Chapter Text
The sound of an alarm, shrill and blaring, could be heard echoing inside the desolate (or, as Robert would like to call it, minimalist) and sad excuse of a bedroom. Eyes still closed, a hand blindly grasped at the space next to him for the nonexistent alarm clock, only to pause midair upon realizing that the noise was coming directly from the back pocket of his pants.
With a low grumble, Robert reached for his phone and finally turned off the alarm—God, did it sound like thrashing metal to his ears for some reason. He cracked one eye open and immediately regretted doing so; the cheap blinds from the apartment did absolutely nothing to stop the exceptionally bright rays the sun was emitting. Instead, it amplified whatever shitty ailment that seemed to befall him today.
“Fuck, it’s way too early to be dealing with this.” He sighed, mentally taking note of the unusual hoarseness of his voice and the throbbing ache around his temples that was now forming. Robert harshly rubbed both eyes, stopping once spots began to dance around. “Whatever, gotta power–heh–through it…not like I can call off given my…”
Robert trailed off, surveying the empty ramen cups and frozen food packages scattered aimlessly in one corner and the pile of unwashed clothes on the other. At the periphery of his vision, he could make out the overflowing garbage coming from the tiny wastebasket, crushed beer cans dangling precariously on the top and threatening to fall.
Okay, he knew life after a forced retirement from Mecha Man had been, suffice to say, bad…but since when had it hit rock bottom? To the point where he couldn't even bother cleaning up his space? Shards of shame and self-loathing pierced Robert as he continued looking around, eyes darting back and forth to genuinely take in the state of his room. Thoughts frantically raced through his mind as he unconsciously curled into himself even further.
How–no, why did I let this happen? I’m in my thirties for fuck’s sake. Am I truly incapable of taking care of myself? I knew taking up on Blonde Blazer’s offer was the best possible choice at the time and I don't regret it but…
“Is being a dispatcher still not enough for me?” Robert mumbled out loud to the company of no one, absentmindedly picking at a healing scab sustained from a fight against the staircase (don’t ask) to his apartment. “The company’s funding the suit, I’m actually enjoying my job, and the Z-team…well, our relationship could be better, but I’m not dead…yet, so that must mean something, right? I should be feeling content and happy and—"
A quiet whine snapped him out mid-ramble. Looking down to his left was Beef, his rotund-shaped furry buddy, who was currently prodding at Robert’s leg with his snout and was also the closest thing he could call his best friend—and wasn’t that also a sad thought to think about?
Sacrificing social relationships because he considered his duties as a superhero far more important, spending every single penny of his inheritance with the fervor desperation to keep the Mech suit–no, his identity–alive…and look where that got him. Leading a misfit team of villains-turned-superheroes who probably didn’t give a single fuck about his well-being and–
Get it together, Robert.
“Alright, that’s enough!” He smacked both hands against his cheeks, slightly hissing at the stinging aftermath but feeling more awake nonetheless. Beef yipped in surprise from the sudden noise before trotting away to the kitchen area. “No self-deprecating thoughts will be tolerated at 6 A.M. on a Monday; I need to get ready for my shift.”
Stretching and upon hearing the satisfying popping of joints, Robert stood up slowly from the plastic chair he called his bed. While the tension in his muscles began to ebb away from the stretches, it did nothing to stop the small stumble as he made his way to the bathroom nor the obvious twinge of pinch nerves concentrated from the nape to his lower back, limbs protesting with every movement. Months spent in a coma had really done numbers. Atrophied muscles, permanent scars, and chronic pain—it had took a while for him to accept that his body (and mind) would never be the same after the explosion.
As he finished brushing his teeth, Robert chanced a look of himself with the mirror and could only grimace at what greeted him.
The stiff fabric of his SDN uniform clung awkwardly and uncomfortably to his skin, its crispness now marred with wrinkles and folds. A faint smell from yesterday still lingered: stale coffee, burnt remnants of a coworker’s ire (thanks Flambae), and the undeniable trace of exhaustion. One sleeve was rolled up to his elbows while the other had come unloose, giving him the impression of someone who was tethering halfway between “ready for work” and “ready to give up.”
So what if he had slept in his uniform from…the night before. It happens every now and then to even the most impenetrable; rather, it was the sight of himself that surprised Robert the most.
Brown strands of hair stuck out in every direction. There was a sickly pallor to his skin, which made the usual bags beneath his eyes appear more pronounced than normal, almost bruise-like. Squinting closely, Robert could make out a thin sheen of sweat that clung to his face, and the flush in his cheeks only contributed to the sickly appearance. His lips were pale and chapped, moving slightly as he exhaled in shallow, uneven breaths that whistled faintly through his nose.
A faint tremor went through Robert as he gently rubbed at his temples, and when he blinked, it felt slow, deliberate—as if the smallest of movement required effort.
“Yeah, I look and feel like absolute shit.”
He winced, rubbing at his throat. Talking was also starting to hurt.
For a moment, Robert braced both arms against the sink and stared up at the ceiling, weighing his options. He could call Chase and have him cover his shift, because despite all the quips and jabs they made at each other, he knew the man had a soft spot for him (and Beef). However, there was an insistent nudge from the back of his head that suggests doing so would result in disaster and a permanent headache…
…Or he could just man up and complete the shift because if Robert was able to somewhat get by life alive and well without any help, then he sure as hell was able to finish a typical corporate work schedule with no problem.
I’ll just take some Tylenol, cough drops, and pray for a miracle, he decided. Knowing that the wrinkles on his uniform was a lost cause, Robert went to adjust his collar and sleeves, ignoring the shakiness of his hands. He gave a final look over in the mirror, a tight-lipped smile gracing his mouth.
An effort to convince himself and the world that he was completely fine.
It was a valiant act, this performance of being “okay”, fueled sheerly out of stubbornness and defiance. But he supposed it was only human of him to not want to let even a sliver of vulnerability slip through—this raw baggage of fragility and burdens he had carried with him for the past years, a stark refusal to share.
And, well, he’d like to keep it that way thank you very much.
Stepping out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, Robert reached down to give Beef some well-deserved belly rubs before rummaging through the cupboards. Humming quietly–a tune that sounded suspiciously like one of Prism’s songs–he grabbed a tin and scooped out the dog food. Turning around, he placed the plate down in front of Beef and looked on amusedly at the sight of him quickly scarfing the meal down.
“I hope you know that half of my paycheck goes into your luxury and comfort.” He joked lightly, grinning as Beef all but graced him with a loud “woof”, tongue lolling out as if in agreement.
You’re one of the best things to ever happen to me. Robert didn’t say aloud, for fear of breaking down right then and there inside his shitty apartment. Instead, he sniffled.
Great.
Wiping his nose harshly against the sleeve of his shirt, Robert checked the time with his phone, almost dropping in surprise with what he was seeing.
He was running late.
“Well, fuck.”
Robert did not want to deal with the incessant nagging and teasing that’ll follow once he arrived, but it was too late to go back on his words. Grabbing the bottle of Tylenol on the countertop, he shook out a few pills and hurriedly downed them with a glass of water.
“C’mon buddy, I’m bringing you with me to work today.” He scooped Beef into his arms, chuckling as the dog excitedly licked his cheeks, and grabbed the keys.
Let’s hope this is just a cold and nothing more.