Second day in Mercykill week, and thus the second one shot. There's not much to it. I tried to think about things that had affected the fate of the two, and besides the obvious changes of him becoming Reaper and other stuff, nothing really occurred to me so I went with something I didn't think was too obvious.

Warnings though, trigger warnings for past bad experiences, death and mentions of phobias and traces of PTSD.

Fate

If someone where to ask if she still smelled the smoke, she'd say no. If she was asked if the fear still gripped her, she'd deny it. If she was asked if she still saw her mother's face when she closed her eyes, she'd lie and state that memory has long since been blotted out of her mind.

Even as a doctor, Angela is a terrible patient. She could scold people for days about how to take care of themselves while refusing to follow her own advice. She could send someone home for a cold while trying to work at HQ with a high temperature and the flu. It was a stubborn streak in her, she supposed. It wasn't really supposed to be there. She should be better, but… well, she just wasn't.

Going to therapy every week was her secret. It was something she had to force herself to do, to think and let herself cleanse. She didn't speak often and it was nothing expensive or official with a highly trained therapist. Just a group that got together with free, burned coffee and donuts or coffee cake that someone would bring in to share with everyone. Most times, she sat there and just let the others talk about their experiences in the Omnic War, how scared they'd been or how angry they still were. Emotions ran high there most Friday nights, but somehow it helped. She didn't share.

She never, ever shared.

Honestly, she didn't know why. If she were speaking to someone else she'd tell them it would be for the best. Get it off your chest, let yourself talk about it, get it out and it wouldn't be so scary. Her tale wasn't even the worst one there, even as horrible as it had been.

Most people in the apartment building she'd been living during the attack in had died. Only a few had been lucky enough to survive until help had arrived three days later to dig them out. She would have easily been among the dead if it hadn't been for her own mother. It had happened so fast she could have easily convinced someone that she didn't remember it, but in truth it had all seemed so slow to her at the time and it had lasted an eternity. Her mother rushing to her, throwing herself over Angela's small, tiny frame as the roof came down…

And had stayed in that position, dead, for three days while the terrified blonde girl had nowhere else to look.

To this day, Angela still hated being in tight spaces. It didn't terrify her as much as when she was still in school, but she knew she would never be comfortable with it.

For a year she'd been able to keep away from therapy, convince herself she didn't need it anymore. She was too busy anyway, with her hospital and developing the Caducues System, to let herself get bogged down with things like her own mental health. Angela was fine. She could go on without it.

And then Overwatch had happened. Joining had been frantic. Even as a professional, there was only so much injuries and death one could see in a day before it affected you. The nightmares came back, the training Gabriel insisted she go through frayed at her nerves, the pistol at her side that she refused to use always weighed heavy on her hip. She knew if she didn't go back she'd breakdown and she was just too busy to do that.

It had been her little secret, shame in her that she couldn't control herself, that she wasn't strong enough to be able to go on without help. Even though she knew logically getting help was precisely what the responsible thing to do was… she still felt weak for it.

Silently, she finished up her paperwork, same as every Friday night. As always, she begged off going out for drinks with the rest of the medical staff. Most of the nurses were only a few years older than her and seemed determined to make her part of the group, gossiping and joking around, always insisting she come along but taking her, "Maybe next time," answer with smiles and nods. Perhaps someday she would join them, when she felt better.

Her computer clicked off, like always. She signed out, like always. Her footsteps felt heavy, walking to the small clinic a couple miles into town where the group meeting was held, like always.

This time though, something was different. Someone was standing there at the door, leaning against the brick wall without going in. Arms crossed over his chest, like always, he looked a little cold without a coat on. She'd been telling him to get proper wear for the country they were living in for the last two years. He never listened. A hoodie was just fine for him.

A stubborn patient, just like her.

"So, this is where you go every Friday," he said just as she had considered turning around and walking off. Her face burned as she stared hard at him. Conversations with him were like walking a maze. He was brutally honest, didn't bother to put hidden meanings in his words with her, yet somehow she never really knew how to talk to him. It always left her feeling raw and confused.

"When you say it like that, it makes it sound like you have nothing better to do than to figure out my schedule," she noted, shoving her hands into her pockets.

"Have you been following me or something?"

He looked up at the sky before sighing.

"Sorry. It's not like that but if you feel uncomfortable than I can go," he offered. "I didn't realize this was your spot."

"My spot?" she asked him.

"Where you go to… you know, help yourself," he said. "I saw a flyer a couple days ago. I thought I'd… Never mind. It's stupid."

"What is it?" she asked him. "What's wrong?"

He pushed himself off the wall and made to walk off, before her hand shot out and suddenly grabbed his arm. She had nowhere near the strength to keep him from leaving if he really wanted to, though the action seemed enough anyway.

"Did… did you come here to talk?" she asked him.

"The war left a lot of bad memories. Jack gets worried about me, Ana too. I sometimes do things like this to get them off my back," he muttered. "It's not a big deal. I'm not-"

"I come here too," she said, an odd strength in her voice. "There's no shame in asking for help."

He looked down at her hand on his arm before gently taking it off and let it go. Like a lifeless limb, it fell down to her side. Had she pushed a boundary he didn't like?

"It feels stupid. Admitting like you have some weakness," he stated before sighing again. She watched his breathe in the air, mingle out and fizzle in the cold. "Like I should be able to handle this better."

"You are handling it, if you go inside," she whispered. Just like she thought, it was easier to convince someone else to do what was best for them than to convince herself. "You don't have to do anything in there. It's a very relaxed group. We just… we just talk. There's never any pressure."

Gabriel seemed to think it over for a moment, and there was something in his expression she couldn't place. Was it shame? He really hadn't known she came here, had he? Something told her that he wouldn't be here if he'd known he would see a familiar face. Like her, it was too hard to admit to anyone that help was needed for things like this. She'd thought for a moment about running and now it seemed like he wanted to as well.

She didn't want him to have to leave just because he thought she would judge him. She would never, ever judge him for something like this.

Something told her he wouldn't judge her either.

"It would be nice to have someone I know here," she whispered. "For moral support."

"Alright," he said, her silent offer to be there for him too seeming to win out. "Let's go in then."

When it came to her turn in the circle, she squeezed her hands over her knees. Like always, the same word fell from her lips.

"Pass," she whispered before shaking her head. "Actually… I… I think I'd like to share tonight."

End

This was short, but emotionally charged. Again, a head canon on how exactly Angela's past, this time how she lost her parents. As someone who was in the military myself, I know how hard it is to face those kinds of memories, and how much having those nearby who identify with you can help. I'd like to think Gabriel and Angela helped each other through such issues that faced them a lot.