Chapter Text
It wasn't supposed to be a difficult mission: a simple illegal smuggling of weaponry. But the place was more armed than was reported, and became too dangerous for Flambae alone.
"Flambae, back off for now. Come back to headquarters and we'll send you along with Prism and Golem."
"Psh, I'm no quitter." Flambae's voice, smug as always, rings in Robert's ear. "Watch this."
"Flambae, no." Robert lowers his voice dangerously, both frantic and impatient. "Listen to me!"
He watches in horror as Flambae's tracker continues barreling forward towards the target location, undeterred.
And of course it went badly. Flambae, thankfully, only got a little banged up before he had to retreat, lest he gets really hurt. Robert is furious, throwing his headset off, the poor thing clattering loudly against the keyboard.
Galen looks up, and Robert mutters an apology, sighing so deeply it feels like his throat is being grated. A headache pounds in his temple, and it takes him a long moment to compose himself before he continues on with the calls, voice clipped. Everyone else is silent for the rest of the day, only a few quips here or there.
After the final call, which Punch Up and Coupé did a great job on, he bids them a short farewell before he storms his way to the infirmary, eyes immediately zeroing and narrowing on the man.
There are a few bandages and bruises on his skin, but he seems otherwise well (thank god) but the mere sight of him infuriates Robert. He glowers as he comes closer, nodding at the nurse looking after him.
"Hello, is he well enough to leave?" Robert asks, trying to be as polite as possible despite the rage in him. Flambae is shockingly quiet, lips pursed as he watches.
"Yes, we monitored him for a while and his vitals are stable. He can be discharged." The nurse answers, offering both men a nervous smile, picking up on the tension.
"Great." Robert grounds out before he points an accusing finger at Flambae. "Conference room. Now."
Flambae has the fucking audacity to roll his eyes before languidly getting out of the hospital bed and following Robert to the conference room.
Once they're safely inside and the door is locked, Robert spins towards the taller man and begins hounding him. "What the fuck were you thinking? I told you to retreat, you fucker! If you had just listened to me, this wouldn't have happened."
"What's the big deal?" Flambae is nonchalant, taking a seat and raising his legs on top of the table. "I had it under control, okay? It's just a few scratches, what, you think I can't handle a few scratches?"
"You disobeyed a direct order." Robert hissed. "I thought Visi would've set an example of what not to do."
"And I thought you would've learned that we don't need to listen to you." Flambae spits, growing more and more annoyed.
"You were fucking reckless! If you had circled back, waited ten fucking minutes so you didn't have to go alone, the mission would've been successful!" Robert pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling hard.
"Fucking—whatever! I could've done it just fine if you had fucking just watched on your stupid little computer—"
"What, were you just trying to show off?" Robert's voice is grating as he leans against the table, clenching the edge hard in attempt to stay somewhat civil. He really thinks he could punch Flambae right now. "I will not watch as one of my team members does something stupid—"
"I said I would've been fine!" Flambae leans forward with a glare, flames licking up the sides of his arms. "So what if I wanted to show off a little?"
Robert's head shoots up, his eyes wide with absolute fucking disbelief. "You cannot be serious right now."
His tone has changed. It drops, low and dangerous, a different kind of fury than the one before. It makes Flambae pause, an actual chill running down his spine and his flames go up in smoke. He sputters, rapidly losing steam, shifting sheepishly in his seat. "I...I just—"
"Flambae." Robert looks the most disappointed Flambae has ever seen, which immediately puts a heavy pit in his stomach. "Get out. Now."
There's a pause, the room utterly silent. Flambae stares at Robert, gauging his expression for a second and deciding that right now, Robert is definitely not in the mood for another word from Flambae.
He does the smart thing and stands up, his chair rolling back and hitting the wall, just to show his irritation, before Flambae storms out with a huff.
Flambae does not show up the next day. Or the next. Robert leans back against his chair, sighing up at the ceiling.
"Robert."
He jolts, having not heard anyone approaching. He swivels around and is surprised to see Prism, a deep frown on her face.
"Oh, hi, Prism." Robert greets, offering her a smile. He can sense her tension, and immediately knows this is about Flambae. Great, he was thinking of asking her about him anyway.
"Listen," she starts, tone clipped and getting straight to the point. Robert always liked that about her. "Flambae hasn't replied to my texts in two days." She whips out her phone, and shows him their text conversation. "He just said 'it's nothing, don't worry. Don't come over.' Can you fucking believe that?" She sounds both furious and defeated.
"Anyway, he's never said that to me before. I think it's really serious, what the fuck did you say to him?"
"I..." Robert frowns. "I did berate him for his poor decision making, but I don't think that should warrant such a reaction." It's not like it's the first time they fought.
Prism sighs. "I know he fucked up, but my Bae is amazing and you should really trust him more."
"Prism, you can't be serious." Robert looks up at her, exhausted. "Surely you don't want him to get hurt either."
"I don't, of course I don't." She answers quickly. "It's just..." She trails off and doesn't finish, pursing her lips tightly together like she's physically forcing herself not to say anything.
Robert waits for a beat longer before he sighs deeply, feeling the beginnings of a headache. "Okay, fine, whatever. But I can't do anything if he doesn't show up to work." He gestures at his computer screen, only eight members showing up.
"Go to him then." Prism says, sounding unnervingly worried. "He said I shouldn't go, but nothing about you. Go apologize, or fight it out, or fuck it out, whatever. Either way, make my Bae feel better."
Robert really, really wishes he could be in a coma again.
After Prism sent him Flambae's address, Robert gives in and agrees to pay him a visit.
Flambae can't keep skipping work; the Phoenix Program has gotten a lot more approval after everything with Shroud, but they're not out of the woods yet. Robert can feel all the eyes on them, just waiting for a slip up and an excuse to get rid of the program altogether.
He arrives in front of a nice-looking apartment building, all modern and sleek and probably very expensive.
Robert swallows as he enters, greeted by a security guard, asking him who he is and why he's here. He smiles as amicably as he knows how, saying, "I'm Robert Robertson, I'm here to see, ah," he checks his phone for Flambae's full name, courtesy of Prism.
The security guard frowns, eyeing him suspiciously. "What is your relationship?"
Robert's mouth goes dry as he tries to answer. "We're, um, coworkers. I'm here for work purposes."
Robert is sweating as the security guard scrutinizes him for a moment longer before finally letting him through, but not before scanning his ID and keeping record of it.
He goes up the elevator to the 12th floor, finding Flambae's apartment number. He knocks a few times, now decidedly more nervous than before.
He can hear shuffling behind the door, before heavy footsteps stomps over. The door clicks open, swinging open with surprising force.
"Bitch, I told you not to—" Flambae's words die on his tongue when he sees Robert Robertson, not Alice standing at his doorway. Robert blinks, noting his casual attire (well, of course; he's at home). His hair is down, cascading in waves over his shoulder, his maroon v-necked t-shirt tight on his body. It's definitely different than seeing him in his suit.
"What the fuck?" Flambae mutters, mostly to himself, as he bristles. "Why the fuck are you here?"
"Hi." Robert greets sheepishly, rubbing his sweaty palms against the rough fabric of his work pants. "You gonna let me in?"
"Fuck no." Flambae nearly slams the door in his face, but Robert shoves his foot in between the gap and pushes his way in. Flambae snorts, "Sure, let yourself in, why don't you."
Okay, Robert acknowledges it was pretty rude of him to intrude, but he didn't want to come all this way only to be turned away at the door. Something had to happen today, a reconciliation or something, anything to get Flambae back to work.
Robert manages to spare a moment to take in Flambae's apartment, walls painted in warm hues of oranges, decorated with little trinkets, plush pillows and aesthetic posters. He points at a few of his feline-shaped trinkets, "A fan of cats?"
"Robert." Flambae grates out, crossing his arms tightly across his chest. "Seriously, why the fuck are you here?" Something like realization flashes in his eyes. "Fuck. Alice."
"She's really worried about you." Robert starts, finally. "Says you haven't been answering her texts and told her not to come find you. As your supervisor, it's important for me to know why you aren't showing up to work, without calling out first."
Flambae stays stubbornly quiet, amber eyes narrowed dangerously on Robert. Robert feels very out of place in Flambae's apartment, but he pushes on.
"You know that if you don't show up for three days, you'll be suspended, right? And if you continue to miss work, they'll cut you from the Phoenix Program."
"I know what I'm doing." Flambae sounds strained.
"So you're coming in tomorrow?" Robert raises a brow. "Because, like, it's been two days already, in case you can't count."
Something flashes in Flambae's eyes that look suspiciously like panic. Uncharacteristically, he doesn't bite back at Robert's insult. "I...maybe."
Robert frowns, taking a step towards the man and sees him shrink back, eyes looking anywhere but him. Okay, definitely not normal.
"Is everything okay?" Robert asks, his tone much gentler than before. "Look, I know I really chewed you out, but I really just don't want you—or anyone—to get hurt." Just bringing up the failed mission brings a bitter taste to Robert's tongue. "And it was really fucking stupid to do that just because you wanted to show off."
Flambae bristles again, eyes flashing with anger. He grits out, baring his teeth, "You don't know anything."
"Okay? Well tell me." Robert raises his chin in a challenge.
"You—Fucking—" Flambae tries to grind out, but it's like the words are physically painful for him to say. He takes a step forward, a hand gripping Robert's shirt collar in a tight fist.
Uh oh, Flambae might punch him. Robert presses his tongue against the roof of his mouth and clenches his teeth in preparation for it, but doesn't break eye contact.
Flambae glares at him for a very, very long moment. That's when Robert realizes something strange.
For how angry he is, Flambae is not on fire. Not smoking. His hand clutching his shirt is not even warm.
That's when it finally dawns on Robert, a lump in the back of his throat.
"Flambae, what happened to your powers?"