AN: I felt that Robert starting the job right after his recruitment was a bit rushed. Wanted to write about his experiences before starting the dispatcher job.
Keep in mind that I'm going to deviate a bit in terms of dialogue and events. I don't want to just copy and paste the whole story. There has to be something I can contribute to the story, and to me it's a modified narrative of the game. That is not to say that I hate the original narrative(I LOVE IT). I just want to see where my hopelessly romantic imagination brings me.
P.S I haven't been writing for long. More used to writing research papers and persuasive essays, so creative writing is a whole new magical world I want to explore.
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And Then It Rained in LA
Their gazes were fixed on the glowing silhouette of the Hollywood sign, its white light washing over the dark hill. A rare moment of silence in the City of Angels. Their legs hung off the Phenomenon billboard.
Life after the accident hadn't been kind to him. He'd shut out most people after his father's passing, leaving no one to help pick up the pieces.
Just as they reached the point of peaceful silence, a rhythmic patter on the railings interrupted their musings.
"It's starting to rain," he said, holding his gloved hand out to feel the weight of the drops. The droplets of water dripped down, whispers of a brewing storm.
"Yeah. You're right." His eyes couldn't pull away from the way wet locks of hair framed her alluring face. He didn't need to see her without her mask to know how beautiful she was; it was obvious, a fact of life. The adverts didn't do her justice; she looked better in person. She was the type you'd take to meet your parents. A ray of light in the cruel world of villains and heroes.
The way she looked at him, her eyes bluer than the astral pulse, made something shift inside him. Goosebumps traveled down his arms: an alien feeling. She saw past the tough-guy facade and didn't leave.
"Take a picture; it'll last longer." The corners of her mouth curved into a smirk. He rolled his eyes in response. She knew the effect she had on people. The palpable tension partially dissipated, his shoulders relaxing.
"We should go somewhere, maybe avoid getting drenched." He gestured to the darkening fabric of his suit.
Before he had time to suggest a place, her arms were wrapped around his waist and they were gently floating off the billboard.
"I know a place." He could feel the wet spandex hug his skin, a heavy and tight sensation. Her arms felt strong: a reminder of the gap between their worlds. She had powers, and he didn't. That comparison didn't save people; effort did. He'd accepted that long ago. Those thoughts were quickly swept away by the air rushing past his hair. Small droplets of water tickled his face as he breathed in the cold, humid smell of rain.
They were flying for what felt like minutes and eventually landed on the balcony of an apartment overlooking the massive expanse of the city.
"This your place?"
"One of many I have around the city." He was reminded of the exorbitant amount of money corporate heroes made. A vast contrast to his drained inheritance and overdue bills. Life as an independent hero meant shouldering repairs, which weren't cheap by any definition.
The apartment was modest, though still three times larger than his studio flat. Off-white walls contrasted with wooden furniture. Their steps left trails of small puddles on the apartment's matte tiles. Diffused rays of moonlight infiltrated the room, casting shadows and small sanctuaries of light.
"Your place is… very minimalist."
"I don't really come here often, sorry if it lacks personality."
"Should see mine. I've got a plastic chair and a sleeping bag."
"Is that even livable?"
"It gets the job done." She chuckled in response.
"I'll get us some towels to dry off." He took a seat on her couch, water still dripping off his suit. The rain gradually settled into a heavy rhythm, white noise drowning out the sirens and chaos of the city.
"It's raining cats and dogs out there." He saw her figure approaching, sculpted curves and muscle obscured by the dark curtain of rain. She knew who he was, but he couldn't say the same. And it all hit him; he was in a stranger's apartment, soaked, still injured, and completely vulnerable to whatever may happen.
"Here. Can't have you soaking up my place," she said as she handed him a towel.
He quickly noticed the ass-shaped water stain on the couch and the puddle collecting near the carpet.
"That's my bad. Hard to stand straight with the amount we drank."
"No, that's on me. I'm the one who invited you out here. And now we're both tired, wet, and tipsy." His eyes met hers. Something lingered between them; something magnetic, impossible to ignore. She averted her gaze, a small blush working its way up her face.
He tried his best to dry off; a difficult task when he was aware of her wandering eyes. Years of being a hero gave him that sixth sense. He turned away from her, towel in hand, grasping at some sense of privacy.
He peeled off the upper layer of his suit to dry himself, exposing a network of scars, giving her a front-seat view of the dozens of marks that marred his body. Each one told a different story: years of pain condensed into faded lines and patches of discolored skin.
He felt a gloved hand trace a scar that ran down his back. "Where'd you get this one?" Her voice carried a sense of curiosity and care.
"Had a run-in with a supervillain during my rookie days. I was inexperienced, and he wasn't."
Her hand traced another one, a series of smaller scars.
"Had to go undercover. No suit, no armor. Some guy with the power to cut. Don't ask me, didn't know how it worked either."
"Did it hurt?"
"Getting stabbed does tend to hurt, yeah." He grinned, earning a light punch.
"You know what I mean."
"I got used to it. Comes with being a hero, all the more one with no powers." She'd probably never been injured.
"I don't regret it though. I'd have chosen this in every life." He turned around, and his eyes met hers. They were all of a sudden aware of the distance between them, or the sheer lack of it.
"You have any scars?"
"No, can't say I do. Comes with the powers, I guess." Her hands momentarily flickered with light. "Most of it just heals with time."
"But you, though. You're so fragile—"
"Way to flatter a guy."
"You didn't let me finish. You're so fragile, but at the same time so mentally strong. You're powerless, yet you still try. You don't have the same safety net that I or other heroes have… and you receive no reward for doing this."
"You're right. I don't have powers... and I don't get paid."
A small chuckle escaped him.
"Hell, I don't even have insurance."
"But I knew all of this when I chose to inherit that suit. These factory defects are just a bonus."
He didn't miss the way her gaze continued to linger on his scars. That damn look on her face refused to disappear. He wasn't used to people worrying about him. Nights where he'd come home bloodied and battered were always met with solitude and silence.
An unguarded closeness lingered in the air. Maybe it was the situation: two lonely souls, tired and weary, the noise of the world drowned out by torrential rains. Or maybe he'd never really talked about his past or the scars that reminded him of it. The pain that became his daily life. Part of him believed it was admiration, yet whispers of "pity" still ghosted his thoughts.
"You want a drink?" Another missed moment of tension they chose to ignore.
She traced a path toward the kitchen. He followed, fingertips brushing past the cold marble of the island. His eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room, still bathed in shadows.
"Not really beating the alcoholic allegations, are you?"
"Please, this stuff's like water to me."
"Exactly what an alcoholic would say."
"No, but that's because I have a high—" She paused. "Okay, I'm gonna stop before I dig myself into a deeper hole."
"I'm kidding. But yeah, I could use a drink. Just none of that pure alcohol stuff you had at the bar."
A faint chuckle left her lips. "I want you to relax, not collapse." She paused for a moment, a curve gracing her lips. "Though that would be very entertaining."
"But then you'd have no one to keep you company."
"Yeah, you're not wrong."
A glistening bottle of Johnnie Walker caught the dim light on the counter. The sound of liquor pouring was smooth and steady, like a small waterfall. Golden nectar met cold crystal.
"So, you got any family? Friends? Maybe a dog?" Her ears perked up.
"Yeah. I have friends, but they're from work, you know? We get lunch, maybe talk about what we watched last week." She sighed. "But sometimes there's just that barrier between your work and personal life that never leaves."
Silence was present for a moment. "As for family — I don't really want to talk about that right now."
"And you don't have to. But I get that. If I ever actually hung out with other heroes off-duty, they'd realize how miserable I am."
"Hey, you're not that bad to be around. We're both here, aren't we?"
A light chuckle escaped him. "I guess you're right." A grin followed. "Or maybe the oh-so-charitable and amazing Blonde Blazer is just comforting a washed-up has-been."
"I mean, someone has to give back to the community," she teased.
"All hail Queen Blazer," he shot back.
"Yeah, yeah. All jokes aside, you're not a bad guy," she admitted.
He found that so hard to believe.
A hand rested on his shoulder — not a burden, but a quiet weight of comfort and understanding.
"I mean that, you know."
"You're saying a lot for someone I just met what — five, six hours ago?" he said.
"I agree we were basically strangers until tonight." Her grip tightened slightly. "But doesn't it feel like we've known each other for longer? Like something just clicks?"
For a moment, silence took over the room, only the light hum of the refrigerator daring to break it. Her hand was still on his shoulder, anticipating some response from him.
"You're right. I've probably told you more about my life than I ever have to any friend." Her hand gave a gentle squeeze.
He brought the glass to his lips: a prolonged stream of distraction. The sensation, a welcome distraction from his thoughts.
____
"That actually happened, you know. I remember when my grandfather had to fight this Kaiju." What started out as doomscrolling Netflix titles ended up as fact-checking the Mecha Man-inspired TV show.
He remembered these fights, albeit the more gritty and violent truths behind them. Days where he'd questioned if his father or grandfather survived.
Blazer was amused and intrigued. Maybe it was the alcohol, but she failed to notice the way her body started to lean onto his. Robert didn't mind it. As far as he knew, this was the closest he'd been with anyone since the death of his father. He didn't hate it. He definitely didn't hate the smell of her coconut-scented shampoo, or the way her body seemed to fit against his.
"Hey." Her voice was a low whisper. He turned to face her.
"Yeah?"
"I like this. I know it sounds kinda sad, but I haven't had this much fun in a long time." He knew where this was going, and for once he didn't try to stop it. He didn't try to shut her out — because maybe this was what he'd always needed. He liked this too.
Robert leaned in closer, his lips meeting hers. But just as quickly as it started, it ended. He could feel empty air flood the space between them. She pulled away.
Her hand reached out to cup his cheek — only for a moment. A polite smile graced her features before the space grew larger.
His eyes widened — a small expanse of confusion, rejection, and something else. The light in his eyes dimmed.
"We can't." He knew what that smile meant. That smile you used when you'd say no to coffee with a co-worker — that smile you used when you were very clearly uncomfortable.
Seconds started to feel like minutes. A moment of quiet disarray, a spiral of self-berating thoughts and confusion. The silence: palpable, neither really knowing what to say. The slouched form of a broken man, far too used to rejection. Can't anything go right for once? he thought.
"Ah, yeah. That's my bad. I just misread that, didn't I?"
"Yeah." Her eyes once gazing into his now averted. "But that's my fault, I wasn't helping either." Her mind was a mixture of confusion, guilt, and something she refused to acknowledge: attraction. She didn't want to address that right now, she couldn't.
They instinctively shifted, the space between them widening until she sat across from him. The TV still played in the background, the only thing masking the awkward and subdued silence they'd created.
For a moment, she hesitated, trying her best to recover the composure she'd lost. A small sigh escaped her conflicted complexion. And then she said, "You remember that proposition I was talking about before?"
"Yeah. Was this not it?" he asked. Her cheeks flushed. "No, not really. I came to offer you an opportunity to keep helping people and other heroes."
Not really? What does that even mean? he thought.
"And how exactly would I be able to do that?"
"…As a dispatcher."
AN: ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ thanks for reading the first chapter! Please vote or review if you liked it.