Chapter Text
The fifth time Nancy calls her at midnight, Robin is, definitely, not surprised.
Mornings aren’t the end of the world anymore (contrary to popular belief). It was in the morning that she finally finished Anna Karenina, on the phone with Nancy. For some godforsaken reason, the most rewarding part of the experience may have been Nancy’s reaction to Robin’s reaction. Because of course she told Nancy all about the plot.
It’s almost like they both just live on their phones now, too. Robin can count on one hand how many times Nancy’s had to be forced to hang up for dinner. She can’t count on one hand how many times they’ve brought dinner back to their rooms for the sole purpose of never hanging up.
So maybe it’s a bad thing. Maybe — and this is the tiniest maybe to ever exist — it’s a bad thing. For one, Robin is entirely content with this. For another, she’s pretty sure that the leading on has resulted in a situationship that she can’t leave for the life of her. And Robin is also quite positive that Nancy doesn’t even know.
Which barrels straight into this conclusion: Just tell her you’re a lesbian already you fucking wimp.
She should be able to. Really, ‘being able to’ comes in a package with a bow dropped on her doorstep. In fact, it’s already in her room sitting on her desk and staring at her. But Robin won’t open it. No matter how tempting that bow looks to untie, it’s not fucking untied.
How the hell does one come out to their crush who they are way too in love with for their own good?
(Turns out that when they’re not talking about relationships, literally everything else comes so naturally it’s almost disturbing. It also makes falling even further in love as easy as sleeping. Or eating. Or even breathing.)
Robin will say that she’s tempted to call even at work with Steve, if only because Steve is so obsessed with whatever is going on between the two of them that it’s often the main topic of conversation. As if she doesn’t think about Nancy enough already. She probably bugs him about Eddie the same amount as he bugs her about Nancy though, so it’s half-half. They’re too similar.
But Steve falls in love with people he has chances with, and Robin falls in love with people who will always be that tiny bit out of reach.
“Wanna come over?” Nancy asks simply, right off the bat. Because that’s what she does now.
And because she’s never been able to say no, and she’s kind of gay, Robin says, “Yeah, ‘course. Did the nightmares come back, or—”
“I just wanna see you.” Nancy clarifies before Robin is able to actually ask the question.
Right. Why wasn't she expecting that at this point? “Uh, okay, I’m on my way then.”
Nancy says “See you soon” right before the dial tone sounds.
So this must be what it feels like to sign your own death warrant. It’s not pleasant.
Now her little ritual, Robin changes into better clothes, sneaks out of the door and gets on her bike. She makes it to Nancy’s in seven minutes, so evidently she’s not dreading the death part too much. Of course, she is excited for whatever comes before the dying.
Once she finally gathers the courage to knock, Nancy slides the window open for her and waits while she clambers through. And as usual, Robin gives the room a once-over instead of looking at the brunette. Nothing has changed. Shame.
“Hi,” Nancy grins, gazing up at Robin with her usual innocent Bambi eyes. Those eyes could stop wars. If Nancy looked at an asteroid about to destroy Earth with those eyes, it would turn around.
“Hi.” Jesus, she's so in love. It's never ever going away. Love is her terminal illness and they’ll never find a cure.
Without waiting for any sort of permission, Nancy steps forward and wraps her arms around Robin’s torso, digging her face into the crook of Robin’s neck. “I really missed you.”
“We call everyday,” is all she’s able to get out, hands coming to rest on Nancy’s waist habitually. Maybe it won’t be so selfish if she indulges a bit more than she already is. After all, she’ll never have Nancy exactly how she wants her. And Nancy isn’t necessarily forbidden, but Robin feels vaguely like Eve. Risking everything, all for a single taste. God, she wants to taste how it feels to have Nancy. God, she kind of wants to taste Nancy.
“I don’t think it’s enough.” Nancy mutters resolutely, her breath warm on Robin’s skin.
So. Hopefully someone can tell Steve how she mysteriously had a heart attack and died. This may be her cause of death for real this time. And etched onto her grave, Robin Buckley, died because a girl wanted to spend time with her. Maybe it isn’t such a bad way to go — there’s merit in dying at the hands of Nancy Wheeler.
Finally Nancy pulls back, though she makes no move to actually step away. Her hands migrate to Robin’s shoulders, fingers playing absently with errant baby hairs. “Got a boyfriend yet?” She asks casually, and Robin is just about ready to start digging her own grave.
The grave either being words which come in a neat package waiting on her desk or pretending even more. She’s pretending that she isn’t a wolf, that she didn’t kill the sheep and take its place. She probably tore its throat and skinned its hide, deft claws and sharp fangs making quick work of such a helpless animal. Wearing its skin feels less like a trophy and more like showing off exactly how shameful she really is. She wants to take it off.
“No boyfriend,” Robin starts, and every beat of her heart leads to one that comes faster than the first. It’s pounding away at the cage that is her ribs, trying so desperately to force its way out of her throat, right into Nancy’s palms. Nancy never took Robin’s heart on purpose. Robin handed it straight over. “Th-there’s probably no boyfriend. Ever. I’m a lesbian.” If her voice drops to a whisper on that last word, no it doesn’t.
All Nancy does is blink. “Oh.” She says, and doesn’t step back. “Oh,” She says again, and does step back.
Inevitable heat creeps up Robin’s neck, embarrassment bleeding onto her cheeks. She really needs that grave now. “I— I can leave. Do you want me to leave? I can leave.”
“No!” Nancy says quickly, her stupid big blue eyes widening. “No, no, it’s late. You don’t have to leave.”
“Since when do you care? I biked all the way here.” She points out bitterly, wishing she could somehow have her heart back, as if it was as easy as that. Maybe Nancy can hand over the pathetic little thing and comment on how it’s too rotten for her to hold. Maybe Nancy can give Robin the pieces left of it and tell her to glue them back together.
“No, Robin, seriously. Just— tell me about all your girlfriends, or whatever.” The brunette waves her hands around somewhat manically, maybe to signify that she’s okay with Robin being a lesbian or maybe telling her that she means the exact opposite of her words.
Sincerely, Robin can’t tell. “‘Or whatever’? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t know!” Nancy admits, panicked. “Like, I want you to know that I don’t care— about the girlfriend thing. But I want you to tell me. Because I care about you. Oh my God, this makes no sense. Wait, let me— give me a second.”
And because Robin, eloquently, has literally nothing to say, she gives Nancy a second.
The thing Nancy decides to start with is “I know about Steve and Eddie.”
Which, what the fuck? Since when? “Since when?” She asks, since it’s a really damn good question (and the only question she can ask without losing her mind).
“Couple of days ago, I guess. I called Steve’s house and Eddie answered and I was just curious so I asked why he was always with Steve and he told me that they were basically together.” Nancy looks at Robin like she’s pleading her to understand, and it’s kind of working. “Then Steve took the phone and said that the ‘basically’ was idiotic of Eddie to add.”
“That’s cute.” Robin says, but she doesn’t really hear herself. Does this mean it’s two for two? Once on a disgusting bathroom floor and another at midnight in Prissy Wheeler’s bedroom. For some reason, the whole world hasn’t exploded yet. Insane.
Nancy shrugs, taking a tiny step closer to hold one of Robin’s hands in hers, ears tipped with pink. “Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that I support you. You can tell me all about all of your girlfriends.”
Robin stares at their intertwined fingers and feels like shrugging too, but she doesn’t. “Still no girlfriends.”
A pause, and then: “Wait, really?”
“Yeah, I mean. A lesbian in a not-so-lesbian town. I’ve basically only had crushes.” What Robin fails to mention is the fact that she also fell head over heels in love with one of those crushes. Can it even be classified as a crush at this point?
“Robin Buckley,” Nancy admonishes, teasing. “Did I seriously do a quiz with you meant for— for… not you?”
Despite Nancy’s fumble over the words, Robin finds a way to laugh. “You found possibly the most guy-phobic person of all to do it with.”
“Well it was stupid anyway.” Nancy releases Robin’s hand, holding onto her own wrist instead. “I’m not… I’m not guy-phobic.”
If this is Nancy’s way of saying she’s straight, it’s really damn effective. “I know.”
“I’ve had two boyfriends,” Nancy iterates, and stares at her dresser to avoid eye contact.
“I know.” Robin grits. It’s really hard to pretend that she doesn’t care — she’s not even sure why Nancy is so adamant about it, anyway. Because it’s so obvious, regardless of anything she says. Robin lets her eyes follow Nancy’s, to her dresser. The top is covered by a lamp which Robin has never seen on before, beside the ballerina in the box, and a pile of magazines.
Coming to the conclusion that they desperately need a way out of this conversation, and also the conclusion that her social skills aren’t enough for that, Robin goes and starts to flick through various magazines. She doesn’t see the stupid boys on the brain quiz; Nancy probably threw the whole magazine out or something. What she does find is another quiz that they can both do, relatively fine. Maybe fine?
“Who’s your perfect book boyfriend.” Robin recites, reading from the page and scanning the words. “I mean, the questions are kinda decent.”
“Boyfriend?”
And, well, you can’t blame Robin for scoffing. “That doesn’t matter, I’ll just— It doesn’t have to be about a boyfriend. I’ll pretend it says girlfriend.”
Quietly, Nancy asks, “You can do that?”
“Nance, like— if you’re gonna be weird about it, I can go, seriously,” She breathes, vaguely afraid that if she speaks too loudly Nancy might blow away. “I know you’re not familiar with it, or, I don’t know, you don’t understand it, but it’s just me. That’s who I am. And I mean, I’m friends with Steve, so it might be a little hard, but— Do you secretly not support Steve? Or Eddie?”
Nancy shakes her head fervently, desperately. She moves her hand as if to take Robin’s again, but stops herself a little short. “I support Eddie, I support you, Robin. I’m— I guess I’m still trying to make sense of it? I didn’t really… expect. This.”
This evidently being Robin.
She looks down at the magazine, bending its flimsy spine in half so the only page is the one with the questions she wants to ask. “Who’s your perfect book partner.” Robin says, because if she doesn’t need to have this conversation then she doesn’t want to. She gets onto Nancy’s bed and waits until it dips as Nancy does the same.
“Robin…” Nancy starts, except she definitely does not want to hear it.
“What would his pet name for you be?” Robin interrupts, practically feverish. If they don’t stop talking about her being gay then she might go jumping out the window. And that’s fucking depressing, so they need to stop talking about it.
“You can say their instead of his.” Comes an unnecessary reply.
Robin fights against the urge to roll her eyes and thankfully wins. “Fine, what would their pet name for you be?”
Hesitant and yet compliant, Nancy finally takes a second to think. They both seem to be equally as willing to get the topic off of Robin’s sexuality. “It’d just be Nance, I guess. I hate the sound of baby, or sweetheart. Like I didn’t go through hell and shoot something people see in their nightmares with a shotgun. Feels patronising, a little.”
That, Robin has to agree with. “It’s the same for me. I’d rather be called Robs, or Robbie if she’s really close to me.” Saying she is almost as scary as the whole coming out part. “Steve calls me Robbie all the time.”
“I’ve never heard him call you that before.” Nancy says, and manages a smile. “I’d probably call you Ro.”
It’s all Robin can do to ignore the implications of that. Does Nancy mean that if she was dating Robin she’d call her Ro or does she mean that if she was close to Robin she’d call her Ro? Jesus, it’s too much to think about. Simple answer: Don’t think about it. “Um, next question is… What’s your love language?”
“Physical touch,” Nancy replies, easy. “And acts of service, probably.”
That makes sense. Robin knows Steve often got flowers for Nancy when they were dating, knows even more that when Jonathan cut his palm with Nancy it was a very intimate, very real bonding experience. Robin also knows that she’d do anything Nancy ever asked of her — including but not limited to: researching for hours, breaking into a mental asylum, and getting on her knees. That last one wasn’t nearly as exciting as one might think.
“Mine’s also physical touch, I believe. I’m not sure, I’ve never been in a relationship.” She stares sullenly at the magazine in her hands and can’t help acknowledging the fact that while this quiz was made for someone like Nancy, it was not made for someone like Robin.
Nancy eyes Robin closely, considering her. A second more passes before a careful hand comes to rest on Robin’s knee. “I can still barely believe that. Next question?”
Physical touch physical touch physical touch. Maybe it really is her love language, fuck. Those apply to friendships too, don’t they? They do, right? Then this is fine. This is fine. It’s probably why Robin enjoys cuddling up on Steve’s couch with him so much, because yes, physical touch. So Nancy’s not doing anything. This is friendship. “What’s your perfect date?”
“Oh, I don’t…” Nancy trails off, tapping Robin’s knee twice in thought. “I don’t know. I’m sure I’d enjoy whatever my partner wanted, if it wasn’t something crazy like skydiving.”
Robin nods and pretends she isn't thinking of taking Nancy on a date while simultaneously juggling the avalanche of feelings that Nancy’s hand causes in her brain. She hopes that she can remember that the love part of love language can be platonic. Right now, it’s definitely not on her mind. “Same. We've both had enough excitement to last about a billion lifetimes, right?”
“Right.” Nancy agrees, a smile present in her voice. “Remember Pennhurst? That was exciting. You literally lost my shoes.”
“Hey, it took me—”
“Six months longer to walk than the other babies? That doesn’t mean you have to go kicking them across a courtyard!” Nancy leans back on the bed, her hand leaving Robin’s knee.
The presence is deeply missed, but Robin is too busy grinning to linger on that. “They were pinching my toes, I probably would have tripped on grass and gotten us caught if I didn’t.”
Nancy’s smile softens, a humorous gleam to her eyes. “Bold of you to assume I would have turned around to get you.”
“Okay, first of all, rude.” Robin wants to run away and also she really wants to kiss Nancy. She feels ill. Telling her about being a lesbian was meant to provide closure, it was meant to force her feelings to give up. They clearly haven’t. They clearly won’t. She needs an exorcist.
With an energy to match the sun, Nancy asks, “And second of all?”
“There’s no second of all. It’s just rude.”
Nancy laughs, and God, if Robin doesn’t literally ascend right there. How does Nancy continue to be so… so, something? Robin isn’t even entirely sure where that thought was going. She’s glad it never went anywhere, actually.
“So, next question, um,” She looks down at the magazine in her hands, maybe because she really cares about this stupid quiz or maybe because she needs to stop looking at Nancy. Surely the answer is obvious. (The latter. Definitely the latter.) “How would you meet?”
“Oh, that’s a good one.” Humming, Nancy considers her reply for a moment. “We’d meet because of the Upside Down. I know it’s over, but if they were perfect, they’d understand me. Everything about me. Now, I guess I need to accept it’s probably not happening.”
So, Robin really hates the Upside Down. Of course she’s always hated it, but even more now, knowing that this whole thing consumed about a year of her life, and even longer of Nancy’s. She hates knowing that when Will went missing all those years ago, Nancy was dealing with this shit already. Hates knowing, even more, that she actually thought Barb had managed to escape Hawkins. “Do you have any answers that might still happen?”
Nancy shrugs, eyes flickering between both of Robin’s like she can’t decide where to look. “I’d get to know them from a friend. Or, maybe. An ex.”
Robin raises a brow. “Does Jonathan have any best friends I don’t know about? Argyle?”
“Ro, I can promise you, I don’t like Argyle.”
And on cue, a horrible warmth rises to Robin’s cheeks, washing down her neck. Ro. Someone kill her now. Is it obvious? It must be so obvious, painted across her face in bright red — incriminating, awful red. At this point, hiding her crush will be a futile attempt at scraping together whatever dignity she has left, as if she even had any in the first place.
“You ‘love someone else’?” Staring straight at her lap, Robin tries not to sound too bitter as she repeats what Nancy said last Midnight. Okay, maybe the words haunt her a little bit. Sue her. It’s made her whole crush deal about a million times worse; imagine falling in love with someone who’s already in love with someone else. And has also told you that.
There’s a silence, and Robin doesn’t once dare to look up. She can’t see Nancy’s expression right now, can’t stand to know what she’s thinking. Can’t stand to see any kind of pity, or remorse, because even if Robin’s imagining that’s what she’ll see, that doesn’t mean it won’t come true.
Quietly, Nancy whispers, “Yeah. I think I do.”
With her question answered (again,) Robin sees no reason to continue torturing herself. “I think I’d probably want to meet someone through a friend too.” she bulldozes straight over their last topic, mentally soaking it in gasoline and letting it go up in flames. She is not built for this life, never will be, never has been. Fuck feelings, honestly.
“Huh?” Nancy sounds hurt, somehow.
Robin chooses not to focus on this, because she’s been hurt too. She’s suffered, too. “The question. Meeting through a friend would be better, because you know their personality isn’t actually shit or anything.”
“Oh. Uh, yeah. Yeah, I mean. Right.”
Ignoring how undoubtedly inconsiderate she’s being, Robin heads straight to the next question. Why should she consider Nancy’s feelings when she doesn’t even consider her own? She kind of feels like dirt, the very worst scum of the earth, an asshole. But it’s better than feeling hopeless and pathetic, like a dog. “When describing his personality, something you’d say is…”
“Their personality,” Nancy corrects mindlessly.
“I don’t think it matters.” She replies, a sour taste rising at the back of her throat, bitter. “If I said her personality, you would still be able to answer the question, wouldn’t you?”
“Well, yes… But—”
“I’m fine pretending it says her. You don’t need to give me special treatment, okay?” Robin snaps, finally glaring up at Nancy.
The other girl looks vaguely distressed, eyes widened and lips downturned. “I— I’m not—”
“You are,” She interjects. “Should we not do this last question? We can sleep now, if you want.” Robin only feels slightly bad when it comes down to it — Nancy trying to explain that she isn’t treating Robin weirdly when she actually is was never on her agenda. Robin drops the magazine off the side of the bed, and resolves to pick it up in the morning.
“No. I’m not tired. Let me answer the question.” Nancy sounds angry. Her words come out harsh, sharpened deliberately on a whetstone tongue.
It’s intimidating. It reminds Robin that everything about Nancy Wheeler always was kind of intimidating, from when she was an untouchable girl in the hallways, to when she saved the world. And Robin is just… Robin.
“Sorry,” She musters, trying to inject some sort of dignity into her tone. She doesn’t think it works.
Though, Nancy does soften, her expression smoothing out. And then she says, as if it’s easy, “I think that they’d be you.”
What? Robin wants to ask, only slightly more than she wants to die. But instead of asking, what, she’s just struck speechless. Like, what the fuck? What does Nancy mean? What is she getting at? What is happening right now?
At Robin’s unrelenting stare, Nancy flushes a pretty pink. “I— I just mean that they’d be like you. I’d describe them how I’d describe you, like, your personality. They’d be ‘you’, but not you, it would be like they’re just similar to you, b-because you’re, I don’t know. Amazing? Smart? Pretty? Actually, you’re really pretty. Beautiful. Wait— pretend I never said that. I don’t know what I’m saying.”
Nancy quickly covers her face with her hands, hiding. “Sorry,” She groans, muffled into her skin.
So, Robin doesn’t think she’s surviving the night.
Her heart is beating so fast it feels like it might not be beating at all, instead just screaming for help. Somehow Robin ignores it, leans forward, takes Nancy’s hands and pulls them away from her face. Big eyes meet her own, wide. “I think you’re beautiful too,” Robin says, and watches pink swarm up sharp cheekbones to the tips of soft ears.
Someone sedate her.
Nancy pulls away hurriedly, almost as though she’s been burnt. “S-so, um, h-how would you describe your— your ideal girlfriend?” Her voice pitches abnormally high at the end, enough so that Robin nearly winces.
Though, this is exactly what Robin wants, isn’t it? A way out. Nancy is handing it straight over. “I’d say… smart, probably.”
“Like… And she’s like Eddie?”
“Yeah, but her favourite colour is pink and she would rather shoot guns than ever touch a guitar.”
Screw sedating her, someone needs to take a bat to her fucking head instead.
Nancy stares straight at Robin like she’s a puzzle she hasn’t solved yet, one that probably gets on her nerves. “Okay,” Nancy whispers finally, and then clears her throat to say louder, “Bed?”
“Ye-yes. Yeah. Bed.” Heart working overtime, just another of the many medical problems she obtains around Nancy, Robin quickly scrambles to get under the covers. Maybe if she pulls the blankets over her head and begs the bed to swallow her whole, it might take pity on her and gain sentience. She doesn’t, though, and even with all the Upside Down crap, beds don’t come alive. Sadly.
Dociley, Nancy stretches to turn off her bedside lamp, suffocating the room in darkness. She then maneuvers herself under the covers and faces Robin in the dark. “I’m sorry for thinking you had a crush on Jonathan.”
“Nance, we don’t need to talk about this.” Robin says, and as a result also begs. There’s no in between for this topic. She’s either begging or she’s praying.
“Okay.” The brunette gives in surprisingly easy, considering every conversation they’ve had at Midnight ends in Robin admitting far too much. “Sorry. I’m also sorry for thinking you had a crush on Eddie, too, though.”
Yeah, Robin has no clue where this is going. “Nancy, it’s fine.”
“And I’m sorry for assuming. I shouldn’t… I should stop doing that. I wish it was easier for you to tell me. Really, I reacted like some kind of bitch. Well, after I tried not to. I swear that I don’t care. I do care, I mean, but I swear I don’t hate—”
“Nancy, I promise you that it’s fine.” Robin interrupts, fighting a genuine smile. “When you didn’t kick me out of the house I knew you didn’t mind. But then you acted super—”
“Weird?” Nancy supplies, also cutting in with her own input. “Yeah, I mean… That’s… My fault.”
Surely it wouldn’t be my fault, Robin wants to say, but she stops herself. Essentially it’s all her fault, but. Well. It’s not, actually. “You’re fine, Nance.”
Resolute, Nancy shifts, turning to face away. “Okay. Goodnight.”
Robin also moves, going from staring at the ceiling to staring at Nancy’s back. She really wants… She wants Nancy. And having her as a friend after this conversation is not bad, but it’s not necessarily great. Robin’s actually a little glad that Midnights only seem to matter at midnight. Maybe they can go back to pretending that everything is normal, all fine and dandy, like it used to be.
If you can count their ‘friendship’ while the world was ending as fine and dandy. Robin supposes that she does. Nancy didn’t know all of her secrets then. The crushing wasn’t costing her her heart at that point. Robin thinks that her heart might live in Nancy’s bedside table, and it beats hard enough that she can feel it when she’s here in Nancy’s room.
Otherwise, it’s pathetically bleeding out, each pulse shallower than the last.
She stares and stares at the back of Nancy’s head, imagining how things might be if she was braver.
Would Robin be able to admit to her feelings? Would she be able to do something about getting her heart back in one piece? Probably not.
It’s a while until there’s the telltale shift, the tiniest of movements. Nancy releases a short breath, and even though she hasn’t said a single word, Robin can hear them already. Love you, to no one. Woven by Nancy’s tongue, laced with everything Robin wants to hear and yet will never receive.
And so it comes, with soft syllables and too much promise, “Love you.”
Nancy’s not in bed by the time Robin wakes, and her covers are starkly made up. As she heads downstairs to leave, Nancy stops her by the front door only for a second. They hug. And then Robin gets on her bike and rides home.