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Chapter Text

The arguing and sabotage amongst the Z-Team had gotten way out of hand. Robert pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh.

He could only hope the meeting would raise their spirits and make them cooperate again.

..

"I'm sure that all of you are aware that one of you might be getting cut today."

The responding anger was expected, but there was little he could do about it except try.

.

"In my eyes, you are all phoenixes, you burn so you can come back as your new, better selves. I believe in you all."

Many of the member's faces were contemplative, and a few even nodded amongst themselves.

He supposed he would see how much of an effect his pep talk actually had during their afternoon shift.

....

Later that evening, after a surprisingly smooth shift, Robert allowed himself to hope, just for a moment, that things might finally work out.

.

Everyone was clapping, praising and smiling.

"Welcome back, little lady."

"Great going out there, girlie pop!"

"Knew you could do it, lass."

As Robert watched the team genuinely bond and agree with one another, something soured his mood.

He... Didn't want to cut anyone anymore. Not when they were finally starting to get along.

Something had to change, but no one would be getting canned.

He'd make sure of it.

.

There was only a moment of surprise when instead of Sonar and Invisigal under review, he found Coupé and Sonar. The list had changed.

His decision, though, had not.

"So who will it be? I'm leaving it up to you."

Robert took a deep breath and met eyes with Blazer, "Actually, I really don't think we should let any of them go. Especially not after their last shift."

"Robert..."

"Come on, don't tell me you didn't see how hard they were trying? How well they get together? Any of it?" He gestured, trying to get his point across, "They are a team, a team who is finally putting their differences aside, cooperating and working together. I don't want to ruin that by letting one of their colleagues, hell, one of their friends, go."

Blazer sighed, running a hand through her hair.

"I understand, I know what you mean but, Robert, you know I can't just overrule an order from the top, it—"

"Let me talk to them, then," the words left his mouth before he could think and he saw Blazer's eyes widen just a smidge, "Let me convince them, show them, prove them wrong, I—I just can't screw over my team like that. Their strength and potential needs guidance, guidance that I want to give them, and I know, I know that letting any of them go would ruin everything."

Their eyes met and Robert put as much honesty into his features as he could manage.

"You can't make me give up on any of them. Just let me try, please."

The blonde stared at him, contemplating, for a whole minute, then finally sighed.

"I... Will try my best, but I don't know if today's progress will be enough to convince them."

"Then tell them to give us time to prove them wrong. To prove everyone wrong."

"Alright."

The next morning, Blonde Blazer places a document on his desk with pinched brows.

"You have three days."

"We can work with that."

..

There were questions from the team, of course there were, but everyone kept things vague, an "It's still being decided" here, a "Just focus on the mission, everyone" there.

Robert wanted to tell them but he didn't want to get anyone's hopes up.

But when lunch came, the team decided for him.

.

He had just left the bathroom when he bumped into something he couldn't see.

"Visi?" He mumbled before he was being pulled along by the arm.

And as they crested the doorway of his team's hangout room, Visi glistened into existence before him.

"What's going on?" He asked, but it seemed to fall on deaf ears.

The door shut behind him with a loud thud and he was pushed into a chair, but by the time he blinked his shock away, the entire Z-Team was surrounding him.

He felt the weight of every glare in the room. For a moment, he almost wished the upper-ups would just fire him instead, but the thought fizzled out almost as quickly as it appeared.

"We want answers, so you better start talking, bitch boy," Flambae growled, getting accompanying nods from his peers.

"About what exactly?" He had a pretty solid idea what this was about actually.

"Why aren't I gone yet?" Coup demanded.

"Or me?" Sonar butted in, pointing at himself.

"Look," Robert sighed, running a hand down his face, "I was going to tell you after I got it all handled, okay?"

"Tell us what?" Punch Up's brows furrowed.

"Well..." He hesitated for just a moment then looked at the team earnestly, "I'm trying to convince the upper-ups not to fire anyone—"

Two faces lit up while the rest noticeably relaxed.

"I didn't tell you guys so as to not get your hopes up, cuz I don't know if it will work." He finished with a sigh.

The team tensed again, but not as tightly wound up.

Flambae’s eyes narrowed as he crossed his arms.

“So that’s it? You’re playin’ hero for us now?”

Robert’s gaze hardened, “I’m not playing anything. You all worked your asses off out there, and I’ll be damned if some faceless executives decide that means nothing.”

The room went quiet. Even Coup looked taken aback.

He stood, voice steady and determined, “You think I’m risking my job because it’s fun? No. I’m doing it because you’re all worth it. Every single one of you assholes has something this team needs, and I’m not letting anyone take that away.”

Sonar stepped forward, a large ear flicking, “And what if the higher-ups don’t listen?”

“Then we make them,” He looked around the circle, meeting each of their eyes, “We show them a team they can’t afford to lose. You want to stay? Then fight like it. Prove them wrong, together.”

Punch Up gave a low whistle, "Guess that's our cue, lads.”

Visi flickered into view beside him, smirking. “Didn’t think RobRob had a fire speech in him.”

Flambae chuckled under his breath, arms still crossed, “True but he’s still a bitch boy,” he muttered, but there was very little venom in it this time.

Robert couldn’t help but laugh, “I’ll take that as a yes, then?"

The team shared a few grins, the tension dissolving into something more focused, more akin to determination.

Robert looked over them, shoulders squaring, “We’ve got three days starting now. Let’s make ‘em wish they never doubted you.”

Cheers erupted, loud and chaotic, and for the first time in days, it sounded like a team.

As they scattered back toward the hangar, Robert let himself breathe.

Three days wasn’t much time.

But with them, with his team, maybe it would be enough.

Chapter Text

Something had changed after their second meeting, that much was obvious.

The team, while still occasionally arguing and throwing petty insults, was getting along much better.

Within the first hour of their afternoon shift, during a dip in activity, he overheard Prism planning a party with most of the team. The only reluctant one was Coup.

"What? You're too edgy for a party now?" Malevola jabbed playfully, "I thought you of all people weren't that boring of a bitch."

A pause.

"Or are you just a little pussy?"

A drove of "ohhhh"s and "damn"s reached his ears, along with a quick "Hey, don't call her that!" from Punch Up.

"Tch, call me what you want, demon, but I have my priorities straight, unlike you," Everyone paused, and Robert frowned as he felt some tension enter the call.

"But," Coup sighed, and he could almost hear her rolling her eyes, "I suppose one party won't kill me."

Cheers erupted, and just like that, the tension fizzled out.

Robert could work with this.

..

The rest of the day went smooth as butter (or as smooth as Flambae's brain, according to Visi). The team cooperated better than ever, hyped each other up in their own odd ways and were generally acting like quite a decent team.

The party was planned for tomorrow, to celebrate the team, their achievements and how far they'd come. And also maybe, partially, definitely not for any other reason, according to Malevola.

Robert decided to keep that last bit in mind for later, just in case.

But aside from that, the rest of their shift went well, only one failed mission throughout the entire day, that being when Flambae, and he quotes: got "accidentally" distracted, where he then proceeded to drop the box he'd been carrying, shattering its fragile contents.

A half-hearted "whoops" was all the consolation the client got.

But, yes, aside from that, it was a perfect day.

Most of the team had even moved up in the ranks, all sitting in the eighty-five to one-hundred-twenty's instead of barely breaching seventy points.

As the chatter in the group call faded into the background, Robert leaned back in his chair.

Maybe this was what progress looked like, not some grand revelation or perfect score, just a day that didn’t end in shouting.

Project Phoenix — as he'd begun calling it in his head — was working. Slowly, messily but it was working.

“Alright, team,” Robert said, standing as the last report finished uploading, “Wrap it up for the night. And for the love of everything holy, no one burn anything before the party.”

“No promises!” Flambae called back, laughter rippling through the call.

Robert pinched the bridge of his nose, but he was smiling.

Tomorrow was going to be chaos. The good kind, he hoped.

The morning had started fairly quietly. And their shifts passed in a blur of excited action and planning for the party.

For once, Robert didn’t dread checking the team chat, and what he found supported his thoughts: no fights, no passive-aggressive comments, no disasters. Just a string of random emojis and a “party starts at 6 :)” pinned by Prism.

He wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or concerned.

..

There were no shouting matches or sarcastic jabs filling the hallways, just laughter echoing down from the Z-Team's common room as decorations went up in varying degrees of success.

Robert paused at the doorway, watching the chaos unfold. Prism was stringing up cheap streamers that refused to stick, Punch Up was trying to drape a banner over a table (the only thing he could reach), and Malevola was bossing everyone around with a drink already in hand.

Even Coup, who had loudly insisted she “wasn’t doing this party crap,” was leaning against the wall with a faint smirk, arms crossed but not leaving.

It wasn’t perfect — there were half-inflated balloons on the floor, someone had already spilt soda on the floor, and Sonar kept complaining about the music volume — but it was nice.

For the first time since the three day deadline came in, Robert didn’t feel like some detached dispatcher.

He felt like he was part of the team.

He just hoped it would last.

Chapter Text

The party was loud, messy, and exactly what the team needed, maybe even more than they knew.

The room buzzed with laughter and clinking glasses, a tangled mess of streamers and half-deflated balloons hanging from the ceiling. Prism’s phone was flashing nonstop as she tried to capture every ridiculous moment, most of which involved Flambae trying to dance without spilling his drink and Golem trying (and failing) to squeeze himself behind the table, knocking several things over in the process.

Robert leaned against the wall, watching the chaos with a glass of his own and a smile that felt a little too easy. This was supposed to be a celebration, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that things would get harder from here.

But tonight was about relaxing - for trust and camaraderie. Tomorrow would be about proving it.

The party was undeniably alive: music blasting, the team dancing sloppily, drinking and laughing.

Punch Up was in the middle of a dance-off with Visi, both taking it way too seriously. Prism kept filming, providing dramatic commentary between fits of laughter. Flambae was trying to convince Golem to juggle empty bottles, which went about as well as expected.

Even Coup was laughing now, actually laughing, after Sonar deadpanned something that made her snort into her drink, the glass wobbling in her hand.

Robert couldn’t help but smile. It wasn’t perfect, but it was nice and for once it felt like the weight had lifted from the team’s shoulders.

He was over halfway through his second drink when Prism called out from across the room, “We should make a toast or something!”

“Oh, god, no,” Coupé muttered.

“Hell yeah!” Flambae and Sonar yelled at the same time.

The argument that followed was loud, ridiculous, and just barely contained enough to make Robert think that yeah, this was how teamwork was supposed to sound and look. At least for the most part.

And then, as though in a hive mind, most of the team sent a look to Coup, who was standing out of the way by the laptop. She nodded, fiddling with it until the music got quieter, Sonar sighing in relief from somewhere nearby.

The team began splitting off into smaller groups, chatting and joking, when Malevola broke off from hers and started approaching every member and whispering something in their ear. Everyone she spoke to gave her a nod.

Robert narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but said nothing. He knew she'd been planning something but as long as nothing exploded, he'd let it be.

He slipped away from the crowd to refill his drink, scanning the crowd as he went. Sonar was perched on the edge of a ripped-up couch, drink in hand, eyes unfocused as the rest of the team carried on around him.

Robert approached, placing his empty glass on the table as he passed.

“You okay?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

“Yeah,” Sonar said after a pause, “It’s just... A lot, y'know? In a good way, I think. Haven’t seen everyone this relaxed in, well, ever.”

Robert chuckled, “Feels weird when there's no disaster happening, huh?”

“Pretty much.” Sonar’s mouth twitched like he wasn’t sure whether to smile or frown, “Guess I’m just waiting for it all to fall apart.”

Robert nodded, understanding all too well, “If it does, we’ll deal with it. Together.”

Sonar looked up at him then — not quite smiling, but softer somehow, eyes creasing slightly, “Yeah. Together.”

The laughter and talking had begun dying down by the time Malevola climbed onto one of the chairs — unsteady, drink in hand, but grinning wide enough to silence the remainder of the partygoers.

“Alright, listen up, assheads,” she called out, raising her glass, “Before anyone gets too drunk to remember their own name, I wanna say something.”

A mix of groans and cheers followed. Visi yelled, “Oh no, she’s making a speech!”

Malevola waved her off, “Shut it, this one’s important. I know we’ve all been stressing about the whole ‘one of us might get cut’ thing,” Her voice softened just a little, “And yeah, maybe that’s still hanging over us. But—” she pointed at Coup and Sonar, “—if they think they can just take one of us, they’ve got another thing coming.”

There was a beat of quiet. Then:

“We’re a team now, whether they like it or not. You two aren’t going anywhere. And if anyone tries it—” she smirked, clinking her glass against the nearest bottle, “—we riot.”

The room erupted: laughter, cheers, a loud “Hell yeah!” from Punch Up, and Prism trying to record it all while chugging from a bottle.

Even Coup cracked a smile, shaking her head, “You’re all insane.”

“Yeah,” Malevola said, hopping down from the chair after a sloppy bow, “But we’re your kind of insane.”

Coup snickered, "You've got me there."

All the while, all Robert could do was blink in shock, but it quickly melted into a sense of pride and appreciation. If anyone was having trouble seeing his team as, well, a team, all they had to do was show them the footage. There was no denying it now, the Z-Team were closer than ever before.

All that was left now was finishing the job.

One day remained.

And they would crush it.

Almost in unison with the thought, Flambae tripped and spilt his drink all over Punch Up before eating shit.

There was a pause.

Then the room devolved into breathless laughter, all the while Punch Up screeched insults at Flambae.

Oh, and somebody threw up in the corner.

All in all, a pretty great party and an even better day.

Chapter Text

The next morning everyone was, unsurprisingly, hungover to hell and back.

Blonde Blazer gave him a quick narrow-eyed look but said nothing, Chase, meanwhile, gave him a hearty clap on the back and laughed in his face.

"Thought you didn't drink much anymore, what changed?" The older man grinned, "Finally decided to loosen up?"

Robert sighed, "You could say that."

"Oh what, one of the clowns seduced you into drinking? Forced it down your throat? Whatchu getting at, dickhead?"

He rolled his eyes, "I mean that it felt like an appropriate occasion, okay? And—" he added as a whisper, "—it made me feel like I was part of the team."

Chase's expression barely changed but it did soften, "I getchu, you've all got a tough day in front of you."

The greying man gave him one last pat on the back before pulling back.

"But." He added suddenly, "No matter what happens, know you did your best, kid, don't blame yourself if it doesn't work out. And that goes for all the clowns in the back, too."

"I know. Thanks, Chase.hangar,

He wandered over to the hangar, where the rest of the team trickled in over the next half hour with sunglasses, coffee cups, and varying shades of regret.

Visi looked like death warmed over, Prism had a hood over his face like a mourning widow, and Malevola was gnawing on a piece of toast like it had personally wronged her. He was sure he didn't look much better if the winces they gave upon seeing him said anything.

“Good morning, Z-Team,” Robert greeted, hiding his amusement behind a sip of coffee.

“Don’t talk so loud,” Coup groaned.

“Seconded,” Sonar muttered, clutching a bottle of water like a lifeline.

“Thirded,” Flambae added from the floor.

Robert tried (and failed) to keep the smile off his face, “Rough night?”

Prism glared at him over her mug, “We’re bonded now, Robert. You said it yourself. You can’t judge us.”

“Didn’t say I was judging,” he responded, raising a placating hand, “just observing.”

Despite the complaining, the team got to work quicker than usual. Maybe it was desperation, or maybe something in Malevola’s speech had stuck, but they were sharper, more in sync.

Even when arguments cropped up, they fizzled faster, turning into jokes or light bickering instead of shouting matches.

“Oi, Invisibitch, watch it—!”

“Maybe you should watch it, dumbass, your aim’s as bad as your haircut.”

“Excuse me?”

“See? That’s exactly what I mean!”

The banter filled the comms, overlapping with laughter and the occasional curse.

Robert watched their progress on-screen: Coup’s calculated precision, Sonar’s steady calls, Prism’s quick improvisation when something went sideways — and felt something like pride settle warmly in his chest.

They weren’t perfect. They probably never would be. But they were his team.

They've got this.

But.

Despite his best efforts, Robert kept glancing at the charts, staring at the numbers with dread.

Something told him this wouldn't be as easy as rising in the ranks.

He just hoped the anxious thought was wrong.

..

It was undeniable — the team, even when still hungover, was doing better than ever.

Nobody complained about being sent in groups, not even the lone wolves of the team.

But the strange buzz of something anxious in nature, that had dropped over the call, had only gotten heavier the more time passed.

It felt like dread — Punch Up tripping a bad guy straight into Sonar's monster form.

It felt like desperation — Malevola catching a villain but giving the credit of turning him in to Coupé.

It felt like fear.

They were afraid of losing a teammate, a friend.

And he'd be lying if he said he didn't feel it too.

Robert had seen the numbers dip before. Performance, morale, cohesion — all of it fluctuated like a heartbeat. But this time, it wasn’t data he was worried about.

It was them.

Every mission log, every comm ping carried something under the surface — a hesitance, a carefulness that hadn’t been there before.

They were working too cleanly, too focused, like one wrong move might break the fragile balance holding them together.

“Target neutralised,” Coup reported flatly.

“Copy that,” Robert replied, fingers drumming against the console, “Everyone okay?”

A chorus of affirmatives followed, each one perfectly in sync, and somehow that only made the unease worse.

They were trying too hard.

He could hear it in their voices, the weight in every word.

They weren’t just fighting villains anymore, they were fighting the clock, trying to prove their worth before it ran out.

Robert leaned back, rubbing his temples, “Come on, guys… Just breathe,” he murmured under his breath, even though none of them could hear him.

If the charts meant anything, they weren't half bad, all reaching or passing one-hundred points. But numbers couldn’t measure fear.

And as the minutes ticked by, that quiet, anxious buzz in his chest only grew louder.

..

Everyone was tense during the lunch break. Barely a sentence being shared amongst the team.

The air was thick with anxiety.

"I'm pretty sure we're in the clear," Robert tried.

"But?" Coup asked sharply.

"But nothing," he huffed, "You guys will run yourselves ragged if you keep up this perfectionistic bullshit. You need to chill out, everything will work out, okay?"

Somebody huffed, and then Visi was in his face.

"Look, jackass, we'll calm it after everyone is guaranteed safe on the team. We aren't risking those assholes booting one of us for being imperfect."

Everyone either nodded or murmured their agreement.

"Alright," Robert sighed, "Just be careful out there."

"Yeah yeah, mom."

..

The next mission started off smoothly.

Everything was by the book, every move coordinated, every call perfectly timed.

Robert could hear the determination in their voices, see it in the flawless execution on-screen. But beneath it all, something felt off.

“Visi, take the flank. Punch Up, cover Sonar—”

“On it.”

“Got it.”

The comms buzzed with crisp efficiency, no jokes, no banter. Just silence and focus.

When he first started this job, this would've been all he'd wished for, but now? He hated it.

Halfway through the op, the feed glitched. A brief static flicker, barely a second long. When it cleared, the camera at Sonar's current location was down, and Visi’s breathing came in sharp bursts.

“Sonar, report.”

Nothing.

Robert’s heart dropped.

“Punch Up, where is he?”

“I— I dunno. He was right behind me,” he said, voice shaky, “He—”

Then a loud crash. Yelling. The comms exploded into chaos.

“Sonar’s down! Repeat, Sonar’s down!” Visi shouted.

“Get him out of there!”

“I can’t— there’s too many—”

Robert’s hands hovered over the console, mind racing.

“Visi, listen to me— focus on extraction, not the fight.”

The room filled with overlapping voices, panic bleeding through the professionalism.

And then, after what felt like forever:

“Sonar’s okay,” Visi gasped, “We’ve got him. Pulling back.”

Robert let out a breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding. His hands were trembling.

But as he looked at the feed: the damage, the broken equipment, the flashing red alerts, he knew this would cost them.

This was supposed to be their last chance to prove themselves.

And instead, it might be what undid everything.

.

The fighting was over and the team was back. The air still crackled with static, the smell of ozone sharp in Robert’s nose as he stood outside, waiting for the team's return.

The mission was over, but it hadn’t gone cleanly — not even close. The rest of the Z-Team had rushed from around the city to aid their friends.

“Come on, almost there,” Coup coaxed, waving them toward the hangar.

Punch Up stumbled past, dragging Visi by the arm. Prism was limping, one lens of her goggles cracked. Flambae’s sleeves were scorched. But they were all still moving.

All except Sonar.

Robert’s heart lurched when he noticed him lagging behind, half-stumbling, his batlike ears twitching weakly as if trying to stay focused.

“Sonar, come on,” Malevola huffed, approaching him.

He lifted his head just long enough to look at her. Then his knees buckled.

“Sonar!”

Malevola caught him awkwardly, nearly going down herself, and lowered him the rest of the way. There was blood running down his nose.

Robert was already there, dropping to his knees beside them. Sonar’s chest wasn’t moving.

“Oh crap—” Punch Up started, but his voice cracked.

“Call med!” Robert snapped, already pressing two fingers to Sonar’s neck. Nothing.

“Shit—” He tilted the bat's head back slightly, fur matted with soot and sweat, and started compressions, “Come on, Sonar. Don’t you dare die on us.”

Punch Up hovered nearby, white-knuckled. Prism was crying openly, one hand clamped over her mouth.

“Thirty. One, two, three—” Robert’s voice broke as he counted under his breath, “Come on!”

Nothing.

Then, suddenly, a faint twitch. Sonar’s chest shuddered. He gasped, a ragged, wet sound that made everyone jump.

“Holy shit,” Malevola breathed, “He’s breathing—he’s—”

Sonar coughed, curling in on himself weakly, wheezing in air like it hurt. His eyes darted around, unfocused, until they locked on Robert.

“Rob...?” he rasped.

Robert let out a breath that came out as a shaky laugh, “Yeah. I’m here.”

Punch Up dropped to his knees beside them, half laughing, half crying, “Don’t do that again, you arse!”

Sonar managed a small, lopsided grin, “No promises.”

The med team finally reached them, pushing Robert back gently to take over. He let them, falling onto the floor beside Prism, exhausted.

He’d never admit it, but for a second there, the world had gone cold.

But it was okay now. They had made it out alive. All of them.

But as Robert looked around at his battered, blood-stained team, half standing, half leaning on each other, a cold thought crept in.

They’d made it out. But would it be enough?

He didn’t know yet.

..

The room was tense again, the kind of quiet that followed adrenaline and fear. Flambae was pacing, Prism was staring down the charts, her hands trembling, and Coup hadn’t left Sonar’s side since he'd been lain down by the med team.

"How is he?" Punch Up asked for the third time in the last ten minutes

“He's stable,” Coup repeated back with unexpected patience.

Sonar gave a weak thumbs-up from where he was lying on the spare couch, “Told you I’m fine,” he rasped.

“You died for like fifty seconds!” Punch Up yelled.

“Forty,” Sonar corrected.

“That’s not better!”

Robert exhaled through his nose, equal parts exhausted and relieved. He rubbed the back of his neck, watching as Malevola wordlessly handed Sonar her drink before collapsing onto the couch opposite him.

No one celebrated.

No one cheered.

But they were alive.

When the call came through from the higher-ups, Robert almost didn’t want to answer it.

Blonde Blazer’s face appeared on screen, scarily unreadable.

“Mission report received,” she said evenly, “Results are… Mixed.”

Robert swallowed, “Understood.”

Her gaze softened — barely, “But given the circumstances… And the recovery afterwards, we’ve decided to keep the team as it is.”

For a moment, no one moved. Then Visi let out a squeak, Flambae whooped, and even Coup cracked the faintest smile.

“You mean—?”

“Yes,” Blazer interrupted, but there was a smile at the edges of her lips, “You passed. Just barely.”

The cheers that erupted were messy and loud and completely unprofessional.

Robert couldn’t stop grinning, “Told you we'd make it,” he said.

Sonar groaned, “Can we celebrate after I stop seeing double?”

“Deal,” Robert said, finally sitting down. His whole body felt like it was exhaling.

They weren’t perfect.

But they’d done it.

Against all odds, the Z-Team was staying together.

.

Later, when the dust had settled and the adrenaline wore off, Robert sat alone in the empty briefing room. The charts still flickered faintly on the screen with ups and downs.

They’d passed. Barely.

His hands still trembled a little, though he couldn’t tell if it was from exhaustion or relief. Outside the door, he could hear the team — laughing, teasing, alive. It didn’t seem like much, but it did sound like victory.

Maybe that was enough.

Robert glanced back at the data one more time. Something deep down told him this wasn’t over, that something bigger was still waiting out there. But when he heard Sonar’s laugh echo down the hall, tired but genuine, the worry eased, just a little.

He smiled to himself.

“We’ve got this,” he murmured, and this time, he believed it completely.

Even if tomorrow brought another storm.