Work Text:
Nancy promised herself that it wouldn’t happen twice.
Her crush on Barb was a one time thing, cut short by the girl’s end. She didn’t give herself the chance to think about what could’ve happened if she’d lived, if Nancy had gone home with her, or maybe just walked her to the car. She wouldn’t. Not when she has a boyfriend. Well, had. Damnit, that was her only excuse.
But back then, she had sworn to God she wouldn’t fall in love the wrong way again.
So, as Nancy walked with the rest of the group towards their imminent deaths, she felt sick. She was so close to her — her angel and reprise — that the gap seemed farther than ever. She was right beside her, and she couldn’t do anything about it. The words had been clogged in her throat for weeks, and every time she thought about approaching her they would run back down to her stomach.
It was a horrible back and forth, that hadn’t ended fast enough for her to have a real chance.
Maybe she was kidding herself. Nancy wouldn’t lie and say she believed that it was impossible for Robin to return her feelings. She was self-centered, and didn’t want to block out the idea that maybe, just maybe, she could have this. For once in her life, she could have a relationship that she actually wanted and dreamed of.
Steve wasn’t a bad boyfriend by any means, he just wasn’t hers. He never was. Jonathan was better — nearly what she wanted. Actually, that’s a lie, he was exactly what she wanted. But every time they kissed or hugged or exchanged sweet, loving words, it felt so, so wrong.
Nancy never could run her hands through his hair the way she wanted to — brushing his shoulders as she pulled them away to start again at the roots, or share clothes like she thought of, making a show out of putting her shirts and dresses on him. Because it was never him.
She started to understand about a year ago why she was so drawn to Jonathan Byers.
He was the version of Robin Buckly that was acceptable to everyone else.
She knew Robin before she ever spoke a word to Jonathan, sharing maybe two classes with her — but she was drawn all the same. Like a moth to a flame — her eyes would find the girl in every classroom, every hallway, and every pep rally up in the bleachers.
Even now, Nancy’s eyes followed her without fail. Trailing her course as she walked along the hell dimension by Steve’s side, the two talking about something Nancy couldn’t hear.
At least, that was what she remembered seeing. She swore she blinked, and Robin was next to her, gently nudging her shoulder and asking, “You okay?”
Nancy breathed out a quiet sigh, eyes falling forward and away from her, “Depends on what you would consider ‘okay’.”
They fell into a quiet beat as they walked, until they came across what-ever-the-fuck she was supposed to call the spiral of a nightmare.
She registered Robin calling for Steve and Jonathan, and maybe Will saying something, but if anything else was there it was blurred in her mind until it was unrecognizable. At the beats of silence, “What are we waiting for?” She turned her head to glance over at the others, before starting forward, “Come on.”
Nancy let Robin walk ahead, as much as her heart wanted to follow right beside her. She walked in pace with Mike, glancing over at him at his persistent staring. “Do you need something?” She raised an eyebrow at her brother, rolling her eyes at his questioning look, “Why are you staring at me, Mike?”
“I’m not!” He immediately said in turn, causing her to scoff quietly. She turned back away from him, and he chose to continue, “We’re just…close, okay? Closer than I’d like to be. We don’t have any idea what’s in there, so maybe you shouldn’t be the only one with…y’know, that much protection.”
“You have protection.”
“I have three cocktails – that’s not the same as your armory of bullets.”
“Three flammable cocktails.”
“That’s not any better, and you know it.”
Nancy sighed, putting her gun on her shoulders and pulling off the wrap-around flare. She handed it to her brother, holding back a laugh at his surprise and excitement. She walked ahead quicker than before, hoping to maybe catch up with Robin.
That thought was cut short by Mike’s shout for his friend, and she turned around quickly, nerves flaring up her spine at the sight of him standing still with his eyes rolled back.
The next few minutes passed in a blur to her, her eyes not focusing enough to understand anything Will or Joyce were saying. She registered Holly’s name, her sister snapping her out of the vague mind she’d fallen into.
Robin grabs her arm lightly, pulling her back at Will’s word. “C’mon, Nance,” she mutters, turning with her and running. It felt like hours until they approached close enough, and at that point she finally heard the rumbling.
She knew, as the legs slammed into the ground beside them, what she was going to do.
She knew, beside her girl as they ran, what she needed to do.
And so she did.
While the rest were focused on talking, making plans and discussing where to go – Nancy was waiting. When Robin asked, “Who is going to be bait?” She already knew the answer. She walked past Mike’s stunned expression, his mouth open – wanting to say something, and she didn’t give him the chance.
Then she stopped.
If she was going to die, she didn’t want to regret this.
She turned back.
Nancy stepped up to Robin, swinging her gun around to her back to cup her face with gentle, sweat-soaked hands, the two nearly chest to chest. She forced herself to ignore the girl’s confused look, pulling her close after a beat of hesitation, and meeting their lips in possibly the realest love she’s ever felt.
It feels more intimate than anything she’d ever experienced. But so, so good. Better than any of Steve’s kisses, or Jonathan’s sweet looks, or even Barb’s kind, gentle reassurance.
It feels perfect.
And maybe it is.
Maybe it could be.
Robin melts into her, wide eyes looking right at Nancy as she pulls away — but not more than a few inches. Her hair is messed, and there’s dirt and grim and muck on her vest that she thinks she’d be horrified at having touched a year or three ago. But now, all that matters is the love in Robin’s eyes – looking at her.
“Robin, no matter what happens; I love you,” she feels her emotions stutter as her girl stares at her, “I’ve always loved you,” she turns away before her heart can force her to stay, running with her gun in hands to what she fully believes is the opposite place she is supposed to be.
After that, honestly — Nancy doesn’t remember much.
She remembers shooting the monster, and backing away, and running. A lot of running.
She remembered Holly — her little sister, seeming tiny in her arms in that disgusting place. She didn’t hold her long enough. She didn’t hold Mike long enough, or her mom, or even her dad. Even then, she had to fight to let go and stand up to help more kids out. She remembered that.
And she remembered El.
Sweet, sweet El. Too young, too kind, and too gentle for the world she was in. She regretted not speaking to her more. She regretted not being nicer. Now, she would never get the chance.
She wakes up the next day with sore bones, tired eyes that won’t open all the way, and a weight on her chest. That’s what scares her up.
Nancy sighs as she recognizes the flurry of blonde hair that’s on her, gently removing Holly and laying her back down on the comforter. Looking at her, curled up and now hugging out of Nancy’s pillows instead of her waist, she feels terrible. Terrible for not protecting her the way she should’ve, for letting her get dragged into this mess. It was sickening, but it was over. She would let herself believe it was over.
Turning away from her and standing up, she walks out of her room — ignoring the small pain in her side from the sharp rocks of the Upside Down digging into her — and into the bathroom.
She goes about her routine quietly — brushing her teeth, styling her hair, staring at herself in the mirror for five minutes to try and make the zit on the side of her face disappear.
Staring closer than ever, at the way her skin was still littered with scars and dirt, and how every time she opened her eyes there were tiny dots of black at the corners of her vision, and she understood.
For once, she understood and knew what she was going to do.
She stepped out of the bathroom, out of the house, and into sunlight.
Nancy knows the drive to the radio station is nothing more than ten minutes, but it feels like hours. In the time it takes for her to get out of the car and walk into the building, she could’ve been kissing Robin goddamn Buckley.
She isn’t surprised when Robin is already setting up for the morning radio. She isn’t surprised when Robin is surprised that Nancy is barging into her studio at who-the-hell-knows-o’clock. She doesn’t have time to be surprised, because Robin is already speaking.
“I’m sorry,” she blurts out, standing up to match Nancy. Before she can ask what in the world she’s apologizing for, she continues, “I don’t really know what I’m sorry for, but I’m pretty sure this is about the kiss, and I just- I’m sorry.”
“You’re apologizing because I kissed you?”
“…Yes?”
“You’re so stupid,” And so, she kisses her again.
It feels like a puzzle piece slotting in place after being shoved into the wrong ones over and over; the perfect fit. Robin’s lips are soft, and smaller than a boy's, but it’s even better for some dumb, stupid reason that she can’t name.
Nancy’s hands come up to cup her face, nudging some hair behind her ear. Robin, quite frankly, struggles with her hand placement before settingly on resting above Nancy’s hips, fingertips gently pressing into her shirt.
Pulling away is like torture, and so she stays close — she presses her forehead into Robin’s, hoping that maybe they can blend into one and become some crazy Buckley-Wheeler-combination of a single person.
“Is this you asking if I like you?” Robin whispers, eyelashes fluttering against hers.
Nancy laughs, loud but quiet — in that peaceful, sweet way that comes from a love folded into delicate shapes and given to her girl, “If I said yes, what would your answer be?” She asks, rubbing her fingers over her cheeks in a soothing pattern.
“Yes,” she answers without hesitation — her arms stretching out to lay against her body, “Absolutely. Yes.”
“Then, I like you. I like you, Robin Buckley. A lot.”
“I like you, Nancy Wheeler.”
After that, it’s a soft silence filled by Robin’s occasional chatter into her microphone and gentle music from the records she plays. Nancy sits stretched out like a cat in a chair she’d dragged in, her legs resting on Robin’s lap after two failed attempts of her shoving them off.
During a small beat, with Cyndi Lauper’s voice in the background, Robin mutters a quiet, “I thought you were with Jonathan.”
Nancy glances up from where she’d been picking at her nails, humming quietly, “I was. He…” She thought about the melted room, about the ring and the horrifying thoughts swarming her mind in that moment. How the word “un-proposal” instantly cleared them out, and how after that she felt like the worst girlfriend ever.
She, still, doesn’t know what about the idea of Jonathan being her husband scared her so much.
He wasn’t a bad boyfriend in the slightest. Besides losing her favorite sweater that one time, he was — by all systems — the perfect boyfriend. (Maybe not perfect, but something close.) He cared, was sweet when needed and straightforward when not, and gave her nearly all he had. But even then, seeing that ring in his hand felt like a nightmare come true.
“We just weren’t right for each other,” she finally says, meeting Robin’s eyes and praying that she can convey the messages sealed in her heart and mind.
Robin nods, letting out a small breath, and that’s when Nancy decides to quietly add on, “I honestly thought you and Steve had something.”
The laugh that comes out of her is more real than anything she’d ever heard. “Oh my God, Nance—“ She lightly hits her ankle from where it’s on her lap, and Nancy pulls her leg back to nudge her head, to which Robin reels away quickly, “Ew, get your feet out of my face.”
“Why’s that so funny?”
“What part of Platonic do you not understand?” She asks, and Nancy just shrugs. She doesn’t know. Robin had explained numerous times how she and Steve were nothing, Platonic with a capital ‘P’ and all that shit — but she had just, quite simply, not listened. She did that a lot.
Robin shakes her head, “No,” Nancy looks up at her, and her eyes look right back, “We never did, never will. If I’m lucky, you’ll be the last girl I ever date.”
Nancy pauses at her words, half-expecting the thoughts to immediately find their place in her mind — the panic, worry, excruciating fear of getting married. But it never comes. All that’s in her head is a sweet, singular thought; of Robin in ten or so years, with longer hair that she still regularly cuts, in a kitchen of a — their — house, with the same messed clothes and sunlight beating on her face.
It’s a nice thought, she realizes. Really nice.
Maybe this could be nice.