Comfort Me (Moicy Oneshot)

Comfort Me

The world came crashing down on Angela like a ton of bricks, though in all fairness, it was a pitiful comparison. A section of bricks had once hit Angela square in the wings whilst mid-flight, to which she was certain that the immense physical pain was a papercut when held side to side with this. She sat in a circle with her team. The ones who survived. The captain had disclosed in the post-mission brief that Angela had failed to prevent all casualties; several civilians and a handful of their Overwatch soldiers. So many lives, gone, and it was her to blame.

If she'd decided to take a glance around the room, she'd have been met with nothing but understanding. Pitying glances and sympathetic eyes. There was nobody there who didn't know how heart wrenching the news was. Angela kept her eyes trained on the ground though, not believing herself to be deserving of such care. How could she sit there and receive comfort over the lives she lost, the lives she failed to save? She still had the privilege of breathing.

"Allow me to excuse myself," Angela shuffled in her seat as she gathered her little belongings. A small backpack and a coat was all she carried on her body. She envisioned the rest of her possessions back on the other side of the base, and longed for the bitter taste of something stronger for the first time in a while. "I'll catch up tomorrow in the morning."

The cold air was a welcome slap to the face. Angela would have usually given herself a pat on the back for remembering to stuff a pair of gloves in her coat pocket, though with the casualty numbers flashing bold in her mind, there were no congratulations in order for her. A tear slipped from the corner of her eye, trailing a warm path over the skin of her cheek. How careless.

"Gloves. Good call."

The tall frame of her co-worker leaned against the pole of a lamppost, one hand resting in her pocket, the other holding a cigarette between two slender fingers. The sight of Moira never failed to steal Angela's breath away. The dim light from the lamppost above cast shadows on her already sharp features, accentuating her angular jaw. She wore a plain black shirt with the tie already loosened, and fitted trousers. Angela's mouth dried up, and she wiped the tear away with a sniffle. So simple, yet it looked so good on her. It was unfair. The smoky aroma surrounding her was downright smothering, and yet, Angela had to keep herself in check to not lust so hard over it. It must have been years since the last indulgence- it's no good. Addictions are hard to kick, even if it had been an age.

"Evening, Moira." Angela said, with an accompanying nod of the head. She urged every bone in her body to keep walking, to make it home. A silent thank you was granted to the darkness for concealing her sorrow.

"Just evening?" Moira asked. Angela turned with a sigh, still walking, and plastered a half smile on her face. A few extra words wouldn't hurt. Just to keep the concern at bay.

"Good evening. Don't be difficult, now." Angela said. Moira stood to her full height, giving chase to Angela as she continued her trek through the empty courtyard. There was surely no way she'd caught on from that one interaction. Eventually, Moira fell into step besides her, boots crunching on the icy grass.

"Don't tell me you're walking back to your quarters in that get-up." Moira said, gesturing at Angela's clothes. Mainly her coat. It wasn't equipped for the weather, being so thin. The chill was only amplified this late in the night. It was irrelevant regardless. The concern was unable to be appreciated given the circumstances.

"And what's it to you if I am?" Angela retorted.

"Then I'll need to have a serious word with management about lack of accommodations or transport for their brave soldiers." Moira joked. She flicked her wrist to shake away the build up of ash forming on her cigarette. Ah. Did she have a spare?