Work Text:
As if tonight couldn't get any worse.
Robert forgot his keys.
They're probably still in his mech, which is currently down several flights of stairs, stored in the apartment complex's parking garbage, hidden under a tarp. Said mech is battered and beaten after a long and grueling tussle with a villain adamantly calling himself "The Egg Master." It was kinda funny at first until he was made aware of the fact the eggs he wielded were stuffed with gunpowder and nitro.
Two hours of eggcessive egg action and a half escorting him to the nearest police station has left him with several bruises, a ton of scratches, a black eye and a mech that's probably gonna take a few weeks to get up and running again. Right now, all Robert wants to do is collapse on his crappy mattress and dream of nothing for a few hours.
Unfortunately, life doesn't exactly care for what Robert wants.
The shoddy wood paneling of his front door confronts him like a disappointed parent, guarding him from the comfort of his mattress. He tries the knob again and... wow! Look! It's still locked! What was he expecting to happen? For Beef to magically grow thumbs and unlock it for him? For it to go, 'Oh, sorry man' and unlock itself? Is he fucking stupid?
Robert's face scrunches up; he should probably save all the self-deprecation for the morning. Plus, sad sleep is the worst type of sleep. He'd rather go to bed fuming rather than sobbing. But first he's gonna have to unlock that door and the only way that's happening is if he goes back and fetches his keys.
Yep.
Just gotta.
Get those keys.
.
.
.
Any day now Robert.
.
.
.
.
Fuck it.
With no ceremony, Robert draws up the last of his strength and kicks in his own door, probably scaring the hell out of his downstairs neighbors, but last he checked he's currently out of shits to hand out. Dimly, he's aware how much of an earful he's gonna get from Ms. Robins tomorrow. But sleep is more important than those silly consequences.
He shambles in like a recently dug-up reanimated corpse, closing the door behind him. Beef is yipping madly and running around in circles, knocking over his singular plastic chair in the process. If Robert had more energy he'd probably (definitely not) chastise the little goober, but his body yearns for rest, and his eyes only see the lonely mattress in the corner.
He should probably take off his suit first.
Or brush his teeth.
Or do something productive.
Those are all problems for Future Robert though.
So, he does what Present Robert does best and flop onto his mattress like a sack of potatoes. He sinks into it and by god is it heavenly. It pulls him its foam embrace, the siren call of sleep beckoning toward times of rarely felt peace. Distantly he registers Beef curling up next to him.
This is nice, isn't it? Just to rest for a bit? A few hours of peace and quiet. Wouldn't it be nice if this could be forever? God, a break would be nice. Just for a few days. A few weeks. A few months. A few whatever. A while.
Robert knows that once he wakes up it'll be back to work. He'll need to start work on repairing the suit stat or else. People will start to gossip, start to wonder, 'Where's Mecha Man?' or, 'Did he finally kick the bucket?' No. If he's going to die, it's gonna be in that damn suit.
But wouldn't it be nice? To die somewhere else? Here maybe? With the only thing that cares about you?
.
.
.
No. not yet. He still has things to do, people to protect. It's what he's good at, and the thought of wasting all that potential good makes his stomach icky. People need a Mecha Man. So he's gonna work until fate decides he's done.
Yep.