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It’s not the big things that tell Brim he’s aging, because, for the most part, he still feels like a rookie firefighter in Baltimore risking everything to get people out alive. But when he’s done being cooked alive in the sands of New Mexico, his aching knees as he lifts from a crouch like to remind him of all four and a half decades.
Getting shot is the same pain as always. It was the same at twenty-six, and it’s the same twenty years after. What’s not the same is the aftermath. Get shot at twenty, you bounce back when the scab’s barely formed. Nowadays recovery takes its sweet time, even with Sage’s healing, and the nagging worry that he won’t be up for the task in time walks with it. But until Viper synthesizes the fountain of youth, he’s stuck with what he’s got.
Life has crept a couple years on him, half gifted with war stories and violence. But the thing about living as long as he has is realizing the war stories and violence are never as important as the peaceful times. So when Killjoy and Raze get together, whatever rules that disrupt that peace are deleted from records.
Brim tries objectivity, most of the time, because there’s a time and place and the Protocol is it. Still, he’s not-so-secretly relieved when Viper doesn’t seem to care about fraternization. But he’s not surprised—despite the many monikers she gets, Sabine Callas is just a human who tried to ease people’s pain. Valorant Protocol dictates you give up your previous life for it, but things always carry.
Really, it’s not even a decision.
Part of Brim will always see that in-over-her-head teenager working at Kingdom R&D in Killjoy. Teenage prodigy, but teenager nonetheless. Starstruck, prideful Klara, who cried in his office after an invention gone haywire, the world on her shoulders. He could never do enough for her.
Brim is not just military dedication and discipline, regardless of what some might think. He’s a little too weary to match the energy of the younger agents, but that doesn’t mean he can’t understand it. When he was twenty-six, he bounced back fast too. So when Killjoy burst into his office, eyes set with anger and wonder and soot in her hair, asking who the new recruit was, Brim already knew the two were tied.
Then he pretended he didn’t notice paint cans next to Killjoy’s drafting table, sketches nested between schematics, and that look of awe on her face like she just solved her latest and greatest problem whenever she saw Raze.
Some things are worth being flexible for.
When Killjoy and Raze go public, the agency seems to hold its breath. Like kids breaking a trivial rule, softly, with the realization they could.
Brim notices more, especially among the younger agents. They prank him, of course, so there’s a new couple every month and even more on valentines. Between those is whatever’s genuine. Exclusive and open, trysts and promise rings. Whatever the agents have among each other isn’t always for a leader to intrude on. Like teenagers sent off into the world, parents aren’t always supposed to know about what goes on with them.
Still, he notices. It’s hard not to.
Chamber requests leave every so often to visit fancy Parisian designers. Consequently, Yoru shows up with new accessories expertly matched to his look every mission.
He gets less emails concerning Fade’s insomnia, and quietly gets a memo slipped onto his desk that her room’s biometric has been updated to unlock for Neon.
Jett commandeers the kitchen twice a week, at least, to prepare a feast—only ever for the object of her affections. Nobody complains because the leftovers are still the best food the protocol has had since the last time she cooked.
He doesn’t know the last time Harbor and Astra were apart for a mission.
Some things are unexpected, like when Phoenix breaks Yoru’s score in the range and for a second Brim thinks he’s going to have to go down the break up a fight, but Yoru ends up yanking Phoenix into a kiss. There’s a lot of playful screams and hollering at that move.
Or when he catches a flustered, rumpled Sage leaving Reyna’s room at who-knows-what o’ clock in the morning, and a soft look over tea the next day.
Raze and Killjoy stay the only official couple in terms of documentation, but vacation and leave gets put in at suspicious times ( Really? Brim can’t help but think, Sova, Cypher, and Omen? )
At least Brim’s agents know to leave whatever’s going on between them off the battlefield. Not that they always do.
Some weeks there’ll be passive aggressive comments thrown between callouts, but it’s almost preferable to ice cold silence and snipped conversations. Things stay in flux, but it’s constant in that.
Nothing ever turns out perfect—Brim just doesn’t want to carry out any more body bags than he has to. He tells them this, on a particularly bad day. There’s no more infighting after that.
So it goes.
The common room, these days, is never quiet. Shuffling, singing, conversation, hell, it’s even hosted an arts-and-crafts night at an anonymous request. Albeit an anonymous request streaked with spray-paint. Someone is always there, slacking off, de-stressing after a mission, trying to banish their loneliness. During the inception of the protocol, Headquarters couldn’t feel more empty. Just him and Viper, really, with all their ambition and steel.
It’s loud, now. Brim doesn’t miss the silence.
Gekko has roped half the protocol—even Viper, by some act of god--into a fighting game tournament. Brim is too busy to stay long, but he shows up halfway through to school some newcomers. Who’s to say being the leader means you have to ignore its perks?
Raze and Killjoy are shuffled together like cards into one of the chairs, impressively engineering a position where both can play with minimal bumping into eachother. Raze shouts at a move Breach pulls, nearly knocking off Killjoy’s glasses in her affrontement. Cypher laughs at them from over his chess game with Sova, who merely rolls his eyes at the man and flicks a piece to the side.
Raze accepts this defeat with all the grace she has—which is to say, not a lot. She groans, tosses her controller over to Jett, and turns to sulk in Killjoy’s arms. Killjoy, to her credit, laughs only once and spends the rest of the time obligingly comforting Raze. Jett manages to rope Viper into a round, and despite minor complaints of breaking the bracket, nobody really pushes it due to Viper being oddly compliant.
Some of the people hanging around aren’t even partaking—but it’s good entertainment as any. Skye and Deadlock pause their conversation every so often to jeer or cheer, depending on the matchup and plays. Neon dubs Fade her stand in, out of fear for shorting the old gaming system, and excitedly shocks her every time she wins. Despite the minor static, Fade doesn’t seem to mind the touch.
Brim only stays for half an hour, but once he’s back in his office, it feels like he’s won a marathon. Warm and triumphant and pretty fucking exausted. Headquarters late into the night, a smokey scotch nightcap, and paperwork. The common room’s light stays on. He wonders when he got so old and nostalgic.
Yeah, Brim thinks, this is what it’s all for.