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The Raptora Mark VI hangs limply from the workshop ceiling, blue paint scratched and bloody around the hole that punched through her stomach. Fareeha reaches out with a finger, tracing sharp edges, reflecting on the fact that she was lucky. The bullet had passed straight through her, barely nicking her guts before bursting out of her back. No doubt it was lodged in a wall somewhere, harmless now after nearly ending her life.
Next time she might not be as lucky.
Torbjörn maintained that her Raptora would be ready for use again in several days, and not to hassle him about it. Not that Fareeha would hassle him anyway - the thought of the legendary engineer working personally on her combat suit was enough to fill her with a humbling pride. When she had answered the call from her mother’s long dead radio, thinking it might have actually been her missing mother, she never could have imagined she would have been working shoulder to shoulder with the men and women of Overwatch.
Unfortunately, she cannot remain.
Sighing softly, Fareeha turns away from her armour, limping out of the workshop and into a narrow corridor, hoping to return to her quarters. It is past two in the morning; the London base is deadly silent, slumbering on through the night. Her stomach is still tender, healing swiftly thanks to Angela’s know how, but she is under strict orders not to push herself even though she is desperate to serve before her time is up.
Her feet take her past her room and into the kitchen, and then further into the living room. The huge bay windows give her a startling view of the city below, the noise of the busy streets muted from this height. Peering down, she watches a bus meander its way around a taxi, flared lights catching the flare of a circular stop sign. She watches it go, and gives herself over to the war raging within her.
Helix had given her a month personal time when she had come to them with possible word of her mother. Even though Ana Amari had never served Helix Security International, she was well known in most circles as a prestigious soldier and an excellent sniper. Therefore her boss had allowed her to leave her service for a few short weeks, to find answers. Her questions had found the last remains of Overwatch, and she had been swept into their ranks as easily as though she had been her mother. It is everything she had ever wanted; as a child she had grown up hearing the stories of heroes and legends who served with her mother; two parts envying Ana and one part feeling a fierce sort of pride. It had spurred her on, plotted every decision she had ever made in her life; training, the military. Every breath she took, and every beat of her heart had been for joining Overwatch.
When they had been disbanded, she had felt as though she had physically died. A lifetime’s work wasted. And now she is serving with them, fighting beside them, she is lost. Caught in the crux between duty and desire; staying with Overwatch or returning to Helix. Doing her duty or following her heart. She knows what her mother would have said; duty above all else.
“Can't sleep?”
Fareeha opens her eyes, listening as the soft shuffle of slippers against carpet sounds behind her. She turns her head, and her heart skips a beat when she sees Angela trotting towards her.
She is dressed in a thick woollen jumper, a pair of black sweatpants barely hiding the owl slippers poking out the bottoms. Her thin glasses are perched on the very end of her nose, and she pushes them up with a thin finger. Her other hand is wrapped around a mug of something warm, judging by the way her glasses steam up when she takes a drink.
Fareeha turns fully to face Angela, tucking her hands behind her back militarily. She doesn't miss the way blue eyes give her a quick once over, although if it is for medical reasons she isn't sure. Angela’s cheeks appear to redden slightly.
“No. My mind is on other things.” Fareeha replies finally. “I didn't expect to see you up.”
Angela smiles, and walks to stand beside her. The top of her blonde head comes level with Fareeha’s eyes, narrow shoulders hunched against the coolness of the night.
“Well, my mind is on other things.” Angela flashes her a quick smile, and then returns her gaze out to the city. Fareeha studies her for a few moments, and then turns back around, staring up into the sky. Her mother’s stars are hidden from her behind a thick blanket of clouds; but even here, she is watched.
“How’s your stomach?” Angela’s gaze is much more doctorly as she gives Fareeha another look.
“Sore, but manageable.”
Silence settles like dust around them. Only the city continues rumbling on, even though the streets are falling into sleepy quiet. Angela takes another sip of whatever is in her mug, humming softly. Fareeha notices her slippers move, perhaps as she curls her toes.
“Would you like some?” Angela asks, offering the mug up to her.
“What is it?”
Smiling, Angela presses the cup into Fareeha’s hands; it is still warm, and a small sniff reveals that it contains hot chocolate, thick and creamy by the way it swirls. She takes a sip.
“Oh, my god.” She looks at Angela in amazement, and she laughs happily, lithe fingers squeezing Fareeha’s bicep gently. The chocolate is still lingering in her mouth, smooth and heady, with a slight tinge of cinnamon.
“Keep it.”
“I couldn’t.”
“I insist.” Angela’s fingers remain on Fareeha’s arm, thumb brushing her skin and making her heart jackhammer against her ribs. Fareeha nods, and sips a little more hot chocolate.
“Thank you.” Fareeha murmurs, abashed. Her stomach flip flops pathetically.
“It is nothing. You look troubled.”
Troubled. She is troubled, and she finds herself having to bite her tongue to keep herself from spilling her thoughts to the woman beside her. Angela is wonderful person; kind, loyal, beautiful, and Fareeha knows she is totally and utterly besotted with her. But she doesn’t want to burden her with her thoughts about Helix, or about the complicated snake’s pit of feelings for her mother, or how she feels her heart soar whenever she sees Mercy arching across the field towards her, or how at night she wants nothing more than to wrap her arms around a thin waist and press her nose into the soft hairs at the nape of Angela’s smooth neck.
But before she can deny anything, Angela speaks softly, “If it’s about Helix - about returning to your job - you should know that I know you will do what is right.”
Fareeha meets Angela’s eyes again, brow furrowed in confusion. “How did you know?”
Angela takes a deep breath, holds it for a moment, and then lets it out again. “It is a choice we all faced coming here. A choice we are all still making. I, myself, am struggling with the notion to stay, or return to my relief work in Iraq.” Her shoulders lift in a slight shrug. “I content myself with the idea that I will be helping more people by aiding Overwatch. It is no small boast to say I am one of the most proficient field doctors in the world. But it is the truth.”
Pale fingers squeeze a dark arm for a moment, before Angela folds her arms across her chest. Fareeha looks down into her half full mug, absorbing what has been said and weighing it carefully in her mind. To stay would be selfish, but she has never wanted anything more desperately. It is an ache in her mouth, like thirst on a hot, dry day in the desert. Helix can replace her, she knows, but her team: Tariq, Saleh… they would miss her. And she would miss them.
“What do you think I should do?” Fareeha asks quietly, still staring broodingly into her mug.
“The others -”
Fareeha interrupts her quickly, but softens the blow with a hand on Angela’s elbow. She can hear her heart pounding in her head as she speaks. “No, I mean you personally.”
They turn to face each other at the same time, alone in the darkness of the living room. Fareeha in her t-shirt and boxers and Angela in her sweater and owl slippers. The city lights illuminate them both from below; Fareeha admires the way the orange light deepens the corners of Angela’s face. The mug of hot chocolate hangs between them, a silent offering. Their eyes meet. Fareeha remembers how soft Angela’s lips felt against her temple. She cannot deny the desire to feel those lips against her own.
“I think you should stay.” Angela says with surprising ferocity. The sea is ice, now, hard and determined, staring up at Fareeha as though daring a challenge, her mouth quirking as though she is making a decision. “I want you to stay.”
"Why?” Fareeha swallows, regretting the question almost at once at the look on Angela's face.
“Because no one can mete out justice like you do. No one has your determination, or your strength. You are one of the bravest people I have ever known, and you have worked harder to be here than anyone else. Every day you fight and strive to be better, and I watch you and my heart breaks because you don’t have to be better. You’re already the best; a dynamic part of our team. You don’t have to be your mother to us. You’re already yourself.”
Angela sucks in a tiny breath but does not look away. Humbled, Fareeha nibbles her lip, struggling with the idea that the medic really thinks those things of her. Brave? Fareeha had never thought of herself as brave. No, she does what she has to to protect the innocent. Determination comes as naturally to her as breathing - her mother had always said you had to be determined to get anywhere in the world. But the fact Angela had seen through her, through to her deepest, darkest secret, makes her ache. She had been trying to be her mother. The hero who fought alongside these other legends.
“I’m not a hero.” She blurts out, fear and embarrassment scalding her gut as she seeks Angela’s gaze. She finds warmth there, and the brilliant burning light of faith.
“You are to me.”
Angela takes a small step closer. She’s close enough that Fareeha can see the tiny flecks of gold in her blue eyes, can see the way her lips part in a breath. Fareeha feels herself leaning down, mindlessly setting the mug aside as she captures Angela in her arms. She is pulled down further, leaning over the dainty medic, half way through voicing a question when a mouth meets hers, thin fingers winding into her hair to pull her close and seal them together.
Angela smells delicate, tastes like minty toothpaste, but her lips are hot as she kisses Fareeha desperately, pressing herself closer with the same ferocity she had shown earlier. She’s not a bird, Fareeha thinks dazedly as she closes her eyes and kisses back, her insides doing a crazed dance against her ribs. She’s a lioness, golden and brilliant as the sun, and Fareeha is her eagle, soaring in her light, bathed in her glory.
They pull away too soon, panting and staring at each other. The moon bursts out from behind a cloud, bathing the room in silver light which shines off Angela’s golden hair. Fareeha, dizzy with emotion and surprise, blurts the first thing that comes to mind.
“Thanks.”
Angela laughs; a gentle, careful sound. “For what? Kissing you?”
“Oh, no.” Fareeha says quickly, feeling her cheeks heat up. “I mean- that was nice too. I meant thank you for saying all those things about me.”
Angela quirks an eyebrow, her lips pursing slightly. Then, “I didn’t lie. You are brave. And you are a hero. Your place is here, with Overwatch. And with me, if you… if you want a place.”
She did want a place. God have mercy, she wanted a place. But she had a duty to her team in Egypt, a duty to her job and her employers and the system she was charged with protecting and defending. Her gaze falls to the ground, jaw clenching as she bites back a welling guilt. Soft fingers brush her cheek, and she looks up. Angela is offering her a lopsided smile.
“Think on it. There will always be somewhere for you here, Fareeha.” She leans up, and presses a tiny kiss to her cheek. Then she breezes past her, picking up the now cold hot chocolate.
Fareeha watches after her as she leaves the room, owl slippers scuffing the tiles, once again left behind in the dust.