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There was not a single thing Moira missed about hours-long debrief meetings. Morrison and Amari knew not the definition of the word ‘brief,’ and Reyes being back to distract the former only worsened the misery. However, there was simply one thing worse than such meetings, and that was when the ones atop the chain decided that Moira needed a lecture.
Poised atop Angela’s desk in her office, much to the doctor's dismay, Moira's gaze drifted about the room with narrowed, unamused eyes.
Morrison paced back and forth, his steps thudding against the metallic walls of the room. Gabriel stood by him, attempting to offer occasional eases of anxiety to no avail, and ever-so irritatingly, Ana stood in front of a holo screen, gesturing to statistics and newscasts and so on. Amelie laid upon the treatment, Angela carefully examining her.
“-as you can see, doctor,” Ana had been at it for approximately ten minutes and forty three seconds, at this point, and Moira was growing rather irritated by the distraction when they could easily be working.
“May I stop you right there, commander?” With a smooth tone and icy smile, Moira vaguely gestured to the screen, “I believe this is rather dull information when my efforts would be much better placed anywhere else.”
“No. You may not stop me right there.” Ana snipped, eyebrow raising as if she was appalled at his audacity.
Moira blinked slowly, sneering slightly, waiting for her to continue, trying to hold back a pleased smirk as Ana’s irritation visibly grew.
“You two,” Amari finally continued, sharply nodding at Moira and Gabriel, “had one responsibility. You were to keep Amelie safe. You were to keep her off the field. And now look where she is.”
Moira’s gaze flicked over to the woman on the examination table. Her wounds weren't exactly fatal, however the bullets Angela had carefully removed from her abdomen were certainly irritating. Now, however, Amelie was awake and unphased, her lips pursed into a contemplative line, her gaze distant as she stared down at her hands.
Moira’s eyes briefly met Angela's, and there he was greeted with the very gates of hell themselves as Angela let out a rather childish near-growl, one of her hands gently floating over Amelie’s shoulder. Moira tilted his head, following the doctors overprotective movements with his eyes.
Moira let out another contemplative hum, shrugging loosely, “Amelie is not a child. She does not need coddling, nor does she need two, or even one babysitter.”
They held back a laugh at Amaris' sharp inhale. Morrison quickly moved as if he was going to place a hand on her shoulder before he thought better of it. He matched Ana’s sigh, moving to slide his visor off his eyes.
Moira faked a disgusted gasp in response to seeing the man's eyes (far more wrinkled than Moira remembered), which warned a glare from just about everyone else in the room.
Morrison cleared his throat, crossing his arms and standing up taller. “I believe what Ana is implying is that while Amelie is still ... .recovering, we think it best she stays off the field. You two bringing her with you was irresponsible.”
“I wanted to come.”
Moira's mouth was already open, entirely logical response pre-loaded, when Amelie suddenly spoke up. Her voice was a bit scratchy, but she finally looked up at the others in the room.
“I wanted to help find her.” Amelie nearly whispered it, shaking her head softly.
Ana groaned slightly, pinching the bridge of her nose, “You three--sorry, you two,” she corrected herself with another glare at Moira, “need to let that girl--what's her callsign? Sombra? You need to let her go. If she wasn't willing to join Overwatch before, what makes you think she'd betray Talon now?”
Gabriel huffed, that ever-annoying passion he always felt over stray creatures such as Sombra igniting in his eyes. “Sombra doesn't understand what she could have. She lost everything in the first Omnic Crisis. She could have it--have a family again. Here, with us.”
“But,” Amelie frowned, “she has to choose that life. We cannot force her to leave Talon. We cannot force her to be happy.”
The silence that Gabriel slunk into proved everything it needed to. Moira was about ready to finally exit the premise, planning to take a much needed walk, when Gabe’s disgustingly sympathetic puppy-dog eyes that he always got when talking about Sombra or Amelie forced Moira’s attention back into the conversation.
“You came back.” He plainly stated, an uncharacteristically quiet voice overtaking him, “You chose this family.”
Moira let out a scoff, finally standing up from Angela's desk. “I chose where I garnered the most success. Talon is crumbling. The moment we started entrusting our success to idiots like Mauga, I knew we were headed for a down spiral.”
“Overwatch has nothing. We're an illegal vigilante organization at this point. You gained nothing from coming back-from leaving Talon and Oasis. But you did. You chose this family.” There was nothing more irritating to Moira than Gabriel’s ability to double down, and they were at a point that they simply felt like choosing their own peace of mind.
With a roll of his eyes, Moira turned away from the group, strutting out of the office with an apathetic wave, “Do let me know if you're in need of my services. Preferably, however, don't.”
Gabe began to protest when Ana simply shook her head, mumbling something about ‘letting them go’
As Moira turned the corner to finally be rid of this insipid gathering, he could not resist the pull to search Angela’s face for anything. However, the doctor remained vigilant, and she finally tore her enraged scowl away from Moira, somehow finding her heel more fascinating as she dug it into a loose tile on the floor. Moira acted unphased, simply slipping out of sight and earshot from the office before his face slunk into a twisted grimace.
The audacity of Gabriel to bring forth Moira’s return in front of so many people. As if Gabriel himself had any part in it. Which, Moira had to remind themself, he technically did, as irritating as it was. However, Moira had slammed the door to their home in the Oasis over and over on Gabriel Reyes. He begged and pleaded for nearly two months for Moria to return with him and Amelie. They truly found his dedication impressive, and were willing to at least humor him for a final cup of coffee together the most recent time he knocked. However, it was not Gabriel that awaited him, but Angela Ziegler herself.
In the moment, Moira had no time to quickly slam the door, for his jaw had stupidly fallen from pure shock, and Angela took that opportune moment to slip inside.
That's how seeing Angela always felt, however. There was not a second to process everything at once, for Moira’s mind was drowned in useless emotions such as regret, nostalgia, yearning.
Yearning for Angela to reach out and take his hand once more, no matter how massacred it was by his own experiments. Yearning to wake up by her side, yearning to be the person who loved her. The sentimentality of it all made Moira want to crawl out of their skin and rot.
They slammed the door of their office behind them, attempting to steady their breathing. He forced himself down into a chair, grasping for a pen and paper.
Working. Working helped the seething feelings die back down into a gentle broil. Working on fixing Amelie. Working on killing the Widowmaker. It was the most fixable task at hand. It was the most essential task at hand. The intricacies of their friendship with Gabriel and the nightmares they still had over their now-lost love with Angela were miniscule compared to helping Amelie. Prioritizing what was most necessary and most likely to succeed was always a skill Moira possessed. To undo their own creation was humbling, but possible. To come forth to Angela and confess they still had not only their engagement ring but the one they gave her all those years ago? Moira would rather never touch a laboratory again.
He blinked in surprise at the sudden dripping he felt running down his hand, looking down to see the pen he desperately grasped was now snapped in half, oozing ink all upon his notes and his table.
He took one deep breath, and then two.
The shatter of the beakers hitting the floor was deafening as his fist slammed down against the ones that had peacefully sat in the corner of the table. He got his teeth as the ink now mixed with blood, a few darkened red drops dripping onto the broken glass. He stood, managing to fight back the urge to simply flip over the table, before he threw himself over to the sink, rapidly washing away the foul-smelling mixture he had created.
He carefully plucked the stray shards of glass from his skin, finally, finally settling down. He leaned over the sink, frowning slightly as he saw a stray teardrop pathetically slip down into the drain. He turned away with a huff, nearly shouting in shock as he saw Gabriel standing in the doorway, eyes slightly wide at the mess on the desk and floor.
Before Moira could snarl at him to get out, he invited himself in silently, beginning to pick up the larger shards of glass.
Moira froze. They forced their mouth to close, and for their body to release its tension, attempting to slide back into neutrality as Gabriel silently did what they could never seem to do: Pick up the pieces and begin anew.
~~~
Amelie was healing. The Widowmaker began to fade away into distant memory the longer Moira treated her. In a way Moira did not care to analyze it was almost…mending to watch Amelie's smile return to her face.
She reunited with old friends, she and Gabriel seemed to fall deeper and deeper into their irritating ‘found family dynamic as time went on, and it appeared to Moira she even had found herself a bit of an infatuation.
Moira had a mutual respect and dislike with Vishkar, something that ringed ever-true even after he learned about Satya Vaswani and how she had ‘disowned’ the company to become an agent of Overwatch. Moira had no doubt the woman was a genius (high praise to anyone, in his eyes), but that is what also made him question her.
For a woman who seemed so previously dedicated to her school and work, it felt odd for her to suddenly surrender it all simply due to her former roommates large, wet, brown eyes and a ‘home is where your heart is’ speech from Morrison.
And so, when Moira noticed how Amelie's eyes seemed to follow Miss Vaswani with an almost naive longing, he found himself feeling rather in the mood to intrude.
Directly confronting Amelie about it felt like a disaster waiting to happen, and Moira wasn't stupid enough to pry to Niran, for he would likely immediately tell Satya everything.
So instead, Moira found himself sitting across a fold-up table from Cole Cassidy himself. He was on his third rant about ‘the good ol’ days’ of that evening. Moira stared down into the shot of whiskey before them. A token of old friendship, Cassidy had claimed.
Finally exhausted from his incoherent rambling, Moira put up a hand to silence him, and as always he continued on for about ten more seconds before he finally completed the world's longest run-on sentence.
He raised an eyebrow, nodding at Moira “well, doc, go on. Spill.”
Moira scoffed at his overly casual slang, finally lowering their hand to fold it in their lap.
“Satya Vaswani.” They began, voice sharp, “What do you think of her?”
Cassidy whistled slightly, nodding, “Ah, the Vishkar gal? She's a smart one, that's for sure. Has a strong air of ‘do no harm, take no shit’, which is a lifestyle I can get behind. I like her. I think she's good for the team.”
Moira frowned with an irritated hum, “do you not think it suspicious how quickly she left behind Vishkar. And for what? For friendship? For a chance to ‘better the world'?”
“Well, yeah.” Cole bluntly dropped, “believe it or not, Moira, that's why most people join Overwatch. That's why Gabe came home, and I can only assume that's why you came home, too.”
They scowled at him, “My reasons are my own. All I know is that Amelie is infatuated with this Vishkar girl, and I will not have her betray us just to set back our progress with Widowmaker.”
The cowboy leaned back, propping his feet up on the table with a heartful laugh, “Ohh Moira, always so obvious in your reasons behind things only to pretend to hide them.” He pulled a cigar from his pocket, flipping a lighter before he inhaled deeply, pointing the cigar at Moira as the smoke poured from his ever-yapping lips, “You give a damn about Amelie. You feel bad for what you did. You're protective of her.”
“You overthink. I simply do not want to be set back in the treatment plan. And besides, it's been proven time and time again that attempting any sort of romance within the ranks of Overwatch is a waste of time.” Moira hissed out, getting their teeth.
“Uh-huh,” Cassidy mumbled, “Which is why Morrison and Reyes are together again, and why Ana and Reinhardt are finally using their God Damned words, and why little miss d.VA can't stop asking Brig to have ‘mechanic hangouts’. Hell nowadays even break-ups haven't ended the world since we're too damn busy trying to save it. Like after Ang and Me--” he stopped instantly upon seeing the way Moira’s eyes went wide and how his fist clenched around the shot glass, turning his knuckles and even paler white.
Moira inhaled, trying to force a complacent grin, “What?”
Cassidy sighed, shaking his head, “Oh boy, why's it gotta be little ol’ me? Yeah,” he slightly mumbled, “Angela and Mei briefly…had a thing. Didn't end up working out. Angela cut it off. Two of em’ still get along just dandy, as they should.”
“I…see…” Moira grimaced, “well then, if that's that…So be it.”
Cassidy slid his chair back, standing slowly with a careful eye set on Moira, “They were good together, Angela and Mei, but…” he paused in the doorway for a moment, shaking his head, “for better or worse, Mei-or anyone, for that matter, isn't you.”
He left Moira to seethe in their silence, teeth gnawing at the insides of their cheek. They inhaled, finally downing the shot of whiskey Cassidy had insisted they take. The table and chair scraped loudly as they shot up to their feet, and stormed out of their office.
Angela moved on. Or, at least tried to. Moira wouldn't pretend that he also had attempted some semblance of moving on. However, unlike for Angela, the concept of dating anyone other than her appalled him to no end. But just like that, Angela had someone else. Knew someone else, held someone else in the dead of night, possibly even loved someone else. Moira was unsure what made him more upset: The implication of anyone else ever having Angela Ziegler as he did, or the fact that he still cared about it.
It had been years since Moira last had the opportunity to place their lips upon Angela’s. Years since the two of them were still in love-mutually, at least. Moira didn't believe in destiny or soulmates, but if he were to ever have something as ridiculous as a soulmate, then he unfortunately already pushed her far out of his life.
His lab coat billowed behind him as he stormed down the halls of Gibraltar, pretending to not know destination, pretending to feel entirely normal about the knowledge he had just gained.
The door to Angela's office was slightly ajar, and the doctor seemed to not even notice Moira's presence until he slammed the door behind him, practically heaving with unbridled rage.
Angela jumped slightly at the sound, but the surprise quickly turned to disappointment after she looked up and realized who was now standing there in her office.
The tense silence that befell them made Moira feel insane, and he very likely looked it, too. Coat half off their shoulders, chest heaving, wide-eyes desperately looking for even the slightest sign from Angela.
“What do you want?” Angela's voice cut through the air, her jaw set as she stared up at Moira.
Unable to come up with some witty remark, Moira simply stared at her for a moment. She had hardly aged a day in the past decade, as to be expected with her ever so advanced nanotech. Though, Moira, of course, could always pick out the details. Her eye bags had impressively gotten less severe, but Moira did notice the tiniest strands of grey in Angela’s hair. She still somehow had the same old cotton tank top, tucked into her sweatpants, a reminder that it was, in fact, nearly midnight.
Finally, he studied her eyes and her lips, two things he, more than anyone, used to be familiar with. Piercing blue eyes that held all the love and loyalty in the world, those soft lips that both adored and loathed Moira--it was all too much for him.
He took a step forward, almost wanting to shout with joy over how Angela didn't move. “I…”
She raised an eyebrow, unamused, “you…?”
“Did you love her?” Moira blurted, mentally cursing himself for his own stupidity.
“I…what?”
“The girl. Mei. Whatever her name was. Did you love her?”
Angela stared at him, jaw nearly dropped, and she began to laugh, “What? You storm into my office, slam my door, stand their like a fool and stare at me all because you're, what? Jealous of someone I am no longer with?”
Well, it sounded impudent and childish when Angela put it like that, leaving Moira to simply slam his mouth shut, expecting the exceedingly rare loss for words.
With a disgusted sigh, Angela crossed the room to stand in front of Moira, glaring up at him, “let me tell you something. My business is mine alone.” She snarled, “however, because your ego demands to know, no I was not in love with Mei. It was a fling. An attempt at romance again.”
“So, it didn't work then?” Moira attempted to steady his tone, fighting to look apathetic.
“No. Because…because…” Angela's face began to turn red in irritation, a trait of hers only Moira was especially good at revealing.
Moira leaned down slightly, meeting her wrathful gaze, “Because what, doctor?”
“Because no one is you.”
Moira wanted to laugh, to sneer down at her to silently tell her ‘I won, you lost’, however he could not bring himself to. In fact, he felt his shoulders sink, his narrowed eyes widening.
“I see.”
It was a pathetic attempt, Moira knew, but it was all that he could manifest in the moment. He stepped back, feeling uncomfortably perceived,
“I apologize for the interruption, Doctor Ziegler.” He mumbled, reaching for the door knob behind him, “I believe it is rather late. Goodnight.”
“No.” Angela grabbed the doorknob before he could, leaning closely to him, “you don't get to just walk away. For once you're going to shut up and listen.”
The part of Moira that was always oh-so weak for Angela immediately won, and they strided deeper into the office, turning heel to stare at her, “very well.”
Angela's shock at his compliance was very brief, and rapidly overtaken with irritation, “what in God's name gives you the right to hurdle yourself in here and begin to pry into my life? Have you no respect left in you?”
“You're one of the only people I have any respect for anymore, Angela.” Moira's lips move faster than his mind, for once, but he quickly shuts them again at her loud huff.
“Do you realize how devastated I was when you left? How many years I spent wondering what I did wrong? How many wasted years I had over you?” Angela began to pace wildly, her hands flying up in the air with vibrant gestures, “you were the worst mistake of my life, you know that right? I thought I was going to spend forever with you, Moira.”
As Angela continued to lament about her alleged deep-seated hatred for her former fiancé, Moira felt his vision blur, Angela’s words melting into an ambient haze.
Angela Ziegler was brilliant at many things. She was undoubtedly the most influential doctor in all of history, her medical knowledge and inventions surpassing even the greatest of greats. She stared down the horrors of war without batting an eye, unphased by the piles of bodies after she had witnessed so many of them. She held compassion for every specimen that could even slightly be considered ‘living’, and she had a flame deep inside that would ignite when the people she loved needed it most.
She was also, however, one of the only people in the world who had ever made Moira feel hurt. Scrutiny was Moira’s dearest friend, at this point in their career, and millions of people loathing him felt like nothing in comparison to hearing Angela claim Moira was her greatest mistake.
For the first time in many years, Moira was out of return insults or jabs at the ego, and instead had only one meager statement remaining: “It was you who didn't show up to the altar, not I.”
Finally, Angela stilled. She briefly opened her mouth, but closed it once more as the words failed to come out.
Decades of wrath and bitterness melted away, and the exhaustion slipped over Moira’s face. The grief was suddenly dulling, and any other argument Moira dreamed of having with Angela became a distant memory. With a sharp inhale, he turned away, feeling his eyes begin to well up. He clicked his tongue, taking the first step out of the room, drifting past Angela like a ghost still trying to hold on to a life long-lost.
“Wait “ Angela's voice cracked, and she attempted to reach for Moira's hand, however they pulled away, fingers lacing over the doorknob tightly.
He closed his eyes, attempting to picture an ending to this moment that didn't end in suffering, and when he was unable to find it, he slipped away into the night.
~~
Sleeplessness was far from a stranger to Moira. It was practically his brother in arms, even when he wanted nothing more than to be a ghost to the world for 6 hours. However, it likely did not aid him the moment he decided to insert a couch into his laboratory. Though every single Overwatch member had their own room (albeit, small rooms), Moira hardly left his lab since his most recent useless argument with Angela.
Of course, he would never dwell on it. There was nothing emotionally lethal about hearing the woman you love practically tell you you are the most diabolical human being in the universe. He was above being upset about such things, a statement he had been telling himself for the past two weeks.
Scattered across the lab, traces of his recent progress in healing Amelie were staring him down, begging him to find the final key to eliminating the Widowmaker. It was his only project for the time being. Everything else was at a standstill. Moira needed to prove it could be undone. He had lost track not long ago who he was truly doing it for. Amelie? Himself? Angela?
It hardly mattered the purpose, what mattered truly was the results-and Moira did not like giving lackluster results. So now? As he discovered Amelie had begun to plateau, as if there was nothing more that could be done? He found himself constantly juggling with varying solutions. He had even stopped so low as to ask other individuals. Winston had nothing actually useful to say, nor did Niran. Baptiste was hardly a real doctor, and Ana knew little about the intricacies of genetics.
Which, unfortunately, had left him with one alleyway for assistance. He had left a note upon Angela's desk that morning, requesting her to meet in his laboratory at 6 PM for Amelie, he was sure to enunciate.
Doubtful as ever, Moira hardly expected her to not only show up, but carefully overlook the treatment regimen thus far.
Sitting at her side felt normal. It felt freeing, even as she annoyingly mumbled to herself as she read over the papers, brow deep in thought.
Moira longed to stand up and move, simply due to restlessness, however he feared if he even twitched, she'd pull back, and then the ever so gradual way that their legs had begun to press together would be robbed from him.
“You've done amazing work thus far” her soft tone caught Moira off guard, giving him no choice but to look away from her as he foolishly stumbled for his words.
“A-ah. Yes. Thank you, doctor.”
Angela inhaled, “I don't think there's much else that you can do for Amelie.” She declared, leaning back.
Moira held back a disappointed sigh at the loss of proximity with her, and forced himself to raise an apathetic eyebrow, “How do you mean?”
“You've already done everything you can for her on a generic level,” Angela began “now I truly believe it is all psychological.”
“You're saying…Amelie simply has to what? Believe in herself?” He sneered.
“Yes. Amelie has to trust her own conscience now. She is free from Widowmaker. She just has to believe it. And you should help her.”
Moira blinked slowly, leaning back against his chair, “tell me, doctor Ziegler, do I truly radiate the energy of someone who is competent in emotional advice?”
She sighed, visibly fighting to curb her irritation, “you did this to Amelie. You need to undo it. God forbid you have to be emotionally available for once. I know you're capable of it.”
There was the tiniest part of Moira that wanted to scream ‘Yes! Yes I most certainly am capable of it for example, I am still deeply in love with you!’ an impulse he quickly extinguished, cooly crossing his legs, removing the contact of their thighs before she could.
“Well then what precisely is you're recommended treatment, doctor?”
“Tell her you've done everything you can for her genetically, tell her the rest is in her head and she must have faith, inspire her, I don't know!” Angela listed off, eyes rolling.
“What an insipid conclusion” Moira mumbled.
“Well, you should have thought about that before you made Talon a brainwashed super-agent.” Angela snipped back, crossing her arms.
Since befell them, and Moira’s gaze drifted back down to the papers in front of them, sighing softly a shake of his head.
The click of heels on tile brought both the doctor's attention to the door, and Moira mentally kicked himself as Amelie appeared, pausing the moment she saw Moira’s current visit. He has previously told Amelie to come to his office due to his lack of expectation of Angela actually showing up.
Amelie raised a knowing eyebrow at Moira “Should I..come back later?”
“No. No, please, do come in.” Moira insisted, pulling up an extra seat, “In fact, doctor Ziegler may have insightful additions to our conversation, if it's all the same to you, Amelie.”
Amelie nodded, sitting across from the two doctors, folding her hands together neatly with a steady gaze.
Moira swallowed, gathering some of the scattered papers for comfort, “Ah…well, then…your treatment…”
~~~
Amelie slowly nodded, rising to her feet, “Thank you. Both of you. I will…keep you updated.”
“I'm always here for you, Amelie. We all are.” Angela soothed, wrapping the other woman in a brief hug.
Amelie smiled, a thoughtful hum escaping her as she briefly glanced between the two doctors before turning heel.
Moira sighed with relief as her footsteps faded away, collapsing onto the couch at the edge of his office.
All of his unreasonable need to look presentable to Angela fell into the cushions with him, and he pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes.
“Thank you for your assistance, Doctor Ziegler.” He sighed out, intending it to sound more genuine than it did.
“Of course.” Angela said, slowly approaching, “Anything to right the wrongs that have been done.”
Moira dejectedly sigh, expecting to open his eyes to look up at her disapproving glare, however, she instead observed the couch in tandem with Moira’s exhausted state, tilting her head.
“Have you been sleeping here?” She asked softly.
He paused for a moment, before simply nodding.
Angela sighed, “Well, no wonder you've been so grumpy these past two weeks! I'm sure your scoliosis is just thrilled over this dusty old couch, and your insomnia fusing with your ungodly desire to always be working--i mean, really? Sleeping in your lab?”
“The laboratory and my work are hardly keeping me from sleeping. You know that.” He shook his head, “You and I both know why I am not sleeping, doctor.”
Angela went quiet, and Moira was ready to lean back and close his eyes, letting the sound of Angela walking away once more suffocate him to sleep. He instantly began to reorder his plans as she sat down next to him.
She thought for a long moment, face quirking into a frown. Moira began to guess what sort of miserable debate they'd have now. Perhaps Angela would start tearing into Moira about how irresponsible it was to not be properly rested and ‘able to perform his duties’ when Amelie was on the line.
Or, there was always the classic of ‘you're even meaner than usual when you aren't taking care of yourself. Why do you and everyone around you have to be miserable?’ Moira could perfectly imagine each individual rant, but his mind began to drift slightly.
It wasn't always like that. Angela only said things in such a manner in the past out of genuine worry for Moira. And most of the time, she was actually quite gentle. Even more, she'd take care of Moira. She made sure he ate dinner, made sure he was hydrated, brought him a tea in the dips of the afternoon all on top of her own work. And, of course, the greatest win of such times was how Moira always knew that at the end of a long day, he got to return to him and Angela's shared bed. Simply lying there with her erased the exhaustion of living.
It was a harsh reminder now, as Angela sat an arms length away, not even looking up at him.
“I wanted to apologize. For the other week. I'm sorry for blowing up on you like that.” He had to lean in slightly closer to her her quiet mumble, blinking rapidly as she continued, “I know-It’s…I just--”
She huffed, her pensive gaze finally meeting Moira’s, half-lidded with exhaustion even as Angela said “It's not fair of me to see you through everything that happened in our past. Not when you've actually tried to do better. Even after you came back, I shouldn't have been so cruel.”
Moira slowly nodded, mind reeling over the world's they heard-over Angela being the one to apologize for once.
“I wish everything was…well, there's simply no changing the past, but I wish--”
“Everything was different?” Moira offered.
Angela nodded, “I wish… I wish you never left” her voice got quieter, her brow furrowed, “But I know Overwatch was no longer where your work could grow. I know everything about this place was…stunting you. Even me.”
Moira grimaced at Angela’s self-description, shaking his head. “No. Kept me morally accountable and within the bounds of laws that shan't be broken by even myself? Yes. But stunting me?” His hand twitched with the urge to reach out and run his fingers over her face, to trace over her jaw and lips as he did so many times before.
Her gaze flickered to his fingers, disappointment flashing across her face before she nodded, processing his words.
“I appreciate you saying that. I suppose I find it…hard to believe you didn't see me as an obstacle.”
“I had still fully intended to marry you, in spite of it all.” Moira said.
Angela's nod slowed, and she closed her eyes, “I'm sorry. I could pretend all I'd like that you left me and that I did everything I could, but I didn't. I just…the path you were going down scared me, and it was one I could not follow you on. But you had every right to hear that directly from me. I'm sorry.”
“I forgive you.” He blurted, shaking his head, damning his self-control to hell, and placing a hand on her face, “It took me many years to understand why you could not follow me. But my ambition has grown too vast for me to have room for both it and you. I chose wrong. It should have been you. It always should have been you.”
Angela froze, her eyes widening at the admission, her breath briefly stuttering. Moira hungrily watched her face for any sort of shift, and exhaled softly as she leaned her head into his touch.
“Do you think we're doomed? That we're simply never meant to be happy together?” Angela whispered, eyes closing.
Moira steadied his breath, running his thumb over Angela’s cheekbones, leaning in closer just to simply be near her, “No. I don't think we are doomed. I think I'm…” A difficult person to love, he thought, unable to bring forth the admission into reality.
“I think we are very different people with very different views on the world, even if at the end of the day we have the same goal on the surface.” Moira said.
Angela sighed, “And it would be foolish of us to…try? And see? To make it work again?”
“Foolish? Or courageous?”
“Can it be both?”
A smile quirked at Moira's lips.
“Perhaps, yes. It can be both…”