Chapter Text
7:35
Moira walks into laboratory 3B, still rubbing remnants of sleep from her eyes.
"Maidin mhaith," she says as she spots Angela already bent over her work station.
"Grüezi," Angela answers with a bright smile, looking up briefly. "Come to keep me company?"
"Much as you'd like that, no," Moira says with a tiny smirk. "I'm going to proofread the paper."
"Again?" Angela lets out little exasperated huff. "Just give it a rest already. You've revised it, I've revised it, Winston's revised it; just stop worrying. It'll be approved. It's perfect."
Moira ignores the fact that she can feel her cheeks flaming.
"Perfection doesn't exist," she answers instead—though, some part of her brain thinks, Angela is proof to the contrary. "Just a last re-read," she says. “I’ve had a really bad streak of rejections lately, I want to make sure.”
“It’s fine.” Angela smiles again. "By now, you must know more about custom genetic programs than McKellar herself.”
"Because McKellar's dead.”
Angela shakes her head without looking up from the Caduceus Staff, cleaning out a speck of dust from one of the junctures.
"Just leave it be,” she says. “The more you revise it, more flaws you’ll imagine.” She points at Moira with the staff. “Now, go and get me coffee.”
Moira raises her hands in mock surrender.
“Don’t point your metal stick at me. You’re supposed to be a pacifist.”
“The Caduceus,” Angela says seriously, “is a symbol of hope and healing. My technology is used exclusively—”
As Angela talks, Moira makes her way around to her laptop, silently. Her progress is brought up short when Angela’s eyes come to rest on her again.
“Get out,” Angela snaps, but a smile plays around the corners of her mouth. She hefts the Caduceus again. “Out, or I hit you with the stick.”
Moira decides to save her dignity and bows out, making a detour only to leave a kiss on Angela’s temple.
8:02
“This is, first and foremost, a recon mission,” Morrison says. “Our aim here is not to take out Talon, it’s to look for a weakness we can exploit.” He pushes his blond hair back. “There should be no problem, but make sure you keep your powder dry anyway, alright?”
Moira raises her eyebrows at the phrase—nobody says that anymore; hell, nobody uses powder anymore, except maybe McCree—and shoots a look at Angela. She doesn’t look back, she’s studying the plans of the city they’ll be operating in with her head bent down and a little frown between her eyebrows.
A strand of hair has come loose from her ponytail.
If they weren’t in an official meeting, Moira would tuck it behind her ear and then whisper the lamest pun she could think of to make her frown disappear.
Instead, she checks that Morrison isn’t looking at her, pulls up the screen of her holo-tablet under the table and opens a new email.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Mission Details – Classified
Message: keep ur powder dry ziegler
Moira hits send and instantly Angela’s phone gives a little buzz. She unlocks it without picking it up and Moira sees her bite her cheek to keep from smiling. Her blue eyes sparkle with amusement as she glances at Moira.
The frown is gone from her face.
9:23
Moira lugs her pack onto the transport—the Wonder Pack, as McCree has dubbed it—and drops it in a corner of the aircraft. The fluids mix together then settle back, purple on the bottom, yellow on top.
She walks back out into the morning light, to where Angela is talking animatedly with Amari junior, picks up the bag containing the Valkyrie suit from the ground and takes the Caduceus from her hand.
Angela awards her with her easy smile, and Moira wonders at her luck as she slings the Caduceus across her back and shrugs her shoulder to adjust the weight.
10:12
They’ve been on the air for barely half an hour and Angela is already dozing, her head tilted back and her mouth slightly open.
Tracer emerges from the cockpit just as Athena’s voice announces that the autopilot is engaged.
“Approximate flight time, five hours and forty minutes,” the AI says.
Angela opens her eyes briefly and makes an indeterminate sound. She looks at Moira and blinks twice before leaning her head on her shoulder and closing her eyes again.
“Yes, feel free to use me as your personal pillow,” Moira says sarcastically. “It doesn’t bother me at all.”
She only catches a glimpse of Angela’s sleepy smile as readjusts her position slightly, snuggling closer to her.
“Thanks, Schätzli,” she mumbles.
Moira only rolls her eyes in response, but she vows not to move at all in those five hours and forty minutes.
10:43
Moira’s eyes close almost of their own accord. Her breath becomes regular and deep with the steady quality of sleep.
11:05
She breaks her vow as her head falls slightly to the side and her cheek comes to rest on Angela’s blond hair.
Angela shifts slightly, but she doesn’t seem to mind.
15:32
Moira’s spine cracks as she stretches with her arms above her head. When she bends down to pick up her pack her lower back pops again.
“Don’t do that,” Angela says over her shoulder. She stands with her back to Moira, shrugging her left arm into the Valkyrie suit. “It sets my teeth on edge.”
They’ve had this conversation so often that it’s almost scripted.
“You've cut people’s bones in half with a mechanical saw and this sets your teeth on edge?”
Moira adjusts the straps of the pack and turns her head first to the right, then to the left to release the tension in her neck. It pops with another little crack.
“Quit it,” Angela says, swatting playfully at Moira.
Moira ducks out of the way and releases a puff of her yellow healing fluid. It hits Angela right on the face, making her splutter.
“Behave now, Dr Ziegler,” Moira says with mock seriousness. “This is no time for horseplay, our lives are at stake on this mission.”
15:52
The Overwatch team steps off the transport and into the glaring midday sun.
Morrison stands in front of them, his pulse riffle strapped and ready for use.
“Remember, in and out and there should be no trouble,” he says. “But stay frosty just in case.”
Angela glances at Moira at the same time Moira glances at Angela. They manage not to burst out laughing, but it’s a close thing.
16:11
“All right, everybody, this is it,” Morrison finishes going over the plan. “Try to keep in range of the healers as much as you can. Reinhardt, we’re counting on your barrier should anything happen.”
“Don’t worry,” Reinhardt says, puffing out his chest. “I will be your shield!”
Moira turns to Angela. She looks at her and feels her chest constricting with now-familiar worry. There are a thousand things she would like to say to her; there always are, before a mission. But her throat is so dry that swallowing hurts, so she just takes one of Angela’s hands in her own and runs her thumb over the lines of her palm.
“Keep your powder dry, mo stóirín,” she manages finally, and despite the joke, her eyes are dead serious.
Angela smiles softly, looking down at their entwined hands.
“And you stay frosty, Schätzli .”
When Angela looks up, Moira kisses the corner of her mouth gently. They hug, briefly but so tightly that Moira can feel Angela’s heart beating in her chest.
“I love you,” Moira whispers.
Angela squeezes tighter.
“And I love you.”
16:28
“It’s an ambush!” Lena calls out through the comm system. “Watch your six, guys!”
Talon mercenaries come at them from seemingly everywhere, and the Overwatch team huddles together behind Reinhardt’s barrier.
“So much for ‘no problem’,” Moira mutters under her breath.
She’s about to throw one of her purple orbs when she feels the prickle of the Caduceus damage boost function. She holds the ball in her hand for a second, relishing the feeling of power, then lets loose.
“Giorraíonn beirt bothar, huh?” she says, with a glance over her shoulder.
Angela smiles grimly—her Gaelic really has come a long way; a much, much longer way than Moira’s German—and flies to Reinhardt, her healing stream now tethered to him.
16:43
Reinhardt's shield cracks and the Overwatch team is forced to retreat and regroup behind a crumbling brick wall. Angela takes the opportunity to do a quick check-up on them and fix what she can.
"They're too many," says Tracer, panting. "We've got to change our strategy."
"Just be quiet" says Angela. "And stay still, you've got shrapnel in your face, Lena."
Moira can see the first signs of exhaustion on her; the way her mouth is set in a thin, hard line and her jaw clenched tight. There is a streak of blood on her forehead. Moira can't tell if it's her own.
"Maybe if we tried to get to higher ground, we could—"
"Oi," Moira calls. "Doctor said to be quiet, so keep your mouth shut."
She looks at Tracer, almost daring her to speak, and turns away. It's a testament to how tired Angela is that she doesn't reprimand her for snapping at her protégée.
16:48
Morrison decides to go with Tracer’s idea and move to higher ground. Lena and him dash around to the rear of the Talon group blocking their way while Reinhardt smashes his way through the front. Moira stays with him, keeping her biotic grasp activated on both hands, ready to heal him and to take down anybody who might try to flank them from behind.
16:56
Their progress towards the hill is stopped when a new wave of mercenaries cut off the avenue, forcing them to duck into a side street .
“Regroup!” calls Morrison through the comm.
“Wilco,” answers Moira, though she’s not at all sure that they will actually be able to comply with the order.
17:13
Searing pain comes with every breath Moira takes. The raised pavement digs into her back as she coughs out dust and blood, gasping for air.
The blue glow of Reinhardt barrier flickers but holds, and she hears his roar doubled through the communication channel.
“I need healing!”
Moira catches his eye after he swings his hammer it in a wide arc and manages to mouth a thank you.
17:22
“Mercy,” Moira whispers, almost inaudibly, as Angela kneels next to her. The ghost of a smile plays around her eyes, but a wave of pain turns it into a grimace when it reaches her lips.
Angela’s grip on her staff is so tight that Moira can see the ridges of bone in her knuckles.
"Ich bin da," she says gently, and Moira knows enough German to understand that. "I've got you."
Then there is the tingling feeling of the healing stream and the relief of being able to breathe again.
17:34
They’re holding their ground in the front yard of an abandoned house.
“Evac’s on its way,” Morrison assures them.
Moira thinks ‘evac’ is perhaps an overly generous term for the transport that brought them there.
“We just have to make our way to open ground so Athena can land.”
17:39
“Watch out!”
Angela reacts in time and swings the Caduceus down on the mercenary’s head. There’s the sick crack of bone breaking, and the force sends the staff flying from Angela’s hand. It hits the opposite wall, and where the crack of the mercenary’s skull had failed at making Angela flinch, the sound of the Caduceus snapping succeeds.
17:48
The Talon assassin known as Widowmaker steps onto the roof of an abandoned building.
18:01
Moira crouches behind the last bit of wall standing as drains the life out of a Talon mercenary.
The meter on her pack indicates that it's less than half full. It's not enough, Moira knows, but it'll have to do.
18:20
The Overwatch team pushes forwards and the Talon mercenaries seem to give way.
There’s a sort of stillness in the air. Rain clouds are coming in from the east, darkening the sky.
18:22
The Talon assassin known as Widowmaker lines her sights.
18:31
A drop lands on Moira’s left hand as she trains her biotic grasp on Tracer. As she looks up, another lands on her cheek.
“Sorrow and ill weather,” she says under her breath.
“What?” Angela asks, not taking her eyes from Morrison, who is leading the way. Her blaster is in her hand and her finger hovers over the trigger, ready to unload her clip.
The broken Caduceus is slung across her back. It strikes Moira as a fitting symbol of their defeat.
“It’s a proverb,” Moira says.
In other circumstances she might have teased her, asked if there was finally something that the brilliant Dr Ziegler didn’t know. But the rain is falling in earnest now, and uneasiness pools in the pit of Moira’s stomach.
“Sorrow and ill weather come unsent for.”