Stepping out of the shower Angela stared into the mirror, idly adjusting the towel on her head. Her eyes flicked to the empty space behind her for a second and she sighed. It was times like this when she felt her most vulnerable.

The mercy outfit wasn't just a suit, or a uniform. It was completely unique in that it was created by her, for her own physiology and... augmented with some of her more personal medical creations.

Reaching for the toothbrush, she returned to the mirror.

It had taken years of trial and error, and she doubted that without Genji's "assistance" she would have finished it at all. Omnium based prosthetics were no new invention. Both Torbjorn and Hanzo required them, linking directly into their nervous systems and simulating what was there before. Though Torb, of course, made modifications. However, creating what was never there in the first place? What humans were never meant to have?

There was a basic evolutionary reason why almost all land dwelling animals had four limbs. Their shared ancestor didn't have more, so why would they? As such, the brain had developed along that path, through millions of different species to where they were today. Incredibly adaptable, but to a point.

And herself. Brain elasticity throughout a human's life was a well known phenomenon, but even it had its limits. Of course, she had broken all the others, from biotics to the line between life and death. Why would this one be any different?

So after joining Overwatch, and the event that was Genji happened, she found that she was dissatisfied with merely sitting and waiting for agents to come back from the field for her to fix, if they did at all. She had bent her time to this problem, to better serve those who needed her and eventually, she succeeded. Though, not without a price.

She turned and examined the empty sockets on her back for damage. They were things of beauty, shining titanium alloy, whitened and melded with her nanotechnology into her back. She had had to make some drastic improvements to her ribcage and scapulae of course, it simply wouldn't support the load otherwise, or allow her to breathe. The operations were somewhat stressful, not trusting another to do it she had to rely on localised anaesthesia and telesurgery, with some assistance from Athena.

They were fine, flawless as always.

They, however, were not the problem. Before the operations, she had with Torbjorn's help, designed a pair of wings to fit her back, and what would become the Valkyrie suit. They were a medical and technological marvel, moving without the use of artificial muscle. Instead, a complex magnetic system was used and powered by her own adapted biology – attatchments to her heart and digestive organs allowed for generation of electricity to power these and any other implants. What made them so impressive though, was the fact that thanks to her own brand of nanobiotic expertise, and neurological applications – somewhat similar to use in the resurrections – the nervous structure of these new limbs had melded almost perfectly with her existing neurological wiring, therefore giving her a pair of seamlessly integrated wings. Exactly as planned.

What she had not anticipated was the psychological effect.

Her teammates and later patients had remarked upon how lifelike they were. Responding not just to basic commands, but to everything. Instead of merely imitating her movements, they were a part of her body language, responding to her moods just as her face, arms or any other part of her would, perhaps even more acutely! She would smile in happiness and the wings would spread, or when she was startled, they would flinch.

Perhaps it was due to the fact she hadn't grown up with them, and had little in the ways of mental filters as she did for her natural self. Whatever the reason, these little involuntary movements expressed so much about how they now formed part of her psyche. Which is why losing them, every time, was hard. Nobody else had to remove their arms to change their clothes did they? They weren't merely sensationless appendages, she felt every movement of the air around her and the exhilarating strength contained within them. Each pulse of power and movement was hers to control. Of course, this degree of integration had downsides, in that they also felt pain; that was a design flaw exploited by the sniper in Eichenwalde, thankfully Fareeah was close by and flew her back to the transport after catching her.

She played it off later as a scream of terror, rather than one of agony. They didn't need to worry. Torbjorn had stared in shock at her broken wing for a second, before gruffly turning to the remains of his turret. He understood her need for privacy. The wings were her blessing to bear.

And when she wasn't in the field, there was no need for them. All that they were supposed to be was part of the suit, easily removed. Which, they were. Physically.
Phantom limbs were a common phenomenon, and easily explained. This, on the other hand? She still felt all the little movements, but when she turned she sometimes overbalanced, disorientated by the lack of weight. At times like now, when she saw her reflection, her eyes moved to what should be there. What she still felt flexing, and moving behind her.

She glanced over to the balcony. She occasionally stood there, staring over the ocean. She felt as she did when she had her wings, that she could ignore gravity's cruel embrace and simply lift off and fly.

Even though every time she donned the suit it was for a mission of mercy, she felt so incredibly, frighteningly, free. The sky was hers, to swoop down to those who needed her, and then to fly off to another patient or problem. When there was nobody in need of her services, or in lulls in the fighting and nobody wanted her, she almost always ended up just flying for the sheer joy of it. Soaring high above the others, rolls and flips a natural part of her movement, her grin was infectious, if of course, there was anybody around to see.

Once, she had landed late, in a secluded courtyard before running to the post mission briefing from Winston, and not noticed 76 was there reassembling his rifle. When she turned and saw him, smile fading, he had merely stared for a second then nodded in greeting, making an obvious show of not having seen anything. She was grateful for that.

Flight was now as natural as walking, only that she kept forgetting she couldn't, and it frustrated her.

Stretching to her tiptiptoes, she flexed her phantom wings and grinned instinctively, before slowly letting herself down. Perhaps tomorrow she could don the suit and leave Gibraltar behind for a little while.

But no, monthly checkups were then, and missions for the days after that. And after it was all over? After Overwatch was disbanded for the second time? Then there would be no use for the Valkyre any more. She had only just reacquired the suit, being forced to hand it in when she left to work as a relief medic. Her hand brushed the smooth metal plates. An angel without wings, fallen. Could she bear it a second time? Nothing left but the scars of where they used to be, a constant reminder of what she had?

Perhaps not, but for now, she could enjoy the feeling of a third dimension being open to her, when she was able.

Maybe in a few days.

Then she might get time to be free.

She heard a knock on her door and stepped out of her bathroom; a smile emerging for the welcome distraction, quickly grabbing and throwing a towel around her shoulders.

"Hallo!"

But for now, she was needed. That would have to do.