Pharmercy + Necropolis + Star-Gazing!
Fareeha has never been here, and judging by Angela’s curious, roaming eyes, the medic hasn’t either.
It bleeds of Ana, though - and Jack Morrison.
The location, the remnants of her mother’s hiding, the Necropolis - city of the dead. They’ve come to find her - them - but like ghosts, the old soldiers are long gone.
“Fareeha, come sit with me,” says Angela, patting the limestone roofing of the ruins they’re walking across. Fareeha does as she’s told, stripped of her chest plate and most of her armor, she sits down in only her leg protection; feet dangling off the building, down, down into the pitfall below. It is alright; both Angela and Fareeha have learned to fall gracefully.
Angela’s got a cigarette resting unlit in her hand, supporting her weight as she leans back. She’s looking at a photo - one of Fareeha and Ana, a dozen years ago. They found it in her mother’s hideout. Fareeha doesn’t care to ask to see it.
“I don’t think that they will return,” Fareeha says, and looks up to the stars above them. Out here in the desert, not ten miles from Giza, it is astoundingly dark. The Milky Way stretches like a band, ethereally, almost perfectly above the Pyramid of Khufu and Fareeha is so far out her depth she does not even have the forthwith to hold her breath.
“It’s beautiful,” Angela says quietly, all at once acknowledging and ignoring Fareeha’s words. The doctor lights her cigarette and in the void, the glowing embers of burning paper and tobacco resonate like a waypoint; like something which should not be ignored.
“It is,” Fareeha agrees, smoke floating past her, carrying a long forgotten scent - reminiscent of the army, her allies who shared lights in their downtime, the warm Egyptian sun burning their skin just as the sand had; Aahil, who offered her a drag in high school when they ducked out during lunch to sit in the shade of their worn and sandy school building. All good memories, in their own way.
Fareeha watches Angela, unearthly in the starlight, and red glow, blinking up toward the pixel points above, quiet; at peace in a way Fareeha has never felt.
Fareeha focuses on the smell, the dirt digging into her palms and the homey image of a criminal’s cavern.
And then the stars, the ones in Angela’s eyes and the ones twinkling overhead. The silence of it all.
A moment’s rest before a storm.
“This is my first time in Egypt,” Angela confesses and laughs softly in a dry sort of unhumored way. “How could I have, for so long, missed how beautiful it all is,” and her eyes are not on the sky, her hand clasped tight on the crumpled picture.