Chapter Text
The world was a dark labyrinth of nightmares for Fade. Every night at precisely 4 AM, the horrors that haunted her mind became reality. The feeling of claws raking down her arms, the sensation of choking on shadows, and the agony of unseen blows landing on her body—it all felt too real. She woke up every morning with new bruises, their purple and blue hues decorating her pale skin like macabre tattoos. She couldn’t escape them, no matter how hard she tried.
But Fade wasn't the only one who suffered in the dead of night. Deadlock, the stoic, unyielding agent, was also plagued by nightmares. The compound was a fortress of silence at night, a place where the agents of Valorant could retreat from the chaos of their daily missions. But for Deadlock, that silence was oppressive. It wrapped around her like a shroud, suffocating her in the darkness. Every night was a battle against sleep, and when she did finally succumb, it was only to be thrust into a world of horrors that felt all too real.
In her nightmares, she was back in the heart of a battle, facing the radiant monsters that haunted her every waking moment. They were grotesque, twisted versions of the creatures she had fought in the past—limbs elongated, mouths filled with rows of sharp teeth, eyes glowing with a malevolent light. They came at her from all sides, relentless and unstoppable, their claws slicing through her armor, their breath hot and rancid on her skin. No matter how many she struck down, more would rise to take their place, and she was always alone, fighting a losing battle. She would wake up with her heart pounding, her sheets drenched in sweat, the screams from her dream still echoing in her ears.
And every night, like clockwork, she would hear Fade's cries. They were different from her own—more desperate, more haunting. There was a rawness to them that made Deadlock's skin crawl. It was as if Fade was being torn apart from the inside, her soul slowly unraveling with each passing night. Deadlock tried to ignore it again, telling herself that it wasn’t her place to intervene. Fade was a fellow agent, a powerful one at that, and she could handle herself. But as the days passed, the screams didn’t stop, and neither did Deadlock’s growing concern.
Their dorms were close, too close for Deadlock to ignore the screams that echoed through the walls every night. She heard Fade’s muffled cries, the sounds of her thrashing against the bedsheets. Each scream was a dagger to Deadlock’s heart, awakening something protective within her that she hadn’t felt in a long time.
During the day, she kept her distance, watching Fade from afar. The Turkish agent moved like a shadow, gliding through the halls of the compound with an almost ghostly presence. Most times she was alone, rarely chatting with a few specific people, always quiet, her dark eyes hollow and empty. Fade was a mystery. She was distant, reserved, with a dark aura that kept others at bay.
However there was something more beneath her detached exterior—Deadlock could see it in the way Fade’s eyes lingered on the horizon as if searching for something she couldn’t find. The signs were subtle, but they were there: the way she moved as if every step was a burden, the way she winced when someone brushed too close. Fade was exhausted, a ghost of herself. But she was also sharp, her movements precise, her mind focused. She did her work without complaint, never showing any sign of the torment she endured at night.
It didn’t add up. How could someone who seemed so composed during missions be so shattered at night? Deadlock found herself fixating on this question, her thoughts consumed by the enigma that was Fade.
The Norwegian agent considered asking Sage, their healer and someone she fully trusted, about Fade and her radiant abilities. Sage might know something, anything, that could help. But Deadlock hesitated. She wasn’t good with emotions, wasn’t good with prying into someone else’s life, and she feared that asking would betray her own vulnerability. So she kept her distance, hoping that maybe, just maybe, Fade would be able to handle whatever demons were chasing her and trying to convince herself that it was better this way. But every night, when she woke up from her own nightmares, she couldn’t help but think of Fade. And each time, the urge to reach out, to do something, grew stronger.
But then there was that one night.
Deadlock woke up with a start, her mind still reeling from the images of the radiant monsters that had attacked her in her sleep. She felt restless, the need to escape her room overwhelming. She couldn’t bear the thought of lying there in the dark, alone with her thoughts. Quietly, she slipped on her boots and stepped outside, seeking solace in the cold, still air of the early morning.
She wandered aimlessly through the compound, her footsteps echoing in the empty hallways. She didn’t have a destination in mind, but something drew her to the courtyard. As she rounded the corner, she saw her again—Fade, sitting on the steps, a cigarette burning between her fingers and a small cup of coffee cradled in her hands. The sight of her was both comforting and unsettling.
Fade looked worse than before. Her hair was a tangled mess, falling over her face in disarray, her make up smudged, as if she had just finished roughly rubbing her red eyes. The dark circles under her eyes were even more pronounced, and her skin was pale, almost translucent under the dim light of the courtyard lamps. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days, maybe weeks. But despite her haggard appearance, she was composed, her gaze steady as she stared out into the night.
A small black cat sat beside her, its eyes gleaming as it watched Deadlock approach. Something about the cat seemed off, but Deadlock couldn’t put her finger on it. She hesitated for a moment, unsure if she should disturb Fade’s solitude. But the need to talk to her, to break the silence that had hung between them for so long, was too strong. Slowly, Deadlock walked over and sat down beside her, careful to keep some distance between them. Fade turned her head slightly, acknowledging her presence with a tired glance. They sat in silence for a long moment, the only sound the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze.
“Nightmares?” Deadlock finally asked, her voice rough from disuse.
“Nightmares,” Fade chuckled, her voice low and raspy, as if she had been screaming for hours.
Deadlock studied her, noting the way her hands trembled slightly as she brought the cup to her lips. She was exhausted, barely holding herself together, but she was still trying. There was something admirable about that, even if it was also heartbreaking.
Deadlock’s eyes drifted to the cup in Fade’s hands. The rich, dark liquid inside was unmistakable. “Coffee?” she asked, more out of curiosity than anything else.
Fade nodded. “Keeps me awake,” she said simply, taking another sip. The bitterness of the coffee seemed to ground her, anchoring her in a reality that was slipping away. “Not that it makes much difference.”
Deadlock frowned. “It’s four in the morning,” she pointed out. “Shouldn’t you be trying to sleep?”
Fade let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Sleep and I don’t get along,” she said, her tone bitter. “Haven’t for a long time.”
Deadlock could hear the weariness in her voice, the way it clung to every word. She wanted to ask more, to understand what Fade was going through, but she didn’t know how to start. Instead, she looked down at the black cat sitting beside them. It was so still, so silent, that it almost seemed like a statue.
Without thinking, Deadlock reached out to pet it, needing some form of comfort, even if it was from an animal. But as soon as her fingers touched its head, the cat dissolved into shadows, reforming into one of Fade’s prowlers—a dark, terrifying creature that slunk away into the night.
Deadlock jerked her hand back, her eyes wide with shock. For a moment, she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. She had just touched a radiant monster, one of the creatures from her nightmares. The realization sent a wave of panic crashing over her.
She scrambled to her feet, stumbling back as fear and confusion took hold. Fade looked at her, genuinely confused by her reaction. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice devoid of the malice that Deadlock had expected.
But Deadlock couldn’t answer. Her mind was racing, the image of that prowler burned into her memory. She couldn’t stay here, couldn’t face Fade—couldn’t face the reality of what she had just witnessed. Without another word, she turned and ran, her footsteps echoing through the silent courtyard as she fled back to her room.
She didn’t stop until she was safely inside her room, the door closed behind her. Leaning against it, she tried to steady her breathing, but the fear wouldn’t subside. She had seen too much, felt too much, and now the boundaries between her nightmares and reality were blurring in a way that terrified her.
Deadlock couldn’t shake the image of that prowler from her mind. The way it had materialized from the shadows, morphing from what she thought was a harmless cat into something out of her worst nightmares—it haunted her every waking moment. But it wasn’t just the creature that disturbed her. It was Fade. The look in her eyes when Deadlock had fled—confusion, maybe even a touch of hurt.
Deadlock started seeing Fade everywhere. Not in a literal sense—Fade was still elusive, appearing only when necessary, her movements quiet and deliberate—but in her mind. Whenever Deadlock closed her eyes, the scene on the steps replayed itself, over and over. Not the radiant monster that she’d accidentally come too close to but instead the way Fade’s voice had sounded—like someone who had already given up, but was somehow still clinging to the edge.
During the day, Deadlock’s concern grew into something she couldn’t ignore. She’d catch glimpses of Fade in the common areas or during briefings, always hovering at the edge of the group, as if she were an outsider looking in. The bruises on Fade’s arms, half-hidden by her sleeves, were new every day. No one else seemed to notice, or if they did, they didn’t care enough to ask. But Deadlock did. She wanted to approach, to say something, but every time she got close, the words caught in her throat. What could she even say? She wasn’t good with this—reaching out, offering comfort. She was a soldier, built to fight, not to heal.
And then there were her own nightmares. They had become more vivid, more terrifying, as if her mind was playing tricks on her, blending her fears with the reality of what she had seen. The radiant monsters that plagued her dreams were grotesque, their forms shifting and warping into new horrors each night. They chased her through corridors, their claws raking against metal, their roars echoing in her ears. She’d wake up gasping for breath, her body drenched in sweat, and find herself reaching for her gun, only to remember she was safe—or as safe as one could be in this world.
The more Deadlock thought about Fade, the more her curiosity grew. What was the deal with that coffee at 4 AM? Turkish coffee, she had recognized the scent, dark and strong. She knew little about it other than it wasn’t something most people casually drank at such an ungodly hour. The idea of Fade sitting there, pouring herself another cup as if it were the most natural thing in the world, seemed almost surreal.
One night, Deadlock found herself once again awake in the early hours, her latest nightmare still fresh in her mind. She knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep, not with her thoughts so tangled and her nerves so raw. Instead of lying there, waiting for the dawn, she decided to take a chance—a chance to confront whatever it was that tied her so tightly to Fade’s fate.
She left her room, her footsteps quieter than usual as she made her way through the dimly lit hallways. The air was cool against her skin, the stillness of the night pressing down on her like a weight. When she reached the steps where she had found Fade last time, she wasn’t surprised to see her there again, sitting in the same spot with that same tired posture. The small cup of coffee rested in her hands, the dark liquid swirling as she tilted it slightly. The black cat, or what she now knew wasn’t a cat at all, was nowhere to be seen.
Fade didn’t look up as Deadlock approached, but her shoulders stiffened slightly, acknowledging her presence. Deadlock hesitated, then sat down beside her, just as she had before. For a moment, she considered turning back, but then she spoke, her voice low and steady.
“Turkish coffee?” she asked, trying to sound casual, though the tension in her voice was unmistakable.
Fade glanced at her, her eyes dull and rimmed with fatigue. She looked even worse than the last time Deadlock had seen her up close—like she hadn’t slept in days, maybe weeks. But despite her appearance, Fade answered, her tone dry and almost amused.
“It’s strong. I like it.”
Deadlock nodded, unsure of what to say next. She had a hundred questions swirling in her mind, but she didn’t know how to voice them. Instead, she focused on the simplest one, the one that had been gnawing at her since their last encounter.
“How do you take it? Your coffee.”
Fade raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by the question. “Why?” she asked, suspicion coloring her tone.
Deadlock shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. “Just curious. Not many people drink it around here.”
Fade looked at her for a long moment, as if trying to decipher her intentions. Finally, she sighed, the sound heavy with weariness.
“Black. No sugar.”
“Bitter,” Deadlock noted, more to herself than to Fade. She could imagine the taste—sharp, biting, like a jolt to the system. It fit what little she knew of Fade’s personality.
“Bitter,” Fade agreed. She took a slow sip, her eyes never leaving Deadlock’s face. “Like everything else.”
There was a weight to her words, something unspoken that hung between them. Deadlock felt it pressing on her chest, making it harder to breathe. She wanted to ask more, to dig deeper, but she didn’t know where to start. She could see the exhaustion etched into every line of Fade’s face, hear it in her voice, but she couldn’t bring herself to pry into what was clearly a wound that hadn’t healed—if it ever would.
Instead, Deadlock shifted the conversation, though her voice softened as she spoke.
“Do you ever sleep?”
Fade let out a humorless chuckle. “Not if I can help it.”
Deadlock’s fingers twitched, an unconscious response to the tension she felt. “Because of the nightmares?” she asked, even though she already knew the answer.
Fade nodded, the motion almost imperceptible. “They’re worse when I’m asleep,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “At least when I’m awake, I can keep them at bay.”
Deadlock felt a pang of empathy. She knew what it was like to be trapped in a cycle of fear, to dread the moment your head hit the pillow because you knew what waited for you on the other side. But for Fade, it seemed different—darker, more consuming. It wasn’t just sleep she feared; it was herself, or at least the parts of herself that surfaced when she let her guard down.
Deadlock couldn’t shake the image of Fade from that night. It haunted her, much like her own nightmares, lingering at the edges of her thoughts throughout the day. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Fade sitting on those steps, cigarette in hand, looking like she was barely holding herself together. Yet, despite her exhaustion, Fade had met her gaze with a clarity that unnerved Deadlock. She wasn’t just enduring—she was fighting, battling something far worse than anything Deadlock could imagine.
It was like looking into a mirror and seeing a reflection that was distorted, twisted by pain and suffering. Deadlock saw so much of herself in Fade—the loneliness, the exhaustion, the constant battle against the darkness that clawed at their minds. But where Deadlock’s nightmares were confined to the night, Fade’s seemed to bleed into every waking moment, an ever-present shadow that she couldn’t escape. And yet, somehow, she still managed to meet everyone’s expectations on every mission, as if nothing was wrong.
That was what struck Deadlock the most. She knew how hard it was to keep up appearances, to put on a mask of competence and strength when inside, everything was falling apart. She had done it herself countless times, pushing through her fear and exhaustion to be the soldier everyone expected her to be. But what Fade was dealing with—it was ten times worse. Every bruise on her body, every tear she never let fall, was a testament to the battle she was fighting every day.
Over the next few weeks, Deadlock found herself watching Fade more closely. She didn’t intend to, not at first. It started with a glance here and there, a subconscious urge to check on her, to see how she was holding up. But it quickly became something more deliberate. She would linger in the training room a little longer than necessary, just to see how Fade interacted with the other agents. She would stay on the sidelines during briefings, her eyes tracking Fade’s every move. It was as if she was looking for something, some sign that Fade was struggling, that she wasn’t as invincible as she seemed.
But Fade never faltered. She carried herself with a quiet confidence, her movements precise and calculated. During missions, she was a force of nature, her powers unleashed with a terrifying efficiency. She gave nothing less than her best, every time. Deadlock watched her take down enemies with a ferocity that was both awe-inspiring and deeply unsettling. There was a darkness in Fade, a well of pain and anger that she tapped into when she fought. And yet, when the battle was over, she would return to that same quiet, distant presence, as if nothing had happened.
Fade’s interactions with the other agents were just as controlled. She was polite, professional, but always distant. She kept everyone at arm’s length, never letting anyone get too close. The other agents respected her, but they didn’t know her. Not really. And Fade seemed to prefer it that way. She wasn’t interested in forming bonds, in becoming part of the team in the way others did. She was an island, surrounded by water so deep that no one could reach her.
Deadlock understood that better than anyone. She had spent most of her life doing the same thing, keeping everyone at a distance because it was easier, because it was safer. But watching Fade, she couldn’t help but feel a pang of something—regret, perhaps. She knew what it was like to carry that burden alone, to fight the battles in your mind without anyone to turn to. And she could see that Fade was drowning in it, even if no one else did.
She wanted to reach out, to tell Fade that she understood, that she didn’t have to fight alone. But every time she tried to approach her, something held her back. Maybe it was fear—fear of being rejected, of being seen as weak. Or maybe it was the knowledge that getting close to Fade would mean confronting her own demons, something she wasn’t sure she was ready to do.
One afternoon, Deadlock found herself in the common area, pretending to read a mission report while covertly watching Fade on the other side of the room. Fade was talking to Phoenix, her expression neutral as he animatedly recounted a story about one of their recent missions. She nodded in the right places, offered a few words here and there, but her eyes were distant, as if she were somewhere else entirely.
Deadlock could see the exhaustion in her posture, the way her shoulders slumped slightly when she thought no one was looking. She wondered how much longer Fade could keep this up, how much longer she could carry the weight of whatever was tormenting her before she broke. But Fade never did. Every day, she got up, she trained, she fought, and she did it all with a level of composure that Deadlock could only admire.
And yet, something was gnawing at Deadlock, something she couldn’t ignore. It was the same feeling she had when she saw someone struggling during a mission—a need to help, to protect. But this was different. This was personal. She didn’t just want to help Fade because it was the right thing to do; she wanted to help her because she saw herself in Fade, because she knew what it was like to be drowning in darkness with no one to pull you out.
But there was that barrier, that invisible wall that kept her from reaching out. Every time she tried to take a step toward Fade, something inside her screamed to stop, to turn back before it was too late. She didn’t know if it was fear, or if it was something deeper, something she wasn’t ready to face.
One evening, after a particularly grueling training session, Deadlock found herself standing outside Fade’s door. She had no plan, no idea what she was going to say. She just knew she needed to do something, anything, to break through the silence that had settled between them. But as she raised her hand to knock, the door opened on its own, and there was Fade, looking as exhausted as ever.
They stood there for a moment, neither of them speaking. Fade’s eyes, dark and heavy, met Deadlock’s, and for the first time, Deadlock saw a flicker of something—vulnerability, maybe, or recognition. It was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the familiar mask of indifference.
“Can I help you?” Fade asked, her voice flat, devoid of emotion.
Deadlock opened her mouth, but no words came out. The fear was back, the same fear that had held her back for weeks. She wanted to tell Fade that she wasn’t alone, that she understood what she was going through. But instead, she found herself stepping back, shaking her head.
“No,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s nothing. Sorry to bother you.” Fade nodded, her expression unreadable, and then she closed the door, leaving Deadlock standing alone in the hallway, the words she wanted to say trapped in her throat.
As she walked back to her room, Deadlock couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret. She had let the moment slip away, let her fear win. But as much as she wanted to reach out to Fade, something was still holding her back. Maybe it was the fear of what she would find if she did, or maybe it was the fear of what it would mean for her own fragile state of mind.
But one thing was certain—Fade was slipping further into the darkness, and Deadlock was running out of time to pull her back. She just wasn’t sure if she was strong enough to do it. And that, more than anything, terrified her.
Deadlock stood frozen in front of Fade's door, a wave of regret washing over her as she replayed the last few moments in her mind. She could still see the flicker of vulnerability in Fade’s eyes, that brief moment when the mask had slipped. It was something so rare, so fleeting, that Deadlock knew she couldn’t let it go. Before she could talk herself out of it, she raised her hand and knocked on the door.
There was a long pause, and for a moment, Deadlock feared that Fade wouldn’t answer. But then the door creaked open, and Fade appeared in the doorway, her expression a mix of curiosity and weariness.
“Yes?” Fade’s voice was soft, more so than before, as if she was too tired to put up her usual defenses.
Deadlock hesitated, the words sticking in her throat. But she forced herself to push through the fear. “I was wondering...if you wanted to go for a walk,” she said, her voice a little shaky. “It’s almost sunset. I...thought it might help.”
Fade stared at her for a moment, her dark eyes searching Deadlock’s face as if trying to figure out her motives. For a second, Deadlock thought she might refuse, but then Fade gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
“Sure,” she said simply, stepping out into the hallway and closing the door behind her.
They walked in silence for a while, the sound of their footsteps echoing through the quiet corridors of the compound. Deadlock led the way outside, where the last rays of the setting sun bathed the courtyard in a warm, golden light. The sky was a blend of deep oranges and purples, and the air was cool, carrying the faint scent of earth and greenery. It was a rare moment of peace, and Deadlock found herself relaxing, if only slightly.
As they strolled through the courtyard, Deadlock couldn’t help but steal glances at Fade. In the soft light of the setting sun, Fade’s exhaustion seemed to melt away, revealing a quiet beauty that Deadlock had never really noticed before. Her gaze was drawn to Fade’s eyes—one a striking blue, the other a deep, almost haunting brownish red. They were so different, yet they complemented each other perfectly, giving Fade an otherworldly appearance.
“You have...interesting eyes,” Deadlock said before she could stop herself. “I mean, they’re...unique. Pretty.”
The compliment hung in the air between them, and Deadlock immediately felt a flush of awkwardness creeping up her neck. She wasn’t used to giving compliments, especially not ones like this.
Fade blinked, surprised by the comment. For a moment, she seemed at a loss for words. Then she glanced away, a small, almost shy smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
“Thanks,” she murmured, her voice so quiet that Deadlock barely heard it. But then Fade touched the corner of her eye, and her smile faded as she noticed the smudged makeup on her fingers. “Though I’m not exactly looking my best right now.”
Deadlock frowned slightly, noticing the way Fade’s shoulders tensed, the brief flash of insecurity in her eyes. It was rare to see Fade show any kind of vulnerability, and Deadlock felt a pang of guilt for unintentionally bringing it out.
“You look fine,” Deadlock said, trying to sound reassuring, but her tone was gruffer than she intended. She cleared her throat and softened her voice. “Really. The sunset...it suits you.”
Fade glanced at her, searching her expression for any sign of insincerity, but all she found was Deadlock’s awkward attempt at comfort. After a moment, Fade nodded, though she still seemed a little self-conscious. “You’re not bad at this, you know,” she said quietly, almost teasing.
Deadlock let out a small, nervous laugh. “Yeah, well...not much practice.”
The tension between them eased slightly, and they continued walking in comfortable silence, the sound of their footsteps merging with the soft rustling of leaves in the breeze.
After a while, Fade glanced at Deadlock’s prosthetic arm, her gaze lingering on the smooth, metallic surface.
“What about you?” Fade asked, her voice cautious. “Your arm...how did it happen?”
Deadlock hesitated, her eyes dropping to the ground as she tried to find the right words. The memory was still raw, still something she didn’t like to think about, let alone talk about. But there was something about the way Fade asked—soft, without prying—that made her feel like it was okay to share.
“It was a while ago,” Deadlock began slowly, her voice low. “During a mission, we encountered a group of radiant monsters. We were outnumbered, and one of them...it got too close.” She paused, the memory of that moment flashing in her mind— the monster's jaws clamping down, the blinding pain, the sound of her own scream. “It bit off my arm before I could stop it.”
Fade was silent, her eyes fixed on Deadlock as she spoke. There was no pity in her gaze, only understanding. When Deadlock fell silent, Fade nodded slowly, as if piecing something together.
“That’s why you reacted the way you did,” Fade said softly, her voice laced with realization. “When you touched my prowler.”
Deadlock glanced at her, surprised by the insight. She hadn’t expected Fade to connect the dots so quickly, but then again, Fade was sharper than most people gave her credit for. She nodded, a small, grim smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah,” she admitted. “It just...caught me off guard. Brought back some memories.”
Fade didn’t say anything for a moment, her gaze distant as she looked out at the darkening sky. The sun was nearly gone now, the last sliver of light disappearing beyond the horizon. Finally, she turned to Deadlock, her expression thoughtful.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Fade said quietly. “My powers...they’re not easy to control. Sometimes, they have a mind of their own.”
Deadlock nodded, feeling a strange sense of relief at Fade’s words. “I get it,” she said softly. “I really do.”
As the night deepened, the stars multiplying above them, a comfortable silence settled between Fade and Deadlock. The earlier tension had melted away, replaced by an unspoken understanding. They were two warriors, both scarred by battles that were more internal than external, sharing a quiet moment of reprieve.
Fade’s gaze lingered on Deadlock’s prosthetic arm, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. Tentatively, almost as if she were testing the waters, she reached out and gently touched the metal surface. Her fingers traced the smooth lines, the subtle engravings that marked the advanced technology of the arm. The touch was light, almost hesitant, as if she feared she might hurt Deadlock or invade her privacy.
“Can you feel this?” Fade asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper, as if the night itself might shatter if she spoke too loudly.
Deadlock felt a warmth spreading from where Fade’s fingers brushed against the sensors embedded in the prosthetic. The technology was top-of-the-line, designed by Killjoy to mimic the sensations of a real arm as closely as possible. She could feel every slight pressure, every shift in movement, as if it were her own skin being touched. But when she looked at Fade—really looked at her, with her mismatched eyes reflecting the faint starlight—Deadlock found herself hesitating to tell the truth.
For a moment, Deadlock considered explaining how the arm worked, how she could indeed feel every delicate touch. But something stopped her. There was a vulnerability in the way Fade’s fingers moved, a softness that Deadlock didn’t want to break. So instead, she shook her head slightly, offering a small, reassuring smile.
“No,” Deadlock lied, her voice steady. “I can’t feel it.”
Fade’s hand lingered, her touch growing a bit more confident as she continued to caress the metal surface. There was something almost soothing about it, the way her fingers moved in slow, gentle strokes. Deadlock watched her, noticing the way Fade seemed to relax as she focused on the task, her usual guarded expression softening just a little.
“Must be strange,” Fade murmured after a while, her eyes still on the arm. “To have a part of you that isn’t really...you.”
Deadlock nodded, a pang of truth in her chest. “It took some getting used to,” she admitted. “But it’s part of me now, even if it’s not...real.”
Fade looked up, her mismatched eyes meeting Deadlock’s. “It’s real enough,” she said, her voice carrying a note of sincerity that Deadlock wasn’t used to hearing from her.
Deadlock didn’t respond right away, letting the words sink in. Fade continued to touch the arm, her fingers tracing the contours as if memorizing them. Deadlock found herself wishing she could actually feel Fade’s touch for real, without the barrier of technology between them. But the lie had already been spoken, and she didn’t want to take it back. Not when Fade seemed so at ease, so present in this quiet moment.
They stayed like that for what felt like hours, the world around them fading into the background as they focused on each other. Neither of them noticed how dark it had gotten, the sky now fully blanketed with stars, the only light coming from the faint glow of the compound’s distant windows. Finally, Fade pulled her hand back, letting it fall to her side. She looked up at the sky, then back at Deadlock, a small, tired smile on her lips. “It’s late,” she said softly. “We should probably head back.”
Deadlock nodded, feeling a mix of reluctance and agreement. “Yeah, we should.”
They walked back to the dorms in silence, the atmosphere between them calm and almost serene. The connection they had shared during the walk was still there, unspoken but palpable. When they reached their rooms, Fade paused in front of her door, turning to Deadlock with a look that was almost hesitant.
“Thanks,” Fade said, her voice soft. “For the walk. It...helped.”
Deadlock smiled, a genuine one this time. “Anytime,” she replied. “You know where to find me.”
Fade nodded, a small, almost imperceptible nod, before she slipped into her room, the door closing quietly behind her. Deadlock stood there for a moment, staring at the closed door, the events of the evening playing over in her mind.
For the first time in what felt like forever, Deadlock felt a sense of peace settling over her. The darkness that usually clung to her like a shadow was still there, but it was muted, softened by the memory of Fade’s touch and the quiet connection they had shared. She turned and walked to her own room, the tension in her shoulders easing with every step.
When she finally crawled into bed, Deadlock closed her eyes and, without realising, drifted off to sleep without the fear of nightmares lurking in the back of her mind. The night passed peacefully, the darkness held at bay by the warmth of that shared moment under the stars.
For the first time, Deadlock felt like she was finally getting closer to Fade, breaking through the walls they had both built around themselves. And while there was still a long way to go, this was a start—a small step toward something more.