Chapter Text
Robbie hadn’t even made it to the top of the ladder before he regretted every decision that led him to this moment. Sportacus’s crystal had gone off around 9 that morning, the elf had tried and failed to get up, and Robbie, pitifully awoken by the beepity beeping, was met with those stupid big blue eyes, all pleading and hopeful and full of a trust he absolutely did not deserve.
He wasn’t going to go, the brats should be able to handle themselves to an extent, right?
But Sportacus looked so incredibly helpless, and that strange, so not villain-like urge to protect came gnawing at his chest like it had the previous day when Sportapathetic had cried when he tried to keep him awake for medicine.
So now here he was, standing in the middle of town with a bunch of frantic kids swarming him. Stephine carried a glint of suspicion in her eyes, likely because Robbie showed up instead of Sportacus, but didn’t mention anything in the heat of the moment.
“What am I supposed to do about it?” Robbie snapped, arms crossed.
Pixel gestured wildly toward Ziggy, who was currently hanging upside-down from a tree branch, flailing like a fish. “Uh, I dunno, help?”
Robbie looked up at the struggling kid, then at the perfectly reachable lower branches, then back at the panicked children.
“…Has anyone actually tried getting him down yet?”
The awkward silence told him everything he needed to know.
He sighed, muttered something under his breath about incapable children that wouldn’t last a day on their own, and hoisted himself up into the tree. It made him tremble, being only a few feet off the ground, but remembering that he was doing this as a favor, no, for Sportacus gave him the little bit of bravery he needed.
Later, when he trudged back down to the Lair and beelined for the shower, he stopped in front of his open bedroom door. He was covered in dirt, previously perfect hair askew, and deeply regretting his entire existence, as usual— yet Sportacus just smiled at him, soft and warm and genuine.
“Thank you!”
Something inside Robbie lurched. Not necessarily in a bad way.
He huffed, looking anywhere but at Sportacus. “Oh, shut up. It was only to make your stupid alarm stop.”
But when he turned back in the direction of his bathroom, noting it was nearly time for the next dose of fever reducer, he didn’t miss the way Sportacus was still smiling after him.
__________
Around mid-day, after Robbie had showered, eaten some cake, left some “sportcandy” for a peacefully sleeping elf, and taken a solid 2 hour power nap, he could be found sitting on the floor, tinkering with the underside of one of the many inventions cluttering his workspace.
Sportacus walked in, yawning and a bit off balance, like he had just woken up. He clutched his blue and white striped hat in his hands.
Robbie only meant to spare a glance in that direction when he heard the patter of footsteps, but once he looked, he couldn’t look away. Sportacus’s blonde, finger-combed waves lightly fell over his eyes and wrapped around the backs of his ears, though the points were still stuck out. There is simply no. way. wearing that hat all day is comfortable for the guy, because in his most relaxed state, his ears stuck out at quite an angle. Robbies maroon sweater hung loose around Sportacus’s waist, but his strong shoulders filled out the top, and the sleeves were bunched up at his wrists for being too long. The ends of his black sweatpants dragged on the floor. Despite this being what Humans, Elves, Faeries, and Puppets alike would probably call “disheveled,” Robbie found him utterly beckoning. He thought to do his best to hide his captivated gaze, though his attention was quickly stolen away by something absolutely dishonorable. He watched in horror as Sportastupid tugged lightly on a thread coming undone from the seam of his hat, and bit it off.
“What the hell?”
“Language.” Sportacus deadpanned. His voice was deeper than usual.
“You’re really gonna tell me to watch my language in my own Lair?”
Sportacus glared back, eyebrow quirked, and it was the least intimidating thing Robbie had ever seen. And so he ignored the look and said, “How has that thing not fallen apart?”
“What do you mean? I fix-”
“Don’t you dare say “fixed it.” That there was making it worse. Were you taught nothing at hero school?”
“I didn’t go to school outside of Primary. I was trained by retired Numbers.” Sportacus clarified, before realizing Robbie didn’t care. He sighed, accepting defeat wasn’t so bad when he was giving into Robbie. “What would you recommend?”
“I would recommend you hand it over.” Robbie said, extending his arm out, making a grabby motion with his hand. For only a brief moment of hesitancy, Sportacus eyed the villain, but then smiled, with teeth this time, a smile full of trust that Robbie was still certain he didn’t deserve, and made the rest of the way over to hand the man his beloved human disguise.
It honestly irked Robbie that his elaborately detailed costumes were so easily and regularly seen through, yet no one else in this forsaken town noticed anything off about the Kangaroo? Not in the last two years? Biased yet justified lack of suspicion, he figured. Who would assume the hero was omitting something like his commonly-pariah-by-other-species, species?
On the corner of his workbench was a little open tin, on the insite sat a magnet with a few needles stuck to it of varying size, and threads in a grayscale of black to white, plus little silver scissors. Making quick work, he color matched the seam and repaired every spot that was coming at all loose or undone. He prided himself in his untraceable work, like the fraying had never happened in the first place, good as new.
Trying his hardest not to let Sportacus in his line of sight, knowing full well he might not be able to look back away if he did, he tossed the hat in Sportacus’s direction, to which the man caught, having recovered just enough of his reflexes over that last few hours.
During the whole ordeal, though it was only a couple minutes at most, Sportacus was equally if not more mesmerized by his companion. Robbie was wearing a cropped version of what he usually adorns. Just the purple striped vest, so his neck, arms, waist were exposed. There were these iridescent, shimmering lavender, almost birthmark-like swirls peaking out in his chest and surprisingly sculpted biceps. Needless to say it was a product of his mixed heritage, and it was unequivocally stunning. Sportacus found himself entranced by Robbies gracefully swift repair, with such ease that he’d likely sewn that exact pattern more than once. Tailoring, and the skills that come with it, are quite a respectable and awfully attractive craft to Elves. He was lucky Robbie didn’t look back when he was done and tossed it, or the man would’ve seen his star-struck look of awe.
He ran his thumb over the new seam, admiring it.
“Thank you, Robbie, you’re amazing. How can I pay you back?”
Robbie sputtered, for some reason, and swiveled around to face him. “N- Just, just don’t worry about it. Return the favor by getting better or whatever.” He was red in the face.
Sportacus’s face fell. He thought to see this coming, but that didn’t make it less disappointing. “If you want me to leave, I’ll go. Thank you for taking care of me.”
“No! I mean, you should stay, you’re still sick, don’t pretend you’re not–”
“You’re right, I am, but I’m a little better now, and I don’t want to intrude more than I already have.” The last part was quieter than he meant it to be.
“Ugh, Sportacus.” Robbie ran a hand over his face. “You’re- you’re not intruding. ‘Get better’ cause’ I do not ever want to deal with those reckless brats ever again.” They were standing a foot or two apart, and Robbie could see sweat forming above the mentioned brow. He really ought to lie back down. “You don’t get to leave yet.”
Sportacus looked a bit confused. “Uh, Uh huh. Okay. That sure doesn't sound kidnapper-ish.” he finally said with amusement.
Robbie shot him a look that screamed “You’ve gotta be kidding me.” That made him laugh, then grimace, because the motion made his head sear with pain. He used his right hand to apply pressure to his temple, only slightly alleviating the ache, before momentarily losing balance. Two sturdy hands held him in place, one on his left arm and the other grasping his waist. He’d blame the sudden heat in his cheeks on his lasting fever. It most certainly had nothing to do with being held and guided back to bed by one tall, devilishly handsome faerie. No, definitely not.
______________
Robbie wasn’t sure why he’d decided to cook. Maybe it was because Sportacus had barely eaten anything that morning, and it being his Lair, it was his responsibility to ensure the elf didn’t keel over. Maybe it was because he was too tired to keep working, but his nap was too recent to go to bed. Or maybe—maybe—he just needed something to do that was occupying enough it would physically keep him from checking up on Sportacus every few minutes, like he had the urges to do so. Either way, it certainly was not because he wanted to give Sportacus something better than the sad variety of fruits he’d been feeding him the past two days.
Regardless, here he was, a pot bubbling away on the stove. It smelled… fine. Not burned, at least.
“I can help,” Sportacus offered, appearing far too suddenly at his side.
Robbie startled, nearly knocking a cup to the floor. “No, you cannot.” He turned, glaring. “Bed. You’re supposed to be resting.”
Sportacus, still slightly flushed from his lingering fever, only smiled, undeterred. “I feel much better!”
“You sound like a broken accordion,” Robbie muttered, giving the pot a spiteful stir.
Sportacus did not, in fact, go back to bed. He leaned in, peering at the pot like he had any culinary expertise whatsoever. “Oh! You should add basil.”
Robbie scowled. “Why?”
Sportacus shrugged. “It would taste better.”
Robbie narrowed his eyes. “And how exactly do you—”
Before he could finish, Sportacus reached over him to grab a jar from the shelf.
Robbie froze.
Too close. Way too close. He could feel the warmth of Sportacus’s arm brush against his own, smell the faint mix of his own soap, (The elf was well enough to shower an hour ago. His hair was still damp.) and something distinctly Sportacus. His brain fizzled out entirely.
Sportacus, hopefully oblivious, popped open the jar and added a pinch of basil. “There! Perfect.”
Robbie, still caught mid-malfunction, could only watch as Sportacus pried the spoon from his hand and stirred the pot with the enthusiasm of someone who had definitely never actually cooked before.
Dinner turned out surprisingly decent. Robbie made a point of not acknowledging this. But when Sportacus hummed happily after the first bite, something in Robbie’s chest did an unpleasantly warm little flip.
“Well,” he muttered, stabbing his own food with unnecessary force. “It’s not awful.”
Sportacus beamed. “That’s the best compliment I’ve ever heard you give.”
Robbie shoved a spoonful into his mouth, scowling, if only so Sportacus wouldn’t see the traitorous twitch of a smile trying to form.
The evening settled in, and Sportacus had finally convinced Robbie to sit with him for a while, though, in truth, it hadn't taken much convincing.
Robbie was perched on the very edge of the bed, arms crossed, as if physically resisting the ease that had begun creeping into their time together. Sportacus, still recovering but undeniably more himself, was leaning back against the pillows, watching him with quiet amusement.
“You’re terrible at resting,” Robbie muttered, glancing at the hero’s hands. He had been fidgeting with the blanket, pulling and twisting at the fabric absentmindedly. “Don’t start doing aerobics in my bed.”
Sportacus grinned. “I won’t if you relax.”
Robbie scoffed but didn’t argue. Instead, silence settled between them—not an awkward one, but one filled with the kind of comfort that neither of them seemed ready to acknowledge.
Out of the blue, Sportacus hummed thoughtfully. “You like it quiet, right?”
Robbie stiffened slightly, side-eyeing him. “What kind of question is that?”
“A real one.”
Robbie opened his mouth to argue, but he didn’t, because Sportacus wasn’t wrong. He always knew he hated boredom, but silence was different. It generally came without expectations. Sportacus, as always, was the opposite. Loud. Bright. Unpredictable. And yet, somehow, right now he wasn’t.
He was just here. In Robbie’s space. Taking up air and room and attention, Robbie wasn’t annoyed by it. Not really.
“It’s nice,” Robbie admitted finally. “Sometimes.”
Sportacus smiled at him—really smiled. And Robbie, in the worst possible way, felt warm. So he did what he did best. He panicked.
“Alright, enough of this!” Robbie announced abruptly, standing and grabbing at the blanket. Sportacus raised an amused eyebrow and moved to lie down all the way but didn’t protest as Robbie yanked the blanket up with excessive force.
“You’re very invested in my rest,” Sportacus said softly, voice still hoarse.
“Yes, well, if you die in my Lair, I’ll never hear the end of it,” Robbie grumbled. “They’ll probably put up a statue in your honor, right outside my door, just to spite me.”
Sportacus snickered, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Would it be a nice statue, at least?”
“No, it would be hideous,” Robbie huffed, smoothing a nonexistent wrinkle from the blanket, which conveniently meant running his hand lightly over Sportacus’s thigh. “All chiseled and heroic and— ugh, just go to sleep.”
Sportacus watched him for a long moment. “You know,” he murmured, voice quieter now, “you don’t have to fuss over me.” He smiled, not unkindly. “But I don’t mind that you do.” His tone was odd. It almost sounded sly, flirty even? Gods, how sick was he still? Robbie very much did not have an immediate response to that.
Instead, he turned on his heel, dramatically flinging himself out the door. “I’m ignoring you now,” he announced, grabbing the door knob and pulling the door halfway closed. Sportacus hummed, clearly unamused but far too tired to bicker. “Goodnight, Robbie.”
Robbie hesitated, just for a second, before mumbling back, “Yeah, yeah. Night, Sportakook.”
And as the Lair settled into quietness, Robbie absolutely did not glance in the room to check if Sportacus had fallen asleep. At least, not more than once.