Chapter Text
“Alright, ladies, here’s how it’s going to go.”
Pressed close to Robin, a strawberry blonde in an evening gown fidgets in her seat. The limo is crowded with women in silk and chiffon, sequins and satin, all of them sitting shoulder to shoulder. Robin is the only one of them not in formal attire — well, her and the crew, although they’re wearing all black and she’s in blue and white. In the front seat, a camera man is pointing his lens back through the divider window. On the ground in the middle of the contestants, cropped out of the shot where she lays at their feet, a producer is explaining what will happen when the car pulls up to the mansion. Looking around the circle of women, she cautions them all about the realities of filming and the unpredictable elements that are part of it.
“So don’t read too much into the order we put you — or how long you’ll have to wait for your turn to meet the Bachelor,” the producer says. “It doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”
Robin sort of doubts that. Given what she knows about the whole Bachelor franchise and the nature of reality TV in general, she’s pretty sure the producer included that bit in her speech specifically to make everyone sweat. It seems to settle Strawberry Blonde, though, who takes a big, deep breath and then slowly lets it out.
“Now,” the producer continues. “Who’s ready to meet Bachelor Nation’s favorite heartbroken heartthrob, the famous King Steve Harrington?”
–
When she and Steve had first started joking about her coming on The Bachelor as one of his contestants, it had been just that — a joke. Steve figured he was one of at least a few options they were considering for the next lead, and they both knew that being on reality TV was pretty much Robin’s worst nightmare, so neither seemed like any sort of real possibility. Soon enough, though, the throwaway comment had spiraled into a serious idea. When the producers reached out to officially ask Steve to be the star, he’d turned to Robin with an ask of his own.
And, stupidly, she’d agreed.
Unfortunately, it would be a lie to even say she didn’t want to go with him. King Steve Harrington might’ve been her unrequited enemy back at Hawkins High, but ever since he came home from LA with a broken heart and his tail between his legs, they’ve been practically inseparable. It was just about two years ago that he got publicly dumped for a runner-up after winning his second season of The Bachelorette, his third time on the franchise overall, and Robin’s seen him through pretty much every up and down since. That includes his much discussed decision to head back to the beach for Bachelor in Paradise. Robin hadn’t been convinced it wasn’t going to be a mistake, but it was that return to reality TV that won him the lead.
Being part of a big crew on Paradise was one thing, though, and being the sole star of The Bachelor was another. More than anyone, Steve understood the sort of thing he’d be signing on for — Robin had heard enough about the mind games that underlaid the whole nature of the show — but he also promised her that he knew the grueling psychological mindfuck of a process could pay-off. He’d seen it work, and if he was the lead, chances were better that, this time, it would work for him. And, well, if he was dead set on heading back into that pit of vipers, she wasn’t about to let him do it alone.
When Steve told the producers he’d do the show under one condition, they’d had a condition of their own: Robin would be allowed to go undercover as a contestant and scope out all of Steve’s potential future fiancées, but she was only allowed to stay until the first rose ceremony.
It was a one night only sort of deal.
Which, frankly, had been something of a relief. She could get a sense of all the women there without having to be humiliated on any of those silly dates. She could support Steve without being forced to prove her marriage readiness via bridal obstacle course or proposal poetry slam. Whatever it was they came up with for those early group dates. She was willing to embarrass herself a little for him (she was here at all, wasn’t she?), but participating in a televised competition like that was just a step too far.
Besides, one night should be enough, Robin thinks. At least to give Steve the general gist, the lay of the land. Help him get ahead of any drama with an unbiased opinion on his contestants, help him get a sense of who’s there to be The Villain and who’s looking for love in the same way he is.
It does sort of mean there’s no time to waste, though, so once she can’t put it off any longer — once it’s clear they’re starting and the first girl is climbing out of the limo — Robin turns to her fellow contestants and starts getting down to business.
She learns quickly that it’s… weird talking to the other girls knowing that the camera is rolling. Robin’s here to get the dish on who’s in it for the “right reasons” or whatever it is they’re always saying on this show, and she knows they’re filming right now specifically to get footage of her doing her undercover thing, but she doesn’t want to go too far. She’s here to suss everyone out, not expose anyone on camera. She’s not ready to be the reason some innocent girl gets flamed online when producers take a comment out of context.
So it’s pretty awkward at first, slow going as she tries too hard to watch her words. She starts and stops a few times, conversations dying before they really get off the ground, but none of the girls seem to realize anything out of the norm is happening. Robin guesses she’s still got some of that nervous talking energy about her, guesses they’re all mentally assigning her the role of quirky rando who gets sent home on Night One, but at least now it’s a quality she can make work for her. A handy skill she can use to get information.
In just a few minutes, she figures out who has already watched Steve’s first few seasons and who’s just gotten the gist from the tabloids or producers. She gets a sense of who’s glancing at the camera to make sure it’s watching them and who looks at her when she’s talking. And as the crowd dwindles, women exiting the limo to introduce themselves to Steve, it’s even easier to make little observations about each of the contestants left.
By the time it’s just her and Strawberry Blonde in the limo, Robin thinks maybe she’s actually got a handle on this whole thing.
“You know,” she says after it’s been about a minute since the last girl left, “I’m starting to feel a little underdressed for the evening.”
Strawberry Blonde has been quiet most of the time that Robin’s been throwing out various ice breakers and questions. She’s been speaking only when directly spoken to, but she quirks a smile at that. It’s encouragement enough for Robin to continue, gesturing solemnly at the girl’s gauzy pink dress before waving a hand at her own — well, there’s really no other way to say it — sailor suit.
“You all look so great,” Robin adds. “I look like I’m heading from prom night straight to my shift at the mall. Not that I could actually afford to spring for a limo back in high school. Hence working at the mall in the first place.”
That whole mall connection was kind of the point of the Scoops Ahoy uniform. Well, that and the fact that it got her out of trying to actually get all dressed up and blend in with the sort of pageant-queen-pretty women who actually get cast on reality TV. But still.
Strawberry Blonde shakes her head, though.
“I always like when people wear fun costumes on the first night,” she says, blushing the same color as her dress. “I actually have one for later, too, I just wasn’t brave enough to wear it right away.”
“Oh, yeah?” Robin asks. “Please tell me yours is something more embarrassing than this. Are you transforming into some other kind of food court mascot? Perhaps a giant ketchup bottle?”
Strawberry Blonde grins.
“Something like that.”
A static crackle interrupts before Robin can respond. The producer presses a button to silence her walkie talkie before looking back over at them.
“Chrissy! Sorry for such a long wait. You’ve been so patient, but finally it’s your turn next. Are you ready to meet our Bachelor, King Steve Harrington?”
Strawberry Blonde — Chrissy — snaps to attention, then nods.
“Great!” the producer says. “Now go ahead and get ready, and I’ll cue you when it’s time. 30 second warning.”
Robin watches as Chrissy jumps into action, scooting closer to the door as instructed. She settles herself at the edge, her hands flitting around to adjust her hair. She fluffs her bangs, pats the half-pulled back style clipped in place with a glittering barrette. She reaches to arrange her dress over her knees, a long slit in the material revealing a flash of thigh for the briefest second, and then her leg disappears back beneath the layers of chiffon. She’s pink in the cheeks, though, and her gaze flashes first to the camera, then to Robin’s. For the second their eyes meet, Robin can see that they’re glittering too, glassy even in the limo’s overhead lighting, and then Chrissy presses them closed. When she opens them again, whatever it was that had been in them is gone. Still, for that one moment — she’d almost looked scared.
“Chrissy!”
The name bursts out of Robin before she can stop herself.
Chrissy looks back over, eyes wide again. Robin just flashes her two thumbs up.
“Don’t be nervous,” she says. “You don’t have to be a ketchup bottle to be brave.”
Chrissy quirks a smile, then nods. She takes another deep breath, lets it out slowly, then turns to face the limo door.
“OK,” the producer cues her. “Now — go!”
–
“Oh my god,” Steve says when it’s finally Robin’s turn to step out of the limo. “What the— on Earth are you wearing right now?”
Robin gasps at the sight of him, too.
“What are you!” she challenges, gesturing at the red lipstick smudged at the corner of his mouth. “Did you already make out with somebody?!”
Steve flushes, then ducks to rub at his mouth with his jacket sleeve.
“Still?” he groans. “That girl before you already —”
“Chrissy wasn’t wearing red —”
“Sorry, yes, Chrissy, thank you — No, it was the one before her, but Chrissy helped me use my pocket square to — Jeez, I thought we got it all, but I guess not.”
“Wooooow,” Robin drawls. “And I thought you officially abdicated the role of King Steve on Paradise this summer. I thought you really had turned over a new leaf. Now I see you’re back to original flavor King Steve shenanigans.”
Steve rolls his eyes.
“Ha ha,” he says. “No, seriously. What are you wearing?”
Robin looks down at her Scoops uniform, a relic from her years of high school retail. Not that she’s not still in retail. These days, she’s just juggling shifts at the video store and the market instead of slinging ice cream at the mall.
“What?” Robin gasps, sweeping her arms dramatically across her ensemble. “You don’t recognize this?
“Ahoy,” Steve reads, eyes scanning the blue letters embroidered on the front of her sailor cap. “You’re… an ice cream scooper at the mall?”
“Not just any ice cream scooper at any mall. Back on your first season, you introduced yourself with your whole varsity jock nostalgia routine, so I thought I’d stick with the theme. This,” she says, pointing to the red name tag pinned to her chest, “is the exact outfit I was wearing the one and only time you ever talked to me in high school.”
Steve lets out a bark of surprised laughter.
“Shut up,” he says. “It is not. No way you remember that.”
“I do,” Robin insists. “I sat behind you in Mrs. Click’s history class for a full year without you ever saying a single word to me, but then one summer I was working at Starcourt, and you and one of your many admirers walked into Scoops Ahoy during my shift.”
They’ve been best friends for two years now, but she’s never actually told him this story before. It’s not memorable on his end. It wouldn’t have been memorable on hers if it weren’t for the fact that she’d already hated him for being her sophomore year crush’s crush. She’d spent nearly nine full months trying to bore holes into the back of his head, willing herself to manifest some yet-to-be-revealed psychic powers. That day at the mall, he’d looked straight through her as though the ice cream scooped itself.
“Wow,” Steve says, wincing a little. “Well, did I at least say anything interesting? Like, ‘Hey, don’t I know you’? Or, ‘Nice hat’?”
Robin reaches up to adjust the cap. She’d held it in her lap in the limo, only slapped it on her head in the seconds before getting out.
“Would you believe that you didn’t?” Robin asks. “Just, ‘One scoop of U.S.S. Butterscotch for me, and a banana split for my date. Keep the change.’ And then nothing until you came crawling back home half a decade later. But when you asked me to come on the show with you and be your wingman… Well, I figured a first mate is sort of the same thing, right?”
They’ve already filmed a segment together where they introduced Robin to the cameras, to the audiences who will be watching the show in a few months’ time. They’ve given their whole back story already: How they went to high school together but never ran in the same circles, occupying opposite spectrums of the social hierarchy. How she and everyone else in town watched on TV as he set off for Hollywood to try and find love in front of the cameras. And how Robin and Steve reconnected after he’d returned to Hawkins following what was supposed to be his third-time’s-the-charm try on the show.
They strategically left out the part about how that “reconnection” happened because he kept showing up in her checkout lines to buy alcohol and popcorn at the market, to rent Legally Blonde over and over from Family Video on Friday afternoons.
“So,” she’d asked him after the third run-in at both jobs. “Are you having a lot of movie nights or just a lot of mental breakdowns?”
Somehow, they’d ended up friends. He’d taken the question in stride, been candid about everything he’d been through, and soon enough Robin had found herself the secret keeper for a whole Bachelorette season worth of spoilers.
As it turned out, Steve hadn’t just retreated home to lick his wounds after a bad breakup, one that would be broadcast across the nation. He’d also left LA to get a head start on hiding from the tabloids, who seemed eager to comment on each little bit of it. Soon enough, he told Robin, everyone was going to be able to watch as he showed up late to Nancy Wheeler’s season, swept her off her feet early on, and snuck into her hotel room way before Fantasy Suites. Then they were also going to watch as she said yes to his proposal only to dump him during their second secret Happy Couple Weekend. Everyone would get to watch as she broke the news to him on camera that, actually, she’d changed her mind. She’d been talking with Jonathan B., another finalist who’d had to quit the show because of a family emergency, and they were going to try to make things work.
But while Steve had been shockingly forthcoming with her, he and Robin had come up with a different story to tell producers.
The summary they gave on camera went more along the lines of, “He kept buying very healthy smoothie ingredients from me at the market, and then one day, when he came to my other job to rent a movie, we ended up hanging out and really hitting it off.”
They also told the cameras about how they’d watched all of the episodes together once Nancy’s season started airing. How Robin roasted him throughout every minute of it while he groaned and hid under a blanket in his parents’ old house. They filmed an entire conversation about how she’d talked him through the moment he accidentally set off weeks’ worth of discourse, igniting heated discussion about whether he’d slut-shamed the Bachelorette or if he was being held unfairly responsible for Tommy H.’s actions.
They shared how, when Paradise came knocking a year later, Robin gave Steve the advice that convinced him to put himself back out there. And then they explained how she would come to be standing beside him now, pretending to be one of the 30 or so women competing for his heart.
“Well, hey,” Steve says, holding his arms open in a shrug. “At least I tipped, right? That’s got to count for something.”
“Oh, yeah,” Robin agrees, nodding resolutely. “A very generous $1.47. Plus, you paid for your date. Total gentleman behavior. I’ll make sure the girls inside all know.”
“Perfect,” Steve shoots back. “And, you know, if I didn’t say it before: It’s a great hat, Robin.”
He reaches out to tweak it, and she bats his hand away.
“OK, OK,” she rebuffs, cheating out a little for the audience that will be watching at home. “Keep it in your pants. I thought we already decided that things between you and me will always and only ever be capital P Platonic.”
Steve rolls his eyes, but he laughs. The five seconds he thought that he had a crush on her is old news by now, both to them and to the cameras after a producer first asked, but the showrunner still warned them that bringing her in as his best friend might get viewers speculating. That was part of why she wouldn’t be allowed to stay any longer — and something the show had asked them to repeat on the record.
“Right, of course. I’ve got plenty of incredible prospects already. Speaking of — any thoughts about the women in the first limo? Have you already met the future Mrs. Steve Harrington?”
Robin takes a second to mentally review the highlights. One or two girls seemed nice enough. There had also been the redhead who’d done her research, the brunette who was a little too intent on posing for the camera, the red lipstick-wearer who clearly didn’t wait to nab the first kiss of the season. And then there was Chrissy, the sweet little strawberry blonde who’d apparently been tasked with helping Steve wipe that lipstick off.
“Hard to say just yet,” Robin answers honestly. “But, hey, the night is young! And I’m pretty sure there are, like, four more limos waiting down the street.”
“That’s true! Lots more potential Mrs. Steve Harringtons to meet. Well, with that in mind, I guess I should probably let you get inside so we can both get down to business.”
Steve steps back to sweep an arm towards the door, smiling.
“Robin Buckley, I would like to officially welcome you to the Bachelor Mansion. Now get to work, sailor.”
Robin grins back, and then she gives him a two-fingered salute.
“Aye, aye, captain.”
–
It’s hectic after that. Robin does her best to make small talk with the other women as they trickle in, making the rounds and trying to talk to everyone at least for a little bit. She doesn’t want to make any unfair assumptions, jump to any stereotypical conclusions just because a producer was able to convince someone they’ll need to make a splash to stay past Night One. That said, she is pretty sure at least a few of these women are straight up terrible. Good or bad, there are a lot of big personalities, a lot of women angling for attention, and it’s not easy to manage some of them alone or in a group.
It all leaves her head spinning, and she passes through the kitchen catering to head for the door that leads outside.
Robin is taking an off-camera breather by the back patio, stretched out on a haphazard stack of pool chairs when she finds her moment alone interrupted. Hands busy with two glasses of pink champagne, the strawberry blonde from the limo — Chrissy — uses her hip to prop open the door so she can duck through it. She doesn’t spill a single bubble as she steps carefully over the threshold.
“Hi,” she says, holding one out.
Robin can’t help but notice that the drink is an almost perfect color match to Chrissy’s delicate dress.
“I hope I’m not bothering you,” Chrissy continues, “but it was getting kind of loud in there. Plus, I thought you might want this.”
“Oh!” Robin says.
She reaches out automatically to take the glass flute.
“Yeah,” she agrees. “It was. Loud, I mean. That’s why I — Yeah, I just needed a second. But, uh, you’re not, by the way. Bothering me, I mean. You’re welcome to —”
She waves a hand at the empty space next to her, and Chrissy sways a small step forward as if following the movement.
“OK,” the strawberry blonde says, smiling, and then she’s sinking down onto the pool chairs, too.
Robin watches as Chrissy arranges her legs over the side of the stack, adjusting her dress just so to keep herself covered. There’s no one here filming this time, no cameras to zoom in on any sliver of skin she didn’t mean to expose, but Chrissy is still careful. When she looks back up, however, she doesn’t seem embarrassed. Just a little shy, maybe, but somehow also determined.
“I’m Chrissy, by the way.”
Robin doesn’t mention she filed that information away as soon as she heard the producer say it in the limo.
“Robin,” she just answers, tapping the name tag on her chest.
“Should we cheers?” Chrissy mimes reaching out to tap the rim of her glass against Robin’s. “To — to Steve?”
Robin grins.
“To Steve,” she repeats, clinking their glasses together for real.
After their toast, Chrissy takes only a small little sip, so Robin follows her lead. Part of her wants to chug the whole thing in one go — god knows she could use it after two hours of wrangling reality TV contestants — but it’s a working night for her. She needs to stay sharp.
“So, um,” Chrissy starts once they’ve both set their glasses back down. “I just wanted to say thank you for what you’ve been doing so far. It’s so easy to feel self-conscious with all of the filming and the crew standing around watching. I think it’s really nice the way you’ve been making sure all of the women feel welcome and included inside.”
That isn’t exactly what Robin has been doing, but it’s a better explanation than any other she can give.
“Oh, uh, well,” she says, nodding along. “It’s, uh… It’s a pretty weird environment, like you said, with the cameras following everyone around and all that stuff. I guess I’m just trying to get to know who everyone actually is as a person.”
“That makes sense,” Chrissy agrees. “I just mean — Back in the limo, I think the nerves were starting to get to me for a second. What you said really helped me feel more comfortable and calm before I had to get out.”
Absurdly, Robin wonders if they have hidden space heaters out here at the mansion. It is California, but she feels warmer than she should considering the cool evening air and what she has on. The knee high socks and the vest only do so much to make up for shorts and short sleeves.
“Well,” she says again, fidgeting with the glass in her hands, “in that case, I’m glad I could do that for you. So, you know — you’re welcome.”
Chrissy raises her glass a little, and Robin raises hers in another mimed cheers. They both take a second sip, and then there’s a long moment of silence before Chrissy speaks again.
“I also just want to clarify, um — I think you look great, too. I didn’t mean to imply earlier that you didn’t.”
Robin grins. She gestures down at her outfit.
“What,” she teases, “you mean when you said I was brave for wearing my sailor suit?”
Chrissy blushes, but she laughs.
“I meant it, though!” she protests. “You do look great, and you are brave. I think it’s really cool that you feel so comfortable being yourself, especially under circumstances like these.”
Robin softens.
“Well,” she says for a third time. “I think it helps that I’m pretty resigned to making a fool of myself on TV. I feel like it’s kind of just — a foregone conclusion at this point. For the record, though, I don’t think you have anything to be self-conscious about so far. You’ve seemed pretty poised, but also at the same time not too poised? Really striking that perfect middle ground, actually.”
It’s true. The night is still young (although Robin is pretty sure they’re finally on the last limo, so at least that part is almost over), but she’s gotten a good enough look over the last few hours. It’s been sort of hard not to, actually. Robin is trying to pay attention to everyone, trying to make sure she’s doing right by Steve, but whenever her eyes find Chrissy, she can’t look away. The strawberry blonde may be a little shy, may seem a little quiet next to some of the louder characters, but she still lights up the room.
Already, Robin can tell that Chrissy is nice, both to the crew and the rest of the cast. She also has kind of funny little facial expressions that betray some of what she’s actually feeling. She’s attuned to the cameras moving around her, but she’s not cheating out to them. Chrissy is just one of those girls where, when you look at her, it’s easy to let everything else fade away. And when Chrissy looks back, it really feels like you’re the only thing she sees for that moment, too. Like she’s giving you her full and complete attention.
It feels like that now as Chrissy laughs and leans in.
“Yeah, but I cheated a little,” she says. “I filmed one of those intro packages they sometimes do, so I’ve had an extra day or two to get used to the cameras. Plus, I grew up in a really, um, strict household. When I was younger, I was convinced my mother could take one look at me and know absolutely every little thing I did, so I’m weirdly used to keeping an imaginary audience in mind. But seeing you in the sailor suit reminds me that this whole thing is allowed to still be silly and fun, not just serious.”
Robin is… not sure what to say to that, exactly. Chrissy just smiles.
“I will say, though, I’m also really glad to know it’s possible to find hidden spots like this one. I know we still have our microphones on, but it’s good to know we can at least step away from the cameras for a second.”
As if on cue, the door Chrissy came through opens, and a P.A. sticks their head out.
“Found our last two contestants,” they say first into their walkie talkie, only addressing Robin and Chrissy directly once that’s been handled. “Ladies, to the front room. Steve’s ready to get his first cocktail party started and officially kick off his Bachelor journey. We need everyone inside for the champagne toast.”
–
If Steve makes eye contact with her one more time, Robin is going to let out a burst of hysterical laughter, emphasis on the hysterical. She can already feel it building at the back of her throat, bubbling its way up, and it’s taking everything in her to swallow it down.
She’s pretty sure the other women crowded around her wouldn’t appreciate it. She’s pretty sure the producers hidden just out of sight would really not appreciate it. But Steve keeps accidentally catching her eye whenever he uses the word “journey,” and he’s using it a lot in his speech introducing himself to the women now that they’ve each introduced themselves to him.
“I know some of you may know me as King Steve, and I’m, uh — I’m gathering that some of you were even excited to meet King Steve, but I’m hoping that tonight I can get to know you as just regular Steve. It’s been a long journey since my first time on this show back on Laurie’s season, and I’ve grown and changed a lot over the years, I’d like to think for the better. Night One is about first impressions, so I get that sometimes you only get one shot, but I’m hoping you all might find it in your hearts to give me a second chance. Or is it a fifth chance by now?”
Steve offers them all a rakish grin, and the crowd of women laughs loudly on cue. When Chrissy lets out a little giggle to her right, Robin can’t help but think about how Steve stole that joke from her. It had sounded less corny, more cutting when she’d said it, but still.
“I’ve been on this journey before, and I’ve been where you are,” Steve continues. “I’ve seen how it can work, and I’ve seen it work for me. I know when you first met me, I said I was looking for my queen, and that’s still true, but these days what I’m really looking for is my wife. I want to find the person who I can not only see standing there next to me at the end of this journey, but also who I can picture sharing the rest of my life with.”
He makes a point of looking around the circle then, sweeping his gaze across all of them, before he raises his glass.
“Ladies, I’m excited to get my Bachelor journey started, so I won’t keep rambling on, but I just wanted to say — Cheers. To first impressions, second chances, and hoping that the fifth time really is the charm.”
“Steve!” one of the women shouts even as the rest of them all echo his cheers. “Can I steal you for a second?”
–
The next time Robin sees her, Chrissy has swapped out her pink gown for a green and white cheerleading uniform. She’s stepping out of one of the confessional rooms while Robin waits across the hall, and she’s swept all of her strawberry blonde hair up into a high-ponytail, the loose curls from before tightened into one big ringlet. She’s also swapped out her heels for little white sneakers, and she has a shiny, plastic pom pom in each hand.
She flushes when she notices Robin staring, jaw dropped, and then Chrissy is hiding her face behind a mass of green and gold confetti.
“So what’s the verdict?” comes her muffled voice from behind it. “More or less embarrassing than a ketchup bottle?”
“Less! Definitely less,” Robin jumps to answer, scrambling to regain her composure. “Embarrassing is not even the word I would use. You just — surprised me. What’s, uh, what’s your gimmick? Do you have something to say to go with all this…”
She waves a hand at the pleated green skirt, the matching green and white vest top, and Chrissy peeks out from behind her poms before letting them drop back to her side.
“I sort of thought — It seemed like maybe Steve could use a cheerleader after everything, and I still have my old uniform from high school,” Chrissy offers bashfully. “I was going to teach him how to do a cheer when I got out of the limo, but then…”
Chrissy hesitates. Robin gasps.
“The red lipstick! That’s right. He said you helped him with it. He actually still had a little even when I came out after you, so it must’ve been bad. Was it all over?”
Chrissy groans, laughs, and then she’s hiding again.
“It almost looked good at first, before I noticed how smudged it was,” she confesses from behind her pom pom. “I thought it was just a bold style choice, or maybe a filming thing? Like how actors have to wear makeup? I didn’t connect the dots until I was standing right in front of him.”
Robin lets out an oof of sympathy. Chrissy drops her pom poms back to her sides, revealing a grim little pout as she leans against the wall opposite Robin.
“Not, um – not quite the first impression I was trying to make, scrubbing at his mouth with a handkerchief,” Chrissy says. “I’m a little scared he’s going to remember me as some sort of wet wipe mom.”
Robin shakes her head.
“No way,” she argues immediately, looking Chrissy up and down again. “No guy could see you in this and think matronly. Especially not King Steve with his whole big-man-on-campus nostalgia thing. He’s going to love this. You are speaking… exactly his language.”
Chrissy flushes again.
“Well, thank you,” she says, pushing herself away from the wall. “I hope so. Anyway, sorry, I didn’t mean to, um, steal you for a second.” The corner of her mouth quirks up at her own little joke. “I’ll let you go if you’re here to do one of the interviews.”
“Oh, yes, right,” Robin responds, suddenly remembering why a P.A. sent her over here. She pushes herself off the wall too, then takes a few clumsy steps towards the door while keeping her eyes on Chrissy. “Break a leg?” she offers.
Chrissy shakes a pom pom, grinning.
“Go team.”
–
For the next few hours, Robin is busy in the thick of the action, observing the girls in groups and finding opportunities to grill them one-on-one. At some point, she even finds herself haphazardly mediating an argument about who touched the First Impression Rose, a flower the show’s host had dramatically displayed on a coffee table in the main room. Later, when it’s just about time for Steve to actually hand that rose out, she spends another half hour filming with him in a back room, debating all the pros and cons of its possible recipients.
Once he makes his choice, the cameras follow him out of the room as he goes to pull one of the women aside. Robin has to hang back so it doesn’t look like she and Steve are walking out together, and when she’s finally allowed to head into the main area, the mansion has mostly emptied out. It seems Steve took the rose and went outside to find one of the girls, and the rest of the women slowly followed so they could either spy on the conversation or wait to pounce next.
“Hey,” Chrissy says, one of the only other people left inside. She pops her head out from the kitchen to Robin’s right. “They’re, um, out front if you wanted to —”
“Nah,” Robin says, shaking her head. “I’m OK. Some things aren’t meant for me to see. Any more of those little sandwiches left in there?”
Chrissy nods, and Robin follows her back through the open door to where the catering is spread across a kitchen island.
It’s been a long evening, and it’s not over. The producers warned her that Night One filming usually goes from sun down to sun up, but the reality of what that means is only now starting to sink in. She needs a snack if she’s going to make it ‘til morning.
Though she’s still in her cheer uniform, Chrissy seems to have lost a little pep in her step, too.
“So, how about you?” Robin asks as she dishes up a plate. “You didn’t want to go watch with everybody else?”
“It’s like you said, I guess. I know that the premise of the show is that I’m trying to date Steve, and Steve is also trying to date 30 other women, and seeing that is part of going on group dates. But I don’t really need to… seek it out.”
Chrissy shakes her head as if to clear it, then lets out a frustrated little huff as she picks at a paper napkin, smoothing out the wrinkles in it so she can fold it into smaller and smaller rectangles.
“It’s tricky, though. It feels like there’s no way to get any time with him if you’re not willing to stand right there for the last few minutes of someone else’s ‘date.’”
“You haven’t talked to him yet?” Robin asks, her eyebrows shooting up.
Chrissy’s name hadn’t really come up when she and Steve were talking about the First Impression Rose, but Robin hadn’t given much thought to what that meant. Actually, she’d tried not to think about it at all.
Still, she’s surprised to hear that Steve hasn’t pulled Chrissy aside. Robin has been watching him tonight as he moves through the crowds of women with ease. It’s almost fluid, the way he infiltrates a group for a few moments at a time, then invites one of the women to join him in some cozy nook of the house for a more private conversation. She’d kind of just assumed he’d only need to catch a single glimpse of Chrissy in her outfit to take notice, because wasn’t it just some kind of cosmic joke that the strawberry blonde was dressed in Hawkins High colors? The letters embroidered across her chest were different, but the rest of her outfit was virtually identical. King Steve had never been much of a girlfriend-guy back in high school, but god knew he’d gone out with more than his fair share of Hawkins High cheerleaders. Robin had sort of thought it would be Pavlovian.
But Chrissy just shakes her head.
“I started to for a second, but then one of the producers said they needed him for an interview.”
Robin nods slowly.
“Wellllll,” she drawls. “What do you… think about him so far? Steve?”
Chrissy hums thoughtfully before she answers, a little wrinkle in her brow before she looks up at Robin.
“I, um — I watch the show,” she admits, blushing. “I remember Steve back from when he was on Laurie’s season and Paradise the first time. I thought the King Steve thing was silly, but he always seemed sweet.”
Not that she’d ever outright admitted it to Steve, but Robin had actually watched bits of those seasons, too. It seemed like pretty much everyone in town had seen them.
When someone from Hawkins ended up in Hollywood, no one was surprised that it was Steve Harrington. It was like he said — he really had been the king in high school, and his charm had won over enough of his classmates’ moms that the word got out fast when he was cast on this stupid show. Still stuck in their hometown, working two jobs to slowly put herself through community college, Robin had been unable to avoid the news, unable to ignore it. Eventually, she’d given in and started watching it, too.
There’d been a sort of morbid curiosity there, anyway. Teen movies always promised that one day the popular jock would flame out and the hard-working geek would prevail, but Robin’s limited experience hadn’t brought any payoff yet in either regard. And though all the girls at Hawkins High had been obsessed with Steve, Robin had never really seen the appeal for herself. He was messy! He always got his bagel crumbs everywhere in class. He was a completely stuck-up dick. But somehow, no one had seemed able to see past his perfectly swoopy hair — least of all Tammy Thompson, the girl who’d been the subject of every single one of Robin’s romantic daydreams for a whole year.
Robin had needed to see what would happen when he was no longer just a big fish in a small pond. She needed a bigger sample size to find out if there was really something so special about Steve Harrington.
It figured that King Steve had become a fan favorite pretty much right away.
Of course, even he’d started to overstay his time in the limelight. A third turn on reality TV had painted him as fame-hungry and desperate, and the edit played up any hint at a rivalry with Jonathan B. One episode had even cut to the same eye roll on three separate occasions, and then the Tommy H. drama had practically gotten him canceled. Getting dumped on camera had been the only thing that saved his reputation, it seemed — and the tides of public sentiment still hadn’t really turned until another year passed.
It also figured that, by the time King Steve had gotten his comeuppance, Robin loved him too much to actually even enjoy it.
“I wasn’t really sure what to think about Nancy’s season,” Chrissy continues, looking down at her napkin origami. “It seemed like there was a lot of fighting, and that boxing group date where he was matched up with Jonathan B. got… really nasty. But then, at the end, he was surprisingly understanding about Nancy changing her mind, and in Paradise this summer, he seemed so sincere. Like he’d given a lot of thought to the kind of person he was and wanted to be. And I appreciated what he said tonight about hoping he would get a chance to introduce himself on his own terms.”
Robin watches as the wrinkle deepens between Chrissy’s brows. She waits carefully for the strawberry blonde to finish choosing her words.
“I think I can sort of relate to feeling like people don’t know the real you,” Chrissy says eventually. “And how hard it is to figure out who the real you is sometimes.”
She’s still staring down at the counter, at the tiny paper brick of a napkin she has pinned shut with one finger. She lets it go, and the paper slowly unfolds on its own.
“Anyway,” Chrissy says, looking back up and smiling. Robin can’t help but notice the way her cheeks are pinker than they were before. “What about you?” Chrissy asks. “What do you think of Steve so far?”
“He’s, uh — he’s cool. I like his new ‘being yourself’ thing, too.”
Robin hesitates to say more, to give too much away, but a quick glance reveals that the kitchen around them is empty. She decides to risk it. Frankly, she’s never actually gotten a chance to say this to anybody, and she needs to let it out. Dropping her voice, she leans a little over the kitchen island towards Chrissy.
“I don’t think I’ll exactly be sticking around, but it’s kind of freaky how well we get along,” she admits. “Like, back in high school, King Steve — guys like King Steve, whatever — they didn’t know that I existed. I could’ve been on fire, and even if he’d grabbed a bucket of water and helped put me out, he wouldn’t have recognized me the next day. It wouldn’t have mattered if my eyebrows were singed or if I still had smoke wafting out of my hair. King Steve would have looked straight through me. But with Steve, it just… I don’t know. He’s a really good guy. I like that he’s not making any excuses about whatever happened in the past, he’s just trying to be the best he can be now. Or, uh, at least that’s how it seems. Anyway, I don’t think it’s a love match. At least not in that way. But it’s still just a weird thing to wrap my head around.”
Robin leans back. She reaches for something on her plate she can stuff in her mouth so she has an excuse to not say anything else. She’s probably given too much away already, especially there at the end, but Chrissy had just nodded sympathetically throughout. Now, though — now, there’s a playful little smile teasing at the corners of her mouth.
“I don’t know, Robin,” she sing-songs.
It’s Chrissy’s turn to lean over the island this time. The strawberry blonde props her chin up on both fists.
“Maybe Steve’s not your type, but I’m pretty sure you’re his. I heard him ask for you a couple of times. I think he likes you.”
Robin lets out a genuine guffaw. Chrissy gasps, but then she’s giggling, too.
“I’m serious!” she says. “During his toast, he kept looking at you when he was talking about finding his wife!”
Robin rolls her eyes, but she can’t help but grin. She’s not sure how to dispute that when it’s technically true, just not for the reasons Chrissy thinks. The best she can come up with is deny, deny, deny.
“He did not.”
“Did too!”
“No way.”
“I was standing right next to you, and it was so obvious, Robin. He couldn’t help himself!”
Chrissy is beaming at her, pink-cheeked. It’s impossible not to smile back. Still, Robin shakes her head.
“Come on,” she challenges. “If he loves me so much, then how come I didn’t get the First Impression Rose?”
Chrissy lifts her chin, suddenly smug.
“Everyone knows that Bachelors almost never give the first rose and the final rose to the same person,” she explains. “Besides, I’m pretty sure he only gave it to Brenda because you weren’t there when he walked out to the front room.”
Another surprised laugh slips out of Robin. The idea that Chrissy hadn’t just heard her come into the living room but had noticed her absence — that Chrissy has been paying attention to her whereabouts — makes her feel just a tad too warm in her sailor suit.
“Oh, yeah,” she tries again weakly, flushing through her false bravado. “He definitely wants me to be his wife. He’s trying to get that friends and family discount on some mint chocolate chip.”
“Well, maybe he’s frugal!” Chrissy says, but she’s giggling again. “Some people find bargain hunting to be a very attractive skill.”
“Come on, Chrissy,” Robin argues. “You and I both know I’m not really like the other girls here.”
Chrissy frowns, her eyebrows pulling together to form a worried little wrinkle.
“What does that mean?”
For a second, Robin flounders for words.
“Glamorous?” she eventually settles on. “Gorgeous? Chrissy, Heidi out there is an actual, literal rocket scientist. I’m 24, and I’m still going to community college and ringing up groceries in my hometown.”
In a second, the strawberry blonde is at her side, reaching out to touch Robin’s wrist.
“I think you’re just as gorgeous as anyone else here,” Chrissy insists, suddenly stubborn. “You have such pretty freckles, and you’re so tall, and your eyes are really stunning.”
“Chrissy —”
“You’re also nice and funny,” Chrissy continues, not letting Robin interrupt. “It’s only Night One, and you’ve already gone out of your way to make me feel better about three different times. Plus, what’s wrong with working at the grocery store? People need to be able to buy groceries, don’t they?”
Robin flushes even darker, shrinking into her shoulders. Still, she doesn’t dare move her arm away from where Chrissy’s fingertips are resting against it. She just nods, appropriately chagrined, when Chrissy seems to be waiting for an answer.
“Everyone’s path is different,” Chrissy says, resolute. “Steve would be lucky if he picked you.”
It’s weird, the way it takes Chrissy’s adamance to make Steve’s actual crush sink in. She wasn’t lying earlier when she’d emphasized for the camera that the two of them are Capital P Platonic, but there had been a moment at the beginning where Steve believed he had feelings for her. Or at least that’s how Robin had always thought of it.
She’d always assumed that it was just the romantic in him looking for love with the closest girl in proximity. Or that he’d been in weird, fake reality TV world for so long he couldn’t recognize actual friendship when he found it. On top of that, he’d only really seemed to entertain the notion for the minute it took her to shut him down. He’d shifted gears so effortlessly, so easily when she’d told him that she was gay that she’d sort of figured the thought had barely even occurred to him before it came tumbling out of his mouth.
The idea that Steve Harrington — King Steve Harrington! — might’ve actually been capable of having a crush on her, Robin Buckley, had never really occurred to her. It had seemed impossible. Laughable, even. At least until now, when Chrissy had determinedly set out to poke holes in all her usual defenses. If it really had only taken him that split second to decide he wanted to be her friend no matter what, well — it kind of just made her love him even more. He was such a dingus.
Her heart goes all soft even as the rest of her heats up. She feels sort of like she might combust. It’s hard not to with Chrissy looking at her like that, eyes blazing, her hand still stretched out to touch Robin’s skin.
“Well,” Robin says, floundering again, “thank you. That’s, uh — that’s very nice of you to say.”
For a second, Chrissy’s fingers close around Robin’s wrist. She squeezes it once, fast, and then she’s backing away, retreating to the other side of the kitchen island.
“You’re welcome,” Chrissy says. She looks about as pink as Robin feels. “And, just for the record, I’m lucky you’re here, too. It’s nice to think I might have a friend in all of this if I make it past tonight.”
“Yeah,” Robin says. Her head feels light, and for a second she forgets that she won’t be sticking around. “Yeah,” she says again. “Totally.”
–
It takes Robin a beat to recover from that whole exchange in the kitchen. She’s not sure what to do with it, really. What she thinks about it. There’s not really time to think about it too much, if she’s being honest. There are still 29 other women here she’s supposed to be getting to know, 29 other women she’s supposed to be considering for Steve. She’s here to figure out who’s right for him and who’s just going to make noise until they end up on a dreaded two-on-one. With the way this show operates, she knows he’s going to need all the help he can get.
So she throws herself back into that, spending time in the various rooms talking to the other contestants and to the producers and to the cameras and to Steve. She bounces around for another couple hours, and it’s only a few hours until dawn when she finally lets herself take another break.
She’s in the back, sprawled out on the stack of pool chairs again and nursing a coffee that’s gone from tepid to room temp in her hands. She’s hiding, sort of. After all, there’s really only so much hiding that can be done at the Bachelor Mansion. That P.A. had already found her and Chrissy here before, which means someone can do it again. But it’s also as private a place as she’s found so far, so she’s just making the best of whatever time she can manage.
She’s half-braced for an interruption — half-startled out of her seat — when a certain strawberry blonde cheerleader comes spilling out the back door.
“Oh!” Chrissy squeaks, stumbling to a stop when she sees Robin. “Sorry, I didn’t realize — Sorry, I just, um — Sorry. Do you mind if I cry out here for a second?”
Chrissy’s voice cracks, and suddenly Robin is on her feet. She freezes as she catches sight of the first tear, a glimmering thing that clings to Chrissy’s lashes. It dangles for a long, slow second before streaking a shiny track down Chrissy’s cheek.
“Shit,” Robin says.
She lurches forward. Her hands fly up to hover around Chrissy’s shoulders.
“Are you OK?” she asks, heart beating fast. “No. That’s a dumb question. Obviously you’re not OK. Or maybe you are! I don’t want to — to tell how you’re feeling! Maybe you just like crying! That’s totally fine if you do!”
She shakes her head to clear it, tries hard to make her brain catch back up.
“I mean, yes!” she continues, finally processing the question. “Go for it! I don’t mind if you cry! I’ll just, uh —”
She shuts up and focuses on leading Chrissy back over to the chairs, still not quite touching her. Chrissy lets out a wet little laugh as she lets Robin guide her down onto the seat.
“I’m OK, I promise,” Chrissy says even as more tears follow the first, spilling out to trace the same path down her cheeks. She drops her pom poms onto the chair beside her and turns to face Robin. Her shoulders curl in on themselves, but she manages a watery smile as she waves a hand at her face. “It’s just, um, sort of hard to stop once I get going. I didn’t mean to freak you out, though. I didn’t think anyone would be out here.”
“You’re not freaking me out!” Robin lies. “It’s totally fine. No big deal. You picked a good spot. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone else back here all night. Any other time and you would’ve had it totally to yourself. Do you want it to yourself? Do you want me to go?”
Chrissy blushes, shakes her head, and the movement sends one shiny tear arcing wide, curving almost all the way to her ear before it drips down to her jaw.
Robin hopes she’s not staring at it. If she is, she hopes Chrissy doesn’t realize. If she does, she hopes Chrissy doesn’t think it’s too weird.
Robin doesn’t know what else to do, though. What else to say. So she just reaches out to finally close the distance between them. She rests a hand on Chrissy’s back, then alternates between patting it and smoothing circles and figure-eights across it.
Chrissy lets her. She even leans in a little. After a moment, she turns to smile at Robin again, sweet and sad.
“I do actually like crying,” she admits, the words accompanied by an increasingly steady stream of tears. “I used to think I hated it when I was younger, but my therapist says it can actually be really good stress relief.”
Robin bobbles her head in a nod.
“Totally! Great way to blow off some steam. Yeah. Love it. And when you get one of those big boohoos, it feels like something straight out of a Sunday morning comic, which is always, you know, fun or whatever.”
Chrissy giggles wetly.
“I don’t know that I’ve done one of those,” she says. “Maybe I’m not good enough at it yet.”
Chrissy is a very… polite crier, it’s true. Her cheeks are sort of splotchy, and she’s sniffling a bit, but for the most part she’s just sitting there quietly even as the water works keep running. It makes Robin feel a little like jumping out of her skin.
“Give it a try!” she encourages, not sure what exactly she’s saying even as she says it. “I bet you could do a great one no problem!”
Chrissy grins but gives her head a little shake.
“I don’t want to get tears all over you.”
“Chrissy, I am literally wearing a sailor suit,” Robin responds, reaching with her free hand to give her striped shirt a little tug. “This uniform was made for the high seas. It can handle a little salt water.”
Chrissy laughs, and then that laugh turns into a gasping little hiccup, and then — for the barest fraction of a second — there’s something in her eyes again. That same flash of fear or whatever it was from the limo.
Robin isn’t sure how it happens exactly, if she opens her arms or if Chrissy leans in first. She only knows that she ends up with a face full of ponytail as the cheerleader sniffles and then whimpers and then weeps into Robin’s Scoops Ahoy vest. Robin just squeezes Chrissy tight. She rambles nonsense words encouraging her to let it all out and does her best not to lose her mind entirely.
Eventually, the muffled sounds quiet. By the time they disappear entirely, Robin feels calmer, too. She watches her own hand as it rises and falls with Chrissy’s back, keeping pace as the strawberry blonde takes a series of deep, measured breaths.
Finally, Chrissy’s shoulders relax, and Robin lets one arm drop so Chrissy can sit up properly. Chrissy doesn’t go far, though, doesn’t sit up straight enough for Robin’s other arm to fall away, so Robin keeps it curled around her back.
“Feeling better?” she asks.
Chrissy nods, using the heels of her hands to wipe at her cheeks.
“Yeah,” she says, offering Robin a small, watery smile. “Thank you.”
“Do you… want to talk about it?”
Robin hesitates, then adds —
“Was it about Steve?”
Chrissy shakes her head.
“No. I, um, still haven’t really talked to him at all, but I think I feel OK about that. If it’s not meant to be, it’s not meant to be. It was more just…”
Chrissy takes another deep breath, then shifts to get comfortable in her seat, slipping out from under Robin’s arm. She turns toward Robin and pulls a knee up between them, tucking one little white sneaker against her other leg.
The move rucks up her skirt. In this new position, the cheerleading uniform shows off more thigh than the slit in her evening gown ever had. Robin does her best to not steal a glimpse. Or at least not too many.
“I think I just got a little overwhelmed,” Chrissy continues. “I really don’t mind the filming, but it’s been a long day, and it’s late, and I was talking about my mom in an interview. I knew if I could just… get it out of my system, it would help clear my head.”
Robin imagines a producer grilling Chrissy about her past until she breaks down on camera. The thought sends a quick, hot flash of rage through her. God, she hates that she has to leave Steve here. Hates the thought of leaving Chrissy behind, too. She kind of wants to just tuck each of them under an arm and make a break for it. Head for the hills.
“Chrissy, I can’t really think of a way to say this that doesn’t sound rude, but… why did you come on this show?”
Chrissy quirks a smile.
“Are you asking if I’m here for the right reasons?” she teases.
Robin flushes.
“Not exactly.”
Chrissy laughs, but she takes a long moment to consider the question, looking down at her lap.
“I mean, I’ve always liked the show. My mom never let me watch it, so of course it was one of the first things I started when I finally moved away on my own. I know it can be really silly and dramatic and kind of a disaster sometimes, and it only ever works out for maybe one person each season, but it seems like a lot of people really do fall in love, at least for a while.”
Robin watches as Chrissy plucks at the hem of her skirt, worrying it between her fingers.
“I want that, too. Or at least, I want to know that I can have it. Even if it’s just… the Bachelor bubble or whatever it is they call it. I want to know that it’s possible for me.”
Robin knows that they’re both still young. That they’ve got a lot of life left ahead of them. But with her cheer uniform and her high ponytail and her sweet smile, it’s hard to imagine that Chrissy didn’t have her pick of boys in high school. That she would have any trouble dating now. Robin knows why she feels behind with all of this romance stuff — it’s hard enough to be a townie in Hawkins, let alone a lesbian — but she can’t quite wrap her brain around it for Chrissy.
“You’ve never been in love before?”
The question slips out of her mouth before she really means to ask it. Chrissy glances up at her, then manages a shy little shrug before she looks back to her lap.
“I don’t think so,” she answers. “At least not really.”
Chrissy peeks up at her again. Robin doesn’t interrupt, just waits for her to continue.
“I, um, had a boyfriend in high school, but it was more like in tenth grade everyone just… decided that Jason and I should be together, so we were.”
Robin watches Chrissy’s brow furrow as she stares down at where she’s twisted her finger into the fabric of her cheer skirt.
“It made him happy, I guess, and it made my mom happy, which made things easier. And she always said I’d never do better because I’d already landed the best of the bunch, and that I’d better keep making him happy so he’d stick around. Everyone always just sort of assumed we were going to get married, and I guess I did, too, but then I just — I couldn’t —”
Chrissy takes a big, deep breath, then lets it out slow.
“Anyway, um, I guess I just… haven’t really figured out the dating thing since I’ve been on my own. How to — to find the magic in any of it.”
Her mouth twists, and Robin watches as Chrissy sneaks a look at her, one that’s somehow both wide-eyed and assessing. When she drops her gaze back to her lap, she’s blushing.
“I, um — I sort of thought it would make things easier when I figured out that I like girls too, but no luck so far. I guess I was hoping that a show like this with all of the horse-drawn carriage and red roses and fireworks stuff would help me… recapture some of that magic I used to daydream about.”
Robin is pretty sure that would just about break her heart if her brain hadn’t turned off a second ago. She wills herself to say something, say anything, at least tune back in enough to know if it’s weird that she hasn’t yet.
“Anyway, um. It’s OK if it doesn’t work out,” Chrissy eventually continues. “I’m a big girl. I can pick myself up and move on. I just thought — Why not at least try, right?”
Robin nods. At least she’s pretty sure she nods. Pretty sure she’s just on the verge of figuring out what she’s going to say or do next, pretty sure something will come to her any second now, when a P.A. pops their head out the back door.
“Robin! There you are. Steve was hoping to talk to you one last time before the Rose Ceremony. Can you come with me to the front, please?”
“Uh,” Robin tries.
“Robin?” the P.A. repeats. “Can you… please come with me to the front?”
Chrissy uses the toe of her sneaker to nudge Robin’s leg.
“Go ahead,” she says, smiling. “I’m OK.”
Robin nods again, and then she’s standing. The P.A. swings the door all the way open, holds it with one hand, and then Robin is moving towards it.
“Robin!”
Robin swivels back around to look at the strawberry blonde in her cheer uniform, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. She has the pom poms back in her hands, and she raises one to give it a little shimmy.
“I’m, um — I’m rooting for you.”
–
Robin wants to bang her head against the wall.
“You can’t send her home, Steve,” she begs. “You just can’t. She’s the sweetest little angel and staying on this show is her only chance at believing in love again. You have to pick someone else.”
“No offense, Robin, Chrissy seems really great and all, and she’s definitely cute, but what the fuck are you talking about?” Steve asks. “Her only chance at love?”
They’ve been at this for ages now, going around in circles for so long that the showrunner decided they already filmed everything they need. The cameras were sent back out to get footage of the women looking anxious and checking the time instead, and even the single producer left behind to babysit them has gone off to the bathroom or to get another cup of coffee.
Robin’s been waiting for them to leave, stalling by constantly suggesting other women Steve should send home instead, but there’s no more time to beat around the bush. Still, she can feel her face going red, can feel her temperature rising a few degrees even as she pushes through the frustration.
“Look, you know what it’s like on this stupid show!” she argues, throwing up her hands. “It’s long hours, and everyone is drunk and vulnerable, and emotions are running really high! You’re the one that said everyone gets really deep, really fast, remember? And we were just — we were talking, and when she said that she doesn’t believe in the magic of love anymore, it just about broke my fucking heart! So you need to keep her so she can be in the Bachelor bubble or whatever it is they say!”
Steve sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Look, Rob, I already feel bad enough about having to send home anyone that I did talk to. At least with the women I didn’t talk to, I feel like they get that it’s not a reflection on them.”
Robin just shakes her head, crossing her arms over her chest.
“I won’t let you send Chrissy home but keep Carol,” she insists. “I won’t allow it, Steve.”
Steve’s eyebrows shoot practically into his hairline.
“You won’t allow it,” he echoes.
“No, I won’t, and you can tell those producers I said so when they try and keep Carol around so she can be this season’s villain,” she tells him, stubborn. “She’s just going to make things miserable for you and for everyone else. And she gets to stay while Chrissy goes home? Look, I get that she didn’t grab you to pitch her sob story on Night One like the producers try to make you think you have to, but she really is sweet and — and kind, and adorable. She just! She has a really good heart, Steve!”
Steve sighs again and runs a hand through his hair. He paces around the room for a moment before he turns to look at her again.
“OK,” he says. “OK. So what are you saying. Are you saying that you think she would be good for me? That you think we would like each other? Or just that she doesn’t deserve to go home on Night One? Because you didn’t mention her at all earlier when we were talking about the First Impression Rose.”
Robin shifts her weight from foot to foot, lifting one shoulder in a noncommittal shrug.
“I mean, sure. Yeah. I mean, like you said, she’s definitely cute. And who wouldn’t — Who wouldn’t like her? And she’d like you because, well, obviously,” she says. “You’re Steve. Even I like you, and you and I both know that we did not start off on the right foot. Plus, I mean, I may be a lesbian, but let’s not pretend we don’t both know you’re a very handsome guy. Is she, like — The One for you? I don’t know! But you might like each other if you just gave her a chance!”
“So what do you want me to do here, Rob?” Steve asks. “You don’t think she’s The One, but you want me to string her along until Hometowns? Wait until Fantasy Suites and then send her home? You think staying long enough to make the leap to Dancing with the Stars will help her believe in love?”
Robin squawks at that, then groans and collapses onto one of the plush loveseats haphazardly scattered around the mansion.
“Why did you have to say it like that,” she grumbles, all the fight going out of her. “Now it sounds stupid.”
Steve walks over to drop down onto the seat next to her, leaning in to bump his shoulder against hers.
“Look, I may be… way off base here,” he says warily. “I can hardly even figure out my own love life. That’s how I ended up here, for god’s sake. So, you know, romance is clearly not my area of expertise the way I used to think it was, so you tell me. But… it seems like you might be the one that likes her. Do you know if she’s gay?”
Robin squirms a little in her seat. She shifts her position. Shrugs.
“I don’t really know that it’s my place to say.”
“Sure, yeah, I can respect that,” Steve says, nodding. “But, look, Rob, I didn’t really get to talk to her all night. She wiped some lipstick off my mouth, and I do actually feel pretty bad about that, but I don’t have a connection with her. I think, honestly, the kindest thing I could do for her would be to let her go home tonight. But if you did have a connection with her… I think you should go for it.”
Robin huffs, kicks the heel of one red converse against the floor. She’d dug her oldest, most worn out pair out from the back of her closet at her parents’ house. She’s pretty sure Tammy Thompson’s initials are still written somewhere on the rubber sole.
“What would that even look like?” she asks glumly. “You send her packing, and then I swoop in once she’s already crying and heartbroken and feeling rejected? ‘Hey, Chrissy, I know my best friend just dumped you on national television, but would you want to go out sometime?’”
Steve shrugs.
“So ask her now.”
Robin sucks in a breath. Holds it. Lets it out in one big whoosh.
“Now? Before the Rose Ceremony? Won’t you… get in trouble if one of your contestants just disappears?”
Steve shrugs again.
“I mean, maybe, but I don’t think they’d fire me and start over or anything like that. You might just have to be quick, because I’m pretty sure the producers are looking to get the ball rolling. Do you want me to head out there and try to grab her for a second?”
The idea makes Robin feel nervous. Antsy. But she thinks about how many times tonight they’ve already bumped into each other away from the cameras, away from the producers.
“No,” she says, her mind suddenly made up. “I’ll do it. I can do it myself. Will you just… buy me some time if they try to start the Rose Ceremony before I’m done?”
Steve nods, a soldier acknowledging his orders.
“Deal.”
–
Outside of the room, though — without Steve by her side — the whole thing starts to feel a little ridiculous. Impossible. God, what is she doing? She’s going to ask Chrissy out? Has she lost her mind?
But then there’s Chrissy, all dressed up in her pink evening gown from the start of the night. She’s changed her hair again, put it back into the same style from earlier, and it looks as perfect now as it did in the limo.
She thinks about the way Chrissy had smiled at her earlier in the night. How she’d brought Robin champagne out on the patio. In the kitchen, Chrissy called her gorgeous and complimented her eyes and said she would be lucky to have Robin as a friend if Steve kept them both around. There’s still a stubborn little spot on Robin’s shirt that’s wet from when Chrissy cried in her arms.
Robin’s mouth goes a little dry. Fuck.
Her feet start carrying her forward before she makes the conscious choice to move.
“Hey, Chrissy,” Robin says quietly as soon as she’s in earshot. She drops her voice a little lower so only the two of them can hear. “Can I, uh — Can I steal you for a second?”
Chrissy laughs, but she stays quiet, too.
“Sure,” she whispers back. “Should we go to our spot?”
Our spot.
The words make Robin’s heart thump.
But the thought of trying to navigate through the whole house so they can sneak out to the back patio seems more than a little tricky. If one of the producers sees her, they’ll realize she and Steve aren’t still deliberating in the front room. Plus, the weird little storage area with its stacked pool chairs doesn’t exactly exude romance. Chrissy said it herself. She wants magic. Robin’s not sure she can deliver on that exactly, but she can at least try.
“Uh, actually, maybe we can head more towards the front?” she suggests instead. “Do you mind?”
Chrissy shakes her head.
“I don’t mind. You first?”
Robin sort of wants to grab Chrissy’s hand. She’s seen Steve do it about 20 times tonight with various women. It looks easy enough. But he’s the Bachelor, and she’s, well — not. So she just nods, and then she turns to lead Chrissy back down an empty hallway. She keeps glancing over her shoulder as she goes, looking to see if Chrissy is following, checking to make sure none of the crew have noticed them and whipped out one of their walkie talkies.
It’s only once they’re tucked out of sight around a turn in the hallway that she really starts to get nervous.
“OK,” Robin says, pacing a little as she reaches the end of it. “This is going to sound… really strange. Weird. So I should probably, uh — Sorry. Just, in advance. But you said you’ve watched this show before, right?”
Robin knows the answer is yes. Still, she waits for Chrissy to nod along, unsure.
“So, uh — you know how there was that one season where the Bachelor had his friend’s wife come on and pretend to be a contestant? And there was that other season where the Bachelorette had her brother dress up like a bartender so he could spy on the guys and stuff like that?”
Chrissy’s eyebrows pull together.
“Yes?”
“Well, I’m, uh — I’m not actually here to date Steve,” Robin says in a rush. “I’m just his best friend, and I was supposed to be getting to know all the women for him so I could report back, but, uh — Well, the thing is, I kept getting distracted talking to you all night instead.”
Chrissy flushes red.
“Oh,” she squeaks. “Shoot. Sorry. I didn’t mean to hog you. You were just really nice to talk to.”
“Nonono, please don’t apologize,” Robin says, surging a step closer, hands held up in front of her. “It’s totally fine. It’s actually, uh — Shit. I’m the one who should be sorry. I hope this isn’t weird or creepy but, uh — And I mean, if you like Steve, just let me know, and I’ll put in a good word for you, I swear, but, uh, if you didn’t — I mean, obviously, he’s great. He’s the best. And if you want to date him, you should — You should go for it. But since you said you didn’t really get a chance to talk to him at all — ”
Robin can feel the way her face burns. She’s probably sweating. But she’s pretty sure she’s in too deep to back out now even if she wants to, right?
“I guess I’m just trying to say that I thought you were nice to talk to also. And, uh, I’m gay, too. And I just — I was just thinking about what you were saying earlier, and I want you to know that — Well, no matter how it goes here on the show, I think you are kind of amazing. And I think you are going to find someone who makes you believe in love again.”
Robin is pretty sure she stops breathing after that. Her tongue sticks to the roof of her mouth. Chrissy looks at her, wide-eyed, then bites down a little on her lip.
“Robin?” she asks eventually.
“...Yeah?”
“Are you, um. Are you maybe trying to ask me on a date?”
Chrissy called her brave earlier, both in the limo and out on the back patio, but Robin’s not sure she’s brave enough to answer that question. Not sure she can make her mouth move again to form a single word. Chrissy sucks in a quick breath.
“If you are, um — I think I would really like to say yes, if you are.”
Robin thinks she might go light-headed for a second. And then she laughs, a shock of pure relief bubbling up and breaking the tension. Chrissy lets out a little giggle too, and then they’re both grinning at each other.
Out of nowhere, Steve pops his head around the corner.
“Hey, ladies, I was 100% not eavesdropping, but I just happened to hear that you might need one of these?”
When he turns down the hallway to meet them, Robin can see that Steve has one of the long-stemmed red roses in his hands. God, he’s corny. He’s the best friend she’s ever had. And when he passes the flower to her, she takes it.
“Chrissy,” Robin says, turning back to the strawberry blonde in front of her. “I don’t really watch this show, so I’m not sure what to do here exactly, but, uh, do you want — Can I give you this rose?”
There’s no other word for it. Chrissy beams. She looks at Steve, and Steve nods, and then Chrissy is stepping close to Robin. Robin holds her breath, holds the flower out, and Chrissy takes it gently in both hands.
“Robin,” she says. “I would be honored to accept your rose.”