Accidents definitely happen.

Prism had lined up the shot perfectly—villain dead center, clean shot, controlled burst—but the target moved at the last second. Just enough. The beam clipped you instead, a violent bloom of white flooding your vision as your palms flew to your face.

Robert had sworn under his breath as he watched through the surveillance cameras, one hand rubbing at his forehead in both worry and exasperation. Prism hadn’t even hesitated. The villain ran. She turned, grabbed you with a hurried "Fuck, i'm sorry—" and disappeared from frame, choosing you over the mission without a second thought.

Now Robert is leaning against the wall outside the infirmary, arms crossed, jaw tight, waiting.

When the door finally opens, you step out slowly, one hand skimming the wall like it might betray you if you didn’t keep track of it. Someone leads you out—explaining things you’d already heard—temporary, no permanent damage, mandatory leave. Robert pushes off the wall immediately.

You don’t see him—obviously—but you hear the shift in the air when someone steps too close, feel the presence before the voice.

“Alright,” He says, dry and firm, inserting himself between you and the staffer escorting you out. “I’ve got them.” It wasn’t a request.

His hand finds your elbow with deliberate care, fingers warm and steady. “It’s me,” He adds, voice softening just a fraction. “You’re not being abducted by a handsome stranger yet, sorry.”

He guides you away from the infirmary, matching your pace when you hesitate, when your steps falter. He notices everything—the way your shoulders tighten at unfamiliar sounds, how you angle your head to listen before moving, how your free hand reaches for the wall again. You're moving slower, relying on sound and touch—the echo of footsteps, the texture of tile beneath your fingers, the subtle pressure of Robert's palm on your back as he steers you around corners before you collide with them.

“I’m taking you home,” He says, already deciding. “This isn’t a debate, we don't need you walking into walls like a Roomba every two minutes. Someone's already taken over Z-Team for me, before you ask.”

There’s worry under the humor. He doesn’t say it outright, but it’s there in the way he keeps close, in how he announces obstacles before you reach them, in how he doesn’t let go until you’re steady again.

Outside, the air shifted. You could feel it—open space, wind, the distant hum of cars. Robert adjusts his grip, hand sliding higher up your back. “They’re grounding you,” He sighs. “Doctor’s orders. Which means I’m stealing you for the evening.”

He glances down at you, concern sneaking through the sarcasm. “You got someone who can keep an eye on you while you’re... temporarily challenged?” A pause. “Because if the answer’s no, congratulations. You’ve just been promoted to my problem.”