Chapter Text
The hatred was undeniable.
It burned white hot in Flambae’s mind every second he allowed his thoughts to drift. The acute, unbridled hatred he felt for Robert Robertson. What a stupid fucking name that was. Between the slight familiarity Flambae felt when he looked at him and the simple fact that it was his job to take orders from that loser, he felt the hate was justified. It was much, much easier to let the hatred eat away at any other feelings that might be lingering in the darkest corners of Flambae’s mind.
Not that there are any. Why would there be anything else? What kind of idiot would even entertain the idea of feeling anything other than hatred for Robert fucking Robertson? Definitely not Flambae. There are no feelings in those corners. None at all.
The hero and dispatcher stood at opposite ends of the break room, pointedly ignoring each other’s existence. Flambae’s conversation with Prism was much more interesting than Robert pouring cheap coffee into one of the mugs that bore the Superhero Dispatch Network’s logo on it. He watched him make his coffee the way he always does, with three creamers and two sugars. Even if SDN’s coffee didn’t taste like straight ass, that was a horrendous ratio. Perfectly suiting the equally horrendous man who managed to choke it down every day, multiple times a day. Flambae hated the way Robert took his coffee, and he certainly didn’t pay attention or feel any type of way when he watched the way his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed–
Prism snapped her fingers in Flambae’s face, an action that grabbed both the attention of one meant to hear it and the one that was attracted to the noise simply by being in the general vicinity, “Bae, did you hear anything I just said?”
Flambae’s attention snapped back to Prism just before he and Robert made eye contact, “Yeah, yeah, yeah, for sure.” Prism gave him a look, clearly indicating that she didn’t believe him, and for good reason, but continued talking nonetheless about the plans they had for after work. Flambae listened, his attention fully on her now instead of Robert, who immediately went back to staring at one spot on the wall before walking out of the break room and presumably to his cubicle.
His voice crackled to life in their earpieces, followed by an annoyed groan from Prism. They both enjoyed doing this kind of work, but they were in the middle of make plans, for fuck’s sake. Other voices quickly follow Robert’s, mostly just a slurry of bitching and a poorly executed sex joke by Invisigal. As per usual, Robert doesn’t engage with it and simply said, “Just get out there and make today a good one, Z-Team. Behave yourselves.”
“Okay, Dad,” Malevola snorted over the comms.
“You think Robert’s put together enough to be a dad?” Sonar asked.
“Hell no,” Prism replied. “Have you seen him?”
“He would be the type to forget he has a child,” Coupe deadpanned.
“Like a deadbeat,” Golem agreed.
“Can you all just shut the fuck up and do your jobs?” Robert bit out. It sounded like he was struggling to not raise his voice, something they all knew Blonde Blazer had bitched at him for once or twice. Knowing this, they all shared a very good laugh at his expense, both then and now.
The banter remained throughout the day, though it became sparse as they focused on their jobs. When the day came to a close, Robert tiredly expressed that they all did well before going silent, presumably logging off. Flambae scoffed as he made his way back to the SDN building. What the fuck did Robert have to be tired about? All he did was sit in that stupid chair all day, barking orders at them or telling them to shut the fuck up when they pissed him off. That’s all he did every single day, and yet he looked and sounded perpetually exhausted.
If anyone had the right to be tired, it was Flambae. He was the best and most efficient member of the Z-Team (in his opinion), with Prism being a close second. They worked the best together and finished all their missions faster than everyone else. Yet they were still fully functional, able to maintain a bubbling social life in addition to keeping up a fantastic performance at work. Maybe it was because they were metahumans. Their DNA was built a lot different from Robert’s, who was just a weak, normal adult man.
Maybe it was how seriously Robert took his job. He dispatched them with diligent consideration and always with a commanding bite in his voice that made Flambae’s blood boil, though that one was trickier. Sure, being bitched at by a normie behind a desk was annoying enough, but it was something in his tone that scratched a part of Flambae’s that, frankly, didn’t need to be scratched anymore lest it be ripped open again and create an uglier scar on his psyche.
When Prism and Flambae left SDN, they were no longer heroes on the Z-Team. Dressed in clothes perfectly fit for nightlife and flashy enough to draw all sorts of attention, they were just Chad and Alice, two best friends who enjoyed clubbing and drinks and casual hookups and didn’t think about their coworkers or bosses in any type of way other than as the general nuisances that they are.
Chad didn’t entertain thoughts of Robert Robertson III as he drove them to a nightclub that they liked to frequent. And he didn’t glance over at Alice to see her smiling at a text sent to her by that bumbling water bitch in that horribly tacky wetsuit. Alice didn’t call out the way he burned holes in the side of Robert’s head in the break room, and Chad didn’t fuck with her about the way she bit her lip and smiled at Waterboy’s texts.
Robert Robertson was just a bitch Chad hated, he decided as he knocked back a shot of something smooth and expensive some guy at the end of the bar bought him. A bitch who had no substantially interesting features or qualities, and a normie to boot. A bitch who rolled his eyes at every other thing Chad, Flambae, said. A stupid, normie bitch who egged him on and pissed him off to no end. Someone who attracted attention, all kinds of it. He could admit it with certainty that Flambae most definitely hated Robert.
But could Chad hate him? Even now, in this bar, he caught himself looking for a pair of tired brown eyes, a sardonic smirk, or even auburn hair. Alice cut him a look, one he avoided, because they both knew he was unintentionally looking for.