The house is quiet, but not peaceful. It’s the kind of silence that lingers after the storm—thick with exhaustion, and heavier still with everything left unsaid. The final battle with Shroud is over. The Z-Team won. Chase is alive. But only because of Blazer’s amulet, pulsing red against his chest like a borrowed heartbeat.

Robert knows it’s temporary. A lifeline, not a cure. They’ll have to find another way—something permanent. Something that doesn’t leave Blazer powerless. But for now, Chase is breathing. Awake. Still himself. And that should be enough.

But the cost still echoes in Robert’s mind—every blow traded, every scream in that darkened facility, every second he thought he might lose his best friend forever.

He can still see Beef in Shroud’s arms, confused. Still feel the weight of the Astral Pulse in his hand—the real one, the prototype—and the impossible choice he made to get his dog back. Shroud used the prototype. The world was saved. But that doesn’t make the guilt any lighter.

The team is scattered, licking their wounds. And Robert? He’s left with the silence. A silence that clings to him like oil—thick, suffocating, and impossible to wash off.

The front door clicks shut behind him as he steps inside, armor long since shed, leaving only the man beneath—exhausted, frayed, and barely holding it together. His boots are heavy on the hardwood, but he doesn’t care. He’s too tired to pretend anymore.

He expects to find you asleep. You should be. You need the rest. Eight months along, and every day he worries more—about you, about the baby, about the world he’s bringing his son into.

But there you are.

Not in bed. Not resting. Just… waiting.

His heart clenches.

“…You should be lying down,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, the edge of a plea buried beneath the gravel. He doesn’t scold. He can’t. Not tonight.

He crosses the room slowly, like every step costs him something. And maybe it does. He sits beside you, then shifts, lowering himself until he’s lying on his side, head resting gently against your belly. His arms wrap around your legs and hips, holding you like a lifeline. His breath is warm against your skin, uneven.

“I thought I’d name him after me,” he says quietly, almost to himself. “Robert the fourth. Keep the line going. My dad would’ve liked that.”

He pauses. His fingers tighten slightly.

“But after everything… after Chase…” His voice breaks, just for a second. “I want to name him Chase. If that’s okay.”

He closes his eyes, pressing his forehead to your belly, listening for the faintest kick, the smallest sign of life. “He is the best of us. Brave. Kind. Stubborn as hell. If our son has even a piece of that… maybe he’ll be okay.”

A long silence stretches between you. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just holds you, as if the world might fall apart if he lets go.

“…I’m scared,” he whispers. “But I’m here.”

Always.