Chapter Text
It was like breathing for the first time. The air burned her lungs as she gasped, gulping for air. She kept her eyes tightly closed. Sound came to her distorted.
A familiar voice was speaking.
“The chronal harness is finally working, but she’s…” A pause. “She’s not alright. I thought maybe you could help her.”
“Of course.” This other voice was higher in register, but seemed to come from even further away. “There were no complications with the surgery, but it’s only to be expected that—”
But what was to be expected, she never heard. A wave of nausea seized her, and as her insides contracted she had to devote all her energy to dry-retching and half-coughing, half-sobbing as she choked on her own saliva.
Suddenly there was pressure—pressure?—on her forehead. Something, someone, some—what didn’t really matter—was touching—and what did that mean, exactly?—her forehead. Touching her forehead, which was damp with cold sweat, and pushing her hair back, out of her eyes.
“Can you look at me?”
The voice seemed closer now. It was quiet, gentle. It must belong to the thing-person-whatever touching her forehead.
She swallowed. It was good, the question. Could she look? She pondered it for a long second, but reached no conclussion. Maybe she could, in fact, but what if she couldn't? What if—
“That’s alright, you don’t have to just yet,” the voice said, softly. The touch on her forehead disappeared. “Do you know your name?”
A sob caught in her throat, like the question had stopped it in its tracks. Air went out of her lungs and back in again with a ragged breath. And then, before she knew she was going to do it, before she even knew she was going to do anything at all, she spoke.
“Lena.” The single word held a sort of reassuring power. “Lena." A pause. "Lena Oxton.”
As though her own name had given her strength, Lena opened her eyes. What she saw wasn’t the grey world of the timestream. There was colour, and light—light that didn’t burn her eyes—and in front of her was a woman.
A woman, and not one of the shapeless, formless things that had sometimes crossed her in the timestream. They had sometimes touched her too, but this time the touch on her forehead had belonged to this woman who was on her knees in front of her, to this woman with sharp blue eyes that seemed to pierce through her, to somehow look inside her.
Lena opened her mouth to speak, but the only thing that came out was an inarticulate sound. Suddenly, a terrible doubt assailed her. Sometimes, she had been able to look into the world from wherever she was in the timestream. Maybe this was just a higher definition, maybe she was still in, still there, still alone, still trapped, still—
She raised her hand and pressed it to the woman’s cheek. The wave of relief that washed over her when she met resistance was so powerful that it brought tears to her eyes. She lowered her head, her hand still on the woman’s cheek.
“You’re—I’m—I can touch you,” Lena gasped. She looked at the woman, and the woman smiled. She pressed her own hand to Lena’s cheek. It felt cool. It was a wonderful sensation. “I’m back.” She laughed. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “I’m here.”
The last word dissolved into another sob—or was it laughter? She couldn’t tell anymore, and she didn’t care.
“Winston brought you back,” the woman said. “The chronal harness anchors your body to our timeline.”
Lena wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and sniffed. She looked down at her hands, and touched one with the other. She didn't think this sense of wonder at her own physicality would subside any time soon.
“Can you stand?”
Instead of answering, Lena did. She stood on solid ground, felt it beneath her feet, took an experimental step on it. She could walk. Maybe, if things kept going this well, soon she would be able to test if she could run.
The woman had got up as well and was now watching her with an expression which was hard to decipher but which was ultimately reassuring.
“That’s good,” she said, with a small smile. “I think you’re going to be fine. I’ll need to run a proper physical, but I think you’re going to be just fine.”
Lena looked at her and smiled back. It felt shaky, like she had forgotten how, but it was there.
“Yeah,” she said. “Yeah. I think I am.”
She was going to be fine, she could feel it. She dried her cheeks again, this time with her sleeve.
“So you’re a—a friend of Winston’s?” she asked. “Are you Overwatch, too?”
The woman wore no uniform, but the blue lanyard that came with the ID card hung from the pocket of a lab coat, which was identical to Winston’s, with the Overwatch logo on the left, right over the breastbone. Lena supposed she must be some sort of scientist too.
“Yes and yes,” she said. “My name is Angela. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Lena tried to smile again. It felt more solid this time.
Angela gestured towards the door, and Lena took another step, wondering at how solid the floor was. As they stepped out into the corridor, Angela laid a hand on Lena’s shoulder to guide her, and Lena had to look at her, look back over her shoulder and make sure it was still her and not a current from the timestream, brushing past her incorporeal self.
When her eyes met Angela’s sparkling blue ones, she felt like her knees might give, the relief was so great. Then, despite everything, a sudden sense of unreality seized her.
“You’re—you’re—”
“Right here,” Angela completed, interrupting her stammer. Her hand was still on Lena’s shoulder, and its weight held an undeniable reality. “And so are you.”