Work Text:
Cypher stares blankly at his computer screens, the lines upon lines of code blurring together into one unintelligible mess. Today, it seems that no matter how hard he tries, his mind drifts off to them. Even his work, usually his escape, reminds him of pulling all-nighters after all-nighters for vengeance that he’s never truly achieved—and this time, Viper is not there to keep him grounded.
He chuckles morosely at the passing thought. How ironic, that the ever-reliable Cypher has to depend on someone else to avoid getting lost in his own head, falling into an endless train of thoughts blaming himself for the death of his wife and—
He takes a sharp breath, forcing himself to stop spiraling further. Distractions. He needs a distraction: which would usually be his work, but he’s gotten worse at controlling (ignoring) his thoughts. He reads the time. 00:19 hours . Most of the other agents have left the common areas by this time. Looking back down at his hands, a faint idea occurs to him.
The Range. A long training session sounds just about right. Aim, and shoot. No emotion. No second thoughts. No mistakes that cannot be fixed.
Those were Amir’s faults, not Cypher’s. They cannot be his.
Not again. Never again.
—
Cypher is walking to the gun range when he sees her: Reyna, leaned up against the cool metal wall of the hallway. Her eyes follow him as he approaches. They are deliberate in a manner that almost resembles a predator tracking its prey. He nods stiffly at her and looks away, too busy trying to organize his own scattered thoughts. Her foreboding figure in his peripheral vision only worsens his discomfort. Just as he is about to pass by, her voice stops him in his tracks. It is a sharp, dangerous thing, a far cry from her usual languid timbre off the battlefield.
“Cypher.”
He glances cautiously over his shoulder, turning back to keep her in his line of sight. “Reyna. Do you need something?”
Her gaze on him suddenly feels like it has doubled in weight. “I wanted to ask what has gotten you so… sloppy. I could hear you from the other end of the hallway.”
Cypher’s jaw tightens ever-so-slightly, though he tries to hold onto his amiable demeanor. He should have known she’d notice, but she must not know of his sorry past. He cannot afford to show fragility to la reina . After all, a huntress would much rather go after weakened prey—and as much as he would like to deny it, he is the one being hunted.
“Thank you for your concern, but it is nothing you need to worry yourself with,” he chuckles, his pulse kicking and scratching against his chest.
To his dismay, Reyna does not let it go, instead raising a perfectly-manicured eyebrow in distaste. “You should know not to lie to me, Cypher,” she says scornfully. “Your heart betrays your dishonesty.”
He takes an unsteady, shallow breath. “That is a rather bold assumption, my friend.”
At those words, her voice sharpens further, to a gleaming knife’s edge. “Do not call me your friend, human. Your sluggishness is the reason the mission failed.”
He stiffens. “What are you saying?”
Reyna pushes herself away from the wall, taking a step towards him. Her sharp, claw-like nails gleam dangerously in the hallway’s sterile light, silently threatening in a way Cypher would admire if it wasn’t directed at him. Reyna does not need a weapon to kill. She scoffs. “Oh, you know very well what I mean, Cypher. Your little toys didn’t work the way they were supposed to.”
He swallows thickly, crossing his arms as she stalks towards him. She is tense. Certainly ready to strike at a moment's notice. He knows she would not confront him without reason, but surely, he would find out if something as important as a mission failure occured. Surely?
(A voice in the back of his head reminds him that ever since the anniversary of their deaths, he has not been properly keeping track of the Protocol’s workings. He has not even checked the status of any missions.)
A foreboding feeling settles itself in his mind, like a dark cloud looming over a clear sky. “My… technology almost always works. You will need to elaborate on that,” he mutters.
He sees a twitch in her clenched hands. “Neon. She died because tu tecnología estúpida failed her! Do not play innocent,” she snarls.
Cypher balks, suddenly remembering what she is referring to. Neon. Neon was on the mission that he wanted sent to Bind. His cameras only saw three people, so she was sent in a team of four. His breath catches in his throat.
Were there—
He’s forced out of his thoughts when he registers a sudden movement towards him. Reyna lunges forward. Cypher raises his hands instinctively in defense. Reyna stops herself from slamming into him, her body tipping forward from the momentum suddenly stopped. She jabs a nail at his chest. “Do not just stand there staring at the wall! You sent Neon to her death. It was an entire firing squad. The other agents were lucky. They barely got out alive,” she says through gritted teeth. “You humans are even worse than I thought. Are you so incompetent to forget about a mission you planned yourself?”
“I—”
“Do not make excuses. It is your fault.”
At those words, something in him shatters.
She’s right. It is my fault.
Cypher’s nails dig vicious crescent moons into his palms though his gloves. He wants to throw up. He wants to cry. He wants to run. But he does none of that, and instead grunts out a response, almost afraid of the answer.
“…How is she?”
At his sudden meekness, Reyna scoffs. “Oh, she’ll be up and running again in a week. Everyone will forget. But I will not. I will never forget. She will not either.”
She steps back, heels clicking sharply against the cold steel of the floor.
“I will not let her.”
Reyna stalks away without a backwards glance, leaving Cypher caught in a vicious trap of his own making. The metallic teeth of his failure dig into his skin, ripping through the coat he wears so protectively around himself. He stands there, back against the wall. His head hits it with a pathetic thud as he stares up at the ceiling, breaths coming in shallow pants.
Cypher barely hears the thuds of distant footsteps down the hall.