Archive of Our Own

   Saturday mornings were for sleeping. 

   They were for sleeping on a comfortable brand new second-hand (maybe even third) mattress that his team swore was purchased legally. The only thing he really doubted was if it was really second-hand given how stiff it was, which he was grateful for. He’d spent too many years used to sleeping on the floor for his back to suddenly accept sleeping on a proper bed.  

   Saturday mornings were for sleeping until Beef demanded food or walks. If Chase had taken him for the weekend, then they were for sleeping until his own bodily needs woke him up. Such was the case this weekend, and yet he still found himself awake far earlier than he would have liked, despite how waking at such a time would have been routine for him not less than a year ago.  

   Robert shouldn’t have been surprised that his father had found a way to disapprove of him breaking the habits he had spent years hammering into him, even from beyond the grave. 

   Earlier that week he had received an envelope. Official looking. Bright read letters on the front of “FINAL NOTICE”. Stern wording. It was not the first time he had received such envelopes. It was, however, the first time it had been sent to his workplace rather than his mailbox at his apartment. Maybe because it was so crammed full that it couldn’t hold anymore. He couldn’t exactly have late payment notices if he had nothing to pay for. He paid his far-too expensive-for-the-amount-of-drafts rent on time thank you very much.

   A brief, polite, summary of the letter would be that a storage unit rented out to his father’s name had been paid off some over twenty years ago, an advanced payment that would leave it rented out for a fair chunk of time if not indefinitely. However, the lot the unit resided on was being sold off. And so the unit would need to be emptied before the property deed exchanged hands. 

   A brief, impolite summary of the letter would be “Get your shit out or we will fine you and sell off everything inside”. It was a tempting offer save for the fine. 

   Somehow, word had gotten back to his team, because nothing in his life was sacred nor personal. And by his team, he meant word had gotten back to at least Punch-Up, who volunteered himself to aid in clearing out the storage unit, with Coupé silently agreeing by his side before stating she would also assist. 

   Robert had been surprised by Colm’s offer to help clear out the storage space. He was less surprised to find out that one of the odd-jobs Colm had taken after the circus was a brief stint at a moving company. As for Janelle’s offer— her help was also appreciated, even if not for the first time he couldn’t read her motives for doing so. Just like previous times, he didn’t mind not knowing whatever motives she had. 

   And so, not for the first time, Robert opened his door to find an assassin on the other side. Not that he immediately recognized her without her mask, and her usual superhero suit exchanged for what seemed more like casual dancewear, dark coloured leggings and a long sleeve shirt in its place. Colm standing by her side was what actually had him recognize Janelle. 

   Colm’s own outfit was also a reflection of his hero outfit. Which was to say he was still dressed like a polite lumberjack in a button-up and suspenders. Though a slightly more worn shirt that could be scuffed up while digging through dusty boxes without Robert feeling too terrible about it. 

   At the very least he didn’t feel too underdressed in his worn thin shirt and still slightly too large sweats. He’d been gaining the weight back slowly but surely but still couldn’t wait for the day he didn’t have to pull his drawstrings taut to get them to settle on his (not as boney as before) hips. 

   “Got some fuel for you!” Colm greeted, tossing a breakfast burrito his way, as if to remind him of one of the main contributors to that fact. Janelle, the other contributor and equally a saint, or perhaps even more so of one, held out a tall cup of very fragrant coffee. Alright maybe that Saturday wouldn’t be too bad. 

   From there Robert drove them to the lot in his newly acquired 95 Corolla. The car that was more rust than paint, which had clearly been sloppily redone several times by previous owners. Flambae had physically recoiled the first time he had spotted it. Robert was tempted to add a tramp stamp decal. He could make his own stencil. Ask Royd to lend him an airbrush. 

   “Alright.” He clapped his hands together once they had all exited the car, “I’m trying to get this empty by the end of the day so the company doesn’t fine me. There’s not going to be anything super exciting here, but you’re free to take whatever you want, just ask first.”

   “How do you know there won’t be anything important?” Colm questioned. 

   “If there was, Elliot would have either looted it or burned it down years ago.” 

   Janelle nodded in agreement. “Finding any assets of a target is imperative and may draw them out from hiding when tampered with.” 

   Robert snapped out some finger guns. 

   “Could be some action figures!” 

   “You’re welcome to any if there are.” Robert deadpanned. 

   “Those could be worth some cash.” Colm pointed out. “Vintage and all that.”

   “...I’ll send photos to Herm to see if there’s any collectibles.”

   “There ya go!”  

   “I am less versed in action figures but I can also point out items of value.” Janelle said. 

   “That would be appreciated, thank you.” 

   They unloaded the car and Colm pulled along the trolley Robert had managed to just barely fit in the trunk, the flatbed piled with flat, empty boxes, several boxes of garbage bags, tapes, scissors, gloves. Number 733664447777 in a lot of only about 100 units. The very last one in the very last row. 

   He inserted the key (thank god they had given him a spare after he gave his identification, the letter they had sent, and a pair of very effective looks from Janelle and Colm) into the lock, twisted it open, and paused, turning back to look at the two. “Remember, don’t expect anything grand.” 

   He turned back and lifted up the door. It caught halfway up with a judder. “For fuck’s sake—” Robert jammed his hand up into the gap and rooted around until he found the keypad and blindly punched in the code. Everything double secured at minimum. And yet always the same code. Why would he be surprised that the same would apply to a storage unit he hadn’t even known of until a few days ago? 

   He managed to push it up another quarter of the way before it caught again, this time rust being the culprit. “Are you kidding me?” 

   It was still low enough to the ground the Colm was able to grasp it, pull it down slightly to get a better grip, and then launched it up so quickly sparks briefly flew as the metal screamed in protest as it snapped open. He could hear Janelle give an impressed hum beside him once the cacophony ceased. 

   “Thank you.” Robert sighed. 

   “No problem lad.” Colm replied with a grin, dusting off the palms of his hands. 

   Somehow the sight of the open storage unit was underwhelming. Stacks of boxes packed wall to wall, some piles a few boxes high, some teetering precariously towards the ceiling. Some boxes were blank, others had his dad’s writing scrawled across the side. What were likely either posters or maps were rolled up in one corner. Disturbed dust swirled upwards. Robert reached over and flicked on the lights which spluttered a few times before staying lit. 

   “That’s…more than I was expecting.” Robert frowned. “Alright, new rules: first come, first serve. Unless it’s documents or something like that you’re welcome to take it.” Briefly he considered calling Flambae to torch the unit to be done with it. 

   “Are you certain about that?” Janelle asked. Maybe it was due to the absence of her mask that it called his attention more but he could have sworn there was a slight furrow to her brow. 

   “Don’t think there’s much I want to keep in here.” He shrugged. 

   “That’s not an answer.” 

   Now it was Robert who frowned. 

   He’d already thought he’d burned through everything his father had left behind. The house was the first thing he’d sold, save for the half-handful of furniture he had taken with him squeezed alongside a ton of mechanical equipment not including the suit. The inheritance had followed suit. Then the furniture. And as for the actual Mecha-man suit— Theseus’s Ship was the only thing that could really describe it. 

   Even before the crash he’d had to switch out wires, panels, gears. It wouldn’t shock him if every screw had been swapped out. The only true piece of it that remained was the Astral Pulse. And even that was still being routinely tested to see if the fucked up implants in shroud’s head had corrupted it. Compared to all that, what was an abandoned storage unit? You’d think it’d be in the will if it was important. Maybe it had been. Robert had not been paying much attention to the lawyer who had droned it out, just signing where he needed to sign to get the suit and money turned over to his namesake at the ripe old age of fifteen. 

   But like he had said, Elliot hadn’t ransacked it, so it was probably unimportant. 

   “Yeah. Knock yourselves out.” He said, grabbing a garbage bag and empty box and striding into the open unit before Colm could also question him. 

   Behind him there was a pause before he could hear the other two enter the space, Colm’s heavy steps masking Janelle’s already silent ones. 

   Colm had been right. There were indeed action figures. However as Robert made his way through the labelled boxes of ‘maps’, ‘mecha-man prime merch’, and ‘mecha-man astral action figures’, his initial thoughts were also proving to be more and more true. The maps were decades out of date, and so were shoved into a garbage bag with little care. He sent a photo of the contents of the second two boxes to Herman and received such typo-riddled, enthusiastic response, that they were dragged beside the trolley to be sorted through later even as his hands itched to empty the boxes into the bag as well. 

   Colm let out a long whistle from where he was crouched beside another box. “Fancy plates over here!”

   “Toss em.” Robert called over his shoulder. 

   “These are nice!” Colm protested. “And we know for a fact you barely have any plates in your home!” 

   “They are nice.” Janelle agreed. “It would be a shame to waste them.”

   Robert stood from where he had been crouched beside another group of boxes. His knees popped like a gunshot in the quiet space. 

   “Jeh-sus, Robert!” Colm exclaimed at the sound, looking him over as he strolled over to peer at the assortment of plates. “Have you gotten checked in the med bay yet?!” 

   “Not many of my weekends involve kneeling, not a priority right now.” He waved off. 

   The two exchanged a look that Robert ignored. 

   The set contained white plates with a faint iridescent rim, some bowls to go alongside them. Not horrifically gaudy, but not completely plain. Very ‘Bring out the good plates! We have guests!’, which did not fit his dad at all. “They’re nice.” Robert conceded. “Think they have lead paint?” 

   Where Janelle pulled the vial of liquid from Robert had no clue and he had long since stopped questioning how many tools she kept on her at any given moment. In a fraction of a moment the liquid was applied to one of the plates and what looked to be a tiny U.V light shone across it. He glanced over at Colm who was smiling fondly at her and he found a similar expression itching onto his face. 

   “No lead.” She announced, picking up the box and depositing it onto the trolley. 

   “Let me know if you find any forks.” Robert called. 

   “Will do.”

   “Don’t you also only have like two spoons?” Colm asked. 

   “And spoons.” He added. “Maybe a fancy cup or two for Bruno.”

   Colm sighed in a way that had Robert hoping they did indeed find more cutlery or else he might have several boxes of spoons on his doorstep come Monday. He had only just figured out where to place his extensive collection of lamps.  

   They continued to sort through the assortment of boxes. Sweat began to cling to his back and brow as Robert moved and tossed boxes, lugging steadily filling garbage bags and donation boxes to the trolley. At some point, music was put on, some orchestral music that Robert couldn’t name but that sounded grand and distracted from the stifling grey of the storage unit. Peer Gynt maybe? 

   Robert briefly wondered what a playlist created among the Z-Team would sound like given the difference in taste between Janelle and Herman alone. He didn’t even know what Sonar would add to it. He’d trust Malevola’s tastes though.  

   A sudden outburst from Colm cut through the music. 

   “What’d you find now?” Robert asked, already clambering back up to his feet despite the protests his back gave in symphony with his knees. 

   “I didn’t think you could get scrawnier!” Colm said in lue of an answer. “I thought this was a random kid at first before I recognized ya!” He passed the photo over to Janelle. 

   Her eyebrows raised briefly in surprise. “You look..happy,” She said in a tone that might have been inquisitive if he could make anything out from the ringing that suddenly filled his ears as he looked at the photo. 

   He was riding a bike in the photograph, the wheels a blur, training wheels freshly removed after he had begged for what seemed like hours. His leg was stretched too far out as he tried to overcorrect his balance, handlebars wrenched to the opposite side, center of gravity already tipping in the photo. His eyes were wide but a huge toothy grin was plastered across his face. He would lose that tooth when he crashed a moment later. The picture was slightly out of focus, edges blurry as if the camera had been dropped mid-flash. A purple sleeve could be seen on the edge of the photo, a lightly tanned hand outstretched. 

   Those same hands had cradled him after he fell, mouth bloody and open in a loud wail. Those hands had cleaned his injuries, washed the blood off him and bandaged him. Those hands had fed him, tucked him in, held him close when he cried. 

   Those hands were not his father’s. 

   Robert snatched the photo from Janelle’s hands, a move that would have left anyone else amputated but he could hardly think of that right now. He leaned past Colm and dug further into the box and ignoring the questions the other murmured just beside him. Another photo, this one of him in a highchair, porridge around his face. Another, of him pointing up at Mecha-man soaring across the sky. Photos of birds, of flowers, of a broad city-scape, a skyline. 

   “Okay, no. change of plans. I’ll drive you both back.” His eyes did not leave the box. 

   “We’re barely halfway through this mountain. No way you’re finishing this on your own.” 

   “I appreciate you both coming out to help, you can keep whatever you found before now.” Robert said instead of acknowledging Colm’s concern. 

   “We can’t just—”

   “Colm.” Janelle’s voice cut in. 

   “Mo ghrá, I’m not leaving when he’s like that! I don’t think he’s even breathing!”

   Robert didn’t think he was either. 

   They weren’t even in photo albums or organized in stacks, just dumped into the box. A mismatched jumble of memories. There was another photo, worn along the edges. A woman had her back to the one taking the photo. It was taken from a lower angle, held by a child and unsteady. But he could still make out the flour dusting across her apron, hands shaping dough from a meal he had not had in decades, dark hair, face just beginning to turn towards the camera and— 

   He jumped back from the box as if it had suddenly caught on fire. It was only when he looked up that he realized how far up his throat his heart had managed to crawl. He squeezed his eyes shut, as if doing so could keep the other two from seeing him as well. 

   He did not want to break down in front of his coworkers. Fuck, he didn’t want to break down in front of his friends. They had been steadily integrating themselves into his life beyond the occasional barcrawl with the team. Bringing breakfast like they had that morning. Dragging him out from Royd’s lab when he’d been there long enough that he didn’t even register the ache behind his eyes until they were steering him away from the screens and screws. Just last week, after an evening spent at the bar they had come into his apartment so he could prove he knew how to cook. The fire he had started had been a small one. The day after that Colm had arrived to give an impromptu cooking class while Janelle read one of her books on the couch. 

   Slow integrations, like he was a feral cat that would run off once he caught on. 

   He had caught on. And now— shit now his body decided it could break down in front of them. Traitor. 

   “Just— fuck give me a moment.” He turned and marched out of the storage unit. 

   He greedily sucked in non-dust filled air. 

   How many boxes were hers? Just the unlabeled ones? More? 

   Leaning against the cool concrete of the storage unit that had yet to be warmed by the sun he took  a deep breath, forced it out through his mouth. Rinse. Repeat. 

   He couldn’t tell how long it’d been when he heard the tell-tale sound of Colm approaching. He kept his face tilted upward, kept trying to slow his heart enough to hear beyond the rush of blood in his ears. 

   “I’m uh…I’m sorry lad—Robert. I didn’t mean to go digging through your business like that.” Colm apologized. 

   Robert took a deep breath and let it out slowly, “It’s fine. Not like you could’ve known what was in there. I mean—” He chuckled dryly, “I didn’t either till a moment ago. So.” 

   “Still. I’m sorry for that.” 

   He gave a noncommittal hum. 

   Janelle’s deliberate footsteps echoed in the silence that followed. She stopped just beside him where he leaned back against the unit. “Were those taken by your mother?” 

   She was direct. To the point. It was exactly what he needed and infuriating all the same. No bullshit, no joke he could hide behind, no response he could give other than, “Yeah.” And then, after a beat because none of those photos had her face or any trace of her beyond the rare thumb or sleeve, save for that final one, “How’d you know?” 

   She handed a photo to him face down. On the back, in quick, excited, Korean was written, ‘First look at baby’ . He was thankful to be able to read at least that much. Despite his better judgement he turned over the photo. He barely saw the black and white, a tiny silhouette just outlined in the ink before he was scrunching his eyes shut again. “Fuck.”  

   A large hand patted his thigh. A smaller, but equally steady hand squeezed his shoulder. Each grip was solid and sure, as if they were keeping him from fracturing into a thousand pieces. 

   “We can leave, if that’s really what you want.” Colm said softly. 

   The hand on his shoulder squeezed in silent agreement. 

   “And risk a fine? No thank you.” Robert said with a humourless laugh as he pointedly, stubbornly, kept his face tilted up toward the sky. 

   “What? Fucking— screw the fine, Robert! I’ll pay the fine just—” Colm’s hand tightened on his thigh as he looked up at him with an expression that Robert couldn’t stand to look at for more than an instant, “Tell us what you need.” 

   “They’ll auction it off. If it’s not dealt with after the fine.” Robert swallowed. “And I don’t want…”

   “You don’t want to lose that connection.” Janelle finished. 

   Robert looked over to her. Found something in her eyes that was no doubt mirrored in his own. Had she seen it in him before? Had he? Was that look that he recognized from seeing it enough times in the mirror been what ultimately led him to keep her on the team all that time ago?  

   He was well-versed in studying people’s faces. Had to be with his line of work. Not that he was very good at it. But he was good enough to catch an eye flicking toward a weapon before someone dove for it. Enough to read lips. It was not enough to read Janelle’s face. He knew that. Knew that she purposefully made her brief microexpressions a bit more obvious, had them last a bit longer so he could do his best to translate them. He would never know more than what she wanted him to. 

   He wasn’t good at reading faces outside of danger. 

   And glancing down at Colm again— he was so open that Robert could barely stand it without shattering. He looked back toward Janelle. 

   “You’ve been given puzzle pieces without knowing what the image is. You’re left to fill in the blanks. There’s much you can learn about a person based on what they surround themselves with. You want to see what you can learn from her possessions. I am also missing parts of my own history. Any attempts to find answers were deemed a waste of time.” 

   Robert tried not to think about what that said about him with his barren apartment. Not finding the words, he nodded. 

   “It would be an honor to help you find answers.”

   “Aye. We can’t promise what answers those might be. But you shouldn’t look through that alone.” Colm added. 

   “...it would be so much easier if that mess in there just belonged to my dad.”

   Another breath. And another. And then he was moving back into the storage room, Colm and Janelle at his side. He placed the ultrasound photo back into the box and taped it shut. “We’ll be here all day if I look through all of them.”

   Colm placed the closed box on top of the trolley. 

   His dad had never been the ‘family-photo’, sentimental type, so his mom (eomma he remembered calling her when it was the two of them to avoid the look his dad would give him if he used that word in front of him) had always been the one behind the camera. Which meant he didn’t exactly have many photos of her. Which was to say any. He didn’t think he would be able to go through the rest of the storage unit if he found a photo of her within the box. That would be an at-home breakdown, thank you very much. Traiterous body be damned. 

   He focused on the unlabelled boxes now, and if the others noticed, they did not point it out, instead focusing on the boxes with his dad’s messy scrawl. 

   The next several unlabelled boxes weighed a ton. And for good reason. They were filled to the brim with books. Textbooks on learning English. A few on learning Spanish. Several pregnancy books, even more on how to raise a child. A half dozen books on birdwatching and different regional birds. Books on medicinal plants, gardening books, geology books. 

   “She was well studied.” Janelle’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. 

   “Must be where you get those brains from!” Colm agreed. 

   Janelle’s eyes snapped to one of the books near the top of the pile. “Oh where did she get this?” Her voice whispered, almost reverent. 

   “Good book?” Robert asked. 

   Janelle nodded, eyes still fixed on the book. “I had part of a translated copy in the past. The author does an incredible job of showing the conflict between the mind and the heart. The main character is sworn to a duty that places her in a crossroads between the two.”

   “You can have it.” 

   “I couldn’t.” Janelle said, even as she did not pull back from Robert placing the book in her hands. Her fingers traced the well worn and well-loved pages. 

   “If it’s because you can’t read Korean,” Robert pulled out another copy of the book, this one sporting an English title and placed it in Janelle’s hands as well. The English version was in notably better shape, but still clearly had been read once or twice. “I can’t appreciate it the way you can. But maybe you could tell me about it once you’ve read it? We could make a book club out of it.” 

   Janelle’s eyes were the size of saucers. Abruptly, she straightened from where she had been half leaned over to study the box of books and turned around. Before Robert could question the motion, a swarm of shadows came up around her head, even though Robert already couldn’t see her face with her back to him. 

   Colm chuckled and nudged Robert with his elbow. “Means she likes it. Don’t get me wrong, she likes reading the newer debauchery as well, but there’s something about classic books she can’t get enough of. She has something of a collection.” 

   The shadows fell and she turned back around. “Thank you. I will treasure these.” 

   Robert smiled and gestured towards the box, “Feel free to pick any others that catch your eye.”

   Further boxes uncovered baby shoes, blankets, recipe books with careful annotations made in the sidelines that evidenced a fair amount of trial and error on his mother’s part. There was a small, wooden box filled with unsent, unaddressed letters but in her steadily-growing-familiar font. A fishing rod had been half propped up in one of the far corners, string frayed with age. Another box with a videorecorder, a half dozen blank vhs tapes, and a few with various years written across them. He was weirdly grateful that he did not own a T.V in that moment. And even more weirdly upset. Nearby that one was a box of jumbled cassettes and CD's. Some tapes were unspooled, some CD's were missing a box or where crammed into a too full binder. Some were clearly home burned with steadily-growing familiar font announcing the titles and tracks. Songs he recognized and didn't. He didn't think he'd ever have a use for that cassette player in his rusted car his team had teased him over. He hoped it worked. 

   As for the boxes Robert did not particularly care for— there were medals from the city, certificates of recognition, much like the ones he had left behind in the house when he had sold it all those years ago. Trophies from engineering competitions, trophies from wrestling tournaments, ribbons from science fairs, all in his fathers name. All things his dad would have deemed frivolous but demanded from him all the same. He was tempted to take one of the engineering trophies and carve an additional ‘I’ into the name. He settled for tossing it haphazardly near the growing “junk” pile. The top half of the trophy snapped off. 

   “Ever consider opening up a rage room?” Colm asked. 

   “I’ll pitch it to Victor. Maybe he’ll give me a loan for a down payment on a property.” 

   They continued to work in relative silence, save for the music and shuffling of boxes, gravitating towards each other in the space when one of them called or made some sort of curious sound. At one point, there was the thunderous exclamation of Colm of “We’ve got whiskey!!” as he brandished the bottle above his head. It was sealed, surprisingly. The box did nothing to indicate if it belonged to his eomma or his dad. 

   “After party secured.” Robert grinned. 

   “A fair reward.” Janelle agreed, even as she squinted at the labelling of the bottle.  

   “We could share a couple of glasses over dinner. Ya know, now that Bob actually has glasses.” 

   “Dinner on the same day I air out my family traumas?” Robert asked, pointedly ignoring Colm’s accurate observation, “How scandalous.” 

   “What, do your endeavors not usually begin in such a manner?” Colm quirked an eyebrow. 

   “Whose does?” 

   Colm and Janelle exchanged a look. Robert could not stop the burst of laughter that escaped him. 

   “So, what, bad pizza, whiskey, we can organize my brand new plates?” He asked, still trying and failing to a smile and doing his best to ignore how nice that actually sounded. 

   “Sounds like a perfect evening.” Colm said. Janelle agreed silently at his side.  

   “If we ever escape the mountain of boxes.” Robert snorted. 

   The unit had become sweltering by the time they finished dealing with the final box. His shirt was now thoroughly plastered to his back with sweat. At one point, Colm had gone to the main office of the storage unit by the parking lot and returned with a larger-than-average armful of snacks and cold drinks from the vending machines. Janelle took the water and some snacks, exchanging them for a brief peck to Colm’s cheek. Robert nearly found himself mirroring the gesture of gratitude. 

   Now came the final task of loading up the car, tossing the garbage, and returning the keys. Maybe he could ask Malevola to just portal the boxes into his apartment in exchange for the whiskey. Tempting, except he knew that he would definitely be needing that whiskey. And so, instead, Robert and Janelle piled the garbage bags onto the trolley while Colm would tetris the boxes into the trunk as best he could. 

   The walk to the dumpster was a fair walk away, as they had to navigate past all the other rows of units, dumpster settled behind the main office building. If they were lucky they’d get all the bags carried over in no more than three trips. 

   “Do you know what happened to her?” Janelle asked, on their way back from the second trip. 

   Even after clearing out the entire unit, finding pieces of her scattered throughout in writings, photos, books, they had not found a single document. No birth certificate. No death certificate. 

   “I don’t know if they were married. I just know one day she was just…gone. Dad continued about his day as usual. Didn’t even tell the brigade. I asked Chase a few days after when she was coming back and he hadn’t been told she had left. Never gave any reason. Or if she left one my dad didn’t want to pass it along. Somehow, I just knew it was because of—” he gestured toward the garbage bags, and back towards the unit that was out of sight, surrounded by the towering boxes, the action figures he wanted to hurl across the parking lot, resell value be damned, “this.” 

   Janelle hummed. 

   “Tried destroying the suit over it. Failed.” He gestured towards the hole in his ear, “It won that round. But hey! I destroyed it eventually so take that!” 

   She remained silent. 

   “I tried looking for her through records. I don’t think she’s still here, whether that be in Los Angeles or…“I never knew what I would say to her if I saw her again. Now I have the fantastic opener of ‘hey, who were those letters for?’ or ‘how many tries did it take for you to decide the amount of garlic to put into that dish?’” 

   “Do you still want to find her?” Janelle asked, voice steady, as if she were inquiring about the weather. And Robert knew, he knew if any of his team members could—

   “Yes. No. Mostly no. Is it weird if I say I feel like I took out a body? Maybe even two?” 

   “No.” 

   Robert chuckled. “Then yeah. I’m fine not finding her. I’d like to think she’s happy and far away from all of,” He gestured once more at the garbage bags and boxes. “This.” 

   “It’s admirable of you. To allow her that.” 

   “Least I can do, I am stealing her plates after all.”

   “And the second body?” 

   “...I’m angry.” The confession came out easily. “At him. I don’t think I realized how angry I was until the whole fight against Shroud. I love him too. But I thought I was done being angry until I got the letter and then I’m just thinking ‘Oh cool, more stuff you left for me to deal with.’. I found out more about her in those boxes but what I learned about him was just more—nothing.” He let out a frustrated sound.

   “I loved him. But I don’t think he liked me— or at least not enough to only want me as a legacy piece. And there’s enough good memories mixed in with everything else that makes it so fucking confusing and, you know, what’s the point in wondering?” After a beat Robert asked, “Would you want answers, if you could get them?”

   “I could get them. I don’t because I know they wouldn’t satisfy me.” 

   “The knowing why is a lot different from the understanding why, huh?” 

   “...It is.” She said, as if it were the first time she had heard someone say it so plainly while managing to say it perfectly. 

   “I know I already said so but…thank you. Both of you. I’ll thank Colm again once we’re back at the car but— I really think you two were the only ones I could have done this with.” 

   “Anytime. It was our pleasure.” Janelle said, so easily that Robert hoped he could pass off the warmth that rushed to his face as the beginning of a heatstroke. 

   By some miracle, all of the boxes fit. And they hadn’t even been smashed inwards in order to do so. 

   "After party time then? Early dinner that's technically a late lunch?” Colm asked as if Robert wasn’t currently wondering if he was magic. 

   “Wait– you two were serious?” 

   “Did it seem like a joke?” Janelle asked, head quirked slightly to the side inquisitively. "You asked us if we'd like to." 

   “No— just— I thought you both would want to do something else with the rest of your Saturday.” Robert said, feeling his face flush as alright yes he had asked them but he hadn't expected-

   “We’ll take time spent with you in whatever form. Doesn’t matter if it’s clearing out a unit or sharing whiskey after the fact. I thought that was a bit obvious by now.”  

   “Oh.” Robert said and now he was desperately hoping the redness to his face could be taken to be heatstroke. 

   “No pressure.” Janelle said, and then added because of course she could just add that, “We enjoy your company.” 

   “No– I mean yes— that would— I’d like that.” He cleared his throat. “So, bad pizza and possibly good whiskey? My treat.” 

   “I'll buy the food. You’re worth good pizza.” Colm said. 

   “Careful, then I’ll have to prove it.” And he immediately wanted to take the words back as the two described, in detail, exactly how he was worth good pizza. 

   Saturday evenings were for lounging around. They were for being dragged out by his friends to the bars, or to the movies, or to any other place he would rarely drag himself to when on his own. They were for taking Beef to the park to tire himself out before bed and for eating some kind of takeout or microwave meal. 

   They were also for good pizza on good plates, and extremely good whiskey in actual glasses. They were for sitting in a tangled pile on a new couch with his two lovers(?) and surrounded by boxes with things from his past not tied to a three generations old legacy. Boxes he would eventually sort through and organize throughout his apartment. Dishes that would be stored in his cupboards. Cassettes and CD's that would be tentatively placed into the slot of his car's radio. 

   For now, he would thoroughly enjoy what would hopefully come to be a new habit.