Chapter Text
The flash of light was blinding, illuminating the night sky with a totality that rivaled the sun for the briefest second.
Then it was dark again, amidst the overcast clouding and few bleak stars finding their way through the choking smog of black smoke.
If it wasn't one thing, it was another, and tonight it was too-familiar faces making a mess of what should've been a simple objective. Toxic, being impossible to constrain with any known material, was at it again, and hellbent on making Robert's life a waking nightmare.
He may have succeeded in far more than that tonight, as Mecha Man hurtled through the sky in a free fall, the rebuilt suit a blazing fireball continuing it's trajectory towards the yawning darkness of the ocean below. Destroyed once more, however temporary that has proven to be.
What wouldn't be temporary, is Robert Robertson III connecting with the unforgiving water. What couldn't be rebuilt is the man inside the suit, knocked unconscious in the concussive explosion that ripped the suit apart just a second after he had grabbed the Astral Pulse and ejected. Not far enough away to evade the detonation of the suit's electrical systems.
The air stung in the brief glimpses of consciousness he was afforded. It felt as though he were falling forever, falling all over again just like he had when Shroud had gotten one up on him with a bomb strapped to his back. It whistled and whipped at him, making him feel impossibly cold in the stagnant heat of the city airspace.
He's distantly aware of yelling and commotion in his earpiece. His team screaming at each other, at him, for something he couldn't fathom— a way out of this one.
In another second, he was out again, then back, with enough mental bandwidth left to bitterly think about how he was meant to die in the suit, and that he's failed the family legacy once again.
There's the heavy beat of air being displaced in massive strokes. Someone yelling at him, unintelligible in the black haze of unconsciousness. Closer, actually nearby, not filtered through the earpiece.
The space before total darkness is filled with the frantic assurances of I gotcha, I gotcha, and the dim flicker of apprehension about Sonar breaking his fall with those impossibly sharp talons.
He was the only team member nearest to make a difference, and he was all Robert had in that instant. Trying to provide aerial support with Flambae and Malevola involved in the ground conflict left only him to intercept their dispatcher's descent.
It would've been so much simpler if it was anybody else.
In a split second decision, Victor flips upside down and catches Robert's unresponsive body against his massive, furred chest. The collision of their bodies knocks the wind out of the bat's lungs, quickly replenished in a surge of panic and swears.
"Shit, shit, shit, shit—" the hybrid spits as he joins the free fall.
Typically, he'd grab whatever it was from the air with his feet, seeing as his hands were attached to his wings and he sorta needed those to stay aloft. But there was no way slamming into his already fragile and battered body with opposite inertia would do anything but pull a Gwen Stacy and kill the man.
And now, Victor was cursing, wings tucked in to hold Robert against his chest as he struggled to think of some way to carry the limp body.
"Terrain!" he hears Malevola shout through the open communication line. "Pull up! Fucking pull up!"
"Stupid fucking bat brain, I'll knock your ass out of the sky and fucking catch him myself if you don't—"
"This is a little difficult," he grits. "when you don't have fucking hands!"
The wind whistles through his fur, his candy-red eyes wide in panic as he gingerly shifts Robert lower, into the cradle of his thighs. There— he can pin him to his stomach, the man sideways across the span of his thighs and nestled against his stomach.
There's a moment where he's just staring at the unconscious, blood-smeared face of his dispatcher, a pitching feeling in his stomach he thought he had grown so used to, that sinking-falling feeling of fear that maybe it didn't matter how he caught him anyways.
Pivoting in the air, his wings fly open to coast along the air current. It jostles them only slightly, and Robert stays contained to the space against Victor's stomach, with only an arm slipping free and dangling limply down.
Low enough to skim the water's surface.
Panting, Victor realizes just how close they were to hitting the unforgiving surface of the water at terminal velocity. The comms had gone silent, the tension palpable until he can wet his lips with a swipe of a long tongue, gasping in air.
"I— I got him."
There was an obligatory celebration thrown afterwards, but his heart wasn't in it. Malevola nudged his elbow and passed him a bottle of beer before moving away. For once, Victor didn't follow after her, sticking to the couch while everyone milled about the studio kitchen-dining room combo.
It didn't feel like there was true cause for celebration. Sure, they were able to subdue Toxic at last (between the lines, 'subdue') and Robert was alive in the infirmary. Unconscious still, but apparently no worse for wear than really any other time he had ended up there.
It felt like everyone was so used to him getting egregiously maimed that it was a normal Tuesday for them. And maybe it would feel like that if he wasn't the one to catch him.
He keeps thinking of Robert's face, streaked in blood that poured from his nose and from the soot of the explosion. Cheek resting in the fur of his chest while they hit terminal velocity, racing towards a mutual death.
Glancing up from where he was blankly staring down the neck of his beer bottle, Victor sees nobody looking his direction. Kamran was being a wonderful host as always, keeping everyone entertained or at the least, boozed up enough to find some means to occupy themselves.
He slips away from the celebrations and towards his bedroom for some peace and quiet.
The ringing in his ears from the explosion of the mech suit was still a dull constant, and the silence of his room only amplified it. But he needed the solitude, to sit and think for once uninterrupted and still marginally sober.
He gets perhaps five minutes of staring at the dark ceiling before a flash of red causes him to flinch and cover his face.
"'Sup, dude."
He groans, relaxing back into the mattress.
"Hey, Mal," he grumbles, not bothering to sit up.
"What's going on?" she hums, coming up to the side of the bed and crossing her arms. "Bad high or something?"
"If only," he scoffs.
When he doesn't offer more, she scowls. Generally, whatever bothers the hybrid is freely given up to her. Of anybody, she's the only one that can get a scrap of earnesty from the man, even if only because she is well-read in the language of dry sarcasm and repression that only Victor can speak.
"Alright, big guy. Something's wrong, like— really wrong. Spill it."
Sighing, he drags himself upright and pulls his legs up to rest his elbows on. Shrinking in on himself a little bit and staring at his hands limp between his knees like they'd find the words for him. Make sense of the fear that still sat in his chest.
"What if—"
As abruptly as he started, he stops himself short. Has to clear his throat, his ears twitching nervously.
"What if I didn't, y'know, pull that air force parade shit to catch him? If I grabbed him like I grab anything out of the damn sky?"
"But you didn't," she says bluntly.
"No shit," Victor says flatly. "I know I didn't because I almost killed us both not doing it."
"But... you didn't," she says, slower and weary. Gingerly, she sinks down onto the bed a couple feet from him. "...I don't get it."
Staring blankly at the sheets, he doesn't say anything. Anything that he would say would be barbed and bitter, and even as much of an asshole that he is, he knows when to dish it out and when it would just make them both feel worse.
"I think Robert's heroism talks have gotten to your head," she says simply, leaning back on her hands. "Like, more than what's good for you."
"Why else would I be here if it wasn't supposed to do that," he mutters. "I just— it doesn't make any fucking sense."
Malevola turns to face him directly, her glossy yellow eyes intense on his own. Like her similarly pupil-less gaze was able to find the direction of his, made to figure him out in a way that no one else could. He shifts, rubbing an arm over the folds and creases of the suit jacket over his bicep— hasn't even gotten out of his 'work' clothes.
"You're right, okay? I didn't, we didn't, whatever. Everyone's alive, Toxic is never going to bother us ever again, but— I'm still fucking scared."
"If Blonde Bitch sends me to climb another tree for a cat, I'm lighting it on fire and—"
"Well, she's not here right now, and I'm sending you to an already burning building."
It had only been a couple of days, but it was a shit show regardless. Blonde Blazer, as she had proven incapable before, was still just as incapable of corralling a team of ne'er-do-wells into something even generously considered functional. Even when it suited them best to be disorganized and chaotic, it got old, and fast.
Perhaps Robert's redemption efforts had gone further than anticipated.
There was an immediate clamor of overlapping voices, all excited and relieved to hear Robert's voice in their ears again. Their all-seeing dispatcher, still tightly bandaged and with an arm in a sling, back in his rightful spot dictating their every move for the shift.
Sitting on the balcony on the corner of the SDN building, Victor visibly flinches hearing his voice again. The relief was an immediate wash through him, purging the restlessness and irritation that's nipped at him for the two days it took for Robert to wake up, then sit up again.
Malevola gives him a sidelong glance, dragging a cigarette. She doesn't say anything, only giving him an up-down before staring out into the parking lot some more.
They hadn't really talked much after the post-mission party. There wasn't much to talk about— the subject untouchably vulnerable for both of them. Mal had sat in silence, processing Victor's quiet admission of fear, patted his leg, disappeared for a second, and returned with three more bottles of beer for him to nurse in solitude before she was gone again.
He had kept himself under control in the meantime, though it had been a great struggle. She had anchored him with their synergy and history, but there was only so much that he could take before he would just snap and fly off the rail in a formidable, hulking beast of dark fur and snapping fangs on some poor petty thief.
"Thank Christ, I was boutta come in there and raise some Hell myself if I got sent to one more press conference," Punch-Up mutters. "They don't even bother to angle the cameras down when I talk."
"That's... fucked," Robert muses. "Don't worry, I think I've got something better coming up, big guy."
"Don't test me."
He was sore all over, his ears still slightly ringing, and his hand achingly throbbing every time he so much as clicked the mouse or tapped the keys, but he was simply relieved to be back in his cubicle. He was going to be stationed in this chair for quite some time again, seeing as his mech suit was once more out of commission and still being fished out of the bay piece by piece, but the most important part of it survived the explosion and the recovery efforts.
He'd need to thank Victor personally for not spearing him through like a bird of prey.
The day was as painless as it could be. There was only a slight issue with Flambae and Waterboy being paired together, but it was to be expected and they got over it. Something must've happened between the two of them while Robert was out, because Herman had some choice, clearly-spoken words for the fire-starter, and Kamran responded quite well. Shockingly well.
"Stop flirting and figure it out," Robert sighs, trying to tune them out as he attempted to hurriedly hack with only one hand.
Herman starts to sputter, claiming innocence. Kamran chuckles and keeps teasing him.
"Your lines are open," he grits. "Cut it out or I'm sending you two home to work it out, unpaid."
It earns him some silence, but not before he absolutely fumbles a hack. He swears under his breath and groans, scrubbing his only hand down his face as he watches the security system clamp down even harder.
"Fuck me. Sorry, Golem."
"No biggie."
Despite the reassurance, Robert felt completely useless without the ability to use both his hands. Felt too much like the night he first met Blonde Blazer, when she came to his aid after he challenged a stupid number of thieves to unarmed combat, still in a sling.
He stares at the monitor in frustration, watching icons flit about and alerts pop up. Busy day already. Going for his coffee mug when he wasn't looking, he knocks against the handle with his knuckles and sends it hurtling towards the floor.
Gasping, he flinches towards it in an attempt to catch it before it was too late, but cringes back when somebody nabs it for him, nearly head butting them in the stomach.
Victor blinks down at him placidly, not saying anything with the mug right side up in his hand. He hadn't even realized the hybrid was back on base.
"Shit, thanks," Robert says with an embarrassed simper. It tugs at the bandage still on his cheek from a pretty gnarly gash a shard of metal had gifted him on the way down.
"Don't mention it," Victor says flatly, hesitating for another moment before moving to set the mug back on the coaster. Then sees that the coaster was on the left side of the computer as it always is, and slips the coaster off the desk to move to the other side.
"Yeah, not used to being a righty yet," Robert says with a sigh, moving to slide the headset around his neck. Things were steady right now, but not overbearing— the team can excuse him for a quick second.
"You're a lefty?" Victor says, then scrunches his nose. "Maybe that's why you're so—"
"Don't start giving me statistics about left-handedness," Robert says quickly, though he softens. Clears his throat. "Listen, I just wanted to say thank you."
"...For?" Victor mumbles. He straightens where he had set the coaster on the correct side of the desk, coffee mug in marginally less danger of meeting the floor again being on his operational side.
He was tense, his ears twitching nervously, like how he looked when he was being given a performance review. Robert looks at him curiously, uncertain as to why the bat was so touchy with some appreciation.
"I don't know, maybe the whole 'saving my ass from certain death' thing?" Robert says with the ghost of a chuckle under his breath.
"Oh yeah, that," Victor says, suddenly coming to life. He makes a noise, waving a hand noncommitally— like it meant nothing. Another Tuesday.
"I mean it," Robert says. He turns, shifting to pull the headset back over his ears with a touch of difficulty.
"Make it up to me sometime," he says, blurting it out. Immediately, he clams up, seeing that Robert heard him with only one side of the headset situated right.
He looks at him sidelong for a moment, a question in the slightest narrowing of his eyes.
"I'm not buying into one of your ponzi schemes as thanks," he says, though a smirk tugs his lips.
"Nah, maybe don't try to die half a mile in the air next time," Victor says with a shrug. His collar feels tight, but he resists tugging his tie loose. He leans his hip against the cubicle wall, crossing his arms to keep his hands to himself.
"Why? That means you wouldn't come swooping to my aid," Robert mumbles, his attention fixating on the monitor faster than the conversation was closing. "What fun is that?"
"Oh, plenty fun, like—" Victor starts, choking a little. Getting a flashbulb memory of the panic, the fear, of Robert's face. "Like, really fun. Should try it."
"Guess my definition of fun is different from yours, then," Robert muses. He opens an alert and scans it.
"Plenty of other fun things to do—"
"I'm not trying coke."
"Okay, some other fun things to do."
"Give me some ideas later," Robert says, shifting forward in his chair. "Prism, I'm—"
"Oh, I get in trouble for some flirting but you and bitch-bat can sit there and eye-fuck each other?" Kamran grouses.
"We're not—" Robert starts, leaning back to glance at Victor, only to find the space beside him abruptly empty, "—...flirting."
Victor slipped away as fast as he could, feeling the fur along his neck start to prickle with warmth. Unsure what to do other than escape the conversation at the first foreseeable opportunity, making out with his dignity before he went and said something profoundly stupid, and frankly unwarranted.
This was just how Robert talked to people. That's what he repeated in his head, over and over, as he set out for the parking lot for some fresh air and to prepare for his next assignment. He's heard him flirt with Kamran rather brazenly before, as well as the rest of the team individually.
He was just... like that, whether he realized it or not.
Why his brain was deciding to latch onto the workplace banter and easy commanderie now was beyond him. Something had to have gotten fucked up with him physiologically when he saved Robert's life for him to suddenly lurch at every smirk, every amused eye roll he could get out of the man like he were falling again.
Something had to have gotten fucked up for him to want that feeling to live inside his stomach.
Malevola was still giving him an odd look when he appeared at her side to accompany her on a job. It makes him hot under the collar, even as he pointedly ignores her and steps into the building. Simple objective— a drug seminar. His favorite.
"Hey. Bat brain," Malevola says, elbowing him sharply. "Anyone home?"
He blinks, realizing he was zoned out. Not entirely dissociated, but instead focused on the steady rumble of Robert's voice as he dispatched their other team members. His ears twitched, and it takes a long moment to process that that was what he was focused on, and to return his focus to his sponsor.
"A little," he murmurs. "Kinda."
Her brows pinch up in concern, and she glances about where they're surrounded by panelists before gingerly ushering him aside. He hadn't realized it, but she had done the entire speech on the behalf of SDN without his help, and it makes his ears flush with embarrassment at being next to useless.
"Is it the topic?" she asks quietly, once she was more certain they wouldn't be overheard.
"It— maybe?" Victor chitters, shrugging tightly.
"I don't know if that's a maybe," she says, running her hands up and down his biceps like she were trying to warm him up. "You're really tense."
When she leans back, he shies his gaze to the side. Thoughts spinning, and intermittently being cut through with Robert's voice addressing somebody else in his ear. Malevola considers him for a long moment, then reaches forward and plucks the earpiece from him.
In a split second, he goes from being tenuously unsteadied to completely toppled and frantic. Like he caught the sight of something dangerous in a crowd with no means of cover when shit goes south.
"Give that back—" Victor immediately bites, a hand flashing out for hers to stop her.
The intensity of his hiss and the desperation of him lunging at her, in a room of business sponsors and organization representatives, makes Malevola's eyes widen to saucers. She takes a step back, looking at him up and down as he barely constrains himself with a shaky breath.
"You're having trouble keeping it together again," she says with a soft certainty that makes him flush with shame.
He nods, however weak and small the movement is, and crosses his arms like he were afraid what he'd do with his hands. Glancing at his earpiece pinched between her fingers, she deliberates for a second before pocketing it, then starts to coax him towards the exit. The back exit, into the alleyway between buildings.
The moment they were secluded, she was bundling him around the corner of a dumpster and getting in his space.
"What is it?" she asks, quiet. Her eyes worn at the edges and rounded with worry. "You've been doing really well keeping your transformations under control."
"I..." Victor starts, shifting and leaning back against the wall heavily. The brick digs into his back, through the suit jacket, and makes his skin prickle. "I don't know. It just doesn't— nothing feels right."
"Did something happen on a job?" she presses.
"Nothing you don't already know about," he breathes out.
She considers this for a moment. More often than not, they were working together, or if they weren't, then she'd get a rundown of the day over a beer or some greasy food at a corner store. Last resort scenario, she could request the call logs and performance reports if she felt like he were hiding something from her, but as she looked at him— ears bent back, leg bouncing and heel tapping the grimy asphalt— she knows that won't be necessary.
"Are you still scared?"
Victor starts to nod, then stops with a scoff as he glances at the ground, laughing at himself. Incredulous as he admits that yes, he is.
She nods silently, contemplating something. She goes to say something but thinks better of it. She has her own ideas about what had happened, what physiological shift had transpired, but that doesn't mean she'd be assuring or productive in sharing. Not when Victor was fidgeting, restlessly messing with the creases of his jacket with his ears twisting about like there was something he couldn't hear anymore.
She digs into her short's pocket and fishes out the earpiece.
Immediately, his ears perk forward, and he snatches it from her.
It confirms her theory that it was, in fact, a fear for Robert. An itch that was scratched when Victor saved his life was a gaping wound that was still itching. Knowing with more certainty why he was scared, even if he didn't know it yet, still did nothing to solve the problem of how to make it stop.
"Let's take the day," she suggests, holding a hand out and gesturing for him to come with. "You've had a rough one."
"It's... only just started," he protests, leaning away like she were aiming to hurt him with the idea. "Not a quitter."
"Well, then we're taking break early," she says, pointing at him squarely. "Nonnegotiable. I said so."
The break of tension with light humor garners a little eye roll and resigned cooperation. Peeling off the brick wall, he grumbles as he falls in step beside her.
"Okay, mom. Geez. What's next, you brought me into this world and you can take me out of it, too?"
"Hm. Thought about it."
Flambae ends up getting hurt, several times. And in all his righteous rage, points the blame at Robert.
He was absolutely exhausted, having gone from the infirmary, to home, then right to his cubicle that morning. Hadn't even taken a proper shower or really eaten anything substantial, and his entire being was screaming at him to collapse. But he's nothing if not resilient, at least enough to stand there and stare at the fire starter while he growled and stepped closer into his space.
"Look, I'm only the guy that tells you where to go. What you do when you get there is out of my hands," Robert says flatly, shrugging with his one shoulder.
"I thought shit would turn around when Blondie stopped pretending she knew what she was doing and fucked off," Kamran hisses. "I'd take her over the shit job you did today."
"Ouch. I'm so hurt," Robert mumbles, unable to stop himself from rolling his eyes and reflexively glance at his watch. He just wanted to go home.
Perhaps there was an element of truth to it— that Robert made one or two bad calls and sent someone not the best equipped out for a job. It was tight, with Malevola and Victor taking the latter half of their work day to go, claiming that they had personal matters that needed addressed.
"Listen, we don't get what we want all the time—"
Robert starts, before he's suddenly forced to take a step back with Kamran almost lunging into his face, jamming a finger into his chest hard enough to make the next breath a wheeze.
"What I want is to not have a bitch in my ear," he hisses.
"What the fuck, Kamran?" Robert says, taking another step to try and get some distance and massage the dull ache of his sternum.
He gets maybe a moment where Kamran seems to remember that he was just released from the infirmary that morning— finally woken up after two days not even a few hours before he sat down at his desk— before it only seems to incense the man. He can see in the reflection of the lobby windows, blacked out with the night sky against it, how heat warps Kamran's reflection.
He swallows nervously, bringing a hand up. An element of him wanted to believe Kamran wouldn't kick him while he was barely standing back up, but he's had too much experience to put much faith in that hope.
"Is this the best place for th—"
He sucks in a breath of surprise as the front of his work shirt is grabbed and he's pulled forward, almost stumbling into Kamran. He can't stop himself from bracing his palm against the other man's chest, pushing to try and make space.
"What? Don't want someone see you get your ass handed to you by your subordinate?" he sneers. "To see that you're nothing but another bitch deskjockey without the suit?"
Distantly, he processes the sound of the lobby doors sliding open, and a conversation coming to an abrupt close. But he can't see past Kamran's snarl, or the finger he jabs in his face, the tip lit with open flame.
Stopping short in their tracks, several of the SDN team stares in shock and confusion. Malevola and Victor were saddled with convenience store plastic bags, and Alice had her hands full with paper bags of liquor. Planning on something to unwind as a team.
Immediately, Malevola's gaze flicked to Victor. His hackles were raising, stiff and rippling like an enraged animal even as his face remained eerily blank.
"Victor—" she tries, quickly shuffling all the bags to her other hand to reach out for his, "—keep it together, he's not—"
He drops the bags onto the floor, the contents of junk food and soda cans spilling out across the tile. With one step, he can hear the sound of the stitches of his suit jacket begin to tear and pop, and with another, the only thing in his ears was his own rolling growl and heartbeat.
It takes five seconds total from the moment they walked into the lobby to the moment Victor was pulling back a great, winged arm and striking Kamran hard enough to send him across the expansive lobby. Dislodging his hold over Robert and causing the smaller man to almost topple backwards onto the floor, only spared by the bulk of the bat's body stepping forward and his wing coming back down to pin him against his chest.
Both women swear simultaneously and react as fast as they can to the possibility of Kamran being sent through the lobby windows. Alice manages to save the liquor bottles in her bags and throw up a hard-light shield in front of the windows, while Malevola rips open a portal to break his momentum.
Kamran slams into the tile floor with a grunt, momentarily winded despite Malevola's portal managing to decrease the speed that Victor's feral strength had inspired. Having to loop him back to the point he was thrown from, leaving him sprawled out at the two women's feet.
No one says anything, even as Kamran groans and picks himself up off the floor. Dusting himself off with a heavy sigh, and turning to glare at Victor and Robert.
Pulled into the dense fur of Victor's chest, Robert can only blink in stunned silence. The only thing in his ears a perpetual rumble emanating from the monster hybrid's core, a constant growl of warning as he stares at his own roommate like he were Shroud himself coming back to finish the job.
"Victor, buddy," he tries after a terse moment, having to wet his lips to get the words out. "I'm okay."
One of those massive ears was kept craned down towards Robert, but at his voice the bat looks down at him sharply. It elicits a flinch, finding no room to move away when his wing was holding him steady in the shelter of his body. It doesn't look like Victor anymore, for a terrifying second. Those eyes, deathly red and cruel, staring down at him for a moment before slowly looking at the rest of the team.
Kamran stands a ways away, arms crossed and quiet. Malevola and Alice were nervously standing on either side of him, unsure of what to do, though after a moment, the demoness stoops down to collect the spilled contents of Victor's bag.
Carefully, Robert is released back onto his own two feet as the bat’s wing shifts and lifts away. No longer constraining him against his body, and taking a step away from the dispatcher with a quiet chitter. His ears bent back. Ashamed.
The last time he glances at Robert, he can see the obvious distress in his rounded eyes. But he doesn’t linger, slinking over to the rest of the supers and coming up in front of Kamran, who, despite being flicked away like a bug, offers a simple nod and heavy-handedly pats the thick muscle of Victor's neck.
He had heard about Victor's propensity to lose control of himself with his shifts, and had it happen just a few times before, but those times they were anticipated responses to a situation at hand. At the Scorpion, it proved invaluable saving everyone’s asses in the clusterfuck of a bar fight.
But now, when the only danger was a split lip and Robert’s patience? It didn’t make any sense to him why Victor would snap like that, when he had been doing so well. From the look of things, Malevola wasn’t the least bit surprised, nor was she disappointed as she patted his shoulder and coaxed him out the lobby doors.
Alice lingers for a second, glancing from her group to her dispatcher before awkwardly wishing him a good night. And with that, he was completely alone aside from Beef, who hadn’t even batted an eye until Victor ripped through the lobby. Apparently acclimated to the naturally hostile workplace and not caring much for it until it was a creature beyond his meager understanding.
Now that it was just them, he glances up at Robert expectantly, tail beginning to wag again. He planned on walking home, and he was so exhausted after everything now that he really didn’t want to, but didn’t want to wait any longer for a ride.
Half of Robert's mind was thinking idly of going downtown to find a spot at a bar and drink after the day he's had, but the other rational half considers that it may not be the best idea. He's not had a good track record as of late with bar hopping, either with company or alone, so he only gives the villain bar a longing glance as he walks past.
Beef pulls hard at his leash, not having been on the other end of it with Robert in tow in entirely too long. Somehow, despite how everyone spoils the little guy rotten, he doesn't think reformed villains understand how to actually walk a dog.
"Alright, alright, I'm comin'," he mumbles with a laugh, even as the slightest tug makes his upper body ache.
Probably shouldn't be walking alone, or really at all, given he was only two days removed from a catastrophic event that nearly killed him for good. But he needs the routine, the normality of taking his fat little dog on a walk, and the mundane thought that he seems to find calories out of thin air even when Robert refuses him table scraps.
Something that isn’t the prickle of conflicted emotion that nags at the back of his mind about Victor. He couldn’t possibly see him as that weak and defenseless that he couldn’t withstand some bumps and bruises.
A block from the bar and some distance from home, he passes a yawning stretch of alley. Staring at the slow roll of traffic that only happens on the outskirts of town, and the quiet slick of tires passing lazily through puddles. He rounds the corner, and is about to pass the other mouth of the same alley when he's stopped in his tracks.
First thing he fixates on are the body augments illuminated in red. The second is that it was three-to-one, odds he'd wager if he wasn't bound up in a sling and held together with stitches and a prayer. He'd already figured out that his ass would be handed to him easily, but knowing that this was Red Ring remnants, he swallows thickly and pulls the leash towards him protectively.
Not about to put it past these ghosts to haunt the final actions of their late leader. Beef comes to heel at his side, having grown wearier of strangers since that night.
"Well, if it isn't Mecha Man," one of the goons sneers, taking a step closer and giving him an obvious lookover. "Where's your crew this time?"
Robert stares at them flatly, raising only an eyebrow despite how his heart hammers in his chest. He can see several blunt weapons in their possession, though no firearms. He could try to make a run for it if they try something, but it may just entice them if he tries now. And he doubt he'd get very far, very fast in his state.
"Can't see my guard dog?" Robert says, making a gesture towards Beef with the end of the leash. "Did good against Shroud."
It warrants a scoff, and another step forward.
"That shit ain't gonna work, boy."
"Boy?" he says, nose crinkling. "Little gross."
"Shut the fuck up!" the goon snarls, coming close enough to jab a finger in his chest. It makes him suck in a breath, the briefest pressure aggravating his sore ribs like it were an actual punch. "You've got some fucking balls strolling 'round here without anybody to save your ass like last time."
The other two goons take a step forward, one of them nodding along with the man's words with an almost feral gleam in his eye.
"I have an unregistered firearm," he says, almost boredly. "Sling makes a great place to store it, actually."
There seems to be a moment of consideration, the less-wild looking goon shifting uncomfortably and stepping back a pace. Then they tap the man on his shoulder, and gesture towards the back of the alley.
Robert watches as all three of them go from encroaching on his space to edging backwards before turning and taking their leave with only a shouted threat over their shoulder, lost to the rumble of a passing car through a puddle.
Shifting back on his heels, he lets out a shuddering breath he didn't realize he was holding.
Maybe he should get a real gun and not just an empty threat if it was an effective enough deterrent. He sure as shit would’ve appreciated a hulking bat hybrid at his rescue again.
With another sigh, he glances down at Beef, who was staring down the alley with ears perked before looking at his owner. His mouth drops open, tongue lulling out as he resumes his ordinary, happy-go-lucky life.
"Maybe it was you that scared them off," he muses, letting the small dog continue to tug at the leash towards home. "You're so big and bad and scary for me."
On the opposite side of the street, one of the shadows atop a restaurant roof shifts. An air conditioning unit stops being inanimate and stalks towards the edge, watching Robert continue on down the sidewalk.
An ear twitches, and Victor tries not to latch onto words not meant for him.
"Sonar, the fuck are we doing?" Robert says, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"It was on the way, Bobby boy. Thought I'd handle it."
"That's a middle school," he says evenly, though the tension in his voice was there, "and Punch-Up was on his way. Unless you think you can pass as an emotional support dog, you're not going to be their presenter on mental health awareness."
"I'm offended. I'm a perfectly fine emotional service animal."
"Emotional disservice, maybe."
"Like you're any better, P. Just saw you tweet at some 15 year old to go kill himself."
"He said—"
"Prism, absolutely incredible PR move there. Sonar, back to base. Not the job for you."
He hears grumbling, but watches with a touch of satisfaction as Victor's icon reroutes and moves back towards headquarters. If doesn't take longer than a minute before he hears the familiar fwump of massive wings displacing air as he lands atop the balcony on the corner.
Icon goes offline. Using the time to take his break, conveniently right at the end of the first shift.
Shaking himself loose and fixing his clothes with a few plucks and sweeps, Victor makes his way towards the break room. He needed to decompress. He was running himself ragged. Not that he had to, or even that he was asked to, he just needed to do something with himself.
Ordinarily he'd be more than content to sit and scroll feeds, watching lines go up and down and press a button once or twice relating to said lines. But nothing was capturing his focus for longer than a few minutes, and it was becoming unbearable doing anything unrelated to work.
That, and if he was stuck in the office, he'd find himself staring down Robert.
Even when he'd correct himself and look at his phone, or leave the room entirely to space out, he'd inadvertently wander back to the main work floor and find some spot to stare at his dispatcher.
It makes his skin itch under his fur if he wasn't staring at Robert, or doing something that Robert told him to do.
"You're staring at that rat like you're waiting for it to come back to life."
He startles, not realizing that Malevola had waltzed into the room. As she slides down into the chair across from him, he glances at the clock and realizes he had been staring at his food long enough for their first shift to end.
"Y'know, I could make that happen," she muses, popping a fry in her mouth.
"It's a mouse, thank you. And I like my pinkies frozen and thawed to perfection," he grumbles, sinking into his chair and letting his tupperware hit the table.
"Yeah, I can tell from the whole 'not eating it' part," she says.
He doesn't humor her with a response, and instead stares at the vending machine like it could dispense an answer for him. Instead, he slowly unfolds himself from his seat and meanders over to it, fishing in his pocket. It was unlike him to ever bother with actually buying food for himself, resorting to mooching off everybody else, so Malevola watches silently with an arm thrown over the back of her chair.
The bill struggles to be taken in, but finally does. After a couple button presses and an awkward moment of waiting for the machine to spit it out, he reaches down and turns with two packs of Twinkies in his possession.
"Thought you weren't hungry," Malevola says slowly, keen yellow eyes narrowing.
"Never said that," he says defensively.
"Okay, you know what? Fair enough. You didn't," she says, conceding and sitting back in her chair to eat, though she doesn't stop watching Victor's movements.
He grabs his lunch and pops the lid back on before tossing it into the fridge once more. Not saying another word to his sponsor as he slips out of the break room, his hackles twitching uncomfortably at the feeling of her all-too-perceptive gaze on him.
In his chair, Courtney appears. She stares out the door for another second before turning to Malevola with her inhaler ready.
"What's up with him?" she says a little breathless.
"Wow. Think that's a new record. When'd you even sit down?"
"Oh, y'know," she says, inhaling sharply as she decompresses the medication into her lungs. "As soon as he got up. Wanted the seat to still be warm."
"Gross. And a lot. But right this second? I don't know."
"Want me to find out?"
"Knock yourself out."
The main work floor was bustling now with the shift change. Many teams had several dispatchers they worked with, not bound to one. It just so happened that nobody, not even Blonde Blazer, could figure out how to wrangle the Z-Team, which left only Robert.
He was pushed against his desk, tucked under it and skimming over a report. One of many, far too many for one worker to slog through, but he was the only one responsible for the team, and it was sure as shit nobody else was going to volunteer to help with the paperwork.
Consequently, that means he rarely leaves his desk to eat. Either he leaves for a bathroom break and hit the vending machine, or he gets something delivered to him and brought up if he felt like splurging. As it stands, in his state, he wasn't budging and wasn't intending to anytime soon.
Victor steps towards him, ears twitching. Can't help but feel like he was being watched, even as Robert remains completely oblivious to his approach. Beef sits on the little dog pillow next to his feet, looking up at the hybrid without a care in the world.
Clearing his throat gently, he steps forward and leans his elbows over the wall of the cubicle in Robert's peripheral. It takes a moment for the dispatcher to find a space to look away from his papers, slowly angling his head further from it even as his eyes continued to move in rows.
Finally, he looks up at the bat with a world-weariness that makes Victor feel... chest-tight.
He forgets what he was doing.
"You're not mad about the middle school thing, are you?" Robert says with a sigh. Leaning back only to rub at his eyes and take stock of his surroundings like he were coming out of a daze. Really, he was, with this job.
"Nah," Victor says with a nonchalant shrug. "As if I've got an investment in some plague vectors' mental health."
"Plague vector," Robert echoes, then scoffs a quiet laugh. "That's a new one. I think they're called children."
"Hey— I'm just saying, school janitors are stronger than the marines," Victor muses. Falling fast into the easy banter he manages to find the tail of every time with Robert, if he wasn't actively pissing the man off.
"They prefer to be called custodians," Robert states, turning and finding his coffee mug, empty, "and that's rich coming from you, Batsy."
Robert sets the empty mug down with an internal groan. He'd have to get up and get more if he wanted more. He didn't feel like waiting for a good samaritan to take pity on the battle-wounded dispatcher to fetch him a fresh cup.
When he pushes his chair back to stand stiffly, he realizes that Victor was just staring at him. For a moment, a sense of dread starts to fill him as all he can think about is the empty, rage-blank eyes of the hybrid as he threw another team member aside like he was trash. Hard to gauge what he was supposed to be reading in those blank eyes, but he can tell that he had the hybrid's full attention in the forward perk of his ears.
"Eh, sorry. I imagine you get a lot of Batman jokes," Robert says with a weary simper. "I'll come up with—"
"Just call me Victor."
Blinking in surprise, it takes a moment to process the interruption. But Robert smiles, as he always does, in that quiet way of his that could be missed from across the room.
"Okay, Victor."
By his foot, he hears Beef sneeze. Immediately, rather than look at his dog, he scans the work floor on instinct. Unsurprisingly seeing nothing, not even after a moment, he looks down to see the water bowl empty.
Stooping low to pick it up, he falters when he realizes he'd need two hands for both the bowl and his mug. With a quiet noise of disgruntlement, he resigns to put his mug in the slobbery water at the bottom of the bowl to be able to carry both to the break room.
"That's gross," Victor says lamely, tipping his head towards the mug-bowl situation.
"Yeah..." Robert sighs, glaring at the configuration. "I think maybe another few days in the sling and I won't have to deal with this shit anymore."
"Here—"
Without wasting a second, Victor reaches out and takes the mug out of the bowl, and goes to grab the bowl with his other when he realizes he was still holding onto the Twinkies. The entire reason he was even over here. They've definitely warmed by now, the inside of the plastic sweating with his body heat.
"Uh, these are for you," he manages to get out, awkwardly leaning over the cubicle wall to drop them on the desk. "Figured you weren't going to get up but, uh..."
A nervous chuckle interrupts him, his ears twitching and bending back self-consciously.
"Here you are... up."
Robert stares at him for a long moment. Not saying anything and not making any reaction. It makes Victor want to shrivel up and die until he sees the slightest pull of a smirk.
"You sound like Waterboy."
The scowl is evident on Victor's face, and it garners a proper chuckle.
"I can and will do terrible things to this mug faster than you can limp to stop me."
"There he is," Robert says, an evident warmth in his eyes that makes Victor's wounded ego at being compared to the void of confidence that is Herm a little easier to bear.
He can feel the tips of his ears grow warm, and he's grateful that Robert was slipping past him towards the break room. He lags behind, his brain taking a moment to catch up after the soft hush of Robert's voice hit him like a brick to the skull.
There he is.
Instead of a shitty plastic chair, he now has a shitty twin mattress.
Robert slumps down onto the bed with a haggard sigh. It was a gift after he was once again wiped out and back in the infirmary, Mandy reasoning that there was no way they would be able to convince him to stay in the infirmary or to buy a bed to recover on himself. So she found one cheap enough not to make him uncomfortable about the gift and sleep on the floor next to it.
Beef walks over to him and onto the mattress. It wasn't even on a bed frame or box spring, but in the moment it seemed preferable. Having his dog meander over to him and flop over onto his side right into the crook of his body.
The latter half of the work day was a drag. Perhaps it was the toll on his body being put through the mental paces of wrangling his team. At the least, Sonar and Waterboy were on their best behavior, though he expected nothing less from the latter.
It was Victor that was shockingly cooperative.
It was odd, though he'd like to think that it was just time and effort from how long they've worked together at this point. It's been a few short months, but that was substantially longer than any dispatcher has lasted with this team— by miles. It was what he wanted after all, team synergy.
He sets his phone down on top of Beef, hardly bothering the dog, as he grabs for the neck of his beer bottle. Needed something to help him sleep through the night, having some difficulty with the aches and pains rousing him at odd hours.
Playfully, after finishing the last dregs of cheap beer, he sets it on the flat of Beef's head and gets a disturbed grunt and a huff. He chuckles, setting the empty bottle on the floor, uncaring that it falls over empty on the carpet. Tucking his dog against his ribs, he tries to stop thinking about work and find something else that would be as entertaining as counting sheep.
Something that comes to color his dreams has been the villain's bar. Flashes of light from the little stage, blots of red from the many Red Ring goons. The constant smell of sweat and cheap beer and dirt underlaying the scent of cigarette smoke.
Every dream cycles the events that happened as though the scars on his body weren't good enough reminders. Being thrown around like a rag doll, being grabbed by the hair, head wrenched back by a jaw-splitting punch. Blood in his mouth, panic— so much panic.
Being dragged away from everything and everyone else knowing he was just some guy.
The bathroom was familiar, with the yellow-stained fluorescence of the old lights, the stench of stale piss and cheap, expired hand soap.
The glass was intact, though it was hard to see clearly through it. He was drunker than he remembered ever being that night, swaying pleasantly as he was wetting his hands under cold water. Just enjoying the sensation of it running smoothly over his life-rough hands.
Something warm touches him, a hand sliding up from the small of his back to between his shoulders. Something twists in his stomach, and he fumbles shutting the faucet off. Something is spoken to him, a rumble of a low voice close to his ear.
He's coaxed into turning towards the other body, and he fixates on playfully wiping his wet hands on the front of a dress shirt. He gets a few swipes, turning the thin white fabric slightly transparent with the water, before his hands are caught at the wrists and pulled.
Lips push against his own. He doesn't catch whose before his eyes are slipping shut, immediately responding to the hot press against him. The hands restraining his wrists are strong, keeping them to the sides in the air for just another moment before he's pulled forward— reaching to find shoulders to hold onto.
Chest to chest, having to tip his chin up to maintain the kiss. His hands brush against something impossibly soft, too soft to be hair, before he realizes that his hands were in dense fur as they fumble, trying to find the angle of his lover's jaw.
It registers, but doesn't. He clings harder, getting a soft growl at a tug.
The stall is shaded from the harsh lights. Shaded further as he buries his face in his arms, pillowed on top of the toilet paper dispenser. His panted breath fogs the plastic of the dispenser, his eyes fluttering open to see the cloud of condensation on its surface.
He groans, weak and airy, as he's tipped forward onto the balls of his feet. He can feel his work slacks around his ankles, his boxer briefs caught at his thighs.
Lifting his head, he looks up blearily and sees hands above his head, braced against the stall wall. Tipped in claws, scouring jagged lines into the flimsy plastic of the divider.
Victor leans down, head lulling down between his arms. His eyes are half-lidded but intense, watching Robert's face. His lips are pulled back into a snarl that momentarily relaxes with a groan, with a rope of drool slipping off a long, sleek fang.
With a gasp, he's flush with the dispenser, back bowing with the force of Victor's body against his. No semblance of subtly with the sound of their bodies connecting, of Robert gasping and moaning and Victor maintaining a constant, rumbling growl like a purr.
The hybrid leans down, folding over his back, and he hears the rip of his claws through the plastic stall wall. Feeling hot breath wash over him, against his ear, then his neck, and a shudder rips through him.
A long tongue finds the tendon in his neck, tracing it almost tenderly before he feels the points of fangs find the muscle of his trap. Tense, almost-there pressure with a tremble in Victor's jaw that speaks of restraint that was disappearing fast.
"Do it—" he whispers, breathless, angling his head to the side to offer more.
There's a shuddering breath from Victor, like a warning.
Jerking, his eyes fly open to see sunlight filtering through his blinds.
A gasp dies in his throat, his hand coming to the side of his neck instinctively. Like he expected it to come away wet and black with blood— but there's nothing there.
No bite, no blood.
Sucking in a breath, trying to regulate his breathing, he collapses back onto his shitty twin mattress and stares at the popcorn ceiling. He feels warm all over, even having kicked the thin sheet to the foot of the bed. Beef had found somewhere else to sleep for the night, not wanting to be pushed off the bed with Robert's unconscious writhing.
What the fuck was that?
He doesn't want to even think about the dream or the implications of why his subconscious was fixating on his coworker. Not even his coworker, more his subordinate, seeing as he was their supervisor and the one that made the decisions. That almost made the inherent shame of having a wet dream of somebody else worse, but he doesn't think he can feel much more shame than what already colors his face.
Grasping blindly for his phone, he narrows his eyes against the harsh light of the screen and groans. If he didn't move now, he'd be late. Rolling onto his hip, he moves to sit up.
"Goddamnit..." he mutters, his already warm face flushing.
He has enough time to wrangle himself into a cold shower to wash the sweat off and hope it takes care of the remnants of his dream, but not take care of both problems independently. Willing his arousal to dissipate as he takes the coldest shower his plumbing can subject him to.
And after he's walked Beef and gotten an uber, he's still strolling in five minutes late.
He's bristling. Not that anyone cared, or would challenge him on his tardiness, but it got under his own skin. He's better than that, should be. Even though he'd grant lenience to anybody else in his state showing up late, he doesn't afford himself the same grace.
Beef is oblivious to his internal frustrations. Bounding along at his side and getting in everybody's way en route to the elevator. He gets stopped several times to give someone the opportunity to pet Beef, though each interruption makes his jaw tighten more and more.
Collapsing into his chair with a soul-deep sigh, he's immediately reaching for the headset to start the day. Anticipating snide comments and remarks and knowing he doesn't have the mental capacity to take it with humor.
Just as the system boots up and the screen flickers to life, he notices the fresh mug of coffee by his hand. And a muffin.
Hesitating, he stares at the muffin as he reaches for the coffee. He gives it a weary inspection, a look and a sniff, before taking a tentative sip.
"Noticed you were coming in late."
The first sip ends up almost coming back out through his nose as he startles. Victor's voice was jarring and unpleasant out of nowhere, with the night he had and the lowkey shame that kept spinning in his stomach like a hangover. He coughs, turning his face to the side out of modesty and to hide the immediate blush that came with being too close to the hybrid without enough distance between himself and the dream.
"Jesus Christ—" he manages, gritting it out. "Can I help you?"
He looks at the taller man, catching a few twitches of his expressive ears. He's stared down, Victor cocking his head after a second of internal consideration.
"Yeah, you can. Stop trying to invent new ways to die around me," Victor muses, folding his arms over the cubicle wall and relaxing against the divider. "I don't wanna figure out how to make 'death by coffee' less embarrassing for your eulogy."
"You'd use my eulogy as one last chance to tar and feather me," Robert mutters, shooting the hybrid a sidelong glare.
Victor chitters a quiet laugh, tilting his head down at the dispatcher.
"Don't get me wrong, I'll never say no to free coffee," Robert says, bringing the mug to his lips again and taking a long drink. He leans back with a satisfied sigh. "But what's with the muffin?"
There's a shrug. Noncommittal and dodgy.
"You were late. Figured you weren't late grabbing breakfast," Victor says. "Last thing we needed is you keeling over. Again."
"Awh, you care," Robert muses, dry and sardonic even as he affords the hybrid a rare smile. "Never thought I'd see the day."
"Sorry, do you like brooding assholes?" Victor says, straightening. His ears twitch this way and that. "I can be that."
That makes Robert pause.
"Can you?" Robert says slowly, leaning back and pushing his chair to the side to look at Victor squarely. Watching how the man shifts on his feet. Uncomfortable.
His ear twitches again like he were swatting away a bug. He doesn't say anything, though his eyes flit to the side after a moment of scrutiny.
The moment of uncharacteristic bashfulness emboldens Robert into doing something stupid. The weight of his dream still a confusing blanket of warmth and conflicting feelings of shame and intrigue, still unprocessed.
"Y'know... you used to give me nightmares," he starts, pivoting his attention back to the monitor.
"That sounds like I don't anymore," Victor says, flat and almost uninterested. Like Robert's previous words had actually stung, or perhaps he was shifting his demeanor to be a brooding asshole like he thought Robert wanted. "Damn, maybe I'm losing my touch."
"Eh... different kind of dream," Robert muses, not bothering to look up. "Different kind of touch."
There's silence from his side, terse enough that he starts to feel boxed in by it. Dread in his stomach as he already comes to the conclusion that he had grossly overstepped. Wincing internally, he angles his head and looks at Victor, expecting to see disgust or offense.
He finds wide eyes staring at him, ears perked up straight without a twitch. After a moment with his mouth slightly ajar, it snaps shut with a click.
"Oh."
Victor manages, having to clear his throat.
An alert immediately steals Robert's attention, his eyes snapping to the screen. Rolling his chair forward, he tucks himself into his work if only to have an excuse away from his fuck-up. The rest of the team was chattering away with each other, not really caring that they were all late to be sent out by a few minutes.
He pings Flambae to respond to a call, refusing to be aware of anything else but the incoming alerts. Stubbornly focused until he feels the shift of a warm body behind his chair, the slight brush of fur. Victor leans down, folding himself over the back of the chair to speak quietly.
"We're gonna talk about this later," he murmurs, low and gruff.
He watches how Robert's eyes twitch open just a bit wider, surprised. Victor's voice, dragging and quiet, makes him shift uncomfortably. He couldn’t get a read on his tone, the bat unusually absent all humor and veneer. He figured he'd throw it out there, test the waters, see how it felt to him saying it out loud even if roundabout, but he didn’t expect this.
Victor slides his hand across Robert's shoulders as he straightens, the touch lingering. He can't stop himself from scenting the air as he stands up straight, stealing the moment to capture Robert's scent in his nose and hold on to it selfishly. Warm and clean, a touch of a husky aftershave around his neck. It makes his ears shiver, unable to suppress the reaction completely even as he clears his throat and adjusts his tie.
Robert gives him a look like he's almost scared. Wide-eyed, though slightly flushed. It makes his freckles stand out.
He watches Victor stalk off, his posture rigid and his ears stiff at attention. He clears his throat, having to adjust his headset and steal a moment to refocus on the screen. He realizes after a moment that it was likely the entire team heard their exchange, though for once, there were no smart remarks.
They hardly exchanged words through the entire shift. Whether that was a blessing or a curse was to be seen, but there was a tangible weight between him and Victor. No one made any comment about the hybrid's quiet day, nor how Robert seemed to not speak directly to him, but it felt like it had to be obvious.
He's slow to rise from his chair. The end of the day saw a flurry of activity that left everyone harried and exhausted. His mind was caught on his suit's progress and going home to drink himself into a sleep— deep enough to be dreamless, after last night.
Pushing himself to stand, he pats his thigh and gets Beef to hop along with him. The office was close to deserted at this point, leaving the path between the work floor and the labs downstairs blissfully empty.
Beef sneezes.
Tipping his head back against the cold, metal wall of the elevator, he sighs. Turning and glaring at the empty corner beside him.
"What."
Courtney appears, hip cocked against the little handrail.
"Whatcha doin'?" she asks, innocent and breathless. She shakes her inhaler as she gives him a visual once over.
"What do you think I'm doing?" he mumbles, watching the small display above the doors.
"Besides the obvious, heartbreaker."
At that, Robert bristles.
"Thought we settled this, Courtney," he says, though as tight as his words were, there was a softness to them as well. He avoids her gaze as it digs into his profile.
"Oh, I'm over it," Visi says with a shrug. "Made it easier for me when you also brushed off Blondie. We just figured you were gay."
Robert says nothing. He straightens and steps towards the doors, impatient even being floors away from his destination. This is the last conversation he wants to have.
"But with how hard you're curving Victor... maybe you're ace?" she ventures.
"Curving—" Robert starts, sputtering. "Wh– I'm— I'm not— what?"
Courtney cocks her head at him, a smirk playing across her face. She makes a vague gesture.
"You're not stupid, that I do know."
Robert continues to stare at her, perplexed and flushing lightly. The depth of his confusion makes her falter.
"Wait, you do know what ace means, right?" she asks, cringing.
"Yes, I fucking know what that means. And I'm not," Robert grits.
"So... what's the deal?" she says, fist on her hip. The elevator lurches to a stop and the doors peel open, but neither move.
Robert stares at her, brows knitted. Curving Victor ? As far as he knows, he's the one that instigated anything with his offhand comment about his dream. And it's been a long day, long enough that he's completely doubted the hybrid's words, of wanting to talk about it further— now it just seemed certain that it was irritation from Victor he had received. That a talk would entail something quid pro quo so Victor wouldn't file an HR complaint against Robert's inappropriate comment.
A look passes over Courtney's face. Disbelief and anger and amusement all at once. She pushes away from the wall, coming up to stand nose to nose with her dispatcher.
"You're gonna tell me that you haven't noticed anything?" she says, almost hissing at him.
"What am I supposed to notice?" he says wearily.
Now she's just angry.
She places a hand on Robert's chest and roughly pushes him backwards, causing him to stumble out of the elevator and into the lab hallways. Before he can completely recover and stop the doors from shutting, she was hitting the button to go back up.
"Figure it the fuck out, Mecha Man."
The high ceiling of the apartment affords no comfort, and neither does the fifth beer he's downed since getting home. The can lights sting, but Victor isn't focused on the fact that he's blinking more to wet his eyes.
A hand traces his sternum over and over. The spot where Robert had landed, his fall broken against Victor's body. His life in his hands.
He was healing well. The sling was gonna be off soon, and the bandage on his cheek wasn't even needed anymore. An angry red line of injury was all the remained, soon to fade like the many, many other scars across his body.
When he went to find Robert after their shift, his desk was abandoned. Beef's dog bed was empty and cold, and his mug was tossed in the work sink. Out in a hurry, not lingering like he does sometimes— like he was hoping he'd do.
He tries not to think that maybe Robert sent him out in the very last dispatch to give him the time to leave the office before he got back. Maybe he read way too into Robert's comment of his dreams, and that it wasn't a fun, sexy dream, different kind of touch. Maybe he really was just saying that he was losing his edge, and he wasn't taking him seriously anymore.
Claws ghosting over his bare sternum, bottom to collarbone where the fur started. Over and over.
He doesn't hear Kamran coming home, and doesn't register the sound of plastic take-out bags hitting the kitchen island counter. Only when his face occludes the lights does he process the other man.
"All good?" Kamran asks quietly.
Victor makes a soft noise, shrugging tightly.
A box of takeout is dropped onto his stomach, eliciting a flinch. It's immediately warm on his bare skin, though he doesn't react to it. It makes Kamran scowl.
"You coked up or something?"
"Fuck off," Victor bites, rolling his eyes and finding a spot in the corner of the room to stare. It's not at all persuasive.
"You're thinking about Robert." It's not a question, but an observation.
Victor breathes through his nose, pink snout twitching as he shifts uncomfortably down into the couch cushions. Shriveling.
"...is it that obvious?" he murmurs.
Kamran seems to consider something for a long moment. Then leans down and pops open the takeout box. He can't help the reflexive twitch of his ears in interest as the greasy scent of cheap crab rangoon hits his nose.
"No, I'm just used to your fucking bullshit," he says softly. He steps away for only a second, but returns with a bottle of horchata. It's set in the crook of Victor's bare arm, making him flinch.
"You need to get over— whatever the fuck this mama bear shit is," he continues, harsh in tone even as he spoils his roommate with all his quietly learned comforts. "He’s alive because of you."
"I don't get why you're being nice to me," Victor says, quiet and shameful. "Or... why you haven't kicked my ass out after what I did."
"Meh. I get it," Kamran murmurs, his shrug not visible behind the couch. "He did look pretty pathetic."
“Still, I… I don’t know why I went full bat on you. I know you wouldn’t actually hurt him, right?”
The question garners a laugh, tight and unamused, before it lapses into silence filled only by the shuffle of plastic bags and the tear of disposable utensil sleeves. When Kamran comes back into view, it's with his own food in hand as he drops himself onto the other end of the couch.
"Probably not," he says. "Does it matter that it was me?"
Victor shrugs. He manually tears off the hard, fried corners of a crab rangoon until only the soft pocket remained.
"I am not gonna say that this new side of you isn’t fucking weird," Kamran muses, then shrugs. “But I can see where it comes from.”
"I think that just makes me feel worse, actually," Victor mumbles, nose wrinkling.
"Shut up," Kamran says flatly, peeling the foil back on his food. "Never said I was trying to make you feel better. I’m just saying I get it."
He shoves the too-hot rangoon in his mouth, smacking his jaw obnoxiously as it threatens to melt the roof of his mouth to his tongue. He didn't want to think about it that hard. Everything felt off-kilter and wrong, with the only thing he knew with certainty was that something itched under his skin whenever he thought about the man now— in any capacity.
There was still a lingering current of fear that invaded the peripheral of his awareness anytime Robert was in question. Be it in the break room or watching the man walk home alone, it felt like he had to be somewhere near him. Just in case.
There was another muffin and coffee at his desk when Robert got in the next day.
He was late again, but with good cause and allowance from the higher-ups— doctor's appointment. He was now out of his sling and feeling that much better for it. The coaster and mug are switched to the right (left) side of his desk where it belongs.
He was hoping that he wouldn't run into anyone, and luck would have it that most the team were somewhere in the city already. Galen had wrangled them long enough for Robert to have his appointment and get back to his desk without too much dehiscence.
"Alright, guys. Let's get this show on the road," he says, adjusting the headset over his ears.
"You start talking like a midwestern dad, I will put you back in a sling."
"Duly noted. On that topic, Malevola, why don't you see what's going on at the Bass Pro Shop on Sixth and Ninth street."
"Oh, I'm coming with—"
"No, you're not, Waterboy. Nothing's on fire there."
"I can change that."
"That wouldn't be the favor for your boyfriend you think it is," Robert says wearily. "I still wouldn't send him, Flambae."
There's an immediate cacophony from several team members, mainly from Kamran with Alice backing him up (though her protests seem a little confused, at best). He leans back and pulls one side of the headset off, glaring at the ceiling for a second before leaning forward again.
"I was going to send you both to the aquarium for a nice little workday date, but if you're going to act like that, then—"
"W-We'll go!" Herman is quick to interject. Kamran immediately quiets after a couple of grumbled insults Robert doesn't bother to listen for.
"Take your time. It's an investigation, after all. Wouldn't want to rush it," he muses wryly. "Just be back by break."
"Man, you never send me anywhere fun, Bobby."
"Don't call me that," Robert mumbles absently, tapping open several alerts. "And I send you to Vanderstenk every time he comes up."
""Cause no one else wants to deal with that shit in a suit," Alice mutters, a little out of breath after wrapping up a foot chase with a mall thief.
"Hey— actually, nevermind."
"Oh, character growth?"
"No, I just realized none of you guys are on the level of understanding his genius," Victor says mildly. "So I'm not wasting my breath."
Robert rolls his eyes, a smirk playing across his lips. The moment his eyes leave the monitor, he remembers the muffin set beside his mousepad and reaches for it.
"I think that's still character growth," Robert says before biting off a chunk of the bakery sweet. "Even if it isn't in the direction we wished it was."
"Can you show some character growth and mute yourself when you're chewing, boss man?"
"Sorry, Golem."
Finding a space between bites, he frowns. Perhaps it was his good mood that was making him focus harder on what his team would want to do today and not just what they needed to get done, but nothing that was coming up was coming across as particularly interesting for Victor to do. Outside his interest in cryptobros, entrepreneurs, and drugs, he didn't really know what Victor liked.
"You never did get back to me about what your idea of fun was," Robert says.
Seated on the edge of a tall building roof, Victor freezes, and glances sidelong at Invisigal. She returns the wide-eyed stare, then nudges him with an elbow.
"Uh, yeah," he flounders, blinking owlishly at the city beneath his feet. "Fun. I know what that is."
"Uh huh. Sounds like it."
"Jesus Christ, dude," she hisses under her breath, putting her head in her hands. He makes a frantic gesture at her, and she shakes her head at him. Not gonna wingman for the man she went after already, as that was just weird.
"I, uh... doubt you'd let me drink on the job," Victor rumbles, scratching the underside of his jaw idly as he scrambles for any idea.
"You'd be right."
"See any arcades on the map?"
"Arcades?"
"Yeah," Victor says, chittering nervously at the incredulous echo of Robert's voice. "I'm a monster on the claw machines. Hell, I even know of one that has a bar inside of it."
"Two for one deal, huh?"
"You know it."
"I'm not seeing any popping up in distress right now, but I'll keep that in mind. What's the name of the one you're thinking of?"
"Like I'd tell you, bossman. It might come up, and I could day-drink without you ever knowing."
"I think I'd know."
"Haven't caught on so far."
"Victor."
Victor instinctively turns to look at Courtney, as she does the same. Her cigarette brought up to her lips, but not quite there as they both pause. She locks eyes with him, then glances up to his warming ears, and barks out a laugh.
"Are you blushing because he said your—"
"Shh—! Shut up!" Victor hisses.
"He's not!" she says into her line, the ghost of her laugh still under her breath. "He's behaving."
"Good boy. I was going to send you anyways and claim plausible deniability for when you fly into a window on the clock."
"I—"
He has to stop himself and mute to clear his throat clumsily. His ears twitch this way and that.
"I could show you."
"We'll see," Robert hums, tapping open a new alert located a short distance from the two of them. They hadn't returned to base after their last joint mission, which almost made it more convenient. "How does an active robbery sound for now?"
"Only if I earn commission," Visi murmurs, standing on the ledge and stretching out her hips.
"Plausible deniability," Robert says, assigning the job to them. "Go gett'em."
The day dragged, but he was somehow no worse for wear for once. While still retained to desk work until his suit was rebuilt again, he was getting on much easier now that he's restored function to both of his arms.
Beef waddled alongside him, exhausted from a hard day of napping and noisily grooming at Robert's feet. There was still a mountain of paperwork to get to, and he was looking at the clock with dejection. He wouldn't be leaving for another few hours at the least.
"Y'know, that was pretty hard to listen to."
Straightening, Robert sees Kamran with a hip cocked against the break room door. Arm's crossed, looking down his nose at the dispatcher as he tends to, but there's a touch of gravity to him that makes Robert weary.
"...I thought today went well enough," he says uneasily, nudging the fridge closed with his hip. Four day old leftovers that he needed to pitch, but he needed the tupperware even more, so it was coming home with him.
He gets a nasty eye roll from the fire starter, who unfolds and stalks nearer to the smaller man. He gets in his face, poking a finger into his sternum hard enough to make Robert wince and bat his hand away.
"Do not play dumb with me, Mecha Dick. And do not fuck with Victor like that."
"Excuse me?" Robert sputters, having to take a half-step back to properly level with him. "I'm not fucking doing anything but my job."
"'We'll see'? Have you even spoken with him since the shift ended?" Kamran hisses.
"Wh— no?" Robert flounders. He is thoroughly lost, and Kamran's rage isn't helping him out any.
What he gets is a low growl under his breath and another eye roll.
"I do not see what Blondie, Courtney, and Victor see in you," Kamran mutters.
Robert blinks owlishly at the taller man, taken aback. He was painfully aware of how Mandy and Courtney felt towards him, but it was a shock that didn't land right hearing Victor lumped in with them.
"Wait— h-hang on," he says, trying to get his bearings. "Victor doesn't like me."
Kamran stares at him, all blank-faced and silent, for a terrifyingly long moment. To his surprise, his eyes flit down to see Kamran's fists curled tight into white-knuckled balls, flames starting to lick out from his palms before he catches himself and forces a deep inhale.
“You’re joking.”
“I’m—“ Robert has to swallow thickly, worried that one wrong move and Kamran will launch himself at the dispatcher. “We’re just shooting the shit.”
There’s the slightest twitch in Kamran's eye as it takes everything in his power not to immolate the idiot.
"You're right. He doesn't like you, he likes likes you," he says, his voice a low, seething threat. "I don’t even think he realizes it, but everyone heard him ask you out."
Robert pales, and somehow manages to blush simultaneously. His mouth gapes like a fish out of water for a moment, which only nets a scornful eye roll.
"Whatever, Mecha Bitch. Just know, you hurt him, and it won’t just be him you’re fucking with."
Stalking out of the break room with his jacket tugged tighter around him, he leaves Robert in the silence of swirling thoughts. It takes Beef waddling over and jumping at his shin for him to regain some awareness and look down at the tupperware he was gripping hard enough to make the plastic creak.
He throws it away and slips the other end of Beef’s leash around his wrist. Paperwork be damned, he wanted to go home and stare the ceiling until his brain was too exhausted to think any harder or make anymore weird dreams.
The walk is only good for ruminating. Even Beef seems to be mellowed by Robert’s mood, walking alongside him calmly and not tugging towards every little thing as he tends to.
He was asked out? By Victor? And everybody picked up on that?
He keeps hearing Kamran's growl, how Victor doesn’t even understand what he’s doing. Like he was operating on haywire instinct without any thought to it, just as Robert felt like he was doing blurting out his offhand comment about his dream. One felt at least more appropriate than Robert’s attempt at an HR violation, but neither felt… right.
“Oh, Beef,” he mutters to himself, staring at the crosswalk signal’s red glare. “The fuck am I doing?