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Angela Ziegla opened her mouth, letting a yawn escape her lips.
“I knew waking up at five was a horrid idea.” Mercy glared at Pharah, who was too busy chewing on her pencil at a crossword puzzle to hear. “Hey. What are you looking at.” Angela leaned over, resting her chin on Fareeha’s shoulder as she scanned the paper. “16 down is ‘Appenzeller’”.
Major Amari set the paper down, biting her tongue as Angela got up and shuffled to the kitchen. “I would have gotten it.”
“Sure you would have sweetie. Where’s the coffee?” Ziegler ran a hand through her hair, exhausted, pawing through the shelves for sustenance. “Never mind. I found it. Why’s it look like it’s from the nineties?” Angela tilted her head quizzically, looking over the dusty red can before setting it near the stove, grabbing a kettle and filling it with water. “Hey, you want a cup?”
“...Uhuh.” Fareeha stared at the puzzle in rabid concentration, her knuckles white around her pencil. A flash of realization appeared on her face, and in response, snapped the pencil in two. Pharah dropped it in surprise, the broken shards falling to the floor. “Shit. Goddammit. Hey, hey babe!? Can you bring me a pencil?!”
Angela groaned in contempt, grabbing a pen and stuffing it into her sweatshirt. A few minutes later, she walked through the doorway, carrying a matching pair of mugs on a tray.
“Here’s your coffee. And your pencil.” Mercy took her seat next to Fareeha, handing her the pen and carefully taking her coffee, blowing on it. “Careful, coffee’s hot.”
Pharah made a guttural sound of agreement, scribbling in the margins of the newspaper before leaning back, taking her coffee as she relaxed. “Thank you. But this is a pen. Also who uses trays anymore?”
“Sensical people who don’t want burnt hands. Mug handles do nothing but no one will accept it. Everyone’s a blind asshole.” Angela continued ranting as she brought her mug to her lips, chugging the entire thing before setting it down. “And that’s why I bought a tray.”
Fareeha stared at her drink, deciding it was not worth the effort to question her dear wife’s methods. Something was off about the coffee, it smelled. Or rather, reeked. Of alcohol.
“Did you put beer in this?! Angela?” Amari turned to confront Angela, who was busy trying to pull her sweatshirt off. Unfortunately, she failed to get it past her head and was instead flailing around in restricted darkness.
“SWEETIE. I CAN’T SEE. IT’S DARK. IS THIS THE ABYSS.” Angela threw herself down on the couch, ending up in Pharah’s lap as she struggled with the seemingly overwhelming sweatshirt. “I’M SCAARED”
Fareeha took a solid minute of watching this domestic train wreck before deciding to rip the sweatshirt off her wife. Angela blinked up at her savior, her cheeks flushed as she laid in her lap, loosely wearing a bra. The esteemed medic reached up, caressing Fareeha’s cheek as she cooed up at her, “My prince...my knight in shining armor..”
“Why on fucking earth did you put liquor in the coffee? And were you not wearing a shirt at the supermarket?!” Fareeha massaged her aching temples, looking down at her helpless mate. Mercy held a finger to Pharah’s lips, her eyes closed.
“Shhhhhhhhh. Maybe. Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Do you hear that?” Angela spoke softly, focusing on the silence.
Fareeha tried inhaling slowly, preparing for an impending migraine from some stupid-ass pun. “Hear. What.”
“......” Angela waited a moment before opening her eyes, smiling drunkenly at Fareeha as she reached over, feeling her bicep. Pharah tensed as she felt Mercy’s hand trace around her arm, coping a feel of her muscles.
“Hear what?” The security guard repeated, resisting the urge to flex.
“Huh? Oh, sorry. I just wanted to feel you up. Danke. You got fine ass biceps. Doctor’s approval.” Dr. Ziegler let go, giving her spouse a thumbs up before passing out in her lap. Fareeha sat there speechless, a light blush on her face as she watched Angela’s sleeping face, her lips partially open.
“That’s not fair.” Pharah muttered, leaning down and kissing her lovingly. “Saying things like that, dressed like that, and passing out before I can do anything.” Fareeha brushed some hair from Angela’s face before slinging her over her shoulder, carrying her to the bedroom unceremoniously. “Let’s just hope you don’t snore.”