Work Text:
Moira hadn't necessarily been looking forward to spending the evening at home, nestled into her recliner with a bottle of Irish whiskey and a new book. She generally would have preferred to dedicate her time to doing something more productive, like analyzing data collected from her experiments back at the lab, or washing beakers and test tubes, or organizing all the lab equipment in alphabetical order, or, hell, even cleaning out the accumulation of long forgotten fuzzy, expired food from the fridge in the employee break room. Just about any menial task in the lab would have been a better use of her time than being forced to take a night off to idly stew in her own overthinking in the sterile quiet of her vastly underused and under-furnished apartment.
It wasn't her choice to take the night off. After yet another two week streak of working overtime, it was at the very stern request of her higher up that she was resigned to take some time off, or risk being reprimanded- something Moira would rather avoid due to the inconvenience of being forced to attend yet another lengthy, boring workplace seminar about abusing overtime privileges.
Several chapters in, and half a glass of whiskey later, Moira was finally able to relax enough to quiet the subconscious urge to do literally anything else. Admittedly, this quiet time she had alone to unwind wasn't as unenjoyable as she’d expected.
A sharp knock tore her from the pages of her book. A glance at the clock on the wall revealed that it was almost midnight. Surely the knock was a mistake, or maybe the neighbors in the apartment next door were having another petty spat and throwing things at each other again. Moira settled back into her seat, stretching her legs out in front of her to rest on the coffee table. Whatever had made the sound was of no concern to her. No-one Moira knew would be stupid enough to bother her at his hour.
Another knock sounded, louder this time, and definitely from the direction of her front door. Moira snapped the book shut with a huff. She downed the rest of the whiskey in her glass, and climbed out of the comfort of her chair. Whoever the hell it was had better have a damn good reason for stopping by unannounced at this time of night.
Moira stumbled her way to the front door, working her crinkled spine back into an upright position after sitting for so long. She was already compiling a mental catalog of all the ways she planned to berate and torture Genji or Cassidy if they just so happened to be idiotic and desperate enough to seek her help patching wounds after work hours.
She hastily unlocked the door and flung it open just as the person on the other side began to knock again. The stream of curses burning behind Moira's teeth evaporated the moment she recognized the visitor. She nervously pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, feigning some sort of composure, but her voice giving away her astonishment, “D-Doctor Ziegler?"
“Oh! Good. You’re home." Doctor Ziegler proclaimed, sounding rather proud of herself, “Mind if I come in?”
Angela gave no time to respond before ducking under Moira’s arm and slinking inside. Moira peered outside, searching for some reasonable explanation, or indication that this was a prank. Finding none, she shut the door, and turned to find her guest unstrapping her stilettos and tossing them carelessly behind her on her way to the living room. With a sigh, Moira followed, gingerly collecting the shoes, and arranged them neatly by the door.
Doctor Angela "Mercy" Ziegler was the last person Moira would have expected to show up on her doorstep. Last Moira checked, Doctor Ziegler absolutely despised her, and wouldn't have been caught dead speaking to the likes of her outside of the lab they (unwillingly) shared. They were nothing more than colleagues, forced to utilize the same space due to lack of better funding and resources. Angela had requested for a transfer countless times since Moira joined Overwatch, all to no avail. No matter how much she complained about Moira's questionable views, bizarre work habits, or “unethical” research methods, it just wasn't within the science and research department's budget to expand the lab enough to allow them separate work areas.
Now, here she was, barging into Moira’s house, unexpected and uninvited, and perching on Moira's coffee table as if it were the most sensible seat in the house. Angela picked up the whiskey bottle, and gave it a swirl, watching the amber liquid slosh around inside. She tilted her head and shifted her gaze to Moira, "I hope I'm not interrupting anything," she said.
Though Moira was brimming with questions, the vulnerability of suddenly having her apartment laid bare to the ever observant, critical eye of Doctor Angela Ziegler was a bit overwhelming. Especially considering that the Doctor in question was sheathed in a strapless cocktail dress instead of her usual lab attire, with her golden hair falling in loose waves about her shoulders instead of her typical tight bun, and it was quite frankly threatening to send Moira into shock.
Moira adjusted her glasses and cleared her throat, fighting to quash the exasperation in her voice, “I would greatly appreciate it if you would enlighten me as to why exactly you’re here, Doctor.”
Angela crossed her legs and picked up Moira's empty glass. She considered her answer for a moment as she poured a shot of whiskey, “Can I tell you over a cup of tea? Please?" The please was more of an afterthought, but Moira knew how to choose her battles. Her curiosity at the moment far outweighed her desire to deny Angela’s sense of entitlement.
Angela downed the shot in one swift motion, then poured another and offered it to Moira. Moira accepted the glass, noting the fresh red lipstick stain on the rim. The alcohol's effects from earlier in the evening had all but worn off by now. Moira welcomed the burn as she knocked back the shot to calm her nerves. “That can be arranged.” Moira said.
She handed the glass back to Angela and gestured for her to follow. The younger woman trailed behind, glass and bottle in tow, as Moira led her to the kitchen. Moira took the kettle from the stove and began filling it with water.
A symphony of cabinet doors slamming open and shut filled the kitchen. Angela had abandoned the whiskey for the moment to focus on her newfound task of pilfering through Moira's cabinets. Moira turned to find her perched on the countertop, straining to grab something just out of reach on the top shelf.
"Let me help you with that." Moira rushed to Angela’s side, holding her arms out awkwardly to catch her.
“I’ve got it,” Angela assured, not looking away from her seemingly very important search, "Aha!" Angela ignored Moira’s attempts to assist, and hopped down from the counter, triumphantly clutching her spoils - a jar of tea.
Before Angela could better acquaint herself with even more of Moira's kitchen contents, Moira reached over the smaller woman and opened a cabinet, “Cups are over here."
Angela thanked her curtly, and busied herself with picking out mugs while Moira finished filling the kettle, and set it on the stove to heat up.
As they stood side by side in the confines of Moira’s tiny kitchen, busying themselves with their individual tasks, Moira couldn't help but feel increasingly more exposed. Not only was she caught off guard by suddenly having Doctor Ziegler loose in her home, but she was now made painfully aware of how underdressed she was in her mismatched socks, boxer shorts, and old tank top. Perhaps she wouldn't have felt quite so underdressed if Angela didn't happen to be so extraordinarily overdressed. Leave it to Angela Ziegler to find a way to make Moira feel out of place in the comfort of her own home.
"I can't say that I would have pegged you as the type of person to own something so... cute, Doctor O'Deorain.” Angela mused.
Moira spun around to find the younger woman turning a mug over in her hands, admiring the pattern of pastel bunnies and rainbows decorating the exterior.
"It - It was an exclusive collector's item from one of my favorite anime." She choked out in response. Why she couldn't have uttered a more normal reply, one that maybe didn't paint her as a middle aged weirdo who watches obscure animations and collects cutesy magical girl paraphernalia, she had no idea. Moira readjusted her glasses with a small cough and turned away to busy herself with checking the kettle, “Besides, there’s quite a bit you don’t know about me, Doctor Ziegler.”
“I see,” Angela hummed in amusement, the corners of her eyes creasing with the tiniest bit of smile, “Well I like it.” She reached out to offer the mug to Moira, “But if it's special to you, I don't mind using a different one.”
Moira shook her head and waved a hand dismissively, "No, it's alright. Use whichever cup you'd like.” After all, Angela had made herself quite cozy already. Who was Moira O'Deorain to deny Angela Ziegler the use of whichever cup her heart desired?
Moira dropped a few ice cubes in the whiskey glass Angela had refilled, and they took turns sipping from it while the kettle heated on the stove. After their teas were made, they returned to the living room - Moira juggling their mugs in either hand while Angela led the way with their shared glass and whiskey bottle.
Moira placed their mugs on the coffee table and took a seat on the couch. Angela flopped down next to her with a contented sigh, and drew her knees up to her chest. She gazed pensively at the steam rising from their mugs. The alcohol in her system had coaxed a rosey blush to her cheeks. "Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?" Angela asked slowly, clinically.
"I believe you still owe me an answer, Ziegler, but go ahead. Ask away." Moira said. She took a sip from the lipstick spattered whiskey glass, her own cheeks warm and flushed with booze. Moira wasn't ordinarily the type of person to find herself letting her guard down enough to drink this much around others. There was just something about Angela that Moira found comfortable. A familiar warmth that glowed strong and bright, but not without risk of getting burned. Moira knew that most of the best things in life come with risks, and found that she sometimes quite liked the burn.
Angela tucked her hair behind an ear and rested her chin on her knees. Moira couldn't help but notice how fragile Angela looked then. Like all her usual spunk had vanished, leaving her hollow and vulnerable.
Angela reached for her tea, clasping the mug in both hands as she gently blew on the surface. She took a sip. “Have you... Do you ever have panic attacks, Doctor O'Deorain?" She asked.
"I have on occasion, yes." Moira admitted after a pause. Ice cubes clinked against each other as she swirled the remaining alcohol in the glass. Whatever had prompted this question was obviously weighing on Angela. Moira found herself wanting nothing more than to somehow ease some of that burden for her, “They can be overwhelming, but they’re nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I suppose so." Angela took another sip of tea and set the mug back on the coffee table. "I feel like I spend a good part of my life staying strong and telling others everything will be okay, but I find it hard to believe it myself, sometimes. Even though I know they will pass, it terrifies me to feel so powerless when they happen. Like I don’t even have the most basic control over who I am or how I react.”
Angela reached out and took the whiskey glass from Moira. The faintest smile played at the corner of her mouth, "Sorry for unloading all this on you, O'Deorain. I appreciate you not turning me away at the door."
"O-of course! Anytime." Moira carded her fingers through her hair. She was at a loss for words, something that seemed to occur all too often around Angela.
Angela drank a sip of whiskey, and placed the glass on the coffee table. She turned toward Moira, curled up sideways on the couch, and rested her head on the back cushion. Her brows furrowed. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper, “I’d like this to stay between us, okay?”
“You have my word.” said Moira.
“Promise?” It was more of a command than a question. Angela held out a pinky finger to Moira, her piercing blue eyes resolute.
Moira returned the stare, and with the utmost sincerity, extended a pinky. She crooked it around Angela's, and locked down the secret with a firm shake, “I promise.”
Satisfied, Angela nodded her approval. They snuggled into the couch with their teas, bodies curved in toward each other as if to shield their conversation from eavesdroppers.
Angela let out a heavy sigh and began, “Captain Amari has been pestering me for weeks about setting me up on a date with someone. No matter how much I’ve told her I'm not fond of crowds, or going out much, she insists that a change in scenery would be good for me. I kept turning her down, and turning her down. I don't know why, but one day, I finally caved. Maybe I just wanted her to stop trying to set me up with people all the time. Or maybe I could use a night out, you know?”
Angela traced the rim of her mug with her thumb. Her eyes were downcast, hidden beneath her lashes, “It wasn’t long into dinner, we hadn’t even ordered yet, and I was already feeling overwhelmed. I excused myself, pretending to take a call.” Angela worried her lower lip between her teeth, her faded lipstick all but worn off by now, “After hiding out in the bathroom to have a panic attack, I made up some excuse about being called in to an emergency at work. I left in such a hurry that I forgot my purse at the restaurant. I couldn’t call a ride. My phone was dead. I needed a walk to clear my head, anyway, and I remembered you live just a few blocks from the restaurant.”
"Christ! You walked here? And what would you have done if I hadn't been home?" asked Moira, an edge of concern in her voice.
Angela shrugged, "I hadn't really thought that far ahead, to be honest. Wait for you to come home, I suppose."
Moira tried to shake the mental image of Angela curled up on her front porch like a stray cat seeking shelter. "How do you even know where I live? I don’t recall ever discussing my address with you."
"I may or may not have accidentally viewed your file in Commander Morrison's office." Angela admitted sheepishly.
Moira's lips curled into a crooked smirk, "Such disregard for privacy, Ziegler. I don’t know whether I should feel more violated or impressed.”
Angela rolled her eyes and raised the whiskey glass to her lips in an attempt to conceal her flustered smile, "Don't flatter yourself, Doctor."
Moira's smirk stretched into a toothy grin. It was a rare occurrence to witness Angela so unguarded. She was finding herself increasingly grateful for staying home that evening. "Well, Angela, since you’ve already acquainted yourself with the dirty little secrets tucked away in my file, how about we drop formalities while you're here at least?”
Angela quirked an eyebrow, amused by the proposition. She smiled and said, "I think I can handle that, Moira." Her mouth rounding out the name with the curious ardor of a child given permission to utter a curse word aloud for the first time.
They finished their tea, and spent the rest of the night relaxing into meaningless small talk, taking turns passing the whiskey glass between themselves as they shared stories and chatted animatedly about anything but work. Angela eased back into her familiar radiance, and Moira found herself chasing after Angela's laugh, her smile, eager to hold onto that unbridled joy for as long as she could.
* * *
Moira startled awake and groaned, more out of regret for falling asleep on the most uncomfortable couch in the world than from drinking too much. She sat up slowly, careful not to jostle Angela who was still asleep with her head rested against Moira’s shoulder. She hadn't intended for Angela to stay so late, but it was well past a reasonable hour to call a ride, and they were both too inebriated to drive. They at least needed to figure out a more comfortable sleeping arrangement. Moira gently roused Angela.
"Hmmmnh?" Angela yawned and rubbed her eyes. She mumbled something that should have sounded something like an apology had she not yawned again while trying to speak.
Moira stood up and helped Angela to her feet, "Come on. Let's get you to bed. I'll take you home in the morning, alright?"
“Mmkay.” Angela couldn’t even muster the energy to protest. Her legs were wobbly, her head was spinning, and she could barely stand without Moira's assistance.
Moira guided Angela to the bedroom and sat her down on the bed. "Stay here, okay? I’ll be right back." Moira waited for Angela to nod a response before rummaging through her dresser drawers. She returned to the bed and handed Angela a bundle of clothes, “Here. You can borrow these. Sorry, I don’t have much that would fit you.”
Moira turned to leave and give Angela some privacy. She had made it to the door when Angela let out a frustrated huff.
"Moira...” she slurred, “I need you… to unzip me."
Moira readjusted her glasses, and with a deep breath to steady herself, she turned around. Angela was flopped face first on the bed, arms splayed out, visibly defeated by the grueling task of unzipping herself. Moira bit back a chuckle and returned to Angela’s side. She carefully unzipped the back of Angela’s dress.
“Do you think you can handle the rest from here?” Moira’s voice was low and calm.
Angela nodded and pulled herself upright, nearly exposing her breasts in the process.
“Call for me if you need anything.” Moira left the room, desperate to escape the possibility of seeing any more of Angela Ziegler bare tonight. She was almost certain she would never be able to live to face Angela in the morning if she did.
Moira grabbed a spare blanket and pillow from the linen closet, and began the task of attempting to make the couch sleep-able. She finished tucking the edges of a blanket into the couch cushions and observed her work. There was no way the couch could ever accommodate all of Moira's height, but it at least had a decent amount of cushioning now. Enough to hopefully make it through the night at least.
Moira sat on the couch, upending a corner of blanket that was already straining to stay tucked in. Angela emerged from the bedroom dressed in an oversized band t-shirt from Moira's college days, and a pair of anime themed boxer shorts rolled up a few times at the waistband to fit her hips.
“The bed is all yours,” Moira said, “I'll be out here if you need anything."
Angela shook her head. Her brows furrowed and she said, "Moira, I'm not letting you take the couch. You're too tall!"
Moira shrugged, "It's just for one night. I'll be fine."
Angela pursed her lips and glared at Moira with the full might of her sleepy, drunk indignation, which only succeeded in making her appear comically grumpy and tired, “Absolutely not! I'm not taking your bed from you."
"Well, I'm not letting you sleep on the couch.” said Moira with a tone of finality.
After a long moment of staring each other down, both too stubborn to budge, Angela said, “Fine. Then come to bed with me.”
Before Moira could protest, Angela grabbed her by the wrist and tugged, “Come on. There’s plenty of room for both of us.” Angela’s face lit up with a reassuring smile, “I promise I won't bite.”
Moira was rendered speechless. The heat from any argument she could have made had flushed to her cheeks. Moira swallowed and resigned to her fate, allowing herself to be led back to the bedroom by the tiny, triumphant blonde.
They were both fighting to stay awake as they brushed their teeth and prepared for bed. Angela wasted no time burrowing into Moira’s sheets, and claiming her side of the bed. She snuggled into a pillow with a contented sigh.
Moira hesitated, “Are you sure you're okay with this?”
Angela was too tired to even open her eyes, “Moira, just get in the damn bed.”
Moira made an effort to lay on top of the blankets, but Angela protested, grumbling almost incoherently into her pillow, “Noo. Get in here. ‘m cold.”
Moira crawled under the covers to chivalrously lend Angela her body heat. She laid on her back, and left a fair amount of space between them, “Satisfied?”
Angela turned toward Moira and curled up on her side. She stretched her legs out to touch her icy feet to Moira’s calves. “Yes,” She hummed. “Goodnight Moira.”
“Sweet dreams, Angela.”
Moira laid in the dark, staring at the ceiling. Though she was beyond tired, she was finding it hard to fall asleep. Angela stirred beside her, her breath warm against Moira’s throat as she whispered, “Are you asleep?”
Moira whispered back, “Yes. Why?”
Angela giggled, low and sleepy. She paused for a moment before continuing in a hushed tone, “Do you think we could watch your favorite anime together sometime?”
Moira’s mouth curled into a crooked smile. “I’d like that.” she whispered, before finally drifting off to sleep.