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The SDN breakroom was as silent as it usually was during lunch hour– that is to say not at all, as the frustrated voices of Sonar and Prism filled the space and spilled out into the neighboring cubicles. The two were gridlocked in a heated discussion about the morality of Ticketmaster price gouging fans.
“That’s just the free market at work, Alice! If those fans actually wanted to see you, they would have been lined up for presale. Although, I do have some interesting ideas on how to integrate the whole queue process into the blockchain. You know, it wou-”
“Save the NFT shit for literally anyone else, bat bitch. I swear to god, if I have to perform in front of another room full of rich assholes that don’t know my lyrics just so they can get their instagram photos, I might lose my fucking mind.”
The impassioned Z-Teamers had been going at it in the break room for at least 20 minutes at this point. Sonar sat with his legs criss-crossed under himself in a shitty plastic chair, fingers tented– as if he were mere moments away from a breakthrough. He was not.
Prism’s shoulder leaned up on the freshly re-glassed vending machine, twirling her vape pen in frustration. Neither seemed to notice Waterboy, who was patiently waiting for his opportunity to purchase an oatmeal raisin cookie.
“Hey, big guy… Can I ask you a question for a sec?” Robert whispered. “Away from these clowns?” He made a halfhearted gesture towards the two combatants.
“Sure, Robert.” Golem huffed. “But if this is about that thing at the Art Museum, I already told them everything in the police report.”
“It’s not..” Robert chuckled. “Great work with that by the way. I think if I’d sent anyone else over there they’d have done millions in property damage losing their patience with that girl. I’ll settle for a floor cleaner charge anyday.”
“That’s the gentle giant, baby.” Golem shrugged and rolled his massive shoulders, the sound of which seemed to reverberate down and back up the corridor as the two made their way towards a side conference room.
In the two weeks following Shroud’s attack on LA, the Z-Team (and for that matter, SDN at large) had been occupied with the herculean task of assisting with the city’s rebuilding efforts. Moving and relocating debris, search and rescue, and pacifying any troublemakers who looked to take advantage of the chaos were among their most common tasks. Picking up extra shifts was mandatory.
Not to mention that within all this chaos, they were also down a member. Courtney was still recovering from the bullet wound she sustained saving Robert’s life, and as a result was limited to desk work– much to her frustration. Robert recalled overhearing her confiding in Beef when she thought nobody was around:
“I’d run coffee for Vanderstenk’s bitch girl a million times over before I file another fucking incident report. Isn’t that right, little guy? You get me, right?”
Beef simply flopped over, massive belly exposed– tongue lazily out to the side. Courtney obliged, running her fingers through his soft fur. He sneezed.
“Yeah, you get me.”
It was starting to wear on everyone, but there was a light at the end of the tunnel; Mandy had promised a full week off for the team once the volume of calls had calmed down. The Z-Team were finally starting to look like a bonafide superhero group, and they weren’t about to let that slip away– so it was all hands on deck until they reached the promised land: a week of drinking, partying, and most importantly, sleep.
Robert patiently waited for Golem to awkwardly shuffle his massive body through a door which was obviously not designed with Sentient Mud-Constructs in mind before shutting and locking it with a click. He lowered the shutters and took a deep breath. His face was showing the toll the past few weeks had taken on him; a massive yellowed bruise on his right cheek had yet to heal– one of a handful of ailments easily discernable on his body with even a quick glance. His eyes were sunken in, a sign he was getting even less sleep than the paltry amount he usually allowed himself. In all honesty, he looked like complete shit. Despite that, a wry smile cracked out of the corner of his lips.
“So what’s this about, Mecha Mic?”
“Mecha Mic? Like… because I’m on the headset all day?”
“Jus trying something new. Is it not it?”
“Yeah… No.”
“Well you haven’t told me why you locked me in a conference room with you. This your way of letting me go? If this is how you did Sonar, I understand why he beat your ass so hard.”
Robert let out a surprised laugh and immediately clutched his ribs in pain, grimacing. It looked like his body wasn’t done forgetting that night either.
“It’s definitely not that. It’s about someone we both know, and a favor I’m gonna need from you.” He scratched the back of his neck.
“Why you being so coy, Robert? Is this about– ohhhhh…” Realization set in on Golem's face, answering his own question. An edge-to-edge grin formed on his face, clearly enjoying where this conversation was appearing to go.
“This is about the little lady, isn’t it?”
“What gave it away?”
“You look like a lovestruck teenager.”
Robert groaned, his tone exasperated. “Yes, it is about Courtney. Listen, I just need your help with something. Just a quick question for her from you, and then I’ll owe you big time. Are you all good with that?”
“Owe me big time? I can do that. But what do you need me for? She’ll talk to you plenty,” Golem stated plainly.
“I- uh..” Robert paused. “I want to take her out for dinner. Somewhere nice that she’d really appreciate, but I’m not sure where she would want to go. It’s our third date, and I don’t wanna just book some stuffy French place she doesn’t care about or something.”
Golem huffed. “She’d probably put up with it anyway because it’s you. She’s like a different person when you come up, it’s crazy. Never seen her so happy, not even when we stomped that duo's bracket and won 500 dollar gift cards to Micro Center.”
Robert’s mouth twitched. He can’t say he hadn’t noticed it either– she had been acting a little different around him. He recalled the way her features soften just a little bit when they see each other; the way she banters with him but takes the edge off, like she’s suddenly hesitant to say the wrong thing for the first time in her life.
He remembered the first times he’d noticed that side of her. That starry night she busted Lightningstruck and passed Coupe and Sonar on the leaderboard, when she knew she had a genuine shot at making superhero life work. The time when of all the ways he could have spent his Friday night, he chose to show up out of nowhere to watch Typecast 2 with her, despite how exhausted he clearly was.
The way she looked at him when she told him her real name after he trusted her to reveal his identity to the team. Every time he saw that look it filled him with something that was hard to describe, at least out loud. Like he was someone who mattered enough to her to try for, and that meant everything to him.
“Still, I really want it to be a surprise, at least as much as I can. I mean if there’s a dress code or whatever, I’ll have to tell her, but at least she wouldn’t know exactly where we’re going. Could you try to get a restaurant or two out of her and let me know? Somewhere she really really wants to go. Price doesn’t matter,” he added.
Golem chuckled. “I get you Robbie, but you don’t have to try that hard. She cares about you. But I’ll get it done.”
“Thanks, Bruno. And I’ll owe ya, don’t forget about that.”
“Might make you get on the sticks with us or something. Would love to run trios without relying on randos or Mal’s flaky ass. She only actually shows up when she says she will like half the time.”
“Works for me.” Robert smiled.
Golem headed towards the door, but just as he was about to go, he stopped to turn around and glanced at Robert dead in the eye.
“For what it’s worth, maybe price should matter, dude. I’ve seen your apartment. Could use a bed, or a TV, or more than just a plastic chair, or–”
“Yeah I get it, fuckin’ asshole. God forbid I wanna impress a little bit.”
“You could impress her by taking her back to a place that actually has somewhere to sleep.”
With that, Golem shambled out as awkwardly as he entered, footsteps echoing down the hallway with an unmistakable ‘thwump, thwump, thwump’.
Thanks to a massive floor length window, Courtney’s bedroom was saturated in the orange haze of a burning Los Angeles sunset, casting a moody light over her few yet cherished belongings. In the past, she’d always tried to whittle things down to the essentials to make it easier (physically and emotionally) to gather everything that mattered and cut and run if she ever got into a situation that couldn’t be smoothed over. Recently, she’d started coming to terms with something that she once thought impossible– that life might not be for her anymore.
She sprawled across her bed, her eyes tracing a hairline fracture in the ceiling that hopefully wasn’t planning on deepening any time soon. One of her favorite playlists, “Done with this shit” was on shuffle, currently blaring Soccer Mommy at an unacceptably loud volume. Luckily, her roommate wasn’t around, so she was taking full advantage of some needed alone time.
Suddenly, she felt a buzz from her pocket. Probably just the Z-Team group chat, or maybe Bruno complaining about shitty teammates or a shittier date. She saw the notification and despite herself, her heart annoyingly fluttered a little bit. It was Robert.
Had she put a heart emoji next to his name and labeled him “(Mine)” even though they weren’t “official” official yet? Maybe. It’s true that they weren’t out calling each other boyfriend and girlfriend yet. Robert and the team were mired with the recovery efforts in the city, and Visi was healing up to get back to regular work (as frustrating as it was to sit around like a sack of shit and file reports).
But Robert still made time to come over almost every night after his shift to check up on her, redress her bandages, and spend time with her (which seemed to be just as much for him as it was for her). And to be fair, she figured the whole taking a bullet for him thing and that big PDA kiss in front of everyone (that neither of them seemed to regret) bought her a little leeway.
In fact, not only had Courtney not been able to get that “thing” off of his face with her lips the morning after Shroud’s attack, it appears her subsequent efforts every night he was over at her place were equally as unsuccessful. It didn’t seem like he minded much.
She quickly opened her phone and went to reply:
Third Date. There it was, plain as day. The very same ‘Third Date’ she teased him about at the Sardine before everything went to shit. If she was remembering right, she said something along the lines of eating something that “wasn’t too filling, just in case.” Did he remember she said that? Was he thinking what she was thinking right now? Was his mind going where hers was? Was he imagining… She felt a warmth forming in the pit of her stomach.
Focus, Courtney. Breathe. Chill the fuck out.
Her thumbs began to fly across the screen:
Oh, so he wants it to be a surprise, huh? Game on.
She huffed. Before she had the time to come up with an equally witty reply, another message came through.
That was a new one… The heart. She groaned and felt her cheeks going red. Was she really sitting here reacting like a fucking school girl over emojis on a screen? She was always better at making fast enemies and faster exits, and if anyone ever tried to get sappy with her in person like this, they’d probably get a swift punch to the gut or a kick to the nuts and she’d be on her way. But she’d never really let anyone get this close before, not before Robert.
She can’t remember the last time anyone called her by her actual name, her real name, before Robert. She loves the way it sounds on his lips. Like it fucking means something, like she’s more than her past or her powers. She wondered how it might sound whispered urgently against her skin. How it’d echo the morning after, gravely and heavy, with a good night's rest in his eyes. How it–
QUIET, Courtney.
She steeled her nerve, and replied:
She tossed her phone face down onto her bed, and sank her face into her pillow, squeezing the sides up over her ears until she could hear them ring.
You are SO fucked.
FORMAL formal? What the hell are you doing? What are you even going to wear?
You are so so SO fucked.
She wasn’t wrong. She glanced over at her wardrobe, out for display on a couple rolling racks because apparently a $3k a month “industrial chic” apartment in LA didn’t leave any room for a dedicated closet. Cropped shirts, cropped pullovers, cropped jackets, gym clothes, old torn pajama shirts that will never see the light of day, nothing that exactly screams “Formal formal”.
Either way, that’s tomorrow’s problem.
Royd’s lab was looking like a proper high-tech ghost town. “All hands on deck” really did mean all hands, and Royd’s were quite strong and competent– so the big man was promptly deputized and forced to assist with cleanup around Torrance. He’d formed quite a dynamic duo with Golem. As the strongest guys in the group (sans Punch-Up), they were tasked with most of the heavy duty jobs, and with Malevola assisting with her portals, they made light work out of hauling off any heavy debris. The team had taken to affectionately referring to the two as “Rockishi,” much to their frustration.
The only “resident” left in the lab was Robert’s new suit: Mecha Man Blue 2.0 (the name was a work in progress, he’d said). The marvel of engineering dominated the room, strapped onto a massive diagnostic rack and hooked up to various sensors and readouts that lay temporarily disabled.
Nonetheless, the spot was the perfect hideout– a temporary sanctuary where the only other witness to Courtney’s soon-to-be fashion-induced breakdown was her date’s multi-million dollar weaponized human shaped tank. That and the woman she’d referred to today as “a fucking lifesaver,” Prism, who didn’t seem all too bothered by the atmosphere. She leaned up against a cluttered workbench with her fingers lazily dancing through the air, blending light like the world’s most nonchalant weaver working its most mesmerizing loom.
“Seriously, you’re doing me a huge favor here. This is not a strong spot for me. I think the last time I wore a dress I was probably like… a kid at someone’s wedding or some shit.”
“You’re good girl, don’t even worry about it.” Prism remarked. “You saved Robert which means you also probably saved my job, so I say this makes us even.”
“What, don’t think we could cut it without Mecha Dick behind the mic?”
“3 weeks.”
“C’mon, a couple months at least, give us some credit!”
“Not that we couldn’t do our jobs, but sometimes it feels like Robert’s the only one keeping us from killing each other. Or being too extra with some of these fuckin dickhead clients.”
Courtney shrugged. “Guess he has that kinda effect on people.”
“And he’s got a whole other kinda effect on Miss Invisibitch over here.” Prism nudged her with her shoulder. “You two fuckin’ yet??”
Visi flushed.
“Dude. Please just shut the fuck up…” She groaned.
Prism just cackled as the first mirage began to take its shape. The next fifteen minutes were a blur as a series of projections of various shimmering dresses materialized over Courtney’s frame and were met with increasingly hostile criticism from the both of them. It felt like an endless stream of “No,” “Hell no,” and “FUCK no.” Until finally:
The projection settled into an ankle-length sleeveless satin sheath dress, a deep, midnight black which was playing beautifully against the gleaming sparkles Alice insisted were 100% necessary. A halterneck wrapped around her throat, leading to a crisscrossed bodice that formed a central, small diamond shaped cutout right at her sternum. A faint red light emanated through, courtesy of her augment. Typically, she’d be terrified, but she couldn’t help but marvel over how everything came together, highlighted by a gorgeous slit cut up the left leg.
“Oh,” Courtney breathed, her voice going faint. “Okay, this… This actually doesn’t suck.”
Prism leaned back, a smug, satisfied grin spreading across her face as she killed the twinkling lights surrounding the scene, putting full focus on the dress.
“Doesn’t suck? I can see the dumbass awestruck look on that man’s face when he sees you right now! This is the one.”
A small smile tugged at the corner of Courtney’s lips as she caught various angles of herself in Prisms’ conjured mirrors.
“Yeah,” she muttered. “He’s gonna like this one.”
“Damn right. I’ll get in touch with my girl to get you fitted. And she’ll handle shoes too.”
“But–”
“Don’t even suggest wearing those fuckin’ Doc Martens because I know that’s what you were gonna do.” Prism interjected. “There might be some fits out there where that works but this is NOT one of those.”
“Fine, Jesus. I… I uh…” Courtney swallowed hard. “Thanks Alice. I don’t know who else I could have gone to for all this.”
“If you really wanna show your appreciation, let me know if he’s big or not so I can get another betting pool going. I love rinsing the rest of these dumbasses of all their cash.”
“Asshole.”
They both laughed as Prism whipped out her phone, sending off the photos to her tailor.
Courtney spent the last 10 minutes in an endless cycle of looking over herself, overanalyzing, before–
Knock knock knock.
She took a breath, checked her reflection one last time– ignoring the fact that her heart was threatening to burst out of her chest, and pulled the door open. Robert was there, and it was taking everything in her to breathe and keep from vanishing. He was dressed in a tastefully fitted two-piece charcoal suit which was doing wonders at showcasing his shoulders. Ever committed to the bit, he seemingly couldn’t abandon SDN in his wardrobe as his tie was a similar shade of powder blue to his everyday button-up. He looked exceptionally cleaned up, only betrayed by a yellowed bruise on his cheek and some mild puffiness under his eyes.
Luckily, it appeared Robert was having an equally hard time staying composed. He glanced up and down her figure, eyes wide. The two stood frozen for just a moment too long, and before it could reach awkward territory, Courtney broke the ice.
“You know it’s not polite to stare.”
“Sorry… You uh. You look incredible, by the way.”
“Thank you, you don’t look half bad yourself,” she grinned. “So, where’re we headed?”
“I’ll tell you on the way there.”
“Jeez Robert, thought we were past the keeping secrets stage,” she joked.
They made their way to the elevator in a comfortable, if slightly charged, silence. As they reached the ground floor, a cool night breeze whipped around them, briefly catching the hem of her satin dress. Standing there, because of course this is what he would come to pick her up in, was the ten-ton Mecha Man suit, silver plating gleaming in the moonlight. The giant glowing “M” logo flickered on, casting neon blue onto the asphalt as the two approached. She couldn’t help but crack a smile.
“This is the ride,” Robert grinned, reaching out to help her into the Mech’s enclosure. “Though, full honesty here: Royd didn’t exactly design this guy for a plus-one. It’s a bit of a tight squeeze.”
“Oh, I’m sure it is,” Courtney muttered, grabbing onto his arm. “You planned this, yeah? The ‘only one seat’ trope? Really, Robert? A bit cliche don’t ya think?”
“Of course not, I don’t have a car, remember? Or a driver’s license, while we’re at it.” He joked, pulling her into the cockpit.
“Thought I was finally done breaking the law, but here I am getting in a vehicle with an unlicensed driver. Shame on me.”
The space was cramped as advertised, smelling strongly of ozone and fresh leather. Courtney found herself firmly perched on his lap, her dress bunching up a little against his slacks. As the chestplate closed shut and the suit began to hum with power, she could feel the steady, rapid knocking of his heart against her side.
“Hold tight,” he spoke low and rough near her ear.
With a pressurized and booming roar, the two surged into the LA night.
The flight back was significantly less “scenic” and rather… “distracting.”
Courtney rested on his lap again, but this time she wasn’t sitting patiently. She shifted, her satin dress bunching a little against his slacks, her hair brushing his jaw as she “adjusted” herself for the third time in as many minutes.
“Courtney,” Robert warned, his hands tightening on the joysticks. “I am trying to pilot a ten-ton aircraft over the second most populated metropolitan area in the country.”
“And I’m just trying to get comfortable here, Robbie,” she teased, shifting again, feeling him catch his breath.
She placed a hand on his chest. His heart was positively pounding– she could hardly believe she was doing this much to him already. A satisfied heat began to pool low in her stomach, a wry smile spreading on her face. “Is there always this much turbulence? I thought this would be a much smoother ride..”
“You are a fucking menace,” he groaned, banking the suit suddenly and sharply towards her apartment.
Her injured shoulder slammed into his chest, temporarily knocking the wind out of her.
“Agh, god dammit!” She gasped, more out of surprise than pain.
“SHIT! Fuck, the shoulder– I’m so fucking sorry, I forgot for a sec. That was so stupid of me.” He looked absolutely mortified.
“Asshole.” She snapped, lacking any bite. “But I probably deserved that. I’m fine,” she laughed.
“Still, I need to take a look at it and make sure everything’s alright.. You only recently got off the bandages.” He paused. “Can’t be bleeding all over that nice dress, not when I’ve only gotten to see you in it one time.”
That was Robert– impossibly, frustratingly, perfectly caring, and somehow all in a way that didn’t make her skin crawl. But this was their 3rd date after all. She was not about to let him go apologetic and hesitant on her, not tonight.
“So,” she said after a brief pause, leaning back a little bit so he could get a glimpse of her expression out of the corner of his eye. “I’ve been thinking about the restaurant. It was great, seriously. But it’s funny… It’s the exact place that I told Bruno was ‘nice but totally overrated’ when he asked me about it the other day.”
Robert’s brow furrowed. “Wait, what?”
“Yeah,” Courtney chuckled. “I told him my favorite was Cucina Al Tagliere, which is more of a hole in the wall kinda spot. I said that place was like Cucina Reale, but more my style. Less ‘spending money to be seen and gawk at other people spending money’ vibes. Did you ask him for advice?”
He was silent for a while. “That asshole is getting ALL the shit calls on Monday. I mean literal shit too. One time I had to remotely disable a woman's bidet that was spraying shit everywhere, did you know that? Maybe if I’m lucky I can send him on part two.”
“Chill the fuck out, man,” she laughed, pressing a light kiss to the healing bruise on his cheek. “He was two brownies deep, it’s fine. I’d sneaked some takeout from that place before, knew it was good either way. And honestly? The ‘overrated’ food was totally worth it just to see you in that suit.”
“Overrated, huh?” he repeated, his voice dropping into a lower register that made the hair on the back of her neck stand on edge. He finally cut his eyes towards her, and the look in them was that of a man who had identified a problem and was currently deciding exactly how he wanted to solve it. It was the exact same look she caught on his face saving her from Armstrong at the Sardine, where there was only one thing on his mind and he was doing absolutely anything in his power to get what he needed.
“Yeah,” Courtney whispered, bravado faltering just a second as she leaned in closer. “Totally overrated. But the company? That was acceptable.”
Robert’s hand moved from the joystick, his fingers grazing the skin of her thigh where the dress’s slit had fallen open. The touch was light, but it felt like a live wire.
“Just acceptable?” he murmured, a dangerous spark in his eye.
Courtney didn’t answer. She leaned in and pressed another lingering, deliberate kiss to the bruise on his cheek, lips trailing down to the corner of his mouth. She felt him catch his breath as a sensor in the suit chimed: [WARNING: PILOT HEARTRATE ABOVE ACCEPTABLE PARAMETERS]. He tried to quickly dismiss it, but wasn’t fast enough. She grinned in satisfaction.
“Robert,” she breathed against his skin, voice sharp with intent. “Shut up and get us home ASAP.”
“Brace yourself, Courtney,” he said, thick with urgency.
With a whine, the suit’s back thrusters burned a blinding, brilliant blue as Robert kicked the boosters into overdrive, punching a hole through the night sky as they recklessly streaked toward her apartment.