Archive of Our Own ^beta

Their first meeting was fuzzy, like the heat of the summer got stuck in Robin’s head; a humid thickness, buzzing with bugs and exhaustion, a blurry outline of her against florescent light.

Wow. She’s pretty.

Obviously Robin had seen pictures of her and Steve - saw her around town, in the hallway, at the mall. But there’s nothing like someone staring you in the eyes, frustratedly asking “I’m sorry, who are you?” to really reinforce their image.

In the moment, it wasn’t really relevant. Being hunted by Russians was a lot more immediate, so it’s fine that they didn’t really get a great introduction. It’s fine.

The thing that was more relevant, she thought, as her heart did a weird seizing-thing in her chest, was that’s Steve’s ex. The one she’s heard the stories about, talked Steve through the depressive episodes about, helped him move on from. It was almost surreal, for her to finally be in front of Robin in the flesh, but the bitterness that should have arrived in the back of her throat was lost in the adrenaline. The hatred she was obliged to feel as best-friend was absent. Blame it on the Russians. They are the real enemy here. Don’t blame it on the blood rushing to her face or her pounding heart. Russians. Bigger fish to fry.

~

Years later, in Steve’s cold living-room, the world starts to come down on her shoulders.

The argument between sides of Robin’s ego is starting to make itself known again – “that’s his ex-girlfriend” vs. “he’d understand.” One side is winning out.

“Steve?” Her voice shakes slightly; she lowers her blanket slowly, peeking out at him, watching the silhouettes of the TV reflect on his face.

“Yeah?” He mutters, not breaking his eyes away from the TV, where a rented copy of Back to The Future plays for the god-knows-how-many-th time.

“I need to talk to you about something.”

He breaks away from the TV, looking at her, a small furrow in his eyebrows. “Of course, what’s up?”

Remember how to breathe.

“It’s- it’s about- Nancy.”

He blinks.

God, don’t make me explain.

How do you explain knowing something is right? How do you explain the weight in your chest when you’re around someone like her? How do you explain feeling like a fish on a hook, that indescribable gravitational pull that jumbles your mind like a magnet too strong? It’s impossible to explain how you body demands you stand at her side, and the awful muddy feelings that settle in your stomach if you don’t. How standing close to her, feeling the heat from her skin, brings a sense of comfort that settles in your heart, stretching into the relaxation like a cat in the sun. How you’re always in her orbit, a duo, like the Earth and the Sun. The Sun is what lets the Earth live, no? What is the Earth without the Sun? What is the moth without the flame?

But what about when the flame has destroyed? What about when that fire has cheated and burnt and broken? What about when that doesn’t matter? Who forgives the fire?

Jonathon can tell, is the worst thing. The way he looks at Robin, hiding questions behind a face of pure stone. But she knows the look. She’s been weird her whole life – too attached, too annoying, too forthright, making people uncomfortable at every stage of life. She knows the look. He never says anything.

They split, Nancy and Jonathon. It’s not like Nancy’s loving after a taken woman, no- if anything, the fact they split makes it worse. Nancy’s all roaring independence – always has been, apparently – but it is simply amplified by her willingness to just be alone. To get her head down, get on with it, not let anyone stand in her way. How Robin wishes she could relate – living life feels like walking on a shaking pier that’s about to collapse. Every step fills her stomach with a sour, bubbling anxiety – every step could end in disaster. Death, in their case.

Guilt is a funny feeling. It’s strong, unrelenting, all-knowing. But fire is just as strong.

“Steve, don’t make me say it.”

Steve sighs, pausing the film. The room falls into silence, the DeLorean’s scorched tire tracks on the screen.

“I’m sorry.” She says again, watching as Steve gets that line on his forehead that mean’s he’s really thinking. Shit.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry about, Robs.” He says, looking at her, watching as she cowers under the stupid tartan-pattern blanket that is far too thick. “It’s alright.”

“It’s not.” She says, stern, forcing stability. “She’s…”

“My ex.”

“She cheated on you.”

“You know we got over that.” He says, running a hand through his hair. “It was a misunderstanding.”

“That shouldn’t matter. To me. Obligatory best-friend rage.” There’s a bit of Robin’s chipped black nail varnish that has gotten stuck in the white edging of the blanket, but she loses sight of it as she shifts. Eye contact feels like looking into someone’s soul – could she deal with Steve’s true opinion of her right now?

“Robin, come on now.” Steve says, looking at her, a cocktail of pity and mild frustration. “After Vickie…”

Robin huffs like someone has punched her in the stomach - harsh breath, leaving a hollow pressure in her chest. That’s how it felt, the whole thing. Nancy was even a thought then, a spark in the back of her mind, taunting her with its ferocity when she started to fall for the quiet light of the moon. Vickie did not have what she needed. She was too soft, too nice, let people walk all over her. Robin needed intensity, strength. They burnt out pretty quickly.

“I’m sorry.” He says, tense, the thinking-line returning. “I just- I want you to be happy, y’know? And for the record, I really don’t care that it’s her.”

The guilt is everywhere, like an uncomfortable fizz along her skin, souring her mood.

“I’m serious.” He says, as if he can tell she’s consuming herself.

“I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t respond. He clenches his hands together, looks at the floor, at his socks, at the sofa, the blanket, finally to her face.

“Do you want a beer?”

“Sure.”

~

It’s summer. The mid-day heat radiates off the road in waves, distorting the air. It’s thick, and hard to breathe.

She’s sure she’s burning through her shirt. There’s a tingling on her back, like tiny fireworks, all along her skin. The Cola can in her hand remains ice-cold, so she holds it to her forehead for a momentary heatwave relief.

“And I think…” Mumbles Eddie, head buried in the hood of his broken van. “That should be fixed.”

“He said he didn’t care.” She squints in Eddie’s general direction. “How can he not care?”

He shrugs, the fading print on the back of his shirt distorting. “Maybe cause he’s over it.”

“How?”

“Maybe you should just believe him.” Eddie says pointedly, wiping his grease-stained hands on an already-filthy bandana, pushing stray hairs out of his face. “Why would he lie to you?”

“Because he feels bad.”

Eddie laughs, swigging his beer, the condensation mixing with the grease. The grease leaves a handprint when he puts it down. “Come on now, Buckley. You know Stevey wants the best for you.”

“But what if he doesn’t want the best for himself?”

He sighs, a knowing grin on his face. “Robs, relax. It was a while ago now.”

She groans, lying down against the gravel, looking at the tops of the trees against the overly-vibrant blue sky. Eddie’s new trailer isn’t much better than the last one, but it’s a home. Despite being lay down, the firework sensation is still there, amplified by the tiny rocks digging into her back. Sunburn.

“Sounds like someone’s in denial.” Eddie sing-songs, sitting in the gravel next to her. She looks at him, squinting, getting dust in her hair.

“You can’t say anything. You totally write ‘E+S’ in a heart in all your notebooks.”

“And I’ve accepted that.” He says with a shit-eating grin, raising his empty bottle to a toast didn’t happen.

~

Robin knows she likes girls. Not her, that’s obvious, I mean Nancy. Robin knows Nancy likes girls. It was a late-night drinking game, with everyone above high-school age, of course. She said it quite comfortably, stained-pink lips in a small amused smile.

“Yes.”

Oh – the question was, would you ever kiss a girl?

Argyle asked it. It was funny at the time. Johnothan did kick him in the shin for it. Steve glanced at her, but not for too long, lest he attract someone’s attention. They moved on relatively fast.

Robin didn’t.

~

“And so he’s just not listening, y’know? Like, the paper isn’t making sale targets, we’ve established that, so why are you still asking me about it when it’s not my job? I’m a journalist, I don’t care about sales, that’s the sales team’s problem. If there’s something I’m doing wrong, tell me, but until then? I don’t care.”

She drinks her vanilla milkshake with a crease in her eyebrow, glaring at the condensation ring against the vinyl. Robin is sat stock-still, has been since they sat at their sticky table at the diner. Her milkshake is untouched, the cherry slowly sinking into the sagging mountain of whipped cream.

“Anyway.” She says, with a sigh, straightening herself and looking at Robin with a smile. “How’s things with you?”

Robin hasn’t been listening.

Nancy’s pinned her hair out of her face, ringlets looser than usual, makeup a little smudged, shirt a little unbuttoned. She has that sheen across her forehead and her cheeks, a tan glowing underneath it all, freckles here and there. Her eyes flicker with stubborn self-defence – the slobs at work treat her like trash, and she knows it, and she doesn’t stand for it. She’s self-determined. She looks beautiful.

“I’m- it’s fine?” She drinks her milkshake as an excuse not to talk. The straw is soggy now.

Nancy grabs a fry and dips it in her milkshake.

“How’s the new job?”

Robin has a new job. It’s at a hair salon. It’s not particularly interesting.

“It’s fine. She’s been letting me practice. Now I can offer cuts for discounted rates.” She shrugs, looking at Nancy’s chipped blue nail varnish as she grabs another fry.

“That’s great, Robin! You’ll be doing it professionally in no time. I can’t believe she’s just teaching you like that! I swear, some colleges offer hairdressing courses. And you’re getting that for free.”

“Nancy?”

“Yeah?” She’s looking up at Robin with big eyes outlined in blue.

Am I about to do this? Am I about to-

“Do you wanna go out sometime?”

It’s a risk – how much interest has she been showing, realistically? Sure, she listens to Robin’s rants about her interests and never tells her off for stains on her clothes like she does with everyone else, she never tells her off for her grammar because she knows Robin’s always been bad with it, and-

“We’re out now, aren’t we?” She says, a small smile, steady eyes. Robin’s brain blue-screens.

“I… What?”

“Oh, you mean out out.” She says, her smile gloriously transforming into a beaming knowing grin, wrapping a slender hand around Robin’s across the table. The touch burns white hot. “Of course, Robs. I thought you’d never ask.”