Archive of Our Own

The operations floor at SDN was louder than usual.

A mission had wrapped not twenty minutes earlier, which meant half the building was still running on adrenaline and the other half was trying to organise the aftermath. Screens glowed across the room with mission footage, analysts talking over one another while techs moved between stations with tablets in hand.

Chase stood near the back railing overlooking the floor, arms folded as he watched the chaos settle into something resembling order.

This part of the job he understood.

After a fight people relaxed too fast. Guards dropped. Personalities came back online.

Which was why patterns were easiest to spot right after a mission.

His eyes moved across the room automatically, tracking his team the way he always did.

Prism arguing with a tech about damage reports.

Golem leaning against a support pillar while a medic checked the cracks running along his stone forearms.

And near the far end of the room—

Flambae.

The pyro was in the middle of an argument with one of the junior heroes, voice raised enough that several nearby staff had subtly started drifting away from the blast radius.

“…I’m telling you that corridor was compromised,” the hero insisted.

“It wasn’t,” Flambae shot back.

“You literally set half the ceiling on fire.”

“That was strategic.”

“That was reckless.”

Flambae’s temper flared instantly.

Heat rolled down the hallway as flames began crawling slowly up his forearms, bright and restless.

The junior hero took a cautious half step back.

Across the floor, Robert looked up from the tablet he’d been reviewing.

Chase noticed the shift before anything even happened.

Robert walked straight toward them.

Flambae was still mid-argument.

“—if you’d just followed the damn evac plan—”

“Flambae.”

That was it.

Just his name.

Flambae stopped.

The flames flickered.

Then died completely.

The change was so abrupt it was almost ridiculous.

He scowled down at Robert.

“…What.”

Robert looked up at him with the kind of tired expression usually reserved for malfunctioning equipment.

Then he reached up and gave the side of Flambae’s face a quick pat.

“You’re gonna set the smoke alarm off,” he said flatly. “Let’s take a lap.”

He jerked his thumb down the hallway.

“That’s what your anger management therapist told you to do.”

And then he turned and walked away.

Didn’t wait.

Didn’t look back.

Just assumed Flambae would follow.

Behind him, Flambae stood there for a second, jaw tight, watching Robert disappear down the hall.

Then he huffed under his breath.

“Fucking bossy.”

And followed him.

The junior hero they’d been arguing with stood there alone, looking vaguely stunned.

From the balcony above, Chase slowly lowered the tablet in his hands.

“…Huh.”

He watched the hallway where they’d disappeared.

That had been strange.

Flambae argued with everyone.

The man practically ran on confrontation.

But that hadn’t been a confrontation.

That had been… compliance.

Chase frowned faintly.

Maybe it was a one-off.

Maybe—

A few minutes later the two of them returned.

Robert headed back toward the briefing area, Flambae trailing behind him.

Too close behind him.

Chase leaned slightly on the railing.

Flambae closed the last bit of distance without even seeming to think about it, stepping right into Robert’s space.

Then his arms slid around Robert’s shoulders from behind.

He hooked his chin casually over Robert’s shoulder like an oversized, extremely smug backpack.

Robert immediately stiffened.

“Get off.”

“You’re warm.”

“Flambae.”

“You’re like a little portable heater.”

Robert elbowed him hard in the ribs.

Flambae just laughed and squeezed tighter.

Chase stared.

Robert hated people in his personal space.

Hated it.

Chase himself got away with it because—

Well.

Because Chase was Chase.

But this?

This was new.

Robert rolled his eyes.

“Seriously, get off me.”

“Make me.”

Robert shoved backward, knocking him off balance just enough to break the hold.

Flambae straightened with a grin.

“Violence isn’t the answer, Mecha Bitch.”

Robert didn’t even look at him.

“Shut up.”

A rookie technician nearby blinked in confusion.

“…Did he just call you—”

“Yes,” Robert said flatly.

“And you’re just letting that happen?”

Robert slid his tablet under one arm and started walking toward the briefing room.

“I’ve tried fighting it,” he said tiredly.

“It only makes him stronger.”

Flambae looked delighted.

Chase pinched the bridge of his nose.

This was getting worse.

They reached the briefing room doors.

Flambae moved to follow Robert inside—

And bumped into Chase.

He hadn’t even noticed him standing there.

Flambae blinked once.

“…You spawn here or something, Track Star?”

Chase didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

He looked past Flambae at Robert.

“Robert.”

Robert sighed immediately.

“What.”

Chase gestured back toward the operations floor.

“That hotheaded arsonist is flirting with you.”

Robert stared at him.

“What?”

Across the doorway, Flambae leaned casually against the frame.

“Am I?”

Robert rubbed a hand over his face.

“No.”

Flambae grinned.

And winked at him.

Chase slowly turned his head toward Robert again.

Robert looked at the floor.

“…He is not.”

Chase stared at him for a long moment.

Then he nodded once, deadpan.

“…You’re a genius, Robert. Truly.”

Flambae snorted.

Robert groaned.

And that was the exact moment Chase decided he was going to be a problem about this.

By the end of the week, Chase had reached a conclusion.

The situation required active management.

Robert, unfortunately, had the situational awareness of a houseplant when it came to people flirting with him, and Flambae had the emotional restraint of a lit match in a fireworks factory. Left alone, the two of them would absolutely wander into something messy.

Chase had no intention of letting that happen.

Which meant intervention.

Frequent intervention.

Possibly constant intervention.

—

The first time happened in the hallway outside the equipment bay.

Flambae had Robert lightly boxed in against the wall, one arm braced above Robert’s head while he talked, tall enough that Robert had to tilt his head back to look at him.

Robert didn’t look bothered.

Which, frankly, was the problem.

“You’re ignoring the best part of the plan,” Flambae was saying, grin lazy and infuriating. “The part where I set the entire west wing on fire.”

“That’s not a plan,” Robert said.

“It is if it works.”

“It won’t.”

“It might.”

Robert folded his arms. “You say that about everything.”

Flambae leaned a little closer, clearly enjoying himself.

“Yeah, but with me it’s usually true—”

“Robert.”

Both of them turned.

Chase was leaning against the opposite wall of the corridor like he’d been standing there all afternoon.

Robert blinked.

“Jesus— Chase—”

Flambae squinted at him.

“…How long have you been there.”

“Long enough.”

Chase straightened and walked over, sliding neatly between them like he belonged there.

“Robert,” he said calmly, already steering him down the hallway. “Debrief.”

Robert stumbled a step.

“I literally don’t have—”

“You do now.”

“Chase.”

Chase didn’t even slow down.

Behind them, Flambae stared after the two of them.

“…Did he just kidnap you.”

Robert twisted slightly in Chase’s grip.

“Apparently.”

Chase waved a hand dismissively without looking back.

“Fire hazard, stay in your lane.”

Flambae snorted.

“Oh, I’m gonna stay somewhere.”

—

The second time happened in the briefing room.

Robert arrived early and dropped into one of the chairs near the centre table, already scrolling through mission notes.

A minute later Flambae wandered in.

He glanced around the room, spotted Robert immediately, and headed straight for the chair beside him.

He pulled it out.

Sat down.

“Morning, Mecha Bitch.”

Robert didn’t even look up.

“Good morning, walking OSHA violation.”

Flambae grinned.

“You wound me.”

Robert finally glanced over, rolling his eyes.

“Your ego will survive.”

Flambae leaned back in the chair, stretching his long legs out under the table.

“So about yesterday—”

The chair on Robert’s other side scraped loudly across the floor.

Both of them looked up.

Chase dropped into the seat.

Flambae stared at him.

“…That wasn’t your seat.”

“It is now.”

Robert pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Chase.”

“Yes.”

“Why are you here.”

“I’m attending the briefing.”

“You never sit here.”

Chase opened a folder calmly.

“People change.”

Flambae leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing.

“Oh my god.”

Chase didn’t look up.

“What.”

“You’re doing it on purpose.”

“Doing what.”

“This.”

Chase flipped a page.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Flambae stared at him for a long moment.

Then leaned back in his chair again.

“…Wow.”

Robert muttered into his hands.

“Please kill me.”

—

The third time happened after a mission.

The team had just returned to base, gear half-off and adrenaline still lingering.

Robert was standing near the lockers, working his gauntlets off when Flambae wandered over.

“You took that hit harder than you needed to,” Flambae said.

Robert shrugged.

“It worked.”

Flambae leaned against the lockers beside him, arms folded.

“Still stupid.”

Robert smirked faintly.

“You’re one to talk.”

Flambae opened his mouth—

An arm suddenly slung over Robert’s shoulders.

Both of them froze.

Chase was standing there.

Like he had always been there.

“Robert,” he said.

Robert turned his head slowly.

“…Yes.”

Chase started steering him away immediately.

“Debrief.”

Robert planted his feet.

“I literally just—”

“You do now.”

“Chase.”

Flambae pushed off the lockers, following them a few steps.

“Oh come on.”

Chase didn’t even turn around.

“Fire hazard, he’s busy.”

Flambae laughed incredulously.

“You’re unbelievable.”

Chase kept walking.

Robert looked back over his shoulder helplessly.

“Sorry.”

Flambae crossed his arms.

“Oh don’t apologise to me, Mecha Bitch.”

Chase finally glanced back.

Flambae was watching them with a slow grin spreading across his face.

“Careful, Track Star,” he drawled. “If you keep popping up like that people are gonna start thinking you’re his jealous ex.”

Chase stopped walking.

Robert went very still.

Slowly, Chase turned his head.

He looked Flambae directly in the eye.

“If I were his ex,” he said flatly, “you’d already be on fire.”

For a second there was silence.

Then Flambae burst out laughing.

Like full, head-tilted-back laughter.

Robert covered his face.

“Oh my god.”

Chase resumed walking like nothing had happened.

Flambae was still laughing as they disappeared down the hall.

Robert’s muffled voice echoed back.

“I hate both of you.”

Chase picked his moment carefully.

It couldn’t be in the middle of a briefing, or on the operations floor where half the building could overhear. Robert would just get defensive. Or worse—deflect with sarcasm until the conversation died.

No, this needed to be somewhere quiet.

Somewhere Robert couldn’t escape in under thirty seconds.

Which was how Robert ended up cornered in the equipment bay later that afternoon, halfway through recalibrating one of the gauntlet modules from his suit when Chase appeared beside the workbench.

Robert didn’t look up immediately.

“Whatever it is,” he said, tightening a bolt with a small wrench, “I didn’t do it.”

Chase crossed his arms.

“That’s not reassuring.”

Robert finally glanced over.

“…Why are you standing like that.”

“Like what.”

“Like you’re about to stage an intervention.”

Chase didn’t answer.

That alone was enough to make Robert pause.

“…Oh no.”

Chase waited a second longer, then said evenly, “You don’t want to get mixed up with him.”

Robert blinked.

“With—”

“With Flambae.”

Robert stared at him for a moment before sighing heavily and going back to his work.

“You barely know him.”

“I know the type.”

Robert tightened another screw, unimpressed.

“What type?”

Chase didn’t hesitate.

“The kind that burns everything around him.”

Robert stopped working.

Slowly, he set the wrench down on the table and folded his arms.

“You realise I literally pilot a reactor suit, right?”

“That’s different.”

“It is not.”

“Yes it is.”

Robert gave him a look.

“How.”

Chase opened his mouth.

Then closed it again.

Because annoyingly, Robert had a point.

Instead he shifted tactics.

“You get attached too easily.”

Robert’s expression flattened.

“That’s not—”

“I’ve seen it,” Chase cut in. “You dive in headfirst with people and assume it’ll work out.”

Robert leaned back against the workbench now, arms still crossed.

“That’s called having friends.”

“I’m not talking about friends.”

Robert knew exactly what he meant.

Which was why he didn’t answer right away.

Chase’s voice softened slightly.

“I’m serious, Rob.”

That made Robert finally look at him again.

“Guys like him?” Chase continued quietly. “They don’t stay.”

For a moment the room went still.

Robert’s expression didn’t change much, but something in his posture shifted—shoulders tightening just slightly.

Then he shrugged.

“Good thing I’m not planning my future around him.”

Chase studied him.

“You’re already defending him.”

“I’m correcting you.”

“It’s the same thing.”

Robert rolled his eyes and pushed away from the workbench.

“You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m being realistic.”

Robert grabbed the gauntlet module and slotted it back into the workbench tray.

“Flambae’s a pain in the ass, yeah. But he’s not some walking disaster waiting to ruin my life.”

Chase didn’t respond.

Robert paused.

Then added, a little quieter, “You don’t actually know him.”

Chase’s jaw tightened.

“I know enough.”

Robert sighed.

“Look, I get that you’re doing the whole overprotective big brother thing—”

“I’m not your brother.”

“No,” Robert said. “But you still act like it.”

That hung in the air for a second.

Chase didn’t deny it.

Robert grabbed a rag and wiped the grease off his hands.

“I can handle myself, Chase.”

“I know.”

“Then stop trying to run my social life.”

Chase exhaled slowly.

“You say that like you have one.”

Robert snorted.

“Rude.”

But he was already heading toward the door.

He paused beside Chase on the way out.

For a moment it looked like he might say something else.

Instead he just clapped Chase lightly on the shoulder.

“I’ll be fine,” he said.

Then he left.

Chase stood there for a while after the door shut.

Something about the conversation sat wrong in his chest.

Not because Robert had argued with him.

Robert always argued.

But because Chase could tell.

He was already losing that argument.

—

Three days later, the mission briefing appeared on the board.

Routine patrol.

Chase stared at the words longer than necessary.

Routine was the kind of word people used when they wanted everyone to relax.

He’d been around long enough to know that word usually meant the exact opposite.

Around the briefing table, the rest of the team filtered in.

Prism dropped into a chair with a yawn.

Golem leaned against the wall behind her.

Flambae strolled in last, hands in his pockets, immediately gravitating toward Robert’s side of the table like it was magnetic.

Chase noticed.

Of course he noticed.

Robert was already leaning over the holographic map, studying the mission layout.

Flambae leaned over his shoulder.

“Looks boring.”

Robert didn’t even glance up.

“That’s the point.”

Flambae nudged him lightly with his elbow.

“You’re no fun.”

Robert rolled his eyes.

Across the table, Chase watched the exchange with a growing sense of unease he couldn’t quite explain.

The mission coordinator began talking, outlining the route and patrol zones.

Nothing complicated.

Nothing unusual.

Nothing dangerous.

Routine.

Robert asked a few technical questions about structural layouts.

Flambae made a sarcastic comment about fire suppression systems.

The team nodded along as assignments were handed out.

It was all very normal.

Too normal.

Chase’s eyes flicked to Robert again.

Robert looked relaxed.

Focused.

Exactly the way he always looked before stepping into something dangerous.

Across from him, Flambae said something under his breath that made Robert snort quietly.

Chase felt that unease tighten just slightly.

He couldn’t put his finger on why.

The mission was supposed to be routine.

That was the phrase that would later make Chase want to put his head through a wall.

Routine containment. Minor threat. Mecha Man Blue providing heavy support while the rest of the team handled evac and perimeter control.

Robert had done missions ten times worse than this.

Which was why no one noticed the moment things started going wrong.

It happened fast.

Too fast.

The villain they’d been tracking — a kinetic amplifier — had more power than intel suggested. The kind that didn’t just throw force around but reflected it.

Mecha Man Blue hit him with a stabilised pulse from the reactor core.

The energy ricocheted.

Right back.

The impact cracked through the street like thunder.

The Mecha suit took the brunt of it, metal plating buckling inward with a shriek that set everyone’s teeth on edge. The force threw Robert straight through the side of a concrete parking structure.

The building groaned.

Then part of it collapsed.

Dust exploded into the air.

For a moment, everything went quiet.

Flambae’s head snapped toward the wreckage.

“Robert?”

No response.

The comm channel crackled.

“Mecha?” Prism’s voice came through, tight. “Robert, respond.”

Nothing.

Flambae’s stomach dropped.

“ROBERT.”

The parking structure sagged further, chunks of concrete sliding down into a growing pile of debris. The crushed blue plating of the Mecha suit was barely visible beneath it.

Someone swore over comms.

Another part of the structure shifted.

Flambae didn’t wait.

“Get everyone clear,” he snapped.

Then he ran straight into the wreckage.

At SDN headquarters, Chase was already on his feet before the call finished coming through.

“What do you mean he’s not responding.”

The tech at the console looked pale.

“Mecha Man Blue’s signal dropped after the impact. His suit is still transmitting but—”

“But what.”

“But the life signs are unstable.”

Chase’s chest went tight.

Every instinct in his body screamed at him to run.

Just run.

Cross the city in seconds.

He could be there in time to pull Robert out himself.

His fingers twitched.

His heart hammered.

And then he forced himself to stop.

Running now would kill him.

The doctors had been very clear about that.

One more full-speed sprint and his heart might simply… give out.

Chase clenched his fists hard enough his knuckles cracked.

“…Who’s on scene.”

“Most of Z Team. Flambae just entered the collapse zone.”

Chase exhaled slowly through his teeth.

“Tell him where the suit beacon is.”

Back at the wreckage, the heat hit first.

Flambae’s body ignited as he pushed deeper into the unstable structure, flames rolling over his skin as he forced his way through falling concrete and twisted steel.

The smoke didn’t bother him.

The fire didn’t bother him.

But the silence did.

“ROBERT!”

He kicked aside a slab of debris.

Nothing.

Another.

Nothing.

Then he saw it.

A flash of blue metal beneath a pile of broken concrete beams.

Flambae’s heart slammed into his ribs.

“Oh no.”

The Mecha suit was half buried, the chestplate dented inward where the reflected blast had struck. The reactor housing sparked weakly, lights flickering.

Flambae dropped to his knees beside it.

“Robbo.”

No response.

“Hey— hey, Mecha Dick, this isn’t funny.”

He shoved the debris aside with a burst of heat that cracked the concrete open.

The cockpit hatch was jammed.

Flambae grabbed the edge and pulled.

Metal screamed.

It didn’t move.

His flames surged hotter.

“Come on—”

He wrenched again.

The hatch tore free with a shriek of twisting steel.

Inside, Robert was slumped forward in the harness.

Blood ran down the side of his face.

The readouts inside the cockpit flashed erratically.

For one horrible second Flambae thought he wasn’t breathing.

Something inside his chest went cold.

“Robert.”

No response.

Flambae reached in, shaking him gently.

“Robert, hey—”

Robert made a faint, broken sound.

Relief hit so hard Flambae almost collapsed.

“Yeah, there you are,” he breathed.

Robert’s eyes fluttered weakly.

“Flam…?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

Flambae was already burning hotter now, carefully melting the twisted harness locks away from Robert’s chest.

“You’re stuck in here, genius. Thought you’d redecorate the building while you were at it?”

Robert tried to laugh.

It came out as a wheeze.

“Did it… work?”

“Yeah,” Flambae said tightly. “Real impressive. Nearly gave me a heart attack.”

The last restraint snapped free.

Flambae carefully pulled Robert out of the crushed cockpit.

The moment Robert’s weight sagged against him, he realised just how bad it was.

Robert couldn’t stand.

One arm hung limp.

His breathing was shallow.

Flambae’s flames flared instinctively.

“Stay with me,” he said, voice suddenly sharp. “You hear me, Robbo?”

Robert’s head lolled against his shoulder.

“‘M fine.”

“You are absolutely not fine.”

Flambae lifted him.

The concrete ceiling groaned overhead.

Someone shouted through the comm channel.

“Structure’s shifting again!”

Flambae didn’t answer.

He was already moving.

Fire exploded behind him as he blasted a path back out through the wreckage, carrying Robert against his chest.

The building collapsed seconds after he cleared the edge.

Dust and debris rained down behind them.

Flambae dropped to one knee on the street, still holding Robert tightly.

Medics were already running toward them.

Robert blinked slowly, barely conscious.

“Hey,” Flambae said quietly, brushing soot from his face.

Robert tried to focus on him.

“You’re… on fire.”

Flambae huffed out a shaky laugh.

“Yeah.”

Robert’s eyes started to close again.

Flambae tightened his grip on him.

“Hey— no, no, stay with me.”

The medics reached them, already checking Robert’s pulse and airway.

Flambae didn’t let go until they physically pulled Robert out of his arms and onto the stretcher.

As they rushed him toward the ambulance, Robert’s hand slipped weakly from Flambae’s sleeve.

Flambae stood there, flames flickering unevenly across his skin.

For the first time since joining the team, he looked genuinely terrified.

Back at headquarters, Chase stared at the live medical feed.

Robert on a stretcher.

Blood.

Oxygen mask.

Unconscious.

Chase’s jaw clenched so hard it hurt.

“…Is he alive?”

The medic on the screen nodded.

“Thanks to Flambae getting him out when he did.”

Chase exhaled slowly.

Relief and fear twisting together in his chest.

Then he muttered under his breath, voice rough:

“You reckless idiot.”

Flambae didn’t move when the ambulance doors slammed shut.

The sirens kicked on almost immediately, red lights washing across the street as the vehicle lurched into motion. For a moment he just stood there in the middle of the wreckage, heat still bleeding off his skin, staring after it like the world had narrowed down to that single flashing vehicle disappearing into traffic.

Behind him, the fight wasn’t over.

Sirens from police barricades. The villain still loose somewhere beyond the perimeter. Team comms crackling with orders and updates.

Prism landed beside him in a flash of light.

“Flambae.”

He didn’t answer.

“Hey.” She caught his arm, forcing him to look at her. Her visor reflected the fading ambulance lights. “We need to finish this.”

Flambae’s eyes drifted back to the street where the ambulance had vanished.

Something hot and restless twisted in his chest.

He shook his head once.

“This isn’t my mission anymore.”

Prism blinked.

“Excuse me?”

But Flambae was already turning away, flames licking along his arms as he bent his knees and launched into the air.

“Flambae—!”

Too late.

Fire burst behind him in a roaring plume as he shot upward, cutting across the skyline in the direction the ambulance had gone.

The comm in his ear crackled immediately.

“Flambae,” Chase’s voice snapped through the channel, sharp and controlled in that way that meant he was barely holding it together. “You are going far off course.”

Flambae’s jaw tightened.

The city blurred beneath him as he pushed faster, heat rippling the air around his body.

“Flambae,” Chase said again, louder this time. “Return to the fight. That’s an order.”

Flambae’s teeth clenched.

Below him, traffic parted as the ambulance cut through an intersection, sirens screaming.

He angled down slightly, locking onto it.

The comm crackled again.

“Flambae, do you hear me?”

Flambae growled under his breath.

His fingers reached up and yanked the earpiece out.

For a split second Chase’s voice cut sharply through the static.

“Don’t you fucking dare—”

Flambae crushed the device in his hand and threw it behind him without even looking.

It tumbled through the air and vanished somewhere between rooftops.

He didn’t slow down.

Didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t even look back.

The ambulance roared down the highway below, lights flashing through the dusk.

Flambae matched its speed easily, flames burning bright against the darkening sky as he followed overhead like a comet.

Inside the vehicle, medics worked frantically around Robert’s unmoving body.

Flambae could see it through the back windows when the vehicle turned.

The oxygen mask.

The blood.

The stillness.

Something ugly twisted in his chest.

His flames surged hotter.

“Stay alive, Mecha Bitch,” he muttered to the rushing wind.

Whether Chase liked him or not didn’t matter.

Whether the team liked it or not didn’t matter.

Robert was the priority.

And Flambae had already made his choice.

Back at SDN headquarters, Chase was already pacing before the tracking screen finished updating.

The large monitor at the front of the operations room showed the city grid in glowing lines, coloured dots marking team members across the map. The ambulance carrying Robert moved steadily toward the hospital, its icon flashing.

Another dot burned bright above it.

Then veered sharply away from the mission zone.

Chase stared at the screen.

“…Where is he going?”

The tech at the console hesitated.

Chase’s patience snapped instantly.

“Where is he going?”

Prism’s voice came through the comms, slightly breathless from the fight still happening on her end.

“He’s following the ambulance.”

Chase closed his eyes for a second.

Then he swore.

“That son of a fucking bitch.”

The room went very quiet.

On the screen, Flambae’s signal peeled away completely from the mission grid, chasing the ambulance across the city skyline.

Chase scrubbed a hand down his face.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

Prism cleared her throat over the comms.

“In fairness,” she said dryly, “he did say this wasn’t his mission anymore.”

Chase turned away from the screen with a groan.

“I swear to god if he abandons the field for—”

He stopped.

Because the ambulance icon had reached the hospital.

And Flambae’s dot stopped directly on top of it.

Chase’s jaw tightened.

“…Unbelievable.”

But the tightness in his chest eased just a fraction.

Robert wasn’t alone.

Even if the company was the last person Chase wanted watching over him.

Across the city, the ambulance screeched to a halt beneath the emergency entrance canopy.

Flambae hit the ground seconds later.

He landed harder than usual, boots cracking against the pavement as the last streaks of fire died off his skin. The sudden quiet after the roar of wind and flame made his ears ring.

The ambulance doors flew open.

Medics moved quickly, pulling the stretcher out and rolling it toward the sliding hospital doors.

Flambae followed.

No one stopped him.

No one even looked particularly surprised.

To be fair, hospitals in this city saw superheroes often enough that a flaming man trailing an ambulance probably barely made the top ten weirdest things that week.

Robert lay motionless on the stretcher as they rushed him inside.

The fluorescent lights of the emergency ward were blinding after the dark sky outside.

“Head trauma,” one of the medics said quickly to the incoming staff. “Possible internal bleeding, unstable vitals during transport.”

Flambae stayed a few steps behind them, his eyes locked on Robert’s face.

He looked wrong without the suit.

Too pale.

Too still.

They pushed the stretcher through a set of swinging doors.

A nurse turned and held up a hand.

“You can’t go past—”

Flambae stopped instantly.

The doors swung shut between them.

And just like that, Robert was gone.

The hallway suddenly felt too quiet.

Flambae stood there for a long moment, staring at the doors like he could will them open again.

His hands curled slowly into fists.

The heat under his skin flickered restlessly, little wisps of smoke escaping his sleeves before he forced it back down.

Hospitals and open flames were generally frowned upon.

A few nurses glanced at him from the desk.

One of them asked carefully, “Are you family?”

Flambae opened his mouth.

Paused.

Then muttered, “…Something like that.”

He sank down into one of the waiting chairs outside the trauma room.

For the first time since the building collapsed, he finally stopped moving.

The adrenaline drained away all at once.

Leaving behind a heavy, sick feeling in his stomach.

Flambae leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.

“Don’t die,” he muttered quietly.

“Please don’t die, you stubborn bastard.”

After that, there was nothing left to do but wait.

Flambae stayed exactly where he’d sat down.

The chair was uncomfortable, plastic and rigid, the kind designed to discourage people from settling in too long. It didn’t matter. He barely noticed it. His elbows rested on his knees, hands clasped together loosely, head bowed just enough that the fluorescent lights above didn’t stab straight into his eyes.

Hospitals had a strange kind of quiet.

Not silence — never silence. There were always distant voices, the steady beep of monitors somewhere down the hall, the squeak of rubber soles on polished floors. But it was a restrained noise, like everything was trying not to disturb the fragile balance between life and death behind those closed doors.

Flambae hated it.

Waiting had never been his strong suit.

His foot tapped once against the floor before he caught himself and stilled it. A faint wisp of smoke curled up from the seam of his sleeve, and he forced the heat back down immediately.

Setting off the fire alarm would definitely not help Robert.

He dragged a hand down his face and leaned back in the chair, staring at the closed trauma room doors across the hall.

They hadn’t opened once.

Every minute stretched.

Five.

Ten.

Twenty.

He had no idea how long he’d actually been sitting there.

His mind kept trying to wander somewhere he refused to let it go.

If—

No.

Flambae sat up straighter, jaw tightening.

Robert would be fine.

He had to be.

The guy piloted a walking nuclear reactor for fun. He’d survived worse things than a collapsing parking garage. He was stubborn in that infuriating, heroic way that made people throw themselves into danger like the laws of physics were optional.

Flambae had seen it on missions.

Robert charging in when someone else would hesitate.

Taking hits he shouldn’t take.

Pushing himself until someone physically forced him to stop.

Flambae exhaled slowly through his nose.

“…Idiot.”

His thumb rubbed absently across the side of his knuckle, a restless motion he didn’t seem to notice he was doing.

The memory of pulling Robert out of the suit kept replaying in his head.

The blood.

The way his body had gone slack in Flambae’s arms.

The moment — that horrible second — when he thought Robert wasn’t breathing.

Heat stirred under his skin again.

Flambae forced it down.

He couldn’t afford to lose control in a hospital corridor.

A nurse walked past him with a quick glance that lingered just a moment too long on the faint glow under his collarbone.

He gave her a tired look.

“Relax,” he muttered. “I’m not gonna burn the place down.”

She nodded politely and kept walking.

Flambae leaned forward again, elbows on his knees.

He stared at the floor tiles.

Then back at the doors.

Then at the clock on the wall.

Every second felt like an hour.

He tried not to imagine the worst.

Tried not to picture Chase getting a call he didn’t want to receive.

Tried not to imagine explaining to the team why he’d abandoned the mission only for—

His jaw clenched.

“No.”

The word came out under his breath.

Robert wasn’t dying in there.

Not tonight.

Not after everything.

Flambae rubbed his hands over his face again, then let them hang loosely between his knees as he stared at the doors.

“…You better pull through,” he muttered quietly to the empty hallway.

“Because if I dragged your stubborn ass out of a collapsing building just for you to check out now…”

His voice faltered slightly.

Then he huffed out a breath.

“…I’m gonna be really pissed at you, Robbo.”

Hours dragged past in slow, miserable increments.

Flambae had long since stopped checking the clock. Time didn’t feel real anymore. It just stretched and warped, every passing minute pressing heavier against his chest.

At some point a nurse had offered him water.

He’d taken the cup without really thinking about it, held it in his hands for a while, then forgotten to drink it.

The plastic crinkled softly under his grip.

His foot tapped again.

Stopped.

Started again.

A thin curl of smoke slipped from the collar of his jacket.

He forced it down with a sharp breath.

“Easy,” he muttered to himself.

A fire alarm would be a very bad look right now.

Across the hall, the trauma room doors remained stubbornly closed.

Flambae stared at them hard enough his eyes started to ache.

Flambae leaned forward again, elbows on his knees, rubbing his thumb across his knuckles in that restless little motion he’d been doing for the past hour.

Then finally—

The doors opened.

Flambae’s head snapped up.

A doctor stepped out, pulling his mask down around his neck as he scanned the waiting area.

“Mr—”

Flambae was already standing.

The doctor blinked.

He had to tilt his head back slightly just to maintain eye contact. Up close, Flambae was taller than he’d realised. Broader too. There was still a faint heat rolling off him, like standing too close to an open oven.

“Ah,” the doctor said slowly. “You’re… with Mr. Robertson?”

“Is he alive?”

The words came out sharp enough to cut glass.

The doctor nodded quickly.

“Yes. Yes, he’s stable.”

Flambae’s shoulders dropped a fraction.

The tight coil in his chest loosened just enough for him to breathe again.

“He suffered a concussion, two fractured ribs, and a dislocated shoulder,” the doctor continued, clearly trying to keep up with the urgency radiating off the man in front of him. “There’s some internal bruising, but we were able to stabilise him. He’ll need observation, but—”

“Can I see him.”

It wasn’t really a question.

The doctor nodded again.

“Yes, he’s in room—”

Flambae was already moving.

“—305B.”

The doctor blinked at the empty space where Flambae had been standing.

“…Right.”

Flambae speed-walked down the hallway like a man on a mission.

Nurses and orderlies flattened themselves politely against the walls as he passed. The heat trailing behind him made the air shimmer faintly.

305B.

305B.

305—

There.

He shoved the door open.

Robert lay in the hospital bed, propped slightly upright, one arm in a sling and various wires running from the monitors beside him. A bandage wrapped around his head where the cut had been stitched.

He looked pale.

Bruised.

Exhausted.

But he was breathing.

The steady beep of the heart monitor filled the quiet room.

Flambae stopped just inside the doorway.

For the first time since the building collapsed, his chest loosened completely.

“…Jesus Christ.”

Robert stirred slightly at the sound.

His eyes blinked open slowly, unfocused at first.

Then they landed on the tall, fire-lit figure standing in the doorway.

“…Flam?”

His voice was rough.

Flambae let out a breath that was half laugh, half something shakier.

“Yeah,” he said quietly.

Robert squinted at him.

“…You’re on fire.”

Flambae glanced down at the faint flames licking around his forearms and sighed.

“Yeah, yeah.”

He smoothed his hands down his arms and the fire vanished.

Then he crossed the room in a few quick steps and dropped into the chair beside the bed like his legs had finally decided they were done holding him up.

Robert watched him blearily.

“You… look terrible.”

Flambae stared at him.

Then barked out a laugh.

“Oh that’s rich.”

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the mattress beside Robert’s hand.

“You got hit with a reflected energy blast, crushed inside a mech suit, and buried under half a building.”

Robert’s eyes fluttered slightly.

“…Yeah.”

Flambae shook his head slowly, relief and lingering adrenaline still buzzing under his skin.

“You scared the hell out of me, Robbo.”

Robert blinked up at him.

“…Sorry.”

Flambae reached over without thinking and nudged Robert’s fingers lightly with his thumb.

“Yeah,” he muttered.

“You better be.”

By the time Chase made it to the hospital, the sky outside had long since gone dark.

SDN only closed the operation once the villain had been contained and the civilians cleared. Chase had stayed the whole time, jaw tight, forcing himself to focus on the mission even while half his mind sat in a hospital room across the city.

The moment the final report was signed off, he left.

No superspeed.

Just a quiet car ride and the dull ache in his joints reminding him exactly why he couldn’t run anymore.

The hospital corridors were dimmer at night, the fluorescent lights lowered, the traffic of staff thinner. Chase moved down the hallway slowly, the faint echo of his uneven steps following him.

305B.

He stopped outside the door.

For a second he just stood there, hand hovering near the handle.

Then he pushed it open.

The room was quiet.

Soft.

The only sound was the steady beep of the heart monitor beside the bed.

Robert lay propped up against the pillows, pale but breathing evenly. The bandage around his head looked stark against his dark hair, and the sling kept his shoulder immobilised against his chest.

But he was awake.

Or at least… he had been.

Now he was very still.

Chase’s gaze shifted.

And then he saw him.

Flambae was slumped sideways in the chair beside the bed, fast asleep.

At some point he’d clearly lost the fight against exhaustion. His body was half twisted toward the mattress, one arm draped loosely across Robert’s legs, his head resting directly in Robert’s lap.

Chase froze in the doorway.

Robert’s good hand rested lightly on top of Flambae’s head, fingers tangled faintly in his hair like the motion had just… stopped midway through.

His other hand lay open on the mattress beside him, palm facing upward.

For a moment Chase just stared.

The room was warm.

Warmer than the rest of the hospital hallway had been.

Flambae’s presence did that — the subtle, constant heat rolling off him like a living space heater. It filled the room gently without turning it stifling.

Robert’s breathing was slow and steady.

Flambae’s too.

The pyrokinesis looked…wrecked.

His shoulders slumped forward in sleep, tension gone from his posture in a way Chase had never seen before. There were faint soot stains on his jacket, a smudge of dried blood on his sleeve that definitely wasn’t his.

He’d clearly never left after arriving.

Chase’s expression tightened.

He stepped into the room quietly, letting the door close behind him with a soft click.

Flambae didn’t stir.

Robert blinked his eyes open slowly at the movement.

It took him a second to focus.

“…Chase?”

Chase came closer to the bed, lowering his voice instinctively.

“Hey.”

Robert gave him a weak smile.

“You made it.”

“Of course I made it.”

Chase’s eyes flicked briefly to the bandage on Robert’s head, then the sling, then the monitor readings.

“You look like hell.”

Robert huffed out a faint laugh.

“Feel like it too.”

Chase nodded once.

Then his gaze slid downward again.

To Flambae.

Still very much asleep in Robert’s lap.

Chase scowled.

He was glad Robert wasn’t alone.

He really was.

But did it have to be this fucking guy.

Robert followed his gaze and smiled faintly.

“He’s been here the whole time.”

Chase’s brow furrowed slightly.

“Since when?”

“Since the ambulance.”

Chase glanced back down at the sleeping figure.

Flambae shifted slightly in his sleep, his head pressing unconsciously a little deeper against Robert’s thigh.

Robert’s fingers moved without thinking, brushing once lightly through his hair.

The motion was soft.

Automatic.

Chase watched it.

Something complicated flickered across his face.

“…He abandoned the mission,” Chase muttered.

Robert sighed.

“He saved my life.”

Chase didn’t answer right away.

His eyes lingered on Flambae again.

On the exhaustion etched into his posture.

The soot and dust still clinging to his clothes.

The faint warmth filling the room.

Eventually Chase looked back at Robert.

“…Yeah,” he admitted quietly.

“I heard.”

Chase sighed and dragged a chair over from the corner of the room and sat down beside the bed.

He didn’t sit too hard — hospitals had a way of amplifying every noise — but the legs still scraped softly against the tile. Flambae didn’t stir.

The man was out.

Completely gone.

Chase glanced at him again, half expecting the fire ghoul to snap awake the moment he entered the room, sharp-tongued and defensive like he usually was.

Instead he was dead asleep.

Face half buried against Robert’s thigh, one arm loosely draped across the mattress like he’d just… dropped there and never recovered.

Chase frowned faintly.

Robert shifted slightly in the bed.

“How bad was it?” he asked quietly.

Chase leaned back in his chair.

“You knocked half a parking structure down.”

Robert winced.

“…Right.”

“Three blocks had to be evacuated.”

“Oops.”

Chase gave him a look.

“Oops?”

Robert raised his good hand weakly in surrender.

“Okay, in my defence, the intel didn’t say the guy could reflect kinetic output.”

“Which is why we test before firing full reactor bursts,” Chase said dryly.

Robert sighed.

“Yeah.”

Silence settled for a moment.

The steady beep of the monitor filled the space between them.

Then Chase’s eyes drifted back down again.

To the man sleeping in Robert’s lap.

Chase rubbed his temple.

“You realise he’s dangerous.”

Robert didn’t even look surprised.

“Here we go.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

Chase leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice instinctively.

“He loses control when he gets emotional.”

Robert blinked.

Then slowly glanced down at the sleeping figure currently using his leg as a pillow.

“…Does he?”

Flambae shifted faintly in his sleep, brow furrowing slightly like he was dreaming.

A faint flicker of warmth rolled through the room.

Then it settled again.

Chase’s mouth tightened.

“That’s not the point.”

Robert’s lips twitched.

“You said he catches fire when he gets emotional.”

“Yes.”

Robert gestured weakly downward.

“He’s currently asleep in my lap.”

Chase glared at him.

“That doesn’t prove anything.”

Robert raised an eyebrow.

Chase tried again.

“He’s volatile.”

Robert hummed thoughtfully.

Flambae made a quiet noise in his sleep and shifted again, one hand sliding a little closer to Robert’s hip like he was instinctively anchoring himself.

Robert’s fingers moved automatically through his hair once more.

Chase watched the motion.

His argument lost a little steam.

“…He used to be a villain,” Chase added stubbornly.

Robert sighed.

“So did Prism.”

“That’s different.”

“You keep saying that.”

Chase rubbed the back of his neck, clearly irritated that his points weren’t landing the way he wanted them to.

Robert studied him for a moment.

“You were watching the feed, weren’t you?”

Chase didn’t answer immediately.

Robert tilted his head slightly.

“You saw the part where he pulled me out.”

Chase exhaled slowly through his nose.

“…Yeah.”

Robert’s voice softened.

“He stayed the whole time.”

Chase glanced down again.

At the soot on Flambae’s sleeve.

At the faint burn marks on the edge of his jacket.

At the way his hand was still loosely curled against the mattress near Robert’s leg.

Like he’d fallen asleep mid-watch.

Chase’s jaw shifted.

“…He still abandoned the mission.”

Robert huffed.

“Chase.”

“What.”

“He thought I might die.”

Chase looked at him sharply.

Robert held his gaze.

For a moment neither of them said anything.

Then Chase looked back down at Flambae again.

The guy hadn’t moved.

Hadn’t woken up.

Hadn’t even reacted to their conversation.

Just breathing slowly, heat warming the room like a quiet campfire.

Chase muttered under his breath.

“…Still a hotheaded idiot.”

Robert smiled faintly.

“Yeah.”

A beat passed.

Then Chase added gruffly,

“…You’re still not dating him.”

Robert blinked.

“Chase—”

“I mean it.”

Robert looked down at the man asleep in his lap.

Then back at Chase.

“…You realise you’re saying this while he’s literally acting like a very large cat.”

Chase stared at the scene again.

Flambae’s head.

Robert’s hand in his hair.

The peaceful, completely unguarded posture.

Chase scowled.

“…I hate this.”

Over the next few days, Chase’s visits settled into something that looked suspiciously like a routine.

He told himself he was checking on Robert. Making sure the doctors weren’t missing anything. Making sure Robert wasn’t trying to sneak out of the hospital the second someone turned their back.

But every time he stepped into the room, Flambae was already there.

Usually in the chair pulled tight against the side of the hospital bed.

The fire hero had somehow made that chair his territory. His jacket hung over the back of it, one long leg usually stretched halfway into the aisle while the other was tucked under the seat. The bedside table was crowded with things that definitely hadn’t come from the hospital cafeteria — real food, a thermos, once even a small container of cut fruit.

Chase lingered in the doorway the first afternoon he noticed it.

Flambae sat in the chair beside the bed, elbows on his knees, watching Robert pick half-heartedly at a container of noodles.

“Hospital food trying to kill you again?” Flambae asked.

Robert squinted down at it.

“I think this is supposed to be chicken.”

Flambae leaned sideways, reached to the table, and slid a different container into Robert’s lap.

“Eat that instead.”

Robert lifted the lid.

“…Did you cook this.”

“Don’t sound so shocked.”

Robert took a bite.

Paused.

Then shrugged.

“…Alright, that’s actually good.”

Flambae looked smug.

Chase scowled quietly from the doorway.

He’s dangerous, Chase reminded himself.

Volatile. Reckless.

The air around Flambae was warm enough that the hospital room never felt cold.

A walking fire hazard.

And yet Robert was eating for the first time all day.

—

Another evening Chase came by and found the two of them sitting side by side on the hospital bed.

Flambae had kicked his boots off and was leaning back against the headboard, long legs stretched out across the mattress.

A deck of cards was spread across the blanket between them.

Robert sat propped against the pillows, carefully shuffling with his good hand while Flambae watched with open scepticism.

“You’re cheating,” Robert said.

“I’m improvising.”

“You’re cheating.”

“You’re bitter because your robot hands are slow.”

Robert flicked a card at his face.

Flambae caught it midair and grinned.

“Violence isn’t the answer, Mecha Bitch.”

Robert rolled his eyes and leaned forward to grab another card from the pile.

Their shoulders bumped.

Neither of them reacted.

Chase leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, watching the quiet rhythm of it.

Flambae leaning back lazily against the headboard.

Robert frowning at the cards like they’d personally offended him.

The two of them arguing under their breath while the deck slowly disappeared.

Robert actually laughed at something Flambae said.

Not loudly.

But enough that Chase noticed.

He told himself it didn’t mean anything.

—

The more time passed, the more Chase started noticing things he hadn’t expected to notice.

Flambae rarely stayed still for long.

If Robert shifted uncomfortably against the pillows, Flambae would lean forward from the chair to fix whatever had moved — tugging the blanket back into place, straightening the IV line so it didn’t pull when Robert moved his arm.

Once, Robert tried to reach the bedside table himself and immediately winced.

Flambae caught the movement from across the room.

“Don’t.”

“I can grab it.”

“You’re concussed.”

“I’m fine.”

Flambae stood anyway, grabbed the cup, and handed it to him.

“Drink your water, Mecha Bitch.”

Robert muttered something rude but took the cup.

Chase watched the exchange from the doorway, brow furrowing slightly.

That kind of attentiveness wasn’t what he’d expected.

—

One night he arrived late.

The hallway lights were dimmed and the hospital floor had gone quiet.

Chase pushed the door open just enough to look inside.

Flambae sat in the chair beside the bed, elbows resting on his knees. One of Robert’s hands was loosely held between his own, thumb moving slowly over Robert’s knuckles.

Robert was asleep.

Flambae was talking anyway.

“You’re a stubborn bastard, you know that?”

His voice was lower than Chase had ever heard it.

“Throwing yourself into fights like that.”

His thumb kept tracing the same slow circles across Robert’s hand.

“You scare the hell out of people when you do that.”

Chase stood in the doorway longer than he meant to.

His first instinct was irritation.

Who talks to a grown man like that?

But Robert’s breathing stayed slow and steady.

He slept easier.

Even shifted slightly toward the warmth beside the bed.

Chase didn’t interrupt.

—

The moment that really changed something happened two nights later.

Chase stepped into the room expecting to find Robert asleep.

Instead he found Flambae slumped forward in the chair beside the bed, head tipped sideways until it rested against the edge of the mattress.

He’d fallen asleep there.

Robert was barely awake, blinking slowly at the ceiling.

After a moment he shifted and nudged Flambae’s shoulder weakly.

“…Water.”

Flambae groaned.

Then immediately pushed himself upright.

“Yeah, yeah. Hold on.”

He grabbed the plastic cup from the bedside table, bent the straw toward Robert’s mouth, and held it steady while he drank.

Robert sank back into the pillows once he was done.

Flambae set the cup down again and pulled the blanket higher over Robert’s chest.

Careful.

Deliberate.

Patient.

Chase stood frozen in the doorway for nearly a minute before muttering quietly under his breath.

“…Goddammit.”

Because the truth was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.

Flambae was good for him.

—

Over the next few days Chase kept noticing details he hadn’t expected to notice.

The way Flambae’s heat warmed the room whenever Robert started shivering.

The way his voice dropped softer whenever he spoke to him.

The way he paused mid-gesture if Robert looked too tired to answer.

Little things.

Quiet things.

By the time the doctors finally cleared Robert to leave the hospital, Chase had reached a deeply irritating conclusion.

Flambae hadn’t screwed it up.

In fact, he’d done the exact opposite.

Chase still didn’t trust him.

Not fully.

Flambae was reckless. Volatile. Entirely capable of losing control in ways that could hurt someone.

But as Chase watched him help Robert slowly swing his legs over the edge of the hospital bed, one hand steady on his shoulder to keep him balanced, another thought crept in despite his best efforts.

He takes care of him.

Chase hated that he was impressed.

But he was.

It finally explodes when Robert isn’t there to mediate. 

Flambae was halfway across the SDN parking lot when he heard footsteps behind him.

Fast ones.

He didn’t turn around.

Didn’t slow down either.

“Flambae.”

That voice, though.

He stopped walking.

Slowly turned.

Chase stood a few yards behind him, hands in his jacket pockets, posture tight in that way that meant he’d already decided this conversation was going to happen whether anyone liked it or not.

Flambae exhaled through his nose.

“Oh my god,” he muttered. “You’re still on this?”

Chase didn’t bother easing into it.

“You’re getting too close.”

Flambae stared at him for a second.

Then barked out a laugh.

“Are you serious right now?”

“You think I don’t see what you’re doing?”

“What,” Flambae shot back, spreading his hands, “taking care of your idiot brother?”

“He’s not my brother.”

Flambae snorted.

“Then why are you acting like his angry dad?”

That was the wrong thing to say.

Chase’s jaw tightened.

“Because someone has to look out for him.”

Flambae rolled his eyes so hard it was practically audible.

“Oh please.”

“You’re unstable.”

Flambae actually laughed.

A short, sharp sound.

“Oh, here we go.”

The air around him warmed a few degrees.

Thin curls of smoke began to slide off his shoulders like restless ghosts.

“You catch fire when you get emotional,” Chase continued flatly.

Flambae tilted his head.

“And you age ten years every time you run,” he shot back.

Flames flickered to life along his forearms, licking upward in lazy orange ribbons.

“You think you’re stable?”

Chase didn’t move.

Didn’t even blink.

“You’re going to hurt him.”

That was the line that landed.

Flambae’s flames surged brighter.

Not explosive.

But sudden.

“I would never hurt him.”

“You will,” Chase said evenly. “Not intentionally. But people like you—”

Flambae’s fist slammed into the concrete wall beside the parking lot exit.

The impact cracked the surface.

Flames roared up his arm.

“You don’t know a damn thing about me,” he snapped.

Chase held his ground.

“I know you’re dangerous.”

Flambae’s breathing was heavier now, fire casting restless light across the pavement.

For a moment it looked like he might say something else sharp, something explosive.

Instead his voice dropped.

Low.

Tired.

“So is he.”

Chase stilled.

Flambae dragged a hand through his hair, flames flaring briefly before settling again.

“Robert throws himself into fights he can’t win,” he said. “Pushes himself until he collapses. Acts like he’s indestructible.”

His gaze snapped back to Chase.

“You think I’m the bad influence here?”

Chase didn’t answer.

Flambae let out a humourless laugh.

“Every time he goes out there he acts like he’s got nothing to lose.”

The flames along his arms dimmed slightly.

“You ever notice that?”

Silence stretched between them.

Then Flambae spoke again, quieter this time.

“I’m trying to keep him alive.”

The anger hadn’t vanished, but it had shifted into something sharper.

Something more honest.

“You aren’t the only one who loves him, Chase,” he added.

A beat.

“I just love him differently than you do.”

The words landed harder than the shouting had.

For the first time since the conversation started, Chase didn’t immediately fire back.

Because the uncomfortable truth was already settling in his chest.

They were standing on opposite sides of the same problem.

Both watching the same man throw himself into danger.

Both trying to keep him from destroying himself.

Just in very different ways.

Chase exhaled slowly.

The tension in his shoulders eased a fraction.

“…If you hurt him,” he said at last.

Flambae groaned.

“Yes, yes, you’ll break my legs.”

“I’ll do worse.”

Flambae smirked faintly despite himself.

“You’d have to catch me first.”

A brief silence settled between them.

Then Chase muttered, almost grudgingly,

“…Thank you. For staying with him.”

Flambae didn’t answer.

But the flames finally went out.

PAGE BREAK

The change wasn’t immediate.

Chase didn’t wake up the next day suddenly relaxed about the situation, and he certainly didn’t start liking Flambae overnight. If anything, he was still watching him just as closely as before. The difference was subtler than that — less like a truce and more like the slow release of tension that had been wound too tight for too long.

He stopped inserting himself into every single interaction.

Not completely. Never completely. But the constant interruptions eased.

Robert noticed it first because, quite frankly, Chase had previously behaved like a particularly judgemental ghost that materialised any time Flambae got within three feet of him.

So when it didn’t happen one afternoon, it was immediately suspicious.

Flambae had Robert backed up against the hallway wall outside the briefing room again, one arm braced beside Robert’s head as he talked. The height difference between them was ridiculous enough that Flambae could hook his elbow comfortably above Robert’s shoulder while still leaning down to look him in the eye.

Robert looked deeply unimpressed.

“You’re blocking the hallway.”

“I’m standing in the hallway.”

“Your ego takes up more square footage than the building.”

Flambae grinned lazily.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Mecha Bitch.”

Robert rolled his eyes and shoved at his shoulder. It barely moved him.

“You literally called me—”

The protest died halfway out of his mouth.

Both of them had looked down the corridor at the same time.

Chase was standing there.

Leaning against the wall.

Watching them.

Robert groaned immediately and dropped his head back against the plaster behind him.

“Oh my god.”

Flambae squinted at Chase like he was trying to determine whether this was some kind of elaborate trap.

“…You’re not interrupting.”

Chase shrugged one shoulder.

“Carry on.”

The two of them stared at him.

Robert straightened slowly, still pinned between Flambae and the wall, suspicion written all over his face.

“You’re planning something.”

“I’m standing in a hallway.”

“That’s worse,” Robert said. “You never just stand somewhere.”

Flambae leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice like he was testing the limits of the situation.

“This feels like a trap Bob Bob.”

Chase glanced down at the tablet in his hands as if the conversation had already bored him.

“You’re imagining things.”

Flambae huffed out a quiet laugh but stepped back anyway, pushing away from the wall so Robert could escape the corner.

Robert slipped past him immediately, still eyeing Chase like he was expecting him to spring some kind of trap at the last second.

Chase didn’t follow.

Which was somehow even more unsettling.

The hovering eased in other ways too.

Flambae started appearing at Robert’s apartment with the sort of regularity that suggested he had either memorised Robert’s schedule or simply ignored the concept of boundaries entirely.

He rarely showed up empty-handed.

Food was the most common offering.

One evening he let himself in carrying an entire grocery bag and dropped it onto the kitchen counter with the confidence of someone who already knew where everything in the apartment was.

“You’re going to starve if left unattended,” he announced.

Robert glanced over from the small dining table where he’d been working on a piece of armour plating.

“I have food.”

“You have instant noodles.”

“That’s food.”

“That’s a cry for help.”

Flambae started unpacking the groceries before Robert could protest further, lining things up along the counter like he’d done it a hundred times before.

Vegetables.

Actual ingredients.

Robert stared at them like they’d personally offended him.

“You’re not moving in.”

“I didn’t say I was.”

“You’re thinking about it.”

Flambae grinned.

Across the room, Chase stood in the kitchen doorway where he’d stopped during his own routine check-in. His eyes moved slowly from the groceries to Flambae and then back again.

“…Did you buy vegetables.”

Flambae glanced at him.

“Don’t make it weird.”

Chase rubbed his forehead.

“This is already weird.”

Robert sighed deeply and leaned back in his chair.

“I regret letting either of you know where I live.”

The real problem started when Robert was cleared to return to field duty.

Officially, he’d been given the go-ahead by medical. Unofficially, both Chase and Flambae knew perfectly well that Robert was still recovering.

Which meant Robert did what Robert always did.

He pushed.

The first sign of it came after a mission during the debriefing.

Robert walked into the room with a barely noticeable hitch in his step, the kind of limp that most people probably wouldn’t have caught.

Flambae caught it immediately.

He didn’t even bother hiding the way his arms folded across his chest.

“You’re limping.”

Robert kept walking toward the table without looking at him.

“I am not.”

“You absolutely are.”

“I twisted it earlier.”

Flambae’s eyes narrowed.

“When.”

“During the mission.”

Across the table, Chase slowly looked up from the tablet in his hands.

“You’re injured.”

Robert pointed at him instantly.

“Don’t start.”

Chase set the tablet down with deliberate calm and pointed right back.

“You’re benched.”

Robert stopped dead in the middle of the room.

“You cannot bench me.”

“I absolutely can.”

Flambae leaned back against the edge of the table, watching the exchange with visible satisfaction.

“He’s right.”

Robert whipped around to glare at him.

“You are not helping.”

“You’re limping,” Flambae repeated patiently.

“I’m fine.”

Chase closed his tablet with a quiet snap that made Robert flinch.

“You’re benched.”

Robert looked between them slowly.

Suspicion crept across his face.

Then understanding.

Then absolute horror.

“…You two talked.”

Flambae’s grin spread immediately.

“Oh yeah.”

Chase gave a small, decisive nod.

“You’re screwed.”

Robert stared at them like they had just personally betrayed him.

“This is the worst possible timeline.”

Flambae shrugged lazily.

“You did this to yourself.”

“I did not.”

“You got hurt.”

“That happens.”

“You nearly died,” Chase corrected flatly.

Robert dragged both hands down his face before dropping them heavily onto the briefing table.

“This was one time.”

Flambae snorted.

“Mecha Bitch, you say that every time.”

Robert lifted his head again, eyes darting between them.

Chase with his arms crossed, clearly unmoved.

Flambae standing close enough that Robert strongly suspected he could physically block the door if necessary.

A slow, dreadful realisation settled over him.

“Oh my god.”

Neither of them said anything.

Robert pointed weakly between them.

“You’ve formed an alliance.”

Flambae smirked.

Chase didn’t deny it.

Robert let out a long, miserable groan and dropped his forehead against the table.

“I’m never going to get away with anything ever again.”

Flambae reached over and patted his shoulder.

“Correct.”

Chase nodded once.

“Correct.”

Robert lifted his head just enough to glare at both of them.

“…I hate both of you.”

Flambae leaned closer, voice dropping slightly, the grin softening just a fraction.

“No you don’t.”

Robert rolled his eyes.

But he didn’t move away.

Across the table, Chase noticed that.

And for the first time since this entire mess had started, he didn’t feel the immediate urge to step in.

PAGE BREAK

The briefing room had mostly emptied by the time Flambae finally headed for the door.

The Z-Team had already filed out in groups, arguing about patrol routes and logistics, leaving behind the usual quiet hum of equipment powering down for the evening.

Chase lingered near the dispatch console, reviewing the last mission report. Or at least pretending to.

Robert was still standing near the centre table, arms folded, scanning over something on his tablet.

Flambae slowed as he passed him.

“Alright, Mecha Bitch,” he said, voice easy. “Try not to get yourself killed while I’m gone.”

Robert didn’t look up immediately.

“Your faith in my competence is deeply moving.”

Flambae leaned one hip against the edge of the table beside him, close enough that their shoulders almost brushed.

“That’s not what I said.”

Robert finally glanced up at him.

For a second, Chase caught the shift in his expression — the way the constant edge he carried around the team softened just slightly.

It was subtle.

But it was there.

“You’re insufferable,” Robert muttered.

Flambae grinned.

“Yet here I am.”

Robert nudged him in the shoulder with the back of his hand, not particularly hard.

“Go. You’re supposed to be meeting the rest of the team downstairs.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Flambae didn’t move.

Instead he leaned a little closer, dropping his voice just enough that Chase couldn’t catch the exact words.

Robert huffed out a quiet laugh — the kind he didn’t usually let anyone hear.

Then he pushed lightly at Flambae’s chest.

“Get out of here.”

Flambae straightened.

For a moment it looked like he actually would leave.

Instead he reached out, quick and casual, and brushed his hand briefly along the side of Robert’s jaw.

Robert blinked.

Flambae leaned down just enough to press a quick kiss to Robert’s forehead.

It was fast.

Easy.

Like it was something they’d done a hundred times before.

Robert immediately shoved at his shoulder again, though there wasn’t much force behind it.

“Oh my god,” he muttered. “Go.”

Flambae laughed quietly and backed toward the door.

“Miss you already.”

“Leave.”

Flambae winked once and slipped out into the hallway.

The room went quiet again.

Robert stared down at his tablet for a moment, like he was trying to remember what he’d been doing before that happened.

Across the room, Chase slowly leaned back in his chair.

“…Huh.”

Chase watched the doorway for another second after Flambae disappeared down the hall, then slowly leaned back in his chair.

Well.

That explained a few things.

The rest of the evening passed without much excitement. Reports got filed, the last patrols checked in, and the building gradually quieted as people filtered out for the night. By the time Chase finally shut down his console, the whole place had settled into the low hum of overnight operations.

It had been, all things considered, a pretty easy shift.

The next morning, however, started suspiciously.

Robert arrived at SDN five minutes late.

Robert was rarely late. Even when injured, exhausted, or actively annoyed at the universe, he usually arrived early enough to complain about everyone else’s time management.

Chase noticed immediately.

He glanced up from the dispatch console when the door opened, already halfway through forming a lecture in his head.

Then Robert stepped fully into the room.

Chase stared.

Robert looked like he’d lost a fight with wildlife.

There was a faint burn mark curling along the collar of his shirt, barely hidden beneath the fabric. His hair was messier than usual, like someone had repeatedly run their hands through it. And there was a dark, unmistakable mark just barely visible where his collar dipped near his neck.

Chase blinked slowly.

Then again.

“Robert.”

Robert froze halfway to the briefing table.

“Yes.”

Chase leaned back in his chair, folding his arms.

“You look like you got mauled by a mountain lion.”

Robert rubbed the back of his neck.

“I’m fine.”

Chase continued staring at him.

“And then set on fire.”

Robert didn’t respond.

Across the room, someone snorted.

Flambae was leaning casually against the wall near the windows, arms crossed, looking deeply pleased with himself.

Chase’s eyes slid toward him.

Flambae didn’t even try to hide the smugness.

The fire hero lifted one eyebrow.

“What?”

Chase stared at him.

Then looked back at Robert.

Then back to Flambae.

Then slowly dragged both hands down his face.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

Robert sat down very carefully at the table, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Flambae pushed away from the wall and wandered over like he had absolutely no sense of self-preservation.

“Oh come on, Track Star,” he said lazily. “Don’t be dramatic.”

Chase pointed at Robert’s neck.

“He’s charred.”

Flambae glanced down at Robert.

Robert glared at him.

Flambae shrugged.

“Occupational hazard.”

Robert kicked him under the table.

Hard.

Flambae barely reacted except for the way the corner of his mouth twitched.

Chase looked between them again.

The proximity.

The way Flambae leaned slightly toward Robert without thinking.

The way Robert didn’t bother shifting away even though he normally complained when people crowded him.

Chase exhaled slowly through his nose.

“…You made it official.”

Robert’s head snapped up.

“No.”

Flambae said at the exact same time,

“Yeah.”

Robert turned to glare at him.

“Shut up.”

Flambae grinned.

Chase rubbed his temples like the headache had physically manifested.

“I warned you.”

Robert groaned.

“You always warn me.”

“And you never listen.”

Flambae draped an arm across the back of Robert’s chair like it belonged there.

Robert shot him a look.

Flambae ignored it.

Chase watched the interaction carefully.

The body language.

The easy closeness.

The way Robert’s irritation looked… softer than usual.

He sighed.

“Alright,” he muttered.

Robert narrowed his eyes.

“That sounded too accepting.”

Chase pointed a finger at him.

“I’m not accepting it.”

Flambae leaned forward slightly.

“You kinda are.”

“I’m tolerating it.”

“That’s basically the same thing.”

“It absolutely is not.”

Robert looked between them with growing dread.

“…Why do I feel like this is going to become my problem.”

Flambae grinned wider.

“Oh, it already is.”

Chase nodded once.

“Congratulations.”

Robert stared at both of them.

Then dropped his forehead onto the table again with a defeated groan.

“I hate it here.”

Flambae reached over and casually brushed a stray lock of hair off the back of Robert’s neck.

Robert didn’t even protest.

Across the room, Chase noticed.

And despite himself, he muttered under his breath,

“…unbelievable.”

But there was a faint hint of relief in it.

Chase clapped his hands together once, sharp enough to break the moment.

“Alright, enough moping. You have a briefing to conduct.”

Robert groaned softly and pushed himself upright from where he’d slumped over the table.

“I hate this job,” he muttered.

“No you don’t,” Chase replied immediately.

Robert didn’t bother arguing. He grabbed his tablet and headed toward the conference room down the hall, already skimming over the notes for the morning briefing.

Flambae fell into step beside him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Chase watched them go for a moment before shaking his head slightly to himself.

The briefing started normally.

Which was exactly why the moment felt so strange.

Robert walked to the front of the room, walking the team through patrol assignments.

“Sonar and Golem will cover sector three,” he said, tapping the display. “Prism, you’re with—”

Flambae leaned back in his chair.

“Wow,” he drawled. “You’re really just throwing the children into traffic today, huh.”

Normally, comments like that earned him an immediate glare from Robert.

Sometimes a full lecture.

Today?

Robert barely looked up.

“Then feel free to assist them,” he said calmly, continuing with the briefing.

The room went very quiet.

Prism’s head slowly turned to look at Robert.

Sonar made a noise of disbelief.

“…Pause.”

Robert glanced up.

“What.”

Sonar leaned forward slightly, squinting.

“You didn’t yell at him.”

Robert blinked.

“No…why would I yell at him? It wasn’t that outrageous of a comment. Especially for Flambae-”

Flambae smirked at that.

Sonar immediately decided to test something.

“Oh wow,” he said in the same mocking tone Flambae had used. “Great leadership, Rob-bitch. Really inspiring stuff.”

Robert snapped at Sonar.

“Sonar don’t fucking push it.”

Sonar pointed across the table at Robert.

“You see?!”

Prism gasped dramatically.

“Oh my god.”

She looked between them with widening eyes.

“Mama has favourites!”

Robert stared at her.

“—One, I do not. Two, don’t call me Mama. What the fuck is that for?”

Prism waved a hand vaguely at him.

“It’s a vibe.”

“It’s not a vibe.”

Sonar leaned back in his chair, grinning.

“You let him call you Mecha Bitch and you didn’t even blink.”

Flambae, who had been watching the whole exchange like it was the best show he’d seen all week, leaned his elbow on the table.

“Yeah,” he said lazily. “Mama’s pretty tolerant towards me. Guess I’m just the golden child”

Robert turned slowly toward him.

“Flambae, don't you even start.”

Prism slapped the table.

“They’re dating!” She shouted. “When did you two start dating!? I’m upset I wasn’t notified!” 

Robert nearly choked and looked over at Prism.

“We are not—”

Flambae spoke at the same time.

“We might be.”

Robert whipped around to glare at him.

“Stop helping!”

Prism leaned across the table toward Robert, whispering loudly,

“You let him bully the whole room and didn’t say anything.”

“That is not what happened.”

Sonar crossed his arms.

“You’re whipped.”

“I am not.”

Flambae stretched lazily in his chair.

“You kinda are.”

Robert pointed at him without looking.

“Silence.”

Flambae grinned.

Prism sighed dreamily.

“Man, I love when love wins. Gay rights!”

Robert dropped his forehead briefly against the table.

“God shut up. Fuck I hate this team.”

By the time Robert got home that night, his brain felt like it had been run through a blender.

The entire team had spent the rest of the day commenting on him and Flambae like a nature documentary. 

He unlocked his apartment door with a tired sigh.

The smell of food hit him immediately.

Robert froze.

“…Nasir?”

“In the kitchen,” came the reply.

Robert stepped inside and kicked the door shut behind him.

Nasir was standing at the stove with his sleeves pushed up, stirring something in a pan like he belonged there. Which…he kind of did belong there. 

Two plates were already  set out.

Robert leaned against the doorway, watching him.

“You broke into my apartment again.”

“You gave me a key.”

“I regret that decision.”

Nasir glanced over his shoulder.

“You say that every time then you eat my food and suddenly it’s not a big deal.”

Robert crossed his arms but didn’t move away from the doorway.

“You’re very smug for someone trespassing.”

Nasir turned the stove off and slid the pan aside.

“Still not trespassing"

Robert pushed away from the doorway and walked into the kitchen.

Nasir stepped aside so Robert could grab a glass from the cupboard.

Their shoulders brushed as he passed.

Robert didn’t move away.

“You didn’t help at all today you know,” Robert muttered.

“What? I helped plenty.” Nasir laughed

Robert turned back toward him.

“You literally said ‘we might’ when I tried to deny us dating.”

Flambae leaned back against the counter, watching him with quiet amusement.

“What? Are you ashamed that we’re dating?”

Robert stared at him for a moment before shaking his head. 

“No, of course not. I couldn’t be happier. I just know that from here on out it is going to be hell getting these freaks to listen to me when they can just pretty please ask you to ask me things because unfortunately, I am whipped for you. Just like Sonar said.”

Nasir's expression softened. “Yes, but I think it’s cute.” 

He then reached out and hooked two fingers lightly into the front of Robert’s shirt, tugging him closer and kissing him quickly. 

“We can worry about that later, yeah? You need to eat,” he said. “You’re cranky when you’re hungry.”

Robert let himself be pulled the extra step.

“…You’re insufferable.”

Nasir grinned at him. “Yeah,” he said easily. “But you looovvveeee meeeee.”

Robert rolled his eyes.

But he didn’t argue.