Chapter Text
"Do you feel better now?"
"What, after killing Shroud?"
A slow nod and head tilt from Mandy makes him think for a minute.
"No, actually. Not at all."
She gives him a nearly understanding smile, tipping her beer bottle towards him in acknowledgement. There isn't much else for him to say after that, and even if there was, it would have been cut off by the team trying to stop Sonar from being taken to prison. He decides to step in before his train of thought wanders to the pits he fears, stopping the officers and bringing Sonar over to the rest of the Z-Team.
Robert finds himself staring into the abyss during the majority of his shift, only refocusing on his job when he spots new calls coming in and only speaking to give his coworkers basic instructions. He can barely pay enough attention to listen to any of the banter happening amongst the Z-Team, only ever hearing bits and pieces of Flambae or Waterboy's comments. He can easily guess that there were remarks being made about his lack of focus.
First shift was over before he knew it. Chase's head pops over the divider of their cubicles, a look of equal concern and annoyance on his face.
"The fuck have you been doing all day? Giving the bare minimum and hoping your team can make up for it?"
Robert stares at him for a moment, unsure of what he could say that would make things easier for him. Anything is easier than having to explain what's been on his mind lately. He hates talking about anything related to Shroud, especially when it came to the corporate mandated therapy sessions he had to have twice a week for a month after the incident.
He supposes he should consider himself lucky that he wasn't fired and thrown into a cell immediately. He wondered if Mandy had to pull an insane number of strings in order to keep him from the line of fire. He tries to avoid the news when it relates to anything SDN. The rumors about a dispatcher killing Shroud never stopped swirling, and whenever he has to make a public appearance, he can feel the scrutiny of the reporters and viewers alike.
The Z-Team was smart enough to usually never bring it up around Robert. Even on the day it happened, they never said a word about it to him. He doesn't feel like they were judging him, but he knows that they had opinions on the matter. It just happens to be opinions that won't affect working with him. Who would this batch of ex-convicts (and Herman) be to judge a man for killing his worst enemy?
"Just been thinking."
"About what? Shroud? He's dead now, plain and simple. Doesn't do you any damn good to be thinking about it."
Robert stands up faster than he usually would, slamming a hand on his desk in order to not immediately topple over. Chase watches from his spot above the divider, but keeps his mouth shut about it. After taking a minute to let the floaties in his vision clear up, Robert snatches up his mug and turns to head in the direction of the break room. Chase lets him leave, not wanting to spark anything in front of the whole dispatcher office.
Robert stares at the wall as the coffee machine works its magic, slowly dripping a mediocre energy booster into the pot. He wishes that some bland tasting coffee will make him feel less spacey, but he would never get his hopes up that much. Especially over SDN approved coffee.
A blur of orange and black enters his line of sight, and he slowly trails his eyes up Flambae's chest until he meets the fiery man's own. He realizes a moment too late that this could easily be mistaken for ogling the man.
"What? You need an eyeful to get you back to doing your fucking job?"
Flambae seats himself into the plastic chair across from Robert with enough force to make Robert surprised he didn't break the chair. Flambae was glaring at him, studying his face and trying to figure out what the hell was interfering with his job. If Robert was insane, which could very well be the case, he would swear that there was a flicker of concern in the other man's eyes. Robert sighs and leans back in his chair, deciding to stare at the ceiling now instead of the wall.
"No, I think an 'eyeful' would just make me perform worse. It would scare me shitless."
Robert almost laughs at the offended look on Flambae's face.
"You should be honored to be able to look at me, bitch. What the fuck is up with your performance today? You haven't cracked a single joke or anything, haven't even tried to get us to stop arguing."
Robert wasn't even aware that his team had been arguing. He considers the thoughts trailing through his mind, and decides any of them would just bring him more questions. Silence might be the best idea.
Unfortunately for Robert, Flambae was a highly intelligent man. He easily sees through the attempt at making things awkward. He leans forward, lowering his voice a bit.
"You didn't hear any of it, did you?"
"Excellent observation skills, Flambae. Do you want a gold star? A pat on the back?"
"I want you to tell me what the fuck is wrong with you."
Robert laughs, then. A short, barked out laugh. Self-deprecating, if Flambae thinks about it for more than five seconds.
"I don't think you care nearly enough to get answers to that extremely loaded question. You don't like your state mandated therapy sessions, and I didn't like my corporate mandated ones. It won't get either of us anywhere."
"And what if I do? What if it does help? The whole damn team will just keep pestering you and pestering you until you answer at least one of us."
Robert kicks Flambae's leg under the table, causing the man to flare up, filling the room with an unbearable heat. Flambae stands up and slams his palms on the table between them, leaning as far forward as he could get without smashing their faces together.
"Real fucking mature. I'm trying to help you. Spare you from everyone else's stupid concerned glances. I know you hate that."
"Then you should also know that I'm not going to tell you jack shit, especially in the SDN breakroom."
"Grab your coat or something, then. I'm not leaving you alone until you tell me something that's bothering you. Maybe I can burn it down for you."
"Why do you care about the way I'm behaving, anyways? It's like you're trying to be a nice guy, or something. Completely out of character for you."
Flambae huffs, but says nothing, pushing himself away from the table and turning to investigate the now full coffee pot. The tips of his ears were burning unusually red. Robert's eyes widen for a second, and he uses the table as a stabilizer as he stands up.
"You are trying to be a nice guy, or something. Wow. That's like, a total honor. Huge step for you. Congratulations. Or maybe I should congratulate that therapist of yours?"
"Shut the fuck up. Are you seriously planning to drink this cheap shit?"
"I thought you wanted me to talk to you. And yes, I am planning to drink that cheap shit. It happens to taste pretty damn okay if you add enough creamer."
Flambae stares at the coffee pot with a vengeance.
"I refuse to let you drink that right now. Get your coat, for real. We're going for a walk."
Going for a walk, it turns out, meant 'get into my car because we aren't really going to walk and this coffee shop is too far out for that anyways' in Flambae's words. Robert has very few complaints. The man's car is warm, of course, because the man himself is warm. His aching bones relax quickly once he finds himself in the passenger seat of the fiery man's recently repaired car.
Flambae turns the radio on to some sort of classic rock station, and, noticing the way Robert was observing the interior of his car, immediately goes on a tangent about how difficult it was to get the damn thing repaired. Having a massive, depressed alien use your car as a temporary bed must have been infuriating. Robert smirks at the thought.
Robert was mostly listening to whatever Flambae was saying, but he had nothing to contribute to the conversation. He finds himself thinking more about the current situation. He was in the car of a man that typically does not like him, the man that he had damaged multiple times in the past. They were going to get coffee at some nice coffee shop that Flambae recently started going to. He was listening to Flambae talk about random car shit.
It felt... domestic? Robert shakes his head to try and clear it.
"What the fuck." He mutters to himself.
"Hm? What's that, Bobert?"
"Nothing. Just realized how absurd this is."
"Like, your life in general? Or right now?"
"Uh, both, actually. But mostly right now. I'm in your car, listening to you talk about random car shit. You don't even like me very much. We're going to get coffee somewhere. What the fuck?"
Flambae drums his fingers on the steering wheel, the gears slowly turning in his head as he listens to Robert. He can see the exact moment where they lock into place.
"Shit, you're right. This is totally absurd. But I am not turning around until we get some actually good coffee."
"You know, if I wasn't starting to think I'm just losing my entire fucking mind, I would think that you actually like talking to me. Sometimes."
"Both might be true."
"Elaborate."
"You are losing your entire fucking mind, and sometimes I do actually like talking to you. Just sometimes. Don't get too worked up over it. Sometimes, I even like talking to Waterboy, of all people."
"Oh, you probably just want to psychologically torment him. Be nice to him. He's a sweet guy."
It was interesting to Robert that the fiery man would willingly bring up Waterboy, someone he typically finds annoying or pathetic. Robert is starting to think he really hasn't been paying attention to anything for the last few weeks. Maybe there was a development that he missed?
"He basically drools at the idea of helping you with something, of course you'd think he's sweet. He's such an easy target, why wouldn't I want to take advantage of that?"
"Hm, you sure there isn't something else about him you want to be taking advantage of?"
Flambae coughs, which quickly shifts into laughter. Robert watches the way his shoulders shake as he laughs. He notices the glint of a golden tooth. That must have been recent, he thinks. He'll secretly be mourning the tooth gap.
"He is way too afraid of me for that. Believe it or not, I would never just launch myself at a guy."
"That's good, then. I won't have to worry about him getting crushed like a bug or anything. Safe from your talons."
"My talons could treat him way better than anyone else he'd ever meet."
"I'm not so sure about that. You're down a couple." Robert leans back into the seat, not realizing how far forward he had been sitting the whole ride.
The temperature of the vehicle rises significantly for a minute, and then slowly simmers back down to how it was. Robert almost thought that the other man was about to have a fit of road rage from the combined effort of Robert's remark and the slow ass driver he was stuck behind. Luckily, it seemed that he treasured his car enough to know better.
"And who's fault is that? You should be taking way more responsibility for that, you know."
"Well, it's not like I owe you child support for something like that. Though, I have thought about working with Royd to make you some prosthetics. You'd have to be cooperative for it, though."
"That sounds totally badass. I would gladly cooperate to have robot fingers. Even though I'd rather have my actual fingers."
"A couple years too late for that."
Flambae huffs and takes a hard right turn, sending Robert directly into his door with a loud thud.
"Hey! You better not drive like a jackass with your 'freshly repaired baby.'"
"What? We're here now. I would never do such a thing."
Flambae pulls into a parking space with ease, wasting no time in getting out of the car. He resists the temptation to just lock Robert in the car and get him whatever he felt like. Maybe, just maybe, he'd have another opportunity for this. Once Robert steps out and closes his door, Flambae locks the car and starts walking towards the small, extremely modern building.
"From the building alone, this is going to be either the best or worst coffee of my life."
"Why the fuck would I take you to a shitty coffee shop? And why would Alice take me to a shitty coffee shop?"
"I had a feeling she was the one that brought you here first. Maybe she just wanted a second opinion, or something to make a.. scalding review on."
Flambae elbows Robert for the terrible pun. He laughs with a smug little grin that Flambae would have to wipe off his face some day.
As they enter the shop, one of the baristas gives an unfocused greeting, currently trying to get the espresso machine to stop being a monster. Robert observes the interior, not feeling one way or another about the extremely sleek design of everything. He warily eyes the menu, which contains far too many specialty drinks for his mind to comprehend, before turning his gaze to the unruly espresso machine.
"You need help with that?"
The barista unintentionally slams their hand on the surface of the machine before turning around.
"Huh? Oh, uh, I don't think customers are supposed to do that?"
"There won't be many customers to have if that thing doesn't work."
They pause, a thoughtful look on their face, turning to look into the back room for a second.
"My coworker is even worse at fixing this thing than I am. If you think you can do it, go ahead."
They back away and let Robert shuffle behind the counter, watching him cautiously as he studies the machine. He opens something to get access to the insides of the machine, and investigates the tool selection that was gathered on the counter nearby. Flambae watches Robert closely, finding it weirdly appealing to watch him do something he actually enjoys. From everything he's gathered, Robert's moments of genuine joy or peace are few and far between. If fixing an espresso machine makes him happy, then so be it.
Robert makes use of the screwdriver a couple times, but mostly uses his hands to move things around in the machine's insides. He closes the hatch that he opened and gently smacks the top of the machine. An awful squealing sound comes from the machine for a few seconds, but soon stops. The barista perks up as soon as the sound stops.
"Woah! You actually fixed it? You're amazing. What can I get you?"
"Uh-"
"An iced cherry americano for him. Mocha for me."
"Coming right up, on the house!"
"Wha-?"
"Trust me, it's good."
"Then why are you getting something else? Trying to poison me?"
"I've been wanting to try a mocha from here. The stuff they use here tastes way different than most shops. They use a lot of flavorings that have spices built in."
"Sure, sure. I totally believe you. You would never try to poison me."
"Not at this point in time. If only I had thought about that sooner.."
Robert laughs and elbows Flambae, who fakes a pout and shuffles over to where their drinks would be ready.
Robert once again finds himself staring into the abyss, though this time the abyss is a blindingly white coffee shop wall. The conversation they had in the breakroom flashes back into his mind, as do his thoughts of Shroud. Maybe, just maybe, Robert Robertson will try and talk about things with someone who might understand it. Most of the Z-Team would have a better understanding than Mandy or the therapist he had, but he wouldn't tell just anyone there either.
Robert's drink is finished first, but Flambae doesn't even bother trying to get his attention until his drink is ready too. A gentle nudge against his shoulder snaps him back into reality, yanking him off of that bloody rooftop. He tilts his head up to meet Flambae's eyes, which he regrets. There is way too much concern in the other man's gaze for his liking. He reaches for his drink, moving quicker to grab it when he notices the way Flambae tenses, about to pull his drink away from him.
"Hey. You can't take me out for coffee and then not give me my coffee."
"Well I was gonna wait until we got to my car. Might've even opened your door for you because I am such a gentleman. But now you can open your own fucking door."
It was said lightly, there was no actual malice in his words. Robert huffs with amusement, heading towards the door and holding it open for his companion. Flambae prances out the door, pulling his car keys out of the dip in his suit.
"What the fuck."
"What is it now, Bobert?"
"I forgot you don't have any pockets. Did you seriously just have your keys stashed in your suit? This whole time?"
"Yes."
"That's fucked."
"Pockets would ruin the look."
"I think the look ruins itself just fine."
Flambae snarls at him, kicking his ankle just like Robert had done to him in the breakroom.
"Ow, fucker."
"Not as funny when it's you?"
"Unfortunately, no. Unlock your car, it's cold out here."
Flambae makes no further comment, simply doing as he's told. They each climb into the car, and Robert carefully sets his americano in one of the cupholders. He hates to admit it, but Flambae's choice for him was perfect. He'd have to try this again somewhere else and hope it tasted just as good.
"It's Shroud, by the way."
"Hm?"
"The thing that's been distracting me lately. It's Shroud."
"I'm sure someone has already told you this like five different times, but he's dead, man. What keeps making you think about him?"
"Well aware that he's dead. Pretty fucking sure I was at the scene of that crime. It's like he's just.. haunting me. Especially at night, after work. Doesn't usually bother me so much at work, so this has been weird. I don't like that it's fucking with the way I do things."
"I guess it would be pretty haunting. He killed your dad, threatened your dog, shot your friend. Kidnapped you and had your ex-coworker torture you. Yeah. He's gone but his actions are felt forever? That sort of thing?"
"Maybe you should be a therapist. Hm, no, that would be stupid. Scratch that."
"I would rather gouge my fucking eyes out than listen to anyone's troubles outside of this team and my family. Wouldn't do me any good to set stupid patients on fire, either."
"Yeah, definitely not. You'd have to do the Phoenix Program shit all over again."
"Hell no. Keep talking."
"Words aren't exactly my specialty. I don't know. It isn't even any of that that's been bothering me recently. It's what I did to him that day that keeps haunting me. Like I've been falling off the hinges and that was where I landed. I even told Chase way before the crazy shit started that I didn't want to kill him. Don't know why I did it."
"If it's any consolation, which it's probably not, I would have done much worse to him if I was you. Especially after he threatened the dog. That guy is like, your entire life force."
"Oh, I'm sure most of you would have done the same thing I did. It's funny, I give you all pep talks about how being good is the shit, and then I go and strangle a man on a roof in front of all of you. Real good role model."
"You solved the problem before it got worse. It would have been you dead on some roof somewhere else if he was only arrested."
"That's one way to think about it, I guess."
Flambae was thinking of another way to poke into Robert's thoughts when both of their phones started buzzing rapidly. Robert wrestles his out of his coat pocket, answering a call from Mandy, while Flambae checks the Z-Team group chat to see what was happening. Robert decides to put Mandy on speaker so that Flambae also gets whatever intel she has.
"Robert, where are you? Have you heard anything from Waterboy?"
"Getting coffee somewhere. I haven't heard anything from him, no. Let me double check."
Robert checks Waterboy's contact info and does notice something out of the ordinary. It wasn't a message, but the janitor-turned-hero had sent Robert his location. Odd, what would he need that for?
"Actually, yeah. He shared his location with me about twenty minutes ago. What happened?"
"I was hoping you knew. We lost contact with him completely right around twenty minutes ago. Where does that location put him at?"
Flambae gets his car started, staying quiet while Robert and Blazer tried to figure out what was going on. He was ready to book it to the location.
"Looks like he was heading towards that bakery he always goes to for lunch. It shows him in a closed off area behind the building. This looks like a kidnapping; he knows better than to go back there. Weird shit in those buildings."
"What the fuck bakery is it, Robert?" Flambae grumbles.
"Zola's. You've been there."
Flambae nods and pulls out of the parking spot they were in.
"Oh, Flambae! I'm glad that you're with him. Do you want me to send any of the others to the location? Malevola, maybe?"
Flambae turns to look at Robert while they're stopped at a light. The fury in the dispatcher's eyes plus the conversation they had literally just been having gives him a reassuring feeling.
"No, Blazer, I think we'll be fine. We're suuper caffeinated now. But you can send her in like, half an hour? For quicker transport."
"Alright, can do. Don't go too crazy in there. Get him back in one piece, okay?"
"Thanks, Blazer."
Robert decides to let her be the one to hang up.
"Hey, we need some sort of plan first. Entry point, all of that."
Flambae was trying to get him just calm enough that he wouldn't throw himself directly into a blade or bullet, but he knows he's feeling a similar amount of anger. How dare anyone try to lay hands on their favorite teammate?
Robert leans forward with the image of Waterboy's location, and the two start forming a plan on the way down.