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Sova wasn’t a night person.
It was clear as day to any agent in the Protocol that he slept eight hours a day with no exception. People would often see him sneak off into his room as early as 7pm just to get his desired amount of beauty sleep before a mission he had to be on before sunrise.
Some saw it as amusing – the so-called golden boy never went over his bedtime, forever attached to his babushka's rules. The others saw his responsibility. The way he took care of himself on a daily basis in order to easily stay on his feet all throughout the day, the way he functioned perfectly because of it – all of those aspects were one of the many reasons most agents admired Sova.
He liked it. He liked being somebody others looked up to.
So why was he up tonight?
The answer was simple, it was a night shift. The older agents in the Protocol were unfortunately obliged to look after the younger ones. The agents who often stayed up until late in the night playing games together, drinking alcohol unsupervised or even worse (Sova’s heard a multitude of sounds coming from Yoru's bedroom). Aside from that, the ‘guards’ were obliged to warn everybody in case of emergency and guard the HQ when the sun went down. Since they were an undercover project, any outside threats were to be conquered as soon as possible. That’s supposedly why Brimstone settled the shifts. As he is, Brim assigned the least duties to himself, explaining that lack of sleep may affect his performance on the field. (As if it wasn’t the same for everybody else.)
Unsurprisingly, that meant more sleepless nights for the other agents, including Sova.
The initiator was warily walking around the HQ, his steps reminiscent of air as he strolled from hall to hall, making sure everybody was safe and sound. The vents quietly poured air into the building, filling it with a faint buzzing that slowly got on his nerves. During the day those little details were unnoticable but as the moon rose and everything turned dark, Sova always realized how intoxicating most of them were. He loved quiet but not quiet with a pinch of noise. That pitch, eerie silence is what actually brought him the peace of mind he would want while walking to the kitchen.
There, he sat at one of the tables, making sure the screech of the chair wasn't too loud as he pulled it back. He grabbed a book he’s hung to his belt and with the help of a small desk lamp, he began reading.
It was a small version of Camus’ The Fall in a pleasantly textured gray cover with the title engraved in New Times Roman right in the centre. Sova couldn’t admit that he secretly loved running his fingers over the curves, it was just a habit, an instinct that ran in his blood.
–
After some time had passed, a few pages had been read, Sova decided to take another walk around the HQ halls. If any accident was to happen, the blame was most obviously on him. The initiator certainly didn’t desire for that to happen because despite being a responsible man, he was also sensitive. Brimstone scolding him for such foolery would leave Sova overthinking for far too long, even with a straight face and his army-straight posture. What was scrambling, tumbling, running marathons inside his head differed to his mimics and the sturdy, unchanging tone of voice.
Anywho, Sova gently closed the book, making sure the bookmark in shape of an owl stayed in place before – just as noiselessly and smoothly as when he sat down – standing up and tidying up after himself.
It was important. No one had to know he was slacking off during his night shift. With as much weariness as usual, he began taking steps through the halls. Every now and then he heard snoring, shuffling and mumbling through the thin walls. He assumed it was fine because most agents had a variety of sleep issues varying from nightmares to straight insomnia. As much as his inner self wanted to check whether everybody was safe, barging into each person’s room was not the greatest idea.
He was just about to keep on daydreaming when he caught a strange smell coming from a nearby room. It was an odd, scratching sensation that entered his nose when he felt it. It slightly burned, yet also was strangely recognizable.
Either way – he had to investigate. Not only could it trigger the sensitive fire alarms (Sova remembers when his cooking did so) but it also could be a potential threat to the Protocol. Having realised that, the initiator quickly started locating which room the smell came from.
With his brain on high alert, he didn’t exactly realize who’s room he was entering.
Like Pheonix’s flash, the smoke hit him right in the eyes as he entered the room. Sova speedily stepped through and closed the door behind him, afraid of causing the alarm to go off.
The sting behind his eyelids worsened. Not only that, his throat began to itch, causing him to let out a violent cough.
– Oh dear, shall I open the window? – a familiar voice said, rolling the ‘r’ in the petname.
Sova was shocked to hear Cypher of all people. Maybe one of his monitors overheated so much it blew up...or something? In his current state it wasn’t light work to figure out where the smoke came from.
– Yes please – he managed to say before another cough formed. It seemed as though he was vulnerable to such a high density of smoke, which quietly left him wondering how he could improve his resistance to it.
Sova heard a quiet click of the window opening before he heavily sighed, feeling safe as he could soon properly breathe again. He waved his hand around in order to release the cloud out of his proximity, doing it a little more aggressively than he probably should have.
Once he felt the sting in his eyes die down, the initiator finally opened them. The view in front of him was normal at first. A plain room like any others in the Protocol building, gray walls, lightly cyan ceiling, normal, dark floors. The only thing that didn’t match was the overwhelming amount of monitors shining fluorescent, nearly blinding lights, illuminating the room in blue alongside dozens of tangled cables, tiny pieces of metal, strange devices….
And Cypher. Cypher who was half laying-half sitting on his bed in the most obviously set-up flamboyant and nonchalant way possible. He was practically fully dressed in his work attire aside from the hat that sat on his bedside table. Even his utility belt was on, although slightly loose and hiding behind the covers. With so much clothing on, Sova would assume the black mask was also on, yet surprisingly, it wasn’t.
He has seen Cypher’s face before, on a couple of rare occasions when he was allowed to enter his room. It was a great privilege to know how the spy looked as the man wore the mask everywhere and every time. Almost all agents secretly desired to see his face yet Cypher was so incredibly secretive that to most, the black material was just a part of his body now.
Sova was extremely lucky to earn the trust of the agent. Through trial and error, from raging hate to anger, irritation on to acceptance of one another (the most difficult step), acquaintance, friendship to what they had as of the moment, the initiator and the sentinel had built up this bond of credence with themselves that had a cause in Cypher’s face reveal.
Sova could really stop fazing out now, but how could he not if the sentinel’s face was shown to him so incredibly rarely?
As he often does, the initiator observed his features quickly yet intensively. The dark pink lips, broad nose and slightly flushed, dark face. Lightly raised eyebrows as he looked right at Sova with lidded eyes– Speaking of eyes, his normally caramel brown eyes were different. Not the iris though, that part was the same as Sova’s seen it a few times. It was the sclera that differed, it was pink turning on red. The moment he saw it, the hunter’s heart momentarily stopped before his eyes caught what was in Cypher’s bony hand.
A joint.
– Cypher, why are you smoking weed in your fucking bedroom? – Sova asked warily yet trying to preserve confidence. – The fire alarm will go off, you'll wake everybody, you’ll ruin their sleep schedules.
Sova scolded him as though the spy was a child (which he sometimes seemed like) but obviously, it didn’t exactly work against the stubborn sentinel.
– Calm down, little owl, I removed any alarm set off by – he started counting on his fingers – smell, noise, sensation or sight. We are completely safe from any intoxicating noise here… except for your complaining, of course.
The other man huffed in annoyment, unknowingly stepping forward towards the agent.
– The door was unlocked, you didn’t have any sight alarms - cameras, whatever, out nearby, no noise, no smell, no nothing. You’re just out revealing your identity to the whole Protocol now? More than half the agents don’t know your name and haven’t for years but obviously you’re so high that them seeing your face doesn’t matter at all, right Cypher? right? – Sova’s arms raised to the ceiling with unexpected anger that the spy himself didn’t first comprehend and neither did Sova himself. Somehow, the rant caused an embarrassing silence to fall between the two.
While it slowly dissolved, the initiator took a few breaths that were supposed to calm him down yet didn’t do so at all. When he was mad, Sova was jittery. A muscle inside him constantly moved, he felt stress run through his veins. And although he often tried to hide it, Cypher was a little too observant.
As if to add salt to injury, the spy added:
– Are you jealous that anyone can see my face at any moment, any place, everyday now? – he smirked knowingly.
The initiator wasn’t one to talk about his feelings, his thoughts or opinions but right there and then, something in him genuinely snapped.
– Yes. Yes I am, Amir. – the use of the spy’s real name made him perk up. – I am jealous because we’ve formed such an inestimable bond through years of cooperation. We’ve been through so much together and now you’re just- You’re throwing your identity that you’ve hidden for all those years out the window like some- like- like– he stuttered, his face shining a light pinkish color. – like a whore.
He stood there. In the middle of Cypher’s room, straight like a tree and red as a tomato after he had finished his mildly (read: incredibly) embarrassing speech.
Its recipient sat still for a while, wide eyes staring straight into Sova’s as though he had committed an incredibly gory homicide right in front of him.
Then, in usual Cypher fashion, he laughed. Although not a hysterical scream of amusement, the wave of chuckles embarrassed Sova further.
– Sasha, I'm joking, I wouldn’t want to ruffle your feathers like that – he smiled softly, tilting his head to the side, letting it lay on the headboard.
– Well then why was your door unlocked?! – his voice boomed within the four walls surrounding him. It was angry but somewhat desperate for the answer. – Anyone could come in, even an intruder to come and murder you, this is unsafe.
The spy didn’t answer once more, taking a long drag out of his joint seeing as some of it had burnt. Then, he slowly exhaled, letting the smoke dance above him before escaping through the window. He was smiling, staring at Sova and dashing from one point to another, not afraid to establish eye contact.
Cypher was confident in his words, calculated and absolutely sure. Sova was not.
– I did it because I knew you were the one monitoring today – he admitted while playing with the joint in his hands, rolling it between his fingers like he does with his trapwires. – You’re very predictable, Sova. You constantly walk through the hallways at least 10 times when everyone goes to their rooms, then you do the same about 5 more times before you head to the kitchen. Then you always want to make yourself coffee but you’re worried that the kettle noise will wake the others up when it’s too loud so you power it off before it can disturb anybody and you end up with a barely dissolved instant coffee. Either way, you then add approximately 5 teaspoons of sugar-
–It’s four, actually – Sova mumbled, taking small steps towards the bed before he could collapse out of mortification.
– Right. – the spy continued. – Then you sit at the table, you read for up to half an hour and then you take another walk around HQ and this time you end up here. I suppose because of the smell that the marihuana gives out.
Having mentioned the substance, he took a drag out of his joint. He seemed cool and relaxed, completely unaware of Sova’s internal tsunami of thoughts. The truth was, Cypher knew most everything going on outside and inside the initiator, so hiding his feelings wasn’t the best choice.
– You’re unbelievable, сука.
– Both unbelievable and unpredictable, isn’t it fun? – Cypher asked sarcastically while gesturing for Sova to sit on his bed.
Once the taller man did so, the spy continued.
– You entered my room, which leaves a gap in your usual night shift schedule when you would go on our lovely patio and watch birds or occasionally smoke, after that you walk a- gain as if your legs aren’t giving out by then and finally you see the clock strike five and you get your desired hour of sleep.
– You’re a real chatterbox today, Cypher – Sova confronted the man with a confident deep voice (the one in which he most usually expressed his thoughts to other agents.) – Is it the cannabis that’s making the most secretive spy in the world go on and on and on explaining every eerie detail of my shift?
The sentinel chuckled, bringing a hand to his face to hide his smile.
The real smile. The one he hid from everybody. Even Sova, even Sasha. The one secured for Nora, Sova assumed. The thought made him feel even worse for a second.
That was before he saw something far worse than Cypher concealing his smile could be.
His eyes widened with shock. Under the covers that slipped when Cypher’s hand raised was his uniform painted in unsettling shades of red. From his underarm to the abdomen, clothing was drenched in blood.
He looked up at the spy, down at the wound and up again, a worrisome expression flooding over his face.
– Amir, what the fuck. – he expressed, loud enough it almost echoed in the empty room.
The other man peeked at the injury, quickly removing it from Sova’s sight.
– Ah, forgot it was my laundry day. Should’ve thrown this to clean. – he took another drag from his joint, seemingly unfazed by the splotch.
– For a man with one eye I’m pretty capable of seeing the tear in your coat suspiciously shaped like a bullet’s gone through it.
– Crazy coincidence, dear. – Cypher tried to mask the issue best he could yet Sova wasn’t a man of giving up.
– You didn’t go to Sage because you felt bad for her, because you didn’t want her to see you or because you’re certain you can bear through it?
Cypher didn’t stop aggressively smoking weed to answer, instead, he exhaled the thick, irritating smoke right towards Sova’s face, making the other man rush to turn his head and cough out whatever had entered his lungs.
– I’m perfectly capable of treating my own injuries.
– Then explain why there is blood spilling onto your bedsheets.
– I was too lazy to actually do it.
’боже мой’ Sova muttered in response, trying hard not to scold the spy for the incompetence of cleaning his wounds or even asking someone to do it for him.
– Alright, I’m doing it for you. – Before Cypher could even begin to argue, the other agent pulled out the first-aid packet he had hung on his utility belt. Unbuttoning the leather casing to get the red packaging out.
If Sova hadn’t gone to the training grounds today, he wouldn’t have put the belt on (He does so to give out the feeling of a battlefield more accurately). Now he felt proud of his past self for being a responsible perfectionist.
He fiddled with what was inside the small packet before grabbing a roll of gauze and a nip of whiskey. Cypher was more than surprised not to see rubbing alcohol but actual alcohol in the kit.
– True Russian vibes here, heh. – the Moroccan man commented, getting a piercing look from Sova as the man opened the small red cap.
He wet the gauze with the liquid before gesturing for Cypher to lift his shift back up while he relocated to sit on the other’s right. He sat still for a moment, waiting for the other man to reveal the wound.
Except he didn’t. Like the mulish person he is, Cypher didn’t even budge, judgementally looking Sova up and down before shaking his head in a ’no’ gesture. Once again, there was smoke on the initiator’s face.
Now, instead of coughing it out, he inhaled it, face stone cold as if to finally break Cypher.
– You wanna? – The shorter man asked, holding the joint out. – You seem to be enjoying it, little owl.
– No I don’t. But if you would kindly lift your shirt out, that would be awesome. – he raised his voice to a more approachable tone so as to not disencourage Cypher from doing what he wanted him to.
– If you take your shirt off, I might do the same as well.
– If you remove the ‘might’, I will.
Having realized the Russian had caught his word play, Cypher chuckled suspiciously but at the same time a little cheerfully. He seemed to be enjoying his time of tormenting the Protocol’s golden boy.
– Deal – he answered.
Without further ado, Sova put all his utility on the covers, careful to set the wet gauze on the kit before grabbing the ends of his plain, gray sweater. He managed to grasp his undershirt too, removing both the garments in one go.
It was no surprise to anyone that Sova was absolutely jacked. He routinely worked out alongside Brimstone, Breach, Iso, Skye and a few others in the gym room, never letting his from die down. Even during recovery, he sometimes sneaked in a dumbbell or two into the infirmary when Sage wasn’t looking (once caught, immediately regretting it). His dim skin reflected in the dim lights in warm tones despite his usual paleness.
He felt awkward as he put the clothes down next to him, folding them as nicely as he could so they wouldn’t be wrinkled when he put them back on.
– Your turn – Sova said, trying not to appear timid. He partially understood why Cypher didn’t want to lift his shirt for the other man. Being the only person naked from the waist up was a little intimidating, even for a presumably unmoved by comments man that Sova was. Especially when the initiator could feel Cypher’s eyes staring a little too closely at his abs.
He figured that the chemical in him was affecting the spy’s…view of Sova. He chose that as the most reasonable option although deep down he didn’t want for it to be that way.
– If you insist – Cypher shook his head lightly, exhaling a small breath of air that could be perceived as a laugh.
The sentinel undressed out of his white cloak, doing it a lot more slowly that it would be natural to. After the cloak came a shirt, taken off with even more leisure. Next came an undershirt, hiding a pocket knife in an angled side pocket. The garment was black but Sova could see it was the final layer of Cypher’s abnormally thick uniform.
So when he grabbed the edge of his final layer, Sova enthusiastically whispered:
– You’re like a матрёшка.
– And you’re a total شخص عجيب – Cypher answered, using his mother tongue to hint to Sova that he doesn’t understand a word of Russian.
The initiator smiled politely before watching as the other man took the dark undershirt off. His skin was full of small and big battle scars, the most noticeable one running from somewhere below his belt to through his abdomen to where his chest began. It was strange for a man so protective of his appearance and identity to look as though he had fought shirtless half his life yet because Sova vaguely knew parts of Cypher’s backstory, the injuries were understandable.
Having stopped staring at the tanned body (Cypher wasn’t as muscular as some of the male agents but all the running around, jumping and climbing to set his utility up did result in visible strength), Sova moved on to the issue at hand. The bullet wound that Cypher had on his hip.
There was a big bruise surrounding where the ammunition had landed, deep purple with spots of green creating quite a gross view for Sova to work with. The hole itself still oozed out blood which gracefully fell towards Cypher’s trousers.
Positive that the spy was in pain despite his lack of mimics showing it (Behind the mask, Cypher was actually an extremely expressive man), Sova grabbed the items from the aid kit and began cleaning the wound off the substance. He kept a straight, calm face while working, focused on any signs of discomfort of ache coming from the sentinel.
—
It took him a few wraps of gauze around Cypher’s stomach, a lot of discarded material stained with blood, almost the whole flask of alcohol and a variety of complaints, winces and grunts from Cypher for Sova to finally finish taking proper care for the wound.
By the time the injury was covered, the spy had managed to burn his joint whole. Sova had only noticed so when he expected a huff of cannabis smoke in his face, instead, he received half a minute of intense eye contact. Sova’s cybernetic eye reflected bright blue onto Cypher's brown iris’ and irritated, red sclera. They sat in silence for a while, both their expression’s calm and certainly unreadable.
Once their not-so-existent awkwardness faded into the smoke that still lingered in the room, Sova spoke up once more:
– Why were you smoking?
– Can’t a man get high once in a while? As you can see it doesn’t affect my behaviour thoroughly – the man said, lightly tilting his head to the side.
The reply raised doubts in Sova. He could feel the dishonesty in Cypher’s words, the way his voice slightly faltered when he said it, the way the tone changed just an octave or two out of his usual range of speaking. He might have overexaggerated his interpretation of a single sentence but in the end, he decided to push further.
– You did it to lighten the pain, right? To forget about it?
Cypher didn’t answer, clearly avoiding the question at hand. Without his shirt on, he couldn’t fiddle with any strands or a coin, tripwire or cage token, so he was stuck nervously scratching his cuticles.
That gave Sova more than a single word ever could. Despite what he was perceived as, Cypher was clear as glass whenever he didn’t have the mask on. Predictable.
– Cypher, you don’t have to hide anything. – Sova admitted, sure of everything he was saying, carefully piecing the sentence. – If you’re in pain, say it. If you don’t want Sage to fix anything, I will try my best to do it, okay?
The spy in question stayed static afterwards, not sure how to respond to Sova. Instead of verbally addressing him, he simply nodded shyly, embarrassed to be experiencing a pep talk from the initiator.
– Alright, go now, filthy owl. – he said, accent thick as he shooed away the other agent.
– Naturally.
As told to, Sova began to slowly leave Cypher’s room. He put his shirt and sweater back on, attached the first aid kit back to his utility belt before standing up from the spy’s bed.
He placed a firm hand on Cypher’s bare shoulder, feeling the heat radiating from it.
– Goodnight, Amir.
– Goodnight, Sasha – Amir replied, softly smiling at the other agent as the tall man turned around and left almost without a sound at all.