Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s becoming increasingly harder to take things slow with Sonar, and it’s only Wednesday morning.

After 3 AM tacos, Robert made haste to his apartment and promptly fell asleep in his chair, back cracking in protest as if to remind him of Sonar’s outburst earlier that day. He woke up at 10, poorly-rested and with deeper eyebags than he’d ever seen on himself, did a quick morning warm-up, walked Beef, then spent the entire day reading a bunch of useless self-help bullshit.

He couldn’t ignore how prominent a specific theme had become in said self-help books. It was everywhere: on every page, discussed by every expert, debated with grave care.

Love.

Well, romance, rather.

How to express your emotions, how to confess your feelings, how to communicate with your partner, ways to maintain a marriage, even getting back up on your feet after a divorce. Everything was littered with romance. It was almost disgusting.

Robert, at least, was put off by it.

He hasn’t needed romance until now. He never felt the need to be in a relationship, and he’s never had a crush. It may seem weird of a 31-year-old man, but it’s the truth. He’s experimented with some labels, tried them on and saw if they fit, but, in the end, he thought himself capable of feeling romance – just not actually having it. Maybe because he’s undeserving, or maybe because he doesn’t think he can be loved.

Because the truth is, Robert knows he’s not a normal person.

He was born without powers, in the wrong body, in an unaccepting society, forced to live most of his life with an absent father who, in the end, died on him, just as he felt he was finally starting to learn the ropes of herodom. The nightmare only then truly begun, one marked by sleepless nights, spent fighting crime syndicates and hurrying to finish assignments, only to have to repeat senior year anyways.

His entire life seemed to be a sick and twisted joke the universe was playing on him. He was sleep deprived, every muscle hurt, the name on everyone’s tongue was the wrong one. While kids his age went out partying and made out with anyone that fell in their lap, Robert was both too busy and far too disgusted by his own self to search for love.

And still, he pushed everything down. He told himself he didn’t have reasons to be ungrateful. His father was dead, so what? He was Mecha Man. He got to carry a meaningful legacy (but one which he never asked for). He got to help people (but never himself). He got to care (but never be cared for).

He got to…

“How are you not angry?”

…hurt.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Robert.”

He only got…

“You were a child warrior.”

…pain, and…

“Fuck the legacy.”

…misery, and…

“You should’ve been happy.”

…and nothing else.

“You have every right to be angry.”

Not until now, anyways. Not until Sonar – Victor.

About a decade later, a decade worth of fighting and suffering alone, it is finally now that someone enters his life and tells him just how fucked up it is. And Robert knows, of course he knows. He knows it better than anyone.

But to hear it from someone else, well. That’s a different thing. That makes it true.

And Robert didn’t want it to be true.

He spends that weekend eating more than usual (which doesn’t say much, since he just adds one more bagel to the usual one, but it’s progress), walking Beef thrice instead of twice a day (his muscles don’t hurt as much now) and thinking about Sonar (someone who finally cares).

The feeling is still there, gnawing in his chest and pulsing in his head – but it shrivels up in a corner. It doesn’t leave (he thinks it never will), but it at least grants him a little time to himself.

And so, despite everything, Robert comes to work on Monday morning with a smile on his face.

The first two days of the week pass quickly. Robert begins to settle into his routine at SDN. Mornings start with a catch-up with Blazer, Visi attempting to smack his ass (he dodges out of the way and threatens to write her up to HR), Malevola grinning widely at him, and Sonar meeting him in the break room.

Their meetings aren’t planned – they just happen.

Robert lets them. Thus, him and Sonar have their coffee together.

On Monday, Sonar tells him Flambae won’t be coming in. (Later, Prism would confirm he’s ‘out sick’.) The bat hybrid rolls his eyes as he talks of the fireball, but Robert senses worry in his tone, even if attempted to be buried. Despite the events up until now, Sonar has obviously begun to care for not just him, but for the entire team – and the same goes for the rest of the heroes. They’ve formed a semi-functional family, against all odds.

Sonar warming up to Flambae is odd, though. Especially because of how much he seemed to hate his guts on Friday.

“Can you excuse me for a second? I want to sing.”

The moment still replays in Robert’s mind. Actually, it has all weekend. It was impossible to get it out of his brain, and he thinks he’ll die with that memory playing over and over.

Sonar, confident like never before, trudging up to the karaoke machine and requesting some niche song nobody else has ever heard, only to reveal it as his own, from decades prior.

Sonar, Harvard graduate with a know-it-all energy, grabbing the microphone as if being on stage is his natural state.

Sonar, suit jacket off, shirt contorting around his muscles as he screams and growls with rage.

Victor, looking straight into Robert’s eyes with what can only be described as possessive jealousy.

Victor, gazing into Robert’s very soul as if he wants to claim him.

Robert, gazing back, eyes wide and jaw low, wondering what it would be like if he did.

With that exaggerated of an expression, it’s a miracle Robert didn’t get stuck like that. Instead, what did get stuck was the moment in his mind. It’s engraved there forever, and, although there were so many peple around, it seems like it’s a memory for only him to have.

He doesn’t bring it up. He’s unsure if he hesitates because he’s shy, or because he doesn’t want to make Sonar uncomfortable. What’s clear is that he lets it go, allowing it to sit in his brain, and his alone.

He doesn’t ignore Sonar’s comments on how he’s ‘quiet’, but hits back by calling him things he likes. One mention of ‘charming’ and the bat is looking away, flustered in that adorable way of his.

On Tuesday, Sonar brings him breakfast. Not some cockroach picked up off a trashcan or (although significantly better) two donuts from a sketchy café – an actual, honest to God breakfast, homemade by his truly.

“I’m getting back into it,” he smoothly explains himself when he hands Robert the Tupperware.

What Robert would have expected from a beginner – some pancakes, or maybe Sonar’s one of those pretentious hipsters that eats avocado toast – is nowhere to be found. Instead, when he opens up his gift, it’s a full course breakfast meal with eggs, bacon, toast, and even cut-up vegetables like cucumbers and tomatoes.

It’s gone in five minutes.

It’s the best meal he’s had in a while. Well, since their outing at lunch the other week.

He ignores Blazer’s comment about Sonar ‘cooking for him like a doting wife’ and thanks the bat hybrid. In turn, he is promised more food.

On Wednesday, they have coffee together again. Today, Sonar brings Robert something store-bought.

“Almost ran late today.” He excuses himself as if this is expected of him, and not something overly kind. “But this is Mal and I’s favorite bakery, so, it should do the job.”

“Hm.” Robert’s tone is his usual deadpan, to hide his internal screaming.

“Hm, what?” Sonar’s face creases in a worried frown.

“I was expecting to be fed a five-star omelet today. And then maybe tomorrow, you’d bring me some gourmet stuff, like…”

He’s a bit thrown off his snark game by his yearning for the bat hybrid before him, but he tries his best anyways.

“Like four sushi rolls, at least.” Sure, whatever, that works. “Bit of a downgrade, Sonar. I’m disappointed.”

Sonar laughs when he realizes he’s not serious. He relaxes, slipping back into his usual teasing demeanor.

“Sorry, haven’t mastered my craft quite that well yet. Maybe in a few weeks.”

“Weeks? I’ll starve until then.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll still feed you, just… more peasant stuff.”

“Can’t wait.”

They settle into semi-silence, interrupted only by people entering and leaving the room. Sonar finishes his coffee with a loud slurp, and Robert is almost ashamed to admit even that is something he finds endearing.

When the silence seems to ask for conversation again, Robert says:

“Look, I appreciate it, but I don’t want you to feel like you’re babysitting me. I mean… I’m a grown man.”

Sonar looks at him. “Well, no duh? I didn’t think you were a 4-year-old. You’re far from the youngest person ever.”

“What I mean is,” Robert explains, only half-frustrated at having to spell everything out, “you keep… doing all of this for me. Buying and making me food, I mean. And it gets to a point where I can’t repay you.”

“You don’t have to.”

He says it so easily, so casually. It’s probably easy for Sonar to take it slow. Why isn’t it for Robert?

“I want to. It’s… I feel bad, is all.”

“Dude.” Sonar stares him down. “You don’t even have a bed.”

“I have to do something for you.”

“No, you don’t. This isn’t conditional, Robbie. I do this because I want to.”

His words are firm, tone coming out annoyed. Robert can tell it’s just frustration, a frustration Sonar has not with the dispatcher himself, but with his mindset. He’s gotten used to his gestures by now, and knows he’s not mad at him.

And then, as if to confirm his thoughts, Sonar scoffs:

“Can’t you get it through your thick skull that someone cares for you?”

A beat passes, then two. The two men stare at each other.

Sonar’s eyes widen.

“I mean—I feel bad for you, dude. Like. Really bad.” One of those laughs leaves him – not genuine, but forced. It’s the kind of nervous laugh he gives to seem cool when he catches yourself caring too much. “I mean, you don’t even have a bed. Can you imagine? Haha. LOL, even.”

“Did you just say ‘LOL’ out loud?”

“You’re just such a poor unfortunate soul, Boberto, it tears up my heart. What with my newfound love and appreciation for humanity, I would like to extend that to you. I am such an honorable hero. Give me a raise?”

Sonar bats his eyelashes at him, but the gesture does nothing to hide his motives. On the contrary, it brings out his genuine nature even more.

Robert chuckles, then, as he realizes that Sonar is far from being cooler than him. He might be panicking even more.

At least they’re in the same boat.

“Well, then, thanks, Sonar. I have no idea what I’d do without you.”

Sonar pauses, then looks away, flustered. He pushes the box of baked goods to Robert.

“Just shut the fuck up and eat your food…”

That evening, Royd approaches Robert, starry-eyed and hopeful, asking to test his newest Mecha suit prototype.

Sonar, notoriously great at hearing just what he wants, perks up at that.

“Can I come with?”

Prism, who doesn’t have super-hearing, but loves to be in other people’s business, perks up as well.

“Ooh, me too, me too!!”

“Why do you want to come?” Sonar asks, tone accusatory as he squints at her.

“Where are we coming?” Visi appears.

“I wanna come too, wherever it is that we are,” Malevola requests.

“Aw, come on, I thought we were going out,” Punch Up pouts.

Like daisies in the spring, every team member pops up and insists they follow Robert into the lab. It’s almost suspicious how eager they are to see the test, but he doesn’t deny them the pleasure.

And so, they all find themselves in the lab, Robert in the suit, and the team watching him closely. His own weird little family coming to see baby take his first steps. Yep, Robert’s living the dream.

He’s surprisingly grateful to see them all like this, actually. He hopes he can impress them a little, at least, after he got his ass kicked at the bar. The memory still lingers on his body, new bruises added to the already ridiculously huge arrangement.

Another memory lingers, too…

“Hey, everybody, I, um…” He shakes away the memory of Sonar’s death metal adventure. “I appreciate you coming to see this. Your support means a lot.”

“More than a lot! It means 936 American dollars!” Punch Up exclaims. “Cash, lad.”

“We’re only here because these broke asses want proof before they pay,” Prism reveals.

Robert snorts. “That actually makes way more sense.”

“Can’t believe you actually hung out with these fuckers,” Chase calls, as Robert begins to boot up his suit.

“You jealous, old man?” Visi is, as always, the first one to strike back.

“Of what? Let me guess, you get into a bar fight? I’m right, right? That’s what criminals do at bars, they ruin everybody’s fun. In fact, if you’re gonna make me stand next to a criminal, you could at least hurry this shit up?”

“If you’re gonna make me stand next to Benjamin fucking Button, you could at least change his diaper.”

“You’re the only one here that’s full of shit.”

Children, Robert thinks, rolling his eyes fondly.

“Well, what you missed was 3 AM tacos, leading to 4 AM heartburn, followed by 5 AM diarrhea. And despite all that,” he adds, “it was…”

“Date, date me, you’ll see I’m the only guy you’ll ever need!”

“…lovely.”

Royd’s voice, like clockwork, comes from the other side of the wall.

“Oooohkay. Proto Pulse test nineteen ready to commence. We good when you good, Mecha Man.”

Robert grabs the prototype, squinting at the harsh light in the darkness of the suit.

“Engaging Proto Pulse now.”

The suit lights up, a few buttons at a time. Robert is filled with determination as he watches himself come back to life.

“All readings supah stable!” Royd announces.

On the screen before him, three poses flash. Robert grins as he chooses to flex the ‘muscles’ of the machine.

“Alright. Ready for launch.”

“Rahja dat.”

The various commands lighting up around him are routine. Robert knows them all by heart. He doesn’t need to look around to know the suit is working, a sick purple smoke surrounding it.

What he does look at, however, is his team, gaging in their reactions. He doesn’t fail to note how Sonar rubs his hands together in excitement.

Once Mecha Man’s arms are on display, Prism turns to Malevola and Punch Up with a grin.

“Is that confirmation enough for you cheap ass bitches? Pay me my money!”

Robert snorts as the two hand over the promised prize.

“Fuckin’ hell…”

“Told y’all! It’s so obvious he don’t have super powers.”

“It’s a fucking waste of time; if he was gonna lie about being a hero, why would he pick Mecha Man?”

“Reminder, the mic is still open,” Robert nudges.

He begins to punch the air, a few basic commands to make sure the suit works. Sure enough, the blue lights around him are confirmation everything is running smoothly. He moves fluidly, confidently.

He allows himself, for a moment, to think about going back on the field like this. Punishing villains alongside his team. Charging from portal to portal with Malevola, or throwing Punch Up like a bowling ball at a horde of criminals, riding Sonar into the sunset.

Sonar. Robert wonders what kind of a team he and Sonar would make. With equal brains and brawn, he thinks anything could be achieved. Then again, maybe he’s in the kind of honeymoon phase in which he thinks good of the man, no matter what—

He almost stops in his tracks at his own mind’s wording. Honeymoon phase. The words are like a sentimental punch to the gut.

“I love you, boy…”

Robert shakes it off and hits the air again. He doesn’t want to think about this while he’s trying to be cool in front of his entire team. Maybe once he’s out of the suit, he can leap into Sonar’s arms and they can whisper sweet nothings into each other’s ears, but for now—

Jesus fuck, he needs to stop thinking.

Another punch. “Not bad, right?”

“The smoke is a little overkill,” Visi bites immediately.

“I thought the same too,” Robert admits, “but I think the purple is a nice touch.”

Not because the shining LEDs when Sonar was singing were purple, or anything. Not at all.

The next two words Robert hears are the last ones he wanted to.

“What smoke?”

And then, loud and desperate:

“SHUT IT DOWN!”

As if on command, bright red flares before him, and alarms blare in the lab.

The next few moments are filled with panic and fear. Robert coughs, the purple smoke having invaded the suit. The testing room is closed, the large metal shuttle locked tight. No matter how much the Mecha Man suit fights against it, he just can’t get it open.

The team is shouting. He recognizes Sonar’s voice, pleading for Royd to help him get out. He vaguely hears, over the loud, insistent alarm, thuds against the door. It’s locked out.

“Mal—”

“Fuck, I’m on it!”

The whoosh of a portal. Royd hurrying in. Royd trying to get him out. Obsessive presses of an ejection button, to no avail. Sparkles.

“No…”

Sparkles.

“Fuck—”

Sparkles.

“GET DOWN!”

A flash.

“Oh shit.”

All he can do now is pray he doesn’t die in the suit.

“ROBERT!”

Everything goes black.

He comes to, which means he’s not dead. One point.

He’s laying down in a bed. Another point. Actually, make it three – all the bonus points for finally sleeping in an actual bed.

There’s also a weight on his lap. Beef. Another three points.

Robert looks around, blinking groggily as he adjusts to the harsh hospital lights. He’s surprised to realize nothing hurts more than usual. In fact, he feels surprisingly well-rested.

The first person he sees is Royd, head bandaged, arm in a cast, and hurt written all over his face – literally and mentally.

“Welcome back.”

The second is Chase, with that poorly-hidden care glimmering in his eyes.

“How long was I out?”

“16 hours and 47 minutes. But who’s counting?”

The third is Sonar, who…

“I mean, I’m not. That’d be weird. Counting how long the boss is out. Bleh. Stupid. Weird. Couldn’t be me.”

…should probably be on his shift right now.

Five points. (Okay, ten for the warmth inside Robert’s chest.)

As if sensing his thoughts, Sonar rolls his eyes. It’s a fond gesture, devoid of any anger. There’s also worry, unable to be buried, in the way his voice trembles.

“I’m on break.”

Three words, and they mean nothing of what he actually wants to say. Robert wants to leap into his arms and hug him. Maybe things wouldn’t feel so difficult then.

“For the last half a goddamn hour.” Chase’s tone fails to deliver its usual punch. For once, Robert doesn’t see him mad at one of the Z-Teamers. “You’re needed out there, you know.”

“The team’s got it.” Robert doesn’t fail to note how Sonar avoids everyone’s gazes. “I just wanted to check on Robert.”

“Well, you’ve checked.” Only now does Chase’s bitterness return. “Time to go to work.”

Sonar scoffs and meets the older man’s gaze. When he realizes he won’t change his mind, Sonar turns to Robert. The dispatcher, in turn, gently nods. He ignores every muscle in his body screaming for the bat to stay.

“I’m fine, Victor. You should go help the others. I’m sure they’re overwhelmed without you.”

Sonar smiles at the indirect compliment. He nods back.

“Get well soon.”

“Thank you.”

He looks back a moment too long, but he leaves, almost begrudgingly so.

Robert blinks again, hard. The light is a little too much for him, but he adjusts. His focus up until now on Sonar, he shifts to look at someone else. Of course, he immediately lands on…

“You okay, Royd?” Robert manages to sit up a little. “Why do you look worse than me?”

And he doesn’t just mean physically. The buff man is obviously distraught, gaze lost far ahead. It’s wistful, regretful. Ashamed. A look Robert knows all too well.

“It’s over, bruddah. I cannot recreate da Astral Pulse.”

A weight, heavy in Robert’s chest, a weight that had opted to leave him be until now, returns.

Something in the back of his mind always told him the plan was far-fetched. That it was more like an unreachable ideal than an achievable end result. Even with Royd’s confident grin and Blazer’s hopeful smile, Robert knew that, to be Mecha Man again, it would take as much time as it would luck.

Sitting here, a few scars fresher than others, he realizes this, too, was nothing more than a passing dream.

“Too much power, too small size,” Royd explains, soft-spoken, unlike himself. “No pulse means I can’t make the man Mecha.” He casts his head down. “I not good enough, bro. Fail you. Fail everybody. Almos’ bring down the whole team.”

Now, that’s outrageous. Robert shakes his head.

“Hey, listen…” His tone is as gentle as he can manage. “You might not believe in yourself right now, but I believe in you, Royd.”

An ideal as this may be, perhaps it’s not completely unreachable. Maybe all Royd needs is a reset – a few days, weeks away from the workshop. That usually worked for Robert, back in his school days, when he had to work on a big project. He’d step away from it, then come back and be inspired ten times more. Surely that works with high-end engineering, right?

Royd smiles sadly, shaking his head.

“This not a little league game, braddah. This real life.”

With that, he gets up to leave, obviously dejected. Robert looks after him sadly.

“Royd.”

He calls out on instinct. The man turns.

“You did your best.” The words come naturally, genuinely. “I can’t ask for anything else. Thank you.”

He extends his fist forward. A part of him doesn’t expect the desolated man before him to meet him.

Thankfully, that part is silenced when Royd, managing a little smile, fist bumps him.

With the buff man out of the room, Chase finally approaches.

“Heard that big bastard crying in the bathroom. Makes it hard to shit when somebody’s doin’ that next to you, ya know?”

“Pretty distracting, yeah,” Robert returns with a smile. The expression sours into a frown when he thinks back to the events. “Everyone else okay? Sonar?”

He asks about him without realizing. Chase’s gaze instantly turns knowing.

“Fine.” There’s a roughness to his edges as he thinks. The cogs turning in the older man’s head are almost visible. “He wasn’t even caught in the crossfire. All he did was ask for Mal to open up a portal. And all that did was get Royd hurt.”

“Well, you know what they say, you go down as a team.”

“The Harvard dipshit’s fine. Fuckin’ sentimental as shit, though. Kept coming back to your room after every dispatch, man or bat. Gave a good scare to the poor ladies outside when he was in monster form,” Chase snorts. “He was like a lost puppy.” He frowns again. “For about an hour now, he’s refused to go on calls. Said he wanted to be here when you woke up.”

That sounds a little like Sonar – the Sonar that can’t pretend to be cool, that’s sentimental. The Sonar that would sing his heart out. The Sonar that Robert has come to truly know.

Chase scoffs. Robert raises an eyebrow in question.

“Don’t think I don’t see it. It’s all over your stupid face.”

“What is?”

“You like him.”

“We work together.” The answer is instant, too instant to be casual.

“You go on dates,” Chase says, matter-of-fact. “Lunch and dinner. You’re not exactly subtle.”

“They’re not…” Robert sighs, embarrassed to be forced to deal with his feelings like this. “We’re taking things slow.”

“So, things are happening.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“Look, just be careful, kid.” Chase hums. “Sonar is… admittedly, one of the less dangerous bastards on the program. But that doesn’t mean he’s not dangerous. He’s still a cokehead, and a fuckin’ monster on top of that.”

Robert’s heart sinks.

“He’s not a monster.”

The reply is fast. Chase looks at him intently.

“Is that…” A scoff. “Is that what you think of him? That he’s a monster? Just because he happens to transform into a giant form of himself, that makes him a monster?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“You’re awfully defensive for someone who’s not into the guy.”

“I never claimed I wasn’t into him,” Robert gives in, “I just said we’re taking things slow. And I don’t appreciate you calling him that. He’s actually a really nice fucking person, alright?”

The silence is tense. Robert looks away. Chase sighs.

“I get that you want to help him. You have to help all of them. But some people… they’re not saved so easily.”

“We’re making progress.”

“Do you define snorting lines in the bathroom as ‘progress’?”

Fuck. “Was he—”

“Me shitting, Royd crying, Batboy snorting. What a fuckin’ bathroom break.”

Shit. How many days had it been? It’s somewhere around Thursday afternoon, right? Did Sonar make it to seven days?

Fuck. Fuck. Robert’s heart sinks even deeper, so deep it must be somewhere in his ass by now. He blinks hard and tries to push his thoughts away, focus on his conversation with Chase – he’s having a conversation with Chase – but he can’t, he simply can’t, this is just…

Sonar has relapsed.

Sonar has relapsed because of him.

Why did he ever think this could work? That this wouldn’t hurt? Robert was always going to get hurt. From the moment he became Mecha Man at sixteen fucking years old, he was destined to die in the suit. Whether it happened during a mission on the field or a testing session, it didn’t matter – it was simply inevitable.

And now, he wanted to drag Sonar down with him. To make him mourn him. To make him hurt so much, he wouldn’t be able to focus on his own person, and resolve his own problems.

What a selfish man he is, how clueless, how desperate to be loved. Robert doesn’t deserve love; he’s established this with himself time and time again.

So, why now? Why does he hope now? What makes Victor different? What gives him the right to corrupt Victor?

He doesn’t deserve Victor; he doesn’t deserve anyone. Robert bows his head in shame and wishes he could run away and cry, selfish, stupid man that he is. But Chase, of course, is still here – and he, unaware of Robert’s internal conundrum, just rubs the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t wanna be an annoying old man. I just want you to know I’m looking out for you. I don’t know if a drug addict’s good for you, but you’re a grown man, after all. You don’t need my permission.”

He doesn’t get it. It’s not Victor that’s bad for him – it’s Robert that’s bad for Victor.

He leaves the bed wordlessly. If the thoughts refuse to leave his head sitting in bed like this, then he’ll try drowning them out with work. It’s proven efficient so far.

“Come on, take the day off…”

“No, really. I’m fine. All I’ve gotta do is sit at a desk.”

“Desk work doesn’t land you in the infirmary,” Chase reminds. “Think about that.”

Robert smiles, barely. “I’ll mull it over.”

He returns to his desk like a warrior would from battle. He’s more than surprised to see Blazer there. Apparently, she took over for him while he was gone. Having been away from the desk for a while, she confesses to having earned a new appreciation for Robert following her shift.

As she leaves, hand grazing his shoulder, she tells him he’s excited for tonight. For a second, because of instinct, Robert replies positively – and, when he goes to ask what the hell tonight is, Blazer is already down the hall. Well, whatever. He’ll figure it out.

Once he settles at his desk, he notices two things.

The first is a bottle of whiskey, with a note next to it. ‘We got you a gift for when the meds wear off’. It’s signed by the Z-Team; Robert recognizes Visi’s handwriting.

The second is a Tupperware container. The dispatcher opens it curiously.

Five sushi rolls.

There’s no note. He knows who it’s from.

And he, selfishly, smiles.

He puts on his headset and opens the map to see Malevola coming back from Sunday school. Damn, Blazer should’ve gotten someone else to sign in for him… but he appreciates the gesture. He gets two more calls, which he quickly assigns some heroes to before finally making his voice heard.

“Alright, what’d I fucking miss?”

“Holy shit, man, you’re okay?” Visi’s voice is first.

“You gave us a fucking scare, dude!” Malevola tells.

“Guess Mecha Man’s a bit sturdier than we thought…” Punch Up muses.

“Damn, boy,” exclaims Prism, “you ate mad shit.”

“We got you a present,” reveals Golem. “Did you see it?”

“Yeah, I’m assuming the whiskey is it.”

“Um, duh. Did we leave you more than one gift?”

“…Well, you guys left just one.”

“Oh yeah,” Sonar pipes up, “the food’s from me. Enjoy, Bobby.”

“Ugh, of course you’re trying to one-up us… You got him food? Like, actual food? A meal kind of food?”

“C’mon, the guy ‘ate shit’ in Prism’s words. He should have a real meal.”

“What did you get him?” Prism asks, a grin in her voice.

“Five sushi rolls.” Robert says this, not Sonar. He smirks as he shows off. He can’t help it. “And, not that he had any way of knowing, but he just so happened to get my favorite. Cucumber.”

“Score!”

He loves him. God, he loves him.

“Fuckkk that’s romantic.”

“I’m so jealous right now. I want sushi too.”

“What a basic ass order.”

“It’s not like he was in a coma,” Visi grumbles. Ironic. “He was only asleep for half a day. I don’t think he deserves all this glaze.”

“Oh, I’ll give him all my glaze, alright.”

“Ewww.”

“There you have it! Golem, you owe me fifty.”

“Hell nah, nothing’s official yet.”

“I’m sorry,” Robert chimes in, “is there a bet going on? Like, another one, besides my superhero identity?”

“No,” Punch Up and Golem say much too quickly.

“Right.”

“W-well, all that to say,” Waterboy comes on the comms for the first time, “we were remiss—we missed you.”

“Yeah, glad you’re back, Robbie,” Sonar says, a smile obvious in his voice. “Things were almost too boring around here.”

Robert smiles, too – selfish gesture, selfish man that he is.

And so what if he’s selfish?

The thought is unexpected. This one is much more different from his usual mentality; it’s trying to escape it. It’s trying to convince him he deserves the happiness Sonar tells him he deserves.

It’s trying to tell him to just love, regardless of consequences.

It’s stupid. Of course it is.

But Robert, tired and sappy, chooses to listen to it, at least for a few hours, and dream for those few hours more.

“Glad to be back, Sonar.”

“What about us?” asks Visi, akin to a neglected child.

“Yeah, Rob, this favoritism don’t sit right with me,” Prism sighs. “I get that he leaves you food and all, but I can do that too. You gonna give me a sticker if I get you food?”

“Nope, no stickers. Just my undying love for you, forever.”

“So THAT’S what’s going on between you and Sonar,” Punch Up concludes.

“Um, nope,” Robert shakes his head, “nothing of that sort.” He considers. “Well…”

“Well? There’s a well?!” The grin in Prism’s voice cannot be ignored. “And what is after that ‘well’, Robertoson?”

“Well, you guessed it, Sonar is my favorite and the rest of you can go die in a ditch.”

“Wowwwww.”

“How rude!”

“Expected nothing less.”

“Golem. Fifty. Bucks.”

“Take it easy, man…”

“Again – is there another bet, one that I am not aware of?”

“Nope.”

“None whatsoever.”

“Sure.”

The shift, what remains of it anyway, goes surprisingly well. Flambae is still ‘out sick’, but, by this point, Robert has almost gotten used to dispatching without him. The empty spot on the computer is daunting, sure, and he hopes the fireball is fine and will come back soon, yeah, but…

…ugh. He really hopes Flambae will come around on him.

Thankfully, Prism and Sonar mostly pull his weight. Prism does it out of friend duty, always loyal to her ‘MVP’ – while Sonar does it for Robert. Of course, he never explicitly states this, but he doesn’t have to.

Around the end of the shift, some of the heroes begin to talk about… there’s something about snacks in there, he thinks? They’re arguing lightly, jabs at one another over who is supposed to bring what. Robert figures they’re having a movie party or something. For a passing moment, he wants to ask them about it, but then he realizes how tired he is, and decides against it.

“Night, everyone,” Robert says with a small yawn. “I’m… pretty fucking beat. I’ll see your dumbasses in the morning.”

“I’ve got the booze,” Punch Up calls.

“Folks down for a carpool? I’ve got room.”

“I’m good,” Sonar says, “I’ll portal with Mal.”

“I-I would like a ride!” Waterboy takes Prism’s offer. “I’ll bring e-extra towels.”

Everyone seems to ignore him. Figures. Family does that.

Despite this, Robert still smiles.

Only when he’s in the lab does his smile fade.

With the lights down and Royd not roaming around, the place is dead. Every window is shattered, shards of glass scattered around the ground. Robert walks around, the apocalyptic feel making his head hurt.

On a table lays his helmet. There’s a heavy weight in his chest as he caresses it. He hisses when he cuts himself.

Is this really it? Is this where Mecha Man dies, this time, definitively? All those months, all that hope, and for what; for Robert to become a pathetic dispatcher?

A thought – impossible, stupid, selfish – crosses his mind:

How bad would it be to give up on being Mecha Man?

Of course, he doesn’t fully want this. Being Mecha Man gave him purpose. To throw that away would mean throwing his own life away. And sure, he has the SDN now, and the Phoenix Program, and the Z-Team – but he still has it in him to be more. To be better. To help people, like he did before.

He’s not some traumatized teenager anymore. He’s a traumatized grown man. He can continue being a hero.

And still…

Everything is a blur. All he knows is that he finds himself back in his apartment, laying on the floor, in his underwear drinking his whiskey and ranting to Beef like a madman.

“I mean… you know, it feels like, for the first time in a long time, I can see a life without Mecha Man.” He turns to Beef, scratching his head. The rotund dog’s short fur feels grounding under his touch. “Which I’m sure you’d appreciate. It’s been nice that we get to spend more time together, right? And you love uncle Chase, don’t you? You even like Sonar.”

Robert snorts, turning on his back again.

“Fuck. Sonar.”

He sighs, long and wanting. His chest heaves with that deep breath; a chest that Sonar has seen. A chest that Sonar matches. Something the two have in common that runs deeper than a normal bond would.

Because, while Robert may not be a normal person, at least Sonar isn’t, either. And that thought warms him more than it should.

He’s selfish.

So what? echoes his mind again, useful for once.

“I think I have him pegged, and then I don’t. I think he’s careless, and then he goes and… buys me lunch, and tells me nice things, and…” He smiles at the memory. “Sings for me. That was for me, right? There’s no way it wasn’t.”

Beef looks at him as if at a stupid man. Robert laughs.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Jus’ don’t wanna flatter myself.” He sighs again, deep. “Victor’s… I mean, I like him. I like him a lot. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t. But I’m the one who said to take things slow.” He blinks. “Is it bad that I regret that? All I can think about now is…”

…Kissing him.

Robert wonders how it feels. How would a bat nose press against the mouth of a human? How would those teeth feel in a kiss? How long is that tongue he’s seen him lick his lips with time and time again?

He shakes his head, but can’t shake the thoughts out. He lives with them daily now, ever since that night at the bar, the gay bar, mind you.

“I think he likes me, too,” Robert admits quietly. “But I’m not sure if it’s okay to move on him. HR violation aside…”

He thinks back to the lab. The failed test; the explosion; the blackout.

His selfishness.

“If I’m to go back on the field, shit like that’s gonna happen all the time. I can’t have him mourning me if I die. ‘S not fair on him.” He sniffles. He’s not crying, but he feels his eyes prickle. Must be the booze. “I mean, Chase said he was doing lines today. He relapsed.”

The realization comes back and hurts even harder. He sniffles again.

“He relapsed because of me. Because of what he saw, the stress I put on him. I can’t… have that on my conscience—no, I can’t have him fuck up because of me. He needs to be clean, and I… if I just keep… fighting, what if I…?”

Robert turns to Beef again. The dog, out of lack of anything else to do, being a dog and all, listens loyally.

“I don’t want to die in that suit. I thought I had to, and now I know I don’t. There’s the Z-Team. There’s Chase. Fuck, there’s Victor. And I can’t throw all that away.” He smiles bitterly. “So what if I want to be a dispatcher for the rest of my life? Would that be so bad? I get a salary. Being Mecha Man doesn’t pay, and bills still come. Maybe I could even get a bed with that salary. And I’d fatten you up even more…”

Another sigh, saturnine, from the depths of his soul. He stares at the ceiling as if it owes him answers.

“But just when I feel like I got a handle on it… got it all figured out… gonna quit the superhero shit and be with Victor, run off into the sunset, whatever silly dream’s up there… I think about Chase, and my dad, and Shroud…”

He turns to Beef again, towards the door. The dog is happy once his owner begins scratching his belly, having zero idea of Robert’s issues.

“Then I get all fucked up,” he coos. “You know what I’m sayin’, Beef? You know what I mean?”

A yip and a fart from the dog. Robert laughs. Who needs therapy when he has his own little guy to listen to him? (The answer is him, but he’ll deny that for as long as he can.)

“Yeah, exactly. See? This is why I appreciate our talks.”

Appreciate these talks as he may, Robert is still interrupted by footsteps outside his door. Beef sniffs the air curiously, while the man sits up.

The familiar whoosh of Malevola’s portal, and the demon appears from the other side, horns poking out. She looks around the apartment.

Much too late, Robert realizes he is still in his underwear. All he can do is shrug at her as if to ask her what the hell she’s doing here.

Two more people pop up, then.

“Are you decent?” Visi…

“Are you indecent? Cause I’m looking even more if so.”

…and Sonar. Speak of the fucking Devil.

“Definitely a house that needs some warmth,” Malevola concludes after looking the sad apartment up and down.

“Yeah, I tell him dat last time I come.”

Scratch that, three people. Royd is here, too, bashing on his interior design choices like always. Does he not understand minimalism?

All Robert can muster up is, “I am in my underwear.”

Sonar rubs his hands together. “Perfect! Everyone out, Robbie and I are about to get freaky.”

Robert quirks an eyebrow in the awkward silence. Sonar, in turn, looks around.

“Oh,” he remembers, “you don’t have a bed. I don’t know if I can fuck you on the floor. It’s a bit sad.” His eyes light up. “Wait, we can just do it against the wall—”

“Shut the fuck up.” Visi hits him over the head.

“Rude.”

Malevola looks at the stain her portal has left on the door. “Uh, that rubs out, by the way,” she promises, “You just have to put a little muscle into it.” Then, “Do you know where you’d wanna hang this?”

It’s not that Robert realizes that on her tail is—

“Why are you holding a lamp?”

“It’s a housewarming gift,” Sonar says, “for your housewarming party, Robbie.”

“Yeah, we told people to bring a lamp or something.”

“Wait wait, people?” He’s so disoriented right now. Maybe he shouldn’t have drunk. The bottle is still more than half full, but he’s still dizzy. “More people are coming here? To my apartment?”

“Can’t you just appreciate Batboner and I’s efforts?” Visi scoffs.

“Look, I’m not really in a party mood right now.”

Malevola walks up to him with a chuckle. “Not what it looks like to me with your tighty-whities.”

“Okay,” Robert grunts upon being hit in the crotch, “she just touched my—”

“Hey, that’s my job!” Sonar pouts.

“He’s all yours.” Malevola grins wickedly. “But he’s so damn cute.”

“Yeah, which is why I’m not sharing.”

“This is your family photo area?” Visi interrupts, gazing upon Robert’s wall. “Kinda morbid… which I’m kinda into.”

Robert takes down his corkboard and puts it in the corner. The constant movement and voices around his apartment are becoming overwhelming, especially because just a minute ago, he was all alone, talking to his dog. To be barged on all of a sudden, at 8 PM on a Thursday night, when he’s got work in the morning – well, he appreciates that they care for him, but he’s not used to this. He’s especially not happy that they get to see the state his ‘home’ truly is in, depressing and unused.

Sonar is holding a lamp, too. (Why did they bring two lamps? Is everyone going to bring lamps? Robert doesn’t think he needs that many damn lamps.) It’s a tall lamp, white and with brown frills, the kind one’s grandma would keep in the living room. It’s in stark contrast with Malevola’s bright green one, which would need to be hung up rather than placed in a corner. Robert figures he’ll put Sonar’s in the very corner he just tossed his corkboard.

…He has no idea why he’s thinking about Sonar’s lamp this much. He doesn’t even care. It’s just a lamp.

A lamp that Sonar bought for him, specifically…

Okay, and? Who cares? Robert certainly doesn’t. He’s not picturing Sonar in a Home Depot, humming to himself, rubbing his chin in that effortlessly sexy way he does, thinking of Robert’s preferences. Why would he do that? He’s taking things slow.

Fuck. This.

To ail his thoughts, Robert looks towards the kitchen area for a distraction. He finds it in Royd, typing away at what can only be…

“Is that my work computer?”

“We figured it out, bruddah,” Royd says, smiling wide. “The man can be Mecha again.”

A light on the computer, and a map is projected onto the now empty wall. Robert recognizes Torrance.

Visi talks, now. “After your little premature ejacusplosion, I had this feeling like I’d seen it before.”

“Then Visi asked me to get da energy reading we got this morning, and cross-reference with recent calls.”

“Wait, wait wait wait—” Robert realizes— “it’s not destroyed?”

“Nope.” Visi smirks. “And a buncha B-grade villains have been trying to unlock its power, only to end up blowin’ their asses off like you did. Then they sell it on the next sucker, and the same shit.”

Robert can’t believe his eyes. He stares at the map in awe.

“It’s passed hands at least four times that we’ve tracked,” Sonar tells him. “Maybe even more.”

Robert meets Sonar’s eye. “How does Shroud not know this?”

“Eh, probably think like us.” Royd shrugs. “Think it was destroyed.” He hesitates. “But he’s a smart fuckah, and he gon figure it out soon enough.”

“That’s why we get to it first.” Sonar rubs his hands together.

Robert frowns. “Which is why we’re having a party?”

“The Z-Teamers know every low-level supervillain in three counties,” Visi explains, rolling her eyes as if he’s supposed to know this. “We track its location – they’ll know who has it.” Sonar nods confidently as she talks. “Then we kick in some doors, knock some heads, snatch that shit back…”

“And you’ll be Mecha Man again,” Sonar finishes. “You could join us on the field, help us out. Get your revenge, save the day – whatever the hell a hero does, I don’t know.” He turns to Mal. “What else do heroes do?”

Mal shrugs. “They get the girl in the end?”

Well, Sonar isn’t exactly a girl, but…

“Hear that, Robbie?” Sonar turns to him again. “That means we have to fuck.”

Robert feels his heart swell with hope. He can’t believe what he’s hearing. He could go back into the field by next week – he could get his revenge on Shroud by then, too. And after, he’d be fighting alongside the Z-Team, punishing villains left and right, helping his phoenixes be reborn.

He looks to Sonar. The bat, as if on cue, as if a dance they know all too well, meets his gaze.

Robert wonders what it would be like to date Sonar.

“Why are you doing this?”

He addresses everyone, but his eyes remain fixated on the bat hybrid.

It is he who replies, too:

“You’ve helped us. Helped me.” Sonar smiles. “It’s about time I paid it back.”

Robert doesn’t mention their first date, nor their second, and how Sonar picked up the tab both times. Instead, he just smiles back.

“So,” Royd interrupts, “one of the last pings that we got was from a boat over here in Marina Del Rey. Which is—”

“Oh, Yachtie territory!” Malevola realizes. She’s already set up her own lamp, and has lit it up, too. She doesn’t waste any time.

“…why she’s here first. You know much about those guys?”

“Uh, old money crew of ascot wearin’ cokeheads. Skyler Arcadi runs it now. Three generations of that family’s been trying to finger me.”

“What are they accusing you of?” Robert asks.

Malevola looks at him and smiles. “You’re cute.”

She pulls him into a side-hug, and Robert doesn’t fail to note that Sonar raises an eyebrow. His expression is – and Robert swears he doesn’t imagine this – jealous.

“We gonna ask you some questions about a piece of tech dey moved… But first, Rob gotta put on pants.”

“Awwwwwh.” Sonar’s ears droop down dejectedly.

Malevola shares the sentiment. “Aww, what? But then I can’t do this—”

She lunges to grab his crotch again, but Robert manages to dodge out of her way this time.

“Yup, right on that.”

Visi rolls her eyes. “Leave the poor guy alone.” She looks him up and down. “And put something on, Jesus.”

Robert goes to grab some pants, and doesn’t miss Sonar’s disappointment (even if faked for laughs) when he dresses.

The party, if it can be called that, commences. Visi puts on a playlist of hers, Robert not recognizing any of the songs that come on. The volume is low for the sake of his neighbors, and they have other things to do anyways. Royd crafts a sign – ROBERT’S HOUSEWARMING PARTY (keep closed for beef) – and hangs it on the door outside.

Malevola carefully goes over the details of the people she knows. What usage they could have for the Astral Pulse, their potential motives, and of course, her history with them. Robert can’t help but notice many similarities between her stories and Sonar’s – the common subject, of course, is the way they’re treated. A demon and a bat hybrid may be ‘mostly human’, but they still attract looks on the streets, and are feared by many. As such, both Mal and Sonar have begun to play into their characters. She doesn’t explicitly say it, but she doesn’t have to; Robert realizes it’s a major reason for both of their lives of crime.

If things had been different – if he didn’t have his father and Chase – Robert wonders where he would have ended up. In a society obsessed with telling people what they can and can’t be, how much would’ve been too much for him until he turned bitter? Maybe he wouldn’t have been a killer, but petty crimes weren’t out of the question. There were many times during his life in which Robert wanted to punch someone’s lights out.

He’s glad, then, that the Phoenix Program can exist, for people that need a chance, and were never given one. It’s a shame, it’s depressing to think the way the kind-hearted Malevola is treated just because of her appearance. Robert doesn’t know what is worse: to be solely feared, or to be solely fetishized?

The rest of the Z-Team show up one by one as well, each one – as per Robert’s worries – carrying a lamp.

Punch Up’s, he realizes, is stolen from the SDN. He doesn’t comment on it and thanks him kindly, but the Irishman is already raiding the fridge for alcohol.

Prism’s and Waterboy bring noticeably better presents, but still lamps. What is Robert supposed to do with all these lamps? Turning the one from Prism on almost blinds him. Waterboy’s is some lava lamp his generation is really into. Regardless, he appreciates both more than he’d let show.

Golem shows up last. Malevola has to portal him through. The giant construct mostly sits on the floor, content with chatting calmly with the others.

Flambae doesn’t show. Robert doesn’t let it get to him. Sonar stays too close to him and talks too much for the dispatcher to be disappointed.

Blazer and Chase arrive fashionably late, and Robert notices Sonar is more attentive to their entrance than he was to anyone else’s. He guesses it has something to do with the couch they’re carrying.

“So,” Blazer says as she single-handedly sets it down in the corner, “this is your new bed. Heard you didn’t have one.” Her tone says what she refuses to: Damn, bitch, you live like this? (Of course, on a much more worried note.)

“You can thank your softie bat for that,” Chase scoffs, but it’s weirdly rid of malice. “He made sure it was a pull-out.”

Robert blinks. Sonar, notably, isn’t by his side right now. When he looks around, Robert spots him talking to Punch Up. It’s awfully convenient he turned at just the time Robert was going to thank him.

Still, he turns to Blazer and Chase and smiles.

“Thanks, guys.”

“Again – thank your bat, not us.”

“He’s not my bat… but I hear what you’re saying.”

Chase rolls his eyes. “And I’m Albert fucking Einstein.”

Robert looks him up and down. Blazer snorts at the expression; Chase sighs.

“Yeah, you don’t have to say it…”

Once everyone has arrived, Robert orders pizza. The conversations flow as easily as the drinks; songs shuffle in Visi’s playlist; the food is torn to pieces by hungry heroes. Sonar doesn’t avoid him, but he’s mostly distracted by everyone else wanting to talk to him.

Actually, everyone is mingling with everyone. Robert is touched to see them get along this well, even if he’s not the contributing factor to this per se. Malevola waves a nervous Waterboy over, asking him about who-knows-what, listening to him with an actual smile. Visi and Golem, as always, talk about their own adventures, the woman laughing obnoxiously loud at whatever joke the construct has said. Punch Up and Sonar drink on the balcony, exchanging stories, while Prism sticks to Royd’s side, making plans.

The pairs change, become trios, disperse and reform across the room. Punch Up laughs and pats Waterboy on the leg; Visi shakes her head fondly at whatever joke Sonar has made; Malevola, Prism, Visi and Waterboy take a selfie; Blazer congratulates Golem on a particularly successful dispatch; Chase wags a finger at Punch Up and tells him not to drink too much; Prism gets so drunk she threatens to kill everyone in the room if anything happens to Waterboy.

A deep sense of belonging blooms in Robert’s heart, one that manifests through a smile that never leaves his face. Corny as the thought about family may be, it’s beginning to be true. The dispatcher has come to think of his team not as coworkers, but rather, unlikely friends, perhaps even more than that. A true, dysfunctional, found family, the type lonely teenagers read about in trope-y books and sigh over.

The way they treat each other, and the way they treat Robert, makes the idea even less ridiculous. The way everyone was worried about him after his incident the other day, reluctant to express it; and now, they’re here, throwing a party for him, willing to go into danger to take the Astral Pulse, just because they know how much it means to him; it’s all textbook, isn’t it?

At some point as Robert mulls all of this over, Blazer gets up to dance. Her favorite song has come on, and she’s not shy to show it. Robert laughs at her, not mean-spirited, just surprised. She gives him a smile and then pulls Chase in, making him dance along.

One by one, the Z-Team join, and Robert’s apartment becomes a small club. The music still isn’t too loud, for the sake of his neighbors, but almost everyone is humming or singing along, making up for the lack of volume. It’s lively – familiar, even though it’s never happened before. Something Robert could get used to.

Yeah, he thinks he really could get used to this. To the Z-Team. To…

Sonar cannot dance for the life of him. Robert saw him, earlier, as Malevola pulled him in like a puppeteer with her… well, puppet. She scratched his chin and it was like he’d seen Heaven. Robert isn’t sure what those two are – platonic, romantic, a secret third thing – but they really love each other. He thinks Sonar deserves someone like Malevola, kind and reassuring, because he’s so hard on himself; and Malevola also deserves someone like Sonar, a hypeman like him, because she needs to know how good she is, too.

Seeing them like this, standing out even in a room filled with ex-villains, it’s no wonder they get along as well as they do. They’re just like Robert and Sonar: different. They take pride in this, and defend each other against those who think less of them. They stick together through thick and thin. It’s touching.

The Z-Team, once again, mingles as they dance, and Robert remains in a corner, watching them fondly. Laugh at Sonar he may, but he’s not much better of a dancer. He’s only been to the club a few times (shaking ass to peak Beyoncé, as previously established), and each time he wanted to die inside. There’s not even much ass to shake, and it’s not like he knows many other dance moves he could pull. Robert’s best party trick is trauma-dumping about what sounds like an average Wednesday to him.

It’s about ten minutes after the dancing has commenced that Sonar notices Robert on the side. The dispatcher is much too amused by Waterboy’s rigid dancing to notice the bat leaving Malevola and, instead, pulling up to him. He feels Sonar’s arm on his before he sees him, and he doesn’t have time to protest – he’s pulled into the makeshift dance ring.

“You know, you could let loose a little, Robbie,” Sonar shouts over the music, grinning ear to ear. The current piece is from some new indie artist he recently heard of – Radio, he thinks is the name of the song? “It’s your housewarming party, after all.”

As if to demonstrate, he dances – horribly. He does some weird shuffle as he glides peace signs over his eyes, and then he spins. It’s absolutely embarrassing, to the point where it’s endearing.

“Is ‘letting loose’ the reason you’re dancing like someone who just learned what legs are?”

Sonar doesn’t lose his grin; far from it, the sparkle in his eye brightens.

“You’re fun.”

Robert can’t suppress his own smile.

“You, too.”

Sonar takes his arm again, and this time spins and dips him. Grown man that he is, Robert giggles, actually giggles at being treated like this – kindly, intimately. A routine they’ve never done before, but something that fits. Something that doesn’t seem out of reach, impossible.

Sonar… isn’t that bad of a dancer, actually, now that he’s seeing him up close. Maybe he was just trying to stir pity in Robert earlier; or, maybe the alcohol is finally starting to kick in to Robert’s mind. Either way, Sonar puts his hands on Robert’s shoulders, and the dispatcher’s mind goes blank.

They’re close, like this. It should be too close, but it feels… nice. Natural. And it doesn’t feel friendly anymore, it feels like something else, but it’s not terrifying, as Robert imagined it’d be. Rather, crossing this step feels good. Like they’d both been waiting for it for a longer time than they’d realized.

A though crosses Robert’s mind – Malevola and Sonar earlier – and before he can stop himself, he reaches his hand forward, and…

The reaction is instant: as soon as Robert’s fingers unfold under his chin, scratching it, Sonar melts. He closes his eyes, shivering slightly. It’s a face of pure enjoyment – relaxed, safe, uncharacteristically innocent. It’s adorable.

Oh God. Oh. Oh my God.

Sonar laughs.

Oh.

The sound is intoxicatingly sweet.

Oh.

“A bit straightforward, huh, Robbie?” Sonar’s voice sounds more velvety than usual, hoarser. Oh fuck. “I don’t mind, though.” He plants his hands on his shoulders firmer. “Not one bit.”

Robert, in his panic, considers leaning out. He seriously considers giving into his anxiety and pulling away, leaving Sonar and trying to mix with the others. To dance with Blazer, or with Visi, and pretend like what he feels about Sonar isn’t as serious as it is; like he doesn’t think of a future with him whenever his mind wanders for too long; like he doesn’t want to fuck ‘taking it slow’ and ‘being selfish’ in the ass and kiss him passionately right now.

But he’s come this far. And he – realizes Robert with a dumb smile on his face – actually, really fucking likes the guy.

No, that’s putting it mildly.

He is completely, and utterly, in love with Victor.

And, for once, he doesn’t even mind the feeling. In fact, he revels in it – revels in him and his presence.

“You’re a freak,” he says affectionately.

“I know,” replies Sonar with a grin. “You’re into that, though. It’s allll over you.”

“Don’t ruin the moment, Batboner.”

“Gotta keep me in check, then.” Sonar’s hands begin to slither to Robert’s waist. “Because I make bad decisions when I’m in a good mood.”

Uncharacteristically brave – a mix of booze and having the man he loves so close to him – Robert murmurs:

“This is a bad decision?”

Sonar’s grin widens. “Why? Do you not think it is?”

Robert leans in more, his breath brushing against Sonar’s skin.

“No. Not at all.”

When he pulls back, Sonar’s cocky expression has a flash of panic across it. He probably didn’t think he’d get this far; Robert doesn’t blame him, but he laughs at his walls crumbling down.

The bat pouts. “What?”

“Nothing. It’s just…” Robert chuckles, not failing to notice how Sonar’s hands are now firmer on his waist. “You’re so adorable.”

Upon these words, the other man looks away.

“Shut up…”

“It’s true. You’re, like… so confident,” he snorts, “and then you just… do that, and…”

“Do what?”

“That. That pout.” Robert points at him, as if Sonar can see himself. He realizes how ridiculous he’s being, but doesn’t stop. “You, like… your eyes crease, and your ears droop down a little. Your ears are very telling, actually. They always betray you.”

As if on cue, Sonar’s ears flicker with interest. Robert points.

“Look – I just turned you on.”

The bat laughs, and Robert joins him. Somehow, he finds a way to pull him in even closer, and now Robert swears their breaths are brushing together.

“You’re trouble.”

“The best kind.” Sonar’s smile is fucking ravishing. Robert wants to get lost in his eyes. “See? I’m back to being confident again.”

“Only on the outside.”

“Is that so?”

Robert searches his gaze, then looks down. He smirks and grabs his tie, then pulls him in and—

Sonar stares at him. Robert doesn’t kiss him; he could. He wants to. But he doesn’t. He just smiles at him, taunting, teasing him.

Sonar’s façade shatters. Robert can feel his heart beating faster under his touch.

“Say that again for me, please?”

The bat laughs, a mix of nervousness and endearment.

“I think you’re the troublesome one here, Rob.”

“We can both be trouble.” Robert caresses his chest. “We can be each other’s bad decision.”

Sonar’s look is nothing but soft.

“I’d love that.”

Robert blinks up at him.

“Yeah,” he breathes out. “I think I would, too.”

His hand, Robert realizes, is still on Sonar’s tie. When he looks up, it becomes apparent Sonar realizes this, too.

There is barely any space left between them.

He could just—

“Hey Robert—damn what am I interrupting here?”

At the worst possible moment, Visi shows up; and, in less of a second, the men pull apart. Robert ignores the cold that comes with letting go of Sonar, but his displeasure must show on his face, because Visi laughs.

“Wow. Should I come back?”

“We’ll pick this up later,” Sonar promises, winking to Robert. Underneath the mask, Robert senses his annoyance. “He’s all yours.”

“Thanks, but I don’t want him. I do need you to come here for a sec, though.”

“Coming.” He turns to Sonar. “Well, I’ll…”

“Yeah. Um.” Sonar looks for Malevola. “Mal’s probably lonely without me anyways, so like—”

“Totally.”

A few more awkward, half-said sentences, and Sonar’s making a beeline for the balcony, while Visi grabs Robert to show him something on the projector.

“You two fuck or what?”

“That’s none of your business.”

Visi looks him up and down. “You know you’re not fooling anyone, right? You can pull that shit, but it’s clear the guy wants to fuck you, and vice-versa from what I just saw. All I’m asking if you’ve acted on those thoughts—”

“What the hell did you need, Visi?”

“Oh, right. So…”

She begins to map out her plan, showing him across Torance. Royd joins in, manning the computer still. Robert is only half-heartedly listening; his mind is still on Sonar, his warmth, his touch.

Robert licks his lips. Regret washes over him. He can’t help but wonder whether he’ll have the opportunity to kiss Sonar again, or if he just wasted it.

Thankfully, his train of thought is interrupted by Visi using the marker to circle something. On the wall. His bare wall.

“You do know how projectors work, right?”

“Felt more dramatic,” she explains. “And bare walls are a sign of depression.”

“Why is it always a warehouse by the docks?” Robert wonders.

“It’s where stuff goes in and stuff goes out. Not exactly a rocket scientist, are ya?”

“No. That was my dad. What kind of security are we dealing with?”

Royd speaks up, then. “That’s where it gets tricky.”

He changes the image to show the warehouse, all threats detected and analyzed. Security cameras decorate it at every turn, and there are multiple automated weapons ready to strike. Gun turrets, Robert sees.

“Shit.”

“That’s more than shit,” Chase pipes up, “you’d need a fucking army.”

While Visi explained the plan she and the guys had crafted, Robert hadn’t failed to notice Chase downing drink after drink. He must have had at least five beers, if not more. The effects are clear in his voice – he’s much more irritated than usual. The tone on which he addresses the room is cold.

“I’ll go.”

Visi. Robert can’t say he’s surprised by this. She’s always willing to put herself on the front lines for the team, or rather, for him. It would be flattering, if only he didn’t have a sinking feeling in his gut that she did this – all of this – because she wanted his approval. Because she wanted him.

“Can’t shoot what you can’t see.”

“Look,” Blazer interferes, “this is really great work, but doing this tonight is out of the question. Hitting a secure location like this is something they would handle downtown.”

“Are you kidding?” Visi scoffs. “There’s enough firepower in this room to take down a fucking kaiju.”

“Buncha drunk ass Z-Teamers?” Chase raises an eyebrow. “Please. Y’all wouldn’t make it past the front door.”

Sonar watches the conversation from the sidelines, ears flicking over as he listens intently. His phone in his hand is long forgotten.

“No one’s asking you to do a goddamn thing, okay?”

“Hey, no need for that,” Blazer cuts in, like a careful teacher trying to extinguish a fight between students. “We take the day to plan it with downtown, then hit the warehouse tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow night?! This thing’s not gonna sit still for that long – if we don’t grab it, someone else will!”

“This is incredible, Vis, but Blazer’s right,” Robert tells, also trying to diffuse the situation. He sees Sonar nod in the corner of his eye. “We make a plan. No need to rush this.”

Still, she insists. She always does.

“There’s no guarantee it will be there tomorrow. We need to go now—”

“She said no.”

Chase’s voice thunders. All chatter, which Robert hadn’t even noticed until then, seizes. The quiet hum is replaced by an argument waiting to explode over.

“You understand that word, or has it got too many fuckin’ syllables for you?”

“Why don’t you go walk your ass around a mall, grandpa,” Visi spits, approaching him. “Heroes are talking.”

“YOU ARE NO FUCKING HERO!”

Chase approaches, too, pointing like a wild animal. Robert can smell the booze on him. Around them, the Z-Team gasps.

“She named you Invisigal, you named yourself Invisibitch and you had it fuckin’ right!”

The venom in his voice becomes clearer with every word. He pokes Visi’s chest in between sentences, a jab that Visi flinches at.

Blazer steps between them, holding him back. “Chase, you’re drunk. You need to stop talking.”

But he doesn’t. “You wanna get people hurt? Get people fuckin’ killed? Then you need to go back to the team where you belong!”

“Hey!” Robert shouts. “Everybody just calm down!”

“This is crazyyy…” Prism pulls out her phone to film.

“She thinks she’s like you, but she’s not. Robert doesn’t need to keep going out there with no powers, putting his life on the line to make up for assholes like you! He don’t need to be Mecha Man to be a hero!”

Robert holds his breath. He doesn’t mean to look at Sonar, but, as always, his gaze finds him anyways. The bat’s eyes are widened, an expression of curiosity and distress both. Emotions play on his face like actors on a stage; Robert is ashamed that, even in such a moment, he finds the bat unmistakingly beautiful.

“You’re playin’ them, you’re playin’ yourself. You think you’re invisible – but I fucking see you.”

Visi is boiling, but her words come out strained. Angry, but more resented than anything.

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know you’re a liar, a criminal, I know you’re fuckin’ dangerous—” He jabs her chest again— “what else do I need to know?”

Her fists are clenched, her whole body trembling. Robert watches her anxiously. She looks like she’s about to pounce on Chase; and, weirdly enough, Robert probably wouldn’t blame her.

But she doesn’t.

What she does is disappear.

“There,” Chase spits. “Now I know you’re a cowar—”

He doesn’t finish his sentence – Invisigal, still unseen, punches him. Hard. The entire team gasps again, and Chase reels back, hitting himself on the counter. Drinks fly off and the bottles shatter. Visi’s footsteps recede as she runs out of the room, the door slamming on the way out.

“Visi, wait!” Robert calls out, but to no avail. She’s already gone.

Blazer goes to check on Chase, Royd also sitting worriedly by the side. The Z-Teamers look over the damage curiously.

“That was a nice uppercut,” Punch Up comments.

“That bitch sent his ass airborne!” Prism wows. “How are you not dead?”

Robert looks around the room. The tension is heavy.

“So… we doing shots now, or what?”

“Chase already has his,” mutters Malevola.

“No kidding,” Sonar scoffs.

“That’s enough for tonight, I think,” Blazer says, tone laced with regret. She goes to leave, and takes Chase, who is still rubbing his jaw, with her. “I’m sorry this turned into… whatever just happened.”

The silence is so tense, expecting more. Prism bites her lip, still filming. Malevola and Sonar exchange concerned glances. All eyes are on Blazer.

She turns to them one last time:

“Anyone who utters one word about what happened tonight fucking answers to me. Got it?”

Prism, still holding her phone, reads the room and puts it down.

In this moment, the last thing Robert had expected to hear was a knock on the door. He exchanges glances with – Sonar, because of course he looks at Sonar. He shrugs and goes to the door.

Maybe she’s back to apologize, or to punch Chase again. Either way, Robert opens for—

“Invisigal—”

He is met with his own punch from none other than Flambae.

“Yeah. So I might have to do that once a month or so as a release of my hatred for you.”

Charming as always.

The fireball doesn’t stay for long. He tells Robert his house ‘fucking sucks’, throws his own lamp on the floor, then dips.

One by one, the Z-Team follow in his steps.

Blazer is out first, cradling Chase by his shoulders. The older man doesn’t meet Robert’s gaze, nor says anything. There is regret painted in both his and Blazer’s expressions – but they’re dead quiet going through the door.

Waterboy caresses Robert’s shoulder as he leaves, an apology for the turnout of the evening despite having no fault in it. Prism murmurs something close to ‘sorry’ as well, and although Robert doesn’t ask her to, she shows him proof she’s deleted the recording on her phone. She gives a weak smile, one unlike her, and then she’s gone.

With a heavy sigh, Punch Up makes haste, a beer bottle still in his hand. Then goes Golem, a portal opened up by Malevola again. He offers Robert a pitiful glance as he leaves. After that, Malevola is out, too.

Sonar lingers.

“You want me to help clean up?”

Robert could cry. The bare walls already feel like they’re closing in on him, frustration aching in his chest. He feels an all-too familiar prickle behind his eyes, and his throat closes up.

Still, he pushes him away. He thinks it’s for Sonar’s sake – that all of this is too much to handle. His thoughts from earlier come back, and he’s so close to breaking. He can’t let him see this, any of this.

“No, it’s fine. I’ve got it.” Softly, “Go home, Sonar. This has been… a fucking mess, and…” His voice breaks. “You should get some sleep.”

Sonar hesitates.

For a second, it appears as though he really is going to turn on his heel and leave. Robert wonders whether he’ll walk through the door or fly off the balcony. Would he have the privilege to see his transformation again? Would he be given one long – longing – look as he left? Would he mention at all what happened earlier?

Would they even bring it up again? Or would it be a distant memory, a ‘what could have been’ to mourn in the future?

Sonar moves towards him, towards the door. Robert wouldn’t blame him if he left right now. Anyone else would; everybody else has.

But he doesn’t brush past. Instead, Sonar comes right up to him, looks at him – really looks at him – and asks:

“Are you sure?”

And Robert can’t hide it anymore.

“Stay.”

And it’s all he has to say.

They don’t talk. They don’t have to.

Beer bottles are tosses into a trash bag, leftover pizza stored in the fridge, Beef’s bed made. It’s Victor that goes outside to take the trash, telling Robert he doesn’t have to worry about it. It’s the only sentence he addresses to him those twenty-something minutes, and it’s still filled with so much love and care.

Robert doesn’t understand himself. He doesn’t understand why he wants to push this away; why he wants to push Victor away, when it’s clear the man has nothing but honest, pure intentions. He doesn’t understand why he has to sabotage himself again and again. Doesn’t he deserve to feel some happiness for once in his life? Doesn’t he deserve to be loved? Doesn’t he deserve…

Victor comes back. They wordlessly go onto the balcony. The cold air should be invigorating, but Robert still feels like hell.

The gentle breeze that caresses his cheek feels like the first night he spent with Victor – that night at the bar. The night he couldn’t forget.

For a second, things feel right. For a second, the corners of Robert’s mouth weakly curl upwards.

But it’s just a second, and it passes, and he hunches over on the balcony, almost collapsing under the weight of everything.

The night is peaceful, and yet Robert, overthinker that he is, can’t help but view it the calm before the storm. What storm shall happen, he doesn’t know; but there’s dread gnawing in his gut, and a sharp ache in his chest.

The atmosphere is quiet, barely interrupted by human-made sounds. He vaguely hears a car’s engine rev in the distance, as well as the chime of a crosswalk, indicating it’s safe to go.

He inhales deeply and exhales lightly polluted air that feels like home. He would light a cigarette for the sake of holding something, of being warm in this chill, but he decides against it. The air is much too clean to contribute to its ruin.

Victor is quiet as a mouse. Robert almost forgets he’s here until he hears him breathe; and even then, the sound is barely audible. Like Victor is afraid to exist next to him.

Robert almost can’t bring himself to break this silence, but it eventually turns from serene to heavy. Every thought, every moment from this evening, good and bad, hangs in the air. He has to cut through them somehow.

“I don’t understand why he always has to do this.”

Robert has tried, for so long, not to blame Chase. To understand him, and see his point of view. But there is only so much the dispatcher can take; only so many venom-filled words he can hear him utter about the team, about Visi or, God forbid, about Victor.

His own words now come naturally, infuriated, long-awaited. The best part is that he knows Victor shares the sentiment, even if he’s diplomatic enough not to show it – so, for once, he indulges himself and vents.

“I mean, he always has something to say about the team, but it’s always Visi that he hits hardest. She always does something wrong.”

“He’s being careful.” Victor shrugs, half-hearted. He sees Robert’s pain upon blaming Chase and tries to meet him halfway, not insulting the older man, but also not relating to him fully. “He doesn’t want you to be hurt.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Tell him that.”

“I do. God, I do. He just never listens.” Robert bites his lip. “He’s so… selfish. And he doesn’t see the progress I’ve made, the progress all of you have made.” He scoffs. “To make things worse, lately… he’s also been hard on you.”

Victor’s left ear twitches in Robert’s direction. “Me?”

Robert looks away. He fixes his eyes on a sign in the distance, flickering, but never quite turning on or off. Like it doesn’t know whether to stay or go.

“Chase is a lot of things. An old man, a bitter person, but… not at all stupid.” He angles his head towards Victor, barely. He can’t fully meet his gaze. “He realizes there’s something going on here.”

“Something going on?” There’s a smile in the bat’s voice as he speaks, but it’s not fully earnest. There’s a sarcasm to it, one that hurts. “Is that what we’re calling this?”

“We said we’d take things slow, didn’t we?”

“You said it. Not me.”

The thought comes back. Selfish.

But this time, he aims to make it right.

“I did,” Robert admits, softly. “I guess that doesn’t give me the right to regret it, does it?”

This is the loudest silence Robert has ever heard. Even as he faces away from the bat, even without super-hearing, he swears he can hear his heartbeat pick up. When he manages to look back just slightly, Victor’s ears are perked up, and his eyes wide.

“Regret it?”

He’s never heard him so vulnerable.

And Robert laughs, then. Loudly. Broken. He looks away and laughs like the idiot that he is.

“This is so fucking stupid.”

He runs a hand over his own face, taking a breath so deep he must be inhaling the entire oxygen supply of Los Angeles. He can’t meet Victor’s gaze, he can’t even look at his own hands, so he just stares ahead at that stupid sign, still not decided on whether to flash proudly or hide itself in the city’s darkness.

“Ever since that night at the bar,” he begins, slowly, “I’ve been wondering whether being Mecha Man is what I really want.”

He lets his words sets in, knowing Victor is analyzing each of them carefully.

“Whether it’s worth going back out on the field just for selfish assholes who cuss me out. Whether it’s worth saving people who think I should’ve died instead of failing to carry my family’s legacy.” He pauses. “Whether it’s worth trying to get revenge on Shroud, when I could…”

The word gets caught in his throat. Robert does his best to spit it out.

“I could die.”

Once said, the reality is out there. He can’t take it back.

Robert is left vulnerable.

He sees the sign flicker off.

“That’s why I said we should take things slow,” he admits. “Because I’m scared, Victor. Terrified to my core. Everything that’s happened so far, everything we’ve done… Getting drinks together, lunch, fuck, that dance earlier – everything has been…”

He trails off and shakes his head in frustration.

“If we are to be together…” What an impossible want, what a stupid, selfish dream. “If I am to become Mecha Man again…”

I could…

“I could die.” A pause. “And I don’t want to put that on you. I don’t want you to mourn me, when you should… be happy, be better—be alive, and live to your full potential.”

He looks to the stars in hopes of an answer. They shine uselessly on the sky.

“You don’t deserve this. You don’t want…” Me. “…this.”

A beat. Two.

Then the silence stretches.

Robert turns to Victor. He sees him leaning on the balcony, lost deep in thought. He, too, looks far ahead. His gaze, funnily enough, seems fixated on the sign Robert was looking at earlier, too.

And he sighs. He gives a deep, heaving sigh, his shoulders hunching over with it.

“Everybody has told me what I should want all my life.”

Robert blinks.

“What, or who, I should be. What, or who, I am.” Victor smiles bitterly. “And first and foremost, I should have wanted to be normal.”

The word stings. Robert is much too familiar with it and its cruelty.

“I should’ve been happy the way I was born; the way I was treated. Should’ve been content with being called a freak of nature, an abomination, a monster.”

Victor still doesn’t look at Robert.

For a few moments, it’s quiet again.

Then, Victor’s gaze softens, and his eyes gloss over with nostalgia.

“Malevola and I weren’t always friends.”

Robert’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. For the first time since they’d come out on the balcony, he and Victor make proper eye contact; and the bat chuckles.

“You’re looking at me as if that sounds impossible.”

“Well, it does,” Robert confesses. “I mean, you’re practically inseparable…”

He stops, hoping Victor realizes the silence is an invitation to elaborate. The bat, for once, gets the memo. He props his elbows on the edge again, wistfully looking into the distance as he begins.

“I had just graduated, bought my own apartment. Mal had moved nearby.” He smiles at the memory; even just mentioning her brings that smile to his face. “We met in a grocery store, randomly. And when we saw each other, we knew… we were both different.”

Involuntarily, Robert’s eyes slip to Victor’s chest.

“And, once we knew that… we became inseparable, as you call us. Rightfully so.” His smile turns into a grin. “God, we were a pair. We never dated, obviously, we’ve never actually been into each other romantically. We’ve fucked, sure – I’ll spare you the details – but, other than that, just two pals against the world.”

Weirdly enough, the comment about their sexual encounter(s) doesn’t spark any kind of jealousy in Robert. In fact, it’s almost comforting. Natural.

“We fucked shit up. Heroically,” Victor adds, mimicking Punch Up’s accent. “We kicked the ass of anyone who dared tell us who we should be. We got banned from so many fucking bars. We even debated moving in together at one point…”

He trails off. Robert can’t help but notice his last word holds a note of regret. He leans forward.

“…But?”

Victor sighs. His smile turns sadder.

“But, after about a year, a year and a half… I blew her off.”

Once more, Robert’s eyebrows shoot up. Victor chuckles, but doesn’t stop to comment, and continues.

“I lashed out. It was ugly,” he hisses as he remembers. “I told her I didn’t want to see her anymore. Didn’t want to talk to her anymore.” He averts his eyes. “That two freaks of nature ought to get targeted more than just one. And I told her much more shit, shit that I regret, and that I rightfully got a scar on my back for.” A pause. “Then, for a few months… we separated.”

The distant sign holds on for dear life. It flickers again now, barely, constantly switching between darkness and light – but at least it’s flickering.

“Her contact was still in my phone, and so was mine in hers. She could still teleport to my place whenever she wanted to, but never did. And we still saw each other on the street, or at the grocery store – but we passed by each other like two strangers, nodding our heads down like the goddamn idiots we were.”

Victor’s voice is so strained, as if he never contacted Malevola again. There is so much pain he carries in that tone, so much regret obvious in the way his voice cracks. His white eyes are glossier than usual; he sniffles, unrelated to any drug usage. He stares far ahead.

Without meaning to, Robert asks:

“Why’d you do it?”

And the answer, unexpectedly so, is instant.

“I was scared.”

Victor looks at him, and Robert feels his soul laid bare before the man.

“My own insecurities pushed me back – and, in turn, I pushed her away.”

“What insecurities?” Robert can’t help but question. “You’re—”

“A cokehead, in case you forgot. Chase probably told you about today, and that’s probably why you got so fuckin’ sentimental on me.”

Well, he got him there. Robert drops his head. Victor chuckles, a mix of fondness and bitterness.

“Being close with a drug addict is hard, Robbie. Any addict, actually. You see them constantly hurt because of the stuff, and you beg them to get clean… and, maybe, for a while, it works, but…” He sniffles. “Then they go do it again, and again, and before you know it, it’s the only thing keeping them sane, and you can’t save them.”

Despite his words, Victor smiles.

“But you know what she did?”

Robert sees the sign turned on, even if for a fleeting moment.

“She took my hands in hers and told me she loved me.”

His voice cracks again. He’s never been more beautiful.

“She saw me for who I was, a mentally ill addict, with four fucking diagnoses and a secret stash in every corner of my damn apartment – more of a burden than a person – and she still fucking stayed.” He laughs, wet and broken and real. “No matter how many times I relapsed, how many times I went all monster on her because I couldn’t control it, how many times I fell down… she was there to pick me back up.”

Victor takes a deep breath and turns to Robert, body now fully angled towards him. There are tears running down his face, staining his fur. Robert wants nothing more than to reach out and wipe them away.

“And, as you can see, I’m still a coke addict, and I still can’t always control my monster form, and—” Victor laughs again— “I still fall down a whole fucking lot.”

He wipes his eyes.

“But, as you can also see… she’s still here.” He bites his lip. “And of course it hurts, you know? To see me promise to get clean, only to find me nose-deep in a stash hours later; to see me lash out, scream in her face and fly off into the night, with no way of knowing whether I’ll stay safe or not; to see me treat myself the way I do… Of course it hurts to see me like that. And it hurts to see her in her own bad states, too, because don’t think anyone’s fucking perfect, Robbie. Everyone hurts, everyone’s got their own shit to deal with. Everyone’s afraid of letting other people down. You’re not that damn special.”

The stars still don’t offer answers, but Robert, for once, thinks he’s found one.

“But we’re working on it.” Victor’s voice is firm, now. Soft, but assured. Hopeful. “And we’re still here, we still lift each other up because that’s what you do with the people that you love. You see them hurt and help them. You see them fall and pick them the hell up, no many how many times it takes.”

A beat. Two.

There’s silence once more.

Robert can barely look at Victor, but he forces himself to, because he owes him that much when he’s being this brave, this kind, pouring his soul out to him and telling him…

“I’m still here because…”

His voice breaks. His eyes crease. He hesitates and almost looks away.

But he still says it.

“Because when you love someone, you take a risk.”

It seems impossible to break eye contact with Victor. Every muscle in Robert’s body aches for him, for his touch, for his embrace.

And, for the first proper, honest to god time, he thinks:

Why should he deny himself that? Who is his depression to tell him what he can and can’t have? What are his self-deprecating thoughts if not just that – thoughts, and nothing more?

Why shouldn’t he love him?

Why shouldn’t he be with him?

Why shouldn’t he be happy?

“I’ll wait, Robert,” Victor promises, in that rambling way of his that he slips into when he’s nervous. “Not months, not years – decades, if I have to. Fuck, if you came to me as an old man and got down on one knee, without us having seen each other for fifty years, I’d still say yes.”

He laughs, agitated, terrified. His breathing picks up. Robert thinks his sixth sense is being able to tell every bit of Victor’s body language.

The bat averts his eyes, then, and laughs harder.

“That probably sounds crazy, doesn’t it?”

And Robert, despite himself, and despite his thoughts, and despite his entire life of misery, allows himself to laugh as well.

“It does,” he admits. “You sound batshit crazy, Victor, pun unintended.”

“That’s so bad,” Victor cackles. “Fuck, that’s bad, Robbie…”

“I know.”

Robert grabs Victor’s tie.

“I think I’m crazy, too,” he whispers in confession.

Victor’s façade shatters.

“Let’s both be crazy,” he begs, breathless. “Let’s be each other’s bad decision.”

Robert gazes up at Victor like he’s hung the stars.

“I’d love that.”

Victor blinks down at him.

“Yeah,” he breathes out. “I would, too.”

His hand is still on Victor’s tie.

There is barely any space left between them.

Robert pulls him in and kisses him.

The kiss is unexpectedly gentle, soft. Like they’ve been through the motions thousands of times, as if a married couple slipping into what they’re lucky enough to call routine. Victor’s snout is soft, and his fangs graze Robert’s lips ever so slightly.

Victor raises a hand to cup Robert’s cheek, while Robert grabs the back of the bat’s neck. He is met with fur, and he holds onto it as if the most precious thing on Earth. Victor’s other hand slips to his waist, just like earlier, and the hold is as natural as before.

Wetness brushes against Robert’s skin, and he realizes both him and Victor are crying. He pulls back to wipe the bat’s eyes, and Victor laughs and kisses away Robert’s own tears. He presses more kisses onto his face, going from his cheeks to his forehead, and then back down, to his neck.

“Ah, Victor—”

Robert sucks a breath in as Victor bites into his neck, leaving a dotted mark. He gently licks it, lapping at the blood that pours out. Robert grips onto his fur, burying his face in the nape of the bat’s neck.

“Is it casual now?” Victor asks teasingly, and Robert can’t help but hit him over the head. The bat exclaims, but admits, “I deserved that.”

Robert laughs and meets his eyes again. They’re so gentle, so loving.

In the distance, the sign flickers on, and stays that way. Not that Robert sees it – he’s far too lost in Victor’s gaze to care for anything else.

“I think I’m in love with you, Robert,” breathes Victor.

Robert looks at him as if he’s the entire universe and more.

“I think I’m in love with you, too, Victor,” confesses Robert.

It’s Victor this time that pulls him in, kissing him again. It’s rougher, much more wanting this time. There is still much love and care to it, but Victor’s possessiveness shines through, in the way his fangs bite into Robert’s lips, in the way he holds his waist.

“Fuck, Victor…”

“Let me work, Robbie.”

“You’re a tease—”

Victor shuts him up by kissing him again, rough, hard, perfect. He’s perfect. Everything is perfect.

Robert has never been happier in his entire life – and, for once, he finally feels like he deserves it.