Work Text:
Quiet mornings like these are hard to come by.
Raze pondered as she pulled a few simple breakfast ingredients from the refrigerator, closing the door with her hip as she set the items down on the nearby kitchen counter. She then looked around, taking in the sight of a sleek and minimalistic interior of an apartment, the still dimness that previously enveloped the furniture and walls of the living room had gradually dissipated as the morning light oozed through wide window walls after Raze had pushed the curtains aside earlier.
She briefly wondered if she should’ve slid the glass windows open, if even just a bit, just to let the morning breeze come through and introduce more sunlight into the room—a little ritual she’s grown accustomed to whenever she went home to Salvador, considering the warm climate. But then she remembered the chilly, almost biting winds in the evening streets of Berlin the night before, and figured she was better off keeping the windows closed. Besides that, she wasn’t quite sure how Klara’s windows worked anyways, if the engineer had somehow installed any sort of automatic modifications or such, and she didn’t want to risk breaking anything on their first full day vacationing in Berlin—even if she did have a penchant for destruction, Killjoy’s stuff was certainly off-limits.
They were in Killjoy’s apartment, nestled somewhere in the middle of one of the livelier and more vibrant districts of central Berlin. The tech genius spent most of her time at the Protocol’s base being swamped in all sorts of work, whether it was doing her specialty of doing system upgrades and developing all sorts of tech and machinery that the organization or her fellow agents needed at the moment, or her less favored activities of the more…physical variety that consisted of combat training and going into combat missions. Then, in the times she did manage to have time off of work, she had mostly used the downtime for traveling all over the world, just as she had before she joined the Protocol—a stark contrast to Raze, who had been born and raised and remained in Salvador until she had joined the Protocol, protecting her city from Kingdom Corporation’s meddling and infestation. Despite all that, though, like almost every other agent in the team, Killjoy also had her own place to go home to: a relatively spacious yet simple apartment in her home city that she only really used whenever she came to visit her parents downtown.
Due to her sporadic presence in her own home, the apartment was rather sparsely decorated and barely lived in, plain walls and basic, sleek furniture. Reasonably and practically decorated enough to be considered a living space, but not quite a home.
…yet another notable contrast to the homey clutter of Raze’s home back in Salvador, of walls splattered with paint and plastered with polaroids and posters, of equipment and all sorts of items cluttered together in every nook and cranny, of mismatched yet bright furniture shoved into corners of the room.
Opposites.
That was what Viper remarked, back when Raze was first recruited into the Protocol. When she mentioned her knack for inventing and explosions, and all of the abandoned Kingdom plots with her name sprayed all over them to prove it, she recalled the two VP higher ups in charge of her recruitment—Viper and Sage—giving one another knowing glances before nodding at the would-be duelist. The Protocol had an ingenious engineer and designated tech expert within their ranks already, Sage had said at the time, after a hushed conversation with the scientist.
(“You both have different…styles, I suppose you could say. Regardless, I’m sure you’ll work together nicely,” Sage said.
“They’ll balance each other out hopefully,” Viper agreed.
Raze didn’t really know what the two senior agents meant until she stepped foot in the main tech laboratory at base for the first time, taking note of the pristine whites and greys of the interior, of the organized wiring and tools, of evenly plastered blueprints and notes across pinboards, and of the particular labeling of machinery that littered across the spacious work space. Well-organized and spotless, not a tool or a screw out of place.
Only Raze, with her paint splattered pair of pants and rough prototype of her showstopper on her back, felt out of place.
“You must be the new recruit! Brim told me all about you,” a bespectacled girl exclaimed, very enthusiastically, as she detangled herself from the machine she had been tinkering with, before she approached Raze with a handwave. “VP-4 Killjoy, pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Then, the rest was history.)
Killjoy’s inventions were innovative and polished, made from the finest materials and with the state-of-the-art equipment and tools—yet, ultimately, delicate, very much so that the duelist had witnessed one of the genius’ alarmbots break an arm off after Brimstone had mistakenly sat on it. Meanwhile, Raze’s gear was more…volatile, unstable, having gotten used to making her gear from spare parts—made her cans of spray paint into explosive grenades, and even modified one of Killjoy’s malfunctioning alarmbots into her iconic boombot, all that—but her gear was also more sturdy, refusing to break even after being thrown or shot at.
After seemingly having gotten over their…err, creative differences, the two engineers eventually realized that they helped cover one another’s weaknesses—Raze made Killjoy’s gear more durable, and Killjoy made Raze’s tech more stable.
(Raze even made Killjoy’s gear more fun-looking by painting her turret with a chicken face. She remembered Killjoy rolling her eyes once she saw it, yet the genius also made no effort to wipe it off.)
That was when it started—the understanding, the mutual respect blooming into friendship, then eventually something more.
She supposed Viper was right, eventually, that she and Killjoy balanced each other out—in more ways than one.
And now, Raze found herself in the sentinel’s home after they’d both decided to spend some of their time off together in Berlin. After the VALORANT Protocol’s rather lengthy and arduous debacle with the Scions of Hourglass, Sage had suggested giving all the agents some time off to relax and recuperate—which Brimstone had approved, much to everyone’s excitement. The couple had spent the first few days of their time off apart from each other—Raze enjoying Gekko’s mom’s cooking in Los Angeles with some fellow agents, and Killjoy going on a concert with Clove in Amsterdam—but now they were together, in the same apartment, having slept on the same bed, though Raze had woken up and gotten up earlier.
And as she stood in the middle of the apartment, it was quiet and peaceful.
Quiet mornings like these, she wasn’t quite used to it.
She remembered the hectic yet enjoyable mornings in her childhood and adolescence, of waking up to the distant sizzling of her mother’s home cooking from the kitchen, and of the enthused chatters and playful tussles she had with her siblings on the dining table as they wrestled for the last piece of pão de queijo before school. Then, after she had moved out of her family home for independence and…ahem, anti-corporate and criminal endeavors, her mornings had been spent being greeted with the hustle and bustle of the city life, of the roaring cars in traffic and the unintelligible gossip of passersby seeping through her bedroom windows.
Finally, while the VALORANT Protocol headquarters were situated in some isolated island in the pacific, quiet days—much less quiet mornings—had become even more of a rarity in Raze’s life…not that it was a bad thing, necessarily. The threat of potential world destruction and war looming over everyone’s heads placed unbelievable amounts of pressure and stress to all the agents—Raze included—sure, but she’d be lying if she didn’t revel in the chaos and thrill of battle, pair that with the satisfaction of protecting the world with her ingenuity and combat prowess, with her signature explosive swirl of colors, protecting her world, in the same way she protected her beloved city years before, and she’d confidently say there was no other place she’d rather be.
But joining the Protocol meant there was always something to worry about every day, something to do, something to work on, some place to go and prepare to die for. Raze’s mornings back at base now usually involved waking up to the blaringly loud alarm she had set for herself, then either going on to spar and train with Jett in the training range, or go to Brimstonezinho’s office for a mission briefing or debrief, or hang around the common room and be greeted by lively chatter from the agents who also happened to be awake during that time.
Something to do, people to talk to.
But now Raze stood in the middle of an empty and quiet apartment, her only other companion fast asleep in the bedroom.
(Not that she was surprised, Killjoy had always been a night owl, and she an early bird. Many times, Killjoy had told Raze to sleep well while she stayed up well into the night, and many times Raze greeted Killjoy a cheeky “good morning” after she had woken up just before noon.
More contrast, more balance.)
No pressing itinerary for the day, no group of people to laugh with.
Just a quiet morning.
A little too quiet.
Raze glanced beyond the open kitchen and towards the living room. While the place had been decorated very minimally with some of the most basic, yet sleek furniture she’s ever seen—one thing the tech genius certainly didn’t neglect to work on during her sporadic visits in her home was upgrading her appliances, which included her entertainment system—and speakers with high quality surround sound happened to be one of them. Raze remembered the tech genius enthusiastically telling her about it, being one of the first things Killjoy had excitedly demonstrated to her as soon as they went inside the apartment the night before.
Surely, Killjoy won’t mind if Raze had indulged in a little music in the morning, right?
Raze happily hummed along to the upbeat music that now played across the speakers, tapping her foot to the catchy beat as she started flipping the egg with ease after doing a precise timing in her head; this was Killjoy’s fried egg after all, and while Raze wouldn’t really call her picky, the sentinel was quite…particular with her food preferences. In eggs, for example, she preferred that the yolk was not to be too drippy, nor too dry, just the right amount to be gooey and for the whites to have a crisp edge.
Quiet mornings like these…
The duelist’s thoughts were immediately cut off as soon as she felt a pair of arms wrap securely and lovingly around her waist, dark brown hair dominating the sight of her periphery as she felt a warm presence pressed up her back, a certain comforting heaviness leaning on her shoulder. Instead of being alarmed, Raze instead smiled to herself as she leaned and rested her head into the nest of hair by her side, the strands tickling her cheek.
“Guten morgen, Gatinha,” Raze greeted, cheekily.
“Freundin…bom dia,” Killjoy murmured sleepily as she dug her face deeper into the crook of Raze’s neck, the duelist’s loose curls tickling her nose. Raze wasn’t sure when it started, the way they both started mixing their native languages in their sentences; she supposed they spent more than enough time with each other to understand and incorporate one another’s languages in their speech, in the same way their clothing had been mixed into each other’s closet from borrowing or staying in one another’s rooms so much, or in the same way they give each other portions of the different meals they had ordered to try.
Killjoy let out a small yawn. It seemed the sentinel had crawled out of bed before she could even wake up fully; eyes still barely squinting and her head—with hair sticking out of all sorts places—heavy against Raze’s back as she used the duelist as some sort of anchor for her body that still seemed disoriented from sleep. If Raze had been any less coordinated, Killjoy probably would have dragged the both of them on the floor.
“You’re up early,” Raze remarked, finally lifting the pan and setting the egg down with a plop before going on to crack another egg on the pan for herself, well-cooked and crispy in a way that Phoenix often teased her about how she liked her eggs burnt, yet that never deterred her. “Did I wake you? Sorry.”
“Nein. You just weren’t in bed,” Killjoy murmured against the bare skin of Raze’s shoulder, her tone almost coming across as a whine. “It’s cold without you around.”
“Had to make breakfast, meu amor,” Raze laughed, in a lightheartedly apologetic tone. She had often been told that she exuded warmth, and she had always thought people meant her demeanor—naturally affectionate and good-natured, with an infectious, excitable flair. But the way Killjoy often sought her touch during colder nights, naturally cold hands always searching for naturally warm ones…maybe they also meant literally. “Know something else that’ll warm you up? I think the coffee I brewed is ready.”
As if a switch had been flipped, Killjoy suddenly jolted as her eyes scanned across the counter, her face lighting up when she spotted the freshly brewed coffee on the pot. “As if I don’t love you more than I already do,” Killjoy sighed dreamily, reaching up to give a quick peck on the duelist’s cheek before she detached herself from the other woman to grab herself a mug. “Do you want some coffee? Tata?”
“Oh, mhm, sure,” Raze affirmed with a smile, all of a sudden missing the warmth that was behind her just a few moments ago, but the lingering ghost of Killjoy’s kiss kept her satisfied.
Killjoy walked over to one of the wall cabinets and opened it, immediately grabbing two mugs from the collection she had kept—one of those cheesy couple’s mugs, matching cute caricatures of a cat in one mug and a mouse on the other—before going on to grab some plates and utensils for their breakfast. Raze watched as the sentinel started pouring the pot on the mugs, her eyes drifting down and realizing the sentinel had been wearing paint-stained shorts—her shorts, and curiously she glanced down at her own lower half, surprise painting her expression when she saw that she was wearing Killjoy’s patterned pajama pants.
It seemed that Raze had grabbed the first thing she saw on the bedroom floor that classified as bottom wear and worn it without much thought, and then Killjoy, in her drowsy state, also did the same thing.
Borrowing and wearing each other’s clothing wasn’t unusual for them at this point—in fact, it was the norm. Still, Raze was amused nonetheless.
“Freundin—hey, Tata, it’s burning!”
“Shit!” In a panic, Raze snapped out of her reverie and immediately pulled the smoking pan from the burner and set it aside to another one that wasn’t lit. It had been a miracle that the fire alarm hadn’t gone off, and Raze looked over her pan to what remained of her fried egg—ends were completely charred, too much for her liking, but still edible, she thought.
Then, Raze slowly turned towards Killjoy almost sheepishly, who by this point had rushed over to her side to examine the pan’s current state and whether it needed her intervention. The sentinel mirrored the action, slowly turning to the duelist and their eyes met, still wide from surprise and worry. The two agents stared at one another for a few moments, before they simultaneously burst out laughing, Killjoy resting an elbow at Raze’s shoulder to stop herself from falling over.
“Lost in your thoughts for a moment there, I’m guessing?”
“Something like that.”
“Leave the overthinking to me next time, ja?”
“Of course, of course,” Raze playfully rolled her eyes as she awkwardly plopped the nearly charred egg onto the plate when the pan’s smoking finally subsided. She grabbed the plate of freshly cooked breakfast items she had prepared—bacon, eggs, and toast; basic and standard stuff they usually ate at base. She made a mental note to add variety in their items if they ever went shopping for groceries at any point—and set it down to the island counter where Killjoy had also started to set the plates and utensils. Smooth and synchronized like a well-oiled machine, as if they had done this a hundred times before.
And maybe they had, in some other universe, where all this mirrorverse bullshit wasn’t much of a problem as it had been for them in this one.
Watching her tech genius girlfriend start to portion the breakfast items on the plates, the pale rays of morning sunlight exuding from the windows and resting gently on disheveled dark brown hair, and making the outline of her strands appear golden…Raze felt awe, this sense of adoration, then a brief tinge of envy, for these other versions of herself that got to witness this on the daily. She wondered, if there was a Tayane out there who woke up next to her Klara in the comfort of their shared home without any worries of otherworldly threats, a Tayane that spent quiet mornings with her Klara eating breakfast and gossip about the morning news instead of prepping or training for a combat mission that day, or a Tayane that kissed her Klara goodbye before they went to work, her only concern being what to cook for dinner that night, instead of worrying about whether she’ll even see Klara alive by the end of the day.
It's a dangerous yet noble life they both willing chose to lead, yet it doesn’t stop either of them from pondering of other possibilities sometimes, other realities.
Raze took a sip from her mug, sliding to sit on the stool next to Klara as she watched the other agent start to cut her fried egg, surprise coloring her expression as she witnessed the sentinel cut the crispy edges off and transfer it to Raze’s plate, right next to the nearly charred fried egg from earlier.
“But you like the crisp edges.”
“I do, but you like it more,” Killjoy remarked with ease, as if her gesture came very naturally to her.
And I love you.
The duelist blinked at the sentinel, perplexed, before her eyes softened at the sweet gesture as the couple started eating their breakfast in relative silence—but it’s the comfortable kind, nothing but stainless-steel utensils clattering against ceramic plates as they both merely enjoyed the food and one another’s presence. It wasn’t until both were done with their meals that Raze had broken the silence.
“Anything planned for today?” The duelist asked, stacking her emptied plate on top of another.
“My parents aren’t due to fly back to Berlin until three days from now,” Killjoy stated, taking the last bite of her toast before she stacked her emptied plate on top of Raze’s. Right, Klara’s parents were researchers and engineers, of the robotics and software variety, so they occasionally flew around for conferences. It’s no wonder where Klara got her intelligence and globetrotting spirit from. “So, we have time to ourselves until then. If I were to be indulgent, I’ll suggest we stay in our pajamas for today—but practically speaking, we should get more groceries and other necessities that’ll last us the trip.”
Raze nodded thoughtfully after listening to Klara’s rationale; practical and reasonable, as expected of the sentinel. “Groceries make sense,” she said, giving a suggestive smile at the sentinel, “and don’t fret, Gatinha, we can always go right home and cuddle after.”
Without fail, Killjoy’s cheeks and the tips of her ears reddened as she almost sputtered her coffee out. While cuddling sounds generally innocent, the way Raze said it certainly implied something else. “Ehem, that’s not what I meant,” she said, “but I’m not opposed to it—anyway…”
Raze laughed as Killjoy brought out her tablet and laid it on the counter, the notes application already open. The duelist wordlessly shifted her attention curiously to the tablet screen, elbows resting on the counter. She watched the sentinel thoughtfully tap her screen with her digital pen, her eyes flickering to Killjoy’s face—who had been biting her bottom lip, one brow raised over the other, seemingly deep in thought, as she had always been—and Raze smiled.
“Alright, so what do we need…”
Quiet mornings like these, Tayane thought, simply sitting over the counter and going over the grocery list with Klara…
She could get used to it.
Maybe one day.