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He missed Nora.
This was always true of course. Perhaps it was no longer the gaping void in his soul it once was, but it was ever present, a permanent ache in his chest. Still, these days he found it faded into the background more often than not, a thorny nest of complicated feelings he did not feel like touching in this exact moment.
No, this was one of those moments that drudged the pain back up, bringing memories to the forefront as if they’d just happened.
He could almost see her now, brow furrowed, hand gently but firmly resting on his forehead.
“You must really be sick,” she’d say, “you aren’t even complaining about it.”
It was odd, the first time she said it. It was a sort of realization to know she was watching him close enough to see the patterns. Perhaps strange to say, but it was almost humbling, to feel...known.
There was nobody for him to complain to these days.
A migraine. Not the sort of thing he dealt with often, but for whatever reason, whether it be the lack of sleep, or poor eating, or a stressful mission, it had brought it on in full force.
Pain dug into his skull like an ice pick, making every position or every movement torture. It hurt to open his eyes. It hurt to sit still. Nauseousness pooled in his stomach, so intense he thought he would vomit at any moment. He was unsure if he could even stand like this. Even if he powered through the nausea, he knew the movement would bring on a spell of dizziness that might just send him back to the couch.
There were steps in the hall. He cursed to himself; he hadn’t made it to his room, instead collapsing in the lounge in full gear. They had better not be looking for him. He’d rather they steal spare cameras from his room than bother him here. Even if it were Raze.
For fuck’s sake, were steps always this loud? Who was making this racket? Brimstone? Breach? Were they trying to make him insane? Every step was a hammer on the nail being driven further and further into his skull, painful enough to bring the beginnings of tears to the corners of his eyes.
No, it wasn’t just one. Two people? What was this? Torture Cypher day? Nobody had told him. He would have prepared. Made a banner, maybe.
They were talking now, too. Was that...Sova? The measured tone didn’t fit many others. It was less painful on his ears than the other abrasive voice jumping around in tone and volume. Killjoy, maybe?
Closer and closer, turning into a jackhammer as they approached. Finally, he could hear them near the door, feeling the relief pre-emptively knowing they’d pass within another couple of seconds.
“Cypher?”
Ha, now he really wanted to cry.
“I’m not here,” he groaned, “you see nothing.”
Even with his eyes closed he could tell, even through the mask, that a shadow had fallen over him.
“Wow, you don’t look so good. I think. Sort of hard to tell.”
“Thank you, my dear,” he said, risking cracking an eye open to see killjoy leaning over him.
“If you are ill you should see Sage in the infirmary.”
Cypher wanted to laugh at Sova’s stiff tone. The hunter had never been his biggest fan.
“Perhaps another time,” he mumbled, shutting his eyes again. The light felt like tiny daggers being shoved into his eyeballs. If only he could find a remotely comfortable position, then he might sleep.
“You need our help? We could get Sage. Or Sova here could carry you,” Killjoy said, her tone turning the whole thing into a joke at the end. Cypher imagined she looked at Sova for the punchline, probably enjoying whatever grimace he threw her way.
“I’m fine,” he responded. Anything more seemed like so much effort. Would they leave soon? He could only hope.
“Hey!”
What god had he pissed off?
He could hear Jett’s distinctive gait as she bounced into the room, as buoyant and energetic as always.
“What’s going on? Why does Cypher look dead?”
“I am. Go away.”
“Well he can’t be that sick if he’s complaining.” Jett laughed.
Cypher’s eyes snapped open. He ignored the pain as he craned his head around to see Jett’s face.
“What?”
“No, that’s the thing,” Killjoy said, ignoring him, “he hasn’t! We just found him like this.”
“Seriously? He didn’t throw himself here dramatically while crying about being at death’s door?”
“Hey…” Cypher protested weakly. He didn’t throw himself on couches that often! Only when it was funny.
“I will go find Sage,” Sova declared, his blissfully quiet gait disappearing down the hall. So all that racket must have been Killjoy…
Cypher groaned. If his stomach would cooperate then he would have long since left.
“Please, I do not need Sage.”
“Not sure I agree with that.” Jett seemed to drift closer, likely peering down at him with curiosity as if she might see through the mask. While it tracked his eye movements, it gave no sign they closed underneath. Probably looked a bit eerie, an unmoving set of glowing eyes.
“You do not need to agree…” he trailed off, exhaustion hitting him all at once. God, he wished he could sleep. He tilted his head to the side as if that might relieve some of the pressure in his skull. It did not.
“There must be something else you two need to do.” The words seemed off to him, spoken a little too slow and solemnly to sound right coming from his mouth.
“Have you always been this difficult? “ Killjoy tutted. She tutted.
“Listen little engineer-”
More footsteps. Multiple, again, as if he wasn’t in enough of a personal hell. Even through the pain lancing through his brain he recognized those steps immediately.
He didn’t need to look around to know Brimstone and Sage had entered the room, Sova trailing behind, for some reason.
“If more of you come into this room I will start complaining,” he muttered.
Brimstone chuckled.
“You sure he’s sick?”
“You too?”
“It’s my job to make sure every one of you is in top fighting condition,” Brimstone said, not even trying to hide the humor in his voice.
“At least you find it amusing. I do love to entertain.”
How did speaking drain so much of his energy?
He felt movement next to him and looked to see Sage kneeling by the couch, expression serious and concerned.
“I do not often see you look so ill, Cypher. What happened?”
“Nothing happened,” he huffed, “my head hurts, is all. These children overreacted.”
“Children!” Killjoy huffed.
Before he could reply a fresh wave of nausea hit out of nowhere, overwhelming him with the desire to vomit. He reacted without thinking, ignoring the pain flaring in his head as he flipped to lean over the edge of the couch with a grunt.
Nothing came out, luckily, something Sage was quick to point out.
“Cypher, you will need to take your mask off if you are that sick.” She said gently. Distantly he was aware of the others backing up.
“Why didn’t you go straight to the infirmary, Cypher?” Brimstone said, humor replaced with genuine concern.
Cypher wanted to laugh. He would have laughed if he wasn’t still waiting for the storm in his stomach to settle.
“Friend, is there anything you need me to get for you?” Sova said, speaking up for the first time since he’d walked into the room.
Cypher did laugh this time, weakly, with difficulty, but he did laugh.
“You all must be terribly bored.”
“Cypher…” Brimstone said, strangely enough with a warning in his voice.
“It’s a migraine, Brimstone. Nothing more.” He said as he eased himself back down. He’d be damned if he would take off his mask in front of everyone over something as stupid as this.
“There is medicine for such a thing in the infirmary. I will return in a moment. Please rest until then.” Sage rose up and walked quickly from the room, a woman on the mission. Cypher grunted an affirmation she probably didn’t even hear.
“So...do you need anything from us, or…” Jett sounded unsure. Eager to leave, he hoped.
“No. Please, no.”
Killjoy and Brimstone laughed, normally perfectly acceptable voices now like explosions going off next to his ear.
“Alright, alright, I get it, we’ll leave you alone,” Killjoy chuckled again. “I’ll be in the workshop if you need anything. As long as, uh, you keep everything in your stomach. Promise I won’t even mess with that cute tech of yours.”
“Mhm.”
“Make sure to clean up after yourself!” Jett called out, already halfway out the door.
“Take care,” Brimstone added awkwardly.
To his surprise, the light clicked off, leaving the room dark save for what filtered in through the windows and from the hall.
“Be well, friend,” Sova said, before disappearing with the others.
Friend again, huh?
The quiet was a relief after all of that, even if the actual pain was no better. At least his stomach was finally settling into something more manageable.
Strange, how empty the room seemed now.
Cypher pushed it from his mind, letting himself sink into the stiff pillow as he tried some sort of fitful rest. It was futile, of course, no matter how tired he was, but he tried.
It wasn’t long before Sage returned, a bottle of pills in one hand and a glass of water in another.
She set both on the side table carefully.
“I will leave these here for you, but please do not be afraid to ask if you need anything else.”
Cypher forced himself to look up, meeting her kind eyes with his own false ones.
“I will be fine. But...thank you.”
She smiles.
“You are one of us, Cypher. You are safe here. Do not be afraid to show weakness.”
She left without another word, completely oblivious to the indignant noise he made.
Don’t be afraid? Did she think he wore the mask as a stylish accessory?
He waited several more minutes, enjoying the silence, before forcing himself up to a sitting position, taking each inch slowly, pausing at every moment to let the fresh waves of pain settle before moving again. Another few minutes passed before he reached up, unsnapping the mask with slow movements. He peeled it off, breathing deeply as the unfiltered air hit his skin. It was always a strange feeling after spending so many hours with it functionally glued on, but today it was...nice.
He took the pills as quickly as his body would allow, hoping they would get to work fast so he could get back to his own work. He couldn’t be bothered to move; the couch was good enough.
He looked down at the mask in his lap, realizing he would need to put it back on if he napped here in such a public spot. Anyone could poke their head in at any time, curiosity getting the better of them about the sick information broker.
“Well he can’t be that sick if he’s complaining.”
He lowered himself once again, tossing and turning until he found a position that was almost bearable. Maybe now he could actually sleep and be done with this stupid inconvenience.
Hours from now, when he woke up, in a significantly better mood, though in desperate need of a shower, he would see where his mask, that had fallen to the floor in his sleep, had been carefully laid on the side table, next to a refreshed glass of water and a missing bottle of pills. He would never mention it, and nobody would ever say a word to him. It was likely Sage who had come to check on him, but he didn’t spend much time wondering.
He came to realize he didn’t really care who it was. He did not feel the creep of paranoia or the fear clenching in his core at the idea of his exposed face. Not here. Not anymore.
What a novel feeling.