Work Text:
The Mayan calendar was, historically, believed to pinpoint the date of the end of times. Of course, that was decidedly faulty, but 2012 was decently shitty anyway so really who won. In any case, Fareeha stared at the red and white calendar hanging on the kitchen wall, her eyes focused on a red circle scrawled in sharpie. The eleventh. A peculiar day, to be sure. But what could it mean? What cryptic message could a sloppy circle hold? Pharah turned to the only other person in the room. More specifically, the living room. She had to tilt her head around the corner.
"Is something going on today?"
Angela looked up from her laptop, removing a pen from her mouth and sticking it behind her ear before speaking. "Not that I know of......um....I think there's two-for-one orange chicken at the supermarket? We should probably pick that up." Mercy shrugged, adjusting her glasses before going back to work on her computer. Pharah pursed her lips, looking again at the calendar and rubbing her chin. It had to mean something.
"Is there something coming in the mail today?" Fareeha asked again, this time with a tinge of importance. Angela took the pen from behind her ear, twirling it around before inserting it into her hair, wracking her brain for an answer.
".......Store coupons for orange chicken?"
"Would you really mark the calendar for orange chicken specials?" The couple stared at each other for a number of seconds, both knowing full well she totally would. Suddenly a loud chime sounded from Angela's laptop. A pop-up ad. ".....You need to get adblock, I don't care how lazy you are." Fareeha walked over, standing by her wife's shoulder. The ad was an enthusiastic white box, simply stating 'let us do your taxes for you!' Angela clicked it closed. Major Amari tilted her head, frowning.
"Hey, babe?"
"Yes, sweetheart?" Angela typed loudly, focusing on her work and looking straight ahead.
"Did we do our taxes?" The concerned security guard leaned down to her wife's level, setting a hand on her shoulder. Angela continued to look at her screen, preferring to ignore reality.
Fareeha slapped the 1040 tax form on the table, taking a seat next to Angela, who was trembling slightly. "Alright, I know the last thing you want is government agents looking to audit our finances, so let's get this done. First thing. Name and social security number. Easy." Pharah scribbled her name and the numbers, gesturing Mercy to do the same. "Okay......Filing jointly..See, this isn't too hard!"
The next section, dependants, stared up at them, looking really confusing. Fareeha hesitated. "....It's just me and you so...no dependants?"
Angela shook her head. "Put me down as a dependant. Trust me." Fareeha did so, the doctor biting her thumb at the risky landmine.
"But don't you get grants and shit?" Pharah stopped halfway through, perturbed. Ziegler coughed innocently before speaking.
"Technically i'm unemployed. You have a boring security guard desk job. We should go with that." Fareeha nodded, not really knowing what she was doing as they ignored Angela's career.
"Okay." The security guard with the boring desk job tapped the paper. "So we have one dependant. Next is income. I got....fifty-five thousand this year, if I remember correctly. How much did you receive from patents or grants or whatever it is?"
Angela set her hand on top of her beloved, looking her straight in the face. "I am unemployed. All my assets go straight back into my programs. I do not make any money, that is what we are going with." Fareeha scratched her neck, unsure.
"But didn't you buy this house, and our entertainment system, and the jacuz-"
"I said i'm unemployed! I make nothing. Just trust me on this, Sweetheart." Angela took the pen, scrawling a fifty-five thousand in the total income slot. "Next thing." Ziegler handed back the writing utensil, wiping sweat from her forehead.
"O....kay..So then...multiple the number of dependants by four thousand...That's eight thousand. Which means our taxable income is.....forty-seven thousand. Does that sounds right?" Angela nodded in agreement, nervously picking at the table with a look of opportunistic courage on her face. "Self-employment...medicare...we don't have any credits. So the total tax is our forty-seven thousand. Now to figure out the payment...." Fareeha held the paper close to her face, trying to double-check the numbers and figure out how much they supposedly owe. The virtuous doctor continued to stare at the table, the sound of cash registers going off in her head.
"I can't handle this. I need a break." Pharah set down the form with a sigh, going to the fridge and cracking it open. "You want anything, babe?"
"Champagne. There's a bottle in there. Bring it over to the table."
".....Don't you usually prefer red wine? Like, there's a reason for six boxes of the stuff to be in the fridge, right?" Fareeha set the bottle on the table, the glass clacking with the wooden surface. She herself had opted to eat a cheese stick, the end of which was sticking from the corner of her mouth like a cigar.
After lunch, if you could call a cheese stick lunch, Fareeha sat back down to the tax form. Angela rubbed the champagne cork eagerly, waiting for the concluding statement.
“So….if we did this right….it looks like we owe..nothing? What?” Fareeha was unceremoniously interrupted by a loud pop, followed by Angela cheering.
“Hell yeah, that’s the way to do it!”
“Babe, calm down, there’s no way that’s right…..Right?” Fareeha tried to ignore Angela as she started chugging, carefully going over the numbers and squinting in disapproval.
“No, it’s correct. I’m a child prodigy, trust me on this. Time to mail it in.” Fareeha flinched as Ziegler took the paper from her hands, doing her best to stuff it in an envelope with one hand, her other busy holding onto the overflowing champagne. The tired security guard gave up as she sat down, frustrated at the complicated tax system.
“Hey, babe?” Fareeha sat in the hot tub, positioned across from her wife as the stars shone brightly in the nighttime sky. “How much do you actually make?”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Angela waved dismissively, chuckling and a bit tipsy. “You don’t need to worry about that. Who are you, the audit team?” Fareeha smiled halfheartedly as Angela burst into laughter.
“I don’t know. Just seems a bit dubious to me.” Pharah watched as Angela attempted to make a move on her, getting up to shift to her side of the jacuzzi but instead slipping and falling in the steaming water with a loud splash. Now it was Fareeha’s turn to laugh. The camera slowly panned up to the night sky, slowly focusing on the twinkling stars that still weren’t as bright as Angela’s bank statements. Pharah silently promised herself to buy an online tax program for next year.