Because I hated that Robert had to deal with his shit alone
Robert comes across as self assured and confident. He always has a witty comeback. And to a great extent, he is those things! He knows his shit. He is confident. He is self assured.
But he is, like so many men are, a victim of the mindset that he must shoulder everything and push his own feelings away for later.
The problem with this beyond the fact that it is inherently terrible, is that it's never a right time for him to decompress. There's always something he needs to be doing, someone he needs to be saving.
You're not surprised to see him breaking the fuck down at Chase's bedside after Blazer leaves.
And in his head he's just turning around the words that she said to him beyond your knowledge: she told him his father would be so proud of him. But he knew his dad beyond the public image. He spent his whole childhood seeking his approval and never getting it.
He can almost see him in the doorway right now. Coming down on him for causing the mortal injury to someone else through his own negligence. For failing to keep a struggling hero in check. Maybe he would even call him stupid for indulging The Phoenix program at all.
And then of course, there's Chase. Truly really one of the only points in his childhood that had any positive memories attached, sacrifice himself as a hero would. He's proud of him but he's also dying inside. He's not ready to lose Chase. Everything is falling apart.
"Robert?"
The figure in the doorway isn't his dad anymore. You're holding the door frame, peering at him with sympathy. He sits up straighter and wipes his eyes, coughs, forces his voice to steady. Fails. "Yeah, what's up?" Comes out as "Yyyh--" and then he's choking again, pinning his eyes shut, looking away.
He coughs again.
But he can't.
He can't stop. He can't fix this. He just can't.
Bitterly, he waits for the speech. You've always tried to help people pick themselves back up, and he already knows it won't hit him right. He doesn't want to man up. He doesn't want to steel himself. He doesn't want to be strong.
He wants somebody to fucking carry him for once.
So he gasps when he feels your arms around him. Just a soft, confused noise. You've carried the extra chair around to his side and sat, then pulled him into you. Quiet. Soft.
"This fucking sucks. And I'm sorry."
That's all you say. You hold him and he clings to you desperately, crying until he's too tired. Until he's run out of tears completely. You don't tell him it'll be all right, or that fate will step in; nothing poetic, no platitudes. Just. This fucking sucks.
You're right.
He needed this. All of it. Your arms, the soothing rustling of his hair, letting him practically climb into your lap as he finally lets the pressure loose.
It's short-lived in the grand scheme, but meant the world to him. It got him through the hell that came.
You didn't evacuate the building in time when Shroud attacked, and nobody could find you. He'd been up all night fighting for his life, but he wasn't going to go home until he knew what happened to you.
The relief when he found out that you locked yourself in a supply closet and made a fort in there of boxes so if anyone got in they wouldn't know you were there turns to uncontrollable laughter. Hell was breaking out and you built a fort.
"Well it worked! I'm alive!!"
He's doubled over, leaning on the wall at first, then sitting down while happier tears fall. He feels bad because you look embarrassed now, so he shakes his head. "No, no, this is genius. It is. I'm just. I'm so glad you're...come here."
He reaches. You oblige him. And he stuffs you between his legs, against his chest, cradling you between a stash of pens and toilet paper, softly laughing.
"Did you sleep?"
"Too wired."
"Yeah. Me neither."
Robert's being far too affectionate for this to be pure relief that his friend was okay.
"Do you wanna sleep?"
"Badly."
"Come home with me."
His voice is so calm. Sincere. Pleading.
"Don't want you far from me for the whole weekend," he adds. Squeezing you.
Hiding your face in his shirt, you grin stupidly.
"Mmkay," you reply, muffled. "But I wanna grab my pajamas and stuff on the way."
"Deal."
