But just when he feels like he's reaching the end of comprehending this woman she always seems to surprise him with another flip of the coin.

Robert turns his head to her as she speaks, drawing his eyes away from the mask which dangling loosely between his fingers. It had taunts him with the temptation of just…slipping it back on and thinking of being anywhere but here. Now his eyes trail along her face as Courtney comes close, a lovely whisper of breath against his face with all the bite of sour to counter that sweet of the moment.

Rob should scoff, he thinks, at the sheer audacity she has to act like this after fucking what? Utterly tossing his feeling into the fucking wind? Attempt after every attempt tonight seems to end in blunder. How was it so easy before? When he could just play her games, trip her up, and enjoy the small fun of it. It was kinder. To at least play make believe.

The heat of 'intimate' brushes against his lips. Hard not to shoot a glance to hers and think about how dry his mouth feels. The tip of his tongue pokes out against his lips and he swallows and then… he falls in step, one last time.

Because if this was pointless. If this all was as he fears it is. Then the last thing he wants to at least have from her is what she gave before and not the memory of her coated in blood, looking so full of misery, with the symbol of his father's killer held in her hands. Like it was supposed to turn out that way.

He’s right, she didn’t complain about Typecast 2 for a number of reasons. One of them being she’s unironically a lover of cheesy rom-coms, but the second and most important reason is that she was distracted by Robert sitting next to her, looking so engrossed in the movie while they shared the bucket of popcorn. She couldn’t help herself from sneaking glances at him the entire fucking time, replaying that shot of him showing up out of nowhere in front of her, unannounced, with a load of snacks.

And that walk after may have been the highlight of the whole thing. Chatting about the movie. Finishing the last of the Sour Patch Kids. Walking extremely slowly, as if neither one of them wanted the night to end. She definitely didn’t.

When she came back home that night she threw herself on her bed and screamed into her pillow so hard, Laura came running into her room thinking someone was strangling her.

Laura… How is she doing? Part of her wants to ask Robert about her. If he knows anything. But that would imply she misses the life she ran away from. She does. She misses it so fucking much.

Courtney glances at the mask in his hand then, from the corner of her eye, his face. “That was, uh … a good night.” She smiles.

More than good. It was sweet. It was warm. She’d give anything to go back to it.

She and Robert even made plans that night—or well, vague plans, to go back there again, watch some other movies, with actual tickets for the both of them and all. She still plans on sneaking there every now and then. So maybe even though they won’t go there together, they’ll still run into each other sometimes. Assuming he won’t be too busy for movies now, with the whole going back to being Mecha Man thing.

“They’re making a third movie, you know?” she says. “Should be coming out next summer.”

There’s a tightness in her throat as she looks at the screen, at all the pretty views they’re zooming past. A sense of … dread and anxiety that sit heavy in the pit of her stomach. If only she could slow this ride too, the way she slowed her steps that night. If only she could drag this out. Make it last. Make it sweet and warm.

Her smile dissipates as slowly as reality drowns out the memories. Courtney’s teeth tug at her lip. If only she could have a touch of the hopefulness she did when they walked back to his car and said goodnight that day. When she disappeared, claiming she was going home, but stood there watching him for a few minutes as he strapped in then drove away.

The hopefulness that, even though the night was coming to an end, she was going to see him again the morning after.

Under her breath, because she knows she’ll choke if she goes above a whisper, she strains to say, “I’m sorry I fucked everything up.”

Man, she really fucking hates him.

Robert doesn't move but watches her extinguish the moment along with the flame. Couldn't seem to wait for it to be over really. A smirk quickly twitches the end of his lips with a weary shake of his head. "Yeah, well coulda been longer if you let me finish my cigarette." He shoots a glare but his own fire extinguishes quickly once again and he just stands up. "But honestly,"

He takes those two short steps to pass her and back towards the Mecha but stops next to her. His brow furrows, words catching in his throat. Which words? A jumble of nonsense probably. What was right and what was wrong to say now felt as unclear as ever. He had looked for her just about every day for a month now. He thinks about what Mandy would try to say but he finds it hard not to feel… rejected. Deserved as it is or not. The last bit of reservation he has burying the useless shit getting in the way of just wrapping this whole thing up was that really. That wants to see her again. To feel that connection to her again. Selfishly dumb or dumbly selfish. And still it remains, so instead of anything enlightening or even cool and mysterious he just has to go and quietly, genuinely ask her. "You would consider this a date?"

It Didn't fit anything close to a date in his own head. Didn't exactly match what she told him at the Sardine the first time either. He would have preferred that. Sunken eyes draw themselves away. He thinks about how unsatisfying that must be indeed to believe that anything close to this was something that could be called a date. This was more an emotional circle jerk of baggage. Yet, isn't it just as unsatisfying to be taken to something akin to a Hero's lair and be met with the saddest little screensaver image you've ever seen?

"I'm a bit disappointed too. Sometimes reality tends to do that. There is no story. Just me." And he means that. Across many things.

Then he continues onward back in silent stride toward the mech. The communicator on his wrist responds to approach without so much as a motion, the cabin returning to life to welcome back Mecha Man.

A hoist back up and into his saddle. He turns to the side while waiting for Courtney, spotting the mask she had removed on the trip over. For a minute there he thought she was looking for the same thing he was. He felt hopeful. It amazes him just how fast the world moves. Even with Courtney. He feels like there's a lifetime of history but he hasn't even known her a year yet.

The mech was also new but as well feels as though it has simply always been here. As much as things have changed. He can't help but feel like absolutely nothing at all has changed and the long awaited continuation of what ever sort of fall was happening before had come.

Robert swallows hard trying to get that last bit of dread and uncertainty down his throat before what would inevitably be a horribly torturous and awkward flight back to the Sardine.

From there— What? Just go home? Take her in? Call Mandy and tell her it's over, Courtney was a lost cause?

None of those were appealing conclusions to the night. Well, Courtney and him are of similar mind of one thing at least. This whole thing was as unsatisfying as knowing that he will never get to look Shroud in the eyes and make him understand how wrong he was.

But at least Robert takes comfort in knowing Shroud doesn't get to live to see how right he ended up being about some things.

But yeah. Disappointing in any case.

She listens in silence, watching him from the corner of her eye.

No story. Just him, he says.

Okay then.

That’s not that bad.

Courtney stands still, taking one last look around her to snap a mental photo of the place. Of Robert. Inhaling the fresh air. Letting that cool breeze wash over her. The smell of damp dirt and old wood invade her nose. The chirping of cicadas and crashing waves fill her ears.

While Robert walks back to his suit to get it running for them again, Courtney takes out her combat knife. She kneels on the bench with one leg, and carves something on the wooden plank of the headrest.

R & C were here

Just a little something for him to remember her, next time he’s here. That’s assuming he’d even want to remember anything about tonight. Maybe he wants to forget about it completely. Maybe he doesn’t want her name tainting the one place he managed to find himself in.

Fuck. Shoulda thought of that first, huh?

Then she straightens and walks over to the mech, waits for him to strap in before she climbs up and joins him inside.

Part of her wonders if it would have been smarter to just go their separate ways. She can probably make it back on her own. Somehow. That would have saved them both the awkward ride.

At the same time, she doesn’t want to cut this any shorter than it already is. She doesn’t want to spend more time without him than she needs to. Not after spending so long thinking about him and missing him. Hanging on to the smallest reminders of his voice. All she had were the memories and whatever videos she could find of him online—as Mecha Man, granted, but still. A little piece of him was infinitely better than nothing.

That’s her only source of comfort right now, and the only thing that gives her a reason to try and salvage what’s left of the night. Maybe salvage’s not right. Too late for that. Paste gauze and hope the bleeding stops is more it.

So when she settles back on his lap, she does it with more confidence than she’s feeling. No hesitance. Just her full weight resting on top of him, shifting just a bit to get more comfortable as the cockpit seals.

“I’ll be honest, I imagined a lot more sex and nudity, but maybe I walked into the wrong auditorium,” she jokes. Her tone playful and mischievous. Lips curled in a smirk. Despite the proximity, she still leans closer to his face, just to make sure he doesn’t only hear the words, but also feel them as they’re breathed out against his mouth. “Maybe next time we go for something a little less PG? I think we can totally make it work in here. It’d just be very … intimate.”

Is there going to be a next time? Probably not. But a girl is allowed to be delusional on occasion.

Nothing special. The decaying bench accompanied by a fading trail light, surrounded by overgrown grass and a single bent tree. The place for meaningless things. Robert too, he supposes. That's why he found this place. Like everything else in life, he just ended up there. Utterly out of control. But coming back and choosing this place for himself; to hide away like a little bitch. That was in his control.

Courtney, in her own mystic ways, reads him like a book. She needs no subterfuge with him. She strikes for the core, like she wants him to hurt, to really rub salt in the wound. Pain is easier to deal with when it's constant though and Robert just breathes it in.

It was a mistake bringing her here, he realizes. She doesn't belong here. Understanding was sought but none was found. Or it is being refused outright, maybe in the same way she feels he has wronged her. Failed her. Eye for an eye. Either way nothing changes even if they were both blind. This place. This piece of whatever Robert is. It's nothing special. And clearly he was blind long ago to even be in this situation with Courtney.

She probably would have liked some story about how his long-lost twin was kidnapped from here or a bear mauled his uncle or some other bullshit. Sounds better. Makes for a less sad reality; the reality that he is just lost and clueless like anyone else. No magic mirrors or mystique must be disappointing.

He sucks in air and reaches up for the cigarette while maintaining his slouching position. He nearly drops it in an awkward fumble, with his eyes focusing in so intently on her. Courtney stands up, clearly tired of the charade they had just barely started.

Robert then leans forward on the exhale, keeping his gaze at her and shaking his head as she plants herself in front of him; offering an array of choices for a reward. All of them lack the quality he truly desires.

All things considered. It is stupid, isn't it? Not worth the air to tell it or explain. Not without clarity on why. But in over a decade he paid visits here there is no satisfying answer in sight.

"Guess it doesn't sound as good as having some tragic story. It would be more satisfying if I said Shroud shot my Dad here or something huh?" He laughs, maybe a touch bitter. The game isn't fun anymore. The exchanges have a new feeling to them. More concise with their intent. This back and forth felt like malicious motions. A barb here. A jab there. A kick in the nuts after already hitting the floor. Honestly, what on Earth was he, or Mandy for that fact, hoping for while he scanned the city for Courtney all this time? A nice chat over lunch? Yeah, right.

"Surprised you didn't say that killing Shroud was my reward." He said it. Fuck. He doesn't want to think about Elliot now. He's already liable to say things he doesn't mean and the space already feels more hostile than it ever has before. Cigarette burns its fumes between index and middle knuckles while he props up the other arm, pinching the bridge of his nose. Can't hide the restlessness in his leg or the way his fingers slide back and forth rolling the tobacco either.

"I don't need a reward." He never has. And Robert doesn't see a world where she would even be willing to give him what he wants. "Kind of against company policy to take tips anyway. I prefer suffering for free." Raising his head slowly back up, he peers out from heavy eyelids accepting reality in all its quiet cruelty, much like the boy that watched his father walk out the door for the last time. Words are incapable of supporting an olive branch. They’re flimsy and crack under the weight of vulnerability.

“That’s not at all what I…” Courtney huffs. “First of all, it’d be pretty fucked up to take me on a date to the place where your dad got killed by the man I killed. Second of all, I’m not some kind of sick fuck who gets off on knowing how tortured you are. I don’t need some sap story, Robert. I’ve heard plenty of those my whole life.” Nothing but, even. “I don’t need some big tragic thing to have happened to you here for this place to mean something. I just…” wanted to know why.

But she deflates. Passion burning out. Shoulders sinking. It doesn’t matter. She already told him it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t have to answer her. He doesn’t owe her his honesty, especially if he doesn’t think she ever gave him hers. It is what it fucking is. They’ve been stumbling around all night long trying to find their footing, sync their steps, see if they can walk in the same direction. But maybe the roads themselves are fucked. Maybe the earth is rotating in opposite directions for each of them.

A lump in her throat forms as he spews more bitter statements. Courtney doesn’t let it show, but the sting his words leave is sharp and poisonous. She deserves it, though. She doesn’t get to defend herself either because she did exactly what he’s accusing her of. And although she doesn’t regret the killing bit—because Shroud, for all intents and purposes, had it fucking coming—she does regret becoming a killer. She does regret having no other choice but to stain her hands with someone else’s blood. Even if that someone deserved what he got and then some. She regrets blocking her one and only way out of this dark fucking cave.

“Do you want that to have been a reward?” Courtney asks, voice dull and flat. Her head tilts to the side, piercing eyes locked on Robert’s. “Because I look at it more as me giving you the only proof I could, to show you whose side I was on the whole time. Since, apparently you couldn’t take my word for it. Figured, you know, actions usually speak louder. Though in that specific case, bloodier’s probably more like it. Shroud couldn’t really make much noise after I slit his throat.”

It comes out dry and soulless but replaying that image in her mind has her stomach twisting and bile shooting up her throat. Yeah, maybe going back is a good idea. Coming here, with him, was evidently not. She should have stuck to her plan. She should have kept her distance from him. She should have… She should have never let herself remember, what it was like to be with him. Because if tonight proved anything to her it’s that there is no going back to it. To what they had, whatever it was. It’s gone.

"I message you every day. In fact I was doing it just before lunch. I think I recall it being something like 'Hey, Visi get your ass moving to the caller.' So I was just assuming you were looking for something a bit more..." Robert rolls a hand on his wrist, as though reeling the thought out of his brain. "Cryptic?" How ghoulish indeed.

"Right, right. What you're saying is you get off on telling me what to do. So if I wanted the foreplay to last longer ... then I should just do the opposite of what you tell me to do, right? Or do it, but like, really fucking slowly."

Either way assuming the worst has gotten him this far.

"Pleased that a dadbod normie might think you're okay at your job? Well hey, if that's what you need I can send Chase a vague message too and you can read into that. Fastest I've ever pleased a woman in my life."

Wait. Fuck!

"Oh, this is you being innocent?" The tone of his voice is tight enough to know that he isn't even close to believing her. His fingers, with tips pressing against the concrete wall on either side of her, slide out until his palms strengthen his posture by being flat against the surface. Again and again. Robert didn't think something like this would keep happening. Begrudgingly he almost started to enjoy catching her like this. Almost. Because he still would so much rather it be more like the movies.

"I thought it was because you felt bad for just up and leaving while we were in the middle of something last time." Elbows bend to allow an intrusion into more of her space. Mecha Man leaning forward until he could smell the cigarette smoke still clinging to her clothing and a bit of air pushed from her lips. "That and because the Mech is in front of the only door out of the building."

Robert tilts his head, sliding his brown eyes to her own, looking for… something, any sort of break in this character of hers. That is, when he's not being so distracted by her lips. A subject that has been on his mind more than he feels comfortable ever admitting since running into her at the Sardine. Really since the night with Shroud.

She doesn’t turn away from Robert. Doesn’t try to slip out from under his arms. Doesn’t even flinch at the proximity when he leans a little too intimately close to her. But nowhere near as intimate as they got last time. The same way he has her caged against the wall, she has him pinned with a sharp, unrelenting stare.

“If I remember right, which I’m sure I do, we were pretty much finished.” Her head tilts to the side to emphasize the next part. “Both of us.”

But he’s right about one thing—he is blocking the only door out of the building. A miscalculation on her part. She really should have secured another way out before going in, but in her defense she really expected this to be a quick in-and-out situation.

“Well. Guess I’ll have to find another way out then.” She slips her mask back on, the rest of her words muffled but the mischief in them clear as day. “I think I’ve mastered escaping sticky situations at this point. Especially ones that involve you.”

"Funny, I haven't noticed any other suitors."

No wait. He's not a suitor and that wasn't a confession! He has to lock in, she was twisting this too much.

"That wasn't a confession by the way. More like... a kind acknowledgement."

A pause. Suddenly he sees the amusement. Well, his own amusement anyway. Eyes narrow in on her as he tilts his head.

Not Robert, though. He just takes it in stride. Plays along. She likes that about him.

Robert's face tightens with the coming of a hammer that he knew he had no hope of escaping from. Curiosity killed the cat. Curiosity also blew off a chunk of Robert's ear. Curiosity about him was putting him in a very awkward spot.

A roll of his head on his shoulders while Robert mentally dances around the subject, unwilling to even approach it with a ten foot pole. Not at work. Not right in front of her!

Robert shook his head with a sigh as his finger taps send to their resident Sunny Boy; hoping beyond all hope that he wasn't signing on to some other nonsense. The PJs comment gives him the hesitance. Somehow more than the Ghoulish girl comment which was... well...

Is this ghoulish girl supposed to be me?

Robert jolts in his seat, a quick gust of air swallowed painfully down the throat. Even had the unfortunate sensation of teeth nipping the tip of his tongue to deal with now.

Robert spins his chair until he's staring up at the new troublemaker.

"Anyone ever tell you that it's rude to read someone else's messages?" A quick deflection. A bit too quick. A bit too...suspicious. Fuck.

"Arrrrrre you admitting to being a Ghoul? I think the company has some accommodations for that."

"Metaphorically speaking? Yeah, I can see myself as a Ghoul." She nods. She's got the robbing part down, at least. And she'd probably rob a grave if it had really pricey treasure in it. "Also, you do remember the first time I saw you you were in your underwear, right? Feel like that gives me the right to spy on your messages, too."

Pause. Her lips slowly curl into an amused smirk.

Get the laughs in while you can, Robbie.

"I worry about you a lot." For her is the real truth. And he looks back to her to confirm that. Since the moment they spoke about these very same stars that hang over his head like a sword ready to make good on a prophetic legacy, he worried for her. On some level anyway. Maybe all those adjectives can't fit into the shape of Robert but the shade of them could be thrown over him.

But now Mecha Man tilts his head, another slow inhale stokes end of his cigarette while he considers her question. What was it, actually that kept a part of him here? Sure he felt his original explanation is more than good enough but Courtney wants more. She wants to see further in. A test maybe, a check on how willing he may be. Or maybe, she genuinely wants to know about what was under the mask still.

"Ah… I'm not really sure myself," Rob waves his hand out, a trail of smoke following like he was just as aware of dumb that answer was. "One time my Dad took me hiking around here. We never came here to this exact spot. Probably were a few miles that way," A white gloved hand flicks over in the direction past his metal shell. "You know how it goes— things just get… too loud sometimes."

How else does one say that they were breaking apart at the seams trying to hold the world on their shoulders? Being here was kind of like screaming loudly into an empty field. Just the screaming was silent.

"When I…focused on being Mecha man there was just; no moments to myself while every moment was just myself," Heh, sounds like something out of a fortune cookie too. "Anyway, one night I was feeling pretty down and," Robert's own disappointment in himself follows on the exhale that gives his continued thought life. "I just got in the Mech and flew."

Silence hangs in the air while the sensation of that time echoes from the past, mixing with all the other confusing emotions inside his chest. "I guess I just kind of ended up here."

His whole fucking life in fact. Put it on his grave when the Mech reaper finally comes to collect. The world would always have it's way with Robert. What was this if not just more of that? The house always wins.

"I like it here." He finally says looking back to her. The first to ever know of this place in conjunction to him anyway. Since the idea of a bench and forgotten about trail lamp disproved his claim of discovery.

Courtney’s brows pinch at that, even as their eyes meet and he tries to communicate it with silent emphasis. The fuck? He worries about her? A lot? Well, that’s fucking cute. Sweet, even. She might even believe it if he didn’t fucking turn his back on her when she needed him most. If he was so worried about her, why did he…

Why did he give up on her so fucking easily?

Her eyes evade his to stare off into the distance instead. A much easier sight for her to absorb right now. This was fucking stupid. Going to the Sardine was fucking stupid. She shouldn’t have. Beefcake shouldn’t have told her… God, what an idiot she is. What did she even think would happen? What did she hope to accomplish by going to see him? Other than reopen wounds that barely healed? She should have just kept her distance like she planned to do in the first place. He would have forgotten about her eventually. He would have given up on finding her. Time would have passed and she’d have become but a speck of dirt in his life.

Courtney takes a long, soothing drag from her cigarette and listens to his answer, even follows with her gaze to where he gestures, despite the vague direction. Too loud? Yeah. Too crowded. Too suffocating. Too lonely, you might as well just be alone, too. At least then the loneliness doesn’t feel like it’s your fucking fault.

But that’s still not enough. It’s not enough of an answer to erase the regret that’s starting to eat at her.

With a snort, she turns to look at him again, taking the cigarette out of her mouth and waving it about dismissively. “You want a reward for what exactly? Being a sad superhero? Saving lives while waiting for someone to save yours?” Her head tilts sideways, gaze sharpening. “Want me to give you a score for that answer? Fine. Minus ten,” she says, folding one leg on the bench so she can face him properly, look at him directly. “Give me something fucking real, Robert. Don’t tell me you’re not sure. That’s bullshit. There must have been something about this place that made you come back to it over and over. You could have gone anywhere else that wasn’t here to get away from too loud. So why this place in particular?” A pause. “Or is there nothing special about it at all?”

Just like there is nothing special about her. And it doesn’t mean anything that he brought her here.

So why did he even bring her here? Just for the view? Well, it’s a great fucking view. She’ll give him that at least. Maybe this place is just convenient, easy. Just like she is. Cheaper than a vacation and cheaper than a hooker. Maybe he didn’t show up at the Sardine for her. Maybe he showed up for him. Feeling sorry for himself. It’s not because he cares about her or because he misses her like she misses him, nor is it because he wants to see her or hear her voice. Why would he, anyway? She fucked up his life and before that she fucked up her own. All she is is a broken thing for him to fix. So he doesn’t feel like an imposter calling himself a hero. All she is is a Band Aid. Better than nothing, right?