Feathers of Faith and Steel

Author's notes:

Hey guys. I know it's annoying to read long monologues from authors, so I'll keep it short and sweet. Welcome to my story. I hope you enjoy it :) If you do, or even if you don't, I'd love to read any comments or reviews you have. Those are always a huge inspiration to continue writing. Also, a big thank you to everyone who's looked over it or beta'd for it, and continues to do so (especially Maxaro, who has a knack for catching all those minor mistakes I miss :P ).

Just one disclaimer before we begin: the M rating is for all kinds of things, including stuff that is yet to come. That includes language, violence, gore, sex, angst, all that good stuff. I will just say though that while I enjoy putting characters through hell, I am also a sucker for happy endings. Take from that what you will.

Chapter 1 – Halcyon Memories

Watchpoint: Gibraltar

Present Day – 1746 Hours

"Pulse is thready, 54 bpm low. I need 10cc epinephrine."

"Theatre two is prepped and on standby, awaiting pre-op checks."

"Good, someone upload these cardiograms to the NRB. Set scan depth to 4mm. We need to clear these surface rounds before going deeper."

"Oxygen levels in the soft tissues show borderline cardiogenic shock. We may need to bypass the…"

"…traces of dehexanitride, possibly some type of poison shot…"

"…severe bleeding in the thoracic cavity."

"…neural stimulant…"

Fareeha Amari stood there in numb silence. Before her, the gurney bearing Dr. Angela Ziegler was rushed down the corridor, paramedics swarming over it like flies. All around, the air was filled with the sounds of hurried footfalls and a torrent of medical jargon. The words washed over Fareeha, but none penetrated deep enough for her to even realise how little she understood them. She didn't need to. The tone of the doctors' urgent voices was more than enough to convey the message: it was bad. Possibly as bad as it could be.

And it's all my fault.

Only once the medical team had passed through the double doors of the trauma wing, and Angela was completely out of sight, did Fareeha look away. She cast her eyes downward, gaze falling on the object she held one half of in each trembling hand. Mercy's Caduceus Staff, rendered completely inoperable from being snapped in two, and still coated with the dried blood of its owner. It was an image straight out of Fareeha's nightmares, except this time, there was no prospect of waking up in a cold sweat and realising it had just been a terrible dream. Angela really was dying.

And it's all my fault.

The staff wasn't the only thing stained with Angela's cruor. Fareeha's own battered Raptora armour bore several fresh, crimson streaks from where she'd carried Mercy's bruised and bleeding body out of that hell-hole. The tiny part of her mind that was still rational, professional, told her that she needed to clean it off ASAP or it would rust the coating. The other 99% couldn't care less. Nothing mattered but the woman behind those doors. A woman she may never see alive again.

And, gods forgive me, it's all my fault.

Fareeha's grip on the staff was iron-tight as she tried to stop herself from shaking, but all she succeeded in doing was straining the joints in her fingers until the ache had permeated up her entire arm. In her mind, images from the past week flashed by at lightning speed, and as each scene played back, she cursed herself and her own weaknesses. She hadn't been alert enough to stop them abducting Angela. She hadn't been smart enough to figure out where they'd taken her straight away. She hadn't been fast enough to get there before they'd battered her to within an inch of her life. And, now that the unthinkable was on the verge of happening, Fareeha realised that she wasn't strong enough to go on without her, or live with the guilt of knowing that she could have prevented it.

"H-Hey, Pharah, are you…"

Fareeha's eyes shot up, fixing Mei-Lin Zhou with a piercing stare and bringing the other woman's question to a stumbling halt. Multiple emotions crashed through Fareeha's mind in that moment, each arriving with breath-taking intensity, then vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. Annoyance at having her thoughts interrupted, gratitude that a friend would try to reach out to her, rage that someone would dare question how she felt when the answer was surely obvious, and embarrassment, at letting her inner turmoil show so easily. In the end though, a form of cloying numbness won out. What she wanted more than anything was just to be left alone.

"Take this," she said stiffly, holding out the pieces of the broken Caduceus Staff. She was suddenly unable to stand the sight of it. It was a testament to her failure, and the disastrous consequences that had followed. "Give it to Torbjörn for repair. She'll want it back when she's recovered."

"Pharah, I…" Mei hesitated, as if she was picking her words very carefully. "I'm not sure if…"

"It wasn't a request," Fareeha cut her off sharply, wincing at how aggressive she sounded. It wasn't fair to shout at Mei, but Fareeha couldn't let the other woman give voice to the fear that was gnawing at her heart. "I'm…sorry. I will be in my quarters. I do not wish to be disturbed."

No sooner had she finished speaking, then she was retreating down the corridor, striding so fast that she almost broke into a jog. Fareeha needed to put some space between herself and everything else. But especially that room where, even now, Angela was being cut apart with lasers and scalpels. The thought of her delicate, smooth skin being ripped open so a group of strangers could attempt to rebuild her from the inside out…it was enough to make Fareeha retch. She stopped momentarily, leaning heavily on the wall for support as she struggled to keep down the meagre rations she'd had for lunch. The taste of bile stung the back of her throat, and it was only by focusing on rhythmic breathing, and not the horror that she was fleeing from, that she managed to regain some semblance of control.

Mercifully, she did not meet anyone else on the way to her room. They were probably all at the debriefing, she thought; a meeting that she should be attending as well. The fact they had not called for her was strange, but perhaps understandable, given the circumstances. It was also possible that Mei had forestalled their attempts at communication. If so, Fareeha decided that gratitude was the most appropriate choice for what she should be feeling about the diminutive scientist.

Entering her quarters, Fareeha immediately sealed the door behind her, engaging a privacy lock that could only be overridden by a direct command from a superior or a state of emergency being initiated. Then, on autopilot, she finally began stripping off her armour plates. She let the pieces fall to the ground with a resounding clang of metal on concrete, making none of her usual efforts to meticulously check each one for damage and polish it before it was stowed away. It was a process that took almost ten minutes, but Fareeha barely registered the passage of time. When she next became consciously aware of her surroundings, she was sat on the edge of her bed, clad only in a sweat-soaked undersleeve. The muscles in her arms still ached, although whether that was from her exertions during the mission, or from being constantly tensed ever since she came back, she couldn't tell.

There was one last order of business for the time being. Fareeha tapped her comm link, patching herself through to the medbay. Hearing anything that was happening there was the last thing she wanted, but it was necessary.

"This is Doctor Singh," came the strained answer moments later. He was clearly agitated and in no mood to be taking calls. Fareeha refused to speculate on whether or not that was a bad sign.

"Doctor, this is Captain Amari."

"Ah, miss Amari. I'm afraid you'll have to make this quick. We have a very urgent case, and I can't spare more than a few min-…yes…yes, sterilize another one of the 10mm blades. We'll need it for…I'm sorry, miss Amari, but whatever you have to say, please do so quickly."

"About your patient, doctor." It was all Fareeha could do to stop herself screaming at the man, despite knowing it would accomplish nothing. "Contact me the second there is any news. Anything, no matter how minor, understand?"

"Yes, yes, you'll be the first to know."

"And if you need a donor for anything; any blood, any bone marrow, a kidney, liver tissue, skin grafts…a-anything, you contact me also. I will provide it."

There was silence for a few beats before Doctor Singh spoke again, his tone more subdued than before.

"Understood."

"Remember, doctor: anything."

"…we'll be in touch."

Fareeha let out a ragged breath as the line was cut. It hadn't been her intention to offer parts of herself like some kind of meat rack. No doubt she'd sounded laughably naïve and ignorant of the many medical reasons why that wouldn't be possible. But she also felt like she needed to do something, anything, to stop herself from feeling completely helpless.

Why couldn't I have been taken instead?

Now, alone at last, she allowed some small measure of what she was feeling to seep back into her mind. It was a difficult process, like trying to let just a tiny bit of air out of a pressurised oxygen tank. But it was also necessary for much the same reasons. Fareeha knew that if she let everything hit her at once, she really would be violently sick; and that would just be the beginning.

She was, sadly, used to seeing death and injury. It came with the job, and with the world still struggling to recover from the Omnic Crisis, there was plenty of it to go around. Men and women under her command had died before, and although she had felt their loss and grieved for them in her own, stoic way, none had ever come close to cutting her so deeply. It was like every wound Angela had suffered had been inflicted on Fareeha as well, straight to her heart. What made this time so different?

It was a question that barely needed asking. The fact was, Angela was much more than just another soldier. She was even more than a trusted friend and colleague. At first, that is what she had been, but now, and for some time…Fareeha didn't dare finish the thought. She didn't deserve to be thinking that way; not when it was her mistakes that had caused the other woman so much pain. Angela deserved far better.

If only I'd told her sooner.

It had all started many months ago…

Watchpoint: Lyon

4 Months Ago- 2113 Hours

The battle had been long and hard-fought, but after numerous casualties on both sides, it looked like an end was finally in sight. Pharah narrowed her eyes, surveying the battlefield from above and noting the positions of the few remaining enemies. Her own men had taken a beating, and their numbers were severely reduced, but their sacrifices had been worth it. Now, she had the enemy commander backed into a corner, with only a few straggling flankers posing any kind of threat to the defensive formation her team had adopted. Victory seemed all but assured, but if a decade as a soldier had taught her anything, it was that you should never let your guard down until the job was done. The weaker the enemy got, the more desperate, and thus the more dangerous and unpredictable, they became.

She hesitated momentarily, poised on giving the order to close in. At times like these, she often wondered what was going through the mind of her adversary. Would they see the hopelessness of their situation, and take the easy way out by surrendering? Or would they grit their teeth and demand a bitter struggle to the last man, forcing Pharah to fight even for those last few inches of ground?

There was only one way to find out. Pharah gestured forwards, and the first of her men advanced, cautiously approaching the enemy commander's position. As he did, Pharah, in spite of herself, couldn't help but quirk the corner of her mouth in a tiny smile of triumph. Victory was within her grasp.

"Check."

On the other side of the table, Angela let out a small 'hmph', glowering at the knight that now threatened her king. With only three pawns, a bishop, and a knight of her own, she was heavily outmatched by Fareeha's five pawns, two knights, bishop, and rook.

"Verdammt," she mumbled, eyes flicking from piece to piece. "I knew I should not have left it so late to castle."

"I did wonder," Fareeha smirked. "But you know the saying: 'Never interrupt your enemy when he…she is making a mistake.'"

"Enemy?" Angela affected an expression of mock surprise. "You wound me. And here I thought we were friends. I should have known it was just a ruse to get me to lower my defenses."

Fareeha laughed out loud at that, although like most of her expressions, it was relatively restrained. She wasn't normally one for excessive banter, especially when she was trying to focus on an important task like winning at chess, but there was something in the way Angela spoke that just seemed to set her at ease. The doctor was always pleasant company, and just being around her never failed to lift Fareeha's spirits.

"I do believe you are stalling," she replied, nodding at the game board. "Come on. Do you accept your fate and bow to the superior player?"

"I would hardly call a 3-2 record proof of superiority. The sample size is too small to negate any statistical fluctuations."

"Oh really? Well, what about a 4-2 record then?"

Angela 'hmphed' again, and Fareeha bit back another chuckle as the other woman's face grew more and more despondent. However, just when it seemed like she was ready to tip her king in resignation, her eyes lit up.

"Ah, my silly Pharah. You should be more vigilant."

Deftly, Angela swooped down and captured the offending knight with her own. It was not a surprising move, but Fareeha failed to see how it changed anything. She could simply recapture with her second knight and force a checkmate the turn after.

"Don't worry. I always get my prey," she said, reaching out to retaliate. But, as she did, her eyes widened and her hand froze midair. Angela's move had opened up a line of attack for her bishop, pinning Fareeha's knight to her king and preventing the recapture. Glancing up, it was all she could do not to curse when she saw Angela just sitting there, smiling sweetly.

"What is that phrase you say?" the doctor said, before putting on her best and rather unconvincing imitation of Fareeha's slightly deeper voice. "Leave this to a professional."

"Telhas teeze," Fareeha snapped, although in reality, she couldn't remain annoyed for long when faced with that smile.

"I think I should be glad that I don't know what that means," Angela replied. "Anyway, now who is the one stalling?"

"Not stalling; strategizing." Fareeha took a moment to assess the situation, glad that it provided an excuse to look away from Angela's face and her disarming grin. The last thing she needed now was that kind of distraction. After a minute's deliberation, she settled on a move that would help sure up her defenses.

"Rook, c8. Check, again."

Play progressed quickly after that, both women falling silent as they focused on the endgame. Although she had the upper hand in theory, Fareeha couldn't get too comfortable in her position, constantly having to readjust to protect pieces threatened by Angela's probing attacks. In spite of that, she was having some of the most fun she'd ever had out of any of their games. Being forced to adapt and change tactics on the fly was something she enjoyed the challenge of, and unlike in her usual line of work, here, her life wasn't on the line if she made a bad call. The only thing she risked was embarrassing herself in front of Angela, which, she admitted, was only slightly less bad.

At last, the game concluded when Fareeha was able to perpetually check Angela long enough to advance a pawn to the back row and promote it to a queen. From there, it was a simple, if somewhat nerve-wracking, matter to finish the doctor off with a ladder checkmate using the queen and the rook.

"Well played," Fareeha said, offering her hand. She tried not to sound overly pleased with herself, as it genuinely had been an extremely close match. After a moment, Angela took it, shaking firmly and honestly despite her pouty expression.

"You know, I used to think I was good at this game. Perhaps that belief needs reassessing," she grumbled, glancing back at the board as if she could rescue herself from checkmate by force of will alone.

It took Fareeha a few seconds to process what she'd said. She was too distracted by the strange feeling left over in her hand where Angela had touched it. It was like a gentle warmth mixed with a slight tingling; a pleasant sensation, but one she couldn't explain. Nor could she explain why her mind now lingered on how soft the other's woman's skin had felt beneath her own. It was not the kind of detail she normally noticed, but now, she was having difficulty perceiving anything else.

Wait…did she say something?

"Ah, yeah," Fareeha tried to buy time while her brain caught up with what was going on. She hoped her momentary lapse hadn't been noticeable. "Don't worry about it. You're a great opponent, and you have beaten me twice, remember? I've just had a lot of practice."

"Where does the security chief of an international paramilitary firm find the time to become so good?" Angela asked. There wasn't any bitterness in her voice; it seemed like a genuinely curious enquiry. Fareeha wasn't exactly sure how to process the compliment, as relatively minor as it was. Now, it was her turn to cast her eyes down to the table, glancing away bashfully as modesty overtook cockiness at the forefront of her feelings.

"Former security chief," she corrected gently, before adding "and I didn't start playing at Helix, although I admit, it was probably one of my main pastimes off duty. It…it was actually my mother that taught me, when I was pretty young."

"Ana?" Angela's voice softened. "That must have been nice. How'd that come about?"

Fareeha wondered how the topic had suddenly shifted to her personal history. It wasn't something she usually liked discussing. In fact, she rarely liked talking about herself at all, past or present. But, like with many other things, Angela was an exception. Quite what that meant, if it meant anything at all, Fareeha didn't know. All she knew was that she felt comfortable around Angela, and words that might have been difficult or unpleasant to speak to others felt natural when directed at her.

"She played a lot herself in her youth. And when she got older, apparently it helped her pass the time and focus while she was waiting for her target. She said that she used to replay her favourite games in her mind, piece by piece, while she was lying there, staring down the scope. It sounded silly and boring to eight-year old me, but she was persistent in her efforts to teach me, and eventually I gave in. I…I'm glad I did. It was something we could do together when she was away on deployment, playing over the internet. It…made me feel closer to her. Plus, the only times she let me stay up past my bedtime were when we were in the middle of a particularly intense match."

Fareeha looked up, chuckling slightly nervously, unsure what Angela was making of all of this.

"If you ever see a profile called QueenIsis33, with something like 6000 games played, well, uh…that's me."

There was that smile again. It wasn't uncommon to see Angela beaming brightly, but this felt even more…intense. Fareeha wasn't sure her story warranted an expression of such joy, but she was torn between thinking it strange and not wanting it to stop. The feeling which had infused her hand earlier returned, this time spreading through her insides and churning around in the pit of her stomach. She wanted to continue her story, to say whatever was needed to keep Angela's smile in place, but she felt suddenly shy about doing so.

This is ridiculous. What's wrong with me? She's just being friendly.

"What a lovely story," Angela said wistfully, unknowingly adding to Fareeha's self-consciousness. "I'm sure she would be proud to see that her lessons didn't go to waste."

The warmth in Fareeha's belly intensified. She hadn't really thought about it before, but Angela was right. It was because of all that pestering and all those lessons that she still played the game to this day, and in so doing, it was like some small part of her mother lived on.

"I…" Fareeha was caught in the middle trying to express several different sentiments at once, but she couldn't seem to find the right words for any of them. In the end, she settled for something she could say without going bright red. "Thank you. I'm just glad that I found someone else who enjoys it…even if she is a bit of a pushover."

The playful jibe seemed to break the slightly reverent atmosphere that had settled over the pair. In the blink of an eye, it was back to business as usual.

"Watch it, QueenIsis33. Don't think I'm going to let you rest on your laurels for long."

Fareeha laughed, any melancholy she'd been feeling from thinking about her mother washing away as quickly as it had come.

"Oh, I'm looking forward to it."