Chapter Text
Robert Floyd was no stranger to pain. He’d known it all of his life. Pain wove its way throughout his story, entangling itself with a permanence that nothing else seemed to manage. Sometimes it felt like he was closer to pain than he was to anyone else in the world.
He knew how it worked—he could see it ripple through the muscles of the bulls he rode back in Wyoming, feel its sting long after wounds healed, and see it roll down his mother’s cheeks. He could read it better than most, and he knew when pain meant to bring an ending.
A loss. Heartbreak. Anger. Tragedy. Sorrow. Finality.
He’d just hoped it wouldn’t follow him here.
But he was starting to see it—in Fanboy’s gestures sharpening and in Hangman’s smiles, which never quite met his eyes. Rooster began falling into stony silences, and Phoenix’s posture stiffened. Payback grew silent, and Coyote kept checking his phone.
One unsuccessful mission - that was all it took to lose a team.
Bob was a team player, whether he had one left or not. He kept working as hard as he could until the buzzer went off—8 seconds. That’s all this time was—hold on for 8 more seconds, then 8 more after that. He worked as hard as he could until the writing was on the wall, and then he could take a breather. He could jump off the bull before it was too late and started again at the next competition—the next team. With the next partner.
But he didn’t know if he could stick this one out.
He felt every moment of distance, disdain, and frustration like the sharp sting of a cut. He went to bed with his throat burning.
He’d let himself get too close to this team—he couldn’t help it—not when everyone had been so welcoming and caring. They listened to him, laughed at his jokes, and applauded his successes in a way no other Navy team had done before. Bob had let himself hope that this team might last.
His mistake.
After all, pain was his oldest friend. His most constant companion. The thing he could count on the most in the world.
“Lieutenant Floyd, what brings you to my office?” Cyclone asked, looking up as he straightened the papers he had been looking at.
“I’m sorry to bother you, sir,” Bob replied. “I can come back another time if you’re busy.”
“No need, Lieutenant,” Cyclone said, offering a rare smile. “What can I help you with?”
“I’d like to request vacation leave.”
Cyclone looked surprised, which was unsurprising. Bob had only requested time off twice before, and neither of those times had been after being assigned to this team.
“Of course,” Cyclone answered. “When would you like to take leave?”
“As soon as possible, sir,” Bob spoke as plainly as he could, his spine straight even as he couldn’t quite look Cyclone in the eye.
He could feel the questioning look in Cyclone’s gaze, but the commanding officer didn’t ask the question he so clearly had.
“We have no upcoming assignments as of right now. You are free to take as much of your vacation leave as you need, when you want. Just let me know when and for how long,” Cyclone said, his voice softer than usual. Hangman had mentioned that Cyclone was softer than he let on, but this was the first time Bob had seen it for himself.
“A month.” The words left Bob’s mouth before he could think - he hadn’t gotten as far as to consider how long he would take off. He wasn’t used to running this early. But it felt right - time to get a clean slate. To be ready for what felt like an inevitable reassignment.
Cyclone nodded.
It was Friday. Bob’s leave would begin on Monday, leaving only Saturday for Bob to get through. The team passed Saturday’s exercises with flying colors, but even then, the celebration of the success was so subdued that Maverick eyed the team with a considering look. Bob took that to be a bad sign—another notch to add to the growing list that he always kept when on a team to mark the signs of discord. There’d been a lot of notches lately.
Phoenix was waiting for him in the parking lot, standing beside her car with a frown on her face. Bob had never once seen her leaning against the vehicle, always standing, ramrod straight, like she refused to be caught off guard. He tried to offer his usual smile as he passed her and opened the passenger side door, but it felt wobbly. Forced.
She didn’t comment on it though, driving him back to the apartment the Navy had provided for him in silence, with only the occasional glance at him.
“Everything okay with you?” she asked when she parked the car outside the complex. Bob’s place wasn’t on the way to hers; she lived practically in the other direction, but she’d insisted on driving him home since day one. Bob had learned very quickly that you didn’t say no to Phoenix, and in exchange, she’d started letting him brush off anything he didn’t want to do without comment.
Which was exactly what Bob did now. He waved off Phoenix’s concerns, stating that he was just tired, and made his way up to his apartment as her car pulled away. Closing and locking the door to his apartment always made him breathe a sigh of relief even as something deep inside him twisted in a feeling of deep, deep loneliness. He looked around the apartment. He remembered when he’d first moved in, marveling at how big the one-bedroom apartment was, how it even had an alcove in one corner of the space. It looked just as it had before, the only difference being the twin mattress shoved into the windowed alcove and the half-unpacked duffel bag next to it.
Just a month ago, he had considered buying himself a proper bed for once. He was glad he hadn’t.