Disclaimer: I own nothing.
When did it start?
Helix Security. That's where I was. I'd made a name for myself there, but my true passion was always to join the very team my mother never wanted me to. Late at night I'd stare up at the vast sky and think about how life would be if I could be there. Posters of my favorite heroes used to line my walls, but now they sit elsewhere. Framed and still cherished, though. One in particular still catches my fancy and I'm helpless to not follow stories about the endeavors. New inventions pop out here and there. Incredible breakthroughs make me want to cry, but I don't. What would you think of me then?
You. I followed your stories. You are one of my heroes, if that wasn't already clear. You inspire me to push myself harder, to be more than I am now. You and the very task force that was shut down long ago. The same task force that has actually sent out a recall. Screw the PETRAS act, I guess. And now here I am at Gibraltar, newly recruited, reporting for duty, and there you are. Angela Ziegler in the flesh. Honestly, I have no idea when it started.
I just know that I cannot stop now even if I wanted to.
We've been working together for awhile now. In secret. We fight to right the wrongs. To protect and defend a world rich in privilege but dirt-poor in moral fiber. That is where we live and I would want it no other way. Because in another world, a perfect one so to say, you probably wouldn't exist. We as a team, a family, probably wouldn't, come to think of it.
It hurts.
To think of that, but also thinking of you causes my heart to spasm painfully in my chest. Whether it's a good thing or not is irrelevant when I see you. Because when I do, everything else melts away. My body's aches, my stress and some of my sternness. (Your immense pacifism is enough to make me choose words carefully when planning or executing and it's a little unnerving at times.) In spite of all that's happened to you, you're still here and I have nothing but more respect for you. Again. When I see you and that gentle look only you seem to possess, all that's left in me is a subtle peace.
I've been trained to leave baggage behind, lest it mess with my head on the battlefield, but my training never included You. There may be an outward calm when you join us on a mission, but inside, I am a mess. Nerves claw at me. My palms sweat as my stomach churns. My heart still beats rapidly when I'm around you and I'm sure it's a cause of concern when we're connected by your healing stream, but I cannot help it. The enemies, the barriers, the absolute trouble I rocket over are all mere obstacles in my way to you. I deeply care about the safety of others, but you are number one on my radar.
It's a little embarrassing.
I'm more awkward than usual when we're alone. When there's time for a breather on a mission and we have to share water, I find myself fumbling with the canteen after you've had your fill. When we're not on a mission and you come in to the gym for your own cardio, I have to be careful with the weights lest I drop them on me. (I catch the snickers of others, but act as if it doesn't involve me.) When I'm out testing new tech on the Raptora and you find yourself making use of the targets with your blaster, I have to make sure I don't accidentally shoot myself out of the sky, or worse, use my concussive blast to rocket you into the air. There are plenty of other times where I've made a complete fool of myself around you and you release the quietest of giggles much to my dismay.
(Those are the best because you yourself get embarrassed for laughing at me and then spend precious minutes trying to apologize.)
It's not fun sometimes.
Not that I'm ashamed or even tired of being with you. As friends. But, it's not fun sometimes because you only see me as a friend while I'm busy falling over myself trying to contain pent up feelings when you're around. I still don't know when it all started. I just know that when others flirt with you, bring you flowers, lunch, and then go further to buy you drinks after work, I have to look away. Because you are not mine. How I wish you were. Jealousy is triggered when I'm invited along, so I come up with excuses to get out of those exact engagements. Don't want to mess up a good time. The youngest member of the team is usually the way to go when I want an out, for she hosts frequent guests and I'm actually quite good with a controller. (Even she feels sorry enough for me, but says nothing as she introduces a new game.)
I think about what you're doing then. Are you having fun? Is there ever any time of day that I cross your mind? Guess I'll never know. Though, I am also dumb enough to not do any of those aforementioned things for you, so it's kind of my fault too.
Seems I've blasted myself straight into a rut.
It's pathetic.
The way my eyes trail after you when I think you aren't looking. Longing. They search for you even though I know you're up to your ears in paperwork, research, and fixing anyone who comes to you for help. Paper cuts included. That's tempting because I would find any excuse to talk, or even just see you. Sometimes it works, but I bring tea and not flowers. More effective. You drink gallons of coffee for weeks at a time, so a nice soothing tea sounds so much better to me. (You've never protested, so I keep it up.) Once, I did buy flowers, but another teammate beat me to it, so I gave it to someone else in the med bay. The candies, I ate because I was late once again and after that, I stuck to tea. muthir lilshafiqa.
Day after day, I see people, bold ones, walking in and out of your office with simple bandages wrapped around, or stuck to them. Maybe there's a broken arm here, neck brace there, but the majority could be handled with a first aid kit. Inner me scoffs and think that I could do that in a heartbeat. However, I am not so frivolous with my injuries. Pride keeps me from visiting you for a stiff neck. Most of my injuries are handled alone, or by my own mother, but there are times I really do need you. My prosthetic arm is proof of that. Now those weeks weren't so bad because you spent a lot of time with me.
It's torture.
Seems like years have passed since I've gone away on a mission, but you're still as gorgeous as ever. Here. And there's a welcome back party I can't back out of.
Now, you don't get drunk often, but when you do, a whole new side of you emerges. She sings. She drinks more. She laughs freely. She complains. Sometimes cries over failures. (You're only human after all.) She flirts with me. All the while, I try desperately to be the friend you need. I'll be the punching bag. The shoulder to cry on. The protector from other drunk idiots. The arms to take you home when you're spent. All while not subtly inhaling you're intoxicating scent as you press into me for the things that were promised. You're so close and yet so far and I'm drowning trying to get to you.
What a homecoming this turned out to be.
It's getting lengthy.
At this point, I don't know what I'm waiting for anymore. Seems my chances have all passed me by if I've ever had any. Mom laughs at me for trying to hide everything away. Others see clear as day, have since the start, and share her laughter. I'm still clueless as to when this all started. It's only when I can't focus on any one single thing that I disappear to spend time ramming my fists into punching bags. When? I spend hours taking all my frustrations out on it until I'm a sweaty mess who needs her last set of human knuckles to be patched up. Why? My arms are sore. This is ridiculous! Body aches and I...need healing. My heart is sore and I wonder what your prescription is for a broken heart. I need your prognosis even though I don't know what it is that I have. I smile at the thought. It's late by the time I return and Mother is asleep. Hesitation strikes, but I do need a doctor, so I go to seek you out. Most nights I know you like to camp out at your desk even though it could be a health hazard. (Doctor things.)
It's you.
My eyes can't focus on you, but my other senses know you're close. I can't look because I fear I'm getting to a place I can't come back from. This is different than being trapped in a mission that happened so long ago that haunts me daily. That one, I sort of know how to handle and it involves a pill to calm me down. (Soldier things.) But as you fill my vision with questions in your pure blue eyes, I can't help the longing that erupts from my very soul. The one I've kept a firm hold on for too damn long.
Screw the fear.
Screw the age difference. My hand reaches out to push a golden strand of blonde behind your delicate ear. Screw the rules. You still while my eyes fall from yours to plush lips that would render anyone incapable of any movement. Screw the pain. In a moment of pure apprehension and adrenaline shortage, I merely press my forehead to yours and you also hesitate on whether to continue treatment or not. I can feel it. Pressure. Uncertainty. Months of infatuation being spilled out and analyzed. Uncertainty, because that's all I can think of. This could be the biggest mistake of my life. You gently lick your lips and that does it for me. Screw it all.
I love you.
A small gasp is transferred to my mouth as our lips touch and I'm quick to pull away. If this isn't what you want, I'm more than happy to leave and never come back. Probably die of embarrassment, but so be it. I'm sorry. The words can't be uttered, so I try to stand. This is wrong. What have I done? Something about you seems to shatter the walls I've built up. Especially for tonight and it's impossible to hide from the feelings now rushing out. I don't want you to see. It's too much, but I can't even run away. Seeing, as your hands have my arm firmly wrapped in them. There's an instance where half of me wants to detach the arm so I can run for the hills, but pride from such a ridiculous act keeps me planted there. I mean, if I did that, I'd still need to come back for it someday, right? Facing you that way is plain unacceptable.
You've captured me and now...
It's your turn.
With nowhere to go, I allow myself to be sat back down on the medical bed by you. Ashamed of myself and as quiet as could be, I let you finish bandaging my busted knuckles. You say nothing and only when you pat my hand do I find the courage to look at you. My face is burning. I want to jump off the cliffs and dive straight into the waters that surround Headquarters. Seems fitting for a seemingly strong bird to drown in a puddle of embarrassment. Stripped of her wings-
But you stop my internal degrading.
Your hands have captured my cheeks and your eternally vivid, wide blue eyes meet mine head on. "What took you so long, Leibchen?" Your sweet, accented voice asks. It's honey. Ra, it feels like centuries since I've heard you speak and that melodious noise makes me want to lose myself in it. The bird can drown happily now, but you've other plans.
Our lips meet once more and you tilt your head. Deeper. Your hands have moved into my hair. We explore, melding into each other as if life itself depended on it and I am so very lost in the taste of you. Nothing will ever compare. Not even the most expensive meal on earth, or mom's specialties. I'm done for. You have officially ruined me.
When we finally part, we're breathing hard. Faces are red and we're both grinning uncontrollably like children. "I've been wanting to do that for weeks." I finally find the courage to say. You only smile because your response was received already. As for what took me so long, we'll never know.
It's dumb.
Looking back now, I wonder why I ever hesitated.
A/N: I actually got around to writing Pharmercy fic! Granted, even I don't know what I wrote.
It started out as a letter to Mercy, (I even have it saved on my computer as Dear Mercy!) but it turned into something else and I don't know how to feel about it...
The breaks I wanted also aren't staying and I don't want to add these page breaks everywhere! But I will because I'm too tired to figure it out.
Let me know what you thought and if I should add Mercy's POV. (It might not turn out the same way, but if you want, we shall see.)
Thanks for reading!
~Jane