Ronance; meeting at the wrong time and then again at the right time; past almost-cheating (not on each other); Nancy Wheeler's Joyous Divorce Era; Robin POV; 1.6k
Written for @strangerthingsfemslash week day 2: women over thirty
read day 1: different first meeting
read day 3: secret relationship
“Go talk to her.”
Robin shoots Steve a look for his whispering, for his little nudge of his shoulder against her own, for the sly little smile on his face and the nod of his head out towards the open sliding door leading out to the patio.
“No, yeah, I’ll just go talk to her,” she snarks, throwing open the door to the refrigerator and staring at the collection of drinks and snacks available to her.
“That’s what I’m saying.”
“You put all this work into throwing me a party and you want me to ruin it in one fell swoop?” she glares at him again, but his gaze is softer now behind his glasses, leaning back against the countertop with his hands and body language all open and unmalicious.
It makes something in Robin slump, the sight of him, even in spite of the tension still holding too much attention on those patio doors. Her heart flutters at the thought of it, of just letting it all go and being able to talk like they used to.
Share stories and memories and laughter like they’re still twenty-one and getting legally tipsy for the first time instead of standing here on the day Robin turns forty and Nancy is still—
“I get so stupid around her, Steve,” she exhales, still clinging to the handle of the refrigerator door, the chill of it raising goosebumps on her arms. “I get so stupid, and if he’s here too? I can’t— if he’s here, I just can’t deal with that.”
Steve’s brow furrows slightly, but his posture doesn’t change.
“Have you seen him?” he asks. “You think I wouldn’t warn you if he was going to be here today? On your birthday? Come on.”
He meets her gaze head-on, not a single sign of dishonesty in those big brown eyes that have been by her side through every stumble and triumph of the past twenty years, and Robin exhales. Watches him reach past her into the fridge for a half-empty bottle of Pinot Grigio and pour it deftly into two thin-stemmed glasses.
“Go talk to her,” he insists, pressing one into either one of her hands, and all Robin can do is nod.
Trust that he’s not leading her astray on this.
Walk on unsteady feet to those patio doors and nudge it closed behind her with the thick sole of her boot.
Nancy Wheeler is a vision.
Sitting alone at the small metal table Robin had dragged all the way from her parents’ house a solid decade ago, the light of a new spring day dancing across the smattering of gray taking root in those dark curls, she’s a vision.
But when has she ever not been?
“Hi,” Robin croaks as her body alights with the touch of attention when Nancy startles and turns to look at her. “Can I sit?”
For a moment, Robin thinks she’s ruined Nancy’s search for solitude, a thing which all of them who survived the unsurvivable understand to some degree or another. But almost the instant Nancy lays eyes on her, she’s relaxing again, something calm to her that Robin hardly recognizes in the years since…
“I’d love that,” Nancy smiles and nods to the chair beside her. Close enough to touch, to at the very least feel the warmth that radiates from that soft skin which once upon a time Robin had— she had known.
Even if only the once. The most beautiful of all of Robin’s nightmares.
“Is that for me?”
“Oh! Yes, yeah,” Robin sets down both glasses as she takes her seat, nudging Nancy’s close to her and watching the pink of her lips, listening to the hum of gratitude as she takes a small sip. “Santa Margarita, I know it’s…”
“My favorite,” Nancy is still smiling. Still so impossibly calm.
Robin has seen her many times since they fell into Nancy’s bed together, since Robin saw a door closing as a new man came into Nancy’s life after the last and pushed her way into that gap with the wet heat of her tongue and thrust of her fingers. She had still only been dating him then, not even calling him her boyfriend. Robin had thought…
Well, she had thought.
But she’s seen her since then. It’s been five years, sure, and it’s never been the same as before, but they’re undoubtedly linked by the same group of people here today.
Fighters and survivors and family built from fire and blood. Of course Robin has seen her since the night ended with soft touches and quiet giggles and the morning began with tears and running and slamming doors.
Nancy hasn’t been calm like this in any of those instances, in any of those meetings.
She’s so close. So warm.
She asks Robin if the party is all that she’d hoped, if she’s enjoying her birthday, about her work as an EMT, the new gig she’s taken on training rookies, and the flowers budding in her garden.
It’s small talk, but it makes Robin’s heart race, because Nancy hasn’t asked about her in a long time. Not directly anyway. They don’t talk, not like they used to, because there are too many layers of complication between them now.
There’s the friendship they built in 1986 and the bond that only grew from that point forward, yes, but there’s also the way Robin has been desperately in love with Nancy for more of that time than she cares to admit and that they both know it.
Having sex five years ago was just the cresting of a long-coming breaking point, and this is the fallout. Or at least, it was until today.
Because Nancy asks about her life and she doesn’t shy away from sitting so close and she drinks her wine like nothing in the world is wrong and Robin is confused.
Confusion that is only compounded when she tries to reciprocate, asking, “and how are you? How is, um, how is…” and trailing off as her gaze lands subconsciously on Nancy’s hands. Nails cut short and that same knobby knuckle where she broke it in ‘86 and never properly set it and a conspicuous lack of rings.
Robin’s chest goes tight. She’s too old to feel such violent butterflies racing up her throat.
“He’s fine,” Nancy tells her simply. “Probably fuming over the pre-nup I made him sign right about now.”
It’s been a number of years since Robin was a babbling teenager with a crush on the girl who stood next to her in marching band. It’s been a number of years since she sat in the front seat of Steve’s BMW and lamented wanting to kiss a girl without being marked a pariah.
She thinks maybe that kid in her head never died, though. Not at twenty or thirty and not now at forty either, because something kicks to life in her gut with the realization that—
“You’re getting a divorce?”
Breathy and too hopeful for the topic at hand, Robin clears her throat, looks down at her glass and the drip of condensation around the curve of it.
“Sorry, I just—”
“I’m getting a divorce.”
“Okay,” Robin nods, says it again okay, okay, “I’m just, um, I’m censoring myself, sorry, give me a minute.”
And Nancy Wheeler laughs.
So much lightness to it, something so unbearably carefree, that Robin can’t help but look at her with all the depth of feeling she knows is terribly readable on her face.
Nancy laughs, leans forward in her chair to rest and elbow on the table and her chin in her hand. No ring. No ring. No ring.
“Do you remember what you said to me? When you were,” a breath, “when I…”
“When you were kicking me out of your house after we fucked?” Robin gets blunt when she’s nervous, but there’s humor to it years later that there couldn’t have been in the months she spent crying on Steve and Eddie’s couch about it back then.
Nancy presses her lips together as though forcing down something tremulous, as though recentering herself.
“You looked me right in the face and you told me,” she straightens her shoulders, “Nancy Wheeler, when are you going to stop living your life like survival was a punishment?”
Robin does remember that, but wouldn’t have had Nancy not brought it up. She’s spent a lot of energy on not thinking about that morning, about all the ways she’d fucked up any chance she had at having Nancy in any real capacity, even if she couldn’t have her.
Now, though, all of the sparking energy jumping off her skin sings in response to that day, to that fight, to everything they’ve been through since. All of her energy jolts in the space between them, lightning striking like second chances.
Robin breathes deep into her gut and lets it out slowly as her eyes rove across Nancy’s face. All that calm, all that certainty of having made a plan and watching it play out in front of her by way of Robin herself.
“Nancy Wheeler,” she breathes, “did you get a divorce for my birthday?”
Nancy beams, slow and languid, and leans in until they’re almost nose to nose. Wine on her breath and life in her eyes, Nancy gets close.
“No, that I got for me,” she says, hand coming up to cradle Robin’s jaw and causing a kick-beat in her chest, “but I’m all yours, honey.”
It’s Robin’s bed they’ll fall into at the end of the night this time, giggling and happy.
It’s Robin’s kitchen where they’ll have coffee and breakfast when the morning rolls around again.
No tears, no slamming doors.
“I need you to— Nance,” Robin’s eyes well up, bridge of her nose nudging against Nancy’s as she asks I need you to prove it’s real.
Nancy takes her face in both hands and consumes her with a devouring kiss.
It tastes a lot like self-forgiveness on everyone’s part.
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For @strangerthingsfemslashweek Day 7 - Free Day!!
Who has Robin in a bind? That’s for you to decide ;P
Spicy microfic under the cut~
Robin kneeled in her spot on the floor, blindfolded and bound, feeling the rope dig deliciously into her skin.
A hand brushed over her cheek, fingers trailing across her skin. The thumb skimmed over her mouth, tracing the shape of her lips, before nudging her chin. Robin followed the unspoken command and let her mouth fall open.
The thumb immediately pushed past her lips, pressing down against her tongue, and Robin had to fight off a moan - she hadn’t been given permission to make any noise.
“What are you waiting for?” Mistress asked - a tease. She knew Robin wouldn’t move a muscle until she gave the word. “Suck.”
Robin wrapped her lips around her thumb, hollowing her cheeks as she obeyed. She laved her tongue over the digit, following Mistress’ movements as she thrust into her mouth.
“Good girl,” Mistress husked, and Robin’s eyelids fluttered behind her blindfold.
She let Robin continue until her thumb was good and wet before tugging it from her mouth. She dragged the spit-slick finger over Robin’s cheek, before wrapping her hand around the back of her head.
“Now you're going to really put that mouth to use.”
Robin felt a rush of wetness between her legs. She dared to open her lips a little more, peeking her tongue out.
Mistress just chuckled. Hand at the base of her skull, she guided Robin between her thighs. “Show me how good you can be.”
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