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Robert leans back in his chair, sipping his coffee and giving Beef a good pet. It’s been a slow day… not that anyone will ever catch him saying that out loud, because that’s just asking for a sudden city-wide emergency. But still, the fact remains that the most exciting mission anyone on the Z-Team has gotten today was that malfunctioning ice cream shop freezer, and only because the owner sent Waterboy back with a whole mini cooler of slightly melted fudge pops that couldn’t legally be sold after being unrefrigerated for fifteen minutes.
Robert’s been nursing the same tepid mug of coffee for a few hours now, too lazy to go reheat it. It’s like the slowness is contagious.
It’s a complete one-eighty when compared to the absolute chaos that was the first couple weeks after SDN’s renovation. Power vacuums, opportunistic looters, the discovery of yet more undetonated bombs hidden all over the city…
Actually, you know what, Robert’s fine with a slow day—even if he’s fighting bored drowsiness as he assigns the team to missions of escorting the elderly to doctor’s appointments, doing demonstrations for the local elementary school, and helping a college student with their economics homework.
Sonar’s perfect for that last one—for as dumb as he acts sometimes, he’s one of the smartest members of their team when it comes to anything involving business. And he did go to Harvard, which, even though it grates to hear him talk about it all the time, is admittedly a very selective school.
Those are always his favorite types of calls. There’s something so satisfying about sending a hero on a mission that they’re perfect for, that no one else could do as well as they can. He never has to worry about the success of those missions—everything’s always wrapped up nice and neat. Easy missions, easy points.
Sometime in the afternoon, he gets a call that’s perfect for one Z-Teamer in particular.
“Flambae, you’re up,” he tells him, connecting them to a private line to explain further. “We have a young girl with fire powers currently torching a cemetery. Sending you the coordinates now.”
Flambae whistles. “Damn, a cemetery? What happened to dumpsters or abandoned buildings? That’s the shit I set on fire when I was a kid.”
“Sounds like it’s grief related,” Robert tells him, clicking through the details of the mission. “The caller said the flare up seemed unintentional, probably caused by strong emotions. She was attending her step-father’s funeral when the episode started.”
“Poor fucking kid,” Flambae murmurs, sobering.
“Her name is Daphne,” Robert tells him. “She’s thirteen years old. According to our caller, the power manifested about a year ago and she’s still getting the hang of controlling it. You’re our best bet at helping her, for obvious reasons.”
“Fucking right I am,” Flambae boasts. “I’m great with kids. Plus, you know, the fire thing too.”
Robert snorts. “Right, that too. Listen, I need you to contain the fire and coach her into cooling off. She hasn’t hurt anyone yet, and I’d like to keep it that way—for her sake and for everyone else’s.”
“You got it, bitch,” Flambae says confidently, and then Robert hears him light up and take off.
Robert checks in on Prism’s and Punch Up’s missions, and then switches back to Flambae as he approaches the cemetery.
“Need me to point you in the right direction?”
Flambae scoffs. “Can’t miss it, Bob-Bob, it’s literally a giant fire in the cemetery.”
Robert toggles into the cemetery’s security cameras to get a look and winces at the whirlwind of fire at the edge of the property, where all the fresh plots are. A group of people, likely the rest of the funeral party, is huddled safely next to the administration building farther away. Closer nearby is the fence, lined with decorative vegetation.
“Try to keep her away from the fence line,” he tells Flambae. “Looks like there’s a lot of dry shrubbery over there.”
Flambae hums in confirmation, and Robert switches to his body cam as he touches down several yards from the girl.
The fire is so bright it’s hard to see her at all. Through Flambae’s audio feed, the roar of the flames is loud, but even past that, Robert can hear her crying. Not the quiet kind of crying that teens usually do, but the wailing sobs of a young child.
“Hey,” Flambae’s voice says, soothing in that uncharacteristic way he tends to be with children, and especially with young girls. “Daphne, right? I’m Flambae.”
Daphne doesn’t respond. Robert’s not even sure if she can hear him over the fire and her own crying.
“Funerals are tough, eh?” Flambae says, slowly getting closer. “This shit’s hard for anyone, but it’s worse for people like us. There’s a lot going on inside, yeah?”
The crying winds down a little, though the fire stays strong. Flambae risks another few steps closer, his voice soft. “Try to breathe deep. You’re not in trouble. Nothing bad’s going to happen, I promise.”
The fire dims a bit, and Robert can just make out a figure, small and shaking.
Flambae, emboldened by his progress, comes even closer. “Look, I know you miss your step-dad—whoa, whoa, hey, wait a minute!”
The fire flares back up brighter than ever, and the crying reaches a fever pitch, and Robert frowns, something pinging faintly in the back of his mind.
“Flambae, don’t approach,” he tells him. “Get between her and the shrubs, but don’t get any closer.”
“Alright, let’s calm down now,” Flambae fumbles, edging to the side so he’s standing between Daphne and the dry vegetation nearby. “I just—”
“GO AWAY!” Daphne shouts. “You’re just like the rest of them! I don’t want to hear it! I don’t want to talk about him, so just go away!”
Robert’s stomach drops, and he’s quick to command, “Flambae, back away from her.”
Flambae immediately backs off, and the fire dies down a tiny bit in response. But it’s still way too big, especially for California—the cinders are starting to set small fires on the well-manicured cemetery grounds.
“Give her your backup comm,” Robert says. “Let me talk to her.”
“What?” Flambae squawks. “Why—”
“Now,” Robert says urgently. “Trust me. Let me talk to her. You just run interference—keep that fire from spreading until we can get the flames under control.”
Flambae huffs, barely audible over the roaring fire and the crying girl. “Fine, fine.”
He raises his voice, calling over to the girl. “Daphne, I’m going to toss this comm over to you so you can hear my boss. Put it in your ear and talk to him, okay? He’s super boring, but he’s nice and he’ll listen if you want to tell on me.”
Daphne doesn’t respond, but Robert can just make out her silhouette leaning down to pick up the comm at her feet before Flambae’s body cam turns to focus on the spreading fire.
Hoping that she’s put it in her ear like Flambae directed, Robert says, “Hi, Daphne. My name’s Robert, I’m a dispatcher for SDN.”
Daphne says nothing. Flambae’s comm is, of course, heavily fireproof and designed to filter out most ambient noise. If the comm is in her ear, he has no doubt she can hear him just fine.
“Talk to me, Daphne,” he urges. “I’m here to help.”
“Talk about what?” the girl demands. Robert can hear her crying still.
“We can talk about anything,” he says softly. “We can talk about our favorite movies, or what food we like to eat, or… we can talk about what your step-father did that caused this to happen today.”
There’s a surprised silence, and then he hears Daphne choke on an angry sob.
“He—hurt me. That’s what he did!” the girl snarls, the fire winding up again. Flambae’s cam jolts and whirls to face Daphne again.
Robert hears him start to speak—furious and protective—and quickly switches off the spare comm to hiss, “Don't get angry right now. The threat is already six feet under, you'll only scare her. Let me handle this.”
He mutes him before he can hear his response, switching on Daphne’s comm again.
“I believe you, Daphne,” he says simply.
Flambae’s body cam stays facing Daphne even as he continues to control the spreading fire, so Robert is able to see her go very still. Her sudden, stunned silence gives him a chance to go on.
“Whatever he did to you, it must have been really bad to cause all of this,” he says firmly, “and it’s not fair that you still have to hold onto it while other people mourn him.”
“They’re all saying such nice things about him,” she sobs angrily. “How he was such a good person, really cool guy, the best. I just want to throw up!”
“Do they know?” Robert gently asks. “What he did?”
“Some of them,” the girl sniffles.
“Who?” Robert asks, his voice as soft as he can make it.
A hiccupping sob. “Mom.”
Jesus. Robert swallows heavily and says, “I’m sorry, Daphne. She should have protected you.”
“She tried,” Daphne admits, and though her flames are definitely evaporating any liquid on her face, Robert watches as her silhouette brings one arm up to wipe her tears out of habit. “She let me stay with Aunt Catherine after I ran away.”
“But it wasn’t enough,” Robert guesses. Flambae has turned away again to get the last of the rogue fire, and Robert switches from the body cam back to the cemetery’s security camera.
“She was supposed to choose me,” Daphne says plaintively. It’s harder to make her out on the security footage, but he thinks her head is down. “She’s my mom! It’s not fair that he got to stay and not me!”
“No, it’s not,” Robert says grimly. “Her first priority should have been you, always.”
“It’s not fair,” she repeats. “I knew him since I was a baby, he was my dad. He wasn’t supposed to… do that.”
“No, he wasn’t,” Robert says heavily. “He was wrong to do it, Daphne, and your mom was wrong to keep him around afterward.”
“...You don’t think I’m being dramatic?” Both her voice and the flames have died down a bit now. “I ruined the funeral. Everyone will think I’m crazy.”
“Fuck what anyone else thinks,” Robert says, not unkindly. “If he didn’t want his funeral ruined, then he should have been a better person.”
Daphne hesitates again, and he can almost feel her searching for a way to take on blame. “I’m overreacting.”
“Absolutely not,” he says firmly, wanting to nip that in the bud. “For this kind of thing, there’s no such thing as an overreaction. You could set fire to this entire cemetery and I wouldn’t judge you for it.”
“I don’t want to set the cemetery on fire,” she says.
“I know you don’t,” Robert says gently. “You’re a good kid, Daphne.”
“I just want to stop acting like everything is normal when it’s not. But I didn’t want to hurt anyone, I didn’t mean for it to get this—this—”
“Out of hand?” Robert supplies.
“Yeah,” she says quietly. “Am I in trouble?”
And despite the very grown-up things she's had to endure, it's such a child-like thing to say that Robert has to clear his suddenly tight throat.
“You’re not going to be punished for this,” he reassures her. “I’ll make sure of it. Do you have a safe place to go after this?”
“Back with Aunt Catherine,” Daphne sniffles.
“Okay, good,” Robert says gently. “Does Aunt Catherine know about what happened?”
“I don’t think so,” Daphne says. “Mom just asked if I could stay with her when I wouldn’t come home, I don’t think she ever said why.”
“Maybe now might be a good time to tell her?” Robert prompts gently. “She might be able to help.”
Daphne’s quiet for a long moment.
“I’m embarrassed,” she finally says, in such a small voice Robert can barely hear her.
When Robert was Mecha Man before, he didn’t really deal with these types of crimes, since they’re not usually the type of crime that happens out in public and requires a giant mech. He only worked two CSA cases during his entire hero career, and that was more than enough to leave a mark. He remembers them both in horrific, heartbreaking detail—he’ll never forget them, as long as he lives. He can already feel this one, physically removed as it is, making a place for itself among the others.
“It’s okay to feel embarrassed,” he tells Daphne, blinking back sudden tears. “But nothing that happened says anything about you. What he did was wrong, and he knew it was wrong when he did it. Any good adult will know that you didn’t do anything to cause it.”
“I just don’t want her to see me any differently.”
“She won’t,” Robert promises, though maybe it’s not his place to do so. “She’ll be really upset because someone she loves was hurt, but you’re still the same person and I’m sure she’ll see that.”
“I don’t feel like the same person,” Daphne tells him. “I feel like a bad version of me. Like, messed up or something.”
“Hey, would you call someone with a broken leg messed up? Or a worse version of themselves?”
“No, of course not!” Daphne says indignantly.
“So don’t say it about yourself. It’s the same idea,” Robert explains. “You’ve been injured and you need to heal.”
“But I’m not even—it doesn’t—I’m not… hurt anymore,” she stammers. “How are you supposed to heal from something that’s already over?”
Robert leans back in his chair, sighing silently. That’s the big question, isn’t it?
“Well,” he says slowly, “first step is finding your people. The ones who love you and support you, who can help you when you’re having trouble. Is Aunt Catherine someone like that?”
“Yeah,” Daphne says. Her fire is dim enough now that Robert can clearly make out her silhouette, though any details are still lost. “She always has my back. She helps me with my homework, and she lets me decorate my room however I want, and she never complains when my nightmares wake her up.”
“Okay, that’s good,” Robert says. “It sounds like she’s the kind of person you could trust with something like this.”
Daphne’s quiet for a moment, and then she says, quiet and scared, “Do I have to tell someone?”
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Robert says softly. “But I think it would help.”
“Okay,” she whispers, barely audible.
“Okay,” Robert says. “Now, what do you say we get this fire under control, huh?”
Flambae must have left the area after Robert clicked out of his body cam, because he’s not in the immediate vicinity. Luckily, Daphne’s spent so much energy keeping herself at a constant blaze that it’s relatively easy to coach her into letting the flames dissipate.
The moment her fire dies down enough, Flambae’s there with some kind of landscaping tarp, just in time to wrap it around her so her body is completely covered. That must have been why he left the area in the first place.
Robert didn’t even think about the fact that Daphne’s clothes must have burned off during the initial blaze, and he finds himself immensely grateful for Flambae’s thoughtfulness. If Daphne had found herself completely bared to the world just after sharing her most horrific secret, he can’t imagine how much more traumatizing all this would’ve been for her.
He belatedly remembers to unmute Flambae, and the hero's voice immediately filters in, low and even.
“—r aunt is getting you some clothes,” he's murmuring as he tucks the tarp around her more securely. “She’ll be back soon.”
“Sorry I yelled at you,” Daphne says, voice sounding emotionally and physically exhausted. Robert clicks back into Flambae’s body cam and sees her properly for the first time—curly dark hair, freckles, and the very beginnings of teenage acne. In the process of avoiding Flambae’s gaze, she looks at the body cam instead, and Robert’s chest twinges as he inadvertently meets big, tired eyes.
“You think I can’t handle some yelling?” Flambae says lightly, clicking his tongue. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s sit down right here and rest, hmm? Bet you’re pretty tired after using all of that energy.”
Daphne grimaces as Flambae helps lower her to sit on the ground, arranging the tarp to make sure she stays covered.
“This is embarrassing,” she says.
“Nothing embarrassing about it,” Flambae says easily. “You did a good job, kid—you burned so brightly no one could even see you. Plus you still have a full head of hair and everything.”
Daphne lets out a surprised little giggle, and Robert feels the tension start to seep out of his shoulders.
“I’m serious!” Flambae says, playing up his voice like he always does with kids. “I can’t even do that—my hair’s only fire resistant. You see all this gross gunk in it? I have to put that shit in every day before work or my hair will be gone before lunch.”
“Is that why your hair looks like that?” Robert asks dryly, relief lightening his tone. “I thought you were just a big John Travolta fan.”
“Ugh,” Flambae scoffs. “Hated that guy. He wasn’t even that cute. Sandy should have got with Rizzo instead, they had way more chemistry.”
“Who?” Daphne asks, rubbing her eye with her free hand. She looks like she’s ready to doze off, now that her adrenaline is fading.
“You know, from the movie Grease,” Flambae tells her.
“Oh, I think my grandma has that on VHS.”
“God I feel fucking ancient,” Flambae mutters.
“Well you are coming up on forty,” Robert tells him.
“Hey, none of that shit from you, Bob-Bob,” Flambae sniffs. “You sound like fucking rusty hinges when you walk, like a robot or some shit.”
“You sound like you just learned how to cuss and you’re excited to show off for all your little friends,” Robert retorts.
“Okay, what the fuck?”
Daphne’s giggling again, probably more out of exhaustion than any real humor. Still, Robert and Flambae keep up the bickering, under some kind of unspoken agreement to keep the atmosphere light until her aunt gets there.
Finally, Robert spots a harried young woman approaching through the security cameras. Her dark hair is a mess and she’s holding a hastily zipped backpack, jogging toward the spot where Daphne and Flambae are sitting.
“Looks like Aunt Catherine’s here,” Robert says gently. “Flambae will take you guys inside the administrative building so you can get dressed in private. He won’t let anyone bother you.”
Flambae eases Daphne into a standing position again, and the girl gathers the tarp more securely around herself.
“Everything will be okay, right?” she asks, her voice wobbling just a little.
“Everything will be okay,” Robert firmly reassures her. “Trust me. The hardest part’s already behind you.”
“Thanks,” she says softly. “For… talking to me.”
“Anytime,” Robert says warmly. “Great job today, Daphne.”
Daphne hands the spare comm back to Flambae, who tucks it in a hidden pocket in his suit as Aunt Catherine comes rushing up. Robert watches from the body cam as she cups Daphne’s face in her hands and presses frantic kisses to the top of her head, carefully wiping away a few tears that sneak out.
Flambae escorts them into the administrative building, using the bulk of his body to block Daphne from the view of any remaining witnesses. While she gets dressed in the bathroom, he gives Aunt Catherine the number of his suit guy, stressing that he’s the best of the best and that he can make all kinds of fire-proof clothes and that Catherine should mention Flambae by name when she calls.
Eventually, Daphne comes back out, fully dressed and stumbling with the adrenaline crash, and Flambae helps Catherine get her out to the car, suggesting quick, calorie-dense meals she can eat to regain her strength after episodes like this.
He stands in the parking lot of the cemetery and they both watch the two drive away, Flambae with his own eyes and Robert through the body cam. Flambae’s uncharacteristically quiet.
“Nice job, Flambae. Back to base,” Robert says simply, feeling a little drained himself.
Flambae grunts and shoots into the sky like a rocket, and Robert clicks away to check on everyone else.
Luckily, the slowness of the day has persevered, and he hasn’t missed any calls. He does need to help Punch Up resolve his mission and assign a few more, but it doesn’t take too long.
Afterward, he takes one last look at his monitor to make sure everyone is good, and then he stands—reaching down to pet Beef quickly—and makes his way to Mandy’s office.
“Come in!” Mandy calls when he knocks, voice bright and friendly. When Robert pokes his head in, she's smiling easily at him from behind a thick stack of paperwork. Robert would love to know how she does it—most days, his own face feels five pounds heavier after a shift, and that's without all the bureaucratic bullshit.
He slips inside, shutting the door behind him, and comes to stand in front of her desk.
“What can I do for you, Robert?” she asks, eyeing the empty chair next to him. Robert doesn't sit; he needs to be back at his desk soon, and this shouldn't take long anyway.
“There’s a teen who just torched about a sixth of a cemetery,” Robert cuts right to the chase. “Damage is relatively superficial—as far as I know, no actual graves were damaged, but it’ll probably cost a bit to replace all the grass and clean the soot off of the headstones.”
Mandy blinks at him. “Okay. Is there a reason you’re telling me this?”
“She’s not going to be charged for the damages, right?”
“Well, it depends on the cemetery’s insurance,” Mandy starts. “If they have the Grieving Supers package—”
“Sorry,” Robert interrupts. “I didn’t actually mean for that to be a question. I meant she’s not going to be charged. If there’s anything that isn’t covered by insurance, I’ll pay. You can take it out of my salary.”
Mandy searches his face, visibly bewildered. Fortunately, something must tip her off to his exhausted emotional state, because she doesn’t ask any questions.
“Okay,” she says softly. “Write up a report and I’ll look into it.”
Robert nods gratefully and turns on his heel to get back to work.
The moment he sets foot outside Mandy’s office, he runs directly into a hard wall of muscle.
He steps around Flambae, rubbing his sore nose and giving him an exasperated look before continuing on to his cubicle. “Were you seriously listening in at the door? Are you the oldest twelve-year-old in the world?”
“Oh please, it’s not like it was a private conversation,” Flambae scoffs. “There are like four super-hearing people in the building at any given moment. Are you going to get on Galen’s ass next?”
“I’m not involved in this,” Galen calls out from across the room. “That was really cool of you though, Robert.”
Robert sighs. “Thanks, man.”
He pulls out his chair and collapses into it, expecting Flambae to break off and head to wherever he usually spends his resting period.
Instead, the man turns and leans against Robert’s desk, crossing his arms and eyeing him.
“Can I help you?” Robert says flatly, pulling his headset back on and assigning a couple calls that cropped up while he was away from his desk.
His mind wanders back to Daphne. Will she tell her aunt what happened? Ultimately, it's completely up to her, but he wasn't lying when he said he thought it would help. It's a heavy thing to carry alone, and he hopes she finds it in herself to share the weight with someone else.
If she does tell her aunt, how will Catherine react? Robert really hopes she doesn’t make him a liar by freaking out at her niece—he can’t imagine how damaging that would be. But judging from the frantic kisses she pressed into Daphne's hair and the way she pulled out her phone to note down Flambae's meal suggestions, he thinks the odds of that are relatively low.
He blinks as his chair jolts, and looks away from his screen to find Flambae pulling his foot back.
“How did you know?” the man asks gruffly.
“Know what?”
“That the step-dad did something to her,” Flambae elaborates, his face twisting in anger and disgust at the mere mention of the man. “I just thought she was sad he’s dead, but you knew before she even said anything.”
Robert softens. It’s no surprise that Flambae wouldn’t make the connection—whenever he talks about his dad, it’s always with a tone of fondness that Robert’s admittedly a little jealous of. For someone with such a positive relationship with his father, it’s probably unthinkable that a parent could even do that kind of thing, step-dad or not.
“Part of it was just instinct,” he admits, checking on the rest of the team one more time before turning his chair to give Flambae his full attention. “But there were some small signs. The way she was crying, how she reacted when you said she missed him, the way she burned brighter when you got closer. It just snagged on something in my brain, I guess.”
“Hmm,” Flambae says. “You never said you were good with children.”
Robert snorts. “Yeah, because I’m not.”
“You were good with her,” Flambae points out, a little begrudgingly.
“I just spoke to her how I would have wanted an adult to speak to me. That’s literally the bare minimum.”
“So you just magically knew the exact right thing to say?” Flambae demands.
“I wouldn’t call it magic,” Robert says, frowning in confusion at the sudden third degree. “I just know how it feels to know a different side to such a well-loved person, that’s all.”
Flambae stiffens. “Your dad—”
“No,” Robert hurries to correct him, waving a hand. “No, he never did anything like that. Never even raised a hand to me. Just that, you know, being a great hero didn’t exactly translate to being a great father. When he died, it was hard to reconcile the way he treated me with all the good he’d done for everyone else.”
“So that’s why you offered to pay the damages,” Flambae says, brow furrowed like he’s trying to work something out in his head. “Because she reminded you of yourself?”
Robert shrugs, uncomfortable with the intent way Flambae’s looking at him. “I mean, I can’t say it wasn’t a factor. But I also know that today was one of the worst days of her life. She shouldn’t have to pay any more than she already has.”
Flambae’s still watching him in that eerie, quiet way—brows furrowed, mouth a flat line, amber eyes searching his face like Mandy did earlier.
Then he blinks, seeming to snap back to himself. “Whatever. Get some actual sleep tonight, bitch. You look tired.”
Robert blinks at him, thrown by the sudden change in subject. “Why do you care?”
Flambae rolls his eyes. “Uh, because you can’t do your job right if you’re falling asleep at your desk, and if you don’t do your job, I can’t do mine. Plus I just don’t want to keep looking at your stupid exhausted face all the time. It’s pathetic and sad, Robert.”
“Got it,” Robert says dryly. He doesn’t bother pointing out that with their jobs being what they are, Flambae could very easily make it so that he never sees Robert’s face at all. He’s learned that sometimes with Flambae, it’s better to just not engage.
“While you’re at it,” Flambae continues, “eat a decent fucking meal for once—you look like you’re terminally ill.”
Robert huffs. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“And another thing—”
“Alright,” Robert interrupts him. “That’s enough advice, thank you. Go rest up before your next mission.”
Flambae scoffs, but doesn’t argue.
Robert turns back to his screen, sliding his headset back on. He lifts his mug to his mouth, kicking himself for not reheating it when he was up.
The coffee is hot when it touches his lips.
“Huh,” he mutters. He wheels his chair back to try and get a glimpse of Flambae, wanting to thank him for the strangely thoughtful gesture, but the man’s already long gone.