Chapter Text
"Well, I forgive you. So, there. Will you fucking chill out now?" Robert sounds impatient, exasperated.
It's familiar. Courtney has heard that tone over comms more times than she can count.
This time, though, it feels different. Like his annoyance isn't directed at her, but at what he knows she's feeling at this moment. The guilt that's been slowly destroying her for months has been laid bare in front of him, and he sounds angry at it, not at her.
God, he's so fucking stupid. How the hell he survived as Mecha Man for fifteen years when he doesn't even have enough self-preservation instincts to walk away from her when it couldn't be more obvious that he should, she can't even begin to understand.
"You can't fucking forgive me," the words explode out of her, bitter and incredulous. "You haven't even, like, processed what's going on!"
"You did villain shit while you were a villain," he says, as if destroying his life's work, his family's legacy, was just some bullshit misdemeanor. "Does it change things that you directed it at me? No, it doesn't. It's in the past. You're not the same person that was there that night. Neither am I."
She finally looks up at him. What she sees makes her want to slap him, punch him, do anything to knock some fucking sense into him. She's just told him how she ruined his life, and he's looking at her like she's still redeemable.
Like she's still worth his time, his effort, his kindness.
Like he still cares about her.
What the fuck is wrong with him?
"That's sweet," she manages to say over the lump rising in her throat. "But...I feel numb."
He moves closer. "Hey, stop making this feel like a goodbye. You're suspended, it's temporary. I'm not letting anyone cut you."
Then you're an even bigger idiot than I thought, she wants to say. She's already fucked up his life enough, and he's offering to fuck it up more for her sake. To throw away everything he's accomplished at SDN to shield her from the consequences of her own impulsive actions. Maybe he's not stupid. Maybe he's just out of his fucking mind.
She wants to tell him that he's crazy, that the team is more important than her, than what she feels for him and whatever he thinks he feels for her. Instead, what comes out of her mouth is a confession, vulnerable and pathetic.
"All I wanted from this was for you to look at me the same way you look at Blazer. Even if it was just once, you know? That'd have been enough."
"I don't know what you mean by that."
Right back to being an idiot.
"Yes," she looks up and meets his eyes once more. "You do."
She stands up, grabs her bag and holds her breath, vanishing as she walks past him. The urge to look back, to see him one more time, finally wins just before she rounds the corner.
He's still standing there, his head down, defeated.
Fuck.
In a heartbeat, she's dropping her bag, running to him and pushing him back against the lockers.
Before he can react, she's kissing him. When the need for oxygen becomes too strong to ignore, she pulls back, takes a breath and reappears in front of him, their mouths inches apart.
She gives him a chance to stop her before she kisses him again. When his hand reaches for her waist, she grabs his wrist. Still trying to give him an out.
He doesn't take it. One hand slides through her hair, to the back of her neck. The other cups her cheek gently. Then he's leaning in, taking control. His tongue brushes hers, tentatively at first, then demanding. When his right hand slips down to her waist again, she doesn't stop him.
Not at first.
She hears a sound, a faint, muffled moan. She's not even sure which one of them it's coming from, but she knows it's trouble. This is goodbye, nothing more than that. She can't let it be more than that.
Breaking the kiss, she disappears again, calling on every ounce of strength she has to make this decision for him.
This time, though, he's ready for her. His hand catches her invisible wrist, pulls her back against him. Now she's the one being shoved against the lockers, the shock of it forcing out the breath she was holding.
"No," he says roughly before kissing her again, harder this time, trapping her completely between his body and the cold metal behind her.
She moans into his mouth as he grinds into her, letting her feel the hard length of him against her hip. She should push him away, put a stop to this before it goes any further.
This is Robert. He's respectful, responsible, a fucking hero. He won't hurt her, won't force her. She knows if she tells him to let her go, he will.
No matter how hard she tries, she can't say the words she knows she should. One hand is sliding under her top now, past her augment to cup her breast. The other hand is on the small of her back, then grabbing at her ass, lifting her against him.
"I'll stop," he murmurs against her lips, as if he's reading her mind. "Just say you want me to stop and I will. Tell me you don't want this."
"I...I don't," she struggles to finish her sentence as she feels his mouth pause on her throat, his grip on her ass start to loosen. "I don't want you to stop."
As soon as the words leave her mouth, the energy between them shifts. He yanks her top over her head, pinning her arms to her sides when she instinctively tries to cover her augment. His lips are on hers again, then moving lower, down her throat to her chest. He sucks one nipple into his mouth, bites down on the sensitive flesh, then soothes it with his tongue before moving to the other breast to give it the same attention.
It's nothing like she imagined. In her dreams and fantasies about him, he takes his time, mapping every inch of her body with his hands and tongue before claiming her. Here, he's frantic, rough, gripping her waist hard enough to bruise, his teeth scraping her skin, marking her everywhere he can reach.
She can take it, she decides. She can endure whatever he wants to do to her, let him use her however he wants. As far as she's concerned, this is about him. About making him feel good in whatever ways she can, as if any of it could make up for all the ways she's harmed him.
She reaches between them and unbuttons his shirt, but he doesn't stop touching her to let her push it off, just leaves it hanging open. Her hands roam over his chest, tracing his scars the way she's always wanted to. She watches his head tip back, his eyes close. Testing, she lets her nails lightly scrape over the marks on his abdomen, repeating the motion with a little more pressure when he groans.
His hands are fumbling with the button on her pants, yanking them down as far as he can. A frustrated sound escapes him as he crouches in front of her, pulling off one of her boots to free her leg completely. He stands up, pushes her harder against the lockers and forces her thighs apart.
"Please," she barely recognizes her own voice when his fingers slip under the elastic of her panties, slowly tracing her slit before pressing in further.
She doesn't even know what she's asking him. To let her go, to hold her tighter, to stop, not to stop?
When she feels his fingers push into her, she forgets for a moment why she would ever want him to stop. She can't even begin to remember how long it's been since she's had anything bigger than her own fingers in her cunt, not when he's spreading her open as his thumb rubs her clit.
He kisses her again, moaning into her mouth as if touching her like this feels as good for him as it does for her. His hand moves faster as she begins to grind against him. She runs her hands up his chest to grip his shoulders, not trusting her legs to hold her up anymore.
All at once, his fingers slip out of her, prompting a weak, honestly pathetic whimper of protest before his hands are gripping her waist, lifting her up against the lockers. He presses one knee between her legs to hold her in place, her feet off the ground.
She's helpless, she realizes. The thought should scare her, as she takes in the way he's looking at her, his eyes wide and hungry. One hand moves under her ass, supporting her as his other hand moves to his belt buckle. He pauses, resting his forehead against hers, giving her one more chance to stop him.
Instead of taking it, she leans in and kisses him, biting his lower lip almost hard enough to draw blood. She's not sure if it's a dare or a plea.
Pinned so tightly to the lockers with his chest pressed hard against hers, she can't move to even look down as he removes the last layers separating them. She hears his belt being undone, then his zipper. She feels her soaked panties being pushed aside and then -
Oh fuck.
He's inside her, filling her with one hard thrust. The stretch is intense, pain and pleasure mixing, indistinguishable. She flickers involuntarily, digging her nails into his arms to anchor herself.
"Visi," his groan reverberates against her throat, his teeth grazing the skin. He starts moving immediately, pulling out and slamming back in. "Shit, I can't wait, I'm sorry."
She can't answer him with anything more than short, gasping moans, can't think past the overwhelming heat and fullness of him so deep inside her. She can't even feel the cold metal behind her or the handle of a locker door pressing into her back, her entire being stripped away to just him. It's what she's wanted for so long, even if it's not anything like she's imagined it.
He kisses her again, softer this time, his tongue sliding over hers before he pulls back to take a breath. When she opens her eyes, he's staring at her, and what she sees in his eyes shakes her to her core.
Even as he's fucking her almost violently, slamming her back into the lockers with every thrust, his eyes are full of warmth. He's looking at her like she's beautiful, like she's something worth saving. He still doesn't understand what this is.
"Please," he whispers. "Please don't leave. I promise, I'll make things right. Just stay, Visi. I want you to stay."
Tears sting her eyes. After everything she's done, he still thinks she's his mess to clean up. That he can fix her, fix everything that she's broken. That this is a beginning and not the end.
She buries her face against his shoulder, unable to bear the way he's looking at her. She doesn't deserve it, she knows that. Eventually, he'll figure that out, too. He has to.
For now, she focuses on what she needs to do for him. She can make him feel good, give him something to remember about her besides all the ways she's fucked up his life, and then she can let him go.
"Harder," the word comes out as a plea, a shuddering moan against his throat. She feels him hesitate and says it again, more firmly, before biting down on his shoulder. He obeys, the sound of his hips meeting hers echoing through the empty space, mixing with his grunts as he drives his cock into her over and over.
She's fighting back a release she doesn't want, but it's no use. The harder he thrusts, the louder he moans, the more her body betrays her. Then she feels his hand between them, his fingers on her clit, his breath against her ear.
"I'm so close. I want you to come for me, just let me feel you, Courtney."
Hearing him moan her name unexpectedly takes her over the edge. She screams before he kisses her, quieting her as she rides the waves of her orgasm, keeping up the same brutal pace inside her while she spasms around him. She feels him groan against her lips, feels his hips jerk helplessly against hers. His warmth fills her, prolonging her release, making her flicker and shake in his arms.
Gradually, his thrusts slow and then stop. He slumps against her, his weight holding her up as she goes limp. For a minute, the only sound is their heavy breathing.
Robert moves first, lifting his head to look at her. His eyes widen, as if he's suddenly snapped back into himself after an out of body experience. She winces as he pulls out of her, keeping his hands on her waist to steady her when he sets her on her feet.
"Visi," his breathing is ragged, an edge of panic in his voice. His eyes frantically roam over her body, from the bruises on her hips, up to the bite marks on her breasts and throat, then finally to her face. "Fuck, I'm sorry, are you okay?"
"I'm fine," she jerks away from him, not meeting his eyes. She focuses on righting herself, tugging her underwear back into place to stop the mess inside her from running down her legs, untangling her pants to pull them back up. Her top is inside-out, she doesn't bother fixing it before putting it on.
He grabs her wrist, more gently than before. "Courtney, we need to talk about this."
"Later. Everything's too raw right now. I'm okay, just...we'll talk about it later." She pulls out of his grasp, retrieves her boot, picks up her bag, then takes the deepest breath she can manage and vanishes before he can reach for her again.
She's quick enough to dart out of his reach this time, and he sags back against the lockers, still panting, still a disheveled mess. Just before she reaches the locker room doors, she lets herself take one last look, and then she's gone.
She makes it out of the building on shaking legs with one bare foot, out of the parking lot and down the street for half a block before the burning in her lungs is overwhelming. Darting down an alley, she lets herself breathe, takes a moment to put her boot on and take a few puffs from her inhaler.
The walk back to her apartment takes fifteen minutes, the solitude preferable to the shorter bus ride. A cigarette on the way does nothing to slow her heartbeat or clear her mind. She can still feel him inside her, still hear him groaning her name, begging her to stay.
Finally reaching her apartment, she slams the door behind her and collapses against it.
"Holy shit, what happened to you?" Michelle looks around the corner from the kitchen, startling her.
"Nothing," she snaps, without meaning to. "Nothing, just...just a rough day." They're not friends. They're not even particularly close for roommates. She definitely doesn't need to weigh Michelle down with her latest terrible life choices.
"Okay. I'm making stir-fry for dinner, I'll leave some for you if you want?" Michelle offers.
"No, thanks. I think I'm just going to take a shower and go to bed."
"Your shirt's inside out," Michelle calls after her as she heads for the bathroom.
Locking the door behind her, she turns on the shower to muffle the sound as she finally lets the tears fall, the past forty-eight hours finally crashing down on her. Stripping off her clothes, she starts to step under the water, then stops herself. It's stupid, pathetic, but she can't bring herself to wash away the feeling of him touching her, the evidence he left behind everywhere he kissed her.
Instead, she takes a washcloth to her lower half, wiping away his seed and her own slick as much as she can, shuddering at the drag of the rough cloth against her sore cunt. She bites back a moan, pushing down the memory of his hands on her.
Wrapping a towel around herself, she ducks another questioning look from Michelle on her way to her bedroom.
She has to leave, that much is obvious. Where she'll go is a question for later. He won't give up on her, she knows without looking that the notifications on her phone since she left SDN are at least mostly messages from him. She has to be stronger than him, has to be the one to let go for him.
After putting on clean underwear and the same clothes from before, she throws her bag onto the bed and starts packing up the few things she can't leave behind. Hidden in the top dresser drawer, the glow from the Astral Pulse looks more like a neon sign announcing her failure.
She could leave it behind, with a note explaining everything. He'll come looking for her sooner or later. He'll end up here, in her former bedroom, searching for clues as to where she might have gone.
But he's not the only one who might come looking. And if it falls into the wrong hands, everything she's done to try and fix her endless string of fuckups will be for nothing.
She could take it with her, wait until the dust settles and sneak back into SDN to leave it for him. It's not a perfect solution, but she decides it's the best option she has. Let them come after her, she knows how to stay hidden. As long as he doesn't have it, he'll be safe.
Fatigue overwhelms her all at once. Rather than keep fighting it, she lays down and closes her eyes. She can spare an hour or two for sleep before thinking about her next move.
Sleep comes quickly, but it doesn't bring relief. When she wakes up, she's just as exhausted as she was before, groggy and nauseated after a fitful rest. She's not even sure what woke her up until-
"What the fuck?" she bolts upright as a shockwave rattles the building. Outside her window, the night is lighting up with explosions, coming closer.
In an instant, she's wide awake, jumping to her feet and grabbing her bag. Finally picking up her phone, she forces herself to ignore the texts and missed calls from Robert. There's another message, an unknown number. She knows who it's from immediately, pieces falling into place all at once.
You've still got a chance to pay off your debt. You know what to do.
She throws her phone into her bag, leaving the message on read. He can interpret that however he wants. She yanks the dresser drawer open, grabbing the Pulse and, after a moment of hesitation, her tracker and earpiece.
Slipping all three into her jacket pocket, she picks up her bag and runs out of the room, almost running into Michelle coming out of her room.
"What the fuck is going on?"
"I don't know." It's not a total lie. She has a good idea of what's happening, but doesn't know the specifics.
"We need to get out of here," Michelle stumbles down the hallway towards the door, grabbing her keys. "Driving's probably safer than public transit, right?"
"Relatively speaking, yeah," she agrees, following Michelle out of the apartment and down the stairs. Outside, she pauses. A left turn will take her to the parking lot, Michelle's car, and whatever is waiting for her anywhere else. A right turn will take her towards SDN, the team, and him.
"Are you coming?"
She considers her options, but there's really only one choice. "No, I can't. You should get out of here. Be careful, okay?"
Michelle looks surprised, but doesn't argue. "Yeah, you too." Then she's gone.
Courtney takes a deep breath, and turns right.