Angela catches Fareeha watching her in her peripheral vision, after almost twenty minutes of immersion in her research. She bites her lip, and hopes that the sudden rush of warmth creeping up her chest and neck doesn’t show on her face. She tries her best to continue chasing the glimmering thread that hinted at a breakthrough, but the intensity of Fareeha’s attention, now that she’s conscious of it, rends all logical thought. Angela grasps for the title and author of the study that she intended to look up, and instead, the image of Fareeha’s deep, dark eyes imposes itself on her mind, and she finds herself unable to recall anything else. Her fists clench, and she makes another futile attempt to locate the article, rifling through her notes and coming up empty.
She slumps back in her chair with a groan.
Angela tilts her head, meeting Fareeha’s gaze. She, at least, has the grace to look sheepish.
This is your fault for being so damn attractive, you know, Angela wants to say, but thinks it pointedly in Fareeha’s direction instead.
“Is something the matter, doctor?” Fareeha says, voice even and proper, even though she’d just been caught staring. Her shoulders begin to contract, and though she’s dressed in camo joggers and a simple black shirt, Angela knows that she’s poised and ready to spring into action should Angela request it.
Her eagerness — and Angela can see right through that stoic facade — does wonders to dispel any creeping jadedness the doctor might entertain.
That, and it’s cute.
Bad, Angela. Very bad.
She’s lost herself in her own head, still looking right at Fareeha, and it takes the subject of her attention saying, quizzically, “Doctor?” to bring her back to the present.
This time Angela does blush, like she’s two decades younger, and not for the first time, she curses her Swiss complexion because Fareeha is raising her eyebrow, and there’s something that looks dangerously close to a smirk on her lips.
That expression kindles a fire in Angela, and she decides that restraint is for people not living through global upheaval.
“Not exactly. I was just wondering how long you’ve been staring at me.”
Fareeha’s eyes widen, her eyes drop, and if her complexion were lighter, Angela is certain there would be a pretty flush spreading over her cheeks right now.
“I apo —”
Angela waves her hand in the air, interrupting.
“Not that I mind the attention.”
She can’t stop the grin that follows, not when Fareeha’s eyes are back on her and her mouth is hanging open in that entirely flabbergasted and adorable way.
Angela rises from her chair, research abandoned, and saunters to the kitchen, intending to retrieve a drink and give Fareeha some time to recover.
It wouldn’t do to come on too strong… yet.
Author’s Note: A random shitpost I made about Rocket Angel got a whole lot of notes, so, like, how could I not with that kind of welcome? Special shoutout to @blackhairedkata for ruining my life/sending me into an Overwatch spiral.
Additional shoutouts to @sniperct and @asynca for using a highly appropriate gif and writing the baller Rocket Angel that put the nail in the coffin of my attempts to not fall in love with Overwatch’s characters.
On a story-related note: this is my first time playing with the Overwatch cast and I’m working on my interpretation of them, so expect that to evolve and mature as I dive into the game and get a better feel for their voices. Also written in a hot second this morning, so I probably have some revisions/edits to make later.