Chapter Text
Robin Buckley was pretty sure this was the dumbest thing she'd ever witnessed, and she'd once watched Steve Harrington take romantic advice from a ten-year-old, so the bar was high.
The backyard of WSQK—and okay, calling it a backyard was generous, it was more like a glorified patch of dirt and dying grass behind the radio station—had been transformed into some kind of apocalypse training ground. Which made sense, theoretically. They were preparing for the end of the world. Again. Vecna was out there somewhere, probably plotting, definitely not dead, and they'd been running what Dustin called "reconnaissance missions" and what everyone else called "crawls" into the Upside Down for the past three months.
So yeah. Training. Weights. Cardio. Guns. All very reasonable and mature and necessary for survival.
Except Steve Harrington and Jonathan Byers had turned it into a fucking peacocking competition, and Robin was losing her mind.
"Thirty-eight," Steve grunted, pushing the barbell up. His face was red but his form was solid—because of course Steve would have perfect form. "Thirty-nine."
"That's not even impressive," Jonathan called out from where he was attempting pull-ups on the bar they'd welded to the side of the station. His voice came out strained and his arms were shaking, but he still managed to sound condescending, which was honestly a talent. "I did forty-five yesterday."
"You did not."
"Ask Will."
"Will would lie for you, he's your brother."
Will looked up from his sketchbook at that, eyebrows raised, pencil suspended mid-stroke. His expression said very clearly: Don't drag me into this.
From her position on the ground—where she was supposed to be doing sit-ups, had maybe done six, had definitely lost count—Robin caught Will's eye. They shared a look, the universal expression of two people watching a trainwreck they had no power to stop. Will's mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile, and Robin had to look away before she started laughing.
The sun was beating down on the back of her neck and she could feel her t-shirt—layered over a sweatshirt because she got cold easily, shut up—sticking to her back with sweat.
Nancy Wheeler was twenty feet away at the makeshift shooting range Hopper had set up, and she looked like she'd walked out of an action movie. Correction: she looked like she'd walked out of one of Robin's three AM thoughts, the ones she couldn't sleep through, the ones that went places they definitely shouldn't go. Places that were becoming increasingly difficult to avoid, actually, because Nancy was wearing a fitted button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled to her elbows—practical, efficient, somehow still managing to look unfairly put-together despite the August heat—and her arms were—
Stop it, Robin told herself. Stop being a creep.
Nancy raised the gun—Hopper's spare pistol, the one he'd been teaching her to use because apparently Nancy Wheeler wasn't already terrifyingly competent enough—and fired. The bottle they'd set up as a target exploded.
"That's five in a row," Dustin called out from where he was timing something on his calculator watch. "New record, Nancy!"
Nancy didn't smile. She just reloaded, her movements precise and methodical, and Robin felt it in her hands—that thing where she wanted to touch, wanted to trace the line of Nancy's shoulders as she raised the gun, wanted to brush away the curls sticking to the back of Nancy's neck in the heat. The way Nancy had rolled her jeans cuffs twice shouldn't have been doing things to Robin, but it was, and she was definitely going to hell. Or the Upside Down. Probably both.
"Forty!" Steve dropped the barbell with a clang that made everyone wince. "Beat that, Byers."
"That's literally two more than last time," Jonathan said. "You're not exactly breaking records here."
"Yeah, well, I bet Nancy noticed."
Robin watched Nancy's shoulders tense. Nancy did not turn around. She fired again. Another bottle shattered.
"I don't think she's paying attention to you, dude," Dustin said, which—thank you, Dustin, for being the only person here with a functioning brain.
"She's paying attention," Steve said. He grabbed his water bottle and very deliberately flexed while he drank from it. Like he was in a commercial. For what, Robin didn't know. Douchebags Anonymous?
Jonathan dropped from the pull-up bar and immediately started doing push-ups. Fast, jerky ones. The kind that were clearly meant to be impressive but mostly just looked painful. "You know what Nancy actually cares about?" he said between reps. "Follow-through. Commitment."
Steve paused mid-reach for his water bottle. "Oh yeah? That why she broke up with you?"
The temperature in the yard dropped about fifteen degrees.
Robin sat up properly for the first time in ten minutes. Even Dustin stopped fiddling with his watch. Will's pencil froze on the page.
Jonathan's jaw tightened. He kept doing push-ups. "We had a lot of things."
"Yeah, and now you have separate bedrooms in her house," Steve said. "That must be fun."
"Steve," Robin said, because someone had to. "Maybe don't—"
"It's complicated," Jonathan bit out.
"Doesn't sound that complicated to me."
Nancy fired again. This time she missed. The bullet pinged off the fence post behind the bottles.
Everyone froze.
Robin watched Nancy lower the gun, stare at it for a moment like it had personally betrayed her, then raise it again. Her hands were shaking.
"Hey," Robin said, pushing herself to her feet. Her legs felt like jelly. She was so fucking out of shape it was embarrassing. "Maybe we should—"
"Forty-two," Steve announced, because apparently he'd started lifting again and no one had been paying attention.
"Fifty," Jonathan countered, dropping for another set of push-ups.
Nancy's shoulders went rigid.
She spun around, and Robin had seen Nancy Wheeler angry before—she'd seen Nancy Wheeler hold a shotgun in the Upside Down and face down a monster made of melted people—but this was quiet and tight-jawed and shaking.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Nancy's voice cut across the yard like a whip.
Steve fumbled the barbell. It clanged against the rack. "Nance—"
"Don't." Nancy pointed at him with the hand that wasn't holding the gun, which should have been intimidating, except the gun was still in her other hand and that was way more intimidating. "Don't 'Nance' me. Do you think this is a game?"
"I—no, I just—"
"We're training." Nancy's voice was shaking now, and Robin couldn't tell if it was anger or something else. "We're training because Vecna is still out there. Because Max is still in a coma. Because we've lost people. Because any day now we might have to go back down there and face—" She stopped. Took a breath. "And you two are acting like we're at the fucking gym."
"We're just trying to—" Jonathan started.
"I don't care." Nancy's grip on the gun tightened. "I don't care what you're trying to do. I don't care about whatever stupid competition this is. I'm not interested in Steve. I'm not getting back together with Jonathan. I am trying to make sure none of us die, and you're making it very difficult to concentrate."
The silence that followed was so complete that Robin could hear the wind in the trees behind the station. Could hear her own heartbeat in her ears.
Steve looked at his shoes. Jonathan stared at Nancy like she'd punched him.
Nancy engaged the safety on the gun with a sharp click, turned on her heel, and walked toward the radio station. Her stride was quick and furious, and Robin knew that walk.
Robin glanced at Steve and Jonathan. Both of them had the same stunned, slack expression. Will had looked up from his sketchbook, eyes wide.
"I should—" Robin gestured vaguely at Nancy's retreating back. "Someone should—"
"Go," Dustin said quietly.
Will nodded in agreement, still clutching his pencil.
Robin went.
She caught up to Nancy at the back door of the station, which Nancy was trying to unlock with shaking hands. The key kept missing the lock.
"Hey," Robin said, and then immediately regretted it because what a stupid way to start a conversation. "Um. Are you—I mean, obviously you're not okay, that was a stupid question, forget I asked—"
Nancy finally got the key in the lock and shoved the door open. She disappeared inside.
Robin followed, because apparently she was a glutton for punishment. Or maybe because Nancy Wheeler angry and shaking with her sleeves rolled up was making rational thought impossible. Probably that second thing. Definitely that second thing.
The radio station was blessedly cool after the heat outside, and Robin's eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim interior. Nancy was pacing in the small space between the broadcast desk and the wall, still holding the gun. She'd put the safety on, which was good. Robin didn't think Nancy would actually shoot her, but then again, Nancy had missed that bottle outside, so maybe her judgment was currently impaired.
"Nancy—" Robin tried.
"I can't do this anymore." Nancy's voice was tight. She wasn't looking at Robin. She was looking at the wall, or maybe at nothing. "I can't—they won't stop. Jonathan's in my house. He's in my house and he still looks at me like—like we're going to fix it. Like if he just waits long enough I'll change my mind. And Steve—"
She stopped. Pressed her free hand against her forehead.
"Steve still thinks—I don't know what Steve thinks. That we'll—what? Get back together? Fall in love? I don't—" Nancy's voice cracked. "I don't have time for this. I don't have time to manage everyone's feelings about me while also trying to—to keep us alive. To keep training. To keep—"
She stopped pacing. Stood very still.
Robin watched her from the doorway, hyperaware of every point of tension in Nancy's body. The set of her shoulders. The way her breathing was too fast. The white-knuckle grip on the pistol.
"I just need—" Nancy's voice dropped to almost a whisper. "I need to feel like I have control over something. Anything."
And then Nancy turned, and her eyes found Robin's, and Robin's whole body went still.
Because Nancy Wheeler was looking at her like—
Like—
Oh, Robin thought.
Oh no.
—
Robin had been looked at before. She'd been looked at by guys who wanted something she couldn't give them. She'd been looked at by girls who were trying to figure out if she was like them, if it was safe to reach out. She'd been looked at by Steve in that bathroom at Starcourt, right after she'd told him the truth, and he'd looked at her like he was seeing her for the first time.
But Nancy Wheeler had never looked at her like this.
Nancy's eyes were dark, intent, and Robin's mouth went dry. The look on Nancy's face said she'd made a decision, and Robin wasn't sure she'd been consulted on it, and honestly she wasn't sure she cared.
"Robin," Nancy said, and it wasn't a question.
Robin should say something. She should probably say a lot of things. Like "Hey, are you okay?" or "Maybe you should sit down" or "Please don't make any rash decisions while holding a firearm."
What came out instead was: "Yeah?"
Nancy set the gun down on the broadcast desk. Carefully. Deliberately. Then she took a step toward Robin.
Robin's back hit the door. She hadn't realized she'd been backing up.
"I—" Robin tried. Nancy Wheeler was just walking toward her in a small enclosed space with that look on her face like she was solving a problem and Robin was it, and Robin was going to die. She was going to die right here in this radio station and they were going to find her body and Steve was going to be so confused. "Um. Nancy. Hi. Are you—what are you—"
"I'm so tired," Nancy said, and she was close now. Close enough that Robin could smell her shampoo—floral, clean, the kind of thing that made Robin want to do deeply inadvisable things. "I'm tired of everyone wanting something from me. I'm tired of managing expectations. I'm tired of being careful."
"Okay," Robin said, because what else was she supposed to say? Her hands were shaking. She shoved them in her pockets so Nancy wouldn't see. "That's—I mean, that makes sense. You've been through a lot. We've all been through a lot, but you especially, and I think it's totally normal to feel—"
"Robin."
"Yeah?"
"Do you—" Nancy stopped. Looked at Robin's mouth, then back up to her eyes. "Do you want me to kiss you?"
The dial tone sound. The one that played when you left a phone off the hook too long. That was Robin's entire head.
"I—what?"
"It's a yes or no question," Nancy said, and she sounded almost annoyed, which—of course she did.
"I—yes? I mean—" Robin's thoughts were moving at approximately eight hundred miles per hour and also not at all. "Is this—are you—I don't want you to do something you'll regret, and I know you're upset right now, and I don't want to be, like, a—a thing you do because you're angry at Steve and Jonathan, because that would be—I mean, I would probably still—shit, I'm not helping. I'm making this worse. I'm always making things worse when I talk, which is why I should probably stop talking, except I don't know how to stop talking, I've never known how to—"
Nancy kissed her.
Just—leaned in and pressed her mouth against Robin's mid-sentence, which was probably the only way to get Robin to shut up, honestly, and every thought Robin had ever had went quiet.
Nancy's lips were soft. That was the first coherent thought Robin had. Nancy Wheeler's lips were soft and she tasted like the strawberry chapstick she always wore and she was kissing Robin. Nancy Wheeler was kissing Robin Buckley in a radio station in Hawkins, Indiana, and Robin's hands were still in her pockets like an idiot.
She pulled them out. Didn't know where to put them. Settled for sort of hovering near Nancy's waist, not quite touching, because she didn't know if she was allowed to touch. Didn't know what the rules were here.
Nancy made a frustrated sound against her mouth and grabbed Robin's hands, placed them firmly on her hips.
Oh fuck, Robin thought.
Nancy's hands came up to cup Robin's face, angling her head, and the kiss deepened—Nancy's tongue against Robin's lower lip, and Robin opened her mouth on instinct, and—
And Nancy Wheeler was kissing her like she meant it. Like this wasn't just a momentary lapse in judgment. Like she'd been thinking about this.
Robin's hands tightened on Nancy's hips, finally—finally—touching her the way she'd wanted to but never let herself think about. Except sometimes she did think about it. Sometimes at three in the morning she couldn't help it. Feeling the curve of Nancy's waist through the cotton of her shirt. Feeling Nancy press closer, until Robin was fully back against the door and Nancy was against her, and Robin could feel—
Nancy's chest pressed against hers. Nancy's thigh between her legs. Nancy's hands sliding from her face into her hair, gripping, holding her in place.
Robin made a sound that should have mortified her, except Nancy made a sound back—low, almost a growl—and pulled back just enough to look at Robin.
Her pupils were blown wide. Her lips were red and slightly swollen.
"Okay," Nancy said, breathing hard. "Okay. That's—"
"Yeah," Robin said, her vocabulary reduced to single syllables.
"I need—" Nancy stopped. Swallowed. Her grip on Robin's hair tightened, just slightly, and Robin felt it everywhere. "I need you to tell me if this is okay. If you want this."
"Are you kidding?" The words burst out of Robin before she could stop them. "I've wanted—I mean, I've thought about—shit, that sounds creepy. I don't want to be creepy. But yes. Yes, this is okay. This is—this is very okay. Okay doesn't even begin to cover it."
The corner of Nancy's mouth pulled up, sharp. "Good."
She kissed Robin again, harder this time, and Robin stopped thinking entirely.
Nancy's hands were everywhere—in Robin's hair, on her neck, sliding down to her shoulders. She pulled back just enough to tug at Robin's t-shirt with a frustrated sound, but her fingers caught on the sweatshirt underneath.
Nancy stopped. Stared at Robin's torso. "Are you wearing a sweatshirt under your shirt?"
"I get cold easily, okay—"
"It's August," Nancy said, and she sounded genuinely baffled. "It's eighty degrees outside."
"The radio station is cold! And I—"
"This is ridiculous." Nancy grabbed the hem of Robin's t-shirt and yanked it up and over Robin's head, then immediately started working on the sweatshirt underneath. Robin had to help because Nancy was getting tangled in the sleeves, and for a moment they were just wrestling with fabric like idiots, until finally the sweatshirt came free and hit the floor.
"Wait," Robin gasped, pulling back. "Wait, are we—here? Now?"
Nancy's eyes flashed—irritation or desperation, Robin couldn't tell. "Do you want to stop?"
"No. God, no. I just—" Robin glanced around the small station. The broadcast desk was covered in equipment. There was one chair. The floor was concrete. "Where would we even—"
"I don't care," Nancy said, fierce. She'd made up her mind and nothing was going to change it. "I just need—"
Her hands fisted in Robin's shirt.
"I just need you to touch me," Nancy said. "Right now. Please."
And that please—Robin's hands, which had been frozen at Nancy's waist, moved. Slid under the hem of Nancy's shirt, feeling the smooth skin of her stomach, the ridges of her ribs. Nancy sucked in a breath, and Robin felt it under her palms.
"Is this—" Robin started.
"Yes," Nancy said. "Don't stop."
So Robin didn't stop.
Her hands moved higher, tracing the line of Nancy's ribs, and Nancy's breathing got faster. Robin could feel Nancy's heart hammering under her palm, could feel the heat of her skin, and this was—this was Nancy Wheeler. Nancy Wheeler was letting Robin touch her. Nancy Wheeler wanted Robin to touch her.
Nancy kissed her again, hard and demanding, and Robin's thoughts scattered.
Nancy's hands were working at the buttons of her own shirt, fumbling slightly, and Robin realized with a jolt that Nancy was shaking.
"Let me," Robin said, and was surprised at how rough her own voice sounded. She moved her hands to Nancy's buttons, trying to focus despite the fact that Nancy was biting at her neck now, leaving marks that Robin was absolutely going to have to explain to Steve later and would absolutely not be able to.
The buttons were tiny and Nancy's shirt was fitted and Robin's hands wouldn't stop shaking, but finally—finally—she got the shirt open. Nancy shrugged it off impatiently, let it drop, and then she was standing there in just her bra and jeans, and Robin forgot how to breathe.
"You're staring," Nancy said, but she didn't sound annoyed. She sounded pleased. Smug, even.
"Yeah," Robin managed. "I am. You're—you're really—"
"Robin." Nancy stepped closer again, pressed against her. "Less talking."
"Right. Yes. Talking is—I should stop doing that."
Nancy smiled—sharp, dangerous—and then she was kissing Robin again and walking her backward. Robin's shoulders hit the wall, and Nancy's hands were at Robin's waist, sliding up under the tank top Robin had been wearing under her layers.
Robin gasped when Nancy's fingers found skin, and Nancy made that low sound again, the one that made Robin's knees buckle.
"This okay?" Nancy asked, her mouth against Robin's jaw.
"Yes. God, yes."
Nancy's hands pushed Robin's tank top up, and Robin raised her arms to help, and then that was gone too, hitting the floor with everything else they'd shed. Nancy pulled back just far enough to look at her, and Robin felt suddenly, acutely aware of every flaw, every inadequacy. She wasn't—she wasn't Nancy. She was all sharp angles and soft spots she didn't earn, hadn't trained for. Steve and Jonathan were still out there doing actual exercise while Robin had given up after six sit-ups, and Nancy was—Nancy was all lean muscle and competence and—
"Stop it," Nancy said.
"Stop what?"
"Whatever you're thinking. Stop." Nancy's hands framed Robin's face, forcing eye contact. "I want this. I want you. Okay?"
Robin nodded, not trusting her voice.
"Say it."
"Okay," Robin whispered.
"Good." Nancy kissed her again, softer this time, and Robin's chest cracked open.
Nancy's hands moved to Robin's bra, and Robin's breath caught. "Can I—?"
"Yes."
The clasp came undone—Nancy was good at this, competent even in her desperation, which shouldn't have been surprising—and then Robin was bare from the waist up and Nancy was looking at her, and Robin had to look away first.
Robin's hands moved on instinct, reaching for Nancy's bra clasp, and Nancy arched into the touch.
"Yes," Nancy said. "Please."
There was that please again. Robin fumbled with the clasp—she'd done this before, but never with Nancy Wheeler, never with hands that wouldn't stop shaking—and finally got it open. Nancy shrugged out of it, and then they were pressed together, skin to skin, and Robin made a sound that might have been Nancy's name or might have been nothing coherent at all.
Nancy's hands were at Robin's jeans now, working the button open, and Robin grabbed her wrists.
"Wait—the chair. We should—" Robin glanced at the office chair by the broadcast desk.
"Too small," Nancy said. She looked around the station with a critical eye, like she was solving a tactical problem. Her gaze landed on the desk itself. "There."
"That's—Nancy, that's where we broadcast—"
"I don't care." Nancy was already moving toward it, pulling Robin with her, and Robin went because she would follow Nancy Wheeler anywhere, even into bad decisions.
Nancy swept an arm across the desk, pushing equipment aside—a microphone clattered, papers scattered—and then she was hopping up onto the surface, pulling Robin between her legs.
"Nancy, we're going to break something—"
"I really don't care," Nancy said, and grabbed Robin's belt loops, yanking her closer. "I need you to stop thinking and start touching me."
Nancy's thighs bracketing her hips, Nancy's hands in her hair, Nancy looking at her like that—
"Okay," Robin said. "Yeah. Okay."
She kissed Nancy, and Nancy kissed back hard enough that Robin tasted blood—one of them had bitten a lip, she didn't know whose—and Nancy's hands were pulling at Robin's jeans again, getting the button open this time, shoving them down Robin's hips.
Robin helped, kicking off her shoes—she was still wearing the stupid sneakers she'd trained in, why hadn't she taken those off—and getting the jeans off one leg, then the other. Nancy was working on her own jeans now, and Robin's hands shook as she helped with the zipper.
"I've never—" Robin started, then stopped. That wasn't true. She'd done this before. Just never with someone who—
Nancy paused, looked at her. "Do you want to stop?"
"No. The opposite of stop. I just—I want to do this right."
"There's no right way," Nancy said. Her voice was softer now, less demanding. "Just—whatever feels good. Okay?"
Robin nodded.
Nancy's hand came up to cup Robin's face. "Hey. It's just me."
"That's the problem," Robin said. "It's you."
Nancy looked at her for a long moment. Then she pulled Robin into a kiss, slower this time, and Robin felt herself relax into it.
Nancy's jeans came off. Then her underwear. Then Robin's. And then there was nothing between them except air and intention.
Nancy pulled Robin close again, and the feeling of skin on skin, everywhere, made Robin's knees weak. She braced her hands on the desk on either side of Nancy's hips, and Nancy's legs wrapped around her waist.
"Touch me," Nancy said again, and this time it wasn't a plea. It was a command.
Robin's hand slid down Nancy's stomach, over her hip, and Nancy's breath hitched. Robin paused, letting Nancy adjust, letting herself adjust to the reality of this—Nancy Wheeler, wanting her, letting her do this.
"Robin," Nancy said, and there was an edge of frustration in her voice. "I swear to god, if you don't—"
Robin moved her hand lower, and Nancy's complaint cut off into a gasp.
Oh, Robin thought. Oh.
Nancy was wet. Nancy was wet and hot and Robin's fingers were sliding through slickness, and Nancy's hips jerked forward.
"Yes," Nancy breathed. "Like that. Just—"
Robin circled her clit—carefully, because she didn't know how Nancy liked it, didn't know if this was too much or too little—and Nancy's head fell back.
"Harder," Nancy said.
Robin pressed harder, and Nancy made a sound that went straight to Robin's gut.
"Inside," Nancy said, breathless. "I need you inside me."
Robin slid one finger into her, and Nancy was so wet, so hot around her. Nancy's hips jerked forward and Robin added a second finger, feeling Nancy's cunt clench tight around them.
"Fuck," Nancy gasped. "Fuck, Robin—don't stop—"
Robin didn't stop. She curled her fingers, found the spot that made Nancy's whole body shudder, and Nancy's nails dug into Robin's shoulders hard enough to leave marks. Nancy's eyes squeezed shut, her mouth falling open, and Robin watched her fall apart—watched the flush spread down Nancy's neck and chest, watched the way Nancy couldn't stay still, couldn't stop rocking against Robin's hand.
"More," Nancy demanded, voice wrecked. "Harder—fuck—"
Robin fucked her harder, thumb grinding against Nancy's clit, fingers working deeper, and Nancy was making these desperate little sounds that Robin wanted to keep forever, and Robin felt powerful.
"Look at me," Robin said, surprised at herself.
Nancy's eyes opened, dark and dazed, and locked on Robin's.
"I've got you," Robin said. "I've got you."
Nancy's hand came up to grip the back of Robin's neck, pulling her into a kiss, and Robin kept the rhythm steady, kept her thumb on Nancy's clit, kept everything exactly how Nancy needed it.
Nancy broke the kiss to gasp against Robin's mouth. "I'm—I'm going to—"
"Yeah," Robin said. "Let me see you."
Nancy came with Robin's name on her lips, her whole body tensing and then shaking, her cunt clenching around Robin's fingers. Robin kept moving through it, gentle now, helping her ride it out, until Nancy's hand on her wrist said stop.
Robin stilled, but didn't pull away. Nancy's forehead dropped to her shoulder, breath coming hard and fast.
"Holy shit," Nancy said into Robin's neck.
"Yeah," Robin agreed. Her hand was cramping and her legs were shaking and she was pretty sure her heart was going to beat out of her chest, but yeah. Holy shit.
Nancy lifted her head. Her eyes were soft, and Robin's chest went tight.
"Your turn," Nancy said.
"I—" Robin started, but Nancy was already sliding off the desk, switching their positions with a fluidity that shouldn't have been possible for someone who'd just come that hard.
Robin's back hit the desk, and Nancy was pressing her down, climbing up after her, and Robin was still trying to catch up when Nancy's mouth found her neck.
"Wait, I'm—Nancy, I'm going to fall off—"
"You're not," Nancy said against her throat, and then her teeth were on Robin's collarbone and Robin stopped worrying about falling.
Nancy's hands were everywhere—sliding down Robin's sides, over her hips, along her thighs—and Robin felt hyperaware of every touch, every point of contact. Nancy's mouth moved lower, over her sternum, and Robin realized with a jolt what Nancy was planning to do.
"You don't have to—" Robin started.
Nancy looked up at her, one eyebrow raised. "Do you want me to stop?"
"No. God, no. I just—I didn't expect—"
"I know what I'm doing, Robin."
And then Nancy's mouth was on her breast, tongue circling her nipple, and Robin's back arched off the desk.
"Fuck," Robin gasped, and Nancy made a pleased sound against her skin.
Nancy's hand slid between Robin's thighs, and Robin's legs fell open automatically, and she felt briefly embarrassed about how eager she was, how obvious, but then Nancy's fingers were sliding through her slick heat and—
"Jesus," Nancy breathed, and when Robin looked at her, Nancy's eyes were wide, fascinated. "Robin, you're—you're so wet."
Robin's face burned. "I—yeah. You—I mean, watching you—"
"I did this to you," Nancy said, almost to herself. Her fingers explored, sliding through Robin's wetness, and she made a soft sound of pleasure. "God, I—I've never—"
She didn't finish the sentence, but Robin understood. Nancy had never touched a woman before. Never felt this. And the look on Nancy's face—hungry and delighted and almost reverent.
Nancy's fingers found Robin's clit, and Robin's whole body jerked.
"Too much?" Nancy asked, but she was smiling slightly, like she already knew the answer.
"No. God, no. Just—"
Nancy circled slowly, deliberately, watching Robin's face the way she watched everything—cataloging, learning, filing it away. "You're so responsive," she murmured. "Every time I touch you, you—" Her fingers pressed harder and Robin gasped. "Yeah. Like that."
Robin was going to die. She was actually going to die from this—from Nancy Wheeler discovering her, taking her apart, clearly delighted with every sound Robin made.
Nancy's fingers moved lower, teasing at Robin's entrance, and Robin felt her breath catch.
"Can I?" Nancy asked—confident now.
"Yes. Please. Nancy, please—"
Nancy slid two fingers inside her, and Robin stopped breathing.
"Oh fuck," Nancy said, and her voice was low and rough. "Robin, you're so—you're so tight—"
She curled her fingers experimentally, and Robin's back arched off the desk. Nancy's eyes went dark.
"You like that," Nancy said. She did it again, watching Robin fall apart, and her smile turned sharp. "You really like that."
Robin couldn't form words. Nancy was standing between her spread thighs, two fingers buried inside her, and Robin would let her do anything.
"Tell me what you need," Nancy said, and started moving her fingers, slow and deliberate.
"More—Nancy, more—"
"More what?" Nancy's thumb found Robin's clit and Robin's hips jerked off the desk. "This?"
"Yes—fuck—"
Nancy's pace increased, but she kept watching Robin's face, kept tracking every gasp and moan. Her free hand gripped Robin's hip, holding her in place, and Robin realized Nancy was fucking her—actually fucking her, fingers pumping deeper, thumb grinding against her clit.
"I can feel you," Nancy said, breathless. "Every time I—" She curled her fingers and Robin cried out. "Yeah. I can feel you clenching around me."
Robin's hands scrabbled for purchase on the desk, knocked something over—the microphone, papers, she didn't care.
"Right there?" Nancy asked, hitting that spot again, harder.
"Yes—right there—don't stop—"
Nancy didn't stop. She fucked Robin harder, faster, fingers curling deep with every thrust, and Robin's whole body went tight—coiling, climbing, right on the edge. Nancy leaned down, kissed her rough and messy, tongue in her mouth, and Robin was making sounds into the kiss that should've embarrassed her but didn't.
Nancy pulled back just enough to look at her. "Let me hear you," she said, voice wrecked, and drove her fingers in harder.
Robin came apart.
She came with Nancy's name breaking out of her throat, her cunt clenching tight around Nancy's fingers, her thighs shaking so hard she thought she'd fall off the desk. Nancy didn't stop—kept fucking her through it, kept her thumb grinding on Robin's clit until Robin grabbed her wrist.
"Okay—okay—I can't—"
Nancy stilled, carefully withdrew her fingers, and Robin felt the loss immediately. Nancy's hand was shaking slightly as she braced it on the desk beside Robin's head.
They stayed like that for a moment—Robin flat on her back on the broadcast desk, Nancy leaning over her, both of them breathing hard.
"Hi," Robin said. It was all she had.
Nancy laughed. Actually laughed, and the sound was bright and unexpected, and Robin wanted to hear it again.
"Hi," Nancy said back.
"So that happened."
"Yeah." Nancy's smile was small but real. "That happened."
Robin became suddenly, acutely aware of their situation. They were naked. In a radio station. On the desk where Nancy broadcast coded messages about Upside Down missions.
"Shit," Robin said, looking around at the chaos they'd created. Clothes everywhere. Equipment knocked over. Papers scattered on the floor. "We, uh. We made a mess."
"We did," Nancy agreed. She didn't sound concerned.
"Steve's going to know something happened. Dustin's definitely going to know something happened. He's probably already calculating the probability that we—" Robin stopped. "Oh god. They're still outside. How long have we been—"
"Robin." Nancy's hand found hers, squeezed. "Breathe."
Robin breathed.
"We'll figure it out," Nancy said. "Just—give me a minute. Before we have to go back out there."
Robin nodded. Nancy's hand was still in hers, their fingers intertwined, and Robin stared at it like it might disappear.
"So," Robin said, because she apparently couldn't leave well enough alone. "You were really—I mean, when we—you were really worked up. Was it because of—" She gestured vaguely toward the window, toward the training yard outside. "I mean, it couldn't have been because of the peacocking out there. Right?"
Nancy looked at her. "Robin."
"What? I'm just—"
"The guns," Nancy said. Her jaw was tight. "Training with the guns. Shooting. It gets me—" She stopped. Looked away. "It turns me on. And I fucking hate it."
Robin blinked. "The—wait, shooting gets you—"
"Yes." Nancy's voice was sharp. "Is that fucked up enough for you?"
"I—no, I just—" Robin was scrambling. "Nancy Wheeler gets wet from target practice. That's—okay, actually? That makes complete sense."
"Don't." But Nancy's mouth twitched.
"I'm not making fun of you. I swear. It's just—you're good at it. You're good at everything violent and scary, and of course your body would—" Robin gestured helplessly. "Of course it does that to you."
Nancy looked away. "I don't want it to. I train to kill things. To protect people. And instead I get—" Her throat worked. "It feels wrong."
"Hey." Robin's thumb moved across Nancy's knuckles, back and forth. "You're allowed to—I mean, we kill monsters. We've killed things. Of course your body is going to be fucked up about it. Of course it's going to get wires crossed, or whatever, because none of this is normal, and you're not bad, you're not—"
Nancy's eyes came back to hers, and Robin held them.
Robin's laugh came out shaky, breathless. "I mean—look at me, right? Talk about fucked up. Steve is out there and he's my best friend, he's my best friend and he's in love with you, and I just—we just—" Her voice cracked. "I don't know how I'm supposed to look at him tomorrow, or Jonathan, or—"
"Robin." Nancy's voice cut clean through the spiral. "It's not about me."
Robin blinked. "What?"
"Steve and Jonathan. Out there." Nancy pulled her hand away, ran it through her hair. "It stopped being about me weeks ago. They don't even know what they're competing for anymore. It's just—" She made a frustrated gesture. "It's an obsession. A pattern. And I'm not even part of it."
Robin stared. "But they were—all afternoon they were showing off for you—"
"They were showing off for each other." Nancy's voice was flat. "I could've left and they wouldn't have noticed."
Robin opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. "Oh."
"Yeah." Nancy's voice was sharp. "Oh."
Silence. Nancy still looking away, shoulders rigid. Robin didn't know what to do with her hands.
Nancy turned. Looked at her.
"Come here."
Robin's legs didn't move. "What?"
Nancy reached for her. Pulled her in. Slower this time. Nancy's arms around her waist.
Nancy's face pressed into her shoulder. Robin felt her breathe, shaky.
"Nancy—"
Nancy kissed her.
Soft. Slow. Not like before. Nancy's mouth moving against hers like she was trying to say something and didn't have the words and Robin felt it in her chest and her throat and her hands that didn't know where to go.
Nancy pulled back.
Robin's thoughts were a fucking mess. She wanted to ask. Her throat was tight with it. All the questions piling up, choking her—what are we, what was that, what do you want from me, do you want me or do you just want someone, anyone, am I—
But Nancy looked wrecked. Nancy looked exhausted. And Robin could see it, all of it—Steve outside and Jonathan in her house and her parents and the guns and Max in the hospital and Vecna still out there and the world still ending and Nancy carrying all of it, all the time, and maybe—
Maybe Robin could just. Not ask. Maybe she could be the person who didn't need answers right now.
"Okay," Robin said.
Nancy's eyebrows pulled together. "Okay?"
"Yeah. Just—" Robin's hands were still on Nancy's back. She made herself not ask. Not spiral. "Okay."
Nancy looked at her for a long moment.
"We should—" Robin glanced at the desk. Papers everywhere. Her shirt inside-out on the floor. "Clean up. Before—"
"Yeah."
Nancy stepped back. Robin felt the cold where she'd been.
They moved around the station. Not talking. Robin found her sweatshirt, pulled it on. Nancy's bra was on the filing cabinet. Robin looked away while Nancy got dressed.
Robin was wrestling with her shirt—right side out this time, come on—when Nancy spoke.
"Robin."
Robin's hands froze. "Yeah?"
Nancy wasn't looking at her. "Thank you."
"For—what?"
"For not—" Nancy stopped. Her jaw worked. "For being here."
Robin didn't know what to say to that—Nancy thanking her for not making it complicated, when Robin wanted to laugh or cry or ask what the fuck they were doing. Instead she just said, "Yeah."
Nancy finished with her shirt. Looked up. "This isn't nothing."
Robin couldn't look at her.
"I don't know what it is yet." Nancy's hands opened and closed at her sides. "I'm sorry. I can't promise—"
"Don't." Robin's voice came out rough. "Don't apologize. I can't—dude, none of us can promise shit. We could die tomorrow. Tonight. Any of us. So I'm not—" Her hands moved, helpless. "I'm not asking for—I don't need—" She stopped. Swallowed. "I'm just here. That's it. I'm just here."
Nancy looked at her.
"One thing at a time," Nancy said.
"Yeah." Robin swallowed. "Okay."
Nancy nodded.
Robin tried to smile. Failed. "We should—before Dustin comes looking—"
"Yeah."
They finished cleaning.
Nancy's hand reached for the door handle.
Footsteps outside. Fast ones.
They both froze.
The door swung open before Nancy could turn the handle, and Will Byers nearly walked straight into them. He had a walkie-talkie in one hand, confusion written all over his face.
"Oh," Will said, stopping short. "I didn't—"
His eyes went from Nancy to Robin and back again. Nancy's shirt half-untucked, buttons crooked. Robin's hair wrecked. Nancy's lips swollen.
The confusion on Will's face shifted. Understanding, then mortification.
His face went bright red.
"I was just—" Will took a step back, eyes fixed somewhere over their shoulders. "Dustin said to check if you guys were okay. He thought maybe you were—I mean, you left kind of suddenly, so—"
"We're fine," Nancy said. Her voice was steady but her shoulders were stiff.
"Yeah. Yeah, I can see that." Will was still backing up, walkie-talkie clutched to his chest like a shield. "I didn't—I mean, I just got here, so I didn't see—"
"Will," Nancy said again.
Robin had nothing. She should say something. Anything. But Will was spiraling faster than she could think.
"I didn't see anything," Will said suddenly, voice going high and fast. He wasn't looking at them anymore. He was staring very intently at the floor. "I mean, obviously I just got here. Right now. This second. So there's nothing to see. You were just—talking. About stuff."
"Will—" Robin managed.
"I'm gonna go tell Dustin you're fine," Will said, already turning, already halfway out the door. "I'll tell him—" He stopped. Shook his head. "No. I won't tell him anything. Because there's nothing to tell. Nothing happened. Okay. Great. Bye."
He bolted.
The door slammed shut.
Robin and Nancy stood there in the silence.
"Well," Robin said after a moment. "That happened."
Nancy's hand came up to cover her mouth, and for a second Robin thought she was upset, but then Nancy was laughing—actually laughing, her shoulders shaking.
"Oh my god," Nancy said between giggles. "His face. Did you see his face?"
"He looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole," Robin said, and then she was laughing too, and it felt good. It felt normal. Like maybe this wasn't the end of the world.
"We traumatized a child," Nancy said.
"He's sixteen."
"We traumatized a teenager."
"To be fair, we didn't do anything in front of him. He just walked in on the aftermath."
Nancy wiped at her eyes, still smiling. "Poor Will."
"Poor Will," Robin agreed.
The laughter faded. Nancy's smile went softer, more serious. She looked at Robin.
"I'll call," Nancy said. "Tonight."
Robin's hands clenched at her sides. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." Nancy's hand found Robin's, squeezed once. "I promise."
Robin nodded, not trusting her voice.
Nancy looked at her. "We're okay."
"Yeah. Okay."
"Come on." Nancy turned toward the door. "Let's get out of here before anyone else shows up."
They stepped outside together.
The training yard wasn't empty.
Steve was doing pull-ups, red-faced and straining. Jonathan spotted him, arms crossed, same competitive edge as before.
Neither of them looked up.
Nancy caught Robin's eye. Raised one eyebrow.
Robin breathed out.
Nancy walked past them. Picked up the pistol. Raised it. Fired.
The bottle exploded.
"Forty-three," Steve gasped, dropping from the bar.
"I did forty-five yesterday," Jonathan said.
Nancy fired again. Another bottle shattered.
Robin's whole body was still humming.
And Steve and Jonathan had no idea.
Nancy looked at Robin over her shoulder. Held her gaze for a beat.
Then she turned back and fired again.
Robin walked to the mat. Lay down. Started doing sit-ups.
One. Two. Three.
Nancy was going to call tonight.
Four. Five.
Robin kept counting.