One-shot inspired by this painfully beautiful song, "Fire And Ice" by Olivia Bray. I am so sorry. Read at own risk. Tears likely. I'm sobbing. Gross sobbing but I'm weak.

Hand stinging, mind spinning, memories flashing.

BANG!

The sudden slam of a door closing brings her silence. Engulfed with a torrent of emotions, she cracks. She can't bear this. She can't. It's too much. How could he think this okay? Did he really think he could just drop a bombshell like that and not expect chaos?

She was past the point of tears now. They had long dried up or rather that river ran dry. Since she started running, they never stopped.

Until now.

With her supply of tears depleted, she could finally get her act together. She could finally see and start to make sense of everything.

His face. It was burned, etched, tattooed on her mind. It flashed, flickered, pulsed. It was there. It was really there. His face. Alive and in the flesh.

But his funeral? Had she not buried him?

But we never found a body.

No, she put him to rest. He was gone. She moved on. She tried to at least. There was a nice man by the name of Jacob that stole her heart. Or at least captured it for the time being.

He was sweet. He was kind.

He was a lie.

He wasn't him. Jacob could never measure up to the man she idolized for so long.

The love for Jacob was a facade. Just a game. It was all meant to distract her aching, waning, breaking heart.

Throwing her phone across the room, she let out of hellish, blood-curdling scream. Tormented by his face. His fucking face.

It was scarred, weathered, and worn. But it was his face. Those fierce blue eyes taunted her soul, igniting a fire she long since exhausted.

You can't do this, Ang. You can't.

She was struggling within. There was a war waging within her tempest blue orbs. Her mouth was ajar as she still panted, trying to catch her breath from the realization that Soldier 76 was Jack Morrison, former Strike-Commander Jack Morrison of UN's Overwatch. The man she loved.

I'm not supposed to love him. I moved on. I forgot him.

"I buried him," she muttered to herself but choked on the words. Her throat was swollen and thick with mucus brought up from so much crying-a body's natural reaction.

Slamming her back into the door in which she sat in front of, she grunted, she moaned, she screamed.

"WHY!" Why had he come back? How is he alive? He was dead. She watched him die. He was buried alive beneath the rubble. And if that didn't kill him, the explosion which came next would have. Or the flames, those licking, wicked red and orange flames.

Hand stretching out, she reached for the heavens. God have mercy on her tormented soul.

I'm not supposed to love him. I'm not supposed to lust for his touch. I moved on.

But his face. Oh did it light a fire.

His lips, taut and perfect, were like a cool glass of wine on a warm summer eve. His eyes, as blue as the Caribbean ocean they joked about retiring to, were just as enduring as before. They still captured her stare and sucked her in completely.

His stare ate her alive, causing a shiver to ripple down her spine.

He's not right for me. He's-

But he's all she'd ever known. He was strong. He was brave. He was courageous, rushing into danger to save the innocent. He was a hero, her hero.

We're at war. And he died long ago.

She couldn't love him. No, she shouldn't. The times were wrong. They missed their chance.

Head snapping up, she reacted to a sound. Glass, it was the sound of glass breaking. Scurrying from the door, she found her back pinned against a wall.

Who, who was here? She was alone. She ran so far. So far to escape them. To escape him. She had to be alone. This was her choice, her life!

Tucking her head into her chest, she slammed her eyes shut. If she were to die, she didn't want to see it coming. Her heart already ached, why add the fear of looking your killer in the eyes? She knew she ran into hostile territory. She knew it stupid.

Stupid.

She wanted to touch his callused fingers. She wanted to stare into those dreamy blue eyes one last time. Perhaps drink with the devil and sip on his sweet taste.

A kiss. Just one kiss.

No. He died. You buried him long ago.

But the way he looked at her. It was like something out of a Hollywood premium. He longed for her. Tormented by not being at her side.

My side.

He could have come clean sooner.

I buried him. He died.

Wrapped up in her emotions, she heed no attention to the light sound of boots against a debris covered floor.

The crunch of glass, the groan of warped wood, the weeping of a broken woman.

A tough, a gentle touch twisted her chin to the heavens above. As her sight took in his soft, blue stare, her heart froze. Still, as still as a statue, she gazed up at his resolute stare.

Seeing him before her fragile blue frames brought a warmth to her core. It put a fire in her veins. It inspired her to dream, to wish, to long.

He took her breath away.

Her heart stopped beating. A lump formed in her throat.

She was scared, oh so scared.

Ice, ice froze her blood.

What was this feeling. Was it fear? Guilt? Shame?

Shying away from his outstretched hand, she flinched. Her blonde hair falling forward, protecting her face from his concerned sapphire stare.

"Keep your blue eyes away from me," Mercy whispered while wrapping her arms around herself. Her Valkyrie suit aglow as she cowered in her corner. "Just let me be," she pleaded.

But she couldn't keep her gaze off him. Eyes flickering up, she drank in his sight. He had aged some, now having white hair. Yet Jack was still Jack. He was still an icon she adored.

Mesmerized, she reached out to him.

And he to her.

The moment their hands collided, the ice within her was warmed by his fire.

Was this concern? Or something more? Passion? Did he really love her?

Hand brushing up her arm, it landed gracefully on her cheek.

"Angel," his voice just above a whisper. He sounded broken. Unsure. Was he just as confused? Just as lost?

The way he looks at Mercy made her heart come alive. It skipped a beat as they exchange their longing stares.

Don't know if it's right but I don't care. He's everything I know. He's familiar. He's home.

Bridging the space between them, his enduring embrace consumed her.

"Clip my wings," she commented foolishly, "so I can never fly away from you again."

Holding her, Jack wore a look of disbelief on his face. Did she blame herself for his death? Was this why she ran? Was she afraid he hated her? So she was distancing herself? Saying they weren't right?

"I'm sorry," Jack cooed while brushing back her tear-cover blonde fringe. He tried to wrap his head around what she was talking about but he knew this episode was all his fault. He was a ghost, her ghost. "I'm sorry."

"Why didn't you tell me," her lip quivered as her eyes glazed over, ready to fill with tears again.

"I was afraid," he admitted. "A coward. I was selfish. I...I didn't know..."

"Didn't know what?"

Silence lapped over them, filling in all the cracks left by words unspoken.

Mercy leaned forward.

He leaned in.

Their lips brushed. It was fleeting.

Don't know if this is right.

A single tear slipped from her eye.

Mouths ajar, they kiss. Tender, sweet, passionate. The way his lips curl up in a smile as they kiss just reassured her that perhaps she was wrong. Maybe this was right. Maybe the fear within was all wrong. Perhaps fire and ice really could mix. Maybe they could overcome years of undoing. Maybe she wasn't to blame. Maybe he didn't hate her.

His hands were rough, hardened by years of fighting, but they felt oh so smooth against her numb skin.

Tilting her head down, he planted a reassuring kiss on her forehead before entangling his fingers with hers.

Then he spoke. "Ang, if..." He paused. He was really not sure how to talk to her. Maybe he's afraid? "If you really want me to keep these 'blue eyes' away, I...I'll go."

Body slumping forward, she's weak. Her arms wrapped around his torso. Fingertips locked, she broke into a silent sob.

"I've missed you," she whimpered breathlessly.

With a calmed exhale, she had her moment of clarity. What she felt was all in her head. He had never blamed her. Never hated her.

Instead, he had missed her. Longed for her.

Slowly, she started laughing. He soon joined in.

I love you.

Twirling her around, Jack invited her to join hands with him. "Come," he whispered sweetly to her, "we should probably get you back home to where it's safe."

Mercy shook her head while wearing a small smile on her lips. "Jack," she finally laid her eyes on him and placed a calculated hand on his firm chest, "I am home."