four hours has been the weekly average anyway, she thinks, only slightly gloomy. She starts a pot of coffee before she remembers to reply to Lena.

To: Lena
From: Angela
Sorry :-(

She finds a book to read until sunrise.

To her pleasant surprise, no one comes to kidnap her.

To: Unknown number
From: Hanzo Shimada
Do not terrorize my neighbor. She is under Morrison's guard.

From: Unknown number
To: Hanzo Shimada
it was an accident. i forgot which door was yours

From: Unknown number
To: Hanzo Shimada
she moved in recently yes?

From: Unknown number
To: Hanzo Shimada
she seemed nice

To: Unknown number
From: Hanzo Shimada
She is a civilian. Do not bother her.

To: Unknown number
From: Hanzo Shimada
Do you not have your own home to go to?

To: Unknown number
From: Hanzo Shimada
(A rhetorical question. Go home.)

“A burglar?” Lena’s brown eyes blow wide as if the single word deeply affects her. “Last night? That’s what all the ruckus was?” Her eyebrows knit together in concern as she reaches for Angela’s hand across the table.

“I’m fine, Lena,” Angela insists. It’s hard to eat cereal with her left hand.

“That’s weird,” Jesse comments with a shake of his head as he takes out the box of leftovers from the microwave. It’s seven o’clock in the morning and he’s already wearing his hat, but honestly, Angela has seen enough oddities in the past twelve hours to be unfazed by it. “We don’t have a hist’ry of burglaries ‘round here, but if you file a complaint, ‘m sure Winston will take care of it.”

He slumps into the chair next to her and wastes no time digging into his food.

“Yeah!” Lena pitches in. “D’you want me to tell Winston for you?”

Angela has come to learn that Lena is apparently the only one who has any direct contact with their landlord, so she nods slowly. “Yes…? I… I suppose he ought to know, but I really don’t think it’s anything to be worried about. Mr. Shi— Er, Hanzo said he would take care of it.”

Angela had been contemplating keeping the information to herself—the more she thought about the encounter, the less threatening and more ridiculous it seemed, and she didn’t want to worry any of the other tenants. But Lena was the first friend she made when she first moved in, not counting Jack, and they had grown considerably close in the past month.

Also, Lena had refused to let her leave the communal kitchen until Angela explained what happened to her hand.

So here they are.

“There was a burglar,” Lena insists. “That’s definitely something we should worried about, right, Jesse?”

Jesse makes an emphatic noise through a mouthful of food.

“I don’t want to scare anyone. If he was really a burglar,” Angela grumbles, “he was possibly the worst—he wasn’t quiet at all, and he…” He flirted with me, I think, she thinks to herself, but that would sound silly so she says instead, “He ran away at the end.”

“What a sham,” Lena says, shaking her head.

“What are you all so excited about this early in the morning?” Jack’s voice interrupts them as he steps into the kitchen.

Before Angela can think of a calm, rational explanation, Lena says, “Angie single-handedly fought off a burglar last night!”

Unhelpfully, Jesse adds, “With her bare hands.”

“I had an umbrella,” Angela protests.

“Well, shit, that’s even more badass.”

Jack is now staring at her with the same scrutinizing expression he often fixes on crossword puzzles. It means she won’t be getting away until he knows the answer.

Angela groans.

“I appreciate everyone’s concerns, but I really don’t think it’s anything we should be worried about. I mean, the man was dressed as some sort of cyborg ninja, for heaven’s sake! He might have been drunk and just got off on the wrong floor. The only thing I’m worried about at the moment is the scratch on my door. I think Winston should know about that.”

“Angie,” Jack says, and Angela becomes aware of their wide-eyed stares, “did you say he was dressed as a cyborg…ninja?”

“Yes,” she replies with as much dignity as she can muster. “I attempted to tell him that Halloween was last week. He threw a shuriken at me.”

Lena makes a strange noise. Jack’s expression, Angela notices, has begun to darken.

“Huh. You should’ve told us that from the beginning,” Jesse says. Angela catches him glancing uncertainly in Jack’s direction, but she’s not quite sure why. “Now he definitely just sounds like a drunk, right, Lena?”

“Or maybe one of those vigilantes who’ve been running around the city,” Lena says, nodding quickly.

Jack sends her a sharp look.

“Or…a drunk," Lena says, nodding not so quickly. "Yeah, definitely.” Her hair sways as she glances between the two men.

Angela raises an eyebrow and opens her mouth to say something, but then Lena bursts out, “Oh—blimey, I lost track of time, I’m going to be late for work!” She shoots up to her feet, nearly toppling her chair over. “I’ll take care of everything with Winston, don’t you worry!”

Angela watches as she practically leaves the room in a blur.

“I’m, er—”

Jack glowers at Jesse.

“—off to do some shit,” Jesse says, seemingly impervious to it. “I’ll keep an eye out for any umbrellas you could add to your arsenal, darlin’.”

“How kind of you,” Angela says.

Jesse tips his hat at her before leaving the room, whistling innocently.

“Did I say something?” She turns to Jack questioningly.

“No,” Jack says without missing a beat. “They’re all just weird.”

“Jack.” She laughs, nudging his foot under the table. “Don’t say that, they’re…quirky. Charming.”

She's only met about half a dozen of the other tenants in total, but everyone she has met has been nothing but welcoming. Even Hanzo with his intimidating aura was polite.

“Some less than others,” Jack mutters.

Angela chuckles, shaking her head as she stands. “I’m going to go to the library before work,” she tells him, smiling warmly. “Are we still set for a late lunch?”

“Of course.”

“I’ll see you then.”

It’s on her way out of the kitchen that Jack calls after her, “Hey, Ange?”

She glances back.

“…Be careful, will you?”

She has known Jack Morrison for years, which means that she knows, despite his deadpan tone, that there is an underlying sincerity.

“Always,” she assures him.

From: Lena
To: Genji
hey did you come by the building last night???? someone got hurt, i think you know who, i know you prolly didn’t mean to but just be careful next time !!

From: Ana
To: Genji
Please be more careful after missions, Genji.

From: McCree
To: Genji
hey, don’t hurt the lady again. also, TOLD ya the suit was too flashy

From: Hanzo
To: Genji
I received several concerned messages about last night, so I will reiterate: Do not. Terrorize. My. Neighbor.

From: Hana
To: Genji
lol the commander’s furious what did u doooo

From: Morrison
To: Genji
If you hurt Angela again I will break you

From: Winston
To: Genji
Please remember our policies surrounding civilians, Genji

To: All contacts
From: Genji
HELLO EVERYONE I WAS TIRED AND DID NOT REALIZE I WAS TRYING TO OPEN THE WRONG DOOR, PLEASE STOP ATTACKING ME

To: Morrison
From: Genji
her name is Angela?

From: Morrison
To: Genji
I will break you

To: All contacts
From: ATHENA
HOSTAGE SITUATION CALLED IN AT APPROX. 8:53AM. TWO TARGETS, ONE CIVILIAN IDENTIFIED. ALL AVAILABLE CONTACTS CONVERGE AT WOODFORD PUBLIC LIBRARY.