Chapter Text
In order to find out what happened to Victor Creel, they needed to get into Penhurst Asylum. They had that part down - called ahead, claimed to be psychology students from Notre Dame wanting to do an interview, and that was their way in the door.
Now, they just needed to look the part. This wasn’t a problem for Nancy - she had plenty of business casual outfits from when she worked at the Hawkins Post. Her closet was chock full of prestigious disguise. She grabbed what she thought would be suitable for her, something that shouted “I’m going to get this interview”, and fished out an outfit for Robin.
Turning gangly Robin Buckley, who she had also taken on this sensitive mission - an idea that Nancy was doubting by the minute - into a prim and proper lady would be another ordeal entirely.
Nancy got right to changing - the quicker they got this over with, the better. When she took off her shirt to start to get dressed, though, Robin whipped around completely in the most ungraceful motion that Nancy had ever seen a human being perform.
“Whoa! I - uh - Nancy!” Robin, although she was turned around, shielded her face with her hands.
“What?” Nancy raised an eyebrow, genuinely confused. “We’re both girls. I figured -“
Oh. Maybe Robin was a prude. Maybe she just didn’t like getting naked in front of people. Maybe Robin was reserved - which didn’t seem like Robin, not that Nancy knew Robin well enough anyway, but this mission was an opportunity to get to know her. Nancy frowned; as a reporter, she should have known better than to judge a book by its cover.
Nancy sighed, apologetic, and turned away. “Sorry.”
“Oh, um. It’s fine.”
“There’s a bathroom down the hall you can use to change.” Nancy shimmied her shirt on so she wasn’t topless, grabbed the clothes that would probably fit Robin, and tossed it on her bed.
“Robin, I’m decent. Wear this.”
Robin turned around, slowly, and her face fell as she saw the outfit before her.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Robin.”
Robin raised her hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. I’ll wear it.” Under her breath, Robin muttered “Christ.”
Nancy glared. “You’re the one who wanted to do this with me, we’re playing by my book.”
Robin scoffed and, with a salute, grabbed her outfit with a bunched fist and walked toward the door.
Nancy sighed. There were more important things to be spending her mental and emotional energy on than being frustrated at Robin. They had Hawkins to save - maybe the world. Again.
And again. And again.
Nancy’s parents would chalk up her stress to school. Her mom, in typical Karen Wheeler ignorance slash ingenuity, would just tell Nancy that she should stop working so hard. The people at the school paper jokingly told her to stop drinking so much coffee, as it made Nancy’s hands shake so much that it made her handwriting terrible - but those were the days when she had tossed and turned in the night, unable to sleep in worry of the nightmares that would surely come, and the coffee was the only thing keeping her sleep deprived body from collapsing.
Her hands never shook when she was holding a gun and, in times like these, a gun felt more comfortable in her hand than a pen.
The door opening interrupted her thoughts. Robin came into the room, wearing the outfit that Nancy had given her.
Robin looked surprisingly nice. A little tall for her clothing, so it looked a bit short on her, but nice all the same.
“You look -“
“Nancy, I look terrible.” Robin groaned. “This is so uncomfortable. And it itches.”
“- fine.”
Robin stopped in her tracks. “Oh, uh, thanks? This isn’t what I’d normally wear. I hate this.”
“You only have to suffer for a bit.” Nancy walked over to her bed, sitting down on it, and patting the space beside her. “Now come here. I’m going to put some makeup on you.”
Robin’s head fell back in a defeated sigh. “Nancy, you can’t be serious.”
“Deathly. Now get over here before I drop you off with Steve and the kids.”
Robin obeyed, if only reluctantly, and Nancy grabbed her makeup bag from her dresser beside them.
Trying to apply makeup on Robin was like trying to paint on a canvas during an earthquake. Robin wouldn’t stop flinching, twitching, talking, laughing (“It tickles, I’m sorry!”). It took Nancy all of her willpower not to knock her unconscious so she could at least apply Robin’s eyeshadow without the awkward girl moving at the last second, making her mess up her work.
The mascara was the worst part. Robin flinched every time Nancy tried to use the mascara wand on her lashes. She blinked rapidly every time Nancy’s hand got too close to her eyes, as if batting away an intruder.
When Robin turned her head away at a moment when the mascara wand got close to her face, making it slightly smudge against Robin’s cheek, Nancy let out a sharp “Robin!”
“Nancy, I’m trying!” Robin groaned, exasperated. “I’ve never put on makeup before! It feels like you’re attacking my face!”
“Well, if you keep moving, you’re going to poke your eye out -“
“You’re going to poke my eye out! You’re the one coming at me with that thing, I-“
Nancy couldn’t take it anymore. They were wasting time. Robin was wasting her time. This needed to be done with, and there was only one way to do that.
Nancy swung her legs over Robin’s lap, straddling her. With her free hand, she grabbed at Robin’s jaw, holding her head still.
“Stay still.” Nancy commanded through clenched teeth.
Robin’s eyes widened. She moved her head as if to nod but, when Nancy lightly squeezed her jaw to reprimand the action, Robin’s mouth fell open.
“I - uh. Yes - I mean, yeah. Totally. Not a - uh, oh boy. Not a muscle.”
Nancy rolled her eyes. Robin talked too much.
But the taller girl kept her word. She didn’t bat her eyes when Nancy was finally - finally, thank god - able to apply the makeup to her face.
Robin didn’t move her face, didn’t bat her eyes, but Nancy swore she felt her tremble underneath her hands.
“Hey, Robin.” Nancy immediately softened her grip, furrowing her brows in concern. “You okay?”
“I’m…” Robin forced out, taking in a shallow breath. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
Nancy frowned. In that moment, she remembered that, besides Eddie, Robin was one of the “new guy”s to the secret Hawkins club of people who knew about the Upside Down and all the terrible, fucked up shit that came along with its membership.
The nightmares. The guilt. The feeling of being alone in a crowded room.
“Hey,” Nancy gave Robin a sympathetic half smile. “I know this stuff is…it sucks. It’s not fun.”
Robin nodded - this time, Nancy didn’t hold her still. “Major understatement. There’s nothing about this that is fun.”
Before Nancy could respond, Robin added “because this shirt is so, so itchy. I’m going to die.”
Nancy huffed, the first genuine laugh she had in days.
It only took another minute before Nancy was done applying Robin’s makeup. She pulled back, still straddling Robin’s lap, admiring her handiwork.
Robin hardly needed the mascara - her eyelashes were long enough. Her complexion matched her makeup. The eyeshadow was good. Her lips were full and red -
and pretty.
Nancy attested that sudden, interruptive thought to pride of her makeup skills, but while staring - no, admiring her handiwork - she noticed a flaw in that close-to-perfect face. Robin had small smudge of mascara on her cheek, evidence to when Robin was wildly thrashing against Nancy.
Nancy licked her thumb, her grip on Robin’s face merely a light touch, and wiped away the smudge off her cheek.
“Agh, Nancy -“
“Shut up.”
The smudge was mostly gone - only noticeable if you squint and if you were close enough to her face - as close as Nancy currently was, just a breath apart. Nancy smiled.
“There.” Nancy said softly and then added, with her voice barely above a whisper, “Perfect.”
Robin let out a nervous laugh. Nancy let out one she didn’t know she was holding.
Robins face in her hands. She was still on Robin’s lap. There was a moment of stillness - a slightly terrifying stillness.
They were both girls.
This felt weird.
We’re both girls.
Nancy pulled back her hands and noticed that they were trembling again.
“Let’s get to it.” Nancy, now the ungraceful one, got off of Robin in a swift motion.
Robin, open mouthed, only replied after several long seconds. “Right. We’ve got some mystery solving to do.”
“Sure.” Nancy opened her door before realizing a moment too late, “Robin, my keys are on the dresser. Toss ‘em to me?”
“On it!” Robin nodded, grabbed them, and, in the typical tact and grace that Robin Buckley often displayed, missed Nancy completely and tossed them into the hall.