Chapter Text
It had been weeks since the “Shroudpocalypse.” A term the Z-Team somehow managed to plant in his brain like a parasite.
Five weeks to be specific. Five weeks and two days to be exact.
Robert’s not sure why he’s keeping such close track, he doesn’t feel any specific way about the information.
What is weird, he thinks, is that he doesn’t actually remember much from that day. He was decidedly not thinking about the Sardine, and the following fight was chaotic in the way that always seemed to slide off his brain in the aftermath. The day isn’t blank though; he remembers bits and pieces, the fear when he realized Shroud had Beef held over the ledge, the anger when Shroud had shot Visi. The anger pushing his hands deeper into Elliots windpipe, the way his airways collapsed, the sickening sense of relief when he kill-
Robert shuts the door on that train of thought very quickly. He much prefers thinking about the afterparty he got dragged into. Mal had relieved him of any major injuries before portaling the team to the same taco place they went to after their bar fight because apparently post-fight tacos were a thing for them now.
Despite no longer feeling tenderized the fatigue had still absolutely bodied him when the adrenalin wore off, which was how he had found himself slowly munching on fake Mexican food in a sticky leather booth barely keeping his eyes open with Beef curled up in his lap completely unaffected by everything that had happened just a few hours ago.
Lucky.
Most of it was fuzzy around the edges, Sonar’s guilt ridden but sincere apology, the way everyone shuffled around in different booths to talk with different people, and how they all sat with him at one point or another, enough that he’s not sure he was alone at any moment. There’s also a weird memory of Alice leaning into a very red Herman’s space, nearly in the poor man’s lap. He’s still not sure if it was real and he’s not going to ask. But the one thing he remembers very clearly from that morning was Flambae sidling in next to him holding a flask he’d briefly seen get passed around.
------
“Here to finish me off?”
“Psh, you wish Bob Bob.” He smirks down at him and takes a swig from the flask before pressing it into Roberts hands, his expression turning troubled. “I just, uh. Fuck this is harder than I thought.” He turns his eyes to the room speaking softly, “I want to apologize, for the last time we were here.”
Robert just stares at him, wondering if maybe he had hit his head during the fight and forgot about it.
Apparently the shock shows on his face. “You don’t have to look that surprised, Bitch.”
“Can you blame me?” Probably shouldn’t poke the bear, but it had slipped out before he processed the thought.
Flambae looks pissed for all of three seconds before he takes a deep breath. “No, that’s fair. I-“ he pauses his face leaping between emotions too fast for Robert to track. “I tried to kill you.” The admittance comes with a shaky breath. “I don’t know how to apologize for that, but I am sorry, for what that’s worth.”
Robert needs a moment to kickstart his brain, realizing this conversation is actually important. He tries to stall by taking a sip from the flask and is met super grade liquor. It's somehow worse than the incident at Crypto Night and he doubles over coughing.
“Tch, fucking normie.” Flambae swaps the flask for his soda. It's basically flavored water at this point, but better than nail polish remover.
“You put it in my hand!” His words came out a little wheezy.
“I just expected Mecha-Man to be able to hold his liquor a little better.”
“That’s paint stripper in a flask, Flambae, of fucking course I can’t drink it.” He stuffs a handful of someone’s fries to try and get rid of the taste. They're cold and he immediately regrets eating them.
“Chad.”
Robert pauses and leans back, frowning as he attempts to understand what he means, way too slow for the man’s paper-thin patience apparently.
“My name, bitch. Keep up. You still concussed or something?”
“…Your name is Chad?”
Chad rolls his eyes and groans, “Here we fucking go.”
Robert snorts, finally relaxing back into his seat. “Hey, its still better than Robert fucking Robertson.”
It makes Chad snicker, “Seriously, were you high when you picked that name?”
...
“Chad, that is my name.”
“C’mon man, Shrouds dead you don’t have to be undercover, or in witness protection, or whateverthefuck- “
“No, Chad. My birth certificate says Robert Robertson the Third”
Chad just blinks at him, the weirdest mix of amusement and horror on his face. Finally in a strangled high pitch tone he’s never heard from the man. “The Third?”
Robert smirks. “Yup. The Third."
Chad gapes at him like he's grown a third head. “You sound like a fucking colonizer.”
That startles a quiet laugh out of Robert, but when Chad joins him it devolves into a full belly laugh that he couldn’t stifle. They could barely make eye contact without devolving again. Their friends all give them odd looks, a few trying to pry them for what was so funny.
It left Robert feeling light in a way he barely recognizes. But it was nice, so when their laughter finally subsides, he let himself sit with it, gently scratching Beef behind his ear. Chad didn’t seem put off by it either, it gave Robert time to gather his thoughts before speaking again.
“It is worth something by the way.”
Chad furrows his brows, “hm?”
“Your apology, it’s worth something. To me.” He sucks in a breath. “And I’m sorry too. Maybe not for stopping you but, I’m sorry for your fingers, and for not telling you sooner.”
Chad didn’t have anything to say after that. So, they sat quietly together until their friends decide to invade their space again.
------
Robert had been one of the first to leave, he was barely keeping his eyes open when they got there and he did not need to sleep in a taco place. Halfway home he had realized it probably would have been the better choice. Public transit was of course, not running, the city had been up in smoke just that morning. Which meant he and Beef had to walk. By the time he reached his couch he couldn’t be bothered taking his shoes off.
He’d slept the rest of the day, waking briefly to feed Beef and take him outside before sleeping the rest of the night, the next day going much the same. Later in the day he managed to shower, reply to a few texts, and mechanically eat a frozen burrito before getting a second full night of rest. He couldn’t remember that last time he had slept so much.
On the second morning post Shroud he rolled off the couch, ignoring every ache and pain that persisted; and hauled himself back to SDN to help with cleanup. It had taken three days to get the office to a point of use.
But once it was, work had simply resumed.
Well, it was a little different than before. Mandy had approached him the day before the office opened back up and requested he stay on as the Z-Team’s dispatcher until they could find another; he could go out in the mech outside of his 9-5, and he’d be in the system to dispatch in case of emergencies. Robert agreed easily, happy he got to stick with his pack of idiots for a little while longer.
SDN hero’s weren’t discouraged from pro-bono heroing, they just couldn’t clock the hours. But Robert didn’t mind that, he hadn’t gotten paid for the first fifteen years of his career, that was never why he did it. So most nights and weekends he was out making arrests.
Helping people.
Keeping people safe.
Fulfilling the family legacy.
Unfortunately it became quickly apparent to Robert that his body was no longer able to keep up with the work.
He’d been aware, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he was different. His muscles had atrophied, he’d lost weight, eating was harder than ever, and some days it felt like every nerve ending in his body was on fire.
When he got back from patrolling his vision was spotty, his legs felt weak, and his stomach turned in a way he knew meant he burned what few calories he had managed to eat.
And his hands always got stuck in the position to hold the joysticks, it took an hour just to coax them back to use, but it hurt.
And every night of sleep lost left his brain lagging and it made him slow and stupid and he couldn’t stop making mistakes.
“-riously Bob Bob? Again?”
The question startles from his train of thought, not expecting to be addressed. Mal and Sonar were chatting at the other table. Coop and Punch had mentioned something about a burger joint nearby, and Golem would be sitting outside during break. Waterboy had started keeping him company since Visi wouldn’t be back for another week.
Prism surprisingly had sat next to Robert with her prepacked lunch and attention solely on the phone in her hand, but the company was still nice.
Flambae must have arrived when his brain was… occupied.
“Do you ever bring a fucking lunch?”
Robert just shrugs, looking down at the bag of plain potato chips he’d barely touched.
“He skipped lunch for paperwork yesterday too,” Prism snitches not even looking up from her phone.
That just got him glared at. “Your body needs fuel Mecha-Dick, if you get sent out your going to faint before you even leave the building.”
“Believe it or not, but I’ve made it to 31 just fine. I think I know what my body can handle Flambae.”
The man’s gaze shifts down to the baggy SDN dress shirt, then back up to his face. “More like it’s a fucking miracle you’re still standing.”
A month ago it probably would have been meant as an insult, nowadays it came across more like concern. Moments like that had been happening since they had apologized to each other. Flambae hadn’t stopped insulting him, if he had Robert would have suspected he’d been body snatched. But the insults didn’t feel biting anymore. Most often it was playful, like the banter he has with Chase; but occasionally he’d say something that felt like concern disguised as an insult, and it made Robert feel cagey, knowing he was being watched.
Robert chose not to respond, averting his attention back to his ‘lunch’. It wasn’t very appetizing, but he had gone out last night and halfway through his patrol his vision went spotty and he’d gone cold. He'd had to cut his patrol short and find the nearest fast food place he could afford just to keep from passing out. It took him two hours just to be able to finish his burger and thinking about it still made his stomach turn.
Flambae interrupts his musings for a second time by placing a Tupperware lid in front of him. Its stacked with four steaming dumplings of some kind, covered with a thick red sauce. He sits down next to Robert, the container in his hand held the same thing, an obvious gap where he had taken some of his lunch out.
“This is your lunch,” Robert says dumbly.
Flambae rolls his eyes. “Who’s ‘tell people obvious shit guy’ now? Just eat the fucking food, Bob Bob.”
Robert opens his mouth to object but before he can the smell hit him.
It's… it smells good. Meat and spices he doesn't recognize making his mouth water, and despite the persistent feeling of nausea his stomach growls.
Prism and Flambae both look up at him, very amused as his face goes red. “Shut up.”
“If you think it smells good just wait till you taste it,” Prism says. “Bae’s food is five star restaurant levels of amazing.” As if to prove her point she reaches across the table to try and steal a dumpling from the man. Surprisingly Flambae actually lets her take one with a smug look.
“Of course it is, I’m just amazing like that.”
The heros thankfully return to their own meals leaving Robert to inspect his new lunch. He picks up a dumpling to sniff it, he can’t smell anything off.
Flambae gives him a look, “Its mantu, not a bomb, just fucking eat it bitch.”
Glaring right back he places the entire dumpling in his mouth to be able to flip the man off. Which is really stupid, because he hadn’t worked himself up to it and the sensation of food in his mouth makes his skin crawl. But, Prism was right, it tastes fucking amazing. Whatever the meat is it's light and not greasy like he's grown to loathe. There's garlic and tomato but most of the flavors are unfamiliar.
As soon as he swallows the first piece the next is in his mouth. In the corner of his eye he can see Flambae looking even more smug with every mantu eaten.
When he reaches for the next one only to find the space empty he frowns, feeling an odd sense of loss at the realization he's eaten them all.
Prism and Flambae were looking at him again.
“What?”
“I’ve literally never seen you eat that fast,” Prism says.
“I know my cooking is good but damn bitch, you barely even chewed,” Flambae adds. “Did you really like it that much?”
Robert feels his face warm up. “You already know it’s good, I’m not going to fuel your ego.”
“Too late,” Flambae smirks with that stupidly charming gap toothed smile, “I don’t think anybody has ever looked that sad after realizing they finished their food.”
“Whatever, I have paperwork to do before second shift starts. Don’t be late.” It was a weak excuse but they're kind enough to not call him out on it.
On the walk back to his desk he takes stock. His hands still feel stiff, and his shoulder aches something fierce, not to mention how sluggish his mind is; but for the first time in days his hunger is reduced to a dull sensation easily ignored.
He should thank Chad properly.
He spends the rest of his break giving Beef the attention he deserves and replying to Courtney’s bombardment of texts. Mostly memes he doesn’t quite get but always hearts, a few questions about work he happily answers, and a fair amount of flirting that he tastefully sidesteps.
She was really the only one on the team to message him about anything other than work, at least directly. He had been added to their group chat sometime after the red ring takeover, but it was so busy and full of references he barely got that he tended to ignore it unless directly addressed. It still gives him a fuzzy warm feeling that he’d been added at all.
Just as he finishes typing a reply her last text she messages him in rapid fire.
Visi: Dude
Visi: DUDE.
Visi: YOU GOT FLAMBAE TO SHARE
HIS LUNCH?
Visi: you gotta tell me how, iv been
begging him for MONTHS
Frowning at the rapid change in subject he deletes his previous message and types out.
Robert: My working theory is he’s been replaced by a clone.
Visi: if he was i say we keep the new one
Visi: was it as good as prism says?
Robert: Wouldn’t you like to know.
Ignoring the following spam he switches his phone to do not disturb and with two minutes till second shift puts on his headset and logs back into the system.
He could see everyone was already online, a marked improvement from his first few weeks. Instead of announcing his presence he leaves them to their devices while he finishes setting up.
“Seriously man!? I just wanna try a bite, I’ll even pay you!” Sonars whine was borderline obnoxious.
“How many times do I have to say it, I’m not cooking for you batbitch,” Flambae snaps back.
“You gave Rob Bob some! Why does he get special treatment?”
Prism jumps in with barely contained glee. “You know why! Bae wants that co-“ the rest of her sentence is muffled like someone has covered her mouth.
“HUP BUP BUP. We don’t talk about that on coms, that bitch never tells us when he joins.” Flambae must have been the one to stop her then.
Amused, Robert decides to make his presence known. “No let her continue, I’m curious now.”
“Bobbert!” Sonar cries. “Can’t you tell Bae to share? He’ll listen to you!”
“I think you’re seriously overestimating how much Flambae respects me Sonar.”
“Yeah mate, I don’t think you’re getting anywhere with this,” Mal adds.
Conversation naturally dies down as calls start rolling in, all of it simple stuff. He sends Sonar to an interview with Bone-Zone. Punch-Up goes to break up a bar fight. Waterboy puts out a minor house fire. The usual peaceful start to a second shift. He falls into the rhythm easily.
Between writing reports, he stretches his fingers or massages his bad shoulder, a few times he’d have to stop mid typing to remember what he was even meant to be doing, but he keeps enough of a lid on it to not affect the work.
The hours go by fast, every mission going smoothly. His team has only gotten better at being heros now that they have the experience and support they needed. He hadn’t been lying all those times he said they had potential; they just needed a guiding hand to take off.
Which is why it was odd when near the end of shift, Coupé pings him.
He had sent her to a bank to investigate a potential B&E, something she usually handled just fine on her own. He flips feeds to her body cam footage and accepts the call. “Talk to me Coop, what happened.” Best he could tell she was in the vault, busted lock boxes lined the wall, and the vault door was shut.
“He got the jump on me, stunned me long enough to slip by. I can pick the lock but he tripped the alarm on his way out and I think it activated a secondary locking mechanism.”
Opening a separate tab he got started on infiltrating the Banks security system. “Right, let me get that alarm turned off. Be ready to pursue as soon as its down.”
A hack like this should be easy, he's done it million times before in under a minute, but it's like his brain is stuffed full of cotton, and his hands starts to cramp making him mistype but he doesn’t notice it until he tries to execute code that doesn’t work.
Two minutes pass and his pinky slips hitting enter before he's done.
“Robert?”
Three minutes gone and he forgets a command prompt.
“Robert, I don’t think I’ll be able to find him anymore.”
Five minutes. He can’t remember what number code he needs to input.
“Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!”
“Robert.”
“I’ve got it, just shut up for a second!”
“Robert, leave it. I won’t be able to track him down now. The authorities will be here soon, they can let me out. Just explain the situation so they don’t try to detain me.”
Cold dread washes over him, he messed it up so bad. Coupé was counting on him and he screwed it all up. Now her ranking would suffer, and there was still a criminal at large. Why had he snapped at her?
“…Yeah. Yeah, okay. I’ll do that.” He sucks in a breath. “Sorry.”
The line is painfully quiet before her feed cuts.
Robert places his head in his hands, gripping his hair tight enough to sting.
‘You have to be better than this.’
------
After passing information along to the authorities, he rejoined the main com line to dismiss the rest of the team. They all disconnect after their usual friendly goodbyes.
There was no word from Coupé. She hadn’t even rejoined the main line.
Robert stuck around just long enough to see her tracker leaving the building. He considered going through the standard debrief with her. Just thinking about it made him queasy. It could be left for tomorrow.
Instead he made his way to the mech, he needed to do something to make up for his failure.
Maybe it was a bad idea. His hands ached in a way that made it difficult to remove them from the joysticks anytime he needed to use the keypad or flip a switch. The pilot’s seat had never been comfortable exactly, but it had never made his lower back hurt this bad, and the seatbelts dug into his bad shoulder enough to send shooting pains down his arm.
So yeah, being out here probably wouldn’t go well, but if he helps even one person then it was worth it. He had a lot to make up for.
It had turned dark hours ago, city lighting up, lines wrapping around clubs and drunk people tumbling out of bars. A lot of them would stop and take picture as he walked past, a handful were bold enough to wave or call out to him to pose or show off.
After Robert finishes entertaining a bachelor party, he spots two men shouting at each other at the other end of the block. He can’t hear what they're shouting about, but he can see by their body language that it's about to turn physical, and they're so focused on the argument they apparently haven’t noticed the giant mech down the street.
He sighs to himself as he moves the mech in their direction. Projecting his voice he calls out to them, “Stand down you two, whatever this is about its not worth spending a night in a cell.”
The one closest to Robert is tall with a beard and red-faced. His broad shoulders are packed with muscle. The other is much younger, skinny, and now that he's close enough he cam see the fear on his face.
Big guy whips around to look at the mech and shout, spit flying. “Stay the fuck out of this!”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“If you don’t get the fuck away from me I’ll rip your stupid fucking robot apart!”
Despite not being visible Robert raises a brow.
‘Does this asshole actually think he can go toe to toe with the mech?’
“Sure, add resisting arrest to your rap sheet if you want.”
Apparently that's all the prompting the man needs. He launches himself forward taking a wide swing at the plating of the mech leg.
It's like Robert’s brain is stuck five seconds behind everything else, he should be able to dodge it, it was embarrassingly telegraphed. Another glaring failure to add to the pile.
The mech rattles with the blow, something buckling enough to have him scrambling to balance it. The asshole definitely has enhanced strength.
He pulls back for another hit when Robert’s brain finally catches up and he steps out of range.
Asshole doesn’t even stumble, just goes for another swing. Muscle memory kicks at that point and the mechs hand shoot out to grab the man, pinning both arms to his side. His face somehow goes even more red.
Ignoring the incensed sputtering and string of increasingly vile insults, Robert addresses the other man, “You okay?”
“Y-yeah, yeah, I’m good now. Thank you, so much, I thought he was going to take my head off my shoulders.”
Someone must have called the cops because they're already rounding the corner. Together they manage to get the man into a pair of reinforced cuffs. The entire encounter barely lasted three minutes so giving a statement doesn’t take long, which he's very grateful for because his diagnostics has returned a warning alert about internal damage in the leg and he has to check it out before he can keep going.
Finding a secluded alley sandwiched between a very busy club and a closed bakery he exits the mech with his emergency tool kit and starts the process of removing the now busted panel. It takes a bit of time to find the broken piece of armor that had wedged itself in the way of the hydraulics.
It was wedged snug too, the tight grip he has on the pliers making his hand lock up; he could massage it back into use once it was out. Mech first, body next.
Just as it's finally coming loose, he hears footsteps behind him. Quiet like they're trying not to be heard.
‘Don’t pause, only idiots pause.’
He keeps his attention fixed on the mechs internals until the footsteps turn rapid. Robert ducks to the side as a knife comes down where he stood seconds before.
Using the momentum, he steps further away to assess his attacker. The woman is gaunt, blond hair just reaching her chin, skin pale like she hasn’t seen the sun in weeks. She screeched when he dodged, her swing wild enough to have her stumbling against the mech.
As she straightens up he spots the inert augments implanted in her chest.
“You fucking bitch! I lost it all because of you! I’m going to kill you and leave your corpse to rot!”
She takes a step towards him and he drops into a fighting stance, knees bent, elbows to his side, hands in front of his face, which reminds him that his right hand is locked up. If he tries to punch with it he’d absolutely break his fingers.
Taking advantage of the few seconds he's distracted she launches herself at him again. The knife swipes across his exposed arm.
‘sloppy’
On her third swing he turns his upper body and steps closer, wrapping his good hand around her wrist, squeezing and twisting until she's forced to drop it.
Her other hand comes up and grabs at the back of his head wrenching it towards her to slam their skulls together.
It leaves his ears ringing long enough for her to rip away from his grip and kick his legs out from under him, and being too stunned to catch himself his skull cracked against the ground.
Robert opens his eyes to hands gripping his throat, wild red eyes boring into him and a sickening smile plastered on her face.
“This is what you did to him, right? Fucking poetic," she spits.
It was hard to stay conscious, the throbbing pain in his head, the fight for oxygen. He's sure he must pass out again, if only for a few seconds because it felt like he blinked and she was gone. His gasps for air turn into a coughing fit that makes his throat feel like its being torn.
The alley lights up around him, warm tones shifting across the brick walls. He closes his eyes against the harsh light. There's scuffling happening close by, and the smell of burnt flesh reaches his nose turns his stomach as his vision goes dark.
Warm hands grip his shoulder turning him on his side, A rough accented voice speaking softly. “That’s it, just let it out Bob Bob, I’ve got you.” His muscles contract like he's throwing up even though nothing is added to the pool of bile next to him.
‘get up.’
“Wh’r’s she?” He tries to get his hands under him but the pressure on his shoulder keeps him firmly in place. Heat radiated from the man leaning over him, it felt like Chad’s.
“She’s gone, just be still for a moment.”
How? They were fighting just seconds ago.
He tries to look around but only succeeds in turning his head far enough to see the man above.
Bright orange eyes met his gaze.
“Ch-Chad?” It hurts to talk and his vision is going spotty at the edges.
“Stop moving, I’m calling an ambulance.”
“M’gonna pass out.”
He hears a quiet, “oh fuck.” right before he loses consciousness again.