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"Chug, chug, chug!" Victor chants, slapping his hands on the table and rocking the water glasses obnoxiously as Malevola downs an entire pitcher of the Green Apple Moscato Sangria.
"This shit is not the type of stuff you chug, guys." A hoarse snicker barely punctuates the cheers as Malevola sticks her tongue out and raises the empty pitcher proudly, taking her foot off the chair and seating herself correctly once more. "Someone should have snuck in some real booze."
When the team wanted to take Robert out for his two year anniversary as their dispatcher, he should have realized what he was getting himself into. Going out with them isn't new by any means, and he certainly enjoys it. He wouldn't even deny that; however, he should have considered that they usually go to bars, or places that are more suited for their rowdiness. At least this Olive Garden has an outdoor section, and that the staff was wise enough to keep them and them alone contained to this section, if not because of the pure size of the party but because they smell of trouble.
"That pitcher cost like, $20. And you're not even going to get a buzz." Colm sighs wistfully, grabbing a breadstick and shaking his head. "It's just juice. Glorified juice."
At his left, Herman's cheeks are a little pink. "It's-- yeah, it's like juice." The two empty glasses in front of him, the third that he's nursing, showing that it at least has some sort of alcohol in it based on the lilt added to his stutter. "Vr'really good."
Colm laughs and slaps his back, not seeming bothered by the wet noise it makes nor the water droplets that it sends flying. "You're tellin' me we just have to get you these frilly drinks next time we go out, and you'll drink more?" All this time, Herman had been partaking in their ritual of a starting shot but otherwise sitting back, too disgusted by the strong alcohol.
"I bet Herm gets down when he parties." Further down the table, Alice supplies her part of the conversation as she picks up a calamari on her fork. "Guess we'll see when the sangria gets refilled."
It seems to sober him up, his face heating. "Oh- Maybe I should stop." He puts his half finished drink down, but the way that his eyes flicker to it tells Colm that he'll be back for it later.
Snickering, Colm lets him be and just squeezes Janelle's hand, the woman at his right talking quietly with Mandy across from her. The smile on her face is barely peeking through her stoic facade, eyes bright as they talk about their new favorite book series. They'd both picked it up at the same time and thus have started an unofficial book club with each other.
Robert is sitting at the very end of the table, the seat completely opposite to him belonging to Golem- who is currently away and on the phone with his daughter. Looking over his team, he smiles softly to himself. He's proud of them. This is as much a dinner for his time here as it is a dinner for all of them.
Herman has gotten more confident and he fits in with everyone. Hell, he even joins in on the banter now and then, just rare enough for it to be shocking and knock someone on their ass.
Katon-ur has almost entirely moved on from Blazer. Previously, he wouldn't have even been able to come to a function like this knowing she'd be here. He seems more focused on the food.
From what Malevola told him quietly a few weeks ago, Victor is almost 3 months cocaine free. Something he'd only reached once before relapsing, so it's a big deal. It'd been a quiet victory, if only to not bring it to the forefront of his mind during the stressful week.
Courtney has been more open and honest, especially after everything with Shroud. "What's with the sappy look there? Not gonna start crying, are you?" She catches his eyes as they drag past her on his admiring cruise around the table. The softness of her features are still there, but she's also backed off on her aggressive pursuance of him, which he really appreciates. Boundaries and trust.
Taking his water glass to his lips, he scoffs. "No, I'm not nearly drunk enough for that."
"So the waterworks'll start if you get a few in you?" Malevola commented, thanking the waitress quietly and winking at her as she takes the replenished pitcher in her clawed hands.
"Why do you want to see me cry?" He quirks his brow at Malevola, who gives him a lopsided grin.
Not seeming to care that their boss is there (albeit distracted), she shrugs and pours him a drink in one of the fancier glasses. "Dunno. Probably a cute crier. You a whimperer?"
At his left, Chad's hand twitches a little, the fork clenched tightly flicking and dropping the shrimp fritto misto back into the marinara sauce. Alice snorts and Chad hisses a quiet shut the fuck up as he struggles to dig it out of the bog of sauce. Helping to facilitate the exchange of drinks, Alice reaches over and grabs the sangria from Malevola and hands it to Robert, her arm bumping Chad and knocking the shrimp off his fork again. “Fuckin’ kidding me, bitch?” He huffs, no ill-will to it. Luckily it flopped on the plate like a tired fish instead of back in the bowl of sauce. Scooping it up, he pops it in his mouth and looks away from Robert’s direction pointedly, the dispatcher paying no mind.
Sipping the sweet green apple flavored alcohol- which, yes, just tastes like juice- he finishes his silent appreciation of the team, slightly dampened by the mention of his whimpers. Luckily everyone else was more enthused in their own conversations and it didn’t become a thing, especially with Mandy here. She’s cool but surely there’s a professional boundary somewhere that she doesn’t want to know about them having crossed.
Eyes settling on the back of Chad’s neck, he thinks about how far they've come. Since that first time he punched him at the house-warming party, he hasn’t actually kept up on his promise of punching him monthly. Probably good, considering the amount of concussions he’s had over his life. Robert doesn’t need any traumatic brain injuries.
Eventually, the food comes. The drinks keep coming, the conversations morph. Malevola comes over and refills his glass of sangria without him noticing, topping it off as he talks so it never empties. It only occurs to him that he’s not sure how much he’s drunk until he finally hits the bottom and she hurries over, pitcher in hand and a disappointed look on her face. Clicking her tongue, she sighs and fills his glass completely. “I failed at being your bottomless cup.” She sighs, smiling and tussling his mousey brown hair. Blinking blearily, he looks up at her.
“You-” He doesn’t realize he’s tipsy until the word slurs out of his mouth. Whoa, this shit does sneak up on you. Especially when you have someone sneaking more into your cup without you looking. Finger in the air at her, he holds her gaze for a few moments before relaxing again, shrugging as he lifts the delicious green concoction to his mouth again to suck on the straw. Pointedly ignoring her head pat and good boy as she leaves for her seat again, he leans against his fist and listens to the chatter of the team absentmindedly. Setting his cup down, he picks up his fork and spears a cheesy tortellini from his plate, releasing a quiet satisfied hum as he bites it.
“Should we give you some alone time with that pasta, Mr. Dispatcher?” The teasing voice a couple seats to his left doesn’t interrupt his flow as he scoops some of the leftover breadstick alfredo sauce onto his tortellini. “Damn-” Alice gasps. “That’s a good idea.”
Arm flinging over the back of his own chair, Chad scoffs softly and adjusts his legs. “This is great and all but the food is not that good.”
Okay, that threw off his flow. Head whipping up, Robert stopped the bite halfway to his mouth, hand lowering and jaw dropping as he stares in betrayal. “You would really say that about Olive Garden?”
On his way to the bathroom, Victor turns around. “Yeah Chad. When you’re here you’re family. And don’t you fucking forget it.” The earnest words before he departs to piss makes the table rumble with chuckles or quips, depending on who you focused your ears on.
Letting everyone else get back to their own focuses, Chad continues, leaning on his elbow and speaking quieter now as if it’s just for Robert. “I’m just saying, Bob Bob, that there’s a lot better places to eat around here. There’s a little Afghan restaurant a few blocks from here, if you want to cream your pants over some real food.” Robert hadn’t realized how close they were until their elbows bumped, Chad’s eyebrows raising inquisitively at him. As if waiting for something.
“Whuh?” He asks, sitting up a bit straighter. Chad’s eyelids sink half shut, obscuring the pretty faerie light reflections that had charmed him into wordlessly staring at him for the past who knows how long. A smug look crosses his features and Robert feels suddenly more aware, sobered up from the flash of anxiety in his chest. Shit, he was just staring at him. “Sorry, you have some chicken gnocchi in your tooth gap.” He explains quickly, avoiding Chad’s dangerous sunset eyes in favor of his more safe, very delicious tortellini. Stuffing the bite in his mouth, he tries to ignore the look that Alice gives both of them.
Sucking his teeth obnoxiously to clear the non-existent gnocchi, Chad huffs a soft laugh and sits upright again, turning to Alice as if nothing happened.
The dinner passes happily, the street lights flickering on once the sky darkens enough to trigger their sensors. Maybe it’s the alcohol and the warm late spring evening, but seeing almost everyone here- everyone minus Chase, who said he’d rather watch Beef than hang out with these fuckers, and Royd, who was busy… it tugs at his heart strings a little. Chewing his bite of pasta slowly and deliberately, he tries to will away the beginnings of tears on his lashes. Just the faintest hints, like hesitant dew drops on morning grass. Swallowing thickly, he chases his bite of food with a long sip of water, dropping his eyes in hopes nobody notices.
“I just want to say,” Mandy starts, eyes sweeping over each person. Ah shit. Robert coughs into his fist quietly and pretends he has an eyelash in his eye, fingering his eyelid aggressively. “Each and every one of you have made astounding progress. I’m not sure you hear it enough. The daily grind can be taxing, I know some days, some weeks, it feels like you’re backsliding.” The air feels calmer as she talks, faces softening a tad. “But that’s what it’s like, being heroes. It’s not easy, but-” She glances at Courtney briefly. “You’re all making it. And I’m proud. All of us-” Her words cut short, eyes widening in surprise when her gaze flicks to Robert.
The reaction draws more attention his way and he mentally prepares himself, trying to gather his words like mental flashcards at a press release podium. Victor gasps, his voice loud but unmocking. “Bobbie, are you crying?”
Pulling his hand away from his face, he sets them on the table and sits up, his wet eyes feeling cold from the slight spring breeze. No large tears have fallen, but even seeing this much from him is something that few people have seen. The last time he cried was when Chase almost died. This feels so silly. That’s why he hesitates when he opens his mouth, a small self deprecating snort escaping his lips absentmindedly. “Uh. I guess the… drinks are a bit stronger than expected.” Eyes darting around at his teammates- his friends- he drops his eyes to the breadsticks awkwardly. “While we’ve been sitting here, I’ve just been thinking about how lucky I am to have met you all.” His voice is soft, a gentle gravelly hint to it. “Not every shift is ideal. And we butt heads sometimes. Sometimes, you guys get on my nerves and I want to walk the fuck out of that building.”
“We’ve seen your apartment.” Janelle whispers a brief interjection that makes Colm bark a surprised laugh and agree enthusiastically.
Robert forces himself to tear his gaze from the breadsticks and look at them all individually, knowing that if he’s going to force himself out of his walls, to be a little vulnerable, he has to make it count. Look them in the eyes and see them, the people that changed his life. “I know,” He snorts. “I’m not gonna have a therapy session here. But yeah, you- you have seen my apartment. I didn’t have a lot going for me. What I walked into SDN with is what I had, broken mechsuit and all.” Thumbs running over each other awkwardly in front of him, he finishes his cycle of eye contact around the table, ending at Chad who is staring at him strangely. Back to the breadsticks. “I just want to say thanks. For everything. I didn’t plan to say it while drunk at Olive Garden but it’s something I’ve been thinking about.” Honestly, Robert is amazed that he held it together through all that. His voice held strong- albeit a little monotone at times as the trade off for not wavering.
A few beats of silence rest, waiting to make sure he’s actually done, before Herman jumps up and hurries to his side. Throwing his gangly arms around Robert’s shoulders, he leans his cheek on the top of Robert’s head and sniffles. The embrace makes him a little damp, but with all the work the past two years, he’s doing great on handling his powers. It seems the tears running down Herman’s face have made him all leaky again. “Robert, y-you’re the best dispatcher- I mean, I’ve never had another dispatcher, but-” He sniffles, trailing off as Chad stands up and nudges him aside.
“Okay, okay, The Sniffler. You’re getting him all wet.” Before Robert can tell him it’s fine, Chad adds, “By extension, the outfit that we bought for him.”
It feels a little overwhelming, the words of support and appreciation that they share over the table. It’s hard to keep up, and he’s not sure if it’s because of the drinking, the underlying anxiety, or the multiple voices trying not to talk over each other. “I didn’t know how to feel about you at first, but you’re one of a kind, Robbo.” Colm grins at him.
“I didn’t realize you would actually start crying if I kept refilling your drinks. Sorry, mate.” The demon hisses through her teeth, but her eyes are a little glassy as well. “Do you feel good at least?”
He gives her a thumbs up because he doesn’t have enough time to answer verbally before more is thrown his way. “You’re not on your period, are you? So emotional.” The taunt is obligatory from Courtney, but the tug of her eyebrows shows the concern in her face.
Partly why he wish he’d done this sober is that he could have curated his words better. Because some parts of this sound like a goodbye. To be honest, he borrowed the opening line from the suicide note that he scrapped a year and a half ago. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye then, and he’s not ready now. The way Mandy’s stare lingers on him nervously tells him she also picked up on the vibes. Smiling reassuringly, he feels it come surprisingly easy despite the unsettled feeling of having opened up emotionally. “Oh, and-” He raises his voice louder to draw everyone’s attention, their attention already being lost to each other. “Can I just say I fuck with these breadsticks.”
“Hell yeah.” Across the table, Bruno rumbles his agreement and gingerly picks up an entire wire basket of them.
Hopefully that reassures Mandy and Courtney somehow.
The waitress comes by with boxes and mints. It’s not over yet, since desserts have yet to be ordered. What’s an outing without desserts? Perusing the smaller menu, he suddenly realizes how bad he has to piss. Deciding quickly based purely on the pictures, he gives his order and scurries away to the bathroom, hearing Victor laugh at him for the way he initially sways on his feet on the way to the door. Barely making it to the bathroom in time, he feels relieved to see it’s empty when he gets there. It’d be embarrassing to have to make a break for the urinal with someone already standing at the other one. Washing his hands, he does a doubletake at the mirror, shocked at the red tint of his eyes. Looks like I hit the pen before I got here. Dragging his finger along his lower lid, he feels the soft puffiness of his near-permanant bags. Blinking slowly, he tilts his head, hand tracing down his cheek with a small frown. Are the lights in here unflattering or is he just kinda… like that? Eyes drifting to their own reflection, he exhales softly, heart skipping. If this was two years ago- hell, maybe a year ago- he’d consider leaving now that he feels uncomfortable with himself. It’s easier to deal with at home alone on the floor with harder liquor. Now, he can’t fathom running out on them.
The door opens with a whine of hinges. Realizing he’s leaning heavily on the counter, he steps back and stands straight, fixing his shirt absentmindedly and lowering his gaze to the porcelain sink. At his left, Chad stops at the unoccupied sink to use the mirror to adjust his hair. Pulling his ponytail down, his long black hair hangs loose and silky, framing his back and shoulders nicely like a painting that Robert can’t even afford to look at, let alone own. Eyes widening, Robert realizes that Chad is looking at him and he turns his head. Man, his eyes keep wandering without permission. When did they even leave the sink? “Done shitting?” Chad teases, the ponytail pinched between his lips.
“How do you do it?” Robert murmurs.
“What, shitting?” Chad looks at him incredulous, but the sarcastic smile falters as he sees his tight set jaw and insecure eyes.
“Put yourself together.” Hesitantly, he added, rolling his head on his shrugging shoulders. “Take care of yourself.” Turning around, Robert leans back against the counter and crosses his arms. “Sorry. I came in here to pee, not--” Huffing in frustration, he rubs his forehead. “-whatever this is.”
The strange glint in Chad’s eyes is back as he moves in front of him, stalking forward like a panther. “You’ve got no sense of fashion, but we’re working on it.” He pats his shoulder. “Don’t worry, I know it’s hard not to compare yourself to someone like me.” He smirks, his other hand doing frilly motions framing his face. “But you’re-” A sudden tentativeness to Chad’s words catches Robert off guard. “You’re okay, I guess.” The hand retracts quickly, feeling a tad warmer as it does.
Standing up tall and leaning to the right, he uses the mirror behind Robert so that he doesn’t have to bother moving back to his own. Pulling the hairband from his wrist, he pulls his silky hair back into position.
Something must be wrong with the sangria. Leaning against the counter more, he feels it dig into his lower back. There’s still plenty of space between them, but the issue is that he wants to close the space. Grounding himself by wrapping his fingers around the underside of the countertop, he distantly wonders what this would look like if someone walked in. Would it be better or worse for appearances if it was one of their teammates or a stranger?
“Robert, you weren’t implying anything back there. Were you?” Chad’s murmur snaps him out of his stupor of staring at his exposed neck.
Shoulders slacking, Robert smiles a little. Is that why he came in here? He thought his hair looked suspiciously perfect before he took the ponytail out. “No. I wasn’t.” The answer is honest, and he hopes the words sound authentic.
Looking down at him with an unexpected gentleness, Chad purses his lips in thought. Hands planting on the counter on either side of him, Robert’s brows shoot up as the taller man leans down, getting closer. “Good, because you’re not allowed to go anywhere until we try that restaurant.” The perfect comeback is right there. After? I can die after? But he can’t say it, the words dying on his tongue because of the proximity of Chad’s face to his. Not close enough to kiss, but close enough to smell the complimentary chocolate mint on his breath. “Do I make myself clear?”
“Makes sense.” He manages, if just barely.
Smirking, Chad’s eyes dart down to his lips so fast Robert is sure he imagined it, pulling away and practically strutting to the door. “Good. Now let’s go, if I come back before you they’re going to think you’re blowing this bathroom up.”
“Or puking my guts out. Maybe I have alcohol poisoning. I have no idea how much Malevola actually gave me.”
Shoving the door open, Chad rolls his eyes. “Oh shut the fuck up, you big baby. It’s white wine. Are you a divorced mother of two boys?”
“Widowed, and three.”
Everyone has made progress. There’s still always work to do. Some days are easier than others, and some are crippling. One thing that Robert can proudly remind himself, is that he stopped scripting his death. He doesn’t have the sickening notion that he’ll die in the suit, or the feeling that it doesn’t matter anymore. There’s too many reminders now to tell him otherwise. It’s not just Beef and his father’s legacy keeping him tethered here, it’s his family.