A Natural Disaster

First fic of the year: a WIP one-shot I meant to finish last month, hah. Today was the sort of day where I needed some fluff and sweetness to get through it, so I managed to wrap this up. So here's some G-rated Symmarah, feat. disaster lesbian Fareeha and slightly more subtly disastrous Satya, heavily inspired by That One Scene from Into the Spiderverse. ~1,600 words.

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McCree snapped his fingers. “You never had an ugly phase,” he announced as if he had solved some great mystery. 

Fareeha jerked to attention only to find him staring in the same direction she had been. 

“Ooh, that’s exactly what it is.” Angela, however, was looking directly at her like she thought something was very funny. 

Five years’ difference hardly mattered at their ages, but these two had acted this way for the past twenty years. It was as irritating as it was familiar. “Please. Enlighten me.”

By the time McCree’s gaze drifted back to hers, his smirk was firmly in place. “Never had to learn how to be charming like the rest of us.”

“It’s a miracle you developed a sense of humor.” Angela’s smirk matched his. 

“Like you ever had an ugly phase,” Fareeha muttered at her. 

“I did. Fourteen was a very difficult age.”

McCree snorted. “No protests about my ugly phase, I see.” 

“You’re still in yours.” The answer came almost automatically, and both of them responded as expected: Angela with a giggle, and McCree with a weary, exaggerated sigh.

“No accounting for taste,” he said, lips twitching in his effort to look annoyed. He’d left himself open there too, but she didn’t take the bait; she instead simply shared a knowing look with Angela. 

There was only so long that either Angela or McCree would circle around the point, though. Eventually they deigned to let her in on it. “You haven’t ever had to try before, and she is the type who needs real effort,” Angela said.

“High maintenance,” McCree muttered disapprovingly, as if he had any room to talk.

“So you think I suddenly need to learn to talk to women.” She said it as flatly as she was able. Ridiculous. She had never struggled to land the object of her affection before, thanks very much.

“Well. A woman,” Angela said, more gently this time. 

Fareeha didn’t think that deserved a response. So what if she got a little flustered lately? It wasn’t like she stopped functioning altogether. She knew how to flirt. She could be charming. “Whatever.” It was the mature response, at least compared to the others that had crossed her mind. 

She stood, determined, and she most certainly did not stumble on her way out of the chair. She resisted the urge to look back at either of them, sure she would see only smug, grinning faces. It felt like high school. The feeling was only exacerbated by their setting: they were in the Watchpoint’s communal dining area. Which was not a cafeteria, exactly, but it was close enough that she could feel herself reverting quickly back to an age when she’d drawn her shoulders in, wishing she could take up less space in the room. 

It was only a few short strides, but with each, it felt like the floor wobbled, shifted, like it might rise up to swallow her whole. Satya sat alone at the end of one table, posture as precise as ever even while she picked at her lunch. Her hair was down today, rich and gleaming even in the unfortunate fluorescent lighting. It fell in a sleek wave to the small of her back. Fareeha imagined it was thick enough that it would be difficult to hold even in two hands, and by the time she shook the thought off, she had arrived at Satya’s side. 

She thought she might have a moment to collect herself, but as soon as her shadow touched the table, Satya’s head turned, bringing with it a waft of something spicy and floral. Satya’s sharp eyes softened at the sight of her, growing somehow larger than before. Fareeha’s mouth went dry, and every thought in her head disappeared in a cloud of that perfume. 

“Agent Amari?” Satya asked.

It was impossible to say how long she had stood there without a word, and even now her mouth seemed incapable of moving. As the silence wore on, Satya’s face began to grow concerned. The longer it dragged, the more uncomfortable it became, until Fareeha’s skin was crawling. She dug deep and drew on a well of willpower left previously untapped, and she managed to produce a single, “Hi.”

“Hello,” Satya said very slowly. “Was there… something you needed?” She almost sounded concerned. Fareeha couldn’t blame her. This was a tragedy, a tire fire in a car crashing over the side of a cliff into a trainwreck. 

“I⁠— you⁠—” Fareeha stuttered, then she wondered if it was possible to actually die of shame. Like maybe her heart was going to beat out of her chest and she would explode, or she might just collapse and never get back up again. 

She had mastered her fear of heights to go flying, to carry actual rockets close to jet fuel with only her body and some armor between them. She faced down terrorists regularly. She’d been shot at more times than she could count. She could do this. She forced her shoulders back and made herself smile, watched Satya’s eyes go wide and glinting at the sight of it, and she asked, “Do you mind if I sit with you?”

“Oh. Please do.” 

She felt light-headed, but it dissipated when she sat. Satya had sounded as poised as ever, but a faint red stain was spreading across her nose and cheeks. Fareeha could work with that. 

It was only then that she realized she had managed to get a foot in the door, but she didn’t have a plan. They sat in silence for a time, Satya not quite meeting her eye as she sipped her tea. 

Fareeha tried not to stare too much, but up close, it was much worse than when she’d been far away. With a dawning horror, she realized she might have to concede that Angela and McCree were right: she didn’t know how to flirt. Not with Satya, anyway. Not with someone who seemed perfectly content to sit in silence while Fareeha pretended not to gawk, and not while Fareeha could feel her friends’ eyes on the back of her neck.

That, of course, was all the inspiration she needed. “Would you like to take a walk? When you’re finished?” She gestured at Satya’s teacup. 

“Where would we walk to?”

“Down to the beach, maybe? The caves? The walking ⁠— with me, and not with other people ⁠— was the point, really.”

“Oh,” Satya answered. Her eyelashes were much too long, Fareeha decided. Or there were too many of them. Too thick, too dark. It was probably a very humanizing flaw, regardless. They fluttered as Satya blinked rapidly. “Oh,” she said again. “Agent Amari⁠...”

“Fareeha, if you don’t mind.”

“Fareeha.” The butterflies in her stomach kicked up a veritable tornado at the sound of her name in Satya’s mouth. The red in Satya’s cheeks deepened by the second. She opened her mouth and closed it again, as if debating the merits of each potential answer. It was embarrassing how much Fareeha liked watching her think. Haltingly, Satya said, “I think a walk sounds lovely.”

Satya looked strangely dazed at the resulting, uncontrollable grin, which Fareeha hoped was a good sign. Then Satya blinked rapidly again, then she stood and left the table. It was surprising enough that Fareeha simply sat, confused, until she returned, this time without her plate or teacup. 

“Are we going?” Satya asked. 

It was abrupt, but Fareeha was not one to ignore an opportunity when it presented itself. She let Satya lead the way out of the dining room, and she did not look at McCree or Angela, exactly, because she was a grown adult and not a teenager, but she somehow still managed to catch their twin thumbs-ups in her periphery and maybe she rolled her eyes just a little.

Once out from under the pressure of her friends’ stares, she thought it might be easier. Satya was still sort of overwhelmingly pretty, and sort of overwhelmingly smart, and sort of overwhelming in about a dozen other ways, but at least she was the only witness to Fareeha making a fool of herself now. 

Awkward silence hung between them, though. Normally Fareeha might inquire after Satya’s hobbies or talk about her own, but she wasn’t sure Satya had many hobbies that were not associated with her work, and that seemed… too formal, maybe. Or too much a reminder that they worked together. 

She wracked her brain for what she knew about Satya ⁠— both more than she might have guessed and less than she wished to ⁠— and Fareeha realized that perhaps she was the sort to want to talk about her work. The instinct proved to be a good one; the moment Fareeha asked, Satya’s eyes lit up and she grew more comfortable. Fareeha had always preferred to let someone else do the talking, and Satya’s enthusiasm was difficult not to smile at.

The walk was short, but it was nice. Satya was nice. Returning to the Watchpoint was less nice, because it meant it had to end, and Fareeha was less interested in that part. 

In the hallway outside the workshop, Satya stopped and broke another awkward silence. “This is what I do after lunch. Where I usually am.” Her cheeks were a charming shade of red again. “I like routine. My schedule. But there is room for more… walking… in that schedule, if you would like to do it again.”

Fareeha was sure her face might break if she grinned any wider. “Same time tomorrow, then?”

“Yes. Good.”

She waited until Satya had closed the door to the workshop before she clenched her fist, victorious, and totally maturely started planning the many ways she might rub it in Angela and McCree’s faces. Or thank them for pushing, maybe. But the rubbing in sounded more fun.