Chapter Text
Stupid fucking vending machine. How much money have I put into you just for you to spit in my face? Is this ‘cause of the new glass? ‘Cause that wasn't my faul-
“I need to talk to you.”
“Fuck!” Robert exclaimed, his elbow slamming into the machine in his jumpyness. The soft thud of a twinkie package hitting the metal below followed.
“Jesus Christ, why are you so jumpy? You do know other people work here, yeah?” Flambae rolled his eyes and continued before Robert could reply. “How do you eat so many of those fucking things and still have a flat ass? I eat a fucking kit-kat once a week and gain five pounds.”
At this point Robert's heart rate had calmed enough for him to grab his aforementioned snack and reply to the man casually leaning against the doorframe to the break room. “Was that what you needed to talk about? Your cheat day and my ass?”
Flambae remained in his comfortable position though his neck tensed. Robert noticed.
“No, Robobitch. I wouldn't waste my time talking about your ass,” he smirked hatefully.
“Riiiight. But you would. You've mentioned my ass like five separate times in the last month, so…” Flambae opened his mouth to retaliate, but Robert sighed over him. “Is this about the cat? Listen, you and Waterboy were the only two available and there was a sewage leak downtown. Not to mention, cats don't like water,” he shrugged.
Flambae snorted. “Okay, couple things. One, Wetboy literally has cats,” Robert lets out a hmm in surprise. Both at Herman having cats and Flambae knowing about them. “Two, I also have a cat, so don't make that fucking face. And three, that's not what I came to talk about.”
“Okay,” Robert waited a moment for Flambae to continue, but they both just stared at each other. “What do you want to talk about?”
At that, Flambae's eyes took a nervous slant. “I uh would prefer somewhere more private.”
“No one else is here and,” he checked his watch, “we've got 15 minutes until next shift.”
Flambae placed his hands on his hips in annoyance. Robert continued staring in slight confusion.
“Oh for fuck's-” Flambae reached for the kitchenette counter and nabbed a napkin, crushed it into a ball and launched it at the corner of the room behind Robert.
“Hey!” Invisigal materialized, pissed at being caught. “Come on, man! I just wanted to hear the juicy goss’.” The makeshift ammo stuck at her shirt collar fluttered to the ground as her arms waved.
“More like start the juicy goss’, Invisibitch,” Flambae glared at the lightly panting woman.
“Don't fucking call me that.”
“Okay, okay,” Robert interjected before things got too heated, possibly literally with Flambae involved. “You're both pretty, now knock it off. Visi, stop going ghost in public spaces. Flambae, let's go to a conference room.”
Invisigal grunted and made to shove past Flambae on her way through the door. He sidestepped her before her shoulder connected. “No, it's whatever. I'll catch you another time, Bobby,” with a final look that Robert couldn't parse, the larger man followed behind the touchy woman.
What the hell was that about? Robert thought to himself. He chewed quietly on one of his two twinkies and took the other back to his desk. Chase and Beef greeted him, both with gusto, but one with far less vulgarity.
“Damn, you're scrawny, kid. Tell me you use that fucking kitchen in your apartment. Hell, tell me you at least got some fucking furniture in there. What's it been? Seven months working here? You better got a fucking futon or some shit.”
“Listen, old man, you're lucky to be at your desk without Blazer’s mobile life support.”
“And you're lucky my beefy-boy is here, otherwise I'd jump over this partition and beat your ass.”
“Uh huh,” Robert muttered as he sank into his chair, headset taking residence on his already indented hair.
Back into the fray.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The second shift of the day went surprisingly smoothly. The team had certainly developed a better sense of working together as opposed to one-upping each other - their success rate had gone up 20% in the last quarter - but there were more cases of blatant insubordination than Robert would care to have.
Even with the overall positive performances today, Robert felt a headache develop at his temples. His brain repeating the biggest fail of the day. Of course, it happened to be the final call.
”So me and the lad, then? Not bad,” Punch-Up loudly declared.
“Y-yeah go te- Go us! The two of us! The boys- lads! Yeah!”
“Alright, calm down before you tsunami.”
The “lads” were going on a mission to help a young man who had been seen getting jumped by a group of men shouting slurs. Robert hadn't wanted to send both men initially. Flambae had the best stats for this encounter, and frankly, Robert didn't want those fucks to walk away unscathed, but the hot-head was busy across town. Everyone else was either injured, resting, or gone for the day. So there they were sent.
“Can't wait to bash some bigot heads in, eh, kid?”
Waterboy spluttered, likely literally. “Definitely. But not- not actually, right? We aren't supposed to bash- beat them up are we?”
Robert chimed in somberly, “You do what you have to do. If that means knocking some fucking sense into these assholes, I'm not complaining.”
The boys grunted their assent and continued to the address.
That's when Robert noticed the problem.
Flambae had left his job before finishing, resulting in a failed call and an irate customer, but more interesting than that, his tracker was moving at breakneck speeds to the hate crime call's location.
“Flambae, what the fuck are you doing? Punch-Up and Waterboy have that handled. Return to central, now!”
There was no response. Flambae's icon arrived at the call moments before the other two.
“Oh fuck!” Punch-Up was the first to speak at the scene, leaving everything up to the imagination.
“What? What happened?” Robert frantically tapped his keyboard, searching for any CCTV footage in the area. “Anybody, respond!”
“Chill out, Bob Bob. I got it handled,” the cocky accented voice in Robert's headset offered him both relief and annoyance.
“Flambae, what the hell happened?” Robert tried valiantly to reign in his anger.
“I said I handled it. Is my mic on?”
‘Fuckin’ hell, Flambae. Really wasted no time,” Punch-Up chuckled. Waterboy laughed nervously along, unsure of the joke.
Finally, a video feed opened of the alley where the three supers stood over three men. Each of the assailants had varying levels of burns and their clothes were smoking. The victim sat timidly against a brick wall, clutching his arm to his body, knees pressed to his chest.
“Can you two take care of the nazis? I want to talk to him,” Flambae asked genuinely, though he didn't wait for a response before turning to the beaten man.
“Yes sir, Flambae, sir!”
The other voices faded to background noise as Robert leaned closer to his screen to watch Flambae.
“Hey, man. You okay?”
“Ye- yes. Thank you,” a scared, broken accent rang hollow through Flambae's mic.
“Farsi sahbat mikni?” Flambae questioned the man, though Robert sat in curious confusion.
“Beleh. Hal kojayi?” The man timidly replied with a question of his own.
Slowly the conversation became more warm and familial. The injured man even laughed as Flambae helped him stand. The police had arrived at the scene and would need a statement. To Robert's ever growing surprise, Flambae stayed to translate.
By the time the police had finished questioning the man and detaining the charred, and unfortunately breathing, dicks, Punch-Up and Waterboy had returned and finished their day.
Flambae was about to make his exit when the man, having denied medical attention, lightly grabbed his arm. “Khodahafez.”
Flambae briefly looked awkwardly at the man, then nodded with a slight smile. He ignited and vanished from the feed.
“Good job, Flambae,” Robert sighed. His face planted itself firmly in his hand and a mumbled, "I'm not looking forward to the paperwork from this one, though,” followed.
“The fuck did you say? Actually, I don't care. I heard “good job” and I will roll with that.”
Robert chuckled under his breath, aggravating his head, and disconnected his headset once Flambae's icon touched base.
Tapping his pen against the stack of papers on his desk, Robert decided fuck it and packed up to go home. Chase had long since left, though not without a sad, wanton look at Beef. That left Robert with the wonderful little beast and a perfect excuse to leave this shit for tomorrow.
The two made their way through the front doors, Beef leading the way with a goofy prance. Suddenly, Beef stopped with his head tilted up and to the side. Not a second later he booked it across the parking lot.
“Beef! Hey, no!!” Robert shouted before jogging after the corgi. Fear was quickly replaced with annoyance at Beef when he heard a familiar laughing voice.
“Ooo, cow-dog. I think you made your dad mad.” Flambae had Beef in a cradle scratching his happily drooling chin. “Such a good boy! Helping him get his cardio in. That's you, beefy boy.”
Robert made his way over in a slightly less crazed trot, panting quietly. “You are grounded,” he spoke, unwavering in the face of the adorable picture the two made.
“Is that to me or the dog?” Came the quick reply.
“Yes,” Robert looked at the man sat against a random car's hood. A car that actually looked pretty familiar, now that he thought about it. “Who's car is that anyway?”
Flambae's eyes squinted in confusion. “Mine?” Robert flinched in sympathy. “Hey, what the fuck? What's wrong with my car?”
“Nothing, I'm just sorry about what Phenomeman did to it. Less so knowing it's yours, but y'know.”
“Ha. Ha. Yeah, well, SDN covered the costs, so it's whatever,” he replied with a shrug, rocking the pampered dog in his arms.
Robert had many questions, some more pressing than others, but settled on, “What are you still doing here?”
Again, a nervous glint took over his amber eyes. Flambae sat Beef back down on the ground and patted his head before leaning back on his car, arms behind to support him. “Well, I know you don't have a car, so… I wanted to offer you a ride home. Save what? $40?”
“You want to drive me home?”
“It's not a big fucking deal! I just thought, you know, it could give us- me time to talk to you. About the thing. The thing I wanted to talk about before. Today. Jesus fucking Christ,” the last part came out as a quiet, jumbled mess. Robert smiled at the sight of Flambae completely losing his composure over almost nothing.
“Sure,” he replied with a shrug, scooping Beef up before he could eat a cigarette butt from off the asphalt.
“Really? I mean, yeah, of course. You can't even afford a couch, bumming a ride is probably the norm for you,” he stood with a smirk and unlocked his car.
Robert self-loathingly laughed at himself, knowing he wasn't close enough to anyone to even ask for a ride, let alone regularly. He opened the passenger side door to the surprisingly not flashy car and hopped inside, Beef making himself comfortable in the footwell between Robert's feet. Flambae hopped in and quickly started the car, reversing before Robert had his seat belt secured. Robert noticed that Flambae's seat was a couple inches farther back than his own. That, and the taller man's eyes keep glancing at him from the side as they pulled through the parking lot.
Robert cleared his throat.
Still the two sat in silence.
Finally after two stoplights of nothing, Robert sighed. “So why don't you just fly to work?” The question seemed to surprise the other man from his obviously winding thoughts.
“Oh, I do sometimes. Fuck, when my car was basically crushed, I flew to work for three weeks. I just prefer to drive. Takes less energy and I can listen to music,” he shrugged.
“You can't listen to music when you fly?” Robert asked, then quickly answered himself. “Oh, fire, right.”
“Yep,” came the succinct reply. “I don't have to fully ignite to fly, but I don't see a point in making a three minute flight five, you know? And until I talk to Steroid about flame resistant ear buds…” He finished with a nonchalant wave of his right hand.
“He's actually “all natty, brah.” And kinda insecure about people thinking otherwise.”
Flambae looked almost contrite, then he chuckled. “Yeah, I know. He's just a big dude. In every sense of the word,” he emphasized.
Robert laughed aloud at that, leaning back into his seat. “Oh, I know.”
Flambae raised his eyebrows at Robert, his head fully turned to look at him. A stern “watch the road!” from Robert the only thing returning his attention to driving.
“That…I did not expect that. So you and Royd, huh?” Flambae teased, his voice slightly duller than before.
Robert took him out of his misery. “No, he's all yours.” Robert didn't notice the confused, and slightly offended, look on Flambae's face. “My first day here, he took a stand right beside me at the urinals. I swear that thing between his legs looked at me first.”
Flambae snorted. “Yeah, I've heard stories, but thankfully have not met the beast.”
“So you're not a size queen? Color me shocked.”
“Oookay, we're verging on conversation territory that I am not drunk enough to be at.”
“Hopefully, you're not drunk at all. My kid is in the car,” Robert jokingly retorted. He looked out the windshield and noticed they were about halfway to his place; time was flying now. “Speaking of conversation territories, though…What do you need to talk to me about, Flambae?”
Over their flow of conversation, Flambae's nervousness had subsided to reveal a good humor and casualness that immediately evaporated the moment the words registered.
“Right.” He took a large breath and sat straighter behind the wheel, his fingers tightening until his knuckles stood out palely. On a sigh, he spoke. “I want to talk about the night at the taco place. Or I guess morning? I was so fucking hungover that afternoon, fuck. Can't even remember the name of the place.” He glanced at Robert, who tilted his head for him to continue. “Anyway, I was really fucking pissed when you told us you're Mechadick. I mean, obviously, I tried to fucking incinerate you. But, uh, I want you to know that I am trying to be less mad.” He paused and turned fully at Robert. The red light they were stopped at giving him a chance to fully scan the dispatcher.
“I appreciate you telling me this, but I already know you're trying,” he smiled sideways. “I mean, you decked the shit out of me and told me that you'd try that same day.”
“Ha, yeah. I think you're due for another one of those soon, actually. But, no. That's not what I'm trying to say, not really. I was mad at you. Fucking pissed, but I got over it surprisingly quickly.” Flambae cleared his throat and shook his head slightly. “No, I'm saying that I want to be less mad at myself.”
Both men sat quietly, letting the moment wash over them. Robert was confused, for lack of a better term. Why would Flambae be mad at himself? Did he feel guilty for trying to torch him? Was he mad at himself for forgiving Robert? Flambae himself was waiting patiently, albeitly anxiously, for the obvious questions written on Robert's face.
When no questions came, Flambae made a choice.
“I knew you were Mechaman.”
A pause.
“Okay, that's not true. But a part of me did. Deep down I knew that our new scrawny dispatcher, who coincidentally came into our team the same week that Mechaman retired, was the man that took my fingers. The man that took my fucking tooth,” Flambae hesitated, then continued on in an angry whisper. “You've got the same fucking eyes.”
Robert didn't know what to say, but thankfully Flambae wasn't finished.
A bark of a laugh left Flambae feeling hollowed out, but he needed to finish what he started. “I knew it was you, yet I made myself believe that harmless little Robert was just a nobody like the rest of us. I started to like you for some fucking reason. Probably ‘cause you're an asshole. And then you told us and it was like I stopped seeing Robert and all I could see was Mechaman.” He swallowed audibly. “I deluded myself into seeing what I wanted to see and I… Well, I'm mad and I don't want to be. So there.”
The gentle rock back-and-forth of the car parking surprised Robert. He had spent the last fifteen minutes of the drive with his eyes never leaving Flambae's profile. When Flambae finally turned to Robert, their eyes meeting properly, a breath he didn't realise he was holding rushed out of Robert's chest. Flambae had a resolute look in his eyes, as if he were commanding Robert to believe him. As if there was a chance he wouldn't.
“I'm sorry about all of that. Maybe one day we can sit down and actually hash it all out, but for now, I'm sorry that I put you through all of that. You shouldn't be mad at yourself for trusting me. It seemed in the best interest of the team if nobody knew who I was, especially given our history. It got harder and harder to tell you guys as time went on, though. I started to care about you, too. And I didn't want to ruin the good thing that you guys had going. I'll be honest, though, I'm glad it happened the way it did.” The two men stared for a moment longer, before Flambae nodded seemingly to himself. Robert cleared his throat and aimed for a more joking tone, “Well, thanks for the ride and the talk. What do I owe you?”
Flambae looked to his passenger consideringly, then cracked a smirk. “This one's on the house, but next time is on you, yeah?”
Robert laughed and unbuckled his seat belt. “Next time's on me,” he replied dutifully. One hand on the door handle, the other wrapped around a squirming Beef, Robert turned to Flambae one last time, “I'll see you tomorrow, Flambae.”
“Chad!” One foot stalled on the curb, the half of Robert's body still in the car jumped at the outburst. “Sorry, my name is Chad. You heard it. I'm Chad.”
Robert shook his head and stood fully outside the open door, bent at the waist to speak at Flambae. “Of course. It's nice to meet you, Chad. I'm Robert, and this worm is Beef.” A warm smile was plastered on his face.
Chad's cheeks seemed to darken as he rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. See you tomorrow, bitch.” Robert shut the door more firmly than necessary in response and chuckled as Flambae drove away with his middle finger raised up high.
Robert released Beef to go about relieving himself and found that he couldn't stop grinning. What the hell was that about? Flam- Chad - what kind of fucking name is Chad, anyway? - had admitted to forgiving him and hating himself in the same conversation and here he was cheesing. Beef's feet scuffed grass high up into the air and as it slowly descended, Robert had an epiphany.
Oh, fuck. I like Flambae.