Chapter Text
Inside her office, Mercy leaned back in her seat with a sigh. The office chair groaned pitifully as it tilted backwards, metal straining and plastic creaking. Hand rubbing the top of her big belly, she tried to refocus her mind. Her eyes remained on the notes and computer screens in front of her, ruining the attempt to get some mental distance from her work.
Closing her eyes, the doctor rubbed her temple and groaned. In the end, she just had to give up trying to take her mind off things. She lurched forward again and grabbed the computer pad in front of her. Having acquired it she shifted her bulk in her seat, flabby lovehandle surging over the armrest as she did so. Angela grumbled at the discomfort, but purposefully refused to consider the source of said discomfort. Instead she flicked through the notes on the pad, brow furrowing as she did so.
It were these records that brought her such consternation, keeping her holed up in her office racking her brains over it. Glancing down at the notes, she noted crumbs scattered across her bosom. She couldn't remember eating after sitting down to work, but it was all kind of a blur at this point.
"Even Fareeha," Mercy sighed, looking through the reports. Was it any wonder that she was stress-eating a little, being in charge of all this. To be fair, the slight increase in weight Pharah had shown was probably all muscle, judging by her appearance. Mercy still chose to see it as a defeat. Instinctively she decided she deserved an éclair for putting up with it. It turned out to be the last one.
Munching idly, Mercy slipped a bit lower in her chair to get a bit more comfortable. She kept reading through the notes: It had been impossible to get Mei to exercise in the summer heat. Perhaps once the weather cooled a bit she might be able to get climatologist off her all-ice cream diet, but for now she was yet another headache to compound the others.
There was one slight ray of sunshine in the dark cloud that was occupying more and more of Mercy's thoughts and work hours. McCree had shown some ever-so-slight improvement, although not nearly enough to justify the time and effort she felt she had spent. Still, she half-wondered if her insistence that he should stay with Overwatch for now was simply so she had some success to show to. However minuscule. He hasn't even really quit smoking, a voice reminded her. The thought made her subconscious decide another treat was definitely in order, but there was nothing left but empty boxes and plates.
And finally... there was Tracer. Mercy stared at all the empty data points in her notes. Her mind was immediately reminded of all the appointments she had cancelled because the cheerful Brit would invariably show up with a box of donuts. And not just any donuts, either... She licked her lips hungrily just at the thought, imagining a distinctive yellow-and-purple logo.
Without thinking, Mercy patted her midsection as if to confirm the effects this ritual was having on her waistline. And yet she kept rescheduling, as if hoping for a different outcome next time. Or perhaps the opposite.
You could just tell her to stop, that nagging voice pestered her. She made up some half-hearted excuse that didn't even make sense in her own head, before grabbing onto the armrests.
"I need some fresh air to clear my thoughts," Angela told herself and heaved herself out of the chair. Wedged in there, her prodigious posterior posed quite the impediment, but the weight of her gut being slung forward counteracted it nicely, pulling her free.
Mercy's rear swayed immensely as she waddled down the base's corridors. It rippled and undulated in her tight skirt, moving almost as if it had a will of its own, commanding size and heft that rivalled her full belly. The jiggling motion registered clearly in its owner's mind, but she refrained from acknowledging it on an intellectual level.
Not far from her office, she thought she heard a vaguely electrical "kzzzt", followed by a soft "thunk". She turned ponderously towards the vending machine in the hallway and immediately noticed a candy bar waiting seductively in the bottom slot.
"How careless," Mercy huffed, assuming someone had forgotten the treat there. "Well, I better take it," she reasoned and did just that. Solely to keep it away from her undisciplined charges of course!
Somehow she had ended up munching on the sweet, chocolatey goodness by the time she stepped into the break room. Noticing the empty wrapper in her hand while she was busy operating the coffee machine, Mercy looked around guiltily and quickly disposed of it.
Assuring herself that she had not been seen, the proud doctor pretended very hard that nothing had happened and went back for her coffee. Taking a sip she found it more cream and sugar than coffee, despite feeling certain she had just asked for a latte. Nevertheless, she was drinking it without protest as she sat down heavily at one of the small break room tables.
"Mmmh..." Angela moaned softly from the welcome fat and sugar hit. She had grown used to a pretty generous intake of both over the last couple of months and she did enjoy getting her fix. Still, even this hedonistic pleasure could not banish her thoughts for too long.
Halfway through the cup, she started musing once more on how everyone's weight was still rising despite her best efforts. "If only everyone could be as disciplined as myself," Mercy sighed before downing the rest of the cream coffee in one, big gulp.
"Attention all responsible personnel," Athena's robotic voice sounded over the loudspeakers, distracting Angela from her thoughts. "The mail service has arrived with a package."
Usually the doctor found dealing with such matters beneath her, but her curiosity was piqued. Official Overwatch freight would not have been delivered by regular post – not unless Torbjörn had gotten even more negligent than he already was. Furthermore it was a welcome distraction...
Mercy hauled her increasingly considerable bulk onto her feet. She grumbled at her semi-stuffed belly pushing away the table in front of her. At the same time she – and her butt – very much appreciated that the chairs in the break room did not have armrests...
Breathing heavily, Mercy waddled into the approach that served as a visitor's entrance of sorts. She clutched the side of her belly, now regretting having eaten all those extra éclairs. At least the voice at the back of her head did. In her conscious thoughts she would rather complain about the inconvenience in general terms, while studiously keeping the underlying cause ill-defined.
Tugging at the hem of her fluffy sweater, Mercy approached a hover-omnic in postal service livery. It held a large cardboard box in its arms. Acknowledging the robot gruffly, Mercy stepped over to examine the package more closely.
Before she could do so she was interrupted by a familiar zipping sound. Materializing right in front of her colleague, Tracer reached the package first. "It's for me!" the ex-pilot declared happily and took the box. She was dressed in once-loose sweatpants and the spare tyre bulging out over its straining waistband kept jiggling from the blinking for a surprising amount of time. Even aided by her chronal accelerator the Brit was panting, her washed-out shirt riding up just a little higher with each big breath.
As she turned to head back, Tracer offered a beaming explanation to the perplexed Mercy: "It's a care package from Emily!"
Left to sign for the delivery, Angela thought nothing more of it at first. Then, as the postal omnic floated away, she overheard Lena talking happily to herself: "Oooh! I hope she got me some Maltesers!"
Pivoting her billowing behind, Mercy followed Tracer with a suspicious look. Quirking an eyebrow, she stopped to think. As Tracer disappeared back inside, the doctor nodded to herself. She knew what had to be done.