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Jamison grimaced as he slumped against the wall and slid down along its cool, smooth surface to sit amongst the dust and rubble that littered the dank and musty hallway of the abandoned building that he found himself taking refuge within. Huffing a short breath, he brought the back of his left hand to wipe at the blood that continued to drip into his right eye from a laceration somewhere on his forehead, growling irritably at the obstruction to his vision and the stinging pain that continued to pound sharply where he’d been cut.

He’d been separated from the rest of the team. That knowledge in itself didn’t overly concern him, as he had an idea where he could rendezvous with them. Trouble was, his damn good leg hurt like hell and staggering more than a few feet at a time proved almost unbearable.

Jamison glared down at the offending limb with his good eye, a frown pulling his lips tight at the awkward angle that his kneecap appeared to be resting, as if it had luxated out of place. How in the hell he had managed to do that, he wasn’t sure? All he knew was that he couldn’t readily bend his leg, and the pain that currently radiated from his knee up to the rest of his body was agonizing.

“Beautiful.” The ex-Junker sneered sarcastically before sucking down a fortifying breath, his mind racing to ponder over his limited options for getting out of there at the moment. Seconds later, a faint shuffling noise reached his ears, the sound echoing eerily up the darkened hallways, and much to his chagrin, it was growing louder; indicating that something or someone was closing in on his location.

Jamison bit his bottom lip to stem the expletives that wanted to pour out of his mouth as he forced himself to stand, the movement causing electrifying sparks of agony to shoot through his form. Pressing his back tightly against the wall, his hand moved to close around the handle of the knife he kept sheathed against his hip beneath his mine laden satchel. There was a faint click of a button where his thumb disengaged the strap that kept the knife in place, then a soft hiss of metal as he pulled the length of it free, gripping it tightly in such a way that the blade of the weapon lay parallel against his forearm. He’d learned years ago in the outback that holding a blade in this manner was simply devastating when he delivered a sweeping punch.

Footsteps sounded clearly now up the hallway as a person moved in on where he remained hidden around a corner. Jamison took a deep, steadying breath while he listened, waiting until the last moment before he lunged from around the corner of the corridor. With a fierce growl, he threw all of his weight forward, slamming the person back against the wall and forced the biting edge of the blade forward to press menacingly against the stranger’s neck.

A startled feminine gasp echoed in the space surrounding them and within the dim lighting of the hallway, Jamison just barely made out the familiar, pained face peering up at him as his body pinned her forcefully to the wall.

“Jamison, it’s me!” Angela pleaded on a choked whisper and Jamison recoiled as if he’d been burned, stumbling backwards on his injured leg and throwing himself off balance in the process. A slender pair of arms reached out to wrap around his torso, steadying him from his fall.

“You’re hurt,” that angelic voice murmured against his ear as the battle medic held him fast and he didn’t miss the heavy concern laced in her words.

Pain ricocheted through his body, causing Jamison to growl under his breath. He peered down at Angela who had instantly switched into doctor mode and found her assessing his person, her arms still closed around him. Jamison couldn’t suppress the sudden anger he felt at the thought of her wandering around alone in the midst of the mission, his discomfort adding to his short temper.

“What’re ya doin’ here?” He hissed under his breath, not even trying to bank the bite to his words as he reached down to sheath his knife.

“Looking for you. And it’s a good thing I was!” Angela quipped defensively and forced Jamison to turn, then helped him to move backwards against the wall where he could lean without her aid.

“I’m fine.” The ex-Junker fumed, watching as Angela knelt before him and felt the cool touch of her fingers as she palpated around his knee.

“Clearly,” Angela countered facetiously, seemingly unafraid of adding to the mercenary’s irritation.

“Go back t’ the others, ‘s not safe back here.” Jamison huffed, his words breaking as his throat constricted from the pain of her pressing against his knee cap. Reflexively, he jerked his leg from her touch and caught himself from shoving her backwards away from him. He focused on Angela’s face as she watched him mentally check himself from hurting her; his hands closing into a tight, irritable fists in the space between them instead.

Those insufferable, soft blue eyes clearly said “you won’t hurt me” and damned if the woman wasn’t right. Jamison would rather lose his remaining limbs than hurt the affable, though sometimes over-bearing, pain-in-the-ass battle medic.

He exhaled a quivering breath through his nose; amber hues pinned with hers beneath brows that were creased together with barely controlled rage.

“Jamison,” Angela spoke softly, gently. “Let me help you.”

Jamison closed his eyes, taking another deep pull of stale air into his lungs in an effort to calm himself. They were safe for the moment, though he’d seen sign that the enemies were operating within these halls recently before they had initiated this strike. It could most certainly be booby trapped, but he was little use to Angela or the rest of the team in his current state.

He hated feeling like he was slowing the team down; hated the knowledge that he needed rescued. But most of all, he hated the feeling of helplessness at the hands of someone else. Though Angela had shown him time and time again that he had nothing to fear from her, years of neglect at the hands of so-called physicians within the irradiated wastes of the Outback had left Jamison with little to no love towards those who sought to heal his long list of ailments. It was an internal struggle every time he needed to see Angela for his quarterly physicals.

The blind faith and trust that the woman put on him; to put herself at risk of great bodily harm every time she needed to treat him spoke volumes to Jamison about her character and it made him extremely curious about what it was that she saw in him. Though he’d made a vow to himself to never harm a hair on her body, she had no clue of such a sentiment. All she knew is that he was once a very dangerous and wanted criminal and that he was still very potent in his profession, as he’d shown Overwatch agents time and time again on missions he’d been contracted to assist.

“Ya shouldn’t be here.” The ex-Junker finally exhaled, his tone still gruff, but compliant as he opened his eyes once more and focused on her still kneeling close before him, patiently waiting for his capitulation.

“I’m right where I’m needed at the moment,” Angela responded airily and Jamison sighed. He had to admire her stubbornness, as aggravating as it was. Jamison felt himself tense as he watched her focus shift back to his injury. He’d never inquired about the working mechanics of her Valkyrie suit, or its healing abilities, but it none-the-less left him speechless every time he watched the doctor miraculously fix injuries in seconds that Jamison had seen take years to heal back in Oz.

“Please, do try to relax, Mr. Fawkes,” her voice murmured softly and Jamison felt the strange contrast of hot and cold as a golden light emanated from her hand when Angela carefully planted her palm against the feverish pain radiating from his knee.

The mercenary couldn’t help but snort a short laugh.

“I am relaxed.” Jamison lied, which rewarded him with a small answering laugh from the woman before him. The pain barely registered in his brain as Jamison felt his knee literally pop back into place; the cooling sensation of Angela’s healing aura then pulsed through him, reminding Jamison of a brisk, oceanside breeze that instantly left him feeling refreshed, rested, and rejuvenated. Though he felt leagues better in that instant, Jamison remained rooted in place; his back planted against the wall as he watched Angela lower her hand from his leg and stand before him. It took a moment for her eyes to stop assessing him with a physician’s gaze and for her hues to finally lift to meet his.

Jamison would be lying if he said that Angela “Mercy” Ziegler wasn’t the most beautiful creature he’d ever laid his eyes on. Not only that, but her beauty carried through to her mannerisms and character as well. She was just an all-around good woman.

And he was at his core still just a bad man.

It took Angela a moment to realize that she was still standing just a hairs breadth away from the ex-Junker; the heat of his body radiating off of him like a living furnace, making the small hallway that they were standing in feel that much more stifling. His amber hues were fixated on her with an almost predatory look that made Angela’s insides suddenly quiver and her breath to audibly hitch in her throat. He was so much taller than her when he wasn’t hunched forward beneath the weight of his full armament, Angela mused, and tried to stifle the tingle of attraction that she felt towards the man in that instant.

“Next time…” Jamison spoke then, drawing her attention away from his eyes to focus on his lips. His tone had darkened with some renewed anger it seemed and Angela felt her own mulishness rise up within her to meet his.

“Leave me be.” He grumbled low.

Angela knew she should be cautious when dealing with the ex-Junker, but there was something about him that made her believe in her heart that she was safe by his side, regardless of how loud his bark could be. Within the darkness, Angela could now discern that blood had trickled down the side of Jamison’s face and over his right eye. Her healing aura should have closed up any other wounds he had sustained, but ever one to be certain that her job was done, Angela fearlessly rose up onto her toes and pressed herself closer to Jamison in order to inspect his forehead. She felt him freeze against her as her hands rose to gently wipe around the perimeter of his right eye and above his brow.

“Reckon it was nothin'.” Jamison mumbled low, his warm breath fanning against Angela’s neck; voice rumbling close to her ear. Being this close to him, Angela could practically feel the feral power the man emanated. He may not look as imposing a villain like Gabriel had become, but Jamison could be downright sinister in his own right; gleefully blowing his opponents to pieces while laughing maniacally the whole time. No remorse. No mercy.

Angela’s fingers brushed against a small metallic object just over his right brow and with practiced precision, plucked it from where it had lodged itself beneath his skin. Jamison didn’t even flinch or grunt, just merely kept watching her with those hauntingly amber eyes as Angela wiped away the fresh rivulets of blood that trickled from the wound before she sent another healing pulse to close it. Holding the small piece of shrapnel between her thumb and index finger, Angela finally lowered herself to stand levelly and took a step away from the ex-Junker.

“Next time, Mr. Fawkes,” Angela breathed, her eyes lifting from the piece of shrapnel to meet the mercenary’s gaze. “Do try to keep up.”

(Excerpt from one of many WIP's.... Maybe one day, I'll finish at least one...)

#featherfloof #wip #fanfic #mercyrat

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