Work Text:
The datapad blurs to a hazy blue, numbers and letters melding into fuzzy blobs of color. She rubs the heel of her palm into her eyes before blindly grabbing for the bottle of water she’d set down earlier.
“Here.”
She can barely stop herself from jumping at the soft voice in her ear. Her missing water bottle comes into view, Angela dangling it in front of her face. Fareeha takes it with a soft thanks. She has to blink hard to bring the doctor’s face into focus.
Angela’s features resolve into a concerned frown, lips pressed together and eyebrows drawn. She’s pretty even when she’s concerned. It takes her a few seconds to realize she’s talking to her.
“Fareeha? Have you slept?”
“Uhhh…” It’s usual for her to get tongue tied around the doctor. The added stress of the current situation and her own sleep deprivation is enough to render her incapable of speech.
“No, then.” Angela sighs, the reaches over and plucks the datapad from her grip. “Yes, the lack of check-in is worrying. No, fretting over it will not help. It’s standard procedure to wait twelve hours before mounting a rescue on undercover ops. I ran medivac on Blackwatch a few times and they’d wait,-” She cuts herself off, tapping an admonishing finger on Fareeha’s nose. “My point being that you should sleep while you can. Staying awake with nothing to do just leads to circling thoughts.”
She’s worried too. Angela always chatters when she is anxious. Fareeha sits up straighter, stifling the yawn in throat. She’d been awake since they left Gibraltar thirty-six hours ago.
Sleep is very tempting, but seems impossible with the gnawing anxiety in her stomach. It was now six hours past the time for the recon team’s check-in. Twelve hours seems just far too long to-“Wait, what was that about Blackwatch?”
Like most of the public, she’d only learned of Overwatch’s shadow from the papers, never having been privy to the information when she was younger. Just another thing her mother had lied about . At the time, she didn’t know what to think, the reports and twenty-four hour media coverage seemed both sensationalized and outright wrong. She’d been serving in the Egyptian Army, and even there had to change her number to avoid news hounds begging her for details she didn’t have, about her mother, Morrison, Overwatch and Blackwatch. She was the daughter of Ana Amari, how could she not know?
Since officially joining Overwatch, Angela had given her far more detail about what exactly had happened. They’d spent a long night in the medical ward, stories spilling out after an attempted ambush from Reaper. Learning that the wraith was Reyes had been hard to process. As a child she’d been fond of Tio Gabriel , the rare days her mother brought her to the Swiss base he’d always taken the time to say hello, letting her ride on his shoulders and complimenting her katas. Hearing that he’d been the head of a covert black ops division was another blow to the perception of her childhood. Even more so, finding out that Jesse, her brother in all but blood, was Reyes second in command, had shaken her to her core. All of them had hid that information from her, for years. Her mother said she did it to keep her safe, but it just made her feel like everyone she trusted lied to her.
Angela looks away, bites her lip for a moment before speaking. “We used to wait upwards of three days before attempting rendezvous if it was a Blackwatch op.”
“Three days?” The words come out as a surprised croak. “What kind of rescue would it be after three days?”
She sees the fleeting expression of disgust cross Angela’s face. “It was usually more of a… recovery than a rescue.” She admits. “I only ever participated in a handful of them, before I begged Morrison to keep me off Blackwatch’s med roster. It used to drive me mad, waiting and waiting for the order to come in, not knowing if I was going to be saving lives or picking up body parts.”
There’s so much she didn’t know. Overwatch had always been her dream, for as long as she could remember. Morrison and Reyes, Reinhardt and Liao and Lindholm. Amari. Her mentors and her idols. She’d thought every last person in Overwatch was a hero.
Angela speaks of recovering dismembered corpses as if it were commonplace.
She shakes her head, trying to clear it. This was her mission to lead, her chance to prove she was cut from the same cloth as her mother, and it was already falling apart. She grabs for the data pad, intending to review the maps once more.
Angela holds it out of reach. “You can’t just stay awake waiting. If for some reason they do need help, do you think being so tired that you cannot see straight will make you an asset?”
“But…” A hundred different little protests come to mind. What if she misses a distress call? What if they never find the weapons stash? What if Talon captures them?
What if it was a mistake to put her in charge?
Angela places a hand on her shoulder, and that simple comfort is enough to make her stop and think rather than just worry.
Exhaustion will make her limbs heavy and reflexes slow, and if it came down to a fight that could be the difference between life and death. McCree had been doing this for almost a decade and a half with Blackwatch and she’d never suspected a thing. Genji was ex-yakuza, even as a cyborg his skill at remaining undetected was unparalleled. His missed check-in didn’t seem to bother the elder Shimada at all, though knowing their history she wasn’t sure if he’d care
“We knew before they went in that it was highly likely their link would be compromised.” Angela points out, as if she knows what Fareeha is thinking. “That’s why we sent them. I am worried, too, but this isn’t unheard of. If something major happened, there is a good chance Athena would have detected it.” Her expression softens. “Come. Sleep while you can. Give them a few more hours.”
She’s right, of course. This time Fareeha doesn’t try and stop the yawn. The safehouse doesn’t have much in the way of beds, but the sofa seems comfy enough. It’s still warm from where Angela was napping earlier. She catches sight of the elder Shimada curled up on a ratty divan on the small balcony overlooking the slum, dozing himself.
Mercy knocks the wall above his head to wake him, hands him the data pad, murmurs something soft and she sees him nod and stretch. As she comes back, she bends to retrieve the stiff afghan from where it’s fallen to the floor. “Here. Hanzo said he’ll watch for the call. For now, try to sleep.”
“What about you? I don’t want to take your spot.”
She shrugs. “I got a few hours in alrea-” She interrupts herself with a yawn. “ Oh goodness….I’ll be alright.”
“Sit at the end, there’s room for us both.” Fareeha blurts it out before she can stop herself, then has to bite the inside of her mouth to keep from blushing. This is a mission, not time to flirt.
Angela glances at the couch, once, twice, before nodding in agreement. “Alright, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. My teammates are my first concern.” She sits. Curls her legs to her chest and pillows her head on the armrest, pulling the blanket over her legs. Angela mirrors her on the other side. “I’ve learned that the hard way.”
It’s surprisingly easy to close her eyes and let the sleep she’d been fighting off claim her. She almost misses Angela’s quiet reply.
“That’s a good thing. I’m glad you care.”