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The night found Cypher staring at the ceiling surrounded by silence.
The barren soundproofed walls didn’t provide any view of the night sky but the clock on his nightstand let him know it was well past three in the morning. It meant that he spent a few hours too many shifting in his covers seeing nothing in the darkness surrounding him.
He had been exhausted when he locked the doors and changed into his sleeping clothes and even then he had stalled taking the mask off to sleep, tinkering with his recording instead, checking his hat for any dust and nitpicking anything else he could. Staring off into every nook and cranny of his room until finally peeling the mask off and washing his face.
At well past three in the morning, he had around 4 hours before he was expected to assemble with his team and decide what they were going to do with the Radiant they captured only hours ago. That meeting should’ve happened the same day but Kay/O, acting as team leader, deemed it would be for the best if every involved agent was given some down time to recover and get back to the top of their game before engaging with the woman who toyed with their thoughts so easily, and Brimstone had agreed.
Cypher had been inclined to agree as well. And there he was, awake in his room wondering how she got as far as she got. As far from the top of his game he could be.
When he blinked he swore he could spot the lenses staring down at him. Could feel the hands gripping at his head, unable to fight back.
He could tell now that had been nothing but a nightmare, but it meant something that she found out about his name anyway. About his family.
Had that been a nightmare too? Paranoia?
He ran a clammy hand over his face, feeling uncomfortably exposed even behind the impenetrable walls of his room. He had to fight the urge to physically check every centimeter of wall and furniture for cameras or bugs for the fifth time.
He knew realistically that if his information was somehow unprotected, it for certain wasn’t gained by spying on him in his quarters, but the images were still too vivid in his head.
Amir was dead. Amir should be dead. After all, Amir had been found out, and his slip up must have been what traced them back to his friends. His family.
Amir died the same day they did, in the eyes of the world.
And for Cypher he would remain dead until they were all gone. For the sake of the ones that still lived.
Feeling too restless, fingers itching to fiddle, he finally gave up on sleep.
He pushed himself off his bed rubbing his eyes tightly with a groan. Cypher walked up to his desk, pulling a clean mask over his head and feeling his heart settle just a tiny bit by the action. Next came the hat and then the coat, thrown over his sleeping clothes. Lastly, the gloves. And then again Cypher had nothing to show who he was under the cloth and cybernetics.
He opened the door to his room, closing the coat and walking with only the thought of getting away from the claustrophobic sensation following him.
The dark corridors hummed with the electricity that ran through the security systems and doors, low lights flickering on whenever Cypher walked through. His own footsteps sounded too loud for his own taste.
He tried not to trace the way to the holding cells in his mind, tried to stash those kinds of thoughts for later, when he didn’t have any choice but to face them head on. Right now he just walked as quietly as he could, veering away from that path.
His steps did lead him somewhere eventually. The place he would come to every now and then on his restless nights. Some makeshift recreational room with a couple of seats behind a glass coffee table, a mini-fridge and a music player sitting next to an electric fireplace.
He almost startled upon spotting something sitting under the light of a single lamp.
The shadows weaving under the light was no trick of his mind this time.
Omen wore the same garb he did everyday. Head hung low with the hood covering it. In one hand he held a needle and thread while the other secured the lump of fabric that laid over his crossed legs. Entirely focused.
Cyper willed his heart to slow down, taking a slow, deep breath. In. And out.
He let himself in gently, sitting down an arm’s length away from the other agent.
Given this was an underground facility, none of the rooms had windows, and this one was no exception, though a panel showed a projection to create the illusion of one. The large screen remained off at the moment, showing back a wall of black. Staring at it he could spot his silhouette, just vague enough to be recognizable, moving to settle back in his seat slowly.
The urge to check this room was starting to creep up on him too, but doing so where Omen could see put a very fast stop to it, lest he seem completely out of it.
The thought was almost funny.
So he remained still. Very still. And the quiet came back again, the only sound being Omen’s shifting arms as he worked. Without the wraith moving to acknowledge him, and him not doing it either.
It was an old song and dance at this point.
For the many times Cypher came to this room to escape his thoughts or watch the night fade away on a screen, several featured the other agent. And probably many others when Cypher wasn’t present, Omen would be there. Cypher came to realize that Omen enjoyed the night more than the day. Either that or the man was plagued by an unfortunate severe case of insomnia.
It was most likely both.
As it was, they often found themselves like this. Sitting next to each other at late nights.
Sometimes they’d talk. About their missions (their successes, their failings, all bragging rights included), about food (the cuisines they missed, the things they’d never have again), their fellow agents (friendship, worries) and anything else that came to mind. Always threaded with thoughtful care so it would refer to only the present, the irrelevant.
Sometimes they wouldn’t trade a single word, just basking in each other’s presence, knowing that someone was still there in their solitude.
For every time, Omen had something in his hands. Needles, brushes, pens, puzzles. Anything he could fiddle with at his pace. He said one time it was to help him focus. He didn’t elaborate further, and Cypher didn’t prod.
Watching his empty fingers under the yellow light of Omen’s lamp, Cypher regretted not having something as well.
He turned his head to watch Omen work. Needle and thread dancing slowly but gracefully to mend a hole in the blue fabric. It took a moment for Cypher to make out that he was mending Neon’s leggings. As soon as the realization hit, all the doubts swarmed him again.
He opened his mouth, breathing in.
“You don’t remember anything about your past, do you?” Was what tumbled out, breaking through the silence. “Anything you are certain of at least.”
He could see the way Omen hesitated, hand wavering with the needle in its grip.
It was a clear break of their silently established rules, but he would first invite the man’s fury than be left to his thoughts.
For a few moments Omen didn’t answer, blending into the darkness surrounding him, almost like threatening to disappear into it and leave Cypher alone to his words. It would be punishment.
He didn’t however.
His movement resumed and his voice was a mumble coming out of his hunched posture.
“I don’t.”
It was a hard admission for him to make. Cypher knew it. For the year he had known the man, for all the moments they had together, it had always been a sore subject. If there was anything they learned about their mutual silence, it was that secrets were best left to hurt alone. That Omen allowed Cypher to bring it up meant more than just an answer.
“Do you ever think maybe that is for the best?” Cypher looked away, focusing on trying to make out his own face in the reflection of the panel screen in front of him. At this distance all he saw was a smudge of himself. The white hat and the cyan eyes were the only thing he could make out. “With no burdens from the past, this is as good a fresh start as it gets.”
Omen huffed, humourlessly. Cypher could hear him shifting in his seat, the creak of the leather sounding through the room.
“This life is the burden of my past. If anything, I resent the person I was for being spared the consequences of their actions.” He spat. “They were given mercy. Me? Not so much.”
It was a disheartening statement, but one Cypher couldn’t argue against. He didn’t know how deep Omen’s pains ran, never pushed to find out, but he knew they were there. They showed up in his words, in his manners and in his inhuman visage.
They haunted him, much like a ghost: unseen but felt.
“Why?” Omen asked.
Cypher fidgeted with the edges of his glove.
“Just wondering. From a reborn man to another.”
He could see Omen slowly dropping his work on his lap on the screen reflection, made clearer by his proximity to the light, head tilting to the side to look at Cypher for the first time.
He could feel the gaze land on his mask. It made him wonder if he was seeing through it as well.
“Wishing you could let some memories go?” He tried.
A nervous laugh bubbled out Cypher’s chest before he could help it. He shook his head, holding the hat down. The thought was so much he found himself getting up, pacing through the room.
Would he ever choose to forget what he left behind with Amir? It would hurt much less, wouldn’t it? A fresh start indeed. Starting from scratch would open so many doors for the future.
But just thinking about it sent a cold through his veins, a hurt that he felt in his whole body, in his chest, his wrists. How could he even entertain such a selfish thought? The good and the bad were all so part of who he was, he couldn’t imagine a life where none of it ever happened, even if he lived forever without having it again.
Another laugh escaped him, and he felt ridiculous by how sad it sounded.
He had thought about it anyway. He wouldn’t have asked if he hadn’t. But he knew that forgetting the past didn’t undo it. In the end, things would still be the tragedy it was and Cypher would be just Cypher.
Who or what did Omen leave behind, he wondered.
He kneeled down by the small fridge they had, opening it and quickly glancing over its contents, the cold hitting him and bringing a semblance of grounding. All the while that gaze remained trained on his back.
“No. I don’t think so, unfortunately for me.” He dipped a hand in, pulling a bottle of something that definitely was alcoholic, but that Cypher couldn’t read over the nerves that ran up and down his body.
He pulled two glasses as well, opening the bottle with disobedient fingers and serving.
It was a fruitless endeavor. Neither Omen nor Cypher ever ate or drank in front of other agents for their own personal reasons. It was revealing too much for both of them.
Still, he filled the glasses and sat the bottle down, pushing a glass across the coffee table ahead of them to settle within Omen’s reach. The other glass he took in his own hands, resting his elbows on his knees and nursing the drink in front of him, watching how the liquid caught the light in the small waves of its surface.
He licked his lips. Tried to speak again.
“I couldn’t really. Even if I wanted to.” The smile on his face put a strange tone to his words. A desperate one. He was making a fool of himself, but oh well. “It’s, uhm-... Hah… It’s complicated. But I guess the other side of the coin isn’t any less complicated, huh?”
He turned his head, glancing over at Omen. The man didn’t touch the glass in front of him, though his hands were now empty, laid clenched over his lap. The slits under his hood were turned to Cypher.
He couldn’t get into it. Not now. He didn’t even know where his child was. They were hidden, that much he knew. And maybe he could find out if he tried, but he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t know what he’d do if they found them because of him. Through him. And yet that single thread of knowing they were out there was a painful reminder wrapped around his neck and making it hard for him to draw breath.
Amir couldn’t let the past go, Cypher couldn’t have it back.
He hadn’t felt this hollow in some time.
Hadn’t felt this alone.
He swallowed down the lump in his throat, eyes drifting back to the glass in his hands.
“What did you see? In the mission.” Omen’s voice was almost muffled, far away, in the reality Cypher’s mind strayed away from.
Omen understood fear more than anyone else in the base. Could he smell the sweat in the air? Feel the cold that ran under Cypher’s burning skin? Feel the way his chest trembled.
“Myself.” He answered honestly. “Everyone did.”
He wished he didn’t have to hide. He wished he could disappear at once. Wished it could all be over already, even if it was just the bubbling hysteria in him speaking.
He wished he wasn’t alone. He wished he could dream of a real life again.
“I wish I didn’t die.” He mumbled to himself.
And instead of speaking any more, he let one of the hands go from the glass. For a few seconds the glass wobbled dangerously in his grip but it remained between his stiff fingers.
The free hand was lifted up to rest against his throat. He couldn’t get a grip, through the gloves and the discoordinated way his hand moved, but eventually he grabbed the bottom of his mask and jerked it up, cautiously even through the rush.
The movement made his chest clench even more painfully, made it uncomfortably tight, but the cold air hitting his mouth was sucked in greedly into his lungs and helped the dizziness he felt just enough.
As soon as the mask was sitting on top of his nose he twitched his arm down to grip the glass with both hands again, stopping it from spilling. The movement was quick, drawing his arms back up and chugging a mouthful of alcohol into his mouth, and then, the whole glass. It burned. It was a miracle he didn’t choke on it, but down it went, washing away the cold.
He gulped another lungful of air right after, head tipping down as he squeezed his eyes shut.
Something pressed against the back of his neck. A pressure squeezing just enough to remind him where he was.
Calm down, Amir. Calm down.
He took long, shaky breaths.
Having just his chin and mouth exposed, skin prickling under the cold air under the collected sweat, had him feeling several things at once.
He felt sick, felt like he could puke his guts out, felt like yanking away and leaving or lashing out, making sure none of this ever happened. He was stupid, trying to prove something by doing to him what he feared the most.
He felt relieved. Felt hopeful, under all that fear, that it wouldn’t all be over just like that. That in the dark, he could let it slip just for a second and nothing would happen.
For a year, they both agents sat next to each other, settling around the holes left by pieces they were missing, strangers to themselves, until it was natural. Until they could tell themselves that’s what they were, even with nothing inside.
Opening up was too dangerous, hurt too much. He didn’t know if he could take seeing any slither of happiness slip through his fingers again. Couldn’t even allow himself to deserve it with all the damage he had brought.
Amir bit his lip, focusing on the hand on his neck, breathing slowing down, feeling too much like the man that just survived that tragedy.
He didn’t know how long they stayed like that in the darkness of the room, connected by a touch of skin.
Omen moved, leaning away without removing his hand from Cypher’s neck.
Cypher watched from the corner of his eyes as he stretched himself, arm reaching for his own glass. He held it carefully between his fingers and slowly sat back straight, so close to Cypher he could feel the heat emanating from under his clothes.
The slits in his face went dark and he tipped his head back, the glass tipping with it.
He couldn’t quite see it, yet he was sure he saw lips form at the edge of the rim, alcohol washed down his throat.
He didn’t have to say a single word.
He leaned forward to settle the empty glass on the table and then laid back once more with a deep sigh, stiff all the way through the action.
It was a confession. Acceptance. Reassurance.
Understanding.
“Do you need a hug?” Cypher asked, his voice thankfully not as hysterical as it had been moments before.
“No.” Omen let out.
“You look like you need a hug.” He coughed a laugh back, shoulders drooping low with exhaustion, his whole body tilting to the side.
Omen only hummed back. Cypher kept falling to the side, arms going lax and empty glass touching against the couch, until his head bumped into Omen’s chest armor. A low thud ringing against his head.
The hand in his neck left and Omen shifted.
Cypher felt himself sigh. Ready to be done with making himself as pathetic as possible.
Omen pushed him off gently until he was mostly sitting straight, Cypher’s eyes closed behind his mask.
He heard ruffling and then a click. There was a louder metallic clank of something being dropped on the table and then the hand was back on the nape of his neck, drawing him down again. Omen pulled him closer until Cypher’s head was resting against his warm chest, chin rubbing against the soft fabric for a moment as he adjusted them to a comfortable position.
Underneath he could hear his heart thumping rhythmically, pushing on through all the hurt it went through.
Maybe his heart sounded the same, stubborn wounded thing that it was.
Cypher closed his eyes and let the noise lull him into a sense of peace. He still had around three hours to allow himself this kindness before the world called him again.
He hummed an old song about birds who wished to fly and held onto Omen as he waited for the day to end it.