The Paris Incident

Angela sat at her laboratory desk, idly flicking through holographic slides with the capacitive dial on the console. She was reviewing experiment notes, or at least she was supposed to be. In reality she was deep in thought, mulling through the latest puzzle her research in biotics had created.

        Her goal was to use the nanites implanted in her own body -- the ones that kept her healthy and young, and even healed her in heat of battle -- to help her work on patients in the field. Their regenerative properties could heal beyond what her other biotics were capable of, and hopefully save her from resorting to the expensive and risky process of "resurrection".

       The problem was that for the nanites to do their work she needed to be in skin contact with her patient, and not just a little skin. She doubted even a bare-naked embrace would be enough. Dr. Ziegler had searched for a solution to this problem across every medical discipline she knew, but none were satisfactory. Transforming her own body to increase skin contact carried too many other risks, and making the necessary modifications to the nanites themselves had proved to be a fruitless endeavor.

       The only work-around that had any chance of success involved a separate biotic procedure -- one that re-constructed a patient at miniature scale, small enough that the necessary skin contact could be provided by only her hands. Or numerous other body parts, if the situation called for it, Angela thought wryly.

       She'd originally pioneered the shrinking process to make it easier for the wounded to be evacuated and cared for in crisis situations, but it was never used because while it was easy to miniaturize a person, growing them back proved to be impossible. That was why it couldn't be the solution to her current problem, and why she was still in her pajamas on a Saturday afternoon, having accomplished nothing expect reviewing the same disappointing data-sets and predictions.

       Angela sighed and stood up, stretching out slowly before meandering into the lab's kitchenette to get some coffee. Cradling her warm mug, she leaned against the counter-top and tried very hard to think of something more productive to do than sit in the lab all day and agonize over her research. Brushing a few errant blonde hairs away from her face, she took a pensive sip of coffee, and almost spat it back out when the lab console started bleating in a familiar staccato rhythm. Automatically, she blinked the pattern to show messages on her retinal display. New message from Watchpoint: Gibraltar. Perfect timing, she thought.

       Downing the rest of her coffee, Angela hurried back to the other room and played the message. It was only audio, but she recognized Winston's voice immediately.

       "We have intelligence that Talon is planning an attack against Omnic demonstrators in Paris," the recording explained urgently, "Our interdiction team is en route, but there won't be time to evacuate civilians before the fighting starts. The risk of casualties is high. Any help you could provide would be greatly appreciated."

       Angela recorded her reply, "Send a transport to Zurich. I'll be ready," and mailed it without hesitation. Then she scrambled out of her pajamas, tossing them on a lab chair before heading to the armory to don her Valkyrie suit.

-----

Duncan shifted impatiently in his seat, right out in front of a little hole-in-the-wall cafe in historical Paris. He needed to maintain his composure until the interdiction team arrived, to avoid giving Talon any forewarning of Overwatch's action. But his picturesque surroundings were completely at odds with the dread welling in his chest, and it was starting to test his nerves.

       What was worse, though, was that he couldn't warn the people sitting in the cafe, or the crowd that had gathered by the road to watch the Omnic parade. He just had to watch them go about their lives, and grit his teeth with the knowledge that this whole block would be a war zone within the hour.

       He'd considered telling them, of course. Not the whole crowd -- if everybody started to run Talon would just start the attack early. But the kind waitress who'd served him lunch, or the young family sitting on the curb. He could slip them some information -- tell them about the Talon operatives he'd seen in the windows across the street, about the radio signals he'd received. And help them get clear before anything happened. He wanted to save somebody.

       But Duncan had his orders, and he intended to follow them. He wouldn't be insubordinate, not on his first mission. And he trusted that Overwatch was doing what was best for everyone. They were heroes, they would do things right. That's why he joined up in the first place, wasn't it?

       That thought -- that little bit of hope -- was enough to reassure Duncan. He sighed and settled into his chair, enjoying a moment of peace before the building behind him was ripped apart by and explosion.

-----

The cabin shook as the transport screamed through the air towards Paris. Inside, Angela huddled among a dozen or so other Overwatch agents, mostly troopers and medical personnel from the base in Vienna. She didn't recognize any faces. She rarely did. Only the truly exceptional lasted long in Overwatch. They all recognized her, though. Just not as Angela. To them she was 'Mercy', the Angel of Life.

       When she boarded -- the last stop on the transport's zig-zag path to Paris -- they parted to make room for her. And even now, with her suit's wings tucked closely against her, they kept a reverent distance.

       Back by the exit ramp the yellow prep light came on, snapping Angela out of her reflection. Almost in unison, everyone in the transport stood up and braced against the overhead railing. They were close to the drop zone now, close enough to feel the explosion that lit up the Paris skyline.

       The transport lurched and dropped out of cruise, its four engines vectoring to bring the craft into a hover. The green light came on, and when the ramp dropped she was already in the aisle, sauntering ahead of the other agents. Her suit's heels clinked down the metal ramp until she stepped off into thin air, beginning her angelic descent onto the city streets.

       As Angela glided down she surveyed the carnage. The fighting was concentrated a few blocks up, and it appeared the buildings here had been blown out just to block the road, preventing the parade from escaping along this route. The wounded were numerous -- a cluster of red blips flashing through her retinal display.

       With the buttons on her headpiece, she tuned her radio to the local emergency frequency and began giving orders to nearby first responders. As soon as she spoke a chorus of voices lit up the channel. They were startled and amazed and grateful and it took a great deal of effort for Angela to quell her pride and respond serenely, "Yes, this is Mercy. I'll be watching over you. Now listen to me carefully."

       After those words the voices died down, each awaiting her command. With practiced precision she outlined triage and diagnosis, conveying the stream of information fed into her retina by the suit's sensors. Satisfied all the medics would be put to best use, she dove into the fray herself, heading towards a huge pile of rubble that had slumped onto the sidewalk from a nearby building.

       A few people could be pulled away easily, and stabilized with the healing stream of her staff. She pointed the conscious ones towards safety, and laid the unconscious ones gently on the street. They would come about quickly, and likely walk away with only minor injuries. If they didn't the ambulances would be there for them soon.

       More concerning was the sole vital signal coming from deep in the wreckage. A man was barely clinging to life under there, and Angela worried she might not get to him in time. Forcing aside cracked masonry and splintered wood, she tried to clear a path down into the rubble.

       After a minute of frantic digging, she could just barely make out his body through a small gap in the stone. He was practically entombed, surviving in the small crevice between two fallen concrete blocks. With his legs were crushed and his spine broken, paralysis was shutting down his vital organs. He didn't have much time left.

       Glancing over the scene again, Angela realized that any further movement of the rubble could crush him completely. She also realized that there was just enough space to reach her arm into the gap. If only he were smaller, she thought.

       Hefting her staff, Angela dialed the controls over to the unused shrink setting. It was the only way. If he survived, he would be changed forever. He might thank her. He might hate her. She would accept either outcome, as she had done before.

       She activated the staff, and a neon tendril of nanites arced into the rubble and attached to the man's chest. His body shimmered, gradually reconstructed as he shrunk, until he was no larger than her palm. She gingerly reached in and retrieved him, careful not to harm him further.

       Cradling the broken man in her hands, Angela noted his features. Young, no older than twenty. Short black hair, matted with blood and dirt. A handsome face, marred by bloody gashes. Tattered clothes, revealing glinting Overwatch badges hanging underneath. 'Duncan Avery', they read. Another rookie who'd almost paid the ultimate price for joining Overwatch, she realized with a touch of guilt.

       Now that she'd freed Duncan from the rubble, she could worry about treating him. He was already small, so using her body's own regeneration would work best. But he needed to be close, and she couldn't keep holding him. Angela's hand went to her chest, and met the hard breastplate of her Valkyrie suit. Stowing him in her bosom wasn't an option either. What did that leave? Her mouth? No, she needed to talk, needed to breathe. Unless... yes, that would have to work, although it would definitely complicate matters later.

       Angela bit her lip in apprehension, contemplating exactly what she was about to put poor Duncan through. Reminding herself that it was for his own good, she slowly lifted him up to her face, stretching her mouth open wide to receive him. Lolling out her tongue, she lined it up under his feet, and then tilted her hand to slip him in. He tasted like blood and dirt and sweat and the fall must've startled him awake because he began to squirm so pitifully. She had no desire to prolong his suffering, so she deftly maneuvered him to the back of her mouth before tossing her head back again and taking one mighty gulp.

       Duncan's passage down her throat was uncomfortable; her skin rippled and stretched the whole way. But when he finally plopped into her stomach, Angela felt an odd sense of satisfaction, like a perverse combination of the pleasure of a full meal, and the warm joy of protecting someone you care about. It was intoxicating, but she had no time to dwell on it now. She only took a moment to trace a finger over the white armor that protected her torso, and feel the movements of the tiny person trapped within, before she fully refocused on the crisis at hand.

       Readying her trusty blaster, Angela took flight, off to join the other heroes of Overwatch where the fighting was thickest.

-----

Duncan's memory was fuzzy after the explosion. The instant of the blast was forever etched in his memory, but he wasn't sure what to make of what came after.

       At first he thought he was dead. It was dark and cold, and sounds were muffled and distant. When the light enveloped him, the tiny part of his mind that wasn't delirious told him it was the end.

       But then he was cupped in a massive hand, and brought before the face of a goddess. Slipping in and out of consciousness, he only caught glimpses of her blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, but her beauty was so unearthly he decided it must be divine.

       Then the goddess passed judgement on him, and she judged him poorly. That had to be it, didn't it? Why else would she put him in her mouth? Why else would she swallow him, sending him down to rot in her stinking guts?

       Now he lay trapped in the belly of the goddess; a sort of purgatory, it seemed. It was hot and slimy, but he could breathe, and the soft stomach lining provided ample support for his broken body. Earlier, he was thrown around a quite bit when his hostess moved, but now that things had settled down he might almost say it was comfortable. The organ didn't seem to be trying to digest him yet, but he was certain the time would come eventually. Judging by the glob of chewed food that had just landed on his legs, it might be sooner rather than later.

-----

It took some cajoling, but Winston managed to convince all the old Overwatch members who'd fought in Paris that day to meet up after the battle. They sat outside a small sandwich shop in one of the untouched districts of the city, listening to Tracer excitedly recount her exploits.

       "So I 'op over into another courtyard, and looks like nobody's there, right? But then outta thin air comes an 'alf-dozen o' those Talon lads with the stealth suits -- the ones that make 'em invisible. They were waitin' for me, all sneaky-breeky like, ya see? But 'fore they can get a bead I back up. I give myself some time -- only need five seconds," she held up a hand, waggling her fingers for emphasis, before continuing, "An' the next time I come over that wall I've got guns blazing, aimin' right where I know they're gonna be. Never saw the bodies, but if any of 'em survived they were too pansy to try shooting back!"

       Next to her, Winston beamed, like a kid meeting his favorite superhero team in the flesh. And that's exactly what they were to him, Angela realized. She didn't hold that childish motivation against him, though. Despite his naiveness, his heart was in the right place.

       The gorilla shrugged, and said, "As the one who designed your Chronal Accelerator, don't you think I should get some credit for that one, Tracer?"

       The petite woman fingered the device implanted in her chest thoughtfully, "It's a nifty gadget, luv, but it wouldn't be nothin' if I 'adn't learned 'ow to use it like I do."

       "I suppose you're right," Winston conceded half-heartedly.

       Across the table Reinhardt Wilhelm -- a human mountain even outside of his armor -- spoke up, "Your story is very impressive, young Lena, but you have not yet heard of my triumph over the golem."

       Angela placed her hand on the knight's hulking bicep to interrupt him, "Now Reinhardt, are you sure it was a 'golem', and not one of Talon's combat walkers?"

       It was now that McCree -- who up to this point had only nursed his drink quietly and pretended he didn't want to be there -- chose to interject. "It's his tale, Angela. Let him decide how tall he wants to tell it," he said quietly but emphatically.

       Angela sighed and pulled her hand back, letting the issue drop. She knew that McCree thought it disrespectful to bring up Reinhardt's... peculiar delusions, and while they were all together she would respect the cowboy's wishes. But she also knew that she could cure Reinhardt if only he would let her try. She couldn't bear to see her old friend babble about demons and dragons.

       Reinhardt's delusions concerned Angela for another reason, though. The thought had crossed her mind that he preferred his version of the world, that he was too old and tired to face a grey and black reality. And she wondered if one day she would be forced to join him to avoid becoming jaded, like Jack, or worse -- murderously insane, like Gabriel.

       Angela's thoughts were interrupted when the knot of pressure that had been building in her chest escaped and became a dainty belch. Luckily the others were too engrossed in Reinhardt's lurid storytelling to notice, but she covered her mouth in surprise nonetheless. The errant eructation made her realize she'd been eating like a madwoman ever since they sat down, and she was now quite stuffed.

       Although her carefully tuned metabolism would make sure any weight she gained went to all the right places, Angela didn't make a habit of gorging herself. Was her current bout of hunger brought on by the battle? Or stress? Or some side-effect of eating Duncan. Duncan, who was now buried under a mountain of food, she realized with a spike of panic.

       Activating her retinal display with a few patterned blinks, Angela peered down at her tummy. The vital signs of her precious passenger showed him to be alive. While her stomach was doing its best to break him down, her nanites would preserve his consciousness, and allow her to resurrect him later, all according to plan. She relaxed and turned her attention back to her friends just in time for Reinhardt to finish his story.

       "And so, with a mighty swing," he brought his arm down on the table with a crash, "I drove my hammer into the heart of the golem. The monstrous machine gave its dying cough, spewing black smoke and oil into the air, before collapsing back, silent and dead," he paused the barest moment for dramatic effect, "Valor and honor had won the day yet again!"

       A silence hung in the air after Reinhardt finished, but it was quickly filled with applause, both from the heroes at the table and the crowd of bystanders gathered around on the street. The old knight laughed heartily, "Thank you, thank you my friends."

       Angela's thoughts returned to Duncan, and she decided that now was probably a good time to leave. She turned to Reinhardt and said, "Thank you for the lovely story, Reinhardt," before she stood up and addressed the group, "It's been a joy to work with you all again, but I'm afraid I have matters to attend to back in Zurich. Goodbye for now."

       "Any time, luv," Tracer chirped.

       "Thank you for all your help today, Angela," Winston said evenly.

       "Until next time, Earth Angel," McCree smirked, tipping his hat.

       Without standing up, Reinhardt enveloped Angela in a crushing hug, "It was so good to fight alongside you again, old friend." When he finally released her, she gave one final wave to the group, before turning to leave.

-----

Duncan was pleasantly surprised when he realized he no longer needed air to breathe. He didn't really know if the air in the stomach was breathable in the first place, but now even that was gone, filled with a slurry of recently-consumed food. He didn't spend much time wondering at exactly how this process of breathing-with-no-air worked -- it didn't seem so strange when compared to the fact he was in the belly of a giant woman.

       Enveloped in the warm soup of food, Duncan lost track of time, space, sound -- everything. It was like a return to the womb, a primordial state before such complications as boredom. Some considerable time must've elapsed since the goddess ate, though, because his body was changing. When she moved, or when her stomach contracted, all its contents shifted the slightest bit. While before it was almost imperceptible, now it shifted him, too. He was part of the soup, slowly liquefying as the stomach digested him.

       Imagining this process from the detached perspective of a man who'd accepted his own death, he realized that it should be incredibly painful. But he felt only the warm, somewhat claustrophobic caress of the stomach walls. Perhaps this goddess was a merciful one? Or had he earned something better in this twisted afterlife than endless pain?

       One large, groaning stomach contraction threatened to rip Duncan apart. But instead he was pushed deeper, molded to pass through the sphincter into the goddess's intestines. Villi pulled on his liquid form, like infinite groping fingers, and his consciousness wavered. Was this the end? Was he fading away? No, he was moving. But where? He could scarcely imagine.

-----

Back at home, Angela slowly peeled off her form-fitting Valkyrie suit. She'd already removed the armored sections and stowed them in the armory, but the latex-like undersuit took a bit more finesse to remove. Each tug revealed more and more of her creamy skin, and soon she was finished, standing completely naked in her bedroom. She folded the suit and turned to examine herself in the mirror.

       Every inch of her was slick with a thin layer of sweat. Anyone else would be smelling quite ripe after hours of exertion in the suit, but she'd modified her sweat to carry a pleasant scent -- usually a soft lavender, although she could change it if she desired.

       Angela removed the clips holding up her signature ponytail and let her hair down. She ran her fingers through it, massaging her scalp along the way. Turning to one side, she glanced back to the mirror, and immediately noticed something peculiar. Her normally buxom silhouette now carried a motherly swell. It seemed she had a food baby. Not surprising, considering that she did feel quite bloated, but also not something she was used to. She caressed her bulging tummy experimentally, and thought about tiny Duncan, trapped somewhere within her.

       Although she'd originally eaten the man out of necessity, she found herself enjoying the process more and more. Her quest for youth and beauty betrayed a certain amount of vanity, and the idea that her flawless, meticulously crafted body was now someone else's entire world was undeniably exciting -- erotic, even. The thought of how it might feel to make him a part of her immaculate curves, if only for a short time, came with another pang of arousal. He was very close, now, judging by the fuzzy murmurs at the edge of her senses. When he finally became one with her, she didn't want to be standing in her bedroom.

       Glancing down at her tummy, Angela tapped a finger on it thoughtfully, whispering, "You're in for an interesting night, little one," before setting off to run herself a warm bath.

-----

As he filtered through the giant woman's intestines Duncan found his awareness torn between two places -- the amorphous, liquid heat of her bowels, and another place of curious warmth. This new place had warmth and wetness, but his point of sensation -- his body there -- was solid, and the water lapped at it like waves against a rock.

       There were other sensations, too, growing sharper as the villi claimed more of his body. Soft friction crystallized into the gentle caress of a hand. A wall of noise focused into the soft dancing of a string quartet. The pleasant smell of lavender grew to permeate everything else.

       Duncan had a vision of the woman who'd swallowed him bathing. It was so clear, he doubted his own mind could have produced it. Was he turning into her? No, that didn't make sense. She was absorbing him, both body and mind.

       If this woman's body was to be his final resting place, Duncan thought, then he could accept that. All this time he'd been at her mercy and she'd caused him no pain. He was genuinely grateful that his last moments were not spent in agony. Even more than that, though, was her beauty, which he could only describe as divine. He decided that he would be happy to become a part of her.

       Duncan drifted in peace for a few moments before a large bubble of gas sped through the intestines, scattering the liquid remnants of his body, and throwing his mind into an alien form that was not his to control.

-----

Sinking lower into the warm bathwater, Angela closed her eyes and focused on the thoughts at the edge of her awareness. They steadily became clearer as she absorbed more and more of Duncan. At first she could only make out vague emotions -- calm, acceptance, resignation. But eventually his thoughts came into full focus, and she was taken aback by how aroused they made her.

       She was turning poor Duncan into breast fat, and he was glad. It was selfish and vain and wrong, but Angela couldn't deny that his all-encompassing submission made her instantly wet. And what was more, she'd devoured him alive, and he was grateful that she hadn't made it painful, as if basic human decency was some amazing gift when given from someone as lofty as her to someone as lowly as him.

       Slipping one hand beneath the water, Angela began to pleasure herself. As she writhed in stimulation, muscles tensing and loosening, a bit of gas escaped out of her rear, becoming a fart. Guilty bubbles on the surface of the water soon followed. She froze instantly and blushed, still managing to be embarrassed about this in the sanctity of her own home even though she had no reason to be embarrassed about it at all -- her flatulence was perfumed similarly to her sweat.

       Recovering from her embarrassing slip-up, Angela found that Duncan was now completely absorbed, his whole consciousness contained within her flesh. With a snicker she realized that her little toot had been the herald of his demise, and he was now nothing more than extra padding for her curves and some uncomfortable gas. It was a cruel thought, but that only served to excite her more. It was liberating to be naughty once in a while.

       Angela resumed playing with herself, but more gently than before. Now that she had company, she wanted to take things slow. Greeting her captive audience, she said, "How nice of you to join me, Duncan."

       Inside her mind, he replied with a flurry of questions, "Who are you? Where am I? Am I dead? Why did you ea--"

       "Shh, shh, relax," she cut him off, "My name is Angela Ziegler, although you probably know me as Mercy. You are inside my body. You are not dead, although your old body has been digested. I ate you because it was the only way to save your life. Later tonight I'll return you to a body, and you'll be good as new. Any questions?"

       Duncan's mind reeled. He recognized her now, but he was still confused, so confused. "But... h-how?" he stuttered.

       "I'm not going to bore you with the details, dear," she replied dismissively. "Now, how does this feel?" she asked, running a finger gently up the swell of her breast and onto her nipple. She'd been on edge ever since she pulled off her suit, and the titillating motion sent tendrils of pleasure along her sensitive skin.

       Duncan felt her touch, too. Most of what remained of him now rested on her bust, so the sensation was heightened, and his pleasure flooded into her mind like screeching feedback. The effect was immediate and overpowering. She gasped, maintaining composure just enough plunge her fingers deeper into her womanhood and grope her chest wildly. Her climax came swiftly, and with a gasp Angela collapsed limply in the water, Duncan's ragged moan echoing in her head. So much for taking it slow, she thought.

       As Angela caught her breath, Duncan spoke up, answering her earlier question, "That... that felt incredible."

       "Good," she chuckled, "Are you ready for more?"

       "I... I..." he hesitated. Confused by his response, Angela probed Duncan's unvoiced thoughts and discovered that despite his arousal, he was still terrified of the situation. Sympathy rushed through her, and she decided she should focus on comforting him before they continued their fun. She might have a dominant streak a mile wide, but she was no rapist.

       "Oh, you poor thing," she cooed, crossing her arms protectively across her chest, "You're scared, aren't you?"

       "How can you--?" Duncan caught himself, realizing how foolish that question was now. He sighed, mumbling, "Yes, I'm sacred. This is so strange and disorienting, and I wonder..."

       "I know that you don't know me personally, but I'm certain that you know of me. Would I have the reputation I do if I let my patients come to harm? Nothing is safer than being under my care."

       "You're right, but still..." he resisted, but she could feel him relaxing.

       "What's more, just minutes earlier, you had resigned yourself to death, to be digested in the bowels of a judgemental goddess." At the mention of his earlier delusion, Duncan's thoughts flooded with hot static, and Angela intuited that he must be blushing. She found his reaction impossibly cute, but pressed on without teasing him further, "I am no goddess, although I find the comparison flattering. I am a friend, and... a lover, perhaps. Now that you're with me, can you imagine an outcome as bad as what you expected before?"

       "No, no, I can't. As strange as this is, I'm better off now than I was before, and there's no reason I shouldn't trust you."

       She smiled, happy to see that her logic had gotten through to him.

       He continued, "But I feel exhausted... somehow... and I'd really like to continue this another time."

       "Of course, dear," she replied. Although she was disappointed, there was no question in her mind that his needs came first.

       "Thanks... Angela," Duncan responded hesitantly. He was still a little surprised she was being so accommodating, but his growing trust in her was all the thanks she needed.

       "Don't think this means I won't tease you, though," she reminded him with mock severity.

       "Don't worry, I don't."

       Submerging one last time to rinse herself off, Angela rose from the bathtub and began drying off.

       Minutes later she was back in her bedroom, swathed in three towels. One bound her hair up in a hive, the other covered her chest, the last, her waist. Moving to the closet to grab a pair of clothes, she recalled her earlier self-examination and turned instead to the mirror to see what damage Duncan had done to her figure.

       Gracefully stripping away the two lower towels, Angela twirled sensuously in front of the mirror. She always enjoyed looking at herself, largely due to simple vanity, but also because she took an artist's pride in her body. It was truly the culmination of her research, rivaled only by the biotic resurrection, and it pleased her deeply to share it with Duncan like this.

       After a moment, Angela decided that, yes, her shapely thighs might be a bit thicker, her womanly hips a bit wider, her juicy rump a bit rounder, and her plush breasts a bit softer, but she'd need measurements to know for sure. Reaching for a capacitive panel at the edge of the mirror, she tapped a few buttons to bring up the holographic overlay.

       Realizing what was about to happen, Duncan spoke up plaintively, "This is extremely humiliating, but I'm too horny and tired to care."

       "Oh, hush," Angela giggled, "We both know you look great on me."

       Duncan sighed, receding to the back of her mind in an embarrassed fuzz.

       It took a second for the mirror to scan her, before the holographic display could give her measurements. She made sure to read them, so Duncan could hear.

       "Ooo, a whole cup size, and a half-inch around the hips," she smarmed, "You sure know how to treat a lady, Duncan."

       Stoically, Duncan remained silent.

       Angela's laughter slowly trailed off. With a happy sigh, she returned to more serious matters.

       "Now that I've had my fun, I'm sure you're interested in returning to a body."

       "I think I'd like that, yes."

       "Just let me put on some clothes first. It's always so cold in the lab."

       In the closet she slipped into a comfortable sweater-and-slacks combo. She was about to head to the lab, but instead took a detour back to the bathroom. After such a long day, her contacts were starting to make her eyes itch. Shedding the thick lenses -- each one packed with filament-thin displays -- she donned a nondescript pair of reading glasses, which delivered the same functionality in a more comfortable package. Neither eyeware aided her vision conventionally, of course. It was already better than 20/20.

       Finally entering the lab, Angela was greeted with the sight of her pajamas thrown haphazardly across a chairback, exactly where she left them this morning. She sighed and folded them up, dropping them onto an unused seat as she booted up the computers. The equipment in this room had capabilities far beyond the staff that she carried into battle, and resurrecting Duncan would be simple.

       Taking a seat in the central chair, Angela tapped a few final commands into the console. Golden rays aligned above her outstretched palm, beginning to reconstruct Duncan at his new three-inch size. As the lights whirled, she mouthed familiar words: "Heroes never die." They were foolish -- the very idea of a "catchphrase" was foolish -- but she'd never give them up because they reminded her of Jack. The old Jack, who was so full of hope that it rubbed off on everyone else. The old Jack, who loved them and led them and kept them sane.

       The resurrection finished, and Duncan collapsed into her palm, good as new. He took a few breaths and stood up. Angela looked down at him expectantly, wearing a reassuring smile. Now was the moment of truth. Would he thank her or rebuke her?

-----

Regaining a body was just as disorienting as losing one, Duncan discovered, as he woke up in Angela's palm. He got to his feet cautiously, unfamiliar with the living surface beneath him. His eyes adjusted to the light, and he was greeted by the sight of her beatific face, smiling down at him. At the distance she held him, he could feel her warm minty breath waft past him, riffling every hair on his still-naked body. It was a sensory overload, and Duncan would have sat right back down again if he didn't have a very important question burning in his mind.

       Looking up at Angela, he pursed his lips, unsure of how to address someone the size of a building. Finally he just blurted it out. "I'm still small," he said, in a soft, empty voice.

       Her expressive features immediately fell, twisting into a frown, but they recovered just as quickly, molding into a look of pity, "You are," she said, "But at least you're alive, right?"

       The true situation was becoming clear to Duncan now. "You can't really fix me, can you?" he asked.

       Looking away, titanic woman sighed ruefully, "I can't restore your size, no. But I healed you from injuries that should have killed you. Be grateful for that."

       The dread weighing down Duncan's chest ignited into anger. "Grateful? What am I supposed to do now? I'm... I'm...," he gestured to himself in frustration, "I'm worthless."

       "Can't your family care for you?" she asked defensively, tears forming in her eyes, "Think of how glad they'll be to see you again. They won't care if you're small, you're still you."

       "I don't have a family. Not one I'd ever let see me like this, at least," Duncan seethed, "Overwatch was supposed to be my family, but how can belong there if I can't work? If I can't fight?"

       "If you can't go back to your family, and you can't go back to Overwatch, then I will care for you, Duncan," she replied emphatically, "Please believe me when I say that."

       Duncan's rage faltered, but he wasn't done yet. The logical part of his brain was telling him that he needed Angela, that he couldn't risk angering her, but his emotions needed an outlet, and right now that was her. "So I'm just supposed to become your toy, then? What's to stop you from eating me over and over again, since you seem to enjoy it so much?"

       In front of him, Angela gasped with shock, her mouth opening into a perfect little "O". "No, no, I would never..." she whispered, shaking her head sadly as tears streamed down her face.

       "You know what?" he pointed at her accusingly, although his voice had begun to crack, "Just get it over with and kill me. Crush me in your hand, stomp on me, eat me again. I don't care, just don't bring me back."

       "Duncan, please!"

       "Kill. Me." He choked the words out before collapsing onto her hand, sobbing.

       Now that his anger had deserted him, Duncan felt tired, and cold, and helpless. He waited in a pathetic little ball for Angela to carry out his request. Or, he thought, maybe she would murder him just for his insolence. Nothing was stopping her. She could probably bring him back and do it all over again, if she pleased.

       Instead, a gentle touch caressed his back, and a powerful whisper met his ears.

       "Shh, shh, cry it all out," Angela soothed, "Everything's going to be okay."

       At first he tensed with indignation. She was petting him and cooing to him like some kind of scared animal. Like a pet. But then he forced himself to relax. She was just trying to comfort him as best she could with the size difference, he reminded himself. Because she really did care about him. It sounded absurd, but it was the simplest explanation for everything that had happened.

       No longer fighting back, he realized just how welcome her comforting touch was. As she rubbed his back, his worry and pain and fear melted away, and he arrived at a shaky peace.

       "I'm sorry," Duncan said flatly, barely audible through the palm of Angela's hand.

       "Don't be," she replied, "It's my fault for teasing you so much. I should have been more careful with your emotions."

       They were silent for a moment. She continued to massage his back, drawing him into a sort of protective embrace with her hands. Finally, Duncan spoke up again.

       "Angela?"

       "Yes, dear?"

       "Where... where can I sleep?"

       "Mmm," she pursed her lips, "I hadn't quite thought about it, really. Although, I do know one place. It's soft and warm... and very close to my heart."

       "That sounds nice," he paused to take a shuddering breath, "C-can you put me there now?"

       "Of course," she smiled, "Just hold still."

       Duncan opened his eyes to see her pull down the neck of her sweater, but when she started moving her hand, he got dizzy and closed them again. The air got warmer as he passed underneath her shirt, and the scent of lavender became overpowering. Her fingers loosened around him, and he fell into the embrace of warm, smooth flesh, sliding downwards until it completely engulfed him, holding him firmly but gently.

       Duncan squirmed a bit to get comfortable, and rested his head against Angela's chest. The rhythmic beating of her heart sent waves of calm over him, and before he knew it he was asleep.

-----

Angela breathed a sigh of relief as Duncan settled into her cleavage. That was a close call, she thought. Luckily Duncan was still a young man, and his emotions were fleeting; his anger had burned out before he had the chance to do anything drastic. Otherwise that conversation could have been much worse. Visions of potential suicide attempts flashed through her mind. Much worse, indeed, she thought.

       Standing up from the chair, Angela left the lab and returned to her bedroom. Even though it was only early in the evening, she was worn out from the battle, and decided to get some rest herself. Gingerly stripping out of her clothes -- so as not to disturb Duncan -- she crawled into bed and lay down on her back.

       Deep between her breasts, Duncan stirred, shifting in his sleep. His faint tickles sent shivers of pleasure up her spine, and a contented smile crept onto her face. His presence was calming, like a warm confirmation that everything was exactly where it was supposed to be. She wrapped her arms around her bosom (and by extension, Duncan) lovingly as she laid back and closed her eyes. Tomorrow would bring new challenges in caring for her tiny patient, but tonight she would sleep soundly, with the knowledge of a job well done.