Chapter Text
Courtney couldn’t stop rolling her shoulder, no matter what the doctors said. The joint ached dully beneath the bandages — stiff and tight, like the muscle had been replaced with stone. Every time she moved, there was a tug, a pinch, a slow burn just under the skin.
Everything still felt off — too real and not real enough at the same time.
The hospital room was dim, lit only by the glow of the muted TV and the faint green pulse of the heart monitor beside her bed. She could hear it: the soft beep... beep... beep, steady but distant, like
it was coming from someone else’s body.
She could still picture the last time she was in the locker room. The cold metal bench under her legs. The echo of her voice as she told Robert the truth. Told him who she really was.
She’d expected him to walk out. Maybe scream. Maybe punch a wall. Hell, maybe even hit her. God knew she’d earned worse.
What she hadn’t expected was silence. Stillness. And then, just... forgiveness.
No hesitation. No lecture. No conditions.
She definitely hadn’t expected to end up here — in a hospital bed that smelled like antiseptic and plasticky pillows, with Robert slumped asleep in the chair beside her.
His head rested on her thigh, awkwardly tilted to the side. One arm hung limp at his side, fingertips brushing the tile floor. His jacket had slipped off his shoulder. She reached out with her good arm and combed her fingers through his messy hair, the strands thick and warm under her hand, then paused to rest her palm lightly on his forehead.
Still breathing. Still here.
He looked peaceful like this. Calm. His brow smooth, jaw slack. Nothing like the way he looked hours ago — frantic, blood-spattered, hands shaking with pure rage.
She could still feel the heat of the bullet when it tore through her shoulder. The way his voice cracked when he called her name. The sharp bite of panic in his eyes when he realized that she had taken the bullet meant for him.
She blinked and tore her gaze away, eyes stinging, and turned toward the TV. The screen glowed faintly in the dark room, a talking head in a blue suit summarizing the aftermath.
“That’s right, folks,” the anchor said, a little too brightly. “Shroud was allegedly defeated by both an unknown SDN dispatcher and the SDN hero known as Invisigal. While we don’t know much about
her, witnesses say she was the one who ultimately brought down the villain Shroud — real name, Elliott Conners…”
Courtney grabbed the remote and muted the sound, silencing the hollow triumph of it all.
She let her arm drop across her eyes, the movement stiff and sluggish, and exhaled slowly through her nose.
How the hell did they get her name?
She’d told Blazer not to tell anyone. Specifically. There were real heroes that deserved to be honored over her. She was just a coward who played both sides until the last minute.
She was startled by a nurse appearing in the doorway, practically knocking after she had already started speaking.
“Well, as long as you feel good, you're free to leave. Just see the front desk for you discharge papers." The nurse’s tone dripped with venom, and Courtney could tell just how much this woman hated her job.
“Awesome” she stage-whispered across the room, trying not to wake the still-sleeping Robert.
The nurse practically sprinted out of the room, and Visi was once again left alone with her thoughts.
She desperately wanted to leave the hospital, it was by far one of her least favorite places to be. But she couldn't bring herself to wake Robert. She turned her attention back to him, resuming her ministrations in his hair.
He would never admit it, but he didn't get nearly enough sleep. Between everything he’s gone through in the past week, and everything they had coming up, she was content with letting him sleep as
long as he could. It definitely had nothing to do with how she felt with his head resting on her thigh, or the feeling she got with him this close. It was purely so he could sleep.
She mentally scolded herself. She can't be a lovesick teenager, especially with who is essentially her boss. Though, she never really got the chance to be a lovesick teenager in the first place.
—-
Courtney barely noticed when his breathing changed. It was the subtle shift — the kind you only catch when you’ve been listening for a while. A sharp inhale, then a faint groan as Robert stirred.
He mumbled something — half-dream, half-gravel — and blinked blearily, squinting up at her. His eyes were bloodshot, lids heavy with sleep.
“You’re awake,” she said, her voice low.
Robert blinked again, like he wasn’t entirely sure where he was. Then he sat up too fast and winced, rubbing his neck. “God. I think I’ve aged ten years in this chair.”
“You kinda look like it,” she smirked.
“You think I look like shit?” Robert scoffed. “Have you looked in a mirror at any point in the last few hours?”
Courtney snorted softly, then glanced down at their hands. At some point, their fingers had laced together — she wasn’t sure who started it.
She wanted to ask him about it. Wanted to ask what it meant.
But she was afraid to break the moment.
She’d rather have it — this quiet closeness — than risk losing it.
“The nurse said I’m free to go,” she said, meeting his eyes. “If you, maybe… want to get out of here?”
Robert gasped and threw a hand to his chest. “Are you asking me to go somewhere with you? Alone?”
She moved to punch his shoulder, but winced as pain flared up her arm. His expression shifted instantly — concern washing over his face as he sat up straighter, gently rubbing her good shoulder.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she muttered, and his hand slipped off the fabric of her dressing gown. “Actually, I’m pretty sure my apartment got wrecked by the Red Ring. So I can’t even bring you over if I wanted to.”
A beat.
“Which I didn’t, if you were wondering.”
“I wasn’t,” Robert said, deadpan. He sighed dramatically. “I suppose we could go to my place.”
A soft, involuntary little sound escaped her — somewhere between a cough and a choke — which she immediately pretended never happened.
Courtney shifted in the bed and slowly untangled her fingers from his. She hated doing it — her hand felt colder the second they weren’t touching — but if she stayed in this room one minute longer, she was going to scream.
“I’m gonna get dressed,” she said, already pulling the scratchy hospital blanket aside. “I need to get out of here before another nurse walks in and offers me a fruit cup.”
Robert stood, stretching with a wince. “God forbid.”
She reached for the clothes someone had dropped off for her — black jeans, hoodie, combat boots with the laces tucked in. The hoodie snagged her bandages as she pulled it on, but she didn’t flinch. Not in front of him.
Robert stepped toward the door. “I’ll give you a second.”
“You don’t have to,” she said, too fast.
He paused.
“I mean… I’m not gonna kick you out. You did kinda watch me strip just yesterday so.”
His lips twitched, and he made a mock bow. “Well unlike you, I don't get off watching people change while sitting in a corner, invisible.”
She threw a rolled-up sock at his back as he left.
Courtney finished tugging her hoodie over her head, ignoring the way the fabric dragged at her bandages. She checked the mirror once, briefly. Hair: a mess. Eyes: tired. Bandages: obvious.
Whatever. Not like she had a reputation to protect.
She stepped out of the bathroom to find Robert leaning against the wall by the door, scrolling through something on his phone. Probably field reports. Or maybe just funny pictures of Beef. Knowing him, it could go either way.
“You ready?” he asked, slipping the device into his pocket.
“Yeah,” she lied.
He gave her a long look, then nodded and opened the door.
They stepped out into the hallway together, and it hit her all at once — the smell of bleach and burnt circuitry, the hum of overhead lights, the faint buzz of conversation down the corridor. Too clean.
Too quiet.
Robert walked a half-step ahead, hands in his pockets like he had nowhere particular to be. She appreciated that. Let her follow, let her breathe.
Each step made her shoulder throb. Each sign they passed — SDN MEDICAL — AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY — felt like a reminder of what she wasn’t supposed to be.
Hero. Leader. Survivor.
They rounded the corner into the hospital’s main lobby — and everything shattered.
Flashbulbs popped. Voices rose in a jagged wave. Dozens of reporters, camera crews, and spectators crowded the atrium like a wall of static.
“Invisigal! Over here!”
“Is it true you used to work for Shroud?”
“Did you fake your redemption arc?”
“Did you really blackmail Blonde Blazer into giving you your job?”
Courtney froze. Just for a second. Just long enough to feel the blood drain from her face.
Robert’s arm pressed lightly against her back — not guiding, not pushing. Just there.
She tried to move. Her legs were stiff, boots too loud against the tile. One step, then another.
Someone pushed forward with a mic. Another shoved a camera in her face. The lights were blinding. The questions blurred into noise.
“Are you the reason Mecha-Man was nearly killed again?”
“Do you regret working for Shroud?”
“How does it feel to finally be seen as a hero?”
Her vision tunneled. The walls felt too close. Her shoulder screamed, her breath turned shallow, and everything inside her screamed to disappear.
Then Robert’s voice cut through the noise — sharp, firm, and measured.
“Back off.”
Not loud, but commanding. That special tone he used when he was done being polite.
The reporters quieted, just for a second — just long enough for Robert to step in front of her, his body shielding hers.
“We’re not answering questions. Not now.”
He didn’t shove anyone, but his presence alone was enough to part the crowd. He reached for her hand — not asking, just offering — and she took it without thinking.
They moved fast. Past the cameras. Past the flashes. Past the questions.
Outside, the air was cool, sharp in her lungs. A black sedan sat parked half on the curb, driver’s seat empty.
Robert opened the passenger door for her and helped her in. She collapsed into the seat, heart pounding. The door shut, muffling the chaos outside.
He slid into the driver’s seat beside her, started the car, and pulled away from the curb like it was just another Tuesday.
Silence fell inside the cabin. Just the low hum of the engine and the sound of her breathing as it started to slow.
“You good?” he asked, not looking at her.
“No,” she said honestly, staring out the window. “But I will be. Should have just gone invisible and snuck out a window or something.”
He nodded once, and she was grateful he didn’t push. “My place it is.”
And they drove, headlights cutting through the city streets, leaving the noise behind.
The drive was quiet.
Not uncomfortable — just… quiet. Like both of them were afraid that speaking might crack whatever fragile peace had settled between them.
Robert’s apartment was tucked above an old storefront on the east end of the city — not flashy, not heavily secured, just his. He didn’t say anything when they walked in. Just unlocked the door,
stepped aside to let her in first, and closed it behind them with a soft click.
Courtney paused in the doorway.
She’d been here before. She remembered just a few days ago, just before everything went to hell, when she’d brought the Z-Team over for a surprise housewarming party. Robert hadn’t known they were coming. The lights hadn’t even been on when they arrived. The place had been dim, barely decorated, like he hadn’t expected anyone to stay long.
Now?
Now there was life here.
Someone had done the dishes. The couch Blazer had brought was the centerpiece of the living room, and a new T.V was mounted on the wall where she had drawn over the projector.
It felt… warmer.
Still cluttered. Still very Robert. But not sad. Not empty.
“You cleaned up,” she said before she could stop herself.
Robert glanced around like he hadn’t noticed. “Did I?”
“Yeah. It’s better.”
He dropped his keys in the dish by the counter. “Guess I just figured, if I was going to have people randomly showing up through demonic portals, I should make it feel a bit more homey.”
Courtney stepped further inside, letting the door click shut behind her. The air felt warmer here — less like a hero’s hideout, more like… a place to breathe.
She stood in the center of the living room for a moment, taking it in. The walls were still bare, but not sterile. A stack of mech schematics sat half-finished on the coffee table. Someone had moved the books from the floor to the shelf.
She’d forgotten how quiet it was here. No dispatch alerts. No boots thudding down metal hallways. No monitors beeping in the background.
Just space. And stillness.
Too still.
She sat down on the couch carefully, one hand bracing against the cushions. Her shoulder throbbed — dull, manageable — but her chest still hadn’t unclenched from the lobby.
Robert moved around the kitchen like he’d done it a hundred times, even though she was pretty sure the last time they’d been here he didn’t even have matching mugs.
Now there were two. One of them had a chip in the handle. He handed it to her without asking.
Water. Cold, from the fridge.
“You didn’t have to—” she started.
“I know,” he said, sitting beside her.
She took a sip anyway.
They sat in silence for a while. The TV was off. The lights were soft. She tucked her legs under herself on the couch and leaned into the corner of it, shoulder gingerly resting against the arm.
Robert watched her for a second, then looked down at his hands.
“You can crash here tonight,” he said. “Couch is yours.”
She arched an eyebrow. “What, you don’t want to relive your glory days and sleep in a chair again?”
He huffed a soft laugh. “Tempting. But no.”
Courtney nodded. “Thanks.”
He stood and walked toward the hallway. “Blankets are in the closet. I’ll leave the door open if you need anything.”
She watched him go — the slope of his shoulders, the way he rubbed the back of his neck like he was thinking too hard. When his door clicked shut behind him, the silence felt heavier somehow.
She leaned back into the couch, the cushions dipping under her weight as the last of the day’s adrenaline drained out of her. The apartment was quiet — not the sterile, suffocating quiet of the hospital, but something softer. Something that didn’t demand anything from her.
For the first time in days, she let her eyes close.
She told herself she could rest.
Just for tonight.
The world would start spinning again soon enough.