Chapter Text
Sighing, Angela tucks her phone back into her pocket and heads for the roof. As much as she wishes she could be home, at least this mission doesn’t involve any communication blackouts so she can talk to Fareeha as much as they can fit into their schedules.
She’s pleased when she opens the door and finds Genji already there, perched on the ledge and looking out over the city. She’d been hoping to find him. “Would you mind some company?”
“Not at all,” Genji replies, beckoning her over. “I was waiting for you.” He reaches over to the other side and holds up a small bag. “I got you some chocolate. …Not Swiss, though.”
Angela hides her smile behind her hand, pretending to solemnly shake her head. “I suppose it’ll have to do,” she sighs, then lets him see her amusement. “Thank you. I got you some as well. Swiss. The good stuff.”
He laughs as she approaches and sits, accepting the small box that she offers him and placing it and the shopping bag between them. “Thank you. Would you care to share them with me?”
“Please,” she says, starting to lay things out between them.
“As a palate cleanser after my inferior chocolate?”
She makes a show out of picking up a square of chocolate and examining it critically. “I would never be so rude as to say that.”
Genji laughs, the sound becoming clearer as he unlatches the face plate, smiling broadly at her. “But you’ll imply it just fine.”
Taking a moment just to admire that smile, Angela feels herself relaxing into the banter. Genji had been the one who asked for the mask in the first place, wanting to hide his scarred face. She’d agreed at the time because it was one way to ease his raging anger and give him some bit of comfort, the very least she could do for him. For a long time he wouldn’t remove it around anyone, which meant all his meals were solitary ones, apart from the group. She’d ached for his isolation, but hadn’t seen any solution.
Now he often leaves it off entirely when around just the other members of Overwatch, and she’s always grateful for the glimpses of his charm. He really has changed.
”I’m sorry,” she’d told him when he first returned to Overwatch, after a few days when they danced around each other. “Maybe I should’ve refused when they asked.”
“Then I wouldn’t have been able to forgive my brother, or meet Zenyatta,” Genji had said quietly. “I am grateful for what you did, though I didn’t show it at the time. I treated you very badly.”
“I understood,” she’d said. “I always understood.”
“Does my gift depress you so much?” Genji is teasing as she pushes the memory away. “These are some of my favorites from my childhood.”
She picks out something at random and pops it into her mouth, discovering it to be a chocolate covered gummy. “I just don’t understand why you’d adulterate chocolate in this manner,” she says, and he laughs.
“I suppose Fareeha got you something better?”
She smiles, remembering the moment when Fareeha had revealed the box with its familiar gold font. “Läderach,” she agrees, a bit dreamily.
“You have it bad,” Genji accuses gently, pointing a square of chocolate at her.
“She’s just so…” Angela searches for a word to describe Fareeha, her caring and generosity. “Wonderful,” she settles on finally. “You know?”
Genji, much to her amusement, glances away from her and back out over the city. “…Yes, I know.”
She sees her opportunity for revenge. “And how is Zenyatta?”
He looks back at her, almost sheepish, almost proud. “Wonderful.”
She smiles at his double meaning, and their conversation turns to other things as they trade chocolate and laughter.
—
When they return from the mission late on the sixteenth, Angela stops by her room only long enough to drop off her suitcase and change into pajamas before going to Fareeha’s room. Her knock on the door goes unanswered, however, so she lets herself in - they’ve long ago exchanged keys.
Flipping on the nearest light just so Fareeha will see it when she returns, Angela makes her way straight to Fareeha’s bed and all but throws herself into it. Lying on her stomach, she buries her face into the pillow and breathes, feeling herself relax into the sheets. She hates the travel days; she feels exhausted from both the mission and the long day, but also restless after having been cooped up in a transport for hours on end.
Even so, it’s nice to take a moment to just be here, to be in a familiar bed that smells like Overwatch’s detergent and Fareeha’s shampoo. She’s traveled so much after she first left Switzerland that there’s no real place for her to call home. A lot of her nights have been spent in hotel rooms and watchpoints and army cots in refugee camps. To have a place like this, somewhere that is comforting just by being itself, is a gift that she is grateful for.
It’s not lost on her that this is Fareeha’s room rather than her own, but it’s only on technicality. She spends more time here than there anyway.
She hears the footsteps first, smiling at their slight pause outside the door, at the quiet way the door swings open.
“Angela?” Fareeha’s voice is soft, obviously not sure if she’s awake or not, and Angela simply raises a hand in greeting. When she hears Fareeha’s laughter and those footsteps coming closer, she finally rolls onto her back, reaching out with a smile. “Welcome back,” Fareeha says, sitting on the edge of the bed and leaning down to kiss her.
“Missed you,” Angela murmurs into the small space between them after.
“Missed you too,” Fareeha says, then pinches the oversized t-shirt that Angela is wearing, tugging it playfully. “I take it we’re not going for a walk then?” That’s Angela’s usual routine on these sorts of evenings: a quiet stroll around the base, something that doesn’t take much energy but lets her just move freely.
Angela shakes her head, just a slow rock from side to side, feeling vaguely dissatisfied by the idea.
“Still want to do something?”
She nods but shrugs a shoulder, nothing she can think of sounding particularly appealing.
Fareeha lips curve into a smile. “You’re cute when you’re bored,” she teases, and Angela wants to glare at her for that - when is Angela Ziegler, overachiever extraordinaire, ever bored? - but there’s a certain truth to it that she simply can’t dispute. Instead she lets herself pout, something she knows Fareeha finds irresistible, something she usually doesn’t take advantage of.
And even though the knowing glint in Fareeha’s eyes clearly shows she’s aware of the manipulation, she still kisses Angela again, cupping her face with one warm hand, her thumb tracing across her cheek. She pulls back, laughing softly at Angela’s pleased smirk, before standing and offering Angela her hand. “I happen to know we have the ingredients to make cookies,” she says. “Want to do some baking?”
Actually, that sounds perfect. Angela’s never been a cook; she just never really had time to learn or practice. And she doesn’t have the talent that Fareeha has, able to taste whatever she’s making and know what she has to add or do to make it come out correctly. But baking is much more her style, even if it’s something she doesn’t do much: follow the recipe, do exactly what it says, get something delicious. And it does feel right for the situation. A light amount of activity that will actually accomplish something, but nothing that she has to think about too much or change out of her pajamas for.
That last one feels especially important right now.
“Yes please,” she says, taking Fareeha’s hand and pulling herself up off the bed, taking a moment to wrap her arms around her in a hug that’s quickly reciprocated. “But this is why everyone thinks we’re the moms, you know. My first night back and we’re making cookies.”
“That implies we’re sharing,” Fareeha murmurs next to her ear.
“Of course we’re sharing.”
“You can share.” Fareeha twists away from Angela’s playful swat at her arm with a grin.
Angela walks past her and opens the door, gesturing Fareeha into the hallway. “Come on. You can fill me in on everything I missed.” She notices the way Fareeha’s lips twitch, the subtle shake of her shoulders as she follows her out. “…What?”
“Well,” Fareeha drawls the word in a way that Angela immediately recognizes. “She’s a bit younger than you, very strong, very attract-“
Angela bumps her with a shoulder as they walk down toward the kitchen. “Other than you, you goof,” she scolds, and Fareeha laughs. Angela’s smiling as well, feeling lighter than she has since she walked off the transport. It’s good to be home.