Chapter Text
Robert Robertson, son of Robert Robertson (and son of Robert Robertson), could only hold his head in his hands, shoulders slumped, and give a deep, deep, sigh. The sigh came not from regret—no, certainly not regret—but rather from a well of exasperation that Robert was all too familiar from drawing upon ever since he’d signed on to be the Z-Team’s dispatcher.
He had dealt with Shroud, and all sorts of other super villains, reformed or otherwise, and so, so many HR violations on top of that, with only his perseverance and sarcasm and copious amounts of caffeine to get him through it. But this week—this goddamned never ending seemingly mundane unassumingly normal run of the mill week—was putting him through the wringer.
And thus, Robert sighed.
He knew he really, really shouldn’t have been surprised.
But. Flambae. Was. Just. So. Fucking. Unsubtle.
Monday.
“Oh man, that fight got wild!” Punch Up said, ever chipper. “So many nuts to punch! Like a trail mix of destruction!”
“That was fun,” Golem rumbled.
Robert tapped one of the buttons on his headset.
“Great work team,” Robert said. Three of the Z-Team had just wrapped up a successful call down at the docks. It might have been a Monday, but he was in a good mood. The team had had zero failures or missed calls that morning, the coffee in the office break room had been freshly brewed, and his morning breakfast of huevos rancheros had been delicious. “Nice job keeping the cargo intact as well. Bonus points if you guys make nice with the press out there.”
“Ha ha! Bonus. Bone us,” Punch Up giggled.
“I get it. Ha,” Golem said.
“I’d like some boning points,” Flambae spoke up. “I think I fucking deserve them, don’t you, Robert? Right? Like, you get it? The boning part, right?”
Robert cleared his throat. “Sure, right, yes, Flambae. I get the pun. Now you guys, fucking can it on the grade school humor before you go live.”
Tuesday.
“Hey, Robert! You see that? You see how I totally rocked that last mission?!” the hotheaded former villain excitedly chattered over the comm.
“Yep, way to go only burning down the parking lot and not the park next door,” Robert said. He tapped away on his keyboard, trying to open an encrypted locked door for Invisigal.
“Yeah! I totally fucking rocked that fucking shit! Just like I fucking rocked your fucking shit, Robert—”
Robert misclicked, and swore under his breath as his screen flashed red.
“What the hell?! Why’re you turning on the sprinklers?” Invisigal hissed from her location.
“Right, sorry,” Robert rushed. “Team, let’s keep the chatter clear. Focus on the missions.”
Wednesday.
“Mission complete, boss. Perp is down,” Malevola announced. “Also, this dude’s a total perv of a perp. He really needs to get some pants on.”
“Bro is way over confident to be rocking it in the nude, for sure,” Sonar chipped in.
“Oh please, I’ve seen yours. You’re not one to talk,” Malevola said.
“It’s called a matter of perspective,” Sonar said. “You just weren’t viewing it from the right angle. It's like a whole magic eye situation.”
Robert sighed. “Need I remind you, this is the team channel…”
“Hey, who do you think has the biggest hog on the team?”
He sighed again.
From across their respective dispatched locations in Torrance, the Z-Team all chimed in with their bets.
“Gotta be me. That witch shrunk me down, but she didn’t shrink all of me,” Punch Up said.
“I can affirm that,” Coupé said.
“My money’s on Phenomaman. There’s no way Blazer would have dated him otherwise,” Invisigal said.
“My genitalia are not measurable by human standards,” Phenomaman said.
“Guys, let’s get back on track…” Robert tried.
“What about mine? Mine’s the best. Yeah, got to be the biggest,” Flambae said.
“Bitch please,” Prism said. “Some bitches have big dick energy, and that definitely ain’t you bitch.”
“Oh yeah? My dick is fuckin’ awesome. Robert. Tell them how awesome it is,” Flambae said.
“What? Why Robert?” Prism asked, confused.
“The locker room,” Robert said quickly. “That’s the fun part of locker rooms. All that totally not awkward casual nudity.”
There was more back and forth over the comms as the team continued their ever increasingly graphic discussion of dicks that Robert tried to drown out with mission report details.
In the background, though, Prism could be heard wondering aloud, “Yeah, but why Robert?”
Thursday.
“Who the hell is this bitch?” He could hear Prism huff on her vape through the mic.
“New guy in town. Calls himself Gun-For-Face, ‘cause of the whole, you know, gun for a face. I’m sending you his file right now,” Robert said, quickly tapping through calls and scrolling through incoming data. Red Ring being destroyed had left a vacuum for the rest of the super villain gangs to fight over like a Hoover on sale on Black Friday. And apparently, they had all decided that Taco Thursday was too tame a day and had unofficially redubbed it Turf War Thursday.
“Bro, you forget me over here or what?” Sonar said over the comms. “Where was I supposed to go?”
“Right, I’ve got you, just a second,” Robert muttered. He rubbed his temple. “Waterboy, stay with Invisigal. Visi, stop trying to lose him. Golem, you’ll need to break down the door. Try not to take the entire wall down with it. Sonar, need you to fly south over to—”
A new alert red circle screamed at him from the digital overlay of the city. Robert tapped a button on his headset to switch channels.
“Galen, database is crashing again. Any updates? No? Great. Just great.”
Robert pressed the side of his headset again and switched back.
"...I'm stiiiilll waiting,” Sonar said.
“I know, I know,” Robert muttered, as yet another alert popped up on his screen. “Sonar, change of plans, head to the refinery to back up Malevola.”
And another alert appeared.
“Galen, I’m almost through, but this virus is being a serious dick about it.”
And another.
“Coop, absolutely zero casualties. It’s just a radio show appearance.”
Aaaand yet another.
“Phenomaman, it’s a turn of phrase. Those old ladies weren’t cannibals. They didn’t really thing you were sweet enough to eat.”
Robert wiped his brow. It was ridiculous how sweaty he could get sitting at a desk all day, but here he was, furtively glancing back and forth between missions, red alerts popping up across his screen like his computer acne on a teenager.
“Robert.”
Robert spun around in his chair. Flambae was standing there, amidst the hubbub of the SDN office floor.
“You got to fucking breathe, man, breathe,” Flambae said, hands on his hips, ignoring poor Mr. Whiskey trying to squeeze by.
“I am breathing. Otherwise, I would be dead,” Robert deadpanned. “Also, what are you doing here? You should be resting for your next mission.”
“Eh, I’m plenty rested,” Flambae said, stepping closer and placing his arm on the top wall of Robert’s cubicle. “Takes a lot more than a little fucking street scrap to wear me out. I’m like the energizer bunny, like, I can keep going and going.” He gave Robert a toothy grin that showed off his newer front tooth.
Robert sighed, and stood up to be eye to eye with the hot head.
“Great, then you can get back out there and help Punch Up round up that lost cat,” Robert said.
“I can do, like, so much, and you wanna waste me on some fucking pussy?” Flambae said, putting a hand flat across his chest. He gave a mock hurt expression, that quickly melted into that same grin again. “It’d be better if it was at least a donkey.”
“I want you to go do your job,” Robert said, refusing to bat an eye.
Flambae maintained his gaze for a moment longer, then somehow grinned even wider, before smacking Robert on the ass and turning to walk away.
Robert sighed—again—and sat down in his seat, hunching over so he wouldn’t accidentally make eye contact with Galen who was definitely watching them from the other side of the office.
Friday morning.
“You gonna eat all those twinks?” Sonar asked.
“Yep,” Robert said, already tearing into the box of twinkies he’d treated himself to from the corner gas station. Someone had broken the vending machine again, and like a responsible adult, he’d brought his own lunch to work. Day old chow mein went great with twinkies and beef jerky (he’d been trying to eat more well rounded meals).
The cellophane crinkled in his hands as he pulled down the wrapper and took a bite.
“Ah, that’s the good stuff,” Robert said.
The breakroom door swung open. Robert glanced up.
In strolled Flambae, head held high as usual, long dark hair swishing behind him as he sauntered over to the fridge, and grabbed his carton of leftovers. Robert braced for him to say something as he stepped next to his table, but instead, without saying a word, Flambae leaned down, grabbed the remains of the half eaten twinkie in Robert’s hands with his teeth, wrapped his lips around it, and swallowed it in one—before straightening up and walking back out the door.
“...what the fuck was that?” Sonar asked.
Friday night. Now.
Robert let out one last sigh—if there was a quota on sighs, he’d surely surpassed it those last few days alone—and hoped that the last of his weariness would be exhaled from his chest. He'd just like to make it to the weekend with at least some semblance of professionalism intact. Too much to ask for at the Torrance branch, he knew, but he idly wished it anyway as he adjusted his headset and sat up straight.
He reached over for the now cold mug of coffee Mr. Whiskey had made for him but stopped as his phone started buzzing.
He glanced at it, saw the ID, braced himself, and yet, still spat out his coffee when he unlocked the screen.
“Flambae!” Robert yelled into the headset.
“Yes, Robert?” Flambae said, sounding annoyingly calm.
“You cannot be serious. You’re on a mission. Why the hell are you sending dick pics right now?”
“Relax, Robert,” Flambae practically purred. “I do no such thing. I’m a professional; I’m not on a mission—I'm coming back from a mission.”
“Shut up, you know what I mean. Real heroes don’t whip out their cocks for their cameras on the job,” Robert said. When Blonde Blazer had offered him the position, he would never have believed he’d be saying something like that at a time like this. But then, he would never have believed lots of stuff that had happened since he joined SDN.
“I’m not crazy,” Flambae said. “I take pics at home and save them to send you later. Keep it fun for you, ya know?”
“This isn’t—” Robert glanced at his phone screen. He hoped Flambae couldn’t hear him swallow. “This isn’t the time for ‘fun’.”
Flambae tutted. “That wasn’t what you said last night. Or this morning. Or the night before last. Or the morning before—”
“Shut. Up.” Robert groaned.
“See, this is why you so tense all the time, Robert. Gotta loosen up, y’know? Lube can only do so much…”
“This is highly inappropriate,” Robert said.
There was a brief pause. He could see Flambae’s tracker stop a few blocks away from SDN.
“Why you don’t wanna talk about us, like, you got nothing to say to me even though you yapping in my ear all damn day, you know?” Flambae’s voice dropped lower in a way that made the back of Robert’s neck tingle.
Robert lowered his head slightly, mic close to his mouth as he kept his voice down. It was late at night, and the other cubicles were empty, but it still didn’t feel like he could raise his voice much with a lump in his throat.
“That’s not what… I don’t mean it like that,” Robert tried. “Look, it’s not that I don’t want to talk about…us. It’s just that…it’s complicated. With work, and the team, and everything. Okay?”
“I don’t know, man, I’m getting all these vibes from you. All hot and cold like, and I’m like the fire guy so I should know, you know? Like, fuck, you don’t like to talk, you don’t like to be seen together, you don’t like how I set the thermostat in your apartment…”
“I knew it. This was all about the thermostat,” Robert said.
“Of course it’s about the thermostat! You’d freeze to death in that sad little place of yours if it weren’t for me. You’re like, barely above a homeless person,” Flambae ranted.
Robert chuckled.
“Thank you for the concern. I suppose I am lucky you’ve been there to warm me up,” he said. He let out a breath, that was not quite a sigh—no, it was more of a happy sort of hum. “I know subtlety’s not really your thing…”
“I am so fucking subtle.”
“As subtle as a goddamn fireball.” He chuckled softly. “And I am very appreciative of you being so patient as I sort this shit out. It’s not ‘cause I don’t care. In fact…I think…it’s because I care a lot. About this. Us,” Robert said, and he felt oddly surprised at his own sincerity. “I just need to figure it out before shouting it from the rooftops, you know?’
It was Flambae’s turn to sigh.
“I know, I know. And you’re fucking welcome by the way,” Flambae said. “Like, fuck, I’m way hotter than any one else you could pull, ya know? You should be showing this fucking shit off.”
“Shhhhhh!”
“Shut up!” Robert said, suddenly lurching forward.
“Hey man, I know I have tonal issues sometimes but you don’t need to raise your voice, I thought we were having like a moment—”
“No, I mean shut up, like, what was that sound?” Robert paused, listening. And then he heard it again.
The faint tittering sound grew into the all too distinct and all too familiar sound of unfiltered cackling breaking through the comms.
“...Robert, you do know what the difference between red and green and blue is, right?” Invisigal’s voice carried through what Robert had presumed to be a private channel.
“Maybe the poor lad’s color blind.”
“Oooooh this is some hot shit! Y'all better pay up. I knew something was up between them.”
“Guys, I think I’m traumatized.”
“I can’t believe it. I thought he was fucking Phenomaman?”
“I have made love to Robert many times, but never have we engaged in intercourse.”
Robert didn’t sigh this time. Instead, he groaned, and slumped so low into his chair, his knees were almost touching the floor.
Invisigal spoke again, “This is like finding out your dad is fucking your arsonist adopted brother. So messed up.”
“See, Robert? I told you the team would go crazy about us! You and me, we are big news, we're like Zendaya and Tom—I'm Zendaya of course.” Flambae had the nerve to sound smug. "Now shut the fuck up everyone and mind your own fucking business!"
“You guys lost me twenty bucks. You better make up for it tonight.”
“Hey! Drinks on Robert tonight, and he can tell us how he and Flambae hooked up!”
“Yeah!”
Robert couldn’t take it anymore. He slid to the floor in defeat, the sound of cheers echoing from his headset.