Chapter Text
Robert doesn't recall the exact moment the suit crashes into the ground following his six month long coma.
What he does remember is the impact of the bomb shaking the hull of the suit, red lights and alarms blaring in his face as the mech spins out of control like a macabre puppet with cut strings. He remembers the lack of response from his vessel as he attempts to salvage it's flight trajectory, before cracking his skull against the metal display as the inertia of the suit rattles him in the pilot's seat like the beads in a maraca. The dull pain that follows, the muffling of his senses and confusion that typically follows head trauma.
Above all, the sharp, sobering panic that cuts through all that confusion when a cold familiar voice echoes through the cage of the pilot's seat.
"Warning. Pilot is incapacitated. Engaging Second Stage Pilot Failsafe"
"Wait. Waitwaitwait...!"
Either the system was too damaged to acknowledge his commands, or he really was too incapacitated to fully disengage the failsafe.
I guess it's time to find out what the fuck that failsafe dad installed does.
He feels more than hear the two halves of the heavy metal collar, extend from whatever compartment they were hidden from on either sides of his head before clamping viciously around his neck. The cold press of steel through his suit holds him fast against the seat as the alarms continue to blare around him.
This is gonna suck.
He thinks before he feels the cool slide of the electrode's needles ease into his back along the path of his spine, finding it's home in his spinal cord. Then his world goes white.
He thinks he screams. It's hard to tell above the flashing lights, the persistent warnings, the ungodly shaking of his falling mech, the unholy shrieking pain that occupies the entire forefront of his mind.
But it's enough. It's just enough for him to manually, bodily steer the mech further out from Torrence.
Robert had never had the need to engage the failsafe before, and neither had his father if he recalls correctly. His bleary vision doubling up, from the view within the cacophony of the pilot's seat and the cameras on the head of the mech. Feels himself slide out of his own body and over the mech itself. Just like diving off a springboard, he muses vaguely and hopes to god it doesn't hurt when he crashes.
What was that stupid fucking cartoon Chase used to always watch? Neon Angel Evangelicals?
He'll watch it if he lives through this.
---
The week following Shroud's 'mysterious' death at the hands of an unnamed SDN dispatcher, Mechaman makes a reappearance by speaking at another press conference. After all, it was hard not to notice his return when he fought alongside the infamous villain-turned-heroes from SDN's Phoenix Program.
Blazer levels him with a serious gaze behind the curtains before the conference, both her hands resting on his shoulders.
"Don't let them get under your skin,"
She says.
"You're not alone in this anymore. I'll be right behind you."
Blazer's face relaxes into a smile.
"And your handful of miscreants are right outside, waiting to beat the crap out of anyone who even looks at you funny." she takes a breath, "You got this."
A genuine smile, soft and a little too vulnerable, pulls at the corner of his lips, as he meets Mandy's gaze through Blazer's mask.
"I know. Thanks,"
Before he steels himself and turns back to the stage entrance, as Mechaman steps out from behind the curtain into the flashing lights, trailed by Blonde Blazer as his security detail.
She takes her place stoicly behind him, cutting an imposing figure with her arms crossed, slightly off to his right as he steps to the podium.
He braces himself and begins reading from his prepared script,
"There’s been a lot of speculation about my health..." Jesus christ is he really doing this again.
"... and the state of the Mecha Man suit following my contribution to efforts suppressing the string of Red Ring crimes that recently hit Torrence. I am here to put those speculations to rest."
Behind him, Blazer rolls her eyes. Despite his signature monotone, Blazer has had the privilege of getting to know the bastard long enough to recognize the undercurrent of mirth in his voice that was far from the hollow delivery his first speech held so many months ago.
"The Mecha Man suit was able to be repaired thanks, in no small part, to the SDN staff and it's sponsorship. To which I will forever be grateful and indebted to." he pauses to take a breath, "However, I will not be returning to full active duty for a number of reasons, one of which being my diminished health. Instead I will be working on and off with SDN's Phoenix Program, Z-Team as both a temporary member as well as a mentor."
Robert squints at the black fonts printed against the paper. It's barely even a whole paragraph, why the fuck did he have this printed on a single sheet of copy paper?
The volume of the crowd begins to rise as it becomes increasingly evident that he has nothing more to say.
Right, for dramatic effect. He loosens his hold on the sheet enough for it to lose rigidity and flop back to the podium, raising his eyes to the audience for the first time since stepping out. Reporters scramble over each other to shove their questions in his face ahead of each other.
"One at a time, please."
"Mr. Mechaman! Sir! Elias Writ of the Torrence Tribune. What are the extent of your injuries following the Red Ring outbreak? We know you already suffer complications from your prior coma of course, but has it contributed to the injuries sustained during the Red Ring crisis as well as your current overall state of health? "
Robert cringes internally. It wasn't that he cared about the opinions of a handful of reporters. He was more worried about the heated stare Blazer was boring into his back as well as the reception from the handful of idiots waiting for him outside.
" Well... " he exhales just a little too haltingly, showing just a little too much teeth. The reporters inch closer, scenting blood. (perhaps literally as well as figurative)
He didn't have to give them a response. He really didn't have to. A simple 'No comment' would suffice but he knows the gaggle of z-muppets waiting outside would jump him the moment he was out of the building and wring out more than he could deflect within this press conference itself. Blazer, having caught on to his atrocious worklife habits would just stand back and watch. Traitor.
The tiny Sonar that inhabited the back of his mind chimes in, better bite the damn bullet then, Bobino.
"The initial crash and subsequent coma gave me some measure of nerve damage. While not crippling, nor effecting my ability to pilot the suit, it has resulted in decreased stamina and mobility. Hence, the bruises." He gestures lamely to the exposed skin of his face under the mask.
The reporters quickly rush to fill the silence left in the wake of his response before he hurriedly tacks on,"I want to stress that, all injuries sustained, both from the coma and after, are extremely minor. My time off duty will of course be for recuperation, however I will still be able to do my job as Mechaman while being a mentor to my understudies at SDN." He puts more emphasis on 'understudies' knowing they would be listening.
His time off duty would actually be spent at SDN as Robert Robertson III, Z-Team's dispatcher but nobody in the room aside from Blazer needed to know that. He can feel the weight of her accusing stare burning a hole at the back of his head. Better move things along.
"Next question,"
"There's been an outpouring of support from Mechaman fans since the night of the Red Ring crime spree. Since the Brave Brigade, Mechaman Blue has only ever worked solo, is there a reason for this sudden change of heart fifteen years down the line and does this mean you will be coming out of retirement eventually with an official team like the Brave Brigade with the Z-Team? "
Robert finds himself cracking a small, crooked smile. It's genuine. Unrehearsed.
He leans forward into the mic, "Uhh..." he starts, a little uncertain.
"I don't want to make promises I can't keep. So I won't. The reason I got hurt and landed myself in that six month long coma, was because I tried to do things alone for a very, very, very long time." he feels Blazer shift behind him.
"I've learnt a lot since then. That I can do a lot more and make a bigger difference if I reached out to others for help and learn to rely on them. That if I want them to trust me, I have to learn to trust them in turn."
He stands a little straighter and tilts his chin up. "That's why I work with the Z-Team. So I don't have to shoulder everything alone."
The surprised silence that follows his heartfelt monologue snaps him back to the present. He hastily attaches,"As for coming out of retirement, I'm still thinking it over." He coughs, clears his throat, "One more, last question please."
"Charles Kingsley. We've met."
God fucking damnit.
"Shroud is dead, killed by an unidentified SDN dispatcher of which we know nothing of. Along with your chances of revenge for your father's legacy. How does that make you feel? Does that upset you in any way that your chances of redemption were snatched out of your reach?"
Holy shit.
Robert just stares blankly back at the douchebag standing in the second row. Carrying the same vindictive glint in his eyes from the the last disastrous press conference. He kind of reminds Robert of a toad.
Blazer steps forward next to him, bristling, " Sir, I'm afraid your question is inappropri--"
"Yeah man, sure."
The entire room gawps at him.
Mechaman just stares languidly back, almost bored. Hikes up his scrawny shoulders in a half hearted shrug. An almost-not-quite lopsided grin on his face. His entire demeanor having shifted from formal to casually bored.
"S-sure...?" Kingsley parrots. "Is that a confir--"
"Yeah, I'm like. Superrrr torn up about it no further questions please." Mechaman easily pushes his weight off the podium and steps forward in front of an increasingly bewildered Blonde Blazer.
He turns back to face Kingsley and stares at him again, for a beat too long. As Kingsley and onlookers begin to shift in quiet discomfort, Robert jerks forward in facade, sending the man stumbling back so hard he topples the reporters and chairs behind him in domino fashion.
No one really helps Kingsley up and by the time he's back on his feet, Mechaman and Blonde Blazer were gone.
---
There was still a lot of cleaning up to be done following the Red Ring mess and the death of Shroud, but honestly Z-Team and their undercover dispatcher had more than earned themselves a break. For all his devil may care attitude, Chase had known Robert long enough to see how much he was lampshading killing Elliot had affected him. Even if there was a fifteen year gap between the both of them. So naturally he made sure Mandy was aware and the two conspired to keep him out of the office for, at the very least, the rest of the day post press conference much to his chagrin.
"Well what the fuck am I supposed to do for the rest of the day? Aren't you guys short staffed or something? I'm already in uniform anyway, just send me out there with these lunatics." he jabs a thumb over his shoulder at the Z-Team who were skulking about his perimeter, snapping at lingering reporters and heckling him from afar.
"Mechaman." Mandy exhales, they were in public in full hero ensemble after all. She desperately wishes Chase was here with her.
"When was the last time you took a day off. Like. A real day off."
"I take days off all the time. I'm technically in semi-retirement remember." Robert deadpans. Shoulders riding up casually as he does.
"You know exactly what I mean." she crosses her arms, drawing herself up as she takes full advantage of her increased height. "We both know what you do with your time off. Don't think I didn't catch all that about you having nerve damage. You should have said something! Also you've barely even recovered from getting strung up by your ankles and having the crap beaten out of you!"
"Its fine, Blazer. Do you really think I'd be able to work the way I do if it were a problem?"
Mandy regards Robert with a frown. Unlike the last press conference, he was wearing the outer metal chest and shoulder plates that typically accompanied his body suit. It masked how narrow and skinny his build actually was but she remembers. They all do. Robert just stares back blasély.
Mandy's gaze suddenly snap over his shoulder as she raises her fingers to her mouth, whistling sharply. It immediately grabs the Z-Team's attention.
She jabs her finger down at Robert's masked head as she calls over his shoulder, "He's not allowed to come to work today or tomorrow!"
Robert groans and pinches the bridge of his nose at the hooting and hollaring that follows. He raises his eyes to fix her with a tired glare as she places a firm hand on his shoulder, she smiles apologetically, "If it's worth anything, Chase also put me up to this."
"Bastard,"
Mandy laughs and says quieter,
"For the love of God, Robert. Get some fucking rest,"
And she turns and takes off. Leaving him at the mercy of, "HEY BIIIIITCCCHHH LET'S GO TO FUCKING IKEA."
---
They don't let him change out of his Mechaman get up.
"Bad bitches gotta stay with bad bitches," Prism had insisted between a group selfie.
"At Ikea?"
"Duh," a sharp elbow jostles him to the side. Visi, flitting back and forth between the different cliques. "I mean, you're part of the Z-Team now, Mechahead. What was it you said? Learning to work as a team or whatever?"
Robert bites back a groan or regret.
"what does that have anything to do with going to Ikea? Why are we going to Ikea?"
A forceful smack on his lower back nearly sends him stumbling forward.
"Ye ain't even got a feckin' bed, lad."
Right. Robert sighes rubbing his lower back, quietly ignoring the pain that shoots up his spine and into his right elbow before settling into a dull migraine at the base of his neck.
"Your apartment is the most depressing thing I've seen and I've seen some depressing shit." Something dangerously close to embarrassment rises to colour his cheeks at the sound of Chad's voice just behind him and he quickly tamps it down.
Maybe he should at the very least get a bed for his already fucked up spine. He just hopes they don't cause a scene.
---
They cause a scene.
And get more than just a bed.
They get an ugly white and brown rug that looks like a shitstain and an IDANAS coffee table on which Robert is sure he is going to injure his shins on eventually. To his quiet and heartfelt surprise, the cost of the furniture is split amongst the Z-Team, until he finds the lone lava lamp that he's made to pay for himself. Small mercies he supposes.
By the time they have Mal open up a path straight into his 'depressing' apartment, the sun was beginning to hang low on the LA skyline. He hopes this doesn't become a regular occurance.
Everyone streams in and disperse into various corners of the room. Janelle and Colm heading to his empty bedroom to start putting the bed frame together. Visi vaulting her ADHD ass over the kitchen counter like an animal to spread out the new rug and start on the coffee table.
Robert just heaves a tired sigh and drags himself to the couch, pulling his mask off. At least from there he had his back to the wall where he could see everyone. Vaguely hoping that Colm and Janelle don't start canoodling in his bedroom.
It was a good thing Chase was watching Beef again that night. For all his hand waving and insistence that he was fine, fatigue had been catching up with him. The medical checkup following the night of Shroud's death was... difficult. He had been combatitive with medical staff, dodging questions and being generally uncooperative, still wired from the adrenaline of having survived torture, thrown back into the line of active duty, and then subsequently crushing Elliot's windpipe. He was more accustomed to treating his own injuries and sleeping through concussions as Mechaman anyway.
His eyes scan through the narrow space of his unit, mentally cataloguing where each and every member of Z-Team was. Mal had mentioned getting drinks and would be back in five, Bruno had parked himself comfortably in the corner between the couch and the balcony sliding doors, already bobbing away to his tunes. Alice was vaping on his balcony. Chad and Victor had commandeered his kitchen. Which was fine, he knew Chad could cook since he cooked for his sister and his niece but not Victor.
"Hey, Victor! You cook?"
Victor's head pops up comically from behind the counter, before raising a massive mixing bowl in one hand. "Turbo pot brownies," The apartment breaks out in cheers while Robert just tilts and bobs his head uncertainly in vague understanding.
He leans back into the couch, rolls his shoulder and grimaces, feeling that familiar sharp pain shoot through his right arm again. Like the nerves running from his middle finger through his wrist to his elbow was being stretched too tight. Bites back a hiss of pain and the cold numbness that chases it.
"You good Bobbo?"
"Hmm?" he raises his tired gaze back to the hybrid who hadn't taken his beady little eyes off Robert. Quietly noting how both Visi and Bruno had looked up to stare at him as well.
"I can like, hear your bones or something grinding from here man." Victor raises a hand to rub the back of his fuzzy neck, he had taken his blue blazer off along with his usual red tie, opting to roll the sleeves of his white under shirt up.
"Oh nah. Probably just the uh... This," he taps his chest plate sharply and gets up a little to quickly. "I should take this off and make sure Punch Up and Coupe aren't messing around in there,"
Mal cuts her way back into his apartment, blocking his path just as he moves to the corridor leading to his bedroom. "Drinks are here!" effortlessly lifting three 24-packs of beer in one hand and a bag containing an assortment of alcohol in the other.
"Going somewhere, babes?" she grins down at him.
"Yeah, I need to take all this" he gestures to himself, "off. And make sure Coupe and Punch Up aren't eating face in my bedroom. Or worse," he adds darkly before making to squeeze past her. Yet before he's able to make headway, an arrowed tail wraps around his middle and pulls him back.
"Is that all? Let me help you with that, yeah?"
The living room erupts into hooting and whistling, Alice sticking her head in to shout, "Show it OFF, white boy!"
Robert drags a hand down his face as he's held in place. Fighting to push down all pre-existing reflexes to violently deck or suplex someone standing directly behind him.
"Okay, how do we do this," the sound of Mal's claws tapping around the outer shell. He feels like a bell.
"Clasp. Near the neck" he waves over his shoulder.
"Hm. Actually, hey! Flambae! Wanna lend a hand?" there's something coy in her voice as she calls out to Chad.
The Afghan's face goes through all five stages of grief (impressively) before he stiffly sidles up next to Mal behind Robert, muttering unintelligibly all the way. He was wearing a horrendous black half-apron with "Kiss The 'Bae" written on it in flaming orange fonts. It felt a little redundant considering the low V-cut of his body suit still left most of his solid broad chest exposed.
"This is soooo unnecessary," Robert drawls as Mal and Chad fiddle about behind him. Tries to ignore how aware he is of the heat that follows Chad.
He feels the clasp click open followed by the release of pressure around his ribcage. He starts shrugging off the additional parts along his forearms.
"Huh."
"Hm."
Robert vaguely hums, "What?"
He feels a large clawed hand rest hesitantly on his shoulder, a thumb applying the barest of pressure to the back of his neck that suffused a heady warmth from it. Was Mal doing that?
Chad's voice cuts through his idle musings, "Why is there a line of bullet holes straight down your back?"
The room very audibly falls silent and Robert quickly ducks out from Mal's grasp, turning on his heel to face her and Chad.
"Old injury. Real old." he deflects lamely.
Chad's frown deepens. He snatches the chest plate from Mal and shakes it at Robert, "The holes match the ones on your jumpsuit. We can see the scars through it, Mechadickhead."
"What's your point? Doesn't change that it's an old injury. Now move so I can go get a change of clothes."
"It starts at his neck and goes all the way down to his asscrack, " Visi jumps up from the half assembled coffee table, "I've seen his naked ass. It's fucked up."
Robert fumes, his chest heaving as he snatches the chest plate back from Chad before shoving his way through the corridor.
He dissappears into his bedroom, Colm and Janelle's voices follow, presumably in conversation with Robert having shown up at the door.
In the wake of the silence left in the living room, everyone shifts uncomfortably. Even Alice who had eventually tuned into the conversation was frowning.
"Didn't he say he has nerve damage or something?" Victor quietly pipes up from behind the kitchen counter.
"That wasn't just nerve damage." Mal's face is grim.
"That was a whole ass spinal injury,"
---
Punch Up and Coupe had long since finished assembling the bed and had already fitted the mattress into it. Faithful to Robert's understanding of their characters, they were of course, canoodling on it.
Yet as he kicked the both of them out to change, Janelle and Colm both exchanged unreadable glances his way. Janelle fixing him with an intense cryptic stare as she skulked her way out the door following Colm.
Robert tries not to think too hard about how much they heard.
Mercifully, by the time he's peeled the suit off and thrown on something more comfortable, the atmosphere in the living room had mostly returned to normal.
Visi had abandoned the half finished coffee table to Mal and Victor and was now shotgunning a beer with Alice next to Bruno. HOES DEPRESSED blasts through Alice's portable speaker as the smell of chocolate and slow cooked meat and rice wafts through the space. He vaguely wonders where Chad and Victor got the ingredients to make anything in his sparse kitchen, but in the current moment, what occupies the forefront of his mind is how goddamn good it smells.
"Why the fuck did you change into your fucking work clothes, what the fuck?" Chad throws a dish rag at his face from behind the counter where he had been watching (what he assumes is his) slow-cooker.
He catches the rag as it slides off his face, nonplussed, "It's comfortable." After a beat he adds, "Also I need to get new shirts," decidedly more 'plussed'.
"How depressed a hoe gotta be to only have WORK CLOTHES," Alice yells in exasperation from across the room.
"Pretty fuckin' depressed if you ask me. I mean look at him." Visi tosses a bottle at his face.
He catches it with his good hand, (thankfully) . "I'm not depressed." he leans down, turning the bottle cap towards Janelle who wordlessly pops the cap off for him with a blade without looking up from the IKEA instructions.
"Could a depressed person direct all your sorry asses around Torrence, fix his suit and make a come back as Mechaman?"
That makes everyone turn to stare balefully at him.
"Bro. That sounds pretty depressed." Bruno finally rumbles from his corner.
Alright, he's uncomfortable.
Robert opts to throw back the newly opened bottle of beer instead of address the accusing stares from his co-workers. Sauntering his way into the kitchen next to Chad to see what smelled so damn good.
The slow-cooker is fucking massive.
"What'cha makin'?" he prods, leaning into Chad's space to peer through it's transparent lid. Bone in meat, sits on a bed of rice mixed with carrots and raisins.
"You wouldn't know what it is, Bob-bob. Go sit and drink until you pass the fuck out, or whatever it is white girls do." Chad hisses back, both hands planted on his hips as he keeps his eyes still fixed on the cooker's contents. There was a tic in his jaw and he seemed intent on burning a hole into the lid with his eyes.
Robert pulls back, rolling his eyes as he makes his way back to the couch. He passes Victor who hurries back into the kitchenette to check on the brownies. There's a triumphant shout from him as Robert eases himself back into the couch with his second beer.
"TURBO POT BROWNIES ARE DONE!"
The apartment erupts into cheers again.
He's halfway through his third when Chad's cooking starts getting passed around on paper plates. The food is a godsend and sorely needed with all the alcohol in the room.
After a cursory sniff, (what the fuck are you sniffing like a dog for just fucking eat it Hand Job Bob ) honestly more out of habit than anything. No scent of almonds.
He digs in. The rice is rich and savoury, the meat tender and aromatic. The raisins in the rice cutting through the saltiness with tiny bursts of sweetness. Robert lets out a low groan. "Ohhhh my god. This is SO fucking good, what the hell,"
"Of course it's fucking good, I made it! I'm going outside for a fucking smoke." Chad stomps past him and makes his way to the balcony and slams the sliding door shut with more force than is necessary. He swears he sees steam rising from the top of Chad's head and shoulders.
"What's crawled up his ass? I said it was good." he muses as Alice slips out after him with a huge shit eating grin.
"Probably you or a butt plug. Here, brownies," Victor shoves the pan in his face. Robert pauses, a single grain of rice clinging to his chin as he glances down at the sheet pan and then back up at Victor who was giving him a toothy grin.
"No thanks, someone has to be sober around here and I'd like to keep my apartments deposit thanks." Victor's stare turns withering.
"Dude. You're on your fourth beer, all of us are shit faced and you draw the line at some weed?"
Point taken. He relents and reaches for a brownie before Victor smacks his hand away and nudges a particularly crispy corner piece closer to his grasp.
It's weirdly touching in a roundabout way.
He bites into the square and savours the way it crunches beneath his teeth. Ah fuck, Victor was a pretty good baker too. Probably from all the pot brownies he's made.
"What, no porno moan for me? Damn."
Robert flips him off.
By his fifth beer, he vaguely acknowledges he should be switching to water. He keeps passing the half empty bottle between both hands and it keeps slipping in his grasp.
He squints at the bottle in his right hand. The problem hand. Tests his grip on it.
Still numb.
The neck slowly begins to slide out of his grip and he tests his grip again, tightening it. At least he thinks he does.
It sends shooting pain up his spine into the base of his neck and his vision wavers just a little.
"Jesus, loosen up that gorilla grip there, lad" Colm's stocky figure edges into his blurry field of vision. He blinks blearily up at the Irishman.
"Don't want to be dealin' with shards stickin' out of yer palm," he pats him carefully on the shoulder before turning to join Janelle at the kitchen counter.
Robert's not able to fully follow, his mind slowing to a sedentary chug. He drops his gaze back to the beer in his hand.
Which was now on the floor.
His grip must have loosened enough for it to drop, thankfully upright, avoiding any spills. He reaches down to pick it back up but is beaten to it by a red tail snaking out and snatching it out of reach.
"I think that's enough for you tonight. The brownies look like they're hitting," Mal smiles affectionately as she tosses the bottle to Bruno with a flick of her tail.
"... wasn't done with th'..." he mumbles. Words were hard. Movement... were? Hard.
Jesus.
How much weed was in that brownie.
He flops back into the couch, hissing and wincing as it sends another jolt through frayed nerves. "Fffffuuucckk..."
"Alright, let's see how bad it is," the space next to him dips as Malevola settles into the seat to his left.
"Hey, 'bae." she waves someone over and before long a warm steady heat settles on the other side, sandwiching him between them. Distantly Robert worries about letting his guard down while being this out of it, but remembers he has an apartment full of fuck so he should be fine. Mostly.
"Wh's happenin'..." he mumbles, looking between Mal and Chad's very toned chest. He pauses on his amber eyes, his thick brows pulled together in soft worry. Before his brain to body filter can kick in, he lifts his hand and flops it unceremoniously on Chad's chest.
"ffukc sory... I dropped my. Hand." he grits out between slurred words, slightly mortified. There's laughter around him, but he's too busy watching the way Chad's face flush as he grouses out a strained, "It's fine, bitch."
"Alright, let's see what we're working with," Mal's voice cuts through and he feels her slide a hand behind his neck to grip his nape.
Almost immediately, all the tension in his body drains and a bone deep exhaustion that he never realised his body held, seeps out of him like a released pressure valve. His eyes roll and he let's out a long, deep moan.
The pressure behind his eyes, the tension in his neck, shoulders, back, the sharp shooting pain, the near constant pulsing migraine drains out of him.
"Jesus christ,"
"Holy shit,"
"Is bro okay?"
"Okay that was hot tho,"
Malevola's brow furrows, cocks her head to the side in rumination while she maintains her hold on Robert's neck.
"What is it, Mal?" Victor prompts.
"His... Everything," she gestures vaguely to all of him, "Has a pretty fucked up spine injury and his right hand is numb. This man should be in the hospital."
At this, Chad glances down at the hand still resting awkwardly on his chest. Brings his own up to take them in his, rubbing slow warming circles into his upturned palm. Notices how cold they are and how they were trembling.
"yeah... S'been that way since th'coma..." Robert casually drawls out, eyes drooping slightly.
Somewhere in the room, Visi looks away. Takes a swig from her bottle as she does.
"So the crash fucked up your spine?" Colm asks, uncharacteristically gentle.
"Hm?" Robert rolls his head at his direction general direction, "Noooo... No, no, no... Wasn't the crash." he heaves out a tired sigh, "Ws' the suit."
"The suit?" Colm presses.
Robert hums again, sinking lower in the couch, Mal's hand faithfully following his descent. He feels sooooo comfortable. Most of his accompanying pain was mostly gone, he has a hot guy(literally and figuratively) massaging his bad hand, he was high out of his mind and for once in his miserable life, full of food.
"What do you mean the suit, lad?" Colm chases that train of thought.
Robert's mind judders back to the present, eyebrows raising tiredly before limply waving his left wrist around.
"Js' the suit's failsafe m' dad installed. Fucked up m' spine n' nervous... Nervous system. Fucked it up good... Or... Bad actually. Pretty bad." his tongue felt like chewing gum.
"Guys I'm kind of lost," Victor murmurs quietly somewhere in the room, before he's violently shushed by several people and assaulted with throw pillows.
"How did the suit fuck up your spine?" Visi's clear voice pulls his wandering mind back. She had moved from her place against the wall to kneel in front of him. Her face was pinched with determination and concern.
"Aw, Court..." he tries to sit up again, "S'not your fau--"
"How did it fuck up your spine, Robert."
Robert doesn't answer for a beat, dimly the last vestiges of sobriety in his mind shriek at him like the suit's blaring alarms not to answer but it's quickly drowned out by the more pressing desire for comfort and connection.
" It was the failsafe," he repeats, shrugging lamely, as if that explained everything.
"Yes, but what does the failsafe do?" her voice growing more urgent. "What happens when it... It... Starts?"
Robert grumbles a little, "So like..." he squeezes his eyes shut, tries to remember the night of the crash.
"The suit wasn't responding to my inputs... And I ssmashed my head against smthn' while I was falling." he leans his head back against the couch.
"So to make sure I can still pilot the suit, the failsafe snaps this huge, fuckoff metal collar around..." he gestures vaguely to his neck and clavicle.
"And sticks these, needles up and down my spine so I can... Control it better. Then it's like, I am the suit. And that's how I flew away from crashing into the city center," he finishes with a shrug.
The silence that follows is deafening.
It's broken by Visi standing up purposefully and power walking out to the balcony with a surprising amount of calm and self control.
"What the fuck, man." Bruno rumbles out in his baritone.
"You mentioned your father installed this failsafe," Janelle finally speaks between the rising murmuring.
"Yeah but h's like. Real dead."
Janelle frowns, deep in thought but nods curtly.
"You wouldn't have known he has like, a fucked up spine or a bad arm with the way the guy fights. He fights like a raccoon with rabies or something, " Victor muses quietly somewhere in the room.
Robert shifts uncomfortably, he hopes he didn't harsh the vibe or whatever. A large soothing hand rests on the back of his neck to replace Mal's, radiating a gentle heat as it carefully massages the area.
"Hm, s'nice," he mumbles leaning into it. Chad doesn't bite back too harshly for once. "Whatever,"
His eyes slide close and he allows himself to relax into his hold. He hasn't felt this pain free and good in a long time. Floats in it. Absently thinks that he should allow these house parties more often.
As he finally drops off, Visi returns and quietly announces to the group that she made a call to Mandy to inform her. If her voice shook, no one points it out.
Naturally, no one had known about the failsafe.
Royd had found the parts for it while he was helping Robert rebuild the suit, but didn't know what it was used for. Opting to leave it for lack of better judgement. According to a text update from Mandy, he was currently ripping them back out. Chase wasn't at the office at this hour, but one could easily guess what his reaction would be when word reaches him.
In the meantime, everyone switches to water. And Chad doesn't loosen his hold on Robert the entire night.
In the morning, Robert wakes the whole flat by slamming his shin into his brand new IDANAS coffee table.