Archive of Our Own

There’s an ache in Zahir’s shoulders, right where the muscle meets neck. It’s not particularly painful but it is irritatingly persistent. Isn’t the whole point of superpowers not having to deal with this normie level bullshit?

“Wow babe, tell me how you really feel why don’t you?” Robert might be sitting behind him, but Zahir knows an eye roll when he hears one.

“Just because I love a normie bitch doesn’t mean I want to be one.” Zahir huffs, rolling his shoulders for the thousandth fucking time in an attempt to at least shift the pain. It does nothing. Just like it’s done nothing the last thousand fucking times. “It’s fucking annoying.”

“Oh no, does my precious little alpha have a boo-boo?” Robert asks. “Do you need me to kiss it better?”

“Fuck off.” Zahir snaps. “You could at least fucking pretend you’re not enjoying this.”

“Who me? Enjoy you failing to handle my daily back pain? Why, I’d never.” Zahir doesn’t justify that with a response. Robert’s hands have warmed up against his skin, but they don’t seem any more effective against the pain now than when he started. This is really starting to piss Zahir off. He doesn’t even know what he could have done to cause it, it’s been at least week since his last big fight.

“Maybe there’s something stuck under the skin?” Robert theorises, pressing down a little harder against the skin. “A piece of glass?”

“How the fuck would I get glass under my skin Robert?” Zahir all but growls the question. Robert’s hand stop but Zahir doesn’t back down. Okay, so maybe Robert didn’t deserve to be snapped at like that, but seriously-

The anger in Zahir’s chest eases a little as Robert nuzzles against the scent glands in his neck, shoulder’s dropping almost instantly.

“Are you okay?” Robert asks against Zahir’s neck. “You’re not usually this easy to rile up.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re the only person that’s ever said that.” Zahir sighs. Robert huffs a laugh.

“Okay, yeah, you got anger issues.” Robert relents. “But this seems a little extreme even for you. Before breakfast Zahir? Maybe. But not after dinner, cuddly couch Zahir.”

“You’re ridiculous.” He says, shaking his head.

“And right.” Robert hums. “What’s going on Zahir, talk to me.”

“Nothing’s going on.” And Zahir means it. Life is going pretty smoothly right now. Jobs are steady, things are good with Robert, and Alice is finally out on parole again. Nothing in Zahir’s life justifies how short his temper has been lately. Nothing except this stupid shoulder pain.

“Then maybe you’re just getting old.” Robert teases. As he pulls away, taking all the nice feelings of being scented with him, Zahir feels the pain in his shoulder return.

“I am not old.” Zahir huffs.

“I don’t know, you’re looking pretty old from my robbed cradle.” Robert claims. “Mid-30s already, I mean, oof.”

“Oh fuck off.” Zahir groans. “You are not that much younger than me.”

“I wasn’t even in highschool when you graduated babe.” Robert reminds.

“It is not my fault you’ve looked forty since the moment you were born.” Zahir argues. “If I’d known you were twenty-fucking-two I wouldn’t’ve picked you up.”

“Well, then I guess it’s a good thing you didn’t know.”

The only way to be taken seriously as a criminal is by wearing a suit. Either the three piece kind mobsters prefer, or the skintight kind. It doesn’t actually have to be skintight – plenty of villains turn a nice, causal outfit into their brand – but Zahir, frankly, prefers the more traditional approach.

His suit wasn’t easy to get a hold of. Powers like his mean specialised fabrics, which generally means finding someone who specialises in super suits, and people like that are well protected. Zahir’s not sure if there’s honour among thieves, but there is one rule every supervillain abides – don’t go after a tailor. Sure, Shriek’s tailor might know Snow Raven’s real face but that just means Snow Raven’s tailor knows Shriek’s real face. The only way to trust them with one face is to trust them with both. Finding a tailor either means tracking one yourself and hoping no one scarier than you notices you doing it, or being trusted with a name.

Zahir found his tailor through Alice, although whether she found them through villainy or pop-stardom he’s still not sure and he’s not sure it matters. Since Alice introduced them, he hasn’t burned through the suit once. Although he did have to redesign it.

The original suit barely hung to his shoulders and only covered his nipples so he won’t be mistaken for a stripper. The lack of mask also meant he couldn’t be mistaken as anyone but Zahir – at least to the handful of people that knew his name. And that was fine. What was anyone going to do with the knowledge? It’s not like he has some stuffy civilian life that can be ruined, Alice is his only friend worth threatening, and she can handle herself just fine, and he hasn’t spoken to his family since he was seventeen.

But then, of course, Robert had to come along.

Some mornings Zahir still expects to wake up alone. Expects the last six years to have all been some hopeless fantasy. Robert deserves far, far better than him and yet every morning there he is, smiling sleepily as Zahir cooks breakfast.

And every night, off he goes. To put on a costume just like Zahir, and then be everything Zahir is not.

Robert deserves someone better.

And yet every heat, he bares his neck and tells Zahir to bite him again so it doesn’t fade. After every fight he lets Zahir kiss him in the bar, claim him in front of everyone.

Zahir will be damned if he lets that favour go to waste.

So the suit had to change. Not completely. The bottom half was fine. But now the skintight fabric continues up his chest, flames dancing as his sides to compliment his waist, then up his neck to hide the bite mark – it’s a bit too identifiable – and finally up his face to cover his mouth and nose. Anything more felt too much like a ski mask, and thankfully most pyros have amber eyes. Zahir was sad to see the chest window go, but at least he got to have a back window. And the sleeveless fit lets him show off his arms now too. So really, no aesthetic loss. Especially given the way the fabric clings to his abs.

Giving himself one last look before he heads out for the night – from Alice’s apartment now that Robert shares his – Zahir can’t help but wonder if Robert’s ever actually seen him dressed like this. It’s unlikely. Zahir doubts they run in the same circles. Robert’s probably not even out in the field, probably too busy building tech or maybe being the guy in the chair for someone who wouldn’t be half as good if they didn’t have Robert in their ear. And it’s not like Flambae is a trending topic on social media or a front page news type villain – he could be, he just doesn’t want to be – so there’s really no reason for Robert to have seen Zahir like this.

Still, he wonders if Robert’s seen the suit.

He wonders if Robert likes it.

And then he looks away from the mirror and sets off for the night. He has a mall to burn.

The text comes while Zahir is on his way to the location. He checks it – just in case it’s the client – and it’s not a number he recongizes. But that’s not really surprising. Most of the texts he gets are from unknown numbers – sometimes burner phones, sometimes new clients, sometimes scams. He gives it a check scan, really just to confirm if the client-

That’s….

Unknown number: Zahir, I’m not sure if this is the right number. It’s Khadija.

That’s not what he was expecting.

Zahir hasn’t heard from his little sister since their father kicked him out sixteen years ago. That’s almost half his life spent in silence. What could have possibly happened for her to change that? He doesn’t have to wait long. Her next text makes it pretty damn obvious.

Unknown number: I wanted to make sure someone told you about mum.
Unknown number: She’s gone, Zahir. The funeral was a couple months ago. I don’t know where she’s buried.

There a lot of things Zahir could unpack in that message to distract himself from the anger that sparks in his chest. Like how it doesn’t sound like Khadija is on speaking term with their father either. Or maybe he could wonder how she got his number in the first place. Anything that doesn’t make his vision blurry and his hands hot enough to melt the phone he’s holding.

His mother is dead.

Zahir’s feelings about his father are as uncomplicated as they can be. The man was a power hungry asshole who wanted things not children. But his mum?

The woman failed him. Zahir has no delusions about that. She failed him every time his father raised a fist and she did nothing. She failed him every time he lost control of his powers and she refused to acknowledge her own long enough to teach him. She failed him when he sobbed on the phone, desperate for just a little bit of help after he’d nearly been beaten to death as a homeless teenager.

She failed him, constantly.

But his father failed her first. Her parents failed her first. Her life failed her. Left her unable to find the backbone her son so desperately needed her have. She loved him as much as she could and it wasn’t enough but it was more than nothing.

And now she’s gone.

Zahir will never get to talk to her again. He will never get the chance to forgive her for all her failings or introduce her to Robert or talk to her about the children he wants to have. The life he’s trying to build.

Did she think of him before she died? Did she ask for him? Did they even try to invite him to the funeral?

Probably not.

If his dad did think about him it was with the smug satisfaction of knowing he won. Knowing he kept them apart. Knowing that he still controlled some part of Zahir’s life.

He never got to say goodbye.

There hadn’t been time when he was kicked out and the few times Zahir tried to call she hung up before he was ever ready.

Zahir will never get the chance to say goodbye.

Normally Zahir is careful when he does a job. Only an idiot would trust a client and Zahir has too much to lose if he doesn’t check things out. He always double checks there’s no one in the line of fire and no place for his flames to stray outside his control.

Tonight he doesn’t have the patience.

Its all he can do to get to the mall he’s meant to burn before the anger inside him bursts and causes the kind of damage he’s already feeling inside. He screams and he burns and he doesn’t think until the world around him is coated in flame and ash and anger.

And it’s still not enough.

Because Zahir can’t fucking feel it. No matter how large the flames, how hot the fire, it’s little more than fingers brushing against his skin. Not even his hair burns. He almost wants to hold it over the flames just to cause some damage, but he’s far too aware of the flames for his subconscious protections to fail.

His mother’s skin burned. Not easily. No pyro’s skin burns easily. But most of them do burn. There are always limits to their immunity and most have one or two scars from when their powers first came and their eagerness far outstretched their skill. One or two more, for those unlucky fuckers only immune to their own flames, or not immune to someone else’s conjured flames.

Not Zahir though. If he has a limit, he’s never found it. He kind of expected to find it tonight. Anyone else standing here would be burning up – either from the flames or their own over-extended elemental core. But not Zahir. No, never Zahir. He could burn the whole world down without ever breaking a sweat.

He could burn the whole world down and his anger wouldn’t burn with it.

It’s not fair. He doesn’t deserve this. Someone with power like his shouldn’t be sitting in a mall, throwing a fucking tantrum. Someone with power like his should be off saving the world. But Zahir isn’t a good person. Some people are made to help others and Zahir isn’t one of them.

His mother was a victim first. A hero would have saved her. Zahir never did. He scraped and crawled his way from homelessness into one of the better off villains in the city, and he felt justified in his petty ignorance of his mother’s fate. She never helped him, why should he help her now? God, it had seemed so justified a thought but now she’s gone and Zahir will never have the chance to save her.

A hero would have.

A hero would have taken all the rage in Zahir and made something better.

A hero would deserve to stand inside this mall without a scratch.

“This way. Not far now.” Zahir knows that voice, even if he’s never heard in in person before. He recongizes the metal figure the voice belongs to just as quickly.

Mecha Man.

A real hero.

And that’s…

Zahir didn’t think he had anything left to shatter inside him, but as he sees the person stumbling out behind Mecha Man something does. His heart, maybe. Or his stomach. Maybe his entire fucking life.

What’s a person doing in the mall? There wasn’t meant to be anyone in the mall. But then doesn’t Zahir know better than to trust a client? Zahir’s lost count of how many times a client told him the target was empty, only for Zahir to find the usual employees working because the dumbass didn’t want to ‘raise suspicion’, like insurance fraud is somehow worse than murder.

I can live with it, as long as no one innocent gets hurt.

Zahir raises a hand to the scar on his neck, even though he’s pretty sure the stab of pain is in his head. Would this count? Zahir can’ see any injuries on the person, but then he can’t really see through the flames and obviously being in this is going to hurt someone. How many other people are in the mall? Probably a lot, right? Fucking Mecha Man is here. A guy like that doesn’t take on guys like Zahir just because. Dread joins the swell of emotions burning around Zahir.

How long until Robert finds out? It’s a sick and twisted thing to even think about. Zahir can’t hide this, except he could. Robert doesn’t know he’s Flambae. It’s the whole reason he wears the mask. Zahir could go home tonight and even if Robert gets suspicious about a flame powered villain burning a mall and hurting civilians, he’d never know.

It’s such a selfish and fucked up thought to have. Zahir knows he can’t hide this but fuck the thought is so tempting. He can’t lose Robert. Before Robert, Zahir breathed spite instead of air. Every act was an impulse he indulged simply because he could, a middle finger to the father that hated him and the past he escaped. Hell, he’s pretty sure his daddy issues played no small part in why he picked up the omega with blood on his knuckles.

Robert was like a first breath of fresh air. The first reason Zahir had to plan his future instead of simply spitting at his past. He’s never been good enough for Robert. Never deserved the man’s attention, let alone the scar on his throat. Robert would have taken Zahir’s past and made something good of it, would have taken Zahir’s powers and turned them into something beautiful. He deserves so much better than Zahir and yet Zahir is awful and selfish and clings to him anyway.

He can’t lose Robert.

“Damage is done. All I want is a conversation.” Mecha Man’s voice calls across Zahir’s flames and all his dread and pain is swallowed by anger and something older, something more instinctual than emotional.

Because this, this is the kind of fucking person Robert deserves. The real kind of hero that walks into an elemental – emotional – breakdown and calls for a fucking conversation instead of a fight. This is the kind of alpha who’d never have thought about getting Robert knot drunk or about lying to him about his mistakes. The kind of alpha that could protect him from the Red Ring and would clean his post-fight wounds before they fucked and would have romanced him the way he deserved instead of just picking him up at a bar.

This is the kind of alpha – the kind of hero – Robert deserves and it sets Zahir off in a way that almost drowns him in an instinctual need to best Mecha Man. To prove – at the very least – that Zahir is the better fighter. That at least in this one way he deserves Robert.

He’s never called up flames this hot or for this long. All of his rage shots directly at Mecha Man and he can’t help but grin when the man is forced to use his shield, forced to go back and back and back until the suit is against a wall where there’s no where else to run.

Still it doesn’t burn.

Not Zahir’s hands and not the suit in front of him. For all his back is against a wall, Mecha Man doesn’t look bothered at all. Zahir frowns and pushes more heat into the attack, talking a step forward.

He doesn’t see the sword until after it’s swung. Doesn’t realize what’s happened until he’s staring at the place his fingers are supposed to be. It doesn’t hurt. Isn’t it supposed to hurt? He hears Mecha Man shift and immediately Zahir tries to call flames to his good hand. The power sputters in his hand and oh, oh it does hurt. It hurts a lot. His brain just- oh god it hurts.

Zahir’s eyes roll into the back of his head and he collapses, not even awake long enough to notice Mecha Man catching him.

Zahir knows.

He knows the moment he sees Robert through the prison glass, looking pale and exhausted in a way that doesn’t match with the handful of days they haven’t seen each other.

He knows in the interrogation room waiting for the lawyer he asked for and desperately trying to keep his mouth shut as the police try to goad him with charges for attempted murder – that very well may become murder.

Hell, he knows in the brief moment he saw Mecha Man escorting an injured civilian out of the mall.

The point is he knows.

He just doesn’t admit it to himself until he has to. Until he’s trying desperately to cling to defensiveness and denial while watching as Robert slips through his fingers, getting further and further away despite sitting on the other side of glass Zahir could probably melt if not for the cuffs.

“I can’t do this.” The words are bad enough but it’s Robert’s broken tone that makes Zahir stumble. He’s never felt cold before, he imagines this must be what it feels like.

“What are you talking about?” He tries to cling away. “I’m the one in prison Robert. What do you have to deal with?”

Just the fact I broke your trust, Zahir thinks but can’t manage to say.

“You almost killed people. You still might have.”

“I told you, that’s not my fault.” Zahir scoffs. He should be grovelling, he wants to be grovelling. Wants to apologise and beg and promise Robert he can do better. And yet Zahir can’t manage anything but anger.

“Not your fault.” Zahir has only ever heard that bitter tone when Robert is talking about his dad or the Red Ring. He doesn’t know how to handle it being directed at him. “I told you my lines Zahir. I can’t deal with this.” The dread Zahir felt a moment ago? It has nothing on the fear that consumes him as Robert pushes up from his chair.

“Robert!” He tries to call, tries to plead, but Robert has already hung up the phone. Already turned away. Zahir shouts and tries to bang on the window. This can’t be it. He can’t lose Robert. One of the guards grabs him before he makes contact with the window, pulling him back. Zahir struggles. He struggles and pleads with the universe for just one more minute, just one more look, just one more smile.

Robert doesn’t look back.

For a brief, blissful moment Zahir clings to his anger. Anger at Mecha Man, anger at Robert, anger at his stupid client.

But then that moment passes and Zahir can only feel numb.

Robert doesn’t pick up the phone the first time Zahir tries to call. The second time his phone is disconnected. And the third. And the fourth. And the-

He’s moved out of their apartment, although Zahir doesn’t technically know where too. Zahir only knows Robert moved because Alice told him, ranting about the storage warehouse like it was some big slight and not a greater kindness than Zahir deserves. Maybe Robert moved back into his old apartment. Or maybe he sold that too, if only to ensure Zahir doesn’t know where he lives.

“That fucking bitch.” Alice huffs on her first visit to the super max Zahir’s been placed in. “You deserve better Bae. As soon as you get out of here, we’ll find you a man that’ll actually stick by you.”

“Don’t.” Zahir mutters. “This isn’t on him.”

“Well it ain’t on you.” Alice snaps. “You made a fucking mistake, who the fuck hasn’t? Bet that bitch has made fucking plenty of mistakes. Worst one being not fucking being here.”

“Alice, just, just fucking drop it okay?” Zahir says. “I don’t want to talk about it.” Alice doesn’t look particularly happy with the request but because she’s also too good for him, she does what he asks.

How long until he crosses her lines, Zahir wonders. How long until he does something she can’t forgive either?

It’s almost a relief when Shroud finally shows up. It’s been two weeks since they started sharing a living space – if a max security prison can really be called a living space. Zahir’s spent those two weeks waiting for the other shoe to drop, refusing to let himself fall into the hope that Shroud doesn’t actually know who he is.

The day it finally happens, Zahir’s taken to solidarity. He has no idea why, and really that should be his first clue of what’s about to happen. He’s shoved into the small room with his hands still cuffed behind his back and before he can even complain the doors shut tight behind him. He can hear the stupid fucking guard snickering on the other side. Asshole.

There’s no real way to tell time in the small room – which is really more like a wardrobe – but Zahir would guess a few hours have passed before the door opens again and a gaunt man with a greying beard and a rescinding hairline steps aside, looking like he owns the place despite the prison clothes he’s wearing. There’s no trace of Robert in the man’s face or features, but there doesn’t need to be. Not when he’s standing like that. Robert has that same posture when he steps into a fight. Causal, confident, hyper aware of every move being made around him. Like he has something to prove and all the skills and time he needs to do it.

“Zahir.” The man greets. Zahir doesn’t know his name. With how rarely he and Robert spoke of their fathers, it just never seemed important. He wishes he had asked now. If only to avoid feeling like he’s already a step behind.

“What do you want?” Zahir sneers.

“To meet my son-in-law.” Shroud smirks and Zahir can see Robert in that expression too, although there’s always been warmth to the calculating look in Robert’s eye when he smirks. Shroud’s expression is cold enough Zahir has to suppress a flinch.

“I’m not your anything.” He snaps and the smirk gets just a touch bit wider.

“Ah yes, trouble in paradise.” Shroud hums and Zahir’s shoulders tense. How long has the man been watching him? But that’s a stupid question, isn’t it? Years. Possibly since the night Zahir and Robert first met. “My son is rather stubborn when he wants to be, isn’t he?”

“Fuck off.” Zahir growls. “You don’t even fucking know him.”

“I know him very well. And I know what’s good for him.”

“You sound like a fucking Disney villain.”

“The real villain was his father.” Shroud claims, and this time Zahir can’t hide the way he flinches. “Robert was never good enough to him. No matter how much Robert tried, no matter how much he succeeded, Robbie always found fault. Robbie’s been dead for years now, but Robert is still living under his control. Still desperate to make him proud. I just want him to understand that was never a possibility in the first place.”

“No, you just him under your control instead.” Zahir argues.

“I hoped I could get you to understand Zahir. I suppose I overestimated you.” Shroud sighs. “But you don’t need to understand, really, all you have to do is accept what I’m offering.”

“Let me guess, you’ve got a computer that can solve all my fucking problems? Or was the headache from your monologue supposed to be the offer?”

“I don’t need a computer to fix your problems.” Shroud says. “All I need is to set up a conversation where Robert will overhear it, and I assure you he’ll actually pick up the phone next time you try to call.” It’s so pathetic the way Zahir’s breath catches – just for a second – at the thought. Shroud can’t do that, he knows, but god the thought of hearing Robert’s voice again is enough to give into delusion – just for a second.

A second Shroud notices, given the smirk returning to his face.

“Oh, of course, just what I need. Once Robert knows I’ve got the approval of the dad he hates, he’ll be thrilled to see me again. God, you really are fucking delusional.” Zahir scoffs, burying the moment of weakness deep, deep down. Shroud’s eye twitches – just slightly – but that smirk doesn’t.

“Not approval, explanation.” Shroud corrects, like that makes any sense. The man holds up his hand, a small oval looking object resting between his thumb and finger. “This.”

“What? The pills you take to help you get it up for that guard out there? Not interested. This might be hard for someone like you to understand, but some of us have working dicks and don’t need to go around fucking guards just to feel like a big strong alpha.” This time he gets a flicker of annoyance, probably not something he should be trying to get out of a supervillain but Zahir sure as shit prefers that too the smirk.

“I see my son’s taste in men leaves much to be desired.” Shroud drawls. “This, little flame,-”

“Don’t fucking call me that.”

“-is something of an anti-suppressant.” Shroud continues like Zahir didn’t say anything. “It releases a cocktail of chemicals into the blood stream. All designed to encourage an alpha to go feral.” Zahir’s about to make a snarky comment about Shroud missing his calling as an evil scientist or a teacher, but the words die on his tongue when Shroud finally gets to the bomb shell he’s been building up, tone as causal as if he were discussing the weather. “Of course, the one I had planted in you was a prototype. Only really capable of encouraging the instincts you were already having. But Robert doesn’t need to know that part.”

“What?” Zahir asks, his mouth suddenly very dry. “What are you talking about?”

“Haven’t noticed anything?” Shroud asks and there’s that fucking smirk again. “Mood swings? Anger? Ah, but I guess those are normal for you. Any shoulder pain?”

When did his shoulder stop hurting?

Zahir doesn’t know. After Robert left, he thinks, if only to justify why he didn’t notice.

No, no this is insane. It was just a sore shoulder.

“You’re lying.” He growls.

“Maybe I am.” Shroud says. “Or maybe I’m not. Either way, Robert would understand, don’t you think? I think he’d feel rather guilty for doubting you in the first place, and run right back here to make it up to you. They don’t usually allow conjugal visits in a place like this, but I’m a good father. I can ensure one.”

“Yeah, nothing screams good father like trying to whore out your son to get a spy.” Zahir tries desperately to focus on his anger and it should be easy. Shroud is trying to use Robert – his own goddamn son – and Zahir is furious.

But the anger is so hard to cling to. Not like it was in the mall, when Mecha Man stepped into view. It’s all in your head, Zahir tells himself. Or maybe it’s the inhibitors. Or maybe it’s his aching heart being too distracted by the thought of Robert coming back to him. It has to be something – anything – except the explanation Shroud offered.

“I don’t need you to spy for me Zahir. I don’t need you to do anything at all.” Shroud claims. “All I want is for Robert to be close.” And physically he would be, if he was visiting Zahir. Would Shroud arrange a meeting like this? Force Robert into a conversation? Or is it a means for observation? A way to track Robert closer? It could be a stepping stone into blackmailing Zahir for more. Today Shroud says he wants nothing, tomorrow he’s reminding Zahir that this conversation would ruin his relationship all over again, if Robert ever found out.

Zahir doesn’t know what Shroud wants, but he knows the man wants something and it infuriates him. So why isn’t the anger consuming him again? He almost killed Mecha Man because he was jealous over some shit he made up in his own fucking head. Now here Shroud is, trying use him against Robert and reminding Zahir off all the ways he’s screwed Robert over, and yet Zahir doesn’t feel that same blinding, murderous rage.

It can’t have been Shroud’s fault. It had to be Zahir. His anger, his mistakes. It can’t be-

“Fuck off.” Zahir growls. His arms feel numb, the inhibitors disrupting his nervous system as his body naturally reacts to his anger, flames desperately trying to burst his skin, and it’s still. Not. The. Same. He wants to burn the prison to a crisp, but he still doesn’t want to kill anybody. “I’d rather Robert hate me than have to share the same air as you.”

“I’ll give you some time to think about it.” Shroud says, turning away from him. “Be careful what you choose Zahir. I have someone quite happy to take your place. Someone that will actually look after my son.” There’s a layer of mockery in his tone that Zahir can’t place. Like he’s missing out on an inside joke and Shroud thinks that makes him particularly stupid. It’s enough to make him dismiss his bound wrists and power, running at the man in an attempt to- Zahir doesn’t really know. Headbutt the smug expression off his fucking face?

The cell door shuts before he can make contact, saving Shroud from Zahir’s rage.

And still, he doesn’t actually want to kill the man.

Zahir screams in rage and tries desperately to tell himself this is how it’s always felt.

Zahir’s court mandated therapist has asked about the scars on his throat more than once but Zahir’s done a good job at keeping his mouth shut. Sure, he can’t see any glowing red metal additions in the woman’s body but that doesn’t mean there aren’t any. Doesn’t mean Shroud hasn’t gotten to her the way he has more than half the prison guards – never mind how many of the prisoners are Red Ring or Red Ring allied.

Honestly, it’s kinda… exhausting. Shroud’s kept his distance since that day in solitary but that doesn’t mean he isn’t watching. Everyone face Zahir sees is reporting back to the man and Zahir knows it. Every word said to him is one Shroud approved. Every comment about his scar, his lack of visitor, the dial tone in his ear when he uses the phone. All of them are said with Shroud’s smug smirk. Zahir’s not sure how much longer he can live like this. He’s not sure how much longer he’ll be allowed to live like this. How long until the mockery from Shroud turns hostile? Would that be better or worse than Shroud deciding to tell Robert anyway, despite Zahir’s lack of cooperation?

Maybe that’s why he gives in. Why he decides fuck it, telling his therapist probably isn’t going to make things worse. Even if she is working for Shroud. It’s not like Zahir holds any cards worth hiding.

Or maybe he gives in because today’s the day. Their day. The day Robert promised not to run away and scared Zahir’s neck.

Zahir was planning to propose this year. Alice was meant to help him pick out the ring. He was going to tie it to Beef’s collar and then send the dog Robert’s way.

“You’ve been scratching at your mating mark more than usual today.” Is all Dr Serena has to say and suddenly months of silence don’t matter. Zahir tells her all about Robert and the lines he drew and how angry had been to see Mecha Man walk in – perfect alpha that he is – right after Zahir unintentionally crossed those lines.

“If I’d just had 30 more seconds I could have won.” Zahir argues. Win. That’s all he wanted to do. “I could have proved I’m the stronger, better alpha.” People fight over that all the time. It’s not that he wanted to kill Mecha Man. He wasn’t that angry. He wasn’t.

“By what? By killing Mecha Man?” His therapists asks, calmly calling him out and no doubt noting the way Zahir goes still for a moment before forcing himself to relax.

“Oh please.” Zahir scoffs. It wasn’t that serious, it can’t have been that serious. “Like a little fire could have killed Mecha Man.”

“Zahir, he’s a man in a metal suit. I doubt he could have survived much longer even if he had superpowers. You’ve mentioned you enjoy cooking, I’m sure I don’t need to tell you what happens to meat in metal when it gets hot.”

“Yeah, well-” Even Zahir’s desperate mind doesn’t have an argument for that.

“It’s not uncommon among alphas to feel that kind of murderous rage, you know.” His therapist continues when she sees her first words have gotten through to him. “It’s instinctual. But-”

“Don’t.” Zahir cuts in before she can even really can’t started on that line of thinking. “Don’t say it like that. It has to be my fault. It has to be.” Even if he almost killed Mecha Man. Maybe especially then.

“Zahir, guilt is important to acknowledge but not cling too.” He therapist tries but Zahir shakes his head.

“No, it has to be my fault.” He says again. “If it’s not my fault it’s his, and it can’t be his. I can’t be-” He chokes on the words before he can say them.

“Who is he? Mecha Man?” His therapist prompts.

“No.” He shouldn’t say it, right? He should keep his mouth shut and just sit here silently until time runs out. But then what does it really matter? How much worse can his life really get, if Shroud hears this? “If it’s not my fault, it’s Shroud’s. It cannot be Shroud’s fault.”

“Shroud?” The woman repeats. “Why would it be Shroud’s fault? Were you working for the Red Ring?” Zahir scoffs a laugh.

“God no.” He says. “Never.”

“Then… what does Shroud have to do with what happened at the mall?”

“My mate is Shroud’s son.” He admits.

“Isn’t Shroud also in this facility?” Serena frowns slightly and maybe she isn’t with Shroud then, or maybe she’s just a really good actor.

“Yep.” Zahir pops the ‘p’, feeling a little bit manic as he continues to bare his soul to this woman who may or may not be on his side. “He cornered me my second week here, you know? Said the Red Ring drugged me and that’s why I was so out of it at the mall. But it has to be my fault.” Serena blinks once, twice, and then decides which part of that box to unpack.

“Why does it have to be your fault?” She asks. Zahir almost doesn’t answer. It feels too vulnerable, too honest. But something inside him – the bottomless ache in his heart that opened up the day Robert said he was done – forces the words out of him anyway.

“I can’t… I can’t be something else Shroud ruined for Robert. I can’t be something else Shroud used against him.” Serena’s eyes soften slightly.

“Just because he doesn’t know it was Shroud’s fault, doesn’t change that it was.” She says. Zahir shrugs a shoulder, not sure how to put into words that this is better. “You know, this information could change your sentencing.”

“It’s not like I have any fucking proof.” Zahir scoffs. If there was ever any video of Shroud’s confession, it’s definitely been deleted by now.

“Maybe you should reach out to Mecha Man.” Serena suggests. “He deals with the Red Ring regularly, he might be able to find some proof.”

“I really doubt Mecha Man wants to hear from me.” Especially if Zahir almost killed him which… which he might have.

“You should reach out to someone Zahir.” She tries. “Robert, Mecha Man, this situation is messy and you deserve to have your side heard more clearly.” Zahir doesn’t respond and Serena sighs. “If I can get you transferred out of this prison, will you please reach out to someone?”

“You can… You can do that?” Zahir asks.

“I should be able to, yes.”

“And you’ll do it if I write a letter?”

“I’ll do it either way.” Serena says. “I’m just hoping it’s enough show of trust, that you’ll also write a letter.”

“I’ll think about it.” And he really does. He thinks about it constantly. Zahir doubts he can send a letter to Robert before he’s transferred, the Red Ring would definitely intercede, but maybe the next prison won’t be so corrupt. Maybe if he tells Robert about Shroud’s confession, there won’t be any way for Shroud to blackmail him and since he won’t be at Shroud’s prison anymore Robert really could visit him.

Except all that relies on Robert caring that Zahir maybe wasn’t in his right mind and Zahir… Zahir doesn’t know if Robert will care. What if he hears about Shroud’s confession and dismisses it as Zahir lying? Or thinks it’s not enough to explain his actions? Or says he’s already moved on? Or-

Zahir doesn’t find the courage to write Robert a letter.

But Serena gets him transferred and doesn’t push, just tells him he deserves more, which might be worse, so he does write a letter.

Just, one for his sister.

He’s not really expecting a response. Even less is he expecting a visit. And yet there she is. His sister. Sitting anxiously across the power-proof glass as he’s lend into the room. She looks so much older than he remembers, but then why wouldn’t she? He hasn’t seen her since she was a teenager. Zahir’s almost surprised he recongizes her at all.

“Hi.” Zahir breaths the word into the microphone, still not entirely sure this is actually happening. What if this is a dream? Or worse – a trick from Shroud?

What if it’s real?

“Um, hi.” Khadija returns, dark eyes darting to his and then away again.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you.” Zahir admits when the silence starts to stretch.

“I wasn’t expecting to come.” Khadija admits in turn.

“Why did you?” Zahir can’t help but ask.

“Because our families full of shitty people, I guess.” Khadija huffs a laugh that might be nervous or it might be bitter. “Including you, I mean you are in prison, but you’re also the only one that’ll talk to me and I just… I don’t know Zahir.” There’s a frazzled look to her expression, one Zahir remembers well. The kind you get when you step off the broken foundation your life was built on and struggle to make sense of the world without it, struggle to tell Right and Wrong from What I Was Told Was Right and What I Was Told Was Wrong.

“What happened?” Zahir asks.

“I had a daughter. Moska. She’s five now.” His breath catches. He’s an uncle? “They wanted me to give her up.”

“They what?” Zahir really shouldn’t be surprised by his father’s cruelty at this point, and yet…

“Her father’s an alpha.” Khadija explains and really, that’s enough for Zahir make sense of the situation. She continues anyway. “He said he didn’t care I was a beta, but he rolled over the second his parents found him an ‘acceptable’ omega.” She scoffs. “Moska wasn’t even one yet. Everyone told me I should hand her over like I was a surrogate or a babysitter or something less than her mother. I refused.” Zahir doesn’t need to imagine how their father reacted to that.

“I’m glad you and her got out.” He says.

“I thought about reaching out to you.” Khadija admits, quietly like she’s admitting something shameful. “It felt… I mean, I’m sorry. For not being the family you needed. For not having a backbone until it was my daughter that needed it.”

“We were kids Khadija.” Zahir rejects the apology immediately. “Lots of people failed me – failed us – but you weren’t one of them.” He hadn’t felt that way when he was seventeen, but she was only fifteen in a world that taught her to feel meaningless. An easily replaced place holder. How was she meant to stand up to their father? “I’m sorry I couldn’t get my shit together soon enough to help you.”

“We were kids Zahir.” Khadija parrots his own words back to him, a small smile on her face before it falls. “But we’re not kids anymore. I… I want to be your family again but I can’t have Moska around a villain.”

“I’m done.” Zahir doesn’t know he means it until he says it, but he does mean it. He’s never handled power well. Always so desperate to feel it, to hold it, to be it. Was always so scared of losing it, he refused to consider the possibility.

Well, now he’s powerless. In the literal and the metaphorical sense. And he wants to blame someone else. Wants to blame Mecha Man or Shroud or his client. Denial is a deep, deep hole but Zahir is too exhausted to keep digging. There’s only one person to blame for everything he’s lost – his freedom, his fingers, Robert – and that person is ready to admit that power wasn’t worth everything he lost. And definitely isn’t worth losing a niece he’s never met over.

Khadija stares at him, searching his face for honesty. She doesn’t know him well enough to find it, but she’s hopeful enough to believe it’s there anyway.

“Okay.” She breaths the word, tension seeping from her shoulders. “Do you… do you wanna see photos?” Do you want a fresh start, she’s asking, and Zahir doesn’t hesitate to accept it.

Accepted.

Zahir can do nothing but stare at the application in his hands for a few minutes, brain refusing to commute the word stamped across it.

Accepted.

Accepted.

Accept-

“I thought Phoenix Program didn’t take guys like me.” He mutters, still expecting this to be some kind of trick. The kind of cruel prank Serena has never pulled.

“They didn’t use to.” His therapist admits. “But with Mecha Man’s fall last week, things are… unstable. SDN is trying to fill the power vacuum. Even if that means accepting villains that were previously deemed ‘too dangerous’.”

Because of course this is happening because of Mecha Man. Of course it is. The hero is dead and somehow he’s still finding a way to be the bigger person in Zahir’s life.

Dead.

Zahir still doesn’t know how to feel about that. He hasn’t seen the footage – they wouldn’t let that sort of thing get shown in a prison like this – but that didn’t stop word from spreading. The Mecha Man suit exploded. No body was recovered. The prison has been a mix of celebration and sombre moods. Sure, Mecha Man arrested a lot of people but he didn’t actually ruin that many lives. Plenty of prisoners are even in contact with the guy – or were in contact, up until last week. Zahir’s heard even some of the lifers are torn up about the death.

Him though? He really doesn’t know how he feels. Zahir’s never really known how he feels about Mecha Man. Angry, some days. When he’s too raw to admit his own faults. Guilty, other days. When he’s too tried to pretend he’s angry.

Honestly, it feels a little like finding out his mother died. The realisation that Zahir will never get closure. Will never be able to try and figure his shit out with a conversation.

He should have written that fucking letter.

“When do I leave?” Zahir asks.

“Tomorrow.” Serena answers. That’s… sooner than he expected. “Like I said, power vacuum.” Zahir nods and tries to push down his complicated feelings about Mecha Man to focus on the good stuff. He’s getting out of prison. He’s actually getting the chance to be a hero, to live the dream he gave up on decades ago. He’ll finally be able to meet Moska.

And maybe, just maybe, he’ll be able to see Robert again.

The Z-team is…

Frankly, the Z-team feels like a fucking scam.

“They acted like the wanted fucking fire power but all we’re doing is getting fucking coffee for dumbass rich fuckers.” Zahir huffs, downing his cocktail almost as soon as it gets placed on the table. “Like fucking seriously, why even let us out if that’s all they fucking needed?”

“If you’d rather be back in prison, go right ahead. I’ll kinda liking it out here.” Sonar says.

“You’re just in a good mood because the new dispatcher let you see your piss ass boy crush.” Invisigal rolls her eyes. “Or because you’re high.”

“He’s not high.” Malevola claims. “You’re not high, right?” She asks the bat hybrid a bit more quietly, sighing when all Sonar does is shrug. He’s definitely high.

“Does she count as the new dispatcher when she’s already quit?” Alice asks. “Who had money on today?”

“I’m not paying out for that shit, we got her fired. Doesn’t count.” Punch Up claims. “No one had money on her getting fired.”

“I’ve got money on Chase being fired eventually.” Coupe hums. “I’m surprised he hasn’t been, if this HR he speaks off really exists.”

“He hasn’t been fired because he hasn’t tried to punch any of us.” Golem says. Zahir’s not sure how he got into the bar. Then again this place doesn’t exactly check IDs.

“Yet.” Coupe adds.

“Please, he’s not going to try and punch anyone. His heart would give out.” Invisigal scoffs.

“I would have respected the bitch for the punch if she hadn’t tried to blame Punch Up for the broken fingers.” Alice says. “At least Miss Blazer was smart enough not to fall for that shit.”

“Not my fault I got super strength.” Punch Up nods in agreement, ignoring Mal’s muttered ‘wasn’t it literally your fault you got super strength?’.

“She’d had broken her hand even if you didn’t have super strength.” Zahir huffs. “Dumbass put her thumb inside her fist.”

The SDN part of this might feel like a scam but as the conversation flows around him, Zahir has to admit the Z-team part might not be. Maybe it’s just trauma bonding over their shitty, short lived Dispatchers but he kinda likes these fuckers. On nights like this, they even feel a little like pack.

Which, really, just makes it harder to ignore the Robert-sized hole in his heart.

“You can literally do so much fucking better than that thin skinned prick, Bae.” Alice notices. She always notices. But she’s a good friend so she waits until it’s just the two of them to comment on it. Zahir could be a dick, could pretend he doesn’t know what she’s on about, but he just sighs.

“I literally can’t.”

“He fucking ghosted your ass.” Alice reminds. “And it wasn’t even the first time.”

“And it’s not the first time we’ve had this argument.” Zahir reminds. “You’re not going to convince me.”

“If you come out to a nice gay bar with me, I’m sure someone can convince you.” Alice argues, as if they haven’t already done that. Zahir got as far as kissing one skinny guy with brown hair, but the second his hands touched the guys flawless skin the illusion was ruined and Zahir pushed him away.

“I could sleep with a thousand guys, it wouldn’t change this.” Zahir says, tapping the covered scar on his throat. It hasn’t faded, despite the near three years it’s been since he’s seen Robert. It never will. But Zahir knew that when he asked Robert to bite him.

Has Robert’s scar faded? Probably. Zahir will be lucky if there’s even the faintest trace of his teeth still etched on Robert’s skin.

He’ll be lucky if no one’s replaced them.

The thought brings a scowl to his face that he tries to hide in his drink. He’s not quick enough for the expression to go unnoticed and Alice sighs.

“Maybe you should go see him.” She huffs. “Get it through that thick skull of yours that it’s time to move on.” She said something similar the first time Robert disappeared. Handed him the address she’d tracked down, told him to dress up nice, and show that stupid fucker what he missed out on so he could get it out of his system. She hadn’t been thrilled when he showed up afterwards with Robert’s teeth marked across his throat, but she’d gotten over it. That she offers the same advice now makes Zahir hopefully she’d get over it again, even if he knows he shouldn’t be getting his hopes up like this.

Maybe Robert’s not home.

Zahir stands in front of the apartment door, shuffling his feet and trying not to knock again. Give it a few seconds, he tells himself.

Maybe Robert’s moved.

He gives in and knocks a third time. Does his knocking sound too angry? Too causal?

Maybe Robert knows it’s him and that’s why he’s not opening the door.

This was a stupid idea anyway. It’s too much. Makes him feel like a fucking stalker. He should have written a note and left the key to Robert’s warehouse in his mailbox and then hoped Robert called him.

But he just…

“I just want to see you again.” Zahir mutters, leaning his head against the door. Even if it’s to hear Robert say he’s done. That no amount of saving cats from trees will ever make up for his mistakes. If breaking his heart all over again is the cost of seeing Robert, he’ll pay it.

“What are you doing?” The growl startles Zahir away from the door. The growler stands in the hallway, dark eyes narrowed into a glare at Zahir. They’re probably about Zahir’s age, although shorter than him by a head an a half. Their braided black hair is littered with white streaks that doesn’t match how young they look, and the scarf they’re wearing doesn’t match how warm it is – although it’s not like Zahir’s the best judge of temperature. He gives the air a sniff but either the stranger is a beta with a particularly weak scent, or they’re wearing good blockers underneath that scarf.

“I, uh…” He leans back from the door and clears his throat. “I’m just looking for the guy that lives here.” The guy he hopes still lives here. The strangers eyes narrow further.

“Why?” They demand.

“That’s not really any of your fucking business.” Zahir bristles, not liking how accusatory they’re being right off the bat. It’s not illegal to be standing in front of an apartment door knocking.

“It is my business if you’re here to hurt him.”

Oh.

Zahir has to smoother the fire that wants to ignite along his shoulders.

“Why? Who are you to him?” He growls, unable to smoother his emotions the way he does his flames. Has Robert really moved on already? Sure, Zahir’s been worried about it but that doesn’t mean he actually expected it. And with this prick? What’s so special about them?

“Oh please, like all you Red Ring jerks don’t know who I am.” The stranger huffs.

“I’m not Red Ring.” Zahir snaps. They know about the Red Ring? Then they really are someone important to Robert, right? Not like Robert goes around advertising his connection to the group. Maybe this is that brother Robert mentioned he lost touch with – Chase, Zahir remembers. They look about the right age. And if this is Robert’s brother then they can’t be Robert’s new partner, right?

Right?

“Oh sure, and I’ll just believe that.” The hopefully Chase scoffs, rolling their eyes. “Get lost, and tell your boss if he wants to get to Robert he’s going to need to get through me. And trust me, you’ll need a Miracle to make that happen.”

“I’m not Red Ring.” Zahir repeats. “I’m just-” Just what? Robert’s villainous ex? Does that make him any better? Zahir forces himself to take a deep breath. “Look, I’ll go, but can you tell him I stopped by? Name’s Zahir. I’m working at SDN now, I’m there most days if he...” The stranger doesn’t react to his name, which might hurt more than a slap across the face. Robert hasn’t mentioned him? Really? This guy knows about the Red Ring but he doesn’t know about Zahir? That’s…

“I uh, I have his warehouse key. If he wants it back.” Zahir adds, mumbling, because he suddenly feels the need to justify his presence. He leaves quickly. There are tears prickling behind his eyes and Zahir would really rather not have a break down so publicly. Especially not in front of Robert’s new partner. It could be his brother, he tells himself but the assurance feels hollow.

At least Zahir makes it to his own apartment before he starts sobbing. His own apartment that’s been filled with everything he and Robert used to share. Things that don’t even smell like Robert anymore. But maybe, maybe if just shuts his eyes he can pretend they do. Just for a little bit.

Robert never stops by.

“I’m not saying he didn’t deserve it, but couldn’t you have waited one more day to set the bitches car on fire?” Alice huffs over the phone. “I had seventy dollars riding on this, Bae.”

“And I had one-twenty riding on the fuckass quitting yesterday.” Zahir rolls his eyes. “Should have set the fuckers car on fire yesterday if that’s all it fucking took.” Then, at least, he wouldn’t’ve had to listen to the moronic douchebag’s mocking voice when he noticed Zahir getting changed in the locker room today.

“No wonder you’ve got a stick up your ass if you’ve been bitched.” Zahir grinds his teeth as he remembers. “What? Big bad Flambae too weak to protect himself in prison?” The punch had been satisfying, but not nearly as satisfying as setting the fucker’s car on fire.

“You know, if you’d just told Miss Blazer what he said she’d have fired him and then none of us would have had to pay out.” Alice claims.

“Just cause you’ve got a hard on for Blazer doesn’t mean the rest of us trust her.” Zahir says.

“Don’t act like I’m the weird one here. You’re the only one that doesn’t have a hard on for Miss Blazer.” Alice says.

“Pretty sure Coupe and Punch Up only have hard on’s for each other.”

“You wouldn’t be saying that if you knew the kind of shit Coupe reads in the break room.”

“I don’t wanna know. You coming out tonight or what?”

“What? And have to pay Punch Up before I get my next check? No thanks.”

“Wow. You’ll follow me intro the Phoenix Program but you won’t come help me pay for drinks. I see how it is.”

“Well, maybe if you’d waited one more fucking day to set the bitch’s car on fire, I’d be buying you drinks.”

“Oh get over it Alice. We’ll get a new disbitcher tomorrow and you can win that bet. I’ll even help.” Zahir says.

“You’d fucking better.”

Zahir doubts he’ll actually need to. If the next dispatcher makes it a week, he’ll have to ask Mal if hell’s frozen over.