Work Text:
“Yeah, okay, good shift everyone. See you next week.”
The afternoon had transitioned into the night with Robert barely even noticing. Only real difference in his surroundings was a slight change in lighting. As soon as that sound cue signaled that the day was over, he said the same line that came out of his mouth every night like clockwork. It was almost a prerecorded statement at this point. Just part of the routine now.
Really, it was a fine shift. Not much remarkable about it. No major disasters or disruptions today, nothing of note. They’d been struggling a bit recently, given the team was still down one from their usual eight, but he tried not to think about that too much. Though, trying not to think about it just made it so much more prominent in his mind. He knew why they were down one, and why they still didn't have a replacement. That could all be traced back to him.
Thankfully, something cut through to stop his thoughts before they began to get cacophonous.
“Hey, wanna hit someplace with us?”
“Yeah, come on Robbie!”
He rested his chin on his hand and sighed, already resigned. This was also expected. The team had been insistent in trying to get him to go out a little more. With them. Every time, he turned them down. He just needed to think of a good excuse, as always.
“I have some quality time I need to spend with Beef, sorry.”
He could’ve done better than that. Could've said he wanted to check up on Chase, or that he needed to work on the suit with Royd. Something a little more pressing and real. Beef had been at his apartment for the whole day after all, mainly because Robert wasn’t really bringing anything besides the bare minimum to work anymore. The little guy could handle a few more hours alone.
Still, that seemed to be enough for them. Well, mainly because they’d stopped trying to fight back now. The first time he made up some excuse to opt out, they fought hard for him to change his mind. At this point though, after so many rejections, they expected a no. So, the team had already accepted that he wasn't going to come with them. Again.
“Right. See ya.”
“Have a good night.”
“Take care.”
“B-Bye.”
The headset came off. Their voices were gone. Now, it was just him, alone, with nothing but his thoughts. All he could stare at was the dark screen of the computer in front of him, reflecting the face of a man he didn't recognize anymore.
There was a significant beard around his face now. One that grew from everywhere except the mustache. He used to be pretty vigilant about being clean-shaven, but had fallen behind on that recently. When it started to grow out, he expected something similar to what his father had, or a full beard at the very least; but what rested on his face now felt like an inverse image of Robert Robertson II. There was something a little ironic about that, even if he couldn't piece together why. Even when he tried to distance himself from the man who formed the very foundation of his identity, it was all he could think about. Even in protest, all it did was emphasize that he was always there. Something like that.
He looked away from the screen and stood up. His thoughts were spiraling, and he needed to change that immediately. It wouldn’t be long before they started to drown out everything else.
Grabbing his jacket, he zipped up, and took the elevator out of the building. He was one of the only people who worked this late, so at the very least, he didn't have to be in the presence of anyone else.
Walking out through the lobby, and onto the street, the world went dark at the edges, as his mind began to dredge up those unpleasant thoughts once more.
How did he get here? Well, he could go back pretty far. Maybe a few months ago, when Mecha Man was presumed dead. Or before that, when his father got shot. Realistically though, none of that was to blame. It was somehow landing this job with next to no experience. Then, he met her.
There was a lot to regret with what he said back then, now that he knew where it got him with her and the others. But it made sense at the time. As he saw it, it wasn't abrasiveness, he wasn't being standoffish - it was tough love. Just like his father taught him.
Now where did that approach get him?
It got him with his best friend confined to a hospital bed and then a wheelchair, him throwing away the closest thing he had to a lover, and the person he wanted to try and help in the first place taking the position of what used to be his lifelong enemy.
Someone he didn’t even get to kill with his own hands. The sole reason he kept being Mecha Man deep down.
He was so lucky. Lucky to be alive, lucky to have a chance at love, lucky to have the chance to save someone in a way he couldn't save himself. He threw away so much of that, and yet he was still here. Somebody up there must've liked him, because there was no other reason he should be around. Why Mecha Man should still around, after all the attempts to kill him. The man he was meant to be.
He tried to separate himself from that when he finally had the chance. Early on, at least. Tried to say with confidence that yes, he was Robert, not Mecha Man. Tried to reinforce this idea that the otherwise empty man behind the mask was, in fact, a person. That didn't do anything but erode what little trust he had between himself and the team. Because that's all it was - a lie.
Now Mecha Man was back, better than ever, and Robert would be no more once again as soon as he gave the go-ahead. Because Robert didn't exist; he never did. It was always just Mecha Man. Soon, he’d be a real hero again. He’d toss away millions for it, and eventually his own life.
As it was meant to be from the start. The only way that it should’ve happened.
He shook his head. He had to stop. This was all irrational. Knowing that didn't make it any better.
He’d gone over these thoughts so many times, ever since that night. They kept coming back, each time a little louder.
But there was a reason he was going somewhere by himself. It was to drown out his mind. Not with drugs or alcohol - he was smart enough to know that wouldn’t be a good idea - just noise. Something louder than what his own mind could produce.
He’d been on autopilot for most of the trip there, and when he walked through the entrance, he could already feel the noises in his head get a little quieter.
He’d never been one for clubbing. Or leisure, really. He’s had quite a lot of that recently, though. The wonders of having a semi-consistent schedule and no life outside of work. The most he'd done before was maybe go out to a bar for a few drinks, or scroll on his phone till it went past midnight. Neither of those options could quell his thoughts, if anything it made them worse. Then, on a whim, he went to a nightclub after work.
He always alternated between the places he went, mainly so that nobody would catch on to him. But he ended up gravitating towards the ones with the loudest music, and the brightest lights. Those tended to be on the outskirts of the city, but the trip was always worth it.
He could see the appeal of it now. No need to acknowledge reality, or even yourself. Just being able to lose yourself in the noise, and become another silhouette in an indistinct crowd.
Which, in an instant, he became.
As he stepped onto the floor, the world disappeared for a moment. His body became a vessel for the music, overpowering whatever thoughts his mind could produce. The lights blinded any attempt to process his surrounding, and the movements were just that of a single cell in a greater organism.
Nobody could make him out from the crowd. Nobody recognized him. Nobody could see his tears. Just as he wanted it to be. The passage of time didn't register. As far as he was concerned, this was all he would be - forever.
This was all life had to be.
Occasionally, he'd get a glance of the faces or bodies near him. Only a few features, and few that chose to linger. Nothing he'd remember for long.
Then, one figure walked forward out of the haze, moving with intent. He could tell it was a woman when she got close enough, and he didn't resist as she got closer. two arms reached for his shoulders, and he reached for the hips.
Her eyes meet his.
Her eyes are brown.
-----
It had all happened so fast.
At one moment, Shroud was pointing a gun at him. In the next, he was on the ground, with a knife in his throat. A knife that was lodged in there by someone Robert didn't believe would come to his rescue.
Looking down at the ground below showed that the remnants of the Red Ring were just as shocked as he was. Some had already ran away, the rest that stayed a moment too long were already getting thrashed by a now rejuvenated Z-Team.
He looked back towards where Shroud once stood, still stunned silent. Courtney was bent over the now dead body. He still didn't understand.
Why did she come back? Why did she save him? Was she going to finish the job herself? Was this a last ditch attempt to finally do something good? Was this planned?
It was all answered by her simply picking up the mask off of Elliot's dead body, and glancing towards him.
For a second, they locked eyes. All that was reflected from hers was disappointment, and a faint trace of regret.
He didn't understand.
With a wink, she tossed something at him. He turned to grab it; as he turned back she was already gone.
Opening his palm showed what it was. The astral pulse. What all of this had been for. Such a useless thing now.
He fell to his knees. The sound of fighting just below didn't register. Nothing did.
It didn't have to end this way. He could see it so clearly now. Neither of them wanted it to be over like this.
Yet, this was the only way it could have ended.
He was snapped out of his grief by Beef lapping up the blood of a man he swore he’d kill himself.
-----
He was snapped out of his trance-like state. In a panic, he pulled away. He might’ve pushed the other person a little too hard, he wasn’t sure. He just needed to get out of there.
He split from the dance floor, and became an individual again. He ran for a corner, somewhere to get away from anyone else. Where nobody could see him.
Now, he was sitting down on one of the few seats this place had, hunched over a table. His head fell into his hands. He took in a deep breath.
He was crying now. Crying, genuinely sobbing over the eyes of a stranger.
Fuck. He couldn’t be acting like this. It wasn’t her, it couldn’t be her. It was just some lady with brown eyes. That’s all it took.
It was disgusting. He was disgusting. He couldn't move on.
As much as everyone wanted to reassure him that she was a lost cause from day one. That she was always a double agent. That she never bought into the program. That she was nothing more than a villain who chose to stay as one, it wasn’t true. He knew it wasn’t. Because there was a chance. At some point, she could have been convinced to finally do the right thing. A chance that he never gave her.
She didn’t fuck up her life. He did.
Now, he just hoped she was okay. Wherever she was.
The Red Ring - or at least what was left of it - still hadn’t resurfaced. Maybe she was waiting, or maybe she was the reason for their absence. He didn’t even want to hope it was the latter.
Maybe everyone else was right. Maybe it was inevitable. But he should’ve been better, when she still had a chance. When he still could’ve given her one.
Because it was a chance he gave to everyone else. He was supposed to be the one who helped the Z-Team rise from the ashes like the phoenixes they were meant to be. Yet, he chose to leave some behind.
Courtney, yes, but also…Sonar. He didn’t even know his real name. He ruined a man’s life without even knowing his name.
It was such a simple decision back then. It wasn’t his to make, but he still chose. Sonar wasn't taking the job as seriously, and Coupé was obviously more competent at what she did. Besides, he had an established reputation in the business world, so maybe he could pick himself back up a little easier than the others.
If only he knew.
How many people died that night because of a decision he made?
He could've been another lost cause. Could've just been another life he tossed away due to his own misjudgement. Then, a chance came.
He was already in cuffs, about to be hauled away. Then, the team tried to fight for his return. He could speak up, and try to save a life - or, he could leave him behind. Again.
No. Not again. Never again. He couldn’t fail anyone anymore. Especially not himself.
Right now, he was a flaming pile of burnt shit. He could stay that way, or turn it around. It’d be hypocrisy to not try and follow his own words.
They all had their redemption. A second chance. Robert could have his, and extend it to the one who was never given it. The one he could still save.
Or maybe he would just drown, and drag someone else with him.
A buzz in his right pocket snapped him out of it. The world returned, and the reality that he spent a few minutes crying into his hands and staring off into nothing while sat hunched over a table in a warehouse-turned-nightclub hit him. He was being pathetic right now, he needed to focus. Thankfully, as the noise came back, his thoughts disappeared again.
He took out his phone to see what it was. It was a few texts from Malevola.:
hey
we’re thinking of hitting crypto this weekend
since flambae got un-banned
and sonar's coming with
wanna come?
if you want
He stared at the screen for a little too long.
The right choice would be to say no. He'd be better off alone. It'd been so long since he went out with the team anyway, they were better off without him. He'd just drag the mood down.
Yet, there was this tugging at the back of his mind that was urging him to consider it.
After all, it was only a matter of time until they physically dragged him somewhere. Might as well go voluntarily. He hadn't even talked to Sonar since he got back either, had he? That didn't sit right.
Besides, Crypto Night was, at the very least, a nice place. He could at least get some free drinks while he was there. Maybe. Would he need to put on the suit for the Heroes discount? Didn’t matter.
He typed a response.
Sure
Didn’t matter if he followed through. He could cancel last minute if he needed. They weren't expecting anything from him anyway.
cool, see you then!
He sighed. It was too late. He should be heading home at this point. He pocketed his phone, and began to get up. The temptation to slip back into the crowd and disappear again was overwhelming. It was almost magnetic, as if it was physically dragging him towards the floor. With heavy resistance, he left the building.
The world outside was silent. It was just him now.
He was left with nothing but his thoughts for the rest of the night, repeating over and over like a broken record.