Running her palm over the charts on her clipboard as though smoothing out creases in the paper, Angela exhaled. Long and slow, warm breath pushing her blond bangs from her eyes, she let her eyes close simply stood there in the hallway. She let things be still, the pristine hallways of the Overwatch research facility a sanctum of peace for a corporation that was otherwise all weapons, tactics, battles and casualties. All words that doctor Angela Ziegler hated.

Not words she would confront today. She opened her eyes and looked over the charts again. Amelie Lacroix was not a casualty. The woman was uninjured and psychologically sound, at least by the numbers. If only Angela could convince herself to trust them, to believe that Amelie was as okay as she seemed. That she was not a casualty.

Angela's eyes narrowed, and she glared at her hands. "Oh, stop stalling." She stepped forward and pushed open the door. With her very first step into the small room, she was inside of Amelie Lacroix's substantial personal space.

The tall, thin French woman looked up, sunglow eyes wide and round like child's, nose small, jaw sharp and lips full. Her face was a healthy pink, her dark hair gleaming in the sunlight through the window. Amelie stood without weakness or hesitation. "Doctor Ziegler."

Amgela smiled. "Hello, Amelie. How are you feeling today?"

"I feel fine." Amelie's eyes flicked to the side, and then she shrugged. Her lips curled upward, brows rising. "I feel fine. Just like yesterday, and the day before."

The woman's light voice brushed between Angela's ribs, loosening the stressed muscles in her chest and back, softening her heart. Maybe she was wrong to worry. Angela's smile came a measure easier. "Well, you finally have me convinced. I think it's time for you to go home and see Gerard again."

Amelie hummed and looked down at herself. She straightened the white, button-up shirt she wore over plain gray slacks. "Do you think I'm dressed well enough to see my husband again?"

"I think you're beautiful." That came out a bit easier than Angela had expected it to, but she just chuckled at herself. "He's your husband. All he wants is for you to be healthy and happy. That's all any of us want."

"I'm healthy and happy." Amelie nodded, as if this required additional confirmation. "When can I go?"

"Immediately, if you want."

"I wouldn't want you to think that I was simply fleeing the hospital. I appreciate you taking care of me. Even if you've been doing it a few days longer than planned."

"Amelie." Angela shook her head, golden hair swinging about her face like curtains decorating a painting. "You should run from me. Run back to your husband as quickly and desperately as you can."

Humming again, this time a neutral sound instead of a happy one, Amelie turned to look out the window. "Yes. I suppose I should." She adjusted the buttons on the cuffs of her sleeves.

Angela crossed her arms and hugged the clipboard to her chest. She watched Amelie, the way the woman's very long, thin hair hung well past her waist, the way her thin form stood perfect as a monument framed by the sunlight, the sharp angles of her neck and jaw, her cheeks and eyebrows. Thin fingers moved over buttons, unfastening and fastening, turning them. Amelie plucked at the wrinkles in her shirt where it was tucked into her slacks, trying to get it to hang just so.

Eyes closing, Angela sighed again. She found no stillness here, though. Amelie's presence pushed up against her awareness and the clipboard seemed heavy in her hands. Angela opened her eyes, looked over her patient's legs and the arch of her back, her muscled shoulders. Her patient. Someone she was meant to take care of. Angela gathered her breath only to speak very softly, "Amelie."

Sunglow eyes turned. "Hm?"

"Are you sure that you're okay?" Angela's hands tightened on her clipboard until her knuckles turned white. She could feel her brow wrinkling in discomfort but couldn't stop it. "You don't need to tell us what happened if you don't want to, just to tell us that you need help."

"Doctor Ziegler." Amelie groaned in a friendly, charmed sort of way, smiling that smile that softened Angela's heart, but this time it didn't bring any comfort. "Talon didn't do anything to me. I'm fine. I just wish I had some nicer clothes or time for a haircut."

Angela set her clipboard aside and walked across the small room, heals clicking on the floor, white coat shuffing around her legs. "Let me see." She stepped behind Amelie and bundled the woman's long hair in her hands.

Amelie did not object, though she stood a bit bewildered. "Doctor Ziegler, why are you taking such care of me?"

"Because I'm a doctor." Angela reached up to her own hair, plucking the tie that held her ponytail in place. Her golden her fell in a disordered pile, and she shook it out behind her head. Then she used the tie to do up the taller womans much darker, much longer hair.

"You're also a member of Overwatch, aren't you? Mercy?"

Angela paused, exhaling. "Yes." Her fingers lingered in Amelie's hair, the ponytail half-done. "The thing is. Overwatch uses force. And I'm… Well, I'm not quite a pacifist. But let's say that I don't agree with making violence one's modus operandi."

"Then why join Overwatch?"

"To help people. To save lives." Angela noticed her fingertips were curling against Amelie's skin at the woman's hairline, petting downward along the tendons there. But Amelie hadn't complained. Angela lifted her fingers and ran them down the woman's neck again, experimenting with the maternal gesture. It made her feel warm to touch Amelie like that. She ran her fingers slowly over the woman's skin, over the lithe, powerful muscles on the woman's neck, and she noticed that Amelie's shoulders relaxed and the woman's breath slowed. Angela ran her hand down the woman's neck and between her shoulderblades. Still no complaint, as Angela pressed her fingertips on either side of Amelie's spine and moved them back up, wrinkling her shirt.

Amelie sighed, leaning slightly into the touch. The gesture was so slight it was almost unnoticeable.

But it was noticeable. Angela inhaled sharply and moved her hands back to Amelie's hair, face red. "I tolerate Overwatch so that I can help more people. You didn't deserve to be taken by Talon. I'm here to take care of you." She tied off Amelie's new ponytail and eased backwad. "Done."

Amelie turned around as Angela stepped away, so fast that for a moment there was less than half a meter between their faces. Amelie's features were wide and pink, mouth slightly open, sunglow eyes gleaming. Angela completed her step, however, almost pushed back by some pressure between them. The tall woman's long arms swung behind her and she joined her hands there. "Thank you. Doctor." She blinked, pondered. "Ange-…" She shook her head. "Doctor Ziegler. Thank you."

Angela felt herself smiling, but her cheeks were numb.

"I should go home, now." Amelie stepped sideways and spun. As her sunglow eyes turned away, her dark hair arched behind her like a flash of nightfall. She took a nightbag in one hand — she'd accrued very few belongings during her week in Angela's care — and long legs swung in great strides, getting her to the door in an instant. She opened it and paused. "Bonsoir."

"Goodbye." Angela began, speaking in a distracted sort of half-murmur. "I'm going to check on you soon."

Amelie looked over her shoulder, a flash of sunglow through the night of her hair. "I'll… Okay. Thank you." She smiled, and she was gone. The door clicked shut behind her.

Angela collapsed onto a chair in the corner, leaning forward as though her head was suddenly very heavy. Her ever-unruly hair fell over her features, shrouding her in a wash of gold. "Amelie, please be okay."