Chapter Text
It was one of the longest, toughest, most annoying-est shifts in Robert’s career as a dispatcher to date.
The entire Z-Team was in a pissy mood, and for good reason. It’s chilly out and even though Los Angeles hardly gets below 45 degrees, the rain doesn’t help things much. Being cold and wet is not ideal if part of your job is keeping on a happy face for the good of the community. Even sweet, passive Waterboy seemed more irritable than usual.
Robert had crossed his fingers, hoping none of the emergency calls would wind up being too intense, and for the most part, they weren’t. But after resolving the twelfth traffic-related incident in a row, he’d gotten word that one of the up-and-coming supervillains SDN had been chasing around for a few weeks had made an appearance at The Getty, of all places.
Flambae was the only one available for the job. Of course he was. He practically had a day off, as firepower is notoriously unhelpful in the rain.
“Are you fucking serious?” The hero complained when Robert assigned him the mission. “I was gonna ask to clock out early! I can use the extra time to get ready for my date tonight!”
“You have a date tonight? No way,” Robert said sarcastically with an eye roll. Flambae had been bragging about it all shift. Allegedly, he was meeting up with some guy he’d met on Grindr or Hinge or whatever, who was, in his own words, “one of the few other tens on the app.” Yikes.
“Shut up,” Flambae snapped. “Whatever, I'm on it. Watch me burn, bitch.” Robert held back a comment about how he's certainly not going to be doing too much burning as he watched the little orange icon navigating the streets through his computer screen. It was much slower than usual without access to his flight ability.
Robert had crossed his fingers for the second time, but luck was never his strong suit, so he didn’t know why he bothered. Flambae was miserably outmatched, just as Robert knew he would be. Even when Prism and Punch Up came for backup at the last minute, not only did they fail, but the supervillain managed to swipe an eight-thousand-dollar sculpture and some shit from the gift shop for good measure.
All in all, not the best look for SDN.
The shift ended with the Z-Team in an even pissier mood.
With the call officially disconnected, Robert removes his headphones and slouches fully in his chair, fingertips lightly scraping the floor. He kind of wants to bang his forehead onto his desk but that feels like too much effort. Even the sound of Beef’s gentle snores from the doggie bed Chase had bought does nothing to alleviate the rotten mood and familiar feeling of failure that’s permeating his mind.
It’s late. The window displays a dark sky filled with angry storm clouds. He’s the only one on night shift, so the office space is empty and quiet.
“I need a drink,” Robert says to no one.
***
Robert takes Beef home before getting his drink. He doesn’t ask any co-workers to tag along because quite frankly he’s not in the mood for company, especially the boisterous sort that any given Z-Teamer brings. He doesn’t have much alone time these days, anyway. Not that he misses his lonesome lifestyle, but a guy has to recharge every now and then, especially after a day as shitty as this one.
He avoids the bar where he’d encountered Shroud--no need to relive unpleasant memories. Instead, he opts for the bar that’s within walking distance of his apartment. Quiet music playing through the speakers, stoic bartenders, a small handful of people scattered around (mainly sad single men, like himself). He sips through three Long Island Iced Teas, half-watching whatever sport game happens to be on the TV, allowing the buzzing in his mind to become comfortably static.
Living in his suit day by day didn’t motivate so much introspection. Objectively, he knows his latest life changes are good, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t overwhelmed by them, even if things had just begun to calm down.
Shroud is dead. Mecha Man is on an indefinite hiatus. Robert has more of a purpose as the Z-Team’s leader and dispatcher than anything else. Deep down, though, he still feels like he’s missing something.
He looks out the bar’s window. It’s stopped raining, so he can walk home tired and tipsy and not too wet.
Robert drinks the last gulp of his tea and leaves the bar, giving a nod to the bartender who does not bother to nod back. He’s content to go home and pass out on his newly acquired mattress (Blonde Blazer insisted on buying him one, even though Robert insisted he didn’t need it) but of course his rotten luck gets in the way once again.
Toward the middle of his walk, he hears a commotion. There’s a scream. Then another. Then another, followed by two very audible words:
“FUCK YOU!”
Yeah, he knows that voice. What the hell is Flambae doing here?
It’s not a great idea for Robert to get caught up in some trouble without his suit and he knows it, even if his hand-to-hand combat skills are nothing to sneeze at. He’s perfectly capable of calling the cops or for a super’s help, but his legs are moving before he can think better of it. All he can think is, if Flambae has decided to dip his toes into crime again, Robert’s going to be beyond furious. The Z-Team has worked far too hard for such a royal screw-up on his end.
Robert enters a dark alleyway, and the immediate scene makes him sick to his stomach.
It takes a moment to spot Flambae because he’s not in his hero uniform, but he recognizes his muscular frame and slicked-back ponytail soon enough. The former villain is bleeding in a few different places, standing alongside a terrified young couple that looks to be in their early twenties. They huddle fearfully in a corner while Flambae erratically careens his head back and forth.
“What’s going on here?” Robert says. “Flambae, what are you-”
Before he can finish his sentence, Flambae conjures up a handful of fire and whips around with a scowl. Robert starts and raises his arms defensively, but Flambae relaxes when he sees who it is.
“Robert?” Flambae says, and the fire is suddenly put out. “The fuck are you doing here? Did you see that asshole leave?!”
“What asshole-”
“The asshole that robbed these people, dipshit!” Flambae hisses and pushes past him. “He just disappeared out of nowhere- God damnit, I cannot take another L today-”
He starts cursing in a different language as he exits the alley. Robert turns to the trembling couple.
“Are you guys alright?” he asks them.
The girl replies after a few deep breaths. “W-we’re okay,” she says. “We were robbed, but that f-fire guy saved us.”
“Is… is that really Flambae?” the boy asks tentatively. “You know, one of the superheroes who helped defeat the Red Ring?”
Robert nods, feeling a wave of relief, as well as a wave of guilt. Flambae hasn’t done anything wrong. Robert shouldn’t have doubted him. “Yeah, that’s him, all right. Look--we both work for SDN. You’re safe now. Take some more deep breaths, and then describe what happened.”
They’d been cornered by a man with the ability to either teleport or turn invisible -Robert’s heart twists when he thinks about Visi- but Flambae had stepped in before too much money had been stolen. The man proceeded to turn a knife on the hero and got a few slashes in before he’d disappeared seemingly into thin air.
“We’ll take it from here,” Robert says. “Let’s exchange information, and I’ll make sure SDN is on the case. After that, I’ll call a ride home for you guys.”
The couple acquiesces, obviously pliable to whatever Robert suggests. As they wait by the road, Robert watches from the corner of his eye as the boy rubs his partner’s arm soothingly.
Flambae reappears after they’ve been picked up, scowling expression unchanged.
“The asshole got away,” he says, waving his hands in the air. “I can’t believe it! He was right under my nose, I almost had him burnt to a fucking crisp and then he got away. Fuck him, fuck this whole night, I swear to fucking God.”
“Easy,” Robert says. “One more F-bomb and you might just explode.”
Flambae’s eyes sharpen as he looks down at Robert. “Okay seriously, what the fuck are you doing here? Were you following me? Am I being evaluated? Gonna tell Blazer how I fucked up twice today? Need another hero to put on the cutting block?”
“No, nothing like that.” Robert is taken aback by how genuinely angry Flambae seems. He’s used to the hero’s aggressive demeanor, but this is a definite step above normal. “I live one block away--you’ve been to my place before, you should know this. It’s a coincidence I ran into you, honest.”
Flambae opens his mouth to argue but seems to realize where they are. He never was great with directions, that one. “Oh.”
“Besides, why would I evaluate you, off the clock, in the middle of the night? Does that make, like, any sense at all?”
Flambae huffs, and a puff of steam exits his nostrils like a cartoon bull. “Okay, I get it.”
“Even if I were evaluating you,” Robert adds, “You would’ve passed. You saved those people.”
“Saving people means catching the bad guy. You should know that better than anyone.”
“I’ve lost plenty of battles,” Robert says. He very pointedly does not look at the hero’s mutilated fingers, but their presence hangs heavily in the air.
“Whatever.” Flambae shakes his head. There is a scratch on his cheek, and the movement causes a droplet of blood to fall on the sidewalk. “I’m going home. See you at work.”
His body ignites, but before he can take off, Robert calls to him, “Wait!”
Flambae stops. “What.”
“You’re hurt,” Robert says. “Do you need to go to the hospital? Or Urgent Care, at least?”
“You call this hurt? I’ve had shifts that put me through worse!”
“Still.” Robert glances at one of the several injuries on Flambae’s arm. It’s the worst out of the bunch, exposed and fleshy and dripping thick rivulets of red. “You should get that patched up sooner than later.”
“I am not going to the hospital with you,” Flambae says, stubborn as ever.
Robert assesses his options. His logical side is telling him not to poke the bear. Plus, he’s tired. He didn’t want to spend time with the Z-Team tonight specifically for that reason. But his empathetic side is urging him to help the guy, who’s clearly having an even worse night, who Robert failed to give the benefit of the doubt.
Even if Flambae is the Z-Teamer he gets along with the worst out of the bunch, he can give him a simple kindness.
“You don’t have to,” Robert says. “We can go to my place. I have some basic first aid there.”
Flambae raises a brow. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No,” Robert says. “If you’re worried about me being your doctor, don't be. If anything I’m overqualified. I stitched myself up every single day for fifteen years without health insurance until SDN, and I’m alive, aren’t I?”
“I’m sorry, you didn’t have health insurance for how long?”
Robert crosses his arms, stubborn as ever. “Are you coming or not?”
Flambae glares for a few heartbeats, amber eyes burning with contempt, until the fight seems to leave him a bit. “... Fine.”
“Fantastic. C’mon, big guy, it’s about a five-minute walk.”
Flambae says nothing more, just follows Robert at an arm's length. He kind of expected the hero to complain the whole time, and he’s not sure what the silence makes him feel more, relieved or worried.
When he unlocks the door to his apartment, Beef immediately runs up to his feet, whimpering loudly with huge brown puppy-dog eyes on full display. Robert wonders what’s wrong until he realizes that he hasn’t yet fed the dog his dinner.
“Shit,” Robert mutters, mentally kicking himself. “Uh, make yourself comfortable, I’ll get the first aid kit in a sec.”
Flambae steps through the door and shrugs. “Sure thing, Bob Bob. Hey, remember when I punched you in the face right here in this very spot? Good times.”
Robert chooses to ignore that comment. “You can sit… there.” He gestures to the lawn chair in the middle of the room. He hasn’t quite gotten around to acquiring more furniture aside from his assortment of lamps. Or at least, Blazer hasn’t gifted him any more (but he suspects it's on the horizon).
Flambae snorts, which Robert also chooses to ignore. He quickly gives Beef a few scoops of kibble before searching through his bathroom for the first aid kit--he hasn’t needed it for a while, so it’s buried deep in the sink cabinet.
When he walks back into the main room, he finds that Flambae is not sitting on the lawn chair. Instead, he’s on the floor petting Beef’s exposed stomach (damn that dog eats so fast).
Robert observes the scene for a moment. Flambae does not look too different without his uniform, but Robert can’t help but view him differently anyway. The hero wears a fancy, loose maroon-colored shirt with the majority of the chest unbuttoned, of course, and his leather pants are a little too tight, of course. There’s a glittery gold chain hung around his neck, and his ponytail looks even more styled than usual, sleek and dark and elegantly cascading down his back. Even after the scuffle, there’s not a strand out of place. Impressive, Robert can't deny that.
He wonders why Flambae’s so dressed to the nines, when Robert remembers the alleged date with the sexy internet man.
Flambae looks up suddenly, meeting Robert’s eyes with a smirk. “You gonna keep staring, or…?”
Robert’s face heats up as he rolls his eyes. “Shut up, I’m just not used to seeing you without all the hero getup. You look like you just walked out of a fashion magazine.”
“A ‘fashion magazine’? Wow you are so straight, it's crazy.” Flambae teases. “Maybe try wearing something other than your uniform for once.”
“Why would I do that? Blue's my color.”
“Sure it is.” Flambae lets out a long-suffering sigh as he gets to his feet to sink into the lawn chair. Beef eagerly follows to sit beside him, which makes sense as getting pets from the hero must be like getting pets from a sentient heating pad. “Make this quick, will you? I don’t know how long I can sit in this shitty thing without my back breaking in half.”
His massive frame does look pretty ridiculous on top of that old piece of plastic. It highlights their size difference, that’s for sure. Swallowing a chuckle, Robert crouches down beside the hero.
To start, he pours a generous amount of saline onto Flambae’s wounded arms, which produces a grunt of discomfort, then presses some clean cloth onto the worst injury to help stop the bleeding.
“Oh no,” he says as he riffles through the materials from the medical sewing kit. “I don’t think the needle is disinfected.”
“Give it here,” Flambae orders. Confused, Robert hands it to him. The hero holds the tiny piece of metal between his thumb and forefinger and brings it close to his mouth, then proceeds to breathe out a mouthful of fire like a fucking dragon. The tip of the needle flashes bright red before fading back to its natural silver.
He hands it back to Robert, looking far too smug.
“Show-off,” Robert mutters. He actually manages to thread the needle on the first try. Clearly he’s got some skills of his own, not that Flambae seems to notice or care.
Aside from that interaction, they don’t speak much throughout the process. Robert is struck by the fact that he’s never really been alone with Flambae for this long, mostly because it was always a possibility the walking fireball might set his ass aflame at any given moment. Hopefully they’ve moved past that.
“So,” Robert starts. Smalltalk feels like the right move. “Your date. With the second hottest guy on the app. How did it go?”
“Fine.” Flambae says the word in one hard, biting syllable.
“It ended sooner than I thought it might,” Robert continues. “You made it seem like you guys would be at it all night.”
“He didn’t turn out to be my type.” Flambae gives a dramatic shrug.
“Seems like a lot of people aren’t your type.”
Flambae scowls. Robert wonders if he overstepped, if that's even possible with someone so abrasive.
“Pretty sure he is,” Flambae says after a moment. “But it's difficult to know for sure when you've only ever spoken through text.”
Robert blinks. "Oh. You got stood up.”
Flambae’s skin grows noticeably hotter. “I was implying that, and then you went and said it out loud. Dick.”
“Sorry,” Robert says. “Seriously, that sucks.” Hoping for a distraction, he removes the now blood-soaked cloth to start sewing up the wound. Flambae doesn’t make any more pained sounds, but he feels awfully tense underneath Robert’s fingertips.
The following silence is just a little too awkward, so Robert tries again. “Did telling someone help?” He asks as he sews the needle through the first inch of flesh.
“No, Robert, telling my boss about my love life did not help. Don't you fucking dare tell anyone from the office about this.”
“Not even Prism?”
“I'll tell her, idiot. No one else can know.”
“Okay, fine,” Robert says. “But I feel like it helped a little bit.”
“Jesus Christ, it’s like your only goal in life is to humiliate me.”
Robert bristles. “It’s like your only goal in life is to make my job one hundred times harder."
“I knew it--you only invited me here out of some workplace obligation." Flambae hisses. "Newsflash, Mister Mecha Bitch, I don't actually need your help.”
Robert sews another inch. Halfway done. He can’t wait to be finished, at this point. “I invited you here because, believe it or not, I give a shit when my team is in trouble. I wasn't about to let you bleed to death just because you're too stubborn to get your head out of your ass.”
Flambae’s skin becomes so hot that Robert has to stop touching it. “Hey, what gives?”
The hero takes a deep breath, and then another, before looking down at Robert. “... You're right. I'm sorry.” He sounds allergic to those words, like he has to physically force them out. “This really is fucking humiliating, though.”
An apology? From Flambae? Robert never thought he’d see the day. He gives the hero a comforting pat on his shoulder and resumes sewing. “It's alright. And hey, we’ve all been stood up before. It's happened to me more than once.”
Flambae raises a brow. "I didn't know you went on so many dates.”
“I used to…” Robert starts, before shaking his head. “Never mind.”
“No, no, no, come on. I told you something embarrassing and now it’s your turn. It’s only fair!”
Robert wants to say no. He has no idea why this piece of history even went through his head in the first place. It’s not something he’s ever felt the need to share, but his mouth begins to move before he can think better of it.
“When I was in my early twenties -I’d been Mecha Man for a few years at that point- I didn’t have any, uh… I was by myself most of the time,” he says. “One night, I randomly decided I had had enough of the whole lone wolf shtick, so I downloaded some dating app, can’t remember which one, and I started planning dates. A whole lot of them. Thing is, most of the time I wouldn’t show up ‘cause hero stuff would get in the way. I’d always apologize and ask for a second chance, but I could never keep track of things. Sometimes they stood me up, probably out of spite. I didn’t blame them. After a couple months of this, I just stopped trying. I haven’t really been on a real date since.” He doubts the movie with Visi counts since that never really went anywhere.
There’s a beat of silence. Then Flambae whistles. “Wow. That’s really very sad. Is it wrong if I feel better about myself after hearing that?”
It’s not an uncharacteristic thing for him to say, but it still rubs Robert the wrong way. He does not reply, just fixates on finishing his work. He sews the last stitch, and ties the end knot with practiced ease. “There, all done.”
But Flambae just frowns. “Did I piss you off just now?”
“No,” Robert says.
“I did, didn’t I?”
“It’s fine,” Robert says. “I just, I’ve never told anyone that before. It’s… well, embarrassing."
Flambae studies his brand new stitches for a heartbeat, then looks back at Robert. He's softened a bit, the expression unfamiliar on the severe features of his face.
“Bob Bob,” he says. “You’re too good for any of the assholes who stood you up.”
Robert tilts his head. “Hardly. I told you, it’s my fault it happened.”
“You tried your best,” Flambae says. “You’re a good guy.”
“You don’t mean that.” Robert thinks about Flambae’s mutilated fingers again. There’s an unspoken “I’ve hurt you” that both can hear. Robert does not regret giving him the injury, because he’d done what he had to at the time, but knows deep down that the former villain will never forgive him for it.
“If it weren't for you, I probably would have been cut from the Z-Team ages ago. All of us would have been,” Flambae says.
“You guys worked hard to get to where you are.” Robert points out.
“We wouldn’t have worked so hard if it weren’t for you. At least, I wouldn’t’ve.”
Robert can’t help it. He makes a little cooing noise. “Awww. That’s sweet, Flame.”
And just like that, the hero's back to his usual defensive self. “You already know all this, asshole! I don’t know why I bothered saying it, it’s not like you need your ego to be stroked like a fucking cat.”
“A little confidence boost never hurt anyone.” Robert grabs and applies bandages for the wound and for the scratch on Flamebae’s cheek--luckily that one does not need stitches. The doctor-ing is now complete.
Flambae gets to his feet, the lawn chair making a pathetic squeaking noise as he does so. Beef notices the movement and whines, obviously wanting to be picked up by the hero, who acquiesces and grabs the dog into his freshly mended arms. Robert stands up to pet the dog too, and the two men stand in the middle of Robert’s apartment petting the cute, fat little creature for some indecipherable amount of time.
“For the record,” Robert says softly. He feels strangely warm, and he’s not sure if it’s from Flambae’s body heat or from something else. “You’re also too good for that asshole who stood you up.”
It suddenly feels even warmer. Flambae swallows, and Robert can hear the click inside his throat.
“I,” the hero says. “I think I need to go home now.”
“Oh,” Robert says. “Right, we’re done here. Okay.”
Flambae surrenders Beef to Robert. The dog struggles in his grasp so Robert holds him tightly against his chest. Flambae brushes off any stray dog hairs from his fancy shirt and then walks toward the front door. Robert follows.
“Try not to do anything that’ll irritate or open the stitches, and keep it covered up.” Robert leans against the doorframe as the hero steps out. “You can take time off if you need to.”
“I’ve had stitches at work before.” Flambae rolls his eyes. The dim light from the apartment passageway shines onto his dark hair, causing a faint halo effect. “Anyway, um, I guess I should thank you? I’m glad I ran into you, even if tonight sucked.”
“Well, think of it this way.” Robert smiles. “If tonight didn’t suck, you wouldn’t have gotten the chance to save that couple. They could have really been hurt if you weren’t there.”
“Yes, but I could have railed someone tonight, Robbo.”
“I think protecting members of our community is more important than railing some random dude. And I think you know that, too.”
“Enough of the boy-scout talk, I don’t need one of your motivational speeches.” Flambae rolls his eyes again, but it’s more playful than anything.
“Sure you don’t.” Robert’s smile widens. “I'll see you later, Flame.”
“... Chad.”
“Uh, bless you?”
“No, idiot,” Flambae says. “My name. It’s Chad.”
His name! Robert hasn’t even considered the possibility of ever learning his name. But there it is, and it's perfect. For him, at least. Not the actual name ‘Chad’.
“Of course,” Robert says. “Hi, Chad.”
He offers his hand. Flambae -Chad- hesitates before he takes it, and they shake on it. To new beginnings, or whatever.
The hero leaves, and Robert watches. Even though his clothes are still slightly damp and chilled from walking in the rain, he only seems to grow warmer and warmer.
The shift was bad, yeah. But Robert has had worse nights.