Chapter Text
Wednesday, 10 AM
When Robert came to the realization his Z-Team was made of ex-villains in the Phoenix Program, he thought he knew what he was getting into. He expected hectic calls from clients, a ragtag group in need of wrangling, and a constant barrage of headaches. Not even his first day on the job when he got punched by Invisigal was enough to deter him because he knew in the end, it would all be worth it. He was going to become Mecha Man again.
All he had to do for now was keep his head above water. So far, he’d done a decent job at that. He’d been a dispatcher for a few weeks already, growing foolish and complacent enough to assume this was the new status quo for the time being.
Of course, the universe was always ready to prove him wrong. Because this… this was hell. And it was barely day three of what was supposed to be a temporary, one-week “mishap”, as the medical team had called it.
Robert rushed into the office early and kept himself tucked away in his little cubicle, ignoring his empty cup of coffee, the poor thing begging for a refill, for the fear of running into a particular someone in the break room. The day outside was bright and cheery, as if to further mock him. At the very least, the calls thus far were pretty light. A fallen tree blocking a residential street, reports of a teenager’s stolen bike, and one instance of petty theft so far. Most of the team was lingering throughout the building, just waiting for one of the serious calls to come in. A bank robbery, a high-speed chase, a super villain wreaking havoc, or anything else they’d consider “fun”.
Robert was still trying to stamp that out of them, even if he himself did get a thrill out of those high-stakes, more dangerous jobs as Mecha Man. What hero didn’t enjoy a good adrenaline rush?
The danger came from taking those sorts of scenarios lightly. But just this Monday, Robert was humbled by one of the lowest-stakes jobs imaginable for a hero. Like his team, he almost found himself wishing for a demanding, adrenaline junkie job to send someone on, if only to take his mind off of other things.
It was possible he and his team might get their wish; Robert heard tale that the downtown branch had to work through the night to address a superpowered gang looting a string of banks in southern Los Angeles. Something like that might pop up again, though the Torrance branch did not have a night shift. It honestly surprised Robert that they didn’t. Hell, the Z-Team would probably work best at night given that some of them were more accustomed to working in the shadows. On the other hand, he didn’t want to think about how likely it was that his entire team might just vanish on him if left to their own devices in the dark.
His screen pinged and Robert clicked on the call without hesitating. The frantic voice of an older woman spoke up from the other end, struggling to tell him about the criminal terrorizing the local museum. The villain, described as a young woman with blue skin, already froze the museums’ security guards into popsicles and was looting the exhibit of Victorian jewelry. Robert did his job of reassuring the civilian that help was on the way while already tagging the perfect person to melt an ice-based villain.
But Flambae was not answering his comm. Robert’s hands flew across the keyboard as he scrambled to find his missing hero. Flambae wasn’t on his scheduled morning break yet, and his GPS indicated he was somewhere inside the SDN building.
Robert thought to himself, Don’t tell me he took out his fucking earpiece…
“Flambae!” Robert said, swapping from the individual comm to the channel used by the entire team, “Does anyone know where Flambae is?”
As expected, he only received a chorus of snickers and giggles in return, making him very much feel like the underpaid schoolteacher to a bunch of rowdy children.
“Aww, already missing your boo?” Prism asked.
Punch Up asked, “Erm… you can’t contract a mind-altering condition over the phone, can you?”
“These aren’t phones,” Coupé said, “But that is what happened to Flambae, isn’t it?”
“Be serious.” Robert said, eyes daring over his screen and analytics as he began considering who else would be best fitted for taking down this villain, “Someone tell me, where the hell is Flambae?”
“You miss me that much? I’m absolutely flattered, Robert.”
He jolted as an arm wrapped around his chest from behind, a deep heat seeping through the fabric of his shirt. The warmth radiating from that touch was why Robert had taken to wearing an extra layer of deodorant in the past few days, for the fear of having everyone in the office notice his body odor was now very real. He could already feel tiny beads of sweat gathering on the back of his neck.
Flambae leaned over him in a mockery of intimacy. Robert could feel warm breath grazing his ear, and more of that simmering heat enveloping him with every shrinking centimeter between them. Flambae was also close enough that everything he said could be picked up by Robert’s mic and overheard by the rest of the team.
“You’ll have to forgive me. I know you don’t like it when I stray too far.” Flambae said. He set down a cup of coffee on Robert’s desk next to his empty mug. He said, “It’s hazelnut, should be nice and hot.”
Robert ignored the deafening cacophony of laughter in his ears. He swatted Flambae away, extremely aware that everyone else in the office could see them. Or rather, this idiot, as he made a fool of himself yet again.
Robert spun around in his chair and said, “I’ve been pinging you on the comms. Get your ass on the streets before this perp can get away!”
Flambae ran his tongue over his teeth, one of which was still missing, while Chase peered over the partition between cubicles to watch the show unfold. Flambae crossed his arms over his chest and said, “Only if you watch me go.”
Robert really hated how tall Flambae was. And how exposed his chest was in his hero suit. And how everyone was definitely sneaking glances at the two of them from the other cubicles. Flambae’s newfound condition wasn’t really a secret, at least not after the rest of the Z-Team blabbed about it out in the open yesterday.
“Yes, girl!” Prism said in Robert’s ear, “I’m sure Mr. Dispatcher would love to see you shake that fat–”
“Get in the field!” Robert said, jamming a finger at the screen. If Flambae still had half the braincells he used to, he could’ve been there by now. What was the point of setting him up to get his flight license if not for time-sensitive situations like this?
Flambae rolled his eyes, as if he couldn’t believe there was something more important in Robert’s life than himself.
He leaned in close, boxing Robert in with nowhere to go and nowhere else to divert his attention. Those amber eyes hovered just inches away from his own, shining and luminous. He was so close, Robert could feel more of the heat that apparently always came rolling off of Flambae’s skin. Robert inhaled and he could feel the inside of his lungs baking with heat. How was this prick not constantly on fire?
Flambae grinned at him. He said, “Keep your eyes on me. I know you like to watch.”
His voice was all but a sultry purr that only Robert, the entire Z-Team, and definitely Galen were able to hear.
Then he was off.
Please, Robert prayed, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, Please, Galen. If you can hear my thoughts, don’t report this to HR.
Should this be reported?
Absolutely. Robert would do so if he saw anyone else getting harassed like this, but he didn’t want it reported on his own behalf. It would just make things harder, more complicated. He did not need another lecture on the importance of workplace etiquette and personal safety.
And in his defense, this thing going on with Flambae was unlike any scenario laid out in the employee handbook. Flambae was, as the medical staff at SDN put it, not in a clear state of mind. He might be acting mostly like himself, and sound mostly like himself, and his powers weren’t impaired, but his judgement was being skewed in ways beyond his control. The best course of action Robert could take was simply to weather the storm until it ran its course. And getting this new incident, one of many, reported to HR would just make it even more of a nightmare than it already was.
As soon as Flambae’s coordinates indicated he was on his way to the museum, Robert made a point of not looking up as he heard Chase snickering from beside him.
“So, things are going well with lover boy?”
“Don’t call him that,” Robert said, eyes on the screen.
“Ah, right. Your lover boy.”
“Shut up.” Robert said, frustrated as he got walled by a third-party security program that forced him to hack into the museum. He cracked his knuckles and got to work, his fingertips flying across the keyboard with deft precision. The explosion that took his suit robbed him of a lot of other things, like most of the strength and endurance he used to have, but at least he still had this.
Flambae arrived just as Robert gained access to the security cameras. He only had seconds to spare; due to his late start, the icy villain was almost out the front door and ready to make her escape.
Flambae landed in front of her, blocking her exit. Robert could see her drop the jewelry she stole as plumes of ice and fire started colliding. By the looks of it, Flambae was going to be finished with her in less time than it took to get there.
In all honesty, it was a tad impressive seeing those flames not just melt the ice, but sublimate most of it on contact, turning it into steam. Despite how well Flambae was doing, Robert kept a close eye on the situation. The steam and limited visibility reminded him of the incident from Monday.
He had other heroes to pay attention to, though. Robert couldn’t afford to get sloppy and ignore the needs of his team in service of just one of them. He had to remind himself this was a different day, different scenario, and Flambae was doing a lot better now than he did before. And this was an easy job. Defeat the villain, thaw the civilians.
Chase cleared his throat, apparently not letting the issue go just yet, “I’m just saying, I don’t think I could have lasted this long with that hot-headed dipshit hounding after my ass.”
Robert picked up the coffee cup and sniffed it while combing through the various camera feeds. Yesterday, it was a rich, chocolatey mocha. This new cup smelled like hazelnut coffee as advertised, so he took a sip. Piping hot and freshly made. Shit, whatever café Flambae got these from, it consistently tasted really good.
Robert said, “It’s not like I have a choice. I’m just looking forward to next Monday.”
That was when Flambae should stop being fixated on him, if the medical staff’s estimates were anything to go by. That wasn’t a long time, he kept reminding himself. Not at all, despite this week already feeling as if it was eight years long.
In reality, this debacle started two days ago, on a Monday like any other. Usually, Robert was busy answering nonstop calls from his portion of the city, but things were quiet. The team was bored, and while they could entertain themselves in the break room, the SDN’s gym, or via bothering him, even that had grown stale by four in the afternoon. It was almost time to call off for the day when Robert got a last minute call from a stuttering hotel employee.
There was a villain disrupting traffic outside his hotel, clogging the streets with a strange, bright red smoke that was limiting visibility and giving people headaches. Robert sent his most irritating hero to deal with it, with Flambae complaining loudly over the channel that he was planning on taking off from work early to go to Crypto Night.
Robert had said, “I thought that bar was for heroes only. Last I checked, real heroes don’t complain about helping people.”
“Oooo,” Prism said in response, like a grade schooler whose friend got in trouble.
Coupé said, “I’m surprised you’re even willing to show your face there again, Flambae. Especially after–”
“I’m on my way!” Flambae said, clearing the static in the channel and leaving them in silence. Robert tracked his position on his monitor and pulled up the CCTV from the area. The hotel’s front-facing cameras were useless; all they could show him was a grainy, billowing cloud of ruby red smoke in the distance. Was it caustic? Was that why it was causing headaches?
He swapped to a nearby storefront camera also subscribed to SDN. Robert just barely had view of the action on the street as Flambae and this weird smoke villain started to tangle. At least the smoke or gas or whatever it was, wasn’t flammable and wasn’t toxic. Robert could see birds flying through the crimson clouds without dropping dead, so he had to assume it was maybe a cover for some other crime the perp wanted to commit.
Flambae’s voice crackled in his ears, “Ugh, this stuff smells like my auntie’s rose perfume. It’s making my eyes water.”
“Do you need to fall back?” Robert asked, ready to send backup if needed.
“I’m fine!” Flambae said. Robert saw a jet stream of fire shoot into the sky, striking nothing in particular. The smoke not only limited visibility, but made the entire street look like it was steeped in a weird sort of red twilight where everything was muted and hard to see. Robert could only make out Flambae’s outline when he ignited his flames. At all other times, he was lost to the red haze.
Maybe because visibility was so poor, the fight was going on for longer than Robert anticipated and that was putting him on edge. He said, “I can’t see shit. Flambae, what’s happening?”
He heard some scattered cursing on the channel. Flambae said, “Fuck! This little asshole is hard to grab.”
Robert had an idea and said, “Can you create a circle of fire around yourself? A big one?”
He got no verbal confirmation, but watched as a ring of light cut through the rosy haze, returning twilight to day. For a few seconds, Robert could see the shop windows reflecting the orange flames. He could see Flambae’s full figure at the center of the blaze, as well as anotherm smaller figure outside it. So far, Robert’s best guess was that this villain could only conjure smoke, given that they seemed to have no other weapons or powers. He thought it was going to be an easy job for Flambae to find the target and take them down.
He was wrong.
As soon as Flambae was able to see his surroundings, and as soon as Robert could spot the villain responsible for this mess, they shot a spiraling plume of smoke at Flambae’s back.
But this one was different. It was fast like an oncoming train. And it was dark, so concentrated that its red hue was almost pitch black. Robert expected it to do nothing, to be another distraction.
Flambae must have heard footsteps behind him. He ignited his flames once more as he prepared to make his stand–
He went flying a good five, maybe even ten feet and went sprawling across the pavement. The black plume had him immobile for a solid twenty-eight seconds, a lifetime in terms of hero recovery rates.
Especially with Robert in Flambae’s ear, asking if he was alright.
In the end, the villain managed to get away under the cover of their own smoke. Later, after combing through camera footage once the deal was long over and being unable to find a previous arrest record for the perp, it turned out the guy was nothing more than a low-level miscreant looking to rob the ATM machine on the street corner. This was probably his first ever offense, too.
But Robert had bigger things to worry about than a runaway thief.
“Flambae?” He asked, again and again, “Flambae? Answer me! Do you need a medical evac?"
As the streets cleared up, he saw Flambae groaned and slowly push himself into a sitting position. He cradled his head in his hands.
“Are you alright?” Robert asked, fingers hovering over his keyboard.
“Huh?” Flambae asked, voice slow and groggy, as if he just woke up from a long nap.
“Are you injured?” Robert asked. With the smoke gone, he got a clear view of Flambae sitting still and staring off into the distance, as if fixated on something that only he could see. Robert tried a different tactic, “Flambae, can you tell me my name?”
He thought it was perhaps a concussion. He wished it was.
Flambae’s tone shifted as his voice dropped into a slow, sensual purr, “Ah, but how could I ever forget you, Robert?”
That had caught him off guard. Robert thought it had to be Flambae’s stupid idea of a poorly-timed joke.
“Alright, can you stand up?”
Flambae pushed himself to his feet with no difficulty at all. He didn’t stagger, either. He looked around until he spotted the nearest security camera, propping a hand on his cocked hip and grinning. He asked, “Is that where you’re watching me from, hm?”
Then Flambae stretched his arms over his head, flexing the muscles in his chest in a way that could never be described as subtle, especially with the way he smoothed one hand over his hair as he did so.
Robert started to get a weird feeling in his gut. “Uh, right. Well, the perp might still be in the area. Since no one’s been injured, you might be able to–”
“Robert! You aren’t going to tell me how glad you are that I’m not hurt?” Flambae asked, hand on his chest as if wounded.
“Great job not dying,” Robert said, hacking into more nearby cameras from other SDN subscribers to see if he could catch the villain on camera anywhere else. No such luck. He sighed and said, “If you’re not hurt, come back to SDN as soon as possible. We’re going to have to write up a report for this botch job and I don’t want to stay past five.”
“Oh?” Flambae asked, voice lilting with interest, “But you’re such a good dispatcher. I’m sure we’d make quite the nice team. Just you and me… after hours.”
A new voice piped up in the channel, “Bro, what the fuck are you talking about?”
Sonar?
Robert double checked what channel he was on.
It was the open communication line for the entire team. He’d been talking to Flambae with everyone else listening in this entire time. Honestly, Robert was stunned they were able to keep quiet for so long. But given how slow the day was, they probably didn’t say anything out of sheer curiosity when Robert failed to tap into Flambae’s direct line. Now that the jig was up, Malevola snickered and said, “Are we sure Flambae isn’t super drunk or something? He gets flirty when he’s drunk.”
“I am sober, not that you need to know.” Flambae said with a roll of his eyes. Unbeknownst to the rest of the team, he was sauntering up to Robert’s security camera with a smirk on his face, “So, what do you say, Robert? I’m sure a little report won’t be anything too tough for us. And afterward, you’ll get the privilege of me buying you a drink tonight.”
The channel filled with deafening laughter. Prism said, “Oh, that motherfucker is drunk drunk!”
“I know!” Invisigal said, “Flirting with Robert? Fucking Robert?”
He chose not to take that comment as a blow to his ego. He pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned, now realizing that this was going to require a lot more than just a report. Flambae’s behavior was not normal in the slightest and they were going to have to find out why. And since Robert was still on probation as a dispatcher, he wasn’t qualified for paid overtime until his ninety-day performance review.
He gave Flambae explicit instructions to return to SDN as soon as possible. While the flaming idiot was on his way, Robert rushed over to the medical wing and grabbed the attention of the nearest staff member. Every SDN office in California had its own state-of-the-art medical suite equipped with all sorts of machinery, full time doctors and nurses, and for the lucky branches, superpowered support staff that had various healing abilities.
Robert warned the first nurse he found that Flambae was about to come in. No, he wasn’t physically injured, but a psych evaluation was probably going to be necessary. Whatever was wrong with him, Robert hoped it could be resolved by being sent home and getting a good night’s rest.
Again, no such luck. Robert ended up staying at the office past eight o’clock, stomach growling nonstop and head full of worries about poor Beef waiting for his dinner and human. The vast majority of his coworkers had vacated the premises by then, most of the lights were turned off, and the building gained a fun, new horror movie-esque feel. It was rather appropriate, as Robert was half-convinced he was trapped in a nightmare.
As it turned out, Flambae cooperating with the medical team was entirely contingent upon Robert being present to be continuously flirted with. Other members of the Z-Team came and went, mostly to point fingers and laugh, but even they got bored enough to go home not long after five o’clock.
After a session with a psychiatrist, an MRI, several blood tests, and having him under observation for four hours, the medical staff came to an unfortunate conclusion. This new condition was not the result of biochemical warfare or anything of the sort. Instead, Flambae was inflicted by a form of magic. Robert had no idea how a medical team could even begin to test for symptoms of magic, but hey, stranger things had happened in their line of work. The biggest indicator was how Flambae became utterly infatuated with the first person he came into contact with after his exposure to the smoke, signaling a kind of fast acting, mind-altering substance.
The best the doctors could explain it, that concentrated black smoke triggered a complete personality shift. Now, Flambae was obsessed with a person he otherwise would not find romantically or sexually interesting. Again, Robert chose to not take that comment as a blow to his ego.
In essence, it was a love spell. As with most cases of malignant magic that the medical team came across, there was no easy way to cure it. By their best estimates, the mind-altering influence should only last about a week. Robert just had the dire misfortune of being the subject of said artificial affection.
So, Robert was just going to have to bear the brunt of these false feelings until they wore off on their own. The on-site doctor, who also stayed four hours past the end of her shift, pulled Robert aside to speak to him in confidence. She offered to write him a letter so he could recuse himself from his obligations until the magic wore off, as it would be a major conflict of interest to work with a hero who was infatuated with him. And if not Robert, she could submit a letter to Blonde Blazer recommending that Flambae be put on leave for a week.
Robert considered it. He was tired, hungry, and sick of Flambae catcalling him at every opportunity, but he couldn’t recuse himself. His team would eat any other dispatcher alive; even if they didn’t want to admit it, they needed him or else the Phoenix Program was going to get axed.
As their team leader, he decided to have the doctor write a notice to put Flambae on leave…
which did not work. At all. Flambae received his copy of the letter and promptly burned it to ashes in front of Robert and the doctor’s faces.
“What the fuck?” Robert had said. He pointed out that another copy was already going to be sent to Blonde Blazer, so being put on leave was inevitable.
Flambae scoffed in response, “You act like this is such a bad thing! Who is to say I won’t improve now that I am properly motivated to listen to my dispatcher?”
He was aware enough to know that he was under the influence of artificial love magic but apparently, Flambae had no desire to fight or resist it. He cocked his head and arched an eyebrow at Robert, “Besides! A former villain such as myself should not be left to my own devices. Someone will need to keep a close eye on me, won’t they? After all, I am supposedly not of sound mind.”
And that was a devastatingly good point to make. Robert was frozen in the grasp of a horrific premonition in which Flambae set the local park on fire just to catch his attention, thereby shooting himself and the entire Phoenix Program in the foot. So, if Robert did not want to be put on leave and Flambae shouldn’t be left unsupervised, that left them with only one choice left. They had to keep working together. And that was how the entire SND office knew by noon on Tuesday that Robert was the victim of Flambae’s intense, and very temporary, desires.
Blonde Blazer pulled Robert aside during his lunch break to sit him down with Brad, one of the Torrance branch’s HR representatives, about the whole ordeal. Yes, he, Robert Robertson, will fully consent to the arrangement of still working as Flambae’s dispatcher. Yes, if the current situation drastically changes or becomes difficult to manage, he will immediately seek out his supervisor and/or HR representative for assistance. And no, Robert will not sit silently and take whatever verbal abuse or sexual harassment that might be thrown his way.
Unbeknownst to Blonde Blazer and Brad, Robert was already well accustomed to both of those from his entire team, including but not limited to: making fun of his name, his donut preferences, his flat ass, his freckles, his probably small penis, and his “loser”, no-nonsense attitude.
All of that to say, by Wednesday morning, Robert was aware of the fact he dug his own grave and had no one else to blame for it. Flambae was not only somehow harder to manage than before, but he was, by some twisted miracle, extremely good at his job when he wanted to be, if only to show off on the cameras for Robert.
Just watching him on the security feeds, he defeated the ice villain with minimal damage to the surrounding environment, recovered the artifacts meant for display, and only had to be told once to thaw out the frozen people inside. As he got to work on that while a set of custodians frantically mopped up the melting ice water, Flambae asked, “So… have I been good enough to get my reward yet?”
Robert choked on his hazelnut coffee.
“Excuse me?”
Flambae hummed as if his was the most obvious question in the world. He said, “I do not do this for nothing, you know. I expect you to let me take you out for dinner sometime soon. And don’t make me wait too long, Robert. I might get a little feisty.”
Robert double checked that they weren’t on the whole team’s communication line. Thank fuck, they were. Unfortunately, all calls and communications were recorded and saved by SDN for a minimum of three years, as according to the employee handbook. Robert’s only solace was that any sexual harassment recorded in this week’s logs would have a supporting note from HR basically saying Flambae didn’t mean it.
He definitely meant every last word of it, it was just going to take him a few more days to regret it.
For both of their sakes, next Monday could not come fast enough.