Chapter Text
Meetings are, unfortunately, one of the necessary evils of being a part of Recalled Overwatch. There was a decision, when they first formed, that although the different Strike Teams might have leaders, because having a chain of command is helpful in the field, it would nonetheless be best for most decisions to be made democratically, so that no one person leads them into territory which the many find uncomfortable. In the first Overwatch, that was a problem, the gradual drift from their mission statement, and so here, they do their best to avoid it—by meeting, and meeting often. It protects against malcontent, against infighting, against corruption, against the perception that other people are doing too little, or one person is doing too much, and it ensures that they are all on the same page.
Intellectually, therefore, Fareeha understands the importance of this, understands that they are having these discussions in order to ensure that they never stray too far from the principles upon which they were founded—or refounded, as the case may be—and she thinks it to be a good thing, that they are so dedicated to the idea, that they do so much to ensure that they are doing things the right way, are not going to be in any way betraying their morals, their ideals, their goals. She understands that, theoretically, meetings are necessary, in order for them to do their jobs well, and therefore to help more people.
But practically?
Fareeha is, admittedly, quite bored. It has been a quiet week, which is good for the world, good for all the people whose lives were not imperiled, good for them, also, in that most members of Overwatch have been able to make headway on their various personal projects, and while that is all a relief, is something Fareeha wishes might happen more often, it is also, well, boring. Normally, theirs is a life of high stakes, of excitement, and this week, nothing much happened. Angela was not even in town for Fareeha to while away the downtime with, was off on a long-scheduled relief mission in Iași—an apparently uneventful one at that—and Fareeha found herself with very, very little to do.
(Some days, she wishes for a week like this. Some days, too many things go wrong all at once and they must pick and choose whom to help, and it breaks Fareeha’s heart, and a piece of her spirit, to know that she could not do more. Some days, everything is overwhelming and it is all Fareeha can do to carve out a space for herself for a minute or two to breathe deeply and tell herself that she is doing all she can, is trying her hardest, is going to survive this, somehow.)
So this is a welcome change of pace, in theory, and in practice it makes for a very boring Friday, wherein no one has much of anything to report. At least the meeting is relatively quick, with most people willing to admit that they have nothing to say, and, Fareeha thinks, they might even finish early enough that she and Angela will have time, together, to catch up after a week of separation, before they have anything else they need to attend to after their lunch break is over.
But, apparently, they will not be going back to their quarters, as when the meeting ends, Angela asks, “Can you stay for a minute?”
Her tone is professional, and so Fareeha tries her best not to sound disappointed when she agrees, lowers herself back into her chair from her position, half-standing. It has been a long, boring week, and she wants to be able to spend time with Angela, her wife, and not Doctor Ziegler, her coworker, not have another meeting—no matter what it may be about.
Yet stay she does, and when the last of the others files out, Fareeha looks up at where Angela has come to stand beside her, asks, “What was it you needed?”
(Even if all she wants is to be with her wife, now, she will be dutiful, will focus on what is most important—their work.)
“Nothing,” says Angela, professional mask falling away before she leans down to kiss Fareeha, “I’ve just been thinking about doing this all meeting.”
Another kiss, then, deeper, and Fareeha is surprised—normally, Angela is not prone to public displays of affection, particularly in their workspace. It is true that no one is here to see them, but still, it is uncharacteristic in the very best way.
“All meeting, hmm?” asks she, when they break the kiss long enough for her to do so.
“Most of it,” Angela admits, “Although I might also have thought about this,” she moves, then, closer to Fareeha, puts one knee up on the chair, between Fareeha’s thighs such that she could rock against it if she wanted to, “And this.” Now, when they kiss again, she shifts her weight forwards, is practically on top of Fareeha in the chair.
“Did you now?” Fareeha has a particular fantasy about this meeting room, and in it, she is not the one pinned down, but she is not going to complain about this reversal of roles, is eager to see where it leads them.
“Mmm-hmm,” Angela does not elaborate, or at least does not do so with her words, but Fareeha is more than content, for the moment, to allow her simply to demonstrate.
Although this was not the only thing Fareeha missed, while Angela was away, it was a big part of it—not the sexual part of being kissed, so much as being held, being touched. For a few minutes, Fareeha lets herself get swept away in it, the kissing, the thought that Angela spent all meeting thinking about her, and how nice it feels to be so wanted, to be in the arms of her wife, before, finally, she breaks things off, points out that, “We should probably continue this elsewhere.”
(As much as Fareeha likes the idea of semi-public sex, the reality of being caught by any of their coworkers would be far less pleasant—and she knows, too, that her wife is even less adventurous in this regard than she is, normally. If they continue on the way they are, they are going to have to find somewhere else to do this.)
“We should,” Angela agrees, but she does not move to do so immediately, kisses Fareeha again, before she adds, “But I don’t want to.”
“No?” From her tone, the edge of longing there Fareeha understands that they will be doing so, soon, but still, she asks for clarification.
Another kiss, but gentler, tinged with a different sort of longing. “It’s nice, pretending that the rest of the world doesn’t exist for a minute.” With one hand, she cups Fareeha’s cheek, runs her thumb over her tattoo, “If we leave, we’re back with them. I don’t want that just yet.”
“Was it a hard few weeks, then?” Nothing Angela reported sounded particularly so, but a mission gone well from an operational standpoint does not mean that patients were not lost, does not mean it could not have been difficult for other, more personal reasons.
“Not particularly,” Angela reassures her. A pause, then, “I missed you, that’s all. It’s the longest we’ve been apart since before we were married.”
“Was it really?” Two and a half weeks is a longer mission, admittedly, but there have been longer ones in the past, have been periods, too, when both of them were away on separate missions and just missed each other between them.
(Normally, Fareeha would be the one to remember these things, is so often the one in their relationship who keeps track of all the little milestones, but she thought of them as married, or as good as, before they were ever engaged, so as nice as it is to call Angela her wife, sometimes she forgets that they were not married, yet, before eight months ago.)
“Seventeen and a half days,” Angela confirms.
In the broader scheme of things, it is not so long, but Fareeha understands how it could feel that way, has missed Angela too, over the past few weeks, did not even enjoy her quiet week off, not having her wife to spend it with.
“Kiss me again, then,” says she. There have been days enough when any time spent apart from her wife seems too long, so if Angela wants to draw this moment out, wants to stay here, just the two of them, and ignore the outside world—that is fine, just this once.
Often, too often, they push aside the personal in favor of the professional, give up their time, their energy, their heart for it. If, today, they choose to do otherwise, the world will not end.
So Angela kisses her. Angela kisses her, and kisses her, and kisses her, and for a little while, nothing else matters.