Work Text:
November 8
Angela wakes to a day monotonous and dull. Dawn breaks the night sky and transforms it into a combination of orange and pink. Despite its intriguing beauty, Angela pays it no mind. It is only temporary, anyways.
Everything is.
She glances around the room; a broken home. What was once filled with joy and liveliness and what was once blooming with love was now merely painted with emptiness.
She forces herself out of bed, forces herself to clothe, and forces herself to head to the kitchen to fix herself something to consume. That has been her routine for the past year and a half, because it kickstarted her productivity and god knows what would happen to her if she laid in bed all day.
The Gibraltar base does not bustle with activity given the day's early hours, and that's exactly how Angela likes it. She passes through the dormitories and past the common room and makes her way to the kitchen.
Her steps no longer serve purpose. Each step she takes is meaningless, like she didn't care about their consequences. Her eyes are dull. Empty, but looking ahead like a machine. She doesn't feel anything- she doesn't allow herself to. Any emotions she once had was dissolved in her body, unable to be reversed.
She enters the brightly lit room to find Lena and Hana laughing at a table. She would have once joined them; asked about the joke and smiled along. Because that was the person she was. But now she doesn't. Now she ignores them and heads for the coffee machine.
Angela cannot remember the last time she laughed. She cannot remember the feeling of it, nor does she recall the sound of her own laughter. She cannot bring herself to laugh, because she is numb to it.
When she thinks of laughter, she thinks of great joy, and when she thinks of great joy, she thinks of Fareeha. Distraught by nostalgia, she tightens her eyes as she tries to divert the thoughts away from her mind. She tries not to remember.
Memory hurt.
Angela hears two pairs of footsteps; one coming towards her and one moving in her opposite direction. She doesn't turn around. She knows exactly what to expect.
“It's two years ago today, right?” she hears Lena ask from behind. She sighs when Angela doesn't reply.
“We're all mourning, Angela. You're not alone.”
Angela turns to face her, the light once shining in her eyes long burnt out. “I know.”
Lena’s eyes fill with sympathy. “But we're slowly coming to terms with what happened. And maybe, you should too. The ambush was unexpected, anyways. There was nothing she could have done.”
Angela grits her teeth, having been exposed to this conversation countless times before.
“I think- maybe, you should try. Try to… you know. Find your purpose. Move past this. What's done is done. You can't undo the past, love. You should try to carry on. It's what's best for you, and Fareeha would want whatever's best for you,” Lena says slowly, carefully choosing her words.
Angela feels anger bubbling in her throat. “Fareeha is dead. She doesn't want anything.”
Lena looks taken aback by Angela’s outburst, her shock indicating that she was clearly not expecting that at all.
“I-” Lena begins.
Angela cuts her off. “I know you're just trying to help me. But have you considered that I don't want to be helped? Everybody wants to help. But to whose benefit? They just want the ‘old Angela’ back. The optimistic Angela that smiled and laughed and loved and who devoted her life to her work. But that Angela was made whole by Fareeha. I was who I was because of her. And now that she's gone, I am too.”
Tears threaten to fall out of her eyes. All the emotions she had bottled up inside of her were now laid out on the table. She can't stand to see the younger woman's face now, or anyone's really, so she storms back to her room before Lena has a chance to protest.
Her vision becomes blurry. Anger and despair cloud it.
Why did it have to be her? Why did it have to be Fareeha? She had so much to live for. All of that was taken from her by a single bullet piercing her armor and body.
Fareeha was supposed to return that night after two weeks away, too. After successfully infiltrating a hostage situation and saving all the imprisoned civilians, she was caught in the crossfire of an ambush on her way out.
Angela slams the door to her dorm closed once she reaches it and falls to the floor. She is infuriated. At what, she is clueless.
She is mad at the murderer for killing Fareeha.
She is mad at the Overwatch members for thinking that this is something she can get over within weeks. No one knew her like she did. Although it has been two years, it still hurt like the first time Angela has learnt of her wife's passing.
She is mad at Fareeha, for volunteering to go on that mission to Cairo and for getting herself killed there. Angela couldn't even get a chance to say goodbye.
But most of all, Angela is mad at herself. She is angry that she couldn't be there to save Fareeha. She is angry that she couldn't say goodbye and she is angry at the missed opportunities she didn't get to say all the things she wanted to say to Fareeha while she was still alive. She is angry at herself for getting too attached, and for falling in love.
Love hurt. Just like her heart.
Love is like a gladiolus flower, Angela figures. It begins as small as a seed. Then it sprouts out into a bud, and it blooms into a flower, presenting its hidden beauty. All it brings is pure happiness.
But gladioli inevitably wither away. Flowers aren't immortal. No matter how hard one tries to make it happen, belief is not enough.
Gladioli were Fareeha’s favourite type of flowers. Angela remembers running from florist to florist trying to retrieve the perfect one for their anniversary. In the end, looking at Fareeha’s smiling face that Angela had caused had been worth it.
Now, she would give anything to see that smiling face again.
Angela tries to forget. Memory is painful.
But gladioli symbolise remembrance. It pierces the heart. No matter what lengths Angela goes through to try and forget, once you touch a gladiolus petal, you get stained by its colours.
Angela holds herself in her arms. Fareeha isn't coming back. Her time has passed. All Angela has now are her memories. Her short, agonising memories.
No matter how hard Angela tries, she will forever be stained by those memories, because nothing else would be enough to cleanse them.
Because she knows that love would never be enough.