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Robert inhaled as he slowly curled his fingers into his palm; his joints grinding and popping from the gentle exertion. He exhaled, extending his fingers back out, greeted still with the same sensation as before. He repeated this a few times, stopping with a wince when his right pointer finger cracked harshly.
“Jesus whose being fuckin’ tortured in here– ? Oh, it’s just you.”
Robert looked up and saw Z-Team’s resident pyrokinetic, Flambae. Damn, was the cracking really that loud? Robert sighed as Flambae leaned against the doorway of the break room, and looked down to his aching hands before lowering his arms to his sides again. “You know day-shift ended a while ago, why are you still hanging around?” Their area of the SDN branch was quiet, and the lights had auto-dimmed to their nighttime programming a while ago.
“Only just finished that fucking report, such bullshit man,” Flambae grumbled, pouting.
“You’ve gotta stop setting fire to people’s cars,” Robert mused with a slight chuckle. “No matter how annoying they are.”
“Tsch. Whatever.” Flambae watched Robert, frowning. “Why are you still here?”
“I only just finished that fucking report, because you melted that prick’s car,” Robert deadpanned, but he couldn't help the slight twitch of a smile. He turned, reaching for his coffee mug; only to wince again as a finger popped loudly. “Fuck,” he hissed.
“What, got carpel tunnel from dispatching already, Bob-Bob?” Flambae asked.
Robert just shrugged lamely. “They just keep these offices fuckin’ cold as shit. Hands just stiffen up is all,” he admitted. Made the rest of him stiffen up too, but his hands certainly took the brunt of the pain what with his job. He'd grabbed the sugar dispenser and began to pour a generous amount into his coffee, hoping the heat could at least help his hands a little. “Hey can you hand me a s— whoa, uuh— hey?”
Robert had turned to look at Flambae, who he'd thought was still in the doorway. But the man had silently crossed the space, and was now suddenly leaning against the counter next to him. He faced Robert, his hip popped to brace against the counter in one effortless pose. “Give me your hands,” Flambae lazily ordered, holding one of his out. Robert blinked, looking from the taller man's face, to his hands, then back to his face.
“Huh?”
“Just give me your fucking hands, bitch,” Flambae huffed. Robert set the sugar dispenser down and turned to Flambae. He held his hands out, unsure what to do with them. Flambae focused on his hands, save for briefly flickering his amber eyes up to Robert. With ease, he pushed up the sleeves of Robert's jacket, exposing more of his wrists. Then he pressed Robert's hands together, palm to palm; before sandwiching them between his own, larger hands.
Robert watched the entire process, stuck somewhere between bewilderment and curiosity; but transfixed either way.
Flambae hadn't said a word since Robert held out his hands; focusing on their joined hands instead. Robert, however, watched the man's face instead. Flambae's face was softer, in that moment, especially with only half of the break room lights on. Softer, but still focused, Robert realized. His brow ever so slightly creased, not out his usual anger but focus. Flambae's hair was also looser and not so tightly slicked back, like he'd redone his ponytail at some point since Robert had last seen him. Robert wanted to run his hands through the relaxed strands because of how soft they looked.
Robert looked down to their hands, wondering what the fuck was going on. Was something going to be happen? Was something already happening? Was this just some really bizarre prank that only made sense to guys with anger issues and who wore sun glasses at night could understand?
It was a very surreal moment that felt like it lasted nearly an hour and not forty-five seconds at best; when Robert finally remembered to breathe let alone speak.
“Not that this isn't riveting, big guy, but is this… supposed to be doing something?”
Flambae blinked, and looked up at Robert; his brows knitting together in mild confusion. “You don't feel it?”
“I'm not sure what ‘it’ you're talking about,” Robert admits with an awkward chuckle, either this was a very convincing acting job for a weird prank or Robert was clearly missing something. “But you know there are less awkward ways to ask to hold a guy's hand, right?”
Flambae's face went on a journey from confusion, to concern, then to one of mild annoyance in the span of about five seconds as Robert talked. “As if, Bobert,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “I'm warming your hands…” He paused. “You should be able to feel the heat, and its weird that you're not…” Flambae trailed off, unable to keep concern from tinging his voice.
Robert blinked, processing that, then looked back to his hands. Flambae lessened his hold and more cool air got between their skin, causing him to realize just how warm the back of his hands felt now and the radiating warmth from Flambae’s palms. “Oh! Oh, yeah I feel it now,” Robert startled, as Flambae's expression settled back to something more akin to concern.
But he nodded, continuing. “Here, one at a time now,” Flambae said, and released his hands enough for Robert to drop one to his side. “That was just to get some quick warmth back into them, this should go a bit deeper,” he explained. He focused mostly on their hands, this time carefully rubbing Robert's hand between his palms for a moment. If he had to guess, he suspected Flambae was explaining it now since Robert hadn't been able to notice before.
“Thanks, Flambae… I, um, I appreciate it…”
“Hmm.”
With that, Robert went back to watching Flambae as he slowly worked over his hand. First focusing on just warming the surface of his palm, before gingerly starting to massage his fingers into the meat of his palm. Then slowly working his way closer to his knuckles, before even more gingerly massaging and working the hear deep into the muscles and tendons of Robert's aching fingers. Flambae paused each time Robert hissed in pain or made a little gasp before continuing; his hand overly sensitive from pain.
It wasn't until he was working on his thumb that Robert spoke. “I have a lot of nerve damage.”
“In your hands?”
“Everywhere… Just, everywhere,” Robert sighed, just as Flambae gently tugged on the digit to help relieve some of the built up tension that was always so hard to do with the thumb unlike all the other fingers. “Everything is just… over sensitive, like a new wound or dulled like with scar tissue. But for most of my body its somehow both at the same time… Everything just hurts all the fucking time…”
Robert glanced up, Flambae's hands having slowed into their work; and found the man watching him with a curious expression. Robert couldn't quiet place it, and instead just looked back down to their hands. Flambae, after a second, continued his work.
“Sorry, didn't mean to make this weird,” Robert said with a shrug. Flambae didn't answer immediately, but he didn't stop his work massaging the warmth deep into his muscles either. Right. He'd definitely made it weird. Fuck. “I'll, uh, just stop talking now.”
Flambae shook his head gently, which Robert caught out of the corner of his eye. “You didn't. Make it weird, I mean.”
“Oh. Well… That's good. Certainly wouldn't want this whole situation to be weird.” Jesus Christ, Robert, for once stop talking while your ahead.
Flambae huffed, and it took Robert a second to register that it was actually Flambae letting out a breathy, little laugh; one so soft he'd barely heard it. Robert felt like he'd short circuited at the soft noise.
He found himself looking at the taller man's face again, who also glanced up to meet his gaze. Robert blinked, faintly realizing Flambae's mouth was moving. Giving his head a slight shake to clear it he blinked stupidly.
“Bob-Bob?”
“Oh, uuhh, sorry. What?”
“Switch hands,” Flambae repeated. Robert nodded dumbly and did as told. Pulling his other hand from his jacket pocket, where it was taken once more by the pyrokinetic's large, strong, and oh-so-warm hands; where he started the same process over.
Robert looked to his other hand and gave it a careful, experimental flex. He nearly groaned at how good his hand felt, there was still the grinding but that was a bone problem. But his hands seriously hadn't felt this good in god knew how long.
Though apparently thar groan of appreciation wasn't quite so internal as he thought. His cheeks going bright red as Flambae actually chuckled. Not so much at him, or at least not in a mocking way like usual. Robert watched as Flambae grinned, seemingly proud to have gotten such a response. “You should hear the noises I get from Prism,” Flambae said with pride. There was a beat of silence, before Flambae stopped and it was his turn to flush. He glanced to Robert, and cleared his throat awkwardly.
“That sounded— that came wrong,” Flambae laughed sheepishly, the entire expression and noise so uncharacteristic of the man. “I do this sort of thing for her, after she does a lot of dancing…”He clarified, and shrugged. Flambae quickly looked back to Robert's hand and got back to work.
Robert found himself chuckling, his cheeks still warm.
They fell back into a comfortable silence. Robert dutifully moving his hand as needed for the other man to work.
The next time the silence broke, not long later, it was by Flambae.
“How did the nerve damage happen? Or was it not just one thing?”
Robert was fully relaxing now against the counter. Now that pain in one of his hands had diminished, he could properly focus on the relief that was being provided even more now. His breathing leveling out and his shoulders starting to slump from how much better he'd felt already. Though like before, he'd occasionally wince or make a noise from pain, and each time Flambae paused before continuing. The question had caught him off guard, but not enough to make him feel defensive. He'd opened that can of worms, after all.
“Shroud, mostly,” Robert said after taking a deep breath. He had never officially released any details of what happened that night, just a few months before he became a dispatcher for SDN. All anyone really knew was there was an explosion and Mecha Man fell from the sky.
“That night he got the better of me… Well… I was electrocuted, blown up twice, fell out of the sky, and crash landed all within about… I dunno, five minutes? I wasn't really keeping track. The suit took the brunt of it but… especially the electrocution and the crash it… It did a number on me, beyond just putting me in a coma. One of my arms still was pretty weak when I got out of the hospital.”
Flambae had stopped working again, standing fully straight as he stared at Robert like he had lobsters crawling from his ears. Robert shifted. And now I officially made it weird. Robert looked away. What he was expecting from Flambae was more of the usual he got from every powered hero like him (and most villains): something something this is why normies shouldn't be in this line of work blah blah blah.
“Jesus Christ, Bob-bob,” Flambae breathed sounding genuinely startled by the information. There was a beat of silence. “Are you sure you're a normie?”
Now that truly caught him off guard. “What?” His eyebrow raised as he looked back to Flambae again. Expecting some hidden joke there, but Flambae was looking at him like he was some sort of bizarre puzzle.
“I just mean… Dude. How did you fucking survive that?” Robert's hand was still being softly cradled by Flambae's; where his fingers curled around Robert's hand reflexively. The touch felt weirdly protective, like it was unconscious move done by the man. But for once this type of action didn't feel demeaning to Robert.
Robert just shrugged a shoulder. “Honestly, beats me. I think mostly because I was in the suit. Like I said, it tanked a lot of the damage for me… But to answer your other question, yeah. I'm sure,” he said, managing a weak chuckle.
Flambae relaxed, seemingly mulling over the answer. He turned back to his work of massaging Robert's hand, having to warm his hand back up after he'd lost concentration.
Robert took a few deep breaths. A lot of that day was hazy. Well, the entire week leading up to it was pretty hazy. Probably would have been, even without the coma or physical toll. Apparently it had been ‘like, super traumatic’, according to the young psych at the hospital he'd been mandated to see before he could be discharged. She had him stay an extra two days for extra evaluation before he was allowed to be discharged.
“Sorry for asking,” Flambae said, voice soft. The man glanced up and caught Robert's gaze. Robert just smiled, and shrugged. “I wasn’t trying to like, invade your privacy or— whatever.”
“It's okay, man. Besides, kinda nice to have someone else know,” he mused. “I… haven't actually told any one person everything yet. Especially about that part— Oh ow ow! Okay yeah, no, too tender right there.”
Flambae had immediately stopped at the first noise of pain, allowing for Robert to instinctively pull his hand back. “Sorry. Hmm, careful… Here where was it exactly that it started to hurt?”
Robert took a deep breath, the pain had shot straight from his finger up to his elbow. “Yeah. Shit. One second,” he groaned. He stood up straight and pulled a chair from the table out with his foot, easing down. Flambae was frowning deeply, concern creasing his sharp features. Robert didn't think it suited him. “You’re fine, man. Not your fault,” Robert reassured, though it didn’t seem to help much.
Flambae sat down in the chair closest to him; waiting patiently, even though he seemed ready to jump to Robert's aid at any second. Robert carefully massaged at his arm through the jacket, trying to soothe the sharp pain back down to a dull ache. “Okay, there were go… Doesn't feel like someone is tap dancing on my funny bone anymore,” he joked, hoping to lighten the tension that had fallen over them. Flambae gave a half-hearted smile, which was better than nothing, in Robert's eyes. “I'm serious, by the way. Wasn't your fault. It was honestly probably going to happen anyways because of how cold my hands got. But this has been great, my hands haven't felt this good in. Fuck man, months?”
That seemed to get through to Flambae more, and he seemed to let out a breath finally. “Yea, okay.”
Soon enough, Flambae was back to it. Avoiding Robert's ring finger for the time being, and being particularly ginger with that hand. While he didn't go back to massage the troubled finger, he did ever so carefully make sure to warm it through.
Robert had sank in his chair, relaxed once more, by the time Flambae finished.
“Done. Just, try not to over exert your hands, okay?”
Robert let himself sink down in his chair more, bordering on that line where any further he was a stiff breeze away from falling out of it. “Mhmm.”
Flambae chuckled at Robert's pleased noise. “If you fall out of your chair like an idiot I won't be helping you up.”
“This was. Dangerous.”
“Huh?” Flambae blinked as Robert looked over, a lopsided grin on the man’s face.
“Literally just wanna ask how much you'd charge to, fuckin’, work over the rest of me. But I do not have that kinda money,” Robert said with a snort of a laugh.
Flambae paused for a second, then laughed too. “You’re right, Bob-Bob, you definitely couldn't afford me~”
Robert's watch beeped and he looked to the time, sighing. “Shit, its late. I need to get back home to Beef.”
“Right. Shouldn't keep the puppy waiting,” Flambae said, clearly amused still.
The two held each others gaze for a moment. Robert wanted desperately to say something, to thank him. But with better words that could properly convey his appreciation; because a simple ‘thank you’ just didn't seem like enough. Robert opened his mouth, the words on the tip of his tongue—
“Anyways!” Flambae suddenly stood, chair pushing back like he just remembered he was supposed to do something. Robert blinked. “I need to go too!”
Robert feels downright dizzy from Flambae's sudden rush, and he watched as the man beelined for the door. But he stopped just inside the threshold and looked back to Robert. “Goodnight… Bitch.”
And with that, Robert's savior that night was gone.
Despite the sudden departure, Robert found himself smiling. After a moment of staring at the door, he looked to his hands. His muscles still felt warm and relaxed. He flexed his hands, the stiffness almost completely gone, and none of it causing pain save for that one troublesome finger being sore. Taking a deep breath, Robert finally stood.
Minutes later, Robert was leaving the SND building. Stuffing his hands in his jacket pocket as he was met with the cooler air, and he made his way home.