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The last thing Angela expects when she — begrudgingly, and with many reservations — joins the new Overwatch is to experience something dangerously close to a teenage crush. But she remembers the old admiration. It may have bordered on hero worship, at times.
Dr. Zhou was only a few years older then and just as accomplished. Overwatch employed a veritable horde of brilliant, beautiful women whose achievements in their scientific fields rivaled Angela’s own. She had to iron out the sticky tangle of admiration and attraction for each and every one, with Mei foremost among them. It’s strange now, so many years later, to be the one with more under her belt, even if Angela’s accomplishments these days have gone largely unnoticed and unrewarded.
Nine years lost to cryo. Angela wonders sometimes if Mei’s career would have suffered like her own, or if her genius would have protected her from the black mark of Overwatch’s association. Surely Mei would consider the blackballing preferable, if she could trade it for her colleagues’ lives. That is not the point. The point is that Angela wonders, some nights, about whether Mei’s faith in the new Overwatch has something to do with having missed the years when it all began to rot, missed the insult of professional ruin added to the injury of all the lives lost.
Angela doesn’t have it in her to feel envious; Mei’s situation is not better, only different. Sometimes when she thinks back on some of those other women she admired, she is even grateful, however perverse that may be. As tragic as Mei’s time in Antarctica was, she is living and breathing and whole, and that is more than Angela can say for far too many of her former colleagues.
These are morbid thoughts. She has long since lost touch with anything resembling spirituality, but she still silently apologizes to the memories of those lost, and she gives herself a moment to reflect fondly on Dr. Liao, Dr. Faty, both Drs. Acar-Fernandez, and the countless other researchers and medics, all the non-combatants who she tries to honor with her commitment to peace now. She wonders what they would make of her return to Overwatch. She wonders if they would agree that it is a better way to achieve the peace they worked for than burying herself in her work in Egypt.
She is not convinced. They certainly would not be convinced — not all of them. Perhaps her internal conflict is another way to honor them; perhaps the work should never be comfortable.
These are the thoughts that occupy her on her sleepless nights.
She isn’t alone in that, at least. Agents move through the Watchpoint like ghosts in the darkest hours. She has prescribed everything from tea to exercise to pharmaceuticals for more than half the people here. But she knows as well as they do that the real cure would require plucking the memories from their heads, and perhaps their consciences too.
Mei finds her sometimes, so it isn’t all bad. The butterflies are a pleasant distraction from the hollow nausea brought on by sleep deprivation. Perhaps it is selfish, but there is also comfort in knowing she is not the only one with memories too heavy to bear.
“Angela.” The sound of her name in Mei’s voice is nearly as soothing as the steaming mug Mei sets in front of her. The drink cupped between her palms is only half drained, but it is cold by now.
“Thank you,” she answers as she swaps the two mugs. Her voice is hoarse with disuse, and she wonders distantly how long she has been sitting here, how much time lost to the memories.
Mei sits too, with a smile that she doesn’t quite hide in her own cup. She is in a loose sweatshirt and her hair is rumpled, pink pillow lines slashed across one cheek. She slept some then. Good.
“Have you been up all night?” Mei asks. This is the standard opening question, but it is nice to know they are on the same page.
“No? Yes.” Angela pinches the bridge of her nose. “I fell asleep in my office. Naturally I couldn’t sleep again once I tried my bed.”
Mei gives an understanding nod, and the small talk lapses. The quiet is nice. It’s more soothing with someone else here, even if Mei is only here because she has her own struggles.
She has drained one-third of her mug when Mei speaks again, a timidness in her voice that Angela always finds most upsetting when it is aimed her way. Mei should not be timid with her, of all people. “Was it… Do you want to discuss it?”
Angela feels as moved as she feels distressed. Of course Mei would offer. She always does. Perhaps she deserves some directness, but Angela is not interested in dwelling on the dark things any longer. “Do you ever catch yourself remembering the silly things? Good memories of them, I mean.”
Mei’s smile is as hesitant as her voice. “Yes.”
“It’s good, sometimes. To remember them as they were. To think about… I was so intimidated, sometimes.”
“Oh?” Mei perks up here, and Angela thinks she has chosen the correct path.
“Dr. Liao was… I didn’t know much about robotics before I arrived. I viewed human cybernetics and omnic bodies as existing on the same spectrum. You know, if I could help with prosthetic limbs, why not a fully synthetic body? But the medical training I received had not quite caught up to this line of thinking. Anyhow, I went to her in the hopes that she might help me better understand medical practice for omnics, and she was so nice, but she still terrified me.”
Mei laughs quietly. “I can think of at least one person who is grateful you conquered your fear.”
“Genji may be the most obvious, but I have had many patients over the years who benefitted from Mina’s indulgence.”
“She was very kind.” From anyone else, it might sound like filler, fluff, something polite to take up space in the conversation. From Mei, it is genuine, and a compliment of the highest order.
“She was. And a genius.” Angela doesn’t know what comes over her, what possesses her lips to smile that way or her mouth to open to add, “And very pretty.”
Mei’s cheeks go faintly pink. She seems distracted as she says, “Yes, she was very… She was lovely.”
She seems to be holding something back. Perhaps she is only too polite to ask, so Angela volunteers, “Nothing ever happened, of course. I only admired her. You know, older, accomplished, so smart. There were a lot of women like that in Overwatch.” She knows she may be veering too close for comfort with this, but Mei is only smiling indulgently, as if she has no clue she might be one of those women. “Was there anyone like that for you?”
White teeth sink into a pink lip. There’s a hesitation. Then Mei’s smile turns slightly mischievous, as if she is going to admit something naughty. The fluttering inside Angela’s stomach is disproportionate to the size of that smile. “Captain Amari.”
“Ana!” Angela is playfully scandalized, although it covers for the pang of guilt. She has not told anyone here what she knows. She has not figured out how to talk about Egypt at all. “Who didn’t have a crush on Ana?”
Mei giggles and falls silent, sipping at her tea. This quiet feels different than before, as if there is something more weighing it down. Uncertain what else to do, Angela reaches a comforting hand across the table. It hesitates before it lands on top of Mei’s, but it isn’t rejected. Mei’s knuckles even out as her fingers relax, and her face says she is trying very hard to keep things light. “So there were others?” Mei asks.
“So many others.” It brings a faint warmth to her cheeks to admit it. “I was perhaps… overenthusiastic in my appreciation for all the intellects at work. And I was young, and so it felt like a buffet, almost.”
If Mei thinks she is foolish, she doesn’t show it. “But Dr. Liao was the… the crush, I guess?”
Angela doesn’t know what prompts Mei to even ask it, nor what comes over her that causes her to answer, “No. There was one who stood out, but it was someone else.”
“Oh?” The pink stain that spreads across Mei’s cheeks suggests some part of her suspects the things Angela has not said. But she has not pulled her hand away.
Angela screws up her courage, and she decides that perhaps a night like tonight was meant to remind her that life is much too short not to take chances. “Yes. This is someone who… is brilliant, and generous, and very, very kind. Brave, too. Much stronger than I think she knows.”
Mei’s dark eyes glisten, and Angela can only hope it is for good reasons. “Present tense,” Mei says, almost hushed.
“Present tense.” Angela takes a shaky breath, wondering if she is pushing too far, if pushing at all is going to be a problem, but she cannot back down now. “And I would like very much to show her how special she is, if she is ever willing.”
The click of Mei’s throat is audible when she swallows, but she nods, a slow smile breaking through the obvious nerves.
They could take it slow. It would suit them — suit the fragility of their nerves and the measured, steady pace of their friendship up to this point. But maybe it also suits them to act once they know something is worth acting upon, confident in their own abilities to come to a satisfying conclusion.
The first taste of Mei’s mouth is green tea and sugar. As far as Angela knows, she doesn’t sweeten her tea. The silliest part of her decides this means Mei simply tastes sweet on her own.
She smells of green tea, too, and lightly of eucalyptus. It is a lovely scent, one that has followed Angela throughout the Watchpoint, wafted from across a dining table or a desk or a conference room. Now it is here in her bedroom, and Angela hopes it never leaves.
They kiss carefully, as if Mei is as unconvinced that this is reality as Angela is. But the pillowy softness of her lips feels real, and so does the tangle of her hair around Angela’s fingers.
She has no plans to take it further than this, but it is Mei who convinces her. It begins with a hand at her hip, coaxing her closer. Mei’s fingers brush the skin beneath her sweater, and it is all the convincing Angela requires.
The sweatshirt is barely more than shapeless, but it’s always been hard to ignore the movement of Mei’s heavy breasts beneath it. When Angela pulls it over her head, Mei’s glasses nearly fly away, but she giggles and only pulls them off. Angela is more careful about taking them to set aside, but she is distracted by the tits in front of her. “Oh my god,” she breathes, immediately embarrassed by it. Then she realizes what it might sound like, so she adds, “You’re beautiful.”
Mei’s flush is deeper than she has ever seen it, dark on her cheeks and spilling down her chest, a mottled red that spreads across even the tops of her perfect breasts. She ducks her head with a giggle, but she doesn’t deny the compliment like Angela fears she will.
It’s so much lovelier than the maudlin talk before that Angela can’t help but kiss her again, swallowing up the sound of her laugh. When she touches, Mei’s tits are as heavy as they look, overflowing from Angela’s hand. She breaks the kiss in a gasp when Angela gently twists one nipple, but if it is pain, it doesn’t deter her. She chases when Angela tries to pull away to ask if she is alright, fingers curling around Angela’s neck to hold her in place.
Still, Angela tries to be gentler when she pushes Mei onto her back, when she kisses her way down to get one rosy-brown nipple in her mouth. She cups the other breast in her hand, obsessed with how far she has to spread her fingers to try to hold onto it, obsessed with the way Mei sighs and arches when she rubs her thumb gently over the hardening bud.
She could stay here forever, with her mouth as wide around Mei’s tit as she can fit it, Mei’s fingers slipping through the mess of her hair, but the hips beneath her shift more than once, a request that Mei hasn’t yet voiced and may not get the nerve to. Reluctantly, Angela lets off, and she leans back enough to take a long look.
Her hands skim Mei’s ribs and belly, following in the wake of her gaze. “You’re…” Angela glances up to find Mei looking back as if prepared to hang on her every word. “You’re everything I thought you might be.” Angela knows she is blushing as she says it.
“You really have thought of this before,” Mei says as if it’s a surprise.
“So many times,” Angela laughs, self-conscious. Words are more embarrassing than actions, though, so she dips her head to kiss Mei’s soft belly. Her lips drag as she moves to another spot and then another, kisses sprinkled in as she makes her way slowly down. Her tongue dips teasingly into the deep well of Mei’s navel, which produces a squirm and a giggle that strikes her as more ticklish than turned on, so she moves on quickly. Her fingers knead the skin too, the soft padding around Mei’s generous hips, the roll of flesh before her waist nips in. All of it is as good as Angela pictured.
Mei’s hips shift again, so Angela hooks her fingers into the elastic waist of her pajamas and eases them down. In nothing but white cotton panties, Mei might be the most beautiful person she has ever seen.
Angela leans closer and Mei’s legs part for her. She rubs her cheek on Mei’s inner thigh, mouth dragging along the thin skin there. “Do you want…?” she asks, before she becomes too overwhelmed to say the rest, close as she is to what she has wanted for so long.
“Yes, I— please.” Mei’s fingers slide tentatively along her cheek.
It is all the encouragement Angela needs. She starts with the thighs, peppering kisses along the insides. The flesh gives easily beneath her fingers, nothing but cloudy softness all around. One of those thighs gives a faint tremor as Angela works her way higher, and she wonders if it is ticklish again or something else.
Mei’s skin is saltier the higher she goes, the smell of her deeper and darker as Angela slides her tongue along the line where her panties meet her groin. She breathes hot, almost laughing, as she drags her tongue over damp cotton, and Mei lets out a quiet, surprised sound. From the way Mei’s fingers twitch in her hair, Angela figures she liked that. She does it again, nuzzling into the soft fabric barrier, pressing her tongue in hard enough to tease, dragging it up toward the bump of her clit.
Even through the panties, Mei tastes incredible, sweet and salty at once. There is only so much Angela can take before she has to get her mouth on Mei directly. She teases a finger along the hem, then she tugs it to the side, tongue slipping along the skin she reveals, hot with blood and tangy with arousal. Loathe as she is to stop, she has to if she wishes to get any further.
Mei almost protests when Angela pulls back, but she helpfully lifts her hips when she realizes what this is. The panties slip down and off easily after that.
Angela settles between Mei’s legs again, fully on her belly for the long haul, ignoring the growing ache between her own legs. She noses into the soft dark hair there, and she licks up along the delicate folds of skin. She can’t help the moan that escapes, and it’s echoed above her, Mei’s higher and sweeter than her own.
Angela’s tongue laves over the skin before she dips it carefully in, scooping more of the taste of Mei into her mouth. After that, she is tired of taking her time. She dives in deeper, nose bumping Mei’s clit as she begins to eat her out in earnest.
The taste of Mei’s arousal spills across her tongue, and Mei’s thighs tremble, inching closer together until Angela gently pushes them apart again. When she’s confident she can keep at least one leg under control, Angela slips her fingers up and eases two inside, just beneath where her tongue is doing most of the work.
She pumps them carefully, gently searching out the loudest, most enthusiastic responses, feeling the way Mei contracts around her, all wet heat and tight muscle. Angela curls her fingers, seeking and rubbing, and she glides her tongue higher to rub the flat of it over Mei’s clit. Mei’s thighs quake, her belly twitching, and she has begun to make noises that are going to follow Angela to her grave.
Angela carefully closes her lips around the clit in front of her, and Mei’s hips practically jump off the bed as if violently trying to dislodge her, but Mei’s fingers and thighs clamp down, holding her ferociously in place.
When Mei comes, it is with a squeak that is so cute Angela almost laughs, except that she’s too busy working her hand and tongue to keep it going, drawing it out as long as she can, until Mei’s pussy feels like it is trying to clamp down on Angela’s fingers and hold them captive, the muscles of her thighs jumping and her hips twitching restlessly toward Angela’s mouth.
Angela releases her clit, but she lets her tongue swirl lower again, soothing this time as she carefully slips her fingers free. She laps at Mei’s entrance carefully, drinking down the taste of her orgasm, letting her tongue slip in to feel the way the muscles flutter around it. She backs away, nuzzling at Mei’s thigh until all her muscles have gone slack and she seems happily buzzed.
While she waits for Mei’s recovery, she kisses softly at her thighs and hips, at the soft skin of her belly, relishing every dimple and stretch mark. If pressed, Angela would say she simply finds them all as beautiful as any other part of Mei, but farther down she knows that she loves them for the signs of life that they are.
It’s as morbid as it is romantic, but Mei is quick to recover and quick to draw Angela back up her body, to peel her out of her clothing so that she can return the favor, to let both lose themselves in one of the rare good things Overwatch has brought into their lives. In the morning, they will have to talk more. Angela plans to find a way to say these things without sounding so grim, and to ask Mei what it all means, and more than anything, to express, a thousand times if she must, that Mei is everything Angela said she was and more.