Chapter Text
They're at the library, because that's where they always are when Robin runs into Nancy - not that it happens naturally, it's just that they're both pretty good at ending up in the same place at the same time, especially when something terrible, evil, or potentially world-destroying is going down. The terrible, evil, world-destroying thing going down today is that Robin is applying (applying! on a real live sheet of paper!) for an overseas scholarship, and Nancy (for some reason) is at the library, reading a real live book.
"Please don't tell me," Robin says cheerily, plopping into the seat next to Nancy, "You actually use the public library."
"What- hi-" Nancy wrenches the book out of her way. "Of course I do, it's a public library."
"Nope, there's no way you can use that term in a good way."
"Um, why not?"
"Public is a term I associate with bathrooms-" Robin counts on her fingers, "Water fountains, fire exits and those gross seagulls who come and try and steal your chips while you're sitting in the main plaza, outside the fish shop, you know?"
Nancy huffs. Pulls her scarf, or like, some artsy fluffy fabric thing, over her shoulder. "Do I even ask why you're here?"
"Yes, do!"
"You know what? Never mind. Not interested."
Robin grins and pulls out her scholarship form, crisp and newly handed over from the librarian, who'd handed it over with such a frown Robin had thought maybe she'd pulled something in her face. Nancy goes back to her book, pretending not to look interested.
The paper makes a smooth snick as she slides it onto the coffee table, the one wedged between the both of their seats. She pats down all her pockets for a pen. Huh. She did not think this through.
"Psst," Robin says. "Got a pen on you?"
Nancy doesn't answer. Undeterred, Robin spies a bag at her feet and makes a grab for it - stopped only by Nancy's lunge at her wrist, which, ouch, when did she get this strong? Snatching her hand from her grip, she retreats, raising both hands in the air.
"I'll get it," Nancy says mildly, like nothing happened. Eyes still on her book, she leans down, rifles through her bag and comes up with something that looks like it fell out of a vending machine at Starcourt. There are stars and even a bit of glitter. The eraser at the end is a bright pastel shade of pink. Robin sneers as she takes the pencil, remembering the ballerina music box in Nancy's room.
At least it's sharp. There are a lot of boxes to fill out. Like, how many criteria do you actually need to make sure someone's capable of antarctic exploration off the south coast of New Zealand? Willing to wear ten layers to work every morning, sure. Robin can do that. Why do they need to know her SAT scores? Who's gonna test her on pythagorus theorem when she's in Antarctica, the whales?
"By the way," Robin mentions as she's scribbling, "Steve asks if I can ask you if you want to go out on Friday."
"Not now, I'm nearly finished my chapter," Nancy says absently.
There's the sound of ticking boxes and flicking pages, another few minutes. The library is nicer in the daytime like this, none of its presence rattling with the knowledge of the Upside-Down, none of the dark coming in just yet. A little old lady is sitting over to the left by the big windows and that's about it. Except for the librarian. Who is probably lurking somewhere, frowning her deep cross-eyed frown at Robin's back, for some reason. She feels her eyes on her spine.
Finally Nancy slides a bookmark onto her page, pushes up a funky pair of reading glasses, looks to Robin and asks, "What?"
"Hm?"
"Something about Steve. And Friday."
"Steve wants me to ask you if you want to go out on Friday," Robin repeats patiently. "And I want you to tell me where the South Pole is, exactly, in degrees."
"Wouldn't it be, I don't know, 0?"
Robin sniffs. "That's what you'd think. But I keep second-guessing."
Nancy raises a hand thoughtfully to her mouth. She has no rings, no nail polish on today even, it's almost embarrassing. She's literally sat here in a public library in some artsy fluffy scarf thing, clean and ponytailed and makeup-free, hand on her chin like a professor of philosophy, looking like she's about to recite a psalm on duty to the family or God says you can't mix fabrics, actually.
"The longitude would be irrelevant," she says. "So you'd just write the latitude as, say, 90 degrees."
Now, it's not like Robin takes anyone's words at face value - especially not when it comes to scientific facts that are obviously just made up - but it's Nancy Wheeler, there's got to be some weight to it. She makes a note.
"And on Steve - where?"
"Dunno. Somewhere romantic, probably."
"Ugh." Nancy turns up her nose, but Robin can tell she's trying not to look pleased. "Are you coming?"
"Yes," Robin scoffs. "That's the only reason he had the guts to ask you at all, dipstick."
"Dipstick?"
"I think I picked it up from Max?"
Nancy slumps back in her chair, fiddling with the edges of her book. "And if I don't want to go?"
Robin glares at her. Nancy glares back, before pointedly opening at the bookmark again and stuffing her nose right in. Girls. Wait, where'd that come from? Was that Steve? Her inner Steve? Inward screaming aside, she really does love him - bad jokes, snot, and complete lack of movie knowledge notwithstanding - and she wants to see him happy. As odd as it is, she kind of wants to see Nancy Wheeler happy too. Which she's pretty sure is not happening holed up here in this public library with a battered copy of The Foundation Pit by Andrey Platanov.
"I'd really rather not be going," Robin points out. "I'd rather be on a research ship headed for the south coast of New Zealand, then straight onto Antarctica. Where there are blue whales. And orcas. And emperor penguins. And a chance to make a difference to the drastically impending issue of climate change."
"You know you have to have graduated with honours to be considered for that, right?"
Robin shrugs. "I'm fluent in four languages. And I'm a whiz at biology. They need me."
"Four languages are going to help you talk to penguins?"
"One of them's bound to have a shot."
Nancy snorts, but this time, she looks up from her book, and when she does, Robin's waiting.
"7's good, by the way. We'll pick you up."