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There's something about Angela Ziegler that fucking infuriates Moira.
No, it's everything. Everything about Angela infuriates Moira and she doesn't know what to do about it. It's the way she looks at everyone around her like she knows something they don't. It's the way she gently encourages people whose ideas clearly wouldn't work, just to make them feel good. It's her posture when she's working, and when she's walking. It's the way Angela ties her hair up in a high pony, the way it bounces when she walks fast, or is excited, or when she plops down on the couch in the common room to rest her feet. It's her face of disapproval as she surveys Moira's work, as she looks around at her tests and papers, the patents and experiments she's worked so hard to perfect.
It's as if Angela doesn't even know what she's capable of. More brilliant than anyone Moira's ever met at her age, more capable and steadfast in her convictions than any of her would-be peers. And yet, she's allowed herself to be held back. Allowed her potential to be hindered by her sense of right and wrong, of what she can and cannot do based on a flimsy moral code.
It's disgusting, to say the least.
And the way Angela looks at Moira, like she's smarter than her, like she somehow has seen the way the world works in her tender twenty-one years of living, and now can tell Moira how she can and can't conduct her experiments, her studies, her life. Moira has never met anyone so presumptuous, so naive. Young people generally get on her nerves, but Angela has created a category all her own. So, Moira makes a point out of avoiding the doctor everyone seems to adore so much.
That is, she attempts to avoid her. Somehow, Angela weasles her way into every conversation, whether she's physically present or not. It's a blight on Moira's contentment, seeing the way people's faces light up when they talk about the young doctor's brilliance, her grace and humility, her philanthropic dreams.
"Idealism," Moira sneers, to her confused labtechs, "She's delusional."
They don't know why their boss would come out of her office to interrupt a conversation they were having about Dr. Ziegler, but they take the hint. She isn't brought up again until the holidays, when there is the expected mundane hubbub about the Christmas party. Angela seems to be responsible for throwing it this year, and Moira doesn't understand why a woman of her caliber would agree to such a task, but she shrugs it off because she wouldn't be caught dead there, anyway.
Christmas Eve comes, and Moira finds herself at home, sent there by force, by her supervisors who've told her to take a break from her research and "enjoy life for once, will you? You're what, barely thirty?"
She checks her cabinets and realizes she hasn't gone shopping in weeks, and has instead lived off of provisions from the subway near her apartment and food her labhands bring her, worried about her wellbeing when she's in the trance that allows her to work for days on end without seemingly needing to breathe. None of those places would be open, now, she thinks to herself.
Moira grunts as she falls back onto her couch, her sparsely furnished room lit dimly before her. There's nothing for her to do here. Why won't they just listen to her and let her work when she wants to? She feels a little nauseous, and wonders if it's from the lack of food. For a doctor, she's not very good at taking care of herself and is lanky and pallid with hair that never stays down. In a different life, she might care about her appearance. If she had someone to impress, perhaps. Or if she wasn't so focused on her research and could lead a proper, mundane life. Or if she was Angela, who could look like she'd come up from seafoam and still fulfill all her duties. Moira's lip curls at the thought, and her stomach growls. She looks down at her feet and notices the stupidly colorful invitation she'd gotten for the Christmas party.
They'd have food there, wouldn't they?
She rummages around in her closet for something that isn't her wrinkly lab coat and pulls out a purple suit. It isn't ironed, there's no tie, and she hasn't worn it in ages. The pants aren't quite long enough, but... it'll do. Fastening a watch around her wrist and running her fingers through her hair, she slips on her dull dress shoes and exits her quiet apartment, hoping she can slip in and out without anyone noticing her.
It is impossible not to notice Moira O'Deorain. At six-foot-one, with shocking red hair and an aura that parts crowds, she is not easy to miss. The party is loud, with bright lights and jingly music, and she finds herself pressed up against boisterous, slightly drunk people she's definitely seen before but never cares enough to speak to. Looking over the crowd, she heads towards the snack table, getting there without much delay. It's next to the Christmas tree, that's so tall and bright it blinds her a little. She wonders if it was Angela who did the decorating for all this, and she wonders who helped her. Someone had to have helped her, as the tree is taller than Moira, and the thought of the doctor climbing onto a chair to put the star at the top puts a smile on her face that just as quickly leaves it. As she is preparing to pile up her plate and leave without speaking to any of the people who are unfortunately privy to her appearance, Moira glances down at the presents below the tree and notices one in particular. A little green box, about the size of her palm, nestled amongst the other presents. There is nothing special about this box, except that it has Moira's name neatly written in gold sharpie on the attached tag.
She looks around, stunned, wondering if there is another Moira O'Deorain that works for this region's branch of Overwatch, and suddenly she feels as though she is invisible for the first time in her life, when she desperately wants to be seen so she can ask someone- "What is the meaning of this?"
She considers ignoring it, considers just getting her food and walking away from the situation altogether, from the thought of having to write a thank-you note to the sender. Then she remembers that this is an office Christmas party, and this box will find its way to her one way or another. She picks it up in one hand and quickly pockets it before anyone has the chance to ask her what she's doing. Getting the food she's here for, she walks outside, sticking close to the wall to avoid being touched by any of the rowdy partygoers.
She sits near the back of the building, where she can barely hear the music anymore, and where there aren't any more people. Well, save for two of her labtechs that look truly shocked to see her there. She doesn't even have to tell them to leave her alone before they run away holding hands, giggling to themselves. She sighs, her breath clear and visible against the dark, as she sits on the grass and leans her head back onto the building. She shoves a garlic knot into her mouth and fishes the box out of her pocket. It must be from her labtechs, she thinks. But they would never expect her to come to the Christmas party. So who..?
Moira gently unravels the ribbon on the box and pulls the lid off. A slip of paper falls out and she catches it before it can fly away. Inside the box is a necklace with a crescent moon charm at the end. One side is a blue stone while the other is red, and Moira wonders who would be observant enough to find a pendant to match her eyes. She unfolds the paper, curious, and her face reddens as she holds it up to the dim light from the building.
"To a brilliant doctor. Merry Christmas, Moira! Love, Angela."
She almost throws the box as far as she can, annoyed with herself for ever picking it up. Angela. Why does Angela have to creep her way into everything? She seems to want to be a part of Moira's every waking dream, her ideas, and her criticisms. What a stupid gift, she thinks. It's not even practical. What could she possibly do with this pendant? It's not useful in the least. And yet she slips it around her neck and puts it under her shirt, where she can feel it, cold against her bare skin. There's something about it that is familiar to her, and she's not willing to admit to herself that she is slightly pleased with the quality of the gift. She wonders if everyone got a present from Angela, and decides that that must be the case. She isn't special, nor should she delude herself into thinking she is. Moira takes a bite out of a macaron and squints at the piece of paper between her fingers. Love, Angela.
She doesn't realize she's crushing the delicate cookie in her other hand until she feels the filling stick to her palm. Annoyed, she wipes her hand off on the concrete and stands up, shoving the piece of paper and the box into her pocket. The crescent pendant sways gently against her chest as she walks away, throwing the remnants of her dinner into a nearby rubbish bin before she heads home.
The day after her holiday break is over, Angela Ziegler comes into her office to find a little red box on her desk. It has her name on it, haphazardly written in black ink. There's no ribbon. She sits down and opens it, and is surprised to find a necklace, with a gold pendant charm at the end that looks like wings attached to a halo. There is no note in the box, and the Doctor doesn't know for sure who has gifted it to her.
What she does know, however, is that this morning Moira made eye contact with her when she said hello, and seemed to give an almost imperceptible nod of the head before she turned away instead of ignoring her like she has every time before this.
She clasps the chain around her neck and wears it on the outside of her sweater. Later in the day when she passes Moira, Angela is sure she sees the geneticist blush as her eyes pass over the pendant, and she smiles at her, only to see Moira turn on her heel and walk away quickly.
The way Angela smiles knowingly at Moira fucking infuriates her, and she can't stop thinking about it.