Chapter Text
ROBERT'S APARTMENT, 4:57 PM
Robert Robertson hadn't meant to fall asleep on the floor.
He'd meant to shower.
He'd meant to change.
Hell, he'd meant to at least make it to the damn futon.
But intentions didn't stand a chance against over forty-eight hours without sleep, three days of crisis-level disasters, and the kind of adrenaline crash that left a person empty.
He'd barely gotten the door closed behind him. Beef had trotted inside first, sniffing the perimeter like he expected a fight to still be happening. Robert had stepped in after him, bent to untie his shoes...and his body simply said nope.
The tile floor of his entryway was stable. He wasn't. His knees hit it, then his shoulder, then the rest of him. He didn't so much lie down as crumble. By the time one loose shoelace slipped from his fingers, he was already gone.
Eight hours later, he was still there.
The studio apartment was dim except for the evening light sliding in through the blinds, striping his back and the floor around him. One of his boots was still half-on, the other kicked off sideways like he'd lost a fight to gravity. His SDN shirt was torn at the collar - he didn't even remember when that happened there. Shroud? A Red Ring goon? One of the Z-Team celebrating? His hair was a complete mess, the kind that only happens after being punched, kidnapped, attacked, and then sleeping face-first on a floor that definitely needed to be swept.
His eyes stayed closed, lashes dark against the faint bruising under them. He didn't stir, even when traffic outside honked or when the building rattled from someone upstairs dropping something heavy.
Beef was the only thing that moved. The dog had claimed the couch. He'd curled himself into a wrinkled throw blanket like it was his throne.
Every so often, one ear flicked toward Robert on the floor as if checking:
Still breathing? Still alive? Good.
The apartment itself looked like Robert always lived half a step between simplicity and mild chaos - tools on the kitchenette counter, a half-dismantled gadget next to a cereal bowl, the couch that hadn't existed until his "housewarming" party thanks to Blazer - well, Mandy - and more lamps than one person reasonably needed...
Outside in the hallway, quiet footsteps approached.
Beef perked up.
Robert didn't move at all.
A knock hit.
TORRANCE HOSPITAL
The universe had a sense of humour - a sick one, but a sense of humour nonetheless.
Invisigal had survived Shroud, the Red Ring, Sonar's betrayal, a collapsing building, a bullet through her shoulder...but apparently morphine was her natural predator.
The allergic reaction had hit so fast it scared the nurse. One second she was blinking groggily, the next she was rasping, throat swelling, machines blaring, and a doctor saying something like, 'She's allergic? To morphine?' in the tone of a man discovering a cryptid existed.
The epinephrine hit burned worse than the bullet wound.
The chaos dragged her through the entire mess again - needles, oxygen, a swarm of hands - until she finally stabilized. She was left panting, furious, and vibrating with a kind of leftover fear she refused to name.
"Who the fuck," she hissed at the ceiling, sounding half-strangled, "is allergic to morphine?"
"You," the nurse said flatly, taping down another line. "Apparently."
Hours blurred after that. They cleaned the wound, stitched the entry and exit, and set her arm into a sling. Her vision swam anytime her heart rate spiked. The nurse lectured her about pain management - basically everything except opioids - and Visi just nodded, eyes hooded, jaw tight.
No team allowed in. No Mandy telling her to listen to the staff. No Robert.
Just a quiet room, bad fluorescent lighting, and a water pitcher that tasted like someone had filtered it through a Band-Aid.
For eight long hours, all she could think was:
Robert knew everything.
Robert saw everything.
Robert carried half of yesterday alone.
Robert nearly died.
Robert kissed me back.
Robert probably passed out somewhere like a stubborn asshole.
At 3:27pm, they finally discharged her with instructions she'd probably ignore as soon as medically feasible.
By 3:41pm, she was outside, squinting the daylight while trying to zip her jacket around the sling with one hand. Taxis and rideshares were hard to come by in the aftermath of the Red Ring chaos.
By 4:30pm, she'd bribed another discharged patient with a crumpled twenty and a promise that she wasn't going to bleed on his seats if he drove her somewhere.
ROBERT'S APARTMENT - 4:58 PM
She stood in the hallway, swaying just a little. The sling was tight and her shoulder throbbed. Her arm felt like someone had swapped it with a microwaved straw. Her chest was tight in the way post-epinephrine left someone - wired and exhausted at the same time.
The apartment door loomed in front of her, faint light bleeding out from under it and a smudge from when Malevola had portaled through it.
She drew in one breath. Then another.
"Okay," she muttered to herself. "Get it together. It's just Robert. He was fine this morning. He's fine. He's...probably fine. He's probably asleep. He's -"
Beef barked from the other side of the door.
Visi froze.
The bark wasn't alert or aggressive. It was the kind of bark a dog made when someone he trusted was on the other side.
Her heartbeat jumped. Her fingers curled against the edge of her sling. She knocked lightly - with her good arm, of course.
Then the knock got a little louder because there was no response.
"Robert?" she called.
Silence.
Then Beef's excited scramble. And behind it… Nothing. Not even footsteps.
She frowned, tried the knob lightly and it turned. Unlocked - dumbass. Who left their door unlocked after everything that had happened?!
She pushed it open with her hip - well, half open. It stopped when it hit something, blocking it from opening the full way.
She slipped in anyway and her eyes found him on the floor.
Face-down, one shoe on, one shoe off, shirt torn and completely unconscious.
The door had hit his legs and he still hadn't shifted.
Beef woofed once, tail thumping the couch like he'd been waiting for her to fix this.
Visi's breath left her in a small, shaky exhale.
"...You fucking idiot." she murmured with affection, closing the door behind her - locking it this time.
He still hadn't even stirred. He was still drooling onto the floor.
She nudged his shoulder with her foot. Then she nudged a little harder. "Wake up, dumbass. I didn't get shot so you could cosplay a doormat."
Robert groaned. It wasn't dramatic or articulate. Just a low, gravel-throated uuuuggghh. His head turned slightly, cheek dragging on the rough floor and through his drool puddle. He winced. Everything hurt. His mouth tasted like copper and stone. One eye cracked open, immediately objected to the light, and closed again.
"...M'tired," he muttered, voice hoarse.
Visi crossed her arms - well, arm - and let her hip tilt sideways, head cocked in that signature I swear to god expression.
"I bet you are," she said dryly. "How long were you down here? Since sunrise? Since the fall of Rome? Since your ancestors crawled out of the ocean and decided ‘let's make men who nap like fucking corpses'?"
Beef woofed again from the couch, his tail thumping like punctuation.
Robert's other eye opened, blinking blearily. He finally shifted, shoulders tensing as he started to push himself up on one elbow - then flopped again with a pained grunt.
"Everything... weighs more than it used to," he muttered. His hand came up to rub his face and stopped when he saw the state of his shirt. "...Did I get hit again? Why's my shirt like this?"
"You fought a building. The building won."
That made him blink up at her. Finally registering the sling. The bandage. Her slightly pale skin and circles under her eyes. The quiet tension in her frame. His brow furrowed, and he struggled upright again - slower this time, shifting onto his side and propping himself on one elbow.
"Visi." His voice cut through the haze now. "You're out. They discharged you?"
She tilted her head, eyes bright despite the exhaustion. "They couldn't keep me. I'm fucking charming, remember?"
"I also remember the part where you got shot," he rasped. "In front of me. For me."
She shrugged with her good arm. "Yeah, but I looked hot doing it."
Robert's breath caught on a laugh - half-pain, half-relief. He sat up fully now, finally kicking off the half-tied shoe. His body protested the entire motion. His hair looked like it had tried to fight the Red Ring by itself and lost.
"You're really here."
"Of course I'm here," she said, and her voice dropped just slightly, quieter now. "Where else would I be?"
Their eyes locked.
For a second, the room was quiet. Just the dim light through the blinds, the soft pant of Beef's tail wagging, and the air between them pulsing with everything that hadn't been said.
He looked down at her arm. "They say it was okay? Really didn't hit anything vital?"
"Yeah. Clean shot. No morphine though." She grimaced. "Apparently I'm allergic. So, you know, had to almost die twice to get out of there."
His eyes snapped to hers again. "You - what?"
"It's fine," she said quickly, stepping forward and kneeling - half kneeling, really - beside him. "They epineph'd me back to life like a goddamn Frankenstein. I'm fine."
He looked at her like he didn't believe it. Like he'd believe she could bench-press a car before he believed her 'I'm fine.'
"You didn't tell me."
"I didn't know!" she protested. "I didn't have a chart that said ‘by the way, don't get morphine or you'll see God.'"
Robert shook his head, scrubbing his hand down his face again. "Jesus Christ, Visi."
Visi finally sat on the floor next to him, close enough that their arms brushed when he finally sat up properly.
"You're not allowed to die," he said finally. "That's not a bit. That's a rule."
She smirked faintly, her voice soft but still cocky. "I wasn't planning on it. You think I'd miss the part where I get to gloat about saving your life?"
Robert gave a tired huff of a laugh and finally looked directly at her again.
"...You kissed me. In front of the team."
Her brows raised slightly. "I was high on adrenaline and blood loss. It doesn't count if I looked cool."
"You looked like you were trying to give me a heart attack."
"Oh, come on." She bumped her knee against his. "You kissed me back."
He went quiet for a second. Then nodded. "Yeah. I did."
They didn't move.
She didn't say I was scared for you.
He didn't say I thought I lost you.
Neither of them said That kiss wasn't the last one. It better not be.
Instead, he looked at her one more time, eyes soft now.
"You hungry?"
"I could eat a whole subway train."
He pushed himself to his feet with a groan. "Alright. One gourmet subway train, coming up."
"You know how to cook gourmet?"
"I know how to make soup."
She grinned. "Domestic."
Robert snorted, a short laugh that still sounded a little broken around the edges.
"Yeah, well, don't get used to it," he said as he pushed himself fully upright. "This is like... limited time offer, domestic Mecha Man. While supplies last."
His knees complained when he stood. His back complained. His everything complained. But he got up anyway, one hand braced on the couch for balance. Up close, she could see the faint purple marks still forming from the fight, the places where the Mech suit harness had dug in. He still moved like someone whose body had only just remembered it was alive.
Beef hopped off the couch the second he was vertical and he trotted in a delighted circle around both of them. He hovered near Visi's good side, snuffling at her sling like he was trying to check the bandage himself.
"Hey, hey, easy," Robert murmured, reaching down to scritch behind Beef's ears. "She's on medical leave, remember? No licking the crime scene."
Beef huffed like he disagreed but accepted the ear rub.
Robert turned back to her, eyes passing over the hospital bracelet still hanging from her wrist along with a bright red one that said "ALLERGY ALERT", the dried iodine stain near the edge of the bandage, how she was trying just a little too hard to stand straight.
"You sit," he said, nodding toward the couch. "Doctor's orders."
"You're not a doctor," she pointed out.
"I watched four seasons of ER last year. Sit."
There was no snap to it, just a quiet insistence. He hovered until she started moving, then stepped aside so she could lower herself down. He grabbed the throw blanket Beef had been nesting in, shook off some dog hair, and draped it awkwardly over her legs. It wasn't neat, but it was the effort that counted.
Once she was settled, he shuffled toward the little kitchenette, toes catching on a crack in the concrete where he'd face-planted earlier.
The kitchen was mostly empty - he hadn't spent much time here lately. The lamps from the team still lingered on the counter. He opened a cabinet, stared at the contents like they were a pop quiz.
"Okay," he narrated, mostly to keep his brain from shutting down again. "We have... instant ramen, more instant ramen, and the exciting mystery box labeled ‘rice something' that I do not remember buying. So, congratulations, you get the house special."
"Ramen?" she called.
"Ramen," he confirmed. "Very exclusive menu. Chef is overly tired and underqualified."
He filled a pot at the sink, put it on the single burner, and flicked the switch. For a moment his gaze drifted, landing on his phone on the counter. The screen was black, but he knew what to expect when he checked it. SDN. Mandy. Probably Chase. Definitely a group chat that Prism had made for the Z-Team - Waterboy, Phenomaman, Royd, and Mandy included.
He didn't touch it.
Instead, he reached automatically for two mugs, set them on the counter, and turned on the electric kettle with the heel of his hand.
"Hydration," he muttered. "Look at me, being responsible."
He glanced back at her.
She was smaller on his couch than she had any right to be, swallowed in the blanket, sling strapped tight. The light from the blinds caught the edges of the white tape on her shoulder. She looked tired all the way down to the bones, eyes a little too bright, skin a little too washed out.
He swallowed, throat tight for a second.
"I, uh... tried to call," he said, voice softer now as he tore open a seasoning packet. "After they took you. Hospital said no visitors until they cleared intake from last night. Mandy looked like she was going to tear someone's head off about it."
He shook noodles into the pot, steam starting to rise in slow curls.
"I was gonna head over anyway after we cleared some of the rubble," he went on, brow furrowing as he poked at the noodles with a fork. "Then Mandy did the whole ‘that's an order' thing and I got... Phenomaman'd home."
A beat.
"He carried you bridal style, didn't he?" she called.
Robert sighed. "He absolutely did. Beef enjoyed it too much."
Beef barked like he agreed.
Robert poured some of the boiled water into the mugs and dropped a tea bag in each.
He brought it over to her first, nudging Beef out of the way with his knee.
"Here," he said, offering the mug. "Careful, it's hot. Non-lethal, though. I checked. No morphine."
Visi snorted. "Wow. Five-star service. Ten out of ten, would almost die again."
The joke was light, but his eyes searched her face like he was still seeing her on that stretcher, still hearing Shroud's gun go off.
When she had the mug steady in her good hand, he let go but stayed close, standing there for a second like he'd forgotten how to sit.
"Just so we're clear," he said quietly, "you are never allowed to do that shit again. Almost suffocating, getting shot, surprise allergic reaction? That's a three-for-one special in a really short period of time. We're done with those. Next crisis, you're required to pick something boring, like... paperwork."
Visi scoffed. "I’d rather die."
He shot her a look.
She held up the mug in an almost surrender gesture. "-Kidding. Mostly. I can do paperwork. I’ll complain the entire time, but I can do it."
Her mouth quirked, ready with another deflection, but he kept going, shoulders dropping a notch.
"I’m serious," he added. "You can break stuff, argue with me on comms, flip off the camera, whatever. Just… don’t ever… stop. I don’t do great with that one."
She didn’t immediately joke this time. Instead, she stared into the tea like it might give her instructions. Then she nodded once.
"…Okay," she said quietly. "I hear you."
It wasn’t much, but it was honest.
He finally sat on the edge of the couch facing her, close enough that his knees brushed the blanket over her shins.
She shifted a little, uncomfortable in a way that had nothing to do with her shoulder. She wasn’t used to people caring like this - not without strings, not without conditions. She’d always been able to tell herself it wasn’t real, that if they knew the whole truth about her they’d stop caring because the person she was didn't deserve care.
But he knew.
And he was still here.
"That’s a lot," she muttered, attempting a half-smile. "You know that, right? You’re being… aggressively concerned."
"Yeah," he said. "I’ve been told."
For a moment, the exhaustion fell away. He just looked at her, at the way her hair stuck out at the back from the hospital pillow, the faint tape marks on her arm, the stubborn set of her jaw that said she was fine even when she wasn't.
His voice was gentle, not the way he spoke to the team or on comms.
"You know that thing you said in the locker room?" he asked. "Before you... kissed me. The part about not being able to repay any forgiveness or love?"
She froze, not expecting him to bring that part up like he could read her mind. "...Yeah. That. We don't really have to talk about that."
He hesitated, searching for the words through the fog in his skull.
"That's bullshit," he said, firmly. "Just so that's on record somewhere other than ‘Robert's dumb sleep-deprived brain.'"
Visi let out a breath that sounded halfway to a laugh, halfway to a crack.
"Wow," she muttered. "Straight to calling my deeply held self-loathing bullshit. Bold move."
"I’m serious."
She looked back at him then, eyes sharper, more exposed.
"You don’t get it," she said quietly. "I’m not saying it to be dramatic. I don’t know how to repay people who don’t hate me. I don’t know how to sit with that without feeling like I’m stealing something."
"That’s not stealing," he said. "That’s being human."
She shook her head. "Yeah, well. Humanity and I have a complicated relationship."
He leaned in just slightly. "You don’t owe me a balance sheet, Visi. You don’t have to earn care like it’s some kind of debt."
She stared at him for a long moment, jaw tight, then let out a slow breath.
"…I don’t know how to be this version of me yet," she admitted. "The one that doesn’t assume it’s about to fall apart."
"That’s fine," he said. "We’re not grading you on it."
Her mouth twitched. "You sure? Because I feel like I’d get a C-minus at best."
He smiled, small and tired. "Passing is passing."
She snorted softly, then lifted her mug in a weak little toast. "To not being evil. And to paperwork."
He clinked his mug against it. "And to you not scaring the absolute shit out of me again."
"No promises," she said - but there was something gentle underneath it now.
The ramen started to bubble. He didn't move to get it yet. Instead, he leaned forward just a little, elbows on his knees, eyes on hers.
"So," he said, trying for lighter and not quite managing it, "you came all the way over here, half sedated and with a bullet hole, for instant ramen and my charming floor habits. You, uh... planning on staying a while?"
Visi didn't answer right away. She took a slow sip of the tea - burned her tongue a little, pretended she didn't - and let the steam curl up between them.
Her eyes softened, the exhaustion drifting back to the surface. "Yeah," she said finally, voice low. "I'm staying."
Something unspooled behind Robert’s ribs at that - not relief, just something heavy and warm that stuck. He didn't smile outright, but the corner of his mouth twitched like it wanted to.
"Good," He stood again, grabbed the pot before it boiled over entirely, and busied himself pouring ramen into mismatched bowls.
It wasn't much - just soggy noodles and broth that was mostly salt - but it smelled warm and salty and safe. Beef sat at Visi's feet, tail sweeping the floor in slow arcs. Robert returned with both bowls - one for her, one for him - and set hers carefully on the side table within easy reach of her good arm. His hands brushed hers as he passed the spoon over, lingering just a fraction longer than necessary.
"If you spill on the blanket," he warned softly, "I'm blaming the drugs."
"Not on drugs," she corrected, slumping back against the cushions. "On adrenaline, pain, and spite."
"Mm. Classic Visi cocktail." He nodded, sitting down on the couch beside her with his bowl in his lap - close but not crowding.
The first mouthful of ramen nearly made his eyes roll back in his head. It was terrible. It was salt and starch and exactly what his body needed.
Visi slurped a noodle, made a face like her tastebuds were suing for damages, and took another bite anyway.
"This is awful," she said.
"Yup."
"I'm going to eat all of it."
"Yup."
So when she took another mouthful of soup and groaned like it physically offended her, he just let the corner of his mouth tug upward again.
"Don't pretend you don't love it," he said.
She deadpanned. "Oh, I love it. In a ‘this is the last meal in prison' kind of way."
"Wow. Rude. That seasoning packet cost thirty-nine cents."
"You overpaid."
He didn't argue - it was terrible ramen. But it was something warm she was eating with her legs tucked under a blanket he'd given her, in his apartment, after he'd spent half the day imagining her unconscious in a hospital bed.
Which made even bad ramen feel like something close to sacred.
She slurped again, winced, pushed her hair behind her ear with her good hand, and let out a breath that tried very hard to sound casual.
"This whole place smells like exhaustion," she said lightly. "And man-sweat. And maybe a little bit like Beef."
Beef barked once - offended.
Robert gave the dog a dry look. "She meant that lovingly."
"Did not."
"You like Beef."
"Doesn't fucking mean I like the way he smells."
Beef climbed onto the couch beside her and rested his head on her thigh.
She sighed. "Fine, he's not the worst smelling dog I've been around."
Robert's smile softened with something warm and quiet. "He's glad you're okay."
She opened her mouth to joke again - he could tell by the little twitch before any sound came out - but her voice didn't quite commit this time.
"...I'm glad he's okay too," she said, barely above a mumble as she set her fork down to give his head a scratch.
His fork stilled. His eyes flicked to her face - not teasing now, not dodging. Just looking.
Visi must've felt it, because she immediately stuffed another mouthful of ramen into her mouth like her life depended on it.
"Careful," he said quietly. "You're gonna choke."
"If I'm choking, it won't be on ramen." She told him with her signature smirk. "...And if it is then you would have to Heimlich me. Super romantic."
"Mm," he hummed. "Nothing says romance like the risk of vomiting on my floor and broken ribs."
She snorted. "Hot."
He watched her for another beat - watched the way she hunched a little, hiding behind the cup of tea, letting steam blur the space between them. Everything about her screamed keep it light, like if she slipped for even a breath she'd say something she couldn't take back.
So he nudged her knee with his.
"Hey."
She didn't look up.
"Visi," he tried again, voice low and steady.
She finally looked up. He could see her trying to keep it together with sarcasm and bravado. She always did. But something in the way he said her name cracked just a little through the wall.
Robert didn't push further right away. He didn't try to fix her or crack her open. He just held her gaze, steady and sure, like a line thrown across rubble.
"You don't have to be fine right now."
The words weren't soft - they were solid. Grounding.
"You don't have to joke, or deflect, or pretend that getting shot and allergic-reaction-resurrected and fighting an entire fucking terror cell didn't mess you up a little."
Her jaw clenched - just for a second. Her eyes flicked down to her tea, then back to him.
"I'm not... messed up," she said slowly, like she wasn't entirely sure she believed it herself. "I'm just..."
Robert didn't interrupt. He waited. He could've filled the silence - he was good at that, usually - but this moment didn't need noise. It needed space. It needed her to not be cornered by comfort.
Visi's fingers curled tighter around the tea mug, the heat grounding. Her voice was quieter this time, like it didn't want to be caught admitting anything out loud.
"I'm just... tired," she said at last. "And pissed off. And... scared I'm gonna wake up and find out none of this stuck. That it wasn't real. That I'm still suspended or cut. That you're dead. That I'm still..."
She didn't finish it. She didn't have to.
Still unforgiven.
Still unwanted.
Still the villain.
Robert leaned forward again, setting his own bowl down with a soft clink. Then he reached out - slowly, clearly - and laid his hand over hers where it gripped the mug. Just enough pressure to be there, to anchor, not push.
"You're not," he said firmly. "None of that. Not anymore."
She stared at their hands for a moment and then looked at him again.
"And yeah," he added, voice dipping. "You're tired. You should be. You showed up when the team needed you, even when most of them were ready to cut you loose. You fucking ran in front of Shroud's gun to cover me. And you nearly died trying to get the Pulse alone because you thought you didn't deserve help."
Her throat bobbed, eyes flickering to his.
"You do deserve help, Visi," he said, quieter now. "You always did. I'm sorry I ever let you think for a goddamn second that wasn't true."
That finally cracked something in her.
It wasn't big or loud, but it wasn't silent. Just a breath - one that shuddered on the way out. Her jaw loosened, just a fraction. Her shoulders slumped the way they only did when she forgot to keep them up. And she nodded. Barely. But it was there.
Robert squeezed her hand gently and she pulled away. It startled him, he hadn't thought it would bother her.... Then she set down the mug and took his hand in hers - fully. He went still when her fingers closed around his.
He'd expected the pull-away. He'd braced for it, actually - that flinch she did when things got too close, too real. But instead of retreat, her hand found his and stayed there, warm and small and very, very alive.
His palm curled around hers automatically, thumb fitting into the space between her knuckles like it had been waiting for the job. He didn't squeeze too hard. Just enough to let her know he wasn't going anywhere.
"Okay," he exhaled, voice dropping, something almost dazed in it. "That's... better."
Up close, he could see it all now – the faint tremor in her fingers, the circles under her eyes, the way her lip was trying not to quiver and failing. She could joke all she wanted, but her body told on her.
He shifted, turning a little so he was more squarely facing her.
"It was real." he said quietly.
Her brows twitched, just barely.
"Yesterday. Today. Locker room. The bar. The rooftop. The stretcher. All of it." His thumb moved once over the back of her hand.
"You're not cut. You're not evil. You're not-" he exhaled. "You’re not on some vengeance quest list in my head…"
"You're on the Z-Team," he went on, matter-of-fact, "Which can be a disaster of insults, sexual harassment, and other HR violations, but it is our team and it isn't the Z-team without you."
Visi blinked at him.
For a second she just stared, like she was trying to decide if he was serious or if this was some elaborate bit where he set her up to punchline her own trauma.
"...That's a terrible sales pitch," she said at last, voice a little rough. "You know that, right?"
"Yeah," he said. "But it's honest."
Something pinned to the center of her chest eased a millimeter. Not gone. Just... less strangling.
Her fingers shifted in his, thumb brushing the side of his palm like she was reminding herself he was actually there.
He huffed out a breath, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. "You didn't see them after you left," he added. "The team."
She raised a brow. "I saw them, they were literally right there. I was on a stretcher. You kissed me, remember? Had a whole cheering section."
"Yeah, but you got the deluxe panic-rescue-ambulance-exit package," he said. "You missed the aftermath."
Her expression flickered. "What... aftermath?"
He leaned back a little, resting his shoulder on the couch, still facing her.
"News people wouldn't shut up," he said. "Kept trying to get Bl– uh, Mandy to give them a quote about the ‘renegade ex-villain.' She nearly bit one of them in half."
"Hot," Visi muttered automatically.
He ignored the way that word did things to his pulse and kept going.
"Prism refused to let them redo the shot, by the way," he said. "The big 'Z-Team saves the city' picture. After you left they wanted to try to get another one and she told them off."
Visi's mouth parted, but nothing came out.
He gave her a small, crooked smile. "Flambae told them, and I quote, ‘If it is not all of us in the shot, you don't have a hero shot.' Then he set one of their light rigs on fire by accident, so. Classic Flambae."
Visi huffed out a laugh despite herself, shoulders loosening a fraction. "Sounds about right."
"Waterboy cried," Robert added, almost casually.
Her head snapped a little toward him. "What? I barely know the fucker."
"Not, like, sobs," he clarified. "Just... wet eyes. He kept asking if they'd tell you he said good job. Prism filmed him and promised to ‘make it look cool in the edit.' It will not look cool in the edit."
That got a real smile, quick and sharp. "I'd pay money to see that."
"You won't have to," Robert said. "Prism's already threatening to turn it into a reaction video. ‘Z-Team Reacts To Almost Dying! Again!'"
He shifted, the memory train still rolling now that he'd started.
"Punch Up refused to give any statement to the press unless they called you ‘Invisigal, member of the Z-Team.' Full title. Made the poor intern repeat it three times." His mouth quirked. "Coupé just stood behind him cleaning her knife where they could see it. Very professional. Very not-terrifying-at-all."
He paused, thumb brushing her knuckles again.
"Point is," Robert said, softer now, "I'm not the only one who knows today was real. They saw you. They know what you did. That doesn't vanish just because the adrenaline wore off."
Her fingers twitched in his before she held on tighter.
"...They really did that?" she asked quietly.
Robert nodded. "All of it."
A breath escaped her, just the faintest ghost of a laugh - disbelief. "I thought they'd still hate me. Or, I don't know... tolerate me because you or Blazer ordered them to."
"They didn't need orders," he said, firm again, "not that they listen to them anyway. But they chose you. Just like I did."
Her eyes flicked back up to his. It wasn't a dramatic look. It wasn't some sweeping, cinematic gaze. It was vulnerable.
Raw in the way she never let herself be; looking at him without a mask and daring him not to flinch.
He didn't.
Robert held her gaze, steady as concrete, and when he spoke again his voice was soft.
"You're not a villain, Visi. You never were. You were just... alone."
She swallowed, throat tight. Her eyes burned, but she blinked fast, refusing to let them tip over.
"I didn't know how to ask," she admitted, barely audible. "For help. For forgiveness. I didn't think I'd get it."
"You didn't have to," he said. "You just had to show up."
Visi let out a shuddered breath, fingers gripping his tighter.
"...I'm scared I'm gonna fuck it up," she whispered. "Like I'll say one wrong thing, or snap at the wrong person, or... or they'll remember what I did and it'll all unravel."
Robert's response was immediate.
"Then fuck it up," he said. "We'll fix it."
She blinked.
"You're allowed to be human," he said. "Screw up. Get angry. Take time. You don't have to earn being on the team every five minutes. Not with self-sacrifice, not with punishment, not with some big heroic stunt."
He hesitated, mouth quirking.
"And not with... you know... with a strategic lack of shirt."
That finally knocked her out of the spiral. She blinked, staring at him, then let out a disbelieving huff, letting go of his hand to drag it along her face.
"Oh my god," she muttered. "You're really bringing that up now."
He shrugged, the motion small, almost self-conscious. "Kind of hard to forget."
Visi's palm stayed over her face. "You're impossible and a perv."
"And you're distracting," he shot back, leaning forward a little. "Don't try to tell me that was an accident. You had strategy written all over it."
She lowered her hand just enough for one eye to glare at him. "It was partially strategy."
"Partially?"
"Okay, fine - maybe seventy-thirty. I was confessing to planting a bomb on you and putting you in a coma, genius. I figured I could at least soften the blow." She huffed. She didn't love that he fully knew the tits out look was definitely to help her odds of him not hating her.
Robert snorted. "So the nipples were damage control."
"Exactly."
"It worked." He responded.
Her lips twitched, caught between a smirk and disbelief. "You're admitting that?"
He shrugged, resting his elbows on his knees again. "I was mad, yeah. But also... human. You're hard to yell at when you're half naked and shaking."
Visi blinked, the words catching her off guard. "I wasn't - "
"You were," he said, voice gentler now. "You looked terrified. You thought I was gonna hate you. You could've vanished, but you didn't. You stood there and told me anyway, and you didn't want to be that person anymore. That's... not something villains do, Visi."
"I didn't forgive you because your tits were out." He told her. "I forgave you because you earned it and I believed in you. Still do, if that wasn't obvious."
"But if all your apologies come with you being topless, I won't complain." He smirked, unable to stop himself. "Especially not if you kiss me right after..."
Robert's smirk lasted exactly three seconds.
Because the second he said it - the exact millisecond the words "especially not if you kiss me right after" left his mouth - Visi's head snapped toward him with an expression that could only be described as:
Oh, you absolute dumbass.
Her brows lifted. Slowly. Deliberately.
"Oh yeah?" she said, voice dropping into that low, dangerous drawl she used right before doing something unadvisable, illegal, or hot. She leaned closer to him. "Then maybe I should find something to say sorry for right now, huh?"