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Flambae sits down hard in the seat across from Herman, and when Herman starts to stand up, Flambae slaps his hand on the tabletop. “Sit the fuck down. We’re talking.”
Oh, Herman thinks. He’s about to either die or have some really weird sex, and he’s not sure which one he’d prefer.
Flambae stares at him for a minute. Okay, it’s looking like it’s gonna be “die.” Herman starts rolling up his sleeves. He’s actually reasonably sure he can hold off the fire for a while, but if Flambae resorts to just punching him regular style, then that’s it for him. He’s seen how much the man can bench—
“My god, I’m not gonna kill you,” Flambae says, raising an eyebrow at Herman’s sleeve. He snorts. “What, you seriously think you can fight me?”
“I — I gotta try,” Herman mumbles.
“Ha! Well, I guess you can fight me, you’d just lose. And die. Badly. But that’s a good attitude. Fuck, what was I talking about?”
His eyes land on Herman’s lunch.
“Right. Fuckin’ Bob-Bob wanted me to apologize for throwing food on you.” He winces, like doing so causes him physical pain. “I’m, uh, sorry. I mean, it’s fucked up to throw out people’s food, but I, you know. Shouldn’t have gone off on you in that way.”
“Uh. O-okay.” Herman starts standing again.
“Not done yet.”
To his horror, Flambae starts writing a phone number on a slip of paper.
“D-d-don’t — don’t—” Herman shakes his head frantically. “I’m not having sex with you!”
Flambae looks like he’s about to have a stroke.
“What?! No, eugh, that’s not what’s happening! I’m old enough to be your father!”
(“I’m twe— I’m —” Herman sighs. “I’m twenty-four...”)
“What’s happening is that I get mad when I’m stressed, and I look at your damp ass, and I’m real stressed. Now, I actually have pretty good control over my powers—”
“Rea-ally,” Herman says, because you can only hang out with Z-Team so much before you start getting sassier.
“Yes! I’m not actively on fire, and you’re making a puddle on the floor right now!”
“H-heroes have to start s-s-somewhere. It’ll get be-etter.”
Flambae raises his eyebrows. “Nice pep talk, you get that shit from Robert?”
“S-so what if I did?”
“So he has no powers and he doesn’t know what’s normal for metahumans. If you’re still this out of control at twenty-fucking-four, you can’t pep talk your way out of it, you need to see a doctor.” He shoves the paper at him, jabs his index finger on the number like he needs help seeing it. “SDN had me start seeing this guy after the snake thing happened. He’s good.”
Herman looks blankly at the paper, slowly soaking through with water.
“Why?”
“Fuck you mean, ‘why?’”
“Why are you b-being… uh… nice.”
“‘Cause I know how much it sucks to have property damage powers. I still get kicked out of places because people see these—” He gestures at his eyes — orange eyes, pyro orange. “—and assume I’m gonna light up in the middle of a fucking Old Navy.”
“Old — Old — Old Navy?”
“I don’t have money and my ass is fat. My point is, as a kid I had to rawdog my powers against my will — no anxiety meds, no Amazon, no Detonex — and I wouldn’t wish that shit on my worst enemy.”
“Wh-what — what’s Detonex?”
“Temperature-lowering drugs for pyros. I think Robbo has an emergency pen full of it on his desk. Don’t fuck around with it; one of our old dispatchers was holding it upside down and—”
“Do they make that for — th— my — me?”
“I don’t fuckin’ know, that’s why I’m sending you to the doctor.” Flambae looks at the wet mess of ink and paper on the table. “...Fuck am I doing, giving you paper? You have a phone, right?”
“I-in my locker. Would’ve gotten s-s-s— wet.”
“Yeah, this is what I’m talking about. You gotta get help, because this?” He holds up the soggy slip of paper, shaking his head. “...No.”
Herman realizes that somehow, it’s actually happening. He’s having a real conversation with Flambae — no threats, no animosity.
But it can’t last forever. His earpiece kicking on signals the end of his break, and Robert has orders to give.
“I — I gotta — head out.”
Flambae waves him off. “Don’t suck, don’t die, I’ll see you at the end of the shift to give you the phone number.”
“Th-thanks,” Herman says, smiling.
“Th-th-thanks,” Flambae mocks, as though trying to restore his assholery after a moment of kindness.