Robert almost doesn’t notice it. Almost.
It’s been a long, long shift, full of resurfacing villains and civilian requests, ranging from high-attention emergency to pain in my side. As the Z-Team trickles one by one back into the building, he can hear their grumbling over the comms, complaining as they dress their wounds and grab snacks from the vending machine. Everyone’s been hurt today. He’s not even been out on the field and he feels a migraine coming on himself, a sharp ache at his temples mitigated only by the comforting presence of Beef at his feet.
You, in particular, have had a bad day, and when you send in a status update Robert can tell from the damage done to your suit and the visible exhaustion present in your face as you lean against a wall that your morale isn’t all that great. He switches on your direct call line — making sure, this time, that it’s not to everyone — and tells you, ‘You did good out there. Great job.’
And something is different about the way he says it. His voice is naturally low, the tiredness only making him sound more gravelly, and he must be sounding right in your ears, and you’ve worn yourself out enough that you must be fighting to pay attention to anything right now. But he pinpoints the bitten-off gasp at the sound of him, and then you go completely silent, nothing but static crackling over the reciever. He can’t see you, but he can hear your cheeks burning. Out of curiosity, he chooses not to say anything more.
And then, after what feels like an interminable silence, he hears you swallow, your throat clicking from the dryness of your mouth, and you say in a very odd, quiet tone, so much unlike the usual snark you like to throw his way — so breathy —‘…Thanks, boss.’
And that. That registers somewhere in his mind. But he’s tired, and you’re tired, and the moment is filed away in the back of his mind.
(minor thing i wrote i'm thinking of turning into a fuller fic!)