Chapter Text
Robin has been in the hospital long enough that the smell has stopped registering as something sharp and unpleasant and has instead become a dull, ever-present thing. Antiseptic, overheated air, the faint trace of something metallic that clings to the back of her throat no matter how much she swallows.
She’s leaning against the wall outside a room she’s already been in twice, arms folded tight, doing her best to appear calm and collected. It isn’t working. Her knee keeps bouncing, heel tapping against the linoleum in a way she can’t quite stop. Steve is a few feet away, pretending to read a bulletin board that hasn’t been updated since Carter was in office.
It’s Steve who notices first, he lifts his head, eyes flicking down the hallway, and his posture changes immediately. Not dramatic. Just a subtle stiffening, like a wire pulled tight beneath the skin.
Robin follows his gaze without thinking.
Vickie is halfway down the corridor, walking beside another volunteer in a candy striper uniform, her hair curling around her uniform cap, clipboard tucked under one arm. She’s talking, smiling politely, focused on whatever task she’s been assigned.
Robin’s stomach drops.
This is not how this was supposed to happen. There was supposed to be time. Distance, some sort of buffer between the chaos of last night and now. Not this; not fluorescent lights, the padding of footsteps echoing down the hall, not Vickie finding her here without any sort of heads up.
Vickie glances up, their eyes meet almost instantly. It’s brief, barely a second. But it’s long enough for recognition to settle in, long enough for something sharp and surprised to flicker across Vickie’s face before it’s carefully smoothed away.
Robin’s mouth opens. Nothing comes out.
Vickie slows, then stops entirely. She says something quick to the girl beside her, gesturing ahead with a practiced ease that suggests she’s done this a hundred times already. The other volunteer nods and continues on without a second glance.
Vickie turns around and starts walking back toward Robin.
“Oh shit,” Robin murmurs, the words barely audible even to herself. Steve doesn’t say anything. He just steps closer, places a hand lightly at the small of her back, and steers her a half-step to the side as Lucas comes out of Max’s room.
“Hey,” Steve says casually, already moving, already redirecting. “Come on. How about I talk to Max for a bit.” Lucas blinks, a quick look of confusion flooding his features as Steve hastily guides him back toward the door with a firm hand on his shoulder. There’s no explanation offered, and none requested. The door shuts behind them.
Robin is alone in the hallway when Vickie reaches her.
Vickie stops a few feet away, arms folded now, clipboard pressed tight against her side. Her expression is controlled, but there’s something brittle beneath it, like she’s holding herself together by sheer will.
“Are you kidding me?” Vickie asks.
Robin exhales, shaky. “Vick, I—”
“What the 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭, Robin?”
The words land heavier than shouting ever could; Robin flinches anyway.
Not outwardly, not in a way that draws attention, but something inside her caves in on itself, like a lung collapsing. She presses her shoulders back against the wall, grounding herself in the cold of it, and forces her hands to unclench.
“I’m so sorry,” she says immediately, because there is no version of this conversation where that isn’t true. “I know I screwed up. I know I let you down.”
Vickie lets out a short, incredulous laugh that doesn’t reach her eyes. “You didn’t just screw up. You stood me up. I sat at Enzo’s for an hour, Robin. An 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳.” Her voice doesn’t rise, but it tightens, each word pulled taut with something dangerously close to shaking. “I kept thinking maybe you were late. Maybe you got caught up with Steve. Maybe you forgot your jacket and ran back to your house to grab it.”
Robin’s chest aches, “I should’ve called,” she says, uselessly. “I should’ve—”
“Yes. You should have,” Vickie cuts in, finally letting a little of the edge slip through. “Do you know how stupid I felt? Sitting there, telling the waitress my friend was on her way every single time she came to the table?”
Robin swallows hard. Her throat feels raw, like she’s been screaming even though she hasn’t raised her voice once.
“Vick, I didn’t— I know how shitty that was,” she says, and God, she means it. “I promise you, if I could’ve been there, I would have.”
Vickie lets out a breath through her nose, sharp and disbelieving. “You always say that.”
Robin flinches.
“You say it every time,” Vickie continues, her voice still steady but no longer gentle. “You promise, and I believe you, and then I’m sitting alone again wondering what I did wrong this time.” She shakes her head, a frustrated laugh catching in her throat. “I kept thinking you’d walk through the door any second and make some joke about being late, like you always do.”
“And then I go home,” Vickie says, her grip tightening around the clipboard, knuckles pale, “and I can’t get you on the phone. I can’t get Steve. I turn on the news and hear about something going down at the MACz , and suddenly I’m wondering if you’re hurt, or worse, and I have no way of getting ahold of you.” Her eyes shine, and Robin watches as tears start to fall, her heart clenching at seeing Vickie cry, hurt because of her. “Do you have any idea what that feels like?”
Robin steps forward without thinking, the breath leaving her lungs because of the wet shine in Vickie’s eyes, the way she’s staring just past her like looking directly would make it spill. “Vick—“
“No,” Vickie says, not raising her voice, just firm. “I’m not done.” She looks at Robin like she’s trying to solve her, like if she stares long enough the truth might finally surface. “You disappear, you come back bruised and exhausted, you dodge every question I ask. And I keep telling myself there’s a reason, that you’re not doing this on purpose, but at some point it stops feeling accidental.” The words hit harder than anything else so far.
“I feel like I’m standing outside your life,” Vickie says quietly. “Like there’s this whole part of you I’m not allowed to touch. And I don’t know how much longer I can keep pretending that doesn’t hurt Robin.”
Robin’s hands curl at her sides, every instinct screaming to reach for her, to fix this, to take away any of the hurt Vickie was feeling. “This isn’t me choosing something else over you,” she says, voice breaking despite her best effort. “And there is nothing, nothing—wrong with you. I love you.”
“I know,” Vickie says immediately, eyes warming the tiniest bit. “That’s the problem. I know you love me.” Her voice softens just a fraction, but the frustration is still there, still sharp. “I just don’t understand why loving me doesn’t mean trusting me.”
At that moment, Robin’s gaze drifts, just for a second, down the hallway.
Two men in fatigues pass by the far end of the corridor, voices low but urgent, one of them gesturing sharply toward a closed door as they walk. Robin’s shoulders tense on instinct, every nerve suddenly awake. She forces her attention back to Vickie, even as her pulse starts to pick up.
“It’s not because I don’t trust you,” she says quietly, the words scraping their way out. “I just—“
She glances down the hall again before she can stop herself.
The same two men are still there, one of them has stopped a nurse now, gesturing sharply down the corridor, towards Robin, towards Max’s room. Robin’s fingers curl into the sleeve of her jacket, knuckles whitening as something cold settles in her gut.
Vickie notices immediately, her expression tightens, hurt flaring sharp and fast. “Are you even listening to me?”
Robin snaps her attention back, guilt crashing over her. “Yes, I am. I swear I am.”
“Well it really doesn’t feel like it,” Vickie says, voice pitched low but edged with frustration. “It feels like I’m pouring my heart out and you’ve already moved on to something else.”
Robin shakes her head, desperate. “That’s not—Vick, I’m right here. I’m just—”
Another glance. Quicker. More panicked.
Vickie follows her line of sight this time, then looks back at her, disbelief settling in. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Robin exhales, sharp and uneven, caught between two impossible choices. “I’m so sorry,” she says, the words tumbling over each other. “I just—there’s something I have to take care of. I promise I’ll come back.”
“You’re leaving,” Vickie says flatly.
“Just for a second,” Robin pleads. “Please.”
Vickie lets out a breath that’s half laugh, half disbelief, crossing her arms tighter across her chest. “Unbelievable. You stand me up, disappear all night, and now you can’t even finish a conversation?”
The words hit hard, but Robin doesn’t stop moving. She pushes off the wall, “I’m sorry,” she says again, quieter this time, already turning. It feels useless. It feels like too little and far too late, every step away from Vickie feeling heavier than the last.
She doesn’t look back right away.
When she finally does, Vickie is still standing there in the hallway, arms crossed, clipboard forgotten at her side, watching her go with an expression that makes Robin’s chest ache.