Chapter Text
For as long as she could remember, Robin had always been grateful for what she had. She'd never look a gift horse in the mouth, just accept her fortunes with a smile and move on. Always a little afraid to look at things too closely, lest it reveal that the Good Thing is actually a Very Very Bad Thing. It was necessary, or she'd manage to overthink herself into an internal spiral of self-doubt and imposter syndrome.
So when good things happened, she would deliberately ignore the why or the how of those things.
Nancy Wheeler was definitely a very very good thing. Robin's stomach knotted in anticipation, her hands itched with the need to be occupied, her mind raced with excitement and nerves whenever they were going to see each other.
They'd met two years ago – when Robin had broken through into the indie music scene, gaining popularity thanks to one of her songs being featured in a TV show. Nancy had interviewed her at an awards show, animatedly asking her about her nomination and her musical 'process'. Robin had been flying by the seat of her pants when answering that. Her 'process' had always been more of an excited and messy amble towards something that sounded good enough to develop on. That seemed to tickle Nancy, taken aback by the honesty of Robin’s answer, and she smiled at her.
Robin had immediately blue-screened. Her brain was entirely useless while it processed the image of Nancy Wheeler smiling directly at her; with her dimples, and her big, beautiful eyes, her freckles, her cheekbones, and the dimples.
Robin was immediately gone for that woman, and since then had had eyes for absolutely no one else. Ensnared by her intelligence, drowned in the oceans of her eyes, hypnotised by the way her lips moved as she spoke, the little dimples. Fire coursed through Robin's veins at the very thought of her.
Since then they'd had infrequent meetings. Sometimes they'd see each other at a carpet event or concert. A couple of times Nancy had scheduled an interview with her, in a hotel or at the offices she worked at, or in Robin's studio.
They always met under the context of work. Never anything more, but one thread connected each of their meetings. Every single time the same thing happened. And Robin very much hoped it would happen again.
She hoped it would happen today. They had a meeting scheduled. In ten-minutes-time, actually. Robin burned.
"Roo, you gotta stop pacing, you're giving me a migraine," Steve, her stylist and best friend, warned from his slouched position in the armchair that Nancy Fucking Wheeler would be using soon.
Robin rolled her eyes, and lolloped herself into the sofa opposite him throwing an arm dramatically over her eyes. Groaning all the while.
"I hate this, I don't wanna be famous anymore," she complained.
"You're hardly even famous," Steve helpfully informed her, his expression irritatingly vacant, "and don't lie. This, specifically, is your favourite part of it all."
"Shut up," she snapped. Steve didn't take any notice of the sharp tone. He knew better than to let it sting. Robin mumbled an extra, “god, you’re so annoying,” under her breath, knowing that even with his hearing aids he’d likely miss that.
“Don’t be an asshole,” he smirked, evidently knowing her well enough to know what she’d said regardless. “I know Nancy’s into that, but she’s not even here yet,” he added devilishly, clearly very pleased with himself.
"Don’t.” Robin jabbed a warning finger at him.
“Just saying.” The shit-eating grin on his face didn’t budge.
“Well, don’t ‘just say’. You'll jinx it and I'll lose a really good thing that I honestly can't believe I even get to begin with."
"Rob–"
"I mean why does this even happen? I definitely shouldn't have told you about it. I mean, she just leaves every time so this is clearly a non-thing to her. It's definitely not a thing that I should expect or look forward to, right?"
"Oh my God, Robin, breathe." Steve was in front of her suddenly and hauled her up into sitting by her shoulders. "And stop spiralling or you'll ruin your hair and that'll hurt my feelings."
"Dingus." Robin replied affectionately, and raised her hands to run them ruinously through said hair. Steve saw it coming and caught her wrists, halting her dastardly plans and sighing like an exhausted parent.
She stuck out her tongue at him.
There was a knock at the door.
Robin looked into Steve's eyes, trying to communicate her panic. He just smiled, fixed her hair one more time and kissed her forehead.
"Maybe you should actually tell her how you feel this time?"
"I can't, Steve, what if she never wants to see me again?"
"At least you'll know where you stand," Steve smiled sadly, "and then you can move on."
Robin contemplated that for a moment but the uncomfortable nausea that flooded her stomach at that thought decided it for her: "I don't want to move on."
Steve chuckled, walking over to the door. "No one ever does, Roo."
He turned to open the door and Robin took the opportunity to close her eyes and take a few breaths. She smoothed out her already-crisp shirt, dusted off her completely dust-free pants. She opened her eyes again.
In stepped Nancy Wheeler and all the air vanished out of Robin’s lungs. She couldn’t breathe, her stomach thrummed with nerves and her clothes were suddenly itchy and close. Nancy’s affect on her never seemed to wane, no matter how many times they were together. Everytime, Robin felt like she was laying eyes on her for the first time.
Nancy's eyes landed on her, and Robin rushed to her feet, wobbling slightly. Her entire body buzzed with anxiety and energy and want.
"Hey, Wheeler," she greeted, her voice strained and pitched too high.
"Buckley," Nancy’s voice was prim and proper, ever the model journalist.
It took Robin a shamefully long time to realise someone had walked in behind Nancy; a wiry looking guy with a camera bag slung over his shoulder. The magazine's photographer, Jonathan.
Despite having met her a few times before, he had a nervous look about him that most had upon meeting someone famous. Robin could never quite get used to that.
Robin greeted him in as friendly a manner as she could manage; a warm smile and a wave.
"Hey," he said, voice small but polite, "I only need a few photos for the issue and then I'll get outta your hair."
"Sure," Robin replied, "what do you need me to do?" She swayed a little, gesturing around the room in inquiry.
He frowned and glanced around for a moment in thought. She took the opportunity to glance over at Steve and found him and Nancy chatting comfortably. She battled down the bout of jealousy that coloured her thoughts and that had no right rearing it's ugly head.
Then Jonathan spoke again, "how about by the window? Natural light is always better than artificial. I could move a plant or two over and maybe have you holding an instrument or note book or something, aim for a more candid shot?" Only the first part seemed to actually be spoken to her directly, the rest were just outward musings. Robin was familiar.
"I've only got my cello with me right now, is that okay?"
"Yeah, yeah that's good, gimme just a few minutes and I'll get you posed."
Robin nodded and shifted uncomfortably on her feet, unsure what to do for the best.
"You're travelling with a cello?" Nancy's voice came at her elbow, a lilt of amusement to it. "Seems like the least portable option."
Robin swallowed thickly before answering, "it's lighter than it looks. The harp is the bitch to travel."
She watched Nancy baulk out of the corner of her eye, and when she glanced over quickly, she caught the surprised expression that she was trying to hide by fussing with her shoulder bag. "You play the harp too?"
"Roo you're a terrible interviewee. You haven't told her?" Steve's voice was proud but teasing when he cut in. Something devious crossed his features when his eyes met hers. "Trumpet, flute, cello, harp, piano, and guitar. And she's very accomplished at the harmonica." He smirked when she rolled her eyes at him.
"Why have you never mentioned that before?" Nancy asked her, shock unhideable now.
Something like confidence fluttered in Robin's chest. She shrugged. "I guess it's never seemed important."
"You're a professional musician! I interview you about your music!" Nancy reasoned, incredulously.
Robin just shrugged again, and Nancy mumbled something under her breath that she couldn't quite catch. Probably some expression of annoyance if her face was anything to go by.
"Okay, I'm ready for you," Jonathan called, having organised a set up with the hotel furniture, somehow turning the nook from an impersonal, clinical window space into something almost homely. Creatives, Robin thought fondly, as if she wasn't one herself.
It didn’t take long, Jonathan was right. After another ten minutes, the last few shots were being taken and Steve had handed her her cello.
She felt a little awkward, not knowing how best to pose. Jonathan must have seen her discomfort because he flashed a genuine smile and lowered the camera for a moment.
“Could you play something for us?”
“Uh, sure…” she replied but remained unmoving, “what should I play?”
Steve laughed and signed at her to relax. Easier said than done, she thought.
“Whatever comes to mind,” Jonathan said gently – Robin was beginning to think he may be the most patient person on Earth.
She took a deep breath and lifted her bow.
Without really thinking, she began to play. She immediately immersed herself into the feeling of the strings under her fingertips, the sound of the notes floating around her. But as she found her feet, she glanced up; at first towards Jonathan, to make sure she was doing it right, as if she could go wrong with instructions so simple. Then her eyes drifted over to the other two in the room.
Steve was just smiling at her encouragingly – ever the reassuring presence (unless he decided to be a meddling goblin, but that usually waited until the work-stuff had finished).
It was a mistake to look at Nancy. Especially when she had accidentally started playing a song that she’d written about said woman.
It wasn’t like Nancy could possibly know that, but the look on her face made Robin's stomach turn with nerves. Still, she couldn't look away and instead played with her gaze afixed to Nancy's. Neither of them looked away from the other and for a moment, the entire world fell away. It was just the two of them in a void filled with light and music and unspoken words.
When the song ended, she was snapped back to reality by Steve's gentle clapping. She blinked too many times and shook her head to get her mind back into interview-mode.
"These are great, Robin," Jonathan said, looking down at his camera with a smile, "I think I'm done here."
"Okay, cool." She replied, and coughed in another attempt to reset.
Jonathan had stowed his camera and equipment back into his bag and had started to replace the furniture, but Steve stopped him, "Leave it, man. Robin and I will fix it before we check out tomorrow."
"Oh sure, okay. I'm gonna get going then. Nance, you all good?"
She nodded with a tight-lipped but not unfriendly smile and waved him off.
Jonathan nodded and finally turned to Robin, "Nice to meet you, I can't wait to read the article."
And with that he was gone.
"I'm gonna head out too. Errands. Call me if you need anything," Steve said, already half over the threshold. Robin mentally pleaded with him. She didn't even know what for; whether she wanted him to stay or leave faster, if she wanted him to take her with him.
He didn't say a word. Instead he signed, "You'll be okay."
Then he was gone. And it was just the two of them. An awkward silence befell them.
"So… here?" Nancy asked as she glanced about, gesturing between the armchair and the sofa in the middle of the room.
"Uh, yeah, unless – I mean we can sit by the window if you want? The light's better for your notes, you know? Or–"
Nancy cut her off with a tight-lipped smile, "here is good." She sat, placed her bag on the floor beside her and took out her note book, pen and dictaphone. "Okay if I record?"
"Always is," Robin said, a little choked.
Nancy smiled again, this time with a noticeably smaller amount of annoyance.
Robin couldn't look away and nearly knocked her shin against the coffee table as she moved to sit again.
"So shall we get started?" Nancy asked, her voice back to bright and conversational but her face was far from bright – he looked conflicted. If Robin was an optimist, she’d say that Nancy looked a little endeared by her clumsiness. Though, she knew better than that and assumed the conflict was between her wanting to do her job and wanting to get outta Robin’s room as fast as she could.
Robin took a second to shift into Professional Musician mode, then nodded.
Nancy pressed record on her dictaphone.
"So, Robin, you've just released your second studio album, what an achievement!"
"Thanks, yeah, I'm super proud, we worked hard on it. I was totally terrified that I'd used up all my… everything in the first album, but going by the response to this one that might not be true." She finished with a chuckle.
Nancy's head tilted in question, "used up everything?"
"Oh," Robin wasn't really sure how to explain it verbally, "um – my creativity, you know? My spirit, my vibrance." She said it with a laugh, but it was a very real fear she had. That this album would sound hollow and soulless compared to the raw, unfiltered mess that the first one was. This time around she had corporate oversight to consider.
"Oh." It was a surprised sound. "That's very…" Nancy seemed lost for words and a buzzing, flighty feeling whirled around in Robin's chest. "I don't think anyone would accuse this album of having no vibrance."
The corner of Robin's mouth lifted involuntarily and the buzzing kicked up, flooding her body with a gleeful thrum.
Nancy seemed to notice her own vulnerability then, and quickly schooled her features into neutrality. She moved on. "So, we've talked before about your process for creating new music," at that, she flashed a smirk, "has that changed at all the second time around?"
Robin let out a breathy laugh and fidgeted a little in her seat, moving to tuck one knee up against her chest soothingly. "Not really, it's a little more streamlined now but it's still pretty chaotic. I guess I just can't work in a linear sort of way."
"Do you work on any particular aspect first? Do you have a favourite stage of production?"
"I, uh, tend to get a rough draft of the lyrics first but then the band and I all come together and just jam and write and make noise until it sounds right." Joy started to fizz in the pit of Robin's stomach. Fond memories of how she'd spent months in her home studio eating old takeout, getting high and following wherever the melodies took her. Drifting along as the music flowed through her.
Eventually, Robin meandered back into the present, remembering that there was a whole other person in the room with her. When she looked over at said person, Nancy had her head bowed, writing notes. But Robin stopped speaking and she looked up through thick, luscious eyelashes with a look of… wonder?
Robin forgot her train of thought immediately.
The interview went much the same after that. Nancy would ask her a very serious, well thought out question, Robin would give her a rambling, ineloquent response. Nancy would make a face, Robin would moon at her.
Eventually, the reporter seemed to reach a breaking point and paused the recording.
"Stop looking at me like that," Nancy all but demanded, her tone was sharp but her features were tellingly affected. Robin decided that no harm could come of her being a little impish.
"Why?" She lilted the word, stretching it’s single syllable.
"Just stop it."
"You seem tense.”
"I'm not tense, I just want to get this over with."
That stung. It shouldn't, because it was expected, but it did anyway. So Robin leaned back, reshuffled her facial features into something akin to blank, and curled her other leg up onto the sofa so she could sit cross-legged. Somehow that seemed to annoy Nancy, because she rolled her eyes and jabbed the record button a little too aggressively.
"Alright, last few questions," she sighed, like she really didn't want to ask them, "there's been quite a bit of speculation about your relationship with Eddie Munson, member of celebrated metal band Corroded Coffin. Do you have any comments on that?" Nancy's voice was careful but clipped.
It wasn't the first time that she'd been asked. In fact, more than once, they'd been papped together with some sleazy tabloid writing about their 'secret, torrid affair'. It made Robin want to puke.
"He's definitely a good friend. He helped me write a song or two on the album, and plays the guitar on a couple tracks." Ordinarily, Robin would labour the point, repeating 'We're just friends!' as often as the press would hear it, but she trusted Nancy to be honest in her write up. She always was. So that felt like denial enough.
"Seems an odd mix of genre, you being an indie-folk artist, Munson a heavy metal guitarist."
"When it comes to writing our music, we have the same sort of method." Robin punctuated the last word with air quotes. She felt a swell of pride in her chest to see Nancy muscle down an amused grin. "Besides, opposites always work together well."
Robin didn't mean for so much intention to slip into those words, but alas.
"Creatively, I mean." She attempted to clarify, but the damage had been done and Robin's words seemed to have affected Nancy anyway.
"One–" Nancy stop-started, needing to clear her throat, "one more question, and I am sorry but I have to ask… the last song, 'Blue-Grey-Green'..."
"What's it about?" Robin had been expecting it; every interviewer she'd spoken to so far had asked. It didn't mean she was ready to hear the question from the answer. Ready to look into the eyes that the title very inarticulately described and lie.
“I think it’s best to leave it up to interpretation.” Robin said, wringing her hands through her shirt. “I’ve left it vague enough that everyone can apply their own meaning, it can be whatever the listener needs. To me, it’s about grief and regret, but if I’m in the right mood…” she trailed off, wondering if she should continue or not.
“If it catches you in the right mood…?” Nancy prompted, her voice gentle, like she didn't want to scare her into silence.
Robin smiled, “then it’s a love song.”
Apparently, Nancy hadn’t been expecting that. That was fair enough, since Robin had been refusing to give a straight answer to that question since she’d first got it. But for some reason she had felt a sudden rush of bravery, and while she couldn’t make herself be any more specific than that, she was giving Nancy far more than she had any other journalist she had spoken to.
Wordlessly, Nancy leaned forward once more to shut off the recording. Her eyes were off to the side, a little distant, like she was lost in her mind, and Robin’s cheeks warmed at the idea that she’d provoked such deep thought.
Robin couldn’t peel her gaze away. She sat in silence and watched Nancy deftly start to pack away her things, blinking rapidly, her brows knitting together for a moment and then relaxing. Over and over.
After minutes of loaded silence, Robin finally had to fill it, feeling as though if the quiet stretched for any longer, she'd never hear a single sound again. Having two deaf parents had prepared her for that if it did happen, but it would not bode well for her career in music.
“You okay, Nance?” the endearment just slipped out, Robin gritted her teeth to keep from outwardly flinching.
Weirdly enough though, Nancy didn’t seem to mind. Her eyes snapped up to meet Robin’s and they were soft, a little conflicted as the downturn of her mouth suggested, but sweet and gooey.
No, that couldn’t be right. Robin blinked a couple of times, trying to reset her brain, and when she re-focused, Nancy had looked away.
“Sorry, got lost in thought,” Nancy explained, hoisting her bag over her shoulder and standing up in one fluid movement. Robin noticed that she wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I’ve got everything I need. I’ll – I’m gonna go.”
A pang of disappointment shot through Robin’s abdomen, like a wayward arrow. She hadn’t wanted to get her hopes up, and yet here they were, falling listlessly from a great height.
Nancy turned and made her way to the door, Robin followed only a few steps behind, aching to reach out, stroke a delicate hand down Nancy’s spine. She fought against the urge.
Each second that passed, every step closer to Nancy’s exit seemed to inject something into the air around them. Something heavy and tight and suffocating. When they reached the door, Robin could hardly breathe.
Nancy stopped short of opening the door, hand on the knob and head turned down to the ground. Robin watched her shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath and then suddenly she whirled around. Robin immediately regretted their proximity.
This was too much too suddenly. There was a negligible distance between them now, so small that Robin could feel Nancy’s ragged breath on her face. She closed her eyes to brace for whatever came next.
“What’s the song about, Robin?”
Robin’s heart leapt into her throat, her chest constricting so tightly that she couldn’t speak even if she tried. All of her thoughts were overrun by the woman before her. She could smell Nancy's strawberry shampoo, her palms itched with the need to reach out and curl her fingers into her hair, bury her face in her neck. Her vision was engulfed, enraptured by Nancy's eyes. Her blue-grey-green eyes.
Robin was weak.
“You,” the word was barely above a whisper, but Nancy heard it anyway: Robin heard her breath catch.
Distantly, she heard the thud of Nancy’s bag hitting the ground.
"For fuck's sake," Nancy groaned as she hoisted Robin down by the front of her shirt, joining them together in an intense, knee-buckling kiss.
Robin had to fight against the grin that pulled at her mouth. She was busy using that for something else, thank you very much. Nancy seemed to notice her smugness because she made an irritated groan again and bit at Robin's bottom lip hungrily (which didn't help Robin to feel any less smug).
"This is so unprofessional," Nancy complained, not pulling away to say it, the words almost totally swallowed up by the kiss.
"Mhm, you say that every time," Robin pointed out.
"Shut up," was the reporter's muffled response. Robin could taste her smile. Answered it with another of her own when she felt tingling in her skin in every place that Nancy touched her. As Nancy hooked an arm around her neck, Robin felt brave enough to deepen the kiss, licking at the seam of the reporter’s lips, asking for more.
Nancy obliged without protest, opening her mouth and drawing Robin’s tongue in with her own. Shameless.
“God, I’m gonna get fired,” Nancy moaned.
“I won’t tell if you don’t.” Robin promised and felt Nancy’s lips tighten as she smiled again.
Humming a sound of contentment, Robin snaked her arms around Nancy’s waist, pulling her tightly close, and lifted her off the ground. Nancy made a surprised chirp, but made no complaint – instead, she leaned deeper into Robin’s embrace, and tightened her grasp around her neck.
Robin used the opportunity to spin them around, placing Nancy gently down to guide her backwards into the room again. They didn’t part for a moment until Nancy tripped against the sofa Robin had been sitting on for their interview.
Robin caught her before she could fall, but still let her drape back into the couch cushions, and allowed Nancy to pull her down.