* butters *

While you were visiting your parents over the holidays, catching up late into the night and falling back into old routines, Robert had asked your dad if he could “borrow him for a minute.” His hands had shaken the entire time. He’d rehearsed the words in his head a hundred times and still stumbled over them when it mattered.

Your parents had been ecstatic.

They hugged him. Both of them. Your mom cried. Your dad patted him on the shoulder and told him he’d already been family for a long time. Robert had driven away that night with his heart pounding, terrified and impossibly happy all at once.

You woke up this morning to a cabin drenched in cold.

You groan softly and burrow deeper under the blankets, only to find Robert already awake beside you, watching you with that familiar, fond half-smile. The wind howls outside, rattling the windows.

“If you’d checked the weather,” you mumble, voice thick with sleep, “you wouldn’t have missed the storm that was forecast for today.”

Robert had checked. Multiple times. He just needed an excuse—any excuse—to keep you inside, to slow time down, to make sure nothing could interrupt what he had planned.

“Sorry, dear,” he says lightly, brushing his thumb along your arm. “We’ve been on the go all week. Think of it as a sign to take it easy. A rest day.”

You pout, dramatic and sleepy, and scoot closer to him, tucking yourself against his chest. He wraps an arm around you without thinking, instinctive as breathing. You shiver slightly, and he feels it.

“We’ll be fine,” he murmurs. “We’ve got food. Blankets. I’ll get the fireplace going, okay?”

You hesitate, then nod. “Alright…”

He presses a kiss to your temple, lingering just a second longer than usual. His heart is racing. His palms are a little sweaty. Outside, the snow keeps falling, thick and relentless, sealing the two of you inside this quiet, perfect moment.

Yeah.

Today was the day.

Robert got a fire going and started boiling a pot of water for coffee and hot chocolate. “What would you like for breakfast?”

“What do we have?” 

“By the looks of it, eggs, bacon sausages and orange juice. A totally normal balanced breakfast.” 

Robert is in a navy blue robe and slippers tending to the bacon and sausage sizzling on the stove. You can't help but smile and watch him for a minute.

You grin and finally peel yourself out from the cocoon of blankets, padding across the wooden floor in socked feet. The cabin is slowly warming now, the fireplace crackling softly, flames licking at the logs.

“I thought you would be right at home here with the snow and everything.”

“Robert, just because I grew up in Canada doesn't mean I'm immune to the cold. The snow just kind of makes me nostalgic though. When times were simpler.” 

You step closer, resting your chin briefly against his shoulder while he flips the bacon. The smell fills the cabin—savory, rich, comforting.

“Hard to believe we almost didn’t take this trip,” you say. “I was this close to cancelling.”

“I know,” he replies. His voice drops, thoughtful. “I’m really glad we didn’t.”

Life had really gotten in the way during the holidays. It got so busy you almost didn't want to take time for yourselves, just Robert pushed you and you're glad he did.

There’s something in his tone that makes you look up at him. He meets your eyes for a second too long, something nervous and bright flickering there before he looks away again, focusing a little too hard on the stove.

Breakfast comes together slowly. He plates the eggs and sausages with more care than usual, pours orange juice into mismatched mugs, sets them on the small table in front of the fireplace.

“Here you go, milady”

“The cook serves the meal too? Five-star service,” you tease, nudging his arm with yours. 

“Next thing you'll know I'll be asking for tips.”

You laugh as he sits beside you.

“Lucky for you I only accept payment in kisses.” 

You lean over, pressing a long tender kiss to his lips. Robert sighs. Every kiss feels like your first, making butterflies dance in his stomach. 

“Thank you, my love.” 

Outside, the storm keeps going, snow ticking softly against the windows. Inside, there’s nothing but warmth and the low crackle of the fire. You eat your breakfast in comforting silence, the roaring fire mesmerizing you both.

“This is nice,” you say finally. “Like… really nice.”

Robert hums in agreement, eyes fixed on the flames. 

“You ever think about how weird it is,” he says slowly, “how life just keeps pushing forward? Like if you don’t grab these moments, they just… pass?”

You glance at him, studying his profile. “That got philosophical fast.”

“Sorry,” he says, smiling faintly. “Must be the eggs.”

You laugh, but there’s sincerity underneath. You reach for his hand and he freezes for half a second before lacing his fingers with yours, grip warm and soothing.

“I like this version of us,” He says softly. “No rushing, stress or  noise. Just us… here.”

He swallows. You feel it through the closeness. “Yeah,” you murmur. “Me too.”

The fire pops, sending sparks up the chimney. Robert shifts, his free hand drifts to his robe pocket—rests there—then pulls away.

You notice.

“Everything okay?” you ask gently.

 He exhales and smiles. “Yeah. Everything’s perfect.” He stands. 

“Coffee or hot chocolate?” he asks.

You tilt your head, pretending to think. “Hot chocolate. It feels like that kind of day.”

“Coming right up.”

You and Robert already made cookies earlier and tossed them in the oven. He’d put music on, songs from years ago you hadn’t thought about in forever, the ones that lived dormant somewhere in your head until the first few notes brought them rushing back.

You’d frozen halfway through stirring when one came on.

“I didn’t even know you remembered me telling you this was my favorite,” you’d said, genuinely surprised.

“I made a playlist afterward so I wouldn’t forget,” he’d replied casually, like it was nothing. “And they’re your favorites, so… they must be important to you.”

“Oh, Robert.”  you’d said softly, smiling at him. Your breath caught, warmth blooming behind your ribs.

Now, hours later, the cookies are cooling on the counter, the cabin dim except for the fire and the soft glow of a lamp. You’re curled up together on the couch, tucked into his side, legs tangled beneath a blanket that Robert keeps making sure is tucked in.

Robert’s phone buzzes.

“Aw, honey,” he says, lifting it slightly. “Look at these pictures Chase sent of Beef.”

You immediately sit up a little, reaching for the phone. “Awww,” you coo, swiping through the photos. Beef sprawled on Chase’s couch. Beef wrapped in a blanket. Beef very clearly being overindulged. “Our little Beefy boy… we should’ve taken him with us.” You pout, leaning back into Robert’s chest.

“I’m sure he’s having the time of his life,” Robert says, rubbing your arm. “Chase spoils him more than we do.”

The phone buzzes again.

Chase: Did you do it yet?

You tilt your head, confused. “Robert… what is he talking about?”

He snatches the phone a little too fast, cheeks immediately flushing. “Shit,” he laughs, nervous and forced. “He’s just—he’s being gross. Asking if we’ve had sex yet.”

You grimace. “Ew. Dick.”

“Yeah,” he says quickly. “Sorry, honey.”

Smooth, Robertson.

The phone lights up again as he turns it face-down, and you don’t see the messages—but he does.

Chase: Pussy

Robert: Shut the hell up

Y/n just saw that, you almost blew it

I’m nervous enough as it is

I’m doing it tonight. Just take the picture. I’ll text you after

Robert groans under his breath and tosses the phone onto the armchair.

“So,” he says a beat too brightly, standing up. “Cookies are probably done. You want some more hot chocolate?”

You glance toward the kitchen, then back at him. “Yeah. Sure.”

He nods, already moving, shoulders tense as he pours water into the kettle again. When his back is to you, he lets out a long, steadying breath.

He has to do this soon.

Before he loses his nerve.

The ring box was heavy and burning a hole in his pocket. Robert looks calm, steady even, but his palms are damp and his heart won’t slow down no matter how many times he tells himself to breathe.

“Y/n,” he says casually, “put on your fluffy socks. If you don’t, you’re gonna complain you’re cold in ten minutes.”

You scoff without looking up. “Hmmpf. You’re not the boss of me, Robertson.”

“No,” he agrees, standing. “But I do know you. And I will say I told you so.”

He crosses the room and starts lighting a few candles, one by one, their soft glow joining the firelight.

You squint at him. “Don’t you think we have enough fire from the fireplace, Robert?” 

“Hm?” He glances back at you, feigning innocence. “I guess. I just thought it’d smell nice.” He gestures vaguely. “Look how pretty they look.”

You smile, amused. “Very romantic, Robertson. Consider me thoroughly buttered up.”

He sits back down beside you and leans in, pressing a warm kiss to your cheek.

“I know your off switch,” he murmurs.

Before you can reply, his lips find that spot just behind your ear—the one that always gets you. Your breath stutters, a soft, involuntary sound slipping out of you.

“Robert,” you warn weakly, already melting.

He shifts you gently so you’re sitting in front of him, his hands settling at your shoulders. His thumbs work into the tight tendons there, slow and practiced, like he’s been doing this his whole life.

“Mmmh… you’re amazing,” you murmur, relaxing fully into his touch.

Your guard drops. Your body goes loose and warm against him.

Now, he thinks. Do it now.

He leans in, lips brushing your skin again, voice low and intimate.

“Would you marry me, baby?”

You snort, half-laughing. “Of course, Robert. What kind of silly question is that?”

“No really, I'm asking you right now.” 

“W-what?” You freeze, eyes darting back and forth scanning for any lies.

“Y/n,” he turns to you. “You make my days easier and my nights worth losing sleep over. I can't even imagine life without you now. Every day I spend with you is already the best day I've ever had, except for that time when you almost lost Beef because you forgot to latch the gate and cried for an hour straight.”

A shaky laugh slips out of you both.  “And even then—even then—I remember thinking, yeah. This. This is the person I want to figure things out with.”

Your chest tightens and breath catches. Your hands curl into the fabric of his robe without you realizing.

“It was only a few months of us going out when I realized I wanted every version of you. The tired one. The anxious one. The one who overthinks and the one who forgets to eat until I remind you. The one who gets nostalgic when it snows and the one who pretends she’s fine when she’s not.”

His hand comes up to cup your cheek, warm and reassuring.

“I want the easy days, yeah,” he says, eyes shining. “But I want the hard ones too. The boring ones. The quiet, messy, unfinished ones. Mornings where we barely talk. Nights where we fall asleep on the couch with the TV still on.”

Your eyes burn. You shake your head slightly, like you’re trying to wake up.

“I know I joke,” he continues, voice softer now, losing that casual edge. “I know I act like nothing ever really scares me. But the truth is… the idea of not having you? That terrifies me.” He takes a breath. “I used to think love was supposed to feel perfect. But we’re not perfect, and I don't want us to be.”

He swallows, voice dropping lower, steadier somehow.

“I want to be the person you come home to. I want to be your constant when everything else feels loud. I want to choose you—every day—for the rest of my life.”

Your vision blurs. You blink hard, but it doesn’t help.

“Robert…” you whisper, barely trusting your voice.

He lets out a breathy laugh, half-nervous, half-relieved, and finally—finally—reaches into his pocket. The small box looks impossibly real in his hand. 

“You’re my home,” he says simply. “I don’t need perfect days,” he says, voice breaking just a little now. “I just need you in them. I want to wake up next to you when we’re old and grumpy. I want to argue over dumb things and make up in the kitchen at midnight. I want kids with your laugh and my stubborn streak. I want to see you teach them how to be kind, how to be brave. I want family dinners that get too loud and bedtime stories I pretend not to enjoy as much as I do. I want to keep choosing you until it’s not even a choice anymore.”

He opens the box letting the firelight catch the ring, sending your heart into near cardiac arrest.

“Would you marry me?”

For a second, you can’t speak.

You stare at the ring, at his hands, at his face, like if you look long enough something will prove this isn’t real.

“Yes,” you breathe.

Robert reaches and wipes the tears threatening to fall from you.

“Yes, Robert.” you say again, stronger this time, voice breaking as the word finally lands. “Yes. Of course I’ll marry you.”

The relief on his face is immediate and overwhelming. He laughs—a real, disbelieving sound—and his shoulders sag like he’s been holding that breath for months. His eyes glisten then and his hands shake as he slides the ring onto your finger. It fits perfectly, like it was always meant to be there. When he looks up at you again, his expression is open and undone and so full of love it almost hurts.

“Come here,” he murmurs.

You barely have time to lean in before he kisses you, gentle, tender. Then deeper, surer, like the promise he just made has settled into his bones. You kiss him back with everything you have, fingers threading into his hair, laughing quietly through tears.

His hand slides from yours to your waist, thumb brushing the bare skin there like he’s relearning you. Like he has time now. All the time in the world. You feel it in the way he kisses you—unrushed, certain, warm with promise.

You sigh into his mouth. You're both wrecked.

His fingers trace the line of your spine, slow and deliberate, and you shiver—not from the cold this time. The fire crackles behind you, heat blooming at your back while his presence pulls you forward, closer, until there’s barely space left between you.

“I love you,” he says. Not as a declaration. As a truth. “I can't wait to call you my wife.” 

Robert takes a teary eyed proposal photo and sends it to Chase. He replies with a picture of Beef holding a scroll between his teeth that says 'Congratulations Mom and Dad'.

As the second movie went on, you leaned more and more on the arm of your couch until you had curled up on your side. The cat you kept calling Meowbert (he could not get over that. It was so stupid. But so funny to him.) joined you, wedging himself against your stomach while you cooed. He even let you hold him like a teddy bear.

And Robert glanced at the scene, squinting slightly at your fuzzy little spoon, judging himself. Was this what he'd fallen to? Being jealous of a fucking cat? He couldn't help it; the thought crossed his mind before he could close the road. Fuck. I wish that was me.

You were so focused on the movie, you didn't see how much he was shifting, the blush across his cheeks as his own brain sexually harassed him with imagined sensations. How would your arms feel around him? He didn't need to run that simulation, but his brain was a bigger asshole than he was, and he sat there. Silently tortured.

Over a cat getting snuggles.

He was so pathetic.

You were right, though. It was a good movie. He'd never seen it before, as per usual. Being Mecha Man for so long didn't offer him a lot of downtime, and Robert could admit he'd grown so consumed with the identity, he used his in-between hours to keep himself fit, trained, and battle-ready.

He'd never seen The Raid, and fucking hell, what a solid action movie. By the end of it, it's 10pm, and you're surprisingly not tired. Robert's circadian rhythm was avant garde jazz, so he wasn't either. You asked him if he wanted a third movie, because you were still wired from the day; Robert agreed against his better judgement, stepped out to feed Beef and give him some attention, then came back.

He knew the moment he saw you that he should change his mind. You'd grabbed the pillow from your bed so you'd be more comfortable and returned to your curled-up position, waiting patiently. Robert wanted so badly to slip in behind you. He could practically feel you there as he sat back down, closer than before, close than he should.

Robert was dancing on the thin line.

He didn't even remember what movie you two settled on, because it didn't matter after about 20 minutes.

The chaos of the day came for you both. Whoever fell asleep first was anyone's guess. Each of you, at some point, made a decision to "close my eyes just for a second", and that was that.

You had a dream about the mall, and subsequently remembered how you avoided death when that truck came raining down. Luck. Purely. The front wheel hit a minivan just right and it changed the direction. Instead of slamming into you, the truck bounced to the side and crushed a convertible. Your body jerks a little, and you stretch, only vaguely aware of the weight on you. It isn't until you try to move that you realize.

He's breathing deep, face nestled against your neck. One of his arms is shoved under your pillow, and the other's strewn across you. His fingers laced with yours, pushing your arm above your head; and he's hiked his leg across your waist. Robert, almost completely on top of you, dead asleep. While you stare up at the ceiling, wondering what the fuck to do. Your TV's sleep timer kicked in some time ago, you're sure.

You have no idea what time it is, but it's still dark. You flex the fingers on your other hand to find your arm's mostly asleep, folded oddly under his weight. You worm it away slowly, resting your tingling hand on his shoulder. Debating. Because, you'll be honest, you want to go back to sleep. A human weighted blanket felt as close to heaven as you felt you'd get.

He's so warm. You twist into him, and his hand slides out of yours, smoothing down your side, wedging beneath you. He pulls you closer, slipping his other arm out from under the pillow so he can cocoon you against his chest, and you're well on your way to being out like a light.

It was such a terrible day. Something like this felt needed. Wanted. You could wake up like this every day. The thought's bittersweet. You know when he wakes up, he's going to panic and leave. Robert was oddly distant at the mall, and it didn't get better until, well. Right now.

For most of the night, he sat so far from you he may as well have perched on the arm of the couch like some kind of creature. Sometimes you were certain he felt something for you. Other times, you weren't sure.

At this very moment, you were the one feeling.

This was so nice.

You snuggle closer, wrap your arm around him, and nuzzle against his collarbone. May as well make the best of it while you have it.

Which isn't long.

Robert inhales deeper, stretching his legs, then freezes solid. Every inch of him grows still. He whispers to himself in pure, quiet panic, pulling his arm up.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuuuuuuuuuuuck."

You opt to continue 'being asleep', fighting a smile.

"Why am I fuckin' like this--"

It's no use, now. You snort-giggle, holding him tighter when he tries to wiggle away. "S'fine," you mumble. "It's. Nice."

He only relaxes a little. This soft little whine curls up and dies somewhere in his throat. "I didn't, I don't know how this happened--"

You slide your arms around him until you can't anymore, stretching with a quiet groan. "You're good." You want to kiss his neck, but he's panicking. Well. Panicking for Robert. The only evidence of his distress is purely how stiff he is. "You wanna go back to sleep?"

You miss the weight of his arm around you and nudge into it. Robert lets it rest, but he doesn't return his hold. "I shouldn't. I should go."

Unfortunately for him, you know too much, now. Between Visi and this, you can't talk yourself out of it anymore. You should, because his stability is still a question in your mind. But the fact Robert didn't answer your question by pushing you on your back and digging in won him some points.

It wasn't a test. You didn't ask him to stay just to see if he'd finally give in. You were just used to his category rushing into things. You were also used to being too swept up to stop them. A combination that resulted in very short relationships, in your experience. You'd never hold it against him if he had, because you were just as bad at taking things slow.

Maybe you should have given him more credit. And yourself. Because all you wanted him to do, really, was go back to sleep with you. "Yeah," you break the silence. "Beef's probably missing you." You loosen your grip. "Still, though. You're...cozy."

There he goes, though. Head bowing, arms nearly crushing you; but it's a different loss of control. He breathes out, and you're almost certain he can only tell you this because he's not looking at you. "Been wanting to do this all day." Robert leans on his back a bit, easing you along with him, and you reposition your arm across his stomach. "Thought I got you killed."

His voice is stretched so thin.

You take a breath, but he heads you off.

"I'm seeing someone tomorrow. Like a professional. I just wanna be." Robert is just all around you, like he can't get closer; like this relieves some kind of nagging pain. "I want something to work for once. So. I. I should go."

Excellent explanation, Robert. Coherent, sane, and not at all vague.

He doesn't want to fucking let go of you. He wants to go back to sleep. Needs it, even. He hadn't slept like that in...ever. Like a rock. Like the dead. Like he'd sunk into the earth. But he had to go. And he had to figure out how to climb over you without you knowing he was painfully hard.

Damn thing went down his pant leg instead of anywhere reasonable, uncomfortably straining against his jeans, though perhaps that was what saved him. Sweet fucking hell, if there'd been enough room for it to creep up into his waistband, there was no hope you wouldn't feel it.

"You're a weird guy, Robert." You say it lovingly, smiling up at him as he desperately wills himself to keep on moving. Do not. Foot on the ground, stand up, leave. Don't go down there. There's only bad decisions there.

God help him. You touch his chest and smooth your hand towards his shoulder.

"I know. I'm sorry."

You chuckle. He has to give himself something, anything, to stop the screaming in his mind.

That something should be a swift kick in his own ass, but he gives in instead. Fuck. Fuck. Robert just can't do it. He doesn't know what is wrong with him. He has a good few ideas, but no scientific conclusions yet. But it was like all of his senses had increased tenfold. His skin was on fire. Every touch you gave him turned his nerves into livewires.

His heart made a solid attempt to Kool-Aid man it's way out of his ribcage.

It was almost hard to breathe.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

"I mean..." You stare at him. He's frozen above you, and you're truly unaware of the chaos that's going on behind those calm, soft eyes. "I like it, though."

You know it's a bad idea, but you're sick of it. You just want it to happen, for better or worse. Maybe it works out, you think. Maybe you don't wind up responsible for this one. Maybe he's different.

But, maybe he's not, and you're fucking up everything once again, because your type really was the most disastrous of men. Why couldn't you be interested in some nice, well-adjusted man with a 9-5? Would have saved you a mountain of heartbreak, that's for sure. Instead you just kept picking weirder and weirder guys.

It would be hard to top Depressed Mech Suit Pilot.

He leans down.

And.

Kisses your fucking forehead.

Far more affectionate than the average; he lingers, pulls away slow as he stands, but.

What.

"I'll...text you later?"

You lay there. Confused. Amused. Enamored.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll uh. Talk later."

What.

Beef was unhappy with the schedule change. Where were you this late, father?! He nagged him for attention as he milled around his apartment, brushing his teeth, giving Beef a tiny handful of kibble to trick him into thinking he'd tricked Robert into second dinner. Satisfied with the ruse, Beef settled down next to him in bed with a loud, relaxed huff, groaning in that cute way he always did.

Robert smirks and pats him. The tail starts going.

Now that his dick is untethered, it's nagging for attention, too. But Robert just wants to sleep. It should go away. Should.

He tosses. Turns. An undefinable third thing. Every movement aggravates the unwanted side effect of however the fuck you're making him feel. He's worried he is obsessed, somehow. Robert's never been that guy. He's always been calm with these things. Easy. Giving them space while also enjoying their company.

Though short, infrequent, and regularly burned down, Robert felt like his relationships at the very least involved him being a pretty good boyfriend. He was not turning them around in his thoughts constantly. Stopping himself from texting too much. You? He couldn't stand that he was alone right now. He didn't even want to put it to use. He wanted to tell you to ignore it, wrap you in his arms, and stay there until you had to leave.

He frowns at himself. That couldn't be normal. It definitely wasn't normal for him.

He sighs and rolls onto his stomach. Maybe he can smother it to death. But the pressure just drags a soft little grunt out of him and his hips gain a mind of their own.

Now, Robert's just pissed. He wants to at least try to sleep. Beef is right next to him. This is too fucking weird. He feels too guilty about kicking the dog out of bed so he can ruin himself, so, in a huff, he goes to the bathroom, closing the door.

Christ. It's already leaking, flushed and insistent. He palms himself and hisses. What the fuck. His own touch is electric, stopping his breath in his throat, the heat of it all so unbearable. Robert drops to his knees and slams the toilet seat up, leaning with his head on his arm, judging himself with every stroke.

This shit hadn't been this bad since he hit puberty.

Jealous of a cat. Can't keep to his side of a couch when he's unconscious. Far too many unwanted boners. Reduced to a gasping mess as he tries to aim for a no-cleanup ordeal, but this feels so fucking good his mind goes blank and he winds up painting the toilet lid with a stifled groan and a string of curses just over the memory of how you felt; how you squeezed him, how you smelled, the way you asked him to stay.

He rocks back on his heels until his back touches the wall and then draws his knees up, legs splayed, his dick mercifully satisfied. Then the wave hits. That calm he chases whenever he has a stranger in his bed. Flying solo never guaranteed this. It wasn't unheard of. But it'd been a while since it did anything other than relieve the pressure.

Maybe it's because his shirt still smelled like you, just a little. Soft notes of you burrowing into his mind, launching a full-scale assault. He stares at the mess slowly oozing down the seat lid and sighs at himself before finding the will to stand and cleaning it up.

Robert needed therapy last year. This was ridiculous.

At least he slept all right.

When his alarm went off, Beef wandered off and didn't return. Probably sitting below the cabinet, cursing his tiny little legs, waiting patiently for him to get his shit together. He had three hours before his appointment. Originally, Robert set his alarm so early just to account for any mishaps with his rideshare app, traffic, and so on.

He spared a few minutes to take care of yet another problem, shuffling off to the shower with the evidence of his waning self control all over his stomach. As he washed it all away, lathering up, fucking again. Poor Beef had to wait ten extra minutes for breakfast, Robert was thinking of taping his dick to his thigh so he can get through the goddamn day because he no longer trusted it, and he waited downstairs somehow looking more disheveled than he was when he first woke up.

The only way this could get worse is if you happened upon him, but the universe didn't hate him that much.

He booked a two hour session, but he was starting to think he needed four.

Dr. Vasquez wasn't what he expected. Mostly because he kept imagining her as a more professional version of the roughneck from Aliens.

An older woman with a 'motherly yet don't-fuck-with-her' kind of aura, she greeted him kindly, listening and taking notes as he ran down the basics of everything that he was struggling with. How things went south with Visi, how lost he felt.

It was hard to get started at first, but once he did, the conversation flowed like a tsunami.

"We'd be fine. Then she'd do something, like. Once she broke a mug I'd had since I was a kid. It was my dad's. Total accident. It was fine. I felt weird about it, but she didn't do it on purpose. But it was like she wanted me to hate her for it? It caused shit for a whole week."

He chose to lay down on the couch because talking to the popcorn ceiling was easier.

"That was the big blowout. That was when I told her she needed to see someone for her shit." Robert laughs. "Why she decided we shouldn't be together."

The no names rule was easier to follow than he thought it'd be. Still, there was no way the doc didn't know who he was talking about. He took comfort in that. She understood the full context.

Still, she wanted his take. "Why do you think therapy caused the end of your relationship?"

He readjusts, neck cracking. "I don't. I just think it ended it faster. And I don't think it was a bad thing. She'd been going for a while when I got that dreaded can we talk text. She'd made a breakthrough. A good one." The smile is a little bitter. "I kind of knew already, because I was there with her the whole time. I knew she felt for me. She's awful at hiding those things. She got meaner. Should've been the first red flag for us both."

He pauses.

"She was pissed at me for getting under her skin, like I did it on purpose. I was just trying to keep her on track. And she got into this habit. I'd pay more attention to her if she was falling, so, she kept tripping herself. Even when she already had me, she couldn't stop. She told me that she realized she was..." He waves his hand as he searches his memory for the words. "Kind of addicted, dependent, on this idea that I would fight so hard for her. And she started feeling like I was pulling back when I really was just comfortable."

He glances at the doc. She's taking notes thoughtfully, nodding. And there's a little bit of pride in her eyes; he's not sure if it's for him, or Courtney.

"It annoyed me whenever she'd torpedo a whole day just to get me to fuss with her, but I think she was right. We were enabling each other. I wanted to feel needed, she wanted to feel cared about, but her idea of that was really warped. It just became this loop of...shit." Robert lets out a half-laugh. "Sorry, that's the best way I can say it."

"You can swear in here, Robert," Vasquez says wryly. "Can you explore why you wanted to feel needed?"

He swallows.

"Well. You've seen my file." He doesn't plan to leave it at that. He takes some time to gather his thoughts. Trying to remember exactly what he told you. He should have written it down.

"I didn't plan to live this long."

She sits up a little straighter.

"Grandpa died in the suit. Dad was murdered in cold blood by his own teammate. Since I was 8, I'd accepted it. The mission was more important than life. In fact if it wasn't essential to protecting society, it wasn't worth doing. No fun. Live long enough to start a family, have a kid that can pick up where you leave off, die young."

Vasquez keeps writing. She gives him space to continue.

"Dad was only 55." He covers his eyes with his arm, breathing out. "I went after Shroud and was sloppy. Angry. I don't know why I thought killing him would fix anything. But he almost killed me instead. And I just remember that moment when I realized I didn't have time to shrug that bomb off or bail out. I remember."

"Take your time, Robert."

Deep breath. "I just thought. Finally." His voice cracks. "I'd been in the suit since I was 16. I didn't want another kid taking my place. I was so fucking glad I would be the last." Robert sits up, swings his legs off the couch, and rests on his elbows. The carpet has an oddly soothing swirly pattern. "After I recovered I felt like I failed. Wasn't supposed to live. Tried to rebuild the suit, but I couldn't. SDN approached me, promised me to fix it for me so I could get back in the game."

He rubs his face.

"That was around the time I got a vasectomy. Sounds weird out loud. But if I was going to be Mecha Man again, I had to be the fucking last one. Which meant focusing all my time on it, live as long as possible, make it last. I couldn't have a kid at home knowing they'd be as stubborn as me. Didn't want this to keep going. What's that thing people say? Breaking the cycle or whatever?"

Vasquez smiles and nods.

"Anyway." He runs his hand through his hair. "Then I just got really invested in the Phoenix program and. I suit up still, obviously. But I feel like I'm doing more, there. Still there's this nagging feeling that I've lived longer than I was supposed to. I never got to be Robert. I only know how to be Mecha Man. If I'm not being him, I just. Who am I, really?"

Robert feels like he's gone off track.

"All this to say, I guess, that when my ex needed me, it put me in that headpsace. It was a fight to win. I was suiting up, mentally, I guess. We're still friends. We're better friends. I've got a new friend, too. She says maybe there's no line. Like, there's not Robert or Mecha Man, and I'm always just me, always have been. I don't know. This all just feels so weird."

"Well." Dr. Vasquez sets her notes aside, and he's kind of surprised to see that she's smiling at him. He figured he'd be diagnosed as a Certified Mess and told as much. "I'll start by saying you're a lot more self-aware than I'm used to. You seem conflicted and lost. I'd like to work on unpacking your traumatic childhood. But you've already recognized one of your big problems, all on your own. That's worth being proud of."

"My childhood was fine, though? I always had fun with Chase. Didn't see Dad much, but when I did he'd show me how to work the suit. We bonded a lot over that." Robert looks at her with a soft frown, a fearful realization threatening to break into his mind.

It's probably not good when a therapist looks at you with pity.

"Robert, you've been at war since you were 16. You were largely raised by a friend of the family. You romanticize it, but you were groomed to be the next hero in line. Do you think that was fair?"

He remembers what you said.

Robert looks away.

"I. No. It. My friend said the same thing."

"And this is the friend you're also having trouble with? How so?"

"Well--wait. Can we go back to the traumatic childhood thing?"

She checks her watch. "I would love to, but I want to dedicate a session to it. We only have 25 minutes left. I have a slot in two more days if you'd like to come back that soon."

"Yes--yeah. Yeah. That sounds great. Uh."

"So, what's going on with this friend of yours? She seems to be helping you a great deal with your struggles."

"It's. I know you're a professional but it's just. Awkward."

She's patiently waiting for him to pull the lead out. Robert fidgets.

"She's a civilian. No powers, no connections to any of the shit I have to do on the daily. And I'm worried I'm falling into what made everything go wrong, but way worse, because she doesn't actually need me. I'm worried I'm like. Obsessed with her. I don't know if I can be in a normal relationship." He hangs his head.

"Start small, from the beginning. You wrote here you've only known her for about three months? Should have time to talk about this."

"Everything was fine until she hugged me. I. I cried. And I don't--it's not like I'm ashamed of that, it's just weird to do to your neighbor. But she didn't think it was weird. She didn't make me feel like it was weird. Which was. Weird. Or maybe not? I don't know." He laughs, frustrated. "Just nobody'd held me like that in a really long time. I guess I needed it. Got overwhelmed. Anyway she got wrapped up in this new villain's bullshit and. You saw the news about the mall, right?"

"I did. You and your team can really take a beating."

He chuckles. "Well she was there, by chance. Just trying to enjoy her day. The big guy recognized her. All I can think about is how just being my friend's ruined her life already, why should I want more? And should I even?"

Robert rubs his palm with his thumb. "Like I said, she doesn't need me. She gives as good as she gets. And I've never. I can't get her out of my fucking head. And I've been." He buries his face in his hands. "I'm sorry, I wouldn't tell you this if I wasn't worried it was important. I've just been...so intensely horny for the past week or so. She's interested, I can tell. But I didn't want to do anything until I saw you. We fell asleep watching a movie last night and I. Oh man."

"Did you have sex with her?"

"God, no. That's why I'm so confused." Now that it's been said, Robert feels like Dr. Vasquez can just take the brunt of his caveman bullshit. He talks with his hands, borderline ranting. "I just want to fucking--I'm sorry I shouldn't swear so much--I want to hold her so badly. And for some godforsaken reason thinking about that, you know. I'm not having these porno fantasies in my head! I keep thinking about being her little spoon and I feel kind of pathetic all the time and I don't know what's wrong with me." Robert gestures to his crotch, feeling immediately crude for that, but he's having trouble saying it out loud to a woman who doesn't deserve to hear all his weird gross habits. "No matter how many times I take care of it it seems to just get worse because it doesn't actually help anything."

He damn near runs out of breath.

Dr. Vasquez looks mildly amused.

"Can I ask you a gentle question?"

He is afraid. "...yes."

"Have you never been in love before?"

He is more afraid.

But every now and then, a rainy day would come that didn’t follow the typical routine. The rain would come pelting down in thick sheets, coating everything in a dense layer of grey. On a day like that, the rain would persist for hours, never once letting up. 

Today just happened to be a day like that. And it was just your luck that it happened the same day as your job interview.

Against the steady beat of your windshield wipers, you cursed your frizzy hair and rain-splotched clothes. You had hoped that blasting your car’s heater would miraculously alleviate these problems, but every time you caught a glimpse of yourself in the rearview mirror, you looked exactly like the anxious, disheveled mess you were trying to avoid.

Maybe this was fixable. You didn’t carry a travel-sized hairspray bottle for nothing. 

Reaching to the passenger seat, you rifled through your bag desperately. Wallet, keys, headphones, keys again, lip balm. Your fingers passed over everything that wasn’t your hairspray. You stole a glance inside your bag, immediately spotting that familiar blue bottle. Stupid thing, how did it escape your grasp?

Had you not been so panicked over this interview, you would’ve been more focused on the road ahead of you. But stress was the only thing on your mind. That was how you failed to notice the lake-sized puddle on the side of the road.

Driving straight through it, you sent a tidal wave crashing down onto the sidewalk. You would’ve laughed it off as a silly mistake if it wasn’t for the poor guy you’d accidentally drenched from head to toe.

As you pulled over, your stress quickly abandoned you to make room for your newfound guilt. You scrambled out of your car, desperate to apologize to your unlucky victim.

“Just my luck. Jesus Christ…,” he grumbled, tugging at his soaked hoodie uselessly. “Fucker’s never heard of human decency—”

“I’m so sorry, that was totally my fault!” you cried over his muttering. 

“Well, yeah, it’s not my fault,” he continued in that sharp, rumbling tone. “So, obviously…”

His irritation dampened as he forgot his wet clothes and met your gaze. Your big, blinking eyes stared at him with concern, the kind of compassion that was unfamiliar to him. 

He stared back at you in surprise, taken aback by the pretty face in front of him. You definitely weren’t the obnoxious asshole he was expecting to see. 

“Sorry…,” he said— softer than before— as his eyes trailed you up and down. “That… was rude.”

“No, no! Don’t apologize. Fuck, I’d be angry too if some idiot splashed me,” you assured him. “I… yeah. That really sucked. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said with a shrug. Really, there was no way he could be angry with a gorgeous thing like you. “Good thing about water is it dries, right?”

There was something mischievous in his warm gaze that eased your worries. You laughed softly, matching his small, conspiratorial grin. 

“Yeah, good thing…,” you mumbled. “So… I take it that means you’re not the Wicked Witch?”

“Thankfully, no,” he affirmed with a quiet, breathless laugh. “No risk of melting here.”

“Great. Glad to know I’m not guilty of homicide. But if you’re not the Wicked Witch, who are you?”

“Robert,” he answered, extending a hand to you.

Normally, you wouldn’t hesitate to shake hands with an attractive man whose voice alone made your cheeks warm. The only thing that stopped you now was his hand, drenched in water. 

You must’ve made a face because Robert quickly pulled his hand away, muttering, “Oh, shit. Yeah, that’s gross.”

“No, no, it’s only fair,” you said as you stuck your hand out. “I hit you with a fucking tsunami, I can handle a little water.”

Robert’s gaze flicked between your hand and face, as if waiting for you to take it back. When you didn’t, he took your hand and shook it gently. You gave him your name, and he repeated it softly under his breath, like a secret he’d take to his grave.

“Under different circumstances, I’d say it’s nice to meet you,” Robert said before gesturing to his sopping hoodie. But, uh…”

Despite his teasing stare, you groaned loudly and hid your face in embarrassment. No matter how many times Robert reassured you it was okay, you couldn’t help but feel guilty.

“I really am sorry.”

“It’s fine. Most of this is probably from walking in the rain anyway. That’s what I get for not owning an umbrella. I promise, it’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. Let me make it up to you. Please?”

Robert’s eyes went wide, a faint blush melting into the freckles on his cheeks. He hated that the first thing to come to mind was a stupid, dirty joke. He hated it even more that he was saying it out loud, to a complete stranger– a very beautiful stranger who would definitely think less of him for it.

“What’re you thinking? ‘cause right now it sounds like you’re offering head, and I usually don’t go there until, like–”

“Jesus, no!” you cried, shoving Robet’s shoulder like he was a longtime friend. “I’m not sucking your dick ‘cause you’re stupid enough to walk in the rain!”

“Woah, hey, I thought you were the idiot in this scenario.”

You stared at Robert with mock offense, and for a total of one second, he believed it. He looked ready to ramble out an apology before you both started to laugh, your warm breaths curling together into the cool morning air.

“How about I give you a ride to… wherever you’re going?” you suggested.

“You don’t need to–”

“Please? It would ease my conscience.”

“Oh, right, ‘cause this is for your benefit, not mine?”

“Exactly.”

“Alright… sure. If it’ll make you feel like a good person again.”

You flashed Robert a bright grin before scampering back to your car, trying (and failing) to avoid the rain that had already dampened your hair. You really didn’t need to look any worse for this job interview.

A job interview that you would most definitely be late to.

You had been so distracted by Robert that you had completely forgotten about your interview. Considering it had been stressing you out the entire morning, you didn’t understand how that was possible. But there was something about Robert that had you absolutely infatuated, enough to make you forget everything but him. You blamed his adorable, freckled cheeks.

Huffing, you clambered back into your car and accepted another failed job interview. Maybe– if you explained your reasons– they’d accept your tardiness. Even welcome it, see it as a good thing! They’d want kind, helpful employees, wouldn’t they? Yeah, like that was going to happen… you doubted they wanted someone with shitty time management skills.

“Okay, where to?” you asked Robert as he settled into the passenger seat.

“It’s not far, just… straight ahead. I’ll let you know when to turn.” 

Just like he promised, it wasn’t far at all. The drive was short, almost shorter than you wanted. You found that you liked talking to Robert whose dry remarks kept stealing laughs from you.

The only benefit of the short ride was your growing optimism. You might actually make this interview. Coincidentally, Robert was heading in the exact same direction you were.

Like… the exact same. 

Pulling into the parking lot, you stared up at the SDN office with what might easily be mistaken for awe. Robert assumed it was, at least. With your wide eyes and gaping mouth, he supposed not everyone was used to superheroes flying in and out of an office building.

Robert would’ve found your expression amusing– cute, even– if it wasn’t for your silence that suddenly made him feel awkward.

“You… work at SDN?” you asked after a long– too long– pause.

“Yeah. Torrance’s finest dispatcher.”

Robert had tried to get a laugh out of you, even if it was a terrible joke. If it could even be considered a joke… He was desperate to hear that laugh again. He wouldn’t admit it to someone he quite literally just met (should he?), but your laughter was sweeter than an angels’ choir.

But instead of a laugh, all you said was, “Huh.”

You had quite the refined vocabulary.

Robert waited for you to say something else. Anything else. He would’ve appreciated a “You’re really cute, can I get your number before you go?” but he’d take a “You’re getting the seat wet, get out.” Anything but this confusing silent-but-not-quite-silent silence. 

“Well, uh… thanks for the ride.”

“Yeah…”

Yup. Super refined vocabulary. 

You could’ve offered a better farewell if you weren’t so entranced by the meaning of the universe and the potential existence of fate. Was your life destined to be intertwined with Robert’s, a dork you just met but nonetheless felt enchanted by?

When you finally brushed things off as a coincidence– deciding you were acting way too crazy over a complete stranger– Robert had already left. He was already walking to SDN’s front door, albeit at the slowest pace imaginable.  

You fumbled out of your car, quickly closing the car door behind you. The sound was enough to make him glance back. Maybe you were crazy, but he looked oddly hopeful. 

He watched with narrowed eyes as you approached him. When you were close enough, he turned to face you and said, “Don’t tell me I accidentally got into a stalker’s car.”

“What?” You blinked at him, confused, before remembering he hadn’t come to the same “I make my own decisions, this is coincidence, not fate” you had. “Oh… oh, no. I swear I’m not creepily following you.”

“Right…,” Robert murmured, raising a brow in question. 

From his expression, you could tell he would believe his explanation until he heard a better one.  

 “I have a job interview,” you explained. “Here. At SDN. With Blonde Blazer.”

“Oh, shit. That’s… a coincidence.”

You were grateful that Robert agreed with your coincidence conclusion. You sighed a relieved, “Yeah…”

“Well, I won’t tell Blazer you like to get people wet,” Robert promised.

You pressed your lips into a thin line, stifling a laugh. As you blinked at Robert– waiting for him to realize the innuendo in his words– your face warmed, hot enough to fight off the chill of the rain. When he saw your face, Robert was quick to realize the error in his words, frantically trying to fix it.

“That… fuck. That came out wrong,” he grumbled over your soft laughter, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Maybe don’t say that to Blazer,” you chuckled. “I don’t need to be reported to HR before I even get the job.”

“With the shit I’ve heard, I don’t even think we have an HR department,” Robert grumbled as he placed a steady hand on your back.

Gently, he guided you inside, safe from the pouring rain. Not that it did much. By now, you were both drenched to the bone. At least you weren’t the only rainsoaked mess in the building.

Glancing at the time, you were shocked that– somehow, after all that– you still weren’t late for your interview. As long as you hustled in the next three minutes, you’d actually make it on time. 

“I’m gonna–”

“Right, yeah, go to your interview,” Robert said knowingly. “Good luck. I’ll see you around here. Hopefully.”

“Yeah,” you grinned. “Hopefully.”

author's note ⋆˙⟡ ↠ i've been working on this fic for so long now, i just wanna post it and be done with it. writing robert is way harder than it needs to be.