The night with Whisper had been different. Sirius hadn't said it aloud, but the moment stayed lodged in his chest like a glowing ember, one that refused to fade no matter how heavy the darkness felt around him. He had been ready to drown in silence, but Whisper had dragged him back up, if only to breathe again.
In the days that followed, Sirius wasn't the same Renegade Blake the others knew. His wild laughter was absent, replaced with small chuckles here and there, often forced at first, but growing a little more natural as time went on. He didn't cackle over his projects or throw out maniacal declarations about "new babies." Instead, he worked in quiet, the kind of quiet that made people uneasy at first but soon began to feel like a different kind of strength.
When the FAWS technicians glanced his way, they no longer saw a storm barely contained — they saw someone focused, collected, though undeniably scarred. His tools moved with the same precision, his schematics sprawled across benches with the same chaotic genius, but his eyes… his eyes had changed.
Where there had once been a constant gleam of madness and mischief, there was now something steadier, heavier — a weight that only those who had lived through fire could carry.
---
It didn't go unnoticed.
Whisper checked in on him more often than before, lingering at the edges of the workshop after her medbay shifts. She never asked if he was okay — she had already asked that question once and knew the answer. Instead, she simply stayed, sitting nearby or leaning against the wall while Sirius tinkered. Sometimes she hummed softly, almost as if to remind him she was there.
Stone Varga passed through one day, carrying a crate of heavy parts. He froze at the sight of Sirius bent over a schematic, silent and serious. For a long moment, Stone simply watched. Then he muttered, half to himself, "Renegade without the laugh feels… wrong." But there was no malice in his voice — only unease.
Bear Ivanov, bruised from mech drills, joked when he stopped by. "What's this? Renegade working without cackling? Careful, Sirius, you might turn into one of us boring bastards." Sirius had only smirked faintly in reply, but that smirk was enough for Bear to grin and clap him on the back.
Shade never said a word. He simply studied Sirius from a distance, sharp eyes taking in every detail. Whatever conclusions the sniper came to, he kept them to himself.
Sparks, on the other hand, muttered to anyone who would listen: "He's planning something. Bet on it. He doesn't go quiet unless he's planning."
And Jinx? Jinx just rolled her eyes, muttering with a grin, "He'll explode again. Just wait."
But they all felt it — the absence of true, chaotic Sirius made the air different. Quieter. Heavier.
---
By the second week, Sirius' silence began to gnaw at the FAWS technicians too. The rumors about his gaze had faded into something else: worry.
"He hasn't laughed in days."
"Not even a giggle."
"Do you think he broke?"
One of the younger techs whispered, "I kinda miss it. The noise. Even if it was crazy, it made this place… lighter."
Chief Loras, though he never admitted it, felt the same. Each time he passed Sirius' bench, he found himself waiting for one of those ridiculous outbursts, a declaration of some impossible new invention. But instead, Sirius would only look up, nod politely, and return to his work. Efficient. Focused. But not Renegade.
Loras sighed more often these days, muttering under his breath, "Kid, don't let this war crush you too."
---
It was Whisper who held the thread together.
One night, as Sirius leaned over his bench with circles under his eyes, Whisper slid into the chair across from him. She didn't speak at first, just pulled the necklace with the twin rings from beneath her uniform and held it out between them.
"You remember what I said?" she asked softly.
Sirius stared at the rings, swallowing hard. "Your parents. Your father's squad. That you're never alone."
Whisper nodded. "And neither are you. Even when you feel like you are."
Her words burrowed deep. Sirius didn't answer, but his hands trembled slightly as he returned to his work. Whisper saw it — and she smiled faintly. He was cracking open again, just a little.
---
By the third week, Sirius began to chuckle again. At first it was faint, forced — the kind of laugh that didn't reach his eyes. But then, while explaining a calibration mistake to a junior tech, he snorted mid-sentence and couldn't stop himself.
The tech blinked in shock before grinning nervously. "Renegade's back?"
Not quite. But close.
The chuckles returned in pieces. A mutter under his breath when Sparks tripped over her own tools. A grin when Bear's mech nearly collapsed during a test run. A laugh — small but real — when Shade sarcastically muttered, "Try not to blow us up this time."
Bit by bit, Renegade Blake was clawing his way back. Not as the same chaotic storm as before, but as something sharper. More controlled. Matured by fire.
---
With only a week left before the month ended, Sirius finally gathered the FAWS personnel together.
He stood before the massive monitor, schematics lighting up behind him — the Carbine X upgrades, the beginnings of turret reinforcements, even rough sketches of psi-shielding layers.
"Alright," he began, voice steady. "I owe you all an apology. For the last few weeks, I've been… not myself. You've seen it. You've felt it. Hell, you probably thought I was broken."
Murmurs rippled, but no one denied it.
Sirius continued. "But I'm here. Still here. And I'm not done. Not with you. Not with this war. We're going to keep pushing, keep upgrading, and keep surviving. Because that's what we do."
Then, with a small smirk — the first real one in weeks — he added, "And besides, someone's gotta keep the bugs entertained while you lot do the real work."
The room erupted in laughter, nervous at first, then genuine. For the first time in weeks, FAWS felt alive again.
Loras stood at the back, arms crossed, relief softening his usual stern expression. He didn't speak, but his eyes said enough. Welcome back, kid.
---
Sirius threw himself into the upgrades after that, guiding FAWS through adjustments, answering questions, sketching on the monitor until everyone understood exactly what he meant. He laughed when Sparks groaned at his impossible demands. He chuckled when Whisper muttered that he still didn't know how to rest.
For the first time in weeks, he was working with them, not just alongside them.
---
And then it happened.
Late one evening, Sirius sat alone at his bench, tools scattered, notes half-finished. He had lost track of time — again. Hours blurred into days when he worked like this.
The workshop was quiet, only the hum of machines filling the air.
Then—
DING!
The sharp tone cut through the silence. Sirius froze, tools slipping from his fingers. His datapad pulsed with light.
A voice followed. Not fragmented. Not mechanical. But warm. Calm. Almost human.
> "Hello again, Sirius."
His chest tightened. His breath caught. For a moment, the world stilled.
And then he laughed — a sound torn between a sob and a grin, raw and broken and utterly real.
She was back.
ARI had returned.