#though i could see this tying into a future rehabilitation!sigma fic

[overwatch-does-stuff]

Overwatch: Accepted Parameters

Summary: Baptiste has always kept his head down, and that skill of avoiding conflict has gotten him far in Talon rank. However, a brush with the dark underside of the organization leaves his confidence in such a strategy shaken.

   Talon operative schedules were never quite as hectic as the schedules of the first-tier enlisted folk. Having more unstructured time was still quite strange for Baptiste, even though he had been promoted a few weeks ago. Mauga, though, took it in stride, like he always did. Mauga was the one who dragged Baptiste down to the one of the many break rooms to hang out with the rest of their squad.    Everyone was grouped around a center TV. On it was a game of rugby. Baptiste watched, and tried to discern the rules as the game went on. Mauga was not much help: the only clue he gave was when he got excited over something. Well, it seemed he was more excited about the tackling than the actual scoring.    Baptiste's comm buzzed- as a medic, he was technically always on call- so he ducked and slid out of his seat (causing several groans as he walked in front of the screen for a brief moment) and walked to the far corner of the room. He tapped his comm.    "Augustin: Dr. O'Deorain has requested assistance in her medical lab." The comm manager responded in their typical, dry voice. "Please report immediately."    "Understood." Baptiste said.    The comm call ended. He looked up right as the crowd around the TV cheered. The only person to look back to him was Mauga, who gave him a curious look.    "Something in the med lab." Baptiste tried to say, but he knew his words were lost in the excitement. He gestured to the door, and then pointed up to his comm.    Mauga nodded. With that, Baptiste left the room.    The walk to the med lab was a ways, so Baptiste kept a good jogging pace. It was exceedingly rare for Moira to ask for anyone to come to the lab, much less 'request assistance' from anyone, so what could be going on? There hadn't been a mission, at least not one that he knew about.    He turned a corner. The door was to his right. As he approached it, it opened automatically.    "How can I help?" were his first words as he entered.    On two separate beds sat two Talon operatives that Baptiste had never seen with his own eyes before. The one sitting upright on the bed closest to the door he immediately recognized as Widowmaker, the sniper with blue skin, which was hard to miss. The man laying down in the farther bed, however, did not look familiar in the slightest.    Moira came rushing back into the main room with two vials. She laid down one beside the bed with the man, and carried the other one with her as she approached Widowmaker. She did not look over to the door.    "Dr. O'Deorain, you called?" Baptiste said.    Moira's head darted in his direction for a brief moment. "You're here. Good."    Baptiste looked around again. Neither Widowmaker nor the man looked visibly injured. Widowmaker's complexion seemed a bit fuller than usual, suggesting that she was. . . well, it was hard to evaluate proper blood flow on someone who was supposed to look that pale. And the man seemed a bit dazed, staring up at the ceiling, but otherwise looking fine.    "Reconditioning required." Widowmaker said.    Her tone was strained. Moira was holding her arm and attempting to inject her with the needle, but she kept jerking away.    "You will receive reconditioning if you-"    "Reconditiong. . . no. . . required." Widowmaker pulled her arm out of Moira's grasp, before freezing.    Moira beckoned Baptiste with her finger. "Help me hold her."     “What is her current condition?" he replied.    "Do as I say, Augustin. She needs this injection." Moira readied her needle again.    Baptiste came over. Widowmaker did not respond to his approach.    "Hey, I'm going to touch you, okay?" He said quietly.    Again Widowmaker did not respond. He reached to her arm, before brushing her skin. It was lukewarm, like the flesh of someone that had been dead for only a few hours, and the comparison to the memory made him shutter.    "Come on, Augustin. She does not require a pleasant bedside manner." Moira hissed.    Baptiste raised an eyebrow. Consent was at the top of every doctor's check list, unless the patient was unconscious or gravely injured. Still, Moira was Moira, the head of the Talon medical division. Her word was law. So, Baptiste grasped Widowmaker's arm. There was a faint hint of protesting movement, before her struggling ceased.    "No. Hold her down." Moira commanded.    Baptiste took a deep breath, before bracing one arm against Widowmaker's shoulder and pressing her downwards to the bed. She bent like a doll in his grasp. She laid against the mattress, her face blank, but her eyes. . .    Baptiste looked away and muttered a few words of apology in french.    Widowmaker's voice was a whisper. "Gerard?"    She let out a fleeting breath as the needle entered her arm. Moira injected the dose, and her body went limp. Her eyes fluttered shut.    "Sedative? Why?" Baptiste asked.    "I am taking her to reconditioning. Stay here and watch over Sigma. Keep interaction to a minimum. If he gets out of hand, the sedative is by his bedside. Do not let him out." Moira replied, before walking to another corner of the room.    Sigma? Baptiste looked behind the doctor to the man in the other bed. Only now did he notice that, under the sheet, the man was tied down with thick black straps.    Moira came back with a rolling bed, and roughly slid Widowmaker onto it. She then rolled the bed out of the room. The door shut behind her, and Baptiste stayed still for a few moments afterwards.    Who was Gerard? What was reconditioning? Why the sedative? Would Widowmaker have resisted enough to warrant it? What little resistance she had put up seemed almost seizure-like. On and then off again. Almost like what she was fighting was internal-    Baptiste's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of quiet muttering. He looked over to Sigma.    "The harness is attached to the spine. If you break the spine then it is very difficult to harness anyone. But if you pick them up by the spine it is the most stable, except when it is not, and it breaks."    After a moment of hesitation, Baptiste approached Sigma's bedside. The man did not react, his gaze unmoving from the tile ceiling. Okay. . .    "The question can be defined as, where in the spine is the right place to lift?" Sigma continued.    "Um, hello?" Baptiste gave a wave.    "No, no, not right now. Focus. Anyways, the question. . ."    "Can I ask what you're talking about?" Baptiste took a seat on the other bed, where Widowmaker had been.    Sigma's head suddenly turned towards him. "Who are you?"    "I'm Jean-Baptiste Augustin, though you can just call me Baptiste." He said, pointing to himself.    "Hmm. You don't look like somebody I would imagine." Sigma replied. "However, there is not enough evidence to suggest that hypothesis is correct."    "Evidence?"    "Hmm. You aren't a nurse, are you?" Sigma raised an eyebrow.    "No, not a nurse, not exactly. I'm watching over you while Dr. O'Deorain gets something else done." Baptiste replied.    "Ah, yes, Dr. O'Deorain." He nodded slowly. Something returned to his eyes. "I am in her lab, am I not?"    Baptiste nodded as well. "That's right."    "Do you know why I am tied down?" Sigma asked.    "No, I don't actually. Moira told me not to untie you though, if that gives you any clues-"    Sigma gave a nasty glare, causing Baptiste's heart to skip a beat. "Excuse me, but you should refer to Dr. O'Deorain by her title. She worked very hard to get that degree, you know."    Baptiste took a deep breath. Okay. That went better than expected. Most people don't react well to being strapped to a bed, but Sigma seemed completely unfazed by the whole situation.    "I'm sorry. I'll call her 'doctor' from now on." Baptiste said.    "I should know. I also got my PhD, though in a very different sort of field." Sigma sat up slightly, as far as the straps would let him.    "Oh? Which field?"    Sigma laughed. "As if you don't know me! Though, I suppose not everyone is into astrophysics or related fields, so perhaps it isn't so strange that you don't recognize my face. . ."    Sigma's face was visibly old-looking. Strained and wrinkled, yet still maintaining the sharp angles of a younger man. The wrinkles had to be from stress. And, most startlingly, were the lines that faded down from the corners of his eyes and disappearing into his temples. No, Baptiste was sure never seen a face like this one before.    A few beats of silence passed.    "Anyways, I'm Dr. Siebren de Kuiper. I would offer my hand and give you a proper greeting if I were able."    The name sounded familiar. Baptiste tried to figure out from where. News headlines when he was a teenager, maybe?    "Ha! Just a joke." Siebren continued. "Usually when I am tied down, it's for a reason."    Baptiste didn't know what to say to that.    "That was not a joke. Where is Dr. O'Deorain?" Siebren returned his gaze to the ceiling.    "She's doing something else at the moment. She'll be back soon." Baptiste replied.    "When will she be back? Only she can tell me what happened. Right now, I. . ." his breath shuddered, "I could have done anything."    "Hey, it's alright. Maybe I can help. Can you tell me more about what's going on with you? We can chat." Baptiste said.    "No, you don't understand. I could have done something. I could have done something without even knowing. Control, it's so easy to slip away from."    Disassociative episodes? Not uncommon for those with mental illness of some sort. Baptiste was no therapist, but no medic worth their salt was completely uneducated about mental health. The mind was part of the body, after all.    "When does this happen? Do you think there are triggers?" He continued.    "I. . . see, if I could remember, that would mean I'm stable. The fact that I am tied down must mean that I am not stable." Siebren continued.    "How are you feeling right now?" Baptiste asked.    "I'm not stable. I'm tied down. Am I being transported? What have I done?" Siebren's tone rose with every question. His breathing increased and his body began to shake with small tremors, dampened by the straps.    "Hey, you're alright. You were alright just a moment ago. You can be okay again." Baptiste kept his own tone even. He was well practiced in dealing with panic. "Let's take some deep breaths. I want you to breathe with me-"    "No! Get the sedative! I'm not stable. Don't you understand? That is procedure for the nurses, isn't it? And Dr. O'Deorain, she agrees, I am tied down! And- and-"    "Breathe. On the count of four, alright? Breathe in four, breathe out four." Baptiste elongated the words with his breaths.    Siebren's eyes darted around the room, and his lips moved, but nothing tangible came out. He trembled further. A strange feeling came over Baptiste, something akin to falling, making his breath catch in his throat for just a moment. He quickly steeled himself, ignoring the feeling as best as he could and focusing on keeping the cadence.    "In, two, three, four. Hold, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four. Hold, two, three, four. And repeat." Baptiste recited.    The rise and fall of Siebren's chest began to slow, eventually matching the beat of the counting. The feeling of falling faded away. Baptiste felt himself begin to relax, and Siebren looked less tense as well.    "Are you feeling better now?" Baptiste asked him.    Siebren blinked but did not reply.    "That technique is called square breathing. It's really simple, but rather effective, as you see. Even I feel better now." Baptiste smiled.    "Please don't tell Moira."    Baptiste barely caught the sentence as it left Siebren's mouth.    "Why? Is everything between you and her. . . all good?" Baptiste said quietly.    "Oh, of course." Siebren's tone still sounded small. "It's quite the contrary to what you are trying to insinuate. It's simply that I respect her highly."    "She's a doctor, a medic, just as I am. It's okay if you aren't pretty in front of her one-hundred percent of the time." Baptiste almost laughed in reply. He had gotten similar comments from other self-conscious patients in the past.    "No, no, you don't understand. Lapses in behavior are signs of instability. Instability means that I can't handle the privileges she has given me." Siebren said.    "Privileges?"    "She graciously gives some to me whenever I am stable. I can't handle them when I'm not."    "What are some examples of these?" Baptiste asked.    "Having someone to talk to is my favorite privilege." Siebren's eyes lit up. "When I'm feeling alright I get to leave my room and join her in her lab. It's nice not to be alone. Oh! And regular meals, on actual plates! That's rather nice as well. It helps to make me feel so normal again. I didn't get to have plates before."    Baptiste could feel his heart beating in his own chest, and he realized the reason why was because he had stopped breathing. He closed his mouth and swallowed his spit, before choosing his next words carefully.    "Those are considered your. . . 'privileges'?"    "Oh yes. I am fortunate to be able to earn them. Dr. O'Deorain is very kind." Siebren nodded.    Kind?    "Does she ever take your 'privileges' away?" Baptiste forced himself to keep breathing.    "When I am unstable, I can't handle them." Siebren replied, with only a slight bit of shame, but otherwise spoken like how he would have described the weather. It's raining. It's sunny. The ceiling is white.    "And when are you considered unstable?" Baptiste asked.    "Well, you just saw that, didn't you?" Siebren replied. "For a brief moment. If it had escalated. . ."    "No. No. That was not 'instability'." Baptiste placed his hand on Siebren's shoulder and met his eyes. "Everybody gets upset sometimes. Everybody panics. That's normal. You shouldn't be punished for that."    "You don't understand. Today is not a bad day for me. You wouldn't understand unless you saw what I am capable of." Siebren's tone was ice. "And the fact that I am being allowed to talk with you is evidence that, perhaps, that what I did before wasn't all that bad, in comparison to what I could have potentially done. Today is a good day for me."    "Today is a good day, isn't that right, Sigma?"    Baptiste flinched and turned to see Moira standing behind him. He brought his hand up from Siebren's shoulder and got up from his seat. He stood in between her and the bed where Siebren laid.    "Thank you, Augustin. Your attendance is no longer required. Sigma is my charge, and I shall handle him from here." Moira looked into him, almost through him.    Baptiste did not shrivel. "Perhaps a peer review of your methods is needed?"    "It isn't." She said. "You are dismissed."    Baptiste froze. He was all that was standing between a patient and clinical abuse. The tiny voice within him was screaming for him to stand his ground. Yet, his instincts told at him to comply, to keep his head down, to live another day. It was the instinct that had gotten him promoted so quickly in Talon rank. Comply. Odds were that he would never see Siebren again after this.    "You are dismissed." Moira repeated.    And before he knew it, his legs had carried him out the lab. The door behind him shut with a resounding click.    Mauga had tried to get a rise out him when he had first entered the breakroom again.    "Are you done playing nurse? We've still got a game to watch."    Baptiste did not reply. He climbed back into his spot on the couch beside him.    "Come on, Jean." Mauga gave an empathetic smile and patted him on the shoulder. "What's the matter?"    "It's nothing." Baptiste shrugged off his hand. "I'm. . . just sad that I missed some of the game."    "You here that, squad? This man's sad. Let's rewind all the plays, just for him."    The rest of the people in the room audibly groaned. Baptiste forced a choked laugh.    "That's the spirit! Come on, hit play!" Mauga slapped him on the back, causing him to cough.    And soon the room was filled with the sound of the excited announcer. Baptiste looked to the images on the screen but found that, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't discern the rules of the game.