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Of the four horsemen, pestilence is, well. He's probably not the most popular, but he's a personal favorite. In any case, being sick absolutely blows. This is something almost everyone has experienced on a deep, intimate level. Angela was no exception, laying on the couch as she dry heaved into a bucket.
A cold had spread throughout the small town as colds usually do, and Angela had volunteered her services at the local health clinic, as they were terribly understaffed. Fareeha was amazed that Mercy had actually gone to be productive of her own free will, let alone without pay. But that rare generosity didn't help as she trembled on the sofa, the bags under her eyes darker than ever as her shoulders shaked, freezing and burning up at the same time.
Hana was attending some sponsored smash bros tournament in Seattle for the weekend, so It was up to the lone security guard to make sure her wife stayed in the mortal realm. Mercy was convinced she would end up doing exact opposite, and had told her to stay away.
"Babe." Fareeha stood by the couch, ignoring everything her wife asked of her as she held various bottles of pills and vitamins. "Will any of these help? All I usually use is a bowl of hot soup and a nap, but it looks like you wouldn't be able to keep that inside, huh?" Angela grimaced as she wiped some puke from the corner of her mouth, the taste of acid stinging her throat as she laid there helplessly.
"Just.....If you're going to insist, bring me a hot water bottle. Please." Angela waved her away, too focused on the pounding headache reverberating within her skull to bother sorting through handfuls of vitamins. "And please bring me some painkillers, too. Danke."
Fareeha scrunched her face as she looked through the bathroom for the hot water bottle, trying to remember when they even used the rubber container last. It seemed like years. She checked under the sink, in the cabinets, even Hana’s room. Alas, it was nowhere to be found.
Mercy covered her mouth as she coughed, wondering when Pharah was going to get back to her with some pain medicine. Groaning, she closed her eyes, hoping to fall asleep and escape from it all. A few seconds later she felt something soft land on her abdomen. Whatever it was, it was warm. She opened an eye, A fat ball of fur sitting on her stomach, sniffling as it stared back at her. Fareeha stood by, looking quite pleased with herself.
"I couldn't find the hot water bottle but I think your rabbit is a close second."
"...At least you tried." Angela smiled as she squeezed Dieter, too exhausted to be disappointed. "What about the painkillers? Did you get those?"
"Boom." Pharah tossed a white bottle up in the air, catching it and making a stupid pose in the process. "Justice."
"Mm. Pass them here, please." Angela held out a hand, graciously taking the pills and popping a few between her lips, washing them down with the thermos of coffee she always had on hand. Fareeha pulled up a chair, sitting beside her fallen wife with a mix of curiosity and concern. From Pharah's point of view, it seemed Angela was a different person when she was sick, maybe more honest with herself. She hadn’t made a sexual comment all day, and Pharah was wearing a revealing tank top, for crying out loud. This required analysis, as the doctor would say.
"How do you feel?" Fareeha crossed her arms, sitting back in her chair to watch her partner.
"Like I have no energy." Angela looked at the ceiling in a daze, her hand absentmindedly scratching the hare on her stomach. "Hot..cold...pretty awful." The lack of cheeky jokes was alarming, to say the least.
"Is there anything I can do, babe?" Fareeha set a hand on her beloved's shoulder, massaging her consolingly as she watched her breath with strained, bated breath. "Would you like some soup?"
"Nein...That's okay. Danke." Angela smiled softly as she closed her eyes once more, feeling safe and secure. Fareeha was too afraid to let her fall asleep and possibly die, she had to do something. Soon, Mercy jolted awake, alarmed as something wet and cool hit her face. Fareeha was setting a moist rag on her forehead, trying to wipe away some of her cold sweat in the process. "What're you-"
"Shush, babe." Fareeha cooed as she dabbed Angela's skin with the lukewarm fabric, finishing up by leaning down and kissing her forehead. "Just relax." Mercy closed her mouth as she looked up at her wife, not really feeling any better. But hey, it's the thought that counts.
“You know...I know I don’t say it often, but you’re so good to me...Too good. I don’t deserve you, mein liebling. Lovelier than any cloudless sunset.” Angela gently set her hand on top of Fareeha’s, intertwining their fingers. Pharah bit her tongue, extremely worried at the obvious severity of her wife’s sickness as she felt her own cheeks turn red.
“And now we have a child for christ’s sake..Not to mention your mother swinging by every now and again. I need to get my shit together. For you.” Angela continued, holding Pharah tightly, who was wholeheartedly convinced her wife was about to die right in front of her. The worried ex-soldier nearly shouted as the doctor lowered her eyelids yet again, wanting to warn her about the light as she fell asleep.
Zieger groaned as she woke up, refusing to open her eyes as she rolled over, comfortable. Dieter landed on the floor with a squeak as he was thrown off. “You awake, babe? Do you feel any better?” Fareeha scooped the rabbit into her arms, her brow raised hopefully as Angela sat up, rubbing her eyes sleepily.
“Much….much better, danke.” The doctor asserted by stretching her arms upwards, followed by a healthy yawn. Pharah nodded in attestment, thankfully relieved. Mercy looked at her in full recovery, waiting a few seconds before talking again. “Isn’t this the part where you sneeze? And then our roles are reversed?”
“Mmm. No?” Fareeha shrugged, feeling better than ever as she flexed her biceps. She wasn’t ill in the slightest. Angela just stared in awe as her god of a wife broke every law in the comedic universe. “So, hey, I was thinking, pan-fried fish for dinner sound good?”
“Uh...Sure.” Mercy zoned out, not sure what to believe in any more as Fareeha stood up to make supper.
The pair sat down at the kitchen table, Angela’s appetite ravenous from not eating all day. Of course, Pharah ate just as much, being herself, and the couple worked through practically an entire halibut’s worth of fish. Ziegler leaned on the table with her elbows, brushing some fish from her cheek, talking with her mouth full. “I didn’t say anything..strange…when I was sick, did I? It hurt pretty bad, I don’t remember much.”
“Nope.” Fareeha shook her head as she tore into a slab of fish. Under the table she patted her pocket fondly, a tape recorder sitting snugly inside. “Not a thing~.”