#dispatch ficlet

“Never thought I’d make it past 30.”

Chad turns his head to look at Robert, only to be met with his gaze locked in far out into the distance. His face is lightly flushed. Definitely not sober. A strange chill washes over Chad, Robert has always been good—maybe too good—at eye contact. But tonight, the firm stare Chad is so used to seeing is gone. Chad stays silent.

“I was around 16 or 15 when I inherited my dad’s suit. Opened it up for the first time since dad’s funeral, I can still remember so clearly. That smell-, it was so, so metallic—well I mean, obviously. But I couldn’t stop wondering, what if—did the suit smell like that cause of-”

Robert cuts himself off. He swallows almost forcefully, as if pushing down the metallic taste of the memory down his throat.

Chad shivers at the implication.

“I counted 17 days before It went away.”

Robert leans over the cold railing, knuckles turning even paler as his grip tightens. Chad shuffles closer, Robert doesn’t realize the sigh he lets from the warmth.

“That night my suit got destroyed, I sat in that cockpit, waiting. I think- I think I felt giddy. Or relieved, whichever makes more sense. All I could think about was that goddamn family tradition. That was the one thing I was going to get right. I was so excited too.”

Chad opens his mouth to say something, but Robert interrupts him before he gets the chance to.

 “Yeah, yeah, fucked up, I know.”

Robert chuckles humorlessly. Something twists inside Chad’s chest as Robert’s already hunched posture worsens, He’s never looked smaller than now.

 “You can should’ve seen how disappointed I was when I woke up.”

Robert turns, now fully facing Chad. Brown eyes finally meeting amber, they’re slightly glassy. Maybe the city lights were just remarkably bright that night. Chad nearly disregards it as such just as he catches a lip quiver, a little detail he definitely would’ve missed if he didn’t pay as much attention to Robert’s mouth than the amount a normal person probably should.

“I don’t think I’ve told anyone this but-”

He pauses and diverts his gaze, mindlessly focusing on the next uninteresting thing he can spot on the ground. He’s hesitating to spit out what he’s about to confess, although he’s practically stripped himself down naked and spilled his guts out in front of chad by now so fuck it. Might as well.

“The day after I got out my coma I signed a DNR.”

“What?”

Chad finally speaks up. The confession snaps him out from his uncharacteristic silence.

 “Yes I know it’s stupid, yes I’m a cowardly bi-”

Robert lifts his gaze to meet Chad’s. Bright orange glow cutting through the dim night sky. They pierce straight into Robert, agitated and… frightened?

“Oh shit, um.”

He stammers.

“Fuck. Guess I’m drunker than I thought. Sorry for putting all of this on you, Chad. you didn’t need to know any of this. Real unprofessional of me.”

Chad steps forward, shrinking the distance between them. Robert shudders as warm hands firmly grip both side his face. Chad’s confidence falters for a moment at the sight of those doe eyes widening. What the actual fuck am I doing?

“Listen, Mecha di- Robert. Look at me. We need you here. Fucking ugh—I need you. The fuck are any of us gonna do without your flat ass?”

The gap is fully gone now. Before he can argue, Robert is pulled into a tight, comfortable embrace. It’s unreasonably pleasant. Like he’s wrapped into a very warm weighted blanket. Robert can’t help but melt into it and sigh.

“Bitch. You better not fucking leave us. Not with that old fart to be our only dispatcher.”

He’s met with stunned silence for a moment until Chad feels faint vibrations resonate through his chest as Robert softly giggles.

“Don’t think I’m only talking about you as a fucking dispatcher. You are so infuriatingly fucking good It pisses me off. You’re telling me you threw your scrawny ass into a bar fight to help us while you had a fucking DNR hanging over your head? Fuck, I almost killed you that night.”

The taller man leans down to lightly bury his face in a head of windswept auburn hair.

“It’s alright Flambae, really. Just water under the bridge-”

“Oh fuck off Bob bob, cut it out with that shit. It’s getting real fucking old.”

Chad tightens the hug a bit. Robert is still processing what’s happening right now, but the warmth in combination with the scent of smoke and firewood emanating from Chad is making it real hard to think. He’s pretty sure he can faintly smell some spices that he probably doesn’t know the names of.

“You- you need to tell us about this shit, yeah? Let me—let us help you for once.”

 The pair stay still together in each other’s arms for the next several minutes, Chad’s thumb lightly tracing circles on Robert’s back.

 “Don’t let it get to your head bitch.”

…

 “We’re revoking that fucking DNR first thing in the morning, okay?”

Chad looked over the menu.

It was a new restaurant in Long Beach, nearby the Aquarium of the Pacific.

Siren Cove.

It featured large aquariums throughout — saltwater fish of every color and size swimming in slow, hypnotic circuits. The water cast swaying lines of reflected light across the venue, which was kept dim aside from moody accent lighting meant to emulate a cove.

He was seated in a large booth next to the biggest tank in the middle of the restaurant. It was a tube, and the fish swarmed in circles and schools, around and around and around. Chad wondered if they ever got bored.

Alice was seated next to him. The rest of the Z-team filled out the booth, with the overflow claimed by the table beside them.

It was Chad's birthday.

He couldn't focus on the menu. He wasn’t hungry.

"I can't believe Mecha Bitch got called into work," Chad said.

"I know exactly what I look like." Robert said.

"Do you really." Mandy said, skeptical, as she took the exit off the freeway.

"White bread." No ego or pity in it, just fact. "The kind that makes people nostalgic for a slice."

She laughed, real and quick. She slowed down and looked at him for a moment,

"Okay, white bread," she smiled, arching an eyebrow, "What happens when someone does get a slice?"

"They remember they actually wanted the sourdough. Or the twelve grain. Or whatever." He shrugged. "And they go back to that."

Her smile fell. "Damn. That's a sad thing to believe about yourself."

Robert smiled wryly. "I don't have to believe it. It's true."

"I don't think it is." Easy, no heat.

Robert took a breath to respond.

She cut him off, "Nope. Not arguing with you about it. I'm just not agreeing."

Robert’s mouth twitched into a small smile, a real one, then he looked out the window.