Chapter Text
Flambae was having a good day. He was in a good mood. The shift was going well until— fucking David.
Of course, this was technically his own fault. What had he expected to happen? He was dating an accountant, for Christ’s sake. An accountant named David. A strict, ethical vegetarian who wore tailored khakis to the office because they made his ass look good.
Tailored khakis— as if that didn’t scream boring, bland, and deeply insecure.
Still, David had a nice car and great taste in Italian restaurants, and most importantly, stability– which was the whole point. That was what Flambae had been looking for. What he had wanted when he entered this bland-as-white-bread relationship.
Was it fun? No. Was it exciting? No. Was he happy? Also no. But when he told his sister about his straight-laced, I-do-my-taxes-on-time boyfriend, she’d been overjoyed. More so when he promised he’d let them meet sometime in the near future.
“We’ll get together. Go get coffee or drinks or some shit. You know, Applebees has one-dollar margaritas,” he’d said, as if he’d ever been to fucking Applebees in his life.
Apparently, Sarah had a better idea. Days later, she sent him info about Lily’s dance recital with a clear emphasis on the fact that he could bring a plus one. A totally beige and bland, responsibly normal plus one.
Chad told David. David said it sounded like a riveting time (because only David the fucking accountant would use the word riveting). They made plans. They agreed on dinner afterwards.
Blah, blah, blah. Basic, basic, basic. He’d endure, through gritted teeth, to make his sister happy.
Then—
“I’m sorry. I should have said this sooner, but I can’t go to the recital with you. It’s such a big commitment, and I think we’re moving too fast. Maybe we should take a break? Cool off for a while?”
“The fuck?” Flambae said out loud, having just stepped into the HQ lobby. He stared at the screen for a while longer, brain not totally computing, before sputtering again. “The fuck?”
“What’s the matter, babe?” Prism asked, sliding her hand across the frame of his shoulders as she stepped past. “Got a problem?”
“One big fucking problem,” Flambae whistled through his broken teeth. He was still getting used to the sound after his encounter with the washed-up remains of Mechaman. “I think my ass just got dumped.”
“No shit?” Prism stopped dead. She stared at him as if trying to decide if he was joking or not. “You? Dumped?”
“Like last week’s Thai takeout.”
“By that bitch ass accountant?”
“By that bitch ass accountant.”
“Damn,” Prism sucked in a breath, wincing for his sake. “I don’t know if that’s a lucky break or fucking embarrassing. Guess you were just too hot for him to handle, huh? Told you office dudes were a drag. Don’t know why people have so many fantasies…?”
She trailed off, pressing her perfectly manicured nails to her cheek.
Flambae shook his head. It wasn’t like he had any misconceptions about what this was. He’d only been seeing David casually for a little over a month. They’d gotten dinner a few times, gone out for drinks, and made out in his car once. It wasn’t anything serious, and he wasn’t broken up about the fact that they had… well, broken up.
Really, the only thing he’d miss was the padded seats in David’s Audi and the passing thought he had about banging the man on his accounting desk.
And of course, having someone to go to his niece’s dance recital with. Or, more specifically, having someone to introduce to his sister at his niece’s dance recital to prove he was stable.
Fuck.
Chad knew what his sister would think. While not judgmental by nature, Sarah had dealt with his fuck ups long enough to no longer grant him grace. She was expecting him to show up with a quaint, well-adjusted man on his arm, and dammit, Chad was going to do that… as soon as he found one. Because the alternative was to admit defeat, and if there was one thing the great Flambae never did, it was admit defeat.
“So,” he hummed, leaning over Prism’s shoulder. She looked up at him with lips pursed, already expecting something stupid. “Since Mr. Pressed Pants is a bust, do you know any guys who’d be free tonight?”
“Damn, you on the rebound that quick?” Prism snickered.
“Of course not. Rebounding is for losers. I don’t need a man to make me happy,” he insisted. “But what I do need is for my sister to not think I’m some villainous douchebag who can’t keep a steady relationship.”
“Sarah breathing down your neck again, huh?”
Although not lacking sympathy, Prism nodded in understanding.
“Makes sense. She’s got that baby to think about, and as much as I love you, Bae, you don’t have the best track record.”
Like a fucking boyfriend is going to make me a better person. Chad wanted to argue, but he knew that wasn’t the point. Stability was. Knowing that he wasn’t running wild, going off the rails, spiraling down again.
He could still hear Sarah's voice crackling over the phone after his arrest. “What were you trying to do? Get yourself killed?! What am I supposed to think? What would Lily think?”
It wasn’t until he’d spent a good long time in a cell, reflecting on his behavior— and maybe, just a little plotting his revenge against Mechadick— that he realized how much he’d hurt them. How much pain he’d put Sarah and Lily through, and how close he was to losing what little good he had in his life.
That’s the reason he joined the Phoenix Program. That’s why he wanted to do better. Not just for himself, but for his family, too. Which meant being a stable, productive member of society. And productive members didn’t get dumped the day of by stuffy, stick-up-their-ass accountants.
“I’m supposed to go to Lily’s dance recital tonight, and I was supposed to introduce Sarah to my boyfriend,” Chad sighed, pressing his fingers to his temple.
“Well, I’d help if I could, but one, I’m a woman, and two, all the dudes I know would make Sarah less likely to let you see Lily. My entourage is full of freaks,” Prism emphasized as if that was the least bit helpful. “But… if you’re really stressed about it, and you don’t mind the crit hit to your reputation, ask one of these SDN dweebs to go with you. There are plenty of dudes around the office who I catch staring at you. I’m sure one of them would be game.”
“The office?” Flambae asked, incredulous.
He glanced around the lobby at the milling SDN workers in their bright blue button-ups, each one reeking of such high levels of mediocrity it nearly made him gag.
“Oh, and who would you suggest? Grandpa, who wants to scrap our whole team? Wet wipe boy once he gets finished scrubbing the toilets? Get real.”
“Or you could see if any of our lovely team members will bite the bullet. I mean, bat brains might be down if he gets something out of it. Know any good hookups?”
“I’d rather die than be caught dead with that flea-ridden bitch.”
“Flea ridden?” Prism mused. “Do… do bats have fleas?”
Chad didn’t get a chance to reply. Suddenly, there was an urgent beep to signal he was being dispatched again. Break was over, and thankfully, so was this abysmal conversation.
Later, he promised himself. He’d solved his date problem later.
Right now, he was more concerned with getting on scene before Robertson started bitching in his ear.
“Flambae, can you please focus on the mission?” Robert’s measured voice suddenly came over the comms. “Since it’s your, you know, job, and there are real lives at stake.”
Despite his lack of bite, Flambae fought the urge to roll his eyes.
“Seriously, Bob Bob. It’s a traffic jam, not a hostage situation.”
There was a pause, and then a sigh.
“Just get it cleared up as soon as possible,” Robert said. “It’s the last mission of the shift. Don’t make it too complicated.”
“Don’t make it too complicated,” Flambae mocked under his breath, but complied just for simplicity’s sake. Simplicity and his own sanity.
Shift was winding down, and despite keeping the thoughts away for most of the day, Chad’s mind was circling back to that stupid message from his stupid ex and… Prism’s stupid suggestion.
While it was still objectively the worst choice— like, the actual worst— he’d considered it.
First and foremost, he considered who would be willing. Golem was a no-go right off the bat. He wouldn’t fit through the auditorium doors. Punch Up, while crass, would probably be game if Coupe didn’t skewer him first. Sonor could, without a doubt, be bribed into it.
But willing didn’t equate to reasonable. After all, they were all ex-cons and ones who didn’t care to admit it either. Chad knew Sarah would be appalled if she heard even half the shit they spouted daily, and he wasn’t naive enough to believe they’d dial it down just because of social pressure.
Hell, he knew they wouldn’t.
So, that left him with no other option than the SDN office. He’d have to find someone responsible. Someone normal. Someone who wouldn’t fuck this up…
“Alright, team. That’s a wrap for today. Decent work out there,” Robert said, and Chad hissed out a sigh.
Because he was considering it. Against every natural urge in his body, he was seriously considering it.
“So, you figure out your little dance recital situation? Because it looks like you’re about to do something stupid,” Prism said once they made it back to HQ. Her locker clattered closed as she snatched her bag from the hook. “Are you riding solo and hoping she doesn’t ask or…?”
“I have an idea,” Chad said simply, refusing to elaborate.
Prism waited for more of an explanation before letting out a snort. “Whatever you say, Bae. Just make sure you send me the dets later. I wanna know how it goes.”
And then, she was gone, strutting out the door and leaving him to his own devices. Chad steeled himself as he closed his own locker. Shoulders set, he took a breath.
“Let’s do this,” he mumbled and made his way to the dispatcher cubicles.
As far as he knew, Robertson was always one of the last people to leave the office. Either he was busy shooting the shit with Chase, lapping at Blonde Blazer’s heels, or walking— more like waddling— that overweight dog of his before heading home. Knowing that, Chad figured he had more than enough time to corner the man and strong-arm him into being his plus one for the night.
All it would take was two minutes. One question. Ask Robert. Ensure he said yes. Go to the recital. Impress his sister. Boom, done.
Yet… Chad made it halfway down the hall before his confidence fizzled out like a cheap sparkler.
What the hell am I doing? He wondered, because the fuck? How was this a good idea? This was Robert Robertson he was talking about. He worked with the man. He had to deal with him on a daily basis. He’d never live this down.
Groaning under his breath, Chad pivoted towards the breakroom instead, self-doubt winning out over his confidence. The smell of burnt coffee filled his nose as he pulled out a chair and flopped down, hands scrubbing over his face.
He could hear them all now. His team members would find it hilarious.
Oh, who knew Flambae liked normies, they’d say. If Mr. Dispatcher can get action, anyone can, they’d mock. On and on. Blah, blah, blah…
His blood boiled at the very thought.
“This is a terrible idea,” he muttered.
Chad should have just given it up. He should have just accepted his sister’s disappointment. He should have made an excuse, said he had the flu, changed his name, and skipped town to save himself the whole-hearted fucking embarrassment because he was this close, this close, to actually asking…
And as if fate wanted to hold him over the fire a little more, there he was. Robert Robertson, dispatch normie in all his glory, walking past the break room towards the SDN lobby. Robert, in his stupid fucking button-up that clashed against his reddish hair with sleeves bunched at the elbows. Robert, whose nose was buried in his phone, tapping away at the screen with one hand as that pudgy, asthmatic dog followed at his heels.
What breed was it again? A corgi? A chihuahua? No, that couldn’t be right. The thing was too big for such a small breed.
Whatever the case, its ears perked up as it passed the break room, eyeing Chad with those big, thoughtless eyes. Did it really see him? Probably not. The damn thing was so empty-headed it barely knew it was alive, let alone that anyone else existed unless they were actively feeding it or rubbing its belly.
Still, the sudden stop of its padded feet caught Robert’s attention. He paused, looked up, and met Chad’s glare.
“Oh,” he said, tone colored slightly with interest. It was only a minor change from the usual, dull passivity he used during most of their dispatch shifts. “Flambae? What are you still doing here?”
“As if that’s any of your fucking business, bitch. What are you? The break room police? I’m not allowed to sit here without checking with you first?”
“No,” Robert hesitated for half a second. “But usually when shifts are over, you and the team can’t wait to get out of here. So… what? No plans tonight?”
“If this is some sort of invitation, save your breath. I don’t date normies,” Chad spat, and nearly winced at his own contradiction, as if that wasn’t exactly what he had been thinking.
Talk about hypocritical, he inwardly sighed, but Robert didn’t miss a beat.
“And I don’t date flaming douchebags,” he countered. “But that doesn’t answer my question. What’s wrong?”
Wrong? Chad leaned back, rolled his eyes, and whistled a deep breath between his broken teeth because seriously? Were they really doing this?
“Look, I’m not much on sob stories–”
“And I’m not much on hearing them,” Robert chuckled.
“But my sister invited me to my niece’s dance recital. It’s supposed to be a big deal or whatever. She wanted me to show up, behave, introduce my boyfriend, all that good shit…,” he trailed off, trying to delay the inevitable. Gritting out the words was harder than chewing metal. “Until that asshole flaked on me. The day of, of fucking course.”
“Really?” Robert seemed genuinely surprised.
“Bowed out like a bitch.”
“Wow, talk about a dick move.”
“Right?! Tell me about it! That’s what I get for seeing an accountant.” That stuffy prick.
“Well, career choices aside, I’m sorry that happened to you. It really sucks. But why are you still here again? I mean, I know it’s a shitty thing to do, but you can still go, right? I’m sure your niece would be more than happy to see you, by yourself or not.”
Chad furrowed his brow because, of course, she would. Lily was always happy to see him. But that wasn’t the problem, and Robert’s clear inability to see that, despite a lack of insight, was pissing him off.
“Yeah, like that isn’t fucking pathetic. Showing up alone after I promised to bring a date. Not to mention how thrilled Sarah will be to hear I got dumped again. Paints a wonderful picture of a stable adult, don’t you think?” He spat and then, a little quieter, mumbled to himself. “Thirty-six fucking years old and I can’t even keep a date…”
Hearing that, the dispatcher seemed to soften. His expression shifted, the corners of his lips ticking up into an almost apologetic smile before he nudged Beef out of the way with his foot and stepped forward. He reached out with his hand.
“Hey, some people are just dicks, alright? That has nothing to do with you. You can’t-”
“Duh! Of course it’s not my fault! Tell me something I don’t know! I’m fucking great!” Chad smacked his hand away before Robert could truly give him the cliche buddy-buddy, it’s-going-to-be-okay shoulder pat. “The problem is my sister has expectations and if I don’t meet them…”
He didn’t bother to finish.
Robert frowned. “Invite someone else.”
“Yeah, like who?”
“I’m sure you know other men.”
“Other men? What’s that supposed to mean?” Chad’s brow pinched.
“Nothing. I just meant you seem pretty popular. Or there’s always the team. In fact, it might be a good trust-building exercise.”
Chad scoffed, both at the suggestion and the fact that they’d circled back to the option he was trying to avoid.
He wanted to shut that shit down real quick, to say he’d already been stupid enough to consider that and realized it was a horrible idea, but now Robert was thinking. Really thinking as his lips pursed and eyes squinted, weighing options and outcomes. It was something Chad noticed he’d do quite often–- work through situations in his head. The sight of it made him want to roll his eyes, but in some ways, it was better than listening to someone spout off the cuff, bullshit all the time.
Robert Robertson may have been bland as white bread and a bitch to work with, but at least he was thoughtful. Sarah would appreciate thoughtful.
She would appreciate that he wasn’t an ex-con, too. And that he had a stable job, an apartment, a dog– if that fuzzy Pillsbury dough boy could actually be considered one. Either way, responsibility was responsibility, and obviously, Robert made sure he was well fed.
“-and honestly, Sonar’s not a bad choice as long as you keep the conversation away from Crypto and make sure no one’s selling coke in the bathroom. Or Punch Up. You’d have to sit in the front row, but-”
“Shut up.”
“Excuse me?” Robert tilted his head. Clearly, his half-heard suggestions were serious, but Chad didn’t want to listen.
Not when he was already out of his chair, hands planted on his hips, and bending down to meet Robert’s eyes.
“Congratulations, Bob Bob.” He proudly pronounced. “You just won yourself an exclusive evening with the fantastic Flambae.”
“I... did?” Robert asked. “Are you serious?”
“Unfortunately, yes. I need someone who isn’t going to embarrass me, and although I’d rather swallow glass than spend the night with your boring ass, that’s the one thing I trust you won’t do.”
Because Robert Robertson is, as Chad knows in the deepest part of his brain, a good guy. Robert Robertson is stable. Robert Robertson is safe. And so, for at least tonight, Flambae’s reputation is in his hands.
“And, uh, what if I say no. What if I don’t want to?”
“Then that’s your choice,” Chad said flippantly. “But you better believe I will make our next shift a living hell. For everyone involved, but especially you.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Robert deadpanned.
“Try me.”
For a moment, the two men were at an impasse. Again, Chad could see the internal struggle playing out across Robert’s face. Was it worth the fight? Did the pros outweigh the cons?
“Alright, I’ll go with you,” he sighed, already exhausted by the thought. Gently, he reached down and plucked Beef off the floor, cradling him in his arms. He scratched the dog behind the ear, almost as if to distract himself from the reality of what he’d just agreed to. “But there’s a condition.”
“A condition? What kind of condition?”
“If we’re doing this, you have to be on your best behavior. Because I’m not going to spend the whole night being insulted.”
“Bitch, I’m always on my best behavior,” Chad snorted, and Robert frowned, seeming to regret every life choice that had brought him here.