#dispatch imagine

And you do, grinding your clothed cunt down against his hard-on with a broken little moan that makes his head spin. your arms curl around his shoulders as his hands drop back down to your hips to guide you a little harder against him.

“There you go, just- fuck- just like that, baby.” He grunts, leaving a trail of wet kisses along the side of your neck, and you tilt your head to the side to give him more space, whispering out his name breathily when he sucks at the underside of your jaw.

He needed this after today’s shit show, just a little TLC from you— and god knows he could spend hours like this with you all around him smelling like vanilla and so incredibly warm, he needed to feel you, your bare skin, so he quickly tugs his gloves off, throwing them onto the floor to run his hands all over your curves, rough palms tracing over your waist and up along your back.

“You’re so soft, so pretty.” He whispers against your mouth before pulling back just to lift your shirt— his shirt— over your head. His lidded gaze drinks you all in with a boyish grin, like he was proud of himself. “so fuckin’ pretty,” he drawls out, his hands cupping your breasts, thumbing over your nipples.

“Ah!- Robert-" you gasp when he pinches the hardened peaks, and you arch into his calloused palms with a broken whimper— giving a lazy roll of your hips that makes him writhe needily beneath you.

“wanna see you- need to-”

Your fingertips clumsily brush along his stubbled jaw, slipping under his mask and pushing it off his head. his freckled cheeks are slightly flushed, and his hair is all tussled, even more so when you run your fingers through it, coaxing a sigh from him.

“Missed you.” your words instantly soften something inside him, then your peppering warm kisses against his cheeks, and he just melts completely— arms wrapping around you like you’re the only thing grounding him… and in some way, yeah, you were.

“m’here now, baby, not going anywhere,” he promises, breath fanning over your collarbones, sloppily kissing back up your neck to your mouth— his lips slick with a mixture of your spit and his, all red and kiss-bitten. “I’m here.”

You clench around nothing as you rock down against his hard cock that is strained against his suit, the rough texture of it rubbing perfectly against your clothed clit— the cotton fabric of your panties completely drenched, leaving a filthy wet patch where you’re grinding desperately. your fingers tug at his hair, which only makes him jolt and buck under you making all sorts of needy moans that only encourages you to move.

The kiss is hot, wet, with his tongue licking into your mouth and his teeth nipping at your bottom lip— swallowing back all your whines whilst his hands grope at you, fingers sinking into the fat on your hips almost bruisingly.

“Gonna make a mess on me, huh?— come on baby, c’mon.” you can tell by the strain in his gruff voice that he was close, the way he tucks his face into the warm crook of your neck, panting hotly.

He mouths lazily at your collarbones as you practically soak his lap with a whiny: “Yeah— Robbie, coming— fuck, m’coming.” and he follows embarrassingly quick after you, coming in his underwear and ruining his suit even more than it already was— a very warm and sticky mess pooling wetly between you.

Your thighs twitch at either side of his own, and you collapse against his chest with a shuddering breath whilst his fingers run soothingly through your hair, trailing along your spine.

“You alright?” he asks breathlessly. you respond with a nod, and he grins against your shoulder, “bed?”

“Fuck yes.”

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it was time for sdn's annual ball and the entire z-team was curious to see if robert would be bringing anyone as his plus one. recently, a few of them had walked in on him talking on the phone during his lunch break a couple of times. but each time he saw or heard them, he'd say a quick 'goodbye, i love you' before hanging up and speaking with them.

to say the least, they were all curious.

so imagine their disappointment when they finished their shift and robert said that he'd be changing and walking over with them. all of them for sure thought he'd be going home to potentially pick someone up. a few had even started placing bets that he was just talking to a family member, his mom maybe? grandma?

"you couldn't get chase to come as your date?" prism teased, nudging robert with her elbow.

"unfortunately no." he chuckled, shoving his hands in his suit pockets as they walked.

walking into the museum sdn had rented out for the event, there was already a crowd of heroes, dispatchers, support staff, and many more. there were wait staff carrying trays with drinks and food. the scene in front of them was spectacular.

the team quickly spotted blonde blazer and began walking over. however, they stopped in their tracks and confusion filled their faces as they noticed the very pregnant woman blonde blazer was currently talking to. she wasn't familiar to any of them but seemed to know blonde blazer well enough to be laughing heartily with her and they seemed to be joking back in forth with each other. the team observed the scene and watched as robert kept walking forward, a smile gracing his lips.

"who's that babe?" sonar asked, voicing the confusion held by the entire team.

"the babe with a babe? not sure honestly." malevola replied. "someone's dirty mistress?"

the team's jaws dropped as they watched robert come up on the woman's left, wrapping his right arm around the woman's waist and planting a kiss on her left cheek, her eye squinting as he did so. then they watched as he gently placed his left hand on her baby bump and the woman turned towards him and placed a gentle kiss on his lips in greeting. turning back towards the team, robert whispered something to the woman whose lips pursed and she gave him a light smack on the chest, causing him to laugh.

"hi everyone, it's very nice to meet you all. robert just told me none of you know who i am, so i'll introduce myself since my husband clearly won't. my name is (y/n). i'm robert's wife." you introduced yourself and waved at the team in greeting.

"how could you keep your babe of a wife a secret from us robert?!" sonar asked, incredulous at not having met her. "this is very important information you've been holding out on us!!"

"we're very upset." invisigal started walking towards you. "and as punishment, we're whisking her away to get all your dirty little secrets."

robert and blonde blazer watched as the team began crowding you, clearly very interested in interrogating his wife. you were already laughing, allowing people to take turns feeling the baby kick and answering questions.

"i hope you understand that you did this to yourself." blonde blazer teased him.

While you smiled and greeted them with nothing but genuine kindness members of the z team like Robert, Prism, Blonde Blazer and Invisigal felt this intense wave of power coming off of you, like your presense was enough to demand utter silence within any room you would walk into, almost as though there was this invisible force that was forcing them to bow their heads when you walked past with a smile so warm it could melt butter and a laugh as light as a feather as poor waterboy almsot tripped over his own feet infront of you for the fith time that week.

It really pissed them off with how efortlessly you were throwing them off of remebering your face and where it was that you were from, it was on the tips of their tongues as during break Flambae felt this gutteral feeling of panic and a need to hide when he felt someone standing behind him, that person being you as you offered him some food as you realised that you had cooked too much for yourself to eat entierly. He felt stupid for feeling afraid of you but something was telling him not to cross any lines with you, or esle.

So he watches you from a distance as you give Sonar twinkies that you bought from home, claiming you didn' feel like eating them, and he waited for you to leave the room before walking over to Sonar -who was half a twinkie in- and saying. 'i'm not going mad am i?'

'depends, how mad we talking?' Sonar asked, swallowing the last bit of twinkie.

'i suddenly felt fucking afraid of (name).' Flambae hissed and Sonar laughed in his face. 'what? like shit yourself scared?'

'yes.'

'well you should, they were a very powerful villain who ran the most notoriuous gang in town, ruled with an iron fist that one did, no one stood a chance against them becuase i know becuase i almsot worked for them once.' Sonar pointed out to the flame hero, who was looking at your back as you as though you grew two heads, then the more Flambae thought on it the more he began to remember past encounters with you and your group, the wave of intensity you gave off with each command or how downright scary you were in a fight to the point where many heroes felt as though beating you was near impossible.

Flambae wasn't the only one to make this revalation.

Robert looked into your background with Blonde Blazer and Invisigal and was surpised at the change in demenour from the stone cold bastard you were back then, to the sweet and adorable version of yourself that you presented yourself as, it didn't feel right but Invisigal was quick to remeber how cunning and smart you truly were. She remebered you being a right monster, even when she was in her invisible form she felt your eyes on her as though you could actually see her, it made her feel as though ice cold water was dummed on her from then on out as she felt the hairs on her arms stand up when you did it again; looking at her as though you could actually see her in her invisible form.

Blonde Blazer also remebered how intimidating you were when she frist met you and your group, you didn't take much time handing her her ass on a silver platter that was for certain, now you were giving out cutely decorated sweet treats you made while smiling at them with such kindess she didn't know you possesed. She remembered how you often wore a scowl, face never moving from inpassive or just cold and cruel, so seeing this drastic change from you, this need to start anew was something she wanted to see upon closer observation.

Robert, while he might not have encounter you in particular, could only ever remember taking down your goons and seeing the fear in their eyes when they've realised they had failed you. It was only through their fear of you did he realise just how powerful of a leader you were, how your presence was felt even from miles away, you had it put inside their minds not to cross you or cost you territory to some stupid heroes. Robert could only ever recall feeling this sense of dread and hopelessness overcome him, making him wanting to give up and quit this bust while he was ahead of himself, little did he know that was the power of your influence back then but now he knew better.

Golem was the last to catch on to the fact that you were the ex villanous leader of the most powerful group in town, bless him, he only pointed at you as you scratched Sonar between his bat ears, laughing as he cursed you out for humiliating him in public. 'they were that big time villain, void.'

'congrats on being the last to figure that out buddy.' Punch up replied.

Imagine being a villain alongside Chad. You guys are polar opposites, literally, with him being fire and you being ice, but you guys are still drawn together. 

You guys both end up working for the SDN in the same program, and you both are so fucking annoying to work with. You guys are horrible when put together on missions, but even worse when apart. 

Chad is well... Chad. He causes a lot of fire damage, and you always put it out real easy. When you guys aren’t together it means more property damage. You also leave massive areas covered in ice. 

Anyways. You guys are freaks(tm). You guys will fuck in your “flame/ice on” mode, and it causes a lot of steam.  

Sometimes when you guys are making out, you will ice your tongue and shove it down Chad’s throat. Chad will return the favor later when he’s sucking you off, and heats his mouth up just enough for it to burn but not actually damage you. 

Chad has a real thing for the cold because of you. He runs hot, so it just feels really good just cuddling you, but he’s extra sensitive when you ice your hands and rub them all over his body. His nipples harden so nicely when you flick your thumbs over them. 

He has a not-so-secret love for you icing your hands and grabbing his dick, keeping them so cold he can’t get hard even if he’s so turned on it’s making him dizzy. 

You on the other hand, have a thing for fire and heat. You love when he lights his fingers on fire and push them into your mouth, so they can hiss and get extinguished by your spit. 

Sometimes Chad will heat up his insides when you are inside him, just to hear you groan and see you start to sweat like you’ve ran a marathon. 

Chad has two freeze burn scars on his hips, in the shape of your hands. They are visible when he “flames on” as blue-ish flames. You have similar hand shaped burn scars on your shoulders in the shape of his hands, they appear as darker ice when you “ice on”. 

No, you guys are not ashamed by it. Yes, you guys will both explain what it is if asked. 

Imagine lying relaxed in bed watching tv. You’re on your back naked, and Robert is between your legs with his face on your bare chest. Both of you are under a soft blanket.

He’s also rock hard inside you. You’ve been cockwarming him for a while, but neither of you are in that much of a hurry, or need, to orgasm.

You run one hand through his soft brown hair and the other up and down his lithe back. You feel each bump and scar and feel the warmth all over again of being trusted enough to know their stories.

He turns his head and gives your left boob a kiss. In response, you giggle and kiss him on his forehead. A soft smile and warm brown eyes turn to meet your gaze. You sorta melt a little.

“You’re so pretty, baby.”

Robert blushes, and you swoon as it makes his freckles stand out more.

“Nah, I’m alright. You're pretty enough for the both of us, though,” he says with a lopsided grin.

You tighten your arms and sway him side to side in your embrace. The movement causes him to shift inside you. He gasps because of the feeling, but you’re now on a mission.

“Shush! You are pretty. You’re my pretty baby, baby.” You kiss his forehead again.

His blush gets even deeper and he tries to bury his face into your neck, but you grab a hold of his hair. Not hard enough to pull or hurt, but hard enough to keep him where you want him. Which is with his face exposed and prime for more kisses. He pouts and grumbles, but you ignore him because you know he loves the attention.

“No, no, no. No getting embarrassed. It’s true,” you proclaim with a nod.

“Okay, O Wise One. Enlighten me on how I'm the fairest in the land.”

“And I absolutely will! There are so many things that make you pretty, and I love them all. I love your freckles.” You kiss each cheek, the skin warm under your lips from his blush.

“I love your jaw,” you give him a mischievous smirk, “and the scruff you refuse to shave.”

Robert scoffs and rolls his eyes as you kiss his stubble, but you can see him trying not to smile. “Yeah, whatever.”

“I love your ear. Makes you look like a rabbit that’s been through the wringer.”

“What!” he cackles out.

“Or maybe an alley cat. Or a stray dog.”

“Babe, what the fuck are you talking about.”

“I already said what I’m talking about. Let's follow the bouncing ball, mkay, baby?”

He chuckles. “You’re such a dick.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Yeah, you fucking are.”

“You dare say I’m a dick while I’m letting you put your dick in me and I’m telling you you’re my pretty baby. Uh-huh. Okay. You’ve just lost the privilege of The Baby Title.” You close your eyes and turn your head away from him and back towards the tv.

He lets out an incredulous laugh. “Oh, really?”

“Yes, really. That also includes any variants such as babe, bae, and babyboy.”

“Oh, whatever will I do. Not the babyboy,” he deadpans sarcastically.

Shoving the back of his head a little, you scoff, “ugh, asshole.”

No longer able to keep up the act, you turn your gaze back towards Robert, and he looks up at you, eyes filled with mirth.

“The biggest thing I love about you is-”

“My dick?”

“Robert,” you laugh.

“Sorry.”

“Your eyes.”

He gives you a raised brow.

“Not only are they the most gorgeous shade of brown, like, ever-”

He hums disbelievingly. “Mhm”

“But they’re so expressive and kind. Despite all you’ve been through, you’re still kind. And I love that about you, baby.”

You lie in silence as Robert takes in what you said. He tilts his head up, asking for a kiss, and you give him one. It’s gentle and soft and unhurried and filled with love.

When you break apart, you flash him another mischievous grin and say, “I also love it when you’re on your knees and looking up at me with those pretty brown eyes through your lashes. It's so hot, babe.”

His eyes widen, and his face is as red as a tomato. You take pity on him and remove your hand from his hair, letting him return to the safety of your neck.

You giggle at his actions.

“I love you.”

The third anniversary of your hiatus is approaching fast. In three months in six days, it will mark three years since you’ve been active in hero work. The thought always weighs on you heavier whenever it gets closer to the date, but that doesn’t mean you don’t sit with it every day. And with the anniversary on the rise, it also means that the news articles recapping your career, your task force, and questioning whether or not you’ll ever return to hero work will flood your feed and newspaper stands in no time. You think that you’ve learned to hide the fact that you’re on the verge of drowning very well, but everyone in the office has learned how to tell exactly when it finally sinks in for you.

Blonde Blazer brings you coffee and, coincidentally, can’t finish her breakfast pastries. Galen offers to pick up the random dispatcher position that opens up when he can tell you’re really down. His attempts at being nonchalant, the shrug, and his “More work makes it easier for me not to watch the clock. Honestly, you’d be doing me a favor, Lume,” are weak at best, but you like to let him believe he got one over on you. And Chase ups the ante on how often he hounds you about hiring another official dispatcher for the Z-Team. You know he means well - you know that they all mean well. But you can’t take on another person to look after right now. Especially when you know just how likely it is that within a week, you’d be in the same position you are right now, taking over as dispatcher instead of assisting Blazer in teaching your rehabilitating new heroes. 

The sun reflecting off the glass windows of the SDN building hurts your eyes, but still, you take the moment to let it warm your skin. You’re tired of carrying this weight. You feel it in your bones, in the deepest part of your soul. It doesn’t matter how hard you try to shake it; it clings to you. It’s attached itself to you in ways you didn’t even realize, embedded itself, and taken root so deep you feel as though you’ll feel it forever. You didn’t know just how much being a hero had become such a fundamental part of how you viewed yourself until you weren’t one anymore. Your hero costume feels like just that. A costume. Days like these, you feel like you're masquerading, playing make-believe, and imposing yourself on the people who are the real heroes. But in the end, what did it matter? Your watch still dings as it ticks to your clock in time, you’re still expected at work, and maybe despite it all, in the technicality, you are still- 

“Luminara!” The young girl who mans the front counter sends you a bright smile and a big wave, “Good morning!” 

She’s a sweet young girl, a sophomore in college who only works about three days a week. You still remember the first day you met her. Her eyes lit up, and her mouth parted as you walked in the door. She introduced herself with shaky hands and an even shakier voice. She told you that she was a big fan, that she had even met you once when she was about seven years old. That she still has the picture on her nightstand. She’ll never know just how much that moment meant to you. Or how, after that encounter, you locked yourself in your office and cried for almost an hour. Her eyes are still just as bright the first time you met her as she looks at you now. Maybe even brighter. She looks at you like you’re still a hero. It twists your gut into a knot. And you still can’t place whether it ignites something in you or drags you deeper into the abyss.

Nevertheless, you greet her the same way, passing her the Red bull and the granola bar you packed yourself for lunch. She tries to refuse it, but you’re already at the elevators, waving her off with a smile. 

You sigh as the doors slide shut, thankful that you’re the only one inside. It gives you the time to mentally prepare yourself for the day. The management of the villains turned heroes, especially the Z-Team, the hovering. You don’t have the luxury of being able to feel bad about yourself. Not here and not today. It’s not fair. To your colleagues, to the members of the Phoenix Program - they deserve you at your best. So that’s what you’ll do. No matter how hard it is to distinguish the fire in your mind, you will be the best you can be for them. A few short moments later, the elevator dings, and you open your eyes. The doors slide open, and Chase stands at the ready just outside, hands locked behind his back. 

“Well, well,” he says, “real gracious of you to finally show your face.” 

“Chase, it’s 8:06,” you reply. 

All Chase does is huff through his nose and begin his regular track of following after you.

“Still late. Another minute and I woulda called in for a wellness check.” 

You’ve known Chase since you were a child, still notching your height on the doorframes in the house you were born in. Your father was a busy man before his illness stole his life from him. He was California’s top hero and a part of the Brave Brigade, so the majority of his time was spoken for. And your mother had other places she would have rather been than be at home raising you. So in came Chase. The youngest member of the Brigade and the unwilling babysitter of both you and Robert. Half of your childhood was spent with the two of them, bouncing back and forth between your and Robert’s houses, driving Chase up the wall with your antics. Chase likes to tell you that this is your karma. Payback for all the years you spent on his heels, driving him crazy with the thousands of questions you badgered him with. And he tells you that he has a lot to pay back. 

“Har, Har. Another year and I’m buying you a Life Alert, old man.” 

“Fuck you,” he says, “Always were a little punk.” 

You smirk and swallow down a chuckle. He’s always been so easy to piss off. 

“And yet, who’s following who?” 

Chase grumbles in his acquired old man fashion, but still follows you down the hallway. You would find it odd that he didn’t have a quick quip up his sleeve to throw at you. Had you not known him as well as you did. Chase likes to have the last word. Unless he has something else he wants to bring up. You know that it’s coming. Because at this point, it’s routine, teetering on the edge of being a comedic bit. He asks you whether or not you’re ready to give in. You tell him no. He rants and he raves about how you’re too fuckin’ stubborn for your own good. How you’re gonna run yourself into the ground. You think that’s what your father would’ve wanted? For you to work yourself to death inside of a sad, gray fuckin’ cubicle? All good points, in his defense. But you still tell him no, that you don’t do sidekicks and wander off to find some work to occupy you. Which is never hard at SDN. 

“Don’t even start.” 

He lets out a grumbled sigh, and you hear the pitter-patter of his feet pick up pace as you near the cubicles. “You know it’s time, kid. You can’t keep going like this. And I ain’t gonna be around forever to take care of your sniveling little ass. Shit! I’ve spent too long doing it already! So why don’t you stop being a pain in my ass and give this old man a break, huh?” 

You force yourself to chuckle. Because if you don’t laugh, you’ll cry. 

“Chase, really, I’m perfectly fine! I got it all managed!” Your head cranes over your shoulder to look at him as you round the corner. “And like I always say, I don’t do sidekicks-” 

The sight makes you rebound into a full stop, Chase nearly crashing into your back at the sudden cease in movement. The cubicle you mentally prepared to sit at for the entirety of your day is filled. A man sits in the chair you bought out of pocket, clad in an SDN distributed button-up that looks to be about a size too big, hunched over the desk, pressing randomly at the buttons of the dispatcher monitor. But it’s not the fact that there seems to be a new Z-Team Dispatcher that stumps you. It’s the familiar stature, the body language, the fluff of auburn hair. For a moment, you sit in denial. A lot of people have hair that color. A lot of people are lean, a lot of people slouch, and a lot of people poke and prod at things they’re unfamiliar with. And even though you try to convince yourself that you’ve just seen someone who happened to look like him, you feel it in your gut. It’s not a wonder, it’s a fact.

You don’t need him to turn around; you don’t need the confirmation. You just know. Because you’ve learned everything there is to know about him. You learned the arch of his neck, the part of his hair, the curve of his shoulders. The tips of your fingers tingle at the phantom memory of how he felt against your skin. You remember everything about him. Every freckle, every burn, and scar. Every bump and ridge, and missing piece. You retained every lesson given about his body, his silent language, his soul. No matter the size of the room or the number of people who filled it, you could always find Robert. It was strange, really. The gravitational pull that tethered the two of you to each other. The one that is clearly still alive because, unprompted, Robert turns in the swivel chair, takes the headset off, and turns to you. 

And for a moment, it feels as though the world stops spinning. Everyone else in the room seems to blur out of frame, and it’s just you and Robert left. You, Robert, and the halo the traitorous sun casts upon him. 

It’s been three years since you’ve seen Robert. Three years since you’ve seen him stand to his full height, see his lips part and his eyelashes flutter. Three years since you’ve heard his voice, and when you finally do, it hits you straight in the gut. 

“Lume.” 

And it’s utterly world-shattering. Hearing him call you by the name the public refers to you by and not your name. You see it form on his mouth before he takes the moment to correct himself. It sounds awkward and clumsy. Hesitant, almost. And above anything else, it sounds wrong. You can’t recall if there was ever a time he’s ever called you by your hero name outside of the public eye. 

“I didn’t know you worked here.” 

It’s been years since you last spoke, more than the sad excuse for a text that you were angry to receive, and the pathetic drunken voicemails that you hoped he never listened to. How could he have known? There’s no way that he could have. You doubt Chase told him- 

Chase. 

At least the motherfucker has the decency to look a little sheepish as you turn to him, eyes flickering from you to literally anywhere else in the room. You and Robert differed in many ways, but one noticeable way was that while Robert lost touch with Chase after his father died, you grew closer to him. You talked on the phone frequently, texted regularly, and sent birthday and holiday cards every year in the mail. It was Chase who convinced you to get back out there, ten months deep into your hiatus, the one who told you about the mentorship role opening up at SDN. He’s done so much for you, you don’t believe you’ll ever be able to repay him. But all you want to do right now is send the old pruny bastard flying out the fucking window. 

You force a deep, hearty breath out of your nose and point your first two fingers in his direction. 

“We’re talking about this later.” 

“You’ll have to catch me first.” Chase doesn’t spare a second as he scurries off to his neighboring cubicle and squeezes himself close to his desk, “This body can be fast when it wants to be.” 

“You’re lucky I waited this long!” Chase adds. “I ain’t got the time to sit around and wait for you to come to your fuckin senses. So take the fuckin’ help, kid.” 

Your body feels like it’s vibrating with the amount of emotions that swirl through you. Your skin heats up, and your heart bangs itself around in its cage inside your ribs. In the years passed since you’ve seen him, you’ve come to believe that if the time ever came that you did cross paths again, you wouldn’t feel this way. You imagined that you’d see him and just feel a sense of nostalgia. That by the time you saw him again, Robert would simply be a boy you grew up with. A man you shared similarities with. A part of your childhood you’d always hold dearly. Not the ex you spent almost a year mourning the life you built with him in your head, not the man who left you in such a state after the breakup that you spiraled downwards hard. So hard that you scared people. That you’d see him and your stomach wouldn’t squeeze, and your skin wouldn’t tingle. And it makes you so angry. That your own body revolts against you just at the sight of him. Even after all this time. Even after all the destruction. 

Those eight years come rushing back at full force as you take him in. The nights on the couch. Wearing his old, tattered sweat pants and sharing a beer you couldn’t stand the taste of. Robert asleep on your chest, his fingers indenting in your shirt as they flexed on your waist like he was scared to lose you in his sleep. The nights where you fought in your kitchen, on opposite ends of the island, when both of you were at the ends of your ropes, and they were no longer adult conversations or you and Robert versus the problem. When they turned into you versus Robert, screaming matches and insults that ended with you crying yourself to sleep in your bedroom and Robert lying awake on the couch, unable to sleep due to the sound of your sobs reverberating off the walls. 

Robert rubs at the back of his neck in an anxious habit. There’s a look on his face that’s a mixture of hope and hesitance, and the question you’d been dreading tumbles out of his mouth.  “It’s been a while…how have you been?” 

You don’t know how to answer that. 

Should you be honest? Tell him that you’re tired? That you’re stuck in what feels like a constant state of fight or flight, that you spend half of your time reckoning with the fact that you don’t know if you’ll ever have what it takes to be a hero again after what happened to you, that going the trauma you did and your breakup right after the other changed you on a fundamental level? That seeing him now for the first time in three years, now working at the same place you do, makes you feel things you don’t know how to explain yet. Or do you smile at him, be polite, and tell him you’re doing fine? 

And despite the mask you have on,  he can tell. 

“Loaded question, I know. Probably isn’t the best thing I could’ve said. Sorry.” 

He lets out an awkward chuckle, but your heart still squeezes at the sound. 

“It’s fine, Robert. Have you met the Z-Team?” You ask. 

His eyebrows pop to his hairline, then he blinks and sputters, 

“I, uh- No, not yet,” he scrambles to take his seat and put his headset back on. “You’ve worked with them before?” 

He looks up at you for your answer. Flashing those soft brown eyes at you, his lashes brushing his cheeks as he blinks. It makes you want to run your fingers through his hair, feel him lean into your touch, and have him kiss your palm. It’s instinctual. An instinct you thought you’d shaken years ago. And you decide at that moment that it’s better not to look directly at him. 

“You can say that. They’re definitely an acquired taste.” 

“They’re a gaggle fuck group of jackasses if that’s what you mean by an acquired taste,” Chase calls over the wall.

You can’t help but chuckle at Chase’s commentary. As much as you want to be professional, Chase’s words held some truth. Robert will definitely have his hands full with this lot. But in the plethora of dispatcher shifts you had with them and the few lessons you had with a few of the members, you’ve managed to form an odd sort of bond with them. Which Chase thinks is troublesome, seeing how many times they’ve been such a pain in the ass that their dispatchers quit before the week was up. He believes it to be a ploy so that Blazer will get so fed up that she’ll have no choice but to put you as their dispatcher full-time. And Chase “will be damned if you spend any more time in this fuck ass cubicle with these no-good-shitty-ass-hero-wannabes.” 

“Well, you know me,” Robert says, “I’ve always been one for a challenge.” 

Robert’s eyes flick up to you again, a sly smirk pulling on his lips. You’ve always been so infatuated with Robert’s eyes. They truly were the window to his soul, ever expressive. They shine and crinkle in the corners when he’s happy, fade and blacken when he’s angry. And they shine just like they are now when he- Yeah. You definitely shouldn’t look directly at him. 

For a second, you find your exterior softening. Your shoulders dip in towards your chest from the curved position of leaning on the desk, and you can feel your lips try to tick up in the corners at his implication. But then it hits you all over again. How things ended, how it took him seven-and-a-half weeks to reach out after the breakup- as if you hadn’t begun to build a life together. As if that life wasn’t ripped away from you, as if it wasn’t his choice. 

You stand to your full height once more and step back. And then that displaced look on his face returns. 

“Good luck on your first day, Robert. Don’t let them push you around. They respect that.” 

The wheels on the swivel seat drag against the floor as he pushes himself out from the desk, straining to follow you until you’re out of his line of sight. 

“Lume, wait a sec-” 

You make the conscious decision to keep moving. And start to believe that is how you’ll navigate this new area with him. Not lingering, and always moving. Maybe in the long run, this will be best. You’ve hurt each other enough over the course of your lives, and until you’re sure being around Robert won’t hurt you more, you’ll keep moving. 

JULY 16th, 2022. THREE YEARS PRIOR. 

“And so, effective immediately, I will be going on an indefinite hiatus from Hero Work.” 

Prior to this announcement, the room had been pin quiet. The occasional click of a camera or pop of a water bottle sounded, but not one person in that room had made a noise until now. The gasps are loud, they fill the air, and strike you straight through the heart. A woman in the front row covers her mouth with the tips of her fingers, a man in the far right corner bows his head and takes his wide-rimmed glasses off to rub at his eyes. The disappointment is evident. There’s shock, and fear, and grief written all over their faces. Reporters look around the room for answers that only lie with you and murmur amongst themselves. 

They react to your announcement like death. They’re grieving the kid of the Brave Brigade member who followed in their father's footsteps, the one who grew into the shoes they laid out to fill and earned their place amongst the new top heroes of California. Your father made a legacy for you, made space for you in the legend that became a household name, and you’re hanging it up. Because if you’re not around to soar through their skies and keep the streets safe as you have been for the past decade, Luminara is as good as dead. 

“I could never thank you all enough for the endless amount of support and opportunities you’ve given me. And I hope, despite my decision, you can still look back on my efforts to keep the citizens of Los Angeles safe with pride.” 

You can feel the tears begin to burn behind your eyes, and a strangled cry tries to crawl its way out of your throat. The tears you must furiously blink away irritate your head injury, a deep, hidden pain underneath the gauze the doctors carefully bandaged around your forehead. You clear your throat and push yourself to finish. 

“Thank you all for being here. I will not be accepting questions at this time.” 

Then the crowd erupts. The cameras flash until the room is white, and reporters shout your name. Your team scurries to usher you away, your publicist taking your place behind the podium to take over where you left off. Your manager, the same one you’ve had since you were seventeen, takes you under his arm and tells you that you did good. But it doesn’t feel that way. You feel your failure every time you move, the stabbing pain in your back, the sting of your head injury, the scrape of your bones. You’ve only just announced that you will no longer be taking part in being a hero, and you already feel as though you’ve lost a piece of yourself. It makes you want to pull away, push your publicist out of the way, and take it all back. Shove the words back down your throat and rip your bandages off to prove you’re okay. But you know this is the decision that must be made. And that hurts the worst. 

For the past ten years, you could always say that you knew what tomorrow had planned for you. You’d wake up early, just as the sun begins to peak over the mountains, and prepare yourself to be Luminara. Sore through the Californian skies and protect the city you’ve called yours since you were young. But now…you don’t know what tomorrow holds for you. All you know that is waiting for you is an empty house and a fridge full of booze you can’t drink. 

Your team escorts you into a nearby break room, depositing you in a hard plastic chair and pushing bottled waters and muffins in your direction. They talk amongst themselves, attempt to talk to you, but it all sounds so distant. You want to respond, you want to answer whatever questions it seems like they’re asking you, but all you can manage to do is stare wordlessly at the crack in the wall and try to fight off the breakdown you feel building under the surface. 

“Excuse me, Luminara?” 

A hand comes down on your shoulder, and you nearly jump out of your skin. The meek young intern who has seemingly been calling your name much longer than necessary quickly removes her hand as she feels you flinch under her touch. 

“You got a text,” she says. 

“Oh,” you murmur, taking your from her outstretched hand, “thank you, Amber.” 

The brightness stings your eyes, but it only takes a blink for you to adjust and read the notification. 

Robert

You doing okay? 

Robert I just saw your press conference. 

Robert 

I’m proud of you. 

The first emotion you feel after days of embarrassment and grief is anger. Your blood rushes, and your chest tightens. He’s proud of you? After everything that happened, he has the nerve to tell you he’s proud of you? 

-

“You’re a fucking hypocrite.” 

The clock is close to ticking to your second hour of this fight. A fight you’ve had a countless amount of times by now. Dinner is abandoned on the table, Robert’s chair is still pulled halfway out from where he stood in attempts to flee the return of this conversation. You don’t blame him for wanting to run from having this argument again because you don’t want to have it either. But the difference here is that you’re willing to have difficult conversations to save Robert from himself. You refuse to grow accustomed to the bruises and gashes on his skin. You refuse to allow him to continue to ignore the fact that his unorganized plans to find Shroud will end with him getting killed. It isn’t a matter of if anymore. It is a matter of when. You’ve woken up from too many nightmares of burying him, alone in a bed that’s still made up on his side. Too many nightmares of having to speak at his funeral, once as Luminara and once again as who he truly knows you as. Of having to throw dirt on his casket and only having pictures on a mantle and distant memories to remember him by. 

“How am I a hypocrite? Please, tell me! Because all I’m trying to do is make sure you don’t push yourself somewhere you can’t walk away from.” 

He stands on the opposite side of your kitchen island, lit by fluorescent light. His molars grind against each other as his chest continues to stutter with angered breaths. 

“You sit there and get on to me about losing myself?” He gasps out an angry chuckle and stretches his pointer finger at you. “You’re in the same boat as me, sweetheart. How many nights have you spent at headquarters?-” 

“That’s different, and you know it!” you interject. 

“How many nights did I have to make sure you’ve eaten? How many times do I have to tell you to give it up and get rest, just for you to tell me you don’t have the time to rest? But I do it, and it’s a problem?” 

You let your head fall into the comfort of your palms, fingers rubbing and pulling at your temples. Your ears are ringing, and a migraine starts to build at the base of your skull. It’s been months since things between you and Robert followed the normal way of life. Quiet nights spent tucked into one another on the couch, falling asleep still sticky with sweat but too exhausted to shower, waking up to a kiss on the forehead and a cup of coffee on the nightstand had all been replaced with this. Leaving for work before the other has come home, if they have at all. Notes left on counters about Beef running low on food with no loving sign off, arguments in the kitchen you danced in, laughing into his neck as he spins you.

It’s been so long that you can no longer pinpoint exactly when this all started. You don’t know if it was the first time you found Robert on the brink of exhaustion, eyes ringed with dark circles, and fighting sleep to the death just to follow one more lead. Or the first time you found Robert sewing up a new gash in your guest bathroom at 3:52 in the morning. But you’re tired. All you need is for this task mission to be over and for Robert to at least try to understand where you’re coming from. That’s all. Just one clean break, where you two can start fresh and put in the effort to getting back to being okay again.

“These are two entirely different circumstances, Robert. They can’t be compared,” you sigh. 

“They’re not, though! You’re fighting against the goddamn Syndicate,” He huffs out your name in a tempered growl, “You’ve got no clue what you’re up against. You think just because you have a few extra hands than I do that you can take down one of the most powerful villain organizations like it’s easy? You’re going in just as fucking blind as I am.”

His voice doesn’t raise in volume but grows weighty. 

 “The only difference between you and me is that I dedicate my time working to successfully complete my mission. You do it because if you stop running, you’ll actually have to sit with all your loss, and all your mistakes. And you can’t fucking stand it the idea that maybe you’re not as perfect as the billboards have made you out to be.” 

The anger and frustration falters. It’s true that in the months you’ve spent going in circles, running round 2’s and 3’s of the same argument, that you’ve grown accustomed to the way things unfolded. You’d bring it up, Robert would huff and bare his teeth like a cornered animal. You’d try to clarify your reasoning, hands outstretched in offering that was up to him whether he wanted to take or bite. Despite believing you had your walls built high enough now in preparation for what would inevitably take place, Robert is able to pierce through them. He always had. Just never like this before. Never has Robert pierced your soul like this before. Never has he been armed and chosen to wield it against you.  The soft brown eyes you’ve spent half your life gazing into, watching irises gleam, and pupils expand, have hardened- the beautiful highlight of gentle expression extinguished and replaced with a look of anger you’ve never seen directed at you before. 

“You like to forget that I know you.” He says. “And I know you’re a fucking hypocrite.” 

-

You feel the material of your phone creak under the clench of your hand, the pathetic thread of messages taunting you through the screen. For a moment, you consider letting the message sit forever unanswered in your phone. Because eventually, his name will shift downwards in your messages, sit at the bottom forever out of sight. Eventually, the memories won’t haunt you, you won’t replay every fight, every smile, every late-night postcoitus come down where all you did was lie wordlessly in each other’s presence, tracing shapes onto the other person’s skin. You consider taking a deep breath, shutting the damned thing off, and handing it back to Amber. But something else takes over you, and before you know it, your fingers are frantically typing at the screen. 

I have a skull fracture, two broken vertebrae, and just told the country I might never keep them safe again, so I’m doing fan-fucking-tastic, Robert. Thanks so much for deciding to reach out. 

You get no reply. And you can’t decide whether or not that makes you content or sends you deeper into anguish. 

APRIL 2025. PRESENT. 

A lot of things have transpired in the last few months that Robert had not been expecting. 

He wasn’t expecting to get blown up, fall hundreds of feet out of the sky, and spend four months in a medically induced coma. He wasn’t expecting to get jumped or rescued by Blonde Blazer, of all people, and spend the night with her at a hero bar. He wasn’t expecting to walk away at the end of the night with a new job and a chance to be Mecha Man again, and he absolutely was not expecting to now be your colleague. Or employee? Underling? He wasn’t exactly sure about your position or the hierarchy at SDN just yet, but he’s now sure he will be seeing you for eight hours a day, five days out of the week. 

He still remembers the last time he saw you. Unexpecting, and angered by the lack of resolution in your relationship, and drained from your undersupply of rest due to your task mission. He remembers seeing your smiling face on half the billboards in the city, hearing your voice on the ads that played in every app he opened, or on the TVs of restaurants and electronic stores he passed by. There were times he found himself standing in place, letting it play in its entirety, simply gazing. He remembers seeing your press conference on the news. He remembers reaching out to you afterwards, and he remembers instantly regretting it. But time passes, as it always does, and that memory gets lost in the log of the million other regrets that he has. In the end, your name had been added to that list more than he’d care to admit. 

The day goes by slowly, the clock seems to lose its pace, and Robert can’t stop looking at it. And he can’t stop looking for you. He tries to keep his mind preoccupied, to keep his focus on dispatching and not on you, but the task proves more difficult than he remembers warding off the thought of you being. You’re in the same building as him. For the first time in three years and that fact keeps biting away at the back of his mind. He just needs a glimpse, he thinks. Then he could center himself and try to get the team through their first shift of the day with the least amount of casualties that he could manage. He could get by with just a glimpse. 

He breathes in deeply through his nose, his leg bouncing as he rubs harshly at his face. Chase was right. These guys are a gaggle fuck group of jackasses. They mock him, they don’t listen and refuse to take their job as heroes even remotely serious. Now, he understands why it’s been so hard to fill this position. The team laughs over the comms, cackling about yet another shitty joke about his name and about how Invisigal saw him in his underwear. So he takes the second. He puts his microphone on mute and dials down their volume. And like an angel, you appear just as he glances up. 

You round the corner, your face relaxed, teetering on the edge of looking tense to the average person. Someone must call your name because your face pulls into the well-practiced, softened look you wear to make sure you seem approachable. But your expression melts and your eyes warm, a smile pulling on your lips once you recognize the caller. The sun hits you at just the perfect angle that makes your skin glow. And as creepy as it may sound, as you speak to the person whose name he’s yet to learn, he takes the perfect moment to admire you. Not on a magazine or through the pixelated screen of his phone, but through the lens of his own eyes. The curves of your face, the shine of your eyes. The way your suit hugs your figure. The dip of your waist and the apex of your thigh that shows through the gap in the latex. A sight Robert no longer has the right to admire so blatantly as he is now. Not after how he left things. But he could never pull his eyes off you. 

“Listen, I get admiring from time to time, but this is starting to get fuckin’ weird.” 

Robert jumps. 

Chase is leaning over the divider, arms half folded and chin jutted down in silent jest. Robert doesn’t know how much Chase knows about your breakup. But if the interactions they’ve shared since he’s been is any hint, it doesn’t seem like he’s holding any grudges. Or, with some god-like strength, you chose not to tell him exactly what happened. He knows that you were close enough to Chase that you would. He can remember all the times he’d come home from work to follow the trail of your joyous voice into the bedroom to find you on a call. 

He’d kiss your forehead in greeting, then leave to shower before joining you in bed. You’d still be on the phone by the time he came out, laughing and recounting stories to whoever obtained your attention through the line. Leaving Robert to mouth at your neck and rub at the skin of your stomach to try and steal it back, just to find out the person you’d spent three hours on the phone with was none other than Chase. Even through all the hardship you faced towards the end, inside and outside of your relationship, that was one thing that never changed for you. 

“I wasn’t staring,” Robert says, adjusting the headset right again, “I was thinking.” 

“Yeah?” Chase goads, “Thinkin’ bout what?” 

“I…am not required to answer that.” 

Robert attempts to fake his focus on his dispatching, enjoying the seemingly rare moment of silence over the line when Chase’s voice travels through the air again. 

“Still single, y’know.” 

“What?” 

Chase says your name softly, and it sounds like a song, as he nods in your direction,

“Still single. If you were wondering.” 

The sentence lands heavy. Stupidly enough, that hadn’t even been a thought that crossed his mind. Even now, with the question he originally didn’t have now answered, it sparks something in him. You were a vision, a miracle on two legs. You were kind and generous to a point that if you weren’t stopped, you’d give until you had no more. Anyone would be lucky to have you. And at one point, he was that lucky person. But now he was…well. He didn’t know what he was to you anymore. Was he simply an ex? The guy who broke your heart after eight years spent together? Was he written off as simply a childhood friend you lost touch with because that was easier to explain than the mess of what your relationship turned into? Or was he something else? Something new, unconfirmed whether it was something good or bad.

“Listen, I don’t know how much you two talked about…what happened, but I don’t think that’s ever gonna be a possibility,” Robert says. “Like ever.” 

“Didn’t need to.” Chase replies, “I was there to witness the worst of it.” 

Robert’s heart sputters. It wasn’t as if he’d never thought about it. He did. Often. And even if he was stupid enough to believe that you were doing fine, he got the evidence to prove that you weren’t. Six 8-minute-long voice memos you sent to him, drunk, over the course of your first two weeks apart. The six voice memos that added up to roughly an hour would forever be ingrained in his mind. He can time every sob and sniffle, he deciphered every befuddled murmur, he listened to every curse of his name. He knew you were bad - because he was too. But Robert had not been okay for so long that it was hard to tell when he got hit with another blow. He was used to not being okay. He knew things were hard for you, but he never thought you’d be in a place where you needed help getting out of. And he never thought he’d be the one to put you there. 

“Wasn’t good. Drinkin’ a lot.” Chase says. 

Chase looks at you with a cocktail of emotion. A look he’d deny ever having on his face, but he looks at you with such pride, and fear, with love and hope all wrapped up into one. Robert and Chase have always been close, but Robert always saw Chase as the cool older brother he always dreamed of having. Somebody to talk to, to look up to. Somebody who would be there for him. Chase looks at you like a parent does as they admire the child they’ve watched flourish into adulthood. 

“Kid’s strong though. Came back in the end.” He states. “Who knows? Maybe you'll both come back in the end.” 

From across the room, you laugh, angelic and sweet. And he wonders if the person you’re speaking to feels the same warmth flood through their chests at the sound. He doesn’t fight the smile that appears on his face, but it falters as your eyes drift to him. Your brows cinch in confusion as you find him already looking at you, and Robert quickly pulls another half-assed grin and sends you an awkward wave. Which you return, just as unsure as he was. 

“But what the fuck do I know?” Chase says, “Maybe they fuckin’ hate your guts and think you’re an emotionally constipated cocksucker who needs to invest in a good therapist to work through the long fuckin’ list of issues you’ve got going on.” 

Robert’s face scrunches, and he flinches back at the statement, 

“Was that something that was said?” He asks, “That sounds way too specific to just come up with on the spot.” 

Chase only shrugs. 

“Private information. Not at liberty to confirm nor deny.” 

The thought had appeared to you earlier this morning, but it decides to revisit you during lunch. If there is a God, it’s obvious to you now that the guy really doesn’t like you. 

You imagine somewhere beyond the sky and the clouds, he laughs at your strife and torment, weighing out which would be the funniest option to fan the flames with to watch you struggle even more. This one is especially cruel, though. Somewhere deep in your mind, you began to believe you may never have to see Robert again. You’d never have to feel the swirl of emotions in your gut, never have to relive all those memories over again. But this isn’t a passing moment. You don’t see him in the corner of a coffee shop; you don’t get the choice to speak to him or pretend you never saw him at all. He’s here now, and there’s no way around it. 

Though the air in the building has shifted for you, those around you stay the same. People still wave to you as they pass in the halls, make conversation at the vending machines, and you do your best to keep up. But it’s hard. Your mind strays, retracing your steps to find its way back to every encounter you’ve had with Robert. Recent and former. Your chest grows heavy at the fact that you’ll now have more experiences to add to the list that your mind rewinds again. 

A hand wraps around your clad wrist, and you halt in your step. You don’t need to turn to know who it is. You knew that it was only a matter of time before Robert sought you out, ever the diplomat when he wished to be. You knew the conversation was coming; you just wish it didn’t have to be so soon. 

“Hey,” he breathes, “can we talk?” 

You roll your lips and take a look around the hall. This isn’t the place to have this conversation. But you don’t have much of an option- especially if you want to limit as much interaction with him as possible. 

“Let’s go somewhere private.” 

His fingers drag across your wrist as he lets you go, the feather-light touch fading slowly as you lead him down the hall to the first conference room you can think of. 

You let him in first, let him take a seat in whichever chair he chooses, as you lock the door and close the blinds. Dread sinks over you, head to toe, goosebumps erupting over your skin as you pull the chair out on the opposite side of him. You’re still close, less than three feet away, but any closer is dangerous. 

You don’t know where to start. You don’t know if you should speak first or let the awkward silence swirl through the air until Robert mulls over what he wants to say. You don’t know if the conversation will simply skim the top or if Robert believes that you’ll get to the bottom of everything that’s happened between you and come out people reborn. But you don’t have it in you to delve that deep. Not here and not today. 

“So..” you trail. “How was your first shift?” 

Robert blows a huff of a chuckle out of his nose, 

“It was, uh, something,” he answers, “definitely something.” 

His chair is angled towards you, pulled out from the head of the long table to close the gap, elbows resting on his knees, folded over. His presence doesn’t take up as much space as you remember. You wonder when he learned to make himself smaller. 

“How many times have you dispatched them?” He asks. 

“More times than what was in my job description.” You chuckle. “It’s hard for them to keep a dispatcher.” 

“Yeah. I can see why.” 

For a moment, the air is lighter. You share a soft laugh at the now shared experience of the chaos of the Z-Team. He looks at you through his eyelashes and his cheeks round with a smile. But then it all comes crashing down on you once again. 

“Listen, Lume.” he starts. “I can’t even begin to apologize-” 

You decide at this moment that you can’t. You believed that you’d have the strength to resolve this here and now, and move forward with a new slate. But the fear takes hold of you and drags you back. 

“Robert, let’s not do this. Not right now.” 

“I just want to-” 

“I know what you want to do.” You say, eyes softened and smile pained, “Just not right now.” 

His chest falls, and he drops his head. Your chest sinks at the disappointment in his posture. You’ve always hated the dejected stance on him, always hated when you hurt him. But this time you don’t extend your hand. You keep it tucked to your chest and don’t offer the chance to be bitten. 

He nods and finds your eyes again. 

“Okay,” he says. “How do you want to move forward?” 

Yet another question you have no idea how to answer. But you have to, nevertheless. 

“I have too much going on right now for things to be difficult in another part of my life,” you start. “I don’t know how things are going to progress from here, and I don’t know how either of us will feel in the future. But right now, I think the best way is to keep what happened outside of the office. Start fresh for now.” 

He takes a moment. Letting your words really ruminate before he decides what he wants to say. Then he nods again. 

“Alright. I can do that,” he replies. “Just know whatever you need, I'm here.” 

The statement stuns you. It’s been a long time since you viewed Robert as someone you could rely on. But it would be nice to be able to feel that way again. You send him a soft smile and nod,

“Okay.” 

“You weren’t as hard to find as I thought you’d be.” 

Chase turns to look at you and then swears, with a snap of his fingers. He pulls out a chair in defeat and plops down into it. It was always so funny to you when you got the upper hand on Chase. It’s not often, but the victory is sweet every time. 

“Let’s get this over with.” He says. 

You pretend to think, finger tapping obnoxiously on your chin, 

“Nah. I think I’ll wait. Drag it out a little longer.” 

You sit in the chair beside him at the small rec room table and slide him a Crunchbar. A peace offering that he hesitantly accepts. He looks at it like you poisoned it, keeps his eyes trained on you as he grabs it like he’s waiting for you to launch yourself at him. Once it’s in his hands, he tears the wrapper open and breaks it in half, sliding the side still in the wrapper over to you. 

“This’ll be good for you, kid. You need the break. And Robert will be good.” 

You know that. You know that you’re overworking yourself, and you know that Robert will be a great dispatcher. But it doesn’t ease the sting. You lean slightly to take the candy bar in your hand. 

“How’d the day go?” You ask. 

“As good as it could go for those shitheads,” Chase says, “Flambae lit a park on fire, Sonar fangirled in front of his hero and made a goddamn fool of himself- now, that was some funny shit - and Invisigal rocked Robert’s shit.” 

You stop mid-peel of the wrapper and almost choke on your breath. The other two instances you could predict. That was all in the realm of normal for the Z-Team. But what was that last one? You clear your throat quickly and ask for clarification. 

“I’m sorry- What happened?” 

And Chase tells you as if you had simply asked what the time was. 

“Invisigal happened.” He says, “Didn’t listen to what Robert told her to do - big fuckin’ shock there- they had it out right here, and she punched him.” 

Before you can truly register the thought that’s formed in your head, you’re up and out of your seat, phone in your hand, and on the way to the closest conference room. 

“Where the fuck are you going?” 

The door is left ajar in your leave, and you still have no idea what exactly is that you’re going to say when you type out your message. 

Team Meeting in 5. Conference room B.  

The team is already there when you arrive, which still surprises you. You’d like to say you know exactly how you earned their respect, but you don’t. It all happened before you had a chance to notice their change. One day, faith for you was born. And it showed. This gives you hope that the conversation that is to be had will go well. 

The small chatter that filled the room ceases, and they greet you all in their own personal manners. They smile, and all break out into the regularly chosen pieces of dialogue after a new dispatcher is selected. They tell you the new guy sucks, that he’s nowhere near as good as you are, that they want to talk to Blazer about making you their official dispatcher. Except for Invisigal, whose line of sight is strictly trained on the mahogany of the table. She chews on the inside of her cheek and takes a quick peek at you from the corner of her eye before she quickly looks away again. 

Insecurities lie deep within Visi. It wasn’t something that was hard for you to figure out once you really observed her. And you made the effort to try to help her work through them. But Invisigal has to want the change for herself. She has to make the conscious decision to do good and choose the right decision. And punching your dispatcher, no matter how angry they make you, is not the right decision. 

Punch-Up is the first to ask,  “When are ye comin’ back?” 

You take a quick breath and hope that as you begin to speak, the words will come to you. 

“I fully understand that the last batch of dispatchers you all have had has not been especially to your liking.” You start. Your tone clear and firm. Half of the room has the smarts to realize that this meeting isn’t like the others. This isn’t a meeting to simply see how they behaved and how they thought the new dispatcher was faring. 

Because you already know. There are no little white lies they can tell you about how, yeah, they fucked with the new guy, but it’s all in good fun! The day went well either way. Something has happened, and you’re already aware of it. And you’re here to set the record straight. Flambae takes his feet off the table, Mal and Prism share “oh, shit,” looks across the table, and Visi still has yet to look at you for more than a split second. 

“And I know that we all work well together as a team. But when I got hired at SDN, I was not hired as a dispatcher. I was hired to be a mentor. I was hired to connect with you all and teach you how to be the great heroes I know you all have the power to be.” 

“What’s this about, boss?” Sonar questions, ears twitching as he pushes himself off the wall he leaned on. 

“I’ve gotten word about a few things that have happened on today’s shift. And I don’t care about you giving the new hires a run for their money. If they can’t stick it out, then they’re not the right dispatcher for the team. But what I do care about is keeping you all on the right track.” 

The group is rag-tag. They’re disrespectful and hard-headed. But you’ve managed to earn their trust and their respect. And you will forever be grateful for that fact, and you would never consciously do anything to jeopardize that. And you can see it in their face that they understand that. So you choose your next words carefully. 

“And some of the behaviors I’ve learned about today are something I never want to hear has happened again.” You say. 

Invisigal’s posture deepens; she leans her body away from you and bows her head further in the opposite direction. She doesn’t like criticism. This is something you’re aware of. But the only way she can grow is if she accepts that she made the wrong decision and learns from it. 

“Robert was a great hero. And he’s good at what he does. And yeah, he can be a bit of a prick sometimes, but so can all of you-” 

“That is true,” Punch-Up interjects. 

“But he’ll do good by you. All you have to do is give him a chance.” 

The room looks at you apprehensively. Faces scrunched in reluctance and eyes clouded with uncertainty.

“I’m not telling you that you have to trust him just yet; that’s something he has to earn from all of you. Just like I did. So all I’m asking of you is to keep trusting me.” 

The room grows silent. The team looks amongst themselves as each of them tests the waters, waiting for somebody to make the first decision. Prism is the first to answer. 

“Fine. I still think he’s a bitch.” Prism says, “But if you think he’s got what it takes. I’ll give him a shot.” 

And it’s not long before the rest of the group gives a nod and soft murmurs of agreement. One by one, they all leave their seats and begin to file out of the conference room. You give Golem a pat on the arm and turn to keep Visi in your sight. She doesn’t go invisible, she doesn’t push Flambae out of the way to dash out of the door. She simply comes to a stop in front of you, face artificially stern but eyes gleaming with despair. 

“Well, go on,” she spits. “Just yell at me so I can leave.” 

“I’m not going to yell at you.”

Her brows furrow and her head twitches to the side. She doesn’t believe that you’re not here to berate her. And that makes your heart sink. You want the best for her. But she also has to face the consequences of her actions. 

“I believe you have what it takes to be a hero.” 

Despite the disheartened look she wears, her eyes still spark. 

“You have it in you to do infinite amounts of good. But there is only so much that I can do for you before it comes down to you. You have to want this for yourself, and you have to not let your anger control your decisions.” 

You reach out and touch her shoulder, and you smile when she allows you to. 

“You don’t have to be a villain anymore. But I can’t let this slide without any repercussions.” You say. “If I hear of this happening again, it will be on your permanent record. Am I clear?” 

A moment passes. Then she nods. 

“I understand.” She says. 

You give her a squeeze on her arm and move out of the door. But before she gets too far, you call out to her. 

“I believe in you, Visi. It’s time you start believing in yourself.” 

She doesn’t say a word, but the dispirited look on her face shifts into something softer, more hopeful, and her lips twitch like she wants to smile. And then she vanishes. 

Once you’re sure she’s gone, you flop into one of the empty chairs and finally take the moment to rest. While you didn’t plan for today to go smoothly with all that was already happening, you had no idea this would be the way things went. You sigh and throw your mask on the table, fingers rubbing and prodding where the migraine lurks under the surface. 

Life as you once knew is changing course. You’ll have to learn a new routine, a new way of thinking, and a new level of professionalism. You could never have imagined this would be the way you and Robert would meet again, and you could’ve never imagined you’d struggle with it as much as you are. The thought makes your heart beat haphazardly and makes your head spin. It’s involuntary, and that’s what makes this so much harder. You can’t fight against a threat you can’t predict, a threat you can’t control. The weight is crushing, you can feel your collarbones start to creak, and your knees bend under the mass you try to carry. The seams crack, and the stitches tug, and you fear that it’s only a matter of time before you completely crumble. You don’t know what you need, you don’t know what can stop it before it begins. You let out a deep sigh and curl your fingers into the soft skin of your palm. Your gloves protect you somewhat, but you can feel the curve of your nails dig crescent indents in your skin. 

The clock on the wall strikes 5:15. Your day is over. The office slowly empties, and you finally register the ringing of the alarm on your watch. You press a button, and it silences. The chair squeaks as you stand, and you take in one more deep breath. Despite the obstacles in the way, your day didn’t completely crash and burn. You finally got to do the job you were hired for, you got to mentor and teach members of the Phoenix Program, you didn’t burst into tears in the bathroom, and you didn’t wring Chase’s neck like you wanted to this morning. So, maybe that means there’s hope for tomorrow. 

You don’t know what the future holds for you now that Robert is inserted into your daily life again. You don’t know whether or not the road leads to you and Robert crashing and burning and hurting each other more than you already have. You’d be stupid not to believe that it wasn’t an option on the table. But there is another option, where you both don’t crash and burn. Where something happens, and that something is good. Whatever that may be. But that’s a bridge you don’t have the energy to cross yet. But whether you’re ready to take that step or not, that bridge is in sight, and one day you’ll be right in front of it. 

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