Chapter Text
With a heavy sigh, Chase removes his headphones and hangs them on a hook beside his desk in his cubicle. He runs his hands along his face like he could scrub off the exhaustion from the day. His team is fine—they listen well enough—but old age hasn’t gotten any easier on him no matter how many years have passed. It continues to grate against his bones and pull apart his muscles and overcome his mind.
Chase pushes away from his desk. He stretches his arms and legs to shake off this bone-deep exhaustion. A weight presses into his ankle, and a barking noise causes his head to loll forward. He stares into the unthinking eyes of a chubby dog. More than the stretching, that eases something inside his aching body.
“Where your dad, hmm?” Chase asks. Beef gives no reply other than a few heavy breaths. Chase rolls his eyes, more fond than anything else. He reaches down to pull Beef into his lap. One day plays with the dog while the other one braces against his chair’s arm. He scoots back, peering into his neighboring cubicle.
Robert isn’t there. Chase knew he wouldn’t be since he saw Robert end his shift earlier. His stuff is still here, however, as is his dog, so Robert couldn’t have left the building.
A dinging noise draws Chase’s attention back to his desk. There’s a message on his phone. He recognizes the contact even before he’s read the message. A common adage echoes in his thoughts: speak of the devil. It’s an odd thought since Chase thought about Robert a lot in these past fifteen years, and the only devil that came were the memories.
But Robert is back, he reminds himself, reaching a hand to the back of his neck. Soul paint—a vibrant, sunny blue—colors his skin, rubbed there by a little boy who crossed his arms around Chase’s neck, face twisted with joy at being held. Robert is back, and that’s all there is to it.
He’s back, and he’s sent Chase a message. He’s asking for Chase to meet him in the locker room. Knowing that boy and knowing that Z-Team… He already has an idea what happened. He grumbles as he sets Beef onto the ground and pushes himself into a standing position, ignoring all the creaks and groans coming from his joints.
Chase walks to the hallway. Beef makes a valiant effort to trip him up, but he remains upright. He nearly falls from laughter when he sees Robert peeking out the door to the locker room. Relief colors his features as he sees Chase. He steps out of room into the hallway, damp hair and a towel around his waist. Despite knowing about what happened, Chase shakes his head disapprovingly, “You have got to be shittin’ me, boy. You can’t be walking around like that. HR gonna have both of our fucking heads.”
“Yeah, whatever that is,” Robert replies, smiling down at Beef since he can’t currently bend down and pet him. Chase narrows his eyes. He doesn’t know if Robert says that in a “SDN’s HR is weak” way or in a “I don’t know what HR is” way. Robert doesn’t explain further, just says, “Someone stole my clothes while I was in the shower. My dirty ones, too. At least I put my phone in my locker.”
“Stolen clothes? Bet it was that invisible bitch,” Chase says, making no attempt to hide his disdain.
“Hey,” Robert says quietly, warningly. A greater kindness than he’d afford anyone else. “Just help me look for my clothes, okay? I’m going to check the lost and found.”
Robert turns. He makes it a few steps before an almost strangled noise leaves Chase. Robert pauses, glancing over his shoulder. Chase stares at Robert’s legs—the back of his knees. “Where is it?”
Robert looks lost. “I don’t fucking know. That’s why I asked you to help me find them. Do you already need hearing aids, old man?”
“Robert.” Now it’s Chase’s turn to sound like he’s issuing a warning. And he is. Robert knows it, too, based on his expression. “Where. Is. It.”
Robert pauses. He slowly follows Chase’s eyes. Realization hits him. He sways, conflicted, before shrugging. “I don’t know. I just… I woke up one day and realized it was gone. Could’ve disappeared at any point for any reason.”
“Damnit, Robert, don’t pretend you’re an idiot. You know marks don’t disappear. That’s not how they fucking work.”
Loving someone and being loved by them allows people to leave marks on each other using their souls as paint. Robert left his mark on the back of Chase’s neck, and in that same encounter, when Chase held Robert and realized, for the first time, that he had a little brother, he left paint on the back of Robert’s knees.
Marks that aren’t there.
Robert’s face tightens. “Well, clearly, they aren’t there, so…” He looks away so harshly that his body turns slightly, too, showing Chase that bare skin again (all of Robert is bare… maybe there’s a mark hidden on his butt or thigh, but Chase highly doubts it). “You can go home. Beef and I will look. Goodnight, Chase.”
Robert walks away, just as easily as he did the first time. Chase reaches out, but he’s silent. Robert slips away from him. There’s a crushing feeling in Chase’s chest like he’s lost Robert all over again.
Chase knows he never stopped loving Robert. From that day he carried that sleep boy around to today, through those long years of radio silence and worrying news reports, Robert has been Chase’s little brother. One of the few good things Chase ever had a hand in.
And Chase knows Robert never stopped loving him. Though that boy will never admit it, he’s a creature of love. An overwhelming, abundant, powerful, terrifying love—more a beast of protective instinct and unyielding strength than any high-flying dove. But love nonetheless, the kind that endures. Chase knows Robert still loves him, perhaps in spite of all efforts to stop.
So, why is the mark gone? Why isn’t Chase’s gone, too? Why does it literally look like Robert, who loves until he breaks, isn’t loved at all?
And more importantly, how does Chase get it back?
Dawn breaks in the distance, spreading warm light across the ruins of the SDN building. First-responders move across the space, searching for people who need the hospital or can be sent to holding for questioning. The victors are huddled together in their own section, licking their wounds and drinking like the world is ending soon and laughter like it already has.
Robert is among them. Out of all of them, his body has been run the most ragged, showing many signs of wear and tear. His eyes, however, shine bright in the morning light, content in a way he hasn’t been since before his father’s passing.
It’s not just the sunlight that loves Robert. Chase does, too, and driven by instinct and memory, he does what that fiery giant in the sky cannot do: he picks Robert up. One arm beneath his knees and the other around his shoulders, shooting them straight up into the sky. A startled Robert swings his arms around Chase’s neck, careful not to spill his bottle or slip from the tight grasp holding him.
But perhaps those are secondary concerns—if they’re concerns at all—because Robert grins at Chase, wide enough to make his eyes crinkle. There’s a hint of tears in his brown eyes, a reminder of the crybaby he once was.
Chase misses that crybaby sometimes, but he’s also proud of the man Robert is today, so very happy they got to meet.
Chase leans forward, pressing his face into Robert’s own, swiping his cheek across his forehead. Robert giggles, squirming a little, but lets Chase have his way until they’ve flown back to the ground.
When Chase sets Robert down, the brunette clings to his shoulders. He looks up to say something, but the words are lost on Chase. He stares at Robert’s forehead. There’s a smear of dark blue, occasionally lit up by tiny yellow-gold dots flying across like shooting stars in the night sky. Chase’s soul paint.
“What’re you looking at?” Robert asks. His fingertips brush the mark, but it doesn’t disappear. Robert finds nothing left on his fingers.
“I’m looking at you,” Chase answers, voice almost too soft to be heard over the cheering.
Robert’s eyebrows furrow together. He almost asks the question, but the others are calling for Robert to join them. Chase knows Robert would stay here with him, so he encourages Robert to go. The brunette does—if reluctantly—still unaware of the mark left on him.
He’ll learn soon enough, and when he does, maybe he’ll realize that he isn’t as unlovable as he thinks.