The night air was cool and heavy, carrying the faint scent of oil and dust from the trenches. Out beyond the walls, the frontlines lay in silence, broken only by the occasional distant crack of gunfire. Sirius sat on the edge of the open platform, his knees drawn up, his Carbine X resting across his legs. He hadn't fired it in weeks. The weapon, normally alive with his chatter and laughter, sat in his grip like a stone.
His eyes fixed on the horizon, blank, as though he could pierce the void and drag his father back through sheer will. He hadn't laughed, not really, in days. The sound that slipped out sometimes was empty, tinny, hollow. The FAWS techs avoided his gaze. His friends gave him space.
Only Whisper Kade refused to let him vanish completely.
He hadn't even heard her footsteps until she stopped behind him. Her voice broke the silence like a fragile shard of glass.
"Sirius… are you really okay?"
He stiffened, fingers tightening around the Carbine. Slowly, he turned his head. The faint light from the perimeter lamps outlined her figure: slim, steady, the medic's insignia painted on her shoulder plate. Her eyes weren't sharp like Shade's or hard like Stone's; they were warm, concerned, stubborn.
"…You," he muttered, almost bitter, almost relieved.
Whisper tilted her head. "Who else?"
She sat down beside him, her knees drawn up just like his, her arms wrapping around them. For a moment, neither spoke. The silence stretched between them, heavy but not suffocating.
Finally, Sirius sighed, his voice low and rough. "You want the truth? No. I'm not okay. I keep laughing because that's what they expect. That's what he would expect. But it's fake. It's empty. I don't even know what's mine anymore—the laugh, the weapons, even the madness… or if I'm just a ghost walking around in someone else's boots."
He rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand, as though ashamed to let her see the moisture there. "I miss him. I miss them both. My father, my… guardian. I thought I'd be strong enough to carry it all, but every day without them feels heavier."
Whisper listened quietly, her lips pressed into a line. She didn't interrupt, didn't try to fix it. Only when he stopped, shaking his head, did she speak.
"You know," she began softly, "I get it. Losing a father… it leaves a hole no invention can patch over."
Sirius glanced at her, surprised by the weight in her tone. Whisper's gaze was distant, fixed on the same horizon he'd been staring at moments before.
"My father was a soldier. Not just any soldier—he was a squad leader. A war hero, if you listen to the propaganda. His squad swore by him. Brave, stubborn, too reckless for his own good. He fought until he couldn't anymore. And when the news came back that he'd fallen, my mother…" Whisper's voice faltered, her hands clenching around her knees. "My mother broke. She was a nurse, not even a combat medic. All she wanted was to keep us safe, to give me a normal life. But when she heard he was gone, she kept working herself to the bone. She wouldn't stop, wouldn't rest. She wanted to make sure I didn't starve, didn't suffer. And in the end, it killed her. Exhaustion. She gave everything she had just to make my days a little easier."
The words hung in the night. Sirius swallowed hard, guilt pricking at him for thinking his suffering was unique. Whisper's voice wavered, but she didn't stop.
"She begged me not to join the military. Not after what it did to him. Not after what it cost her. But I did anyway. Because… how could I not? My father fought for people. My mother healed them. I couldn't abandon either part of them. So I became a combat medic. Not the frontlines like Dad. Not the rear like Mom. Somewhere in the middle—patching soldiers while still standing beside them."
Her hand went to her neck, tugging at the chain that hung beneath her collar. She pulled it free, and two rings gleamed in the pale light—simple, worn wedding bands, strung together by a length of steel wire.
"These," she said quietly, "are all I have left of them. My father's, my mother's. They go wherever I go. When I fight, they're here. When I save someone, they're here. I'm never alone."
She turned her head to look at Sirius, her eyes shining. "And neither are you."
He blinked, startled. Whisper leaned closer, her voice stronger now, the medic's calm steel wrapping every word.
"You think it's just you, Sirius? That without your father and your guardian you're empty? You've got us. Shade, Stone, Bear, me—we're here. Loras and FAWS, they're here. The soldiers who carry your weapons, laugh at your madness, trust your crazy inventions—they're here. You're not carrying this war alone. You never were."
Sirius stared at her. The words dug past his armor, past the defiance and the smirks and the forced laughter. His chest tightened until he thought he'd choke on it.
"I…" He broke off, shaking his head, a tear spilling down his cheek. "I don't deserve that. Not after the way I've been. I shut everyone out. I acted like—like I was the only one who mattered."
Whisper reached out, hesitated, then pressed her hand against his shoulder. "You don't have to deserve it. You just have to accept it. We want our Renegade back. Not the fake laugh, not the mask. You. With or without your father. With or without your guardian. Because you're one of us."
Sirius closed his eyes, shoulders shaking. For once, he didn't fight the tears. They came hot and heavy, spilling onto his hands. He bowed his head, his voice a hoarse whisper. "Thank you. God… thank you."
Whisper smiled gently, squeezing his shoulder. "You're not alone, Sirius. And you never will be."
They sat in silence after that, side by side. The rings glinted faintly on Whisper's chain, a reminder of loss and love woven together. Sirius stared at them, and for the first time in weeks, the crushing weight in his chest lifted just a little.
The night stretched on, quiet and still. For now, that was enough.