Archive of Our Own ^beta

The thing had too many teeth.

That was Robin's primary observation as she scrambled backward over a pile of broken pallets, because when you were about to die, apparently your brain decided to get very specific about dental configuration. Too many teeth. Arranged wrong. In multiple rows like a shark, except sharks didn't have teeth on the outside of their face, which seemed like a design flaw but also explained why this thing was winning.

"ROBIN, MOVE!" Nancy shouted.

Robin was moving. Robin was moving so much. Robin was moving in several directions at once, none of them useful.

Her foot caught on something—a chain? A pipe? Her own shoelace?—and she went down hard on her ass just as the monster lunged over her. Its claws—Jesus Christ, it had claws too, the teeth weren't enough?—scraped the wall where her head had been approximately 0.3 seconds earlier.

Steve threw something that bounced off the monster's shoulder with a pathetic thunk.

"Was that a brick?" Robin yelled.

"IT'S WHAT I HAVE," Steve yelled back.

A gunshot cracked through the warehouse. The monster's head snapped to the side, dark blood spraying, but it didn't go down. It just turned toward Nancy with what Robin could only describe as irritation, like she'd interrupted it during an important task. The important task being Robin's imminent death.

Nancy fired again. Chest shot. Direct hit. The thing staggered but stayed upright.

"Oh, come ON," Nancy said.

The monster turned back toward Robin.

Robin scrambled backward. Her shoulders hit the wall. Nowhere left to go.

The thing stalked forward. Slow. Like it knew she was cornered. Blood—its blood, dark and wrong-colored—dripped from the bullet wounds but it didn't seem to care.

Nancy's gun clicked. Empty.

"No—" Nancy's voice went high. Sharp. "No no no—"

The click of a magazine. Metal fumbling against metal. Nancy swearing—words Robin had never heard Nancy Wheeler say, strung together in increasingly desperate combinations.

"Come on, come on—"

The slide. Not catching. The mechanical click-click-click of it jamming.

"Fuck—why—come on—"

The monster was three feet away. Nancy's hands were shaking so badly Robin could hear it in the gun sounds. In her voice.

Two feet.

Close enough that she could smell it—rot and copper and something sweet. Like roadkill in summer mixed with the Family Video dumpster left closed for a week in August.

Behind her, Nancy made a sound like a sob. "Please—"

Something hit the monster's shoulder. A brick. It bounced off uselessly. Clattered to the floor.

"HEY!" Steve's voice. Raw. Desperate. "HEY, ASSHOLE!"

Another brick. Hit the thing square in the back of the head. The monster didn't even flinch.

"OVER HERE!" Steve yelling. Closer now. Moving. "COME ON, COME ON—"

A chunk of concrete. Hit its arm. Nothing.

Robin could hear Steve scrambling. Boots on concrete. Breathing hard. Looking for anything, everything. The thunk of impacts. Metal on flesh. Brick on bone. None of it mattered.

The monster didn't turn. Didn't slow.

It wanted Robin.

One foot. Then the other. Like it had all the time in the world.

Because it did.

Behind her—Nancy's gun. Click-click-click. Nothing.

To her left—Steve. Yelling. Throwing. Useless.

Robin. Cornered. Wall against her back. Concrete scraping through her shirt.

The thing opened its mouth.

That sound—like machinery eating itself. Wet metal grinding. She felt it in her teeth.

This was it.

Nineteen. Warehouse floor. Too many teeth.

Her mom didn't know where she was.

Her hand hit something. Metal. Cold.

Crowbar.

Just lying there by her leg.

Great. She could die holding a crowbar. That was—

Robin's hand closed around the crowbar.

"Okay," she said. Still on the ground. Still probably about to die. "Okay. This is fine. This is—"

It lunged.

She swung.

She wasn't trying to be heroic. She wasn't trying to be strategic. She was just trying to not die, and the crowbar was in her hands, and the monster's face was rapidly approaching her face, and her arms did the thing where they moved without consulting her brain first.

The crowbar connected with a wet crunch that Robin felt all the way up to her shoulders.

The monster made a sound like a tea kettle.

Robin swung again. And again. And possibly several more times, she wasn't really counting. She was operating on pure panic and the vague understanding that if she stopped swinging, the thing might remember how to kill her.

"ROBIN!" Steve was somewhere to her left. "ROBIN, I THINK—"

She kept swinging.

Nancy's voice, closer: "Robin, stop—"

Couldn't stop. Stopping meant dying. Dying was bad. Swinging was good. Swing, swing, swing, just keep swinging, this was her life now, she was a swinging person, she and the crowbar were bonded for life—

Steve grabbed her arms.

Robin nearly took his head off. The crowbar swung wild, missing his face by maybe two inches.

"WHOA—" Steve ducked. "Robin—ROBIN—"

"IT'S DEAD," Nancy's voice, sharp and loud. Close. When had Nancy gotten close?

Robin blinked.

Crowbar. Still up. Still raised.

Air. She needed—her lungs couldn't—breathing too fast, too shallow, like she'd sprinted a marathon, like her body forgot how breathing worked.

—

The thing was dead.

Very dead. Extremely dead. So dead that Robin was pretty sure it had been dead for at least thirty seconds now, which was approximately twenty-nine seconds longer than Robin had expected to be alive, so that was—that was good. Great. Fantastic. They'd won. They were alive. The monster was not.

Robin was still holding the crowbar.

The crowbar was slippery. Wet. She looked down at her hands. Dark blood—the monster's blood—covered her fingers, her palms, dripping down her wrists.

She was also still screaming.

When had she started screaming? Was she still screaming? Her throat hurt. That meant she'd been screaming. For how long?

"Robin." Steve had his hands up now, like he was approaching a wild animal, which was fair, because Robin felt like a wild animal. A wild animal that had just beaten a nightmare creature to death with a crowbar and was having some feelings about it. "Robin, hey, it's dead. You can—you can stop now."

Robin looked down at the crowbar. Then at the monster. The thing was definitely dead. Parts of its head were—

Nope. Not looking at that.

She looked at the crowbar again. Still holding it. Still death-gripping it like it was the only thing keeping her alive.

"I know that," she said. Her voice came out higher than normal. Strangled. "I'm just—I'm making sure. I'm being thorough."

"You're being thorough," Steve repeated carefully.

"Yes."

"With the screaming."

"It's a process," Robin said. She tried to lower the crowbar. Her hands wouldn't let go. Fingers locked. Metal digging into her palms. She pulled. Nothing. Her hands just—stayed. Grip frozen. "I'm processing. This is me processing."

"Okay," Steve said slowly. Like he was talking to someone who might bolt. Or bite. "That's—that's good. Processing is good."

Nancy walked past them both. She had her gun out still, was checking the perimeter like the monster might have friends, which—god, Robin hoped it didn't have friends. She couldn't handle friends right now. She could barely handle the no-longer-alive thing on the ground.

Robin remembered the sound of Nancy's gun jamming. The desperate "Please—"

And now Nancy was just. Walking around. Checking corners. Breathing too fast.

Robin's brain was still catching up to the part where she was alive. Alive and standing in an abandoned warehouse with monster guts on her shoes and her heart trying to punch through her ribcage and Nancy Wheeler who'd been sobbing thirty seconds ago now moving through the space like nothing had happened.

"Clear," Nancy called out. She was lowering her gun, clicking the safety back on. Professional. Efficient. Like they'd just finished a particularly challenging game of tag instead of actual mortal combat.

Robin's hands were still shaking.

Nancy walked back over. Looked at Robin. Then at the crowbar—Robin's white-knuckled grip, fingers locked—then back at Robin. Her hands trembled slightly as she holstered her gun. "You okay?"

"I'm great," Robin said. "I'm—yeah. Fine. Super fine. I just murdered something with a crowbar but I'm, you know. Coping. Processing. Having a totally normal time."

"You saved your own life," Nancy said.

"Right. Yeah. Self-defense crowbar murder—not murder—self-defense crowbar situation. Which is totally different from—"

Nancy kissed her.

Just—kissed her. Right on the mouth. Full mouth-on-mouth contact while Steve was standing right there and Robin was still holding a murder weapon—self-defense weapon—whatever—and there was a dead monster approximately six feet away.

Nancy's hand landed on Robin's shoulder—warm, solid, steadying—and her mouth was soft and warm and the kiss lasted maybe two seconds but Robin's entire nervous system registered it like a fire alarm. Every nerve ending lighting up at once. Her hands went numb. The crowbar nearly slipped from her grip.

Nancy pulled back. Her hand slid off Robin's shoulder. She was still shaking slightly. "Good job," she said. Matter-of-fact. Clinical. Like she'd just complimented Robin's filing system or her ability to make a decent cup of coffee. Like her voice hadn't cracked on the word "good."

Then she walked away.

Just. Walked away. Toward the exit. Stepping over monster parts. Not looking back.

Robin stood there. Still holding the crowbar. Still standing in the same spot. Her mouth was open. When had her mouth opened? Why was her mouth open?

"Did she just—" Steve started.

"I don't want to talk about it," Robin said immediately.

"But she—"

"Nope."

"Robin, she literally just—"

"Not. Talking. About it." Robin's voice came out strangled. She was still holding the crowbar. Why was she still holding the crowbar? She looked down at it. Looked back up at where Nancy had disappeared through the warehouse exit. Looked at Steve.

Steve was staring at her. His mouth was also open.

"Stop looking at me like that," Robin said.

"Like what?"

"Like—that. Like you just saw—which you did, obviously, because you were standing right there, but we're not—we're not going to discuss it."

"We're not going to discuss the fact that Nancy Wheeler just kissed you?"

"Correct."

"On the mouth."

"Steve—"

"After we fought a monster."

"I'm aware of the timeline, thank you—"

"She just walked up and—"

"I WAS THERE," Robin said, louder than she meant to. Her voice echoed in the empty warehouse. The crowbar was getting heavy. Everything was getting heavy. Her arms, her legs, her brain. Especially her brain. Her brain weighed approximately nine thousand pounds right now and all of it was dedicated to the fact that Nancy Wheeler had just kissed her and then said "good job" like Robin had successfully completed a moderately challenging math problem.

"Okay," Steve said. He had his hands up again. "Okay. We don't have to talk about it."

"Thank you."

"We're just going to pretend it didn't happen."

"Yes."

"Even though it definitely happened."

"Steven—"

"And I saw it happen—"

"I'm going to hit you with this crowbar."

"You just want to talk about it," Steve said. He was grinning now. That stupid knowing grin that made Robin want to strangle him. "You want to talk about it so bad. You're dying to talk about it."

He wasn't wrong.

Robin was dying to talk about it. She wanted to dissect it. She wanted to analyze every millisecond of that kiss—the pressure, the angle, the duration, the fact that Nancy's hand had been on her shoulder, the way Nancy's mouth had been soft and warm and had tasted like strawberry chapstick—

Wait.

She knew what Nancy's chapstick tasted like now.

"I'm having a crisis," Robin announced.

"Yeah," Steve said. "I can see that."

"A full crisis. Multiple crises. Crisis plural. What's the plural of crisis?"

"Crises."

"I'm having crises," Robin said. "So many crises. I'm having the most crises that anyone has ever had in the history of—"

"Robin."

"—and she just walked away, Steve, she just—she kissed me and said 'good job' like I'd just, I don't know, restocked the returns cart correctly, and then she LEFT, she just—" Robin gestured wildly with the crowbar. Steve ducked. "Sorry. Sorry. But she—what does that mean? What does it mean when someone kisses you after you kill a monster together? Is that a thing? Is that a normal thing that normal people do?"

"I don't think any of this is normal," Steve said.

"That's not helpful."

"You want me to be helpful? Put down the crowbar first."

Robin looked at the crowbar. Then at Steve. Then at the exit where Nancy had disappeared. Then back at the crowbar. "I'm keeping the crowbar."

"Okay."

"For emotional support."

"Sure."

"It's a support crowbar."

"Whatever you need, buddy."

They stood there for a minute. Robin's heart was still racing. Her hands had stopped shaking but her brain was moving at approximately nine million miles per hour, running through every possible interpretation of what had just happened and coming up with zero conclusions except "NANCY WHEELER KISSED YOU" on repeat like a broken record.

"She said 'good job,'" Robin said finally.

"Yeah."

"Good. Job."

"I heard."

"Like I was a—a dog, or a—a child, or—"

"I don't think she meant it like that," Steve said.

"Then how did she mean it?" Robin's voice went high. Thin.

"Maybe you should ask her."

Robin stared at him. "Ask her."

"Yeah."

"Ask Nancy Wheeler what that kiss meant."

"That's generally how communication works," Steve said.

"I can't just—I can't ask her. What if it was an accident? What if she didn't mean to? What if it was just adrenaline and she's already forgotten about it? What if I bring it up and she looks at me like I'm insane and says 'what kiss' and I have to explain that I've been thinking about it for—" Robin checked her watch. "—three minutes and forty-five seconds and she hasn't thought about it at all?"

"Then you'll know," Steve said.

"I don't want to know," Robin said. "I want to—I want to live in this moment forever where Nancy Wheeler kissed me and I don't have to know why. I want to preserve this in amber. I want to never speak of it again while simultaneously thinking about it every second for the rest of my life."

"That sounds healthy."

"I'm aware that it's not healthy, thank you."

"Robin—"

"Where did she even go?" Robin looked around. The warehouse was empty except for the dead monster and the growing pool of its weird alien blood and various pieces of broken equipment they'd used during the fight. "She just—disappeared. Is she outside? Is she in the car? Did she leave without us?"

"She probably went to check in with Dustin," Steve said. "You know, the guy with the radio who's supposed to confirm we're not dead?"

"Right." Robin nodded. "Right. Yes. That makes sense. That's a normal, reasonable thing to do after kissing someone and then walking away without explaining yourself."

"I don't think Nancy's super concerned with explaining herself," Steve said.

Which was true. Nancy did what Nancy wanted and expected everyone else to keep up. It was one of the things Robin found most terrifying about her. And most impressive. And most—

No. Nope. Robin was not going down that road right now. She was going to go outside, find Nancy, act completely normal, and definitely not think about the kiss that had happened three minutes and fifty-two seconds ago.

Fifty-three seconds.

Fifty-four.

"Come on," Steve said. He put his hand on her shoulder—the same shoulder Nancy had touched—and Robin nearly jumped out of her skin. "Let's go find her before you have a full breakdown in a warehouse."

"Too late," Robin said. "Already having one."

But she followed him anyway, crowbar still in hand, brain still in crisis mode, mouth still remembering the taste of strawberry chapstick.

—

Nancy was leaning against the car when they got outside. She had the radio out, was talking to Dustin in that clipped, efficient way she had. Confirming their location. Confirming the monster was dead. Confirming they needed cleanup.

She looked up when Robin and Steve emerged from the warehouse. "Took you long enough," she said.

Robin opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. No words came out. She probably looked like a fish. She felt like a fish. A very confused, very gay fish who was having a prolonged emotional crisis in a parking lot.

"Robin's processing," Steve said.

"I can see that." Nancy's expression didn't change. She clicked off the radio, tossed it into the car. "You okay?"

"Fine," Robin squeaked. "Great. Totally fine. Just, you know. Murdered a monster. Big day. Lots of excitement. The usual."

"You did good," Nancy said.

There it was again. Good. Like this was normal. Like they hadn't just—like Nancy hadn't just—

"Did I?" Robin heard herself say. "Did I do good?"

Nancy's expression shifted slightly. Something that might have been amusement flickered across her face. "With the monster," she clarified.

"Right." Robin nodded too many times. "Right. Yes. The monster. That's what we're talking about. Obviously."

"Obviously," Nancy echoed. Was she smiling? She was maybe smiling. Just a tiny bit. The corner of her mouth was doing something that Robin's brain wanted to classify as a smile but couldn't quite confirm because her brain was still mostly screaming.

Steve cleared his throat. "I'm gonna—I'm gonna go sit in the car. You two seem like you need to. Um. Talk. Or whatever."

"We don't need to—" Robin started.

But Steve was already walking away, climbing into the driver's seat and very obviously pretending to be very interested in adjusting the rearview mirror.

Robin stood there. Nancy stood there. Between them, approximately six feet of parking lot and several hours worth of unspoken questions.

"So," Robin said.

"So," Nancy said.

"That was. Um. That was quite a fight."

"Yeah."

"Really got the old adrenaline going."

"Mmhmm." Nancy was definitely smiling now. Definitely. That was absolutely a smile.

"Makes people do weird things, sometimes. Adrenaline. Makes you—impulsive. Makes you act without thinking."

"Does it?" Nancy asked. She pushed off from the car, took a step closer. Robin's brain short-circuited again.

"That's—I've heard that. I've read that. Somewhere. In a book. Or maybe a magazine. National Geographic, possibly. They did an article on—on adrenaline. And its effects. On the human body. And decision-making. And—"

"Robin."

"—and I'm talking too much. I'm aware I'm talking too much."

Nancy took another step closer. She was right there now. Close enough that Robin could smell her shampoo and the gunpowder residue and the strawberry chapstick. "You always talk too much," Nancy said.

"I know. It's a problem. I'm working on it. Well, not really working on it, more like acknowledging it exists while continuing to do it anyway—"

Nancy kissed her again.

This time Robin dropped the crowbar.

It hit the pavement with a loud clang that probably woke up everyone in a three-mile radius but Robin didn't care because Nancy Wheeler was kissing her. Again. For the second time in approximately eight minutes and this time Robin's brain was slightly more functional, slightly more capable of processing the fact that this was happening, that Nancy's hands were on her face, that Nancy's mouth was soft and insistent and tasted like that same strawberry chapstick and—

Nancy pulled back. Not far. Just enough to look at Robin.

"Still processing?" she asked.

"Very much so," Robin managed. "I'm—yeah. Processing. So much processing. I'm basically a processing factory. I'm a—"

"Good," Nancy said. She was still smiling. Actually smiling. "Take your time."

Then she got in the car.

Just. Got in the car. Climbed into the passenger seat, put on her seatbelt, looked straight ahead like this was a perfectly normal way to end a conversation.

Robin stood there in the parking lot. Without her crowbar. Without her dignity. Without any idea what had just happened or what it meant or what she was supposed to do next.

Steve's head appeared in the driver's side window. "You getting in or what?"

Robin looked at him. Then at Nancy, who was studiously not looking at her. Then back at Steve.

"I need a minute," Robin said.

"You've had eight minutes."

"I need another one."

Steve shrugged. "Your funeral."

He rolled up the window.

Robin stood there for approximately forty-five more seconds.

Nancy Wheeler kissed her. Twice. Said "good job" like it was nothing. Smiled. Got in the car like—like that was just a thing that happened. A normal thing. A casual Wednesday thing.

Robin was standing in a parking lot having a crisis.

She should get in the car.

But getting in the car meant sitting in the car. With Nancy. Who just kissed her. Twice. And what if Nancy wanted to talk about it? What if Nancy didn't want to talk about it? What if Robin said something and Nancy looked at her like she'd misunderstood, like it didn't mean anything, like—

Robin got in the car.

Climbed into the back seat, buckled her seatbelt, stared at the back of Nancy's head.

Nancy didn't turn around.

Steve started the engine. "Everyone ready?"

"Yes," Nancy said.

"Robin?" Steve looked at her in the rearview mirror.

"I'm having a crisis," Robin said.

"Still?"

"Ongoing. It's an ongoing crisis. It's evolving. Growing. Becoming sentient."

"Cool," Steve said. He put the car in drive. "Let me know if it needs medical attention."

They drove in silence for approximately three minutes. Three minutes during which Robin stared at the back of Nancy's head and tried to figure out what the hell had just happened and whether she was supposed to say something or wait for Nancy to say something or just accept that this was her life now, this state of permanent confusion and strawberry chapstick flavored crisis.

"Hey, Nancy?" Robin said finally.

"Yeah?" Nancy still didn't turn around.

"What was that?"

A pause. A long pause. Steve's eyes flickered to the rearview mirror, then back to the road.

"What was what?" Nancy asked.

"You know what."

"The kiss?"

"Kisses," Robin corrected. "Plural."

"Okay," Nancy said. "The kisses."

"Yeah. Those. What—what were those?"

Another pause. Shorter this time.

"Good job kisses," Nancy said.

"Good. Job. Kisses."

"Yeah."

"That's—that's what we're calling them?"

"Would you prefer something else?" Nancy asked. She was still facing forward but Robin could hear the smile in her voice.

"So if I do a good job next time—" Steve started.

"No," Nancy and Robin said in unison.

"I'm just saying, positive reinforcement is a proven—"

"Steve," Nancy said.

"—motivational tool, and if we're establishing a reward system—"

"I will run you over with this car," Nancy said pleasantly.

Steve held up his hands. "Okay. Okay. Just trying to understand the team dynamics."

"I'd prefer an explanation," Robin said, trying to get back on track. Her face felt like it was on fire. "I'd prefer some context. I'd prefer to know—"

Nancy turned around.

Finally. Finally. She turned around in her seat, looked directly at Robin.

"You did good," Nancy said.

"You already said that."

"I know."

Nancy's hands were gripping the seat. Not quite the death grip from the warehouse, but close.

"Nancy—"

"My gun jammed," Nancy said. Not looking at Robin now. Looking at her hands. "You were cornered. And I—" She stopped. Made a sound that wasn't quite a laugh. "I couldn't—"

She didn't finish.

Robin waited.

"And then you killed it," Nancy said. Still looking at her hands. The corner of her mouth did something complicated. "So."

"So?" Robin's voice came out small.

Nancy looked up. Finally. Her eyes were doing that thing where they got too intense. But there was something softer there too. Something almost amused at Robin's confusion.

"So I kissed you," Nancy said. Like that explained everything. Like that was obvious.

Robin stared at her.

"That's—" Robin's voice came out wrong. "That's not—"

"What?" Nancy's shoulders went up. Defensive. "What am I supposed to say?"

"I don't know! Something that makes sense? Something that—"

"You didn't die," Nancy said. Flat. "I was—" She stopped again. Made a frustrated sound. "I don't know, Robin. You didn't die. What else do you want?"

"That you—you liked it."

"Yeah."

"Kissing me. You liked kissing me."

"Is that so surprising?"

"YES," Robin said, louder than she meant to. Steve's eyes flickered to the mirror again. "Yes, Nancy, that's—that's extremely surprising, that's the most surprising thing that's ever happened to me, possibly ever, in my entire life, including the monsters and the Russian base and—"

"Robin," Nancy said. Still smiling. Still looking at her like—like—

Robin didn't know what. She didn't have a reference point for this. She didn't have a precedent. She was in uncharted territory and her brain was providing zero useful information except NANCY WHEELER LIKED KISSING YOU on repeat in increasingly large font.

"Yeah?" she managed.

"Stop talking."

"Can't. Physically cannot. It's a medical condition."

"Try."

Robin tried. It lasted approximately four seconds before— "But you—you really liked it?"

Nancy was still smiling. Still looking at her. "Robin."

"Yeah?"

"I kissed you twice."

"Right." Robin nodded. Too many times. "Right. Yeah. Okay."

"Okay," Nancy said.

Then she turned back around.

Just. Turned back around. Faced forward again. Conversation apparently over.

Robin sat there in the back seat, staring at the back of Nancy's head, her heart doing complicated gymnastics in her chest, her brain still screaming, her mouth still tasting like strawberry chapstick.

Steve caught her eye in the rearview mirror. He was grinning.

"Still don't want to talk about it?" he asked.

Robin slumped down in her seat. "Drive faster."

"That's what I thought."

But yeah. Okay. Fine.

Maybe she wanted to talk about it.

Just a little bit.