Fareeha Amari is not known for her loquaciousness. Nor is she particularly known for her indulgence in team banter. She’s a bulkhead, stalwart and strong, but predictable; set in ways molded by her mother, the army, and her culture, in turns. It’s a challenge to pull a smile from her; a feat of heroism to earn a chuckle; a miracle to elicit a genuine laugh.
Lena Oxton knows. She’s been trying.
So, when she sees Fareeha bloody Amari doubled over in a fit of laughter through the crack of the hangar door, she just has to stick her neck through the opening to see what in blazes could disarm the heir to Overwatch’s second-in-command so thoroughly.
It comes as an absolute surprise when she sees the good doctor, Angela Ziegler, that paragon of healing and professionalism, smirking at Fareeha, her soft blue eyes dancing with a fondness Lena only sees in those brief moments when Mercy saves a life.
She likes that look on Angela, Lena decides.
“Honestly, Fareeha. You need another line. You must say it in your sleep.”
Fareeha lifts her head, swiping the edge of her hand against her eye and wiping away a tear.
“What, you haven’t heard me practicing in the shower?”
“Practice! I thought that was something else entirely.”
Lena almost chokes on her own spit.
Pharah straightens, grinning; eyes gleaming.
“If that were the case — wouldn’t you want it to be your name I’d be practicing?”
Lena recalls right then and there, but not before she sees Doctor Angela Ziegler splutter, turning red from her ears to her chest.
0-1 Pharah, it seems.
Author’s Note: This is like, not even 300 words so it isn’t going under a cut. I’m so sick, y’all, like, I can’t make it up the stairs without feeling faint. But the tag needed some positivity, so hi, have fun with these two dorks.
All was quiet in the Overwatch base, most of its agents
having gone to bed hours ago. Mercy is not unaccustomed to staying up late.
Most nights she found herself caught up in her research well into the hours of
3 and 4 in the morning. This night was no different.
Mercy had been following a trail of bread crumbs in search
of a breakthrough in her nanotechnology for a week now, and she could see an
end in sight. Normally, Angela wouldn’t risk waking up anyone by wandering the
empty halls of the old base this late at night, but having gone through her
entire pot of coffee, she was left with no choice but to make more if she were
to be able to continue.
Angela wasn’t really surprised to see that the kitchen
lights were already on, and that someone was awake at this ungodly hour. PTSD
ran in the Overwatch family, and many of its agents were prone to it. Unless it
was Hana of course. Angela couldn’t even count how many times she had
practically forced the girl back to her sleeping quarters after finding her
raiding the pantry for “gaming grub”. Said “grub” being unhealthy snacks such
as those Doritos chips and Mountain Dew.
What did surprise Angela was finding out that it was
actually Fareeha Amari who was up so late.
Fiona Goode: I have been to St. Louis No. 1, and I have seen the tomb of Laveau, seen the fat tourists from Little Rock to Hackensack drawing crosses on the bricks–making wishes to the bones of Marie Laveau. Little do they know, all they have to do to get their wishes granted was come down here to the Ninth Ward and get their hair braided.