Chapter Text
You looked so ethereal laying in your pile of white feathers with the petals of Morning Glories and Angel Eyes scattered around from underneath your back. If only the truth was as pretty, a truth only known by you and the woman passed out on top of you. Her head resting right next to the cut on your collarbone curtesy of shoe's stiletto, a last minute tactic to make sure you wouldn't put up a fuss. Any battlefield equipment was to be stripped off every attendee for both the ceremony and the local hotel. Which is why the usual threats that you were pumped with lethal nanobots would fall on deaf ears. And why you did not shoot her point blank in her sleep.
While you were struggling to shut your eyes, the devil woman found getting her rest easy. Not a drop of guilt haunted her and made her squirm in bed after directing one of the most humiliating days of your life. Her flawlessly rehearsed lies would put Sombra to shame: I saved her when she was almost killed during a job. We started seeing each other afterwards, it was like love at first sight. That was barely half accurate. We were originally planning on hyphenating our surnames but both thought (Last name)-Ziegler sounded silly, so she will be taking my last name instead. You two never had that conversation. Premeditated factors such as those were out of your control. From your matching swan-like dresses that shed feathers every step you walked, to the bouquet of flowers you were made to carry even though the smell of it made your eyes water.
Regardless, the facade was intact because you remembered the deal. Anything more severe than frowning for a photograph (a detail that went unnoticed since the attendees, many of which were your enemies, interpreted you as a cold person to begin with) would lead to your demise. The position you were in was already painful without the assuming stares of Overwatch members pointing in your direction constantly. Even if they knew about your secret dilemma with their self-proclaimed guardian angel, you would never be seen as a victim in their eyes. They were just as reluctant about the arrangement as you were; the only difference was that they had a different point of view on who the potential monster in the relationship was. They came to accept your one-sided relationship for their friend's sake while you could not imagine becoming complacent with it.
"Guete morge, Frau." When all you wanted to do was wake up with Mercy (refusing to call her "Angela" in fear of growing the slightest personal connection) gone, her voice and lips were the first things you were greeted with in the morning. The kiss placed upon your head was treated with the same amount of importance by you as a raindrop landing on your skin. You promised yourself, or at least tested yourself, to be as least invested as one possibly could. Although she would be delighted if you returned her love like she insists you eventually will, seeing you bothered or in tears was satisfying in its own right. No reaction at all was a solution you considered; to never entertain the sick fantasies of Mercy to the point of excruciating boredom.
The first few minutes of the day proves your theory might be flawed. Your new wife notices the attempt at spite but did not seem to care as she wipes off stray makeup left on you with a moist napkin. Whether or not you didn't like makeup - you still had to wear it. She used good money to have you fixed up while rationing for everything else. Even with the markings smeared on your face, Mercy looks at it as if you were art personified. The flaws of your appearance were invisible no matter how minor or major you perceived them. Nothing could be done to make you look less desirable to this woman. Yet the reason escapes you.
"Why?" you ask. A hair pin buried in your scalp was picked out slowly and carefully, neither of you were looking each other in the eye. You were only answered with a period of silence until the subject returned to conversation somehow. "Listen (First name)," she speaks in a remorseful tone but you knew better. "All I want to do is help you; give you a new life so you no longer have to associate with those... people. My methods might be questionable, yes, but it's for your own good. I promise."
"Why marriage?" you say with less withdrawal. There were probably a few other answers you wanted to fish from her but the source of your unsettled stomach can be best summed up by this specific choice. With the M.I.T.E.S flowing in your bloodstream, you would walk through fire to keep Mercy from detonating them - and she makes you marry her. It sounded like a joke at first, a request to put your anxieties to the test by having you do something ridiculous.
You wished that was the case. It was clear Mercy used your (former) connections to Talon as a smokescreen to hide the twisted way she thinks of you. The closest she has gotten to being honest with that fact was when she admits, "you being a sniper, I hardly had a chance to see you up close until recently." Before you had the chance to raise your voice to that pitiful excuse of a reason, her index finger reaches for the middle of your lips. "That's enough, Frau. You're not (Code name) anymore; you're (First name) Ziegler. Now let's get ready and go home."
----
Co-workers likely assumed you died after you went M.I.A, not that anyone could blame them considering the knowledge they were left behind with. Contacting Talon allies would hardly be enough of a possibility to bother trying. Contacting family members or even the police was just as fruitless. The experience so far can be best described as a house arrest sentence to a ritzy apartment located somewhere in Europe. The most you could do was learn your rights. It was your job to find out the limits of your freedom since Mercy was cruelly vague about them. One day, she pretended not to notice you walking around the lanai one day to please your legs that twitched for action. Your spouse does nothing worse than sit on a chair, flipping through a book with an unreadable title. Her sleeves are shorter in light of the changing of the seasons, something to savor in the usually chilly Switzerland. From the elbows up, you spot two familiar accessories: her wedding ring and a wristwatch.
It wasn't immediately recognizable but you could loosely recall the exact same watch from your pre-marital encounter the night at the park. Most modern watches were advanced to be slim bands with a simple digital screen display, bulky ones like hers were a rare fashion statement. "Beep-beep-beep-beep", you put your foot down and backed away quickly. Mercy passively checks her wristwatch before peaking up from her book; she holds down one of its many tiny buttons, the sharp electronic cries came to an end. A tree with brittle bark and red leaves is singled out in your eyes before passing another inch by it. This activates the alarm a second time, she once again stops the sound manually.
It wasn't too tiresome waiting for the novelty of that reveal to wear off. Although it has not ceased to stricken you yet, your captor could of had an entire arsenal of devices to monitor your every move and it would not be any less surprising.You wanted to seek out and destroy
them all. Not excluding the Caduceus Staff - breaking it over your knee like an oversized branch would leave Mercy with nothing to keep you with her. Every day since you moved in, you searched each room for it. An arduous task as it was forbidden to be in the same room as you let alone in your reach (much like your riffle, which seemed to have vanished from the secret stash hidden behind the headboard of the bed you shared). Even the bathroom wasn't safe from your dedicated hunt.
"Did you find what you were looking for?" Mercy said, her smile polarizing - kind but intimidating at the same time. "Perhaps you would like my assistance?" You went mute for a moment to find the right words to say, which was proven to be difficult. She merely nods when you turned down the offer. It made you feel fortunate that the awkward interaction was concluded until it escalated into a worse one.
"Awfully distant lately, aren't you? Even more so than usual." she refers to your ongoing reaction-strike that became your pivotal survival tactic, despite not having effective results. You would have never guessed it was going to backfire on you badly; it was understandable that getting you to return her affections was going to take painstaking patience. Your stubborn lack of participation, however, drove her mad with depravity. Even a whimper would be accepted at that point to remind her you existed.
"Forgive me for neglecting you, I haven't forgotten my goal." Her eyes are hooded with mischief and lust. One hand was tugging at yours to lead you out of the bathroom, the other reached beyond the ajar door. That hand was soon filled by the Caduceus Staff, the tool that determined your fate. An adjustment of a switch caused the head to glow a hellish red as opposed to the friendly yellow and blue dyad. Whatever was planned for you was going to be unpleasant, be it in the form of a punishment or the illusion of romance.
The mere ringing of the doorbell rescued you, concluding the nightmare for sure. An irritated Mercy set you free to answer to the unexpected guest at the door. You scurried off like a rat from a snake and gladly obeyed the command, wondering if it be too optimistic to suggest was a police officer who came to your aid was standing outside.
Instead you were met with a disappointing visitor: the acerbic little lady who went out of her way to give you the worst first impression of her during the wedding. "Ahlan!" she greets as if the occurrence when she pricked you with an unidentifiable sharp object never happened. You were minding your own business sitting at the edge of a table when a sting triggered you to jump from your seat. This woman, in her silver years but far from haggard, approached you with a smile. Requesting you return her wayward dart. It amazed you that Mercy would invite her inside after doing such a thing to her bride.
"You didn't think I would take a flight to Dresden without stopping by the corner to meet my new favorite couple; especially when my daughter was your Maid of Honor," You reflect on the tattooed face of your then fiancée's Maid of Honor, the distinguished insignia was near identical to the one under the lone eye of the older woman drinking the hot beverage served to her. Whatever was left of her other remained hidden beneath a patch.
Their banter was so personal it made you feel akin to a child sitting at the grownups' table. The chat was rife with inside jokes and references to experiences you were in the dark about. Without the occasion handhold of reassurance given by Mercy, you might have forgotten about your own presence. Ana Amari, the guest, avoids looking at you all together. She supports you verbally but her body language suggests otherwise. Every compliment towards your appearance, demeanor, or talents handling an assault rifle was juxtaposed with a suspicious glare in her eye.
Ana's voice is like butter as she speaks, "I'm happy we're on good terms, Angela. I really am." She politely turns down the offered jar of honey presented to her, swallowing a mouthful of the tea she was content with. "As am I," concurs Mercy, "though, I still don't agree with your abuse of my biotic technology."
With or without context, the hypocrisy is hilarious. The will to stealthily slip a smile fades from you a split second after. "Oh - ayaan kan; I introduced you to M.I.T.E.S. Now we are even, yes?"
You choke on your drink mid-sip. Liquid leaks out the corner of your mouth from the series of coughs exiting it. While you were able to recover swiftly and clean yourself, the comment left you with a dumbfounded expression. "Micro, Infestation, Technology, Erode, Somatic," clarifies Ana, who couldn't help but catch on to your zoning. She greatly misinterpreted the reasoning behind it. The atmosphere turns sour, uncomfortable for every party involved.
"Now if you excuse me - I must powder my nose." Ana climbs off the chair to pardon herself to the household's restroom. Mercy is almost aggressive when she offers her guidance to its whereabouts, which is ultimately rejected. She is careful about bordering the line where she looks shady to her guest by allowing her to roam free around the house. Unlike every other moment of being alone with your captor, you felt safe at last with the knowledge that someone else was potentially in earshot of you if in danger.
Her tea has gone cold and it occurred to you that it was nearly filled to the top. Untouched besides the single sip you witnessed Ana taken from it. As the abandoned drink was dumped into the sink, a black bird perched himself on top of the windowsill. Mercy was oddly considerate not to disturb his visit, you had to strain your ears to hear her movements. She breaks the silence to say, "thank you for behaving so well for Mrs. Amari, my darling. Keep it up and I'll extend your walking-vicinity another twenty steps."
The bird in the window absorbed your entire focus and you were unable to care about anything else. You fantasized about physically shrinking down to the size of a stack of dimes so you could latch onto his back; your body would be taken away along with him as his dark feathery wings spread. The destination did not matter just so long as it was away from your current. You would even considering resigning from Talon if it meant leaving, if it took changing your name then so be it.
The dark wings you envied began to undergo spasms wild enough to molt feathers into the sink. The bird's fall was cushioned by the black pile of his own coating and survived the impact. Beady eyes stayed closed, unbothered by the pitter patter of water raining from the faucet above. Unbothered by the fine needle lodged into his flesh. The gut pumped with peaceful intakes of air in the deep slumber he was dragged unwillingly into.
"How disappointing," Mercy sighed sarcastically, "your aim is usually not so shoddy."
Ana hissed vulgarity in her mother tongue, the little gun in her hold was lowered below her hip. She is likewise just as disappointed in herself for the failed shot, though did not admit it.
"Hey, at least I don't force people into marriage using illegal technology. What the hell is wrong with you, Angela? This is not what I let you have M.I.T.E.S. for."
You gasp, a hand clutching the nape of your neck where you had been stung with Ana's dart a week prior. The act wasn't out of instigation; she had a hunch that the blood drawn from you was poisoned with the taboo biotech early on. Mercy was offended by the accusation despite knowing the truth, she growls, "what me and (First name) have is special. Not that you could ever understand."
It fascinated Ana, and perhaps you, how someone so brilliant could be so delusional. Her gun had several parts disengaged revealing its exposed ammo consisting of sleeping darts. They were all replaced with a new set of ammo appropriate for the event, their designated target deserved far worse than a six hour nap. Lethal bullets filled the finally prepared weapon; her keen, copper eye began to dilate in concentration as it locked onto Mercy like a dagger. If Mercy possessed an iota of fear for her life, it was hidden frustratingly well. She appeared to be on the verge of hysterical laughter subdued by her chewing her bottom lip. Being provoked in such a way did not faze her in the slightest way.
"Yuhlak alwahsh!"
The pupil of her eye went from pinpoint - to expanding enough to eat her iris until it was just a ring of copper. The life disappeared from it even before the lid could close over its glassy face. Her old lips are parted and dry, a moan of pain is the last thing to leave them. You were having trouble realizing what exactly happened to cause your would-be savior to her sudden comatose state. The puddle of blood coming out underneath suggests it would be a permanent one. It wasn't Ana's fault she failed to see that Mercy kept her blaster elusive from under a wash cloth, it stayed conveniently in the areas of her blind spot. A clairvoyant wouldn't be as insightful.
"It's alright, (First name); I'll revive her in a little while. After I do something about her memory, of course," Mercy said, it was frightening how unrealistic her calm tone was. She turns around and shows her face barren of the insanity you witnessed no more than a few seconds ago. Not that you could see it... you fled the scene. Her heart skips a beat when you were not sitting in that chair where she left you.
You preferred to fetch her Caduceus Staff, which you recall was standing against the wall like a prop. Your spouse is not a fool, and quickly learns your whereabouts. She is not too worried to see you right in the middle of breaking the cursed thing. Its head was hovering close to the patch of hard floor, where you liked to smash it to the point of obsolescence. Mercy's hand is extended to it, she tuts, reminding you of the fact that the force that could breathe life back into poor Ana Amari rests within the staff. If it were to be destroyed, there will no longer be any hope for her.
The conflicting emotions rising throughout your soul leaves you in tears. You did not understand what was wrong with your judgement, as you ended lives for a living. Now, you couldn't bear the thought. Maybe it was cowardice controlling you; picking off people from afar drunk off the knowledge that they were your enemies was one thing, seeing the bloodshed you caused firsthand was another. Consensual, you return the Caduceus Staff to its owner. She smiles broadly in the wake of your cooperation and holds you in her arms.
"I'm so happy. I knew I could change you." Her fingers are gentle combing your (straight/wavy/curly/etc) hair. Your body submits to the embrace, nodded your crying head in agreement to the observation you could not deny.