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Pharah is usually stoic in the face of injury, shrugging off wounds that have Mercy tutting over her like a concerned mother hen. Battered and bleeding, she'd still return for seconds with an eager grin on her face. A minor illness, however, is enough to bring Fareeha low.
“Fareeha, Schatzi, it's just a cold,” Angela said, completing her examination of the sniffling soldier, “There's nothing I can do. Rest and drink plenty of fluids, you'll be fine.”
“But Angela, I'm dying,” Fareeha complained, blowing her nose loudly and messily.
“You are not dying,” said the doctor firmly, standing up, “Now go back to bed and feel sorry for yourself there. I'll bring you soup later.”
Fareeha gave her a mournful look, but her puppy-dog eyes had no effect on the doctor, who might have been carved from stone. Sniffing, she trailed down the corridor to their quarters and collapsed heavily on the bed. She lay there for a moment before activating her comm.
“Angela?” she said, “I need more tissues.”
She could all but hear the doctor's eyes rolling, but soon there was the sound of clacking heels in the corridor and Angela entered the room, a box of tissues labelled 'Mansize' in one hand and a large glass of water in the other.
“Drink. Rest. Don't bother me,” she said, placing the glass carefully on a coaster before leaving.
Fareeha managed to follow her instructions for nearly an hour, distracting herself with a book, before she disturbed the doctor again.
“Angela, my throat is sore,” she said, her voice barely noticeably hoarse.
She heard a sigh, and then, some time later, the sound of clicking heels returned and Angela came in, this time carrying a steaming mug.
“Drink this, it'll help,” she said, putting it down just within Fareeha's reach, “And please let me work, Liebling.”
The drink did help, a little, but she still felt miserable. It wasn't often that Fareeha got sick, but when she did, she hated every moment of it. Groaning, she retreated under the blankets, in a vain attempt to sleep it off.
A gentle voice disturbed her some hours later and she realised she must have managed to fall asleep at some point.
“Fareeha, Liebling, are you still alive under there?”
“Mm,” she mumbled, not emerging from under the blankets.
“I brought some soup,” Angela said, and Fareeha felt her weight settle on the edge of the bed.
“Mm, thanks,” she said, her voice still hoarse and muffled by the blankets.
“Do you want it now?”
“No, later,” she said, shaking her head despite the fact that Angela wouldn't be able to see it, “Come here.”
She stuck one imperative hand out from under the blankets and Angela laughed, lying down next to her.
“Are you trying to get me sick, too?” Angela teased.
“Yes,” said Fareeha, then paused before continuing, “I love you.”
“I love you too,” said Angela, lifting the blankets to press a kiss to her sweaty forehead, “Now eat your soup. Doctor's orders.”