Two years after the finale.The nightmare clawed him under again.
Shroud's voice first, oily and precise: Shoulder. Chest. Heart. Head.
Then the steel-mill goons swarming, suit alarms blaring, the bomb on his back ticking down like a heartbeat. Explosion. Freefall. The crash that broke his arm and stole four months of his life.
Underneath it all, his father's voice from an old Brave Brigade tape, crackling like static: "Don't let it end with you, Robert."Robert jerked awake gasping, left arm throbbing like the metal was still twisted around it. Courtney's invisible hand found the back of his neck before he even sat up, thumb pressing that one spot under his ear that always dragged him back to the present."You're here," she whispered against his skin. "Shroud's gone. Suit's in the garage. Kid's still cooking."He exhaled, shaky. "Fuck, I hate that nightmare.""I know." She flickered visible, hair a mess, wearing his old SDN tee that was already getting tight across the eight-week bump. She kissed the corner of his mouth, lazy and warm. "Day off, remember? No dispatch board, no Z-Team on fire—literally, Flambae is banned from the training floor until Thursday—and you're not suiting up unless the city's actually burning. Shower. You smell like ass."Beef had been at Chase's for two weeks now. Officially "a sleepover." Unofficially, Chase needed the company and they needed the quiet while house-hunting. Worked for everyone.Robert peeled off his sleep shirt. The mirror showed the long scar on his left arm, pale and jagged, but the rest of him had filled out again—shoulders, chest, arms rebuilt by Z-Team gym sessions and relentless pranking. The four months in a coma had left him looking like a shade of his former hero self. The team had fixed that with useful exercises and constant shit-talk.The shower door slid open behind him. Water wasn't even on yet. He didn't flinch.Invisible fingers traced the scar first, then slid up to the muscle along his shoulder. Courtney materialized under the spray with him, smirking."Damn, Robertson," she said, voice low against the steam. "Remember when you almost crushed yourself with a dumbbell training with Colm?""I swear he somehow made it heavier," he muttered, turning so the water soaked her hair. His hands found her waist automatically."I got it on video," she said primly, then kissed him slow, thorough, morning-lazy."You are trouble," he murmured against her mouth.She laughed into the kiss, and they stayed there until the water threatened to go cold.They dried off, threw on clothes (him in the usual faded dispatcher hoodie and jeans, her in leggings and the least wrinkled flannel she could steal from his side of the closet), poured coffee into mismatched travel mugs, and took the elevator down to the garage.The SDN pool sedan was the same anonymous gray box it had always been: no decals, no hero plates, just a faint dog-hair aura from Beef's last ride. Robert slid behind the wheel; Courtney claimed shotgun, kicked off her sneakers, propped her bare feet on the dash, and opened the real-estate app like she was declaring war."Alright," she said, scrolling. "Let the suffering begin."House one: They didn't even make it to a formal showing. Robert had spotted the listing late last night—some mid-century in El Segundo that looked promising in the photos, with a backyard "oasis" and "updated everything." On a whim, he'd texted the agent at dawn, figuring a quick drive-by couldn't hurt.The agent, a harried guy named Dave in a polo that strained across his gut, met them at the curb with a clipboard and a forced smile. "You must be the Robertsons!""It's Robertson and Ross," Courtney corrected sweetly, smile sharp enough to shave with. "We're not married yet. He's still scared of commitment and I'm still deciding if he's worth the paperwork."Dave blinked twice, then plowed on. "Anyway, let's peek inside before the open-house rush."The "oasis" backyard turned out to be a kidney-shaped pool filled with what smelled like decades of stagnant regret. Inside, the "updated everything" was a fresh coat of beige paint over water stains that bloomed like abstract art on the ceiling. Courtney poked a wall and plaster flaked off like dandruff.Dave cleared his throat. "Character! Adds charm."Courtney didn't bother going invisible—she just raised an eyebrow. "Charm like a tetanus shot."Robert nudged her elbow. "Thanks, Dave. We'll… circle back."They were back in the car before Dave could hand them a brochure.House two: Hermosa Beach. Different realtor, same script, different price tag."Ocean-view adjacent!" she chirped. "Only three-point-nine!"The view was a sliver of blue if you pressed your face to the upstairs toilet window. Everything was white, cold, and screaming "influencer lease." They fled.House three: Torrance, quiet street lined with actual trees, kids biking in circles, distant ice-cream truck music. The realtor, Marco, middle-aged and gloriously chill, just handed Robert the key and went to sit on the porch with his phone and a bag of sunflower seeds.Inside smelled like lemon polish and hope. Hardwood floors that didn't look recently traumatized. Kitchen with actual counter space. Backyard with a healthy orange tree dropping fruit like it was personally offended they hadn't moved in yet.Courtney kicked off her shoes, walked straight through the empty living room, and flopped on the floor like she was testing gravity."This is still a lot of money," Robert warned, reading the listing on his phone.She waved her phone at him without getting up. "Bat Boy already ran the numbers. Says we can swing it if we keep the Twinkie pipeline open."Robert grinned. "The bat's got a side hustle in financial wizardry now?""Certified genius by association," she said, rolling her eyes. "But yeah. He's earning his keep." She called from the ground, "There's a window seat. Window. Seat."He stepped onto the back deck. The orange tree shaded half the yard. There was room for a dog, a kid, wind chimes, maybe a hammock. Normal. Safe. Theirs.Courtney joined him, barefoot, stealing one of the fallen oranges and rolling it across the deck."I fucking hate your dad," she said conversationally.Robert snorted. "Join the club.""No, today specifically." She peeled the orange with her thumbnail, scent bursting bright in the warm air. "He would've looked at this yard and called it a waste because there's no launch bay. Never taught you how to fly the damn thing, never left a sticky note that said 'hey, maybe don't die,' just… expectation. And you still almost did it."Robert leaned against the railing, arms folded. He didn't argue."I'm not raising a kid who grows up measuring themselves against a ghost who couldn't be bothered to pick you up from tee-ball."The orange peel curled in her hand like a question mark.Robert exhaled through his nose. "I don't want that either."Courtney leaned her hip against the railing. "So what's the play? Because the suit doesn't just vanish. It's sitting in the SDN sub-basement humming like a very expensive bomb.""I've been thinking," he started, then stopped, rubbed the back of his neck. "Third option. Not me forever, not the kid ever, but… we find someone who actually wants it."She raised an eyebrow. "Just hand the Astral Pulse to some rando off the street? Great plan. Next week it's on the dark web next to someone's kidney.""That's not—""Because the second things get hard they'll pawn it for rent money and a lifetime supply of ramen," she kept going, counting on her fingers. "Or worse, Red Ring 2.0 pays top dollar and suddenly Shroud's fan club has a nuke."Robert waited until she ran out of fingers."I'm not talking about a Craigslist ad, Court. I'm talking about a program. Quiet. Controlled. Mandy sells it to corporate as 'next-gen outreach.' We run it like Z-Team tryouts but with actual vetting. Background checks, psych evals, six months of watching them in the field before they even learn the suit exists."Courtney squinted at him. "So… hero Tinder with a million background questions and a lie-detector test.""Basically."She ate another orange segment, thinking. "And if nobody passes?""Then the suit stays locked and the Pulse stays in the vault. No harm, no legacy curse, no kid ever feels obligated."She was quiet for a long beat."You'd really trust someone else with it?""I'd rather trust someone who earns it than keep flying until I'm fifty and the kid's watching me come home in pieces because Dad can't let go."Courtney looked out at the yard, at the orange tree dropping fruit like it was eavesdropping."I spent years thinking power was something you stole or sold," she said finally. "Turns out the hardest kind to give away is the kind someone handed you with a guilt trip attached."Robert huffed something close to a laugh. "So you're in?""I'm in if it's airtight. If we write the rules together. If I get to personally scare the shit out of anyone who makes it to the final round." She paused, then softer: "And if the first time our kid ever sees the suit, it's on someone who chose to wear it because they wanted to come home to their own family, not because some dead guy's voicemail said they had to."Robert felt something loosen in his chest he hadn't realized was knotted.He reached for her hand, sticky with orange juice. "Deal."She laced their fingers.They stood there a minute longer, orange sun sinking, the tree dropping one last fruit at their feet like it was stamping the contract.Eventually Robert pocketed the orange peel. "Come on. Let's go put an offer on the house with the non-suicidal citrus before someone else snags it."Courtney stole one last orange for the road. "And tomorrow we ambush Mandy and ruin her weekend.""Romance," he deadpanned.She bumped his shoulder. "Shut up, nerd. It's the most romantic thing we've done since I took a bullet for you."They locked the empty house, woke Marco from his porch-nap, and drove home with the windows down and the future smelling like citrus and possibility.Tomorrow: work, budgets, giving Mandy headaches.
But tonight: takeout, baby-name scrolling, and the quiet certainty that the suit might finally belong to someone who actually asked for it.