Work Text:
While brilliant in the labs, Angela Ziegler has never hesitated to don her Valkyrie armours and charge into battle alongside her comrades.
Well, perhaps, not charging right into the front line of enemies, that is…
Angela’s fingers twitch on the Caduceus Staff as the request for Reinhardt to wait died half way out of her lips. A loud crash accompanies the older man’s gleeful, boisterous laughter sound in the distance.
But she doesn’t say a word. Because Angela Ziegler is the picture of composure and the tranquillity of the group.
Well, perhaps not the last part since Zenyatta joined, but you get the picture.
“I need healing!”
…She can do without the sarcasm, though.
It takes a few seconds to locate whichever rooftop Hanzo is hiding above, the archer scowling because there are a few bloodied holes on his shoulder. Angela’s sigh is soft as the steady stream of golden light patches the wounds up neatly, “Come see me after battle, please.”
Hanzo nods, seeming a bit sheepish about his snappish behaviour earlier, “Arigatōgozaimashita, sensei.”
Angela’s smile is kind, though another distant crash reminds her that there is still at least one person out there that probably needs healing. Thanks to past experiences, she knows trying to reach the old German through the comm would be pointless. The noises his suit of armour makes and the static his Barrier Field emits nullify mostly any other sound. And of course the stubborn old goat refuses to put on the hearing aid she gave him ages ago…
“Hmmm…It’d be real nice to have a few days relaxing here. Would’ve suggested Jack to take a vacation here but the bastard’s too stuck up for shit like relaxing.” Gabriel’s voice crackles over the communicator, and Angela has to bite back a sigh. He is right, Ilios is simply breath-taking this time of the year. Golden sunshine, endless blue sea and sparkling white beaches, the Mediterranean town is truly postcard perfect. It would be nice to just have a couple of days to unwind here.
“Not sure if y’ be injoyin’ the scenery or somethin’ else, ey partner.” McCree’s laughter overrides the sounds of bullets, open and carefree.
“How uncouth.” Hanzo’s mutter oozes disgust, which effectively shuts Jesse up. Personally, Angela feels a bit piteous towards the American gunslinger but, honestly, she really tries to steer clear of her teammates’ personal life. Angela is there to consult and advice on strictly professional matters. She simply isn’t that kind of doctor…
Another crash, and Reinhardt’s laughter grows louder. Angela winces. She has been working on the field with the man long enough to understand what that means. Heels clicking urgently on the stone-paved road, Mercy quietly navigates among the various buildings on her way. This is growing a bit…childish. No matter how many times she told them to stick close to her, as soon as bullets start flying, she won’t find them anywhere near her or even each other at that matter. Angela supposes it is a good strategy, considering in this way they wouldn’t be clustered up and become an easy target as a whole. But if they bunched up, it would be easier for her to heal them, and they wouldn’t be so easily picked off.
Like right now.
Angela is too used to this situation to get startled anymore. She made a huffing noise as a bullet grazes her arm, quickly dodging into a nearby porch. Definitely didn’t expect a hail of ammo to rain upon the one spot she was at momentarily ago, though. The sounds are deafening, and Angela doesn’t have much hope that the others would be able to hear her. But she tries anyway.
“I need help!” She calls into the comm, swapping out the staff for her, quite frankly, insignificant gun as she does. Of course Angela is well-trained in combat, she must be with how often she finds herself on the field. But Angela is also a medic, and she relies on her teammates in terms of fire powers just as much as they rely on her in terms of healing.
The pillar Angela is hiding behind is practically shredded with how much under fire it has been, and she would be stupid to stay at one place for too long.
“Ugh!”
She manages to dash away, but did receive two hits for her effort, one in the shoulder, dangerously close to her neck, and the other on her thigh. Great, she’s limping now. The suit will patch her up, of course, but that takes some time. It’s alright, though, Angela has had worse…
Uh…
Belatedly, Angela realises that the open building she just dodged into has another person in it. Who definitely is not one of her teammates.
Time seems to slow down. So this is it. Her weakened muscles would never be able to react fast enough. Angela knows her body. But it is also simple logic. She was shot, that guy wasn’t. The swing of her arm is almost sluggish compared to him taking aim right between her eyes. So this is it…The gunner smirks as his trigger finger twitches…
And got bashed right into the opposite wall.
Angela let out the breath she was holding, arm falls limply onto her side. She ignores the messy smears of blood over white walls as Reinhardt makes his clanking way towards her.
“Mein Gott!!!“ Angela doesn’t protest when she is helped up by one massive hand, the German cradles her close so surprisingly gentle, considering his imposing size, and she can’t help but smile a bit at the muffled, panicked voice under his helm, “Bitte verzeih mir! If I vasn’t so foolish…”
“I’m fine, Reinhardt. Truly.” Angela chuckles lightly, though she frowns at the jagged tear on his metal-encased bicep and a very visible gash on his side, where blood is gushing out from, “Are you hurt?” She tries to squirm away to have a better look. Reinhardt, of course, protests.
“Sei vorsichtig!” He chides and, even though he did let her go, he is still supporting her with his hand that is big enough to cover her entire back, “I’m fine, Ärztin! You’re bleeding, too. Let’s get you out of here first.”
“The mission!” Angela cries out when Reinhardt scoops her up again, her struggling is feeble to him.
“Is finished. Ze terrorists escaped. Ve’re going home, Ärztin.” Reinhardt grumbles, stubbornly insists on carrying the Doctor. Angela rolls her eyes, but doesn’t argue further. Reinhardt doesn’t need any more excuse to get even more goat-headed.
“…It should be fine now, Shimada-san. Please do not put strains to your arm in the next few days. Good work on the field today, as always.”
“Thank you for the hard work, Ziegler-sensei.” The archer squared his shoulders with his hands braced on his knees and does a firm, sincere bow before retreating out of Angela’s clinic. The Doctor scribes down some notes, tightens her ponytail out of habit and finally calls out for her last check-up patient.
“Next!”
The lumbering, heavy footsteps are difficult to mistake, “I told you, I’m fine. Ze blood stopped ages ago.”
Angela raises a perfectly trimmed eyebrow at Reinhardt, completely unfazed, “And yet, here you are.”
His grin is broad and unabashed as he folds himself into the chair in front of her, “Vat can I say? Can’t miss seeing my favourite Doctor in ze house.”
“The only doctor.” Angela reminds him, though there is a smile tugging at her lips now. She carefully inspects Reinhard’s bulging bicep, where an angry red welt marks his recently gaping wound. The one on his side, underneath his very tight t-shirt, are quite the same. With a slight cough, Angela smooths her hand over the still-tender area once, and nods at Reinhardt.
“They are stable now, but you must be careful next time. That suit of yours won’t hold up forever.” Angela reminds him, for the how many times she can’t remember anymore. Reinhardt nods along, but it is obvious he only does so to make her feel better. Angela sighs. Both of them know that she isn’t so stupid to be fooled and the next time, given the opportunity, the old German would be charging off if he sees fit. Reinhardt’s great expanse of chest rumbles in his chuckle and Angela allows his large thumb to smooth out her brows gently.
“I am fine, Angela. Die Wunder der modernen Medizin, eh?” He repeats her own words, drawing out a light chuckle from the blonde, though his features grow serious after a moment, “How about you? Your vounds are healed, yes?”
Angela chuckles and taps a finger on the armour she’s still wearing, “But of course. Some sores and stiffness still linger, but I am fine.”
Reinhardt nods, though his expression is still solemn. Angela’s smile turns soft. She knows what he is about to say. The German moves to cover her hand with both of his, and she quietly marvels at how much of a difference in sizes they have. His hands are thick and calloused, with a constant warmth that reminds her of crackling hearths and hot chocolate, in a life so distance from the now.
“I know you must be tired of hearing zis.” Even his sigh is great and thundering, “But you shouldn’t rely too much on ze suit.”
Angela gives him a very pointed stare. Reinhardt wrinkles his nose, “Fine, but you know vat I’m talking about. I vorry for you.”
This redirects her eyes back to their joined hands. It is strange, when she thinks about it. Of all the people here, Reinhardt is the only one to know what truly is going on with Angela. Torbjörn can be running his mouth all he wants and Gabriel can scoff about whatever, but they all know better. Reinhardt is a damn lot wiser than he leads on, and it doesn’t particularly have to do with his age. Perhaps it is why Angela bonds so easily with him.
The water is always deeper than it seems when one looks upon the surface.
Those who have known her pre-fall of the old Overwatch all remarked at some point after they have reacquainted that Angela hasn’t aged a day. Obviously with the exception of Jack. She knows Gabriel has his reservations and suspicions, but it would simply be strange for the former Blackwatch commander to not be doubtful. And, of course, there is Mei. Angela has dodged the question simply by saying the same thing back to the Chinese woman. Mei doesn’t pry, not after that, but Angela knows, being a scientist herself, Mei has her theories.
The Valkyrie suit was, still rather is, a breakthrough in nanobiology. Not only it amplifies Angela’s healing abilities channelling through the Caduceus Staff and propelling herself through the midst of battles, it also serves to heal its pilot. It is certainly helpful, and Angela had been absolutely ecstatic when the prototype is finished, coded to her own DNA. Hell, she is still proud of this. What the Doctor didn’t think about, however, was the full potential of the suit and how it would affect her on the long terms.
The nanobio-technology doesn’t simply heal her, to put it in easy terms, when she is physically damaged. It repairs damaged cells and regenerates flawed tissues. Which, by an extension, prevents Angela from aging.
She supposes it comes from the overexposure to the suit’s nanobiology. Never once in her life has Angela hesitated in donning the Valkyrie suit to help the cause she believes in. There are many periods of time where she would be wearing the armours for weeks on end, running back and forth from bases and infirmaries, forgoing any kind of regular clothing. Angela is completely used to wearing the suit in and out of batter for long extensions, during the old Overwatch days, after when she is a solo agent, and even now. The armour has become like a second skin to her, something Angela practically lives inside.
It terrified her a little, when she found out what has been going on all along. It was a rare vacationing trip, very spontaneous, too. Aspen, Colorado isn’t the same as Zermatt, but the place is beautiful nonetheless. Angela remembers spending three days straight skiing with a grumbling Torbjörn, who would rather sit in his workshop all day than having a little outdoor fun for a change. Angela remembers laughing and, just for once, let all her worries fly out with the wind. She remembers the fatigue, too, and charted it down to lack of extreme physical activities. The vacation was cut short, only a day after, because Torbjörn received a reading about one of his missing equipment or something similar.
Of course, Angela went straight for her suit after she got back to whatever place she was living in at the time. And, of course, she had to run some tests. Needless to say, the results petrified her, and she didn’t want to put on her beloved armour for days.
Just as the nanobots grow and adapt themselves, automatically fixing and mending her biologically, but Angela’s own body has grown dependant of the suit. The suit keeps her healthy and un-aging, a literal armour that keeps out all environmentally harms for decades now. Her immune system is wrecked without the extra aid.
How ironic.
But Angela needs the suit. She needs it not only for herself, but to help others.
Angela looks frail and angelic just as her name and her appearance suggest, but she is surprisingly resilient to those who do not know her. She is a doctor before she is a scientist, and she knows life could have been a lot more gruesome. So Angela sucked it up in stride, keeping this to herself and continues donning the Valkyrie suit, doing what she does best: Saving people.
Reinhardt’s discovery of this secret was accidental.
For as long as she has known him, the old German has always been respectful despite his brashness, and Reinhardt cares so much more than people give him the credit for. His codes of valour and justice ring as true as his bravery, and his vow to fight until his last breath scares Angela a little, because she knows he will do just that, and nobody can stop him. So she watches over him just as he has shielded her from countless bullets, and prays that the next one wouldn’t be his last. They are so different, not just their builds, but also their approaches to every situation. But Angela admires him all the same, in his steel-clad resolve and the impossible gentleness the larger-than-life man possesses.
It was an undercover mission. Only a week after Winston initiated the Recall. They were placed in a small lodge in a small, secluded town on the Alps, booked in as an old couple enjoying their anniversary because Lena thought it was a good practical joke. It wasn’t and they were compromised just as they were walking out of town. Angela took two bullets to the side, one on the arm, a graze on her cheek, one right in the chest and three in the leg. She was slowly bleeding out, barely holding onto consciousness as Reinhardt carried her to some godforsaken cave. Reinhardt did all he could, trying to stem the blood flow, but nothing really worked.
“I need the suit.” She had been dead serious, despite the red stains growing on her pure white sweater, eyes so wide they almost popped out of their sockets, “Reinhardt, I need it. I can’t live…without it…”
The details are sketchy from that point on. She only remembers the dripping of Reinhardt’s blood, the sluggish signs of her own vitals. The warmth in which his heart beat loud and reassuring in her ear.
“Vat vas zat all about?” He came to her just a day after they returned, still all bandaged and refused to take any bed rest, as per usual. Angela had been tired, she didn’t remember being so exhausted in such a long time. She didn’t want to talk, but Reinhardt was stubborn. He wouldn’t have pried, lest he felt like she was doing something harmful to herself. It is against his nature to let anyone suffer alone. He hadn’t been nagging, he simply stayed with her, cared for her as she stayed immobile, waiting for the suit to complete its healing process.
Angela doesn’t remember when she started to talk.
She remembers his hands, though, warm and big, brushing her matted blond hair away from her eyes, tucking the sheet around her full-clad body. Angela is so used to tending for everyone else, she has forgotten the feeling of being taken care of.
Probably why she spoke to him. Why she is still talking to him now.
It seems fitting somehow. They take care of each other out on the field, and they take care of each other away from it all. Reinhardt doesn’t bother her when she is working, but he makes sure to drop by at the end of the day to escort her to dinner. Sometimes he would bring coffee and snacks to spend some quiet time together, showing her a very ancient, ultra-rare vinyl or two he managed to dig up from an obscure antique shop somewhere. The time spent with Reinhardt is…gentle, a still moment in their chaotic life.
Angela would never have, or want, something like Jack and Gabriel have. Madness, passion, pain and love all blend into one fiery concoction. She would never have the almost innocent fascination and childish awkwardness Jesse has towards Hanzo, or the archer’s feigned nonchalance but secret attention towards the gunslinger’s every action.
But this…when Reinhardt suddenly puts on a broad grin and places a small packet of Swiss hot chocolate in her hands, despite the solemn moment of silence they just shared…
“Genji showed me a shop.” His teeth flash a brilliant white, canines just as sharp as the crinkles around his eyes, with a sheepish hand at the back of his head that makes him look so much younger than his real age, “A bit difficult to get to, but zey have lots of stuff from Europe. It’ll keep you varm.”
It makes her heart soar, not very different from the way she glides in battle. Weightless and effortless, with the cool wind caressing her cheeks and the sunshine on her back. His kiss on her brows is light, channelling that pleasant fondness into every fibre of her being, and his firm fingers linger just a tad longer at the back of her neck.
“I vill make currywurst tonight. Brigitte vants to have Quarkbällchen, so I figure I should go all out.” His booming laughter is contagious, and Angela finds herself standing up with him, leaning just a tiniest bit on his solid presence, “Anything on request, milady?”
“Currywurst and Quarkbällchen sound good. And you’re right, you’re slaving that girl away at the forge, need to make her feel appreciated somehow.” Angela couldn’t resist but throwing in a playful chide and smiles when Reinhardt’s laughter grows louder.
“I’ll be out in a bit. Just arranging the last of the paperwork, that’s all.” She brushes her hand against the fading red mark on his arm, blue eyes dancing as she peers up at him, “Danke, Schatz.”
His cheeks fluster, though his grin is still huge, as he bends down rather dangerously on his hulking figure and soundly kisses her, before turning to leave the infirmary. Even as the lumbering footsteps fade down the hall, Angela’s beam lingers as she clutches the plastic packet to her chest, the warmth of his presence still tingling on her skin and in the depth of her heart.
Just like chocolate by the hearth.